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diff --git a/43327-0.txt b/43327-0.txt index 3bf71f0..f8a7abc 100644 --- a/43327-0.txt +++ b/43327-0.txt @@ -1,4 +1,4 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43327 *** +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43327 *** RODIN @@ -6869,5 +6869,4 @@ THE END End of Project Gutenberg's Rodin: The Man and his Art, by Judith Cladel - *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43327 *** diff --git a/43327-8.txt b/43327-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ea99c83..0000000 --- a/43327-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7257 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rodin: The Man and his Art, by Judith Cladel - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Rodin: The Man and his Art - With Leaves from his Note-book - -Author: Judith Cladel - -Commentator: James Huneker - -Translator: S.K. Star - -Release Date: July 27, 2013 [EBook #43327] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODIN: THE MAN AND HIS ART *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org - - - - -RODIN - -THE MAN AND HIS ART - -WITH LEAVES FROM HIS NOTE-BOOK - -COMPILED BY JUDITH CLADEL - -AND TRANSLATED BY S.K. STAR - -WITH INTRODUCTION BY JAMES HUNEKER - -AND ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS - - - -NEW YORK - -THE CENTURY CO. - -1917 - - -[Illustration: RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED ON THE STEPS OF THE HOTEL BIRON.] - - - - -AUGUSTE RODIN - -BY JAMES HUNEKER - - -I - -Of Auguste Rodin one thing may be said without fear of contradiction: -among his contemporaries to-day he is preëminently the master. Born -at Paris, 1840,--the natal year of his friends, Claude Monet and -Zola--in humble circumstances, without a liberal education, the young -Rodin had to fight from the beginning; fight for bread as well as -an art schooling. He was not even sure of his vocation. An accident -determined it. He became a workman in the atelier of the sculptor, -Carrier-Belleuse, though not until he had failed at the Beaux-Arts (a -stroke of luck for his genius), and after he had enjoyed some tentative -instruction under the animal sculptor, Barye (he was not a steady -pupil of Barye, nor did he care to remain with him) he went to Belgium -and "ghosted" for other sculptors; it was his privilege or misfortune -to have been the anonymous assistant of a half dozen sculptors. He -mastered the technique of his art by the sweat of his brow before he -began to make music upon his own instrument. How his first work, "The -Man with the Broken Nose," was refused by the Salon jury is history. -He designed for the Sèvres porcelain works. He executed portrait busts, -architectural ornaments, caryatids; all styles that were huddled in the -studios and yards of sculptors he essayed. No man knew his trade better, -although it is said that with the chisel of the _practicien_ Rodin was -never proficient; he could not, or would not, work at the marble _en -bloc_. His sculptures to-day are in the museums of the world, and he is -admitted to possess "talent" by academic men. Rivals he has none. His -production is too personal. Like Richard Wagner he has proved a upas -tree for lesser artists--he has deflected, or else absorbed them. His -friend Eugene Carrière warned young sculptors not to study Rodin too -curiously. Carrière was wise, yet his art of portraiture was influenced -by Rodin; swimming in shadow his enigmatic heads have more the quality -of Rodin's than the mortuary art of academic sculpture. - -A profound student of light and movement, Rodin by deliberate -amplification of the surfaces of his statues, avoiding dryness and -harshness of outline, secures a zone of radiancy, a luminosity which -creates the illusion of reality. He handles values in clay as a -painter does his tones. He gets the design of the outline by movement -which continually modifies the anatomy; the secret of the Greeks, -he believes. He studies his profiles successively in full light, -obtaining volume--or planes--at once and together; successive views -of one movement. The light plays with more freedom upon his amplified -surfaces, intensified in the modeling by enlarging the lines. The edges -of certain parts are amplified, deformed, falsified, and we enjoy -light-swept effects, luminous emanations. This deformation, he declares, -was always practised by the great sculptors to snare the undulating -appearance of life. Sculpture, he asserts, is the "art of the hole and -lump, not of clear, well-smoothed, unmodeled figures." Finish kills -vitality. Yet Rodin can chisel a smooth nymph, if he so wills, but her -flesh will ripple and run in the sunlight. His art is one of accents. -He works by profile in depth, not by surfaces. He swears by what he -calls "cubic truth"; his pattern is a mathematical figure; the pivot of -art is balance, i.e., the opposition of volumes produced by movement. -Unity haunts him. He is a believer in the correspondence of things, of -continuity in nature. He is mystic, as well as a geometrician. Yet such -a realist is he that he quarrels with any artist who does not recognize -"the latent heroic in every natural movement." - -Therefore he does not force the pose of his model, preferring attitudes -or gestures voluntarily adopted. His sketch books, as vivid, as copious, -as the drawings of Hokusai--he is studious of Japanese art--are swift -memoranda of the human machine as it dispenses its normal muscular -motions. Rodin, draughtsman, is as surprisingly original as the sculptor -Rodin. He will study a human foot for months, not to copy it, but to -master the secret of its rhythms. His drawings are the swift notations -of a sculptor whose eye is never satisfied, whose desire to pin to paper -the most evanescent vibrations of the human machine is almost a mania. -The model may tumble down anywhere, in any contortion or relaxation -he or she wishes. Practically instantaneous is the method of Rodin -to register the fleeting attitudes, the first shivering surface. He -rapidly draws with his eye on the model. It is often a mere scrawl, a -silhouette, a few enveloping lines. But there is vitality in it all, and -for his purpose, a notation of a motion. But a sculptor has made these -extraordinary drawings, not a painter. It may be well to observe the -distinction. And he is the most rhythmic sculptor among the moderns. -Rhythm means for him the codification of beauty. Because, with a vision -quite virginal, he has observed, he insists that he has affiliations -with the Greeks. But if his vision is Greek his models are French, while -his forms are more Gothic than the pseudo-Greek of the academy. - -As Mr. W.C. Brownell wrote: "Rodin reveals rather than constructs beauty -... no sculptor has carried expression further; and expression means -individual character completely exhibited rather than conventionally -suggested." Mr. Brownell was the first critic to point out that Rodin's -art was more nearly related to Donatello's than to Michael Angelo's. -He is in the legitimate line of Gallic sculpture, the line of Goujon, -Puget, Rude, Barye. Dalou, the celebrated sculptor, did not hesitate -to assert that the Dante portal is "one of the most, if not the most, -original and astonishing pieces of sculpture of the nineteenth century." - -This Dante gate, begun thirty years ago, not finished yet--and probably -never to be--is an astoundingly plastic fugue, with death, the devil, -hell, and human passions, for a complicated four-voiced theme. I -first saw the composition at the Rue de l'Université atelier. It is -as terrifying a conception as the Last Judgment. Nor does it miss the -sonorous and sorrowful grandeur of the Medici Tombs. Yet how different. -How feverish, how tragic. Like all great men working in the grip of a -unifying idea, Rodin modified the technique of sculpture so that it -would serve him as sound does a musical composer. A lover of music his -inner ear may dictate the vibrating rhythms of his forms; his marbles -are ever musical, ever in modulation, not "frozen music," as Goethe -said of Gothic architecture, but silent, swooning music. This Gate is -a Frieze of Paris, as deeply significant of modern inspiration and -sorrow as the Parthenon Frieze is the symbol of the great clear beauty -of Hellas. Dante inspired this monstrous yet ennobled masterpiece, and -Baudelaire's poetry filled many of its chinks and crannies with ignoble -writhing shapes; shapes of dusky fire that, as they tremulously stand -above the gulf of fear, wave ineffectual and desperate hands as if -imploring destiny. - -But Rodin is not all hell-fire and tragedy. Of singular delicacy and -exquisite proportion are his marbles of youth, of springtide, of the joy -and desire of life. At Paris, 1900, in his special exhibition Salle, -Europe and America awoke to the beauty of these haunting visions. Not -since Keats and Wagner and Swinburne has love been voiced so sweetly, so -romantically, so fiercely. Though he disclaims understanding the Celtic -spirit one might say that there is Celtic magic, Celtic mystery in his -lyrical work. He pierces to the core the frenzy of love, and translates -it into lovely symbols. For him nature is the sole mistress--his -sculptures are but variations on her themes. He knows the emerald route, -and all the semitones of sensuousness. Fantasy, passion, paroxysmal -madness are there, yet what elemental power is in his "Adam," as the -gigantic first man painfully heaves himself up from the earth to the -posture that differentiates him forever from the beast. Here, indeed, -two natures are at strife. And "Mother Eve" suggests the sorrows and -shames that are to be the lot of her seed; her very loins crushed by the -future generations hidden within them. One may freely walk about the -"Burghers of Calais" as Rodin did when he modeled them; a reason for -the vital quality of the group. Around all his statues we may walk; he -is not a sculptor of a single attitude but a hewer of humans. Consider -the "Balzac." It is not Balzac the writer, but Balzac the prophet, the -seer, the enormous natural force that was Balzac. Rodin is himself a -seer. That is why these two spirits converse across the years, as do the -Alpine peaks in a certain striking parable of Turgenev's. Doubtless in -bronze Rodin's "Balzac" will arouse less wrath from the unimaginative; -in plaster it produces the effect of a snowy surging monolith. - -As a portraitist Rodin is the unique master of characters. His women are -gracious delicate masks; his men cover octaves in virility and variety. -That he is extremely short-sighted has not been dealt with in proportion -to the significance of the fact. It accounts for his love of exaggerated -surfaces, his formless extravagance, his indefiniteness in structural -design; perhaps, too, for his inability, or let us say, his lack of -sympathy, for the monumental. He is a sculptor of intimate emotions. -And while we think of him as a Cyclops destructively wielding a huge -hammer, he is more ardent in his search for the supersubtle nuance. But -there is always the feeling of breadth, even when he models an eyelid. -We are confronted by the paradox of an artist as torrential as Rubens -or Wagner, carving in a wholly charming style a segment of a child's -back, before which we are forced to exclaim: Donatello come to life! His -myopic vision, then, may have been his artistic salvation; he seems to -rely as much on his delicate tactile sense as on his eyes. His fingers -are as sensitive as a violinist's. At times he seems to model both tone -and color. - -A poet, a precise, sober workman of art, with a peasant strain in -him, he is like Millet, and, like Millet, near to the soil. A natural -man, yet crossed by nature with a perverse strain; the possessor -of a sensibility exalted and dolorous; morbid, sick-nerved, and as -introspective as Heine; a visionary and a lover of life, close to the -periphery of things; an interpreter of Baudelaire; Dante's _alter ego_ -in his grasp of the wheel of eternity, in his passionate fling at -nature; withal a sculptor, profound and tortured, transposing rhythm -into the terms of his art, Rodin is a statuary who, while having -affinities with classic and romantic schools, is the most startling -apparition of his century. And to the century which he has summed up so -plastically and emotionally he has propounded questions that only unborn -years may answer. He has a hundred faults to which he opposes one -imperious excellence--a genius, sombre, magical and overwhelming. - - - -II - -Rodin deserves well of our young century, the old did so incontinently -batter him. The anguish of his own "Hell's Portal" he endured before he -molded its clay between his thick clairvoyant fingers. Misunderstood, -therefore misrepresented, he with his pride and obstinacy aroused--the -one buttressing the other--was not to be budged from his formulas or -the practice of his sculpture. Then the art world swung unamiably, -unwillingly, toward him, perhaps more from curiosity than conviction. -He became famous. And he is more misunderstood than ever. He has been -called _rusé_, even a fraud, while the wholesale denunciation of his -work as erotic is unluckily still green in our memory. The sculptor, -who in 1877 was accused of "faking" his lifelike "Age of Bronze"--now -in the Luxembourg--by taking a mold from the living model, also -experienced the discomfiture of being assured some years later that, -not understanding the art of modeling, his statue of Balzac was only -an evasion of difficulties. And this to a man who in the interim had -wrought so many masterpieces. A year or two ago, after his magnificent -offer to the city of Paris of his works, there was much malevolent -criticism from certain quarters. Rodin takes all this philosophically. -He points out that the artist is the only one to-day who creates in -joy. Mankind as a majority hates its work. Workmen no longer consider -their various avocations with proper pride--this was a favorite thesis -of Ruskin, William Morris, and Renoir. Furthermore, argues Rodin, the -artist is indispensable. He reveals the beauty and meaning of life to -his fellows. He struggles against the false, the conventional, and the -used-up; but the French sculptor slyly adds: "No one may benefit mankind -with impunity." He considers himself as having a religious nature; all -artists are temperamentally religious, he contends, though his religion -is not precisely of the kind that would appeal to the orthodox. - -To give Rodin his due he stands prosperity not quite as well as poverty. -In every great artist there is a large area of self-esteem; it is -the reservoir from which he must, during years of drought or defeat, -draw upon to keep fresh the soul. Without the consoling fluid of -egotism genius would soon perish in the dust of despair. But fill this -source to the brim, accelerate the speed of its current, and artistic -deterioration may ensue. Rodin has been fatuously called a second -Michael Angelo--as if there could ever be a replica of any human. He -has been hailed as a modern Praxiteles; which is nonsense. And he is -often damned as a myopic decadent whose insensibility to the pure line -and lack of architectonic have been elevated by his admirers into sorry -virtues. Nevertheless, is Rodin justly appraised? Do his friends not -over-glorify him? Nothing so stales a demigod's image as the perfumes -burned before it by worshipers; the denser the smoke the sooner crumbles -the feet of their idol. - -However, in the case of Rodin the Fates have so contrived their -malicious game that at no point in his career has he been without the -company of envy and slander. Often when he had attained a summit he -would be thrust down into a deeper valley. He has mounted to triumphs -and fallen to humiliations; but his spirit has never been quelled; -and if each acclivity he scales is steeper, the air atop has grown -purer, more stimulating, and below the landscape spreads wider before -him. With Dante he can say: "La montagna ch'e drizza voi ch'e il -mondo fece torti." Rodin's mountain has always straightened in him -what the world made crooked. The name of his mountain is Art. A born -nonconformist, Rodin makes the fourth of that group of nineteenth -century artists--Richard Wagner, Henrik Ibsen, Edouard Manet--who taught -a deaf, dumb, and blind world to hear, see, think, and feel. - -Is it not dangerous to say of a genius that his work alone should -count, that his personality is negligible? Though Rodin has followed -Flaubert's advice to artists to lead an ascetic life that their art -might be the more violent, nevertheless his career, colorless as -it may seem to those who love better stage players and the comedy -of society--this laborious life of a poor sculptor should not be -passed over. He always becomes enraged at the prevailing notion that -fire descends from heaven upon genius. Rodin believes in but one -inspiration--nature. Nature can do no wrong. He swears that he does not -invent, he copies nature. He despises improvisation, has contemptuous -words for "fatal facility," and, being a slow-thinking, slow-moving -man, he only admits to his councils those who have conquered art, not -by assault, but by stealth and after years of hard work. He sympathizes -with Flaubert's patient, toiling days. He praises Holland because after -Paris it seems slow. "Slowness is beauty," he declares. In a word, he -has evolved a theory and practice of his art that is the outcome--like -all theories, all techniques--of his own temperament. And that -temperament is giant-like, massive, ironic, grave, strangely perverse; -it is the temperament of a magician of art doubled by a mathematician's. - -Books are written about him. With picturesque precision De Maupassant -described him in "Notre Coeur." Rodin is tempting as a psychologic -study. He appeals to the literary critic, though his art is not -"literary." His modeling arouses tempests, either of dispraise or -idolatry. To see him steadily after a visit to his studios at Paris -or Meudon is difficult. If the master be present then one feels the -impact of a personality that is misty as the clouds about the base of -a mountain, and as impressive as the bulk of the mountain. Yet a sane, -pleasant, unassuming man interested in his clay--that is, unless you -happen to discover him interested in humanity. If you watch him well you -may in turn find yourself watched; those peering eyes possess a vision -that plunges into the depths of your soul. And this master of marble -sees the soul as nude as he sees the body. It is the union in him of -sculptor and psychologist that places Rodin apart from other artists. -These two arts (psychology is the art of divination) he practises -in a medium that hitherto did not betray potentialities for such -performances. Walter Pater is right in maintaining that each art has its -separate subject matter; still, in the debatable province of Rodin's -sculpture we find strange emotional power, hints of the pictorial, and -a rare suggestion of music. This, obviously, is not playing the game -according to the rules of Lessing and his Laocoön. - -Let us drop the old aesthetic rule of thumb and confess that during the -last century a new race of artists sprang up and in their novel element -they, like flying-fishes, revealed to a wondering world their composite -structure. Thus we find Berlioz painting with his instrumentation; Franz -Liszt, Tschaikowsky, and Richard Strauss filling their symphonic poems -with drama and poetry; while Richard Wagner invented an art which he -believed embraced all the others. And there was Ibsen who employed the -dramatic form as a vehicle for his anarchistic ideas; and Nietzsche, who -was such a poet that he was able to sing a mad philosophy into life; not -to forget Rossetti, who painted poems and made poetry of his pictures. -Sculpture was the only art that resisted this universal disintegration, -this imbroglio of the seven arts. No sculptor before Rodin had dared to -shiver the syntax of stone. For sculpture is a static, not a dynamic -art--is it not? Let us observe the rules though we call up the chill -spirit of the cemetery. What Mallarmé attempted with French poetry -Rodin accomplished in clay. His marbles do not represent, but present, -emotion; they are the evocation of emotion itself; as in music, form and -substance coalesce. If he does not, as does Mallarmé, arouse "the silent -thunder afloat in the leaves," he can summon from the vasty deep the -spirits of love, hate, pain, sin, despair, beauty, ecstasy; above all, -ecstasy. Now, the primal gift of ecstasy is bestowed upon few artists. -Keats had it, and Shelley; Byron, despite his passion, missed it. We -find it in Swinburne, he had it from the first. Few French poets know -it. Like the "cold devils" of Félicien Rops, coiled in frozen ecstasy, -the fiery blasts of hell about them, Charles Baudelaire boasted the -dangerous gift. Poe and Heine felt ecstasy, and Liszt. Wagner was the -master-adept of ecstasy: Tristan and Isolde! And in the music of Chopin -ecstasy is pinioned within a bar, the soul rapt to heaven in a phrase. -Richard Strauss has given us a variation on the theme of ecstasy; -voluptuousness troubled by pain, the soul tormented pathologically. - -Rodin is of this tormented choir. He is revealer of its psychology. -It may be decadence, as any art is in its decadence which stakes the -part against the whole. The same was said of Beethoven by the followers -of Haydn, and the successors of Richard Strauss--Debussy, Stravinsky, -and Schoenberg--are abused quite as violently as the Wagnerites abused -Richard Strauss, turning against him the same critical artillery that -was formerly employed against Wagner. Nowadays, Rodin is looked on as -superannuated, as a reactionary by the younger men, the Cubists and -Futurists, who spoil marble with their iconoclastic chisels and canvas -with their paint-tubes. - -That this ecstasy should be aroused by pictures of love and death, as -in the case of Poe and Baudelaire, Wagner and Strauss and Rodin, is not -to be judged an artistic crime. In the Far East they hypnotize neophytes -with a bit of broken mirror, for in the kingdom of art there are many -mansions. Possibly it was a relic of his early admiration for Baudelaire -that set Wagner to extorting ecstasy from his orchestra by images of -love and death. And no doubt the temperament which seeks such synthesis, -a temperament commoner in medieval times than ours, was inherent in -Wagner, as it is in Rodin. Both men play with the same counters: love -and death. In Pisa we may see (attributed by Vasari) Orcagna's fresco of -the Triumph of Death. The sting of the flesh and the way of all flesh -are inextricably blended in Rodin's Gate of Hell. His principal reading -for half a century has been Dante and Baudelaire; the Divine Comedy and -"Les Fleurs du Mal" are the keynotes in the grandiose white symphony of -the French sculptor. Love and life, and bitterness and death rule the -themes of his marbles. Like Beethoven and Wagner, he breaks academic -rules, for he is Auguste Rodin, and where he magnificently achieves, -lesser men fail or fumble. His large, tumultuous music is alone for his -chisel to ring out and to sing. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - THE CAREER OF RODIN - - RODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS - - Sojourn in Belgium--"The Man Who Awakens to - Nature"--Realism and Plaster Casts. - - FLEMISH PAINTING--JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE. - - RODIN'S NOTE-BOOK - - I ANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS - - II SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS - - III PORTRAITS OF WOMEN - - IV AN ARTIST'S DAY - - V THE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC - - VI ART AND NATURE - - VII THE GOTHIC GENIUS - - - THE WORK OF RODIN - - I THE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS--INFLUENCE OF - THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF RODIN--"SAINT - JOHN THE BAPTIST" (1880)--"THE GATE OF - HELL" - - II "THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS" (1889)--RODIN AND - VICTOR HUGO--THE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898) - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - Rodin photographed on the steps of the Hotel Biron Frontispiece - Portrait of a Young Girl - La Pucelle - Minerva - Psyche - The Adieu - Rodin in His Studio at the Hotel Biron - Representation of France - The Man with the Broken Nose - Caryatid - Man Awakening to Nature - The Kiss - Bust of the Countess of W---- - The Poet and the Muse - The Thinker - Adolescence - Portrait of Rodin - Head of Minerva - The Bath - The Broken Lily - Portrait of Madame Morla Vicuñha - "La Pensée" - Hotel Biron, View from the Garden - Rodin Photographed in the Court of the Hotel Biron - Portrait of Mrs. X - Rodin in His Garden - The Poet and the Muses - The Tower of Labor - Headless Figure - Rodin's House and Studio at Meudon - The Tempest - The Village Fiancée - Metamorphosis According to Ovid - Eve - Rodin at Work in the Marble - Peristyle of the Studio at Meudon - Statue of Bastien-Lepage - Danaiade - Portrait Bust of Victor Hugo - Monument to Victor Hugo - Statue of Balzac - The Head of Balzac - The Studio at Meudon - Romeo and Juliet - Spring - Bust of Bernard Shaw - A Fête Given in Honor of Rodin by Some of His Friends. - - - -THE MAN AND HIS ART - - - - -THE CAREER OF RODIN - - -Several years have already gone by since the career of Rodin attained -its full growth. From now on, therefore, it can be envisaged as a whole, -and we can trace the formation and the unfolding of his complex talent -and disentangle the influences that have directed and sustained it. - -In the course of the chapters that follow, Rodin, with the authority, -the calm strength, and the lucidity that characterize his thought, often -speaks himself of these influences, but rather in a casual, gossipy, -reminiscent vein, reflecting his personal observations. He does not -attempt to disengage the broad lines by which he has reached the summit -of art, or to map out, so to speak, that scheme of his intellectual -development which so naturally appertains to the man who has reached the -apogee of talent and which he contemplates with the satisfaction of a -strategist face to face with the plan of the battles he has won. - -It is to living writers that he seems to address himself. Rodin to-day -can be studied like an old master, Donatello, Michelangelo, or Pierre -Puget. One perceives quite in its entirety the distinct, the rigorously -sustained plan that he has followed with unswerving will in order to -realize himself; and the witnesses, the historians of this heroic life -of the sculptor, have the advantage of being able to trace it with -exactitude, as they could not do in the case of a vanished artist. They -are able to interrogate the hero in person; they are able to consult -with Rodin himself, who is admirably intuitive and quite aware of what -he owes to certain favorable conditions of his life and above all to -his illustrious forerunners, those who have fought before him on the -battle-field of high art. - -The study of nature, of the antique, Greek and Roman, of the art of -medieval France and that of the Renaissance--these are the springs at -which he has constantly refreshed one of the most irrefutable sculptural -talents that has ever been known. These are the expressions of the -beautiful among which his profound and searching thought has traveled -unceasingly, seeking to attain to a still larger vision, a more exact -understanding of that most magnificent of all the arts, sculpture. - -The superior man is always the product of an exceptional gift and -of an energy peculiar to himself, which effectuates itself despite -circumstances. He is the highest incarnation of the spirit, of the -struggle for existence. In the case of an artist the struggle is all -the more severe, for he has nothing but himself to impose upon the -world and he has, as weapons of offense and defense, nothing but his -intelligence, the tiny substance of his brain. It is therefore only by -means of the history of his intellectual life that one can understand -him. External happenings only very slightly influence the obstinate -march of true genius toward the accomplishment of its destiny. At most -they delay it but a few hours. It forces its way through the most -difficult obstacles; it even makes use of these obstacles in order to -redouble its strength and confirm its superiority. Nothing impedes the -formidable will of those who are under the spell of beauty, those who -see truth and know it and desire to express what they see. They can no -more escape the fruition of their faculties than the giant can escape -the attainment of his full stature. - -Rodin has been one of these. Certainly he has been assisted by -circumstances, but above everything how has he not compelled -circumstances to assist him? - -What demands preëminent recognition in his case is the gift, a splendid, -a dazzling gift for the plastic arts, the realization of which has been -imposed upon him, as it were, by the command of destiny. Whence did it -come? From whom did he inherit it? From what ancestor, sensitive to the -enchantment of beauty, suffering, and in travail from the necessity of -proclaiming it, but imperfectly endowed and powerless to forge for -himself a talent in order to express the tremors of his soul? It is a -mystery. No one can tell, Rodin himself least of all. Science has not -yet taught us anything about those obscure combinations, those endless -preferences of the vital force, thanks to which a person possesses the -faculties of genius. In this, as in other things, we are unable to -divine the cause and can only marvel at the effect, the prodigy. - -Discredited to-day are the theories of Lombroso and his school, once -so warmly welcomed by mediocre minds athirst for equality, in which -great men were considered as degenerates of a superior variety, and the -most sensitive spirits qualified as candidates for the madhouse! All -one can say is that nature abhors equality, that the indwelling will -delights in raising up lofty mountain masses above the uniformity of -the plains and the valor of the chosen few above the multitude. The -function of the man of genius is, precisely, to possess in a supreme -degree the sense of inequality and to transcribe its infinite nuances -in their ever-changing, ever-moving, ever-renewed variety. He alone -perceives the diversities whose play is the law of the universe itself, -and he grasps them equally in a fragment of inanimate matter and in -the vastest aspects of the world. Far from being half mad, this unique -being, this prodigious mirror of a million facets, achieves his aim only -because he possesses far more intelligence than the most brilliant of -his contemporaries, because he is in touch with a more profound order -of things and a more comprehensive method, because he combines the -qualities of continuity in sensation and of discernment which constitute -that supreme sensibility of all the senses acting together--taste. But -it does not please ordinary mortals to believe things of this kind, -and one can easily understand how the crowd, repudiating any such -humiliating notion, are all too willing to follow the lead of exotic -pseudo-scientists and look upon great men as lunatics, considering -themselves far more rational. - -As to what Rodin himself thinks of this privilege that Providence has -conferred on him, there is no telling; he has never talked very much -about it. The fact is, he has such faith in the value of hard work and -will-power, he knows so well how extraordinarily much of these even the -most exceptional natures have to exert in order to accomplish anything, -that this privilege of divine right, otherwise just as authentic as -that which sovereigns in former times profited by, amounts to nothing -in the end but the account which he draws up in order to calculate the -sum of his efforts. "When I was quite young, as far back as I remember, -I drew," he says; "but the gift is nothing without the will to make it -worth while. The artist must have the patience of water that eats away -the rock drop by drop." Alas! will and work, Master, are also gifts; -but the supreme spirit maliciously amuses itself by leading us into -error, inspiring us with the illusion that it lies with us to acquire -them. - -Rodin's case, then, is an example of absolute predestination, assisted -by a will of iron. One must add also the happy influence of the varied -environment in which his life has been placed and the excellent artistic -education he received in the schools where he studied, an education -that was fruitful, thanks to the preservation of the true traditions of -French art, kept alive in the schools since the eighteenth century. - - -CHILDHOOD. YOUTH. FIRST STUDIES - -Auguste Rodin is the son of a Norman father and a Lorrainese mother. -Each of these two French provinces, Normandy and Lorraine, produces a -race eminently realistic, but realistic in quite different ways. - -The Lorrainer, opinionated and courageous, hardy in character, and -vigorous like his country itself, sees things clearly and precisely in -the light of a spirit that has been fashioned by the age-old struggle -between Teuton and Gaul on our eastern frontier. The things that -surround him, the aspects of his native soil, like the sullen obstinacy -of the enemy that seeks in vain to drag him away, present themselves -to his eye as a reality stripped of illusions. When one has to fight -there is no time to dream, and one must be able to estimate with -precision what one is fighting for. When the man of Lorraine utters his -feeling about the things he loves and defends, it is with a loyalty -rather dry in expression and impression, but also with a force of -consciousness that is imposing. - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG GIRL. A WORK OF RODIN'S YOUTH.] - -As for the Norman, like his country he overflows with an abundance of -life from which he derives a passionate need for the pleasures of sense. -Far from stifling in him the love of the beautiful, this appetite for -triumphant realities engenders, on the contrary, an exaltation of the -senses that leads to the most exquisite taste in the production of art. -Compounded of sensuality and mysticism, the twin characteristics of -these rich spirits, very like those of Belgium, to whom, by virtue of -ancient migrations, they are closely allied, the artists of Normandy -necessarily respond to the manifold requirements of their temperament. -We know with what a profusion of monuments, robust and imposing in -structure and miraculously clothed in the most delicate lacework of -stone, the Gothic architects of Normandy have covered not only the soil -of their province, but also, beyond the sea, that of the Two Sicilies, -strewn even to this day with beautiful cloisters and sumptuous churches -of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which the Norman Conquest -carried there. - -The child of Normandy and Lorraine was born in Paris, November 14, -1840. His father was a simple employee. He dwelt in one of the oldest -and most curious quarters of the great city, the Quartier Saint-Victor -in the fifth _arrondissement_. Rodin saw the light in the rue de -l'Arbalète. It is a little, hilly street, quite provincial in its -aspect and its quietness, that winds among the rows of old houses, some -low, as if crouched down, others narrow and high, as if they wished to -look over their shoulders at what passes below, very like a crowd of -living people. Its name, the rue de l'Arbalète, is full of suggestion -of the Middle Ages, like that of the rue des Patriarches, in which -it comes to an end, and that of the rue des Lyonnais and the rue de -l'Epée-de-Bois, which are its neighbors. It crosses the famous rue -Mouffetard near the little church of St. Médard on the last slopes of -the Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève, which has been, since the thirteenth -century, the seat of the university and the schools; below is the plain -of the Gobelins, where once the river Bièvre ran exposed. - -Even to the present day this corner of the city has not suffered -too much from the destructive changes of modernity. At the time of -the childhood of Rodin it was still virtually untouched. Crowded, -picturesque, and in certain parts dirty and squalid, like an Oriental -city, with its little interlacing streets, its countless shops, its -swarms of people given over to a thousand familiar trades carried on in -public,--open-air kitchens, fruit-stands, grocery shops, clothing shops, -and shops of ironmongers, coal-venders, and, wine-sellers,--it is an -almost perfect fragment, a human fragment, of the old Gothic Paris. - -Truly Rodin was fortunate: he was born in a chapter of Victor Hugo's -"Notre Dame de Paris." Destiny preserved the first glances of his -artist's eyes from the disenchanting banality of our modern streets. It -placed before them, as if to give them a hatred of uniformity, as if -to disgust him forever with the misdeeds of the straight line, adopted -the world over by the rank and file of contemporary architects,--those -congenitally blind and mutilated souls,--a population of houses having -a physiognomy and a soul of their own, which, with their sloping roofs, -their irregular gables, etch their amusing profiles against the sky -and seem to gossip with the birds and the clouds, putting to shame the -few regular buildings that have intruded and lost themselves amid this -congregation so touched with spirituality. - -All this Rodin saw; with a child's innocent eye, he absorbed all this -fantasy of past ages; he studied the little shops with their low -ceilings dating from the period of the gilds; he noted through the -tiny panes of their windows the Rembrandtesque effects of shadow and -golden light, in which the humblest objects live a life that is full of -intimate mystery and familiar charm. About them he saw a people full of -life, alert, awake, always in action, always in dispute, unconsciously -falling into a thousand beautiful, simple attitudes, the eternal -attitudes associated with drinking, eating, sleeping, working, and -loving. - -What admirable, powerful precepts this teaching, without effort, without -professors, without pedantry, thus forever imposed upon the memory of -the future sculptor! Yes, Rodin there enjoyed a priceless good fortune. - -As child and young man, his walks and his duties took him incessantly -past Notre Dame, the queen of cathedrals, appearing, from the heights -of Ste. Geneviève, magnificently seated on the bank of the Seine that -devotedly kisses its feet; in front of it, Ste. Etienne-du-Mont, -surrounded by convents, with its nave, that treasure of grace bequeathed -to us by the Renaissance. There also is the ancient little Roman church -of St. Julien-le-Pauvre; and St. Séverin, that sweet relic of Gothic -art, about which lies unrolled the old _quartier des truands_, with the -rues Galande de la Huchette and de la Parcheminerie, which the pick-axes -of the housebreakers are now giving over to the universal ugliness. - -The Panthéon and the buildings that surround it taught the young Rodin -that the public monuments of the style of Louis XV, although colder -and stiffer, still offer a certain grandeur by virtue of their beauty -of proportion and character. Close beside the somewhat formal solemnity -of these buildings, the Gardens of the Luxembourg that invite the -passer-by with all their tender, smiling charm, the exquisite parterre, -the elegant little pilastered palace, the Medici fountain, whose -charming statues pour out their water that murmurs beneath the branches -of the trees spread out above like a tent of lacework, taught him the -enchantment of the architectural harmonies of the Renaissance, harmonies -of chiseled stone, noble shadows, and carpeting flowers. - -Like all artists, Rodin adores the Luxembourg. More than this, he would -not for anything in the world see those statues of the queens of France -banished, those enormous stone dolls of a quality, as regards sculpture, -little calculated to satisfy lovers of rich modeling. No matter, he -loves the gray mass they make under the fragrant summits of the limes -and the hawthorns; they are part of the scenery of his youth; he remains -faithful to them as to old playthings. Was it not these that he sketched -in those first attempts of his? - -His aptitude quickly revealed itself. This man, whom ignorant critics -were to reproach one day with not knowing how to draw, handled the -pencil from his earliest childhood. - -His mother bought her provisions from a grocer in the neighborhood. The -grocer wrapped up his rice, vermicelli, and dried prunes in bags made -from cut-up illustrated papers and engravings that had been thrown away. -Rodin got hold of these bags, and they were his first models. He copied -these wretched images passionately. - -Toward the age of twelve, he was sent to Beauvais, to the house of -an uncle who undertook to bring him up. Beauvais and its unfinished -cathedral was another silent lesson, never to be forgotten--that -cathedral which is nothing but a choir, but how marvelous a choir! - -Of course at the time he did not appreciate its splendor. With the -indifference of his age, he studied its architecture and its sculpture, -which, for that matter, all his contemporaries, even the cultivated, -despised from the depth of their ignorance. That was the time when -art critics and professors of esthetics denied Gothic art without -comprehending it, the Roman school being in the ascendant in the -admiration of the public. Nevertheless, the jewel in stone did not fail -to speak in the language of beauty and truth to this predestined young -man. His sensibility registered its impressions, noted down those points -of comparison which he was to find later in the depths of his memory and -which were to enable him to judge and appreciate. Under the vault of the -majestic nave he listened to the mass, he took part in the grand, sacred -drama, whose phrases touched his imagination profoundly, sometimes -exalting it to the point of mysticism and impregnating it with the -nobility of the symbols and of the Catholic ritual tempered by eighteen -centuries of usage. - -Rodin was placed in a boarding-school. He found the scholar's life -dreary and dull; his comrades seemed to him noisy young barbarians, -absorbed in brutal and too often vicious pastimes. Certain studies were -repugnant to him, mathematics and _solfeggio_. Near-sighted, without -being aware of it, he could not make out the figures and the notes the -masters wrote on the blackboard; he understood nothing and was almost -bored to death. - -This myopia was destined to have the most vital influence on his art. -Because of his difficulty in perceiving total effects, his instinct has -only rarely led him to the composition of monuments on a very large -scale, in which the architectural construction is of nearly as great -importance as the sculpture proper. The most considerable that we owe -to him is that of "The Burghers of Calais"; and there is also "The Gate -of Hell," which, almost inexplicably, remained incomplete even in the -very hour when it was given over as finished. The great sculptor, at -the time when he turned it over to the founders, perhaps unconsciously -experienced a lapse of vision, an insurmountable fatigue of the eyes, -over-strained by the prolonged effort to grasp the ensemble of the -edifice and the harmony of the countless details of this superb -composition. - -But if he has been turned aside, by his physical constitution, from -monumental art, it has only served to concentrate him with all the -more ardor upon the minute work of modeling, for which, by a sort of -compensation, he is endowed with an eye whose penetration has had no -equal since the time of the Renaissance. - -At the age of fourteen he returned to Paris. His parents judged that the -moment had come for him to choose a career. Observing his astonishing -gifts, they decided to let him take up drawing, but, having small means, -they were unable to provide him with special masters. They entered him -at the School of Decorative Arts, another piece of good fortune. - -This school, called by abbreviation the Petite Ecole, in distinction -from the great school, that of the Beaux-Arts, is situated in the old -rue de l'Ecole de Médecine, close to the Faculté de Médecine and the -Sorbonne. It was founded in 1765, under the name of the Free School -of Design, by the painter Jean-Jacques Bachelier, a clever artist and -student of styles in art no longer practised or little known, who had -been well thought of by Madame de Pompadour, the favorite of Louis XV, -the charming and virtually official minister of fine arts during the -reign of that monarch. It was she who placed Bachelier in charge of the -_ateliers de décoration_ at the Sèvres manufactory. In creating the -Petite Ecole, the painter seemed to be following out, after the death of -his gracious protectress, the impulse she had communicated to French art -during her lifetime. - -[Illustration: LA PUCELLE.] - -Thus we see Rodin at the school of the Marquise de Pompadour, placed -once more in a _milieu_ full of originality and life. He found himself -there surrounded by a little world of beginners in every line, budding -artists; almost everybody of his generation has passed through this -course. They came there to learn to draw, paint, and model. - -In the evening the halls were filled with amateurs who, after their -day's work was over, sought to acquire a certain artistic skill as -tapestry-workers, ornament-makers, workers in iron, marble, etc. They -were energetic, turbulent, poor. Rodin, like them, was energetic and -poor, but silent, laborious, and pertinacious. He applied himself to the -copying of models of all sorts, most frequently red chalks by Boucher -and plaster casts of animals, plants, and flowers. - -The school had possessed these things since the eighteenth century and, -like almost everything that was created in that bountiful epoch, they -were very well done, composed after nature, their elegance full of warm -truth; they were models in bold _ronde-bosse_. That is to say, they -presented that quality of relief to which drawing, like sculpture, owes -its rich oppositions of light and shadow. To those who copied them they -communicated the science of relief, the fundamental basis of art, and -the living suppleness of the best periods, which has almost entirely -disappeared to-day. - -One day Rodin entered the modeling class. He worked there after the -antique. He had his first experience of working in clay; it was a -revelation, an enchantment. He fell in love with this _métier_, which -seemed to him the most seductive of all; he became obsessed with the -desire to mold this soft material himself, to search in it for the form -of things. - -His first attempts overjoyed him; he was not fifteen years old and he -had found his path! - -We see him executing a fragment; he models the head, the hands, the -arms, the legs, the feet; then he sets about the whole figure; there -is no deception; there are no insurmountable difficulties for him; he -understands at once the structure of the human body; in the phrase of -the atelier, "ses bonshommes tiennent"; the arms and the legs adjust -themselves naturally to the body: he is a born sculptor. - -Every day he arrives at the class at eight o'clock in the morning; he -works without faltering till noon, in company with five or six pupils. -At that hour they stop work; they are happy; they leave their seats and -take a turn about the model. In the evening things are different; from -seven to nine, the class is over-full; one can study the model then -only from a distance; a superficial, wretched method that is practised -on a large scale at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts and against which Rodin has -protested all his life. - -Thus we find him entered on his artistic career not as a dilettante, -as an amateur, as happens too often, but as a veritable workman. Like -General Kléber, he could long say, "My poverty has served me well; I -am attached to it." It placed him, from his childhood, in the presence -of realities. It steeped him in life itself. It safeguarded him from -the artificial education that debilitates the young middle-class -Frenchman and destroys in him the spirit of initiative and personality. -It deprived him luckily of the pleasures that rich young men too -easily offer themselves, the abuse of which renders them unsteady, -capricious, and indifferent. Rigorously held to his path by necessity, -he consecrated all his time and all his energies to study. He became -diligent, serious, and prudent. - -He had the opportunity of seeing his modeling corrected by Carpeaux. The -great sculptor, in fact, taught at the Petite Ecole. Upon his return -from Rome, he had asked for a modest post as an assistant master that -would help to assure his equally modest existence; they had granted his -request, but without seeking to give him anything more! His young pupils -scarcely understood his high worth, the substantial and delicate grace -of his talent, his voluptuous elegance, inherited from the eighteenth -century and united with a certain nervous seductiveness that was -altogether modern, a certain palpitating quality of the soul and of the -flesh that had not been known before, manifesting itself through the -ductility of his modeling. But instinctively they admired him; they -marveled, among other things, at the precision and the rapidity of the -corrections the master executed under their eyes. Later, when experience -had come to him, Rodin greatly honored Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux; he was -one of those for whom the appearance of the famous group "The Dance," -in the parvis of the Opéra, was a veritable event. At that moment he -discovered again in himself the influence of this beautiful spirit which -had been slumbering in him since he left the Petite Ecole; then he -became almost the disciple of Carpeaux. I know a figure of a bacchante -of Rodin's, a marble that is almost unknown, the flesh of which is so -supple and so light that one would say it was molded of wheat and honey -and the work of the sculptor of "The Dance." There floats also in its -countenance that spirituality, that expression as of a sort of angelic -malice which Carpeaux seems to have borrowed occasionally from the -figures of Leonardo da Vinci. - -[Illustration: MINERVA.] - -When the clocks of the Sorbonne quarter struck noon, Rodin left the -Petite Ecole; he walked to the Louvre, eating, as he went, a roll -and a cake of chocolate which was all he had for lunch. He sketched -the antiques. From there he went on to the Galerie des Estampes at -the Bibliothèque Nationale, where they loaned out, without any too -much good will, misplaced as that is with students, the albums of -plates after Michelangelo and Raphael and the great illustrated work, -"L'Histoire de Costume Romain." Because of this miserliness of theirs, -he did not always obtain the volumes he wished for, which were reserved -for habitués who were better known. This did not prevent him from -becoming initiated into the science of draperies. He executed hundreds -of sketches from memory, at last developing in himself the faculty of -remembering forms. From the rue de Richelieu, always on foot, he would -repair to the Gobelin manufactory. There each day, from five to eight -o'clock, he followed the course in design. Placed before nature itself, -before the nude, he absorbed more excellent principles. The teaching of -the eighteenth century was practised there also, and his work became -permanently impregnated by it. - -In the morning, at daybreak, before going to the Petite Ecole, he found -the time to walk to an old painter's he knew, where he kept a number of -canvases going. In the evening he made careful copies of the sketches -he had jotted down at noon in the galleries of the Louvre and the -Bibliothèque. He drew far into the night; he drew even during supper, -at the frugal board of his family, surrounded by his father, his mother, -and his young sister, bending over his paper utterly regardless of his -health, a course of things that soon brought on gastric disorders from -which he suffered cruelly. In short, he toiled incessantly, ardent and -patient, obstinate, and full of self-confidence. - -Assuredly he never in the world imagined that he was to become in time -one of the most illustrious representatives of the French art of the -nineteenth century, that he was to be the equal in renown of celebrities -like Lamartine, Alfred de Musset, or Michelet whom he saw occasionally -in the Luxembourg Gardens, without even daring to bow to them; but he -possessed a fixed and a precise idea of what was required to be a good -sculptor and the resolution to realize it. Little did he care how long -it would take, how tardy success might prove, how slow fortune might be -in coming; little did he care for obstacles, even for misery. He was -going the right way, unhesitating, untroubled, not compromising with -himself or with anybody. He possessed the irresistible will of a force. - -I have had occasion to examine one of the note-books of Rodin's youth. -It is quite filled with sketches after engravings from the antique, -animals or human figures. The drawing is strangely compact, wilful, -for the boy of sixteen or seventeen that he was then. Already, in its -accumulation of strokes and hatchings which, during an entire period -of his artistic development, render the drawing of Rodin restless and -personal like a piece of writing, it exhibits an obstinate search for -relief, it speaks to us like hieroglyphics, revealing the power of his -grasp. His progress was rapid. At seventeen, he finished his first -studies. The moment came for him to pass from the school of decorative -arts to that of the Beaux-Arts and to prepare himself, like his -companions, for the examinations and for the competition for the _prix -de Rome_, the famous _prix de Rome_ that seemed to Rodin, inexperienced -student as he was, the crown of the most rigorous artistic studies. - - - - -RODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS - - -Rodin presented himself at an examination for entrance into the Ecole -des Beaux-Arts. He was rejected. He presented himself a second time, but -with the same result. What was the reason for it? Neither he nor his -fellow-students could discover. They used to form a circle about him -when he worked. They admired the keenness and precision of his glance, -the already astonishing skill of his hand. They told him that he would -be accepted. He failed a third time. Finally a fellow-student who was -shrewder than the others gave the solution of the enigma. It requires a -somewhat long explanation. - -The great school is under the direction of the members of the Academy -of Fine Arts. These professors correct the work of the students, set -the examinations, and award the prizes. They are recruited from members -of the society, are, in short, the representatives of official, or -conservative, art. Official art is a product of the Revolution of 1789. -Up to that time there were not two kinds of art in France. At the most, -until the time of Louis XIV only one secession disported itself under -the influence of Lebrun, painter to the king. Art was a unit, and its -divine florescence spread from France over all Europe. The church, -the kings, and their court of great lords and cultivated ladies were -the protectors and, indeed, the inspirers, of that flowering of beauty -that had grown from the time of the first Capets, indeed from the time -of the Merovingians, down to the end of the eighteenth century. The -First Empire marked in effect the beginning of the artistic decadence -of Europe and, one may say, of the world. Artists at that time divided -themselves into two camps, the conservatives, with, at their head, -David and his school, who pictured an art of convention and approved -formulas, and the independents, who continued, although in a somewhat -revolutionary and extravagant spirit, the true traditions of French art. -Among those fine rebellious men of talent of the first order were Rude, -Barye, and Carpeaux in sculpture, and Baron Gros, Eugène Delacroix, -Courbet, and Manet in painting. - -[Illustration: PSYCHE.] - -By a singular contradiction, Louis David was as baneful a theorist as -he was a great painter and, above all, an excellent draftsman. That -explains itself. The quality of his drawing he owed to the eighteenth -century, in which he had appeared and a pupil of which he was; but he -derived his esthetic doctrine from the Revolution, which made use of -the same sectarian zeal to obtain the triumph of certain false ideas -that it used to advance the right principles that were its glory. -Through one, David produced works of great worth and some admirable -portraits; through the other, he wrought great havoc among artists. -The world was, moreover, well disposed to submit to these principles. -When art restricts itself to repeating attitudes, gestures, approved -receipts, without having studied or observed them in nature in her -constant changes, it means decadence. If David was able to have his -theories accepted, it was because the time was ripe to receive them, to -be contented with them; and to say that the time was ripe is only to say -that it was a degenerate time, satisfied to be relieved of the task of -reflecting, of discovering for itself the laws of beauty, or, in short, -of working from the foundation. - -Official painter of the Revolution and the Empire, Louis David -proclaimed his doctrine with the authority of a pontiff. He made a set -of narrow rules which advocated a superficial imitation of the antique, -a copying of the works of Greece and Rome, not in spirit, but in letter; -not in that accurate knowledge of construction and of the model, which -made up their supreme worth, but in their conventional attitudes and -expressions. - -Even from beyond the grave David continued to rule the academy of -the Beaux-Arts in the name of the artificial idealism which he had -proclaimed, and whoever rejected his sorry instruction saw himself -without mercy shown to the door of the national schools arid academies. -They had shown the door to Rude, the author of the masterpiece of the -Arc de Triomphe, "The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792." They had -shown it to the unhappy Carpeaux, treated all his life as a heretic and -persecuted by the official class, defenders of the so-called heroic -achievements and stereotyped forms. They went to every extreme in -their contest with free and determined genius. As a last resort they -employed every weapon of treachery against the undisciplined great, -those fallen angels of the false paradise of the Institute--weapons that -later they did not scruple to use against Rodin. They accused Carpeaux -of indecency, and in order to strengthen the miserable falsehood, a -perverse idiot flung a can of ink on the adorable group of "The Dance," -that song of the nymphs, clamorous with youth, laughter, and music. - -This digression in the story of Rodin's life explains his whole life. By -his manly independence, his persistent refusal to follow the dictates -of the school, he naturally found himself placed at the head of those -who antagonized the official class. Against an opponent of his strength -and obstinacy the struggle naturally took on new energy. It recalled -to mind the violence of the famous intellectual quarrels of other days ---the quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns in the seventeenth and -eighteenth centuries, and that of the Classicists and the Romanticists -in 1830. - -When Rodin presented himself at the great school, how, in his -inexperience, could he foresee the war of wild beasts that rages in -the thickets of art? It needed indeed a better-informed comrade to -disclose the situation to him. Then his eyes were opened. He understood -then that he would only be wasting his time in striving to force the -bronze doors that are closed against the influences of great nature and -her triumphant light, the implacable denouncer of the false in art. -Perceiving it at last, he renounced the thought of entering the school. -Later he gloried, in the fact that he had done so. Possibly he saw -the danger that he would have run of parching his spirit and chilling -his eye. "Ah," his friend, the sculptor Dalou, exclaimed long after, -"Rodin had the luck not to have been at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts!" Dalou -himself had not had that luck, and despite beautiful gifts and love for -the eighteenth century, he had not recovered from the false teaching. - -Rodin, then, without knowing it, had fought his first battle, the slight -skirmish to the incessant fight that was to open. After that time the -name Institute, by which he understood the group of protagonists of a -bad form of art, took in his speech a formidable meaning. When he says, -"The Institute," he seems to call up some mythological monster, the -hydra of a hundred heads, from the malignant wounds of which the brave -usually die slowly. For him the Institute has come to mean a company of -able men who substitute dexterity for conscience, who, for long toil in -obscurity and poverty, substitute a premature eagerness for all that it -may bring--profitable relations, orders from the state, fortune, and -honors. In his opinion all that ought to come slowly in order not to -distract the artist from the study that alone can give him strength. -To him the rewards are secondary; true happiness lies in untrammeled -and passionate toil, in the exercise of growing intelligence that is -determined not to be stopped on the road to discovery. - -[Illustration: THE ADIEU.] - -Although the struggle is less clamorous to-day, it has not ended, -and it never will be ended, despite the wide fame of the master, now -known throughout the world as the greatest living artist. This Rodin -understands. What the contestants now seek to conquer is the public, -some for the purpose of obtaining from it consideration and profit, and -others an appreciation of true art. One class strives to flatter its -taste, which is bad; the other seeks to inculcate a knowledge of true -art in its own work. At the outset the contest is frightfully unequal, -for the ignorance of the public is abysmal. Incapable of discerning true -beauty, it relies only on the labels placed by the Institute on its own -works and on those of its partizans. They say to a man, "This is the -sort of thing that should be admired," and straightway he admires it, -if one can apply this expression of the highest pleasure of the spirit -to the vapid and dull contemplation that the public accords to the works -marked for its approval. No, at best the public does not know how to -admire; it does not understand the language of beauty. - -At eighteen or nineteen, Rodin, being wholly without fortune, could not -continue his studies without quickly finding some means of support. It -was therefore necessary for him to earn his own living, and at once -he bravely entered upon his work as an ornament-maker, and became a -journeyman at a few francs a week. We need not regret it. This son of -the people, by remaining in the ranks of the working-class, consolidated -in himself the virtues of the class--their courage and industry, which -are the strong qualities of the humble, and, in the aggregate, those -of the whole nation. And the curiosity of a superior man for all the -rewards of the exercise of his intelligence led him to cultivate himself -unceasingly. His limited studies as a school-boy had not been extensive -enough to surfeit him; he now brought to the study of letters a mind -keenly alert, and with a joy as alive as love itself he devoted himself -to a study of great minds. He read the poets and the historians; he -became acquainted with the Greece of Homer and Æschylus, the Italy -of Dante, the England of Shakspere, and the France of Jean-Jacques -Rousseau; but up to that time he had concerned himself with only one -thing--his trade. He worked as a real artisan, with no wider vision, -with no thought of formidable power. He saw only his model and his -clay; he thought only of these, he loved only these. Thus he had become -a journeyman ornament-worker in clay. That did not prevent him from -perfecting himself in sculpture. On the contrary, it aided him. - -The art of ornamentation was then considered, as it is still to-day, an -inferior art. People said, still say, of the sculpture of architecture, -as of the frescos and mosaic work of a building, that it is only -decoration. They declare it in a tone of indulgence that finds an excuse -for any mediocrity. - -All this is a profound mistake. Sculptured ornament springs naturally -from architecture; it is the flowering of its fundamental elements. It -is an inherent part of the whole, as the mass of flowers and foliage -that crowns a tree is in a way the culminating point of the whole -vegetable organism. Ornament demands the same qualities that the -fundamental architectural structure demands, and fully as much talent -and perhaps even more; because, as Rodin says, one sees in it more -clearly, without distracting features, the form of genius. If it is not -well done in itself, its function, which is rigorously subordinated -to the whole, and consists in molding the contours of the structure -by underlining and marking them off, is reversed. It is then only -an excrescence, an arbitrary addition. Only mediocre artisans, when -employed on a building or a jewel, use ornament capriciously, without -proportioning and subordinating it to the mass; they weary and disgust -the beholder. - -Rodin and his companions did not content themselves with copying, and -more or less distorting, their Greek, Roman, and Renaissance models, -which were repeated to satiety in all the workshops of the world, -and done over and over again so many times, out of place and out -of proportion, that they had lost all significance. Their employer -possessed a beautiful, but neglected, garden, where a profusion of -plants ran riot. Here were models in abundance. Here, in reproducing -these, the young craftsmen refreshed their vocation; they copied their -ornaments from nature; they studied foliage and flowers from life. -To do new work, they had only to borrow from the vegetable world its -inexhaustible combinations of beauty. - -Here Rodin, by his cleverness and rapidity, became without a peer among -them all, and drew to himself the admiration of his fellow-workers. It -was here that he met Constant Simon, his elder by many years, who was -the first man to teach him to model in profile. It was one of the great -epochs in his life. One may say that from that time the two great -laws that have given his sculpture its power--the study of nature and -the right method of modeling--passed into his blood, as it were. The -secret that Simon imparted to him was like a philter that inflamed his -soul with enthusiasm. He became intoxicated with the idea of seeing -clearly and of holding his hand strictly accountable to what his eyes -disclosed. And he possessed, too, both youth and an indefatigable vigor. -He sketched everything he could, wherever he could. One saw him making -sketches on the street, in the horse-market, jostled by the beasts, -repulsed by men, yet indifferent to all difficulties in his enchantment -in his discovered prize, at the Jardin des Plantes, where he passed -hours before the cages and in the parks, studying the poses of the deer -and the grace of the moving antelopes. - -[Illustration: RODIN IN HIS STUDIO AT THE HOTEL BIRON.] - -At that period Barye taught at the Museum. Rodin had become acquainted -with the son of the celebrated sculptor. The two had discovered a corner -of the basement, a sort of cave, damp and gloomy, where they installed -some seats made of old boxes and delighted themselves in modeling -from clay. From the Museum they borrowed a few anatomical specimens, -fragments of the parts of animals, and these they carried to their -cavern and pored over in their efforts to copy them. Sometimes Barye -himself would come to cast his eye over their work and give them a word -of advice, and then would go away, buried in a silent reverie. He was -a man of simple habits, with the appearance of a college tutor, in his -well-worn coat, but giving an impressive suggestion of great force and -worth. His son and Rodin little understood him; they feared him somewhat -and only half profited by his suggestions. Later the author of "The -Burghers of Calais," kindled by the genius of the gloomy, severe man -whom he had misunderstood, felt a deep remorse at not having rendered to -Barye, while living, the homage of admiration which the master merited, -and which perhaps would have been sweet to his solitary heart. - -Rodin has had only rarely the chance to model animals. He has never -received an order for an equestrian statue, and he has regretted it. We -have from him only one small rough model of a statue of General Lynch -on horseback, which was never executed, and the beautiful relief of the -chariot of Apollo which forms the pedestal of the monument of Claude -Lorrain at Nancy. But though he has not modeled animals, he has many -times sketched them, and he has studied profoundly their anatomy and -poses. - -It is not so much in the powerful sketches that all his life he has -continued to make with the same daily care with which a pianist -practises his scales that Rodin shows the chief characteristic of his -nature, as it is in accumulating these that he has been enabled to -understand relationship between different forms, and to establish the -unity between the forms of man and the animals, between the mountains -and the vegetable world. It is by understanding this unity that he -can occasionally interpret with a scientific exactness this common -relationship. In modeling a centaur or the chimera or a spirit with -powerful wings, the mythological creature that appears from his hands -does not appear less a transcript from reality than each bust or each -statue that has been vigorously wrought from the living model. There is -no weakening in the points where the bust of the man or of the woman -attaches itself to the body of the animal, no doubt that the beautiful, -strong wings of the angels are as perfectly united to their bodies and -are as necessary as their arms or legs. - -When about twenty-two or twenty-three Rodin entered the atelier of -Carrier-Belleuse. At that time the vogue of this charming artist was -great. He well represented the spirit and workmanship of the eighteenth -century in the knickknack art of the Second Empire. He was a Clodion -of the boulevard. Besides the spirited busts, some of which, like -those of Ernest Renan, Jules Simon, and the actress Marie Laurent, -were celebrated, he sent out from his atelier, in the rue de la Tour -d'Auvergne at Montmartre, hundreds of designs to be used in industrial -art: mantelpieces, centerpieces for tables, vases, ornamental clocks, -and decorative figures and groups. Rodin, then, applied himself to -executing for Carrier-Belleuse a variety of statuettes and figures. -There was in the task a great danger, for he saw the risk of limiting -himself to a facile use of his art that was both remunerative and -attractive; but his sturdy Northern temperament was able to protect him -against every danger, whether of success or poverty. - -Carrier had an astonishing skill, and not only worked without a model, -but compelled his employees to work without one. His rough sketches were -admirable, but he weakened in working them out. Rodin never trifled with -his art. Before going to the atelier he always took care to study his -subject in the nude and to fix it in his memory as firmly as possible. -As soon as he reached his bench he transferred to the clay the result -of his remembered observations. On returning to his home in the evening -he consulted his model anew in order to correct his work of the day. It -was for him an excellent exercise of memory. The true workman is quick -to turn to advantage all the inconveniences of a situation. I have heard -Rodin relate that often in the course of a quarrel with a friend or a -relative he would completely forget the subject of the contention and -the anger of his opponent in his absorption, from the point of view of -a sculptor, in the play of the muscles and their influence on the -expression of the face of the angry speaker. - -[Illustration: REPRESENTATION OF FRANCE--IN THE MONUMENT TO CHAMPLAIN.] - -Rodin remained about five years with Carrier-Belleuse. What works his -active hands accomplished there in a day! One still finds them in the -shops of the sellers of bronzes, in the shops of the dealers of the -Marais and the Faubourg St. Antoine. Certainly hundreds of examples were -brought there, to the great profit of tradesmen, but to the injury of -the artist; for he drew from them only such wages as the least competent -workers are to-day content with. - -One may see in the gallery of Mrs. ---- of New York certain little -terra-cotta busts which date from that period. They represent pretty -Parisian women in hats, whose wild locks veil glances full of spirit and -roguishness. Creatures of youth and frivolity, they are sisters of the -elegant ladies that Alfred Stevens drew with his delightful brush, and -which were the charm of Paris under Napoleon III. Who could believe that -they had sprung from the hands of Rodin, the austere creator of "The -Burghers of Calais" and of the "Victor Hugo"? - -But before becoming the audaciously personal genius that he now is, -he was subjected to the most varied influences--influences that have -been felt by the modern sculptors with whom he has worked and those -that guided the old masters. He has none the less shielded himself -from the world. He declares indeed, with the authority that permits the -freedom, that originality signifies nothing; that that which counts is -the quality of the intrinsic sculpture; that if the temperament of the -artist is truly steadfast, he always finds himself after the necessary -study; and finally that it is of little importance whether a statue -bears the name of Praxiteles or that of one of his pupils. The essential -thing is that it is well done, that it appears in a great epoch. -Anonymous, it proclaims none the less to the eyes of the man of taste -the signature of genius. - -In order to live Rodin applied himself to the most varied occupations; -thus he gained the liberty to labor at his own work for a few hours. -He chipped at stone and marble for the benefit of sculpture to-day -unknown, but then in vogue; he made sketches for trinkets for certain -fashionable jewelers, and fashioned objects of decorative art ordered of -him by manufacturers. Despite a considerable loss of time, he obtained -thus a true apprenticeship in art wholly like that which in earlier days -was obtained by Ghiberti, Donatello, and most of the great artists of, -the Renaissance, who were proud to be good artisans before they were -accounted great sculptors. - -Thus finally he was enabled to realize his first dream--to have an -atelier of his own. His atelier! It was a stable, at a rental of -twenty-four dollars a year, in the rue Lebrun, in the quarter of the -Gobelins, near which he was born. It was a cold hovel, a cave indeed, -with a well sunk in an angle of one wall that at every season exhaled -its chilling breath. It did not matter. The place was sufficiently -large and well lighted. The artist, young and strong, and as happy as -possible in his stable, felt his talent increasing. There he accumulated -a quantity of studies and works until the place was so crowded that he -could scarcely turn himself about; but being too poor to have them cast, -he lost the greater part of them. Every day he spent hours moistening -the cloths that enveloped them, yet not without suffering frightful -disasters. Sometimes the clay, through being too soft, would settle and -fall asunder; sometimes it would become dry, crack, and crumble. One -day, in moving, the great figure of a bacchante that had been tenderly -molded for months was seized by the rough hands of the furniture-movers, -and broke, crashing to the ground. What lost efforts! What destroyed -beauty! Even to-day when the artist speaks of it his heart bleeds anew. - -At that time he carried about the ateliers of Paris a design to which he -gave the name of "The Man with the Broken Nose." Struck by the curious -face of an old shepherd, flat-nosed, with every appearance of a slave -that had been crushed under heel, Rodin made a bust of the man and -strove to portray the energy and imposing simplicity that had astonished -him in the antique busts and the statue of "The Knife-Grinder" that he -had seen in the galleries of the Louvre. The solidity of the design, -the patience shown in the composition, and the strength of the details -coöperated in producing an admirable whole. The wrinkles of the -forehead, the creased eyelids, the deep furrows of the face converged -toward the base of the broken nose in an expression of old age and -hardship, presenting an admirable head of a Thessalian shepherd. Alas! -one frosty day the clay contracted, and the skull of "The Man with -the Broken Nose" fell to the ground, leaving only the face. Rodin did -not make over the composition. Too honest to restore the skull by -approximation, he contented himself with modeling the face, to-day -become famous. - -He cast it in plaster, and sent it to the Salon of 1864. There it -was rejected. Thus the opposition that had closed the door of the -Beaux-Arts against him was renewed at his first attempt to take rank -among contemporary artists. The reason was the same; it will always -and invariably be the same: this sculptor of the naked truth, this -fervent lover of nature, offends, shocks, and wounds the majority of -the followers of formulas, the imitators of the past, the makers of -smooth and pretty wares, things without conscience or significance. The -artist remains alone with his deception. The day has not yet come -when enlightened amateurs can understand in which school true talent -is to be found, when they are able to renounce the moldings on nature, -the theatrical postures, the irritating silliness of figures a thousand -times repeated. - -[Illustration: THE MAN WITH THE BROKEN NOSE.] - -They will some day learn to perceive truth, observation, strength, and -grace. When that day comes they will throw out of the window all the -trumpery art of which they will have become tired, in order to collect -that of Rude, Barye, Carpeaux, Rodin, Jules Desbois, Camille Claudel, -those glories of the nineteenth century. - -The year of the Salon of 1864 may serve to close the first period of -Rodin's career. It is difficult, indeed impossible, to place between -fixed dates the events of a life that has been an example of uniform -continuity; but nevertheless it is permitted to one to say that the year -1864 marks the end of the first youth of the master. His preliminary -studies, those which one may call the studies of his mere profession, -were ended. He was then at the beginning of larger studies; he was -about to visit Belgium, Italy, and France; he was about to come face -to face with the most varied geniuses and examine their work. He was -about to question them rigorously, to demand of them their technical -methods. He was also about to exalt himself in the presence of these -immortal thoughts, to become intoxicated with the desire to equal them -in science and greatness. From that time on he approached them as a -disciple, as a man who had already thought much and comprehended much, -and who was worthy to study them and follow in their footsteps: in a -word, as an artist of their own lineage. - - - - -SOJOURN IN BELGIUM--"THE MAN WHO AWAKENS TO NATURE"--REALISM AND -PLASTER CASTS - - -Rodin worked under Carrier-Belleuse from 1865 to 1870. He remained -in Paris during the Franco-German War. What influence did this event -have upon him? He has said little about it. Although he has a strong -attachment for his native land, he has none of the extravagant -patriotism of a Rude, whose great soul was caught up in the flames of -the national epopee. Rodin has too contemplative a temperament; he is -too devoted to reflective work to allow himself to be long disturbed by -external facts, even the gravest. - -At the signing of the peace, he went to Belgium, drawn by the promise of -work in decorative art. He remained there five years, staying first in -Brussels, then in Antwerp. - -This period of his life left with him a delightful memory. He was poor -and unknown, but full of the vigor of youth, and free in how splendid a -freedom! He had all his time to himself, without any of those thousand -obligations that eat up the days of a celebrated man and break down his -ardor. - -Life in Belgium was at that time simple, easy-going, family-like. Many -small pleasures made it attractive; the cleanliness of the streets and -the houses was a constant delight to the eye; the bread, the beer, the -coffee were excellent and cost almost nothing. On Sundays bands of -children, fair-haired, robust, healthy, dressed in aprons very white -and very well starched, ran about laughing and singing; the women went -to church; the men assembled in the sanded gardens of the public houses -to play at ball, sipping glasses of _faro_ and _lambic_. The whole -scene was full of the charm of intimacy and happiness which for the -artist served as a sort of frame, so to say, for the old pictures. The -works of the Flemish painters are so impressive in all their power, -in the splendor of their fresh coloring and their gem-like finish, -that Brussels, Ghent, Bruges, Antwerp, Mechlin seem to have been built -and decorated by the Brueghels, the Jan Steens, the Tenierses, whose -dazzling canvases strike one almost as if they had been the plans for -the construction of these queenly cities instead of being simply mirrors -of them. As for nature, its grandeur and its nobility are disconcerting -in such a little country. - -Rodin rented a modest room in the chaussée de Brendael, in one of -the quarters of the capital quite close to the Bois de la Cambre. -He worked there during the whole of the day; his young wife did the -housework, went out marketing, sewed beside him, posed for him, -helped him to moisten his clay, made herself, as she said proudly, his -_garçon d'atelier_. He modeled caryatids for the Palais de la Bourse at -Brussels; for the Palais des Académies he made a frieze representing -children and the attributes of the arts and sciences; he was charged -also with the execution of decorative pieces for different municipal -buildings of the city of Antwerp. Nowadays the Belgians display with -pride these works, in which, without flattering them, one can recognize -the touch of a future master. - -Intent as he was upon his modeling work, Rodin did not abandon drawing; -he added to it landscape-painting in oils. The Brabant country-side -is one of the most beautiful in Europe. The Forest of Soigne, which -surrounds Brussels, is full of the lofty trees of the Northern -countries, splendid beeches, healthy as the bodies of athletes, reaching -up into the sky like columns of light bronze, planted in regular rows, -giving the impression of an immense and solemn temple. Narrow avenues, -alleys, pierce the long naves; one's soul seems to glide lingeringly -along these shadowy paths drawn on to the end by the far-away glimmer -like stained glass. The light that falls from above through the -tree-tops slips down the long green trunks, gray or silvery, bringing -with it a touch of the sky. There is no exuberant vegetation, none -of that undergrowth trembling with delicate little leaves, such as -that which makes the spiritual grace of the Ile-de-France, arranged -for the frolic of nymphs and fawns. This is the Gothic forest, the -tree-cathedral, a fitting place for the miracles of Christianity and -the devout walk of solitaries. Rodin fell in love with this forest. His -grave soul, his youth, which knew nothing of frivolity, found itself -here. His nature, so full of self-contained enthusiasm and the profound -and slowly moved spirit of admiration, not yet capable of expressing -itself, found its true element under the protection of these age-old -beeches. But one corner enchanted him, a verdurous hollow filled with -running water that breaks the austerity of the wood, the valley of -Groenendael. There the majestic colonnade of trunks opens out, with the -condescension of giants, before the caprices of an undulating glade. It -is covered with a down of grass, like an immense green cloud, always -pure, always fresh, which spring and autumn embroider with delicate -shoots of a multitude of flowers, like the tapestries of the Flemish -masters. Little ponds shyly spread out their mirrors, full of the sky, -full of reflections. An old low-built house, entirely white, speaks -of security, of calm shelter, of good nourishment, in the midst of -this verdurous solitude, where one hears only the song of the birds -and where squirrels cross in their flight like sudden flames. The -valley of Groenendael is far enough away from Brussels to be almost -always deserted and silent. It was the site the famous Brabançon -mystic, Ruysbroeck the Admirable, chose in the fourteenth century for -a monastery. At that time the Forest of Soigne sheltered no less than -eleven monastic houses in its fragrant, shadowy depths. At the north of -the valley the ground rises and the path leads one to the modest chapel -of Notre Dame de Bonne-Odeur. - -At this period Rodin certainly knew nothing of the great contemplatives -of the fourteenth century or of this same Ruysbroeck whom later a -glorious compatriot, Maurice Maeterlinck, kinsman by election of the -hermit, was to translate and interpret; but in the peaceful glade, the -vallon vert, as under the vaults of the great forest, the soul of the -sculptor rejoined those of the old monks who perhaps still wander there -at times; it shared with them the religion of this beauty which their -dumb love of nature had come thither to seek. - -At dawn he would start out, loaded down with his box of colors. -His companion followed him, proud to carry part of the artist's -paraphernalia. He was on his way to make sketches, to take notes of the -landscape, to jot down his impressions; but often the day passed without -his touching his brushes. It was not indifference or indolence on the -part of this great worker, but simply that he had not the strength to -interrupt his delightful contemplations. Time lost? In the case of -another, perhaps. Not for him. His excursion had no immediate result; -that was all: but how he would observe, how he would compare, how he -would reflect! He was initiating himself in the sense of proportion, -grandeur of style, and the nobility of simplicity. He was studying the -laws of the light and shade distributed by the columns the true work of -the architect. It was no longer school lessons that he was prosecuting -here; it was the mighty exercise of personal talent, the ripening of -his taste that was taking place, thanks to the technical knowledge he -already possessed. The sense of the eternal laws comes only to those who -can contrail them through long experience. - -Later, when the time came for Rodin to visit the cathedrals, he was to -understand better than any other this art which has sprung from the -forests of France, engendered by their mysterious grandeur, once full of -terrors and marvels. The benefit which he derived immediately from his -acquaintance with Belgium was the experience of those intellectual joys -and that happiness which await any one who is serious, loyal, reverent -in the presence of the divine work that offers itself as an object of -study to the assiduous. - -Another besides himself had already received this teaching of nature in -exactly this place. Rude, whom the Bourbons had exiled on their return -to France because of his worship of Napoleon, passed several years in -Brussels and executed there a number of works, among others the famous -bas-reliefs of the Château de Tervueren, since destroyed by fire; "La -Chasse de Méléagre," of which the authorities of the Belgian department -of fine arts were fortunately able to take casts. On his way between -Brussels and Tervueren, Rude went every day several leagues on foot, -crossing the Forest of Soignes, where he, too, endeavored to forget the -lessons of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, on the benches of which he had, -according to his own confession, lost many years. - -[Illustration: CARYATID--TAKEN AT MEUDON IN RODIN'S GARDEN.] - -In addition to these works of decorative art, Rodin executed a number -of busts and sketches. He even found time to make a large figure -modeled after his wife, a figure draped like a Gothic statue, which -he worked over lovingly. It had the same disastrous fate as that -which befell the other one at Paris, and for the same reason; poverty -prevented the artist from having a cast taken of his work in time: like -the "Bacchante," it was completely destroyed. Despite this loss, the -sculptor was not discouraged; work for him was a happiness which was -begun anew each day; he at once began on another subject. This time he -took for his model a young man whose acquaintance he had made and who -willingly consented to pose for him. - -This young man was not a model by trade, spoiled by the conventional -attitudes which the Parisian sculptors impose on professionals. He -was a soldier, living in barracks near Rodin's house. As soon as the -sculptor saw, disengaging itself from the clothes, the graceful figure -of this boy of twenty-five who was not aware of his beauty and did -quite simply whatever his companion asked him, he promised himself -not to abandon this work before he had carried it as far as his skill -permitted him to go. His model disposed himself in simple attitudes, -which were not vitiated by any pretentious forethoughts. One day he came -toward him, his arms upraised, his head thrown back, with an air of -youthfully voluptuous lassitude that filled the artist with enthusiasm. -One would have said that he was a young hero staggering under the -shock of a wound. And Rodin set himself to execute the statue of the -wounded hero. But nature lends itself to infinite interpretations. -The sense of an attitude that is well rendered creates of itself more -comprehensive ideas. When we contemplate one who is wounded or ill, -obscure impressions agitate our spirit, impelling it toward ideas -higher than those of wounds and illness. It skirts the frontiers of -death, the enigma of annihilation or of the world to come, and all -those unformulated sentiments, which in their confused flight haunt -the profound regions of the soul. Before his beautiful model Rodin -experienced these emotions and transcribed them upon his sculpture. In -its unblemished nudity, it bears the sign of no one epoch; it is the -eternal man touched in his innermost sensibility by something of which -he knows not the cause. Is it his soul, is it his flesh that trembles? -One does not know. No knowledge comes without suffering. Rodin, aware -immediately of this effect of transposition, in the delicious surprise -of the artist who sometimes sees himself surpassed by his own work, -christened the statue, "The Man of the Age of Bronze," that is to say, -one who is passing from the unconsciousness of primitive man into the -age of understanding and of love. A few years later he gave it this -still happier final name, "The Man who Awakens to Nature." - -He worked over it eighteen months. There is no part of this harmonious -figure that has not been passionately thought out. He had to render, -beneath the supple covering of the skin, those firm, fine muscles which -possess the elasticity of youth and its sobriety. In giving the sense -of the presence of these things, one creates the illusion of their -activity. This is the secret of great sculpture and of all the arts, to -evoke that which we do not see by the quality of that which we do see. -"Carefully examine the Venus de Medici," Rude used to advise his pupils, -"and under the polish of the skin you will see the whole muscular system -appear." - -Rodin did not spare either his own strength or that of his model. An -implacable goddess led him on, his conscience. He did not content -himself with rendering only the masses that his direct vision gave him. -In this way he would have possessed only two dimensions, the length and -width of the human body. He needed the exact relief of masses, which -is the basis of _ronde-bosse_, of "cubic sculpture." He studied his -profiles not only from below, but from above. He mounted a painting -ladder and looked down over his model; he measured the surface of the -skull, which, seen from above, has an ovoid form; he took and compared -with his clay model the dimensions of the shoulders, the chest, the -hips, the feet as they appeared with the floor as a background. He -observed the points where the arm muscles were inserted, and those of -the thighs and the legs. How, after such a rigorously minute process -of noting his masses, could his work be flat? That became impossible. -But the geometric labor, the taking of measurements, was not all. The -next question was to reassemble the different profiles by careful -transcription. There is an entire school of conscientious sculptors who -believe that they can obtain reality by the simple method of making -identical points correspond. They multiply the measurements taken from -the model with the aid of a plumb-line and a compass; it is only a -mechanical process which does not even give good practical effects. To -unify the manifold surface of the human body, to endow the whole with -the suppleness of life, with its harmonious continuity and poise, -the personal judgment of the artist must unceasingly intervene. His -own special taste is supremely what adjusts the elements which are -waiting to be unified by him in order to take on animation and to live -one beside another. It is during this last effort that the expression, -summoned up by the truth of the ensemble, comes almost of itself to -the fingers of the sculptor. If the preceding principles have not been -scrupulously observed, it seems to refuse to come; it is the reward -only of conscience joined with intelligence; it is the fruit of this -indissoluble union that works in the spirit of the true artist. The true -expression is that to which we give the indefinable name of poetry. - -[Illustration: MAN AWAKENING TO NATURE.] - -Since the creation of "The Man who Awakens to Nature," in which during -two years he had eagerly sought it, this became the characteristic -of Rodin's talent. He had conquered it for all time; and so while -his insatiable will applies itself with no less energy to other -researches, that of movement, of character, of lighting, and sometimes -over-emphasizes them, the work that comes from his hand may appear -strange, excessive; it will never be mediocre, never indifferent. - -And now let us glance at the image of this young man, this proud, -unblemished human plant. All we have just been saying is forgotten in -the force of our impression. The most powerful impression, first of -all, is indolence. It is absorbed in itself; it exhausts like a great -draught of life the veins of those who respond to it. Hence the silence, -the long, dumb contemplation, the sense of incertitude one experiences -in the presence of its beauty. It is not to our spirit that it first -addresses itself. Its voluptuousness, whencesoever come, enchants our -senses; then the intellect demands an explanation, studies it, traces -back the sensation to its sources through one of those rapid and -manifold changes which are the law of such natural phenomena as light, -sound, electricity. - -"The man who awakens to nature," said Rodin, in the presence of his -statue. Indeed the body bends over, as if under the exquisite caress of -the breezes of spring. The hand rests itself upon the head, flung back -as if to hold in the somewhat mournful splendor of some too beautiful -vision. The whole torso is gently stirred by the emotion springing -up from the depths of the flesh to die out upon the surface of the -imperceptibly agitated muscles. He leans lightly backward, bending like -a bow and at the same time like a traveler walking toward the dawn; -he is drawn on by the desire to renew this inner emotion that swells -his human heart almost to the bursting-point. By this double movement -reconstituting life, the action does not interrupt itself. It evokes -the past and the future; the obscure shadows out of which this soul is -endeavoring to emerge and the bright regions toward which it advances. - -Auguste Rodin was at this time thirty-five years old. In the career -of the artist, this admirable figure has a special significance, that -of something symbolic. It marks one of the happiest phases of the -sculptor's life, the period of revelation through which he had just been -living during his sojourn by the forest of Groenendael. He, too, had -awakened to Nature in the heart of the sacred wood; he, too, had come to -know the somewhat dazzling torment of a being fully awake to the beauty -of the world. This beauty he had at last penetrated; he felt it with all -the strength of a ripened heart, he adored it; he made it his religion. - -Such is the inner history of this statue. There is another, a history of -the anecdotal sort, which is well known to-day, but which it is proper -to recall in a complete biography of the master. - -The adventure of "The Age of Bronze" was the first resounding battle -that Rodin fought in his struggle for the cause of art. It was a -victory, but only after great combats. - -The plaster model appeared in the Salon of 1877. Before this proud and -spirited figure a number of visitors paused, ravished by a sensation -that was absolutely new. In itself there was nothing clamorous, no -attempt to attract attention by extravagance of gesture or exaggerated -expression--quite the contrary; the fragrance of a shy beauty, an -idyllic freshness, mingled with the passionate poetry of a virile, -artistic conscience, an exquisite sense of measure, a delightful -elegance characteristically French, of the north of France, grave and -restrained, and with a something hitherto unseen, a vigor till then -unknown diffused through this adolescent flesh, irradiating it with -tenderness, with a noble charm, a caressing sadness. - -Immediately the rumor began to circulate, welcomed here, spurned there, -by the world of professionals, amateurs, and journalists: the anatomy -of the new work was too exact, its modeling too precise for it to be an -interpretation of the model; it was a cast from nature, and the sculptor -who gave out as the result of his own labor this mechanical copy of a -human body was nothing but an impostor. - -What does it matter? thought the public in its up-and-down common sense. -There are plenty of fine casts from nature; so much the better for the -name of Rodin if he has been particularly successful in this line. - -But Rodin was indignant. This nude, so obstinately worked over, a cast! -That he should have committed such a deception, he the scrupulous molder -of clay! Oh, he knew well enough that most of the great modern sculptors -do not burden themselves with so many scruples and lend themselves too -often to the hasty method of taking casts; he condemned it with all the -force of his own probity. He knew well that in this very Salon of 1877 -more than fifty pieces of sculpture about which nothing was said owed -their existence to this malpractice of which he was accused and of which -he would never be guilty, because he considered it the very negation -of art. For of course taking casts is nothing but the reproduction -of nature in its immobility. By means of it one is able to take the -impression of forms, but one cannot grasp movement or expression. It -is possible to take the mold of an arm, a leg, an inert body; one can -take a good cast of the stiffened mask of the dead; one cannot calculate -through the medium of the plaster the attitude and the modifications of -form of a man walking or falling or the eloquence of a face lighted up -by the reflection of the inner mind. This transcription of the whole -is the exclusive privilege of the artist. He alone seizes and fixes -the general impression; for it is made up not only of the immediate -movement, but of that which precedes and that which follows. His eye -alone registers the rapid succession, and his skill reproduces it. While -the cast, like the photograph, only constitutes a unity detached from -the whole, sculpture from nature reëstablishes the whole itself and -represents the uninterrupted vibration which is life. - -That explains how there happen to be, on the one hand, so many -hard figures, weak and cold images, turned out hastily by lazy and -conscienceless sculptors, and, on the other, those works that possess a -charm that is mysterious to those who know nothing of its source, who -are unaware of this method of observation and labor which a supreme -effort veils in the easy grace and the apparent facility that enchants -us in the things of nature. - -The accusation brought against Rodin became more definite. There was a -veritable upheaval of opinion in the world of the Salons. He protested, -with the firmness of an artist resolved to suffer no blot upon his -honor. He insisted upon receiving justice. Unknown, without means of -support, without fortune, he might well have waited a long time for it. -He turned toward Belgium, seeking defenders in the country where he had -made "The Age of Bronze"; but the academic virus did not spare him; the -official sculptors remained deaf to the appeal of their confrère. For -that matter, where did he come from, this ambitious stone-cutter who -claimed the title of sculptor without waiting on the good pleasure of -the pontiffs? - -Rodin's model alone, the young soldier of Brussels, became indignant at -the affront to his sculptor. He wanted to hasten to Paris and exhibit -himself naked before the eye of the jury of honor which had just been -constituted and cry out to them that he had posed nearly two years for -the artist who had been so unjustly attacked. But nothing is simple. He -had posed, thanks to the special good will of the captain commanding the -company to which he belonged, and in defiance of military regulations. -To reveal this fact would be to compromise the officer, and so he had to -remain silent. - -Rodin had photographs and casts taken from his model and sent them -to the experts. All this was costly and uncertain. It was only after -months of waiting that they were examined. On the jury were several art -critics, including Charles Iriarte, a learned writer and distinguished -mind, and Paul de Saint-Victor, author of the "Deux-Masques," -the sumptuous writer of so much brilliant prose. Alas! the most -insignificant sculptor, provided he had only been sincere, could have -settled Rodin's case a hundred times better. A man of his own trade, -possessing the elements of justice, would have immediately decided the -question according to the facts, while the critics and writers relied -wholly upon personal impressions, and, to the great bitterness of the -sculptor, when they delivered an opinion they did not altogether reject -the accusation that he had taken casts, allowing doubt to rest upon the -honesty of Rodin. He himself did not know what to do next. Chance was -more favorable to him than men. - -At that time he was executing for a great decorator some ornamental -motives destined for one of the buildings of the Universal Exposition -of 1878. The sculptor, Alfred Boucher, a pupil of Paul Dubois, came -one day on a business errand to see the decorator. In the studios he -noticed Rodin at work on the model of a group of children intended for -a cartouche. Boucher, who knew about the accusation that hung over -him, observed him with the liveliest interest. He witnessed the rapid, -skilful, amazingly dexterous execution producing under his very eye -a tender efflorescence of childish flesh on the firm and perfectly -constructed little bodies. _And Rodin was working without models!_ -Alfred Boucher was a product of the Ecole; he had taken the _grand prix -de Rome_; he was ten years younger than Rodin; but he was an honest man; -he hastened to relate to his master, Paul Dubois, what he had seen. The -creator of the "Florentine Singer" and "Charity" in his turn wished to -see things for himself. With Claude Chapu he went to the decorator's -and both of them decided then and there that the hand that molded so -skilfully from memory the figures of the cherubs was certainly capable, -in its extraordinary knowledge of human anatomy, of having executed that -of "The Age of Bronze." Thereupon they convinced their confrères and -decided to write the under-secretary of state a solemn letter in which -all of them, answering for the good faith of Rodin, declared that he -had made a beautiful statue and that he would become a great sculptor. -The letter was signed by Carrier-Belleuse, Paul Dubois, Chapu, Thomas -Delaplanche, Chaplin Falguière. - -[Illustration: BUST OF THE COUNTESS OF W----.] - -This tempered considerably the rancor of the artist. - -It is a strange fact that for years he underrated this statue. In 1899 -he gave his first great exhibition of all his work. It was to the Maison -d'Art of Brussels that the honor of this project was due, and it was -carried out in a style and with a good taste which no later exhibition -of the master has surpassed, or even attained. - -As he had charged me with the supervision of the sending off of his -works, to the number of fifty, I begged him to include among them "The -Age of Bronze." I hoped that the public, and especially the artists of -Belgium, might be able to study the evolution of his technique through -his typical works, executed at different periods of his career. Nothing -could induce him to consent to it. He declared that in twenty years -his modeling had undergone a complete transformation, that it had -become more spacious and more supple, and that the exhibition of this -statue could serve no purpose and be of good to nobody. I urged him to -go and look at it again. The bronze, sent to the Salon of 1880, with -the plaster figure of "St. John the Baptist in Prayer," awarded, oh -splendor of official miserliness! a medal of the third class, had been -bought by the state a few years later and set up in a corner of the -Luxembourg Gardens, an out-of-the-way corner, but one that the light -shadows of the young trees made charming. The master refused. Two or -three years afterward, one morning while we were talking, I led him -unsuspecting toward this little grove. Thinking of something else he -lifted his Head, casting an indifferent glance at the solitary bronze. -Surprised, he examined it, while a happy emotion lighted up his face; -then he walked slowly around it. Finally he admitted quietly that he -had been mistaken, that the statue seemed to him really beautiful, well -constructed, and carefully sculptured. In order to comprehend it he had -had to forget it, to see it again suddenly, and to judge it as if it had -been the work of another hand. - -After this readoption, his affection for it was restored; he had several -copies cast in bronze and cut in stone, and it has become perhaps one -of his most popular and most sought-after works. Museums of Europe and -America, lovers of art in both hemispheres, consider it an honor to -possess replicas. - -It was the first of Rodin's great statues, or, rather, the first that -has been preserved. Several other works of capital importance serve -as landmarks in the progress of his talent. Around them are grouped -fragments, busts, innumerable delightful little compositions, all -treated with the same care and equally reflecting the result of his -studies; but, as ever, it is the major works that mark most visibly the -points of departure and arrival of the different periods of his artistic -development. These works are: "The Age of Bronze" (1877); "Saint John -the Baptist" (1880); "The Gate of Hell" (1880-19--, not finished); "The -Creation of Man" (1881); "The Burghers of Calais" (1889); "Victor Hugo" -(1896); "Balzac" (1898); "The Seasons" (pediments of stone, 1905); -"Ariadne" (in course of execution). - -These works will be described and characterized, in the course of this -book, at the dates of their appearance. - - - - -FLEMISH PAINTING--JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE - - -During his stay in Belgium, Rodin studied the Flemish painters. Free -from the prejudices of the schools, unaware of the theories of the -critics, sensitive to the beautiful in every form, following only -his personal taste supported by the study of the masters, he ranged -over the vast domain of art through regions the most dissimilar and -superficially the most opposed. Of course he had his preferences; he -returned unceasingly to the antique and the Gothic; but his preferences -did not blind him. His admiration passed rapidly from the splendors of -Greek and Roman architecture to the voluptuous graces of the seventeenth -century. His love for Donatello and Michelangelo did not prevent him -from appreciating Bernini. - -Attracted first by the marvelous Flemish Gothic artists, Memling, -Massys, the Van Eycks, he was later delighted with the homely scenes of -Jan Steen, of Brueghel, of Teniers; he enjoyed them as an artist and as -a simple man who knew the value of domestic joys. Then he was haunted by -the sensual pomp of Jordaens and above all Rubens. - -[Illustration: THE POET AND THE MUSE.] - -The triumphant brush of Rubens sculptured as much as it painted. The -science of foreshortening and that of ceiling painting, his way of -modeling forms in the light and by means of light--all this brought his -art into the realm of sculpture; and when Rodin came to seek effects of -light and shadow that were new to sculpture, he remembered the lessons -of the Antwerp master. From that time on Rubens was for him a splendid -subject for study and would have fortified him, had that been necessary, -in the love of drawing; for beautiful drawing leads, to everything, to -_color_, in sculpture as well as in painting. - -Flemish art was not enough to satisfy this thirst for understanding that -devoured the soul of the artist now in the full swing of the fermenting -force of his faculties. He wished to see Italy or at least to catch a -glimpse of it. His resources were so slender indeed that his journey -could not have been long. It did not matter. He would form an idea of -the immensity of its treasure and confirm in himself the desire to -return. He wished also to see France, as alluring to him as Greece, and -whose cathedrals are perhaps not less beautiful than the Parthenon. - -He started for Italy in 1875, and he accomplished his first tour of -France in 1877. He set forth. He was young and strong; he made the pass -of Mont Cenis on foot. He was unknown and without connections. What -did it matter? In the midst of these scenes so radiant with memories of -history and art, did he not feel an intoxication such as the soldiers of -Bonaparte alone must have experienced, catching sight of the plains of -Lombardy, where they were to forget the hardships of the campaign? - -For Rodin, Italy meant the antique; it meant Donatello and Michelangelo. -The antique he had already to a considerable extent studied in the -Louvre. Donatello and Michelangelo conquered him at the first glance--a -tumultuous conquest. The severity of Donatello's style impassioned him; -the rigid honesty of his realism, the desire of this younger brother of -Dante to see things grandly, the equal desire to see things simply, this -Gothic genius deeply moved "in the mid-way of this our mortal life" by -pagan beauty and touched by the breath of the Renaissance, impressed -the French artist and became a dominating memory. From that time on in -the most beautiful of his busts, those of Jean-Paul Laurens, Puvis de -Chavannes, Lord Wyndham, Lord Horace Walden, Mr. Ryan, he was to appear -as a disciple of the Florentine master, not by a literal imitation of -his methods, which he thoroughly grasped, but by similar qualities -of observation and synthesis. Still, this was not until after he had -made other studies, while Michelangelo took hold upon him immediately -and completely and became an actual obsession that might have proved -dangerous to a sculptor less severe with himself, less determined to -discover his own path. - -The dazzling richness of modeling, the majesty of the great figures -of the prodigious Florentine, and their fullness of movement--for -their immobility is charged with movement--the somber melancholy of -his thought, his flaming and shadowy soul, his literary romanticism, -a romanticism like that of Shakspere, overwhelmed Rodin with that -formidable sense of an almost sorrowful admiration that all experience -who visit the Medici tombs in the new sacristy. - -He studied also the later marbles of Michelangelo, which stood at that -time in the gardens of the Pitti Palace and have since been removed to -the Municipal Museum of Florence. - -Every one knows these powerful blocks, these vast human forms, only half -disengaged from the marble, from which they seem to be endeavoring to -escape in order to give birth to themselves by a rending effort that -is characteristic with all the force of a symbol of the tragic genius -of Buonarroti. "Unfinished works"; it is thus the catalogues designate -them. Unfinished works, indeed, but why? Was it age that stilled, before -the end, the hand of the giant of sculpture? Or was it not rather that -he judged them too strangely beautiful in their incompleteness, that -they seemed to him more powerful thus, still captive to the material -that bound them groaning, as it were, in their tremulous flesh? - -The public pays little attention to these sublime masses because it is -told that they are not _finished_. Not finished? Or infinite? That is -the question. Far from weighing them down, the marble that envelops -them throws about them the charm of the indeterminate and by means -of this unites them with the atmosphere. The parts that are wholly -disengaged enable one to divine those that remain hidden; they are -veiled without being obliterated, like mountain-tops among the clouds; -and this half-mystery, instead of diminishing, increases the harmony -of the bodies trembling with life under their mantle of stone. In the -presence of an effect so marvelous, so calculated, one cannot cease from -asking if it was really death or if it was not rather the sovereign -taste of the workman that arrested the chisel. While he was fashioning -his statues out of the marble itself, with that fury that has passed -into legend, did he not find himself, face to face with these unexpected -effects which the material offered him of itself, in the midst of one of -those happy situations by which the talent of the masters alone enables -them to profit? - -However that may be, Rodin was struck as if by a revelation. What the -progress of his work had tardily disclosed to Michelangelo was soon to -become for his disciple a principle of decorative art. Instead of -disengaging his figures entirely, he was to leave them half submerged -in the transparent marble. This method, which has become famous -to-day, seemed an unheard-of thing to those who were unfamiliar with -the Florentine blocks; but Rodin has never failed to acknowledge the -paternity of the sculptor of "The Thinker." Following in his steps, many -artists have employed this method at random, without possessing the -essential qualities that enable one to control these effects, and under -their powerless chisels the enchanting device no longer possesses any -meaning. - -[Illustration: THE THINKER.] - -Rodin himself waited until he possessed a thorough knowledge of marble -and the manner of treating it; it was a stroke of fate by which he -rediscovered the phenomena of envelopment that had so transported him in -the Municipal Museum. He had by that time the wisdom to guard himself -from doing anything inconsistent with his material. He followed out -the suggestions it gave him, and developed an infinite variety in the -methods of handling it. - -On his return from Italy he continued to be haunted by the unsurpassable -vigor of Michelangelo's workmanship. He sought to discover what was -the outstanding gift that conferred upon him this power and this -mysterious empire over the spirit. Until then, with the majority of -artists of the modern school, he had believed that the chief quality -of sculpture lay in seizing the _character_ of the model; but he came -to see how many works concerned only with expressing character fail of -real significance. Since 1830 how many romanticists have sacrificed to -character without leaving any works that are lasting! - -After his journey Rodin decided that the strength of Michelangelo lay -undoubtedly in his _movement_. Returning to his studio, he executed a -quantity of sketches and even large figures like "The Creation of Man," -the title of which, although he had not been to Rome, is a souvenir of -the frescos of the Sistine Chapel; he made busts like that of Bellona, -after having directed his models to assume Michelangelesque poses. -For all this, he did not attain to the grandeur, the soul-disturbing -authority of the Florentine master. - -Without becoming discouraged, he went on observing ceaselessly. Far -from imposing upon his model positions thought out in advance, he left -him free to wander about the studio at the pleasure of his own caprice, -ready to arrest him at a word when a beautiful movement passed before -his eyes. Then, six months after his return from Italy, he found that -the model assumed of his own accord the very poses of which Michelangelo -alone had seemed to him to possess the secret; he realized that the -sublime sculptor had taken them direct from nature, from the rhythm of -the human body in action, and that he had done nothing but seize and -immortalize them. - -"Michelangelo," he says, "revealed me to myself, revealed to me the -truth of forms. I went to Florence to find what I possessed in Paris and -elsewhere, but it is he who taught me this." - -This does not prevent certain critics from asserting out of the depth of -their incompetence that he has never felt the influence of this master -and that he has never even given his work serious consideration. Those -who know Rodin well know that, on the contrary, he never fails to give -serious consideration to anything which is worth considering at all -and that his power of observation is the basis of his genius. Always -seeking a final method, he came back to the idea with which his earliest -education had already inspired him and which his self-communings had -only confirmed: that the value of sculpture lies entirely in the -_modeling_. This is the secret of Michelangelo; it is also that of the -ancients and of all the great artists of the past and of modern times. -For the rest, through his spacious movements, his balancing of equal -masses, the sculptor of the tombs taught him that the supreme quality -consists in seeking in the modeling the _living, determining line of the -scheme_, the supple axis of the human body. - -He himself held this principle of the ancients, of whom he was a -disciple, as far as modeling is concerned, while in his composition and -his handling of light he is a Gothic. - -Soon after his return from Italy, Rodin executed the great study -entitled "The Creation of Man." In it he exaggerated the rhythm -so characteristic of the Florentine, the balancing of masses, the -melancholy contraction of the body under the weight of an inexpressible -inner suffering. When one examines the figure, this exaggeration -certainly suggests something overworked, something forced, which -Michelangelo knew how to avoid and which here creates a somewhat painful -impression. But later, when Rodin conceived the idea of placing his -statue at the summit of "The Gate of Hell," this strained appearance -disappeared. Seen thus, a lofty shape lighted up from below, it takes on -true beauty; it is in its right place; it dominates the work and, as it -were, blesses it. It has the affecting gesture of Christian charity. - -[Illustration: ADOLESCENCE.] - - - - -RODIN'S NOTE-BOOK - -INTRODUCTIONS BY JUDITH CLADEL - - -I - -ANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS - - - At a period in which, among the many manifestations of - intellectual activity in the nations, art is placed in the - background, the advent of a great artist invariably calls forth - the same phenomena: a few men of taste become enthusiasts, the - majority become indignant, and the public, not being possessed of - sufficient esthetic education, and intolerant because of their lack - of understanding, ridicule the intruder who has overthrown the - accepted standards of the century. Friends and foes alike consider - him a revolutionist; as a matter of fact, he is in open revolt - against ignorance and general incompetence. - - Little by little the great truth embodied in such a man is - revealed. Comprehension, like a contagion, seems to take hold - of the minds of people, and impels them to study his art at - first hand. A study not only of his own significance, but of - the principles which he represents, quickly reveals that the - work of this innovator, this revolutionist, is, in fact, deeply - allied to tradition, and, far from being a mysterious, isolated - manifestation, is, on the contrary, closely linked to general - artistic ideals. - - Our aim is to penetrate the doctrines of this master, his - method, his manner of working--all that which at other times would - have been called his secrets. - - Auguste Rodin's career has passed through the inevitable - phases. He, who has been so generally discussed and attacked, is - to-day the most regarded of all artists. He likes to talk of his - art; for he knows that his observations have a priceless value, - that of experience--the experience of sixty years of uninterrupted - work--and of a conscience perhaps even more exacting to-day than at - the time of his impetuous youth. He says, "My principles are the - laws of experience." The combination of these principles embodies - his greatest precept; namely, that of thinking and executing a - thing simultaneously. We must listen to Rodin as we would listen - to Michelangelo or Rembrandt if they were living. For his method - may be the starting-point of an artistic renaissance in Europe, - perhaps throughout the whole world. Definite signs of a decided - resurrection in taste are already manifesting themselves, and it - is a splendid satisfaction for the illustrious sculptor to receive - such acknowledgment in his glorious old age. For, like every - great genius, he has a profound love for the race from which he - springs, and feels a strong instinctive confidence in it. Indeed, - how should this be otherwise? In the course of centuries, has not - this wonderful Celtic race on various occasions reconstructed its - understanding and interpretation of beauty? - - Auguste Rodin expresses himself by preference on subjects - from which he can draw an actual lesson. He is no theorist; he - has an eminently positive mind, one might even say a practical - mind. His teachings, unlike the abstract teachings of books, can - be characterized by two words, observation and deduction. His - are not more or less arbitrary meditations in which personal - imagination plays the principal part; they are rather the account - of a sagacious, truthful traveler, of a soldier who relates the - story of his campaigns, or of a scholar who records the result of - an analysis. Reality is his only basis, and with justice to himself - he can say, "I am not a rhetorician, but a man of action." - - We hear him chat, it may be in his atelier about some piece of - antique sculpture which has just come into his possession or about - a work he has in hand, or during his rambles through his garden, - which is situated in the most delightful country in the suburbs of - the capital, or on a walk through the museums, or through the old - quarter of Paris. For in his opinion "the streets of Paris, with - their shops of old furniture, etchings, and works of art, are a - veritable museum, far less tiring than official museums, and from - which one imbibes just as much as one can." - - * * * * * - -I use the words of the people, of the man in the street; for thoughts -should be clear and easily comprehended. I desire to be understood by -the great majority, and I leave scholarly words and unusual phrasing -to specialists in estheticism. Moreover, what I say is very simple. It -is within the grasp of ordinary intelligence. Up to now it has been of -hardly any value. It is something quite new, and will remain so as long -as the ideas which I stand for are not actively carried out. - -If these ideas were understood and applied, the destruction of ancient -works of art would cease immediately. By bad restoration we are ruining -our most beautiful works of art, our marvelous architecture, our -Gothic cathedrals, Renaissance city halls, all those old houses that -transformed France into a garden of beauty of which it was impossible to -grow weary, for everything was a delight to the eye and intelligence. -Our workmen would have to be as capable as those of former times to -restore those works of art without changing them, they would have to -possess the same wonderfully trained eye and hand. But to-day we have -lost that conception and execution. We live in a period of ignorance, -and when we put our hand to a masterpiece, we spoil it. Restoring, in -our way, is almost like jewelers replacing pearls with false diamonds, -which the ignorant accept with complacency. - -The Americans who buy our paintings, our antique furniture, our old -engravings, our materials, pay very dearly for them. At least we think -so. As a matter of fact they buy them very cheaply, for they obtain -originals which can never be duplicated. We mock at the American -collectors; in reality we ought to laugh at ourselves. For we permit our -most precious treasures to be taken out of the country, and it is they -who have the intelligence to acquire them. - -My ideas, once understood and applied, would immediately revive art, all -arts, not only sculpture, painting, and architecture, but also those -arts which are called minor, such as decoration, tapestry, furniture, -the designing of jewelry and medals, etc. The artisan would revert to -fundamental truth, to the principles of the ancients--principles which -are the eternal basis of all art, regardless of differences of race and -temperament. - - - -CONSTRUCTION AND MODELING - -In the first place, art is only a close study of nature. Without that -we can have no salvation and no artists. Those who pretend that they -can improve on the living model, that glorious creation of which we -know so little, of which we in our ignorance barely grasp the admirable -proportions, are insignificant persons, and they will never produce -anything but mediocre work. - -We must strive to understand nature not only with our heart, but above -all with our intellect. He who is impressionable, but not intelligent, -is incapable of expressing his emotion. The world is full of men who -worship the beauty of women; but how many can make beautiful portraits -or beautiful busts of the woman they adore? Intelligence alone, after -lengthy research, has discovered the general principles without which -there can be no real art. - -In sculpture the first of these principles is that of construction. -Construction is the first problem that faces an artist studying his -model, whether that model be a human being, animal, tree, or flower. The -question arises regarding the model as a whole, and regarding it in its -separate parts. All form that is to be reproduced ought to be reproduced -in its true dimensions, in its complete volume. And what is this volume? - -It is the space that an object occupies in the atmosphere. The essential -basis of art is to determine that exact space; this is the alpha and -omega, this is the general law. To model these volumes in depth is to -model in the round, while modeling on the surface is bas-relief. In a -reproduction of nature such as a work of art attempts, sculpture in the -round approaches reality more closely than does bas-relief. - -To-day we are constantly working in bas-relief, and that is why our -products are so cold and meager. Sculpture in the round alone produces -the qualities of life. For instance, to make a bust does not consist in -executing the different surfaces and their details one after another, -successively making the forehead, the cheeks, the chin, and then the -eyes, nose, and mouth. On the contrary, from the first sitting the whole -mass must be conceived and constructed in its varying circumferences; -that is to say, in each of its profiles. - -A head may appear ovoid, or like a sphere in its variations. If we -slowly encircle this sphere, we shall see it in its successive profiles. -As it presents itself, each profile differs from the one preceding. It -is this succession of profiles that must be reproduced, and that is the -means of establishing the true volume of a head. - -Each profile is actually the outer evidence of the interior mass; each -is the perceptible surface of a deep section, like the slices of a -melon, so that if one is faithful to the accuracy of these profiles, the -reality of the model, instead of being a superficial reproduction, seems -to emanate from within. The solidity of the whole, the accuracy of plan, -and the veritable life of a work of art, proceed therefrom. - -The same method applies to details which must all be modeled in -conformity with the whole. Deference to plan necessitates accuracy of -modeling. The one is derived from the other. The first engenders the -second. - -These are the main principles of construction and modeling--principles -to which we owe the force and charm of works of art. They are the key -not only to the handicraft of sculpture, but to all the handicrafts of -art. For that which is true of a bust applies equally to the human form, -to a tree, to a flower, or to an ornament. - -This is neither mysterious nor hard to understand. It is thoroughly -commonplace, very prosaic. Others may say that art is emotion, -inspiration. Those are only phrases, tales with which to amuse -the ignorant. Sculpture is quite simply the art of depression and -protuberance. There is no getting away from that. Without a doubt the -sensibility of an artist and his particular temperament play a part in -the creation of a work of art, but the essential thing is to command -that science which can be acquired only by work and daily experience. -The essential thing is to respect the law, and the characteristic of -that fruitful law is to be the same for all things. - -Moreover, such was the method employed by the ancients, the method which -we ourselves employed till the end of the eighteenth century, and by -which the spirit of the Gothic genius and that of the Renaissance and of -the periods of culture and elegance of the seventeenth and eighteenth -centuries were transmitted to us. Only in our day have we completely -lost that technic. - -These rules do not constitute a system peculiar to myself. They are -general principles which govern the world of art, just as other -immutable laws govern the celestial world. They are mathematical -principles which I found again because my work inevitably led me to -follow in the footsteps of the great masters, my ancestors. - - - -THE TRADITIONAL LAWS OF ANCIENT ART - -In days of old, precise laws were handed down from generation to -generation, from master to student, in all the workshops of the workers -in art--sculptors, painters, decorators, cabinet-makers, jewelers. But -at that time workshops existed where one actually taught, where the -master worked in view of the pupil. In our day by what have we replaced -that marvelously productive school, the workshop? By academies in which -one learns nothing, because one sets out from such a contrary point of -view. - -These principles of art were first pointed out to me not by a celebrated -sculptor, or by an authorized teacher, but by a comrade in the workshop, -a humble artisan, a little plasterer from the neighborhood of Blois -called Constant Simon. We worked together at a decorator's. I was -quite at the beginning of my career, earning six francs a day. Our -models were leaves and flowers, which we picked in the garden. I was -carving a capital when Constant Simon said to me: "You don't go about -that correctly. You make all your leaves flatwise. Turn them, on the -contrary, with the point facing you. Execute them in depth and not in -relief. Always work in that manner, so that a surface will never seem -other than the termination of a mass. Only thus can you achieve success -in sculpture." - -I understood at once. Since then I have discovered many other things, -but that rule has remained my absolute basis. Constant Simon was only -an obscure workman, but he possessed the principles and a little of the -genius of the great ornamentists who worked at the châteaux of the -Loire. On the St. Michel fountain in Paris there are very beautifully -carved decorations, rich and at the same time graceful, which were made -by the hand of this little modeler, who knew far more than all the -professors of esthetics. - -Such was the purpose the workshops of old served. The apprentice -passed successively through all the stages and became acquainted with -all the secrets of his handicraft. He began by sweeping the studio, -and that first taught him care and patience, which are the essential -virtues of a workman. He posed, he served as model for his comrades. -The master in turn worked before him among his students. He heard his -companions discuss their art, he benefited by the discoveries that they -communicated to one another. He found himself faced every day by those -unforeseen difficulties which go to make an artist till the moment -when the artist is sufficiently capable to master his difficulties. -Alternately, they were both teacher and companion, and they conveyed to -one another the science of the ancients. - -What have we to-day in place of those splendid institutions which -developed character and intelligence simultaneously? Schools at which -the students think only of obtaining a prize, not attained by close -study, but by flattering the professors. The professors themselves, -without any deep attachment for their academies, come hurriedly, -overburdened by official duties and all sorts of work; weighed down by -perfunctory obligations, they correct the students' papers hastily, and -hurriedly return to their regular occupation. - -As to the students, twenty or thirty work from a single model, which -is some distance from them and around which they can hardly turn. -They ignore all those inevitable laws which are learned in the course -of work, and which escape the attention of an artist working alone. -They attend courses, or read books on esthetics written in technical -language with obscure, abstract terms, lacking all connection with -concrete reality--books in which the same mistakes are repeated because -frequently they are copied from one another. What sort of students can -develop under such disastrous conditions? If one among them is seriously -desirous of learning, he breaks loose from his destructive surroundings, -is obliged to lose several years first in ridding himself of a poor -method, and then in searching for a method which formerly one had -mastered on leaving the atelier. - -That is the method that I preach to-day as emphatically as I can, -calling attention to the numerous benefits and advantages of taking up a -variety of handicrafts. Aside from sculpture and drawing, I have worked -at all sorts of things--ornamentation, ceramics, jewelry. I have learned -my lesson from matter itself and have adapted myself accordingly. Only -in being faithful to this principle can one understand and know how to -work. I am an artisan. - -Will my experience be of benefit to others? I hope so. At all events, we -have a bit to relearn. It will take years of patience and application -to rise from the abyss of ignorance into which we have fallen. However, -I believe in a renaissance. A number of our artists have already -seen the light--the light of intellectual truth. Acts of barbarism -against masterpieces cannot be committed any more without arousing the -indignation of cultivated people. That in itself is an inestimable gain, -for those works of art are the relics of our traditions, and if we have -the strength to become an artistic people again, to reincarnate an -era of beauty, then those are the works of art that will serve as our -models, expressions of a national conscience that will be the milestones -on our path. - - * * * * * - - Judged by his work, Auguste Rodin is the most modern of - artists; judged by his life and character, he is unquestionably - a man of bygone days. As a sculptor, he is such as were Phidias, - Praxiteles, and the master architects of the Middle Ages; that is - to say, he is of all times. One single idea guides his thoughts, - one single aim arouses his energies--art, art through the study of - nature. - - It is by the concentration of his unusual mind on a single - purpose that he attains his remarkable understanding of man, - physical and moral, his contemporary, and of the spirit of our - age. In the lifelike features of his statues he inscribes the - history of the day. They seem to live, and the potency of their - life enters into us and dominates us. For the moment we are only a - silent spring, merely reflecting their authority. - - Through this secret of genius, his statues and groups have - an individual charm. They have taken their place in the history - of sculpture. There is the charm of the antique, the charm of the - Gothic, and the charm of Michelangelo. There is also the charm of - Rodin. - - [Illustration: HEAD OF MINERVA.] - - - - - II - - SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS - - - In Rodin's statues we find his conception of eternal man--man - as he really is. They are molded on modern thought, with all its - variations. One might suppose that these beautiful beings of marble - and bronze had been named by the characteristic poets of the - century, Victor Hugo, Musset, Baudelaire. - - Beginning with the Renaissance and particularly during the - seventeenth century, the royal courts were the great salons in - which the taste of the day was developed. Necessity made courtiers - of the artists, for to obtain orders, they had to win the good-will - of the sovereigns, the great lords, and the financiers. - - Art then lost its collective character, the artist his - independence and strength. There was no longer the united effort of - artists, inspired by love of beauty, to create great masterpieces - such as cathedrals, city halls, and castles. The artist wasted his - abilities in fragmentary bits, his time in worldly duties. To-day - it is even worse. Keeping house, traveling, receiving, exhibiting - in a hundred different places, living in great style, carrying on - his life-work--all these crowd out the first, and formerly the - essential, object of the artist, his work. It is these that lower - art to the last degree of decadence. - - Rodin has kept aloof from this manner of living, has avoided - these innumerable occasions for wasting time, or, rather, has never - allowed them to take possession of him. Modest, unpretentious, - traveling little or within a limited radius, the unremitting study - of the divine model and of the masterpiece, man, forms his whole - ambition, while it is also the source of endless delight to him. - "Admiration," he says, "is a joy daily kindled afresh," and again, - "I talk out of the fullness of life; it belongs to me in a sense - larger than that of ownership." - - In his villa at Meudon, in the midst of his collections of - antiques, he pursues this study incessantly. He who is admitted to - the modest garden of the great master first beholds with delight a - Greek marble in an arbor. At the turn of a path there is the torso - of a goddess resting on an antique column; in a niche in the wall, - a Roman bust. Beneath the high arch of the peristyle of the studio, - the architecture of which blends into the surrounding background - as in the paintings of Claude Lorrain, there is a magnificent - torso. Finally dominating the garden and the valley it overlooks, - standing on a knoll and projected against the clear sky, there is - an isolated façade from a castle of the seventeenth century, its - delicate balustrades and casements outlined against the blue sky as - in the decorative paintings of Paul Veronese. - - These ruins are the remains of the Château d'Issy, the work of - Mansart. Rodin saved them at the moment when their destruction at - the hands of ignorant workmen was imminent, and at great expense - reconstructed them near his residence. These fragments, this noble - portico, seem as though placed by chance, but the keen observer - quickly perceives the correctness of taste that has determined - their disposition. Each fragment forms part of an ensemble with - the trees, the grass, the light, and the shadows, and to change - any of these in the slightest degree would sacrifice some of its - beauty. Sculpture at its finest is architecture, and architecture - is perhaps the greatest art, because it collaborates directly with - nature. Architecture lives through the life of things, and every - hour of the day lends it a new expression. - - Innumerable reflections were aroused in the mind of the master - Rodin when he essayed to place his treasures: the effect of the - changing light on the object, the balancing of values, the relation - of proper proportions, the appearance of the object in full light. - All these he examined and studied, and he searched into the depths - of the language of forms, to him as clear and as mysterious as - beautiful music. This remarkable gift for determining the value of - the object in its setting--a gift the secret of which is beyond the - knowledge of the ignorant--has brought forth that peculiar poetic - charm which permeates this little garden in a suburb of Paris, - a refuge of persecuted beauty. Here the master confers with the - artists of Greece and France of other days. These are his Elysian - Fields. - - In Paris, where he is daily and where he works every - afternoon, he lives in an exquisite, but ruinous, mansion of the - eighteenth century, situated in a rustic, neglected park. There he - finds his delight in the study of flowers and applies himself to - it with his intense, never-dormant desire for understanding. His - antique pottery is filled with anemones, carnations, and tulips. - During his frugal meals they are before him, and his reverent - love of them arouses his desire to understand them as completely - as he does human beings. He analyzes and searches out their - details without becoming insensible to the beauty of the whole. - He jots down his discoveries, his words picture them; like La - Rochefoucauld, he searches into their character; but watching over - their life admiringly and tenderly until they wither, he does not - dissect them, does not destroy them. - - Is not the flower the queen of ornaments, the inspiration of - all races and ages, the very soul of artistic decoration? Have not - the hands of genius contrived to employ the most durable as well - as the most fragile material to express this delicate beauty in - Greek and Gothic capitals, in the stone lacework of cathedrals, the - fabrics of gold and silk, brocades, tapestries, wrought iron-work, - old bindings? Is the splendor of stained-glass windows aught else - than the splendor of a mass of beautiful flowers? - -[Illustration: THE BATH.] - - "Were this thoroughly understood," says Rodin, "industrial art - would be entirely revolutionized--industrial art, that barbarous - term, an art which concerns itself with commerce and profit. - - "The young artists of to-day understand nothing; they copy to - satiety the classic ornaments and designs, and reproduce them in - so cold a manner that they lose all meaning. The ancients obtained - their designs from nature. They found their models in the garden, - even in the vegetable garden. They drew their inspiration from its - source. The cabbage-leaf, the oak-leaf, the clover, the thistle, - and the brier are the motives of the Gothic capital. It is not - photographic truth, but living truth, that we must seek in art." - - Rodin writes his observations. He notes them down at the - moment as they occur to him in all their freshness, and in this - form they will be given here. At first glance, the reader may be - surprised at their apparently fragmentary form. They may seem - devoid of general continuity, but when one comprehends the great - master's method, one sees that a bond much firmer than that of the - mere word binds them together. They seem disjointed because here, - as in his sculpture, the artist accepts only the essential, and - rejects all superfluous detail. In reality they have the continuity - of life, which is felt, but not seen, and which renders arbitrary - transition unnecessary. This is the prerogative of genius, while - all else is within the grasp of any one. His authority strikes us - dumb; it puts to rout mere commonplace cleverness. - - * * * * * - -I have had primroses put in this little flower-pot. They are a bit -crowded, and their poor little stems are prisoners; they are no longer -in their garden. - -I look at them on my table like a vivisector. I admire their beautiful -leaves, round-headed, vigorous, like peasants. They point toward me, and -between them is the flower. The one on this side is resigned, and as -beautiful as a caryatid. In profile it seems to hold up the leaf against -which it leans and which gives it shade. - -These little flowers are not beautiful, nor are they radiant. They -live peaceably, gently contented in their misery; and yet they offer -something to one who is ill, as I am to-day, and cause him to write to -ward off weariness. - -I always have flowers in the morning, and make no distinction between -them and my models. - -Many flowers together are like women with heads bowed down. - -There is no longer the sap of life in flowers in a vase. - -The lace work of the flower of the elder-tree--Venice. - -The anemone is only an eye, cruelly melancholy. It is the eye of a woman -who has been badly used. - -These anemones are flowers that have stayed up too late at night; -flowers that are resplendent, with their colors as though spread over -them superficially and wiped away. Even in the spring, in the hour of -anticipation, they are already in the fullness of enjoyment. - -Like the flower of seduction, the anemones slowly change their form -outlined in various ways, always restrained, however, and inclosed -within their sphere. Their petals have not a common destiny: some curl -up, others are like a becoming collaret, still others seem to be running -away. The delicate droop of the petals, standing out in relief, is like -the eyelid of a child. - -Although old, that one does not shed its petals. Poor little flower with -bent head, you are not ridiculous; you are pensive now that you are -dying. You suffer from the cruelty of the stem which holds you back. - -Flowers give their lives to us; they should be placed in Persian vases. -Near them, gold and silver seem of no value. - -Ah, dear friends, we must love you if we would have you speak to us! -We must watch you or you fall from the vase, despairing, your leaves -withered. - -The flowers and the vase harmonize by contrast. - -In this bouquet there are some with flexible stems which seem to leap up -gracefully. The flower, surrounded by its frail, straight leaves, is as -if suspended from the ledge of a wrought-iron balcony. - -Ah, the adorable heart of Adonis is incased within these flowers! - -The hyacinth is like a balustrade placed upside down. A bed of -hyacinths resembles a mass of balusters. Thus that great invention -of the Renaissance, the balustrade, allows us to gain through it -a glimpse of nature. This ray of art, the flower, this delicate -inspiration, unknowingly requires the intelligence of man to develop its -possibilities. - -Superb is this little rose-like flower among its spreading leaves. It is -like an assumption. - -The double narcissus is a bird's-nest viewed from above. Strange -flowers, like so many throats! What a frail marvel they are! - -These three little narcissi group themselves like a cluster of electric -lights. - -The dignity of nature impresses us on every hand. It is greatly apparent -in flowers; and yet so small are they that some look on them merely as -the decoration at a banquet. - -I will cast a narcissus in bronze; it shall serve as my seal. - -A maiden on a lake, that is the narcissus. - -Little red marguerite, not yet open, sister to the strawberry, huddled -in the shade which caresses you. - -The full-blown marguerite seems to play at _pigeon-vole_. - -It has rained for four hours; this is the hour when flowers quench their -thirst. - -A marguerite in profile, a serpent's head with open jaws, stretching out -its tongues! Petals, white, like a little collar. - -Seen in full face, its yellow-tinted heart is a little sun; its long -petals are like fingers playing the piano. - -These white flowers are gulls with wings outstretched. They fly one -after the other; this one, in adoration, has its petals thrown backward, -like wings. - -Whoever understands life loves flowers and their innocent caresses. - -These marguerites seem to retreat like a spider that finds itself -discovered in the road. Their buds stretch out their serpent-heads at -the end of long stems, divided by intercepting leaves and entangling -knots. Does not love travel in a similar path rather than straight as an -arrow? - -There is so much regularity in these dark-green leaves, extending at -fixed intervals to right and left, and in the eternal dryness of the -bouquet, that it calls to mind a Persian miniature. - -No man has a heart pure enough to interpret the freshness of flowers. We -cannot give expression to this freshness; it is beyond us. - -When it sheds its petals, the flower seems to disrobe and go to sleep -on the earth. This is its last act of grace, showing its submission to -God. - -What spirit possesses these flowers that die in silence! We should -listen to them and give thanks. - -This red and black ranunculus proclaims the carnival; it is the carnival -itself. The carnival is the very emblem of flowers. Like them it, also, -wears masks and costumes. It wears their colors, bright yellow, red--an -imitation of the flowers of the sun. - -Delightful carnival! Delightful interpretation of flowers! For a long -time in my youth I undervalued them. I am happy now to see them under -another aspect, as the splendor of Rome and the lavish intelligence of a -bygone time. - -Some one gave me tulips. They fascinate me variously. How great an -artist is chance, knowing the last secret by which to win us! - -These yellow tulips, dipped in blood! What a treat to see true -colors--reds, blues, greens, the art of stained glass! - -One is quite taken aback before these flowers, in which nature has -expressed more than one can comprehend. It imparts that great mystery -which is beyond us and signifies the presence of God. - -How magnificent the flower becomes as its youth passes! - -Even the flowers have their setting sun. - -My bouquet is always the same, yet I never cease to look at it. - -A whirlwind, a very cyclone, this tulip has perished in the storm. Like -the wife of Lot, it is possessed of fear. - -This one is open, all aflame like a burning bush. That one, all -disheveled, comes toward me. Full of ardor, it springs up, its petals -strong and expanding, like a mouth curling forward. - -The violence of passion in flowers is pronounced. Ah, the softness of -love is found only in women! - -Great artists, curb your curiosity, neglect the pleasures which offer -themselves to you, so that you may better understand the secrets of God. - - - - -III - -PORTRAITS OF WOMEN - - - Rodin's busts of women are perhaps the most charming part of - his work. But to say this is almost a sacrilege, an affront to the - grace of the small groups that, in this giant's work, swarm about - the superior figures. But we need not search too far into this or - yield to the pedantic mania for classifying to death. Let us rather - look at them without transforming the joy of admiration into the - labor of cataloguing, and give ourselves up wholly to the pleasure - of seeing and understanding. - - Yes, these portraits of women are the graceful aspect of this - work of power. They are the achievements of a force which knows - its own strength, and here relaxes in caresses. If some among them - disturb the spirit, most of them shed upon us a calm enjoyment, - the delightful security that one breathes among all-powerful - beings that wish to be gracious. They allay the sense of unrest - aroused in us by those dramas in marble and bronze which a powerful - intellect has conceived--that mind from which sprang "The Burghers - of Calais," the two monuments to Victor Hugo, "The Tower of Labor," - that imagination, glowing like a forge, which produced "The Gate of - Hell," the Sarmiento monument, the statue of Balzac. - - Here Rodin's art extends to the utmost confines of grace. He - has contrived to discover the most delicate secrets of nature. - He models the petals of the lips just as nature curls the frail - substance of the rose-leaf. By imperceptible gradations he - attaches the delicate membranes of the eyelids to the angle of - the temples just as nature in springtime attaches the leaves to the - rough bark of trees. - -[Illustration: THE BROKEN LILY.] - - Great thinkers never cease to be moved by the charm of - weakness. The "eternal feminine" is just that, the power of grace - over the manly soul. The strongest feel this attraction most, are - most possessed with the desire of expressing it. I am thinking of - Homer, Leonardo da Vinci, Shakspere, Balzac, Wagner, and Rodin in - saying this. They have created a feminine world, the figures of - which, lovingly copied from living models, become models in turn. - They haunt thousands of souls, fashion them in their image. In her - complicated ways, Nature avails herself of the artist to modify the - human type. - - We have some terra-cotta figures of Rodin, modeled when he was - between twenty-five and thirty, while working at the manufactory - at Sèvres, in the studio of Carrier-Belleuse, that accomplished - sculptor. They are charming little busts, with the perfume of - the eighteenth century breathing from them, treated a little in - the manner of Carpeaux, with the velvety shadow of their black - eyes on their sparkling faces. One of them, now in a private - gallery in New York, has a hat on its head, coquettish, tender, - innocently provocative; it is full of Parisian allurement because - it is characteristically French. One can find its kindred among - certain Renaissance figures, and even among the mischievous faces - of Gothic angels. With all this there is that ephemeral prettiness - which is called "fashion," that caprice of styles which does for - the adornment of cities what the flowers of the field do for the - country. - - If Rodin had pursued his path in this direction, he would have - been a portrait-sculptor of great taste, and would doubtless have - attained celebrity sooner, but a celebrity which is not glory. At - that time he was chiefly concerned with copying the features of his - models with all the sensitiveness of his admiration; he did not yet - attempt those large effects of light and shade which were to become - the object of his whole career, and are so still. He has made the - religion of progress his own by reflective study. Progress is for - him the chief condition of happiness. Present-day philosophies - commonly put it in doubt; but if happiness exists, it is surely - in the soul of the artist. But it is recognized with difficulty - because it is called by an equivocal name, the ideal. - - Let us look at the "Portrait of the Artist's Wife." Here, in - this noble effigy, this severe image with its lowered eyelids, the - artist passes beyond the promise of his first period. The face, - rather wide at the cheek-bones, lengthens toward the chin, where - the sorrowful mouth reigns. It expresses melancholy, gravity, - dignity, Christian charity. It is rather masculine, and seems less - youthful than the original was at the time. It is as if the artist - had sought to bring out the character by conscientious modeling, - without any softening; all the features are underlined, as on - a face that has attained a ripe age. He had not yet discovered - the art of softening his surfaces, of blending them in a general - tonality, and of obtaining that softness, that flesh quality, with - all the shades of youth, which touches the heart in his more recent - busts. - - Even then he did know, however, how to gather under the - boldly molded superciliary arch of the brows the diffused shadows - which, in the future, were to lend mystery and distance to most - of his portraits. This mask is all that remains of a standing - figure dressed in the manner of Gothic figures. Rodin was then - living in Brussels, still young, poor, and unknown, but happy. - He tasted the perfect happiness of long days of absorbing labor, - of that enthusiasm for work which nothing disturbs. To-day he - sometimes yearns for those years free from the never-ceasing bustle - of a celebrated man's existence, a giant assailed by a thousand - pin-pricks. Yet his poverty was excessive, for the beautiful - statue, modeled during successive months with much love, fell to - pieces. For want of money, the sculptor had not been able to have - it cast. - - Among his women's busts, one of the most famous and one which - remains among the most beautiful is that of Madame Morla Vicuñha. - It dates back about twenty-five years, but it is resplendent in - eternal youth. Since then Rodin has added to his knowledge and - experience. He has made personal discoveries in the plastic art. - He has become the master of color in sculpture. Nevertheless, this - portrait, as it stands, remains an adorable masterpiece. Who that - has looked at its softly gleaming marble in the Luxembourg has not - been overcome by a long dream of tenderness, of uneasy curiosity? - Who has not hoped to make this woman speak, to press her heart in - order to draw from her a confession of her desires, the secret of - her happiness and her melancholy? - - It is more than a bust, it is woman herself. Because the - beautiful shoulder slips tremulously from the heavy mouth, which - lies against the smooth, polished flesh; because this shoulder - rises again toward the head, slightly bent and inclined, as if to - draw toward it some loved one; because the neck swells like that of - a dove, and the head is stretched forward to offer a kiss, we seem - to catch a glimpse of the whole body and its delicate curves. It is - a beautiful bust. I should like to see it alone in a room hung with - dim tapestries, drawing forth its charm like a long sigh, which - nothing should disturb. This masterpiece demands the distinction of - solitude. - - How beautifully modeled the head is in its firm delicacy! - The framework of the narrow skull appears under the texture of - hair fastened over it like a rich handkerchief. We can almost see - the impatient hand, trembling with feeling, that has twisted the - firm knot under the nape of the neck. Everywhere, level with the - temples, at the bridge of the nose,--the aquiline nose marking the - Spaniard of race,--this bony framework stands out. The face catches - a feverish character from it, tortured by the longing for intimate - expression, and reveals a being with whom happiness borders closely - upon sorrow. The nostrils tremble as if to the perfume of the - flowers pressed voluptuously against the warm bosom. The mouth - is at once mobile and firm, and all the curves of the features - converge toward it--toward the kiss which causes it to swell softly. - - The light steals gently into every line and fold of the face. - It borders the eyelids, glides under the brows, outlines the bridge - of the nose and the nostrils, emphasizes the opposed arches of - the lips. It spreads like a spring, separating into a thousand - streams. It is a network, like the tracery of the woman's nerves - made visible. It is as if the sculptor and the light had begun a - dialogue--a dialogue kept up with endless graces and coquetries. - He contradicts it, refutes it; it escapes, returns. He gathers it - up, as if to force it into the sinuous folds of the figure. Again - it flees, and then, summoned back, it returns cautiously, and at - last bathes the statue in generous caresses. - - This bust will live. In its enigmatic grace it will become - more and more the expression of the woman who loves, just as "La - Gioconda" ("Mona Lisa") is the expression of the woman who is - loved. The one is all instinct, the other all spirit. The one - offers herself; the other promises herself. The one is tenderness - directed toward the past; the other smiles toward the future. - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MADAME MORIA VICUÑHA.] - - In the same gallery of the Luxembourg, there is that other - famous head called "La Pensée." What a contrast! It is strangely - bound within a block of marble, placed like a living head on a - block. And yet it tells only of the slightly resigned calm of - meditation, or of melancholy, without bitterness, of long autumn - days, with their diffused brilliancy. The outlines are firm, - regular, placid, of remarkable moderation in their distinction. The - head leans forward, because thought is a weighty matter. The brow - and the eyes are the dominant features. On them the sculptor has - focused all the light not only in the high lights, but in the still - surface as well. - - The caprice of the artist has covered this head with a light - peasant-cap. This hides the details of the hair, and concentrates - the glance on the face. "Caprice" expresses the idea badly, for - it is taste and the will of the artist that have directed all. - These dreamy features express the practical mysticism of women, - the effort of intelligent devotion. It makes one think of St. - Geneviève, of Jeanne d'Arc, of the overwhelming courage of a weak - being carried beyond and out of herself by a great purpose. - - "La Pensée" has the striking character that almost all the - busts of Rodin assume in the future, and which they owe on the - one hand to their intense lifelikeness, and on the other to the - atmosphere with which the sculptor surrounds them. There are no - hard-and-fast limits which separate them from the circumambient - air; on the contrary, they are bathed in it. The "blacks," which - give a hard, dry look when used to excess, are handled marvelously. - The women's busts, especially, almost start up before us with this - slightly fantastic look of life increased tenfold, with the charm - of phantoms of marble, monumental, and yet as light as beautiful - mists. - - These effects of light and shadow perhaps harmonize best with - the softness and delicacy of the feminine flesh. They convey to us - naturally the mystery of an inner life more secret, more intimate - than that of man. - - Even with works that are similar, the public does not - recognize their common origin. It sees the result of an - extraordinary amount of observation and intelligence, yet it does - not reflect more than a child. For the public the sculptor, whoever - he may be, is a creature of instinct, with a trained eye and hand, - but without mind and culture. He is a sculptor, that is all. A - common proverb strengthens the belief in this lasting folly. It - may be told, then, that the master with whom we are here dealing - studies his models not only as a sculptor, but as a writer studies; - that often his hand drops the chisel for the pencil, in order to - set down his observation more exactly, to search even further into - nature. - - Perhaps the public will at last grasp the fact that the true - artist, under penalty of ceasing to be one, must, above all, expend - an amount of attention of which other men are incapable, and that - it is by this power of attention that the strength of intelligence - is measured. For example, Rodin is facing his model, a young - woman stretched out in an attitude of repose. He writes, and in - his style we find all the power of the great draftsman. He marks - the outlines, he specifies the details, slowly, patiently, with - pertinacity. He never confuses the impression, always so ready to - elude one--the impression, the divine reward of the artist. - - * * * * * - -The dazzling splendor revealed to the artist by the model that divests -herself of her clothes has the effect of the sun piercing the clouds. -Venus, Eve, these are feeble terms to express the beauty of women. - -The head leans to one side, the torso to the other, both inclining -indolently, gracefully. This body has been glorified. The contours -flow, descend, repose, like immortality personified. The breasts follow -the same curve. The flowing lines are all in the same direction. -Unchangeable, heaving above the half-opened screen of the dress, the -breath scarcely lifts them. It does not stir or agitate them. - -The beautiful human monument is balanced in repose. It is unassailable. -It is the gradation of contours. - -I do not draw them, but I see them in place, and my spirit is content, -accustoms itself to the impression. In memory I still make drawings of -this model, and these moving lines are repetitions, done over again a -hundred times; for I repeat the drawing constantly, like a caress. - -This torso resigns itself, like an Ariadne whose contours melt away in -the evening, in the dark. But the lightning of day has flashed there. -It is there always. It is now the pale gleam of flesh. My mind, carried -along, takes this form as its model. - -The hand, the arm, support the head, the sidelong glance from which -is so full of sweetness. One might call it a "Mona Lisa" reposing. -This head feels the need of resting on the supporting hand, a delicate -support like the handle of a vase. Like an urn about to pour out its -water, its thought, it inclines. - -Lying back on the cushion, the head is in high relief. The features are -placed according to their due regard, which is the very soul of balance. -It has made the eyes symmetrical; the eyebrows straight; the nose, where -beauty and symmetry meet, expressive of a wholesome conformity. - -When a woman is very beautiful, she has the head of a lion. From the -lion is copied that splendid regularity of the eyes, which the oval of -the face accentuates. The tawny mane is also lion-like in its regularity -and majesty, without any other expression. - -Arches are formed without effort of all the parts of the eye. The hinges -of the eyes open and close. The open mouth keeps back neither the -thoughts nor the words that have been spoken. There is no need for her -to speak. Her age, her thoughts, all is a confession here--the features, -the arch of the frank, noble mouth, as well as the form of the nose and -the sensitive nostrils. - -And this infantile glance under a woman's eyelid! Our soul demands -that, by an agreement with the heavens, the feminine glance should be -celestial. - -[Illustration: LA PENSÉE.] - -How I bathe in the calm beauty of these eyes, with their regular -drawing! How they themselves declare their tranquil joy! Sometimes eyes -like these seem to be inhabited by spirits. They close, and I see the -horizontal lashes, the lower lid, which just rests against the upper. I -see as a whole the soft oval of these long eyes, the double circle of -the lids themselves, and the circle beneath, so modest now, but which -one calls the circle of love. - -The eyeball in moving shows the clear pupil, and all about it press the -circles of the delicate lids. The soul finds a refuge in these secret -hiding-places, and throws out its circles of attraction like a lasso. -This sensuous soul is the soul of beautiful portraits. - -The cheeks curve against the socket of the eye; the double arch of the -brows prolongs itself behind them. The surface of the cheeks extends to -the extremity of the nose, forms a double depression by the sinking of -the cheek, which grows hollow toward the convex lip, and surrounds the -mouth and the two lips. These facial lines and surfaces all stop at the -chin, toward which all the curves converge. - -The facial expressions proceed from, spread, and move in another circle. -They all disappear in the cheeks, just as do the movements of the mouth. -One curve passes down from the ear to the mouth; a small curve draws -back the mouth and also the nose a little. A circle passes under the -nose, the chin, to the cheekbones; a deep curve, which starts back to -the cheekbone, cuts in a small hollow to the eyebrow. The features are -distinct; but when they move, they merge into one another. The smile -passes over the face by a circle defining the mouth. The edge of the -mouth is defined by a mezzotint at the point of union. - -The loose hair surrounds the cheek, and the head seems like a golden -fleece on a distaff. It hangs like loosened garlands. How beautifully -these garlands of hair are arranged, with the profile in a three-quarter -view, standing out against the fine, tawny hair! The impressive harmony -between the flesh and the hair! They seem altogether in accord; they -lend each other languor and charm; they are united and separated at the -same time. These drooping clusters of chestnut-blond hair are a frame. -One might call them long flowers hanging from the edge of a vase. - -The neck no longer holds erect the head, which moves in ecstasy. It -drowns itself in the wavy flow of hair, which becomes undone at the -moment. This inundation of hair, so to speak, what a generalized -expression of opulence it is! Before its beauty I feel imbued with -love. I am seized with enthusiasm, aflame with it. This gold, this dull -copper, is like a field of grain, a field of corn, where the sheaves are -of gold bound together. These sheaves, slightly disordered in their -lengthening curves, turning in all directions, imitate the tone of -subdued flesh tints. - -In this veil, transparent and colored like a dead leaf, the ear is -hidden in shadow, where the hair flies back at random in strands, twists -about, and returns. - -O head, beautiful ornament, drooping against the edge of the couch like -a lovely motive in architecture at the edge of a console, you express -the prolonged weakness of a lovely languor! The shoulder extends its -beautiful curve before the face, resting on its side; the line rises, -passes near the nose, descends, and shows the red line of the mouth, -just as the bees continually enter and go out of the opening of the -hive. The face turns, but the eye returns to me, passes by me, and again -gazes upon me. - -In it there is the softness of the dog's eye, a spirit which becomes -motionless when the tyranny of passion has disappeared. When passion is -in control, she sucks like a vampire that delicate flesh, which is the -model of calm, the exquisite remainder of calm. - -This crown of beauty is not made for one woman alone, but for all women. -They do not know it, and yet all in turn attain this beauty, as a fruit -ripens. This calm is more potent in them than in the most beautiful -statues. They are unaware of it, and the men who are near them are -unaware of it also. They have not been taught to admire. They have not -been educated in the science of admiration. - -When, in the galleries of the Louvre, magnificent rooms where are -gathered the collections of antiques, day enters through the windows -and lightly touches these beautiful sculptures which are the adornment -of great palaces, do they understand any better? Do they realize the -collaboration between the sculptor and the light? - -[Illustration: HOTEL BIRON. VIEW FROM THE GARDEN.] - - - - -IV - -AN ARTIST'S DAY - - - The residence of Rodin, the Hôtel Biron, is situated at the - extreme end of the rue de Varenne, in the Faubourg St. Germain. - The long straight street is lined on both sides with old mansions - that lend a distinctive nobility to this district of Paris. The - street is solemn, the quiet austere. Only rarely a carriage rumbles - by. Like the tide of a river, the air sweeps down this street from - the Boulevard des Invalides, which at its other end opens upon the - Esplanade des Invalides, like a great lake. - - Now and then one catches glimpses of the spacious courts, the - steps, the peristyles, and the ornate, but at the same time simple, - pediments. Most of these mansions were, and many of them still are, - inhabited by families associated with the history of France. - - The northern façade of the Hôtel Biron and the courtyard - through which one enters are hidden behind a high convent wall, for - in the nineteenth century the old residence of the Duc de Biron - was transformed into a religious school of the Sacred Heart. There - the daughters of the aristocracy were educated. In consequence of - the law of 1904 relating to the religious orders, the mansion was - vacated, and taken possession of by the state, which rented it in - apartments. Rodin, ever in search of old buildings, in which alone - he can think and work in comfort, soon became the main tenant. - - To ring the bell one must reach high. With difficulty one - turns the handle of the door, which swings slowly. It is a portal - made for coaches to pass through. Under its monumental arch one - seems as insignificant as an insect. To the right of the court is - the old chapel of the religious community. Its somber character - stands out against the neighboring secular buildings. The cold - style of Charles X, in which it is built, forms a strange contrast - to the charming structure of Jacques Gabriel, the celebrated artist - who in the eighteenth century endowed Paris with many works of art, - among others this pavilion of the rue de Varenne, the Hôtel Biron. - Nevertheless, had it not been for Rodin, this building would have - been torn down. - - It is a vast mansion, extremely simple, and built on the - lines of an elongated square. Its great charm is due wholly to its - correct proportions and to the grace and variety of its beautiful, - tall windows, some straight, others rounded, and surmounted by an - inconspicuous ornament, the signature of the artist. All of them - are enlivened by little squares of glass, which are to a window - what the facets are to a diamond. - - The spacious vestibule is paved with black and white marble, - its ceiling supported by six strong columns. A charming stone - staircase rises here. All is in the style of Louis XV, a style that - is dignified when it is not delightfully elegant and coquettish. - - The house was to be torn down, and sold as junk; but Rodin - was on guard. Ever since he had learned that this masterpiece was - condemned his heart had bled, and for the first and only time in - the course of his long existence an outside interest took him - from his work. He wrote letters, took legal steps, called to - his assistance artists, people of culture, and men in politics. - M. Clémenceau, then president of the cabinet; M. Briand, who - succeeded him; M. Gabriel Hanotaux, one of his great friends; - M. Dujardin-Beaumetz, under-secretary of state of fine arts, - all listened to his indefatigable pleading. Finally his plea was - heard, and the Hôtel Biron was classified as a historical monument, - henceforth inviolate. Then the speculators had to abandon their - idea of filling the park with hideous modern structures, and of - disfiguring in six months this unique Quartier des Invalides, to - construct which the architects had given years of work and all - their intelligence. - - Rodin's admirers soon conceived the idea of converting the - Hôtel Biron into a museum for the master's works, which they - pledged themselves to defend with a tenacity equal to that which - Rodin had just displayed. - - * * * * * - - I knock at the door of the studio and rapidly pass through - two large rooms containing no furniture, only busts of bronze and - groups of marble. When I enter the study, Rodin is not here; I - glance about. All the details of this room are familiar to me, but - they always seem new, because everything is in harmony here, with a - harmony which varies according to the day and the hour. - - It is a morning in spring. The bright light sheds its rays - on the various antiquities that the master has assembled here: - Empire chairs, with faded velvet coverings; a Louis XIV arm-chair - of gilded wood and cherry-colored silk, in which one might fancy - Molière seating himself to chat with Rodin, who, ever ready as he - is with a bit of raillery, would surely not have failed in repartee. - - On a round table there is a Persian material, and some - Japanese vases filled with tulips and anemones. On the mantelpiece - are bronzes from the far East and a statuette of porcelain in - marvelous blues that Rodin calls his "Chinese Virgin." On the - walls, close together like the stones in a mosaic, are many of the - master's water-colors. Their well-chosen tones harmonize with and - intensify those of the flowers, the fabrics, and the ceramics of - bygone days. - - Scattered pedestals support huge bronze busts, which call to - mind warriors of the Middle Ages, and some unfinished pieces. They - consist of small groups that, under the eye of the master, seem to - grow out of the white marble, and in the golden sunlight look as - soft as snow. - - On this table, where Rodin takes his meals and writes, is a - Greek marble, a little torso without arms or legs; I know it well, - for he showed it to me while murmuring words of admiration. This is - his latest passion. - - I enter the garden, where he is enjoying a moment of rest, for - he has been working a long while. Owing to his habits as a good - workman, he rises at five every morning. - - I pass through one of the big doors which open upon the park. - The beautiful view always captivates me anew. The light, the air, - the expanse of sky, the magnificent groups of trees, this rustic - solitude in the heart of Paris, take one by surprise, inspire and - elevate the spirit. Rodin is here, smiling and in good humor. - - We are on the terrace that overlooks the expanse of green - and forms a sort of slanting pedestal for the pavilion. Below - stretches a broad alley, almost an avenue, overgrown with a rich - carpet of grass and moss, which loses itself in the distant wood. - Fruit-trees, growing wild, form impenetrable screens on both sides - of this alley. - - The grandeur of this park is largely due to the age of the - trees. Stepping to the edge of the balustrade, I can see toward the - right the dome of the Invalides, standing alone, outlined against - the sky, like a burgrave on guard under a helmet of gold. - -[Illustration: RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED IN THE COURT OF THE HOTEL BIRON.] - - The northern façade of the pavilion has a severe character. - It is the façade which visitors and passers-by see, and for this - an elegant simplicity suffices. But this other side, bathed in - the midday sun, is meant for friends. All the delicate splendor - that the architect conceived is expressed in these stones. This - sculptured pediment, this balcony with its console of flowers, and - the graceful windows, with their semicircular transoms, are models - of elegance. The Hôtel Biron is not large, but it is imposing. The - blockheads who inhabited it during the last century, blind to its - beauty, deaf to its appeal, demolished and sold the wrought-iron - balustrades of the windows, balconies, and staircases, but they - were not able, thank Heaven! to destroy its innate beauty. - - "Let us go to work," said Rodin. I go back to the statues; - Rodin begins to draw. In a little while he will model. During his - hasty luncheon he has the little Greek torso placed before him, and - he makes notes all the while. - - True genius is as changeable as nature. It finds as many ways - of expressing its ideals as it finds subjects. But what always - remains the same is the desire to be sincere. Yet the artist, with - the best of intentions, is often the victim of his own sincerity. - Rodin is no exception to this rule, for even he has had his - portraits rejected. "There is no resemblance!" people declare, - while, on the contrary, the resemblance is too true. With his keen - insight he penetrates too far beyond the mere flesh of the model. - People are frightened at seeing their hidden personality brought - to the light of day, are taken aback at being compelled to know - themselves. They consider the sculptor indiscreet and dangerous. - - If, in his portraits of men, he pries to their very souls, - if he reveals without pity those of his own sex, his equals, his - companions in life's struggle, in his portraits of women he is - discreet and respectful. With delicacy he unfolds their delicate - mystery. He does not say anything which is not true, but frequently - he does not express the whole truth. Genius is ever in quiet - complicity with womanhood, and leaves it in that half-obscurity - which is its greatest power. - - In the bust before us of Mrs. X---- , one wonders what he - refrained from expressing. Surely neither the unusual beauty of the - woman nor her air as of an archduchess. - - I remember the day when I saw this bust for the first time. - It was in the Salon, placed at the head of a high staircase. The - marble was brilliant. Something regal and also lovable attracted - those who came toward it. Resplendent in beauty, the shoulders - emerge from the folds of a wrap with the proud grace of one who is - to the manor born. The small, well-shaped head, supported by the - plump, though delicate, neck, is half turned to the slightly raised - left shoulder. The hair is drawn up high to form a crown, throwing - forward some light strands that shed their soft shadows over the - forehead, like a thatching of moss. The beautiful eyebrows, too, - lend mystery to the glance of the eyes, so full of sweetness and - understanding. The small ear is partly hidden under the waves of - the well-groomed hair. The lines of delicate symmetry which run - from the chin to the ear, and from the ear to the shoulder, and the - coronet of hair, give the bust its distinguished look of race. - - Here we see, too, the firmness of beautiful flesh, hardened by - exercise, radiating that spirit of joyous life that springs from - a thoroughly healthy body, as we feel it in some of the Tanagra - figurines. The quiet reserve which stamps the refined Anglo-Saxon - is revealed, but not overaccentuated. The nose is straight and - slightly raised at the tip, the mouth frank and regular. Those - same changing shadows which beautify flowers, when the sun strikes - them through the leaves of a tree, play over this countenance, and - bathe it in a variety of delicate tones from the eyes to the chin. - But beneath this placid beauty there is a restless soul eager to - act, to express its goodness. The chin and the throat retain their - look of youth, even of something childlike for those whom she - loves; but the thoughtful brow is slightly wrinkled, as if from the - intelligent search for happiness. - - This bust, almost Greek in its simplicity, is one of the most - purely beautiful that has come from Rodin's hands. - - When we note the facility with which these works are produced, - seemingly a natural growth, like vintage and harvest; when we - contemplate these fruits of knowledge, we are too apt to overlook - the laborious efforts involved, and to forget that a life has - been given, drop by drop, to achieve this result in small steps - of progress. Even when we know all this, we often prefer to give - the credit to external causes, which appeal more strongly to our - superficial minds, rather than to that endless patience that is, - and always will be, the secret of genius. - - I watched Rodin model the head of Hanako, the Japanese - actress. He rapidly modeled the whole in the rough, as he does - all his busts. His keen eye and his experienced thumb enable him - to establish the exact dimensions at the first sitting. Then the - detailed work of modeling begins. The sculptor is not satisfied to - mold the mass in its apparent outlines only. With absolute accuracy - he slices off some clay, cuts off the head of the bust, and lays it - upside down on a cushion. He then makes his model lie on a couch. - - Bent like a vivisector over his subject, he studies the - structure of the skull seen from above, the jaws viewed from below, - and the lines which join the head to the throat, and the nape of - the neck to the spine. Then he chisels the features with the point - of a pen-knife, bringing out the recesses of the eyelids, the - nostrils, the curves of the mouth. Yet for forty years Rodin was - accused of not knowing how to "finish"! - - With great joy he said one day, "I achieved a thing to-day - which I had not previously attained so perfectly--the commissure of - the lips." - - In making a bust Rodin takes numerous clay impressions, - according to the rate of progress. In this way he can revert to the - impression of the previous day, if the last pose was not good, or - if, in the language of the trade, "he has overworked his material." - Thus one may see five, six, or even eight similar heads in his - studio, each with a different expression. - - Hanako did not pose like other people. Her features were - contracted in an expression of cold, terrible rage. She had the - look of a tiger, an expression thoroughly foreign to our Occidental - countenances. With the force of will which the Japanese display in - the face of death, Hanako was enabled to hold this look for hours. - - Little by little, under the sculptor's fingers, the mask of - clay reflected all this. It cried out revenge without mercy, the - thirst, for blood. A baffling contrast this--the spirit of a wild - beast appearing on the human countenance. - - I have one of these studies before me now. It has been cast - in a composition of colored glass, and the vivid flesh coloring - lends reality to the work. This mask is not disfigured by rage. The - bloodless head, with its fixed stare, lies on a white cushion, and - no one escapes its disquieting influence. Some people shudder - when they see it. "One might think it the head of a dead person," - they say. - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MRS. X----.] - - Whenever I enter the spacious room I am irresistibly drawn - toward it. My feelings are different every time, but always there - is a feeling of uneasiness. I cannot say that it resembles death; - on the contrary, it is so lifelike that it is almost supernatural. - One might call it a condemned person, a being so terrified by the - approach of death that all the blood has rushed to the heart. It - is a spirit frozen with fear, the eyes looking toward the unknown, - the large nostrils scenting death. The bulging forehead, the high, - Mongolian cheek-bones, and the flat nose make the face still more - singular. All the lines of the face run toward the mouth, with its - remarkable expression. Obstinate, although conquered, it will draw - its last breath without a cry. - - Meanwhile life seems to throb in every cell. This head, so - like a being that has been put to death, has the soft, pliant flesh - of a ripe fruit. - - At night I return to look at it by the light of a candle. - It looks entirely different. The shadows vary as I move the - candle, and the features grow mobile. How gentle and touching it - seems now! It is no longer bloodthirsty and savage; that exotic - expression which repelled me has quite disappeared. These features, - expressing the innermost self under a stress of emotions, reveal a - poor creature that has loved and suffered. It is a pitiable face - that has been molded by life. I have seen that same sad, tired - expression of anguish in one whose whole strength is gone, but who - still makes an effort to understand misfortune in order to strive - against it. I have seen it on my mother's face when one of us was - ill. - - * * * * * - -A MORNING IN THE GARDEN - -It is still night; the dawn is just breaking. I open my window to let -the refreshing air drive away my drowsiness. From the end of the garden, -in the underbrush, and now all about me, I hear much lively chirping. It -tells of the blessing of love, of springtime. - -It is almost day. The blackbird has ended his scene of love; no one was -about when he sang his song of spring and harmony. The flowers listened, -and blossomed at the call of this unseen Orpheus. The air is laden with -misty melodies. These songs do not disturb the silence; they are part -of it. Later we shall still hear the happy call of birds, but no longer -these songs of love that proclaim the eternal reign of our mother earth. - -Now is the time for sighs of happiness; the flowers consecrate -themselves to the beautifying of Demeter, goddess of the under-world. -Orpheus searches for Eurydice; he calls her, and his notes break the -harmonious silence. - -I must bathe my brows in the vague mist, in the fragrance of the earth, -in the light of the dawning day. Spacious room, I leave you. I shall -return to you to work, for here only have I known complete silence. - -I hurry into the garden, where I find inspiring freshness. I had looked -forward to it; my whole body was awaiting it. A sprouting twig proclaims -the fullness of life. I am freed from the memory of yesterday, born anew -for all the seasons to come. In the _palais_ thoughts are more subdued -and modest, content to be bounded by the splendid proportions of the -apartments--proportions that are correct, but nothing more. - -The flight of time is marked by the song of the blackbird, and, as in -Mozart's music, one cannot quite define whence its charm springs. It -is everywhere, to the right, to the left. That voice seems to pierce -through the gaps and hollows of the wood, for now one hears it as an -echo, now as a solo, at the farthest end of the wood. - -My flight of steps is my place for reflection, my _salle de pas -perdus_.[1] At the foot of the steps the verdant carpet, sown with -little stars of green, stretches out. It might be an old Arabian -material or a rich marble. Bits of earth are to be seen in delicate gray -patches. The shadow of night still enshrouds the garden in a cloudy -veil. In the distance, outlined against the horizon, are the bleak walls -of houses, like huge stones. About me stretches that enormous Babylon, -that Paris where my tired nerves relax, where the substance of my life -is woven, where my heart has found appreciation and no reproach, and -where my mind, imbued with the true knowledge of life, has taught my -soul the gracious lesson of submission. - -This broad, beautiful lane is like a Corot, and recalls his nymphs. -The bare trees look like limbs. A bright carpet of turf moistens their -roots. Now a rabbit runs by. In the distance the carriages rumble like -artillery. This is a fitting haunt for fauns, their rustic arbor. -The trees serve as a roof, their green shoots melting into the sky. -The freshness of new life is everywhere, and little exclamations of -admiration spring from every creature. - -With this universal youth new thoughts are born. In this delightful -retreat one feels that only an antique statue could add to its beauty. - -The trees expand with vigor, their buds outlined against the sky. The -rest of the lane seems an avenue of enchantment. Far down at the end -I seem to see happiness. But no, I am wrong: it is not only in the -distance; it is here, all about me, now. - -The slanting rays of the sun strike the trees and the grass; over -the lane bluish shadows play. The spreading shade of the trees falls -softly on the fresh green. Those little dashes of blue among the grass -are forget-me-nots. Those beautiful trees, garbed only since a week -ago, trail their lovely green draperies on the ground, while detached -garlands cling to the shrubs. - -The majesty of youth in nature is unique; it is charm itself, an -inimitable thing. Yet some men of genius have been able to express the -spirit of spring. - -[Illustration: RODIN IN HIS GARDEN.] - -The very soul of meditation dwells in this garden, in this alley of -trees. Polyhymnia, the Muse, in her graceful draperies, walks with me, -and I follow her reverently. - -Away from the turmoil, I can forget the constant hurry of our days. How -we allow ourselves to be harassed! Reaching out for everything without -possessing anything truly, we do not even realize what treasures we have -lost. A few puffs of empty air are not poetry, and seeing happiness in -the distance is not enjoying it. What hurries you? Ah, your life is out -there, elsewhere? Go, then; but I shall remain here with the antique in -my charming garden. - -I will sit down on this old stone bench, surrounded by dense shrubs. The -dead wood is piled in little heaps. The tree-tops form a semicircle, -and stand out like a pantheon against the sky. The branches bear the -marks of lightning and grow in zigzag. The sap of the earth rises in the -arteries of the trees, ever ready to take part in the great festival of -spring. - -Now the charm of the alley consists in the differences of light and -shade. As the one strives to advance, the other recedes toward the dale. -The shadows disperse for the morning, leaving behind their beneficent -moisture for their friends, the flowers of this dale. - -Before me, on a knoll, stands a beautiful column, as if in prayer. It -seems to have sprung from the kingdom of Pluto, and now, like us, it -stands in the bright sunlight, a part of the out-of-doors. - -Stone, pure and beautiful material, destined for the work of men, just -as flax is destined for the work of women. A gift scarcely hidden -under the earth, man has seized upon stones with rapture, carefully -drawing them from their dark hiding-place, to raise them on high as in -church towers, making them tractable, transforming the crude rocks, -and appropriating them for masterpieces. Under the protection of man's -sacrilegious hand, these stones lend beauty to our cities. They have a -tender sympathy with the trees, the roots of which join their own. - -Both hard and soft stones have a place in man's esteem. Sculpture has -glorified them. The column is like a tree, but simpler than a tree, with -a silent life of its own. And like the plants which cling about it, it -also has its foliage and leaves. The artist who conceived the Sphinx -made her to be the guardian of temples and secrets. - -That column there rises up like a druid-stone, as though to converse -with the moon at night. It awaits the appearance of man in the solemn -ritual of night, for in its immensity it bears witness that man has -created it. Man, too, has had his part, an ephemeral part, in the -creation; his idea strives with the works of God, as Israel strove with -the angel. His illuminating thought, expressed in stone, arouses those -who otherwise might be insensible to beauty. The hand of man, like the -hand of God, can transform a soul and make it new. - -Mystery in which I have lived, but which I understand only now that I am -about to depart. The marvel of it all! And to think that one must leave -it! Well, that is the lot of all other living creatures. - -And now the blue of the sky has grown darker, without a shadow, while -beauty itself has taken its abode in these avenues of trees. Now and -then passing clouds dim the glory of this splendid youth of nature, but -the green is brilliant even in the shadow. High up among the trees, I -see a blue river, the sky, while the great clouds, mountains of water, -are hanging above to quench the thirst of the flowers. - - -[Footnote 1: _Salle de pas perdus_ is the name given to the large hall -of the Gare St. Lazare, Paris.] - - - -AN ANTIQUE FRAGMENT - -Twenty times a day I walk in front of this little torso. I bring all my -friends to see it, for Greek sculpture is the very source of beauty. - -Why am I surprised whenever I look upon this torso? I think it is -because nature, which is behind this work of art, always calls forth -new, unlooked-for sensations. - -Venus, glorious Venus, model of all women, your purity survives even -after two thousand years. Your charm charms me--me who have admirers for -my own sculpture. Before you they remain cold; but I, with a spirit that -sees further--I admit my defeat as an artist, my poor ability vanishes -before your grace. - -Form, as I used to express it, seems a mere illusion before the -harmonious strength of your lines, which embody the very truth of -life. Divine fragment, I shall live by you! What days you recall -to me! Perhaps the last moments of the soul of Greek sculpture, -ever-increasingly my Muse. - -This torso shows the suppleness and strength of the joints. It is a -summing-up of former masterpieces of the artist. Those endless studies -that grow into experience and all the qualities of balance are here -concealed beneath the beauty and the gracious inspiration of the figure. -The inspired sculptor has just discovered all these qualities, and in -appreciation has given expression to them with his very soul. - -An antique piece of sculpture cannot be imitated. This torso seems to -have a soul. Are not the shadows trembling on it there? One can see them -move. - -What a progress toward truth we find in the advance from Assyrian and -Egyptian to Greek art! Antique things, if we knew how to look at them, -would bring about a new renaissance for us, we who stagnate in the -Parisian spirit. The Parisian spirit, young though it is, is already -too old to serve us. It is like those pretentious monuments, those -constructions in plaster, which are hollow and horrible under their -crumbling stucco. - -Greece was the land of sculpture beyond all others. The subject of -their sculpture was life. The people concealed it under names and -symbols,--Jupiter, Apollo, Venus, the fauns,--but behind all these was -the eternal truth of life. - -This torso on my table looks as though it had been washed to the shore -by the loving waves, as boats are stranded on the beach at low tide. -What more beautiful offering could be made to men and gods? For is this -fragment not an eternal prayer? - -The thoughts expressed in this torso are numerous, infinite. I could -write about it forever. Do I bring these thoughts with me? Is it I who -put them into the marble? No, for when it is out of my sight, this -divinity of life vanishes from me at the same time. Since it ceases -to be in me, it must be the fragment which possesses it. It teaches a -sculptor more than any professor could. It whispers secrets to me, and -if I am true to it, it will tell me more and more; it will transform -me in harmony with the soul of its friend, the Greek sculptor. For are -not the thoughts of God expressed all the world over? Are they not the -fruitful germs, now growing within a brain, now in a beautiful grouping -of stone, and now captured by those magicians, the poets? And are -sculptors, too, not like poets? - -Where can one find more perfect harmony than in this fragment? It is -a monument. And is it not providential? It is only a fragment, yet it -seems to embody the whole Acropolis. Truth, that lasting joy, fills in -all that is missing. It is a fact that this torso, which weighs one -hundred and sixty pounds, seems as light as the woman herself would -be, as light as her gracious, swelling flesh. I know contours, but the -contours of a masterpiece always surprise me anew. Whenever I see you, -beautiful little torso, my eyes and my soul feast on you. Masterpiece, -you are my master, too. - -If, as they say, stones have fallen from heaven, this surely must be one -of them. I leave it in the condition in which I found it, as it first -appealed to me, with all its charm, as I carried it in my arms to this -table. The changing lights of day mold it; but I shall not touch it, I -shall not change it. It is truth itself, and it shines in no matter what -surroundings. - -This torso has within it the seductiveness of woman, that garden of -pleasure the secret charms of which imbue old and young alike with a -terrible power. Feminine charm which crushes our destiny, mysterious -feminine power that retards the thinker, the worker, and the artist, -while at the same time it inspires them--a compensation for those who -play with fire! - -It is not by analysis that you will learn to understand art, you who are -ignorant. Greek art eludes the imbeciles and ignorant who have always -undervalued it. How can one comprehend this beauty by mere analysis? -Where lies the secret of force? It is ever shifting. And the shadow, -so genially arranged, varies with the way the light strikes it. In -art, what do we call life? That which speaks to you through all your -senses. If this torso were to bleed, it could not be more lifelike. The -harmony of its lines dominates my soul. The soul lives and grows on -masterpieces. That is why we have a soul. - -Is it surprising, then, that I live with these antiques of mine, poets -far more inspiring than any of our day? They have created beings that -will live to survive us. - - - -AN EVENING IN THE GARDEN - -I leave my exacting work always more and more its slave. Walking, -because of its regularity, always refreshes me. Such a walk means -a great deal to me. It puts my nerves into a state of delightful -tranquillity. - -The trees are still bare of leaves and have a wintry look. At their -base there are dainty sprouts, clouds of green. The lawns are ponds of -emerald green. The charm of this alley is partly due to the twigs and -shoots that sprout out of the ground and spring up like a cloud of lace. - -There is a faint decline in this soft brightness, for now the sun is -setting. The sun-god is moderating his power for the benefit of the -little flowers which otherwise would dry up and fade. This is the hour -when the sun lends full value to the works of man, so that architecture -stands out in all its beauty, while at the same time the sun softly -colors the lovely clouds. - -The pediment of the Palais Biron is brilliant in the sunlight. The -balcony casts shadows on the grimacing consoles, and the shell-work is -luminous in this glorious light. The window-panes glow in glory. The -great staircase seems arranged for ladies to descend on their way to -the garden, graciously trailing their long robes, which rustle over the -steps. - -Like a pilgrim, full of hope, who rests a moment at the gates of a town, -and breathes the balmy evening air, so I seat myself in this garden. -The hour passes quickly, but it could not be better employed than in -absorbing these marvels. - -When the sun drops behind the horizon, with its glowing colors like the -flaming fires of a forge, our hearts are filled with wonder and awe. -It gilds all in a last golden glory of triumph, the sky so brilliant -that one cannot define the line of the horizon. There, where the sun -disappeared, the sky is now orange. Everything is fading away; another -immensity spreads out before us. The glory of night is about to extend -over the firmament its melancholy charm. - -[Illustration: THE POET AND THE MUSES.] - -The corner of this garden is a corner of happiness, a corner of -eternity. Here thoughts can thrive and worship, for here they have -everything. For the great things in life are not the exceptional things, -but the beauties of every day, which we do not stop to notice. These -vast treasures, within our grasp, which we do not even touch, they are -the things that count. - -The public believes that one is happy in the admiration of nature; but -there are various degrees of happiness. Doubtless a glorious feeling of -admiration may take hold of one; but if one does not constantly cling -to one's admiration as a matter of habit, one grows weary and becomes -superficial. Indeed, I do not know why we demand another life, since we -have not learned to enjoy and understand this one fully. In any case, if -we find this a bad world, it is our fault. We are childish about it. We -belittle one another wilfully. Fancy the trees doing that, if one could -suspect them of such a thing! - -When I descend the steps, I am overwhelmed by that fluid which is life. -I am in touch with life. What more can I want? This tenderness which -surrounds me everywhere, this ever-varying nature which says so much to -me, the atmosphere which envelops me--am I already in heaven, or am I a -poet? - - - - -V - -THE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC - - - One of Rodin's friends, M. Léon Bourgeois, the eminent, - highly cultivated French statesman, has said, "Rodin is himself - a cathedral." This remark wonderfully characterizes Rodin's - intellectuality as it appears to us to-day. Rich in years and - experience, his intellect is in truth as complicated as a - cathedral, but like it, too, superbly simple in its general - structure. His intellect possesses the wealth of detail that makes - up life and the calm balance of the laws that govern nature. His - mind, formed on principles scrupulously controlled by observation, - abounds in that wonderful artistic imagination which is the poetry - of life. Ever renewing itself, ever active, his mind inspires - intense confidence because it is deeply rooted in truth. It looks - at its subjects of study with such conscientious devotion that it - perceives every phase of reality; for it is only love such as this, - a love springing not from impatience and passion, but from faith - and hope, that is always victorious in the end. - - Churches! He lives near them, so as to study them in the - fleeting changes of the hours. He likes to be enveloped by the - sound of the church bells that for seven or eight centuries have - spoken the same language of discipline to the spirit of France. - Day and night he visits the naves. There his soul feels the sacred - mystery. The churches are truly the cradle of his artistic faith. - - But it is only recently that the joys which he drew from them - reached their height; for although he was long under the influence - of Gothic art, that most extraordinary product of the hand of - man, only in the last few years has he learned to penetrate its - principles and understand its methods. - - How often in my youth I questioned him about the cathedrals! - He always replied with that caution which in deep natures is a - form of deference: "I am pervaded by the marvel of this art; but - I cannot as yet explain it to myself. The Gothic is the world - foreshortened. Where am I to begin? For more than thirty years - I have been accumulating and comparing my observations. Perhaps - eventually I shall succeed in deducing the rule, the law of divine - intelligence; but perhaps I shall not have sufficient time. Then it - will be the task of another, younger than myself, who will start - his researches earlier, and who, besides, will have been informed - by me." - - On his return from each of these pilgrimages he was possessed - by the happy restlessness of one who would soon be able to give - expression to his secret. One felt that "the law of divine - intelligence" was being formulated in his mind. I then hoped and - expected that soon he would reap the fruit of his long labors. - - At last one day Rodin took me to Notre Dame, beautiful among - the beautiful, despite the modern restorations that have detracted - from the grace and suppleness of its sculpture. Notre Dame of Paris - is beautiful in itself and in its situation on the banks of the - Seine, that river of feminine grace, which in its innocent course - draws with it the memory of many terrible historic events. - - From Notre Dame to Saint-Eustache, from the Tour Saint-Jacques - to Saint-Etienne-du-Mont, during this long walk of ours Rodin - talked, quite unaware of the curious glances of those who - recognized him, and of the scoffing of the street urchins, who - mistook the great Frenchman for a stranger discovering the capital - of France. Later he gave me numerous notes that supplemented his - conversations. - - His words and notes combined form the clearest and most - important lesson on Gothic art that has been handed down since the - days of the Gild of the Francs-Maçons, by one of their own sort, a - craftsman such as they were, a veritable sculptor, a stone-cutter - loving the material in which he works. - - Has Rodin, after so thoroughly grasping the secrets of the - builders of bygone days, never felt the desire to apply them in the - execution of some work of architecture? Was he never tempted by - their example and by that of Michelangelo to expand his resources - beyond those of the sculptor? Those who know the creative power - and the vastness of imagination of the modeler of "The Burghers of - Calais" and of "The Gate of Hell" may well ask this question. - - Well, yes, he has had that great dream, which in more prolific - times would have become a glorious reality. He hoped to revive - the spirit of a day when a whole nation of artists covered France - with masterpieces; he hoped to organize labor collectively, and - to gather about him a legion of artisans to work together on a - monument which should become in a certain sense the cathedral of - the modern age. - - He even drew up plans for that wonderful project, the subject - of which was to be the glorification of labor, that triumphant - force of our present civilization. He did not plan to rival the - Gothic style, the prodigious achievement of which would have - required throngs of workmen thoroughly organized and disciplined, - well trained under the system of master and apprentice, - accomplishing their common task in the joy of work and the - enthusiasm of faith. He planned to approximate the art of the - Renaissance, less removed from modern intellectuality, and simpler - of execution. - -[Illustration: THE TOWER OF LABOR.] - - In Rodin's studio at Meudon one can see the plan for this - monument. The axis is a high column calling to mind Trajan's - Column, and, like it, covered with bas-reliefs. A tower broken - by large openings, as in the Tower of Pisa, encircles it. In the - interior a gradually inclining way leads one from the base to the - top along the bas-reliefs. These represent all the active crafts - and trades: those of the cities, such as masons, carpenters, - weavers, bakers, brewers, glass-workers, and goldsmiths; and - those of the country, such as plowmen, harvesters, vintagers, - vine-dressers, shepherds, and farmers. On the exterior, between - the arches, stand statues of the great geniuses that have led - humanity, whose efforts have raised them to celestial heights; that - is, to the peace and happiness of creating. There great thinkers, - inventors, and artists have their niches, just as the prophets - have theirs in the vaults of cathedrals. The edifice rests on a - crypt where groups of sculpture are devoted to the glorification - of work under the earth and its obscure heroes, miners, divers, - pearl-fishers. At the time when the plan for this monument was - advanced, and was exciting the imagination of European writers and - journalists, an ardent admirer of Rodin even proposed to build - the tomb of the master under the crypt, where he would have had a - resting-place worthy of a Pharaoh. On each side of the entrance is - a statue representing Morning and Evening, and at the summit of - the column two angels, messengers of God, their hands outstretched - toward the earth with a gesture of exquisite tenderness, shed the - blessings of heaven on the work of man. - - Alas! this noble, stirring project will not be realized during - the life of the artist. Will there some day be another possessed of - the ardor and love of beauty necessary to build this mountain of - stone? - - For a time Rodin's friends hoped that America, the nation of - work par excellence, would seize upon this idea. They pictured - the philanthropists of the New World in characteristic fashion - pouring forth millions for this work of universal art and national - glorification; they saw Rodin being called to the United States, - gathering about him not only American artists, but all the - intelligent forces of the world of culture. They saw the Tower - of Labor, with its angels bestowing their benediction over some - formidable industrial city, New York, Pittsburgh, or Chicago. - This might have been the starting-point for a new era of art, for - nothing is more contagious than the realization of beauty in actual - form. - - Doubtless the writers of France did not discuss the matter - long or forcibly enough, and the Tour de Travail, which might have - been the ardent expression of a whole race, will remain the idea - of a solitary genius, a last offshoot of the masters of the Middle - Ages. - - But if the hour has not yet struck for the construction of - the modern cathedral, at least we possess, thanks to the man who - dreamed of erecting it, the secrets and principles of those who - constructed the cathedrals of bygone days. - - * * * * * - -To acquire a thorough and fruitful understanding of the cathedrals, we -must break away from the narrow and cold spirit of the present day. The -spirit of our time does not harmonize in architecture with the monuments -of the past. - -First let us contemplate the whole. The church is a cliff. The -construction of the slender side springing up is quite in the spirit of -our race. The Gothic towers are stones set up like Druidic monuments. -The church is laid out like a dolmen, and the towers are the menhirs. -Like the menhirs, they have beautiful, flexible lines; they possess the -eloquence of natural outlines, which are never cold or meager. - -The line of the Gothic tower is slightly curved, swelling like that of -a barrel. A straight line is hard and cold. The Greeks perceived that; -they refrained from straight lines, and the columns of their temples -also show a slight swelling. - -The two sides of the Gothic tower are not alike. The architects -considered that preferable to obvious symmetry. Look at the Tour -Saint-Jacques in Paris. One of the sides shows a long, sloping hollow, -making it look quite different from the other, which, again, is like -stones set on high. The hollowed line permits protuberances, details of -ornamentation that soften and harmonize with the line of the ensemble. -It has been restored, and therefore from near at hand seems cold, for -our workmen have lost the science and art of modeling. But the beauty of -the general structure remains; they could not detract from that. - -This softened line, this line full of life, is one of the chief -characteristics of the Gothic. The sky of our northern climates ordained -it so, for the architects of the Middle Ages carved their monuments -out of doors. Once the general plan was established, they easily found -the details while working with their tools, guided by the light and -influenced by natural conditions. - -Our light is not that of Greece. Humanity the world over is akin; but -to what the Greek expressed in a chastened manner, in keeping with his -eternally pure light, we have added the oblique slant of our sun, our -reality, our country, our autumns, the sting of our winters, our less -definite spirit, our remoteness from the glaring Olympian sun; and, last -of all, we have added our trees. - -We also have light, but it is frequently obscured by passing clouds. Is -it not natural that we should reproduce them in our art? And the line, -the abundant line, is more accentuated in the half-night of our long -autumns. Thus we are more in the mood of our woods and our forests. Our -souls have more shadows than the Greek soul, our determinations are more -varied; for our clouds and our forests are reflected in our hearts. - -Artists, let us, then, revert to the interpretation of our race, but in -the spirit, not in the letter. Let us copy only the soul of our external -nature, not its Gothic form, for a mere copy is cold and dead. Beautiful -architecture is a reproduction by man, but from a divine model. From -this it receives the warmth of life. If architecture is true to the -spirit of nature, it is embraced by the trees, the rocks, the clouds; -they are the silent company of beauty. - -O Cathedral! Sphinx of Northern life! although mutilated, are you not -eternal? Do you cease to live? From a distance, and in the evening, when -dusk sets in, you seem truly a great sphinx crouching in the country. - -The drama that unfolds itself on the stone pages of the churches recalls -to us with a very few gestures and movements the silent drama of -antiquity, the sculptures, illustrations of Æschylus and Sophocles. - -From the Greek type, in truth, sprang the thoughts that guide man, and -again from the Egyptian granite; and eventually from the stone of the -Gothic, that Gothic which leads to the period of Louis XVI, and which in -France is always the principal path of art. Other styles were derived -from it, those of the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, and -eighteenth centuries. Their basis is Gothic; therefore the Gothic is the -fundamental style, which ought to keep us from the path of decadence, -if that is possible. You do not understand it? You say you prefer the -Greek? O ye mortals that wish to pass judgment on all matters, take -heed lest these masterpieces prevail against you! The cathedral is as -beautiful, perhaps more beautiful, than the Parthenon. If you do not -understand this style, then you are still further removed from the -Greek, which is of another country and epoch. It is more beautiful, -perhaps more concise, more marble; but we belong more with stone and -forests, we are more autumnal, more of the cold and melancholy season. - - - -THE GOTHIC BUILDERS ARE REALISTS - -Do not let us lose sight of the fact that beneath this poem of stone -there is a foundation of knowledge based on a close and comprehensive -study. - -To-day I understand it. As a result of study, one truth after another -comes to light. At the outset one is lost before these marvels. Where -is one to begin studying? One's thoughts and one's admiration rise like -clouds. The mind makes prodigious leaps to grasp again what it already -knows, to combine it with the recently acquired knowledge, to attempt to -draw conclusions which simplify and generalize the study, and thus to -discern the fundamental law. - -For a long time during my youth I thought, like many others, that Gothic -art was poor. I was so ungrateful during the first enthusiasm of my -liberty! I learned to understand its grandeur only through traveling. -Observation and work led me back to the right road. In the course of my -efforts I have grasped the meaning of the thoughts of the masters. My -persistent work was not futile, and, like one of the Magi, I have at -last come to bow in humble reverence before them. - -A true artist must penetrate the primordial principles of creation; only -by understanding the beautiful does he become inspired, and that not -through a sudden awakening of his sensibilities, but by slow penetration -and perception, by patient love. The mind need not be quick, for slow -progress should imply precaution in every direction. - -The Gothic builders are the greatest observers of nature that have ever -existed, the greatest realists, despite all that professors and critics -say to the contrary. They call them idealists. They say the same of the -Greeks and of all artists whose profound knowledge has enabled them to -borrow their effects and charm from nature. Idealists! That is a term -which signifies nothing and merely confounds cause and effect. - -Builders of the Middle Ages, you independent scholars, models of a -profound intelligence, this is what our age has found as an explanation -of your masterpieces! - -I have devoted my whole life in endeavoring to catch a glimpse of -the rules, the secrets of experience, which you transmitted to one -another, and it is only now, when my days are numbered, that I am at -last grasping the synthesis of beauty. To whom shall I confide the -fruit of my research? Some future genius will gather it. The cathedral -is eternal, rising toward the sky. When we think it has attained its -ultimate height, it rises again higher still, like a mountain of truth. - - - -PLANS AND OPPOSITIONS - -The architects of our churches subordinated detail to arrive at a more -effective whole. That is why our churches are so beautiful when seen -from a distance. They sacrificed everything to the essential, the "plan." - -The plan? Like all synthetic conceptions, this is difficult to define. -It is the space that an object displaces in the atmosphere, its volume. -When an artist is able to determine exactly the space an object occupies -in the atmosphere, be he painter, sculptor, or architect, he possesses -the real science of plans. - -What is detail in a plan? Nothing. The towers of the church at Bruges -are superb in their bareness, while our modern houses, overladen with -detail, are hideous to look upon. Of the two towers of the cathedral at -Chartres, the one is bare, just a huge wall; the other is covered with -ornamentation, and the first is possibly the more beautiful because of -the potency of its plan. What does this force of simplicity express to -us? It is the soul of a nation. A people expresses its nature through -the medium of its architecture. Stones are faithful when we do not -retouch them. They are the signatures of a nation. - -[Illustration: HEADLESS FIGURE.] - -Through the science of plans the great oppositions or contrasts of light -and shadow are obtained. They give life and color to the structure. -According to the position of the sun, the appearance of a building -varies. One part is in the shade, the other in the light, and between -these two is the gradation of shadings. - -The master architects did not set their edifices apart from the -universe; they gave them the benefit of all the phenomena of -nature--dawn and dusk, twilight, cloud effects, haze, and fog. Every -moment of the day adds to or detracts from their effect. - -Sometimes I stand before a cathedral, and it does not seem at all -beautiful. I feel I should like to alter it. Then I revisit it at -another hour and see it in a different lighting. The light strikes it -aslant, the shadows are deeper; the cathedral is absolutely beautiful, -and I feel abashed at my former impatience and critical mistrust. - - - -THE SCIENCE OF EQUILIBRIUM - -These great effects of light and shade, obtained by the plan--effects -simple in their means, yet mysterious in their power of attraction for -us, have strengthened the idea that Gothic art is idealistic. The masses -who see the cathedral dominating the city, with its two slanting roofs -like hands joined at the finger-tips, certainly feel in it the great -idea, the poem. They do not realize that the sentiments aroused in them -by the beauty of the building are wholly due to the science of the plans. - -By means of what principle did the master builders support the weight -of these enormous masses of stone, which yet join lovingly in the -imponderable atmosphere? By obeying the law of equilibrium of the human -body. The human body, standing upright, the feet joined, in equilibrium, -is the basis of the Greek column. Pediments and roof, supported by a -series of these standing bodies, these human columns, that is the Greek -temple. The architecture of the Parthenon reproduces the equilibrium -of the body in a state of rest. In action the body sways; that is to -say, the weight rests on only one leg, while the body inclines to the -opposite side to regain its balance by counterpoise. That is the sway -of Gothic architecture. This sway constitutes the law of motion for the -body of man and animal, ever seeking perfect equilibrium. - -Without this law we could not move; we would be like blocks of stone. -Every motion that we make produces an initial swaying, which an opposing -weight instantaneously balances. Thus without any consciousness on -our part a perpetual balancing is taking place within us, a change as -facile and immediate as the changes which take place in the phenomena -of respiration and circulation. All goes on with the speed, order, and -silence that exist in the domain of electricity. It is a perpetual -prodigy to which we do not even give a thought. - -It is not surprising that the Gothic masters, who copied from all -nature, took from man and animals the charm of balance. - -The ogive (pointed arch) of the cathedral, is achieved by two opposing -thrusts. But the archivolts do not always harmonize with the capitals; -they are not set exactly over them, they are out of the perpendicular. -Two movements of equal force, exactly opposed, cause a stable -equilibrium. Just so the masses of stone are supported by this same -opposition of thrusts. - -The interior of the cathedral is high and vast, broken by large windows -that diminish the resistance and help to support the great weight. It -was necessary to find a way of reëstablishing the equilibrium, lest the -nave break down under its own weight. That is the purpose of the flying -buttresses. Like the arms of giants, they throw their opposing weight -against the exterior walls. - -Some have drawn the conclusion that cathedrals are imperfect, since they -cannot stand without this support. It is a characteristic idea of our -age. Just as though one would reproach the human body for bearing first -on one leg and then on the other. - -These powerful buttresses are wonderfully effective in their contrast -to the lacework of the sculpture. What is more beautiful than Notre -Dame in Paris at night, with its island as its pedestal? It is the huge -skeleton of the France of the Middle Ages which appears to us here. How -attractive the light and shade on the buttresses! Indeed, it took genius -to bring out beauty in that which is in reality only the skeleton of the -edifice, and which could be offensive, were it badly carried out. - - - -THE LACEWORK OF STONE - -The Gothic style exists by virtue of oppositions, contrasts in effects -and in balance. They built huge bare walls, but in the upper heights -ornamentation flourishes and abounds. There the "increase and multiply" -of the Bible has been figuratively carried out. - -Once the basis of construction was established, the masons embellished -the "line" by admirable ornamentation, due to their splendid -workmanship. We should never forget that modeling supplies the -life-blood to the mass; without it we can have neither grace nor power. - -Formerly I did not understand the architecture; I merely saw the -lacework of the Gothic. But even in my conception of that I was -mistaken, for I thought it a caprice of genius. I did not know that it -had a scientific _raison d'être_; namely, to break and soften the line. -Now I see its importance: it rounds off the outlines; it gives them life -and warmth. These statues, these graceful caryatids, propping up the -portals, these copings in the covings, are like vegetation which softens -the rigid summit of a wall. There again we find the Gothic artists as -skilful colorists as the cleverest painters, because they have gained -insight from the vegetation of our country. In our plants, in our trees, -all is light and shadowy, and from them they gained their wonderful -mastery of the art of depth, which brings out the finest shadings of -light, the mellowness of half-tints. To-day we misuse black, the medium -of power. We use it too extensively; we put it everywhere for the sake -of effect, and therefore lose its effect entirely. - -The Gothic is nature transposed and reproduced in stone. To show -admiration for this form of art is to preserve the memory of the -creation. The artist is the confidant of nature. Shakspere says in "King -Lear," we - - ... take upon 's the mystery of things, - As if we were God's spies. - - - -THE NAVE - -A church is spread out like a dolmen between two menhirs. The interior -breathes the solemn calm of a forest, the columns are the trees, the -masses of the base are the rocks, the pointed arches are the massive -roots, the vaultings are the caves, and the windows are radiant flowers -in large bowls. When I emerge from the darkness of a cathedral, I feel -as if I came from the shadow of a vast, extinguished world. - -Without the brightening light of the stained-glass windows, our churches -would be sad. In Spain the gloom is funereal, but the genius of France -has understood how to capture the caressing light through its windows. -The productiveness of the Celtic spirit is also noticeable in the -capitals. Gothic art abandoned Greek ornament, which had been reproduced -so often that it lost all significance. It found its models in the woods -and gardens. From the oak it took its crown of foliage, from the thistle -and cabbage their gracefully drooping leaves, and from the bramble -its intertwined thorns. They made wonderful capitals by reversing the -acanthus, and copying the languid grace of falling blossoms. - -The cathedral of Bourges--the vastness of this church makes me tremble. -One might say there are three churches in its three naves. Grandeur -demands repetition. The superbness of this work of architecture -enforces silence. People attribute their emotion here to religious -sentiment alone, and do not realize that it is due also to the correct -calculations of art. They do not realize that the impressive darkness -of the vast church, its lighting, the wax tapers here, and the -daylight with its brilliancy there, have all been planned beforehand. -The stained-glass windows of Bourges are dazzling, almost terrible, in -their beauty. There are flashes as red as blood, and dashes of blue, a -flame--the wounds of Christ, the funeral pile of Jeanne d'Arc. When the -sun sinks, the bright light will fade away; then we have before us only -the charming effect of bowls of flowers. - -The legends which are told on the stained-glass are good enough to amuse -children; but the glass itself, the splendor of its colors, the extent -to which it harmonizes with the nave--all that is the actual result and -object of profound thought. The Middle Ages put life into everything; -they worshiped life. They drew extensively from nature, wisely realizing -that its source is inexhaustible, while the day of man is fleeting. - - - -THE MOLDING - -The science of plans, balance of volumes, and proportion in the moldings -govern the spirit of Gothic art. Of late I believe I have discovered how -the masters struck upon the beautiful Gothic molding, that undulating -molding which gives so much suppleness to the architecture. I have found -something new in the well-known, and beauty in forms which I did not -understand before. This change is due above all to my work. Having -always studied more intensely, I can say that I have always loved more -ardently. - -I believe the masters of Gothic art got their ideas of molding through -their understanding of the human body, and perhaps above all of the body -of woman. The body, that human column, seen in profile is a line of -projections and protuberances, of the nose, the chin, the breast, the -flank. Thence springs the beautiful undulating line which is the outline -of Gothic molding. For Gothic molding, like the Greek, is soft and -swelling. The "doucine" (a molding, concave above, convex below), a term -of the trade, tender as the name of a woman, well expresses the charm of -the beautiful French molding. - -The proportions of molding exist in nature, but in such form that we -have not yet been able to subject them to rules. It required men of -positive taste, of most profound understanding, to grasp the harmony of -these proportions and to express them in sculpture. One might say the -Gothic architects understood molding by means of their intelligence as -well as by means of their heart. - -By means of the cathedral the artists of the Middle Ages have shown -us the most impressive drama in existence--the mass. The mass has the -grandeur of the antique drama. Greek tragedies are in fact only a form -of the mass. The human mind starts afresh at different epochs. When the -priest officiates, his gestures have the beauty of the antique, and this -beauty merges into that of the church music, that sublime tongue, the -voice of the sea. Then, when the crowds prostrate themselves, when they -arise simultaneously, the undulation of their bending bodies is like the -waves of the ocean. Truly the Gothic master builders were the familiar -friends of the sublime. From what source did these men spring! From what -minds did those ideas arise! God has shared his power with some of his -sons. - - - - -VI - -ART AND NATURE - - -Criticizing nature is as stupid as criticizing the cathedrals. It is the -vice of our cold and petty age to criticize. It is the evil of decadent -races. We are constantly being told that we live in an age of progress, -an age of civilization. That is perhaps true from the point of view of -science and mechanics; from the point of view of art it is wholly false. - -Does science give happiness? I am not aware of it; and as to mechanics, -they lower the common intelligence. Mechanics replace the work of the -human mind with the work of a machine. That is the death of art. It is -that which has destroyed the pleasure of the inner life, the grace of -that which we call industrial art--the art of the furniture-maker, the -tapestry-worker, the goldsmith. It overwhelms the world with uniformity. -Once artisans created; to-day they manufacture. Once they rejoiced in -the pleasure of making a work of art; to-day the workman is so bored in -his shop that he has invented sabotage and has made alcoholism general. - -The sight of a modern monument throws one into melancholy even while -an ancient one has not ceased to enrapture. I visit a small city, and, -losing my train, am obliged to wait for the next one. I take a walk -about the ancient church, a delicious thing, very simple, but with its -Gothic ornaments placed with taste, in a delicate relief that, in the -light, provides an enchantment for my friendly glances. In the little -nave, which invites to calm, to thought,--thought as soft and composed -as the light shadows that move slowly across the pillars,--I settle -myself. Ah, I come away charmed. If I had waited in the station, I would -have been wearied to death, and would have returned home fatigued and -discontented. As it is, I have gained something--the beautiful counsels -of moderation and the fine charm of a monument of former days. - -Art alone gives happiness. And I call art the study of nature, the -perpetual communion with her through the spirit of analysis. - -He who knows how to see and feel may find everywhere and always things -to admire. He who knows how to see and feel is preserved from ennui, -that _bête noire_ of modern society. He who sees and feels deeply never -lacks the desire to express his feelings, to be an artist. Is not nature -the source of all beauty? Is she not the only creator? It is only by -drawing near to her that the artist can bring back to us all that she -has revealed to him. - -When one says this, the public thinks it a commonplace. All the world -believes that it knows that; but it knows it only in seeming, the truth -penetrates only the superficial shell of its intelligence. There are -so many degrees in real comprehension! Comprehension is like a divine -ladder. Only he who has reached the top rounds has a view of the world. -The public is astonished or shocked when some one goes against its -preconceived notions, against the prejudices of a badly interpreted or -degenerate tradition. Words are nothing; the deed alone counts. It is -not by reading manuals of esthetics, but by leaning on nature herself -that the artist discovers and expresses beauty. - -Alas! we are not prepared to see and to feel. Our sorry education, far -from cultivating in us the feeling for enthusiasm, makes us in our -youth little pedants who without result overwhelm ourselves and others -with our pretensions. Those who too late, by long efforts, escape this -demon of folly arrive only after that education has fatally sapped their -strength and has destroyed the flower of enthusiasm that God had planted -in them as a sign of His paradise. People without enthusiasm are like -men who carry their flags pointed down to the ground instead of proudly -above their heads. - -Constantly I hear: "What an ugly age! That woman is plain. That dog is -horrible." It is neither the age nor the woman nor the dog which is -ugly, but your eyes, which do not understand. One generally disparages -the things that are above one's comprehension. Disparagement is the -child of ignorance. As soon as you discover that, you enter into the -circle of joy. - -[Illustration: RODIN'S HOUSE AND STUDIO AT MEUDON.] - -Man, animals, down to the smallest insects, down to the infinitesimal; -the earth, the waters, the woods, the sky--all are marvelous. The -firmament is the vastest landscape, the most profound, the most -enchanting, with its variations, its effects of color and light, which -delight the eye, astonish the thought, and subjugate the heart. And -to say that artists--those who consider themselves such--attempt to -represent all that simply as it appears to them, without having studied -it, without having deciphered it, without having felt it! I pity them. -They are prisoners, slaves of stupidity. - -I was like them in the first periods of my perverted youth, but I have -delivered myself. I have regained the liberty to approach the things -that I love by the pathway of true study. Who follows me on the road? -Who can learn it from a study of sculpture and design in books? You who -have caught a glimpse of the splendor of that tree, of that giant whose -magnificent column has been denuded by autumn of its leafy capital, -but which is perhaps more beautiful in the nudity of its members; -you who admire the structure of its branches and twigs, etched in an -infinitude of forms against the sky, where they resemble the lacework -of the windows of our churches, would you not understand far better that -beauty, would not your pleasure be far more complete, if you sketched -that tree not only in the mass, but in the innumerable details of its -framework? And to think that the schools recommend to pupils, painters, -and sculptors research on the subject! The subject! The subject does -not exist in that--the poor little arrangement that you, one and all, -summon up while poring over the same anecdotes, the same conventional -attitudes. The human imagination is narrow, and you do not see the -hundred thousand motives of art that multiply themselves under your eye. -I could pass my whole life in the garden where I walk without exhausting -them. - -The subject is everywhere. Every manifestation of nature is a subject. -Artists, pause here! Sketch these flowers; writers, describe them for -me, not in the mass, as has always been done, but in minute detail, -in the marvelous precision of their organs, in their characteristics, -which are as varied as are those of animals and men. How beautiful to -be in the same moment an artist and a botanist, to paint and model the -plant at the same time that one studied it! Those great realists, the -Japanese, understand this, and make the knowledge and cultivation of -plants one of the bases of their education. - -We place love and sensual pleasure in the same category. Undoubtedly -it is nature herself who has led is astray in this by the instinct to -perpetuate ourselves, in youth this instinct is like an overflowing -river; it sweeps away everything, yet pleasure is everywhere about -us. I imbibe it in the forms of the clouds that build their majestic -architecture in the sky, in the rapture of this woman who holds her -child in her arms, an attitude divine, so beautiful indeed, that the -poet of the Gospels has deified it. It is the attitude of the Virgin. I -imbibe it in the atmosphere which bathes me now, and will still continue -to bless me, bringing me peace, rest, and health. - -For that which is beautiful in a landscape is that which is beautiful in -architecture--the air, space. No one in these days realizes its depth. -It is this quality of depth that carries the soul where it wishes to go. -In a well-constructed monument that which enraptures us is the science -of its depths. The throngs in the churches attribute their emotion -to mysticism, to the transport of the soul toward divinity. They are -unaware that they owe their emotion to the exact knowledge of great -planes possessed by the architects of former days. Even upon the most -ignorant beholder they impose this. Man disregards that which he already -has, and longs for something else. He longs for swiftness, to have wings -like a bird. He does not know that he already enjoys this pleasure of -moving through space. He rejoices in it in his soul, which takes wing -and goes where it pleases, through the sky, on the waters, to the depths -of the forests. - -All the misfortune here below arises from a lack of comprehension. We -classify our limited knowledge in narrow systems, like the card-systems -of an office, and these pitiful conventions we take seriously. They -teach us disconnected things, and we leave them disconnected. Those who -have a little patience assemble these isolated facts; but such patient -ones are rare, and nothing is so unbearable as that man who, not having -it, speaks ill of him who has a sense of the truth. To see accurately is -the secret of good design. Objects dart at one another, unite, and throw -light on one another, explain themselves. That is life; a marvelous -beauty covers all things like a garment, like an ægis. - -God created the great laws of opposition, of equilibrium. Good and evil -are brothers, but we desire the good, which pleases us, and not the -evil, which seems to us error. When we consider matters from a distance, -does not evil often seem good, and good, evil? That is only because we -have judged without proper consideration. Just as white and black are -necessary in a drawing, so good and evil are necessary in life. Sorrow -ought not to be cast out. As long as we live it is as strong a part of -life as radiant joy. Without it we would be very ill trained. - -To comprehend nature it is of importance that we never substitute -ourselves for it. The corrections that a man imposes upon himself are a -mass of mistakes. The tiger has claws and teeth and uses them skilfully; -man at times shows himself inferior. Possessing intelligence, too -often he strives to turn to that. Animals respect everything and touch -nothing. The dog loves his master, and has no thought of criticizing -him. The average man does not care that his daughter should be -beautiful. He has in his mind certain ideas of manner and instruction, -and the beauty of his daughter does not enter into the program that he -has made. But the daughter herself feels the influence of nature, and -displays her modest and triumphant movements, which this blind one does -not see, but which fascinate the artist. - -The artist who tells us of his ideal commits the same error that this -average man commits. His ideal is false, in the name of this ideal he -pretends to rectify his model, retouching a profound organism which -admirably combined laws regulate. Through his so-called corrections he -destroys the ensemble; he composes a mosaic instead of creating a work -of art; the faults of his model do not exist. If we correct that which -we call a fault, we simply present something in the place of that which -nature has presented. We destroy the equilibrium; the rectified part is -always that which is necessary to the harmony of the whole. There is -nothing paradoxical here, because a law that is all-powerful keeps the -harmony of opposites. That is the law of life. Everything, therefore, is -good, but we discover this only when our thought acquires power; that -is to say, when it attaches itself indissolubly to nature, for then it -becomes part of a great whole, a part of united and complex forces. -Otherwise it is a miserable, debased, detached part contending with a -whole that is formed of innumerable units. - -Nature, therefore, is the only guide that it is necessary to follow. She -gives us the truth of an impression because she gives us that of its -forms, and if we copy this with sincerity, she points out the means of -uniting these forms and expressing them. - -Sincerity, conscience--these are the true bases of thought in the work -of an artist; but whenever the artist attains to a certain facility of -expression, too often he is wont to replace conscience with skill. The -reign of skill is the ruin of art. It is organized falsehood. Sincerity -with one fault, indeed with many faults, still preserves its integrity. -The facility that believes that it has no faults has them all. The -primitives, who ignored the laws of perspective, nevertheless created -great works of art because they brought to them absolute sincerity. Look -at this Persian miniature, the admirable reverence of this illuminator -for the form of these plants and animals, and the attitudes of these -persons which he has forced himself to render just as he saw them. How -eagerly has he painted that, this man who loved it all! Do you tell me -that his work is bad because he is ignorant of the laws of perspective? -And the great French primitives and the Roman architects and sculptors! -Has it not been repeatedly said that their style is a barbaric style? On -the contrary, it has a formidable beauty. It breathes the sacred awe of -those who have been impressed by the great works of nature herself. It -offers us the strongest proof that these men had made themselves part of -life and also a part of its mystery. - -To express life it is necessary to desire to express it. The art of -statuary is made up of conscience, precision, and will. If I had not had -tenacity of purpose, I should not have produced my work. If I had ceased -to make my researches, the book of nature would have been for me a dead -letter, or at least it would have withheld from me its meaning. Now, on -the contrary, it is a book that is constantly renewed, and I go to it, -knowing well that I have only spelled out certain pages. In art to admit -only that which one comprehends leads to impotence. Nature remains full -of unknown forces. - -As for me, I have certainly lost some time through the fault of my -period. I should have been able to learn much more than I have grasped -with so much slowness and circumlocution; but I should not have tasted -less happiness through that highest form of loss; that is, work. And -when my hour shall come, I shall dwell in nature, and shall regret -nothing. - - - -THE ANTIQUE--THE GREEKS - -If the artists of antiquity are the greatest of all it is because they -approached most closely to Nature. - -They studied it with magnificent sincerity and copied it with all -their intelligence. They never wasted their time in trying to invent -something. To invent, to create, these are words that mean nothing. They -contented themselves with rendering the adorable model that enchanted -their eyes. This love and this respect for creation has never since -their time been surpassed. They did not copy literally what they saw; -to a certain degree they interpreted the character of forms. The aim of -art is not to copy literally. It consists in slightly exaggerating the -character of the model in order to make it salient; it consists also in -reassembling in a single expression the successive expressions given by -the same model. Art is the living synthesis. - -This is what the ancients did, with what taste, what incomparable -science! From this science that respected unity their works derived -their calm, contained force, the sentiment of grand serenity, the -atmosphere of peace that envelops them. The ignorant and the professors -of esthetics who do not know the source of all this have named it Greek -idealism. This is nothing but a word that serves to conceal a want -of understanding. There is no idealism in the ancients; there is an -exercise of choice, a marvelous taste; but it is by the most realistic -means that they render human beauty. - -[Illustration: THE TEMPEST.] - -We others, we moderns, are carried away by the restlessness of the -epoch; we are superficial, we only regard things cursorily, and we have -concluded from this sublime simplicity that Greek art is cold. To us -indeed it seems very cold. It is really warm. To it alone belongs in -this respect the quality of life, reality in forms, and precision in -movement. It is through this that it attains perfect equilibrium. But -that is beyond our little spirit of detail. We seek nothing but detail; -the Greek, for his part, saw nothing but the whole; that is to say, the -equilibrium, the harmony. - - - -THE RICHNESS OF THE ANTIQUE LIES IN MODELING - -The value of the antique springs from _ronde-bosse_. It possesses in a -supreme degree the art of relief. How can the critics and the professors -explain this, being what they are? They do not belong to the trade. Art -should not be taught except by those who practise it. - -Observe any fragments of Greek sculpture: a piece of an arm, a hand. -What you call the idea, the subject, no longer exists here, but is not -all this debris none the less admirably beautiful? In what does this -beauty consist? Solely in the modeling. Observe it closely, touch it; do -you not feel the precision of this modeling, firm yet elastic, in flux -like life itself? It is full, it is like a fruit. All the eloquence of -this sculpture comes from that. - -What is modeling? The very principle of creation. It is the -juxtaposition of the innumerable reliefs and depressions that constitute -every fragment of matter, inert or animated. Modeling creates the -essential texture, supple, living, embracing every plante. It fills, -coördinates, and harmonizes them. It penetrates everything, it animates -everything, as well the depths as the surfaces. It comprises the minute -as well as the immense. Mountain, horse, flower, woman, insect equally -owe to it their form. When God created the world, it is of modeling He -must have thought first of all. If you consider a hand, you notice its -contours and the character of the whole. But the eye of the artist, -that eye, sees more: it sees the infinite assemblage of projections and -depressions forming a texture more closely knit, more exactly blended -than the most perfect mosaic. It is this that he seeks to render; this -that he translates, if he is a sculptor, by the science of depression -and relief, if he is a draughtsman or painter by that of light and -shadow. For light serves, in conformity with depressions and reliefs, -to give the eye the same sensation that the hand receives from touch: -Titian is just as great a modeler as Donatello. - -To-day the sense of _ronde-bosse_ is completely lost, not only -in Europe, but among the peoples of the Orient. It is the age of -the _flat_. No one knows anything about it. Men love what they do -themselves, until they are made to see that it is not beautiful; but it -takes years and years for this to penetrate into their consciousness. In -the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries China and Japan still produced -charming works. In ancient times their art was very great; it approached -the Greek. At the exposition of 1900, we were enabled to see antique -Japanese statues, superb nudes nearly as fine as those of Greece. In our -time the pest of flatness has contaminated the Asiatic races as well as -the European: decadence is universal. - -We are so far removed from antique beauty that when we photograph the -works of the ancients we take them in the spirit of our own taste, -which is that of low-relief; we take from them that flower of beautiful -modeling, their richness, their crowning grace. When I say low-relief, -I do not use this term exactly; it is only that I know no other means -of expressing the modern evil of uniformity; but I know that good -low-relief is as full and as fruit-like as sculpture in the round, that -it is sculpture in the round itself, as in the friezes of the Parthenon, -as in our buildings of the Renaissance and of the seventeenth century. - -The great concern of my life is the struggle I have maintained to escape -from the general flatness. All the success of my sculpture comes from -that. Although it has little enough taste, the public, despite all, is -tired to death of this flatness. The charm of _ronde-bosse_ is so great -that it captivates the ignorant even without their knowing it. - - - -RONDE-BOSSE AND CHIAROSCURO - -Observe this little torso of a woman; it is a little Venus. It is -broken; it has no longer a head, arms, legs, yet I never weary of -contemplating it; each day, each hour for me adds to this masterpiece -because I only understand it better. What could it say to our -indifferent glance? For me it has the ineffable voluptuousness of -softly maturing flesh. The effect lies in no part and in every part. -It is perfection. This little childish body, has it not all the charm -of woman? It does not catch the light, the light catches it, glancing -over it lightly; without any effect of roughness, any dark shadow. Here -shadow can no longer be called shadow but only the decline of light. -She does not become dark, she grows pale in imperceptible depressions, -in delicious undulations. She is indivisible; she is whole or -incomplete, but her unity is not disturbed. And this passage that joins -the abdomen to the thighs, this little declivity of graces, this valley -of love! Everything is full of the calm, the lightness, the serenity -of pure beauty in the perfect confidence of nature. The ideal that you -imagine you find in a gesture, in a momentary attitude, is here; it is -here because of the infinite love of the flesh, of the human fruit. What -you call the ideal is nothing but the perfume of beautiful modeling. -What more could you ask? - -When I look at this marble in the evening by candle-light, how the -wonder deepens! If those who have been telling us for a hundred years -that Greek art is cold studied it with care, could they for one hour -maintain this absurdity? This sculpture, on the contrary, is of an -extraordinary living complexity, which the flame reveals; the whole -surface is nothing but depressions and reliefs, but united, melted -together in the great, harmonious force of the _ensemble_. I turn the -little torso about under the caressing rays of the light. There is not -a fault, not a weakness, not a dead spot; it is the very continuity -of life, its intoxicating voluptuousness hidden in the bosom of the -molecule. - -Why should such artists have sought to create an abstract Beauty by -the idealization of forms? These men of genius loved Nature too well to -presume to correct her. They knew well that despite their genius, they -still remained beneath her. Nothing can surpass the marvel of creation. -The conception of an idealistic art comes from the Academy. Before the -purity of the antique forms people used to believe that the beauty lay -solely in the exterior profiles. It is really beautiful because of -the interior modeling. And still we make this distinction between the -profiles and the modeling, thanks to our mania for dividing things; but -we know that the one is inseparable from the other; the surfaces are -nothing but the extremities of volumes, the boundaries of the mass. - -All the sculpture of the period of Louis-Philippe was imitated from the -antique, but only by means of the exterior profiles. If it had been -practised by true modelers, by geometrical minds, it would have been -as beautiful as its original. What pleased people in that epoch, what -pleases people in ours, is not at all the antique; it is the fashion -in which we see it. It was the Renaissance that really understood the -Greek. It created works exactly the same in feeling, though somewhat -different in arrangement and general color. For color does not exist -in painting alone. Its rôle is equally great in sculpture. To-day this -color is bad; it fails to obtain the chiaroscuro which derives from -_ronde-bosse_. Good sculpture owes to chiaroscuro clarity, unity, charm, -even, I might say, the voluptuousness of breathing flesh. Shadow, at -once luminous and mysterious, models the fulness of the body in the -exuberance of health; it makes one understand abundance, solidity. In -the art of the Renaissance and the eighteenth century shadow is always -supple and warm as in Greek art; it has the tender coloring of the -vegetation of our country, the sweetness of which our great artists have -captured. The chiaroscuro of the antique consists of the density and -depth of light falling over the entire modeling. Chiaroscuro penetrates -to every plane and renders the reality of them; it is reality itself. -This is because the antique and nature are part and parcel of the same -mystery, the infinitely harmonious mystery of force in suspense. The -great artists compose as nature itself operates. - -Undoubtedly the Greeks possessed certain methods which they handed down -from master to pupil, as has been the case in all artistic epochs. They -had celebrated ateliers, schools, where they taught their principles. -By the fifth century they had established a canon of the human body; -but they never made use of it without consulting the model. As for us, -we have imagined that we could use it like a magic formula. It is not -the formula that makes the art; it is the experience of the artist -that creates the formula. If we abandon nature for a rule, if we do -not constantly vivify the one by means of the other, we soon speak a -language that means nothing. - -One cannot repeat this enough: the ancients are realists; they work in -_ronde-bosse_. This explanation seems commonplace and even vulgar; it is -the whole truth. It can be understood by the humblest artisan, provided -only that he knows his trade. But it is as difficult to get it into the -heads of people to-day as it is to restore faith in a man who has lost -it. - - - -ROME AND ROMAN ART - -What I have said of Greek art applies equally well to Roman. Another -opinion has been adopted by critics and the world in general: the Roman -is less beautiful than the Greek. It is less beautiful perhaps, by a -certain shade, a shade which those who speak of it are incapable of -appreciating. It is a little less substantial, but it is superb. It is -Greek, with a different character, a certain ruggedness, and more! The -Maison Carrée at Nîmes, that little temple, the flower of austerity, the -smile of the race as sweet as the smile of Greece; the Pont du Gard, -that heroic masterpiece, that giant which bestrides the country, which -imposes the power of Rome on the peaceful landscape, these are what they -criticize! - -Rome is magnificent. We say it, but we do not believe it; otherwise it -would not be despoiled. No, in Rome itself, they have no idea of the -beauty of Rome. Where are there artists great enough to appreciate you, -severe genius, splendid city, daughter of the she-wolf? Your genius -they pillage every day. They destroy its proportion, and that is to -strike at the foundation of the master work. Proportion is the law of -architecture. ... In the very midst of the ancient city they are setting -up atrocious monuments, enormous or too petty. - -In Rome, as in Athens, as in the France of Gothic art, the architect of -old planned the monument in relation to the landscape; he harmonized it -with the outline of the mountains, with the expanse of the surrounding -country-side; he determined its proportions according to its environment. - -The architect of to-day plans out his monument in his own study on a -piece of paper and produces it ready-made. Whether this mass of stone -obliterates the buildings that surround it or whether, on the other -hand, it turns out a miserable little contrivance in the midst of great -works of the past matters little to him: he does not see it. - -The French Academy sends students to work in Rome. But they get nothing -from Rome, they can get nothing; they come there with a spirit entirely -opposed to it. At a time when I did not know the city I heard the bridge -of Sant' Angelo spoken ill of and fun made of the contorted angels; -but they are all very well in their place; they are needed there; -there is enough repose elsewhere. Bernini, so often sneered at, is as -beautiful as Michelangelo, although he is not so fine. It is he who made -the Rome of the seventeenth century. They do not know that the Appian -Way is sublime. It will disappear one of these days. These things are -awaiting their condemnation. They are constructing quays like ours. If -they do not put a stop to it, Rome will be destroyed. Those who have -not seen cities such as this was in the nineteenth century will not -understand anything. I have said as much to my Italian friends, who -appeared greatly astonished; for nobody makes these reflections which -come to me constantly in my studies. They consider me a gloomy fellow, a -misanthrope. Gloomy, yes; for it is painful to live in a decadent epoch; -but I have no _parti-pris_; I only wish to try to arrest the general -massacre. In France, as everywhere, we commit exactly the same faults. -We destroy our monuments by surrounding them with great open spaces; -we have ruined the effect of Notre Dame, on the side of the parvis. At -Brussels, in the Musée du Cinquantenaire, they have set up a model of -the Parthenon; but they have placed it in the midst of enormous objects -that annihilate it. We have come to that! We have killed the Parthenon! -Barbarism could go no further. We live in a barbarous age. There is no -doubt about that! People cry out that we must create schools for people -to learn art; we bungle the most beautiful of all schools--the Museum. - - - -FOR AMERICA - -These things ought to be said again and again to the point of satiety, -if we wish to save any remnants. Coming from me, whose opinions carry -some weight, they are repeated when I am no longer on the spot. People -feel the justice of them, the shaft goes home. A few who are more -ardent than the rest propagate them and stir up a current of opinion -that may lead to reform. There is no reason therefore to fear repeating -them in America, where also people have fallen into the general error. -American artists have followed our teaching, altogether in a bad sense. -Notwithstanding that in taking their point of departure they could have -escaped into the good epochs of art, they have saddled themselves with -the poverty of modern taste. - -Let them return to the school of the past; above all, let them return to -nature; it is as beautiful with them as elsewhere. The mountains, the -trees, the vegetation, the men and women of their own country--these -should be their masters in architecture and sculpture. America is full -of will. It desires to be a great nation. It stops at no expense in -order to obtain instruction; it creates immense universities, libraries, -museums. It pours into them streams of money. The favor with which my -work has been received there is the sign of a movement toward truth in -art; they are developing an affection for this naturalistic school which -borrows from life its charm and its variety. But all this will be as -nothing unless America creates work of its own; unless it breaks with -the old errors of the nations of Europe in order to find the path of -true science. - -[Illustration: THE VILLAGE FIANCÉE.] - - - - -VII - -THE GOTHIC GENIUS - -To THE RENAISSANCE AND THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY - -NOTRE-DAME - - -NOTRE DAME--Notre Dame de Paris--more splendid than ever in the -half-light of this winter day. The veils of the atmosphere redress the -evils that modern restorations have done to this monument; the folds of -the mist soften the sharpness of the retouched outlines: the elements -are more respectful to this masterpiece than are men. - -I come upon it at the turn of the bridge. At once I drop out of this -industrial epoch of ours, so poor despite its love of money; my -sculptor's soul escapes from its exile. - -The Gothic sphinx rises before me. The strength of its beauty overwhelms -me. I struggle against it and I am broken by it. Then it attracts me -anew with its sweetness; it exalts me. My spirit makes the ascent of -this sculptured mountain. What power in these motionless stones to -create the sense of movement in the mind! What makes this possible? -The mason of genius; the science of oppositions. That whole effect of -power--he has put it in the thickness of the foundations, the enormous -walls, the buttresses. They are as formidable as the tiers of a dike, -as a breakwater planted in the sea. One would say that this church was -built to combat the forces of nature: the temple of peace and love has -the air of a fortress. - -One's spirit is weighed down by the bareness of the stone, but stirred -by the height of the structure and the towers; it soars toward them -as toward a world that reassures it; the hard material has become -humanized; the genius of man is at play there amid the lacework of -stone. He has placed there angels, saints, animals, fruits, flowers, all -the gifts of the seasons; it is life in its entirety such as the Creator -in His infinite munificence has bestowed upon him. The Gothic artist -knows that paradise is on earth; he has no need to invent another. The -childish and monotonous heaven presented to us in our legends is nothing -but a poor copy of the marvels of our life. - -Let us enter. I tremble. The beauty is terrible. I am plunged into -night, a living night in which I do not know what mysteries are being -enacted--the cruel mysteries of the ancient religions? There are -shimmering rays from the long windows, the rose windows. Hope enters my -heart: there is light here, then? I am no longer alone. - -My eyes grow accustomed to this populous obscurity. There is a world -about me, a world of columns. It seems terrible, it _is_ terrible -because of its power, but this power has its _raison d'être_. It -seems frightening to me but it is only necessary. It is distributed -power; therefore it is beneficent. It holds the vault in the air, the -prodigious weight of stone that it maintains aloft, above my head, as -lightly as the canvas of a tent. Marvel of equilibrium, calculation of -the intelligence, how is it possible not to adore you? It is you that -one comes here to worship under the name of God. - -The darkness grows lighter; it becomes chiaroscuro. We are in a picture -by Rembrandt, that great Gothic of the sixteenth century. The forest -of pillars divides the nave into spaces of shadow and light. It is the -order of nature which knows nothing of disorder. This I rediscover with -joy: the eye does not love chaos. - -I familiarize myself with the people of the columns. I recognize them: -they are Romans. It is the Roman, the Romance, hardly altered, that -comes to receive the Gothic arch. The immense nave which I thought a -forest full of hidden dangers I see, I understand, I read like a sacred -book. The mystery is not that of cruelty; it is only that of beauty. It -grows lighter gradually in order to allow the spirit to approach slowly -the joy of a perfect interior. This solemnity of the nave, this immense -void, is like the bed of a great river; the columns range themselves -respectfully on each side in order to give free passage to the flood of -human piety. It flows like a majestic river; it bears onward toward the -tabernacle, about which it spreads itself like a lake of love under the -rays of the thought of God. Amid the stones the architect has known how -to play the part of the apostle: he has created faith. Art and religion -are the same thing; they are love. - - - -SAINT-EUSTACHE - -It is the interior of this church that should be admired. Here I do -not experience the same commotion of the spirit as in Notre Dame. I am -bathed in the fine light of the sixteenth century. At Notre Dame it -was the shadow of Rembrandt; here, it is the clear tonality of French -painting, of a Clouët. Admirable is the _élan_ of this Renaissance -nave; it is as bold as, and even perhaps bolder than that of the Gothic -buildings. It proceeds on the same plan. The skyward lift is only to -be found in the Gothic; it is of the very spirit of the race. Are the -vaults round and no longer pointed? What does it matter if they are -equally elegant, if they have the same aërial grace as the ogive? - -What I rediscover in Saint-Eustache, less austere than its grand sister -of the Middle Age, but with a sweetness which is itself noble, is -the determination of the architect to subordinate everything to the -effect of simplicity, to the total effect. On each side of the nave -the columns cutting the side wall are disposed fanwise in order to -hide the light of the lateral windows. One sees nothing but the stone, -and yet there is no effect of heaviness; one could not make anything -lighter. This is because the color of the stone is admirably varied by -the diversity of the flutings that line the columns. The main fluting -marks the outline, and the others, less emphatic, shading off, give it -a velvet-like quality. The light throws a golden haze between the great -columns, among the deep gorges, and is, on the other hand, channeled, -streaked by the little nerves that impel it upward toward the vaults. -By this effect of lightness the building seems to rise; it is an -assumption. It is no longer the forest of trees that one finds here, -but the forest of creepers. These vertiginous columns are like fine, -delicate vines. Above the altar the great lights of the windows, with -their beautiful glass, harmonize well with the general color. The light, -at once abundant and restrained, has the coolness which the Renaissance -recaptured from Greece. This church welcomes one as with an immense -smile; it has the sweetness of Christ holding out his hands: "Suffer the -little children to come unto me." Intelligence has planned it, but it is -the heart that has modeled it. - -If we enter Saint-Eustache at nightfall, we could almost believe -ourselves in a Gothic building. The Renaissance did not bring about such -profound transformations in architecture as people think. There is a -heavy Italian Renaissance element that is altogether alien to us; but -in the true French Renaissance the Celtic taste was not betrayed: it -was modified with a certain grace and elegance. Grace is an aspect of -strength. A nation no more escapes from its racial quality than a man -from his temperament. The Celtic mingled with the Roman produced the -Romance, out of which the Gothic sprang directly--the Romance, that is -to say, the Roman which has passed through the spirit of the Franks. It -has the severity, the Roman qualities, united with the imagination of -the Barbarians, since we have agreed so to call them. The Romance of the -second epoch has already sprung forth; it rises during the eleventh and -twelfth centuries and goes to make the Gothic. The Gothic elevates and -magnifies the Romance. It detaches the buttresses, even to the point of -separating them from the walls, in order to carry them further out to -sustain the height of the nave. - -As for the Renaissance, it continues the Gothic. We could not have a -more striking example of this than just here in Saint-Eustache. Here -are the same lines, the same idea, with a different ornamentation. -It is the same body, clothed in a new way. It is another age of the -Gothic; sweeter, less powerful, the final florescence of the French -genius, which, despite the adorable eighteenth century, follows a -descending path down to the first restoration. Contrary to what has -been thought and taught for so long, the Renaissance already marks -a stage of decadence. The most beautiful epoch in architecture and -sculpture is the Middle Age, an age as beautiful as, perhaps more -beautiful than, the great age of Greece, and almost universally despised -by our nineteenth century, the century of criticism and pretension, the -century of ignorance. Yes, with the Renaissance things begin to give -way. And yet to say that is almost a sacrilege! It is as if one struck -one's father! Our ravishing Gothic of the sixteenth century has charmed -France with its masterpieces; it has made artists cherish a whole -country, the sweet country of the Loire. Despite its misalliance with -the Italian Renaissance, it stood firm, it did not bend; it remained the -grand French style. Witness the Louvre with its high pavilions; that -sprang, that too, from the Gothic vein; the sculptors of the Renaissance -decorated it less severely, but the general aspect remains the same. - -The Gothic under different names has been the main path of our genius -during five hundred years. It has been the blessing of France; it was -its active principle down to 1820. If we wish to return to art it will -only be through comparative study--the comparison with nature of our -national style. The beautiful lines are eternal. Why are they used so -little? - - - -CONCERNING COLOR IN SCULPTURE - -The true difference between the Gothic and the Renaissance does not lie -in the structure of the building but in the quality of the sculpture and -in its color. - -What is meant by color in sculpture and in architecture? It is the law -of light and shade, the great law of oppositions which constitutes -the charm of nature, the beauty of a landscape at dawn, its splendor -at sunset. The color springs from the quality of the modeling; it is -the relief which gives the light tones and, by contrast, the dark, -in the parts that do not stand out. The ensemble of the intermediary -diminutions of light and shade produces the general coloring, whose -nuances can be infinitely varied according to the skill of the artist. -Modeling is the only way in which to express life; and there is only one -thing that counts in sculpture and in architecture--the expression of -life. A beautiful statue, a well-made monument, live like living beings; -they seem different according to the day and the hour. How beautiful it -is to give to stone, through nothing but the values of planes, through -the handling of shadow and light, the same charm of color as that of -living nature, of the flesh of a woman. In the plastic arts, the color -betrays the quality of the planes as a beautiful complexion reveals -health in a human being. - -The antique has shorter planes than the Gothic; it lacks therefore -those deep shadows that give to the Gothic such a tormented and tragic -aspect. The Greek balances the framework of the human body on four -planes, the Gothic on two only. The latter produces a stronger effect, -a more _hollowed_ effect, that _effet de console_ which is essentially -Gothic. Nevertheless, the shadow that results from it is more sustained -than in the antique and nothing could be softer or more full of nuances. - -The Roman presents an abundance of dark shadows which, in turn, create -an effect of heaviness and density. The Greek puts in just enough of -them to quicken the general coloring. The Roman gives a flatter effect, -which shows nevertheless a magnificent vigor. As for us, we copy these -styles endlessly without understanding them, for if we did understand -them we should do quite otherwise. We abuse the black, the powerful -lines, we put them everywhere; we do not know how to shade light. That -is why our sculpture is so poor, why our monuments appear so hard, so -dry. The Bourse, the Corps Législatif, might be made of iron with their -columns set against a uniform background which prevents the light and -air from circulating about them and enveloping them and destroys the -atmosphere. This is what people call a simple style. It is not simple, -it is cold. The simple is the perfect, coldness is impotence. - -The Renaissance recaptured the antique measure and imposed its generous -color upon the Gothic plane. It used less shadow than our sculptors of -the Middle Ages; it diminished the reliefs. The effect in consequence -was lighter. This was because the Renaissance was enchanted by all the -Greek statues that were discovered at this period; and in its enthusiasm -it recreated Greek art, not by copying it, but by copying nature -according to antique principles. It is perhaps a little less beautiful -but it has quite the same feeling of gentle strength, of delicacy. One -feels the joy of the artist who throws himself against the problem of -the nude in the open air. Till then statues had been draped, but under -the draperies was concealed a carefully studied nude. In the Renaissance -the drapery was dropped: the nymphs of Jean Goujon, of Germain Pilon--I -recognize them; these long bodies of women, these undulating bodies, are -Gothic statues unclothed and set in another light. Our whole sixteenth -century is a song of grace rising from the Gothic heart to the art of -the Parthenon. - -But nowhere than in the country of the Loire is there Renaissance art -more gentle and amply luminous. This is the Greek part of France. The -tranquil river touched the heart of our architects and bestowed on them -some of its calm and smiling majesty. From it, from the air impregnated -with its vapors, came those châteaux so happy in their beauty and those -lovable cottages; for the artist worked as beautifully for peasants as -for kings. Before Ussé, before Chenonceaux, Blois, Azay-le-Rideau, I am -not in the presence of dead things but of a living spirit, the spirit of -divine beauty that animated equally the antique and the Gothic. Charming -sixteenth century France, it is you who have forced me to the study of -chiaroscuro. Formerly I tried my best to understand your motives, your -thousand nerves, but the general law escaped me. I did not see your -soul, which consists entirely in the voluptuous shadings of light; I did -not perceive your principle, the modeling which impressed movement upon -everything and gave the movement life. - - - -THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY - -The eighteenth century is the exaggeration of the sixteenth. Our elegant -houses, our houses in the style of Louis XV and Louis XVI have always -the Gothic line with its proud, graceful air. Without moldings, without -ornaments, their beauty lies in their very lack of ornaments, in their -nudity. But what proportions they have! The finest of the fine! - -The eighteenth century is considered too frail, too affected. It is, -on the contrary, full of life and strength. It possesses admirable -sculptors: Pigalle, creator of that immortal masterpiece, the tomb of -Marshal Saxe; Houdon, whose busts to-day are bought for their weight in -gold without even then bringing their proper price. There were thousands -then, the whole rank and file of the trade, who created marvels, with a -sureness of hand accustomed to every difficulty. The outline of a table, -of a chest, was as much considered as that of a statue. For that matter, -what difference did the dimensions of a work make? It was the modeling -that counted. The peasant himself sat down in a well-made chair. Artists -and artisans had a taste, an alert grace, and a dexterity sufficient to -fit out the whole world; but their dexterity was based on a foundation -of intelligence as an ornament is based upon a building. The dexterity -we possess nowadays is nothing but mockery, a kind of banter that -touches everything without discernment; it kills force. - -The Louis XV and Louis XVI styles possessed grandeur. We call it the art -of the boudoir, but the boudoir of that period had a nobility like that -of those white and gold salons where the seats are disposed with dignity -like persons of quality. The music had the same character; the dances -also, the dances, those charming scenes in which men and women with the -natural spirit of play threw themselves into the cadence, translating it -with the eloquence of youth. The dance--that was architecture brought to -life. - -The eighteenth century was a century which _designed_; in this lay its -genius. Nowadays people are searching for a new style and do not find -it. Style comes unawares through the concurrence of many elements; but -can we achieve it without design? To-day we design no longer and our -art, which is altogether industrial, is bad. The central matter in art -is the nude, and this we no longer understand. How can we be expected -to have art when we do not understand its central principle? The minor -arts are the rays that go out from the center. When I draw the body of a -woman I rediscover the form of the beautiful Greek vases. Through design -alone we arrive at a knowledge of the shading of forms. The forms that -delight us in the art of past centuries are nothing but those presented -by living nature, those of human beings, animals, verdure, interpreted -by men of supreme taste. The art that people are struggling to discover -to-day might be deduced from my sculpture and my drawings, for I have -always drawn with passion. The quality of my drawing I owe in large -measure to the eighteenth century. I am nothing but a link in the great -chain of artists, but I maintain the connection with those of the past. -At the Petite Ecole they made us copy the red chalks of Boucher and the -models of flowers, animals, and ornaments. They were Louis XVI models, -very well executed; they certainly gave me a little of the warmth of the -artists of that period. In my youth I made drawings by the hundreds, by -the thousands. At the Petite Ecole we were badly placed, badly lighted -by poor candles; when we touched them we made them sticky with the clay -with which our fingers were covered so that they were worse than ever -afterwards. It did not matter; we were working according to the right -principles. - -To-day the Petite Ecole is entirely in the power of the larger school, -that of the Beaux-Arts. Far from learning one gets spoiled there for the -rest of one's life. One copies the antique, but one copies it badly. - -I am speaking with the experience of a genuine artistic life. There was -a time when I never talked; to-day I hold forth! If I am understood -it will not have been in vain. But how much effort it will take to -reestablish truths which are so self-evident, so obvious, so fundamental -that one is ashamed to repeat them so many times! Nevertheless they are -_essential_. The public is a thousand miles away from them, the public, -by which I mean the general taste. If it does not become enlightened, -art will disappear. Observe its attitude before the works of the new -school, before the pictures of those who call themselves cubists: -sarcasm, anger. These artists show us squares, cubes, geometrical -figures colored according to their own ideas. They name them: _Portrait -of Mme. X._ or _Landscape_. This exasperates the public. What does it -matter? Is it good? That is the whole point. Is the ornament well -treated? That is the capital question, the only one that is not -discussed. Their canvases are combinations of color recalling mosaic -or even stained glass. We have accepted many other things; we have -accepted the green or rather the violet women of our later salons, and -women with wooden heads, but we do not wish to admit the squares of the -cubists. Why? They are not portraits, we say. They are not landscapes. -So much the better! They are something else. What does it matter if -the artist has deceived himself knowingly or wilfully on a matter so -insignificant as the subject? It is ornamental, that is enough. They are -curious, these quarrels that break out, these sects that are created for -reasons like this--for a sock put on inside out! Ignorance inflames the -passions. There are struggles whose aim is great; others that appear -useless have their use perhaps. - -It may be that this slackening of taste and knowledge is necessary. -Perhaps it is a period of transition, a fallow period required by the -intelligence like that required by a soil that has been productive for -too long. If ignorance is prolonged it will mean that the history of -France is ended; it will mean the annihilation of the Celtic genius -which has fertilized Europe for two thousand years. We shall become like -Asia. Roman art declined for four or five centuries after Augustus. With -us the decadence has only been going on for a hundred years. During -the present war marvels have been destroyed. Formerly, even during -the religious wars, the monuments were spared; it is for this reason -that France is still so rich. When stone is no longer respected, it -means decadence. The cannon turn up the earth like a plow, leveling -everything. This war appears therefore like an explosion of barbarism; -at bottom it indicates a latent state of soul which has been shaping -itself since the beginning of the nineteenth century. During this period -the world has ceased to obey the law of beauty and love; it has lived -for nothing but business. What is the leading idea that has precipitated -the nations against one another? Trade: the desire, the longing to make -more money than one's neighbor. Trade is the anxious care of people who -think of nothing but their own petty welfare; it is not the basis on -which is founded the grandeur of peoples. It alone regulates at present -the relations between things. The war is nothing but the consequence of -such habits and their natural conclusion. - -[Illustration: METAMORPHOSIS ACCORDING TO OVID.] - -Do you ask me what will spring out of the conflict? I am not a prophet. -I know only that without religion, without art, without the love of -nature--these three words are for me synonymous--men will die of ennui. -But nothing easily resigns itself to death. An outburst of courage has -just transfigured the world. Can we preserve this courage during peace? -The patience of the soldier, the patience of the trenches surpasses -in sublimity the virtue of the ancients. Will it produce a rebirth of -intelligence? Shall we have, in study, the force of soul that we have -had in the great struggle? That is the question. Of course the stupid, -the ignorant will not suffer any transformation through the war; but -men of character will be reinvigorated by the hardships of the military -life; we have recaptured patience and we have yet to learn what we can -expect from this virtue. Genius is as much character as talent. If we -have men of force in this country where taste is a natural gift, it -seems to me impossible that this force will not quicken the gift and -develop it and that we shall not have once more an era of beauty. - -AUGUSTE RODIN. - - - - -THE WORK OF RODIN - - - - -I - -THE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS--INFLUENCE OF THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF -RODIN--"SAINT JOHN THE BAPTIST" (1880)--"THE GATE OF HELL" - - -In 1877 Rodin visited our most illustrious cathedrals, Rheims, Amiens, -Chartres, Soissons, Noyon. During his youth, the choir of Beauvais -and Notre Dame de Paris appealed more to his imagination than to his -taste, and it required many years of travel and comparison to enable -him to grasp the splendors of that Gothic art which he was to admire -thenceforth at least as much as the antique. As a splendidly gifted, -but inexperienced young man, he shared the error of his epoch: the -eighteenth and the first half of the nineteenth century had despised the -Roman and the Gothic; they had ridiculed them and called them barbaric; -the nineteenth century, while flattering itself that it appreciated -them, did still worse--it restored them. - -The romantic writers of the Schools of Chateaubriand and Victor Hugo -had exalted the art of the Middle Ages, but chiefly because of their -hatred of the classic and without understanding its true worth. What -struck them, especially, was the immensity and the picturesqueness of -the buildings, the luxuriousness of this stone vegetation, but not the -unique character of their architecture and sculpture. - -Victor Hugo was perhaps one of the few to discover the precise -explanation of this beauty: relief and modeling. This all-powerful -writer, this architect of words who constructed poems like cathedrals, -understood the plastic intelligence of the master masons because he -himself possessed the _sense of mass_. One is convinced of this not only -in reading his descriptions of cities and monuments, but in studying -those astonishing pen-and-ink drawings which he multiplied in idle -moments. - -If the romanticists have failed fully to explain medieval art to us, -let us still be grateful to them: they gave our cathedrals back to us, -they denounced ignorance and scourged the stupidity that would have -ended by tearing down those sublime piles. Finally if the writers and -art critics of this epoch have not given them superlative praise, if on -their behalf they have not burned with apostolic zeal, it is because it -was necessary for this prophecy of art to come from a man of the craft, -a man dominated, captivated, himself, by the craft, a man who understood -stone and adored it because he had married it in spirit with all its -difficulties and its dazzling possibilities. - -That man was to be Rodin. Although he has been listened to by the -ignorant and superficial multitude, it has not been chiefly because of -the authority of his genius, of the general renown that he has enjoyed. -He has truly thrown a new light over the mystery of Gothic construction. -Thanks to him, we understand in a measure, for tangible reasons, the -reasons of an actual carver, this "world in little" that constitutes the -Gothic cathedrals. What study, what researches are necessary in order to -comprehend the art of stonework! Does any one suppose that Rodin himself -has attained this in a day? By no means. That lover of perfection in -detail does not possess the instantly penetrating glance that is often -the property of genius: to the task of deciphering our monuments he -brought that slow-minded, customary patience of his, together with -his energy. He had first of all to rid himself of the false current -ideas. After that thirty years of observation were necessary for him to -reach conclusions that satisfied his artistic conscience. Even to-day -he is far from affirming that he has understood everything, that he -has grasped the full significance of the Gothics. Read his book, "The -Cathedrals of France," published in 1914; observe the carefullness of -his judgments, the gropings of his thought, the constant retracing of -his steps. He makes attempts, ventures; he never proclaims his opinion -in the peremptory tone dear to specialists in criticism, but endeavors -to approach respectfully, as closely as possible, to the spirit of -the masters. Sometimes a flash of genius springs from his brain and -illumines to the depths of its mysteries the Gothic universe; but -nothing is suggested that does not spring from a prolonged observation, -and when at last he speaks it is in the tone of a man who mistrusts -himself. It must be confessed that in this work, "The Cathedrals of -France," something is lacking, even though it is prefaced by a long and -very learned introduction by one of our good writers, Charles Morice. It -lacks the magnificent lesson that the reader will find in these pages, -signed with Rodin's name. This lesson constitutes really a vital page -that is, as it were, the key and the summary of the whole work; but the -master, having given me the first rights in it, had scruples, as had -Charles Morice, about including it in his own book. - -Before obtaining this page, with what insistence did I have to question -Rodin not once, not twice, but twenty times, during the course of a -number of years. Every time he came back from one of his pilgrimages -to some old city of the provinces, to our churches, our town halls, I -renewed my questions without receiving any satisfactory answer. In my -heart I could not but honor this rigorous honesty which was unwilling to -venture anything lightly on so vast, so noble a subject. - -In 1877, after having accomplished his first tour of France, he came -back filled with wonder. But the impression that he carried with him was -still confused; he did not know at what point to begin the analytical -study of French architecture, for in what concerned sculpture he -had immediately been struck with amazement and adoration before the -essential beauty of the status of Chartres, Amiens, and Rheims. He had -returned from Italy haunted by the antique and Michelangelo, and now -here he was haunted by the modeling and the rhythm of the Gothic figures. - -But in order to understand them entirely he had to rediscover this -modeling and these movements in nature, he had to verify them in the -living model. Fortune favors those who seek greatly. When one is the -victim of an idea unexpected elements arise to nourish and develop it. -One day two Italians knocked at the door of his studio. One of them, -a professional model, had already posed for Rodin and he introduced -the other, his comrade. He was a peasant from the Abruzzi who had come -to seek his fortune in Paris. He was fresh from his native province. -His robust body, his fierce head, his bristling beard and hair, and -above all his expression of indomitable force charmed the artist. He -undressed, climbed upon the model's stand, planted himself firmly on -his legs, which were spread like a compass, the head well raised, and, -continuing to talk, advanced with a gesture full of ardor. - -Rodin, struck by this wild energy, immediately set to work. He made the -man such as he saw him; he desired to capture this movement of the legs, -this brusk forward movement that complemented the movement of the arms, -the shining eyes, the open mouth. He surrendered himself to a great -study, without any preconceived idea, without any intention of treating -a _subject_. What he made was _a man walking_. The name has stuck to the -figure. The first study remains incomplete; Rodin has sculptured neither -the head nor the arms; what he sought eagerly, passionately, was the -equilibrium of the torso and of the legs cast forward into space. He -succeeded; he made a superb fragment, "The Man Walking." Thirty years -later it occurred to a group of his admirers to ask the state to acquire -this study and erect it in the court of the French embassy at Rome, in -the Farnese Palace; but the official architects up to the present time -have objected to the erection of this statue, and for the last seven or -eight years it has awaited, in some obscure shed, the good pleasure of -these gentlemen. - -Rodin, in the presence of his Italian peasant, had rediscovered, to his -great joy as a seeker, the peculiar equipoise of the Gothic figures. In -the antique statues the plumb-line falls through one of the legs, while -the other, lightly raised, impresses on the different planes of the body -the graceful effect that has become classic. In Gothic statues, on the -contrary, the line of equilibrium passes through the middle of the body -and falls right between the two legs as they are planted on the earth. - -In "The Age of Bronze" Rodin has adopted the balanced rhythm of Greek -sculpture; in his new figure he passed to the Gothic equipoise, with -a harmony that is less gracious, but with a reality stronger and more -living. What he did not abandon was the rigorous construction and the -strength of modeling which his study of the antique had given him. "The -Man Walking," as well as the greater part of his subsequent works, thus -exhibits the union of the two great principles of sculpture that have -governed the Occidental genius. - -Rodin, strengthened by study, now made a complete statue with head and -arms. While he was working he discovered that his model was half a -savage, still close to the animal and its ferocious instincts. Sometimes -his eyes burned, his jaws, armed with powerful teeth, were thrust -forward as if to bite something; he resembled a wolf. At other times a -kind of strange passion inflamed him. His face radiated faith and will; -he spoke with such energy that he seemed to be haranguing a crowd; one -would have thought him a prophet of the primitive ages, a visionary -bursting forth from the desert to preach and to convert the people. -Rodin regarded him in amazement. It was no longer his model, but a man -from the Bible; surely it was a prophet that stood before him: it was -Saint John the Baptist brought back to life. The sculptor bowed before -the command of nature: his statue should bear the name of the forerunner. - -[Illustration: EVE.] - -He thought at first of emphasizing the disturbing impression: he placed -on the shoulders of Saint John a simple cross. But here was revealed the -all-powerful instinct of the sculptor, making the subject, the anecdote, -the literary connotation a matter of secondary importance. The cross, -the sublime symbol, would be here only an accessory, not really needed. -It would complicate the simplicity of line dictated by the laws of -sculpture, destroying the appositions of equilibrium of the great body -and distracting the attention from that speaking head. - -So Rodin gave it up. He came at last to the decision that his work -should remain free from what was not of the very essence of art. He sent -it off in the form in which it appeared in the Salon of 1880, adding -also "The Age of Bronze." - -The artists, the true artists, those whose enthusiasm was not poisoned -by envy and jealousy, applauded these two superb figures artistically -so different, but so similar in their sincerity; they acclaimed them -with the grave joy of generous souls who perceive the dawn of a great -talent. The name of Rodin became fixed forever in their memory. - -As for the jury of this Salon, it considered it sufficient to award -the "Saint John the Baptist" and "The Age of Bronze" a medal _of the -third class_. Let us, in turn, give it our reward--the reward for its -insensitiveness--by not disclosing the names of the sages who composed -it. - - - -"THE GATE OF HELL" - -While finishing these works, which he was not even certain of being able -to sell, Rodin was still compelled to provide for his own subsistence -and that of his family; he had also to meet the expenses of his trade. -A costly trade! It requires a studio, models, large fires to keep them -warm, clay, tools of every kind. It was luck enough if the sculptor, -still unknown, was able to have plaster casts made of his work. But -this did not satisfy him; he dreamed of seeing them take on a new -aspect in the richness of marble and bronze. Alas! in many cases he -had to wait until middle age to have this dream realized. Rodin has -never complained of the slowness of fortune. He knows that in order to -attain the fullness of his productive power it is well for the artist -to be thwarted, exalted by difficulties, the desire to conquer. After a -five-years' stay in Belgium he had returned to Paris to take part in the -work of the World Exposition of 1878, and he had taken a position with -the ornament-worker Legrain, in whose workshop he met Jules Desbois, -the future great sculptor, to whom he became attached for life. What -innumerable decorations he executed at that time--decorations which -disappeared like the leaves and flowers of the season when the stucco -palaces of the exposition vanished! Only the masks ornamenting the -Palais du Trocadéro remained. - -At the same time he accumulated busts, studies, large figures with -a fury of work which from then on was to resemble that of the most -powerfully productive minds, the fecundity of a Rubens, of a Balzac, of -a Michelet, of a Hugo. In the studios which he rented in the Faubourg -St. Jacques, from 1877 to 1883, besides the "Saint John the Baptist," he -executed the admirable little tough model of the "Monument Commemorating -the National Defense"; after his wife, whose characterful features and -naturally tragic countenance he had often reproduced, he made a helmeted -bust, a "Bellona." He exhibited three life-sized figures: "The Creation -of Man"; "Adam," since destroyed; and "Eve," the bronze of which did -not appear until the Salon of 1899. He did the busts of W.E. Henley; -the painter Jean-Paul Laurens (to mention some of the most beautiful), -Carrier-Belleuse, the etcher Alphonse Legros, all in the midst of -difficulties and injustices which did not in any way disturb the depths -of his serenity, the noble tranquillity of the artisan sure of attaining -his end by labor. Is it possible to-day to believe that the model of the -"Monument of the Defense" was not only refused, but was not even classed -among the thirty designs that were retained by the jury of 1880 after -the first choice had been made? This same jury, the composition of which -is also worthy of passing into history, decided on a solemn confection -by M. Barrias for the _prix de Rome_, the result of which was that four -years later its creator was elected a member of the Academy of Fine Arts. - -I do not know whether many collectors contend for reproductions of M. -Barrias's monstrous design for a clock; but Rodin's group, a wounded -soldier entirely enveloped by the wings of a prodigious figure of a -warrior goddess crying out for aid, which was later renamed "The Genius -of the Defense" or "The Appeal to Arms," and which has acquired to-day -so pathetic a character of actuality, is coveted by most of the museums -and art collectors of Europe and America. - -As if these works, which have since acquired such glory, were nothing -but fragments of secondary importance, Rodin attacked a great piece of -work, like those that used to be executed in the great ages of art: he -undertook the famous "Gate of Hell." - -At the time of the affair of "The Age of Bronze" there was at the -head of the ministry of fine arts, an under-secretary of state named -Edmond Turquet. To him fell the task of deciding in the last resort the -case of Rodin. M. Edmond Turquet was a brilliant lawyer who had become -_procureur_ under the empire, which did not altogether qualify him for -the part of director of fine arts under the republic. In the field of -art he knew no more than any one else, Rodin says; but he was a very -fair-minded man, and his honesty had the effect of quickly straightening -out the affair of the sculptor. In his genuine desire to atone for the -wrong done to Rodin in the eyes of public opinion he not only offered -to obtain for him a position in the porcelain factory at Sèvres, in -order to assure him a regular livelihood, but ordered from him a great -ornamental piece, a door destined for the Palais des Arts Décoratifs. -In addition, by a special privilege created in favor of artists under -Louis XIV,--a privilege the traditions of which the French Government -has happily perpetuated,--M. Turquet granted Rodin a good studio in the -Dépôt des Marbres, so that he could execute his order. - -"And what will you represent on that door?" enquired the under-secretary -of state. - -"I am sure I don't know," replied the artist. "But I shall make a -quantity of little figures; then no one will say that they are casts -taken from the life." - -Thus we find him at Sèvres, a ceramist; he has carried on so many -different trades that he succeeds marvelously with this one. It was his -task to decorate vases of delicate clay; he modeled light bas-reliefs, -representations of mythological scenes, idylls. Nymphs, cupids, fauns, -evoked by his miraculously delicate fingers, were born out of the milky, -transparent material, bringing back to life the flowery graces of the -drawing-room art of the eighteenth century, the dainty elegances of the -wax figures of Clodion, but with a graver sense of the mystery of nature -and of love. - -Unfortunately, when these vases left the hand of the master they were -overladen with hideous ornaments in the style of Louis-Philippe. -Moreover, the officials at the head of the factory did not like them. -They were carried up to the attics, they were left lying about on the -floor, in the secret hope of seeing them broken by the feet of some -careless or ill-willed workman. - -The feeling of being isolated and misunderstood at times threw a shadow -over the soul of the sculptor; but on the other hand he felt himself -so strong, so solidly based in his will, in his self-confidence, and -in the virtue of labor that these moments of depression passed away -quickly. Besides, he knew the secret of the poor, the secret of creating -happiness for oneself out of everything that the rich and powerful -despise: a simple life, health, regular work, the contemplation of -nature, and a few real friendships. Rodin earned at Sèvres only two or -three francs an hour and lost a great deal of time on the railroad. What -did it matter? He found pleasure and rest in these little journeys. -Every day he set out from Paris by train, and, the day over, winter and -summer, his wife came to meet him. They returned together on foot either -along the banks of the Seine, charming in their profusion of little -hills and islands, covered with meadows or fine trees, or through the -woods of Meudon and Clamart, with their vistas of Paris, its heights, -its buildings, its changing sky full of light and spirit. - -At the end of four years of opposition and annoyance Rodin gave up -pottery in order to consecrate himself wholly to his own work. The -museum of the factory preserves a vase signed by him, and the future -Musée de l'Hôtel Biron can show a second example. What has become of the -others? What price would not be paid for them to-day by admirers of the -master? - -These supplementary works did not turn him away from his essential task; -whatever were the technical means employed, his efforts tended toward -one unique end, the plastic quality, and he gave himself up desperately -to this search in executing his new order, the "Gate." - -Rising at four in the morning, as he had done in his youth, he studied -the plans and the details of this great work. He had announced a series -of little figures. How was he to group them? What visions surged in the -sculptor's imagination? Of what legendary theme, what theme of history -or poetry, should he make use in order to realize his program? He had -never ceased to be a passionate reader. He read especially the Greek -poets and dramatists, the Roman historians, the old French chronicles, -Dante, Shakspere, Victor Hugo, and Baudelaire. He did not wish to draw -the subject of his future work from Homer, Æschylus or Sophocles; -the School of the Beaux-Arts had so abused the theme of the antique, -already immortalized by Greek sculptors, that it had entirely lost its -freshness. The moderns attracted him less, but he was obsessed by the -work of the great poet of the Renaissance, by the "Divine Comedy" of -Dante. He had read and reread it and made a sort of commentary in the -form of innumerable sketches which he jotted down mornings and evenings -at table, while walking, stopping by the wayside to dash off attitudes -and gestures on the leaves of his note-book. He rediscovered in the -poem of Dante the fateful grandeur of the Greek dramas, but with an -atmosphere more modern, closer to ourselves, more mournfully familiar to -our anguishes and our torments. The idea took shape in his imagination, -"that imagination ceaselessly rumbling and groaning like a forge"; it -exalted his bold spirit. Genius joins to the richness of the intellect -the simplicity of heart that creates faith. Genius _believes_ ever more -than it _thinks_. It has the strength which succeeds in anything, and -it possesses also that supreme gift, the ingenuousness of the child who -doubts nothing. Rodin believed the poem of Dante as if he had lived it, -as Dante himself believed in Vergil. What a magnificent homage great men -render to one another in this credulity of genius toward genius! - -[Illustration: RODIN AT WORK ON THE MARBLE.] - -The subject chosen by Rodin for his decorative panels, then, was -hell--hell as Dante conceived it in a vision that lends itself, for -that matter, marvelously to a plastic realization. The "Gate" would -be a poem, an immense sculptured poem; that is to say, a résumé of -the attitudes and gestures of life called forth by the release of the -passions, a strange catalogue of the expressions of the human body under -the shock of sorrow and of joy. If the imagination of Rodin caught -fire like that of a visionary, he remained beyond everything and above -everything the sculptor, and he plunged immediately into the search for -the general scheme of the work. - -The truth of the movements, the poetry of the evocations, his models -would give him; he could feel at ease as to that: the resources that -nature would offer him were inexhaustible. But the plan, that he -must find himself; he must do the work of the builder, almost of the -geometrician. There could be no self-deception as to that. The fuller -the ornamentation was to be of figures and movements, the more solid -must be the frame of the immense picture, the more vigorous and compact -must be the general plan of the work. - -Rodin's mind wavered between two great schools, that of the Renaissance -and that of the Middle Ages, that which had produced the doors of the -baptistry at Florence and that to which we owe the portals of the Gothic -cathedrals. - -The celebrated gates of Florence are a series of bas-reliefs arranged -symmetrically in a regular framework; they present a series of separate -pictures having no common bond except their subject. The execution -is admirable, and it is perhaps impossible to surpass it. Lorenzo -Ghiberti has done there the work of an incomparable modeler, actually -a goldsmith; but he has in no way troubled himself with regard to -architecture. Now, architecture is the great French point of view. The -Roman and the Gothic have placed in their monument (the church) that -other monument (the portal). The portal is complete in itself; the -art of the sculptor and that of the architect have united and become -indistinguishable here in order to realize an absolute beauty. - -Rodin, profoundly French, inheriting the instinct and taste of his -ancestors the master-masons, having to compose a door, was fated to -conceive a portal. On the other hand, he could not escape the influence -of the antique, the result of his early studies. This was the entirely -different element which in the course of the work he had undertaken was -to mingle with the Gothic element. - -It was not the first time that the mingling of these two great -conceptions of art had occurred in France. From it had sprung our -Renaissance sculpture; in that epoch the sculpture of the Greeks united -itself with the Gothic architecture, the Hellenic sunlight brought to -blossom the majesty of our monuments. Does not Rodin himself, with his -vast outlook over the whole field of art, call this period of national -art, the sixteenth century, the French Gothic? - -"The Gate of Hell," then, took on in its general structure a Renaissance -aspect. It preserves the graceful line of the Gothic portal and has the -luminous whiteness inspired by Greek sculpture. This singular work has -touched all contemporary artists. Most of our writers have described it, -and, after them, the critics of other countries. This living multitude, -this suffering, groaning multitude that covers the two panels with a -thousand passionate movements, has drawn into its magic whirlpool the -world of literature, which has been able to liberate itself only by -means of innumerable printed pages. The poem of Dante has come forth as -it were revivified from the hands of Rodin. Fresh tears, one would say, -have bathed the most poignant passages; the pity of a man of to-day, -of one like ourselves, our brother, has enveloped the terrible work of -the Florentine poet, that man of the Middle Ages, with an atmosphere of -tenderness and compassion which seems the emotion of Christianity at its -purest, its original source. In order to become our own, it has passed -through the great soul of Rodin. It is not surprising, then, that the -sensibility of our artists, reanimated by this new spectacle, should be -touched to so voluminous an expression by this haunting work. - -But what has not been sufficiently remarked is that the "Gate" is, above -everything, a piece of architecture of the highest order. - -When we see it we are at once struck with an impression of majesty, of -calm strength and plenitude. It seems even longer than it actually is. -It is a rectangle six meters high and two and a half meters wide, but -the source of the illusion is the justness of the proportions and the -value of the masses. - -The powerful frame is furrowed with deep depressions. It rests on the -ground upon a strong base from which rise the two door-posts, as robust -as pillars and mounting together toward the summit. A pediment in the -shape of an entablature overhangs the entire monument, casting over -it a deep shadow full of nuances; and it is this shadow, skilfully -graduated, that gives to the work its rich, soft color. The body of -the portal is divided into two panels; a vast tympanum surmounts them -transversally. This tympanum, surmounted by a large cornice, dominates -the work. Without weighing it down, it gives it its mass, it attracts, -it obsesses, the eye; it is the soul of the edifice, its intellect. No -word can more justly describe it than the word brow, for it is magnetic, -haunting, mysterious, like the forehead of a man of genius. - -The panels sink deep into a shadow that is heavy, but not harsh, while -in the foreground the pillars advance into the light; the delicate -bas-reliefs that cover them keep them in a silvery atmosphere, the -source of the great softness which envelopes this work, otherwise severe -and tragic, the source of the fugitive lightness of the lines, which -strike up from the earth toward the somber and tormented upper regions. - -Carried away by this marvelous technic, the spirit of the visitor -succumbs; it follows this ascending movement of the door-posts, to lose -itself in the sorrowful dream sculptured on the tympanum. - -On the panel writhe the clusters of human figures, the eddies of the -multitude of damned souls pursued by the rage of the elements, by -the devouring tongues of the infernal fire, by the frozen waters, by -the wind that tears them and stings them. "It is," says the eminent -art critic Gustave Jeffroy, in the most beautiful pages that have -been consecrated to a description of this work, "the dizzy whirl, the -falling through space, the groveling on the face of the earth of a -whole wretched humanity obstinately persisting in living and suffering, -bruised and wounded in its flesh, saddened in its soul, crying aloud -its griefs, harshly laughing through its tears, chanting its breathless -fears, its sickly joys, its ecstatic sorrows." - -The genius of Rodin became intoxicated with all the resources of his -art. Master of a technic of the first order, he delighted in every kind -of effect, arranging them as a great symphonist arranges the instruments -of an immense orchestra. Low-relief, half-relief, high-relief, and -sculpture in the round, he omitted none. He did not yield to the -literary temptation. At the height of his fever of invention he was -circumspect, measured, guided by his knowledge as a modeler. The poet -thinks, but the carver speaks; he speaks justly, he speaks admirably, -because he uses only his own true and personal language, which he knows -from the ground up. That is the whole secret of the way in which this -man inflames our soul and subjugates our imagination. - -Two principal notes, two motives form, above the whirlwind of the -infernal fires, a resting-place for the eye troubled by so much -vehemence: one, in the midst of the tympanum, is the figure of Dante. It -is Dante, but it is even more the eternal poet. Seated, leaning over the -abyss of suffering, thrilled with anguish, he seems to seek in the very -depths of the pit itself the word of infinite pity that will deliver -this sorrowful humanity. - -Higher yet, above his bowed head, rising suddenly from the frame and -splayed in a large protuberance, a group of three entwined figures -crowns and completes the brow. With the same despairing gesture they -point to the multitude of the damned. One does not know what these -shuddering beings are, but they have the sweetness of angels; at once -we seem to hear their lips murmur the words of the grand Florentine, -"_Lasciate ogni speranza_"; but across their forms, their compassionate -forms, their fraternal forms, one feels passing a tremor of love and -pity. Far from condemning, their clasped hands offer to the sad wreckage -of fatality that writhes at their feet a sign, a unique sign, the sign -of good-will of pity. - - * * * * * - -"The Gate of Hell" was shown only once to the public. This was at the -Universal Exposition of 1900. Although it was nearly finished, it was -seen then only in an incomplete state. - -The day of the opening arrived before the master had been able to have -placed on the _fronton_ and on the panels of his monument the hundreds -of great and small figures destined for their ornamentation. People saw -the "Gate," then in the nudity of its construction, grandiose assuredly, -but despoiled of its extraordinary raiment of sculpture. - -That day was a sad one for the true friends of art and of Rodin. A band -of snobs, full of their own importance, crowded about the great man. -Having considered the work with the hasty and casual glance of men of -the world of the sort that are concerned above all to get themselves -noticed, they remarked to Rodin, in a tone of augury, "Your doorway is -much more beautiful like that; in no circumstances do anything more to -it." - -This absurd advice befell at an evil moment: the artist felt worn out -from overwork and anxieties of all kinds and, moreover, was troubled -over the fate of his exhibit the failure of which might in truth have -ruined him completely. In these circumstances he did not have the -freedom of spirit necessary to judge correctly the value of his own -work. And besides he had seen it too much during the twenty years in -which it had been before his eyes. He was tired of it, weary of it. - -[Illustration: PERISTYLE OP THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.] - -Thus everything combined to make him lend an ear to the unfavorable -opinions of the Parisian aviary. Had he been in better health, more -the master of himself physically and morally, he would have replied to -the prattling of these excited paroquets and guinea-hens: - -"Take more room, examine my 'Gate' from a little farther off, and you -will see once more the effect of the whole--the effect of unity which -charms you when it is deprived of its ornamentation. You must understand -that my sculpture is so calculated as to melt into the principal masses. -For that matter, it completes them by modeling them into the light. -The essential designs are there: it is possible that in the course -of the final work I may find it necessary to diminish such or such a -projection, to fill out such or such a pool of shadow; nevertheless, -leave this difficulty to my fifty years of artisanship and experience, -and you may be sure that quite by myself I shall find the best way of -finishing my work." - -But the master was silent. Later, carried away by the abundance of his -conceptions, by his ever-deepening researches, he lost all interest in -the "Gate" and has never taken the trouble to have it entirely mounted. - -Fortunately, casts of it have been carefully preserved. It would be -only an affair of a few months to reconstruct the work in its original -integrity. Since the Universal Exposition time has rolled forward, and -events also. Auguste Rodin has entered into the great serenity which -age brings with it. He composes less, he corrects his work, he judges -himself, and he does not deny his "Gate," one of the most exceptional of -his works. - -At last the creation of the Musée Rodin has been decided upon by the -state. "The Gate of Hell" will be one of its important pieces; we shall -be able to contemplate it then in all its majesty; it will not then -simply be molded in plaster, but cast in bronze and cut in marble. -It will offer a noble example of what work can accomplish when it is -served by that supreme gift, will; for it will testify as much to -resistance against the powerful enemies of the life of thought as to the -intelligence of the man who created it. It forces upon us not only a -formidable impression of strength, labor, talent, but also an impression -no less lofty of method, order, and inner harmony. The multitude, who -through their profound instincts approach much closer than one might -suppose to the man of genius, will exclaim in contemplating this work, -this true monument which undoubtedly the sculptor has raised through his -own force of character, "Whoever erected this beautiful thing with his -indefatigable hands was truly a man." - - - - -II - -"THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS" (1889)--RODIN AND VICTOR HUGO--THE STATUE OF -BALZAC (1898) - - -At the time the plaster model of "The Burghers of Calais" was first -offered to the judgment of the public, in 1889, nearly seven years had -gone by since Rodin had originally undertaken the group. - -This is the period of my own childish memories of the master. He was a -frequent visitor at the home of my father, who lived in Sèvres, on the -outskirts of Paris. - -Rodin, with his silent nature, apparently so full of calm and -meditation, delighted in the ardor, the patriotic enthusiasm, the -ferment of character, the brilliant conversation of that powerful, -original writer, my father; he loved his books, too, spirited and -passionate like himself, and possessing a vigor of expression that was -new to French letters. - -Léon Cladel received his friends on Sundays. In winter they gathered in -the drawing-room, in summer on a terrace shaded by great chestnuts and -limes, where thousands of birds twittered and chattered so energetically -that at dusk they ended by drowning the voices of the visitors. Among -the latter were writers, painters, and sculptors, several of whom have -since become famous. Among them were Auguste Rodin and his colleague, -his dear comrade, Jules Dalou, creator of many fine works, notably the -monument to Eugène Delacroix which stands in the Luxembourg Gardens. - -The sculptor of "The Burghers of Calais" was then barely fifty. He was -far from possessing the immense fame that is his to-day, but artists -already regarded him as a master. Of medium height, robust, with large -shoulders and heavy limbs, placid and deliberate in appearance, never -gesticulating, he himself resembled a block of stone; but above this -heavy base his countenance, with its broadly designed features and its -gray-blue eyes, expressed an extraordinarily keen intelligence and -finesse. Despite my youth I was struck by this physiognomy, so singular -and so penetrating, and also by the remarkable shyness that made the -sculptor blush whenever he was addressed. Since then innumerable -portraits have familiarized people with these features, which with age -have settled into an expression of authority and firm will; his strange -timidity has disappeared with time, with the consciousness of his -strength, with his having become accustomed to glory. Moreover, Rodin -has become a ready talker. Of old he listened intently, but always -held his peace; at most a few words, spoken in a soft, clear voice, -escaped from the waves of his long beard. He would at once relapse into -silence, while with a slow movement giving his beard an instinctive -caress with his large, square, irresistible hand, the true hand of a -builder. But when he raised his eyelids, almost always lowered, the -transparent eye, that limpid gray-blue eye, betrayed a perspicacity -that was almost malicious, almost cunning: one felt that he penetrated -through the forms of people to their very souls; and this he fixed so -skilfully in the clay of his busts that his models were not always -pleased with it. Many of Rodin's portraits have been refused by sitters -offended by their pitiless realism. - -[Illustration: STATUE OF BASTIEN-LEPAGE.] - -Sometimes my father kept Rodin and Jules Dalou to dinner. The two -sculptors were devoted to each other. They were comrades from of old who -had traveled together the hard road of beginners; since their student -days at the Petite Ecole they had many times reëncountered each other -in the same workshops, where they had received the same contemptuous -wages for their long days of labor. They felt a profound esteem for each -other's talent, different as these talents were, altogether opposed, in -fact, as were their natures; and it was a fine, a lovely thing to see -them bring forward each other's respective merits. Alas! I shall have -to tell later how an artistic rivalry came one day to destroy this noble -friendship. - -The appearance of "The Burghers of Calais" aroused a flood of enthusiasm -in the world of art. I remember it well. At that time I was only a -young school-girl, and my father was unwilling to allow me to "miss -my classes" in order to accompany him to the opening of the Rodin -Exhibition. After all, the lessons I received that day, following them -quite absent-mindedly, were they worth the lesson I should have received -from the contemplation of that masterpiece, even if my age would have -prevented me from quite understanding it? Beauty is always the most -fertilizing teacher. - -A rich art-lover, acting with the municipal authorities of Calais, had -ordered from Rodin the statue of Eustache de Saint-Pierre, the Calais -hero whose devotion had in the fourteenth century, during the Hundred -Years' War, saved the city when it was besieged by King Edward III of -England. - -Rodin, true to his principles, sought as ever to approach his subject -from the quick of reality. He consulted history. He read the old -chronicles of France, above all those of Jean Froissart, who was -contemporaneous with the event and almost a witness of it. Froissart was -a man of the fourteenth century, a man of the age of the cathedrals, -and therefore himself a Gothic. His narrative has the force, the -savor, the naïveté, the simple and profound art of the masters of that -marvelous epoch. What a source of emotion for Rodin, a Gothic likewise -in his faith and his artistic rectitude! He caught fire at the recital -of the old master as at the voice of a brother-in-arms. He read, he -learned that Edward III would not consent to spare the city of Calais -from pillage and destruction unless six of her richest citizens would -come out to him dressed only in their shirts, barefoot, with ropes about -their necks, bringing him the keys of the city and their own heads to be -cut off. In response to this terrible message, Eustache de Saint-Pierre -and five of his fellow-citizens, taking counsel with the notables -of the place, at once rose to go to the king's camp. They set forth -immediately, escorted on their way by the hunger-stricken multitude, -weeping and groaning over their sacrifice and "adoring them with pity." - -This was the vision which from that time on took possession of Rodin, -dominating him and never leaving him. But it was not an isolated person -detached from his environment that he saw: it was the six martyrs just -as they appeared in history, just as they were in life. In his thought -he followed this band of heroes marching to the sacrifice in the midst -of the weeping city. He could not bring himself to separate them either -from their whole number or from their tragic surroundings. Therefore, -in accordance with the genius of his theme, that is to say, with -historic truth, he would make all six of them, and he would insist that -they should be set up in the midst of the city, among the old houses, -where they would continue to live their sublime life in the heart of the -very town that they had saved. - -For the price of one statue, therefore, Rodin set out to execute six. -He rented a vast atelier in the rue des Fourneaux, in the Vaugirard -Quarter. He worked unceasingly. To keep this enormous group in good -condition, to maintain the proper temperature, he moistened the clay -morning and evening, having as his _garçon d'atelier_ no one but his -devoted wife, who had become thoroughly experienced in these matters. -Despite all, accidents would happen: the clay would give way, an -arm, modeled with his habitual exactitude, would fall and have to be -laboriously repaired; but the fervent modeler never hesitated in his -work, and on the day when he exhibited "The Burghers of Calais" at the -house of Georges Petit the praise and the homage that sprang forth from -the soul of all true artists recompensed him magnificently, bringing -him the intoxicating caress of dawning glory. They spoke, in connection -with the "Burghers," of the image-makers of our cathedrals; they spoke -of the statues of Claus Sluters, of the famous statues of the "Well of -Moses" at Dijon. Really, in the Calais monument Rodin is more than ever -under the Gothic influence in subject, in thought, and in execution. -The equilibrium of the figures composing the group is the same as that -of the "Saint John the Baptist." The long shifts that cover the naked -bodies of his heroes recall those draperies in vertical folds dear to -the Middle Ages. The very modeling of the figures and of the faces -increases this effect of elongation caused by the fall of the fabric; -the modeling in large planes, the vigorous accents, the simple and -pathetic movements are certainly those of the sort that out-of-door -sculpture calls for. In twenty years Rodin had made innumerable visits -to the Gothic monuments. Here was the result of his tours of France. He -had made them in order to recapture the traditions of art from the hands -of our wonderful old stone-cutters, and his heart must have throbbed -with joy when he was told that in his own hands that tradition had -suffered no loss. - -Naturally, the appearance of "The Burghers of Calais," even that, -could not fail to have its share of comic anecdote, that bitter and -painful humor that marks the adventures of genius in its struggle with -vulgarity. Let us not complain too much. The contrast between these -adventures and the proud way of life of a great man, the regularity -of his hours of toil--it is this that creates opposition, movement, -life. The elect soul feels a savage joy in these blows which shake it -like a tree tormented by brutal hands, a tree aware of the vigor of its -resistance and its ever-increasing tenacity. - -The municipality of Calais, hearing that there were to be six statues -instead of the one that had been ordered, took umbrage, and deliberated -for two years. The heroic group waited, and, as it encumbered Rodin's -atelier, where other works were going forward, it was placed in a -stable. At last the worthy town authorities decided to assign it a -site. Naturally, the site in question was exactly opposed to the ideas -of the master--ideas that had been thought out and that were perfectly -logical, based on the laws of decorative art and still more determined -by that infallible criterion, taste. Rodin desired that his monument -should be in the center of the town; they placed it on the edge of -the sea. He counted on emphasizing the tall stature of his figures -by enshrining it in the narrow frame of the houses; they placed it -against a horizon without limits. He requested that the group should be -placed very low, almost on the ground, or else very high on an elevated -pedestal, like the "Colleoni" at Venice or the "Gattamelata" at Padua; -they placed it at a middle height, thus diminishing the effect of its -imposing proportions. The lesson had to come from foreign lands. The -city of Antwerp has erected, in front of its museum of fine arts, -two of the statues of the celebrated group, and England, which does -things splendidly when it is a question of embellishing its cities or -of rendering homage to the valor of its adversaries, has erected the -effigies of the six heroes of Calais on one of the most beautiful sites -in London, before the Palace of Westminster. - - * * * * * - -By this time the reader is sufficiently familiar with the technic of -Rodin for it to be unnecessary to analyze here in detail this well-known -work. What must not be forgotten is that the sculptor had first modeled -these six powerful bodies entirely in the nude. This is his invariable -method when he executes draped figures. One realizes this, even without -knowing it, before these arms, these hands, these legs, and these feet -constructed with that rigorous conscience which, with the true artist, -is at once a necessity and a delight; one divines the slope of the -torsos bent with grief or rigid in the pride of sacrifice. - -"Yes, they are beautiful," the master said to me one day when I was -talking with him. "The shirt, the blouse are garments the folds of -which yield simple planes and effects that, rightly rendered, are those -of true sculpture. But there is something better still, and that is -sackcloth. If I had clothed my 'Burghers of Calais' in sackcloth, they -would certainly be more beautiful. I did not dare to. Some one else will -do this and will succeed. It is sufficient to express an idea and leave -it to its destiny." - -We ought to love in Rodin this intellectual vigor that skirts the -borders of the impossible. In our age, consumed with indecision, it is a -priceless aid, a resting-place, a _point d'appui_ from which one starts -forth afresh, fortified, one's nerves recharged with vitality, to the -conquest of one's share of knowledge or of talent. This accounts in part -for the irresistible influence which for thirty years the illustrious -sculptor has exercised over the minds of artists. One feels that this -fount of strength condensed in his virile soul comes from something -deeper than his personality alone; it comes from the very depths of -the national reserves. The conviction, the energy of Rodin are those -of the workman who knows his trade, of the laborer impassioned by the -culture of his own soil. This endurance is the foundation of the French -temperament; the events happening now have proved it. When a country -possesses such individualities through the course of history, the roads -of the future open out before it brilliant with hope despite passing -shadows, and promise the highest surprises. - -[Illustration: DANAIADE.] - - - -RODIN AND VICTOR HUGO - -The creation of "The Burghers of Calais" marks the middle of a period -of truly prodigious fecundity. From 1889 to 1896, monuments, busts, -statues, and groups of every kind issue without interruption from the -ateliers of Rodin, and the more numerous the works his hand models, -the more it grasps the contexture of the work, the more it refines the -execution. Orders for portraits pour in; collectors hold it an honor to -possess a marble, a bronze, signed with a name which every day increases -in celebrity. In 1888 comes that jewel of marble, the bust of Madame -Morla Vicuñha, and the monument to Claude Vicuñha, president of the -Republic of Chile; in 1889, the bronze portrait of Dalou, the statue of -Bastien-Lepage, that admirable head "La Pensée," acquired by the Musée -du Luxembourg. - -In 1890 comes the portrait of Mme. Russell, a bust in silver, of -noble simplicity, which one would say was the head of a Roman matron, -with the luminous veil upon her thoughtful forehead and the flower of -good-will blossoming upon her delicately swelling mouth. Then there is -"The Danaïd," "La vielle Heaulmière," and a great study, a long woman's -torso, "La Terre." - -In 1892, not to mention delightful minor works like "The Young Mother" -and "Brother and Sister," appear two masterpieces: the bust of Puvis -de Chavannes and that of Henri Rochefort, magnificent contrasts in -construction and execution. The painter-gentleman carries his haughty -head like an old leaguer chief, and the pamphleteer bends over the -destinies of France, which for fifty years he has defended day in, day -out, with his flaming pen, an enormous brow--a brow like a spherical -vault that seems to contain a world. - -"You have made it grander, you have made it more beautiful than nature," -some one said to Rodin one day. - -"One can never do anything so beautiful as nature," he replied. - -In this same year, 1892, he exhibited the charming monument to Claude -Lorrain, in which he recaptured the spirit of the eighteenth century. It -was the town of Nancy that ordered this figure of its painter and has -placed it in its vast park. - -One cannot mention everything. Forms and attitudes renew themselves, -but not the terms that express them. To measure the abundance of this -work one should read the catalogue, till now incomplete,--for it has -been impossible to compile one that was not so,--of the master's -works; only so can we realize how almost dizzily his productiveness -became accelerated with the epoch of his maturity. Mythological -subjects dominate it, but are always treated with a profoundly human -understanding of the poetry and the grace of the form in which they -achieve an aspect delightfully new. - -Such titles as "Venus and Adonis," "The Education of Achilles," "The -Death of Alcestis," "Cupid and Psyche," "The Faun and the Fountain," -"Pygmalion and Galatea," Rodin inscribed only as an afterthought on -the pedestals of his groups. They are not the result of a necessary -preliminary conception; it is his figures themselves that breathe them, -his models unconsciously repeated the combinations of movement and -gesture through which are translated the eternal sentiments immortalized -by the legends of paganism. So true is this that Rodin obtained his -charming groups by assembling in harmony with his researches the -animated little figures that encumbered the windows of his ateliers. -He amused himself by uniting them, by marrying their attitudes; with -these little figures, these puppets of genius, he composed actual little -intimate dramas or idylls revived from the antique. In the hollow of -a Greek bowl he places a little nude body, and one would say that it -is the soul of the wave that conceals itself against the side of the -vase. He enlaces three feminine figures, upright, beside the body of a -recumbent youth: they are the Graces, who come to bend over the dying -poet. Thus he perpetuates the fantasy of things through that of his own -taste; he eternalizes the most delicious caprices of nature. - - * * * * * - -We come now to the year 1896 and the appearance of the "Monument to -Victor Hugo." - -This monument had been ordered for the Panthéon. Rodin, who had modeled -in 1885 the bust of the singer of the "Légende des Siècles," was -doubly, on this account, entitled to the order. In the midst of what -difficulties had he achieved that bust! It required all his patience, -all the tenacity of a Lorrainese peasant, to accomplish it. When he -had begged the honor of reproducing those illustrious features, the -poet, already nearing his end, tired out with having posed for mediocre -plaster-daubers and unaware of the superiority of his new sculptor, -consented to pose only for two hours. All the same, he authorized Rodin -to come as often as necessary and make as many sketches as he needed -while he, Hugo, worked or received his friends. - -Rodin accepted these difficult conditions. Was it not Victor Hugo with -whom he was dealing, the father of modern poetry? And then what a -spectacle for his artist's eyes, that of the great man bending over his -papers that Jupiter-like head of his in which thought, in gestation, -swelled the sublime brow with a tumult of ideas! When he talked, what -majesty in "this face of a lion in repose"! - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT BUST OF VICTOR HUGO.] - -The sculptor placed a stool, some clay, some tools in the corner of -a gallery; it was there that he worked out the general form of the -bust. Then, studying his wonderful model for months, he made hundreds -of sketches of him, under every aspect; at times, having used up the -pages of his note-books, he even covered entire blocks of cigarette -paper with rapid notes and jottings. Then he transferred this record -of observations to his clay. Working in this manner, it took him three -months to finish his bust. He exhibited it, in bronze, at the Salon of -1884. One cannot fail to admire the volumes, the beautiful mass of the -whole, even though it does not show that brilliant touch of genius which -strikes us before the bust of Jean-Paul Laurens or that of Rochefort; -but later, relying upon this document and upon his own special memory -of forms in action, Rodin was to restore for us this moving head in his -monument of the poet, which was to be one of his very loftiest works. -This same bust of Victor Hugo was to rupture the friendship between -Rodin and Jules Dalou--Dalou of whom he sent to the same Salon of 1884, -by a curious coincidence, an incomparable bust that puts one in mind of -those of Donatello. - -The family of Victor Hugo did not like Rodin's portrait of the master. -When the poet died (1885), it was Dalou whom they called to execute a -death-mask of the features of the great poet. Filled with ambition and -eager for official glory, Dalou had the weakness to accept, forgetting -what he owed to Rodin, not even informing him, in fact. Deeply hurt, the -latter withdrew his affection for his old friend. My father, saddened by -this occurrence, which destroyed so rare and noble a friendship, brought -the two friends together at his table in the hope of reconciling them; -but nothing could melt the wall of ice that had fallen between these -dissevered hearts. - -Ten years afterward a magnificent compensation was offered to Rodin. -From him was ordered the monument of the poet for the Panthéon. He -represented him nude, under the folds of a vast cloak, and seated on -a rock, as if by the seashore, with his wonderful head bowed in an -attitude of meditation, just as Rodin had often contemplated it in -priceless hours. - -This manner of representing a great man, quite simply revived from the -Renaissance and the eighteenth century, shocked to the last degree the -administrative staff of the department of fine arts. Why this nude -personage, instead of a quite respectable Victor Hugo in the frock-coat -of an academician? Why not one of those statues that peacefully occupy -some corner of a public square without attracting any one's attention, -one of those statues that are not made to be looked at? As for this -poet, who resembled a Homer, a hero or a demigod, this grand body, -outrageously beautiful and simple, is it not scandalous in the midst of -the conformity of bourgeois civilization, enslaved by the ugliness of -fashion, whose perverted taste can no longer recognize the beauty of the -nude? The painter David used to say of his epoch, in which, however, the -mode of dress was less displeasing than it is to-day, "What misery to be -obliged to spend one's life in fashioning coats and shoes!" Rodin, like -David, and like Phidias, preferred the trade of the sculptor to that of -the tailor. - -Such an uproar arose that he had to withdraw the model of his monument -and promise another. But everything comes with time, even the best: the -fortunes of politics brought to the ministry of fine arts an intelligent -and cultivated director, the dramatic critic Gustave Larroumet. -Delighted with Rodin's scheme, the magnificent symbolization of French -poetry, he confirmed the order for the audacious monument, no longer for -the Panthéon, but for the Luxembourg Gardens; and, not satisfied with -this reparation, charged the master with the additional execution of -another monument destined for the Panthéon. One can imagine the anger in -certain circles--two orders on the same subject to the same sculptor! -What an aberration! What madness! But the decision was made and well -made. - -Rodin took six years to perfect his first "Victor Hugo"; the marble -was not exhibited until 1901. The vigor of the work and the sovereign -gesture by which the bard of contemplation seems to impose silence upon -the voice of nature in order that the voices struggling within himself, -in the depths of his genius, may be the better heard, the suppleness of -the material, of this Carrara marble, with its warm reflections, as if -melted under the pressure of a fiery hand, obstinately make one think of -Michelangelo; one has the disturbing sensation, not of an imitation, but -of a resurrection of the plastic power reincarnated out of nature, of a -new spring of sap from the same vein of genius. - -The original plan allowed, in addition, for two allegorical figures, -"The Inner Voice" and "The Tragic Muse," which, placed beside the poet, -should breathe into him thought and inspiration. But, very beautiful -in themselves, they gave to the monument, once they were executed and -placed, an anecdotal quality that diminished its force; they weakened -the grandeur of the Olympian gesture and destroyed that feeling of -solitude inseparable from such a personality as that of the great man: -an island in the midst of the flood of the human multitude, genius -itself is aware of its own splendid isolation. - -[Illustration: MONUMENT TO VICTOR HUGO.] - -This is what I ventured to express one day to the master, not without -hesitation. Nothing equals the simplicity of Rodin face to face with -what he knows is sincere and animated by a true love of art. He -listened, gazed at his work, and, turning toward me, gave me a joyous -glance. - -"You are right," he replied, with a spontaneity that put my sense of -responsibility on its mettle. "I sacrificed to the mania of the age, -which is to overload things. My modeling is there, the eloquence of the -gesture also. The rest would only spoil the essential things. It is a -stroke of genius. I am going to write to the under-secretary of state -that my monument is ready." - -In lieu of the two figures that were to have accompanied the statue of -Victor Hugo, to indemnify the Government Rodin gave to the Musée du -Luxembourg a series of his most beautiful busts in bronze, including the -head of the poet. - -As for the marble, it was in the garden of the Palais Royal that it -was finally erected; but this site is not of the happiest: a large -lawn separates the spectator from the monument; one sees it from the -wrong angle, and this destroys the equilibrium of its planes. Moreover, -in our damp climate marble quickly loses the charm of its purity and -transparency; streaks of brown already stain and deface that of the -"Victor Hugo." Let us hope that the organizers of the Musée Rodin -will find it possible to place it in one of the rooms of the future -museum, substituting for it a bronze upon which the inclemencies of the -atmosphere will serve to produce a beautiful patina. - - - -THE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898) - -This is the most famous and the least known of Rodin's works. Newspaper -controversies have made it famous throughout the whole world; but it -has, nevertheless, made only one brief appearance in public, in 1898, at -the Salon of the Société Nationale des Beaux Arts. It marks at the same -time a vital stage in the career of the master and the most poignant -period of his life as a fighter. It is the point of equilibrium in -the perpetual balancing of the art of Rodin between the several great -traditions. It was the object of a famous quarrel, in which the glory -of the sculptor, momentarily all but eclipsed by ridicule, recovered -itself, nevertheless, and rose higher than ever. - -What strikes one in this statue, at first sight, is its strange -block-like aspect, its monolithic simplicity. People say quite rightly -that it looks like a stone _lovée_, a druidic monument. Ever since "The -Burghers of Calais," one of the figures of which at least, that of -the man with the key, already suggests the idea of a monolith, Rodin -had been going further and further in his stubborn search for the -simplification of planes, and here he finally achieved his object. In -order to obtain it, he went back all the way to the primitive Gothic -and even to the archaic Greek, which likewise preserves in the general -outline of its statues the rigid aspect of those statues of wood that -had preceded it. In all these early epochs of art one finds the form of -the tree trunk in which their sculpture was cut. One of the examples of -this art that had most forcibly impressed Rodin was the statue of Hera -of Samothrace in the Louvre. The beauty of this figure, denuded of all -foreign artifice in the exact research for masses, the public little -comprehends; but the sculptor perceives its justness, the power of its -relief and its modeling, disconcerting in these primitive artists, -qualities that are concealed under the extreme simplicity of its -appearance. In this magnificent Hera it is as if one saw the rotundities -of woman coming to birth and undergoing in the tree, the vegetal column, -one of those metamorphoses familiar in the fables of paganism. The -"Balzac," with its athletic body, veiled in a spread robe that envelopes -it, does not it also resemble a powerful tree trunk from the summit of -which looks down, like a solitary, monstrous flower, the head of the -inspired writer? - -This statue had been ordered by the Société des Gens de Lettres, and was -intended for one of the public squares of Paris. After Victor Hugo, -Balzac. After the giant of modern poetry, the giant of the novel. What -a redoutable honor, but also what a homage to the talent of the great -sculptor! What joy for artists in the association of these two names, -Balzac and Rodin! On the other hand, how many adversaries rejoiced in -the hope of seeing Rodin come to grief with this task, fraught not -less with peril than with glory! He did not conceal from himself that -the statue of Balzac would be a severe problem to solve. We possess -no authentic bust of the creator of the "Comédie Humaine," not even -a death-mask giving the exact measure of the cranial bones and hence -the actual planes. We know through his contemporaries that the author -was fat and short. Fat and short--that is far from facilitating the -composition of a work of decorative art. But, more precious than -mediocre portraits, there is a famous page about him by Lamartine, -another great genius. "Balzac," he says, "was the figure of an element -... stout, thick-set, square at the base and at the shoulders, ample, -much as Mirabeau was; but not heavy in any way; he had so much soul that -it carried _him_ lightly." - -[Illustration: STATUE OF BALZAC.] - -It was this essence that he set out to render. A frank artist takes -no liberties with reality. It alone gives him force; the "majesty of -the true" is alone durable. Nature, which dowered Balzac with one -of the most prodigious intellects known to us, dowered him at the -same time, to support this intellect, with the physical breadth of a -colossus. To have altered anything that went to make up the harmony of -the structure would have been to commit a grave error; it would have -been to denaturalize the divine work. On the other hand, above this -mass of flesh it was necessary to make that marvelous spirit hover, -that sparkling spirit, that myriad-faceted spirit of the greatest of -novelists. - -Rodin knows by experience that nature repeats herself. Has not a -humorist said: "It is useless to make a bust of you; it exists already. -You have only to look for it in the museums"? - -He set out to find a man who resembled Balzac, going all the way to -Touraine, the writer's native province, a hundred times depicted by -him in his books. The family of Balzac was originally from Languedoc, -but that made no difference; the intuition of a great artist is always -rewarded. Rodin found at Tours the model he desired; he was a young -countryman, a carter, who resembled his hero to an almost miraculous -degree. Of him he made a very animated bust, in which one sees the full -face, the nose, concave and large at the end, but voluptuous and full -of spirit, the rounded chin, the vast shoulders of the master of the -"Comédie Humaine." There was lacking, however, the flame of thought that -spiritualized and rendered buoyant this mass of human substance. Rodin -modified the expression, illuminating the physiognomy with delicacy and -frank gaiety. It is Balzac at twenty-five, a peasant Balzac, breathing -at every pore youth, self-confidence, and the love of life. Not yet -is it the man tormented by fate, the tragic visionary of the "Comédie -Humaine," the slave of his work who in twenty years wrote fifty novels, -staged a thousand characters, and gave life to an entire society. It is -not the man who has suffered, thought, meditated, with all the power -of one of the most extraordinary organisms known to us; it has not the -appearance of a phenomenon. - -After this Rodin skilfully altered these features; he gave them the -scars of the interior effort, he made them soft and hollowed them, he -made them old and grave. In a few weeks he did the work that nature -had taken years to accomplish. He finished by creating that Titan's -mask which we know, that head as round as a bullet and, like a bullet, -terrible in its concentrated force. Later he augmented this; that is -to say, he doubled its proportions: and this head, almost frightening -in its expression, recalls the masks which the Greek tragedians wore -when they played in the open air. Finally he modeled the body of the -colossus, making it entirely nude, with arms crossed, braced against -the earth with the tension of the whole will, evoking the idea of some -prodigious birth. Then he draped this heavy body in the monk's robe -in which the writer used to envelope himself for work and the straight -folds of which enwrapped him like the sheath of a mummy, offering to the -sight nothing but the tumultuous head--the head ravaged by intelligence -and savage energy. - -Rodin felt almost frightened by his own work. - -He kept it a long time before turning it over to the cast-makers. He had -worked it out in his atelier, but it was destined for the open air. How -would it appear in broad daylight? - -The gestation of this work was accompanied by a thousand miseries. The -committee of the Société des Gens de Lettres incessantly demanded the -"Balzac"; they were dumfounded before the extraordinary figure that was -shown to them, before this white phantom the conception of which was so -utterly the reverse of all current ideas. Not knowing what to say, they -insisted that it should be modified and urged haste upon Rodin, whose -extraordinary dexterity became slowness itself when it was a question -of putting the final touches upon a great work. The press began to -take note of the affair. He himself became troubled and nervous. With -what transports would he have left it, fled, gone away to rest and to -dream of something else for a few weeks! The time of the Salon was -approaching. Quite suddenly he made his decision, gave the clay to be -cast, and ordered an enlargement. The statue was brought back to him at -the Dépôt des Marbres, in the rue de l'Université; it was twice as large -as the original model. It was placed in the garden that stretched out -in front of the studio. He examined it as it rose against the depths of -the open sky and the bright spring light. It was as if he had never seen -it, and suddenly his mind was illuminated. The work was grand, simple, -strong; the essential modeling was there, and the details they had -exhorted him to add would only have diminished its unsurpassable unity. - -Rodin had made up his mind. He sent his "Balzac" to the Salon. - -Immediately there was war. The press, worked upon by the committee of -the Société des Gens de Lettres, was unfavorable in advance. On the day -of the opening of the Salon the word was passed around, and the official -art world _s'esclaffe_. There was a crowd at the foot of the lofty -image, near which Rodin took up his position, calm according to his -wont, and talked quietly with his friends. Some, a very few, told him -how they admired this work so proudly offered, so strange in its banal -surroundings. - -The next day the press broke forth. What an uproar! Everything went off -at once: the heavy artillery of the great newspapers scolded solemnly, -the light artillery crackled in the political sheets, and the grape-shot -of the minor papers spat their rage, only too happy for so rich a prey -to cut to pieces. The Institute, as might have been foreseen, fanned the -conflagration. The public, excited, in turn broke loose, in the fury of -ignorance stirred up against knowledge. - -[Illustration: THE HEAD OF BALZAC.] - -It became a "case," an affair, the _affaire de Balzac_. The committee of -the Société des Gens de Lettres mobilized; by a vote of eleven to four -it declared that it "did not recognize the writer in the statue of M. -Rodin." The president of the same society, the poet Jean Aicard, refused -the chance of immortality which this stupidity was to confer upon his -colleagues and flung his resignation in their faces. A group of members -of the municipal council of Paris decreed that it would be ridiculous -to accord "this block" a place in one of the squares of the city. For -two months music-halls and café-concerts vented every evening the wit -of the gutter on the scandalous statue and its sculptor; peddlers sold -caricatures of it in plaster, Balzac being represented as a heap of snow -or as a seal. In short, such was the event that it required nothing -but the pen of Aristophanes to note down the harmonies of this chorus -of frogs. The health of Rodin suffered a reaction from his long effort -and from this battle. Then, too, there are hours when the strongest are -seized with nausea before the bad faith and the stupidity of people. -Nervous, his mind aching, a prey to insomnia, the master offered a -melancholy spectacle, that beautiful serenity of his destroyed and his -working strength put in jeopardy. - -"For all that," says M. Léon Riotor, who tells the story with eloquence, -"Rodin had a wonderful awakening. All the young world of letters rose -up to declare its sympathy with the vanquished in this new skirmish. A -number of painters and sculptors joined in. And the protest that was -circulated came back covered with signatures." - -No, Rodin was not vanquished. He retired for a moment from the mêlée -to recover and to meditate in peace, but without deviating by a single -step from his line of conduct. A collector offered to buy the "Balzac." -A group of intellectuals started a public subscription; funds flowed -in. Although he was not yet wealthy, Rodin courteously declined these -offers, and, declaring that "an artist, like a woman, has to guard his -honor," decided to withdraw his monument from the Salon and not have it -erected anywhere. - -The epic statue was transported to Meudon, and placed in the garden of -the villa. In its loftiness it imposes itself against the sky, against -the hills, against the trees that surround it, with the quality of -nature herself. Like a gigantic pole it triumphs in the open air. It -is specially on clear nights that its disturbing authority strikes -the soul. The great phantom appears then formidable in the extreme -simplicity of its planes, which, as in strong architecture, distribute -over large spaces the masses of shadow and light. The American painter -Steichen has passed nights in this enchanted garden in order to take -of the "Balzac" photographs that are more beautiful than engravings. -Haughty, with a ferocious majesty in the moonlight, the master of -the "Comédie Humaine" brings his soul face to face with nature; he -listens to its silence, he sounds its mysteries, he questions it in -mute dialogue, the like of which has not been heard since the colloquy -of _Hamlet_ with the shade of his father. For it is of _Hamlet_, of -the most profound symbolization of the human spirit wrestling with the -unknown, that one dreams before this meditating Balzac, alone, under the -nocturnal light. This is what Rodin has known how to make out of that -short, thick-set man who was the author of the "Etudes Philosophiques"; -this is how he has lighted the fires of the intelligence on the mask of -genius. - -It is at the Musée Rodin that we shall rediscover this statue. Time -will have progressed, and ideas also. When they see it anew, how many -people will be astounded at having formerly scoffed at the work and -offended the master, struck dumb and secretly humiliated at having thus -contributed to the writing of the hundred thousandth chapter of that -endless book, the book of human stupidity. - - - -THE EXPOSITION OF 1900--THE BAS-RELIEFS OF EVIAN--RODIN AND THE WAR - -In 1899, Rodin exhibited a large part of his work at Brussels and in -Holland. The effect produced upon artists and upon the cultivated -portion of the public was such that he resolved to repeat this -experiment at the Universal Exposition of Paris. - -It was foreordained that nothing should be easy for the great toiler, -that it would be necessary for him to conquer everything through effort -and struggle. - -The administration of the Exposition, which had granted innumerable -requests for space addressed to it by the industrialists and business -men of the whole world, by bar-keepers, itinerant booth-holders, and -managers of café-concerts, raised a thousand difficulties when it -was a question of according a few feet of ground to the greatest of -living sculptors. It required all the insistence of his most devoted -and powerful friends to gain his point. Rodin finally received the -authorization to construct a pavilion not in the Exposition itself, but -outside the grounds in the place de l'Alma. - -Once again, so much the better. How much finer for a man of the élite to -stand aside from the rout! - -According to the master's plan, there was erected a hall simple in -appearance, elegant, reservedly in the Louis XVI style, a veritable -repose for the eye strained by the strident architecture of the great -fair of 1900. There were assembled the people of his sculpture. - -[Illustration: THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.] - -Once more Rodin experienced an hour of trial, a formidable hour. If -for the last dozen years he had left poverty behind, he had not yet -achieved wealth, and it was a great risk to assume the expenses of his -exhibition. If these expenses were not covered by the entrance-fees and -the sale of his sculpture, how would he come out? He would be forced -to a kind of transaction that he had always spurned, he would have to -turn over all or part of his work to the art dealers. These groups, -these busts, so painstakingly cast, or cut in the most beautiful -marble by excellent workmen, and often by renowned sculptors, once the -dealers had acquired rights in them, would they not be duplicated in a -quantity of replicas of mediocre workmanship or, worse, reproduced by -undiscriminating stone-cutters, who would disfigure the modeling and -the character? The idea was odious to the scrupulous sculptor. He had -reached the age of sixty, and if he did not show it, thanks to the vigor -of his temperament and the persistent youth that goes with great minds, -it was not less painful for him to put his apprehensions to the test. -Too dignified, too proud, to give way to vain lamentations, he made only -the most reserved references to his ordeal. - -The success of the exhibition remained uncertain during the first -weeks: many people hoped it would be a failure. At the end of a month -or two, visitors from abroad, to whom thanks be given, began to pour -in; the principal museums of Europe wished to possess some important -figure of Rodin's. Soon the number of purchasers increased day by day, -and I do not have to mention here how many art-lovers from the United -States decided to enrich their collections with some rare piece signed -by the master. In short, during the latter months Rodin had the joy -of perceiving that he could remain the sole possessor of his work, -that nothing could now separate him from his dear family of bronze and -marble. It was happiness for him; it signalized also the great glory -that comes with outstretched wing, bringing fortune with it. - -The pretty pavilion in the place de l'Alma was transported and reërected -in the garden at Meudon, and he filled it with masterpieces. Since then -the whole world of art and literature and that portion of the political -world that esteems art has passed through it. The French aristocracy -and that of England, the most eminent personages of the two Americas, -have been eager to visit it. One receives in it an impression at once -grand and touching, giving one the highest idea of the supremacy -of intellectual valor above the other goods of this world when one -perceives the contrast of these artistic treasures with the altogether -modest little house, almost bare, attended by a single servant, where -Rodin continues, in the midst of the luxury of an epoch intoxicated with -pleasures, to maintain the simplicity of his life in the sober company -of his old single-spirited, faithful-hearted wife. This impression I -never felt more vividly than on the occasion of the visit of the late -King of England. Edward VII, like others, had conceived the desire to -render this homage to French art. The day before, when I encountered the -master in Paris, he said to me, without further explanation, "Come and -have a look at the studio." - -It was a beautiful afternoon in May. When I entered the pavilion, I -could not restrain a cry of admiration. Marbles, nothing but marbles, -of a dazzling whiteness! He had brought together all that he possessed, -all those that his friends and the purchasers of his work had consented -to lend him for the occasion, and one would have said that it was -these groups of young, enlaced bodies, these busts of women, with -their transparent, rosy flesh, that gave forth the light with which -the apartment was filled. It was a unique vision, a vision which, in -its purity and its unity, surpassed in delicate splendor that of the -most celebrated collections, with all their accumulation of pictures, -tapestries, bronze, and jewels. I wondered in silence; I wondered -at the sure taste of the artist, but I wondered also at his will: -everything of him was there. Who can deny that it was necessary for him -to put pressure on himself to decide on such a choice, to sacrifice -the bronzes, the sketches, the terra cottas, and many charming pieces? -Nothing but marble, the kingdom of marble, but also that of life; for -the sumptuous material trembled and palpitated under the play of the -light that entered through the bay-windows of the atelier, bringing with -it the soft brilliance of the season. - -Since the Exposition of 1900, Rodin's reputation has increased steadily -in France and abroad. England and Italy have organized triumphal -receptions for him of a sort reserved hitherto for the most illustrious -men of state. The artists of London have acclaimed him, and have charged -him, on the death of Whistler, with the presidency of the International -Society of Painters, Sculptors, and Engravers. Oxford University has -given him a doctorate. The municipality of Rome has greeted him with -special homage at the capitol; the court of Greece, having invited -him, awaits his visit; at Prague, where he was received by the Society -of Young Czech Artists, they accorded him royal honors, the public -unharnessing the horses from his carriage and applauding at the same -time the personal genius of this great Frenchman and the free ideas of -his country. - -Without altering in any way his life of labor, which these tributes have -at times slightly interfered with, he has permitted himself only one -luxury as the result of his fortune--a collection of antiques. This he -has formed with passion. It is, once more, for purposes of study, and -what a study, to possess a few of these sublime fragments, to feel them -and handle them under all aspects of light! Rodin has placed a certain -number of them in his garden, arranging them among the trees, among the -shrubs; he has placed them on the fresh grass, where they seem to live -in another and a happier way than in the rooms of museums. At a stroke -the little garden at Meudon, with its pedestals, its statues, with its -grove where a charming little marble, the "Sleeping Cupid," reposes, has -become like the villa of a Roman citizen of the time of Augustus. - - * * * * * - -The art of Rodin has in a certain measure shown the effect of these -happy events. During these latter years he has grown calm; he displays -a serenity of spirit and a self-possession that increases day by day. -But if the struggle in his composition has been tranquilized, his -workmanship has grown freer. The sculptor's effort concentrates itself -now in the search for a modeling ever more ample and suppler, which -with him constitutes a new and decisive manner. It is to this that we -owe those exquisite marbles, "Psyche Bearing the Lamp," "Benedictions," -"The Young Girl and the Two Genii," "Romeo and Juliet," "The Fall of -Icarus." This has been the epoch also of the busts of Mrs. Simpson and -the proud and handsome George Wyndham, the English statesman. It is -the epoch, finally, of the "Monument to President Sarmiento," which -offers at the same time, in happy opposition, the two most recent and -most characteristic methods of Rodin. The bronze statue of the great -Argentine statesman has an aspect at once romantic and realistic that -recalls that of "The Burghers of Calais," and the marble pedestal that -supports it, a vanquishing Apollo emerging from the clouds all luminous -with youth and glory, belongs to the latest period. Of this monument, -ordered by the city of Buenos Aires, France does not possess a replica, -though the model has been preserved. The Musée Rodin will soon contain a -duplicate. - -From 1901 to 1906 there was an uninterrupted creation of figures and of -portraits, among them the busts of Sir Howard Walden, Berthelot, Gustave -Geffroy, Mme. Hunter, and Bernard Shaw. - -One must add the myriad drawings that Rodin has never ceased to execute. -The will to sustain his eye and his hand instead of permitting them to -become weakened with age has become a passion with him. He draws as a -writer thinks. He thinks pencil in hand; his drawings are aphorisms. -Line-sketches, stump-drawings, water-colors in strange tints multiply -themselves like the leaves of a tree and quite constitute alone a -complete work. The master has sold and given away quantities of them, -yet; nevertheless, the Musée will contain more than three thousand. I -have been honored with the charge of counting them over and classifying -them. After days of this work one has a sensation of dazzlement, as I -have discovered, before this accumulation of toil and beauty. - -The most precious of these drawings are the most recent. The study of -light has been carried in these to the supreme nuances. More and more -Rodin detests what is black, what is hard, what is dry. He adores, on -the other hand, that which is supple, enveloped, drowned in the light -mist of the atmosphere. He conceives everything through an almost -imperceptible veil which softens the contours, and which he discerns -with an eye that grows every day more sensitive. His sculpture has -followed the same path. In the greater part of his marbles he has -pursued the effects of mass and of the ensemble in what concerns the -volumes and the effects of gradation, the study of the diminutions of -light in what concerns the coloring. The color that obtains uniquely in -the art of shadow and light is the charm of beautiful sculpture. Rodin -thus captures the variations with a competence that ravishes our eyes, -accustomed to the dryness of limits that are too distinct. It is in the -reliefs entitled "The Seasons" that Rodin has attained the apogee of -this science of luminous modeling. - -These works, executed for La Sapinière, the estate of Baron Vitta at -Evian, comprise three high-reliefs fashioned on a gate and two fountain -basins, or monumental garden urns. They are cut in the stone of the -Estaillade, a white stone the richness of grain and delicate golden tone -of which make it unsurpassable for the interpretation of the human body. -They were exhibited for a short time in February, 1905, at the Musée du -Luxembourg, on the initiative of M. Léon Bénédite, the very accomplished -curator and critic of art, who arranged them with perfect taste. But far -from being embraced and vindicated, as he would be now by the present -administration of fine arts, Rodin was still regarded as a revolutionist -whose example could neither be followed nor trusted. - -This was made quite plain to the audacious curator who decided quite by -himself to exhibit the latest works of the master before their departure -for Evian. After this _coup d'état_ he was for several years the victim -of attacks from academic circles, and underwent, on the part of the -Government, a sort of disgrace. Since then he has been brilliantly -compensated, and to-day he has been placed in charge of the installation -of the Musée Rodin at the Hôtel Biron, a great work in which I have the -happiness to be his collaborator. - -The decorative designs of the villa of Evian adorn the vestibule of the -home of Baron Vitta. "Their subject," says M. Bénédite, in an excellent -notice which served as a catalogue for the Exhibition of 1905, "if -one wishes to speak of the motive that serves as their pretext, is -the most banal in the world. One would find it difficult to count the -number of times that it has served artists since antiquity. So true it -is that the commonest, the most general, the most seemingly worn-out -themes are those in which the great artists find themselves the most at -home. Without difficulty they renew them, and stamp them unforgettably -with their own peculiar mark. Rodin has calmly returned to the four -seasons, confident that they would bear without effort the impress of -his personality and his time and that they would suffice to express his -whole conception of beauty and of life." - -Rodin has figured "The Seasons" under the aspect of four sleeping -women. Their beautiful forms model themselves in the warm-tinted stone, -which itself seems animated with the reflections of the living flesh. -Their mysterious sleep evokes the successive phases of the year. Now -it marks the quietude of the earth, full of the joy of yielding up her -flowers and her fruits under the caresses of the sun, now it is death -revealing itself through a nature tormented with the heavy travail of -generation. In the "Spring" it is a young body that lies voluptuously -under a rose-bush the fragrant petals of which are mingled with her own -flesh, enveloping her in the dream of their perfume. In the "Autumn," -the sleeper crouches close to the ground under the fruits and the -vine-leaves, oppressed by the intoxicating aroma. The "Winter" presses -her chilled limbs closely against the cavities of the denuded earth, -while above her the roots of the trees enlace themselves intricately, -like sacred serpents charged with protecting her slumber. The "Summer" -is a siesta upon the bosom of a Nature _en fête_, lulled by the golden -sounds of harvest balanced on the breeze and the murmur of a spring that -pours forth freshness and quietude. - -But in what, you ask, resides the originality of these decorative -commonplaces, their brilliant, unquestionable originality? In the -deliberate simplicity, in the spirit of sobriety that has presided over -their composition, and, above all, in their execution. It is through -their execution that the sculptures of Evian occupy a place apart in -the work of Rodin. Since the beautiful Greek epoch, stone has perhaps -never assumed such a living sweetness under any human hand. One might -believe that it had not been touched by the steel of the chisel, but -caressed by a touch as delicate as it is firm, molded like wax under -the warmth of that hand. These mellow figures do not detach themselves -from the living framework in which they are set; they stand out, -thanks to an insensible transition which leaves them enveloped, in the -reflections of the fair material; they mass themselves under a sifted -light, among the flowers and the clusters of grapes. With all this there -is no insipidity. Under the skin one feels the plenitude of bodies rich -with health, harmonious organisms: it is a force that has found its -equilibrium, a force relaxing in sweetness. Strangely enough, when one -seeks for antecedents to which it is possible to relate the reliefs of -Evian, it is not in the domain of sculpture, but in that of painting, -that one finds the terms of comparison. The intense power, carefully -measured as it is, of this vibrant modeling and this color drenched in -sunlight we find again among the tenderest creations of Correggio, of -Rubens, and, closer to ourselves, of Renoir. - -The two jardinières which complete this unique series represent groups -of children mad with joy and with liberty; in the one case playing and -jostling one another in a field of wheat, in the midst of the moving -sea of spears, and in the other, spread out on the green summer grass, -rapturously holding up in their little arms, already robust, the grapes -heavy with wine. They are exquisite fantasies of movement, of grace, of -mad life just beginning. Here, too, the flesh of these little laughing -gods, melting in the mass of ripe corn and tottering vines, seems bathed -in the clearness of a beautiful day, full of air and of light. - -These five works of the old age of the master might be entitled the -"Poem of Youth." It is the privilege of genius to return, in its -decline, to its point of departure, to remount to the sources of life, -which remain ever the most intoxicating. The sensations of infancy and -adolescence solicit him with all their unforgettable seductiveness, and -he surrenders himself lovingly to the sweetness of this lost dream; but -it has cost him his entire, existence to acquire the gift of translating -it. - -This search for the envelopment of forms fruitful of new effects is the -decisive point in the career of Rodin; it is the supreme thought, the -end and aim of sixty years of toil and reflection. Therefore it is a -very happy thing for French sculpture that Rodin has been able to live -long enough to realize completely this definitive conception of his -art. For from the summit attained by him other artists can spring forth -afresh, to renew once more perhaps the manifestations of the national -genius. The resources indicated by Rodin have hardly been used hitherto; -to bring them fully into employment meanwhile there will perhaps be born -a new school of sculpture. - -[Illustration: BUST OF BERNARD SHAW.] - -What constitutes the originality of a great artist is that it is never -isolated. It belongs at once to the past, to the present, and to -the future; it is altogether a derivative and a root. It springs from -the past through atavism, through study, and through admiration for -the masters; it is of the present through contact with those of the -artist's contemporaries who march at the same time with him along the -road of discovery; finally, it influences the future by bequeathing to -the generations that follow a new conception and new methods. To-day -we see clearly the sources from which have come the ultimate aspect of -the talent of Rodin. They are the art of Greece; they are also certain -marvels of Gothic art in which miraculously reblossomed the Hellenic -suppleness and sweetness, as if the springs of the Greek genius had -mysteriously coursed under the earth from Athens to France, bursting -forth at last in the walls of our cathedrals; then there are those -unfinished marbles of Michelangelo from which Rodin derived the idea of -vapor and flow in sculpture. But other artists have arrived, at about -the same time, at the same end, or almost the same end, by different -paths. Among these are two of our great painters, friends and comrades -of Rodin, Renoir and Carrière. Does not this community of thought -prove how profound is the vitality our country continues to possess in -the domain of art? We are less struck by this phenomenon than when we -verify its effects in the past, when we see them related and summed up -in the history of art; because we are not in a position to disengage -it from our present life, which is encumbered and complicated, and to -draw a conclusion from it. And then, too, the present political régime -does little to signalize the great artists, to muster them before the -untutored admiration of the multitude, to give value to the intellectual -wealth of the country. As a rule, when a man of genius receives the -homage he deserves, it is when he is near his end, if it is not after -his death. What public festivals have been given in France in this -century to honor the glories of our artistic and scientific life, -Victor Hugo excepted? When and how have we celebrated men like Puvis de -Chavannes, Rodin, Renoir, Carrière, Claude Monet, Besnard, Odilon Redon, -and Bartholomé, to mention only masters of the chisel and the brush? -Occasionally they have been gratified by the boredom of an official -banquet, where they have been assigned a rank considerably lower than -that of the least important politician, and they are expected to be -thankful when they have had bestowed upon them a few parchments and some -bits of ribbon. Fortunately, their joys are in another sphere, whither -no one who is not their equal can follow them. - -In their ardent effort toward a similar end, then, it is necessary to -associate Rodin, Renoir, and Carrière. All three, for that matter, have -mutually admired and even influenced one another. Whether in the course -of their work or in their conversations, one cannot deny that the -attempt of the Impressionist School, which consists precisely in not -separating the being or the object from its atmosphere, in prolonging -its life in the life of that which envelopes it, really succeeds only -in the work of these masters. They have, if not recreated, at least -broadened the law of the distribution of shadow and of light in their -intricate fusion. Certainly others had already manifested and realized -similar ways of seeing things, according to their various temperaments, -such men as Fantin-Latour and Henner in the study of the human figure -and Claude Monet in landscape. But, except for Monet, no one affirms -them with the authority of a Rodin, a Carrière, a Renoir. If Carrière, -too early interrupted by a cruel death, is a tragic, a somber genius, -a genius of the Gothic line, which in him does not exclude great -sweetness, Renoir and Rodin, in their maturity, are happy geniuses, -masters of young beauty and of a serenity which art has scarcely known -since ancient Greece. A like sentiment of serenity, a like aspiration -for harmonious unity, therefore a closer contact with nature, bring them -together. - -This serenity, this aspiration for unity, Rodin and Renoir have sought -during their whole life, and it is in the radiant works of their old age -that it triumphs. The genius of form and its union with the universal -has been the master thought, the plastic ideal, which their fraternal -minds have realized simultaneously by different methods. - -"With Rodin a style begins," said Octave Mirbeau twenty years ago. The -phrase stirred up a tempest. All the time that has passed since then has -been required to make people admit its truth. The great writer might -have said with more exactitude, but with less force, "With Rodin style -itself has begun anew." - -Will it continue? It has never entirely ceased to exist, even if it has -no longer the force of expansion with which, from France and through -her, it spread through all Europe. Will it begin again with its vigor as -of old? The question touches those problems raised by the events that -are to-day overturning the world and also the profound modifications -which the war will bring. - -The master gives us his opinion on this matter in a few words, -circumspect and measured, as he himself always is. How could he be -otherwise before the formidable unknown that still hides from us the -next turn of destiny? It is fitting, then, to leave him the last word on -this subject. Fortunately his word has the warm ring of hope. - -[Illustration: A FÊTE GIVEN IN HONOR OF RODIN BY SOME OF HIS FRIENDS.] - -This hope he draws in a measure from himself, from his own strength, -which is, he feels, a distinct outgrowth of the national strength, of -the unconquerable soul of our ancestors; he draws it also from the -consciousness of a task accomplished in the face of the hard blows -of life; and finally from the promise of the artistic youth of the -country, of that which belongs to his school. For if with two or three -exceptions he has not directly formed pupils, his artistic principles, -his faith in the virtue of character and labor, supported by the example -of an unequaled body of work, have given him innumerable disciples. The -lesson which he offers us and which will soon be offered to all at the -museum in the Hôtel Biron, will endure for centuries. He says himself -justly, with pride and modesty, that this museum will form a true home -of education. - - * * * * * - -A few words more about this life which in the fecundity of its -unexpected incidents remains for the attentive witness profoundly -significant to the very end. - -At the moment when the war of 1914 broke out, the master was in his -villa at Meudon. When the German armies approached Paris, he thought -of leaving his home. He had excited great admiration in the land -of Schiller and Goethe, he had been urged to take part in numerous -expositions there; but he had quite special reasons for knowing that -his work, were it to fall into their hands, would not be spared by the -soldiers from beyond the Rhine. Overwhelmed by the terrifying surprise -of the invasion, he did not know where to go. - -As he had many friends in England, I offered to guide him there. He -therefore crossed the channel, accompanied by his wife, the companion -of his good and evil days. It was without a word of bitterness that he -set out, without expressing a regret for all that he was leaving behind -him. Before the immensity of the national misfortune he seemed to have -completely forgotten the menace that hung over the work of his whole -life. In the train that carried us by night to one of the French ports, -he said in his clear and always tranquil voice: "Yes, I am leaving -much behind me. It is the work of an entire life that will disappear, -perhaps." That was all. This attitude of an old exiled king inspired a -respect free from all compassion. - -The fate of his collection of antiques caused him more disquietude. - -"If they take them, that is nothing; they will still exist. But if they -break them! They will have destroyed what is irreplaceable." - -He did not wish to remain in London. Too many relationships would -have hindered him from collecting himself and from preserving that -dignity of solitude, that reserve of a refugee which was proper to his -situation. He preferred to accompany us to a small country town, where -for six weeks he lived a modest life, very retired, interested only, but -passionately interested, in the reading of English newspapers, which we -translated for him. - -When we apprised him of the burning of Rheims Cathedral, he replied -with a laugh of incredulity. For two days he refused to believe it. It -seemed to him an invention of the press designed to stir the public and -increase recruiting. At last, convinced, he said, with inexpressible -sadness: "The biblical times have come back again, the great invasions -of the Medes and the Persians. Has the world, then, reached the point -where it deserves to be punished for the egotistical epicureanism in -which it has slumbered?" After this he became absorbed in his own -thoughts. - -The Battle of the Marne, in saving France and the world, saved also that -little temple of art, the museum at Meudon. Rodin, on his return from -England, found it intact. - -He took up his work again, without a pause, with that unalterable -patience of his--that patience of the peasant that turns him back to his -field the moment the enemy has passed. He awaits there sadly the dawn of -peace. - - * * * * * - -During the last months of the year 1916 the question of the Musée Rodin, -broached five years ago, became again a living one; it was brought -before the assembly. Certain of the master's adversaries who have not -been calmed even by the events of the present affected a righteous -indignation that the discussion of this question of art should at -this moment have any place in the order of the day, and they tried to -make people believe that it was he who had chosen this tragic hour for -debates of this kind. Let us repeat that five years ago Rodin offered -this gift to his country, and that the delay in settling the matter is -imputable solely to the procrastination of public affairs. - -On the day I write these lines the creation of the Musée Rodin has been -determined upon. The two chambers have voted by a majority that proves -that everything France contains in the way of cultivated intelligence -desires to assure a home worthy of itself for the works of its greatest -sculptor. - -But before we have arrived there what other mishaps may not befall! It -is too soon to write the history of the Musée Rodin. Its adventure is -not less singular than all the others that have marked this long career, -certain of which have been summed up in these pages. The more forceful -the personality, the more it is in contradiction with the passions of -the vulgar, the more are the incidents that spring up in the contact of -these two opposite elements. It would require a whole volume to recount -those that have punctuated the life of Rodin during these later years. - -Despite the bitterness of the combat, the master has had nothing to -complain of and does not complain. The outcome of his life-story is most -beautiful, and if this beauty already strikes us, it is in the years -to come that it will attain its full glory. For if the gesture with -which Rodin offers to France his work and his dearest possessions is -that of those who count in the annals of their country, no one perhaps -has ever received such a homage as that which the country has bestowed -upon him in the manner of accepting his gift. In the midst of war, in -the very hour when the country is suffering unheard of evils, it has -self-possession enough in the firmness of its indomitable soul to honor -in a magnificent way the work of one of its sons--a work accomplished in -time of peace. Turning its attention for an instant from the necessities -of war, from the front where it struggles, suffers, and dies, it remains -calm enough, sufficiently sure of itself, to offer to one of its heroes -of toil, and of the thought which its soldiers defend, a testimony of -its gratitude and admiration. - -THE END - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Rodin: The Man and his Art, by Judith Cladel - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODIN: THE MAN AND HIS ART *** - -***** This file should be named 43327-8.txt or 43327-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/3/2/43327/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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diff --git a/43327.txt b/43327.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 63e5e64..0000000 --- a/43327.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7257 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rodin: The Man and his Art, by Judith Cladel - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Rodin: The Man and his Art - With Leaves from his Note-book - -Author: Judith Cladel - -Commentator: James Huneker - -Translator: S.K. Star - -Release Date: July 27, 2013 [EBook #43327] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODIN: THE MAN AND HIS ART *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org - - - - -RODIN - -THE MAN AND HIS ART - -WITH LEAVES FROM HIS NOTE-BOOK - -COMPILED BY JUDITH CLADEL - -AND TRANSLATED BY S.K. STAR - -WITH INTRODUCTION BY JAMES HUNEKER - -AND ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS - - - -NEW YORK - -THE CENTURY CO. - -1917 - - -[Illustration: RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED ON THE STEPS OF THE HOTEL BIRON.] - - - - -AUGUSTE RODIN - -BY JAMES HUNEKER - - -I - -Of Auguste Rodin one thing may be said without fear of contradiction: -among his contemporaries to-day he is preeminently the master. Born -at Paris, 1840,--the natal year of his friends, Claude Monet and -Zola--in humble circumstances, without a liberal education, the young -Rodin had to fight from the beginning; fight for bread as well as -an art schooling. He was not even sure of his vocation. An accident -determined it. He became a workman in the atelier of the sculptor, -Carrier-Belleuse, though not until he had failed at the Beaux-Arts (a -stroke of luck for his genius), and after he had enjoyed some tentative -instruction under the animal sculptor, Barye (he was not a steady -pupil of Barye, nor did he care to remain with him) he went to Belgium -and "ghosted" for other sculptors; it was his privilege or misfortune -to have been the anonymous assistant of a half dozen sculptors. He -mastered the technique of his art by the sweat of his brow before he -began to make music upon his own instrument. How his first work, "The -Man with the Broken Nose," was refused by the Salon jury is history. -He designed for the Sevres porcelain works. He executed portrait busts, -architectural ornaments, caryatids; all styles that were huddled in the -studios and yards of sculptors he essayed. No man knew his trade better, -although it is said that with the chisel of the _practicien_ Rodin was -never proficient; he could not, or would not, work at the marble _en -bloc_. His sculptures to-day are in the museums of the world, and he is -admitted to possess "talent" by academic men. Rivals he has none. His -production is too personal. Like Richard Wagner he has proved a upas -tree for lesser artists--he has deflected, or else absorbed them. His -friend Eugene Carriere warned young sculptors not to study Rodin too -curiously. Carriere was wise, yet his art of portraiture was influenced -by Rodin; swimming in shadow his enigmatic heads have more the quality -of Rodin's than the mortuary art of academic sculpture. - -A profound student of light and movement, Rodin by deliberate -amplification of the surfaces of his statues, avoiding dryness and -harshness of outline, secures a zone of radiancy, a luminosity which -creates the illusion of reality. He handles values in clay as a -painter does his tones. He gets the design of the outline by movement -which continually modifies the anatomy; the secret of the Greeks, -he believes. He studies his profiles successively in full light, -obtaining volume--or planes--at once and together; successive views -of one movement. The light plays with more freedom upon his amplified -surfaces, intensified in the modeling by enlarging the lines. The edges -of certain parts are amplified, deformed, falsified, and we enjoy -light-swept effects, luminous emanations. This deformation, he declares, -was always practised by the great sculptors to snare the undulating -appearance of life. Sculpture, he asserts, is the "art of the hole and -lump, not of clear, well-smoothed, unmodeled figures." Finish kills -vitality. Yet Rodin can chisel a smooth nymph, if he so wills, but her -flesh will ripple and run in the sunlight. His art is one of accents. -He works by profile in depth, not by surfaces. He swears by what he -calls "cubic truth"; his pattern is a mathematical figure; the pivot of -art is balance, i.e., the opposition of volumes produced by movement. -Unity haunts him. He is a believer in the correspondence of things, of -continuity in nature. He is mystic, as well as a geometrician. Yet such -a realist is he that he quarrels with any artist who does not recognize -"the latent heroic in every natural movement." - -Therefore he does not force the pose of his model, preferring attitudes -or gestures voluntarily adopted. His sketch books, as vivid, as copious, -as the drawings of Hokusai--he is studious of Japanese art--are swift -memoranda of the human machine as it dispenses its normal muscular -motions. Rodin, draughtsman, is as surprisingly original as the sculptor -Rodin. He will study a human foot for months, not to copy it, but to -master the secret of its rhythms. His drawings are the swift notations -of a sculptor whose eye is never satisfied, whose desire to pin to paper -the most evanescent vibrations of the human machine is almost a mania. -The model may tumble down anywhere, in any contortion or relaxation -he or she wishes. Practically instantaneous is the method of Rodin -to register the fleeting attitudes, the first shivering surface. He -rapidly draws with his eye on the model. It is often a mere scrawl, a -silhouette, a few enveloping lines. But there is vitality in it all, and -for his purpose, a notation of a motion. But a sculptor has made these -extraordinary drawings, not a painter. It may be well to observe the -distinction. And he is the most rhythmic sculptor among the moderns. -Rhythm means for him the codification of beauty. Because, with a vision -quite virginal, he has observed, he insists that he has affiliations -with the Greeks. But if his vision is Greek his models are French, while -his forms are more Gothic than the pseudo-Greek of the academy. - -As Mr. W.C. Brownell wrote: "Rodin reveals rather than constructs beauty -... no sculptor has carried expression further; and expression means -individual character completely exhibited rather than conventionally -suggested." Mr. Brownell was the first critic to point out that Rodin's -art was more nearly related to Donatello's than to Michael Angelo's. -He is in the legitimate line of Gallic sculpture, the line of Goujon, -Puget, Rude, Barye. Dalou, the celebrated sculptor, did not hesitate -to assert that the Dante portal is "one of the most, if not the most, -original and astonishing pieces of sculpture of the nineteenth century." - -This Dante gate, begun thirty years ago, not finished yet--and probably -never to be--is an astoundingly plastic fugue, with death, the devil, -hell, and human passions, for a complicated four-voiced theme. I -first saw the composition at the Rue de l'Universite atelier. It is -as terrifying a conception as the Last Judgment. Nor does it miss the -sonorous and sorrowful grandeur of the Medici Tombs. Yet how different. -How feverish, how tragic. Like all great men working in the grip of a -unifying idea, Rodin modified the technique of sculpture so that it -would serve him as sound does a musical composer. A lover of music his -inner ear may dictate the vibrating rhythms of his forms; his marbles -are ever musical, ever in modulation, not "frozen music," as Goethe -said of Gothic architecture, but silent, swooning music. This Gate is -a Frieze of Paris, as deeply significant of modern inspiration and -sorrow as the Parthenon Frieze is the symbol of the great clear beauty -of Hellas. Dante inspired this monstrous yet ennobled masterpiece, and -Baudelaire's poetry filled many of its chinks and crannies with ignoble -writhing shapes; shapes of dusky fire that, as they tremulously stand -above the gulf of fear, wave ineffectual and desperate hands as if -imploring destiny. - -But Rodin is not all hell-fire and tragedy. Of singular delicacy and -exquisite proportion are his marbles of youth, of springtide, of the joy -and desire of life. At Paris, 1900, in his special exhibition Salle, -Europe and America awoke to the beauty of these haunting visions. Not -since Keats and Wagner and Swinburne has love been voiced so sweetly, so -romantically, so fiercely. Though he disclaims understanding the Celtic -spirit one might say that there is Celtic magic, Celtic mystery in his -lyrical work. He pierces to the core the frenzy of love, and translates -it into lovely symbols. For him nature is the sole mistress--his -sculptures are but variations on her themes. He knows the emerald route, -and all the semitones of sensuousness. Fantasy, passion, paroxysmal -madness are there, yet what elemental power is in his "Adam," as the -gigantic first man painfully heaves himself up from the earth to the -posture that differentiates him forever from the beast. Here, indeed, -two natures are at strife. And "Mother Eve" suggests the sorrows and -shames that are to be the lot of her seed; her very loins crushed by the -future generations hidden within them. One may freely walk about the -"Burghers of Calais" as Rodin did when he modeled them; a reason for -the vital quality of the group. Around all his statues we may walk; he -is not a sculptor of a single attitude but a hewer of humans. Consider -the "Balzac." It is not Balzac the writer, but Balzac the prophet, the -seer, the enormous natural force that was Balzac. Rodin is himself a -seer. That is why these two spirits converse across the years, as do the -Alpine peaks in a certain striking parable of Turgenev's. Doubtless in -bronze Rodin's "Balzac" will arouse less wrath from the unimaginative; -in plaster it produces the effect of a snowy surging monolith. - -As a portraitist Rodin is the unique master of characters. His women are -gracious delicate masks; his men cover octaves in virility and variety. -That he is extremely short-sighted has not been dealt with in proportion -to the significance of the fact. It accounts for his love of exaggerated -surfaces, his formless extravagance, his indefiniteness in structural -design; perhaps, too, for his inability, or let us say, his lack of -sympathy, for the monumental. He is a sculptor of intimate emotions. -And while we think of him as a Cyclops destructively wielding a huge -hammer, he is more ardent in his search for the supersubtle nuance. But -there is always the feeling of breadth, even when he models an eyelid. -We are confronted by the paradox of an artist as torrential as Rubens -or Wagner, carving in a wholly charming style a segment of a child's -back, before which we are forced to exclaim: Donatello come to life! His -myopic vision, then, may have been his artistic salvation; he seems to -rely as much on his delicate tactile sense as on his eyes. His fingers -are as sensitive as a violinist's. At times he seems to model both tone -and color. - -A poet, a precise, sober workman of art, with a peasant strain in -him, he is like Millet, and, like Millet, near to the soil. A natural -man, yet crossed by nature with a perverse strain; the possessor -of a sensibility exalted and dolorous; morbid, sick-nerved, and as -introspective as Heine; a visionary and a lover of life, close to the -periphery of things; an interpreter of Baudelaire; Dante's _alter ego_ -in his grasp of the wheel of eternity, in his passionate fling at -nature; withal a sculptor, profound and tortured, transposing rhythm -into the terms of his art, Rodin is a statuary who, while having -affinities with classic and romantic schools, is the most startling -apparition of his century. And to the century which he has summed up so -plastically and emotionally he has propounded questions that only unborn -years may answer. He has a hundred faults to which he opposes one -imperious excellence--a genius, sombre, magical and overwhelming. - - - -II - -Rodin deserves well of our young century, the old did so incontinently -batter him. The anguish of his own "Hell's Portal" he endured before he -molded its clay between his thick clairvoyant fingers. Misunderstood, -therefore misrepresented, he with his pride and obstinacy aroused--the -one buttressing the other--was not to be budged from his formulas or -the practice of his sculpture. Then the art world swung unamiably, -unwillingly, toward him, perhaps more from curiosity than conviction. -He became famous. And he is more misunderstood than ever. He has been -called _ruse_, even a fraud, while the wholesale denunciation of his -work as erotic is unluckily still green in our memory. The sculptor, -who in 1877 was accused of "faking" his lifelike "Age of Bronze"--now -in the Luxembourg--by taking a mold from the living model, also -experienced the discomfiture of being assured some years later that, -not understanding the art of modeling, his statue of Balzac was only -an evasion of difficulties. And this to a man who in the interim had -wrought so many masterpieces. A year or two ago, after his magnificent -offer to the city of Paris of his works, there was much malevolent -criticism from certain quarters. Rodin takes all this philosophically. -He points out that the artist is the only one to-day who creates in -joy. Mankind as a majority hates its work. Workmen no longer consider -their various avocations with proper pride--this was a favorite thesis -of Ruskin, William Morris, and Renoir. Furthermore, argues Rodin, the -artist is indispensable. He reveals the beauty and meaning of life to -his fellows. He struggles against the false, the conventional, and the -used-up; but the French sculptor slyly adds: "No one may benefit mankind -with impunity." He considers himself as having a religious nature; all -artists are temperamentally religious, he contends, though his religion -is not precisely of the kind that would appeal to the orthodox. - -To give Rodin his due he stands prosperity not quite as well as poverty. -In every great artist there is a large area of self-esteem; it is -the reservoir from which he must, during years of drought or defeat, -draw upon to keep fresh the soul. Without the consoling fluid of -egotism genius would soon perish in the dust of despair. But fill this -source to the brim, accelerate the speed of its current, and artistic -deterioration may ensue. Rodin has been fatuously called a second -Michael Angelo--as if there could ever be a replica of any human. He -has been hailed as a modern Praxiteles; which is nonsense. And he is -often damned as a myopic decadent whose insensibility to the pure line -and lack of architectonic have been elevated by his admirers into sorry -virtues. Nevertheless, is Rodin justly appraised? Do his friends not -over-glorify him? Nothing so stales a demigod's image as the perfumes -burned before it by worshipers; the denser the smoke the sooner crumbles -the feet of their idol. - -However, in the case of Rodin the Fates have so contrived their -malicious game that at no point in his career has he been without the -company of envy and slander. Often when he had attained a summit he -would be thrust down into a deeper valley. He has mounted to triumphs -and fallen to humiliations; but his spirit has never been quelled; -and if each acclivity he scales is steeper, the air atop has grown -purer, more stimulating, and below the landscape spreads wider before -him. With Dante he can say: "La montagna ch'e drizza voi ch'e il -mondo fece torti." Rodin's mountain has always straightened in him -what the world made crooked. The name of his mountain is Art. A born -nonconformist, Rodin makes the fourth of that group of nineteenth -century artists--Richard Wagner, Henrik Ibsen, Edouard Manet--who taught -a deaf, dumb, and blind world to hear, see, think, and feel. - -Is it not dangerous to say of a genius that his work alone should -count, that his personality is negligible? Though Rodin has followed -Flaubert's advice to artists to lead an ascetic life that their art -might be the more violent, nevertheless his career, colorless as -it may seem to those who love better stage players and the comedy -of society--this laborious life of a poor sculptor should not be -passed over. He always becomes enraged at the prevailing notion that -fire descends from heaven upon genius. Rodin believes in but one -inspiration--nature. Nature can do no wrong. He swears that he does not -invent, he copies nature. He despises improvisation, has contemptuous -words for "fatal facility," and, being a slow-thinking, slow-moving -man, he only admits to his councils those who have conquered art, not -by assault, but by stealth and after years of hard work. He sympathizes -with Flaubert's patient, toiling days. He praises Holland because after -Paris it seems slow. "Slowness is beauty," he declares. In a word, he -has evolved a theory and practice of his art that is the outcome--like -all theories, all techniques--of his own temperament. And that -temperament is giant-like, massive, ironic, grave, strangely perverse; -it is the temperament of a magician of art doubled by a mathematician's. - -Books are written about him. With picturesque precision De Maupassant -described him in "Notre Coeur." Rodin is tempting as a psychologic -study. He appeals to the literary critic, though his art is not -"literary." His modeling arouses tempests, either of dispraise or -idolatry. To see him steadily after a visit to his studios at Paris -or Meudon is difficult. If the master be present then one feels the -impact of a personality that is misty as the clouds about the base of -a mountain, and as impressive as the bulk of the mountain. Yet a sane, -pleasant, unassuming man interested in his clay--that is, unless you -happen to discover him interested in humanity. If you watch him well you -may in turn find yourself watched; those peering eyes possess a vision -that plunges into the depths of your soul. And this master of marble -sees the soul as nude as he sees the body. It is the union in him of -sculptor and psychologist that places Rodin apart from other artists. -These two arts (psychology is the art of divination) he practises -in a medium that hitherto did not betray potentialities for such -performances. Walter Pater is right in maintaining that each art has its -separate subject matter; still, in the debatable province of Rodin's -sculpture we find strange emotional power, hints of the pictorial, and -a rare suggestion of music. This, obviously, is not playing the game -according to the rules of Lessing and his Laocooen. - -Let us drop the old aesthetic rule of thumb and confess that during the -last century a new race of artists sprang up and in their novel element -they, like flying-fishes, revealed to a wondering world their composite -structure. Thus we find Berlioz painting with his instrumentation; Franz -Liszt, Tschaikowsky, and Richard Strauss filling their symphonic poems -with drama and poetry; while Richard Wagner invented an art which he -believed embraced all the others. And there was Ibsen who employed the -dramatic form as a vehicle for his anarchistic ideas; and Nietzsche, who -was such a poet that he was able to sing a mad philosophy into life; not -to forget Rossetti, who painted poems and made poetry of his pictures. -Sculpture was the only art that resisted this universal disintegration, -this imbroglio of the seven arts. No sculptor before Rodin had dared to -shiver the syntax of stone. For sculpture is a static, not a dynamic -art--is it not? Let us observe the rules though we call up the chill -spirit of the cemetery. What Mallarme attempted with French poetry -Rodin accomplished in clay. His marbles do not represent, but present, -emotion; they are the evocation of emotion itself; as in music, form and -substance coalesce. If he does not, as does Mallarme, arouse "the silent -thunder afloat in the leaves," he can summon from the vasty deep the -spirits of love, hate, pain, sin, despair, beauty, ecstasy; above all, -ecstasy. Now, the primal gift of ecstasy is bestowed upon few artists. -Keats had it, and Shelley; Byron, despite his passion, missed it. We -find it in Swinburne, he had it from the first. Few French poets know -it. Like the "cold devils" of Felicien Rops, coiled in frozen ecstasy, -the fiery blasts of hell about them, Charles Baudelaire boasted the -dangerous gift. Poe and Heine felt ecstasy, and Liszt. Wagner was the -master-adept of ecstasy: Tristan and Isolde! And in the music of Chopin -ecstasy is pinioned within a bar, the soul rapt to heaven in a phrase. -Richard Strauss has given us a variation on the theme of ecstasy; -voluptuousness troubled by pain, the soul tormented pathologically. - -Rodin is of this tormented choir. He is revealer of its psychology. -It may be decadence, as any art is in its decadence which stakes the -part against the whole. The same was said of Beethoven by the followers -of Haydn, and the successors of Richard Strauss--Debussy, Stravinsky, -and Schoenberg--are abused quite as violently as the Wagnerites abused -Richard Strauss, turning against him the same critical artillery that -was formerly employed against Wagner. Nowadays, Rodin is looked on as -superannuated, as a reactionary by the younger men, the Cubists and -Futurists, who spoil marble with their iconoclastic chisels and canvas -with their paint-tubes. - -That this ecstasy should be aroused by pictures of love and death, as -in the case of Poe and Baudelaire, Wagner and Strauss and Rodin, is not -to be judged an artistic crime. In the Far East they hypnotize neophytes -with a bit of broken mirror, for in the kingdom of art there are many -mansions. Possibly it was a relic of his early admiration for Baudelaire -that set Wagner to extorting ecstasy from his orchestra by images of -love and death. And no doubt the temperament which seeks such synthesis, -a temperament commoner in medieval times than ours, was inherent in -Wagner, as it is in Rodin. Both men play with the same counters: love -and death. In Pisa we may see (attributed by Vasari) Orcagna's fresco of -the Triumph of Death. The sting of the flesh and the way of all flesh -are inextricably blended in Rodin's Gate of Hell. His principal reading -for half a century has been Dante and Baudelaire; the Divine Comedy and -"Les Fleurs du Mal" are the keynotes in the grandiose white symphony of -the French sculptor. Love and life, and bitterness and death rule the -themes of his marbles. Like Beethoven and Wagner, he breaks academic -rules, for he is Auguste Rodin, and where he magnificently achieves, -lesser men fail or fumble. His large, tumultuous music is alone for his -chisel to ring out and to sing. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - THE CAREER OF RODIN - - RODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS - - Sojourn in Belgium--"The Man Who Awakens to - Nature"--Realism and Plaster Casts. - - FLEMISH PAINTING--JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE. - - RODIN'S NOTE-BOOK - - I ANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS - - II SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS - - III PORTRAITS OF WOMEN - - IV AN ARTIST'S DAY - - V THE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC - - VI ART AND NATURE - - VII THE GOTHIC GENIUS - - - THE WORK OF RODIN - - I THE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS--INFLUENCE OF - THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF RODIN--"SAINT - JOHN THE BAPTIST" (1880)--"THE GATE OF - HELL" - - II "THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS" (1889)--RODIN AND - VICTOR HUGO--THE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898) - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - Rodin photographed on the steps of the Hotel Biron Frontispiece - Portrait of a Young Girl - La Pucelle - Minerva - Psyche - The Adieu - Rodin in His Studio at the Hotel Biron - Representation of France - The Man with the Broken Nose - Caryatid - Man Awakening to Nature - The Kiss - Bust of the Countess of W---- - The Poet and the Muse - The Thinker - Adolescence - Portrait of Rodin - Head of Minerva - The Bath - The Broken Lily - Portrait of Madame Morla Vicunha - "La Pensee" - Hotel Biron, View from the Garden - Rodin Photographed in the Court of the Hotel Biron - Portrait of Mrs. X - Rodin in His Garden - The Poet and the Muses - The Tower of Labor - Headless Figure - Rodin's House and Studio at Meudon - The Tempest - The Village Fiancee - Metamorphosis According to Ovid - Eve - Rodin at Work in the Marble - Peristyle of the Studio at Meudon - Statue of Bastien-Lepage - Danaiade - Portrait Bust of Victor Hugo - Monument to Victor Hugo - Statue of Balzac - The Head of Balzac - The Studio at Meudon - Romeo and Juliet - Spring - Bust of Bernard Shaw - A Fete Given in Honor of Rodin by Some of His Friends. - - - -THE MAN AND HIS ART - - - - -THE CAREER OF RODIN - - -Several years have already gone by since the career of Rodin attained -its full growth. From now on, therefore, it can be envisaged as a whole, -and we can trace the formation and the unfolding of his complex talent -and disentangle the influences that have directed and sustained it. - -In the course of the chapters that follow, Rodin, with the authority, -the calm strength, and the lucidity that characterize his thought, often -speaks himself of these influences, but rather in a casual, gossipy, -reminiscent vein, reflecting his personal observations. He does not -attempt to disengage the broad lines by which he has reached the summit -of art, or to map out, so to speak, that scheme of his intellectual -development which so naturally appertains to the man who has reached the -apogee of talent and which he contemplates with the satisfaction of a -strategist face to face with the plan of the battles he has won. - -It is to living writers that he seems to address himself. Rodin to-day -can be studied like an old master, Donatello, Michelangelo, or Pierre -Puget. One perceives quite in its entirety the distinct, the rigorously -sustained plan that he has followed with unswerving will in order to -realize himself; and the witnesses, the historians of this heroic life -of the sculptor, have the advantage of being able to trace it with -exactitude, as they could not do in the case of a vanished artist. They -are able to interrogate the hero in person; they are able to consult -with Rodin himself, who is admirably intuitive and quite aware of what -he owes to certain favorable conditions of his life and above all to -his illustrious forerunners, those who have fought before him on the -battle-field of high art. - -The study of nature, of the antique, Greek and Roman, of the art of -medieval France and that of the Renaissance--these are the springs at -which he has constantly refreshed one of the most irrefutable sculptural -talents that has ever been known. These are the expressions of the -beautiful among which his profound and searching thought has traveled -unceasingly, seeking to attain to a still larger vision, a more exact -understanding of that most magnificent of all the arts, sculpture. - -The superior man is always the product of an exceptional gift and -of an energy peculiar to himself, which effectuates itself despite -circumstances. He is the highest incarnation of the spirit, of the -struggle for existence. In the case of an artist the struggle is all -the more severe, for he has nothing but himself to impose upon the -world and he has, as weapons of offense and defense, nothing but his -intelligence, the tiny substance of his brain. It is therefore only by -means of the history of his intellectual life that one can understand -him. External happenings only very slightly influence the obstinate -march of true genius toward the accomplishment of its destiny. At most -they delay it but a few hours. It forces its way through the most -difficult obstacles; it even makes use of these obstacles in order to -redouble its strength and confirm its superiority. Nothing impedes the -formidable will of those who are under the spell of beauty, those who -see truth and know it and desire to express what they see. They can no -more escape the fruition of their faculties than the giant can escape -the attainment of his full stature. - -Rodin has been one of these. Certainly he has been assisted by -circumstances, but above everything how has he not compelled -circumstances to assist him? - -What demands preeminent recognition in his case is the gift, a splendid, -a dazzling gift for the plastic arts, the realization of which has been -imposed upon him, as it were, by the command of destiny. Whence did it -come? From whom did he inherit it? From what ancestor, sensitive to the -enchantment of beauty, suffering, and in travail from the necessity of -proclaiming it, but imperfectly endowed and powerless to forge for -himself a talent in order to express the tremors of his soul? It is a -mystery. No one can tell, Rodin himself least of all. Science has not -yet taught us anything about those obscure combinations, those endless -preferences of the vital force, thanks to which a person possesses the -faculties of genius. In this, as in other things, we are unable to -divine the cause and can only marvel at the effect, the prodigy. - -Discredited to-day are the theories of Lombroso and his school, once -so warmly welcomed by mediocre minds athirst for equality, in which -great men were considered as degenerates of a superior variety, and the -most sensitive spirits qualified as candidates for the madhouse! All -one can say is that nature abhors equality, that the indwelling will -delights in raising up lofty mountain masses above the uniformity of -the plains and the valor of the chosen few above the multitude. The -function of the man of genius is, precisely, to possess in a supreme -degree the sense of inequality and to transcribe its infinite nuances -in their ever-changing, ever-moving, ever-renewed variety. He alone -perceives the diversities whose play is the law of the universe itself, -and he grasps them equally in a fragment of inanimate matter and in -the vastest aspects of the world. Far from being half mad, this unique -being, this prodigious mirror of a million facets, achieves his aim only -because he possesses far more intelligence than the most brilliant of -his contemporaries, because he is in touch with a more profound order -of things and a more comprehensive method, because he combines the -qualities of continuity in sensation and of discernment which constitute -that supreme sensibility of all the senses acting together--taste. But -it does not please ordinary mortals to believe things of this kind, -and one can easily understand how the crowd, repudiating any such -humiliating notion, are all too willing to follow the lead of exotic -pseudo-scientists and look upon great men as lunatics, considering -themselves far more rational. - -As to what Rodin himself thinks of this privilege that Providence has -conferred on him, there is no telling; he has never talked very much -about it. The fact is, he has such faith in the value of hard work and -will-power, he knows so well how extraordinarily much of these even the -most exceptional natures have to exert in order to accomplish anything, -that this privilege of divine right, otherwise just as authentic as -that which sovereigns in former times profited by, amounts to nothing -in the end but the account which he draws up in order to calculate the -sum of his efforts. "When I was quite young, as far back as I remember, -I drew," he says; "but the gift is nothing without the will to make it -worth while. The artist must have the patience of water that eats away -the rock drop by drop." Alas! will and work, Master, are also gifts; -but the supreme spirit maliciously amuses itself by leading us into -error, inspiring us with the illusion that it lies with us to acquire -them. - -Rodin's case, then, is an example of absolute predestination, assisted -by a will of iron. One must add also the happy influence of the varied -environment in which his life has been placed and the excellent artistic -education he received in the schools where he studied, an education -that was fruitful, thanks to the preservation of the true traditions of -French art, kept alive in the schools since the eighteenth century. - - -CHILDHOOD. YOUTH. FIRST STUDIES - -Auguste Rodin is the son of a Norman father and a Lorrainese mother. -Each of these two French provinces, Normandy and Lorraine, produces a -race eminently realistic, but realistic in quite different ways. - -The Lorrainer, opinionated and courageous, hardy in character, and -vigorous like his country itself, sees things clearly and precisely in -the light of a spirit that has been fashioned by the age-old struggle -between Teuton and Gaul on our eastern frontier. The things that -surround him, the aspects of his native soil, like the sullen obstinacy -of the enemy that seeks in vain to drag him away, present themselves -to his eye as a reality stripped of illusions. When one has to fight -there is no time to dream, and one must be able to estimate with -precision what one is fighting for. When the man of Lorraine utters his -feeling about the things he loves and defends, it is with a loyalty -rather dry in expression and impression, but also with a force of -consciousness that is imposing. - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG GIRL. A WORK OF RODIN'S YOUTH.] - -As for the Norman, like his country he overflows with an abundance of -life from which he derives a passionate need for the pleasures of sense. -Far from stifling in him the love of the beautiful, this appetite for -triumphant realities engenders, on the contrary, an exaltation of the -senses that leads to the most exquisite taste in the production of art. -Compounded of sensuality and mysticism, the twin characteristics of -these rich spirits, very like those of Belgium, to whom, by virtue of -ancient migrations, they are closely allied, the artists of Normandy -necessarily respond to the manifold requirements of their temperament. -We know with what a profusion of monuments, robust and imposing in -structure and miraculously clothed in the most delicate lacework of -stone, the Gothic architects of Normandy have covered not only the soil -of their province, but also, beyond the sea, that of the Two Sicilies, -strewn even to this day with beautiful cloisters and sumptuous churches -of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which the Norman Conquest -carried there. - -The child of Normandy and Lorraine was born in Paris, November 14, -1840. His father was a simple employee. He dwelt in one of the oldest -and most curious quarters of the great city, the Quartier Saint-Victor -in the fifth _arrondissement_. Rodin saw the light in the rue de -l'Arbalete. It is a little, hilly street, quite provincial in its -aspect and its quietness, that winds among the rows of old houses, some -low, as if crouched down, others narrow and high, as if they wished to -look over their shoulders at what passes below, very like a crowd of -living people. Its name, the rue de l'Arbalete, is full of suggestion -of the Middle Ages, like that of the rue des Patriarches, in which -it comes to an end, and that of the rue des Lyonnais and the rue de -l'Epee-de-Bois, which are its neighbors. It crosses the famous rue -Mouffetard near the little church of St. Medard on the last slopes of -the Montagne-Sainte-Genevieve, which has been, since the thirteenth -century, the seat of the university and the schools; below is the plain -of the Gobelins, where once the river Bievre ran exposed. - -Even to the present day this corner of the city has not suffered -too much from the destructive changes of modernity. At the time of -the childhood of Rodin it was still virtually untouched. Crowded, -picturesque, and in certain parts dirty and squalid, like an Oriental -city, with its little interlacing streets, its countless shops, its -swarms of people given over to a thousand familiar trades carried on in -public,--open-air kitchens, fruit-stands, grocery shops, clothing shops, -and shops of ironmongers, coal-venders, and, wine-sellers,--it is an -almost perfect fragment, a human fragment, of the old Gothic Paris. - -Truly Rodin was fortunate: he was born in a chapter of Victor Hugo's -"Notre Dame de Paris." Destiny preserved the first glances of his -artist's eyes from the disenchanting banality of our modern streets. It -placed before them, as if to give them a hatred of uniformity, as if -to disgust him forever with the misdeeds of the straight line, adopted -the world over by the rank and file of contemporary architects,--those -congenitally blind and mutilated souls,--a population of houses having -a physiognomy and a soul of their own, which, with their sloping roofs, -their irregular gables, etch their amusing profiles against the sky -and seem to gossip with the birds and the clouds, putting to shame the -few regular buildings that have intruded and lost themselves amid this -congregation so touched with spirituality. - -All this Rodin saw; with a child's innocent eye, he absorbed all this -fantasy of past ages; he studied the little shops with their low -ceilings dating from the period of the gilds; he noted through the -tiny panes of their windows the Rembrandtesque effects of shadow and -golden light, in which the humblest objects live a life that is full of -intimate mystery and familiar charm. About them he saw a people full of -life, alert, awake, always in action, always in dispute, unconsciously -falling into a thousand beautiful, simple attitudes, the eternal -attitudes associated with drinking, eating, sleeping, working, and -loving. - -What admirable, powerful precepts this teaching, without effort, without -professors, without pedantry, thus forever imposed upon the memory of -the future sculptor! Yes, Rodin there enjoyed a priceless good fortune. - -As child and young man, his walks and his duties took him incessantly -past Notre Dame, the queen of cathedrals, appearing, from the heights -of Ste. Genevieve, magnificently seated on the bank of the Seine that -devotedly kisses its feet; in front of it, Ste. Etienne-du-Mont, -surrounded by convents, with its nave, that treasure of grace bequeathed -to us by the Renaissance. There also is the ancient little Roman church -of St. Julien-le-Pauvre; and St. Severin, that sweet relic of Gothic -art, about which lies unrolled the old _quartier des truands_, with the -rues Galande de la Huchette and de la Parcheminerie, which the pick-axes -of the housebreakers are now giving over to the universal ugliness. - -The Pantheon and the buildings that surround it taught the young Rodin -that the public monuments of the style of Louis XV, although colder -and stiffer, still offer a certain grandeur by virtue of their beauty -of proportion and character. Close beside the somewhat formal solemnity -of these buildings, the Gardens of the Luxembourg that invite the -passer-by with all their tender, smiling charm, the exquisite parterre, -the elegant little pilastered palace, the Medici fountain, whose -charming statues pour out their water that murmurs beneath the branches -of the trees spread out above like a tent of lacework, taught him the -enchantment of the architectural harmonies of the Renaissance, harmonies -of chiseled stone, noble shadows, and carpeting flowers. - -Like all artists, Rodin adores the Luxembourg. More than this, he would -not for anything in the world see those statues of the queens of France -banished, those enormous stone dolls of a quality, as regards sculpture, -little calculated to satisfy lovers of rich modeling. No matter, he -loves the gray mass they make under the fragrant summits of the limes -and the hawthorns; they are part of the scenery of his youth; he remains -faithful to them as to old playthings. Was it not these that he sketched -in those first attempts of his? - -His aptitude quickly revealed itself. This man, whom ignorant critics -were to reproach one day with not knowing how to draw, handled the -pencil from his earliest childhood. - -His mother bought her provisions from a grocer in the neighborhood. The -grocer wrapped up his rice, vermicelli, and dried prunes in bags made -from cut-up illustrated papers and engravings that had been thrown away. -Rodin got hold of these bags, and they were his first models. He copied -these wretched images passionately. - -Toward the age of twelve, he was sent to Beauvais, to the house of -an uncle who undertook to bring him up. Beauvais and its unfinished -cathedral was another silent lesson, never to be forgotten--that -cathedral which is nothing but a choir, but how marvelous a choir! - -Of course at the time he did not appreciate its splendor. With the -indifference of his age, he studied its architecture and its sculpture, -which, for that matter, all his contemporaries, even the cultivated, -despised from the depth of their ignorance. That was the time when -art critics and professors of esthetics denied Gothic art without -comprehending it, the Roman school being in the ascendant in the -admiration of the public. Nevertheless, the jewel in stone did not fail -to speak in the language of beauty and truth to this predestined young -man. His sensibility registered its impressions, noted down those points -of comparison which he was to find later in the depths of his memory and -which were to enable him to judge and appreciate. Under the vault of the -majestic nave he listened to the mass, he took part in the grand, sacred -drama, whose phrases touched his imagination profoundly, sometimes -exalting it to the point of mysticism and impregnating it with the -nobility of the symbols and of the Catholic ritual tempered by eighteen -centuries of usage. - -Rodin was placed in a boarding-school. He found the scholar's life -dreary and dull; his comrades seemed to him noisy young barbarians, -absorbed in brutal and too often vicious pastimes. Certain studies were -repugnant to him, mathematics and _solfeggio_. Near-sighted, without -being aware of it, he could not make out the figures and the notes the -masters wrote on the blackboard; he understood nothing and was almost -bored to death. - -This myopia was destined to have the most vital influence on his art. -Because of his difficulty in perceiving total effects, his instinct has -only rarely led him to the composition of monuments on a very large -scale, in which the architectural construction is of nearly as great -importance as the sculpture proper. The most considerable that we owe -to him is that of "The Burghers of Calais"; and there is also "The Gate -of Hell," which, almost inexplicably, remained incomplete even in the -very hour when it was given over as finished. The great sculptor, at -the time when he turned it over to the founders, perhaps unconsciously -experienced a lapse of vision, an insurmountable fatigue of the eyes, -over-strained by the prolonged effort to grasp the ensemble of the -edifice and the harmony of the countless details of this superb -composition. - -But if he has been turned aside, by his physical constitution, from -monumental art, it has only served to concentrate him with all the -more ardor upon the minute work of modeling, for which, by a sort of -compensation, he is endowed with an eye whose penetration has had no -equal since the time of the Renaissance. - -At the age of fourteen he returned to Paris. His parents judged that the -moment had come for him to choose a career. Observing his astonishing -gifts, they decided to let him take up drawing, but, having small means, -they were unable to provide him with special masters. They entered him -at the School of Decorative Arts, another piece of good fortune. - -This school, called by abbreviation the Petite Ecole, in distinction -from the great school, that of the Beaux-Arts, is situated in the old -rue de l'Ecole de Medecine, close to the Faculte de Medecine and the -Sorbonne. It was founded in 1765, under the name of the Free School -of Design, by the painter Jean-Jacques Bachelier, a clever artist and -student of styles in art no longer practised or little known, who had -been well thought of by Madame de Pompadour, the favorite of Louis XV, -the charming and virtually official minister of fine arts during the -reign of that monarch. It was she who placed Bachelier in charge of the -_ateliers de decoration_ at the Sevres manufactory. In creating the -Petite Ecole, the painter seemed to be following out, after the death of -his gracious protectress, the impulse she had communicated to French art -during her lifetime. - -[Illustration: LA PUCELLE.] - -Thus we see Rodin at the school of the Marquise de Pompadour, placed -once more in a _milieu_ full of originality and life. He found himself -there surrounded by a little world of beginners in every line, budding -artists; almost everybody of his generation has passed through this -course. They came there to learn to draw, paint, and model. - -In the evening the halls were filled with amateurs who, after their -day's work was over, sought to acquire a certain artistic skill as -tapestry-workers, ornament-makers, workers in iron, marble, etc. They -were energetic, turbulent, poor. Rodin, like them, was energetic and -poor, but silent, laborious, and pertinacious. He applied himself to the -copying of models of all sorts, most frequently red chalks by Boucher -and plaster casts of animals, plants, and flowers. - -The school had possessed these things since the eighteenth century and, -like almost everything that was created in that bountiful epoch, they -were very well done, composed after nature, their elegance full of warm -truth; they were models in bold _ronde-bosse_. That is to say, they -presented that quality of relief to which drawing, like sculpture, owes -its rich oppositions of light and shadow. To those who copied them they -communicated the science of relief, the fundamental basis of art, and -the living suppleness of the best periods, which has almost entirely -disappeared to-day. - -One day Rodin entered the modeling class. He worked there after the -antique. He had his first experience of working in clay; it was a -revelation, an enchantment. He fell in love with this _metier_, which -seemed to him the most seductive of all; he became obsessed with the -desire to mold this soft material himself, to search in it for the form -of things. - -His first attempts overjoyed him; he was not fifteen years old and he -had found his path! - -We see him executing a fragment; he models the head, the hands, the -arms, the legs, the feet; then he sets about the whole figure; there -is no deception; there are no insurmountable difficulties for him; he -understands at once the structure of the human body; in the phrase of -the atelier, "ses bonshommes tiennent"; the arms and the legs adjust -themselves naturally to the body: he is a born sculptor. - -Every day he arrives at the class at eight o'clock in the morning; he -works without faltering till noon, in company with five or six pupils. -At that hour they stop work; they are happy; they leave their seats and -take a turn about the model. In the evening things are different; from -seven to nine, the class is over-full; one can study the model then -only from a distance; a superficial, wretched method that is practised -on a large scale at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts and against which Rodin has -protested all his life. - -Thus we find him entered on his artistic career not as a dilettante, -as an amateur, as happens too often, but as a veritable workman. Like -General Kleber, he could long say, "My poverty has served me well; I -am attached to it." It placed him, from his childhood, in the presence -of realities. It steeped him in life itself. It safeguarded him from -the artificial education that debilitates the young middle-class -Frenchman and destroys in him the spirit of initiative and personality. -It deprived him luckily of the pleasures that rich young men too -easily offer themselves, the abuse of which renders them unsteady, -capricious, and indifferent. Rigorously held to his path by necessity, -he consecrated all his time and all his energies to study. He became -diligent, serious, and prudent. - -He had the opportunity of seeing his modeling corrected by Carpeaux. The -great sculptor, in fact, taught at the Petite Ecole. Upon his return -from Rome, he had asked for a modest post as an assistant master that -would help to assure his equally modest existence; they had granted his -request, but without seeking to give him anything more! His young pupils -scarcely understood his high worth, the substantial and delicate grace -of his talent, his voluptuous elegance, inherited from the eighteenth -century and united with a certain nervous seductiveness that was -altogether modern, a certain palpitating quality of the soul and of the -flesh that had not been known before, manifesting itself through the -ductility of his modeling. But instinctively they admired him; they -marveled, among other things, at the precision and the rapidity of the -corrections the master executed under their eyes. Later, when experience -had come to him, Rodin greatly honored Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux; he was -one of those for whom the appearance of the famous group "The Dance," -in the parvis of the Opera, was a veritable event. At that moment he -discovered again in himself the influence of this beautiful spirit which -had been slumbering in him since he left the Petite Ecole; then he -became almost the disciple of Carpeaux. I know a figure of a bacchante -of Rodin's, a marble that is almost unknown, the flesh of which is so -supple and so light that one would say it was molded of wheat and honey -and the work of the sculptor of "The Dance." There floats also in its -countenance that spirituality, that expression as of a sort of angelic -malice which Carpeaux seems to have borrowed occasionally from the -figures of Leonardo da Vinci. - -[Illustration: MINERVA.] - -When the clocks of the Sorbonne quarter struck noon, Rodin left the -Petite Ecole; he walked to the Louvre, eating, as he went, a roll -and a cake of chocolate which was all he had for lunch. He sketched -the antiques. From there he went on to the Galerie des Estampes at -the Bibliotheque Nationale, where they loaned out, without any too -much good will, misplaced as that is with students, the albums of -plates after Michelangelo and Raphael and the great illustrated work, -"L'Histoire de Costume Romain." Because of this miserliness of theirs, -he did not always obtain the volumes he wished for, which were reserved -for habitues who were better known. This did not prevent him from -becoming initiated into the science of draperies. He executed hundreds -of sketches from memory, at last developing in himself the faculty of -remembering forms. From the rue de Richelieu, always on foot, he would -repair to the Gobelin manufactory. There each day, from five to eight -o'clock, he followed the course in design. Placed before nature itself, -before the nude, he absorbed more excellent principles. The teaching of -the eighteenth century was practised there also, and his work became -permanently impregnated by it. - -In the morning, at daybreak, before going to the Petite Ecole, he found -the time to walk to an old painter's he knew, where he kept a number of -canvases going. In the evening he made careful copies of the sketches -he had jotted down at noon in the galleries of the Louvre and the -Bibliotheque. He drew far into the night; he drew even during supper, -at the frugal board of his family, surrounded by his father, his mother, -and his young sister, bending over his paper utterly regardless of his -health, a course of things that soon brought on gastric disorders from -which he suffered cruelly. In short, he toiled incessantly, ardent and -patient, obstinate, and full of self-confidence. - -Assuredly he never in the world imagined that he was to become in time -one of the most illustrious representatives of the French art of the -nineteenth century, that he was to be the equal in renown of celebrities -like Lamartine, Alfred de Musset, or Michelet whom he saw occasionally -in the Luxembourg Gardens, without even daring to bow to them; but he -possessed a fixed and a precise idea of what was required to be a good -sculptor and the resolution to realize it. Little did he care how long -it would take, how tardy success might prove, how slow fortune might be -in coming; little did he care for obstacles, even for misery. He was -going the right way, unhesitating, untroubled, not compromising with -himself or with anybody. He possessed the irresistible will of a force. - -I have had occasion to examine one of the note-books of Rodin's youth. -It is quite filled with sketches after engravings from the antique, -animals or human figures. The drawing is strangely compact, wilful, -for the boy of sixteen or seventeen that he was then. Already, in its -accumulation of strokes and hatchings which, during an entire period -of his artistic development, render the drawing of Rodin restless and -personal like a piece of writing, it exhibits an obstinate search for -relief, it speaks to us like hieroglyphics, revealing the power of his -grasp. His progress was rapid. At seventeen, he finished his first -studies. The moment came for him to pass from the school of decorative -arts to that of the Beaux-Arts and to prepare himself, like his -companions, for the examinations and for the competition for the _prix -de Rome_, the famous _prix de Rome_ that seemed to Rodin, inexperienced -student as he was, the crown of the most rigorous artistic studies. - - - - -RODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS - - -Rodin presented himself at an examination for entrance into the Ecole -des Beaux-Arts. He was rejected. He presented himself a second time, but -with the same result. What was the reason for it? Neither he nor his -fellow-students could discover. They used to form a circle about him -when he worked. They admired the keenness and precision of his glance, -the already astonishing skill of his hand. They told him that he would -be accepted. He failed a third time. Finally a fellow-student who was -shrewder than the others gave the solution of the enigma. It requires a -somewhat long explanation. - -The great school is under the direction of the members of the Academy -of Fine Arts. These professors correct the work of the students, set -the examinations, and award the prizes. They are recruited from members -of the society, are, in short, the representatives of official, or -conservative, art. Official art is a product of the Revolution of 1789. -Up to that time there were not two kinds of art in France. At the most, -until the time of Louis XIV only one secession disported itself under -the influence of Lebrun, painter to the king. Art was a unit, and its -divine florescence spread from France over all Europe. The church, -the kings, and their court of great lords and cultivated ladies were -the protectors and, indeed, the inspirers, of that flowering of beauty -that had grown from the time of the first Capets, indeed from the time -of the Merovingians, down to the end of the eighteenth century. The -First Empire marked in effect the beginning of the artistic decadence -of Europe and, one may say, of the world. Artists at that time divided -themselves into two camps, the conservatives, with, at their head, -David and his school, who pictured an art of convention and approved -formulas, and the independents, who continued, although in a somewhat -revolutionary and extravagant spirit, the true traditions of French art. -Among those fine rebellious men of talent of the first order were Rude, -Barye, and Carpeaux in sculpture, and Baron Gros, Eugene Delacroix, -Courbet, and Manet in painting. - -[Illustration: PSYCHE.] - -By a singular contradiction, Louis David was as baneful a theorist as -he was a great painter and, above all, an excellent draftsman. That -explains itself. The quality of his drawing he owed to the eighteenth -century, in which he had appeared and a pupil of which he was; but he -derived his esthetic doctrine from the Revolution, which made use of -the same sectarian zeal to obtain the triumph of certain false ideas -that it used to advance the right principles that were its glory. -Through one, David produced works of great worth and some admirable -portraits; through the other, he wrought great havoc among artists. -The world was, moreover, well disposed to submit to these principles. -When art restricts itself to repeating attitudes, gestures, approved -receipts, without having studied or observed them in nature in her -constant changes, it means decadence. If David was able to have his -theories accepted, it was because the time was ripe to receive them, to -be contented with them; and to say that the time was ripe is only to say -that it was a degenerate time, satisfied to be relieved of the task of -reflecting, of discovering for itself the laws of beauty, or, in short, -of working from the foundation. - -Official painter of the Revolution and the Empire, Louis David -proclaimed his doctrine with the authority of a pontiff. He made a set -of narrow rules which advocated a superficial imitation of the antique, -a copying of the works of Greece and Rome, not in spirit, but in letter; -not in that accurate knowledge of construction and of the model, which -made up their supreme worth, but in their conventional attitudes and -expressions. - -Even from beyond the grave David continued to rule the academy of -the Beaux-Arts in the name of the artificial idealism which he had -proclaimed, and whoever rejected his sorry instruction saw himself -without mercy shown to the door of the national schools arid academies. -They had shown the door to Rude, the author of the masterpiece of the -Arc de Triomphe, "The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792." They had -shown it to the unhappy Carpeaux, treated all his life as a heretic and -persecuted by the official class, defenders of the so-called heroic -achievements and stereotyped forms. They went to every extreme in -their contest with free and determined genius. As a last resort they -employed every weapon of treachery against the undisciplined great, -those fallen angels of the false paradise of the Institute--weapons that -later they did not scruple to use against Rodin. They accused Carpeaux -of indecency, and in order to strengthen the miserable falsehood, a -perverse idiot flung a can of ink on the adorable group of "The Dance," -that song of the nymphs, clamorous with youth, laughter, and music. - -This digression in the story of Rodin's life explains his whole life. By -his manly independence, his persistent refusal to follow the dictates -of the school, he naturally found himself placed at the head of those -who antagonized the official class. Against an opponent of his strength -and obstinacy the struggle naturally took on new energy. It recalled -to mind the violence of the famous intellectual quarrels of other days ---the quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns in the seventeenth and -eighteenth centuries, and that of the Classicists and the Romanticists -in 1830. - -When Rodin presented himself at the great school, how, in his -inexperience, could he foresee the war of wild beasts that rages in -the thickets of art? It needed indeed a better-informed comrade to -disclose the situation to him. Then his eyes were opened. He understood -then that he would only be wasting his time in striving to force the -bronze doors that are closed against the influences of great nature and -her triumphant light, the implacable denouncer of the false in art. -Perceiving it at last, he renounced the thought of entering the school. -Later he gloried, in the fact that he had done so. Possibly he saw -the danger that he would have run of parching his spirit and chilling -his eye. "Ah," his friend, the sculptor Dalou, exclaimed long after, -"Rodin had the luck not to have been at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts!" Dalou -himself had not had that luck, and despite beautiful gifts and love for -the eighteenth century, he had not recovered from the false teaching. - -Rodin, then, without knowing it, had fought his first battle, the slight -skirmish to the incessant fight that was to open. After that time the -name Institute, by which he understood the group of protagonists of a -bad form of art, took in his speech a formidable meaning. When he says, -"The Institute," he seems to call up some mythological monster, the -hydra of a hundred heads, from the malignant wounds of which the brave -usually die slowly. For him the Institute has come to mean a company of -able men who substitute dexterity for conscience, who, for long toil in -obscurity and poverty, substitute a premature eagerness for all that it -may bring--profitable relations, orders from the state, fortune, and -honors. In his opinion all that ought to come slowly in order not to -distract the artist from the study that alone can give him strength. -To him the rewards are secondary; true happiness lies in untrammeled -and passionate toil, in the exercise of growing intelligence that is -determined not to be stopped on the road to discovery. - -[Illustration: THE ADIEU.] - -Although the struggle is less clamorous to-day, it has not ended, -and it never will be ended, despite the wide fame of the master, now -known throughout the world as the greatest living artist. This Rodin -understands. What the contestants now seek to conquer is the public, -some for the purpose of obtaining from it consideration and profit, and -others an appreciation of true art. One class strives to flatter its -taste, which is bad; the other seeks to inculcate a knowledge of true -art in its own work. At the outset the contest is frightfully unequal, -for the ignorance of the public is abysmal. Incapable of discerning true -beauty, it relies only on the labels placed by the Institute on its own -works and on those of its partizans. They say to a man, "This is the -sort of thing that should be admired," and straightway he admires it, -if one can apply this expression of the highest pleasure of the spirit -to the vapid and dull contemplation that the public accords to the works -marked for its approval. No, at best the public does not know how to -admire; it does not understand the language of beauty. - -At eighteen or nineteen, Rodin, being wholly without fortune, could not -continue his studies without quickly finding some means of support. It -was therefore necessary for him to earn his own living, and at once -he bravely entered upon his work as an ornament-maker, and became a -journeyman at a few francs a week. We need not regret it. This son of -the people, by remaining in the ranks of the working-class, consolidated -in himself the virtues of the class--their courage and industry, which -are the strong qualities of the humble, and, in the aggregate, those -of the whole nation. And the curiosity of a superior man for all the -rewards of the exercise of his intelligence led him to cultivate himself -unceasingly. His limited studies as a school-boy had not been extensive -enough to surfeit him; he now brought to the study of letters a mind -keenly alert, and with a joy as alive as love itself he devoted himself -to a study of great minds. He read the poets and the historians; he -became acquainted with the Greece of Homer and AEschylus, the Italy -of Dante, the England of Shakspere, and the France of Jean-Jacques -Rousseau; but up to that time he had concerned himself with only one -thing--his trade. He worked as a real artisan, with no wider vision, -with no thought of formidable power. He saw only his model and his -clay; he thought only of these, he loved only these. Thus he had become -a journeyman ornament-worker in clay. That did not prevent him from -perfecting himself in sculpture. On the contrary, it aided him. - -The art of ornamentation was then considered, as it is still to-day, an -inferior art. People said, still say, of the sculpture of architecture, -as of the frescos and mosaic work of a building, that it is only -decoration. They declare it in a tone of indulgence that finds an excuse -for any mediocrity. - -All this is a profound mistake. Sculptured ornament springs naturally -from architecture; it is the flowering of its fundamental elements. It -is an inherent part of the whole, as the mass of flowers and foliage -that crowns a tree is in a way the culminating point of the whole -vegetable organism. Ornament demands the same qualities that the -fundamental architectural structure demands, and fully as much talent -and perhaps even more; because, as Rodin says, one sees in it more -clearly, without distracting features, the form of genius. If it is not -well done in itself, its function, which is rigorously subordinated -to the whole, and consists in molding the contours of the structure -by underlining and marking them off, is reversed. It is then only -an excrescence, an arbitrary addition. Only mediocre artisans, when -employed on a building or a jewel, use ornament capriciously, without -proportioning and subordinating it to the mass; they weary and disgust -the beholder. - -Rodin and his companions did not content themselves with copying, and -more or less distorting, their Greek, Roman, and Renaissance models, -which were repeated to satiety in all the workshops of the world, -and done over and over again so many times, out of place and out -of proportion, that they had lost all significance. Their employer -possessed a beautiful, but neglected, garden, where a profusion of -plants ran riot. Here were models in abundance. Here, in reproducing -these, the young craftsmen refreshed their vocation; they copied their -ornaments from nature; they studied foliage and flowers from life. -To do new work, they had only to borrow from the vegetable world its -inexhaustible combinations of beauty. - -Here Rodin, by his cleverness and rapidity, became without a peer among -them all, and drew to himself the admiration of his fellow-workers. It -was here that he met Constant Simon, his elder by many years, who was -the first man to teach him to model in profile. It was one of the great -epochs in his life. One may say that from that time the two great -laws that have given his sculpture its power--the study of nature and -the right method of modeling--passed into his blood, as it were. The -secret that Simon imparted to him was like a philter that inflamed his -soul with enthusiasm. He became intoxicated with the idea of seeing -clearly and of holding his hand strictly accountable to what his eyes -disclosed. And he possessed, too, both youth and an indefatigable vigor. -He sketched everything he could, wherever he could. One saw him making -sketches on the street, in the horse-market, jostled by the beasts, -repulsed by men, yet indifferent to all difficulties in his enchantment -in his discovered prize, at the Jardin des Plantes, where he passed -hours before the cages and in the parks, studying the poses of the deer -and the grace of the moving antelopes. - -[Illustration: RODIN IN HIS STUDIO AT THE HOTEL BIRON.] - -At that period Barye taught at the Museum. Rodin had become acquainted -with the son of the celebrated sculptor. The two had discovered a corner -of the basement, a sort of cave, damp and gloomy, where they installed -some seats made of old boxes and delighted themselves in modeling -from clay. From the Museum they borrowed a few anatomical specimens, -fragments of the parts of animals, and these they carried to their -cavern and pored over in their efforts to copy them. Sometimes Barye -himself would come to cast his eye over their work and give them a word -of advice, and then would go away, buried in a silent reverie. He was -a man of simple habits, with the appearance of a college tutor, in his -well-worn coat, but giving an impressive suggestion of great force and -worth. His son and Rodin little understood him; they feared him somewhat -and only half profited by his suggestions. Later the author of "The -Burghers of Calais," kindled by the genius of the gloomy, severe man -whom he had misunderstood, felt a deep remorse at not having rendered to -Barye, while living, the homage of admiration which the master merited, -and which perhaps would have been sweet to his solitary heart. - -Rodin has had only rarely the chance to model animals. He has never -received an order for an equestrian statue, and he has regretted it. We -have from him only one small rough model of a statue of General Lynch -on horseback, which was never executed, and the beautiful relief of the -chariot of Apollo which forms the pedestal of the monument of Claude -Lorrain at Nancy. But though he has not modeled animals, he has many -times sketched them, and he has studied profoundly their anatomy and -poses. - -It is not so much in the powerful sketches that all his life he has -continued to make with the same daily care with which a pianist -practises his scales that Rodin shows the chief characteristic of his -nature, as it is in accumulating these that he has been enabled to -understand relationship between different forms, and to establish the -unity between the forms of man and the animals, between the mountains -and the vegetable world. It is by understanding this unity that he -can occasionally interpret with a scientific exactness this common -relationship. In modeling a centaur or the chimera or a spirit with -powerful wings, the mythological creature that appears from his hands -does not appear less a transcript from reality than each bust or each -statue that has been vigorously wrought from the living model. There is -no weakening in the points where the bust of the man or of the woman -attaches itself to the body of the animal, no doubt that the beautiful, -strong wings of the angels are as perfectly united to their bodies and -are as necessary as their arms or legs. - -When about twenty-two or twenty-three Rodin entered the atelier of -Carrier-Belleuse. At that time the vogue of this charming artist was -great. He well represented the spirit and workmanship of the eighteenth -century in the knickknack art of the Second Empire. He was a Clodion -of the boulevard. Besides the spirited busts, some of which, like -those of Ernest Renan, Jules Simon, and the actress Marie Laurent, -were celebrated, he sent out from his atelier, in the rue de la Tour -d'Auvergne at Montmartre, hundreds of designs to be used in industrial -art: mantelpieces, centerpieces for tables, vases, ornamental clocks, -and decorative figures and groups. Rodin, then, applied himself to -executing for Carrier-Belleuse a variety of statuettes and figures. -There was in the task a great danger, for he saw the risk of limiting -himself to a facile use of his art that was both remunerative and -attractive; but his sturdy Northern temperament was able to protect him -against every danger, whether of success or poverty. - -Carrier had an astonishing skill, and not only worked without a model, -but compelled his employees to work without one. His rough sketches were -admirable, but he weakened in working them out. Rodin never trifled with -his art. Before going to the atelier he always took care to study his -subject in the nude and to fix it in his memory as firmly as possible. -As soon as he reached his bench he transferred to the clay the result -of his remembered observations. On returning to his home in the evening -he consulted his model anew in order to correct his work of the day. It -was for him an excellent exercise of memory. The true workman is quick -to turn to advantage all the inconveniences of a situation. I have heard -Rodin relate that often in the course of a quarrel with a friend or a -relative he would completely forget the subject of the contention and -the anger of his opponent in his absorption, from the point of view of -a sculptor, in the play of the muscles and their influence on the -expression of the face of the angry speaker. - -[Illustration: REPRESENTATION OF FRANCE--IN THE MONUMENT TO CHAMPLAIN.] - -Rodin remained about five years with Carrier-Belleuse. What works his -active hands accomplished there in a day! One still finds them in the -shops of the sellers of bronzes, in the shops of the dealers of the -Marais and the Faubourg St. Antoine. Certainly hundreds of examples were -brought there, to the great profit of tradesmen, but to the injury of -the artist; for he drew from them only such wages as the least competent -workers are to-day content with. - -One may see in the gallery of Mrs. ---- of New York certain little -terra-cotta busts which date from that period. They represent pretty -Parisian women in hats, whose wild locks veil glances full of spirit and -roguishness. Creatures of youth and frivolity, they are sisters of the -elegant ladies that Alfred Stevens drew with his delightful brush, and -which were the charm of Paris under Napoleon III. Who could believe that -they had sprung from the hands of Rodin, the austere creator of "The -Burghers of Calais" and of the "Victor Hugo"? - -But before becoming the audaciously personal genius that he now is, -he was subjected to the most varied influences--influences that have -been felt by the modern sculptors with whom he has worked and those -that guided the old masters. He has none the less shielded himself -from the world. He declares indeed, with the authority that permits the -freedom, that originality signifies nothing; that that which counts is -the quality of the intrinsic sculpture; that if the temperament of the -artist is truly steadfast, he always finds himself after the necessary -study; and finally that it is of little importance whether a statue -bears the name of Praxiteles or that of one of his pupils. The essential -thing is that it is well done, that it appears in a great epoch. -Anonymous, it proclaims none the less to the eyes of the man of taste -the signature of genius. - -In order to live Rodin applied himself to the most varied occupations; -thus he gained the liberty to labor at his own work for a few hours. -He chipped at stone and marble for the benefit of sculpture to-day -unknown, but then in vogue; he made sketches for trinkets for certain -fashionable jewelers, and fashioned objects of decorative art ordered of -him by manufacturers. Despite a considerable loss of time, he obtained -thus a true apprenticeship in art wholly like that which in earlier days -was obtained by Ghiberti, Donatello, and most of the great artists of, -the Renaissance, who were proud to be good artisans before they were -accounted great sculptors. - -Thus finally he was enabled to realize his first dream--to have an -atelier of his own. His atelier! It was a stable, at a rental of -twenty-four dollars a year, in the rue Lebrun, in the quarter of the -Gobelins, near which he was born. It was a cold hovel, a cave indeed, -with a well sunk in an angle of one wall that at every season exhaled -its chilling breath. It did not matter. The place was sufficiently -large and well lighted. The artist, young and strong, and as happy as -possible in his stable, felt his talent increasing. There he accumulated -a quantity of studies and works until the place was so crowded that he -could scarcely turn himself about; but being too poor to have them cast, -he lost the greater part of them. Every day he spent hours moistening -the cloths that enveloped them, yet not without suffering frightful -disasters. Sometimes the clay, through being too soft, would settle and -fall asunder; sometimes it would become dry, crack, and crumble. One -day, in moving, the great figure of a bacchante that had been tenderly -molded for months was seized by the rough hands of the furniture-movers, -and broke, crashing to the ground. What lost efforts! What destroyed -beauty! Even to-day when the artist speaks of it his heart bleeds anew. - -At that time he carried about the ateliers of Paris a design to which he -gave the name of "The Man with the Broken Nose." Struck by the curious -face of an old shepherd, flat-nosed, with every appearance of a slave -that had been crushed under heel, Rodin made a bust of the man and -strove to portray the energy and imposing simplicity that had astonished -him in the antique busts and the statue of "The Knife-Grinder" that he -had seen in the galleries of the Louvre. The solidity of the design, -the patience shown in the composition, and the strength of the details -cooeperated in producing an admirable whole. The wrinkles of the -forehead, the creased eyelids, the deep furrows of the face converged -toward the base of the broken nose in an expression of old age and -hardship, presenting an admirable head of a Thessalian shepherd. Alas! -one frosty day the clay contracted, and the skull of "The Man with -the Broken Nose" fell to the ground, leaving only the face. Rodin did -not make over the composition. Too honest to restore the skull by -approximation, he contented himself with modeling the face, to-day -become famous. - -He cast it in plaster, and sent it to the Salon of 1864. There it -was rejected. Thus the opposition that had closed the door of the -Beaux-Arts against him was renewed at his first attempt to take rank -among contemporary artists. The reason was the same; it will always -and invariably be the same: this sculptor of the naked truth, this -fervent lover of nature, offends, shocks, and wounds the majority of -the followers of formulas, the imitators of the past, the makers of -smooth and pretty wares, things without conscience or significance. The -artist remains alone with his deception. The day has not yet come -when enlightened amateurs can understand in which school true talent -is to be found, when they are able to renounce the moldings on nature, -the theatrical postures, the irritating silliness of figures a thousand -times repeated. - -[Illustration: THE MAN WITH THE BROKEN NOSE.] - -They will some day learn to perceive truth, observation, strength, and -grace. When that day comes they will throw out of the window all the -trumpery art of which they will have become tired, in order to collect -that of Rude, Barye, Carpeaux, Rodin, Jules Desbois, Camille Claudel, -those glories of the nineteenth century. - -The year of the Salon of 1864 may serve to close the first period of -Rodin's career. It is difficult, indeed impossible, to place between -fixed dates the events of a life that has been an example of uniform -continuity; but nevertheless it is permitted to one to say that the year -1864 marks the end of the first youth of the master. His preliminary -studies, those which one may call the studies of his mere profession, -were ended. He was then at the beginning of larger studies; he was -about to visit Belgium, Italy, and France; he was about to come face -to face with the most varied geniuses and examine their work. He was -about to question them rigorously, to demand of them their technical -methods. He was also about to exalt himself in the presence of these -immortal thoughts, to become intoxicated with the desire to equal them -in science and greatness. From that time on he approached them as a -disciple, as a man who had already thought much and comprehended much, -and who was worthy to study them and follow in their footsteps: in a -word, as an artist of their own lineage. - - - - -SOJOURN IN BELGIUM--"THE MAN WHO AWAKENS TO NATURE"--REALISM AND -PLASTER CASTS - - -Rodin worked under Carrier-Belleuse from 1865 to 1870. He remained -in Paris during the Franco-German War. What influence did this event -have upon him? He has said little about it. Although he has a strong -attachment for his native land, he has none of the extravagant -patriotism of a Rude, whose great soul was caught up in the flames of -the national epopee. Rodin has too contemplative a temperament; he is -too devoted to reflective work to allow himself to be long disturbed by -external facts, even the gravest. - -At the signing of the peace, he went to Belgium, drawn by the promise of -work in decorative art. He remained there five years, staying first in -Brussels, then in Antwerp. - -This period of his life left with him a delightful memory. He was poor -and unknown, but full of the vigor of youth, and free in how splendid a -freedom! He had all his time to himself, without any of those thousand -obligations that eat up the days of a celebrated man and break down his -ardor. - -Life in Belgium was at that time simple, easy-going, family-like. Many -small pleasures made it attractive; the cleanliness of the streets and -the houses was a constant delight to the eye; the bread, the beer, the -coffee were excellent and cost almost nothing. On Sundays bands of -children, fair-haired, robust, healthy, dressed in aprons very white -and very well starched, ran about laughing and singing; the women went -to church; the men assembled in the sanded gardens of the public houses -to play at ball, sipping glasses of _faro_ and _lambic_. The whole -scene was full of the charm of intimacy and happiness which for the -artist served as a sort of frame, so to say, for the old pictures. The -works of the Flemish painters are so impressive in all their power, -in the splendor of their fresh coloring and their gem-like finish, -that Brussels, Ghent, Bruges, Antwerp, Mechlin seem to have been built -and decorated by the Brueghels, the Jan Steens, the Tenierses, whose -dazzling canvases strike one almost as if they had been the plans for -the construction of these queenly cities instead of being simply mirrors -of them. As for nature, its grandeur and its nobility are disconcerting -in such a little country. - -Rodin rented a modest room in the chaussee de Brendael, in one of -the quarters of the capital quite close to the Bois de la Cambre. -He worked there during the whole of the day; his young wife did the -housework, went out marketing, sewed beside him, posed for him, -helped him to moisten his clay, made herself, as she said proudly, his -_garcon d'atelier_. He modeled caryatids for the Palais de la Bourse at -Brussels; for the Palais des Academies he made a frieze representing -children and the attributes of the arts and sciences; he was charged -also with the execution of decorative pieces for different municipal -buildings of the city of Antwerp. Nowadays the Belgians display with -pride these works, in which, without flattering them, one can recognize -the touch of a future master. - -Intent as he was upon his modeling work, Rodin did not abandon drawing; -he added to it landscape-painting in oils. The Brabant country-side -is one of the most beautiful in Europe. The Forest of Soigne, which -surrounds Brussels, is full of the lofty trees of the Northern -countries, splendid beeches, healthy as the bodies of athletes, reaching -up into the sky like columns of light bronze, planted in regular rows, -giving the impression of an immense and solemn temple. Narrow avenues, -alleys, pierce the long naves; one's soul seems to glide lingeringly -along these shadowy paths drawn on to the end by the far-away glimmer -like stained glass. The light that falls from above through the -tree-tops slips down the long green trunks, gray or silvery, bringing -with it a touch of the sky. There is no exuberant vegetation, none -of that undergrowth trembling with delicate little leaves, such as -that which makes the spiritual grace of the Ile-de-France, arranged -for the frolic of nymphs and fawns. This is the Gothic forest, the -tree-cathedral, a fitting place for the miracles of Christianity and -the devout walk of solitaries. Rodin fell in love with this forest. His -grave soul, his youth, which knew nothing of frivolity, found itself -here. His nature, so full of self-contained enthusiasm and the profound -and slowly moved spirit of admiration, not yet capable of expressing -itself, found its true element under the protection of these age-old -beeches. But one corner enchanted him, a verdurous hollow filled with -running water that breaks the austerity of the wood, the valley of -Groenendael. There the majestic colonnade of trunks opens out, with the -condescension of giants, before the caprices of an undulating glade. It -is covered with a down of grass, like an immense green cloud, always -pure, always fresh, which spring and autumn embroider with delicate -shoots of a multitude of flowers, like the tapestries of the Flemish -masters. Little ponds shyly spread out their mirrors, full of the sky, -full of reflections. An old low-built house, entirely white, speaks -of security, of calm shelter, of good nourishment, in the midst of -this verdurous solitude, where one hears only the song of the birds -and where squirrels cross in their flight like sudden flames. The -valley of Groenendael is far enough away from Brussels to be almost -always deserted and silent. It was the site the famous Brabancon -mystic, Ruysbroeck the Admirable, chose in the fourteenth century for -a monastery. At that time the Forest of Soigne sheltered no less than -eleven monastic houses in its fragrant, shadowy depths. At the north of -the valley the ground rises and the path leads one to the modest chapel -of Notre Dame de Bonne-Odeur. - -At this period Rodin certainly knew nothing of the great contemplatives -of the fourteenth century or of this same Ruysbroeck whom later a -glorious compatriot, Maurice Maeterlinck, kinsman by election of the -hermit, was to translate and interpret; but in the peaceful glade, the -vallon vert, as under the vaults of the great forest, the soul of the -sculptor rejoined those of the old monks who perhaps still wander there -at times; it shared with them the religion of this beauty which their -dumb love of nature had come thither to seek. - -At dawn he would start out, loaded down with his box of colors. -His companion followed him, proud to carry part of the artist's -paraphernalia. He was on his way to make sketches, to take notes of the -landscape, to jot down his impressions; but often the day passed without -his touching his brushes. It was not indifference or indolence on the -part of this great worker, but simply that he had not the strength to -interrupt his delightful contemplations. Time lost? In the case of -another, perhaps. Not for him. His excursion had no immediate result; -that was all: but how he would observe, how he would compare, how he -would reflect! He was initiating himself in the sense of proportion, -grandeur of style, and the nobility of simplicity. He was studying the -laws of the light and shade distributed by the columns the true work of -the architect. It was no longer school lessons that he was prosecuting -here; it was the mighty exercise of personal talent, the ripening of -his taste that was taking place, thanks to the technical knowledge he -already possessed. The sense of the eternal laws comes only to those who -can contrail them through long experience. - -Later, when the time came for Rodin to visit the cathedrals, he was to -understand better than any other this art which has sprung from the -forests of France, engendered by their mysterious grandeur, once full of -terrors and marvels. The benefit which he derived immediately from his -acquaintance with Belgium was the experience of those intellectual joys -and that happiness which await any one who is serious, loyal, reverent -in the presence of the divine work that offers itself as an object of -study to the assiduous. - -Another besides himself had already received this teaching of nature in -exactly this place. Rude, whom the Bourbons had exiled on their return -to France because of his worship of Napoleon, passed several years in -Brussels and executed there a number of works, among others the famous -bas-reliefs of the Chateau de Tervueren, since destroyed by fire; "La -Chasse de Meleagre," of which the authorities of the Belgian department -of fine arts were fortunately able to take casts. On his way between -Brussels and Tervueren, Rude went every day several leagues on foot, -crossing the Forest of Soignes, where he, too, endeavored to forget the -lessons of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, on the benches of which he had, -according to his own confession, lost many years. - -[Illustration: CARYATID--TAKEN AT MEUDON IN RODIN'S GARDEN.] - -In addition to these works of decorative art, Rodin executed a number -of busts and sketches. He even found time to make a large figure -modeled after his wife, a figure draped like a Gothic statue, which -he worked over lovingly. It had the same disastrous fate as that -which befell the other one at Paris, and for the same reason; poverty -prevented the artist from having a cast taken of his work in time: like -the "Bacchante," it was completely destroyed. Despite this loss, the -sculptor was not discouraged; work for him was a happiness which was -begun anew each day; he at once began on another subject. This time he -took for his model a young man whose acquaintance he had made and who -willingly consented to pose for him. - -This young man was not a model by trade, spoiled by the conventional -attitudes which the Parisian sculptors impose on professionals. He -was a soldier, living in barracks near Rodin's house. As soon as the -sculptor saw, disengaging itself from the clothes, the graceful figure -of this boy of twenty-five who was not aware of his beauty and did -quite simply whatever his companion asked him, he promised himself -not to abandon this work before he had carried it as far as his skill -permitted him to go. His model disposed himself in simple attitudes, -which were not vitiated by any pretentious forethoughts. One day he came -toward him, his arms upraised, his head thrown back, with an air of -youthfully voluptuous lassitude that filled the artist with enthusiasm. -One would have said that he was a young hero staggering under the -shock of a wound. And Rodin set himself to execute the statue of the -wounded hero. But nature lends itself to infinite interpretations. -The sense of an attitude that is well rendered creates of itself more -comprehensive ideas. When we contemplate one who is wounded or ill, -obscure impressions agitate our spirit, impelling it toward ideas -higher than those of wounds and illness. It skirts the frontiers of -death, the enigma of annihilation or of the world to come, and all -those unformulated sentiments, which in their confused flight haunt -the profound regions of the soul. Before his beautiful model Rodin -experienced these emotions and transcribed them upon his sculpture. In -its unblemished nudity, it bears the sign of no one epoch; it is the -eternal man touched in his innermost sensibility by something of which -he knows not the cause. Is it his soul, is it his flesh that trembles? -One does not know. No knowledge comes without suffering. Rodin, aware -immediately of this effect of transposition, in the delicious surprise -of the artist who sometimes sees himself surpassed by his own work, -christened the statue, "The Man of the Age of Bronze," that is to say, -one who is passing from the unconsciousness of primitive man into the -age of understanding and of love. A few years later he gave it this -still happier final name, "The Man who Awakens to Nature." - -He worked over it eighteen months. There is no part of this harmonious -figure that has not been passionately thought out. He had to render, -beneath the supple covering of the skin, those firm, fine muscles which -possess the elasticity of youth and its sobriety. In giving the sense -of the presence of these things, one creates the illusion of their -activity. This is the secret of great sculpture and of all the arts, to -evoke that which we do not see by the quality of that which we do see. -"Carefully examine the Venus de Medici," Rude used to advise his pupils, -"and under the polish of the skin you will see the whole muscular system -appear." - -Rodin did not spare either his own strength or that of his model. An -implacable goddess led him on, his conscience. He did not content -himself with rendering only the masses that his direct vision gave him. -In this way he would have possessed only two dimensions, the length and -width of the human body. He needed the exact relief of masses, which -is the basis of _ronde-bosse_, of "cubic sculpture." He studied his -profiles not only from below, but from above. He mounted a painting -ladder and looked down over his model; he measured the surface of the -skull, which, seen from above, has an ovoid form; he took and compared -with his clay model the dimensions of the shoulders, the chest, the -hips, the feet as they appeared with the floor as a background. He -observed the points where the arm muscles were inserted, and those of -the thighs and the legs. How, after such a rigorously minute process -of noting his masses, could his work be flat? That became impossible. -But the geometric labor, the taking of measurements, was not all. The -next question was to reassemble the different profiles by careful -transcription. There is an entire school of conscientious sculptors who -believe that they can obtain reality by the simple method of making -identical points correspond. They multiply the measurements taken from -the model with the aid of a plumb-line and a compass; it is only a -mechanical process which does not even give good practical effects. To -unify the manifold surface of the human body, to endow the whole with -the suppleness of life, with its harmonious continuity and poise, -the personal judgment of the artist must unceasingly intervene. His -own special taste is supremely what adjusts the elements which are -waiting to be unified by him in order to take on animation and to live -one beside another. It is during this last effort that the expression, -summoned up by the truth of the ensemble, comes almost of itself to -the fingers of the sculptor. If the preceding principles have not been -scrupulously observed, it seems to refuse to come; it is the reward -only of conscience joined with intelligence; it is the fruit of this -indissoluble union that works in the spirit of the true artist. The true -expression is that to which we give the indefinable name of poetry. - -[Illustration: MAN AWAKENING TO NATURE.] - -Since the creation of "The Man who Awakens to Nature," in which during -two years he had eagerly sought it, this became the characteristic -of Rodin's talent. He had conquered it for all time; and so while -his insatiable will applies itself with no less energy to other -researches, that of movement, of character, of lighting, and sometimes -over-emphasizes them, the work that comes from his hand may appear -strange, excessive; it will never be mediocre, never indifferent. - -And now let us glance at the image of this young man, this proud, -unblemished human plant. All we have just been saying is forgotten in -the force of our impression. The most powerful impression, first of -all, is indolence. It is absorbed in itself; it exhausts like a great -draught of life the veins of those who respond to it. Hence the silence, -the long, dumb contemplation, the sense of incertitude one experiences -in the presence of its beauty. It is not to our spirit that it first -addresses itself. Its voluptuousness, whencesoever come, enchants our -senses; then the intellect demands an explanation, studies it, traces -back the sensation to its sources through one of those rapid and -manifold changes which are the law of such natural phenomena as light, -sound, electricity. - -"The man who awakens to nature," said Rodin, in the presence of his -statue. Indeed the body bends over, as if under the exquisite caress of -the breezes of spring. The hand rests itself upon the head, flung back -as if to hold in the somewhat mournful splendor of some too beautiful -vision. The whole torso is gently stirred by the emotion springing -up from the depths of the flesh to die out upon the surface of the -imperceptibly agitated muscles. He leans lightly backward, bending like -a bow and at the same time like a traveler walking toward the dawn; -he is drawn on by the desire to renew this inner emotion that swells -his human heart almost to the bursting-point. By this double movement -reconstituting life, the action does not interrupt itself. It evokes -the past and the future; the obscure shadows out of which this soul is -endeavoring to emerge and the bright regions toward which it advances. - -Auguste Rodin was at this time thirty-five years old. In the career -of the artist, this admirable figure has a special significance, that -of something symbolic. It marks one of the happiest phases of the -sculptor's life, the period of revelation through which he had just been -living during his sojourn by the forest of Groenendael. He, too, had -awakened to Nature in the heart of the sacred wood; he, too, had come to -know the somewhat dazzling torment of a being fully awake to the beauty -of the world. This beauty he had at last penetrated; he felt it with all -the strength of a ripened heart, he adored it; he made it his religion. - -Such is the inner history of this statue. There is another, a history of -the anecdotal sort, which is well known to-day, but which it is proper -to recall in a complete biography of the master. - -The adventure of "The Age of Bronze" was the first resounding battle -that Rodin fought in his struggle for the cause of art. It was a -victory, but only after great combats. - -The plaster model appeared in the Salon of 1877. Before this proud and -spirited figure a number of visitors paused, ravished by a sensation -that was absolutely new. In itself there was nothing clamorous, no -attempt to attract attention by extravagance of gesture or exaggerated -expression--quite the contrary; the fragrance of a shy beauty, an -idyllic freshness, mingled with the passionate poetry of a virile, -artistic conscience, an exquisite sense of measure, a delightful -elegance characteristically French, of the north of France, grave and -restrained, and with a something hitherto unseen, a vigor till then -unknown diffused through this adolescent flesh, irradiating it with -tenderness, with a noble charm, a caressing sadness. - -Immediately the rumor began to circulate, welcomed here, spurned there, -by the world of professionals, amateurs, and journalists: the anatomy -of the new work was too exact, its modeling too precise for it to be an -interpretation of the model; it was a cast from nature, and the sculptor -who gave out as the result of his own labor this mechanical copy of a -human body was nothing but an impostor. - -What does it matter? thought the public in its up-and-down common sense. -There are plenty of fine casts from nature; so much the better for the -name of Rodin if he has been particularly successful in this line. - -But Rodin was indignant. This nude, so obstinately worked over, a cast! -That he should have committed such a deception, he the scrupulous molder -of clay! Oh, he knew well enough that most of the great modern sculptors -do not burden themselves with so many scruples and lend themselves too -often to the hasty method of taking casts; he condemned it with all the -force of his own probity. He knew well that in this very Salon of 1877 -more than fifty pieces of sculpture about which nothing was said owed -their existence to this malpractice of which he was accused and of which -he would never be guilty, because he considered it the very negation -of art. For of course taking casts is nothing but the reproduction -of nature in its immobility. By means of it one is able to take the -impression of forms, but one cannot grasp movement or expression. It -is possible to take the mold of an arm, a leg, an inert body; one can -take a good cast of the stiffened mask of the dead; one cannot calculate -through the medium of the plaster the attitude and the modifications of -form of a man walking or falling or the eloquence of a face lighted up -by the reflection of the inner mind. This transcription of the whole -is the exclusive privilege of the artist. He alone seizes and fixes -the general impression; for it is made up not only of the immediate -movement, but of that which precedes and that which follows. His eye -alone registers the rapid succession, and his skill reproduces it. While -the cast, like the photograph, only constitutes a unity detached from -the whole, sculpture from nature reestablishes the whole itself and -represents the uninterrupted vibration which is life. - -That explains how there happen to be, on the one hand, so many -hard figures, weak and cold images, turned out hastily by lazy and -conscienceless sculptors, and, on the other, those works that possess a -charm that is mysterious to those who know nothing of its source, who -are unaware of this method of observation and labor which a supreme -effort veils in the easy grace and the apparent facility that enchants -us in the things of nature. - -The accusation brought against Rodin became more definite. There was a -veritable upheaval of opinion in the world of the Salons. He protested, -with the firmness of an artist resolved to suffer no blot upon his -honor. He insisted upon receiving justice. Unknown, without means of -support, without fortune, he might well have waited a long time for it. -He turned toward Belgium, seeking defenders in the country where he had -made "The Age of Bronze"; but the academic virus did not spare him; the -official sculptors remained deaf to the appeal of their confrere. For -that matter, where did he come from, this ambitious stone-cutter who -claimed the title of sculptor without waiting on the good pleasure of -the pontiffs? - -Rodin's model alone, the young soldier of Brussels, became indignant at -the affront to his sculptor. He wanted to hasten to Paris and exhibit -himself naked before the eye of the jury of honor which had just been -constituted and cry out to them that he had posed nearly two years for -the artist who had been so unjustly attacked. But nothing is simple. He -had posed, thanks to the special good will of the captain commanding the -company to which he belonged, and in defiance of military regulations. -To reveal this fact would be to compromise the officer, and so he had to -remain silent. - -Rodin had photographs and casts taken from his model and sent them -to the experts. All this was costly and uncertain. It was only after -months of waiting that they were examined. On the jury were several art -critics, including Charles Iriarte, a learned writer and distinguished -mind, and Paul de Saint-Victor, author of the "Deux-Masques," -the sumptuous writer of so much brilliant prose. Alas! the most -insignificant sculptor, provided he had only been sincere, could have -settled Rodin's case a hundred times better. A man of his own trade, -possessing the elements of justice, would have immediately decided the -question according to the facts, while the critics and writers relied -wholly upon personal impressions, and, to the great bitterness of the -sculptor, when they delivered an opinion they did not altogether reject -the accusation that he had taken casts, allowing doubt to rest upon the -honesty of Rodin. He himself did not know what to do next. Chance was -more favorable to him than men. - -At that time he was executing for a great decorator some ornamental -motives destined for one of the buildings of the Universal Exposition -of 1878. The sculptor, Alfred Boucher, a pupil of Paul Dubois, came -one day on a business errand to see the decorator. In the studios he -noticed Rodin at work on the model of a group of children intended for -a cartouche. Boucher, who knew about the accusation that hung over -him, observed him with the liveliest interest. He witnessed the rapid, -skilful, amazingly dexterous execution producing under his very eye -a tender efflorescence of childish flesh on the firm and perfectly -constructed little bodies. _And Rodin was working without models!_ -Alfred Boucher was a product of the Ecole; he had taken the _grand prix -de Rome_; he was ten years younger than Rodin; but he was an honest man; -he hastened to relate to his master, Paul Dubois, what he had seen. The -creator of the "Florentine Singer" and "Charity" in his turn wished to -see things for himself. With Claude Chapu he went to the decorator's -and both of them decided then and there that the hand that molded so -skilfully from memory the figures of the cherubs was certainly capable, -in its extraordinary knowledge of human anatomy, of having executed that -of "The Age of Bronze." Thereupon they convinced their confreres and -decided to write the under-secretary of state a solemn letter in which -all of them, answering for the good faith of Rodin, declared that he -had made a beautiful statue and that he would become a great sculptor. -The letter was signed by Carrier-Belleuse, Paul Dubois, Chapu, Thomas -Delaplanche, Chaplin Falguiere. - -[Illustration: BUST OF THE COUNTESS OF W----.] - -This tempered considerably the rancor of the artist. - -It is a strange fact that for years he underrated this statue. In 1899 -he gave his first great exhibition of all his work. It was to the Maison -d'Art of Brussels that the honor of this project was due, and it was -carried out in a style and with a good taste which no later exhibition -of the master has surpassed, or even attained. - -As he had charged me with the supervision of the sending off of his -works, to the number of fifty, I begged him to include among them "The -Age of Bronze." I hoped that the public, and especially the artists of -Belgium, might be able to study the evolution of his technique through -his typical works, executed at different periods of his career. Nothing -could induce him to consent to it. He declared that in twenty years -his modeling had undergone a complete transformation, that it had -become more spacious and more supple, and that the exhibition of this -statue could serve no purpose and be of good to nobody. I urged him to -go and look at it again. The bronze, sent to the Salon of 1880, with -the plaster figure of "St. John the Baptist in Prayer," awarded, oh -splendor of official miserliness! a medal of the third class, had been -bought by the state a few years later and set up in a corner of the -Luxembourg Gardens, an out-of-the-way corner, but one that the light -shadows of the young trees made charming. The master refused. Two or -three years afterward, one morning while we were talking, I led him -unsuspecting toward this little grove. Thinking of something else he -lifted his Head, casting an indifferent glance at the solitary bronze. -Surprised, he examined it, while a happy emotion lighted up his face; -then he walked slowly around it. Finally he admitted quietly that he -had been mistaken, that the statue seemed to him really beautiful, well -constructed, and carefully sculptured. In order to comprehend it he had -had to forget it, to see it again suddenly, and to judge it as if it had -been the work of another hand. - -After this readoption, his affection for it was restored; he had several -copies cast in bronze and cut in stone, and it has become perhaps one -of his most popular and most sought-after works. Museums of Europe and -America, lovers of art in both hemispheres, consider it an honor to -possess replicas. - -It was the first of Rodin's great statues, or, rather, the first that -has been preserved. Several other works of capital importance serve -as landmarks in the progress of his talent. Around them are grouped -fragments, busts, innumerable delightful little compositions, all -treated with the same care and equally reflecting the result of his -studies; but, as ever, it is the major works that mark most visibly the -points of departure and arrival of the different periods of his artistic -development. These works are: "The Age of Bronze" (1877); "Saint John -the Baptist" (1880); "The Gate of Hell" (1880-19--, not finished); "The -Creation of Man" (1881); "The Burghers of Calais" (1889); "Victor Hugo" -(1896); "Balzac" (1898); "The Seasons" (pediments of stone, 1905); -"Ariadne" (in course of execution). - -These works will be described and characterized, in the course of this -book, at the dates of their appearance. - - - - -FLEMISH PAINTING--JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE - - -During his stay in Belgium, Rodin studied the Flemish painters. Free -from the prejudices of the schools, unaware of the theories of the -critics, sensitive to the beautiful in every form, following only -his personal taste supported by the study of the masters, he ranged -over the vast domain of art through regions the most dissimilar and -superficially the most opposed. Of course he had his preferences; he -returned unceasingly to the antique and the Gothic; but his preferences -did not blind him. His admiration passed rapidly from the splendors of -Greek and Roman architecture to the voluptuous graces of the seventeenth -century. His love for Donatello and Michelangelo did not prevent him -from appreciating Bernini. - -Attracted first by the marvelous Flemish Gothic artists, Memling, -Massys, the Van Eycks, he was later delighted with the homely scenes of -Jan Steen, of Brueghel, of Teniers; he enjoyed them as an artist and as -a simple man who knew the value of domestic joys. Then he was haunted by -the sensual pomp of Jordaens and above all Rubens. - -[Illustration: THE POET AND THE MUSE.] - -The triumphant brush of Rubens sculptured as much as it painted. The -science of foreshortening and that of ceiling painting, his way of -modeling forms in the light and by means of light--all this brought his -art into the realm of sculpture; and when Rodin came to seek effects of -light and shadow that were new to sculpture, he remembered the lessons -of the Antwerp master. From that time on Rubens was for him a splendid -subject for study and would have fortified him, had that been necessary, -in the love of drawing; for beautiful drawing leads, to everything, to -_color_, in sculpture as well as in painting. - -Flemish art was not enough to satisfy this thirst for understanding that -devoured the soul of the artist now in the full swing of the fermenting -force of his faculties. He wished to see Italy or at least to catch a -glimpse of it. His resources were so slender indeed that his journey -could not have been long. It did not matter. He would form an idea of -the immensity of its treasure and confirm in himself the desire to -return. He wished also to see France, as alluring to him as Greece, and -whose cathedrals are perhaps not less beautiful than the Parthenon. - -He started for Italy in 1875, and he accomplished his first tour of -France in 1877. He set forth. He was young and strong; he made the pass -of Mont Cenis on foot. He was unknown and without connections. What -did it matter? In the midst of these scenes so radiant with memories of -history and art, did he not feel an intoxication such as the soldiers of -Bonaparte alone must have experienced, catching sight of the plains of -Lombardy, where they were to forget the hardships of the campaign? - -For Rodin, Italy meant the antique; it meant Donatello and Michelangelo. -The antique he had already to a considerable extent studied in the -Louvre. Donatello and Michelangelo conquered him at the first glance--a -tumultuous conquest. The severity of Donatello's style impassioned him; -the rigid honesty of his realism, the desire of this younger brother of -Dante to see things grandly, the equal desire to see things simply, this -Gothic genius deeply moved "in the mid-way of this our mortal life" by -pagan beauty and touched by the breath of the Renaissance, impressed -the French artist and became a dominating memory. From that time on in -the most beautiful of his busts, those of Jean-Paul Laurens, Puvis de -Chavannes, Lord Wyndham, Lord Horace Walden, Mr. Ryan, he was to appear -as a disciple of the Florentine master, not by a literal imitation of -his methods, which he thoroughly grasped, but by similar qualities -of observation and synthesis. Still, this was not until after he had -made other studies, while Michelangelo took hold upon him immediately -and completely and became an actual obsession that might have proved -dangerous to a sculptor less severe with himself, less determined to -discover his own path. - -The dazzling richness of modeling, the majesty of the great figures -of the prodigious Florentine, and their fullness of movement--for -their immobility is charged with movement--the somber melancholy of -his thought, his flaming and shadowy soul, his literary romanticism, -a romanticism like that of Shakspere, overwhelmed Rodin with that -formidable sense of an almost sorrowful admiration that all experience -who visit the Medici tombs in the new sacristy. - -He studied also the later marbles of Michelangelo, which stood at that -time in the gardens of the Pitti Palace and have since been removed to -the Municipal Museum of Florence. - -Every one knows these powerful blocks, these vast human forms, only half -disengaged from the marble, from which they seem to be endeavoring to -escape in order to give birth to themselves by a rending effort that -is characteristic with all the force of a symbol of the tragic genius -of Buonarroti. "Unfinished works"; it is thus the catalogues designate -them. Unfinished works, indeed, but why? Was it age that stilled, before -the end, the hand of the giant of sculpture? Or was it not rather that -he judged them too strangely beautiful in their incompleteness, that -they seemed to him more powerful thus, still captive to the material -that bound them groaning, as it were, in their tremulous flesh? - -The public pays little attention to these sublime masses because it is -told that they are not _finished_. Not finished? Or infinite? That is -the question. Far from weighing them down, the marble that envelops -them throws about them the charm of the indeterminate and by means -of this unites them with the atmosphere. The parts that are wholly -disengaged enable one to divine those that remain hidden; they are -veiled without being obliterated, like mountain-tops among the clouds; -and this half-mystery, instead of diminishing, increases the harmony -of the bodies trembling with life under their mantle of stone. In the -presence of an effect so marvelous, so calculated, one cannot cease from -asking if it was really death or if it was not rather the sovereign -taste of the workman that arrested the chisel. While he was fashioning -his statues out of the marble itself, with that fury that has passed -into legend, did he not find himself, face to face with these unexpected -effects which the material offered him of itself, in the midst of one of -those happy situations by which the talent of the masters alone enables -them to profit? - -However that may be, Rodin was struck as if by a revelation. What the -progress of his work had tardily disclosed to Michelangelo was soon to -become for his disciple a principle of decorative art. Instead of -disengaging his figures entirely, he was to leave them half submerged -in the transparent marble. This method, which has become famous -to-day, seemed an unheard-of thing to those who were unfamiliar with -the Florentine blocks; but Rodin has never failed to acknowledge the -paternity of the sculptor of "The Thinker." Following in his steps, many -artists have employed this method at random, without possessing the -essential qualities that enable one to control these effects, and under -their powerless chisels the enchanting device no longer possesses any -meaning. - -[Illustration: THE THINKER.] - -Rodin himself waited until he possessed a thorough knowledge of marble -and the manner of treating it; it was a stroke of fate by which he -rediscovered the phenomena of envelopment that had so transported him in -the Municipal Museum. He had by that time the wisdom to guard himself -from doing anything inconsistent with his material. He followed out -the suggestions it gave him, and developed an infinite variety in the -methods of handling it. - -On his return from Italy he continued to be haunted by the unsurpassable -vigor of Michelangelo's workmanship. He sought to discover what was -the outstanding gift that conferred upon him this power and this -mysterious empire over the spirit. Until then, with the majority of -artists of the modern school, he had believed that the chief quality -of sculpture lay in seizing the _character_ of the model; but he came -to see how many works concerned only with expressing character fail of -real significance. Since 1830 how many romanticists have sacrificed to -character without leaving any works that are lasting! - -After his journey Rodin decided that the strength of Michelangelo lay -undoubtedly in his _movement_. Returning to his studio, he executed a -quantity of sketches and even large figures like "The Creation of Man," -the title of which, although he had not been to Rome, is a souvenir of -the frescos of the Sistine Chapel; he made busts like that of Bellona, -after having directed his models to assume Michelangelesque poses. -For all this, he did not attain to the grandeur, the soul-disturbing -authority of the Florentine master. - -Without becoming discouraged, he went on observing ceaselessly. Far -from imposing upon his model positions thought out in advance, he left -him free to wander about the studio at the pleasure of his own caprice, -ready to arrest him at a word when a beautiful movement passed before -his eyes. Then, six months after his return from Italy, he found that -the model assumed of his own accord the very poses of which Michelangelo -alone had seemed to him to possess the secret; he realized that the -sublime sculptor had taken them direct from nature, from the rhythm of -the human body in action, and that he had done nothing but seize and -immortalize them. - -"Michelangelo," he says, "revealed me to myself, revealed to me the -truth of forms. I went to Florence to find what I possessed in Paris and -elsewhere, but it is he who taught me this." - -This does not prevent certain critics from asserting out of the depth of -their incompetence that he has never felt the influence of this master -and that he has never even given his work serious consideration. Those -who know Rodin well know that, on the contrary, he never fails to give -serious consideration to anything which is worth considering at all -and that his power of observation is the basis of his genius. Always -seeking a final method, he came back to the idea with which his earliest -education had already inspired him and which his self-communings had -only confirmed: that the value of sculpture lies entirely in the -_modeling_. This is the secret of Michelangelo; it is also that of the -ancients and of all the great artists of the past and of modern times. -For the rest, through his spacious movements, his balancing of equal -masses, the sculptor of the tombs taught him that the supreme quality -consists in seeking in the modeling the _living, determining line of the -scheme_, the supple axis of the human body. - -He himself held this principle of the ancients, of whom he was a -disciple, as far as modeling is concerned, while in his composition and -his handling of light he is a Gothic. - -Soon after his return from Italy, Rodin executed the great study -entitled "The Creation of Man." In it he exaggerated the rhythm -so characteristic of the Florentine, the balancing of masses, the -melancholy contraction of the body under the weight of an inexpressible -inner suffering. When one examines the figure, this exaggeration -certainly suggests something overworked, something forced, which -Michelangelo knew how to avoid and which here creates a somewhat painful -impression. But later, when Rodin conceived the idea of placing his -statue at the summit of "The Gate of Hell," this strained appearance -disappeared. Seen thus, a lofty shape lighted up from below, it takes on -true beauty; it is in its right place; it dominates the work and, as it -were, blesses it. It has the affecting gesture of Christian charity. - -[Illustration: ADOLESCENCE.] - - - - -RODIN'S NOTE-BOOK - -INTRODUCTIONS BY JUDITH CLADEL - - -I - -ANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS - - - At a period in which, among the many manifestations of - intellectual activity in the nations, art is placed in the - background, the advent of a great artist invariably calls forth - the same phenomena: a few men of taste become enthusiasts, the - majority become indignant, and the public, not being possessed of - sufficient esthetic education, and intolerant because of their lack - of understanding, ridicule the intruder who has overthrown the - accepted standards of the century. Friends and foes alike consider - him a revolutionist; as a matter of fact, he is in open revolt - against ignorance and general incompetence. - - Little by little the great truth embodied in such a man is - revealed. Comprehension, like a contagion, seems to take hold - of the minds of people, and impels them to study his art at - first hand. A study not only of his own significance, but of - the principles which he represents, quickly reveals that the - work of this innovator, this revolutionist, is, in fact, deeply - allied to tradition, and, far from being a mysterious, isolated - manifestation, is, on the contrary, closely linked to general - artistic ideals. - - Our aim is to penetrate the doctrines of this master, his - method, his manner of working--all that which at other times would - have been called his secrets. - - Auguste Rodin's career has passed through the inevitable - phases. He, who has been so generally discussed and attacked, is - to-day the most regarded of all artists. He likes to talk of his - art; for he knows that his observations have a priceless value, - that of experience--the experience of sixty years of uninterrupted - work--and of a conscience perhaps even more exacting to-day than at - the time of his impetuous youth. He says, "My principles are the - laws of experience." The combination of these principles embodies - his greatest precept; namely, that of thinking and executing a - thing simultaneously. We must listen to Rodin as we would listen - to Michelangelo or Rembrandt if they were living. For his method - may be the starting-point of an artistic renaissance in Europe, - perhaps throughout the whole world. Definite signs of a decided - resurrection in taste are already manifesting themselves, and it - is a splendid satisfaction for the illustrious sculptor to receive - such acknowledgment in his glorious old age. For, like every - great genius, he has a profound love for the race from which he - springs, and feels a strong instinctive confidence in it. Indeed, - how should this be otherwise? In the course of centuries, has not - this wonderful Celtic race on various occasions reconstructed its - understanding and interpretation of beauty? - - Auguste Rodin expresses himself by preference on subjects - from which he can draw an actual lesson. He is no theorist; he - has an eminently positive mind, one might even say a practical - mind. His teachings, unlike the abstract teachings of books, can - be characterized by two words, observation and deduction. His - are not more or less arbitrary meditations in which personal - imagination plays the principal part; they are rather the account - of a sagacious, truthful traveler, of a soldier who relates the - story of his campaigns, or of a scholar who records the result of - an analysis. Reality is his only basis, and with justice to himself - he can say, "I am not a rhetorician, but a man of action." - - We hear him chat, it may be in his atelier about some piece of - antique sculpture which has just come into his possession or about - a work he has in hand, or during his rambles through his garden, - which is situated in the most delightful country in the suburbs of - the capital, or on a walk through the museums, or through the old - quarter of Paris. For in his opinion "the streets of Paris, with - their shops of old furniture, etchings, and works of art, are a - veritable museum, far less tiring than official museums, and from - which one imbibes just as much as one can." - - * * * * * - -I use the words of the people, of the man in the street; for thoughts -should be clear and easily comprehended. I desire to be understood by -the great majority, and I leave scholarly words and unusual phrasing -to specialists in estheticism. Moreover, what I say is very simple. It -is within the grasp of ordinary intelligence. Up to now it has been of -hardly any value. It is something quite new, and will remain so as long -as the ideas which I stand for are not actively carried out. - -If these ideas were understood and applied, the destruction of ancient -works of art would cease immediately. By bad restoration we are ruining -our most beautiful works of art, our marvelous architecture, our -Gothic cathedrals, Renaissance city halls, all those old houses that -transformed France into a garden of beauty of which it was impossible to -grow weary, for everything was a delight to the eye and intelligence. -Our workmen would have to be as capable as those of former times to -restore those works of art without changing them, they would have to -possess the same wonderfully trained eye and hand. But to-day we have -lost that conception and execution. We live in a period of ignorance, -and when we put our hand to a masterpiece, we spoil it. Restoring, in -our way, is almost like jewelers replacing pearls with false diamonds, -which the ignorant accept with complacency. - -The Americans who buy our paintings, our antique furniture, our old -engravings, our materials, pay very dearly for them. At least we think -so. As a matter of fact they buy them very cheaply, for they obtain -originals which can never be duplicated. We mock at the American -collectors; in reality we ought to laugh at ourselves. For we permit our -most precious treasures to be taken out of the country, and it is they -who have the intelligence to acquire them. - -My ideas, once understood and applied, would immediately revive art, all -arts, not only sculpture, painting, and architecture, but also those -arts which are called minor, such as decoration, tapestry, furniture, -the designing of jewelry and medals, etc. The artisan would revert to -fundamental truth, to the principles of the ancients--principles which -are the eternal basis of all art, regardless of differences of race and -temperament. - - - -CONSTRUCTION AND MODELING - -In the first place, art is only a close study of nature. Without that -we can have no salvation and no artists. Those who pretend that they -can improve on the living model, that glorious creation of which we -know so little, of which we in our ignorance barely grasp the admirable -proportions, are insignificant persons, and they will never produce -anything but mediocre work. - -We must strive to understand nature not only with our heart, but above -all with our intellect. He who is impressionable, but not intelligent, -is incapable of expressing his emotion. The world is full of men who -worship the beauty of women; but how many can make beautiful portraits -or beautiful busts of the woman they adore? Intelligence alone, after -lengthy research, has discovered the general principles without which -there can be no real art. - -In sculpture the first of these principles is that of construction. -Construction is the first problem that faces an artist studying his -model, whether that model be a human being, animal, tree, or flower. The -question arises regarding the model as a whole, and regarding it in its -separate parts. All form that is to be reproduced ought to be reproduced -in its true dimensions, in its complete volume. And what is this volume? - -It is the space that an object occupies in the atmosphere. The essential -basis of art is to determine that exact space; this is the alpha and -omega, this is the general law. To model these volumes in depth is to -model in the round, while modeling on the surface is bas-relief. In a -reproduction of nature such as a work of art attempts, sculpture in the -round approaches reality more closely than does bas-relief. - -To-day we are constantly working in bas-relief, and that is why our -products are so cold and meager. Sculpture in the round alone produces -the qualities of life. For instance, to make a bust does not consist in -executing the different surfaces and their details one after another, -successively making the forehead, the cheeks, the chin, and then the -eyes, nose, and mouth. On the contrary, from the first sitting the whole -mass must be conceived and constructed in its varying circumferences; -that is to say, in each of its profiles. - -A head may appear ovoid, or like a sphere in its variations. If we -slowly encircle this sphere, we shall see it in its successive profiles. -As it presents itself, each profile differs from the one preceding. It -is this succession of profiles that must be reproduced, and that is the -means of establishing the true volume of a head. - -Each profile is actually the outer evidence of the interior mass; each -is the perceptible surface of a deep section, like the slices of a -melon, so that if one is faithful to the accuracy of these profiles, the -reality of the model, instead of being a superficial reproduction, seems -to emanate from within. The solidity of the whole, the accuracy of plan, -and the veritable life of a work of art, proceed therefrom. - -The same method applies to details which must all be modeled in -conformity with the whole. Deference to plan necessitates accuracy of -modeling. The one is derived from the other. The first engenders the -second. - -These are the main principles of construction and modeling--principles -to which we owe the force and charm of works of art. They are the key -not only to the handicraft of sculpture, but to all the handicrafts of -art. For that which is true of a bust applies equally to the human form, -to a tree, to a flower, or to an ornament. - -This is neither mysterious nor hard to understand. It is thoroughly -commonplace, very prosaic. Others may say that art is emotion, -inspiration. Those are only phrases, tales with which to amuse -the ignorant. Sculpture is quite simply the art of depression and -protuberance. There is no getting away from that. Without a doubt the -sensibility of an artist and his particular temperament play a part in -the creation of a work of art, but the essential thing is to command -that science which can be acquired only by work and daily experience. -The essential thing is to respect the law, and the characteristic of -that fruitful law is to be the same for all things. - -Moreover, such was the method employed by the ancients, the method which -we ourselves employed till the end of the eighteenth century, and by -which the spirit of the Gothic genius and that of the Renaissance and of -the periods of culture and elegance of the seventeenth and eighteenth -centuries were transmitted to us. Only in our day have we completely -lost that technic. - -These rules do not constitute a system peculiar to myself. They are -general principles which govern the world of art, just as other -immutable laws govern the celestial world. They are mathematical -principles which I found again because my work inevitably led me to -follow in the footsteps of the great masters, my ancestors. - - - -THE TRADITIONAL LAWS OF ANCIENT ART - -In days of old, precise laws were handed down from generation to -generation, from master to student, in all the workshops of the workers -in art--sculptors, painters, decorators, cabinet-makers, jewelers. But -at that time workshops existed where one actually taught, where the -master worked in view of the pupil. In our day by what have we replaced -that marvelously productive school, the workshop? By academies in which -one learns nothing, because one sets out from such a contrary point of -view. - -These principles of art were first pointed out to me not by a celebrated -sculptor, or by an authorized teacher, but by a comrade in the workshop, -a humble artisan, a little plasterer from the neighborhood of Blois -called Constant Simon. We worked together at a decorator's. I was -quite at the beginning of my career, earning six francs a day. Our -models were leaves and flowers, which we picked in the garden. I was -carving a capital when Constant Simon said to me: "You don't go about -that correctly. You make all your leaves flatwise. Turn them, on the -contrary, with the point facing you. Execute them in depth and not in -relief. Always work in that manner, so that a surface will never seem -other than the termination of a mass. Only thus can you achieve success -in sculpture." - -I understood at once. Since then I have discovered many other things, -but that rule has remained my absolute basis. Constant Simon was only -an obscure workman, but he possessed the principles and a little of the -genius of the great ornamentists who worked at the chateaux of the -Loire. On the St. Michel fountain in Paris there are very beautifully -carved decorations, rich and at the same time graceful, which were made -by the hand of this little modeler, who knew far more than all the -professors of esthetics. - -Such was the purpose the workshops of old served. The apprentice -passed successively through all the stages and became acquainted with -all the secrets of his handicraft. He began by sweeping the studio, -and that first taught him care and patience, which are the essential -virtues of a workman. He posed, he served as model for his comrades. -The master in turn worked before him among his students. He heard his -companions discuss their art, he benefited by the discoveries that they -communicated to one another. He found himself faced every day by those -unforeseen difficulties which go to make an artist till the moment -when the artist is sufficiently capable to master his difficulties. -Alternately, they were both teacher and companion, and they conveyed to -one another the science of the ancients. - -What have we to-day in place of those splendid institutions which -developed character and intelligence simultaneously? Schools at which -the students think only of obtaining a prize, not attained by close -study, but by flattering the professors. The professors themselves, -without any deep attachment for their academies, come hurriedly, -overburdened by official duties and all sorts of work; weighed down by -perfunctory obligations, they correct the students' papers hastily, and -hurriedly return to their regular occupation. - -As to the students, twenty or thirty work from a single model, which -is some distance from them and around which they can hardly turn. -They ignore all those inevitable laws which are learned in the course -of work, and which escape the attention of an artist working alone. -They attend courses, or read books on esthetics written in technical -language with obscure, abstract terms, lacking all connection with -concrete reality--books in which the same mistakes are repeated because -frequently they are copied from one another. What sort of students can -develop under such disastrous conditions? If one among them is seriously -desirous of learning, he breaks loose from his destructive surroundings, -is obliged to lose several years first in ridding himself of a poor -method, and then in searching for a method which formerly one had -mastered on leaving the atelier. - -That is the method that I preach to-day as emphatically as I can, -calling attention to the numerous benefits and advantages of taking up a -variety of handicrafts. Aside from sculpture and drawing, I have worked -at all sorts of things--ornamentation, ceramics, jewelry. I have learned -my lesson from matter itself and have adapted myself accordingly. Only -in being faithful to this principle can one understand and know how to -work. I am an artisan. - -Will my experience be of benefit to others? I hope so. At all events, we -have a bit to relearn. It will take years of patience and application -to rise from the abyss of ignorance into which we have fallen. However, -I believe in a renaissance. A number of our artists have already -seen the light--the light of intellectual truth. Acts of barbarism -against masterpieces cannot be committed any more without arousing the -indignation of cultivated people. That in itself is an inestimable gain, -for those works of art are the relics of our traditions, and if we have -the strength to become an artistic people again, to reincarnate an -era of beauty, then those are the works of art that will serve as our -models, expressions of a national conscience that will be the milestones -on our path. - - * * * * * - - Judged by his work, Auguste Rodin is the most modern of - artists; judged by his life and character, he is unquestionably - a man of bygone days. As a sculptor, he is such as were Phidias, - Praxiteles, and the master architects of the Middle Ages; that is - to say, he is of all times. One single idea guides his thoughts, - one single aim arouses his energies--art, art through the study of - nature. - - It is by the concentration of his unusual mind on a single - purpose that he attains his remarkable understanding of man, - physical and moral, his contemporary, and of the spirit of our - age. In the lifelike features of his statues he inscribes the - history of the day. They seem to live, and the potency of their - life enters into us and dominates us. For the moment we are only a - silent spring, merely reflecting their authority. - - Through this secret of genius, his statues and groups have - an individual charm. They have taken their place in the history - of sculpture. There is the charm of the antique, the charm of the - Gothic, and the charm of Michelangelo. There is also the charm of - Rodin. - - [Illustration: HEAD OF MINERVA.] - - - - - II - - SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS - - - In Rodin's statues we find his conception of eternal man--man - as he really is. They are molded on modern thought, with all its - variations. One might suppose that these beautiful beings of marble - and bronze had been named by the characteristic poets of the - century, Victor Hugo, Musset, Baudelaire. - - Beginning with the Renaissance and particularly during the - seventeenth century, the royal courts were the great salons in - which the taste of the day was developed. Necessity made courtiers - of the artists, for to obtain orders, they had to win the good-will - of the sovereigns, the great lords, and the financiers. - - Art then lost its collective character, the artist his - independence and strength. There was no longer the united effort of - artists, inspired by love of beauty, to create great masterpieces - such as cathedrals, city halls, and castles. The artist wasted his - abilities in fragmentary bits, his time in worldly duties. To-day - it is even worse. Keeping house, traveling, receiving, exhibiting - in a hundred different places, living in great style, carrying on - his life-work--all these crowd out the first, and formerly the - essential, object of the artist, his work. It is these that lower - art to the last degree of decadence. - - Rodin has kept aloof from this manner of living, has avoided - these innumerable occasions for wasting time, or, rather, has never - allowed them to take possession of him. Modest, unpretentious, - traveling little or within a limited radius, the unremitting study - of the divine model and of the masterpiece, man, forms his whole - ambition, while it is also the source of endless delight to him. - "Admiration," he says, "is a joy daily kindled afresh," and again, - "I talk out of the fullness of life; it belongs to me in a sense - larger than that of ownership." - - In his villa at Meudon, in the midst of his collections of - antiques, he pursues this study incessantly. He who is admitted to - the modest garden of the great master first beholds with delight a - Greek marble in an arbor. At the turn of a path there is the torso - of a goddess resting on an antique column; in a niche in the wall, - a Roman bust. Beneath the high arch of the peristyle of the studio, - the architecture of which blends into the surrounding background - as in the paintings of Claude Lorrain, there is a magnificent - torso. Finally dominating the garden and the valley it overlooks, - standing on a knoll and projected against the clear sky, there is - an isolated facade from a castle of the seventeenth century, its - delicate balustrades and casements outlined against the blue sky as - in the decorative paintings of Paul Veronese. - - These ruins are the remains of the Chateau d'Issy, the work of - Mansart. Rodin saved them at the moment when their destruction at - the hands of ignorant workmen was imminent, and at great expense - reconstructed them near his residence. These fragments, this noble - portico, seem as though placed by chance, but the keen observer - quickly perceives the correctness of taste that has determined - their disposition. Each fragment forms part of an ensemble with - the trees, the grass, the light, and the shadows, and to change - any of these in the slightest degree would sacrifice some of its - beauty. Sculpture at its finest is architecture, and architecture - is perhaps the greatest art, because it collaborates directly with - nature. Architecture lives through the life of things, and every - hour of the day lends it a new expression. - - Innumerable reflections were aroused in the mind of the master - Rodin when he essayed to place his treasures: the effect of the - changing light on the object, the balancing of values, the relation - of proper proportions, the appearance of the object in full light. - All these he examined and studied, and he searched into the depths - of the language of forms, to him as clear and as mysterious as - beautiful music. This remarkable gift for determining the value of - the object in its setting--a gift the secret of which is beyond the - knowledge of the ignorant--has brought forth that peculiar poetic - charm which permeates this little garden in a suburb of Paris, - a refuge of persecuted beauty. Here the master confers with the - artists of Greece and France of other days. These are his Elysian - Fields. - - In Paris, where he is daily and where he works every - afternoon, he lives in an exquisite, but ruinous, mansion of the - eighteenth century, situated in a rustic, neglected park. There he - finds his delight in the study of flowers and applies himself to - it with his intense, never-dormant desire for understanding. His - antique pottery is filled with anemones, carnations, and tulips. - During his frugal meals they are before him, and his reverent - love of them arouses his desire to understand them as completely - as he does human beings. He analyzes and searches out their - details without becoming insensible to the beauty of the whole. - He jots down his discoveries, his words picture them; like La - Rochefoucauld, he searches into their character; but watching over - their life admiringly and tenderly until they wither, he does not - dissect them, does not destroy them. - - Is not the flower the queen of ornaments, the inspiration of - all races and ages, the very soul of artistic decoration? Have not - the hands of genius contrived to employ the most durable as well - as the most fragile material to express this delicate beauty in - Greek and Gothic capitals, in the stone lacework of cathedrals, the - fabrics of gold and silk, brocades, tapestries, wrought iron-work, - old bindings? Is the splendor of stained-glass windows aught else - than the splendor of a mass of beautiful flowers? - -[Illustration: THE BATH.] - - "Were this thoroughly understood," says Rodin, "industrial art - would be entirely revolutionized--industrial art, that barbarous - term, an art which concerns itself with commerce and profit. - - "The young artists of to-day understand nothing; they copy to - satiety the classic ornaments and designs, and reproduce them in - so cold a manner that they lose all meaning. The ancients obtained - their designs from nature. They found their models in the garden, - even in the vegetable garden. They drew their inspiration from its - source. The cabbage-leaf, the oak-leaf, the clover, the thistle, - and the brier are the motives of the Gothic capital. It is not - photographic truth, but living truth, that we must seek in art." - - Rodin writes his observations. He notes them down at the - moment as they occur to him in all their freshness, and in this - form they will be given here. At first glance, the reader may be - surprised at their apparently fragmentary form. They may seem - devoid of general continuity, but when one comprehends the great - master's method, one sees that a bond much firmer than that of the - mere word binds them together. They seem disjointed because here, - as in his sculpture, the artist accepts only the essential, and - rejects all superfluous detail. In reality they have the continuity - of life, which is felt, but not seen, and which renders arbitrary - transition unnecessary. This is the prerogative of genius, while - all else is within the grasp of any one. His authority strikes us - dumb; it puts to rout mere commonplace cleverness. - - * * * * * - -I have had primroses put in this little flower-pot. They are a bit -crowded, and their poor little stems are prisoners; they are no longer -in their garden. - -I look at them on my table like a vivisector. I admire their beautiful -leaves, round-headed, vigorous, like peasants. They point toward me, and -between them is the flower. The one on this side is resigned, and as -beautiful as a caryatid. In profile it seems to hold up the leaf against -which it leans and which gives it shade. - -These little flowers are not beautiful, nor are they radiant. They -live peaceably, gently contented in their misery; and yet they offer -something to one who is ill, as I am to-day, and cause him to write to -ward off weariness. - -I always have flowers in the morning, and make no distinction between -them and my models. - -Many flowers together are like women with heads bowed down. - -There is no longer the sap of life in flowers in a vase. - -The lace work of the flower of the elder-tree--Venice. - -The anemone is only an eye, cruelly melancholy. It is the eye of a woman -who has been badly used. - -These anemones are flowers that have stayed up too late at night; -flowers that are resplendent, with their colors as though spread over -them superficially and wiped away. Even in the spring, in the hour of -anticipation, they are already in the fullness of enjoyment. - -Like the flower of seduction, the anemones slowly change their form -outlined in various ways, always restrained, however, and inclosed -within their sphere. Their petals have not a common destiny: some curl -up, others are like a becoming collaret, still others seem to be running -away. The delicate droop of the petals, standing out in relief, is like -the eyelid of a child. - -Although old, that one does not shed its petals. Poor little flower with -bent head, you are not ridiculous; you are pensive now that you are -dying. You suffer from the cruelty of the stem which holds you back. - -Flowers give their lives to us; they should be placed in Persian vases. -Near them, gold and silver seem of no value. - -Ah, dear friends, we must love you if we would have you speak to us! -We must watch you or you fall from the vase, despairing, your leaves -withered. - -The flowers and the vase harmonize by contrast. - -In this bouquet there are some with flexible stems which seem to leap up -gracefully. The flower, surrounded by its frail, straight leaves, is as -if suspended from the ledge of a wrought-iron balcony. - -Ah, the adorable heart of Adonis is incased within these flowers! - -The hyacinth is like a balustrade placed upside down. A bed of -hyacinths resembles a mass of balusters. Thus that great invention -of the Renaissance, the balustrade, allows us to gain through it -a glimpse of nature. This ray of art, the flower, this delicate -inspiration, unknowingly requires the intelligence of man to develop its -possibilities. - -Superb is this little rose-like flower among its spreading leaves. It is -like an assumption. - -The double narcissus is a bird's-nest viewed from above. Strange -flowers, like so many throats! What a frail marvel they are! - -These three little narcissi group themselves like a cluster of electric -lights. - -The dignity of nature impresses us on every hand. It is greatly apparent -in flowers; and yet so small are they that some look on them merely as -the decoration at a banquet. - -I will cast a narcissus in bronze; it shall serve as my seal. - -A maiden on a lake, that is the narcissus. - -Little red marguerite, not yet open, sister to the strawberry, huddled -in the shade which caresses you. - -The full-blown marguerite seems to play at _pigeon-vole_. - -It has rained for four hours; this is the hour when flowers quench their -thirst. - -A marguerite in profile, a serpent's head with open jaws, stretching out -its tongues! Petals, white, like a little collar. - -Seen in full face, its yellow-tinted heart is a little sun; its long -petals are like fingers playing the piano. - -These white flowers are gulls with wings outstretched. They fly one -after the other; this one, in adoration, has its petals thrown backward, -like wings. - -Whoever understands life loves flowers and their innocent caresses. - -These marguerites seem to retreat like a spider that finds itself -discovered in the road. Their buds stretch out their serpent-heads at -the end of long stems, divided by intercepting leaves and entangling -knots. Does not love travel in a similar path rather than straight as an -arrow? - -There is so much regularity in these dark-green leaves, extending at -fixed intervals to right and left, and in the eternal dryness of the -bouquet, that it calls to mind a Persian miniature. - -No man has a heart pure enough to interpret the freshness of flowers. We -cannot give expression to this freshness; it is beyond us. - -When it sheds its petals, the flower seems to disrobe and go to sleep -on the earth. This is its last act of grace, showing its submission to -God. - -What spirit possesses these flowers that die in silence! We should -listen to them and give thanks. - -This red and black ranunculus proclaims the carnival; it is the carnival -itself. The carnival is the very emblem of flowers. Like them it, also, -wears masks and costumes. It wears their colors, bright yellow, red--an -imitation of the flowers of the sun. - -Delightful carnival! Delightful interpretation of flowers! For a long -time in my youth I undervalued them. I am happy now to see them under -another aspect, as the splendor of Rome and the lavish intelligence of a -bygone time. - -Some one gave me tulips. They fascinate me variously. How great an -artist is chance, knowing the last secret by which to win us! - -These yellow tulips, dipped in blood! What a treat to see true -colors--reds, blues, greens, the art of stained glass! - -One is quite taken aback before these flowers, in which nature has -expressed more than one can comprehend. It imparts that great mystery -which is beyond us and signifies the presence of God. - -How magnificent the flower becomes as its youth passes! - -Even the flowers have their setting sun. - -My bouquet is always the same, yet I never cease to look at it. - -A whirlwind, a very cyclone, this tulip has perished in the storm. Like -the wife of Lot, it is possessed of fear. - -This one is open, all aflame like a burning bush. That one, all -disheveled, comes toward me. Full of ardor, it springs up, its petals -strong and expanding, like a mouth curling forward. - -The violence of passion in flowers is pronounced. Ah, the softness of -love is found only in women! - -Great artists, curb your curiosity, neglect the pleasures which offer -themselves to you, so that you may better understand the secrets of God. - - - - -III - -PORTRAITS OF WOMEN - - - Rodin's busts of women are perhaps the most charming part of - his work. But to say this is almost a sacrilege, an affront to the - grace of the small groups that, in this giant's work, swarm about - the superior figures. But we need not search too far into this or - yield to the pedantic mania for classifying to death. Let us rather - look at them without transforming the joy of admiration into the - labor of cataloguing, and give ourselves up wholly to the pleasure - of seeing and understanding. - - Yes, these portraits of women are the graceful aspect of this - work of power. They are the achievements of a force which knows - its own strength, and here relaxes in caresses. If some among them - disturb the spirit, most of them shed upon us a calm enjoyment, - the delightful security that one breathes among all-powerful - beings that wish to be gracious. They allay the sense of unrest - aroused in us by those dramas in marble and bronze which a powerful - intellect has conceived--that mind from which sprang "The Burghers - of Calais," the two monuments to Victor Hugo, "The Tower of Labor," - that imagination, glowing like a forge, which produced "The Gate of - Hell," the Sarmiento monument, the statue of Balzac. - - Here Rodin's art extends to the utmost confines of grace. He - has contrived to discover the most delicate secrets of nature. - He models the petals of the lips just as nature curls the frail - substance of the rose-leaf. By imperceptible gradations he - attaches the delicate membranes of the eyelids to the angle of - the temples just as nature in springtime attaches the leaves to the - rough bark of trees. - -[Illustration: THE BROKEN LILY.] - - Great thinkers never cease to be moved by the charm of - weakness. The "eternal feminine" is just that, the power of grace - over the manly soul. The strongest feel this attraction most, are - most possessed with the desire of expressing it. I am thinking of - Homer, Leonardo da Vinci, Shakspere, Balzac, Wagner, and Rodin in - saying this. They have created a feminine world, the figures of - which, lovingly copied from living models, become models in turn. - They haunt thousands of souls, fashion them in their image. In her - complicated ways, Nature avails herself of the artist to modify the - human type. - - We have some terra-cotta figures of Rodin, modeled when he was - between twenty-five and thirty, while working at the manufactory - at Sevres, in the studio of Carrier-Belleuse, that accomplished - sculptor. They are charming little busts, with the perfume of - the eighteenth century breathing from them, treated a little in - the manner of Carpeaux, with the velvety shadow of their black - eyes on their sparkling faces. One of them, now in a private - gallery in New York, has a hat on its head, coquettish, tender, - innocently provocative; it is full of Parisian allurement because - it is characteristically French. One can find its kindred among - certain Renaissance figures, and even among the mischievous faces - of Gothic angels. With all this there is that ephemeral prettiness - which is called "fashion," that caprice of styles which does for - the adornment of cities what the flowers of the field do for the - country. - - If Rodin had pursued his path in this direction, he would have - been a portrait-sculptor of great taste, and would doubtless have - attained celebrity sooner, but a celebrity which is not glory. At - that time he was chiefly concerned with copying the features of his - models with all the sensitiveness of his admiration; he did not yet - attempt those large effects of light and shade which were to become - the object of his whole career, and are so still. He has made the - religion of progress his own by reflective study. Progress is for - him the chief condition of happiness. Present-day philosophies - commonly put it in doubt; but if happiness exists, it is surely - in the soul of the artist. But it is recognized with difficulty - because it is called by an equivocal name, the ideal. - - Let us look at the "Portrait of the Artist's Wife." Here, in - this noble effigy, this severe image with its lowered eyelids, the - artist passes beyond the promise of his first period. The face, - rather wide at the cheek-bones, lengthens toward the chin, where - the sorrowful mouth reigns. It expresses melancholy, gravity, - dignity, Christian charity. It is rather masculine, and seems less - youthful than the original was at the time. It is as if the artist - had sought to bring out the character by conscientious modeling, - without any softening; all the features are underlined, as on - a face that has attained a ripe age. He had not yet discovered - the art of softening his surfaces, of blending them in a general - tonality, and of obtaining that softness, that flesh quality, with - all the shades of youth, which touches the heart in his more recent - busts. - - Even then he did know, however, how to gather under the - boldly molded superciliary arch of the brows the diffused shadows - which, in the future, were to lend mystery and distance to most - of his portraits. This mask is all that remains of a standing - figure dressed in the manner of Gothic figures. Rodin was then - living in Brussels, still young, poor, and unknown, but happy. - He tasted the perfect happiness of long days of absorbing labor, - of that enthusiasm for work which nothing disturbs. To-day he - sometimes yearns for those years free from the never-ceasing bustle - of a celebrated man's existence, a giant assailed by a thousand - pin-pricks. Yet his poverty was excessive, for the beautiful - statue, modeled during successive months with much love, fell to - pieces. For want of money, the sculptor had not been able to have - it cast. - - Among his women's busts, one of the most famous and one which - remains among the most beautiful is that of Madame Morla Vicunha. - It dates back about twenty-five years, but it is resplendent in - eternal youth. Since then Rodin has added to his knowledge and - experience. He has made personal discoveries in the plastic art. - He has become the master of color in sculpture. Nevertheless, this - portrait, as it stands, remains an adorable masterpiece. Who that - has looked at its softly gleaming marble in the Luxembourg has not - been overcome by a long dream of tenderness, of uneasy curiosity? - Who has not hoped to make this woman speak, to press her heart in - order to draw from her a confession of her desires, the secret of - her happiness and her melancholy? - - It is more than a bust, it is woman herself. Because the - beautiful shoulder slips tremulously from the heavy mouth, which - lies against the smooth, polished flesh; because this shoulder - rises again toward the head, slightly bent and inclined, as if to - draw toward it some loved one; because the neck swells like that of - a dove, and the head is stretched forward to offer a kiss, we seem - to catch a glimpse of the whole body and its delicate curves. It is - a beautiful bust. I should like to see it alone in a room hung with - dim tapestries, drawing forth its charm like a long sigh, which - nothing should disturb. This masterpiece demands the distinction of - solitude. - - How beautifully modeled the head is in its firm delicacy! - The framework of the narrow skull appears under the texture of - hair fastened over it like a rich handkerchief. We can almost see - the impatient hand, trembling with feeling, that has twisted the - firm knot under the nape of the neck. Everywhere, level with the - temples, at the bridge of the nose,--the aquiline nose marking the - Spaniard of race,--this bony framework stands out. The face catches - a feverish character from it, tortured by the longing for intimate - expression, and reveals a being with whom happiness borders closely - upon sorrow. The nostrils tremble as if to the perfume of the - flowers pressed voluptuously against the warm bosom. The mouth - is at once mobile and firm, and all the curves of the features - converge toward it--toward the kiss which causes it to swell softly. - - The light steals gently into every line and fold of the face. - It borders the eyelids, glides under the brows, outlines the bridge - of the nose and the nostrils, emphasizes the opposed arches of - the lips. It spreads like a spring, separating into a thousand - streams. It is a network, like the tracery of the woman's nerves - made visible. It is as if the sculptor and the light had begun a - dialogue--a dialogue kept up with endless graces and coquetries. - He contradicts it, refutes it; it escapes, returns. He gathers it - up, as if to force it into the sinuous folds of the figure. Again - it flees, and then, summoned back, it returns cautiously, and at - last bathes the statue in generous caresses. - - This bust will live. In its enigmatic grace it will become - more and more the expression of the woman who loves, just as "La - Gioconda" ("Mona Lisa") is the expression of the woman who is - loved. The one is all instinct, the other all spirit. The one - offers herself; the other promises herself. The one is tenderness - directed toward the past; the other smiles toward the future. - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MADAME MORIA VICUNHA.] - - In the same gallery of the Luxembourg, there is that other - famous head called "La Pensee." What a contrast! It is strangely - bound within a block of marble, placed like a living head on a - block. And yet it tells only of the slightly resigned calm of - meditation, or of melancholy, without bitterness, of long autumn - days, with their diffused brilliancy. The outlines are firm, - regular, placid, of remarkable moderation in their distinction. The - head leans forward, because thought is a weighty matter. The brow - and the eyes are the dominant features. On them the sculptor has - focused all the light not only in the high lights, but in the still - surface as well. - - The caprice of the artist has covered this head with a light - peasant-cap. This hides the details of the hair, and concentrates - the glance on the face. "Caprice" expresses the idea badly, for - it is taste and the will of the artist that have directed all. - These dreamy features express the practical mysticism of women, - the effort of intelligent devotion. It makes one think of St. - Genevieve, of Jeanne d'Arc, of the overwhelming courage of a weak - being carried beyond and out of herself by a great purpose. - - "La Pensee" has the striking character that almost all the - busts of Rodin assume in the future, and which they owe on the - one hand to their intense lifelikeness, and on the other to the - atmosphere with which the sculptor surrounds them. There are no - hard-and-fast limits which separate them from the circumambient - air; on the contrary, they are bathed in it. The "blacks," which - give a hard, dry look when used to excess, are handled marvelously. - The women's busts, especially, almost start up before us with this - slightly fantastic look of life increased tenfold, with the charm - of phantoms of marble, monumental, and yet as light as beautiful - mists. - - These effects of light and shadow perhaps harmonize best with - the softness and delicacy of the feminine flesh. They convey to us - naturally the mystery of an inner life more secret, more intimate - than that of man. - - Even with works that are similar, the public does not - recognize their common origin. It sees the result of an - extraordinary amount of observation and intelligence, yet it does - not reflect more than a child. For the public the sculptor, whoever - he may be, is a creature of instinct, with a trained eye and hand, - but without mind and culture. He is a sculptor, that is all. A - common proverb strengthens the belief in this lasting folly. It - may be told, then, that the master with whom we are here dealing - studies his models not only as a sculptor, but as a writer studies; - that often his hand drops the chisel for the pencil, in order to - set down his observation more exactly, to search even further into - nature. - - Perhaps the public will at last grasp the fact that the true - artist, under penalty of ceasing to be one, must, above all, expend - an amount of attention of which other men are incapable, and that - it is by this power of attention that the strength of intelligence - is measured. For example, Rodin is facing his model, a young - woman stretched out in an attitude of repose. He writes, and in - his style we find all the power of the great draftsman. He marks - the outlines, he specifies the details, slowly, patiently, with - pertinacity. He never confuses the impression, always so ready to - elude one--the impression, the divine reward of the artist. - - * * * * * - -The dazzling splendor revealed to the artist by the model that divests -herself of her clothes has the effect of the sun piercing the clouds. -Venus, Eve, these are feeble terms to express the beauty of women. - -The head leans to one side, the torso to the other, both inclining -indolently, gracefully. This body has been glorified. The contours -flow, descend, repose, like immortality personified. The breasts follow -the same curve. The flowing lines are all in the same direction. -Unchangeable, heaving above the half-opened screen of the dress, the -breath scarcely lifts them. It does not stir or agitate them. - -The beautiful human monument is balanced in repose. It is unassailable. -It is the gradation of contours. - -I do not draw them, but I see them in place, and my spirit is content, -accustoms itself to the impression. In memory I still make drawings of -this model, and these moving lines are repetitions, done over again a -hundred times; for I repeat the drawing constantly, like a caress. - -This torso resigns itself, like an Ariadne whose contours melt away in -the evening, in the dark. But the lightning of day has flashed there. -It is there always. It is now the pale gleam of flesh. My mind, carried -along, takes this form as its model. - -The hand, the arm, support the head, the sidelong glance from which -is so full of sweetness. One might call it a "Mona Lisa" reposing. -This head feels the need of resting on the supporting hand, a delicate -support like the handle of a vase. Like an urn about to pour out its -water, its thought, it inclines. - -Lying back on the cushion, the head is in high relief. The features are -placed according to their due regard, which is the very soul of balance. -It has made the eyes symmetrical; the eyebrows straight; the nose, where -beauty and symmetry meet, expressive of a wholesome conformity. - -When a woman is very beautiful, she has the head of a lion. From the -lion is copied that splendid regularity of the eyes, which the oval of -the face accentuates. The tawny mane is also lion-like in its regularity -and majesty, without any other expression. - -Arches are formed without effort of all the parts of the eye. The hinges -of the eyes open and close. The open mouth keeps back neither the -thoughts nor the words that have been spoken. There is no need for her -to speak. Her age, her thoughts, all is a confession here--the features, -the arch of the frank, noble mouth, as well as the form of the nose and -the sensitive nostrils. - -And this infantile glance under a woman's eyelid! Our soul demands -that, by an agreement with the heavens, the feminine glance should be -celestial. - -[Illustration: LA PENSEE.] - -How I bathe in the calm beauty of these eyes, with their regular -drawing! How they themselves declare their tranquil joy! Sometimes eyes -like these seem to be inhabited by spirits. They close, and I see the -horizontal lashes, the lower lid, which just rests against the upper. I -see as a whole the soft oval of these long eyes, the double circle of -the lids themselves, and the circle beneath, so modest now, but which -one calls the circle of love. - -The eyeball in moving shows the clear pupil, and all about it press the -circles of the delicate lids. The soul finds a refuge in these secret -hiding-places, and throws out its circles of attraction like a lasso. -This sensuous soul is the soul of beautiful portraits. - -The cheeks curve against the socket of the eye; the double arch of the -brows prolongs itself behind them. The surface of the cheeks extends to -the extremity of the nose, forms a double depression by the sinking of -the cheek, which grows hollow toward the convex lip, and surrounds the -mouth and the two lips. These facial lines and surfaces all stop at the -chin, toward which all the curves converge. - -The facial expressions proceed from, spread, and move in another circle. -They all disappear in the cheeks, just as do the movements of the mouth. -One curve passes down from the ear to the mouth; a small curve draws -back the mouth and also the nose a little. A circle passes under the -nose, the chin, to the cheekbones; a deep curve, which starts back to -the cheekbone, cuts in a small hollow to the eyebrow. The features are -distinct; but when they move, they merge into one another. The smile -passes over the face by a circle defining the mouth. The edge of the -mouth is defined by a mezzotint at the point of union. - -The loose hair surrounds the cheek, and the head seems like a golden -fleece on a distaff. It hangs like loosened garlands. How beautifully -these garlands of hair are arranged, with the profile in a three-quarter -view, standing out against the fine, tawny hair! The impressive harmony -between the flesh and the hair! They seem altogether in accord; they -lend each other languor and charm; they are united and separated at the -same time. These drooping clusters of chestnut-blond hair are a frame. -One might call them long flowers hanging from the edge of a vase. - -The neck no longer holds erect the head, which moves in ecstasy. It -drowns itself in the wavy flow of hair, which becomes undone at the -moment. This inundation of hair, so to speak, what a generalized -expression of opulence it is! Before its beauty I feel imbued with -love. I am seized with enthusiasm, aflame with it. This gold, this dull -copper, is like a field of grain, a field of corn, where the sheaves are -of gold bound together. These sheaves, slightly disordered in their -lengthening curves, turning in all directions, imitate the tone of -subdued flesh tints. - -In this veil, transparent and colored like a dead leaf, the ear is -hidden in shadow, where the hair flies back at random in strands, twists -about, and returns. - -O head, beautiful ornament, drooping against the edge of the couch like -a lovely motive in architecture at the edge of a console, you express -the prolonged weakness of a lovely languor! The shoulder extends its -beautiful curve before the face, resting on its side; the line rises, -passes near the nose, descends, and shows the red line of the mouth, -just as the bees continually enter and go out of the opening of the -hive. The face turns, but the eye returns to me, passes by me, and again -gazes upon me. - -In it there is the softness of the dog's eye, a spirit which becomes -motionless when the tyranny of passion has disappeared. When passion is -in control, she sucks like a vampire that delicate flesh, which is the -model of calm, the exquisite remainder of calm. - -This crown of beauty is not made for one woman alone, but for all women. -They do not know it, and yet all in turn attain this beauty, as a fruit -ripens. This calm is more potent in them than in the most beautiful -statues. They are unaware of it, and the men who are near them are -unaware of it also. They have not been taught to admire. They have not -been educated in the science of admiration. - -When, in the galleries of the Louvre, magnificent rooms where are -gathered the collections of antiques, day enters through the windows -and lightly touches these beautiful sculptures which are the adornment -of great palaces, do they understand any better? Do they realize the -collaboration between the sculptor and the light? - -[Illustration: HOTEL BIRON. VIEW FROM THE GARDEN.] - - - - -IV - -AN ARTIST'S DAY - - - The residence of Rodin, the Hotel Biron, is situated at the - extreme end of the rue de Varenne, in the Faubourg St. Germain. - The long straight street is lined on both sides with old mansions - that lend a distinctive nobility to this district of Paris. The - street is solemn, the quiet austere. Only rarely a carriage rumbles - by. Like the tide of a river, the air sweeps down this street from - the Boulevard des Invalides, which at its other end opens upon the - Esplanade des Invalides, like a great lake. - - Now and then one catches glimpses of the spacious courts, the - steps, the peristyles, and the ornate, but at the same time simple, - pediments. Most of these mansions were, and many of them still are, - inhabited by families associated with the history of France. - - The northern facade of the Hotel Biron and the courtyard - through which one enters are hidden behind a high convent wall, for - in the nineteenth century the old residence of the Duc de Biron - was transformed into a religious school of the Sacred Heart. There - the daughters of the aristocracy were educated. In consequence of - the law of 1904 relating to the religious orders, the mansion was - vacated, and taken possession of by the state, which rented it in - apartments. Rodin, ever in search of old buildings, in which alone - he can think and work in comfort, soon became the main tenant. - - To ring the bell one must reach high. With difficulty one - turns the handle of the door, which swings slowly. It is a portal - made for coaches to pass through. Under its monumental arch one - seems as insignificant as an insect. To the right of the court is - the old chapel of the religious community. Its somber character - stands out against the neighboring secular buildings. The cold - style of Charles X, in which it is built, forms a strange contrast - to the charming structure of Jacques Gabriel, the celebrated artist - who in the eighteenth century endowed Paris with many works of art, - among others this pavilion of the rue de Varenne, the Hotel Biron. - Nevertheless, had it not been for Rodin, this building would have - been torn down. - - It is a vast mansion, extremely simple, and built on the - lines of an elongated square. Its great charm is due wholly to its - correct proportions and to the grace and variety of its beautiful, - tall windows, some straight, others rounded, and surmounted by an - inconspicuous ornament, the signature of the artist. All of them - are enlivened by little squares of glass, which are to a window - what the facets are to a diamond. - - The spacious vestibule is paved with black and white marble, - its ceiling supported by six strong columns. A charming stone - staircase rises here. All is in the style of Louis XV, a style that - is dignified when it is not delightfully elegant and coquettish. - - The house was to be torn down, and sold as junk; but Rodin - was on guard. Ever since he had learned that this masterpiece was - condemned his heart had bled, and for the first and only time in - the course of his long existence an outside interest took him - from his work. He wrote letters, took legal steps, called to - his assistance artists, people of culture, and men in politics. - M. Clemenceau, then president of the cabinet; M. Briand, who - succeeded him; M. Gabriel Hanotaux, one of his great friends; - M. Dujardin-Beaumetz, under-secretary of state of fine arts, - all listened to his indefatigable pleading. Finally his plea was - heard, and the Hotel Biron was classified as a historical monument, - henceforth inviolate. Then the speculators had to abandon their - idea of filling the park with hideous modern structures, and of - disfiguring in six months this unique Quartier des Invalides, to - construct which the architects had given years of work and all - their intelligence. - - Rodin's admirers soon conceived the idea of converting the - Hotel Biron into a museum for the master's works, which they - pledged themselves to defend with a tenacity equal to that which - Rodin had just displayed. - - * * * * * - - I knock at the door of the studio and rapidly pass through - two large rooms containing no furniture, only busts of bronze and - groups of marble. When I enter the study, Rodin is not here; I - glance about. All the details of this room are familiar to me, but - they always seem new, because everything is in harmony here, with a - harmony which varies according to the day and the hour. - - It is a morning in spring. The bright light sheds its rays - on the various antiquities that the master has assembled here: - Empire chairs, with faded velvet coverings; a Louis XIV arm-chair - of gilded wood and cherry-colored silk, in which one might fancy - Moliere seating himself to chat with Rodin, who, ever ready as he - is with a bit of raillery, would surely not have failed in repartee. - - On a round table there is a Persian material, and some - Japanese vases filled with tulips and anemones. On the mantelpiece - are bronzes from the far East and a statuette of porcelain in - marvelous blues that Rodin calls his "Chinese Virgin." On the - walls, close together like the stones in a mosaic, are many of the - master's water-colors. Their well-chosen tones harmonize with and - intensify those of the flowers, the fabrics, and the ceramics of - bygone days. - - Scattered pedestals support huge bronze busts, which call to - mind warriors of the Middle Ages, and some unfinished pieces. They - consist of small groups that, under the eye of the master, seem to - grow out of the white marble, and in the golden sunlight look as - soft as snow. - - On this table, where Rodin takes his meals and writes, is a - Greek marble, a little torso without arms or legs; I know it well, - for he showed it to me while murmuring words of admiration. This is - his latest passion. - - I enter the garden, where he is enjoying a moment of rest, for - he has been working a long while. Owing to his habits as a good - workman, he rises at five every morning. - - I pass through one of the big doors which open upon the park. - The beautiful view always captivates me anew. The light, the air, - the expanse of sky, the magnificent groups of trees, this rustic - solitude in the heart of Paris, take one by surprise, inspire and - elevate the spirit. Rodin is here, smiling and in good humor. - - We are on the terrace that overlooks the expanse of green - and forms a sort of slanting pedestal for the pavilion. Below - stretches a broad alley, almost an avenue, overgrown with a rich - carpet of grass and moss, which loses itself in the distant wood. - Fruit-trees, growing wild, form impenetrable screens on both sides - of this alley. - - The grandeur of this park is largely due to the age of the - trees. Stepping to the edge of the balustrade, I can see toward the - right the dome of the Invalides, standing alone, outlined against - the sky, like a burgrave on guard under a helmet of gold. - -[Illustration: RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED IN THE COURT OF THE HOTEL BIRON.] - - The northern facade of the pavilion has a severe character. - It is the facade which visitors and passers-by see, and for this - an elegant simplicity suffices. But this other side, bathed in - the midday sun, is meant for friends. All the delicate splendor - that the architect conceived is expressed in these stones. This - sculptured pediment, this balcony with its console of flowers, and - the graceful windows, with their semicircular transoms, are models - of elegance. The Hotel Biron is not large, but it is imposing. The - blockheads who inhabited it during the last century, blind to its - beauty, deaf to its appeal, demolished and sold the wrought-iron - balustrades of the windows, balconies, and staircases, but they - were not able, thank Heaven! to destroy its innate beauty. - - "Let us go to work," said Rodin. I go back to the statues; - Rodin begins to draw. In a little while he will model. During his - hasty luncheon he has the little Greek torso placed before him, and - he makes notes all the while. - - True genius is as changeable as nature. It finds as many ways - of expressing its ideals as it finds subjects. But what always - remains the same is the desire to be sincere. Yet the artist, with - the best of intentions, is often the victim of his own sincerity. - Rodin is no exception to this rule, for even he has had his - portraits rejected. "There is no resemblance!" people declare, - while, on the contrary, the resemblance is too true. With his keen - insight he penetrates too far beyond the mere flesh of the model. - People are frightened at seeing their hidden personality brought - to the light of day, are taken aback at being compelled to know - themselves. They consider the sculptor indiscreet and dangerous. - - If, in his portraits of men, he pries to their very souls, - if he reveals without pity those of his own sex, his equals, his - companions in life's struggle, in his portraits of women he is - discreet and respectful. With delicacy he unfolds their delicate - mystery. He does not say anything which is not true, but frequently - he does not express the whole truth. Genius is ever in quiet - complicity with womanhood, and leaves it in that half-obscurity - which is its greatest power. - - In the bust before us of Mrs. X---- , one wonders what he - refrained from expressing. Surely neither the unusual beauty of the - woman nor her air as of an archduchess. - - I remember the day when I saw this bust for the first time. - It was in the Salon, placed at the head of a high staircase. The - marble was brilliant. Something regal and also lovable attracted - those who came toward it. Resplendent in beauty, the shoulders - emerge from the folds of a wrap with the proud grace of one who is - to the manor born. The small, well-shaped head, supported by the - plump, though delicate, neck, is half turned to the slightly raised - left shoulder. The hair is drawn up high to form a crown, throwing - forward some light strands that shed their soft shadows over the - forehead, like a thatching of moss. The beautiful eyebrows, too, - lend mystery to the glance of the eyes, so full of sweetness and - understanding. The small ear is partly hidden under the waves of - the well-groomed hair. The lines of delicate symmetry which run - from the chin to the ear, and from the ear to the shoulder, and the - coronet of hair, give the bust its distinguished look of race. - - Here we see, too, the firmness of beautiful flesh, hardened by - exercise, radiating that spirit of joyous life that springs from - a thoroughly healthy body, as we feel it in some of the Tanagra - figurines. The quiet reserve which stamps the refined Anglo-Saxon - is revealed, but not overaccentuated. The nose is straight and - slightly raised at the tip, the mouth frank and regular. Those - same changing shadows which beautify flowers, when the sun strikes - them through the leaves of a tree, play over this countenance, and - bathe it in a variety of delicate tones from the eyes to the chin. - But beneath this placid beauty there is a restless soul eager to - act, to express its goodness. The chin and the throat retain their - look of youth, even of something childlike for those whom she - loves; but the thoughtful brow is slightly wrinkled, as if from the - intelligent search for happiness. - - This bust, almost Greek in its simplicity, is one of the most - purely beautiful that has come from Rodin's hands. - - When we note the facility with which these works are produced, - seemingly a natural growth, like vintage and harvest; when we - contemplate these fruits of knowledge, we are too apt to overlook - the laborious efforts involved, and to forget that a life has - been given, drop by drop, to achieve this result in small steps - of progress. Even when we know all this, we often prefer to give - the credit to external causes, which appeal more strongly to our - superficial minds, rather than to that endless patience that is, - and always will be, the secret of genius. - - I watched Rodin model the head of Hanako, the Japanese - actress. He rapidly modeled the whole in the rough, as he does - all his busts. His keen eye and his experienced thumb enable him - to establish the exact dimensions at the first sitting. Then the - detailed work of modeling begins. The sculptor is not satisfied to - mold the mass in its apparent outlines only. With absolute accuracy - he slices off some clay, cuts off the head of the bust, and lays it - upside down on a cushion. He then makes his model lie on a couch. - - Bent like a vivisector over his subject, he studies the - structure of the skull seen from above, the jaws viewed from below, - and the lines which join the head to the throat, and the nape of - the neck to the spine. Then he chisels the features with the point - of a pen-knife, bringing out the recesses of the eyelids, the - nostrils, the curves of the mouth. Yet for forty years Rodin was - accused of not knowing how to "finish"! - - With great joy he said one day, "I achieved a thing to-day - which I had not previously attained so perfectly--the commissure of - the lips." - - In making a bust Rodin takes numerous clay impressions, - according to the rate of progress. In this way he can revert to the - impression of the previous day, if the last pose was not good, or - if, in the language of the trade, "he has overworked his material." - Thus one may see five, six, or even eight similar heads in his - studio, each with a different expression. - - Hanako did not pose like other people. Her features were - contracted in an expression of cold, terrible rage. She had the - look of a tiger, an expression thoroughly foreign to our Occidental - countenances. With the force of will which the Japanese display in - the face of death, Hanako was enabled to hold this look for hours. - - Little by little, under the sculptor's fingers, the mask of - clay reflected all this. It cried out revenge without mercy, the - thirst, for blood. A baffling contrast this--the spirit of a wild - beast appearing on the human countenance. - - I have one of these studies before me now. It has been cast - in a composition of colored glass, and the vivid flesh coloring - lends reality to the work. This mask is not disfigured by rage. The - bloodless head, with its fixed stare, lies on a white cushion, and - no one escapes its disquieting influence. Some people shudder - when they see it. "One might think it the head of a dead person," - they say. - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MRS. X----.] - - Whenever I enter the spacious room I am irresistibly drawn - toward it. My feelings are different every time, but always there - is a feeling of uneasiness. I cannot say that it resembles death; - on the contrary, it is so lifelike that it is almost supernatural. - One might call it a condemned person, a being so terrified by the - approach of death that all the blood has rushed to the heart. It - is a spirit frozen with fear, the eyes looking toward the unknown, - the large nostrils scenting death. The bulging forehead, the high, - Mongolian cheek-bones, and the flat nose make the face still more - singular. All the lines of the face run toward the mouth, with its - remarkable expression. Obstinate, although conquered, it will draw - its last breath without a cry. - - Meanwhile life seems to throb in every cell. This head, so - like a being that has been put to death, has the soft, pliant flesh - of a ripe fruit. - - At night I return to look at it by the light of a candle. - It looks entirely different. The shadows vary as I move the - candle, and the features grow mobile. How gentle and touching it - seems now! It is no longer bloodthirsty and savage; that exotic - expression which repelled me has quite disappeared. These features, - expressing the innermost self under a stress of emotions, reveal a - poor creature that has loved and suffered. It is a pitiable face - that has been molded by life. I have seen that same sad, tired - expression of anguish in one whose whole strength is gone, but who - still makes an effort to understand misfortune in order to strive - against it. I have seen it on my mother's face when one of us was - ill. - - * * * * * - -A MORNING IN THE GARDEN - -It is still night; the dawn is just breaking. I open my window to let -the refreshing air drive away my drowsiness. From the end of the garden, -in the underbrush, and now all about me, I hear much lively chirping. It -tells of the blessing of love, of springtime. - -It is almost day. The blackbird has ended his scene of love; no one was -about when he sang his song of spring and harmony. The flowers listened, -and blossomed at the call of this unseen Orpheus. The air is laden with -misty melodies. These songs do not disturb the silence; they are part -of it. Later we shall still hear the happy call of birds, but no longer -these songs of love that proclaim the eternal reign of our mother earth. - -Now is the time for sighs of happiness; the flowers consecrate -themselves to the beautifying of Demeter, goddess of the under-world. -Orpheus searches for Eurydice; he calls her, and his notes break the -harmonious silence. - -I must bathe my brows in the vague mist, in the fragrance of the earth, -in the light of the dawning day. Spacious room, I leave you. I shall -return to you to work, for here only have I known complete silence. - -I hurry into the garden, where I find inspiring freshness. I had looked -forward to it; my whole body was awaiting it. A sprouting twig proclaims -the fullness of life. I am freed from the memory of yesterday, born anew -for all the seasons to come. In the _palais_ thoughts are more subdued -and modest, content to be bounded by the splendid proportions of the -apartments--proportions that are correct, but nothing more. - -The flight of time is marked by the song of the blackbird, and, as in -Mozart's music, one cannot quite define whence its charm springs. It -is everywhere, to the right, to the left. That voice seems to pierce -through the gaps and hollows of the wood, for now one hears it as an -echo, now as a solo, at the farthest end of the wood. - -My flight of steps is my place for reflection, my _salle de pas -perdus_.[1] At the foot of the steps the verdant carpet, sown with -little stars of green, stretches out. It might be an old Arabian -material or a rich marble. Bits of earth are to be seen in delicate gray -patches. The shadow of night still enshrouds the garden in a cloudy -veil. In the distance, outlined against the horizon, are the bleak walls -of houses, like huge stones. About me stretches that enormous Babylon, -that Paris where my tired nerves relax, where the substance of my life -is woven, where my heart has found appreciation and no reproach, and -where my mind, imbued with the true knowledge of life, has taught my -soul the gracious lesson of submission. - -This broad, beautiful lane is like a Corot, and recalls his nymphs. -The bare trees look like limbs. A bright carpet of turf moistens their -roots. Now a rabbit runs by. In the distance the carriages rumble like -artillery. This is a fitting haunt for fauns, their rustic arbor. -The trees serve as a roof, their green shoots melting into the sky. -The freshness of new life is everywhere, and little exclamations of -admiration spring from every creature. - -With this universal youth new thoughts are born. In this delightful -retreat one feels that only an antique statue could add to its beauty. - -The trees expand with vigor, their buds outlined against the sky. The -rest of the lane seems an avenue of enchantment. Far down at the end -I seem to see happiness. But no, I am wrong: it is not only in the -distance; it is here, all about me, now. - -The slanting rays of the sun strike the trees and the grass; over -the lane bluish shadows play. The spreading shade of the trees falls -softly on the fresh green. Those little dashes of blue among the grass -are forget-me-nots. Those beautiful trees, garbed only since a week -ago, trail their lovely green draperies on the ground, while detached -garlands cling to the shrubs. - -The majesty of youth in nature is unique; it is charm itself, an -inimitable thing. Yet some men of genius have been able to express the -spirit of spring. - -[Illustration: RODIN IN HIS GARDEN.] - -The very soul of meditation dwells in this garden, in this alley of -trees. Polyhymnia, the Muse, in her graceful draperies, walks with me, -and I follow her reverently. - -Away from the turmoil, I can forget the constant hurry of our days. How -we allow ourselves to be harassed! Reaching out for everything without -possessing anything truly, we do not even realize what treasures we have -lost. A few puffs of empty air are not poetry, and seeing happiness in -the distance is not enjoying it. What hurries you? Ah, your life is out -there, elsewhere? Go, then; but I shall remain here with the antique in -my charming garden. - -I will sit down on this old stone bench, surrounded by dense shrubs. The -dead wood is piled in little heaps. The tree-tops form a semicircle, -and stand out like a pantheon against the sky. The branches bear the -marks of lightning and grow in zigzag. The sap of the earth rises in the -arteries of the trees, ever ready to take part in the great festival of -spring. - -Now the charm of the alley consists in the differences of light and -shade. As the one strives to advance, the other recedes toward the dale. -The shadows disperse for the morning, leaving behind their beneficent -moisture for their friends, the flowers of this dale. - -Before me, on a knoll, stands a beautiful column, as if in prayer. It -seems to have sprung from the kingdom of Pluto, and now, like us, it -stands in the bright sunlight, a part of the out-of-doors. - -Stone, pure and beautiful material, destined for the work of men, just -as flax is destined for the work of women. A gift scarcely hidden -under the earth, man has seized upon stones with rapture, carefully -drawing them from their dark hiding-place, to raise them on high as in -church towers, making them tractable, transforming the crude rocks, -and appropriating them for masterpieces. Under the protection of man's -sacrilegious hand, these stones lend beauty to our cities. They have a -tender sympathy with the trees, the roots of which join their own. - -Both hard and soft stones have a place in man's esteem. Sculpture has -glorified them. The column is like a tree, but simpler than a tree, with -a silent life of its own. And like the plants which cling about it, it -also has its foliage and leaves. The artist who conceived the Sphinx -made her to be the guardian of temples and secrets. - -That column there rises up like a druid-stone, as though to converse -with the moon at night. It awaits the appearance of man in the solemn -ritual of night, for in its immensity it bears witness that man has -created it. Man, too, has had his part, an ephemeral part, in the -creation; his idea strives with the works of God, as Israel strove with -the angel. His illuminating thought, expressed in stone, arouses those -who otherwise might be insensible to beauty. The hand of man, like the -hand of God, can transform a soul and make it new. - -Mystery in which I have lived, but which I understand only now that I am -about to depart. The marvel of it all! And to think that one must leave -it! Well, that is the lot of all other living creatures. - -And now the blue of the sky has grown darker, without a shadow, while -beauty itself has taken its abode in these avenues of trees. Now and -then passing clouds dim the glory of this splendid youth of nature, but -the green is brilliant even in the shadow. High up among the trees, I -see a blue river, the sky, while the great clouds, mountains of water, -are hanging above to quench the thirst of the flowers. - - -[Footnote 1: _Salle de pas perdus_ is the name given to the large hall -of the Gare St. Lazare, Paris.] - - - -AN ANTIQUE FRAGMENT - -Twenty times a day I walk in front of this little torso. I bring all my -friends to see it, for Greek sculpture is the very source of beauty. - -Why am I surprised whenever I look upon this torso? I think it is -because nature, which is behind this work of art, always calls forth -new, unlooked-for sensations. - -Venus, glorious Venus, model of all women, your purity survives even -after two thousand years. Your charm charms me--me who have admirers for -my own sculpture. Before you they remain cold; but I, with a spirit that -sees further--I admit my defeat as an artist, my poor ability vanishes -before your grace. - -Form, as I used to express it, seems a mere illusion before the -harmonious strength of your lines, which embody the very truth of -life. Divine fragment, I shall live by you! What days you recall -to me! Perhaps the last moments of the soul of Greek sculpture, -ever-increasingly my Muse. - -This torso shows the suppleness and strength of the joints. It is a -summing-up of former masterpieces of the artist. Those endless studies -that grow into experience and all the qualities of balance are here -concealed beneath the beauty and the gracious inspiration of the figure. -The inspired sculptor has just discovered all these qualities, and in -appreciation has given expression to them with his very soul. - -An antique piece of sculpture cannot be imitated. This torso seems to -have a soul. Are not the shadows trembling on it there? One can see them -move. - -What a progress toward truth we find in the advance from Assyrian and -Egyptian to Greek art! Antique things, if we knew how to look at them, -would bring about a new renaissance for us, we who stagnate in the -Parisian spirit. The Parisian spirit, young though it is, is already -too old to serve us. It is like those pretentious monuments, those -constructions in plaster, which are hollow and horrible under their -crumbling stucco. - -Greece was the land of sculpture beyond all others. The subject of -their sculpture was life. The people concealed it under names and -symbols,--Jupiter, Apollo, Venus, the fauns,--but behind all these was -the eternal truth of life. - -This torso on my table looks as though it had been washed to the shore -by the loving waves, as boats are stranded on the beach at low tide. -What more beautiful offering could be made to men and gods? For is this -fragment not an eternal prayer? - -The thoughts expressed in this torso are numerous, infinite. I could -write about it forever. Do I bring these thoughts with me? Is it I who -put them into the marble? No, for when it is out of my sight, this -divinity of life vanishes from me at the same time. Since it ceases -to be in me, it must be the fragment which possesses it. It teaches a -sculptor more than any professor could. It whispers secrets to me, and -if I am true to it, it will tell me more and more; it will transform -me in harmony with the soul of its friend, the Greek sculptor. For are -not the thoughts of God expressed all the world over? Are they not the -fruitful germs, now growing within a brain, now in a beautiful grouping -of stone, and now captured by those magicians, the poets? And are -sculptors, too, not like poets? - -Where can one find more perfect harmony than in this fragment? It is -a monument. And is it not providential? It is only a fragment, yet it -seems to embody the whole Acropolis. Truth, that lasting joy, fills in -all that is missing. It is a fact that this torso, which weighs one -hundred and sixty pounds, seems as light as the woman herself would -be, as light as her gracious, swelling flesh. I know contours, but the -contours of a masterpiece always surprise me anew. Whenever I see you, -beautiful little torso, my eyes and my soul feast on you. Masterpiece, -you are my master, too. - -If, as they say, stones have fallen from heaven, this surely must be one -of them. I leave it in the condition in which I found it, as it first -appealed to me, with all its charm, as I carried it in my arms to this -table. The changing lights of day mold it; but I shall not touch it, I -shall not change it. It is truth itself, and it shines in no matter what -surroundings. - -This torso has within it the seductiveness of woman, that garden of -pleasure the secret charms of which imbue old and young alike with a -terrible power. Feminine charm which crushes our destiny, mysterious -feminine power that retards the thinker, the worker, and the artist, -while at the same time it inspires them--a compensation for those who -play with fire! - -It is not by analysis that you will learn to understand art, you who are -ignorant. Greek art eludes the imbeciles and ignorant who have always -undervalued it. How can one comprehend this beauty by mere analysis? -Where lies the secret of force? It is ever shifting. And the shadow, -so genially arranged, varies with the way the light strikes it. In -art, what do we call life? That which speaks to you through all your -senses. If this torso were to bleed, it could not be more lifelike. The -harmony of its lines dominates my soul. The soul lives and grows on -masterpieces. That is why we have a soul. - -Is it surprising, then, that I live with these antiques of mine, poets -far more inspiring than any of our day? They have created beings that -will live to survive us. - - - -AN EVENING IN THE GARDEN - -I leave my exacting work always more and more its slave. Walking, -because of its regularity, always refreshes me. Such a walk means -a great deal to me. It puts my nerves into a state of delightful -tranquillity. - -The trees are still bare of leaves and have a wintry look. At their -base there are dainty sprouts, clouds of green. The lawns are ponds of -emerald green. The charm of this alley is partly due to the twigs and -shoots that sprout out of the ground and spring up like a cloud of lace. - -There is a faint decline in this soft brightness, for now the sun is -setting. The sun-god is moderating his power for the benefit of the -little flowers which otherwise would dry up and fade. This is the hour -when the sun lends full value to the works of man, so that architecture -stands out in all its beauty, while at the same time the sun softly -colors the lovely clouds. - -The pediment of the Palais Biron is brilliant in the sunlight. The -balcony casts shadows on the grimacing consoles, and the shell-work is -luminous in this glorious light. The window-panes glow in glory. The -great staircase seems arranged for ladies to descend on their way to -the garden, graciously trailing their long robes, which rustle over the -steps. - -Like a pilgrim, full of hope, who rests a moment at the gates of a town, -and breathes the balmy evening air, so I seat myself in this garden. -The hour passes quickly, but it could not be better employed than in -absorbing these marvels. - -When the sun drops behind the horizon, with its glowing colors like the -flaming fires of a forge, our hearts are filled with wonder and awe. -It gilds all in a last golden glory of triumph, the sky so brilliant -that one cannot define the line of the horizon. There, where the sun -disappeared, the sky is now orange. Everything is fading away; another -immensity spreads out before us. The glory of night is about to extend -over the firmament its melancholy charm. - -[Illustration: THE POET AND THE MUSES.] - -The corner of this garden is a corner of happiness, a corner of -eternity. Here thoughts can thrive and worship, for here they have -everything. For the great things in life are not the exceptional things, -but the beauties of every day, which we do not stop to notice. These -vast treasures, within our grasp, which we do not even touch, they are -the things that count. - -The public believes that one is happy in the admiration of nature; but -there are various degrees of happiness. Doubtless a glorious feeling of -admiration may take hold of one; but if one does not constantly cling -to one's admiration as a matter of habit, one grows weary and becomes -superficial. Indeed, I do not know why we demand another life, since we -have not learned to enjoy and understand this one fully. In any case, if -we find this a bad world, it is our fault. We are childish about it. We -belittle one another wilfully. Fancy the trees doing that, if one could -suspect them of such a thing! - -When I descend the steps, I am overwhelmed by that fluid which is life. -I am in touch with life. What more can I want? This tenderness which -surrounds me everywhere, this ever-varying nature which says so much to -me, the atmosphere which envelops me--am I already in heaven, or am I a -poet? - - - - -V - -THE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC - - - One of Rodin's friends, M. Leon Bourgeois, the eminent, - highly cultivated French statesman, has said, "Rodin is himself - a cathedral." This remark wonderfully characterizes Rodin's - intellectuality as it appears to us to-day. Rich in years and - experience, his intellect is in truth as complicated as a - cathedral, but like it, too, superbly simple in its general - structure. His intellect possesses the wealth of detail that makes - up life and the calm balance of the laws that govern nature. His - mind, formed on principles scrupulously controlled by observation, - abounds in that wonderful artistic imagination which is the poetry - of life. Ever renewing itself, ever active, his mind inspires - intense confidence because it is deeply rooted in truth. It looks - at its subjects of study with such conscientious devotion that it - perceives every phase of reality; for it is only love such as this, - a love springing not from impatience and passion, but from faith - and hope, that is always victorious in the end. - - Churches! He lives near them, so as to study them in the - fleeting changes of the hours. He likes to be enveloped by the - sound of the church bells that for seven or eight centuries have - spoken the same language of discipline to the spirit of France. - Day and night he visits the naves. There his soul feels the sacred - mystery. The churches are truly the cradle of his artistic faith. - - But it is only recently that the joys which he drew from them - reached their height; for although he was long under the influence - of Gothic art, that most extraordinary product of the hand of - man, only in the last few years has he learned to penetrate its - principles and understand its methods. - - How often in my youth I questioned him about the cathedrals! - He always replied with that caution which in deep natures is a - form of deference: "I am pervaded by the marvel of this art; but - I cannot as yet explain it to myself. The Gothic is the world - foreshortened. Where am I to begin? For more than thirty years - I have been accumulating and comparing my observations. Perhaps - eventually I shall succeed in deducing the rule, the law of divine - intelligence; but perhaps I shall not have sufficient time. Then it - will be the task of another, younger than myself, who will start - his researches earlier, and who, besides, will have been informed - by me." - - On his return from each of these pilgrimages he was possessed - by the happy restlessness of one who would soon be able to give - expression to his secret. One felt that "the law of divine - intelligence" was being formulated in his mind. I then hoped and - expected that soon he would reap the fruit of his long labors. - - At last one day Rodin took me to Notre Dame, beautiful among - the beautiful, despite the modern restorations that have detracted - from the grace and suppleness of its sculpture. Notre Dame of Paris - is beautiful in itself and in its situation on the banks of the - Seine, that river of feminine grace, which in its innocent course - draws with it the memory of many terrible historic events. - - From Notre Dame to Saint-Eustache, from the Tour Saint-Jacques - to Saint-Etienne-du-Mont, during this long walk of ours Rodin - talked, quite unaware of the curious glances of those who - recognized him, and of the scoffing of the street urchins, who - mistook the great Frenchman for a stranger discovering the capital - of France. Later he gave me numerous notes that supplemented his - conversations. - - His words and notes combined form the clearest and most - important lesson on Gothic art that has been handed down since the - days of the Gild of the Francs-Macons, by one of their own sort, a - craftsman such as they were, a veritable sculptor, a stone-cutter - loving the material in which he works. - - Has Rodin, after so thoroughly grasping the secrets of the - builders of bygone days, never felt the desire to apply them in the - execution of some work of architecture? Was he never tempted by - their example and by that of Michelangelo to expand his resources - beyond those of the sculptor? Those who know the creative power - and the vastness of imagination of the modeler of "The Burghers of - Calais" and of "The Gate of Hell" may well ask this question. - - Well, yes, he has had that great dream, which in more prolific - times would have become a glorious reality. He hoped to revive - the spirit of a day when a whole nation of artists covered France - with masterpieces; he hoped to organize labor collectively, and - to gather about him a legion of artisans to work together on a - monument which should become in a certain sense the cathedral of - the modern age. - - He even drew up plans for that wonderful project, the subject - of which was to be the glorification of labor, that triumphant - force of our present civilization. He did not plan to rival the - Gothic style, the prodigious achievement of which would have - required throngs of workmen thoroughly organized and disciplined, - well trained under the system of master and apprentice, - accomplishing their common task in the joy of work and the - enthusiasm of faith. He planned to approximate the art of the - Renaissance, less removed from modern intellectuality, and simpler - of execution. - -[Illustration: THE TOWER OF LABOR.] - - In Rodin's studio at Meudon one can see the plan for this - monument. The axis is a high column calling to mind Trajan's - Column, and, like it, covered with bas-reliefs. A tower broken - by large openings, as in the Tower of Pisa, encircles it. In the - interior a gradually inclining way leads one from the base to the - top along the bas-reliefs. These represent all the active crafts - and trades: those of the cities, such as masons, carpenters, - weavers, bakers, brewers, glass-workers, and goldsmiths; and - those of the country, such as plowmen, harvesters, vintagers, - vine-dressers, shepherds, and farmers. On the exterior, between - the arches, stand statues of the great geniuses that have led - humanity, whose efforts have raised them to celestial heights; that - is, to the peace and happiness of creating. There great thinkers, - inventors, and artists have their niches, just as the prophets - have theirs in the vaults of cathedrals. The edifice rests on a - crypt where groups of sculpture are devoted to the glorification - of work under the earth and its obscure heroes, miners, divers, - pearl-fishers. At the time when the plan for this monument was - advanced, and was exciting the imagination of European writers and - journalists, an ardent admirer of Rodin even proposed to build - the tomb of the master under the crypt, where he would have had a - resting-place worthy of a Pharaoh. On each side of the entrance is - a statue representing Morning and Evening, and at the summit of - the column two angels, messengers of God, their hands outstretched - toward the earth with a gesture of exquisite tenderness, shed the - blessings of heaven on the work of man. - - Alas! this noble, stirring project will not be realized during - the life of the artist. Will there some day be another possessed of - the ardor and love of beauty necessary to build this mountain of - stone? - - For a time Rodin's friends hoped that America, the nation of - work par excellence, would seize upon this idea. They pictured - the philanthropists of the New World in characteristic fashion - pouring forth millions for this work of universal art and national - glorification; they saw Rodin being called to the United States, - gathering about him not only American artists, but all the - intelligent forces of the world of culture. They saw the Tower - of Labor, with its angels bestowing their benediction over some - formidable industrial city, New York, Pittsburgh, or Chicago. - This might have been the starting-point for a new era of art, for - nothing is more contagious than the realization of beauty in actual - form. - - Doubtless the writers of France did not discuss the matter - long or forcibly enough, and the Tour de Travail, which might have - been the ardent expression of a whole race, will remain the idea - of a solitary genius, a last offshoot of the masters of the Middle - Ages. - - But if the hour has not yet struck for the construction of - the modern cathedral, at least we possess, thanks to the man who - dreamed of erecting it, the secrets and principles of those who - constructed the cathedrals of bygone days. - - * * * * * - -To acquire a thorough and fruitful understanding of the cathedrals, we -must break away from the narrow and cold spirit of the present day. The -spirit of our time does not harmonize in architecture with the monuments -of the past. - -First let us contemplate the whole. The church is a cliff. The -construction of the slender side springing up is quite in the spirit of -our race. The Gothic towers are stones set up like Druidic monuments. -The church is laid out like a dolmen, and the towers are the menhirs. -Like the menhirs, they have beautiful, flexible lines; they possess the -eloquence of natural outlines, which are never cold or meager. - -The line of the Gothic tower is slightly curved, swelling like that of -a barrel. A straight line is hard and cold. The Greeks perceived that; -they refrained from straight lines, and the columns of their temples -also show a slight swelling. - -The two sides of the Gothic tower are not alike. The architects -considered that preferable to obvious symmetry. Look at the Tour -Saint-Jacques in Paris. One of the sides shows a long, sloping hollow, -making it look quite different from the other, which, again, is like -stones set on high. The hollowed line permits protuberances, details of -ornamentation that soften and harmonize with the line of the ensemble. -It has been restored, and therefore from near at hand seems cold, for -our workmen have lost the science and art of modeling. But the beauty of -the general structure remains; they could not detract from that. - -This softened line, this line full of life, is one of the chief -characteristics of the Gothic. The sky of our northern climates ordained -it so, for the architects of the Middle Ages carved their monuments -out of doors. Once the general plan was established, they easily found -the details while working with their tools, guided by the light and -influenced by natural conditions. - -Our light is not that of Greece. Humanity the world over is akin; but -to what the Greek expressed in a chastened manner, in keeping with his -eternally pure light, we have added the oblique slant of our sun, our -reality, our country, our autumns, the sting of our winters, our less -definite spirit, our remoteness from the glaring Olympian sun; and, last -of all, we have added our trees. - -We also have light, but it is frequently obscured by passing clouds. Is -it not natural that we should reproduce them in our art? And the line, -the abundant line, is more accentuated in the half-night of our long -autumns. Thus we are more in the mood of our woods and our forests. Our -souls have more shadows than the Greek soul, our determinations are more -varied; for our clouds and our forests are reflected in our hearts. - -Artists, let us, then, revert to the interpretation of our race, but in -the spirit, not in the letter. Let us copy only the soul of our external -nature, not its Gothic form, for a mere copy is cold and dead. Beautiful -architecture is a reproduction by man, but from a divine model. From -this it receives the warmth of life. If architecture is true to the -spirit of nature, it is embraced by the trees, the rocks, the clouds; -they are the silent company of beauty. - -O Cathedral! Sphinx of Northern life! although mutilated, are you not -eternal? Do you cease to live? From a distance, and in the evening, when -dusk sets in, you seem truly a great sphinx crouching in the country. - -The drama that unfolds itself on the stone pages of the churches recalls -to us with a very few gestures and movements the silent drama of -antiquity, the sculptures, illustrations of AEschylus and Sophocles. - -From the Greek type, in truth, sprang the thoughts that guide man, and -again from the Egyptian granite; and eventually from the stone of the -Gothic, that Gothic which leads to the period of Louis XVI, and which in -France is always the principal path of art. Other styles were derived -from it, those of the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, and -eighteenth centuries. Their basis is Gothic; therefore the Gothic is the -fundamental style, which ought to keep us from the path of decadence, -if that is possible. You do not understand it? You say you prefer the -Greek? O ye mortals that wish to pass judgment on all matters, take -heed lest these masterpieces prevail against you! The cathedral is as -beautiful, perhaps more beautiful, than the Parthenon. If you do not -understand this style, then you are still further removed from the -Greek, which is of another country and epoch. It is more beautiful, -perhaps more concise, more marble; but we belong more with stone and -forests, we are more autumnal, more of the cold and melancholy season. - - - -THE GOTHIC BUILDERS ARE REALISTS - -Do not let us lose sight of the fact that beneath this poem of stone -there is a foundation of knowledge based on a close and comprehensive -study. - -To-day I understand it. As a result of study, one truth after another -comes to light. At the outset one is lost before these marvels. Where -is one to begin studying? One's thoughts and one's admiration rise like -clouds. The mind makes prodigious leaps to grasp again what it already -knows, to combine it with the recently acquired knowledge, to attempt to -draw conclusions which simplify and generalize the study, and thus to -discern the fundamental law. - -For a long time during my youth I thought, like many others, that Gothic -art was poor. I was so ungrateful during the first enthusiasm of my -liberty! I learned to understand its grandeur only through traveling. -Observation and work led me back to the right road. In the course of my -efforts I have grasped the meaning of the thoughts of the masters. My -persistent work was not futile, and, like one of the Magi, I have at -last come to bow in humble reverence before them. - -A true artist must penetrate the primordial principles of creation; only -by understanding the beautiful does he become inspired, and that not -through a sudden awakening of his sensibilities, but by slow penetration -and perception, by patient love. The mind need not be quick, for slow -progress should imply precaution in every direction. - -The Gothic builders are the greatest observers of nature that have ever -existed, the greatest realists, despite all that professors and critics -say to the contrary. They call them idealists. They say the same of the -Greeks and of all artists whose profound knowledge has enabled them to -borrow their effects and charm from nature. Idealists! That is a term -which signifies nothing and merely confounds cause and effect. - -Builders of the Middle Ages, you independent scholars, models of a -profound intelligence, this is what our age has found as an explanation -of your masterpieces! - -I have devoted my whole life in endeavoring to catch a glimpse of -the rules, the secrets of experience, which you transmitted to one -another, and it is only now, when my days are numbered, that I am at -last grasping the synthesis of beauty. To whom shall I confide the -fruit of my research? Some future genius will gather it. The cathedral -is eternal, rising toward the sky. When we think it has attained its -ultimate height, it rises again higher still, like a mountain of truth. - - - -PLANS AND OPPOSITIONS - -The architects of our churches subordinated detail to arrive at a more -effective whole. That is why our churches are so beautiful when seen -from a distance. They sacrificed everything to the essential, the "plan." - -The plan? Like all synthetic conceptions, this is difficult to define. -It is the space that an object displaces in the atmosphere, its volume. -When an artist is able to determine exactly the space an object occupies -in the atmosphere, be he painter, sculptor, or architect, he possesses -the real science of plans. - -What is detail in a plan? Nothing. The towers of the church at Bruges -are superb in their bareness, while our modern houses, overladen with -detail, are hideous to look upon. Of the two towers of the cathedral at -Chartres, the one is bare, just a huge wall; the other is covered with -ornamentation, and the first is possibly the more beautiful because of -the potency of its plan. What does this force of simplicity express to -us? It is the soul of a nation. A people expresses its nature through -the medium of its architecture. Stones are faithful when we do not -retouch them. They are the signatures of a nation. - -[Illustration: HEADLESS FIGURE.] - -Through the science of plans the great oppositions or contrasts of light -and shadow are obtained. They give life and color to the structure. -According to the position of the sun, the appearance of a building -varies. One part is in the shade, the other in the light, and between -these two is the gradation of shadings. - -The master architects did not set their edifices apart from the -universe; they gave them the benefit of all the phenomena of -nature--dawn and dusk, twilight, cloud effects, haze, and fog. Every -moment of the day adds to or detracts from their effect. - -Sometimes I stand before a cathedral, and it does not seem at all -beautiful. I feel I should like to alter it. Then I revisit it at -another hour and see it in a different lighting. The light strikes it -aslant, the shadows are deeper; the cathedral is absolutely beautiful, -and I feel abashed at my former impatience and critical mistrust. - - - -THE SCIENCE OF EQUILIBRIUM - -These great effects of light and shade, obtained by the plan--effects -simple in their means, yet mysterious in their power of attraction for -us, have strengthened the idea that Gothic art is idealistic. The masses -who see the cathedral dominating the city, with its two slanting roofs -like hands joined at the finger-tips, certainly feel in it the great -idea, the poem. They do not realize that the sentiments aroused in them -by the beauty of the building are wholly due to the science of the plans. - -By means of what principle did the master builders support the weight -of these enormous masses of stone, which yet join lovingly in the -imponderable atmosphere? By obeying the law of equilibrium of the human -body. The human body, standing upright, the feet joined, in equilibrium, -is the basis of the Greek column. Pediments and roof, supported by a -series of these standing bodies, these human columns, that is the Greek -temple. The architecture of the Parthenon reproduces the equilibrium -of the body in a state of rest. In action the body sways; that is to -say, the weight rests on only one leg, while the body inclines to the -opposite side to regain its balance by counterpoise. That is the sway -of Gothic architecture. This sway constitutes the law of motion for the -body of man and animal, ever seeking perfect equilibrium. - -Without this law we could not move; we would be like blocks of stone. -Every motion that we make produces an initial swaying, which an opposing -weight instantaneously balances. Thus without any consciousness on -our part a perpetual balancing is taking place within us, a change as -facile and immediate as the changes which take place in the phenomena -of respiration and circulation. All goes on with the speed, order, and -silence that exist in the domain of electricity. It is a perpetual -prodigy to which we do not even give a thought. - -It is not surprising that the Gothic masters, who copied from all -nature, took from man and animals the charm of balance. - -The ogive (pointed arch) of the cathedral, is achieved by two opposing -thrusts. But the archivolts do not always harmonize with the capitals; -they are not set exactly over them, they are out of the perpendicular. -Two movements of equal force, exactly opposed, cause a stable -equilibrium. Just so the masses of stone are supported by this same -opposition of thrusts. - -The interior of the cathedral is high and vast, broken by large windows -that diminish the resistance and help to support the great weight. It -was necessary to find a way of reestablishing the equilibrium, lest the -nave break down under its own weight. That is the purpose of the flying -buttresses. Like the arms of giants, they throw their opposing weight -against the exterior walls. - -Some have drawn the conclusion that cathedrals are imperfect, since they -cannot stand without this support. It is a characteristic idea of our -age. Just as though one would reproach the human body for bearing first -on one leg and then on the other. - -These powerful buttresses are wonderfully effective in their contrast -to the lacework of the sculpture. What is more beautiful than Notre -Dame in Paris at night, with its island as its pedestal? It is the huge -skeleton of the France of the Middle Ages which appears to us here. How -attractive the light and shade on the buttresses! Indeed, it took genius -to bring out beauty in that which is in reality only the skeleton of the -edifice, and which could be offensive, were it badly carried out. - - - -THE LACEWORK OF STONE - -The Gothic style exists by virtue of oppositions, contrasts in effects -and in balance. They built huge bare walls, but in the upper heights -ornamentation flourishes and abounds. There the "increase and multiply" -of the Bible has been figuratively carried out. - -Once the basis of construction was established, the masons embellished -the "line" by admirable ornamentation, due to their splendid -workmanship. We should never forget that modeling supplies the -life-blood to the mass; without it we can have neither grace nor power. - -Formerly I did not understand the architecture; I merely saw the -lacework of the Gothic. But even in my conception of that I was -mistaken, for I thought it a caprice of genius. I did not know that it -had a scientific _raison d'etre_; namely, to break and soften the line. -Now I see its importance: it rounds off the outlines; it gives them life -and warmth. These statues, these graceful caryatids, propping up the -portals, these copings in the covings, are like vegetation which softens -the rigid summit of a wall. There again we find the Gothic artists as -skilful colorists as the cleverest painters, because they have gained -insight from the vegetation of our country. In our plants, in our trees, -all is light and shadowy, and from them they gained their wonderful -mastery of the art of depth, which brings out the finest shadings of -light, the mellowness of half-tints. To-day we misuse black, the medium -of power. We use it too extensively; we put it everywhere for the sake -of effect, and therefore lose its effect entirely. - -The Gothic is nature transposed and reproduced in stone. To show -admiration for this form of art is to preserve the memory of the -creation. The artist is the confidant of nature. Shakspere says in "King -Lear," we - - ... take upon 's the mystery of things, - As if we were God's spies. - - - -THE NAVE - -A church is spread out like a dolmen between two menhirs. The interior -breathes the solemn calm of a forest, the columns are the trees, the -masses of the base are the rocks, the pointed arches are the massive -roots, the vaultings are the caves, and the windows are radiant flowers -in large bowls. When I emerge from the darkness of a cathedral, I feel -as if I came from the shadow of a vast, extinguished world. - -Without the brightening light of the stained-glass windows, our churches -would be sad. In Spain the gloom is funereal, but the genius of France -has understood how to capture the caressing light through its windows. -The productiveness of the Celtic spirit is also noticeable in the -capitals. Gothic art abandoned Greek ornament, which had been reproduced -so often that it lost all significance. It found its models in the woods -and gardens. From the oak it took its crown of foliage, from the thistle -and cabbage their gracefully drooping leaves, and from the bramble -its intertwined thorns. They made wonderful capitals by reversing the -acanthus, and copying the languid grace of falling blossoms. - -The cathedral of Bourges--the vastness of this church makes me tremble. -One might say there are three churches in its three naves. Grandeur -demands repetition. The superbness of this work of architecture -enforces silence. People attribute their emotion here to religious -sentiment alone, and do not realize that it is due also to the correct -calculations of art. They do not realize that the impressive darkness -of the vast church, its lighting, the wax tapers here, and the -daylight with its brilliancy there, have all been planned beforehand. -The stained-glass windows of Bourges are dazzling, almost terrible, in -their beauty. There are flashes as red as blood, and dashes of blue, a -flame--the wounds of Christ, the funeral pile of Jeanne d'Arc. When the -sun sinks, the bright light will fade away; then we have before us only -the charming effect of bowls of flowers. - -The legends which are told on the stained-glass are good enough to amuse -children; but the glass itself, the splendor of its colors, the extent -to which it harmonizes with the nave--all that is the actual result and -object of profound thought. The Middle Ages put life into everything; -they worshiped life. They drew extensively from nature, wisely realizing -that its source is inexhaustible, while the day of man is fleeting. - - - -THE MOLDING - -The science of plans, balance of volumes, and proportion in the moldings -govern the spirit of Gothic art. Of late I believe I have discovered how -the masters struck upon the beautiful Gothic molding, that undulating -molding which gives so much suppleness to the architecture. I have found -something new in the well-known, and beauty in forms which I did not -understand before. This change is due above all to my work. Having -always studied more intensely, I can say that I have always loved more -ardently. - -I believe the masters of Gothic art got their ideas of molding through -their understanding of the human body, and perhaps above all of the body -of woman. The body, that human column, seen in profile is a line of -projections and protuberances, of the nose, the chin, the breast, the -flank. Thence springs the beautiful undulating line which is the outline -of Gothic molding. For Gothic molding, like the Greek, is soft and -swelling. The "doucine" (a molding, concave above, convex below), a term -of the trade, tender as the name of a woman, well expresses the charm of -the beautiful French molding. - -The proportions of molding exist in nature, but in such form that we -have not yet been able to subject them to rules. It required men of -positive taste, of most profound understanding, to grasp the harmony of -these proportions and to express them in sculpture. One might say the -Gothic architects understood molding by means of their intelligence as -well as by means of their heart. - -By means of the cathedral the artists of the Middle Ages have shown -us the most impressive drama in existence--the mass. The mass has the -grandeur of the antique drama. Greek tragedies are in fact only a form -of the mass. The human mind starts afresh at different epochs. When the -priest officiates, his gestures have the beauty of the antique, and this -beauty merges into that of the church music, that sublime tongue, the -voice of the sea. Then, when the crowds prostrate themselves, when they -arise simultaneously, the undulation of their bending bodies is like the -waves of the ocean. Truly the Gothic master builders were the familiar -friends of the sublime. From what source did these men spring! From what -minds did those ideas arise! God has shared his power with some of his -sons. - - - - -VI - -ART AND NATURE - - -Criticizing nature is as stupid as criticizing the cathedrals. It is the -vice of our cold and petty age to criticize. It is the evil of decadent -races. We are constantly being told that we live in an age of progress, -an age of civilization. That is perhaps true from the point of view of -science and mechanics; from the point of view of art it is wholly false. - -Does science give happiness? I am not aware of it; and as to mechanics, -they lower the common intelligence. Mechanics replace the work of the -human mind with the work of a machine. That is the death of art. It is -that which has destroyed the pleasure of the inner life, the grace of -that which we call industrial art--the art of the furniture-maker, the -tapestry-worker, the goldsmith. It overwhelms the world with uniformity. -Once artisans created; to-day they manufacture. Once they rejoiced in -the pleasure of making a work of art; to-day the workman is so bored in -his shop that he has invented sabotage and has made alcoholism general. - -The sight of a modern monument throws one into melancholy even while -an ancient one has not ceased to enrapture. I visit a small city, and, -losing my train, am obliged to wait for the next one. I take a walk -about the ancient church, a delicious thing, very simple, but with its -Gothic ornaments placed with taste, in a delicate relief that, in the -light, provides an enchantment for my friendly glances. In the little -nave, which invites to calm, to thought,--thought as soft and composed -as the light shadows that move slowly across the pillars,--I settle -myself. Ah, I come away charmed. If I had waited in the station, I would -have been wearied to death, and would have returned home fatigued and -discontented. As it is, I have gained something--the beautiful counsels -of moderation and the fine charm of a monument of former days. - -Art alone gives happiness. And I call art the study of nature, the -perpetual communion with her through the spirit of analysis. - -He who knows how to see and feel may find everywhere and always things -to admire. He who knows how to see and feel is preserved from ennui, -that _bete noire_ of modern society. He who sees and feels deeply never -lacks the desire to express his feelings, to be an artist. Is not nature -the source of all beauty? Is she not the only creator? It is only by -drawing near to her that the artist can bring back to us all that she -has revealed to him. - -When one says this, the public thinks it a commonplace. All the world -believes that it knows that; but it knows it only in seeming, the truth -penetrates only the superficial shell of its intelligence. There are -so many degrees in real comprehension! Comprehension is like a divine -ladder. Only he who has reached the top rounds has a view of the world. -The public is astonished or shocked when some one goes against its -preconceived notions, against the prejudices of a badly interpreted or -degenerate tradition. Words are nothing; the deed alone counts. It is -not by reading manuals of esthetics, but by leaning on nature herself -that the artist discovers and expresses beauty. - -Alas! we are not prepared to see and to feel. Our sorry education, far -from cultivating in us the feeling for enthusiasm, makes us in our -youth little pedants who without result overwhelm ourselves and others -with our pretensions. Those who too late, by long efforts, escape this -demon of folly arrive only after that education has fatally sapped their -strength and has destroyed the flower of enthusiasm that God had planted -in them as a sign of His paradise. People without enthusiasm are like -men who carry their flags pointed down to the ground instead of proudly -above their heads. - -Constantly I hear: "What an ugly age! That woman is plain. That dog is -horrible." It is neither the age nor the woman nor the dog which is -ugly, but your eyes, which do not understand. One generally disparages -the things that are above one's comprehension. Disparagement is the -child of ignorance. As soon as you discover that, you enter into the -circle of joy. - -[Illustration: RODIN'S HOUSE AND STUDIO AT MEUDON.] - -Man, animals, down to the smallest insects, down to the infinitesimal; -the earth, the waters, the woods, the sky--all are marvelous. The -firmament is the vastest landscape, the most profound, the most -enchanting, with its variations, its effects of color and light, which -delight the eye, astonish the thought, and subjugate the heart. And -to say that artists--those who consider themselves such--attempt to -represent all that simply as it appears to them, without having studied -it, without having deciphered it, without having felt it! I pity them. -They are prisoners, slaves of stupidity. - -I was like them in the first periods of my perverted youth, but I have -delivered myself. I have regained the liberty to approach the things -that I love by the pathway of true study. Who follows me on the road? -Who can learn it from a study of sculpture and design in books? You who -have caught a glimpse of the splendor of that tree, of that giant whose -magnificent column has been denuded by autumn of its leafy capital, -but which is perhaps more beautiful in the nudity of its members; -you who admire the structure of its branches and twigs, etched in an -infinitude of forms against the sky, where they resemble the lacework -of the windows of our churches, would you not understand far better that -beauty, would not your pleasure be far more complete, if you sketched -that tree not only in the mass, but in the innumerable details of its -framework? And to think that the schools recommend to pupils, painters, -and sculptors research on the subject! The subject! The subject does -not exist in that--the poor little arrangement that you, one and all, -summon up while poring over the same anecdotes, the same conventional -attitudes. The human imagination is narrow, and you do not see the -hundred thousand motives of art that multiply themselves under your eye. -I could pass my whole life in the garden where I walk without exhausting -them. - -The subject is everywhere. Every manifestation of nature is a subject. -Artists, pause here! Sketch these flowers; writers, describe them for -me, not in the mass, as has always been done, but in minute detail, -in the marvelous precision of their organs, in their characteristics, -which are as varied as are those of animals and men. How beautiful to -be in the same moment an artist and a botanist, to paint and model the -plant at the same time that one studied it! Those great realists, the -Japanese, understand this, and make the knowledge and cultivation of -plants one of the bases of their education. - -We place love and sensual pleasure in the same category. Undoubtedly -it is nature herself who has led is astray in this by the instinct to -perpetuate ourselves, in youth this instinct is like an overflowing -river; it sweeps away everything, yet pleasure is everywhere about -us. I imbibe it in the forms of the clouds that build their majestic -architecture in the sky, in the rapture of this woman who holds her -child in her arms, an attitude divine, so beautiful indeed, that the -poet of the Gospels has deified it. It is the attitude of the Virgin. I -imbibe it in the atmosphere which bathes me now, and will still continue -to bless me, bringing me peace, rest, and health. - -For that which is beautiful in a landscape is that which is beautiful in -architecture--the air, space. No one in these days realizes its depth. -It is this quality of depth that carries the soul where it wishes to go. -In a well-constructed monument that which enraptures us is the science -of its depths. The throngs in the churches attribute their emotion -to mysticism, to the transport of the soul toward divinity. They are -unaware that they owe their emotion to the exact knowledge of great -planes possessed by the architects of former days. Even upon the most -ignorant beholder they impose this. Man disregards that which he already -has, and longs for something else. He longs for swiftness, to have wings -like a bird. He does not know that he already enjoys this pleasure of -moving through space. He rejoices in it in his soul, which takes wing -and goes where it pleases, through the sky, on the waters, to the depths -of the forests. - -All the misfortune here below arises from a lack of comprehension. We -classify our limited knowledge in narrow systems, like the card-systems -of an office, and these pitiful conventions we take seriously. They -teach us disconnected things, and we leave them disconnected. Those who -have a little patience assemble these isolated facts; but such patient -ones are rare, and nothing is so unbearable as that man who, not having -it, speaks ill of him who has a sense of the truth. To see accurately is -the secret of good design. Objects dart at one another, unite, and throw -light on one another, explain themselves. That is life; a marvelous -beauty covers all things like a garment, like an aegis. - -God created the great laws of opposition, of equilibrium. Good and evil -are brothers, but we desire the good, which pleases us, and not the -evil, which seems to us error. When we consider matters from a distance, -does not evil often seem good, and good, evil? That is only because we -have judged without proper consideration. Just as white and black are -necessary in a drawing, so good and evil are necessary in life. Sorrow -ought not to be cast out. As long as we live it is as strong a part of -life as radiant joy. Without it we would be very ill trained. - -To comprehend nature it is of importance that we never substitute -ourselves for it. The corrections that a man imposes upon himself are a -mass of mistakes. The tiger has claws and teeth and uses them skilfully; -man at times shows himself inferior. Possessing intelligence, too -often he strives to turn to that. Animals respect everything and touch -nothing. The dog loves his master, and has no thought of criticizing -him. The average man does not care that his daughter should be -beautiful. He has in his mind certain ideas of manner and instruction, -and the beauty of his daughter does not enter into the program that he -has made. But the daughter herself feels the influence of nature, and -displays her modest and triumphant movements, which this blind one does -not see, but which fascinate the artist. - -The artist who tells us of his ideal commits the same error that this -average man commits. His ideal is false, in the name of this ideal he -pretends to rectify his model, retouching a profound organism which -admirably combined laws regulate. Through his so-called corrections he -destroys the ensemble; he composes a mosaic instead of creating a work -of art; the faults of his model do not exist. If we correct that which -we call a fault, we simply present something in the place of that which -nature has presented. We destroy the equilibrium; the rectified part is -always that which is necessary to the harmony of the whole. There is -nothing paradoxical here, because a law that is all-powerful keeps the -harmony of opposites. That is the law of life. Everything, therefore, is -good, but we discover this only when our thought acquires power; that -is to say, when it attaches itself indissolubly to nature, for then it -becomes part of a great whole, a part of united and complex forces. -Otherwise it is a miserable, debased, detached part contending with a -whole that is formed of innumerable units. - -Nature, therefore, is the only guide that it is necessary to follow. She -gives us the truth of an impression because she gives us that of its -forms, and if we copy this with sincerity, she points out the means of -uniting these forms and expressing them. - -Sincerity, conscience--these are the true bases of thought in the work -of an artist; but whenever the artist attains to a certain facility of -expression, too often he is wont to replace conscience with skill. The -reign of skill is the ruin of art. It is organized falsehood. Sincerity -with one fault, indeed with many faults, still preserves its integrity. -The facility that believes that it has no faults has them all. The -primitives, who ignored the laws of perspective, nevertheless created -great works of art because they brought to them absolute sincerity. Look -at this Persian miniature, the admirable reverence of this illuminator -for the form of these plants and animals, and the attitudes of these -persons which he has forced himself to render just as he saw them. How -eagerly has he painted that, this man who loved it all! Do you tell me -that his work is bad because he is ignorant of the laws of perspective? -And the great French primitives and the Roman architects and sculptors! -Has it not been repeatedly said that their style is a barbaric style? On -the contrary, it has a formidable beauty. It breathes the sacred awe of -those who have been impressed by the great works of nature herself. It -offers us the strongest proof that these men had made themselves part of -life and also a part of its mystery. - -To express life it is necessary to desire to express it. The art of -statuary is made up of conscience, precision, and will. If I had not had -tenacity of purpose, I should not have produced my work. If I had ceased -to make my researches, the book of nature would have been for me a dead -letter, or at least it would have withheld from me its meaning. Now, on -the contrary, it is a book that is constantly renewed, and I go to it, -knowing well that I have only spelled out certain pages. In art to admit -only that which one comprehends leads to impotence. Nature remains full -of unknown forces. - -As for me, I have certainly lost some time through the fault of my -period. I should have been able to learn much more than I have grasped -with so much slowness and circumlocution; but I should not have tasted -less happiness through that highest form of loss; that is, work. And -when my hour shall come, I shall dwell in nature, and shall regret -nothing. - - - -THE ANTIQUE--THE GREEKS - -If the artists of antiquity are the greatest of all it is because they -approached most closely to Nature. - -They studied it with magnificent sincerity and copied it with all -their intelligence. They never wasted their time in trying to invent -something. To invent, to create, these are words that mean nothing. They -contented themselves with rendering the adorable model that enchanted -their eyes. This love and this respect for creation has never since -their time been surpassed. They did not copy literally what they saw; -to a certain degree they interpreted the character of forms. The aim of -art is not to copy literally. It consists in slightly exaggerating the -character of the model in order to make it salient; it consists also in -reassembling in a single expression the successive expressions given by -the same model. Art is the living synthesis. - -This is what the ancients did, with what taste, what incomparable -science! From this science that respected unity their works derived -their calm, contained force, the sentiment of grand serenity, the -atmosphere of peace that envelops them. The ignorant and the professors -of esthetics who do not know the source of all this have named it Greek -idealism. This is nothing but a word that serves to conceal a want -of understanding. There is no idealism in the ancients; there is an -exercise of choice, a marvelous taste; but it is by the most realistic -means that they render human beauty. - -[Illustration: THE TEMPEST.] - -We others, we moderns, are carried away by the restlessness of the -epoch; we are superficial, we only regard things cursorily, and we have -concluded from this sublime simplicity that Greek art is cold. To us -indeed it seems very cold. It is really warm. To it alone belongs in -this respect the quality of life, reality in forms, and precision in -movement. It is through this that it attains perfect equilibrium. But -that is beyond our little spirit of detail. We seek nothing but detail; -the Greek, for his part, saw nothing but the whole; that is to say, the -equilibrium, the harmony. - - - -THE RICHNESS OF THE ANTIQUE LIES IN MODELING - -The value of the antique springs from _ronde-bosse_. It possesses in a -supreme degree the art of relief. How can the critics and the professors -explain this, being what they are? They do not belong to the trade. Art -should not be taught except by those who practise it. - -Observe any fragments of Greek sculpture: a piece of an arm, a hand. -What you call the idea, the subject, no longer exists here, but is not -all this debris none the less admirably beautiful? In what does this -beauty consist? Solely in the modeling. Observe it closely, touch it; do -you not feel the precision of this modeling, firm yet elastic, in flux -like life itself? It is full, it is like a fruit. All the eloquence of -this sculpture comes from that. - -What is modeling? The very principle of creation. It is the -juxtaposition of the innumerable reliefs and depressions that constitute -every fragment of matter, inert or animated. Modeling creates the -essential texture, supple, living, embracing every plante. It fills, -cooerdinates, and harmonizes them. It penetrates everything, it animates -everything, as well the depths as the surfaces. It comprises the minute -as well as the immense. Mountain, horse, flower, woman, insect equally -owe to it their form. When God created the world, it is of modeling He -must have thought first of all. If you consider a hand, you notice its -contours and the character of the whole. But the eye of the artist, -that eye, sees more: it sees the infinite assemblage of projections and -depressions forming a texture more closely knit, more exactly blended -than the most perfect mosaic. It is this that he seeks to render; this -that he translates, if he is a sculptor, by the science of depression -and relief, if he is a draughtsman or painter by that of light and -shadow. For light serves, in conformity with depressions and reliefs, -to give the eye the same sensation that the hand receives from touch: -Titian is just as great a modeler as Donatello. - -To-day the sense of _ronde-bosse_ is completely lost, not only -in Europe, but among the peoples of the Orient. It is the age of -the _flat_. No one knows anything about it. Men love what they do -themselves, until they are made to see that it is not beautiful; but it -takes years and years for this to penetrate into their consciousness. In -the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries China and Japan still produced -charming works. In ancient times their art was very great; it approached -the Greek. At the exposition of 1900, we were enabled to see antique -Japanese statues, superb nudes nearly as fine as those of Greece. In our -time the pest of flatness has contaminated the Asiatic races as well as -the European: decadence is universal. - -We are so far removed from antique beauty that when we photograph the -works of the ancients we take them in the spirit of our own taste, -which is that of low-relief; we take from them that flower of beautiful -modeling, their richness, their crowning grace. When I say low-relief, -I do not use this term exactly; it is only that I know no other means -of expressing the modern evil of uniformity; but I know that good -low-relief is as full and as fruit-like as sculpture in the round, that -it is sculpture in the round itself, as in the friezes of the Parthenon, -as in our buildings of the Renaissance and of the seventeenth century. - -The great concern of my life is the struggle I have maintained to escape -from the general flatness. All the success of my sculpture comes from -that. Although it has little enough taste, the public, despite all, is -tired to death of this flatness. The charm of _ronde-bosse_ is so great -that it captivates the ignorant even without their knowing it. - - - -RONDE-BOSSE AND CHIAROSCURO - -Observe this little torso of a woman; it is a little Venus. It is -broken; it has no longer a head, arms, legs, yet I never weary of -contemplating it; each day, each hour for me adds to this masterpiece -because I only understand it better. What could it say to our -indifferent glance? For me it has the ineffable voluptuousness of -softly maturing flesh. The effect lies in no part and in every part. -It is perfection. This little childish body, has it not all the charm -of woman? It does not catch the light, the light catches it, glancing -over it lightly; without any effect of roughness, any dark shadow. Here -shadow can no longer be called shadow but only the decline of light. -She does not become dark, she grows pale in imperceptible depressions, -in delicious undulations. She is indivisible; she is whole or -incomplete, but her unity is not disturbed. And this passage that joins -the abdomen to the thighs, this little declivity of graces, this valley -of love! Everything is full of the calm, the lightness, the serenity -of pure beauty in the perfect confidence of nature. The ideal that you -imagine you find in a gesture, in a momentary attitude, is here; it is -here because of the infinite love of the flesh, of the human fruit. What -you call the ideal is nothing but the perfume of beautiful modeling. -What more could you ask? - -When I look at this marble in the evening by candle-light, how the -wonder deepens! If those who have been telling us for a hundred years -that Greek art is cold studied it with care, could they for one hour -maintain this absurdity? This sculpture, on the contrary, is of an -extraordinary living complexity, which the flame reveals; the whole -surface is nothing but depressions and reliefs, but united, melted -together in the great, harmonious force of the _ensemble_. I turn the -little torso about under the caressing rays of the light. There is not -a fault, not a weakness, not a dead spot; it is the very continuity -of life, its intoxicating voluptuousness hidden in the bosom of the -molecule. - -Why should such artists have sought to create an abstract Beauty by -the idealization of forms? These men of genius loved Nature too well to -presume to correct her. They knew well that despite their genius, they -still remained beneath her. Nothing can surpass the marvel of creation. -The conception of an idealistic art comes from the Academy. Before the -purity of the antique forms people used to believe that the beauty lay -solely in the exterior profiles. It is really beautiful because of -the interior modeling. And still we make this distinction between the -profiles and the modeling, thanks to our mania for dividing things; but -we know that the one is inseparable from the other; the surfaces are -nothing but the extremities of volumes, the boundaries of the mass. - -All the sculpture of the period of Louis-Philippe was imitated from the -antique, but only by means of the exterior profiles. If it had been -practised by true modelers, by geometrical minds, it would have been -as beautiful as its original. What pleased people in that epoch, what -pleases people in ours, is not at all the antique; it is the fashion -in which we see it. It was the Renaissance that really understood the -Greek. It created works exactly the same in feeling, though somewhat -different in arrangement and general color. For color does not exist -in painting alone. Its role is equally great in sculpture. To-day this -color is bad; it fails to obtain the chiaroscuro which derives from -_ronde-bosse_. Good sculpture owes to chiaroscuro clarity, unity, charm, -even, I might say, the voluptuousness of breathing flesh. Shadow, at -once luminous and mysterious, models the fulness of the body in the -exuberance of health; it makes one understand abundance, solidity. In -the art of the Renaissance and the eighteenth century shadow is always -supple and warm as in Greek art; it has the tender coloring of the -vegetation of our country, the sweetness of which our great artists have -captured. The chiaroscuro of the antique consists of the density and -depth of light falling over the entire modeling. Chiaroscuro penetrates -to every plane and renders the reality of them; it is reality itself. -This is because the antique and nature are part and parcel of the same -mystery, the infinitely harmonious mystery of force in suspense. The -great artists compose as nature itself operates. - -Undoubtedly the Greeks possessed certain methods which they handed down -from master to pupil, as has been the case in all artistic epochs. They -had celebrated ateliers, schools, where they taught their principles. -By the fifth century they had established a canon of the human body; -but they never made use of it without consulting the model. As for us, -we have imagined that we could use it like a magic formula. It is not -the formula that makes the art; it is the experience of the artist -that creates the formula. If we abandon nature for a rule, if we do -not constantly vivify the one by means of the other, we soon speak a -language that means nothing. - -One cannot repeat this enough: the ancients are realists; they work in -_ronde-bosse_. This explanation seems commonplace and even vulgar; it is -the whole truth. It can be understood by the humblest artisan, provided -only that he knows his trade. But it is as difficult to get it into the -heads of people to-day as it is to restore faith in a man who has lost -it. - - - -ROME AND ROMAN ART - -What I have said of Greek art applies equally well to Roman. Another -opinion has been adopted by critics and the world in general: the Roman -is less beautiful than the Greek. It is less beautiful perhaps, by a -certain shade, a shade which those who speak of it are incapable of -appreciating. It is a little less substantial, but it is superb. It is -Greek, with a different character, a certain ruggedness, and more! The -Maison Carree at Nimes, that little temple, the flower of austerity, the -smile of the race as sweet as the smile of Greece; the Pont du Gard, -that heroic masterpiece, that giant which bestrides the country, which -imposes the power of Rome on the peaceful landscape, these are what they -criticize! - -Rome is magnificent. We say it, but we do not believe it; otherwise it -would not be despoiled. No, in Rome itself, they have no idea of the -beauty of Rome. Where are there artists great enough to appreciate you, -severe genius, splendid city, daughter of the she-wolf? Your genius -they pillage every day. They destroy its proportion, and that is to -strike at the foundation of the master work. Proportion is the law of -architecture. ... In the very midst of the ancient city they are setting -up atrocious monuments, enormous or too petty. - -In Rome, as in Athens, as in the France of Gothic art, the architect of -old planned the monument in relation to the landscape; he harmonized it -with the outline of the mountains, with the expanse of the surrounding -country-side; he determined its proportions according to its environment. - -The architect of to-day plans out his monument in his own study on a -piece of paper and produces it ready-made. Whether this mass of stone -obliterates the buildings that surround it or whether, on the other -hand, it turns out a miserable little contrivance in the midst of great -works of the past matters little to him: he does not see it. - -The French Academy sends students to work in Rome. But they get nothing -from Rome, they can get nothing; they come there with a spirit entirely -opposed to it. At a time when I did not know the city I heard the bridge -of Sant' Angelo spoken ill of and fun made of the contorted angels; -but they are all very well in their place; they are needed there; -there is enough repose elsewhere. Bernini, so often sneered at, is as -beautiful as Michelangelo, although he is not so fine. It is he who made -the Rome of the seventeenth century. They do not know that the Appian -Way is sublime. It will disappear one of these days. These things are -awaiting their condemnation. They are constructing quays like ours. If -they do not put a stop to it, Rome will be destroyed. Those who have -not seen cities such as this was in the nineteenth century will not -understand anything. I have said as much to my Italian friends, who -appeared greatly astonished; for nobody makes these reflections which -come to me constantly in my studies. They consider me a gloomy fellow, a -misanthrope. Gloomy, yes; for it is painful to live in a decadent epoch; -but I have no _parti-pris_; I only wish to try to arrest the general -massacre. In France, as everywhere, we commit exactly the same faults. -We destroy our monuments by surrounding them with great open spaces; -we have ruined the effect of Notre Dame, on the side of the parvis. At -Brussels, in the Musee du Cinquantenaire, they have set up a model of -the Parthenon; but they have placed it in the midst of enormous objects -that annihilate it. We have come to that! We have killed the Parthenon! -Barbarism could go no further. We live in a barbarous age. There is no -doubt about that! People cry out that we must create schools for people -to learn art; we bungle the most beautiful of all schools--the Museum. - - - -FOR AMERICA - -These things ought to be said again and again to the point of satiety, -if we wish to save any remnants. Coming from me, whose opinions carry -some weight, they are repeated when I am no longer on the spot. People -feel the justice of them, the shaft goes home. A few who are more -ardent than the rest propagate them and stir up a current of opinion -that may lead to reform. There is no reason therefore to fear repeating -them in America, where also people have fallen into the general error. -American artists have followed our teaching, altogether in a bad sense. -Notwithstanding that in taking their point of departure they could have -escaped into the good epochs of art, they have saddled themselves with -the poverty of modern taste. - -Let them return to the school of the past; above all, let them return to -nature; it is as beautiful with them as elsewhere. The mountains, the -trees, the vegetation, the men and women of their own country--these -should be their masters in architecture and sculpture. America is full -of will. It desires to be a great nation. It stops at no expense in -order to obtain instruction; it creates immense universities, libraries, -museums. It pours into them streams of money. The favor with which my -work has been received there is the sign of a movement toward truth in -art; they are developing an affection for this naturalistic school which -borrows from life its charm and its variety. But all this will be as -nothing unless America creates work of its own; unless it breaks with -the old errors of the nations of Europe in order to find the path of -true science. - -[Illustration: THE VILLAGE FIANCEE.] - - - - -VII - -THE GOTHIC GENIUS - -To THE RENAISSANCE AND THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY - -NOTRE-DAME - - -NOTRE DAME--Notre Dame de Paris--more splendid than ever in the -half-light of this winter day. The veils of the atmosphere redress the -evils that modern restorations have done to this monument; the folds of -the mist soften the sharpness of the retouched outlines: the elements -are more respectful to this masterpiece than are men. - -I come upon it at the turn of the bridge. At once I drop out of this -industrial epoch of ours, so poor despite its love of money; my -sculptor's soul escapes from its exile. - -The Gothic sphinx rises before me. The strength of its beauty overwhelms -me. I struggle against it and I am broken by it. Then it attracts me -anew with its sweetness; it exalts me. My spirit makes the ascent of -this sculptured mountain. What power in these motionless stones to -create the sense of movement in the mind! What makes this possible? -The mason of genius; the science of oppositions. That whole effect of -power--he has put it in the thickness of the foundations, the enormous -walls, the buttresses. They are as formidable as the tiers of a dike, -as a breakwater planted in the sea. One would say that this church was -built to combat the forces of nature: the temple of peace and love has -the air of a fortress. - -One's spirit is weighed down by the bareness of the stone, but stirred -by the height of the structure and the towers; it soars toward them -as toward a world that reassures it; the hard material has become -humanized; the genius of man is at play there amid the lacework of -stone. He has placed there angels, saints, animals, fruits, flowers, all -the gifts of the seasons; it is life in its entirety such as the Creator -in His infinite munificence has bestowed upon him. The Gothic artist -knows that paradise is on earth; he has no need to invent another. The -childish and monotonous heaven presented to us in our legends is nothing -but a poor copy of the marvels of our life. - -Let us enter. I tremble. The beauty is terrible. I am plunged into -night, a living night in which I do not know what mysteries are being -enacted--the cruel mysteries of the ancient religions? There are -shimmering rays from the long windows, the rose windows. Hope enters my -heart: there is light here, then? I am no longer alone. - -My eyes grow accustomed to this populous obscurity. There is a world -about me, a world of columns. It seems terrible, it _is_ terrible -because of its power, but this power has its _raison d'etre_. It -seems frightening to me but it is only necessary. It is distributed -power; therefore it is beneficent. It holds the vault in the air, the -prodigious weight of stone that it maintains aloft, above my head, as -lightly as the canvas of a tent. Marvel of equilibrium, calculation of -the intelligence, how is it possible not to adore you? It is you that -one comes here to worship under the name of God. - -The darkness grows lighter; it becomes chiaroscuro. We are in a picture -by Rembrandt, that great Gothic of the sixteenth century. The forest -of pillars divides the nave into spaces of shadow and light. It is the -order of nature which knows nothing of disorder. This I rediscover with -joy: the eye does not love chaos. - -I familiarize myself with the people of the columns. I recognize them: -they are Romans. It is the Roman, the Romance, hardly altered, that -comes to receive the Gothic arch. The immense nave which I thought a -forest full of hidden dangers I see, I understand, I read like a sacred -book. The mystery is not that of cruelty; it is only that of beauty. It -grows lighter gradually in order to allow the spirit to approach slowly -the joy of a perfect interior. This solemnity of the nave, this immense -void, is like the bed of a great river; the columns range themselves -respectfully on each side in order to give free passage to the flood of -human piety. It flows like a majestic river; it bears onward toward the -tabernacle, about which it spreads itself like a lake of love under the -rays of the thought of God. Amid the stones the architect has known how -to play the part of the apostle: he has created faith. Art and religion -are the same thing; they are love. - - - -SAINT-EUSTACHE - -It is the interior of this church that should be admired. Here I do -not experience the same commotion of the spirit as in Notre Dame. I am -bathed in the fine light of the sixteenth century. At Notre Dame it -was the shadow of Rembrandt; here, it is the clear tonality of French -painting, of a Clouet. Admirable is the _elan_ of this Renaissance -nave; it is as bold as, and even perhaps bolder than that of the Gothic -buildings. It proceeds on the same plan. The skyward lift is only to -be found in the Gothic; it is of the very spirit of the race. Are the -vaults round and no longer pointed? What does it matter if they are -equally elegant, if they have the same aerial grace as the ogive? - -What I rediscover in Saint-Eustache, less austere than its grand sister -of the Middle Age, but with a sweetness which is itself noble, is -the determination of the architect to subordinate everything to the -effect of simplicity, to the total effect. On each side of the nave -the columns cutting the side wall are disposed fanwise in order to -hide the light of the lateral windows. One sees nothing but the stone, -and yet there is no effect of heaviness; one could not make anything -lighter. This is because the color of the stone is admirably varied by -the diversity of the flutings that line the columns. The main fluting -marks the outline, and the others, less emphatic, shading off, give it -a velvet-like quality. The light throws a golden haze between the great -columns, among the deep gorges, and is, on the other hand, channeled, -streaked by the little nerves that impel it upward toward the vaults. -By this effect of lightness the building seems to rise; it is an -assumption. It is no longer the forest of trees that one finds here, -but the forest of creepers. These vertiginous columns are like fine, -delicate vines. Above the altar the great lights of the windows, with -their beautiful glass, harmonize well with the general color. The light, -at once abundant and restrained, has the coolness which the Renaissance -recaptured from Greece. This church welcomes one as with an immense -smile; it has the sweetness of Christ holding out his hands: "Suffer the -little children to come unto me." Intelligence has planned it, but it is -the heart that has modeled it. - -If we enter Saint-Eustache at nightfall, we could almost believe -ourselves in a Gothic building. The Renaissance did not bring about such -profound transformations in architecture as people think. There is a -heavy Italian Renaissance element that is altogether alien to us; but -in the true French Renaissance the Celtic taste was not betrayed: it -was modified with a certain grace and elegance. Grace is an aspect of -strength. A nation no more escapes from its racial quality than a man -from his temperament. The Celtic mingled with the Roman produced the -Romance, out of which the Gothic sprang directly--the Romance, that is -to say, the Roman which has passed through the spirit of the Franks. It -has the severity, the Roman qualities, united with the imagination of -the Barbarians, since we have agreed so to call them. The Romance of the -second epoch has already sprung forth; it rises during the eleventh and -twelfth centuries and goes to make the Gothic. The Gothic elevates and -magnifies the Romance. It detaches the buttresses, even to the point of -separating them from the walls, in order to carry them further out to -sustain the height of the nave. - -As for the Renaissance, it continues the Gothic. We could not have a -more striking example of this than just here in Saint-Eustache. Here -are the same lines, the same idea, with a different ornamentation. -It is the same body, clothed in a new way. It is another age of the -Gothic; sweeter, less powerful, the final florescence of the French -genius, which, despite the adorable eighteenth century, follows a -descending path down to the first restoration. Contrary to what has -been thought and taught for so long, the Renaissance already marks -a stage of decadence. The most beautiful epoch in architecture and -sculpture is the Middle Age, an age as beautiful as, perhaps more -beautiful than, the great age of Greece, and almost universally despised -by our nineteenth century, the century of criticism and pretension, the -century of ignorance. Yes, with the Renaissance things begin to give -way. And yet to say that is almost a sacrilege! It is as if one struck -one's father! Our ravishing Gothic of the sixteenth century has charmed -France with its masterpieces; it has made artists cherish a whole -country, the sweet country of the Loire. Despite its misalliance with -the Italian Renaissance, it stood firm, it did not bend; it remained the -grand French style. Witness the Louvre with its high pavilions; that -sprang, that too, from the Gothic vein; the sculptors of the Renaissance -decorated it less severely, but the general aspect remains the same. - -The Gothic under different names has been the main path of our genius -during five hundred years. It has been the blessing of France; it was -its active principle down to 1820. If we wish to return to art it will -only be through comparative study--the comparison with nature of our -national style. The beautiful lines are eternal. Why are they used so -little? - - - -CONCERNING COLOR IN SCULPTURE - -The true difference between the Gothic and the Renaissance does not lie -in the structure of the building but in the quality of the sculpture and -in its color. - -What is meant by color in sculpture and in architecture? It is the law -of light and shade, the great law of oppositions which constitutes -the charm of nature, the beauty of a landscape at dawn, its splendor -at sunset. The color springs from the quality of the modeling; it is -the relief which gives the light tones and, by contrast, the dark, -in the parts that do not stand out. The ensemble of the intermediary -diminutions of light and shade produces the general coloring, whose -nuances can be infinitely varied according to the skill of the artist. -Modeling is the only way in which to express life; and there is only one -thing that counts in sculpture and in architecture--the expression of -life. A beautiful statue, a well-made monument, live like living beings; -they seem different according to the day and the hour. How beautiful it -is to give to stone, through nothing but the values of planes, through -the handling of shadow and light, the same charm of color as that of -living nature, of the flesh of a woman. In the plastic arts, the color -betrays the quality of the planes as a beautiful complexion reveals -health in a human being. - -The antique has shorter planes than the Gothic; it lacks therefore -those deep shadows that give to the Gothic such a tormented and tragic -aspect. The Greek balances the framework of the human body on four -planes, the Gothic on two only. The latter produces a stronger effect, -a more _hollowed_ effect, that _effet de console_ which is essentially -Gothic. Nevertheless, the shadow that results from it is more sustained -than in the antique and nothing could be softer or more full of nuances. - -The Roman presents an abundance of dark shadows which, in turn, create -an effect of heaviness and density. The Greek puts in just enough of -them to quicken the general coloring. The Roman gives a flatter effect, -which shows nevertheless a magnificent vigor. As for us, we copy these -styles endlessly without understanding them, for if we did understand -them we should do quite otherwise. We abuse the black, the powerful -lines, we put them everywhere; we do not know how to shade light. That -is why our sculpture is so poor, why our monuments appear so hard, so -dry. The Bourse, the Corps Legislatif, might be made of iron with their -columns set against a uniform background which prevents the light and -air from circulating about them and enveloping them and destroys the -atmosphere. This is what people call a simple style. It is not simple, -it is cold. The simple is the perfect, coldness is impotence. - -The Renaissance recaptured the antique measure and imposed its generous -color upon the Gothic plane. It used less shadow than our sculptors of -the Middle Ages; it diminished the reliefs. The effect in consequence -was lighter. This was because the Renaissance was enchanted by all the -Greek statues that were discovered at this period; and in its enthusiasm -it recreated Greek art, not by copying it, but by copying nature -according to antique principles. It is perhaps a little less beautiful -but it has quite the same feeling of gentle strength, of delicacy. One -feels the joy of the artist who throws himself against the problem of -the nude in the open air. Till then statues had been draped, but under -the draperies was concealed a carefully studied nude. In the Renaissance -the drapery was dropped: the nymphs of Jean Goujon, of Germain Pilon--I -recognize them; these long bodies of women, these undulating bodies, are -Gothic statues unclothed and set in another light. Our whole sixteenth -century is a song of grace rising from the Gothic heart to the art of -the Parthenon. - -But nowhere than in the country of the Loire is there Renaissance art -more gentle and amply luminous. This is the Greek part of France. The -tranquil river touched the heart of our architects and bestowed on them -some of its calm and smiling majesty. From it, from the air impregnated -with its vapors, came those chateaux so happy in their beauty and those -lovable cottages; for the artist worked as beautifully for peasants as -for kings. Before Usse, before Chenonceaux, Blois, Azay-le-Rideau, I am -not in the presence of dead things but of a living spirit, the spirit of -divine beauty that animated equally the antique and the Gothic. Charming -sixteenth century France, it is you who have forced me to the study of -chiaroscuro. Formerly I tried my best to understand your motives, your -thousand nerves, but the general law escaped me. I did not see your -soul, which consists entirely in the voluptuous shadings of light; I did -not perceive your principle, the modeling which impressed movement upon -everything and gave the movement life. - - - -THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY - -The eighteenth century is the exaggeration of the sixteenth. Our elegant -houses, our houses in the style of Louis XV and Louis XVI have always -the Gothic line with its proud, graceful air. Without moldings, without -ornaments, their beauty lies in their very lack of ornaments, in their -nudity. But what proportions they have! The finest of the fine! - -The eighteenth century is considered too frail, too affected. It is, -on the contrary, full of life and strength. It possesses admirable -sculptors: Pigalle, creator of that immortal masterpiece, the tomb of -Marshal Saxe; Houdon, whose busts to-day are bought for their weight in -gold without even then bringing their proper price. There were thousands -then, the whole rank and file of the trade, who created marvels, with a -sureness of hand accustomed to every difficulty. The outline of a table, -of a chest, was as much considered as that of a statue. For that matter, -what difference did the dimensions of a work make? It was the modeling -that counted. The peasant himself sat down in a well-made chair. Artists -and artisans had a taste, an alert grace, and a dexterity sufficient to -fit out the whole world; but their dexterity was based on a foundation -of intelligence as an ornament is based upon a building. The dexterity -we possess nowadays is nothing but mockery, a kind of banter that -touches everything without discernment; it kills force. - -The Louis XV and Louis XVI styles possessed grandeur. We call it the art -of the boudoir, but the boudoir of that period had a nobility like that -of those white and gold salons where the seats are disposed with dignity -like persons of quality. The music had the same character; the dances -also, the dances, those charming scenes in which men and women with the -natural spirit of play threw themselves into the cadence, translating it -with the eloquence of youth. The dance--that was architecture brought to -life. - -The eighteenth century was a century which _designed_; in this lay its -genius. Nowadays people are searching for a new style and do not find -it. Style comes unawares through the concurrence of many elements; but -can we achieve it without design? To-day we design no longer and our -art, which is altogether industrial, is bad. The central matter in art -is the nude, and this we no longer understand. How can we be expected -to have art when we do not understand its central principle? The minor -arts are the rays that go out from the center. When I draw the body of a -woman I rediscover the form of the beautiful Greek vases. Through design -alone we arrive at a knowledge of the shading of forms. The forms that -delight us in the art of past centuries are nothing but those presented -by living nature, those of human beings, animals, verdure, interpreted -by men of supreme taste. The art that people are struggling to discover -to-day might be deduced from my sculpture and my drawings, for I have -always drawn with passion. The quality of my drawing I owe in large -measure to the eighteenth century. I am nothing but a link in the great -chain of artists, but I maintain the connection with those of the past. -At the Petite Ecole they made us copy the red chalks of Boucher and the -models of flowers, animals, and ornaments. They were Louis XVI models, -very well executed; they certainly gave me a little of the warmth of the -artists of that period. In my youth I made drawings by the hundreds, by -the thousands. At the Petite Ecole we were badly placed, badly lighted -by poor candles; when we touched them we made them sticky with the clay -with which our fingers were covered so that they were worse than ever -afterwards. It did not matter; we were working according to the right -principles. - -To-day the Petite Ecole is entirely in the power of the larger school, -that of the Beaux-Arts. Far from learning one gets spoiled there for the -rest of one's life. One copies the antique, but one copies it badly. - -I am speaking with the experience of a genuine artistic life. There was -a time when I never talked; to-day I hold forth! If I am understood -it will not have been in vain. But how much effort it will take to -reestablish truths which are so self-evident, so obvious, so fundamental -that one is ashamed to repeat them so many times! Nevertheless they are -_essential_. The public is a thousand miles away from them, the public, -by which I mean the general taste. If it does not become enlightened, -art will disappear. Observe its attitude before the works of the new -school, before the pictures of those who call themselves cubists: -sarcasm, anger. These artists show us squares, cubes, geometrical -figures colored according to their own ideas. They name them: _Portrait -of Mme. X._ or _Landscape_. This exasperates the public. What does it -matter? Is it good? That is the whole point. Is the ornament well -treated? That is the capital question, the only one that is not -discussed. Their canvases are combinations of color recalling mosaic -or even stained glass. We have accepted many other things; we have -accepted the green or rather the violet women of our later salons, and -women with wooden heads, but we do not wish to admit the squares of the -cubists. Why? They are not portraits, we say. They are not landscapes. -So much the better! They are something else. What does it matter if -the artist has deceived himself knowingly or wilfully on a matter so -insignificant as the subject? It is ornamental, that is enough. They are -curious, these quarrels that break out, these sects that are created for -reasons like this--for a sock put on inside out! Ignorance inflames the -passions. There are struggles whose aim is great; others that appear -useless have their use perhaps. - -It may be that this slackening of taste and knowledge is necessary. -Perhaps it is a period of transition, a fallow period required by the -intelligence like that required by a soil that has been productive for -too long. If ignorance is prolonged it will mean that the history of -France is ended; it will mean the annihilation of the Celtic genius -which has fertilized Europe for two thousand years. We shall become like -Asia. Roman art declined for four or five centuries after Augustus. With -us the decadence has only been going on for a hundred years. During -the present war marvels have been destroyed. Formerly, even during -the religious wars, the monuments were spared; it is for this reason -that France is still so rich. When stone is no longer respected, it -means decadence. The cannon turn up the earth like a plow, leveling -everything. This war appears therefore like an explosion of barbarism; -at bottom it indicates a latent state of soul which has been shaping -itself since the beginning of the nineteenth century. During this period -the world has ceased to obey the law of beauty and love; it has lived -for nothing but business. What is the leading idea that has precipitated -the nations against one another? Trade: the desire, the longing to make -more money than one's neighbor. Trade is the anxious care of people who -think of nothing but their own petty welfare; it is not the basis on -which is founded the grandeur of peoples. It alone regulates at present -the relations between things. The war is nothing but the consequence of -such habits and their natural conclusion. - -[Illustration: METAMORPHOSIS ACCORDING TO OVID.] - -Do you ask me what will spring out of the conflict? I am not a prophet. -I know only that without religion, without art, without the love of -nature--these three words are for me synonymous--men will die of ennui. -But nothing easily resigns itself to death. An outburst of courage has -just transfigured the world. Can we preserve this courage during peace? -The patience of the soldier, the patience of the trenches surpasses -in sublimity the virtue of the ancients. Will it produce a rebirth of -intelligence? Shall we have, in study, the force of soul that we have -had in the great struggle? That is the question. Of course the stupid, -the ignorant will not suffer any transformation through the war; but -men of character will be reinvigorated by the hardships of the military -life; we have recaptured patience and we have yet to learn what we can -expect from this virtue. Genius is as much character as talent. If we -have men of force in this country where taste is a natural gift, it -seems to me impossible that this force will not quicken the gift and -develop it and that we shall not have once more an era of beauty. - -AUGUSTE RODIN. - - - - -THE WORK OF RODIN - - - - -I - -THE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS--INFLUENCE OF THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF -RODIN--"SAINT JOHN THE BAPTIST" (1880)--"THE GATE OF HELL" - - -In 1877 Rodin visited our most illustrious cathedrals, Rheims, Amiens, -Chartres, Soissons, Noyon. During his youth, the choir of Beauvais -and Notre Dame de Paris appealed more to his imagination than to his -taste, and it required many years of travel and comparison to enable -him to grasp the splendors of that Gothic art which he was to admire -thenceforth at least as much as the antique. As a splendidly gifted, -but inexperienced young man, he shared the error of his epoch: the -eighteenth and the first half of the nineteenth century had despised the -Roman and the Gothic; they had ridiculed them and called them barbaric; -the nineteenth century, while flattering itself that it appreciated -them, did still worse--it restored them. - -The romantic writers of the Schools of Chateaubriand and Victor Hugo -had exalted the art of the Middle Ages, but chiefly because of their -hatred of the classic and without understanding its true worth. What -struck them, especially, was the immensity and the picturesqueness of -the buildings, the luxuriousness of this stone vegetation, but not the -unique character of their architecture and sculpture. - -Victor Hugo was perhaps one of the few to discover the precise -explanation of this beauty: relief and modeling. This all-powerful -writer, this architect of words who constructed poems like cathedrals, -understood the plastic intelligence of the master masons because he -himself possessed the _sense of mass_. One is convinced of this not only -in reading his descriptions of cities and monuments, but in studying -those astonishing pen-and-ink drawings which he multiplied in idle -moments. - -If the romanticists have failed fully to explain medieval art to us, -let us still be grateful to them: they gave our cathedrals back to us, -they denounced ignorance and scourged the stupidity that would have -ended by tearing down those sublime piles. Finally if the writers and -art critics of this epoch have not given them superlative praise, if on -their behalf they have not burned with apostolic zeal, it is because it -was necessary for this prophecy of art to come from a man of the craft, -a man dominated, captivated, himself, by the craft, a man who understood -stone and adored it because he had married it in spirit with all its -difficulties and its dazzling possibilities. - -That man was to be Rodin. Although he has been listened to by the -ignorant and superficial multitude, it has not been chiefly because of -the authority of his genius, of the general renown that he has enjoyed. -He has truly thrown a new light over the mystery of Gothic construction. -Thanks to him, we understand in a measure, for tangible reasons, the -reasons of an actual carver, this "world in little" that constitutes the -Gothic cathedrals. What study, what researches are necessary in order to -comprehend the art of stonework! Does any one suppose that Rodin himself -has attained this in a day? By no means. That lover of perfection in -detail does not possess the instantly penetrating glance that is often -the property of genius: to the task of deciphering our monuments he -brought that slow-minded, customary patience of his, together with -his energy. He had first of all to rid himself of the false current -ideas. After that thirty years of observation were necessary for him to -reach conclusions that satisfied his artistic conscience. Even to-day -he is far from affirming that he has understood everything, that he -has grasped the full significance of the Gothics. Read his book, "The -Cathedrals of France," published in 1914; observe the carefullness of -his judgments, the gropings of his thought, the constant retracing of -his steps. He makes attempts, ventures; he never proclaims his opinion -in the peremptory tone dear to specialists in criticism, but endeavors -to approach respectfully, as closely as possible, to the spirit of -the masters. Sometimes a flash of genius springs from his brain and -illumines to the depths of its mysteries the Gothic universe; but -nothing is suggested that does not spring from a prolonged observation, -and when at last he speaks it is in the tone of a man who mistrusts -himself. It must be confessed that in this work, "The Cathedrals of -France," something is lacking, even though it is prefaced by a long and -very learned introduction by one of our good writers, Charles Morice. It -lacks the magnificent lesson that the reader will find in these pages, -signed with Rodin's name. This lesson constitutes really a vital page -that is, as it were, the key and the summary of the whole work; but the -master, having given me the first rights in it, had scruples, as had -Charles Morice, about including it in his own book. - -Before obtaining this page, with what insistence did I have to question -Rodin not once, not twice, but twenty times, during the course of a -number of years. Every time he came back from one of his pilgrimages -to some old city of the provinces, to our churches, our town halls, I -renewed my questions without receiving any satisfactory answer. In my -heart I could not but honor this rigorous honesty which was unwilling to -venture anything lightly on so vast, so noble a subject. - -In 1877, after having accomplished his first tour of France, he came -back filled with wonder. But the impression that he carried with him was -still confused; he did not know at what point to begin the analytical -study of French architecture, for in what concerned sculpture he -had immediately been struck with amazement and adoration before the -essential beauty of the status of Chartres, Amiens, and Rheims. He had -returned from Italy haunted by the antique and Michelangelo, and now -here he was haunted by the modeling and the rhythm of the Gothic figures. - -But in order to understand them entirely he had to rediscover this -modeling and these movements in nature, he had to verify them in the -living model. Fortune favors those who seek greatly. When one is the -victim of an idea unexpected elements arise to nourish and develop it. -One day two Italians knocked at the door of his studio. One of them, -a professional model, had already posed for Rodin and he introduced -the other, his comrade. He was a peasant from the Abruzzi who had come -to seek his fortune in Paris. He was fresh from his native province. -His robust body, his fierce head, his bristling beard and hair, and -above all his expression of indomitable force charmed the artist. He -undressed, climbed upon the model's stand, planted himself firmly on -his legs, which were spread like a compass, the head well raised, and, -continuing to talk, advanced with a gesture full of ardor. - -Rodin, struck by this wild energy, immediately set to work. He made the -man such as he saw him; he desired to capture this movement of the legs, -this brusk forward movement that complemented the movement of the arms, -the shining eyes, the open mouth. He surrendered himself to a great -study, without any preconceived idea, without any intention of treating -a _subject_. What he made was _a man walking_. The name has stuck to the -figure. The first study remains incomplete; Rodin has sculptured neither -the head nor the arms; what he sought eagerly, passionately, was the -equilibrium of the torso and of the legs cast forward into space. He -succeeded; he made a superb fragment, "The Man Walking." Thirty years -later it occurred to a group of his admirers to ask the state to acquire -this study and erect it in the court of the French embassy at Rome, in -the Farnese Palace; but the official architects up to the present time -have objected to the erection of this statue, and for the last seven or -eight years it has awaited, in some obscure shed, the good pleasure of -these gentlemen. - -Rodin, in the presence of his Italian peasant, had rediscovered, to his -great joy as a seeker, the peculiar equipoise of the Gothic figures. In -the antique statues the plumb-line falls through one of the legs, while -the other, lightly raised, impresses on the different planes of the body -the graceful effect that has become classic. In Gothic statues, on the -contrary, the line of equilibrium passes through the middle of the body -and falls right between the two legs as they are planted on the earth. - -In "The Age of Bronze" Rodin has adopted the balanced rhythm of Greek -sculpture; in his new figure he passed to the Gothic equipoise, with -a harmony that is less gracious, but with a reality stronger and more -living. What he did not abandon was the rigorous construction and the -strength of modeling which his study of the antique had given him. "The -Man Walking," as well as the greater part of his subsequent works, thus -exhibits the union of the two great principles of sculpture that have -governed the Occidental genius. - -Rodin, strengthened by study, now made a complete statue with head and -arms. While he was working he discovered that his model was half a -savage, still close to the animal and its ferocious instincts. Sometimes -his eyes burned, his jaws, armed with powerful teeth, were thrust -forward as if to bite something; he resembled a wolf. At other times a -kind of strange passion inflamed him. His face radiated faith and will; -he spoke with such energy that he seemed to be haranguing a crowd; one -would have thought him a prophet of the primitive ages, a visionary -bursting forth from the desert to preach and to convert the people. -Rodin regarded him in amazement. It was no longer his model, but a man -from the Bible; surely it was a prophet that stood before him: it was -Saint John the Baptist brought back to life. The sculptor bowed before -the command of nature: his statue should bear the name of the forerunner. - -[Illustration: EVE.] - -He thought at first of emphasizing the disturbing impression: he placed -on the shoulders of Saint John a simple cross. But here was revealed the -all-powerful instinct of the sculptor, making the subject, the anecdote, -the literary connotation a matter of secondary importance. The cross, -the sublime symbol, would be here only an accessory, not really needed. -It would complicate the simplicity of line dictated by the laws of -sculpture, destroying the appositions of equilibrium of the great body -and distracting the attention from that speaking head. - -So Rodin gave it up. He came at last to the decision that his work -should remain free from what was not of the very essence of art. He sent -it off in the form in which it appeared in the Salon of 1880, adding -also "The Age of Bronze." - -The artists, the true artists, those whose enthusiasm was not poisoned -by envy and jealousy, applauded these two superb figures artistically -so different, but so similar in their sincerity; they acclaimed them -with the grave joy of generous souls who perceive the dawn of a great -talent. The name of Rodin became fixed forever in their memory. - -As for the jury of this Salon, it considered it sufficient to award -the "Saint John the Baptist" and "The Age of Bronze" a medal _of the -third class_. Let us, in turn, give it our reward--the reward for its -insensitiveness--by not disclosing the names of the sages who composed -it. - - - -"THE GATE OF HELL" - -While finishing these works, which he was not even certain of being able -to sell, Rodin was still compelled to provide for his own subsistence -and that of his family; he had also to meet the expenses of his trade. -A costly trade! It requires a studio, models, large fires to keep them -warm, clay, tools of every kind. It was luck enough if the sculptor, -still unknown, was able to have plaster casts made of his work. But -this did not satisfy him; he dreamed of seeing them take on a new -aspect in the richness of marble and bronze. Alas! in many cases he -had to wait until middle age to have this dream realized. Rodin has -never complained of the slowness of fortune. He knows that in order to -attain the fullness of his productive power it is well for the artist -to be thwarted, exalted by difficulties, the desire to conquer. After a -five-years' stay in Belgium he had returned to Paris to take part in the -work of the World Exposition of 1878, and he had taken a position with -the ornament-worker Legrain, in whose workshop he met Jules Desbois, -the future great sculptor, to whom he became attached for life. What -innumerable decorations he executed at that time--decorations which -disappeared like the leaves and flowers of the season when the stucco -palaces of the exposition vanished! Only the masks ornamenting the -Palais du Trocadero remained. - -At the same time he accumulated busts, studies, large figures with -a fury of work which from then on was to resemble that of the most -powerfully productive minds, the fecundity of a Rubens, of a Balzac, of -a Michelet, of a Hugo. In the studios which he rented in the Faubourg -St. Jacques, from 1877 to 1883, besides the "Saint John the Baptist," he -executed the admirable little tough model of the "Monument Commemorating -the National Defense"; after his wife, whose characterful features and -naturally tragic countenance he had often reproduced, he made a helmeted -bust, a "Bellona." He exhibited three life-sized figures: "The Creation -of Man"; "Adam," since destroyed; and "Eve," the bronze of which did -not appear until the Salon of 1899. He did the busts of W.E. Henley; -the painter Jean-Paul Laurens (to mention some of the most beautiful), -Carrier-Belleuse, the etcher Alphonse Legros, all in the midst of -difficulties and injustices which did not in any way disturb the depths -of his serenity, the noble tranquillity of the artisan sure of attaining -his end by labor. Is it possible to-day to believe that the model of the -"Monument of the Defense" was not only refused, but was not even classed -among the thirty designs that were retained by the jury of 1880 after -the first choice had been made? This same jury, the composition of which -is also worthy of passing into history, decided on a solemn confection -by M. Barrias for the _prix de Rome_, the result of which was that four -years later its creator was elected a member of the Academy of Fine Arts. - -I do not know whether many collectors contend for reproductions of M. -Barrias's monstrous design for a clock; but Rodin's group, a wounded -soldier entirely enveloped by the wings of a prodigious figure of a -warrior goddess crying out for aid, which was later renamed "The Genius -of the Defense" or "The Appeal to Arms," and which has acquired to-day -so pathetic a character of actuality, is coveted by most of the museums -and art collectors of Europe and America. - -As if these works, which have since acquired such glory, were nothing -but fragments of secondary importance, Rodin attacked a great piece of -work, like those that used to be executed in the great ages of art: he -undertook the famous "Gate of Hell." - -At the time of the affair of "The Age of Bronze" there was at the -head of the ministry of fine arts, an under-secretary of state named -Edmond Turquet. To him fell the task of deciding in the last resort the -case of Rodin. M. Edmond Turquet was a brilliant lawyer who had become -_procureur_ under the empire, which did not altogether qualify him for -the part of director of fine arts under the republic. In the field of -art he knew no more than any one else, Rodin says; but he was a very -fair-minded man, and his honesty had the effect of quickly straightening -out the affair of the sculptor. In his genuine desire to atone for the -wrong done to Rodin in the eyes of public opinion he not only offered -to obtain for him a position in the porcelain factory at Sevres, in -order to assure him a regular livelihood, but ordered from him a great -ornamental piece, a door destined for the Palais des Arts Decoratifs. -In addition, by a special privilege created in favor of artists under -Louis XIV,--a privilege the traditions of which the French Government -has happily perpetuated,--M. Turquet granted Rodin a good studio in the -Depot des Marbres, so that he could execute his order. - -"And what will you represent on that door?" enquired the under-secretary -of state. - -"I am sure I don't know," replied the artist. "But I shall make a -quantity of little figures; then no one will say that they are casts -taken from the life." - -Thus we find him at Sevres, a ceramist; he has carried on so many -different trades that he succeeds marvelously with this one. It was his -task to decorate vases of delicate clay; he modeled light bas-reliefs, -representations of mythological scenes, idylls. Nymphs, cupids, fauns, -evoked by his miraculously delicate fingers, were born out of the milky, -transparent material, bringing back to life the flowery graces of the -drawing-room art of the eighteenth century, the dainty elegances of the -wax figures of Clodion, but with a graver sense of the mystery of nature -and of love. - -Unfortunately, when these vases left the hand of the master they were -overladen with hideous ornaments in the style of Louis-Philippe. -Moreover, the officials at the head of the factory did not like them. -They were carried up to the attics, they were left lying about on the -floor, in the secret hope of seeing them broken by the feet of some -careless or ill-willed workman. - -The feeling of being isolated and misunderstood at times threw a shadow -over the soul of the sculptor; but on the other hand he felt himself -so strong, so solidly based in his will, in his self-confidence, and -in the virtue of labor that these moments of depression passed away -quickly. Besides, he knew the secret of the poor, the secret of creating -happiness for oneself out of everything that the rich and powerful -despise: a simple life, health, regular work, the contemplation of -nature, and a few real friendships. Rodin earned at Sevres only two or -three francs an hour and lost a great deal of time on the railroad. What -did it matter? He found pleasure and rest in these little journeys. -Every day he set out from Paris by train, and, the day over, winter and -summer, his wife came to meet him. They returned together on foot either -along the banks of the Seine, charming in their profusion of little -hills and islands, covered with meadows or fine trees, or through the -woods of Meudon and Clamart, with their vistas of Paris, its heights, -its buildings, its changing sky full of light and spirit. - -At the end of four years of opposition and annoyance Rodin gave up -pottery in order to consecrate himself wholly to his own work. The -museum of the factory preserves a vase signed by him, and the future -Musee de l'Hotel Biron can show a second example. What has become of the -others? What price would not be paid for them to-day by admirers of the -master? - -These supplementary works did not turn him away from his essential task; -whatever were the technical means employed, his efforts tended toward -one unique end, the plastic quality, and he gave himself up desperately -to this search in executing his new order, the "Gate." - -Rising at four in the morning, as he had done in his youth, he studied -the plans and the details of this great work. He had announced a series -of little figures. How was he to group them? What visions surged in the -sculptor's imagination? Of what legendary theme, what theme of history -or poetry, should he make use in order to realize his program? He had -never ceased to be a passionate reader. He read especially the Greek -poets and dramatists, the Roman historians, the old French chronicles, -Dante, Shakspere, Victor Hugo, and Baudelaire. He did not wish to draw -the subject of his future work from Homer, AEschylus or Sophocles; -the School of the Beaux-Arts had so abused the theme of the antique, -already immortalized by Greek sculptors, that it had entirely lost its -freshness. The moderns attracted him less, but he was obsessed by the -work of the great poet of the Renaissance, by the "Divine Comedy" of -Dante. He had read and reread it and made a sort of commentary in the -form of innumerable sketches which he jotted down mornings and evenings -at table, while walking, stopping by the wayside to dash off attitudes -and gestures on the leaves of his note-book. He rediscovered in the -poem of Dante the fateful grandeur of the Greek dramas, but with an -atmosphere more modern, closer to ourselves, more mournfully familiar to -our anguishes and our torments. The idea took shape in his imagination, -"that imagination ceaselessly rumbling and groaning like a forge"; it -exalted his bold spirit. Genius joins to the richness of the intellect -the simplicity of heart that creates faith. Genius _believes_ ever more -than it _thinks_. It has the strength which succeeds in anything, and -it possesses also that supreme gift, the ingenuousness of the child who -doubts nothing. Rodin believed the poem of Dante as if he had lived it, -as Dante himself believed in Vergil. What a magnificent homage great men -render to one another in this credulity of genius toward genius! - -[Illustration: RODIN AT WORK ON THE MARBLE.] - -The subject chosen by Rodin for his decorative panels, then, was -hell--hell as Dante conceived it in a vision that lends itself, for -that matter, marvelously to a plastic realization. The "Gate" would -be a poem, an immense sculptured poem; that is to say, a resume of -the attitudes and gestures of life called forth by the release of the -passions, a strange catalogue of the expressions of the human body under -the shock of sorrow and of joy. If the imagination of Rodin caught -fire like that of a visionary, he remained beyond everything and above -everything the sculptor, and he plunged immediately into the search for -the general scheme of the work. - -The truth of the movements, the poetry of the evocations, his models -would give him; he could feel at ease as to that: the resources that -nature would offer him were inexhaustible. But the plan, that he -must find himself; he must do the work of the builder, almost of the -geometrician. There could be no self-deception as to that. The fuller -the ornamentation was to be of figures and movements, the more solid -must be the frame of the immense picture, the more vigorous and compact -must be the general plan of the work. - -Rodin's mind wavered between two great schools, that of the Renaissance -and that of the Middle Ages, that which had produced the doors of the -baptistry at Florence and that to which we owe the portals of the Gothic -cathedrals. - -The celebrated gates of Florence are a series of bas-reliefs arranged -symmetrically in a regular framework; they present a series of separate -pictures having no common bond except their subject. The execution -is admirable, and it is perhaps impossible to surpass it. Lorenzo -Ghiberti has done there the work of an incomparable modeler, actually -a goldsmith; but he has in no way troubled himself with regard to -architecture. Now, architecture is the great French point of view. The -Roman and the Gothic have placed in their monument (the church) that -other monument (the portal). The portal is complete in itself; the -art of the sculptor and that of the architect have united and become -indistinguishable here in order to realize an absolute beauty. - -Rodin, profoundly French, inheriting the instinct and taste of his -ancestors the master-masons, having to compose a door, was fated to -conceive a portal. On the other hand, he could not escape the influence -of the antique, the result of his early studies. This was the entirely -different element which in the course of the work he had undertaken was -to mingle with the Gothic element. - -It was not the first time that the mingling of these two great -conceptions of art had occurred in France. From it had sprung our -Renaissance sculpture; in that epoch the sculpture of the Greeks united -itself with the Gothic architecture, the Hellenic sunlight brought to -blossom the majesty of our monuments. Does not Rodin himself, with his -vast outlook over the whole field of art, call this period of national -art, the sixteenth century, the French Gothic? - -"The Gate of Hell," then, took on in its general structure a Renaissance -aspect. It preserves the graceful line of the Gothic portal and has the -luminous whiteness inspired by Greek sculpture. This singular work has -touched all contemporary artists. Most of our writers have described it, -and, after them, the critics of other countries. This living multitude, -this suffering, groaning multitude that covers the two panels with a -thousand passionate movements, has drawn into its magic whirlpool the -world of literature, which has been able to liberate itself only by -means of innumerable printed pages. The poem of Dante has come forth as -it were revivified from the hands of Rodin. Fresh tears, one would say, -have bathed the most poignant passages; the pity of a man of to-day, -of one like ourselves, our brother, has enveloped the terrible work of -the Florentine poet, that man of the Middle Ages, with an atmosphere of -tenderness and compassion which seems the emotion of Christianity at its -purest, its original source. In order to become our own, it has passed -through the great soul of Rodin. It is not surprising, then, that the -sensibility of our artists, reanimated by this new spectacle, should be -touched to so voluminous an expression by this haunting work. - -But what has not been sufficiently remarked is that the "Gate" is, above -everything, a piece of architecture of the highest order. - -When we see it we are at once struck with an impression of majesty, of -calm strength and plenitude. It seems even longer than it actually is. -It is a rectangle six meters high and two and a half meters wide, but -the source of the illusion is the justness of the proportions and the -value of the masses. - -The powerful frame is furrowed with deep depressions. It rests on the -ground upon a strong base from which rise the two door-posts, as robust -as pillars and mounting together toward the summit. A pediment in the -shape of an entablature overhangs the entire monument, casting over -it a deep shadow full of nuances; and it is this shadow, skilfully -graduated, that gives to the work its rich, soft color. The body of -the portal is divided into two panels; a vast tympanum surmounts them -transversally. This tympanum, surmounted by a large cornice, dominates -the work. Without weighing it down, it gives it its mass, it attracts, -it obsesses, the eye; it is the soul of the edifice, its intellect. No -word can more justly describe it than the word brow, for it is magnetic, -haunting, mysterious, like the forehead of a man of genius. - -The panels sink deep into a shadow that is heavy, but not harsh, while -in the foreground the pillars advance into the light; the delicate -bas-reliefs that cover them keep them in a silvery atmosphere, the -source of the great softness which envelopes this work, otherwise severe -and tragic, the source of the fugitive lightness of the lines, which -strike up from the earth toward the somber and tormented upper regions. - -Carried away by this marvelous technic, the spirit of the visitor -succumbs; it follows this ascending movement of the door-posts, to lose -itself in the sorrowful dream sculptured on the tympanum. - -On the panel writhe the clusters of human figures, the eddies of the -multitude of damned souls pursued by the rage of the elements, by -the devouring tongues of the infernal fire, by the frozen waters, by -the wind that tears them and stings them. "It is," says the eminent -art critic Gustave Jeffroy, in the most beautiful pages that have -been consecrated to a description of this work, "the dizzy whirl, the -falling through space, the groveling on the face of the earth of a -whole wretched humanity obstinately persisting in living and suffering, -bruised and wounded in its flesh, saddened in its soul, crying aloud -its griefs, harshly laughing through its tears, chanting its breathless -fears, its sickly joys, its ecstatic sorrows." - -The genius of Rodin became intoxicated with all the resources of his -art. Master of a technic of the first order, he delighted in every kind -of effect, arranging them as a great symphonist arranges the instruments -of an immense orchestra. Low-relief, half-relief, high-relief, and -sculpture in the round, he omitted none. He did not yield to the -literary temptation. At the height of his fever of invention he was -circumspect, measured, guided by his knowledge as a modeler. The poet -thinks, but the carver speaks; he speaks justly, he speaks admirably, -because he uses only his own true and personal language, which he knows -from the ground up. That is the whole secret of the way in which this -man inflames our soul and subjugates our imagination. - -Two principal notes, two motives form, above the whirlwind of the -infernal fires, a resting-place for the eye troubled by so much -vehemence: one, in the midst of the tympanum, is the figure of Dante. It -is Dante, but it is even more the eternal poet. Seated, leaning over the -abyss of suffering, thrilled with anguish, he seems to seek in the very -depths of the pit itself the word of infinite pity that will deliver -this sorrowful humanity. - -Higher yet, above his bowed head, rising suddenly from the frame and -splayed in a large protuberance, a group of three entwined figures -crowns and completes the brow. With the same despairing gesture they -point to the multitude of the damned. One does not know what these -shuddering beings are, but they have the sweetness of angels; at once -we seem to hear their lips murmur the words of the grand Florentine, -"_Lasciate ogni speranza_"; but across their forms, their compassionate -forms, their fraternal forms, one feels passing a tremor of love and -pity. Far from condemning, their clasped hands offer to the sad wreckage -of fatality that writhes at their feet a sign, a unique sign, the sign -of good-will of pity. - - * * * * * - -"The Gate of Hell" was shown only once to the public. This was at the -Universal Exposition of 1900. Although it was nearly finished, it was -seen then only in an incomplete state. - -The day of the opening arrived before the master had been able to have -placed on the _fronton_ and on the panels of his monument the hundreds -of great and small figures destined for their ornamentation. People saw -the "Gate," then in the nudity of its construction, grandiose assuredly, -but despoiled of its extraordinary raiment of sculpture. - -That day was a sad one for the true friends of art and of Rodin. A band -of snobs, full of their own importance, crowded about the great man. -Having considered the work with the hasty and casual glance of men of -the world of the sort that are concerned above all to get themselves -noticed, they remarked to Rodin, in a tone of augury, "Your doorway is -much more beautiful like that; in no circumstances do anything more to -it." - -This absurd advice befell at an evil moment: the artist felt worn out -from overwork and anxieties of all kinds and, moreover, was troubled -over the fate of his exhibit the failure of which might in truth have -ruined him completely. In these circumstances he did not have the -freedom of spirit necessary to judge correctly the value of his own -work. And besides he had seen it too much during the twenty years in -which it had been before his eyes. He was tired of it, weary of it. - -[Illustration: PERISTYLE OP THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.] - -Thus everything combined to make him lend an ear to the unfavorable -opinions of the Parisian aviary. Had he been in better health, more -the master of himself physically and morally, he would have replied to -the prattling of these excited paroquets and guinea-hens: - -"Take more room, examine my 'Gate' from a little farther off, and you -will see once more the effect of the whole--the effect of unity which -charms you when it is deprived of its ornamentation. You must understand -that my sculpture is so calculated as to melt into the principal masses. -For that matter, it completes them by modeling them into the light. -The essential designs are there: it is possible that in the course -of the final work I may find it necessary to diminish such or such a -projection, to fill out such or such a pool of shadow; nevertheless, -leave this difficulty to my fifty years of artisanship and experience, -and you may be sure that quite by myself I shall find the best way of -finishing my work." - -But the master was silent. Later, carried away by the abundance of his -conceptions, by his ever-deepening researches, he lost all interest in -the "Gate" and has never taken the trouble to have it entirely mounted. - -Fortunately, casts of it have been carefully preserved. It would be -only an affair of a few months to reconstruct the work in its original -integrity. Since the Universal Exposition time has rolled forward, and -events also. Auguste Rodin has entered into the great serenity which -age brings with it. He composes less, he corrects his work, he judges -himself, and he does not deny his "Gate," one of the most exceptional of -his works. - -At last the creation of the Musee Rodin has been decided upon by the -state. "The Gate of Hell" will be one of its important pieces; we shall -be able to contemplate it then in all its majesty; it will not then -simply be molded in plaster, but cast in bronze and cut in marble. -It will offer a noble example of what work can accomplish when it is -served by that supreme gift, will; for it will testify as much to -resistance against the powerful enemies of the life of thought as to the -intelligence of the man who created it. It forces upon us not only a -formidable impression of strength, labor, talent, but also an impression -no less lofty of method, order, and inner harmony. The multitude, who -through their profound instincts approach much closer than one might -suppose to the man of genius, will exclaim in contemplating this work, -this true monument which undoubtedly the sculptor has raised through his -own force of character, "Whoever erected this beautiful thing with his -indefatigable hands was truly a man." - - - - -II - -"THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS" (1889)--RODIN AND VICTOR HUGO--THE STATUE OF -BALZAC (1898) - - -At the time the plaster model of "The Burghers of Calais" was first -offered to the judgment of the public, in 1889, nearly seven years had -gone by since Rodin had originally undertaken the group. - -This is the period of my own childish memories of the master. He was a -frequent visitor at the home of my father, who lived in Sevres, on the -outskirts of Paris. - -Rodin, with his silent nature, apparently so full of calm and -meditation, delighted in the ardor, the patriotic enthusiasm, the -ferment of character, the brilliant conversation of that powerful, -original writer, my father; he loved his books, too, spirited and -passionate like himself, and possessing a vigor of expression that was -new to French letters. - -Leon Cladel received his friends on Sundays. In winter they gathered in -the drawing-room, in summer on a terrace shaded by great chestnuts and -limes, where thousands of birds twittered and chattered so energetically -that at dusk they ended by drowning the voices of the visitors. Among -the latter were writers, painters, and sculptors, several of whom have -since become famous. Among them were Auguste Rodin and his colleague, -his dear comrade, Jules Dalou, creator of many fine works, notably the -monument to Eugene Delacroix which stands in the Luxembourg Gardens. - -The sculptor of "The Burghers of Calais" was then barely fifty. He was -far from possessing the immense fame that is his to-day, but artists -already regarded him as a master. Of medium height, robust, with large -shoulders and heavy limbs, placid and deliberate in appearance, never -gesticulating, he himself resembled a block of stone; but above this -heavy base his countenance, with its broadly designed features and its -gray-blue eyes, expressed an extraordinarily keen intelligence and -finesse. Despite my youth I was struck by this physiognomy, so singular -and so penetrating, and also by the remarkable shyness that made the -sculptor blush whenever he was addressed. Since then innumerable -portraits have familiarized people with these features, which with age -have settled into an expression of authority and firm will; his strange -timidity has disappeared with time, with the consciousness of his -strength, with his having become accustomed to glory. Moreover, Rodin -has become a ready talker. Of old he listened intently, but always -held his peace; at most a few words, spoken in a soft, clear voice, -escaped from the waves of his long beard. He would at once relapse into -silence, while with a slow movement giving his beard an instinctive -caress with his large, square, irresistible hand, the true hand of a -builder. But when he raised his eyelids, almost always lowered, the -transparent eye, that limpid gray-blue eye, betrayed a perspicacity -that was almost malicious, almost cunning: one felt that he penetrated -through the forms of people to their very souls; and this he fixed so -skilfully in the clay of his busts that his models were not always -pleased with it. Many of Rodin's portraits have been refused by sitters -offended by their pitiless realism. - -[Illustration: STATUE OF BASTIEN-LEPAGE.] - -Sometimes my father kept Rodin and Jules Dalou to dinner. The two -sculptors were devoted to each other. They were comrades from of old who -had traveled together the hard road of beginners; since their student -days at the Petite Ecole they had many times reencountered each other -in the same workshops, where they had received the same contemptuous -wages for their long days of labor. They felt a profound esteem for each -other's talent, different as these talents were, altogether opposed, in -fact, as were their natures; and it was a fine, a lovely thing to see -them bring forward each other's respective merits. Alas! I shall have -to tell later how an artistic rivalry came one day to destroy this noble -friendship. - -The appearance of "The Burghers of Calais" aroused a flood of enthusiasm -in the world of art. I remember it well. At that time I was only a -young school-girl, and my father was unwilling to allow me to "miss -my classes" in order to accompany him to the opening of the Rodin -Exhibition. After all, the lessons I received that day, following them -quite absent-mindedly, were they worth the lesson I should have received -from the contemplation of that masterpiece, even if my age would have -prevented me from quite understanding it? Beauty is always the most -fertilizing teacher. - -A rich art-lover, acting with the municipal authorities of Calais, had -ordered from Rodin the statue of Eustache de Saint-Pierre, the Calais -hero whose devotion had in the fourteenth century, during the Hundred -Years' War, saved the city when it was besieged by King Edward III of -England. - -Rodin, true to his principles, sought as ever to approach his subject -from the quick of reality. He consulted history. He read the old -chronicles of France, above all those of Jean Froissart, who was -contemporaneous with the event and almost a witness of it. Froissart was -a man of the fourteenth century, a man of the age of the cathedrals, -and therefore himself a Gothic. His narrative has the force, the -savor, the naivete, the simple and profound art of the masters of that -marvelous epoch. What a source of emotion for Rodin, a Gothic likewise -in his faith and his artistic rectitude! He caught fire at the recital -of the old master as at the voice of a brother-in-arms. He read, he -learned that Edward III would not consent to spare the city of Calais -from pillage and destruction unless six of her richest citizens would -come out to him dressed only in their shirts, barefoot, with ropes about -their necks, bringing him the keys of the city and their own heads to be -cut off. In response to this terrible message, Eustache de Saint-Pierre -and five of his fellow-citizens, taking counsel with the notables -of the place, at once rose to go to the king's camp. They set forth -immediately, escorted on their way by the hunger-stricken multitude, -weeping and groaning over their sacrifice and "adoring them with pity." - -This was the vision which from that time on took possession of Rodin, -dominating him and never leaving him. But it was not an isolated person -detached from his environment that he saw: it was the six martyrs just -as they appeared in history, just as they were in life. In his thought -he followed this band of heroes marching to the sacrifice in the midst -of the weeping city. He could not bring himself to separate them either -from their whole number or from their tragic surroundings. Therefore, -in accordance with the genius of his theme, that is to say, with -historic truth, he would make all six of them, and he would insist that -they should be set up in the midst of the city, among the old houses, -where they would continue to live their sublime life in the heart of the -very town that they had saved. - -For the price of one statue, therefore, Rodin set out to execute six. -He rented a vast atelier in the rue des Fourneaux, in the Vaugirard -Quarter. He worked unceasingly. To keep this enormous group in good -condition, to maintain the proper temperature, he moistened the clay -morning and evening, having as his _garcon d'atelier_ no one but his -devoted wife, who had become thoroughly experienced in these matters. -Despite all, accidents would happen: the clay would give way, an -arm, modeled with his habitual exactitude, would fall and have to be -laboriously repaired; but the fervent modeler never hesitated in his -work, and on the day when he exhibited "The Burghers of Calais" at the -house of Georges Petit the praise and the homage that sprang forth from -the soul of all true artists recompensed him magnificently, bringing -him the intoxicating caress of dawning glory. They spoke, in connection -with the "Burghers," of the image-makers of our cathedrals; they spoke -of the statues of Claus Sluters, of the famous statues of the "Well of -Moses" at Dijon. Really, in the Calais monument Rodin is more than ever -under the Gothic influence in subject, in thought, and in execution. -The equilibrium of the figures composing the group is the same as that -of the "Saint John the Baptist." The long shifts that cover the naked -bodies of his heroes recall those draperies in vertical folds dear to -the Middle Ages. The very modeling of the figures and of the faces -increases this effect of elongation caused by the fall of the fabric; -the modeling in large planes, the vigorous accents, the simple and -pathetic movements are certainly those of the sort that out-of-door -sculpture calls for. In twenty years Rodin had made innumerable visits -to the Gothic monuments. Here was the result of his tours of France. He -had made them in order to recapture the traditions of art from the hands -of our wonderful old stone-cutters, and his heart must have throbbed -with joy when he was told that in his own hands that tradition had -suffered no loss. - -Naturally, the appearance of "The Burghers of Calais," even that, -could not fail to have its share of comic anecdote, that bitter and -painful humor that marks the adventures of genius in its struggle with -vulgarity. Let us not complain too much. The contrast between these -adventures and the proud way of life of a great man, the regularity -of his hours of toil--it is this that creates opposition, movement, -life. The elect soul feels a savage joy in these blows which shake it -like a tree tormented by brutal hands, a tree aware of the vigor of its -resistance and its ever-increasing tenacity. - -The municipality of Calais, hearing that there were to be six statues -instead of the one that had been ordered, took umbrage, and deliberated -for two years. The heroic group waited, and, as it encumbered Rodin's -atelier, where other works were going forward, it was placed in a -stable. At last the worthy town authorities decided to assign it a -site. Naturally, the site in question was exactly opposed to the ideas -of the master--ideas that had been thought out and that were perfectly -logical, based on the laws of decorative art and still more determined -by that infallible criterion, taste. Rodin desired that his monument -should be in the center of the town; they placed it on the edge of -the sea. He counted on emphasizing the tall stature of his figures -by enshrining it in the narrow frame of the houses; they placed it -against a horizon without limits. He requested that the group should be -placed very low, almost on the ground, or else very high on an elevated -pedestal, like the "Colleoni" at Venice or the "Gattamelata" at Padua; -they placed it at a middle height, thus diminishing the effect of its -imposing proportions. The lesson had to come from foreign lands. The -city of Antwerp has erected, in front of its museum of fine arts, -two of the statues of the celebrated group, and England, which does -things splendidly when it is a question of embellishing its cities or -of rendering homage to the valor of its adversaries, has erected the -effigies of the six heroes of Calais on one of the most beautiful sites -in London, before the Palace of Westminster. - - * * * * * - -By this time the reader is sufficiently familiar with the technic of -Rodin for it to be unnecessary to analyze here in detail this well-known -work. What must not be forgotten is that the sculptor had first modeled -these six powerful bodies entirely in the nude. This is his invariable -method when he executes draped figures. One realizes this, even without -knowing it, before these arms, these hands, these legs, and these feet -constructed with that rigorous conscience which, with the true artist, -is at once a necessity and a delight; one divines the slope of the -torsos bent with grief or rigid in the pride of sacrifice. - -"Yes, they are beautiful," the master said to me one day when I was -talking with him. "The shirt, the blouse are garments the folds of -which yield simple planes and effects that, rightly rendered, are those -of true sculpture. But there is something better still, and that is -sackcloth. If I had clothed my 'Burghers of Calais' in sackcloth, they -would certainly be more beautiful. I did not dare to. Some one else will -do this and will succeed. It is sufficient to express an idea and leave -it to its destiny." - -We ought to love in Rodin this intellectual vigor that skirts the -borders of the impossible. In our age, consumed with indecision, it is a -priceless aid, a resting-place, a _point d'appui_ from which one starts -forth afresh, fortified, one's nerves recharged with vitality, to the -conquest of one's share of knowledge or of talent. This accounts in part -for the irresistible influence which for thirty years the illustrious -sculptor has exercised over the minds of artists. One feels that this -fount of strength condensed in his virile soul comes from something -deeper than his personality alone; it comes from the very depths of -the national reserves. The conviction, the energy of Rodin are those -of the workman who knows his trade, of the laborer impassioned by the -culture of his own soil. This endurance is the foundation of the French -temperament; the events happening now have proved it. When a country -possesses such individualities through the course of history, the roads -of the future open out before it brilliant with hope despite passing -shadows, and promise the highest surprises. - -[Illustration: DANAIADE.] - - - -RODIN AND VICTOR HUGO - -The creation of "The Burghers of Calais" marks the middle of a period -of truly prodigious fecundity. From 1889 to 1896, monuments, busts, -statues, and groups of every kind issue without interruption from the -ateliers of Rodin, and the more numerous the works his hand models, -the more it grasps the contexture of the work, the more it refines the -execution. Orders for portraits pour in; collectors hold it an honor to -possess a marble, a bronze, signed with a name which every day increases -in celebrity. In 1888 comes that jewel of marble, the bust of Madame -Morla Vicunha, and the monument to Claude Vicunha, president of the -Republic of Chile; in 1889, the bronze portrait of Dalou, the statue of -Bastien-Lepage, that admirable head "La Pensee," acquired by the Musee -du Luxembourg. - -In 1890 comes the portrait of Mme. Russell, a bust in silver, of -noble simplicity, which one would say was the head of a Roman matron, -with the luminous veil upon her thoughtful forehead and the flower of -good-will blossoming upon her delicately swelling mouth. Then there is -"The Danaid," "La vielle Heaulmiere," and a great study, a long woman's -torso, "La Terre." - -In 1892, not to mention delightful minor works like "The Young Mother" -and "Brother and Sister," appear two masterpieces: the bust of Puvis -de Chavannes and that of Henri Rochefort, magnificent contrasts in -construction and execution. The painter-gentleman carries his haughty -head like an old leaguer chief, and the pamphleteer bends over the -destinies of France, which for fifty years he has defended day in, day -out, with his flaming pen, an enormous brow--a brow like a spherical -vault that seems to contain a world. - -"You have made it grander, you have made it more beautiful than nature," -some one said to Rodin one day. - -"One can never do anything so beautiful as nature," he replied. - -In this same year, 1892, he exhibited the charming monument to Claude -Lorrain, in which he recaptured the spirit of the eighteenth century. It -was the town of Nancy that ordered this figure of its painter and has -placed it in its vast park. - -One cannot mention everything. Forms and attitudes renew themselves, -but not the terms that express them. To measure the abundance of this -work one should read the catalogue, till now incomplete,--for it has -been impossible to compile one that was not so,--of the master's -works; only so can we realize how almost dizzily his productiveness -became accelerated with the epoch of his maturity. Mythological -subjects dominate it, but are always treated with a profoundly human -understanding of the poetry and the grace of the form in which they -achieve an aspect delightfully new. - -Such titles as "Venus and Adonis," "The Education of Achilles," "The -Death of Alcestis," "Cupid and Psyche," "The Faun and the Fountain," -"Pygmalion and Galatea," Rodin inscribed only as an afterthought on -the pedestals of his groups. They are not the result of a necessary -preliminary conception; it is his figures themselves that breathe them, -his models unconsciously repeated the combinations of movement and -gesture through which are translated the eternal sentiments immortalized -by the legends of paganism. So true is this that Rodin obtained his -charming groups by assembling in harmony with his researches the -animated little figures that encumbered the windows of his ateliers. -He amused himself by uniting them, by marrying their attitudes; with -these little figures, these puppets of genius, he composed actual little -intimate dramas or idylls revived from the antique. In the hollow of -a Greek bowl he places a little nude body, and one would say that it -is the soul of the wave that conceals itself against the side of the -vase. He enlaces three feminine figures, upright, beside the body of a -recumbent youth: they are the Graces, who come to bend over the dying -poet. Thus he perpetuates the fantasy of things through that of his own -taste; he eternalizes the most delicious caprices of nature. - - * * * * * - -We come now to the year 1896 and the appearance of the "Monument to -Victor Hugo." - -This monument had been ordered for the Pantheon. Rodin, who had modeled -in 1885 the bust of the singer of the "Legende des Siecles," was -doubly, on this account, entitled to the order. In the midst of what -difficulties had he achieved that bust! It required all his patience, -all the tenacity of a Lorrainese peasant, to accomplish it. When he -had begged the honor of reproducing those illustrious features, the -poet, already nearing his end, tired out with having posed for mediocre -plaster-daubers and unaware of the superiority of his new sculptor, -consented to pose only for two hours. All the same, he authorized Rodin -to come as often as necessary and make as many sketches as he needed -while he, Hugo, worked or received his friends. - -Rodin accepted these difficult conditions. Was it not Victor Hugo with -whom he was dealing, the father of modern poetry? And then what a -spectacle for his artist's eyes, that of the great man bending over his -papers that Jupiter-like head of his in which thought, in gestation, -swelled the sublime brow with a tumult of ideas! When he talked, what -majesty in "this face of a lion in repose"! - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT BUST OF VICTOR HUGO.] - -The sculptor placed a stool, some clay, some tools in the corner of -a gallery; it was there that he worked out the general form of the -bust. Then, studying his wonderful model for months, he made hundreds -of sketches of him, under every aspect; at times, having used up the -pages of his note-books, he even covered entire blocks of cigarette -paper with rapid notes and jottings. Then he transferred this record -of observations to his clay. Working in this manner, it took him three -months to finish his bust. He exhibited it, in bronze, at the Salon of -1884. One cannot fail to admire the volumes, the beautiful mass of the -whole, even though it does not show that brilliant touch of genius which -strikes us before the bust of Jean-Paul Laurens or that of Rochefort; -but later, relying upon this document and upon his own special memory -of forms in action, Rodin was to restore for us this moving head in his -monument of the poet, which was to be one of his very loftiest works. -This same bust of Victor Hugo was to rupture the friendship between -Rodin and Jules Dalou--Dalou of whom he sent to the same Salon of 1884, -by a curious coincidence, an incomparable bust that puts one in mind of -those of Donatello. - -The family of Victor Hugo did not like Rodin's portrait of the master. -When the poet died (1885), it was Dalou whom they called to execute a -death-mask of the features of the great poet. Filled with ambition and -eager for official glory, Dalou had the weakness to accept, forgetting -what he owed to Rodin, not even informing him, in fact. Deeply hurt, the -latter withdrew his affection for his old friend. My father, saddened by -this occurrence, which destroyed so rare and noble a friendship, brought -the two friends together at his table in the hope of reconciling them; -but nothing could melt the wall of ice that had fallen between these -dissevered hearts. - -Ten years afterward a magnificent compensation was offered to Rodin. -From him was ordered the monument of the poet for the Pantheon. He -represented him nude, under the folds of a vast cloak, and seated on -a rock, as if by the seashore, with his wonderful head bowed in an -attitude of meditation, just as Rodin had often contemplated it in -priceless hours. - -This manner of representing a great man, quite simply revived from the -Renaissance and the eighteenth century, shocked to the last degree the -administrative staff of the department of fine arts. Why this nude -personage, instead of a quite respectable Victor Hugo in the frock-coat -of an academician? Why not one of those statues that peacefully occupy -some corner of a public square without attracting any one's attention, -one of those statues that are not made to be looked at? As for this -poet, who resembled a Homer, a hero or a demigod, this grand body, -outrageously beautiful and simple, is it not scandalous in the midst of -the conformity of bourgeois civilization, enslaved by the ugliness of -fashion, whose perverted taste can no longer recognize the beauty of the -nude? The painter David used to say of his epoch, in which, however, the -mode of dress was less displeasing than it is to-day, "What misery to be -obliged to spend one's life in fashioning coats and shoes!" Rodin, like -David, and like Phidias, preferred the trade of the sculptor to that of -the tailor. - -Such an uproar arose that he had to withdraw the model of his monument -and promise another. But everything comes with time, even the best: the -fortunes of politics brought to the ministry of fine arts an intelligent -and cultivated director, the dramatic critic Gustave Larroumet. -Delighted with Rodin's scheme, the magnificent symbolization of French -poetry, he confirmed the order for the audacious monument, no longer for -the Pantheon, but for the Luxembourg Gardens; and, not satisfied with -this reparation, charged the master with the additional execution of -another monument destined for the Pantheon. One can imagine the anger in -certain circles--two orders on the same subject to the same sculptor! -What an aberration! What madness! But the decision was made and well -made. - -Rodin took six years to perfect his first "Victor Hugo"; the marble -was not exhibited until 1901. The vigor of the work and the sovereign -gesture by which the bard of contemplation seems to impose silence upon -the voice of nature in order that the voices struggling within himself, -in the depths of his genius, may be the better heard, the suppleness of -the material, of this Carrara marble, with its warm reflections, as if -melted under the pressure of a fiery hand, obstinately make one think of -Michelangelo; one has the disturbing sensation, not of an imitation, but -of a resurrection of the plastic power reincarnated out of nature, of a -new spring of sap from the same vein of genius. - -The original plan allowed, in addition, for two allegorical figures, -"The Inner Voice" and "The Tragic Muse," which, placed beside the poet, -should breathe into him thought and inspiration. But, very beautiful -in themselves, they gave to the monument, once they were executed and -placed, an anecdotal quality that diminished its force; they weakened -the grandeur of the Olympian gesture and destroyed that feeling of -solitude inseparable from such a personality as that of the great man: -an island in the midst of the flood of the human multitude, genius -itself is aware of its own splendid isolation. - -[Illustration: MONUMENT TO VICTOR HUGO.] - -This is what I ventured to express one day to the master, not without -hesitation. Nothing equals the simplicity of Rodin face to face with -what he knows is sincere and animated by a true love of art. He -listened, gazed at his work, and, turning toward me, gave me a joyous -glance. - -"You are right," he replied, with a spontaneity that put my sense of -responsibility on its mettle. "I sacrificed to the mania of the age, -which is to overload things. My modeling is there, the eloquence of the -gesture also. The rest would only spoil the essential things. It is a -stroke of genius. I am going to write to the under-secretary of state -that my monument is ready." - -In lieu of the two figures that were to have accompanied the statue of -Victor Hugo, to indemnify the Government Rodin gave to the Musee du -Luxembourg a series of his most beautiful busts in bronze, including the -head of the poet. - -As for the marble, it was in the garden of the Palais Royal that it -was finally erected; but this site is not of the happiest: a large -lawn separates the spectator from the monument; one sees it from the -wrong angle, and this destroys the equilibrium of its planes. Moreover, -in our damp climate marble quickly loses the charm of its purity and -transparency; streaks of brown already stain and deface that of the -"Victor Hugo." Let us hope that the organizers of the Musee Rodin -will find it possible to place it in one of the rooms of the future -museum, substituting for it a bronze upon which the inclemencies of the -atmosphere will serve to produce a beautiful patina. - - - -THE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898) - -This is the most famous and the least known of Rodin's works. Newspaper -controversies have made it famous throughout the whole world; but it -has, nevertheless, made only one brief appearance in public, in 1898, at -the Salon of the Societe Nationale des Beaux Arts. It marks at the same -time a vital stage in the career of the master and the most poignant -period of his life as a fighter. It is the point of equilibrium in -the perpetual balancing of the art of Rodin between the several great -traditions. It was the object of a famous quarrel, in which the glory -of the sculptor, momentarily all but eclipsed by ridicule, recovered -itself, nevertheless, and rose higher than ever. - -What strikes one in this statue, at first sight, is its strange -block-like aspect, its monolithic simplicity. People say quite rightly -that it looks like a stone _lovee_, a druidic monument. Ever since "The -Burghers of Calais," one of the figures of which at least, that of -the man with the key, already suggests the idea of a monolith, Rodin -had been going further and further in his stubborn search for the -simplification of planes, and here he finally achieved his object. In -order to obtain it, he went back all the way to the primitive Gothic -and even to the archaic Greek, which likewise preserves in the general -outline of its statues the rigid aspect of those statues of wood that -had preceded it. In all these early epochs of art one finds the form of -the tree trunk in which their sculpture was cut. One of the examples of -this art that had most forcibly impressed Rodin was the statue of Hera -of Samothrace in the Louvre. The beauty of this figure, denuded of all -foreign artifice in the exact research for masses, the public little -comprehends; but the sculptor perceives its justness, the power of its -relief and its modeling, disconcerting in these primitive artists, -qualities that are concealed under the extreme simplicity of its -appearance. In this magnificent Hera it is as if one saw the rotundities -of woman coming to birth and undergoing in the tree, the vegetal column, -one of those metamorphoses familiar in the fables of paganism. The -"Balzac," with its athletic body, veiled in a spread robe that envelopes -it, does not it also resemble a powerful tree trunk from the summit of -which looks down, like a solitary, monstrous flower, the head of the -inspired writer? - -This statue had been ordered by the Societe des Gens de Lettres, and was -intended for one of the public squares of Paris. After Victor Hugo, -Balzac. After the giant of modern poetry, the giant of the novel. What -a redoutable honor, but also what a homage to the talent of the great -sculptor! What joy for artists in the association of these two names, -Balzac and Rodin! On the other hand, how many adversaries rejoiced in -the hope of seeing Rodin come to grief with this task, fraught not -less with peril than with glory! He did not conceal from himself that -the statue of Balzac would be a severe problem to solve. We possess -no authentic bust of the creator of the "Comedie Humaine," not even -a death-mask giving the exact measure of the cranial bones and hence -the actual planes. We know through his contemporaries that the author -was fat and short. Fat and short--that is far from facilitating the -composition of a work of decorative art. But, more precious than -mediocre portraits, there is a famous page about him by Lamartine, -another great genius. "Balzac," he says, "was the figure of an element -... stout, thick-set, square at the base and at the shoulders, ample, -much as Mirabeau was; but not heavy in any way; he had so much soul that -it carried _him_ lightly." - -[Illustration: STATUE OF BALZAC.] - -It was this essence that he set out to render. A frank artist takes -no liberties with reality. It alone gives him force; the "majesty of -the true" is alone durable. Nature, which dowered Balzac with one -of the most prodigious intellects known to us, dowered him at the -same time, to support this intellect, with the physical breadth of a -colossus. To have altered anything that went to make up the harmony of -the structure would have been to commit a grave error; it would have -been to denaturalize the divine work. On the other hand, above this -mass of flesh it was necessary to make that marvelous spirit hover, -that sparkling spirit, that myriad-faceted spirit of the greatest of -novelists. - -Rodin knows by experience that nature repeats herself. Has not a -humorist said: "It is useless to make a bust of you; it exists already. -You have only to look for it in the museums"? - -He set out to find a man who resembled Balzac, going all the way to -Touraine, the writer's native province, a hundred times depicted by -him in his books. The family of Balzac was originally from Languedoc, -but that made no difference; the intuition of a great artist is always -rewarded. Rodin found at Tours the model he desired; he was a young -countryman, a carter, who resembled his hero to an almost miraculous -degree. Of him he made a very animated bust, in which one sees the full -face, the nose, concave and large at the end, but voluptuous and full -of spirit, the rounded chin, the vast shoulders of the master of the -"Comedie Humaine." There was lacking, however, the flame of thought that -spiritualized and rendered buoyant this mass of human substance. Rodin -modified the expression, illuminating the physiognomy with delicacy and -frank gaiety. It is Balzac at twenty-five, a peasant Balzac, breathing -at every pore youth, self-confidence, and the love of life. Not yet -is it the man tormented by fate, the tragic visionary of the "Comedie -Humaine," the slave of his work who in twenty years wrote fifty novels, -staged a thousand characters, and gave life to an entire society. It is -not the man who has suffered, thought, meditated, with all the power -of one of the most extraordinary organisms known to us; it has not the -appearance of a phenomenon. - -After this Rodin skilfully altered these features; he gave them the -scars of the interior effort, he made them soft and hollowed them, he -made them old and grave. In a few weeks he did the work that nature -had taken years to accomplish. He finished by creating that Titan's -mask which we know, that head as round as a bullet and, like a bullet, -terrible in its concentrated force. Later he augmented this; that is -to say, he doubled its proportions: and this head, almost frightening -in its expression, recalls the masks which the Greek tragedians wore -when they played in the open air. Finally he modeled the body of the -colossus, making it entirely nude, with arms crossed, braced against -the earth with the tension of the whole will, evoking the idea of some -prodigious birth. Then he draped this heavy body in the monk's robe -in which the writer used to envelope himself for work and the straight -folds of which enwrapped him like the sheath of a mummy, offering to the -sight nothing but the tumultuous head--the head ravaged by intelligence -and savage energy. - -Rodin felt almost frightened by his own work. - -He kept it a long time before turning it over to the cast-makers. He had -worked it out in his atelier, but it was destined for the open air. How -would it appear in broad daylight? - -The gestation of this work was accompanied by a thousand miseries. The -committee of the Societe des Gens de Lettres incessantly demanded the -"Balzac"; they were dumfounded before the extraordinary figure that was -shown to them, before this white phantom the conception of which was so -utterly the reverse of all current ideas. Not knowing what to say, they -insisted that it should be modified and urged haste upon Rodin, whose -extraordinary dexterity became slowness itself when it was a question -of putting the final touches upon a great work. The press began to -take note of the affair. He himself became troubled and nervous. With -what transports would he have left it, fled, gone away to rest and to -dream of something else for a few weeks! The time of the Salon was -approaching. Quite suddenly he made his decision, gave the clay to be -cast, and ordered an enlargement. The statue was brought back to him at -the Depot des Marbres, in the rue de l'Universite; it was twice as large -as the original model. It was placed in the garden that stretched out -in front of the studio. He examined it as it rose against the depths of -the open sky and the bright spring light. It was as if he had never seen -it, and suddenly his mind was illuminated. The work was grand, simple, -strong; the essential modeling was there, and the details they had -exhorted him to add would only have diminished its unsurpassable unity. - -Rodin had made up his mind. He sent his "Balzac" to the Salon. - -Immediately there was war. The press, worked upon by the committee of -the Societe des Gens de Lettres, was unfavorable in advance. On the day -of the opening of the Salon the word was passed around, and the official -art world _s'esclaffe_. There was a crowd at the foot of the lofty -image, near which Rodin took up his position, calm according to his -wont, and talked quietly with his friends. Some, a very few, told him -how they admired this work so proudly offered, so strange in its banal -surroundings. - -The next day the press broke forth. What an uproar! Everything went off -at once: the heavy artillery of the great newspapers scolded solemnly, -the light artillery crackled in the political sheets, and the grape-shot -of the minor papers spat their rage, only too happy for so rich a prey -to cut to pieces. The Institute, as might have been foreseen, fanned the -conflagration. The public, excited, in turn broke loose, in the fury of -ignorance stirred up against knowledge. - -[Illustration: THE HEAD OF BALZAC.] - -It became a "case," an affair, the _affaire de Balzac_. The committee of -the Societe des Gens de Lettres mobilized; by a vote of eleven to four -it declared that it "did not recognize the writer in the statue of M. -Rodin." The president of the same society, the poet Jean Aicard, refused -the chance of immortality which this stupidity was to confer upon his -colleagues and flung his resignation in their faces. A group of members -of the municipal council of Paris decreed that it would be ridiculous -to accord "this block" a place in one of the squares of the city. For -two months music-halls and cafe-concerts vented every evening the wit -of the gutter on the scandalous statue and its sculptor; peddlers sold -caricatures of it in plaster, Balzac being represented as a heap of snow -or as a seal. In short, such was the event that it required nothing -but the pen of Aristophanes to note down the harmonies of this chorus -of frogs. The health of Rodin suffered a reaction from his long effort -and from this battle. Then, too, there are hours when the strongest are -seized with nausea before the bad faith and the stupidity of people. -Nervous, his mind aching, a prey to insomnia, the master offered a -melancholy spectacle, that beautiful serenity of his destroyed and his -working strength put in jeopardy. - -"For all that," says M. Leon Riotor, who tells the story with eloquence, -"Rodin had a wonderful awakening. All the young world of letters rose -up to declare its sympathy with the vanquished in this new skirmish. A -number of painters and sculptors joined in. And the protest that was -circulated came back covered with signatures." - -No, Rodin was not vanquished. He retired for a moment from the melee -to recover and to meditate in peace, but without deviating by a single -step from his line of conduct. A collector offered to buy the "Balzac." -A group of intellectuals started a public subscription; funds flowed -in. Although he was not yet wealthy, Rodin courteously declined these -offers, and, declaring that "an artist, like a woman, has to guard his -honor," decided to withdraw his monument from the Salon and not have it -erected anywhere. - -The epic statue was transported to Meudon, and placed in the garden of -the villa. In its loftiness it imposes itself against the sky, against -the hills, against the trees that surround it, with the quality of -nature herself. Like a gigantic pole it triumphs in the open air. It -is specially on clear nights that its disturbing authority strikes -the soul. The great phantom appears then formidable in the extreme -simplicity of its planes, which, as in strong architecture, distribute -over large spaces the masses of shadow and light. The American painter -Steichen has passed nights in this enchanted garden in order to take -of the "Balzac" photographs that are more beautiful than engravings. -Haughty, with a ferocious majesty in the moonlight, the master of -the "Comedie Humaine" brings his soul face to face with nature; he -listens to its silence, he sounds its mysteries, he questions it in -mute dialogue, the like of which has not been heard since the colloquy -of _Hamlet_ with the shade of his father. For it is of _Hamlet_, of -the most profound symbolization of the human spirit wrestling with the -unknown, that one dreams before this meditating Balzac, alone, under the -nocturnal light. This is what Rodin has known how to make out of that -short, thick-set man who was the author of the "Etudes Philosophiques"; -this is how he has lighted the fires of the intelligence on the mask of -genius. - -It is at the Musee Rodin that we shall rediscover this statue. Time -will have progressed, and ideas also. When they see it anew, how many -people will be astounded at having formerly scoffed at the work and -offended the master, struck dumb and secretly humiliated at having thus -contributed to the writing of the hundred thousandth chapter of that -endless book, the book of human stupidity. - - - -THE EXPOSITION OF 1900--THE BAS-RELIEFS OF EVIAN--RODIN AND THE WAR - -In 1899, Rodin exhibited a large part of his work at Brussels and in -Holland. The effect produced upon artists and upon the cultivated -portion of the public was such that he resolved to repeat this -experiment at the Universal Exposition of Paris. - -It was foreordained that nothing should be easy for the great toiler, -that it would be necessary for him to conquer everything through effort -and struggle. - -The administration of the Exposition, which had granted innumerable -requests for space addressed to it by the industrialists and business -men of the whole world, by bar-keepers, itinerant booth-holders, and -managers of cafe-concerts, raised a thousand difficulties when it -was a question of according a few feet of ground to the greatest of -living sculptors. It required all the insistence of his most devoted -and powerful friends to gain his point. Rodin finally received the -authorization to construct a pavilion not in the Exposition itself, but -outside the grounds in the place de l'Alma. - -Once again, so much the better. How much finer for a man of the elite to -stand aside from the rout! - -According to the master's plan, there was erected a hall simple in -appearance, elegant, reservedly in the Louis XVI style, a veritable -repose for the eye strained by the strident architecture of the great -fair of 1900. There were assembled the people of his sculpture. - -[Illustration: THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.] - -Once more Rodin experienced an hour of trial, a formidable hour. If -for the last dozen years he had left poverty behind, he had not yet -achieved wealth, and it was a great risk to assume the expenses of his -exhibition. If these expenses were not covered by the entrance-fees and -the sale of his sculpture, how would he come out? He would be forced -to a kind of transaction that he had always spurned, he would have to -turn over all or part of his work to the art dealers. These groups, -these busts, so painstakingly cast, or cut in the most beautiful -marble by excellent workmen, and often by renowned sculptors, once the -dealers had acquired rights in them, would they not be duplicated in a -quantity of replicas of mediocre workmanship or, worse, reproduced by -undiscriminating stone-cutters, who would disfigure the modeling and -the character? The idea was odious to the scrupulous sculptor. He had -reached the age of sixty, and if he did not show it, thanks to the vigor -of his temperament and the persistent youth that goes with great minds, -it was not less painful for him to put his apprehensions to the test. -Too dignified, too proud, to give way to vain lamentations, he made only -the most reserved references to his ordeal. - -The success of the exhibition remained uncertain during the first -weeks: many people hoped it would be a failure. At the end of a month -or two, visitors from abroad, to whom thanks be given, began to pour -in; the principal museums of Europe wished to possess some important -figure of Rodin's. Soon the number of purchasers increased day by day, -and I do not have to mention here how many art-lovers from the United -States decided to enrich their collections with some rare piece signed -by the master. In short, during the latter months Rodin had the joy -of perceiving that he could remain the sole possessor of his work, -that nothing could now separate him from his dear family of bronze and -marble. It was happiness for him; it signalized also the great glory -that comes with outstretched wing, bringing fortune with it. - -The pretty pavilion in the place de l'Alma was transported and reerected -in the garden at Meudon, and he filled it with masterpieces. Since then -the whole world of art and literature and that portion of the political -world that esteems art has passed through it. The French aristocracy -and that of England, the most eminent personages of the two Americas, -have been eager to visit it. One receives in it an impression at once -grand and touching, giving one the highest idea of the supremacy -of intellectual valor above the other goods of this world when one -perceives the contrast of these artistic treasures with the altogether -modest little house, almost bare, attended by a single servant, where -Rodin continues, in the midst of the luxury of an epoch intoxicated with -pleasures, to maintain the simplicity of his life in the sober company -of his old single-spirited, faithful-hearted wife. This impression I -never felt more vividly than on the occasion of the visit of the late -King of England. Edward VII, like others, had conceived the desire to -render this homage to French art. The day before, when I encountered the -master in Paris, he said to me, without further explanation, "Come and -have a look at the studio." - -It was a beautiful afternoon in May. When I entered the pavilion, I -could not restrain a cry of admiration. Marbles, nothing but marbles, -of a dazzling whiteness! He had brought together all that he possessed, -all those that his friends and the purchasers of his work had consented -to lend him for the occasion, and one would have said that it was -these groups of young, enlaced bodies, these busts of women, with -their transparent, rosy flesh, that gave forth the light with which -the apartment was filled. It was a unique vision, a vision which, in -its purity and its unity, surpassed in delicate splendor that of the -most celebrated collections, with all their accumulation of pictures, -tapestries, bronze, and jewels. I wondered in silence; I wondered -at the sure taste of the artist, but I wondered also at his will: -everything of him was there. Who can deny that it was necessary for him -to put pressure on himself to decide on such a choice, to sacrifice -the bronzes, the sketches, the terra cottas, and many charming pieces? -Nothing but marble, the kingdom of marble, but also that of life; for -the sumptuous material trembled and palpitated under the play of the -light that entered through the bay-windows of the atelier, bringing with -it the soft brilliance of the season. - -Since the Exposition of 1900, Rodin's reputation has increased steadily -in France and abroad. England and Italy have organized triumphal -receptions for him of a sort reserved hitherto for the most illustrious -men of state. The artists of London have acclaimed him, and have charged -him, on the death of Whistler, with the presidency of the International -Society of Painters, Sculptors, and Engravers. Oxford University has -given him a doctorate. The municipality of Rome has greeted him with -special homage at the capitol; the court of Greece, having invited -him, awaits his visit; at Prague, where he was received by the Society -of Young Czech Artists, they accorded him royal honors, the public -unharnessing the horses from his carriage and applauding at the same -time the personal genius of this great Frenchman and the free ideas of -his country. - -Without altering in any way his life of labor, which these tributes have -at times slightly interfered with, he has permitted himself only one -luxury as the result of his fortune--a collection of antiques. This he -has formed with passion. It is, once more, for purposes of study, and -what a study, to possess a few of these sublime fragments, to feel them -and handle them under all aspects of light! Rodin has placed a certain -number of them in his garden, arranging them among the trees, among the -shrubs; he has placed them on the fresh grass, where they seem to live -in another and a happier way than in the rooms of museums. At a stroke -the little garden at Meudon, with its pedestals, its statues, with its -grove where a charming little marble, the "Sleeping Cupid," reposes, has -become like the villa of a Roman citizen of the time of Augustus. - - * * * * * - -The art of Rodin has in a certain measure shown the effect of these -happy events. During these latter years he has grown calm; he displays -a serenity of spirit and a self-possession that increases day by day. -But if the struggle in his composition has been tranquilized, his -workmanship has grown freer. The sculptor's effort concentrates itself -now in the search for a modeling ever more ample and suppler, which -with him constitutes a new and decisive manner. It is to this that we -owe those exquisite marbles, "Psyche Bearing the Lamp," "Benedictions," -"The Young Girl and the Two Genii," "Romeo and Juliet," "The Fall of -Icarus." This has been the epoch also of the busts of Mrs. Simpson and -the proud and handsome George Wyndham, the English statesman. It is -the epoch, finally, of the "Monument to President Sarmiento," which -offers at the same time, in happy opposition, the two most recent and -most characteristic methods of Rodin. The bronze statue of the great -Argentine statesman has an aspect at once romantic and realistic that -recalls that of "The Burghers of Calais," and the marble pedestal that -supports it, a vanquishing Apollo emerging from the clouds all luminous -with youth and glory, belongs to the latest period. Of this monument, -ordered by the city of Buenos Aires, France does not possess a replica, -though the model has been preserved. The Musee Rodin will soon contain a -duplicate. - -From 1901 to 1906 there was an uninterrupted creation of figures and of -portraits, among them the busts of Sir Howard Walden, Berthelot, Gustave -Geffroy, Mme. Hunter, and Bernard Shaw. - -One must add the myriad drawings that Rodin has never ceased to execute. -The will to sustain his eye and his hand instead of permitting them to -become weakened with age has become a passion with him. He draws as a -writer thinks. He thinks pencil in hand; his drawings are aphorisms. -Line-sketches, stump-drawings, water-colors in strange tints multiply -themselves like the leaves of a tree and quite constitute alone a -complete work. The master has sold and given away quantities of them, -yet; nevertheless, the Musee will contain more than three thousand. I -have been honored with the charge of counting them over and classifying -them. After days of this work one has a sensation of dazzlement, as I -have discovered, before this accumulation of toil and beauty. - -The most precious of these drawings are the most recent. The study of -light has been carried in these to the supreme nuances. More and more -Rodin detests what is black, what is hard, what is dry. He adores, on -the other hand, that which is supple, enveloped, drowned in the light -mist of the atmosphere. He conceives everything through an almost -imperceptible veil which softens the contours, and which he discerns -with an eye that grows every day more sensitive. His sculpture has -followed the same path. In the greater part of his marbles he has -pursued the effects of mass and of the ensemble in what concerns the -volumes and the effects of gradation, the study of the diminutions of -light in what concerns the coloring. The color that obtains uniquely in -the art of shadow and light is the charm of beautiful sculpture. Rodin -thus captures the variations with a competence that ravishes our eyes, -accustomed to the dryness of limits that are too distinct. It is in the -reliefs entitled "The Seasons" that Rodin has attained the apogee of -this science of luminous modeling. - -These works, executed for La Sapiniere, the estate of Baron Vitta at -Evian, comprise three high-reliefs fashioned on a gate and two fountain -basins, or monumental garden urns. They are cut in the stone of the -Estaillade, a white stone the richness of grain and delicate golden tone -of which make it unsurpassable for the interpretation of the human body. -They were exhibited for a short time in February, 1905, at the Musee du -Luxembourg, on the initiative of M. Leon Benedite, the very accomplished -curator and critic of art, who arranged them with perfect taste. But far -from being embraced and vindicated, as he would be now by the present -administration of fine arts, Rodin was still regarded as a revolutionist -whose example could neither be followed nor trusted. - -This was made quite plain to the audacious curator who decided quite by -himself to exhibit the latest works of the master before their departure -for Evian. After this _coup d'etat_ he was for several years the victim -of attacks from academic circles, and underwent, on the part of the -Government, a sort of disgrace. Since then he has been brilliantly -compensated, and to-day he has been placed in charge of the installation -of the Musee Rodin at the Hotel Biron, a great work in which I have the -happiness to be his collaborator. - -The decorative designs of the villa of Evian adorn the vestibule of the -home of Baron Vitta. "Their subject," says M. Benedite, in an excellent -notice which served as a catalogue for the Exhibition of 1905, "if -one wishes to speak of the motive that serves as their pretext, is -the most banal in the world. One would find it difficult to count the -number of times that it has served artists since antiquity. So true it -is that the commonest, the most general, the most seemingly worn-out -themes are those in which the great artists find themselves the most at -home. Without difficulty they renew them, and stamp them unforgettably -with their own peculiar mark. Rodin has calmly returned to the four -seasons, confident that they would bear without effort the impress of -his personality and his time and that they would suffice to express his -whole conception of beauty and of life." - -Rodin has figured "The Seasons" under the aspect of four sleeping -women. Their beautiful forms model themselves in the warm-tinted stone, -which itself seems animated with the reflections of the living flesh. -Their mysterious sleep evokes the successive phases of the year. Now -it marks the quietude of the earth, full of the joy of yielding up her -flowers and her fruits under the caresses of the sun, now it is death -revealing itself through a nature tormented with the heavy travail of -generation. In the "Spring" it is a young body that lies voluptuously -under a rose-bush the fragrant petals of which are mingled with her own -flesh, enveloping her in the dream of their perfume. In the "Autumn," -the sleeper crouches close to the ground under the fruits and the -vine-leaves, oppressed by the intoxicating aroma. The "Winter" presses -her chilled limbs closely against the cavities of the denuded earth, -while above her the roots of the trees enlace themselves intricately, -like sacred serpents charged with protecting her slumber. The "Summer" -is a siesta upon the bosom of a Nature _en fete_, lulled by the golden -sounds of harvest balanced on the breeze and the murmur of a spring that -pours forth freshness and quietude. - -But in what, you ask, resides the originality of these decorative -commonplaces, their brilliant, unquestionable originality? In the -deliberate simplicity, in the spirit of sobriety that has presided over -their composition, and, above all, in their execution. It is through -their execution that the sculptures of Evian occupy a place apart in -the work of Rodin. Since the beautiful Greek epoch, stone has perhaps -never assumed such a living sweetness under any human hand. One might -believe that it had not been touched by the steel of the chisel, but -caressed by a touch as delicate as it is firm, molded like wax under -the warmth of that hand. These mellow figures do not detach themselves -from the living framework in which they are set; they stand out, -thanks to an insensible transition which leaves them enveloped, in the -reflections of the fair material; they mass themselves under a sifted -light, among the flowers and the clusters of grapes. With all this there -is no insipidity. Under the skin one feels the plenitude of bodies rich -with health, harmonious organisms: it is a force that has found its -equilibrium, a force relaxing in sweetness. Strangely enough, when one -seeks for antecedents to which it is possible to relate the reliefs of -Evian, it is not in the domain of sculpture, but in that of painting, -that one finds the terms of comparison. The intense power, carefully -measured as it is, of this vibrant modeling and this color drenched in -sunlight we find again among the tenderest creations of Correggio, of -Rubens, and, closer to ourselves, of Renoir. - -The two jardinieres which complete this unique series represent groups -of children mad with joy and with liberty; in the one case playing and -jostling one another in a field of wheat, in the midst of the moving -sea of spears, and in the other, spread out on the green summer grass, -rapturously holding up in their little arms, already robust, the grapes -heavy with wine. They are exquisite fantasies of movement, of grace, of -mad life just beginning. Here, too, the flesh of these little laughing -gods, melting in the mass of ripe corn and tottering vines, seems bathed -in the clearness of a beautiful day, full of air and of light. - -These five works of the old age of the master might be entitled the -"Poem of Youth." It is the privilege of genius to return, in its -decline, to its point of departure, to remount to the sources of life, -which remain ever the most intoxicating. The sensations of infancy and -adolescence solicit him with all their unforgettable seductiveness, and -he surrenders himself lovingly to the sweetness of this lost dream; but -it has cost him his entire, existence to acquire the gift of translating -it. - -This search for the envelopment of forms fruitful of new effects is the -decisive point in the career of Rodin; it is the supreme thought, the -end and aim of sixty years of toil and reflection. Therefore it is a -very happy thing for French sculpture that Rodin has been able to live -long enough to realize completely this definitive conception of his -art. For from the summit attained by him other artists can spring forth -afresh, to renew once more perhaps the manifestations of the national -genius. The resources indicated by Rodin have hardly been used hitherto; -to bring them fully into employment meanwhile there will perhaps be born -a new school of sculpture. - -[Illustration: BUST OF BERNARD SHAW.] - -What constitutes the originality of a great artist is that it is never -isolated. It belongs at once to the past, to the present, and to -the future; it is altogether a derivative and a root. It springs from -the past through atavism, through study, and through admiration for -the masters; it is of the present through contact with those of the -artist's contemporaries who march at the same time with him along the -road of discovery; finally, it influences the future by bequeathing to -the generations that follow a new conception and new methods. To-day -we see clearly the sources from which have come the ultimate aspect of -the talent of Rodin. They are the art of Greece; they are also certain -marvels of Gothic art in which miraculously reblossomed the Hellenic -suppleness and sweetness, as if the springs of the Greek genius had -mysteriously coursed under the earth from Athens to France, bursting -forth at last in the walls of our cathedrals; then there are those -unfinished marbles of Michelangelo from which Rodin derived the idea of -vapor and flow in sculpture. But other artists have arrived, at about -the same time, at the same end, or almost the same end, by different -paths. Among these are two of our great painters, friends and comrades -of Rodin, Renoir and Carriere. Does not this community of thought -prove how profound is the vitality our country continues to possess in -the domain of art? We are less struck by this phenomenon than when we -verify its effects in the past, when we see them related and summed up -in the history of art; because we are not in a position to disengage -it from our present life, which is encumbered and complicated, and to -draw a conclusion from it. And then, too, the present political regime -does little to signalize the great artists, to muster them before the -untutored admiration of the multitude, to give value to the intellectual -wealth of the country. As a rule, when a man of genius receives the -homage he deserves, it is when he is near his end, if it is not after -his death. What public festivals have been given in France in this -century to honor the glories of our artistic and scientific life, -Victor Hugo excepted? When and how have we celebrated men like Puvis de -Chavannes, Rodin, Renoir, Carriere, Claude Monet, Besnard, Odilon Redon, -and Bartholome, to mention only masters of the chisel and the brush? -Occasionally they have been gratified by the boredom of an official -banquet, where they have been assigned a rank considerably lower than -that of the least important politician, and they are expected to be -thankful when they have had bestowed upon them a few parchments and some -bits of ribbon. Fortunately, their joys are in another sphere, whither -no one who is not their equal can follow them. - -In their ardent effort toward a similar end, then, it is necessary to -associate Rodin, Renoir, and Carriere. All three, for that matter, have -mutually admired and even influenced one another. Whether in the course -of their work or in their conversations, one cannot deny that the -attempt of the Impressionist School, which consists precisely in not -separating the being or the object from its atmosphere, in prolonging -its life in the life of that which envelopes it, really succeeds only -in the work of these masters. They have, if not recreated, at least -broadened the law of the distribution of shadow and of light in their -intricate fusion. Certainly others had already manifested and realized -similar ways of seeing things, according to their various temperaments, -such men as Fantin-Latour and Henner in the study of the human figure -and Claude Monet in landscape. But, except for Monet, no one affirms -them with the authority of a Rodin, a Carriere, a Renoir. If Carriere, -too early interrupted by a cruel death, is a tragic, a somber genius, -a genius of the Gothic line, which in him does not exclude great -sweetness, Renoir and Rodin, in their maturity, are happy geniuses, -masters of young beauty and of a serenity which art has scarcely known -since ancient Greece. A like sentiment of serenity, a like aspiration -for harmonious unity, therefore a closer contact with nature, bring them -together. - -This serenity, this aspiration for unity, Rodin and Renoir have sought -during their whole life, and it is in the radiant works of their old age -that it triumphs. The genius of form and its union with the universal -has been the master thought, the plastic ideal, which their fraternal -minds have realized simultaneously by different methods. - -"With Rodin a style begins," said Octave Mirbeau twenty years ago. The -phrase stirred up a tempest. All the time that has passed since then has -been required to make people admit its truth. The great writer might -have said with more exactitude, but with less force, "With Rodin style -itself has begun anew." - -Will it continue? It has never entirely ceased to exist, even if it has -no longer the force of expansion with which, from France and through -her, it spread through all Europe. Will it begin again with its vigor as -of old? The question touches those problems raised by the events that -are to-day overturning the world and also the profound modifications -which the war will bring. - -The master gives us his opinion on this matter in a few words, -circumspect and measured, as he himself always is. How could he be -otherwise before the formidable unknown that still hides from us the -next turn of destiny? It is fitting, then, to leave him the last word on -this subject. Fortunately his word has the warm ring of hope. - -[Illustration: A FETE GIVEN IN HONOR OF RODIN BY SOME OF HIS FRIENDS.] - -This hope he draws in a measure from himself, from his own strength, -which is, he feels, a distinct outgrowth of the national strength, of -the unconquerable soul of our ancestors; he draws it also from the -consciousness of a task accomplished in the face of the hard blows -of life; and finally from the promise of the artistic youth of the -country, of that which belongs to his school. For if with two or three -exceptions he has not directly formed pupils, his artistic principles, -his faith in the virtue of character and labor, supported by the example -of an unequaled body of work, have given him innumerable disciples. The -lesson which he offers us and which will soon be offered to all at the -museum in the Hotel Biron, will endure for centuries. He says himself -justly, with pride and modesty, that this museum will form a true home -of education. - - * * * * * - -A few words more about this life which in the fecundity of its -unexpected incidents remains for the attentive witness profoundly -significant to the very end. - -At the moment when the war of 1914 broke out, the master was in his -villa at Meudon. When the German armies approached Paris, he thought -of leaving his home. He had excited great admiration in the land -of Schiller and Goethe, he had been urged to take part in numerous -expositions there; but he had quite special reasons for knowing that -his work, were it to fall into their hands, would not be spared by the -soldiers from beyond the Rhine. Overwhelmed by the terrifying surprise -of the invasion, he did not know where to go. - -As he had many friends in England, I offered to guide him there. He -therefore crossed the channel, accompanied by his wife, the companion -of his good and evil days. It was without a word of bitterness that he -set out, without expressing a regret for all that he was leaving behind -him. Before the immensity of the national misfortune he seemed to have -completely forgotten the menace that hung over the work of his whole -life. In the train that carried us by night to one of the French ports, -he said in his clear and always tranquil voice: "Yes, I am leaving -much behind me. It is the work of an entire life that will disappear, -perhaps." That was all. This attitude of an old exiled king inspired a -respect free from all compassion. - -The fate of his collection of antiques caused him more disquietude. - -"If they take them, that is nothing; they will still exist. But if they -break them! They will have destroyed what is irreplaceable." - -He did not wish to remain in London. Too many relationships would -have hindered him from collecting himself and from preserving that -dignity of solitude, that reserve of a refugee which was proper to his -situation. He preferred to accompany us to a small country town, where -for six weeks he lived a modest life, very retired, interested only, but -passionately interested, in the reading of English newspapers, which we -translated for him. - -When we apprised him of the burning of Rheims Cathedral, he replied -with a laugh of incredulity. For two days he refused to believe it. It -seemed to him an invention of the press designed to stir the public and -increase recruiting. At last, convinced, he said, with inexpressible -sadness: "The biblical times have come back again, the great invasions -of the Medes and the Persians. Has the world, then, reached the point -where it deserves to be punished for the egotistical epicureanism in -which it has slumbered?" After this he became absorbed in his own -thoughts. - -The Battle of the Marne, in saving France and the world, saved also that -little temple of art, the museum at Meudon. Rodin, on his return from -England, found it intact. - -He took up his work again, without a pause, with that unalterable -patience of his--that patience of the peasant that turns him back to his -field the moment the enemy has passed. He awaits there sadly the dawn of -peace. - - * * * * * - -During the last months of the year 1916 the question of the Musee Rodin, -broached five years ago, became again a living one; it was brought -before the assembly. Certain of the master's adversaries who have not -been calmed even by the events of the present affected a righteous -indignation that the discussion of this question of art should at -this moment have any place in the order of the day, and they tried to -make people believe that it was he who had chosen this tragic hour for -debates of this kind. Let us repeat that five years ago Rodin offered -this gift to his country, and that the delay in settling the matter is -imputable solely to the procrastination of public affairs. - -On the day I write these lines the creation of the Musee Rodin has been -determined upon. The two chambers have voted by a majority that proves -that everything France contains in the way of cultivated intelligence -desires to assure a home worthy of itself for the works of its greatest -sculptor. - -But before we have arrived there what other mishaps may not befall! It -is too soon to write the history of the Musee Rodin. Its adventure is -not less singular than all the others that have marked this long career, -certain of which have been summed up in these pages. The more forceful -the personality, the more it is in contradiction with the passions of -the vulgar, the more are the incidents that spring up in the contact of -these two opposite elements. It would require a whole volume to recount -those that have punctuated the life of Rodin during these later years. - -Despite the bitterness of the combat, the master has had nothing to -complain of and does not complain. The outcome of his life-story is most -beautiful, and if this beauty already strikes us, it is in the years -to come that it will attain its full glory. For if the gesture with -which Rodin offers to France his work and his dearest possessions is -that of those who count in the annals of their country, no one perhaps -has ever received such a homage as that which the country has bestowed -upon him in the manner of accepting his gift. In the midst of war, in -the very hour when the country is suffering unheard of evils, it has -self-possession enough in the firmness of its indomitable soul to honor -in a magnificent way the work of one of its sons--a work accomplished in -time of peace. Turning its attention for an instant from the necessities -of war, from the front where it struggles, suffers, and dies, it remains -calm enough, sufficiently sure of itself, to offer to one of its heroes -of toil, and of the thought which its soldiers defend, a testimony of -its gratitude and admiration. - -THE END - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Rodin: The Man and his Art, by Judith Cladel - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODIN: THE MAN AND HIS ART *** - -***** This file should be named 43327.txt or 43327.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/3/2/43327/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Rodin: The Man and his Art - With Leaves from his Note-book - -Author: Judith Cladel - -Commentator: James Huneker - -Translator: S.K. Star - -Release Date: July 27, 2013 [EBook #43327] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODIN: THE MAN AND HIS ART *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org - - - - -RODIN - -THE MAN AND HIS ART - -WITH LEAVES FROM HIS NOTE-BOOK - -COMPILED BY JUDITH CLADEL - -AND TRANSLATED BY S.K. STAR - -WITH INTRODUCTION BY JAMES HUNEKER - -AND ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS - - - -NEW YORK - -THE CENTURY CO. - -1917 - - -[Illustration: RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED ON THE STEPS OF THE HOTEL BIRON.] - - - - -AUGUSTE RODIN - -BY JAMES HUNEKER - - -I - -Of Auguste Rodin one thing may be said without fear of contradiction: -among his contemporaries to-day he is preëminently the master. Born -at Paris, 1840,--the natal year of his friends, Claude Monet and -Zola--in humble circumstances, without a liberal education, the young -Rodin had to fight from the beginning; fight for bread as well as -an art schooling. He was not even sure of his vocation. An accident -determined it. He became a workman in the atelier of the sculptor, -Carrier-Belleuse, though not until he had failed at the Beaux-Arts (a -stroke of luck for his genius), and after he had enjoyed some tentative -instruction under the animal sculptor, Barye (he was not a steady -pupil of Barye, nor did he care to remain with him) he went to Belgium -and "ghosted" for other sculptors; it was his privilege or misfortune -to have been the anonymous assistant of a half dozen sculptors. He -mastered the technique of his art by the sweat of his brow before he -began to make music upon his own instrument. How his first work, "The -Man with the Broken Nose," was refused by the Salon jury is history. -He designed for the Sèvres porcelain works. He executed portrait busts, -architectural ornaments, caryatids; all styles that were huddled in the -studios and yards of sculptors he essayed. No man knew his trade better, -although it is said that with the chisel of the _practicien_ Rodin was -never proficient; he could not, or would not, work at the marble _en -bloc_. His sculptures to-day are in the museums of the world, and he is -admitted to possess "talent" by academic men. Rivals he has none. His -production is too personal. Like Richard Wagner he has proved a upas -tree for lesser artists--he has deflected, or else absorbed them. His -friend Eugene Carrière warned young sculptors not to study Rodin too -curiously. Carrière was wise, yet his art of portraiture was influenced -by Rodin; swimming in shadow his enigmatic heads have more the quality -of Rodin's than the mortuary art of academic sculpture. - -A profound student of light and movement, Rodin by deliberate -amplification of the surfaces of his statues, avoiding dryness and -harshness of outline, secures a zone of radiancy, a luminosity which -creates the illusion of reality. He handles values in clay as a -painter does his tones. He gets the design of the outline by movement -which continually modifies the anatomy; the secret of the Greeks, -he believes. He studies his profiles successively in full light, -obtaining volume--or planes--at once and together; successive views -of one movement. The light plays with more freedom upon his amplified -surfaces, intensified in the modeling by enlarging the lines. The edges -of certain parts are amplified, deformed, falsified, and we enjoy -light-swept effects, luminous emanations. This deformation, he declares, -was always practised by the great sculptors to snare the undulating -appearance of life. Sculpture, he asserts, is the "art of the hole and -lump, not of clear, well-smoothed, unmodeled figures." Finish kills -vitality. Yet Rodin can chisel a smooth nymph, if he so wills, but her -flesh will ripple and run in the sunlight. His art is one of accents. -He works by profile in depth, not by surfaces. He swears by what he -calls "cubic truth"; his pattern is a mathematical figure; the pivot of -art is balance, i.e., the opposition of volumes produced by movement. -Unity haunts him. He is a believer in the correspondence of things, of -continuity in nature. He is mystic, as well as a geometrician. Yet such -a realist is he that he quarrels with any artist who does not recognize -"the latent heroic in every natural movement." - -Therefore he does not force the pose of his model, preferring attitudes -or gestures voluntarily adopted. His sketch books, as vivid, as copious, -as the drawings of Hokusai--he is studious of Japanese art--are swift -memoranda of the human machine as it dispenses its normal muscular -motions. Rodin, draughtsman, is as surprisingly original as the sculptor -Rodin. He will study a human foot for months, not to copy it, but to -master the secret of its rhythms. His drawings are the swift notations -of a sculptor whose eye is never satisfied, whose desire to pin to paper -the most evanescent vibrations of the human machine is almost a mania. -The model may tumble down anywhere, in any contortion or relaxation -he or she wishes. Practically instantaneous is the method of Rodin -to register the fleeting attitudes, the first shivering surface. He -rapidly draws with his eye on the model. It is often a mere scrawl, a -silhouette, a few enveloping lines. But there is vitality in it all, and -for his purpose, a notation of a motion. But a sculptor has made these -extraordinary drawings, not a painter. It may be well to observe the -distinction. And he is the most rhythmic sculptor among the moderns. -Rhythm means for him the codification of beauty. Because, with a vision -quite virginal, he has observed, he insists that he has affiliations -with the Greeks. But if his vision is Greek his models are French, while -his forms are more Gothic than the pseudo-Greek of the academy. - -As Mr. W.C. Brownell wrote: "Rodin reveals rather than constructs beauty -... no sculptor has carried expression further; and expression means -individual character completely exhibited rather than conventionally -suggested." Mr. Brownell was the first critic to point out that Rodin's -art was more nearly related to Donatello's than to Michael Angelo's. -He is in the legitimate line of Gallic sculpture, the line of Goujon, -Puget, Rude, Barye. Dalou, the celebrated sculptor, did not hesitate -to assert that the Dante portal is "one of the most, if not the most, -original and astonishing pieces of sculpture of the nineteenth century." - -This Dante gate, begun thirty years ago, not finished yet--and probably -never to be--is an astoundingly plastic fugue, with death, the devil, -hell, and human passions, for a complicated four-voiced theme. I -first saw the composition at the Rue de l'Université atelier. It is -as terrifying a conception as the Last Judgment. Nor does it miss the -sonorous and sorrowful grandeur of the Medici Tombs. Yet how different. -How feverish, how tragic. Like all great men working in the grip of a -unifying idea, Rodin modified the technique of sculpture so that it -would serve him as sound does a musical composer. A lover of music his -inner ear may dictate the vibrating rhythms of his forms; his marbles -are ever musical, ever in modulation, not "frozen music," as Goethe -said of Gothic architecture, but silent, swooning music. This Gate is -a Frieze of Paris, as deeply significant of modern inspiration and -sorrow as the Parthenon Frieze is the symbol of the great clear beauty -of Hellas. Dante inspired this monstrous yet ennobled masterpiece, and -Baudelaire's poetry filled many of its chinks and crannies with ignoble -writhing shapes; shapes of dusky fire that, as they tremulously stand -above the gulf of fear, wave ineffectual and desperate hands as if -imploring destiny. - -But Rodin is not all hell-fire and tragedy. Of singular delicacy and -exquisite proportion are his marbles of youth, of springtide, of the joy -and desire of life. At Paris, 1900, in his special exhibition Salle, -Europe and America awoke to the beauty of these haunting visions. Not -since Keats and Wagner and Swinburne has love been voiced so sweetly, so -romantically, so fiercely. Though he disclaims understanding the Celtic -spirit one might say that there is Celtic magic, Celtic mystery in his -lyrical work. He pierces to the core the frenzy of love, and translates -it into lovely symbols. For him nature is the sole mistress--his -sculptures are but variations on her themes. He knows the emerald route, -and all the semitones of sensuousness. Fantasy, passion, paroxysmal -madness are there, yet what elemental power is in his "Adam," as the -gigantic first man painfully heaves himself up from the earth to the -posture that differentiates him forever from the beast. Here, indeed, -two natures are at strife. And "Mother Eve" suggests the sorrows and -shames that are to be the lot of her seed; her very loins crushed by the -future generations hidden within them. One may freely walk about the -"Burghers of Calais" as Rodin did when he modeled them; a reason for -the vital quality of the group. Around all his statues we may walk; he -is not a sculptor of a single attitude but a hewer of humans. Consider -the "Balzac." It is not Balzac the writer, but Balzac the prophet, the -seer, the enormous natural force that was Balzac. Rodin is himself a -seer. That is why these two spirits converse across the years, as do the -Alpine peaks in a certain striking parable of Turgenev's. Doubtless in -bronze Rodin's "Balzac" will arouse less wrath from the unimaginative; -in plaster it produces the effect of a snowy surging monolith. - -As a portraitist Rodin is the unique master of characters. His women are -gracious delicate masks; his men cover octaves in virility and variety. -That he is extremely short-sighted has not been dealt with in proportion -to the significance of the fact. It accounts for his love of exaggerated -surfaces, his formless extravagance, his indefiniteness in structural -design; perhaps, too, for his inability, or let us say, his lack of -sympathy, for the monumental. He is a sculptor of intimate emotions. -And while we think of him as a Cyclops destructively wielding a huge -hammer, he is more ardent in his search for the supersubtle nuance. But -there is always the feeling of breadth, even when he models an eyelid. -We are confronted by the paradox of an artist as torrential as Rubens -or Wagner, carving in a wholly charming style a segment of a child's -back, before which we are forced to exclaim: Donatello come to life! His -myopic vision, then, may have been his artistic salvation; he seems to -rely as much on his delicate tactile sense as on his eyes. His fingers -are as sensitive as a violinist's. At times he seems to model both tone -and color. - -A poet, a precise, sober workman of art, with a peasant strain in -him, he is like Millet, and, like Millet, near to the soil. A natural -man, yet crossed by nature with a perverse strain; the possessor -of a sensibility exalted and dolorous; morbid, sick-nerved, and as -introspective as Heine; a visionary and a lover of life, close to the -periphery of things; an interpreter of Baudelaire; Dante's _alter ego_ -in his grasp of the wheel of eternity, in his passionate fling at -nature; withal a sculptor, profound and tortured, transposing rhythm -into the terms of his art, Rodin is a statuary who, while having -affinities with classic and romantic schools, is the most startling -apparition of his century. And to the century which he has summed up so -plastically and emotionally he has propounded questions that only unborn -years may answer. He has a hundred faults to which he opposes one -imperious excellence--a genius, sombre, magical and overwhelming. - - - -II - -Rodin deserves well of our young century, the old did so incontinently -batter him. The anguish of his own "Hell's Portal" he endured before he -molded its clay between his thick clairvoyant fingers. Misunderstood, -therefore misrepresented, he with his pride and obstinacy aroused--the -one buttressing the other--was not to be budged from his formulas or -the practice of his sculpture. Then the art world swung unamiably, -unwillingly, toward him, perhaps more from curiosity than conviction. -He became famous. And he is more misunderstood than ever. He has been -called _rusé_, even a fraud, while the wholesale denunciation of his -work as erotic is unluckily still green in our memory. The sculptor, -who in 1877 was accused of "faking" his lifelike "Age of Bronze"--now -in the Luxembourg--by taking a mold from the living model, also -experienced the discomfiture of being assured some years later that, -not understanding the art of modeling, his statue of Balzac was only -an evasion of difficulties. And this to a man who in the interim had -wrought so many masterpieces. A year or two ago, after his magnificent -offer to the city of Paris of his works, there was much malevolent -criticism from certain quarters. Rodin takes all this philosophically. -He points out that the artist is the only one to-day who creates in -joy. Mankind as a majority hates its work. Workmen no longer consider -their various avocations with proper pride--this was a favorite thesis -of Ruskin, William Morris, and Renoir. Furthermore, argues Rodin, the -artist is indispensable. He reveals the beauty and meaning of life to -his fellows. He struggles against the false, the conventional, and the -used-up; but the French sculptor slyly adds: "No one may benefit mankind -with impunity." He considers himself as having a religious nature; all -artists are temperamentally religious, he contends, though his religion -is not precisely of the kind that would appeal to the orthodox. - -To give Rodin his due he stands prosperity not quite as well as poverty. -In every great artist there is a large area of self-esteem; it is -the reservoir from which he must, during years of drought or defeat, -draw upon to keep fresh the soul. Without the consoling fluid of -egotism genius would soon perish in the dust of despair. But fill this -source to the brim, accelerate the speed of its current, and artistic -deterioration may ensue. Rodin has been fatuously called a second -Michael Angelo--as if there could ever be a replica of any human. He -has been hailed as a modern Praxiteles; which is nonsense. And he is -often damned as a myopic decadent whose insensibility to the pure line -and lack of architectonic have been elevated by his admirers into sorry -virtues. Nevertheless, is Rodin justly appraised? Do his friends not -over-glorify him? Nothing so stales a demigod's image as the perfumes -burned before it by worshipers; the denser the smoke the sooner crumbles -the feet of their idol. - -However, in the case of Rodin the Fates have so contrived their -malicious game that at no point in his career has he been without the -company of envy and slander. Often when he had attained a summit he -would be thrust down into a deeper valley. He has mounted to triumphs -and fallen to humiliations; but his spirit has never been quelled; -and if each acclivity he scales is steeper, the air atop has grown -purer, more stimulating, and below the landscape spreads wider before -him. With Dante he can say: "La montagna ch'e drizza voi ch'e il -mondo fece torti." Rodin's mountain has always straightened in him -what the world made crooked. The name of his mountain is Art. A born -nonconformist, Rodin makes the fourth of that group of nineteenth -century artists--Richard Wagner, Henrik Ibsen, Edouard Manet--who taught -a deaf, dumb, and blind world to hear, see, think, and feel. - -Is it not dangerous to say of a genius that his work alone should -count, that his personality is negligible? Though Rodin has followed -Flaubert's advice to artists to lead an ascetic life that their art -might be the more violent, nevertheless his career, colorless as -it may seem to those who love better stage players and the comedy -of society--this laborious life of a poor sculptor should not be -passed over. He always becomes enraged at the prevailing notion that -fire descends from heaven upon genius. Rodin believes in but one -inspiration--nature. Nature can do no wrong. He swears that he does not -invent, he copies nature. He despises improvisation, has contemptuous -words for "fatal facility," and, being a slow-thinking, slow-moving -man, he only admits to his councils those who have conquered art, not -by assault, but by stealth and after years of hard work. He sympathizes -with Flaubert's patient, toiling days. He praises Holland because after -Paris it seems slow. "Slowness is beauty," he declares. In a word, he -has evolved a theory and practice of his art that is the outcome--like -all theories, all techniques--of his own temperament. And that -temperament is giant-like, massive, ironic, grave, strangely perverse; -it is the temperament of a magician of art doubled by a mathematician's. - -Books are written about him. With picturesque precision De Maupassant -described him in "Notre Coeur." Rodin is tempting as a psychologic -study. He appeals to the literary critic, though his art is not -"literary." His modeling arouses tempests, either of dispraise or -idolatry. To see him steadily after a visit to his studios at Paris -or Meudon is difficult. If the master be present then one feels the -impact of a personality that is misty as the clouds about the base of -a mountain, and as impressive as the bulk of the mountain. Yet a sane, -pleasant, unassuming man interested in his clay--that is, unless you -happen to discover him interested in humanity. If you watch him well you -may in turn find yourself watched; those peering eyes possess a vision -that plunges into the depths of your soul. And this master of marble -sees the soul as nude as he sees the body. It is the union in him of -sculptor and psychologist that places Rodin apart from other artists. -These two arts (psychology is the art of divination) he practises -in a medium that hitherto did not betray potentialities for such -performances. Walter Pater is right in maintaining that each art has its -separate subject matter; still, in the debatable province of Rodin's -sculpture we find strange emotional power, hints of the pictorial, and -a rare suggestion of music. This, obviously, is not playing the game -according to the rules of Lessing and his Laocoön. - -Let us drop the old aesthetic rule of thumb and confess that during the -last century a new race of artists sprang up and in their novel element -they, like flying-fishes, revealed to a wondering world their composite -structure. Thus we find Berlioz painting with his instrumentation; Franz -Liszt, Tschaikowsky, and Richard Strauss filling their symphonic poems -with drama and poetry; while Richard Wagner invented an art which he -believed embraced all the others. And there was Ibsen who employed the -dramatic form as a vehicle for his anarchistic ideas; and Nietzsche, who -was such a poet that he was able to sing a mad philosophy into life; not -to forget Rossetti, who painted poems and made poetry of his pictures. -Sculpture was the only art that resisted this universal disintegration, -this imbroglio of the seven arts. No sculptor before Rodin had dared to -shiver the syntax of stone. For sculpture is a static, not a dynamic -art--is it not? Let us observe the rules though we call up the chill -spirit of the cemetery. What Mallarmé attempted with French poetry -Rodin accomplished in clay. His marbles do not represent, but present, -emotion; they are the evocation of emotion itself; as in music, form and -substance coalesce. If he does not, as does Mallarmé, arouse "the silent -thunder afloat in the leaves," he can summon from the vasty deep the -spirits of love, hate, pain, sin, despair, beauty, ecstasy; above all, -ecstasy. Now, the primal gift of ecstasy is bestowed upon few artists. -Keats had it, and Shelley; Byron, despite his passion, missed it. We -find it in Swinburne, he had it from the first. Few French poets know -it. Like the "cold devils" of Félicien Rops, coiled in frozen ecstasy, -the fiery blasts of hell about them, Charles Baudelaire boasted the -dangerous gift. Poe and Heine felt ecstasy, and Liszt. Wagner was the -master-adept of ecstasy: Tristan and Isolde! And in the music of Chopin -ecstasy is pinioned within a bar, the soul rapt to heaven in a phrase. -Richard Strauss has given us a variation on the theme of ecstasy; -voluptuousness troubled by pain, the soul tormented pathologically. - -Rodin is of this tormented choir. He is revealer of its psychology. -It may be decadence, as any art is in its decadence which stakes the -part against the whole. The same was said of Beethoven by the followers -of Haydn, and the successors of Richard Strauss--Debussy, Stravinsky, -and Schoenberg--are abused quite as violently as the Wagnerites abused -Richard Strauss, turning against him the same critical artillery that -was formerly employed against Wagner. Nowadays, Rodin is looked on as -superannuated, as a reactionary by the younger men, the Cubists and -Futurists, who spoil marble with their iconoclastic chisels and canvas -with their paint-tubes. - -That this ecstasy should be aroused by pictures of love and death, as -in the case of Poe and Baudelaire, Wagner and Strauss and Rodin, is not -to be judged an artistic crime. In the Far East they hypnotize neophytes -with a bit of broken mirror, for in the kingdom of art there are many -mansions. Possibly it was a relic of his early admiration for Baudelaire -that set Wagner to extorting ecstasy from his orchestra by images of -love and death. And no doubt the temperament which seeks such synthesis, -a temperament commoner in medieval times than ours, was inherent in -Wagner, as it is in Rodin. Both men play with the same counters: love -and death. In Pisa we may see (attributed by Vasari) Orcagna's fresco of -the Triumph of Death. The sting of the flesh and the way of all flesh -are inextricably blended in Rodin's Gate of Hell. His principal reading -for half a century has been Dante and Baudelaire; the Divine Comedy and -"Les Fleurs du Mal" are the keynotes in the grandiose white symphony of -the French sculptor. Love and life, and bitterness and death rule the -themes of his marbles. Like Beethoven and Wagner, he breaks academic -rules, for he is Auguste Rodin, and where he magnificently achieves, -lesser men fail or fumble. His large, tumultuous music is alone for his -chisel to ring out and to sing. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - THE CAREER OF RODIN - - RODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS - - Sojourn in Belgium--"The Man Who Awakens to - Nature"--Realism and Plaster Casts. - - FLEMISH PAINTING--JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE. - - RODIN'S NOTE-BOOK - - I ANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS - - II SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS - - III PORTRAITS OF WOMEN - - IV AN ARTIST'S DAY - - V THE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC - - VI ART AND NATURE - - VII THE GOTHIC GENIUS - - - THE WORK OF RODIN - - I THE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS--INFLUENCE OF - THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF RODIN--"SAINT - JOHN THE BAPTIST" (1880)--"THE GATE OF - HELL" - - II "THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS" (1889)--RODIN AND - VICTOR HUGO--THE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898) - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - Rodin photographed on the steps of the Hotel Biron Frontispiece - Portrait of a Young Girl - La Pucelle - Minerva - Psyche - The Adieu - Rodin in His Studio at the Hotel Biron - Representation of France - The Man with the Broken Nose - Caryatid - Man Awakening to Nature - The Kiss - Bust of the Countess of W---- - The Poet and the Muse - The Thinker - Adolescence - Portrait of Rodin - Head of Minerva - The Bath - The Broken Lily - Portrait of Madame Morla Vicuñha - "La Pensée" - Hotel Biron, View from the Garden - Rodin Photographed in the Court of the Hotel Biron - Portrait of Mrs. X - Rodin in His Garden - The Poet and the Muses - The Tower of Labor - Headless Figure - Rodin's House and Studio at Meudon - The Tempest - The Village Fiancée - Metamorphosis According to Ovid - Eve - Rodin at Work in the Marble - Peristyle of the Studio at Meudon - Statue of Bastien-Lepage - Danaiade - Portrait Bust of Victor Hugo - Monument to Victor Hugo - Statue of Balzac - The Head of Balzac - The Studio at Meudon - Romeo and Juliet - Spring - Bust of Bernard Shaw - A Fête Given in Honor of Rodin by Some of His Friends. - - - -THE MAN AND HIS ART - - - - -THE CAREER OF RODIN - - -Several years have already gone by since the career of Rodin attained -its full growth. From now on, therefore, it can be envisaged as a whole, -and we can trace the formation and the unfolding of his complex talent -and disentangle the influences that have directed and sustained it. - -In the course of the chapters that follow, Rodin, with the authority, -the calm strength, and the lucidity that characterize his thought, often -speaks himself of these influences, but rather in a casual, gossipy, -reminiscent vein, reflecting his personal observations. He does not -attempt to disengage the broad lines by which he has reached the summit -of art, or to map out, so to speak, that scheme of his intellectual -development which so naturally appertains to the man who has reached the -apogee of talent and which he contemplates with the satisfaction of a -strategist face to face with the plan of the battles he has won. - -It is to living writers that he seems to address himself. Rodin to-day -can be studied like an old master, Donatello, Michelangelo, or Pierre -Puget. One perceives quite in its entirety the distinct, the rigorously -sustained plan that he has followed with unswerving will in order to -realize himself; and the witnesses, the historians of this heroic life -of the sculptor, have the advantage of being able to trace it with -exactitude, as they could not do in the case of a vanished artist. They -are able to interrogate the hero in person; they are able to consult -with Rodin himself, who is admirably intuitive and quite aware of what -he owes to certain favorable conditions of his life and above all to -his illustrious forerunners, those who have fought before him on the -battle-field of high art. - -The study of nature, of the antique, Greek and Roman, of the art of -medieval France and that of the Renaissance--these are the springs at -which he has constantly refreshed one of the most irrefutable sculptural -talents that has ever been known. These are the expressions of the -beautiful among which his profound and searching thought has traveled -unceasingly, seeking to attain to a still larger vision, a more exact -understanding of that most magnificent of all the arts, sculpture. - -The superior man is always the product of an exceptional gift and -of an energy peculiar to himself, which effectuates itself despite -circumstances. He is the highest incarnation of the spirit, of the -struggle for existence. In the case of an artist the struggle is all -the more severe, for he has nothing but himself to impose upon the -world and he has, as weapons of offense and defense, nothing but his -intelligence, the tiny substance of his brain. It is therefore only by -means of the history of his intellectual life that one can understand -him. External happenings only very slightly influence the obstinate -march of true genius toward the accomplishment of its destiny. At most -they delay it but a few hours. It forces its way through the most -difficult obstacles; it even makes use of these obstacles in order to -redouble its strength and confirm its superiority. Nothing impedes the -formidable will of those who are under the spell of beauty, those who -see truth and know it and desire to express what they see. They can no -more escape the fruition of their faculties than the giant can escape -the attainment of his full stature. - -Rodin has been one of these. Certainly he has been assisted by -circumstances, but above everything how has he not compelled -circumstances to assist him? - -What demands preëminent recognition in his case is the gift, a splendid, -a dazzling gift for the plastic arts, the realization of which has been -imposed upon him, as it were, by the command of destiny. Whence did it -come? From whom did he inherit it? From what ancestor, sensitive to the -enchantment of beauty, suffering, and in travail from the necessity of -proclaiming it, but imperfectly endowed and powerless to forge for -himself a talent in order to express the tremors of his soul? It is a -mystery. No one can tell, Rodin himself least of all. Science has not -yet taught us anything about those obscure combinations, those endless -preferences of the vital force, thanks to which a person possesses the -faculties of genius. In this, as in other things, we are unable to -divine the cause and can only marvel at the effect, the prodigy. - -Discredited to-day are the theories of Lombroso and his school, once -so warmly welcomed by mediocre minds athirst for equality, in which -great men were considered as degenerates of a superior variety, and the -most sensitive spirits qualified as candidates for the madhouse! All -one can say is that nature abhors equality, that the indwelling will -delights in raising up lofty mountain masses above the uniformity of -the plains and the valor of the chosen few above the multitude. The -function of the man of genius is, precisely, to possess in a supreme -degree the sense of inequality and to transcribe its infinite nuances -in their ever-changing, ever-moving, ever-renewed variety. He alone -perceives the diversities whose play is the law of the universe itself, -and he grasps them equally in a fragment of inanimate matter and in -the vastest aspects of the world. Far from being half mad, this unique -being, this prodigious mirror of a million facets, achieves his aim only -because he possesses far more intelligence than the most brilliant of -his contemporaries, because he is in touch with a more profound order -of things and a more comprehensive method, because he combines the -qualities of continuity in sensation and of discernment which constitute -that supreme sensibility of all the senses acting together--taste. But -it does not please ordinary mortals to believe things of this kind, -and one can easily understand how the crowd, repudiating any such -humiliating notion, are all too willing to follow the lead of exotic -pseudo-scientists and look upon great men as lunatics, considering -themselves far more rational. - -As to what Rodin himself thinks of this privilege that Providence has -conferred on him, there is no telling; he has never talked very much -about it. The fact is, he has such faith in the value of hard work and -will-power, he knows so well how extraordinarily much of these even the -most exceptional natures have to exert in order to accomplish anything, -that this privilege of divine right, otherwise just as authentic as -that which sovereigns in former times profited by, amounts to nothing -in the end but the account which he draws up in order to calculate the -sum of his efforts. "When I was quite young, as far back as I remember, -I drew," he says; "but the gift is nothing without the will to make it -worth while. The artist must have the patience of water that eats away -the rock drop by drop." Alas! will and work, Master, are also gifts; -but the supreme spirit maliciously amuses itself by leading us into -error, inspiring us with the illusion that it lies with us to acquire -them. - -Rodin's case, then, is an example of absolute predestination, assisted -by a will of iron. One must add also the happy influence of the varied -environment in which his life has been placed and the excellent artistic -education he received in the schools where he studied, an education -that was fruitful, thanks to the preservation of the true traditions of -French art, kept alive in the schools since the eighteenth century. - - -CHILDHOOD. YOUTH. FIRST STUDIES - -Auguste Rodin is the son of a Norman father and a Lorrainese mother. -Each of these two French provinces, Normandy and Lorraine, produces a -race eminently realistic, but realistic in quite different ways. - -The Lorrainer, opinionated and courageous, hardy in character, and -vigorous like his country itself, sees things clearly and precisely in -the light of a spirit that has been fashioned by the age-old struggle -between Teuton and Gaul on our eastern frontier. The things that -surround him, the aspects of his native soil, like the sullen obstinacy -of the enemy that seeks in vain to drag him away, present themselves -to his eye as a reality stripped of illusions. When one has to fight -there is no time to dream, and one must be able to estimate with -precision what one is fighting for. When the man of Lorraine utters his -feeling about the things he loves and defends, it is with a loyalty -rather dry in expression and impression, but also with a force of -consciousness that is imposing. - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG GIRL. A WORK OF RODIN'S YOUTH.] - -As for the Norman, like his country he overflows with an abundance of -life from which he derives a passionate need for the pleasures of sense. -Far from stifling in him the love of the beautiful, this appetite for -triumphant realities engenders, on the contrary, an exaltation of the -senses that leads to the most exquisite taste in the production of art. -Compounded of sensuality and mysticism, the twin characteristics of -these rich spirits, very like those of Belgium, to whom, by virtue of -ancient migrations, they are closely allied, the artists of Normandy -necessarily respond to the manifold requirements of their temperament. -We know with what a profusion of monuments, robust and imposing in -structure and miraculously clothed in the most delicate lacework of -stone, the Gothic architects of Normandy have covered not only the soil -of their province, but also, beyond the sea, that of the Two Sicilies, -strewn even to this day with beautiful cloisters and sumptuous churches -of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which the Norman Conquest -carried there. - -The child of Normandy and Lorraine was born in Paris, November 14, -1840. His father was a simple employee. He dwelt in one of the oldest -and most curious quarters of the great city, the Quartier Saint-Victor -in the fifth _arrondissement_. Rodin saw the light in the rue de -l'Arbalète. It is a little, hilly street, quite provincial in its -aspect and its quietness, that winds among the rows of old houses, some -low, as if crouched down, others narrow and high, as if they wished to -look over their shoulders at what passes below, very like a crowd of -living people. Its name, the rue de l'Arbalète, is full of suggestion -of the Middle Ages, like that of the rue des Patriarches, in which -it comes to an end, and that of the rue des Lyonnais and the rue de -l'Epée-de-Bois, which are its neighbors. It crosses the famous rue -Mouffetard near the little church of St. Médard on the last slopes of -the Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève, which has been, since the thirteenth -century, the seat of the university and the schools; below is the plain -of the Gobelins, where once the river Bièvre ran exposed. - -Even to the present day this corner of the city has not suffered -too much from the destructive changes of modernity. At the time of -the childhood of Rodin it was still virtually untouched. Crowded, -picturesque, and in certain parts dirty and squalid, like an Oriental -city, with its little interlacing streets, its countless shops, its -swarms of people given over to a thousand familiar trades carried on in -public,--open-air kitchens, fruit-stands, grocery shops, clothing shops, -and shops of ironmongers, coal-venders, and, wine-sellers,--it is an -almost perfect fragment, a human fragment, of the old Gothic Paris. - -Truly Rodin was fortunate: he was born in a chapter of Victor Hugo's -"Notre Dame de Paris." Destiny preserved the first glances of his -artist's eyes from the disenchanting banality of our modern streets. It -placed before them, as if to give them a hatred of uniformity, as if -to disgust him forever with the misdeeds of the straight line, adopted -the world over by the rank and file of contemporary architects,--those -congenitally blind and mutilated souls,--a population of houses having -a physiognomy and a soul of their own, which, with their sloping roofs, -their irregular gables, etch their amusing profiles against the sky -and seem to gossip with the birds and the clouds, putting to shame the -few regular buildings that have intruded and lost themselves amid this -congregation so touched with spirituality. - -All this Rodin saw; with a child's innocent eye, he absorbed all this -fantasy of past ages; he studied the little shops with their low -ceilings dating from the period of the gilds; he noted through the -tiny panes of their windows the Rembrandtesque effects of shadow and -golden light, in which the humblest objects live a life that is full of -intimate mystery and familiar charm. About them he saw a people full of -life, alert, awake, always in action, always in dispute, unconsciously -falling into a thousand beautiful, simple attitudes, the eternal -attitudes associated with drinking, eating, sleeping, working, and -loving. - -What admirable, powerful precepts this teaching, without effort, without -professors, without pedantry, thus forever imposed upon the memory of -the future sculptor! Yes, Rodin there enjoyed a priceless good fortune. - -As child and young man, his walks and his duties took him incessantly -past Notre Dame, the queen of cathedrals, appearing, from the heights -of Ste. Geneviève, magnificently seated on the bank of the Seine that -devotedly kisses its feet; in front of it, Ste. Etienne-du-Mont, -surrounded by convents, with its nave, that treasure of grace bequeathed -to us by the Renaissance. There also is the ancient little Roman church -of St. Julien-le-Pauvre; and St. Séverin, that sweet relic of Gothic -art, about which lies unrolled the old _quartier des truands_, with the -rues Galande de la Huchette and de la Parcheminerie, which the pick-axes -of the housebreakers are now giving over to the universal ugliness. - -The Panthéon and the buildings that surround it taught the young Rodin -that the public monuments of the style of Louis XV, although colder -and stiffer, still offer a certain grandeur by virtue of their beauty -of proportion and character. Close beside the somewhat formal solemnity -of these buildings, the Gardens of the Luxembourg that invite the -passer-by with all their tender, smiling charm, the exquisite parterre, -the elegant little pilastered palace, the Medici fountain, whose -charming statues pour out their water that murmurs beneath the branches -of the trees spread out above like a tent of lacework, taught him the -enchantment of the architectural harmonies of the Renaissance, harmonies -of chiseled stone, noble shadows, and carpeting flowers. - -Like all artists, Rodin adores the Luxembourg. More than this, he would -not for anything in the world see those statues of the queens of France -banished, those enormous stone dolls of a quality, as regards sculpture, -little calculated to satisfy lovers of rich modeling. No matter, he -loves the gray mass they make under the fragrant summits of the limes -and the hawthorns; they are part of the scenery of his youth; he remains -faithful to them as to old playthings. Was it not these that he sketched -in those first attempts of his? - -His aptitude quickly revealed itself. This man, whom ignorant critics -were to reproach one day with not knowing how to draw, handled the -pencil from his earliest childhood. - -His mother bought her provisions from a grocer in the neighborhood. The -grocer wrapped up his rice, vermicelli, and dried prunes in bags made -from cut-up illustrated papers and engravings that had been thrown away. -Rodin got hold of these bags, and they were his first models. He copied -these wretched images passionately. - -Toward the age of twelve, he was sent to Beauvais, to the house of -an uncle who undertook to bring him up. Beauvais and its unfinished -cathedral was another silent lesson, never to be forgotten--that -cathedral which is nothing but a choir, but how marvelous a choir! - -Of course at the time he did not appreciate its splendor. With the -indifference of his age, he studied its architecture and its sculpture, -which, for that matter, all his contemporaries, even the cultivated, -despised from the depth of their ignorance. That was the time when -art critics and professors of esthetics denied Gothic art without -comprehending it, the Roman school being in the ascendant in the -admiration of the public. Nevertheless, the jewel in stone did not fail -to speak in the language of beauty and truth to this predestined young -man. His sensibility registered its impressions, noted down those points -of comparison which he was to find later in the depths of his memory and -which were to enable him to judge and appreciate. Under the vault of the -majestic nave he listened to the mass, he took part in the grand, sacred -drama, whose phrases touched his imagination profoundly, sometimes -exalting it to the point of mysticism and impregnating it with the -nobility of the symbols and of the Catholic ritual tempered by eighteen -centuries of usage. - -Rodin was placed in a boarding-school. He found the scholar's life -dreary and dull; his comrades seemed to him noisy young barbarians, -absorbed in brutal and too often vicious pastimes. Certain studies were -repugnant to him, mathematics and _solfeggio_. Near-sighted, without -being aware of it, he could not make out the figures and the notes the -masters wrote on the blackboard; he understood nothing and was almost -bored to death. - -This myopia was destined to have the most vital influence on his art. -Because of his difficulty in perceiving total effects, his instinct has -only rarely led him to the composition of monuments on a very large -scale, in which the architectural construction is of nearly as great -importance as the sculpture proper. The most considerable that we owe -to him is that of "The Burghers of Calais"; and there is also "The Gate -of Hell," which, almost inexplicably, remained incomplete even in the -very hour when it was given over as finished. The great sculptor, at -the time when he turned it over to the founders, perhaps unconsciously -experienced a lapse of vision, an insurmountable fatigue of the eyes, -over-strained by the prolonged effort to grasp the ensemble of the -edifice and the harmony of the countless details of this superb -composition. - -But if he has been turned aside, by his physical constitution, from -monumental art, it has only served to concentrate him with all the -more ardor upon the minute work of modeling, for which, by a sort of -compensation, he is endowed with an eye whose penetration has had no -equal since the time of the Renaissance. - -At the age of fourteen he returned to Paris. His parents judged that the -moment had come for him to choose a career. Observing his astonishing -gifts, they decided to let him take up drawing, but, having small means, -they were unable to provide him with special masters. They entered him -at the School of Decorative Arts, another piece of good fortune. - -This school, called by abbreviation the Petite Ecole, in distinction -from the great school, that of the Beaux-Arts, is situated in the old -rue de l'Ecole de Médecine, close to the Faculté de Médecine and the -Sorbonne. It was founded in 1765, under the name of the Free School -of Design, by the painter Jean-Jacques Bachelier, a clever artist and -student of styles in art no longer practised or little known, who had -been well thought of by Madame de Pompadour, the favorite of Louis XV, -the charming and virtually official minister of fine arts during the -reign of that monarch. It was she who placed Bachelier in charge of the -_ateliers de décoration_ at the Sèvres manufactory. In creating the -Petite Ecole, the painter seemed to be following out, after the death of -his gracious protectress, the impulse she had communicated to French art -during her lifetime. - -[Illustration: LA PUCELLE.] - -Thus we see Rodin at the school of the Marquise de Pompadour, placed -once more in a _milieu_ full of originality and life. He found himself -there surrounded by a little world of beginners in every line, budding -artists; almost everybody of his generation has passed through this -course. They came there to learn to draw, paint, and model. - -In the evening the halls were filled with amateurs who, after their -day's work was over, sought to acquire a certain artistic skill as -tapestry-workers, ornament-makers, workers in iron, marble, etc. They -were energetic, turbulent, poor. Rodin, like them, was energetic and -poor, but silent, laborious, and pertinacious. He applied himself to the -copying of models of all sorts, most frequently red chalks by Boucher -and plaster casts of animals, plants, and flowers. - -The school had possessed these things since the eighteenth century and, -like almost everything that was created in that bountiful epoch, they -were very well done, composed after nature, their elegance full of warm -truth; they were models in bold _ronde-bosse_. That is to say, they -presented that quality of relief to which drawing, like sculpture, owes -its rich oppositions of light and shadow. To those who copied them they -communicated the science of relief, the fundamental basis of art, and -the living suppleness of the best periods, which has almost entirely -disappeared to-day. - -One day Rodin entered the modeling class. He worked there after the -antique. He had his first experience of working in clay; it was a -revelation, an enchantment. He fell in love with this _métier_, which -seemed to him the most seductive of all; he became obsessed with the -desire to mold this soft material himself, to search in it for the form -of things. - -His first attempts overjoyed him; he was not fifteen years old and he -had found his path! - -We see him executing a fragment; he models the head, the hands, the -arms, the legs, the feet; then he sets about the whole figure; there -is no deception; there are no insurmountable difficulties for him; he -understands at once the structure of the human body; in the phrase of -the atelier, "ses bonshommes tiennent"; the arms and the legs adjust -themselves naturally to the body: he is a born sculptor. - -Every day he arrives at the class at eight o'clock in the morning; he -works without faltering till noon, in company with five or six pupils. -At that hour they stop work; they are happy; they leave their seats and -take a turn about the model. In the evening things are different; from -seven to nine, the class is over-full; one can study the model then -only from a distance; a superficial, wretched method that is practised -on a large scale at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts and against which Rodin has -protested all his life. - -Thus we find him entered on his artistic career not as a dilettante, -as an amateur, as happens too often, but as a veritable workman. Like -General Kléber, he could long say, "My poverty has served me well; I -am attached to it." It placed him, from his childhood, in the presence -of realities. It steeped him in life itself. It safeguarded him from -the artificial education that debilitates the young middle-class -Frenchman and destroys in him the spirit of initiative and personality. -It deprived him luckily of the pleasures that rich young men too -easily offer themselves, the abuse of which renders them unsteady, -capricious, and indifferent. Rigorously held to his path by necessity, -he consecrated all his time and all his energies to study. He became -diligent, serious, and prudent. - -He had the opportunity of seeing his modeling corrected by Carpeaux. The -great sculptor, in fact, taught at the Petite Ecole. Upon his return -from Rome, he had asked for a modest post as an assistant master that -would help to assure his equally modest existence; they had granted his -request, but without seeking to give him anything more! His young pupils -scarcely understood his high worth, the substantial and delicate grace -of his talent, his voluptuous elegance, inherited from the eighteenth -century and united with a certain nervous seductiveness that was -altogether modern, a certain palpitating quality of the soul and of the -flesh that had not been known before, manifesting itself through the -ductility of his modeling. But instinctively they admired him; they -marveled, among other things, at the precision and the rapidity of the -corrections the master executed under their eyes. Later, when experience -had come to him, Rodin greatly honored Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux; he was -one of those for whom the appearance of the famous group "The Dance," -in the parvis of the Opéra, was a veritable event. At that moment he -discovered again in himself the influence of this beautiful spirit which -had been slumbering in him since he left the Petite Ecole; then he -became almost the disciple of Carpeaux. I know a figure of a bacchante -of Rodin's, a marble that is almost unknown, the flesh of which is so -supple and so light that one would say it was molded of wheat and honey -and the work of the sculptor of "The Dance." There floats also in its -countenance that spirituality, that expression as of a sort of angelic -malice which Carpeaux seems to have borrowed occasionally from the -figures of Leonardo da Vinci. - -[Illustration: MINERVA.] - -When the clocks of the Sorbonne quarter struck noon, Rodin left the -Petite Ecole; he walked to the Louvre, eating, as he went, a roll -and a cake of chocolate which was all he had for lunch. He sketched -the antiques. From there he went on to the Galerie des Estampes at -the Bibliothèque Nationale, where they loaned out, without any too -much good will, misplaced as that is with students, the albums of -plates after Michelangelo and Raphael and the great illustrated work, -"L'Histoire de Costume Romain." Because of this miserliness of theirs, -he did not always obtain the volumes he wished for, which were reserved -for habitués who were better known. This did not prevent him from -becoming initiated into the science of draperies. He executed hundreds -of sketches from memory, at last developing in himself the faculty of -remembering forms. From the rue de Richelieu, always on foot, he would -repair to the Gobelin manufactory. There each day, from five to eight -o'clock, he followed the course in design. Placed before nature itself, -before the nude, he absorbed more excellent principles. The teaching of -the eighteenth century was practised there also, and his work became -permanently impregnated by it. - -In the morning, at daybreak, before going to the Petite Ecole, he found -the time to walk to an old painter's he knew, where he kept a number of -canvases going. In the evening he made careful copies of the sketches -he had jotted down at noon in the galleries of the Louvre and the -Bibliothèque. He drew far into the night; he drew even during supper, -at the frugal board of his family, surrounded by his father, his mother, -and his young sister, bending over his paper utterly regardless of his -health, a course of things that soon brought on gastric disorders from -which he suffered cruelly. In short, he toiled incessantly, ardent and -patient, obstinate, and full of self-confidence. - -Assuredly he never in the world imagined that he was to become in time -one of the most illustrious representatives of the French art of the -nineteenth century, that he was to be the equal in renown of celebrities -like Lamartine, Alfred de Musset, or Michelet whom he saw occasionally -in the Luxembourg Gardens, without even daring to bow to them; but he -possessed a fixed and a precise idea of what was required to be a good -sculptor and the resolution to realize it. Little did he care how long -it would take, how tardy success might prove, how slow fortune might be -in coming; little did he care for obstacles, even for misery. He was -going the right way, unhesitating, untroubled, not compromising with -himself or with anybody. He possessed the irresistible will of a force. - -I have had occasion to examine one of the note-books of Rodin's youth. -It is quite filled with sketches after engravings from the antique, -animals or human figures. The drawing is strangely compact, wilful, -for the boy of sixteen or seventeen that he was then. Already, in its -accumulation of strokes and hatchings which, during an entire period -of his artistic development, render the drawing of Rodin restless and -personal like a piece of writing, it exhibits an obstinate search for -relief, it speaks to us like hieroglyphics, revealing the power of his -grasp. His progress was rapid. At seventeen, he finished his first -studies. The moment came for him to pass from the school of decorative -arts to that of the Beaux-Arts and to prepare himself, like his -companions, for the examinations and for the competition for the _prix -de Rome_, the famous _prix de Rome_ that seemed to Rodin, inexperienced -student as he was, the crown of the most rigorous artistic studies. - - - - -RODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS - - -Rodin presented himself at an examination for entrance into the Ecole -des Beaux-Arts. He was rejected. He presented himself a second time, but -with the same result. What was the reason for it? Neither he nor his -fellow-students could discover. They used to form a circle about him -when he worked. They admired the keenness and precision of his glance, -the already astonishing skill of his hand. They told him that he would -be accepted. He failed a third time. Finally a fellow-student who was -shrewder than the others gave the solution of the enigma. It requires a -somewhat long explanation. - -The great school is under the direction of the members of the Academy -of Fine Arts. These professors correct the work of the students, set -the examinations, and award the prizes. They are recruited from members -of the society, are, in short, the representatives of official, or -conservative, art. Official art is a product of the Revolution of 1789. -Up to that time there were not two kinds of art in France. At the most, -until the time of Louis XIV only one secession disported itself under -the influence of Lebrun, painter to the king. Art was a unit, and its -divine florescence spread from France over all Europe. The church, -the kings, and their court of great lords and cultivated ladies were -the protectors and, indeed, the inspirers, of that flowering of beauty -that had grown from the time of the first Capets, indeed from the time -of the Merovingians, down to the end of the eighteenth century. The -First Empire marked in effect the beginning of the artistic decadence -of Europe and, one may say, of the world. Artists at that time divided -themselves into two camps, the conservatives, with, at their head, -David and his school, who pictured an art of convention and approved -formulas, and the independents, who continued, although in a somewhat -revolutionary and extravagant spirit, the true traditions of French art. -Among those fine rebellious men of talent of the first order were Rude, -Barye, and Carpeaux in sculpture, and Baron Gros, Eugène Delacroix, -Courbet, and Manet in painting. - -[Illustration: PSYCHE.] - -By a singular contradiction, Louis David was as baneful a theorist as -he was a great painter and, above all, an excellent draftsman. That -explains itself. The quality of his drawing he owed to the eighteenth -century, in which he had appeared and a pupil of which he was; but he -derived his esthetic doctrine from the Revolution, which made use of -the same sectarian zeal to obtain the triumph of certain false ideas -that it used to advance the right principles that were its glory. -Through one, David produced works of great worth and some admirable -portraits; through the other, he wrought great havoc among artists. -The world was, moreover, well disposed to submit to these principles. -When art restricts itself to repeating attitudes, gestures, approved -receipts, without having studied or observed them in nature in her -constant changes, it means decadence. If David was able to have his -theories accepted, it was because the time was ripe to receive them, to -be contented with them; and to say that the time was ripe is only to say -that it was a degenerate time, satisfied to be relieved of the task of -reflecting, of discovering for itself the laws of beauty, or, in short, -of working from the foundation. - -Official painter of the Revolution and the Empire, Louis David -proclaimed his doctrine with the authority of a pontiff. He made a set -of narrow rules which advocated a superficial imitation of the antique, -a copying of the works of Greece and Rome, not in spirit, but in letter; -not in that accurate knowledge of construction and of the model, which -made up their supreme worth, but in their conventional attitudes and -expressions. - -Even from beyond the grave David continued to rule the academy of -the Beaux-Arts in the name of the artificial idealism which he had -proclaimed, and whoever rejected his sorry instruction saw himself -without mercy shown to the door of the national schools arid academies. -They had shown the door to Rude, the author of the masterpiece of the -Arc de Triomphe, "The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792." They had -shown it to the unhappy Carpeaux, treated all his life as a heretic and -persecuted by the official class, defenders of the so-called heroic -achievements and stereotyped forms. They went to every extreme in -their contest with free and determined genius. As a last resort they -employed every weapon of treachery against the undisciplined great, -those fallen angels of the false paradise of the Institute--weapons that -later they did not scruple to use against Rodin. They accused Carpeaux -of indecency, and in order to strengthen the miserable falsehood, a -perverse idiot flung a can of ink on the adorable group of "The Dance," -that song of the nymphs, clamorous with youth, laughter, and music. - -This digression in the story of Rodin's life explains his whole life. By -his manly independence, his persistent refusal to follow the dictates -of the school, he naturally found himself placed at the head of those -who antagonized the official class. Against an opponent of his strength -and obstinacy the struggle naturally took on new energy. It recalled -to mind the violence of the famous intellectual quarrels of other days ---the quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns in the seventeenth and -eighteenth centuries, and that of the Classicists and the Romanticists -in 1830. - -When Rodin presented himself at the great school, how, in his -inexperience, could he foresee the war of wild beasts that rages in -the thickets of art? It needed indeed a better-informed comrade to -disclose the situation to him. Then his eyes were opened. He understood -then that he would only be wasting his time in striving to force the -bronze doors that are closed against the influences of great nature and -her triumphant light, the implacable denouncer of the false in art. -Perceiving it at last, he renounced the thought of entering the school. -Later he gloried, in the fact that he had done so. Possibly he saw -the danger that he would have run of parching his spirit and chilling -his eye. "Ah," his friend, the sculptor Dalou, exclaimed long after, -"Rodin had the luck not to have been at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts!" Dalou -himself had not had that luck, and despite beautiful gifts and love for -the eighteenth century, he had not recovered from the false teaching. - -Rodin, then, without knowing it, had fought his first battle, the slight -skirmish to the incessant fight that was to open. After that time the -name Institute, by which he understood the group of protagonists of a -bad form of art, took in his speech a formidable meaning. When he says, -"The Institute," he seems to call up some mythological monster, the -hydra of a hundred heads, from the malignant wounds of which the brave -usually die slowly. For him the Institute has come to mean a company of -able men who substitute dexterity for conscience, who, for long toil in -obscurity and poverty, substitute a premature eagerness for all that it -may bring--profitable relations, orders from the state, fortune, and -honors. In his opinion all that ought to come slowly in order not to -distract the artist from the study that alone can give him strength. -To him the rewards are secondary; true happiness lies in untrammeled -and passionate toil, in the exercise of growing intelligence that is -determined not to be stopped on the road to discovery. - -[Illustration: THE ADIEU.] - -Although the struggle is less clamorous to-day, it has not ended, -and it never will be ended, despite the wide fame of the master, now -known throughout the world as the greatest living artist. This Rodin -understands. What the contestants now seek to conquer is the public, -some for the purpose of obtaining from it consideration and profit, and -others an appreciation of true art. One class strives to flatter its -taste, which is bad; the other seeks to inculcate a knowledge of true -art in its own work. At the outset the contest is frightfully unequal, -for the ignorance of the public is abysmal. Incapable of discerning true -beauty, it relies only on the labels placed by the Institute on its own -works and on those of its partizans. They say to a man, "This is the -sort of thing that should be admired," and straightway he admires it, -if one can apply this expression of the highest pleasure of the spirit -to the vapid and dull contemplation that the public accords to the works -marked for its approval. No, at best the public does not know how to -admire; it does not understand the language of beauty. - -At eighteen or nineteen, Rodin, being wholly without fortune, could not -continue his studies without quickly finding some means of support. It -was therefore necessary for him to earn his own living, and at once -he bravely entered upon his work as an ornament-maker, and became a -journeyman at a few francs a week. We need not regret it. This son of -the people, by remaining in the ranks of the working-class, consolidated -in himself the virtues of the class--their courage and industry, which -are the strong qualities of the humble, and, in the aggregate, those -of the whole nation. And the curiosity of a superior man for all the -rewards of the exercise of his intelligence led him to cultivate himself -unceasingly. His limited studies as a school-boy had not been extensive -enough to surfeit him; he now brought to the study of letters a mind -keenly alert, and with a joy as alive as love itself he devoted himself -to a study of great minds. He read the poets and the historians; he -became acquainted with the Greece of Homer and Æschylus, the Italy -of Dante, the England of Shakspere, and the France of Jean-Jacques -Rousseau; but up to that time he had concerned himself with only one -thing--his trade. He worked as a real artisan, with no wider vision, -with no thought of formidable power. He saw only his model and his -clay; he thought only of these, he loved only these. Thus he had become -a journeyman ornament-worker in clay. That did not prevent him from -perfecting himself in sculpture. On the contrary, it aided him. - -The art of ornamentation was then considered, as it is still to-day, an -inferior art. People said, still say, of the sculpture of architecture, -as of the frescos and mosaic work of a building, that it is only -decoration. They declare it in a tone of indulgence that finds an excuse -for any mediocrity. - -All this is a profound mistake. Sculptured ornament springs naturally -from architecture; it is the flowering of its fundamental elements. It -is an inherent part of the whole, as the mass of flowers and foliage -that crowns a tree is in a way the culminating point of the whole -vegetable organism. Ornament demands the same qualities that the -fundamental architectural structure demands, and fully as much talent -and perhaps even more; because, as Rodin says, one sees in it more -clearly, without distracting features, the form of genius. If it is not -well done in itself, its function, which is rigorously subordinated -to the whole, and consists in molding the contours of the structure -by underlining and marking them off, is reversed. It is then only -an excrescence, an arbitrary addition. Only mediocre artisans, when -employed on a building or a jewel, use ornament capriciously, without -proportioning and subordinating it to the mass; they weary and disgust -the beholder. - -Rodin and his companions did not content themselves with copying, and -more or less distorting, their Greek, Roman, and Renaissance models, -which were repeated to satiety in all the workshops of the world, -and done over and over again so many times, out of place and out -of proportion, that they had lost all significance. Their employer -possessed a beautiful, but neglected, garden, where a profusion of -plants ran riot. Here were models in abundance. Here, in reproducing -these, the young craftsmen refreshed their vocation; they copied their -ornaments from nature; they studied foliage and flowers from life. -To do new work, they had only to borrow from the vegetable world its -inexhaustible combinations of beauty. - -Here Rodin, by his cleverness and rapidity, became without a peer among -them all, and drew to himself the admiration of his fellow-workers. It -was here that he met Constant Simon, his elder by many years, who was -the first man to teach him to model in profile. It was one of the great -epochs in his life. One may say that from that time the two great -laws that have given his sculpture its power--the study of nature and -the right method of modeling--passed into his blood, as it were. The -secret that Simon imparted to him was like a philter that inflamed his -soul with enthusiasm. He became intoxicated with the idea of seeing -clearly and of holding his hand strictly accountable to what his eyes -disclosed. And he possessed, too, both youth and an indefatigable vigor. -He sketched everything he could, wherever he could. One saw him making -sketches on the street, in the horse-market, jostled by the beasts, -repulsed by men, yet indifferent to all difficulties in his enchantment -in his discovered prize, at the Jardin des Plantes, where he passed -hours before the cages and in the parks, studying the poses of the deer -and the grace of the moving antelopes. - -[Illustration: RODIN IN HIS STUDIO AT THE HOTEL BIRON.] - -At that period Barye taught at the Museum. Rodin had become acquainted -with the son of the celebrated sculptor. The two had discovered a corner -of the basement, a sort of cave, damp and gloomy, where they installed -some seats made of old boxes and delighted themselves in modeling -from clay. From the Museum they borrowed a few anatomical specimens, -fragments of the parts of animals, and these they carried to their -cavern and pored over in their efforts to copy them. Sometimes Barye -himself would come to cast his eye over their work and give them a word -of advice, and then would go away, buried in a silent reverie. He was -a man of simple habits, with the appearance of a college tutor, in his -well-worn coat, but giving an impressive suggestion of great force and -worth. His son and Rodin little understood him; they feared him somewhat -and only half profited by his suggestions. Later the author of "The -Burghers of Calais," kindled by the genius of the gloomy, severe man -whom he had misunderstood, felt a deep remorse at not having rendered to -Barye, while living, the homage of admiration which the master merited, -and which perhaps would have been sweet to his solitary heart. - -Rodin has had only rarely the chance to model animals. He has never -received an order for an equestrian statue, and he has regretted it. We -have from him only one small rough model of a statue of General Lynch -on horseback, which was never executed, and the beautiful relief of the -chariot of Apollo which forms the pedestal of the monument of Claude -Lorrain at Nancy. But though he has not modeled animals, he has many -times sketched them, and he has studied profoundly their anatomy and -poses. - -It is not so much in the powerful sketches that all his life he has -continued to make with the same daily care with which a pianist -practises his scales that Rodin shows the chief characteristic of his -nature, as it is in accumulating these that he has been enabled to -understand relationship between different forms, and to establish the -unity between the forms of man and the animals, between the mountains -and the vegetable world. It is by understanding this unity that he -can occasionally interpret with a scientific exactness this common -relationship. In modeling a centaur or the chimera or a spirit with -powerful wings, the mythological creature that appears from his hands -does not appear less a transcript from reality than each bust or each -statue that has been vigorously wrought from the living model. There is -no weakening in the points where the bust of the man or of the woman -attaches itself to the body of the animal, no doubt that the beautiful, -strong wings of the angels are as perfectly united to their bodies and -are as necessary as their arms or legs. - -When about twenty-two or twenty-three Rodin entered the atelier of -Carrier-Belleuse. At that time the vogue of this charming artist was -great. He well represented the spirit and workmanship of the eighteenth -century in the knickknack art of the Second Empire. He was a Clodion -of the boulevard. Besides the spirited busts, some of which, like -those of Ernest Renan, Jules Simon, and the actress Marie Laurent, -were celebrated, he sent out from his atelier, in the rue de la Tour -d'Auvergne at Montmartre, hundreds of designs to be used in industrial -art: mantelpieces, centerpieces for tables, vases, ornamental clocks, -and decorative figures and groups. Rodin, then, applied himself to -executing for Carrier-Belleuse a variety of statuettes and figures. -There was in the task a great danger, for he saw the risk of limiting -himself to a facile use of his art that was both remunerative and -attractive; but his sturdy Northern temperament was able to protect him -against every danger, whether of success or poverty. - -Carrier had an astonishing skill, and not only worked without a model, -but compelled his employees to work without one. His rough sketches were -admirable, but he weakened in working them out. Rodin never trifled with -his art. Before going to the atelier he always took care to study his -subject in the nude and to fix it in his memory as firmly as possible. -As soon as he reached his bench he transferred to the clay the result -of his remembered observations. On returning to his home in the evening -he consulted his model anew in order to correct his work of the day. It -was for him an excellent exercise of memory. The true workman is quick -to turn to advantage all the inconveniences of a situation. I have heard -Rodin relate that often in the course of a quarrel with a friend or a -relative he would completely forget the subject of the contention and -the anger of his opponent in his absorption, from the point of view of -a sculptor, in the play of the muscles and their influence on the -expression of the face of the angry speaker. - -[Illustration: REPRESENTATION OF FRANCE--IN THE MONUMENT TO CHAMPLAIN.] - -Rodin remained about five years with Carrier-Belleuse. What works his -active hands accomplished there in a day! One still finds them in the -shops of the sellers of bronzes, in the shops of the dealers of the -Marais and the Faubourg St. Antoine. Certainly hundreds of examples were -brought there, to the great profit of tradesmen, but to the injury of -the artist; for he drew from them only such wages as the least competent -workers are to-day content with. - -One may see in the gallery of Mrs. ---- of New York certain little -terra-cotta busts which date from that period. They represent pretty -Parisian women in hats, whose wild locks veil glances full of spirit and -roguishness. Creatures of youth and frivolity, they are sisters of the -elegant ladies that Alfred Stevens drew with his delightful brush, and -which were the charm of Paris under Napoleon III. Who could believe that -they had sprung from the hands of Rodin, the austere creator of "The -Burghers of Calais" and of the "Victor Hugo"? - -But before becoming the audaciously personal genius that he now is, -he was subjected to the most varied influences--influences that have -been felt by the modern sculptors with whom he has worked and those -that guided the old masters. He has none the less shielded himself -from the world. He declares indeed, with the authority that permits the -freedom, that originality signifies nothing; that that which counts is -the quality of the intrinsic sculpture; that if the temperament of the -artist is truly steadfast, he always finds himself after the necessary -study; and finally that it is of little importance whether a statue -bears the name of Praxiteles or that of one of his pupils. The essential -thing is that it is well done, that it appears in a great epoch. -Anonymous, it proclaims none the less to the eyes of the man of taste -the signature of genius. - -In order to live Rodin applied himself to the most varied occupations; -thus he gained the liberty to labor at his own work for a few hours. -He chipped at stone and marble for the benefit of sculpture to-day -unknown, but then in vogue; he made sketches for trinkets for certain -fashionable jewelers, and fashioned objects of decorative art ordered of -him by manufacturers. Despite a considerable loss of time, he obtained -thus a true apprenticeship in art wholly like that which in earlier days -was obtained by Ghiberti, Donatello, and most of the great artists of, -the Renaissance, who were proud to be good artisans before they were -accounted great sculptors. - -Thus finally he was enabled to realize his first dream--to have an -atelier of his own. His atelier! It was a stable, at a rental of -twenty-four dollars a year, in the rue Lebrun, in the quarter of the -Gobelins, near which he was born. It was a cold hovel, a cave indeed, -with a well sunk in an angle of one wall that at every season exhaled -its chilling breath. It did not matter. The place was sufficiently -large and well lighted. The artist, young and strong, and as happy as -possible in his stable, felt his talent increasing. There he accumulated -a quantity of studies and works until the place was so crowded that he -could scarcely turn himself about; but being too poor to have them cast, -he lost the greater part of them. Every day he spent hours moistening -the cloths that enveloped them, yet not without suffering frightful -disasters. Sometimes the clay, through being too soft, would settle and -fall asunder; sometimes it would become dry, crack, and crumble. One -day, in moving, the great figure of a bacchante that had been tenderly -molded for months was seized by the rough hands of the furniture-movers, -and broke, crashing to the ground. What lost efforts! What destroyed -beauty! Even to-day when the artist speaks of it his heart bleeds anew. - -At that time he carried about the ateliers of Paris a design to which he -gave the name of "The Man with the Broken Nose." Struck by the curious -face of an old shepherd, flat-nosed, with every appearance of a slave -that had been crushed under heel, Rodin made a bust of the man and -strove to portray the energy and imposing simplicity that had astonished -him in the antique busts and the statue of "The Knife-Grinder" that he -had seen in the galleries of the Louvre. The solidity of the design, -the patience shown in the composition, and the strength of the details -coöperated in producing an admirable whole. The wrinkles of the -forehead, the creased eyelids, the deep furrows of the face converged -toward the base of the broken nose in an expression of old age and -hardship, presenting an admirable head of a Thessalian shepherd. Alas! -one frosty day the clay contracted, and the skull of "The Man with -the Broken Nose" fell to the ground, leaving only the face. Rodin did -not make over the composition. Too honest to restore the skull by -approximation, he contented himself with modeling the face, to-day -become famous. - -He cast it in plaster, and sent it to the Salon of 1864. There it -was rejected. Thus the opposition that had closed the door of the -Beaux-Arts against him was renewed at his first attempt to take rank -among contemporary artists. The reason was the same; it will always -and invariably be the same: this sculptor of the naked truth, this -fervent lover of nature, offends, shocks, and wounds the majority of -the followers of formulas, the imitators of the past, the makers of -smooth and pretty wares, things without conscience or significance. The -artist remains alone with his deception. The day has not yet come -when enlightened amateurs can understand in which school true talent -is to be found, when they are able to renounce the moldings on nature, -the theatrical postures, the irritating silliness of figures a thousand -times repeated. - -[Illustration: THE MAN WITH THE BROKEN NOSE.] - -They will some day learn to perceive truth, observation, strength, and -grace. When that day comes they will throw out of the window all the -trumpery art of which they will have become tired, in order to collect -that of Rude, Barye, Carpeaux, Rodin, Jules Desbois, Camille Claudel, -those glories of the nineteenth century. - -The year of the Salon of 1864 may serve to close the first period of -Rodin's career. It is difficult, indeed impossible, to place between -fixed dates the events of a life that has been an example of uniform -continuity; but nevertheless it is permitted to one to say that the year -1864 marks the end of the first youth of the master. His preliminary -studies, those which one may call the studies of his mere profession, -were ended. He was then at the beginning of larger studies; he was -about to visit Belgium, Italy, and France; he was about to come face -to face with the most varied geniuses and examine their work. He was -about to question them rigorously, to demand of them their technical -methods. He was also about to exalt himself in the presence of these -immortal thoughts, to become intoxicated with the desire to equal them -in science and greatness. From that time on he approached them as a -disciple, as a man who had already thought much and comprehended much, -and who was worthy to study them and follow in their footsteps: in a -word, as an artist of their own lineage. - - - - -SOJOURN IN BELGIUM--"THE MAN WHO AWAKENS TO NATURE"--REALISM AND -PLASTER CASTS - - -Rodin worked under Carrier-Belleuse from 1865 to 1870. He remained -in Paris during the Franco-German War. What influence did this event -have upon him? He has said little about it. Although he has a strong -attachment for his native land, he has none of the extravagant -patriotism of a Rude, whose great soul was caught up in the flames of -the national epopee. Rodin has too contemplative a temperament; he is -too devoted to reflective work to allow himself to be long disturbed by -external facts, even the gravest. - -At the signing of the peace, he went to Belgium, drawn by the promise of -work in decorative art. He remained there five years, staying first in -Brussels, then in Antwerp. - -This period of his life left with him a delightful memory. He was poor -and unknown, but full of the vigor of youth, and free in how splendid a -freedom! He had all his time to himself, without any of those thousand -obligations that eat up the days of a celebrated man and break down his -ardor. - -Life in Belgium was at that time simple, easy-going, family-like. Many -small pleasures made it attractive; the cleanliness of the streets and -the houses was a constant delight to the eye; the bread, the beer, the -coffee were excellent and cost almost nothing. On Sundays bands of -children, fair-haired, robust, healthy, dressed in aprons very white -and very well starched, ran about laughing and singing; the women went -to church; the men assembled in the sanded gardens of the public houses -to play at ball, sipping glasses of _faro_ and _lambic_. The whole -scene was full of the charm of intimacy and happiness which for the -artist served as a sort of frame, so to say, for the old pictures. The -works of the Flemish painters are so impressive in all their power, -in the splendor of their fresh coloring and their gem-like finish, -that Brussels, Ghent, Bruges, Antwerp, Mechlin seem to have been built -and decorated by the Brueghels, the Jan Steens, the Tenierses, whose -dazzling canvases strike one almost as if they had been the plans for -the construction of these queenly cities instead of being simply mirrors -of them. As for nature, its grandeur and its nobility are disconcerting -in such a little country. - -Rodin rented a modest room in the chaussée de Brendael, in one of -the quarters of the capital quite close to the Bois de la Cambre. -He worked there during the whole of the day; his young wife did the -housework, went out marketing, sewed beside him, posed for him, -helped him to moisten his clay, made herself, as she said proudly, his -_garçon d'atelier_. He modeled caryatids for the Palais de la Bourse at -Brussels; for the Palais des Académies he made a frieze representing -children and the attributes of the arts and sciences; he was charged -also with the execution of decorative pieces for different municipal -buildings of the city of Antwerp. Nowadays the Belgians display with -pride these works, in which, without flattering them, one can recognize -the touch of a future master. - -Intent as he was upon his modeling work, Rodin did not abandon drawing; -he added to it landscape-painting in oils. The Brabant country-side -is one of the most beautiful in Europe. The Forest of Soigne, which -surrounds Brussels, is full of the lofty trees of the Northern -countries, splendid beeches, healthy as the bodies of athletes, reaching -up into the sky like columns of light bronze, planted in regular rows, -giving the impression of an immense and solemn temple. Narrow avenues, -alleys, pierce the long naves; one's soul seems to glide lingeringly -along these shadowy paths drawn on to the end by the far-away glimmer -like stained glass. The light that falls from above through the -tree-tops slips down the long green trunks, gray or silvery, bringing -with it a touch of the sky. There is no exuberant vegetation, none -of that undergrowth trembling with delicate little leaves, such as -that which makes the spiritual grace of the Ile-de-France, arranged -for the frolic of nymphs and fawns. This is the Gothic forest, the -tree-cathedral, a fitting place for the miracles of Christianity and -the devout walk of solitaries. Rodin fell in love with this forest. His -grave soul, his youth, which knew nothing of frivolity, found itself -here. His nature, so full of self-contained enthusiasm and the profound -and slowly moved spirit of admiration, not yet capable of expressing -itself, found its true element under the protection of these age-old -beeches. But one corner enchanted him, a verdurous hollow filled with -running water that breaks the austerity of the wood, the valley of -Groenendael. There the majestic colonnade of trunks opens out, with the -condescension of giants, before the caprices of an undulating glade. It -is covered with a down of grass, like an immense green cloud, always -pure, always fresh, which spring and autumn embroider with delicate -shoots of a multitude of flowers, like the tapestries of the Flemish -masters. Little ponds shyly spread out their mirrors, full of the sky, -full of reflections. An old low-built house, entirely white, speaks -of security, of calm shelter, of good nourishment, in the midst of -this verdurous solitude, where one hears only the song of the birds -and where squirrels cross in their flight like sudden flames. The -valley of Groenendael is far enough away from Brussels to be almost -always deserted and silent. It was the site the famous Brabançon -mystic, Ruysbroeck the Admirable, chose in the fourteenth century for -a monastery. At that time the Forest of Soigne sheltered no less than -eleven monastic houses in its fragrant, shadowy depths. At the north of -the valley the ground rises and the path leads one to the modest chapel -of Notre Dame de Bonne-Odeur. - -At this period Rodin certainly knew nothing of the great contemplatives -of the fourteenth century or of this same Ruysbroeck whom later a -glorious compatriot, Maurice Maeterlinck, kinsman by election of the -hermit, was to translate and interpret; but in the peaceful glade, the -vallon vert, as under the vaults of the great forest, the soul of the -sculptor rejoined those of the old monks who perhaps still wander there -at times; it shared with them the religion of this beauty which their -dumb love of nature had come thither to seek. - -At dawn he would start out, loaded down with his box of colors. -His companion followed him, proud to carry part of the artist's -paraphernalia. He was on his way to make sketches, to take notes of the -landscape, to jot down his impressions; but often the day passed without -his touching his brushes. It was not indifference or indolence on the -part of this great worker, but simply that he had not the strength to -interrupt his delightful contemplations. Time lost? In the case of -another, perhaps. Not for him. His excursion had no immediate result; -that was all: but how he would observe, how he would compare, how he -would reflect! He was initiating himself in the sense of proportion, -grandeur of style, and the nobility of simplicity. He was studying the -laws of the light and shade distributed by the columns the true work of -the architect. It was no longer school lessons that he was prosecuting -here; it was the mighty exercise of personal talent, the ripening of -his taste that was taking place, thanks to the technical knowledge he -already possessed. The sense of the eternal laws comes only to those who -can contrail them through long experience. - -Later, when the time came for Rodin to visit the cathedrals, he was to -understand better than any other this art which has sprung from the -forests of France, engendered by their mysterious grandeur, once full of -terrors and marvels. The benefit which he derived immediately from his -acquaintance with Belgium was the experience of those intellectual joys -and that happiness which await any one who is serious, loyal, reverent -in the presence of the divine work that offers itself as an object of -study to the assiduous. - -Another besides himself had already received this teaching of nature in -exactly this place. Rude, whom the Bourbons had exiled on their return -to France because of his worship of Napoleon, passed several years in -Brussels and executed there a number of works, among others the famous -bas-reliefs of the Château de Tervueren, since destroyed by fire; "La -Chasse de Méléagre," of which the authorities of the Belgian department -of fine arts were fortunately able to take casts. On his way between -Brussels and Tervueren, Rude went every day several leagues on foot, -crossing the Forest of Soignes, where he, too, endeavored to forget the -lessons of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, on the benches of which he had, -according to his own confession, lost many years. - -[Illustration: CARYATID--TAKEN AT MEUDON IN RODIN'S GARDEN.] - -In addition to these works of decorative art, Rodin executed a number -of busts and sketches. He even found time to make a large figure -modeled after his wife, a figure draped like a Gothic statue, which -he worked over lovingly. It had the same disastrous fate as that -which befell the other one at Paris, and for the same reason; poverty -prevented the artist from having a cast taken of his work in time: like -the "Bacchante," it was completely destroyed. Despite this loss, the -sculptor was not discouraged; work for him was a happiness which was -begun anew each day; he at once began on another subject. This time he -took for his model a young man whose acquaintance he had made and who -willingly consented to pose for him. - -This young man was not a model by trade, spoiled by the conventional -attitudes which the Parisian sculptors impose on professionals. He -was a soldier, living in barracks near Rodin's house. As soon as the -sculptor saw, disengaging itself from the clothes, the graceful figure -of this boy of twenty-five who was not aware of his beauty and did -quite simply whatever his companion asked him, he promised himself -not to abandon this work before he had carried it as far as his skill -permitted him to go. His model disposed himself in simple attitudes, -which were not vitiated by any pretentious forethoughts. One day he came -toward him, his arms upraised, his head thrown back, with an air of -youthfully voluptuous lassitude that filled the artist with enthusiasm. -One would have said that he was a young hero staggering under the -shock of a wound. And Rodin set himself to execute the statue of the -wounded hero. But nature lends itself to infinite interpretations. -The sense of an attitude that is well rendered creates of itself more -comprehensive ideas. When we contemplate one who is wounded or ill, -obscure impressions agitate our spirit, impelling it toward ideas -higher than those of wounds and illness. It skirts the frontiers of -death, the enigma of annihilation or of the world to come, and all -those unformulated sentiments, which in their confused flight haunt -the profound regions of the soul. Before his beautiful model Rodin -experienced these emotions and transcribed them upon his sculpture. In -its unblemished nudity, it bears the sign of no one epoch; it is the -eternal man touched in his innermost sensibility by something of which -he knows not the cause. Is it his soul, is it his flesh that trembles? -One does not know. No knowledge comes without suffering. Rodin, aware -immediately of this effect of transposition, in the delicious surprise -of the artist who sometimes sees himself surpassed by his own work, -christened the statue, "The Man of the Age of Bronze," that is to say, -one who is passing from the unconsciousness of primitive man into the -age of understanding and of love. A few years later he gave it this -still happier final name, "The Man who Awakens to Nature." - -He worked over it eighteen months. There is no part of this harmonious -figure that has not been passionately thought out. He had to render, -beneath the supple covering of the skin, those firm, fine muscles which -possess the elasticity of youth and its sobriety. In giving the sense -of the presence of these things, one creates the illusion of their -activity. This is the secret of great sculpture and of all the arts, to -evoke that which we do not see by the quality of that which we do see. -"Carefully examine the Venus de Medici," Rude used to advise his pupils, -"and under the polish of the skin you will see the whole muscular system -appear." - -Rodin did not spare either his own strength or that of his model. An -implacable goddess led him on, his conscience. He did not content -himself with rendering only the masses that his direct vision gave him. -In this way he would have possessed only two dimensions, the length and -width of the human body. He needed the exact relief of masses, which -is the basis of _ronde-bosse_, of "cubic sculpture." He studied his -profiles not only from below, but from above. He mounted a painting -ladder and looked down over his model; he measured the surface of the -skull, which, seen from above, has an ovoid form; he took and compared -with his clay model the dimensions of the shoulders, the chest, the -hips, the feet as they appeared with the floor as a background. He -observed the points where the arm muscles were inserted, and those of -the thighs and the legs. How, after such a rigorously minute process -of noting his masses, could his work be flat? That became impossible. -But the geometric labor, the taking of measurements, was not all. The -next question was to reassemble the different profiles by careful -transcription. There is an entire school of conscientious sculptors who -believe that they can obtain reality by the simple method of making -identical points correspond. They multiply the measurements taken from -the model with the aid of a plumb-line and a compass; it is only a -mechanical process which does not even give good practical effects. To -unify the manifold surface of the human body, to endow the whole with -the suppleness of life, with its harmonious continuity and poise, -the personal judgment of the artist must unceasingly intervene. His -own special taste is supremely what adjusts the elements which are -waiting to be unified by him in order to take on animation and to live -one beside another. It is during this last effort that the expression, -summoned up by the truth of the ensemble, comes almost of itself to -the fingers of the sculptor. If the preceding principles have not been -scrupulously observed, it seems to refuse to come; it is the reward -only of conscience joined with intelligence; it is the fruit of this -indissoluble union that works in the spirit of the true artist. The true -expression is that to which we give the indefinable name of poetry. - -[Illustration: MAN AWAKENING TO NATURE.] - -Since the creation of "The Man who Awakens to Nature," in which during -two years he had eagerly sought it, this became the characteristic -of Rodin's talent. He had conquered it for all time; and so while -his insatiable will applies itself with no less energy to other -researches, that of movement, of character, of lighting, and sometimes -over-emphasizes them, the work that comes from his hand may appear -strange, excessive; it will never be mediocre, never indifferent. - -And now let us glance at the image of this young man, this proud, -unblemished human plant. All we have just been saying is forgotten in -the force of our impression. The most powerful impression, first of -all, is indolence. It is absorbed in itself; it exhausts like a great -draught of life the veins of those who respond to it. Hence the silence, -the long, dumb contemplation, the sense of incertitude one experiences -in the presence of its beauty. It is not to our spirit that it first -addresses itself. Its voluptuousness, whencesoever come, enchants our -senses; then the intellect demands an explanation, studies it, traces -back the sensation to its sources through one of those rapid and -manifold changes which are the law of such natural phenomena as light, -sound, electricity. - -"The man who awakens to nature," said Rodin, in the presence of his -statue. Indeed the body bends over, as if under the exquisite caress of -the breezes of spring. The hand rests itself upon the head, flung back -as if to hold in the somewhat mournful splendor of some too beautiful -vision. The whole torso is gently stirred by the emotion springing -up from the depths of the flesh to die out upon the surface of the -imperceptibly agitated muscles. He leans lightly backward, bending like -a bow and at the same time like a traveler walking toward the dawn; -he is drawn on by the desire to renew this inner emotion that swells -his human heart almost to the bursting-point. By this double movement -reconstituting life, the action does not interrupt itself. It evokes -the past and the future; the obscure shadows out of which this soul is -endeavoring to emerge and the bright regions toward which it advances. - -Auguste Rodin was at this time thirty-five years old. In the career -of the artist, this admirable figure has a special significance, that -of something symbolic. It marks one of the happiest phases of the -sculptor's life, the period of revelation through which he had just been -living during his sojourn by the forest of Groenendael. He, too, had -awakened to Nature in the heart of the sacred wood; he, too, had come to -know the somewhat dazzling torment of a being fully awake to the beauty -of the world. This beauty he had at last penetrated; he felt it with all -the strength of a ripened heart, he adored it; he made it his religion. - -Such is the inner history of this statue. There is another, a history of -the anecdotal sort, which is well known to-day, but which it is proper -to recall in a complete biography of the master. - -The adventure of "The Age of Bronze" was the first resounding battle -that Rodin fought in his struggle for the cause of art. It was a -victory, but only after great combats. - -The plaster model appeared in the Salon of 1877. Before this proud and -spirited figure a number of visitors paused, ravished by a sensation -that was absolutely new. In itself there was nothing clamorous, no -attempt to attract attention by extravagance of gesture or exaggerated -expression--quite the contrary; the fragrance of a shy beauty, an -idyllic freshness, mingled with the passionate poetry of a virile, -artistic conscience, an exquisite sense of measure, a delightful -elegance characteristically French, of the north of France, grave and -restrained, and with a something hitherto unseen, a vigor till then -unknown diffused through this adolescent flesh, irradiating it with -tenderness, with a noble charm, a caressing sadness. - -Immediately the rumor began to circulate, welcomed here, spurned there, -by the world of professionals, amateurs, and journalists: the anatomy -of the new work was too exact, its modeling too precise for it to be an -interpretation of the model; it was a cast from nature, and the sculptor -who gave out as the result of his own labor this mechanical copy of a -human body was nothing but an impostor. - -What does it matter? thought the public in its up-and-down common sense. -There are plenty of fine casts from nature; so much the better for the -name of Rodin if he has been particularly successful in this line. - -But Rodin was indignant. This nude, so obstinately worked over, a cast! -That he should have committed such a deception, he the scrupulous molder -of clay! Oh, he knew well enough that most of the great modern sculptors -do not burden themselves with so many scruples and lend themselves too -often to the hasty method of taking casts; he condemned it with all the -force of his own probity. He knew well that in this very Salon of 1877 -more than fifty pieces of sculpture about which nothing was said owed -their existence to this malpractice of which he was accused and of which -he would never be guilty, because he considered it the very negation -of art. For of course taking casts is nothing but the reproduction -of nature in its immobility. By means of it one is able to take the -impression of forms, but one cannot grasp movement or expression. It -is possible to take the mold of an arm, a leg, an inert body; one can -take a good cast of the stiffened mask of the dead; one cannot calculate -through the medium of the plaster the attitude and the modifications of -form of a man walking or falling or the eloquence of a face lighted up -by the reflection of the inner mind. This transcription of the whole -is the exclusive privilege of the artist. He alone seizes and fixes -the general impression; for it is made up not only of the immediate -movement, but of that which precedes and that which follows. His eye -alone registers the rapid succession, and his skill reproduces it. While -the cast, like the photograph, only constitutes a unity detached from -the whole, sculpture from nature reëstablishes the whole itself and -represents the uninterrupted vibration which is life. - -That explains how there happen to be, on the one hand, so many -hard figures, weak and cold images, turned out hastily by lazy and -conscienceless sculptors, and, on the other, those works that possess a -charm that is mysterious to those who know nothing of its source, who -are unaware of this method of observation and labor which a supreme -effort veils in the easy grace and the apparent facility that enchants -us in the things of nature. - -The accusation brought against Rodin became more definite. There was a -veritable upheaval of opinion in the world of the Salons. He protested, -with the firmness of an artist resolved to suffer no blot upon his -honor. He insisted upon receiving justice. Unknown, without means of -support, without fortune, he might well have waited a long time for it. -He turned toward Belgium, seeking defenders in the country where he had -made "The Age of Bronze"; but the academic virus did not spare him; the -official sculptors remained deaf to the appeal of their confrère. For -that matter, where did he come from, this ambitious stone-cutter who -claimed the title of sculptor without waiting on the good pleasure of -the pontiffs? - -Rodin's model alone, the young soldier of Brussels, became indignant at -the affront to his sculptor. He wanted to hasten to Paris and exhibit -himself naked before the eye of the jury of honor which had just been -constituted and cry out to them that he had posed nearly two years for -the artist who had been so unjustly attacked. But nothing is simple. He -had posed, thanks to the special good will of the captain commanding the -company to which he belonged, and in defiance of military regulations. -To reveal this fact would be to compromise the officer, and so he had to -remain silent. - -Rodin had photographs and casts taken from his model and sent them -to the experts. All this was costly and uncertain. It was only after -months of waiting that they were examined. On the jury were several art -critics, including Charles Iriarte, a learned writer and distinguished -mind, and Paul de Saint-Victor, author of the "Deux-Masques," -the sumptuous writer of so much brilliant prose. Alas! the most -insignificant sculptor, provided he had only been sincere, could have -settled Rodin's case a hundred times better. A man of his own trade, -possessing the elements of justice, would have immediately decided the -question according to the facts, while the critics and writers relied -wholly upon personal impressions, and, to the great bitterness of the -sculptor, when they delivered an opinion they did not altogether reject -the accusation that he had taken casts, allowing doubt to rest upon the -honesty of Rodin. He himself did not know what to do next. Chance was -more favorable to him than men. - -At that time he was executing for a great decorator some ornamental -motives destined for one of the buildings of the Universal Exposition -of 1878. The sculptor, Alfred Boucher, a pupil of Paul Dubois, came -one day on a business errand to see the decorator. In the studios he -noticed Rodin at work on the model of a group of children intended for -a cartouche. Boucher, who knew about the accusation that hung over -him, observed him with the liveliest interest. He witnessed the rapid, -skilful, amazingly dexterous execution producing under his very eye -a tender efflorescence of childish flesh on the firm and perfectly -constructed little bodies. _And Rodin was working without models!_ -Alfred Boucher was a product of the Ecole; he had taken the _grand prix -de Rome_; he was ten years younger than Rodin; but he was an honest man; -he hastened to relate to his master, Paul Dubois, what he had seen. The -creator of the "Florentine Singer" and "Charity" in his turn wished to -see things for himself. With Claude Chapu he went to the decorator's -and both of them decided then and there that the hand that molded so -skilfully from memory the figures of the cherubs was certainly capable, -in its extraordinary knowledge of human anatomy, of having executed that -of "The Age of Bronze." Thereupon they convinced their confrères and -decided to write the under-secretary of state a solemn letter in which -all of them, answering for the good faith of Rodin, declared that he -had made a beautiful statue and that he would become a great sculptor. -The letter was signed by Carrier-Belleuse, Paul Dubois, Chapu, Thomas -Delaplanche, Chaplin Falguière. - -[Illustration: BUST OF THE COUNTESS OF W----.] - -This tempered considerably the rancor of the artist. - -It is a strange fact that for years he underrated this statue. In 1899 -he gave his first great exhibition of all his work. It was to the Maison -d'Art of Brussels that the honor of this project was due, and it was -carried out in a style and with a good taste which no later exhibition -of the master has surpassed, or even attained. - -As he had charged me with the supervision of the sending off of his -works, to the number of fifty, I begged him to include among them "The -Age of Bronze." I hoped that the public, and especially the artists of -Belgium, might be able to study the evolution of his technique through -his typical works, executed at different periods of his career. Nothing -could induce him to consent to it. He declared that in twenty years -his modeling had undergone a complete transformation, that it had -become more spacious and more supple, and that the exhibition of this -statue could serve no purpose and be of good to nobody. I urged him to -go and look at it again. The bronze, sent to the Salon of 1880, with -the plaster figure of "St. John the Baptist in Prayer," awarded, oh -splendor of official miserliness! a medal of the third class, had been -bought by the state a few years later and set up in a corner of the -Luxembourg Gardens, an out-of-the-way corner, but one that the light -shadows of the young trees made charming. The master refused. Two or -three years afterward, one morning while we were talking, I led him -unsuspecting toward this little grove. Thinking of something else he -lifted his Head, casting an indifferent glance at the solitary bronze. -Surprised, he examined it, while a happy emotion lighted up his face; -then he walked slowly around it. Finally he admitted quietly that he -had been mistaken, that the statue seemed to him really beautiful, well -constructed, and carefully sculptured. In order to comprehend it he had -had to forget it, to see it again suddenly, and to judge it as if it had -been the work of another hand. - -After this readoption, his affection for it was restored; he had several -copies cast in bronze and cut in stone, and it has become perhaps one -of his most popular and most sought-after works. Museums of Europe and -America, lovers of art in both hemispheres, consider it an honor to -possess replicas. - -It was the first of Rodin's great statues, or, rather, the first that -has been preserved. Several other works of capital importance serve -as landmarks in the progress of his talent. Around them are grouped -fragments, busts, innumerable delightful little compositions, all -treated with the same care and equally reflecting the result of his -studies; but, as ever, it is the major works that mark most visibly the -points of departure and arrival of the different periods of his artistic -development. These works are: "The Age of Bronze" (1877); "Saint John -the Baptist" (1880); "The Gate of Hell" (1880-19--, not finished); "The -Creation of Man" (1881); "The Burghers of Calais" (1889); "Victor Hugo" -(1896); "Balzac" (1898); "The Seasons" (pediments of stone, 1905); -"Ariadne" (in course of execution). - -These works will be described and characterized, in the course of this -book, at the dates of their appearance. - - - - -FLEMISH PAINTING--JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE - - -During his stay in Belgium, Rodin studied the Flemish painters. Free -from the prejudices of the schools, unaware of the theories of the -critics, sensitive to the beautiful in every form, following only -his personal taste supported by the study of the masters, he ranged -over the vast domain of art through regions the most dissimilar and -superficially the most opposed. Of course he had his preferences; he -returned unceasingly to the antique and the Gothic; but his preferences -did not blind him. His admiration passed rapidly from the splendors of -Greek and Roman architecture to the voluptuous graces of the seventeenth -century. His love for Donatello and Michelangelo did not prevent him -from appreciating Bernini. - -Attracted first by the marvelous Flemish Gothic artists, Memling, -Massys, the Van Eycks, he was later delighted with the homely scenes of -Jan Steen, of Brueghel, of Teniers; he enjoyed them as an artist and as -a simple man who knew the value of domestic joys. Then he was haunted by -the sensual pomp of Jordaens and above all Rubens. - -[Illustration: THE POET AND THE MUSE.] - -The triumphant brush of Rubens sculptured as much as it painted. The -science of foreshortening and that of ceiling painting, his way of -modeling forms in the light and by means of light--all this brought his -art into the realm of sculpture; and when Rodin came to seek effects of -light and shadow that were new to sculpture, he remembered the lessons -of the Antwerp master. From that time on Rubens was for him a splendid -subject for study and would have fortified him, had that been necessary, -in the love of drawing; for beautiful drawing leads, to everything, to -_color_, in sculpture as well as in painting. - -Flemish art was not enough to satisfy this thirst for understanding that -devoured the soul of the artist now in the full swing of the fermenting -force of his faculties. He wished to see Italy or at least to catch a -glimpse of it. His resources were so slender indeed that his journey -could not have been long. It did not matter. He would form an idea of -the immensity of its treasure and confirm in himself the desire to -return. He wished also to see France, as alluring to him as Greece, and -whose cathedrals are perhaps not less beautiful than the Parthenon. - -He started for Italy in 1875, and he accomplished his first tour of -France in 1877. He set forth. He was young and strong; he made the pass -of Mont Cenis on foot. He was unknown and without connections. What -did it matter? In the midst of these scenes so radiant with memories of -history and art, did he not feel an intoxication such as the soldiers of -Bonaparte alone must have experienced, catching sight of the plains of -Lombardy, where they were to forget the hardships of the campaign? - -For Rodin, Italy meant the antique; it meant Donatello and Michelangelo. -The antique he had already to a considerable extent studied in the -Louvre. Donatello and Michelangelo conquered him at the first glance--a -tumultuous conquest. The severity of Donatello's style impassioned him; -the rigid honesty of his realism, the desire of this younger brother of -Dante to see things grandly, the equal desire to see things simply, this -Gothic genius deeply moved "in the mid-way of this our mortal life" by -pagan beauty and touched by the breath of the Renaissance, impressed -the French artist and became a dominating memory. From that time on in -the most beautiful of his busts, those of Jean-Paul Laurens, Puvis de -Chavannes, Lord Wyndham, Lord Horace Walden, Mr. Ryan, he was to appear -as a disciple of the Florentine master, not by a literal imitation of -his methods, which he thoroughly grasped, but by similar qualities -of observation and synthesis. Still, this was not until after he had -made other studies, while Michelangelo took hold upon him immediately -and completely and became an actual obsession that might have proved -dangerous to a sculptor less severe with himself, less determined to -discover his own path. - -The dazzling richness of modeling, the majesty of the great figures -of the prodigious Florentine, and their fullness of movement--for -their immobility is charged with movement--the somber melancholy of -his thought, his flaming and shadowy soul, his literary romanticism, -a romanticism like that of Shakspere, overwhelmed Rodin with that -formidable sense of an almost sorrowful admiration that all experience -who visit the Medici tombs in the new sacristy. - -He studied also the later marbles of Michelangelo, which stood at that -time in the gardens of the Pitti Palace and have since been removed to -the Municipal Museum of Florence. - -Every one knows these powerful blocks, these vast human forms, only half -disengaged from the marble, from which they seem to be endeavoring to -escape in order to give birth to themselves by a rending effort that -is characteristic with all the force of a symbol of the tragic genius -of Buonarroti. "Unfinished works"; it is thus the catalogues designate -them. Unfinished works, indeed, but why? Was it age that stilled, before -the end, the hand of the giant of sculpture? Or was it not rather that -he judged them too strangely beautiful in their incompleteness, that -they seemed to him more powerful thus, still captive to the material -that bound them groaning, as it were, in their tremulous flesh? - -The public pays little attention to these sublime masses because it is -told that they are not _finished_. Not finished? Or infinite? That is -the question. Far from weighing them down, the marble that envelops -them throws about them the charm of the indeterminate and by means -of this unites them with the atmosphere. The parts that are wholly -disengaged enable one to divine those that remain hidden; they are -veiled without being obliterated, like mountain-tops among the clouds; -and this half-mystery, instead of diminishing, increases the harmony -of the bodies trembling with life under their mantle of stone. In the -presence of an effect so marvelous, so calculated, one cannot cease from -asking if it was really death or if it was not rather the sovereign -taste of the workman that arrested the chisel. While he was fashioning -his statues out of the marble itself, with that fury that has passed -into legend, did he not find himself, face to face with these unexpected -effects which the material offered him of itself, in the midst of one of -those happy situations by which the talent of the masters alone enables -them to profit? - -However that may be, Rodin was struck as if by a revelation. What the -progress of his work had tardily disclosed to Michelangelo was soon to -become for his disciple a principle of decorative art. Instead of -disengaging his figures entirely, he was to leave them half submerged -in the transparent marble. This method, which has become famous -to-day, seemed an unheard-of thing to those who were unfamiliar with -the Florentine blocks; but Rodin has never failed to acknowledge the -paternity of the sculptor of "The Thinker." Following in his steps, many -artists have employed this method at random, without possessing the -essential qualities that enable one to control these effects, and under -their powerless chisels the enchanting device no longer possesses any -meaning. - -[Illustration: THE THINKER.] - -Rodin himself waited until he possessed a thorough knowledge of marble -and the manner of treating it; it was a stroke of fate by which he -rediscovered the phenomena of envelopment that had so transported him in -the Municipal Museum. He had by that time the wisdom to guard himself -from doing anything inconsistent with his material. He followed out -the suggestions it gave him, and developed an infinite variety in the -methods of handling it. - -On his return from Italy he continued to be haunted by the unsurpassable -vigor of Michelangelo's workmanship. He sought to discover what was -the outstanding gift that conferred upon him this power and this -mysterious empire over the spirit. Until then, with the majority of -artists of the modern school, he had believed that the chief quality -of sculpture lay in seizing the _character_ of the model; but he came -to see how many works concerned only with expressing character fail of -real significance. Since 1830 how many romanticists have sacrificed to -character without leaving any works that are lasting! - -After his journey Rodin decided that the strength of Michelangelo lay -undoubtedly in his _movement_. Returning to his studio, he executed a -quantity of sketches and even large figures like "The Creation of Man," -the title of which, although he had not been to Rome, is a souvenir of -the frescos of the Sistine Chapel; he made busts like that of Bellona, -after having directed his models to assume Michelangelesque poses. -For all this, he did not attain to the grandeur, the soul-disturbing -authority of the Florentine master. - -Without becoming discouraged, he went on observing ceaselessly. Far -from imposing upon his model positions thought out in advance, he left -him free to wander about the studio at the pleasure of his own caprice, -ready to arrest him at a word when a beautiful movement passed before -his eyes. Then, six months after his return from Italy, he found that -the model assumed of his own accord the very poses of which Michelangelo -alone had seemed to him to possess the secret; he realized that the -sublime sculptor had taken them direct from nature, from the rhythm of -the human body in action, and that he had done nothing but seize and -immortalize them. - -"Michelangelo," he says, "revealed me to myself, revealed to me the -truth of forms. I went to Florence to find what I possessed in Paris and -elsewhere, but it is he who taught me this." - -This does not prevent certain critics from asserting out of the depth of -their incompetence that he has never felt the influence of this master -and that he has never even given his work serious consideration. Those -who know Rodin well know that, on the contrary, he never fails to give -serious consideration to anything which is worth considering at all -and that his power of observation is the basis of his genius. Always -seeking a final method, he came back to the idea with which his earliest -education had already inspired him and which his self-communings had -only confirmed: that the value of sculpture lies entirely in the -_modeling_. This is the secret of Michelangelo; it is also that of the -ancients and of all the great artists of the past and of modern times. -For the rest, through his spacious movements, his balancing of equal -masses, the sculptor of the tombs taught him that the supreme quality -consists in seeking in the modeling the _living, determining line of the -scheme_, the supple axis of the human body. - -He himself held this principle of the ancients, of whom he was a -disciple, as far as modeling is concerned, while in his composition and -his handling of light he is a Gothic. - -Soon after his return from Italy, Rodin executed the great study -entitled "The Creation of Man." In it he exaggerated the rhythm -so characteristic of the Florentine, the balancing of masses, the -melancholy contraction of the body under the weight of an inexpressible -inner suffering. When one examines the figure, this exaggeration -certainly suggests something overworked, something forced, which -Michelangelo knew how to avoid and which here creates a somewhat painful -impression. But later, when Rodin conceived the idea of placing his -statue at the summit of "The Gate of Hell," this strained appearance -disappeared. Seen thus, a lofty shape lighted up from below, it takes on -true beauty; it is in its right place; it dominates the work and, as it -were, blesses it. It has the affecting gesture of Christian charity. - -[Illustration: ADOLESCENCE.] - - - - -RODIN'S NOTE-BOOK - -INTRODUCTIONS BY JUDITH CLADEL - - -I - -ANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS - - - At a period in which, among the many manifestations of - intellectual activity in the nations, art is placed in the - background, the advent of a great artist invariably calls forth - the same phenomena: a few men of taste become enthusiasts, the - majority become indignant, and the public, not being possessed of - sufficient esthetic education, and intolerant because of their lack - of understanding, ridicule the intruder who has overthrown the - accepted standards of the century. Friends and foes alike consider - him a revolutionist; as a matter of fact, he is in open revolt - against ignorance and general incompetence. - - Little by little the great truth embodied in such a man is - revealed. Comprehension, like a contagion, seems to take hold - of the minds of people, and impels them to study his art at - first hand. A study not only of his own significance, but of - the principles which he represents, quickly reveals that the - work of this innovator, this revolutionist, is, in fact, deeply - allied to tradition, and, far from being a mysterious, isolated - manifestation, is, on the contrary, closely linked to general - artistic ideals. - - Our aim is to penetrate the doctrines of this master, his - method, his manner of working--all that which at other times would - have been called his secrets. - - Auguste Rodin's career has passed through the inevitable - phases. He, who has been so generally discussed and attacked, is - to-day the most regarded of all artists. He likes to talk of his - art; for he knows that his observations have a priceless value, - that of experience--the experience of sixty years of uninterrupted - work--and of a conscience perhaps even more exacting to-day than at - the time of his impetuous youth. He says, "My principles are the - laws of experience." The combination of these principles embodies - his greatest precept; namely, that of thinking and executing a - thing simultaneously. We must listen to Rodin as we would listen - to Michelangelo or Rembrandt if they were living. For his method - may be the starting-point of an artistic renaissance in Europe, - perhaps throughout the whole world. Definite signs of a decided - resurrection in taste are already manifesting themselves, and it - is a splendid satisfaction for the illustrious sculptor to receive - such acknowledgment in his glorious old age. For, like every - great genius, he has a profound love for the race from which he - springs, and feels a strong instinctive confidence in it. Indeed, - how should this be otherwise? In the course of centuries, has not - this wonderful Celtic race on various occasions reconstructed its - understanding and interpretation of beauty? - - Auguste Rodin expresses himself by preference on subjects - from which he can draw an actual lesson. He is no theorist; he - has an eminently positive mind, one might even say a practical - mind. His teachings, unlike the abstract teachings of books, can - be characterized by two words, observation and deduction. His - are not more or less arbitrary meditations in which personal - imagination plays the principal part; they are rather the account - of a sagacious, truthful traveler, of a soldier who relates the - story of his campaigns, or of a scholar who records the result of - an analysis. Reality is his only basis, and with justice to himself - he can say, "I am not a rhetorician, but a man of action." - - We hear him chat, it may be in his atelier about some piece of - antique sculpture which has just come into his possession or about - a work he has in hand, or during his rambles through his garden, - which is situated in the most delightful country in the suburbs of - the capital, or on a walk through the museums, or through the old - quarter of Paris. For in his opinion "the streets of Paris, with - their shops of old furniture, etchings, and works of art, are a - veritable museum, far less tiring than official museums, and from - which one imbibes just as much as one can." - - * * * * * - -I use the words of the people, of the man in the street; for thoughts -should be clear and easily comprehended. I desire to be understood by -the great majority, and I leave scholarly words and unusual phrasing -to specialists in estheticism. Moreover, what I say is very simple. It -is within the grasp of ordinary intelligence. Up to now it has been of -hardly any value. It is something quite new, and will remain so as long -as the ideas which I stand for are not actively carried out. - -If these ideas were understood and applied, the destruction of ancient -works of art would cease immediately. By bad restoration we are ruining -our most beautiful works of art, our marvelous architecture, our -Gothic cathedrals, Renaissance city halls, all those old houses that -transformed France into a garden of beauty of which it was impossible to -grow weary, for everything was a delight to the eye and intelligence. -Our workmen would have to be as capable as those of former times to -restore those works of art without changing them, they would have to -possess the same wonderfully trained eye and hand. But to-day we have -lost that conception and execution. We live in a period of ignorance, -and when we put our hand to a masterpiece, we spoil it. Restoring, in -our way, is almost like jewelers replacing pearls with false diamonds, -which the ignorant accept with complacency. - -The Americans who buy our paintings, our antique furniture, our old -engravings, our materials, pay very dearly for them. At least we think -so. As a matter of fact they buy them very cheaply, for they obtain -originals which can never be duplicated. We mock at the American -collectors; in reality we ought to laugh at ourselves. For we permit our -most precious treasures to be taken out of the country, and it is they -who have the intelligence to acquire them. - -My ideas, once understood and applied, would immediately revive art, all -arts, not only sculpture, painting, and architecture, but also those -arts which are called minor, such as decoration, tapestry, furniture, -the designing of jewelry and medals, etc. The artisan would revert to -fundamental truth, to the principles of the ancients--principles which -are the eternal basis of all art, regardless of differences of race and -temperament. - - - -CONSTRUCTION AND MODELING - -In the first place, art is only a close study of nature. Without that -we can have no salvation and no artists. Those who pretend that they -can improve on the living model, that glorious creation of which we -know so little, of which we in our ignorance barely grasp the admirable -proportions, are insignificant persons, and they will never produce -anything but mediocre work. - -We must strive to understand nature not only with our heart, but above -all with our intellect. He who is impressionable, but not intelligent, -is incapable of expressing his emotion. The world is full of men who -worship the beauty of women; but how many can make beautiful portraits -or beautiful busts of the woman they adore? Intelligence alone, after -lengthy research, has discovered the general principles without which -there can be no real art. - -In sculpture the first of these principles is that of construction. -Construction is the first problem that faces an artist studying his -model, whether that model be a human being, animal, tree, or flower. The -question arises regarding the model as a whole, and regarding it in its -separate parts. All form that is to be reproduced ought to be reproduced -in its true dimensions, in its complete volume. And what is this volume? - -It is the space that an object occupies in the atmosphere. The essential -basis of art is to determine that exact space; this is the alpha and -omega, this is the general law. To model these volumes in depth is to -model in the round, while modeling on the surface is bas-relief. In a -reproduction of nature such as a work of art attempts, sculpture in the -round approaches reality more closely than does bas-relief. - -To-day we are constantly working in bas-relief, and that is why our -products are so cold and meager. Sculpture in the round alone produces -the qualities of life. For instance, to make a bust does not consist in -executing the different surfaces and their details one after another, -successively making the forehead, the cheeks, the chin, and then the -eyes, nose, and mouth. On the contrary, from the first sitting the whole -mass must be conceived and constructed in its varying circumferences; -that is to say, in each of its profiles. - -A head may appear ovoid, or like a sphere in its variations. If we -slowly encircle this sphere, we shall see it in its successive profiles. -As it presents itself, each profile differs from the one preceding. It -is this succession of profiles that must be reproduced, and that is the -means of establishing the true volume of a head. - -Each profile is actually the outer evidence of the interior mass; each -is the perceptible surface of a deep section, like the slices of a -melon, so that if one is faithful to the accuracy of these profiles, the -reality of the model, instead of being a superficial reproduction, seems -to emanate from within. The solidity of the whole, the accuracy of plan, -and the veritable life of a work of art, proceed therefrom. - -The same method applies to details which must all be modeled in -conformity with the whole. Deference to plan necessitates accuracy of -modeling. The one is derived from the other. The first engenders the -second. - -These are the main principles of construction and modeling--principles -to which we owe the force and charm of works of art. They are the key -not only to the handicraft of sculpture, but to all the handicrafts of -art. For that which is true of a bust applies equally to the human form, -to a tree, to a flower, or to an ornament. - -This is neither mysterious nor hard to understand. It is thoroughly -commonplace, very prosaic. Others may say that art is emotion, -inspiration. Those are only phrases, tales with which to amuse -the ignorant. Sculpture is quite simply the art of depression and -protuberance. There is no getting away from that. Without a doubt the -sensibility of an artist and his particular temperament play a part in -the creation of a work of art, but the essential thing is to command -that science which can be acquired only by work and daily experience. -The essential thing is to respect the law, and the characteristic of -that fruitful law is to be the same for all things. - -Moreover, such was the method employed by the ancients, the method which -we ourselves employed till the end of the eighteenth century, and by -which the spirit of the Gothic genius and that of the Renaissance and of -the periods of culture and elegance of the seventeenth and eighteenth -centuries were transmitted to us. Only in our day have we completely -lost that technic. - -These rules do not constitute a system peculiar to myself. They are -general principles which govern the world of art, just as other -immutable laws govern the celestial world. They are mathematical -principles which I found again because my work inevitably led me to -follow in the footsteps of the great masters, my ancestors. - - - -THE TRADITIONAL LAWS OF ANCIENT ART - -In days of old, precise laws were handed down from generation to -generation, from master to student, in all the workshops of the workers -in art--sculptors, painters, decorators, cabinet-makers, jewelers. But -at that time workshops existed where one actually taught, where the -master worked in view of the pupil. In our day by what have we replaced -that marvelously productive school, the workshop? By academies in which -one learns nothing, because one sets out from such a contrary point of -view. - -These principles of art were first pointed out to me not by a celebrated -sculptor, or by an authorized teacher, but by a comrade in the workshop, -a humble artisan, a little plasterer from the neighborhood of Blois -called Constant Simon. We worked together at a decorator's. I was -quite at the beginning of my career, earning six francs a day. Our -models were leaves and flowers, which we picked in the garden. I was -carving a capital when Constant Simon said to me: "You don't go about -that correctly. You make all your leaves flatwise. Turn them, on the -contrary, with the point facing you. Execute them in depth and not in -relief. Always work in that manner, so that a surface will never seem -other than the termination of a mass. Only thus can you achieve success -in sculpture." - -I understood at once. Since then I have discovered many other things, -but that rule has remained my absolute basis. Constant Simon was only -an obscure workman, but he possessed the principles and a little of the -genius of the great ornamentists who worked at the châteaux of the -Loire. On the St. Michel fountain in Paris there are very beautifully -carved decorations, rich and at the same time graceful, which were made -by the hand of this little modeler, who knew far more than all the -professors of esthetics. - -Such was the purpose the workshops of old served. The apprentice -passed successively through all the stages and became acquainted with -all the secrets of his handicraft. He began by sweeping the studio, -and that first taught him care and patience, which are the essential -virtues of a workman. He posed, he served as model for his comrades. -The master in turn worked before him among his students. He heard his -companions discuss their art, he benefited by the discoveries that they -communicated to one another. He found himself faced every day by those -unforeseen difficulties which go to make an artist till the moment -when the artist is sufficiently capable to master his difficulties. -Alternately, they were both teacher and companion, and they conveyed to -one another the science of the ancients. - -What have we to-day in place of those splendid institutions which -developed character and intelligence simultaneously? Schools at which -the students think only of obtaining a prize, not attained by close -study, but by flattering the professors. The professors themselves, -without any deep attachment for their academies, come hurriedly, -overburdened by official duties and all sorts of work; weighed down by -perfunctory obligations, they correct the students' papers hastily, and -hurriedly return to their regular occupation. - -As to the students, twenty or thirty work from a single model, which -is some distance from them and around which they can hardly turn. -They ignore all those inevitable laws which are learned in the course -of work, and which escape the attention of an artist working alone. -They attend courses, or read books on esthetics written in technical -language with obscure, abstract terms, lacking all connection with -concrete reality--books in which the same mistakes are repeated because -frequently they are copied from one another. What sort of students can -develop under such disastrous conditions? If one among them is seriously -desirous of learning, he breaks loose from his destructive surroundings, -is obliged to lose several years first in ridding himself of a poor -method, and then in searching for a method which formerly one had -mastered on leaving the atelier. - -That is the method that I preach to-day as emphatically as I can, -calling attention to the numerous benefits and advantages of taking up a -variety of handicrafts. Aside from sculpture and drawing, I have worked -at all sorts of things--ornamentation, ceramics, jewelry. I have learned -my lesson from matter itself and have adapted myself accordingly. Only -in being faithful to this principle can one understand and know how to -work. I am an artisan. - -Will my experience be of benefit to others? I hope so. At all events, we -have a bit to relearn. It will take years of patience and application -to rise from the abyss of ignorance into which we have fallen. However, -I believe in a renaissance. A number of our artists have already -seen the light--the light of intellectual truth. Acts of barbarism -against masterpieces cannot be committed any more without arousing the -indignation of cultivated people. That in itself is an inestimable gain, -for those works of art are the relics of our traditions, and if we have -the strength to become an artistic people again, to reincarnate an -era of beauty, then those are the works of art that will serve as our -models, expressions of a national conscience that will be the milestones -on our path. - - * * * * * - - Judged by his work, Auguste Rodin is the most modern of - artists; judged by his life and character, he is unquestionably - a man of bygone days. As a sculptor, he is such as were Phidias, - Praxiteles, and the master architects of the Middle Ages; that is - to say, he is of all times. One single idea guides his thoughts, - one single aim arouses his energies--art, art through the study of - nature. - - It is by the concentration of his unusual mind on a single - purpose that he attains his remarkable understanding of man, - physical and moral, his contemporary, and of the spirit of our - age. In the lifelike features of his statues he inscribes the - history of the day. They seem to live, and the potency of their - life enters into us and dominates us. For the moment we are only a - silent spring, merely reflecting their authority. - - Through this secret of genius, his statues and groups have - an individual charm. They have taken their place in the history - of sculpture. There is the charm of the antique, the charm of the - Gothic, and the charm of Michelangelo. There is also the charm of - Rodin. - - [Illustration: HEAD OF MINERVA.] - - - - - II - - SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS - - - In Rodin's statues we find his conception of eternal man--man - as he really is. They are molded on modern thought, with all its - variations. One might suppose that these beautiful beings of marble - and bronze had been named by the characteristic poets of the - century, Victor Hugo, Musset, Baudelaire. - - Beginning with the Renaissance and particularly during the - seventeenth century, the royal courts were the great salons in - which the taste of the day was developed. Necessity made courtiers - of the artists, for to obtain orders, they had to win the good-will - of the sovereigns, the great lords, and the financiers. - - Art then lost its collective character, the artist his - independence and strength. There was no longer the united effort of - artists, inspired by love of beauty, to create great masterpieces - such as cathedrals, city halls, and castles. The artist wasted his - abilities in fragmentary bits, his time in worldly duties. To-day - it is even worse. Keeping house, traveling, receiving, exhibiting - in a hundred different places, living in great style, carrying on - his life-work--all these crowd out the first, and formerly the - essential, object of the artist, his work. It is these that lower - art to the last degree of decadence. - - Rodin has kept aloof from this manner of living, has avoided - these innumerable occasions for wasting time, or, rather, has never - allowed them to take possession of him. Modest, unpretentious, - traveling little or within a limited radius, the unremitting study - of the divine model and of the masterpiece, man, forms his whole - ambition, while it is also the source of endless delight to him. - "Admiration," he says, "is a joy daily kindled afresh," and again, - "I talk out of the fullness of life; it belongs to me in a sense - larger than that of ownership." - - In his villa at Meudon, in the midst of his collections of - antiques, he pursues this study incessantly. He who is admitted to - the modest garden of the great master first beholds with delight a - Greek marble in an arbor. At the turn of a path there is the torso - of a goddess resting on an antique column; in a niche in the wall, - a Roman bust. Beneath the high arch of the peristyle of the studio, - the architecture of which blends into the surrounding background - as in the paintings of Claude Lorrain, there is a magnificent - torso. Finally dominating the garden and the valley it overlooks, - standing on a knoll and projected against the clear sky, there is - an isolated façade from a castle of the seventeenth century, its - delicate balustrades and casements outlined against the blue sky as - in the decorative paintings of Paul Veronese. - - These ruins are the remains of the Château d'Issy, the work of - Mansart. Rodin saved them at the moment when their destruction at - the hands of ignorant workmen was imminent, and at great expense - reconstructed them near his residence. These fragments, this noble - portico, seem as though placed by chance, but the keen observer - quickly perceives the correctness of taste that has determined - their disposition. Each fragment forms part of an ensemble with - the trees, the grass, the light, and the shadows, and to change - any of these in the slightest degree would sacrifice some of its - beauty. Sculpture at its finest is architecture, and architecture - is perhaps the greatest art, because it collaborates directly with - nature. Architecture lives through the life of things, and every - hour of the day lends it a new expression. - - Innumerable reflections were aroused in the mind of the master - Rodin when he essayed to place his treasures: the effect of the - changing light on the object, the balancing of values, the relation - of proper proportions, the appearance of the object in full light. - All these he examined and studied, and he searched into the depths - of the language of forms, to him as clear and as mysterious as - beautiful music. This remarkable gift for determining the value of - the object in its setting--a gift the secret of which is beyond the - knowledge of the ignorant--has brought forth that peculiar poetic - charm which permeates this little garden in a suburb of Paris, - a refuge of persecuted beauty. Here the master confers with the - artists of Greece and France of other days. These are his Elysian - Fields. - - In Paris, where he is daily and where he works every - afternoon, he lives in an exquisite, but ruinous, mansion of the - eighteenth century, situated in a rustic, neglected park. There he - finds his delight in the study of flowers and applies himself to - it with his intense, never-dormant desire for understanding. His - antique pottery is filled with anemones, carnations, and tulips. - During his frugal meals they are before him, and his reverent - love of them arouses his desire to understand them as completely - as he does human beings. He analyzes and searches out their - details without becoming insensible to the beauty of the whole. - He jots down his discoveries, his words picture them; like La - Rochefoucauld, he searches into their character; but watching over - their life admiringly and tenderly until they wither, he does not - dissect them, does not destroy them. - - Is not the flower the queen of ornaments, the inspiration of - all races and ages, the very soul of artistic decoration? Have not - the hands of genius contrived to employ the most durable as well - as the most fragile material to express this delicate beauty in - Greek and Gothic capitals, in the stone lacework of cathedrals, the - fabrics of gold and silk, brocades, tapestries, wrought iron-work, - old bindings? Is the splendor of stained-glass windows aught else - than the splendor of a mass of beautiful flowers? - -[Illustration: THE BATH.] - - "Were this thoroughly understood," says Rodin, "industrial art - would be entirely revolutionized--industrial art, that barbarous - term, an art which concerns itself with commerce and profit. - - "The young artists of to-day understand nothing; they copy to - satiety the classic ornaments and designs, and reproduce them in - so cold a manner that they lose all meaning. The ancients obtained - their designs from nature. They found their models in the garden, - even in the vegetable garden. They drew their inspiration from its - source. The cabbage-leaf, the oak-leaf, the clover, the thistle, - and the brier are the motives of the Gothic capital. It is not - photographic truth, but living truth, that we must seek in art." - - Rodin writes his observations. He notes them down at the - moment as they occur to him in all their freshness, and in this - form they will be given here. At first glance, the reader may be - surprised at their apparently fragmentary form. They may seem - devoid of general continuity, but when one comprehends the great - master's method, one sees that a bond much firmer than that of the - mere word binds them together. They seem disjointed because here, - as in his sculpture, the artist accepts only the essential, and - rejects all superfluous detail. In reality they have the continuity - of life, which is felt, but not seen, and which renders arbitrary - transition unnecessary. This is the prerogative of genius, while - all else is within the grasp of any one. His authority strikes us - dumb; it puts to rout mere commonplace cleverness. - - * * * * * - -I have had primroses put in this little flower-pot. They are a bit -crowded, and their poor little stems are prisoners; they are no longer -in their garden. - -I look at them on my table like a vivisector. I admire their beautiful -leaves, round-headed, vigorous, like peasants. They point toward me, and -between them is the flower. The one on this side is resigned, and as -beautiful as a caryatid. In profile it seems to hold up the leaf against -which it leans and which gives it shade. - -These little flowers are not beautiful, nor are they radiant. They -live peaceably, gently contented in their misery; and yet they offer -something to one who is ill, as I am to-day, and cause him to write to -ward off weariness. - -I always have flowers in the morning, and make no distinction between -them and my models. - -Many flowers together are like women with heads bowed down. - -There is no longer the sap of life in flowers in a vase. - -The lace work of the flower of the elder-tree--Venice. - -The anemone is only an eye, cruelly melancholy. It is the eye of a woman -who has been badly used. - -These anemones are flowers that have stayed up too late at night; -flowers that are resplendent, with their colors as though spread over -them superficially and wiped away. Even in the spring, in the hour of -anticipation, they are already in the fullness of enjoyment. - -Like the flower of seduction, the anemones slowly change their form -outlined in various ways, always restrained, however, and inclosed -within their sphere. Their petals have not a common destiny: some curl -up, others are like a becoming collaret, still others seem to be running -away. The delicate droop of the petals, standing out in relief, is like -the eyelid of a child. - -Although old, that one does not shed its petals. Poor little flower with -bent head, you are not ridiculous; you are pensive now that you are -dying. You suffer from the cruelty of the stem which holds you back. - -Flowers give their lives to us; they should be placed in Persian vases. -Near them, gold and silver seem of no value. - -Ah, dear friends, we must love you if we would have you speak to us! -We must watch you or you fall from the vase, despairing, your leaves -withered. - -The flowers and the vase harmonize by contrast. - -In this bouquet there are some with flexible stems which seem to leap up -gracefully. The flower, surrounded by its frail, straight leaves, is as -if suspended from the ledge of a wrought-iron balcony. - -Ah, the adorable heart of Adonis is incased within these flowers! - -The hyacinth is like a balustrade placed upside down. A bed of -hyacinths resembles a mass of balusters. Thus that great invention -of the Renaissance, the balustrade, allows us to gain through it -a glimpse of nature. This ray of art, the flower, this delicate -inspiration, unknowingly requires the intelligence of man to develop its -possibilities. - -Superb is this little rose-like flower among its spreading leaves. It is -like an assumption. - -The double narcissus is a bird's-nest viewed from above. Strange -flowers, like so many throats! What a frail marvel they are! - -These three little narcissi group themselves like a cluster of electric -lights. - -The dignity of nature impresses us on every hand. It is greatly apparent -in flowers; and yet so small are they that some look on them merely as -the decoration at a banquet. - -I will cast a narcissus in bronze; it shall serve as my seal. - -A maiden on a lake, that is the narcissus. - -Little red marguerite, not yet open, sister to the strawberry, huddled -in the shade which caresses you. - -The full-blown marguerite seems to play at _pigeon-vole_. - -It has rained for four hours; this is the hour when flowers quench their -thirst. - -A marguerite in profile, a serpent's head with open jaws, stretching out -its tongues! Petals, white, like a little collar. - -Seen in full face, its yellow-tinted heart is a little sun; its long -petals are like fingers playing the piano. - -These white flowers are gulls with wings outstretched. They fly one -after the other; this one, in adoration, has its petals thrown backward, -like wings. - -Whoever understands life loves flowers and their innocent caresses. - -These marguerites seem to retreat like a spider that finds itself -discovered in the road. Their buds stretch out their serpent-heads at -the end of long stems, divided by intercepting leaves and entangling -knots. Does not love travel in a similar path rather than straight as an -arrow? - -There is so much regularity in these dark-green leaves, extending at -fixed intervals to right and left, and in the eternal dryness of the -bouquet, that it calls to mind a Persian miniature. - -No man has a heart pure enough to interpret the freshness of flowers. We -cannot give expression to this freshness; it is beyond us. - -When it sheds its petals, the flower seems to disrobe and go to sleep -on the earth. This is its last act of grace, showing its submission to -God. - -What spirit possesses these flowers that die in silence! We should -listen to them and give thanks. - -This red and black ranunculus proclaims the carnival; it is the carnival -itself. The carnival is the very emblem of flowers. Like them it, also, -wears masks and costumes. It wears their colors, bright yellow, red--an -imitation of the flowers of the sun. - -Delightful carnival! Delightful interpretation of flowers! For a long -time in my youth I undervalued them. I am happy now to see them under -another aspect, as the splendor of Rome and the lavish intelligence of a -bygone time. - -Some one gave me tulips. They fascinate me variously. How great an -artist is chance, knowing the last secret by which to win us! - -These yellow tulips, dipped in blood! What a treat to see true -colors--reds, blues, greens, the art of stained glass! - -One is quite taken aback before these flowers, in which nature has -expressed more than one can comprehend. It imparts that great mystery -which is beyond us and signifies the presence of God. - -How magnificent the flower becomes as its youth passes! - -Even the flowers have their setting sun. - -My bouquet is always the same, yet I never cease to look at it. - -A whirlwind, a very cyclone, this tulip has perished in the storm. Like -the wife of Lot, it is possessed of fear. - -This one is open, all aflame like a burning bush. That one, all -disheveled, comes toward me. Full of ardor, it springs up, its petals -strong and expanding, like a mouth curling forward. - -The violence of passion in flowers is pronounced. Ah, the softness of -love is found only in women! - -Great artists, curb your curiosity, neglect the pleasures which offer -themselves to you, so that you may better understand the secrets of God. - - - - -III - -PORTRAITS OF WOMEN - - - Rodin's busts of women are perhaps the most charming part of - his work. But to say this is almost a sacrilege, an affront to the - grace of the small groups that, in this giant's work, swarm about - the superior figures. But we need not search too far into this or - yield to the pedantic mania for classifying to death. Let us rather - look at them without transforming the joy of admiration into the - labor of cataloguing, and give ourselves up wholly to the pleasure - of seeing and understanding. - - Yes, these portraits of women are the graceful aspect of this - work of power. They are the achievements of a force which knows - its own strength, and here relaxes in caresses. If some among them - disturb the spirit, most of them shed upon us a calm enjoyment, - the delightful security that one breathes among all-powerful - beings that wish to be gracious. They allay the sense of unrest - aroused in us by those dramas in marble and bronze which a powerful - intellect has conceived--that mind from which sprang "The Burghers - of Calais," the two monuments to Victor Hugo, "The Tower of Labor," - that imagination, glowing like a forge, which produced "The Gate of - Hell," the Sarmiento monument, the statue of Balzac. - - Here Rodin's art extends to the utmost confines of grace. He - has contrived to discover the most delicate secrets of nature. - He models the petals of the lips just as nature curls the frail - substance of the rose-leaf. By imperceptible gradations he - attaches the delicate membranes of the eyelids to the angle of - the temples just as nature in springtime attaches the leaves to the - rough bark of trees. - -[Illustration: THE BROKEN LILY.] - - Great thinkers never cease to be moved by the charm of - weakness. The "eternal feminine" is just that, the power of grace - over the manly soul. The strongest feel this attraction most, are - most possessed with the desire of expressing it. I am thinking of - Homer, Leonardo da Vinci, Shakspere, Balzac, Wagner, and Rodin in - saying this. They have created a feminine world, the figures of - which, lovingly copied from living models, become models in turn. - They haunt thousands of souls, fashion them in their image. In her - complicated ways, Nature avails herself of the artist to modify the - human type. - - We have some terra-cotta figures of Rodin, modeled when he was - between twenty-five and thirty, while working at the manufactory - at Sèvres, in the studio of Carrier-Belleuse, that accomplished - sculptor. They are charming little busts, with the perfume of - the eighteenth century breathing from them, treated a little in - the manner of Carpeaux, with the velvety shadow of their black - eyes on their sparkling faces. One of them, now in a private - gallery in New York, has a hat on its head, coquettish, tender, - innocently provocative; it is full of Parisian allurement because - it is characteristically French. One can find its kindred among - certain Renaissance figures, and even among the mischievous faces - of Gothic angels. With all this there is that ephemeral prettiness - which is called "fashion," that caprice of styles which does for - the adornment of cities what the flowers of the field do for the - country. - - If Rodin had pursued his path in this direction, he would have - been a portrait-sculptor of great taste, and would doubtless have - attained celebrity sooner, but a celebrity which is not glory. At - that time he was chiefly concerned with copying the features of his - models with all the sensitiveness of his admiration; he did not yet - attempt those large effects of light and shade which were to become - the object of his whole career, and are so still. He has made the - religion of progress his own by reflective study. Progress is for - him the chief condition of happiness. Present-day philosophies - commonly put it in doubt; but if happiness exists, it is surely - in the soul of the artist. But it is recognized with difficulty - because it is called by an equivocal name, the ideal. - - Let us look at the "Portrait of the Artist's Wife." Here, in - this noble effigy, this severe image with its lowered eyelids, the - artist passes beyond the promise of his first period. The face, - rather wide at the cheek-bones, lengthens toward the chin, where - the sorrowful mouth reigns. It expresses melancholy, gravity, - dignity, Christian charity. It is rather masculine, and seems less - youthful than the original was at the time. It is as if the artist - had sought to bring out the character by conscientious modeling, - without any softening; all the features are underlined, as on - a face that has attained a ripe age. He had not yet discovered - the art of softening his surfaces, of blending them in a general - tonality, and of obtaining that softness, that flesh quality, with - all the shades of youth, which touches the heart in his more recent - busts. - - Even then he did know, however, how to gather under the - boldly molded superciliary arch of the brows the diffused shadows - which, in the future, were to lend mystery and distance to most - of his portraits. This mask is all that remains of a standing - figure dressed in the manner of Gothic figures. Rodin was then - living in Brussels, still young, poor, and unknown, but happy. - He tasted the perfect happiness of long days of absorbing labor, - of that enthusiasm for work which nothing disturbs. To-day he - sometimes yearns for those years free from the never-ceasing bustle - of a celebrated man's existence, a giant assailed by a thousand - pin-pricks. Yet his poverty was excessive, for the beautiful - statue, modeled during successive months with much love, fell to - pieces. For want of money, the sculptor had not been able to have - it cast. - - Among his women's busts, one of the most famous and one which - remains among the most beautiful is that of Madame Morla Vicuñha. - It dates back about twenty-five years, but it is resplendent in - eternal youth. Since then Rodin has added to his knowledge and - experience. He has made personal discoveries in the plastic art. - He has become the master of color in sculpture. Nevertheless, this - portrait, as it stands, remains an adorable masterpiece. Who that - has looked at its softly gleaming marble in the Luxembourg has not - been overcome by a long dream of tenderness, of uneasy curiosity? - Who has not hoped to make this woman speak, to press her heart in - order to draw from her a confession of her desires, the secret of - her happiness and her melancholy? - - It is more than a bust, it is woman herself. Because the - beautiful shoulder slips tremulously from the heavy mouth, which - lies against the smooth, polished flesh; because this shoulder - rises again toward the head, slightly bent and inclined, as if to - draw toward it some loved one; because the neck swells like that of - a dove, and the head is stretched forward to offer a kiss, we seem - to catch a glimpse of the whole body and its delicate curves. It is - a beautiful bust. I should like to see it alone in a room hung with - dim tapestries, drawing forth its charm like a long sigh, which - nothing should disturb. This masterpiece demands the distinction of - solitude. - - How beautifully modeled the head is in its firm delicacy! - The framework of the narrow skull appears under the texture of - hair fastened over it like a rich handkerchief. We can almost see - the impatient hand, trembling with feeling, that has twisted the - firm knot under the nape of the neck. Everywhere, level with the - temples, at the bridge of the nose,--the aquiline nose marking the - Spaniard of race,--this bony framework stands out. The face catches - a feverish character from it, tortured by the longing for intimate - expression, and reveals a being with whom happiness borders closely - upon sorrow. The nostrils tremble as if to the perfume of the - flowers pressed voluptuously against the warm bosom. The mouth - is at once mobile and firm, and all the curves of the features - converge toward it--toward the kiss which causes it to swell softly. - - The light steals gently into every line and fold of the face. - It borders the eyelids, glides under the brows, outlines the bridge - of the nose and the nostrils, emphasizes the opposed arches of - the lips. It spreads like a spring, separating into a thousand - streams. It is a network, like the tracery of the woman's nerves - made visible. It is as if the sculptor and the light had begun a - dialogue--a dialogue kept up with endless graces and coquetries. - He contradicts it, refutes it; it escapes, returns. He gathers it - up, as if to force it into the sinuous folds of the figure. Again - it flees, and then, summoned back, it returns cautiously, and at - last bathes the statue in generous caresses. - - This bust will live. In its enigmatic grace it will become - more and more the expression of the woman who loves, just as "La - Gioconda" ("Mona Lisa") is the expression of the woman who is - loved. The one is all instinct, the other all spirit. The one - offers herself; the other promises herself. The one is tenderness - directed toward the past; the other smiles toward the future. - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MADAME MORIA VICUÑHA.] - - In the same gallery of the Luxembourg, there is that other - famous head called "La Pensée." What a contrast! It is strangely - bound within a block of marble, placed like a living head on a - block. And yet it tells only of the slightly resigned calm of - meditation, or of melancholy, without bitterness, of long autumn - days, with their diffused brilliancy. The outlines are firm, - regular, placid, of remarkable moderation in their distinction. The - head leans forward, because thought is a weighty matter. The brow - and the eyes are the dominant features. On them the sculptor has - focused all the light not only in the high lights, but in the still - surface as well. - - The caprice of the artist has covered this head with a light - peasant-cap. This hides the details of the hair, and concentrates - the glance on the face. "Caprice" expresses the idea badly, for - it is taste and the will of the artist that have directed all. - These dreamy features express the practical mysticism of women, - the effort of intelligent devotion. It makes one think of St. - Geneviève, of Jeanne d'Arc, of the overwhelming courage of a weak - being carried beyond and out of herself by a great purpose. - - "La Pensée" has the striking character that almost all the - busts of Rodin assume in the future, and which they owe on the - one hand to their intense lifelikeness, and on the other to the - atmosphere with which the sculptor surrounds them. There are no - hard-and-fast limits which separate them from the circumambient - air; on the contrary, they are bathed in it. The "blacks," which - give a hard, dry look when used to excess, are handled marvelously. - The women's busts, especially, almost start up before us with this - slightly fantastic look of life increased tenfold, with the charm - of phantoms of marble, monumental, and yet as light as beautiful - mists. - - These effects of light and shadow perhaps harmonize best with - the softness and delicacy of the feminine flesh. They convey to us - naturally the mystery of an inner life more secret, more intimate - than that of man. - - Even with works that are similar, the public does not - recognize their common origin. It sees the result of an - extraordinary amount of observation and intelligence, yet it does - not reflect more than a child. For the public the sculptor, whoever - he may be, is a creature of instinct, with a trained eye and hand, - but without mind and culture. He is a sculptor, that is all. A - common proverb strengthens the belief in this lasting folly. It - may be told, then, that the master with whom we are here dealing - studies his models not only as a sculptor, but as a writer studies; - that often his hand drops the chisel for the pencil, in order to - set down his observation more exactly, to search even further into - nature. - - Perhaps the public will at last grasp the fact that the true - artist, under penalty of ceasing to be one, must, above all, expend - an amount of attention of which other men are incapable, and that - it is by this power of attention that the strength of intelligence - is measured. For example, Rodin is facing his model, a young - woman stretched out in an attitude of repose. He writes, and in - his style we find all the power of the great draftsman. He marks - the outlines, he specifies the details, slowly, patiently, with - pertinacity. He never confuses the impression, always so ready to - elude one--the impression, the divine reward of the artist. - - * * * * * - -The dazzling splendor revealed to the artist by the model that divests -herself of her clothes has the effect of the sun piercing the clouds. -Venus, Eve, these are feeble terms to express the beauty of women. - -The head leans to one side, the torso to the other, both inclining -indolently, gracefully. This body has been glorified. The contours -flow, descend, repose, like immortality personified. The breasts follow -the same curve. The flowing lines are all in the same direction. -Unchangeable, heaving above the half-opened screen of the dress, the -breath scarcely lifts them. It does not stir or agitate them. - -The beautiful human monument is balanced in repose. It is unassailable. -It is the gradation of contours. - -I do not draw them, but I see them in place, and my spirit is content, -accustoms itself to the impression. In memory I still make drawings of -this model, and these moving lines are repetitions, done over again a -hundred times; for I repeat the drawing constantly, like a caress. - -This torso resigns itself, like an Ariadne whose contours melt away in -the evening, in the dark. But the lightning of day has flashed there. -It is there always. It is now the pale gleam of flesh. My mind, carried -along, takes this form as its model. - -The hand, the arm, support the head, the sidelong glance from which -is so full of sweetness. One might call it a "Mona Lisa" reposing. -This head feels the need of resting on the supporting hand, a delicate -support like the handle of a vase. Like an urn about to pour out its -water, its thought, it inclines. - -Lying back on the cushion, the head is in high relief. The features are -placed according to their due regard, which is the very soul of balance. -It has made the eyes symmetrical; the eyebrows straight; the nose, where -beauty and symmetry meet, expressive of a wholesome conformity. - -When a woman is very beautiful, she has the head of a lion. From the -lion is copied that splendid regularity of the eyes, which the oval of -the face accentuates. The tawny mane is also lion-like in its regularity -and majesty, without any other expression. - -Arches are formed without effort of all the parts of the eye. The hinges -of the eyes open and close. The open mouth keeps back neither the -thoughts nor the words that have been spoken. There is no need for her -to speak. Her age, her thoughts, all is a confession here--the features, -the arch of the frank, noble mouth, as well as the form of the nose and -the sensitive nostrils. - -And this infantile glance under a woman's eyelid! Our soul demands -that, by an agreement with the heavens, the feminine glance should be -celestial. - -[Illustration: LA PENSÉE.] - -How I bathe in the calm beauty of these eyes, with their regular -drawing! How they themselves declare their tranquil joy! Sometimes eyes -like these seem to be inhabited by spirits. They close, and I see the -horizontal lashes, the lower lid, which just rests against the upper. I -see as a whole the soft oval of these long eyes, the double circle of -the lids themselves, and the circle beneath, so modest now, but which -one calls the circle of love. - -The eyeball in moving shows the clear pupil, and all about it press the -circles of the delicate lids. The soul finds a refuge in these secret -hiding-places, and throws out its circles of attraction like a lasso. -This sensuous soul is the soul of beautiful portraits. - -The cheeks curve against the socket of the eye; the double arch of the -brows prolongs itself behind them. The surface of the cheeks extends to -the extremity of the nose, forms a double depression by the sinking of -the cheek, which grows hollow toward the convex lip, and surrounds the -mouth and the two lips. These facial lines and surfaces all stop at the -chin, toward which all the curves converge. - -The facial expressions proceed from, spread, and move in another circle. -They all disappear in the cheeks, just as do the movements of the mouth. -One curve passes down from the ear to the mouth; a small curve draws -back the mouth and also the nose a little. A circle passes under the -nose, the chin, to the cheekbones; a deep curve, which starts back to -the cheekbone, cuts in a small hollow to the eyebrow. The features are -distinct; but when they move, they merge into one another. The smile -passes over the face by a circle defining the mouth. The edge of the -mouth is defined by a mezzotint at the point of union. - -The loose hair surrounds the cheek, and the head seems like a golden -fleece on a distaff. It hangs like loosened garlands. How beautifully -these garlands of hair are arranged, with the profile in a three-quarter -view, standing out against the fine, tawny hair! The impressive harmony -between the flesh and the hair! They seem altogether in accord; they -lend each other languor and charm; they are united and separated at the -same time. These drooping clusters of chestnut-blond hair are a frame. -One might call them long flowers hanging from the edge of a vase. - -The neck no longer holds erect the head, which moves in ecstasy. It -drowns itself in the wavy flow of hair, which becomes undone at the -moment. This inundation of hair, so to speak, what a generalized -expression of opulence it is! Before its beauty I feel imbued with -love. I am seized with enthusiasm, aflame with it. This gold, this dull -copper, is like a field of grain, a field of corn, where the sheaves are -of gold bound together. These sheaves, slightly disordered in their -lengthening curves, turning in all directions, imitate the tone of -subdued flesh tints. - -In this veil, transparent and colored like a dead leaf, the ear is -hidden in shadow, where the hair flies back at random in strands, twists -about, and returns. - -O head, beautiful ornament, drooping against the edge of the couch like -a lovely motive in architecture at the edge of a console, you express -the prolonged weakness of a lovely languor! The shoulder extends its -beautiful curve before the face, resting on its side; the line rises, -passes near the nose, descends, and shows the red line of the mouth, -just as the bees continually enter and go out of the opening of the -hive. The face turns, but the eye returns to me, passes by me, and again -gazes upon me. - -In it there is the softness of the dog's eye, a spirit which becomes -motionless when the tyranny of passion has disappeared. When passion is -in control, she sucks like a vampire that delicate flesh, which is the -model of calm, the exquisite remainder of calm. - -This crown of beauty is not made for one woman alone, but for all women. -They do not know it, and yet all in turn attain this beauty, as a fruit -ripens. This calm is more potent in them than in the most beautiful -statues. They are unaware of it, and the men who are near them are -unaware of it also. They have not been taught to admire. They have not -been educated in the science of admiration. - -When, in the galleries of the Louvre, magnificent rooms where are -gathered the collections of antiques, day enters through the windows -and lightly touches these beautiful sculptures which are the adornment -of great palaces, do they understand any better? Do they realize the -collaboration between the sculptor and the light? - -[Illustration: HOTEL BIRON. VIEW FROM THE GARDEN.] - - - - -IV - -AN ARTIST'S DAY - - - The residence of Rodin, the Hôtel Biron, is situated at the - extreme end of the rue de Varenne, in the Faubourg St. Germain. - The long straight street is lined on both sides with old mansions - that lend a distinctive nobility to this district of Paris. The - street is solemn, the quiet austere. Only rarely a carriage rumbles - by. Like the tide of a river, the air sweeps down this street from - the Boulevard des Invalides, which at its other end opens upon the - Esplanade des Invalides, like a great lake. - - Now and then one catches glimpses of the spacious courts, the - steps, the peristyles, and the ornate, but at the same time simple, - pediments. Most of these mansions were, and many of them still are, - inhabited by families associated with the history of France. - - The northern façade of the Hôtel Biron and the courtyard - through which one enters are hidden behind a high convent wall, for - in the nineteenth century the old residence of the Duc de Biron - was transformed into a religious school of the Sacred Heart. There - the daughters of the aristocracy were educated. In consequence of - the law of 1904 relating to the religious orders, the mansion was - vacated, and taken possession of by the state, which rented it in - apartments. Rodin, ever in search of old buildings, in which alone - he can think and work in comfort, soon became the main tenant. - - To ring the bell one must reach high. With difficulty one - turns the handle of the door, which swings slowly. It is a portal - made for coaches to pass through. Under its monumental arch one - seems as insignificant as an insect. To the right of the court is - the old chapel of the religious community. Its somber character - stands out against the neighboring secular buildings. The cold - style of Charles X, in which it is built, forms a strange contrast - to the charming structure of Jacques Gabriel, the celebrated artist - who in the eighteenth century endowed Paris with many works of art, - among others this pavilion of the rue de Varenne, the Hôtel Biron. - Nevertheless, had it not been for Rodin, this building would have - been torn down. - - It is a vast mansion, extremely simple, and built on the - lines of an elongated square. Its great charm is due wholly to its - correct proportions and to the grace and variety of its beautiful, - tall windows, some straight, others rounded, and surmounted by an - inconspicuous ornament, the signature of the artist. All of them - are enlivened by little squares of glass, which are to a window - what the facets are to a diamond. - - The spacious vestibule is paved with black and white marble, - its ceiling supported by six strong columns. A charming stone - staircase rises here. All is in the style of Louis XV, a style that - is dignified when it is not delightfully elegant and coquettish. - - The house was to be torn down, and sold as junk; but Rodin - was on guard. Ever since he had learned that this masterpiece was - condemned his heart had bled, and for the first and only time in - the course of his long existence an outside interest took him - from his work. He wrote letters, took legal steps, called to - his assistance artists, people of culture, and men in politics. - M. Clémenceau, then president of the cabinet; M. Briand, who - succeeded him; M. Gabriel Hanotaux, one of his great friends; - M. Dujardin-Beaumetz, under-secretary of state of fine arts, - all listened to his indefatigable pleading. Finally his plea was - heard, and the Hôtel Biron was classified as a historical monument, - henceforth inviolate. Then the speculators had to abandon their - idea of filling the park with hideous modern structures, and of - disfiguring in six months this unique Quartier des Invalides, to - construct which the architects had given years of work and all - their intelligence. - - Rodin's admirers soon conceived the idea of converting the - Hôtel Biron into a museum for the master's works, which they - pledged themselves to defend with a tenacity equal to that which - Rodin had just displayed. - - * * * * * - - I knock at the door of the studio and rapidly pass through - two large rooms containing no furniture, only busts of bronze and - groups of marble. When I enter the study, Rodin is not here; I - glance about. All the details of this room are familiar to me, but - they always seem new, because everything is in harmony here, with a - harmony which varies according to the day and the hour. - - It is a morning in spring. The bright light sheds its rays - on the various antiquities that the master has assembled here: - Empire chairs, with faded velvet coverings; a Louis XIV arm-chair - of gilded wood and cherry-colored silk, in which one might fancy - Molière seating himself to chat with Rodin, who, ever ready as he - is with a bit of raillery, would surely not have failed in repartee. - - On a round table there is a Persian material, and some - Japanese vases filled with tulips and anemones. On the mantelpiece - are bronzes from the far East and a statuette of porcelain in - marvelous blues that Rodin calls his "Chinese Virgin." On the - walls, close together like the stones in a mosaic, are many of the - master's water-colors. Their well-chosen tones harmonize with and - intensify those of the flowers, the fabrics, and the ceramics of - bygone days. - - Scattered pedestals support huge bronze busts, which call to - mind warriors of the Middle Ages, and some unfinished pieces. They - consist of small groups that, under the eye of the master, seem to - grow out of the white marble, and in the golden sunlight look as - soft as snow. - - On this table, where Rodin takes his meals and writes, is a - Greek marble, a little torso without arms or legs; I know it well, - for he showed it to me while murmuring words of admiration. This is - his latest passion. - - I enter the garden, where he is enjoying a moment of rest, for - he has been working a long while. Owing to his habits as a good - workman, he rises at five every morning. - - I pass through one of the big doors which open upon the park. - The beautiful view always captivates me anew. The light, the air, - the expanse of sky, the magnificent groups of trees, this rustic - solitude in the heart of Paris, take one by surprise, inspire and - elevate the spirit. Rodin is here, smiling and in good humor. - - We are on the terrace that overlooks the expanse of green - and forms a sort of slanting pedestal for the pavilion. Below - stretches a broad alley, almost an avenue, overgrown with a rich - carpet of grass and moss, which loses itself in the distant wood. - Fruit-trees, growing wild, form impenetrable screens on both sides - of this alley. - - The grandeur of this park is largely due to the age of the - trees. Stepping to the edge of the balustrade, I can see toward the - right the dome of the Invalides, standing alone, outlined against - the sky, like a burgrave on guard under a helmet of gold. - -[Illustration: RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED IN THE COURT OF THE HOTEL BIRON.] - - The northern façade of the pavilion has a severe character. - It is the façade which visitors and passers-by see, and for this - an elegant simplicity suffices. But this other side, bathed in - the midday sun, is meant for friends. All the delicate splendor - that the architect conceived is expressed in these stones. This - sculptured pediment, this balcony with its console of flowers, and - the graceful windows, with their semicircular transoms, are models - of elegance. The Hôtel Biron is not large, but it is imposing. The - blockheads who inhabited it during the last century, blind to its - beauty, deaf to its appeal, demolished and sold the wrought-iron - balustrades of the windows, balconies, and staircases, but they - were not able, thank Heaven! to destroy its innate beauty. - - "Let us go to work," said Rodin. I go back to the statues; - Rodin begins to draw. In a little while he will model. During his - hasty luncheon he has the little Greek torso placed before him, and - he makes notes all the while. - - True genius is as changeable as nature. It finds as many ways - of expressing its ideals as it finds subjects. But what always - remains the same is the desire to be sincere. Yet the artist, with - the best of intentions, is often the victim of his own sincerity. - Rodin is no exception to this rule, for even he has had his - portraits rejected. "There is no resemblance!" people declare, - while, on the contrary, the resemblance is too true. With his keen - insight he penetrates too far beyond the mere flesh of the model. - People are frightened at seeing their hidden personality brought - to the light of day, are taken aback at being compelled to know - themselves. They consider the sculptor indiscreet and dangerous. - - If, in his portraits of men, he pries to their very souls, - if he reveals without pity those of his own sex, his equals, his - companions in life's struggle, in his portraits of women he is - discreet and respectful. With delicacy he unfolds their delicate - mystery. He does not say anything which is not true, but frequently - he does not express the whole truth. Genius is ever in quiet - complicity with womanhood, and leaves it in that half-obscurity - which is its greatest power. - - In the bust before us of Mrs. X---- , one wonders what he - refrained from expressing. Surely neither the unusual beauty of the - woman nor her air as of an archduchess. - - I remember the day when I saw this bust for the first time. - It was in the Salon, placed at the head of a high staircase. The - marble was brilliant. Something regal and also lovable attracted - those who came toward it. Resplendent in beauty, the shoulders - emerge from the folds of a wrap with the proud grace of one who is - to the manor born. The small, well-shaped head, supported by the - plump, though delicate, neck, is half turned to the slightly raised - left shoulder. The hair is drawn up high to form a crown, throwing - forward some light strands that shed their soft shadows over the - forehead, like a thatching of moss. The beautiful eyebrows, too, - lend mystery to the glance of the eyes, so full of sweetness and - understanding. The small ear is partly hidden under the waves of - the well-groomed hair. The lines of delicate symmetry which run - from the chin to the ear, and from the ear to the shoulder, and the - coronet of hair, give the bust its distinguished look of race. - - Here we see, too, the firmness of beautiful flesh, hardened by - exercise, radiating that spirit of joyous life that springs from - a thoroughly healthy body, as we feel it in some of the Tanagra - figurines. The quiet reserve which stamps the refined Anglo-Saxon - is revealed, but not overaccentuated. The nose is straight and - slightly raised at the tip, the mouth frank and regular. Those - same changing shadows which beautify flowers, when the sun strikes - them through the leaves of a tree, play over this countenance, and - bathe it in a variety of delicate tones from the eyes to the chin. - But beneath this placid beauty there is a restless soul eager to - act, to express its goodness. The chin and the throat retain their - look of youth, even of something childlike for those whom she - loves; but the thoughtful brow is slightly wrinkled, as if from the - intelligent search for happiness. - - This bust, almost Greek in its simplicity, is one of the most - purely beautiful that has come from Rodin's hands. - - When we note the facility with which these works are produced, - seemingly a natural growth, like vintage and harvest; when we - contemplate these fruits of knowledge, we are too apt to overlook - the laborious efforts involved, and to forget that a life has - been given, drop by drop, to achieve this result in small steps - of progress. Even when we know all this, we often prefer to give - the credit to external causes, which appeal more strongly to our - superficial minds, rather than to that endless patience that is, - and always will be, the secret of genius. - - I watched Rodin model the head of Hanako, the Japanese - actress. He rapidly modeled the whole in the rough, as he does - all his busts. His keen eye and his experienced thumb enable him - to establish the exact dimensions at the first sitting. Then the - detailed work of modeling begins. The sculptor is not satisfied to - mold the mass in its apparent outlines only. With absolute accuracy - he slices off some clay, cuts off the head of the bust, and lays it - upside down on a cushion. He then makes his model lie on a couch. - - Bent like a vivisector over his subject, he studies the - structure of the skull seen from above, the jaws viewed from below, - and the lines which join the head to the throat, and the nape of - the neck to the spine. Then he chisels the features with the point - of a pen-knife, bringing out the recesses of the eyelids, the - nostrils, the curves of the mouth. Yet for forty years Rodin was - accused of not knowing how to "finish"! - - With great joy he said one day, "I achieved a thing to-day - which I had not previously attained so perfectly--the commissure of - the lips." - - In making a bust Rodin takes numerous clay impressions, - according to the rate of progress. In this way he can revert to the - impression of the previous day, if the last pose was not good, or - if, in the language of the trade, "he has overworked his material." - Thus one may see five, six, or even eight similar heads in his - studio, each with a different expression. - - Hanako did not pose like other people. Her features were - contracted in an expression of cold, terrible rage. She had the - look of a tiger, an expression thoroughly foreign to our Occidental - countenances. With the force of will which the Japanese display in - the face of death, Hanako was enabled to hold this look for hours. - - Little by little, under the sculptor's fingers, the mask of - clay reflected all this. It cried out revenge without mercy, the - thirst, for blood. A baffling contrast this--the spirit of a wild - beast appearing on the human countenance. - - I have one of these studies before me now. It has been cast - in a composition of colored glass, and the vivid flesh coloring - lends reality to the work. This mask is not disfigured by rage. The - bloodless head, with its fixed stare, lies on a white cushion, and - no one escapes its disquieting influence. Some people shudder - when they see it. "One might think it the head of a dead person," - they say. - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MRS. X----.] - - Whenever I enter the spacious room I am irresistibly drawn - toward it. My feelings are different every time, but always there - is a feeling of uneasiness. I cannot say that it resembles death; - on the contrary, it is so lifelike that it is almost supernatural. - One might call it a condemned person, a being so terrified by the - approach of death that all the blood has rushed to the heart. It - is a spirit frozen with fear, the eyes looking toward the unknown, - the large nostrils scenting death. The bulging forehead, the high, - Mongolian cheek-bones, and the flat nose make the face still more - singular. All the lines of the face run toward the mouth, with its - remarkable expression. Obstinate, although conquered, it will draw - its last breath without a cry. - - Meanwhile life seems to throb in every cell. This head, so - like a being that has been put to death, has the soft, pliant flesh - of a ripe fruit. - - At night I return to look at it by the light of a candle. - It looks entirely different. The shadows vary as I move the - candle, and the features grow mobile. How gentle and touching it - seems now! It is no longer bloodthirsty and savage; that exotic - expression which repelled me has quite disappeared. These features, - expressing the innermost self under a stress of emotions, reveal a - poor creature that has loved and suffered. It is a pitiable face - that has been molded by life. I have seen that same sad, tired - expression of anguish in one whose whole strength is gone, but who - still makes an effort to understand misfortune in order to strive - against it. I have seen it on my mother's face when one of us was - ill. - - * * * * * - -A MORNING IN THE GARDEN - -It is still night; the dawn is just breaking. I open my window to let -the refreshing air drive away my drowsiness. From the end of the garden, -in the underbrush, and now all about me, I hear much lively chirping. It -tells of the blessing of love, of springtime. - -It is almost day. The blackbird has ended his scene of love; no one was -about when he sang his song of spring and harmony. The flowers listened, -and blossomed at the call of this unseen Orpheus. The air is laden with -misty melodies. These songs do not disturb the silence; they are part -of it. Later we shall still hear the happy call of birds, but no longer -these songs of love that proclaim the eternal reign of our mother earth. - -Now is the time for sighs of happiness; the flowers consecrate -themselves to the beautifying of Demeter, goddess of the under-world. -Orpheus searches for Eurydice; he calls her, and his notes break the -harmonious silence. - -I must bathe my brows in the vague mist, in the fragrance of the earth, -in the light of the dawning day. Spacious room, I leave you. I shall -return to you to work, for here only have I known complete silence. - -I hurry into the garden, where I find inspiring freshness. I had looked -forward to it; my whole body was awaiting it. A sprouting twig proclaims -the fullness of life. I am freed from the memory of yesterday, born anew -for all the seasons to come. In the _palais_ thoughts are more subdued -and modest, content to be bounded by the splendid proportions of the -apartments--proportions that are correct, but nothing more. - -The flight of time is marked by the song of the blackbird, and, as in -Mozart's music, one cannot quite define whence its charm springs. It -is everywhere, to the right, to the left. That voice seems to pierce -through the gaps and hollows of the wood, for now one hears it as an -echo, now as a solo, at the farthest end of the wood. - -My flight of steps is my place for reflection, my _salle de pas -perdus_.[1] At the foot of the steps the verdant carpet, sown with -little stars of green, stretches out. It might be an old Arabian -material or a rich marble. Bits of earth are to be seen in delicate gray -patches. The shadow of night still enshrouds the garden in a cloudy -veil. In the distance, outlined against the horizon, are the bleak walls -of houses, like huge stones. About me stretches that enormous Babylon, -that Paris where my tired nerves relax, where the substance of my life -is woven, where my heart has found appreciation and no reproach, and -where my mind, imbued with the true knowledge of life, has taught my -soul the gracious lesson of submission. - -This broad, beautiful lane is like a Corot, and recalls his nymphs. -The bare trees look like limbs. A bright carpet of turf moistens their -roots. Now a rabbit runs by. In the distance the carriages rumble like -artillery. This is a fitting haunt for fauns, their rustic arbor. -The trees serve as a roof, their green shoots melting into the sky. -The freshness of new life is everywhere, and little exclamations of -admiration spring from every creature. - -With this universal youth new thoughts are born. In this delightful -retreat one feels that only an antique statue could add to its beauty. - -The trees expand with vigor, their buds outlined against the sky. The -rest of the lane seems an avenue of enchantment. Far down at the end -I seem to see happiness. But no, I am wrong: it is not only in the -distance; it is here, all about me, now. - -The slanting rays of the sun strike the trees and the grass; over -the lane bluish shadows play. The spreading shade of the trees falls -softly on the fresh green. Those little dashes of blue among the grass -are forget-me-nots. Those beautiful trees, garbed only since a week -ago, trail their lovely green draperies on the ground, while detached -garlands cling to the shrubs. - -The majesty of youth in nature is unique; it is charm itself, an -inimitable thing. Yet some men of genius have been able to express the -spirit of spring. - -[Illustration: RODIN IN HIS GARDEN.] - -The very soul of meditation dwells in this garden, in this alley of -trees. Polyhymnia, the Muse, in her graceful draperies, walks with me, -and I follow her reverently. - -Away from the turmoil, I can forget the constant hurry of our days. How -we allow ourselves to be harassed! Reaching out for everything without -possessing anything truly, we do not even realize what treasures we have -lost. A few puffs of empty air are not poetry, and seeing happiness in -the distance is not enjoying it. What hurries you? Ah, your life is out -there, elsewhere? Go, then; but I shall remain here with the antique in -my charming garden. - -I will sit down on this old stone bench, surrounded by dense shrubs. The -dead wood is piled in little heaps. The tree-tops form a semicircle, -and stand out like a pantheon against the sky. The branches bear the -marks of lightning and grow in zigzag. The sap of the earth rises in the -arteries of the trees, ever ready to take part in the great festival of -spring. - -Now the charm of the alley consists in the differences of light and -shade. As the one strives to advance, the other recedes toward the dale. -The shadows disperse for the morning, leaving behind their beneficent -moisture for their friends, the flowers of this dale. - -Before me, on a knoll, stands a beautiful column, as if in prayer. It -seems to have sprung from the kingdom of Pluto, and now, like us, it -stands in the bright sunlight, a part of the out-of-doors. - -Stone, pure and beautiful material, destined for the work of men, just -as flax is destined for the work of women. A gift scarcely hidden -under the earth, man has seized upon stones with rapture, carefully -drawing them from their dark hiding-place, to raise them on high as in -church towers, making them tractable, transforming the crude rocks, -and appropriating them for masterpieces. Under the protection of man's -sacrilegious hand, these stones lend beauty to our cities. They have a -tender sympathy with the trees, the roots of which join their own. - -Both hard and soft stones have a place in man's esteem. Sculpture has -glorified them. The column is like a tree, but simpler than a tree, with -a silent life of its own. And like the plants which cling about it, it -also has its foliage and leaves. The artist who conceived the Sphinx -made her to be the guardian of temples and secrets. - -That column there rises up like a druid-stone, as though to converse -with the moon at night. It awaits the appearance of man in the solemn -ritual of night, for in its immensity it bears witness that man has -created it. Man, too, has had his part, an ephemeral part, in the -creation; his idea strives with the works of God, as Israel strove with -the angel. His illuminating thought, expressed in stone, arouses those -who otherwise might be insensible to beauty. The hand of man, like the -hand of God, can transform a soul and make it new. - -Mystery in which I have lived, but which I understand only now that I am -about to depart. The marvel of it all! And to think that one must leave -it! Well, that is the lot of all other living creatures. - -And now the blue of the sky has grown darker, without a shadow, while -beauty itself has taken its abode in these avenues of trees. Now and -then passing clouds dim the glory of this splendid youth of nature, but -the green is brilliant even in the shadow. High up among the trees, I -see a blue river, the sky, while the great clouds, mountains of water, -are hanging above to quench the thirst of the flowers. - - -[Footnote 1: _Salle de pas perdus_ is the name given to the large hall -of the Gare St. Lazare, Paris.] - - - -AN ANTIQUE FRAGMENT - -Twenty times a day I walk in front of this little torso. I bring all my -friends to see it, for Greek sculpture is the very source of beauty. - -Why am I surprised whenever I look upon this torso? I think it is -because nature, which is behind this work of art, always calls forth -new, unlooked-for sensations. - -Venus, glorious Venus, model of all women, your purity survives even -after two thousand years. Your charm charms me--me who have admirers for -my own sculpture. Before you they remain cold; but I, with a spirit that -sees further--I admit my defeat as an artist, my poor ability vanishes -before your grace. - -Form, as I used to express it, seems a mere illusion before the -harmonious strength of your lines, which embody the very truth of -life. Divine fragment, I shall live by you! What days you recall -to me! Perhaps the last moments of the soul of Greek sculpture, -ever-increasingly my Muse. - -This torso shows the suppleness and strength of the joints. It is a -summing-up of former masterpieces of the artist. Those endless studies -that grow into experience and all the qualities of balance are here -concealed beneath the beauty and the gracious inspiration of the figure. -The inspired sculptor has just discovered all these qualities, and in -appreciation has given expression to them with his very soul. - -An antique piece of sculpture cannot be imitated. This torso seems to -have a soul. Are not the shadows trembling on it there? One can see them -move. - -What a progress toward truth we find in the advance from Assyrian and -Egyptian to Greek art! Antique things, if we knew how to look at them, -would bring about a new renaissance for us, we who stagnate in the -Parisian spirit. The Parisian spirit, young though it is, is already -too old to serve us. It is like those pretentious monuments, those -constructions in plaster, which are hollow and horrible under their -crumbling stucco. - -Greece was the land of sculpture beyond all others. The subject of -their sculpture was life. The people concealed it under names and -symbols,--Jupiter, Apollo, Venus, the fauns,--but behind all these was -the eternal truth of life. - -This torso on my table looks as though it had been washed to the shore -by the loving waves, as boats are stranded on the beach at low tide. -What more beautiful offering could be made to men and gods? For is this -fragment not an eternal prayer? - -The thoughts expressed in this torso are numerous, infinite. I could -write about it forever. Do I bring these thoughts with me? Is it I who -put them into the marble? No, for when it is out of my sight, this -divinity of life vanishes from me at the same time. Since it ceases -to be in me, it must be the fragment which possesses it. It teaches a -sculptor more than any professor could. It whispers secrets to me, and -if I am true to it, it will tell me more and more; it will transform -me in harmony with the soul of its friend, the Greek sculptor. For are -not the thoughts of God expressed all the world over? Are they not the -fruitful germs, now growing within a brain, now in a beautiful grouping -of stone, and now captured by those magicians, the poets? And are -sculptors, too, not like poets? - -Where can one find more perfect harmony than in this fragment? It is -a monument. And is it not providential? It is only a fragment, yet it -seems to embody the whole Acropolis. Truth, that lasting joy, fills in -all that is missing. It is a fact that this torso, which weighs one -hundred and sixty pounds, seems as light as the woman herself would -be, as light as her gracious, swelling flesh. I know contours, but the -contours of a masterpiece always surprise me anew. Whenever I see you, -beautiful little torso, my eyes and my soul feast on you. Masterpiece, -you are my master, too. - -If, as they say, stones have fallen from heaven, this surely must be one -of them. I leave it in the condition in which I found it, as it first -appealed to me, with all its charm, as I carried it in my arms to this -table. The changing lights of day mold it; but I shall not touch it, I -shall not change it. It is truth itself, and it shines in no matter what -surroundings. - -This torso has within it the seductiveness of woman, that garden of -pleasure the secret charms of which imbue old and young alike with a -terrible power. Feminine charm which crushes our destiny, mysterious -feminine power that retards the thinker, the worker, and the artist, -while at the same time it inspires them--a compensation for those who -play with fire! - -It is not by analysis that you will learn to understand art, you who are -ignorant. Greek art eludes the imbeciles and ignorant who have always -undervalued it. How can one comprehend this beauty by mere analysis? -Where lies the secret of force? It is ever shifting. And the shadow, -so genially arranged, varies with the way the light strikes it. In -art, what do we call life? That which speaks to you through all your -senses. If this torso were to bleed, it could not be more lifelike. The -harmony of its lines dominates my soul. The soul lives and grows on -masterpieces. That is why we have a soul. - -Is it surprising, then, that I live with these antiques of mine, poets -far more inspiring than any of our day? They have created beings that -will live to survive us. - - - -AN EVENING IN THE GARDEN - -I leave my exacting work always more and more its slave. Walking, -because of its regularity, always refreshes me. Such a walk means -a great deal to me. It puts my nerves into a state of delightful -tranquillity. - -The trees are still bare of leaves and have a wintry look. At their -base there are dainty sprouts, clouds of green. The lawns are ponds of -emerald green. The charm of this alley is partly due to the twigs and -shoots that sprout out of the ground and spring up like a cloud of lace. - -There is a faint decline in this soft brightness, for now the sun is -setting. The sun-god is moderating his power for the benefit of the -little flowers which otherwise would dry up and fade. This is the hour -when the sun lends full value to the works of man, so that architecture -stands out in all its beauty, while at the same time the sun softly -colors the lovely clouds. - -The pediment of the Palais Biron is brilliant in the sunlight. The -balcony casts shadows on the grimacing consoles, and the shell-work is -luminous in this glorious light. The window-panes glow in glory. The -great staircase seems arranged for ladies to descend on their way to -the garden, graciously trailing their long robes, which rustle over the -steps. - -Like a pilgrim, full of hope, who rests a moment at the gates of a town, -and breathes the balmy evening air, so I seat myself in this garden. -The hour passes quickly, but it could not be better employed than in -absorbing these marvels. - -When the sun drops behind the horizon, with its glowing colors like the -flaming fires of a forge, our hearts are filled with wonder and awe. -It gilds all in a last golden glory of triumph, the sky so brilliant -that one cannot define the line of the horizon. There, where the sun -disappeared, the sky is now orange. Everything is fading away; another -immensity spreads out before us. The glory of night is about to extend -over the firmament its melancholy charm. - -[Illustration: THE POET AND THE MUSES.] - -The corner of this garden is a corner of happiness, a corner of -eternity. Here thoughts can thrive and worship, for here they have -everything. For the great things in life are not the exceptional things, -but the beauties of every day, which we do not stop to notice. These -vast treasures, within our grasp, which we do not even touch, they are -the things that count. - -The public believes that one is happy in the admiration of nature; but -there are various degrees of happiness. Doubtless a glorious feeling of -admiration may take hold of one; but if one does not constantly cling -to one's admiration as a matter of habit, one grows weary and becomes -superficial. Indeed, I do not know why we demand another life, since we -have not learned to enjoy and understand this one fully. In any case, if -we find this a bad world, it is our fault. We are childish about it. We -belittle one another wilfully. Fancy the trees doing that, if one could -suspect them of such a thing! - -When I descend the steps, I am overwhelmed by that fluid which is life. -I am in touch with life. What more can I want? This tenderness which -surrounds me everywhere, this ever-varying nature which says so much to -me, the atmosphere which envelops me--am I already in heaven, or am I a -poet? - - - - -V - -THE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC - - - One of Rodin's friends, M. Léon Bourgeois, the eminent, - highly cultivated French statesman, has said, "Rodin is himself - a cathedral." This remark wonderfully characterizes Rodin's - intellectuality as it appears to us to-day. Rich in years and - experience, his intellect is in truth as complicated as a - cathedral, but like it, too, superbly simple in its general - structure. His intellect possesses the wealth of detail that makes - up life and the calm balance of the laws that govern nature. His - mind, formed on principles scrupulously controlled by observation, - abounds in that wonderful artistic imagination which is the poetry - of life. Ever renewing itself, ever active, his mind inspires - intense confidence because it is deeply rooted in truth. It looks - at its subjects of study with such conscientious devotion that it - perceives every phase of reality; for it is only love such as this, - a love springing not from impatience and passion, but from faith - and hope, that is always victorious in the end. - - Churches! He lives near them, so as to study them in the - fleeting changes of the hours. He likes to be enveloped by the - sound of the church bells that for seven or eight centuries have - spoken the same language of discipline to the spirit of France. - Day and night he visits the naves. There his soul feels the sacred - mystery. The churches are truly the cradle of his artistic faith. - - But it is only recently that the joys which he drew from them - reached their height; for although he was long under the influence - of Gothic art, that most extraordinary product of the hand of - man, only in the last few years has he learned to penetrate its - principles and understand its methods. - - How often in my youth I questioned him about the cathedrals! - He always replied with that caution which in deep natures is a - form of deference: "I am pervaded by the marvel of this art; but - I cannot as yet explain it to myself. The Gothic is the world - foreshortened. Where am I to begin? For more than thirty years - I have been accumulating and comparing my observations. Perhaps - eventually I shall succeed in deducing the rule, the law of divine - intelligence; but perhaps I shall not have sufficient time. Then it - will be the task of another, younger than myself, who will start - his researches earlier, and who, besides, will have been informed - by me." - - On his return from each of these pilgrimages he was possessed - by the happy restlessness of one who would soon be able to give - expression to his secret. One felt that "the law of divine - intelligence" was being formulated in his mind. I then hoped and - expected that soon he would reap the fruit of his long labors. - - At last one day Rodin took me to Notre Dame, beautiful among - the beautiful, despite the modern restorations that have detracted - from the grace and suppleness of its sculpture. Notre Dame of Paris - is beautiful in itself and in its situation on the banks of the - Seine, that river of feminine grace, which in its innocent course - draws with it the memory of many terrible historic events. - - From Notre Dame to Saint-Eustache, from the Tour Saint-Jacques - to Saint-Etienne-du-Mont, during this long walk of ours Rodin - talked, quite unaware of the curious glances of those who - recognized him, and of the scoffing of the street urchins, who - mistook the great Frenchman for a stranger discovering the capital - of France. Later he gave me numerous notes that supplemented his - conversations. - - His words and notes combined form the clearest and most - important lesson on Gothic art that has been handed down since the - days of the Gild of the Francs-Maçons, by one of their own sort, a - craftsman such as they were, a veritable sculptor, a stone-cutter - loving the material in which he works. - - Has Rodin, after so thoroughly grasping the secrets of the - builders of bygone days, never felt the desire to apply them in the - execution of some work of architecture? Was he never tempted by - their example and by that of Michelangelo to expand his resources - beyond those of the sculptor? Those who know the creative power - and the vastness of imagination of the modeler of "The Burghers of - Calais" and of "The Gate of Hell" may well ask this question. - - Well, yes, he has had that great dream, which in more prolific - times would have become a glorious reality. He hoped to revive - the spirit of a day when a whole nation of artists covered France - with masterpieces; he hoped to organize labor collectively, and - to gather about him a legion of artisans to work together on a - monument which should become in a certain sense the cathedral of - the modern age. - - He even drew up plans for that wonderful project, the subject - of which was to be the glorification of labor, that triumphant - force of our present civilization. He did not plan to rival the - Gothic style, the prodigious achievement of which would have - required throngs of workmen thoroughly organized and disciplined, - well trained under the system of master and apprentice, - accomplishing their common task in the joy of work and the - enthusiasm of faith. He planned to approximate the art of the - Renaissance, less removed from modern intellectuality, and simpler - of execution. - -[Illustration: THE TOWER OF LABOR.] - - In Rodin's studio at Meudon one can see the plan for this - monument. The axis is a high column calling to mind Trajan's - Column, and, like it, covered with bas-reliefs. A tower broken - by large openings, as in the Tower of Pisa, encircles it. In the - interior a gradually inclining way leads one from the base to the - top along the bas-reliefs. These represent all the active crafts - and trades: those of the cities, such as masons, carpenters, - weavers, bakers, brewers, glass-workers, and goldsmiths; and - those of the country, such as plowmen, harvesters, vintagers, - vine-dressers, shepherds, and farmers. On the exterior, between - the arches, stand statues of the great geniuses that have led - humanity, whose efforts have raised them to celestial heights; that - is, to the peace and happiness of creating. There great thinkers, - inventors, and artists have their niches, just as the prophets - have theirs in the vaults of cathedrals. The edifice rests on a - crypt where groups of sculpture are devoted to the glorification - of work under the earth and its obscure heroes, miners, divers, - pearl-fishers. At the time when the plan for this monument was - advanced, and was exciting the imagination of European writers and - journalists, an ardent admirer of Rodin even proposed to build - the tomb of the master under the crypt, where he would have had a - resting-place worthy of a Pharaoh. On each side of the entrance is - a statue representing Morning and Evening, and at the summit of - the column two angels, messengers of God, their hands outstretched - toward the earth with a gesture of exquisite tenderness, shed the - blessings of heaven on the work of man. - - Alas! this noble, stirring project will not be realized during - the life of the artist. Will there some day be another possessed of - the ardor and love of beauty necessary to build this mountain of - stone? - - For a time Rodin's friends hoped that America, the nation of - work par excellence, would seize upon this idea. They pictured - the philanthropists of the New World in characteristic fashion - pouring forth millions for this work of universal art and national - glorification; they saw Rodin being called to the United States, - gathering about him not only American artists, but all the - intelligent forces of the world of culture. They saw the Tower - of Labor, with its angels bestowing their benediction over some - formidable industrial city, New York, Pittsburgh, or Chicago. - This might have been the starting-point for a new era of art, for - nothing is more contagious than the realization of beauty in actual - form. - - Doubtless the writers of France did not discuss the matter - long or forcibly enough, and the Tour de Travail, which might have - been the ardent expression of a whole race, will remain the idea - of a solitary genius, a last offshoot of the masters of the Middle - Ages. - - But if the hour has not yet struck for the construction of - the modern cathedral, at least we possess, thanks to the man who - dreamed of erecting it, the secrets and principles of those who - constructed the cathedrals of bygone days. - - * * * * * - -To acquire a thorough and fruitful understanding of the cathedrals, we -must break away from the narrow and cold spirit of the present day. The -spirit of our time does not harmonize in architecture with the monuments -of the past. - -First let us contemplate the whole. The church is a cliff. The -construction of the slender side springing up is quite in the spirit of -our race. The Gothic towers are stones set up like Druidic monuments. -The church is laid out like a dolmen, and the towers are the menhirs. -Like the menhirs, they have beautiful, flexible lines; they possess the -eloquence of natural outlines, which are never cold or meager. - -The line of the Gothic tower is slightly curved, swelling like that of -a barrel. A straight line is hard and cold. The Greeks perceived that; -they refrained from straight lines, and the columns of their temples -also show a slight swelling. - -The two sides of the Gothic tower are not alike. The architects -considered that preferable to obvious symmetry. Look at the Tour -Saint-Jacques in Paris. One of the sides shows a long, sloping hollow, -making it look quite different from the other, which, again, is like -stones set on high. The hollowed line permits protuberances, details of -ornamentation that soften and harmonize with the line of the ensemble. -It has been restored, and therefore from near at hand seems cold, for -our workmen have lost the science and art of modeling. But the beauty of -the general structure remains; they could not detract from that. - -This softened line, this line full of life, is one of the chief -characteristics of the Gothic. The sky of our northern climates ordained -it so, for the architects of the Middle Ages carved their monuments -out of doors. Once the general plan was established, they easily found -the details while working with their tools, guided by the light and -influenced by natural conditions. - -Our light is not that of Greece. Humanity the world over is akin; but -to what the Greek expressed in a chastened manner, in keeping with his -eternally pure light, we have added the oblique slant of our sun, our -reality, our country, our autumns, the sting of our winters, our less -definite spirit, our remoteness from the glaring Olympian sun; and, last -of all, we have added our trees. - -We also have light, but it is frequently obscured by passing clouds. Is -it not natural that we should reproduce them in our art? And the line, -the abundant line, is more accentuated in the half-night of our long -autumns. Thus we are more in the mood of our woods and our forests. Our -souls have more shadows than the Greek soul, our determinations are more -varied; for our clouds and our forests are reflected in our hearts. - -Artists, let us, then, revert to the interpretation of our race, but in -the spirit, not in the letter. Let us copy only the soul of our external -nature, not its Gothic form, for a mere copy is cold and dead. Beautiful -architecture is a reproduction by man, but from a divine model. From -this it receives the warmth of life. If architecture is true to the -spirit of nature, it is embraced by the trees, the rocks, the clouds; -they are the silent company of beauty. - -O Cathedral! Sphinx of Northern life! although mutilated, are you not -eternal? Do you cease to live? From a distance, and in the evening, when -dusk sets in, you seem truly a great sphinx crouching in the country. - -The drama that unfolds itself on the stone pages of the churches recalls -to us with a very few gestures and movements the silent drama of -antiquity, the sculptures, illustrations of Æschylus and Sophocles. - -From the Greek type, in truth, sprang the thoughts that guide man, and -again from the Egyptian granite; and eventually from the stone of the -Gothic, that Gothic which leads to the period of Louis XVI, and which in -France is always the principal path of art. Other styles were derived -from it, those of the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, and -eighteenth centuries. Their basis is Gothic; therefore the Gothic is the -fundamental style, which ought to keep us from the path of decadence, -if that is possible. You do not understand it? You say you prefer the -Greek? O ye mortals that wish to pass judgment on all matters, take -heed lest these masterpieces prevail against you! The cathedral is as -beautiful, perhaps more beautiful, than the Parthenon. If you do not -understand this style, then you are still further removed from the -Greek, which is of another country and epoch. It is more beautiful, -perhaps more concise, more marble; but we belong more with stone and -forests, we are more autumnal, more of the cold and melancholy season. - - - -THE GOTHIC BUILDERS ARE REALISTS - -Do not let us lose sight of the fact that beneath this poem of stone -there is a foundation of knowledge based on a close and comprehensive -study. - -To-day I understand it. As a result of study, one truth after another -comes to light. At the outset one is lost before these marvels. Where -is one to begin studying? One's thoughts and one's admiration rise like -clouds. The mind makes prodigious leaps to grasp again what it already -knows, to combine it with the recently acquired knowledge, to attempt to -draw conclusions which simplify and generalize the study, and thus to -discern the fundamental law. - -For a long time during my youth I thought, like many others, that Gothic -art was poor. I was so ungrateful during the first enthusiasm of my -liberty! I learned to understand its grandeur only through traveling. -Observation and work led me back to the right road. In the course of my -efforts I have grasped the meaning of the thoughts of the masters. My -persistent work was not futile, and, like one of the Magi, I have at -last come to bow in humble reverence before them. - -A true artist must penetrate the primordial principles of creation; only -by understanding the beautiful does he become inspired, and that not -through a sudden awakening of his sensibilities, but by slow penetration -and perception, by patient love. The mind need not be quick, for slow -progress should imply precaution in every direction. - -The Gothic builders are the greatest observers of nature that have ever -existed, the greatest realists, despite all that professors and critics -say to the contrary. They call them idealists. They say the same of the -Greeks and of all artists whose profound knowledge has enabled them to -borrow their effects and charm from nature. Idealists! That is a term -which signifies nothing and merely confounds cause and effect. - -Builders of the Middle Ages, you independent scholars, models of a -profound intelligence, this is what our age has found as an explanation -of your masterpieces! - -I have devoted my whole life in endeavoring to catch a glimpse of -the rules, the secrets of experience, which you transmitted to one -another, and it is only now, when my days are numbered, that I am at -last grasping the synthesis of beauty. To whom shall I confide the -fruit of my research? Some future genius will gather it. The cathedral -is eternal, rising toward the sky. When we think it has attained its -ultimate height, it rises again higher still, like a mountain of truth. - - - -PLANS AND OPPOSITIONS - -The architects of our churches subordinated detail to arrive at a more -effective whole. That is why our churches are so beautiful when seen -from a distance. They sacrificed everything to the essential, the "plan." - -The plan? Like all synthetic conceptions, this is difficult to define. -It is the space that an object displaces in the atmosphere, its volume. -When an artist is able to determine exactly the space an object occupies -in the atmosphere, be he painter, sculptor, or architect, he possesses -the real science of plans. - -What is detail in a plan? Nothing. The towers of the church at Bruges -are superb in their bareness, while our modern houses, overladen with -detail, are hideous to look upon. Of the two towers of the cathedral at -Chartres, the one is bare, just a huge wall; the other is covered with -ornamentation, and the first is possibly the more beautiful because of -the potency of its plan. What does this force of simplicity express to -us? It is the soul of a nation. A people expresses its nature through -the medium of its architecture. Stones are faithful when we do not -retouch them. They are the signatures of a nation. - -[Illustration: HEADLESS FIGURE.] - -Through the science of plans the great oppositions or contrasts of light -and shadow are obtained. They give life and color to the structure. -According to the position of the sun, the appearance of a building -varies. One part is in the shade, the other in the light, and between -these two is the gradation of shadings. - -The master architects did not set their edifices apart from the -universe; they gave them the benefit of all the phenomena of -nature--dawn and dusk, twilight, cloud effects, haze, and fog. Every -moment of the day adds to or detracts from their effect. - -Sometimes I stand before a cathedral, and it does not seem at all -beautiful. I feel I should like to alter it. Then I revisit it at -another hour and see it in a different lighting. The light strikes it -aslant, the shadows are deeper; the cathedral is absolutely beautiful, -and I feel abashed at my former impatience and critical mistrust. - - - -THE SCIENCE OF EQUILIBRIUM - -These great effects of light and shade, obtained by the plan--effects -simple in their means, yet mysterious in their power of attraction for -us, have strengthened the idea that Gothic art is idealistic. The masses -who see the cathedral dominating the city, with its two slanting roofs -like hands joined at the finger-tips, certainly feel in it the great -idea, the poem. They do not realize that the sentiments aroused in them -by the beauty of the building are wholly due to the science of the plans. - -By means of what principle did the master builders support the weight -of these enormous masses of stone, which yet join lovingly in the -imponderable atmosphere? By obeying the law of equilibrium of the human -body. The human body, standing upright, the feet joined, in equilibrium, -is the basis of the Greek column. Pediments and roof, supported by a -series of these standing bodies, these human columns, that is the Greek -temple. The architecture of the Parthenon reproduces the equilibrium -of the body in a state of rest. In action the body sways; that is to -say, the weight rests on only one leg, while the body inclines to the -opposite side to regain its balance by counterpoise. That is the sway -of Gothic architecture. This sway constitutes the law of motion for the -body of man and animal, ever seeking perfect equilibrium. - -Without this law we could not move; we would be like blocks of stone. -Every motion that we make produces an initial swaying, which an opposing -weight instantaneously balances. Thus without any consciousness on -our part a perpetual balancing is taking place within us, a change as -facile and immediate as the changes which take place in the phenomena -of respiration and circulation. All goes on with the speed, order, and -silence that exist in the domain of electricity. It is a perpetual -prodigy to which we do not even give a thought. - -It is not surprising that the Gothic masters, who copied from all -nature, took from man and animals the charm of balance. - -The ogive (pointed arch) of the cathedral, is achieved by two opposing -thrusts. But the archivolts do not always harmonize with the capitals; -they are not set exactly over them, they are out of the perpendicular. -Two movements of equal force, exactly opposed, cause a stable -equilibrium. Just so the masses of stone are supported by this same -opposition of thrusts. - -The interior of the cathedral is high and vast, broken by large windows -that diminish the resistance and help to support the great weight. It -was necessary to find a way of reëstablishing the equilibrium, lest the -nave break down under its own weight. That is the purpose of the flying -buttresses. Like the arms of giants, they throw their opposing weight -against the exterior walls. - -Some have drawn the conclusion that cathedrals are imperfect, since they -cannot stand without this support. It is a characteristic idea of our -age. Just as though one would reproach the human body for bearing first -on one leg and then on the other. - -These powerful buttresses are wonderfully effective in their contrast -to the lacework of the sculpture. What is more beautiful than Notre -Dame in Paris at night, with its island as its pedestal? It is the huge -skeleton of the France of the Middle Ages which appears to us here. How -attractive the light and shade on the buttresses! Indeed, it took genius -to bring out beauty in that which is in reality only the skeleton of the -edifice, and which could be offensive, were it badly carried out. - - - -THE LACEWORK OF STONE - -The Gothic style exists by virtue of oppositions, contrasts in effects -and in balance. They built huge bare walls, but in the upper heights -ornamentation flourishes and abounds. There the "increase and multiply" -of the Bible has been figuratively carried out. - -Once the basis of construction was established, the masons embellished -the "line" by admirable ornamentation, due to their splendid -workmanship. We should never forget that modeling supplies the -life-blood to the mass; without it we can have neither grace nor power. - -Formerly I did not understand the architecture; I merely saw the -lacework of the Gothic. But even in my conception of that I was -mistaken, for I thought it a caprice of genius. I did not know that it -had a scientific _raison d'être_; namely, to break and soften the line. -Now I see its importance: it rounds off the outlines; it gives them life -and warmth. These statues, these graceful caryatids, propping up the -portals, these copings in the covings, are like vegetation which softens -the rigid summit of a wall. There again we find the Gothic artists as -skilful colorists as the cleverest painters, because they have gained -insight from the vegetation of our country. In our plants, in our trees, -all is light and shadowy, and from them they gained their wonderful -mastery of the art of depth, which brings out the finest shadings of -light, the mellowness of half-tints. To-day we misuse black, the medium -of power. We use it too extensively; we put it everywhere for the sake -of effect, and therefore lose its effect entirely. - -The Gothic is nature transposed and reproduced in stone. To show -admiration for this form of art is to preserve the memory of the -creation. The artist is the confidant of nature. Shakspere says in "King -Lear," we - - ... take upon 's the mystery of things, - As if we were God's spies. - - - -THE NAVE - -A church is spread out like a dolmen between two menhirs. The interior -breathes the solemn calm of a forest, the columns are the trees, the -masses of the base are the rocks, the pointed arches are the massive -roots, the vaultings are the caves, and the windows are radiant flowers -in large bowls. When I emerge from the darkness of a cathedral, I feel -as if I came from the shadow of a vast, extinguished world. - -Without the brightening light of the stained-glass windows, our churches -would be sad. In Spain the gloom is funereal, but the genius of France -has understood how to capture the caressing light through its windows. -The productiveness of the Celtic spirit is also noticeable in the -capitals. Gothic art abandoned Greek ornament, which had been reproduced -so often that it lost all significance. It found its models in the woods -and gardens. From the oak it took its crown of foliage, from the thistle -and cabbage their gracefully drooping leaves, and from the bramble -its intertwined thorns. They made wonderful capitals by reversing the -acanthus, and copying the languid grace of falling blossoms. - -The cathedral of Bourges--the vastness of this church makes me tremble. -One might say there are three churches in its three naves. Grandeur -demands repetition. The superbness of this work of architecture -enforces silence. People attribute their emotion here to religious -sentiment alone, and do not realize that it is due also to the correct -calculations of art. They do not realize that the impressive darkness -of the vast church, its lighting, the wax tapers here, and the -daylight with its brilliancy there, have all been planned beforehand. -The stained-glass windows of Bourges are dazzling, almost terrible, in -their beauty. There are flashes as red as blood, and dashes of blue, a -flame--the wounds of Christ, the funeral pile of Jeanne d'Arc. When the -sun sinks, the bright light will fade away; then we have before us only -the charming effect of bowls of flowers. - -The legends which are told on the stained-glass are good enough to amuse -children; but the glass itself, the splendor of its colors, the extent -to which it harmonizes with the nave--all that is the actual result and -object of profound thought. The Middle Ages put life into everything; -they worshiped life. They drew extensively from nature, wisely realizing -that its source is inexhaustible, while the day of man is fleeting. - - - -THE MOLDING - -The science of plans, balance of volumes, and proportion in the moldings -govern the spirit of Gothic art. Of late I believe I have discovered how -the masters struck upon the beautiful Gothic molding, that undulating -molding which gives so much suppleness to the architecture. I have found -something new in the well-known, and beauty in forms which I did not -understand before. This change is due above all to my work. Having -always studied more intensely, I can say that I have always loved more -ardently. - -I believe the masters of Gothic art got their ideas of molding through -their understanding of the human body, and perhaps above all of the body -of woman. The body, that human column, seen in profile is a line of -projections and protuberances, of the nose, the chin, the breast, the -flank. Thence springs the beautiful undulating line which is the outline -of Gothic molding. For Gothic molding, like the Greek, is soft and -swelling. The "doucine" (a molding, concave above, convex below), a term -of the trade, tender as the name of a woman, well expresses the charm of -the beautiful French molding. - -The proportions of molding exist in nature, but in such form that we -have not yet been able to subject them to rules. It required men of -positive taste, of most profound understanding, to grasp the harmony of -these proportions and to express them in sculpture. One might say the -Gothic architects understood molding by means of their intelligence as -well as by means of their heart. - -By means of the cathedral the artists of the Middle Ages have shown -us the most impressive drama in existence--the mass. The mass has the -grandeur of the antique drama. Greek tragedies are in fact only a form -of the mass. The human mind starts afresh at different epochs. When the -priest officiates, his gestures have the beauty of the antique, and this -beauty merges into that of the church music, that sublime tongue, the -voice of the sea. Then, when the crowds prostrate themselves, when they -arise simultaneously, the undulation of their bending bodies is like the -waves of the ocean. Truly the Gothic master builders were the familiar -friends of the sublime. From what source did these men spring! From what -minds did those ideas arise! God has shared his power with some of his -sons. - - - - -VI - -ART AND NATURE - - -Criticizing nature is as stupid as criticizing the cathedrals. It is the -vice of our cold and petty age to criticize. It is the evil of decadent -races. We are constantly being told that we live in an age of progress, -an age of civilization. That is perhaps true from the point of view of -science and mechanics; from the point of view of art it is wholly false. - -Does science give happiness? I am not aware of it; and as to mechanics, -they lower the common intelligence. Mechanics replace the work of the -human mind with the work of a machine. That is the death of art. It is -that which has destroyed the pleasure of the inner life, the grace of -that which we call industrial art--the art of the furniture-maker, the -tapestry-worker, the goldsmith. It overwhelms the world with uniformity. -Once artisans created; to-day they manufacture. Once they rejoiced in -the pleasure of making a work of art; to-day the workman is so bored in -his shop that he has invented sabotage and has made alcoholism general. - -The sight of a modern monument throws one into melancholy even while -an ancient one has not ceased to enrapture. I visit a small city, and, -losing my train, am obliged to wait for the next one. I take a walk -about the ancient church, a delicious thing, very simple, but with its -Gothic ornaments placed with taste, in a delicate relief that, in the -light, provides an enchantment for my friendly glances. In the little -nave, which invites to calm, to thought,--thought as soft and composed -as the light shadows that move slowly across the pillars,--I settle -myself. Ah, I come away charmed. If I had waited in the station, I would -have been wearied to death, and would have returned home fatigued and -discontented. As it is, I have gained something--the beautiful counsels -of moderation and the fine charm of a monument of former days. - -Art alone gives happiness. And I call art the study of nature, the -perpetual communion with her through the spirit of analysis. - -He who knows how to see and feel may find everywhere and always things -to admire. He who knows how to see and feel is preserved from ennui, -that _bête noire_ of modern society. He who sees and feels deeply never -lacks the desire to express his feelings, to be an artist. Is not nature -the source of all beauty? Is she not the only creator? It is only by -drawing near to her that the artist can bring back to us all that she -has revealed to him. - -When one says this, the public thinks it a commonplace. All the world -believes that it knows that; but it knows it only in seeming, the truth -penetrates only the superficial shell of its intelligence. There are -so many degrees in real comprehension! Comprehension is like a divine -ladder. Only he who has reached the top rounds has a view of the world. -The public is astonished or shocked when some one goes against its -preconceived notions, against the prejudices of a badly interpreted or -degenerate tradition. Words are nothing; the deed alone counts. It is -not by reading manuals of esthetics, but by leaning on nature herself -that the artist discovers and expresses beauty. - -Alas! we are not prepared to see and to feel. Our sorry education, far -from cultivating in us the feeling for enthusiasm, makes us in our -youth little pedants who without result overwhelm ourselves and others -with our pretensions. Those who too late, by long efforts, escape this -demon of folly arrive only after that education has fatally sapped their -strength and has destroyed the flower of enthusiasm that God had planted -in them as a sign of His paradise. People without enthusiasm are like -men who carry their flags pointed down to the ground instead of proudly -above their heads. - -Constantly I hear: "What an ugly age! That woman is plain. That dog is -horrible." It is neither the age nor the woman nor the dog which is -ugly, but your eyes, which do not understand. One generally disparages -the things that are above one's comprehension. Disparagement is the -child of ignorance. As soon as you discover that, you enter into the -circle of joy. - -[Illustration: RODIN'S HOUSE AND STUDIO AT MEUDON.] - -Man, animals, down to the smallest insects, down to the infinitesimal; -the earth, the waters, the woods, the sky--all are marvelous. The -firmament is the vastest landscape, the most profound, the most -enchanting, with its variations, its effects of color and light, which -delight the eye, astonish the thought, and subjugate the heart. And -to say that artists--those who consider themselves such--attempt to -represent all that simply as it appears to them, without having studied -it, without having deciphered it, without having felt it! I pity them. -They are prisoners, slaves of stupidity. - -I was like them in the first periods of my perverted youth, but I have -delivered myself. I have regained the liberty to approach the things -that I love by the pathway of true study. Who follows me on the road? -Who can learn it from a study of sculpture and design in books? You who -have caught a glimpse of the splendor of that tree, of that giant whose -magnificent column has been denuded by autumn of its leafy capital, -but which is perhaps more beautiful in the nudity of its members; -you who admire the structure of its branches and twigs, etched in an -infinitude of forms against the sky, where they resemble the lacework -of the windows of our churches, would you not understand far better that -beauty, would not your pleasure be far more complete, if you sketched -that tree not only in the mass, but in the innumerable details of its -framework? And to think that the schools recommend to pupils, painters, -and sculptors research on the subject! The subject! The subject does -not exist in that--the poor little arrangement that you, one and all, -summon up while poring over the same anecdotes, the same conventional -attitudes. The human imagination is narrow, and you do not see the -hundred thousand motives of art that multiply themselves under your eye. -I could pass my whole life in the garden where I walk without exhausting -them. - -The subject is everywhere. Every manifestation of nature is a subject. -Artists, pause here! Sketch these flowers; writers, describe them for -me, not in the mass, as has always been done, but in minute detail, -in the marvelous precision of their organs, in their characteristics, -which are as varied as are those of animals and men. How beautiful to -be in the same moment an artist and a botanist, to paint and model the -plant at the same time that one studied it! Those great realists, the -Japanese, understand this, and make the knowledge and cultivation of -plants one of the bases of their education. - -We place love and sensual pleasure in the same category. Undoubtedly -it is nature herself who has led is astray in this by the instinct to -perpetuate ourselves, in youth this instinct is like an overflowing -river; it sweeps away everything, yet pleasure is everywhere about -us. I imbibe it in the forms of the clouds that build their majestic -architecture in the sky, in the rapture of this woman who holds her -child in her arms, an attitude divine, so beautiful indeed, that the -poet of the Gospels has deified it. It is the attitude of the Virgin. I -imbibe it in the atmosphere which bathes me now, and will still continue -to bless me, bringing me peace, rest, and health. - -For that which is beautiful in a landscape is that which is beautiful in -architecture--the air, space. No one in these days realizes its depth. -It is this quality of depth that carries the soul where it wishes to go. -In a well-constructed monument that which enraptures us is the science -of its depths. The throngs in the churches attribute their emotion -to mysticism, to the transport of the soul toward divinity. They are -unaware that they owe their emotion to the exact knowledge of great -planes possessed by the architects of former days. Even upon the most -ignorant beholder they impose this. Man disregards that which he already -has, and longs for something else. He longs for swiftness, to have wings -like a bird. He does not know that he already enjoys this pleasure of -moving through space. He rejoices in it in his soul, which takes wing -and goes where it pleases, through the sky, on the waters, to the depths -of the forests. - -All the misfortune here below arises from a lack of comprehension. We -classify our limited knowledge in narrow systems, like the card-systems -of an office, and these pitiful conventions we take seriously. They -teach us disconnected things, and we leave them disconnected. Those who -have a little patience assemble these isolated facts; but such patient -ones are rare, and nothing is so unbearable as that man who, not having -it, speaks ill of him who has a sense of the truth. To see accurately is -the secret of good design. Objects dart at one another, unite, and throw -light on one another, explain themselves. That is life; a marvelous -beauty covers all things like a garment, like an ægis. - -God created the great laws of opposition, of equilibrium. Good and evil -are brothers, but we desire the good, which pleases us, and not the -evil, which seems to us error. When we consider matters from a distance, -does not evil often seem good, and good, evil? That is only because we -have judged without proper consideration. Just as white and black are -necessary in a drawing, so good and evil are necessary in life. Sorrow -ought not to be cast out. As long as we live it is as strong a part of -life as radiant joy. Without it we would be very ill trained. - -To comprehend nature it is of importance that we never substitute -ourselves for it. The corrections that a man imposes upon himself are a -mass of mistakes. The tiger has claws and teeth and uses them skilfully; -man at times shows himself inferior. Possessing intelligence, too -often he strives to turn to that. Animals respect everything and touch -nothing. The dog loves his master, and has no thought of criticizing -him. The average man does not care that his daughter should be -beautiful. He has in his mind certain ideas of manner and instruction, -and the beauty of his daughter does not enter into the program that he -has made. But the daughter herself feels the influence of nature, and -displays her modest and triumphant movements, which this blind one does -not see, but which fascinate the artist. - -The artist who tells us of his ideal commits the same error that this -average man commits. His ideal is false, in the name of this ideal he -pretends to rectify his model, retouching a profound organism which -admirably combined laws regulate. Through his so-called corrections he -destroys the ensemble; he composes a mosaic instead of creating a work -of art; the faults of his model do not exist. If we correct that which -we call a fault, we simply present something in the place of that which -nature has presented. We destroy the equilibrium; the rectified part is -always that which is necessary to the harmony of the whole. There is -nothing paradoxical here, because a law that is all-powerful keeps the -harmony of opposites. That is the law of life. Everything, therefore, is -good, but we discover this only when our thought acquires power; that -is to say, when it attaches itself indissolubly to nature, for then it -becomes part of a great whole, a part of united and complex forces. -Otherwise it is a miserable, debased, detached part contending with a -whole that is formed of innumerable units. - -Nature, therefore, is the only guide that it is necessary to follow. She -gives us the truth of an impression because she gives us that of its -forms, and if we copy this with sincerity, she points out the means of -uniting these forms and expressing them. - -Sincerity, conscience--these are the true bases of thought in the work -of an artist; but whenever the artist attains to a certain facility of -expression, too often he is wont to replace conscience with skill. The -reign of skill is the ruin of art. It is organized falsehood. Sincerity -with one fault, indeed with many faults, still preserves its integrity. -The facility that believes that it has no faults has them all. The -primitives, who ignored the laws of perspective, nevertheless created -great works of art because they brought to them absolute sincerity. Look -at this Persian miniature, the admirable reverence of this illuminator -for the form of these plants and animals, and the attitudes of these -persons which he has forced himself to render just as he saw them. How -eagerly has he painted that, this man who loved it all! Do you tell me -that his work is bad because he is ignorant of the laws of perspective? -And the great French primitives and the Roman architects and sculptors! -Has it not been repeatedly said that their style is a barbaric style? On -the contrary, it has a formidable beauty. It breathes the sacred awe of -those who have been impressed by the great works of nature herself. It -offers us the strongest proof that these men had made themselves part of -life and also a part of its mystery. - -To express life it is necessary to desire to express it. The art of -statuary is made up of conscience, precision, and will. If I had not had -tenacity of purpose, I should not have produced my work. If I had ceased -to make my researches, the book of nature would have been for me a dead -letter, or at least it would have withheld from me its meaning. Now, on -the contrary, it is a book that is constantly renewed, and I go to it, -knowing well that I have only spelled out certain pages. In art to admit -only that which one comprehends leads to impotence. Nature remains full -of unknown forces. - -As for me, I have certainly lost some time through the fault of my -period. I should have been able to learn much more than I have grasped -with so much slowness and circumlocution; but I should not have tasted -less happiness through that highest form of loss; that is, work. And -when my hour shall come, I shall dwell in nature, and shall regret -nothing. - - - -THE ANTIQUE--THE GREEKS - -If the artists of antiquity are the greatest of all it is because they -approached most closely to Nature. - -They studied it with magnificent sincerity and copied it with all -their intelligence. They never wasted their time in trying to invent -something. To invent, to create, these are words that mean nothing. They -contented themselves with rendering the adorable model that enchanted -their eyes. This love and this respect for creation has never since -their time been surpassed. They did not copy literally what they saw; -to a certain degree they interpreted the character of forms. The aim of -art is not to copy literally. It consists in slightly exaggerating the -character of the model in order to make it salient; it consists also in -reassembling in a single expression the successive expressions given by -the same model. Art is the living synthesis. - -This is what the ancients did, with what taste, what incomparable -science! From this science that respected unity their works derived -their calm, contained force, the sentiment of grand serenity, the -atmosphere of peace that envelops them. The ignorant and the professors -of esthetics who do not know the source of all this have named it Greek -idealism. This is nothing but a word that serves to conceal a want -of understanding. There is no idealism in the ancients; there is an -exercise of choice, a marvelous taste; but it is by the most realistic -means that they render human beauty. - -[Illustration: THE TEMPEST.] - -We others, we moderns, are carried away by the restlessness of the -epoch; we are superficial, we only regard things cursorily, and we have -concluded from this sublime simplicity that Greek art is cold. To us -indeed it seems very cold. It is really warm. To it alone belongs in -this respect the quality of life, reality in forms, and precision in -movement. It is through this that it attains perfect equilibrium. But -that is beyond our little spirit of detail. We seek nothing but detail; -the Greek, for his part, saw nothing but the whole; that is to say, the -equilibrium, the harmony. - - - -THE RICHNESS OF THE ANTIQUE LIES IN MODELING - -The value of the antique springs from _ronde-bosse_. It possesses in a -supreme degree the art of relief. How can the critics and the professors -explain this, being what they are? They do not belong to the trade. Art -should not be taught except by those who practise it. - -Observe any fragments of Greek sculpture: a piece of an arm, a hand. -What you call the idea, the subject, no longer exists here, but is not -all this debris none the less admirably beautiful? In what does this -beauty consist? Solely in the modeling. Observe it closely, touch it; do -you not feel the precision of this modeling, firm yet elastic, in flux -like life itself? It is full, it is like a fruit. All the eloquence of -this sculpture comes from that. - -What is modeling? The very principle of creation. It is the -juxtaposition of the innumerable reliefs and depressions that constitute -every fragment of matter, inert or animated. Modeling creates the -essential texture, supple, living, embracing every plante. It fills, -coördinates, and harmonizes them. It penetrates everything, it animates -everything, as well the depths as the surfaces. It comprises the minute -as well as the immense. Mountain, horse, flower, woman, insect equally -owe to it their form. When God created the world, it is of modeling He -must have thought first of all. If you consider a hand, you notice its -contours and the character of the whole. But the eye of the artist, -that eye, sees more: it sees the infinite assemblage of projections and -depressions forming a texture more closely knit, more exactly blended -than the most perfect mosaic. It is this that he seeks to render; this -that he translates, if he is a sculptor, by the science of depression -and relief, if he is a draughtsman or painter by that of light and -shadow. For light serves, in conformity with depressions and reliefs, -to give the eye the same sensation that the hand receives from touch: -Titian is just as great a modeler as Donatello. - -To-day the sense of _ronde-bosse_ is completely lost, not only -in Europe, but among the peoples of the Orient. It is the age of -the _flat_. No one knows anything about it. Men love what they do -themselves, until they are made to see that it is not beautiful; but it -takes years and years for this to penetrate into their consciousness. In -the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries China and Japan still produced -charming works. In ancient times their art was very great; it approached -the Greek. At the exposition of 1900, we were enabled to see antique -Japanese statues, superb nudes nearly as fine as those of Greece. In our -time the pest of flatness has contaminated the Asiatic races as well as -the European: decadence is universal. - -We are so far removed from antique beauty that when we photograph the -works of the ancients we take them in the spirit of our own taste, -which is that of low-relief; we take from them that flower of beautiful -modeling, their richness, their crowning grace. When I say low-relief, -I do not use this term exactly; it is only that I know no other means -of expressing the modern evil of uniformity; but I know that good -low-relief is as full and as fruit-like as sculpture in the round, that -it is sculpture in the round itself, as in the friezes of the Parthenon, -as in our buildings of the Renaissance and of the seventeenth century. - -The great concern of my life is the struggle I have maintained to escape -from the general flatness. All the success of my sculpture comes from -that. Although it has little enough taste, the public, despite all, is -tired to death of this flatness. The charm of _ronde-bosse_ is so great -that it captivates the ignorant even without their knowing it. - - - -RONDE-BOSSE AND CHIAROSCURO - -Observe this little torso of a woman; it is a little Venus. It is -broken; it has no longer a head, arms, legs, yet I never weary of -contemplating it; each day, each hour for me adds to this masterpiece -because I only understand it better. What could it say to our -indifferent glance? For me it has the ineffable voluptuousness of -softly maturing flesh. The effect lies in no part and in every part. -It is perfection. This little childish body, has it not all the charm -of woman? It does not catch the light, the light catches it, glancing -over it lightly; without any effect of roughness, any dark shadow. Here -shadow can no longer be called shadow but only the decline of light. -She does not become dark, she grows pale in imperceptible depressions, -in delicious undulations. She is indivisible; she is whole or -incomplete, but her unity is not disturbed. And this passage that joins -the abdomen to the thighs, this little declivity of graces, this valley -of love! Everything is full of the calm, the lightness, the serenity -of pure beauty in the perfect confidence of nature. The ideal that you -imagine you find in a gesture, in a momentary attitude, is here; it is -here because of the infinite love of the flesh, of the human fruit. What -you call the ideal is nothing but the perfume of beautiful modeling. -What more could you ask? - -When I look at this marble in the evening by candle-light, how the -wonder deepens! If those who have been telling us for a hundred years -that Greek art is cold studied it with care, could they for one hour -maintain this absurdity? This sculpture, on the contrary, is of an -extraordinary living complexity, which the flame reveals; the whole -surface is nothing but depressions and reliefs, but united, melted -together in the great, harmonious force of the _ensemble_. I turn the -little torso about under the caressing rays of the light. There is not -a fault, not a weakness, not a dead spot; it is the very continuity -of life, its intoxicating voluptuousness hidden in the bosom of the -molecule. - -Why should such artists have sought to create an abstract Beauty by -the idealization of forms? These men of genius loved Nature too well to -presume to correct her. They knew well that despite their genius, they -still remained beneath her. Nothing can surpass the marvel of creation. -The conception of an idealistic art comes from the Academy. Before the -purity of the antique forms people used to believe that the beauty lay -solely in the exterior profiles. It is really beautiful because of -the interior modeling. And still we make this distinction between the -profiles and the modeling, thanks to our mania for dividing things; but -we know that the one is inseparable from the other; the surfaces are -nothing but the extremities of volumes, the boundaries of the mass. - -All the sculpture of the period of Louis-Philippe was imitated from the -antique, but only by means of the exterior profiles. If it had been -practised by true modelers, by geometrical minds, it would have been -as beautiful as its original. What pleased people in that epoch, what -pleases people in ours, is not at all the antique; it is the fashion -in which we see it. It was the Renaissance that really understood the -Greek. It created works exactly the same in feeling, though somewhat -different in arrangement and general color. For color does not exist -in painting alone. Its rôle is equally great in sculpture. To-day this -color is bad; it fails to obtain the chiaroscuro which derives from -_ronde-bosse_. Good sculpture owes to chiaroscuro clarity, unity, charm, -even, I might say, the voluptuousness of breathing flesh. Shadow, at -once luminous and mysterious, models the fulness of the body in the -exuberance of health; it makes one understand abundance, solidity. In -the art of the Renaissance and the eighteenth century shadow is always -supple and warm as in Greek art; it has the tender coloring of the -vegetation of our country, the sweetness of which our great artists have -captured. The chiaroscuro of the antique consists of the density and -depth of light falling over the entire modeling. Chiaroscuro penetrates -to every plane and renders the reality of them; it is reality itself. -This is because the antique and nature are part and parcel of the same -mystery, the infinitely harmonious mystery of force in suspense. The -great artists compose as nature itself operates. - -Undoubtedly the Greeks possessed certain methods which they handed down -from master to pupil, as has been the case in all artistic epochs. They -had celebrated ateliers, schools, where they taught their principles. -By the fifth century they had established a canon of the human body; -but they never made use of it without consulting the model. As for us, -we have imagined that we could use it like a magic formula. It is not -the formula that makes the art; it is the experience of the artist -that creates the formula. If we abandon nature for a rule, if we do -not constantly vivify the one by means of the other, we soon speak a -language that means nothing. - -One cannot repeat this enough: the ancients are realists; they work in -_ronde-bosse_. This explanation seems commonplace and even vulgar; it is -the whole truth. It can be understood by the humblest artisan, provided -only that he knows his trade. But it is as difficult to get it into the -heads of people to-day as it is to restore faith in a man who has lost -it. - - - -ROME AND ROMAN ART - -What I have said of Greek art applies equally well to Roman. Another -opinion has been adopted by critics and the world in general: the Roman -is less beautiful than the Greek. It is less beautiful perhaps, by a -certain shade, a shade which those who speak of it are incapable of -appreciating. It is a little less substantial, but it is superb. It is -Greek, with a different character, a certain ruggedness, and more! The -Maison Carrée at Nîmes, that little temple, the flower of austerity, the -smile of the race as sweet as the smile of Greece; the Pont du Gard, -that heroic masterpiece, that giant which bestrides the country, which -imposes the power of Rome on the peaceful landscape, these are what they -criticize! - -Rome is magnificent. We say it, but we do not believe it; otherwise it -would not be despoiled. No, in Rome itself, they have no idea of the -beauty of Rome. Where are there artists great enough to appreciate you, -severe genius, splendid city, daughter of the she-wolf? Your genius -they pillage every day. They destroy its proportion, and that is to -strike at the foundation of the master work. Proportion is the law of -architecture. ... In the very midst of the ancient city they are setting -up atrocious monuments, enormous or too petty. - -In Rome, as in Athens, as in the France of Gothic art, the architect of -old planned the monument in relation to the landscape; he harmonized it -with the outline of the mountains, with the expanse of the surrounding -country-side; he determined its proportions according to its environment. - -The architect of to-day plans out his monument in his own study on a -piece of paper and produces it ready-made. Whether this mass of stone -obliterates the buildings that surround it or whether, on the other -hand, it turns out a miserable little contrivance in the midst of great -works of the past matters little to him: he does not see it. - -The French Academy sends students to work in Rome. But they get nothing -from Rome, they can get nothing; they come there with a spirit entirely -opposed to it. At a time when I did not know the city I heard the bridge -of Sant' Angelo spoken ill of and fun made of the contorted angels; -but they are all very well in their place; they are needed there; -there is enough repose elsewhere. Bernini, so often sneered at, is as -beautiful as Michelangelo, although he is not so fine. It is he who made -the Rome of the seventeenth century. They do not know that the Appian -Way is sublime. It will disappear one of these days. These things are -awaiting their condemnation. They are constructing quays like ours. If -they do not put a stop to it, Rome will be destroyed. Those who have -not seen cities such as this was in the nineteenth century will not -understand anything. I have said as much to my Italian friends, who -appeared greatly astonished; for nobody makes these reflections which -come to me constantly in my studies. They consider me a gloomy fellow, a -misanthrope. Gloomy, yes; for it is painful to live in a decadent epoch; -but I have no _parti-pris_; I only wish to try to arrest the general -massacre. In France, as everywhere, we commit exactly the same faults. -We destroy our monuments by surrounding them with great open spaces; -we have ruined the effect of Notre Dame, on the side of the parvis. At -Brussels, in the Musée du Cinquantenaire, they have set up a model of -the Parthenon; but they have placed it in the midst of enormous objects -that annihilate it. We have come to that! We have killed the Parthenon! -Barbarism could go no further. We live in a barbarous age. There is no -doubt about that! People cry out that we must create schools for people -to learn art; we bungle the most beautiful of all schools--the Museum. - - - -FOR AMERICA - -These things ought to be said again and again to the point of satiety, -if we wish to save any remnants. Coming from me, whose opinions carry -some weight, they are repeated when I am no longer on the spot. People -feel the justice of them, the shaft goes home. A few who are more -ardent than the rest propagate them and stir up a current of opinion -that may lead to reform. There is no reason therefore to fear repeating -them in America, where also people have fallen into the general error. -American artists have followed our teaching, altogether in a bad sense. -Notwithstanding that in taking their point of departure they could have -escaped into the good epochs of art, they have saddled themselves with -the poverty of modern taste. - -Let them return to the school of the past; above all, let them return to -nature; it is as beautiful with them as elsewhere. The mountains, the -trees, the vegetation, the men and women of their own country--these -should be their masters in architecture and sculpture. America is full -of will. It desires to be a great nation. It stops at no expense in -order to obtain instruction; it creates immense universities, libraries, -museums. It pours into them streams of money. The favor with which my -work has been received there is the sign of a movement toward truth in -art; they are developing an affection for this naturalistic school which -borrows from life its charm and its variety. But all this will be as -nothing unless America creates work of its own; unless it breaks with -the old errors of the nations of Europe in order to find the path of -true science. - -[Illustration: THE VILLAGE FIANCÉE.] - - - - -VII - -THE GOTHIC GENIUS - -To THE RENAISSANCE AND THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY - -NOTRE-DAME - - -NOTRE DAME--Notre Dame de Paris--more splendid than ever in the -half-light of this winter day. The veils of the atmosphere redress the -evils that modern restorations have done to this monument; the folds of -the mist soften the sharpness of the retouched outlines: the elements -are more respectful to this masterpiece than are men. - -I come upon it at the turn of the bridge. At once I drop out of this -industrial epoch of ours, so poor despite its love of money; my -sculptor's soul escapes from its exile. - -The Gothic sphinx rises before me. The strength of its beauty overwhelms -me. I struggle against it and I am broken by it. Then it attracts me -anew with its sweetness; it exalts me. My spirit makes the ascent of -this sculptured mountain. What power in these motionless stones to -create the sense of movement in the mind! What makes this possible? -The mason of genius; the science of oppositions. That whole effect of -power--he has put it in the thickness of the foundations, the enormous -walls, the buttresses. They are as formidable as the tiers of a dike, -as a breakwater planted in the sea. One would say that this church was -built to combat the forces of nature: the temple of peace and love has -the air of a fortress. - -One's spirit is weighed down by the bareness of the stone, but stirred -by the height of the structure and the towers; it soars toward them -as toward a world that reassures it; the hard material has become -humanized; the genius of man is at play there amid the lacework of -stone. He has placed there angels, saints, animals, fruits, flowers, all -the gifts of the seasons; it is life in its entirety such as the Creator -in His infinite munificence has bestowed upon him. The Gothic artist -knows that paradise is on earth; he has no need to invent another. The -childish and monotonous heaven presented to us in our legends is nothing -but a poor copy of the marvels of our life. - -Let us enter. I tremble. The beauty is terrible. I am plunged into -night, a living night in which I do not know what mysteries are being -enacted--the cruel mysteries of the ancient religions? There are -shimmering rays from the long windows, the rose windows. Hope enters my -heart: there is light here, then? I am no longer alone. - -My eyes grow accustomed to this populous obscurity. There is a world -about me, a world of columns. It seems terrible, it _is_ terrible -because of its power, but this power has its _raison d'être_. It -seems frightening to me but it is only necessary. It is distributed -power; therefore it is beneficent. It holds the vault in the air, the -prodigious weight of stone that it maintains aloft, above my head, as -lightly as the canvas of a tent. Marvel of equilibrium, calculation of -the intelligence, how is it possible not to adore you? It is you that -one comes here to worship under the name of God. - -The darkness grows lighter; it becomes chiaroscuro. We are in a picture -by Rembrandt, that great Gothic of the sixteenth century. The forest -of pillars divides the nave into spaces of shadow and light. It is the -order of nature which knows nothing of disorder. This I rediscover with -joy: the eye does not love chaos. - -I familiarize myself with the people of the columns. I recognize them: -they are Romans. It is the Roman, the Romance, hardly altered, that -comes to receive the Gothic arch. The immense nave which I thought a -forest full of hidden dangers I see, I understand, I read like a sacred -book. The mystery is not that of cruelty; it is only that of beauty. It -grows lighter gradually in order to allow the spirit to approach slowly -the joy of a perfect interior. This solemnity of the nave, this immense -void, is like the bed of a great river; the columns range themselves -respectfully on each side in order to give free passage to the flood of -human piety. It flows like a majestic river; it bears onward toward the -tabernacle, about which it spreads itself like a lake of love under the -rays of the thought of God. Amid the stones the architect has known how -to play the part of the apostle: he has created faith. Art and religion -are the same thing; they are love. - - - -SAINT-EUSTACHE - -It is the interior of this church that should be admired. Here I do -not experience the same commotion of the spirit as in Notre Dame. I am -bathed in the fine light of the sixteenth century. At Notre Dame it -was the shadow of Rembrandt; here, it is the clear tonality of French -painting, of a Clouët. Admirable is the _élan_ of this Renaissance -nave; it is as bold as, and even perhaps bolder than that of the Gothic -buildings. It proceeds on the same plan. The skyward lift is only to -be found in the Gothic; it is of the very spirit of the race. Are the -vaults round and no longer pointed? What does it matter if they are -equally elegant, if they have the same aërial grace as the ogive? - -What I rediscover in Saint-Eustache, less austere than its grand sister -of the Middle Age, but with a sweetness which is itself noble, is -the determination of the architect to subordinate everything to the -effect of simplicity, to the total effect. On each side of the nave -the columns cutting the side wall are disposed fanwise in order to -hide the light of the lateral windows. One sees nothing but the stone, -and yet there is no effect of heaviness; one could not make anything -lighter. This is because the color of the stone is admirably varied by -the diversity of the flutings that line the columns. The main fluting -marks the outline, and the others, less emphatic, shading off, give it -a velvet-like quality. The light throws a golden haze between the great -columns, among the deep gorges, and is, on the other hand, channeled, -streaked by the little nerves that impel it upward toward the vaults. -By this effect of lightness the building seems to rise; it is an -assumption. It is no longer the forest of trees that one finds here, -but the forest of creepers. These vertiginous columns are like fine, -delicate vines. Above the altar the great lights of the windows, with -their beautiful glass, harmonize well with the general color. The light, -at once abundant and restrained, has the coolness which the Renaissance -recaptured from Greece. This church welcomes one as with an immense -smile; it has the sweetness of Christ holding out his hands: "Suffer the -little children to come unto me." Intelligence has planned it, but it is -the heart that has modeled it. - -If we enter Saint-Eustache at nightfall, we could almost believe -ourselves in a Gothic building. The Renaissance did not bring about such -profound transformations in architecture as people think. There is a -heavy Italian Renaissance element that is altogether alien to us; but -in the true French Renaissance the Celtic taste was not betrayed: it -was modified with a certain grace and elegance. Grace is an aspect of -strength. A nation no more escapes from its racial quality than a man -from his temperament. The Celtic mingled with the Roman produced the -Romance, out of which the Gothic sprang directly--the Romance, that is -to say, the Roman which has passed through the spirit of the Franks. It -has the severity, the Roman qualities, united with the imagination of -the Barbarians, since we have agreed so to call them. The Romance of the -second epoch has already sprung forth; it rises during the eleventh and -twelfth centuries and goes to make the Gothic. The Gothic elevates and -magnifies the Romance. It detaches the buttresses, even to the point of -separating them from the walls, in order to carry them further out to -sustain the height of the nave. - -As for the Renaissance, it continues the Gothic. We could not have a -more striking example of this than just here in Saint-Eustache. Here -are the same lines, the same idea, with a different ornamentation. -It is the same body, clothed in a new way. It is another age of the -Gothic; sweeter, less powerful, the final florescence of the French -genius, which, despite the adorable eighteenth century, follows a -descending path down to the first restoration. Contrary to what has -been thought and taught for so long, the Renaissance already marks -a stage of decadence. The most beautiful epoch in architecture and -sculpture is the Middle Age, an age as beautiful as, perhaps more -beautiful than, the great age of Greece, and almost universally despised -by our nineteenth century, the century of criticism and pretension, the -century of ignorance. Yes, with the Renaissance things begin to give -way. And yet to say that is almost a sacrilege! It is as if one struck -one's father! Our ravishing Gothic of the sixteenth century has charmed -France with its masterpieces; it has made artists cherish a whole -country, the sweet country of the Loire. Despite its misalliance with -the Italian Renaissance, it stood firm, it did not bend; it remained the -grand French style. Witness the Louvre with its high pavilions; that -sprang, that too, from the Gothic vein; the sculptors of the Renaissance -decorated it less severely, but the general aspect remains the same. - -The Gothic under different names has been the main path of our genius -during five hundred years. It has been the blessing of France; it was -its active principle down to 1820. If we wish to return to art it will -only be through comparative study--the comparison with nature of our -national style. The beautiful lines are eternal. Why are they used so -little? - - - -CONCERNING COLOR IN SCULPTURE - -The true difference between the Gothic and the Renaissance does not lie -in the structure of the building but in the quality of the sculpture and -in its color. - -What is meant by color in sculpture and in architecture? It is the law -of light and shade, the great law of oppositions which constitutes -the charm of nature, the beauty of a landscape at dawn, its splendor -at sunset. The color springs from the quality of the modeling; it is -the relief which gives the light tones and, by contrast, the dark, -in the parts that do not stand out. The ensemble of the intermediary -diminutions of light and shade produces the general coloring, whose -nuances can be infinitely varied according to the skill of the artist. -Modeling is the only way in which to express life; and there is only one -thing that counts in sculpture and in architecture--the expression of -life. A beautiful statue, a well-made monument, live like living beings; -they seem different according to the day and the hour. How beautiful it -is to give to stone, through nothing but the values of planes, through -the handling of shadow and light, the same charm of color as that of -living nature, of the flesh of a woman. In the plastic arts, the color -betrays the quality of the planes as a beautiful complexion reveals -health in a human being. - -The antique has shorter planes than the Gothic; it lacks therefore -those deep shadows that give to the Gothic such a tormented and tragic -aspect. The Greek balances the framework of the human body on four -planes, the Gothic on two only. The latter produces a stronger effect, -a more _hollowed_ effect, that _effet de console_ which is essentially -Gothic. Nevertheless, the shadow that results from it is more sustained -than in the antique and nothing could be softer or more full of nuances. - -The Roman presents an abundance of dark shadows which, in turn, create -an effect of heaviness and density. The Greek puts in just enough of -them to quicken the general coloring. The Roman gives a flatter effect, -which shows nevertheless a magnificent vigor. As for us, we copy these -styles endlessly without understanding them, for if we did understand -them we should do quite otherwise. We abuse the black, the powerful -lines, we put them everywhere; we do not know how to shade light. That -is why our sculpture is so poor, why our monuments appear so hard, so -dry. The Bourse, the Corps Législatif, might be made of iron with their -columns set against a uniform background which prevents the light and -air from circulating about them and enveloping them and destroys the -atmosphere. This is what people call a simple style. It is not simple, -it is cold. The simple is the perfect, coldness is impotence. - -The Renaissance recaptured the antique measure and imposed its generous -color upon the Gothic plane. It used less shadow than our sculptors of -the Middle Ages; it diminished the reliefs. The effect in consequence -was lighter. This was because the Renaissance was enchanted by all the -Greek statues that were discovered at this period; and in its enthusiasm -it recreated Greek art, not by copying it, but by copying nature -according to antique principles. It is perhaps a little less beautiful -but it has quite the same feeling of gentle strength, of delicacy. One -feels the joy of the artist who throws himself against the problem of -the nude in the open air. Till then statues had been draped, but under -the draperies was concealed a carefully studied nude. In the Renaissance -the drapery was dropped: the nymphs of Jean Goujon, of Germain Pilon--I -recognize them; these long bodies of women, these undulating bodies, are -Gothic statues unclothed and set in another light. Our whole sixteenth -century is a song of grace rising from the Gothic heart to the art of -the Parthenon. - -But nowhere than in the country of the Loire is there Renaissance art -more gentle and amply luminous. This is the Greek part of France. The -tranquil river touched the heart of our architects and bestowed on them -some of its calm and smiling majesty. From it, from the air impregnated -with its vapors, came those châteaux so happy in their beauty and those -lovable cottages; for the artist worked as beautifully for peasants as -for kings. Before Ussé, before Chenonceaux, Blois, Azay-le-Rideau, I am -not in the presence of dead things but of a living spirit, the spirit of -divine beauty that animated equally the antique and the Gothic. Charming -sixteenth century France, it is you who have forced me to the study of -chiaroscuro. Formerly I tried my best to understand your motives, your -thousand nerves, but the general law escaped me. I did not see your -soul, which consists entirely in the voluptuous shadings of light; I did -not perceive your principle, the modeling which impressed movement upon -everything and gave the movement life. - - - -THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY - -The eighteenth century is the exaggeration of the sixteenth. Our elegant -houses, our houses in the style of Louis XV and Louis XVI have always -the Gothic line with its proud, graceful air. Without moldings, without -ornaments, their beauty lies in their very lack of ornaments, in their -nudity. But what proportions they have! The finest of the fine! - -The eighteenth century is considered too frail, too affected. It is, -on the contrary, full of life and strength. It possesses admirable -sculptors: Pigalle, creator of that immortal masterpiece, the tomb of -Marshal Saxe; Houdon, whose busts to-day are bought for their weight in -gold without even then bringing their proper price. There were thousands -then, the whole rank and file of the trade, who created marvels, with a -sureness of hand accustomed to every difficulty. The outline of a table, -of a chest, was as much considered as that of a statue. For that matter, -what difference did the dimensions of a work make? It was the modeling -that counted. The peasant himself sat down in a well-made chair. Artists -and artisans had a taste, an alert grace, and a dexterity sufficient to -fit out the whole world; but their dexterity was based on a foundation -of intelligence as an ornament is based upon a building. The dexterity -we possess nowadays is nothing but mockery, a kind of banter that -touches everything without discernment; it kills force. - -The Louis XV and Louis XVI styles possessed grandeur. We call it the art -of the boudoir, but the boudoir of that period had a nobility like that -of those white and gold salons where the seats are disposed with dignity -like persons of quality. The music had the same character; the dances -also, the dances, those charming scenes in which men and women with the -natural spirit of play threw themselves into the cadence, translating it -with the eloquence of youth. The dance--that was architecture brought to -life. - -The eighteenth century was a century which _designed_; in this lay its -genius. Nowadays people are searching for a new style and do not find -it. Style comes unawares through the concurrence of many elements; but -can we achieve it without design? To-day we design no longer and our -art, which is altogether industrial, is bad. The central matter in art -is the nude, and this we no longer understand. How can we be expected -to have art when we do not understand its central principle? The minor -arts are the rays that go out from the center. When I draw the body of a -woman I rediscover the form of the beautiful Greek vases. Through design -alone we arrive at a knowledge of the shading of forms. The forms that -delight us in the art of past centuries are nothing but those presented -by living nature, those of human beings, animals, verdure, interpreted -by men of supreme taste. The art that people are struggling to discover -to-day might be deduced from my sculpture and my drawings, for I have -always drawn with passion. The quality of my drawing I owe in large -measure to the eighteenth century. I am nothing but a link in the great -chain of artists, but I maintain the connection with those of the past. -At the Petite Ecole they made us copy the red chalks of Boucher and the -models of flowers, animals, and ornaments. They were Louis XVI models, -very well executed; they certainly gave me a little of the warmth of the -artists of that period. In my youth I made drawings by the hundreds, by -the thousands. At the Petite Ecole we were badly placed, badly lighted -by poor candles; when we touched them we made them sticky with the clay -with which our fingers were covered so that they were worse than ever -afterwards. It did not matter; we were working according to the right -principles. - -To-day the Petite Ecole is entirely in the power of the larger school, -that of the Beaux-Arts. Far from learning one gets spoiled there for the -rest of one's life. One copies the antique, but one copies it badly. - -I am speaking with the experience of a genuine artistic life. There was -a time when I never talked; to-day I hold forth! If I am understood -it will not have been in vain. But how much effort it will take to -reestablish truths which are so self-evident, so obvious, so fundamental -that one is ashamed to repeat them so many times! Nevertheless they are -_essential_. The public is a thousand miles away from them, the public, -by which I mean the general taste. If it does not become enlightened, -art will disappear. Observe its attitude before the works of the new -school, before the pictures of those who call themselves cubists: -sarcasm, anger. These artists show us squares, cubes, geometrical -figures colored according to their own ideas. They name them: _Portrait -of Mme. X._ or _Landscape_. This exasperates the public. What does it -matter? Is it good? That is the whole point. Is the ornament well -treated? That is the capital question, the only one that is not -discussed. Their canvases are combinations of color recalling mosaic -or even stained glass. We have accepted many other things; we have -accepted the green or rather the violet women of our later salons, and -women with wooden heads, but we do not wish to admit the squares of the -cubists. Why? They are not portraits, we say. They are not landscapes. -So much the better! They are something else. What does it matter if -the artist has deceived himself knowingly or wilfully on a matter so -insignificant as the subject? It is ornamental, that is enough. They are -curious, these quarrels that break out, these sects that are created for -reasons like this--for a sock put on inside out! Ignorance inflames the -passions. There are struggles whose aim is great; others that appear -useless have their use perhaps. - -It may be that this slackening of taste and knowledge is necessary. -Perhaps it is a period of transition, a fallow period required by the -intelligence like that required by a soil that has been productive for -too long. If ignorance is prolonged it will mean that the history of -France is ended; it will mean the annihilation of the Celtic genius -which has fertilized Europe for two thousand years. We shall become like -Asia. Roman art declined for four or five centuries after Augustus. With -us the decadence has only been going on for a hundred years. During -the present war marvels have been destroyed. Formerly, even during -the religious wars, the monuments were spared; it is for this reason -that France is still so rich. When stone is no longer respected, it -means decadence. The cannon turn up the earth like a plow, leveling -everything. This war appears therefore like an explosion of barbarism; -at bottom it indicates a latent state of soul which has been shaping -itself since the beginning of the nineteenth century. During this period -the world has ceased to obey the law of beauty and love; it has lived -for nothing but business. What is the leading idea that has precipitated -the nations against one another? Trade: the desire, the longing to make -more money than one's neighbor. Trade is the anxious care of people who -think of nothing but their own petty welfare; it is not the basis on -which is founded the grandeur of peoples. It alone regulates at present -the relations between things. The war is nothing but the consequence of -such habits and their natural conclusion. - -[Illustration: METAMORPHOSIS ACCORDING TO OVID.] - -Do you ask me what will spring out of the conflict? I am not a prophet. -I know only that without religion, without art, without the love of -nature--these three words are for me synonymous--men will die of ennui. -But nothing easily resigns itself to death. An outburst of courage has -just transfigured the world. Can we preserve this courage during peace? -The patience of the soldier, the patience of the trenches surpasses -in sublimity the virtue of the ancients. Will it produce a rebirth of -intelligence? Shall we have, in study, the force of soul that we have -had in the great struggle? That is the question. Of course the stupid, -the ignorant will not suffer any transformation through the war; but -men of character will be reinvigorated by the hardships of the military -life; we have recaptured patience and we have yet to learn what we can -expect from this virtue. Genius is as much character as talent. If we -have men of force in this country where taste is a natural gift, it -seems to me impossible that this force will not quicken the gift and -develop it and that we shall not have once more an era of beauty. - -AUGUSTE RODIN. - - - - -THE WORK OF RODIN - - - - -I - -THE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS--INFLUENCE OF THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF -RODIN--"SAINT JOHN THE BAPTIST" (1880)--"THE GATE OF HELL" - - -In 1877 Rodin visited our most illustrious cathedrals, Rheims, Amiens, -Chartres, Soissons, Noyon. During his youth, the choir of Beauvais -and Notre Dame de Paris appealed more to his imagination than to his -taste, and it required many years of travel and comparison to enable -him to grasp the splendors of that Gothic art which he was to admire -thenceforth at least as much as the antique. As a splendidly gifted, -but inexperienced young man, he shared the error of his epoch: the -eighteenth and the first half of the nineteenth century had despised the -Roman and the Gothic; they had ridiculed them and called them barbaric; -the nineteenth century, while flattering itself that it appreciated -them, did still worse--it restored them. - -The romantic writers of the Schools of Chateaubriand and Victor Hugo -had exalted the art of the Middle Ages, but chiefly because of their -hatred of the classic and without understanding its true worth. What -struck them, especially, was the immensity and the picturesqueness of -the buildings, the luxuriousness of this stone vegetation, but not the -unique character of their architecture and sculpture. - -Victor Hugo was perhaps one of the few to discover the precise -explanation of this beauty: relief and modeling. This all-powerful -writer, this architect of words who constructed poems like cathedrals, -understood the plastic intelligence of the master masons because he -himself possessed the _sense of mass_. One is convinced of this not only -in reading his descriptions of cities and monuments, but in studying -those astonishing pen-and-ink drawings which he multiplied in idle -moments. - -If the romanticists have failed fully to explain medieval art to us, -let us still be grateful to them: they gave our cathedrals back to us, -they denounced ignorance and scourged the stupidity that would have -ended by tearing down those sublime piles. Finally if the writers and -art critics of this epoch have not given them superlative praise, if on -their behalf they have not burned with apostolic zeal, it is because it -was necessary for this prophecy of art to come from a man of the craft, -a man dominated, captivated, himself, by the craft, a man who understood -stone and adored it because he had married it in spirit with all its -difficulties and its dazzling possibilities. - -That man was to be Rodin. Although he has been listened to by the -ignorant and superficial multitude, it has not been chiefly because of -the authority of his genius, of the general renown that he has enjoyed. -He has truly thrown a new light over the mystery of Gothic construction. -Thanks to him, we understand in a measure, for tangible reasons, the -reasons of an actual carver, this "world in little" that constitutes the -Gothic cathedrals. What study, what researches are necessary in order to -comprehend the art of stonework! Does any one suppose that Rodin himself -has attained this in a day? By no means. That lover of perfection in -detail does not possess the instantly penetrating glance that is often -the property of genius: to the task of deciphering our monuments he -brought that slow-minded, customary patience of his, together with -his energy. He had first of all to rid himself of the false current -ideas. After that thirty years of observation were necessary for him to -reach conclusions that satisfied his artistic conscience. Even to-day -he is far from affirming that he has understood everything, that he -has grasped the full significance of the Gothics. Read his book, "The -Cathedrals of France," published in 1914; observe the carefullness of -his judgments, the gropings of his thought, the constant retracing of -his steps. He makes attempts, ventures; he never proclaims his opinion -in the peremptory tone dear to specialists in criticism, but endeavors -to approach respectfully, as closely as possible, to the spirit of -the masters. Sometimes a flash of genius springs from his brain and -illumines to the depths of its mysteries the Gothic universe; but -nothing is suggested that does not spring from a prolonged observation, -and when at last he speaks it is in the tone of a man who mistrusts -himself. It must be confessed that in this work, "The Cathedrals of -France," something is lacking, even though it is prefaced by a long and -very learned introduction by one of our good writers, Charles Morice. It -lacks the magnificent lesson that the reader will find in these pages, -signed with Rodin's name. This lesson constitutes really a vital page -that is, as it were, the key and the summary of the whole work; but the -master, having given me the first rights in it, had scruples, as had -Charles Morice, about including it in his own book. - -Before obtaining this page, with what insistence did I have to question -Rodin not once, not twice, but twenty times, during the course of a -number of years. Every time he came back from one of his pilgrimages -to some old city of the provinces, to our churches, our town halls, I -renewed my questions without receiving any satisfactory answer. In my -heart I could not but honor this rigorous honesty which was unwilling to -venture anything lightly on so vast, so noble a subject. - -In 1877, after having accomplished his first tour of France, he came -back filled with wonder. But the impression that he carried with him was -still confused; he did not know at what point to begin the analytical -study of French architecture, for in what concerned sculpture he -had immediately been struck with amazement and adoration before the -essential beauty of the status of Chartres, Amiens, and Rheims. He had -returned from Italy haunted by the antique and Michelangelo, and now -here he was haunted by the modeling and the rhythm of the Gothic figures. - -But in order to understand them entirely he had to rediscover this -modeling and these movements in nature, he had to verify them in the -living model. Fortune favors those who seek greatly. When one is the -victim of an idea unexpected elements arise to nourish and develop it. -One day two Italians knocked at the door of his studio. One of them, -a professional model, had already posed for Rodin and he introduced -the other, his comrade. He was a peasant from the Abruzzi who had come -to seek his fortune in Paris. He was fresh from his native province. -His robust body, his fierce head, his bristling beard and hair, and -above all his expression of indomitable force charmed the artist. He -undressed, climbed upon the model's stand, planted himself firmly on -his legs, which were spread like a compass, the head well raised, and, -continuing to talk, advanced with a gesture full of ardor. - -Rodin, struck by this wild energy, immediately set to work. He made the -man such as he saw him; he desired to capture this movement of the legs, -this brusk forward movement that complemented the movement of the arms, -the shining eyes, the open mouth. He surrendered himself to a great -study, without any preconceived idea, without any intention of treating -a _subject_. What he made was _a man walking_. The name has stuck to the -figure. The first study remains incomplete; Rodin has sculptured neither -the head nor the arms; what he sought eagerly, passionately, was the -equilibrium of the torso and of the legs cast forward into space. He -succeeded; he made a superb fragment, "The Man Walking." Thirty years -later it occurred to a group of his admirers to ask the state to acquire -this study and erect it in the court of the French embassy at Rome, in -the Farnese Palace; but the official architects up to the present time -have objected to the erection of this statue, and for the last seven or -eight years it has awaited, in some obscure shed, the good pleasure of -these gentlemen. - -Rodin, in the presence of his Italian peasant, had rediscovered, to his -great joy as a seeker, the peculiar equipoise of the Gothic figures. In -the antique statues the plumb-line falls through one of the legs, while -the other, lightly raised, impresses on the different planes of the body -the graceful effect that has become classic. In Gothic statues, on the -contrary, the line of equilibrium passes through the middle of the body -and falls right between the two legs as they are planted on the earth. - -In "The Age of Bronze" Rodin has adopted the balanced rhythm of Greek -sculpture; in his new figure he passed to the Gothic equipoise, with -a harmony that is less gracious, but with a reality stronger and more -living. What he did not abandon was the rigorous construction and the -strength of modeling which his study of the antique had given him. "The -Man Walking," as well as the greater part of his subsequent works, thus -exhibits the union of the two great principles of sculpture that have -governed the Occidental genius. - -Rodin, strengthened by study, now made a complete statue with head and -arms. While he was working he discovered that his model was half a -savage, still close to the animal and its ferocious instincts. Sometimes -his eyes burned, his jaws, armed with powerful teeth, were thrust -forward as if to bite something; he resembled a wolf. At other times a -kind of strange passion inflamed him. His face radiated faith and will; -he spoke with such energy that he seemed to be haranguing a crowd; one -would have thought him a prophet of the primitive ages, a visionary -bursting forth from the desert to preach and to convert the people. -Rodin regarded him in amazement. It was no longer his model, but a man -from the Bible; surely it was a prophet that stood before him: it was -Saint John the Baptist brought back to life. The sculptor bowed before -the command of nature: his statue should bear the name of the forerunner. - -[Illustration: EVE.] - -He thought at first of emphasizing the disturbing impression: he placed -on the shoulders of Saint John a simple cross. But here was revealed the -all-powerful instinct of the sculptor, making the subject, the anecdote, -the literary connotation a matter of secondary importance. The cross, -the sublime symbol, would be here only an accessory, not really needed. -It would complicate the simplicity of line dictated by the laws of -sculpture, destroying the appositions of equilibrium of the great body -and distracting the attention from that speaking head. - -So Rodin gave it up. He came at last to the decision that his work -should remain free from what was not of the very essence of art. He sent -it off in the form in which it appeared in the Salon of 1880, adding -also "The Age of Bronze." - -The artists, the true artists, those whose enthusiasm was not poisoned -by envy and jealousy, applauded these two superb figures artistically -so different, but so similar in their sincerity; they acclaimed them -with the grave joy of generous souls who perceive the dawn of a great -talent. The name of Rodin became fixed forever in their memory. - -As for the jury of this Salon, it considered it sufficient to award -the "Saint John the Baptist" and "The Age of Bronze" a medal _of the -third class_. Let us, in turn, give it our reward--the reward for its -insensitiveness--by not disclosing the names of the sages who composed -it. - - - -"THE GATE OF HELL" - -While finishing these works, which he was not even certain of being able -to sell, Rodin was still compelled to provide for his own subsistence -and that of his family; he had also to meet the expenses of his trade. -A costly trade! It requires a studio, models, large fires to keep them -warm, clay, tools of every kind. It was luck enough if the sculptor, -still unknown, was able to have plaster casts made of his work. But -this did not satisfy him; he dreamed of seeing them take on a new -aspect in the richness of marble and bronze. Alas! in many cases he -had to wait until middle age to have this dream realized. Rodin has -never complained of the slowness of fortune. He knows that in order to -attain the fullness of his productive power it is well for the artist -to be thwarted, exalted by difficulties, the desire to conquer. After a -five-years' stay in Belgium he had returned to Paris to take part in the -work of the World Exposition of 1878, and he had taken a position with -the ornament-worker Legrain, in whose workshop he met Jules Desbois, -the future great sculptor, to whom he became attached for life. What -innumerable decorations he executed at that time--decorations which -disappeared like the leaves and flowers of the season when the stucco -palaces of the exposition vanished! Only the masks ornamenting the -Palais du Trocadéro remained. - -At the same time he accumulated busts, studies, large figures with -a fury of work which from then on was to resemble that of the most -powerfully productive minds, the fecundity of a Rubens, of a Balzac, of -a Michelet, of a Hugo. In the studios which he rented in the Faubourg -St. Jacques, from 1877 to 1883, besides the "Saint John the Baptist," he -executed the admirable little tough model of the "Monument Commemorating -the National Defense"; after his wife, whose characterful features and -naturally tragic countenance he had often reproduced, he made a helmeted -bust, a "Bellona." He exhibited three life-sized figures: "The Creation -of Man"; "Adam," since destroyed; and "Eve," the bronze of which did -not appear until the Salon of 1899. He did the busts of W.E. Henley; -the painter Jean-Paul Laurens (to mention some of the most beautiful), -Carrier-Belleuse, the etcher Alphonse Legros, all in the midst of -difficulties and injustices which did not in any way disturb the depths -of his serenity, the noble tranquillity of the artisan sure of attaining -his end by labor. Is it possible to-day to believe that the model of the -"Monument of the Defense" was not only refused, but was not even classed -among the thirty designs that were retained by the jury of 1880 after -the first choice had been made? This same jury, the composition of which -is also worthy of passing into history, decided on a solemn confection -by M. Barrias for the _prix de Rome_, the result of which was that four -years later its creator was elected a member of the Academy of Fine Arts. - -I do not know whether many collectors contend for reproductions of M. -Barrias's monstrous design for a clock; but Rodin's group, a wounded -soldier entirely enveloped by the wings of a prodigious figure of a -warrior goddess crying out for aid, which was later renamed "The Genius -of the Defense" or "The Appeal to Arms," and which has acquired to-day -so pathetic a character of actuality, is coveted by most of the museums -and art collectors of Europe and America. - -As if these works, which have since acquired such glory, were nothing -but fragments of secondary importance, Rodin attacked a great piece of -work, like those that used to be executed in the great ages of art: he -undertook the famous "Gate of Hell." - -At the time of the affair of "The Age of Bronze" there was at the -head of the ministry of fine arts, an under-secretary of state named -Edmond Turquet. To him fell the task of deciding in the last resort the -case of Rodin. M. Edmond Turquet was a brilliant lawyer who had become -_procureur_ under the empire, which did not altogether qualify him for -the part of director of fine arts under the republic. In the field of -art he knew no more than any one else, Rodin says; but he was a very -fair-minded man, and his honesty had the effect of quickly straightening -out the affair of the sculptor. In his genuine desire to atone for the -wrong done to Rodin in the eyes of public opinion he not only offered -to obtain for him a position in the porcelain factory at Sèvres, in -order to assure him a regular livelihood, but ordered from him a great -ornamental piece, a door destined for the Palais des Arts Décoratifs. -In addition, by a special privilege created in favor of artists under -Louis XIV,--a privilege the traditions of which the French Government -has happily perpetuated,--M. Turquet granted Rodin a good studio in the -Dépôt des Marbres, so that he could execute his order. - -"And what will you represent on that door?" enquired the under-secretary -of state. - -"I am sure I don't know," replied the artist. "But I shall make a -quantity of little figures; then no one will say that they are casts -taken from the life." - -Thus we find him at Sèvres, a ceramist; he has carried on so many -different trades that he succeeds marvelously with this one. It was his -task to decorate vases of delicate clay; he modeled light bas-reliefs, -representations of mythological scenes, idylls. Nymphs, cupids, fauns, -evoked by his miraculously delicate fingers, were born out of the milky, -transparent material, bringing back to life the flowery graces of the -drawing-room art of the eighteenth century, the dainty elegances of the -wax figures of Clodion, but with a graver sense of the mystery of nature -and of love. - -Unfortunately, when these vases left the hand of the master they were -overladen with hideous ornaments in the style of Louis-Philippe. -Moreover, the officials at the head of the factory did not like them. -They were carried up to the attics, they were left lying about on the -floor, in the secret hope of seeing them broken by the feet of some -careless or ill-willed workman. - -The feeling of being isolated and misunderstood at times threw a shadow -over the soul of the sculptor; but on the other hand he felt himself -so strong, so solidly based in his will, in his self-confidence, and -in the virtue of labor that these moments of depression passed away -quickly. Besides, he knew the secret of the poor, the secret of creating -happiness for oneself out of everything that the rich and powerful -despise: a simple life, health, regular work, the contemplation of -nature, and a few real friendships. Rodin earned at Sèvres only two or -three francs an hour and lost a great deal of time on the railroad. What -did it matter? He found pleasure and rest in these little journeys. -Every day he set out from Paris by train, and, the day over, winter and -summer, his wife came to meet him. They returned together on foot either -along the banks of the Seine, charming in their profusion of little -hills and islands, covered with meadows or fine trees, or through the -woods of Meudon and Clamart, with their vistas of Paris, its heights, -its buildings, its changing sky full of light and spirit. - -At the end of four years of opposition and annoyance Rodin gave up -pottery in order to consecrate himself wholly to his own work. The -museum of the factory preserves a vase signed by him, and the future -Musée de l'Hôtel Biron can show a second example. What has become of the -others? What price would not be paid for them to-day by admirers of the -master? - -These supplementary works did not turn him away from his essential task; -whatever were the technical means employed, his efforts tended toward -one unique end, the plastic quality, and he gave himself up desperately -to this search in executing his new order, the "Gate." - -Rising at four in the morning, as he had done in his youth, he studied -the plans and the details of this great work. He had announced a series -of little figures. How was he to group them? What visions surged in the -sculptor's imagination? Of what legendary theme, what theme of history -or poetry, should he make use in order to realize his program? He had -never ceased to be a passionate reader. He read especially the Greek -poets and dramatists, the Roman historians, the old French chronicles, -Dante, Shakspere, Victor Hugo, and Baudelaire. He did not wish to draw -the subject of his future work from Homer, Æschylus or Sophocles; -the School of the Beaux-Arts had so abused the theme of the antique, -already immortalized by Greek sculptors, that it had entirely lost its -freshness. The moderns attracted him less, but he was obsessed by the -work of the great poet of the Renaissance, by the "Divine Comedy" of -Dante. He had read and reread it and made a sort of commentary in the -form of innumerable sketches which he jotted down mornings and evenings -at table, while walking, stopping by the wayside to dash off attitudes -and gestures on the leaves of his note-book. He rediscovered in the -poem of Dante the fateful grandeur of the Greek dramas, but with an -atmosphere more modern, closer to ourselves, more mournfully familiar to -our anguishes and our torments. The idea took shape in his imagination, -"that imagination ceaselessly rumbling and groaning like a forge"; it -exalted his bold spirit. Genius joins to the richness of the intellect -the simplicity of heart that creates faith. Genius _believes_ ever more -than it _thinks_. It has the strength which succeeds in anything, and -it possesses also that supreme gift, the ingenuousness of the child who -doubts nothing. Rodin believed the poem of Dante as if he had lived it, -as Dante himself believed in Vergil. What a magnificent homage great men -render to one another in this credulity of genius toward genius! - -[Illustration: RODIN AT WORK ON THE MARBLE.] - -The subject chosen by Rodin for his decorative panels, then, was -hell--hell as Dante conceived it in a vision that lends itself, for -that matter, marvelously to a plastic realization. The "Gate" would -be a poem, an immense sculptured poem; that is to say, a résumé of -the attitudes and gestures of life called forth by the release of the -passions, a strange catalogue of the expressions of the human body under -the shock of sorrow and of joy. If the imagination of Rodin caught -fire like that of a visionary, he remained beyond everything and above -everything the sculptor, and he plunged immediately into the search for -the general scheme of the work. - -The truth of the movements, the poetry of the evocations, his models -would give him; he could feel at ease as to that: the resources that -nature would offer him were inexhaustible. But the plan, that he -must find himself; he must do the work of the builder, almost of the -geometrician. There could be no self-deception as to that. The fuller -the ornamentation was to be of figures and movements, the more solid -must be the frame of the immense picture, the more vigorous and compact -must be the general plan of the work. - -Rodin's mind wavered between two great schools, that of the Renaissance -and that of the Middle Ages, that which had produced the doors of the -baptistry at Florence and that to which we owe the portals of the Gothic -cathedrals. - -The celebrated gates of Florence are a series of bas-reliefs arranged -symmetrically in a regular framework; they present a series of separate -pictures having no common bond except their subject. The execution -is admirable, and it is perhaps impossible to surpass it. Lorenzo -Ghiberti has done there the work of an incomparable modeler, actually -a goldsmith; but he has in no way troubled himself with regard to -architecture. Now, architecture is the great French point of view. The -Roman and the Gothic have placed in their monument (the church) that -other monument (the portal). The portal is complete in itself; the -art of the sculptor and that of the architect have united and become -indistinguishable here in order to realize an absolute beauty. - -Rodin, profoundly French, inheriting the instinct and taste of his -ancestors the master-masons, having to compose a door, was fated to -conceive a portal. On the other hand, he could not escape the influence -of the antique, the result of his early studies. This was the entirely -different element which in the course of the work he had undertaken was -to mingle with the Gothic element. - -It was not the first time that the mingling of these two great -conceptions of art had occurred in France. From it had sprung our -Renaissance sculpture; in that epoch the sculpture of the Greeks united -itself with the Gothic architecture, the Hellenic sunlight brought to -blossom the majesty of our monuments. Does not Rodin himself, with his -vast outlook over the whole field of art, call this period of national -art, the sixteenth century, the French Gothic? - -"The Gate of Hell," then, took on in its general structure a Renaissance -aspect. It preserves the graceful line of the Gothic portal and has the -luminous whiteness inspired by Greek sculpture. This singular work has -touched all contemporary artists. Most of our writers have described it, -and, after them, the critics of other countries. This living multitude, -this suffering, groaning multitude that covers the two panels with a -thousand passionate movements, has drawn into its magic whirlpool the -world of literature, which has been able to liberate itself only by -means of innumerable printed pages. The poem of Dante has come forth as -it were revivified from the hands of Rodin. Fresh tears, one would say, -have bathed the most poignant passages; the pity of a man of to-day, -of one like ourselves, our brother, has enveloped the terrible work of -the Florentine poet, that man of the Middle Ages, with an atmosphere of -tenderness and compassion which seems the emotion of Christianity at its -purest, its original source. In order to become our own, it has passed -through the great soul of Rodin. It is not surprising, then, that the -sensibility of our artists, reanimated by this new spectacle, should be -touched to so voluminous an expression by this haunting work. - -But what has not been sufficiently remarked is that the "Gate" is, above -everything, a piece of architecture of the highest order. - -When we see it we are at once struck with an impression of majesty, of -calm strength and plenitude. It seems even longer than it actually is. -It is a rectangle six meters high and two and a half meters wide, but -the source of the illusion is the justness of the proportions and the -value of the masses. - -The powerful frame is furrowed with deep depressions. It rests on the -ground upon a strong base from which rise the two door-posts, as robust -as pillars and mounting together toward the summit. A pediment in the -shape of an entablature overhangs the entire monument, casting over -it a deep shadow full of nuances; and it is this shadow, skilfully -graduated, that gives to the work its rich, soft color. The body of -the portal is divided into two panels; a vast tympanum surmounts them -transversally. This tympanum, surmounted by a large cornice, dominates -the work. Without weighing it down, it gives it its mass, it attracts, -it obsesses, the eye; it is the soul of the edifice, its intellect. No -word can more justly describe it than the word brow, for it is magnetic, -haunting, mysterious, like the forehead of a man of genius. - -The panels sink deep into a shadow that is heavy, but not harsh, while -in the foreground the pillars advance into the light; the delicate -bas-reliefs that cover them keep them in a silvery atmosphere, the -source of the great softness which envelopes this work, otherwise severe -and tragic, the source of the fugitive lightness of the lines, which -strike up from the earth toward the somber and tormented upper regions. - -Carried away by this marvelous technic, the spirit of the visitor -succumbs; it follows this ascending movement of the door-posts, to lose -itself in the sorrowful dream sculptured on the tympanum. - -On the panel writhe the clusters of human figures, the eddies of the -multitude of damned souls pursued by the rage of the elements, by -the devouring tongues of the infernal fire, by the frozen waters, by -the wind that tears them and stings them. "It is," says the eminent -art critic Gustave Jeffroy, in the most beautiful pages that have -been consecrated to a description of this work, "the dizzy whirl, the -falling through space, the groveling on the face of the earth of a -whole wretched humanity obstinately persisting in living and suffering, -bruised and wounded in its flesh, saddened in its soul, crying aloud -its griefs, harshly laughing through its tears, chanting its breathless -fears, its sickly joys, its ecstatic sorrows." - -The genius of Rodin became intoxicated with all the resources of his -art. Master of a technic of the first order, he delighted in every kind -of effect, arranging them as a great symphonist arranges the instruments -of an immense orchestra. Low-relief, half-relief, high-relief, and -sculpture in the round, he omitted none. He did not yield to the -literary temptation. At the height of his fever of invention he was -circumspect, measured, guided by his knowledge as a modeler. The poet -thinks, but the carver speaks; he speaks justly, he speaks admirably, -because he uses only his own true and personal language, which he knows -from the ground up. That is the whole secret of the way in which this -man inflames our soul and subjugates our imagination. - -Two principal notes, two motives form, above the whirlwind of the -infernal fires, a resting-place for the eye troubled by so much -vehemence: one, in the midst of the tympanum, is the figure of Dante. It -is Dante, but it is even more the eternal poet. Seated, leaning over the -abyss of suffering, thrilled with anguish, he seems to seek in the very -depths of the pit itself the word of infinite pity that will deliver -this sorrowful humanity. - -Higher yet, above his bowed head, rising suddenly from the frame and -splayed in a large protuberance, a group of three entwined figures -crowns and completes the brow. With the same despairing gesture they -point to the multitude of the damned. One does not know what these -shuddering beings are, but they have the sweetness of angels; at once -we seem to hear their lips murmur the words of the grand Florentine, -"_Lasciate ogni speranza_"; but across their forms, their compassionate -forms, their fraternal forms, one feels passing a tremor of love and -pity. Far from condemning, their clasped hands offer to the sad wreckage -of fatality that writhes at their feet a sign, a unique sign, the sign -of good-will of pity. - - * * * * * - -"The Gate of Hell" was shown only once to the public. This was at the -Universal Exposition of 1900. Although it was nearly finished, it was -seen then only in an incomplete state. - -The day of the opening arrived before the master had been able to have -placed on the _fronton_ and on the panels of his monument the hundreds -of great and small figures destined for their ornamentation. People saw -the "Gate," then in the nudity of its construction, grandiose assuredly, -but despoiled of its extraordinary raiment of sculpture. - -That day was a sad one for the true friends of art and of Rodin. A band -of snobs, full of their own importance, crowded about the great man. -Having considered the work with the hasty and casual glance of men of -the world of the sort that are concerned above all to get themselves -noticed, they remarked to Rodin, in a tone of augury, "Your doorway is -much more beautiful like that; in no circumstances do anything more to -it." - -This absurd advice befell at an evil moment: the artist felt worn out -from overwork and anxieties of all kinds and, moreover, was troubled -over the fate of his exhibit the failure of which might in truth have -ruined him completely. In these circumstances he did not have the -freedom of spirit necessary to judge correctly the value of his own -work. And besides he had seen it too much during the twenty years in -which it had been before his eyes. He was tired of it, weary of it. - -[Illustration: PERISTYLE OP THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.] - -Thus everything combined to make him lend an ear to the unfavorable -opinions of the Parisian aviary. Had he been in better health, more -the master of himself physically and morally, he would have replied to -the prattling of these excited paroquets and guinea-hens: - -"Take more room, examine my 'Gate' from a little farther off, and you -will see once more the effect of the whole--the effect of unity which -charms you when it is deprived of its ornamentation. You must understand -that my sculpture is so calculated as to melt into the principal masses. -For that matter, it completes them by modeling them into the light. -The essential designs are there: it is possible that in the course -of the final work I may find it necessary to diminish such or such a -projection, to fill out such or such a pool of shadow; nevertheless, -leave this difficulty to my fifty years of artisanship and experience, -and you may be sure that quite by myself I shall find the best way of -finishing my work." - -But the master was silent. Later, carried away by the abundance of his -conceptions, by his ever-deepening researches, he lost all interest in -the "Gate" and has never taken the trouble to have it entirely mounted. - -Fortunately, casts of it have been carefully preserved. It would be -only an affair of a few months to reconstruct the work in its original -integrity. Since the Universal Exposition time has rolled forward, and -events also. Auguste Rodin has entered into the great serenity which -age brings with it. He composes less, he corrects his work, he judges -himself, and he does not deny his "Gate," one of the most exceptional of -his works. - -At last the creation of the Musée Rodin has been decided upon by the -state. "The Gate of Hell" will be one of its important pieces; we shall -be able to contemplate it then in all its majesty; it will not then -simply be molded in plaster, but cast in bronze and cut in marble. -It will offer a noble example of what work can accomplish when it is -served by that supreme gift, will; for it will testify as much to -resistance against the powerful enemies of the life of thought as to the -intelligence of the man who created it. It forces upon us not only a -formidable impression of strength, labor, talent, but also an impression -no less lofty of method, order, and inner harmony. The multitude, who -through their profound instincts approach much closer than one might -suppose to the man of genius, will exclaim in contemplating this work, -this true monument which undoubtedly the sculptor has raised through his -own force of character, "Whoever erected this beautiful thing with his -indefatigable hands was truly a man." - - - - -II - -"THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS" (1889)--RODIN AND VICTOR HUGO--THE STATUE OF -BALZAC (1898) - - -At the time the plaster model of "The Burghers of Calais" was first -offered to the judgment of the public, in 1889, nearly seven years had -gone by since Rodin had originally undertaken the group. - -This is the period of my own childish memories of the master. He was a -frequent visitor at the home of my father, who lived in Sèvres, on the -outskirts of Paris. - -Rodin, with his silent nature, apparently so full of calm and -meditation, delighted in the ardor, the patriotic enthusiasm, the -ferment of character, the brilliant conversation of that powerful, -original writer, my father; he loved his books, too, spirited and -passionate like himself, and possessing a vigor of expression that was -new to French letters. - -Léon Cladel received his friends on Sundays. In winter they gathered in -the drawing-room, in summer on a terrace shaded by great chestnuts and -limes, where thousands of birds twittered and chattered so energetically -that at dusk they ended by drowning the voices of the visitors. Among -the latter were writers, painters, and sculptors, several of whom have -since become famous. Among them were Auguste Rodin and his colleague, -his dear comrade, Jules Dalou, creator of many fine works, notably the -monument to Eugène Delacroix which stands in the Luxembourg Gardens. - -The sculptor of "The Burghers of Calais" was then barely fifty. He was -far from possessing the immense fame that is his to-day, but artists -already regarded him as a master. Of medium height, robust, with large -shoulders and heavy limbs, placid and deliberate in appearance, never -gesticulating, he himself resembled a block of stone; but above this -heavy base his countenance, with its broadly designed features and its -gray-blue eyes, expressed an extraordinarily keen intelligence and -finesse. Despite my youth I was struck by this physiognomy, so singular -and so penetrating, and also by the remarkable shyness that made the -sculptor blush whenever he was addressed. Since then innumerable -portraits have familiarized people with these features, which with age -have settled into an expression of authority and firm will; his strange -timidity has disappeared with time, with the consciousness of his -strength, with his having become accustomed to glory. Moreover, Rodin -has become a ready talker. Of old he listened intently, but always -held his peace; at most a few words, spoken in a soft, clear voice, -escaped from the waves of his long beard. He would at once relapse into -silence, while with a slow movement giving his beard an instinctive -caress with his large, square, irresistible hand, the true hand of a -builder. But when he raised his eyelids, almost always lowered, the -transparent eye, that limpid gray-blue eye, betrayed a perspicacity -that was almost malicious, almost cunning: one felt that he penetrated -through the forms of people to their very souls; and this he fixed so -skilfully in the clay of his busts that his models were not always -pleased with it. Many of Rodin's portraits have been refused by sitters -offended by their pitiless realism. - -[Illustration: STATUE OF BASTIEN-LEPAGE.] - -Sometimes my father kept Rodin and Jules Dalou to dinner. The two -sculptors were devoted to each other. They were comrades from of old who -had traveled together the hard road of beginners; since their student -days at the Petite Ecole they had many times reëncountered each other -in the same workshops, where they had received the same contemptuous -wages for their long days of labor. They felt a profound esteem for each -other's talent, different as these talents were, altogether opposed, in -fact, as were their natures; and it was a fine, a lovely thing to see -them bring forward each other's respective merits. Alas! I shall have -to tell later how an artistic rivalry came one day to destroy this noble -friendship. - -The appearance of "The Burghers of Calais" aroused a flood of enthusiasm -in the world of art. I remember it well. At that time I was only a -young school-girl, and my father was unwilling to allow me to "miss -my classes" in order to accompany him to the opening of the Rodin -Exhibition. After all, the lessons I received that day, following them -quite absent-mindedly, were they worth the lesson I should have received -from the contemplation of that masterpiece, even if my age would have -prevented me from quite understanding it? Beauty is always the most -fertilizing teacher. - -A rich art-lover, acting with the municipal authorities of Calais, had -ordered from Rodin the statue of Eustache de Saint-Pierre, the Calais -hero whose devotion had in the fourteenth century, during the Hundred -Years' War, saved the city when it was besieged by King Edward III of -England. - -Rodin, true to his principles, sought as ever to approach his subject -from the quick of reality. He consulted history. He read the old -chronicles of France, above all those of Jean Froissart, who was -contemporaneous with the event and almost a witness of it. Froissart was -a man of the fourteenth century, a man of the age of the cathedrals, -and therefore himself a Gothic. His narrative has the force, the -savor, the naïveté, the simple and profound art of the masters of that -marvelous epoch. What a source of emotion for Rodin, a Gothic likewise -in his faith and his artistic rectitude! He caught fire at the recital -of the old master as at the voice of a brother-in-arms. He read, he -learned that Edward III would not consent to spare the city of Calais -from pillage and destruction unless six of her richest citizens would -come out to him dressed only in their shirts, barefoot, with ropes about -their necks, bringing him the keys of the city and their own heads to be -cut off. In response to this terrible message, Eustache de Saint-Pierre -and five of his fellow-citizens, taking counsel with the notables -of the place, at once rose to go to the king's camp. They set forth -immediately, escorted on their way by the hunger-stricken multitude, -weeping and groaning over their sacrifice and "adoring them with pity." - -This was the vision which from that time on took possession of Rodin, -dominating him and never leaving him. But it was not an isolated person -detached from his environment that he saw: it was the six martyrs just -as they appeared in history, just as they were in life. In his thought -he followed this band of heroes marching to the sacrifice in the midst -of the weeping city. He could not bring himself to separate them either -from their whole number or from their tragic surroundings. Therefore, -in accordance with the genius of his theme, that is to say, with -historic truth, he would make all six of them, and he would insist that -they should be set up in the midst of the city, among the old houses, -where they would continue to live their sublime life in the heart of the -very town that they had saved. - -For the price of one statue, therefore, Rodin set out to execute six. -He rented a vast atelier in the rue des Fourneaux, in the Vaugirard -Quarter. He worked unceasingly. To keep this enormous group in good -condition, to maintain the proper temperature, he moistened the clay -morning and evening, having as his _garçon d'atelier_ no one but his -devoted wife, who had become thoroughly experienced in these matters. -Despite all, accidents would happen: the clay would give way, an -arm, modeled with his habitual exactitude, would fall and have to be -laboriously repaired; but the fervent modeler never hesitated in his -work, and on the day when he exhibited "The Burghers of Calais" at the -house of Georges Petit the praise and the homage that sprang forth from -the soul of all true artists recompensed him magnificently, bringing -him the intoxicating caress of dawning glory. They spoke, in connection -with the "Burghers," of the image-makers of our cathedrals; they spoke -of the statues of Claus Sluters, of the famous statues of the "Well of -Moses" at Dijon. Really, in the Calais monument Rodin is more than ever -under the Gothic influence in subject, in thought, and in execution. -The equilibrium of the figures composing the group is the same as that -of the "Saint John the Baptist." The long shifts that cover the naked -bodies of his heroes recall those draperies in vertical folds dear to -the Middle Ages. The very modeling of the figures and of the faces -increases this effect of elongation caused by the fall of the fabric; -the modeling in large planes, the vigorous accents, the simple and -pathetic movements are certainly those of the sort that out-of-door -sculpture calls for. In twenty years Rodin had made innumerable visits -to the Gothic monuments. Here was the result of his tours of France. He -had made them in order to recapture the traditions of art from the hands -of our wonderful old stone-cutters, and his heart must have throbbed -with joy when he was told that in his own hands that tradition had -suffered no loss. - -Naturally, the appearance of "The Burghers of Calais," even that, -could not fail to have its share of comic anecdote, that bitter and -painful humor that marks the adventures of genius in its struggle with -vulgarity. Let us not complain too much. The contrast between these -adventures and the proud way of life of a great man, the regularity -of his hours of toil--it is this that creates opposition, movement, -life. The elect soul feels a savage joy in these blows which shake it -like a tree tormented by brutal hands, a tree aware of the vigor of its -resistance and its ever-increasing tenacity. - -The municipality of Calais, hearing that there were to be six statues -instead of the one that had been ordered, took umbrage, and deliberated -for two years. The heroic group waited, and, as it encumbered Rodin's -atelier, where other works were going forward, it was placed in a -stable. At last the worthy town authorities decided to assign it a -site. Naturally, the site in question was exactly opposed to the ideas -of the master--ideas that had been thought out and that were perfectly -logical, based on the laws of decorative art and still more determined -by that infallible criterion, taste. Rodin desired that his monument -should be in the center of the town; they placed it on the edge of -the sea. He counted on emphasizing the tall stature of his figures -by enshrining it in the narrow frame of the houses; they placed it -against a horizon without limits. He requested that the group should be -placed very low, almost on the ground, or else very high on an elevated -pedestal, like the "Colleoni" at Venice or the "Gattamelata" at Padua; -they placed it at a middle height, thus diminishing the effect of its -imposing proportions. The lesson had to come from foreign lands. The -city of Antwerp has erected, in front of its museum of fine arts, -two of the statues of the celebrated group, and England, which does -things splendidly when it is a question of embellishing its cities or -of rendering homage to the valor of its adversaries, has erected the -effigies of the six heroes of Calais on one of the most beautiful sites -in London, before the Palace of Westminster. - - * * * * * - -By this time the reader is sufficiently familiar with the technic of -Rodin for it to be unnecessary to analyze here in detail this well-known -work. What must not be forgotten is that the sculptor had first modeled -these six powerful bodies entirely in the nude. This is his invariable -method when he executes draped figures. One realizes this, even without -knowing it, before these arms, these hands, these legs, and these feet -constructed with that rigorous conscience which, with the true artist, -is at once a necessity and a delight; one divines the slope of the -torsos bent with grief or rigid in the pride of sacrifice. - -"Yes, they are beautiful," the master said to me one day when I was -talking with him. "The shirt, the blouse are garments the folds of -which yield simple planes and effects that, rightly rendered, are those -of true sculpture. But there is something better still, and that is -sackcloth. If I had clothed my 'Burghers of Calais' in sackcloth, they -would certainly be more beautiful. I did not dare to. Some one else will -do this and will succeed. It is sufficient to express an idea and leave -it to its destiny." - -We ought to love in Rodin this intellectual vigor that skirts the -borders of the impossible. In our age, consumed with indecision, it is a -priceless aid, a resting-place, a _point d'appui_ from which one starts -forth afresh, fortified, one's nerves recharged with vitality, to the -conquest of one's share of knowledge or of talent. This accounts in part -for the irresistible influence which for thirty years the illustrious -sculptor has exercised over the minds of artists. One feels that this -fount of strength condensed in his virile soul comes from something -deeper than his personality alone; it comes from the very depths of -the national reserves. The conviction, the energy of Rodin are those -of the workman who knows his trade, of the laborer impassioned by the -culture of his own soil. This endurance is the foundation of the French -temperament; the events happening now have proved it. When a country -possesses such individualities through the course of history, the roads -of the future open out before it brilliant with hope despite passing -shadows, and promise the highest surprises. - -[Illustration: DANAIADE.] - - - -RODIN AND VICTOR HUGO - -The creation of "The Burghers of Calais" marks the middle of a period -of truly prodigious fecundity. From 1889 to 1896, monuments, busts, -statues, and groups of every kind issue without interruption from the -ateliers of Rodin, and the more numerous the works his hand models, -the more it grasps the contexture of the work, the more it refines the -execution. Orders for portraits pour in; collectors hold it an honor to -possess a marble, a bronze, signed with a name which every day increases -in celebrity. In 1888 comes that jewel of marble, the bust of Madame -Morla Vicuñha, and the monument to Claude Vicuñha, president of the -Republic of Chile; in 1889, the bronze portrait of Dalou, the statue of -Bastien-Lepage, that admirable head "La Pensée," acquired by the Musée -du Luxembourg. - -In 1890 comes the portrait of Mme. Russell, a bust in silver, of -noble simplicity, which one would say was the head of a Roman matron, -with the luminous veil upon her thoughtful forehead and the flower of -good-will blossoming upon her delicately swelling mouth. Then there is -"The Danaïd," "La vielle Heaulmière," and a great study, a long woman's -torso, "La Terre." - -In 1892, not to mention delightful minor works like "The Young Mother" -and "Brother and Sister," appear two masterpieces: the bust of Puvis -de Chavannes and that of Henri Rochefort, magnificent contrasts in -construction and execution. The painter-gentleman carries his haughty -head like an old leaguer chief, and the pamphleteer bends over the -destinies of France, which for fifty years he has defended day in, day -out, with his flaming pen, an enormous brow--a brow like a spherical -vault that seems to contain a world. - -"You have made it grander, you have made it more beautiful than nature," -some one said to Rodin one day. - -"One can never do anything so beautiful as nature," he replied. - -In this same year, 1892, he exhibited the charming monument to Claude -Lorrain, in which he recaptured the spirit of the eighteenth century. It -was the town of Nancy that ordered this figure of its painter and has -placed it in its vast park. - -One cannot mention everything. Forms and attitudes renew themselves, -but not the terms that express them. To measure the abundance of this -work one should read the catalogue, till now incomplete,--for it has -been impossible to compile one that was not so,--of the master's -works; only so can we realize how almost dizzily his productiveness -became accelerated with the epoch of his maturity. Mythological -subjects dominate it, but are always treated with a profoundly human -understanding of the poetry and the grace of the form in which they -achieve an aspect delightfully new. - -Such titles as "Venus and Adonis," "The Education of Achilles," "The -Death of Alcestis," "Cupid and Psyche," "The Faun and the Fountain," -"Pygmalion and Galatea," Rodin inscribed only as an afterthought on -the pedestals of his groups. They are not the result of a necessary -preliminary conception; it is his figures themselves that breathe them, -his models unconsciously repeated the combinations of movement and -gesture through which are translated the eternal sentiments immortalized -by the legends of paganism. So true is this that Rodin obtained his -charming groups by assembling in harmony with his researches the -animated little figures that encumbered the windows of his ateliers. -He amused himself by uniting them, by marrying their attitudes; with -these little figures, these puppets of genius, he composed actual little -intimate dramas or idylls revived from the antique. In the hollow of -a Greek bowl he places a little nude body, and one would say that it -is the soul of the wave that conceals itself against the side of the -vase. He enlaces three feminine figures, upright, beside the body of a -recumbent youth: they are the Graces, who come to bend over the dying -poet. Thus he perpetuates the fantasy of things through that of his own -taste; he eternalizes the most delicious caprices of nature. - - * * * * * - -We come now to the year 1896 and the appearance of the "Monument to -Victor Hugo." - -This monument had been ordered for the Panthéon. Rodin, who had modeled -in 1885 the bust of the singer of the "Légende des Siècles," was -doubly, on this account, entitled to the order. In the midst of what -difficulties had he achieved that bust! It required all his patience, -all the tenacity of a Lorrainese peasant, to accomplish it. When he -had begged the honor of reproducing those illustrious features, the -poet, already nearing his end, tired out with having posed for mediocre -plaster-daubers and unaware of the superiority of his new sculptor, -consented to pose only for two hours. All the same, he authorized Rodin -to come as often as necessary and make as many sketches as he needed -while he, Hugo, worked or received his friends. - -Rodin accepted these difficult conditions. Was it not Victor Hugo with -whom he was dealing, the father of modern poetry? And then what a -spectacle for his artist's eyes, that of the great man bending over his -papers that Jupiter-like head of his in which thought, in gestation, -swelled the sublime brow with a tumult of ideas! When he talked, what -majesty in "this face of a lion in repose"! - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT BUST OF VICTOR HUGO.] - -The sculptor placed a stool, some clay, some tools in the corner of -a gallery; it was there that he worked out the general form of the -bust. Then, studying his wonderful model for months, he made hundreds -of sketches of him, under every aspect; at times, having used up the -pages of his note-books, he even covered entire blocks of cigarette -paper with rapid notes and jottings. Then he transferred this record -of observations to his clay. Working in this manner, it took him three -months to finish his bust. He exhibited it, in bronze, at the Salon of -1884. One cannot fail to admire the volumes, the beautiful mass of the -whole, even though it does not show that brilliant touch of genius which -strikes us before the bust of Jean-Paul Laurens or that of Rochefort; -but later, relying upon this document and upon his own special memory -of forms in action, Rodin was to restore for us this moving head in his -monument of the poet, which was to be one of his very loftiest works. -This same bust of Victor Hugo was to rupture the friendship between -Rodin and Jules Dalou--Dalou of whom he sent to the same Salon of 1884, -by a curious coincidence, an incomparable bust that puts one in mind of -those of Donatello. - -The family of Victor Hugo did not like Rodin's portrait of the master. -When the poet died (1885), it was Dalou whom they called to execute a -death-mask of the features of the great poet. Filled with ambition and -eager for official glory, Dalou had the weakness to accept, forgetting -what he owed to Rodin, not even informing him, in fact. Deeply hurt, the -latter withdrew his affection for his old friend. My father, saddened by -this occurrence, which destroyed so rare and noble a friendship, brought -the two friends together at his table in the hope of reconciling them; -but nothing could melt the wall of ice that had fallen between these -dissevered hearts. - -Ten years afterward a magnificent compensation was offered to Rodin. -From him was ordered the monument of the poet for the Panthéon. He -represented him nude, under the folds of a vast cloak, and seated on -a rock, as if by the seashore, with his wonderful head bowed in an -attitude of meditation, just as Rodin had often contemplated it in -priceless hours. - -This manner of representing a great man, quite simply revived from the -Renaissance and the eighteenth century, shocked to the last degree the -administrative staff of the department of fine arts. Why this nude -personage, instead of a quite respectable Victor Hugo in the frock-coat -of an academician? Why not one of those statues that peacefully occupy -some corner of a public square without attracting any one's attention, -one of those statues that are not made to be looked at? As for this -poet, who resembled a Homer, a hero or a demigod, this grand body, -outrageously beautiful and simple, is it not scandalous in the midst of -the conformity of bourgeois civilization, enslaved by the ugliness of -fashion, whose perverted taste can no longer recognize the beauty of the -nude? The painter David used to say of his epoch, in which, however, the -mode of dress was less displeasing than it is to-day, "What misery to be -obliged to spend one's life in fashioning coats and shoes!" Rodin, like -David, and like Phidias, preferred the trade of the sculptor to that of -the tailor. - -Such an uproar arose that he had to withdraw the model of his monument -and promise another. But everything comes with time, even the best: the -fortunes of politics brought to the ministry of fine arts an intelligent -and cultivated director, the dramatic critic Gustave Larroumet. -Delighted with Rodin's scheme, the magnificent symbolization of French -poetry, he confirmed the order for the audacious monument, no longer for -the Panthéon, but for the Luxembourg Gardens; and, not satisfied with -this reparation, charged the master with the additional execution of -another monument destined for the Panthéon. One can imagine the anger in -certain circles--two orders on the same subject to the same sculptor! -What an aberration! What madness! But the decision was made and well -made. - -Rodin took six years to perfect his first "Victor Hugo"; the marble -was not exhibited until 1901. The vigor of the work and the sovereign -gesture by which the bard of contemplation seems to impose silence upon -the voice of nature in order that the voices struggling within himself, -in the depths of his genius, may be the better heard, the suppleness of -the material, of this Carrara marble, with its warm reflections, as if -melted under the pressure of a fiery hand, obstinately make one think of -Michelangelo; one has the disturbing sensation, not of an imitation, but -of a resurrection of the plastic power reincarnated out of nature, of a -new spring of sap from the same vein of genius. - -The original plan allowed, in addition, for two allegorical figures, -"The Inner Voice" and "The Tragic Muse," which, placed beside the poet, -should breathe into him thought and inspiration. But, very beautiful -in themselves, they gave to the monument, once they were executed and -placed, an anecdotal quality that diminished its force; they weakened -the grandeur of the Olympian gesture and destroyed that feeling of -solitude inseparable from such a personality as that of the great man: -an island in the midst of the flood of the human multitude, genius -itself is aware of its own splendid isolation. - -[Illustration: MONUMENT TO VICTOR HUGO.] - -This is what I ventured to express one day to the master, not without -hesitation. Nothing equals the simplicity of Rodin face to face with -what he knows is sincere and animated by a true love of art. He -listened, gazed at his work, and, turning toward me, gave me a joyous -glance. - -"You are right," he replied, with a spontaneity that put my sense of -responsibility on its mettle. "I sacrificed to the mania of the age, -which is to overload things. My modeling is there, the eloquence of the -gesture also. The rest would only spoil the essential things. It is a -stroke of genius. I am going to write to the under-secretary of state -that my monument is ready." - -In lieu of the two figures that were to have accompanied the statue of -Victor Hugo, to indemnify the Government Rodin gave to the Musée du -Luxembourg a series of his most beautiful busts in bronze, including the -head of the poet. - -As for the marble, it was in the garden of the Palais Royal that it -was finally erected; but this site is not of the happiest: a large -lawn separates the spectator from the monument; one sees it from the -wrong angle, and this destroys the equilibrium of its planes. Moreover, -in our damp climate marble quickly loses the charm of its purity and -transparency; streaks of brown already stain and deface that of the -"Victor Hugo." Let us hope that the organizers of the Musée Rodin -will find it possible to place it in one of the rooms of the future -museum, substituting for it a bronze upon which the inclemencies of the -atmosphere will serve to produce a beautiful patina. - - - -THE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898) - -This is the most famous and the least known of Rodin's works. Newspaper -controversies have made it famous throughout the whole world; but it -has, nevertheless, made only one brief appearance in public, in 1898, at -the Salon of the Société Nationale des Beaux Arts. It marks at the same -time a vital stage in the career of the master and the most poignant -period of his life as a fighter. It is the point of equilibrium in -the perpetual balancing of the art of Rodin between the several great -traditions. It was the object of a famous quarrel, in which the glory -of the sculptor, momentarily all but eclipsed by ridicule, recovered -itself, nevertheless, and rose higher than ever. - -What strikes one in this statue, at first sight, is its strange -block-like aspect, its monolithic simplicity. People say quite rightly -that it looks like a stone _lovée_, a druidic monument. Ever since "The -Burghers of Calais," one of the figures of which at least, that of -the man with the key, already suggests the idea of a monolith, Rodin -had been going further and further in his stubborn search for the -simplification of planes, and here he finally achieved his object. In -order to obtain it, he went back all the way to the primitive Gothic -and even to the archaic Greek, which likewise preserves in the general -outline of its statues the rigid aspect of those statues of wood that -had preceded it. In all these early epochs of art one finds the form of -the tree trunk in which their sculpture was cut. One of the examples of -this art that had most forcibly impressed Rodin was the statue of Hera -of Samothrace in the Louvre. The beauty of this figure, denuded of all -foreign artifice in the exact research for masses, the public little -comprehends; but the sculptor perceives its justness, the power of its -relief and its modeling, disconcerting in these primitive artists, -qualities that are concealed under the extreme simplicity of its -appearance. In this magnificent Hera it is as if one saw the rotundities -of woman coming to birth and undergoing in the tree, the vegetal column, -one of those metamorphoses familiar in the fables of paganism. The -"Balzac," with its athletic body, veiled in a spread robe that envelopes -it, does not it also resemble a powerful tree trunk from the summit of -which looks down, like a solitary, monstrous flower, the head of the -inspired writer? - -This statue had been ordered by the Société des Gens de Lettres, and was -intended for one of the public squares of Paris. After Victor Hugo, -Balzac. After the giant of modern poetry, the giant of the novel. What -a redoutable honor, but also what a homage to the talent of the great -sculptor! What joy for artists in the association of these two names, -Balzac and Rodin! On the other hand, how many adversaries rejoiced in -the hope of seeing Rodin come to grief with this task, fraught not -less with peril than with glory! He did not conceal from himself that -the statue of Balzac would be a severe problem to solve. We possess -no authentic bust of the creator of the "Comédie Humaine," not even -a death-mask giving the exact measure of the cranial bones and hence -the actual planes. We know through his contemporaries that the author -was fat and short. Fat and short--that is far from facilitating the -composition of a work of decorative art. But, more precious than -mediocre portraits, there is a famous page about him by Lamartine, -another great genius. "Balzac," he says, "was the figure of an element -... stout, thick-set, square at the base and at the shoulders, ample, -much as Mirabeau was; but not heavy in any way; he had so much soul that -it carried _him_ lightly." - -[Illustration: STATUE OF BALZAC.] - -It was this essence that he set out to render. A frank artist takes -no liberties with reality. It alone gives him force; the "majesty of -the true" is alone durable. Nature, which dowered Balzac with one -of the most prodigious intellects known to us, dowered him at the -same time, to support this intellect, with the physical breadth of a -colossus. To have altered anything that went to make up the harmony of -the structure would have been to commit a grave error; it would have -been to denaturalize the divine work. On the other hand, above this -mass of flesh it was necessary to make that marvelous spirit hover, -that sparkling spirit, that myriad-faceted spirit of the greatest of -novelists. - -Rodin knows by experience that nature repeats herself. Has not a -humorist said: "It is useless to make a bust of you; it exists already. -You have only to look for it in the museums"? - -He set out to find a man who resembled Balzac, going all the way to -Touraine, the writer's native province, a hundred times depicted by -him in his books. The family of Balzac was originally from Languedoc, -but that made no difference; the intuition of a great artist is always -rewarded. Rodin found at Tours the model he desired; he was a young -countryman, a carter, who resembled his hero to an almost miraculous -degree. Of him he made a very animated bust, in which one sees the full -face, the nose, concave and large at the end, but voluptuous and full -of spirit, the rounded chin, the vast shoulders of the master of the -"Comédie Humaine." There was lacking, however, the flame of thought that -spiritualized and rendered buoyant this mass of human substance. Rodin -modified the expression, illuminating the physiognomy with delicacy and -frank gaiety. It is Balzac at twenty-five, a peasant Balzac, breathing -at every pore youth, self-confidence, and the love of life. Not yet -is it the man tormented by fate, the tragic visionary of the "Comédie -Humaine," the slave of his work who in twenty years wrote fifty novels, -staged a thousand characters, and gave life to an entire society. It is -not the man who has suffered, thought, meditated, with all the power -of one of the most extraordinary organisms known to us; it has not the -appearance of a phenomenon. - -After this Rodin skilfully altered these features; he gave them the -scars of the interior effort, he made them soft and hollowed them, he -made them old and grave. In a few weeks he did the work that nature -had taken years to accomplish. He finished by creating that Titan's -mask which we know, that head as round as a bullet and, like a bullet, -terrible in its concentrated force. Later he augmented this; that is -to say, he doubled its proportions: and this head, almost frightening -in its expression, recalls the masks which the Greek tragedians wore -when they played in the open air. Finally he modeled the body of the -colossus, making it entirely nude, with arms crossed, braced against -the earth with the tension of the whole will, evoking the idea of some -prodigious birth. Then he draped this heavy body in the monk's robe -in which the writer used to envelope himself for work and the straight -folds of which enwrapped him like the sheath of a mummy, offering to the -sight nothing but the tumultuous head--the head ravaged by intelligence -and savage energy. - -Rodin felt almost frightened by his own work. - -He kept it a long time before turning it over to the cast-makers. He had -worked it out in his atelier, but it was destined for the open air. How -would it appear in broad daylight? - -The gestation of this work was accompanied by a thousand miseries. The -committee of the Société des Gens de Lettres incessantly demanded the -"Balzac"; they were dumfounded before the extraordinary figure that was -shown to them, before this white phantom the conception of which was so -utterly the reverse of all current ideas. Not knowing what to say, they -insisted that it should be modified and urged haste upon Rodin, whose -extraordinary dexterity became slowness itself when it was a question -of putting the final touches upon a great work. The press began to -take note of the affair. He himself became troubled and nervous. With -what transports would he have left it, fled, gone away to rest and to -dream of something else for a few weeks! The time of the Salon was -approaching. Quite suddenly he made his decision, gave the clay to be -cast, and ordered an enlargement. The statue was brought back to him at -the Dépôt des Marbres, in the rue de l'Université; it was twice as large -as the original model. It was placed in the garden that stretched out -in front of the studio. He examined it as it rose against the depths of -the open sky and the bright spring light. It was as if he had never seen -it, and suddenly his mind was illuminated. The work was grand, simple, -strong; the essential modeling was there, and the details they had -exhorted him to add would only have diminished its unsurpassable unity. - -Rodin had made up his mind. He sent his "Balzac" to the Salon. - -Immediately there was war. The press, worked upon by the committee of -the Société des Gens de Lettres, was unfavorable in advance. On the day -of the opening of the Salon the word was passed around, and the official -art world _s'esclaffe_. There was a crowd at the foot of the lofty -image, near which Rodin took up his position, calm according to his -wont, and talked quietly with his friends. Some, a very few, told him -how they admired this work so proudly offered, so strange in its banal -surroundings. - -The next day the press broke forth. What an uproar! Everything went off -at once: the heavy artillery of the great newspapers scolded solemnly, -the light artillery crackled in the political sheets, and the grape-shot -of the minor papers spat their rage, only too happy for so rich a prey -to cut to pieces. The Institute, as might have been foreseen, fanned the -conflagration. The public, excited, in turn broke loose, in the fury of -ignorance stirred up against knowledge. - -[Illustration: THE HEAD OF BALZAC.] - -It became a "case," an affair, the _affaire de Balzac_. The committee of -the Société des Gens de Lettres mobilized; by a vote of eleven to four -it declared that it "did not recognize the writer in the statue of M. -Rodin." The president of the same society, the poet Jean Aicard, refused -the chance of immortality which this stupidity was to confer upon his -colleagues and flung his resignation in their faces. A group of members -of the municipal council of Paris decreed that it would be ridiculous -to accord "this block" a place in one of the squares of the city. For -two months music-halls and café-concerts vented every evening the wit -of the gutter on the scandalous statue and its sculptor; peddlers sold -caricatures of it in plaster, Balzac being represented as a heap of snow -or as a seal. In short, such was the event that it required nothing -but the pen of Aristophanes to note down the harmonies of this chorus -of frogs. The health of Rodin suffered a reaction from his long effort -and from this battle. Then, too, there are hours when the strongest are -seized with nausea before the bad faith and the stupidity of people. -Nervous, his mind aching, a prey to insomnia, the master offered a -melancholy spectacle, that beautiful serenity of his destroyed and his -working strength put in jeopardy. - -"For all that," says M. Léon Riotor, who tells the story with eloquence, -"Rodin had a wonderful awakening. All the young world of letters rose -up to declare its sympathy with the vanquished in this new skirmish. A -number of painters and sculptors joined in. And the protest that was -circulated came back covered with signatures." - -No, Rodin was not vanquished. He retired for a moment from the mêlée -to recover and to meditate in peace, but without deviating by a single -step from his line of conduct. A collector offered to buy the "Balzac." -A group of intellectuals started a public subscription; funds flowed -in. Although he was not yet wealthy, Rodin courteously declined these -offers, and, declaring that "an artist, like a woman, has to guard his -honor," decided to withdraw his monument from the Salon and not have it -erected anywhere. - -The epic statue was transported to Meudon, and placed in the garden of -the villa. In its loftiness it imposes itself against the sky, against -the hills, against the trees that surround it, with the quality of -nature herself. Like a gigantic pole it triumphs in the open air. It -is specially on clear nights that its disturbing authority strikes -the soul. The great phantom appears then formidable in the extreme -simplicity of its planes, which, as in strong architecture, distribute -over large spaces the masses of shadow and light. The American painter -Steichen has passed nights in this enchanted garden in order to take -of the "Balzac" photographs that are more beautiful than engravings. -Haughty, with a ferocious majesty in the moonlight, the master of -the "Comédie Humaine" brings his soul face to face with nature; he -listens to its silence, he sounds its mysteries, he questions it in -mute dialogue, the like of which has not been heard since the colloquy -of _Hamlet_ with the shade of his father. For it is of _Hamlet_, of -the most profound symbolization of the human spirit wrestling with the -unknown, that one dreams before this meditating Balzac, alone, under the -nocturnal light. This is what Rodin has known how to make out of that -short, thick-set man who was the author of the "Etudes Philosophiques"; -this is how he has lighted the fires of the intelligence on the mask of -genius. - -It is at the Musée Rodin that we shall rediscover this statue. Time -will have progressed, and ideas also. When they see it anew, how many -people will be astounded at having formerly scoffed at the work and -offended the master, struck dumb and secretly humiliated at having thus -contributed to the writing of the hundred thousandth chapter of that -endless book, the book of human stupidity. - - - -THE EXPOSITION OF 1900--THE BAS-RELIEFS OF EVIAN--RODIN AND THE WAR - -In 1899, Rodin exhibited a large part of his work at Brussels and in -Holland. The effect produced upon artists and upon the cultivated -portion of the public was such that he resolved to repeat this -experiment at the Universal Exposition of Paris. - -It was foreordained that nothing should be easy for the great toiler, -that it would be necessary for him to conquer everything through effort -and struggle. - -The administration of the Exposition, which had granted innumerable -requests for space addressed to it by the industrialists and business -men of the whole world, by bar-keepers, itinerant booth-holders, and -managers of café-concerts, raised a thousand difficulties when it -was a question of according a few feet of ground to the greatest of -living sculptors. It required all the insistence of his most devoted -and powerful friends to gain his point. Rodin finally received the -authorization to construct a pavilion not in the Exposition itself, but -outside the grounds in the place de l'Alma. - -Once again, so much the better. How much finer for a man of the élite to -stand aside from the rout! - -According to the master's plan, there was erected a hall simple in -appearance, elegant, reservedly in the Louis XVI style, a veritable -repose for the eye strained by the strident architecture of the great -fair of 1900. There were assembled the people of his sculpture. - -[Illustration: THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.] - -Once more Rodin experienced an hour of trial, a formidable hour. If -for the last dozen years he had left poverty behind, he had not yet -achieved wealth, and it was a great risk to assume the expenses of his -exhibition. If these expenses were not covered by the entrance-fees and -the sale of his sculpture, how would he come out? He would be forced -to a kind of transaction that he had always spurned, he would have to -turn over all or part of his work to the art dealers. These groups, -these busts, so painstakingly cast, or cut in the most beautiful -marble by excellent workmen, and often by renowned sculptors, once the -dealers had acquired rights in them, would they not be duplicated in a -quantity of replicas of mediocre workmanship or, worse, reproduced by -undiscriminating stone-cutters, who would disfigure the modeling and -the character? The idea was odious to the scrupulous sculptor. He had -reached the age of sixty, and if he did not show it, thanks to the vigor -of his temperament and the persistent youth that goes with great minds, -it was not less painful for him to put his apprehensions to the test. -Too dignified, too proud, to give way to vain lamentations, he made only -the most reserved references to his ordeal. - -The success of the exhibition remained uncertain during the first -weeks: many people hoped it would be a failure. At the end of a month -or two, visitors from abroad, to whom thanks be given, began to pour -in; the principal museums of Europe wished to possess some important -figure of Rodin's. Soon the number of purchasers increased day by day, -and I do not have to mention here how many art-lovers from the United -States decided to enrich their collections with some rare piece signed -by the master. In short, during the latter months Rodin had the joy -of perceiving that he could remain the sole possessor of his work, -that nothing could now separate him from his dear family of bronze and -marble. It was happiness for him; it signalized also the great glory -that comes with outstretched wing, bringing fortune with it. - -The pretty pavilion in the place de l'Alma was transported and reërected -in the garden at Meudon, and he filled it with masterpieces. Since then -the whole world of art and literature and that portion of the political -world that esteems art has passed through it. The French aristocracy -and that of England, the most eminent personages of the two Americas, -have been eager to visit it. One receives in it an impression at once -grand and touching, giving one the highest idea of the supremacy -of intellectual valor above the other goods of this world when one -perceives the contrast of these artistic treasures with the altogether -modest little house, almost bare, attended by a single servant, where -Rodin continues, in the midst of the luxury of an epoch intoxicated with -pleasures, to maintain the simplicity of his life in the sober company -of his old single-spirited, faithful-hearted wife. This impression I -never felt more vividly than on the occasion of the visit of the late -King of England. Edward VII, like others, had conceived the desire to -render this homage to French art. The day before, when I encountered the -master in Paris, he said to me, without further explanation, "Come and -have a look at the studio." - -It was a beautiful afternoon in May. When I entered the pavilion, I -could not restrain a cry of admiration. Marbles, nothing but marbles, -of a dazzling whiteness! He had brought together all that he possessed, -all those that his friends and the purchasers of his work had consented -to lend him for the occasion, and one would have said that it was -these groups of young, enlaced bodies, these busts of women, with -their transparent, rosy flesh, that gave forth the light with which -the apartment was filled. It was a unique vision, a vision which, in -its purity and its unity, surpassed in delicate splendor that of the -most celebrated collections, with all their accumulation of pictures, -tapestries, bronze, and jewels. I wondered in silence; I wondered -at the sure taste of the artist, but I wondered also at his will: -everything of him was there. Who can deny that it was necessary for him -to put pressure on himself to decide on such a choice, to sacrifice -the bronzes, the sketches, the terra cottas, and many charming pieces? -Nothing but marble, the kingdom of marble, but also that of life; for -the sumptuous material trembled and palpitated under the play of the -light that entered through the bay-windows of the atelier, bringing with -it the soft brilliance of the season. - -Since the Exposition of 1900, Rodin's reputation has increased steadily -in France and abroad. England and Italy have organized triumphal -receptions for him of a sort reserved hitherto for the most illustrious -men of state. The artists of London have acclaimed him, and have charged -him, on the death of Whistler, with the presidency of the International -Society of Painters, Sculptors, and Engravers. Oxford University has -given him a doctorate. The municipality of Rome has greeted him with -special homage at the capitol; the court of Greece, having invited -him, awaits his visit; at Prague, where he was received by the Society -of Young Czech Artists, they accorded him royal honors, the public -unharnessing the horses from his carriage and applauding at the same -time the personal genius of this great Frenchman and the free ideas of -his country. - -Without altering in any way his life of labor, which these tributes have -at times slightly interfered with, he has permitted himself only one -luxury as the result of his fortune--a collection of antiques. This he -has formed with passion. It is, once more, for purposes of study, and -what a study, to possess a few of these sublime fragments, to feel them -and handle them under all aspects of light! Rodin has placed a certain -number of them in his garden, arranging them among the trees, among the -shrubs; he has placed them on the fresh grass, where they seem to live -in another and a happier way than in the rooms of museums. At a stroke -the little garden at Meudon, with its pedestals, its statues, with its -grove where a charming little marble, the "Sleeping Cupid," reposes, has -become like the villa of a Roman citizen of the time of Augustus. - - * * * * * - -The art of Rodin has in a certain measure shown the effect of these -happy events. During these latter years he has grown calm; he displays -a serenity of spirit and a self-possession that increases day by day. -But if the struggle in his composition has been tranquilized, his -workmanship has grown freer. The sculptor's effort concentrates itself -now in the search for a modeling ever more ample and suppler, which -with him constitutes a new and decisive manner. It is to this that we -owe those exquisite marbles, "Psyche Bearing the Lamp," "Benedictions," -"The Young Girl and the Two Genii," "Romeo and Juliet," "The Fall of -Icarus." This has been the epoch also of the busts of Mrs. Simpson and -the proud and handsome George Wyndham, the English statesman. It is -the epoch, finally, of the "Monument to President Sarmiento," which -offers at the same time, in happy opposition, the two most recent and -most characteristic methods of Rodin. The bronze statue of the great -Argentine statesman has an aspect at once romantic and realistic that -recalls that of "The Burghers of Calais," and the marble pedestal that -supports it, a vanquishing Apollo emerging from the clouds all luminous -with youth and glory, belongs to the latest period. Of this monument, -ordered by the city of Buenos Aires, France does not possess a replica, -though the model has been preserved. The Musée Rodin will soon contain a -duplicate. - -From 1901 to 1906 there was an uninterrupted creation of figures and of -portraits, among them the busts of Sir Howard Walden, Berthelot, Gustave -Geffroy, Mme. Hunter, and Bernard Shaw. - -One must add the myriad drawings that Rodin has never ceased to execute. -The will to sustain his eye and his hand instead of permitting them to -become weakened with age has become a passion with him. He draws as a -writer thinks. He thinks pencil in hand; his drawings are aphorisms. -Line-sketches, stump-drawings, water-colors in strange tints multiply -themselves like the leaves of a tree and quite constitute alone a -complete work. The master has sold and given away quantities of them, -yet; nevertheless, the Musée will contain more than three thousand. I -have been honored with the charge of counting them over and classifying -them. After days of this work one has a sensation of dazzlement, as I -have discovered, before this accumulation of toil and beauty. - -The most precious of these drawings are the most recent. The study of -light has been carried in these to the supreme nuances. More and more -Rodin detests what is black, what is hard, what is dry. He adores, on -the other hand, that which is supple, enveloped, drowned in the light -mist of the atmosphere. He conceives everything through an almost -imperceptible veil which softens the contours, and which he discerns -with an eye that grows every day more sensitive. His sculpture has -followed the same path. In the greater part of his marbles he has -pursued the effects of mass and of the ensemble in what concerns the -volumes and the effects of gradation, the study of the diminutions of -light in what concerns the coloring. The color that obtains uniquely in -the art of shadow and light is the charm of beautiful sculpture. Rodin -thus captures the variations with a competence that ravishes our eyes, -accustomed to the dryness of limits that are too distinct. It is in the -reliefs entitled "The Seasons" that Rodin has attained the apogee of -this science of luminous modeling. - -These works, executed for La Sapinière, the estate of Baron Vitta at -Evian, comprise three high-reliefs fashioned on a gate and two fountain -basins, or monumental garden urns. They are cut in the stone of the -Estaillade, a white stone the richness of grain and delicate golden tone -of which make it unsurpassable for the interpretation of the human body. -They were exhibited for a short time in February, 1905, at the Musée du -Luxembourg, on the initiative of M. Léon Bénédite, the very accomplished -curator and critic of art, who arranged them with perfect taste. But far -from being embraced and vindicated, as he would be now by the present -administration of fine arts, Rodin was still regarded as a revolutionist -whose example could neither be followed nor trusted. - -This was made quite plain to the audacious curator who decided quite by -himself to exhibit the latest works of the master before their departure -for Evian. After this _coup d'état_ he was for several years the victim -of attacks from academic circles, and underwent, on the part of the -Government, a sort of disgrace. Since then he has been brilliantly -compensated, and to-day he has been placed in charge of the installation -of the Musée Rodin at the Hôtel Biron, a great work in which I have the -happiness to be his collaborator. - -The decorative designs of the villa of Evian adorn the vestibule of the -home of Baron Vitta. "Their subject," says M. Bénédite, in an excellent -notice which served as a catalogue for the Exhibition of 1905, "if -one wishes to speak of the motive that serves as their pretext, is -the most banal in the world. One would find it difficult to count the -number of times that it has served artists since antiquity. So true it -is that the commonest, the most general, the most seemingly worn-out -themes are those in which the great artists find themselves the most at -home. Without difficulty they renew them, and stamp them unforgettably -with their own peculiar mark. Rodin has calmly returned to the four -seasons, confident that they would bear without effort the impress of -his personality and his time and that they would suffice to express his -whole conception of beauty and of life." - -Rodin has figured "The Seasons" under the aspect of four sleeping -women. Their beautiful forms model themselves in the warm-tinted stone, -which itself seems animated with the reflections of the living flesh. -Their mysterious sleep evokes the successive phases of the year. Now -it marks the quietude of the earth, full of the joy of yielding up her -flowers and her fruits under the caresses of the sun, now it is death -revealing itself through a nature tormented with the heavy travail of -generation. In the "Spring" it is a young body that lies voluptuously -under a rose-bush the fragrant petals of which are mingled with her own -flesh, enveloping her in the dream of their perfume. In the "Autumn," -the sleeper crouches close to the ground under the fruits and the -vine-leaves, oppressed by the intoxicating aroma. The "Winter" presses -her chilled limbs closely against the cavities of the denuded earth, -while above her the roots of the trees enlace themselves intricately, -like sacred serpents charged with protecting her slumber. The "Summer" -is a siesta upon the bosom of a Nature _en fête_, lulled by the golden -sounds of harvest balanced on the breeze and the murmur of a spring that -pours forth freshness and quietude. - -But in what, you ask, resides the originality of these decorative -commonplaces, their brilliant, unquestionable originality? In the -deliberate simplicity, in the spirit of sobriety that has presided over -their composition, and, above all, in their execution. It is through -their execution that the sculptures of Evian occupy a place apart in -the work of Rodin. Since the beautiful Greek epoch, stone has perhaps -never assumed such a living sweetness under any human hand. One might -believe that it had not been touched by the steel of the chisel, but -caressed by a touch as delicate as it is firm, molded like wax under -the warmth of that hand. These mellow figures do not detach themselves -from the living framework in which they are set; they stand out, -thanks to an insensible transition which leaves them enveloped, in the -reflections of the fair material; they mass themselves under a sifted -light, among the flowers and the clusters of grapes. With all this there -is no insipidity. Under the skin one feels the plenitude of bodies rich -with health, harmonious organisms: it is a force that has found its -equilibrium, a force relaxing in sweetness. Strangely enough, when one -seeks for antecedents to which it is possible to relate the reliefs of -Evian, it is not in the domain of sculpture, but in that of painting, -that one finds the terms of comparison. The intense power, carefully -measured as it is, of this vibrant modeling and this color drenched in -sunlight we find again among the tenderest creations of Correggio, of -Rubens, and, closer to ourselves, of Renoir. - -The two jardinières which complete this unique series represent groups -of children mad with joy and with liberty; in the one case playing and -jostling one another in a field of wheat, in the midst of the moving -sea of spears, and in the other, spread out on the green summer grass, -rapturously holding up in their little arms, already robust, the grapes -heavy with wine. They are exquisite fantasies of movement, of grace, of -mad life just beginning. Here, too, the flesh of these little laughing -gods, melting in the mass of ripe corn and tottering vines, seems bathed -in the clearness of a beautiful day, full of air and of light. - -These five works of the old age of the master might be entitled the -"Poem of Youth." It is the privilege of genius to return, in its -decline, to its point of departure, to remount to the sources of life, -which remain ever the most intoxicating. The sensations of infancy and -adolescence solicit him with all their unforgettable seductiveness, and -he surrenders himself lovingly to the sweetness of this lost dream; but -it has cost him his entire, existence to acquire the gift of translating -it. - -This search for the envelopment of forms fruitful of new effects is the -decisive point in the career of Rodin; it is the supreme thought, the -end and aim of sixty years of toil and reflection. Therefore it is a -very happy thing for French sculpture that Rodin has been able to live -long enough to realize completely this definitive conception of his -art. For from the summit attained by him other artists can spring forth -afresh, to renew once more perhaps the manifestations of the national -genius. The resources indicated by Rodin have hardly been used hitherto; -to bring them fully into employment meanwhile there will perhaps be born -a new school of sculpture. - -[Illustration: BUST OF BERNARD SHAW.] - -What constitutes the originality of a great artist is that it is never -isolated. It belongs at once to the past, to the present, and to -the future; it is altogether a derivative and a root. It springs from -the past through atavism, through study, and through admiration for -the masters; it is of the present through contact with those of the -artist's contemporaries who march at the same time with him along the -road of discovery; finally, it influences the future by bequeathing to -the generations that follow a new conception and new methods. To-day -we see clearly the sources from which have come the ultimate aspect of -the talent of Rodin. They are the art of Greece; they are also certain -marvels of Gothic art in which miraculously reblossomed the Hellenic -suppleness and sweetness, as if the springs of the Greek genius had -mysteriously coursed under the earth from Athens to France, bursting -forth at last in the walls of our cathedrals; then there are those -unfinished marbles of Michelangelo from which Rodin derived the idea of -vapor and flow in sculpture. But other artists have arrived, at about -the same time, at the same end, or almost the same end, by different -paths. Among these are two of our great painters, friends and comrades -of Rodin, Renoir and Carrière. Does not this community of thought -prove how profound is the vitality our country continues to possess in -the domain of art? We are less struck by this phenomenon than when we -verify its effects in the past, when we see them related and summed up -in the history of art; because we are not in a position to disengage -it from our present life, which is encumbered and complicated, and to -draw a conclusion from it. And then, too, the present political régime -does little to signalize the great artists, to muster them before the -untutored admiration of the multitude, to give value to the intellectual -wealth of the country. As a rule, when a man of genius receives the -homage he deserves, it is when he is near his end, if it is not after -his death. What public festivals have been given in France in this -century to honor the glories of our artistic and scientific life, -Victor Hugo excepted? When and how have we celebrated men like Puvis de -Chavannes, Rodin, Renoir, Carrière, Claude Monet, Besnard, Odilon Redon, -and Bartholomé, to mention only masters of the chisel and the brush? -Occasionally they have been gratified by the boredom of an official -banquet, where they have been assigned a rank considerably lower than -that of the least important politician, and they are expected to be -thankful when they have had bestowed upon them a few parchments and some -bits of ribbon. Fortunately, their joys are in another sphere, whither -no one who is not their equal can follow them. - -In their ardent effort toward a similar end, then, it is necessary to -associate Rodin, Renoir, and Carrière. All three, for that matter, have -mutually admired and even influenced one another. Whether in the course -of their work or in their conversations, one cannot deny that the -attempt of the Impressionist School, which consists precisely in not -separating the being or the object from its atmosphere, in prolonging -its life in the life of that which envelopes it, really succeeds only -in the work of these masters. They have, if not recreated, at least -broadened the law of the distribution of shadow and of light in their -intricate fusion. Certainly others had already manifested and realized -similar ways of seeing things, according to their various temperaments, -such men as Fantin-Latour and Henner in the study of the human figure -and Claude Monet in landscape. But, except for Monet, no one affirms -them with the authority of a Rodin, a Carrière, a Renoir. If Carrière, -too early interrupted by a cruel death, is a tragic, a somber genius, -a genius of the Gothic line, which in him does not exclude great -sweetness, Renoir and Rodin, in their maturity, are happy geniuses, -masters of young beauty and of a serenity which art has scarcely known -since ancient Greece. A like sentiment of serenity, a like aspiration -for harmonious unity, therefore a closer contact with nature, bring them -together. - -This serenity, this aspiration for unity, Rodin and Renoir have sought -during their whole life, and it is in the radiant works of their old age -that it triumphs. The genius of form and its union with the universal -has been the master thought, the plastic ideal, which their fraternal -minds have realized simultaneously by different methods. - -"With Rodin a style begins," said Octave Mirbeau twenty years ago. The -phrase stirred up a tempest. All the time that has passed since then has -been required to make people admit its truth. The great writer might -have said with more exactitude, but with less force, "With Rodin style -itself has begun anew." - -Will it continue? It has never entirely ceased to exist, even if it has -no longer the force of expansion with which, from France and through -her, it spread through all Europe. Will it begin again with its vigor as -of old? The question touches those problems raised by the events that -are to-day overturning the world and also the profound modifications -which the war will bring. - -The master gives us his opinion on this matter in a few words, -circumspect and measured, as he himself always is. How could he be -otherwise before the formidable unknown that still hides from us the -next turn of destiny? It is fitting, then, to leave him the last word on -this subject. Fortunately his word has the warm ring of hope. - -[Illustration: A FÊTE GIVEN IN HONOR OF RODIN BY SOME OF HIS FRIENDS.] - -This hope he draws in a measure from himself, from his own strength, -which is, he feels, a distinct outgrowth of the national strength, of -the unconquerable soul of our ancestors; he draws it also from the -consciousness of a task accomplished in the face of the hard blows -of life; and finally from the promise of the artistic youth of the -country, of that which belongs to his school. For if with two or three -exceptions he has not directly formed pupils, his artistic principles, -his faith in the virtue of character and labor, supported by the example -of an unequaled body of work, have given him innumerable disciples. The -lesson which he offers us and which will soon be offered to all at the -museum in the Hôtel Biron, will endure for centuries. He says himself -justly, with pride and modesty, that this museum will form a true home -of education. - - * * * * * - -A few words more about this life which in the fecundity of its -unexpected incidents remains for the attentive witness profoundly -significant to the very end. - -At the moment when the war of 1914 broke out, the master was in his -villa at Meudon. When the German armies approached Paris, he thought -of leaving his home. He had excited great admiration in the land -of Schiller and Goethe, he had been urged to take part in numerous -expositions there; but he had quite special reasons for knowing that -his work, were it to fall into their hands, would not be spared by the -soldiers from beyond the Rhine. Overwhelmed by the terrifying surprise -of the invasion, he did not know where to go. - -As he had many friends in England, I offered to guide him there. He -therefore crossed the channel, accompanied by his wife, the companion -of his good and evil days. It was without a word of bitterness that he -set out, without expressing a regret for all that he was leaving behind -him. Before the immensity of the national misfortune he seemed to have -completely forgotten the menace that hung over the work of his whole -life. In the train that carried us by night to one of the French ports, -he said in his clear and always tranquil voice: "Yes, I am leaving -much behind me. It is the work of an entire life that will disappear, -perhaps." That was all. This attitude of an old exiled king inspired a -respect free from all compassion. - -The fate of his collection of antiques caused him more disquietude. - -"If they take them, that is nothing; they will still exist. But if they -break them! They will have destroyed what is irreplaceable." - -He did not wish to remain in London. Too many relationships would -have hindered him from collecting himself and from preserving that -dignity of solitude, that reserve of a refugee which was proper to his -situation. He preferred to accompany us to a small country town, where -for six weeks he lived a modest life, very retired, interested only, but -passionately interested, in the reading of English newspapers, which we -translated for him. - -When we apprised him of the burning of Rheims Cathedral, he replied -with a laugh of incredulity. For two days he refused to believe it. It -seemed to him an invention of the press designed to stir the public and -increase recruiting. At last, convinced, he said, with inexpressible -sadness: "The biblical times have come back again, the great invasions -of the Medes and the Persians. Has the world, then, reached the point -where it deserves to be punished for the egotistical epicureanism in -which it has slumbered?" After this he became absorbed in his own -thoughts. - -The Battle of the Marne, in saving France and the world, saved also that -little temple of art, the museum at Meudon. Rodin, on his return from -England, found it intact. - -He took up his work again, without a pause, with that unalterable -patience of his--that patience of the peasant that turns him back to his -field the moment the enemy has passed. He awaits there sadly the dawn of -peace. - - * * * * * - -During the last months of the year 1916 the question of the Musée Rodin, -broached five years ago, became again a living one; it was brought -before the assembly. Certain of the master's adversaries who have not -been calmed even by the events of the present affected a righteous -indignation that the discussion of this question of art should at -this moment have any place in the order of the day, and they tried to -make people believe that it was he who had chosen this tragic hour for -debates of this kind. Let us repeat that five years ago Rodin offered -this gift to his country, and that the delay in settling the matter is -imputable solely to the procrastination of public affairs. - -On the day I write these lines the creation of the Musée Rodin has been -determined upon. The two chambers have voted by a majority that proves -that everything France contains in the way of cultivated intelligence -desires to assure a home worthy of itself for the works of its greatest -sculptor. - -But before we have arrived there what other mishaps may not befall! It -is too soon to write the history of the Musée Rodin. Its adventure is -not less singular than all the others that have marked this long career, -certain of which have been summed up in these pages. The more forceful -the personality, the more it is in contradiction with the passions of -the vulgar, the more are the incidents that spring up in the contact of -these two opposite elements. It would require a whole volume to recount -those that have punctuated the life of Rodin during these later years. - -Despite the bitterness of the combat, the master has had nothing to -complain of and does not complain. The outcome of his life-story is most -beautiful, and if this beauty already strikes us, it is in the years -to come that it will attain its full glory. For if the gesture with -which Rodin offers to France his work and his dearest possessions is -that of those who count in the annals of their country, no one perhaps -has ever received such a homage as that which the country has bestowed -upon him in the manner of accepting his gift. In the midst of war, in -the very hour when the country is suffering unheard of evils, it has -self-possession enough in the firmness of its indomitable soul to honor -in a magnificent way the work of one of its sons--a work accomplished in -time of peace. Turning its attention for an instant from the necessities -of war, from the front where it struggles, suffers, and dies, it remains -calm enough, sufficiently sure of itself, to offer to one of its heroes -of toil, and of the thought which its soldiers defend, a testimony of -its gratitude and admiration. - -THE END - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Rodin: The Man and his Art, by Judith Cladel - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODIN: THE MAN AND HIS ART *** - -***** This file should be named 43327-8.txt or 43327-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/3/2/43327/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Rodin: The Man and his Art - With Leaves from his Note-book - -Author: Judith Cladel - -Commentator: James Huneker - -Translator: S.K. Star - -Release Date: July 27, 2013 [EBook #43327] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODIN: THE MAN AND HIS ART *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org - - - - - -</pre> - - - -<h1>RODIN</h1> - -<h3>THE MAN AND HIS ART</h3> - -<h4>WITH LEAVES FROM HIS NOTE-BOOK</h4> - -<h2>COMPILED BY JUDITH CLADEL</h2> - -<h4>AND TRANSLATED BY S.K. STAR</h4> - -<h4>WITH INTRODUCTION BY JAMES HUNEKER</h4> - -<h4>AND ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS</h4> - - - -<h5>NEW YORK</h5> - -<h5>THE CENTURY CO.</h5> - -<h5>1917</h5> - -<hr class="full" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> -<p><a id="i000"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin000_biron.jpg" width="450" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED ON THE STEPS OF THE HOTEL BIRON.</div> -</div> - - -<p><a href="#CONTENTS">Contents</a></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3><a name="AUGUSTE_RODIN" id="AUGUSTE_RODIN">AUGUSTE RODIN</a></h3> - -<h4>BY JAMES HUNEKER</h4> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>Of Auguste Rodin one thing may be said without fear of contradiction: -among his contemporaries to-day he is preëminently the master. Born -at Paris, 1840,—the natal year of his friends, Claude Monet and -Zola—in humble circumstances, without a liberal education, the young -Rodin had to fight from the beginning; fight for bread as well as -an art schooling. He was not even sure of his vocation. An accident -determined it. He became a workman in the atelier of the sculptor, -Carrier-Belleuse, though not until he had failed at the Beaux-Arts (a -stroke of luck for his genius), and after he had enjoyed some tentative -instruction under the animal sculptor, Barye (he was not a steady -pupil of Barye, nor did he care to remain with him) he went to Belgium -and "ghosted" for other sculptors; it was his privilege or misfortune -to have been the anonymous assistant of a half dozen sculptors. He -mastered the technique of his art by the sweat of his brow before he -began to make music upon his own instrument. How his first work, "The -Man with the Broken Nose," was refused by the Salon jury is history. -He designed for the Sèvres porcelain works. He executed portrait busts, -architectural ornaments, caryatids; all styles that were huddled in the -studios and yards of sculptors he essayed. No man knew his trade better, -although it is said that with the chisel of the <i>practicien</i> Rodin was -never proficient; he could not, or would not, work at the marble <i>en -bloc</i>. His sculptures to-day are in the museums of the world, and he is -admitted to possess "talent" by academic men. Rivals he has none. His -production is too personal. Like Richard Wagner he has proved a upas -tree for lesser artists—he has deflected, or else absorbed them. His -friend Eugene Carrière warned young sculptors not to study Rodin too -curiously. Carrière was wise, yet his art of portraiture was influenced -by Rodin; swimming in shadow his enigmatic heads have more the quality -of Rodin's than the mortuary art of academic sculpture.</p> - -<p>A profound student of light and movement, Rodin by deliberate -amplification of the surfaces of his statues, avoiding dryness and -harshness of outline, secures a zone of radiancy, a luminosity which -creates the illusion of reality. He handles values in clay as a -painter does his tones. He gets the design of the outline by movement -which continually modifies the anatomy; the secret of the Greeks, -he believes. He studies his profiles successively in full light, -obtaining volume—or planes—at once and together; successive views -of one movement. The light plays with more freedom upon his amplified -surfaces, intensified in the modeling by enlarging the lines. The edges -of certain parts are amplified, deformed, falsified, and we enjoy -light-swept effects, luminous emanations. This deformation, he declares, -was always practised by the great sculptors to snare the undulating -appearance of life. Sculpture, he asserts, is the "art of the hole and -lump, not of clear, well-smoothed, unmodeled figures." Finish kills -vitality. Yet Rodin can chisel a smooth nymph, if he so wills, but her -flesh will ripple and run in the sunlight. His art is one of accents. -He works by profile in depth, not by surfaces. He swears by what he -calls "cubic truth"; his pattern is a mathematical figure; the pivot of -art is balance, i.e., the opposition of volumes produced by movement. -Unity haunts him. He is a believer in the correspondence of things, of -continuity in nature. He is mystic, as well as a geometrician. Yet such -a realist is he that he quarrels with any artist who does not recognize -"the latent heroic in every natural movement."</p> - -<p>Therefore he does not force the pose of his model, preferring attitudes -or gestures voluntarily adopted. His sketch books, as vivid, as copious, -as the drawings of Hokusai—he is studious of Japanese art—are swift -memoranda of the human machine as it dispenses its normal muscular -motions. Rodin, draughtsman, is as surprisingly original as the sculptor -Rodin. He will study a human foot for months, not to copy it, but to -master the secret of its rhythms. His drawings are the swift notations -of a sculptor whose eye is never satisfied, whose desire to pin to paper -the most evanescent vibrations of the human machine is almost a mania. -The model may tumble down anywhere, in any contortion or relaxation -he or she wishes. Practically instantaneous is the method of Rodin -to register the fleeting attitudes, the first shivering surface. He -rapidly draws with his eye on the model. It is often a mere scrawl, a -silhouette, a few enveloping lines. But there is vitality in it all, and -for his purpose, a notation of a motion. But a sculptor has made these -extraordinary drawings, not a painter. It may be well to observe the -distinction. And he is the most rhythmic sculptor among the moderns. -Rhythm means for him the codification of beauty. Because, with a vision -quite virginal, he has observed, he insists that he has affiliations -with the Greeks. But if his vision is Greek his models are French, while -his forms are more Gothic than the pseudo-Greek of the academy.</p> - -<p>As Mr. W.C. Brownell wrote: "Rodin reveals rather than constructs beauty -... no sculptor has carried expression further; and expression means -individual character completely exhibited rather than conventionally -suggested." Mr. Brownell was the first critic to point out that Rodin's -art was more nearly related to Donatello's than to Michael Angelo's. -He is in the legitimate line of Gallic sculpture, the line of Goujon, -Puget, Rude, Barye. Dalou, the celebrated sculptor, did not hesitate -to assert that the Dante portal is "one of the most, if not the most, -original and astonishing pieces of sculpture of the nineteenth century."</p> - -<p>This Dante gate, begun thirty years ago, not finished yet—and probably -never to be—is an astoundingly plastic fugue, with death, the devil, -hell, and human passions, for a complicated four-voiced theme. I -first saw the composition at the Rue de l'Université atelier. It is -as terrifying a conception as the Last Judgment. Nor does it miss the -sonorous and sorrowful grandeur of the Medici Tombs. Yet how different. -How feverish, how tragic. Like all great men working in the grip of a -unifying idea, Rodin modified the technique of sculpture so that it -would serve him as sound does a musical composer. A lover of music his -inner ear may dictate the vibrating rhythms of his forms; his marbles -are ever musical, ever in modulation, not "frozen music," as Goethe -said of Gothic architecture, but silent, swooning music. This Gate is -a Frieze of Paris, as deeply significant of modern inspiration and -sorrow as the Parthenon Frieze is the symbol of the great clear beauty -of Hellas. Dante inspired this monstrous yet ennobled masterpiece, and -Baudelaire's poetry filled many of its chinks and crannies with ignoble -writhing shapes; shapes of dusky fire that, as they tremulously stand -above the gulf of fear, wave ineffectual and desperate hands as if -imploring destiny.</p> - -<p>But Rodin is not all hell-fire and tragedy. Of singular delicacy and -exquisite proportion are his marbles of youth, of springtide, of the joy -and desire of life. At Paris, 1900, in his special exhibition Salle, -Europe and America awoke to the beauty of these haunting visions. Not -since Keats and Wagner and Swinburne has love been voiced so sweetly, so -romantically, so fiercely. Though he disclaims understanding the Celtic -spirit one might say that there is Celtic magic, Celtic mystery in his -lyrical work. He pierces to the core the frenzy of love, and translates -it into lovely symbols. For him nature is the sole mistress—his -sculptures are but variations on her themes. He knows the emerald route, -and all the semitones of sensuousness. Fantasy, passion, paroxysmal -madness are there, yet what elemental power is in his "Adam," as the -gigantic first man painfully heaves himself up from the earth to the -posture that differentiates him forever from the beast. Here, indeed, -two natures are at strife. And "Mother Eve" suggests the sorrows and -shames that are to be the lot of her seed; her very loins crushed by the -future generations hidden within them. One may freely walk about the -"Burghers of Calais" as Rodin did when he modeled them; a reason for -the vital quality of the group. Around all his statues we may walk; he -is not a sculptor of a single attitude but a hewer of humans. Consider -the "Balzac." It is not Balzac the writer, but Balzac the prophet, the -seer, the enormous natural force that was Balzac. Rodin is himself a -seer. That is why these two spirits converse across the years, as do the -Alpine peaks in a certain striking parable of Turgenev's. Doubtless in -bronze Rodin's "Balzac" will arouse less wrath from the unimaginative; -in plaster it produces the effect of a snowy surging monolith.</p> - -<p>As a portraitist Rodin is the unique master of characters. His women are -gracious delicate masks; his men cover octaves in virility and variety. -That he is extremely short-sighted has not been dealt with in proportion -to the significance of the fact. It accounts for his love of exaggerated -surfaces, his formless extravagance, his indefiniteness in structural -design; perhaps, too, for his inability, or let us say, his lack of -sympathy, for the monumental. He is a sculptor of intimate emotions. -And while we think of him as a Cyclops destructively wielding a huge -hammer, he is more ardent in his search for the supersubtle nuance. But -there is always the feeling of breadth, even when he models an eyelid. -We are confronted by the paradox of an artist as torrential as Rubens -or Wagner, carving in a wholly charming style a segment of a child's -back, before which we are forced to exclaim: Donatello come to life! His -myopic vision, then, may have been his artistic salvation; he seems to -rely as much on his delicate tactile sense as on his eyes. His fingers -are as sensitive as a violinist's. At times he seems to model both tone -and color.</p> - -<p>A poet, a precise, sober workman of art, with a peasant strain in -him, he is like Millet, and, like Millet, near to the soil. A natural -man, yet crossed by nature with a perverse strain; the possessor -of a sensibility exalted and dolorous; morbid, sick-nerved, and as -introspective as Heine; a visionary and a lover of life, close to the -periphery of things; an interpreter of Baudelaire; Dante's <i>alter ego</i> -in his grasp of the wheel of eternity, in his passionate fling at -nature; withal a sculptor, profound and tortured, transposing rhythm -into the terms of his art, Rodin is a statuary who, while having -affinities with classic and romantic schools, is the most startling -apparition of his century. And to the century which he has summed up so -plastically and emotionally he has propounded questions that only unborn -years may answer. He has a hundred faults to which he opposes one -imperious excellence—a genius, sombre, magical and overwhelming.</p> - - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Rodin deserves well of our young century, the old did so incontinently -batter him. The anguish of his own "Hell's Portal" he endured before he -molded its clay between his thick clairvoyant fingers. Misunderstood, -therefore misrepresented, he with his pride and obstinacy aroused—the -one buttressing the other—was not to be budged from his formulas or -the practice of his sculpture. Then the art world swung unamiably, -unwillingly, toward him, perhaps more from curiosity than conviction. -He became famous. And he is more misunderstood than ever. He has been -called <i>rusé</i>, even a fraud, while the wholesale denunciation of his -work as erotic is unluckily still green in our memory. The sculptor, -who in 1877 was accused of "faking" his lifelike "Age of Bronze"—now -in the Luxembourg—by taking a mold from the living model, also -experienced the discomfiture of being assured some years later that, -not understanding the art of modeling, his statue of Balzac was only -an evasion of difficulties. And this to a man who in the interim had -wrought so many masterpieces. A year or two ago, after his magnificent -offer to the city of Paris of his works, there was much malevolent -criticism from certain quarters. Rodin takes all this philosophically. -He points out that the artist is the only one to-day who creates in -joy. Mankind as a majority hates its work. Workmen no longer consider -their various avocations with proper pride—this was a favorite thesis -of Ruskin, William Morris, and Renoir. Furthermore, argues Rodin, the -artist is indispensable. He reveals the beauty and meaning of life to -his fellows. He struggles against the false, the conventional, and the -used-up; but the French sculptor slyly adds: "No one may benefit mankind -with impunity." He considers himself as having a religious nature; all -artists are temperamentally religious, he contends, though his religion -is not precisely of the kind that would appeal to the orthodox.</p> - -<p>To give Rodin his due he stands prosperity not quite as well as poverty. -In every great artist there is a large area of self-esteem; it is -the reservoir from which he must, during years of drought or defeat, -draw upon to keep fresh the soul. Without the consoling fluid of -egotism genius would soon perish in the dust of despair. But fill this -source to the brim, accelerate the speed of its current, and artistic -deterioration may ensue. Rodin has been fatuously called a second -Michael Angelo—as if there could ever be a replica of any human. He -has been hailed as a modern Praxiteles; which is nonsense. And he is -often damned as a myopic decadent whose insensibility to the pure line -and lack of architectonic have been elevated by his admirers into sorry -virtues. Nevertheless, is Rodin justly appraised? Do his friends not -over-glorify him? Nothing so stales a demigod's image as the perfumes -burned before it by worshipers; the denser the smoke the sooner crumbles -the feet of their idol.</p> - -<p>However, in the case of Rodin the Fates have so contrived their -malicious game that at no point in his career has he been without the -company of envy and slander. Often when he had attained a summit he -would be thrust down into a deeper valley. He has mounted to triumphs -and fallen to humiliations; but his spirit has never been quelled; -and if each acclivity he scales is steeper, the air atop has grown -purer, more stimulating, and below the landscape spreads wider before -him. With Dante he can say: "La montagna ch'e drizza voi ch'e il -mondo fece torti." Rodin's mountain has always straightened in him -what the world made crooked. The name of his mountain is Art. A born -nonconformist, Rodin makes the fourth of that group of nineteenth -century artists—Richard Wagner, Henrik Ibsen, Edouard Manet—who taught -a deaf, dumb, and blind world to hear, see, think, and feel.</p> - -<p>Is it not dangerous to say of a genius that his work alone should -count, that his personality is negligible? Though Rodin has followed -Flaubert's advice to artists to lead an ascetic life that their art -might be the more violent, nevertheless his career, colorless as -it may seem to those who love better stage players and the comedy -of society—this laborious life of a poor sculptor should not be -passed over. He always becomes enraged at the prevailing notion that -fire descends from heaven upon genius. Rodin believes in but one -inspiration—nature. Nature can do no wrong. He swears that he does not -invent, he copies nature. He despises improvisation, has contemptuous -words for "fatal facility," and, being a slow-thinking, slow-moving -man, he only admits to his councils those who have conquered art, not -by assault, but by stealth and after years of hard work. He sympathizes -with Flaubert's patient, toiling days. He praises Holland because after -Paris it seems slow. "Slowness is beauty," he declares. In a word, he -has evolved a theory and practice of his art that is the outcome—like -all theories, all techniques—of his own temperament. And that -temperament is giant-like, massive, ironic, grave, strangely perverse; -it is the temperament of a magician of art doubled by a mathematician's.</p> - -<p>Books are written about him. With picturesque precision De Maupassant -described him in "Notre Coeur." Rodin is tempting as a psychologic -study. He appeals to the literary critic, though his art is not -"literary." His modeling arouses tempests, either of dispraise or -idolatry. To see him steadily after a visit to his studios at Paris -or Meudon is difficult. If the master be present then one feels the -impact of a personality that is misty as the clouds about the base of -a mountain, and as impressive as the bulk of the mountain. Yet a sane, -pleasant, unassuming man interested in his clay—that is, unless you -happen to discover him interested in humanity. If you watch him well you -may in turn find yourself watched; those peering eyes possess a vision -that plunges into the depths of your soul. And this master of marble -sees the soul as nude as he sees the body. It is the union in him of -sculptor and psychologist that places Rodin apart from other artists. -These two arts (psychology is the art of divination) he practises -in a medium that hitherto did not betray potentialities for such -performances. Walter Pater is right in maintaining that each art has its -separate subject matter; still, in the debatable province of Rodin's -sculpture we find strange emotional power, hints of the pictorial, and -a rare suggestion of music. This, obviously, is not playing the game -according to the rules of Lessing and his Laocoön.</p> - -<p>Let us drop the old aesthetic rule of thumb and confess that during the -last century a new race of artists sprang up and in their novel element -they, like flying-fishes, revealed to a wondering world their composite -structure. Thus we find Berlioz painting with his instrumentation; Franz -Liszt, Tschaikowsky, and Richard Strauss filling their symphonic poems -with drama and poetry; while Richard Wagner invented an art which he -believed embraced all the others. And there was Ibsen who employed the -dramatic form as a vehicle for his anarchistic ideas; and Nietzsche, who -was such a poet that he was able to sing a mad philosophy into life; not -to forget Rossetti, who painted poems and made poetry of his pictures. -Sculpture was the only art that resisted this universal disintegration, -this imbroglio of the seven arts. No sculptor before Rodin had dared to -shiver the syntax of stone. For sculpture is a static, not a dynamic -art—is it not? Let us observe the rules though we call up the chill -spirit of the cemetery. What Mallarmé attempted with French poetry -Rodin accomplished in clay. His marbles do not represent, but present, -emotion; they are the evocation of emotion itself; as in music, form and -substance coalesce. If he does not, as does Mallarmé, arouse "the silent -thunder afloat in the leaves," he can summon from the vasty deep the -spirits of love, hate, pain, sin, despair, beauty, ecstasy; above all, -ecstasy. Now, the primal gift of ecstasy is bestowed upon few artists. -Keats had it, and Shelley; Byron, despite his passion, missed it. We -find it in Swinburne, he had it from the first. Few French poets know -it. Like the "cold devils" of Félicien Rops, coiled in frozen ecstasy, -the fiery blasts of hell about them, Charles Baudelaire boasted the -dangerous gift. Poe and Heine felt ecstasy, and Liszt. Wagner was the -master-adept of ecstasy: Tristan and Isolde! And in the music of Chopin -ecstasy is pinioned within a bar, the soul rapt to heaven in a phrase. -Richard Strauss has given us a variation on the theme of ecstasy; -voluptuousness troubled by pain, the soul tormented pathologically.</p> - -<p>Rodin is of this tormented choir. He is revealer of its psychology. -It may be decadence, as any art is in its decadence which stakes the -part against the whole. The same was said of Beethoven by the followers -of Haydn, and the successors of Richard Strauss—Debussy, Stravinsky, -and Schoenberg—are abused quite as violently as the Wagnerites abused -Richard Strauss, turning against him the same critical artillery that -was formerly employed against Wagner. Nowadays, Rodin is looked on as -superannuated, as a reactionary by the younger men, the Cubists and -Futurists, who spoil marble with their iconoclastic chisels and canvas -with their paint-tubes.</p> - -<p>That this ecstasy should be aroused by pictures of love and death, as -in the case of Poe and Baudelaire, Wagner and Strauss and Rodin, is not -to be judged an artistic crime. In the Far East they hypnotize neophytes -with a bit of broken mirror, for in the kingdom of art there are many -mansions. Possibly it was a relic of his early admiration for Baudelaire -that set Wagner to extorting ecstasy from his orchestra by images of -love and death. And no doubt the temperament which seeks such synthesis, -a temperament commoner in medieval times than ours, was inherent in -Wagner, as it is in Rodin. Both men play with the same counters: love -and death. In Pisa we may see (attributed by Vasari) Orcagna's fresco of -the Triumph of Death. The sting of the flesh and the way of all flesh -are inextricably blended in Rodin's Gate of Hell. His principal reading -for half a century has been Dante and Baudelaire; the Divine Comedy and -"Les Fleurs du Mal" are the keynotes in the grandiose white symphony of -the French sculptor. Love and life, and bitterness and death rule the -themes of his marbles. Like Beethoven and Wagner, he breaks academic -rules, for he is Auguste Rodin, and where he magnificently achieves, -lesser men fail or fumble. His large, tumultuous music is alone for his -chisel to ring out and to sing.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h4> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%; font-size: 0.8em;"> -<a href="#THE_CAREER_OF_RODIN">THE CAREER OF RODIN</a><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#RODIN_AND_THE_BEAUX-ARTS">RODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS</a><br /> -<br /> -Sojourn in Belgium—"The Man Who Awakens to<br /> -Nature"—Realism and Plaster Casts.<br /> -<br /> -<a href="#FLEMISH_PAINTING_JOURNEYS_IN_ITALY_AND_FRANCE">FLEMISH PAINTING—JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE.</a><br /> -</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%; font-size: 0.8em;"><a href="#RODINS_NOTE-BOOK">RODIN'S NOTE-BOOK</a></p> - -<div class="center" style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">I</td><td align="left"><a href="#I">ANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">II</td><td align="left"><a href="#II">SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">III</td><td align="left"><a href="#III">PORTRAITS OF WOMEN</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">IV</td><td align="left"><a href="#IV">AN ARTIST'S DAY</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">V</td><td align="left"><a href="#V">THE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">VI</td><td align="left"><a href="#VI">ART AND NATURE</a></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right">VII</td><td align="left"><a href="#VII">THE GOTHIC GENIUS</a></td></tr> -</table></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%; font-size: 0.8em; font-size: 0.8em;"> -<a href="#THE_WORK_OF_RODIN">THE WORK OF RODIN</a><br /> -<br /> -I <a href="#Ib">THE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS—INFLUENCE OF<br /> -THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF RODIN—"SAINT JOHN<br /> -THE BAPTIST" (1880)—"THE GATE OF HELL"</a> -<br /> -<br /> -<a href="#IIb">II "THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS" (1889)—RODIN AND<br /> -VICTOR HUGO—THE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898)</a><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</p> - - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i000">Rodin photographed on the steps of the Hotel Biron Frontispiece</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i001">Portrait of a Young Girl</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i002">La Pucelle</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i003">Minerva</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i004">Psyche</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i005">The Adieu</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i006">Rodin in His Studio at the Hotel Biron</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i007">Representation of France</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i008">The Man with the Broken Nose</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i009">Caryatid</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i010">Man Awakening to Nature</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#a010">The Kiss</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i011">Bust of the Countess of W——</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i012">The Poet and the Muse</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i013">The Thinker</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i014">Adolescence</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#a014">Portrait of Rodin</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i015">Head of Minerva</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i016">The Bath</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i017">The Broken Lily</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i018">Portrait of Madame Morla Vicuñha</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i019">"La Pensée"</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i020">Hotel Biron, View from the Garden</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i021">Rodin Photographed in the Court of the Hotel Biron</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i022">Portrait of Mrs. X</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i023">Rodin in His Garden</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i024">The Poet and the Muses</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i025">The Tower of Labor</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i026">Headless Figure</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i027">Rodin's House and Studio at Meudon</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i028">The Tempest</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i029">The Village Fiancée</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i030">Metamorphosis According to Ovid</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i031">Eve</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i032">Rodin at Work in the Marble</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i033">Peristyle of the Studio at Meudon</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i034">Statue of Bastien-Lepage</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i035">Danaiade</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i036">Portrait Bust of Victor Hugo</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i037">Monument to Victor Hugo</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i038">Statue of Balzac</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i039">The Head of Balzac</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i040">The Studio at Meudon</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#b040">Romeo and Juliet</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#a040">Spring</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i041">Bust of Bernard Shaw</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#i042">A Fête Given in Honor of Rodin by Some of His Friends</a>.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3>THE MAN AND HIS ART</h3> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3><a name="THE_CAREER_OF_RODIN" id="THE_CAREER_OF_RODIN">THE CAREER OF RODIN</a></h3> - - -<p>Several years have already gone by since the career of Rodin attained -its full growth. From now on, therefore, it can be envisaged as a whole, -and we can trace the formation and the unfolding of his complex talent -and disentangle the influences that have directed and sustained it.</p> - -<p>In the course of the chapters that follow, Rodin, with the authority, -the calm strength, and the lucidity that characterize his thought, often -speaks himself of these influences, but rather in a casual, gossipy, -reminiscent vein, reflecting his personal observations. He does not -attempt to disengage the broad lines by which he has reached the summit -of art, or to map out, so to speak, that scheme of his intellectual -development which so naturally appertains to the man who has reached the -apogee of talent and which he contemplates with the satisfaction of a -strategist face to face with the plan of the battles he has won.</p> - -<p>It is to living writers that he seems to address himself. Rodin to-day -can be studied like an old master, Donatello, Michelangelo, or Pierre -Puget. One perceives quite in its entirety the distinct, the rigorously -sustained plan that he has followed with unswerving will in order to -realize himself; and the witnesses, the historians of this heroic life -of the sculptor, have the advantage of being able to trace it with -exactitude, as they could not do in the case of a vanished artist. They -are able to interrogate the hero in person; they are able to consult -with Rodin himself, who is admirably intuitive and quite aware of what -he owes to certain favorable conditions of his life and above all to -his illustrious forerunners, those who have fought before him on the -battle-field of high art.</p> - -<p>The study of nature, of the antique, Greek and Roman, of the art of -medieval France and that of the Renaissance—these are the springs at -which he has constantly refreshed one of the most irrefutable sculptural -talents that has ever been known. These are the expressions of the -beautiful among which his profound and searching thought has traveled -unceasingly, seeking to attain to a still larger vision, a more exact -understanding of that most magnificent of all the arts, sculpture.</p> - -<p>The superior man is always the product of an exceptional gift and -of an energy peculiar to himself, which effectuates itself despite -circumstances. He is the highest incarnation of the spirit, of the -struggle for existence. In the case of an artist the struggle is all -the more severe, for he has nothing but himself to impose upon the -world and he has, as weapons of offense and defense, nothing but his -intelligence, the tiny substance of his brain. It is therefore only by -means of the history of his intellectual life that one can understand -him. External happenings only very slightly influence the obstinate -march of true genius toward the accomplishment of its destiny. At most -they delay it but a few hours. It forces its way through the most -difficult obstacles; it even makes use of these obstacles in order to -redouble its strength and confirm its superiority. Nothing impedes the -formidable will of those who are under the spell of beauty, those who -see truth and know it and desire to express what they see. They can no -more escape the fruition of their faculties than the giant can escape -the attainment of his full stature.</p> - -<p>Rodin has been one of these. Certainly he has been assisted by -circumstances, but above everything how has he not compelled -circumstances to assist him?</p> - -<p>What demands preëminent recognition in his case is the gift, a splendid, -a dazzling gift for the plastic arts, the realization of which has been -imposed upon him, as it were, by the command of destiny. Whence did it -come? From whom did he inherit it? From what ancestor, sensitive to the -enchantment of beauty, suffering, and in travail from the necessity of -proclaiming it, but imperfectly endowed and powerless to forge for -himself a talent in order to express the tremors of his soul? It is a -mystery. No one can tell, Rodin himself least of all. Science has not -yet taught us anything about those obscure combinations, those endless -preferences of the vital force, thanks to which a person possesses the -faculties of genius. In this, as in other things, we are unable to -divine the cause and can only marvel at the effect, the prodigy.</p> - -<p>Discredited to-day are the theories of Lombroso and his school, once -so warmly welcomed by mediocre minds athirst for equality, in which -great men were considered as degenerates of a superior variety, and the -most sensitive spirits qualified as candidates for the madhouse! All -one can say is that nature abhors equality, that the indwelling will -delights in raising up lofty mountain masses above the uniformity of -the plains and the valor of the chosen few above the multitude. The -function of the man of genius is, precisely, to possess in a supreme -degree the sense of inequality and to transcribe its infinite nuances -in their ever-changing, ever-moving, ever-renewed variety. He alone -perceives the diversities whose play is the law of the universe itself, -and he grasps them equally in a fragment of inanimate matter and in -the vastest aspects of the world. Far from being half mad, this unique -being, this prodigious mirror of a million facets, achieves his aim only -because he possesses far more intelligence than the most brilliant of -his contemporaries, because he is in touch with a more profound order -of things and a more comprehensive method, because he combines the -qualities of continuity in sensation and of discernment which constitute -that supreme sensibility of all the senses acting together—taste. But -it does not please ordinary mortals to believe things of this kind, -and one can easily understand how the crowd, repudiating any such -humiliating notion, are all too willing to follow the lead of exotic -pseudo-scientists and look upon great men as lunatics, considering -themselves far more rational.</p> - -<p>As to what Rodin himself thinks of this privilege that Providence has -conferred on him, there is no telling; he has never talked very much -about it. The fact is, he has such faith in the value of hard work and -will-power, he knows so well how extraordinarily much of these even the -most exceptional natures have to exert in order to accomplish anything, -that this privilege of divine right, otherwise just as authentic as -that which sovereigns in former times profited by, amounts to nothing -in the end but the account which he draws up in order to calculate the -sum of his efforts. "When I was quite young, as far back as I remember, -I drew," he says; "but the gift is nothing without the will to make it -worth while. The artist must have the patience of water that eats away -the rock drop by drop." Alas! will and work, Master, are also gifts; -but the supreme spirit maliciously amuses itself by leading us into -error, inspiring us with the illusion that it lies with us to acquire -them.</p> - -<p>Rodin's case, then, is an example of absolute predestination, assisted -by a will of iron. One must add also the happy influence of the varied -environment in which his life has been placed and the excellent artistic -education he received in the schools where he studied, an education -that was fruitful, thanks to the preservation of the true traditions of -French art, kept alive in the schools since the eighteenth century.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>CHILDHOOD. YOUTH. FIRST STUDIES</h4> - -<p>Auguste Rodin is the son of a Norman father and a Lorrainese mother. -Each of these two French provinces, Normandy and Lorraine, produces a -race eminently realistic, but realistic in quite different ways.</p> - -<p>The Lorrainer, opinionated and courageous, hardy in character, and -vigorous like his country itself, sees things clearly and precisely in -the light of a spirit that has been fashioned by the age-old struggle -between Teuton and Gaul on our eastern frontier. The things that -surround him, the aspects of his native soil, like the sullen obstinacy -of the enemy that seeks in vain to drag him away, present themselves -to his eye as a reality stripped of illusions. When one has to fight -there is no time to dream, and one must be able to estimate with -precision what one is fighting for. When the man of Lorraine utters his -feeling about the things he loves and defends, it is with a loyalty -rather dry in expression and impression, but also with a force of -consciousness that is imposing.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> -<p><a id="i001"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin001_young_girl.jpg" width="450" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG GIRL. A WORK OF RODIN'S YOUTH.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>As for the Norman, like his country he overflows with an abundance of -life from which he derives a passionate need for the pleasures of sense. -Far from stifling in him the love of the beautiful, this appetite for -triumphant realities engenders, on the contrary, an exaltation of the -senses that leads to the most exquisite taste in the production of art. -Compounded of sensuality and mysticism, the twin characteristics of -these rich spirits, very like those of Belgium, to whom, by virtue of -ancient migrations, they are closely allied, the artists of Normandy -necessarily respond to the manifold requirements of their temperament. -We know with what a profusion of monuments, robust and imposing in -structure and miraculously clothed in the most delicate lacework of -stone, the Gothic architects of Normandy have covered not only the soil -of their province, but also, beyond the sea, that of the Two Sicilies, -strewn even to this day with beautiful cloisters and sumptuous churches -of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which the Norman Conquest -carried there.</p> - -<p>The child of Normandy and Lorraine was born in Paris, November 14, -1840. His father was a simple employee. He dwelt in one of the oldest -and most curious quarters of the great city, the Quartier Saint-Victor -in the fifth <i>arrondissement</i>. Rodin saw the light in the rue de -l'Arbalète. It is a little, hilly street, quite provincial in its -aspect and its quietness, that winds among the rows of old houses, some -low, as if crouched down, others narrow and high, as if they wished to -look over their shoulders at what passes below, very like a crowd of -living people. Its name, the rue de l'Arbalète, is full of suggestion -of the Middle Ages, like that of the rue des Patriarches, in which -it comes to an end, and that of the rue des Lyonnais and the rue de -l'Epée-de-Bois, which are its neighbors. It crosses the famous rue -Mouffetard near the little church of St. Médard on the last slopes of -the Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève, which has been, since the thirteenth -century, the seat of the university and the schools; below is the plain -of the Gobelins, where once the river Bièvre ran exposed.</p> - -<p>Even to the present day this corner of the city has not suffered -too much from the destructive changes of modernity. At the time of -the childhood of Rodin it was still virtually untouched. Crowded, -picturesque, and in certain parts dirty and squalid, like an Oriental -city, with its little interlacing streets, its countless shops, its -swarms of people given over to a thousand familiar trades carried on in -public,—open-air kitchens, fruit-stands, grocery shops, clothing shops, -and shops of ironmongers, coal-venders, and, wine-sellers,—it is an -almost perfect fragment, a human fragment, of the old Gothic Paris.</p> - -<p>Truly Rodin was fortunate: he was born in a chapter of Victor Hugo's -"Notre Dame de Paris." Destiny preserved the first glances of his -artist's eyes from the disenchanting banality of our modern streets. It -placed before them, as if to give them a hatred of uniformity, as if -to disgust him forever with the misdeeds of the straight line, adopted -the world over by the rank and file of contemporary architects,—those -congenitally blind and mutilated souls,—a population of houses having -a physiognomy and a soul of their own, which, with their sloping roofs, -their irregular gables, etch their amusing profiles against the sky -and seem to gossip with the birds and the clouds, putting to shame the -few regular buildings that have intruded and lost themselves amid this -congregation so touched with spirituality.</p> - -<p>All this Rodin saw; with a child's innocent eye, he absorbed all this -fantasy of past ages; he studied the little shops with their low -ceilings dating from the period of the gilds; he noted through the -tiny panes of their windows the Rembrandtesque effects of shadow and -golden light, in which the humblest objects live a life that is full of -intimate mystery and familiar charm. About them he saw a people full of -life, alert, awake, always in action, always in dispute, unconsciously -falling into a thousand beautiful, simple attitudes, the eternal -attitudes associated with drinking, eating, sleeping, working, and -loving.</p> - -<p>What admirable, powerful precepts this teaching, without effort, without -professors, without pedantry, thus forever imposed upon the memory of -the future sculptor! Yes, Rodin there enjoyed a priceless good fortune.</p> - -<p>As child and young man, his walks and his duties took him incessantly -past Notre Dame, the queen of cathedrals, appearing, from the heights -of Ste. Geneviève, magnificently seated on the bank of the Seine that -devotedly kisses its feet; in front of it, Ste. Etienne-du-Mont, -surrounded by convents, with its nave, that treasure of grace bequeathed -to us by the Renaissance. There also is the ancient little Roman church -of St. Julien-le-Pauvre; and St. Séverin, that sweet relic of Gothic -art, about which lies unrolled the old <i>quartier des truands</i>, with the -rues Galande de la Huchette and de la Parcheminerie, which the pick-axes -of the housebreakers are now giving over to the universal ugliness.</p> - -<p>The Panthéon and the buildings that surround it taught the young Rodin -that the public monuments of the style of Louis XV, although colder -and stiffer, still offer a certain grandeur by virtue of their beauty -of proportion and character. Close beside the somewhat formal solemnity -of these buildings, the Gardens of the Luxembourg that invite the -passer-by with all their tender, smiling charm, the exquisite parterre, -the elegant little pilastered palace, the Medici fountain, whose -charming statues pour out their water that murmurs beneath the branches -of the trees spread out above like a tent of lacework, taught him the -enchantment of the architectural harmonies of the Renaissance, harmonies -of chiseled stone, noble shadows, and carpeting flowers.</p> - -<p>Like all artists, Rodin adores the Luxembourg. More than this, he would -not for anything in the world see those statues of the queens of France -banished, those enormous stone dolls of a quality, as regards sculpture, -little calculated to satisfy lovers of rich modeling. No matter, he -loves the gray mass they make under the fragrant summits of the limes -and the hawthorns; they are part of the scenery of his youth; he remains -faithful to them as to old playthings. Was it not these that he sketched -in those first attempts of his?</p> - -<p>His aptitude quickly revealed itself. This man, whom ignorant critics -were to reproach one day with not knowing how to draw, handled the -pencil from his earliest childhood.</p> - -<p>His mother bought her provisions from a grocer in the neighborhood. The -grocer wrapped up his rice, vermicelli, and dried prunes in bags made -from cut-up illustrated papers and engravings that had been thrown away. -Rodin got hold of these bags, and they were his first models. He copied -these wretched images passionately.</p> - -<p>Toward the age of twelve, he was sent to Beauvais, to the house of -an uncle who undertook to bring him up. Beauvais and its unfinished -cathedral was another silent lesson, never to be forgotten—that -cathedral which is nothing but a choir, but how marvelous a choir!</p> - -<p>Of course at the time he did not appreciate its splendor. With the -indifference of his age, he studied its architecture and its sculpture, -which, for that matter, all his contemporaries, even the cultivated, -despised from the depth of their ignorance. That was the time when -art critics and professors of esthetics denied Gothic art without -comprehending it, the Roman school being in the ascendant in the -admiration of the public. Nevertheless, the jewel in stone did not fail -to speak in the language of beauty and truth to this predestined young -man. His sensibility registered its impressions, noted down those points -of comparison which he was to find later in the depths of his memory and -which were to enable him to judge and appreciate. Under the vault of the -majestic nave he listened to the mass, he took part in the grand, sacred -drama, whose phrases touched his imagination profoundly, sometimes -exalting it to the point of mysticism and impregnating it with the -nobility of the symbols and of the Catholic ritual tempered by eighteen -centuries of usage.</p> - -<p>Rodin was placed in a boarding-school. He found the scholar's life -dreary and dull; his comrades seemed to him noisy young barbarians, -absorbed in brutal and too often vicious pastimes. Certain studies were -repugnant to him, mathematics and <i>solfeggio</i>. Near-sighted, without -being aware of it, he could not make out the figures and the notes the -masters wrote on the blackboard; he understood nothing and was almost -bored to death.</p> - -<p>This myopia was destined to have the most vital influence on his art. -Because of his difficulty in perceiving total effects, his instinct has -only rarely led him to the composition of monuments on a very large -scale, in which the architectural construction is of nearly as great -importance as the sculpture proper. The most considerable that we owe -to him is that of "The Burghers of Calais"; and there is also "The Gate -of Hell," which, almost inexplicably, remained incomplete even in the -very hour when it was given over as finished. The great sculptor, at -the time when he turned it over to the founders, perhaps unconsciously -experienced a lapse of vision, an insurmountable fatigue of the eyes, -over-strained by the prolonged effort to grasp the ensemble of the -edifice and the harmony of the countless details of this superb -composition.</p> - -<p>But if he has been turned aside, by his physical constitution, from -monumental art, it has only served to concentrate him with all the -more ardor upon the minute work of modeling, for which, by a sort of -compensation, he is endowed with an eye whose penetration has had no -equal since the time of the Renaissance.</p> - -<p>At the age of fourteen he returned to Paris. His parents judged that the -moment had come for him to choose a career. Observing his astonishing -gifts, they decided to let him take up drawing, but, having small means, -they were unable to provide him with special masters. They entered him -at the School of Decorative Arts, another piece of good fortune.</p> - -<p>This school, called by abbreviation the Petite Ecole, in distinction -from the great school, that of the Beaux-Arts, is situated in the old -rue de l'Ecole de Médecine, close to the Faculté de Médecine and the -Sorbonne. It was founded in 1765, under the name of the Free School -of Design, by the painter Jean-Jacques Bachelier, a clever artist and -student of styles in art no longer practised or little known, who had -been well thought of by Madame de Pompadour, the favorite of Louis XV, -the charming and virtually official minister of fine arts during the -reign of that monarch. It was she who placed Bachelier in charge of the -<i>ateliers de décoration</i> at the Sèvres manufactory. In creating the -Petite Ecole, the painter seemed to be following out, after the death of -his gracious protectress, the impulse she had communicated to French art -during her lifetime.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i002"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rodin002_pucelle.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">LA PUCELLE.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Thus we see Rodin at the school of the Marquise de Pompadour, placed -once more in a <i>milieu</i> full of originality and life. He found himself -there surrounded by a little world of beginners in every line, budding -artists; almost everybody of his generation has passed through this -course. They came there to learn to draw, paint, and model.</p> - -<p>In the evening the halls were filled with amateurs who, after their -day's work was over, sought to acquire a certain artistic skill as -tapestry-workers, ornament-makers, workers in iron, marble, etc. They -were energetic, turbulent, poor. Rodin, like them, was energetic and -poor, but silent, laborious, and pertinacious. He applied himself to the -copying of models of all sorts, most frequently red chalks by Boucher -and plaster casts of animals, plants, and flowers.</p> - -<p>The school had possessed these things since the eighteenth century and, -like almost everything that was created in that bountiful epoch, they -were very well done, composed after nature, their elegance full of warm -truth; they were models in bold <i>ronde-bosse</i>. That is to say, they -presented that quality of relief to which drawing, like sculpture, owes -its rich oppositions of light and shadow. To those who copied them they -communicated the science of relief, the fundamental basis of art, and -the living suppleness of the best periods, which has almost entirely -disappeared to-day.</p> - -<p>One day Rodin entered the modeling class. He worked there after the -antique. He had his first experience of working in clay; it was a -revelation, an enchantment. He fell in love with this <i>métier</i>, which -seemed to him the most seductive of all; he became obsessed with the -desire to mold this soft material himself, to search in it for the form -of things.</p> - -<p>His first attempts overjoyed him; he was not fifteen years old and he -had found his path!</p> - -<p>We see him executing a fragment; he models the head, the hands, the -arms, the legs, the feet; then he sets about the whole figure; there -is no deception; there are no insurmountable difficulties for him; he -understands at once the structure of the human body; in the phrase of -the atelier, "ses bonshommes tiennent"; the arms and the legs adjust -themselves naturally to the body: he is a born sculptor.</p> - -<p>Every day he arrives at the class at eight o'clock in the morning; he -works without faltering till noon, in company with five or six pupils. -At that hour they stop work; they are happy; they leave their seats and -take a turn about the model. In the evening things are different; from -seven to nine, the class is over-full; one can study the model then -only from a distance; a superficial, wretched method that is practised -on a large scale at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts and against which Rodin has -protested all his life.</p> - -<p>Thus we find him entered on his artistic career not as a dilettante, -as an amateur, as happens too often, but as a veritable workman. Like -General Kléber, he could long say, "My poverty has served me well; I -am attached to it." It placed him, from his childhood, in the presence -of realities. It steeped him in life itself. It safeguarded him from -the artificial education that debilitates the young middle-class -Frenchman and destroys in him the spirit of initiative and personality. -It deprived him luckily of the pleasures that rich young men too -easily offer themselves, the abuse of which renders them unsteady, -capricious, and indifferent. Rigorously held to his path by necessity, -he consecrated all his time and all his energies to study. He became -diligent, serious, and prudent.</p> - -<p>He had the opportunity of seeing his modeling corrected by Carpeaux. The -great sculptor, in fact, taught at the Petite Ecole. Upon his return -from Rome, he had asked for a modest post as an assistant master that -would help to assure his equally modest existence; they had granted his -request, but without seeking to give him anything more! His young pupils -scarcely understood his high worth, the substantial and delicate grace -of his talent, his voluptuous elegance, inherited from the eighteenth -century and united with a certain nervous seductiveness that was -altogether modern, a certain palpitating quality of the soul and of the -flesh that had not been known before, manifesting itself through the -ductility of his modeling. But instinctively they admired him; they -marveled, among other things, at the precision and the rapidity of the -corrections the master executed under their eyes. Later, when experience -had come to him, Rodin greatly honored Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux; he was -one of those for whom the appearance of the famous group "The Dance," -in the parvis of the Opéra, was a veritable event. At that moment he -discovered again in himself the influence of this beautiful spirit which -had been slumbering in him since he left the Petite Ecole; then he -became almost the disciple of Carpeaux. I know a figure of a bacchante -of Rodin's, a marble that is almost unknown, the flesh of which is so -supple and so light that one would say it was molded of wheat and honey -and the work of the sculptor of "The Dance." There floats also in its -countenance that spirituality, that expression as of a sort of angelic -malice which Carpeaux seems to have borrowed occasionally from the -figures of Leonardo da Vinci.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i003"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rodin003_minerva.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">MINERVA.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>When the clocks of the Sorbonne quarter struck noon, Rodin left the -Petite Ecole; he walked to the Louvre, eating, as he went, a roll -and a cake of chocolate which was all he had for lunch. He sketched -the antiques. From there he went on to the Galerie des Estampes at -the Bibliothèque Nationale, where they loaned out, without any too -much good will, misplaced as that is with students, the albums of -plates after Michelangelo and Raphael and the great illustrated work, -"L'Histoire de Costume Romain." Because of this miserliness of theirs, -he did not always obtain the volumes he wished for, which were reserved -for habitués who were better known. This did not prevent him from -becoming initiated into the science of draperies. He executed hundreds -of sketches from memory, at last developing in himself the faculty of -remembering forms. From the rue de Richelieu, always on foot, he would -repair to the Gobelin manufactory. There each day, from five to eight -o'clock, he followed the course in design. Placed before nature itself, -before the nude, he absorbed more excellent principles. The teaching of -the eighteenth century was practised there also, and his work became -permanently impregnated by it.</p> - -<p>In the morning, at daybreak, before going to the Petite Ecole, he found -the time to walk to an old painter's he knew, where he kept a number of -canvases going. In the evening he made careful copies of the sketches -he had jotted down at noon in the galleries of the Louvre and the -Bibliothèque. He drew far into the night; he drew even during supper, -at the frugal board of his family, surrounded by his father, his mother, -and his young sister, bending over his paper utterly regardless of his -health, a course of things that soon brought on gastric disorders from -which he suffered cruelly. In short, he toiled incessantly, ardent and -patient, obstinate, and full of self-confidence.</p> - -<p>Assuredly he never in the world imagined that he was to become in time -one of the most illustrious representatives of the French art of the -nineteenth century, that he was to be the equal in renown of celebrities -like Lamartine, Alfred de Musset, or Michelet whom he saw occasionally -in the Luxembourg Gardens, without even daring to bow to them; but he -possessed a fixed and a precise idea of what was required to be a good -sculptor and the resolution to realize it. Little did he care how long -it would take, how tardy success might prove, how slow fortune might be -in coming; little did he care for obstacles, even for misery. He was -going the right way, unhesitating, untroubled, not compromising with -himself or with anybody. He possessed the irresistible will of a force.</p> - -<p>I have had occasion to examine one of the note-books of Rodin's youth. -It is quite filled with sketches after engravings from the antique, -animals or human figures. The drawing is strangely compact, wilful, -for the boy of sixteen or seventeen that he was then. Already, in its -accumulation of strokes and hatchings which, during an entire period -of his artistic development, render the drawing of Rodin restless and -personal like a piece of writing, it exhibits an obstinate search for -relief, it speaks to us like hieroglyphics, revealing the power of his -grasp. His progress was rapid. At seventeen, he finished his first -studies. The moment came for him to pass from the school of decorative -arts to that of the Beaux-Arts and to prepare himself, like his -companions, for the examinations and for the competition for the <i>prix -de Rome</i>, the famous <i>prix de Rome</i> that seemed to Rodin, inexperienced -student as he was, the crown of the most rigorous artistic studies.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="RODIN_AND_THE_BEAUX-ARTS" id="RODIN_AND_THE_BEAUX-ARTS">RODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS</a></h4> - - -<p>Rodin presented himself at an examination for entrance into the Ecole -des Beaux-Arts. He was rejected. He presented himself a second time, but -with the same result. What was the reason for it? Neither he nor his -fellow-students could discover. They used to form a circle about him -when he worked. They admired the keenness and precision of his glance, -the already astonishing skill of his hand. They told him that he would -be accepted. He failed a third time. Finally a fellow-student who was -shrewder than the others gave the solution of the enigma. It requires a -somewhat long explanation.</p> - -<p>The great school is under the direction of the members of the Academy -of Fine Arts. These professors correct the work of the students, set -the examinations, and award the prizes. They are recruited from members -of the society, are, in short, the representatives of official, or -conservative, art. Official art is a product of the Revolution of 1789. -Up to that time there were not two kinds of art in France. At the most, -until the time of Louis XIV only one secession disported itself under -the influence of Lebrun, painter to the king. Art was a unit, and its -divine florescence spread from France over all Europe. The church, -the kings, and their court of great lords and cultivated ladies were -the protectors and, indeed, the inspirers, of that flowering of beauty -that had grown from the time of the first Capets, indeed from the time -of the Merovingians, down to the end of the eighteenth century. The -First Empire marked in effect the beginning of the artistic decadence -of Europe and, one may say, of the world. Artists at that time divided -themselves into two camps, the conservatives, with, at their head, -David and his school, who pictured an art of convention and approved -formulas, and the independents, who continued, although in a somewhat -revolutionary and extravagant spirit, the true traditions of French art. -Among those fine rebellious men of talent of the first order were Rude, -Barye, and Carpeaux in sculpture, and Baron Gros, Eugène Delacroix, -Courbet, and Manet in painting.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i004"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rodin004_psyche.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">PSYCHE.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>By a singular contradiction, Louis David was as baneful a theorist as -he was a great painter and, above all, an excellent draftsman. That -explains itself. The quality of his drawing he owed to the eighteenth -century, in which he had appeared and a pupil of which he was; but he -derived his esthetic doctrine from the Revolution, which made use of -the same sectarian zeal to obtain the triumph of certain false ideas -that it used to advance the right principles that were its glory. -Through one, David produced works of great worth and some admirable -portraits; through the other, he wrought great havoc among artists. -The world was, moreover, well disposed to submit to these principles. -When art restricts itself to repeating attitudes, gestures, approved -receipts, without having studied or observed them in nature in her -constant changes, it means decadence. If David was able to have his -theories accepted, it was because the time was ripe to receive them, to -be contented with them; and to say that the time was ripe is only to say -that it was a degenerate time, satisfied to be relieved of the task of -reflecting, of discovering for itself the laws of beauty, or, in short, -of working from the foundation.</p> - -<p>Official painter of the Revolution and the Empire, Louis David -proclaimed his doctrine with the authority of a pontiff. He made a set -of narrow rules which advocated a superficial imitation of the antique, -a copying of the works of Greece and Rome, not in spirit, but in letter; -not in that accurate knowledge of construction and of the model, which -made up their supreme worth, but in their conventional attitudes and -expressions.</p> - -<p>Even from beyond the grave David continued to rule the academy of -the Beaux-Arts in the name of the artificial idealism which he had -proclaimed, and whoever rejected his sorry instruction saw himself -without mercy shown to the door of the national schools arid academies. -They had shown the door to Rude, the author of the masterpiece of the -Arc de Triomphe, "The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792." They had -shown it to the unhappy Carpeaux, treated all his life as a heretic and -persecuted by the official class, defenders of the so-called heroic -achievements and stereotyped forms. They went to every extreme in -their contest with free and determined genius. As a last resort they -employed every weapon of treachery against the undisciplined great, -those fallen angels of the false paradise of the Institute—weapons that -later they did not scruple to use against Rodin. They accused Carpeaux -of indecency, and in order to strengthen the miserable falsehood, a -perverse idiot flung a can of ink on the adorable group of "The Dance," -that song of the nymphs, clamorous with youth, laughter, and music.</p> - -<p>This digression in the story of Rodin's life explains his whole life. By -his manly independence, his persistent refusal to follow the dictates -of the school, he naturally found himself placed at the head of those -who antagonized the official class. Against an opponent of his strength -and obstinacy the struggle naturally took on new energy. It recalled -to mind the violence of the famous intellectual quarrels of other days -—the quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns in the seventeenth and -eighteenth centuries, and that of the Classicists and the Romanticists -in 1830.</p> - -<p>When Rodin presented himself at the great school, how, in his -inexperience, could he foresee the war of wild beasts that rages in -the thickets of art? It needed indeed a better-informed comrade to -disclose the situation to him. Then his eyes were opened. He understood -then that he would only be wasting his time in striving to force the -bronze doors that are closed against the influences of great nature and -her triumphant light, the implacable denouncer of the false in art. -Perceiving it at last, he renounced the thought of entering the school. -Later he gloried, in the fact that he had done so. Possibly he saw -the danger that he would have run of parching his spirit and chilling -his eye. "Ah," his friend, the sculptor Dalou, exclaimed long after, -"Rodin had the luck not to have been at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts!" Dalou -himself had not had that luck, and despite beautiful gifts and love for -the eighteenth century, he had not recovered from the false teaching.</p> - -<p>Rodin, then, without knowing it, had fought his first battle, the slight -skirmish to the incessant fight that was to open. After that time the -name Institute, by which he understood the group of protagonists of a -bad form of art, took in his speech a formidable meaning. When he says, -"The Institute," he seems to call up some mythological monster, the -hydra of a hundred heads, from the malignant wounds of which the brave -usually die slowly. For him the Institute has come to mean a company of -able men who substitute dexterity for conscience, who, for long toil in -obscurity and poverty, substitute a premature eagerness for all that it -may bring—profitable relations, orders from the state, fortune, and -honors. In his opinion all that ought to come slowly in order not to -distract the artist from the study that alone can give him strength. -To him the rewards are secondary; true happiness lies in untrammeled -and passionate toil, in the exercise of growing intelligence that is -determined not to be stopped on the road to discovery.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i005"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> -<img src="images/rodin005_adieu.jpg" width="450" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">THE ADIEU.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Although the struggle is less clamorous to-day, it has not ended, -and it never will be ended, despite the wide fame of the master, now -known throughout the world as the greatest living artist. This Rodin -understands. What the contestants now seek to conquer is the public, -some for the purpose of obtaining from it consideration and profit, and -others an appreciation of true art. One class strives to flatter its -taste, which is bad; the other seeks to inculcate a knowledge of true -art in its own work. At the outset the contest is frightfully unequal, -for the ignorance of the public is abysmal. Incapable of discerning true -beauty, it relies only on the labels placed by the Institute on its own -works and on those of its partizans. They say to a man, "This is the -sort of thing that should be admired," and straightway he admires it, -if one can apply this expression of the highest pleasure of the spirit -to the vapid and dull contemplation that the public accords to the works -marked for its approval. No, at best the public does not know how to -admire; it does not understand the language of beauty.</p> - -<p>At eighteen or nineteen, Rodin, being wholly without fortune, could not -continue his studies without quickly finding some means of support. It -was therefore necessary for him to earn his own living, and at once -he bravely entered upon his work as an ornament-maker, and became a -journeyman at a few francs a week. We need not regret it. This son of -the people, by remaining in the ranks of the working-class, consolidated -in himself the virtues of the class—their courage and industry, which -are the strong qualities of the humble, and, in the aggregate, those -of the whole nation. And the curiosity of a superior man for all the -rewards of the exercise of his intelligence led him to cultivate himself -unceasingly. His limited studies as a school-boy had not been extensive -enough to surfeit him; he now brought to the study of letters a mind -keenly alert, and with a joy as alive as love itself he devoted himself -to a study of great minds. He read the poets and the historians; he -became acquainted with the Greece of Homer and Æschylus, the Italy -of Dante, the England of Shakspere, and the France of Jean-Jacques -Rousseau; but up to that time he had concerned himself with only one -thing—his trade. He worked as a real artisan, with no wider vision, -with no thought of formidable power. He saw only his model and his -clay; he thought only of these, he loved only these. Thus he had become -a journeyman ornament-worker in clay. That did not prevent him from -perfecting himself in sculpture. On the contrary, it aided him.</p> - -<p>The art of ornamentation was then considered, as it is still to-day, an -inferior art. People said, still say, of the sculpture of architecture, -as of the frescos and mosaic work of a building, that it is only -decoration. They declare it in a tone of indulgence that finds an excuse -for any mediocrity.</p> - -<p>All this is a profound mistake. Sculptured ornament springs naturally -from architecture; it is the flowering of its fundamental elements. It -is an inherent part of the whole, as the mass of flowers and foliage -that crowns a tree is in a way the culminating point of the whole -vegetable organism. Ornament demands the same qualities that the -fundamental architectural structure demands, and fully as much talent -and perhaps even more; because, as Rodin says, one sees in it more -clearly, without distracting features, the form of genius. If it is not -well done in itself, its function, which is rigorously subordinated -to the whole, and consists in molding the contours of the structure -by underlining and marking them off, is reversed. It is then only -an excrescence, an arbitrary addition. Only mediocre artisans, when -employed on a building or a jewel, use ornament capriciously, without -proportioning and subordinating it to the mass; they weary and disgust -the beholder.</p> - -<p>Rodin and his companions did not content themselves with copying, and -more or less distorting, their Greek, Roman, and Renaissance models, -which were repeated to satiety in all the workshops of the world, -and done over and over again so many times, out of place and out -of proportion, that they had lost all significance. Their employer -possessed a beautiful, but neglected, garden, where a profusion of -plants ran riot. Here were models in abundance. Here, in reproducing -these, the young craftsmen refreshed their vocation; they copied their -ornaments from nature; they studied foliage and flowers from life. -To do new work, they had only to borrow from the vegetable world its -inexhaustible combinations of beauty.</p> - -<p>Here Rodin, by his cleverness and rapidity, became without a peer among -them all, and drew to himself the admiration of his fellow-workers. It -was here that he met Constant Simon, his elder by many years, who was -the first man to teach him to model in profile. It was one of the great -epochs in his life. One may say that from that time the two great -laws that have given his sculpture its power—the study of nature and -the right method of modeling—passed into his blood, as it were. The -secret that Simon imparted to him was like a philter that inflamed his -soul with enthusiasm. He became intoxicated with the idea of seeing -clearly and of holding his hand strictly accountable to what his eyes -disclosed. And he possessed, too, both youth and an indefatigable vigor. -He sketched everything he could, wherever he could. One saw him making -sketches on the street, in the horse-market, jostled by the beasts, -repulsed by men, yet indifferent to all difficulties in his enchantment -in his discovered prize, at the Jardin des Plantes, where he passed -hours before the cages and in the parks, studying the poses of the deer -and the grace of the moving antelopes.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i006"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rodin006_biron.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">RODIN IN HIS STUDIO AT THE HOTEL BIRON.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>At that period Barye taught at the Museum. Rodin had become acquainted -with the son of the celebrated sculptor. The two had discovered a corner -of the basement, a sort of cave, damp and gloomy, where they installed -some seats made of old boxes and delighted themselves in modeling -from clay. From the Museum they borrowed a few anatomical specimens, -fragments of the parts of animals, and these they carried to their -cavern and pored over in their efforts to copy them. Sometimes Barye -himself would come to cast his eye over their work and give them a word -of advice, and then would go away, buried in a silent reverie. He was -a man of simple habits, with the appearance of a college tutor, in his -well-worn coat, but giving an impressive suggestion of great force and -worth. His son and Rodin little understood him; they feared him somewhat -and only half profited by his suggestions. Later the author of "The -Burghers of Calais," kindled by the genius of the gloomy, severe man -whom he had misunderstood, felt a deep remorse at not having rendered to -Barye, while living, the homage of admiration which the master merited, -and which perhaps would have been sweet to his solitary heart.</p> - -<p>Rodin has had only rarely the chance to model animals. He has never -received an order for an equestrian statue, and he has regretted it. We -have from him only one small rough model of a statue of General Lynch -on horseback, which was never executed, and the beautiful relief of the -chariot of Apollo which forms the pedestal of the monument of Claude -Lorrain at Nancy. But though he has not modeled animals, he has many -times sketched them, and he has studied profoundly their anatomy and -poses.</p> - -<p>It is not so much in the powerful sketches that all his life he has -continued to make with the same daily care with which a pianist -practises his scales that Rodin shows the chief characteristic of his -nature, as it is in accumulating these that he has been enabled to -understand relationship between different forms, and to establish the -unity between the forms of man and the animals, between the mountains -and the vegetable world. It is by understanding this unity that he -can occasionally interpret with a scientific exactness this common -relationship. In modeling a centaur or the chimera or a spirit with -powerful wings, the mythological creature that appears from his hands -does not appear less a transcript from reality than each bust or each -statue that has been vigorously wrought from the living model. There is -no weakening in the points where the bust of the man or of the woman -attaches itself to the body of the animal, no doubt that the beautiful, -strong wings of the angels are as perfectly united to their bodies and -are as necessary as their arms or legs.</p> - -<p>When about twenty-two or twenty-three Rodin entered the atelier of -Carrier-Belleuse. At that time the vogue of this charming artist was -great. He well represented the spirit and workmanship of the eighteenth -century in the knickknack art of the Second Empire. He was a Clodion -of the boulevard. Besides the spirited busts, some of which, like -those of Ernest Renan, Jules Simon, and the actress Marie Laurent, -were celebrated, he sent out from his atelier, in the rue de la Tour -d'Auvergne at Montmartre, hundreds of designs to be used in industrial -art: mantelpieces, centerpieces for tables, vases, ornamental clocks, -and decorative figures and groups. Rodin, then, applied himself to -executing for Carrier-Belleuse a variety of statuettes and figures. -There was in the task a great danger, for he saw the risk of limiting -himself to a facile use of his art that was both remunerative and -attractive; but his sturdy Northern temperament was able to protect him -against every danger, whether of success or poverty.</p> - -<p>Carrier had an astonishing skill, and not only worked without a model, -but compelled his employees to work without one. His rough sketches were -admirable, but he weakened in working them out. Rodin never trifled with -his art. Before going to the atelier he always took care to study his -subject in the nude and to fix it in his memory as firmly as possible. -As soon as he reached his bench he transferred to the clay the result -of his remembered observations. On returning to his home in the evening -he consulted his model anew in order to correct his work of the day. It -was for him an excellent exercise of memory. The true workman is quick -to turn to advantage all the inconveniences of a situation. I have heard -Rodin relate that often in the course of a quarrel with a friend or a -relative he would completely forget the subject of the contention and -the anger of his opponent in his absorption, from the point of view of -a sculptor, in the play of the muscles and their influence on the -expression of the face of the angry speaker.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i007"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rodin007_france.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">REPRESENTATION OF FRANCE—IN THE MONUMENT TO CHAMPLAIN.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Rodin remained about five years with Carrier-Belleuse. What works his -active hands accomplished there in a day! One still finds them in the -shops of the sellers of bronzes, in the shops of the dealers of the -Marais and the Faubourg St. Antoine. Certainly hundreds of examples were -brought there, to the great profit of tradesmen, but to the injury of -the artist; for he drew from them only such wages as the least competent -workers are to-day content with.</p> - -<p>One may see in the gallery of Mrs. —— of New York certain little -terra-cotta busts which date from that period. They represent pretty -Parisian women in hats, whose wild locks veil glances full of spirit and -roguishness. Creatures of youth and frivolity, they are sisters of the -elegant ladies that Alfred Stevens drew with his delightful brush, and -which were the charm of Paris under Napoleon III. Who could believe that -they had sprung from the hands of Rodin, the austere creator of "The -Burghers of Calais" and of the "Victor Hugo"?</p> - -<p>But before becoming the audaciously personal genius that he now is, -he was subjected to the most varied influences—influences that have -been felt by the modern sculptors with whom he has worked and those -that guided the old masters. He has none the less shielded himself -from the world. He declares indeed, with the authority that permits the -freedom, that originality signifies nothing; that that which counts is -the quality of the intrinsic sculpture; that if the temperament of the -artist is truly steadfast, he always finds himself after the necessary -study; and finally that it is of little importance whether a statue -bears the name of Praxiteles or that of one of his pupils. The essential -thing is that it is well done, that it appears in a great epoch. -Anonymous, it proclaims none the less to the eyes of the man of taste -the signature of genius.</p> - -<p>In order to live Rodin applied himself to the most varied occupations; -thus he gained the liberty to labor at his own work for a few hours. -He chipped at stone and marble for the benefit of sculpture to-day -unknown, but then in vogue; he made sketches for trinkets for certain -fashionable jewelers, and fashioned objects of decorative art ordered of -him by manufacturers. Despite a considerable loss of time, he obtained -thus a true apprenticeship in art wholly like that which in earlier days -was obtained by Ghiberti, Donatello, and most of the great artists of, -the Renaissance, who were proud to be good artisans before they were -accounted great sculptors.</p> - -<p>Thus finally he was enabled to realize his first dream—to have an -atelier of his own. His atelier! It was a stable, at a rental of -twenty-four dollars a year, in the rue Lebrun, in the quarter of the -Gobelins, near which he was born. It was a cold hovel, a cave indeed, -with a well sunk in an angle of one wall that at every season exhaled -its chilling breath. It did not matter. The place was sufficiently -large and well lighted. The artist, young and strong, and as happy as -possible in his stable, felt his talent increasing. There he accumulated -a quantity of studies and works until the place was so crowded that he -could scarcely turn himself about; but being too poor to have them cast, -he lost the greater part of them. Every day he spent hours moistening -the cloths that enveloped them, yet not without suffering frightful -disasters. Sometimes the clay, through being too soft, would settle and -fall asunder; sometimes it would become dry, crack, and crumble. One -day, in moving, the great figure of a bacchante that had been tenderly -molded for months was seized by the rough hands of the furniture-movers, -and broke, crashing to the ground. What lost efforts! What destroyed -beauty! Even to-day when the artist speaks of it his heart bleeds anew.</p> - -<p>At that time he carried about the ateliers of Paris a design to which he -gave the name of "The Man with the Broken Nose." Struck by the curious -face of an old shepherd, flat-nosed, with every appearance of a slave -that had been crushed under heel, Rodin made a bust of the man and -strove to portray the energy and imposing simplicity that had astonished -him in the antique busts and the statue of "The Knife-Grinder" that he -had seen in the galleries of the Louvre. The solidity of the design, -the patience shown in the composition, and the strength of the details -coöperated in producing an admirable whole. The wrinkles of the -forehead, the creased eyelids, the deep furrows of the face converged -toward the base of the broken nose in an expression of old age and -hardship, presenting an admirable head of a Thessalian shepherd. Alas! -one frosty day the clay contracted, and the skull of "The Man with -the Broken Nose" fell to the ground, leaving only the face. Rodin did -not make over the composition. Too honest to restore the skull by -approximation, he contented himself with modeling the face, to-day -become famous.</p> - -<p>He cast it in plaster, and sent it to the Salon of 1864. There it -was rejected. Thus the opposition that had closed the door of the -Beaux-Arts against him was renewed at his first attempt to take rank -among contemporary artists. The reason was the same; it will always -and invariably be the same: this sculptor of the naked truth, this -fervent lover of nature, offends, shocks, and wounds the majority of -the followers of formulas, the imitators of the past, the makers of -smooth and pretty wares, things without conscience or significance. The -artist remains alone with his deception. The day has not yet come -when enlightened amateurs can understand in which school true talent -is to be found, when they are able to renounce the moldings on nature, -the theatrical postures, the irritating silliness of figures a thousand -times repeated.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i008"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rodin008_nose.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">THE MAN WITH THE BROKEN NOSE.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>They will some day learn to perceive truth, observation, strength, and -grace. When that day comes they will throw out of the window all the -trumpery art of which they will have become tired, in order to collect -that of Rude, Barye, Carpeaux, Rodin, Jules Desbois, Camille Claudel, -those glories of the nineteenth century.</p> - -<p>The year of the Salon of 1864 may serve to close the first period of -Rodin's career. It is difficult, indeed impossible, to place between -fixed dates the events of a life that has been an example of uniform -continuity; but nevertheless it is permitted to one to say that the year -1864 marks the end of the first youth of the master. His preliminary -studies, those which one may call the studies of his mere profession, -were ended. He was then at the beginning of larger studies; he was -about to visit Belgium, Italy, and France; he was about to come face -to face with the most varied geniuses and examine their work. He was -about to question them rigorously, to demand of them their technical -methods. He was also about to exalt himself in the presence of these -immortal thoughts, to become intoxicated with the desire to equal them -in science and greatness. From that time on he approached them as a -disciple, as a man who had already thought much and comprehended much, -and who was worthy to study them and follow in their footsteps: in a -word, as an artist of their own lineage.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="SOJOURN_IN_BELGIUM_THE_MAN_WHO_AWAKENS_TO_NATUREmdashREALISM_AND" id="SOJOURN_IN_BELGIUM_THE_MAN_WHO_AWAKENS_TO_NATUREmdashREALISM_AND">SOJOURN IN BELGIUM—"THE MAN WHO AWAKENS TO NATURE"—REALISM AND -PLASTER CASTS</a></h4> - - -<p>Rodin worked under Carrier-Belleuse from 1865 to 1870. He remained -in Paris during the Franco-German War. What influence did this event -have upon him? He has said little about it. Although he has a strong -attachment for his native land, he has none of the extravagant -patriotism of a Rude, whose great soul was caught up in the flames of -the national epopee. Rodin has too contemplative a temperament; he is -too devoted to reflective work to allow himself to be long disturbed by -external facts, even the gravest.</p> - -<p>At the signing of the peace, he went to Belgium, drawn by the promise of -work in decorative art. He remained there five years, staying first in -Brussels, then in Antwerp.</p> - -<p>This period of his life left with him a delightful memory. He was poor -and unknown, but full of the vigor of youth, and free in how splendid a -freedom! He had all his time to himself, without any of those thousand -obligations that eat up the days of a celebrated man and break down his -ardor.</p> - -<p>Life in Belgium was at that time simple, easy-going, family-like. Many -small pleasures made it attractive; the cleanliness of the streets and -the houses was a constant delight to the eye; the bread, the beer, the -coffee were excellent and cost almost nothing. On Sundays bands of -children, fair-haired, robust, healthy, dressed in aprons very white -and very well starched, ran about laughing and singing; the women went -to church; the men assembled in the sanded gardens of the public houses -to play at ball, sipping glasses of <i>faro</i> and <i>lambic</i>. The whole -scene was full of the charm of intimacy and happiness which for the -artist served as a sort of frame, so to say, for the old pictures. The -works of the Flemish painters are so impressive in all their power, -in the splendor of their fresh coloring and their gem-like finish, -that Brussels, Ghent, Bruges, Antwerp, Mechlin seem to have been built -and decorated by the Brueghels, the Jan Steens, the Tenierses, whose -dazzling canvases strike one almost as if they had been the plans for -the construction of these queenly cities instead of being simply mirrors -of them. As for nature, its grandeur and its nobility are disconcerting -in such a little country.</p> - -<p>Rodin rented a modest room in the chaussée de Brendael, in one of -the quarters of the capital quite close to the Bois de la Cambre. -He worked there during the whole of the day; his young wife did the -housework, went out marketing, sewed beside him, posed for him, -helped him to moisten his clay, made herself, as she said proudly, his -<i>garçon d'atelier</i>. He modeled caryatids for the Palais de la Bourse at -Brussels; for the Palais des Académies he made a frieze representing -children and the attributes of the arts and sciences; he was charged -also with the execution of decorative pieces for different municipal -buildings of the city of Antwerp. Nowadays the Belgians display with -pride these works, in which, without flattering them, one can recognize -the touch of a future master.</p> - -<p>Intent as he was upon his modeling work, Rodin did not abandon drawing; -he added to it landscape-painting in oils. The Brabant country-side -is one of the most beautiful in Europe. The Forest of Soigne, which -surrounds Brussels, is full of the lofty trees of the Northern -countries, splendid beeches, healthy as the bodies of athletes, reaching -up into the sky like columns of light bronze, planted in regular rows, -giving the impression of an immense and solemn temple. Narrow avenues, -alleys, pierce the long naves; one's soul seems to glide lingeringly -along these shadowy paths drawn on to the end by the far-away glimmer -like stained glass. The light that falls from above through the -tree-tops slips down the long green trunks, gray or silvery, bringing -with it a touch of the sky. There is no exuberant vegetation, none -of that undergrowth trembling with delicate little leaves, such as -that which makes the spiritual grace of the Ile-de-France, arranged -for the frolic of nymphs and fawns. This is the Gothic forest, the -tree-cathedral, a fitting place for the miracles of Christianity and -the devout walk of solitaries. Rodin fell in love with this forest. His -grave soul, his youth, which knew nothing of frivolity, found itself -here. His nature, so full of self-contained enthusiasm and the profound -and slowly moved spirit of admiration, not yet capable of expressing -itself, found its true element under the protection of these age-old -beeches. But one corner enchanted him, a verdurous hollow filled with -running water that breaks the austerity of the wood, the valley of -Groenendael. There the majestic colonnade of trunks opens out, with the -condescension of giants, before the caprices of an undulating glade. It -is covered with a down of grass, like an immense green cloud, always -pure, always fresh, which spring and autumn embroider with delicate -shoots of a multitude of flowers, like the tapestries of the Flemish -masters. Little ponds shyly spread out their mirrors, full of the sky, -full of reflections. An old low-built house, entirely white, speaks -of security, of calm shelter, of good nourishment, in the midst of -this verdurous solitude, where one hears only the song of the birds -and where squirrels cross in their flight like sudden flames. The -valley of Groenendael is far enough away from Brussels to be almost -always deserted and silent. It was the site the famous Brabançon -mystic, Ruysbroeck the Admirable, chose in the fourteenth century for -a monastery. At that time the Forest of Soigne sheltered no less than -eleven monastic houses in its fragrant, shadowy depths. At the north of -the valley the ground rises and the path leads one to the modest chapel -of Notre Dame de Bonne-Odeur.</p> - -<p>At this period Rodin certainly knew nothing of the great contemplatives -of the fourteenth century or of this same Ruysbroeck whom later a -glorious compatriot, Maurice Maeterlinck, kinsman by election of the -hermit, was to translate and interpret; but in the peaceful glade, the -vallon vert, as under the vaults of the great forest, the soul of the -sculptor rejoined those of the old monks who perhaps still wander there -at times; it shared with them the religion of this beauty which their -dumb love of nature had come thither to seek.</p> - -<p>At dawn he would start out, loaded down with his box of colors. -His companion followed him, proud to carry part of the artist's -paraphernalia. He was on his way to make sketches, to take notes of the -landscape, to jot down his impressions; but often the day passed without -his touching his brushes. It was not indifference or indolence on the -part of this great worker, but simply that he had not the strength to -interrupt his delightful contemplations. Time lost? In the case of -another, perhaps. Not for him. His excursion had no immediate result; -that was all: but how he would observe, how he would compare, how he -would reflect! He was initiating himself in the sense of proportion, -grandeur of style, and the nobility of simplicity. He was studying the -laws of the light and shade distributed by the columns the true work of -the architect. It was no longer school lessons that he was prosecuting -here; it was the mighty exercise of personal talent, the ripening of -his taste that was taking place, thanks to the technical knowledge he -already possessed. The sense of the eternal laws comes only to those who -can contrail them through long experience.</p> - -<p>Later, when the time came for Rodin to visit the cathedrals, he was to -understand better than any other this art which has sprung from the -forests of France, engendered by their mysterious grandeur, once full of -terrors and marvels. The benefit which he derived immediately from his -acquaintance with Belgium was the experience of those intellectual joys -and that happiness which await any one who is serious, loyal, reverent -in the presence of the divine work that offers itself as an object of -study to the assiduous.</p> - -<p>Another besides himself had already received this teaching of nature in -exactly this place. Rude, whom the Bourbons had exiled on their return -to France because of his worship of Napoleon, passed several years in -Brussels and executed there a number of works, among others the famous -bas-reliefs of the Château de Tervueren, since destroyed by fire; "La -Chasse de Méléagre," of which the authorities of the Belgian department -of fine arts were fortunately able to take casts. On his way between -Brussels and Tervueren, Rude went every day several leagues on foot, -crossing the Forest of Soignes, where he, too, endeavored to forget the -lessons of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, on the benches of which he had, -according to his own confession, lost many years.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i009"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> -<img src="images/rodin009_caryatid.jpg" width="550" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">CARYATID—TAKEN AT MEUDON IN RODIN'S GARDEN.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>In addition to these works of decorative art, Rodin executed a number -of busts and sketches. He even found time to make a large figure -modeled after his wife, a figure draped like a Gothic statue, which -he worked over lovingly. It had the same disastrous fate as that -which befell the other one at Paris, and for the same reason; poverty -prevented the artist from having a cast taken of his work in time: like -the "Bacchante," it was completely destroyed. Despite this loss, the -sculptor was not discouraged; work for him was a happiness which was -begun anew each day; he at once began on another subject. This time he -took for his model a young man whose acquaintance he had made and who -willingly consented to pose for him.</p> - -<p>This young man was not a model by trade, spoiled by the conventional -attitudes which the Parisian sculptors impose on professionals. He -was a soldier, living in barracks near Rodin's house. As soon as the -sculptor saw, disengaging itself from the clothes, the graceful figure -of this boy of twenty-five who was not aware of his beauty and did -quite simply whatever his companion asked him, he promised himself -not to abandon this work before he had carried it as far as his skill -permitted him to go. His model disposed himself in simple attitudes, -which were not vitiated by any pretentious forethoughts. One day he came -toward him, his arms upraised, his head thrown back, with an air of -youthfully voluptuous lassitude that filled the artist with enthusiasm. -One would have said that he was a young hero staggering under the -shock of a wound. And Rodin set himself to execute the statue of the -wounded hero. But nature lends itself to infinite interpretations. -The sense of an attitude that is well rendered creates of itself more -comprehensive ideas. When we contemplate one who is wounded or ill, -obscure impressions agitate our spirit, impelling it toward ideas -higher than those of wounds and illness. It skirts the frontiers of -death, the enigma of annihilation or of the world to come, and all -those unformulated sentiments, which in their confused flight haunt -the profound regions of the soul. Before his beautiful model Rodin -experienced these emotions and transcribed them upon his sculpture. In -its unblemished nudity, it bears the sign of no one epoch; it is the -eternal man touched in his innermost sensibility by something of which -he knows not the cause. Is it his soul, is it his flesh that trembles? -One does not know. No knowledge comes without suffering. Rodin, aware -immediately of this effect of transposition, in the delicious surprise -of the artist who sometimes sees himself surpassed by his own work, -christened the statue, "The Man of the Age of Bronze," that is to say, -one who is passing from the unconsciousness of primitive man into the -age of understanding and of love. A few years later he gave it this -still happier final name, "The Man who Awakens to Nature."</p> - -<p>He worked over it eighteen months. There is no part of this harmonious -figure that has not been passionately thought out. He had to render, -beneath the supple covering of the skin, those firm, fine muscles which -possess the elasticity of youth and its sobriety. In giving the sense -of the presence of these things, one creates the illusion of their -activity. This is the secret of great sculpture and of all the arts, to -evoke that which we do not see by the quality of that which we do see. -"Carefully examine the Venus de Medici," Rude used to advise his pupils, -"and under the polish of the skin you will see the whole muscular system -appear."</p> - -<p>Rodin did not spare either his own strength or that of his model. An -implacable goddess led him on, his conscience. He did not content -himself with rendering only the masses that his direct vision gave him. -In this way he would have possessed only two dimensions, the length and -width of the human body. He needed the exact relief of masses, which -is the basis of <i>ronde-bosse</i>, of "cubic sculpture." He studied his -profiles not only from below, but from above. He mounted a painting -ladder and looked down over his model; he measured the surface of the -skull, which, seen from above, has an ovoid form; he took and compared -with his clay model the dimensions of the shoulders, the chest, the -hips, the feet as they appeared with the floor as a background. He -observed the points where the arm muscles were inserted, and those of -the thighs and the legs. How, after such a rigorously minute process -of noting his masses, could his work be flat? That became impossible. -But the geometric labor, the taking of measurements, was not all. The -next question was to reassemble the different profiles by careful -transcription. There is an entire school of conscientious sculptors who -believe that they can obtain reality by the simple method of making -identical points correspond. They multiply the measurements taken from -the model with the aid of a plumb-line and a compass; it is only a -mechanical process which does not even give good practical effects. To -unify the manifold surface of the human body, to endow the whole with -the suppleness of life, with its harmonious continuity and poise, -the personal judgment of the artist must unceasingly intervene. His -own special taste is supremely what adjusts the elements which are -waiting to be unified by him in order to take on animation and to live -one beside another. It is during this last effort that the expression, -summoned up by the truth of the ensemble, comes almost of itself to -the fingers of the sculptor. If the preceding principles have not been -scrupulously observed, it seems to refuse to come; it is the reward -only of conscience joined with intelligence; it is the fruit of this -indissoluble union that works in the spirit of the true artist. The true -expression is that to which we give the indefinable name of poetry.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i010"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> -<img src="images/rodin010_man.jpg" width="450" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">MAN AWAKENING TO NATURE.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Since the creation of "The Man who Awakens to Nature," in which during -two years he had eagerly sought it, this became the characteristic -of Rodin's talent. He had conquered it for all time; and so while -his insatiable will applies itself with no less energy to other -researches, that of movement, of character, of lighting, and sometimes -over-emphasizes them, the work that comes from his hand may appear -strange, excessive; it will never be mediocre, never indifferent.</p> - -<p>And now let us glance at the image of this young man, this proud, -unblemished human plant. All we have just been saying is forgotten in -the force of our impression. The most powerful impression, first of -all, is indolence. It is absorbed in itself; it exhausts like a great -draught of life the veins of those who respond to it. Hence the silence, -the long, dumb contemplation, the sense of incertitude one experiences -in the presence of its beauty. It is not to our spirit that it first -addresses itself. Its voluptuousness, whencesoever come, enchants our -senses; then the intellect demands an explanation, studies it, traces -back the sensation to its sources through one of those rapid and -manifold changes which are the law of such natural phenomena as light, -sound, electricity.</p> - -<p>"The man who awakens to nature," said Rodin, in the presence of his -statue. Indeed the body bends over, as if under the exquisite caress of -the breezes of spring. The hand rests itself upon the head, flung back -as if to hold in the somewhat mournful splendor of some too beautiful -vision. The whole torso is gently stirred by the emotion springing -up from the depths of the flesh to die out upon the surface of the -imperceptibly agitated muscles. He leans lightly backward, bending like -a bow and at the same time like a traveler walking toward the dawn; -he is drawn on by the desire to renew this inner emotion that swells -his human heart almost to the bursting-point. By this double movement -reconstituting life, the action does not interrupt itself. It evokes -the past and the future; the obscure shadows out of which this soul is -endeavoring to emerge and the bright regions toward which it advances.</p> - -<p>Auguste Rodin was at this time thirty-five years old. In the career -of the artist, this admirable figure has a special significance, that -of something symbolic. It marks one of the happiest phases of the -sculptor's life, the period of revelation through which he had just been -living during his sojourn by the forest of Groenendael. He, too, had -awakened to Nature in the heart of the sacred wood; he, too, had come to -know the somewhat dazzling torment of a being fully awake to the beauty -of the world. This beauty he had at last penetrated; he felt it with all -the strength of a ripened heart, he adored it; he made it his religion.</p> - -<p>Such is the inner history of this statue. There is another, a history of -the anecdotal sort, which is well known to-day, but which it is proper -to recall in a complete biography of the master.</p> - -<p>The adventure of "The Age of Bronze" was the first resounding battle -that Rodin fought in his struggle for the cause of art. It was a -victory, but only after great combats.</p> - -<p>The plaster model appeared in the Salon of 1877. Before this proud and -spirited figure a number of visitors paused, ravished by a sensation -that was absolutely new. In itself there was nothing clamorous, no -attempt to attract attention by extravagance of gesture or exaggerated -expression—quite the contrary; the fragrance of a shy beauty, an -idyllic freshness, mingled with the passionate poetry of a virile, -artistic conscience, an exquisite sense of measure, a delightful -elegance characteristically French, of the north of France, grave and -restrained, and with a something hitherto unseen, a vigor till then -unknown diffused through this adolescent flesh, irradiating it with -tenderness, with a noble charm, a caressing sadness.</p> - -<p>Immediately the rumor began to circulate, welcomed here, spurned there, -by the world of professionals, amateurs, and journalists: the anatomy -of the new work was too exact, its modeling too precise for it to be an -interpretation of the model; it was a cast from nature, and the sculptor -who gave out as the result of his own labor this mechanical copy of a -human body was nothing but an impostor.</p> - -<p>What does it matter? thought the public in its up-and-down common sense. -There are plenty of fine casts from nature; so much the better for the -name of Rodin if he has been particularly successful in this line.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> -<p><a id="a010"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin010a_kiss.jpg" width="450" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">THE KISS</div> -</div> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>But Rodin was indignant. This nude, so obstinately worked over, a cast! -That he should have committed such a deception, he the scrupulous molder -of clay! Oh, he knew well enough that most of the great modern sculptors -do not burden themselves with so many scruples and lend themselves too -often to the hasty method of taking casts; he condemned it with all the -force of his own probity. He knew well that in this very Salon of 1877 -more than fifty pieces of sculpture about which nothing was said owed -their existence to this malpractice of which he was accused and of which -he would never be guilty, because he considered it the very negation -of art. For of course taking casts is nothing but the reproduction -of nature in its immobility. By means of it one is able to take the -impression of forms, but one cannot grasp movement or expression. It -is possible to take the mold of an arm, a leg, an inert body; one can -take a good cast of the stiffened mask of the dead; one cannot calculate -through the medium of the plaster the attitude and the modifications of -form of a man walking or falling or the eloquence of a face lighted up -by the reflection of the inner mind. This transcription of the whole -is the exclusive privilege of the artist. He alone seizes and fixes -the general impression; for it is made up not only of the immediate -movement, but of that which precedes and that which follows. His eye -alone registers the rapid succession, and his skill reproduces it. While -the cast, like the photograph, only constitutes a unity detached from -the whole, sculpture from nature reëstablishes the whole itself and -represents the uninterrupted vibration which is life.</p> - -<p>That explains how there happen to be, on the one hand, so many -hard figures, weak and cold images, turned out hastily by lazy and -conscienceless sculptors, and, on the other, those works that possess a -charm that is mysterious to those who know nothing of its source, who -are unaware of this method of observation and labor which a supreme -effort veils in the easy grace and the apparent facility that enchants -us in the things of nature.</p> - -<p>The accusation brought against Rodin became more definite. There was a -veritable upheaval of opinion in the world of the Salons. He protested, -with the firmness of an artist resolved to suffer no blot upon his -honor. He insisted upon receiving justice. Unknown, without means of -support, without fortune, he might well have waited a long time for it. -He turned toward Belgium, seeking defenders in the country where he had -made "The Age of Bronze"; but the academic virus did not spare him; the -official sculptors remained deaf to the appeal of their confrère. For -that matter, where did he come from, this ambitious stone-cutter who -claimed the title of sculptor without waiting on the good pleasure of -the pontiffs?</p> - -<p>Rodin's model alone, the young soldier of Brussels, became indignant at -the affront to his sculptor. He wanted to hasten to Paris and exhibit -himself naked before the eye of the jury of honor which had just been -constituted and cry out to them that he had posed nearly two years for -the artist who had been so unjustly attacked. But nothing is simple. He -had posed, thanks to the special good will of the captain commanding the -company to which he belonged, and in defiance of military regulations. -To reveal this fact would be to compromise the officer, and so he had to -remain silent.</p> - -<p>Rodin had photographs and casts taken from his model and sent them -to the experts. All this was costly and uncertain. It was only after -months of waiting that they were examined. On the jury were several art -critics, including Charles Iriarte, a learned writer and distinguished -mind, and Paul de Saint-Victor, author of the "Deux-Masques," -the sumptuous writer of so much brilliant prose. Alas! the most -insignificant sculptor, provided he had only been sincere, could have -settled Rodin's case a hundred times better. A man of his own trade, -possessing the elements of justice, would have immediately decided the -question according to the facts, while the critics and writers relied -wholly upon personal impressions, and, to the great bitterness of the -sculptor, when they delivered an opinion they did not altogether reject -the accusation that he had taken casts, allowing doubt to rest upon the -honesty of Rodin. He himself did not know what to do next. Chance was -more favorable to him than men.</p> - -<p>At that time he was executing for a great decorator some ornamental -motives destined for one of the buildings of the Universal Exposition -of 1878. The sculptor, Alfred Boucher, a pupil of Paul Dubois, came -one day on a business errand to see the decorator. In the studios he -noticed Rodin at work on the model of a group of children intended for -a cartouche. Boucher, who knew about the accusation that hung over -him, observed him with the liveliest interest. He witnessed the rapid, -skilful, amazingly dexterous execution producing under his very eye -a tender efflorescence of childish flesh on the firm and perfectly -constructed little bodies. <i>And Rodin was working without models!</i> -Alfred Boucher was a product of the Ecole; he had taken the <i>grand prix -de Rome</i>; he was ten years younger than Rodin; but he was an honest man; -he hastened to relate to his master, Paul Dubois, what he had seen. The -creator of the "Florentine Singer" and "Charity" in his turn wished to -see things for himself. With Claude Chapu he went to the decorator's -and both of them decided then and there that the hand that molded so -skilfully from memory the figures of the cherubs was certainly capable, -in its extraordinary knowledge of human anatomy, of having executed that -of "The Age of Bronze." Thereupon they convinced their confrères and -decided to write the under-secretary of state a solemn letter in which -all of them, answering for the good faith of Rodin, declared that he -had made a beautiful statue and that he would become a great sculptor. -The letter was signed by Carrier-Belleuse, Paul Dubois, Chapu, Thomas -Delaplanche, Chaplin Falguière.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i011"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rodin011_countess.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">BUST OF THE COUNTESS OF W——.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>This tempered considerably the rancor of the artist.</p> - -<p>It is a strange fact that for years he underrated this statue. In 1899 -he gave his first great exhibition of all his work. It was to the Maison -d'Art of Brussels that the honor of this project was due, and it was -carried out in a style and with a good taste which no later exhibition -of the master has surpassed, or even attained.</p> - -<p>As he had charged me with the supervision of the sending off of his -works, to the number of fifty, I begged him to include among them "The -Age of Bronze." I hoped that the public, and especially the artists of -Belgium, might be able to study the evolution of his technique through -his typical works, executed at different periods of his career. Nothing -could induce him to consent to it. He declared that in twenty years -his modeling had undergone a complete transformation, that it had -become more spacious and more supple, and that the exhibition of this -statue could serve no purpose and be of good to nobody. I urged him to -go and look at it again. The bronze, sent to the Salon of 1880, with -the plaster figure of "St. John the Baptist in Prayer," awarded, oh -splendor of official miserliness! a medal of the third class, had been -bought by the state a few years later and set up in a corner of the -Luxembourg Gardens, an out-of-the-way corner, but one that the light -shadows of the young trees made charming. The master refused. Two or -three years afterward, one morning while we were talking, I led him -unsuspecting toward this little grove. Thinking of something else he -lifted his Head, casting an indifferent glance at the solitary bronze. -Surprised, he examined it, while a happy emotion lighted up his face; -then he walked slowly around it. Finally he admitted quietly that he -had been mistaken, that the statue seemed to him really beautiful, well -constructed, and carefully sculptured. In order to comprehend it he had -had to forget it, to see it again suddenly, and to judge it as if it had -been the work of another hand.</p> - -<p>After this readoption, his affection for it was restored; he had several -copies cast in bronze and cut in stone, and it has become perhaps one -of his most popular and most sought-after works. Museums of Europe and -America, lovers of art in both hemispheres, consider it an honor to -possess replicas.</p> - -<p>It was the first of Rodin's great statues, or, rather, the first that -has been preserved. Several other works of capital importance serve -as landmarks in the progress of his talent. Around them are grouped -fragments, busts, innumerable delightful little compositions, all -treated with the same care and equally reflecting the result of his -studies; but, as ever, it is the major works that mark most visibly the -points of departure and arrival of the different periods of his artistic -development. These works are: "The Age of Bronze" (1877); "Saint John -the Baptist" (1880); "The Gate of Hell" (1880-19—, not finished); "The -Creation of Man" (1881); "The Burghers of Calais" (1889); "Victor Hugo" -(1896); "Balzac" (1898); "The Seasons" (pediments of stone, 1905); -"Ariadne" (in course of execution).</p> - -<p>These works will be described and characterized, in the course of this -book, at the dates of their appearance.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="FLEMISH_PAINTING_JOURNEYS_IN_ITALY_AND_FRANCE" id="FLEMISH_PAINTING_JOURNEYS_IN_ITALY_AND_FRANCE">FLEMISH PAINTING—JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE</a></h4> - - -<p>During his stay in Belgium, Rodin studied the Flemish painters. Free -from the prejudices of the schools, unaware of the theories of the -critics, sensitive to the beautiful in every form, following only -his personal taste supported by the study of the masters, he ranged -over the vast domain of art through regions the most dissimilar and -superficially the most opposed. Of course he had his preferences; he -returned unceasingly to the antique and the Gothic; but his preferences -did not blind him. His admiration passed rapidly from the splendors of -Greek and Roman architecture to the voluptuous graces of the seventeenth -century. His love for Donatello and Michelangelo did not prevent him -from appreciating Bernini.</p> - -<p>Attracted first by the marvelous Flemish Gothic artists, Memling, -Massys, the Van Eycks, he was later delighted with the homely scenes of -Jan Steen, of Brueghel, of Teniers; he enjoyed them as an artist and as -a simple man who knew the value of domestic joys. Then he was haunted by -the sensual pomp of Jordaens and above all Rubens. </p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i012"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rodin012_poet.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">THE POET AND THE MUSE.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The triumphant brush of Rubens sculptured as much as it painted. The -science of foreshortening and that of ceiling painting, his way of -modeling forms in the light and by means of light—all this brought his -art into the realm of sculpture; and when Rodin came to seek effects of -light and shadow that were new to sculpture, he remembered the lessons -of the Antwerp master. From that time on Rubens was for him a splendid -subject for study and would have fortified him, had that been necessary, -in the love of drawing; for beautiful drawing leads, to everything, to -<i>color</i>, in sculpture as well as in painting.</p> - -<p>Flemish art was not enough to satisfy this thirst for understanding that -devoured the soul of the artist now in the full swing of the fermenting -force of his faculties. He wished to see Italy or at least to catch a -glimpse of it. His resources were so slender indeed that his journey -could not have been long. It did not matter. He would form an idea of -the immensity of its treasure and confirm in himself the desire to -return. He wished also to see France, as alluring to him as Greece, and -whose cathedrals are perhaps not less beautiful than the Parthenon.</p> - -<p>He started for Italy in 1875, and he accomplished his first tour of -France in 1877. He set forth. He was young and strong; he made the pass -of Mont Cenis on foot. He was unknown and without connections. What -did it matter? In the midst of these scenes so radiant with memories of -history and art, did he not feel an intoxication such as the soldiers of -Bonaparte alone must have experienced, catching sight of the plains of -Lombardy, where they were to forget the hardships of the campaign?</p> - -<p>For Rodin, Italy meant the antique; it meant Donatello and Michelangelo. -The antique he had already to a considerable extent studied in the -Louvre. Donatello and Michelangelo conquered him at the first glance—a -tumultuous conquest. The severity of Donatello's style impassioned him; -the rigid honesty of his realism, the desire of this younger brother of -Dante to see things grandly, the equal desire to see things simply, this -Gothic genius deeply moved "in the mid-way of this our mortal life" by -pagan beauty and touched by the breath of the Renaissance, impressed -the French artist and became a dominating memory. From that time on in -the most beautiful of his busts, those of Jean-Paul Laurens, Puvis de -Chavannes, Lord Wyndham, Lord Horace Walden, Mr. Ryan, he was to appear -as a disciple of the Florentine master, not by a literal imitation of -his methods, which he thoroughly grasped, but by similar qualities -of observation and synthesis. Still, this was not until after he had -made other studies, while Michelangelo took hold upon him immediately -and completely and became an actual obsession that might have proved -dangerous to a sculptor less severe with himself, less determined to -discover his own path.</p> - -<p>The dazzling richness of modeling, the majesty of the great figures -of the prodigious Florentine, and their fullness of movement—for -their immobility is charged with movement—the somber melancholy of -his thought, his flaming and shadowy soul, his literary romanticism, -a romanticism like that of Shakspere, overwhelmed Rodin with that -formidable sense of an almost sorrowful admiration that all experience -who visit the Medici tombs in the new sacristy.</p> - -<p>He studied also the later marbles of Michelangelo, which stood at that -time in the gardens of the Pitti Palace and have since been removed to -the Municipal Museum of Florence.</p> - -<p>Every one knows these powerful blocks, these vast human forms, only half -disengaged from the marble, from which they seem to be endeavoring to -escape in order to give birth to themselves by a rending effort that -is characteristic with all the force of a symbol of the tragic genius -of Buonarroti. "Unfinished works"; it is thus the catalogues designate -them. Unfinished works, indeed, but why? Was it age that stilled, before -the end, the hand of the giant of sculpture? Or was it not rather that -he judged them too strangely beautiful in their incompleteness, that -they seemed to him more powerful thus, still captive to the material -that bound them groaning, as it were, in their tremulous flesh?</p> - -<p>The public pays little attention to these sublime masses because it is -told that they are not <i>finished</i>. Not finished? Or infinite? That is -the question. Far from weighing them down, the marble that envelops -them throws about them the charm of the indeterminate and by means -of this unites them with the atmosphere. The parts that are wholly -disengaged enable one to divine those that remain hidden; they are -veiled without being obliterated, like mountain-tops among the clouds; -and this half-mystery, instead of diminishing, increases the harmony -of the bodies trembling with life under their mantle of stone. In the -presence of an effect so marvelous, so calculated, one cannot cease from -asking if it was really death or if it was not rather the sovereign -taste of the workman that arrested the chisel. While he was fashioning -his statues out of the marble itself, with that fury that has passed -into legend, did he not find himself, face to face with these unexpected -effects which the material offered him of itself, in the midst of one of -those happy situations by which the talent of the masters alone enables -them to profit?</p> - -<p>However that may be, Rodin was struck as if by a revelation. What the -progress of his work had tardily disclosed to Michelangelo was soon to -become for his disciple a principle of decorative art. Instead of -disengaging his figures entirely, he was to leave them half submerged -in the transparent marble. This method, which has become famous -to-day, seemed an unheard-of thing to those who were unfamiliar with -the Florentine blocks; but Rodin has never failed to acknowledge the -paternity of the sculptor of "The Thinker." Following in his steps, many -artists have employed this method at random, without possessing the -essential qualities that enable one to control these effects, and under -their powerless chisels the enchanting device no longer possesses any -meaning.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i013"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/rodin013_thinker.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">THE THINKER.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Rodin himself waited until he possessed a thorough knowledge of marble -and the manner of treating it; it was a stroke of fate by which he -rediscovered the phenomena of envelopment that had so transported him in -the Municipal Museum. He had by that time the wisdom to guard himself -from doing anything inconsistent with his material. He followed out -the suggestions it gave him, and developed an infinite variety in the -methods of handling it.</p> - -<p>On his return from Italy he continued to be haunted by the unsurpassable -vigor of Michelangelo's workmanship. He sought to discover what was -the outstanding gift that conferred upon him this power and this -mysterious empire over the spirit. Until then, with the majority of -artists of the modern school, he had believed that the chief quality -of sculpture lay in seizing the <i>character</i> of the model; but he came -to see how many works concerned only with expressing character fail of -real significance. Since 1830 how many romanticists have sacrificed to -character without leaving any works that are lasting!</p> - -<p>After his journey Rodin decided that the strength of Michelangelo lay -undoubtedly in his <i>movement</i>. Returning to his studio, he executed a -quantity of sketches and even large figures like "The Creation of Man," -the title of which, although he had not been to Rome, is a souvenir of -the frescos of the Sistine Chapel; he made busts like that of Bellona, -after having directed his models to assume Michelangelesque poses. -For all this, he did not attain to the grandeur, the soul-disturbing -authority of the Florentine master.</p> - -<p>Without becoming discouraged, he went on observing ceaselessly. Far -from imposing upon his model positions thought out in advance, he left -him free to wander about the studio at the pleasure of his own caprice, -ready to arrest him at a word when a beautiful movement passed before -his eyes. Then, six months after his return from Italy, he found that -the model assumed of his own accord the very poses of which Michelangelo -alone had seemed to him to possess the secret; he realized that the -sublime sculptor had taken them direct from nature, from the rhythm of -the human body in action, and that he had done nothing but seize and -immortalize them.</p> - -<p>"Michelangelo," he says, "revealed me to myself, revealed to me the -truth of forms. I went to Florence to find what I possessed in Paris and -elsewhere, but it is he who taught me this."</p> - -<p>This does not prevent certain critics from asserting out of the depth of -their incompetence that he has never felt the influence of this master -and that he has never even given his work serious consideration. Those -who know Rodin well know that, on the contrary, he never fails to give -serious consideration to anything which is worth considering at all -and that his power of observation is the basis of his genius. Always -seeking a final method, he came back to the idea with which his earliest -education had already inspired him and which his self-communings had -only confirmed: that the value of sculpture lies entirely in the -<i>modeling</i>. This is the secret of Michelangelo; it is also that of the -ancients and of all the great artists of the past and of modern times. -For the rest, through his spacious movements, his balancing of equal -masses, the sculptor of the tombs taught him that the supreme quality -consists in seeking in the modeling the <i>living, determining line of the -scheme</i>, the supple axis of the human body.</p> - -<p>He himself held this principle of the ancients, of whom he was a -disciple, as far as modeling is concerned, while in his composition and -his handling of light he is a Gothic.</p> - -<p>Soon after his return from Italy, Rodin executed the great study -entitled "The Creation of Man." In it he exaggerated the rhythm -so characteristic of the Florentine, the balancing of masses, the -melancholy contraction of the body under the weight of an inexpressible -inner suffering. When one examines the figure, this exaggeration -certainly suggests something overworked, something forced, which -Michelangelo knew how to avoid and which here creates a somewhat painful -impression. But later, when Rodin conceived the idea of placing his -statue at the summit of "The Gate of Hell," this strained appearance -disappeared. Seen thus, a lofty shape lighted up from below, it takes on -true beauty; it is in its right place; it dominates the work and, as it -were, blesses it. It has the affecting gesture of Christian charity.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i014"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rodin014_adolescence.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">ADOLESCENCE.</div> -</div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3><a name="RODINS_NOTE-BOOK" id="RODINS_NOTE-BOOK">RODIN'S NOTE-BOOK</a></h3> - -<h5>INTRODUCTIONS BY JUDITH CLADEL</h5> - - -<h4><a id="I"></a>I</h4> - -<h4>ANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS</h4> - - -<blockquote> - -<p>At a period in which, among the many manifestations of -intellectual activity in the nations, art is placed in the -background, the advent of a great artist invariably calls forth -the same phenomena: a few men of taste become enthusiasts, the -majority become indignant, and the public, not being possessed of -sufficient esthetic education, and intolerant because of their lack -of understanding, ridicule the intruder who has overthrown the -accepted standards of the century. Friends and foes alike consider -him a revolutionist; as a matter of fact, he is in open revolt -against ignorance and general incompetence.</p> - -<p>Little by little the great truth embodied in such a man is -revealed. Comprehension, like a contagion, seems to take hold -of the minds of people, and impels them to study his art at -first hand. A study not only of his own significance, but of -the principles which he represents, quickly reveals that the -work of this innovator, this revolutionist, is, in fact, deeply -allied to tradition, and, far from being a mysterious, isolated -manifestation, is, on the contrary, closely linked to general -artistic ideals.</p> - -<p>Our aim is to penetrate the doctrines of this master, his -method, his manner of working—all that which at other times would -have been called his secrets.</p> - -<p>Auguste Rodin's career has passed through the inevitable -phases. He, who has been so generally discussed and attacked, is -to-day the most regarded of all artists. He likes to talk of his -art; for he knows that his observations have a priceless value, -that of experience—the experience of sixty years of uninterrupted -work—and of a conscience perhaps even more exacting to-day than at -the time of his impetuous youth. He says, "My principles are the -laws of experience." The combination of these principles embodies -his greatest precept; namely, that of thinking and executing a -thing simultaneously. We must listen to Rodin as we would listen -to Michelangelo or Rembrandt if they were living. For his method -may be the starting-point of an artistic renaissance in Europe, -perhaps throughout the whole world. Definite signs of a decided -resurrection in taste are already manifesting themselves, and it -is a splendid satisfaction for the illustrious sculptor to receive -such acknowledgment in his glorious old age. For, like every -great genius, he has a profound love for the race from which he -springs, and feels a strong instinctive confidence in it. Indeed, -how should this be otherwise? In the course of centuries, has not -this wonderful Celtic race on various occasions reconstructed its -understanding and interpretation of beauty?</p> - -<p>Auguste Rodin expresses himself by preference on subjects -from which he can draw an actual lesson. He is no theorist; he -has an eminently positive mind, one might even say a practical -mind. His teachings, unlike the abstract teachings of books, can -be characterized by two words, observation and deduction. His -are not more or less arbitrary meditations in which personal -imagination plays the principal part; they are rather the account -of a sagacious, truthful traveler, of a soldier who relates the -story of his campaigns, or of a scholar who records the result of -an analysis. Reality is his only basis, and with justice to himself -he can say, "I am not a rhetorician, but a man of action."</p> - -<p>We hear him chat, it may be in his atelier about some piece of -antique sculpture which has just come into his possession or about -a work he has in hand, or during his rambles through his garden, -which is situated in the most delightful country in the suburbs of -the capital, or on a walk through the museums, or through the old -quarter of Paris. For in his opinion "the streets of Paris, with -their shops of old furniture, etchings, and works of art, are a -veritable museum, far less tiring than official museums, and from -which one imbibes just as much as one can."</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I use the words of the people, of the man in the street; for thoughts -should be clear and easily comprehended. I desire to be understood by -the great majority, and I leave scholarly words and unusual phrasing -to specialists in estheticism. Moreover, what I say is very simple. It -is within the grasp of ordinary intelligence. Up to now it has been of -hardly any value. It is something quite new, and will remain so as long -as the ideas which I stand for are not actively carried out.</p> - -<p>If these ideas were understood and applied, the destruction of ancient -works of art would cease immediately. By bad restoration we are ruining -our most beautiful works of art, our marvelous architecture, our -Gothic cathedrals, Renaissance city halls, all those old houses that -transformed France into a garden of beauty of which it was impossible to -grow weary, for everything was a delight to the eye and intelligence. -Our workmen would have to be as capable as those of former times to -restore those works of art without changing them, they would have to -possess the same wonderfully trained eye and hand. But to-day we have -lost that conception and execution. We live in a period of ignorance, -and when we put our hand to a masterpiece, we spoil it. Restoring, in -our way, is almost like jewelers replacing pearls with false diamonds, -which the ignorant accept with complacency.</p> - -<p>The Americans who buy our paintings, our antique furniture, our old -engravings, our materials, pay very dearly for them. At least we think -so. As a matter of fact they buy them very cheaply, for they obtain -originals which can never be duplicated. We mock at the American -collectors; in reality we ought to laugh at ourselves. For we permit our -most precious treasures to be taken out of the country, and it is they -who have the intelligence to acquire them.</p> - -<p>My ideas, once understood and applied, would immediately revive art, all -arts, not only sculpture, painting, and architecture, but also those -arts which are called minor, such as decoration, tapestry, furniture, -the designing of jewelry and medals, etc. The artisan would revert to -fundamental truth, to the principles of the ancients—principles which -are the eternal basis of all art, regardless of differences of race and -temperament.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>CONSTRUCTION AND MODELING</h4> - -<p>In the first place, art is only a close study of nature. Without that -we can have no salvation and no artists. Those who pretend that they -can improve on the living model, that glorious creation of which we -know so little, of which we in our ignorance barely grasp the admirable -proportions, are insignificant persons, and they will never produce -anything but mediocre work.</p> - -<p>We must strive to understand nature not only with our heart, but above -all with our intellect. He who is impressionable, but not intelligent, -is incapable of expressing his emotion. The world is full of men who -worship the beauty of women; but how many can make beautiful portraits -or beautiful busts of the woman they adore? Intelligence alone, after -lengthy research, has discovered the general principles without which -there can be no real art.</p> - -<p>In sculpture the first of these principles is that of construction. -Construction is the first problem that faces an artist studying his -model, whether that model be a human being, animal, tree, or flower. The -question arises regarding the model as a whole, and regarding it in its -separate parts. All form that is to be reproduced ought to be reproduced -in its true dimensions, in its complete volume. And what is this volume?</p> - -<p>It is the space that an object occupies in the atmosphere. The essential -basis of art is to determine that exact space; this is the alpha and -omega, this is the general law. To model these volumes in depth is to -model in the round, while modeling on the surface is bas-relief. In a -reproduction of nature such as a work of art attempts, sculpture in the -round approaches reality more closely than does bas-relief.</p> - -<p>To-day we are constantly working in bas-relief, and that is why our -products are so cold and meager. Sculpture in the round alone produces -the qualities of life. For instance, to make a bust does not consist in -executing the different surfaces and their details one after another, -successively making the forehead, the cheeks, the chin, and then the -eyes, nose, and mouth. On the contrary, from the first sitting the whole -mass must be conceived and constructed in its varying circumferences; -that is to say, in each of its profiles.</p> - -<p>A head may appear ovoid, or like a sphere in its variations. If we -slowly encircle this sphere, we shall see it in its successive profiles. -As it presents itself, each profile differs from the one preceding. It -is this succession of profiles that must be reproduced, and that is the -means of establishing the true volume of a head.</p> - -<p>Each profile is actually the outer evidence of the interior mass; each -is the perceptible surface of a deep section, like the slices of a -melon, so that if one is faithful to the accuracy of these profiles, the -reality of the model, instead of being a superficial reproduction, seems -to emanate from within. The solidity of the whole, the accuracy of plan, -and the veritable life of a work of art, proceed therefrom.</p> - -<p>The same method applies to details which must all be modeled in -conformity with the whole. Deference to plan necessitates accuracy of -modeling. The one is derived from the other. The first engenders the -second.</p> - -<p>These are the main principles of construction and modeling—principles -to which we owe the force and charm of works of art. They are the key -not only to the handicraft of sculpture, but to all the handicrafts of -art. For that which is true of a bust applies equally to the human form, -to a tree, to a flower, or to an ornament.</p> - -<p>This is neither mysterious nor hard to understand. It is thoroughly -commonplace, very prosaic. Others may say that art is emotion, -inspiration. Those are only phrases, tales with which to amuse -the ignorant. Sculpture is quite simply the art of depression and -protuberance. There is no getting away from that. Without a doubt the -sensibility of an artist and his particular temperament play a part in -the creation of a work of art, but the essential thing is to command -that science which can be acquired only by work and daily experience. -The essential thing is to respect the law, and the characteristic of -that fruitful law is to be the same for all things.</p> - -<p>Moreover, such was the method employed by the ancients, the method which -we ourselves employed till the end of the eighteenth century, and by -which the spirit of the Gothic genius and that of the Renaissance and of -the periods of culture and elegance of the seventeenth and eighteenth -centuries were transmitted to us. Only in our day have we completely -lost that technic.</p> - -<p>These rules do not constitute a system peculiar to myself. They are -general principles which govern the world of art, just as other -immutable laws govern the celestial world. They are mathematical -principles which I found again because my work inevitably led me to -follow in the footsteps of the great masters, my ancestors.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<p><a id="a014"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin014a_portrait.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">AUGUSTE RODIN—A PORTRAIT BY HIMSELF</div> -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>THE TRADITIONAL LAWS OF ANCIENT ART</h4> - -<p>In days of old, precise laws were handed down from generation to -generation, from master to student, in all the workshops of the workers -in art—sculptors, painters, decorators, cabinet-makers, jewelers. But -at that time workshops existed where one actually taught, where the -master worked in view of the pupil. In our day by what have we replaced -that marvelously productive school, the workshop? By academies in which -one learns nothing, because one sets out from such a contrary point of -view.</p> - -<p>These principles of art were first pointed out to me not by a celebrated -sculptor, or by an authorized teacher, but by a comrade in the workshop, -a humble artisan, a little plasterer from the neighborhood of Blois -called Constant Simon. We worked together at a decorator's. I was -quite at the beginning of my career, earning six francs a day. Our -models were leaves and flowers, which we picked in the garden. I was -carving a capital when Constant Simon said to me: "You don't go about -that correctly. You make all your leaves flatwise. Turn them, on the -contrary, with the point facing you. Execute them in depth and not in -relief. Always work in that manner, so that a surface will never seem -other than the termination of a mass. Only thus can you achieve success -in sculpture."</p> - -<p>I understood at once. Since then I have discovered many other things, -but that rule has remained my absolute basis. Constant Simon was only -an obscure workman, but he possessed the principles and a little of the -genius of the great ornamentists who worked at the châteaux of the -Loire. On the St. Michel fountain in Paris there are very beautifully -carved decorations, rich and at the same time graceful, which were made -by the hand of this little modeler, who knew far more than all the -professors of esthetics.</p> - -<p>Such was the purpose the workshops of old served. The apprentice -passed successively through all the stages and became acquainted with -all the secrets of his handicraft. He began by sweeping the studio, -and that first taught him care and patience, which are the essential -virtues of a workman. He posed, he served as model for his comrades. -The master in turn worked before him among his students. He heard his -companions discuss their art, he benefited by the discoveries that they -communicated to one another. He found himself faced every day by those -unforeseen difficulties which go to make an artist till the moment -when the artist is sufficiently capable to master his difficulties. -Alternately, they were both teacher and companion, and they conveyed to -one another the science of the ancients.</p> - -<p>What have we to-day in place of those splendid institutions which -developed character and intelligence simultaneously? Schools at which -the students think only of obtaining a prize, not attained by close -study, but by flattering the professors. The professors themselves, -without any deep attachment for their academies, come hurriedly, -overburdened by official duties and all sorts of work; weighed down by -perfunctory obligations, they correct the students' papers hastily, and -hurriedly return to their regular occupation.</p> - -<p>As to the students, twenty or thirty work from a single model, which -is some distance from them and around which they can hardly turn. -They ignore all those inevitable laws which are learned in the course -of work, and which escape the attention of an artist working alone. -They attend courses, or read books on esthetics written in technical -language with obscure, abstract terms, lacking all connection with -concrete reality—books in which the same mistakes are repeated because -frequently they are copied from one another. What sort of students can -develop under such disastrous conditions? If one among them is seriously -desirous of learning, he breaks loose from his destructive surroundings, -is obliged to lose several years first in ridding himself of a poor -method, and then in searching for a method which formerly one had -mastered on leaving the atelier.</p> - -<p>That is the method that I preach to-day as emphatically as I can, -calling attention to the numerous benefits and advantages of taking up a -variety of handicrafts. Aside from sculpture and drawing, I have worked -at all sorts of things—ornamentation, ceramics, jewelry. I have learned -my lesson from matter itself and have adapted myself accordingly. Only -in being faithful to this principle can one understand and know how to -work. I am an artisan.</p> - -<p>Will my experience be of benefit to others? I hope so. At all events, we -have a bit to relearn. It will take years of patience and application -to rise from the abyss of ignorance into which we have fallen. However, -I believe in a renaissance. A number of our artists have already -seen the light—the light of intellectual truth. Acts of barbarism -against masterpieces cannot be committed any more without arousing the -indignation of cultivated people. That in itself is an inestimable gain, -for those works of art are the relics of our traditions, and if we have -the strength to become an artistic people again, to reincarnate an -era of beauty, then those are the works of art that will serve as our -models, expressions of a national conscience that will be the milestones -on our path.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Judged by his work, Auguste Rodin is the most modern of -artists; judged by his life and character, he is unquestionably -a man of bygone days. As a sculptor, he is such as were Phidias, -Praxiteles, and the master architects of the Middle Ages; that is -to say, he is of all times. One single idea guides his thoughts, -one single aim arouses his energies—art, art through the study of -nature.</p> - -<p>It is by the concentration of his unusual mind on a single -purpose that he attains his remarkable understanding of man, -physical and moral, his contemporary, and of the spirit of our -age. In the lifelike features of his statues he inscribes the -history of the day. They seem to live, and the potency of their -life enters into us and dominates us. For the moment we are only a -silent spring, merely reflecting their authority.</p> - -<p>Through this secret of genius, his statues and groups have -an individual charm. They have taken their place in the history -of sculpture. There is the charm of the antique, the charm of the -Gothic, and the charm of Michelangelo. There is also the charm of -Rodin.</p></blockquote> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i015"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin015_head_minerva.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">HEAD OF MINERVA.</div> -</div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="II" id="II">II</a></h4> - -<h4>SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS</h4> - - -<blockquote> - -<p>In Rodin's statues we find his conception of eternal man—man -as he really is. They are molded on modern thought, with all its -variations. One might suppose that these beautiful beings of marble -and bronze had been named by the characteristic poets of the -century, Victor Hugo, Musset, Baudelaire.</p> - -<p>Beginning with the Renaissance and particularly during the -seventeenth century, the royal courts were the great salons in -which the taste of the day was developed. Necessity made courtiers -of the artists, for to obtain orders, they had to win the good-will -of the sovereigns, the great lords, and the financiers.</p> - -<p>Art then lost its collective character, the artist his -independence and strength. There was no longer the united effort of -artists, inspired by love of beauty, to create great masterpieces -such as cathedrals, city halls, and castles. The artist wasted his -abilities in fragmentary bits, his time in worldly duties. To-day -it is even worse. Keeping house, traveling, receiving, exhibiting -in a hundred different places, living in great style, carrying on -his life-work—all these crowd out the first, and formerly the -essential, object of the artist, his work. It is these that lower -art to the last degree of decadence.</p> - -<p>Rodin has kept aloof from this manner of living, has avoided -these innumerable occasions for wasting time, or, rather, has never -allowed them to take possession of him. Modest, unpretentious, -traveling little or within a limited radius, the unremitting study -of the divine model and of the masterpiece, man, forms his whole -ambition, while it is also the source of endless delight to him. -"Admiration," he says, "is a joy daily kindled afresh," and again, -"I talk out of the fullness of life; it belongs to me in a sense -larger than that of ownership."</p> - -<p>In his villa at Meudon, in the midst of his collections of -antiques, he pursues this study incessantly. He who is admitted to -the modest garden of the great master first beholds with delight a -Greek marble in an arbor. At the turn of a path there is the torso -of a goddess resting on an antique column; in a niche in the wall, -a Roman bust. Beneath the high arch of the peristyle of the studio, -the architecture of which blends into the surrounding background -as in the paintings of Claude Lorrain, there is a magnificent -torso. Finally dominating the garden and the valley it overlooks, -standing on a knoll and projected against the clear sky, there is -an isolated façade from a castle of the seventeenth century, its -delicate balustrades and casements outlined against the blue sky as -in the decorative paintings of Paul Veronese.</p> - -<p>These ruins are the remains of the Château d'Issy, the work of -Mansart. Rodin saved them at the moment when their destruction at -the hands of ignorant workmen was imminent, and at great expense -reconstructed them near his residence. These fragments, this noble -portico, seem as though placed by chance, but the keen observer -quickly perceives the correctness of taste that has determined -their disposition. Each fragment forms part of an ensemble with -the trees, the grass, the light, and the shadows, and to change -any of these in the slightest degree would sacrifice some of its -beauty. Sculpture at its finest is architecture, and architecture -is perhaps the greatest art, because it collaborates directly with -nature. Architecture lives through the life of things, and every -hour of the day lends it a new expression.</p> - -<p>Innumerable reflections were aroused in the mind of the master -Rodin when he essayed to place his treasures: the effect of the -changing light on the object, the balancing of values, the relation -of proper proportions, the appearance of the object in full light. -All these he examined and studied, and he searched into the depths -of the language of forms, to him as clear and as mysterious as -beautiful music. This remarkable gift for determining the value of -the object in its setting—a gift the secret of which is beyond the -knowledge of the ignorant—has brought forth that peculiar poetic -charm which permeates this little garden in a suburb of Paris, -a refuge of persecuted beauty. Here the master confers with the -artists of Greece and France of other days. These are his Elysian -Fields.</p> - -<p>In Paris, where he is daily and where he works every -afternoon, he lives in an exquisite, but ruinous, mansion of the -eighteenth century, situated in a rustic, neglected park. There he -finds his delight in the study of flowers and applies himself to -it with his intense, never-dormant desire for understanding. His -antique pottery is filled with anemones, carnations, and tulips. -During his frugal meals they are before him, and his reverent -love of them arouses his desire to understand them as completely -as he does human beings. He analyzes and searches out their -details without becoming insensible to the beauty of the whole. -He jots down his discoveries, his words picture them; like La -Rochefoucauld, he searches into their character; but watching over -their life admiringly and tenderly until they wither, he does not -dissect them, does not destroy them.</p> - -<p>Is not the flower the queen of ornaments, the inspiration of -all races and ages, the very soul of artistic decoration? Have not -the hands of genius contrived to employ the most durable as well -as the most fragile material to express this delicate beauty in -Greek and Gothic capitals, in the stone lacework of cathedrals, the -fabrics of gold and silk, brocades, tapestries, wrought iron-work, -old bindings? Is the splendor of stained-glass windows aught else -than the splendor of a mass of beautiful flowers?</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i016"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> -<img src="images/rodin016_bath.jpg" width="600" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">THE BATH.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<blockquote> - -<p>"Were this thoroughly understood," says Rodin, "industrial art -would be entirely revolutionized—industrial art, that barbarous -term, an art which concerns itself with commerce and profit.</p> - -<p>"The young artists of to-day understand nothing; they copy to -satiety the classic ornaments and designs, and reproduce them in -so cold a manner that they lose all meaning. The ancients obtained -their designs from nature. They found their models in the garden, -even in the vegetable garden. They drew their inspiration from its -source. The cabbage-leaf, the oak-leaf, the clover, the thistle, -and the brier are the motives of the Gothic capital. It is not -photographic truth, but living truth, that we must seek in art."</p> - -<p>Rodin writes his observations. He notes them down at the -moment as they occur to him in all their freshness, and in this -form they will be given here. At first glance, the reader may be -surprised at their apparently fragmentary form. They may seem -devoid of general continuity, but when one comprehends the great -master's method, one sees that a bond much firmer than that of the -mere word binds them together. They seem disjointed because here, -as in his sculpture, the artist accepts only the essential, and -rejects all superfluous detail. In reality they have the continuity -of life, which is felt, but not seen, and which renders arbitrary -transition unnecessary. This is the prerogative of genius, while -all else is within the grasp of any one. His authority strikes us -dumb; it puts to rout mere commonplace cleverness.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I have had primroses put in this little flower-pot. They are a bit -crowded, and their poor little stems are prisoners; they are no longer -in their garden.</p> - -<p>I look at them on my table like a vivisector. I admire their beautiful -leaves, round-headed, vigorous, like peasants. They point toward me, and -between them is the flower. The one on this side is resigned, and as -beautiful as a caryatid. In profile it seems to hold up the leaf against -which it leans and which gives it shade.</p> - -<p>These little flowers are not beautiful, nor are they radiant. They -live peaceably, gently contented in their misery; and yet they offer -something to one who is ill, as I am to-day, and cause him to write to -ward off weariness.</p> - -<p>I always have flowers in the morning, and make no distinction between -them and my models.</p> - -<p>Many flowers together are like women with heads bowed down.</p> - -<p>There is no longer the sap of life in flowers in a vase.</p> - -<p>The lace work of the flower of the elder-tree—Venice.</p> - -<p>The anemone is only an eye, cruelly melancholy. It is the eye of a woman -who has been badly used.</p> - -<p>These anemones are flowers that have stayed up too late at night; -flowers that are resplendent, with their colors as though spread over -them superficially and wiped away. Even in the spring, in the hour of -anticipation, they are already in the fullness of enjoyment.</p> - -<p>Like the flower of seduction, the anemones slowly change their form -outlined in various ways, always restrained, however, and inclosed -within their sphere. Their petals have not a common destiny: some curl -up, others are like a becoming collaret, still others seem to be running -away. The delicate droop of the petals, standing out in relief, is like -the eyelid of a child.</p> - -<p>Although old, that one does not shed its petals. Poor little flower with -bent head, you are not ridiculous; you are pensive now that you are -dying. You suffer from the cruelty of the stem which holds you back.</p> - -<p>Flowers give their lives to us; they should be placed in Persian vases. -Near them, gold and silver seem of no value.</p> - -<p>Ah, dear friends, we must love you if we would have you speak to us! -We must watch you or you fall from the vase, despairing, your leaves -withered.</p> - -<p>The flowers and the vase harmonize by contrast.</p> - -<p>In this bouquet there are some with flexible stems which seem to leap up -gracefully. The flower, surrounded by its frail, straight leaves, is as -if suspended from the ledge of a wrought-iron balcony.</p> - -<p>Ah, the adorable heart of Adonis is incased within these flowers!</p> - -<p>The hyacinth is like a balustrade placed upside down. A bed of -hyacinths resembles a mass of balusters. Thus that great invention -of the Renaissance, the balustrade, allows us to gain through it -a glimpse of nature. This ray of art, the flower, this delicate -inspiration, unknowingly requires the intelligence of man to develop its -possibilities.</p> - -<p>Superb is this little rose-like flower among its spreading leaves. It is -like an assumption.</p> - -<p>The double narcissus is a bird's-nest viewed from above. Strange -flowers, like so many throats! What a frail marvel they are!</p> - -<p>These three little narcissi group themselves like a cluster of electric -lights.</p> - -<p>The dignity of nature impresses us on every hand. It is greatly apparent -in flowers; and yet so small are they that some look on them merely as -the decoration at a banquet.</p> - -<p>I will cast a narcissus in bronze; it shall serve as my seal.</p> - -<p>A maiden on a lake, that is the narcissus.</p> - -<p>Little red marguerite, not yet open, sister to the strawberry, huddled -in the shade which caresses you.</p> - -<p>The full-blown marguerite seems to play at <i>pigeon-vole</i>.</p> - -<p>It has rained for four hours; this is the hour when flowers quench their -thirst.</p> - -<p>A marguerite in profile, a serpent's head with open jaws, stretching out -its tongues! Petals, white, like a little collar.</p> - -<p>Seen in full face, its yellow-tinted heart is a little sun; its long -petals are like fingers playing the piano.</p> - -<p>These white flowers are gulls with wings outstretched. They fly one -after the other; this one, in adoration, has its petals thrown backward, -like wings.</p> - -<p>Whoever understands life loves flowers and their innocent caresses.</p> - -<p>These marguerites seem to retreat like a spider that finds itself -discovered in the road. Their buds stretch out their serpent-heads at -the end of long stems, divided by intercepting leaves and entangling -knots. Does not love travel in a similar path rather than straight as an -arrow?</p> - -<p>There is so much regularity in these dark-green leaves, extending at -fixed intervals to right and left, and in the eternal dryness of the -bouquet, that it calls to mind a Persian miniature.</p> - -<p>No man has a heart pure enough to interpret the freshness of flowers. We -cannot give expression to this freshness; it is beyond us.</p> - -<p>When it sheds its petals, the flower seems to disrobe and go to sleep -on the earth. This is its last act of grace, showing its submission to -God.</p> - -<p>What spirit possesses these flowers that die in silence! We should -listen to them and give thanks.</p> - -<p>This red and black ranunculus proclaims the carnival; it is the carnival -itself. The carnival is the very emblem of flowers. Like them it, also, -wears masks and costumes. It wears their colors, bright yellow, red—an -imitation of the flowers of the sun.</p> - -<p>Delightful carnival! Delightful interpretation of flowers! For a long -time in my youth I undervalued them. I am happy now to see them under -another aspect, as the splendor of Rome and the lavish intelligence of a -bygone time.</p> - -<p>Some one gave me tulips. They fascinate me variously. How great an -artist is chance, knowing the last secret by which to win us!</p> - -<p>These yellow tulips, dipped in blood! What a treat to see true -colors—reds, blues, greens, the art of stained glass!</p> - -<p>One is quite taken aback before these flowers, in which nature has -expressed more than one can comprehend. It imparts that great mystery -which is beyond us and signifies the presence of God.</p> - -<p>How magnificent the flower becomes as its youth passes!</p> - -<p>Even the flowers have their setting sun.</p> - -<p>My bouquet is always the same, yet I never cease to look at it.</p> - -<p>A whirlwind, a very cyclone, this tulip has perished in the storm. Like -the wife of Lot, it is possessed of fear.</p> - -<p>This one is open, all aflame like a burning bush. That one, all -disheveled, comes toward me. Full of ardor, it springs up, its petals -strong and expanding, like a mouth curling forward.</p> - -<p>The violence of passion in flowers is pronounced. Ah, the softness of -love is found only in women!</p> - -<p>Great artists, curb your curiosity, neglect the pleasures which offer -themselves to you, so that you may better understand the secrets of God.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="III" id="III">III</a></h4> - -<h4>PORTRAITS OF WOMEN</h4> - - -<blockquote> - -<p>Rodin's busts of women are perhaps the most charming part of -his work. But to say this is almost a sacrilege, an affront to the -grace of the small groups that, in this giant's work, swarm about -the superior figures. But we need not search too far into this or -yield to the pedantic mania for classifying to death. Let us rather -look at them without transforming the joy of admiration into the -labor of cataloguing, and give ourselves up wholly to the pleasure -of seeing and understanding.</p> - -<p>Yes, these portraits of women are the graceful aspect of this -work of power. They are the achievements of a force which knows -its own strength, and here relaxes in caresses. If some among them -disturb the spirit, most of them shed upon us a calm enjoyment, -the delightful security that one breathes among all-powerful -beings that wish to be gracious. They allay the sense of unrest -aroused in us by those dramas in marble and bronze which a powerful -intellect has conceived—that mind from which sprang "The Burghers -of Calais," the two monuments to Victor Hugo, "The Tower of Labor," -that imagination, glowing like a forge, which produced "The Gate of -Hell," the Sarmiento monument, the statue of Balzac.</p> - -<p>Here Rodin's art extends to the utmost confines of grace. He -has contrived to discover the most delicate secrets of nature. -He models the petals of the lips just as nature curls the frail -substance of the rose-leaf. By imperceptible gradations he -attaches the delicate membranes of the eyelids to the angle of -the temples just as nature in springtime attaches the leaves to the -rough bark of trees.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i017"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rodin017_lily.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">THE BROKEN LILY.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Great thinkers never cease to be moved by the charm of -weakness. The "eternal feminine" is just that, the power of grace -over the manly soul. The strongest feel this attraction most, are -most possessed with the desire of expressing it. I am thinking of -Homer, Leonardo da Vinci, Shakspere, Balzac, Wagner, and Rodin in -saying this. They have created a feminine world, the figures of -which, lovingly copied from living models, become models in turn. -They haunt thousands of souls, fashion them in their image. In her -complicated ways, Nature avails herself of the artist to modify the -human type.</p> - -<p>We have some terra-cotta figures of Rodin, modeled when he was -between twenty-five and thirty, while working at the manufactory -at Sèvres, in the studio of Carrier-Belleuse, that accomplished -sculptor. They are charming little busts, with the perfume of -the eighteenth century breathing from them, treated a little in -the manner of Carpeaux, with the velvety shadow of their black -eyes on their sparkling faces. One of them, now in a private -gallery in New York, has a hat on its head, coquettish, tender, -innocently provocative; it is full of Parisian allurement because -it is characteristically French. One can find its kindred among -certain Renaissance figures, and even among the mischievous faces -of Gothic angels. With all this there is that ephemeral prettiness -which is called "fashion," that caprice of styles which does for -the adornment of cities what the flowers of the field do for the -country.</p> - -<p>If Rodin had pursued his path in this direction, he would have -been a portrait-sculptor of great taste, and would doubtless have -attained celebrity sooner, but a celebrity which is not glory. At -that time he was chiefly concerned with copying the features of his -models with all the sensitiveness of his admiration; he did not yet -attempt those large effects of light and shade which were to become -the object of his whole career, and are so still. He has made the -religion of progress his own by reflective study. Progress is for -him the chief condition of happiness. Present-day philosophies -commonly put it in doubt; but if happiness exists, it is surely -in the soul of the artist. But it is recognized with difficulty -because it is called by an equivocal name, the ideal.</p> - -<p>Let us look at the "Portrait of the Artist's Wife." Here, in -this noble effigy, this severe image with its lowered eyelids, the -artist passes beyond the promise of his first period. The face, -rather wide at the cheek-bones, lengthens toward the chin, where -the sorrowful mouth reigns. It expresses melancholy, gravity, -dignity, Christian charity. It is rather masculine, and seems less -youthful than the original was at the time. It is as if the artist -had sought to bring out the character by conscientious modeling, -without any softening; all the features are underlined, as on -a face that has attained a ripe age. He had not yet discovered -the art of softening his surfaces, of blending them in a general -tonality, and of obtaining that softness, that flesh quality, with -all the shades of youth, which touches the heart in his more recent -busts.</p> - -<p>Even then he did know, however, how to gather under the -boldly molded superciliary arch of the brows the diffused shadows -which, in the future, were to lend mystery and distance to most -of his portraits. This mask is all that remains of a standing -figure dressed in the manner of Gothic figures. Rodin was then -living in Brussels, still young, poor, and unknown, but happy. -He tasted the perfect happiness of long days of absorbing labor, -of that enthusiasm for work which nothing disturbs. To-day he -sometimes yearns for those years free from the never-ceasing bustle -of a celebrated man's existence, a giant assailed by a thousand -pin-pricks. Yet his poverty was excessive, for the beautiful -statue, modeled during successive months with much love, fell to -pieces. For want of money, the sculptor had not been able to have -it cast.</p> - -<p>Among his women's busts, one of the most famous and one which -remains among the most beautiful is that of Madame Morla Vicuñha. -It dates back about twenty-five years, but it is resplendent in -eternal youth. Since then Rodin has added to his knowledge and -experience. He has made personal discoveries in the plastic art. -He has become the master of color in sculpture. Nevertheless, this -portrait, as it stands, remains an adorable masterpiece. Who that -has looked at its softly gleaming marble in the Luxembourg has not -been overcome by a long dream of tenderness, of uneasy curiosity? -Who has not hoped to make this woman speak, to press her heart in -order to draw from her a confession of her desires, the secret of -her happiness and her melancholy?</p> - -<p>It is more than a bust, it is woman herself. Because the -beautiful shoulder slips tremulously from the heavy mouth, which -lies against the smooth, polished flesh; because this shoulder -rises again toward the head, slightly bent and inclined, as if to -draw toward it some loved one; because the neck swells like that of -a dove, and the head is stretched forward to offer a kiss, we seem -to catch a glimpse of the whole body and its delicate curves. It is -a beautiful bust. I should like to see it alone in a room hung with -dim tapestries, drawing forth its charm like a long sigh, which -nothing should disturb. This masterpiece demands the distinction of -solitude.</p> - -<p>How beautifully modeled the head is in its firm delicacy! -The framework of the narrow skull appears under the texture of -hair fastened over it like a rich handkerchief. We can almost see -the impatient hand, trembling with feeling, that has twisted the -firm knot under the nape of the neck. Everywhere, level with the -temples, at the bridge of the nose,—the aquiline nose marking the -Spaniard of race,—this bony framework stands out. The face catches -a feverish character from it, tortured by the longing for intimate -expression, and reveals a being with whom happiness borders closely -upon sorrow. The nostrils tremble as if to the perfume of the -flowers pressed voluptuously against the warm bosom. The mouth -is at once mobile and firm, and all the curves of the features -converge toward it—toward the kiss which causes it to swell softly.</p> - -<p>The light steals gently into every line and fold of the face. -It borders the eyelids, glides under the brows, outlines the bridge -of the nose and the nostrils, emphasizes the opposed arches of -the lips. It spreads like a spring, separating into a thousand -streams. It is a network, like the tracery of the woman's nerves -made visible. It is as if the sculptor and the light had begun a -dialogue—a dialogue kept up with endless graces and coquetries. -He contradicts it, refutes it; it escapes, returns. He gathers it -up, as if to force it into the sinuous folds of the figure. Again -it flees, and then, summoned back, it returns cautiously, and at -last bathes the statue in generous caresses.</p> - -<p>This bust will live. In its enigmatic grace it will become -more and more the expression of the woman who loves, just as "La -Gioconda" ("Mona Lisa") is the expression of the woman who is -loved. The one is all instinct, the other all spirit. The one -offers herself; the other promises herself. The one is tenderness -directed toward the past; the other smiles toward the future.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i018"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rodin018_vicunha.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">PORTRAIT OF MADAME MORIA VICUÑHA.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<blockquote> - -<p>In the same gallery of the Luxembourg, there is that other -famous head called "La Pensée." What a contrast! It is strangely -bound within a block of marble, placed like a living head on a -block. And yet it tells only of the slightly resigned calm of -meditation, or of melancholy, without bitterness, of long autumn -days, with their diffused brilliancy. The outlines are firm, -regular, placid, of remarkable moderation in their distinction. The -head leans forward, because thought is a weighty matter. The brow -and the eyes are the dominant features. On them the sculptor has -focused all the light not only in the high lights, but in the still -surface as well.</p> - -<p>The caprice of the artist has covered this head with a light -peasant-cap. This hides the details of the hair, and concentrates -the glance on the face. "Caprice" expresses the idea badly, for -it is taste and the will of the artist that have directed all. -These dreamy features express the practical mysticism of women, -the effort of intelligent devotion. It makes one think of St. -Geneviève, of Jeanne d'Arc, of the overwhelming courage of a weak -being carried beyond and out of herself by a great purpose.</p> - -<p>"La Pensée" has the striking character that almost all the -busts of Rodin assume in the future, and which they owe on the -one hand to their intense lifelikeness, and on the other to the -atmosphere with which the sculptor surrounds them. There are no -hard-and-fast limits which separate them from the circumambient -air; on the contrary, they are bathed in it. The "blacks," which -give a hard, dry look when used to excess, are handled marvelously. -The women's busts, especially, almost start up before us with this -slightly fantastic look of life increased tenfold, with the charm -of phantoms of marble, monumental, and yet as light as beautiful -mists.</p> - -<p>These effects of light and shadow perhaps harmonize best with -the softness and delicacy of the feminine flesh. They convey to us -naturally the mystery of an inner life more secret, more intimate -than that of man.</p> - -<p>Even with works that are similar, the public does not -recognize their common origin. It sees the result of an -extraordinary amount of observation and intelligence, yet it does -not reflect more than a child. For the public the sculptor, whoever -he may be, is a creature of instinct, with a trained eye and hand, -but without mind and culture. He is a sculptor, that is all. A -common proverb strengthens the belief in this lasting folly. It -may be told, then, that the master with whom we are here dealing -studies his models not only as a sculptor, but as a writer studies; -that often his hand drops the chisel for the pencil, in order to -set down his observation more exactly, to search even further into -nature.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the public will at last grasp the fact that the true -artist, under penalty of ceasing to be one, must, above all, expend -an amount of attention of which other men are incapable, and that -it is by this power of attention that the strength of intelligence -is measured. For example, Rodin is facing his model, a young -woman stretched out in an attitude of repose. He writes, and in -his style we find all the power of the great draftsman. He marks -the outlines, he specifies the details, slowly, patiently, with -pertinacity. He never confuses the impression, always so ready to -elude one—the impression, the divine reward of the artist. </p></blockquote> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The dazzling splendor revealed to the artist by the model that divests -herself of her clothes has the effect of the sun piercing the clouds. -Venus, Eve, these are feeble terms to express the beauty of women.</p> - -<p>The head leans to one side, the torso to the other, both inclining -indolently, gracefully. This body has been glorified. The contours -flow, descend, repose, like immortality personified. The breasts follow -the same curve. The flowing lines are all in the same direction. -Unchangeable, heaving above the half-opened screen of the dress, the -breath scarcely lifts them. It does not stir or agitate them.</p> - -<p>The beautiful human monument is balanced in repose. It is unassailable. -It is the gradation of contours.</p> - -<p>I do not draw them, but I see them in place, and my spirit is content, -accustoms itself to the impression. In memory I still make drawings of -this model, and these moving lines are repetitions, done over again a -hundred times; for I repeat the drawing constantly, like a caress.</p> - -<p>This torso resigns itself, like an Ariadne whose contours melt away in -the evening, in the dark. But the lightning of day has flashed there. -It is there always. It is now the pale gleam of flesh. My mind, carried -along, takes this form as its model.</p> - -<p>The hand, the arm, support the head, the sidelong glance from which -is so full of sweetness. One might call it a "Mona Lisa" reposing. -This head feels the need of resting on the supporting hand, a delicate -support like the handle of a vase. Like an urn about to pour out its -water, its thought, it inclines.</p> - -<p>Lying back on the cushion, the head is in high relief. The features are -placed according to their due regard, which is the very soul of balance. -It has made the eyes symmetrical; the eyebrows straight; the nose, where -beauty and symmetry meet, expressive of a wholesome conformity.</p> - -<p>When a woman is very beautiful, she has the head of a lion. From the -lion is copied that splendid regularity of the eyes, which the oval of -the face accentuates. The tawny mane is also lion-like in its regularity -and majesty, without any other expression.</p> - -<p>Arches are formed without effort of all the parts of the eye. The hinges -of the eyes open and close. The open mouth keeps back neither the -thoughts nor the words that have been spoken. There is no need for her -to speak. Her age, her thoughts, all is a confession here—the features, -the arch of the frank, noble mouth, as well as the form of the nose and -the sensitive nostrils.</p> - -<p>And this infantile glance under a woman's eyelid! Our soul demands -that, by an agreement with the heavens, the feminine glance should be -celestial.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i019"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/rodin019_pensee.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">LA PENSÉE.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>How I bathe in the calm beauty of these eyes, with their regular -drawing! How they themselves declare their tranquil joy! Sometimes eyes -like these seem to be inhabited by spirits. They close, and I see the -horizontal lashes, the lower lid, which just rests against the upper. I -see as a whole the soft oval of these long eyes, the double circle of -the lids themselves, and the circle beneath, so modest now, but which -one calls the circle of love.</p> - -<p>The eyeball in moving shows the clear pupil, and all about it press the -circles of the delicate lids. The soul finds a refuge in these secret -hiding-places, and throws out its circles of attraction like a lasso. -This sensuous soul is the soul of beautiful portraits.</p> - -<p>The cheeks curve against the socket of the eye; the double arch of the -brows prolongs itself behind them. The surface of the cheeks extends to -the extremity of the nose, forms a double depression by the sinking of -the cheek, which grows hollow toward the convex lip, and surrounds the -mouth and the two lips. These facial lines and surfaces all stop at the -chin, toward which all the curves converge.</p> - -<p>The facial expressions proceed from, spread, and move in another circle. -They all disappear in the cheeks, just as do the movements of the mouth. -One curve passes down from the ear to the mouth; a small curve draws -back the mouth and also the nose a little. A circle passes under the -nose, the chin, to the cheekbones; a deep curve, which starts back to -the cheekbone, cuts in a small hollow to the eyebrow. The features are -distinct; but when they move, they merge into one another. The smile -passes over the face by a circle defining the mouth. The edge of the -mouth is defined by a mezzotint at the point of union.</p> - -<p>The loose hair surrounds the cheek, and the head seems like a golden -fleece on a distaff. It hangs like loosened garlands. How beautifully -these garlands of hair are arranged, with the profile in a three-quarter -view, standing out against the fine, tawny hair! The impressive harmony -between the flesh and the hair! They seem altogether in accord; they -lend each other languor and charm; they are united and separated at the -same time. These drooping clusters of chestnut-blond hair are a frame. -One might call them long flowers hanging from the edge of a vase.</p> - -<p>The neck no longer holds erect the head, which moves in ecstasy. It -drowns itself in the wavy flow of hair, which becomes undone at the -moment. This inundation of hair, so to speak, what a generalized -expression of opulence it is! Before its beauty I feel imbued with -love. I am seized with enthusiasm, aflame with it. This gold, this dull -copper, is like a field of grain, a field of corn, where the sheaves are -of gold bound together. These sheaves, slightly disordered in their -lengthening curves, turning in all directions, imitate the tone of -subdued flesh tints.</p> - -<p>In this veil, transparent and colored like a dead leaf, the ear is -hidden in shadow, where the hair flies back at random in strands, twists -about, and returns.</p> - -<p>O head, beautiful ornament, drooping against the edge of the couch like -a lovely motive in architecture at the edge of a console, you express -the prolonged weakness of a lovely languor! The shoulder extends its -beautiful curve before the face, resting on its side; the line rises, -passes near the nose, descends, and shows the red line of the mouth, -just as the bees continually enter and go out of the opening of the -hive. The face turns, but the eye returns to me, passes by me, and again -gazes upon me.</p> - -<p>In it there is the softness of the dog's eye, a spirit which becomes -motionless when the tyranny of passion has disappeared. When passion is -in control, she sucks like a vampire that delicate flesh, which is the -model of calm, the exquisite remainder of calm.</p> - -<p>This crown of beauty is not made for one woman alone, but for all women. -They do not know it, and yet all in turn attain this beauty, as a fruit -ripens. This calm is more potent in them than in the most beautiful -statues. They are unaware of it, and the men who are near them are -unaware of it also. They have not been taught to admire. They have not -been educated in the science of admiration.</p> - -<p>When, in the galleries of the Louvre, magnificent rooms where are -gathered the collections of antiques, day enters through the windows -and lightly touches these beautiful sculptures which are the adornment -of great palaces, do they understand any better? Do they realize the -collaboration between the sculptor and the light? </p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> -<p><a id="i020"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin020_biron02.jpg" width="600" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">HOTEL BIRON. VIEW FROM THE GARDEN.</div> -</div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="IV" id="IV">IV</a></h4> - -<h4>AN ARTIST'S DAY</h4> - - -<blockquote> - -<p>The residence of Rodin, the Hôtel Biron, is situated at the -extreme end of the rue de Varenne, in the Faubourg St. Germain. -The long straight street is lined on both sides with old mansions -that lend a distinctive nobility to this district of Paris. The -street is solemn, the quiet austere. Only rarely a carriage rumbles -by. Like the tide of a river, the air sweeps down this street from -the Boulevard des Invalides, which at its other end opens upon the -Esplanade des Invalides, like a great lake.</p> - -<p>Now and then one catches glimpses of the spacious courts, the -steps, the peristyles, and the ornate, but at the same time simple, -pediments. Most of these mansions were, and many of them still are, -inhabited by families associated with the history of France.</p> - -<p>The northern façade of the Hôtel Biron and the courtyard -through which one enters are hidden behind a high convent wall, for -in the nineteenth century the old residence of the Duc de Biron -was transformed into a religious school of the Sacred Heart. There -the daughters of the aristocracy were educated. In consequence of -the law of 1904 relating to the religious orders, the mansion was -vacated, and taken possession of by the state, which rented it in -apartments. Rodin, ever in search of old buildings, in which alone -he can think and work in comfort, soon became the main tenant.</p> - -<p>To ring the bell one must reach high. With difficulty one -turns the handle of the door, which swings slowly. It is a portal -made for coaches to pass through. Under its monumental arch one -seems as insignificant as an insect. To the right of the court is -the old chapel of the religious community. Its somber character -stands out against the neighboring secular buildings. The cold -style of Charles X, in which it is built, forms a strange contrast -to the charming structure of Jacques Gabriel, the celebrated artist -who in the eighteenth century endowed Paris with many works of art, -among others this pavilion of the rue de Varenne, the Hôtel Biron. -Nevertheless, had it not been for Rodin, this building would have -been torn down.</p> - -<p>It is a vast mansion, extremely simple, and built on the -lines of an elongated square. Its great charm is due wholly to its -correct proportions and to the grace and variety of its beautiful, -tall windows, some straight, others rounded, and surmounted by an -inconspicuous ornament, the signature of the artist. All of them -are enlivened by little squares of glass, which are to a window -what the facets are to a diamond.</p> - -<p>The spacious vestibule is paved with black and white marble, -its ceiling supported by six strong columns. A charming stone -staircase rises here. All is in the style of Louis XV, a style that -is dignified when it is not delightfully elegant and coquettish.</p> - -<p>The house was to be torn down, and sold as junk; but Rodin -was on guard. Ever since he had learned that this masterpiece was -condemned his heart had bled, and for the first and only time in -the course of his long existence an outside interest took him -from his work. He wrote letters, took legal steps, called to -his assistance artists, people of culture, and men in politics. -M. Clémenceau, then president of the cabinet; M. Briand, who -succeeded him; M. Gabriel Hanotaux, one of his great friends; -M. Dujardin-Beaumetz, under-secretary of state of fine arts, -all listened to his indefatigable pleading. Finally his plea was -heard, and the Hôtel Biron was classified as a historical monument, -henceforth inviolate. Then the speculators had to abandon their -idea of filling the park with hideous modern structures, and of -disfiguring in six months this unique Quartier des Invalides, to -construct which the architects had given years of work and all -their intelligence.</p> - -<p>Rodin's admirers soon conceived the idea of converting the -Hôtel Biron into a museum for the master's works, which they -pledged themselves to defend with a tenacity equal to that which -Rodin had just displayed.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<blockquote> - -<p>I knock at the door of the studio and rapidly pass through -two large rooms containing no furniture, only busts of bronze and -groups of marble. When I enter the study, Rodin is not here; I -glance about. All the details of this room are familiar to me, but -they always seem new, because everything is in harmony here, with a -harmony which varies according to the day and the hour.</p> - -<p>It is a morning in spring. The bright light sheds its rays -on the various antiquities that the master has assembled here: -Empire chairs, with faded velvet coverings; a Louis XIV arm-chair -of gilded wood and cherry-colored silk, in which one might fancy -Molière seating himself to chat with Rodin, who, ever ready as he -is with a bit of raillery, would surely not have failed in repartee.</p> - -<p>On a round table there is a Persian material, and some -Japanese vases filled with tulips and anemones. On the mantelpiece -are bronzes from the far East and a statuette of porcelain in -marvelous blues that Rodin calls his "Chinese Virgin." On the -walls, close together like the stones in a mosaic, are many of the -master's water-colors. Their well-chosen tones harmonize with and -intensify those of the flowers, the fabrics, and the ceramics of -bygone days.</p> - -<p>Scattered pedestals support huge bronze busts, which call to -mind warriors of the Middle Ages, and some unfinished pieces. They -consist of small groups that, under the eye of the master, seem to -grow out of the white marble, and in the golden sunlight look as -soft as snow.</p> - -<p>On this table, where Rodin takes his meals and writes, is a -Greek marble, a little torso without arms or legs; I know it well, -for he showed it to me while murmuring words of admiration. This is -his latest passion.</p> - -<p>I enter the garden, where he is enjoying a moment of rest, for -he has been working a long while. Owing to his habits as a good -workman, he rises at five every morning.</p> - -<p>I pass through one of the big doors which open upon the park. -The beautiful view always captivates me anew. The light, the air, -the expanse of sky, the magnificent groups of trees, this rustic -solitude in the heart of Paris, take one by surprise, inspire and -elevate the spirit. Rodin is here, smiling and in good humor.</p> - -<p>We are on the terrace that overlooks the expanse of green -and forms a sort of slanting pedestal for the pavilion. Below -stretches a broad alley, almost an avenue, overgrown with a rich -carpet of grass and moss, which loses itself in the distant wood. -Fruit-trees, growing wild, form impenetrable screens on both sides -of this alley.</p> - -<p>The grandeur of this park is largely due to the age of the -trees. Stepping to the edge of the balustrade, I can see toward the -right the dome of the Invalides, standing alone, outlined against -the sky, like a burgrave on guard under a helmet of gold.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i021"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> -<img src="images/rodin021_biron03.jpg" width="450" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED IN THE COURT OF THE HOTEL BIRON.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<blockquote> - -<p>The northern façade of the pavilion has a severe character. -It is the façade which visitors and passers-by see, and for this -an elegant simplicity suffices. But this other side, bathed in -the midday sun, is meant for friends. All the delicate splendor -that the architect conceived is expressed in these stones. This -sculptured pediment, this balcony with its console of flowers, and -the graceful windows, with their semicircular transoms, are models -of elegance. The Hôtel Biron is not large, but it is imposing. The -blockheads who inhabited it during the last century, blind to its -beauty, deaf to its appeal, demolished and sold the wrought-iron -balustrades of the windows, balconies, and staircases, but they -were not able, thank Heaven! to destroy its innate beauty.</p> - -<p>"Let us go to work," said Rodin. I go back to the statues; -Rodin begins to draw. In a little while he will model. During his -hasty luncheon he has the little Greek torso placed before him, and -he makes notes all the while.</p> - -<p>True genius is as changeable as nature. It finds as many ways -of expressing its ideals as it finds subjects. But what always -remains the same is the desire to be sincere. Yet the artist, with -the best of intentions, is often the victim of his own sincerity. -Rodin is no exception to this rule, for even he has had his -portraits rejected. "There is no resemblance!" people declare, -while, on the contrary, the resemblance is too true. With his keen -insight he penetrates too far beyond the mere flesh of the model. -People are frightened at seeing their hidden personality brought -to the light of day, are taken aback at being compelled to know -themselves. They consider the sculptor indiscreet and dangerous.</p> - -<p>If, in his portraits of men, he pries to their very souls, -if he reveals without pity those of his own sex, his equals, his -companions in life's struggle, in his portraits of women he is -discreet and respectful. With delicacy he unfolds their delicate -mystery. He does not say anything which is not true, but frequently -he does not express the whole truth. Genius is ever in quiet -complicity with womanhood, and leaves it in that half-obscurity -which is its greatest power.</p> - -<p>In the bust before us of Mrs. X—— , one wonders what he -refrained from expressing. Surely neither the unusual beauty of the -woman nor her air as of an archduchess.</p> - -<p>I remember the day when I saw this bust for the first time. -It was in the Salon, placed at the head of a high staircase. The -marble was brilliant. Something regal and also lovable attracted -those who came toward it. Resplendent in beauty, the shoulders -emerge from the folds of a wrap with the proud grace of one who is -to the manor born. The small, well-shaped head, supported by the -plump, though delicate, neck, is half turned to the slightly raised -left shoulder. The hair is drawn up high to form a crown, throwing -forward some light strands that shed their soft shadows over the -forehead, like a thatching of moss. The beautiful eyebrows, too, -lend mystery to the glance of the eyes, so full of sweetness and -understanding. The small ear is partly hidden under the waves of -the well-groomed hair. The lines of delicate symmetry which run -from the chin to the ear, and from the ear to the shoulder, and the -coronet of hair, give the bust its distinguished look of race.</p> - -<p>Here we see, too, the firmness of beautiful flesh, hardened by -exercise, radiating that spirit of joyous life that springs from -a thoroughly healthy body, as we feel it in some of the Tanagra -figurines. The quiet reserve which stamps the refined Anglo-Saxon -is revealed, but not overaccentuated. The nose is straight and -slightly raised at the tip, the mouth frank and regular. Those -same changing shadows which beautify flowers, when the sun strikes -them through the leaves of a tree, play over this countenance, and -bathe it in a variety of delicate tones from the eyes to the chin. -But beneath this placid beauty there is a restless soul eager to -act, to express its goodness. The chin and the throat retain their -look of youth, even of something childlike for those whom she -loves; but the thoughtful brow is slightly wrinkled, as if from the -intelligent search for happiness.</p> - -<p>This bust, almost Greek in its simplicity, is one of the most -purely beautiful that has come from Rodin's hands.</p> - -<p>When we note the facility with which these works are produced, -seemingly a natural growth, like vintage and harvest; when we -contemplate these fruits of knowledge, we are too apt to overlook -the laborious efforts involved, and to forget that a life has -been given, drop by drop, to achieve this result in small steps -of progress. Even when we know all this, we often prefer to give -the credit to external causes, which appeal more strongly to our -superficial minds, rather than to that endless patience that is, -and always will be, the secret of genius.</p> - -<p>I watched Rodin model the head of Hanako, the Japanese -actress. He rapidly modeled the whole in the rough, as he does -all his busts. His keen eye and his experienced thumb enable him -to establish the exact dimensions at the first sitting. Then the -detailed work of modeling begins. The sculptor is not satisfied to -mold the mass in its apparent outlines only. With absolute accuracy -he slices off some clay, cuts off the head of the bust, and lays it -upside down on a cushion. He then makes his model lie on a couch.</p> - -<p>Bent like a vivisector over his subject, he studies the -structure of the skull seen from above, the jaws viewed from below, -and the lines which join the head to the throat, and the nape of -the neck to the spine. Then he chisels the features with the point -of a pen-knife, bringing out the recesses of the eyelids, the -nostrils, the curves of the mouth. Yet for forty years Rodin was -accused of not knowing how to "finish"!</p> - -<p>With great joy he said one day, "I achieved a thing to-day -which I had not previously attained so perfectly—the commissure of -the lips."</p> - -<p>In making a bust Rodin takes numerous clay impressions, -according to the rate of progress. In this way he can revert to the -impression of the previous day, if the last pose was not good, or -if, in the language of the trade, "he has overworked his material." -Thus one may see five, six, or even eight similar heads in his -studio, each with a different expression.</p> - -<p>Hanako did not pose like other people. Her features were -contracted in an expression of cold, terrible rage. She had the -look of a tiger, an expression thoroughly foreign to our Occidental -countenances. With the force of will which the Japanese display in -the face of death, Hanako was enabled to hold this look for hours.</p> - -<p>Little by little, under the sculptor's fingers, the mask of -clay reflected all this. It cried out revenge without mercy, the -thirst, for blood. A baffling contrast this—the spirit of a wild -beast appearing on the human countenance.</p> - -<p>I have one of these studies before me now. It has been cast -in a composition of colored glass, and the vivid flesh coloring -lends reality to the work. This mask is not disfigured by rage. The -bloodless head, with its fixed stare, lies on a white cushion, and -no one escapes its disquieting influence. Some people shudder -when they see it. "One might think it the head of a dead person," -they say.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i022"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin022_portrait_x.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">PORTRAIT OF MRS. X——.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Whenever I enter the spacious room I am irresistibly drawn -toward it. My feelings are different every time, but always there -is a feeling of uneasiness. I cannot say that it resembles death; -on the contrary, it is so lifelike that it is almost supernatural. -One might call it a condemned person, a being so terrified by the -approach of death that all the blood has rushed to the heart. It -is a spirit frozen with fear, the eyes looking toward the unknown, -the large nostrils scenting death. The bulging forehead, the high, -Mongolian cheek-bones, and the flat nose make the face still more -singular. All the lines of the face run toward the mouth, with its -remarkable expression. Obstinate, although conquered, it will draw -its last breath without a cry.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile life seems to throb in every cell. This head, so -like a being that has been put to death, has the soft, pliant flesh -of a ripe fruit.</p> - -<p>At night I return to look at it by the light of a candle. -It looks entirely different. The shadows vary as I move the -candle, and the features grow mobile. How gentle and touching it -seems now! It is no longer bloodthirsty and savage; that exotic -expression which repelled me has quite disappeared. These features, -expressing the innermost self under a stress of emotions, reveal a -poor creature that has loved and suffered. It is a pitiable face -that has been molded by life. I have seen that same sad, tired -expression of anguish in one whose whole strength is gone, but who -still makes an effort to understand misfortune in order to strive -against it. I have seen it on my mother's face when one of us was -ill.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>A MORNING IN THE GARDEN</h4> - -<p>It is still night; the dawn is just breaking. I open my window to let -the refreshing air drive away my drowsiness. From the end of the garden, -in the underbrush, and now all about me, I hear much lively chirping. It -tells of the blessing of love, of springtime.</p> - -<p>It is almost day. The blackbird has ended his scene of love; no one was -about when he sang his song of spring and harmony. The flowers listened, -and blossomed at the call of this unseen Orpheus. The air is laden with -misty melodies. These songs do not disturb the silence; they are part -of it. Later we shall still hear the happy call of birds, but no longer -these songs of love that proclaim the eternal reign of our mother earth.</p> - -<p>Now is the time for sighs of happiness; the flowers consecrate -themselves to the beautifying of Demeter, goddess of the under-world. -Orpheus searches for Eurydice; he calls her, and his notes break the -harmonious silence.</p> - -<p>I must bathe my brows in the vague mist, in the fragrance of the earth, -in the light of the dawning day. Spacious room, I leave you. I shall -return to you to work, for here only have I known complete silence.</p> - -<p>I hurry into the garden, where I find inspiring freshness. I had looked -forward to it; my whole body was awaiting it. A sprouting twig proclaims -the fullness of life. I am freed from the memory of yesterday, born anew -for all the seasons to come. In the <i>palais</i> thoughts are more subdued -and modest, content to be bounded by the splendid proportions of the -apartments—proportions that are correct, but nothing more.</p> - -<p>The flight of time is marked by the song of the blackbird, and, as in -Mozart's music, one cannot quite define whence its charm springs. It -is everywhere, to the right, to the left. That voice seems to pierce -through the gaps and hollows of the wood, for now one hears it as an -echo, now as a solo, at the farthest end of the wood.</p> - -<p>My flight of steps is my place for reflection, my <i>salle de pas -perdus</i>.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> At the foot of the steps the verdant carpet, sown with -little stars of green, stretches out. It might be an old Arabian -material or a rich marble. Bits of earth are to be seen in delicate gray -patches. The shadow of night still enshrouds the garden in a cloudy -veil. In the distance, outlined against the horizon, are the bleak walls -of houses, like huge stones. About me stretches that enormous Babylon, -that Paris where my tired nerves relax, where the substance of my life -is woven, where my heart has found appreciation and no reproach, and -where my mind, imbued with the true knowledge of life, has taught my -soul the gracious lesson of submission.</p> - -<p>This broad, beautiful lane is like a Corot, and recalls his nymphs. -The bare trees look like limbs. A bright carpet of turf moistens their -roots. Now a rabbit runs by. In the distance the carriages rumble like -artillery. This is a fitting haunt for fauns, their rustic arbor. -The trees serve as a roof, their green shoots melting into the sky. -The freshness of new life is everywhere, and little exclamations of -admiration spring from every creature.</p> - -<p>With this universal youth new thoughts are born. In this delightful -retreat one feels that only an antique statue could add to its beauty.</p> - -<p>The trees expand with vigor, their buds outlined against the sky. The -rest of the lane seems an avenue of enchantment. Far down at the end -I seem to see happiness. But no, I am wrong: it is not only in the -distance; it is here, all about me, now.</p> - -<p>The slanting rays of the sun strike the trees and the grass; over -the lane bluish shadows play. The spreading shade of the trees falls -softly on the fresh green. Those little dashes of blue among the grass -are forget-me-nots. Those beautiful trees, garbed only since a week -ago, trail their lovely green draperies on the ground, while detached -garlands cling to the shrubs.</p> - -<p>The majesty of youth in nature is unique; it is charm itself, an -inimitable thing. Yet some men of genius have been able to express the -spirit of spring.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i023"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/rodin023_garden.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">RODIN IN HIS GARDEN.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The very soul of meditation dwells in this garden, in this alley of -trees. Polyhymnia, the Muse, in her graceful draperies, walks with me, -and I follow her reverently.</p> - -<p>Away from the turmoil, I can forget the constant hurry of our days. How -we allow ourselves to be harassed! Reaching out for everything without -possessing anything truly, we do not even realize what treasures we have -lost. A few puffs of empty air are not poetry, and seeing happiness in -the distance is not enjoying it. What hurries you? Ah, your life is out -there, elsewhere? Go, then; but I shall remain here with the antique in -my charming garden.</p> - -<p>I will sit down on this old stone bench, surrounded by dense shrubs. The -dead wood is piled in little heaps. The tree-tops form a semicircle, -and stand out like a pantheon against the sky. The branches bear the -marks of lightning and grow in zigzag. The sap of the earth rises in the -arteries of the trees, ever ready to take part in the great festival of -spring.</p> - -<p>Now the charm of the alley consists in the differences of light and -shade. As the one strives to advance, the other recedes toward the dale. -The shadows disperse for the morning, leaving behind their beneficent -moisture for their friends, the flowers of this dale.</p> - -<p>Before me, on a knoll, stands a beautiful column, as if in prayer. It -seems to have sprung from the kingdom of Pluto, and now, like us, it -stands in the bright sunlight, a part of the out-of-doors.</p> - -<p>Stone, pure and beautiful material, destined for the work of men, just -as flax is destined for the work of women. A gift scarcely hidden -under the earth, man has seized upon stones with rapture, carefully -drawing them from their dark hiding-place, to raise them on high as in -church towers, making them tractable, transforming the crude rocks, -and appropriating them for masterpieces. Under the protection of man's -sacrilegious hand, these stones lend beauty to our cities. They have a -tender sympathy with the trees, the roots of which join their own.</p> - -<p>Both hard and soft stones have a place in man's esteem. Sculpture has -glorified them. The column is like a tree, but simpler than a tree, with -a silent life of its own. And like the plants which cling about it, it -also has its foliage and leaves. The artist who conceived the Sphinx -made her to be the guardian of temples and secrets.</p> - -<p>That column there rises up like a druid-stone, as though to converse -with the moon at night. It awaits the appearance of man in the solemn -ritual of night, for in its immensity it bears witness that man has -created it. Man, too, has had his part, an ephemeral part, in the -creation; his idea strives with the works of God, as Israel strove with -the angel. His illuminating thought, expressed in stone, arouses those -who otherwise might be insensible to beauty. The hand of man, like the -hand of God, can transform a soul and make it new.</p> - -<p>Mystery in which I have lived, but which I understand only now that I am -about to depart. The marvel of it all! And to think that one must leave -it! Well, that is the lot of all other living creatures.</p> - -<p>And now the blue of the sky has grown darker, without a shadow, while -beauty itself has taken its abode in these avenues of trees. Now and -then passing clouds dim the glory of this splendid youth of nature, but -the green is brilliant even in the shadow. High up among the trees, I -see a blue river, the sky, while the great clouds, mountains of water, -are hanging above to quench the thirst of the flowers.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Salle de pas perdus</i> is the name given to the large hall -of the Gare St. Lazare, Paris.</p></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>AN ANTIQUE FRAGMENT</h4> - -<p>Twenty times a day I walk in front of this little torso. I bring all my -friends to see it, for Greek sculpture is the very source of beauty.</p> - -<p>Why am I surprised whenever I look upon this torso? I think it is -because nature, which is behind this work of art, always calls forth -new, unlooked-for sensations.</p> - -<p>Venus, glorious Venus, model of all women, your purity survives even -after two thousand years. Your charm charms me—me who have admirers for -my own sculpture. Before you they remain cold; but I, with a spirit that -sees further—I admit my defeat as an artist, my poor ability vanishes -before your grace.</p> - -<p>Form, as I used to express it, seems a mere illusion before the -harmonious strength of your lines, which embody the very truth of -life. Divine fragment, I shall live by you! What days you recall -to me! Perhaps the last moments of the soul of Greek sculpture, -ever-increasingly my Muse.</p> - -<p>This torso shows the suppleness and strength of the joints. It is a -summing-up of former masterpieces of the artist. Those endless studies -that grow into experience and all the qualities of balance are here -concealed beneath the beauty and the gracious inspiration of the figure. -The inspired sculptor has just discovered all these qualities, and in -appreciation has given expression to them with his very soul.</p> - -<p>An antique piece of sculpture cannot be imitated. This torso seems to -have a soul. Are not the shadows trembling on it there? One can see them -move.</p> - -<p>What a progress toward truth we find in the advance from Assyrian and -Egyptian to Greek art! Antique things, if we knew how to look at them, -would bring about a new renaissance for us, we who stagnate in the -Parisian spirit. The Parisian spirit, young though it is, is already -too old to serve us. It is like those pretentious monuments, those -constructions in plaster, which are hollow and horrible under their -crumbling stucco.</p> - -<p>Greece was the land of sculpture beyond all others. The subject of -their sculpture was life. The people concealed it under names and -symbols,—Jupiter, Apollo, Venus, the fauns,—but behind all these was -the eternal truth of life.</p> - -<p>This torso on my table looks as though it had been washed to the shore -by the loving waves, as boats are stranded on the beach at low tide. -What more beautiful offering could be made to men and gods? For is this -fragment not an eternal prayer?</p> - -<p>The thoughts expressed in this torso are numerous, infinite. I could -write about it forever. Do I bring these thoughts with me? Is it I who -put them into the marble? No, for when it is out of my sight, this -divinity of life vanishes from me at the same time. Since it ceases -to be in me, it must be the fragment which possesses it. It teaches a -sculptor more than any professor could. It whispers secrets to me, and -if I am true to it, it will tell me more and more; it will transform -me in harmony with the soul of its friend, the Greek sculptor. For are -not the thoughts of God expressed all the world over? Are they not the -fruitful germs, now growing within a brain, now in a beautiful grouping -of stone, and now captured by those magicians, the poets? And are -sculptors, too, not like poets?</p> - -<p>Where can one find more perfect harmony than in this fragment? It is -a monument. And is it not providential? It is only a fragment, yet it -seems to embody the whole Acropolis. Truth, that lasting joy, fills in -all that is missing. It is a fact that this torso, which weighs one -hundred and sixty pounds, seems as light as the woman herself would -be, as light as her gracious, swelling flesh. I know contours, but the -contours of a masterpiece always surprise me anew. Whenever I see you, -beautiful little torso, my eyes and my soul feast on you. Masterpiece, -you are my master, too.</p> - -<p>If, as they say, stones have fallen from heaven, this surely must be one -of them. I leave it in the condition in which I found it, as it first -appealed to me, with all its charm, as I carried it in my arms to this -table. The changing lights of day mold it; but I shall not touch it, I -shall not change it. It is truth itself, and it shines in no matter what -surroundings.</p> - -<p>This torso has within it the seductiveness of woman, that garden of -pleasure the secret charms of which imbue old and young alike with a -terrible power. Feminine charm which crushes our destiny, mysterious -feminine power that retards the thinker, the worker, and the artist, -while at the same time it inspires them—a compensation for those who -play with fire!</p> - -<p>It is not by analysis that you will learn to understand art, you who are -ignorant. Greek art eludes the imbeciles and ignorant who have always -undervalued it. How can one comprehend this beauty by mere analysis? -Where lies the secret of force? It is ever shifting. And the shadow, -so genially arranged, varies with the way the light strikes it. In -art, what do we call life? That which speaks to you through all your -senses. If this torso were to bleed, it could not be more lifelike. The -harmony of its lines dominates my soul. The soul lives and grows on -masterpieces. That is why we have a soul.</p> - -<p>Is it surprising, then, that I live with these antiques of mine, poets -far more inspiring than any of our day? They have created beings that -will live to survive us.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>AN EVENING IN THE GARDEN</h4> - -<p>I leave my exacting work always more and more its slave. Walking, -because of its regularity, always refreshes me. Such a walk means -a great deal to me. It puts my nerves into a state of delightful -tranquillity.</p> - -<p>The trees are still bare of leaves and have a wintry look. At their -base there are dainty sprouts, clouds of green. The lawns are ponds of -emerald green. The charm of this alley is partly due to the twigs and -shoots that sprout out of the ground and spring up like a cloud of lace.</p> - -<p>There is a faint decline in this soft brightness, for now the sun is -setting. The sun-god is moderating his power for the benefit of the -little flowers which otherwise would dry up and fade. This is the hour -when the sun lends full value to the works of man, so that architecture -stands out in all its beauty, while at the same time the sun softly -colors the lovely clouds.</p> - -<p>The pediment of the Palais Biron is brilliant in the sunlight. The -balcony casts shadows on the grimacing consoles, and the shell-work is -luminous in this glorious light. The window-panes glow in glory. The -great staircase seems arranged for ladies to descend on their way to -the garden, graciously trailing their long robes, which rustle over the -steps.</p> - -<p>Like a pilgrim, full of hope, who rests a moment at the gates of a town, -and breathes the balmy evening air, so I seat myself in this garden. -The hour passes quickly, but it could not be better employed than in -absorbing these marvels.</p> - -<p>When the sun drops behind the horizon, with its glowing colors like the -flaming fires of a forge, our hearts are filled with wonder and awe. -It gilds all in a last golden glory of triumph, the sky so brilliant -that one cannot define the line of the horizon. There, where the sun -disappeared, the sky is now orange. Everything is fading away; another -immensity spreads out before us. The glory of night is about to extend -over the firmament its melancholy charm.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p><a id="i024"></a></p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rodin024_poet02.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">THE POET AND THE MUSES.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The corner of this garden is a corner of happiness, a corner of -eternity. Here thoughts can thrive and worship, for here they have -everything. For the great things in life are not the exceptional things, -but the beauties of every day, which we do not stop to notice. These -vast treasures, within our grasp, which we do not even touch, they are -the things that count.</p> - -<p>The public believes that one is happy in the admiration of nature; but -there are various degrees of happiness. Doubtless a glorious feeling of -admiration may take hold of one; but if one does not constantly cling -to one's admiration as a matter of habit, one grows weary and becomes -superficial. Indeed, I do not know why we demand another life, since we -have not learned to enjoy and understand this one fully. In any case, if -we find this a bad world, it is our fault. We are childish about it. We -belittle one another wilfully. Fancy the trees doing that, if one could -suspect them of such a thing!</p> - -<p>When I descend the steps, I am overwhelmed by that fluid which is life. -I am in touch with life. What more can I want? This tenderness which -surrounds me everywhere, this ever-varying nature which says so much to -me, the atmosphere which envelops me—am I already in heaven, or am I a -poet?</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="V" id="V">V</a></h4> - -<h4>THE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC</h4> - - -<blockquote> - -<p>One of Rodin's friends, M. Léon Bourgeois, the eminent, -highly cultivated French statesman, has said, "Rodin is himself -a cathedral." This remark wonderfully characterizes Rodin's -intellectuality as it appears to us to-day. Rich in years and -experience, his intellect is in truth as complicated as a -cathedral, but like it, too, superbly simple in its general -structure. His intellect possesses the wealth of detail that makes -up life and the calm balance of the laws that govern nature. His -mind, formed on principles scrupulously controlled by observation, -abounds in that wonderful artistic imagination which is the poetry -of life. Ever renewing itself, ever active, his mind inspires -intense confidence because it is deeply rooted in truth. It looks -at its subjects of study with such conscientious devotion that it -perceives every phase of reality; for it is only love such as this, -a love springing not from impatience and passion, but from faith -and hope, that is always victorious in the end.</p> - -<p>Churches! He lives near them, so as to study them in the -fleeting changes of the hours. He likes to be enveloped by the -sound of the church bells that for seven or eight centuries have -spoken the same language of discipline to the spirit of France. -Day and night he visits the naves. There his soul feels the sacred -mystery. The churches are truly the cradle of his artistic faith.</p> - -<p>But it is only recently that the joys which he drew from them -reached their height; for although he was long under the influence -of Gothic art, that most extraordinary product of the hand of -man, only in the last few years has he learned to penetrate its -principles and understand its methods.</p> - -<p>How often in my youth I questioned him about the cathedrals! -He always replied with that caution which in deep natures is a -form of deference: "I am pervaded by the marvel of this art; but -I cannot as yet explain it to myself. The Gothic is the world -foreshortened. Where am I to begin? For more than thirty years -I have been accumulating and comparing my observations. Perhaps -eventually I shall succeed in deducing the rule, the law of divine -intelligence; but perhaps I shall not have sufficient time. Then it -will be the task of another, younger than myself, who will start -his researches earlier, and who, besides, will have been informed -by me."</p> - -<p>On his return from each of these pilgrimages he was possessed -by the happy restlessness of one who would soon be able to give -expression to his secret. One felt that "the law of divine -intelligence" was being formulated in his mind. I then hoped and -expected that soon he would reap the fruit of his long labors.</p> - -<p>At last one day Rodin took me to Notre Dame, beautiful among -the beautiful, despite the modern restorations that have detracted -from the grace and suppleness of its sculpture. Notre Dame of Paris -is beautiful in itself and in its situation on the banks of the -Seine, that river of feminine grace, which in its innocent course -draws with it the memory of many terrible historic events.</p> - -<p>From Notre Dame to Saint-Eustache, from the Tour Saint-Jacques -to Saint-Etienne-du-Mont, during this long walk of ours Rodin -talked, quite unaware of the curious glances of those who -recognized him, and of the scoffing of the street urchins, who -mistook the great Frenchman for a stranger discovering the capital -of France. Later he gave me numerous notes that supplemented his -conversations.</p> - -<p>His words and notes combined form the clearest and most -important lesson on Gothic art that has been handed down since the -days of the Gild of the Francs-Maçons, by one of their own sort, a -craftsman such as they were, a veritable sculptor, a stone-cutter -loving the material in which he works.</p> - -<p>Has Rodin, after so thoroughly grasping the secrets of the -builders of bygone days, never felt the desire to apply them in the -execution of some work of architecture? Was he never tempted by -their example and by that of Michelangelo to expand his resources -beyond those of the sculptor? Those who know the creative power -and the vastness of imagination of the modeler of "The Burghers of -Calais" and of "The Gate of Hell" may well ask this question.</p> - -<p>Well, yes, he has had that great dream, which in more prolific -times would have become a glorious reality. He hoped to revive -the spirit of a day when a whole nation of artists covered France -with masterpieces; he hoped to organize labor collectively, and -to gather about him a legion of artisans to work together on a -monument which should become in a certain sense the cathedral of -the modern age.</p> - -<p>He even drew up plans for that wonderful project, the subject -of which was to be the glorification of labor, that triumphant -force of our present civilization. He did not plan to rival the -Gothic style, the prodigious achievement of which would have -required throngs of workmen thoroughly organized and disciplined, -well trained under the system of master and apprentice, -accomplishing their common task in the joy of work and the -enthusiasm of faith. He planned to approximate the art of the -Renaissance, less removed from modern intellectuality, and simpler -of execution.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<p><a id="i025"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin025_tower.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">THE TOWER OF LABOR.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<blockquote> - -<p>In Rodin's studio at Meudon one can see the plan for this -monument. The axis is a high column calling to mind Trajan's -Column, and, like it, covered with bas-reliefs. A tower broken -by large openings, as in the Tower of Pisa, encircles it. In the -interior a gradually inclining way leads one from the base to the -top along the bas-reliefs. These represent all the active crafts -and trades: those of the cities, such as masons, carpenters, -weavers, bakers, brewers, glass-workers, and goldsmiths; and -those of the country, such as plowmen, harvesters, vintagers, -vine-dressers, shepherds, and farmers. On the exterior, between -the arches, stand statues of the great geniuses that have led -humanity, whose efforts have raised them to celestial heights; that -is, to the peace and happiness of creating. There great thinkers, -inventors, and artists have their niches, just as the prophets -have theirs in the vaults of cathedrals. The edifice rests on a -crypt where groups of sculpture are devoted to the glorification -of work under the earth and its obscure heroes, miners, divers, -pearl-fishers. At the time when the plan for this monument was -advanced, and was exciting the imagination of European writers and -journalists, an ardent admirer of Rodin even proposed to build -the tomb of the master under the crypt, where he would have had a -resting-place worthy of a Pharaoh. On each side of the entrance is -a statue representing Morning and Evening, and at the summit of -the column two angels, messengers of God, their hands outstretched -toward the earth with a gesture of exquisite tenderness, shed the -blessings of heaven on the work of man.</p> - -<p>Alas! this noble, stirring project will not be realized during -the life of the artist. Will there some day be another possessed of -the ardor and love of beauty necessary to build this mountain of -stone?</p> - -<p>For a time Rodin's friends hoped that America, the nation of -work par excellence, would seize upon this idea. They pictured -the philanthropists of the New World in characteristic fashion -pouring forth millions for this work of universal art and national -glorification; they saw Rodin being called to the United States, -gathering about him not only American artists, but all the -intelligent forces of the world of culture. They saw the Tower -of Labor, with its angels bestowing their benediction over some -formidable industrial city, New York, Pittsburgh, or Chicago. -This might have been the starting-point for a new era of art, for -nothing is more contagious than the realization of beauty in actual -form.</p> - -<p>Doubtless the writers of France did not discuss the matter -long or forcibly enough, and the Tour de Travail, which might have -been the ardent expression of a whole race, will remain the idea -of a solitary genius, a last offshoot of the masters of the Middle -Ages.</p> - -<p>But if the hour has not yet struck for the construction of -the modern cathedral, at least we possess, thanks to the man who -dreamed of erecting it, the secrets and principles of those who -constructed the cathedrals of bygone days. </p></blockquote> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>To acquire a thorough and fruitful understanding of the cathedrals, we -must break away from the narrow and cold spirit of the present day. The -spirit of our time does not harmonize in architecture with the monuments -of the past.</p> - -<p>First let us contemplate the whole. The church is a cliff. The -construction of the slender side springing up is quite in the spirit of -our race. The Gothic towers are stones set up like Druidic monuments. -The church is laid out like a dolmen, and the towers are the menhirs. -Like the menhirs, they have beautiful, flexible lines; they possess the -eloquence of natural outlines, which are never cold or meager.</p> - -<p>The line of the Gothic tower is slightly curved, swelling like that of -a barrel. A straight line is hard and cold. The Greeks perceived that; -they refrained from straight lines, and the columns of their temples -also show a slight swelling.</p> - -<p>The two sides of the Gothic tower are not alike. The architects -considered that preferable to obvious symmetry. Look at the Tour -Saint-Jacques in Paris. One of the sides shows a long, sloping hollow, -making it look quite different from the other, which, again, is like -stones set on high. The hollowed line permits protuberances, details of -ornamentation that soften and harmonize with the line of the ensemble. -It has been restored, and therefore from near at hand seems cold, for -our workmen have lost the science and art of modeling. But the beauty of -the general structure remains; they could not detract from that.</p> - -<p>This softened line, this line full of life, is one of the chief -characteristics of the Gothic. The sky of our northern climates ordained -it so, for the architects of the Middle Ages carved their monuments -out of doors. Once the general plan was established, they easily found -the details while working with their tools, guided by the light and -influenced by natural conditions.</p> - -<p>Our light is not that of Greece. Humanity the world over is akin; but -to what the Greek expressed in a chastened manner, in keeping with his -eternally pure light, we have added the oblique slant of our sun, our -reality, our country, our autumns, the sting of our winters, our less -definite spirit, our remoteness from the glaring Olympian sun; and, last -of all, we have added our trees.</p> - -<p>We also have light, but it is frequently obscured by passing clouds. Is -it not natural that we should reproduce them in our art? And the line, -the abundant line, is more accentuated in the half-night of our long -autumns. Thus we are more in the mood of our woods and our forests. Our -souls have more shadows than the Greek soul, our determinations are more -varied; for our clouds and our forests are reflected in our hearts.</p> - -<p>Artists, let us, then, revert to the interpretation of our race, but in -the spirit, not in the letter. Let us copy only the soul of our external -nature, not its Gothic form, for a mere copy is cold and dead. Beautiful -architecture is a reproduction by man, but from a divine model. From -this it receives the warmth of life. If architecture is true to the -spirit of nature, it is embraced by the trees, the rocks, the clouds; -they are the silent company of beauty.</p> - -<p>O Cathedral! Sphinx of Northern life! although mutilated, are you not -eternal? Do you cease to live? From a distance, and in the evening, when -dusk sets in, you seem truly a great sphinx crouching in the country.</p> - -<p>The drama that unfolds itself on the stone pages of the churches recalls -to us with a very few gestures and movements the silent drama of -antiquity, the sculptures, illustrations of Æschylus and Sophocles.</p> - -<p>From the Greek type, in truth, sprang the thoughts that guide man, and -again from the Egyptian granite; and eventually from the stone of the -Gothic, that Gothic which leads to the period of Louis XVI, and which in -France is always the principal path of art. Other styles were derived -from it, those of the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, and -eighteenth centuries. Their basis is Gothic; therefore the Gothic is the -fundamental style, which ought to keep us from the path of decadence, -if that is possible. You do not understand it? You say you prefer the -Greek? O ye mortals that wish to pass judgment on all matters, take -heed lest these masterpieces prevail against you! The cathedral is as -beautiful, perhaps more beautiful, than the Parthenon. If you do not -understand this style, then you are still further removed from the -Greek, which is of another country and epoch. It is more beautiful, -perhaps more concise, more marble; but we belong more with stone and -forests, we are more autumnal, more of the cold and melancholy season.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>THE GOTHIC BUILDERS ARE REALISTS</h4> - -<p>Do not let us lose sight of the fact that beneath this poem of stone -there is a foundation of knowledge based on a close and comprehensive -study.</p> - -<p>To-day I understand it. As a result of study, one truth after another -comes to light. At the outset one is lost before these marvels. Where -is one to begin studying? One's thoughts and one's admiration rise like -clouds. The mind makes prodigious leaps to grasp again what it already -knows, to combine it with the recently acquired knowledge, to attempt to -draw conclusions which simplify and generalize the study, and thus to -discern the fundamental law.</p> - -<p>For a long time during my youth I thought, like many others, that Gothic -art was poor. I was so ungrateful during the first enthusiasm of my -liberty! I learned to understand its grandeur only through traveling. -Observation and work led me back to the right road. In the course of my -efforts I have grasped the meaning of the thoughts of the masters. My -persistent work was not futile, and, like one of the Magi, I have at -last come to bow in humble reverence before them.</p> - -<p>A true artist must penetrate the primordial principles of creation; only -by understanding the beautiful does he become inspired, and that not -through a sudden awakening of his sensibilities, but by slow penetration -and perception, by patient love. The mind need not be quick, for slow -progress should imply precaution in every direction.</p> - -<p>The Gothic builders are the greatest observers of nature that have ever -existed, the greatest realists, despite all that professors and critics -say to the contrary. They call them idealists. They say the same of the -Greeks and of all artists whose profound knowledge has enabled them to -borrow their effects and charm from nature. Idealists! That is a term -which signifies nothing and merely confounds cause and effect.</p> - -<p>Builders of the Middle Ages, you independent scholars, models of a -profound intelligence, this is what our age has found as an explanation -of your masterpieces!</p> - -<p>I have devoted my whole life in endeavoring to catch a glimpse of -the rules, the secrets of experience, which you transmitted to one -another, and it is only now, when my days are numbered, that I am at -last grasping the synthesis of beauty. To whom shall I confide the -fruit of my research? Some future genius will gather it. The cathedral -is eternal, rising toward the sky. When we think it has attained its -ultimate height, it rises again higher still, like a mountain of truth.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>PLANS AND OPPOSITIONS</h4> - -<p>The architects of our churches subordinated detail to arrive at a more -effective whole. That is why our churches are so beautiful when seen -from a distance. They sacrificed everything to the essential, the "plan."</p> - -<p>The plan? Like all synthetic conceptions, this is difficult to define. -It is the space that an object displaces in the atmosphere, its volume. -When an artist is able to determine exactly the space an object occupies -in the atmosphere, be he painter, sculptor, or architect, he possesses -the real science of plans.</p> - -<p>What is detail in a plan? Nothing. The towers of the church at Bruges -are superb in their bareness, while our modern houses, overladen with -detail, are hideous to look upon. Of the two towers of the cathedral at -Chartres, the one is bare, just a huge wall; the other is covered with -ornamentation, and the first is possibly the more beautiful because of -the potency of its plan. What does this force of simplicity express to -us? It is the soul of a nation. A people expresses its nature through -the medium of its architecture. Stones are faithful when we do not -retouch them. They are the signatures of a nation.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i026"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin026_headless.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">HEADLESS FIGURE.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Through the science of plans the great oppositions or contrasts of light -and shadow are obtained. They give life and color to the structure. -According to the position of the sun, the appearance of a building -varies. One part is in the shade, the other in the light, and between -these two is the gradation of shadings.</p> - -<p>The master architects did not set their edifices apart from the -universe; they gave them the benefit of all the phenomena of -nature—dawn and dusk, twilight, cloud effects, haze, and fog. Every -moment of the day adds to or detracts from their effect.</p> - -<p>Sometimes I stand before a cathedral, and it does not seem at all -beautiful. I feel I should like to alter it. Then I revisit it at -another hour and see it in a different lighting. The light strikes it -aslant, the shadows are deeper; the cathedral is absolutely beautiful, -and I feel abashed at my former impatience and critical mistrust.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>THE SCIENCE OF EQUILIBRIUM</h4> - -<p>These great effects of light and shade, obtained by the plan—effects -simple in their means, yet mysterious in their power of attraction for -us, have strengthened the idea that Gothic art is idealistic. The masses -who see the cathedral dominating the city, with its two slanting roofs -like hands joined at the finger-tips, certainly feel in it the great -idea, the poem. They do not realize that the sentiments aroused in them -by the beauty of the building are wholly due to the science of the plans.</p> - -<p>By means of what principle did the master builders support the weight -of these enormous masses of stone, which yet join lovingly in the -imponderable atmosphere? By obeying the law of equilibrium of the human -body. The human body, standing upright, the feet joined, in equilibrium, -is the basis of the Greek column. Pediments and roof, supported by a -series of these standing bodies, these human columns, that is the Greek -temple. The architecture of the Parthenon reproduces the equilibrium -of the body in a state of rest. In action the body sways; that is to -say, the weight rests on only one leg, while the body inclines to the -opposite side to regain its balance by counterpoise. That is the sway -of Gothic architecture. This sway constitutes the law of motion for the -body of man and animal, ever seeking perfect equilibrium.</p> - -<p>Without this law we could not move; we would be like blocks of stone. -Every motion that we make produces an initial swaying, which an opposing -weight instantaneously balances. Thus without any consciousness on -our part a perpetual balancing is taking place within us, a change as -facile and immediate as the changes which take place in the phenomena -of respiration and circulation. All goes on with the speed, order, and -silence that exist in the domain of electricity. It is a perpetual -prodigy to which we do not even give a thought.</p> - -<p>It is not surprising that the Gothic masters, who copied from all -nature, took from man and animals the charm of balance.</p> - -<p>The ogive (pointed arch) of the cathedral, is achieved by two opposing -thrusts. But the archivolts do not always harmonize with the capitals; -they are not set exactly over them, they are out of the perpendicular. -Two movements of equal force, exactly opposed, cause a stable -equilibrium. Just so the masses of stone are supported by this same -opposition of thrusts.</p> - -<p>The interior of the cathedral is high and vast, broken by large windows -that diminish the resistance and help to support the great weight. It -was necessary to find a way of reëstablishing the equilibrium, lest the -nave break down under its own weight. That is the purpose of the flying -buttresses. Like the arms of giants, they throw their opposing weight -against the exterior walls.</p> - -<p>Some have drawn the conclusion that cathedrals are imperfect, since they -cannot stand without this support. It is a characteristic idea of our -age. Just as though one would reproach the human body for bearing first -on one leg and then on the other.</p> - -<p>These powerful buttresses are wonderfully effective in their contrast -to the lacework of the sculpture. What is more beautiful than Notre -Dame in Paris at night, with its island as its pedestal? It is the huge -skeleton of the France of the Middle Ages which appears to us here. How -attractive the light and shade on the buttresses! Indeed, it took genius -to bring out beauty in that which is in reality only the skeleton of the -edifice, and which could be offensive, were it badly carried out.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>THE LACEWORK OF STONE</h4> - -<p>The Gothic style exists by virtue of oppositions, contrasts in effects -and in balance. They built huge bare walls, but in the upper heights -ornamentation flourishes and abounds. There the "increase and multiply" -of the Bible has been figuratively carried out.</p> - -<p>Once the basis of construction was established, the masons embellished -the "line" by admirable ornamentation, due to their splendid -workmanship. We should never forget that modeling supplies the -life-blood to the mass; without it we can have neither grace nor power.</p> - -<p>Formerly I did not understand the architecture; I merely saw the -lacework of the Gothic. But even in my conception of that I was -mistaken, for I thought it a caprice of genius. I did not know that it -had a scientific <i>raison d'être</i>; namely, to break and soften the line. -Now I see its importance: it rounds off the outlines; it gives them life -and warmth. These statues, these graceful caryatids, propping up the -portals, these copings in the covings, are like vegetation which softens -the rigid summit of a wall. There again we find the Gothic artists as -skilful colorists as the cleverest painters, because they have gained -insight from the vegetation of our country. In our plants, in our trees, -all is light and shadowy, and from them they gained their wonderful -mastery of the art of depth, which brings out the finest shadings of -light, the mellowness of half-tints. To-day we misuse black, the medium -of power. We use it too extensively; we put it everywhere for the sake -of effect, and therefore lose its effect entirely.</p> - -<p>The Gothic is nature transposed and reproduced in stone. To show -admiration for this form of art is to preserve the memory of the -creation. The artist is the confidant of nature. Shakspere says in "King -Lear," we</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">... take upon 's the mystery of things,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As if we were God's spies.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>THE NAVE</h4> - -<p>A church is spread out like a dolmen between two menhirs. The interior -breathes the solemn calm of a forest, the columns are the trees, the -masses of the base are the rocks, the pointed arches are the massive -roots, the vaultings are the caves, and the windows are radiant flowers -in large bowls. When I emerge from the darkness of a cathedral, I feel -as if I came from the shadow of a vast, extinguished world.</p> - -<p>Without the brightening light of the stained-glass windows, our churches -would be sad. In Spain the gloom is funereal, but the genius of France -has understood how to capture the caressing light through its windows. -The productiveness of the Celtic spirit is also noticeable in the -capitals. Gothic art abandoned Greek ornament, which had been reproduced -so often that it lost all significance. It found its models in the woods -and gardens. From the oak it took its crown of foliage, from the thistle -and cabbage their gracefully drooping leaves, and from the bramble -its intertwined thorns. They made wonderful capitals by reversing the -acanthus, and copying the languid grace of falling blossoms.</p> - -<p>The cathedral of Bourges—the vastness of this church makes me tremble. -One might say there are three churches in its three naves. Grandeur -demands repetition. The superbness of this work of architecture -enforces silence. People attribute their emotion here to religious -sentiment alone, and do not realize that it is due also to the correct -calculations of art. They do not realize that the impressive darkness -of the vast church, its lighting, the wax tapers here, and the -daylight with its brilliancy there, have all been planned beforehand. -The stained-glass windows of Bourges are dazzling, almost terrible, in -their beauty. There are flashes as red as blood, and dashes of blue, a -flame—the wounds of Christ, the funeral pile of Jeanne d'Arc. When the -sun sinks, the bright light will fade away; then we have before us only -the charming effect of bowls of flowers.</p> - -<p>The legends which are told on the stained-glass are good enough to amuse -children; but the glass itself, the splendor of its colors, the extent -to which it harmonizes with the nave—all that is the actual result and -object of profound thought. The Middle Ages put life into everything; -they worshiped life. They drew extensively from nature, wisely realizing -that its source is inexhaustible, while the day of man is fleeting.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>THE MOLDING</h4> - -<p>The science of plans, balance of volumes, and proportion in the moldings -govern the spirit of Gothic art. Of late I believe I have discovered how -the masters struck upon the beautiful Gothic molding, that undulating -molding which gives so much suppleness to the architecture. I have found -something new in the well-known, and beauty in forms which I did not -understand before. This change is due above all to my work. Having -always studied more intensely, I can say that I have always loved more -ardently.</p> - -<p>I believe the masters of Gothic art got their ideas of molding through -their understanding of the human body, and perhaps above all of the body -of woman. The body, that human column, seen in profile is a line of -projections and protuberances, of the nose, the chin, the breast, the -flank. Thence springs the beautiful undulating line which is the outline -of Gothic molding. For Gothic molding, like the Greek, is soft and -swelling. The "doucine" (a molding, concave above, convex below), a term -of the trade, tender as the name of a woman, well expresses the charm of -the beautiful French molding.</p> - -<p>The proportions of molding exist in nature, but in such form that we -have not yet been able to subject them to rules. It required men of -positive taste, of most profound understanding, to grasp the harmony of -these proportions and to express them in sculpture. One might say the -Gothic architects understood molding by means of their intelligence as -well as by means of their heart.</p> - -<p>By means of the cathedral the artists of the Middle Ages have shown -us the most impressive drama in existence—the mass. The mass has the -grandeur of the antique drama. Greek tragedies are in fact only a form -of the mass. The human mind starts afresh at different epochs. When the -priest officiates, his gestures have the beauty of the antique, and this -beauty merges into that of the church music, that sublime tongue, the -voice of the sea. Then, when the crowds prostrate themselves, when they -arise simultaneously, the undulation of their bending bodies is like the -waves of the ocean. Truly the Gothic master builders were the familiar -friends of the sublime. From what source did these men spring! From what -minds did those ideas arise! God has shared his power with some of his -sons.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VI" id="VI">VI</a></h4> - -<h4>ART AND NATURE</h4> - - -<p>Criticizing nature is as stupid as criticizing the cathedrals. It is the -vice of our cold and petty age to criticize. It is the evil of decadent -races. We are constantly being told that we live in an age of progress, -an age of civilization. That is perhaps true from the point of view of -science and mechanics; from the point of view of art it is wholly false.</p> - -<p>Does science give happiness? I am not aware of it; and as to mechanics, -they lower the common intelligence. Mechanics replace the work of the -human mind with the work of a machine. That is the death of art. It is -that which has destroyed the pleasure of the inner life, the grace of -that which we call industrial art—the art of the furniture-maker, the -tapestry-worker, the goldsmith. It overwhelms the world with uniformity. -Once artisans created; to-day they manufacture. Once they rejoiced in -the pleasure of making a work of art; to-day the workman is so bored in -his shop that he has invented sabotage and has made alcoholism general.</p> - -<p>The sight of a modern monument throws one into melancholy even while -an ancient one has not ceased to enrapture. I visit a small city, and, -losing my train, am obliged to wait for the next one. I take a walk -about the ancient church, a delicious thing, very simple, but with its -Gothic ornaments placed with taste, in a delicate relief that, in the -light, provides an enchantment for my friendly glances. In the little -nave, which invites to calm, to thought,—thought as soft and composed -as the light shadows that move slowly across the pillars,—I settle -myself. Ah, I come away charmed. If I had waited in the station, I would -have been wearied to death, and would have returned home fatigued and -discontented. As it is, I have gained something—the beautiful counsels -of moderation and the fine charm of a monument of former days.</p> - -<p>Art alone gives happiness. And I call art the study of nature, the -perpetual communion with her through the spirit of analysis.</p> - -<p>He who knows how to see and feel may find everywhere and always things -to admire. He who knows how to see and feel is preserved from ennui, -that <i>bête noire</i> of modern society. He who sees and feels deeply never -lacks the desire to express his feelings, to be an artist. Is not nature -the source of all beauty? Is she not the only creator? It is only by -drawing near to her that the artist can bring back to us all that she -has revealed to him.</p> - -<p>When one says this, the public thinks it a commonplace. All the world -believes that it knows that; but it knows it only in seeming, the truth -penetrates only the superficial shell of its intelligence. There are -so many degrees in real comprehension! Comprehension is like a divine -ladder. Only he who has reached the top rounds has a view of the world. -The public is astonished or shocked when some one goes against its -preconceived notions, against the prejudices of a badly interpreted or -degenerate tradition. Words are nothing; the deed alone counts. It is -not by reading manuals of esthetics, but by leaning on nature herself -that the artist discovers and expresses beauty.</p> - -<p>Alas! we are not prepared to see and to feel. Our sorry education, far -from cultivating in us the feeling for enthusiasm, makes us in our -youth little pedants who without result overwhelm ourselves and others -with our pretensions. Those who too late, by long efforts, escape this -demon of folly arrive only after that education has fatally sapped their -strength and has destroyed the flower of enthusiasm that God had planted -in them as a sign of His paradise. People without enthusiasm are like -men who carry their flags pointed down to the ground instead of proudly -above their heads.</p> - -<p>Constantly I hear: "What an ugly age! That woman is plain. That dog is -horrible." It is neither the age nor the woman nor the dog which is -ugly, but your eyes, which do not understand. One generally disparages -the things that are above one's comprehension. Disparagement is the -child of ignorance. As soon as you discover that, you enter into the -circle of joy.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i027"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin027_meudon.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">RODIN'S HOUSE AND STUDIO AT MEUDON.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Man, animals, down to the smallest insects, down to the infinitesimal; -the earth, the waters, the woods, the sky—all are marvelous. The -firmament is the vastest landscape, the most profound, the most -enchanting, with its variations, its effects of color and light, which -delight the eye, astonish the thought, and subjugate the heart. And -to say that artists—those who consider themselves such—attempt to -represent all that simply as it appears to them, without having studied -it, without having deciphered it, without having felt it! I pity them. -They are prisoners, slaves of stupidity.</p> - -<p>I was like them in the first periods of my perverted youth, but I have -delivered myself. I have regained the liberty to approach the things -that I love by the pathway of true study. Who follows me on the road? -Who can learn it from a study of sculpture and design in books? You who -have caught a glimpse of the splendor of that tree, of that giant whose -magnificent column has been denuded by autumn of its leafy capital, -but which is perhaps more beautiful in the nudity of its members; -you who admire the structure of its branches and twigs, etched in an -infinitude of forms against the sky, where they resemble the lacework -of the windows of our churches, would you not understand far better that -beauty, would not your pleasure be far more complete, if you sketched -that tree not only in the mass, but in the innumerable details of its -framework? And to think that the schools recommend to pupils, painters, -and sculptors research on the subject! The subject! The subject does -not exist in that—the poor little arrangement that you, one and all, -summon up while poring over the same anecdotes, the same conventional -attitudes. The human imagination is narrow, and you do not see the -hundred thousand motives of art that multiply themselves under your eye. -I could pass my whole life in the garden where I walk without exhausting -them.</p> - -<p>The subject is everywhere. Every manifestation of nature is a subject. -Artists, pause here! Sketch these flowers; writers, describe them for -me, not in the mass, as has always been done, but in minute detail, -in the marvelous precision of their organs, in their characteristics, -which are as varied as are those of animals and men. How beautiful to -be in the same moment an artist and a botanist, to paint and model the -plant at the same time that one studied it! Those great realists, the -Japanese, understand this, and make the knowledge and cultivation of -plants one of the bases of their education.</p> - -<p>We place love and sensual pleasure in the same category. Undoubtedly -it is nature herself who has led is astray in this by the instinct to -perpetuate ourselves, in youth this instinct is like an overflowing -river; it sweeps away everything, yet pleasure is everywhere about -us. I imbibe it in the forms of the clouds that build their majestic -architecture in the sky, in the rapture of this woman who holds her -child in her arms, an attitude divine, so beautiful indeed, that the -poet of the Gospels has deified it. It is the attitude of the Virgin. I -imbibe it in the atmosphere which bathes me now, and will still continue -to bless me, bringing me peace, rest, and health.</p> - -<p>For that which is beautiful in a landscape is that which is beautiful in -architecture—the air, space. No one in these days realizes its depth. -It is this quality of depth that carries the soul where it wishes to go. -In a well-constructed monument that which enraptures us is the science -of its depths. The throngs in the churches attribute their emotion -to mysticism, to the transport of the soul toward divinity. They are -unaware that they owe their emotion to the exact knowledge of great -planes possessed by the architects of former days. Even upon the most -ignorant beholder they impose this. Man disregards that which he already -has, and longs for something else. He longs for swiftness, to have wings -like a bird. He does not know that he already enjoys this pleasure of -moving through space. He rejoices in it in his soul, which takes wing -and goes where it pleases, through the sky, on the waters, to the depths -of the forests.</p> - -<p>All the misfortune here below arises from a lack of comprehension. We -classify our limited knowledge in narrow systems, like the card-systems -of an office, and these pitiful conventions we take seriously. They -teach us disconnected things, and we leave them disconnected. Those who -have a little patience assemble these isolated facts; but such patient -ones are rare, and nothing is so unbearable as that man who, not having -it, speaks ill of him who has a sense of the truth. To see accurately is -the secret of good design. Objects dart at one another, unite, and throw -light on one another, explain themselves. That is life; a marvelous -beauty covers all things like a garment, like an ægis.</p> - -<p>God created the great laws of opposition, of equilibrium. Good and evil -are brothers, but we desire the good, which pleases us, and not the -evil, which seems to us error. When we consider matters from a distance, -does not evil often seem good, and good, evil? That is only because we -have judged without proper consideration. Just as white and black are -necessary in a drawing, so good and evil are necessary in life. Sorrow -ought not to be cast out. As long as we live it is as strong a part of -life as radiant joy. Without it we would be very ill trained.</p> - -<p>To comprehend nature it is of importance that we never substitute -ourselves for it. The corrections that a man imposes upon himself are a -mass of mistakes. The tiger has claws and teeth and uses them skilfully; -man at times shows himself inferior. Possessing intelligence, too -often he strives to turn to that. Animals respect everything and touch -nothing. The dog loves his master, and has no thought of criticizing -him. The average man does not care that his daughter should be -beautiful. He has in his mind certain ideas of manner and instruction, -and the beauty of his daughter does not enter into the program that he -has made. But the daughter herself feels the influence of nature, and -displays her modest and triumphant movements, which this blind one does -not see, but which fascinate the artist.</p> - -<p>The artist who tells us of his ideal commits the same error that this -average man commits. His ideal is false, in the name of this ideal he -pretends to rectify his model, retouching a profound organism which -admirably combined laws regulate. Through his so-called corrections he -destroys the ensemble; he composes a mosaic instead of creating a work -of art; the faults of his model do not exist. If we correct that which -we call a fault, we simply present something in the place of that which -nature has presented. We destroy the equilibrium; the rectified part is -always that which is necessary to the harmony of the whole. There is -nothing paradoxical here, because a law that is all-powerful keeps the -harmony of opposites. That is the law of life. Everything, therefore, is -good, but we discover this only when our thought acquires power; that -is to say, when it attaches itself indissolubly to nature, for then it -becomes part of a great whole, a part of united and complex forces. -Otherwise it is a miserable, debased, detached part contending with a -whole that is formed of innumerable units.</p> - -<p>Nature, therefore, is the only guide that it is necessary to follow. She -gives us the truth of an impression because she gives us that of its -forms, and if we copy this with sincerity, she points out the means of -uniting these forms and expressing them.</p> - -<p>Sincerity, conscience—these are the true bases of thought in the work -of an artist; but whenever the artist attains to a certain facility of -expression, too often he is wont to replace conscience with skill. The -reign of skill is the ruin of art. It is organized falsehood. Sincerity -with one fault, indeed with many faults, still preserves its integrity. -The facility that believes that it has no faults has them all. The -primitives, who ignored the laws of perspective, nevertheless created -great works of art because they brought to them absolute sincerity. Look -at this Persian miniature, the admirable reverence of this illuminator -for the form of these plants and animals, and the attitudes of these -persons which he has forced himself to render just as he saw them. How -eagerly has he painted that, this man who loved it all! Do you tell me -that his work is bad because he is ignorant of the laws of perspective? -And the great French primitives and the Roman architects and sculptors! -Has it not been repeatedly said that their style is a barbaric style? On -the contrary, it has a formidable beauty. It breathes the sacred awe of -those who have been impressed by the great works of nature herself. It -offers us the strongest proof that these men had made themselves part of -life and also a part of its mystery.</p> - -<p>To express life it is necessary to desire to express it. The art of -statuary is made up of conscience, precision, and will. If I had not had -tenacity of purpose, I should not have produced my work. If I had ceased -to make my researches, the book of nature would have been for me a dead -letter, or at least it would have withheld from me its meaning. Now, on -the contrary, it is a book that is constantly renewed, and I go to it, -knowing well that I have only spelled out certain pages. In art to admit -only that which one comprehends leads to impotence. Nature remains full -of unknown forces.</p> - -<p>As for me, I have certainly lost some time through the fault of my -period. I should have been able to learn much more than I have grasped -with so much slowness and circumlocution; but I should not have tasted -less happiness through that highest form of loss; that is, work. And -when my hour shall come, I shall dwell in nature, and shall regret -nothing.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>THE ANTIQUE—THE GREEKS</h4> - -<p>If the artists of antiquity are the greatest of all it is because they -approached most closely to Nature.</p> - -<p>They studied it with magnificent sincerity and copied it with all -their intelligence. They never wasted their time in trying to invent -something. To invent, to create, these are words that mean nothing. They -contented themselves with rendering the adorable model that enchanted -their eyes. This love and this respect for creation has never since -their time been surpassed. They did not copy literally what they saw; -to a certain degree they interpreted the character of forms. The aim of -art is not to copy literally. It consists in slightly exaggerating the -character of the model in order to make it salient; it consists also in -reassembling in a single expression the successive expressions given by -the same model. Art is the living synthesis.</p> - -<p>This is what the ancients did, with what taste, what incomparable -science! From this science that respected unity their works derived -their calm, contained force, the sentiment of grand serenity, the -atmosphere of peace that envelops them. The ignorant and the professors -of esthetics who do not know the source of all this have named it Greek -idealism. This is nothing but a word that serves to conceal a want -of understanding. There is no idealism in the ancients; there is an -exercise of choice, a marvelous taste; but it is by the most realistic -means that they render human beauty.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i028"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin028_tempest.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">THE TEMPEST.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>We others, we moderns, are carried away by the restlessness of the -epoch; we are superficial, we only regard things cursorily, and we have -concluded from this sublime simplicity that Greek art is cold. To us -indeed it seems very cold. It is really warm. To it alone belongs in -this respect the quality of life, reality in forms, and precision in -movement. It is through this that it attains perfect equilibrium. But -that is beyond our little spirit of detail. We seek nothing but detail; -the Greek, for his part, saw nothing but the whole; that is to say, the -equilibrium, the harmony.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>THE RICHNESS OF THE ANTIQUE LIES IN MODELING</h4> - -<p>The value of the antique springs from <i>ronde-bosse</i>. It possesses in a -supreme degree the art of relief. How can the critics and the professors -explain this, being what they are? They do not belong to the trade. Art -should not be taught except by those who practise it.</p> - -<p>Observe any fragments of Greek sculpture: a piece of an arm, a hand. -What you call the idea, the subject, no longer exists here, but is not -all this debris none the less admirably beautiful? In what does this -beauty consist? Solely in the modeling. Observe it closely, touch it; do -you not feel the precision of this modeling, firm yet elastic, in flux -like life itself? It is full, it is like a fruit. All the eloquence of -this sculpture comes from that.</p> - -<p>What is modeling? The very principle of creation. It is the -juxtaposition of the innumerable reliefs and depressions that constitute -every fragment of matter, inert or animated. Modeling creates the -essential texture, supple, living, embracing every plante. It fills, -coördinates, and harmonizes them. It penetrates everything, it animates -everything, as well the depths as the surfaces. It comprises the minute -as well as the immense. Mountain, horse, flower, woman, insect equally -owe to it their form. When God created the world, it is of modeling He -must have thought first of all. If you consider a hand, you notice its -contours and the character of the whole. But the eye of the artist, -that eye, sees more: it sees the infinite assemblage of projections and -depressions forming a texture more closely knit, more exactly blended -than the most perfect mosaic. It is this that he seeks to render; this -that he translates, if he is a sculptor, by the science of depression -and relief, if he is a draughtsman or painter by that of light and -shadow. For light serves, in conformity with depressions and reliefs, -to give the eye the same sensation that the hand receives from touch: -Titian is just as great a modeler as Donatello.</p> - -<p>To-day the sense of <i>ronde-bosse</i> is completely lost, not only -in Europe, but among the peoples of the Orient. It is the age of -the <i>flat</i>. No one knows anything about it. Men love what they do -themselves, until they are made to see that it is not beautiful; but it -takes years and years for this to penetrate into their consciousness. In -the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries China and Japan still produced -charming works. In ancient times their art was very great; it approached -the Greek. At the exposition of 1900, we were enabled to see antique -Japanese statues, superb nudes nearly as fine as those of Greece. In our -time the pest of flatness has contaminated the Asiatic races as well as -the European: decadence is universal.</p> - -<p>We are so far removed from antique beauty that when we photograph the -works of the ancients we take them in the spirit of our own taste, -which is that of low-relief; we take from them that flower of beautiful -modeling, their richness, their crowning grace. When I say low-relief, -I do not use this term exactly; it is only that I know no other means -of expressing the modern evil of uniformity; but I know that good -low-relief is as full and as fruit-like as sculpture in the round, that -it is sculpture in the round itself, as in the friezes of the Parthenon, -as in our buildings of the Renaissance and of the seventeenth century.</p> - -<p>The great concern of my life is the struggle I have maintained to escape -from the general flatness. All the success of my sculpture comes from -that. Although it has little enough taste, the public, despite all, is -tired to death of this flatness. The charm of <i>ronde-bosse</i> is so great -that it captivates the ignorant even without their knowing it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>RONDE-BOSSE AND CHIAROSCURO</h4> - -<p>Observe this little torso of a woman; it is a little Venus. It is -broken; it has no longer a head, arms, legs, yet I never weary of -contemplating it; each day, each hour for me adds to this masterpiece -because I only understand it better. What could it say to our -indifferent glance? For me it has the ineffable voluptuousness of -softly maturing flesh. The effect lies in no part and in every part. -It is perfection. This little childish body, has it not all the charm -of woman? It does not catch the light, the light catches it, glancing -over it lightly; without any effect of roughness, any dark shadow. Here -shadow can no longer be called shadow but only the decline of light. -She does not become dark, she grows pale in imperceptible depressions, -in delicious undulations. She is indivisible; she is whole or -incomplete, but her unity is not disturbed. And this passage that joins -the abdomen to the thighs, this little declivity of graces, this valley -of love! Everything is full of the calm, the lightness, the serenity -of pure beauty in the perfect confidence of nature. The ideal that you -imagine you find in a gesture, in a momentary attitude, is here; it is -here because of the infinite love of the flesh, of the human fruit. What -you call the ideal is nothing but the perfume of beautiful modeling. -What more could you ask?</p> - -<p>When I look at this marble in the evening by candle-light, how the -wonder deepens! If those who have been telling us for a hundred years -that Greek art is cold studied it with care, could they for one hour -maintain this absurdity? This sculpture, on the contrary, is of an -extraordinary living complexity, which the flame reveals; the whole -surface is nothing but depressions and reliefs, but united, melted -together in the great, harmonious force of the <i>ensemble</i>. I turn the -little torso about under the caressing rays of the light. There is not -a fault, not a weakness, not a dead spot; it is the very continuity -of life, its intoxicating voluptuousness hidden in the bosom of the -molecule.</p> - -<p>Why should such artists have sought to create an abstract Beauty by -the idealization of forms? These men of genius loved Nature too well to -presume to correct her. They knew well that despite their genius, they -still remained beneath her. Nothing can surpass the marvel of creation. -The conception of an idealistic art comes from the Academy. Before the -purity of the antique forms people used to believe that the beauty lay -solely in the exterior profiles. It is really beautiful because of -the interior modeling. And still we make this distinction between the -profiles and the modeling, thanks to our mania for dividing things; but -we know that the one is inseparable from the other; the surfaces are -nothing but the extremities of volumes, the boundaries of the mass.</p> - -<p>All the sculpture of the period of Louis-Philippe was imitated from the -antique, but only by means of the exterior profiles. If it had been -practised by true modelers, by geometrical minds, it would have been -as beautiful as its original. What pleased people in that epoch, what -pleases people in ours, is not at all the antique; it is the fashion -in which we see it. It was the Renaissance that really understood the -Greek. It created works exactly the same in feeling, though somewhat -different in arrangement and general color. For color does not exist -in painting alone. Its rôle is equally great in sculpture. To-day this -color is bad; it fails to obtain the chiaroscuro which derives from -<i>ronde-bosse</i>. Good sculpture owes to chiaroscuro clarity, unity, charm, -even, I might say, the voluptuousness of breathing flesh. Shadow, at -once luminous and mysterious, models the fulness of the body in the -exuberance of health; it makes one understand abundance, solidity. In -the art of the Renaissance and the eighteenth century shadow is always -supple and warm as in Greek art; it has the tender coloring of the -vegetation of our country, the sweetness of which our great artists have -captured. The chiaroscuro of the antique consists of the density and -depth of light falling over the entire modeling. Chiaroscuro penetrates -to every plane and renders the reality of them; it is reality itself. -This is because the antique and nature are part and parcel of the same -mystery, the infinitely harmonious mystery of force in suspense. The -great artists compose as nature itself operates.</p> - -<p>Undoubtedly the Greeks possessed certain methods which they handed down -from master to pupil, as has been the case in all artistic epochs. They -had celebrated ateliers, schools, where they taught their principles. -By the fifth century they had established a canon of the human body; -but they never made use of it without consulting the model. As for us, -we have imagined that we could use it like a magic formula. It is not -the formula that makes the art; it is the experience of the artist -that creates the formula. If we abandon nature for a rule, if we do -not constantly vivify the one by means of the other, we soon speak a -language that means nothing.</p> - -<p>One cannot repeat this enough: the ancients are realists; they work in -<i>ronde-bosse</i>. This explanation seems commonplace and even vulgar; it is -the whole truth. It can be understood by the humblest artisan, provided -only that he knows his trade. But it is as difficult to get it into the -heads of people to-day as it is to restore faith in a man who has lost -it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>ROME AND ROMAN ART</h4> - -<p>What I have said of Greek art applies equally well to Roman. Another -opinion has been adopted by critics and the world in general: the Roman -is less beautiful than the Greek. It is less beautiful perhaps, by a -certain shade, a shade which those who speak of it are incapable of -appreciating. It is a little less substantial, but it is superb. It is -Greek, with a different character, a certain ruggedness, and more! The -Maison Carrée at Nîmes, that little temple, the flower of austerity, the -smile of the race as sweet as the smile of Greece; the Pont du Gard, -that heroic masterpiece, that giant which bestrides the country, which -imposes the power of Rome on the peaceful landscape, these are what they -criticize!</p> - -<p>Rome is magnificent. We say it, but we do not believe it; otherwise it -would not be despoiled. No, in Rome itself, they have no idea of the -beauty of Rome. Where are there artists great enough to appreciate you, -severe genius, splendid city, daughter of the she-wolf? Your genius -they pillage every day. They destroy its proportion, and that is to -strike at the foundation of the master work. Proportion is the law of -architecture. ... In the very midst of the ancient city they are setting -up atrocious monuments, enormous or too petty.</p> - -<p>In Rome, as in Athens, as in the France of Gothic art, the architect of -old planned the monument in relation to the landscape; he harmonized it -with the outline of the mountains, with the expanse of the surrounding -country-side; he determined its proportions according to its environment.</p> - -<p>The architect of to-day plans out his monument in his own study on a -piece of paper and produces it ready-made. Whether this mass of stone -obliterates the buildings that surround it or whether, on the other -hand, it turns out a miserable little contrivance in the midst of great -works of the past matters little to him: he does not see it.</p> - -<p>The French Academy sends students to work in Rome. But they get nothing -from Rome, they can get nothing; they come there with a spirit entirely -opposed to it. At a time when I did not know the city I heard the bridge -of Sant' Angelo spoken ill of and fun made of the contorted angels; -but they are all very well in their place; they are needed there; -there is enough repose elsewhere. Bernini, so often sneered at, is as -beautiful as Michelangelo, although he is not so fine. It is he who made -the Rome of the seventeenth century. They do not know that the Appian -Way is sublime. It will disappear one of these days. These things are -awaiting their condemnation. They are constructing quays like ours. If -they do not put a stop to it, Rome will be destroyed. Those who have -not seen cities such as this was in the nineteenth century will not -understand anything. I have said as much to my Italian friends, who -appeared greatly astonished; for nobody makes these reflections which -come to me constantly in my studies. They consider me a gloomy fellow, a -misanthrope. Gloomy, yes; for it is painful to live in a decadent epoch; -but I have no <i>parti-pris</i>; I only wish to try to arrest the general -massacre. In France, as everywhere, we commit exactly the same faults. -We destroy our monuments by surrounding them with great open spaces; -we have ruined the effect of Notre Dame, on the side of the parvis. At -Brussels, in the Musée du Cinquantenaire, they have set up a model of -the Parthenon; but they have placed it in the midst of enormous objects -that annihilate it. We have come to that! We have killed the Parthenon! -Barbarism could go no further. We live in a barbarous age. There is no -doubt about that! People cry out that we must create schools for people -to learn art; we bungle the most beautiful of all schools—the Museum.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>FOR AMERICA</h4> - -<p>These things ought to be said again and again to the point of satiety, -if we wish to save any remnants. Coming from me, whose opinions carry -some weight, they are repeated when I am no longer on the spot. People -feel the justice of them, the shaft goes home. A few who are more -ardent than the rest propagate them and stir up a current of opinion -that may lead to reform. There is no reason therefore to fear repeating -them in America, where also people have fallen into the general error. -American artists have followed our teaching, altogether in a bad sense. -Notwithstanding that in taking their point of departure they could have -escaped into the good epochs of art, they have saddled themselves with -the poverty of modern taste.</p> - -<p>Let them return to the school of the past; above all, let them return to -nature; it is as beautiful with them as elsewhere. The mountains, the -trees, the vegetation, the men and women of their own country—these -should be their masters in architecture and sculpture. America is full -of will. It desires to be a great nation. It stops at no expense in -order to obtain instruction; it creates immense universities, libraries, -museums. It pours into them streams of money. The favor with which my -work has been received there is the sign of a movement toward truth in -art; they are developing an affection for this naturalistic school which -borrows from life its charm and its variety. But all this will be as -nothing unless America creates work of its own; unless it breaks with -the old errors of the nations of Europe in order to find the path of -true science.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i029"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin029_fiancee.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">THE VILLAGE FIANCÉE.</div> -</div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VII" id="VII">VII</a></h4> - -<h4>THE GOTHIC GENIUS</h4> - -<h4>To THE RENAISSANCE AND THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY</h4> - -<h4>NOTRE-DAME</h4> - - -<p>NOTRE DAME—Notre Dame de Paris—more splendid than ever in the -half-light of this winter day. The veils of the atmosphere redress the -evils that modern restorations have done to this monument; the folds of -the mist soften the sharpness of the retouched outlines: the elements -are more respectful to this masterpiece than are men.</p> - -<p>I come upon it at the turn of the bridge. At once I drop out of this -industrial epoch of ours, so poor despite its love of money; my -sculptor's soul escapes from its exile.</p> - -<p>The Gothic sphinx rises before me. The strength of its beauty overwhelms -me. I struggle against it and I am broken by it. Then it attracts me -anew with its sweetness; it exalts me. My spirit makes the ascent of -this sculptured mountain. What power in these motionless stones to -create the sense of movement in the mind! What makes this possible? -The mason of genius; the science of oppositions. That whole effect of -power—he has put it in the thickness of the foundations, the enormous -walls, the buttresses. They are as formidable as the tiers of a dike, -as a breakwater planted in the sea. One would say that this church was -built to combat the forces of nature: the temple of peace and love has -the air of a fortress.</p> - -<p>One's spirit is weighed down by the bareness of the stone, but stirred -by the height of the structure and the towers; it soars toward them -as toward a world that reassures it; the hard material has become -humanized; the genius of man is at play there amid the lacework of -stone. He has placed there angels, saints, animals, fruits, flowers, all -the gifts of the seasons; it is life in its entirety such as the Creator -in His infinite munificence has bestowed upon him. The Gothic artist -knows that paradise is on earth; he has no need to invent another. The -childish and monotonous heaven presented to us in our legends is nothing -but a poor copy of the marvels of our life.</p> - -<p>Let us enter. I tremble. The beauty is terrible. I am plunged into -night, a living night in which I do not know what mysteries are being -enacted—the cruel mysteries of the ancient religions? There are -shimmering rays from the long windows, the rose windows. Hope enters my -heart: there is light here, then? I am no longer alone.</p> - -<p>My eyes grow accustomed to this populous obscurity. There is a world -about me, a world of columns. It seems terrible, it <i>is</i> terrible -because of its power, but this power has its <i>raison d'être</i>. It -seems frightening to me but it is only necessary. It is distributed -power; therefore it is beneficent. It holds the vault in the air, the -prodigious weight of stone that it maintains aloft, above my head, as -lightly as the canvas of a tent. Marvel of equilibrium, calculation of -the intelligence, how is it possible not to adore you? It is you that -one comes here to worship under the name of God.</p> - -<p>The darkness grows lighter; it becomes chiaroscuro. We are in a picture -by Rembrandt, that great Gothic of the sixteenth century. The forest -of pillars divides the nave into spaces of shadow and light. It is the -order of nature which knows nothing of disorder. This I rediscover with -joy: the eye does not love chaos.</p> - -<p>I familiarize myself with the people of the columns. I recognize them: -they are Romans. It is the Roman, the Romance, hardly altered, that -comes to receive the Gothic arch. The immense nave which I thought a -forest full of hidden dangers I see, I understand, I read like a sacred -book. The mystery is not that of cruelty; it is only that of beauty. It -grows lighter gradually in order to allow the spirit to approach slowly -the joy of a perfect interior. This solemnity of the nave, this immense -void, is like the bed of a great river; the columns range themselves -respectfully on each side in order to give free passage to the flood of -human piety. It flows like a majestic river; it bears onward toward the -tabernacle, about which it spreads itself like a lake of love under the -rays of the thought of God. Amid the stones the architect has known how -to play the part of the apostle: he has created faith. Art and religion -are the same thing; they are love.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>SAINT-EUSTACHE</h4> - -<p>It is the interior of this church that should be admired. Here I do -not experience the same commotion of the spirit as in Notre Dame. I am -bathed in the fine light of the sixteenth century. At Notre Dame it -was the shadow of Rembrandt; here, it is the clear tonality of French -painting, of a Clouët. Admirable is the <i>élan</i> of this Renaissance -nave; it is as bold as, and even perhaps bolder than that of the Gothic -buildings. It proceeds on the same plan. The skyward lift is only to -be found in the Gothic; it is of the very spirit of the race. Are the -vaults round and no longer pointed? What does it matter if they are -equally elegant, if they have the same aërial grace as the ogive?</p> - -<p>What I rediscover in Saint-Eustache, less austere than its grand sister -of the Middle Age, but with a sweetness which is itself noble, is -the determination of the architect to subordinate everything to the -effect of simplicity, to the total effect. On each side of the nave -the columns cutting the side wall are disposed fanwise in order to -hide the light of the lateral windows. One sees nothing but the stone, -and yet there is no effect of heaviness; one could not make anything -lighter. This is because the color of the stone is admirably varied by -the diversity of the flutings that line the columns. The main fluting -marks the outline, and the others, less emphatic, shading off, give it -a velvet-like quality. The light throws a golden haze between the great -columns, among the deep gorges, and is, on the other hand, channeled, -streaked by the little nerves that impel it upward toward the vaults. -By this effect of lightness the building seems to rise; it is an -assumption. It is no longer the forest of trees that one finds here, -but the forest of creepers. These vertiginous columns are like fine, -delicate vines. Above the altar the great lights of the windows, with -their beautiful glass, harmonize well with the general color. The light, -at once abundant and restrained, has the coolness which the Renaissance -recaptured from Greece. This church welcomes one as with an immense -smile; it has the sweetness of Christ holding out his hands: "Suffer the -little children to come unto me." Intelligence has planned it, but it is -the heart that has modeled it.</p> - -<p>If we enter Saint-Eustache at nightfall, we could almost believe -ourselves in a Gothic building. The Renaissance did not bring about such -profound transformations in architecture as people think. There is a -heavy Italian Renaissance element that is altogether alien to us; but -in the true French Renaissance the Celtic taste was not betrayed: it -was modified with a certain grace and elegance. Grace is an aspect of -strength. A nation no more escapes from its racial quality than a man -from his temperament. The Celtic mingled with the Roman produced the -Romance, out of which the Gothic sprang directly—the Romance, that is -to say, the Roman which has passed through the spirit of the Franks. It -has the severity, the Roman qualities, united with the imagination of -the Barbarians, since we have agreed so to call them. The Romance of the -second epoch has already sprung forth; it rises during the eleventh and -twelfth centuries and goes to make the Gothic. The Gothic elevates and -magnifies the Romance. It detaches the buttresses, even to the point of -separating them from the walls, in order to carry them further out to -sustain the height of the nave.</p> - -<p>As for the Renaissance, it continues the Gothic. We could not have a -more striking example of this than just here in Saint-Eustache. Here -are the same lines, the same idea, with a different ornamentation. -It is the same body, clothed in a new way. It is another age of the -Gothic; sweeter, less powerful, the final florescence of the French -genius, which, despite the adorable eighteenth century, follows a -descending path down to the first restoration. Contrary to what has -been thought and taught for so long, the Renaissance already marks -a stage of decadence. The most beautiful epoch in architecture and -sculpture is the Middle Age, an age as beautiful as, perhaps more -beautiful than, the great age of Greece, and almost universally despised -by our nineteenth century, the century of criticism and pretension, the -century of ignorance. Yes, with the Renaissance things begin to give -way. And yet to say that is almost a sacrilege! It is as if one struck -one's father! Our ravishing Gothic of the sixteenth century has charmed -France with its masterpieces; it has made artists cherish a whole -country, the sweet country of the Loire. Despite its misalliance with -the Italian Renaissance, it stood firm, it did not bend; it remained the -grand French style. Witness the Louvre with its high pavilions; that -sprang, that too, from the Gothic vein; the sculptors of the Renaissance -decorated it less severely, but the general aspect remains the same.</p> - -<p>The Gothic under different names has been the main path of our genius -during five hundred years. It has been the blessing of France; it was -its active principle down to 1820. If we wish to return to art it will -only be through comparative study—the comparison with nature of our -national style. The beautiful lines are eternal. Why are they used so -little? </p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>CONCERNING COLOR IN SCULPTURE</h4> - -<p>The true difference between the Gothic and the Renaissance does not lie -in the structure of the building but in the quality of the sculpture and -in its color.</p> - -<p>What is meant by color in sculpture and in architecture? It is the law -of light and shade, the great law of oppositions which constitutes -the charm of nature, the beauty of a landscape at dawn, its splendor -at sunset. The color springs from the quality of the modeling; it is -the relief which gives the light tones and, by contrast, the dark, -in the parts that do not stand out. The ensemble of the intermediary -diminutions of light and shade produces the general coloring, whose -nuances can be infinitely varied according to the skill of the artist. -Modeling is the only way in which to express life; and there is only one -thing that counts in sculpture and in architecture—the expression of -life. A beautiful statue, a well-made monument, live like living beings; -they seem different according to the day and the hour. How beautiful it -is to give to stone, through nothing but the values of planes, through -the handling of shadow and light, the same charm of color as that of -living nature, of the flesh of a woman. In the plastic arts, the color -betrays the quality of the planes as a beautiful complexion reveals -health in a human being.</p> - -<p>The antique has shorter planes than the Gothic; it lacks therefore -those deep shadows that give to the Gothic such a tormented and tragic -aspect. The Greek balances the framework of the human body on four -planes, the Gothic on two only. The latter produces a stronger effect, -a more <i>hollowed</i> effect, that <i>effet de console</i> which is essentially -Gothic. Nevertheless, the shadow that results from it is more sustained -than in the antique and nothing could be softer or more full of nuances.</p> - -<p>The Roman presents an abundance of dark shadows which, in turn, create -an effect of heaviness and density. The Greek puts in just enough of -them to quicken the general coloring. The Roman gives a flatter effect, -which shows nevertheless a magnificent vigor. As for us, we copy these -styles endlessly without understanding them, for if we did understand -them we should do quite otherwise. We abuse the black, the powerful -lines, we put them everywhere; we do not know how to shade light. That -is why our sculpture is so poor, why our monuments appear so hard, so -dry. The Bourse, the Corps Législatif, might be made of iron with their -columns set against a uniform background which prevents the light and -air from circulating about them and enveloping them and destroys the -atmosphere. This is what people call a simple style. It is not simple, -it is cold. The simple is the perfect, coldness is impotence.</p> - -<p>The Renaissance recaptured the antique measure and imposed its generous -color upon the Gothic plane. It used less shadow than our sculptors of -the Middle Ages; it diminished the reliefs. The effect in consequence -was lighter. This was because the Renaissance was enchanted by all the -Greek statues that were discovered at this period; and in its enthusiasm -it recreated Greek art, not by copying it, but by copying nature -according to antique principles. It is perhaps a little less beautiful -but it has quite the same feeling of gentle strength, of delicacy. One -feels the joy of the artist who throws himself against the problem of -the nude in the open air. Till then statues had been draped, but under -the draperies was concealed a carefully studied nude. In the Renaissance -the drapery was dropped: the nymphs of Jean Goujon, of Germain Pilon—I -recognize them; these long bodies of women, these undulating bodies, are -Gothic statues unclothed and set in another light. Our whole sixteenth -century is a song of grace rising from the Gothic heart to the art of -the Parthenon.</p> - -<p>But nowhere than in the country of the Loire is there Renaissance art -more gentle and amply luminous. This is the Greek part of France. The -tranquil river touched the heart of our architects and bestowed on them -some of its calm and smiling majesty. From it, from the air impregnated -with its vapors, came those châteaux so happy in their beauty and those -lovable cottages; for the artist worked as beautifully for peasants as -for kings. Before Ussé, before Chenonceaux, Blois, Azay-le-Rideau, I am -not in the presence of dead things but of a living spirit, the spirit of -divine beauty that animated equally the antique and the Gothic. Charming -sixteenth century France, it is you who have forced me to the study of -chiaroscuro. Formerly I tried my best to understand your motives, your -thousand nerves, but the general law escaped me. I did not see your -soul, which consists entirely in the voluptuous shadings of light; I did -not perceive your principle, the modeling which impressed movement upon -everything and gave the movement life.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY</h4> - -<p>The eighteenth century is the exaggeration of the sixteenth. Our elegant -houses, our houses in the style of Louis XV and Louis XVI have always -the Gothic line with its proud, graceful air. Without moldings, without -ornaments, their beauty lies in their very lack of ornaments, in their -nudity. But what proportions they have! The finest of the fine!</p> - -<p>The eighteenth century is considered too frail, too affected. It is, -on the contrary, full of life and strength. It possesses admirable -sculptors: Pigalle, creator of that immortal masterpiece, the tomb of -Marshal Saxe; Houdon, whose busts to-day are bought for their weight in -gold without even then bringing their proper price. There were thousands -then, the whole rank and file of the trade, who created marvels, with a -sureness of hand accustomed to every difficulty. The outline of a table, -of a chest, was as much considered as that of a statue. For that matter, -what difference did the dimensions of a work make? It was the modeling -that counted. The peasant himself sat down in a well-made chair. Artists -and artisans had a taste, an alert grace, and a dexterity sufficient to -fit out the whole world; but their dexterity was based on a foundation -of intelligence as an ornament is based upon a building. The dexterity -we possess nowadays is nothing but mockery, a kind of banter that -touches everything without discernment; it kills force.</p> - -<p>The Louis XV and Louis XVI styles possessed grandeur. We call it the art -of the boudoir, but the boudoir of that period had a nobility like that -of those white and gold salons where the seats are disposed with dignity -like persons of quality. The music had the same character; the dances -also, the dances, those charming scenes in which men and women with the -natural spirit of play threw themselves into the cadence, translating it -with the eloquence of youth. The dance—that was architecture brought to -life.</p> - -<p>The eighteenth century was a century which <i>designed</i>; in this lay its -genius. Nowadays people are searching for a new style and do not find -it. Style comes unawares through the concurrence of many elements; but -can we achieve it without design? To-day we design no longer and our -art, which is altogether industrial, is bad. The central matter in art -is the nude, and this we no longer understand. How can we be expected -to have art when we do not understand its central principle? The minor -arts are the rays that go out from the center. When I draw the body of a -woman I rediscover the form of the beautiful Greek vases. Through design -alone we arrive at a knowledge of the shading of forms. The forms that -delight us in the art of past centuries are nothing but those presented -by living nature, those of human beings, animals, verdure, interpreted -by men of supreme taste. The art that people are struggling to discover -to-day might be deduced from my sculpture and my drawings, for I have -always drawn with passion. The quality of my drawing I owe in large -measure to the eighteenth century. I am nothing but a link in the great -chain of artists, but I maintain the connection with those of the past. -At the Petite Ecole they made us copy the red chalks of Boucher and the -models of flowers, animals, and ornaments. They were Louis XVI models, -very well executed; they certainly gave me a little of the warmth of the -artists of that period. In my youth I made drawings by the hundreds, by -the thousands. At the Petite Ecole we were badly placed, badly lighted -by poor candles; when we touched them we made them sticky with the clay -with which our fingers were covered so that they were worse than ever -afterwards. It did not matter; we were working according to the right -principles.</p> - -<p>To-day the Petite Ecole is entirely in the power of the larger school, -that of the Beaux-Arts. Far from learning one gets spoiled there for the -rest of one's life. One copies the antique, but one copies it badly.</p> - -<p>I am speaking with the experience of a genuine artistic life. There was -a time when I never talked; to-day I hold forth! If I am understood -it will not have been in vain. But how much effort it will take to -reestablish truths which are so self-evident, so obvious, so fundamental -that one is ashamed to repeat them so many times! Nevertheless they are -<i>essential</i>. The public is a thousand miles away from them, the public, -by which I mean the general taste. If it does not become enlightened, -art will disappear. Observe its attitude before the works of the new -school, before the pictures of those who call themselves cubists: -sarcasm, anger. These artists show us squares, cubes, geometrical -figures colored according to their own ideas. They name them: <i>Portrait -of Mme. X.</i> or <i>Landscape</i>. This exasperates the public. What does it -matter? Is it good? That is the whole point. Is the ornament well -treated? That is the capital question, the only one that is not -discussed. Their canvases are combinations of color recalling mosaic -or even stained glass. We have accepted many other things; we have -accepted the green or rather the violet women of our later salons, and -women with wooden heads, but we do not wish to admit the squares of the -cubists. Why? They are not portraits, we say. They are not landscapes. -So much the better! They are something else. What does it matter if -the artist has deceived himself knowingly or wilfully on a matter so -insignificant as the subject? It is ornamental, that is enough. They are -curious, these quarrels that break out, these sects that are created for -reasons like this—for a sock put on inside out! Ignorance inflames the -passions. There are struggles whose aim is great; others that appear -useless have their use perhaps.</p> - -<p>It may be that this slackening of taste and knowledge is necessary. -Perhaps it is a period of transition, a fallow period required by the -intelligence like that required by a soil that has been productive for -too long. If ignorance is prolonged it will mean that the history of -France is ended; it will mean the annihilation of the Celtic genius -which has fertilized Europe for two thousand years. We shall become like -Asia. Roman art declined for four or five centuries after Augustus. With -us the decadence has only been going on for a hundred years. During -the present war marvels have been destroyed. Formerly, even during -the religious wars, the monuments were spared; it is for this reason -that France is still so rich. When stone is no longer respected, it -means decadence. The cannon turn up the earth like a plow, leveling -everything. This war appears therefore like an explosion of barbarism; -at bottom it indicates a latent state of soul which has been shaping -itself since the beginning of the nineteenth century. During this period -the world has ceased to obey the law of beauty and love; it has lived -for nothing but business. What is the leading idea that has precipitated -the nations against one another? Trade: the desire, the longing to make -more money than one's neighbor. Trade is the anxious care of people who -think of nothing but their own petty welfare; it is not the basis on -which is founded the grandeur of peoples. It alone regulates at present -the relations between things. The war is nothing but the consequence of -such habits and their natural conclusion.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i030"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin030_ovid.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">METAMORPHOSIS ACCORDING TO OVID.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Do you ask me what will spring out of the conflict? I am not a prophet. -I know only that without religion, without art, without the love of -nature—these three words are for me synonymous—men will die of ennui. -But nothing easily resigns itself to death. An outburst of courage has -just transfigured the world. Can we preserve this courage during peace? -The patience of the soldier, the patience of the trenches surpasses -in sublimity the virtue of the ancients. Will it produce a rebirth of -intelligence? Shall we have, in study, the force of soul that we have -had in the great struggle? That is the question. Of course the stupid, -the ignorant will not suffer any transformation through the war; but -men of character will be reinvigorated by the hardships of the military -life; we have recaptured patience and we have yet to learn what we can -expect from this virtue. Genius is as much character as talent. If we -have men of force in this country where taste is a natural gift, it -seems to me impossible that this force will not quicken the gift and -develop it and that we shall not have once more an era of beauty.</p> - -<p>AUGUSTE RODIN.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3><a name="THE_WORK_OF_RODIN" id="THE_WORK_OF_RODIN">THE WORK OF RODIN</a></h3> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3><a name="Ib" id="Ib">I</a></h3> - -<h4>THE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS—INFLUENCE OF THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF -RODIN—"SAINT JOHN THE BAPTIST" (1880)—"THE GATE OF HELL"</h4> - - -<p>In 1877 Rodin visited our most illustrious cathedrals, Rheims, Amiens, -Chartres, Soissons, Noyon. During his youth, the choir of Beauvais -and Notre Dame de Paris appealed more to his imagination than to his -taste, and it required many years of travel and comparison to enable -him to grasp the splendors of that Gothic art which he was to admire -thenceforth at least as much as the antique. As a splendidly gifted, -but inexperienced young man, he shared the error of his epoch: the -eighteenth and the first half of the nineteenth century had despised the -Roman and the Gothic; they had ridiculed them and called them barbaric; -the nineteenth century, while flattering itself that it appreciated -them, did still worse—it restored them.</p> - -<p>The romantic writers of the Schools of Chateaubriand and Victor Hugo -had exalted the art of the Middle Ages, but chiefly because of their -hatred of the classic and without understanding its true worth. What -struck them, especially, was the immensity and the picturesqueness of -the buildings, the luxuriousness of this stone vegetation, but not the -unique character of their architecture and sculpture.</p> - -<p>Victor Hugo was perhaps one of the few to discover the precise -explanation of this beauty: relief and modeling. This all-powerful -writer, this architect of words who constructed poems like cathedrals, -understood the plastic intelligence of the master masons because he -himself possessed the <i>sense of mass</i>. One is convinced of this not only -in reading his descriptions of cities and monuments, but in studying -those astonishing pen-and-ink drawings which he multiplied in idle -moments.</p> - -<p>If the romanticists have failed fully to explain medieval art to us, -let us still be grateful to them: they gave our cathedrals back to us, -they denounced ignorance and scourged the stupidity that would have -ended by tearing down those sublime piles. Finally if the writers and -art critics of this epoch have not given them superlative praise, if on -their behalf they have not burned with apostolic zeal, it is because it -was necessary for this prophecy of art to come from a man of the craft, -a man dominated, captivated, himself, by the craft, a man who understood -stone and adored it because he had married it in spirit with all its -difficulties and its dazzling possibilities.</p> - -<p>That man was to be Rodin. Although he has been listened to by the -ignorant and superficial multitude, it has not been chiefly because of -the authority of his genius, of the general renown that he has enjoyed. -He has truly thrown a new light over the mystery of Gothic construction. -Thanks to him, we understand in a measure, for tangible reasons, the -reasons of an actual carver, this "world in little" that constitutes the -Gothic cathedrals. What study, what researches are necessary in order to -comprehend the art of stonework! Does any one suppose that Rodin himself -has attained this in a day? By no means. That lover of perfection in -detail does not possess the instantly penetrating glance that is often -the property of genius: to the task of deciphering our monuments he -brought that slow-minded, customary patience of his, together with -his energy. He had first of all to rid himself of the false current -ideas. After that thirty years of observation were necessary for him to -reach conclusions that satisfied his artistic conscience. Even to-day -he is far from affirming that he has understood everything, that he -has grasped the full significance of the Gothics. Read his book, "The -Cathedrals of France," published in 1914; observe the carefullness of -his judgments, the gropings of his thought, the constant retracing of -his steps. He makes attempts, ventures; he never proclaims his opinion -in the peremptory tone dear to specialists in criticism, but endeavors -to approach respectfully, as closely as possible, to the spirit of -the masters. Sometimes a flash of genius springs from his brain and -illumines to the depths of its mysteries the Gothic universe; but -nothing is suggested that does not spring from a prolonged observation, -and when at last he speaks it is in the tone of a man who mistrusts -himself. It must be confessed that in this work, "The Cathedrals of -France," something is lacking, even though it is prefaced by a long and -very learned introduction by one of our good writers, Charles Morice. It -lacks the magnificent lesson that the reader will find in these pages, -signed with Rodin's name. This lesson constitutes really a vital page -that is, as it were, the key and the summary of the whole work; but the -master, having given me the first rights in it, had scruples, as had -Charles Morice, about including it in his own book.</p> - -<p>Before obtaining this page, with what insistence did I have to question -Rodin not once, not twice, but twenty times, during the course of a -number of years. Every time he came back from one of his pilgrimages -to some old city of the provinces, to our churches, our town halls, I -renewed my questions without receiving any satisfactory answer. In my -heart I could not but honor this rigorous honesty which was unwilling to -venture anything lightly on so vast, so noble a subject.</p> - -<p>In 1877, after having accomplished his first tour of France, he came -back filled with wonder. But the impression that he carried with him was -still confused; he did not know at what point to begin the analytical -study of French architecture, for in what concerned sculpture he -had immediately been struck with amazement and adoration before the -essential beauty of the status of Chartres, Amiens, and Rheims. He had -returned from Italy haunted by the antique and Michelangelo, and now -here he was haunted by the modeling and the rhythm of the Gothic figures.</p> - -<p>But in order to understand them entirely he had to rediscover this -modeling and these movements in nature, he had to verify them in the -living model. Fortune favors those who seek greatly. When one is the -victim of an idea unexpected elements arise to nourish and develop it. -One day two Italians knocked at the door of his studio. One of them, -a professional model, had already posed for Rodin and he introduced -the other, his comrade. He was a peasant from the Abruzzi who had come -to seek his fortune in Paris. He was fresh from his native province. -His robust body, his fierce head, his bristling beard and hair, and -above all his expression of indomitable force charmed the artist. He -undressed, climbed upon the model's stand, planted himself firmly on -his legs, which were spread like a compass, the head well raised, and, -continuing to talk, advanced with a gesture full of ardor.</p> - -<p>Rodin, struck by this wild energy, immediately set to work. He made the -man such as he saw him; he desired to capture this movement of the legs, -this brusk forward movement that complemented the movement of the arms, -the shining eyes, the open mouth. He surrendered himself to a great -study, without any preconceived idea, without any intention of treating -a <i>subject</i>. What he made was <i>a man walking</i>. The name has stuck to the -figure. The first study remains incomplete; Rodin has sculptured neither -the head nor the arms; what he sought eagerly, passionately, was the -equilibrium of the torso and of the legs cast forward into space. He -succeeded; he made a superb fragment, "The Man Walking." Thirty years -later it occurred to a group of his admirers to ask the state to acquire -this study and erect it in the court of the French embassy at Rome, in -the Farnese Palace; but the official architects up to the present time -have objected to the erection of this statue, and for the last seven or -eight years it has awaited, in some obscure shed, the good pleasure of -these gentlemen.</p> - -<p>Rodin, in the presence of his Italian peasant, had rediscovered, to his -great joy as a seeker, the peculiar equipoise of the Gothic figures. In -the antique statues the plumb-line falls through one of the legs, while -the other, lightly raised, impresses on the different planes of the body -the graceful effect that has become classic. In Gothic statues, on the -contrary, the line of equilibrium passes through the middle of the body -and falls right between the two legs as they are planted on the earth.</p> - -<p>In "The Age of Bronze" Rodin has adopted the balanced rhythm of Greek -sculpture; in his new figure he passed to the Gothic equipoise, with -a harmony that is less gracious, but with a reality stronger and more -living. What he did not abandon was the rigorous construction and the -strength of modeling which his study of the antique had given him. "The -Man Walking," as well as the greater part of his subsequent works, thus -exhibits the union of the two great principles of sculpture that have -governed the Occidental genius.</p> - -<p>Rodin, strengthened by study, now made a complete statue with head and -arms. While he was working he discovered that his model was half a -savage, still close to the animal and its ferocious instincts. Sometimes -his eyes burned, his jaws, armed with powerful teeth, were thrust -forward as if to bite something; he resembled a wolf. At other times a -kind of strange passion inflamed him. His face radiated faith and will; -he spoke with such energy that he seemed to be haranguing a crowd; one -would have thought him a prophet of the primitive ages, a visionary -bursting forth from the desert to preach and to convert the people. -Rodin regarded him in amazement. It was no longer his model, but a man -from the Bible; surely it was a prophet that stood before him: it was -Saint John the Baptist brought back to life. The sculptor bowed before -the command of nature: his statue should bear the name of the forerunner.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i031"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin031_eve.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">EVE.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>He thought at first of emphasizing the disturbing impression: he placed -on the shoulders of Saint John a simple cross. But here was revealed the -all-powerful instinct of the sculptor, making the subject, the anecdote, -the literary connotation a matter of secondary importance. The cross, -the sublime symbol, would be here only an accessory, not really needed. -It would complicate the simplicity of line dictated by the laws of -sculpture, destroying the appositions of equilibrium of the great body -and distracting the attention from that speaking head.</p> - -<p>So Rodin gave it up. He came at last to the decision that his work -should remain free from what was not of the very essence of art. He sent -it off in the form in which it appeared in the Salon of 1880, adding -also "The Age of Bronze."</p> - -<p>The artists, the true artists, those whose enthusiasm was not poisoned -by envy and jealousy, applauded these two superb figures artistically -so different, but so similar in their sincerity; they acclaimed them -with the grave joy of generous souls who perceive the dawn of a great -talent. The name of Rodin became fixed forever in their memory.</p> - -<p>As for the jury of this Salon, it considered it sufficient to award -the "Saint John the Baptist" and "The Age of Bronze" a medal <i>of the -third class</i>. Let us, in turn, give it our reward—the reward for its -insensitiveness—by not disclosing the names of the sages who composed -it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>"THE GATE OF HELL"</h4> - -<p>While finishing these works, which he was not even certain of being able -to sell, Rodin was still compelled to provide for his own subsistence -and that of his family; he had also to meet the expenses of his trade. -A costly trade! It requires a studio, models, large fires to keep them -warm, clay, tools of every kind. It was luck enough if the sculptor, -still unknown, was able to have plaster casts made of his work. But -this did not satisfy him; he dreamed of seeing them take on a new -aspect in the richness of marble and bronze. Alas! in many cases he -had to wait until middle age to have this dream realized. Rodin has -never complained of the slowness of fortune. He knows that in order to -attain the fullness of his productive power it is well for the artist -to be thwarted, exalted by difficulties, the desire to conquer. After a -five-years' stay in Belgium he had returned to Paris to take part in the -work of the World Exposition of 1878, and he had taken a position with -the ornament-worker Legrain, in whose workshop he met Jules Desbois, -the future great sculptor, to whom he became attached for life. What -innumerable decorations he executed at that time—decorations which -disappeared like the leaves and flowers of the season when the stucco -palaces of the exposition vanished! Only the masks ornamenting the -Palais du Trocadéro remained.</p> - -<p>At the same time he accumulated busts, studies, large figures with -a fury of work which from then on was to resemble that of the most -powerfully productive minds, the fecundity of a Rubens, of a Balzac, of -a Michelet, of a Hugo. In the studios which he rented in the Faubourg -St. Jacques, from 1877 to 1883, besides the "Saint John the Baptist," he -executed the admirable little tough model of the "Monument Commemorating -the National Defense"; after his wife, whose characterful features and -naturally tragic countenance he had often reproduced, he made a helmeted -bust, a "Bellona." He exhibited three life-sized figures: "The Creation -of Man"; "Adam," since destroyed; and "Eve," the bronze of which did -not appear until the Salon of 1899. He did the busts of W.E. Henley; -the painter Jean-Paul Laurens (to mention some of the most beautiful), -Carrier-Belleuse, the etcher Alphonse Legros, all in the midst of -difficulties and injustices which did not in any way disturb the depths -of his serenity, the noble tranquillity of the artisan sure of attaining -his end by labor. Is it possible to-day to believe that the model of the -"Monument of the Defense" was not only refused, but was not even classed -among the thirty designs that were retained by the jury of 1880 after -the first choice had been made? This same jury, the composition of which -is also worthy of passing into history, decided on a solemn confection -by M. Barrias for the <i>prix de Rome</i>, the result of which was that four -years later its creator was elected a member of the Academy of Fine Arts.</p> - -<p>I do not know whether many collectors contend for reproductions of M. -Barrias's monstrous design for a clock; but Rodin's group, a wounded -soldier entirely enveloped by the wings of a prodigious figure of a -warrior goddess crying out for aid, which was later renamed "The Genius -of the Defense" or "The Appeal to Arms," and which has acquired to-day -so pathetic a character of actuality, is coveted by most of the museums -and art collectors of Europe and America.</p> - -<p>As if these works, which have since acquired such glory, were nothing -but fragments of secondary importance, Rodin attacked a great piece of -work, like those that used to be executed in the great ages of art: he -undertook the famous "Gate of Hell."</p> - -<p>At the time of the affair of "The Age of Bronze" there was at the -head of the ministry of fine arts, an under-secretary of state named -Edmond Turquet. To him fell the task of deciding in the last resort the -case of Rodin. M. Edmond Turquet was a brilliant lawyer who had become -<i>procureur</i> under the empire, which did not altogether qualify him for -the part of director of fine arts under the republic. In the field of -art he knew no more than any one else, Rodin says; but he was a very -fair-minded man, and his honesty had the effect of quickly straightening -out the affair of the sculptor. In his genuine desire to atone for the -wrong done to Rodin in the eyes of public opinion he not only offered -to obtain for him a position in the porcelain factory at Sèvres, in -order to assure him a regular livelihood, but ordered from him a great -ornamental piece, a door destined for the Palais des Arts Décoratifs. -In addition, by a special privilege created in favor of artists under -Louis XIV,—a privilege the traditions of which the French Government -has happily perpetuated,—M. Turquet granted Rodin a good studio in the -Dépôt des Marbres, so that he could execute his order.</p> - -<p>"And what will you represent on that door?" enquired the under-secretary -of state.</p> - -<p>"I am sure I don't know," replied the artist. "But I shall make a -quantity of little figures; then no one will say that they are casts -taken from the life."</p> - -<p>Thus we find him at Sèvres, a ceramist; he has carried on so many -different trades that he succeeds marvelously with this one. It was his -task to decorate vases of delicate clay; he modeled light bas-reliefs, -representations of mythological scenes, idylls. Nymphs, cupids, fauns, -evoked by his miraculously delicate fingers, were born out of the milky, -transparent material, bringing back to life the flowery graces of the -drawing-room art of the eighteenth century, the dainty elegances of the -wax figures of Clodion, but with a graver sense of the mystery of nature -and of love.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, when these vases left the hand of the master they were -overladen with hideous ornaments in the style of Louis-Philippe. -Moreover, the officials at the head of the factory did not like them. -They were carried up to the attics, they were left lying about on the -floor, in the secret hope of seeing them broken by the feet of some -careless or ill-willed workman.</p> - -<p>The feeling of being isolated and misunderstood at times threw a shadow -over the soul of the sculptor; but on the other hand he felt himself -so strong, so solidly based in his will, in his self-confidence, and -in the virtue of labor that these moments of depression passed away -quickly. Besides, he knew the secret of the poor, the secret of creating -happiness for oneself out of everything that the rich and powerful -despise: a simple life, health, regular work, the contemplation of -nature, and a few real friendships. Rodin earned at Sèvres only two or -three francs an hour and lost a great deal of time on the railroad. What -did it matter? He found pleasure and rest in these little journeys. -Every day he set out from Paris by train, and, the day over, winter and -summer, his wife came to meet him. They returned together on foot either -along the banks of the Seine, charming in their profusion of little -hills and islands, covered with meadows or fine trees, or through the -woods of Meudon and Clamart, with their vistas of Paris, its heights, -its buildings, its changing sky full of light and spirit.</p> - -<p>At the end of four years of opposition and annoyance Rodin gave up -pottery in order to consecrate himself wholly to his own work. The -museum of the factory preserves a vase signed by him, and the future -Musée de l'Hôtel Biron can show a second example. What has become of the -others? What price would not be paid for them to-day by admirers of the -master?</p> - -<p>These supplementary works did not turn him away from his essential task; -whatever were the technical means employed, his efforts tended toward -one unique end, the plastic quality, and he gave himself up desperately -to this search in executing his new order, the "Gate."</p> - -<p>Rising at four in the morning, as he had done in his youth, he studied -the plans and the details of this great work. He had announced a series -of little figures. How was he to group them? What visions surged in the -sculptor's imagination? Of what legendary theme, what theme of history -or poetry, should he make use in order to realize his program? He had -never ceased to be a passionate reader. He read especially the Greek -poets and dramatists, the Roman historians, the old French chronicles, -Dante, Shakspere, Victor Hugo, and Baudelaire. He did not wish to draw -the subject of his future work from Homer, Æschylus or Sophocles; -the School of the Beaux-Arts had so abused the theme of the antique, -already immortalized by Greek sculptors, that it had entirely lost its -freshness. The moderns attracted him less, but he was obsessed by the -work of the great poet of the Renaissance, by the "Divine Comedy" of -Dante. He had read and reread it and made a sort of commentary in the -form of innumerable sketches which he jotted down mornings and evenings -at table, while walking, stopping by the wayside to dash off attitudes -and gestures on the leaves of his note-book. He rediscovered in the -poem of Dante the fateful grandeur of the Greek dramas, but with an -atmosphere more modern, closer to ourselves, more mournfully familiar to -our anguishes and our torments. The idea took shape in his imagination, -"that imagination ceaselessly rumbling and groaning like a forge"; it -exalted his bold spirit. Genius joins to the richness of the intellect -the simplicity of heart that creates faith. Genius <i>believes</i> ever more -than it <i>thinks</i>. It has the strength which succeeds in anything, and -it possesses also that supreme gift, the ingenuousness of the child who -doubts nothing. Rodin believed the poem of Dante as if he had lived it, -as Dante himself believed in Vergil. What a magnificent homage great men -render to one another in this credulity of genius toward genius!</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> -<p><a id="i032"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin032_marble.jpg" width="450" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">RODIN AT WORK ON THE MARBLE.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The subject chosen by Rodin for his decorative panels, then, was -hell—hell as Dante conceived it in a vision that lends itself, for -that matter, marvelously to a plastic realization. The "Gate" would -be a poem, an immense sculptured poem; that is to say, a résumé of -the attitudes and gestures of life called forth by the release of the -passions, a strange catalogue of the expressions of the human body under -the shock of sorrow and of joy. If the imagination of Rodin caught -fire like that of a visionary, he remained beyond everything and above -everything the sculptor, and he plunged immediately into the search for -the general scheme of the work.</p> - -<p>The truth of the movements, the poetry of the evocations, his models -would give him; he could feel at ease as to that: the resources that -nature would offer him were inexhaustible. But the plan, that he -must find himself; he must do the work of the builder, almost of the -geometrician. There could be no self-deception as to that. The fuller -the ornamentation was to be of figures and movements, the more solid -must be the frame of the immense picture, the more vigorous and compact -must be the general plan of the work.</p> - -<p>Rodin's mind wavered between two great schools, that of the Renaissance -and that of the Middle Ages, that which had produced the doors of the -baptistry at Florence and that to which we owe the portals of the Gothic -cathedrals.</p> - -<p>The celebrated gates of Florence are a series of bas-reliefs arranged -symmetrically in a regular framework; they present a series of separate -pictures having no common bond except their subject. The execution -is admirable, and it is perhaps impossible to surpass it. Lorenzo -Ghiberti has done there the work of an incomparable modeler, actually -a goldsmith; but he has in no way troubled himself with regard to -architecture. Now, architecture is the great French point of view. The -Roman and the Gothic have placed in their monument (the church) that -other monument (the portal). The portal is complete in itself; the -art of the sculptor and that of the architect have united and become -indistinguishable here in order to realize an absolute beauty.</p> - -<p>Rodin, profoundly French, inheriting the instinct and taste of his -ancestors the master-masons, having to compose a door, was fated to -conceive a portal. On the other hand, he could not escape the influence -of the antique, the result of his early studies. This was the entirely -different element which in the course of the work he had undertaken was -to mingle with the Gothic element.</p> - -<p>It was not the first time that the mingling of these two great -conceptions of art had occurred in France. From it had sprung our -Renaissance sculpture; in that epoch the sculpture of the Greeks united -itself with the Gothic architecture, the Hellenic sunlight brought to -blossom the majesty of our monuments. Does not Rodin himself, with his -vast outlook over the whole field of art, call this period of national -art, the sixteenth century, the French Gothic?</p> - -<p>"The Gate of Hell," then, took on in its general structure a Renaissance -aspect. It preserves the graceful line of the Gothic portal and has the -luminous whiteness inspired by Greek sculpture. This singular work has -touched all contemporary artists. Most of our writers have described it, -and, after them, the critics of other countries. This living multitude, -this suffering, groaning multitude that covers the two panels with a -thousand passionate movements, has drawn into its magic whirlpool the -world of literature, which has been able to liberate itself only by -means of innumerable printed pages. The poem of Dante has come forth as -it were revivified from the hands of Rodin. Fresh tears, one would say, -have bathed the most poignant passages; the pity of a man of to-day, -of one like ourselves, our brother, has enveloped the terrible work of -the Florentine poet, that man of the Middle Ages, with an atmosphere of -tenderness and compassion which seems the emotion of Christianity at its -purest, its original source. In order to become our own, it has passed -through the great soul of Rodin. It is not surprising, then, that the -sensibility of our artists, reanimated by this new spectacle, should be -touched to so voluminous an expression by this haunting work.</p> - -<p>But what has not been sufficiently remarked is that the "Gate" is, above -everything, a piece of architecture of the highest order.</p> - -<p>When we see it we are at once struck with an impression of majesty, of -calm strength and plenitude. It seems even longer than it actually is. -It is a rectangle six meters high and two and a half meters wide, but -the source of the illusion is the justness of the proportions and the -value of the masses.</p> - -<p>The powerful frame is furrowed with deep depressions. It rests on the -ground upon a strong base from which rise the two door-posts, as robust -as pillars and mounting together toward the summit. A pediment in the -shape of an entablature overhangs the entire monument, casting over -it a deep shadow full of nuances; and it is this shadow, skilfully -graduated, that gives to the work its rich, soft color. The body of -the portal is divided into two panels; a vast tympanum surmounts them -transversally. This tympanum, surmounted by a large cornice, dominates -the work. Without weighing it down, it gives it its mass, it attracts, -it obsesses, the eye; it is the soul of the edifice, its intellect. No -word can more justly describe it than the word brow, for it is magnetic, -haunting, mysterious, like the forehead of a man of genius.</p> - -<p>The panels sink deep into a shadow that is heavy, but not harsh, while -in the foreground the pillars advance into the light; the delicate -bas-reliefs that cover them keep them in a silvery atmosphere, the -source of the great softness which envelopes this work, otherwise severe -and tragic, the source of the fugitive lightness of the lines, which -strike up from the earth toward the somber and tormented upper regions.</p> - -<p>Carried away by this marvelous technic, the spirit of the visitor -succumbs; it follows this ascending movement of the door-posts, to lose -itself in the sorrowful dream sculptured on the tympanum.</p> - -<p>On the panel writhe the clusters of human figures, the eddies of the -multitude of damned souls pursued by the rage of the elements, by -the devouring tongues of the infernal fire, by the frozen waters, by -the wind that tears them and stings them. "It is," says the eminent -art critic Gustave Jeffroy, in the most beautiful pages that have -been consecrated to a description of this work, "the dizzy whirl, the -falling through space, the groveling on the face of the earth of a -whole wretched humanity obstinately persisting in living and suffering, -bruised and wounded in its flesh, saddened in its soul, crying aloud -its griefs, harshly laughing through its tears, chanting its breathless -fears, its sickly joys, its ecstatic sorrows."</p> - -<p>The genius of Rodin became intoxicated with all the resources of his -art. Master of a technic of the first order, he delighted in every kind -of effect, arranging them as a great symphonist arranges the instruments -of an immense orchestra. Low-relief, half-relief, high-relief, and -sculpture in the round, he omitted none. He did not yield to the -literary temptation. At the height of his fever of invention he was -circumspect, measured, guided by his knowledge as a modeler. The poet -thinks, but the carver speaks; he speaks justly, he speaks admirably, -because he uses only his own true and personal language, which he knows -from the ground up. That is the whole secret of the way in which this -man inflames our soul and subjugates our imagination.</p> - -<p>Two principal notes, two motives form, above the whirlwind of the -infernal fires, a resting-place for the eye troubled by so much -vehemence: one, in the midst of the tympanum, is the figure of Dante. It -is Dante, but it is even more the eternal poet. Seated, leaning over the -abyss of suffering, thrilled with anguish, he seems to seek in the very -depths of the pit itself the word of infinite pity that will deliver -this sorrowful humanity.</p> - -<p>Higher yet, above his bowed head, rising suddenly from the frame and -splayed in a large protuberance, a group of three entwined figures -crowns and completes the brow. With the same despairing gesture they -point to the multitude of the damned. One does not know what these -shuddering beings are, but they have the sweetness of angels; at once -we seem to hear their lips murmur the words of the grand Florentine, -"<i>Lasciate ogni speranza</i>"; but across their forms, their compassionate -forms, their fraternal forms, one feels passing a tremor of love and -pity. Far from condemning, their clasped hands offer to the sad wreckage -of fatality that writhes at their feet a sign, a unique sign, the sign -of good-will of pity.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"The Gate of Hell" was shown only once to the public. This was at the -Universal Exposition of 1900. Although it was nearly finished, it was -seen then only in an incomplete state.</p> - -<p>The day of the opening arrived before the master had been able to have -placed on the <i>fronton</i> and on the panels of his monument the hundreds -of great and small figures destined for their ornamentation. People saw -the "Gate," then in the nudity of its construction, grandiose assuredly, -but despoiled of its extraordinary raiment of sculpture.</p> - -<p>That day was a sad one for the true friends of art and of Rodin. A band -of snobs, full of their own importance, crowded about the great man. -Having considered the work with the hasty and casual glance of men of -the world of the sort that are concerned above all to get themselves -noticed, they remarked to Rodin, in a tone of augury, "Your doorway is -much more beautiful like that; in no circumstances do anything more to -it."</p> - -<p>This absurd advice befell at an evil moment: the artist felt worn out -from overwork and anxieties of all kinds and, moreover, was troubled -over the fate of his exhibit the failure of which might in truth have -ruined him completely. In these circumstances he did not have the -freedom of spirit necessary to judge correctly the value of his own -work. And besides he had seen it too much during the twenty years in -which it had been before his eyes. He was tired of it, weary of it.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i033"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin033_peristyle.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">PERISTYLE OP THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Thus everything combined to make him lend an ear to the unfavorable -opinions of the Parisian aviary. Had he been in better health, more -the master of himself physically and morally, he would have replied to -the prattling of these excited paroquets and guinea-hens:</p> - -<p>"Take more room, examine my 'Gate' from a little farther off, and you -will see once more the effect of the whole—the effect of unity which -charms you when it is deprived of its ornamentation. You must understand -that my sculpture is so calculated as to melt into the principal masses. -For that matter, it completes them by modeling them into the light. -The essential designs are there: it is possible that in the course -of the final work I may find it necessary to diminish such or such a -projection, to fill out such or such a pool of shadow; nevertheless, -leave this difficulty to my fifty years of artisanship and experience, -and you may be sure that quite by myself I shall find the best way of -finishing my work."</p> - -<p>But the master was silent. Later, carried away by the abundance of his -conceptions, by his ever-deepening researches, he lost all interest in -the "Gate" and has never taken the trouble to have it entirely mounted.</p> - -<p>Fortunately, casts of it have been carefully preserved. It would be -only an affair of a few months to reconstruct the work in its original -integrity. Since the Universal Exposition time has rolled forward, and -events also. Auguste Rodin has entered into the great serenity which -age brings with it. He composes less, he corrects his work, he judges -himself, and he does not deny his "Gate," one of the most exceptional of -his works.</p> - -<p>At last the creation of the Musée Rodin has been decided upon by the -state. "The Gate of Hell" will be one of its important pieces; we shall -be able to contemplate it then in all its majesty; it will not then -simply be molded in plaster, but cast in bronze and cut in marble. -It will offer a noble example of what work can accomplish when it is -served by that supreme gift, will; for it will testify as much to -resistance against the powerful enemies of the life of thought as to the -intelligence of the man who created it. It forces upon us not only a -formidable impression of strength, labor, talent, but also an impression -no less lofty of method, order, and inner harmony. The multitude, who -through their profound instincts approach much closer than one might -suppose to the man of genius, will exclaim in contemplating this work, -this true monument which undoubtedly the sculptor has raised through his -own force of character, "Whoever erected this beautiful thing with his -indefatigable hands was truly a man."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3><a name="IIb" id="IIb">II</a></h3> - -<h4>"THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS" (1889)—RODIN AND VICTOR HUGO—THE STATUE OF -BALZAC (1898)</h4> - - -<p>At the time the plaster model of "The Burghers of Calais" was first -offered to the judgment of the public, in 1889, nearly seven years had -gone by since Rodin had originally undertaken the group.</p> - -<p>This is the period of my own childish memories of the master. He was a -frequent visitor at the home of my father, who lived in Sèvres, on the -outskirts of Paris.</p> - -<p>Rodin, with his silent nature, apparently so full of calm and -meditation, delighted in the ardor, the patriotic enthusiasm, the -ferment of character, the brilliant conversation of that powerful, -original writer, my father; he loved his books, too, spirited and -passionate like himself, and possessing a vigor of expression that was -new to French letters.</p> - -<p>Léon Cladel received his friends on Sundays. In winter they gathered in -the drawing-room, in summer on a terrace shaded by great chestnuts and -limes, where thousands of birds twittered and chattered so energetically -that at dusk they ended by drowning the voices of the visitors. Among -the latter were writers, painters, and sculptors, several of whom have -since become famous. Among them were Auguste Rodin and his colleague, -his dear comrade, Jules Dalou, creator of many fine works, notably the -monument to Eugène Delacroix which stands in the Luxembourg Gardens.</p> - -<p>The sculptor of "The Burghers of Calais" was then barely fifty. He was -far from possessing the immense fame that is his to-day, but artists -already regarded him as a master. Of medium height, robust, with large -shoulders and heavy limbs, placid and deliberate in appearance, never -gesticulating, he himself resembled a block of stone; but above this -heavy base his countenance, with its broadly designed features and its -gray-blue eyes, expressed an extraordinarily keen intelligence and -finesse. Despite my youth I was struck by this physiognomy, so singular -and so penetrating, and also by the remarkable shyness that made the -sculptor blush whenever he was addressed. Since then innumerable -portraits have familiarized people with these features, which with age -have settled into an expression of authority and firm will; his strange -timidity has disappeared with time, with the consciousness of his -strength, with his having become accustomed to glory. Moreover, Rodin -has become a ready talker. Of old he listened intently, but always -held his peace; at most a few words, spoken in a soft, clear voice, -escaped from the waves of his long beard. He would at once relapse into -silence, while with a slow movement giving his beard an instinctive -caress with his large, square, irresistible hand, the true hand of a -builder. But when he raised his eyelids, almost always lowered, the -transparent eye, that limpid gray-blue eye, betrayed a perspicacity -that was almost malicious, almost cunning: one felt that he penetrated -through the forms of people to their very souls; and this he fixed so -skilfully in the clay of his busts that his models were not always -pleased with it. Many of Rodin's portraits have been refused by sitters -offended by their pitiless realism.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> -<p><a id="i034"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin034_statue.jpg" width="450" alt="" /> -<div class="capt">STATUE OF BASTIEN-LEPAGE.</div> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Sometimes my father kept Rodin and Jules Dalou to dinner. The two -sculptors were devoted to each other. They were comrades from of old who -had traveled together the hard road of beginners; since their student -days at the Petite Ecole they had many times reëncountered each other -in the same workshops, where they had received the same contemptuous -wages for their long days of labor. They felt a profound esteem for each -other's talent, different as these talents were, altogether opposed, in -fact, as were their natures; and it was a fine, a lovely thing to see -them bring forward each other's respective merits. Alas! I shall have -to tell later how an artistic rivalry came one day to destroy this noble -friendship.</p> - -<p>The appearance of "The Burghers of Calais" aroused a flood of enthusiasm -in the world of art. I remember it well. At that time I was only a -young school-girl, and my father was unwilling to allow me to "miss -my classes" in order to accompany him to the opening of the Rodin -Exhibition. After all, the lessons I received that day, following them -quite absent-mindedly, were they worth the lesson I should have received -from the contemplation of that masterpiece, even if my age would have -prevented me from quite understanding it? Beauty is always the most -fertilizing teacher.</p> - -<p>A rich art-lover, acting with the municipal authorities of Calais, had -ordered from Rodin the statue of Eustache de Saint-Pierre, the Calais -hero whose devotion had in the fourteenth century, during the Hundred -Years' War, saved the city when it was besieged by King Edward III of -England.</p> - -<p>Rodin, true to his principles, sought as ever to approach his subject -from the quick of reality. He consulted history. He read the old -chronicles of France, above all those of Jean Froissart, who was -contemporaneous with the event and almost a witness of it. Froissart was -a man of the fourteenth century, a man of the age of the cathedrals, -and therefore himself a Gothic. His narrative has the force, the -savor, the naïveté, the simple and profound art of the masters of that -marvelous epoch. What a source of emotion for Rodin, a Gothic likewise -in his faith and his artistic rectitude! He caught fire at the recital -of the old master as at the voice of a brother-in-arms. He read, he -learned that Edward III would not consent to spare the city of Calais -from pillage and destruction unless six of her richest citizens would -come out to him dressed only in their shirts, barefoot, with ropes about -their necks, bringing him the keys of the city and their own heads to be -cut off. In response to this terrible message, Eustache de Saint-Pierre -and five of his fellow-citizens, taking counsel with the notables -of the place, at once rose to go to the king's camp. They set forth -immediately, escorted on their way by the hunger-stricken multitude, -weeping and groaning over their sacrifice and "adoring them with pity."</p> - -<p>This was the vision which from that time on took possession of Rodin, -dominating him and never leaving him. But it was not an isolated person -detached from his environment that he saw: it was the six martyrs just -as they appeared in history, just as they were in life. In his thought -he followed this band of heroes marching to the sacrifice in the midst -of the weeping city. He could not bring himself to separate them either -from their whole number or from their tragic surroundings. Therefore, -in accordance with the genius of his theme, that is to say, with -historic truth, he would make all six of them, and he would insist that -they should be set up in the midst of the city, among the old houses, -where they would continue to live their sublime life in the heart of the -very town that they had saved.</p> - -<p>For the price of one statue, therefore, Rodin set out to execute six. -He rented a vast atelier in the rue des Fourneaux, in the Vaugirard -Quarter. He worked unceasingly. To keep this enormous group in good -condition, to maintain the proper temperature, he moistened the clay -morning and evening, having as his <i>garçon d'atelier</i> no one but his -devoted wife, who had become thoroughly experienced in these matters. -Despite all, accidents would happen: the clay would give way, an -arm, modeled with his habitual exactitude, would fall and have to be -laboriously repaired; but the fervent modeler never hesitated in his -work, and on the day when he exhibited "The Burghers of Calais" at the -house of Georges Petit the praise and the homage that sprang forth from -the soul of all true artists recompensed him magnificently, bringing -him the intoxicating caress of dawning glory. They spoke, in connection -with the "Burghers," of the image-makers of our cathedrals; they spoke -of the statues of Claus Sluters, of the famous statues of the "Well of -Moses" at Dijon. Really, in the Calais monument Rodin is more than ever -under the Gothic influence in subject, in thought, and in execution. -The equilibrium of the figures composing the group is the same as that -of the "Saint John the Baptist." The long shifts that cover the naked -bodies of his heroes recall those draperies in vertical folds dear to -the Middle Ages. The very modeling of the figures and of the faces -increases this effect of elongation caused by the fall of the fabric; -the modeling in large planes, the vigorous accents, the simple and -pathetic movements are certainly those of the sort that out-of-door -sculpture calls for. In twenty years Rodin had made innumerable visits -to the Gothic monuments. Here was the result of his tours of France. He -had made them in order to recapture the traditions of art from the hands -of our wonderful old stone-cutters, and his heart must have throbbed -with joy when he was told that in his own hands that tradition had -suffered no loss.</p> - -<p>Naturally, the appearance of "The Burghers of Calais," even that, -could not fail to have its share of comic anecdote, that bitter and -painful humor that marks the adventures of genius in its struggle with -vulgarity. Let us not complain too much. The contrast between these -adventures and the proud way of life of a great man, the regularity -of his hours of toil—it is this that creates opposition, movement, -life. The elect soul feels a savage joy in these blows which shake it -like a tree tormented by brutal hands, a tree aware of the vigor of its -resistance and its ever-increasing tenacity.</p> - -<p>The municipality of Calais, hearing that there were to be six statues -instead of the one that had been ordered, took umbrage, and deliberated -for two years. The heroic group waited, and, as it encumbered Rodin's -atelier, where other works were going forward, it was placed in a -stable. At last the worthy town authorities decided to assign it a -site. Naturally, the site in question was exactly opposed to the ideas -of the master—ideas that had been thought out and that were perfectly -logical, based on the laws of decorative art and still more determined -by that infallible criterion, taste. Rodin desired that his monument -should be in the center of the town; they placed it on the edge of -the sea. He counted on emphasizing the tall stature of his figures -by enshrining it in the narrow frame of the houses; they placed it -against a horizon without limits. He requested that the group should be -placed very low, almost on the ground, or else very high on an elevated -pedestal, like the "Colleoni" at Venice or the "Gattamelata" at Padua; -they placed it at a middle height, thus diminishing the effect of its -imposing proportions. The lesson had to come from foreign lands. The -city of Antwerp has erected, in front of its museum of fine arts, -two of the statues of the celebrated group, and England, which does -things splendidly when it is a question of embellishing its cities or -of rendering homage to the valor of its adversaries, has erected the -effigies of the six heroes of Calais on one of the most beautiful sites -in London, before the Palace of Westminster.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>By this time the reader is sufficiently familiar with the technic of -Rodin for it to be unnecessary to analyze here in detail this well-known -work. What must not be forgotten is that the sculptor had first modeled -these six powerful bodies entirely in the nude. This is his invariable -method when he executes draped figures. One realizes this, even without -knowing it, before these arms, these hands, these legs, and these feet -constructed with that rigorous conscience which, with the true artist, -is at once a necessity and a delight; one divines the slope of the -torsos bent with grief or rigid in the pride of sacrifice.</p> - -<p>"Yes, they are beautiful," the master said to me one day when I was -talking with him. "The shirt, the blouse are garments the folds of -which yield simple planes and effects that, rightly rendered, are those -of true sculpture. But there is something better still, and that is -sackcloth. If I had clothed my 'Burghers of Calais' in sackcloth, they -would certainly be more beautiful. I did not dare to. Some one else will -do this and will succeed. It is sufficient to express an idea and leave -it to its destiny."</p> - -<p>We ought to love in Rodin this intellectual vigor that skirts the -borders of the impossible. In our age, consumed with indecision, it is a -priceless aid, a resting-place, a <i>point d'appui</i> from which one starts -forth afresh, fortified, one's nerves recharged with vitality, to the -conquest of one's share of knowledge or of talent. This accounts in part -for the irresistible influence which for thirty years the illustrious -sculptor has exercised over the minds of artists. One feels that this -fount of strength condensed in his virile soul comes from something -deeper than his personality alone; it comes from the very depths of -the national reserves. The conviction, the energy of Rodin are those -of the workman who knows his trade, of the laborer impassioned by the -culture of his own soil. This endurance is the foundation of the French -temperament; the events happening now have proved it. When a country -possesses such individualities through the course of history, the roads -of the future open out before it brilliant with hope despite passing -shadows, and promise the highest surprises.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i035"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin035_danaiade.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<p class="capt">DANAIADE.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>RODIN AND VICTOR HUGO</h4> - -<p>The creation of "The Burghers of Calais" marks the middle of a period -of truly prodigious fecundity. From 1889 to 1896, monuments, busts, -statues, and groups of every kind issue without interruption from the -ateliers of Rodin, and the more numerous the works his hand models, -the more it grasps the contexture of the work, the more it refines the -execution. Orders for portraits pour in; collectors hold it an honor to -possess a marble, a bronze, signed with a name which every day increases -in celebrity. In 1888 comes that jewel of marble, the bust of Madame -Morla Vicuñha, and the monument to Claude Vicuñha, president of the -Republic of Chile; in 1889, the bronze portrait of Dalou, the statue of -Bastien-Lepage, that admirable head "La Pensée," acquired by the Musée -du Luxembourg.</p> - -<p>In 1890 comes the portrait of Mme. Russell, a bust in silver, of -noble simplicity, which one would say was the head of a Roman matron, -with the luminous veil upon her thoughtful forehead and the flower of -good-will blossoming upon her delicately swelling mouth. Then there is -"The Danaïd," "La vielle Heaulmière," and a great study, a long woman's -torso, "La Terre."</p> - -<p>In 1892, not to mention delightful minor works like "The Young Mother" -and "Brother and Sister," appear two masterpieces: the bust of Puvis -de Chavannes and that of Henri Rochefort, magnificent contrasts in -construction and execution. The painter-gentleman carries his haughty -head like an old leaguer chief, and the pamphleteer bends over the -destinies of France, which for fifty years he has defended day in, day -out, with his flaming pen, an enormous brow—a brow like a spherical -vault that seems to contain a world.</p> - -<p>"You have made it grander, you have made it more beautiful than nature," -some one said to Rodin one day.</p> - -<p>"One can never do anything so beautiful as nature," he replied.</p> - -<p>In this same year, 1892, he exhibited the charming monument to Claude -Lorrain, in which he recaptured the spirit of the eighteenth century. It -was the town of Nancy that ordered this figure of its painter and has -placed it in its vast park.</p> - -<p>One cannot mention everything. Forms and attitudes renew themselves, -but not the terms that express them. To measure the abundance of this -work one should read the catalogue, till now incomplete,—for it has -been impossible to compile one that was not so,—of the master's -works; only so can we realize how almost dizzily his productiveness -became accelerated with the epoch of his maturity. Mythological -subjects dominate it, but are always treated with a profoundly human -understanding of the poetry and the grace of the form in which they -achieve an aspect delightfully new.</p> - -<p>Such titles as "Venus and Adonis," "The Education of Achilles," "The -Death of Alcestis," "Cupid and Psyche," "The Faun and the Fountain," -"Pygmalion and Galatea," Rodin inscribed only as an afterthought on -the pedestals of his groups. They are not the result of a necessary -preliminary conception; it is his figures themselves that breathe them, -his models unconsciously repeated the combinations of movement and -gesture through which are translated the eternal sentiments immortalized -by the legends of paganism. So true is this that Rodin obtained his -charming groups by assembling in harmony with his researches the -animated little figures that encumbered the windows of his ateliers. -He amused himself by uniting them, by marrying their attitudes; with -these little figures, these puppets of genius, he composed actual little -intimate dramas or idylls revived from the antique. In the hollow of -a Greek bowl he places a little nude body, and one would say that it -is the soul of the wave that conceals itself against the side of the -vase. He enlaces three feminine figures, upright, beside the body of a -recumbent youth: they are the Graces, who come to bend over the dying -poet. Thus he perpetuates the fantasy of things through that of his own -taste; he eternalizes the most delicious caprices of nature.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>We come now to the year 1896 and the appearance of the "Monument to -Victor Hugo."</p> - -<p>This monument had been ordered for the Panthéon. Rodin, who had modeled -in 1885 the bust of the singer of the "Légende des Siècles," was -doubly, on this account, entitled to the order. In the midst of what -difficulties had he achieved that bust! It required all his patience, -all the tenacity of a Lorrainese peasant, to accomplish it. When he -had begged the honor of reproducing those illustrious features, the -poet, already nearing his end, tired out with having posed for mediocre -plaster-daubers and unaware of the superiority of his new sculptor, -consented to pose only for two hours. All the same, he authorized Rodin -to come as often as necessary and make as many sketches as he needed -while he, Hugo, worked or received his friends.</p> - -<p>Rodin accepted these difficult conditions. Was it not Victor Hugo with -whom he was dealing, the father of modern poetry? And then what a -spectacle for his artist's eyes, that of the great man bending over his -papers that Jupiter-like head of his in which thought, in gestation, -swelled the sublime brow with a tumult of ideas! When he talked, what -majesty in "this face of a lion in repose"!</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> -<p><a id="i036"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin036_hugo.jpg" width="450" alt="" /> -<p class="capt">PORTRAIT BUST OF VICTOR HUGO.</p> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The sculptor placed a stool, some clay, some tools in the corner of -a gallery; it was there that he worked out the general form of the -bust. Then, studying his wonderful model for months, he made hundreds -of sketches of him, under every aspect; at times, having used up the -pages of his note-books, he even covered entire blocks of cigarette -paper with rapid notes and jottings. Then he transferred this record -of observations to his clay. Working in this manner, it took him three -months to finish his bust. He exhibited it, in bronze, at the Salon of -1884. One cannot fail to admire the volumes, the beautiful mass of the -whole, even though it does not show that brilliant touch of genius which -strikes us before the bust of Jean-Paul Laurens or that of Rochefort; -but later, relying upon this document and upon his own special memory -of forms in action, Rodin was to restore for us this moving head in his -monument of the poet, which was to be one of his very loftiest works. -This same bust of Victor Hugo was to rupture the friendship between -Rodin and Jules Dalou—Dalou of whom he sent to the same Salon of 1884, -by a curious coincidence, an incomparable bust that puts one in mind of -those of Donatello.</p> - -<p>The family of Victor Hugo did not like Rodin's portrait of the master. -When the poet died (1885), it was Dalou whom they called to execute a -death-mask of the features of the great poet. Filled with ambition and -eager for official glory, Dalou had the weakness to accept, forgetting -what he owed to Rodin, not even informing him, in fact. Deeply hurt, the -latter withdrew his affection for his old friend. My father, saddened by -this occurrence, which destroyed so rare and noble a friendship, brought -the two friends together at his table in the hope of reconciling them; -but nothing could melt the wall of ice that had fallen between these -dissevered hearts.</p> - -<p>Ten years afterward a magnificent compensation was offered to Rodin. -From him was ordered the monument of the poet for the Panthéon. He -represented him nude, under the folds of a vast cloak, and seated on -a rock, as if by the seashore, with his wonderful head bowed in an -attitude of meditation, just as Rodin had often contemplated it in -priceless hours.</p> - -<p>This manner of representing a great man, quite simply revived from the -Renaissance and the eighteenth century, shocked to the last degree the -administrative staff of the department of fine arts. Why this nude -personage, instead of a quite respectable Victor Hugo in the frock-coat -of an academician? Why not one of those statues that peacefully occupy -some corner of a public square without attracting any one's attention, -one of those statues that are not made to be looked at? As for this -poet, who resembled a Homer, a hero or a demigod, this grand body, -outrageously beautiful and simple, is it not scandalous in the midst of -the conformity of bourgeois civilization, enslaved by the ugliness of -fashion, whose perverted taste can no longer recognize the beauty of the -nude? The painter David used to say of his epoch, in which, however, the -mode of dress was less displeasing than it is to-day, "What misery to be -obliged to spend one's life in fashioning coats and shoes!" Rodin, like -David, and like Phidias, preferred the trade of the sculptor to that of -the tailor.</p> - -<p>Such an uproar arose that he had to withdraw the model of his monument -and promise another. But everything comes with time, even the best: the -fortunes of politics brought to the ministry of fine arts an intelligent -and cultivated director, the dramatic critic Gustave Larroumet. -Delighted with Rodin's scheme, the magnificent symbolization of French -poetry, he confirmed the order for the audacious monument, no longer for -the Panthéon, but for the Luxembourg Gardens; and, not satisfied with -this reparation, charged the master with the additional execution of -another monument destined for the Panthéon. One can imagine the anger in -certain circles—two orders on the same subject to the same sculptor! -What an aberration! What madness! But the decision was made and well -made.</p> - -<p>Rodin took six years to perfect his first "Victor Hugo"; the marble -was not exhibited until 1901. The vigor of the work and the sovereign -gesture by which the bard of contemplation seems to impose silence upon -the voice of nature in order that the voices struggling within himself, -in the depths of his genius, may be the better heard, the suppleness of -the material, of this Carrara marble, with its warm reflections, as if -melted under the pressure of a fiery hand, obstinately make one think of -Michelangelo; one has the disturbing sensation, not of an imitation, but -of a resurrection of the plastic power reincarnated out of nature, of a -new spring of sap from the same vein of genius.</p> - -<p>The original plan allowed, in addition, for two allegorical figures, -"The Inner Voice" and "The Tragic Muse," which, placed beside the poet, -should breathe into him thought and inspiration. But, very beautiful -in themselves, they gave to the monument, once they were executed and -placed, an anecdotal quality that diminished its force; they weakened -the grandeur of the Olympian gesture and destroyed that feeling of -solitude inseparable from such a personality as that of the great man: -an island in the midst of the flood of the human multitude, genius -itself is aware of its own splendid isolation.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i037"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin037_monument_h.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<p class="capt">MONUMENT TO VICTOR HUGO.</p> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>This is what I ventured to express one day to the master, not without -hesitation. Nothing equals the simplicity of Rodin face to face with -what he knows is sincere and animated by a true love of art. He -listened, gazed at his work, and, turning toward me, gave me a joyous -glance.</p> - -<p>"You are right," he replied, with a spontaneity that put my sense of -responsibility on its mettle. "I sacrificed to the mania of the age, -which is to overload things. My modeling is there, the eloquence of the -gesture also. The rest would only spoil the essential things. It is a -stroke of genius. I am going to write to the under-secretary of state -that my monument is ready."</p> - -<p>In lieu of the two figures that were to have accompanied the statue of -Victor Hugo, to indemnify the Government Rodin gave to the Musée du -Luxembourg a series of his most beautiful busts in bronze, including the -head of the poet.</p> - -<p>As for the marble, it was in the garden of the Palais Royal that it -was finally erected; but this site is not of the happiest: a large -lawn separates the spectator from the monument; one sees it from the -wrong angle, and this destroys the equilibrium of its planes. Moreover, -in our damp climate marble quickly loses the charm of its purity and -transparency; streaks of brown already stain and deface that of the -"Victor Hugo." Let us hope that the organizers of the Musée Rodin -will find it possible to place it in one of the rooms of the future -museum, substituting for it a bronze upon which the inclemencies of the -atmosphere will serve to produce a beautiful patina.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>THE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898)</h4> - -<p>This is the most famous and the least known of Rodin's works. Newspaper -controversies have made it famous throughout the whole world; but it -has, nevertheless, made only one brief appearance in public, in 1898, at -the Salon of the Société Nationale des Beaux Arts. It marks at the same -time a vital stage in the career of the master and the most poignant -period of his life as a fighter. It is the point of equilibrium in -the perpetual balancing of the art of Rodin between the several great -traditions. It was the object of a famous quarrel, in which the glory -of the sculptor, momentarily all but eclipsed by ridicule, recovered -itself, nevertheless, and rose higher than ever.</p> - -<p>What strikes one in this statue, at first sight, is its strange -block-like aspect, its monolithic simplicity. People say quite rightly -that it looks like a stone <i>lovée</i>, a druidic monument. Ever since "The -Burghers of Calais," one of the figures of which at least, that of -the man with the key, already suggests the idea of a monolith, Rodin -had been going further and further in his stubborn search for the -simplification of planes, and here he finally achieved his object. In -order to obtain it, he went back all the way to the primitive Gothic -and even to the archaic Greek, which likewise preserves in the general -outline of its statues the rigid aspect of those statues of wood that -had preceded it. In all these early epochs of art one finds the form of -the tree trunk in which their sculpture was cut. One of the examples of -this art that had most forcibly impressed Rodin was the statue of Hera -of Samothrace in the Louvre. The beauty of this figure, denuded of all -foreign artifice in the exact research for masses, the public little -comprehends; but the sculptor perceives its justness, the power of its -relief and its modeling, disconcerting in these primitive artists, -qualities that are concealed under the extreme simplicity of its -appearance. In this magnificent Hera it is as if one saw the rotundities -of woman coming to birth and undergoing in the tree, the vegetal column, -one of those metamorphoses familiar in the fables of paganism. The -"Balzac," with its athletic body, veiled in a spread robe that envelopes -it, does not it also resemble a powerful tree trunk from the summit of -which looks down, like a solitary, monstrous flower, the head of the -inspired writer?</p> - -<p>This statue had been ordered by the Société des Gens de Lettres, and was -intended for one of the public squares of Paris. After Victor Hugo, -Balzac. After the giant of modern poetry, the giant of the novel. What -a redoutable honor, but also what a homage to the talent of the great -sculptor! What joy for artists in the association of these two names, -Balzac and Rodin! On the other hand, how many adversaries rejoiced in -the hope of seeing Rodin come to grief with this task, fraught not -less with peril than with glory! He did not conceal from himself that -the statue of Balzac would be a severe problem to solve. We possess -no authentic bust of the creator of the "Comédie Humaine," not even -a death-mask giving the exact measure of the cranial bones and hence -the actual planes. We know through his contemporaries that the author -was fat and short. Fat and short—that is far from facilitating the -composition of a work of decorative art. But, more precious than -mediocre portraits, there is a famous page about him by Lamartine, -another great genius. "Balzac," he says, "was the figure of an element -... stout, thick-set, square at the base and at the shoulders, ample, -much as Mirabeau was; but not heavy in any way; he had so much soul that -it carried <i>him</i> lightly."</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> -<p><a id="i038"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin038_balzac.jpg" width="450" alt="" /> -<p class="capt">STATUE OF BALZAC.</p> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>It was this essence that he set out to render. A frank artist takes -no liberties with reality. It alone gives him force; the "majesty of -the true" is alone durable. Nature, which dowered Balzac with one -of the most prodigious intellects known to us, dowered him at the -same time, to support this intellect, with the physical breadth of a -colossus. To have altered anything that went to make up the harmony of -the structure would have been to commit a grave error; it would have -been to denaturalize the divine work. On the other hand, above this -mass of flesh it was necessary to make that marvelous spirit hover, -that sparkling spirit, that myriad-faceted spirit of the greatest of -novelists.</p> - -<p>Rodin knows by experience that nature repeats herself. Has not a -humorist said: "It is useless to make a bust of you; it exists already. -You have only to look for it in the museums"?</p> - -<p>He set out to find a man who resembled Balzac, going all the way to -Touraine, the writer's native province, a hundred times depicted by -him in his books. The family of Balzac was originally from Languedoc, -but that made no difference; the intuition of a great artist is always -rewarded. Rodin found at Tours the model he desired; he was a young -countryman, a carter, who resembled his hero to an almost miraculous -degree. Of him he made a very animated bust, in which one sees the full -face, the nose, concave and large at the end, but voluptuous and full -of spirit, the rounded chin, the vast shoulders of the master of the -"Comédie Humaine." There was lacking, however, the flame of thought that -spiritualized and rendered buoyant this mass of human substance. Rodin -modified the expression, illuminating the physiognomy with delicacy and -frank gaiety. It is Balzac at twenty-five, a peasant Balzac, breathing -at every pore youth, self-confidence, and the love of life. Not yet -is it the man tormented by fate, the tragic visionary of the "Comédie -Humaine," the slave of his work who in twenty years wrote fifty novels, -staged a thousand characters, and gave life to an entire society. It is -not the man who has suffered, thought, meditated, with all the power -of one of the most extraordinary organisms known to us; it has not the -appearance of a phenomenon.</p> - -<p>After this Rodin skilfully altered these features; he gave them the -scars of the interior effort, he made them soft and hollowed them, he -made them old and grave. In a few weeks he did the work that nature -had taken years to accomplish. He finished by creating that Titan's -mask which we know, that head as round as a bullet and, like a bullet, -terrible in its concentrated force. Later he augmented this; that is -to say, he doubled its proportions: and this head, almost frightening -in its expression, recalls the masks which the Greek tragedians wore -when they played in the open air. Finally he modeled the body of the -colossus, making it entirely nude, with arms crossed, braced against -the earth with the tension of the whole will, evoking the idea of some -prodigious birth. Then he draped this heavy body in the monk's robe -in which the writer used to envelope himself for work and the straight -folds of which enwrapped him like the sheath of a mummy, offering to the -sight nothing but the tumultuous head—the head ravaged by intelligence -and savage energy.</p> - -<p>Rodin felt almost frightened by his own work.</p> - -<p>He kept it a long time before turning it over to the cast-makers. He had -worked it out in his atelier, but it was destined for the open air. How -would it appear in broad daylight?</p> - -<p>The gestation of this work was accompanied by a thousand miseries. The -committee of the Société des Gens de Lettres incessantly demanded the -"Balzac"; they were dumfounded before the extraordinary figure that was -shown to them, before this white phantom the conception of which was so -utterly the reverse of all current ideas. Not knowing what to say, they -insisted that it should be modified and urged haste upon Rodin, whose -extraordinary dexterity became slowness itself when it was a question -of putting the final touches upon a great work. The press began to -take note of the affair. He himself became troubled and nervous. With -what transports would he have left it, fled, gone away to rest and to -dream of something else for a few weeks! The time of the Salon was -approaching. Quite suddenly he made his decision, gave the clay to be -cast, and ordered an enlargement. The statue was brought back to him at -the Dépôt des Marbres, in the rue de l'Université; it was twice as large -as the original model. It was placed in the garden that stretched out -in front of the studio. He examined it as it rose against the depths of -the open sky and the bright spring light. It was as if he had never seen -it, and suddenly his mind was illuminated. The work was grand, simple, -strong; the essential modeling was there, and the details they had -exhorted him to add would only have diminished its unsurpassable unity.</p> - -<p>Rodin had made up his mind. He sent his "Balzac" to the Salon.</p> - -<p>Immediately there was war. The press, worked upon by the committee of -the Société des Gens de Lettres, was unfavorable in advance. On the day -of the opening of the Salon the word was passed around, and the official -art world <i>s'esclaffe</i>. There was a crowd at the foot of the lofty -image, near which Rodin took up his position, calm according to his -wont, and talked quietly with his friends. Some, a very few, told him -how they admired this work so proudly offered, so strange in its banal -surroundings.</p> - -<p>The next day the press broke forth. What an uproar! Everything went off -at once: the heavy artillery of the great newspapers scolded solemnly, -the light artillery crackled in the political sheets, and the grape-shot -of the minor papers spat their rage, only too happy for so rich a prey -to cut to pieces. The Institute, as might have been foreseen, fanned the -conflagration. The public, excited, in turn broke loose, in the fury of -ignorance stirred up against knowledge.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> -<p><a id="i039"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin039_balzac02.jpg" width="450" alt="" /> -<p class="capt">THE HEAD OF BALZAC.</p> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>It became a "case," an affair, the <i>affaire de Balzac</i>. The committee of -the Société des Gens de Lettres mobilized; by a vote of eleven to four -it declared that it "did not recognize the writer in the statue of M. -Rodin." The president of the same society, the poet Jean Aicard, refused -the chance of immortality which this stupidity was to confer upon his -colleagues and flung his resignation in their faces. A group of members -of the municipal council of Paris decreed that it would be ridiculous -to accord "this block" a place in one of the squares of the city. For -two months music-halls and café-concerts vented every evening the wit -of the gutter on the scandalous statue and its sculptor; peddlers sold -caricatures of it in plaster, Balzac being represented as a heap of snow -or as a seal. In short, such was the event that it required nothing -but the pen of Aristophanes to note down the harmonies of this chorus -of frogs. The health of Rodin suffered a reaction from his long effort -and from this battle. Then, too, there are hours when the strongest are -seized with nausea before the bad faith and the stupidity of people. -Nervous, his mind aching, a prey to insomnia, the master offered a -melancholy spectacle, that beautiful serenity of his destroyed and his -working strength put in jeopardy.</p> - -<p>"For all that," says M. Léon Riotor, who tells the story with eloquence, -"Rodin had a wonderful awakening. All the young world of letters rose -up to declare its sympathy with the vanquished in this new skirmish. A -number of painters and sculptors joined in. And the protest that was -circulated came back covered with signatures."</p> - -<p>No, Rodin was not vanquished. He retired for a moment from the mêlée -to recover and to meditate in peace, but without deviating by a single -step from his line of conduct. A collector offered to buy the "Balzac." -A group of intellectuals started a public subscription; funds flowed -in. Although he was not yet wealthy, Rodin courteously declined these -offers, and, declaring that "an artist, like a woman, has to guard his -honor," decided to withdraw his monument from the Salon and not have it -erected anywhere.</p> - -<p>The epic statue was transported to Meudon, and placed in the garden of -the villa. In its loftiness it imposes itself against the sky, against -the hills, against the trees that surround it, with the quality of -nature herself. Like a gigantic pole it triumphs in the open air. It -is specially on clear nights that its disturbing authority strikes -the soul. The great phantom appears then formidable in the extreme -simplicity of its planes, which, as in strong architecture, distribute -over large spaces the masses of shadow and light. The American painter -Steichen has passed nights in this enchanted garden in order to take -of the "Balzac" photographs that are more beautiful than engravings. -Haughty, with a ferocious majesty in the moonlight, the master of -the "Comédie Humaine" brings his soul face to face with nature; he -listens to its silence, he sounds its mysteries, he questions it in -mute dialogue, the like of which has not been heard since the colloquy -of <i>Hamlet</i> with the shade of his father. For it is of <i>Hamlet</i>, of -the most profound symbolization of the human spirit wrestling with the -unknown, that one dreams before this meditating Balzac, alone, under the -nocturnal light. This is what Rodin has known how to make out of that -short, thick-set man who was the author of the "Etudes Philosophiques"; -this is how he has lighted the fires of the intelligence on the mask of -genius.</p> - -<p>It is at the Musée Rodin that we shall rediscover this statue. Time -will have progressed, and ideas also. When they see it anew, how many -people will be astounded at having formerly scoffed at the work and -offended the master, struck dumb and secretly humiliated at having thus -contributed to the writing of the hundred thousandth chapter of that -endless book, the book of human stupidity. </p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h4>THE EXPOSITION OF 1900—THE BAS-RELIEFS OF EVIAN—RODIN AND THE WAR</h4> - -<p>In 1899, Rodin exhibited a large part of his work at Brussels and in -Holland. The effect produced upon artists and upon the cultivated -portion of the public was such that he resolved to repeat this -experiment at the Universal Exposition of Paris.</p> - -<p>It was foreordained that nothing should be easy for the great toiler, -that it would be necessary for him to conquer everything through effort -and struggle.</p> - -<p>The administration of the Exposition, which had granted innumerable -requests for space addressed to it by the industrialists and business -men of the whole world, by bar-keepers, itinerant booth-holders, and -managers of café-concerts, raised a thousand difficulties when it -was a question of according a few feet of ground to the greatest of -living sculptors. It required all the insistence of his most devoted -and powerful friends to gain his point. Rodin finally received the -authorization to construct a pavilion not in the Exposition itself, but -outside the grounds in the place de l'Alma.</p> - -<p>Once again, so much the better. How much finer for a man of the élite to -stand aside from the rout!</p> - -<p>According to the master's plan, there was erected a hall simple in -appearance, elegant, reservedly in the Louis XVI style, a veritable -repose for the eye strained by the strident architecture of the great -fair of 1900. There were assembled the people of his sculpture.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i040"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin040_meudon_st.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<p class="capt">THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.</p> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Once more Rodin experienced an hour of trial, a formidable hour. If -for the last dozen years he had left poverty behind, he had not yet -achieved wealth, and it was a great risk to assume the expenses of his -exhibition. If these expenses were not covered by the entrance-fees and -the sale of his sculpture, how would he come out? He would be forced -to a kind of transaction that he had always spurned, he would have to -turn over all or part of his work to the art dealers. These groups, -these busts, so painstakingly cast, or cut in the most beautiful -marble by excellent workmen, and often by renowned sculptors, once the -dealers had acquired rights in them, would they not be duplicated in a -quantity of replicas of mediocre workmanship or, worse, reproduced by -undiscriminating stone-cutters, who would disfigure the modeling and -the character? The idea was odious to the scrupulous sculptor. He had -reached the age of sixty, and if he did not show it, thanks to the vigor -of his temperament and the persistent youth that goes with great minds, -it was not less painful for him to put his apprehensions to the test. -Too dignified, too proud, to give way to vain lamentations, he made only -the most reserved references to his ordeal.</p> - -<p>The success of the exhibition remained uncertain during the first -weeks: many people hoped it would be a failure. At the end of a month -or two, visitors from abroad, to whom thanks be given, began to pour -in; the principal museums of Europe wished to possess some important -figure of Rodin's. Soon the number of purchasers increased day by day, -and I do not have to mention here how many art-lovers from the United -States decided to enrich their collections with some rare piece signed -by the master. In short, during the latter months Rodin had the joy -of perceiving that he could remain the sole possessor of his work, -that nothing could now separate him from his dear family of bronze and -marble. It was happiness for him; it signalized also the great glory -that comes with outstretched wing, bringing fortune with it.</p> - -<p>The pretty pavilion in the place de l'Alma was transported and reërected -in the garden at Meudon, and he filled it with masterpieces. Since then -the whole world of art and literature and that portion of the political -world that esteems art has passed through it. The French aristocracy -and that of England, the most eminent personages of the two Americas, -have been eager to visit it. One receives in it an impression at once -grand and touching, giving one the highest idea of the supremacy -of intellectual valor above the other goods of this world when one -perceives the contrast of these artistic treasures with the altogether -modest little house, almost bare, attended by a single servant, where -Rodin continues, in the midst of the luxury of an epoch intoxicated with -pleasures, to maintain the simplicity of his life in the sober company -of his old single-spirited, faithful-hearted wife. This impression I -never felt more vividly than on the occasion of the visit of the late -King of England. Edward VII, like others, had conceived the desire to -render this homage to French art. The day before, when I encountered the -master in Paris, he said to me, without further explanation, "Come and -have a look at the studio."</p> - -<p>It was a beautiful afternoon in May. When I entered the pavilion, I -could not restrain a cry of admiration. Marbles, nothing but marbles, -of a dazzling whiteness! He had brought together all that he possessed, -all those that his friends and the purchasers of his work had consented -to lend him for the occasion, and one would have said that it was -these groups of young, enlaced bodies, these busts of women, with -their transparent, rosy flesh, that gave forth the light with which -the apartment was filled. It was a unique vision, a vision which, in -its purity and its unity, surpassed in delicate splendor that of the -most celebrated collections, with all their accumulation of pictures, -tapestries, bronze, and jewels. I wondered in silence; I wondered -at the sure taste of the artist, but I wondered also at his will: -everything of him was there. Who can deny that it was necessary for him -to put pressure on himself to decide on such a choice, to sacrifice -the bronzes, the sketches, the terra cottas, and many charming pieces? -Nothing but marble, the kingdom of marble, but also that of life; for -the sumptuous material trembled and palpitated under the play of the -light that entered through the bay-windows of the atelier, bringing with -it the soft brilliance of the season.</p> - -<p>Since the Exposition of 1900, Rodin's reputation has increased steadily -in France and abroad. England and Italy have organized triumphal -receptions for him of a sort reserved hitherto for the most illustrious -men of state. The artists of London have acclaimed him, and have charged -him, on the death of Whistler, with the presidency of the International -Society of Painters, Sculptors, and Engravers. Oxford University has -given him a doctorate. The municipality of Rome has greeted him with -special homage at the capitol; the court of Greece, having invited -him, awaits his visit; at Prague, where he was received by the Society -of Young Czech Artists, they accorded him royal honors, the public -unharnessing the horses from his carriage and applauding at the same -time the personal genius of this great Frenchman and the free ideas of -his country.</p> - -<p>Without altering in any way his life of labor, which these tributes have -at times slightly interfered with, he has permitted himself only one -luxury as the result of his fortune—a collection of antiques. This he -has formed with passion. It is, once more, for purposes of study, and -what a study, to possess a few of these sublime fragments, to feel them -and handle them under all aspects of light! Rodin has placed a certain -number of them in his garden, arranging them among the trees, among the -shrubs; he has placed them on the fresh grass, where they seem to live -in another and a happier way than in the rooms of museums. At a stroke -the little garden at Meudon, with its pedestals, its statues, with its -grove where a charming little marble, the "Sleeping Cupid," reposes, has -become like the villa of a Roman citizen of the time of Augustus.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> -<p><a id="b040"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin040b_romeo.jpg" width="450" alt="" /> -<p class="capt">ROMEO AND JULIET</p> -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The art of Rodin has in a certain measure shown the effect of these -happy events. During these latter years he has grown calm; he displays -a serenity of spirit and a self-possession that increases day by day. -But if the struggle in his composition has been tranquilized, his -workmanship has grown freer. The sculptor's effort concentrates itself -now in the search for a modeling ever more ample and suppler, which -with him constitutes a new and decisive manner. It is to this that we -owe those exquisite marbles, "Psyche Bearing the Lamp," "Benedictions," -"The Young Girl and the Two Genii," "Romeo and Juliet," "The Fall of -Icarus." This has been the epoch also of the busts of Mrs. Simpson and -the proud and handsome George Wyndham, the English statesman. It is -the epoch, finally, of the "Monument to President Sarmiento," which -offers at the same time, in happy opposition, the two most recent and -most characteristic methods of Rodin. The bronze statue of the great -Argentine statesman has an aspect at once romantic and realistic that -recalls that of "The Burghers of Calais," and the marble pedestal that -supports it, a vanquishing Apollo emerging from the clouds all luminous -with youth and glory, belongs to the latest period. Of this monument, -ordered by the city of Buenos Aires, France does not possess a replica, -though the model has been preserved. The Musée Rodin will soon contain a -duplicate.</p> - -<p>From 1901 to 1906 there was an uninterrupted creation of figures and of -portraits, among them the busts of Sir Howard Walden, Berthelot, Gustave -Geffroy, Mme. Hunter, and Bernard Shaw.</p> - -<p>One must add the myriad drawings that Rodin has never ceased to execute. -The will to sustain his eye and his hand instead of permitting them to -become weakened with age has become a passion with him. He draws as a -writer thinks. He thinks pencil in hand; his drawings are aphorisms. -Line-sketches, stump-drawings, water-colors in strange tints multiply -themselves like the leaves of a tree and quite constitute alone a -complete work. The master has sold and given away quantities of them, -yet; nevertheless, the Musée will contain more than three thousand. I -have been honored with the charge of counting them over and classifying -them. After days of this work one has a sensation of dazzlement, as I -have discovered, before this accumulation of toil and beauty.</p> - -<p>The most precious of these drawings are the most recent. The study of -light has been carried in these to the supreme nuances. More and more -Rodin detests what is black, what is hard, what is dry. He adores, on -the other hand, that which is supple, enveloped, drowned in the light -mist of the atmosphere. He conceives everything through an almost -imperceptible veil which softens the contours, and which he discerns -with an eye that grows every day more sensitive. His sculpture has -followed the same path. In the greater part of his marbles he has -pursued the effects of mass and of the ensemble in what concerns the -volumes and the effects of gradation, the study of the diminutions of -light in what concerns the coloring. The color that obtains uniquely in -the art of shadow and light is the charm of beautiful sculpture. Rodin -thus captures the variations with a competence that ravishes our eyes, -accustomed to the dryness of limits that are too distinct. It is in the -reliefs entitled "The Seasons" that Rodin has attained the apogee of -this science of luminous modeling.</p> - -<p>These works, executed for La Sapinière, the estate of Baron Vitta at -Evian, comprise three high-reliefs fashioned on a gate and two fountain -basins, or monumental garden urns. They are cut in the stone of the -Estaillade, a white stone the richness of grain and delicate golden tone -of which make it unsurpassable for the interpretation of the human body. -They were exhibited for a short time in February, 1905, at the Musée du -Luxembourg, on the initiative of M. Léon Bénédite, the very accomplished -curator and critic of art, who arranged them with perfect taste. But far -from being embraced and vindicated, as he would be now by the present -administration of fine arts, Rodin was still regarded as a revolutionist -whose example could neither be followed nor trusted.</p> - -<p>This was made quite plain to the audacious curator who decided quite by -himself to exhibit the latest works of the master before their departure -for Evian. After this <i>coup d'état</i> he was for several years the victim -of attacks from academic circles, and underwent, on the part of the -Government, a sort of disgrace. Since then he has been brilliantly -compensated, and to-day he has been placed in charge of the installation -of the Musée Rodin at the Hôtel Biron, a great work in which I have the -happiness to be his collaborator.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<p><a id="a040"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin040a_spring.png" width="400" alt="" /> -<p class="capt">SPRING</p> -</div> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The decorative designs of the villa of Evian adorn the vestibule of the -home of Baron Vitta. "Their subject," says M. Bénédite, in an excellent -notice which served as a catalogue for the Exhibition of 1905, "if -one wishes to speak of the motive that serves as their pretext, is -the most banal in the world. One would find it difficult to count the -number of times that it has served artists since antiquity. So true it -is that the commonest, the most general, the most seemingly worn-out -themes are those in which the great artists find themselves the most at -home. Without difficulty they renew them, and stamp them unforgettably -with their own peculiar mark. Rodin has calmly returned to the four -seasons, confident that they would bear without effort the impress of -his personality and his time and that they would suffice to express his -whole conception of beauty and of life."</p> - -<p>Rodin has figured "The Seasons" under the aspect of four sleeping -women. Their beautiful forms model themselves in the warm-tinted stone, -which itself seems animated with the reflections of the living flesh. -Their mysterious sleep evokes the successive phases of the year. Now -it marks the quietude of the earth, full of the joy of yielding up her -flowers and her fruits under the caresses of the sun, now it is death -revealing itself through a nature tormented with the heavy travail of -generation. In the "Spring" it is a young body that lies voluptuously -under a rose-bush the fragrant petals of which are mingled with her own -flesh, enveloping her in the dream of their perfume. In the "Autumn," -the sleeper crouches close to the ground under the fruits and the -vine-leaves, oppressed by the intoxicating aroma. The "Winter" presses -her chilled limbs closely against the cavities of the denuded earth, -while above her the roots of the trees enlace themselves intricately, -like sacred serpents charged with protecting her slumber. The "Summer" -is a siesta upon the bosom of a Nature <i>en fête</i>, lulled by the golden -sounds of harvest balanced on the breeze and the murmur of a spring that -pours forth freshness and quietude.</p> - -<p>But in what, you ask, resides the originality of these decorative -commonplaces, their brilliant, unquestionable originality? In the -deliberate simplicity, in the spirit of sobriety that has presided over -their composition, and, above all, in their execution. It is through -their execution that the sculptures of Evian occupy a place apart in -the work of Rodin. Since the beautiful Greek epoch, stone has perhaps -never assumed such a living sweetness under any human hand. One might -believe that it had not been touched by the steel of the chisel, but -caressed by a touch as delicate as it is firm, molded like wax under -the warmth of that hand. These mellow figures do not detach themselves -from the living framework in which they are set; they stand out, -thanks to an insensible transition which leaves them enveloped, in the -reflections of the fair material; they mass themselves under a sifted -light, among the flowers and the clusters of grapes. With all this there -is no insipidity. Under the skin one feels the plenitude of bodies rich -with health, harmonious organisms: it is a force that has found its -equilibrium, a force relaxing in sweetness. Strangely enough, when one -seeks for antecedents to which it is possible to relate the reliefs of -Evian, it is not in the domain of sculpture, but in that of painting, -that one finds the terms of comparison. The intense power, carefully -measured as it is, of this vibrant modeling and this color drenched in -sunlight we find again among the tenderest creations of Correggio, of -Rubens, and, closer to ourselves, of Renoir.</p> - -<p>The two jardinières which complete this unique series represent groups -of children mad with joy and with liberty; in the one case playing and -jostling one another in a field of wheat, in the midst of the moving -sea of spears, and in the other, spread out on the green summer grass, -rapturously holding up in their little arms, already robust, the grapes -heavy with wine. They are exquisite fantasies of movement, of grace, of -mad life just beginning. Here, too, the flesh of these little laughing -gods, melting in the mass of ripe corn and tottering vines, seems bathed -in the clearness of a beautiful day, full of air and of light.</p> - -<p>These five works of the old age of the master might be entitled the -"Poem of Youth." It is the privilege of genius to return, in its -decline, to its point of departure, to remount to the sources of life, -which remain ever the most intoxicating. The sensations of infancy and -adolescence solicit him with all their unforgettable seductiveness, and -he surrenders himself lovingly to the sweetness of this lost dream; but -it has cost him his entire, existence to acquire the gift of translating -it.</p> - -<p>This search for the envelopment of forms fruitful of new effects is the -decisive point in the career of Rodin; it is the supreme thought, the -end and aim of sixty years of toil and reflection. Therefore it is a -very happy thing for French sculpture that Rodin has been able to live -long enough to realize completely this definitive conception of his -art. For from the summit attained by him other artists can spring forth -afresh, to renew once more perhaps the manifestations of the national -genius. The resources indicated by Rodin have hardly been used hitherto; -to bring them fully into employment meanwhile there will perhaps be born -a new school of sculpture.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<p><a id="i041"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin041_shaw.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<p class="capt">BUST OF BERNARD SHAW.</p> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>What constitutes the originality of a great artist is that it is never -isolated. It belongs at once to the past, to the present, and to -the future; it is altogether a derivative and a root. It springs from -the past through atavism, through study, and through admiration for -the masters; it is of the present through contact with those of the -artist's contemporaries who march at the same time with him along the -road of discovery; finally, it influences the future by bequeathing to -the generations that follow a new conception and new methods. To-day -we see clearly the sources from which have come the ultimate aspect of -the talent of Rodin. They are the art of Greece; they are also certain -marvels of Gothic art in which miraculously reblossomed the Hellenic -suppleness and sweetness, as if the springs of the Greek genius had -mysteriously coursed under the earth from Athens to France, bursting -forth at last in the walls of our cathedrals; then there are those -unfinished marbles of Michelangelo from which Rodin derived the idea of -vapor and flow in sculpture. But other artists have arrived, at about -the same time, at the same end, or almost the same end, by different -paths. Among these are two of our great painters, friends and comrades -of Rodin, Renoir and Carrière. Does not this community of thought -prove how profound is the vitality our country continues to possess in -the domain of art? We are less struck by this phenomenon than when we -verify its effects in the past, when we see them related and summed up -in the history of art; because we are not in a position to disengage -it from our present life, which is encumbered and complicated, and to -draw a conclusion from it. And then, too, the present political régime -does little to signalize the great artists, to muster them before the -untutored admiration of the multitude, to give value to the intellectual -wealth of the country. As a rule, when a man of genius receives the -homage he deserves, it is when he is near his end, if it is not after -his death. What public festivals have been given in France in this -century to honor the glories of our artistic and scientific life, -Victor Hugo excepted? When and how have we celebrated men like Puvis de -Chavannes, Rodin, Renoir, Carrière, Claude Monet, Besnard, Odilon Redon, -and Bartholomé, to mention only masters of the chisel and the brush? -Occasionally they have been gratified by the boredom of an official -banquet, where they have been assigned a rank considerably lower than -that of the least important politician, and they are expected to be -thankful when they have had bestowed upon them a few parchments and some -bits of ribbon. Fortunately, their joys are in another sphere, whither -no one who is not their equal can follow them.</p> - -<p>In their ardent effort toward a similar end, then, it is necessary to -associate Rodin, Renoir, and Carrière. All three, for that matter, have -mutually admired and even influenced one another. Whether in the course -of their work or in their conversations, one cannot deny that the -attempt of the Impressionist School, which consists precisely in not -separating the being or the object from its atmosphere, in prolonging -its life in the life of that which envelopes it, really succeeds only -in the work of these masters. They have, if not recreated, at least -broadened the law of the distribution of shadow and of light in their -intricate fusion. Certainly others had already manifested and realized -similar ways of seeing things, according to their various temperaments, -such men as Fantin-Latour and Henner in the study of the human figure -and Claude Monet in landscape. But, except for Monet, no one affirms -them with the authority of a Rodin, a Carrière, a Renoir. If Carrière, -too early interrupted by a cruel death, is a tragic, a somber genius, -a genius of the Gothic line, which in him does not exclude great -sweetness, Renoir and Rodin, in their maturity, are happy geniuses, -masters of young beauty and of a serenity which art has scarcely known -since ancient Greece. A like sentiment of serenity, a like aspiration -for harmonious unity, therefore a closer contact with nature, bring them -together.</p> - -<p>This serenity, this aspiration for unity, Rodin and Renoir have sought -during their whole life, and it is in the radiant works of their old age -that it triumphs. The genius of form and its union with the universal -has been the master thought, the plastic ideal, which their fraternal -minds have realized simultaneously by different methods.</p> - -<p>"With Rodin a style begins," said Octave Mirbeau twenty years ago. The -phrase stirred up a tempest. All the time that has passed since then has -been required to make people admit its truth. The great writer might -have said with more exactitude, but with less force, "With Rodin style -itself has begun anew."</p> - -<p>Will it continue? It has never entirely ceased to exist, even if it has -no longer the force of expansion with which, from France and through -her, it spread through all Europe. Will it begin again with its vigor as -of old? The question touches those problems raised by the events that -are to-day overturning the world and also the profound modifications -which the war will bring.</p> - -<p>The master gives us his opinion on this matter in a few words, -circumspect and measured, as he himself always is. How could he be -otherwise before the formidable unknown that still hides from us the -next turn of destiny? It is fitting, then, to leave him the last word on -this subject. Fortunately his word has the warm ring of hope.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> -<p><a id="i042"></a></p> -<img src="images/rodin042_party.jpg" width="600" alt="" /> -<p class="capt">A FÊTE GIVEN IN HONOR OF RODIN BY SOME OF HIS FRIENDS.</p> -</div> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>This hope he draws in a measure from himself, from his own strength, -which is, he feels, a distinct outgrowth of the national strength, of -the unconquerable soul of our ancestors; he draws it also from the -consciousness of a task accomplished in the face of the hard blows -of life; and finally from the promise of the artistic youth of the -country, of that which belongs to his school. For if with two or three -exceptions he has not directly formed pupils, his artistic principles, -his faith in the virtue of character and labor, supported by the example -of an unequaled body of work, have given him innumerable disciples. The -lesson which he offers us and which will soon be offered to all at the -museum in the Hôtel Biron, will endure for centuries. He says himself -justly, with pride and modesty, that this museum will form a true home -of education.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A few words more about this life which in the fecundity of its -unexpected incidents remains for the attentive witness profoundly -significant to the very end.</p> - -<p>At the moment when the war of 1914 broke out, the master was in his -villa at Meudon. When the German armies approached Paris, he thought -of leaving his home. He had excited great admiration in the land -of Schiller and Goethe, he had been urged to take part in numerous -expositions there; but he had quite special reasons for knowing that -his work, were it to fall into their hands, would not be spared by the -soldiers from beyond the Rhine. Overwhelmed by the terrifying surprise -of the invasion, he did not know where to go.</p> - -<p>As he had many friends in England, I offered to guide him there. He -therefore crossed the channel, accompanied by his wife, the companion -of his good and evil days. It was without a word of bitterness that he -set out, without expressing a regret for all that he was leaving behind -him. Before the immensity of the national misfortune he seemed to have -completely forgotten the menace that hung over the work of his whole -life. In the train that carried us by night to one of the French ports, -he said in his clear and always tranquil voice: "Yes, I am leaving -much behind me. It is the work of an entire life that will disappear, -perhaps." That was all. This attitude of an old exiled king inspired a -respect free from all compassion.</p> - -<p>The fate of his collection of antiques caused him more disquietude.</p> - -<p>"If they take them, that is nothing; they will still exist. But if they -break them! They will have destroyed what is irreplaceable."</p> - -<p>He did not wish to remain in London. Too many relationships would -have hindered him from collecting himself and from preserving that -dignity of solitude, that reserve of a refugee which was proper to his -situation. He preferred to accompany us to a small country town, where -for six weeks he lived a modest life, very retired, interested only, but -passionately interested, in the reading of English newspapers, which we -translated for him.</p> - -<p>When we apprised him of the burning of Rheims Cathedral, he replied -with a laugh of incredulity. For two days he refused to believe it. It -seemed to him an invention of the press designed to stir the public and -increase recruiting. At last, convinced, he said, with inexpressible -sadness: "The biblical times have come back again, the great invasions -of the Medes and the Persians. Has the world, then, reached the point -where it deserves to be punished for the egotistical epicureanism in -which it has slumbered?" After this he became absorbed in his own -thoughts.</p> - -<p>The Battle of the Marne, in saving France and the world, saved also that -little temple of art, the museum at Meudon. Rodin, on his return from -England, found it intact.</p> - -<p>He took up his work again, without a pause, with that unalterable -patience of his—that patience of the peasant that turns him back to his -field the moment the enemy has passed. He awaits there sadly the dawn of -peace.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>During the last months of the year 1916 the question of the Musée Rodin, -broached five years ago, became again a living one; it was brought -before the assembly. Certain of the master's adversaries who have not -been calmed even by the events of the present affected a righteous -indignation that the discussion of this question of art should at -this moment have any place in the order of the day, and they tried to -make people believe that it was he who had chosen this tragic hour for -debates of this kind. Let us repeat that five years ago Rodin offered -this gift to his country, and that the delay in settling the matter is -imputable solely to the procrastination of public affairs.</p> - -<p>On the day I write these lines the creation of the Musée Rodin has been -determined upon. The two chambers have voted by a majority that proves -that everything France contains in the way of cultivated intelligence -desires to assure a home worthy of itself for the works of its greatest -sculptor.</p> - -<p>But before we have arrived there what other mishaps may not befall! It -is too soon to write the history of the Musée Rodin. Its adventure is -not less singular than all the others that have marked this long career, -certain of which have been summed up in these pages. The more forceful -the personality, the more it is in contradiction with the passions of -the vulgar, the more are the incidents that spring up in the contact of -these two opposite elements. It would require a whole volume to recount -those that have punctuated the life of Rodin during these later years.</p> - -<p>Despite the bitterness of the combat, the master has had nothing to -complain of and does not complain. The outcome of his life-story is most -beautiful, and if this beauty already strikes us, it is in the years -to come that it will attain its full glory. For if the gesture with -which Rodin offers to France his work and his dearest possessions is -that of those who count in the annals of their country, no one perhaps -has ever received such a homage as that which the country has bestowed -upon him in the manner of accepting his gift. In the midst of war, in -the very hour when the country is suffering unheard of evils, it has -self-possession enough in the firmness of its indomitable soul to honor -in a magnificent way the work of one of its sons—a work accomplished in -time of peace. Turning its attention for an instant from the necessities -of war, from the front where it struggles, suffers, and dies, it remains -calm enough, sufficiently sure of itself, to offer to one of its heroes -of toil, and of the thought which its soldiers defend, a testimony of -its gratitude and admiration.</p> - -<h4>THE END</h4> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Rodin: The Man and his Art, by Judith Cladel - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODIN: THE MAN AND HIS ART *** - -***** This file should be named 43327-h.htm or 43327-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/3/2/43327/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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a/old/43327.txt b/old/43327.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 63e5e64..0000000 --- a/old/43327.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7257 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rodin: The Man and his Art, by Judith Cladel - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Rodin: The Man and his Art - With Leaves from his Note-book - -Author: Judith Cladel - -Commentator: James Huneker - -Translator: S.K. Star - -Release Date: July 27, 2013 [EBook #43327] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODIN: THE MAN AND HIS ART *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org - - - - -RODIN - -THE MAN AND HIS ART - -WITH LEAVES FROM HIS NOTE-BOOK - -COMPILED BY JUDITH CLADEL - -AND TRANSLATED BY S.K. STAR - -WITH INTRODUCTION BY JAMES HUNEKER - -AND ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS - - - -NEW YORK - -THE CENTURY CO. - -1917 - - -[Illustration: RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED ON THE STEPS OF THE HOTEL BIRON.] - - - - -AUGUSTE RODIN - -BY JAMES HUNEKER - - -I - -Of Auguste Rodin one thing may be said without fear of contradiction: -among his contemporaries to-day he is preeminently the master. Born -at Paris, 1840,--the natal year of his friends, Claude Monet and -Zola--in humble circumstances, without a liberal education, the young -Rodin had to fight from the beginning; fight for bread as well as -an art schooling. He was not even sure of his vocation. An accident -determined it. He became a workman in the atelier of the sculptor, -Carrier-Belleuse, though not until he had failed at the Beaux-Arts (a -stroke of luck for his genius), and after he had enjoyed some tentative -instruction under the animal sculptor, Barye (he was not a steady -pupil of Barye, nor did he care to remain with him) he went to Belgium -and "ghosted" for other sculptors; it was his privilege or misfortune -to have been the anonymous assistant of a half dozen sculptors. He -mastered the technique of his art by the sweat of his brow before he -began to make music upon his own instrument. How his first work, "The -Man with the Broken Nose," was refused by the Salon jury is history. -He designed for the Sevres porcelain works. He executed portrait busts, -architectural ornaments, caryatids; all styles that were huddled in the -studios and yards of sculptors he essayed. No man knew his trade better, -although it is said that with the chisel of the _practicien_ Rodin was -never proficient; he could not, or would not, work at the marble _en -bloc_. His sculptures to-day are in the museums of the world, and he is -admitted to possess "talent" by academic men. Rivals he has none. His -production is too personal. Like Richard Wagner he has proved a upas -tree for lesser artists--he has deflected, or else absorbed them. His -friend Eugene Carriere warned young sculptors not to study Rodin too -curiously. Carriere was wise, yet his art of portraiture was influenced -by Rodin; swimming in shadow his enigmatic heads have more the quality -of Rodin's than the mortuary art of academic sculpture. - -A profound student of light and movement, Rodin by deliberate -amplification of the surfaces of his statues, avoiding dryness and -harshness of outline, secures a zone of radiancy, a luminosity which -creates the illusion of reality. He handles values in clay as a -painter does his tones. He gets the design of the outline by movement -which continually modifies the anatomy; the secret of the Greeks, -he believes. He studies his profiles successively in full light, -obtaining volume--or planes--at once and together; successive views -of one movement. The light plays with more freedom upon his amplified -surfaces, intensified in the modeling by enlarging the lines. The edges -of certain parts are amplified, deformed, falsified, and we enjoy -light-swept effects, luminous emanations. This deformation, he declares, -was always practised by the great sculptors to snare the undulating -appearance of life. Sculpture, he asserts, is the "art of the hole and -lump, not of clear, well-smoothed, unmodeled figures." Finish kills -vitality. Yet Rodin can chisel a smooth nymph, if he so wills, but her -flesh will ripple and run in the sunlight. His art is one of accents. -He works by profile in depth, not by surfaces. He swears by what he -calls "cubic truth"; his pattern is a mathematical figure; the pivot of -art is balance, i.e., the opposition of volumes produced by movement. -Unity haunts him. He is a believer in the correspondence of things, of -continuity in nature. He is mystic, as well as a geometrician. Yet such -a realist is he that he quarrels with any artist who does not recognize -"the latent heroic in every natural movement." - -Therefore he does not force the pose of his model, preferring attitudes -or gestures voluntarily adopted. His sketch books, as vivid, as copious, -as the drawings of Hokusai--he is studious of Japanese art--are swift -memoranda of the human machine as it dispenses its normal muscular -motions. Rodin, draughtsman, is as surprisingly original as the sculptor -Rodin. He will study a human foot for months, not to copy it, but to -master the secret of its rhythms. His drawings are the swift notations -of a sculptor whose eye is never satisfied, whose desire to pin to paper -the most evanescent vibrations of the human machine is almost a mania. -The model may tumble down anywhere, in any contortion or relaxation -he or she wishes. Practically instantaneous is the method of Rodin -to register the fleeting attitudes, the first shivering surface. He -rapidly draws with his eye on the model. It is often a mere scrawl, a -silhouette, a few enveloping lines. But there is vitality in it all, and -for his purpose, a notation of a motion. But a sculptor has made these -extraordinary drawings, not a painter. It may be well to observe the -distinction. And he is the most rhythmic sculptor among the moderns. -Rhythm means for him the codification of beauty. Because, with a vision -quite virginal, he has observed, he insists that he has affiliations -with the Greeks. But if his vision is Greek his models are French, while -his forms are more Gothic than the pseudo-Greek of the academy. - -As Mr. W.C. Brownell wrote: "Rodin reveals rather than constructs beauty -... no sculptor has carried expression further; and expression means -individual character completely exhibited rather than conventionally -suggested." Mr. Brownell was the first critic to point out that Rodin's -art was more nearly related to Donatello's than to Michael Angelo's. -He is in the legitimate line of Gallic sculpture, the line of Goujon, -Puget, Rude, Barye. Dalou, the celebrated sculptor, did not hesitate -to assert that the Dante portal is "one of the most, if not the most, -original and astonishing pieces of sculpture of the nineteenth century." - -This Dante gate, begun thirty years ago, not finished yet--and probably -never to be--is an astoundingly plastic fugue, with death, the devil, -hell, and human passions, for a complicated four-voiced theme. I -first saw the composition at the Rue de l'Universite atelier. It is -as terrifying a conception as the Last Judgment. Nor does it miss the -sonorous and sorrowful grandeur of the Medici Tombs. Yet how different. -How feverish, how tragic. Like all great men working in the grip of a -unifying idea, Rodin modified the technique of sculpture so that it -would serve him as sound does a musical composer. A lover of music his -inner ear may dictate the vibrating rhythms of his forms; his marbles -are ever musical, ever in modulation, not "frozen music," as Goethe -said of Gothic architecture, but silent, swooning music. This Gate is -a Frieze of Paris, as deeply significant of modern inspiration and -sorrow as the Parthenon Frieze is the symbol of the great clear beauty -of Hellas. Dante inspired this monstrous yet ennobled masterpiece, and -Baudelaire's poetry filled many of its chinks and crannies with ignoble -writhing shapes; shapes of dusky fire that, as they tremulously stand -above the gulf of fear, wave ineffectual and desperate hands as if -imploring destiny. - -But Rodin is not all hell-fire and tragedy. Of singular delicacy and -exquisite proportion are his marbles of youth, of springtide, of the joy -and desire of life. At Paris, 1900, in his special exhibition Salle, -Europe and America awoke to the beauty of these haunting visions. Not -since Keats and Wagner and Swinburne has love been voiced so sweetly, so -romantically, so fiercely. Though he disclaims understanding the Celtic -spirit one might say that there is Celtic magic, Celtic mystery in his -lyrical work. He pierces to the core the frenzy of love, and translates -it into lovely symbols. For him nature is the sole mistress--his -sculptures are but variations on her themes. He knows the emerald route, -and all the semitones of sensuousness. Fantasy, passion, paroxysmal -madness are there, yet what elemental power is in his "Adam," as the -gigantic first man painfully heaves himself up from the earth to the -posture that differentiates him forever from the beast. Here, indeed, -two natures are at strife. And "Mother Eve" suggests the sorrows and -shames that are to be the lot of her seed; her very loins crushed by the -future generations hidden within them. One may freely walk about the -"Burghers of Calais" as Rodin did when he modeled them; a reason for -the vital quality of the group. Around all his statues we may walk; he -is not a sculptor of a single attitude but a hewer of humans. Consider -the "Balzac." It is not Balzac the writer, but Balzac the prophet, the -seer, the enormous natural force that was Balzac. Rodin is himself a -seer. That is why these two spirits converse across the years, as do the -Alpine peaks in a certain striking parable of Turgenev's. Doubtless in -bronze Rodin's "Balzac" will arouse less wrath from the unimaginative; -in plaster it produces the effect of a snowy surging monolith. - -As a portraitist Rodin is the unique master of characters. His women are -gracious delicate masks; his men cover octaves in virility and variety. -That he is extremely short-sighted has not been dealt with in proportion -to the significance of the fact. It accounts for his love of exaggerated -surfaces, his formless extravagance, his indefiniteness in structural -design; perhaps, too, for his inability, or let us say, his lack of -sympathy, for the monumental. He is a sculptor of intimate emotions. -And while we think of him as a Cyclops destructively wielding a huge -hammer, he is more ardent in his search for the supersubtle nuance. But -there is always the feeling of breadth, even when he models an eyelid. -We are confronted by the paradox of an artist as torrential as Rubens -or Wagner, carving in a wholly charming style a segment of a child's -back, before which we are forced to exclaim: Donatello come to life! His -myopic vision, then, may have been his artistic salvation; he seems to -rely as much on his delicate tactile sense as on his eyes. His fingers -are as sensitive as a violinist's. At times he seems to model both tone -and color. - -A poet, a precise, sober workman of art, with a peasant strain in -him, he is like Millet, and, like Millet, near to the soil. A natural -man, yet crossed by nature with a perverse strain; the possessor -of a sensibility exalted and dolorous; morbid, sick-nerved, and as -introspective as Heine; a visionary and a lover of life, close to the -periphery of things; an interpreter of Baudelaire; Dante's _alter ego_ -in his grasp of the wheel of eternity, in his passionate fling at -nature; withal a sculptor, profound and tortured, transposing rhythm -into the terms of his art, Rodin is a statuary who, while having -affinities with classic and romantic schools, is the most startling -apparition of his century. And to the century which he has summed up so -plastically and emotionally he has propounded questions that only unborn -years may answer. He has a hundred faults to which he opposes one -imperious excellence--a genius, sombre, magical and overwhelming. - - - -II - -Rodin deserves well of our young century, the old did so incontinently -batter him. The anguish of his own "Hell's Portal" he endured before he -molded its clay between his thick clairvoyant fingers. Misunderstood, -therefore misrepresented, he with his pride and obstinacy aroused--the -one buttressing the other--was not to be budged from his formulas or -the practice of his sculpture. Then the art world swung unamiably, -unwillingly, toward him, perhaps more from curiosity than conviction. -He became famous. And he is more misunderstood than ever. He has been -called _ruse_, even a fraud, while the wholesale denunciation of his -work as erotic is unluckily still green in our memory. The sculptor, -who in 1877 was accused of "faking" his lifelike "Age of Bronze"--now -in the Luxembourg--by taking a mold from the living model, also -experienced the discomfiture of being assured some years later that, -not understanding the art of modeling, his statue of Balzac was only -an evasion of difficulties. And this to a man who in the interim had -wrought so many masterpieces. A year or two ago, after his magnificent -offer to the city of Paris of his works, there was much malevolent -criticism from certain quarters. Rodin takes all this philosophically. -He points out that the artist is the only one to-day who creates in -joy. Mankind as a majority hates its work. Workmen no longer consider -their various avocations with proper pride--this was a favorite thesis -of Ruskin, William Morris, and Renoir. Furthermore, argues Rodin, the -artist is indispensable. He reveals the beauty and meaning of life to -his fellows. He struggles against the false, the conventional, and the -used-up; but the French sculptor slyly adds: "No one may benefit mankind -with impunity." He considers himself as having a religious nature; all -artists are temperamentally religious, he contends, though his religion -is not precisely of the kind that would appeal to the orthodox. - -To give Rodin his due he stands prosperity not quite as well as poverty. -In every great artist there is a large area of self-esteem; it is -the reservoir from which he must, during years of drought or defeat, -draw upon to keep fresh the soul. Without the consoling fluid of -egotism genius would soon perish in the dust of despair. But fill this -source to the brim, accelerate the speed of its current, and artistic -deterioration may ensue. Rodin has been fatuously called a second -Michael Angelo--as if there could ever be a replica of any human. He -has been hailed as a modern Praxiteles; which is nonsense. And he is -often damned as a myopic decadent whose insensibility to the pure line -and lack of architectonic have been elevated by his admirers into sorry -virtues. Nevertheless, is Rodin justly appraised? Do his friends not -over-glorify him? Nothing so stales a demigod's image as the perfumes -burned before it by worshipers; the denser the smoke the sooner crumbles -the feet of their idol. - -However, in the case of Rodin the Fates have so contrived their -malicious game that at no point in his career has he been without the -company of envy and slander. Often when he had attained a summit he -would be thrust down into a deeper valley. He has mounted to triumphs -and fallen to humiliations; but his spirit has never been quelled; -and if each acclivity he scales is steeper, the air atop has grown -purer, more stimulating, and below the landscape spreads wider before -him. With Dante he can say: "La montagna ch'e drizza voi ch'e il -mondo fece torti." Rodin's mountain has always straightened in him -what the world made crooked. The name of his mountain is Art. A born -nonconformist, Rodin makes the fourth of that group of nineteenth -century artists--Richard Wagner, Henrik Ibsen, Edouard Manet--who taught -a deaf, dumb, and blind world to hear, see, think, and feel. - -Is it not dangerous to say of a genius that his work alone should -count, that his personality is negligible? Though Rodin has followed -Flaubert's advice to artists to lead an ascetic life that their art -might be the more violent, nevertheless his career, colorless as -it may seem to those who love better stage players and the comedy -of society--this laborious life of a poor sculptor should not be -passed over. He always becomes enraged at the prevailing notion that -fire descends from heaven upon genius. Rodin believes in but one -inspiration--nature. Nature can do no wrong. He swears that he does not -invent, he copies nature. He despises improvisation, has contemptuous -words for "fatal facility," and, being a slow-thinking, slow-moving -man, he only admits to his councils those who have conquered art, not -by assault, but by stealth and after years of hard work. He sympathizes -with Flaubert's patient, toiling days. He praises Holland because after -Paris it seems slow. "Slowness is beauty," he declares. In a word, he -has evolved a theory and practice of his art that is the outcome--like -all theories, all techniques--of his own temperament. And that -temperament is giant-like, massive, ironic, grave, strangely perverse; -it is the temperament of a magician of art doubled by a mathematician's. - -Books are written about him. With picturesque precision De Maupassant -described him in "Notre Coeur." Rodin is tempting as a psychologic -study. He appeals to the literary critic, though his art is not -"literary." His modeling arouses tempests, either of dispraise or -idolatry. To see him steadily after a visit to his studios at Paris -or Meudon is difficult. If the master be present then one feels the -impact of a personality that is misty as the clouds about the base of -a mountain, and as impressive as the bulk of the mountain. Yet a sane, -pleasant, unassuming man interested in his clay--that is, unless you -happen to discover him interested in humanity. If you watch him well you -may in turn find yourself watched; those peering eyes possess a vision -that plunges into the depths of your soul. And this master of marble -sees the soul as nude as he sees the body. It is the union in him of -sculptor and psychologist that places Rodin apart from other artists. -These two arts (psychology is the art of divination) he practises -in a medium that hitherto did not betray potentialities for such -performances. Walter Pater is right in maintaining that each art has its -separate subject matter; still, in the debatable province of Rodin's -sculpture we find strange emotional power, hints of the pictorial, and -a rare suggestion of music. This, obviously, is not playing the game -according to the rules of Lessing and his Laocooen. - -Let us drop the old aesthetic rule of thumb and confess that during the -last century a new race of artists sprang up and in their novel element -they, like flying-fishes, revealed to a wondering world their composite -structure. Thus we find Berlioz painting with his instrumentation; Franz -Liszt, Tschaikowsky, and Richard Strauss filling their symphonic poems -with drama and poetry; while Richard Wagner invented an art which he -believed embraced all the others. And there was Ibsen who employed the -dramatic form as a vehicle for his anarchistic ideas; and Nietzsche, who -was such a poet that he was able to sing a mad philosophy into life; not -to forget Rossetti, who painted poems and made poetry of his pictures. -Sculpture was the only art that resisted this universal disintegration, -this imbroglio of the seven arts. No sculptor before Rodin had dared to -shiver the syntax of stone. For sculpture is a static, not a dynamic -art--is it not? Let us observe the rules though we call up the chill -spirit of the cemetery. What Mallarme attempted with French poetry -Rodin accomplished in clay. His marbles do not represent, but present, -emotion; they are the evocation of emotion itself; as in music, form and -substance coalesce. If he does not, as does Mallarme, arouse "the silent -thunder afloat in the leaves," he can summon from the vasty deep the -spirits of love, hate, pain, sin, despair, beauty, ecstasy; above all, -ecstasy. Now, the primal gift of ecstasy is bestowed upon few artists. -Keats had it, and Shelley; Byron, despite his passion, missed it. We -find it in Swinburne, he had it from the first. Few French poets know -it. Like the "cold devils" of Felicien Rops, coiled in frozen ecstasy, -the fiery blasts of hell about them, Charles Baudelaire boasted the -dangerous gift. Poe and Heine felt ecstasy, and Liszt. Wagner was the -master-adept of ecstasy: Tristan and Isolde! And in the music of Chopin -ecstasy is pinioned within a bar, the soul rapt to heaven in a phrase. -Richard Strauss has given us a variation on the theme of ecstasy; -voluptuousness troubled by pain, the soul tormented pathologically. - -Rodin is of this tormented choir. He is revealer of its psychology. -It may be decadence, as any art is in its decadence which stakes the -part against the whole. The same was said of Beethoven by the followers -of Haydn, and the successors of Richard Strauss--Debussy, Stravinsky, -and Schoenberg--are abused quite as violently as the Wagnerites abused -Richard Strauss, turning against him the same critical artillery that -was formerly employed against Wagner. Nowadays, Rodin is looked on as -superannuated, as a reactionary by the younger men, the Cubists and -Futurists, who spoil marble with their iconoclastic chisels and canvas -with their paint-tubes. - -That this ecstasy should be aroused by pictures of love and death, as -in the case of Poe and Baudelaire, Wagner and Strauss and Rodin, is not -to be judged an artistic crime. In the Far East they hypnotize neophytes -with a bit of broken mirror, for in the kingdom of art there are many -mansions. Possibly it was a relic of his early admiration for Baudelaire -that set Wagner to extorting ecstasy from his orchestra by images of -love and death. And no doubt the temperament which seeks such synthesis, -a temperament commoner in medieval times than ours, was inherent in -Wagner, as it is in Rodin. Both men play with the same counters: love -and death. In Pisa we may see (attributed by Vasari) Orcagna's fresco of -the Triumph of Death. The sting of the flesh and the way of all flesh -are inextricably blended in Rodin's Gate of Hell. His principal reading -for half a century has been Dante and Baudelaire; the Divine Comedy and -"Les Fleurs du Mal" are the keynotes in the grandiose white symphony of -the French sculptor. Love and life, and bitterness and death rule the -themes of his marbles. Like Beethoven and Wagner, he breaks academic -rules, for he is Auguste Rodin, and where he magnificently achieves, -lesser men fail or fumble. His large, tumultuous music is alone for his -chisel to ring out and to sing. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - THE CAREER OF RODIN - - RODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS - - Sojourn in Belgium--"The Man Who Awakens to - Nature"--Realism and Plaster Casts. - - FLEMISH PAINTING--JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE. - - RODIN'S NOTE-BOOK - - I ANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS - - II SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS - - III PORTRAITS OF WOMEN - - IV AN ARTIST'S DAY - - V THE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC - - VI ART AND NATURE - - VII THE GOTHIC GENIUS - - - THE WORK OF RODIN - - I THE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS--INFLUENCE OF - THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF RODIN--"SAINT - JOHN THE BAPTIST" (1880)--"THE GATE OF - HELL" - - II "THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS" (1889)--RODIN AND - VICTOR HUGO--THE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898) - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - Rodin photographed on the steps of the Hotel Biron Frontispiece - Portrait of a Young Girl - La Pucelle - Minerva - Psyche - The Adieu - Rodin in His Studio at the Hotel Biron - Representation of France - The Man with the Broken Nose - Caryatid - Man Awakening to Nature - The Kiss - Bust of the Countess of W---- - The Poet and the Muse - The Thinker - Adolescence - Portrait of Rodin - Head of Minerva - The Bath - The Broken Lily - Portrait of Madame Morla Vicunha - "La Pensee" - Hotel Biron, View from the Garden - Rodin Photographed in the Court of the Hotel Biron - Portrait of Mrs. X - Rodin in His Garden - The Poet and the Muses - The Tower of Labor - Headless Figure - Rodin's House and Studio at Meudon - The Tempest - The Village Fiancee - Metamorphosis According to Ovid - Eve - Rodin at Work in the Marble - Peristyle of the Studio at Meudon - Statue of Bastien-Lepage - Danaiade - Portrait Bust of Victor Hugo - Monument to Victor Hugo - Statue of Balzac - The Head of Balzac - The Studio at Meudon - Romeo and Juliet - Spring - Bust of Bernard Shaw - A Fete Given in Honor of Rodin by Some of His Friends. - - - -THE MAN AND HIS ART - - - - -THE CAREER OF RODIN - - -Several years have already gone by since the career of Rodin attained -its full growth. From now on, therefore, it can be envisaged as a whole, -and we can trace the formation and the unfolding of his complex talent -and disentangle the influences that have directed and sustained it. - -In the course of the chapters that follow, Rodin, with the authority, -the calm strength, and the lucidity that characterize his thought, often -speaks himself of these influences, but rather in a casual, gossipy, -reminiscent vein, reflecting his personal observations. He does not -attempt to disengage the broad lines by which he has reached the summit -of art, or to map out, so to speak, that scheme of his intellectual -development which so naturally appertains to the man who has reached the -apogee of talent and which he contemplates with the satisfaction of a -strategist face to face with the plan of the battles he has won. - -It is to living writers that he seems to address himself. Rodin to-day -can be studied like an old master, Donatello, Michelangelo, or Pierre -Puget. One perceives quite in its entirety the distinct, the rigorously -sustained plan that he has followed with unswerving will in order to -realize himself; and the witnesses, the historians of this heroic life -of the sculptor, have the advantage of being able to trace it with -exactitude, as they could not do in the case of a vanished artist. They -are able to interrogate the hero in person; they are able to consult -with Rodin himself, who is admirably intuitive and quite aware of what -he owes to certain favorable conditions of his life and above all to -his illustrious forerunners, those who have fought before him on the -battle-field of high art. - -The study of nature, of the antique, Greek and Roman, of the art of -medieval France and that of the Renaissance--these are the springs at -which he has constantly refreshed one of the most irrefutable sculptural -talents that has ever been known. These are the expressions of the -beautiful among which his profound and searching thought has traveled -unceasingly, seeking to attain to a still larger vision, a more exact -understanding of that most magnificent of all the arts, sculpture. - -The superior man is always the product of an exceptional gift and -of an energy peculiar to himself, which effectuates itself despite -circumstances. He is the highest incarnation of the spirit, of the -struggle for existence. In the case of an artist the struggle is all -the more severe, for he has nothing but himself to impose upon the -world and he has, as weapons of offense and defense, nothing but his -intelligence, the tiny substance of his brain. It is therefore only by -means of the history of his intellectual life that one can understand -him. External happenings only very slightly influence the obstinate -march of true genius toward the accomplishment of its destiny. At most -they delay it but a few hours. It forces its way through the most -difficult obstacles; it even makes use of these obstacles in order to -redouble its strength and confirm its superiority. Nothing impedes the -formidable will of those who are under the spell of beauty, those who -see truth and know it and desire to express what they see. They can no -more escape the fruition of their faculties than the giant can escape -the attainment of his full stature. - -Rodin has been one of these. Certainly he has been assisted by -circumstances, but above everything how has he not compelled -circumstances to assist him? - -What demands preeminent recognition in his case is the gift, a splendid, -a dazzling gift for the plastic arts, the realization of which has been -imposed upon him, as it were, by the command of destiny. Whence did it -come? From whom did he inherit it? From what ancestor, sensitive to the -enchantment of beauty, suffering, and in travail from the necessity of -proclaiming it, but imperfectly endowed and powerless to forge for -himself a talent in order to express the tremors of his soul? It is a -mystery. No one can tell, Rodin himself least of all. Science has not -yet taught us anything about those obscure combinations, those endless -preferences of the vital force, thanks to which a person possesses the -faculties of genius. In this, as in other things, we are unable to -divine the cause and can only marvel at the effect, the prodigy. - -Discredited to-day are the theories of Lombroso and his school, once -so warmly welcomed by mediocre minds athirst for equality, in which -great men were considered as degenerates of a superior variety, and the -most sensitive spirits qualified as candidates for the madhouse! All -one can say is that nature abhors equality, that the indwelling will -delights in raising up lofty mountain masses above the uniformity of -the plains and the valor of the chosen few above the multitude. The -function of the man of genius is, precisely, to possess in a supreme -degree the sense of inequality and to transcribe its infinite nuances -in their ever-changing, ever-moving, ever-renewed variety. He alone -perceives the diversities whose play is the law of the universe itself, -and he grasps them equally in a fragment of inanimate matter and in -the vastest aspects of the world. Far from being half mad, this unique -being, this prodigious mirror of a million facets, achieves his aim only -because he possesses far more intelligence than the most brilliant of -his contemporaries, because he is in touch with a more profound order -of things and a more comprehensive method, because he combines the -qualities of continuity in sensation and of discernment which constitute -that supreme sensibility of all the senses acting together--taste. But -it does not please ordinary mortals to believe things of this kind, -and one can easily understand how the crowd, repudiating any such -humiliating notion, are all too willing to follow the lead of exotic -pseudo-scientists and look upon great men as lunatics, considering -themselves far more rational. - -As to what Rodin himself thinks of this privilege that Providence has -conferred on him, there is no telling; he has never talked very much -about it. The fact is, he has such faith in the value of hard work and -will-power, he knows so well how extraordinarily much of these even the -most exceptional natures have to exert in order to accomplish anything, -that this privilege of divine right, otherwise just as authentic as -that which sovereigns in former times profited by, amounts to nothing -in the end but the account which he draws up in order to calculate the -sum of his efforts. "When I was quite young, as far back as I remember, -I drew," he says; "but the gift is nothing without the will to make it -worth while. The artist must have the patience of water that eats away -the rock drop by drop." Alas! will and work, Master, are also gifts; -but the supreme spirit maliciously amuses itself by leading us into -error, inspiring us with the illusion that it lies with us to acquire -them. - -Rodin's case, then, is an example of absolute predestination, assisted -by a will of iron. One must add also the happy influence of the varied -environment in which his life has been placed and the excellent artistic -education he received in the schools where he studied, an education -that was fruitful, thanks to the preservation of the true traditions of -French art, kept alive in the schools since the eighteenth century. - - -CHILDHOOD. YOUTH. FIRST STUDIES - -Auguste Rodin is the son of a Norman father and a Lorrainese mother. -Each of these two French provinces, Normandy and Lorraine, produces a -race eminently realistic, but realistic in quite different ways. - -The Lorrainer, opinionated and courageous, hardy in character, and -vigorous like his country itself, sees things clearly and precisely in -the light of a spirit that has been fashioned by the age-old struggle -between Teuton and Gaul on our eastern frontier. The things that -surround him, the aspects of his native soil, like the sullen obstinacy -of the enemy that seeks in vain to drag him away, present themselves -to his eye as a reality stripped of illusions. When one has to fight -there is no time to dream, and one must be able to estimate with -precision what one is fighting for. When the man of Lorraine utters his -feeling about the things he loves and defends, it is with a loyalty -rather dry in expression and impression, but also with a force of -consciousness that is imposing. - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG GIRL. A WORK OF RODIN'S YOUTH.] - -As for the Norman, like his country he overflows with an abundance of -life from which he derives a passionate need for the pleasures of sense. -Far from stifling in him the love of the beautiful, this appetite for -triumphant realities engenders, on the contrary, an exaltation of the -senses that leads to the most exquisite taste in the production of art. -Compounded of sensuality and mysticism, the twin characteristics of -these rich spirits, very like those of Belgium, to whom, by virtue of -ancient migrations, they are closely allied, the artists of Normandy -necessarily respond to the manifold requirements of their temperament. -We know with what a profusion of monuments, robust and imposing in -structure and miraculously clothed in the most delicate lacework of -stone, the Gothic architects of Normandy have covered not only the soil -of their province, but also, beyond the sea, that of the Two Sicilies, -strewn even to this day with beautiful cloisters and sumptuous churches -of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which the Norman Conquest -carried there. - -The child of Normandy and Lorraine was born in Paris, November 14, -1840. His father was a simple employee. He dwelt in one of the oldest -and most curious quarters of the great city, the Quartier Saint-Victor -in the fifth _arrondissement_. Rodin saw the light in the rue de -l'Arbalete. It is a little, hilly street, quite provincial in its -aspect and its quietness, that winds among the rows of old houses, some -low, as if crouched down, others narrow and high, as if they wished to -look over their shoulders at what passes below, very like a crowd of -living people. Its name, the rue de l'Arbalete, is full of suggestion -of the Middle Ages, like that of the rue des Patriarches, in which -it comes to an end, and that of the rue des Lyonnais and the rue de -l'Epee-de-Bois, which are its neighbors. It crosses the famous rue -Mouffetard near the little church of St. Medard on the last slopes of -the Montagne-Sainte-Genevieve, which has been, since the thirteenth -century, the seat of the university and the schools; below is the plain -of the Gobelins, where once the river Bievre ran exposed. - -Even to the present day this corner of the city has not suffered -too much from the destructive changes of modernity. At the time of -the childhood of Rodin it was still virtually untouched. Crowded, -picturesque, and in certain parts dirty and squalid, like an Oriental -city, with its little interlacing streets, its countless shops, its -swarms of people given over to a thousand familiar trades carried on in -public,--open-air kitchens, fruit-stands, grocery shops, clothing shops, -and shops of ironmongers, coal-venders, and, wine-sellers,--it is an -almost perfect fragment, a human fragment, of the old Gothic Paris. - -Truly Rodin was fortunate: he was born in a chapter of Victor Hugo's -"Notre Dame de Paris." Destiny preserved the first glances of his -artist's eyes from the disenchanting banality of our modern streets. It -placed before them, as if to give them a hatred of uniformity, as if -to disgust him forever with the misdeeds of the straight line, adopted -the world over by the rank and file of contemporary architects,--those -congenitally blind and mutilated souls,--a population of houses having -a physiognomy and a soul of their own, which, with their sloping roofs, -their irregular gables, etch their amusing profiles against the sky -and seem to gossip with the birds and the clouds, putting to shame the -few regular buildings that have intruded and lost themselves amid this -congregation so touched with spirituality. - -All this Rodin saw; with a child's innocent eye, he absorbed all this -fantasy of past ages; he studied the little shops with their low -ceilings dating from the period of the gilds; he noted through the -tiny panes of their windows the Rembrandtesque effects of shadow and -golden light, in which the humblest objects live a life that is full of -intimate mystery and familiar charm. About them he saw a people full of -life, alert, awake, always in action, always in dispute, unconsciously -falling into a thousand beautiful, simple attitudes, the eternal -attitudes associated with drinking, eating, sleeping, working, and -loving. - -What admirable, powerful precepts this teaching, without effort, without -professors, without pedantry, thus forever imposed upon the memory of -the future sculptor! Yes, Rodin there enjoyed a priceless good fortune. - -As child and young man, his walks and his duties took him incessantly -past Notre Dame, the queen of cathedrals, appearing, from the heights -of Ste. Genevieve, magnificently seated on the bank of the Seine that -devotedly kisses its feet; in front of it, Ste. Etienne-du-Mont, -surrounded by convents, with its nave, that treasure of grace bequeathed -to us by the Renaissance. There also is the ancient little Roman church -of St. Julien-le-Pauvre; and St. Severin, that sweet relic of Gothic -art, about which lies unrolled the old _quartier des truands_, with the -rues Galande de la Huchette and de la Parcheminerie, which the pick-axes -of the housebreakers are now giving over to the universal ugliness. - -The Pantheon and the buildings that surround it taught the young Rodin -that the public monuments of the style of Louis XV, although colder -and stiffer, still offer a certain grandeur by virtue of their beauty -of proportion and character. Close beside the somewhat formal solemnity -of these buildings, the Gardens of the Luxembourg that invite the -passer-by with all their tender, smiling charm, the exquisite parterre, -the elegant little pilastered palace, the Medici fountain, whose -charming statues pour out their water that murmurs beneath the branches -of the trees spread out above like a tent of lacework, taught him the -enchantment of the architectural harmonies of the Renaissance, harmonies -of chiseled stone, noble shadows, and carpeting flowers. - -Like all artists, Rodin adores the Luxembourg. More than this, he would -not for anything in the world see those statues of the queens of France -banished, those enormous stone dolls of a quality, as regards sculpture, -little calculated to satisfy lovers of rich modeling. No matter, he -loves the gray mass they make under the fragrant summits of the limes -and the hawthorns; they are part of the scenery of his youth; he remains -faithful to them as to old playthings. Was it not these that he sketched -in those first attempts of his? - -His aptitude quickly revealed itself. This man, whom ignorant critics -were to reproach one day with not knowing how to draw, handled the -pencil from his earliest childhood. - -His mother bought her provisions from a grocer in the neighborhood. The -grocer wrapped up his rice, vermicelli, and dried prunes in bags made -from cut-up illustrated papers and engravings that had been thrown away. -Rodin got hold of these bags, and they were his first models. He copied -these wretched images passionately. - -Toward the age of twelve, he was sent to Beauvais, to the house of -an uncle who undertook to bring him up. Beauvais and its unfinished -cathedral was another silent lesson, never to be forgotten--that -cathedral which is nothing but a choir, but how marvelous a choir! - -Of course at the time he did not appreciate its splendor. With the -indifference of his age, he studied its architecture and its sculpture, -which, for that matter, all his contemporaries, even the cultivated, -despised from the depth of their ignorance. That was the time when -art critics and professors of esthetics denied Gothic art without -comprehending it, the Roman school being in the ascendant in the -admiration of the public. Nevertheless, the jewel in stone did not fail -to speak in the language of beauty and truth to this predestined young -man. His sensibility registered its impressions, noted down those points -of comparison which he was to find later in the depths of his memory and -which were to enable him to judge and appreciate. Under the vault of the -majestic nave he listened to the mass, he took part in the grand, sacred -drama, whose phrases touched his imagination profoundly, sometimes -exalting it to the point of mysticism and impregnating it with the -nobility of the symbols and of the Catholic ritual tempered by eighteen -centuries of usage. - -Rodin was placed in a boarding-school. He found the scholar's life -dreary and dull; his comrades seemed to him noisy young barbarians, -absorbed in brutal and too often vicious pastimes. Certain studies were -repugnant to him, mathematics and _solfeggio_. Near-sighted, without -being aware of it, he could not make out the figures and the notes the -masters wrote on the blackboard; he understood nothing and was almost -bored to death. - -This myopia was destined to have the most vital influence on his art. -Because of his difficulty in perceiving total effects, his instinct has -only rarely led him to the composition of monuments on a very large -scale, in which the architectural construction is of nearly as great -importance as the sculpture proper. The most considerable that we owe -to him is that of "The Burghers of Calais"; and there is also "The Gate -of Hell," which, almost inexplicably, remained incomplete even in the -very hour when it was given over as finished. The great sculptor, at -the time when he turned it over to the founders, perhaps unconsciously -experienced a lapse of vision, an insurmountable fatigue of the eyes, -over-strained by the prolonged effort to grasp the ensemble of the -edifice and the harmony of the countless details of this superb -composition. - -But if he has been turned aside, by his physical constitution, from -monumental art, it has only served to concentrate him with all the -more ardor upon the minute work of modeling, for which, by a sort of -compensation, he is endowed with an eye whose penetration has had no -equal since the time of the Renaissance. - -At the age of fourteen he returned to Paris. His parents judged that the -moment had come for him to choose a career. Observing his astonishing -gifts, they decided to let him take up drawing, but, having small means, -they were unable to provide him with special masters. They entered him -at the School of Decorative Arts, another piece of good fortune. - -This school, called by abbreviation the Petite Ecole, in distinction -from the great school, that of the Beaux-Arts, is situated in the old -rue de l'Ecole de Medecine, close to the Faculte de Medecine and the -Sorbonne. It was founded in 1765, under the name of the Free School -of Design, by the painter Jean-Jacques Bachelier, a clever artist and -student of styles in art no longer practised or little known, who had -been well thought of by Madame de Pompadour, the favorite of Louis XV, -the charming and virtually official minister of fine arts during the -reign of that monarch. It was she who placed Bachelier in charge of the -_ateliers de decoration_ at the Sevres manufactory. In creating the -Petite Ecole, the painter seemed to be following out, after the death of -his gracious protectress, the impulse she had communicated to French art -during her lifetime. - -[Illustration: LA PUCELLE.] - -Thus we see Rodin at the school of the Marquise de Pompadour, placed -once more in a _milieu_ full of originality and life. He found himself -there surrounded by a little world of beginners in every line, budding -artists; almost everybody of his generation has passed through this -course. They came there to learn to draw, paint, and model. - -In the evening the halls were filled with amateurs who, after their -day's work was over, sought to acquire a certain artistic skill as -tapestry-workers, ornament-makers, workers in iron, marble, etc. They -were energetic, turbulent, poor. Rodin, like them, was energetic and -poor, but silent, laborious, and pertinacious. He applied himself to the -copying of models of all sorts, most frequently red chalks by Boucher -and plaster casts of animals, plants, and flowers. - -The school had possessed these things since the eighteenth century and, -like almost everything that was created in that bountiful epoch, they -were very well done, composed after nature, their elegance full of warm -truth; they were models in bold _ronde-bosse_. That is to say, they -presented that quality of relief to which drawing, like sculpture, owes -its rich oppositions of light and shadow. To those who copied them they -communicated the science of relief, the fundamental basis of art, and -the living suppleness of the best periods, which has almost entirely -disappeared to-day. - -One day Rodin entered the modeling class. He worked there after the -antique. He had his first experience of working in clay; it was a -revelation, an enchantment. He fell in love with this _metier_, which -seemed to him the most seductive of all; he became obsessed with the -desire to mold this soft material himself, to search in it for the form -of things. - -His first attempts overjoyed him; he was not fifteen years old and he -had found his path! - -We see him executing a fragment; he models the head, the hands, the -arms, the legs, the feet; then he sets about the whole figure; there -is no deception; there are no insurmountable difficulties for him; he -understands at once the structure of the human body; in the phrase of -the atelier, "ses bonshommes tiennent"; the arms and the legs adjust -themselves naturally to the body: he is a born sculptor. - -Every day he arrives at the class at eight o'clock in the morning; he -works without faltering till noon, in company with five or six pupils. -At that hour they stop work; they are happy; they leave their seats and -take a turn about the model. In the evening things are different; from -seven to nine, the class is over-full; one can study the model then -only from a distance; a superficial, wretched method that is practised -on a large scale at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts and against which Rodin has -protested all his life. - -Thus we find him entered on his artistic career not as a dilettante, -as an amateur, as happens too often, but as a veritable workman. Like -General Kleber, he could long say, "My poverty has served me well; I -am attached to it." It placed him, from his childhood, in the presence -of realities. It steeped him in life itself. It safeguarded him from -the artificial education that debilitates the young middle-class -Frenchman and destroys in him the spirit of initiative and personality. -It deprived him luckily of the pleasures that rich young men too -easily offer themselves, the abuse of which renders them unsteady, -capricious, and indifferent. Rigorously held to his path by necessity, -he consecrated all his time and all his energies to study. He became -diligent, serious, and prudent. - -He had the opportunity of seeing his modeling corrected by Carpeaux. The -great sculptor, in fact, taught at the Petite Ecole. Upon his return -from Rome, he had asked for a modest post as an assistant master that -would help to assure his equally modest existence; they had granted his -request, but without seeking to give him anything more! His young pupils -scarcely understood his high worth, the substantial and delicate grace -of his talent, his voluptuous elegance, inherited from the eighteenth -century and united with a certain nervous seductiveness that was -altogether modern, a certain palpitating quality of the soul and of the -flesh that had not been known before, manifesting itself through the -ductility of his modeling. But instinctively they admired him; they -marveled, among other things, at the precision and the rapidity of the -corrections the master executed under their eyes. Later, when experience -had come to him, Rodin greatly honored Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux; he was -one of those for whom the appearance of the famous group "The Dance," -in the parvis of the Opera, was a veritable event. At that moment he -discovered again in himself the influence of this beautiful spirit which -had been slumbering in him since he left the Petite Ecole; then he -became almost the disciple of Carpeaux. I know a figure of a bacchante -of Rodin's, a marble that is almost unknown, the flesh of which is so -supple and so light that one would say it was molded of wheat and honey -and the work of the sculptor of "The Dance." There floats also in its -countenance that spirituality, that expression as of a sort of angelic -malice which Carpeaux seems to have borrowed occasionally from the -figures of Leonardo da Vinci. - -[Illustration: MINERVA.] - -When the clocks of the Sorbonne quarter struck noon, Rodin left the -Petite Ecole; he walked to the Louvre, eating, as he went, a roll -and a cake of chocolate which was all he had for lunch. He sketched -the antiques. From there he went on to the Galerie des Estampes at -the Bibliotheque Nationale, where they loaned out, without any too -much good will, misplaced as that is with students, the albums of -plates after Michelangelo and Raphael and the great illustrated work, -"L'Histoire de Costume Romain." Because of this miserliness of theirs, -he did not always obtain the volumes he wished for, which were reserved -for habitues who were better known. This did not prevent him from -becoming initiated into the science of draperies. He executed hundreds -of sketches from memory, at last developing in himself the faculty of -remembering forms. From the rue de Richelieu, always on foot, he would -repair to the Gobelin manufactory. There each day, from five to eight -o'clock, he followed the course in design. Placed before nature itself, -before the nude, he absorbed more excellent principles. The teaching of -the eighteenth century was practised there also, and his work became -permanently impregnated by it. - -In the morning, at daybreak, before going to the Petite Ecole, he found -the time to walk to an old painter's he knew, where he kept a number of -canvases going. In the evening he made careful copies of the sketches -he had jotted down at noon in the galleries of the Louvre and the -Bibliotheque. He drew far into the night; he drew even during supper, -at the frugal board of his family, surrounded by his father, his mother, -and his young sister, bending over his paper utterly regardless of his -health, a course of things that soon brought on gastric disorders from -which he suffered cruelly. In short, he toiled incessantly, ardent and -patient, obstinate, and full of self-confidence. - -Assuredly he never in the world imagined that he was to become in time -one of the most illustrious representatives of the French art of the -nineteenth century, that he was to be the equal in renown of celebrities -like Lamartine, Alfred de Musset, or Michelet whom he saw occasionally -in the Luxembourg Gardens, without even daring to bow to them; but he -possessed a fixed and a precise idea of what was required to be a good -sculptor and the resolution to realize it. Little did he care how long -it would take, how tardy success might prove, how slow fortune might be -in coming; little did he care for obstacles, even for misery. He was -going the right way, unhesitating, untroubled, not compromising with -himself or with anybody. He possessed the irresistible will of a force. - -I have had occasion to examine one of the note-books of Rodin's youth. -It is quite filled with sketches after engravings from the antique, -animals or human figures. The drawing is strangely compact, wilful, -for the boy of sixteen or seventeen that he was then. Already, in its -accumulation of strokes and hatchings which, during an entire period -of his artistic development, render the drawing of Rodin restless and -personal like a piece of writing, it exhibits an obstinate search for -relief, it speaks to us like hieroglyphics, revealing the power of his -grasp. His progress was rapid. At seventeen, he finished his first -studies. The moment came for him to pass from the school of decorative -arts to that of the Beaux-Arts and to prepare himself, like his -companions, for the examinations and for the competition for the _prix -de Rome_, the famous _prix de Rome_ that seemed to Rodin, inexperienced -student as he was, the crown of the most rigorous artistic studies. - - - - -RODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS - - -Rodin presented himself at an examination for entrance into the Ecole -des Beaux-Arts. He was rejected. He presented himself a second time, but -with the same result. What was the reason for it? Neither he nor his -fellow-students could discover. They used to form a circle about him -when he worked. They admired the keenness and precision of his glance, -the already astonishing skill of his hand. They told him that he would -be accepted. He failed a third time. Finally a fellow-student who was -shrewder than the others gave the solution of the enigma. It requires a -somewhat long explanation. - -The great school is under the direction of the members of the Academy -of Fine Arts. These professors correct the work of the students, set -the examinations, and award the prizes. They are recruited from members -of the society, are, in short, the representatives of official, or -conservative, art. Official art is a product of the Revolution of 1789. -Up to that time there were not two kinds of art in France. At the most, -until the time of Louis XIV only one secession disported itself under -the influence of Lebrun, painter to the king. Art was a unit, and its -divine florescence spread from France over all Europe. The church, -the kings, and their court of great lords and cultivated ladies were -the protectors and, indeed, the inspirers, of that flowering of beauty -that had grown from the time of the first Capets, indeed from the time -of the Merovingians, down to the end of the eighteenth century. The -First Empire marked in effect the beginning of the artistic decadence -of Europe and, one may say, of the world. Artists at that time divided -themselves into two camps, the conservatives, with, at their head, -David and his school, who pictured an art of convention and approved -formulas, and the independents, who continued, although in a somewhat -revolutionary and extravagant spirit, the true traditions of French art. -Among those fine rebellious men of talent of the first order were Rude, -Barye, and Carpeaux in sculpture, and Baron Gros, Eugene Delacroix, -Courbet, and Manet in painting. - -[Illustration: PSYCHE.] - -By a singular contradiction, Louis David was as baneful a theorist as -he was a great painter and, above all, an excellent draftsman. That -explains itself. The quality of his drawing he owed to the eighteenth -century, in which he had appeared and a pupil of which he was; but he -derived his esthetic doctrine from the Revolution, which made use of -the same sectarian zeal to obtain the triumph of certain false ideas -that it used to advance the right principles that were its glory. -Through one, David produced works of great worth and some admirable -portraits; through the other, he wrought great havoc among artists. -The world was, moreover, well disposed to submit to these principles. -When art restricts itself to repeating attitudes, gestures, approved -receipts, without having studied or observed them in nature in her -constant changes, it means decadence. If David was able to have his -theories accepted, it was because the time was ripe to receive them, to -be contented with them; and to say that the time was ripe is only to say -that it was a degenerate time, satisfied to be relieved of the task of -reflecting, of discovering for itself the laws of beauty, or, in short, -of working from the foundation. - -Official painter of the Revolution and the Empire, Louis David -proclaimed his doctrine with the authority of a pontiff. He made a set -of narrow rules which advocated a superficial imitation of the antique, -a copying of the works of Greece and Rome, not in spirit, but in letter; -not in that accurate knowledge of construction and of the model, which -made up their supreme worth, but in their conventional attitudes and -expressions. - -Even from beyond the grave David continued to rule the academy of -the Beaux-Arts in the name of the artificial idealism which he had -proclaimed, and whoever rejected his sorry instruction saw himself -without mercy shown to the door of the national schools arid academies. -They had shown the door to Rude, the author of the masterpiece of the -Arc de Triomphe, "The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792." They had -shown it to the unhappy Carpeaux, treated all his life as a heretic and -persecuted by the official class, defenders of the so-called heroic -achievements and stereotyped forms. They went to every extreme in -their contest with free and determined genius. As a last resort they -employed every weapon of treachery against the undisciplined great, -those fallen angels of the false paradise of the Institute--weapons that -later they did not scruple to use against Rodin. They accused Carpeaux -of indecency, and in order to strengthen the miserable falsehood, a -perverse idiot flung a can of ink on the adorable group of "The Dance," -that song of the nymphs, clamorous with youth, laughter, and music. - -This digression in the story of Rodin's life explains his whole life. By -his manly independence, his persistent refusal to follow the dictates -of the school, he naturally found himself placed at the head of those -who antagonized the official class. Against an opponent of his strength -and obstinacy the struggle naturally took on new energy. It recalled -to mind the violence of the famous intellectual quarrels of other days ---the quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns in the seventeenth and -eighteenth centuries, and that of the Classicists and the Romanticists -in 1830. - -When Rodin presented himself at the great school, how, in his -inexperience, could he foresee the war of wild beasts that rages in -the thickets of art? It needed indeed a better-informed comrade to -disclose the situation to him. Then his eyes were opened. He understood -then that he would only be wasting his time in striving to force the -bronze doors that are closed against the influences of great nature and -her triumphant light, the implacable denouncer of the false in art. -Perceiving it at last, he renounced the thought of entering the school. -Later he gloried, in the fact that he had done so. Possibly he saw -the danger that he would have run of parching his spirit and chilling -his eye. "Ah," his friend, the sculptor Dalou, exclaimed long after, -"Rodin had the luck not to have been at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts!" Dalou -himself had not had that luck, and despite beautiful gifts and love for -the eighteenth century, he had not recovered from the false teaching. - -Rodin, then, without knowing it, had fought his first battle, the slight -skirmish to the incessant fight that was to open. After that time the -name Institute, by which he understood the group of protagonists of a -bad form of art, took in his speech a formidable meaning. When he says, -"The Institute," he seems to call up some mythological monster, the -hydra of a hundred heads, from the malignant wounds of which the brave -usually die slowly. For him the Institute has come to mean a company of -able men who substitute dexterity for conscience, who, for long toil in -obscurity and poverty, substitute a premature eagerness for all that it -may bring--profitable relations, orders from the state, fortune, and -honors. In his opinion all that ought to come slowly in order not to -distract the artist from the study that alone can give him strength. -To him the rewards are secondary; true happiness lies in untrammeled -and passionate toil, in the exercise of growing intelligence that is -determined not to be stopped on the road to discovery. - -[Illustration: THE ADIEU.] - -Although the struggle is less clamorous to-day, it has not ended, -and it never will be ended, despite the wide fame of the master, now -known throughout the world as the greatest living artist. This Rodin -understands. What the contestants now seek to conquer is the public, -some for the purpose of obtaining from it consideration and profit, and -others an appreciation of true art. One class strives to flatter its -taste, which is bad; the other seeks to inculcate a knowledge of true -art in its own work. At the outset the contest is frightfully unequal, -for the ignorance of the public is abysmal. Incapable of discerning true -beauty, it relies only on the labels placed by the Institute on its own -works and on those of its partizans. They say to a man, "This is the -sort of thing that should be admired," and straightway he admires it, -if one can apply this expression of the highest pleasure of the spirit -to the vapid and dull contemplation that the public accords to the works -marked for its approval. No, at best the public does not know how to -admire; it does not understand the language of beauty. - -At eighteen or nineteen, Rodin, being wholly without fortune, could not -continue his studies without quickly finding some means of support. It -was therefore necessary for him to earn his own living, and at once -he bravely entered upon his work as an ornament-maker, and became a -journeyman at a few francs a week. We need not regret it. This son of -the people, by remaining in the ranks of the working-class, consolidated -in himself the virtues of the class--their courage and industry, which -are the strong qualities of the humble, and, in the aggregate, those -of the whole nation. And the curiosity of a superior man for all the -rewards of the exercise of his intelligence led him to cultivate himself -unceasingly. His limited studies as a school-boy had not been extensive -enough to surfeit him; he now brought to the study of letters a mind -keenly alert, and with a joy as alive as love itself he devoted himself -to a study of great minds. He read the poets and the historians; he -became acquainted with the Greece of Homer and AEschylus, the Italy -of Dante, the England of Shakspere, and the France of Jean-Jacques -Rousseau; but up to that time he had concerned himself with only one -thing--his trade. He worked as a real artisan, with no wider vision, -with no thought of formidable power. He saw only his model and his -clay; he thought only of these, he loved only these. Thus he had become -a journeyman ornament-worker in clay. That did not prevent him from -perfecting himself in sculpture. On the contrary, it aided him. - -The art of ornamentation was then considered, as it is still to-day, an -inferior art. People said, still say, of the sculpture of architecture, -as of the frescos and mosaic work of a building, that it is only -decoration. They declare it in a tone of indulgence that finds an excuse -for any mediocrity. - -All this is a profound mistake. Sculptured ornament springs naturally -from architecture; it is the flowering of its fundamental elements. It -is an inherent part of the whole, as the mass of flowers and foliage -that crowns a tree is in a way the culminating point of the whole -vegetable organism. Ornament demands the same qualities that the -fundamental architectural structure demands, and fully as much talent -and perhaps even more; because, as Rodin says, one sees in it more -clearly, without distracting features, the form of genius. If it is not -well done in itself, its function, which is rigorously subordinated -to the whole, and consists in molding the contours of the structure -by underlining and marking them off, is reversed. It is then only -an excrescence, an arbitrary addition. Only mediocre artisans, when -employed on a building or a jewel, use ornament capriciously, without -proportioning and subordinating it to the mass; they weary and disgust -the beholder. - -Rodin and his companions did not content themselves with copying, and -more or less distorting, their Greek, Roman, and Renaissance models, -which were repeated to satiety in all the workshops of the world, -and done over and over again so many times, out of place and out -of proportion, that they had lost all significance. Their employer -possessed a beautiful, but neglected, garden, where a profusion of -plants ran riot. Here were models in abundance. Here, in reproducing -these, the young craftsmen refreshed their vocation; they copied their -ornaments from nature; they studied foliage and flowers from life. -To do new work, they had only to borrow from the vegetable world its -inexhaustible combinations of beauty. - -Here Rodin, by his cleverness and rapidity, became without a peer among -them all, and drew to himself the admiration of his fellow-workers. It -was here that he met Constant Simon, his elder by many years, who was -the first man to teach him to model in profile. It was one of the great -epochs in his life. One may say that from that time the two great -laws that have given his sculpture its power--the study of nature and -the right method of modeling--passed into his blood, as it were. The -secret that Simon imparted to him was like a philter that inflamed his -soul with enthusiasm. He became intoxicated with the idea of seeing -clearly and of holding his hand strictly accountable to what his eyes -disclosed. And he possessed, too, both youth and an indefatigable vigor. -He sketched everything he could, wherever he could. One saw him making -sketches on the street, in the horse-market, jostled by the beasts, -repulsed by men, yet indifferent to all difficulties in his enchantment -in his discovered prize, at the Jardin des Plantes, where he passed -hours before the cages and in the parks, studying the poses of the deer -and the grace of the moving antelopes. - -[Illustration: RODIN IN HIS STUDIO AT THE HOTEL BIRON.] - -At that period Barye taught at the Museum. Rodin had become acquainted -with the son of the celebrated sculptor. The two had discovered a corner -of the basement, a sort of cave, damp and gloomy, where they installed -some seats made of old boxes and delighted themselves in modeling -from clay. From the Museum they borrowed a few anatomical specimens, -fragments of the parts of animals, and these they carried to their -cavern and pored over in their efforts to copy them. Sometimes Barye -himself would come to cast his eye over their work and give them a word -of advice, and then would go away, buried in a silent reverie. He was -a man of simple habits, with the appearance of a college tutor, in his -well-worn coat, but giving an impressive suggestion of great force and -worth. His son and Rodin little understood him; they feared him somewhat -and only half profited by his suggestions. Later the author of "The -Burghers of Calais," kindled by the genius of the gloomy, severe man -whom he had misunderstood, felt a deep remorse at not having rendered to -Barye, while living, the homage of admiration which the master merited, -and which perhaps would have been sweet to his solitary heart. - -Rodin has had only rarely the chance to model animals. He has never -received an order for an equestrian statue, and he has regretted it. We -have from him only one small rough model of a statue of General Lynch -on horseback, which was never executed, and the beautiful relief of the -chariot of Apollo which forms the pedestal of the monument of Claude -Lorrain at Nancy. But though he has not modeled animals, he has many -times sketched them, and he has studied profoundly their anatomy and -poses. - -It is not so much in the powerful sketches that all his life he has -continued to make with the same daily care with which a pianist -practises his scales that Rodin shows the chief characteristic of his -nature, as it is in accumulating these that he has been enabled to -understand relationship between different forms, and to establish the -unity between the forms of man and the animals, between the mountains -and the vegetable world. It is by understanding this unity that he -can occasionally interpret with a scientific exactness this common -relationship. In modeling a centaur or the chimera or a spirit with -powerful wings, the mythological creature that appears from his hands -does not appear less a transcript from reality than each bust or each -statue that has been vigorously wrought from the living model. There is -no weakening in the points where the bust of the man or of the woman -attaches itself to the body of the animal, no doubt that the beautiful, -strong wings of the angels are as perfectly united to their bodies and -are as necessary as their arms or legs. - -When about twenty-two or twenty-three Rodin entered the atelier of -Carrier-Belleuse. At that time the vogue of this charming artist was -great. He well represented the spirit and workmanship of the eighteenth -century in the knickknack art of the Second Empire. He was a Clodion -of the boulevard. Besides the spirited busts, some of which, like -those of Ernest Renan, Jules Simon, and the actress Marie Laurent, -were celebrated, he sent out from his atelier, in the rue de la Tour -d'Auvergne at Montmartre, hundreds of designs to be used in industrial -art: mantelpieces, centerpieces for tables, vases, ornamental clocks, -and decorative figures and groups. Rodin, then, applied himself to -executing for Carrier-Belleuse a variety of statuettes and figures. -There was in the task a great danger, for he saw the risk of limiting -himself to a facile use of his art that was both remunerative and -attractive; but his sturdy Northern temperament was able to protect him -against every danger, whether of success or poverty. - -Carrier had an astonishing skill, and not only worked without a model, -but compelled his employees to work without one. His rough sketches were -admirable, but he weakened in working them out. Rodin never trifled with -his art. Before going to the atelier he always took care to study his -subject in the nude and to fix it in his memory as firmly as possible. -As soon as he reached his bench he transferred to the clay the result -of his remembered observations. On returning to his home in the evening -he consulted his model anew in order to correct his work of the day. It -was for him an excellent exercise of memory. The true workman is quick -to turn to advantage all the inconveniences of a situation. I have heard -Rodin relate that often in the course of a quarrel with a friend or a -relative he would completely forget the subject of the contention and -the anger of his opponent in his absorption, from the point of view of -a sculptor, in the play of the muscles and their influence on the -expression of the face of the angry speaker. - -[Illustration: REPRESENTATION OF FRANCE--IN THE MONUMENT TO CHAMPLAIN.] - -Rodin remained about five years with Carrier-Belleuse. What works his -active hands accomplished there in a day! One still finds them in the -shops of the sellers of bronzes, in the shops of the dealers of the -Marais and the Faubourg St. Antoine. Certainly hundreds of examples were -brought there, to the great profit of tradesmen, but to the injury of -the artist; for he drew from them only such wages as the least competent -workers are to-day content with. - -One may see in the gallery of Mrs. ---- of New York certain little -terra-cotta busts which date from that period. They represent pretty -Parisian women in hats, whose wild locks veil glances full of spirit and -roguishness. Creatures of youth and frivolity, they are sisters of the -elegant ladies that Alfred Stevens drew with his delightful brush, and -which were the charm of Paris under Napoleon III. Who could believe that -they had sprung from the hands of Rodin, the austere creator of "The -Burghers of Calais" and of the "Victor Hugo"? - -But before becoming the audaciously personal genius that he now is, -he was subjected to the most varied influences--influences that have -been felt by the modern sculptors with whom he has worked and those -that guided the old masters. He has none the less shielded himself -from the world. He declares indeed, with the authority that permits the -freedom, that originality signifies nothing; that that which counts is -the quality of the intrinsic sculpture; that if the temperament of the -artist is truly steadfast, he always finds himself after the necessary -study; and finally that it is of little importance whether a statue -bears the name of Praxiteles or that of one of his pupils. The essential -thing is that it is well done, that it appears in a great epoch. -Anonymous, it proclaims none the less to the eyes of the man of taste -the signature of genius. - -In order to live Rodin applied himself to the most varied occupations; -thus he gained the liberty to labor at his own work for a few hours. -He chipped at stone and marble for the benefit of sculpture to-day -unknown, but then in vogue; he made sketches for trinkets for certain -fashionable jewelers, and fashioned objects of decorative art ordered of -him by manufacturers. Despite a considerable loss of time, he obtained -thus a true apprenticeship in art wholly like that which in earlier days -was obtained by Ghiberti, Donatello, and most of the great artists of, -the Renaissance, who were proud to be good artisans before they were -accounted great sculptors. - -Thus finally he was enabled to realize his first dream--to have an -atelier of his own. His atelier! It was a stable, at a rental of -twenty-four dollars a year, in the rue Lebrun, in the quarter of the -Gobelins, near which he was born. It was a cold hovel, a cave indeed, -with a well sunk in an angle of one wall that at every season exhaled -its chilling breath. It did not matter. The place was sufficiently -large and well lighted. The artist, young and strong, and as happy as -possible in his stable, felt his talent increasing. There he accumulated -a quantity of studies and works until the place was so crowded that he -could scarcely turn himself about; but being too poor to have them cast, -he lost the greater part of them. Every day he spent hours moistening -the cloths that enveloped them, yet not without suffering frightful -disasters. Sometimes the clay, through being too soft, would settle and -fall asunder; sometimes it would become dry, crack, and crumble. One -day, in moving, the great figure of a bacchante that had been tenderly -molded for months was seized by the rough hands of the furniture-movers, -and broke, crashing to the ground. What lost efforts! What destroyed -beauty! Even to-day when the artist speaks of it his heart bleeds anew. - -At that time he carried about the ateliers of Paris a design to which he -gave the name of "The Man with the Broken Nose." Struck by the curious -face of an old shepherd, flat-nosed, with every appearance of a slave -that had been crushed under heel, Rodin made a bust of the man and -strove to portray the energy and imposing simplicity that had astonished -him in the antique busts and the statue of "The Knife-Grinder" that he -had seen in the galleries of the Louvre. The solidity of the design, -the patience shown in the composition, and the strength of the details -cooeperated in producing an admirable whole. The wrinkles of the -forehead, the creased eyelids, the deep furrows of the face converged -toward the base of the broken nose in an expression of old age and -hardship, presenting an admirable head of a Thessalian shepherd. Alas! -one frosty day the clay contracted, and the skull of "The Man with -the Broken Nose" fell to the ground, leaving only the face. Rodin did -not make over the composition. Too honest to restore the skull by -approximation, he contented himself with modeling the face, to-day -become famous. - -He cast it in plaster, and sent it to the Salon of 1864. There it -was rejected. Thus the opposition that had closed the door of the -Beaux-Arts against him was renewed at his first attempt to take rank -among contemporary artists. The reason was the same; it will always -and invariably be the same: this sculptor of the naked truth, this -fervent lover of nature, offends, shocks, and wounds the majority of -the followers of formulas, the imitators of the past, the makers of -smooth and pretty wares, things without conscience or significance. The -artist remains alone with his deception. The day has not yet come -when enlightened amateurs can understand in which school true talent -is to be found, when they are able to renounce the moldings on nature, -the theatrical postures, the irritating silliness of figures a thousand -times repeated. - -[Illustration: THE MAN WITH THE BROKEN NOSE.] - -They will some day learn to perceive truth, observation, strength, and -grace. When that day comes they will throw out of the window all the -trumpery art of which they will have become tired, in order to collect -that of Rude, Barye, Carpeaux, Rodin, Jules Desbois, Camille Claudel, -those glories of the nineteenth century. - -The year of the Salon of 1864 may serve to close the first period of -Rodin's career. It is difficult, indeed impossible, to place between -fixed dates the events of a life that has been an example of uniform -continuity; but nevertheless it is permitted to one to say that the year -1864 marks the end of the first youth of the master. His preliminary -studies, those which one may call the studies of his mere profession, -were ended. He was then at the beginning of larger studies; he was -about to visit Belgium, Italy, and France; he was about to come face -to face with the most varied geniuses and examine their work. He was -about to question them rigorously, to demand of them their technical -methods. He was also about to exalt himself in the presence of these -immortal thoughts, to become intoxicated with the desire to equal them -in science and greatness. From that time on he approached them as a -disciple, as a man who had already thought much and comprehended much, -and who was worthy to study them and follow in their footsteps: in a -word, as an artist of their own lineage. - - - - -SOJOURN IN BELGIUM--"THE MAN WHO AWAKENS TO NATURE"--REALISM AND -PLASTER CASTS - - -Rodin worked under Carrier-Belleuse from 1865 to 1870. He remained -in Paris during the Franco-German War. What influence did this event -have upon him? He has said little about it. Although he has a strong -attachment for his native land, he has none of the extravagant -patriotism of a Rude, whose great soul was caught up in the flames of -the national epopee. Rodin has too contemplative a temperament; he is -too devoted to reflective work to allow himself to be long disturbed by -external facts, even the gravest. - -At the signing of the peace, he went to Belgium, drawn by the promise of -work in decorative art. He remained there five years, staying first in -Brussels, then in Antwerp. - -This period of his life left with him a delightful memory. He was poor -and unknown, but full of the vigor of youth, and free in how splendid a -freedom! He had all his time to himself, without any of those thousand -obligations that eat up the days of a celebrated man and break down his -ardor. - -Life in Belgium was at that time simple, easy-going, family-like. Many -small pleasures made it attractive; the cleanliness of the streets and -the houses was a constant delight to the eye; the bread, the beer, the -coffee were excellent and cost almost nothing. On Sundays bands of -children, fair-haired, robust, healthy, dressed in aprons very white -and very well starched, ran about laughing and singing; the women went -to church; the men assembled in the sanded gardens of the public houses -to play at ball, sipping glasses of _faro_ and _lambic_. The whole -scene was full of the charm of intimacy and happiness which for the -artist served as a sort of frame, so to say, for the old pictures. The -works of the Flemish painters are so impressive in all their power, -in the splendor of their fresh coloring and their gem-like finish, -that Brussels, Ghent, Bruges, Antwerp, Mechlin seem to have been built -and decorated by the Brueghels, the Jan Steens, the Tenierses, whose -dazzling canvases strike one almost as if they had been the plans for -the construction of these queenly cities instead of being simply mirrors -of them. As for nature, its grandeur and its nobility are disconcerting -in such a little country. - -Rodin rented a modest room in the chaussee de Brendael, in one of -the quarters of the capital quite close to the Bois de la Cambre. -He worked there during the whole of the day; his young wife did the -housework, went out marketing, sewed beside him, posed for him, -helped him to moisten his clay, made herself, as she said proudly, his -_garcon d'atelier_. He modeled caryatids for the Palais de la Bourse at -Brussels; for the Palais des Academies he made a frieze representing -children and the attributes of the arts and sciences; he was charged -also with the execution of decorative pieces for different municipal -buildings of the city of Antwerp. Nowadays the Belgians display with -pride these works, in which, without flattering them, one can recognize -the touch of a future master. - -Intent as he was upon his modeling work, Rodin did not abandon drawing; -he added to it landscape-painting in oils. The Brabant country-side -is one of the most beautiful in Europe. The Forest of Soigne, which -surrounds Brussels, is full of the lofty trees of the Northern -countries, splendid beeches, healthy as the bodies of athletes, reaching -up into the sky like columns of light bronze, planted in regular rows, -giving the impression of an immense and solemn temple. Narrow avenues, -alleys, pierce the long naves; one's soul seems to glide lingeringly -along these shadowy paths drawn on to the end by the far-away glimmer -like stained glass. The light that falls from above through the -tree-tops slips down the long green trunks, gray or silvery, bringing -with it a touch of the sky. There is no exuberant vegetation, none -of that undergrowth trembling with delicate little leaves, such as -that which makes the spiritual grace of the Ile-de-France, arranged -for the frolic of nymphs and fawns. This is the Gothic forest, the -tree-cathedral, a fitting place for the miracles of Christianity and -the devout walk of solitaries. Rodin fell in love with this forest. His -grave soul, his youth, which knew nothing of frivolity, found itself -here. His nature, so full of self-contained enthusiasm and the profound -and slowly moved spirit of admiration, not yet capable of expressing -itself, found its true element under the protection of these age-old -beeches. But one corner enchanted him, a verdurous hollow filled with -running water that breaks the austerity of the wood, the valley of -Groenendael. There the majestic colonnade of trunks opens out, with the -condescension of giants, before the caprices of an undulating glade. It -is covered with a down of grass, like an immense green cloud, always -pure, always fresh, which spring and autumn embroider with delicate -shoots of a multitude of flowers, like the tapestries of the Flemish -masters. Little ponds shyly spread out their mirrors, full of the sky, -full of reflections. An old low-built house, entirely white, speaks -of security, of calm shelter, of good nourishment, in the midst of -this verdurous solitude, where one hears only the song of the birds -and where squirrels cross in their flight like sudden flames. The -valley of Groenendael is far enough away from Brussels to be almost -always deserted and silent. It was the site the famous Brabancon -mystic, Ruysbroeck the Admirable, chose in the fourteenth century for -a monastery. At that time the Forest of Soigne sheltered no less than -eleven monastic houses in its fragrant, shadowy depths. At the north of -the valley the ground rises and the path leads one to the modest chapel -of Notre Dame de Bonne-Odeur. - -At this period Rodin certainly knew nothing of the great contemplatives -of the fourteenth century or of this same Ruysbroeck whom later a -glorious compatriot, Maurice Maeterlinck, kinsman by election of the -hermit, was to translate and interpret; but in the peaceful glade, the -vallon vert, as under the vaults of the great forest, the soul of the -sculptor rejoined those of the old monks who perhaps still wander there -at times; it shared with them the religion of this beauty which their -dumb love of nature had come thither to seek. - -At dawn he would start out, loaded down with his box of colors. -His companion followed him, proud to carry part of the artist's -paraphernalia. He was on his way to make sketches, to take notes of the -landscape, to jot down his impressions; but often the day passed without -his touching his brushes. It was not indifference or indolence on the -part of this great worker, but simply that he had not the strength to -interrupt his delightful contemplations. Time lost? In the case of -another, perhaps. Not for him. His excursion had no immediate result; -that was all: but how he would observe, how he would compare, how he -would reflect! He was initiating himself in the sense of proportion, -grandeur of style, and the nobility of simplicity. He was studying the -laws of the light and shade distributed by the columns the true work of -the architect. It was no longer school lessons that he was prosecuting -here; it was the mighty exercise of personal talent, the ripening of -his taste that was taking place, thanks to the technical knowledge he -already possessed. The sense of the eternal laws comes only to those who -can contrail them through long experience. - -Later, when the time came for Rodin to visit the cathedrals, he was to -understand better than any other this art which has sprung from the -forests of France, engendered by their mysterious grandeur, once full of -terrors and marvels. The benefit which he derived immediately from his -acquaintance with Belgium was the experience of those intellectual joys -and that happiness which await any one who is serious, loyal, reverent -in the presence of the divine work that offers itself as an object of -study to the assiduous. - -Another besides himself had already received this teaching of nature in -exactly this place. Rude, whom the Bourbons had exiled on their return -to France because of his worship of Napoleon, passed several years in -Brussels and executed there a number of works, among others the famous -bas-reliefs of the Chateau de Tervueren, since destroyed by fire; "La -Chasse de Meleagre," of which the authorities of the Belgian department -of fine arts were fortunately able to take casts. On his way between -Brussels and Tervueren, Rude went every day several leagues on foot, -crossing the Forest of Soignes, where he, too, endeavored to forget the -lessons of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, on the benches of which he had, -according to his own confession, lost many years. - -[Illustration: CARYATID--TAKEN AT MEUDON IN RODIN'S GARDEN.] - -In addition to these works of decorative art, Rodin executed a number -of busts and sketches. He even found time to make a large figure -modeled after his wife, a figure draped like a Gothic statue, which -he worked over lovingly. It had the same disastrous fate as that -which befell the other one at Paris, and for the same reason; poverty -prevented the artist from having a cast taken of his work in time: like -the "Bacchante," it was completely destroyed. Despite this loss, the -sculptor was not discouraged; work for him was a happiness which was -begun anew each day; he at once began on another subject. This time he -took for his model a young man whose acquaintance he had made and who -willingly consented to pose for him. - -This young man was not a model by trade, spoiled by the conventional -attitudes which the Parisian sculptors impose on professionals. He -was a soldier, living in barracks near Rodin's house. As soon as the -sculptor saw, disengaging itself from the clothes, the graceful figure -of this boy of twenty-five who was not aware of his beauty and did -quite simply whatever his companion asked him, he promised himself -not to abandon this work before he had carried it as far as his skill -permitted him to go. His model disposed himself in simple attitudes, -which were not vitiated by any pretentious forethoughts. One day he came -toward him, his arms upraised, his head thrown back, with an air of -youthfully voluptuous lassitude that filled the artist with enthusiasm. -One would have said that he was a young hero staggering under the -shock of a wound. And Rodin set himself to execute the statue of the -wounded hero. But nature lends itself to infinite interpretations. -The sense of an attitude that is well rendered creates of itself more -comprehensive ideas. When we contemplate one who is wounded or ill, -obscure impressions agitate our spirit, impelling it toward ideas -higher than those of wounds and illness. It skirts the frontiers of -death, the enigma of annihilation or of the world to come, and all -those unformulated sentiments, which in their confused flight haunt -the profound regions of the soul. Before his beautiful model Rodin -experienced these emotions and transcribed them upon his sculpture. In -its unblemished nudity, it bears the sign of no one epoch; it is the -eternal man touched in his innermost sensibility by something of which -he knows not the cause. Is it his soul, is it his flesh that trembles? -One does not know. No knowledge comes without suffering. Rodin, aware -immediately of this effect of transposition, in the delicious surprise -of the artist who sometimes sees himself surpassed by his own work, -christened the statue, "The Man of the Age of Bronze," that is to say, -one who is passing from the unconsciousness of primitive man into the -age of understanding and of love. A few years later he gave it this -still happier final name, "The Man who Awakens to Nature." - -He worked over it eighteen months. There is no part of this harmonious -figure that has not been passionately thought out. He had to render, -beneath the supple covering of the skin, those firm, fine muscles which -possess the elasticity of youth and its sobriety. In giving the sense -of the presence of these things, one creates the illusion of their -activity. This is the secret of great sculpture and of all the arts, to -evoke that which we do not see by the quality of that which we do see. -"Carefully examine the Venus de Medici," Rude used to advise his pupils, -"and under the polish of the skin you will see the whole muscular system -appear." - -Rodin did not spare either his own strength or that of his model. An -implacable goddess led him on, his conscience. He did not content -himself with rendering only the masses that his direct vision gave him. -In this way he would have possessed only two dimensions, the length and -width of the human body. He needed the exact relief of masses, which -is the basis of _ronde-bosse_, of "cubic sculpture." He studied his -profiles not only from below, but from above. He mounted a painting -ladder and looked down over his model; he measured the surface of the -skull, which, seen from above, has an ovoid form; he took and compared -with his clay model the dimensions of the shoulders, the chest, the -hips, the feet as they appeared with the floor as a background. He -observed the points where the arm muscles were inserted, and those of -the thighs and the legs. How, after such a rigorously minute process -of noting his masses, could his work be flat? That became impossible. -But the geometric labor, the taking of measurements, was not all. The -next question was to reassemble the different profiles by careful -transcription. There is an entire school of conscientious sculptors who -believe that they can obtain reality by the simple method of making -identical points correspond. They multiply the measurements taken from -the model with the aid of a plumb-line and a compass; it is only a -mechanical process which does not even give good practical effects. To -unify the manifold surface of the human body, to endow the whole with -the suppleness of life, with its harmonious continuity and poise, -the personal judgment of the artist must unceasingly intervene. His -own special taste is supremely what adjusts the elements which are -waiting to be unified by him in order to take on animation and to live -one beside another. It is during this last effort that the expression, -summoned up by the truth of the ensemble, comes almost of itself to -the fingers of the sculptor. If the preceding principles have not been -scrupulously observed, it seems to refuse to come; it is the reward -only of conscience joined with intelligence; it is the fruit of this -indissoluble union that works in the spirit of the true artist. The true -expression is that to which we give the indefinable name of poetry. - -[Illustration: MAN AWAKENING TO NATURE.] - -Since the creation of "The Man who Awakens to Nature," in which during -two years he had eagerly sought it, this became the characteristic -of Rodin's talent. He had conquered it for all time; and so while -his insatiable will applies itself with no less energy to other -researches, that of movement, of character, of lighting, and sometimes -over-emphasizes them, the work that comes from his hand may appear -strange, excessive; it will never be mediocre, never indifferent. - -And now let us glance at the image of this young man, this proud, -unblemished human plant. All we have just been saying is forgotten in -the force of our impression. The most powerful impression, first of -all, is indolence. It is absorbed in itself; it exhausts like a great -draught of life the veins of those who respond to it. Hence the silence, -the long, dumb contemplation, the sense of incertitude one experiences -in the presence of its beauty. It is not to our spirit that it first -addresses itself. Its voluptuousness, whencesoever come, enchants our -senses; then the intellect demands an explanation, studies it, traces -back the sensation to its sources through one of those rapid and -manifold changes which are the law of such natural phenomena as light, -sound, electricity. - -"The man who awakens to nature," said Rodin, in the presence of his -statue. Indeed the body bends over, as if under the exquisite caress of -the breezes of spring. The hand rests itself upon the head, flung back -as if to hold in the somewhat mournful splendor of some too beautiful -vision. The whole torso is gently stirred by the emotion springing -up from the depths of the flesh to die out upon the surface of the -imperceptibly agitated muscles. He leans lightly backward, bending like -a bow and at the same time like a traveler walking toward the dawn; -he is drawn on by the desire to renew this inner emotion that swells -his human heart almost to the bursting-point. By this double movement -reconstituting life, the action does not interrupt itself. It evokes -the past and the future; the obscure shadows out of which this soul is -endeavoring to emerge and the bright regions toward which it advances. - -Auguste Rodin was at this time thirty-five years old. In the career -of the artist, this admirable figure has a special significance, that -of something symbolic. It marks one of the happiest phases of the -sculptor's life, the period of revelation through which he had just been -living during his sojourn by the forest of Groenendael. He, too, had -awakened to Nature in the heart of the sacred wood; he, too, had come to -know the somewhat dazzling torment of a being fully awake to the beauty -of the world. This beauty he had at last penetrated; he felt it with all -the strength of a ripened heart, he adored it; he made it his religion. - -Such is the inner history of this statue. There is another, a history of -the anecdotal sort, which is well known to-day, but which it is proper -to recall in a complete biography of the master. - -The adventure of "The Age of Bronze" was the first resounding battle -that Rodin fought in his struggle for the cause of art. It was a -victory, but only after great combats. - -The plaster model appeared in the Salon of 1877. Before this proud and -spirited figure a number of visitors paused, ravished by a sensation -that was absolutely new. In itself there was nothing clamorous, no -attempt to attract attention by extravagance of gesture or exaggerated -expression--quite the contrary; the fragrance of a shy beauty, an -idyllic freshness, mingled with the passionate poetry of a virile, -artistic conscience, an exquisite sense of measure, a delightful -elegance characteristically French, of the north of France, grave and -restrained, and with a something hitherto unseen, a vigor till then -unknown diffused through this adolescent flesh, irradiating it with -tenderness, with a noble charm, a caressing sadness. - -Immediately the rumor began to circulate, welcomed here, spurned there, -by the world of professionals, amateurs, and journalists: the anatomy -of the new work was too exact, its modeling too precise for it to be an -interpretation of the model; it was a cast from nature, and the sculptor -who gave out as the result of his own labor this mechanical copy of a -human body was nothing but an impostor. - -What does it matter? thought the public in its up-and-down common sense. -There are plenty of fine casts from nature; so much the better for the -name of Rodin if he has been particularly successful in this line. - -But Rodin was indignant. This nude, so obstinately worked over, a cast! -That he should have committed such a deception, he the scrupulous molder -of clay! Oh, he knew well enough that most of the great modern sculptors -do not burden themselves with so many scruples and lend themselves too -often to the hasty method of taking casts; he condemned it with all the -force of his own probity. He knew well that in this very Salon of 1877 -more than fifty pieces of sculpture about which nothing was said owed -their existence to this malpractice of which he was accused and of which -he would never be guilty, because he considered it the very negation -of art. For of course taking casts is nothing but the reproduction -of nature in its immobility. By means of it one is able to take the -impression of forms, but one cannot grasp movement or expression. It -is possible to take the mold of an arm, a leg, an inert body; one can -take a good cast of the stiffened mask of the dead; one cannot calculate -through the medium of the plaster the attitude and the modifications of -form of a man walking or falling or the eloquence of a face lighted up -by the reflection of the inner mind. This transcription of the whole -is the exclusive privilege of the artist. He alone seizes and fixes -the general impression; for it is made up not only of the immediate -movement, but of that which precedes and that which follows. His eye -alone registers the rapid succession, and his skill reproduces it. While -the cast, like the photograph, only constitutes a unity detached from -the whole, sculpture from nature reestablishes the whole itself and -represents the uninterrupted vibration which is life. - -That explains how there happen to be, on the one hand, so many -hard figures, weak and cold images, turned out hastily by lazy and -conscienceless sculptors, and, on the other, those works that possess a -charm that is mysterious to those who know nothing of its source, who -are unaware of this method of observation and labor which a supreme -effort veils in the easy grace and the apparent facility that enchants -us in the things of nature. - -The accusation brought against Rodin became more definite. There was a -veritable upheaval of opinion in the world of the Salons. He protested, -with the firmness of an artist resolved to suffer no blot upon his -honor. He insisted upon receiving justice. Unknown, without means of -support, without fortune, he might well have waited a long time for it. -He turned toward Belgium, seeking defenders in the country where he had -made "The Age of Bronze"; but the academic virus did not spare him; the -official sculptors remained deaf to the appeal of their confrere. For -that matter, where did he come from, this ambitious stone-cutter who -claimed the title of sculptor without waiting on the good pleasure of -the pontiffs? - -Rodin's model alone, the young soldier of Brussels, became indignant at -the affront to his sculptor. He wanted to hasten to Paris and exhibit -himself naked before the eye of the jury of honor which had just been -constituted and cry out to them that he had posed nearly two years for -the artist who had been so unjustly attacked. But nothing is simple. He -had posed, thanks to the special good will of the captain commanding the -company to which he belonged, and in defiance of military regulations. -To reveal this fact would be to compromise the officer, and so he had to -remain silent. - -Rodin had photographs and casts taken from his model and sent them -to the experts. All this was costly and uncertain. It was only after -months of waiting that they were examined. On the jury were several art -critics, including Charles Iriarte, a learned writer and distinguished -mind, and Paul de Saint-Victor, author of the "Deux-Masques," -the sumptuous writer of so much brilliant prose. Alas! the most -insignificant sculptor, provided he had only been sincere, could have -settled Rodin's case a hundred times better. A man of his own trade, -possessing the elements of justice, would have immediately decided the -question according to the facts, while the critics and writers relied -wholly upon personal impressions, and, to the great bitterness of the -sculptor, when they delivered an opinion they did not altogether reject -the accusation that he had taken casts, allowing doubt to rest upon the -honesty of Rodin. He himself did not know what to do next. Chance was -more favorable to him than men. - -At that time he was executing for a great decorator some ornamental -motives destined for one of the buildings of the Universal Exposition -of 1878. The sculptor, Alfred Boucher, a pupil of Paul Dubois, came -one day on a business errand to see the decorator. In the studios he -noticed Rodin at work on the model of a group of children intended for -a cartouche. Boucher, who knew about the accusation that hung over -him, observed him with the liveliest interest. He witnessed the rapid, -skilful, amazingly dexterous execution producing under his very eye -a tender efflorescence of childish flesh on the firm and perfectly -constructed little bodies. _And Rodin was working without models!_ -Alfred Boucher was a product of the Ecole; he had taken the _grand prix -de Rome_; he was ten years younger than Rodin; but he was an honest man; -he hastened to relate to his master, Paul Dubois, what he had seen. The -creator of the "Florentine Singer" and "Charity" in his turn wished to -see things for himself. With Claude Chapu he went to the decorator's -and both of them decided then and there that the hand that molded so -skilfully from memory the figures of the cherubs was certainly capable, -in its extraordinary knowledge of human anatomy, of having executed that -of "The Age of Bronze." Thereupon they convinced their confreres and -decided to write the under-secretary of state a solemn letter in which -all of them, answering for the good faith of Rodin, declared that he -had made a beautiful statue and that he would become a great sculptor. -The letter was signed by Carrier-Belleuse, Paul Dubois, Chapu, Thomas -Delaplanche, Chaplin Falguiere. - -[Illustration: BUST OF THE COUNTESS OF W----.] - -This tempered considerably the rancor of the artist. - -It is a strange fact that for years he underrated this statue. In 1899 -he gave his first great exhibition of all his work. It was to the Maison -d'Art of Brussels that the honor of this project was due, and it was -carried out in a style and with a good taste which no later exhibition -of the master has surpassed, or even attained. - -As he had charged me with the supervision of the sending off of his -works, to the number of fifty, I begged him to include among them "The -Age of Bronze." I hoped that the public, and especially the artists of -Belgium, might be able to study the evolution of his technique through -his typical works, executed at different periods of his career. Nothing -could induce him to consent to it. He declared that in twenty years -his modeling had undergone a complete transformation, that it had -become more spacious and more supple, and that the exhibition of this -statue could serve no purpose and be of good to nobody. I urged him to -go and look at it again. The bronze, sent to the Salon of 1880, with -the plaster figure of "St. John the Baptist in Prayer," awarded, oh -splendor of official miserliness! a medal of the third class, had been -bought by the state a few years later and set up in a corner of the -Luxembourg Gardens, an out-of-the-way corner, but one that the light -shadows of the young trees made charming. The master refused. Two or -three years afterward, one morning while we were talking, I led him -unsuspecting toward this little grove. Thinking of something else he -lifted his Head, casting an indifferent glance at the solitary bronze. -Surprised, he examined it, while a happy emotion lighted up his face; -then he walked slowly around it. Finally he admitted quietly that he -had been mistaken, that the statue seemed to him really beautiful, well -constructed, and carefully sculptured. In order to comprehend it he had -had to forget it, to see it again suddenly, and to judge it as if it had -been the work of another hand. - -After this readoption, his affection for it was restored; he had several -copies cast in bronze and cut in stone, and it has become perhaps one -of his most popular and most sought-after works. Museums of Europe and -America, lovers of art in both hemispheres, consider it an honor to -possess replicas. - -It was the first of Rodin's great statues, or, rather, the first that -has been preserved. Several other works of capital importance serve -as landmarks in the progress of his talent. Around them are grouped -fragments, busts, innumerable delightful little compositions, all -treated with the same care and equally reflecting the result of his -studies; but, as ever, it is the major works that mark most visibly the -points of departure and arrival of the different periods of his artistic -development. These works are: "The Age of Bronze" (1877); "Saint John -the Baptist" (1880); "The Gate of Hell" (1880-19--, not finished); "The -Creation of Man" (1881); "The Burghers of Calais" (1889); "Victor Hugo" -(1896); "Balzac" (1898); "The Seasons" (pediments of stone, 1905); -"Ariadne" (in course of execution). - -These works will be described and characterized, in the course of this -book, at the dates of their appearance. - - - - -FLEMISH PAINTING--JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE - - -During his stay in Belgium, Rodin studied the Flemish painters. Free -from the prejudices of the schools, unaware of the theories of the -critics, sensitive to the beautiful in every form, following only -his personal taste supported by the study of the masters, he ranged -over the vast domain of art through regions the most dissimilar and -superficially the most opposed. Of course he had his preferences; he -returned unceasingly to the antique and the Gothic; but his preferences -did not blind him. His admiration passed rapidly from the splendors of -Greek and Roman architecture to the voluptuous graces of the seventeenth -century. His love for Donatello and Michelangelo did not prevent him -from appreciating Bernini. - -Attracted first by the marvelous Flemish Gothic artists, Memling, -Massys, the Van Eycks, he was later delighted with the homely scenes of -Jan Steen, of Brueghel, of Teniers; he enjoyed them as an artist and as -a simple man who knew the value of domestic joys. Then he was haunted by -the sensual pomp of Jordaens and above all Rubens. - -[Illustration: THE POET AND THE MUSE.] - -The triumphant brush of Rubens sculptured as much as it painted. The -science of foreshortening and that of ceiling painting, his way of -modeling forms in the light and by means of light--all this brought his -art into the realm of sculpture; and when Rodin came to seek effects of -light and shadow that were new to sculpture, he remembered the lessons -of the Antwerp master. From that time on Rubens was for him a splendid -subject for study and would have fortified him, had that been necessary, -in the love of drawing; for beautiful drawing leads, to everything, to -_color_, in sculpture as well as in painting. - -Flemish art was not enough to satisfy this thirst for understanding that -devoured the soul of the artist now in the full swing of the fermenting -force of his faculties. He wished to see Italy or at least to catch a -glimpse of it. His resources were so slender indeed that his journey -could not have been long. It did not matter. He would form an idea of -the immensity of its treasure and confirm in himself the desire to -return. He wished also to see France, as alluring to him as Greece, and -whose cathedrals are perhaps not less beautiful than the Parthenon. - -He started for Italy in 1875, and he accomplished his first tour of -France in 1877. He set forth. He was young and strong; he made the pass -of Mont Cenis on foot. He was unknown and without connections. What -did it matter? In the midst of these scenes so radiant with memories of -history and art, did he not feel an intoxication such as the soldiers of -Bonaparte alone must have experienced, catching sight of the plains of -Lombardy, where they were to forget the hardships of the campaign? - -For Rodin, Italy meant the antique; it meant Donatello and Michelangelo. -The antique he had already to a considerable extent studied in the -Louvre. Donatello and Michelangelo conquered him at the first glance--a -tumultuous conquest. The severity of Donatello's style impassioned him; -the rigid honesty of his realism, the desire of this younger brother of -Dante to see things grandly, the equal desire to see things simply, this -Gothic genius deeply moved "in the mid-way of this our mortal life" by -pagan beauty and touched by the breath of the Renaissance, impressed -the French artist and became a dominating memory. From that time on in -the most beautiful of his busts, those of Jean-Paul Laurens, Puvis de -Chavannes, Lord Wyndham, Lord Horace Walden, Mr. Ryan, he was to appear -as a disciple of the Florentine master, not by a literal imitation of -his methods, which he thoroughly grasped, but by similar qualities -of observation and synthesis. Still, this was not until after he had -made other studies, while Michelangelo took hold upon him immediately -and completely and became an actual obsession that might have proved -dangerous to a sculptor less severe with himself, less determined to -discover his own path. - -The dazzling richness of modeling, the majesty of the great figures -of the prodigious Florentine, and their fullness of movement--for -their immobility is charged with movement--the somber melancholy of -his thought, his flaming and shadowy soul, his literary romanticism, -a romanticism like that of Shakspere, overwhelmed Rodin with that -formidable sense of an almost sorrowful admiration that all experience -who visit the Medici tombs in the new sacristy. - -He studied also the later marbles of Michelangelo, which stood at that -time in the gardens of the Pitti Palace and have since been removed to -the Municipal Museum of Florence. - -Every one knows these powerful blocks, these vast human forms, only half -disengaged from the marble, from which they seem to be endeavoring to -escape in order to give birth to themselves by a rending effort that -is characteristic with all the force of a symbol of the tragic genius -of Buonarroti. "Unfinished works"; it is thus the catalogues designate -them. Unfinished works, indeed, but why? Was it age that stilled, before -the end, the hand of the giant of sculpture? Or was it not rather that -he judged them too strangely beautiful in their incompleteness, that -they seemed to him more powerful thus, still captive to the material -that bound them groaning, as it were, in their tremulous flesh? - -The public pays little attention to these sublime masses because it is -told that they are not _finished_. Not finished? Or infinite? That is -the question. Far from weighing them down, the marble that envelops -them throws about them the charm of the indeterminate and by means -of this unites them with the atmosphere. The parts that are wholly -disengaged enable one to divine those that remain hidden; they are -veiled without being obliterated, like mountain-tops among the clouds; -and this half-mystery, instead of diminishing, increases the harmony -of the bodies trembling with life under their mantle of stone. In the -presence of an effect so marvelous, so calculated, one cannot cease from -asking if it was really death or if it was not rather the sovereign -taste of the workman that arrested the chisel. While he was fashioning -his statues out of the marble itself, with that fury that has passed -into legend, did he not find himself, face to face with these unexpected -effects which the material offered him of itself, in the midst of one of -those happy situations by which the talent of the masters alone enables -them to profit? - -However that may be, Rodin was struck as if by a revelation. What the -progress of his work had tardily disclosed to Michelangelo was soon to -become for his disciple a principle of decorative art. Instead of -disengaging his figures entirely, he was to leave them half submerged -in the transparent marble. This method, which has become famous -to-day, seemed an unheard-of thing to those who were unfamiliar with -the Florentine blocks; but Rodin has never failed to acknowledge the -paternity of the sculptor of "The Thinker." Following in his steps, many -artists have employed this method at random, without possessing the -essential qualities that enable one to control these effects, and under -their powerless chisels the enchanting device no longer possesses any -meaning. - -[Illustration: THE THINKER.] - -Rodin himself waited until he possessed a thorough knowledge of marble -and the manner of treating it; it was a stroke of fate by which he -rediscovered the phenomena of envelopment that had so transported him in -the Municipal Museum. He had by that time the wisdom to guard himself -from doing anything inconsistent with his material. He followed out -the suggestions it gave him, and developed an infinite variety in the -methods of handling it. - -On his return from Italy he continued to be haunted by the unsurpassable -vigor of Michelangelo's workmanship. He sought to discover what was -the outstanding gift that conferred upon him this power and this -mysterious empire over the spirit. Until then, with the majority of -artists of the modern school, he had believed that the chief quality -of sculpture lay in seizing the _character_ of the model; but he came -to see how many works concerned only with expressing character fail of -real significance. Since 1830 how many romanticists have sacrificed to -character without leaving any works that are lasting! - -After his journey Rodin decided that the strength of Michelangelo lay -undoubtedly in his _movement_. Returning to his studio, he executed a -quantity of sketches and even large figures like "The Creation of Man," -the title of which, although he had not been to Rome, is a souvenir of -the frescos of the Sistine Chapel; he made busts like that of Bellona, -after having directed his models to assume Michelangelesque poses. -For all this, he did not attain to the grandeur, the soul-disturbing -authority of the Florentine master. - -Without becoming discouraged, he went on observing ceaselessly. Far -from imposing upon his model positions thought out in advance, he left -him free to wander about the studio at the pleasure of his own caprice, -ready to arrest him at a word when a beautiful movement passed before -his eyes. Then, six months after his return from Italy, he found that -the model assumed of his own accord the very poses of which Michelangelo -alone had seemed to him to possess the secret; he realized that the -sublime sculptor had taken them direct from nature, from the rhythm of -the human body in action, and that he had done nothing but seize and -immortalize them. - -"Michelangelo," he says, "revealed me to myself, revealed to me the -truth of forms. I went to Florence to find what I possessed in Paris and -elsewhere, but it is he who taught me this." - -This does not prevent certain critics from asserting out of the depth of -their incompetence that he has never felt the influence of this master -and that he has never even given his work serious consideration. Those -who know Rodin well know that, on the contrary, he never fails to give -serious consideration to anything which is worth considering at all -and that his power of observation is the basis of his genius. Always -seeking a final method, he came back to the idea with which his earliest -education had already inspired him and which his self-communings had -only confirmed: that the value of sculpture lies entirely in the -_modeling_. This is the secret of Michelangelo; it is also that of the -ancients and of all the great artists of the past and of modern times. -For the rest, through his spacious movements, his balancing of equal -masses, the sculptor of the tombs taught him that the supreme quality -consists in seeking in the modeling the _living, determining line of the -scheme_, the supple axis of the human body. - -He himself held this principle of the ancients, of whom he was a -disciple, as far as modeling is concerned, while in his composition and -his handling of light he is a Gothic. - -Soon after his return from Italy, Rodin executed the great study -entitled "The Creation of Man." In it he exaggerated the rhythm -so characteristic of the Florentine, the balancing of masses, the -melancholy contraction of the body under the weight of an inexpressible -inner suffering. When one examines the figure, this exaggeration -certainly suggests something overworked, something forced, which -Michelangelo knew how to avoid and which here creates a somewhat painful -impression. But later, when Rodin conceived the idea of placing his -statue at the summit of "The Gate of Hell," this strained appearance -disappeared. Seen thus, a lofty shape lighted up from below, it takes on -true beauty; it is in its right place; it dominates the work and, as it -were, blesses it. It has the affecting gesture of Christian charity. - -[Illustration: ADOLESCENCE.] - - - - -RODIN'S NOTE-BOOK - -INTRODUCTIONS BY JUDITH CLADEL - - -I - -ANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS - - - At a period in which, among the many manifestations of - intellectual activity in the nations, art is placed in the - background, the advent of a great artist invariably calls forth - the same phenomena: a few men of taste become enthusiasts, the - majority become indignant, and the public, not being possessed of - sufficient esthetic education, and intolerant because of their lack - of understanding, ridicule the intruder who has overthrown the - accepted standards of the century. Friends and foes alike consider - him a revolutionist; as a matter of fact, he is in open revolt - against ignorance and general incompetence. - - Little by little the great truth embodied in such a man is - revealed. Comprehension, like a contagion, seems to take hold - of the minds of people, and impels them to study his art at - first hand. A study not only of his own significance, but of - the principles which he represents, quickly reveals that the - work of this innovator, this revolutionist, is, in fact, deeply - allied to tradition, and, far from being a mysterious, isolated - manifestation, is, on the contrary, closely linked to general - artistic ideals. - - Our aim is to penetrate the doctrines of this master, his - method, his manner of working--all that which at other times would - have been called his secrets. - - Auguste Rodin's career has passed through the inevitable - phases. He, who has been so generally discussed and attacked, is - to-day the most regarded of all artists. He likes to talk of his - art; for he knows that his observations have a priceless value, - that of experience--the experience of sixty years of uninterrupted - work--and of a conscience perhaps even more exacting to-day than at - the time of his impetuous youth. He says, "My principles are the - laws of experience." The combination of these principles embodies - his greatest precept; namely, that of thinking and executing a - thing simultaneously. We must listen to Rodin as we would listen - to Michelangelo or Rembrandt if they were living. For his method - may be the starting-point of an artistic renaissance in Europe, - perhaps throughout the whole world. Definite signs of a decided - resurrection in taste are already manifesting themselves, and it - is a splendid satisfaction for the illustrious sculptor to receive - such acknowledgment in his glorious old age. For, like every - great genius, he has a profound love for the race from which he - springs, and feels a strong instinctive confidence in it. Indeed, - how should this be otherwise? In the course of centuries, has not - this wonderful Celtic race on various occasions reconstructed its - understanding and interpretation of beauty? - - Auguste Rodin expresses himself by preference on subjects - from which he can draw an actual lesson. He is no theorist; he - has an eminently positive mind, one might even say a practical - mind. His teachings, unlike the abstract teachings of books, can - be characterized by two words, observation and deduction. His - are not more or less arbitrary meditations in which personal - imagination plays the principal part; they are rather the account - of a sagacious, truthful traveler, of a soldier who relates the - story of his campaigns, or of a scholar who records the result of - an analysis. Reality is his only basis, and with justice to himself - he can say, "I am not a rhetorician, but a man of action." - - We hear him chat, it may be in his atelier about some piece of - antique sculpture which has just come into his possession or about - a work he has in hand, or during his rambles through his garden, - which is situated in the most delightful country in the suburbs of - the capital, or on a walk through the museums, or through the old - quarter of Paris. For in his opinion "the streets of Paris, with - their shops of old furniture, etchings, and works of art, are a - veritable museum, far less tiring than official museums, and from - which one imbibes just as much as one can." - - * * * * * - -I use the words of the people, of the man in the street; for thoughts -should be clear and easily comprehended. I desire to be understood by -the great majority, and I leave scholarly words and unusual phrasing -to specialists in estheticism. Moreover, what I say is very simple. It -is within the grasp of ordinary intelligence. Up to now it has been of -hardly any value. It is something quite new, and will remain so as long -as the ideas which I stand for are not actively carried out. - -If these ideas were understood and applied, the destruction of ancient -works of art would cease immediately. By bad restoration we are ruining -our most beautiful works of art, our marvelous architecture, our -Gothic cathedrals, Renaissance city halls, all those old houses that -transformed France into a garden of beauty of which it was impossible to -grow weary, for everything was a delight to the eye and intelligence. -Our workmen would have to be as capable as those of former times to -restore those works of art without changing them, they would have to -possess the same wonderfully trained eye and hand. But to-day we have -lost that conception and execution. We live in a period of ignorance, -and when we put our hand to a masterpiece, we spoil it. Restoring, in -our way, is almost like jewelers replacing pearls with false diamonds, -which the ignorant accept with complacency. - -The Americans who buy our paintings, our antique furniture, our old -engravings, our materials, pay very dearly for them. At least we think -so. As a matter of fact they buy them very cheaply, for they obtain -originals which can never be duplicated. We mock at the American -collectors; in reality we ought to laugh at ourselves. For we permit our -most precious treasures to be taken out of the country, and it is they -who have the intelligence to acquire them. - -My ideas, once understood and applied, would immediately revive art, all -arts, not only sculpture, painting, and architecture, but also those -arts which are called minor, such as decoration, tapestry, furniture, -the designing of jewelry and medals, etc. The artisan would revert to -fundamental truth, to the principles of the ancients--principles which -are the eternal basis of all art, regardless of differences of race and -temperament. - - - -CONSTRUCTION AND MODELING - -In the first place, art is only a close study of nature. Without that -we can have no salvation and no artists. Those who pretend that they -can improve on the living model, that glorious creation of which we -know so little, of which we in our ignorance barely grasp the admirable -proportions, are insignificant persons, and they will never produce -anything but mediocre work. - -We must strive to understand nature not only with our heart, but above -all with our intellect. He who is impressionable, but not intelligent, -is incapable of expressing his emotion. The world is full of men who -worship the beauty of women; but how many can make beautiful portraits -or beautiful busts of the woman they adore? Intelligence alone, after -lengthy research, has discovered the general principles without which -there can be no real art. - -In sculpture the first of these principles is that of construction. -Construction is the first problem that faces an artist studying his -model, whether that model be a human being, animal, tree, or flower. The -question arises regarding the model as a whole, and regarding it in its -separate parts. All form that is to be reproduced ought to be reproduced -in its true dimensions, in its complete volume. And what is this volume? - -It is the space that an object occupies in the atmosphere. The essential -basis of art is to determine that exact space; this is the alpha and -omega, this is the general law. To model these volumes in depth is to -model in the round, while modeling on the surface is bas-relief. In a -reproduction of nature such as a work of art attempts, sculpture in the -round approaches reality more closely than does bas-relief. - -To-day we are constantly working in bas-relief, and that is why our -products are so cold and meager. Sculpture in the round alone produces -the qualities of life. For instance, to make a bust does not consist in -executing the different surfaces and their details one after another, -successively making the forehead, the cheeks, the chin, and then the -eyes, nose, and mouth. On the contrary, from the first sitting the whole -mass must be conceived and constructed in its varying circumferences; -that is to say, in each of its profiles. - -A head may appear ovoid, or like a sphere in its variations. If we -slowly encircle this sphere, we shall see it in its successive profiles. -As it presents itself, each profile differs from the one preceding. It -is this succession of profiles that must be reproduced, and that is the -means of establishing the true volume of a head. - -Each profile is actually the outer evidence of the interior mass; each -is the perceptible surface of a deep section, like the slices of a -melon, so that if one is faithful to the accuracy of these profiles, the -reality of the model, instead of being a superficial reproduction, seems -to emanate from within. The solidity of the whole, the accuracy of plan, -and the veritable life of a work of art, proceed therefrom. - -The same method applies to details which must all be modeled in -conformity with the whole. Deference to plan necessitates accuracy of -modeling. The one is derived from the other. The first engenders the -second. - -These are the main principles of construction and modeling--principles -to which we owe the force and charm of works of art. They are the key -not only to the handicraft of sculpture, but to all the handicrafts of -art. For that which is true of a bust applies equally to the human form, -to a tree, to a flower, or to an ornament. - -This is neither mysterious nor hard to understand. It is thoroughly -commonplace, very prosaic. Others may say that art is emotion, -inspiration. Those are only phrases, tales with which to amuse -the ignorant. Sculpture is quite simply the art of depression and -protuberance. There is no getting away from that. Without a doubt the -sensibility of an artist and his particular temperament play a part in -the creation of a work of art, but the essential thing is to command -that science which can be acquired only by work and daily experience. -The essential thing is to respect the law, and the characteristic of -that fruitful law is to be the same for all things. - -Moreover, such was the method employed by the ancients, the method which -we ourselves employed till the end of the eighteenth century, and by -which the spirit of the Gothic genius and that of the Renaissance and of -the periods of culture and elegance of the seventeenth and eighteenth -centuries were transmitted to us. Only in our day have we completely -lost that technic. - -These rules do not constitute a system peculiar to myself. They are -general principles which govern the world of art, just as other -immutable laws govern the celestial world. They are mathematical -principles which I found again because my work inevitably led me to -follow in the footsteps of the great masters, my ancestors. - - - -THE TRADITIONAL LAWS OF ANCIENT ART - -In days of old, precise laws were handed down from generation to -generation, from master to student, in all the workshops of the workers -in art--sculptors, painters, decorators, cabinet-makers, jewelers. But -at that time workshops existed where one actually taught, where the -master worked in view of the pupil. In our day by what have we replaced -that marvelously productive school, the workshop? By academies in which -one learns nothing, because one sets out from such a contrary point of -view. - -These principles of art were first pointed out to me not by a celebrated -sculptor, or by an authorized teacher, but by a comrade in the workshop, -a humble artisan, a little plasterer from the neighborhood of Blois -called Constant Simon. We worked together at a decorator's. I was -quite at the beginning of my career, earning six francs a day. Our -models were leaves and flowers, which we picked in the garden. I was -carving a capital when Constant Simon said to me: "You don't go about -that correctly. You make all your leaves flatwise. Turn them, on the -contrary, with the point facing you. Execute them in depth and not in -relief. Always work in that manner, so that a surface will never seem -other than the termination of a mass. Only thus can you achieve success -in sculpture." - -I understood at once. Since then I have discovered many other things, -but that rule has remained my absolute basis. Constant Simon was only -an obscure workman, but he possessed the principles and a little of the -genius of the great ornamentists who worked at the chateaux of the -Loire. On the St. Michel fountain in Paris there are very beautifully -carved decorations, rich and at the same time graceful, which were made -by the hand of this little modeler, who knew far more than all the -professors of esthetics. - -Such was the purpose the workshops of old served. The apprentice -passed successively through all the stages and became acquainted with -all the secrets of his handicraft. He began by sweeping the studio, -and that first taught him care and patience, which are the essential -virtues of a workman. He posed, he served as model for his comrades. -The master in turn worked before him among his students. He heard his -companions discuss their art, he benefited by the discoveries that they -communicated to one another. He found himself faced every day by those -unforeseen difficulties which go to make an artist till the moment -when the artist is sufficiently capable to master his difficulties. -Alternately, they were both teacher and companion, and they conveyed to -one another the science of the ancients. - -What have we to-day in place of those splendid institutions which -developed character and intelligence simultaneously? Schools at which -the students think only of obtaining a prize, not attained by close -study, but by flattering the professors. The professors themselves, -without any deep attachment for their academies, come hurriedly, -overburdened by official duties and all sorts of work; weighed down by -perfunctory obligations, they correct the students' papers hastily, and -hurriedly return to their regular occupation. - -As to the students, twenty or thirty work from a single model, which -is some distance from them and around which they can hardly turn. -They ignore all those inevitable laws which are learned in the course -of work, and which escape the attention of an artist working alone. -They attend courses, or read books on esthetics written in technical -language with obscure, abstract terms, lacking all connection with -concrete reality--books in which the same mistakes are repeated because -frequently they are copied from one another. What sort of students can -develop under such disastrous conditions? If one among them is seriously -desirous of learning, he breaks loose from his destructive surroundings, -is obliged to lose several years first in ridding himself of a poor -method, and then in searching for a method which formerly one had -mastered on leaving the atelier. - -That is the method that I preach to-day as emphatically as I can, -calling attention to the numerous benefits and advantages of taking up a -variety of handicrafts. Aside from sculpture and drawing, I have worked -at all sorts of things--ornamentation, ceramics, jewelry. I have learned -my lesson from matter itself and have adapted myself accordingly. Only -in being faithful to this principle can one understand and know how to -work. I am an artisan. - -Will my experience be of benefit to others? I hope so. At all events, we -have a bit to relearn. It will take years of patience and application -to rise from the abyss of ignorance into which we have fallen. However, -I believe in a renaissance. A number of our artists have already -seen the light--the light of intellectual truth. Acts of barbarism -against masterpieces cannot be committed any more without arousing the -indignation of cultivated people. That in itself is an inestimable gain, -for those works of art are the relics of our traditions, and if we have -the strength to become an artistic people again, to reincarnate an -era of beauty, then those are the works of art that will serve as our -models, expressions of a national conscience that will be the milestones -on our path. - - * * * * * - - Judged by his work, Auguste Rodin is the most modern of - artists; judged by his life and character, he is unquestionably - a man of bygone days. As a sculptor, he is such as were Phidias, - Praxiteles, and the master architects of the Middle Ages; that is - to say, he is of all times. One single idea guides his thoughts, - one single aim arouses his energies--art, art through the study of - nature. - - It is by the concentration of his unusual mind on a single - purpose that he attains his remarkable understanding of man, - physical and moral, his contemporary, and of the spirit of our - age. In the lifelike features of his statues he inscribes the - history of the day. They seem to live, and the potency of their - life enters into us and dominates us. For the moment we are only a - silent spring, merely reflecting their authority. - - Through this secret of genius, his statues and groups have - an individual charm. They have taken their place in the history - of sculpture. There is the charm of the antique, the charm of the - Gothic, and the charm of Michelangelo. There is also the charm of - Rodin. - - [Illustration: HEAD OF MINERVA.] - - - - - II - - SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS - - - In Rodin's statues we find his conception of eternal man--man - as he really is. They are molded on modern thought, with all its - variations. One might suppose that these beautiful beings of marble - and bronze had been named by the characteristic poets of the - century, Victor Hugo, Musset, Baudelaire. - - Beginning with the Renaissance and particularly during the - seventeenth century, the royal courts were the great salons in - which the taste of the day was developed. Necessity made courtiers - of the artists, for to obtain orders, they had to win the good-will - of the sovereigns, the great lords, and the financiers. - - Art then lost its collective character, the artist his - independence and strength. There was no longer the united effort of - artists, inspired by love of beauty, to create great masterpieces - such as cathedrals, city halls, and castles. The artist wasted his - abilities in fragmentary bits, his time in worldly duties. To-day - it is even worse. Keeping house, traveling, receiving, exhibiting - in a hundred different places, living in great style, carrying on - his life-work--all these crowd out the first, and formerly the - essential, object of the artist, his work. It is these that lower - art to the last degree of decadence. - - Rodin has kept aloof from this manner of living, has avoided - these innumerable occasions for wasting time, or, rather, has never - allowed them to take possession of him. Modest, unpretentious, - traveling little or within a limited radius, the unremitting study - of the divine model and of the masterpiece, man, forms his whole - ambition, while it is also the source of endless delight to him. - "Admiration," he says, "is a joy daily kindled afresh," and again, - "I talk out of the fullness of life; it belongs to me in a sense - larger than that of ownership." - - In his villa at Meudon, in the midst of his collections of - antiques, he pursues this study incessantly. He who is admitted to - the modest garden of the great master first beholds with delight a - Greek marble in an arbor. At the turn of a path there is the torso - of a goddess resting on an antique column; in a niche in the wall, - a Roman bust. Beneath the high arch of the peristyle of the studio, - the architecture of which blends into the surrounding background - as in the paintings of Claude Lorrain, there is a magnificent - torso. Finally dominating the garden and the valley it overlooks, - standing on a knoll and projected against the clear sky, there is - an isolated facade from a castle of the seventeenth century, its - delicate balustrades and casements outlined against the blue sky as - in the decorative paintings of Paul Veronese. - - These ruins are the remains of the Chateau d'Issy, the work of - Mansart. Rodin saved them at the moment when their destruction at - the hands of ignorant workmen was imminent, and at great expense - reconstructed them near his residence. These fragments, this noble - portico, seem as though placed by chance, but the keen observer - quickly perceives the correctness of taste that has determined - their disposition. Each fragment forms part of an ensemble with - the trees, the grass, the light, and the shadows, and to change - any of these in the slightest degree would sacrifice some of its - beauty. Sculpture at its finest is architecture, and architecture - is perhaps the greatest art, because it collaborates directly with - nature. Architecture lives through the life of things, and every - hour of the day lends it a new expression. - - Innumerable reflections were aroused in the mind of the master - Rodin when he essayed to place his treasures: the effect of the - changing light on the object, the balancing of values, the relation - of proper proportions, the appearance of the object in full light. - All these he examined and studied, and he searched into the depths - of the language of forms, to him as clear and as mysterious as - beautiful music. This remarkable gift for determining the value of - the object in its setting--a gift the secret of which is beyond the - knowledge of the ignorant--has brought forth that peculiar poetic - charm which permeates this little garden in a suburb of Paris, - a refuge of persecuted beauty. Here the master confers with the - artists of Greece and France of other days. These are his Elysian - Fields. - - In Paris, where he is daily and where he works every - afternoon, he lives in an exquisite, but ruinous, mansion of the - eighteenth century, situated in a rustic, neglected park. There he - finds his delight in the study of flowers and applies himself to - it with his intense, never-dormant desire for understanding. His - antique pottery is filled with anemones, carnations, and tulips. - During his frugal meals they are before him, and his reverent - love of them arouses his desire to understand them as completely - as he does human beings. He analyzes and searches out their - details without becoming insensible to the beauty of the whole. - He jots down his discoveries, his words picture them; like La - Rochefoucauld, he searches into their character; but watching over - their life admiringly and tenderly until they wither, he does not - dissect them, does not destroy them. - - Is not the flower the queen of ornaments, the inspiration of - all races and ages, the very soul of artistic decoration? Have not - the hands of genius contrived to employ the most durable as well - as the most fragile material to express this delicate beauty in - Greek and Gothic capitals, in the stone lacework of cathedrals, the - fabrics of gold and silk, brocades, tapestries, wrought iron-work, - old bindings? Is the splendor of stained-glass windows aught else - than the splendor of a mass of beautiful flowers? - -[Illustration: THE BATH.] - - "Were this thoroughly understood," says Rodin, "industrial art - would be entirely revolutionized--industrial art, that barbarous - term, an art which concerns itself with commerce and profit. - - "The young artists of to-day understand nothing; they copy to - satiety the classic ornaments and designs, and reproduce them in - so cold a manner that they lose all meaning. The ancients obtained - their designs from nature. They found their models in the garden, - even in the vegetable garden. They drew their inspiration from its - source. The cabbage-leaf, the oak-leaf, the clover, the thistle, - and the brier are the motives of the Gothic capital. It is not - photographic truth, but living truth, that we must seek in art." - - Rodin writes his observations. He notes them down at the - moment as they occur to him in all their freshness, and in this - form they will be given here. At first glance, the reader may be - surprised at their apparently fragmentary form. They may seem - devoid of general continuity, but when one comprehends the great - master's method, one sees that a bond much firmer than that of the - mere word binds them together. They seem disjointed because here, - as in his sculpture, the artist accepts only the essential, and - rejects all superfluous detail. In reality they have the continuity - of life, which is felt, but not seen, and which renders arbitrary - transition unnecessary. This is the prerogative of genius, while - all else is within the grasp of any one. His authority strikes us - dumb; it puts to rout mere commonplace cleverness. - - * * * * * - -I have had primroses put in this little flower-pot. They are a bit -crowded, and their poor little stems are prisoners; they are no longer -in their garden. - -I look at them on my table like a vivisector. I admire their beautiful -leaves, round-headed, vigorous, like peasants. They point toward me, and -between them is the flower. The one on this side is resigned, and as -beautiful as a caryatid. In profile it seems to hold up the leaf against -which it leans and which gives it shade. - -These little flowers are not beautiful, nor are they radiant. They -live peaceably, gently contented in their misery; and yet they offer -something to one who is ill, as I am to-day, and cause him to write to -ward off weariness. - -I always have flowers in the morning, and make no distinction between -them and my models. - -Many flowers together are like women with heads bowed down. - -There is no longer the sap of life in flowers in a vase. - -The lace work of the flower of the elder-tree--Venice. - -The anemone is only an eye, cruelly melancholy. It is the eye of a woman -who has been badly used. - -These anemones are flowers that have stayed up too late at night; -flowers that are resplendent, with their colors as though spread over -them superficially and wiped away. Even in the spring, in the hour of -anticipation, they are already in the fullness of enjoyment. - -Like the flower of seduction, the anemones slowly change their form -outlined in various ways, always restrained, however, and inclosed -within their sphere. Their petals have not a common destiny: some curl -up, others are like a becoming collaret, still others seem to be running -away. The delicate droop of the petals, standing out in relief, is like -the eyelid of a child. - -Although old, that one does not shed its petals. Poor little flower with -bent head, you are not ridiculous; you are pensive now that you are -dying. You suffer from the cruelty of the stem which holds you back. - -Flowers give their lives to us; they should be placed in Persian vases. -Near them, gold and silver seem of no value. - -Ah, dear friends, we must love you if we would have you speak to us! -We must watch you or you fall from the vase, despairing, your leaves -withered. - -The flowers and the vase harmonize by contrast. - -In this bouquet there are some with flexible stems which seem to leap up -gracefully. The flower, surrounded by its frail, straight leaves, is as -if suspended from the ledge of a wrought-iron balcony. - -Ah, the adorable heart of Adonis is incased within these flowers! - -The hyacinth is like a balustrade placed upside down. A bed of -hyacinths resembles a mass of balusters. Thus that great invention -of the Renaissance, the balustrade, allows us to gain through it -a glimpse of nature. This ray of art, the flower, this delicate -inspiration, unknowingly requires the intelligence of man to develop its -possibilities. - -Superb is this little rose-like flower among its spreading leaves. It is -like an assumption. - -The double narcissus is a bird's-nest viewed from above. Strange -flowers, like so many throats! What a frail marvel they are! - -These three little narcissi group themselves like a cluster of electric -lights. - -The dignity of nature impresses us on every hand. It is greatly apparent -in flowers; and yet so small are they that some look on them merely as -the decoration at a banquet. - -I will cast a narcissus in bronze; it shall serve as my seal. - -A maiden on a lake, that is the narcissus. - -Little red marguerite, not yet open, sister to the strawberry, huddled -in the shade which caresses you. - -The full-blown marguerite seems to play at _pigeon-vole_. - -It has rained for four hours; this is the hour when flowers quench their -thirst. - -A marguerite in profile, a serpent's head with open jaws, stretching out -its tongues! Petals, white, like a little collar. - -Seen in full face, its yellow-tinted heart is a little sun; its long -petals are like fingers playing the piano. - -These white flowers are gulls with wings outstretched. They fly one -after the other; this one, in adoration, has its petals thrown backward, -like wings. - -Whoever understands life loves flowers and their innocent caresses. - -These marguerites seem to retreat like a spider that finds itself -discovered in the road. Their buds stretch out their serpent-heads at -the end of long stems, divided by intercepting leaves and entangling -knots. Does not love travel in a similar path rather than straight as an -arrow? - -There is so much regularity in these dark-green leaves, extending at -fixed intervals to right and left, and in the eternal dryness of the -bouquet, that it calls to mind a Persian miniature. - -No man has a heart pure enough to interpret the freshness of flowers. We -cannot give expression to this freshness; it is beyond us. - -When it sheds its petals, the flower seems to disrobe and go to sleep -on the earth. This is its last act of grace, showing its submission to -God. - -What spirit possesses these flowers that die in silence! We should -listen to them and give thanks. - -This red and black ranunculus proclaims the carnival; it is the carnival -itself. The carnival is the very emblem of flowers. Like them it, also, -wears masks and costumes. It wears their colors, bright yellow, red--an -imitation of the flowers of the sun. - -Delightful carnival! Delightful interpretation of flowers! For a long -time in my youth I undervalued them. I am happy now to see them under -another aspect, as the splendor of Rome and the lavish intelligence of a -bygone time. - -Some one gave me tulips. They fascinate me variously. How great an -artist is chance, knowing the last secret by which to win us! - -These yellow tulips, dipped in blood! What a treat to see true -colors--reds, blues, greens, the art of stained glass! - -One is quite taken aback before these flowers, in which nature has -expressed more than one can comprehend. It imparts that great mystery -which is beyond us and signifies the presence of God. - -How magnificent the flower becomes as its youth passes! - -Even the flowers have their setting sun. - -My bouquet is always the same, yet I never cease to look at it. - -A whirlwind, a very cyclone, this tulip has perished in the storm. Like -the wife of Lot, it is possessed of fear. - -This one is open, all aflame like a burning bush. That one, all -disheveled, comes toward me. Full of ardor, it springs up, its petals -strong and expanding, like a mouth curling forward. - -The violence of passion in flowers is pronounced. Ah, the softness of -love is found only in women! - -Great artists, curb your curiosity, neglect the pleasures which offer -themselves to you, so that you may better understand the secrets of God. - - - - -III - -PORTRAITS OF WOMEN - - - Rodin's busts of women are perhaps the most charming part of - his work. But to say this is almost a sacrilege, an affront to the - grace of the small groups that, in this giant's work, swarm about - the superior figures. But we need not search too far into this or - yield to the pedantic mania for classifying to death. Let us rather - look at them without transforming the joy of admiration into the - labor of cataloguing, and give ourselves up wholly to the pleasure - of seeing and understanding. - - Yes, these portraits of women are the graceful aspect of this - work of power. They are the achievements of a force which knows - its own strength, and here relaxes in caresses. If some among them - disturb the spirit, most of them shed upon us a calm enjoyment, - the delightful security that one breathes among all-powerful - beings that wish to be gracious. They allay the sense of unrest - aroused in us by those dramas in marble and bronze which a powerful - intellect has conceived--that mind from which sprang "The Burghers - of Calais," the two monuments to Victor Hugo, "The Tower of Labor," - that imagination, glowing like a forge, which produced "The Gate of - Hell," the Sarmiento monument, the statue of Balzac. - - Here Rodin's art extends to the utmost confines of grace. He - has contrived to discover the most delicate secrets of nature. - He models the petals of the lips just as nature curls the frail - substance of the rose-leaf. By imperceptible gradations he - attaches the delicate membranes of the eyelids to the angle of - the temples just as nature in springtime attaches the leaves to the - rough bark of trees. - -[Illustration: THE BROKEN LILY.] - - Great thinkers never cease to be moved by the charm of - weakness. The "eternal feminine" is just that, the power of grace - over the manly soul. The strongest feel this attraction most, are - most possessed with the desire of expressing it. I am thinking of - Homer, Leonardo da Vinci, Shakspere, Balzac, Wagner, and Rodin in - saying this. They have created a feminine world, the figures of - which, lovingly copied from living models, become models in turn. - They haunt thousands of souls, fashion them in their image. In her - complicated ways, Nature avails herself of the artist to modify the - human type. - - We have some terra-cotta figures of Rodin, modeled when he was - between twenty-five and thirty, while working at the manufactory - at Sevres, in the studio of Carrier-Belleuse, that accomplished - sculptor. They are charming little busts, with the perfume of - the eighteenth century breathing from them, treated a little in - the manner of Carpeaux, with the velvety shadow of their black - eyes on their sparkling faces. One of them, now in a private - gallery in New York, has a hat on its head, coquettish, tender, - innocently provocative; it is full of Parisian allurement because - it is characteristically French. One can find its kindred among - certain Renaissance figures, and even among the mischievous faces - of Gothic angels. With all this there is that ephemeral prettiness - which is called "fashion," that caprice of styles which does for - the adornment of cities what the flowers of the field do for the - country. - - If Rodin had pursued his path in this direction, he would have - been a portrait-sculptor of great taste, and would doubtless have - attained celebrity sooner, but a celebrity which is not glory. At - that time he was chiefly concerned with copying the features of his - models with all the sensitiveness of his admiration; he did not yet - attempt those large effects of light and shade which were to become - the object of his whole career, and are so still. He has made the - religion of progress his own by reflective study. Progress is for - him the chief condition of happiness. Present-day philosophies - commonly put it in doubt; but if happiness exists, it is surely - in the soul of the artist. But it is recognized with difficulty - because it is called by an equivocal name, the ideal. - - Let us look at the "Portrait of the Artist's Wife." Here, in - this noble effigy, this severe image with its lowered eyelids, the - artist passes beyond the promise of his first period. The face, - rather wide at the cheek-bones, lengthens toward the chin, where - the sorrowful mouth reigns. It expresses melancholy, gravity, - dignity, Christian charity. It is rather masculine, and seems less - youthful than the original was at the time. It is as if the artist - had sought to bring out the character by conscientious modeling, - without any softening; all the features are underlined, as on - a face that has attained a ripe age. He had not yet discovered - the art of softening his surfaces, of blending them in a general - tonality, and of obtaining that softness, that flesh quality, with - all the shades of youth, which touches the heart in his more recent - busts. - - Even then he did know, however, how to gather under the - boldly molded superciliary arch of the brows the diffused shadows - which, in the future, were to lend mystery and distance to most - of his portraits. This mask is all that remains of a standing - figure dressed in the manner of Gothic figures. Rodin was then - living in Brussels, still young, poor, and unknown, but happy. - He tasted the perfect happiness of long days of absorbing labor, - of that enthusiasm for work which nothing disturbs. To-day he - sometimes yearns for those years free from the never-ceasing bustle - of a celebrated man's existence, a giant assailed by a thousand - pin-pricks. Yet his poverty was excessive, for the beautiful - statue, modeled during successive months with much love, fell to - pieces. For want of money, the sculptor had not been able to have - it cast. - - Among his women's busts, one of the most famous and one which - remains among the most beautiful is that of Madame Morla Vicunha. - It dates back about twenty-five years, but it is resplendent in - eternal youth. Since then Rodin has added to his knowledge and - experience. He has made personal discoveries in the plastic art. - He has become the master of color in sculpture. Nevertheless, this - portrait, as it stands, remains an adorable masterpiece. Who that - has looked at its softly gleaming marble in the Luxembourg has not - been overcome by a long dream of tenderness, of uneasy curiosity? - Who has not hoped to make this woman speak, to press her heart in - order to draw from her a confession of her desires, the secret of - her happiness and her melancholy? - - It is more than a bust, it is woman herself. Because the - beautiful shoulder slips tremulously from the heavy mouth, which - lies against the smooth, polished flesh; because this shoulder - rises again toward the head, slightly bent and inclined, as if to - draw toward it some loved one; because the neck swells like that of - a dove, and the head is stretched forward to offer a kiss, we seem - to catch a glimpse of the whole body and its delicate curves. It is - a beautiful bust. I should like to see it alone in a room hung with - dim tapestries, drawing forth its charm like a long sigh, which - nothing should disturb. This masterpiece demands the distinction of - solitude. - - How beautifully modeled the head is in its firm delicacy! - The framework of the narrow skull appears under the texture of - hair fastened over it like a rich handkerchief. We can almost see - the impatient hand, trembling with feeling, that has twisted the - firm knot under the nape of the neck. Everywhere, level with the - temples, at the bridge of the nose,--the aquiline nose marking the - Spaniard of race,--this bony framework stands out. The face catches - a feverish character from it, tortured by the longing for intimate - expression, and reveals a being with whom happiness borders closely - upon sorrow. The nostrils tremble as if to the perfume of the - flowers pressed voluptuously against the warm bosom. The mouth - is at once mobile and firm, and all the curves of the features - converge toward it--toward the kiss which causes it to swell softly. - - The light steals gently into every line and fold of the face. - It borders the eyelids, glides under the brows, outlines the bridge - of the nose and the nostrils, emphasizes the opposed arches of - the lips. It spreads like a spring, separating into a thousand - streams. It is a network, like the tracery of the woman's nerves - made visible. It is as if the sculptor and the light had begun a - dialogue--a dialogue kept up with endless graces and coquetries. - He contradicts it, refutes it; it escapes, returns. He gathers it - up, as if to force it into the sinuous folds of the figure. Again - it flees, and then, summoned back, it returns cautiously, and at - last bathes the statue in generous caresses. - - This bust will live. In its enigmatic grace it will become - more and more the expression of the woman who loves, just as "La - Gioconda" ("Mona Lisa") is the expression of the woman who is - loved. The one is all instinct, the other all spirit. The one - offers herself; the other promises herself. The one is tenderness - directed toward the past; the other smiles toward the future. - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MADAME MORIA VICUNHA.] - - In the same gallery of the Luxembourg, there is that other - famous head called "La Pensee." What a contrast! It is strangely - bound within a block of marble, placed like a living head on a - block. And yet it tells only of the slightly resigned calm of - meditation, or of melancholy, without bitterness, of long autumn - days, with their diffused brilliancy. The outlines are firm, - regular, placid, of remarkable moderation in their distinction. The - head leans forward, because thought is a weighty matter. The brow - and the eyes are the dominant features. On them the sculptor has - focused all the light not only in the high lights, but in the still - surface as well. - - The caprice of the artist has covered this head with a light - peasant-cap. This hides the details of the hair, and concentrates - the glance on the face. "Caprice" expresses the idea badly, for - it is taste and the will of the artist that have directed all. - These dreamy features express the practical mysticism of women, - the effort of intelligent devotion. It makes one think of St. - Genevieve, of Jeanne d'Arc, of the overwhelming courage of a weak - being carried beyond and out of herself by a great purpose. - - "La Pensee" has the striking character that almost all the - busts of Rodin assume in the future, and which they owe on the - one hand to their intense lifelikeness, and on the other to the - atmosphere with which the sculptor surrounds them. There are no - hard-and-fast limits which separate them from the circumambient - air; on the contrary, they are bathed in it. The "blacks," which - give a hard, dry look when used to excess, are handled marvelously. - The women's busts, especially, almost start up before us with this - slightly fantastic look of life increased tenfold, with the charm - of phantoms of marble, monumental, and yet as light as beautiful - mists. - - These effects of light and shadow perhaps harmonize best with - the softness and delicacy of the feminine flesh. They convey to us - naturally the mystery of an inner life more secret, more intimate - than that of man. - - Even with works that are similar, the public does not - recognize their common origin. It sees the result of an - extraordinary amount of observation and intelligence, yet it does - not reflect more than a child. For the public the sculptor, whoever - he may be, is a creature of instinct, with a trained eye and hand, - but without mind and culture. He is a sculptor, that is all. A - common proverb strengthens the belief in this lasting folly. It - may be told, then, that the master with whom we are here dealing - studies his models not only as a sculptor, but as a writer studies; - that often his hand drops the chisel for the pencil, in order to - set down his observation more exactly, to search even further into - nature. - - Perhaps the public will at last grasp the fact that the true - artist, under penalty of ceasing to be one, must, above all, expend - an amount of attention of which other men are incapable, and that - it is by this power of attention that the strength of intelligence - is measured. For example, Rodin is facing his model, a young - woman stretched out in an attitude of repose. He writes, and in - his style we find all the power of the great draftsman. He marks - the outlines, he specifies the details, slowly, patiently, with - pertinacity. He never confuses the impression, always so ready to - elude one--the impression, the divine reward of the artist. - - * * * * * - -The dazzling splendor revealed to the artist by the model that divests -herself of her clothes has the effect of the sun piercing the clouds. -Venus, Eve, these are feeble terms to express the beauty of women. - -The head leans to one side, the torso to the other, both inclining -indolently, gracefully. This body has been glorified. The contours -flow, descend, repose, like immortality personified. The breasts follow -the same curve. The flowing lines are all in the same direction. -Unchangeable, heaving above the half-opened screen of the dress, the -breath scarcely lifts them. It does not stir or agitate them. - -The beautiful human monument is balanced in repose. It is unassailable. -It is the gradation of contours. - -I do not draw them, but I see them in place, and my spirit is content, -accustoms itself to the impression. In memory I still make drawings of -this model, and these moving lines are repetitions, done over again a -hundred times; for I repeat the drawing constantly, like a caress. - -This torso resigns itself, like an Ariadne whose contours melt away in -the evening, in the dark. But the lightning of day has flashed there. -It is there always. It is now the pale gleam of flesh. My mind, carried -along, takes this form as its model. - -The hand, the arm, support the head, the sidelong glance from which -is so full of sweetness. One might call it a "Mona Lisa" reposing. -This head feels the need of resting on the supporting hand, a delicate -support like the handle of a vase. Like an urn about to pour out its -water, its thought, it inclines. - -Lying back on the cushion, the head is in high relief. The features are -placed according to their due regard, which is the very soul of balance. -It has made the eyes symmetrical; the eyebrows straight; the nose, where -beauty and symmetry meet, expressive of a wholesome conformity. - -When a woman is very beautiful, she has the head of a lion. From the -lion is copied that splendid regularity of the eyes, which the oval of -the face accentuates. The tawny mane is also lion-like in its regularity -and majesty, without any other expression. - -Arches are formed without effort of all the parts of the eye. The hinges -of the eyes open and close. The open mouth keeps back neither the -thoughts nor the words that have been spoken. There is no need for her -to speak. Her age, her thoughts, all is a confession here--the features, -the arch of the frank, noble mouth, as well as the form of the nose and -the sensitive nostrils. - -And this infantile glance under a woman's eyelid! Our soul demands -that, by an agreement with the heavens, the feminine glance should be -celestial. - -[Illustration: LA PENSEE.] - -How I bathe in the calm beauty of these eyes, with their regular -drawing! How they themselves declare their tranquil joy! Sometimes eyes -like these seem to be inhabited by spirits. They close, and I see the -horizontal lashes, the lower lid, which just rests against the upper. I -see as a whole the soft oval of these long eyes, the double circle of -the lids themselves, and the circle beneath, so modest now, but which -one calls the circle of love. - -The eyeball in moving shows the clear pupil, and all about it press the -circles of the delicate lids. The soul finds a refuge in these secret -hiding-places, and throws out its circles of attraction like a lasso. -This sensuous soul is the soul of beautiful portraits. - -The cheeks curve against the socket of the eye; the double arch of the -brows prolongs itself behind them. The surface of the cheeks extends to -the extremity of the nose, forms a double depression by the sinking of -the cheek, which grows hollow toward the convex lip, and surrounds the -mouth and the two lips. These facial lines and surfaces all stop at the -chin, toward which all the curves converge. - -The facial expressions proceed from, spread, and move in another circle. -They all disappear in the cheeks, just as do the movements of the mouth. -One curve passes down from the ear to the mouth; a small curve draws -back the mouth and also the nose a little. A circle passes under the -nose, the chin, to the cheekbones; a deep curve, which starts back to -the cheekbone, cuts in a small hollow to the eyebrow. The features are -distinct; but when they move, they merge into one another. The smile -passes over the face by a circle defining the mouth. The edge of the -mouth is defined by a mezzotint at the point of union. - -The loose hair surrounds the cheek, and the head seems like a golden -fleece on a distaff. It hangs like loosened garlands. How beautifully -these garlands of hair are arranged, with the profile in a three-quarter -view, standing out against the fine, tawny hair! The impressive harmony -between the flesh and the hair! They seem altogether in accord; they -lend each other languor and charm; they are united and separated at the -same time. These drooping clusters of chestnut-blond hair are a frame. -One might call them long flowers hanging from the edge of a vase. - -The neck no longer holds erect the head, which moves in ecstasy. It -drowns itself in the wavy flow of hair, which becomes undone at the -moment. This inundation of hair, so to speak, what a generalized -expression of opulence it is! Before its beauty I feel imbued with -love. I am seized with enthusiasm, aflame with it. This gold, this dull -copper, is like a field of grain, a field of corn, where the sheaves are -of gold bound together. These sheaves, slightly disordered in their -lengthening curves, turning in all directions, imitate the tone of -subdued flesh tints. - -In this veil, transparent and colored like a dead leaf, the ear is -hidden in shadow, where the hair flies back at random in strands, twists -about, and returns. - -O head, beautiful ornament, drooping against the edge of the couch like -a lovely motive in architecture at the edge of a console, you express -the prolonged weakness of a lovely languor! The shoulder extends its -beautiful curve before the face, resting on its side; the line rises, -passes near the nose, descends, and shows the red line of the mouth, -just as the bees continually enter and go out of the opening of the -hive. The face turns, but the eye returns to me, passes by me, and again -gazes upon me. - -In it there is the softness of the dog's eye, a spirit which becomes -motionless when the tyranny of passion has disappeared. When passion is -in control, she sucks like a vampire that delicate flesh, which is the -model of calm, the exquisite remainder of calm. - -This crown of beauty is not made for one woman alone, but for all women. -They do not know it, and yet all in turn attain this beauty, as a fruit -ripens. This calm is more potent in them than in the most beautiful -statues. They are unaware of it, and the men who are near them are -unaware of it also. They have not been taught to admire. They have not -been educated in the science of admiration. - -When, in the galleries of the Louvre, magnificent rooms where are -gathered the collections of antiques, day enters through the windows -and lightly touches these beautiful sculptures which are the adornment -of great palaces, do they understand any better? Do they realize the -collaboration between the sculptor and the light? - -[Illustration: HOTEL BIRON. VIEW FROM THE GARDEN.] - - - - -IV - -AN ARTIST'S DAY - - - The residence of Rodin, the Hotel Biron, is situated at the - extreme end of the rue de Varenne, in the Faubourg St. Germain. - The long straight street is lined on both sides with old mansions - that lend a distinctive nobility to this district of Paris. The - street is solemn, the quiet austere. Only rarely a carriage rumbles - by. Like the tide of a river, the air sweeps down this street from - the Boulevard des Invalides, which at its other end opens upon the - Esplanade des Invalides, like a great lake. - - Now and then one catches glimpses of the spacious courts, the - steps, the peristyles, and the ornate, but at the same time simple, - pediments. Most of these mansions were, and many of them still are, - inhabited by families associated with the history of France. - - The northern facade of the Hotel Biron and the courtyard - through which one enters are hidden behind a high convent wall, for - in the nineteenth century the old residence of the Duc de Biron - was transformed into a religious school of the Sacred Heart. There - the daughters of the aristocracy were educated. In consequence of - the law of 1904 relating to the religious orders, the mansion was - vacated, and taken possession of by the state, which rented it in - apartments. Rodin, ever in search of old buildings, in which alone - he can think and work in comfort, soon became the main tenant. - - To ring the bell one must reach high. With difficulty one - turns the handle of the door, which swings slowly. It is a portal - made for coaches to pass through. Under its monumental arch one - seems as insignificant as an insect. To the right of the court is - the old chapel of the religious community. Its somber character - stands out against the neighboring secular buildings. The cold - style of Charles X, in which it is built, forms a strange contrast - to the charming structure of Jacques Gabriel, the celebrated artist - who in the eighteenth century endowed Paris with many works of art, - among others this pavilion of the rue de Varenne, the Hotel Biron. - Nevertheless, had it not been for Rodin, this building would have - been torn down. - - It is a vast mansion, extremely simple, and built on the - lines of an elongated square. Its great charm is due wholly to its - correct proportions and to the grace and variety of its beautiful, - tall windows, some straight, others rounded, and surmounted by an - inconspicuous ornament, the signature of the artist. All of them - are enlivened by little squares of glass, which are to a window - what the facets are to a diamond. - - The spacious vestibule is paved with black and white marble, - its ceiling supported by six strong columns. A charming stone - staircase rises here. All is in the style of Louis XV, a style that - is dignified when it is not delightfully elegant and coquettish. - - The house was to be torn down, and sold as junk; but Rodin - was on guard. Ever since he had learned that this masterpiece was - condemned his heart had bled, and for the first and only time in - the course of his long existence an outside interest took him - from his work. He wrote letters, took legal steps, called to - his assistance artists, people of culture, and men in politics. - M. Clemenceau, then president of the cabinet; M. Briand, who - succeeded him; M. Gabriel Hanotaux, one of his great friends; - M. Dujardin-Beaumetz, under-secretary of state of fine arts, - all listened to his indefatigable pleading. Finally his plea was - heard, and the Hotel Biron was classified as a historical monument, - henceforth inviolate. Then the speculators had to abandon their - idea of filling the park with hideous modern structures, and of - disfiguring in six months this unique Quartier des Invalides, to - construct which the architects had given years of work and all - their intelligence. - - Rodin's admirers soon conceived the idea of converting the - Hotel Biron into a museum for the master's works, which they - pledged themselves to defend with a tenacity equal to that which - Rodin had just displayed. - - * * * * * - - I knock at the door of the studio and rapidly pass through - two large rooms containing no furniture, only busts of bronze and - groups of marble. When I enter the study, Rodin is not here; I - glance about. All the details of this room are familiar to me, but - they always seem new, because everything is in harmony here, with a - harmony which varies according to the day and the hour. - - It is a morning in spring. The bright light sheds its rays - on the various antiquities that the master has assembled here: - Empire chairs, with faded velvet coverings; a Louis XIV arm-chair - of gilded wood and cherry-colored silk, in which one might fancy - Moliere seating himself to chat with Rodin, who, ever ready as he - is with a bit of raillery, would surely not have failed in repartee. - - On a round table there is a Persian material, and some - Japanese vases filled with tulips and anemones. On the mantelpiece - are bronzes from the far East and a statuette of porcelain in - marvelous blues that Rodin calls his "Chinese Virgin." On the - walls, close together like the stones in a mosaic, are many of the - master's water-colors. Their well-chosen tones harmonize with and - intensify those of the flowers, the fabrics, and the ceramics of - bygone days. - - Scattered pedestals support huge bronze busts, which call to - mind warriors of the Middle Ages, and some unfinished pieces. They - consist of small groups that, under the eye of the master, seem to - grow out of the white marble, and in the golden sunlight look as - soft as snow. - - On this table, where Rodin takes his meals and writes, is a - Greek marble, a little torso without arms or legs; I know it well, - for he showed it to me while murmuring words of admiration. This is - his latest passion. - - I enter the garden, where he is enjoying a moment of rest, for - he has been working a long while. Owing to his habits as a good - workman, he rises at five every morning. - - I pass through one of the big doors which open upon the park. - The beautiful view always captivates me anew. The light, the air, - the expanse of sky, the magnificent groups of trees, this rustic - solitude in the heart of Paris, take one by surprise, inspire and - elevate the spirit. Rodin is here, smiling and in good humor. - - We are on the terrace that overlooks the expanse of green - and forms a sort of slanting pedestal for the pavilion. Below - stretches a broad alley, almost an avenue, overgrown with a rich - carpet of grass and moss, which loses itself in the distant wood. - Fruit-trees, growing wild, form impenetrable screens on both sides - of this alley. - - The grandeur of this park is largely due to the age of the - trees. Stepping to the edge of the balustrade, I can see toward the - right the dome of the Invalides, standing alone, outlined against - the sky, like a burgrave on guard under a helmet of gold. - -[Illustration: RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED IN THE COURT OF THE HOTEL BIRON.] - - The northern facade of the pavilion has a severe character. - It is the facade which visitors and passers-by see, and for this - an elegant simplicity suffices. But this other side, bathed in - the midday sun, is meant for friends. All the delicate splendor - that the architect conceived is expressed in these stones. This - sculptured pediment, this balcony with its console of flowers, and - the graceful windows, with their semicircular transoms, are models - of elegance. The Hotel Biron is not large, but it is imposing. The - blockheads who inhabited it during the last century, blind to its - beauty, deaf to its appeal, demolished and sold the wrought-iron - balustrades of the windows, balconies, and staircases, but they - were not able, thank Heaven! to destroy its innate beauty. - - "Let us go to work," said Rodin. I go back to the statues; - Rodin begins to draw. In a little while he will model. During his - hasty luncheon he has the little Greek torso placed before him, and - he makes notes all the while. - - True genius is as changeable as nature. It finds as many ways - of expressing its ideals as it finds subjects. But what always - remains the same is the desire to be sincere. Yet the artist, with - the best of intentions, is often the victim of his own sincerity. - Rodin is no exception to this rule, for even he has had his - portraits rejected. "There is no resemblance!" people declare, - while, on the contrary, the resemblance is too true. With his keen - insight he penetrates too far beyond the mere flesh of the model. - People are frightened at seeing their hidden personality brought - to the light of day, are taken aback at being compelled to know - themselves. They consider the sculptor indiscreet and dangerous. - - If, in his portraits of men, he pries to their very souls, - if he reveals without pity those of his own sex, his equals, his - companions in life's struggle, in his portraits of women he is - discreet and respectful. With delicacy he unfolds their delicate - mystery. He does not say anything which is not true, but frequently - he does not express the whole truth. Genius is ever in quiet - complicity with womanhood, and leaves it in that half-obscurity - which is its greatest power. - - In the bust before us of Mrs. X---- , one wonders what he - refrained from expressing. Surely neither the unusual beauty of the - woman nor her air as of an archduchess. - - I remember the day when I saw this bust for the first time. - It was in the Salon, placed at the head of a high staircase. The - marble was brilliant. Something regal and also lovable attracted - those who came toward it. Resplendent in beauty, the shoulders - emerge from the folds of a wrap with the proud grace of one who is - to the manor born. The small, well-shaped head, supported by the - plump, though delicate, neck, is half turned to the slightly raised - left shoulder. The hair is drawn up high to form a crown, throwing - forward some light strands that shed their soft shadows over the - forehead, like a thatching of moss. The beautiful eyebrows, too, - lend mystery to the glance of the eyes, so full of sweetness and - understanding. The small ear is partly hidden under the waves of - the well-groomed hair. The lines of delicate symmetry which run - from the chin to the ear, and from the ear to the shoulder, and the - coronet of hair, give the bust its distinguished look of race. - - Here we see, too, the firmness of beautiful flesh, hardened by - exercise, radiating that spirit of joyous life that springs from - a thoroughly healthy body, as we feel it in some of the Tanagra - figurines. The quiet reserve which stamps the refined Anglo-Saxon - is revealed, but not overaccentuated. The nose is straight and - slightly raised at the tip, the mouth frank and regular. Those - same changing shadows which beautify flowers, when the sun strikes - them through the leaves of a tree, play over this countenance, and - bathe it in a variety of delicate tones from the eyes to the chin. - But beneath this placid beauty there is a restless soul eager to - act, to express its goodness. The chin and the throat retain their - look of youth, even of something childlike for those whom she - loves; but the thoughtful brow is slightly wrinkled, as if from the - intelligent search for happiness. - - This bust, almost Greek in its simplicity, is one of the most - purely beautiful that has come from Rodin's hands. - - When we note the facility with which these works are produced, - seemingly a natural growth, like vintage and harvest; when we - contemplate these fruits of knowledge, we are too apt to overlook - the laborious efforts involved, and to forget that a life has - been given, drop by drop, to achieve this result in small steps - of progress. Even when we know all this, we often prefer to give - the credit to external causes, which appeal more strongly to our - superficial minds, rather than to that endless patience that is, - and always will be, the secret of genius. - - I watched Rodin model the head of Hanako, the Japanese - actress. He rapidly modeled the whole in the rough, as he does - all his busts. His keen eye and his experienced thumb enable him - to establish the exact dimensions at the first sitting. Then the - detailed work of modeling begins. The sculptor is not satisfied to - mold the mass in its apparent outlines only. With absolute accuracy - he slices off some clay, cuts off the head of the bust, and lays it - upside down on a cushion. He then makes his model lie on a couch. - - Bent like a vivisector over his subject, he studies the - structure of the skull seen from above, the jaws viewed from below, - and the lines which join the head to the throat, and the nape of - the neck to the spine. Then he chisels the features with the point - of a pen-knife, bringing out the recesses of the eyelids, the - nostrils, the curves of the mouth. Yet for forty years Rodin was - accused of not knowing how to "finish"! - - With great joy he said one day, "I achieved a thing to-day - which I had not previously attained so perfectly--the commissure of - the lips." - - In making a bust Rodin takes numerous clay impressions, - according to the rate of progress. In this way he can revert to the - impression of the previous day, if the last pose was not good, or - if, in the language of the trade, "he has overworked his material." - Thus one may see five, six, or even eight similar heads in his - studio, each with a different expression. - - Hanako did not pose like other people. Her features were - contracted in an expression of cold, terrible rage. She had the - look of a tiger, an expression thoroughly foreign to our Occidental - countenances. With the force of will which the Japanese display in - the face of death, Hanako was enabled to hold this look for hours. - - Little by little, under the sculptor's fingers, the mask of - clay reflected all this. It cried out revenge without mercy, the - thirst, for blood. A baffling contrast this--the spirit of a wild - beast appearing on the human countenance. - - I have one of these studies before me now. It has been cast - in a composition of colored glass, and the vivid flesh coloring - lends reality to the work. This mask is not disfigured by rage. The - bloodless head, with its fixed stare, lies on a white cushion, and - no one escapes its disquieting influence. Some people shudder - when they see it. "One might think it the head of a dead person," - they say. - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MRS. X----.] - - Whenever I enter the spacious room I am irresistibly drawn - toward it. My feelings are different every time, but always there - is a feeling of uneasiness. I cannot say that it resembles death; - on the contrary, it is so lifelike that it is almost supernatural. - One might call it a condemned person, a being so terrified by the - approach of death that all the blood has rushed to the heart. It - is a spirit frozen with fear, the eyes looking toward the unknown, - the large nostrils scenting death. The bulging forehead, the high, - Mongolian cheek-bones, and the flat nose make the face still more - singular. All the lines of the face run toward the mouth, with its - remarkable expression. Obstinate, although conquered, it will draw - its last breath without a cry. - - Meanwhile life seems to throb in every cell. This head, so - like a being that has been put to death, has the soft, pliant flesh - of a ripe fruit. - - At night I return to look at it by the light of a candle. - It looks entirely different. The shadows vary as I move the - candle, and the features grow mobile. How gentle and touching it - seems now! It is no longer bloodthirsty and savage; that exotic - expression which repelled me has quite disappeared. These features, - expressing the innermost self under a stress of emotions, reveal a - poor creature that has loved and suffered. It is a pitiable face - that has been molded by life. I have seen that same sad, tired - expression of anguish in one whose whole strength is gone, but who - still makes an effort to understand misfortune in order to strive - against it. I have seen it on my mother's face when one of us was - ill. - - * * * * * - -A MORNING IN THE GARDEN - -It is still night; the dawn is just breaking. I open my window to let -the refreshing air drive away my drowsiness. From the end of the garden, -in the underbrush, and now all about me, I hear much lively chirping. It -tells of the blessing of love, of springtime. - -It is almost day. The blackbird has ended his scene of love; no one was -about when he sang his song of spring and harmony. The flowers listened, -and blossomed at the call of this unseen Orpheus. The air is laden with -misty melodies. These songs do not disturb the silence; they are part -of it. Later we shall still hear the happy call of birds, but no longer -these songs of love that proclaim the eternal reign of our mother earth. - -Now is the time for sighs of happiness; the flowers consecrate -themselves to the beautifying of Demeter, goddess of the under-world. -Orpheus searches for Eurydice; he calls her, and his notes break the -harmonious silence. - -I must bathe my brows in the vague mist, in the fragrance of the earth, -in the light of the dawning day. Spacious room, I leave you. I shall -return to you to work, for here only have I known complete silence. - -I hurry into the garden, where I find inspiring freshness. I had looked -forward to it; my whole body was awaiting it. A sprouting twig proclaims -the fullness of life. I am freed from the memory of yesterday, born anew -for all the seasons to come. In the _palais_ thoughts are more subdued -and modest, content to be bounded by the splendid proportions of the -apartments--proportions that are correct, but nothing more. - -The flight of time is marked by the song of the blackbird, and, as in -Mozart's music, one cannot quite define whence its charm springs. It -is everywhere, to the right, to the left. That voice seems to pierce -through the gaps and hollows of the wood, for now one hears it as an -echo, now as a solo, at the farthest end of the wood. - -My flight of steps is my place for reflection, my _salle de pas -perdus_.[1] At the foot of the steps the verdant carpet, sown with -little stars of green, stretches out. It might be an old Arabian -material or a rich marble. Bits of earth are to be seen in delicate gray -patches. The shadow of night still enshrouds the garden in a cloudy -veil. In the distance, outlined against the horizon, are the bleak walls -of houses, like huge stones. About me stretches that enormous Babylon, -that Paris where my tired nerves relax, where the substance of my life -is woven, where my heart has found appreciation and no reproach, and -where my mind, imbued with the true knowledge of life, has taught my -soul the gracious lesson of submission. - -This broad, beautiful lane is like a Corot, and recalls his nymphs. -The bare trees look like limbs. A bright carpet of turf moistens their -roots. Now a rabbit runs by. In the distance the carriages rumble like -artillery. This is a fitting haunt for fauns, their rustic arbor. -The trees serve as a roof, their green shoots melting into the sky. -The freshness of new life is everywhere, and little exclamations of -admiration spring from every creature. - -With this universal youth new thoughts are born. In this delightful -retreat one feels that only an antique statue could add to its beauty. - -The trees expand with vigor, their buds outlined against the sky. The -rest of the lane seems an avenue of enchantment. Far down at the end -I seem to see happiness. But no, I am wrong: it is not only in the -distance; it is here, all about me, now. - -The slanting rays of the sun strike the trees and the grass; over -the lane bluish shadows play. The spreading shade of the trees falls -softly on the fresh green. Those little dashes of blue among the grass -are forget-me-nots. Those beautiful trees, garbed only since a week -ago, trail their lovely green draperies on the ground, while detached -garlands cling to the shrubs. - -The majesty of youth in nature is unique; it is charm itself, an -inimitable thing. Yet some men of genius have been able to express the -spirit of spring. - -[Illustration: RODIN IN HIS GARDEN.] - -The very soul of meditation dwells in this garden, in this alley of -trees. Polyhymnia, the Muse, in her graceful draperies, walks with me, -and I follow her reverently. - -Away from the turmoil, I can forget the constant hurry of our days. How -we allow ourselves to be harassed! Reaching out for everything without -possessing anything truly, we do not even realize what treasures we have -lost. A few puffs of empty air are not poetry, and seeing happiness in -the distance is not enjoying it. What hurries you? Ah, your life is out -there, elsewhere? Go, then; but I shall remain here with the antique in -my charming garden. - -I will sit down on this old stone bench, surrounded by dense shrubs. The -dead wood is piled in little heaps. The tree-tops form a semicircle, -and stand out like a pantheon against the sky. The branches bear the -marks of lightning and grow in zigzag. The sap of the earth rises in the -arteries of the trees, ever ready to take part in the great festival of -spring. - -Now the charm of the alley consists in the differences of light and -shade. As the one strives to advance, the other recedes toward the dale. -The shadows disperse for the morning, leaving behind their beneficent -moisture for their friends, the flowers of this dale. - -Before me, on a knoll, stands a beautiful column, as if in prayer. It -seems to have sprung from the kingdom of Pluto, and now, like us, it -stands in the bright sunlight, a part of the out-of-doors. - -Stone, pure and beautiful material, destined for the work of men, just -as flax is destined for the work of women. A gift scarcely hidden -under the earth, man has seized upon stones with rapture, carefully -drawing them from their dark hiding-place, to raise them on high as in -church towers, making them tractable, transforming the crude rocks, -and appropriating them for masterpieces. Under the protection of man's -sacrilegious hand, these stones lend beauty to our cities. They have a -tender sympathy with the trees, the roots of which join their own. - -Both hard and soft stones have a place in man's esteem. Sculpture has -glorified them. The column is like a tree, but simpler than a tree, with -a silent life of its own. And like the plants which cling about it, it -also has its foliage and leaves. The artist who conceived the Sphinx -made her to be the guardian of temples and secrets. - -That column there rises up like a druid-stone, as though to converse -with the moon at night. It awaits the appearance of man in the solemn -ritual of night, for in its immensity it bears witness that man has -created it. Man, too, has had his part, an ephemeral part, in the -creation; his idea strives with the works of God, as Israel strove with -the angel. His illuminating thought, expressed in stone, arouses those -who otherwise might be insensible to beauty. The hand of man, like the -hand of God, can transform a soul and make it new. - -Mystery in which I have lived, but which I understand only now that I am -about to depart. The marvel of it all! And to think that one must leave -it! Well, that is the lot of all other living creatures. - -And now the blue of the sky has grown darker, without a shadow, while -beauty itself has taken its abode in these avenues of trees. Now and -then passing clouds dim the glory of this splendid youth of nature, but -the green is brilliant even in the shadow. High up among the trees, I -see a blue river, the sky, while the great clouds, mountains of water, -are hanging above to quench the thirst of the flowers. - - -[Footnote 1: _Salle de pas perdus_ is the name given to the large hall -of the Gare St. Lazare, Paris.] - - - -AN ANTIQUE FRAGMENT - -Twenty times a day I walk in front of this little torso. I bring all my -friends to see it, for Greek sculpture is the very source of beauty. - -Why am I surprised whenever I look upon this torso? I think it is -because nature, which is behind this work of art, always calls forth -new, unlooked-for sensations. - -Venus, glorious Venus, model of all women, your purity survives even -after two thousand years. Your charm charms me--me who have admirers for -my own sculpture. Before you they remain cold; but I, with a spirit that -sees further--I admit my defeat as an artist, my poor ability vanishes -before your grace. - -Form, as I used to express it, seems a mere illusion before the -harmonious strength of your lines, which embody the very truth of -life. Divine fragment, I shall live by you! What days you recall -to me! Perhaps the last moments of the soul of Greek sculpture, -ever-increasingly my Muse. - -This torso shows the suppleness and strength of the joints. It is a -summing-up of former masterpieces of the artist. Those endless studies -that grow into experience and all the qualities of balance are here -concealed beneath the beauty and the gracious inspiration of the figure. -The inspired sculptor has just discovered all these qualities, and in -appreciation has given expression to them with his very soul. - -An antique piece of sculpture cannot be imitated. This torso seems to -have a soul. Are not the shadows trembling on it there? One can see them -move. - -What a progress toward truth we find in the advance from Assyrian and -Egyptian to Greek art! Antique things, if we knew how to look at them, -would bring about a new renaissance for us, we who stagnate in the -Parisian spirit. The Parisian spirit, young though it is, is already -too old to serve us. It is like those pretentious monuments, those -constructions in plaster, which are hollow and horrible under their -crumbling stucco. - -Greece was the land of sculpture beyond all others. The subject of -their sculpture was life. The people concealed it under names and -symbols,--Jupiter, Apollo, Venus, the fauns,--but behind all these was -the eternal truth of life. - -This torso on my table looks as though it had been washed to the shore -by the loving waves, as boats are stranded on the beach at low tide. -What more beautiful offering could be made to men and gods? For is this -fragment not an eternal prayer? - -The thoughts expressed in this torso are numerous, infinite. I could -write about it forever. Do I bring these thoughts with me? Is it I who -put them into the marble? No, for when it is out of my sight, this -divinity of life vanishes from me at the same time. Since it ceases -to be in me, it must be the fragment which possesses it. It teaches a -sculptor more than any professor could. It whispers secrets to me, and -if I am true to it, it will tell me more and more; it will transform -me in harmony with the soul of its friend, the Greek sculptor. For are -not the thoughts of God expressed all the world over? Are they not the -fruitful germs, now growing within a brain, now in a beautiful grouping -of stone, and now captured by those magicians, the poets? And are -sculptors, too, not like poets? - -Where can one find more perfect harmony than in this fragment? It is -a monument. And is it not providential? It is only a fragment, yet it -seems to embody the whole Acropolis. Truth, that lasting joy, fills in -all that is missing. It is a fact that this torso, which weighs one -hundred and sixty pounds, seems as light as the woman herself would -be, as light as her gracious, swelling flesh. I know contours, but the -contours of a masterpiece always surprise me anew. Whenever I see you, -beautiful little torso, my eyes and my soul feast on you. Masterpiece, -you are my master, too. - -If, as they say, stones have fallen from heaven, this surely must be one -of them. I leave it in the condition in which I found it, as it first -appealed to me, with all its charm, as I carried it in my arms to this -table. The changing lights of day mold it; but I shall not touch it, I -shall not change it. It is truth itself, and it shines in no matter what -surroundings. - -This torso has within it the seductiveness of woman, that garden of -pleasure the secret charms of which imbue old and young alike with a -terrible power. Feminine charm which crushes our destiny, mysterious -feminine power that retards the thinker, the worker, and the artist, -while at the same time it inspires them--a compensation for those who -play with fire! - -It is not by analysis that you will learn to understand art, you who are -ignorant. Greek art eludes the imbeciles and ignorant who have always -undervalued it. How can one comprehend this beauty by mere analysis? -Where lies the secret of force? It is ever shifting. And the shadow, -so genially arranged, varies with the way the light strikes it. In -art, what do we call life? That which speaks to you through all your -senses. If this torso were to bleed, it could not be more lifelike. The -harmony of its lines dominates my soul. The soul lives and grows on -masterpieces. That is why we have a soul. - -Is it surprising, then, that I live with these antiques of mine, poets -far more inspiring than any of our day? They have created beings that -will live to survive us. - - - -AN EVENING IN THE GARDEN - -I leave my exacting work always more and more its slave. Walking, -because of its regularity, always refreshes me. Such a walk means -a great deal to me. It puts my nerves into a state of delightful -tranquillity. - -The trees are still bare of leaves and have a wintry look. At their -base there are dainty sprouts, clouds of green. The lawns are ponds of -emerald green. The charm of this alley is partly due to the twigs and -shoots that sprout out of the ground and spring up like a cloud of lace. - -There is a faint decline in this soft brightness, for now the sun is -setting. The sun-god is moderating his power for the benefit of the -little flowers which otherwise would dry up and fade. This is the hour -when the sun lends full value to the works of man, so that architecture -stands out in all its beauty, while at the same time the sun softly -colors the lovely clouds. - -The pediment of the Palais Biron is brilliant in the sunlight. The -balcony casts shadows on the grimacing consoles, and the shell-work is -luminous in this glorious light. The window-panes glow in glory. The -great staircase seems arranged for ladies to descend on their way to -the garden, graciously trailing their long robes, which rustle over the -steps. - -Like a pilgrim, full of hope, who rests a moment at the gates of a town, -and breathes the balmy evening air, so I seat myself in this garden. -The hour passes quickly, but it could not be better employed than in -absorbing these marvels. - -When the sun drops behind the horizon, with its glowing colors like the -flaming fires of a forge, our hearts are filled with wonder and awe. -It gilds all in a last golden glory of triumph, the sky so brilliant -that one cannot define the line of the horizon. There, where the sun -disappeared, the sky is now orange. Everything is fading away; another -immensity spreads out before us. The glory of night is about to extend -over the firmament its melancholy charm. - -[Illustration: THE POET AND THE MUSES.] - -The corner of this garden is a corner of happiness, a corner of -eternity. Here thoughts can thrive and worship, for here they have -everything. For the great things in life are not the exceptional things, -but the beauties of every day, which we do not stop to notice. These -vast treasures, within our grasp, which we do not even touch, they are -the things that count. - -The public believes that one is happy in the admiration of nature; but -there are various degrees of happiness. Doubtless a glorious feeling of -admiration may take hold of one; but if one does not constantly cling -to one's admiration as a matter of habit, one grows weary and becomes -superficial. Indeed, I do not know why we demand another life, since we -have not learned to enjoy and understand this one fully. In any case, if -we find this a bad world, it is our fault. We are childish about it. We -belittle one another wilfully. Fancy the trees doing that, if one could -suspect them of such a thing! - -When I descend the steps, I am overwhelmed by that fluid which is life. -I am in touch with life. What more can I want? This tenderness which -surrounds me everywhere, this ever-varying nature which says so much to -me, the atmosphere which envelops me--am I already in heaven, or am I a -poet? - - - - -V - -THE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC - - - One of Rodin's friends, M. Leon Bourgeois, the eminent, - highly cultivated French statesman, has said, "Rodin is himself - a cathedral." This remark wonderfully characterizes Rodin's - intellectuality as it appears to us to-day. Rich in years and - experience, his intellect is in truth as complicated as a - cathedral, but like it, too, superbly simple in its general - structure. His intellect possesses the wealth of detail that makes - up life and the calm balance of the laws that govern nature. His - mind, formed on principles scrupulously controlled by observation, - abounds in that wonderful artistic imagination which is the poetry - of life. Ever renewing itself, ever active, his mind inspires - intense confidence because it is deeply rooted in truth. It looks - at its subjects of study with such conscientious devotion that it - perceives every phase of reality; for it is only love such as this, - a love springing not from impatience and passion, but from faith - and hope, that is always victorious in the end. - - Churches! He lives near them, so as to study them in the - fleeting changes of the hours. He likes to be enveloped by the - sound of the church bells that for seven or eight centuries have - spoken the same language of discipline to the spirit of France. - Day and night he visits the naves. There his soul feels the sacred - mystery. The churches are truly the cradle of his artistic faith. - - But it is only recently that the joys which he drew from them - reached their height; for although he was long under the influence - of Gothic art, that most extraordinary product of the hand of - man, only in the last few years has he learned to penetrate its - principles and understand its methods. - - How often in my youth I questioned him about the cathedrals! - He always replied with that caution which in deep natures is a - form of deference: "I am pervaded by the marvel of this art; but - I cannot as yet explain it to myself. The Gothic is the world - foreshortened. Where am I to begin? For more than thirty years - I have been accumulating and comparing my observations. Perhaps - eventually I shall succeed in deducing the rule, the law of divine - intelligence; but perhaps I shall not have sufficient time. Then it - will be the task of another, younger than myself, who will start - his researches earlier, and who, besides, will have been informed - by me." - - On his return from each of these pilgrimages he was possessed - by the happy restlessness of one who would soon be able to give - expression to his secret. One felt that "the law of divine - intelligence" was being formulated in his mind. I then hoped and - expected that soon he would reap the fruit of his long labors. - - At last one day Rodin took me to Notre Dame, beautiful among - the beautiful, despite the modern restorations that have detracted - from the grace and suppleness of its sculpture. Notre Dame of Paris - is beautiful in itself and in its situation on the banks of the - Seine, that river of feminine grace, which in its innocent course - draws with it the memory of many terrible historic events. - - From Notre Dame to Saint-Eustache, from the Tour Saint-Jacques - to Saint-Etienne-du-Mont, during this long walk of ours Rodin - talked, quite unaware of the curious glances of those who - recognized him, and of the scoffing of the street urchins, who - mistook the great Frenchman for a stranger discovering the capital - of France. Later he gave me numerous notes that supplemented his - conversations. - - His words and notes combined form the clearest and most - important lesson on Gothic art that has been handed down since the - days of the Gild of the Francs-Macons, by one of their own sort, a - craftsman such as they were, a veritable sculptor, a stone-cutter - loving the material in which he works. - - Has Rodin, after so thoroughly grasping the secrets of the - builders of bygone days, never felt the desire to apply them in the - execution of some work of architecture? Was he never tempted by - their example and by that of Michelangelo to expand his resources - beyond those of the sculptor? Those who know the creative power - and the vastness of imagination of the modeler of "The Burghers of - Calais" and of "The Gate of Hell" may well ask this question. - - Well, yes, he has had that great dream, which in more prolific - times would have become a glorious reality. He hoped to revive - the spirit of a day when a whole nation of artists covered France - with masterpieces; he hoped to organize labor collectively, and - to gather about him a legion of artisans to work together on a - monument which should become in a certain sense the cathedral of - the modern age. - - He even drew up plans for that wonderful project, the subject - of which was to be the glorification of labor, that triumphant - force of our present civilization. He did not plan to rival the - Gothic style, the prodigious achievement of which would have - required throngs of workmen thoroughly organized and disciplined, - well trained under the system of master and apprentice, - accomplishing their common task in the joy of work and the - enthusiasm of faith. He planned to approximate the art of the - Renaissance, less removed from modern intellectuality, and simpler - of execution. - -[Illustration: THE TOWER OF LABOR.] - - In Rodin's studio at Meudon one can see the plan for this - monument. The axis is a high column calling to mind Trajan's - Column, and, like it, covered with bas-reliefs. A tower broken - by large openings, as in the Tower of Pisa, encircles it. In the - interior a gradually inclining way leads one from the base to the - top along the bas-reliefs. These represent all the active crafts - and trades: those of the cities, such as masons, carpenters, - weavers, bakers, brewers, glass-workers, and goldsmiths; and - those of the country, such as plowmen, harvesters, vintagers, - vine-dressers, shepherds, and farmers. On the exterior, between - the arches, stand statues of the great geniuses that have led - humanity, whose efforts have raised them to celestial heights; that - is, to the peace and happiness of creating. There great thinkers, - inventors, and artists have their niches, just as the prophets - have theirs in the vaults of cathedrals. The edifice rests on a - crypt where groups of sculpture are devoted to the glorification - of work under the earth and its obscure heroes, miners, divers, - pearl-fishers. At the time when the plan for this monument was - advanced, and was exciting the imagination of European writers and - journalists, an ardent admirer of Rodin even proposed to build - the tomb of the master under the crypt, where he would have had a - resting-place worthy of a Pharaoh. On each side of the entrance is - a statue representing Morning and Evening, and at the summit of - the column two angels, messengers of God, their hands outstretched - toward the earth with a gesture of exquisite tenderness, shed the - blessings of heaven on the work of man. - - Alas! this noble, stirring project will not be realized during - the life of the artist. Will there some day be another possessed of - the ardor and love of beauty necessary to build this mountain of - stone? - - For a time Rodin's friends hoped that America, the nation of - work par excellence, would seize upon this idea. They pictured - the philanthropists of the New World in characteristic fashion - pouring forth millions for this work of universal art and national - glorification; they saw Rodin being called to the United States, - gathering about him not only American artists, but all the - intelligent forces of the world of culture. They saw the Tower - of Labor, with its angels bestowing their benediction over some - formidable industrial city, New York, Pittsburgh, or Chicago. - This might have been the starting-point for a new era of art, for - nothing is more contagious than the realization of beauty in actual - form. - - Doubtless the writers of France did not discuss the matter - long or forcibly enough, and the Tour de Travail, which might have - been the ardent expression of a whole race, will remain the idea - of a solitary genius, a last offshoot of the masters of the Middle - Ages. - - But if the hour has not yet struck for the construction of - the modern cathedral, at least we possess, thanks to the man who - dreamed of erecting it, the secrets and principles of those who - constructed the cathedrals of bygone days. - - * * * * * - -To acquire a thorough and fruitful understanding of the cathedrals, we -must break away from the narrow and cold spirit of the present day. The -spirit of our time does not harmonize in architecture with the monuments -of the past. - -First let us contemplate the whole. The church is a cliff. The -construction of the slender side springing up is quite in the spirit of -our race. The Gothic towers are stones set up like Druidic monuments. -The church is laid out like a dolmen, and the towers are the menhirs. -Like the menhirs, they have beautiful, flexible lines; they possess the -eloquence of natural outlines, which are never cold or meager. - -The line of the Gothic tower is slightly curved, swelling like that of -a barrel. A straight line is hard and cold. The Greeks perceived that; -they refrained from straight lines, and the columns of their temples -also show a slight swelling. - -The two sides of the Gothic tower are not alike. The architects -considered that preferable to obvious symmetry. Look at the Tour -Saint-Jacques in Paris. One of the sides shows a long, sloping hollow, -making it look quite different from the other, which, again, is like -stones set on high. The hollowed line permits protuberances, details of -ornamentation that soften and harmonize with the line of the ensemble. -It has been restored, and therefore from near at hand seems cold, for -our workmen have lost the science and art of modeling. But the beauty of -the general structure remains; they could not detract from that. - -This softened line, this line full of life, is one of the chief -characteristics of the Gothic. The sky of our northern climates ordained -it so, for the architects of the Middle Ages carved their monuments -out of doors. Once the general plan was established, they easily found -the details while working with their tools, guided by the light and -influenced by natural conditions. - -Our light is not that of Greece. Humanity the world over is akin; but -to what the Greek expressed in a chastened manner, in keeping with his -eternally pure light, we have added the oblique slant of our sun, our -reality, our country, our autumns, the sting of our winters, our less -definite spirit, our remoteness from the glaring Olympian sun; and, last -of all, we have added our trees. - -We also have light, but it is frequently obscured by passing clouds. Is -it not natural that we should reproduce them in our art? And the line, -the abundant line, is more accentuated in the half-night of our long -autumns. Thus we are more in the mood of our woods and our forests. Our -souls have more shadows than the Greek soul, our determinations are more -varied; for our clouds and our forests are reflected in our hearts. - -Artists, let us, then, revert to the interpretation of our race, but in -the spirit, not in the letter. Let us copy only the soul of our external -nature, not its Gothic form, for a mere copy is cold and dead. Beautiful -architecture is a reproduction by man, but from a divine model. From -this it receives the warmth of life. If architecture is true to the -spirit of nature, it is embraced by the trees, the rocks, the clouds; -they are the silent company of beauty. - -O Cathedral! Sphinx of Northern life! although mutilated, are you not -eternal? Do you cease to live? From a distance, and in the evening, when -dusk sets in, you seem truly a great sphinx crouching in the country. - -The drama that unfolds itself on the stone pages of the churches recalls -to us with a very few gestures and movements the silent drama of -antiquity, the sculptures, illustrations of AEschylus and Sophocles. - -From the Greek type, in truth, sprang the thoughts that guide man, and -again from the Egyptian granite; and eventually from the stone of the -Gothic, that Gothic which leads to the period of Louis XVI, and which in -France is always the principal path of art. Other styles were derived -from it, those of the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, and -eighteenth centuries. Their basis is Gothic; therefore the Gothic is the -fundamental style, which ought to keep us from the path of decadence, -if that is possible. You do not understand it? You say you prefer the -Greek? O ye mortals that wish to pass judgment on all matters, take -heed lest these masterpieces prevail against you! The cathedral is as -beautiful, perhaps more beautiful, than the Parthenon. If you do not -understand this style, then you are still further removed from the -Greek, which is of another country and epoch. It is more beautiful, -perhaps more concise, more marble; but we belong more with stone and -forests, we are more autumnal, more of the cold and melancholy season. - - - -THE GOTHIC BUILDERS ARE REALISTS - -Do not let us lose sight of the fact that beneath this poem of stone -there is a foundation of knowledge based on a close and comprehensive -study. - -To-day I understand it. As a result of study, one truth after another -comes to light. At the outset one is lost before these marvels. Where -is one to begin studying? One's thoughts and one's admiration rise like -clouds. The mind makes prodigious leaps to grasp again what it already -knows, to combine it with the recently acquired knowledge, to attempt to -draw conclusions which simplify and generalize the study, and thus to -discern the fundamental law. - -For a long time during my youth I thought, like many others, that Gothic -art was poor. I was so ungrateful during the first enthusiasm of my -liberty! I learned to understand its grandeur only through traveling. -Observation and work led me back to the right road. In the course of my -efforts I have grasped the meaning of the thoughts of the masters. My -persistent work was not futile, and, like one of the Magi, I have at -last come to bow in humble reverence before them. - -A true artist must penetrate the primordial principles of creation; only -by understanding the beautiful does he become inspired, and that not -through a sudden awakening of his sensibilities, but by slow penetration -and perception, by patient love. The mind need not be quick, for slow -progress should imply precaution in every direction. - -The Gothic builders are the greatest observers of nature that have ever -existed, the greatest realists, despite all that professors and critics -say to the contrary. They call them idealists. They say the same of the -Greeks and of all artists whose profound knowledge has enabled them to -borrow their effects and charm from nature. Idealists! That is a term -which signifies nothing and merely confounds cause and effect. - -Builders of the Middle Ages, you independent scholars, models of a -profound intelligence, this is what our age has found as an explanation -of your masterpieces! - -I have devoted my whole life in endeavoring to catch a glimpse of -the rules, the secrets of experience, which you transmitted to one -another, and it is only now, when my days are numbered, that I am at -last grasping the synthesis of beauty. To whom shall I confide the -fruit of my research? Some future genius will gather it. The cathedral -is eternal, rising toward the sky. When we think it has attained its -ultimate height, it rises again higher still, like a mountain of truth. - - - -PLANS AND OPPOSITIONS - -The architects of our churches subordinated detail to arrive at a more -effective whole. That is why our churches are so beautiful when seen -from a distance. They sacrificed everything to the essential, the "plan." - -The plan? Like all synthetic conceptions, this is difficult to define. -It is the space that an object displaces in the atmosphere, its volume. -When an artist is able to determine exactly the space an object occupies -in the atmosphere, be he painter, sculptor, or architect, he possesses -the real science of plans. - -What is detail in a plan? Nothing. The towers of the church at Bruges -are superb in their bareness, while our modern houses, overladen with -detail, are hideous to look upon. Of the two towers of the cathedral at -Chartres, the one is bare, just a huge wall; the other is covered with -ornamentation, and the first is possibly the more beautiful because of -the potency of its plan. What does this force of simplicity express to -us? It is the soul of a nation. A people expresses its nature through -the medium of its architecture. Stones are faithful when we do not -retouch them. They are the signatures of a nation. - -[Illustration: HEADLESS FIGURE.] - -Through the science of plans the great oppositions or contrasts of light -and shadow are obtained. They give life and color to the structure. -According to the position of the sun, the appearance of a building -varies. One part is in the shade, the other in the light, and between -these two is the gradation of shadings. - -The master architects did not set their edifices apart from the -universe; they gave them the benefit of all the phenomena of -nature--dawn and dusk, twilight, cloud effects, haze, and fog. Every -moment of the day adds to or detracts from their effect. - -Sometimes I stand before a cathedral, and it does not seem at all -beautiful. I feel I should like to alter it. Then I revisit it at -another hour and see it in a different lighting. The light strikes it -aslant, the shadows are deeper; the cathedral is absolutely beautiful, -and I feel abashed at my former impatience and critical mistrust. - - - -THE SCIENCE OF EQUILIBRIUM - -These great effects of light and shade, obtained by the plan--effects -simple in their means, yet mysterious in their power of attraction for -us, have strengthened the idea that Gothic art is idealistic. The masses -who see the cathedral dominating the city, with its two slanting roofs -like hands joined at the finger-tips, certainly feel in it the great -idea, the poem. They do not realize that the sentiments aroused in them -by the beauty of the building are wholly due to the science of the plans. - -By means of what principle did the master builders support the weight -of these enormous masses of stone, which yet join lovingly in the -imponderable atmosphere? By obeying the law of equilibrium of the human -body. The human body, standing upright, the feet joined, in equilibrium, -is the basis of the Greek column. Pediments and roof, supported by a -series of these standing bodies, these human columns, that is the Greek -temple. The architecture of the Parthenon reproduces the equilibrium -of the body in a state of rest. In action the body sways; that is to -say, the weight rests on only one leg, while the body inclines to the -opposite side to regain its balance by counterpoise. That is the sway -of Gothic architecture. This sway constitutes the law of motion for the -body of man and animal, ever seeking perfect equilibrium. - -Without this law we could not move; we would be like blocks of stone. -Every motion that we make produces an initial swaying, which an opposing -weight instantaneously balances. Thus without any consciousness on -our part a perpetual balancing is taking place within us, a change as -facile and immediate as the changes which take place in the phenomena -of respiration and circulation. All goes on with the speed, order, and -silence that exist in the domain of electricity. It is a perpetual -prodigy to which we do not even give a thought. - -It is not surprising that the Gothic masters, who copied from all -nature, took from man and animals the charm of balance. - -The ogive (pointed arch) of the cathedral, is achieved by two opposing -thrusts. But the archivolts do not always harmonize with the capitals; -they are not set exactly over them, they are out of the perpendicular. -Two movements of equal force, exactly opposed, cause a stable -equilibrium. Just so the masses of stone are supported by this same -opposition of thrusts. - -The interior of the cathedral is high and vast, broken by large windows -that diminish the resistance and help to support the great weight. It -was necessary to find a way of reestablishing the equilibrium, lest the -nave break down under its own weight. That is the purpose of the flying -buttresses. Like the arms of giants, they throw their opposing weight -against the exterior walls. - -Some have drawn the conclusion that cathedrals are imperfect, since they -cannot stand without this support. It is a characteristic idea of our -age. Just as though one would reproach the human body for bearing first -on one leg and then on the other. - -These powerful buttresses are wonderfully effective in their contrast -to the lacework of the sculpture. What is more beautiful than Notre -Dame in Paris at night, with its island as its pedestal? It is the huge -skeleton of the France of the Middle Ages which appears to us here. How -attractive the light and shade on the buttresses! Indeed, it took genius -to bring out beauty in that which is in reality only the skeleton of the -edifice, and which could be offensive, were it badly carried out. - - - -THE LACEWORK OF STONE - -The Gothic style exists by virtue of oppositions, contrasts in effects -and in balance. They built huge bare walls, but in the upper heights -ornamentation flourishes and abounds. There the "increase and multiply" -of the Bible has been figuratively carried out. - -Once the basis of construction was established, the masons embellished -the "line" by admirable ornamentation, due to their splendid -workmanship. We should never forget that modeling supplies the -life-blood to the mass; without it we can have neither grace nor power. - -Formerly I did not understand the architecture; I merely saw the -lacework of the Gothic. But even in my conception of that I was -mistaken, for I thought it a caprice of genius. I did not know that it -had a scientific _raison d'etre_; namely, to break and soften the line. -Now I see its importance: it rounds off the outlines; it gives them life -and warmth. These statues, these graceful caryatids, propping up the -portals, these copings in the covings, are like vegetation which softens -the rigid summit of a wall. There again we find the Gothic artists as -skilful colorists as the cleverest painters, because they have gained -insight from the vegetation of our country. In our plants, in our trees, -all is light and shadowy, and from them they gained their wonderful -mastery of the art of depth, which brings out the finest shadings of -light, the mellowness of half-tints. To-day we misuse black, the medium -of power. We use it too extensively; we put it everywhere for the sake -of effect, and therefore lose its effect entirely. - -The Gothic is nature transposed and reproduced in stone. To show -admiration for this form of art is to preserve the memory of the -creation. The artist is the confidant of nature. Shakspere says in "King -Lear," we - - ... take upon 's the mystery of things, - As if we were God's spies. - - - -THE NAVE - -A church is spread out like a dolmen between two menhirs. The interior -breathes the solemn calm of a forest, the columns are the trees, the -masses of the base are the rocks, the pointed arches are the massive -roots, the vaultings are the caves, and the windows are radiant flowers -in large bowls. When I emerge from the darkness of a cathedral, I feel -as if I came from the shadow of a vast, extinguished world. - -Without the brightening light of the stained-glass windows, our churches -would be sad. In Spain the gloom is funereal, but the genius of France -has understood how to capture the caressing light through its windows. -The productiveness of the Celtic spirit is also noticeable in the -capitals. Gothic art abandoned Greek ornament, which had been reproduced -so often that it lost all significance. It found its models in the woods -and gardens. From the oak it took its crown of foliage, from the thistle -and cabbage their gracefully drooping leaves, and from the bramble -its intertwined thorns. They made wonderful capitals by reversing the -acanthus, and copying the languid grace of falling blossoms. - -The cathedral of Bourges--the vastness of this church makes me tremble. -One might say there are three churches in its three naves. Grandeur -demands repetition. The superbness of this work of architecture -enforces silence. People attribute their emotion here to religious -sentiment alone, and do not realize that it is due also to the correct -calculations of art. They do not realize that the impressive darkness -of the vast church, its lighting, the wax tapers here, and the -daylight with its brilliancy there, have all been planned beforehand. -The stained-glass windows of Bourges are dazzling, almost terrible, in -their beauty. There are flashes as red as blood, and dashes of blue, a -flame--the wounds of Christ, the funeral pile of Jeanne d'Arc. When the -sun sinks, the bright light will fade away; then we have before us only -the charming effect of bowls of flowers. - -The legends which are told on the stained-glass are good enough to amuse -children; but the glass itself, the splendor of its colors, the extent -to which it harmonizes with the nave--all that is the actual result and -object of profound thought. The Middle Ages put life into everything; -they worshiped life. They drew extensively from nature, wisely realizing -that its source is inexhaustible, while the day of man is fleeting. - - - -THE MOLDING - -The science of plans, balance of volumes, and proportion in the moldings -govern the spirit of Gothic art. Of late I believe I have discovered how -the masters struck upon the beautiful Gothic molding, that undulating -molding which gives so much suppleness to the architecture. I have found -something new in the well-known, and beauty in forms which I did not -understand before. This change is due above all to my work. Having -always studied more intensely, I can say that I have always loved more -ardently. - -I believe the masters of Gothic art got their ideas of molding through -their understanding of the human body, and perhaps above all of the body -of woman. The body, that human column, seen in profile is a line of -projections and protuberances, of the nose, the chin, the breast, the -flank. Thence springs the beautiful undulating line which is the outline -of Gothic molding. For Gothic molding, like the Greek, is soft and -swelling. The "doucine" (a molding, concave above, convex below), a term -of the trade, tender as the name of a woman, well expresses the charm of -the beautiful French molding. - -The proportions of molding exist in nature, but in such form that we -have not yet been able to subject them to rules. It required men of -positive taste, of most profound understanding, to grasp the harmony of -these proportions and to express them in sculpture. One might say the -Gothic architects understood molding by means of their intelligence as -well as by means of their heart. - -By means of the cathedral the artists of the Middle Ages have shown -us the most impressive drama in existence--the mass. The mass has the -grandeur of the antique drama. Greek tragedies are in fact only a form -of the mass. The human mind starts afresh at different epochs. When the -priest officiates, his gestures have the beauty of the antique, and this -beauty merges into that of the church music, that sublime tongue, the -voice of the sea. Then, when the crowds prostrate themselves, when they -arise simultaneously, the undulation of their bending bodies is like the -waves of the ocean. Truly the Gothic master builders were the familiar -friends of the sublime. From what source did these men spring! From what -minds did those ideas arise! God has shared his power with some of his -sons. - - - - -VI - -ART AND NATURE - - -Criticizing nature is as stupid as criticizing the cathedrals. It is the -vice of our cold and petty age to criticize. It is the evil of decadent -races. We are constantly being told that we live in an age of progress, -an age of civilization. That is perhaps true from the point of view of -science and mechanics; from the point of view of art it is wholly false. - -Does science give happiness? I am not aware of it; and as to mechanics, -they lower the common intelligence. Mechanics replace the work of the -human mind with the work of a machine. That is the death of art. It is -that which has destroyed the pleasure of the inner life, the grace of -that which we call industrial art--the art of the furniture-maker, the -tapestry-worker, the goldsmith. It overwhelms the world with uniformity. -Once artisans created; to-day they manufacture. Once they rejoiced in -the pleasure of making a work of art; to-day the workman is so bored in -his shop that he has invented sabotage and has made alcoholism general. - -The sight of a modern monument throws one into melancholy even while -an ancient one has not ceased to enrapture. I visit a small city, and, -losing my train, am obliged to wait for the next one. I take a walk -about the ancient church, a delicious thing, very simple, but with its -Gothic ornaments placed with taste, in a delicate relief that, in the -light, provides an enchantment for my friendly glances. In the little -nave, which invites to calm, to thought,--thought as soft and composed -as the light shadows that move slowly across the pillars,--I settle -myself. Ah, I come away charmed. If I had waited in the station, I would -have been wearied to death, and would have returned home fatigued and -discontented. As it is, I have gained something--the beautiful counsels -of moderation and the fine charm of a monument of former days. - -Art alone gives happiness. And I call art the study of nature, the -perpetual communion with her through the spirit of analysis. - -He who knows how to see and feel may find everywhere and always things -to admire. He who knows how to see and feel is preserved from ennui, -that _bete noire_ of modern society. He who sees and feels deeply never -lacks the desire to express his feelings, to be an artist. Is not nature -the source of all beauty? Is she not the only creator? It is only by -drawing near to her that the artist can bring back to us all that she -has revealed to him. - -When one says this, the public thinks it a commonplace. All the world -believes that it knows that; but it knows it only in seeming, the truth -penetrates only the superficial shell of its intelligence. There are -so many degrees in real comprehension! Comprehension is like a divine -ladder. Only he who has reached the top rounds has a view of the world. -The public is astonished or shocked when some one goes against its -preconceived notions, against the prejudices of a badly interpreted or -degenerate tradition. Words are nothing; the deed alone counts. It is -not by reading manuals of esthetics, but by leaning on nature herself -that the artist discovers and expresses beauty. - -Alas! we are not prepared to see and to feel. Our sorry education, far -from cultivating in us the feeling for enthusiasm, makes us in our -youth little pedants who without result overwhelm ourselves and others -with our pretensions. Those who too late, by long efforts, escape this -demon of folly arrive only after that education has fatally sapped their -strength and has destroyed the flower of enthusiasm that God had planted -in them as a sign of His paradise. People without enthusiasm are like -men who carry their flags pointed down to the ground instead of proudly -above their heads. - -Constantly I hear: "What an ugly age! That woman is plain. That dog is -horrible." It is neither the age nor the woman nor the dog which is -ugly, but your eyes, which do not understand. One generally disparages -the things that are above one's comprehension. Disparagement is the -child of ignorance. As soon as you discover that, you enter into the -circle of joy. - -[Illustration: RODIN'S HOUSE AND STUDIO AT MEUDON.] - -Man, animals, down to the smallest insects, down to the infinitesimal; -the earth, the waters, the woods, the sky--all are marvelous. The -firmament is the vastest landscape, the most profound, the most -enchanting, with its variations, its effects of color and light, which -delight the eye, astonish the thought, and subjugate the heart. And -to say that artists--those who consider themselves such--attempt to -represent all that simply as it appears to them, without having studied -it, without having deciphered it, without having felt it! I pity them. -They are prisoners, slaves of stupidity. - -I was like them in the first periods of my perverted youth, but I have -delivered myself. I have regained the liberty to approach the things -that I love by the pathway of true study. Who follows me on the road? -Who can learn it from a study of sculpture and design in books? You who -have caught a glimpse of the splendor of that tree, of that giant whose -magnificent column has been denuded by autumn of its leafy capital, -but which is perhaps more beautiful in the nudity of its members; -you who admire the structure of its branches and twigs, etched in an -infinitude of forms against the sky, where they resemble the lacework -of the windows of our churches, would you not understand far better that -beauty, would not your pleasure be far more complete, if you sketched -that tree not only in the mass, but in the innumerable details of its -framework? And to think that the schools recommend to pupils, painters, -and sculptors research on the subject! The subject! The subject does -not exist in that--the poor little arrangement that you, one and all, -summon up while poring over the same anecdotes, the same conventional -attitudes. The human imagination is narrow, and you do not see the -hundred thousand motives of art that multiply themselves under your eye. -I could pass my whole life in the garden where I walk without exhausting -them. - -The subject is everywhere. Every manifestation of nature is a subject. -Artists, pause here! Sketch these flowers; writers, describe them for -me, not in the mass, as has always been done, but in minute detail, -in the marvelous precision of their organs, in their characteristics, -which are as varied as are those of animals and men. How beautiful to -be in the same moment an artist and a botanist, to paint and model the -plant at the same time that one studied it! Those great realists, the -Japanese, understand this, and make the knowledge and cultivation of -plants one of the bases of their education. - -We place love and sensual pleasure in the same category. Undoubtedly -it is nature herself who has led is astray in this by the instinct to -perpetuate ourselves, in youth this instinct is like an overflowing -river; it sweeps away everything, yet pleasure is everywhere about -us. I imbibe it in the forms of the clouds that build their majestic -architecture in the sky, in the rapture of this woman who holds her -child in her arms, an attitude divine, so beautiful indeed, that the -poet of the Gospels has deified it. It is the attitude of the Virgin. I -imbibe it in the atmosphere which bathes me now, and will still continue -to bless me, bringing me peace, rest, and health. - -For that which is beautiful in a landscape is that which is beautiful in -architecture--the air, space. No one in these days realizes its depth. -It is this quality of depth that carries the soul where it wishes to go. -In a well-constructed monument that which enraptures us is the science -of its depths. The throngs in the churches attribute their emotion -to mysticism, to the transport of the soul toward divinity. They are -unaware that they owe their emotion to the exact knowledge of great -planes possessed by the architects of former days. Even upon the most -ignorant beholder they impose this. Man disregards that which he already -has, and longs for something else. He longs for swiftness, to have wings -like a bird. He does not know that he already enjoys this pleasure of -moving through space. He rejoices in it in his soul, which takes wing -and goes where it pleases, through the sky, on the waters, to the depths -of the forests. - -All the misfortune here below arises from a lack of comprehension. We -classify our limited knowledge in narrow systems, like the card-systems -of an office, and these pitiful conventions we take seriously. They -teach us disconnected things, and we leave them disconnected. Those who -have a little patience assemble these isolated facts; but such patient -ones are rare, and nothing is so unbearable as that man who, not having -it, speaks ill of him who has a sense of the truth. To see accurately is -the secret of good design. Objects dart at one another, unite, and throw -light on one another, explain themselves. That is life; a marvelous -beauty covers all things like a garment, like an aegis. - -God created the great laws of opposition, of equilibrium. Good and evil -are brothers, but we desire the good, which pleases us, and not the -evil, which seems to us error. When we consider matters from a distance, -does not evil often seem good, and good, evil? That is only because we -have judged without proper consideration. Just as white and black are -necessary in a drawing, so good and evil are necessary in life. Sorrow -ought not to be cast out. As long as we live it is as strong a part of -life as radiant joy. Without it we would be very ill trained. - -To comprehend nature it is of importance that we never substitute -ourselves for it. The corrections that a man imposes upon himself are a -mass of mistakes. The tiger has claws and teeth and uses them skilfully; -man at times shows himself inferior. Possessing intelligence, too -often he strives to turn to that. Animals respect everything and touch -nothing. The dog loves his master, and has no thought of criticizing -him. The average man does not care that his daughter should be -beautiful. He has in his mind certain ideas of manner and instruction, -and the beauty of his daughter does not enter into the program that he -has made. But the daughter herself feels the influence of nature, and -displays her modest and triumphant movements, which this blind one does -not see, but which fascinate the artist. - -The artist who tells us of his ideal commits the same error that this -average man commits. His ideal is false, in the name of this ideal he -pretends to rectify his model, retouching a profound organism which -admirably combined laws regulate. Through his so-called corrections he -destroys the ensemble; he composes a mosaic instead of creating a work -of art; the faults of his model do not exist. If we correct that which -we call a fault, we simply present something in the place of that which -nature has presented. We destroy the equilibrium; the rectified part is -always that which is necessary to the harmony of the whole. There is -nothing paradoxical here, because a law that is all-powerful keeps the -harmony of opposites. That is the law of life. Everything, therefore, is -good, but we discover this only when our thought acquires power; that -is to say, when it attaches itself indissolubly to nature, for then it -becomes part of a great whole, a part of united and complex forces. -Otherwise it is a miserable, debased, detached part contending with a -whole that is formed of innumerable units. - -Nature, therefore, is the only guide that it is necessary to follow. She -gives us the truth of an impression because she gives us that of its -forms, and if we copy this with sincerity, she points out the means of -uniting these forms and expressing them. - -Sincerity, conscience--these are the true bases of thought in the work -of an artist; but whenever the artist attains to a certain facility of -expression, too often he is wont to replace conscience with skill. The -reign of skill is the ruin of art. It is organized falsehood. Sincerity -with one fault, indeed with many faults, still preserves its integrity. -The facility that believes that it has no faults has them all. The -primitives, who ignored the laws of perspective, nevertheless created -great works of art because they brought to them absolute sincerity. Look -at this Persian miniature, the admirable reverence of this illuminator -for the form of these plants and animals, and the attitudes of these -persons which he has forced himself to render just as he saw them. How -eagerly has he painted that, this man who loved it all! Do you tell me -that his work is bad because he is ignorant of the laws of perspective? -And the great French primitives and the Roman architects and sculptors! -Has it not been repeatedly said that their style is a barbaric style? On -the contrary, it has a formidable beauty. It breathes the sacred awe of -those who have been impressed by the great works of nature herself. It -offers us the strongest proof that these men had made themselves part of -life and also a part of its mystery. - -To express life it is necessary to desire to express it. The art of -statuary is made up of conscience, precision, and will. If I had not had -tenacity of purpose, I should not have produced my work. If I had ceased -to make my researches, the book of nature would have been for me a dead -letter, or at least it would have withheld from me its meaning. Now, on -the contrary, it is a book that is constantly renewed, and I go to it, -knowing well that I have only spelled out certain pages. In art to admit -only that which one comprehends leads to impotence. Nature remains full -of unknown forces. - -As for me, I have certainly lost some time through the fault of my -period. I should have been able to learn much more than I have grasped -with so much slowness and circumlocution; but I should not have tasted -less happiness through that highest form of loss; that is, work. And -when my hour shall come, I shall dwell in nature, and shall regret -nothing. - - - -THE ANTIQUE--THE GREEKS - -If the artists of antiquity are the greatest of all it is because they -approached most closely to Nature. - -They studied it with magnificent sincerity and copied it with all -their intelligence. They never wasted their time in trying to invent -something. To invent, to create, these are words that mean nothing. They -contented themselves with rendering the adorable model that enchanted -their eyes. This love and this respect for creation has never since -their time been surpassed. They did not copy literally what they saw; -to a certain degree they interpreted the character of forms. The aim of -art is not to copy literally. It consists in slightly exaggerating the -character of the model in order to make it salient; it consists also in -reassembling in a single expression the successive expressions given by -the same model. Art is the living synthesis. - -This is what the ancients did, with what taste, what incomparable -science! From this science that respected unity their works derived -their calm, contained force, the sentiment of grand serenity, the -atmosphere of peace that envelops them. The ignorant and the professors -of esthetics who do not know the source of all this have named it Greek -idealism. This is nothing but a word that serves to conceal a want -of understanding. There is no idealism in the ancients; there is an -exercise of choice, a marvelous taste; but it is by the most realistic -means that they render human beauty. - -[Illustration: THE TEMPEST.] - -We others, we moderns, are carried away by the restlessness of the -epoch; we are superficial, we only regard things cursorily, and we have -concluded from this sublime simplicity that Greek art is cold. To us -indeed it seems very cold. It is really warm. To it alone belongs in -this respect the quality of life, reality in forms, and precision in -movement. It is through this that it attains perfect equilibrium. But -that is beyond our little spirit of detail. We seek nothing but detail; -the Greek, for his part, saw nothing but the whole; that is to say, the -equilibrium, the harmony. - - - -THE RICHNESS OF THE ANTIQUE LIES IN MODELING - -The value of the antique springs from _ronde-bosse_. It possesses in a -supreme degree the art of relief. How can the critics and the professors -explain this, being what they are? They do not belong to the trade. Art -should not be taught except by those who practise it. - -Observe any fragments of Greek sculpture: a piece of an arm, a hand. -What you call the idea, the subject, no longer exists here, but is not -all this debris none the less admirably beautiful? In what does this -beauty consist? Solely in the modeling. Observe it closely, touch it; do -you not feel the precision of this modeling, firm yet elastic, in flux -like life itself? It is full, it is like a fruit. All the eloquence of -this sculpture comes from that. - -What is modeling? The very principle of creation. It is the -juxtaposition of the innumerable reliefs and depressions that constitute -every fragment of matter, inert or animated. Modeling creates the -essential texture, supple, living, embracing every plante. It fills, -cooerdinates, and harmonizes them. It penetrates everything, it animates -everything, as well the depths as the surfaces. It comprises the minute -as well as the immense. Mountain, horse, flower, woman, insect equally -owe to it their form. When God created the world, it is of modeling He -must have thought first of all. If you consider a hand, you notice its -contours and the character of the whole. But the eye of the artist, -that eye, sees more: it sees the infinite assemblage of projections and -depressions forming a texture more closely knit, more exactly blended -than the most perfect mosaic. It is this that he seeks to render; this -that he translates, if he is a sculptor, by the science of depression -and relief, if he is a draughtsman or painter by that of light and -shadow. For light serves, in conformity with depressions and reliefs, -to give the eye the same sensation that the hand receives from touch: -Titian is just as great a modeler as Donatello. - -To-day the sense of _ronde-bosse_ is completely lost, not only -in Europe, but among the peoples of the Orient. It is the age of -the _flat_. No one knows anything about it. Men love what they do -themselves, until they are made to see that it is not beautiful; but it -takes years and years for this to penetrate into their consciousness. In -the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries China and Japan still produced -charming works. In ancient times their art was very great; it approached -the Greek. At the exposition of 1900, we were enabled to see antique -Japanese statues, superb nudes nearly as fine as those of Greece. In our -time the pest of flatness has contaminated the Asiatic races as well as -the European: decadence is universal. - -We are so far removed from antique beauty that when we photograph the -works of the ancients we take them in the spirit of our own taste, -which is that of low-relief; we take from them that flower of beautiful -modeling, their richness, their crowning grace. When I say low-relief, -I do not use this term exactly; it is only that I know no other means -of expressing the modern evil of uniformity; but I know that good -low-relief is as full and as fruit-like as sculpture in the round, that -it is sculpture in the round itself, as in the friezes of the Parthenon, -as in our buildings of the Renaissance and of the seventeenth century. - -The great concern of my life is the struggle I have maintained to escape -from the general flatness. All the success of my sculpture comes from -that. Although it has little enough taste, the public, despite all, is -tired to death of this flatness. The charm of _ronde-bosse_ is so great -that it captivates the ignorant even without their knowing it. - - - -RONDE-BOSSE AND CHIAROSCURO - -Observe this little torso of a woman; it is a little Venus. It is -broken; it has no longer a head, arms, legs, yet I never weary of -contemplating it; each day, each hour for me adds to this masterpiece -because I only understand it better. What could it say to our -indifferent glance? For me it has the ineffable voluptuousness of -softly maturing flesh. The effect lies in no part and in every part. -It is perfection. This little childish body, has it not all the charm -of woman? It does not catch the light, the light catches it, glancing -over it lightly; without any effect of roughness, any dark shadow. Here -shadow can no longer be called shadow but only the decline of light. -She does not become dark, she grows pale in imperceptible depressions, -in delicious undulations. She is indivisible; she is whole or -incomplete, but her unity is not disturbed. And this passage that joins -the abdomen to the thighs, this little declivity of graces, this valley -of love! Everything is full of the calm, the lightness, the serenity -of pure beauty in the perfect confidence of nature. The ideal that you -imagine you find in a gesture, in a momentary attitude, is here; it is -here because of the infinite love of the flesh, of the human fruit. What -you call the ideal is nothing but the perfume of beautiful modeling. -What more could you ask? - -When I look at this marble in the evening by candle-light, how the -wonder deepens! If those who have been telling us for a hundred years -that Greek art is cold studied it with care, could they for one hour -maintain this absurdity? This sculpture, on the contrary, is of an -extraordinary living complexity, which the flame reveals; the whole -surface is nothing but depressions and reliefs, but united, melted -together in the great, harmonious force of the _ensemble_. I turn the -little torso about under the caressing rays of the light. There is not -a fault, not a weakness, not a dead spot; it is the very continuity -of life, its intoxicating voluptuousness hidden in the bosom of the -molecule. - -Why should such artists have sought to create an abstract Beauty by -the idealization of forms? These men of genius loved Nature too well to -presume to correct her. They knew well that despite their genius, they -still remained beneath her. Nothing can surpass the marvel of creation. -The conception of an idealistic art comes from the Academy. Before the -purity of the antique forms people used to believe that the beauty lay -solely in the exterior profiles. It is really beautiful because of -the interior modeling. And still we make this distinction between the -profiles and the modeling, thanks to our mania for dividing things; but -we know that the one is inseparable from the other; the surfaces are -nothing but the extremities of volumes, the boundaries of the mass. - -All the sculpture of the period of Louis-Philippe was imitated from the -antique, but only by means of the exterior profiles. If it had been -practised by true modelers, by geometrical minds, it would have been -as beautiful as its original. What pleased people in that epoch, what -pleases people in ours, is not at all the antique; it is the fashion -in which we see it. It was the Renaissance that really understood the -Greek. It created works exactly the same in feeling, though somewhat -different in arrangement and general color. For color does not exist -in painting alone. Its role is equally great in sculpture. To-day this -color is bad; it fails to obtain the chiaroscuro which derives from -_ronde-bosse_. Good sculpture owes to chiaroscuro clarity, unity, charm, -even, I might say, the voluptuousness of breathing flesh. Shadow, at -once luminous and mysterious, models the fulness of the body in the -exuberance of health; it makes one understand abundance, solidity. In -the art of the Renaissance and the eighteenth century shadow is always -supple and warm as in Greek art; it has the tender coloring of the -vegetation of our country, the sweetness of which our great artists have -captured. The chiaroscuro of the antique consists of the density and -depth of light falling over the entire modeling. Chiaroscuro penetrates -to every plane and renders the reality of them; it is reality itself. -This is because the antique and nature are part and parcel of the same -mystery, the infinitely harmonious mystery of force in suspense. The -great artists compose as nature itself operates. - -Undoubtedly the Greeks possessed certain methods which they handed down -from master to pupil, as has been the case in all artistic epochs. They -had celebrated ateliers, schools, where they taught their principles. -By the fifth century they had established a canon of the human body; -but they never made use of it without consulting the model. As for us, -we have imagined that we could use it like a magic formula. It is not -the formula that makes the art; it is the experience of the artist -that creates the formula. If we abandon nature for a rule, if we do -not constantly vivify the one by means of the other, we soon speak a -language that means nothing. - -One cannot repeat this enough: the ancients are realists; they work in -_ronde-bosse_. This explanation seems commonplace and even vulgar; it is -the whole truth. It can be understood by the humblest artisan, provided -only that he knows his trade. But it is as difficult to get it into the -heads of people to-day as it is to restore faith in a man who has lost -it. - - - -ROME AND ROMAN ART - -What I have said of Greek art applies equally well to Roman. Another -opinion has been adopted by critics and the world in general: the Roman -is less beautiful than the Greek. It is less beautiful perhaps, by a -certain shade, a shade which those who speak of it are incapable of -appreciating. It is a little less substantial, but it is superb. It is -Greek, with a different character, a certain ruggedness, and more! The -Maison Carree at Nimes, that little temple, the flower of austerity, the -smile of the race as sweet as the smile of Greece; the Pont du Gard, -that heroic masterpiece, that giant which bestrides the country, which -imposes the power of Rome on the peaceful landscape, these are what they -criticize! - -Rome is magnificent. We say it, but we do not believe it; otherwise it -would not be despoiled. No, in Rome itself, they have no idea of the -beauty of Rome. Where are there artists great enough to appreciate you, -severe genius, splendid city, daughter of the she-wolf? Your genius -they pillage every day. They destroy its proportion, and that is to -strike at the foundation of the master work. Proportion is the law of -architecture. ... In the very midst of the ancient city they are setting -up atrocious monuments, enormous or too petty. - -In Rome, as in Athens, as in the France of Gothic art, the architect of -old planned the monument in relation to the landscape; he harmonized it -with the outline of the mountains, with the expanse of the surrounding -country-side; he determined its proportions according to its environment. - -The architect of to-day plans out his monument in his own study on a -piece of paper and produces it ready-made. Whether this mass of stone -obliterates the buildings that surround it or whether, on the other -hand, it turns out a miserable little contrivance in the midst of great -works of the past matters little to him: he does not see it. - -The French Academy sends students to work in Rome. But they get nothing -from Rome, they can get nothing; they come there with a spirit entirely -opposed to it. At a time when I did not know the city I heard the bridge -of Sant' Angelo spoken ill of and fun made of the contorted angels; -but they are all very well in their place; they are needed there; -there is enough repose elsewhere. Bernini, so often sneered at, is as -beautiful as Michelangelo, although he is not so fine. It is he who made -the Rome of the seventeenth century. They do not know that the Appian -Way is sublime. It will disappear one of these days. These things are -awaiting their condemnation. They are constructing quays like ours. If -they do not put a stop to it, Rome will be destroyed. Those who have -not seen cities such as this was in the nineteenth century will not -understand anything. I have said as much to my Italian friends, who -appeared greatly astonished; for nobody makes these reflections which -come to me constantly in my studies. They consider me a gloomy fellow, a -misanthrope. Gloomy, yes; for it is painful to live in a decadent epoch; -but I have no _parti-pris_; I only wish to try to arrest the general -massacre. In France, as everywhere, we commit exactly the same faults. -We destroy our monuments by surrounding them with great open spaces; -we have ruined the effect of Notre Dame, on the side of the parvis. At -Brussels, in the Musee du Cinquantenaire, they have set up a model of -the Parthenon; but they have placed it in the midst of enormous objects -that annihilate it. We have come to that! We have killed the Parthenon! -Barbarism could go no further. We live in a barbarous age. There is no -doubt about that! People cry out that we must create schools for people -to learn art; we bungle the most beautiful of all schools--the Museum. - - - -FOR AMERICA - -These things ought to be said again and again to the point of satiety, -if we wish to save any remnants. Coming from me, whose opinions carry -some weight, they are repeated when I am no longer on the spot. People -feel the justice of them, the shaft goes home. A few who are more -ardent than the rest propagate them and stir up a current of opinion -that may lead to reform. There is no reason therefore to fear repeating -them in America, where also people have fallen into the general error. -American artists have followed our teaching, altogether in a bad sense. -Notwithstanding that in taking their point of departure they could have -escaped into the good epochs of art, they have saddled themselves with -the poverty of modern taste. - -Let them return to the school of the past; above all, let them return to -nature; it is as beautiful with them as elsewhere. The mountains, the -trees, the vegetation, the men and women of their own country--these -should be their masters in architecture and sculpture. America is full -of will. It desires to be a great nation. It stops at no expense in -order to obtain instruction; it creates immense universities, libraries, -museums. It pours into them streams of money. The favor with which my -work has been received there is the sign of a movement toward truth in -art; they are developing an affection for this naturalistic school which -borrows from life its charm and its variety. But all this will be as -nothing unless America creates work of its own; unless it breaks with -the old errors of the nations of Europe in order to find the path of -true science. - -[Illustration: THE VILLAGE FIANCEE.] - - - - -VII - -THE GOTHIC GENIUS - -To THE RENAISSANCE AND THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY - -NOTRE-DAME - - -NOTRE DAME--Notre Dame de Paris--more splendid than ever in the -half-light of this winter day. The veils of the atmosphere redress the -evils that modern restorations have done to this monument; the folds of -the mist soften the sharpness of the retouched outlines: the elements -are more respectful to this masterpiece than are men. - -I come upon it at the turn of the bridge. At once I drop out of this -industrial epoch of ours, so poor despite its love of money; my -sculptor's soul escapes from its exile. - -The Gothic sphinx rises before me. The strength of its beauty overwhelms -me. I struggle against it and I am broken by it. Then it attracts me -anew with its sweetness; it exalts me. My spirit makes the ascent of -this sculptured mountain. What power in these motionless stones to -create the sense of movement in the mind! What makes this possible? -The mason of genius; the science of oppositions. That whole effect of -power--he has put it in the thickness of the foundations, the enormous -walls, the buttresses. They are as formidable as the tiers of a dike, -as a breakwater planted in the sea. One would say that this church was -built to combat the forces of nature: the temple of peace and love has -the air of a fortress. - -One's spirit is weighed down by the bareness of the stone, but stirred -by the height of the structure and the towers; it soars toward them -as toward a world that reassures it; the hard material has become -humanized; the genius of man is at play there amid the lacework of -stone. He has placed there angels, saints, animals, fruits, flowers, all -the gifts of the seasons; it is life in its entirety such as the Creator -in His infinite munificence has bestowed upon him. The Gothic artist -knows that paradise is on earth; he has no need to invent another. The -childish and monotonous heaven presented to us in our legends is nothing -but a poor copy of the marvels of our life. - -Let us enter. I tremble. The beauty is terrible. I am plunged into -night, a living night in which I do not know what mysteries are being -enacted--the cruel mysteries of the ancient religions? There are -shimmering rays from the long windows, the rose windows. Hope enters my -heart: there is light here, then? I am no longer alone. - -My eyes grow accustomed to this populous obscurity. There is a world -about me, a world of columns. It seems terrible, it _is_ terrible -because of its power, but this power has its _raison d'etre_. It -seems frightening to me but it is only necessary. It is distributed -power; therefore it is beneficent. It holds the vault in the air, the -prodigious weight of stone that it maintains aloft, above my head, as -lightly as the canvas of a tent. Marvel of equilibrium, calculation of -the intelligence, how is it possible not to adore you? It is you that -one comes here to worship under the name of God. - -The darkness grows lighter; it becomes chiaroscuro. We are in a picture -by Rembrandt, that great Gothic of the sixteenth century. The forest -of pillars divides the nave into spaces of shadow and light. It is the -order of nature which knows nothing of disorder. This I rediscover with -joy: the eye does not love chaos. - -I familiarize myself with the people of the columns. I recognize them: -they are Romans. It is the Roman, the Romance, hardly altered, that -comes to receive the Gothic arch. The immense nave which I thought a -forest full of hidden dangers I see, I understand, I read like a sacred -book. The mystery is not that of cruelty; it is only that of beauty. It -grows lighter gradually in order to allow the spirit to approach slowly -the joy of a perfect interior. This solemnity of the nave, this immense -void, is like the bed of a great river; the columns range themselves -respectfully on each side in order to give free passage to the flood of -human piety. It flows like a majestic river; it bears onward toward the -tabernacle, about which it spreads itself like a lake of love under the -rays of the thought of God. Amid the stones the architect has known how -to play the part of the apostle: he has created faith. Art and religion -are the same thing; they are love. - - - -SAINT-EUSTACHE - -It is the interior of this church that should be admired. Here I do -not experience the same commotion of the spirit as in Notre Dame. I am -bathed in the fine light of the sixteenth century. At Notre Dame it -was the shadow of Rembrandt; here, it is the clear tonality of French -painting, of a Clouet. Admirable is the _elan_ of this Renaissance -nave; it is as bold as, and even perhaps bolder than that of the Gothic -buildings. It proceeds on the same plan. The skyward lift is only to -be found in the Gothic; it is of the very spirit of the race. Are the -vaults round and no longer pointed? What does it matter if they are -equally elegant, if they have the same aerial grace as the ogive? - -What I rediscover in Saint-Eustache, less austere than its grand sister -of the Middle Age, but with a sweetness which is itself noble, is -the determination of the architect to subordinate everything to the -effect of simplicity, to the total effect. On each side of the nave -the columns cutting the side wall are disposed fanwise in order to -hide the light of the lateral windows. One sees nothing but the stone, -and yet there is no effect of heaviness; one could not make anything -lighter. This is because the color of the stone is admirably varied by -the diversity of the flutings that line the columns. The main fluting -marks the outline, and the others, less emphatic, shading off, give it -a velvet-like quality. The light throws a golden haze between the great -columns, among the deep gorges, and is, on the other hand, channeled, -streaked by the little nerves that impel it upward toward the vaults. -By this effect of lightness the building seems to rise; it is an -assumption. It is no longer the forest of trees that one finds here, -but the forest of creepers. These vertiginous columns are like fine, -delicate vines. Above the altar the great lights of the windows, with -their beautiful glass, harmonize well with the general color. The light, -at once abundant and restrained, has the coolness which the Renaissance -recaptured from Greece. This church welcomes one as with an immense -smile; it has the sweetness of Christ holding out his hands: "Suffer the -little children to come unto me." Intelligence has planned it, but it is -the heart that has modeled it. - -If we enter Saint-Eustache at nightfall, we could almost believe -ourselves in a Gothic building. The Renaissance did not bring about such -profound transformations in architecture as people think. There is a -heavy Italian Renaissance element that is altogether alien to us; but -in the true French Renaissance the Celtic taste was not betrayed: it -was modified with a certain grace and elegance. Grace is an aspect of -strength. A nation no more escapes from its racial quality than a man -from his temperament. The Celtic mingled with the Roman produced the -Romance, out of which the Gothic sprang directly--the Romance, that is -to say, the Roman which has passed through the spirit of the Franks. It -has the severity, the Roman qualities, united with the imagination of -the Barbarians, since we have agreed so to call them. The Romance of the -second epoch has already sprung forth; it rises during the eleventh and -twelfth centuries and goes to make the Gothic. The Gothic elevates and -magnifies the Romance. It detaches the buttresses, even to the point of -separating them from the walls, in order to carry them further out to -sustain the height of the nave. - -As for the Renaissance, it continues the Gothic. We could not have a -more striking example of this than just here in Saint-Eustache. Here -are the same lines, the same idea, with a different ornamentation. -It is the same body, clothed in a new way. It is another age of the -Gothic; sweeter, less powerful, the final florescence of the French -genius, which, despite the adorable eighteenth century, follows a -descending path down to the first restoration. Contrary to what has -been thought and taught for so long, the Renaissance already marks -a stage of decadence. The most beautiful epoch in architecture and -sculpture is the Middle Age, an age as beautiful as, perhaps more -beautiful than, the great age of Greece, and almost universally despised -by our nineteenth century, the century of criticism and pretension, the -century of ignorance. Yes, with the Renaissance things begin to give -way. And yet to say that is almost a sacrilege! It is as if one struck -one's father! Our ravishing Gothic of the sixteenth century has charmed -France with its masterpieces; it has made artists cherish a whole -country, the sweet country of the Loire. Despite its misalliance with -the Italian Renaissance, it stood firm, it did not bend; it remained the -grand French style. Witness the Louvre with its high pavilions; that -sprang, that too, from the Gothic vein; the sculptors of the Renaissance -decorated it less severely, but the general aspect remains the same. - -The Gothic under different names has been the main path of our genius -during five hundred years. It has been the blessing of France; it was -its active principle down to 1820. If we wish to return to art it will -only be through comparative study--the comparison with nature of our -national style. The beautiful lines are eternal. Why are they used so -little? - - - -CONCERNING COLOR IN SCULPTURE - -The true difference between the Gothic and the Renaissance does not lie -in the structure of the building but in the quality of the sculpture and -in its color. - -What is meant by color in sculpture and in architecture? It is the law -of light and shade, the great law of oppositions which constitutes -the charm of nature, the beauty of a landscape at dawn, its splendor -at sunset. The color springs from the quality of the modeling; it is -the relief which gives the light tones and, by contrast, the dark, -in the parts that do not stand out. The ensemble of the intermediary -diminutions of light and shade produces the general coloring, whose -nuances can be infinitely varied according to the skill of the artist. -Modeling is the only way in which to express life; and there is only one -thing that counts in sculpture and in architecture--the expression of -life. A beautiful statue, a well-made monument, live like living beings; -they seem different according to the day and the hour. How beautiful it -is to give to stone, through nothing but the values of planes, through -the handling of shadow and light, the same charm of color as that of -living nature, of the flesh of a woman. In the plastic arts, the color -betrays the quality of the planes as a beautiful complexion reveals -health in a human being. - -The antique has shorter planes than the Gothic; it lacks therefore -those deep shadows that give to the Gothic such a tormented and tragic -aspect. The Greek balances the framework of the human body on four -planes, the Gothic on two only. The latter produces a stronger effect, -a more _hollowed_ effect, that _effet de console_ which is essentially -Gothic. Nevertheless, the shadow that results from it is more sustained -than in the antique and nothing could be softer or more full of nuances. - -The Roman presents an abundance of dark shadows which, in turn, create -an effect of heaviness and density. The Greek puts in just enough of -them to quicken the general coloring. The Roman gives a flatter effect, -which shows nevertheless a magnificent vigor. As for us, we copy these -styles endlessly without understanding them, for if we did understand -them we should do quite otherwise. We abuse the black, the powerful -lines, we put them everywhere; we do not know how to shade light. That -is why our sculpture is so poor, why our monuments appear so hard, so -dry. The Bourse, the Corps Legislatif, might be made of iron with their -columns set against a uniform background which prevents the light and -air from circulating about them and enveloping them and destroys the -atmosphere. This is what people call a simple style. It is not simple, -it is cold. The simple is the perfect, coldness is impotence. - -The Renaissance recaptured the antique measure and imposed its generous -color upon the Gothic plane. It used less shadow than our sculptors of -the Middle Ages; it diminished the reliefs. The effect in consequence -was lighter. This was because the Renaissance was enchanted by all the -Greek statues that were discovered at this period; and in its enthusiasm -it recreated Greek art, not by copying it, but by copying nature -according to antique principles. It is perhaps a little less beautiful -but it has quite the same feeling of gentle strength, of delicacy. One -feels the joy of the artist who throws himself against the problem of -the nude in the open air. Till then statues had been draped, but under -the draperies was concealed a carefully studied nude. In the Renaissance -the drapery was dropped: the nymphs of Jean Goujon, of Germain Pilon--I -recognize them; these long bodies of women, these undulating bodies, are -Gothic statues unclothed and set in another light. Our whole sixteenth -century is a song of grace rising from the Gothic heart to the art of -the Parthenon. - -But nowhere than in the country of the Loire is there Renaissance art -more gentle and amply luminous. This is the Greek part of France. The -tranquil river touched the heart of our architects and bestowed on them -some of its calm and smiling majesty. From it, from the air impregnated -with its vapors, came those chateaux so happy in their beauty and those -lovable cottages; for the artist worked as beautifully for peasants as -for kings. Before Usse, before Chenonceaux, Blois, Azay-le-Rideau, I am -not in the presence of dead things but of a living spirit, the spirit of -divine beauty that animated equally the antique and the Gothic. Charming -sixteenth century France, it is you who have forced me to the study of -chiaroscuro. Formerly I tried my best to understand your motives, your -thousand nerves, but the general law escaped me. I did not see your -soul, which consists entirely in the voluptuous shadings of light; I did -not perceive your principle, the modeling which impressed movement upon -everything and gave the movement life. - - - -THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY - -The eighteenth century is the exaggeration of the sixteenth. Our elegant -houses, our houses in the style of Louis XV and Louis XVI have always -the Gothic line with its proud, graceful air. Without moldings, without -ornaments, their beauty lies in their very lack of ornaments, in their -nudity. But what proportions they have! The finest of the fine! - -The eighteenth century is considered too frail, too affected. It is, -on the contrary, full of life and strength. It possesses admirable -sculptors: Pigalle, creator of that immortal masterpiece, the tomb of -Marshal Saxe; Houdon, whose busts to-day are bought for their weight in -gold without even then bringing their proper price. There were thousands -then, the whole rank and file of the trade, who created marvels, with a -sureness of hand accustomed to every difficulty. The outline of a table, -of a chest, was as much considered as that of a statue. For that matter, -what difference did the dimensions of a work make? It was the modeling -that counted. The peasant himself sat down in a well-made chair. Artists -and artisans had a taste, an alert grace, and a dexterity sufficient to -fit out the whole world; but their dexterity was based on a foundation -of intelligence as an ornament is based upon a building. The dexterity -we possess nowadays is nothing but mockery, a kind of banter that -touches everything without discernment; it kills force. - -The Louis XV and Louis XVI styles possessed grandeur. We call it the art -of the boudoir, but the boudoir of that period had a nobility like that -of those white and gold salons where the seats are disposed with dignity -like persons of quality. The music had the same character; the dances -also, the dances, those charming scenes in which men and women with the -natural spirit of play threw themselves into the cadence, translating it -with the eloquence of youth. The dance--that was architecture brought to -life. - -The eighteenth century was a century which _designed_; in this lay its -genius. Nowadays people are searching for a new style and do not find -it. Style comes unawares through the concurrence of many elements; but -can we achieve it without design? To-day we design no longer and our -art, which is altogether industrial, is bad. The central matter in art -is the nude, and this we no longer understand. How can we be expected -to have art when we do not understand its central principle? The minor -arts are the rays that go out from the center. When I draw the body of a -woman I rediscover the form of the beautiful Greek vases. Through design -alone we arrive at a knowledge of the shading of forms. The forms that -delight us in the art of past centuries are nothing but those presented -by living nature, those of human beings, animals, verdure, interpreted -by men of supreme taste. The art that people are struggling to discover -to-day might be deduced from my sculpture and my drawings, for I have -always drawn with passion. The quality of my drawing I owe in large -measure to the eighteenth century. I am nothing but a link in the great -chain of artists, but I maintain the connection with those of the past. -At the Petite Ecole they made us copy the red chalks of Boucher and the -models of flowers, animals, and ornaments. They were Louis XVI models, -very well executed; they certainly gave me a little of the warmth of the -artists of that period. In my youth I made drawings by the hundreds, by -the thousands. At the Petite Ecole we were badly placed, badly lighted -by poor candles; when we touched them we made them sticky with the clay -with which our fingers were covered so that they were worse than ever -afterwards. It did not matter; we were working according to the right -principles. - -To-day the Petite Ecole is entirely in the power of the larger school, -that of the Beaux-Arts. Far from learning one gets spoiled there for the -rest of one's life. One copies the antique, but one copies it badly. - -I am speaking with the experience of a genuine artistic life. There was -a time when I never talked; to-day I hold forth! If I am understood -it will not have been in vain. But how much effort it will take to -reestablish truths which are so self-evident, so obvious, so fundamental -that one is ashamed to repeat them so many times! Nevertheless they are -_essential_. The public is a thousand miles away from them, the public, -by which I mean the general taste. If it does not become enlightened, -art will disappear. Observe its attitude before the works of the new -school, before the pictures of those who call themselves cubists: -sarcasm, anger. These artists show us squares, cubes, geometrical -figures colored according to their own ideas. They name them: _Portrait -of Mme. X._ or _Landscape_. This exasperates the public. What does it -matter? Is it good? That is the whole point. Is the ornament well -treated? That is the capital question, the only one that is not -discussed. Their canvases are combinations of color recalling mosaic -or even stained glass. We have accepted many other things; we have -accepted the green or rather the violet women of our later salons, and -women with wooden heads, but we do not wish to admit the squares of the -cubists. Why? They are not portraits, we say. They are not landscapes. -So much the better! They are something else. What does it matter if -the artist has deceived himself knowingly or wilfully on a matter so -insignificant as the subject? It is ornamental, that is enough. They are -curious, these quarrels that break out, these sects that are created for -reasons like this--for a sock put on inside out! Ignorance inflames the -passions. There are struggles whose aim is great; others that appear -useless have their use perhaps. - -It may be that this slackening of taste and knowledge is necessary. -Perhaps it is a period of transition, a fallow period required by the -intelligence like that required by a soil that has been productive for -too long. If ignorance is prolonged it will mean that the history of -France is ended; it will mean the annihilation of the Celtic genius -which has fertilized Europe for two thousand years. We shall become like -Asia. Roman art declined for four or five centuries after Augustus. With -us the decadence has only been going on for a hundred years. During -the present war marvels have been destroyed. Formerly, even during -the religious wars, the monuments were spared; it is for this reason -that France is still so rich. When stone is no longer respected, it -means decadence. The cannon turn up the earth like a plow, leveling -everything. This war appears therefore like an explosion of barbarism; -at bottom it indicates a latent state of soul which has been shaping -itself since the beginning of the nineteenth century. During this period -the world has ceased to obey the law of beauty and love; it has lived -for nothing but business. What is the leading idea that has precipitated -the nations against one another? Trade: the desire, the longing to make -more money than one's neighbor. Trade is the anxious care of people who -think of nothing but their own petty welfare; it is not the basis on -which is founded the grandeur of peoples. It alone regulates at present -the relations between things. The war is nothing but the consequence of -such habits and their natural conclusion. - -[Illustration: METAMORPHOSIS ACCORDING TO OVID.] - -Do you ask me what will spring out of the conflict? I am not a prophet. -I know only that without religion, without art, without the love of -nature--these three words are for me synonymous--men will die of ennui. -But nothing easily resigns itself to death. An outburst of courage has -just transfigured the world. Can we preserve this courage during peace? -The patience of the soldier, the patience of the trenches surpasses -in sublimity the virtue of the ancients. Will it produce a rebirth of -intelligence? Shall we have, in study, the force of soul that we have -had in the great struggle? That is the question. Of course the stupid, -the ignorant will not suffer any transformation through the war; but -men of character will be reinvigorated by the hardships of the military -life; we have recaptured patience and we have yet to learn what we can -expect from this virtue. Genius is as much character as talent. If we -have men of force in this country where taste is a natural gift, it -seems to me impossible that this force will not quicken the gift and -develop it and that we shall not have once more an era of beauty. - -AUGUSTE RODIN. - - - - -THE WORK OF RODIN - - - - -I - -THE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS--INFLUENCE OF THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF -RODIN--"SAINT JOHN THE BAPTIST" (1880)--"THE GATE OF HELL" - - -In 1877 Rodin visited our most illustrious cathedrals, Rheims, Amiens, -Chartres, Soissons, Noyon. During his youth, the choir of Beauvais -and Notre Dame de Paris appealed more to his imagination than to his -taste, and it required many years of travel and comparison to enable -him to grasp the splendors of that Gothic art which he was to admire -thenceforth at least as much as the antique. As a splendidly gifted, -but inexperienced young man, he shared the error of his epoch: the -eighteenth and the first half of the nineteenth century had despised the -Roman and the Gothic; they had ridiculed them and called them barbaric; -the nineteenth century, while flattering itself that it appreciated -them, did still worse--it restored them. - -The romantic writers of the Schools of Chateaubriand and Victor Hugo -had exalted the art of the Middle Ages, but chiefly because of their -hatred of the classic and without understanding its true worth. What -struck them, especially, was the immensity and the picturesqueness of -the buildings, the luxuriousness of this stone vegetation, but not the -unique character of their architecture and sculpture. - -Victor Hugo was perhaps one of the few to discover the precise -explanation of this beauty: relief and modeling. This all-powerful -writer, this architect of words who constructed poems like cathedrals, -understood the plastic intelligence of the master masons because he -himself possessed the _sense of mass_. One is convinced of this not only -in reading his descriptions of cities and monuments, but in studying -those astonishing pen-and-ink drawings which he multiplied in idle -moments. - -If the romanticists have failed fully to explain medieval art to us, -let us still be grateful to them: they gave our cathedrals back to us, -they denounced ignorance and scourged the stupidity that would have -ended by tearing down those sublime piles. Finally if the writers and -art critics of this epoch have not given them superlative praise, if on -their behalf they have not burned with apostolic zeal, it is because it -was necessary for this prophecy of art to come from a man of the craft, -a man dominated, captivated, himself, by the craft, a man who understood -stone and adored it because he had married it in spirit with all its -difficulties and its dazzling possibilities. - -That man was to be Rodin. Although he has been listened to by the -ignorant and superficial multitude, it has not been chiefly because of -the authority of his genius, of the general renown that he has enjoyed. -He has truly thrown a new light over the mystery of Gothic construction. -Thanks to him, we understand in a measure, for tangible reasons, the -reasons of an actual carver, this "world in little" that constitutes the -Gothic cathedrals. What study, what researches are necessary in order to -comprehend the art of stonework! Does any one suppose that Rodin himself -has attained this in a day? By no means. That lover of perfection in -detail does not possess the instantly penetrating glance that is often -the property of genius: to the task of deciphering our monuments he -brought that slow-minded, customary patience of his, together with -his energy. He had first of all to rid himself of the false current -ideas. After that thirty years of observation were necessary for him to -reach conclusions that satisfied his artistic conscience. Even to-day -he is far from affirming that he has understood everything, that he -has grasped the full significance of the Gothics. Read his book, "The -Cathedrals of France," published in 1914; observe the carefullness of -his judgments, the gropings of his thought, the constant retracing of -his steps. He makes attempts, ventures; he never proclaims his opinion -in the peremptory tone dear to specialists in criticism, but endeavors -to approach respectfully, as closely as possible, to the spirit of -the masters. Sometimes a flash of genius springs from his brain and -illumines to the depths of its mysteries the Gothic universe; but -nothing is suggested that does not spring from a prolonged observation, -and when at last he speaks it is in the tone of a man who mistrusts -himself. It must be confessed that in this work, "The Cathedrals of -France," something is lacking, even though it is prefaced by a long and -very learned introduction by one of our good writers, Charles Morice. It -lacks the magnificent lesson that the reader will find in these pages, -signed with Rodin's name. This lesson constitutes really a vital page -that is, as it were, the key and the summary of the whole work; but the -master, having given me the first rights in it, had scruples, as had -Charles Morice, about including it in his own book. - -Before obtaining this page, with what insistence did I have to question -Rodin not once, not twice, but twenty times, during the course of a -number of years. Every time he came back from one of his pilgrimages -to some old city of the provinces, to our churches, our town halls, I -renewed my questions without receiving any satisfactory answer. In my -heart I could not but honor this rigorous honesty which was unwilling to -venture anything lightly on so vast, so noble a subject. - -In 1877, after having accomplished his first tour of France, he came -back filled with wonder. But the impression that he carried with him was -still confused; he did not know at what point to begin the analytical -study of French architecture, for in what concerned sculpture he -had immediately been struck with amazement and adoration before the -essential beauty of the status of Chartres, Amiens, and Rheims. He had -returned from Italy haunted by the antique and Michelangelo, and now -here he was haunted by the modeling and the rhythm of the Gothic figures. - -But in order to understand them entirely he had to rediscover this -modeling and these movements in nature, he had to verify them in the -living model. Fortune favors those who seek greatly. When one is the -victim of an idea unexpected elements arise to nourish and develop it. -One day two Italians knocked at the door of his studio. One of them, -a professional model, had already posed for Rodin and he introduced -the other, his comrade. He was a peasant from the Abruzzi who had come -to seek his fortune in Paris. He was fresh from his native province. -His robust body, his fierce head, his bristling beard and hair, and -above all his expression of indomitable force charmed the artist. He -undressed, climbed upon the model's stand, planted himself firmly on -his legs, which were spread like a compass, the head well raised, and, -continuing to talk, advanced with a gesture full of ardor. - -Rodin, struck by this wild energy, immediately set to work. He made the -man such as he saw him; he desired to capture this movement of the legs, -this brusk forward movement that complemented the movement of the arms, -the shining eyes, the open mouth. He surrendered himself to a great -study, without any preconceived idea, without any intention of treating -a _subject_. What he made was _a man walking_. The name has stuck to the -figure. The first study remains incomplete; Rodin has sculptured neither -the head nor the arms; what he sought eagerly, passionately, was the -equilibrium of the torso and of the legs cast forward into space. He -succeeded; he made a superb fragment, "The Man Walking." Thirty years -later it occurred to a group of his admirers to ask the state to acquire -this study and erect it in the court of the French embassy at Rome, in -the Farnese Palace; but the official architects up to the present time -have objected to the erection of this statue, and for the last seven or -eight years it has awaited, in some obscure shed, the good pleasure of -these gentlemen. - -Rodin, in the presence of his Italian peasant, had rediscovered, to his -great joy as a seeker, the peculiar equipoise of the Gothic figures. In -the antique statues the plumb-line falls through one of the legs, while -the other, lightly raised, impresses on the different planes of the body -the graceful effect that has become classic. In Gothic statues, on the -contrary, the line of equilibrium passes through the middle of the body -and falls right between the two legs as they are planted on the earth. - -In "The Age of Bronze" Rodin has adopted the balanced rhythm of Greek -sculpture; in his new figure he passed to the Gothic equipoise, with -a harmony that is less gracious, but with a reality stronger and more -living. What he did not abandon was the rigorous construction and the -strength of modeling which his study of the antique had given him. "The -Man Walking," as well as the greater part of his subsequent works, thus -exhibits the union of the two great principles of sculpture that have -governed the Occidental genius. - -Rodin, strengthened by study, now made a complete statue with head and -arms. While he was working he discovered that his model was half a -savage, still close to the animal and its ferocious instincts. Sometimes -his eyes burned, his jaws, armed with powerful teeth, were thrust -forward as if to bite something; he resembled a wolf. At other times a -kind of strange passion inflamed him. His face radiated faith and will; -he spoke with such energy that he seemed to be haranguing a crowd; one -would have thought him a prophet of the primitive ages, a visionary -bursting forth from the desert to preach and to convert the people. -Rodin regarded him in amazement. It was no longer his model, but a man -from the Bible; surely it was a prophet that stood before him: it was -Saint John the Baptist brought back to life. The sculptor bowed before -the command of nature: his statue should bear the name of the forerunner. - -[Illustration: EVE.] - -He thought at first of emphasizing the disturbing impression: he placed -on the shoulders of Saint John a simple cross. But here was revealed the -all-powerful instinct of the sculptor, making the subject, the anecdote, -the literary connotation a matter of secondary importance. The cross, -the sublime symbol, would be here only an accessory, not really needed. -It would complicate the simplicity of line dictated by the laws of -sculpture, destroying the appositions of equilibrium of the great body -and distracting the attention from that speaking head. - -So Rodin gave it up. He came at last to the decision that his work -should remain free from what was not of the very essence of art. He sent -it off in the form in which it appeared in the Salon of 1880, adding -also "The Age of Bronze." - -The artists, the true artists, those whose enthusiasm was not poisoned -by envy and jealousy, applauded these two superb figures artistically -so different, but so similar in their sincerity; they acclaimed them -with the grave joy of generous souls who perceive the dawn of a great -talent. The name of Rodin became fixed forever in their memory. - -As for the jury of this Salon, it considered it sufficient to award -the "Saint John the Baptist" and "The Age of Bronze" a medal _of the -third class_. Let us, in turn, give it our reward--the reward for its -insensitiveness--by not disclosing the names of the sages who composed -it. - - - -"THE GATE OF HELL" - -While finishing these works, which he was not even certain of being able -to sell, Rodin was still compelled to provide for his own subsistence -and that of his family; he had also to meet the expenses of his trade. -A costly trade! It requires a studio, models, large fires to keep them -warm, clay, tools of every kind. It was luck enough if the sculptor, -still unknown, was able to have plaster casts made of his work. But -this did not satisfy him; he dreamed of seeing them take on a new -aspect in the richness of marble and bronze. Alas! in many cases he -had to wait until middle age to have this dream realized. Rodin has -never complained of the slowness of fortune. He knows that in order to -attain the fullness of his productive power it is well for the artist -to be thwarted, exalted by difficulties, the desire to conquer. After a -five-years' stay in Belgium he had returned to Paris to take part in the -work of the World Exposition of 1878, and he had taken a position with -the ornament-worker Legrain, in whose workshop he met Jules Desbois, -the future great sculptor, to whom he became attached for life. What -innumerable decorations he executed at that time--decorations which -disappeared like the leaves and flowers of the season when the stucco -palaces of the exposition vanished! Only the masks ornamenting the -Palais du Trocadero remained. - -At the same time he accumulated busts, studies, large figures with -a fury of work which from then on was to resemble that of the most -powerfully productive minds, the fecundity of a Rubens, of a Balzac, of -a Michelet, of a Hugo. In the studios which he rented in the Faubourg -St. Jacques, from 1877 to 1883, besides the "Saint John the Baptist," he -executed the admirable little tough model of the "Monument Commemorating -the National Defense"; after his wife, whose characterful features and -naturally tragic countenance he had often reproduced, he made a helmeted -bust, a "Bellona." He exhibited three life-sized figures: "The Creation -of Man"; "Adam," since destroyed; and "Eve," the bronze of which did -not appear until the Salon of 1899. He did the busts of W.E. Henley; -the painter Jean-Paul Laurens (to mention some of the most beautiful), -Carrier-Belleuse, the etcher Alphonse Legros, all in the midst of -difficulties and injustices which did not in any way disturb the depths -of his serenity, the noble tranquillity of the artisan sure of attaining -his end by labor. Is it possible to-day to believe that the model of the -"Monument of the Defense" was not only refused, but was not even classed -among the thirty designs that were retained by the jury of 1880 after -the first choice had been made? This same jury, the composition of which -is also worthy of passing into history, decided on a solemn confection -by M. Barrias for the _prix de Rome_, the result of which was that four -years later its creator was elected a member of the Academy of Fine Arts. - -I do not know whether many collectors contend for reproductions of M. -Barrias's monstrous design for a clock; but Rodin's group, a wounded -soldier entirely enveloped by the wings of a prodigious figure of a -warrior goddess crying out for aid, which was later renamed "The Genius -of the Defense" or "The Appeal to Arms," and which has acquired to-day -so pathetic a character of actuality, is coveted by most of the museums -and art collectors of Europe and America. - -As if these works, which have since acquired such glory, were nothing -but fragments of secondary importance, Rodin attacked a great piece of -work, like those that used to be executed in the great ages of art: he -undertook the famous "Gate of Hell." - -At the time of the affair of "The Age of Bronze" there was at the -head of the ministry of fine arts, an under-secretary of state named -Edmond Turquet. To him fell the task of deciding in the last resort the -case of Rodin. M. Edmond Turquet was a brilliant lawyer who had become -_procureur_ under the empire, which did not altogether qualify him for -the part of director of fine arts under the republic. In the field of -art he knew no more than any one else, Rodin says; but he was a very -fair-minded man, and his honesty had the effect of quickly straightening -out the affair of the sculptor. In his genuine desire to atone for the -wrong done to Rodin in the eyes of public opinion he not only offered -to obtain for him a position in the porcelain factory at Sevres, in -order to assure him a regular livelihood, but ordered from him a great -ornamental piece, a door destined for the Palais des Arts Decoratifs. -In addition, by a special privilege created in favor of artists under -Louis XIV,--a privilege the traditions of which the French Government -has happily perpetuated,--M. Turquet granted Rodin a good studio in the -Depot des Marbres, so that he could execute his order. - -"And what will you represent on that door?" enquired the under-secretary -of state. - -"I am sure I don't know," replied the artist. "But I shall make a -quantity of little figures; then no one will say that they are casts -taken from the life." - -Thus we find him at Sevres, a ceramist; he has carried on so many -different trades that he succeeds marvelously with this one. It was his -task to decorate vases of delicate clay; he modeled light bas-reliefs, -representations of mythological scenes, idylls. Nymphs, cupids, fauns, -evoked by his miraculously delicate fingers, were born out of the milky, -transparent material, bringing back to life the flowery graces of the -drawing-room art of the eighteenth century, the dainty elegances of the -wax figures of Clodion, but with a graver sense of the mystery of nature -and of love. - -Unfortunately, when these vases left the hand of the master they were -overladen with hideous ornaments in the style of Louis-Philippe. -Moreover, the officials at the head of the factory did not like them. -They were carried up to the attics, they were left lying about on the -floor, in the secret hope of seeing them broken by the feet of some -careless or ill-willed workman. - -The feeling of being isolated and misunderstood at times threw a shadow -over the soul of the sculptor; but on the other hand he felt himself -so strong, so solidly based in his will, in his self-confidence, and -in the virtue of labor that these moments of depression passed away -quickly. Besides, he knew the secret of the poor, the secret of creating -happiness for oneself out of everything that the rich and powerful -despise: a simple life, health, regular work, the contemplation of -nature, and a few real friendships. Rodin earned at Sevres only two or -three francs an hour and lost a great deal of time on the railroad. What -did it matter? He found pleasure and rest in these little journeys. -Every day he set out from Paris by train, and, the day over, winter and -summer, his wife came to meet him. They returned together on foot either -along the banks of the Seine, charming in their profusion of little -hills and islands, covered with meadows or fine trees, or through the -woods of Meudon and Clamart, with their vistas of Paris, its heights, -its buildings, its changing sky full of light and spirit. - -At the end of four years of opposition and annoyance Rodin gave up -pottery in order to consecrate himself wholly to his own work. The -museum of the factory preserves a vase signed by him, and the future -Musee de l'Hotel Biron can show a second example. What has become of the -others? What price would not be paid for them to-day by admirers of the -master? - -These supplementary works did not turn him away from his essential task; -whatever were the technical means employed, his efforts tended toward -one unique end, the plastic quality, and he gave himself up desperately -to this search in executing his new order, the "Gate." - -Rising at four in the morning, as he had done in his youth, he studied -the plans and the details of this great work. He had announced a series -of little figures. How was he to group them? What visions surged in the -sculptor's imagination? Of what legendary theme, what theme of history -or poetry, should he make use in order to realize his program? He had -never ceased to be a passionate reader. He read especially the Greek -poets and dramatists, the Roman historians, the old French chronicles, -Dante, Shakspere, Victor Hugo, and Baudelaire. He did not wish to draw -the subject of his future work from Homer, AEschylus or Sophocles; -the School of the Beaux-Arts had so abused the theme of the antique, -already immortalized by Greek sculptors, that it had entirely lost its -freshness. The moderns attracted him less, but he was obsessed by the -work of the great poet of the Renaissance, by the "Divine Comedy" of -Dante. He had read and reread it and made a sort of commentary in the -form of innumerable sketches which he jotted down mornings and evenings -at table, while walking, stopping by the wayside to dash off attitudes -and gestures on the leaves of his note-book. He rediscovered in the -poem of Dante the fateful grandeur of the Greek dramas, but with an -atmosphere more modern, closer to ourselves, more mournfully familiar to -our anguishes and our torments. The idea took shape in his imagination, -"that imagination ceaselessly rumbling and groaning like a forge"; it -exalted his bold spirit. Genius joins to the richness of the intellect -the simplicity of heart that creates faith. Genius _believes_ ever more -than it _thinks_. It has the strength which succeeds in anything, and -it possesses also that supreme gift, the ingenuousness of the child who -doubts nothing. Rodin believed the poem of Dante as if he had lived it, -as Dante himself believed in Vergil. What a magnificent homage great men -render to one another in this credulity of genius toward genius! - -[Illustration: RODIN AT WORK ON THE MARBLE.] - -The subject chosen by Rodin for his decorative panels, then, was -hell--hell as Dante conceived it in a vision that lends itself, for -that matter, marvelously to a plastic realization. The "Gate" would -be a poem, an immense sculptured poem; that is to say, a resume of -the attitudes and gestures of life called forth by the release of the -passions, a strange catalogue of the expressions of the human body under -the shock of sorrow and of joy. If the imagination of Rodin caught -fire like that of a visionary, he remained beyond everything and above -everything the sculptor, and he plunged immediately into the search for -the general scheme of the work. - -The truth of the movements, the poetry of the evocations, his models -would give him; he could feel at ease as to that: the resources that -nature would offer him were inexhaustible. But the plan, that he -must find himself; he must do the work of the builder, almost of the -geometrician. There could be no self-deception as to that. The fuller -the ornamentation was to be of figures and movements, the more solid -must be the frame of the immense picture, the more vigorous and compact -must be the general plan of the work. - -Rodin's mind wavered between two great schools, that of the Renaissance -and that of the Middle Ages, that which had produced the doors of the -baptistry at Florence and that to which we owe the portals of the Gothic -cathedrals. - -The celebrated gates of Florence are a series of bas-reliefs arranged -symmetrically in a regular framework; they present a series of separate -pictures having no common bond except their subject. The execution -is admirable, and it is perhaps impossible to surpass it. Lorenzo -Ghiberti has done there the work of an incomparable modeler, actually -a goldsmith; but he has in no way troubled himself with regard to -architecture. Now, architecture is the great French point of view. The -Roman and the Gothic have placed in their monument (the church) that -other monument (the portal). The portal is complete in itself; the -art of the sculptor and that of the architect have united and become -indistinguishable here in order to realize an absolute beauty. - -Rodin, profoundly French, inheriting the instinct and taste of his -ancestors the master-masons, having to compose a door, was fated to -conceive a portal. On the other hand, he could not escape the influence -of the antique, the result of his early studies. This was the entirely -different element which in the course of the work he had undertaken was -to mingle with the Gothic element. - -It was not the first time that the mingling of these two great -conceptions of art had occurred in France. From it had sprung our -Renaissance sculpture; in that epoch the sculpture of the Greeks united -itself with the Gothic architecture, the Hellenic sunlight brought to -blossom the majesty of our monuments. Does not Rodin himself, with his -vast outlook over the whole field of art, call this period of national -art, the sixteenth century, the French Gothic? - -"The Gate of Hell," then, took on in its general structure a Renaissance -aspect. It preserves the graceful line of the Gothic portal and has the -luminous whiteness inspired by Greek sculpture. This singular work has -touched all contemporary artists. Most of our writers have described it, -and, after them, the critics of other countries. This living multitude, -this suffering, groaning multitude that covers the two panels with a -thousand passionate movements, has drawn into its magic whirlpool the -world of literature, which has been able to liberate itself only by -means of innumerable printed pages. The poem of Dante has come forth as -it were revivified from the hands of Rodin. Fresh tears, one would say, -have bathed the most poignant passages; the pity of a man of to-day, -of one like ourselves, our brother, has enveloped the terrible work of -the Florentine poet, that man of the Middle Ages, with an atmosphere of -tenderness and compassion which seems the emotion of Christianity at its -purest, its original source. In order to become our own, it has passed -through the great soul of Rodin. It is not surprising, then, that the -sensibility of our artists, reanimated by this new spectacle, should be -touched to so voluminous an expression by this haunting work. - -But what has not been sufficiently remarked is that the "Gate" is, above -everything, a piece of architecture of the highest order. - -When we see it we are at once struck with an impression of majesty, of -calm strength and plenitude. It seems even longer than it actually is. -It is a rectangle six meters high and two and a half meters wide, but -the source of the illusion is the justness of the proportions and the -value of the masses. - -The powerful frame is furrowed with deep depressions. It rests on the -ground upon a strong base from which rise the two door-posts, as robust -as pillars and mounting together toward the summit. A pediment in the -shape of an entablature overhangs the entire monument, casting over -it a deep shadow full of nuances; and it is this shadow, skilfully -graduated, that gives to the work its rich, soft color. The body of -the portal is divided into two panels; a vast tympanum surmounts them -transversally. This tympanum, surmounted by a large cornice, dominates -the work. Without weighing it down, it gives it its mass, it attracts, -it obsesses, the eye; it is the soul of the edifice, its intellect. No -word can more justly describe it than the word brow, for it is magnetic, -haunting, mysterious, like the forehead of a man of genius. - -The panels sink deep into a shadow that is heavy, but not harsh, while -in the foreground the pillars advance into the light; the delicate -bas-reliefs that cover them keep them in a silvery atmosphere, the -source of the great softness which envelopes this work, otherwise severe -and tragic, the source of the fugitive lightness of the lines, which -strike up from the earth toward the somber and tormented upper regions. - -Carried away by this marvelous technic, the spirit of the visitor -succumbs; it follows this ascending movement of the door-posts, to lose -itself in the sorrowful dream sculptured on the tympanum. - -On the panel writhe the clusters of human figures, the eddies of the -multitude of damned souls pursued by the rage of the elements, by -the devouring tongues of the infernal fire, by the frozen waters, by -the wind that tears them and stings them. "It is," says the eminent -art critic Gustave Jeffroy, in the most beautiful pages that have -been consecrated to a description of this work, "the dizzy whirl, the -falling through space, the groveling on the face of the earth of a -whole wretched humanity obstinately persisting in living and suffering, -bruised and wounded in its flesh, saddened in its soul, crying aloud -its griefs, harshly laughing through its tears, chanting its breathless -fears, its sickly joys, its ecstatic sorrows." - -The genius of Rodin became intoxicated with all the resources of his -art. Master of a technic of the first order, he delighted in every kind -of effect, arranging them as a great symphonist arranges the instruments -of an immense orchestra. Low-relief, half-relief, high-relief, and -sculpture in the round, he omitted none. He did not yield to the -literary temptation. At the height of his fever of invention he was -circumspect, measured, guided by his knowledge as a modeler. The poet -thinks, but the carver speaks; he speaks justly, he speaks admirably, -because he uses only his own true and personal language, which he knows -from the ground up. That is the whole secret of the way in which this -man inflames our soul and subjugates our imagination. - -Two principal notes, two motives form, above the whirlwind of the -infernal fires, a resting-place for the eye troubled by so much -vehemence: one, in the midst of the tympanum, is the figure of Dante. It -is Dante, but it is even more the eternal poet. Seated, leaning over the -abyss of suffering, thrilled with anguish, he seems to seek in the very -depths of the pit itself the word of infinite pity that will deliver -this sorrowful humanity. - -Higher yet, above his bowed head, rising suddenly from the frame and -splayed in a large protuberance, a group of three entwined figures -crowns and completes the brow. With the same despairing gesture they -point to the multitude of the damned. One does not know what these -shuddering beings are, but they have the sweetness of angels; at once -we seem to hear their lips murmur the words of the grand Florentine, -"_Lasciate ogni speranza_"; but across their forms, their compassionate -forms, their fraternal forms, one feels passing a tremor of love and -pity. Far from condemning, their clasped hands offer to the sad wreckage -of fatality that writhes at their feet a sign, a unique sign, the sign -of good-will of pity. - - * * * * * - -"The Gate of Hell" was shown only once to the public. This was at the -Universal Exposition of 1900. Although it was nearly finished, it was -seen then only in an incomplete state. - -The day of the opening arrived before the master had been able to have -placed on the _fronton_ and on the panels of his monument the hundreds -of great and small figures destined for their ornamentation. People saw -the "Gate," then in the nudity of its construction, grandiose assuredly, -but despoiled of its extraordinary raiment of sculpture. - -That day was a sad one for the true friends of art and of Rodin. A band -of snobs, full of their own importance, crowded about the great man. -Having considered the work with the hasty and casual glance of men of -the world of the sort that are concerned above all to get themselves -noticed, they remarked to Rodin, in a tone of augury, "Your doorway is -much more beautiful like that; in no circumstances do anything more to -it." - -This absurd advice befell at an evil moment: the artist felt worn out -from overwork and anxieties of all kinds and, moreover, was troubled -over the fate of his exhibit the failure of which might in truth have -ruined him completely. In these circumstances he did not have the -freedom of spirit necessary to judge correctly the value of his own -work. And besides he had seen it too much during the twenty years in -which it had been before his eyes. He was tired of it, weary of it. - -[Illustration: PERISTYLE OP THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.] - -Thus everything combined to make him lend an ear to the unfavorable -opinions of the Parisian aviary. Had he been in better health, more -the master of himself physically and morally, he would have replied to -the prattling of these excited paroquets and guinea-hens: - -"Take more room, examine my 'Gate' from a little farther off, and you -will see once more the effect of the whole--the effect of unity which -charms you when it is deprived of its ornamentation. You must understand -that my sculpture is so calculated as to melt into the principal masses. -For that matter, it completes them by modeling them into the light. -The essential designs are there: it is possible that in the course -of the final work I may find it necessary to diminish such or such a -projection, to fill out such or such a pool of shadow; nevertheless, -leave this difficulty to my fifty years of artisanship and experience, -and you may be sure that quite by myself I shall find the best way of -finishing my work." - -But the master was silent. Later, carried away by the abundance of his -conceptions, by his ever-deepening researches, he lost all interest in -the "Gate" and has never taken the trouble to have it entirely mounted. - -Fortunately, casts of it have been carefully preserved. It would be -only an affair of a few months to reconstruct the work in its original -integrity. Since the Universal Exposition time has rolled forward, and -events also. Auguste Rodin has entered into the great serenity which -age brings with it. He composes less, he corrects his work, he judges -himself, and he does not deny his "Gate," one of the most exceptional of -his works. - -At last the creation of the Musee Rodin has been decided upon by the -state. "The Gate of Hell" will be one of its important pieces; we shall -be able to contemplate it then in all its majesty; it will not then -simply be molded in plaster, but cast in bronze and cut in marble. -It will offer a noble example of what work can accomplish when it is -served by that supreme gift, will; for it will testify as much to -resistance against the powerful enemies of the life of thought as to the -intelligence of the man who created it. It forces upon us not only a -formidable impression of strength, labor, talent, but also an impression -no less lofty of method, order, and inner harmony. The multitude, who -through their profound instincts approach much closer than one might -suppose to the man of genius, will exclaim in contemplating this work, -this true monument which undoubtedly the sculptor has raised through his -own force of character, "Whoever erected this beautiful thing with his -indefatigable hands was truly a man." - - - - -II - -"THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS" (1889)--RODIN AND VICTOR HUGO--THE STATUE OF -BALZAC (1898) - - -At the time the plaster model of "The Burghers of Calais" was first -offered to the judgment of the public, in 1889, nearly seven years had -gone by since Rodin had originally undertaken the group. - -This is the period of my own childish memories of the master. He was a -frequent visitor at the home of my father, who lived in Sevres, on the -outskirts of Paris. - -Rodin, with his silent nature, apparently so full of calm and -meditation, delighted in the ardor, the patriotic enthusiasm, the -ferment of character, the brilliant conversation of that powerful, -original writer, my father; he loved his books, too, spirited and -passionate like himself, and possessing a vigor of expression that was -new to French letters. - -Leon Cladel received his friends on Sundays. In winter they gathered in -the drawing-room, in summer on a terrace shaded by great chestnuts and -limes, where thousands of birds twittered and chattered so energetically -that at dusk they ended by drowning the voices of the visitors. Among -the latter were writers, painters, and sculptors, several of whom have -since become famous. Among them were Auguste Rodin and his colleague, -his dear comrade, Jules Dalou, creator of many fine works, notably the -monument to Eugene Delacroix which stands in the Luxembourg Gardens. - -The sculptor of "The Burghers of Calais" was then barely fifty. He was -far from possessing the immense fame that is his to-day, but artists -already regarded him as a master. Of medium height, robust, with large -shoulders and heavy limbs, placid and deliberate in appearance, never -gesticulating, he himself resembled a block of stone; but above this -heavy base his countenance, with its broadly designed features and its -gray-blue eyes, expressed an extraordinarily keen intelligence and -finesse. Despite my youth I was struck by this physiognomy, so singular -and so penetrating, and also by the remarkable shyness that made the -sculptor blush whenever he was addressed. Since then innumerable -portraits have familiarized people with these features, which with age -have settled into an expression of authority and firm will; his strange -timidity has disappeared with time, with the consciousness of his -strength, with his having become accustomed to glory. Moreover, Rodin -has become a ready talker. Of old he listened intently, but always -held his peace; at most a few words, spoken in a soft, clear voice, -escaped from the waves of his long beard. He would at once relapse into -silence, while with a slow movement giving his beard an instinctive -caress with his large, square, irresistible hand, the true hand of a -builder. But when he raised his eyelids, almost always lowered, the -transparent eye, that limpid gray-blue eye, betrayed a perspicacity -that was almost malicious, almost cunning: one felt that he penetrated -through the forms of people to their very souls; and this he fixed so -skilfully in the clay of his busts that his models were not always -pleased with it. Many of Rodin's portraits have been refused by sitters -offended by their pitiless realism. - -[Illustration: STATUE OF BASTIEN-LEPAGE.] - -Sometimes my father kept Rodin and Jules Dalou to dinner. The two -sculptors were devoted to each other. They were comrades from of old who -had traveled together the hard road of beginners; since their student -days at the Petite Ecole they had many times reencountered each other -in the same workshops, where they had received the same contemptuous -wages for their long days of labor. They felt a profound esteem for each -other's talent, different as these talents were, altogether opposed, in -fact, as were their natures; and it was a fine, a lovely thing to see -them bring forward each other's respective merits. Alas! I shall have -to tell later how an artistic rivalry came one day to destroy this noble -friendship. - -The appearance of "The Burghers of Calais" aroused a flood of enthusiasm -in the world of art. I remember it well. At that time I was only a -young school-girl, and my father was unwilling to allow me to "miss -my classes" in order to accompany him to the opening of the Rodin -Exhibition. After all, the lessons I received that day, following them -quite absent-mindedly, were they worth the lesson I should have received -from the contemplation of that masterpiece, even if my age would have -prevented me from quite understanding it? Beauty is always the most -fertilizing teacher. - -A rich art-lover, acting with the municipal authorities of Calais, had -ordered from Rodin the statue of Eustache de Saint-Pierre, the Calais -hero whose devotion had in the fourteenth century, during the Hundred -Years' War, saved the city when it was besieged by King Edward III of -England. - -Rodin, true to his principles, sought as ever to approach his subject -from the quick of reality. He consulted history. He read the old -chronicles of France, above all those of Jean Froissart, who was -contemporaneous with the event and almost a witness of it. Froissart was -a man of the fourteenth century, a man of the age of the cathedrals, -and therefore himself a Gothic. His narrative has the force, the -savor, the naivete, the simple and profound art of the masters of that -marvelous epoch. What a source of emotion for Rodin, a Gothic likewise -in his faith and his artistic rectitude! He caught fire at the recital -of the old master as at the voice of a brother-in-arms. He read, he -learned that Edward III would not consent to spare the city of Calais -from pillage and destruction unless six of her richest citizens would -come out to him dressed only in their shirts, barefoot, with ropes about -their necks, bringing him the keys of the city and their own heads to be -cut off. In response to this terrible message, Eustache de Saint-Pierre -and five of his fellow-citizens, taking counsel with the notables -of the place, at once rose to go to the king's camp. They set forth -immediately, escorted on their way by the hunger-stricken multitude, -weeping and groaning over their sacrifice and "adoring them with pity." - -This was the vision which from that time on took possession of Rodin, -dominating him and never leaving him. But it was not an isolated person -detached from his environment that he saw: it was the six martyrs just -as they appeared in history, just as they were in life. In his thought -he followed this band of heroes marching to the sacrifice in the midst -of the weeping city. He could not bring himself to separate them either -from their whole number or from their tragic surroundings. Therefore, -in accordance with the genius of his theme, that is to say, with -historic truth, he would make all six of them, and he would insist that -they should be set up in the midst of the city, among the old houses, -where they would continue to live their sublime life in the heart of the -very town that they had saved. - -For the price of one statue, therefore, Rodin set out to execute six. -He rented a vast atelier in the rue des Fourneaux, in the Vaugirard -Quarter. He worked unceasingly. To keep this enormous group in good -condition, to maintain the proper temperature, he moistened the clay -morning and evening, having as his _garcon d'atelier_ no one but his -devoted wife, who had become thoroughly experienced in these matters. -Despite all, accidents would happen: the clay would give way, an -arm, modeled with his habitual exactitude, would fall and have to be -laboriously repaired; but the fervent modeler never hesitated in his -work, and on the day when he exhibited "The Burghers of Calais" at the -house of Georges Petit the praise and the homage that sprang forth from -the soul of all true artists recompensed him magnificently, bringing -him the intoxicating caress of dawning glory. They spoke, in connection -with the "Burghers," of the image-makers of our cathedrals; they spoke -of the statues of Claus Sluters, of the famous statues of the "Well of -Moses" at Dijon. Really, in the Calais monument Rodin is more than ever -under the Gothic influence in subject, in thought, and in execution. -The equilibrium of the figures composing the group is the same as that -of the "Saint John the Baptist." The long shifts that cover the naked -bodies of his heroes recall those draperies in vertical folds dear to -the Middle Ages. The very modeling of the figures and of the faces -increases this effect of elongation caused by the fall of the fabric; -the modeling in large planes, the vigorous accents, the simple and -pathetic movements are certainly those of the sort that out-of-door -sculpture calls for. In twenty years Rodin had made innumerable visits -to the Gothic monuments. Here was the result of his tours of France. He -had made them in order to recapture the traditions of art from the hands -of our wonderful old stone-cutters, and his heart must have throbbed -with joy when he was told that in his own hands that tradition had -suffered no loss. - -Naturally, the appearance of "The Burghers of Calais," even that, -could not fail to have its share of comic anecdote, that bitter and -painful humor that marks the adventures of genius in its struggle with -vulgarity. Let us not complain too much. The contrast between these -adventures and the proud way of life of a great man, the regularity -of his hours of toil--it is this that creates opposition, movement, -life. The elect soul feels a savage joy in these blows which shake it -like a tree tormented by brutal hands, a tree aware of the vigor of its -resistance and its ever-increasing tenacity. - -The municipality of Calais, hearing that there were to be six statues -instead of the one that had been ordered, took umbrage, and deliberated -for two years. The heroic group waited, and, as it encumbered Rodin's -atelier, where other works were going forward, it was placed in a -stable. At last the worthy town authorities decided to assign it a -site. Naturally, the site in question was exactly opposed to the ideas -of the master--ideas that had been thought out and that were perfectly -logical, based on the laws of decorative art and still more determined -by that infallible criterion, taste. Rodin desired that his monument -should be in the center of the town; they placed it on the edge of -the sea. He counted on emphasizing the tall stature of his figures -by enshrining it in the narrow frame of the houses; they placed it -against a horizon without limits. He requested that the group should be -placed very low, almost on the ground, or else very high on an elevated -pedestal, like the "Colleoni" at Venice or the "Gattamelata" at Padua; -they placed it at a middle height, thus diminishing the effect of its -imposing proportions. The lesson had to come from foreign lands. The -city of Antwerp has erected, in front of its museum of fine arts, -two of the statues of the celebrated group, and England, which does -things splendidly when it is a question of embellishing its cities or -of rendering homage to the valor of its adversaries, has erected the -effigies of the six heroes of Calais on one of the most beautiful sites -in London, before the Palace of Westminster. - - * * * * * - -By this time the reader is sufficiently familiar with the technic of -Rodin for it to be unnecessary to analyze here in detail this well-known -work. What must not be forgotten is that the sculptor had first modeled -these six powerful bodies entirely in the nude. This is his invariable -method when he executes draped figures. One realizes this, even without -knowing it, before these arms, these hands, these legs, and these feet -constructed with that rigorous conscience which, with the true artist, -is at once a necessity and a delight; one divines the slope of the -torsos bent with grief or rigid in the pride of sacrifice. - -"Yes, they are beautiful," the master said to me one day when I was -talking with him. "The shirt, the blouse are garments the folds of -which yield simple planes and effects that, rightly rendered, are those -of true sculpture. But there is something better still, and that is -sackcloth. If I had clothed my 'Burghers of Calais' in sackcloth, they -would certainly be more beautiful. I did not dare to. Some one else will -do this and will succeed. It is sufficient to express an idea and leave -it to its destiny." - -We ought to love in Rodin this intellectual vigor that skirts the -borders of the impossible. In our age, consumed with indecision, it is a -priceless aid, a resting-place, a _point d'appui_ from which one starts -forth afresh, fortified, one's nerves recharged with vitality, to the -conquest of one's share of knowledge or of talent. This accounts in part -for the irresistible influence which for thirty years the illustrious -sculptor has exercised over the minds of artists. One feels that this -fount of strength condensed in his virile soul comes from something -deeper than his personality alone; it comes from the very depths of -the national reserves. The conviction, the energy of Rodin are those -of the workman who knows his trade, of the laborer impassioned by the -culture of his own soil. This endurance is the foundation of the French -temperament; the events happening now have proved it. When a country -possesses such individualities through the course of history, the roads -of the future open out before it brilliant with hope despite passing -shadows, and promise the highest surprises. - -[Illustration: DANAIADE.] - - - -RODIN AND VICTOR HUGO - -The creation of "The Burghers of Calais" marks the middle of a period -of truly prodigious fecundity. From 1889 to 1896, monuments, busts, -statues, and groups of every kind issue without interruption from the -ateliers of Rodin, and the more numerous the works his hand models, -the more it grasps the contexture of the work, the more it refines the -execution. Orders for portraits pour in; collectors hold it an honor to -possess a marble, a bronze, signed with a name which every day increases -in celebrity. In 1888 comes that jewel of marble, the bust of Madame -Morla Vicunha, and the monument to Claude Vicunha, president of the -Republic of Chile; in 1889, the bronze portrait of Dalou, the statue of -Bastien-Lepage, that admirable head "La Pensee," acquired by the Musee -du Luxembourg. - -In 1890 comes the portrait of Mme. Russell, a bust in silver, of -noble simplicity, which one would say was the head of a Roman matron, -with the luminous veil upon her thoughtful forehead and the flower of -good-will blossoming upon her delicately swelling mouth. Then there is -"The Danaid," "La vielle Heaulmiere," and a great study, a long woman's -torso, "La Terre." - -In 1892, not to mention delightful minor works like "The Young Mother" -and "Brother and Sister," appear two masterpieces: the bust of Puvis -de Chavannes and that of Henri Rochefort, magnificent contrasts in -construction and execution. The painter-gentleman carries his haughty -head like an old leaguer chief, and the pamphleteer bends over the -destinies of France, which for fifty years he has defended day in, day -out, with his flaming pen, an enormous brow--a brow like a spherical -vault that seems to contain a world. - -"You have made it grander, you have made it more beautiful than nature," -some one said to Rodin one day. - -"One can never do anything so beautiful as nature," he replied. - -In this same year, 1892, he exhibited the charming monument to Claude -Lorrain, in which he recaptured the spirit of the eighteenth century. It -was the town of Nancy that ordered this figure of its painter and has -placed it in its vast park. - -One cannot mention everything. Forms and attitudes renew themselves, -but not the terms that express them. To measure the abundance of this -work one should read the catalogue, till now incomplete,--for it has -been impossible to compile one that was not so,--of the master's -works; only so can we realize how almost dizzily his productiveness -became accelerated with the epoch of his maturity. Mythological -subjects dominate it, but are always treated with a profoundly human -understanding of the poetry and the grace of the form in which they -achieve an aspect delightfully new. - -Such titles as "Venus and Adonis," "The Education of Achilles," "The -Death of Alcestis," "Cupid and Psyche," "The Faun and the Fountain," -"Pygmalion and Galatea," Rodin inscribed only as an afterthought on -the pedestals of his groups. They are not the result of a necessary -preliminary conception; it is his figures themselves that breathe them, -his models unconsciously repeated the combinations of movement and -gesture through which are translated the eternal sentiments immortalized -by the legends of paganism. So true is this that Rodin obtained his -charming groups by assembling in harmony with his researches the -animated little figures that encumbered the windows of his ateliers. -He amused himself by uniting them, by marrying their attitudes; with -these little figures, these puppets of genius, he composed actual little -intimate dramas or idylls revived from the antique. In the hollow of -a Greek bowl he places a little nude body, and one would say that it -is the soul of the wave that conceals itself against the side of the -vase. He enlaces three feminine figures, upright, beside the body of a -recumbent youth: they are the Graces, who come to bend over the dying -poet. Thus he perpetuates the fantasy of things through that of his own -taste; he eternalizes the most delicious caprices of nature. - - * * * * * - -We come now to the year 1896 and the appearance of the "Monument to -Victor Hugo." - -This monument had been ordered for the Pantheon. Rodin, who had modeled -in 1885 the bust of the singer of the "Legende des Siecles," was -doubly, on this account, entitled to the order. In the midst of what -difficulties had he achieved that bust! It required all his patience, -all the tenacity of a Lorrainese peasant, to accomplish it. When he -had begged the honor of reproducing those illustrious features, the -poet, already nearing his end, tired out with having posed for mediocre -plaster-daubers and unaware of the superiority of his new sculptor, -consented to pose only for two hours. All the same, he authorized Rodin -to come as often as necessary and make as many sketches as he needed -while he, Hugo, worked or received his friends. - -Rodin accepted these difficult conditions. Was it not Victor Hugo with -whom he was dealing, the father of modern poetry? And then what a -spectacle for his artist's eyes, that of the great man bending over his -papers that Jupiter-like head of his in which thought, in gestation, -swelled the sublime brow with a tumult of ideas! When he talked, what -majesty in "this face of a lion in repose"! - -[Illustration: PORTRAIT BUST OF VICTOR HUGO.] - -The sculptor placed a stool, some clay, some tools in the corner of -a gallery; it was there that he worked out the general form of the -bust. Then, studying his wonderful model for months, he made hundreds -of sketches of him, under every aspect; at times, having used up the -pages of his note-books, he even covered entire blocks of cigarette -paper with rapid notes and jottings. Then he transferred this record -of observations to his clay. Working in this manner, it took him three -months to finish his bust. He exhibited it, in bronze, at the Salon of -1884. One cannot fail to admire the volumes, the beautiful mass of the -whole, even though it does not show that brilliant touch of genius which -strikes us before the bust of Jean-Paul Laurens or that of Rochefort; -but later, relying upon this document and upon his own special memory -of forms in action, Rodin was to restore for us this moving head in his -monument of the poet, which was to be one of his very loftiest works. -This same bust of Victor Hugo was to rupture the friendship between -Rodin and Jules Dalou--Dalou of whom he sent to the same Salon of 1884, -by a curious coincidence, an incomparable bust that puts one in mind of -those of Donatello. - -The family of Victor Hugo did not like Rodin's portrait of the master. -When the poet died (1885), it was Dalou whom they called to execute a -death-mask of the features of the great poet. Filled with ambition and -eager for official glory, Dalou had the weakness to accept, forgetting -what he owed to Rodin, not even informing him, in fact. Deeply hurt, the -latter withdrew his affection for his old friend. My father, saddened by -this occurrence, which destroyed so rare and noble a friendship, brought -the two friends together at his table in the hope of reconciling them; -but nothing could melt the wall of ice that had fallen between these -dissevered hearts. - -Ten years afterward a magnificent compensation was offered to Rodin. -From him was ordered the monument of the poet for the Pantheon. He -represented him nude, under the folds of a vast cloak, and seated on -a rock, as if by the seashore, with his wonderful head bowed in an -attitude of meditation, just as Rodin had often contemplated it in -priceless hours. - -This manner of representing a great man, quite simply revived from the -Renaissance and the eighteenth century, shocked to the last degree the -administrative staff of the department of fine arts. Why this nude -personage, instead of a quite respectable Victor Hugo in the frock-coat -of an academician? Why not one of those statues that peacefully occupy -some corner of a public square without attracting any one's attention, -one of those statues that are not made to be looked at? As for this -poet, who resembled a Homer, a hero or a demigod, this grand body, -outrageously beautiful and simple, is it not scandalous in the midst of -the conformity of bourgeois civilization, enslaved by the ugliness of -fashion, whose perverted taste can no longer recognize the beauty of the -nude? The painter David used to say of his epoch, in which, however, the -mode of dress was less displeasing than it is to-day, "What misery to be -obliged to spend one's life in fashioning coats and shoes!" Rodin, like -David, and like Phidias, preferred the trade of the sculptor to that of -the tailor. - -Such an uproar arose that he had to withdraw the model of his monument -and promise another. But everything comes with time, even the best: the -fortunes of politics brought to the ministry of fine arts an intelligent -and cultivated director, the dramatic critic Gustave Larroumet. -Delighted with Rodin's scheme, the magnificent symbolization of French -poetry, he confirmed the order for the audacious monument, no longer for -the Pantheon, but for the Luxembourg Gardens; and, not satisfied with -this reparation, charged the master with the additional execution of -another monument destined for the Pantheon. One can imagine the anger in -certain circles--two orders on the same subject to the same sculptor! -What an aberration! What madness! But the decision was made and well -made. - -Rodin took six years to perfect his first "Victor Hugo"; the marble -was not exhibited until 1901. The vigor of the work and the sovereign -gesture by which the bard of contemplation seems to impose silence upon -the voice of nature in order that the voices struggling within himself, -in the depths of his genius, may be the better heard, the suppleness of -the material, of this Carrara marble, with its warm reflections, as if -melted under the pressure of a fiery hand, obstinately make one think of -Michelangelo; one has the disturbing sensation, not of an imitation, but -of a resurrection of the plastic power reincarnated out of nature, of a -new spring of sap from the same vein of genius. - -The original plan allowed, in addition, for two allegorical figures, -"The Inner Voice" and "The Tragic Muse," which, placed beside the poet, -should breathe into him thought and inspiration. But, very beautiful -in themselves, they gave to the monument, once they were executed and -placed, an anecdotal quality that diminished its force; they weakened -the grandeur of the Olympian gesture and destroyed that feeling of -solitude inseparable from such a personality as that of the great man: -an island in the midst of the flood of the human multitude, genius -itself is aware of its own splendid isolation. - -[Illustration: MONUMENT TO VICTOR HUGO.] - -This is what I ventured to express one day to the master, not without -hesitation. Nothing equals the simplicity of Rodin face to face with -what he knows is sincere and animated by a true love of art. He -listened, gazed at his work, and, turning toward me, gave me a joyous -glance. - -"You are right," he replied, with a spontaneity that put my sense of -responsibility on its mettle. "I sacrificed to the mania of the age, -which is to overload things. My modeling is there, the eloquence of the -gesture also. The rest would only spoil the essential things. It is a -stroke of genius. I am going to write to the under-secretary of state -that my monument is ready." - -In lieu of the two figures that were to have accompanied the statue of -Victor Hugo, to indemnify the Government Rodin gave to the Musee du -Luxembourg a series of his most beautiful busts in bronze, including the -head of the poet. - -As for the marble, it was in the garden of the Palais Royal that it -was finally erected; but this site is not of the happiest: a large -lawn separates the spectator from the monument; one sees it from the -wrong angle, and this destroys the equilibrium of its planes. Moreover, -in our damp climate marble quickly loses the charm of its purity and -transparency; streaks of brown already stain and deface that of the -"Victor Hugo." Let us hope that the organizers of the Musee Rodin -will find it possible to place it in one of the rooms of the future -museum, substituting for it a bronze upon which the inclemencies of the -atmosphere will serve to produce a beautiful patina. - - - -THE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898) - -This is the most famous and the least known of Rodin's works. Newspaper -controversies have made it famous throughout the whole world; but it -has, nevertheless, made only one brief appearance in public, in 1898, at -the Salon of the Societe Nationale des Beaux Arts. It marks at the same -time a vital stage in the career of the master and the most poignant -period of his life as a fighter. It is the point of equilibrium in -the perpetual balancing of the art of Rodin between the several great -traditions. It was the object of a famous quarrel, in which the glory -of the sculptor, momentarily all but eclipsed by ridicule, recovered -itself, nevertheless, and rose higher than ever. - -What strikes one in this statue, at first sight, is its strange -block-like aspect, its monolithic simplicity. People say quite rightly -that it looks like a stone _lovee_, a druidic monument. Ever since "The -Burghers of Calais," one of the figures of which at least, that of -the man with the key, already suggests the idea of a monolith, Rodin -had been going further and further in his stubborn search for the -simplification of planes, and here he finally achieved his object. In -order to obtain it, he went back all the way to the primitive Gothic -and even to the archaic Greek, which likewise preserves in the general -outline of its statues the rigid aspect of those statues of wood that -had preceded it. In all these early epochs of art one finds the form of -the tree trunk in which their sculpture was cut. One of the examples of -this art that had most forcibly impressed Rodin was the statue of Hera -of Samothrace in the Louvre. The beauty of this figure, denuded of all -foreign artifice in the exact research for masses, the public little -comprehends; but the sculptor perceives its justness, the power of its -relief and its modeling, disconcerting in these primitive artists, -qualities that are concealed under the extreme simplicity of its -appearance. In this magnificent Hera it is as if one saw the rotundities -of woman coming to birth and undergoing in the tree, the vegetal column, -one of those metamorphoses familiar in the fables of paganism. The -"Balzac," with its athletic body, veiled in a spread robe that envelopes -it, does not it also resemble a powerful tree trunk from the summit of -which looks down, like a solitary, monstrous flower, the head of the -inspired writer? - -This statue had been ordered by the Societe des Gens de Lettres, and was -intended for one of the public squares of Paris. After Victor Hugo, -Balzac. After the giant of modern poetry, the giant of the novel. What -a redoutable honor, but also what a homage to the talent of the great -sculptor! What joy for artists in the association of these two names, -Balzac and Rodin! On the other hand, how many adversaries rejoiced in -the hope of seeing Rodin come to grief with this task, fraught not -less with peril than with glory! He did not conceal from himself that -the statue of Balzac would be a severe problem to solve. We possess -no authentic bust of the creator of the "Comedie Humaine," not even -a death-mask giving the exact measure of the cranial bones and hence -the actual planes. We know through his contemporaries that the author -was fat and short. Fat and short--that is far from facilitating the -composition of a work of decorative art. But, more precious than -mediocre portraits, there is a famous page about him by Lamartine, -another great genius. "Balzac," he says, "was the figure of an element -... stout, thick-set, square at the base and at the shoulders, ample, -much as Mirabeau was; but not heavy in any way; he had so much soul that -it carried _him_ lightly." - -[Illustration: STATUE OF BALZAC.] - -It was this essence that he set out to render. A frank artist takes -no liberties with reality. It alone gives him force; the "majesty of -the true" is alone durable. Nature, which dowered Balzac with one -of the most prodigious intellects known to us, dowered him at the -same time, to support this intellect, with the physical breadth of a -colossus. To have altered anything that went to make up the harmony of -the structure would have been to commit a grave error; it would have -been to denaturalize the divine work. On the other hand, above this -mass of flesh it was necessary to make that marvelous spirit hover, -that sparkling spirit, that myriad-faceted spirit of the greatest of -novelists. - -Rodin knows by experience that nature repeats herself. Has not a -humorist said: "It is useless to make a bust of you; it exists already. -You have only to look for it in the museums"? - -He set out to find a man who resembled Balzac, going all the way to -Touraine, the writer's native province, a hundred times depicted by -him in his books. The family of Balzac was originally from Languedoc, -but that made no difference; the intuition of a great artist is always -rewarded. Rodin found at Tours the model he desired; he was a young -countryman, a carter, who resembled his hero to an almost miraculous -degree. Of him he made a very animated bust, in which one sees the full -face, the nose, concave and large at the end, but voluptuous and full -of spirit, the rounded chin, the vast shoulders of the master of the -"Comedie Humaine." There was lacking, however, the flame of thought that -spiritualized and rendered buoyant this mass of human substance. Rodin -modified the expression, illuminating the physiognomy with delicacy and -frank gaiety. It is Balzac at twenty-five, a peasant Balzac, breathing -at every pore youth, self-confidence, and the love of life. Not yet -is it the man tormented by fate, the tragic visionary of the "Comedie -Humaine," the slave of his work who in twenty years wrote fifty novels, -staged a thousand characters, and gave life to an entire society. It is -not the man who has suffered, thought, meditated, with all the power -of one of the most extraordinary organisms known to us; it has not the -appearance of a phenomenon. - -After this Rodin skilfully altered these features; he gave them the -scars of the interior effort, he made them soft and hollowed them, he -made them old and grave. In a few weeks he did the work that nature -had taken years to accomplish. He finished by creating that Titan's -mask which we know, that head as round as a bullet and, like a bullet, -terrible in its concentrated force. Later he augmented this; that is -to say, he doubled its proportions: and this head, almost frightening -in its expression, recalls the masks which the Greek tragedians wore -when they played in the open air. Finally he modeled the body of the -colossus, making it entirely nude, with arms crossed, braced against -the earth with the tension of the whole will, evoking the idea of some -prodigious birth. Then he draped this heavy body in the monk's robe -in which the writer used to envelope himself for work and the straight -folds of which enwrapped him like the sheath of a mummy, offering to the -sight nothing but the tumultuous head--the head ravaged by intelligence -and savage energy. - -Rodin felt almost frightened by his own work. - -He kept it a long time before turning it over to the cast-makers. He had -worked it out in his atelier, but it was destined for the open air. How -would it appear in broad daylight? - -The gestation of this work was accompanied by a thousand miseries. The -committee of the Societe des Gens de Lettres incessantly demanded the -"Balzac"; they were dumfounded before the extraordinary figure that was -shown to them, before this white phantom the conception of which was so -utterly the reverse of all current ideas. Not knowing what to say, they -insisted that it should be modified and urged haste upon Rodin, whose -extraordinary dexterity became slowness itself when it was a question -of putting the final touches upon a great work. The press began to -take note of the affair. He himself became troubled and nervous. With -what transports would he have left it, fled, gone away to rest and to -dream of something else for a few weeks! The time of the Salon was -approaching. Quite suddenly he made his decision, gave the clay to be -cast, and ordered an enlargement. The statue was brought back to him at -the Depot des Marbres, in the rue de l'Universite; it was twice as large -as the original model. It was placed in the garden that stretched out -in front of the studio. He examined it as it rose against the depths of -the open sky and the bright spring light. It was as if he had never seen -it, and suddenly his mind was illuminated. The work was grand, simple, -strong; the essential modeling was there, and the details they had -exhorted him to add would only have diminished its unsurpassable unity. - -Rodin had made up his mind. He sent his "Balzac" to the Salon. - -Immediately there was war. The press, worked upon by the committee of -the Societe des Gens de Lettres, was unfavorable in advance. On the day -of the opening of the Salon the word was passed around, and the official -art world _s'esclaffe_. There was a crowd at the foot of the lofty -image, near which Rodin took up his position, calm according to his -wont, and talked quietly with his friends. Some, a very few, told him -how they admired this work so proudly offered, so strange in its banal -surroundings. - -The next day the press broke forth. What an uproar! Everything went off -at once: the heavy artillery of the great newspapers scolded solemnly, -the light artillery crackled in the political sheets, and the grape-shot -of the minor papers spat their rage, only too happy for so rich a prey -to cut to pieces. The Institute, as might have been foreseen, fanned the -conflagration. The public, excited, in turn broke loose, in the fury of -ignorance stirred up against knowledge. - -[Illustration: THE HEAD OF BALZAC.] - -It became a "case," an affair, the _affaire de Balzac_. The committee of -the Societe des Gens de Lettres mobilized; by a vote of eleven to four -it declared that it "did not recognize the writer in the statue of M. -Rodin." The president of the same society, the poet Jean Aicard, refused -the chance of immortality which this stupidity was to confer upon his -colleagues and flung his resignation in their faces. A group of members -of the municipal council of Paris decreed that it would be ridiculous -to accord "this block" a place in one of the squares of the city. For -two months music-halls and cafe-concerts vented every evening the wit -of the gutter on the scandalous statue and its sculptor; peddlers sold -caricatures of it in plaster, Balzac being represented as a heap of snow -or as a seal. In short, such was the event that it required nothing -but the pen of Aristophanes to note down the harmonies of this chorus -of frogs. The health of Rodin suffered a reaction from his long effort -and from this battle. Then, too, there are hours when the strongest are -seized with nausea before the bad faith and the stupidity of people. -Nervous, his mind aching, a prey to insomnia, the master offered a -melancholy spectacle, that beautiful serenity of his destroyed and his -working strength put in jeopardy. - -"For all that," says M. Leon Riotor, who tells the story with eloquence, -"Rodin had a wonderful awakening. All the young world of letters rose -up to declare its sympathy with the vanquished in this new skirmish. A -number of painters and sculptors joined in. And the protest that was -circulated came back covered with signatures." - -No, Rodin was not vanquished. He retired for a moment from the melee -to recover and to meditate in peace, but without deviating by a single -step from his line of conduct. A collector offered to buy the "Balzac." -A group of intellectuals started a public subscription; funds flowed -in. Although he was not yet wealthy, Rodin courteously declined these -offers, and, declaring that "an artist, like a woman, has to guard his -honor," decided to withdraw his monument from the Salon and not have it -erected anywhere. - -The epic statue was transported to Meudon, and placed in the garden of -the villa. In its loftiness it imposes itself against the sky, against -the hills, against the trees that surround it, with the quality of -nature herself. Like a gigantic pole it triumphs in the open air. It -is specially on clear nights that its disturbing authority strikes -the soul. The great phantom appears then formidable in the extreme -simplicity of its planes, which, as in strong architecture, distribute -over large spaces the masses of shadow and light. The American painter -Steichen has passed nights in this enchanted garden in order to take -of the "Balzac" photographs that are more beautiful than engravings. -Haughty, with a ferocious majesty in the moonlight, the master of -the "Comedie Humaine" brings his soul face to face with nature; he -listens to its silence, he sounds its mysteries, he questions it in -mute dialogue, the like of which has not been heard since the colloquy -of _Hamlet_ with the shade of his father. For it is of _Hamlet_, of -the most profound symbolization of the human spirit wrestling with the -unknown, that one dreams before this meditating Balzac, alone, under the -nocturnal light. This is what Rodin has known how to make out of that -short, thick-set man who was the author of the "Etudes Philosophiques"; -this is how he has lighted the fires of the intelligence on the mask of -genius. - -It is at the Musee Rodin that we shall rediscover this statue. Time -will have progressed, and ideas also. When they see it anew, how many -people will be astounded at having formerly scoffed at the work and -offended the master, struck dumb and secretly humiliated at having thus -contributed to the writing of the hundred thousandth chapter of that -endless book, the book of human stupidity. - - - -THE EXPOSITION OF 1900--THE BAS-RELIEFS OF EVIAN--RODIN AND THE WAR - -In 1899, Rodin exhibited a large part of his work at Brussels and in -Holland. The effect produced upon artists and upon the cultivated -portion of the public was such that he resolved to repeat this -experiment at the Universal Exposition of Paris. - -It was foreordained that nothing should be easy for the great toiler, -that it would be necessary for him to conquer everything through effort -and struggle. - -The administration of the Exposition, which had granted innumerable -requests for space addressed to it by the industrialists and business -men of the whole world, by bar-keepers, itinerant booth-holders, and -managers of cafe-concerts, raised a thousand difficulties when it -was a question of according a few feet of ground to the greatest of -living sculptors. It required all the insistence of his most devoted -and powerful friends to gain his point. Rodin finally received the -authorization to construct a pavilion not in the Exposition itself, but -outside the grounds in the place de l'Alma. - -Once again, so much the better. How much finer for a man of the elite to -stand aside from the rout! - -According to the master's plan, there was erected a hall simple in -appearance, elegant, reservedly in the Louis XVI style, a veritable -repose for the eye strained by the strident architecture of the great -fair of 1900. There were assembled the people of his sculpture. - -[Illustration: THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.] - -Once more Rodin experienced an hour of trial, a formidable hour. If -for the last dozen years he had left poverty behind, he had not yet -achieved wealth, and it was a great risk to assume the expenses of his -exhibition. If these expenses were not covered by the entrance-fees and -the sale of his sculpture, how would he come out? He would be forced -to a kind of transaction that he had always spurned, he would have to -turn over all or part of his work to the art dealers. These groups, -these busts, so painstakingly cast, or cut in the most beautiful -marble by excellent workmen, and often by renowned sculptors, once the -dealers had acquired rights in them, would they not be duplicated in a -quantity of replicas of mediocre workmanship or, worse, reproduced by -undiscriminating stone-cutters, who would disfigure the modeling and -the character? The idea was odious to the scrupulous sculptor. He had -reached the age of sixty, and if he did not show it, thanks to the vigor -of his temperament and the persistent youth that goes with great minds, -it was not less painful for him to put his apprehensions to the test. -Too dignified, too proud, to give way to vain lamentations, he made only -the most reserved references to his ordeal. - -The success of the exhibition remained uncertain during the first -weeks: many people hoped it would be a failure. At the end of a month -or two, visitors from abroad, to whom thanks be given, began to pour -in; the principal museums of Europe wished to possess some important -figure of Rodin's. Soon the number of purchasers increased day by day, -and I do not have to mention here how many art-lovers from the United -States decided to enrich their collections with some rare piece signed -by the master. In short, during the latter months Rodin had the joy -of perceiving that he could remain the sole possessor of his work, -that nothing could now separate him from his dear family of bronze and -marble. It was happiness for him; it signalized also the great glory -that comes with outstretched wing, bringing fortune with it. - -The pretty pavilion in the place de l'Alma was transported and reerected -in the garden at Meudon, and he filled it with masterpieces. Since then -the whole world of art and literature and that portion of the political -world that esteems art has passed through it. The French aristocracy -and that of England, the most eminent personages of the two Americas, -have been eager to visit it. One receives in it an impression at once -grand and touching, giving one the highest idea of the supremacy -of intellectual valor above the other goods of this world when one -perceives the contrast of these artistic treasures with the altogether -modest little house, almost bare, attended by a single servant, where -Rodin continues, in the midst of the luxury of an epoch intoxicated with -pleasures, to maintain the simplicity of his life in the sober company -of his old single-spirited, faithful-hearted wife. This impression I -never felt more vividly than on the occasion of the visit of the late -King of England. Edward VII, like others, had conceived the desire to -render this homage to French art. The day before, when I encountered the -master in Paris, he said to me, without further explanation, "Come and -have a look at the studio." - -It was a beautiful afternoon in May. When I entered the pavilion, I -could not restrain a cry of admiration. Marbles, nothing but marbles, -of a dazzling whiteness! He had brought together all that he possessed, -all those that his friends and the purchasers of his work had consented -to lend him for the occasion, and one would have said that it was -these groups of young, enlaced bodies, these busts of women, with -their transparent, rosy flesh, that gave forth the light with which -the apartment was filled. It was a unique vision, a vision which, in -its purity and its unity, surpassed in delicate splendor that of the -most celebrated collections, with all their accumulation of pictures, -tapestries, bronze, and jewels. I wondered in silence; I wondered -at the sure taste of the artist, but I wondered also at his will: -everything of him was there. Who can deny that it was necessary for him -to put pressure on himself to decide on such a choice, to sacrifice -the bronzes, the sketches, the terra cottas, and many charming pieces? -Nothing but marble, the kingdom of marble, but also that of life; for -the sumptuous material trembled and palpitated under the play of the -light that entered through the bay-windows of the atelier, bringing with -it the soft brilliance of the season. - -Since the Exposition of 1900, Rodin's reputation has increased steadily -in France and abroad. England and Italy have organized triumphal -receptions for him of a sort reserved hitherto for the most illustrious -men of state. The artists of London have acclaimed him, and have charged -him, on the death of Whistler, with the presidency of the International -Society of Painters, Sculptors, and Engravers. Oxford University has -given him a doctorate. The municipality of Rome has greeted him with -special homage at the capitol; the court of Greece, having invited -him, awaits his visit; at Prague, where he was received by the Society -of Young Czech Artists, they accorded him royal honors, the public -unharnessing the horses from his carriage and applauding at the same -time the personal genius of this great Frenchman and the free ideas of -his country. - -Without altering in any way his life of labor, which these tributes have -at times slightly interfered with, he has permitted himself only one -luxury as the result of his fortune--a collection of antiques. This he -has formed with passion. It is, once more, for purposes of study, and -what a study, to possess a few of these sublime fragments, to feel them -and handle them under all aspects of light! Rodin has placed a certain -number of them in his garden, arranging them among the trees, among the -shrubs; he has placed them on the fresh grass, where they seem to live -in another and a happier way than in the rooms of museums. At a stroke -the little garden at Meudon, with its pedestals, its statues, with its -grove where a charming little marble, the "Sleeping Cupid," reposes, has -become like the villa of a Roman citizen of the time of Augustus. - - * * * * * - -The art of Rodin has in a certain measure shown the effect of these -happy events. During these latter years he has grown calm; he displays -a serenity of spirit and a self-possession that increases day by day. -But if the struggle in his composition has been tranquilized, his -workmanship has grown freer. The sculptor's effort concentrates itself -now in the search for a modeling ever more ample and suppler, which -with him constitutes a new and decisive manner. It is to this that we -owe those exquisite marbles, "Psyche Bearing the Lamp," "Benedictions," -"The Young Girl and the Two Genii," "Romeo and Juliet," "The Fall of -Icarus." This has been the epoch also of the busts of Mrs. Simpson and -the proud and handsome George Wyndham, the English statesman. It is -the epoch, finally, of the "Monument to President Sarmiento," which -offers at the same time, in happy opposition, the two most recent and -most characteristic methods of Rodin. The bronze statue of the great -Argentine statesman has an aspect at once romantic and realistic that -recalls that of "The Burghers of Calais," and the marble pedestal that -supports it, a vanquishing Apollo emerging from the clouds all luminous -with youth and glory, belongs to the latest period. Of this monument, -ordered by the city of Buenos Aires, France does not possess a replica, -though the model has been preserved. The Musee Rodin will soon contain a -duplicate. - -From 1901 to 1906 there was an uninterrupted creation of figures and of -portraits, among them the busts of Sir Howard Walden, Berthelot, Gustave -Geffroy, Mme. Hunter, and Bernard Shaw. - -One must add the myriad drawings that Rodin has never ceased to execute. -The will to sustain his eye and his hand instead of permitting them to -become weakened with age has become a passion with him. He draws as a -writer thinks. He thinks pencil in hand; his drawings are aphorisms. -Line-sketches, stump-drawings, water-colors in strange tints multiply -themselves like the leaves of a tree and quite constitute alone a -complete work. The master has sold and given away quantities of them, -yet; nevertheless, the Musee will contain more than three thousand. I -have been honored with the charge of counting them over and classifying -them. After days of this work one has a sensation of dazzlement, as I -have discovered, before this accumulation of toil and beauty. - -The most precious of these drawings are the most recent. The study of -light has been carried in these to the supreme nuances. More and more -Rodin detests what is black, what is hard, what is dry. He adores, on -the other hand, that which is supple, enveloped, drowned in the light -mist of the atmosphere. He conceives everything through an almost -imperceptible veil which softens the contours, and which he discerns -with an eye that grows every day more sensitive. His sculpture has -followed the same path. In the greater part of his marbles he has -pursued the effects of mass and of the ensemble in what concerns the -volumes and the effects of gradation, the study of the diminutions of -light in what concerns the coloring. The color that obtains uniquely in -the art of shadow and light is the charm of beautiful sculpture. Rodin -thus captures the variations with a competence that ravishes our eyes, -accustomed to the dryness of limits that are too distinct. It is in the -reliefs entitled "The Seasons" that Rodin has attained the apogee of -this science of luminous modeling. - -These works, executed for La Sapiniere, the estate of Baron Vitta at -Evian, comprise three high-reliefs fashioned on a gate and two fountain -basins, or monumental garden urns. They are cut in the stone of the -Estaillade, a white stone the richness of grain and delicate golden tone -of which make it unsurpassable for the interpretation of the human body. -They were exhibited for a short time in February, 1905, at the Musee du -Luxembourg, on the initiative of M. Leon Benedite, the very accomplished -curator and critic of art, who arranged them with perfect taste. But far -from being embraced and vindicated, as he would be now by the present -administration of fine arts, Rodin was still regarded as a revolutionist -whose example could neither be followed nor trusted. - -This was made quite plain to the audacious curator who decided quite by -himself to exhibit the latest works of the master before their departure -for Evian. After this _coup d'etat_ he was for several years the victim -of attacks from academic circles, and underwent, on the part of the -Government, a sort of disgrace. Since then he has been brilliantly -compensated, and to-day he has been placed in charge of the installation -of the Musee Rodin at the Hotel Biron, a great work in which I have the -happiness to be his collaborator. - -The decorative designs of the villa of Evian adorn the vestibule of the -home of Baron Vitta. "Their subject," says M. Benedite, in an excellent -notice which served as a catalogue for the Exhibition of 1905, "if -one wishes to speak of the motive that serves as their pretext, is -the most banal in the world. One would find it difficult to count the -number of times that it has served artists since antiquity. So true it -is that the commonest, the most general, the most seemingly worn-out -themes are those in which the great artists find themselves the most at -home. Without difficulty they renew them, and stamp them unforgettably -with their own peculiar mark. Rodin has calmly returned to the four -seasons, confident that they would bear without effort the impress of -his personality and his time and that they would suffice to express his -whole conception of beauty and of life." - -Rodin has figured "The Seasons" under the aspect of four sleeping -women. Their beautiful forms model themselves in the warm-tinted stone, -which itself seems animated with the reflections of the living flesh. -Their mysterious sleep evokes the successive phases of the year. Now -it marks the quietude of the earth, full of the joy of yielding up her -flowers and her fruits under the caresses of the sun, now it is death -revealing itself through a nature tormented with the heavy travail of -generation. In the "Spring" it is a young body that lies voluptuously -under a rose-bush the fragrant petals of which are mingled with her own -flesh, enveloping her in the dream of their perfume. In the "Autumn," -the sleeper crouches close to the ground under the fruits and the -vine-leaves, oppressed by the intoxicating aroma. The "Winter" presses -her chilled limbs closely against the cavities of the denuded earth, -while above her the roots of the trees enlace themselves intricately, -like sacred serpents charged with protecting her slumber. The "Summer" -is a siesta upon the bosom of a Nature _en fete_, lulled by the golden -sounds of harvest balanced on the breeze and the murmur of a spring that -pours forth freshness and quietude. - -But in what, you ask, resides the originality of these decorative -commonplaces, their brilliant, unquestionable originality? In the -deliberate simplicity, in the spirit of sobriety that has presided over -their composition, and, above all, in their execution. It is through -their execution that the sculptures of Evian occupy a place apart in -the work of Rodin. Since the beautiful Greek epoch, stone has perhaps -never assumed such a living sweetness under any human hand. One might -believe that it had not been touched by the steel of the chisel, but -caressed by a touch as delicate as it is firm, molded like wax under -the warmth of that hand. These mellow figures do not detach themselves -from the living framework in which they are set; they stand out, -thanks to an insensible transition which leaves them enveloped, in the -reflections of the fair material; they mass themselves under a sifted -light, among the flowers and the clusters of grapes. With all this there -is no insipidity. Under the skin one feels the plenitude of bodies rich -with health, harmonious organisms: it is a force that has found its -equilibrium, a force relaxing in sweetness. Strangely enough, when one -seeks for antecedents to which it is possible to relate the reliefs of -Evian, it is not in the domain of sculpture, but in that of painting, -that one finds the terms of comparison. The intense power, carefully -measured as it is, of this vibrant modeling and this color drenched in -sunlight we find again among the tenderest creations of Correggio, of -Rubens, and, closer to ourselves, of Renoir. - -The two jardinieres which complete this unique series represent groups -of children mad with joy and with liberty; in the one case playing and -jostling one another in a field of wheat, in the midst of the moving -sea of spears, and in the other, spread out on the green summer grass, -rapturously holding up in their little arms, already robust, the grapes -heavy with wine. They are exquisite fantasies of movement, of grace, of -mad life just beginning. Here, too, the flesh of these little laughing -gods, melting in the mass of ripe corn and tottering vines, seems bathed -in the clearness of a beautiful day, full of air and of light. - -These five works of the old age of the master might be entitled the -"Poem of Youth." It is the privilege of genius to return, in its -decline, to its point of departure, to remount to the sources of life, -which remain ever the most intoxicating. The sensations of infancy and -adolescence solicit him with all their unforgettable seductiveness, and -he surrenders himself lovingly to the sweetness of this lost dream; but -it has cost him his entire, existence to acquire the gift of translating -it. - -This search for the envelopment of forms fruitful of new effects is the -decisive point in the career of Rodin; it is the supreme thought, the -end and aim of sixty years of toil and reflection. Therefore it is a -very happy thing for French sculpture that Rodin has been able to live -long enough to realize completely this definitive conception of his -art. For from the summit attained by him other artists can spring forth -afresh, to renew once more perhaps the manifestations of the national -genius. The resources indicated by Rodin have hardly been used hitherto; -to bring them fully into employment meanwhile there will perhaps be born -a new school of sculpture. - -[Illustration: BUST OF BERNARD SHAW.] - -What constitutes the originality of a great artist is that it is never -isolated. It belongs at once to the past, to the present, and to -the future; it is altogether a derivative and a root. It springs from -the past through atavism, through study, and through admiration for -the masters; it is of the present through contact with those of the -artist's contemporaries who march at the same time with him along the -road of discovery; finally, it influences the future by bequeathing to -the generations that follow a new conception and new methods. To-day -we see clearly the sources from which have come the ultimate aspect of -the talent of Rodin. They are the art of Greece; they are also certain -marvels of Gothic art in which miraculously reblossomed the Hellenic -suppleness and sweetness, as if the springs of the Greek genius had -mysteriously coursed under the earth from Athens to France, bursting -forth at last in the walls of our cathedrals; then there are those -unfinished marbles of Michelangelo from which Rodin derived the idea of -vapor and flow in sculpture. But other artists have arrived, at about -the same time, at the same end, or almost the same end, by different -paths. Among these are two of our great painters, friends and comrades -of Rodin, Renoir and Carriere. Does not this community of thought -prove how profound is the vitality our country continues to possess in -the domain of art? We are less struck by this phenomenon than when we -verify its effects in the past, when we see them related and summed up -in the history of art; because we are not in a position to disengage -it from our present life, which is encumbered and complicated, and to -draw a conclusion from it. And then, too, the present political regime -does little to signalize the great artists, to muster them before the -untutored admiration of the multitude, to give value to the intellectual -wealth of the country. As a rule, when a man of genius receives the -homage he deserves, it is when he is near his end, if it is not after -his death. What public festivals have been given in France in this -century to honor the glories of our artistic and scientific life, -Victor Hugo excepted? When and how have we celebrated men like Puvis de -Chavannes, Rodin, Renoir, Carriere, Claude Monet, Besnard, Odilon Redon, -and Bartholome, to mention only masters of the chisel and the brush? -Occasionally they have been gratified by the boredom of an official -banquet, where they have been assigned a rank considerably lower than -that of the least important politician, and they are expected to be -thankful when they have had bestowed upon them a few parchments and some -bits of ribbon. Fortunately, their joys are in another sphere, whither -no one who is not their equal can follow them. - -In their ardent effort toward a similar end, then, it is necessary to -associate Rodin, Renoir, and Carriere. All three, for that matter, have -mutually admired and even influenced one another. Whether in the course -of their work or in their conversations, one cannot deny that the -attempt of the Impressionist School, which consists precisely in not -separating the being or the object from its atmosphere, in prolonging -its life in the life of that which envelopes it, really succeeds only -in the work of these masters. They have, if not recreated, at least -broadened the law of the distribution of shadow and of light in their -intricate fusion. Certainly others had already manifested and realized -similar ways of seeing things, according to their various temperaments, -such men as Fantin-Latour and Henner in the study of the human figure -and Claude Monet in landscape. But, except for Monet, no one affirms -them with the authority of a Rodin, a Carriere, a Renoir. If Carriere, -too early interrupted by a cruel death, is a tragic, a somber genius, -a genius of the Gothic line, which in him does not exclude great -sweetness, Renoir and Rodin, in their maturity, are happy geniuses, -masters of young beauty and of a serenity which art has scarcely known -since ancient Greece. A like sentiment of serenity, a like aspiration -for harmonious unity, therefore a closer contact with nature, bring them -together. - -This serenity, this aspiration for unity, Rodin and Renoir have sought -during their whole life, and it is in the radiant works of their old age -that it triumphs. The genius of form and its union with the universal -has been the master thought, the plastic ideal, which their fraternal -minds have realized simultaneously by different methods. - -"With Rodin a style begins," said Octave Mirbeau twenty years ago. The -phrase stirred up a tempest. All the time that has passed since then has -been required to make people admit its truth. The great writer might -have said with more exactitude, but with less force, "With Rodin style -itself has begun anew." - -Will it continue? It has never entirely ceased to exist, even if it has -no longer the force of expansion with which, from France and through -her, it spread through all Europe. Will it begin again with its vigor as -of old? The question touches those problems raised by the events that -are to-day overturning the world and also the profound modifications -which the war will bring. - -The master gives us his opinion on this matter in a few words, -circumspect and measured, as he himself always is. How could he be -otherwise before the formidable unknown that still hides from us the -next turn of destiny? It is fitting, then, to leave him the last word on -this subject. Fortunately his word has the warm ring of hope. - -[Illustration: A FETE GIVEN IN HONOR OF RODIN BY SOME OF HIS FRIENDS.] - -This hope he draws in a measure from himself, from his own strength, -which is, he feels, a distinct outgrowth of the national strength, of -the unconquerable soul of our ancestors; he draws it also from the -consciousness of a task accomplished in the face of the hard blows -of life; and finally from the promise of the artistic youth of the -country, of that which belongs to his school. For if with two or three -exceptions he has not directly formed pupils, his artistic principles, -his faith in the virtue of character and labor, supported by the example -of an unequaled body of work, have given him innumerable disciples. The -lesson which he offers us and which will soon be offered to all at the -museum in the Hotel Biron, will endure for centuries. He says himself -justly, with pride and modesty, that this museum will form a true home -of education. - - * * * * * - -A few words more about this life which in the fecundity of its -unexpected incidents remains for the attentive witness profoundly -significant to the very end. - -At the moment when the war of 1914 broke out, the master was in his -villa at Meudon. When the German armies approached Paris, he thought -of leaving his home. He had excited great admiration in the land -of Schiller and Goethe, he had been urged to take part in numerous -expositions there; but he had quite special reasons for knowing that -his work, were it to fall into their hands, would not be spared by the -soldiers from beyond the Rhine. Overwhelmed by the terrifying surprise -of the invasion, he did not know where to go. - -As he had many friends in England, I offered to guide him there. He -therefore crossed the channel, accompanied by his wife, the companion -of his good and evil days. It was without a word of bitterness that he -set out, without expressing a regret for all that he was leaving behind -him. Before the immensity of the national misfortune he seemed to have -completely forgotten the menace that hung over the work of his whole -life. In the train that carried us by night to one of the French ports, -he said in his clear and always tranquil voice: "Yes, I am leaving -much behind me. It is the work of an entire life that will disappear, -perhaps." That was all. This attitude of an old exiled king inspired a -respect free from all compassion. - -The fate of his collection of antiques caused him more disquietude. - -"If they take them, that is nothing; they will still exist. But if they -break them! They will have destroyed what is irreplaceable." - -He did not wish to remain in London. Too many relationships would -have hindered him from collecting himself and from preserving that -dignity of solitude, that reserve of a refugee which was proper to his -situation. He preferred to accompany us to a small country town, where -for six weeks he lived a modest life, very retired, interested only, but -passionately interested, in the reading of English newspapers, which we -translated for him. - -When we apprised him of the burning of Rheims Cathedral, he replied -with a laugh of incredulity. For two days he refused to believe it. It -seemed to him an invention of the press designed to stir the public and -increase recruiting. At last, convinced, he said, with inexpressible -sadness: "The biblical times have come back again, the great invasions -of the Medes and the Persians. Has the world, then, reached the point -where it deserves to be punished for the egotistical epicureanism in -which it has slumbered?" After this he became absorbed in his own -thoughts. - -The Battle of the Marne, in saving France and the world, saved also that -little temple of art, the museum at Meudon. Rodin, on his return from -England, found it intact. - -He took up his work again, without a pause, with that unalterable -patience of his--that patience of the peasant that turns him back to his -field the moment the enemy has passed. He awaits there sadly the dawn of -peace. - - * * * * * - -During the last months of the year 1916 the question of the Musee Rodin, -broached five years ago, became again a living one; it was brought -before the assembly. Certain of the master's adversaries who have not -been calmed even by the events of the present affected a righteous -indignation that the discussion of this question of art should at -this moment have any place in the order of the day, and they tried to -make people believe that it was he who had chosen this tragic hour for -debates of this kind. Let us repeat that five years ago Rodin offered -this gift to his country, and that the delay in settling the matter is -imputable solely to the procrastination of public affairs. - -On the day I write these lines the creation of the Musee Rodin has been -determined upon. The two chambers have voted by a majority that proves -that everything France contains in the way of cultivated intelligence -desires to assure a home worthy of itself for the works of its greatest -sculptor. - -But before we have arrived there what other mishaps may not befall! It -is too soon to write the history of the Musee Rodin. Its adventure is -not less singular than all the others that have marked this long career, -certain of which have been summed up in these pages. The more forceful -the personality, the more it is in contradiction with the passions of -the vulgar, the more are the incidents that spring up in the contact of -these two opposite elements. It would require a whole volume to recount -those that have punctuated the life of Rodin during these later years. - -Despite the bitterness of the combat, the master has had nothing to -complain of and does not complain. The outcome of his life-story is most -beautiful, and if this beauty already strikes us, it is in the years -to come that it will attain its full glory. For if the gesture with -which Rodin offers to France his work and his dearest possessions is -that of those who count in the annals of their country, no one perhaps -has ever received such a homage as that which the country has bestowed -upon him in the manner of accepting his gift. In the midst of war, in -the very hour when the country is suffering unheard of evils, it has -self-possession enough in the firmness of its indomitable soul to honor -in a magnificent way the work of one of its sons--a work accomplished in -time of peace. Turning its attention for an instant from the necessities -of war, from the front where it struggles, suffers, and dies, it remains -calm enough, sufficiently sure of itself, to offer to one of its heroes -of toil, and of the thought which its soldiers defend, a testimony of -its gratitude and admiration. - -THE END - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Rodin: The Man and his Art, by Judith Cladel - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODIN: THE MAN AND HIS ART *** - -***** This file should be named 43327.txt or 43327.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/3/2/43327/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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