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Art /

olin

3 1924 030 649 796

Cornell University Library

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'^"5

I.

THE

TI-irNKER.

By

A. Rodin.

ART
AUGUSTE RODIN

FROM THE FRENCH OF PAUL GSELL

BY

MRS. ROMILLY

FEDDEN

HODDER AND STOUGHTON

LONDON

NEW YORK

TORONTO

Printed in igi2

PREFACE

NOT
delightful
little

far

from Paris, on the Seine near

is

Meudon,

hamlet

bearing

the

name

of Val-Fleury.

Crowning the
a group of

hill

above this village

rises

buildings which in their charm and originality

at

once attract

interest.

You might almost

artist,

guess that they belonged to an

is

and

it

there,

in

fact,

that

Auguste

Rodin

has

made
ings

his

home.

Approaching, you find that the main buildare

three.

The
brick

first,

Louis

XIII.

pavilion

of

red

and freestone with a

as
his

high

gabled

roof,

serves

dwelling.
is

Close by stands a great

entered
Art.

rotunda which
portico
;

through

a columned
a

it

is

PREFACE
the one
that
in

1900 sheltered

the

special

exhibition

of Rodin's

work

at
;

the
as
it

angle of
pleased

the

Pont de I'Alma
it

in

Paris

him, he had

re-erected

upon

this

new

site

and uses
at the

it

as his atelier.
hill,

little

further on steeply

edge of the

which here

falls

away, you see an eighteenth-century chateau

or

rather only a facade

whose

fine

portal,

under a triangular pediment, frames a wroughtiron gate

;

of this,

more

later.
is

This group, so diverse in character,

in the
is

set

midst of an

idyllic orchard.

The

spot

certainly one of the

most enchanting

in the

environs of Paris.
it,

Nature has done much for

and

the
it

sculptor

who

settled

here

has

beautified

with

all

the embellishments that

his taste could suggest.

Last

year,

at

the
I

close

of

beautiful

day

in

May,
beneath
hill,

as

walked
trees

with

Auguste
his

Rodin

the
I

that
to

shade

charming

confided
4

him

my

wish

! ;

PREFACE
to
write,

from his

dictation, his

ideas

upon

Art.

'You are an odd

are
that
'

fellow,'
!

he

said.
is

'So you

still

interested in Art
out-of-date.

It

an interest

is

To-day, artists and those

like
fossils.

who
a

love artists

seem

Imagine

megatherium

or a diplodocus stalking the streets of Paris

There you have the impression that we must

make upon our

one of
'

contemporaries.

Ours

is

an

epoch of engineers and of manufacturers, not

artists.

The

search

in

modern
is

life

is

for utility

the

endeavour

to

improve

existence

materially.

Every day. Science invents new

of

processes for the feeding, clothing, or transportation

man

she manufactures cheaply

inferior products in order to give adulterated

luxuries to the greatest

true that
in

number

though
real

it

is

she has also

all

made

improveour
daily

ments

that

ministers
5

to

PREFACE
wants.
spirit,

But

it

is

no longer a question of

of thought, of dreams.
is

Art
is

is

dead.

'Art
of the

contemplation.

It

the pleasure

mind which searches

there

into nature
spirit
It

and

which

divines
is

the

by
is

which
the joy

Nature herself
of the
intellect

animated.
sees

which

clearly
it,

into

the

Universe and which

scientious
vision.

recreates
is
it

with con-

Art

the

most sublime

mission of man, since

is

the expression of

thought seeking to understand the world and

to
'

make
But

it

understood.

to-day,

mankind
Art.
It

believes

itself

able
to

to

do without

does

not
;

wish
it

meditate, to contemplate, to
to

dream
heights
to

wishes
the
it

enjoy physically.

The

and
it
;

depths of truth are indifferent

content to satisfy
its

is

bodily appetites.

Man-

kind to-day

is

brutish

it

is

not the stuff of

which
'

artists are

made.
is

Art,

moreover,

taste.

It

is

the reflec-

'

PREFACE
tion of the artist's heart

upon

all

the objects

that he creates.

It is the

smile of the

human

soul
It is

upon the house and upon the furnishing.

the charm of thought and of sentiment
in all that is of use to

embodied

man.
feel

But
the
?

how many
necessity
of

of

our

contemporaries
in

taste

house

or furnishing

Formerly, in old France, Art was everywhere.

The made
eye.

smallest

bourgeois,

even

the

peasant,

use only of articles which pleased the

Their chairs, their

their pots

tables, their pitchers

and

were beautiful.
daily
life.

To-day Art
say

is

banished
the
ugly,

from

People
beautiful.

that
is

useful
all
is

need

not

be

All

made

in haste

and without grace

artist
is

by stupid machines.
as

The

regarded

an antagonist.

Ah,

my

dear Gsell,

you
Let

wish to jot down an

artist's

musings.

me
'

look at you

You
'

really are

an extra-

ordinary
I

man

know,'

said,

that
7

Art

is

the

least

PREFACE
concern of our epoch.

But

trust that

this

book may be a protest against the ideas of

to-day.
I

trust that

your voice

may awaken

our contemporaries and help them to understand the crime they commit in losing the
best
part

of

our

national

inheritance

an

intense love of Art

'

and Beauty.'
!
'

May

the gods hear you

Rodin answered.

We
style

were walking along the rotunda which

the atelier.

serves as

There under the

peri-

many charming
found
faces
shelter.

bits of antique sculpture

have
veiled,

little

vestal,

halfin

a grave orator wrapped

his

toga, while

not far from them a cupid rides

triumphant
the

upon
of

great
figures

sea-monster.

In

midst

these

two Corinthian
raise their shafts

columns of charming grace

of rose-coloured marble. of these precious fragments
8

The

collection here

shows the devo-

'

PREFACE
tion

of

my

host to the art

of

Greece and

Rome.

Two

swans were drowsing on the bank of

a deep pool.

As we

passed they

unwound
Their

their long necks

and hissed with anger.

savageness prompted
this bird lacks

me

to the

remark that

intelligence,

but Rodin replied,

laughing
'

They
!

have

that

of

line,

and

that

is

enough

As we
and there
clothed

strolled on, small

cylindrical

altars

in marble, carved with garlands, appeared here in

the the

shade.

Beneath a bower,
green
a
of

with
a
a

luxuriant

sophora,
sacrifices

young
sacred
sleeps

Mithra
bull.

without

head
cross-

At a green

way an Eros
'

upon

his lion-skin, sleep

beasts.

having overcome him who tames the

Does

it

not seem to you,'

is

Rodin asked,
drowsy

'that verdure
for

the most appropriate setting

antique

sculpture?
9

This

little

PREFACE
Eros

would

you not say that he

?

is

the

god

of the garden
to
this

His dimpled

flesh is brother
foliage.

transparent
artists

and

luxuriant

The Greek
their

loved
in
it

nature so well that

works bathe

as in their element.'

Let us notice this attitude of mind.

place
statues
in

We
the

garden

to

beautify

garden.

Rodin places them there that they

may

be beautified by the garden.

is

For him,

Nature

always the sovereign mistress and

the infinite perfection.

A
which
turies

Greek amphora,
in
all

in

rose-coloured

clay,

probability
sea,

had

lain
is

for
it

cen-

under the

so encrusted
lies

with

charming sea-growths,
at the

upon the ground

It

foot of a box-tree.
there,

seems
it

to

have
not

been forgotten

and yet

could

have been presented to our eyes with more

grace
taste.

for

what

is

natural

is

the

supreme of

Further on we see a torso of Venus.

lO

The

PREFACE
breasts are hidden by a handkerchief knotted

behind
of

the

back.

Involuntarily

one

thinks
false

some

Tartuffe

who,
it

prompted
his

by
to

modesty,

has

felt

duty

conceal

these charms.

'

Par de pareils objets

les

dmes sont

blessdes

Et

cela fait venir de coupables pensdes.'

But surely

my

host has nothing in

common

with Moli^re's prude.

his reason.
'

He

himself explained

tied

that
said,

around
'

the

breast
part

of
is

this
less

statue,'

he

because
rest.'

that

beautiful than the

Then,
he led

through a door which he unbolted,

me on

to

the terrace where he has

raised the eighteenth-century facade of which

I

have spoken.

Seen close
tecture
is

to, this

noble fragment of archiIt is

II

imposing.

a fine portal raised

PREFACE
upon eight
supported
steps.

On

the pediment, which

is

by
is

columns,

Themis surrounded
host,
this

by Loves
'

carved.
said

Formerly,'

my

'

beautiful

chateau rose on the slope of a neighbouring

hill

at Issy.

often admired

it

as
it

passed.
tore

But the land speculators bought

it

and

down.'

As he spoke
seized

his eyes flashed with

anger.
'

'You cannot imagine,' he continued,

what horror

me when
tear

saw

this

crime committed.
building
these
1

To

It affected

down this glorious me as much as though

fair

criminals

had mangled the

body

of a virgin before
'

my

'

eyes

asked the

sacrilegious rascals

not

to

scatter the materials

and

to sell

them

to me.

They
I

consented.

had

all

the stones brought

well as
I

here to put
could.

them together again as

see,

Unfortunately, as you

have

as yet raised only one wall.'

In

fact,

in

his

impatience
12

to

enjoy this

'

PREFACE
keen
artistic pleasure,

Rodin has not followed

consists

the usual and logical method which

in raising all parts of a building at once.

Up

to the present time he

has only rebuilt one

side of the chateau,

to

and when you approach

the
iron

look
see

through
only

entrance

gate,
lines

you

broken
the

ground
plan

where

of stones
to be.

indicate

of the building
!

Truly a chateau of dreams

an

artist's

chateau
'

Verily,'

murmured my
were
great

host,

'

those

old

architects

men,

especially

when

one compares them with their unworthy successors of to-day

!

So

speaking, he drew

me
the

to

a point on
of the

the terrace from which fagade seems to

'See,'

outline

him most

beautiful.

he

cried,

'how

harmoniously the

silhouette

cuts

the silvery sky,

lies

and how
below
us.'

it

dominates the valley which

Lost in ecstasy, his loving gaze enveloped

13

PREFACE
this
all

monument

of a

day that

is

past,

and

the landscape.

From
below,
tall
it

the height
in

on which we stood our

There,
lines

eyes took
the

an immense expanse.
mirroring

Seine,

long

of

poplars, traces

a great loop

of silver as

rushes towards the solid bridge at S6vres.

. .

Still

further,

the white

spire

of Saintthe

Cloud

against

green

hillside,

blue

heights of Suresnes and

Mont

Valerien seem

powdered with a mist of dreams.

To
away
the

the right, Paris, gigantic Paris, spreads

to

the

horizon

her great

seed

plot,

sown with innumerable houses, so small

distance that

in
in

one

might hold them

the palm of one's hand.

Paris, vision at once

monstrous
wherein
mixture
forces

and
pains

sublime,

colossal

crucible

bubbles
of

unceasingly

that

strange
of
active

and

pleasures,

and of fevered

ideals

PAUL GSELL.

CONTENTS
PREFACE

.......
CHAPTER
I
. .
.
.

REALISM IN ART

.21

CHAPTER
TO THE ARTIST ALL IN NATURE

II
IS

BEAUTIFUL

33

CHAPTER HI
MODELLING
.
.

-SI

CHAPTER
MOVEMENT
IN

IV
. .

ART

.63

CHAPTER V
DRAWING AND COLOUR
. .

-93

15

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
THE BEAUTY OF WOMAN
.

VI
PAGE
.

"3

CHAPTER
OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

VII
. .

-125

CHAPTER
THOUGHT
IN

VIII
.

ART

-159

CHAPTER
MYSTERY IN ART
.

IX
.

.185

CHAPTER X
PHIDIAS

AND MICHAEL ANGELO

203

CHAPTER
AT THE LOUVRE
. .

XI
.

.22$

CHAPTER

XII
.

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

.241

NOTES

.......
16

265

ILLUSTRATIONS
The Thinker. By
A. Rodin
, ,
.

Frontispiece
FACING PAGE

Bas-reliefs from the Gate of Hell.

By A. Rodin
.

24

DanaIde

,26

Young Woman. By A,
Eve.

Rodin

.26
.28
.

By A. Rodin

La Vieille Heaulmi^re. By A.

Rodin
.

38

The Magdalene. By
Sebastian,

Donatello

.38
By

the
,

Dwarf of
.
.

Phillippe
.

IV.
.

Velasquez

.42
.

The Man with the Hoe. By The Medici Venus

.
.

F. Millet

44

-54
.

Man Walking. By A.
Art.

Rodin
17

.66
B

ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAOB

Marshal Ney.

By Rude
Rodin

.68

The Iron Age. By A.

John the Baptist.

.72
7\^

By A. Rodin School
.

EuROPA

Italian

of
.

the Fifteenth
.
.

Century (Louvre)
Epsom Races.

.78
.78 .82

Bj/ Gericault

The Embarkation for the Island of Cvthera.

Bf Watteau
.
.
.

The

Marseillaise.

By Rude

.84
.

Eustache de Saint Pierre.

By A. Rodin

86

One of the Burghers of

Calais.

By A. Rodin
. .

86

One of the Burghers of Calais One of the Burghers of Calais

.88

.88

One of the Burghers of

The Burghers of
Drawing.
Calais.

Calais

.90
.

By A. Rodin
. .

92

By A. Rodin

.96
.100

Drawing by Michael Angelo

18

ILLUSTRATIONS
Drawing by Rembrandt
Torso OF A Woman.
FACING PAGE
. .

io6

By A. Rodin
By A. Rodin
.

us

Torso of a Woman.

.118

Woman's Torso.
MiRABEAU.
Voltaire.

By A. Rodin
. .

.120
.128

By Houdon
By Houdon

.128
.138

Francis

I.

By

Titian

Victor Hugo.

By A. Rodin

.142
.

Henri Rochefort.
Jean-Paul Laurens.
DalOU.

By A. Rodin
By A. Rodin

.146
.148

By A. Rodin

...
By a. Rodin
. .

.148
.

Puvis DE Chavannes.
FALGUlfeRE.

.150

By A. Rodin By A. Rodin By

.154
.162 .168

Thought.

Don

Juan's Shipwreck.

Delacroix

Ugolin.
Illusion,

By a. Rodin

.170
.

Daughter of

Icarus.

By A.Rodin

172

19

ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE

The Centauress. By A.

Rodin
.

Faun and Nymph. By A. Rodin

176
178
178

Old Man. By Rembrandt

Laura Dianti.
By
Titian

Hand
Hand

in

Bronze.

By A. Rodin By A. Rodin
Millet

180

IN Bronze.

180

The Gleaners. By F. The

Three Fates Museum
By A. Rodin

from
.

the

Parthenon,
.

British
Balzac.

196 198

Bust of Mme. V.

By A. Rodin

200

The Victory of Samothrace

230
234
238

Captive.

By Michael Angelo

Pi6tA.

By Michael Angelo
Lily.

The Broken

By A. Rodin

246

Victor Hugo offering his Lyre TO THE City OF Paris. By Puvis de Chavannes 254
.

The Young Mother. By

A. Rodin

256

20

REALISM IN ART

REALISM IN ART
lously tranquil,
it

seems the fraternity house of

new
;

order.
in

Rodin occupies two of these

un-

cells

one he houses the plaster cast of his

in
its

Gate of Hell, astonishing even

finished state,

and

in the other

he works.

More than once I have been to see him here towards evening, when his day of toil drew to
its close,

and taking a and

chair, I

have waited for

the

moment when
I

the night

would oblige him

to stop,

have studied him at his work.

The
I

desire to profit

by the

last rays of

daylight

threw him into a

see

fever.

him now,
from the

rapidly
It is

shaping his
a

little

figures

clay.

game which he
patient care
figures.

enjoys in the intervals of the

more

which he gives to his big

These

sketches flung off on the instant delight him,

because they permit him to seize the fleeting

beauty of a gesture whose fugitive truth would

escape deeper and longer study.

His method of work

24

is

singular.

In his

^jr.-

'i-w

^^-

BAS-KICLIEFS 1-KO.M

THE GATE OF

[ELL.

Dv

A.

Rodin.

REALISM IN ART
atelier
rest.

several

nude models walk

about or

Rodin pays them

the freedom of
ceasing,

to furnish

him constantly
all

with the sight of the nude moving with

life.

He

observes them without

that he has long since

and

it

was thus

become

familiar with the sight of muscles in

movement.
is

The nude, which

is

for us

moderns

an exceptional revelation and which even for

generally only an apparition
is

the sculptors

whose
become

length
to

limited

to

sitting,

has
con-

Rodin a customary

sight.

The

stant familiarity with the

human body which

throwing
of the

the ancient Greeks acquired in watching the

games-the
discus,

wrestling,

the

the

boxing, the gymnastics, and the

artists to

foot races

and which permitted their

presence

talk naturally

on the subject of the nude, the

Penseur has made sure of by
of unclothed

creator of the

the

continual

human
In

beings

who come and go

25

before his eyes.

REALISM IN ART
this

way he has

learned to read the feelings as

expressed in every part of the body/

is

The

face

generally considered as the only mirror of

;

the soul
face

the mobility of the features of the

to us the only exterior expression of
life.

seems

the

spiritual

In reality there

is

not a

muscle of the body which does not express the

inner variations of feeling.
All speak of joy

or of sorrow, of enthusiasm or of despair, of

serenity or of madness.

Outstretched arms, an

unconstrained body, smile with as

ness as the eyes or the
lips.

much

sweet-

But

to be able

to interpret every aspect of the flesh,

one must

have been drawn patiently to

spell out

and to

read the pages of this beautiful book.

The
this

masters of the antique did

this,

aided by the

customs of their
in

civilisation.

Rodin does

our

own day by

the force of his

own

will.

He

follows his models with his earnest gaze,

life

he silently savours the beauty of the

which

plays through them, he admires the suppleness

26

A DANAIDE.

6.

YOUNG WOMAN.

By

A. Rodin.

REALISM IN ART
of this
chisel,

young woman who bends

arms

to pick

up a

the delicate grace of this other

who

raises her

to gather her golden hair above

her head, the nervous vigour of a

man who
one or

walks across the room

that

and when

this

makes a movement

that pleases him, he

instantly asks that the pose be kept.

Quick,
figure
is

he seizes the clay

and a

little

under way
to

then with equal haste he passes

another,

which he fashions

in

the

same

manner.

One evening when

darken
the
atelier

the night had begun to

with

heavy

shadows,

had a

talk with the master

on

his method.
I,

'What
I

astonishes

me

in you,' said

'is

that

you work quite

differently

from your confreres.

know many of them and have seen them at work. They make the model mount upon a
pedestal called the throne,

and they

tell

him

to take such or such a pose.

Generally they
to suit them,

bend or stretch his arms and legs

27

REALISM IN ART
they

bow

his

head or straighten his body-

exactly as though he were a lay figure.

Then

they set to work.

till

You, on the contrary, wait

attitude,

your models take an interesting

it.

and then you reproduce

is

So much so

that

it

you who seem

to be at their orders rather

than they at yours.'

Rodin,
figurines
'

who was engaged in wrapping in damp cloths, answered quietly

his
:

am
I

not at their orders, but at those of

Nature

My

confreres

doubtless have their

reasons for working as you have said.

But

in

thus

doing violence to nature and treating

beings like puppets, they run the risk
artificial

human
'

of producing lifeless and

work.

As

for me, seeker after truth

I

and student of

life

as I am,

shall take care not to follow

their example, "vj take

I

from
I

life

the

movements
working

observe, but
'

it is

not

who impose them.

I

Even when a

subject which

am

on compels

me to ask a model
28

for a certain fixed

5.

EVE.

By

A. Rodin.

'

REALISM IN ART
pose,
I

indicate

it

to him, but

carefully avoid

touching him to place him in the position, for

I

will

only

reproduce

what

reality

sponta-

neously offers me.

'

obey Nature

in everything,
her.

and

never

pretend to
is
'

command
I

My

only ambition

to be servilely faithful to her.'

Nevertheless,'
is

answered with some malice,

it is

'

it

not nature exactly as

that

you evoke

in

your work.'

He
hands.

stopped short, the

'

damp
it

cloth
I
'

in

his

Yes,

exactly as

is

he replied,

frowning.
'

You

are obliged to alter

!

'

'

Not a jot
But, after
this,

'

all,

the proof that you do change

it

is

that the cast

would give not

and said

at all

the

same impression
reflected
I

as your work."
instant
' :

He
is

an
is

That
true

so

But

it

because the cast

is less

than

my

sculpture.
29

REALISM
'

IN

ART
for

For

it

would be impossible

any model

to keep an animated pose during all the time

that

it

would take
keep
in
I

But

make a cast from my mind the ensemble

to
insist

it.

of

the pose,

and
to

that the

model

shall

conform
that.
I

my memory

of

it.

More than
which

The

cast only reproduces the exterior;

spirit
is

reproduce beside that the

certainly also a part of nature.

'

see

all

the truth, and not only that of the

outside.
'

accentuate the lines which best express

I

the spiritual state that

interpret.'

As he spoke he showed me on
near by one of
a young
his

a pedestal
statues,

most beautiful

man

kneeling, raising suppliant arms

is

to heaven.

All his being

drawn out with

anguish.

His body

is

thrown backwards.
is

The

breast heaves, the throat

tense with despair,

and the hands are thrown out towards some mysterious being to which they long to cling.
30

REALISM
'

IN

ART
;

Look

!
'

he said to
of

me

'I

have accented

the

swelling

the muscles which express

here,
there.

distress.

Here,

...

have ex-

aggerated the straining of the tendons which

indicate the outburst of prayer.'

And, with a

gesture, he underlined the

most

vigorous parts of his work.

'

have you. Master

say yourself
that

! '

cried

ironically

'you

you have accented,

accentuated,
that

exaggerated.

You

see,

then,

you have changed

began to laugh
at
'

nature.'

He
'

my

obstinacy.
it.

No,' he replied.
if I
it

have not changed

it,

Or, rather,

have done

it

was withoutfeeling

suspecting
influenced
I

at the time.

The

which

my

vision
her.

showed me Nature as
modify what
I

have copied
'

If I

had wished
it

to

saw and

to

make

more

beautiful,

should have pro-

duced nothing good.'

An

instant later he continued

31

REALISM IN ART
'I

grant you that the artist does not see

Nature as she appears to the vulgar, because

his

emotion reveals to him the hidden truths

beneath appearances.
'

But, after

all,

the only principle in art

see.

is

to copy

what you no

Dealers in aesthetics
is

to the contrary,

every other method

fatal.

There

is

recipe for
is

improving nature.
to see.

'The only thing

'Oh,
doubtless

mediocre

man

copying
of
art;

nature will

never

produce a work

because he really looks without seeing, and

though he may have noted each

the result will be
flat

detail minutely,

and without
artist is

character.

But the profession of

the mediocre, and to

not meant for

them the best counsels

will never succeed in giving talent.

'The

artist,

on the contrary, sees; that

is to

say, that

his eye, grafted

on his

heart, reads

deeply into the

bosom

of Nature.

'That

is

why

the artist has

only to trust

to his eyes.' 32

TO THE ARTIST ALL

IS

IN

NATURE

BEAUTIFUL

33

CHAPTER

II

TO THE ARTIST ALL IN NATURE BEAUTIFUL

IS

IN aRodin's great statuette, cast of that

ugly,

atelier at

Meudon stands
so magnificently

which the great sculptor wrought upon

the text of Villon's poem.

La Belle HeaulmUre.

The
grace,

courtesan, once radiant with youth and

is

now

repulsive with age and decrepi-

tude.
filled

Once proud of her

beauty, she

is

now

with shame at her ugliness.

Ha,
vieillesse felonne et fidre,
si

'

Pourquoi m'as tu

tdt

abattue?

Qui me

tient

que je ne

Et qu'a
''*

ce coup je ne

me fiere me tue
' !

(frappe)

35

TO THE ARTIST
The
step.

sculptor has followed the poet step by

The old hag, more shrivelled than a mummy, mourns her physical decay. Bent
double, crouching on her haunches, she gazes

despairingly

upon

her

breasts

so

pitiably

shrunken, upon her hideously wrinkled body,

upon her arms and

vine stocks.

legs

more knotty than

'

Quand
Quelle

je pense, las
fus,

au bon temps,

quelle devenue,

Quand me regarde
Et
je

toute nue

me

vols

si

tr^s changde.

Pauvre, s^che, maigre, menue,

Je suis presque tout enrag^e!

Qu'est devenue ce front
poli,
.

Ces cheveux blonds.

Ces gentes 6paules menues,

Petite tetins, hanches charnues,

Elev^es, propres, faictisse (faites k souhait)

tenir

d'amoureuses

lices

36

'

ALL
Les

IN

NATURE
courts
et

IS

BEAUTIFUL

C'est d'humaine beaut^ Tissue!

bras

les

mains

contraictes

(contractdes),

Les dpaules toutes bossue.

Mamelles, quoi
!

toutes retraites (dessech^es)

Telles les hanches et que les tettes!

Quant aux
Grivel^es

cuisses,

Cuisses ne sont plus, mais cuissettes

comme

saucisses

The

sculptor does not

fall

below the poet

in realism.

On
it

the contrary, his work, in the

inspires, is perhaps

horror which

even more

impressive than the truculent verses of ^Mattre

Villon.

The
;

skin hangs in flaccid folds upon

the ribs stand out beneath the

the skeleton

parchment that covers them, and the whole

figure

seems to

totter,

to tremble, to shrivel,

to shrink away.

Yet from

this spectacle, at

once grotesque
breathes.

and heartrending, a great sorrow For what we have before us

11
is

the infinite

TO THE ARTIST
distress

of

poor

foolish

soul

which,

enamoured of
on helpless
fleshly

eternal youth

and beauty, looks

its

at the

ignominious disgrace of
it

envelope;

is

the antithesis

of the

spiritual

being which demands endless joy and

of the body which wastes away, decays, ends

in nothingness.
flesh dies,

The substance

perishes,

the

but dreams and desires are immortal.

This

is

what Rodin has wished

to

make
artist

us

understand.

And

do not think that any other

has

ever pictured old age with such savage crudity,

except one.

In

the

Baptistery

at

Florence

you see upon an

Donatello

altar a

strange statue by

an
her
in

old

woman

naked,

or at least

draped only
foully

in the long, thin hair

which clings
It
is

to

ruined
the

body.

Saint
age,

Magdalene
offering
to

desert,

bowed

with

God

the cruel

mortifications

to
for
it.

which she subjects her body as a punishment the care which she formerly lavished upon
38

X.

*"

^:!^7'-*>;?S5fc;-;SPia**^

ALL
The
master

IN

NATURE
sincerity

IS

BEAUTIFUL
the

savage
is

of

Florentine

so great that
himself.

it is

not even surpassed

this,

by Rodin

But, aside from

the

sentiment of the two works

for,

differs completely,

while Saint Magdalene in her voluntary

renunciation seems to

grow more

radiant

as

she sees herself growing more repulsive, the

old

Heaulmi^re

is

terrified at

finding herself

like a

very corpse.
sculpture
is,

The modern
more

therefore,

much

tragic than the older work.

One
'

day, having studied this figure in the

atelier for

some moments
but
I

in silence,

said

Master,

no one admires
I,

this

astonishing
will not

figure

more than
if I

hope you
effect
it

be annoyed

tell

you the

produces
of the

upon many of the

Luxembourg,
'

visitors to the

Musde
you

especially

upon the women.'

if

I shall

be

much

obliged to you

will.'

'

Well, the public generally turn away from

crying, " Oh,

it,

how ugly
39

it is

"

and

!I

have

TO THE ARTIST
often

seen

women

cover their eyes with their

sight.'

hands to shut out the

Rodin laughed
'

heartily.

My

work must be

eloquent,' he said,

'

to

make such a
truths.
'

vivid impression, and doubtless

these are people

who dread

stern philosophic

But what

solely

matters

to
I

me

is

the

opinion of people of taste, and

delighted
Vieille to

have been

gain their approbation for

I

my

HeaulmUre.

am

like

that

Roman
1

singer

who

replied to the jeers of the populace

I

Equitibus cano.
that
is

sing only for the nobles

to say, for the connoisseurs.

'The vulgar readily imagine that what they

consider ugly in existence
for the artist.
is

not

fit

subject

They would

like to forbid us

to represent
in nature.

what displeases and offends them

on their
called

'It is a great error

part.'

'What

is

commonly
40

ugliness

in

ALL
nature
beauty.
'

IN

NATURE
in
art

IS

BEAUTIFUL
full

can

become

of

great

In the domain of
is

fact

we

call
is

ugly whatunhealthy,
disease,
is

ever

deformed,
suggests

whatever
the
idea

whatever
debility,

of

of

or of suffering, whatever

contrary

to regularity,

which

is

the sign and condition

:

of health and strength

a hunchback
is

is

ugly,

one who
rags
'

is

bandy-legged

ugly,

poverty in

is

ugly.

Ugly also are the soul and the conduct of

harmful to

the immoral man, of the vicious and criminal

man, of the abnormal man who

society
traitor,
'

is

ugly the soul of the parricide, of the

of the unscrupulously ambitious.
it

And

is

right

that

beings and objects

evil

from which we can expect only

called

should be

by such an odious

epithet.

But

let

great artist or a great writer

make use

of on&
it

or the other of these uglinesses, instantly

transfigured
:

is

with a touch of his fairy wand

41

TO THE ARTIST
he has turned
it
it

into beauty

it is

alchemy

is
'

enchantment

Let Velasquez paint Sebastian, the dwarf

of Philippe IV.

He endows him
we
secret

with such
it

a touching gaze that

all

instantly read in

the painful

of this

poor

afflicted

creature, forced, for his livelihood, to lower his

human
bauble.

dignity, to

become a plaything, a

living

And

the

more poignant the martyrthe artist's work.

dom

of the conscience lodged in this grotesque

is

body, the more beautiful

'Let

Francois

Millet

represent

a peasant

resting for a

moment

as he leans

on the handle
fatigue,

of his hoe, a wretched

man worn by

baked by the sun, as stupid as a beast of

burden dulled by blows

he

has only to

put,

into the expression of this poor devil a sublime

resignation

to

the

suffering

ordained

by

Destiny, to

make
us

this creature xf

a nightmare
of
all

become

for

the

great

symbol

Humanity.
42

9.

SEBASTIAN, THE

DWARF OF PHILIPPE

IV.

By Velasquez.

ALL
'

IN

NATURE

IS

BEAUTIFUL

Let Beaudelaire describe a festering corpse,

let

unclean, viscid, eaten by worms, and

him
in

but imagine his beloved mistress under this

frightful

aspect,

and nothing can

which

equal

splendour his picture of this terrible juxtaposition

eternal

of

beauty

we

could

wish

and the atrocious disaggregation which

it.

awaits
"

'

Et pourtant vous

serez semblable

ci

cette ordure,

cette horrible infection.

Etoile de

mes yeux,
ange
et

Soleil

de

ma

nature,

O mon
Apres

ma

passion

Oui, telle vous serez, o la reine des Graces

les derniers

sacrements.
et
les

Quand vous
grasses

irez

sous I'herbe

floraisons

Pourrir parmi les ossements.

Alors, o

ma

Beaut6, dites a la vermine

baisers.

Qui vous mangerez de

Que

j'ai

gard6

la

forme

et I'essence divine

De mes amours d^composds!"

43

TO THE ARTIST
'

It

is

the

same when Shakespeare

III.,

depicts

lago or Richard

when Racine
ugliness
clear

paints Nero

and Narcissus
preted

moral

when

inter-

by

minds so

and penetrating
which
has

becomes a marvellous theme of beauty.

'

In

fact,
is

in

art,

only

that

character
'

beautiful.
is

Character

the

essential

truth

of any
;

natural object, whether ugly or beautiful

it

is
it

even what one might

is

call

a double truth, for

the inner truth translated

by the outer truth

it is

the soul, the feelings, the ideas, expressed

face,

by the features of a
actions of a
sky,

by the gestures and

human

being,

by the tones of a

by the
to

lines of a horizon.

'

Now,

the great

artist,
;

everything

in

nature

has

character

for

the

unswerving

directness of his observation searches out the

hidden meaning of
is

all

things.

And

that which

considered ugly in

nature often presents

that

more character than

which

is

termed

44

w o X w X H

X H

ALL
beautiful,

IN

NATURE
in

IS

BEAUTIFUL
contractions

because

the

of a

sickly countenance, in the lines of a vicious

face,

in all deformity, in all

decay, the inner

truth shines forth

that are regular
'

more

clearly than in features

and healthy.
solely the
for

And

as

it

is

power of character
in
art,
is
it

which

makes

beauty

often

happens that the uglier a being

the more beautiful
'

in nature,

it

becomes in

art.

There
is

is

nothing ugly in art except that

is

which

without character, that

to say, that

which
'

offers

no outer or inner
is

truth.
is

Whatever

false,

whatever
pretty

artificial,

whatever

seeks

to

be
is

rather

than

expressive, whatever

capricious

and

affected,

whatever
struts

smiles

without
is

motive,

bends

or

without
;

cause,
is

mannered

without

reason
truth
;

all all

that
is

without soul and without

that
in

only a parade of beauty and

short,

grace

all,

that

lies,

is

ugliness

in art.

45

TO THE ARTIST
'

When

an

artist,

intending to improve upon

rose to

nature, adds green to the springtime,

the sunrise, carmine to

young

lips,

he creates

ugliness because he
'

lies.

When

he softens the grimace of pain, the

shapelessness of age, the hideousness of perversion,

when he arranges
it

nature

veiling,

disguising, tempering

to please the ignorant

public

then he
is

is

creating ugliness because he

fears the truth.

'

To any

artist,

worthy of the name,

all

in

nature

beautiful, because his eyes, fearlessly

all

accepting

exterior truth, read tTiere, as in an

open book,
'

all

the inner truth.

He

has only to look into a

the soul
;

human
within
is

face in

order to read there

feature deceives

not

him

hypocrisy

as

trans-

parent as sincerity
least
lifting of

the

line of a forehead, the

a brow, the flash of an eye,

the secrets of a heart. the hidden 46

reveal to
'

him

all

Or he may study

mind

of the

ALL
animal. of

IN

NATURE

IS

BEAUTIFUL

mixture of feelings and of thoughts,

intelligence

dumb

and

of

rudimentary

affections,
life

he reads the whole humble moral

its

of the beast in

eyes and in

its

move-

ments.
'

He

is

even the confidant of nature.

trees, the plants talk to

him

like friends.

The The

old gnarled oaks speak to

him

of their kindli-

ness for the

human

race

whom

they protect

beneath their sheltering branches.

The

flowers

commune
their

with him by the. gracious swaying of

stalks,

by the singing tones

of

their
is

petals

each
a

blossom amidst the grass

to

friendly
'

word addressed
life is

him by
joy,

nature.

For him

an endless
intoxication.

a perpetual
that
all

delight,

mad

Not
and

seems good
often

to him, for suffering,

which must
to himself,

come
to

to those he loves

cruelly contradicts his optimism.

But

all

is-

beautiful

him because he walks

47

forever in

the light of spiritual truth.

TO THE ARTIST
'Yes, the great
the
artist,

and by

this

mean
the

poet

as

well

as

the

painter

and

sculptor, finds

even in suffering, in the death

in

of
,

loved

ones,

the treachery of friends,

something which

fills

him with
is

a voluptuous

though tragic admiration.

'

At times

his

own

heart
is

on the

rack, yet

stronger than his pain

the bitter joy which

he experiences in understanding and giving

expression to that pain.

In

all

existence he

clearly divines the purposes of Destiny.

Upon

his

own

anguish, upon his

he

fixes the enthusiastic

own gaping wounds, gaze of the man who

Deceived by a
;

has read the decrees of Fate.

beloved one, he reels beneath the blow

then,

standing firm, he looks upon the traitor as a

fine

example of the base.

He

salutes ingrati-

tude as an experience which shall enrich his

soul.

His ecstasy

is

terrifying at times, but

it

it

is

still

happiness, because

is

the continual

adoration of truth.
48

ALL
'

IN

NATURE

IS

BEAUTIFUL

When

he sees beings everywhere destroying

;

each other

when he
all

sees

all

youth fading,

all
is

strength failing,

genius dying, when he

face to face with the will

which decreed these

rejoices in his

tragic laws,

more than ever he

happy.'

knowledge, and, seized anew by the passion

for truth, he
is

Art.

49

MODELLING

CHAPTER

III

MODELLING

ONE Rodin
while
' '

late

afternoon,
in

when

was with

his

atelier,

darkness set in

we talked. Have you ever looked

'

at

an antique statue

by lamplight ?
No,
I

my
I

host suddenly demanded.

never,'

answered with some surprise.

'

astonish you.

You seem

to consider the

idea of studying sculpture excepting by daylight as

an odd whim.

Of course you can get

But,,

the effect as a whole better by daylight.

wait a moment.
of

want

to

show you a kind

doubtless

experiment

whicji

will

prove

instructive.'

53

MODELLING
He
lighted a

lamp as he spoke, took

it

in

his hand,

and

led

me

towards a marble statue

in a corner of the

which stood upon a pedestal

atelier.

It

was a

delightful

little

antique copy of
it

the Venus di Medici.

stimulate his
'

Rodin kept

there to

own

inspiration while he worked.

Come

nearer,'

he said.
at the side of the

Holding the lamp

and as
light
'

statue
full

close as

possible,

he threw tHe

upon the body.

notice
?
'

What do you
the
first

he asked.

At

glance

was

extraordinarily

struck by what was suddenly revealed to me.

The
upon
Rodin.
'

light

so

directed,

indeed,

disclosed

numbers of
t

slight projections

and depressions
which
I

the

surface

of

the

marble
I

should never have suspected.

said

so to

Good

!
'

he

cried

approvingly.

Then,

'Watch

closely.'

54

II.

THE MEDICI VENUS.

MODELLING
At
the

same time he

slowly

turned
the

the

moving stand which supported

Venus.

As he

turned,

still

noticed in the general

form of the body a multitude of almost imperceptible

roughnesses.

What had
his

at

first

seemed simple was

plexity.
'

really of astonishing

com-

Rodin threw up
not marvellous
? "

head smiling.
cried.
'

Is

it

he

Confess

that

you did not expect

to discover so

much
to

detail.

Just look at these numberless undula-

tions of the hollow which unites the

body

the

thigh.

Notice
. .

all
.

the

voluptuous

curvings of the hip.

And

now, here, the

adorable dimples along the

loins.'

He

spoke in a low voice, with the ardour

if

of a devotee, bending above the marble as

he loved
'

it.
' !

It is truly flesh

he said.
'

And
it

beaming, he added

You would
!
'

think

moulded by kisses and caresses

Then,

suddenly, laying his hand on the statue, 'You

55

MODELLING
almost expect, when you touch this body, to
find
it

warm.'

A
'

few moments later he said

Well, what do you think

usually held on Greek art

especially

now of the opinion They say it is ?

the

academic

school

which

has

spread abroad this idea

their cult of the ideal,

that

the ancients, in
as

despised the flesh

low and vulgar, and that they refused to reproduce in their works the thousand details of
material reality.
'

They pretend

that the ancients wished to

teach Nature by creating an

of simplified

abstract

beauty

form which should appeal only

to the intellect

and not consent

those

to flatter the this

senses.

And

who

talk

like

take
in

examples which
antique
for

they

imagine they find

art as their authority for

correcting,
it

emasculating nature, reducing

to con-

tours so dry, cold, and meagre that they have

nothing

in

common

with the
56

truth.'

MODELLING
'

You have
Without
the

just proved

how much
Greeks

they are

mistaken.'
S
'

doubt

the

with

their

powerfully logical
tuated

minds

instinctively

accenthe
(

essential.

They

accented

dominant
less they

traits of the

human
it

type

neverthe-

never suppressed living

to envelop

detail.
it

They
into

were

satisfied

and melt

the whole.

As
they

they were enamoured of calm

involuntarily

rhythms,
secondary
serenity

subjected

all

reliefs

which should disturb

;

the

of a

movement

but they carefully

refrained from entirely obliterating thent\

'

They never made a method out

of false-

hood.
'

Full of respect and love for Nature, they

her.

'

always represented her as they saw

And
mad-

on every occasion they passionately

their

testified
is

worship of the

flesh.

For

it
it.

ness to believe that they despised

Among

no other people has the beauty of the human

57


MODELLING
body
excited a

more sensuous tenderness.

seems to hover over

A
all

transport of ecstasy

the forms that they modelled.

'Thus

is

explained the unbelievable

differ-

ence which separates the false academic ideal

from Greek

art.

While among
of
all

the

ancients

the generalisation
result

lines

is

totalisation,

made up
is

of

the details, the Academic

simplification

an impoverishment, an empty
life

bombastry.

While

animates and warms

the palpitating muscles of the Greek statues,

the
as inconsistent
if

dolls

of academic art

look

they were chilled by death.'

silent
tell

He was
'

for a time, then

secret.

will

you a great

Do
life,

you

know how the impression we have just felt before

duced
'

of actual

which
is

that Venus,

pro-

By

the science of modelling.

to you, but

'

These words seem banal

you

will

soon gauge their importance.

58

MODELLING
'The
where
science

of modelling was taught me

in

by one Constant, who worked

I

the atelier

made
with

my

debut

as

sculptor.

One

day, watching

me model

mented
way.

foliage

" Rodin,"
real.

a capital orna-

he said to

me, " you are going about that in the wrong

All your leaves are seen
flat.

That

is

why
the

they do not look

tips

Make some
so that,
of
in

with

pointed at you,
the

seeing
I

them, one has

followed his
the result that

sensation
I

depth."

advice and
I

was astounded
"

at

obtained.
tell

Always remember
never
thick-

what
stant.

am

about to

you," went on Concarve,

" Henceforth,

when you

see the form in length, but always in

ness.

Never consider a surface except

which

as the

extremity of a volume, as the point, more or

less
large,
it

directs towards you.

In

that

way you

will

acquire

the

science

of

modelling."
'

This principle was

59

astonishingly

fruitful

'

MODELLING
to

me.

applied

it

to

the

execution
the

of

figures.

Instead of imagining

different
less
flat,

parts of a
I

body as surfaces more or

represented
I

them
the

as projectures of interior

volumes.

forced myself to express in each

torso

swelling of

or of the

limbs

the

efflorescence of a

muscle or of a bone which

lay deep beneath the skin.

And

so the truth

of

my

figures, instead of

being merely super-

ficial,

seems to blossom from within to the

life

outside, like
'

itself.

Now
it

have discovered that the ancients

practised precisely this

method of modelling.
vigour and their

And

is

certainly to this technique that their

at

works owe

once

their

palpitating suppleness.'

Rodin

contemplated

afresh

his

exquisite
:

Greek Venus.
'

And

suddenly he said
is
?

In your opinion, Gsell,

colour a quality

of painting or of sculpture
'

Of

painting, naturally.'

60

'

MODELLING
'Well, then, just look at this
statue.'

So

saying,

he raised the lamp as high as

he could in order to light the antique torso

from above.
'Just see the high
lights

on the

breasts,

the heavy shadows in the folds of the flesh,

and then

this

paleness,

these

vaporous halfdelicate

tones, trembling over the

most

por-

tions of this divine body, these bits so finely

shaded that

they

seem

to

dissolve
Is
?
it

in

air.

What do you
symphony
I
'

say to it?

not a great

in black

and white

had

to agree.

As

paradoxical
is

as

it

may

seem,

a great

sculptor

as

much

a colourist as the best

painter, or rather, the best engraver.

'

He

plays so skilfully with

all

the resources

of

relief,

he blends so well the boldness of light

with the modesty of shadow, that his sculptures

please one
etchings.
6i

as

much

as

the

most charming

MODELLING

to remark that wished to lead the flower of modelling.

'

Now

colour

it

is

this

is

fine

These two
other,

qualities
it

always accompany each

and

is

these qualities which give to

every masterpiece of the sculptor the radiant

appearance of living

flesh.'

62

MOVEMENT

IN

ART

CHAPTER
MOVEMENT
IN

IV

ART
by Rodin
at

THERE
the
(the Iron

are

two

statues

'Musde

du

Luxembourg which
:

especially attract

and hold me

I'Age

d'

A train
They
if

Age) and Saint-Jean-Baptiste.

full

seem even more

that
is

of

life

than the others,

of

possible.

The

other works

the

Master which bear them

company
;

are cerall

tainly all quivering with truth

they

proall

duce the impression

of

real

flesh,

they

breathe, but these move.

One day
I

in the Master's atelier at

Meudon
two

told

him

my

especial fondness for these

figures.
Art.

65

MOVEMENT
'They
I

IN

ART
those in which
farthest,'

are

certainly

among
art

have carried imitative

'

he

re-

plied.

Though
is

have produced others whose

;

animation

not less striking

for example,

my Bourgeois de Calais, my Balzac, my Homme qui marcke (Man walking). 'And even in those of my works in which
action
is

less

pronounced,

have

always

sought to give some indication of movement.

I I

have very rarely represented complete repose.

have
always

endeavoured to express

the

inner feelings by the mobility of the muscles.

'

This

is

so even

in

my

busts, to

which

have

often

given a certain slant,

a certain

obliquity, a certain expressive direction, which

would emphasise the meaning of the physiognomy.

'

Art cannot exist without

life.

If a sculptor

wishes to interpret joy, sorrow, any passion

whatsoever, he will not be able to
unless he
first

move

us

knows how
66

to

make

the beings

12.

MAN WALKING.

By

A. Rodin.

MOVEMENT
live

IN

ART
'

which he evokes.

For how could the

joy or the sorrow of an inert object

block
sion

of

of stone
of
life

affect

us

Now,

the

illu-

is

obtained in our art by good

modelling

and

by

movement.

These

two

qualities are like the blood

all
'

and the breath of

good work.'
Master,'
I said,
'

you have already talked

I

to

me

of modelling, and
I

have noticed that since

then

am

better able to appreciate the masterI

pieces of sculpture.

would

like

to

ask a
I
feel,

few questions about movement, which,

is
'

not less important.

When
arms
;

look at your figure of the Iron Age,

fills

which awakes,
his

his lungs

and

raises

high
to

or at your St. John,

who seems
is

long to leave his pedestal to carry abroad his

words of

faith,

my

admiration

mixed with
is

amazement.

It

seems to

me

that there

sorcery in this science which lends

to bronze.
I

movement

have also studied other chefs67

MOVEMENT
d'ceuvre

IN

ART
;

of

your

great

predecessors

for

example, Mardchal

Ney and
I

the Marseillaise

by Rude, the Dance by Carpeaux, as well as

Barye's wild animals, and
confess that
I

have

never found any satisfactory explanation for

the effect which these sculptures produce upon

me.

continue

to

ask

myself

how

such

masses of stone and iron can possibly seem

to

move,

how

figures so evidently motionless

can yet appear to act and even to lend themselves to violent

'

effort.'

As you
'

take
I

me

for

sorcerer,'

Rodin

answered,
reputation

shall

try to

do

justice to

my

by

accomplishing

task

much
bronze

more

difficult for

that
'

of

me than animating explaining how I do it.

that

Note,

first,

movement

is

the transition

from

one attitude to another.

air

'This simple statement, which has the

of a truism,
is,

to tell the truth, the

key to the

mystery.
68

!:3^

13-

MARSHAL NEY. By

Rude

MOVEMENT
'

IN
read

ART
in

You have

certainly

Ovid

how

iphne was transformed into a bay-tree and

ogne into a swallow.

This charming writer

its

ows us the body of the one taking on

the other clothing themselves

vering of leaves and bark and the members

in
feathers,

so that in each of them one

still

sees

the

woman which
ber, too,

shall

cease to be and the tree

or bird which she will become.

You remem-

how

in

Dante's Inferno a serpent,

coiling

itself

about the body of one of the

damned, changes into man as the man be-

comes

reptile.

The

great poet describes this

scene so ingeniously that in

each

of

these

two beings one follows the struggle between two natures which progressively invade and
supplant each other.
'

It

is,

in

short, a

metamorphosis of

this

'i

kind that the painter or the sculptor

in giving

effects

movement
the

to

his

personages.

He

represents

transition

from

one

pose to

69

MOVEMENT
another
first
still

IN

ART
insensibly
the

he

indicates

how

glides into the second. see a part of

is

In his work we

what was and we discover

to
be.

a part of what

An

example

will

enlighten you better.

You mentioned just now the Marshal Ney by JSLude. Do you

'

statue
recall

of

the

figure clearly?'
'

Yes,'

said.

'

The hero
"

raises' his sword,

shouting " Forward

of his voice.'
'

to his troops at the top

Exactly

Well
it

when you
more

next pass that

statue, look at

still

closely.

You

will

then notice this

the legs of the statue and the

are

hand which holds the sheath of the sabre

placed in the attitude that they had

when

he>

drew

the
may
it

left

leg

is

drawn back so
and as
the
air

that the

sabre

be easily grasped by the right hand,

it
;

which has just drawn

hand,
is

for the left

arrested

in

as

if

still

offering the sheath.

70


MOVEMENT
'

IN

ART
It

Now
it

examine the body.

the

must have been

at

slightly bent toward

left

the
I
is

moment
have dethe chest

when

performed the act which

it

scribed, but here

is erect,

here

thrown
the

out, here is the

head turning towards

out the
order
to

soldiers
;

as

it

roars
is

attack

here,

finally,

the right

arm

raised

and brandishing the

'

sabre.

there

yu have a cnfirmatin f what

;

have just said

the

movement
first

in this statue

is

only the change from a

attitude

that

which the Marshal had as he drew

his sabre

into a second, that which he had as he rushes,

arm
'

aloft,

upon the enemy.

is
all

In that

the secret of

movement

as

interpreted

by

art.

The
in

sculptor compels, so

to speak, the spectator to follow the develop-

ment of an

act

an

individual.

In

the

example that we have chosen, the eyes are

forced to travel

upward from the lower limbs

as in so doing they

to the raised arm, and,

71

MOVEMENT

IN

ART

find the different parts of the figure represented

at successive instants, they

have the

illusion of

beholding the movement performed.'

As
and of
hall at

it

happened, the casts of the Iron

Age

John the Baptist stood in the great where we were. Rodin asked me to look
St.

them.

And

at

once recognised the truth

of his words.
I

noticed that in the

to

first

of these works the

in the statue of

movement appears
Ney.
fully

mount, as

The

legs of the youth,

still

who

is

not yet

awake, are

lax

and almost

vacillating,

but as your eye mounts you see the pose become

firmer

the

ribs rise

beneath the skin, the chest

expands, the face

is lifted

towards the sky, and

the two arms stretch in an endeavour to throw

off their torpor.

The

subject of this sculpture

is

exactly that

the
-

passage from somnolence to the vigour

of the being ready for action.

This

slow gesture of awakening appears,

72

14.

THE IRON AGE. By

,

A. Rodin.

MOVEMENT
besides,
its
still

IN

ART

more grand when one understands

For
it

symbolic meaning.
title

represents,

as

the

of the

work

indicates, the first palpita-

tion of conscience in a

humanity

still

young,

the

first

victory of reason over the brutishness

of the prehistoric ages.

In the same

way
said,

next studied St. John.

this figure led,

And
as

saw

that the

rhythm of
to

Rodin had

a sort

of

evolution

between two balances.

first,

The

figure leaning, at
left foot,

all its

weight upon the

all its

which

presses the ground with

to

strength, seems

balance there while the eyes look to the

right.

You

then see

all

the body bent in that

direction, then the right leg advances

and the

foot takes hold of the ground.

At the same
seems

time the
to

left

shoulder, which

is raised,

endeavour to bring the weight of the body

to this side in order to aid the leg

which

is

behind to come forward.

Now,

the science of

the sculptor has consisted precisely in imposing

11

MOVEMENT
all

IN

ART
in the order

these facts

upon the spectator

in

which

have stated them, so that their

succession will give the impression of move-

ment.

Moreover, the gesture of St. John, like that

of the Iron Age, contains a spiritual significance.

The prophet moves with an almost

automatic solemnity.

You almost
You
feel

believe you

hear his footsteps, as you do those in the statue

of the

Commander.

that a force at

once mysterious and formidable sustains and

impels him.

So
is

the act of walking, usually a

commonplace movement, here becomes majestic

because
mission.
'

it

the accomplishment of a divine

Have you

ever attentively examined instan-

taneous photographs of walking figures?' Rodin

suddenly asked me.

Upon my

reply in

the affirmative, 'Well,

what did you notice?'

'That they never seem to advance.
74

Gene-

MOVEMENT
rally they

IN

ART
on one leg

seem

to rest motionless
foot.'

or to hop on one
'

Exactly
is

Now,
is

for example, while

my

St.

John

represented
it

with both

feet

on the

ground,

probable that an instantaneous

photograph from a model making the same

movement would show

raised

the back foot already

other.

and carried toward the

Or

else,

on the contrary, the front

be on the ground
if

foot

would not yet

the back leg occupied in

the photograph the

statue.
'

same position

as in

my

Now

it

is

exactly for that reason that this

model photographed would present the odd

appearance of a
paralysis

man suddenly
petrified

stricken with
pose,

and
in

in

his

as
to

it

happened

the

pretty

fairy

story

the

servants of the Sleeping Beauty,

all

who were
the midst

suddenly struck motionless

in

of their occupations.
'

And

this confirms

what
75

have just ex-

MOVEMENT

IN

ART
movement
in

plained to you on the subject of

art.
If,

in fact, in instantaneous photographs,

the figures, though taken while moving, seem

suddenly fixed in mid-air,

parts of the

it

is

because,

all

body being reproduced exactly

fortieth

at

the

same twentieth or
is

of a second,

there

no progressive development of moveis in art.'

ment
'I

as there

understand
'

you
it

perfectly.

Master,'
if

answered.
excuse

But

seems to me,

you

will

me
so

for risking

the remark, that you

contradict yourself.'
'

How

'

'

Have you not

declared

many

times to

me

that the artist

ought always to copy nature

with the greatest sincerity?'

'

Without doubt, and

maintain

it.'

'Well, then,

when
is

in the

interpretation of

movement he completely
graphy, which

contradicts

photo-

an unimpeachable mechanical

testimony, he evidently alters truth.'

76

a,

z o

MOVEMENT
'

IN

ART
the artist

No,' replied Rodin,

'

it is

who
lies,

is

truthful

and

it

is

photography which
if

for

in reality

time does not stop, and

in

the artist

succeeds

producing the

impression of

a
for

movement which
less

takes several
is

moments

accomplishment, his work

conventional
is

certainly

much

than

the scientific image,

where time
'

abruptly suspended.

It is that

which condemns certain modern

painters who,

when they wish

reproduce
the

to

represent
fur-

horses

galloping,

poses

nished by instantaneous photography.

'

Gericault

is criticised

because in his picture

Epsom Races
at

{Course

d'Epsom),
painted

which
his

is

the

Louvre,

he

has

horses

galloping, fully extended, ventre

terre, to

use
feet

a familiar expression, throwing their front

forward and their back

feet

backward
the

at the

same
plate
fact,

instant.

It

is

said

that

sensitive

never gives the same

in instantaneous

effect.

And,

in

photography, when the

MOVEMENT
forelegs
legs,

IN

ART
the

of a horse

are

forward,

hind

having by their pause propelled the body

have
already
the

onward,

had

time
in

to

gather
to

themselves

under

body

order

recommence the

stride,

so that for a

moment

the four legs are almost gathered together in the

of
air,

which gives the animal the appearance

off

jumping

the

ground, and

of

being

motionless in this position,

'

Now

believe that

it

is

Gericault
for

who

is

right,

and

not
;

the
this

camera,

his

horses

appear

to run

comes from the

left

fact that
first

the spectator from right to

sees

the

hind

legs

accomplish the

effort

whence the

general impetus results, then the body stretched

out, then the

forelegs
is false

which seek the ground

ahead.

This

in reality, as the actions

;

could not be simultaneous

but

it is

true

when
it

the parts are observed successively,

this truth alone
it

and

is

that matters to us,

because

is

that

which we see and which

78

strikes us.

i8.

EUROP A ITALIAN SCHOOL OF THE

isth

CENTURY (LOUVRE).

17.

EPSOM RACES.

By Gericault.

MOVEMENT
'

IN

ART
sculptors,

Note besides that painters and

when they
in the

unite different phases of an action

figure,

same

do not
are

act

from reason or

from

artifice.
feel.

They

naively expressing

what they
are as
if

Their minds and their hands

in the direction of the

drawn

move-

ment, and they translate the development by

instinct.

Here, as everywhere in the domain

is

of

art,
I

sincerity
silent

the only

rule.'

was

for several

instants, thinking

over what he had said.

'

Haven't

convinced you
. . .

?
'

he asked.

'Yes,
this

indeed.

But while admiring

and
of
sculpture

miracle

of

painting
in

which succeeds
several

condensing the action of

I

moments ask myself how

literature,

into a single figure,

far

now
in

they can compete with

theatre,

and

especially with the

the notation of movement.

I

To

tell

the truth,

am

inclined to believe that this competition

far,

does not go very

and that on
79

this score

MOVEMENT
the

IN

ART
and
chisel

masters

of

the

brush

are

necessarily inferior to those of language.'

'

Our

disadvantage,' he exclaimed,
think.

'

is

not as

great as you would

If painting

and

sculpture

can

endow
they

figures

with

motion,

they are not forbidden to attempt even more.

And
or
in

at

times

succeed

in

equalling

dramatic art by presenting in the same picture

the

same

sculptural group several suc-

cessive scenes.'
'

Yes,' I replied,
I

'

but they cheat, in a way.

For
old

suppose that you are talking of those

celebrate

compositions which
of

the entire

history

personage,

representing
in

him

several times
situations.
'

on the same panel

different

At the Louvre,

for example, a small Italian

painting of the fifteenth century relates in this

way

the story of Europa.

in

You
the

first

see the
field

young princess playing

with her companions,
80

flowery

who

help her to mount

MOVEMENT
the
bull,

IN

ART

Jupiter,

and further on the same

is

heroine, terrified

now,

carried off through

the waves by the god.'

'

That

is
'

a very primitive method,'

Rodin

answered,
great

though

it

was practised even by

in

masters

for

example,

the
of

ducal

palace at Venice this

same
in
is

fable

Europa
defect
I

has been treated

Veronese.

in
it

an identical manner by
is

But

spite of this

that Caliari's painting

admirable, and
:

did
as

not refer to any such childish method

for,

you may imagine,

disapprove of
I

it.

To
first

make myself

understood,
call to

must ask you

whether you can

mind The Embarkaby Watteau.

tion for the Island of Cythera

'

As

plainly as

if it

was before

my

eyes,'

said.

'Then
myself.
will

shall

have no trouble

in

explaining
if

In this masterpiece the action,

you

notice,

begins in the foreground to the

in the

right
Art.

and ends

background
8

to the left.

MOVEMENT
'What you
picture,
first

IN

ART

notice in the front of the

in

the cool shade, near a sculptured

bust of Cypris

garlanded with
of a

roses,

is

group composed
adorer.

young woman and her

a cape embroidered

The man wears

with a pierced heart, gracious symbol of the

voyage that he would undertake.

'

Kneeling

at

her side, he ardently beseeches

his lady to yield.

But she meets

perhaps
the

his entreaties

with

an

indifference

feigned,

and
delittle

appears

absorbed

in

study

of

the
is

corations on her fan.

Close to them

cupid, sitting half-naked

upon

his quiver.

He
long,

thinks that the

young woman delays too

But
love
scene.

and he
and the
This
'

pulls

her skirt to induce her to be

still

less hard-hearted.

the pilgrim's staff

script of

lie

upon the ground.

is

the
is

first

Here

the

second
I

To

the

left
is

of the

group of which
couple.

have

spoken

another

The

lady accepts the

82

hand of her

< K U X H U

o Q Z
<i

O o
<
Pi

w H

MOVEMENT
lover,

IN

ART
She has her

who
us,

helps her to arise.

back to

and has one of those blonde napes

which Watteau painted with such voluptuous

grace.

'A
to

little

further

is

the

third

scene.

The

lover puts his

arm around

his mistress's waist

draw her with him.

she allows

She turns towards

be led
passively

her companions, whose lingering confuses her,

but

herself to

away.
'

Now

the lovers descend to the shore and

;

all

push laughing towards the barque

to
entreat,

the

men
cling

no longer need
to
'

the

women
their

their arms.

Finally

the

pilgrims
little

help

sweet-

hearts on board the

ship, which,

decked
of

with
silk,

flowers

and
a

floating

pennons

red

rocks

like

golden

dream upon the

already, borne

water.

The

sailors,

leaning on their oars, are

ready to row away.

the breezes,
little

And
83

by

cupids

fly

ahead to guide

'

MOVEMENT
the travellers
lies
'

IN

ART
isle

towards that azure

horizon.'

which

upon the
I

see,

Master, that you love this picture,

detail,' I said.

for

you have remembered every

is

'It

a delight

that

one

cannot

forget.

But have you noted the development of

this
?

pantomime ?
is
it

Truly now,

is

it

the stage

or

painting?

One does
then,

not

know which
artist

to

say.

You

see,

that

an

can,

when he

pleases,

represent

not only fleeting

gestures, but a \ong_action, to

employ a term
only needs

of dramatic
'

art.

In order
his

to

succeed,

he

to

place

personages in such a manner that

first

who commence this action, then those who continue it, and finally those who complete it. Would
the spectator shall
see those

you

like

an example

in sculpture

Opening a book, he searched

for a

moment

and drew out a photograph.

'Here,' he said, 'is the Marseillaise which

84

20.

THE MARSEILLAISE, By

Rudf,.

MOVEMENT
Rude carved
de Triomphe.
'

IN

ART

for

one of the piers of the Arc

Liberty in a breastplate of brass, cleaving

the air with unfolded wings, roars in a mightyvoice,

"

Aux
left

armes,

citoyens

"
!

She
the

raises

high her

arm

to

rally all

brave to

her side, and, with the other hand, she points her sword towards
the enemy.
It
is
.

she,

beyond question,
dominates
all

whom
if

you

first

see, for

she

the work, and her legs, which

are wide apart as

like
epic.

she were running, seem

this

an accent placed above

It

sublime war-

seems

as

though one

must hear

her

for her

mouth
call

of stone shrieks as though

to burst

your ear-drum.

But no sooner has

the

she given the

than you see the warriors

is

rush forward.
the action.

This

second phase of
lion

Gaul with the mane of a

shakes
the

aloft

his

helmet as though to salute

here,
at

goddess,
son,

and

his

side,

is

his

young

who begs

the right to go with

85

MOVEMENT
him
hilt

IN

ART
I

" I

am
go
!

strong enough,

am

a man,

want

to

"

he seems to say, grasping the

"

of

a sword.

Come," says the

father,

regarding him with tender pride.

'

Third

phase

of

the

action

veteran

bowed beneath
strives to join

the weight of his equipment

them

for all

who have

strength

enough must march

man,
with

to

battle.

Another old
the soldiers
of
his

bowed with
his

age,

follows

prayers,
to

and

the

gesture

hand seems
Fourth

repeat

the counsels

that he

has given them from his

'

own
on

experience.

phase

an
bind

archer
his

bends
arms.
to

his

muscular

back
blares

to
its

A
the the

trumpet
troops.

frenzied
flaps

appeal

The wind
point

the standards,
signal
is

lances

forward.

The

given,

and already the

'

strife begins.

Here,

again,

we have
before

a
us.

true

dramatic
while
the

composition

acted

But
recalls

JO Embarquement pour
86

CytMre

7)

X H

O w o

Q a X

H
ry5

'

MOVEMENT
delicate
laise is

IN

ART

comedies of Marivaux, the Marseila great tragedy by Corneille.

of the two works
I I

do

not
for

know which
there
is

prefer,

as

much genius
at

in

the one

as

in the other.'

And,
malicious

looking

me
he

with
added,
that

a
'

shade

of
will

challenge,
say,
I

You
with

no longer
painting
theatre
'

think,
to

sculpture and
the

are

unable

compete

Certainly not.'
portfolio

At
the

this

instant,

saw

in

the

where
of

he

had

replaced

the

reproduction

Marseillaise,

photo-

graph of his wonderful Burghers of Calais.

'To prove
fited

to you,'

said, 'that
let

have proit

by your teaching,

me

apply

to

one of your most beautiful works,

that

for I see

you have yourself put into

your

practice the
to me.

principles
'

which you have revealed

in

Here,

Burghers

of

Calais,

recognise a scenic succession like that which

87

MOVEMENT
you
have
cited
in

IN

ART
d'muvres
of

the

chefs

Watteau and of Rude.

'The
attention.

figure

in

the

centre

first

attracts
it

No
de

one

can

doubt

that

is

Eustache

Saint-Pierre.
its

He bows
hair.

his

venerable head with

long grey
is

does

not

hesitate,

he
his
If

not

afraid.

He He
in
is
it

advances
silent

steadily,

eyes

half

closed
little,

communion.

he totters a

because of the privations that he has endured

during a long
the others,
as
it

siege.

It

is

he

who
whose

inspires
first

is

he

who

offered

himself

one

of

the

six

notables

death,

according to the conditions of the conqueror,

should
massacre.

save

their

fellow-townsmen

from

'The burgher beside him

is

not less brave.

But

if

he does not mourn for his

own

fate,

the capitulation of the city causes

him
he

terrible

sorrow.

Holding

in his

hand the key which

stiffens

he must deliver to the English,

88

-1

< o

o
in

W X o m a X o

<

o
a;

o
o

MOVEMENT
his

IN

ART

whole body

in order to find the strength

to bear the inevitable humiliation.

'

On

the

same plane with these

is less
:

two, to the

left,

you see a man who

fast

courageous, for
that,

he walks almost too

you would say

to

having made up his mind

the

sacrifice,

he longs to shorten the time which separates

him from
'

his

martyrdom.

And

behind these comes a burgher who,

in his hands,

holding his head

abandons him-

self to violent despair.

Perhaps he thinks of
of those
his

his

wife,

of his children,

who

are
will

dear to him, of those

leave without support.

whom

going

'A
his

fifth

notable
if

passes

his

hand

before

eyes

as

to

dissipate

some
so

frightful

nightmare.

He
here

stumbles,

death

appals

him.
*

Finally,

is

the

sixth
still

burgher,

younger than the

decided.

others.

He

seems un-

painful anxiety contracts his face.

89

MOVEMENT
Is
it

IN

ART
fills

the

image of
?

his

sweetheart that

his

thoughts

But

his his

companions advance
neck outstretched as

he
if

rejoins them,

offered to the axe of fate.

'While these three men of Calais may be

less

brave than the three

first,

they do not

deserve less admiration.

is

For

their devotion
it

even

more meritorious, because

costs

them more.
'

So, in your Burghers, one follows the action,

less

more or
in

prompt, which was the outcome

according to his dis-

each one of them

of
the

position

authority

and

example
sees

of

Eustache
gradually
after

de

Saint-Pierre.
his

One

them,

won by

influence,

decide one

another to go forward with him to pay

the price of their city.

'There, incontestably,
tion
art.'
'

is

the best confirmascenic

of your

ideas

on the

value

of

If

your opinion of

my work

were not too

90

24.

ONE OF THE BURGHERS OF

CALAIS.

MOVEMENT
high,'

IN
I

ART
my

Rodin answered,
perfectly

'

should acknowledge
inten-

that

you had

understood

tions.

You have
scale

justly placed
to
this

my

burghers
of

in

the

according

their
effect

degrees
still

heroism.
I

To

emphasise

more

wished, as you perhaps

know, to

fix

my

statues

one behind the other on the stones

of the Place, before the

like

Town
of

Hall of Calais,

living

chaplet

suffering

and

of

sacrifice.
'

My

figures

would

so

have appeared to

direct their steps

from the municipal building

III.
;

toward the camp of Edward

people of Calais
of
felt

and the

to-day,

almost elbowing
tradition

them, would have

more deeply the

of solidarity which unites

It

them

to these heroes.

would have been,

believe, intensely

im-

pressive.

But

my

proposal was rejected, and

is

they insisted upon a pedestal which

sightly as
I
it is

as un-

unnecessary.

They were wrong.

am

sure of

it.'

91

'

MOVEMENT
'

IN

ART
has always
to

Alas,'

said,

'

the artist

reckon with the routine of opinion, too happy

if

he can only realise a part of his beautiful

!

dreams

92

< u

O
Cf)

P^

W o p
fp

w K H

DRAWING AND COLOUR

CHAPTER V
DRAWING AND COLOUR

RODIN
He
with
a
pen,

has always drawn a great deal.

has sometimes used the pen, some-

times the pencil.

Formerly he drew the outline

then

and

added

the

shading

with a brush.
cuted looked as

These wash-drawings so exe-

from sculptured

made from bas-reliefs groups. They were purely

if

or the

visions of a sculptor.

Later he used a lead pencil for his drawings

from the nude, washing

colour.
first
;

in the flesh tones in

These drawings

are
set,

freer

than

the

the attitudes are less

more

fugitive.

In them the touch seems sometimes almost

95

DRAWING AND COLOUR

frenzied

a
of

whole
the

body

held

in

single

sweep

pencil

and
may
is

they betray

the

divine impatience of the artist

who

fears tliat

a fleeting impression
colouring of the flesh
or four

escape him.
in

The
three

dashed on
the

broad

strokes,

modelling sum-

marily produced by the drying of the pools of

colour where the brush in
its

haste has not

left

paused to gather the drops

touch.

after

each

These sketches

fix

the rapid gesture,

the transient motion which the eye itself has

hardly seized for one half second.

give you merely line and colour
;

They do

not

they give you

visions

movement and

life.

They

are

more the

of a painter than of a sculptor.

Yet more recently Rodin, continuing to use

the lead pencil, has ceased to model with the

brush.

He

is

now

content to

smudge

in the

contours with his finger.

This rubbing pro-

duces a silvery grey which envelops the forms

like

a cloud, rendering them of almost unreal

96

62.

DRAWING. By

A. Rodin.

DRAWING AND COLOUR

loveliness
;

it

bathes

them

in

poetry

and

mystery.

These

last studies I believe are the

most

beautiful.

They
at

are at once luminous,

living,

and
I

full

of charm.

As
said

was looking

some with Rodin,

differed

to

him how much they

from

the

over-finished

drawings which the public

usually approve.
'

It is true,'

he

said,

'

that

it

is

inexpressive
nobility

minutiae

of

execution
please

and
the

false

of

gesture

which

ignorant.

The

crowd cannot understand a daring impression

which passes over useless
details to seize only
It

upon the truth of the whole.

stand
which,
itself in

can underobservation
interests

nothing

of

that

sincere

disdaining

theatrical

poses,

the simple and

life.

much more touching

the errors that

attitudes of real
'

It

is

difficult

to

correct

prevail
'

on the subject of drawing.

a false idea that drawing in itself can
97

It is

Arl.

DRAWING AND COLOUR

be beautiful.
truths
It is

only beautiful through the

it

and the

feelings that
artists

translates.
in

The

crowd admires

who, strong

subject,

elegantly pen contours destitute of significance,

and

who
It

plant their

figures

in

pretentious

poses.

goes into ecstasies over poses which

are never seen in nature,

and which are conthey

recall

sidered

artistic

because
Italian

the
offer

posturings of the

models who

themselves at the studio door.

is

That

is

what
It
is

generally called

beautiful

drawing.
fit

really

only

sleight-of-hand,

to

astonish

boobies.
'

Of

course,
is

there
in

is

drawing

in

art

as
is

there

style

literature.

Style
effect,

that
is

mannered,

that
is

strains

after

bad.

No

style

good except that which

all

effaces

itself in

order to concentrate
the

the attention

of the reader upon

subject treated, upon

the emotion rendered.

'The

artist

who

parades
98

his

drawing, the

DRAWING AND COLOUR

writer
style,

who wishes

to

attract

praise

to

his

resemble the soldier

who plumes him-

self

on his uniform but refuses to go into

farmer

battle, or the

who

polishes the ploughit

share instead of driving

into the earth.

'You never think

ing or style which
is

of praising either drawtruly beautiful, because

interest

you are
There

carried

away by the
It is

of

all

that they express.

is

the

same with

colour.

really

neither

beautiful

style,
;

nor
there truth

beautiful drawing, nor beautiful colour

is

but

one sole beauty,

is

that

of the
truth,

which

revealed.
idea,

When

when a

profound

when a powerful

feeling bursts

forth-in a great work, either literary or artistic,

it

is

evident that the style, or the colour and

;

the drawing, are excellent

exist
'

but these qualities

only as the reflection of the truth.

is

Raphael's drawing
it

admired

and
;

justly,
it-

but
self,

should

not

be admired only for

it

for its skilful balance of line

should

99

DRAWING AND COLOUR

be admired for what
all its
it

signifies.

What
Raphael

forms

merit

is

the

sweet serenity of soul

which

saw with the eyes of

itself

and
in

expressed

with his hand, the love

to overflow

him which seems

upon
soul,
all

from his heart

lacking
the
his
his

nature.

Those
to

who,

have

sought
the

borrow
of

linear
figures,

cadences and

attitudes

have never executed

tions
'

any but

insipid

imita-

of the great

master of Urbino.
it

In the drawing of Michael Angelo

his

is

not

manner,
nor

not
the

the
skilful

audacious

fore-

shortening

anatomy

that
force

should be admired, but the desperate

of the Titan.
his
soul,

Those imitators who, without

have copied in their painting

attitudes

his

buttressed

and

his

tense

muscles

have made themselves ridiculous.

'

In the colour of Titian, what should be

is

admired

not

merely

more
meaning

or

less
it

agreeable harmony, but the

lOO

that

Jji^Hh
l'*l ich ^ei

An pp

y>

..J^^iMm^ir,
28.

^n,Mrrr^,t,.i^,,,,^.i^

DRAWING BY MICHAEL ANGELO.

DRAWING AND COLOUR

offers.

His
it

colour has

no true beauty ex-

cept

as

conveys the idea of a sumptuous

and dominant sovereignty.

'

In the colour of Veronese, the true beauty

exists in its

power

to

evoke in silvery play

of colour the elegant conviviality of patrician

feasts.

'The colour of Rubens

self;
it

is

nothing in

it-

its

flaming wonder would be vain did

life,

not give the impression of

of joy, and

of robust sensuousness.

'There

does
art

not

perhaps
its

exist

single
to

work of

which owes
tone,

charm only

balance of line or

and which

makes
the

an appeal to the eyes alone.

ample,
twelfth

Take, for exof

the

stained-glass

windows

and thirteenth centuries

if

they enof
their
violets

chant us
blues,

with the velvety depths

caress

with the

of

their
it

soft

and

their

warm

crimsons,
the

is

because their
their

colours express

mystic joy which

lOI

DRAWING AND COLOUR

pious creators hoped to win in the
of their dreams.
pottery,
blue,
If

heaven

certain

bits

of Persian
turquoise
it

strewn

with

flowers

of

are

adorable
in

marvels

of

colour,

is

because,

some strange manner,

their
I

ex-

quisite shades transport the soul into

know
So,

not what valley of dreams and faery.

all

drawing
a

and

all

harmony

of

colours

offer

meaning without which

they would

have no beauty.'
'

But do you not

?'

fear that disdain of craft

in.

in art
'

broke
to

Who
is

speaks

you

of

disdaining
artist

it ?

Craft

only a means.
it

But the

who

neglects
is

will

never attain his

of
feeling,

end, which

the

interpretation
artist

of

ideas.

Such an

would be
oats

like

horseman

who
'

forgot to give
is

to

his

horse.
if

It

only too evident

if

that
false,

drawing

is

lacking,

colour

is

the

most

powerful

emotion

cannot
I02

find

expression,

DRAWING AND COLOUR

Incorrect

anatomy

would

raise

laugh

when
day.

the artist wished to be most touching.

artists

Many young
As

incur this

disgrace

to-

they have

never studied

seriously,

their unskilfulness betrays

them

at every turn.

Their intentions are good, but an arm which

is

too short, a leg which

is

not straight, an

inexact perspective, repels the spectator.

'

In short,
the

no sudden inspiration can

toil

re-

place

long
eyes

which
true

is

indispensable

to give the

knowledge of form

and of proportion and to render the hand

obedient to the

commands
is

of feeling.

'And when
gotten,

say that craft should be fornot

for

my

idea

moment

that

the artist can get along without science.

the contrary,
it

On

is

necessary to have consum-

mate

technique

in

order to

hide what one

knows.

Doubtless, to the vulgar, the jugglers

line,

who

execute eccentric flourishes of

who

accomplish astounding pyrotechnics of colour,

103

DRAWING AND COLOUR

or

who

write

long

phrases

encrusted with
skilful

unusual words, are the most

the world.

men

in

But the great

art
is

difficulty

and the
write

crown of
'

to draw, to

paint, to

with ease and simplicity.

'

You

see a picture,

you read a page

the

you
nor
soul.

notice

neither

the

drawing,
are

colour,

the

style,

but you
fear

Have no
technique.'

of

moved to the making a mistake

are

the
in

drawing, the colour, the style

perfect

'Yet,

Master,

can

it

not

happen

that

great

and

touching cke/s-d'csuvre are wantIs

it

ing in technique?
^

not

said,
is

for

in-

stance,

that

Raphael's

colour

often

bad

and Rembrandt's drawing debatable?'

'

It

is

wrong,

believe

me.

If Raphael's
it

masterpieces delight the soul,

is

because

everything in them, colour as well as drawing, at

contributes
little

to

the

enchantment.
the

Look
at

the

St.

George in
104

Louvre,

DRAWING AND COLOUR

the Parnassus
in

the Vatican,

at

the

car;

toons for the tapestry at South Kensington

the

harmony

in
is

these works
different

is

charming.

Sanzio's colour

from Rembrandt's,
It

but

it

is

exactly suited to his inspiration.

is clear

and enamelled.
tonalities.
It

It offers fresh, flowery,

joyous

has the
It

eternal

youth
but

of Raphael

himself.

seems

unreal,

only because the truth as observed

by the
purely
feeling,

master

of

Urbino
;

is

not

that

of

material things

his is the

domain of

a region where forms and colours are transfigured

by the

light

of love.
call
it

Doubtless an
this colouring

out-and-out realist would

inexact
;

but a poet finds

is

true.

'What
of

certain

is

that

the

colour
to

Rembrandt

or

of

Rubens

joined

Raphael's drawing would be ridiculous

and

monstrous.
differs

Just
that

as

Rembrandt's
Raphael, but
lines

drawing
is

from

of

not

less

good.

Raphael's

are

sweet

and

105

DRAWING AND COLOUR

pure
ring.
;

Rembrandt's are often rude and

jar-

The

great

Dutchman's

vision

was

arrested

by the roughness of
wrinkled
faces,
;

garments, by

the asperity of

by the
to

cal-

lousness of

plebeian
is

hands

for

Rem-

brandt beauty

only the antithesis between

the
physical

the triviality of

envelope and

the inner radiance.

this

How
of
if

could

he

express

beauty composed

apparent ugliness

and

moral

grandeur

he

tried

to

rival

^Raphael in elegance?
that
his

You must
the

recognise
it

drawing
absolutely

is

perfect because

corre-

sponds
thought.'
'

to

exigencies

of his

So,

according to you,
that

it

is

an error
be

to
at

believe

the

same

artist

cannot

once a great colourist and a great draughts-

man

?'

"Certainly,

and

do not know how

this

idea has

become as firmly established

be.

as

it

seems to

If the

great
io6

masters are

elo-

29.

DRAWING BY REMBRANDT.

DRAWING AND COLOUR

quent,
if

they carry us away,

exactly
all

it

is

clearly

because

they possess

the

means
I

of expression that

are necessary to
it

them.

have just proved

to

you

in

the case

of

Raphael and Rembrandt.

stration could be

The same demonDelacroix

made

in the case of all the

great

artists.

For

instance,

has

been accused of ignorance of

the contrary,

drawing.
his

On
;

the truth

is

that

drawing
like

combines marvellously with his colour

it,

it

is

abrupt, feverish,
;

exalted,
it,

it

is

full

of

vivacity, of passion

like

it it

is is

sometimes
the

mad, and
beautiful.

it

is

then

that

most

Colour and

drawing, one cannot

for

be admired without the other,

one.

they are

'Where
himself
is

the
in

demi-connoisseur

deceives of

allowing for the existence

;

but one kind of drawing

or perhaps
it

that

of Raphael,

is

not even that of Raphael,

that of

but that of his imitators,

107

David or

DRAWING AND COLOUR

of
Ingres.
. .

There

are

really

as

many

kinds of drawing and of colour as there are

artists.
'

Albrecht Diirer's colour

It
;

is

called hard

and
is

dry.

is

not

so

at

all.
;

But

he

German
,

he
exact

generalises

his

compositions
;

are

as

as

logical

constructions
types.

his

people are as solid as essential

is

That
his

why
'

his

drawing

is

so precise

and

colour so restrained.

Holbein belongs to the same school.

His

drawing has none of the Florentine grace

his colour has

none of the Venetian charm

but
t

his

line

and colour have

power,

gravity,

an inner meaning, which perhaps are

found
'

in

no other
it

painter.
is

In general,

possible

to

say that in

artists as deliberate, as careful as these,

drawis

ing

is

particularly tight

and the colour

as

cold as the verity of mathematics.

artists,

In other

on

the contrary,
1

in

those

who

are

08

DRAWING AND COLOUR

the poets of the heart, like Raphael, Correggio,

Andrea
and

del

Sarto, line has

more suppleness
tenderness.
is

colour

more winning
more

In

others

whom we

call realists, that

to say,

whose

sensibility is

exterior, in

Rubens,

Velasquez, Rembrandt, for example, line has

a living charm with
its

force

and

its

repose,

and the colour sometimes bursts into a fanfare of sunlight,

'

sometimes fades into mist.

So,

the

modes of expression of men of

genius differ as
is

much
say

as

their
in

souls,

and

it

impossible

to

that

some among

them drawing and colour are better or worse

than in others.'
'

understand. Master

but in refusing the

as

usual

classification of artists

draughtsmen
to think

or colourists,

you do not stop

the

how

you

embarrass
it

poor

critics.

Happily,

however,
those

seems to
like

me

that

in

your words
find

who

categories

may

new

method of

classification.

Colour and draw-

109

DRAWING AND COLOUR

ing,

you

say, are

only means, and

it is

it

is

the

soul of the artist that

important to know.

So

painters

should be grouped according to

their

dispositions.

For

example,
are

Albrecht
logicians.

Diirer

with

Holbein

both

Raphael, Correggio, Andrea del Sarto,

whom
in

you have named

which sentiment

together,
is

make a
;

class

predominant

they are in
class

the front rank of the elegiacs.

Another

would be composed of the masters who

interested
in

are
life,

active

existence,

in

daily

and the
brandt

trio of

Rubens, Velasquez and Rembe

its

would

greatest

constellation.

Finally, artists such as

Claude Lorraine and

nature as
a tissue

Turner,

who

considered

of brilliant and fugitive visions, would comprise a fourth group.'

Rodin smiled.

'

Such a

classification

would
it

not be wanting in ingenuity,' he said, 'and

would be much more just than that which

divides the colourists from the draughtsmen.

no

DRAWING AND COLOUR

'However,
art,

because

of

the

complexity
souls

of

or rather of the

human

who
is

take

art for

a language,

all

classification

runs the
often

risk of

being

futile.

So Rembrandt

a sublime poet
realist.
'

and Raphael often a vigorous

Let us force ourselves to understand the

masters

let

us love them
;

let

us go to them

for inspiration

but

let

us refrain from label-

ling

them

like

drugs in a chemist's shop.'

THE BEAUTY OF WOMAN

CHAPTER

VI

THE BEAUTY OF WOMAN

THAT
de
street

fine old

house known as

'

I'Hdtel

Biron,'
left

which stands

in

quiet

on the

bank of the Seine

but lately
the

in Paris,

and

which was

Convent of

the Sacred Heart, has, since the suppression

of the sisterhoods, been

tenants,

occupied by several

among whom is Rodin. The Master, as we have seen, has other ateliers at Meudon and at the D^p6t des
Marbres
in Paris,

but he has a special liking

for this one.

Built

in the

eighteenth century, the town

it

house of a powerful family,

Art.

is

certainly as

115

THE BEAUTY OF WOMAN

beautiful a dwelling as

any

artist

could desire.

The

great

rooms are

lofty,

panelled in white,

with beautiful mouldings in white and gold.

The one

in

which Rodin works

is

a rotunda

opening by high French windows into a delightful garden.

For

several years

now
is

this

garden has been

neglected.

But

it

still

possible to trace,

among
beneath
trellised

the

riotous

weeds,

the

ancient lines

of box which bordered the alleys, to follow,

fantastic

vines,

the

shape of green
the

arbours

and there each spring

flowers reappear, pushing through the grasses

in the borders.
licious

Nothing induces a more

de-

melancholy than this spectacle of the

effacement
of

gradual

human

toil

at

the

hands of invading nature.

At rH6tel de Biron Rodin passes

all

nearly

his time in drawing.

In this

quiet

retreat

he

loves

to

isolate

himself and to consign to paper, in numberii6

THE BEAUTY OF WOMAN

less

pencil

sketches,

the

graceful

attitudes

which his models take before him.

One evening
of these studies

was looking over a

series

with him, and was admir-

ing the harmonious lines by which he had

reproduced

all

the

rhythm

of

the

human
a
single

body upon paper.

The
stroke,

outlines,

dashed
fire

in

with

evoked the

or the abandon of the

movements, and his

thumb had
the

interpreted

by a very
modelling.

slight

shade

charm of the
the

As he
see
their

studied the drawings he

in

seemed

to

again

mind

models

who were
exclaimed
:

originals.

He

constantly

'Ah!

this one's

shoulders,
.

what a delight!
. .

A
ing

curve of perfect beauty!

is
!

My

drawindeed,

too

heavy
See,

tried

but

here

is

second
is

attempt
like

from the same woman.

her.
. .

This

more

And

yet!
117

'

'

'

THE BEAUTY OF WOMAN

'

And
it

just

look at
elegance

this

one's
this

throat

the adorable

of

swelling line
!

...
'

has an almost intangible grace

I

Master,'
?

asked,

'

is

it

easy to find good

models
'

Yes.'

'

Then beauty
I
tell

is

not very rare in France

'No,
'

you.'

But

tell

me, do you not think that the

much surpassed that of our day, and that modern women are far from equalling those who posed for Phidias ?
beauty of the antique

'Not
'Yet
nuses

at

all.'

the
'

perfection

of

the

Greek

Ve-

'The
see,
all

artists

in

those

days had
;

eyes
that

to
is

while those of to-day are blind

the
difference.

The Greek women were

above
all

beautiful, but their beauty lived

in

the minds of the sculptors

'To-day there are

who carved women just like

them. them.

ii8

pq

Q O

cq

"A

<

o O o H

THE BEAUTY OF WOMAN

They
the
are principally in the
Italians,

South of Europe.
belong to
as the models
for
its

The modern
of Phidias.
characteristic

for example,

same Mediterranean type

This
the

type

has
widtji

special

equal

of

shoulders

and

hips.'

'But
barians

did

not

the

invasion

of

the

bar-

by a mixture of race
'

alter the stan-

dard of antique beauty ?

'

No.

Even
were

if

we suppose

that

the

bar-

barians

less

beautiful, less well-proporis

tioned than the Mediterranean race, which

possible, time

has effectually wiped out any

stains produced

by a mixed blood, and has

again produced the harmony of the ancient

type.

In a union of the beautiful and the

it

ugly,

is

always

the

beautiful

which

tri-

umphs
tends

in the end.

Nature, by a Divine law,

constantly

towards

the

best,

tends
the

ceaselessly

towards

perfection.

Besides

Mediterranean type, there exists a Northern

119

THE BEAUTY OF WOMAN

type, to

which

many Frenchwomen,
of the

as well

as

the

women
belong.

Germanic and Slavic

type
the the

races,

In

this

hips

are
are

strongly

developed
;

and

shoulders
that

narrower
serve,

it

is

this

structure
in

you obof Jean

for

example,

the

nymphs

Venus of the Judgment of Paris by Watteau, and in the Diana by

Goujon, in the

Houdon.
rally high,

In this type, too, the chest

while in the antique
the

is

gene-

and Medion the contruth,

terranean types
trary,

thorax
tell

is,

straight.

To
it.

the

every

human
thing
is

type, every race, has its beauty.

The

to discover

have drawn with

infinite pleasure the

little

Cambodian dancers
with
their

who
reign.

lately

came
fine,

to

Paris

sovetheir

The

small

gestures

of

graceful limbs had a strange

and marvellous

beauty.
'I

have

made

studies

of

the

Japanese
as

actress

Hanako.

Her muscles stand out

1

20

63.

WOMAN'S TORSO. By

A. Rodin.

THE BEAUTY OF WOMAN

prominently as
sinews
are

those

of

fox-terrier

her
to

so

developed
attached

that

the joints

which they are

equal
to

have

thickness

the

members themselves.
leg,

She

is

so strong that she can rest as long as she

pleases

on one
in
in
is

the other raised at right

her.

angles
rooted

front

of

She looks
like

as

if

the

ground,

tree.

Her
of a
in

anatomy

quite

different

from

that

European, but, nevertheless, very beautiful

its

singular power.'
instant
is
is

An
which

later,

returning

to
' :

the

idea

so dear to him, he said

In short,
is

Beauty

everywhere.

It is

not she that

lacking to our eye, but our eyes which

to

fail

perceive

her.

Beauty
is

is

character

and

expression.

Well, there

nothing in nature
than the

which has more

body.

character

human
it

In

its

strength

and

its

grace

evokes the most varied images.

it

One moment
is

resembles a flower

the

bending torso

121

THE BEAUTY OF WOMAN

the
stalk
;

the

breasts,

the

head,
to

and

the

splendour of

the

hair

answer

the blos-

soming of the
recalls

corolla.

The

next

moment
you,"

it

the

pliant

creeper, or " In
I

the proud and

upright

sapling.

seeing

says

Ulysses to Nausicaa, "

tain palm-tree

seem

to

see a cer-

which

at Delos,

near the altar

of Apollo, rose from

single
shoot."
is

earth

to

heaven in a
bent

Again, the
like

human body
his

backwards

a spring, like a beautiful

adjusts
it

bow upon which Eros

arrows.

invisible
I

At another time
asked
a

is

an urn.
sit

have

often

model
to

to

on the

ground with her back

legs gathered tion the back,
in

me, her arms and

In this posi-

front of her.

which tapers to the waist and

hips,

swells

at

the

appears

like

a vase of

exquisite outline.

'The human body

of

is,

above
the

all,

the mirror

the

soul,

and from

soul

comes

its

greatest beauty.
122

THE BEAUTY OF WOMAN

Chair de la femme, argile id^ale, o merveille,

penetration sublime de I'esprit

le

Dans

limon que I'Etre ineffable

brille

petrit.

Mati^re ou I'^me

k travers son suaire.

statuaire.
le coeur.

Boue ou Ton voit les doigts du divine Fange auguste appelant les baisers et
Si sainte qu'en ne
sait,

tant I'amour est vainqueur

lit

Tant I'ame

est,

vers ce

mystdrieux, poussde.

Si cette voluptd n'est pas une pensde.

Et qu'on ne
feu.

peut,

k I'heure ou

les

sens sont en

Etreindre la Beaute sans croire embrasser Dieu!"

'

Yes, Victor

adore in the
beautiful

Hugo understood What we human body more even than its

!

form
shine

is

the

inner

flame

which
to
illu-

seems

to
it.'

from

within

and

mine

123

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

CHAPTER

VII

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

A
We
'

FEW days
Rodin,

ago

accompanied Auguste
his

who was on

way

to

the

Louvre, to see once again the busts by Houdon.

were no sooner

in front of the bust of

Voltaire than the Master cried

What

a marvel

it

is
!

It

is

the personi-

fication

of malice.

See

his

sidelong glance

seems watching some adversary.

pointed nose of a fox
;

He
and
the

has the

it

seems smelling out

abuses
follies.

from

side

to

side
it
!

for
!

You

can see

quiver
It is

And

mouth

what a triumph
of irony.
It

framed by two furrows

seems to mumble sarcasms.

127

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

'A cunning
sion
lively,

old gossip

that
little

is

the impresat

produced

by

this

Voltaire,

once so

so sickly, and so

masculine.'

After a
tinued
' :

moment
I

of contemplation

he con-

The

eyes

always come back to them.

They
'

are

transparent.

They

are

luminous.
all

But you can say as much of

render
the

busts

by Houdon.
to

This sculptor understood

transparency
or of the

how

pupils

better

than

any painter

pastellist.

He
in

perforated them, bored

them, cut them out

certain

he

cleverly

raised

unevenness
the

them which, catching or

gives
sparkle

losing

light,

singular
of
life

effect

and
pupil.

imitates

the

in

the

And what
good
Miratender-

diversity in the expression of the eyes of all

^,

these

faces

Cunning
Franklin,

in

Voltaire,
in

fellowship
'

in

authority

beau, gravity in Washington, joyous

ness in

Madame Houdon,
128

roguishness in his

H O

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

daughter

and

in

the

two

charming
sculptor

little

Brongniart children.
glance
is

To
he

this

the

more
the

than

half

the

expression.

Through
need
to

eyes

read

souls.

They
is

kept no secrets from him.

So

there

no

ask

if

his

busts

were good

like-

nesses.'

At

that

word

stopped

Rodin.
is

'You
a

consider,

then,

that

resemblance

very

important quality?'
'

Certainly

indispensable.'
artists

'

Yet many

say that busts and por-

traits

can be very fine without being good

I

likenesses.

remember a remark
to

on

this

subject

attributed
to

Henner.
the

lady com-

plained

him

that

portrait

which he

had painted of her did not look

'

like her.

"

Hd

Matame," he

replied in his Alsatian

jargon,

"when you

are dead your heirs will

think themselves fortunate to possess a fine

portrait
Art.

by Henner and
129

will

trouble

themI

'

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

selves very
little

to

know

if

it

was

like

you

or not."
'

It

is

possible that the painter said that,'

'

Rodin answered,
which did not
for
I

but

it

was doubtless a
his
real

sally

represent

thought,
false

do not believe that he had such

in

ideas
talent.
'

an

art

in

which he showed great

But

first

let

us understand

the

kind of

resemblance demanded in a bust or portrait.

'

If

the
as

artist

only reproduces
if

superficial

features

photography does,

he copies

the lineaments of a face exactly, without reference

tion.

to character, he deserves

no admirato
;

The resemblance which he ought

is

obtain
it

that of the soul

that alone matters

is

that

which

the

sculptor

or

painter

should seek beneath the mask of features.

'

In

a word,

all
is

the

features

must be ex-

pressive

that

to say, of use in the revela-

tion of a conscience.'
130

'

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

'

But

doesn't

it

sometimes happen that the

face contradicts the soul?'

'

Never.'

'

Have you
II

forgotten

the

precept
les

of

La

Fontaine, "
I'apparence

ne faut point juger

gens sur

" ?
is

'That maxim
ficial

only addressed to super-

observers.

For appearances may deceive

their hasty examination.

La Fontaine
the cat

writes

that

the

little

mouse took

for

the
little

kindest of creatures, but he speaks of a

mouse
cat

that

is

to say, of a scatterbrain
faculty.

who
of a

lacked critical

The appearance
it

would warn whoever studied

there

attentively

that

was

cruelty

hidden

under

that

sleepiness.

physiognomist can easily dis-

tinguish between a cajoling air and one of real

kindness, and
artist

it

is

precisely the r61e of the

truth,

to

show

the

even beneath dis-

simulation.
'

To

tell

the truth, there

131

is

no

artistic

work

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

which requires as much penetration as the It is sometimes said bust and the portrait.
the
skill

artist's

profession

demands more manual

than
a

intelligence.

You have
correct

only

to

study

good

bust
is

to

this

error.

Such a work
Houdon's

worth a whole biography.

busts, for example, are like chapters

of written memoirs.
personal character
'

Period, race, profession,

all

are indicated there.

Here

is

Rousseau opposite Voltaire.

in his glance.
all

Great

shrewdness

It

is

the quality

common
century
the
;

to

the personages of the eighteenth

;

they are critics

they question

all

principles
;

which

were

unquestioningly

accepted before
'

they have searching eyes.

origin.
is is

Now

for

his

He

is

the

Swiss

plebeian.

Rousseau
as

as unpolished, almost
aristocratic

vulgar,

Voltaire

and

dis-

tinguished.

Prominent

cheekbones,

short

nose, square chin

you
132

recognise the son of

the watchmaker and the whilom domestic.

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

'

Profession

now.

He

is

the philosopher

sloping,

thoughtful

forehead,
classic

antique

type
his

accentuated
head.
lected,

by the

band about

Appearance purposely wild, hair nega certain

or

resemblance
;

to

some Dioprimitive

genes
the
life.
'

Menippus
to

this

is

the preacher of the

return

nature

and

to

Individual character.
of

A
is

general
the

contrac-

tion

the face

this

misanthrope.
lined

Eyebrows
care
;

contracted,
is

forehead

with

this

the

man who
this
is

complains, often

with reason, of persecution.

'

ask

you

if

not a better comhis

;

mentary on the man than

'

Confessions ?

Now

Mirabeau.

Period

challenging atcareless
;

titude,

wig
of

disarranged,

dress

breath

the

revolutionary

tempest

passes

over this wild beast,

who

is

ready to roar

an answer.
'

Origin

dominating

aspect,

fine

arched


OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY
eyebrows, haughty forehead
aristocrat.
;

this is the

former

But the democratic heaviness of

cheeks

the

pock-marked

and

of

the

neck

sunk between the shoulders betrays the Count

de
Riquetti
to

the

sympathies

of

Thiers,

whose
'

interpreter he has become.

;

Profession

the

tribune.

The
lifts

mouth
ready to

protrudes
fling

like

speaking-trumpet
abroad.

his

voice

He

his
short.

head
In

because, like most orators, he

this

was

type of
barrel,

man
at

nature develops the chest,

the

the
fixed

expense of

height.
;

The
at

eyes are

not
great

on any one
It^is
Tell
to

they rove

over

assembly.

a glance

once vague and superb.

me,

is

it

not

a marvellous achievement one

head
a

evoke in this
a

whole

crowd

more,

whole

listening country?
'

Finally, the individual character.

lips,
;

Observe

the sensuous

the double chin, the quiverwill

ing nostrils

you

recognise the faults

134

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

habit of debauch and

demand
to

for

enjoyment.

All
'

is

there,

tell

you.

It

would

be

easy
all

sketch

the

same

character outline from

'

the busts of

Houdon.

Here,

again,

is

Franklin.
;

A
is

ponderous
the former

air,

heavy

falling cheeks

this

artisan.

The long
;

hair of the apostle, a kindly

is

benevolence

this

the

popular moraliser,

good-natured Richard.
'

stubborn high forehead inclined forward,

indicative of the obstinacy of which Franklin

gave proof
in

in

winning an education,
eminent scholar,

in rising,
finally

becoming an

in

freeing his

country.

Astuteness in the eyes

of the

and

in

the

corners

mouth

Houdon

was not duped by the general massiveness,

and he divined
the calculator
the prudent

materialism of
the

cunning of
secrets

who made a fortune, and the diplomat who wormed out

politics.

the
is

of English

Here,

living,

one of the ancestors of modern America!

135

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

lend their models a
portance.

mask

of riches

and imis,

The more bombastic a

it

portrait

the

more

resembles a
is

stiff,

pretentious doll,

the better the client

'

satisfied.
so.

Perhaps

it

was not always

seem

'

Certain seigneurs of the fifteenth century,

for

example,

to

have been pleased to

see themselves portrayed as hyenas or vultures

on the medals of Pisanello.

less
still,

They were doubtOr,

better
art,

proud of their individuality.

they loved and venerated

and they
by

accepted

the rude frankness of the artist, as

it

though

were

penance

imposed

spiritual director.
'

Titian did not hesitate to give

Pope Paul

III.

a marten's snout, nor to emphasise the

domineering hardness of Charles V., or the

salaciousness
of Francis
I.,

and

it

does not

appear to have damaged his reputation with

them.
Velasquez,

who

portrayed King Philip

IV. as a nonentity, though an elegant

138

man,

35.

FRANCIS

I.

By

Titian.

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

and who
jaw,
unflatteririgly reproduced his

hanging

nevertheless

kept his favour.

And

the

Spanish monarch has acquired from posterity

the great glory of having been the protector of genius.
'

But the men of to-day

are so
lie.

they fear truth and love a

to

made that They seem

air of

be displeased to appear in their busts as

are.

they

They

all

want

to

have the

hairdressers.
'

And

even the most beautiful women, that

is

to say, those

whose
their
is

lines

have most

style,

are

horrified

at

sculptor

of

talent

own beauty when a They its interpreter.

and
doll-like

beseech him to

make them ugly by giving

physiog-

them an
nomy.
'

insignificant

So, to execute a bust

is

to

fight a
is

long
not

battle.

The one thing

work
is

that

matters

to
If

weaken and
the

to rest honest with one's self.

refused, so

much

the

worse.

139

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

So much
'As
tented,
for

the
it

better
is

perhaps
of merit.

for

often,

it

proves that

full

the

client

who, though

discon-

accepts
is

successful
;

work, his

bad

humour

only temporary

for

soon the con-

noisseurs compliment

him on the bust and

it.

he ends by admiring

Then he

declares
it.

quite naturally that he has always liked

'

Moreover,

it

should be noticed that the

executed
gratuitously
best.
It
is

busts
friends

which

are

for

or relations are the

the
artist

not

only
better

because

knows

his

models

from seeing them constantly and loving

It
is,

them.

above

all,

because the gratui-

tousness of his work confers on

of working as he pleases.
'

him

the liberty

Nevertheless,

the

best

busts

are

often

refused, even

when
they

offered as gifts.

Though
insulting

masterpieces,

are

considered

by those
sculptor

for

whom

they are intended.

his

The
find

must go

own way and

140

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

all

his

pleasure, all his

reward, in doing his

best.'
I

was much
the
deal

interested in

this

psychology
artist

of
to

public
;

with
it

which

the

has
a

but

must

be

said

that

good deal of
irony.
'

bitterness

entered

into Rodin's

Master,'

said,
is

'

among
is,

the trials of your

profession,

there

one that
to

you seem

to

have omitted.

That
is

do the bust of

a client whose head

without expression or

betrays obvious stupidity.'

Rodin

laughed.
trials,'

'

That
replied.

cannot
'

count

among

the

he

You must
Nature
is

not forget

my

favourite

maxim

always beautiful.

We

need only to under-

stand what she shows us.

face

You speak
There
is

of a

without expression.
to

no such
is

face

an

artist.

To him
sculptor
let

every head
note
the a

interesting.

Let
a
face,

insi-

pidity

of

him show us
141

fool

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

absorbed by his care of worldly parade, and
there
'

we have

a fine bust.
is

Besides,

what

called shallowness is often

only a conscience which has

not

developed
in

owing
case,

to

lack

of education,
offers

and

that

the

face

the of
veil.
I

mysterious
intellect

and

fascinating

spectacle
in

an

which

seems enveloped
'

Finally

how

shall

put

it ?

even

the

most
of

insignificant head is the dwelling-place

life,

that magnificent force,

and so

offers

inexhaustible matter for the masterpiece.'

Several days later

at

saw
of

in

Rodin's atelier
of his
finest

Meudon
and
I

the casts

many

busts,
to tell

seized the occasion to ask

him

me

of the memories they recalled.

His

Victor
the

Hugo
hair

was

there,

deep

in

meditation,

forehead
wild,
his
142

strangely furrowed,

volcanic, (the

almost
skull.

like
It

white

flames bijrsting from

i

was the

41.

VICTOR HUGO.

By

A. Rodin.

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

very personification of modern lyricism, pro-

found and tumultuous.

'

It

was

my

friend

Bazire,'

said

Rodin,
Bazire

'who presented me was the secretary

Marseillaise,

to Victor

Hugo.

of
later

the of

newspaper.

La

and
Victor
idea

He

adored
the

Hugo.

V Intransigeant It was he who

of

started

of

a public celebration

the great man's eightieth birthday.

'

The

celebration,

as

you know, was both

solemn

and

touching.

The

poet

from

his

balcony saluted an immense crowd

who had
;

come

before his

house to acclaim him

blessing
his

he

seemed
Because

a
of

patriarch
that

family.

day,

he

kept

tender
it.

gratitude for the

And
'

that

man who had arranged was how Bazire introduced me

to

his presence without difficulty.

Unfortunately, Victor

Hugo had
a

just been

martyred
Villain,

by
who,

a
to

mediocre

sculptor

named
had

make
143

bad

bust,

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

insisted
I

on

thirty-eight

sittings.

So when
reproduce

timidly expressed

my

desire

to

the features of the author of Contemplation,

he knit his Olympian brows.

'

" I

cannot prevent your working," he said,

I

"but
will

warn you

that

will

not

pose.

not change one of

my

habits

on your

account.

'So

Make what arrangements you like." came and I made a great number
notes
to
I

of flying pencil

facilitate

of modelling later.

Then

brought
I

my work my stand
in

and some
install

clay.

But naturally

could only
the

this

untidy

paraphernalia

veranda, and as Victor

in

Hugo was
his

generally

the

drawing-room with
the
difficulty

friends,

you
I

may imagine
endeavour
to

of

my

task.

would study the great poet

impress
his

attentively,

and

image
a run

on
I

my

memory; then suddenly with

reach
the
I

would
on the

veranda to

fix

in clay the

memory

of what

had just seen.

144

But

often,

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

way,

my
I

impression had weakened,

so

that

when
to

arrived before
clay,

my

stand

dared not

touch the

and

had

to resolve to return

my

model again.
I

'When
Hugo,
service,
after,

had

nearly finished
to introduce

my
him

work,

Dalou asked me
and
I

him

to Victor
this

willingly

rendered

but the glorious old

man

died soon

and Dalou could only do

his best

from

a cast taken after death.'

Rodin

led

me

as he spoke to a glass case

stone.
It

which enclosed a singular block of

was the keystone of an

curve.

arch, the stone

which

the architect sets in the centre to sustain the

On

the face of this stone

was carved
recognised

a mask, squared along the cheeks and temples,

following the shape df the block.
the face of Victor Hugo.
'

always imagine this the keystone

to

at the

entrance of a building dedicated

said the master sculptor.
Arl.

poetry,'

145

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

I

could

easily

fancy

it.

The

brow of
the the

Victor
a

Hugo

thus supporting the weight of

arch
all

monumental

would

symbolise
all

genius on which
activity of
'

the thought and

an epoch had rested.

give this idea to any architect

it

who
bust

will

put

into execution,'

Rodin added.
cast

Close by stood the

of

the
;

of

Henri Rochefort.
of

It is well

known

the head
full

an

insurgent,

the

forehead

as

of
is

bumps
always
tuft

as that of a pugnacious child

who
like

fighting
hair
for

his

companions,

the

wild
a

of

which
mutiny,

seems
the
;

to

wave

signal
irony,

mouth
a

twisted

by

the

mad

beard

continual

revolt,

the very spirit of criticism and combativeness.

Admirable work

it

is,

in

which one sees one

side of our contemporary mentality reflected.

'

It

was
I

also

through Bazire,' said Rodin,

'that

made the acquaintance of Rochefort, who was editor-in-chief

146

Henri
of
his

37.

HENRI ROCHEFORT.

By

A. Rodin.

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

newspaper.
sented
to

The
pose
that
to
it

celebrated

polemic

con-

me.

He had
not

such

joyous
listen

spirit

was an enchantment to
keep
still

to

him,

but he could
instant.

for

single

He

reproached

me

pleasantly for having too

conscience.

much

professional
I

He
in

said laughingly that

spent

one sitting

adding a lump of clay to the

in taking
after,
it

model and the next

away.

'When, some time

the

his bust received

approbation of

men

of taste,

he joined

unreservedly in their praises,

but he would

never believe that

exactly as
his
it

my work
I

had
it

remained

was when

took

away from
it

house.

"You have
repeat.
it

retouched

very
I

much," he would
not even touched

In

reality,
nail.'

had

with

my

Rodin, placing one of his hands over the

tuft

of hair and the other over the beard,

then

asked

me,

'What impression does

147

it

make now?"

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

'You would say it was a Roman emperor.' 'That is just what I wanted to make you
say.
I

have never found the Latin

classic

type as pure as in Rochefort.'

If this

ancient

enemy
of

of the

Empire does
wager
Rodin,
I

not yet
his

know
to
will

this paradoxical

resemblance of
I

profile
it

that

the

Caesars,

that

make him
before,

smile.

When

moment
in
is is

had spoken of

Dalou,

had seen
which
It

thought his bust of this sculptor

at the

Luxembourg.

a proud, challenging head, with the

thin,

sinewy neck of a child of the faubourgs,

the bristly beard of an artisan, a contracted

forehead,

the

wild

eyebrows

of

an

ancient
air

communist, and the feverish and haughty

of
the
irreducible

democrat.

For the

rest,

the large fine eyes and the delicate

tion

incurva-

of

the

temples

reveal

the

passionate

lover of beauty.

In

answer to a question,
148

Rodin

replied

O
<:

Q O

in

<;

<

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

that he

had modelled
profiting

this bust at a

moment

when Dalou,
'

by the amnesty, had

our

returned from England.

He

never took

it

away,' he said,
after
I

'

for

relations

ended just

had introduced and many of

value

him
'

to Victor

Hugo.
artist,

Dalou was a great

works
have
a

his

superb
to

decorative

which

allies

them

the

most

beautiful

groups of our seventeenth century.

'

If

he had not had the weakness to desire

position he would never have pro-

an

official

duced
aspired

anything
to

but

masterpieces.

But he
of

become

the

Le

Brun
all

our

Republic and the leader of

porary
artists.

our contem-

He

died

before he succeeded

in his ambition.
'

It

is

impossible
once.
in

to

exercise

two profesthat
is

sions

at

All

the

activity

expended
in playing

acquiring
is

useful
to

relations
art.

and

a r61e

lost

Intriguers

149

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

are not fools
pete
effort

with

when an artist wishes to comthem he must expend as much

;

as they

do,

and

he will have hardly

any time
'

left for

work.
If

Who

knows

Dalou had always stayed

pursuing his
calling,

in

his atelier peacefully

he would have without doubt brought forth

marvels whose beauty would have astonished
eyes,
all

and common consent would have perhaps

artistic

awarded him that

sovereignty to whose
all

conquest he unsuccessfully used

'

his skill.

His ambition, however, was not

influence
at

entirely

vain, for his

the H6tel de Ville

gave us one of the great masterpieces of our

lime.
It

was he who,
order

in

spite of the undis-

guised hostility of
mittee,

the

administrative comto

gave the
for

Puvis

de

Cha-

vannes
the

the

decoration of the stairway at

Ville.

H6tel de

And you know

with

what heavenly poetry the great painter

illumi-

nated the walls of the municipal building.'

150

36.

PUVIS DE CHAVANNES.

By

A. Rodin.

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

These words
called

attention

to

the

bust

of Puvis de Chavannes.
'

He

carried

his

head

high,'

Rodin

said.

'

His

skull,

solid

and round, seemed made

His
arched
chest

to

wear a

helmet.

seemed
It

accustomed to carry the breastplate.

easy to imagine him
his
at

was

Pavia fighting for

I.'

honour by the side of Francis

In the bust you recognise the aristocracy

of an old race.

The high

forehead and eye-

brows reveal the philosopher, and the calm

glance, embracing a wide outlook, betrays the

great

decorator,
is

the

sublime
artist

landscapist

There

no modern

for

whom

Rodin*

professes

more

admiration,
the

more

profound

respect, than for

vitve.
'

painter of Sainte-Gene-

To

think that he
'

has

lived

among

us,'

he

cries

to think that

this

genius, worthy
art,

of the most radiant epochs of

to us
!

has spoken

That

have seen him, have pressed

151

'

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

his

hand

It

seems

as

if
!

had pressed

the

hand of Nicolas Poussin

What, a charming remark

figure of a
in

To

put

the
past,

contemporary back into the

it

order to range

there

by one of those

who shine brightest, and then to be so moved at the very thought of the physical contact with this demi-god could any homage

be more touching

?
'
:

Rodin

continued

Puvis

de

Chavannes
it

did not like

of
the

my
I

bust of him, and

things
of

was one

bitter

my

career.

thought that
yet
I

had

caricatured
I

him.

He And
in

am
I

certain
all

that

have expressed

my

sculpture

the

enthusiasm and venera-

tion that

felt for

him.'

The

bust of Puvis

made me think
which
is

of that

of Jean-Paul

Laurens,

also in the

Luxembourg.

round head, the

breathless

face mobile, enthusiastic,

is

almost

this

Southerner

152

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

something archaic

and

rude in the expresdistant

eyes visions
sion

which
is

seem haunted by
painter

it

the

of

half-savage

epochs,

when
said
I

men
'

were

robust

and

im-

petuous.

Rodin
friends.

Laurens

is

one of
the

my

oldest

posed for one of

Merovin-

gian warriors who, in the decoration of the

Pantheon, assist at the death of Sainte-Genevieve.

faithful.

His
It

affection for

was he

me has always who got me the

Though
I

been
order
did

for the

Bourgeois de Calais.

it

not bring
figures
in

me much,
yet
I

because

delivered six

bronze for the price they offered

me

for one,

owe him profound

grati-

tude for having spurred

of one of
'

me

to

the creation

my

best works.
to

It

was a great pleasure

me

to

do

his

bust.
for
I

He

reproached

me

in a friendly

way

having done him with his mouth open.

that,

replied

from the design of his

153

skull,

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

he was probably descended from the ancient
Visigoths of Spain, and that this type was
characterised

by the prominence of the lower

do not know whether he agreed
ethnographical observa-

jaw.

But

to the justice of this

tion.'

At

this

moment
Fiery,

perceived a bust of Falcharacter,

his
face

gui^re.

eruptive

sown with wrinkles and bumps

ravaged

like

a land
of

by

storms,

the

moustaches

grumbler, hair thick and short.

'

He was
folds

little

bull,'

said Rodin.

noted the thickness of the neck, where

of

the the

skin

almost formed a dewlap,

the

square

of forehead,

head bent and

plunge.
these

obstinate,
little
'

ready
!

for

forward

A
com-

bull

Rodin often
the animal

makes

parisons with
one, with his
tures,
is

kingdom.

Such a

long neck and automatic ges-

a bird which pilfers right and left;

is

such another, too amiable, too coquettish,

154

40.

FALGUIERE.

By

A. Rodin.

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

a

King Charles
of
the

spaniel,

and

so

on.

These

comparisons

evidently

facilitate

the
class

work
all

mind

which

seeks

to

physiognomies

in general categories.

Rodin

told

me under what
said,
'

circumstances

he knew Falguiere.
'

It

was,'

he

when

the Soci6t6 des

Balzac.

Gens de Lettres refused

guiere, to
insisted

my

Fal-

whom

the

order was
his

then given,
friendship,

on showing me, by
at
all

that

he did not

agree with
I

my

de-

tractors.

Actuated by sympathy

offered to

do his bust.
cess
it,

He
was

considered
finished

it

a great suc-

when

it

he

even defended
criticised
it

know, against those who

presence
;

in

his

and,

in

his

turn,

he

did

my

bust,

which
I

is

very

fine.'

As

was turning away

caught sight of

a copy in bronze of the bust of Berthelot.

Rodin made

it

only a year before the death

of the great chemist.

The
155

great scholar rests

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

in the

knowledge of his work accomplished.

He

meditates.
alone,

He
face

is

alone, face to face with

himself;

to face with
;

the

crum-

bling of ancient faiths

alone

before nature,

some of whose
which
remains

secrets he has penetrated, but

so

immensely

mysterious

alone at the edge of the infinite abyss of the

skies
eyes,
;

and his
are filled
is

tormented brow, his lowered

with melancholy.

This

fine

head

like

the

emblem

of

modern

intelli-

gence, which, satiated with knowledge, weary

of

thought,

ends

by demanding

'

What

is

the use?'

All

the busts which

had been admiring had been talking

in

and about which

my
me

host

now grouped themselves

they appeared
to

my

mind, and
treasure of

as

a rich

documents upon our epoch.

'If Houdon,' I said, 'has written

memoirs

of

the eighteenth

century,

you have written

nineteenth.

those of the

end of the
156

Your

OF YESTERDAY AND OF TO-DAY

style
is

more

harsh,

more

violent

than that

of your predecessor, your expressions are less

elegant, but
if I

more natural and more dramatic,

so.

may

say

'The
has

scepticism

which

in

the
full

eighteenth
of raillery
sharp.

century was distinguished and

become,

in

you,

rough

and

Houdon's people were more

are

sociable,

yours

more
question

self-centred.

Those
of

of

Houdon
life

criticised the

abuses of a regime, yours seem

the

to

value

human
done

itself

and

to feel the anguish of unrealised desires.'

'

Rodin answered,
I

have

my

best.

have not

lied

have never
busts

flattered

my
dis-

contemporaries.

My

have often

pleased because they were always very sincere.

city.

They
Let
it

certainly

have one merit

vera-

serve them for beauty!'

157

THOUGHT

IN

ART

CHAPTER
THOUGHT

VIII

IN

ART

ONE
in
It is

morning, finding myself with Rodin

his
atelier,
I

stopped

before

the

cast of one of his

most impressive works.

writhing body

a young

woman whose
lips

seems a prey

to

some mysterious torment.

and her eyes
slept,

Her head
are closed,

is

bent low, her

and you would think she

did not the anguish in her face betray the

conflict

of her

spirit.

The most
is

surprising
that
it

thing in the figure, however,

neither

has
that

arms nor

legs.

It

would seem

the sculptor in a

moment
1

of discontent with
off,

himself had broken them

Art.

and you cannot

L

THOUGHT
could

IN

ART
is

help regretting that the figure

I

incomplete.
this

not

refrain

from

expressing

feeling to
'

my

host.
'

What do you mean ?

'

he cried in astonishI
left
it

ment.
state

Don't you see that

?

in that

intentionally

My
why
it

figure

represents

Meditation.
to act

That's

has neither arms

nor legs to walk.

Haven't you noticed

persisted
in,

that

reflection,

when
it

suggests
opposite

so

many

plausible

arguments

for

decisions that

ends in inertia?'

These words corrected

and
I

my
I

first

impression
the
fine

could

unreservedly
figure.

admire

symbolism of the
that this

woman was
by an

the

now understood emblem of human

it

intelligence assailed
solve,
realise,

by problems that
ideal

cannot cannot
it

haunted

that

it

obsessed by the infinite which

grasp.

can

never

The

straining

of

this
its

body

marked the
but
vain

travail of

thought and
to

glorious,

determination
162

penetrate

those

42.

THOUGHT. By

A. Rodin.

THOUGHT
questions which
mutilation of
its
it

IN

ART

cannot answer; and the

indicated

members

the in-

surmountable

disgust
life.

which

contemplative

souls feel for actual

Nevertheless,
is

this

figure

recalled

criti-

cism which

often heard on Rodin's works,

it,

and, though without agreeing with

sub-

mitted

it

to the
it.

Master to find out how he

would answer
'

Literary people,'

said,

'

always praise the

essential truths expressed in your sculptures.

But

certain of your censors

for

blame you prewhich

is

cisely

having
than

an

inspiration

more
that
writers

literary

plastic.

They
with

pretend

you by
offer

easily

win

the

approbation

of

providing

them
for all
is

subjects

which

an opening

their rhetoric.

And
'

they declare that art

not the place

for so
If

much

philosophic ambition.'
is

my

modelling
I

bad,'

Rodin

replied
if

sharply, 'if

make

faults

in

anatomy,

163

THOUGHT
misinterpret

IN
if I

ART
am
ignorant of
marble,
the
if

movement,
which
a

the

science
are

animates

critics

right

hundred times.

But
life,

my

figures are correct

and

full
?

of

with
right
to

what can
form?

they reproach

me
to

What
if,

have they to forbid

me
offer

add meaning

How
those

can they complain

I

over and

above technique,
enrich

them ideas?
please
It
is

if

forms

which

the

eye

with a definite significance?

a strange

mistake, this, to imagine that the true artist

can

be

content

to

remain

only

skilled

workman and

that he

needs no intelligence.
is

On
sable

the
to

contrary,

intelligence

indispen-

him

for

painting and

for

carving

even those figures which seem most lacking

in
spiritual

pretensions and which are only

meant
sculptor

to

charm

the

eye.

When

a
it

good
is,

models a

statue,

whatever

he

must

first

clearly conceive
is

the general idea;

then, until his task

ended, he must keep

164

THOUGHT
this idea of the

IN
in

ART
mind
in order

whole

his
it

to subordinate

and
an

ally to

every smallest
is

detail of his work.

And

this

not accomof

plished

without

intense

effort

mind

and concentration of thought.

'What has
idea
that that
it

doubtless led to the

common
is

artists

have

little

intelligence

seems lacking
life.

in

many

of of

them
of

in

private

The

biographies
in

painters

and

sculptors

abound
certain

anecdotes
It

the

simplicity

of
that

masters.

must be
cease-

admitted
lessly

great

men who
are

think

of
in

their

work
life.

frequently absentall,
it

minded
granted

daily

Above
very
they

must be
artists

that

many

intelligent

seem
facility

narrow
of

because

have

not

that
to

speech

and
is

repartee

which,
sign

superficial
cleverness.'

observers,

the

only

of

'Surely,'

said,

'no one can contest the

the
165

mental

vigour

of

great

painters

and

'

THOUGHT
sculptors.

IN

ART

But, to return to our question

is

there

not

sharp

line
artist

dividing

art

from
?

literature
'

which the
that
in

should not cross

insist
I

matters which

concern

me

cannot stand these limitations,' Rodin

'

answered.
idea, that

There

is

no

rule,

according to

my

can prevent a sculptor from creat-

ing a beautiful work.

'What
is

difference

does

it

make whether
it ?

it

sculpture or literature, provided the public

profit

find

and

pleasure

in

Painting,

sculpture,
related

literature,
is

music are more closely

believed.

than
all

generally

express
soul
in

the

sentiments

of
It

the
is

They human

the

light of nature.

only the

means of expression which vary.

'

But

if

a sculptor, by the

means of

his

art,

succeeds in suggesting impressions which

ordinarily only

are

procured by literature or
?

music,

why

should the world cavil

pub-

licist lately criticised

my
1

Victor

Hugo

in the

66

THOUGHT
ture,

IN

ART
it

Palais Royal, declaring that

was not
a

sculp-

but music.

And
to

he naively added that

this

work

reminded

him

of

Beethoven
it

symphony.
true
' !

Would

Heaven

that

werer
use-

do not deny, moreover, that

to
reflect

it

is

ful

upon

the

differences

which
First

separate literary from artistic methods.

of

all,

literature offers the peculiarity of being

able

to

express

ideas

without
it

recourse
:

to

imagery.

For example,

can say

Profound

reflection often ends in inaction, without the

necessity of figuring a thoughtful

in a block of stone.
'

woman

held

And

this faculty of juggling with abstracgives,

tions

by means of words
an

perhaps, to
arts
in

literature

advantage over

other

the

domain of thought.
next

'The
literature

thing

to

be

noticed

is

that

develops

stories

which
It

have

beginning, a middle, and an end.

167

strings

THOUGHT

IN

ART
it

together different events from which

draws

conclusion.

It

makes
of

people
their

act

and

shows

the

consequences
that
it

conduct.

So

the

scenes

conjures

up gain

strength

by

their

sequence,

and even have

no value except as they make part of the

progress of a plot.
'

It is

not the

same with the more

That
in
is

arts of form.

They never
phase
of

represent
action.

than

single

an

why

painters

and sculptors are wrong

from writers, as

taking subjects

they often do.

a
part

The
text.

artist

who

interprets

of

story

may

be

supposed to know the rest of the

His

work must prop

writer;
is
it

itself

up
all

on that of the
its

only acquires

meaning

if

it

illuminated by the facts

it.

that

precede or

follow

'When
after

the

painter

Delaroche represents,

Shakespeare, or after his pale imitator,

Casimir Delavigne, the Children of

i68

Edward

THOUGHT
{les

IN

ART
to

En/ants d'Edouard) clinging

it

each
to

other,

is

necessary to know,
that

in

order
to

be interested,

they are the

heirs

throne, that they have been

that

imprisoned, and

hired

murderers,
to

sent

by the usurper,
them.

are just
'

coming

assassinate

When
beg

Delacroix, that genius

citing

whose pardon
to

for

him
of

next

the

very

mediocre Delaroche, takes from Lord Byron's

poem

the subject

Don Juan's Shipwreck

us a
sea,

{Naufrage de Don Juan) and shows

boat in a storm-swept

where the

sailors

are engaged in drawing bits of paper from a

hat,
it

is

necessary, in order to understand this

scene,

to

know

that these

unhappy

creatures

are starving

and are drawing

lots to see

which

of them shall serve as food for the others.

'

These

two

artists,

in

treating

literary

subjects,

commit the

fault of painting pictures

in

which do not carry

plete meaning.

themselves their com-

169

THOUGHT
'

IN

ART
bad because
hard,

Yet, while that of Delaroche is

is

the drawing
feeling

cold,

the
that

colour
of

the
is

melodramatic,

Delacroix

admirable because this boat really pitches on

the

glaucous

waves,

because

hunger

and

distress convulse the faces of the shipwrecked,

because

the

sombre

fury of

the

colouring
in in

announces some horrible crime

short,
if

because,
wild,

Byron's tale
in

is

found mutilated
the
is

the picture,

revenge,

fiery,

and

sublime soul of the painter

there.
'

certainly wholly

The moral
after

of these two examples

reflection,

is

this

when,

mature

you have

laid

down
able

prohibitions which
in

seem most reasonyou

will

the

matter of

art,

rightly

reproach the mediocre

man

because he does

not submit to them, but you will be surprised

to

observe that the

man

of genius infringes

them almost with impunity.'

Roving
round
the
170
atelier

while

Rodin

THOUGHT
was
talking,

IN

ART
a
cast

my

eyes

found

of

his

Ugolin.
It
is

a figure of majestic realism.

It

does

not at
it

all recall

Carpeaux's group
pathetic.

if

possible,

is

even

more

In

Carpeaux's

work, the Pisan count, tortured by madness,

hunger, and sorrow at the sight of his dying
children,

gnaws
the of

his

two

fists.

Rodin has

pictured
children

drama
Ugolin

further
are

advanced.
;

The
lie

dead

they

on

the ground, and their father,

of hunger have changed

whom

the pangs

into a

beast, drags

himself on his hands and knees above their

bodies.

He
is

bends above their

he
turns

flesh

but, at

the

same
brute

time,

away
and
the

his

head.

There
the

a fearful contest within him between

seeking
food

thinking
t

being, the loving being,

this

who

has a horror of

monstrous

sacrifice.

Nothing could be

more poignant.
'

There,' said

I,

'

is

an example to add to
171

THOUGHT
that

IN
in

ART
confirmation
it

of

the
;

shipwreck
it

of

your words
to

is

certain that

is

necessary

have read the Divine Comedy in order to

represent the circumstances of Ugolin's tor-

ment

but
is

even
it

if

the stanzas of Dante were

to

unknown,

would be impossible
the
terrible

remain
conflict

unmoved
which

before

inner

expressed in the attitude and the

-

features of your figure.'

'

It is true,'
is

Rodin added,

'

when a

literary

subject
it

so well

known

the artist can treat

and yet expect to be understood.

better,

Yet

it

is

in

my
in

opinion, that

the works of

painters
their

and

sculptors

should

contain

all

interest

themselves.

Art can

offer

thought and imagination without recourse to

literature.

Instead of illustrating scenes from

poems,

it

need only use plain symbols which

text.

do not require any written

generally been

Such has
sculptures

my own
host
172

method.'
his

What my

indicated,

Q O

CD

< o

O
w H O O
^"

O
(/) 1-4

THOUGHT
language.

IN

ART

gathered around us proclaimed in their mute

There

saw the

casts of several
full

of his works which are most

I I

of ideas.
one.

began

to study

them one by

admired the reproduction of the Pensde,

is

which

at

the

Mus6e
this

du

Luxembourg.

Who
It

does not
is

recall

singular

work?

the

head of a woman, very young,

very

fine,

with features of miraculous subtlety

and

delicacy.

Her head

is

bent and aureoled

it

with a reverie which makes

immaterial.

appear almost

The edges

of a light coif which

the wings
of her

shadow her forehead seem

dreams.
are
still

But her neck and even her chin

held in the heavy, massive block of
free.

marble from which they cannot get

The symbol
expands

is

easily understood.

Thought
matter,

within
it

the

breast

of

inert

and illumines
splendour

with the reflection

she
vainly

of

her
to

but

endeavours

escape from the heavy shackles of reality.

173

THOUGHT
Next
I

IN

ART

turned to Illusion, daughter of Icarus

d'Icare).
It
is

{r Illusion, fille

the figure of

a youthful angel.

As

she flew with her great

wings through space, a rude blast of wind

dashed her to earth, and her charming face was
crushed against a rock.
broken,
still

But her wings, unand, immortal, she

beat the

air,

will rise again, take flight again, fall

again to

earth,

and

this to the

end of time.

Untiring
!

hopes, et^nal disappointments of illusion

Now my

attention

was

attracted

by a

third

sculpture, the

Centauress.

The human bust

despairingly

of the fabulous

creature yearns

towards an end which her longing arms can

never attain
the
soil,
;

but the hind hoofs, grappling

are fast there,

and the heavy

horse's

flanks,

almost crouched in the mud, cannot

It
is

kick the

free.

the

frightful

opposition of

poor

monster's

two natures
heavenly

an

image
rest

of the

soul,

whose

impulses

miserably captive to the bodily clay.

174

46.

THE CENTAURESS. By

A. Rodin.

THOUGHT
'

IN

ART
said,
'

In themes of this kind,' Rodin

I

the

thought,

believe,

is

easily

read.

They
^

awaken
confining
rein
to

the

imagination

of

the

spectators

without any outside help.

it

And
limits,
is,

yet, far

from
it

in

narrow

they give

roam
to

at will.
art.

That

according to
it

me, the rdle of

The form which

creates

ought only

furnish a pretext for the

un-

limited development of emotion.'

At
group
his

this in

instant

found myself before a

marble representing Pygmalion and

statue.

The

sculptor

passionately
life

em-

braces his work, which awakes to

his arms.
'

within

am

going to surprise
'

you,' said Rodin,

suddenly

will

show you
and he

the
led

first

sketch

for this composition,'

me

towards

a plaster
I

cast.

was indeed
faun,

surprised.

This had nothing

whatever to do with the story of Pygmalion.

It

was a

horned and hairy, who clutched

175

THOUGHT
a panting nymph.

IN

ART
lines

The
the

general
subject

were
very

about the same, but

different.

was
at

Rodin

seemed

amused

my

silent

astonishment.

This revelation was somewhat disconcerting

to

me;

for,

contrary to

all

that I

had just

heard and seen,

different,

my

host proved himself in-

in certain cases, to the subject.

He

watched

me 'To sum
you

keenly.
it

up,'

he

said,

'you must not

to the

attribute too

much importance
and

themes

that
their

interpret.

Without doubt, they have

help to charm the public
care

value

but the principal

of

the

artist

should

be to form living muscles.

little.'

The
he

rest matters

Then, suddenly, as
he
last

guessed

my
said

confusion,
that

added,

'You must not think

I

my

words contradict what

before.

'If I say that a sculptor can confine

self to representing palpitating
flesh,

him-

without

176

THOUGHT
but by the ideas that
it

IN

ART
The
in

awakens.

lines

and the colours do not move you

selves,

themis

but by the profound meaning that

In the silhouette of
trees,

in

them.

in

the

line of a horizon, the great landscape painters,

Ruysdael, Cuyp,

Corot, Theodore

Rousseau,

saw a meaning
couraged,

grave

or gay, brave or dis-

peaceful

or tJ"Oubled

according
full

to

their characters.
'

This

is

because the

artist,

of feeling,

can

imagine

nothing

that

is

not

endowed
not a

like himself.

He

suspects in nature a great

consciousness like his own.

living organism,

There

is

not

an inert object, not a

the

cloud in the sky, not a green shoot in

meadow, which does

secret of the great
'

not hold for him the

in all things.

power hidden

Look

at the masterpieces of art.

All this

beauty comes from the thought, the intention

g

which

their creators

believed
are

they could

see

in the universe.

Why

our Gothic cathe-

178

THOUGHT
mean
;

IN

ART
does

preoccupying himself with subject, this

not
that
I I

exclude
that

thought from his

he need
not seek
I

work

if

declare

symbols, this does not signify that

partisan
of

am

an

art

deprived

of

spiritual

significance.
'

But,

to

speak truly,
the form

all

is

idea,

all

is

symbol.

So

and the attitude of a

-

human being reveal the emotions of its soul. The body always expresses the spirit whose And for him who can see, envelope it is.
the nude offers the richest meaning.
majestic
tor,

In the

rhythm of the

outline, a great sculp-

a Phidias, recognises the serene

all

harmony

shed upon

nature by the divine

balanced,

wisdom
of

a simple

torso, calm,

radiant with

strength and grace, can

the
all-powerful

make him think

mind which governs

does

the

world.

'A
Art.

lovely landscape

not appeal only

that
it

by the agreeable sensations

177

inspires.

47.

FAUN AND NYMPH. By

A. Rodin.

>1

< <
1-1

z
<:

Q o

1-1

THOUGHT
drals so beautiful
?
life,

IN

ART
all

It is

because in
the

their

presentment

of

in

human images
and even
in

which adorn
plants which

their

portals,

the

flourish

in

their

capitals,

you
love.

can

discover

trace

of

the
the

divine

Those gentle craftsmen of

Middle Ages
everywhere.

saw
And,

infinite

goodness
their

shining

with

charming

simplicity,

they

have thrown
ness even on

reflections

of this loving-kindof their demons, to

the

faces

whom
air

they have lent a kindly malice and an

almost of relationship to the angels.

at

'Look
Titian,

any

picture
for

by

master
In

all

Rembrandt,

example.

Titian's seigneurs

you notice a proud energy

His
to

which, without doubt, animated himself.

opulent,
adoration,

nude
sure

women
of

ofier

themselves

their

domination.

His and

landscapes, beautified with majestic trees

crimsoned with triumphant sunsets, are not

less

haughty than his people

179

over

all

crea-

THOUGHT

IN

ART

tion he has set a reign of aristocratic pride;

it

was the constant thought of

'

his genius.

Another

kind

of

pride
faces
;

illumines of

the

wrinkled,

smoke-dried

the artisans

whom Rembrandt
smoky
bottle
lofts

painted
little

he ennobled the

and
;

windows glazed with

with

ends

he

illumined

sudden
dignified

beauty these
the
roofs

flat,

rustic landscapes,

of thatch

which his etching-point

caressed with
plate.
It

such pleasure
beautiful

on the coppercourage of the

was the

humble, the holiness of things

common

but

piously beloved, the grandeur of the humility

which accepts and

fulfils

its

destiny worthily,

which attracted him.

'

And

the

mind of the great

that
it

artist

is

so
in

active,

so profound,
It

shows

itself

any

subject.

does not even need a whole

it.

figure

to

express

Take any fragment

Compare,
1

of

a masterpiece, you will recognise the character

of the
creator in
it.

if

you

will,

80

o o

w
SI 'A

?5

<

Q O

>. pq

THOUGHT
and Rembrandt.
be masterful
;

IN

ART

the hands painted in two portraits by Titian

The hands by
In

Titian will
will

those

by Rembrandt
these

be

modest
bits

and

courageous.
all

limited

of

painting

the

ideals

of

these

masters are contained.'

As
the

listened to this profession of faith in

spirituality
lips.

of

art

an objection rose to

my
'

Master,' I said,

'

no one doubts that pictures

and sculptures can suggest the most profound

ideas
;

but

many
is

sceptics

pretend

that the
ideas,

painters

and sculptors never had these

it

and that
into

we

ourselves

who
the

put them

their works.

They

believe
like

that artists
sibyl

work

by pure

instinct,

who

from her tripod rendered the oracles of God,

without herself knowing what she prophesied.

Your words
least,
is

clearly prove that

your hand, at
is
it

ever guided by the mind, but

all

so with

the masters
i8i

Have they always

'

THOUGHT
put

IN

ART
?

thought

into
this

their
clear
?

work
idea

Have
what

they
their

always

had

of

admirers found in them

'Let us understand each other,' Rodin

laughing.
'

said,

There

are

certain

admirers

of

such

complicated

brain

that

they attribute
to

most

unexpected

intentions

the

artist.

We
rest

are not talking of these.

But you may

are

assured

that

the

masters
do.'

always

conscious of
his head,
'

what

they

If the sceptics of
it

And tossing whom you speak

only knew what energy

takes for the artist

to translate, even feebly,

feels

what he thinks and

with the greatest strength, they would

not
forth

doubt

that

all

that

appears

shining

from a

picture

or sculpture
later

was

in-

tended.'
'

few moments

he continued

In short, the purest masterpieces are those

in

which one finds no inexpressive waste of

all,

forms, lines, and colours, but where

lutely
all,

abso-

expresses thought and soul.

182

THOUGHT
'Yet
it

IN

ART
when
ideals,
it

may happen
It

that

the masters

animate the Nature of their

themselves.

they delude

may
is

be that

is

governed by

an indifferent force or by a
our intelligence

will

whose design

incapable of penetrating.
in

At

least,

the
as

artist,

representing
it,

the
his
his

universe

he

imagines
In
nature

formulates
celebrates

own own

dreams.
soul.

he

And
For

so he enriches the soul of

in
spirit

humanity.

colouring

the

material

world with his

he reveals to his de-

lighted fellow-beings a thousand unsuspected

shades
riches

of
in

feeling.

He

discovers

to

them

themselves

until

then

unknown.
life,

He
new
'

gives

them new reasons

as

for loving

inner lights to guide them.

is,

He

Dante said of
and

Virgil, " their guide,

'

their master,

their friend."

183

MYSTERY

IN

ART

CHAPTER
MYSTERY
IN
I I

IX

ART
arrived at Rodin's

ONE
for
'

morning, when
at

house

Meudon

found the master

in his dressing-gown, his hair in disorder, his

feet in slippers, sitting before
it

a good

wood
'

fire,

was November.
the time of the year,' he said,
ill.

It is

when

allow myself to be
I

All the rest of the time

have so much work, so

cares, that I

many

occupations, so

many
I

have not a single instant to

breathe.

But

fatigue accumulates,

and though
yet towards
to

fight stubbornly to

conquer
I

it,

the end

of the

year

am

obliged

stop

work

for a

few days.'
187

'

MYSTERY
Even
rested

IN

ART
words
wall,

as

listened to his

my

eyes

upon a great cross on the

on which
life-

hung
size.

the Christ, a figure three-quarters

It

was a very
tree

fine

painted carving of

most

painful

realism.

The body hanging

it

from the

looked so dead that

life

could

never come to

the
'

most complete consacrifice.

! '

summation of the mysterious

'

You admire

my

crucifix
It
is

Rodin
one

said,
is
it

following

my

glance.

amazing,
in

not?

Its

realism

recalls

that

the

Chapel
that

del

Santisimo

Christo in

Burgos
yes

image so moving, so

terrifying,

so

horrible
corpse.

that

it

looks

like

real

This figure of the Christ

human is much

less brutal.

See how pure and harmonious

are the lines of the

body and arms

in

Seeing

my

host lost
if

contemplation,

ventured to ask him

'It is

he was religious.

according to the meaning that you

the
word,'
1

give

to

he
88

answered.

If

you

MYSTERY
mean
certain

IN

ART
who
before
follows
certain

by

religious

the

man

practices,
I

who bows
religion
It
is
is

dogmas,
'

am

evidently not religious.

But,

to

me,

more
the

than the

mumbling
all

of a creed.

meaning of

that

is

unexplained
the world.
force

and doubtless inexIt

is

plicable

in

the adoration

of the

unknown
laws
all

which
which

maintains the
preserves
the
all

universal

and
;

types of

beings

it

is

the

surmise of
fall

that in nature which does not

within the

domain of

sense, of all

that

immense realm
the

of things which neither the eyes of our body,

nor even those of our

spirit

can see

it

is

impulse of our conscience towards the

infinite,

towards eternity, towards unlimited knowledge

and love

promises perhaps
I

illusory,

but which

in this life

give wings to our thoughts.

In

this

sense

am

religious.'

Rodin followed
of the
'
:

the rapid flickering

flames

fire

for a

moment, and then continued

189

If religion did

MYSTERY
not
exist, I

IN

ART
it.

should have had to invent

artists

In

short,

true

are the

most

religious of

men.
'It
is

a general belief that

we

live

only-

through our senses, and that the world of

appearances
for
suffices
us.

We We

are

taken

children who, intoxicated with changing

colours,

amuse themselves with the shapes

. . .

of

things as with dolls.

5

are misunder-

stood.

Lines and colours are only to us the

realities.

symbols of hidden

Our

eyes plunge

beneath the surface to the meaning of things,

and when afterwards we reproduce the form,

we
'

endow
it

it

with

the

spiritual

meaning

which

covers.

An

artist
all

worthy of the name should extruth

press

the
truth,

of nature,
also,

not only the

all,

exterior

but

and above

the

inner truth.

'When

a good sculptor models a torso, he

life

not only represents the muscles, but the

190

MYSTERY
which animates them
. . .
. .

IN
.

ART
more than the
life
c'

the force that fashioned

it

them and commu-

nicated to them,

may
of

be, grace or strength,

will.

or amorous charm, or indomitable

'

In

the

works

Michael

Angelo,
in

the

creative force

seems to rumble ...

it

those

of Luca della Robbia

smiles divinely.

So

each sculptor, following his temperament, lends

to nature a soul either terrible or gentle.
'

The landscape
It is

painter,

perhaps, goes even

further.

not only in living beings that

he sees the reflection of the universal soul

it

is

in the trees, the bushes, the valleys, the

hills.

What

to other

men

is

only wood and

landscapist
like

earth

appears to

the

great

the

face of a great being.

Corot saw kind-

ness abroad in the trunks of the trees, in the

grass of the
the lakes.

fields,

in the mirroring water of

But there

Millet

read suffering

and resignation.
'

Everywhere the great

191

artist

hears

spirit


MYSTERY
answer to his
find a
'

IN

ART
then, can

spirit.

Where,

you

more

religious

man?
his act of

Does not the sculptor perform

adoration
character

when he
of

perceives

the

majestic

the

forms

that

he

studies?
lines,

when, from the

midst of
extricate

fleeting

he

knows how
each

to

the eternal

type of

being?

when
which

he seems to discern in

the very breast of the divinity the immutable

models

on
?

all

living

creatures

are

moulded
pieces

Study,
the

for

example,

the mastereither
if

of
or

Egyptian

sculptors,
tell

human

animal figures, and

of
the
essential

me

the

accentuation

lines

does not

produce the
artist

effect

of a

sacred hymn.

Every

who

has the

gift of generalising forms,

that

is

to say of accenting their logic without

depriving them

of

their

living

reality,
;

pro-

vokes

the

same

religious

emotion

for

he
felt

communicates

to us the thrill he

himself

before the immortal verities.'

192

'

MYSTERY
'

IN
'

ART
trembling of

Something,'

said,

like the

Faust when he visited that strange Kingdom

of the Mothers, where he talked with the im-

perishable

heroines of

the great

poets and

beheld

all

the generative ideas of terrestrial

realities.*
'

What

a magnificent scene

! '

Rodin

cried,
I

'

and what a breadth of vision Goethe had

continued
' :

He

Mystery

is,

moreover, like a

kind of atmosphere which bathes the greatest

works of the masters.

'They
in the

express, indeed,

all
;

that genius feels

presence
all

of the

Nature

they

represent
all

Nature with

clearness,

with

the

magnificence which a
cover in her
against that
;

human being

can dis-

but they also fling themselves

immense Unknown which everyour

all,

where

envelops

little

world
feel

of

the

known.

For, after

we only

and con-

ceive those things

which are patent to us and

which impress our minds and our senses.

Art.

But
N

93

MYSTERY
all

IN

ART
obscurity.

the rest

is

plunged

in infinite

Even

a thousand things which should be clear

to us are

hidden because we are not organised

to seize them.'

Rodin stopped, and

lines of Victor

recalled the following

I

Hugo, which

repeated

'

Nous ne voyons jamais qu'un

seul c6t^ des choses;

L'autre plonge en la nuit d'un myst^re efirayant

L'homme
Tout ce

subit

Teffi^t

sans connattre les causes

court, inutile et fuyant.'

qu'il voit est

'The poet has put

said, smiling,

it

better than
' :

I,'

Rodin

and he continued

Great works

of

art,

which are the highest proof of human

intelligence

and

sincerity,

say

all

that can be

said on

man and on

the world, and, besides,

is

they teach that there

something more that

cannot be known.
'

Every great

work
the

has
find

this

quality
little

of

mystery.
frenzy."

You always
Recall
194

a
of

" fine

note

interrogation

K W w o w H

MYSTERY
which hovers over
pictures.
all

IN

ART

of Leonardo da Vinci's
to

But

am wrong
Let
us

choose that

great mystic as an example, for he proves

thesis too
easily.

my
the
all

rather

take

Concert ChampStre by Giorgione.

the sweet joy of
is
life,

Here

is

but added to that there

a kind of melancholy intoxication.

What
!

is

human
it

joy
?

does
'

go

Whence comes it ? Where The puzzle of existence

?

Again,

let

us

take,

if

you
of

will,

The

Gleaners,

by

Millet.

One
to

these

women

who
rises

toil

so hard

beneath

the blazing sun

and looks
that
in

away
that

the horizon.

And
has
is

we
the
'

feel

head

question
:

flashed from the

submerged mind
all ?

What

meaning of
That
is

it

the mystery that floats over

all

great work.

What

is

the

meaning of the law

the

which chains these creatures to existence only

to

make them

suffer?

What

is

meaning

oJ-this eternal enticement which

'

makes them

195

MYSTERY
love
life,
I

IN
it

ART
Oh, agonising

however sad

is?

problem
'Yet

it

is

not

only

the

masterpieces of

Christian civilisation which produce this impression

of

mystery.

It
art,

is

felt

before

the

masterpieces of antique

before the Three

I

Fates of the Parthenon, for example.

call

them the Fates

name, though
they
are

because

it

is

the

accepted

in the opinion of

many

students
little

other

goddesses

it

makes

difference either

way

They

are only three

women

seated, but their pose is so serene, so

august that they seem to be taking part in

something of enormous import that we do not

see.

Over them reigns the great mystery, the

eternal

immaterial,

Reason

whom

all

nature

obeys, and of

whom

they are themselves the

celestial servants.
'

So,

all

the masters advance to the barrier

which
Certain

parts

us

from

the

Unknowable.

among them have

196

cruelly

wounded

w
in t3

K w
m

o w H <
w K H

O
en

W H W w

MYSTERY
their

IN
;

ART
whose im-

brows against
is

it

others,

agination

more

cheerful,

imagine that they

hear through that wall the melodious songs

of the birds which people the secret orchard.'
I

listened attentively to

my

host,

who was
his

giving
art.

me

his

most precious thoughts on

It

seemed that the fatigue which had

his

condemned

body

to rest before that hearth

left

where the flames were leaping had

spirit,

his

on the contrary, more

it

free,

and had
into

tempted
dreams.
'

to

fling

itself

passionately

led the talk to his

I said,
'

own

works.
artists,

Master,'

you speak of other

but you are silent about yourself.

are one of those

Yet you
their art

most mystery.

who have put into The torment of the

is

invisible

and of the inexplicable

least of
'

seen in even the

your sculptures.'

Ah

my

dear Gsell,' he said, throwing

'

me

a glance of irony,
feelings in

if I

have expressed certain

it

my

works,

is

utterly useless for

197

MYSTERY
me
to
to try to put

IN

ART
I

them

into words, for

am
I

not a poet,

but a sculptor, and they ought

be easily read in
as
well

my
have

statues

if

not,

might

not

experienced

the

feelings.'
'

You

are right

it

is

for the public to dis-

cover them.
the

So

am
I

going to

tell

you
in

all

mystery

that

have

found

your
seen

inspiration.
rightly.
It

You

will tell

seems

to

me if I have me that what

in

has
that

especially interested

you

humanity

is

strange uneasiness of the soul bound

to the

body.
'

In

all

your statues there

is

the

same imflesh.

pulse of the spirit towards the ideal, in spite

of the weight and the cowardice of the
'

In your Saint John the Baptist, a heavy,

is

almost gross body

divine
limits.

strained,

uplifted
all

by a

mission

which

outruns
de

earthly

In

your

Bourgeois
of

Calais,

the

soul

enamoured

immortality
198

drags

the

52.

BALZAC.

By

A. Rodin.

"

'

MYSTERY
hesitant body- to
its

IN

ART
it

martyrdom, while

seems
"
!

to cry the words, "

'

Thou

tremblest, vile flesh

In your Penseur, meditation, in

its terrible

effort to

embrace the absolute, contracts the

body, bends
the
it,

athletic

crushes

it.

In your
they

Baiser,
felt,

bodies

tremble as though

in advance, the impossibility of realising

that indissoluble union desired

by

their souls.

In your Balzac, genius, haunted by gigantic

visions,

shakes the sick

body,
it

dooms
?

it

to

insomnia, and condemns

galley-slave.
'

to the labour of a

Am

right,

master

do not contradict you,' Rodin answered,

stroking his long beard thoughtfully.

'And
against

in

your busts,

even

more

perhapS)-

you have shown

the

this impatience of the spirit

chains

of

matter.

Almost

all

recall the lines of the

poet:

'

" Ainsi qu'en s'envolant I'oiseau courbe la branche,

Son ime

avait brisd son corps

199

MYSTERY
You have
the head
their

IN
all

ART
the writers with

represented
as
if

bent,

beneath the weight of

for

thoughts.

As

your

artists,

they

gaze straight at nature, but they are haggard

because their reverie draws them far beyond

what they

see, far

beyond

all

they can express.

at

'That bust of a

woman

the

Musde du
that

Luxembourg, perhaps the most beautiful

you have carved, bows and
*

vacillates

as

if

the

soul

were

seized

with

giddiness

upon

plunging into the abyss of dreams.

'

To sum

it

up,

your busts often

for the
call

recall

Rembrandt's

portraits,

Dutch master
infinite,

has also made plain this

of the

by lighting the brow of

light

his personages

by a

which

falls

from above.'

'To compare me with

sacrilege
! '

Rembrandt,
'

what

Rodin

cried

quickly.
!

To Remit,

brandt,

the
!

Colossus

of art

Think of

my

friend

Let us
set

bow
200

before

Rembrandt,

and never

any one beside him

55.

BUST OF MME.

V.

By

A. Rodin.

'

MYSTERY
'

IN

ART
justly
in

But

you have concluded

in

obthe
chi-

serving
soul

my

works the
that

stirrings

of

towards
of

kingdom,
truth

perhaps

merical,

unlimited
is

and
that

liberty.

There,
me.'

indeed,

the
later

mystery

moves
of

moment convinced now

religion
?

he asked:
art
is

'Are you
kind

that

'Yes,' I answered.

Then he added, with some malice

very necessary
the
first

'

It is

to

remember,

however,
religion,
is

that
for

those

commandment of this who wish to practise it,

model a
torso,

to

know

how

to

an arm, or a leg!'

201

PHIDIAS

AND MICHAEL
ANGELO

CHAPTER X
PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

ONE and Come

'

Saturday evening Rodin said to me,

see

me to-morrow morning
and of
I

at

Meudon.

We

will talk of Phidias will

Michael Angqlo, and

for

model statuettes
In that
essential
or,

you on the principles of both.

will

way you
differences

quickly
the

grasp

the

of

two

inspirations,

to

express

it

better,

the opposed characteristics

which divide them.'

Phidias and

Michael Angelo judged

!

and

commented upon by Rodin

imagine that
meeting.
205
I

It

is

easy to

was exact

to the

hour of our

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

The Master
sat

down
atelier

before a marble table

It

and clay was brought and as the great

afraid

to him.

was

winter,
I

was unheated,
take
cold.

was
the

that
to

he

might
I

But

attendant

whom
'

suggested this smiled

as he answered,

Never,

And my

disquietude

the fever which seized

when he works.' vanished when I saw the Master when he

began to knead the

to
sit

clay.

He had
Rolling

asked
balls

me
of

down

beside

him.

clay on the table, he began rapidly to model

a figure, talking at the same time.

'

This

first figure,'

he

said,

'

will

be founded
I

on the conception of Phidias.

nounce that name
I

When
its

pro-

am

really thinking of all

Greek

sculpture,

which

found

highest

expression in the genius of Phidias.'

The

clay figure

was taking shape.

bits

Rodin's
of clay;

hands came and went, adding

gathering
accurate
it

in

his

large
;

palms, with swift,

the

movements

then

thumb and

206

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

the fingers took
single
pressure,
part,

turning a leg with a

hip,

rounding a
the head,

sloping a
all

shoulder,
incredible

turning

and
as
if

with

swiftness,

almost

he were

performing

conjuring

trick.

Occasionally
to

the Master stopped a

moment
and

study his
rapidly

work,

reflected,

decided,

then

executed his idea.

I

have never seen any one work so

fast

evidently sureness of

giving an ease to

mind and eye ends by the hand of a great artist

to

which can only be compared

ness of a juggler, or, to

the adroit-

make a comparison
profession,

with
skill

more

honoured

to

the

of a great surgeon.

And

this

facility,

far

from

excluding

precision

and

vigour,

involves them, and has, consequently, nothing

whatever to do with a superficial virtuosity.

While
statuette

drew these conclusions,

into
life.

Rodin's
full

grew

It

was

of

rhythm, one hand on the hip, the other arm

207

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

falling

gracefully at

her side and the head

bent.
'

am

not fatuous enough to believe that

sketch
is

this

quick

as

beautiful
'

as

an

antique,' the

Master
it

said, laughing,

but don't

you
'

find that

gives you a
it

dim

idea of it?'

could swear that

I

was the copy of a and

Greek marble,'
'

answered.

Well, then,

let

us

examine

i*t

see

from

what

this

resemblance

arises.

My

statuette offers,

from head to

feet,

four planes

which are alternatively opposed.-

'

The

plane of the shoulders and chest leads

left

towards the
lower
half

shoulder

the

plane of the

of

the

body leads towards the

knees leads again
for the

right side

the plane of the

left

towards the
right leg,

knee,
is

knee of the

which

bent,

comes ahead of the

foot
left

other
right

and
leg

finally,
is

the

of

this

same
So,
in
I

back

of the

foot.

repeat,

you can note four directions

208

my

PHIDIAS
figure

AND MICHAEL ANGELO

whole body.
of
tranquil

which produce a very gentle undula-

tion through the

'This

impression

charm
of

is

equally given

by the balance of the

through
the

figure.

A
the

plumb-line

middle

the

neck would
left

fall

on the inner ankle bone of

all

foot,

which bears
other
leg,

the weight of

the body.
is

The
its

on the contrary,

free

only
be

toes touch the

ground and
support
the

so
it

only furnish
could

supplementary
without
is

lifted

disturbing
full

equilibrium.

The pose

of abandon

and of
'

grace.
is

There

another thing

to

notice.

The
left

upper part of the torso leans to the side of

the leg which

supports the body.

at a

The
left
is

shoulder
other.

is,

thus,

lower level than the

to
it,

But,

as

opposed
the

the

hip,

which

supports
So,
is

whole
this

pose,

raised

and

salient.

on

side of the

body
O

the shoulder
Art.

nearer the hip, while on the

209

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

other side the right shoulder, which
is
is raised,

separated

from

the

right

hip,

which

is

lowered.

This

recalls

the

movement

of an

accordion, which closes on one side and opens

on the
'

other.

This double balance of the shoulders and

still

of the hips contributes

more

to the

calm

elegance of the whole.

'

Now
It is

look at

my

statuette in profile.
;

'

bent backwards

the back

is

hollowed

and the chest

the figure
letter C.
'

slightly expanded.

In a word,

is

convex and has the form of the

This form helps

it

to catch the light,

which

is

distributed softly over the torso

to the general charm.

and limbs

and so adds
different

Now

the

peculiarities

which we see
all

in this

statuette

may

be noted in nearly
there there

antiques.
varia-

Without
tions,

doubt,

are
are

numerous

doubtless

some derogations
principles
;

from these

fundamental
2IO

but

in

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

the

Greek
the

works

you

will

always
I

find

most of
indicated.
'

characteristics

which

have

Now

translate this technical system

;

into

spiritual terms

you

will then recognise that

antique art signifies contentment, calm, grace,

balance, reason.'
figure.
'
'

Rodin
carry

cast a glance at his

it

could

further,'

he

said,

but
it

it

would be only
it

to

amuse

us,

because,

as

stands,

has sufficed
details,
it.

me

for

my

de-

monstration.

The
to

moreover,

would

add very

little

And

now, by the way,

the

an important truth.
figure are well

When

planes

of

placed, with

decision and in-

telligence, all is done, so to

effect is

speak

the whole

obtained

the refinements which

come
is
.,

after

might please the

spectator, but they are

almost superfluous.

This science of planes

epochs
;

common

to

all

great

it

is

almost

ignored to-day.'

Pushing

aside

the

clay

figure,

he

went

211

'

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

on
:
'

Now
did

will

do

you

another

after

Michael Angelo.'

He
way

not

proceed
first.

at

all

in

the

same

as for the

He
same

turned the two legs

side

of the figure to the

to the opposite side.

and the torso

for-

He

bent the body

ward

he folded one arm close against the

body and placed the other behind the head.

The
*

attitude

thus
effort

evoked offered a strange

appearance of

and of

torture.

Rodin
the of

had fashioned
preceding
clay

this

sketch

as quickly as
his
balls

one,

only

crushing

with

more vigour and putting almost

he

frenzy into the strokes of his thumb.

'

There

' !

cried.

'

What do you

think

of it?'
'

should take

it

for a for

copy of a Michael
replica

Angelo
his

or
!
!

rather

of one of

works.

What
Follow

vigour, what

tension of

the muscles
'

Now

my
212

explanation.

Here,

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

instead___of_jb,ur planes,

you have only two;

This
of

one
the

for the

upper half of the statuette and

other, opposed, for the lower half.

at

gives

once a

sense of

violence and

constraint

and

the

result is a striking con-

trast to the
'

calm of the antiques.

bent,
is

Both legs are

and consequently the

divided between the

weight of the

body

two instead
one.

of being
is

borne exclusively
here, but

by

So

there

no repose

work

for both the lower limbs.

'

Besides, the hip corresponding to the leg

which

bears the
is

lesser
raised,
this

weight

is

the one

which

the
is

more

which indicates that

way.
animated.
Instead

the body
'

pushing

Nor

is

the torso less

of resting quietly, as in the antique, on the

most prominent
tinue the
'

hip,

it,

on the contrary,
side

raises

the shoulder on the

same

so as to con-

movement
note

of the hip.

Now

that the
213

concentration of the

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

effort

places the

two limbs one against the

other,

and the two arms, one against the body

the

and

other
is

against

the

head.

In this

way
and

there

no space

left

between the limbs

the

body.

You

see

none

of

those

openings which, resulting from the freedom

with which the arms and legs

were placed,

gave lightness
of Michael
size,

to

Greek sculpture.

The
all

art

Angelo created statues

of

in a block.

He

said himself that only

those
rolled

statues

were

good

which

could

be

from the
;

top of a mountain without

in

breaking

and

his

opinion

all

that

was

broken
'

off in

such a

fall

was superfluous.
carved
to

His figures surely seem

;

meet

this test

but

it

is

certain that not

a single
greatest

antique could have

stood

it

the

works of Phidias, of
the foot of the

Praxiteles, of Polycletes,

of Scopas and of Lysippus would have reached

hill

in pieces.

'And

that

proves

how

a formula which

214

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

may be profoundly true for one artistic school may be false for another. 'A last important characteristic of my
statuette
is

that

it

is

in

the

form of a

console

the
;

knees constitute the lower prothe

retreating

tuberance

chest

represents

the concavity,

the bent
console.

head the upper jut-

ment of the
arched
antique

The

torso

is

thus
as
in

forward instead of
art.

backward

It

is

that

which produces here

such deep shadows in the hollow of the chest

and beneath the

'

legs.

To sum

it

up,

the

greatest

genius
epic

of

modern
shadow,
of light.

times

has

celebrated

the

of

while the

ancients

celebrated

that

And
of
as

if

we now
did
that
his

seek the spiritual

of

significance

the

technique
of

Michael
Greeks,

Angelo,

we

the

we

shall

find

that

sculpture
to
act

expressed

restless

energy, the will

success

without the

hope

of

in

fine,

the

martyrdom

215

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

of the
creature

tormented

by

unrealisable

aspirations,
'

y You know
life,

that Raphael, during one period

of his

tried to

imitate

Michael Angelo.

He
It

did not succeed.

He

could not discover

the secret of the condensed passion of his rival.

was because he was formed by the Greek

is

school, as

proved by that divine

trio of the

Graces at Chantilly, in which he copied an

adorable antique group
at

Siena.

Without
to

knowing

it,

he

constantly returned

the

principles of the masters he preferred.

Those

of his figures in which he wished to put most

strength always kept the rhythm and gracious

balance of the Hellenic masterpieces.

'

When
full

went

to

Italy myself,

with
I

my
had
I

head
so

of the Greek models which

passionately

studied

at

the

Louvre,

found myself completely disconcerted before

the

Michael Angelos.
all

They constantly
I

con-

tradicted

those truths which

216

believed

"

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

that
I
I

had

definitely acquired.

"

Look

here,"

said to myself, "

why

this incurvation of the

?

body, this raised hip, this lowered shoulder

I

was very much

upset.

'And
been
kept at
*

yet Michael Angelo could

!

not have
I

mistaken
it

had

to

understand.

and
the

succeeded.
truth,

To
art.

tell

Michael

Angelo does
unique place
all

not, as is often contended, hold a

in

He
It

is

the culmination of

Gothic

thought.
naissance

is

generally said
the
its

that

the

Re-

was

resurrection

of

pagan

rationalism and

victory over the mysticism

of the Middle Ages.

This

is

only half true.

The Christian spirit continued to inspire a number of the artists of the Renaissance, among others, Donatello, the painter Ghirlandajo, who was the master of Michael
Angelo, and Buonarotti himself.
'

He

is

manifestly the descendant

of

the

image-makers of the thirteenth and fourteenth

217

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

centuries.

You
the
to

constantly find in the sculpthis

ture

of

Middle Ages

form of the
attention.

console

which
find

called

your

There you

this

same

restriction of the

chest, these limbs

glued to the body, and this

attitude

of

effort.

There you
life

find

above

all

a melancholy which regards thing to which

as a transitory

we must not

cling.'

As

thanked

my
'
:

host for his precious in-

struction, he said

We

must complete

it

one

of these days by a visit to the Louvre.

forget
to

Don't
a

remind

me.'

At

this

moment

servant

announced

Anatole

France,

whom
sculptor

Rodin was expecting.

had
invited

The master
writer to

the

great

come and

admire his collection of antiques.

They formed a
Anatole France
long and fine
their
;

great contrast to each other.

tall

is

and

thin.

His

face is

his black eyes are set deep in

sockets
;

his

hands

are

delicate

and

slender

his gestures

are vivacious
218

and em-

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

phasise
all

the play of his irony.

Rodin

is

thick-set,

he has strong shoulders, his face

is

broad

his

dreamy

eyes, often half-closed,

open

wide

at times

and disclose pupils of

clear blue.

His beard gives him the look of one of Michael

Angelo's prophets.

His movements are slow

and

dignified.

His large hands, with short

the personification of deep and the

fingers, are strongly supple.

The one
witty
strength.

is

analysis,

other

of

passion

and

The

sculptor led us to his antiques, and the

conversation naturally returned to the subject

which we had just been discussing.

Greek

stele

roused the admiration of

It

Anatole

France.
seated.

represented
is

young
at

woman
lovingly,

A man
her,

gazing

her

and behind
Greeks

bending over her

shoulders, stands a serving-maid.

'

How

the

loved

life

'

cried

the
this

author

of

Thais.

'See!
219

Nothing on

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

funeral stone recalls death.
is

The dead woman

still

here amid the living, and seems

to take

part in their existence.

Only she has become

one
of the

very weak, and as she can no longer stand

she must remain seated.
characteristics
It
is

which designate the

dead on

these antique

monuments

their limbs being

staff,

without strength, they must lean upon a

or against a wall, or else
'

sit

down.
which
fre-

There

is

also

another

detail

quently distinguishes them.

While
all

the living

who
and
'

are figured around

them

regard them
far

with tenderness, their

rest

on

no one.
them.

own eyes wander They no longer

Yet they continue

see
to

those
live

who
like

see

beloved invalids

among

those

who
this

cherish

them.
is

And
the

this

half-presence,

half-absence

most touching expression

of the regret which, according to the ancients,

the light of day inspired in the dead.'

Rodin's collection of antiques

220

is

large and

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

well

chosen.

He

is

especially

proud of a
filled

Hercules, whose vigorous

slimness

us

with enthusiasm.

It

is

a statue which does

not in the least resemble the huge Hercules.

It
is
all

Farnese

marvellously graceful.
his

The

demi-god, in

proud youth, has a body

and limbs of extreme slenderness.

'This
is

indeed,'

said our host,

'the hero

who
not

outran the Arcadian stag with the brazen

hooves.

The heavy
been
Strength
is

athlete of

Lysippus would
such a
allied
feat

have

capable
is

of

of

prowess.

often
;

to

grace,

and true grace

which
this

strong
is

a double truth of

Hercules

a proof.

As you

see,

the son of

Alcmene seems even more robust

is

because his body

harmoniously proportioned.'

Anatole France stopped before a charming

little

torso of a goddess.

'

This,' he said,

'

is

one of the numberless chaste Aphrodites which

were more or
teles'

less free reproductions of Praxi-

masterpiece,

the

Ctiidian

Venus.

The

221

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

Venus of the
Medici
this
'

Capitol

and

the

Venus di

are,

among

others, only variations of

much-copied model.
the Greeks,
skill

Among

many

excellent sculp-

tors

spent their

in imitating the

work

of

some master who had preceded them.

their

They

modified the general idea but slightly, and only

showed
the

own
It

personality in the science of

execution.

would seem,

besides,

that

devotional zeal, becoming fond of a sculptural

image, forbade artists afterwards to change

it.

Religion fixes once and for

that
it

all

the divine types

adopts.

We

are astonished to find so

many
sacred.

chaste

Venuses,

so

many

crouching

Venuses.

We

forget that these statues were

In a thousand or two thousand years

they will exhume in the same

of statues of the
,

way numbers Virgin of Lourdes, all much

alike,

with a white robe, a rosary, and a blue

girdle.'
'

What

a kindly religion this of the Greeks

222

'

PHIDIAS AND MICHAEL ANGELO

must have
shippers
'

been,' I cried,

'

which offered such

charming forms
!

to the adoration of its wor-

It

was
it

beautiful,'
left
it

Anatole France replied,

;

'

since

has

us these Venuses
kindly.
all

but do not
intolerant

believe that

was

It

was

and

tyrannical, like

forms of pious fervour.

In the name of these Aphrodites of quivering

flesh

many
of

noble souls were tortured.

In the
the

name

Olympus

the Athenians offered

Socrates.

cup of hemlock to
recall that verse of
"

And do you
:

Lucretius

'

Tantum
see,

religio potuit suadere

malorum

"
!

'

You

if

the

gods
it

of
is,

antiquity

are

sympathetic to us to-day
they can no longer harm

because

fallen,

us.'

223

AT THE LOUVRE

CHAPTER

XI

AT THE LOUVRE

SEVERAL
promise

days
into

later,

Rodin, putting his

execution,

asked

me

to

accompany him

to the

Musde du Louvre.

We were
old friends.
'

no sooner before the antiques than

he showed by his happy air that he was

among
I

How many
when
I I
I

times,'

he

said,

'

have

come
years

here
old

was not more than

fifteen

had a violent longing

Colour attracted me.
to

at first to be a
I

painter.

often

went

upstairs

admire the
I

Titians

and Rem-

brandts.
to

But, alas!

hadn't enough
colour.

money

buy canvases and tubes of

Aru

To copy

227

AT THE LOUVRE
the antiques, on the contrary,
I

only needed

paper and pencils.

So

was

forced to

work

in

the lower rooms, and there such a passion for

sculpture
seized

me

that

could

think

of

nothing

else.'

As

listened to

Rodin while he
I

told of his

long study of the antique,

injustice

thought of the
false classicists

done him by those

accused

who have
this

him

of

being

an
!

inis

surgent against tradition.

Tradition

it

pretended
day,
I

revolutionary

who,

in

our

own
it

has

known
to the

it

best and

respected

most

He

led

me

room

full

of casts and,

pointing out the Diadumenes by Polyclete, the

original of

which

is

in the British

Museum, he

said
that

'
:

You

can observe here the four directions

the other day in
left

indicated

my

clay

statuette.

Just examine the

is

side of this

statue

the shoulder
;

slightly forward, the

is

hip

is

back

again the knee

228

forward, the foot

'

AT THE LOUVRE
is

back

and thence a gentle undulation of the

notice the balance of the levelsthe

whole
'

results.

Now

level of the shoulders lower

towards the

right,
left.

the level of the hips lower towards the

Note that the plumb-line passing through the neck falls on the inner ankle bone of the right
foot
;

note

the
in

free

poise

of

the

left

leg.

Finally,

view

profile the convexity of the

like

back of the statue, in form

C
casts,

Rodin repeated

this

demonstration with a

number
he led

of other antiques.

Leaving the

me

to the wonderful torso of Periboetos

by
'

Praxiteles.

Here

the

direction

of the

shoulders

is

towards the
the right

left,

direction of the hips towards

level of the right shoulder higher,

level of the left hip higher.'

less theoretic

Then, passing to
'

impressions

How
and

charming

he

cried.

'

This young

torso,

without a head,
at the spring,

seems

to smile at the light

229

AT THE LOUVRE
better than eyes

and

lips

could

do.'

Then we
Here you
but

reached the Venus of Milo.

'

Behold the marvel of marvels

an exquisite rhythm very

find

like that in the

statue

which we have been

;

admiring
for here

something of thought as well

longer find the form of the
the
;

we no

C on

the contrary,

body of this goddess bends

tormented here.

slightly forward
is

as in Christian sculpture.
restless or

Yet there

nothing
is

This work

the
;

expression of the greatest antique inspiration

it

is

voluptuousness regulated by restraint

joy of
life

it

is

the

cadenced,

moderated

by

reason.
'

Such

masterpieces
vividly

affect

They bring
birth.
I

before

me strangely. my mind the

their

atmosphere and the country where they had

see

the

young Greeks,

brown

hair crowned with violets and the maidens with

floating tunics as they pass to offer sacrifice to

the gods in those temples 230

whose

lines

were

57.

THE VICTORY OF SAMOTHRACE.

AT THE LOUVRE
pure and majestic, whose marble had the
transparency of
flesh.
I

warm

imagine the philo-

sophers walking in the outskirts of the town,

conversing upon beauty, close to some old altar

which

recalls to

them the earthly adventure

of

some god.

The

birds sing amidst the ivy, in

the great plane-trees, in the bushes of laurel

and of myrtle, and the brooks shine beneath

the serene blue sky, which

domes

this

sensuous

and peaceful

land.'

An
'

instant later

we were

before the Victory

of Samothrace.
Place
it,

in

your mind, upon a golden

beneath the
live

shore,

whence,

branches,

you may see the blue and shining sea cradling

its

white islands!
light

Antique marbles need the

In

full

of day.

our

museums

they

are

The by too heavy shadows. reflection of the sun-bathed earth and of the Mediterranean aureoled them with dazzling
deadened
splendour.

Their

yicfory ...
231

it

was

their

AT THE LOUVRE
Liberty

how

it

differs

from ours

She did
;

not gather back her robe to leap barriers

she

was clothed
formed

in fine linen, not in coarse cloth

its
;

her marvellous body in

for

beauty was not

her

daily

tasks

movements,

''though vigorous,
balanced.
'

were

always harmoniously

'In
elect.

truth she

was not the Liberty of

the

the

whole world, but only of

intellectually

The

philosophers contemplated her with

delight.

But the conquered, the slaves who

for her.
ideal.

were beaten in her name, had no love

'

That was the

fault of the

Hellenic

The Beauty conceived by

,
,

the Greeks

was the

order dreamed of by intelligence, but she only

appealed to the cultivated

the

mind

she disdained

humble
;

she had no tenderness for the

broken
there
'

she did not

know
to
;

that in every heart

is

a ray of heaven.
all

She was tyrannous

232

who were

not

capable of high thought

she inspired Aristotle

AT THE LOUVRE
to an apology for slavery
;

she only admitted

the perfection of form and she did not

know

that the expression of the most abject creature

may be
'

sublime.

She destroyed the malwhich the philosophers

formed children.

But

this very order

extolled
it

was too

limited.

They had imagined

it

according to their desires and not as

the vast universe.

exists

in

according to their

They had arranged it human geometry. They

They
its

figured the world as limited by a great crystal

sphere

they feared the unlimited.

also

feared progress.

According to them, creation

at
its

had never been as beautiful as

birth,

when nothing had

balance.

yet troubled
all

primitive

Since then
each day a

had continually grown

worse

little

more confusion had

made
the

its

way

into the universal order.

The

age of gold which we glimpse on the horizon of

future,

they placed behind them in the

remoteness of time.
233


AT THE LOUVRE
'

So

this passion

for order betrayed

them.

Order reigns without doubt in the immensity

of
nature,

but
in

it

is

much more complex

efforts

than

man

the
it

first

of his reason
it

can represent
changing.
'

and

besides,

is

eternally

Yet sculpture was never more radiant than

it

when
It

was inspired by

this

narrow

order.
find

was because that calm beauty could was

because
there

entire expression in the serenity of transparent

marbles

it

was

perfect

accord between the thought and

that
it

the matter

animated.

The modern
all

spirit,

on the

contrary, upsets
it

and breaks

forms in which

takes body.
'

No

no

artist will ever

surpass Phidias

for
art.

progress exists in the world, but not in

The

greatest of sculptors

at a

time when the

in

who appeared whole human dream could

a temple will

blossom
remain

the pediment of

for ever

without an equal.'
234

56.

A CAPTIVE.

By Michael Angelo.

AT THE LOUVRE

We
the

passed on to the room which

holds
it

work of Michael Angelo.

crossed
that

To

reach

we

of

Jean

Goujon

and

of

Germain Pilon.
'Your elder brothers,'
'

I said.

should like to think

a
sigh.

so,'

Rodin answered

with

We

were

now
which

before

the

Captives,
at

by Michael Angelo.
right,

We first
is

looked

the

one on the
'

seen in

profile.

Look

only two great planes.

the

The
atti-

legs
side.

to

one

side,

body

to

the

opposite

This gives great strength to the

tude.
is

No

balance of levels.

The

right hip
is

the highest,

and the right shoulder

also

highest.
tude.

So

the

movement
line

acquires

ampliit
;

Observe

the

of

plumb

falls

not

on one

foot,

but between the two

so

both legs bear the body and seem to make

an
'

effort.

Let us consider,

finally,
;

the general aspect.

It is

that of a console

the bent legs project,

235

AT THE LOUVRE
the retreating chest
the confirmation

forms a hollow.
I

It

is

of what

demonstrated in

my
*

studio with the clay model.'

Then, turning towards the other captive

Here

again

the

form

of

the

console

is

designed, not by the retreating chest, but by

the raised elbow, which
I

hangs forward.
you,
this

As

have

already
is

told

particular

silhouette

that of all

the statuary of the

Middle Ages.

'You
Virgin
the

find this

form of the console

over
the

in the
;

seated

leaning

her
cross,

child

in

Christ

nailed

on

the

legs

bent, the

body bowed towards the men

;

whom
Mater

His suffering would redeem

Dolorosa
Son.
'

in

the

who bends above

I

the body of her

Michael Angelo,

repeat, is only the last

and greatest of the Gothics.

'

The

soul thrown back

life,

upon

itself,

suffering,

disgust of

contention against the bonds

236

AT THE LOUVRE
of

matter

such

are

the

elements

of

his

inspiration.

'The captives are held by bonds so weak

that
it

seems easy
to

to break them.

But the
bondage

sculptor wished
is,

show

that

their

above

all,

a moral one.

For, although he

has represented in these figures the provinces

conquered by Pope Julius

II.,

he has given
his

them

symbolic value.
is

Each one of
soul

prisoners

the

human
of
its

which would
envelope

burst the bounds

corporeal

in order to possess at the captive

unlimited liberty.
right.

Look

on the

He

has the face

of
the

Beethoven.
features

Michael Angelo has divined

of that

most unhappy of great

musicians.
'

His whole existence proved that he was

frightfully

himself

tortured
for

by

melancholy.
of
life

"Why
of

do we

hope

more

and

pleasure?"

he said in one of his

" Earthly

most
us

beautiful

sonnets.

joy

harms

237

"

AT THE LOUVRE
even more than
verse, "
it

delights."

And

in another

He who

dies soon after birth enjoys

!

the happiest fate

"""^All his statues are so constrained by agony

that they

seem seem

to

wish to break themselves.

to

They

all

ready

succumb
fills

to

the

pressure of despair which

them.

When
wanted

Michael Angelo was old

them.
infinity.

he

actually broke

Art did not content him.

" Neither

He

painting

nor

sculpture,"

he writes, " can charm the soul turned towards

that divine love which,
its

upon the
mystic

cross,

opens

arms

to

receive us."

These are also the

exact words of the great

the Imitation of Jesus Christ:

who wrote "The highest

It is

wisdom
to to

is

to reach

the

kingdom of heaven
vanity not
with-

through contempt of the world.

cling to

what

is

but

passing

and
is

hasten

towards that joy which

out end."'

There was silence

for

a time, then Rodin

238

S8.

PIETA.

By Michael Angelo.

AT THE LOUVRE
spoke his thought
'

remember being

in the

Duomo
The

at Florence

and regarding with proordinarily in shadow,

found emotion that PUtii by Michael Angelo.

masterpiece, which
at the
is

was lighted
silver

moment by

a candle in a

candlestick.

And

a beautiful child, a

chorister,

approached

the candlestick,

which

was

as

tall

as himself,
light.

drew
I

it

towards him,

and blew out the

could no longer

see the marvellous sculpture.

And
I

this child

appeared to figure to

me

the genius of Death,

which puts an end to

precious picture in

life.

have kept that

my
I

heart.'
'

He

paused, then went on

little,

If I

may
I

speak

of myself a
oscillated

will tell

you that

have

all

my

life

between the two great between

that

tendencies
ception

of

sculpture,

the

con-

of

Phidias

and

of

Michael

Angelo.
'

began
I

when

by following the went to Italy I was

239

antique,
carried

but

away

AT THE LOUVRE
by the great Florentine master, and
has certainly
felt

my

work

the effects of this passion.

'Since then, especially more of late years,

I

have returned to the antique.

'The favourite themes of Michael Angelo,

the

depths of the

human
suffering,

soul,

the

sanctity

of effort

and of But
I

have an austere
feel

grandeur.
of
life.

do not

his

contempt
as
it

Earthly

activity, imperfect

may

be, is still
life

beautiful

and good.
which
it

Let us love
exacts.

for the very effort for

'As
render
calm,

me,

ceaselessly

endeavour
ever

to

my
more
of

outlook
just.

on

nature

more

We
of

should strive to attain

Christian
anxiety,
in

serenity.

Enough
all.'

the

face

the great

mystery, will

always

remain in us

240

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE

ARTIST

CHAPTER

XII

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

I

THE
Salon de
selves

day before the vernissage (varnishI

ing day),

met Auguste Rodin

at

the

la Society

Nationale in Paris.
his pupils,

He

was accompanied by two of

pastmasters
:

them-

the

sculptor

Bourdelle,

who was
piercing

this year exhibiting a fierce Hercules

the

Stymphalian

birds

with

his

arrows, and Despiau,

clever busts.

who models

exquisitely

All three had

the

stopped before a figure of

god Pan, which Bourdelle had whimsically carved in the likeness of Rodin, and
Art.

243

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

the creator of the
for

work was excusing himself

horns which he had
set

the

two small
do

upon the Master's forehead.

'

You had

to

it,'

Rodin
are

replied,

laugh-

ing,

'because

you

representing

Pan.

Michael Angelo gave just such horns to his

Moses.

They
to

are the

emblem
I

of omnipotence
I

and omniscience, and

flattered

assure you that

am

have been so favoured by your

lattentions.'

As
three

it

was now noon, Rodin invited us

with him

all

to lunch

somewhere

in

the

neighbourhood.

We passed
Elys^es,

out into the Avenue des

Champs
young

where

beneath

the

crude

green

of

the chestnut-trees
slipped
of

the

motors and
files, all

carriages

by

in

shining
life

the

brilliance
its

Parisian

flashing here
fascinating

from

brightest

and

most
?
'

setting.
'

Where

are

we going
244

to lunch

Bourdelle

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

asked,
the

pausing

with

comical

anxiety.

'In

big restaurants

about here we shall be

waited upon by solemn men-servants in dresscoats,

which
I

cannot

bear.

They
little

frighten

me.

advise

some
go.'

quiet

restaurant

where the cabbies

'The food
these
'

is

really

better

there

than in
declared.

gorgeous
is

places,'

Despiau

Here the food

too sophisticated.'
Bourdelle's
in

He
thought

had
;

expressed
Bourdelle,
is

secret

for

spite of his pre-

tended modesty,

a gourmand.
to lead

Rodin agreeing, allowed them

to a little eating-house
off the

him

hidden in a side-street

Champs
corner

Elys^es,

where we chose a
ourselves

quiet

and

installed

com-

fortably.

Despiau,

who
he

has

lively
'

disposition,
yourself,

began

teasing

Bourdelle.
said,

Help

Bourdelle,'

passing

him

dish, to

'though you know you don't deserve

245

be

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

fed,

because you are an

artist

that

is

to say,

of no use to any one.'

'

pardon you this impertinence,' Bourdelle

'because you take half for your-

answered,
self.'

He
I

began

gaily,

but

ended

in

momentary
'

crisis of

pessimism, as he added
It is true that
I

But

won't contradict you.

we

are

good

for

nothing.

When

think of

my
He

father,

myself,

who was a stone-cutter, I "His work was necessary to

I

say to
society.

prepared the building materials for men's

houses."

can see him now, good old man,

conscientiously
stone, winter

sawing

his

blocks

of free-

and summer,

in the

open work-

shop.

His was a rugged type such as we

do not see nowadays.

service

But

but
?

we

what
are

do we render to our kind

We

jugglers,

mountebanks, dreamers, who amuse

the people in the market-place.

They

scarcely

deign to take an interest in our

people
are

efforts.

Few
them.

capable

of
246

understanding

59.

THE BROKEN

LILY.

By

A. Rodin.

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

And
I

do not know whether we

really deserve

their good-will, for the world could very well

get on without

us.'

II
It

was Rodin who answered.

that

'

do not

believe

our

friend

Bourdelle means a

word

of
is

what

he

says.

As

for
his.

me,
I

my

opinion

entirely

opposed to

believe

that artists are the

most useful of men.'

'

Bourdelle

laughed.

You

are

blinded by

love of your profession.'

'

Not

at

all,

for

my

opinion rests on very

I

sound reasons, which

first

will

tell

you.

But
the

have

some of mind
it

this
It

wine

which

patron recommends.
better frame of

will

put you in a

to listen to me.'

When
:

he had poured
*

out for us,

he resumed

To

begin with

have
247

you
I

reflected that

in

modern

society artists,

mean

true

artists,

'

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

are about the only
in their
'

men who
work
..."
to
is

take any pleasure

work

It is certain that

all

our joy
'

all

our

life

.
.

'

Bourdelle cried,

but that

does not

mean
It

that

'Wait!

seems

me

that
is

what

is

most

lacking in our contemporaries

profession.

love of their
their tasks
strike.
It

They only accomplish grudgingly. They would willingly

is

so from the top to the bottom of the social

ladder.

The

politician only

sees in his office

the

material
it,

advantages which he can gain

from
pride

and he does not seem to know the

the old

which

statesmen

felt

in

the

skilful direction of the affairs of their country.

'

The

manufacturer,

instead

of

upholding

the honour of his brand, only strives to

as

make

much money as he can by adulterating his products. The workman, feeling a more or
less

legitimate

hostility

for
all

his

employer,

slights his work.

Almost
248

the

men

of our

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

day

seem

to

regard

work

as

frightful

necessity,

as

cursed

drudgery,

while

it

ought to be considered as our happiness and

our excuse for
living.

'You must not think

been
to
so.

that

it

has always

Most of

the objects which

remain

us from the old days, furniture, utensils,

stuffs,

show a

great

conscientiousness

in

those
'

who made
likes

them.

Man

to

work
I

well,

quite

as

much
it

as to

work

badly.

even believe that

is

more agreeable

to him,

more natural
well.

to him,
listens

that he prefers to

work

But he

sometimes to good, sometimes to bad advice,

and gives preference

to the bad.

'And
would
existence,
this

yet,

how much happier humanity

work, instead
its

be

if

of

means
about,

to

were

end

But, in order that

marvellous change

may come
the

all

mankind
artist,

must
better

follow
yet,

example
artists

of

the

or,

become

them-

249


ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST
selves
;

for

the

word
to

artist,

in

its

widest
takes

acceptation,

means

me

the

man who
it

pleasure in what he does.

desirable
artist

So
in

would be
trades
raising

were there

artists

all

carpenters,

happy

in

skilfully

beams and mortice

artist

masons, spreading
artist carters,

the plaster with pleasure

proud

of caring for their horses

and of not running

Is
it

over those in the

that
'

street.

not true that

would constitute an admirable society?

see, then,

You
the

that artists set an example

to

rest

of

the world

which

might

be

marvellously
'

fruitful.'
'

Well
I

argued,' cried Despiau

said,

take back

what

Bourdelle.

acknowledge that
take a
little

you deserve your food.

asparagus.'

Do

more

Ill
'

Ah, Master

!
'

said,

'

you doubtless have

all,

the gift of persuasion.

250

But, after

what

'

'

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

is

the
?

good
passion

of

proving
as

the

usefulness

of
us,

artists

Certainly,
for
is

you have shown

set

their

work might
not
the

good

example.

But

do

at

the bottom useless,

work which they and is it not that

?

precisely
'

which gives

it

value in our eyes

What do you mean ?

I

'

mean, that happily works of

art
is

do not
to
say,

count

among

useful

things,

that

amongst those that serve

us,

to feed us, to clothe

to shelter us

in

a word, to satisfy our

bodily needs.

On

the contrary, they tear us

life

from the slavery of practical

and open

before us an enchanted land of contemplation

and of dreams.'
'

The
not,'

point

is,

my

dear friend, that

is
'

we

are

usually mistaken in what

is

useful
I

and what

Rodin answered.
useful
all

admit that we
to

must

call

that

ministers
life.

the

necessities of our material

But

to-day,

besides that, riches are also considered useful,

251

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

though their display only arouses vanity and
excites

envy

these riches are not only useless,

but cumbersome.
'

As

for

me,

call

useful all that gives us

is

happiness.

Well,

there

nothing

in

the

world
plation

that

makes us happier than contemdreams.

and
in

We

forget

this

too
just

much
a

our day.

The man who, with

the

sufficiency,

wisely enjoys

numberless
at

wonders which meet his eyes and mind

every turn

who

rejoices

in

the beauty and

;

vigour of the youth about him

who

sees in

the animals, those wonderful living machines,

all

their supple

and nervous movements and

;

the play of their muscles

in the valleys

who

finds delight

and upon the

itself in

hill-sides

where

the

sprmg spends
in

green and flowery

in

festival,

waves of incense,

the

murmur
;

of bees, in rustling wings and songs of love

who

feels

an ecstasy as he watches the

to

silver

ripples,

which seem

smile as they chase

252

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

each other upon
the
surface of

the water

who

can, with

renewed enthusiasm, each day

watch Apollo, the golden god, disperse the clouds which Earth wraps closely around
her;
the

man who
is

can find joy in

all

this

walks the earth a god.

What mortal And since it is

'

more fortunate than he ?

which teaches
these
us,

art

which

aids
will
It

us

to

appreciate
it

pleasures,
to

who
us
?

deny that
is

is

infinitely useful

not

only

question
of

of

intellectual

pleasures, however, but

much
It
it

more.
reveals

Art
to

shows man his raison

d'etre.
life,

him the meaning of

upon
his

enlightens

him

destiny,

and

consequently

points

him on

his way.

When

Titian painted that

marvellously aristocratic society, where each

person carries written in his

in his gestures

face,

imprinted

and noted

in his costume, the

pride of intellect, of authority and of wealth,

he set

before

the

patricians

of

Venice

the

253

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

ideal

which they wished to

realise.

When
reign
;

Poussin,

composed
where

his clear, majestic, orderly

landscapes,

Reason
the

seems

to

when
heroes
;

Puget

swelled

muscles
his

of

his

when Watteau when

sheltered

charm-

ing yet melancholy lovers beneath mysterious

shades
smile,
lightly
laise,

Houdon caused

Voltaire
to

to

and Diana, the huntress,

;

run

So

when Rude,
old
aid
in

in carving the Marseil-

called

men and
great

children

to

his

country's

these
;

French
facets
;

masters
of our
one,

polished
national

turn

some of the
one,

soul
this

this

order
;

this

energy

one,
;

elegance

this

one,
life

wit

this one,

heroism

and

all,

the joy of
alive

and
their

of free action,

and they kept

distinctive

in

compatriots
race.

the

qualities

of our

'Take

the

greatest

artist

of

our

time,
to
all

Puvis de Chavannes

did
254

he

not

strive

shed upon us the serenity to which we

a < > <

o
Q >

< o
H O W H O H M

o o o o H O

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

aspire?

Are there not wonderful

his

lessons for

us

in

sublime
to

landscapes,

where

holy-

Nature seems
loving,

cradle

wise,

august,

upon her bosom a simple humanity?

incomparable
is is

Help

for

the weak, love of work, self-denial,

respect

for

high thought,
it

this
!

genius has expressed

lous light

all

It
It

a marvel-

upon our epoch.

enough

to

look upon one of his masterpieces, his Sainte-

Genevieve in the
{Bois
cent

Pantheon, his Holy

Wood

Sacr^

in the
to

Sorbonne, or his magnifi-

Homage

Victor

Hugo {Hommage a
oneself capable of

Victor Hugo) on the stairway of the Hdtel

de Ville in
noble deeds.
'Artists

Paris, to feel

and thinkers are

like lyres,

infin-

itely delicate

and sonorous, whose

vibrations,

awakened by the circumstances of each epoch,

are prolonged to the ears of
'

all

other mortals.

Without doubt, very

255

fine

works of

art are
;

only appreciated by a limited number

and

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

even in galleries and public squares they are
only looked at by a few.
the

But, nevertheless,

thoughts

they

through to the

embody end by filtering crowd. Below the men of

genius there are other artists of less scope,

who borrow and

the masters
painters
:

popularise the conceptions of

writers are influenced

;

by

painters,

by writers

there

is

a continual exthe brains of a

change of thought between

generation
ists,

all

the journalists, the popular novelthe makers of pictures

the

illustrators,

bring within the reach of the multitude the

truths discovered

by the powerful

intellects of

the day.

It is like

a spiritual stream, like a

spring pouring forth in

finally

many

cascades, which

meet to form the great moving river

era.

which represents the mentality of an

'And
times,

it

should not be said, as

artists

it

is

somefeeling

that

only

reflect

the

of their surroundings.

Even

this

would be
in

much

for

it

is

well to hold
256

up a mirror

6i.

THE YOUNG MOTHER.

By

A. Rodin.

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

which other men may see themselves, and so to aid them to self-knowledge. But artists
do more.
the

Certainly they draw largely from

common

fund amassed by
this

tradition, but

they also increase

truly inventors
'

treasure.

They
this,

are

and guides.
it

In order to convince oneself of

to observe that

is

enough

most of the masters

period,

preceded,
the time

and sometimes by a long

when
painted

their

works won recognition.

Poussin

number

of

masterpieces
nobility
;

under

Louis

XIII. whose

regular

foretold the character of the following reign

Watteau, whose nonchalant grace would seem

to

have presided over

live

all

the reign of LoUis

XV., did not

Louis

under that King, but under

XIV., and died under the

Regent

Chardin and Greuze, who,

bourgeois

in celebrating the to

home,

would

seem
mystical,

have

an-

nounced a democratic

society,

lived

under a

monarchy
Art.

Prudhon,
257

sweet

and
R

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

weary, claimed, in the midst of strident imperial fanfares, the right to love, to meditate,

to dream,

and he affirmed

it

as the forerunner
us,

of the romantics.
Millet,

Nearer to

Courbet and

under the Second Empire, pictured the

sorrows and the dignity of the people, who

since then, under the Third

Republic, have

won
'

so preponderant a place in society.

do not say that these

I

artists

determined

these great currents,

*

only say that they un;

consciously contributed to form them

that they

say

made

part

of the intellectual ^lite

who

created

these tendencies.
^lite is

And

it

goes

without saying that this

not composed

of artists only, but also of writers, philosophers,

novelists

and

publicists.

'What still further proves that the masters bring new ideas and tendencies to their generations is that they have often great trouble in

winning
^

acknowledgment
all

for

them.

They

sometimes pass nearly

their lives in striv-

258

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

ing against routine.

And
Corot,
cite

the

more genius

they have, the more chance they run of being

long misunderstood.

Courbet, Millet,

Puvis de Chavannes, to

no more, were not end of

their

unanimously acclaimed
careers.
'

until the

It

is

impossible to do good to mankind

But, at least, the masters of

with impunity.
art,

by

their
soul,

determination

to

enrich

the

human

have deserved that their names

should be held sacred after their deaths.

'There,

my

friends,

is

what

wished to
artists.'

say to you upon the usefulness of

IV
I
'

declared that
I

was convinced.
be,'

only want to

said Bourdelle,

'

for I

adore

my

work, and

my grumbling
mood
;

was doubtor,

less the effect of a

passing

perhaps,

anxious to hear an apology for

259

my

profession,

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

I

behaved

like

a coquette

who complains

of

being ugly in order to provoke a compliment.'

There was silence

for

several instants, for

we were thinking

of what had been said.

Then, realising that Rodin had

modestly

omitted himself in indicating the influence of

the masters,
I

said

' :

Master, you have yourself

exercised an influence
will

on your epoch, which

to

certainly

be

prolonged

succeeding

generations.
'

In emphasising so strongly the inner truth,

will

you

have aided in the evolution of our

life.

modern

You have shown

the

immense

value which each one of us to-day attaches to

his thoughts, to his affections, to his dreams,

and often

to

his

wandering passions.
love,

You

have recorded the intoxication of

reveries, the

maiden

madness of

desire, the ecstasy of

meditation, the transports of hope, the crises of

dejection.

You have
domain

ceaselessly explored the

mysterious

of 260

the

individual

con-

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

science,

and you have found

it

ever more vast.

You have observed that in this era upon which we have entered, nothing has more importance for us than our own feelings, our own intimate personality. You have seen that each one of us, the man of thought, the man of action, the
mother, the young
girl,

the lover, places the

centre of the universe in his

this disposition,

own

soul.

And
us. cele-

of which

we were

ourselves

almost unconscious, you have revealed to

'

Following upon Victor Hugo, who,

brating in his poetry the joys and the sorrows

of private existence, sang the mother rocking
the cradle, the father at the grave of his child, the lover absorbed in

have expressed in
secret
'

happy memories, you sculpture the deepest, most

soul.
this
is
it

emotions of the
there
is

no doubt but that ful wave of individualism which over the old society will modify
little. /

And

powerpassing

little

by

There

is

no doubt but
261

that,

thanks to

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

the efforts of the great artists and the great
thinkers,/ who ask each one of us to consider

himself as an end sufficient unto himself, and

to live according to
heart,
ail

the dictates of his

own

humanity

will

end by sweeping aside

still

the tyrannies which

oppress the indi-

vidual and will suppress the social mequalities

which subject one to another, the poor to the

rich,

the

woman

to the

man, the weak

to the

strong.
'

You, yourself, by the sincerity of your have worked towards the coming of
order,'/
:

art,

will

this

new
'

But Rodin answered with a smile

Your
place

great friendship accords

me
of
that

too large

among
It
is

the
true,

champions
at
least,

modern
I

thought.

have

striven to be of use

by formulating as
and of

clearly

as I could

my

vision of people
:

things.'

In a
'

moment he went on
262

If I

have insisted on our usefulness, and

ON THE USEFULNESS OF THE ARTIST

if I still

insist

upon

it,

it

is

because this
to

consideration

alone
is

can

recall

us

the

sympathy which
which we are

our due in the world in

To-day,
;

living.

every one
I

is

engrossed by self-interest

but

would

like to
it

see this practical society convinced that

at least as

is

much
as to

to its advantage to

honour

the

artist

honour

the

manufacturer

and the engineer.'

263

NOTES

NOTES
P(^ge 35-

Ah

proud and traitrous old age

Why

have you so soon brought me low?

Why

do you hold
the stroke

me so that I end my sorrow ?

see

cannot strike and with

When
am, when
thin

think wearily on what

I
I

was, of what

how changed am enraged Where

!

am is my

poor, dried-up,

white forehead

my
made

golden hair
for love
?

my

beautiful shoulders, all in

is

me

This

the end of
thin

These short arms, these

shoulders.

human beauty hands, these humped

hips

These

breasts

these
43.
this

these

limbs

dried

and speckled as sausages!

Page
Yet one day you
contamination
will

be like
of

like this horrible

thou

star

my

eyes,

thou sun of

267

NOTES
my
such
last

nature,
will

oh
be,

my

angel and

my
laid

passion

Yes,

you

oh Queen of the Graces,

you are
one
crumble
!

after the

sacraments

when

under the grass

the bones.

and the

flowers, there to

among

Then

oh,

my
all,

beautiful

tell

the worms,

when

they devour you with kisses, that in spite of them,

in spite of
I

have kept the form and the divine

essence of

my

love

who has

perished.

Page

123.

Flesh of the woman, ideal clay

tration of

oh sublime penematter,

the spirit in the slime

its

where the

soul shines through

shroud

clay,

where one sees

;

the

fingers

of

the

divine sculptor

august
;

dust,

whidi draws
that

kisses,

and the heart of man

so holy

one does not know

so entirely
is is

so

entirely

is

love the

conqueror,

the soul

drawn
;

whether

this passion

not a divine thought

the hour

so holy that

one cannot,
fire,

in

when

the

senses are on

hold beauty without embracing

God

268

NOTES
Page 194.

We
is

never see but one side of things

in night

the

other

plunged

and mystery.

Man

suffers the

effect
is

without knowing the cause.

All that he sees

short, useless,

and

fleeting.

Page

199.

As when,

in

taking

flight,

the

bird

bends the

branch, so his soul had bruised his body.

269

Ube Sreebam

press,

UNWIN BROTHERS, UHITED,

WOKING AND LONDON.