“Surely,” I said, “no one can contest the mental vigor of the great painters and sculptors. But, to return to our question—is there not a sharp line dividing art from literature which the artist should not cross?” “I insist that in matters which concern me I cannot stand these limitations,” Rodin answered. “There is no rule, according to my idea, that can prevent a sculptor from creating a beautiful work. “What difference does it make whether it is sculpture or literature, provided the public find profit and pleasure in it? Painting, sculpture, literature, music are more closely related than is generally believed. They express all the sentiments of the human soul in the light of nature. It is only the means of expression which vary. “But if a sculptor, by the means of his art, succeeds in suggesting impressions which are ordinarily only procured by literature or music, why should the world cavil? A publicist lately criticised my _Victor Hugo_ in the Palais Royal, declaring that it was not sculpture, but music. And he naïvely added that this work reminded him of a Beethoven symphony. Would to Heaven that it were true! “I do not deny, moreover, that it is useful to reflect upon the differences which separate literary from artistic methods. First of all, literature offers the peculiarity of being able to express ideas without recourse to imagery. For example, it can say: _Profound reflection often ends in inaction_, without the necessity of figuring a thoughtful woman held in a block of stone. “And this faculty of juggling with abstractions by means of words gives, perhaps, to literature an advantage over other arts in the domain of thought. [Illustration: BUST OF MLLE. CLAUDEL (LA PENSÉE) By Rodin ] “The next thing to be noticed is that literature develops stories which have a beginning, a middle, and an end. It strings together different events from which it draws a conclusion. It makes people act and shows the consequences of their conduct. So the scenes that it 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 arts of form. They never represent more than a single phase of an action. That is why painters and sculptors are wrong in taking subjects from writers, as they often do. The artist who interprets a part of a story may be supposed to know the rest of the text. His work must prop itself up on that of the writer; it only acquires all its meaning if it is illuminated by the facts that precede or follow it. “When the painter Delaroche represents, after Shakespeare, or after his pale imitator, Casimir Delavigne, the _Children of Edward_ (_les Enfants d’Edouard_) clinging to each other, it is necessary to know, in order to be interested, that they are the heirs to a throne, that they have been imprisoned, and that hired murderers, sent by the usurper, are just coming to assassinate them.