Rodin: The Man and His Art, with Leaves from His Note-bookCladel, Judith
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Rodin: The Man and His Art, with Leaves from His Note-book
Cladel, Judith
Rodin, Auguste, 1840-1917
The Panthéon and the buildings that surround it taught the young Rodin
that the public monuments of the style of Louis XV, although colder
and stiffer, still offer a certain grandeur by virtue of their beauty
of proportion and character. Close beside the somewhat formal solemnity
of these buildings, the Gardens of the Luxembourg that invite the
passer-by with all their tender, smiling charm, the exquisite parterre,
the elegant little pilastered palace, the Medici fountain, whose
charming statues pour out their water that murmurs beneath the branches
of the trees spread out above like a tent of lacework, taught him the
enchantment of the architectural harmonies of the Renaissance, harmonies
of chiseled stone, noble shadows, and carpeting flowers.
Like all artists, Rodin adores the Luxembourg. More than this, he would
not for anything in the world see those statues of the queens of France
banished, those enormous stone dolls of a quality, as regards sculpture,
little calculated to satisfy lovers of rich modeling. No matter, he
loves the gray mass they make under the fragrant summits of the limes
and the hawthorns; they are part of the scenery of his youth; he remains
faithful to them as to old playthings. Was it not these that he sketched
in those first attempts of his?
His aptitude quickly revealed itself. This man, whom ignorant critics
were to reproach one day with not knowing how to draw, handled the
pencil from his earliest childhood.
His mother bought her provisions from a grocer in the neighborhood. The
grocer wrapped up his rice, vermicelli, and dried prunes in bags made
from cut-up illustrated papers and engravings that had been thrown away.
Rodin got hold of these bags, and they were his first models. He copied
these wretched images passionately.
Toward the age of twelve, he was sent to Beauvais, to the house of
an uncle who undertook to bring him up. Beauvais and its unfinished
cathedral was another silent lesson, never to be forgotten--that
cathedral which is nothing but a choir, but how marvelous a choir!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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