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
This softened line, this line full of life, is one of the chief
characteristics of the Gothic. The sky of our northern climates ordained
it so, for the architects of the Middle Ages carved their monuments
out of doors. Once the general plan was established, they easily found
the details while working with their tools, guided by the light and
influenced by natural conditions.
Our light is not that of Greece. Humanity the world over is akin; but
to what the Greek expressed in a chastened manner, in keeping with his
eternally pure light, we have added the oblique slant of our sun, our
reality, our country, our autumns, the sting of our winters, our less
definite spirit, our remoteness from the glaring Olympian sun; and, last
of all, we have added our trees.
We also have light, but it is frequently obscured by passing clouds. Is
it not natural that we should reproduce them in our art? And the line,
the abundant line, is more accentuated in the half-night of our long
autumns. Thus we are more in the mood of our woods and our forests. Our
souls have more shadows than the Greek soul, our determinations are more
varied; for our clouds and our forests are reflected in our hearts.
Artists, let us, then, revert to the interpretation of our race, but in
the spirit, not in the letter. Let us copy only the soul of our external
nature, not its Gothic form, for a mere copy is cold and dead. Beautiful
architecture is a reproduction by man, but from a divine model. From
this it receives the warmth of life. If architecture is true to the
spirit of nature, it is embraced by the trees, the rocks, the clouds;
they are the silent company of beauty.
O Cathedral! Sphinx of Northern life! although mutilated, are you not
eternal? Do you cease to live? From a distance, and in the evening, when
dusk sets in, you seem truly a great sphinx crouching in the country.
The drama that unfolds itself on the stone pages of the churches recalls
to us with a very few gestures and movements the silent drama of
antiquity, the sculptures, illustrations of Æschylus and Sophocles.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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