We have spoken of the uses of collaboration. But there are souls that would perish rather than collaborate. Some of these belong in the ranks of genius, others are distinctly due elsewhere. Of the former class was Rodin, never willing or able to subject himself to any architectural tradition. Even while writing of Rodin’s consistent refusal of collaboration, I hear the ironic voice of M. Anatole France, a veteran in one art speaking of a veteran in another: “_Et surtout, avouons-le, il collabore trop avec la catastrophe_.” And he adds, with that sparkle of malice veterans allow themselves but not others to use when speaking of veterans, “_Il abuse du droit de casser ce qui, dans une œuvre, est mal venu_.” According to M. France, Rodin collaborates, and even too much; not with architecture, as a more conventional soul might, but with architecture’s logical opposite, catastrophe. It is more fruitful to dwell on the gifts of genius than on its limitations; yet the limitations also must be noted, whenever blind worship confuses defects with qualities. It was a limitation (and so the _Société des Gens de Lettres_ found it) that Rodin could not bring himself to any architectural conception of his Balzac:--Balzac, more architecturally minded than even the English novelist Hardy; Balzac, who will not let you once look at Père Goriot until you have a clear understanding of the plan and elevation of the sordid _pension_ where the poor man lives; Balzac, who jealously hides Eugénie Grandet from you until you have mastered every arch and cornice of the gloomy mansion that shelters her; Balzac, who insists that you must know period and style and galleries and window-glass of _la maison Claes_ before you can peer at Madame Claes. Balzac built his novels that way because to his mind man’s architecture is part of his life, his fate, his rôle in the Comédie Humaine. So what Rodin did lacked basic fitness. In that portrait statue, the Rodin of it was more precious to him than the Balzac of it; he could make no compromise.