model. Rejecting the one-angle theory of sculptured figures, Rodin insists on their being modelled with equal strength and care on all sides; this leads him to a remarkably realistic and expressive treatment of shoulders and back, as in the marble statuette The Bather, or still better in the Eve. It would, however, be a mistake to say that Rodin aims at extreme naturalism as a tour de force or at all costs; it is after all, a mood, a passion, an elemental conflict he wishes to catch; and he purposely exaggerates the size of a hand or foot, overdoes a muscle or hints at two successive moments in one and the same posture, in order to heighten the significance or give the symbolical content of his figures. In this way he avoids such dangers of decadent sculpture as the muscular theatricalism of the Laocoön group and the muscular overdevelopment and immobility of the Farnese Hercules; besides, he avoids the opposite defect, that of the insipid. Rodin's art is nothing if not imaginatively and intellectually stimulating. It is an/Eve ashamed, guilt-stricken, that he gives us. In Satyr and Nymph there is something of the force and breathless lust of nature at her earliest. In the Burghers of Calais there is a subtle grading of heroism and suffering, worked out in figures that combine an almost grotesque naturalism-think of the figure of the monk-with an astounding wealth and intensity of feeling and thought.

So much for some of the significant features of Rodin's art. It is in direct relation to them that his reflections on art must be taken. Of the latter the rich and charmingly simple conversations with Gsell, published under the title L'Art in 1911, offer good samples. There Rodin discusses such topics as realism in art, symbolism, design and color, movement in sculpture, thought in art, and modelling. Some four or five of these are of unusual interest. They reveal the inner springs of Rodin's art and genius.

Discussing modelling, Rodin by way of an object lesson takes up a small lamp and lets its light glide over a marble copy of the Venus dei Medici, and asks Gsell to notice the many grooves, unevennesses, minute juttings and depressions. What seemed smooth and simple turns out to be complex, and gives the impression of an infinitely rich, warm, and faithful art in sharp contrast to the lifelessness and meagreness of academic sculpture. The Greek ideal is one of blended richness; and it is only because the Greek artist was a patient student of nature and a master in the science of modelling, that he could give warmth and finality to his work. Rodin puts it this way:

"Do you know how this impression of lifelikeness the Venus has just given us is produced? By the science of modelling. These words may seem trite to you, but you will soon see their importance. The

science of modelling was shown me by a certain Constant, who worked in the decorator's shop where I began as a sculptor. One day he saw me shaping in clay the foliage of a capital. 'Rodin,' he said, 'you handle yourself poorly. All these leaves of yours appear flat. That is why they don't seem real. Make some with their points shaped toward you, so as to give any one who looks at them the impression of depth.'

"I followed his advice and was surprised at the result. Remember well what I have told you,' continued Constant, henceforth in your sculpture never see forms spread out, flat, but always deep. Never consider a surface other than the end of a solid, as a point more or less large aimed at you. That is how you will acquire the science of modelling.'

"This principle proved itself wonderfully fruitful to me. I made use of it in shaping my figures. Instead of regarding the different parts of the body as so many planes I represented them as so many juttings of masses beyond. I forced myself to let feel in every bulging of the torso or the limbs the cropping out of a muscle or bone that continued as depth beneath the skin. That is why the truth of my figures instead of being superficial seems to expand from within outward like life itself.

"Then I discovered that the ancients used exactly the same science of modelling. And it is certainly to this principle of technique that their works owe at once their strength and their quivering suppleness."

Rodin then suggests that light and shade effects are possible in sculpture as well as in painting.

"In your opinion, Gsell, is color a quality of painting or of sculpture?"

"Of painting, naturally."

Well, look at this statue." Saying this, he held the lamp so that its light fell on the torso from above. "Do you see these strong lights on the breasts, these strong shadows in the folds of the flesh, and then the whitenesses, the vaporous and trembling halflights on the most delicate parts of this divine body; these parts so delicately drawn that they seem to dissolve into thin air? What do you say to them? Isn't it all a wonderful symphony in black and white?” I had to admit it."

"Paradox as it may seem, the great sculptors have been great colorists, and the best painters have been excellent engravers.

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They play so skilfully all the resources of relief, they fuse so well the boldness of light and the modesty of shadow that their sculptures have all the relish of the richest etching. Color then-and that is what I wish to come to-is like the flower and bloom of good modelling. These qualities go together, and it is they that give to the masterpieces of sculpture the radiant aspect of living flesh."

Rodin also considers the problem of movement in sculpture. He himself makes use of movement in order to bring out sharply the muscular expressiveness of the body; here his suggestive theory of movement in sculpture may be said to begin. It is the sculptor's aim to express feelings and passions; and this he must do largely through the muscles; they in turn can be rendered effectively only on

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condition that the figure whose mood is to be given is lifelike. This lifelikeness depends on two things: good modelling and movement; and they are the "blood" and "breath" of sculpture. Defining movement as "the changing of one posture into another," Rodin develops the principle of progressive movement. The sculptor, he argues, combines in one moment of presentation two successive positions, and thus makes the spectator take part in the development of a movement, follow it with the eye, and get the stimulus of active change.) John the Baptist is shown walking, and yet flatfooted as one standing. In the Age of Bronze, one of Rodin's earlier works, the awakening of primitive man is symbolized. There the lower part of the body still has something of the softness and deep unconsciousness of sleep, but as the eye follows the body upward, the first dawn of consciousness shows itself in head, shoulder, and arm. Rodin further suggests that in complex groups a skilful grading of moments or a varying of the tempo will allow the sculptor by his own technique to render movement quite as effectively as the poet. As examples he cites Rude's La Marseillaise and his own Burghers of Calais

Rodin's thoughts on modelling, light and shade, and movement are thoughts on technique and are offered as new observations on very old principles of all masterly sculpture. Rodin himself again and again turns to Greek art and professes to find all his