Collected Works (Vol. III)

IIo RODIN IN RIME given to understand that something of the sort described above does sometimes take place in the naming of a statue (of the allegorical de- scription especially). But that is a question of felicity, of epigram ; never of subject. In ‘‘ La Main de Dieu,” for example, the meaning is obvious, and not to be wrested or distorted. What does it matter if we call it as at present, or (2) The Hand of Creation, (5) The First Lovers, (c) The Security of Love, (2) The invisible Guard —anything in reason? ‘These are only ways of looking at one idea, and as you are theolo- gian, poet, lover or mystic, so you will choose. And it is the Master’s merit, not his fault, if his conception is so broad-based as to admit of different interpretations. The phenomenon is possible because Rodin is the master and not the slave of his colossal technique. The naming of a masterpiece is perhaps harder work than the producing it, and Rodin being a sculptor and not an illicit epigram distiller, is perfectly justified in picking up what he can from the witty and gifted people who throng his studio as much as he will let them. Let there be an end, then, not to the sordid and snarling jealousy which greatness must inevitably excite, not to the simian tooth-grindings which must always accom- pany the entrance of a man into the jungle, but to this peculiarly senseless and sidelong attack. One accepts the lion as a worthy antagonist; one can enjoy playing with a fine dog; one can sympathise with sincere and honourable labour, though it be in vain ; RODIN FRONTISPIECE RODIN. Here isaman! For all the world to see His work stands, shaming Nature. Clutched, combined In the sole still centre of a master-mind, The Egyptian force, the Greek simplicity, The Celtic subtlety. Through suffering free, The calm great courage of new art, refined In nervous majesty, indwells behind The beauty of each radiant harmony. one ignores laughingly the attack of tiny and infuriated puppies; but there are insects so loathsome, so incredibly disgusting, worms whose sight is such an abomination, whose stink is so crapulous and purulent, that, ignoring their malignity, but simply aware of their detestable presence, the heel is ground down in one generous impulse, and the slimy thing is no more. Decomposition, already far advanced, may be trusted speedily to resolve the remains into the ultimate dust of things, mere matter for some new and hope- fuller avatar. Such a worm are you, M. D , who once, as above described, voided your noxious nastiness in my presence, trusting to con- ciliate me by the intended compliment that my poems on Rodin were from myself and not from him, and that any other statues would have done as well. I am as little susceptible to flattery as I am to the venomous dicta of spite and envy, and I resent that when I see it employed as the medium for this. Without your compliment, M. D , I might have left you to crawl on, lord of your own muck-heap ; with it, I take this opportunity of stamping on you. Note.—I had intended ! to include reproduc: tions of photographs of those few statues which I have written upon; but [ prefer to pay my readers the compliment of supposing that they possess the originals in either bronze or marble. 1 J,e., in the large first edition, which con- tains seven of M. Rodin’s water-colours. V2de Bibliographical Note. IN RIME Titan ! the little centuries drop back, Back from the contemplation. Stand and span With one great grip his cup, the Zo- diac ! Distil from all time’s art his wine, the truth ! Drink, drink the mighty health—an age’s youth —- Salut, Auguste Rodin! Ilere is a man.