DOI article:
Charles H. [Henry] Caffin, Prints by Eduard J. [Jean] Steichen—Of Rodin’s “Balzac”
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.31042#0041
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wherein were curious revelations of La Comddie Humaine as interpreted by
the Oriental mind.
The Spirit is outside in the moonlight and the night. For a moment, in
the exultation of its disembodied liberty, It halts beside the trees; the branches
forming an interlace of blackness around the illumined head. For the moon-
light is full upon the proud head: lambent on its lion’s mane of hair, on the
smooth high forehead, the arched nostrils and curling upper lip. Only the
eyes are plunged in the depths of introspective mystery. Robed in shadow
also is the form; rearing up like the swell of a wave, luminous upon the arch of
its breast.
But the Spirit has moved and is now upon the summit of the hill, fronting
the spiritual immensity of the sky. Paris and the world beyond are once again
at its feet. Slumbering below is the breed of mortals, whom so often It had
waked to a consiousness of life. But the Spirit’s thought is not of them; not
of the gnats on the stream of mortality; not of the fire-flies, tangled in fashion’s
maze; nor of the common fly that basks now on the beauty of a girl’s cheek
and now battens on the carrion thrust into the street. These are but ephemera;
and the Spirit has passed beyond the concerns of a day, be it a day of fifty years
as its own had been. Those hot days of the flesh are past; past too the cold
clear consciousness of the intellect, the throes of creative insight and the throb
of triumph at success achieved. These were but the accidents of fleeting mo-
ments; and the Spirit has passed into the permanence of Eternity, into the
immensity of the Universal Force. It is toward the symbol of the Universal
and the Eternal immensity, the moon-illumined sky, that the Spirit’s gaze is
turned.
As the moon pursues her path through space, the presence of the Spirit
changes. Now It looms a darkened mass against the ocean of light, motion-
less on the edge of its ebb and tide; one foot advanced, like that of a strong
swimmer about to plunge into the deep. Now the mass glows faintly phos-
phorescent, as the pale light of dawn comes slowly up to mingle with the moon-
light. Midway the Spirit stands at the meeting place, where the half light that
envelopes the darkness of our night feels the first embrace of the larger, fuller
light that comes with the day of the Hereafter.
While the world below still slumbers, turning fitfully in its dreams and
reaching out a hand to feel sure that what it loves is near, the Spirit, wrapt in
the shadow of its own imperturbable calm, which is the calm of the Universe,
stands fronting the coming of the larger light. One foot advanced, the head
flung back, the shoulders squared, It stands, as an eagle on a mountain peak
about to unfurl its wings for a leap into the liberty of boundless light.
Dawn has glinted on the studio roof. Broad day follows and the sculptor
resumes his work. He looks a moment at the Balzac. “Will they ever,”
he murmurs, “understand my meaning ?” And he laughs a little as one who
can afford to wait.
Charles H. Caffin.
25
the Oriental mind.
The Spirit is outside in the moonlight and the night. For a moment, in
the exultation of its disembodied liberty, It halts beside the trees; the branches
forming an interlace of blackness around the illumined head. For the moon-
light is full upon the proud head: lambent on its lion’s mane of hair, on the
smooth high forehead, the arched nostrils and curling upper lip. Only the
eyes are plunged in the depths of introspective mystery. Robed in shadow
also is the form; rearing up like the swell of a wave, luminous upon the arch of
its breast.
But the Spirit has moved and is now upon the summit of the hill, fronting
the spiritual immensity of the sky. Paris and the world beyond are once again
at its feet. Slumbering below is the breed of mortals, whom so often It had
waked to a consiousness of life. But the Spirit’s thought is not of them; not
of the gnats on the stream of mortality; not of the fire-flies, tangled in fashion’s
maze; nor of the common fly that basks now on the beauty of a girl’s cheek
and now battens on the carrion thrust into the street. These are but ephemera;
and the Spirit has passed beyond the concerns of a day, be it a day of fifty years
as its own had been. Those hot days of the flesh are past; past too the cold
clear consciousness of the intellect, the throes of creative insight and the throb
of triumph at success achieved. These were but the accidents of fleeting mo-
ments; and the Spirit has passed into the permanence of Eternity, into the
immensity of the Universal Force. It is toward the symbol of the Universal
and the Eternal immensity, the moon-illumined sky, that the Spirit’s gaze is
turned.
As the moon pursues her path through space, the presence of the Spirit
changes. Now It looms a darkened mass against the ocean of light, motion-
less on the edge of its ebb and tide; one foot advanced, like that of a strong
swimmer about to plunge into the deep. Now the mass glows faintly phos-
phorescent, as the pale light of dawn comes slowly up to mingle with the moon-
light. Midway the Spirit stands at the meeting place, where the half light that
envelopes the darkness of our night feels the first embrace of the larger, fuller
light that comes with the day of the Hereafter.
While the world below still slumbers, turning fitfully in its dreams and
reaching out a hand to feel sure that what it loves is near, the Spirit, wrapt in
the shadow of its own imperturbable calm, which is the calm of the Universe,
stands fronting the coming of the larger light. One foot advanced, the head
flung back, the shoulders squared, It stands, as an eagle on a mountain peak
about to unfurl its wings for a leap into the liberty of boundless light.
Dawn has glinted on the studio roof. Broad day follows and the sculptor
resumes his work. He looks a moment at the Balzac. “Will they ever,”
he murmurs, “understand my meaning ?” And he laughs a little as one who
can afford to wait.
Charles H. Caffin.
25
