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temperature. This is a probable enough solution, though these south winds in the Antarctic generally brought snow. There were many displays of the Aurora Australis, but these were never so brilliant as those of the Aurora Borealis.

The meteorological observations taken by the British Antarctic expedition will be greatly enhanced in value when compared with those of the other three expeditions. Although the Scottish expedition was specially intended for oceanic work, its first task was to erect magnetic and meteorological observations on the South Orkneys, which, although somewhat outside the Antarctic Circle, are essentially Antarctic in climatic conditions. These observations have been at work ever since the beginning of 1903, and they will continue at work under the auspices of the Argentine Government; the results thus secured must prove of the highest service. Neither the Scottish nor the Swedish expedition (the latter in Graham Land) obtained anything like so low temperatures as the British expedition; 75 degrees of frost was about the lowest, while the highest temperature obtained by the Swedish observers - curiously, in August (midwinter) was 48.74 degrees, Fahrenheit. The Swedish expedition fared much worse than the British party in the matter of storms, which were almost continuous and in many cases of the most extreme violence. On Graham Land the southwest winds are the most common and the strongest, and bring the worst weather, though, as a matter of fact, storms came with nearly every wind. At the station of the German expedition, easterly winds prevailed, as at the "Discovery's" quarters, while the southerly winds coming over the vast, uniform, but slightly inclined surface of the inland ice were also of a föhnlike character.

Perhaps, to many, the magnetic results obtained by the various expeditions will be more interesting than any other, dealing with a mysterious force of the real nature of which we are almost entirely ignorant. The magnetic observations made on board the various ships will, no doubt, prove of service to the navigation of the seas between South America, Africa and Australia, which hitherto has been fraught with danger owing to our ignorance of the factors which influence the mariner's compass in those latitudes. The expedition's magnetic work was of the first importance. The definite determination of the South Magnetic Pole is one of the great problems to be solved; but the

solution can only be reached when the hundreds of observations made daily are plotted and compared and coordinated and worked out by experts. But it is noteworthy that, when Captain Scott was on his western excursion, he found the compass one day point directly to the South Pole; this was in 156 degrees east longitude and about 78 degrees south latitude. This must mean that the South Magnetic Pole lies somewhere between the point of observation and the South Pole. One theoretical conjecture had placed the South Magnetic Pole about 112 degrees east. The great German physicist, Gauss, conjectured that it lay about 152 degrees east and about 73 degrees south, or about 20 degrees further east than the position assigned to it by Dumont D'Urville; while, according to Ross, it was in about the same longitude as that assigned to it by Gauss, but some three degrees of latitude farther south. From the observations collected by the various expeditions, all these conjectures ought to give way to certainty, and so a scientific point of the first importance be finally settled.

These, then, are some of the results which, at the present stage, we can say have been achieved by the various expeditions. The numerous photographs brought home - the British expedition alone has considerably over two thousand-and the exquisite water-color sketches, hundreds of which have been made by Dr. Wilson, of the scenery and life of the region, will give a fair idea of the outward condition, at least, of this still imperfectly known land. On all sides, except probably towards the south point of America, surrounded by the deep ocean, it is truly continental in character; broken up, it may be, into two great masses, though probably these are not entirely severed. The fossils obtained and the geological conditions observed may afford material for concluding whether or not, at a past geological period, the Antarctic continent was continuous with South America and extended as far as New Zealand, as has been boldly conjectured by Prof. J. W. Gregory; indeed, New Zealand has quite the appearance of a fragment broken off from South America. But these are only some of the intensely interesting questions suggested by the vast harvest of results secured during the recent international campaign in the South Polar area,-results which fully justify the expenditure of money and the endurance of great hardships. Happily, the loss of life has been comparatively small.

J. SCOTT KELTIE.

THE GOTHIC IN THE CATHEDRALS AND CHURCHES OF FRANCE.

BY AUGUSTE RODIN.

I.

ONE of the first among foreigners to understand the ancient cathedrals and churches of France was Ruskin, as was Victor Hugo among his fellow-countrymen. Hugo had made no special study of the subject; but he understood through his great genius: he understood as a poet; for cathedrals are vast poems.

At the time he wrote, the Gothic art was considered in France as something barbarian; in fact, the epithet was applied to all that was Gothic. This error antedates the eighteenth century. Even in the reign of Louis XIV., Fénelon, and those with him who speak of the Gothic architecture, referred to it in disparaging language. What was more admired in the age of the great Louis and his successor was a town-hall of the style then modern. Many cathedrals and churches were roughly treated during those years, and the French Revolution did no more than carry on the work of destruction already begun.

If some one in authority begins to say that a thing is ugly, nearly everybody follows his example; and it needs a strong intelligence to uphold the contrary. Victor Hugo related to me that, when the Rue de Rivoli was being cut, that part of it which is beyond the arcades, between the Louvre and the Rue SaintAntoine, had been originally designed to have another course, commencing opposite the colonnade of the Louvre and running from there in a straight line as far as the Place du Trône. Had this plan been carried out, the Tour Saint-Jacques, a fine specimen of Gothic sculpture, would have been demolished. Victor Hugo protested with such good effect that the original plan was modified, and the Tower was preserved.

I cannot say that, as a boy, though born in Paris, I paid much attention to the architecture of Notre Dame. Children do not know how to see. I remarked its great size, and that was all. Only when I was in full possession of myself, at the age of about twenty-five, did I begin to make a special study of its beauty, which was generally decried. To some extent, indeed, before I was twenty, my eyes had been opened while I was working for a sculptor named Biès, who had a good deal to do with the so-called "restoring" of Notre Dame. It was to him that Viollet-le-Duc once said: "Forget all you know, and you will execute something Gothic." The expression had its hidden meaning. Profound knowledge is needed to produce the real Gothic-a form which to-day exists only in the monuments of the past.

As I grew older and rid myself of the prejudices of my environment, I acquired more assurance and dared to see for myself. Whenever I travelled, I made it a rule to visit all the cathedrals I could. Even in a small town there is often a real cathedral. I used to awake early in the morning, and hasten to visit what for me were the chief objects of interest. And I remember that the spires and the various parts of these churches gave me an exquisite joy. I would linger and walk round them until I was thoroughly tired out.

II.

No architect or sculptor has ever been able properly to restore a Gothic church or cathedral. Those who have tried, essayed a task as vain as if one were to attempt completing a chapter of Rabelais in which a part was wanting. The new portion would not be like the old. Formerly, when Greek or Roman statues were discovered, the custom was to restore them. To-day, the custom has fallen into desuetude, and nothing is lost by it. The Italians, it is true, continue to repair their ancient monuments; but they only touch the parts that are falling to ruin; whereas, when we repair, we insist on restoring, and spoil the old in order to harmonize it with the new. In Italy, the old is still extant; and, notwithstanding the repairing, we are able to enjoy the admirable beauty of the whole.

III.

It is difficult to explain the Gothic; there is always something that escapes definition. Consequently, ordinary ideas on the subject are erroneous or incomplete. Many people talk of the Gothic

as if it were nothing but the predominance of the ideal over the material, or again of the idea over form. I consider the matter rather from the point of view of the execution. Another opinion is that the ogive constitutes the Gothic. This is also inexact. We might have Gothic architecture without the ogive. This style results from a long and careful experimentation on the effects of light and shade, and from the faculty thus acquired of giving to architecture a living, moving appearance. When I speak of light and shade, it is without reference to painting; I mean the rendering visible and perceptible certain geometrical points that make the planes of sculpture.

In order to have such effects of light and shade, there must be strongly projecting surfaces, arranged with due regard to their position in foreground and background. These were achieved with infinite art in the old Gothic cathedrals and churches, whose every part invariably stands out or recedes with a fine chiaroscuro. In the modern Gothic, however good the general design may be in outline, there is a lack of location in foreground and background, and the reliefs are shallow, holding no shadow, so that the details seem poor and cold. The superiority of the old will be at once apparent, if an ancient church porch is examined. It looks like a grotto or a cavern-architecturally constructed, of course. Certain of the figures that have been carved within it are bathed in light, others are shrouded in darkness, and others again show half-tints of chiaroscuro. Throughout the day, there is a continual change. While there are never more than a few figures in full view at the same instant, and the rest are either partially seen or divined, the sun's procession transports the effects from one side to the other, transposing them gradually between morning and evening in an animated panorama. Inside the edifice, there is the same impression of light playing amid deep recesses, but here we have candles replacing the sun's rays. Much more than the ogive, the grotto, the cavern, is essential to the Gothic, since by its aid is obtained a unique trituration of light, which comes back to the eyes with mysterious softness after penetrating into the abyss. Not that the architects of the Middle Ages necessarily wrought with a desire to produce something mysterious. This, like the other effects, was derived from the manner of their working, a manner present architectural sculpture is ignorant of or ignores. There is plenty of relief in

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