I had thrilled at the mere suggestion of a trip abroad but relegated the thought to a background of remote probabilities and gave myself up to an eager contemplation of the photographic reproductions of the sculptor's work. Following the numbers indicated on the back of each, I arranged the photographs consecutively across the wall.
The form appeared to be a kind of spiral, each step or incline complete in itself yet suggesting a connecting thread. At first glance I was struck with the multiplicity of figures, all nearly life size. But as my eagerness gave way to soberer perspective, something I had overlooked now asserted itself: _In the score of characters represented there were but two faces--that of one man and one woman!_ That is to say, the two faces were reproduced ... yet ... or did one's fancy play at tricks?... I applied the magnifying glass.... Yes, there were but two faces, both repeatedly used by the artist, but with what wondrous and illuminating difference! Starting from the left and lowest plane--symbolic of the theme--there was embodied in the figures of the man and maid the lowest form of love.... The youthful prettiness of the girl, the soft roundness of her form, the maiden breast ... all these but accentuated the undeveloped soul. Her very attitude, the abandon as she lay smiling, half-hid amongst the leaves and blooms ... here, indeed, was "a parley to provocation." ... Above her towered the figure of a man. In his spare, sinewy form, conscient of its strength, vibrant with sex, the young male was epitomized.... "Instinct" need not be carved across the base.... Instinct, the first and lowest form of love.
From the grassy knoll the path ascended to a rocky promontory, bleak, arid. Straining 'gainst the fury of the storm, the man and woman climbed; his muscles tense, confusion limned upon his face; the woman, crouching in her fright, hiding her face in her wind-tossed hair; while underfoot they trampled on a mask, the leering mask of former self ... and, riding on the wind, half cloud, half god, a phantom with veiled face laid on the lash.... Confusion.... Chaos....
The path led on and up through thorny underbrush; a parched earth; the cactus plant; some blanched bones, a horned toad. He stood apart with sullen mien; his features thick and brutalized; his muscles lax and loose, as if impotent rage had yielded to dumb apathy. The woman, lying prone, distorted with revolt and fright, seeking to shut out from view the hideous deformity at her breast--half man, half beast; its clenched fists, contorted legs raised to rebel; the grotesque mask miming its own despair. And in the background, poised on abyss-edge, a Hecate band whirled in orgy-dance.... Where is the tutelary goddess now--the Better Self, the Soul of Things? And even as I asked I followed in the path which, still inclining, reached a broad plateau. In the foreground, the man--gaunt and grim--the grimness of despair; his muscles knotted, his horny hands, the poised axe. Through the matted woods a skulking wolf.... Beyond, the woman; haggard of face, drawn with fatigue; no longer full and round of form. Dropping seeds on fresh-tilled earth; a living burden on her back; around her neck two chubby arms. And at the entrance to the cave, half blended with the rocks, the Inscrutable One stood guard.... "The Will to Live" was written here....