Crash Course in Auguste Rodin

As you saunter through the Stanford University campus, you'd be forgiven if you mistook the solemn congregation of tormented souls on Memorial Court to be a gathering of flesh-and-blood men rather than "The Burghers of Calais," the self-sacrificing, barefoot heroes on their way to slaughter sculpted by Auguste Rodin. Their extraordinary lifelike quality, emotional expressiveness and dynamic physicality are hallmarks of Rodin, one of the greatest sculptors in the history of Modern Art and a transformative figure in the same league as Michelangelo, his foremost inspiration.

Reduced-scale versions of five of the six "Burghers" are on view at the Legion of Honor in a special exhibition marking the centenary of Rodin's death. 50 of the French sculptor's works from the museum's permanent collection are displayed in a suite of galleries; the enlarged version of his most iconic piece, "The Thinker" (1904), as always, is stationed like a contemplative sentinel in the front courtyard. Thousands of casts were made of Rodin's sculptures, but what distinguishes FAMSF's holdings is their closeness to the source; they were purchased directly from the artist's studio, and many are original plaster models or works cast during the artist's lifetime and under his supervision. The show, which benefits from its setting amid the grandeur of the Legion's soaring vaulted ceilings, rotunda and skylights, is an informative crash course in Rodin's career, from his earliest works, already ahead of their time, through the apex of his fame. Following the Paris Exposition Universelle of 1900, where he had a pavilion to himself, he became the most sought-after sculptor in the world.

Although Rodin's career would be characterized by prolific output, astonishing achievement and commercial success - during peak periods, he employed over 50 people at his studio - the art establishment did not greet his arrival with jubilation. Refused entry to the prestigious Ecole des Beaux-Arts, initially snubbed by the French Salon, and largely self-taught, he made his debut as a sculptor, in 1877, at the ripe old age of 37. A scandal the same year, which erupted over "The Age of Bronze" (1877), seen here, would change his fortunes. Because his sculpture of a muscular young man, a paean to Michelangelo's "Dying Slave," was so lifelike, critics mistakenly assumed that rather than modeling the figure, Rodin must have taken a cast directly from a living body. He was vindicated, but the notoriety brought him to public attention, proving, yet again, there's no such thing as bad publicity.

Early on, Rodin retreated from the academic ideal and embraced reality, as he did in the energized, larger-than-life "Saint John the Baptist Preaching" (1879). Though it was well-received by the Salon and acquired for France's National Collection, Rodin broke the rules by portraying a figure walking and talking at a time when traditional sculpture did neither. The bronze has a distinctive greenish-brown, archaeological patina, its finish deliberately distressed by the application of acid.

Rodin spent 20 years toiling on "The Gates of Hell," a 20-foot-high plaster portal derived from Dante's "Inferno." (The doors weren't cast in bronze until 1926-28.) Although it was never completed and the edifice for which it was intended never built, "Gates" served as a laboratory for experimentation. Some of the 220 tortured souls he created tumble down the framework toward their ghastly fate; others, like "Eve" (1881), walking tentatively, thighs tight together, her eyes downcast and head bowed on her chest in shame, became stand-alone works. The mottled plaster model here, which resembles alabaster, is perfect from every vantage point. Being in the presence of Rodin's sinewy bodies, with their sensuality and coiled energy, like the swooning lovers of "The Kiss," who, locked in rapturous embrace, seem poised to leap off their rocky pedestal, can be exhilarating. One instinctively senses the reservoir of humanity and intense vitality of the man who made them. It has been said his work enters the soul.

If Rodin's multiple infidelities are an indication, he was a better artist than he was a man. He indulged in numerous affairs, the most infamous one with his assistant, Camille Claudel, whom he regarded as a genius. She finished a single, imposing, forcefully rendered bronze portrait of him, while her image appears repeatedly in Rodin's work. His white plaster "Head of Mademoiselle Camille Claudel," with the serene facial planes of an Egyptian queen and a bandeau knotted at the back of the neck, has a formidable presence. A blob appears over one eye, the kind of imperfection Rodin had a habit of retraining. The two artists inspired each other, but the liaison ended badly. Claudel was later committed to an insane asylum, where she spent the remaining 30 years of her life. The 1988 film "Camille Claudel," one of three movies chronicling their tempestuous relationship, some say inaccurately, proffered Rodin as an exploitive narcissist who denigrated Claudel's accomplishments and drove her mad. "I gave you my strength," she says. "You gave me your emptiness."

The final gallery, featuring late works in luxurious marble that Rodin did not carve, is particularly interesting. Executed shortly before his death in 1917, Rodin's unfinished bust of literary lion Victor Hugo, though partially submerged in marble, seems to burst forth from the heavens like the head of Zeus. Hugo soon tired of the sittings, leaving Rodin to finish it from memory. One can only imagine what it must have been like to be in a room with those titanic egos. For the rest us, though, a day with Monsieur Rodin is infinitely better than a day without.

Through April 9. Info: legionofhonor.org