Six Bronze Figures on the Way to Their Gethsemane

Looking at Auguste Rodin's sculptural composition "The Burghers of Calais," we see six emaciated figures standing in tattered shirts, barefoot, with nooses of coarse rope around their necks.

The story behind the work unfolded in August 1347. At that time, the English king Edward III, after a brutal siege, agreed to spare the starving French city of Calais — but the condition he set was merciless. Six of the most noble and wealthy citizens were to walk out to the enemy camp in their undergarments, carrying the keys to the city gates and with ropes around their necks, ready for public execution. Sir Eustache de Saint-Pierre was the first to volunteer for public disgrace. He was followed by Jean d'Aire, brothers Jacques and Pierre de Wissant, Jean de Fiennes, and Andrieu d'Andres.

The French chronicler Jean Froissart preserved the words of Eustache de Saint-Pierre. They expressed hope in God's mercy for the salvation of his dying fellow citizens. In Rodin's work, we see these men at the very hour when they are convinced they are taking their final steps upon the earth.

A Revolt Against Pathos

The history of the monument's creation is built on a conflict between the sculptor and his patrons. In 1886, the municipal committee of Calais categorically rejected the model of the sculpture. The officials were outraged by the absence of the customary grandeur. In the official minutes, the committee members declared that the dejected poses of the emaciated citizens and the lack of an elegant silhouette "offended their religion." This, however, was the secular religion of national pathos and heroic rapture, far removed from genuine spirituality.

Rodin's reply to the mayor of Calais became a manifesto against false art. The sculptor flatly refused to model the figures according to academic conventions. Even to the naked eye, it is clear that the monument lacks the hierarchy typical of its time. All six masters and merchants stand on the same level.

Rodin deliberately sculpted their bodies as frail and emaciated from months of hunger, reflecting their suffering.

The sculptor enlarged the proportions of the hands and feet. The enormous hands and massive feet seem to pull these men toward the ground, conveying the weight of the decision they are making. Andrieu d'Andres covers his face with his hands in despair. The young Jean de Fiennes stands with palms spread in bewilderment and his mouth half open. Jean d'Aire grips the city keys tightly, his jaw clenched in a pose of silent resolve.

Rodin said he deliberately placed the figures apart from one another, because in moments of terrible choice, every person is left alone with their conscience and their fear of death.

An Echo of Gethsemane

Looking at the bare feet of the citizens, reluctant to step forward, one perceives the profound Christian meaning of the work. Rodin unexpectedly approached the very heart of the Gospel story.

Holy Scripture reveals the pinnacle of human love: "Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends" (John 15:13). But the path to this sacrifice is never easy or painless. Let us recall the Savior's prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane on the eve of His Passion: "And going a little farther he fell on his face and prayed, saying, 'My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will'" (Matt. 26:39).

The human nature of Christ trembles before death. The fear and trembling of His flesh do not negate the voluntariness of His sacrifice — on the contrary, they underscore its immense cost.

The bronze citizens of Calais also dread their destruction. They painfully drag their swollen feet across the ground. Their spirit strives to fulfill its duty, while their flesh is overcome with terror. Rodin depicted in sculpture living people who step beyond their fear for the sake of saving the city's remaining inhabitants. It is precisely this difficult choice between human frailty and spiritual zeal that makes their heroic impulse truly great.

Statues Brought Close to the People

Rodin was very eager to forgo the traditional high pedestal for his monument. He dreamed of placing the bronze figures directly on the cobblestones of the square in front of Calais Town Hall, embedding them in the paving stones — so that passersby would brush against the bronze garments with their elbows and, through that touch, feel that even in everyday life there remains a place for heroic deeds.

The patrons in 1895 failed to grasp this inspired idea and mounted the group on a five-meter granite pedestal, surrounding it with a railing. Only in 1924 was the sculpture finally moved to the town hall and lowered onto a low base, fulfilling the author's wish.

The bronze citizens of Calais show by their very appearance that the human heart may agonize and dread death — yet, in spite of this, still take a resolute step toward the heroic deed.

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