son, far more than the artistic butterfly. "The darling knows more of the mystery than we do.' As if the butterfly, like the artist, were conscious of something not entirely congenial in the child's nature, it alternately sparkled and grew dim. At length, it arose from the small hand of the infant with an airy motion, that seemed to bear it upward without an effort; as if the ethereal instincts, with which its master's spirit had endowed it, impelled this fair vision involuntarily to a higher sphere. Had there been no obstruction, it might have soared into the sky, and grown immortal. But its lustre gleamed upon the ceiling; the exquisite texture of its wings brushed against that earthly medium; and a sparkle or two, as of star-dust, floated downward and lay glimmering on the carpet. Then the butterfly came fluttering down, and, instead of returning to the infant, was apparently attracted towards the artist's hand. "Not so, not so!" murmured Owen Warland, as if his handiwork could have understood him. "Thou hast gone forth out of thy master's heart. There is no return for thee!" With a wavering movement, and emitting a tremulous radiance, the butterfly struggled, as it were, towards the infant, and was about to alight upon his finger. But, while it still hovered in the air, the little Child of Strength, with his grandsire's sharp and shrewd expression in his face, made a snatch at the marvellous insect, and compressed it in his hand. Annie screamed! Old Peter Hovenden burst into a cold and scornful laugh. The blacksmith, by main force, unclosed the infant's hand, and found within the palm a small heap of glittering fragments, whence the Mystery of Beauty had fled for ever. And as for Owen Warland, he looked placidly at what seemed the ruin of his life's labor, and which yet was no ruin. He had caught a far other butterfly than this. When the artist rose high enough to achieve the Beautiful, the symbol by which he made it perceptible to mortal senses became of little value in his eyes, while his spirit possessed itself in the enjoyment of the Reality. 7 THE ARCHED STREAM. BY WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. Ir went within my inmost heart, So gladly rushed the full stream through, Yet grey were those o'erarching stones, And over it, the heavy road, Where creaks the wain with burdened cheer, Yet gaily from this low abode, Leaped out the merry brook so clear. Then, Nature said, " my child, to thee, Thou art a pleasant thing to me, "Thy verse shall gush thus freely on, GREENOUGH'S STATUE OF WASHINGTON. BY ALEXANDER H. EVERETT. GREENOUGH'S great work has surpassed my expectations, high as they were. It is truly sublime. The statue is of colossal grandeur; about twice the size of life. The hero is represented in a sitting posture. A loose drapery covers the lower part of the figure, and is carried up over the right arm, which is extended, with the elbow bent and the forefinger of the hand pointed upward. The left arm is stretched out a little above the thigh; and the hand holds a Roman sword reversed. The design of the artist was, of course, to indicate the ascendency of the civic and humane over the military virtues, which distinguished the whole career of Washington, and which forms the great glory of his character. It was not intended to bring before the eye the precise circumstance under which he resigned his commission as commander-in-chief. This would have required a standing posture and a modern military costume; and, without an accompanying group of members of Congress, would have been an incomplete work. The sword reversed, and the finger pointed upward, indicate the moral sentiment, of which the resignation of his commission, as commanderin-chief, was the strongest evidence, without the details, which were inconsistent with the general plan. The face is that of Stuart's portrait, modified so as to exhibit the highest point of manly vigor and maturity. Though not corresponding exactly with any of the existing portraits, it is one of the aspects which the countenance of Washington must necessarily have worn in the course of his progress through life, and is obviously the proper one for the purpose. In expression, the countenance is admirably adjusted to the character of the subject and the intention of the work. It is stamped with dignity, and radiant with benevolence and moral beauty. The execution is finished to the extreme point of perfection, as well in the accessories as in the statue itself. The The seat is a massy arm-chair of antique form and large dimensions, the sides of which are covered with exquisitely wrought bas-reliefs. The subject of one is the infant Hercules strangling the serpent in his cradle that of the other, Apollo guiding the four steeds that draw the chariot of the sun. back of the chair is of open work. At the left corner is placed a small statue of Columbus, holding in his hand a sphere, which he is examining with fixed attention at the right corner is a similar small statue of an Indian chief. The effect of these comparatively diminutive images is to heighten by contrast the impression of grandeur, which is made by the principal figure. : The work stands upon a square block of granite, which bears upon its front and two sides, as an inscription, the well-known language of the resolution, adopted in Congress upon the receipt of the intelligence of Washington's death: "First in war: first in peace: first in the hearts of his countrymen.' On the back of the statue, just above the top of the chair, is placed another inscription in Latin, which is as follows: Simulacrum istud Ad magnum Libertatis exemplum This inscription is not very felicitous. Independently of the objections that have been made to the grammar of the faciebat, which, though defended on classical authority, does not strike me as the natural form, the ideas are hardly expressed with sufficient distinctness, and, so far as they can be gathered, are not particularly appropriate. It is not easy to see in what precise or correct understanding of the terms Washington can be called an “example of liberty;" and admitting that by a rather latitudinous construction this phrase may be supposed to mean that his conduct is a proper example for the imitation of the friends of liberty, it is still more difficult to imagine why a statue of Washington may not be preserved though liberty should perish. Two thousand years have elapsed since the fall of Grecian and Roman liberty, but Demosthenes and Cicero still survive in their "all but living busts," as well as in their "thoughts that breathe and words that burn." The precise object of this description would, perhaps, have been sufficiently provided for by a simple indication of the name of the sculptor and of the circumstances under which the work was ordered and executed. The statue was originally placed in the Rotunda of the Capitol; but the light being found unfavorable, it was removed to a temporary building in the garden, where it now stands. The light is better than before, but the meanness of the building forms an unpleasant contrast with the grandeur of the work, and it is much to be desired that a more suitable place of deposit may soon be found for a monument so worthy of the great subject, and so honorable to the artist and the country. This magnificent product of genius does not seem to be appreciated at its full value in this metropolis of "the freest and most enlightened people on the globe." I have met with few persons here who have spoken of it in terms of strong or even moderate satisfaction. Every one has some fault to point out, that appears to withdraw his attention entirely from the grandeur and beauty of the whole, which, when they are pressed upon him, he is compelled to acknowledge. One is dissatisfied that the figure is colossal; another that the face is not an exact copy of Stuart's portrait; a third, that the posture is sitting and not standing; a fourth, that there is a want of repose in the general expression; a fifth, that one of the ankles is incorrectly modelled; and so of the rest. Most of these objections proceed, as I have heard them stated, from persons who would think themselves wronged if their sensibility to the grand and beautiful in nature and art were called in question. But how feeble must this quality be in one who can see nothing in so splendid a monument but some trifling, real or imaginary, fault! I should not blame any one for indicating and insisting on what he might consider as blemishes, if he were also to exhibit a proper feeling for the acknowledged merits of the work: but I almost lose patience when I hear a person, not without some pretensions to good taste, after a visit of an hour to the statue, making no other remark than that one of the ankles is incorrectly modelled; an error which, after a careful examination for the express purpose, I have been wholly unable to discover. This remark is nearly a repetition of the one made by an Athenian cobbler upon the first exhibition of one of the celebrated Venuses of antiquity-that there was a wrong stitch in one of her sandals. It affords a curious, though not very agreeable proof, how exactly human nature repeats itself under similar circumstances, even to the slightest and apparently most accidental particulars. The most satisfactory expression of feeling that I have met with here in regard to the statue was prompted by the finer and truer sensibility inherent in the heart of woman. It proceeded from a company of ladies whom I happened to encounter on my first visit to the building that contains this great national monument. They were strangers to me, and had not the air of persons belonging to the fashionable coteries of our large cities; but they evidently possessed-what is much more important-cultivated minds and a keen susceptibility to the influence of natural and moral beauty. They appeared to have been travelling extensively, and one of them had under her arm a large sketch-book. They expressed in various forms the highest admiration of the statue, and one of them finally remarked, as a sort of summary of the whole, that it produced upon her mind a stronger impression of sublimity and grandeur than she had received from the cataract of Niagara. The objections above mentioned to the size, attitude, and costume of the statue, and to the character of the features, proceed upon the supposition, that it was the intention of the artist to make the nearest possible approach to the person and countenance of Washington, as represented in the most authentic portraits and statues; and in costume to the dress that he actually wore. This supposition is obviously an erroneous one. These are matters which have their importance as points of historical information-especially in connection with a character of so much interest. But the object of the artist in a work of this kind is much nobler than that of satisfying curiosity upon these particulars. It was, as it should have been, his purpose to call forth, in the highest possible degree, the sentiment of the moral sublime, which the contemplation of the character of Washington is fitted to excite. This purpose required such a representation of his person, for instance, as, consistently with truth to nature, would tend most strongly to produce this result. A servile adherence to the existing portraits is not essential to the accomplishment of such a purpose, and might even be directly opposed to it; as, for example, if these had been executed in the early youth or extreme old age of the subject. Still less would it be necessary to preserve the costume of the period, which is already out of fashion, and for every subject, except the satisfaction of antiquarian curiosity, entirely unsuitable for effect in sculpture. The colossal size-the antique costume -the more youthful air of the faceare circumstances which, without materially impairing the truth to nature, increase very much the moral impression, and, instead of furnishing grounds for objection, are positive merits of high i mportance. The question between a sitting and a standing posture is substantially the same, as whether the subject was to be presented under a civil or a military aspect. In the latter case, a standing posture would undoubtedly have been preferable. But if the ascendency, given by Washington through his whole career to the virtues of the patriot citizen over the talents of the military chieftain, was the noblest trait in his character, and if it was the duty of the artist to exhibit him, on this occasion, under the circumstances in which he appeared in real life, to the greatest advantage, then the civil aspect of the subject, and with it the sitting posture, like the other particulars that have been mentioned, instead of being a ground of objection, is a high positive merit. It has been mentioned in private, as an objection made by a person whose judgment in some respects would be considered as entitled to respect, that there is a want of repose in the attitude. The arms are extended in a way in which they could not be placed for any length of time without producing fatigue; and we feel, it is said, the same sort of uneasiness on witnessing this attitude in a statue that we should if it were maintained permanently by a living person in our presence. It is rather difficult to comprehend the precise meaning of this objection as applied to the statue of Washington. Where it is the intention of the artist to express repose, the indications of activity, of any kind, are, of course, out of place. Where it is intended to express activity, the indications of repose would, for the same reason, be incongruous with the subject. It is no more an objection to the statue of Washington that the arms are placed in an attitude which, after a short time, would become fatiguing to a living person, than it is an objection to the antique group of Laocoon that the muscles of a living man could not remain more than a few minutes in the state of extreme tension, indicated in that celebrated work, without convulsions; or to the Apollo Belvedere, that he stands with foot drawn back and arm extended, in the position of an archer who has just discharged an arrow from his bow. In the famous equestrian statue of Peter the Great, at St. Petersburg, the horse is rearing on his hinder legs, while the fore legs remain suspended in the air at some distance from the ground. This is an attitude which could not be maintained by a living horse for more than two or three seconds; but, far from being made a ground of objection to the work, it has been regarded as its greatest merit, and as the precise quality which has given it the character of being the finest equestrian statue in Europe. It was not the design of the artist to represent his subject in a state of repose. On the contrary, the obvious intention is to exhibit the noblest trait in his intellectual and moral character. I mean his habitual control over all the irregular propensities of his nature, at the point of time when it reached its fullest active development. In his practical career, this point was indicated by the resignation of his commission, as commander-in-chief, into the hands of the President of Congress. But that was a scene which comes within the province of painting rather than sculpture. A group so vast is beyond the reach of the chisel. It was the difficult duty of the artist to embody the sentiment which governed the conduct of Washington on that occasion, in a single figure. His success in conquering this difficulty, and producing, by a single figure, a moral emotion, superior, probably, to any that could be called forth by the finest painting of the scene before Congress, is one of the noblest triumphs of his noble To say that the work indicates activity and not repose, is only saying, in other words, that it was executed in conformity to the leading point in a plan, which was suggested, or rather imperiously dictated, by the nature of the subject. art. It is rather unpleasant to be compelled, in commenting on this splendid effort of genius, to meet such objections as these, instead of joining in the general expression of mingled admiration and delight which it ought to elicit from the whole public. I make no pretensions to connoisseurship in the art of sculpture, and judge of the merit of the work merely by the impression which it makes upon my own mind; but I can say for myself, that after seeing the most celebrated specimens of ancient and modern sculpture to be found in Europe, including the Laocoon and the Apollo Belvedere, with the finest productions of Canova, Thorwaldsen, Sergell and Chantry, I consider the Washington of Greenough as superior to any of them, and as the master-piece of the art. The hint seems to have been taken from the Olympian Jupiter of Phidias, who said himself that he had caught the inspiration under which he conceived the plan of that great glory of ancient sculpture, from a passage in the Iliad. In this way the noble work of Greenough connects itself by the legitimate filiation of kindred genius, transmitting its magnetic impulses through the long lines of intervening centuries with the poetry of Homer. The vast dimensions of the Jupiter of Phidias may have made it to the eye a more imposing and majestic monument; but if the voluntary submission of transcendant power to the moral law of duty be, as it certainly is, a more sublime spectacle than any positive exercise of the same power over inferior natures, then the subject of the American sculptor is more truly divine than that of his illustrious prototype in Greece. When Jupiter shakes Olympus with his nod, the imagination is affected by a grand display of energy, but the heart remains untouched. When Washington, with an empire in his grasp, resigns his sword to the President of Congress, admiration of his great intellectual power is mingled with the deepest emotions of delightful sympathy, and we involuntarily exclaim with one of the characters in a scene of much less importance, as depicted by an elegant female writer: "There spoke the true thing; now my own heart is satisfied.' The present location of the statue is, of course, merely provisional. It is much to be regretted that the light in the Rotunda was found to be unfavorable, as there is no other hall in any of the buildings belonging to the Union sufficiently lofty and extensive to become a suitable permanent place of deposit for this monument. How, when, and where, such a one shall be provided is a problem of rather difficult solution. If, as has sometimes been suggested, the patrimonial estate of Washington, at Mount Vernon, should ever be purchased by the country, and a public building erected there to serve as a sort of National Mausoleum, or Western Westminster Abbey, the statue would become, of course, its principal ornament. But the execution of this plan, should it ever be realized, is probably reserved for the good taste and liberality of some future generation. In the meanwhile, the noblest achievement of the art of sculpture, dedicated to the memory of the greatest man that ever lived in the tide of time, will be permitted by a country, which received from his hands gifts no less precious than Independence and Liberty, to take up its abode in a paltry barrack. |