LETTERS AND MEMORIES
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE

 
 HARRIET HOSMER 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES
 
 f^oS^^/lj ///9/eyeV^7* S'0CC//7i^<S 
 
 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 CORNELIA CARR 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 
 1912
 
 
 Copyright, 1912, bt 
 MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 THE QUINN & eODEN CO. PRESS 
 RAHWAY, n. J.
 
 TO THE PATER
 
 Grateful acknowledgments are tendered 
 to those who have kindly loaned letters or 
 who have granted permission to use those 
 which were written to Miss Hosmer. Where 
 it has not been possible to reach others or 
 their representatives sanction is here asked, 
 as nothing of intimate value has been used.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 FOREWORD , . xi 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 1830-1852 
 
 Early Life— School Days — Mrs. Sedgwick — Mrs, Fanny Kemble— St. 
 Louis — The West and the South — Mount Hosmer — Miss Cushman — 
 Hesper 1 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 1852-1854 
 
 Leaving Home — Rome — John Gibson — Daphne — Medusa — Rauch — An 
 Important Commission— Mrs. Adelaide Kemble Sartoris — Beginning 
 the World in Earnest— Another Large Order — The Campagna Parties 21 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 1854-1857 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Browning — CEnone — Frederick Leighton — Ride from 
 
 Rome to Florence by Moonlight — Puck 44 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 1857 
 
 London— Return to America— Beatrice Cenci— The Clasped Hands — 
 In Florence with the Brownings— Mrs. Jameson— Some Records of 
 the Florentine Visit 82 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 1857-1860 
 
 In the Studio Again — The Falconuet Monument — Zenobia — Will-o'-the- 
 Wisp — Psychical Experiences — Letters from John Gibson — Mrs. 
 Kemble — Mrs. Child — Mrs. Jameson 115 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 1860-1863 
 
 Sudden Return Home — Benton Monument — Prince of Wales in Boston — 
 Fountain of Ilylas and the Water Nymphs — Sir Honry Layard — The 
 Civil War — The Death of Mrs. Browning — Mrs. Mary Somerville . 155 
 
 vii
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 1864-1866 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Zenobia— The Caflfe Greco— George S. Hillard— The Roman Hunts— The 
 Sleeping Faun— The Dublin Exhibition— The Studio— Death of John 
 Gibson — Bronze Gate for an Academy of Design .... 191 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 1866-1868 
 
 The "Waking Faun— Chimney-piece, The Death of the Dryads — Visits in 
 the British Isles — The Ghost from Bunker Hill — The Pompeiian Sen- 
 tinel — Inauguration of the Benton Statue 220 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 1869-1871 
 
 The Queen of Naples, Her Statue — Three Bavarian Kings — Unpublished 
 "Poem" of Browning — Sir "William Boxall— Empress of Austria — 
 Fighting in Eome— A Modern " Flood "—The Shaker Hats . . 270 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 1871-1876 
 
 Visit to Garatshausen — Munich — The Making of a "Will — Roman 
 Theatricals — Accident in the Hunting Field — Miss Cushman's 
 Death — Visits with the King and Queen of Naples to "Warwick and 
 Castle Ashby— Carlyle and Art — "Wilton House .... 295 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 1878-1888 
 
 Melchet Court — Fountains of The Mermaid's Cradle and The Dolphin — 
 Brahau Castle— Death of Sir "William Boxall— Design for a Lincoln 
 Monument — The African Sibyl 313 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 1891-1908 
 
 Statue of Queen Isabella— "William "Wetmore Story— Francis Power 
 Cobbe— Sir Frederick Leighton— Medals and Decorations— Ely 
 Cathedral— Lady Ashburton 324 
 
 APPENDICES 361
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Harriet Hosmer, Photogravure Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 Mount Hosmer 12 
 
 Medusa 24 
 
 CEnone 42 
 
 Puck 78 
 
 Beatrice Cenci 84 
 
 The Clasped Hands of Mr. and Mrs. Browning 92 
 
 The Fountain of the Siren 178 
 
 Harriet Hosmer at Work on Benton 180 
 
 The Favorite Hunter 184 
 
 Zenobia 200 
 
 Mrs. Dent's Bonnet 206 
 
 The Sleeping Faun 210 
 
 John Gibson 218 
 
 The Waking Faun 220 
 
 Will-o'-the-Wisp 222 
 
 The Death of the Dryads 224 
 
 Castle Ashby 234 
 
 Raby Castle 236 
 
 Ashridge 238 
 
 Harriet Hosmer and Her Workmen 250 
 
 The Statue of Thomas H. Benton 260 
 
 Wayman Crow 262 
 
 Loch Luichart Lodge 276 
 
 The Staghound 291 
 
 Melchet Court 298 
 
 Wilton House 312 
 
 Brahan Castle 314 
 
 The African Sibyl 320 
 
 Ely Cathedral . 348 
 
 Compton Wynyates 354
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 At a first glance it would seem an easy task to 
 arrange the following papers in such manner as to 
 show the way that led an earnest and courageous 
 young artist to honor and success; but it has not 
 proved so. Among several hundred letters only three 
 have been found that bear the date of the year in 
 which they were written. The writer used the thinnest 
 of paper and the palest of ink, both of which are con- 
 ducive to error in transcribing. These facts, and a 
 fading memory, which may well be at fault in looking 
 back over the correspondence of half a century, must 
 plead for consideration where the letters are not placed 
 in correct sequence. 
 
 For those unacquainted with Harriet Hosmer's 
 early life, a brief mention of it will suffice, leaving 
 the outHne of her busy and happy career to be gleaned 
 from her own words. To no one else did she write 
 so freely and consecutively of her work and her life 
 abroad, as to her early friend, Mr. Wayman Crow, to 
 whom the majority of the letters were addressed. A 
 few others, to and from friends, have been added, 
 by way of giving a little more fully the story of a 
 life that never seemed so vivid after she lost the sym- 
 
 xi
 
 xii FOREWORD 
 
 pathy, almost the inspiration, of him whom she called 
 " The Pater." If in these letters to him she quotes 
 words of praise and cheer which were given to her, 
 it is with the desire of justifying his belief in her 
 power of achievement, and not from any motive of 
 vanity. Her letters were so interwoven with intimate 
 comment and loving words, that it has been difficult 
 to eliminate all of these and still retain what came 
 fresh from her heart. Her conversation was so full 
 of badinage and rhyme, that they seemed naturally 
 to form a part of her writings. At the risk of their 
 appearing unimportant, the merry joke and the 
 familiar doggerel which are characteristic, have been 
 left unpruned. These lighted up the more serious 
 side of her nature and made her the joyous, fascinat- 
 ing being that she was, a fit companion to her own 
 Puck I 
 
 One word more. If undue prominence is given to 
 Old World hosts, hostesses, and homes, it is because 
 much of her time was passed among them, not only 
 in enjoying the cordial hospitality of the owners, but 
 in studying their matchless treasures of art. In less 
 frequent visits to her native land, she was occupied by 
 her work; and then, too, "ancestral halls" and "pic- 
 turesque castles " were non-existent in the New World. 
 Later, she quitted Italy with its changing life and 
 scenes, and while lamenting the old Rome, she left 
 the new city to its new birth. It had lost its hold
 
 FOREWORD xiu 
 
 upon her heart. Forsaldng marble and workmen, she 
 spent the later years of her life, partly in England, 
 partly in America, among those whom she loved and 
 who were devoted to her. She was never idle. Her 
 busy brain was unceasingly at work on favorite de- 
 signs, and she was happy in plans for future activity. 
 The work dreamed of by her would easily have filled 
 another lifetime. But the end came unexpectedly to 
 her, and to all. After a brief illness, with mind un- 
 dimmed, on the 21st of February, 1908, she passed 
 
 into the Higher Life. 
 
 C. C. 
 
 Cambkidge, January 1912.
 
 I!
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 1830-1852 
 
 Harriet Goodhue Hosmer, the youngest child 
 of Hiram and Sarah (Grant) Hosmer, was born on 
 the 9th of October, 1830, in Watertown, Massachu- 
 setts. From her father, a distinguished physician, 
 she inherited her great mental activity and her inde- 
 pendence of character, while from her mother she de- 
 rived the more artistic elements of her nature. The 
 death of the latter, when Harriet was four years of 
 age, left her and a sister, two years her senior, to the 
 anxious care of their father. Desirous of guarding 
 them against the subtle disease which had robbed him 
 of his wife and two sons, Dr. Hosmer adopted, with 
 his daughters, a method of physical training at that 
 time unusual in the education of girls. " There is a 
 lifetime," he said, " for the cultivation of the mind, but 
 the body develops in a few years, and during that 
 period nothing should be permitted to interfere with 
 its free and healthy growth." 
 
 Even this wise course proved to be of no avail with 
 the elder girl. Her death six years later, greatly in- 
 creased the father's anxiety concerning his remaining 
 child. Accordingly, he encouraged her to live an 
 out-of-door life. He gave her a spirited horse, a dog, 
 and a gun, and at the foot of his garden, by which 
 ran the Charles River, she had her boat-house and 
 bath-house and indulged in the delights of rowing.
 
 g HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 swimming, and in winter of skating. This free and 
 happy hfe not only brought its reward in the glowing 
 health, the sturdy frame, and muscular development 
 of the girl, but it fostered in a heart where lay dor- 
 mant so great a love of the beautiful in art, an equal 
 love for the beautiful in Nature. For miles around 
 there was no wildwood path which she had not ex- 
 plored; Charles River boasted no shady cove in wliich 
 her boat had not rested, and no neighboring hillside was 
 left unclimbed in her search for mosses and wild flowers. 
 
 As time wore on and Dr. Hosmer saw that she was 
 strong enough to bear the confinement of studj?^, he 
 placed her at school in Boston. She was loth, how- 
 ever, to give up her out-door delights, and after sev- 
 eral years of intermittent study, he decided, as she 
 was entering upon her sixteenth year, to place her 
 where she would have, in addition to the broadest in- 
 tellectual culture, a due amount of healthful freedom 
 combined with motherly care. This was found in the 
 home-school of Mrs. Charles Sedgwick of Lenox, 
 Massachusetts, then a primitive village amid the 
 Berksliire Hills where the Sabbath began at sundown 
 on Saturday and ended at sunset on Sunday, while 
 now it is one of the most frequented of summer 
 resorts. It was in this refined and delightful interior 
 that Harriet developed into womanhood according to 
 her individual bent, without any effort on the part 
 of her teacher to coerce her natural tendencies. 
 
 It also was a home in which she enjoyed unusual 
 opportunities for companionship and culture. The 
 families of Sedgwick and D wight (to the latter of 
 wliich Mrs. Sedgwick belonged) were among the oldest
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 3 
 
 and intellectually most prominent in New England, 
 and in this sheltered home Mr. and Mrs. Sedgwick 
 had preserved, and in themselves embodied, all that 
 was best of New England life and thought. With 
 them lived Mr. Sedgwick's sister, Miss Catherine M. 
 Sedgwick, at that time America's foremost authoress. 
 This charming household, during the many years of 
 its existence, never failed to attract distinguished men 
 and women, both from home and from abroad. 
 Among such visitors were Fredrika Bremer, Frances 
 Anne Kemble, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Francis J. 
 Child, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and others equally val- 
 ued. Being thus early brought into familiar inter- 
 course with some of the creative minds of the day, 
 and amid the inspiring scenery of the Berkshires, the 
 young girl was soon led to feel the stimulus for serious 
 work. During the next few years, while she remained 
 under Mrs. Sedgwick's judicious supervision, much 
 of her leisure time was given to drawing, though she 
 had not then determined upon a profession. 
 
 Another factor which entered largely into her suc- 
 cess in after life was the acquaintance which at this 
 time she formed with Mr. Wayman Crow, of St. 
 Louis, Missouri, the father of her chosen classmate. 
 This liberal-minded gentleman, from the first, gave her 
 needed sympathy and encouragement, and during his 
 whole life was a helpful, stimulating, and generous 
 friend. 
 
 During the happy Lenox days, Harriet was truly 
 the life of the house. Already the mingling of the 
 grave and the gay in her temperament made her 
 wonderfully attractive to minds of varied tone and of
 
 4 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 divers ages. Her impro^'isations, comic lectures, cha- 
 rades, and impromptu theatricals, even her daring esca- 
 pades, were enjoyed by all, including the guests of the 
 family. Among the latter none delighted more than 
 Mrs. Fanny Kemble in these simple frolics. She 
 made her home in Lenox during these years and she 
 was often wont to say, " Come, Hatty, do give us 
 some fun to-night." Whereupon, nothing daunted 
 by having a famous actress in her audience, and that 
 one a Kemble, the young girl would give some foolish, 
 perhaps, but bright and laughable thing, that changed 
 the quiet evening of a mountain village into one of 
 merriment. Upon one of these occasions she intro- 
 duced into the entertainment a bit of doggerel, a mix- 
 ture of French and English, which quite convulsed 
 her small audience, especially as in reading the so- 
 called *' poem " her pronunciation of the French was 
 even more ingenious than the ideas or text. The 
 whole was a medley of mood and tense, gender, num- 
 ber, and person. Nothing mattered except the jingle. 
 It will suffice to give several verses of it, adding a 
 few words of her very original pronunciation to faintly 
 indicate the rest. It was entitled: 
 
 " LINES SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY AN ANGLO- 
 FRENCHMAN AND ADDRESSED TO HIS 
 LADY LOVE 
 
 " Regardez-tu, Regardez-tu * 
 L'amour sublime que j'ai pour vous. 
 Tu seulement, tu Madame, 
 Excites dans moi la tendre flamme. 
 
 * Pronounced " Riggerdy-too," " Riggerdy-too," which became a familiar 
 quotation with Mrs. Kemble and also with the schoolgirls.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 5 
 
 Vous seulement, pouvez en moi 
 Faire le coeur sauter de joie, 
 Vous, ah vous, mon Arabella 
 (Si le dire n'est criminelle) 
 Par ces yeux si clairs, si forts, 
 Mettre mes poumons dans transport. 
 Voila pourquoi ! je vous aime 
 De toute la vigueur de moi-meme. 
 
 " Regardez-tu, Rcgardez-tu 
 L'amour sublime que j'ai pour vous. 
 Oh Arabelle! je ne puis pas dire 
 L'amour pour vous, si fort, si fier. 
 Je ne puis pas, plus que si la langue 
 Etait sans, au lieu qu' avec le sang. 
 Mes dents caquetent quand je parle a toi, 
 Mais pour ma vie je ne sais pour quoi, 
 Et mes jambes se frissonnent de concert, 
 Quand je vais vous demander de votre pere. 
 Voila pourquoi! je vous aime 
 De toute la vigueur de moi-meme. 
 
 " Regardez-tu, Regardez-tu 
 L'amour sublime que j'ai pour vous. 
 Si chaq'un etait un fromage vert, 
 Presse dans la meilleure maniere, 
 Et tu, mon Arabelle si beau, 
 N'etais rien que le dehors peau, 
 Et, s'ils me questionnaient quel je preferais 
 La response, ' Le dehors s'il vous plait,' 
 Voila pourquoi! je vous aime 
 De toute la vigueur de moi-meme." 
 
 This note bears testimony to that merry life: 
 
 MISS C. M. SEDGWICK TO HARRIET HOSMER. 
 
 54 E. 16th St., New York, Jan. 16, 1849. 
 My dear Hatty: 
 
 ... I have met with nothing in this city so brilliant 
 or half so pleasant as some of om* evenings at " The
 
 6 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Hive." * . . . My love to the long-room circle and 
 particularly to your dear chum . . . Now, dear Miss 
 Spindle, remember the old and honest adage, " A 
 fair exchange is no robbery," and send me the promised 
 return to the signature of 
 
 Your very affectionate friend, 
 
 C. M. Sedgwick. 
 
 For several years Mrs. Kemble occupied a villa 
 about a mile from the village of Lenox, " The Perch," 
 which she had taken in order to be near her 
 friends, the Sedgwicks. Here she warmly welcomed 
 the schoolgirls, some of whom were friends of her 
 own two daughters. And it seems but fair to say 
 that there was never any gifted woman more generous 
 and ready to contribute her share to the entertainment 
 of others than she was. In proof of this, as Saturday 
 afternoon was a half-holiday in her friend's school, 
 it was her custom to appear in the recitation room, 
 Shakespeare in hand, and proceed to read to the as- 
 sembled household, in her own matchless way, the half 
 of a play. Never was any audience so entranced as 
 those " slips of girls," or any homage more intense 
 than that which her adoring young listeners tendered 
 her. At the end of a reading, she always invited them 
 to come to " The Perch " in the evening and hear 
 the concluding acts of the play, an invitation joyously 
 accepted. If the play were a tragedy, at its conclu- 
 sion Mrs. Kemble would seat herself at the piano, 
 saying, " Now, girls, a dance." Or if a comedy had 
 been read, the music and dance followed to sober them 
 down for the stroll home, through the scented pine 
 
 ♦ Mrs. Charles Sedgwick's place.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 7 
 
 woods. This was a rare and happy Me for any young 
 person, but especially for one of Harriet's taste and 
 appreciation. The friendship thus begun between this 
 gifted woman and the artist lasted through long years, 
 to the end. 
 
 The following quaint letter, one of the few that 
 have been preserved, from the artist's father, came to 
 her while in Lenox, and indicates his lofty teaching: 
 
 Watertown, Feb. 27, 1849. 
 My dear daughter: 
 
 The allegory so much desired followeth. *' An 
 old man sat before his winter fire, which flick- 
 ered hke his life, to keep the last night of the year, 
 with thought and with memory. His had been an 
 ill-spent life, his character had been moulded by the 
 fierceness of his passions and the obstinacy of his 
 circumstances. He had never secured a position be- 
 yond their malignant influences, and his soul had al- 
 ways fluctuated between vice and virtue, the prey of 
 every impulse. As he sat and mused, the wasted years 
 passed before him in procession, and the whole domain 
 of his life lay stretched out like a desert swept by the 
 hot simoom, strewed with good intentions and favoring 
 moments, like rich caravans which never reach their 
 journey's end. On the verge of this desolation lay 
 the green time of his youth, like the first flush of 
 morning, and the old man's seared heart was touched 
 with the memory of its promise and the bitter contrast 
 of its non-fulfilment. Vividly came to him again, those 
 hopes and impulses indulged in so long ago, gradually 
 one after another wrecked and scattered. He felt the 
 ancient time, when virtue was yet a possibility and 
 the lordly structure of a character filled the vista of 
 liis wishes; then the dreadful thought that his character 
 had been ruined and his life made a failure forced from
 
 8 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 him the exclamation, ' Return, oh, return, years of 
 promise — return, golden opportunities for virtue — give 
 me back my youth that I may yet be good and just.' 
 And he had his wish ; for it was the New Year's dream 
 of a young man, and he awoke in his hopelessness and 
 all the possibilities of life lay fair and enticing before 
 him, and he could yet make the untried future blossom 
 like the rose. Let us reverence our youth. Let us 
 stand in awe before our opportunities, for there have 
 been lives worse than the horrors of the most painful 
 dream." 
 
 My daughter, read the above with attention, re- 
 member it, and make it serve you as a guide and a 
 beacon in establishing a character, a good character, 
 without which life is certainly a failure. This is writ- 
 ten before the arrival of an answer to my last, sent 
 with the books you wished. . . . 
 
 Your father, 
 
 H. HoSMER. 
 
 In 1849 Harriet quitted Lenox for her home in 
 Watertown and began to prepare for her life's work 
 by taking lessons in modelling. In this she was ham- 
 pered by ignorance of human anatomy and the in- 
 ability to obtain, from any college in New England, 
 a course of instruction in it, for it must be remembered 
 that sixty years ago the facilities in America for even 
 beginning the study of Art were but meagre. How- 
 ever, in the autumn of 1850 she went to visit her 
 friends in St. Louis, and it was there, that, through the 
 influence of Mr. Wayman Crow, the head of the medi- 
 cal department of the state university. Dr. J. N. Mc- 
 Dowell, was induced to throw open the doors of that 
 institution to her, and to give her the opportunity of 
 acquiring the knowledge requisite for the prosecution
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 9 
 
 of her art. This was, at that time, an innovation, and 
 recognizing this fact, Professor McDowell, with in- 
 tuitive delicacy, offered to give her, each morning, in 
 his library, an abstract of the lecture prepared for his 
 students, with the opportunity of examining each 
 specimen used in exempHfying the lesson of the day. 
 This offer the young enthusiast eagerly accepted, and 
 faithfully, through the winter months, in all sorts of 
 weather, she plodded daily, on foot, several miles to 
 the college, which was then on the outskirts of the city, 
 after having passed the previous afternoon and evening 
 in preparation for the day's lecture. When the term 
 ended, she graduated with the class and received her 
 diploma. 
 
 After the conclusion of this college course, she de- 
 termined, before returning to her Eastern home, to 
 explore a little the South and the " Far West," as 
 that region was then called. Accordingly, accom- 
 panied by her classmate, she started down the river to 
 New Orleans. They took passage on the " Pacific" 
 one of the large steamboats plying between St. Louis 
 and that port. But the " Father of Waters," the 
 mighty Mississippi, was not to be counted upon. 
 Owing to its swift current and its soft bed of sand 
 and clay, it changed its course at will, moving sud- 
 denly from side to side, sometimes overlajiping its 
 legitimate borders and leaving sand-bars and banks 
 to-day where yesterday deep water had been. Even 
 old and experienced pilots Avere not able always to 
 guide their water-craft surely and speedily on the 
 way. It was here that Samuel M. Clemens began his 
 career as a pilot, and found liis more familiar title of
 
 10 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 " Mark Twain "; for in " throwing the lead " to meas- 
 ure the varying depths and seek safe channels, the 
 negro navigators were accustomed to sing out in their 
 peculiar chant, "Mark Twain" (twelve feet), or any- 
 other number called for by the scant waters. 
 
 When the travellers had been a day or so on board, 
 the boat began, after the usual fashion, " to ground " 
 every few hours and rest indefinitely upon one of the 
 above-mentioned sand-bars. Satisfied with a week of 
 such experience, the less persistent companion gave up 
 the trip, and returned to St. Louis on a passing boat, 
 while her more determined friend pursued her onward 
 way. The accompanying letter gives a further account 
 of the journey down the stream, a portion of which 
 was then well called " the graveyard of boats." Before 
 writing this letter, she had been obliged to transfer 
 from the " Pacific " to a small boat going only to 
 Cairo, where a larger one was taken for the remainder 
 of the journey: 
 
 TO MISS C. 
 
 On Board the " Whirlwind," Feb. 8, 1851. 
 Dear C: 
 
 We came on board this boat last Wednesday, two 
 days after you left us. We expect to reach Cairo this 
 afternoon. We are now at Cape Girardeau, the lar- 
 gest place I have seen on the river, and the most God- 
 forsaken. We passed the '' Aleck Scott," " Di Ver- 
 non " and the " Lawrence " all aground at St. Gen- 
 evieve, so console yourself for the week we lost, by 
 thinking there were others in the same plight. We 
 were aground not five minutes after we started, but 
 we got off during the night. We have been so several 
 times since, but as there is a barge alongside to take
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 11 
 
 off the freight in such cases, the delay is not great. 
 We are all well and happy enough, though tired to 
 death with being on any kind of a boat so long. I shall 
 not go to Galveston, for I want to get home and to 
 studying; have finished my myology book and am 
 going through it again. Query, will New Orleans 
 pay for the trouble? . . . Your H 
 
 This letter reveals two of the characteristics which 
 formed the basis of the artist's later success: patience 
 and persistence. It also shows the uncertainties of 
 river travel in the West during those early days. She 
 eventually reached New Orleans, after stopping at 
 Memphis and other wayside points of interest. Here 
 she delighted in the quaint old French town, and, 
 after a short stay, returned to St. Louis, more de- 
 termined than ever to see the Upper Mississippi, 
 famed for its grand and picturesque scenery. After 
 a few days she started again, on one of the so-called 
 *' floating palaces," and without detention went as 
 far as St. Paul, the Falls of St. Anthony, and the 
 site of the present city of Minneapolis, which was then 
 non-existent. The high bluffs overlooking the river 
 fascinated her. One of the tallest of them she as- 
 cended, and thereafter it was named " Mount Hos- 
 mer," in her honor. The limitless prairies beyond 
 them, the Indian encampments along shore, where she 
 met some of their " braves," and smoked with them 
 *' the Pipe of Peace," all these unfamihar sights 
 charmed and impressed her. 
 
 Upon her return to St. Louis, after an absence from 
 Watertown of nine months, she went home prepared 
 to continue, more intelligently, her studies in model-
 
 12 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 ling. Her first work was one of grateful acknowledg- 
 ment to her distinguished professor, Dr. McDowell. 
 From an imperfect cast made of him by another 
 pupil (Clevenger) she modelled a portrait medallion, 
 wliich she put into marble and sent to him. It was 
 also at this time that she made a copy of Canova's bust 
 of Napoleon, reducing it from heroic to life size. This 
 she modelled, cast, cut in marble unaided, and pre- 
 sented to her father. 
 
 Before turning from this period of the artist's life, 
 a letter, though of much later date, seems in place. 
 The Rev. Mr. Houghton, who in 1895 was living on 
 the side of Mount Hosmer, had some years before 
 written tliis account of it: 
 
 Lansing^ Iowa, 1888. 
 
 Near this place is the highest bluff in the valley of 
 the great Mississippi. It has an elevation of five 
 hundred feet and is named Mount Hosmer, from an 
 old-time association with Harriet Hosmer, the world- 
 renowned sculptor. The affair was a romantic one 
 and imbued with the individuality of the artist. Just 
 after completing her course of anatomy under Pro- 
 fessor McDowell in St. Louis, she traversed the Miss- 
 issippi almost from its source to its mouth. Miss 
 Hosmer was then a gay, romping, athletic schoolgirl. 
 All that existed of our beautiful little town of Lansing 
 was the pine wood of which it is built, then in process 
 of growth in the virgin forest. During her ascent 
 of the river, as the steamboat was nearing the tall, 
 precipitous height, several young men of the party 
 boasted that they could soon reach the top, and said 
 that if ladies were not so awkward in climbing, they 
 would propose a match. Miss Hosmer proffered a 
 wager that she could reach the summit more quickly
 
 li 
 
 c4 
 
 O 
 
 K 
 
 O
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 13 
 
 than any of them, whereupon the captain " tied up " 
 the boat and they went on shore. The race was made, 
 and INIiss Hosmer was the victor. But the strange 
 part of the affair is this : the woman who is now known 
 throughout the world was then known only to those 
 whom she knew. The place was a wilderness, and it 
 was years afterwards, and she in a foreign country, 
 that her beautiful handiwork began to command praise 
 and admiration. Will not Mount Hosmer be a lasting 
 (and fitting) monument to her name and fame? 
 
 From her home Miss Hosmer writes: 
 
 TO MISS C. 
 
 Dear C: Watertown^ July, (1851). 
 
 A sense of stern necessity urged me to rise this 
 morning at half past three o'clock and break my back 
 over the Dr.'s medallion,* which, like Christmas, comes 
 on slowly ... I have been reading Pindar, and am 
 over head and ears in love with him and his Olympics. 
 Such beautiful pictures as he draws! It is like walk- 
 ing through a gallery of paintings. And I have been 
 learning much of the " In Memoriam " and have lost 
 my wits over it. I think the " sad Hesper " one of 
 the most exquisite poems, containing some of the most 
 beautiful ideas in the English language. I have been 
 having, too, some delightful trots; according to Uh- 
 land, I can have a ride with you, and often do. Do 
 you remember his 
 
 " Take, oh boatman, thrice thy fee 
 Take, I give it willingly. 
 For invisible to thee, 
 Spirits twain have crossed with me." 
 
 I went to see Mrs. L. M. Child (the writer) the 
 other night, and on the visit there hangs a tale. My 
 
 * Professor McDowell's.
 
 14 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 father went in the chaise, and I on horseback; coming 
 home I lagged behind to see the moon and stars and 
 to have a good think. Well, it got to be quite dim, 
 not dark, it was light enough to see everything dis- 
 tinctly, when I came up to a fence with a very long 
 rail resting against the upper bar and close to the 
 entrance of the field where the bars were taken down. 
 My attention was directed particularly to the rail, 
 for it was so long and slender. While I was looking 
 at it, it raised itself from the fence and moved around 
 to the outside of the post, a distance of several yards, 
 and then stood upright. Now I do not tell this as a 
 joke, but as a solemn fact, in which light I most 
 religiously view it. It was no person, nothing but 
 what you would suppose a rail of goodly length and 
 not four inches in diameter to be. Make what you can 
 out of it. I have thought of it seriously.* 
 
 Your H. 
 
 TO MISS C. 
 
 j^ ^ ^ Watertown, Nov. 1851. 
 
 You can't imagine how delightful are the musical 
 rehearsals in Boston every Friday afternoon — once a 
 week, at least, I am raised to a higher humanity. 
 There is something in fine music that makes one feel 
 nobler and certainly happier. Fridays are my Sab- 
 baths, really my days of rest, for I go first to the 
 Athenseumf and fill my eyes and mind with beauty, 
 then to Tremont Temple % and fill my ears and soul 
 with beauty of another kind, so am I not then literally 
 " drunk with beauty " ? 
 
 And now I am moved to say a word in favor of 
 sculpture being a far higher art than painting. There 
 
 * Miss Hosmer had always more or less of psychic power, and later was 
 deeply interested in the work of the Society for Psychical Research in England. 
 t At that time Boston's only Art Gallery. 
 X The only Music Hall.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 15 
 
 is something in the purity of the marble, in the per- 
 fect calmness, if one may say so, of a beautiful 
 statue, which cannot be found in painting. I mean 
 if you have the same figure copied in marble and also 
 on the canvas. People talk of the want of expres- 
 sion in marble, when it is capable of a thousand times 
 more than canvas. If color is wanting, you have 
 form, and there is dignity with its rigidity. One 
 thing is certain, that it requires a longer practice and 
 truer study, to be able to appreciate sculpture as well 
 as one may painting. I grant that the painter must 
 be as scientific as the sculptor, and in general must 
 possess a greater variety of knowledge, and what he 
 produces is more easily understood by the mass, be- 
 cause what they see on canvas is most frequently 
 to be observed in nature. In high sculpture it is 
 not so. A great thought must be embodied in a 
 great manner, and such greatness is not to find its 
 counterpart in everyday things. That is the reason 
 why JNIichael Angelo is so little understood, and will 
 account for a remark which I heard a lady make, a 
 short time since, that " she wondered they had those 
 two awful looking things in the Athenaeum, of 
 ' Day ' and ' Night ' ; why don't they take them 
 away and put up something decent?" Oh, shades 
 of the departed! . . . 
 
 Your H. 
 
 The beginning of the year 1852 was given to 
 the execution of the artist's first ideal work, " Hesper, 
 the Evening Star," now in the possession of her 
 friend. Dr. Julian Mead of Watertown. Speaking 
 of this bust, JNIrs. Lydia Maria Child, said: "This 
 beautiful production has the face of a lovely maiden 
 gently falling asleep to the sound of distant music. 
 Her hair is gracefully intertwined with capsules of
 
 16 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 the poppy. A polished star gleams on her forehead, 
 and under her breast lies the crescent moon. The hush 
 of evening breathes from the serene countenance and 
 the heavily-drooping eyelids. The mechanical execu- 
 tion of the bust is worthy of its lovely and life-like 
 expression. The swell of cheek and breast is like pure, 
 young, healthy flesh, and the muscles of the beautiful 
 mouth are so delicately cut, that it seems like a thing 
 that breathes." 
 
 It was at this time that Harriet made the acquaint- 
 ance of Charlotte Cushman, the distinguished actress, 
 who, though living in Rome, had returned to her 
 native city to fulfil a professional engagement. With 
 her ready appreciation of art in all its forms, she 
 encouraged the earnest young sculptor in her work, 
 and urged her to carry out her long cherished plan 
 of going to Rome to study under the direction of a 
 competent master. Her representations gave weight 
 to the young girl's wishes, and induced Dr. Hosmer 
 to consent to his daughter's going abroad, that she 
 might obtain the much-craved instruction. 
 
 TO MISS C. 
 
 j^ ^ Watertown^ January, 1852. 
 
 I am really going to Italy in the autumn! Miss 
 Cushman and Miss Hayes will be there. The only 
 thought that troubles me is, that I fear before another 
 twelve months have passed, Italy, if not the whole 
 of Europe, will be plunged in war. It is hardly pos- 
 sible that such universal dissatisfaction among all 
 classes, as prevails now, can be repressed, or the 
 growing disturbances swept away, without a revolu-
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 17 
 
 tion. The country seems ripe for a revolt now, and 
 with all my disinclination to apprehend consequences 
 that will prevent our going abroad, I must own that 
 the prospect is far from consoling; nothing would 
 surprise me but a continuance of peace. 
 
 Miss Cushman and Miss Hayes (her friend and 
 companion) have left Boston, and I can't tell you 
 how lonely I feel. I saw a great deal of them during 
 the three weeks that they were in the city, and went 
 constantly to the theatre, which grows upon one won- 
 derfully. I saw Miss Cushman as Lady Macbeth, 
 Queen Katharine, Romeo, Claude Melnotte, La 
 Tisbe, Meg Merrilies, Hamlet, and in a comedy. 
 You have no idea how splendid Hamlet was. I used 
 to think Lady Macbeth the finest thing that could be 
 done, but Queen Katharine shook my foundation and 
 Hamlet overturned it! It was grand. If I had never 
 had an opportunity before of knowing anything about 
 a theatre, I have had now. I went to rehearsals with 
 Miss Cushman, behind the scenes every night, into the 
 Scene room, the Property room, the Green room, and 
 even into her dressing room, and hugely enjoyed it 
 all. Isn't it strange how we meet people in this world 
 and become attached to them in so short a time? Now 
 I feel as if I had lost my best friend. . . . 
 
 Your H. 
 
 After this Harriet's time was devoted to prepara- 
 tions for going abroad, and she writes: 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: Watertown, Aug., 1852. 
 
 Four weeks from next Wednesday we are to sail 
 . . . I have just been reading a book from which 
 I have gained a clearer idea of the actual state of
 
 18 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Rome, than from any with which I have met, I mean 
 with regard to its churches, temples, ruins, streets, and 
 everything therein, and am prepared to be neither 
 amazed at their grandeur, nor disappointed in their 
 reahties. I verily believe I can see St. Peter's before 
 me and even the Apollo! 
 
 Miss Hayes writes us melancholy accounts of the 
 state of affairs in Rome. She says a hubbub is ex- 
 pected there " in less than a month." But the beauty 
 of the whole consists in the authority she quotes, which 
 is that of Mazzini himself. Blind with enthusiasm 
 as he is, and so eager for the moment of revolution 
 to arrive, I am only surprised that he did not fix the 
 time of onset in a fortnight or a week. He bases 
 his whole opinion on the withdrawal of the French 
 troops, forgetting those 30,000 Austrians who are 
 ready to take their place. 
 
 I am earnestly looking forward to a rest on board 
 ship — to tell the truth, I am fagged out and never 
 again will allow myself to be so yoked to my work. 
 In Italy it wdll not be necessary, for there I can have 
 workmen. Hesper is now exhibiting. 
 
 I have a letter to Ary Scheffer in Paris. Also to 
 several Italian artists. 
 
 This is the last line I shall pen to you on this side 
 of the Atlantic. You have already enjoyed what is 
 before me, your heart and mind have been filled with 
 beauty and a sense of infinity by the glories of nature 
 and art, but I feel that I am on the eve of a new 
 life, that the earth will look larger, the sky brighter, 
 and the world in general more grand . . . you do not 
 know how thoroughly dissatisfied I am with my pres- 
 ent mode of life. I ought to be accomplishing thrice 
 as much as now, and feel that I am soul-bound and 
 thought-bound in this land of dollars and cents. I 
 take it there is inspiration in the very atmosphere of 
 Italy, and that there, one intuitively becomes artistic
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 19 
 
 in thought. Could the government of tliis country and 
 its glorious privileges be united with the splendors of 
 art in Italy, that union would produce terrestrial per- 
 fection . . . My motto is going to be, " Live well, 
 do well, and all will be well." 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 This touching letter from her old professor came 
 to the artist before she sailed, to acknowledge her 
 gift of the medallion: 
 
 Dear Hatty: _ ^T. Louis, October, 1852. 
 
 I have called this evening on our mutual friend J. 
 to refresh myself with a sight of a living human body, 
 having run off from the dead ones hoping to r^-count 
 with her, many of the pleasant hours I spent with 
 you in the college and where there is a great vacuity 
 since you left. The bench j^ou sat upon has never 
 been filled since you were there. I often turn to the 
 spot and think I can see the little Quaker girl in 
 the brown sacque and close-fitting bonnet, and an 
 eye that beamed with pleasure at the exhibition of 
 Nature and Nature's work. J. is sitting beside me, 
 holding one end of the portfolio while I write, and 
 laughing at me for being so old and so sentimental. 
 Dear Hat, I like, not love you, for my poor old heart, 
 that has so often been chilled by the winters of ad- 
 versity, cannot now love, but could I love any one, 
 it would be the child who has so remembered me as 
 to send me an undeserved monument * of esteem, as 
 you have done. 
 
 And now let me say to you, that the time may 
 come when you may feel that others should be grate- 
 ful ; if so, let your eyes turn on that lean and hungry- 
 looking friend who, as days increase, will have his 
 
 *The marble portrait of Dr. McDowell.
 
 20 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 regard for you increase. We do not know the value 
 of friends until we have lost them. It were best 
 sometimes never to have known them, but, Hattie, I 
 shall never consider you lost to me, unless you shall 
 prove that you have forgotten me. You no doubt 
 have thought me unfeeling, that I have not written, 
 but I shall see you and tell you all; until then, be- 
 lieve my feelings for you are, as ever, pure as Nature 
 and as enduring. Hattie, I have covered the marble 
 you sent me, in white crepe, not to mourn for the 
 loss of a friend, but for the absence of the one who 
 wrought it and to preserve it as pure as the one who 
 gave it to me. Long may you live, my child, long 
 may you be comforted in this cold world by friends; 
 and believe me ever yours, 
 
 J. N. McDowell.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 1852-1854 
 
 In the autumn Harriet and her father sailed for 
 England, taking with them Dr. McDowell's certifi- 
 cate of her proficiency in anatomy, and two daguerreo- 
 types of Hesper, which was, thus far, her only original 
 work. They made but a short stop in England, 
 where she had the great pleasure of seeing again Mrs. 
 Kemble, who had then returned to live in England, 
 following her separation from Pierce Butler of Phila- 
 delphia. They reached Rome in November. 
 
 Immediately upon their arrival they sought out 
 John Gibson,* England's foremost sculptor, and though 
 it was not his custom to take pupils, after an inter- 
 view with the young girl and an examination of the 
 pictures of Hesper, he was so impressed with her 
 ability and earnestness that he consented to receive 
 her into his studio, sajdng, " Whatever I can teach 
 her, she shall learn." Faithful was he to his word, 
 proving no less a kind friend than a wise master. 
 Her father accompanied her to Gibson's studio, which 
 was in the Via Fontanella and consisted of a series 
 of rooms, in one of which Canova had worked. This 
 was assigned to the young girl. To reach it, after 
 passing through a gallery filled with Gibson's own 
 works and crossing a garden bright with flowers and 
 
 * Pupil of Canova and of Thorwaldsen. 
 
 21
 
 22 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 ferns, one ascended a flight of steps to a small work- 
 room lighted by an arched window. Here she was 
 left to her life-work, by her father, his only stipulation 
 being that she should continue, as far as possible, 
 her out-of-door exercise; and here she remained for 
 seven years. Of her happiness at this period, a por- 
 tion of a letter to her friend gives record: 
 
 " The dearest wish of my heart is gratified, in that 
 I am acknowledged by Gibson as a pupil. He has 
 been resident in Rome for thirty-four years, and 
 leads the van. I am greatly in luck. He has just 
 finished the model for his statue of the Queen * and 
 as his modelling room is now vacant, he permits me 
 to use it, so that I am, as it were, in liis own studio. 
 I have also a small room for work, which was formerly 
 occupied by Canova, and perhaps inspiration may be 
 drawn from its walls." 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 KoME, Dec. 1, 1852. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 Can you believe that this is indeed Rome, and 
 more than all that I am in it? I wrote you from 
 Liverpool, and after that delayed sending you any 
 w^ord till I could say I was in this delightful place 
 which I now consider my home. I will say nothing 
 of Italy or of what you already know, but tell you 
 at once of the arrangements I have made for the 
 present in the way of art. Of course you know that 
 Mr. Gibson, the English sculptor, is the acknowledged 
 head of artists here. He is my master, and I love him 
 more every day. I work under his very eye, and 
 nothing could be better for me in every way. He 
 
 * Queen Victoria.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES ^3 
 
 gives me engravings, books, casts, everything he 
 thinks necessary for my studies, and in so kindly, so 
 fatherly a manner that I am convinced Heaven 
 smiled most benignantly upon me when it sent me 
 to him. 
 
 I saw Mr. Terry last night. There was quite an 
 assembly of artists, Mr. Gibson, Crawford, Mosier, 
 Spence, and others ... I was a little disappointed 
 in Rome when I first came, but now I feel how beau- 
 tiful and grand the city is, and already look upon it 
 with loving eyes. We are a jolly party in ourselves. 
 Miss Cushman, Miss Hayes, Miss Smith (an English 
 lady), Grace Greenwood, Dr. Hosmer, and myself. 
 I am away all day, but try to make up for that at 
 other hours, and doubly enjoy myself. We see Mrs. 
 Sartoris * frequently, and already I love her dearly. 
 She is very like Mrs. Kemble, who, by the way, is to 
 be here in Januar5^ She (Mrs. Kemble) went with 
 us in London to the British IMuseum and various 
 other places. 
 
 Remember me to the beloved old professor,t whose 
 instructions I value more highly every day, as I see 
 how invaluable they are. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Being thus fortunately placed, Harriet began 
 her work by devoting herself to the study of ancient 
 art, and by copying some of its masterj)ieces. The 
 Venus of Milo, the Cupid of Praxiteles, and the 
 Tasso of the British Museum were among the first 
 of her enchanted labors. Next she essayed an ideal 
 bust of Daphne, one copy of which she sent to Mr. 
 Crow and one was ordered by Mrs. Samuel Apple- 
 ton of Boston. To this bust succeeded its companion 
 
 * Adelaide, sister of Fanny Kemble. f Dr. McDowell.
 
 24 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 piece, the lovely and touching Medusa, the only one 
 of the Gorgons subject to death, and reputed to be 
 very beautiful. In this the hair retreating in waves 
 from the forehead changes into serpents. It has been 
 described as " faultless in form, while intense in its 
 expression of grief and agony at the transformation, 
 although it leaves her beautiful, still." This, too, was 
 ordered by Mrs. Appleton. Of these two works her 
 master said, " They do her great honor." In them 
 she proved her ability to portray the roundness of 
 flesh, of which Gibson further said, that he " had 
 never seen it surpassed and seldom equalled." One 
 copy of the Medusa was ordered by Lady Marian 
 Alford, and another by the Duchess of St. Albans, 
 both of England. 
 
 The next year Mr. Gibson wrote to Dr. Hosmer: 
 " Your daughter's industry continues unabated, and 
 she makes progress in her profession, for her last 
 model is her best. It is really a fine work and would 
 do credit to many a sculptor in Rome. We have 
 here now, the greatest sculptor of the age. Ranch of 
 Berlin,* seventy-seven years of age. He came to my 
 studio and staid a considerable time. Your daughter 
 was absent, but I showed him all she had done, in- 
 cluding a small sketch-model for a statue life size. 
 Ranch was much struck and pleased with her works, 
 and expressed his opinion that she would become a 
 clever sculptor. He inquired her age, and wrote her 
 
 * Christian Rauch, the intimate friend of Alexander von Humboldt. Among 
 his noted works are the statue of Frederick the Great in Berlin, those of the 
 Queen at Charlottenburg. and at Potsdam; also the statues of von Blilcher and 
 von Billow, with their bassi-relievi, in the great square of Berlin, and the four 
 winged Victories belonging to the King of Bavaria.
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^H 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^B; 
 
 I 
 
 MEDUSA
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 25 
 
 name in his pocket-book. So now you have the opin- 
 ion of the greatest living sculptor concerning your 
 daughter's merit." 
 
 Miss Hosmer now received her first large order. 
 It was from Mr. Crow for a Statue and she writes 
 to him: 
 
 r, nr ry RoME^ April 10, 1853. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ^ ' 
 
 Had it not been for my God-like faith in human 
 nature and for my very natural supposition that others 
 were as busy as myself, I should have begun to fear 
 that you had forgotten H. H. And now, how can 
 I thank you for your letter? I must thank you for 
 many things therein expressed or understood, for 
 your kindness and your interest in me, for the con- 
 fidence you have shown in my future, and for your 
 leading me so quickly out of the apronstrings of art, 
 and in reality for " setting me up " as an artist. 
 
 When an artist has received the first order, and 
 such an order, he considers liimself (or herself) placed, 
 at least, on one artistic leg. As Mr. Gibson remarked, 
 there are very few who can say the first benefit con- 
 ferred on them was of such a princely nature. But 
 now, my dear sir, I want to tell you that it will be some 
 time before I can make anything which I should feel 
 that I could send you as compensation, either in jus- 
 tice to yourself or as worthy of myself. Therefore 
 for the present I shall derive no other good from 
 your generosity than that which will arise from the 
 possession of this " artistic leg," of which I speak, but 
 which, I assure you, is a great thing. When I told 
 Mr. Gibson the news, he said, " Brava, Brava, more 
 splendid encouragement nobody ever received " ; 
 which is indeed true. And when I told Mrs. Kemble, 
 she wouldn't believe it. I have received many con- 
 gratulations on the strength of it, and every day feel
 
 26 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 more and more that I must strive to deserve the con- 
 fidence you feel in me, and that by faithful study and 
 devoted labor I must justify the interest exi)ressed by 
 my many friends. 
 
 Although, as I said, it will be some time before I 
 shall be able to make a satisfactory statue, yet the 
 first one I do make, of which Mr. Gibson approves, 
 is yours. But though you will not at present see a 
 statue, you will soon see a bust of my handiwork, for 
 I am now engaged on one which was destined for 
 you, from the beginning; that is, from the time Mr. 
 Gibson told me I must put it into marble. I send 
 it to you purely as a love gift, as a love offering to 
 the whole family, and as a very slight return for the 
 many kindnesses I received when I was with you. 
 Her name is Daphne, and she is represented as just 
 sinking away into the laurel leaves. It will not be 
 with you before the winter, as I want to keep it in 
 the studio a little while after it is finished. It is a 
 great pleasure to me, as I work, to think where it is 
 going, and that it will be before the eyes of those 
 whom I love, and that they will have my first work 
 sent from Italy. 
 
 Mrs. Kemble is here, or rather was, she has left 
 here now, with her sister, Mrs. Sartoris, for Sorrento 
 where they are to spend the summer and I am going 
 there also. Still better, they are both to be in Rome 
 next winter. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 TO MISS C. 
 
 Rome, April 22, 1853. 
 Dear C: 
 
 I have not the least idea that I shall see America 
 for five years at the inside. I have determined that, 
 unless recalled by accident, I will stay until I shall have 
 accomplished certain things, be that time, three, five,
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES S7 
 
 or ten years. My father will make me a visit in about 
 three years, I suspect, or when he wants very much 
 to see me, and then it will be my turn to visit him. 
 As by that time you might forget how I look, I have 
 caused to be taken a Daguerre of myself in daily 
 costume, also one for the Pater. They are, like Gil- 
 pin's hat and wig, " upon the way." 
 
 You ask me what I am doing, and in reply I can 
 say I am as busy as a hornet. First, I am working 
 on your Daphne, and then making some designs for 
 bassi-relievi. I reign like a queen in my little room in 
 Mr. Gibson's studio, and I love my master dearly. 
 He is as kind to me as it is possible for you to 
 imagine, and he is, after Ranch, the first sculptor of 
 the age. 
 
 Don't ask me if I was ever happy before, don't ask 
 me if I am happy now, but ask me if my constant 
 state of mind is felicitous, beatific, and I will reply 
 " Yes." It never entered into my head that any- 
 body could be so content on this earth, as I am here. 
 I wouldn't live anywhere else but in Rome, if you 
 would give me the Gates of Paradise and all the 
 Apostles thrown in. I can learn more and do more 
 here, in one year, than I could in America in ten. 
 America is a grand and glorious country in some 
 respects, but this is a better place for an artist. 
 
 I am looking forward to our summer in Sorrento, 
 for they say it is the loveliest spot on earth. . . . 
 
 Your H. 
 
 Later, Mrs. Kemble to Mr. Crow : * 
 
 Rome, Oct. 8, 1853. 
 My dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I am once more in Rome, whither I returned after 
 spending the summer in the neighborhood of Naples. 
 Harriet Hosmer was our near neighbor during the 
 
 ♦ An old friend of hers.
 
 28 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 whole summer, and I hope and expect to see much of 
 her while I remain in Rome. As you may suppose, 
 I am deeply interested in Hatty's career, and rejoice 
 extremely in your most liberal encouragement of 
 your young countrywoman's genius. I think she will 
 distinguish herself greatly, for she not only is 
 gifted with an unusual artistic capacity, but she has 
 energy, perseverance, and industry; attributes often 
 wanting Avhere genius exists, and extremely seldom 
 possessed or exercised in any effectual manner by 
 women. She is an object of great interest to me, 
 and, as a friend of my daughter Sarah, very dear to 
 me. Hatty's peculiarities will stand in the way of 
 her success with people of society and the world, and 
 I wish for her own sake that some of them were less 
 decided and singular,* but it is i)erhaps unreasonable 
 to expect a person to be singular in their gifts and 
 graces alone, and not to be equally unlike people in 
 other matters. 
 
 Your native, and my half-adopted country, 
 America, distinguishes itself in the artists it sends to 
 Europe. We have here a Mr. Page, a painter from 
 Massachusetts, whose portraits are among the best 
 modern pictures I have ever seen. . . . 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 Fanny Kemble. 
 
 In the beginning of the next year Miss Hosmer 
 learned that her father had met with serious reverses 
 of fortune, and thus wrote to Mr. Crow: 
 
 Rome, Jan. 9, 1854. 
 
 I received three days since your kind letter, my 
 dear Mr. Crow, and wish that I might be able to 
 respond to it in exactly the spirit it deserves. Words 
 
 ♦ Referring to Miss Hosmer's utter disregard of fashion and conventionalities.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 29 
 
 are but poor vehicles of expression, and the heart is 
 often more full and warm than it can tell. When I 
 wrote you, refusing to avail myself at once of your 
 proffered kindness, I had little ground for anticipating 
 any storms of fortmie, as hitherto my heaven of 
 prosperity has seemed cloudless; but it is well for us 
 to experience a few kicks and cuffs in this world, else 
 we might too readily believe ourselves the loved of 
 Heaven, when in fact I suppose we are great sinners. 
 My father has made known to you liis ill fortune, 
 and had he made it known to me at an earlier period, 
 I certainly should have sooner adopted the course I 
 mean to pursue, viz: that of supporting myself. It 
 now becomes my duty, as it is my pleasure, to relieve 
 him of all expenses incurred by myself. On your 
 goodness, then, my more than friend, I am forced to 
 rely, and to accept the offer you have so generously 
 made me. With such a start in the world, I tliink, 
 nay, I am sure, I can make my own way, and per- 
 haps the time may come when I can prove more 
 sensibly than by words, that I am not unmindful 
 of the obligations which I owe you. I am getting to 
 know a little more of the world than I did once, and 
 if I have gained this knowledge by costly experience, 
 there is one comfort in thinking that it will never have 
 to be paid for again. 
 
 As to my horse, I would gladly dispose of it, if I 
 could. But the confinement of the studio during the 
 greater part of the daj^ makes it absolutely necessary 
 for me to take some active exercise after my work is 
 over. If Rome were Florence, one could walk, but 
 you have seen enough of it to know what walks it 
 offers, and the pure, fresh air is only to be found 
 beyond the walls. 
 
 Now, dear Mr. Crow, in regard to your statue, by 
 the time you receive this, 1 shall have begun the 
 model. Next winter I shall hope to produce some-
 
 30 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 thing to meet your approbation. I will indeed " take 
 my time " about it, for I am ambitious of doing it 
 well. Daphne will be with you before very long. 
 Now if you hear of anybody who wants an equestrian 
 statue ninety feet high, or a monument in memory of 
 some dozen departed heroes, please remember that 
 man-like I am ready for orders. However, to be 
 moderate and in earnest, I mean that if anybody 
 wants any small, decent-sized thing, I should be de- 
 lighted to furnish it. . . . Almost all artists have, 
 and have had, a kind patron, and I am sure I may 
 dub you mine. . . . 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 H. G. HoSMER. 
 
 A little later Miss Hosmer received, through Mr. 
 Crow, from a friend of his (Mr. V.), a commission 
 for a statue, to be placed in the hall of the Mercantile 
 Library in St. Louis, and she says: 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ^°^'^' M'^'"- ^' ^^S*- 
 
 With this I send an answer to Mr. V's most kind 
 letter. I am grateful to him for his goodness and 
 twice grateful to the prime mover, yourself. Indeed, 
 I don't know how I shall ever express to you what 
 I feel for all your fatherly care of me, but this is 
 most certain, that if I ever make anything of an artist, 
 it will be owing to you, for without your most liberal 
 assistance I should be unable to pursue my studies 
 in Rome. I have a good friend here, too, in Mr. 
 Gibson, who seems to interest himself in my progress, 
 and wishes, to use his own words, " to teach me all 
 he knows himself." I am more and more delighted 
 with the path I have chosen, and daily am more 
 firmly resolved to realize the hopes of my friends. I
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 31 
 
 am as busy as I can be, but there is so much to be 
 learned, that I seem to travel over the ground slowly, 
 however, as the Italians say, Patienza! 
 
 I am afraid I did something very unbusinesslike 
 when I drew upon you without notifying you pre- 
 viously. 
 
 The sum, contrary to the course hitherto pursued, 
 is to last me for one year; if it does not, I will lay 
 my head with the foxes who have nests and the birds 
 of the air who have holes, or vice versa. I am about 
 to part with my " gallant gray," for several reasons, 
 one of which is that he has very nearly broken my 
 skull by quickly elevating me over his own. . . . 
 
 Ever gratefully, 
 
 XX. G. XX. 
 
 This year Miss Hosmer's friend (Miss C.) mar- 
 ried and for a time went to live among the Western 
 prairies; she writes: 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 jy ^ RoME^ Apr. 22, 1854. 
 
 . . . Do you remember what you said to me about 
 becoming so fond of Italy that I should never want 
 to go home to live? Oh! thy prophetic soul, it is even 
 so! Here am I as merry as a cricket and as happy 
 as a clani, finding the nights nothing and the days 
 shorter. Never have eighteen months gone by so 
 swiftly and happily, since I was born. I suppose 
 it is, as Mr. Gibson says, because I have been always 
 occupied; but there is something in the air of Italy, 
 setting aside other things, which would make one 
 feel at home in Purgatory itself. In America I 
 never had that sense of quiet, settled content such as 
 I now have from sunrise to sunset. . . .
 
 32 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 There is the most charming circle of people here 
 that you can imagine. Among them Mrs. Kemble 
 and Mrs. Sartoris. Knowing these two, you will be 
 able to judge how much they must contribute to 
 anj^body's happiness. They are like two mothers to 
 me, and their house seems home all over. Then the 
 Brownings are here, both so delightful, Mrs. Brown- 
 ing a perfect darling, and every Sunday and Wednes- 
 day evening there is a friendly party, as she calls it, 
 at Mrs. Sartoris', consisting of Mrs. Kemble and the 
 Brownings, two young artists * and your humble 
 servant. Mrs. Sartoris sings and Mrs. Kemble some- 
 times reads, and all in all, it is the perfection of 
 everything that is charming. The Thackerays, too, 
 have been here, and they are such dear girls. Every 
 now and then there is an excursion projected for the 
 Campagna, consisting of these same persons, and we 
 go out for the day picnicking; thus I mingle amuse- 
 ment with stud}^ and frolic with labor. Can you see 
 how days could pass more rationally or agreeably? 
 
 I wish you could walk into my cosey little room 
 in the studio, where all my days are spent, with the 
 exception of the picnics. Just now I am modelling 
 a portrait bust of a famous New York beauty, and 
 after that shall begin a little figure, half-size, to be 
 made into a full length statue next winter, which is 
 to form part of your family one of these days. All 
 thanks now and forever to the good Pater, for having 
 given me such a professional lift and laid the founda- 
 tion of my good fortune. Now that I am supporting 
 myself I feel so frightfully womanly that I cannot 
 describe my venerable sensations, nor could you 
 " realize " them, any more than dear Miss Elizabeth 
 Peabody did the tree at Lenox, when she walked into 
 it, and upon being asked about it, said, " Yes, I saw 
 it, but I did not realize it." Do you remember? 
 
 * One of them was Frederick Leighton.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 33 
 
 There is a deal to be learned, before one is able to 
 see through the millstone of the world. . . . 
 
 I want you so much to receive my first child 
 (Daphne). I dare say you are tired of hearing about 
 her and never seeing her, but the fact is, her little 
 face was not quite clear, wanted a draught of Sarsa- 
 parilla to purify it, and so, as I desired of all people 
 in the world that you and yours should have a for- 
 tunate fac-simile of her, I ordered another one to be 
 cut, and as it is not a trifling job of a week or so, I 
 have been prevented from despatching her until now; 
 but the workmen assure me it will be finished shortly, 
 when, presto! it shall go to be kissed, and I hope, 
 loved, by you all. At the same time I shall send 
 another daughter * to Boston, which you must make 
 a point of visiting this summer. 
 
 Your H. 
 
 Of these Campagna parties Mrs. Browning speaks 
 in one of her letters,! and of Mrs. Kemble and Mrs. 
 Sartoris, saying: 
 
 " Certainly they have given us some exquisite 
 hours on the Campagna, upon picnic excursions with 
 certain of their friends. Ampere, who is witty and 
 agreeable, Lyons, etc. Their talk was almost too 
 brilliant for the sentiment of the scenery. I should 
 mention, too. Miss Hosmer (but she is better than a 
 talker), the young American sculptress, who is a 
 great pet of mine and of Robert's, and who emanci- 
 pates the eccentric life of a perfectly ' emancipated 
 female ' from all shadow of blame, by the purity of 
 hers. She lives here all alone (at twenty-two), works 
 from six o'clock in the moniing till night, as a great 
 
 * The Medusa. 
 
 f Letters of Mrs. Browning, by Fred G. Kenyon, Vol. II, page 166.
 
 34. HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 artist must, and this with an absence of pretension, 
 and simpHcity of manners, which accord rather with 
 the childish dimples in her rosy cheeks, than with her 
 broad forehead and liigh aims." 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 RoME^ June 17, 1854. 
 Dear Mr. Crow. 
 
 Two days ago I received your good letter with one 
 from Mr. V. I suspect you inspired the latter, but 
 time will prove all things. Meanwhile I can truly 
 say, I wish I were more worthy of all the kindness 
 bestowed upon me. Certainly one must have great 
 patience in matters of art, it is so very difficult, and 
 excellence in it is only the result of long time. One 
 must have perfect command over the clay to make 
 it express what one desires, and the fingers work but 
 slowly, however energetic the brain may be. Oh, 
 if one knew but one-half the difficulties an artist 
 has to surmount, the amount of different kinds of 
 study necessary, before he can see the path even 
 beginning to open before him, the public would be 
 less ready to censure him for his shortcomings or slow 
 advancement. The only remedy I know is patience 
 with perseverance, and these are always sure, with a 
 real honest love for art, to produce something. 
 
 How delightful, if you would put into execution 
 that plan of coming to Italy! I should take the 
 privilege of an old Roman, not to say an old friend, 
 and show up everything, in which I should try to 
 make the galleries, churches, and ruins play a sub- 
 ordinate part, and my gratitude for all your tender 
 mercies the principal feature therein. . . . 
 
 They are advancing now with the war.* It seems 
 as far from us as from you, and when the feat of 
 
 * In the Crimea,
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 35 
 
 taking Sebastopol is really performed, I don't know 
 what they will talk about. I suppose there is no 
 danger of America taking any part; there was a 
 report that she did intend it, but would take the 
 wrong side! 
 
 Yours, H. 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 RoME^ Aug., 1854. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I have your letter of June 13th. I have been fancy- 
 ing you all in Lenox, and see that I was not wrong. 
 
 By this time Bessie S. is Mrs. R. You see, eveiy- 
 body is being married but myself. I am the only 
 faithful worshipper of Celibacy, and her service be- 
 comes more fascinating the longer I remain in it. 
 Even if so inclined, an artist has no business to 
 marry. For a man, it may be well enough, but for 
 a woman, on whom matrimonial duties and cares 
 weigh more heavily, it is a moral wrong, I think, for 
 she must either neglect her profession or her family, 
 becoming neither a good wife and mother nor a good 
 artist. My ambition is to become the latter, so I 
 wage eternal feud with the consolidating knot. 
 
 My father, I hear, is very well. As you know, his 
 affairs are in anytliing but a flourishing condition 
 and apropos, you may be a little surprised to find me 
 still in Rome. A few months ago, I should have been 
 surprised myself, but in this world we must accustom 
 ourselves to odd things. Not long before I was to 
 start North with Mr. Gibson, I received a letter from 
 my good father, which convinced me I ought not 
 to undertake a journey v/hich would under any cir- 
 cumstances be expensive, even witli the best manage- 
 ment, and which I knew I could not take without 
 sooner or later making additional demands upon him. 
 A little later I wrote to you, for I could not bear
 
 36 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 that you, dear Mr. Crow, should think that I had 
 been making a Hght use of your Hberahty. The fact 
 is, that few know what one needs to enable one to 
 study in the best and the speediest way. All that I 
 have spent is, to a sculptor, " stock in trade." It is 
 that pecuniary bread cast upon the waters which will 
 return, I hope, not after " many days." I only wish 
 that all had half so clear a notion of the necessity of 
 time and study as you have. No one knows what it 
 is until one puts one's foot, or rather hand, into it. 
 Well, the result of the whole is that I have made up 
 my mind to ask my dear father for nothing more, 
 partly because I think I really ought not, and partly 
 because I believe he himself thinks I ought, by this 
 time, to be getting my own bread and butter. I have 
 sold my horse and am staying in Rome and working. 
 You ask me if I have commissions. I have made 
 several copies of the busts I have modelled, but hith- 
 erto have not been so desirous of making original 
 things as of studying composition and modelling. I 
 have been here less than three years, during which 
 time I have not been idle, and have received the appro- 
 bation of my master. Now I am ready to execute 
 original works and shall be glad of any commissions 
 for such. I shall have more to show in my studio 
 this winter. Your figure, for instance, and a small 
 figure I am modelling now. 
 
 Your (I do not tell you what it is, but it is 
 
 neither the Lost Pleiad nor Galatea) is progressing 
 and a more exquisite piece of marble is not to be 
 found. I might try a hundred times and not find 
 anything so beautiful. I want much to send it to 
 you, that you may see what I have been doing. You 
 have only a little bust of mine and I can do better 
 now. I have divers designs which I am anxious to 
 work out, and have a very hopeful heart, so daresay 
 I shall, sooner or later. I am now all occupied with
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 37 
 
 composing something for ]Mr. V., — who shall have 
 his own way in everything whoever he may prove 
 to be. 
 
 Now, dearest friend, is not this a long story? I 
 have no more secrets from you than if I were your 
 own daughter, in fact, I always look upon you as a 
 father. I am very well after my twenty-five boils, 
 thank you, and am learning to make walking take 
 the place of riding. One of these days I will have 
 another pony maybe, for I admit to myself no ques- 
 tion of failure. I shall begin now to press on, and 
 mean to be neither desponding nor lazy. Write to 
 me, won't you? This letter is particularly for you, 
 you know. Hold me as ever in some sort your 
 affectionate daughter, 
 
 Hatty. 
 
 After a short journey and respite from the heat 
 of Rome Miss Hosmer writes: 
 
 Rome, Oct. 12, 1854.. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 On returning last night I found your letter waiting 
 for me. Indeed, I frankly confess that I don't know 
 what to say, except that it seems a God's providence 
 and that it has relieved my mind of a burden. The 
 fact is that at the time of my " bankruptcy " I was 
 in debt. I had two or three bills coming due for marble, 
 and at the same time had to pay for work already 
 going on. It is very true that when one has a name, 
 sculpture is a mine of wealth, but it is equally true 
 that, name or no name, one must spend a good deal 
 of money before one can hope to make one. Now, 
 as, I said in my last letter, I have spent money with 
 too little thought, but no one has an idea of how 
 expensive an affair it is, at first. You, dear Mr. Crow, 
 know that one must have a good capital to begin
 
 38 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 business at all, much more to begin with advantage. 
 It is exactly the same thing in sculpture. A painter 
 has no expense of the kind; he buys his canvas and 
 his paints, which cost little and he is made; but from 
 the time a sculptor begins, he finds that without funds 
 he is at a standstill. Some seem to think that 
 statues can be made like rail-fences. I do not agree 
 with them. It is work, work, work, and if they would 
 try their hands at it, they would become aware of the 
 length of time one must study, before one can hope to 
 do anything. Sometimes I cannot help thinking that 
 too much is expected of me in so short a time as I 
 have been here. Why, it is not three years yet, and 
 what is that for learning so difficult an art in, an art 
 wliich requires years and years to master? And when 
 we consider that the first year I was kept copying the 
 antique, it leaves rather a short time for me to have 
 made my fortune in, as I am afraid I was expected 
 to do. My master is the one to know if I have made 
 progress, and he is satisfied with me, and is not one 
 easily satisfied either. 
 
 Now, dear Mr. Crow, I dare say you will say, 
 "What is the girl driving at?" Why, simply this, 
 that you have understood my case well enough to 
 lay me under an obligation, so great that if I were to 
 realize your fondest hopes of me, I could never repay 
 you. One thing is past denial, that however success- 
 ful I may become in my profession, it is to you that 
 I owe all. The great thing in every profession, and 
 most certainly so in art, is to get a good " start," as 
 we Yankees say, and then all is right. But without 
 this good start, I want to know what a young artist 
 is to do? One may model till one is blind, and if one 
 gets no commissions for one's works, what is the use 
 of it, for a work can never be really finished till it 
 is in marble. I need not complain. When I look 
 around and see other artists who have been here for
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 39 
 
 years and still are waiting for a " start " and then 
 think what a friend I have in you, sensa complimenti, 
 I wonder why I have been so much more blessed than 
 my neighbors. Every successful artist in Rome, who 
 is living, or who has ever lived, owes his success to his 
 Mr. Crow. The Duke of Devonshire was Mr. Gib- 
 son's. Mr. Hope was Thorwaldsen's. And I never 
 read the life of any artist who did not date the rising 
 of his lucky star from the hand of some beneficent 
 friend or patron. You know the world pretty well, 
 and therefore know that ]3eople in general wait for 
 some one to lead the way, and then they are ready 
 to follow, but the one to lead that way is not sent 
 to every poor soul who wants it. It is very inspiring, 
 too, to know that there is somebody who has great 
 faith in you. You seem to work up to that faith 
 and you do the very best you can, not to disappoint 
 the one who hopes so much from you. I don't want 
 to be " puffed up with my own conceit," as the Bible 
 hath it, but at the same time I am determined that 
 you shall not be wholly disappointed in me. I don't 
 mean that you shall say, five or ten years hence, 
 " Well, I expected that girl would do something, but 
 she never has." If I have the use of my legs and 
 arms, I will show you that I haven't arms in vain. 
 I am not very easily cast down, but have great faith, 
 too, as well as yourself, and I have received a lesson, 
 which I shall not forget, and which will do me a vast 
 deal of good. 
 
 I have been off for a little holiday and have come 
 back as stout as a Milo for my winter's work, which 
 is to begin without loss of time. Now Mr. V's turn 
 comes. So he is not a myth!* Well, then you are 
 his inspirer, and if I should have an order from the 
 Poles, I should be persuaded that somehow or other 
 
 * For a long time Miss Hosraer would not be persuaded that this commission 
 did not really come from Mr. Crow.
 
 40 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 you had a hand in it. Between ourselves, I am going 
 to make him a statue of Beatrice Cenci, and shall 
 beg that on its way home, when that time comes, I 
 may send it to the London Exhibition. As to your 
 marble daughter, she is getting along quite bravely, 
 marble without a single mark anywhere. It will be 
 all finished before the winter is over, but I shall like 
 to keep it while the strangers are here, and then it will 
 go to you. I have a particular fancy that you shall 
 have the first thing I do. 
 
 Well, now I have been " the good girl " you told 
 me to be, and have drawn for half the amount you 
 have so kindly sent me. I think with that I shall be 
 safe, for as soon as the little figure which I modelled 
 this summer is finished, as it is already ordered,* I 
 shall get along. I did miss my horse for a whiles 
 but I am quite used to doing without it now, and have 
 become a famous walker. Well, you will tliink I have 
 written a rambling sort of letter, but I have spoken 
 right out what I think just as it came into my head 
 and heart. After I have done sometliing which I shall 
 really be pleased to show you, I may run home and 
 see all my good friends, among whom there is no 
 one who has done so much for me as your own dear 
 self. This is a sort of particular letter to you, you 
 know. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Dear Mr. C: ^°**^' O'^*" '^^' ^^^*- 
 
 I returned to Rome four days since, and am con- 
 vinced that if I could come out of Paradise to this 
 place, I should think it perfect. Don't hold me a 
 reprobate when I tell you that the longer I stay, the 
 more frightful seems the idea of ever going away, and 
 
 *The Puck.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 41 
 
 the more impossible seems to be that of being happy 
 elsewhere. My father says that of all places in the 
 world, Watertown is the place for him, and I say 
 that of all places in the world, Rome is the one for 
 me. Nothing this side of Eternity will induce me to 
 go to America to live for the next twenty-five years. 
 
 I fancy by this time you must have received 
 Daphne. And I hope you liked it, as far as a bust 
 goes. After all, busts are not so satisfactoiy to make, 
 as statues, for one is so limited in the power of ex- 
 pressing one's thoughts. . . . They are making a 
 great noise in Rome now about a miracle working 
 da se, in a picture of the Crucifixion. The eyes are 
 seen to open and shut, at least by the faithful, and 
 the church is filled from morning till night, by people 
 ready to be considered of the holy, by persuading 
 themselves they see the miracle. The Pope went 
 to-day, and I believe he is to have the whole thing 
 removed to a more sanctified place. Meantime the 
 square around it is converted into a marketplace, 
 where are to be found all kinds of wares, from wool- 
 len shirts to rocking-horses, the more worldly part 
 of the community taking advantage of a truly blessed 
 opportunit)^ 
 
 Mrs. Kemble, alas! is not to be here this winter. 
 Mrs. Sartoris is, however, and she is such an angel, 
 really, without exaggeration, a divinity. Her voice 
 is divine, and she herself is more divine than her 
 voice. You will smile at my enthusiasm, but if you 
 knew her more, you would agree with me perfectlj^ 
 There is only one woman like her, that I know, in 
 point of goodness, and that is JNIrs. Sedgwick. 
 
 Next week the forestieri will begin to arrive. There 
 is no time so cosey in Rome as when you come back 
 early and find no strangers here. I wish }^ou could 
 walk into my corner of Mr. Gibson's apartment (I 
 won't say my studio) and see what I am about. I
 
 42 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 have divers things ready to send away, but the fact 
 is, I want to keep them this winter to show what I 
 have been doing. Next year I shall perhaps be 
 elevated to the dignity of a studio of my own. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 j^ ^ Rome, Oct. 30, 1854. 
 
 ... I am taken to task for being an alien to my 
 country, but do you know when one has lived in 
 Rome for some time there is no place afterwards. It 
 is a moral, jDhysical and intellectual impossibility to 
 live elsewhere. Everything is so utterly different 
 here that it would seem like going into another 
 sphere, to go back to America. Eveiything looks 
 homey and the dear Italian tongue sounds as natural 
 as English and everything is beautiful, I glory in 
 the Campagna, the art is divine, and I dearly love 
 the soft climate. I should perish in the cold winters 
 at home, besides, I shall be positively tied here after 
 this. I hope to have a studio and workmen of my 
 own, and how could I be absent, for " quando il gatto 
 e fuori" etc? Ah, there is nothing like it! I admire 
 America, but (and I hear your reproaches) my heart's 
 best love is for Italy. I wonder if Daphne has yet 
 reached you? I hope you will like her and look 
 upon her as a near relation. I am making a statue 
 now that is to become yours one of these days. It 
 makes me so happy to think that you will all have 
 the very first things I send from Rome, — my first 
 bust and first statue.* I know they are going into 
 
 * CEnone. 
 
 " This statue portrays GEnone in deep and speechless grief at the 
 death of Paris. The face is of classic beauty, the drapery strikingly natural, 
 and the position of the body bending over a shepherd's crook on one hand, 
 while the other hangs listlessly by her side, is expressive in the highest degree 
 of the grief which the artist has sought to embody." — London Art Jour7ial.
 
 CENONE
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 43 
 
 kind, good hands, and I feel tenderly for them. You 
 can't guess how busy I am from morning till night, 
 nor how an artist must study and work to produce 
 anytliing worthy of the name of art. Here have I 
 been pegging away for more than two years, and I 
 have learned just enough to feel that I know notliing; 
 but pazienza, col tempo tutto — forse. 
 
 Your H.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 1854-1857 
 
 The winters were passing now in ardent work re- 
 lieved by the society of many friends and of interest- 
 ing ^dsitors. The summers were varied by Httle jaunts 
 away from Rome to escape its great heat. After one 
 of these and a short stay in Florence, Miss Hosmer 
 received the following letters from Mr. and Mrs. 
 Browning: 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Florence^ 16th November, 1854. 
 
 Writing to you, dearest Hattie, is almost like 
 breaking a spell and driving you away, or at least 
 putting in evidence for the first time that you are 
 really gone, out of sight, out of hearing, out of reach. 
 You won't, then, come in any more of a morning, or 
 afternoon, in the old way? I can tell j^ou, and you 
 will believe it, I think, that often and often Ba * and 
 I have seen you, on the queer chair at the little end 
 of the table, on the sofa, and in all old places of yours. 
 You are dear and good to speak to us, as you do, and 
 to feel, as you say, for us. Come back to us, at any 
 distance of time, and you'll see whether we love you 
 less, more it won't do to promise. Me:intime both of 
 us wish you well, vAih our whole heart. 
 
 Now then, the quarrel which lovers always indulge 
 in: — What business had yon to suppose we wanted 
 
 * Mrs. Browning. 44
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 45 
 
 those cups and spoons to remember you by? There 
 I found them on my return that last morning; would 
 not a flower or two have done as well? Should we 
 not have kept it equally for your sake? We will keep 
 these and think of you, however, and so will Penini 
 who told me, out of his own head, tliis very morning 
 (on hearing me say I was about to write) to thank 
 you for his writing box, which he greatly delights in. 
 He is very well, imaginative and noisy, and is gone 
 this moment to give Isa * the benefit of his qualities. 
 She wrote to you the other day. I know nothing 
 would surprise and delight you more than the e\ddent 
 and partial improvement in her state. She can walk 
 only too well, in fact. Is not Zanettif a man now? 
 All this comes of his one visit and prescription. She 
 is still up in the cold, at the villa, and keeps there 
 until the end of the month, when she descends into 
 the town, but she will have told you all that. 
 
 Now about yourself. The news of your finding 
 just the domicile you wanted, reached us thro' Isa, 
 What a good chance! You must tell us, when you 
 write next, how you really are at your dear 
 Rome. . . . 
 
 No writing about art in this letter, which just 
 knocks at your door for news. I am quite happy to 
 think of you and that noble Page J together. Stick 
 to him like a leech, for it is real life blood you will 
 get out of him, real thoughts and facts, nothing like 
 sham or conventionalism. I carry in my mind all I 
 can of his doctrine about the true proportions of the 
 human figure, and test it by whatever strikes me as 
 beautiful, or the reverse. How I wish I could see 
 your little room and what's in it. Do help me to see 
 in some measure. Does the fillet you mention depend 
 
 *Miss Isa Blagden, who had had a serious illness. 
 
 fTheir doctor. 
 
 :j: The portrait painter.
 
 46 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 from the hand? or lie on the ground, perhaps? Do 
 you draw from Teresa or any new model? Are you 
 turning over in your mind the two Circe groups? 
 How goes on the bust of Mrs. Cass? 
 
 I called on Powers the other morning, he has wholly 
 changed the drapery of his statue; he found, he says, 
 that the drapeiy from the breast to the waist would 
 have a bad effect in its straight line, and now there 
 is to be a sort of mediaeval bodice of velvet, and under- 
 clotliing for the thighs, with buttons, if not other 
 ornaments, and, frankly, I don't understand it at all, 
 for Milton's " Melancholy " (if this is meant for her) 
 is said to be " like a nun " and I should have styled 
 this a chatelaine in ecstasy, or contemplation. I 
 write this only to you, and for you, for one should 
 not pronounce definitely upon a work still in progress, 
 and Powers has talent enough to redeem or explain 
 everything yet, but I do doubt and fear the efficacy 
 of every alteration he has made since the first gauze 
 drapery he threw around it. He saw my disappoint- 
 ment and said, rightly enough, I must wait for the 
 completion of the WDrk — only, then where will be 
 the use of criticism? ... I saw, the same morning, 
 
 S 's statue. He has worked hard at it and 
 
 has done it a deal of good, though I still think the type 
 abominable, pinched in, here and there. The face is 
 ugly as ever, but the body looks truthful now, and 
 the attitude, which seems too pronounced, will do 
 better in bronze, I think, than plaster: bronze is such 
 inadequate stuff for the expression of flesh, com- 
 pared with marble. . . . 
 
 Will you, by the bye, offer my true respects to 
 Mr. Gibson, whom I had hoped to see here, and whose 
 genius I am less than ever in danger of forgetting? 
 In standing off a little from it {his genius) one sees 
 its height better. You must tell me how his great 
 work prospers, and if the Pandora is sketched yet.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 47 
 
 And how does your portrait * get on, and is there 
 anything else about Page that you can tell me? How 
 does my picture look now? And, Hattie, how does 
 your horse do, I must not forget that. 
 
 I mean to write to dear Mrs. Story and be written 
 to, so only our kindest love to her! We see next to 
 nobody, but make up a rare fire and get on a little 
 with our work, more than when you were here, by a 
 good deal, yet we had rather be idle and have you. 
 Best remembrances to Leighton. I wish his picture 
 all success from my heart. 
 
 What of the Greek now, pupil of mine? and what 
 do you read or intend to read? Poetry, mind; and 
 the sketching once a day, and inventing something, 
 don't you remember? Oh! you will succeed, I know! 
 Here's a letter now; won't you answer it soon, and 
 wish that letter writing may soon be succeeded by 
 face to face talking? Good-bye and God bless you, 
 dearest Hattie. I shall leave the rest of the sheet to 
 Ba, who will speak for herself. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 MRS. BROWNING TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 I quite shiver as I begin to write to you, dearest 
 Hattie, — and I daresay it is a sense of my demerits, 
 as well as of the cold. It has been so cold here, Hattie! 
 warmer to-day, though — and we have been so wicked 
 and ungrateful, not to have written all this time, to 
 thank you for the mj^stical egg boilers, whose spirit 
 of Ame and love must burn together! How much 
 too kind you were, to think so of us. Penini f was in 
 ecstasy, and I wonder the hinges of his writing box 
 
 * By Page. This is now in Cambridge, Mass. 
 f Her son.
 
 48 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 haven't dropj)ed off, at this millionth time of opening 
 and shutting. " Leally," says he, " I must say, this 
 is a velly pretty present of dear Hattie's." That was 
 a soliloquy I happened to overhear. He has written 
 various works since you left us, and the heroine of 
 the last romance was " Emily Susan," at your service! 
 
 And we, do you fancy that we don't miss you? 
 It's dreadful to have no chance company at breakfast, 
 and 5^ou must not count on the two egg boilers, as 
 sufficient to console us for the want of the third 
 coffee cup. 
 
 Isa* gives up Leghorn, I am glad to say, and we 
 are to have her in Florence for the winter. Never 
 does she cease lamenting the loss of you. Two female 
 friends, suddenly dropped from the clouds, bring no 
 heavenly balm for the wound. Ah well when spring 
 comes we shall have Hattie and the roses, and you 
 will be as gladly welcomed by us all, in Paris, or 
 London, where there is everybody, as here in Florence 
 where there is nobody. May God keep you. Give 
 our love to dear Mrs. Story and to dear Mr. Page. 
 
 Your ever affectionate, 
 
 E. B. B. 
 
 Of her second winter in Rome, Miss Hosmer wrote, 
 in later years: 
 
 " It was rendered memorable by my introduction 
 to the Brownings, and as time went on and acquaint- 
 ance ripened into friendship and intimacy, how often 
 did I climb the cold, cheerless, stone stairway which 
 led to their modest apartment on the third floor of 
 42 Bocca di Leone. Nothing cold or cheerless, how- 
 ever, when their door was gained. There was ever 
 the warm and affectionate welcome, and there was 
 also ' Flush-my-dog ' ready to wag the poor remnant 
 
 * Miss Blagden.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 49 
 
 of a tail, for in those days, Flush was suffering from 
 Anno Domini and bore but faint traces of his former 
 beauty. The appearance of ]Mrs. Browning at that 
 time is well preserved in most of the portraits which 
 are familiar to us, whether in engraving or photog- 
 raphy. The same abundant curls framing a face, 
 plain in feature, but redeemed by wonderful dark 
 eyes, large and loving and luminous as stars. The 
 nose slightly disposed to upturn; the mouth, well, 
 perhaps in this feature we discover the key to some 
 of Mrs. Browning's less delicate verse, large, full- 
 lipped, yet harboring always a sweet compensating 
 smile. Her voice, slow and with the somewhat labored 
 enunciation peculiar to delicate health. The manner 
 ever gracious, with a touch of shyness at times. Small 
 in stature and in form so fragile that the gentlest 
 zephyr might have borne her away. 
 
 But not so suggestive of his appearance in earlier 
 years are the portraits of Robert Browning as we now 
 know them. True, j^ears have passed, and photog- 
 raphy now reveals to us a face of great intellectual 
 power, but also the face of the comfortable man of 
 the world, tinged, perhaps, with a certain sense of 
 success, but in the days of which I write, he dwelt 
 apart from the every-day world; he stood, I think, 
 on a higher plane, fulfilling in every sense the ideal 
 we have formed of a poet. The broad forehead, the 
 black and slightly waving hair, the keen and clear 
 gray eyes, the fresh complexion of faintest olive hue, 
 and very slight, as yet, the delicate frame. There were 
 the genial, cheery voice, the unfaihng, joyous spirits 
 of youth, the unique conversational gifts, witty, grave 
 and gay by turns, with, over all, a manner as chamiing 
 as any verse he ever penned. Accustomed as we now 
 are to the halo which surrounds their names, it is 
 difficult to associate their present popularity and fame 
 with the jjoco curante mood in which they were then
 
 50 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 regarded. They lived a life of seclusion, unappre- 
 ciated, unobserved. It is not too much to say, that 
 outside a purely literarj^ coterie, and their modest cir- 
 cle of personal friends, few had heard their names. 
 But what cared those great spirits for the outer world? 
 They lived in a world of their own, happiest when 
 alone therein. Browning, quite large enough to be 
 amused by a shaft aimed at himself, used to relate 
 with great glee, that when on one occasion he entered 
 a certain bank in Leghorn and was received by its 
 great financier with a keen glance over his spectacles 
 and an inquiry as to who he was, ' I am Mr. Brown- 
 ing,' said the poet, ' Mr. Robert Browning.' ' Oh,' 
 replied the financier, ' you are Mr. Robert Browning, 
 are you? That says nothing to me, I never heard the 
 name.' And others who were a little more enlight- 
 ened were not enough so to be sure of their nationality. 
 More than once was I asked by English people in 
 those old times, about ' your countrymen the Brown- 
 ings,' and when I have expressed surprise at their 
 ignorance of their proud possession, ' Oh, yes, yes, 
 Mr. Browning is English, but Mrs. Browning is 
 American? ' Certain it is that Mrs. Browning was 
 known and appreciated in our country before she re- 
 ceived large recognition in her own, and it was not 
 until after her death and Mr. Browning became per- 
 sonally known in England, that liis own countrymen 
 learned his value and his name became a household 
 word. In those old Roman days the halo had not 
 dawned." 
 
 During this winter Mrs. Kemble wrote to Miss 
 Hosmer : 
 
 16 Saville Row, London, Saturday, Dec. 9, 1854. 
 My very dear little Capellina: 
 
 How often I wish I could see your funny and pleas- 
 ant and beloved little physiognomy for five minutes!
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 51 
 
 Thank you, my dear, for your Idnd letter and for the 
 news it contained about Sally.* I had had the sum 
 and substance of all you have written me from Mrs. 
 Sedgwick before, but it is matter that will bear re- 
 peating, and your kindness in writing it all to me 
 touched me very much. I have had within the past 
 few days a letter from V. V., giving a long account 
 of her in Philadelphia. It confirms all that you tell 
 me and certainly gives me some ground to hope that 
 my future may be brighter than the past. 
 
 But, my sweet little Hattj^, why have 5^ou said not 
 one word to me of j^ourself? Of your new lodging, 
 how many rooms you have, and the etage, how it is 
 furnished, what aspect you have, what sort of studio? 
 Above all, my dear child, have you told me nothing 
 of what interests ever so little or much; your work, 
 your plans, your ideas; what you are doing and what 
 you are thinking of doing, what new shapes of beauty 
 and of grace are haunting you, whether j^ou have 
 fured any of your fair sisterhood of stars in clay or 
 marble, or whether your heavens, with all those jjretty 
 creatures floating in them, are still only planetary? 
 Dear Hatty, don't you know how much I care for 
 your work, and how glad I should have been to have 
 heard from you something of what you were doing? 
 And have you been riding? Have you been out 
 greeting our well-beloved haunts, those beautiful 
 slopes and valle.ys Vvhere you ought to see the wood 
 nymi^hs bodily? I have wished very much to hear 
 from you, my dear, but I seldom blame anybody for 
 not writing to me, except the members of my own 
 family, and they, I think, positively ought to write. 
 I have gone so far as to wonder once or twice that 
 you have not written, but I knew you had been 
 pleasantly occupied all the summer at Florence, and 
 that when you went back to Rome you would have 
 
 • Her daughter, Sarah Butler.
 
 52 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 your hands quite too full of clay to think of taking 
 hold of a pen. My precious Roman casts are here, 
 consecrating my smoky London lodging with remi- 
 niscences of Rome and you. They have marble slabs 
 to stand on and grand looking glasses behind them, 
 but though they are judicious and say little about it, 
 I have no doubt they are divinely disgusted with their 
 present gloomy residence. 
 
 Dear Hatty, you know what sorrow I have been 
 in, all alone here. It is so far past now, that already 
 the sense of strangeness has worn off and I have got 
 accustomed to my new grief.* I am thankful to 
 hear of Edward Sartoris' t recovery. He is so seldom 
 ill that all one's confidence in habitual health and 
 strength is shaken if anytliing ails him. My poor 
 Adelaide must have had a miserable time, what with 
 all the afflicting news she has been receiving from 
 me and with Efdward's illness. You are very right, 
 my dearest little Capellina, to see as much as you 
 can of her; you will seldom see a more amiable, or a 
 more charming person, and she, I am sure, would like 
 to have your warm heart and clever, bright intellect 
 and cheery young spirit near her. 
 
 God bless you, my dear, give my dearest love to 
 Adelaide, my respects to Mr. Gibson, and believe 
 me, ever as ever, 
 
 Your very affectionate old friend, 
 
 Fanny Kemble. 
 
 After another winter of work the artist writes: 
 
 r, nr r^ RoME, Feb. 6, 1855. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 There really seems to be a chance of peace. J What 
 
 a fine thing it will be! The Enghsh, though, don't 
 
 ♦The death of her father, Charles Kemble. 
 
 f Her brother-in-law. 
 
 X An allusion to the Crimean War. 
 
 ' : I
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 53 
 
 appear to be very anxious for it, and I don't see how 
 we can blame them for wanting to regain their war- 
 like name. They certainly have not come off with 
 flying colors, but I dare say the lesson may do them 
 good, that they are not quite omnipotent. I oughtn't 
 to say anything, though, against the nation, for I 
 like them most heartily and have the greatest possible 
 respect for them all. Certainly if we are influenced 
 by private motives, as I suppose we alwaj^s are, more 
 or less, I ought to affectionate them prodigiously, for 
 I have more friends among them, than among my 
 own countrymen, and above all, one of them is my 
 master. 
 
 By the bye, has my father sent you my master's 
 report of me? I told him he must, and then from it 
 you can tell what sort of a girl I am, for as I seem 
 to be your particular protegee I want you to be 
 posted. I am very busy on the " Cenci." It is for 
 Mr. v., and remembering the place he intends her to 
 occupy, I am sparing no pains or patience, to make 
 her in some degree worthy of it. Mr. Gibson seems 
 to think it is getting on well, and I onl}'- wish you, 
 dear Mr. Crow, could walk in and see it in its present 
 condition. When are you coming? Rome, after all, 
 isn't such a tremendous journey from America. In 
 twenty-one days you could be here! I will study 
 " Murray " till I know every word in it, for your 
 benefit, and then will devote them all to your service. 
 
 I enclose a note to Dr. McDowell, which you will 
 do me a favor by delivering. I often think I should 
 like to tell him I haven't forgotten his kindness to 
 me. He did me an invaluable service in the Anatomy 
 Department. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 One or two letters, almost too intimate for publica- 
 tion, seem needed here, to reveal the warm feminine
 
 54 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 side of the artist's nature. Although then, as ever, 
 her strongest heart-love was given to art, they show 
 how keenly she longed for, and eagerly accepted, the 
 ties of family life and love, which had been denied 
 to her own youth, when death took from her home all 
 except her father. Then she was left to a loneliness, 
 perhaps not recognized by either, with all his efforts 
 to render her life happy, despite his own absorbing 
 profession. In reading these early letters, one can 
 but smile at the mature and wisely maternal, yet 
 spinsteresque, advice addressed to the already be- 
 loved god-child,* scarce two months old. Tliis happy 
 relationship proved, through all the twenty-five years 
 during which that young life was lent to earth, a most 
 tender and generous one. The watchful and ever 
 increasing love seemed to soften and beautify a life 
 that might else have grown lonely and self-centred if 
 left entirely to work, and might have gathered some- 
 thing of the hardness of the marbles amid which she 
 lived. 
 
 TO HARRIET HOSMER CARR. 
 
 Rome, March, 1855. 
 My darling little god-daughter: 
 
 Two days ago I received the announcement of your 
 arrival in this world, which you must make beautiful 
 by your smiles. How dearly I should love to see 
 you with your soft, dimpled cheeks and your little 
 lips that are getting to be just round enough to kiss, 
 though always sweet enough to love. I shall love 
 you all over, very much for yourself, and twice over, 
 for the sake of your dear mother, who was my best 
 
 * Harriet Hosmer Carr, the grandchild of Mr. Crow.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 55 
 
 friend when we w^ere girls together, and who is my 
 best friend and sister, now that we have begun the 
 world in earnest. 
 
 What a big girl you will be before I see you; I 
 daresay running about and calling me " Hatty " or 
 " Aunt Hatty." I wish I could send you a christening 
 dress and a silver cup, but if you can wait till I come 
 home, I will bring you something that will make you 
 remember me better than cups and gowns. 
 
 As you grow up, my darling, you must look at all 
 the pretty pictures and figures you can find, and then 
 when you get to be old like your auntie, you will 
 become an artist, perhaps. How would you like to 
 come to Rome and work in my studio and make little 
 boys and girls as beautiful as you are yourself? But 
 still better than being a great artist it will be, to be 
 great as a human being. That is to have your heart 
 filled with beautiful and kindly thoughts for all around 
 you, as well as to have your brain filled with beautiful 
 images, though j^ou know you can never have the latter 
 without the former, for your marble children would be 
 only the sculptured shadows of your soul, and if your 
 soul is not pure and great, how can you expect your 
 children to be so? 
 
 But first of all, begin by being lo\H[ng and obedient 
 to the good God who made you, and next, to your 
 dear parents, and then if, when you grow up to be a 
 great girl, you should go to dear ^Irs. Sedgwick to 
 study about the " chain of connection " * and sharpen 
 your mind on " Mental Arithmetic," t don't follow 
 in the footsteps of j^our naughty god-mamma, be- 
 cause if you do, you will have a great deal to repent 
 of afterwards! 
 
 Now you perceive, my darling, I have already be- 
 gun to lecture you, and you will believe me a very 
 stern god-mother, but if you could see me, I don't 
 
 * Combe's. f Colburn's.
 
 56 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 tliink I should frighten you, but I should hold you on 
 my knee and play with you, or tell you stories. Now 
 you must take a whole shower of kisses, my little one, 
 
 Your most loving ^^^ ,,.,,,.. 
 
 ° God-mamma. 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 Dear C: (The same date) 
 
 Having written to your daughter and my god- 
 daughter, I send this note enclosed to her care, being 
 rather jealous that her mundane labors should begin 
 in my service. Truly I am triumphant in thinking 
 of my name being immortalized! I can't know ex- 
 actly how 3^ou feel, but I have my ideas on the sub- 
 ject, formed on my regard for my own silent progeny: 
 ideas, however, which nobody will deny are, in their 
 case, hammered out. ... I have already settled her 
 profession and see her, in my mind's eye, installed 
 with a chisel, or a lump of clay, her little mob-cap on 
 her head, and calling her Aunt Hatty " Maestra'' I 
 fondly expect she will make equestrian statues of all 
 the coming great men of the nation! Kiss her count- 
 lessly for me. . . . 
 
 Your H. 
 
 During this and the following winters, though work- 
 ing diligently in her studio through all the daylight 
 hours, the artist did not deny herself the pleasure and 
 relaxation of society and friends, among whom she 
 w^as always warmly welcomed and also much sought. 
 After her late afternoon gallop over the Campagna, 
 her evenings were spent at dinners, and followed by 
 receptions and musicales, mostly in the English 
 colony. This was composed, in those days, of a cer- 
 tain few who returned to Rome year after year, to
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 57 
 
 escape the fogs of London and to enjoy the sunshine 
 and art of Italy among kindred spirits, thus forming 
 a friendly coterie of gifted and brilliant members. 
 With them were to be found also many interesting 
 travellers from over seas. Among the number her 
 letters make mention of the Thackerays and Trollopes, 
 Mrs. Jameson, Lady Marian Alford, Lady Charlotte 
 Locker, the Walpoles, Cardwells, Hawthorne, Lord 
 Houghton, Sir William Boxall, the Layards, Glad- 
 stones, Longfellows, Bryants, etc., besides many resi- 
 dent artists, as the Stoiys, Miss Cushman, Craw- 
 ford, and others noted in music, letters, and art. 
 Those who then visited the " Eternal City " went, not 
 as many a tourist of the present time, to " see Rome 
 in a day," and to motor breathlessly from sight to 
 sight, from ruin to ruin, but to make a home, for 
 the time being, and live their own lives among the 
 glories of ancient art. It is true there were some 
 birds of passage, the " forestieri" but they came into 
 the artist's life mostly through the studio door, as 
 patrons, collectors, or admirers. 
 
 Miss Hosmer's summers were passed in refreshing 
 journeys with her master or other congenial com- 
 panions in Italy, Switzerland, and bej^ond, or else 
 in visits to many English friends, who admired, loved, 
 and petted her, and who made her forget that her 
 native land and kindred were too distant for short 
 visits in those days of few steamships and slow 
 crossings. 
 
 In by-gone days, when there was all time and 
 when " time was made for slaves," it seems to have 
 been the custom to ignore such casual things as daj^s,
 
 58 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 months, and years, and so the gatherer of these notes, 
 disregarding those impertinent markers of time, must 
 sometimes do the same. 
 
 Here are two characteristic notes from Mr. Gibson 
 to Miss Hosmer without date: 
 
 Thursday. 
 Dearest: 
 
 Mr. Layard is going away, called to take his leave 
 of you, will come to-morrow at two o'clock, so you 
 must be there. 
 
 Your slave, 
 
 John Gibson. 
 
 My little Hat: 
 
 I have sent to Spence to say that I am not well 
 and cannot dine with him. I am sorry that I shall 
 not be able to come this evening to JMiss Cushman's. 
 To-morrow morning I hope to be at the studio early. 
 
 Your slave. 
 
 Then came this letter: 
 
 MR. BROWNING TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Paris, Rue du Colisee, 3, Jan. 8, 'o%. 
 
 Had I taken pen and written to you, dearest Hatty, 
 once for every ten times I meant to do so (overnight), 
 and had you answered one of every ten that I so wrote 
 and I know you would have done better than that, I 
 should have plenty to read and comfort myself with; 
 whereas now there is only the hope that we soon will 
 have something, when you know how happy it will 
 make us two here in the cold, to hear about you. When 
 we got to London, cares and calls and weariness all 
 day, and letter writing to-morrow! When we left 
 London for this place, (a horrible lodging), taken
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 59 
 
 for us against our will and protestation, by an en- 
 thusiastic friend— an apartment with no bottom (for 
 carriages were under it), no top (for the roof tiles 
 were over it), no back (for there was an end to the 
 house with the end of our room), and a front facing 
 the due east, we staid two months' misery out, and then 
 carried our dead and wounded to this pleasant house, 
 which, not quite the Vatican in itself, seems a great 
 catch beside the other abomination. You may sup- 
 pose there was no charity in telling you this till we 
 could add that we were alive and out. 
 
 Now I tell you and moreover that we both of us 
 long with all our hearts to hear as much news of your 
 darling self as you can and will put into a letter. 
 Of course all this while we have heard of you con- 
 stantly or else we would have known the reason why. 
 Isa Blagden always lets us go shares in her tidings 
 of you for which Miss Hayes was mainly to thank, 
 and Miss F. loves and talks about you incessantly; 
 they have been here these two months. Isa arrived 
 two days ago; got into the exact sort of upstairs 
 place she should have avoided, and is abundantly un- 
 comfortable, which is the more provoking that she 
 seems to have brought with her a tolerable stock of 
 health and strength, which will be spent to very little 
 purpose. However, we must try and help to brighten 
 matters for her. 
 
 Mrs. Sartoris is here, such a dear creature, as 3''ou 
 well know. I ought to see her about every other day, 
 if my laziness did not stand in the way; and when- 
 ever I go, I swear I'll never miss another time, but 
 do miss times and times, alas! I'll go to-morrow and 
 tell her I've written, unless, as is likely, she calls this 
 afternoon. She sings and talks and looks and is 
 just as of old, and so good that is! Your pet of a 
 daguerreotype lies on her table, and I know who gets 
 hold of it and keeps it as long as he sits there!
 
 60 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Leighton is a better fellow than ever, very lovable, 
 really. He's painting a very fine and original picture, 
 life-size, of Orpheus playing Eurydice out of hell, 
 full of power and expression. He has a capital Pan 
 enjojang himself in a dell, from a superb Italian 
 model here, (the perfection of a man,) and a Venus, 
 very clever too; and designs for perhaps a dozen 
 delicious pagan figures; a sudden taste that has pos- 
 sessed liim. 
 
 I don't think any new friend of mine would please 
 you like Rosa Bonheur, who is a glorious little crea- 
 ture, with a touch of Hatty about her that makes one 
 start. Oh, Hatty, why were you not here, in London 
 first, and you should have heard Alfred Tennyson 
 read " Maud " to us, and Mrs. Sartoris sing to 
 Ruskin, and Carlyle talk, our three best remem- 
 brances. And here at Paris there are pictures to see, 
 but I know all about the impossibility, and it is silly 
 to speak of it. 
 
 Well, won't you tell us what you have done and 
 are doing? how dear Page is, and what he paints 
 now, and if he prospers in health and spirits? and of 
 Gibson, and of Rome generally? Do you know we 
 mean to try hard to go to Rome next winter, to 
 repair the harm done at the bottomless pit of the 
 house aforesaid? And Mrs. Sartoris was sure to go, 
 too, till the night before last, when she pleased to 
 feel sure she should not go, Sartoris meaning to settle 
 in Paris — for the next quarter of an hour he means it, 
 I should explain. How good to find ourselves all 
 together again! But then, the slips 'twixt the cups 
 and the lips. Anyhow, here is a word to you that 
 wants a word in return. God bless you, dearest 
 Hatty. Penini is well, better by far than in London. 
 Ba * shall put in a word. I have left room for no 
 
 * Mrs. Browning.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 61 
 
 more. For me, count as nothing said, of all that I 
 have to say, except that I am affectionately yours ever, 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 j^ ^^ Rome, Mar. 11, 1856. 
 
 I meant to have inundated you with a flood of 
 prose, if not of song, but have not been able to 
 manage it; every minute seems to bring with it some- 
 thing that imperiously demands attention, and I have 
 stayed at home tliis afternoon instead of riding, to 
 scratch even this miserable line, but no more explana- 
 tions. 
 
 So you are wading through Gibbon and Niebuhr, 
 
 while L is wading through the bogs on the 
 
 prairies. I can scarcely fancy you leading that quiet 
 sort of life, almost a hermit's, but I won't say any- 
 thing to disenchant you completely with it. We will 
 make up for it when you get to Rome, which I see 
 written in the book of Fate. 
 
 I scarcely see the S's, for they have been busy 
 sight-seeing, and my days roll away either in the 
 studio or, afterwards, on horseback, and in the evening 
 it is as much as I can do to go where I am invited. 
 What if you were in an upright posture, on your feet, 
 eight hours of the day! For my part, I am begin- 
 ning to doubt if my skeleton is not gradually losing 
 the power of that peculiar action in a certain portion 
 of the human system which results in sitting down, 
 for I often stand from breakfast till evening, whereas 
 no power on earth could induce me to sit for half an 
 hour! It is quite frightful to see how time runs on 
 and how short are the days to work in. As you are 
 not in town, I can only send my kind regards to the
 
 62 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 grouse and the bison. I wish I had some of the 
 former. The latter I will leave for the pleasure of 
 killing when I come. 
 
 Your H. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 j^ ^ ^ Rome, the end of April, 1856. 
 
 Of course you think me a creature of the very 
 blackest dye, but I reproach myself with being still 
 more ebony than you could ever dream of. The 
 truth is, I have been waiting to enclose you a photo 
 of what I have been doing. The forestieri are begin- 
 ning to scatter, which means that summer is coming. 
 I intend going into France this year, into or near 
 the Forest of Fontainebleau. One is really put to it 
 to know what to do with one's self. You feel as if 
 you would like to give yourself into the hands of a 
 Cojmnissionnaire, be boxed up and put out of the way 
 in a warehouse till claimed by the rightful owner. 
 
 I wrote two days after receiving your last important 
 bulletin relative to my chick Hatty.* I should have 
 had my " never get over it," if Miss Cushman had 
 left the country without seeing her, and I am dying 
 to hear what she reports of her. You know I feel 
 perfectly responsible for everything she does and says, 
 for somehow a great deal of my dibbletiy has become 
 incorporated in her blessed little frame, and from 
 my own experience I could venture to predict every- 
 thing she will do for the next ten years. You know 
 my history pretty well, so guard against my snags, 
 unless you hold, as I do, that when there is a certain 
 quantity of steam to be let off, it is charity and policy 
 to afford it a vent. I go on the principle of letting 
 young ones do pretty much as they like. I am sure it 
 
 * Her godchild, then two years old.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 63 
 
 is better for them in the end, and I know it is much 
 pleasanter; that was the system on which I was 
 brought up, and the result is, — what you see! Get 
 me out her picture as soon as you can. I don't mind 
 the loss of the feet. I shouldn't mind even the loss 
 of the legs. I want the impertinent, darling little 
 face and the curly wig. . . . 
 
 Do you really tliink that a shred of vanity can 
 exist in me, after viewing those last productions wliich 
 you sent me of lithographic art? Shade of my grand- 
 mother! (who was, I believe, a very good-looking 
 woman). The first I thought not flattering, but this! 
 I should say it was enough to make even you for- 
 swear my society, not to mention sisterhood. I keep 
 it, religiously, on the same principle that the Emperor 
 had the melancholy fact whispered in his ear, only 
 with a slight modification, " Remember thou art but 
 a fright!" 
 
 Your H. 
 
 MR. AND MRS. BROWNING TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Paris, 3 Rue du Colisee^ ]March 27, '56. 
 
 Dearest Hattie: 
 
 Here is going to be another great break and long 
 silence between us three, if we two don't take care. I 
 should like to write to-day, and I will. We got your 
 duck of a note duly about six weeks ago, then 
 news of you from Isa, then a little more news 
 from the same, and now it is time for a cupful of 
 water from the spring-head. We were vexed about 
 that Isa, that she could not contrive somehow, manage 
 in some way, that capital little Roman scheme that 
 you proposed ; but her heart was all of a tremble about 
 Spanish plans and Florentine projects. Do try her 
 again, for the commotion has subsided in many re-
 
 64 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 spects; she at last gives way to our mild scoldings and 
 renounces that foolish and indeed dangerous journey 
 to Madrid. For which we promised her a knee that 
 will work without pulleys from the bed-top, and other 
 delights that she was bringing on herself. She now 
 means to go straight to Florence, and there set up 
 a \dlla, and then what better can she do than go to 
 Rome in the winter, as we hope to do. If your 
 schemes have worked themselves any clearer, therefore, 
 try them on her. She is quite her old self now, able 
 to see and be seen. 
 
 Now what shall I tell you of Mrs. Sartoris? This 
 week's state of her mind is pretty likely to differ 
 altogether from next week's, as I conjecture from 
 past experience. First, then, she means that he won't 
 go to Rome, but will settle here; take a house and 
 furnish it; that will lead eventually to his getting tired 
 of furniture and house, and beginning his travels 
 again. What they do, Leighton will do; but we 
 others have had enough of civilization, and want the 
 Campagna. Not but what the weather has been, and 
 is, while I write, very nearly Italian; mild at worst 
 and sunny and surprising very often. 
 
 Pray, Hattie, what shall you do in the summer 
 that is coming so fast? Any chance of your going 
 to Paris or London this year, as we hoped about last 
 year? We shall stay till the end of June, then be in 
 London till autumn, and then one fine November 
 morning somebody will jump up the little stairs 
 three at a time, do a deal of damage to some plaster 
 casts on the way, and then, having first put on his 
 gloves, request permission to touch the tips of your 
 fingers. Meanwhile there's a good deal to do, how- 
 ever. 
 
 I told you Ba had felt the cold sadly in those 
 abominable rooms that we got shut on us for our 
 sins. Since moving to this place all that was wrong,
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 65 
 
 seems set right again, and she has worked like a 
 spirit at her poem.* I have read the first six books, 
 all transcribed and corrected in two months. Lord! I 
 don't dare say, in cold words, what I cannot help 
 thinking of them; while warm words are not proper, 
 you know. At all events, the poem is quite new and 
 unlike anything she has hitherto done ; two more books 
 are growing to completion, by daily work to the 
 amount of something like thirty or forty hues. When 
 all's done, it's to print in London, print in America 
 simultaneously, put out of the nest and set flying 
 and earning its own livelihood, and then, off to some- 
 thing else, somewhere else. That's the way with us 
 noble poets whether in words or lines, poetry or 
 plaster, isn't it? I'll tell you true about myself, that 
 your people have been very kind and indulgent to my 
 own things, and that there is great success for the 
 bookseller, if I may believe reports which bookseller 
 has my best wishes, having behaved capitally. 
 
 I can hear nothing certain about Page's pictures, 
 as to their completion and destination. You know he 
 meant to send the Venus and another work to Lon- 
 don, did he not? Are they gone? Nothing sent in 
 after the first Monday in April will be admitted. I 
 have given the proper orders about sending the por- 
 trait and can only trust that they will put it in a 
 good place. My wife wrote a letter to an influential 
 personage (hem!), whose name, etc., it is not neces- 
 sary to particularize (hem, hem!) — not, of course, 
 demeaning herself crookedly, but honestly calling 
 attention to what might miss its due attention in the 
 throng of the thousands and the result is particularly 
 satisfactory. We are told the Academy always strains 
 a point to do homage to the work of a stranger, but 
 Mr. Page's work can have nothing to fear. All we 
 
 ♦"Aurora Leigh."
 
 66 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 can do (and so little) is done, and I hope and be- 
 lieve that the portrait * will do the rest for itself. 
 
 There will be a portrait of Dickens exhibited by 
 Ary Scheffer. Leighton's picture is done, and ex- 
 pedited; and he waits the results with anxiety enough, 
 so do we all. There is great merit in it, the expres- 
 sions are true, the composition simple, the background 
 good, and the whole one consistent anachronism; a 
 purely modern picture, without a touch of the antique- 
 real, or antique-conventional. The modern violin is 
 no more a surprise than the modern faces and figures. 
 But I breathe into your ear that I doubt whether 
 folks won't cry out for more than this truth of expres- 
 sion, and ask for the poetry of this grand old subject: 
 God Pluto, Goddess Proserpine, Half-God Orpheus, 
 and half-woman Efurydice. . . . He certainly has not 
 finished the details as completely as I expected; there 
 is evidence of great study in portions, no doubt; the 
 knee of Orpheus could hardly be better modelled, and 
 his aiTii (right arm) is covered with the drapery to 
 heart's content; but the careless part seems to me in 
 the figure of the Proserpine (right arm good, though) 
 and her drapery (from the waist down), not effective 
 in color or foldings. Observe, all the faces are capi- 
 tally true, and if you will take the four heads in a 
 line, and arms too, if you please, for the picture, you 
 get a striking one. 
 
 Leighton has been drawing deliciously; he may 
 make admirable pictures out of some ten or fifteen 
 that lie there — and he is finishing a couple of half 
 life-size, charming paintings. The one I told you of, 
 a fine fellow treating liimself to figs, while he has 
 grapes and gourds about his feet, down in a dell, 
 with blue Italian scenery over his head; a finished 
 study from the miracle of a model he has got, but 
 properly idealized. The other is the Venus, which, 
 
 ♦ Of Robert Browning.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 67 
 
 save that one bit is exaggerated in the action, I think, 
 will come out well too, in the end. There's a Diver 
 or Fisher, j)ulled down by a Siren, which is exquisite 
 in the sketch — so now let's all wish him what's best 
 for him. 
 
 I am much interested by accounts I get from 
 Rome from time to time of Mr. Gibson's Pandora. 
 Tell us all about it, j'-ou Hatty: and tell us exactly 
 how your own statue progresses, — and what else you 
 have done or think to do. What is this we were 
 amused with about theatricals? I'll engage you 
 played famously. Don't I envy Lyons now? He is 
 here till Lord Clarendon can find time to start him 
 off, and then he'll be in the very Rome. He called 
 here two days ago, and spent an evening last week 
 with Mrs. Sartoris and Leighton. Was not that like 
 an old thing come about again? 
 
 Next tell me a matter: do you happen to know, or 
 to have seen, a young lady, with a mother to her, 
 called " Ironmonger," an Australian bent on studying 
 painting in Rome, who made a memorable transit 
 thro' this place at the end of last year; memorable, 
 I mean, for her enthusiasm and wild ways? She had 
 a letter for Mr. Gibson, she said, — how has it all 
 turned out? 
 
 Now I shall leave off and make Ba do the rest, I 
 generally push her into a mere corner, and you don't 
 thank me for that. I ought to have put more interest 
 in this quantity of writing, that's certain; but writing's 
 a bad business at the best. Will you please to answer 
 this at once, not leaving out one particularity about 
 yourself — in short, be so good as to shabby-abbyize for 
 our profit and delight. Your early Easter season, 
 that's over, will leave you leisure, won't it? We are in 
 a crowd here, diplomatic and great people are like 
 blackberries, and next week you shall see what you
 
 68 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 shall see; but not one word more, lest I break irresis- 
 tibly in upon Ba and the lace wrappings, and you go 
 mad that j^ou can't see them. Good-by, dearest 
 Hatty, with the loving embrace of 
 
 Yours 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 MRS. BROWNING TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 What can I say after Robert? He will have 
 emptied Paris of all the news you will care to hear, 
 dearest Hatty. Let me say at least that we want, 
 both of us, to have news from you; write, dear, make 
 us glad. Here's my plan for you after Robert's. 
 Come to the north this summer and spend it with 
 us in England — and then let us all travel south and 
 to Rome in the autumn — then, too, we shall be able to 
 plot and secure Isa. You know I am against all 
 schemes for settling her in Rome, because any con- 
 tinuance in that place would be bad for her I feel 
 obstinately sure, but she might go for a winter, and 
 would perhaps, if we all together took to pulling 
 and hauling her, a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull 
 all together, yo 'ho! Lend a hand Hatty! And now 
 that I am a sailor I feel inclined to a fit of swearing 
 against Robert's paper — did ever man in liis senses 
 and with any degree of conjugal consideration select 
 such paper? D testable! 
 
 With Clichy on one side, the Diligences on the 
 other, and a sprinkling of brigands up and down, we 
 have persuaded Isa against Madrid finally. Now it 
 is your turn, try for Rome. 
 
 Give my love to Mr. Page when you see him. We 
 have launched his picture on the London Academy, 
 and I do trust a good wind will take it. I long for 
 the Venus, is it finished? And if so why does he not
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 69 
 
 send it? Shan't we see works on works of your own, 
 dear Hatty, when we come to Rome to catch you? 
 Really we are planning for Rome next winter. Do 
 you think of London meantime for the love of us. 
 
 Penini is reading French and talking it and not 
 forgetting his Italian. He is as great a darling as 
 ever, in my mind. 
 
 Your ever affectionate 
 
 Fi. R. R. 
 
 Our best regards to Mr. Gibson. 
 
 The following letter is one of the few descriptive of 
 the artist: 
 
 MISS HAYES TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 Rome, April, 1856. 
 
 Hatty is such a bad correspondent, in personal mat- 
 ters, dear friend of hers, that I am sure you will 
 thank me for a few lines telling you how she looks 
 and is. To begin, she has added an inch or so to her 
 height, of which, between ourselves, she is very proud; 
 and more than an inch considerably in circumference, 
 though she has developed a charming little waist and 
 figure. Her short hair, which you will find con- 
 siderably darker in color, suits her admirably, and 
 she is, in dress, neatness itself, her party wardrobe 
 elegant and tasteful. So much for externals. Retter 
 than all, she is the same frank, unaffected darling as 
 in old times. Her spirits more boisterous and sus- 
 tained than ever; in fact, she is the happiest human 
 being that I know, and thinks herself so. 
 
 Her progress in art is wonderful. It is long since 
 modern Rome has produced so beautiful a statue as 
 the Cenci ; beautiful in conception and execution. The 
 social position of our dear little friend is admirable.
 
 70 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 She is universal^ respected, and where known, loved, 
 and she has surmounted all the difficulties of her posi- 
 tion as woman and artist, nobly, by the simple earnest- 
 ness of her nature and life. It is a great joy to me to 
 find her where she is, after our three years' separa- 
 tion. . . . 
 
 Sincerely 3^ours 
 
 Matilda M. Hayes. 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 y-v ^ RoME^ June 30, 1856. 
 
 I am giving you a parting salute from Rome, as I 
 am off to-morrow for a tour of which I am not quite 
 sure what the iniddle or the end is to be. The only 
 certain thing is the beginning, which is Leghorn, for 
 a couple of weeks. I want particularly to write you 
 now, to send the photographs of the bassi-relievi I 
 have just finished. One is " Night and the Rising of 
 the Stars," and the other is " Phosphor and Hesper," 
 which your early mythological researches will remind 
 you are the stars of the Morning and the Evening. 
 Next winter I am going to model the pendant to the 
 first, which will be " Morning and the Setting of the 
 Stars." You see I have been on a starring engage- 
 ment this winter! . . . 
 
 At this moment while I am writing, the grand 
 fire-works of St. Peter's Day are shooting and burst- 
 ing round the Piazza del Popolo, and I am not taking 
 the trouble even to put my head out of window to 
 see them. Then on the other hand our house being 
 situated obliquely between the two I have merely 
 to look up and I see before me the Dome of St. 
 Peter's, illuminated. Last night the whole was il- 
 lumined, and to-night too it has been very beautiful. 
 I am thinking how many thousands of people would
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 71 
 
 give their eyes if they could only be in my place for 
 a few minutes. . . . 
 
 The last joke I have heard, vi^hich came to Miss 
 Cushman's ears, was this. A party here from New 
 York who had something to do with Mr. Gibson's 
 group of the Cacciatore, as it is always called, and 
 having seen the name either in writing or in print, 
 but probably never having heard it pronounced, said 
 "That group, you know, of Mr. Gibson's; I think 
 they call it the Cockatoo! "... 
 
 Mrs. Kemble, then is in Lenox with Sarah, and en- 
 chanting the girls just as we used to be enchanted. 
 Oh, how those days come back to me; but they seem 
 like a dream. My life is so unlike what it was then. 
 I think and feel so differently that it seems to me I 
 must have left my former body and found another. 
 With you, the change is not so great. You are still 
 in the atmosphere of home, still see the familiar faces 
 to which you have been accustomed from childhood; 
 at least you hear your mother tongue spoken around 
 you, and have not forced your ear to hear, nor your 
 lips to utter, strange sounds. . . . These changes 
 make me feel twenty years older, and it is not unlikely 
 that my hair may be quite bleached before the month 
 of next July, when, God willing, we shall meet. 
 
 Somewhere on the ocean, my daughter Q^none is 
 now probably very seasick. If you do not experience 
 the same sensation when j'ou see her, I shall be con- 
 tent. Sooner or later she will appear to you in St. 
 Louis, and I can only say I wish she were more 
 worthy of those who are to adopt her. . . . 
 
 Your H. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 My dear Mr. Crow: Albano, Sept., 1856. 
 
 ... So changes are taking place across the ocean! 
 Here time and fortune wag on in the old way, and
 
 72 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 I wish they would go a httle faster, the latter, I 
 mean, not the former. If she does not smile more 
 sweetly pretty soon, than she has done for the last 
 year and a half, I suspect that nine-tenths of the 
 artists will open glove shops, or tobacco stalls, or 
 something else, not for bread and butter, but for 
 bread alone, without the butter. Artists like Mr. 
 Gibson, Teneranni, and Crawford, who have been 
 through the mill, may snap their fingers, they are 
 always busy, but for the younger ones, who are 
 struggling upward, nothing is left in the present 
 time but to growl and groan. 
 
 Has the statue arrived? The figure represents 
 Q^none abandoned by Paris, and all I can say is, 
 that I wish it were a thousand times better than it is, 
 and the best excuse I have for its shortcomings is, 
 that it is the first one I ever made. I hope you will 
 see another of mine, going to ISlr. Hooper, in Boston, 
 representing Puck. I think I may say that I have 
 beaten both, in a statue which you will see next 
 summer, God willing, which belongs to Mr. V. and 
 which I take great pleasure in thinking is destined 
 for the library in your city.* Sir Charles Eastlake 
 was in Rome a few days ago, and he says I must be 
 sure and send it to the Royal Academy Exhibition 
 and he will have it well placed. He is the President 
 of the Academy, you know, so his influence will be 
 potent. He said some very nice things to me, words 
 of real encouragement. The exhibition is to open 
 the first of May, so I shall send it there from Rome, 
 and pick it up on my way home. Mr. Hall is having 
 it engraved for the London Art Journal from a draw- 
 ing made of the cast, by Guglielani and which Mr. 
 Gibson took with him to England. These things I 
 tell you, not from any feeling of vanity or self-satis- 
 faction, because I am utterly disgusted with myself, 
 
 * Beatrice Cenci.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 73 
 
 but because it may please you to know that such a 
 man as Sir Charles Eastlake finds something in my 
 work of which to approve, and as I am your yrotegee 
 I hke to have you know, better than anybody else, 
 how I am progressing. . . . 
 
 Now, dear Mr. Crow, I am going to give you one 
 more proof that I do consider myself your protegee in 
 every sense of the word, and am going to avail myself 
 of your paternal kindness evinced last summer when 
 you sent me that letter of credit, half of which I have 
 drawn, and if not inconvenient to you, I should like 
 to swell the long list of favors already received at 
 your hands, by drawing for the remaining half about 
 the first of October. I have bills coming due for 
 marble, and without this godsend I scarcely know 
 how to meet them. ... I never can return (because 
 you do not need it) the kindness and encouragement 
 you have showered upon me, but which I must hope 
 will not, in the end, have been in vain. Are not some 
 of yours coming to Italy? Cannot you give me some- 
 thing to do for you? Command me, for I belong to 
 you more than to anybody else. 
 
 You may report this letter to my father if you 
 like, but I just as lief you would put it in the fire. 
 Do write me; it is a blessing to see your handwriting. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 This letter was to an old friend in Scotland. 
 
 TO MISS DUNDAS. 
 
 Albano, Sunday, Sept. 27, (1856). 
 
 Days and weeks have rolled by since we met, my 
 
 A , and they seem years. Alas! there is no magic 
 
 ground in this world where we can summon before 
 us the forms of absent friends, and no enchantress 
 to help us but the one of haj^py memories. Alas! too,
 
 74 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 being in the flesh, we are denied the comfort of ghostly 
 communication, and if you could see in what a veil of 
 very distinct anatomy my spiritual woman is shrouded, 
 you would despair of ever hearing from me except in 
 the most material way. Such being the case I sit 
 down to tell you in sound English what a puss you 
 have been to write me those two letters, and the only 
 fault is, that there wasn't enough of either of them. 
 Having followed you to Naples, to Paris, and to 
 London, you are now safely and snugly ensconced in 
 your own dear nest, from which you must flutter out 
 very often and give me a song on paper. 
 
 Nor have I been quiet either, while you have been 
 on the wing, but have ridden to Florence by moon- 
 light at the rate of fifty miles a night. Nothing was 
 ever so fine as that journey. The entrance to Nepi, 
 with its old towers and broken arches, the descent to 
 the lake of Thrasimene, the climbing of the hill to 
 Perugia, and the arrival at five in the morning at 
 Florence, are all things to be set down in one's golden 
 book. I remember particularly, too, the battleground 
 of Hannibal, over which we rode at one o'clock on 
 the loveliest night that was ever visited upon earth. 
 In the silence and ghostliness of the hour, I could 
 not help fancying I heard, above the clattering of 
 our horses' feet, the rushing and neighing of steeds, 
 the clashing of spears, and the shouts of the van- 
 quished and conquering armies, but for two thousand 
 years nature has been reclaiming her own and seems 
 to have exhausted herself in making it one of the 
 most beautiful spots in her kingdom, as if in a gener- 
 ous, forgiving spirit toward that humanity by which 
 she was profaned. The ground was covered with 
 fresh young vines and bright red poppies sown by 
 some friendly Morpheus, perhaps, to make her forget 
 in a long summer sleep the wrongs she had endured, 
 and over all, the great, quiet moon, like a loving and
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 75 
 
 pitying mother, watched as tenderly and as patiently 
 
 as she did ages and ages ago. Oh! my A , how 
 
 enchanted you would have been. There never was a 
 more silent journey, for it was too beautiful to talk 
 about. We wanted all our forces to think and to 
 look, but thinking and looking were done to perfec- 
 tion. We came back by riding early in the morning 
 and late in the evening, having made the three hun- 
 dred and sixty miles in seven and a half days. 
 
 So you did not like Naples, nor I either. If I 
 were doomed to live there, I should be a raving 
 maniac at the end of the third day. I am so glad, too, 
 that you don't like the Hercules.* For my part, I 
 see in him neither spirit, nor grace, nor beauty, but 
 see that if it were not for the club on which he rests, 
 he would tumble down from liis own weight, and that 
 if he were starving, he wouldn't have energy enough 
 to eat those three apples he holds in his hand. To me, 
 his hugeness is not grandeur, nor is his repose dignity, 
 and if I had to pass judgment on the statue, I should 
 say it was modelled on the principle of the Fat Boy 
 in Pickwick, only doubly fat and trebly sleepy. But 
 how different is that divine Mercury in Florence! I 
 never admired it so much as now. There is nothing 
 gross or earthly in his composition; bones and muscles 
 never suggest themselves, and nothing suggests itself 
 but a God-like will and a God-like power to perform. 
 When I see the Hercules, I feel like a washerwoman 
 and want my tub, but when I see the Mercury, I feel 
 something more than mortal and want my wings. To 
 my notion a statue that revives our recollections of 
 the dissecting room, before it arouses our human 
 sympathies, is as unnatural a production as a flower 
 would be, which would suggest the hoe and the spade 
 before it asserted its own divine right of beauty and 
 infinite perfection. 
 
 *The Farnese Hercules in the Museo Borbonico.
 
 76 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 So, you happy girl, you have seen our dear, quiet, 
 gentle friend * in her own sanctum, nearer the blue sky, 
 you say, than most people, and nearer Heaven, I say, 
 than manJ^ I am not surprised that " the very air 
 seems still and calm about her," because she is stillness 
 and calmness personified. There, she must be in her 
 element, with her flowers and her books and pictures 
 around her. I never can fancy her in a bustle, or in 
 a busy crowd, any more than I could fancy the Night- 
 blooming Cereus to blossom in the Piazza Navona, 
 and our dear gentle friend is indeed closely allied to 
 that same flower, seeming more lovable and pure by 
 contrast with the dark world around her. 
 
 Yesterday I went into Rome to have photographs 
 taken of my son and daughter ; f the latter was suc- 
 cessful, the former only partly so, and we must try 
 again. Master Puck's god-mother, you know, is to 
 be that dear Mrs. Emily, to whom I am going to send 
 the portraits of her devil-born god-child as soon 
 as they can be printed. I shall send, too, the 
 ffinone, which you must dispose of as you like 
 best. 
 
 By the way, I have found a famous block of marble 
 for the Cenci, and she is progressing in that material. 
 I made several changes in her after you went away, 
 for instance gave her a vast quantity more hair, put- 
 ting veiy sizable locks over the raised shoulder, made 
 a cushion of the upper stone (which was a great 
 improvement), and put on (I'm sure you will say, 
 "Oh! horror!") a slipper!!! Perhaps you would be 
 shocked if you saw that slipper, perhaps pleased; for 
 my part, I liked it because it was more in costume, 
 and from the arrangement of drapery I was afraid 
 it might look like an affectation of the antique unless 
 I had something to modernize it a bit. Little Miss 
 
 * Mrs. Browning. f Puck and (Enone.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 77 
 
 W said the prettiest thing about my child, and 
 
 hence I am greatly in love with her. They made 
 us a visit one day, and her sister said, " How 
 well she sleeps." " No," said she, " How well she 
 dreams." 
 
 I had a dear letter from Mrs. Sartoris a few days 
 ago. She speaks of Leighton's picture as " a tre- 
 mendous failure." I sympathize with Fay,* certainly, 
 and am very sorry for his disappointment, but the 
 consequences of all this criticism and censure will be 
 a capital picture next year. 
 
 Here I am on the last and eighth page, and what 
 have I written? Nothing in a great deal. I begin to 
 think myself a lineal descendant of the Queen of the 
 Cannibals, whose husband was forced to devour her, 
 to make her keep silence. Were I a mathematical 
 genius like your dear self, I would find out the pro- 
 portion of sense to nonsense in this letter, by dividing 
 it rectangularly and obliquely after the fashion of the 
 Piazza Colonna. As I am not, I shall confide to 
 Bessie the task of ascertaining, because she nobly con- 
 fessed that her talent did not point in that direction 
 and I am clever enough to take advantage of the cir- 
 cumstance. 
 
 Alas! no more of those cosey Sunday evenings. I 
 ma}^ see the room again,!' the self-same room, but not 
 those same dear faces in it, wliich made it what it was 
 to me, and I may perhaps be welcomed there again 
 by kind voices, but not by the kinder voices of that 
 dear mother of yours, nor of that loving and lovable 
 Mrs. Emily, nor of that gentle, sisterly Bessie, nor 
 by the stern imperious voice of my Annie. These 
 have been, but are not, though we must hope will yet 
 
 * Frederick Leighton, afterwards Lord Leighton, President of the Royal 
 Academy. 
 
 f At 54 Via Sistina.
 
 78 HARRIET IIOSMER 
 
 be, and so, being grateful for the past and loving in 
 the present and hoping in the future, and with as 
 many kisses to all, as there have been little fairy feet 
 dancing over these ferns,* hold me ever thy 
 
 Hat. 
 
 Another busy winter followed, of which Miss Hos- 
 mer writes: 
 
 r, i\r /-I Rome, Feb. 15, 1857. 
 
 Dear 3Ir. Crom: ' ' 
 
 I hasten to reply as well as I can to yours, for I 
 confess honestly I scarcely know how. I am not 
 very skilful in expressing on paper what I feel in my 
 heart. Words are cold and formal things. . . . But 
 for you, I should not be in Italy now, and that is as 
 much as saying I never should have been an artist. 
 You are princely to me, dear Mr. Crow, in more ways 
 than one, and not the least pleasing of the royal spirit 
 j^ou show towards me is your undoubting confidence 
 in my eventual success. It is heart's blood to me, to 
 have you speak so confidently of my future, and in- 
 spires me with heart enough to contend with twice the 
 quantity and quality of obstacles which beset Hercules, 
 and so help me Heaven! I would work my fin- 
 gers off, rather than disappoint the hopes you re- 
 pose in me, or that I should not manifest in a 
 visible and actual way my appreciation of all your 
 kindness. 
 
 As the Yankees say, " Statuary has riz " with me, 
 and I have as much as I can do, and it pleases me to 
 the backbone, to be able to tell you that I have had 
 a jolly winter. First and foremost an order from 
 an English gentleman for a bust, and an order from 
 Mr. Clift of New York for a copy of Puck. Then 
 one from Miss Cushman for another copy of the 
 same. Then an order for two large bassi-relievi. 
 
 * Referring to the sprays of maidenhair fern enclosed.
 
 PUCK
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 79 
 
 Then another for two portrait medallions of the 
 Ladies Constance and Adelaide Talbot, which I shall 
 begin on Monday next. And I may have an order 
 for a small copy of the Cenci. I enclose to you a 
 photograph of the last mentioned lady and one of my 
 son Puck.* 
 
 The Cenci is packed and sent away, and arrives 
 this night at Civita Vecchia, from which place it will 
 be shipped to Southampton. Mr. Gibson has written 
 to Sir Charles Eastlake to secure for it a good place 
 in the exhibition (which he had already promised to 
 do), and somebody has said a good word for it over 
 the Channel, for Ladj^ Waterford, who is an oracle 
 upon art in London, has written for a photograph of 
 it. She has set out on her journey under favorable 
 auspices, and now we must wait the result of her 
 exhibition. I am not afraid to say that it beats the 
 CEnone, which I wish were better, for your sake. 
 
 Well, I have talked enough about self, and will 
 tip off by saying that I am well and strong; scramble 
 about on a little Albanese pony (which cost the sum 
 of 50 scudi and is about the size of a Newfoundland 
 dog) whenever I can find time from my work. I 
 shall appear over the ocean in August! 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 * Someone has justly said: 
 
 " This little forest elf is the very personification of boyish self-will and 
 mischief. With his right hand he grasps a beetle, and seems about to throw it; 
 with his left he presses unconsciously a lizard. In all the lines of the face, in 
 all the action of the body, gleams forth the mischievous self-will of a being 
 scarcely aware of the pain he causes, while rollicking in the consciousness of his 
 tiny might. 
 
 What a moment of fun and drollery was that in which he was conceived! 
 What delicious pertness in that upturned toe! It is a laugh in marble." 
 
 The Prince of Wales had one of many copies and it was called the favorite 
 of all modern statues. It has gone to Australia, the West Indies and into per- 
 haps fifty other places. The Crown Princess of Germany (afterwards the 
 Empress Frederick) on viewing it in the studio exclaimed " Oh, Miss Hosmer, 
 you have such talent for toes!"
 
 80 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Dearest Hatty: Florence. May 22, '57. 
 
 Your note came to hand (and heart) a day or two 
 ago. I daresay j^ou know what a sad winter-time 
 we had of it, with bad news from England every 
 other month. Now, that is, a month ago, the death 
 of Ba's father. She has seen nobody but Isa Blagden 
 since then, nor once left the house. (But she shall, 
 if I carry her, and before the week is out.) How 
 often we both of us meant to write to you, you ought 
 to guess and do, perhaps. 
 
 So you won't take Florence on your way to Eng- 
 land, but on your return, I'll engage. And what 
 shall we do, who don't mean to set our faces toward 
 England for a year at least? Do try and take us 
 back to Rome with you, as you easily can. To think 
 we have lost three years of j'^ou, Hatty! 
 
 I would give something to see your statue in Lon- 
 don. All I have heard as yet about it is that it is 
 well placed, but that little sculpture vault is an 
 abomination, when the best is made of it. What else 
 besides the sleeping girl's figure, of which people re- 
 port so well?* What else are you doing? 
 
 Didn't I think of you the other day, when I got 
 perpetuated in plaster, back of a shaggy Abbey wall, 
 in this neighborhood. As I came home I was a little 
 inclined to salute it, after English souvenir festivities, 
 with a "hip-hip-hip-hurrah!" Now I naturally turn 
 to Mrs. Jameson, that she liked you extremely we 
 had from her own mouth (or pen) long ago and 
 I rejoice that you can say those pleasant things 
 about her from your heart. With her and Mr. 
 Gibson, and other friends, you will want no letters to 
 English people, of course. Should anything happen 
 
 * Beatrice Cenci.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 81 
 
 to strike you, that Ba or myself could do, you will 
 tell us, won't you? 
 
 I have not heard a word from, nor of, dear Mrs. 
 Sartoris, nor Leighton, nor Cartwright — you must 
 hear sometimes. It seems strangest of all that I 
 should be so near, in flesh and spirit, to that noble 
 Page, and never have word or sign from him. How 
 glad I am that your picture is done. You heard 
 of all the sickening mischances about mine — better 
 fortune to you — and in all things best fortune, dearest 
 Hatty! Ba's kindest love — she sends it while I write. 
 
 Yours affectionately ever, 
 
 H. B.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 1857 
 
 In the early summer of this year, the artist left 
 Rome to make her first visit to her native land after 
 five years of absence, which had been spent in earnest 
 study and work. On her way, she made a short stop 
 in England, to be present at the opening of the Royal 
 Academy, to which she had sent her statue of Beatrice 
 Cenci. From there she writes: 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: l^^^i>o^. July 25, 1857. 
 
 I have been carrying your last good letter in my 
 pocket for several days, hourly intending to answer 
 it, and never having ten minutes in which to do so. 
 It is now eleven o'clock p. m., but I am determined 
 to remain perpendicular until I see it signed and 
 sealed (if not delivered) ; more particularly as this 
 is the first time that I have been at home before one 
 or two o'clock a. m. ; and my principle is to seize 
 opportunities. 
 
 I don't know that you know how much there is to 
 be done in London when you once set about it, but 
 the time I have been here is long enough to make 
 me feel the effect of late hours and dissipation, and 
 though I am really getting fat upon it, I begin to 
 long for country air and country quiet. I have en- 
 joyed my stay here immense^, have made many new 
 friends, have seen lots of old ones, and have been 
 treated with great kindness, but my life is so different 
 
 82
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 83 
 
 here from that in Rome, that in the words of the 
 song, " I'm not myself at all, at all," and don't know 
 what I should become in another fortnight. There 
 is such a bustle and whirl of gayety, that one is swept 
 along without knowing where one is. I must give you 
 a long account of my being and doing, when I have 
 the delight of seeing you, which will be soon now, 
 for I shall probably sail on the first of August. I 
 will send the Cenci on August the 5th from South- 
 ampton. . . . 
 
 I am staying with Mrs. Sartoris while here. Oh, 
 she is such a darling! So clever and so amusing. Her 
 loss in Rome will never be supplied. But I have 
 Miss Cushman there, who is like a mother to me and 
 who spoils me utterly. How good and thoughtful 
 she is; she thinks of everybody's pleasure and welfare, 
 and manages to stretch out a handful of blessings to 
 every one she knows, sooner or later. . . . 
 
 I forgot to say that not having enough to do with 
 
 my other engagements here, I must needs make 
 
 more, by sitting for two paintings * of my ugly 
 
 phiz, but unfortunately the)^ stay this side the ocean. 
 
 Yours, TT 
 
 At the Royal Academy Exhibition, Miss Hosmer 
 met an old and warm friend, ]Mr. George Ticknor f 
 of Boston, who evidently felt a national pride in his 
 young countrywoman, and in writing home he thus 
 speaks of her; 
 
 London, July 29, 1857. 
 " The illumination this evening at the exhibition of 
 the Academy of Arts made everything very brilliant, 
 and the company, which could move about easily in 
 
 ♦Two portraits by Sir William Boxall. f Of " Spanish Literature."
 
 84 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 such great spaces, comprised, it seemed to me, nearly 
 everybody I know in London, and what was more, 
 everybody seemed animated, talkative, and uncon- 
 strained. Miss Hosmer had staid in order to be 
 present to-night, and she had the benefit of it. She 
 came rather late, and I had talked about her Cenci 
 with Eastlake, Waegen, and other people whose word 
 in such a matter is law here, and I had shown it to Sir 
 Roderick JNIurcliison, the Heads, the Milmans, the 
 Bishop of London, General Williams the hero of 
 Kars, and to Lord and Lady Palmerston, though I 
 think not to the last till near the end of the evening. 
 She was neatly and simply dressed in pink silk, and 
 looked uncommonly pretty. I found she knew a 
 good many people, old Lady Morley, the Cardwells, 
 and others, but I took her, and presented her to the 
 Heads, the Bishop of London and Mrs. Tait, Gen- 
 eral Williams, the Laboucheres, Lord and Lady Palm- 
 erston, Sir W. Holland, and sundry others I now 
 forget. She pleased. Her statue * was much praised. 
 She was very happy, and I enjoyed it a great deal. 
 When Lord and Lady Palmerston were looking at 
 the Cenci and expressing great admiration, Eastlake 
 touched my arm, and whispered, so that they could 
 hear it, ' Everybody says the same sort of things. 
 It is really a beautiful work of art, and for one of 
 her age quite wonderful.' Pretty soon after this I 
 came home. It was quite time, nearly 1 o'clock. I 
 was sorry to leave the little Hosmer, for I had to bid 
 her good-by, she goes to-morrow, but I think she had 
 enough of distinction to-night, to make her glad she 
 came to London." 
 
 Miss Hosmer's long holiday in her own country 
 among old friends proved to be all that was delight- 
 
 * The Beatrice Cenci.
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 w 
 o 
 
 t— I 
 
 < 
 
 w
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 85 
 
 ful and the exhibition of her Beatrice Cenci was most 
 successful. The only cloud upon her summer was the 
 financial panic of that year, which caused trouble far 
 and wide. 
 
 After several months at home, she writes : 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 -, ^ Watertown, Oct., 1857. 
 
 Dear C: 
 
 My movements are now definite, as I shall sail on 
 the " Vanderbilt " on the 24th of October. I am en- 
 joying myself so greatly that I shall scarcely get up 
 enough enterprise to carry me to Italy, and j^et my 
 fingers are burning to get hold of some clay. . . . 
 
 It is wonderful what perfect disarrangement there 
 is in financial affairs here, no end of failures in Bos- 
 ton, and affecting people long accustomed to the ease 
 and inactivity wliich wealth engenders. Blessed be 
 nothing, saj^ I, then there is no danger of greater 
 poverty. I am sure if the Lord protects liis own; 
 your good father will escape. I would go anywhere 
 to see him, I cannot think of leaving here without. 
 Unless he gave me his especial farewell and blessing, 
 I should not expect to succeed in any undertaking. 
 I want to see your sisterly face too, as I am leaving 
 these shores, to sen^e as a magnet to draw me back 
 again when I have made one more revolution of a 
 statue. . . . 
 
 But I will write no more, tliis fingering on, when 
 you have really nothing to say, is like staying and 
 staying, for no other reason than to rejoice in the 
 light of a countenance from wliich it is impossible 
 to tear one's self away. 
 
 Your H.
 
 86 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 T^ Tir /-* Watertown, Oct., 1857. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ' ' 
 
 I have just received your letter. I am sure Provi- 
 dence will steer you clear, over this stormy sea of 
 worry and trouble. If misery loves company, there 
 is no lack just now of that article, for as the Irish 
 sen^ant remarked to his master, when he presented 
 him with one long and another short boot, " The 
 pair upstairs is just in the same fix." So is every- 
 body in the same fix. There never was anything like 
 it, and I suppose can't be worse, so that any change 
 will be for the better. I wish to Heaven I had the 
 mines of Golconda to sift for you. The will is not 
 wanting, onlj'' the gems. I don't know but that is 
 better than to have the gems and not the will. It 
 does seem vexatious that two such nice people as 
 ourselves should ever be forced to think of ways 
 and means, and blessed be the Creator, who has 
 provided a place where we shall eventually live on 
 credit and faith. I need not say with Horace, " Be 
 brave, be bold," because good hearts are always 
 strong, and the sweetest drop in a cup of lemon juice 
 like the present is to find out who are your best 
 friends; at least, I did, at such a time. 
 
 I fear my talents do not lie in the direction of busi- 
 ness, but I should like to be where I could talk non- 
 sense to you, when you come away from your office, 
 and read to you the Democritan philosophy, but I 
 think that ingredient mingles largely in your com- 
 position, and I do not know any one who could more 
 successfully ward off an impending calamity, or more 
 cheerfully accept the heaviest, if such were the will 
 of Fate. 
 
 It must be such a god of consideration as yourself, 
 to think about, or inquire after, my affairs, in the
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 87 
 
 midst of the worry of your own. Yes, my Cenci 
 arrived and was opened to be publicly hashed yes- 
 terday. She came in perfect safety, and wanted 
 nothing but a bath here and there, to make her as 
 good as when she left the studio. That she had, and 
 reposes beneath a heavenly and most becoming light, 
 and begins to attract a reception around her. I think 
 she will repose from her wanderings for about three 
 weeks, when the course of the tide and of human 
 events will bear her to New Orleans and thence to her 
 grandfather's arms. 
 
 On the 24th of October I put myself on the " Van- 
 derbilt " for Havre. You do not come to New York 
 till the 28th. Colburn * would say there was no hope 
 of my seeing you, but a small creature named Cupid 
 comes to console me and to assure me that if the 
 worst comes to the worst, he can at least manage to 
 have a picture hung round my heart, which he swears 
 will be unchangeable, and I believe him, though I 
 don't yet resign all hopes of telling you this viva voce. 
 
 My father is sound asleep at this hour, or else 
 would send you some tender message, but mine must 
 represent the cream of it. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 While in America Miss Hosmer received these let- 
 ters from her master: 
 
 JOHN GIBSON TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 14 Welbeck St., Cavendish Square, 
 
 Mn dear little Hatty: ^* "^ ^^P*- ^«^'^- 
 
 I was very glad indeed to find that you were safe 
 at Boston, and my rival is equally happy to hear 
 that you are well, that is, you know, old Boxall. 
 
 * Of Mental Arithmetic.
 
 88 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 I spent five days in the country with the Cardwells, 
 and there was Mr. Ticknor, as usual most agreeable 
 and clever. I saw the Manchester Exhibition, and 
 was much pleased, and Mr. Sandbach met me there 
 and tried hard to get me to go to Liverpool with 
 him, but I could not go there; promised to visit him 
 next year and take you with me, but perhaps your 
 father will keep you now safe where you are. He 
 would relieve me of the trouble of keeping you out 
 of the Devil's ways. If he does let you slip out of 
 his hands, he ought to be satisfied to be without you 
 for some years, because crossing that vast sea is very 
 dangerous. I think you had better come back very 
 soon, before the bad weather begins. I dare say 
 those horrid Republicans will want to keep you, bad 
 as you are. 
 
 The day after to-morrow is Monday the 7th Sept. 
 and on that day I leave for Rome in company 
 with Spence, but I shall not be in Rome till the 1st 
 October. I enclosed your letter to Mr. Hay and 
 left it with Murray to forward to his address, or to 
 keep till he comes to London. I do not know his 
 wanderings. 
 
 Yesterday, Miss Hayes and Miss P. came and 
 saw your picture, and they admired the likeness 
 very much indeed. Yesterday I called upon Mrs. 
 Crawford; she is greatly pulled down; Crawford 
 is fast going, he is quite blind of the healthy eye. 
 I dare say we shall very soon hear of liis death. 
 
 Your statue was shipped soon after you left. The 
 judges have awarded the prizes for the models of 
 the Wellington, but they did not see any merit in 
 mine nor Macdonald's. Lady Marion Alford and 
 others are disgusted. Sir Charles Eastlake wrote 
 me a note saying how he regrets that I condescended 
 to send them anything. 
 
 Be good; return soon; if you don't, I shall look
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 89 
 
 out for another, but I do not expect to find such 
 another clever fellow as you are. Remember me 
 most kindly to your father. 
 
 Always affectionately yours, 
 
 John Gibson. 
 
 JOHN GIBSON TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 My dear little Hatty: 
 
 This is to thank you most sincerely for your most 
 welcome letter, which I have received, hoping that 
 your statue will arrive by the time you expect, and 
 that you may fly from those horrid Republicans to 
 Rome. At the same time I give them the credit of 
 their good taste and proper feeling towards you. 
 They do themselves credit by encouraging you, fat 
 as you are! 
 
 I want to make a cat's-paw of you to annoy those 
 money-making sculptors of London, to send to the 
 exhibition your works regularly. I am sure you will 
 surpass many of them, that is, if you can save your- 
 self from the attraction of Love. I do not want 
 to make you angry by saying, " become an old maid." 
 No, no! 
 
 If when you are at Paris the exiiibition is open, 
 go there to see their sculpture, for when I was there, 
 on my return, their sculpture was all arranged. I 
 hope you will see it and their busts of ladies — observe 
 the taste. . . . 
 
 I presented your kind remembrances here and all 
 were much pleased. Make haste and let me see your 
 dear httle self, not thin, but fat and well. 
 
 Affectionately, Jq^n Gibson, 
 
 Sculptor, 
 
 At Rome, 26th Oct., 1857. and your slave.
 
 90 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 At Dk. Bellows', New York, Oct. 1857. 
 
 Dear 3Ir. Crow: 
 
 The' it is midnight and my packing still to be 
 done, I cannot leave our shores without saj^ing good- 
 by on terra firma. On the assurance that the prayers 
 of a righteous woman avail much, I count on seeing 
 you next winter in Rome, when you have outridden 
 the financial Hellespont, wliich, like that classic 
 stream, threatens everybody in its hungry maw. I 
 have seen Miss Catharine Sedgwick this evening, 
 who said the good angels were favoring you, and that 
 the threatening gales were subsiding over the financial 
 ocean. I pray God and fate that such may be the 
 case, for I know of nobodj'' who so little deserves 
 castigation in any way as yourself, if you will let 
 me say so. 
 
 Dr. Bellows has been all that is delightful, and 
 Mrs. Bellows the milk of human kindness. The sec- 
 ond day that I was in New York I came here to 
 stay, and had a charming dinner party. To-day I 
 have been flpng about, and to-night have had a 
 soiree. Miss Sedgwick and two of her nieces Avere 
 here, and divers people whom I was very glad to 
 see. They want my Cenci at the English Art Ex- 
 hibition here, and have offered to bring it from Bos- 
 ton at their own risk and expense. I am not only 
 acquiescent, but pleased. It is to be packed in about 
 a fortnight. Will probably stay here six weeks, and 
 then resume its journey to St. Louis. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Miss Hosmer sailed on October 24th for England, 
 and on the voyage she indulged in the following 
 characteristic bit of fun:
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 91 
 
 To the Hen that laid the egg the poet had for breakfast on 
 board the Vanderhilt Monday morning, November 2, 1857. 
 
 Hail, laying bird, and thrice all hail ! 
 
 Thou'st raised an egg'^ my voice I'll raise. 
 For will shall not, if flesh shall fail, 
 
 To greet thy lays with other lays. 
 
 Thy yolk was easy, but for me, 
 
 Though with material more ample, 
 How idly vain the hope would be, 
 
 Like thee to set as good egg-sample! 
 
 In vain tho' e'en heart's blood I spilt. 
 And yet than now, what time more fit, 
 
 While I upon the Vanderhilt, 
 
 Or brooding o'er the hatch-way sit.'* 
 
 For laying claims to lay eggs 
 
 Would be too like (my way of reading) 
 
 The last hen on her final legs; 
 
 'Twould be the last fowl proceeding. 
 
 I'm not in-grate, nor yet in small, 
 
 Or smaller things would do thee wrong; 
 
 Thou shellest out thy little all, 
 Like Shelley, I'll give thee a song. 
 
 A song, and words of comfort too. 
 
 Progression still kind nature sings, 
 And keeping this advice in view, 
 
 Lay thyself out for greater things. 
 
 For greater things, and thou shalt shine. 
 
 Confessed by savage and by sage; 
 If other voices arc like mine. 
 
 The only Nestor of the age.
 
 92 HARRIET TTOSIMKR 
 
 TTpon landing in Kiiglarid Miss Ilosnier proceeded 
 immcdiiitcly to Italy. She stopped for a time in 
 Florence and she mentions in her letters that she and 
 Mrs. Jameson breakfasted daily together and that 
 they always dined with the Brownings at Casa Guidi. 
 
 During a winter that Mr. and Mrs. Browning had 
 passed in Rome, INliss Ilosmer had made a cast of 
 their hands.* Hawthorne thus alludes to it in his 
 " Marble Faun," " Harriet Ilosmer's Clasped Hands 
 of Browning and his wife symboli/e the individuality 
 and heroic union of two high, poetic lives." 
 
 When questioned about this work later, Miss Hos- 
 mer said: — 
 
 " The history of the hands is very brief. In the 
 winter of 1853, my second winter in Rome, I made 
 the personal ac(|uaintance of Mr. and Mis. Browning. 
 I then conceived the idea of casting their hands, and 
 asked Mrs. Browning if she would consent. ' Yes,' 
 she said, ' provided you will cast them, but I will 
 not sit for the formaiorc' Consequently 1 did the 
 casting myself." 
 
 Among many lines written at the time of Mr. 
 Browning's death, were two, which might not inaptly 
 be inscribed upon these hands: 
 
 " ]*.'irt('(l hy (Ic'.'iili," we say, 
 But " hand in hand Ihcy hold I heir eternal way." 
 
 It was just before going to Florence that Miss 
 Ilosmer received this letter: 
 
 * This original cast is now in the possession of the writer.
 
 Till': CLASPED HANDS UF MR. AND MRS. RROWNING 
 
 "l-.JiRTED nV DEATH," WE S.\Y — 
 YET HAND IN HAND THEY WEND THITK ElEKNAL WAV. 
 
 Harriet Jlosiiier
 
 1
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 93 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 n f TT ft' • Florence, October 19, 1857. 
 
 You know whether or not we are glad to hear from 
 you, and more glad to expect your very self to come, 
 and most glad of all to hope to be along with you 
 at Rome this winter. We do hope that, and mean 
 that, as seriously as you wish we should if there is 
 any believing the w^ords of your mouth — only, if you 
 really were to arrive at the last of October as you 
 promise, there would be no persuading Ba to start 
 then, or before the end of November; for, I'll tell 
 you, we went to the Baths of Lucca two months and 
 a half ago, and first of all, our friend Mr. Lytton, 
 who came a few days after us, had an attack of 
 gastric fever that laid him up for :iix weeks. Next, 
 Penini caught it, a twelve days' business only (he's 
 well now), and last our maid performed her little 
 piece of feverishness, till we had enough of it. So 
 we intend to run no risks. Still, you may be de- 
 tained later than you expect, and we may gain 
 courage as the chilly weather approaches. In any 
 case I assure you we hope, as I say, and mean, to 
 go to Rome this winter, and we'll settle all about 
 it when you come here. Will that do? I shall count 
 on your writing from Paris as you promise, so as 
 to be able to reckon days and nights, and keep 
 my arms open to the proper width, for the jump 
 into them from the railway carriage, which I also 
 count on. 
 
 Isa has gone to Leghorn, and I shall follow her 
 thither this evening, and return in her company to- 
 morrow. Won't she rejoice in you! Mrs. Jameson 
 is in this very town, next door to us and she sent her 
 especial love to you last night. I shall leave Ba 
 room to put in a word — Ah! Won't we have a time
 
 94 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 of it! It's too good to prove true, that's the word: 
 but you're a darhng. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 Mrs. Browning says : 
 
 " Ba's best love and as Robert won't wait, dearest 
 Hattie, at Florence now, and Rome afterwards. 
 
 E. B. B." 
 
 Once again in her studio after these visits to 
 America and to Florence, the artist writes: 
 
 Rome, Nov., 1857. 
 Dea?' Mr. Crow: 
 
 Behold me here glorious and triumphant after 
 braving all the perils of the sea and the land. What 
 will you think of me, never to have written you a 
 word while I was a pelligrina? If the heart could 
 hold a pen I should have written a folio every day. 
 But alas, how we are trammelled by the flesh! 
 
 I find my affairs here very satisfactory. Marble 
 exquisite for my work, and my flock of Pucks ad- 
 vancing, Mr. Gibson tells me to-day I must raise 
 my price for the latter named gentleman, and I am 
 very willing to obey, in future, and I agree with 
 you, it is time that I was paid in more glittering 
 currency than " glory." Glory does not drive the 
 machine, though it makes it glisten, and at this very 
 moment I have far more of the glitter than of the 
 precious metal. Now I shall attack a small sketch 
 in clay, for a fountain, because fountains always 
 come in play! 
 
 I had a most delightful stay in Florence. The 
 Brownings were kinder to me than you can possibly 
 imagine, and so was dear Mrs. Jameson, who was
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 95 
 
 in the same house. I am more and more grateful, 
 every time I see them, that I have the privilege of 
 knowing them so well. 
 
 I think this story of Mr. Browning's will entertain 
 you: 
 
 " I was dining out last night," said Mr. Brown- 
 ing, " and took in to dinner Lady . What ques- 
 tions do you think she asked me? 
 
 " ' Mr. Browning, what do you know of the Daven- 
 port Brothers? ' 
 
 " I explained to the best of my ability that they 
 were uncommonly clever conjurers. 
 
 " ' Oh, very interesting,' said the lady. * Well then, 
 Mr. Browning, what are the Plymouth Brethren?' 
 
 " ' A certain sect,' said I, ' who have peculiar ideas 
 concerning religion and things in general.' 
 
 " ' Oh, very interesting,' again said the Lady, 
 ' Well, now, Mr. Browning, what can you tell me of 
 Yarmouth Bloaters?' 
 
 " ' Si non e vero hen trovatof said I. 
 
 " I assure you it is every word true," said Mr. 
 Browning. 
 
 Then I believed him, but what is still inexplicable 
 is that the lady, who bears a very intellectual name, 
 is herself regarded as a woman of great intelligence, 
 yet here was Mr. Browning's experience. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Although much given to puns. Miss Hosmer had 
 no illusions about them, as appears from her own 
 comments. She said: 
 
 " A pun, like champagne, loses its sparkle when 
 too long drawn out. Its flash is its savor. 
 
 Browning delighted in puns. English w^as not 
 always sufficiently elastic and then he took refuge in 
 Greek. As for Lowell, puns dropped from his lips
 
 96 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 as pearls dropped from the lips of the good fairy. 
 Story was an inveterate punster and oh! what savory 
 dishes with puns pique graced his delightful board 
 at the Barberini! And leaving laymen behind us, 
 well do I remember the Archbishop of Canterbury 
 (Dr. Tait), no whit behind other jiunsters at the 
 merry Loch Luichart banquets, gravely assuring us 
 that whenever he spoke to any member of his family 
 it ' was always in the form of a tete-a-tete,' and 
 giving us a conundrum too, at his own expense, 
 'Why am I a man of most regular habits?' 'Be- 
 cause I go to bed at eight (a Tait) and get up at 
 eight (a Tait).' 
 
 We do not claim that punning is legitimate wit. 
 Wit consists in combination of ideas, punning in com- 
 bination of words only. We wonder at the one, but 
 we laugh at the drollery of the other — as the world 
 goes a pun is regarded as an imponderable commodity, 
 all know the rank it holds in the order of pure intellect. 
 It is not Euclidean save that a pun if it be good, is 
 greater than its part, if it be a bad one, its part is 
 better than its whole. A happy vocabulary, keen 
 appreciation and a fine sense of the unfitness of things 
 are necessary ingredients in the manipulation of a 
 good pun and not all persons have these qualifica- 
 tions. It is like Caviar, it may be unsavory, but it is 
 appetizing and anything whatsoever that tends to 
 make life sit more lightly upon us in this weighty 
 century is to be hailed as a friend." 
 
 In referring to her previous association with Mrs. 
 Jameson, Miss Hosmer wrote: 
 
 " The pleasure of my third winter was greatly 
 enhanced by her presence in Rome where she was 
 working upon her ' Sacred and Legendary Art.' 
 It was my privilege to see a good deal of her. She
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 97 
 
 often came to my studio, and her talks upon art were 
 most instructive and helpful. Upon one visit, she 
 said, ' How disagreeable you are tliis morning.' 
 ' Dear me,' I replied, ' and I was trying to be par- 
 ticularly agreeable.' ' I have made two observations,' 
 returned Mrs. Jameson, ' and you have assented to 
 both: what becomes of conversation?' 
 
 In one of our rambles about Rome we visited the 
 Ludovisi Gallery, I think her first visit to it, and as 
 we stopped before the famous Juno, she exclaimed, 
 ' It is herself, her very self ! ' ' Who ? ' I inquired. 
 ' A young friend of mine in England, of whom, 
 saving the colossal size, this is the perfect image. 
 You should see her. What a model she would make 
 for j^ou ! ' Carefully viewing the face from every 
 point, then her praise became more eloquent of her 
 friend's classic beauty, but if she mentioned her 
 name I forgot it. Some years after, upon the occa- 
 sion of my first visit to Loch Luichart I had a gen- 
 uine surprise. In my room, over the mantelpiece 
 hung a picture, a drawing in ink, which at once I 
 recognized to be by the hand of Mrs. Jameson. ' Did 
 you know Mrs. Jameson?' I inquired, turning to 
 my hostess. ' Oh, very well, she was our governess,' 
 said Lady Ashburton. A light dawned upon me; 
 this was the classic model about whom Mrs. Jameson 
 was always talking. . . . 
 
 Much that I know of Florence I owe to Mrs* 
 Jameson and the other half to Mr. Browning." 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Bear Mr, Crow: ^«^^' ^^^- ^^^^^ 
 
 C. says that she had read divers good notices of the 
 Cenci and some that cut it up, but the latter kind do 
 an artist more good than the former.
 
 98 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 I am rejoiced to hear that affairs in America are 
 wearing a more favorable aspect, and that you are 
 riding safely through the storm. Indeed, I should 
 have doubted the justice of Providence if you had 
 suffered, and I was not alone in that opinion. You 
 must have had an anxious three months, and I can 
 suggest no better haven of rest after it than Rome. 
 Do bring every beloved member of your family, for 
 a long and blessed stay in this land of art and heart. 
 I am yours to command, to prepare you the way and 
 to make your paths, as well as your tongues, straight. 
 I shall not cease harping upon this string, till I 
 hear your own voice making music among us. 
 
 I have begun my work only now, having had a 
 siege of influenza since I arrived, and was kept locked 
 up for better preservation, till now I rise like a giant 
 rejuvenated from my feast of pills, and ready for 
 work. I am making a model for a fountain, an idea 
 which has been floating in my mind for some time. 
 
 As to having a studio of my own, I don't know 
 when I shall be able to accomplish it, as Mr. Gibson 
 doesn't seem inclined to let me go. INIy present idea 
 is, to get one or two rooms attached to his, where I 
 may have greater space, which is the only fault I 
 have to find with the dear little room where I work 
 at present. 
 
 ... I look back upon my visit last summer with 
 ever increasing pleasure. Everything was sunshine, 
 everybody so good to me, better than I deserve, sin- 
 ner as I am, and in return for all that kindness and 
 good feeling, I must try to do better and better, 
 mustn't I? 
 
 . . . Mrs. Gaskell has been here, and I asked her 
 if that delicious " Cranford " was historical or merely 
 fanciful, and she tells me that it is all from the life 
 and transpired in a httle country village to which 
 she was taken when a child. It was really Luxford,
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 99 
 
 and she said that she had delineated the people so 
 faithfully that two old ladies recognized themselves, 
 and she had never dared to show her face in the 
 place again. Yours, H. 
 
 Later, in speaking of her happy Florentine days, 
 Miss Hosmer said: 
 
 " One day at dinner Mrs. Browning said in half- 
 soliloquy, ' I wonder which is the best name, Laura 
 Leigh or Aurora Leigh?' and asked both of us our 
 opinions. Browning gave his vote in favor of Aurora, 
 and I not knowing at all to what she referred and 
 thinking merely of the sound, said, ' Oh, Aurora, 
 Laura Leigh lacks backbone.' When the book was 
 published Mrs. Browning remembering this casual 
 remark sent me a copy with the message that she 
 ' hoped it contained backbone.' " 
 
 Some memories of her sojourn with the Brown- 
 ings in Florence were given by Miss Hosmer in the 
 " Youth's Companion," a few years later, and, through 
 the courtesy of its editor, are repeated here. She 
 said: 
 
 " Asked by a friend to whom I could not say 
 ' nay ' to crystallize certain memories connected with 
 Mrs. Browning, I take from my note-book the sub- 
 stance of the following: 
 
 Nothing is more difficult than to write of a per- 
 fectly uneventful, serenely happy life. Far easier 
 is it to sketch a landscape which reflects Nature in 
 her more capricious moods, than one over which 
 reigns unbroken sunshine. Such was the atmosphere 
 which reigned in Casa Guidi. By a kindly fate such
 
 100 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 storms and clouds as usually attend human life 
 seemed arrested at its portal, while no household care 
 or anxiety was ever suffered, by the most devoted 
 husband the world has ever seen, to mar the sweet 
 serenity of its days. 
 
 Mrs. Browning's poetry has been analyzed, her 
 person portrayed, much of her inner life recorded, in 
 her letters recently published, so that to dwell upon 
 these topics would be to produce no new thing. I 
 shall, therefore, take the reader into confidence, as- 
 sume that he is an intimate friend of all parties 
 herein mentioned, and review certain experiences 
 connected with herself and Mr. Browning which 
 otherwise could not see the light, since I am the sole 
 survivor of the incidents of which I write. 
 
 The impression is general that Mrs. Browning 
 was of a melancholy cast of thought. ' Cheery, yes, 
 but could she really laugh? Has she ever been known 
 to indulge in a heart}^ burst of laughter?' The 
 same question, more than once, has been addressed 
 to me in respect of Carlyle, and similarly answered. 
 ' What ! the grim old Professor of Cheyne Row 
 laugh ! ' Yes, and none more heartily, and so with 
 Mrs. Browning; and none possessed a quicker sense 
 of the grotesque, or more keenly relished an ab- 
 surdity than did she. Furthermore, none could be 
 sad in the constant presence of Mr. Browning, whose 
 spirits were those of a schoolboy, and who, believing 
 in the efficacy of laughter, encouraged all symptoms 
 of hilarity on the part of Mrs. Browning. Perhaps 
 her masterpiece of merriment was preserved for the 
 grand finale of an incident in which Mr. Browning 
 and I were concerned. 
 
 During the happy summer of which I write, I 
 occupied certain rooms in the Villa Bricchieri, on 
 Bellosguardo, sharing the upper floor with Miss 
 Blagden, the ' dear Isa ' so frequently mentioned in
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 101 
 
 Mrs. Browning's letters. From Bellosguardo I 
 walked down every week-day morning to the city, 
 often breakfasting with Mrs. Jameson, who was then 
 reviewing her ' Legendary Art,' and who occupied 
 the third floor of Casa Guidi, spent the morning in 
 the Specolo studying anatomy, and returned to Casa 
 Guidi to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Browning. Up to 
 Bellosguardo Mr. Browning, who rose early and 
 was fond of a morning walk, often came to meet me. 
 
 ' If there is one thing my soul craves more than 
 another,' said I, on one of these occasions, ' it is to 
 take a turn in a donkey caretta' 
 
 * And so you shall,' said Mr. Browning, * and that 
 now, for there, just coming out of the gate, is Giro- 
 lomo, who every morning brings us vegetables to 
 Casa Guidi. We will appropriate his caretta, take 
 a turn in it up Poggio Imperiale toward his vigna, 
 come back and meet him. Hullo Girolomo ! ' 
 
 Thus accosted, Girolomo paused; the proposition 
 was made, immediately accepted; Girolomo descended 
 and yielded up the reins. 
 
 These carette, common enough in Italy, may per- 
 haps be best described as barrows, the entire solid 
 bottom of which consists of a narrow plank, running 
 from end to end, the rest being a network of rope 
 upon which a loose board is placed for the feet. 
 From side to side of the caretta extends another 
 board which serves as seat, and which, obeying Na- 
 ture's laws, has a tendency to retreat in proportion 
 as the steed advances. On this occasion a small heap 
 of vegetables in the after part of the caretta, refuse 
 of the morning supply, added to the general pic- 
 turesqueness of the vehicle. 
 
 And now for Girolomo's donkey: Let science 
 boast as it may of the marvels achieved by the X-rays! 
 All that they have achieved — all they ever will 
 achieve — sinks into nothingness compared with the
 
 102 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 intellectual achievement wrought by that donkey in 
 one instant of time. Although he had not turned 
 his wicked little eye upom us, we, and the whole sit- 
 uation, were photographed upon his wily brain. Be- 
 fore placing one foot before another, he had travelled 
 from Homer and Phidias down, and knew exactly 
 of what unpractical stuff poets and sculptors are 
 made. In his wicked little mind, and before the turn 
 of a hair, problems connected, not only with the 
 present and the past, but with futurity, were resolved. 
 
 'Will the donkey go without you, Girolomo?' in- 
 quired Mr. Browning, at this stage of the proceed- 
 ings. 
 
 'Oh, andra-andra! ' (he will go) said Girolomo, 
 with emphasis. Oh, the sly Florentine! How little 
 we suspected what that emphasis implied! 
 
 ' We will divide honors,' said I as we mounted the 
 equipage. ' You take one rope-rein and I will take 
 the other.' 
 
 ' Honors are easy,' said Mr. Browning. 
 
 (Note: Not so easy as we thought.) 
 
 A little time passed in silence; perhaps the poet 
 was congratulating himself upon having furnished a 
 prospective pleasure to his friend; perhaps the sculp- 
 tor was congratulating herself upon the materializa- 
 tion of a life-long ambition; but it is more likely that 
 both were silently occupied in striving to accommo- 
 date themselves to the unusual situation. 
 
 ' Ha ! ' said Browning, at last, giving a fillip to his 
 one rope-rein. ' This is great — de gustihus non/ 
 
 ' You had better let go your Latin and hold on to 
 your seat,' interrupted the sculptor. ' You do not 
 seem to be aware that we are being run away with ! ' 
 
 ' Nonsense ! ' said Browning. ' The donkey knows 
 he is going home! ' 
 
 ' He knows more than that,' said I. ' He knows 
 he is master of the situation,' and once more I was
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 103 
 
 impressed with the almost diabolical intelligence of the 
 animal, for, although uttered in what to him was a for- 
 eign tongue, he grasped the whole pith of the remark, 
 starting off with renewed vehemence upon his flight. 
 
 Silence again ensued, for the situation was critical. 
 Stones beneath and Girolomo's remaining vegetables 
 from the rear, shot out as if from a catapult; little 
 by little the loose foot-board, sole pivot of rest for 
 our feet, ' vanished,' so far as we were concerned, 
 ' into tliin air.' Little by little our sliding seat, 
 obeying Nature's laws of motion, retreated with 
 constantly accelerated strides, to the farthermost end 
 of the caretta; its next movement would be to launch 
 its occupants into space. Phaeton was no longer a 
 mj'^stery or myth — he was one with ourselves. 
 
 ' What if we should meet another caretta in this 
 narrow lane?' said I. 
 
 ' Or what if our feet should catch in the rope net 
 w^hen we are overturned ? ' said Browning, now fully 
 alive to the true nature of the situation. 
 
 But while Browning, between gasps for breath, 
 was tiying to reconcile this contingency with the dead 
 Hector at the chariot-wheel of Achilles, the donkey, 
 by an abrupt halt at the gate of his own vineyard, 
 taught us the true nature of centrifugal force. 
 
 ' Dio 7iiio! Cos-e ' said a voice belonging to a 
 head which suddenly appeared at an upper window 
 of the tenuta. ' San Antonio! It is Signor Brown- 
 ing! ' and the next minute clattering feet told us of 
 the swift approach of Assunta, wife of Girolomo, to 
 whom the voice and head belonged. 
 
 Italians are quick at the uptake, and aided by a 
 few words from INIr. Browning, Assunta compre- 
 hended in a moment the whole situation. ' Oh, was 
 there anything like the impertinence of animals? ' 
 But of all hestie imperiinente, this beast of Girolo- 
 mo's was the worst. He was an animal without
 
 104 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 moral sense. There was notliing to appeal to in his 
 composition. He was base from his head to his tail. 
 He was not an animal at all; he was an evil spirit 
 in disguise, and Assunta concluded the list of his 
 diabolical attributes by calling upon the Madonna 
 to witness that he was a disgrace to nature. 
 
 Time was passing, — it was far beyond the break- 
 fast hour, — and we began to adjust the disordered 
 caretta, preparatory to our return. Did we think to 
 drive back? What was mere human intelligence com- 
 pared with the subtle intellect of that animal who had 
 concocted and digested his entire programme in that 
 brief moment at the city gate? 
 
 Assunta was the chief actor in the return drama; 
 all physical effort having failed, her last resort was 
 moral suasion. Did he know that fire could melt 
 from off the gate his maladetto snout? Was he aware 
 that it could be severed from his body, remaining 
 forever where he had placed it, and countless horrors 
 of the same nature? Not a wince on the part of the 
 donkey — not the turn of a hair. The quarries of 
 Carrara were pliability itself compared with the 
 stolidity of that animal. 
 
 Convinced that Assunta's efforts, however well di- 
 rected, would prove fruitless, we accepted the only 
 alternative of returning on foot. So, bidding good- 
 bye to Assunta, who again called, not only upon the 
 Madonna, but upon all the saints to witness that 
 she never again would have a dry eye, since the 
 Signor Browning and the signorina were forced to 
 walk back, we turned our faces, wiser if not sadder 
 Florentines, toward the city gate. 
 
 Strewn along the road at frequent intervals were 
 vestiges of our creation — cabbage-leaves, stalks of 
 fennel, here and there a potato marked our flying 
 progress; and Browning, who, although usually de- 
 precating the practice, sometimes descended to the
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 105 
 
 level of a pun, said something in an undertone about 
 Marius and the ruins of Cart-age. 
 
 Farther on we met Girolomo, who, with an expres- 
 sion half-mischievous, half-compassionate, inquired 
 how we had enjoyed our drive. 
 
 Mr. Browning made a condensed report of the per- 
 formance, and added that the combined efforts of 
 Assunta, of the Signorina and of himself had failed 
 to detach the donkey's nose from the vineyard gate. 
 
 ' Ah, Signor,' said Girolomo ( Oh, the sly Flor- 
 entine!), 'I said " andra — andra" (he will go). I 
 never said he would coine!' 
 
 'What has happened?' inquired Mrs. Browning, 
 with much concern, connecting our generally be- 
 draggled appearance with the lateness of the hour. 
 
 * Nothing has happened, Ba,' said Mr. Browning, 
 reassuringly, ' but not a word till after breakfast, 
 for we are famished.' 
 
 Breakfast over, Mr. Browning, having cautioned 
 me to say nothing, disappeared, but presently re- 
 turned with a rope, a few boards, and a dish of 
 vegetables, — fruit of a raid upon the kitchen, and 
 which methought were strangely akin to those of 
 Girolomo. 
 
 'Robert, are you out of your mind?' asked Mrs. 
 Browning, gazing with amazement at the picture Mr. 
 Browning presented. 
 
 * Not more than usual, Ba,' was the reply; and 
 requesting her not to enter the library till called for, 
 he beckoned me to follow. 
 
 Then how I did admire the ingenuity of that man! 
 In less time than I can describe it, appeared an 
 excellent reproduction of Girolomo's cart, a sliding 
 seat, which afterward enacted a most important 
 part in the drama, being justly pronounced of first 
 necessity; and a heavy piece of carved furniture, to
 
 106 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 which the reins were attached, served as the imaginary 
 steed. 
 
 ' Ba, you wanted to know what happened tliis 
 morning,' said ]Mr. Browning, when all was ready. 
 
 * Well, we took a drive in Girolomo's caretta, and the 
 donkey ran away with us, and this is what happened.' 
 
 Then was reenacted the morning's flight. Brown- 
 ing, who was a capital actor and possessed the keen- 
 est sense of the ridiculous, was inimitable in his role, 
 pouring forth in Greek, Latin, and the vernacular 
 a torrent of threats, entreaties, and exhortations^ ad- 
 dressed indiscriminately to the donkey, to Girolomo, 
 and to San Antonio, while the clattering feet, of the 
 donkey, produced by an ingenious device indicating 
 gradually accelerated speed, heightened the general 
 effect and formed a running accompaniment to the 
 recitative. A fine touch of realism was introduced 
 by the vegetables, wliich, at stated intervals, but with 
 utter disregard of Mrs. Browning's safety, were 
 hurled about the room. No detail was lacking which 
 could render illusion perfect, the catastrophe being 
 reached in the sudden centrifugal impetus caused by 
 the abrupt halt at the vineyard gate. 
 
 * Nothing does Ba so much good as a good laugh, 
 said Mr. Browning, gazing with satisfaction at her 
 helpless condition and at her face glistening with 
 tears, ' and I will set this down as the laugh of her 
 life.' 
 
 ' He laughs best who laughs last,' but it was diffi- 
 cult on that occasion to say who laughed last. 
 
 ' You see, Ba,' said Mr. Browning, solemnly, 
 again descending from the plane of high intellect, 
 
 * it was not the flight of the Erl King, but the flight 
 of the Erl-y Birds.' 
 
 > 55 
 
 Later Miss Hosmer wrote for the same friend of 
 a Roman experience. She said:
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 107 
 
 " Removed in time and space but not in spirit was 
 a trip to Albano. 
 
 It must alwaj^s be pleasant for Americans to re- 
 member that Mr. and Mrs. Browning never ceased 
 to express their appreciation of the generosity of 
 their American publishers. ' More than any others,' 
 1 have often heard them say, ' have they been cour- 
 teous to us, invariably leaving us their debtors.' 
 
 And so one day Mr. Browning came to my studio 
 in liigh glee with, ' Next Saturday Ba and I are 
 going to Albano on a picnic till Monday, and you 
 and Leighton are to go with us.' 
 
 'Why this extravagance?' quoth I. 
 
 * On account of this — ' and he drew from his pocket 
 a bit of paper which represented a check from Messrs. 
 Ticknor & Fields. ' All their own buona grazia/ 
 said ]Mr. Browning. ' Not in the least obliged to do 
 this, but this is the way they always do things.' 
 
 On the appointed day a carriage might have been 
 seen issuing from the Porta San Giovanni contain- 
 ing four persons — two poets, a painter, and a sculp- 
 tor, all primed for pleasure and adventure. All cares 
 and anxieties were left behind on that sweet May 
 day as useless luggage. Chatting pleasantly, the 
 excursionists soon arrived at the first object of interest 
 that stood on the Albano road — an old, dilapidated 
 edifice, bearing on its front, traced in rude letters, 
 the ominous inscription, ' Casa dei Sjjiriti ' ( House 
 of Ghosts). 
 
 However tragic the legend which marks the spot 
 may be, the place is now transformed into a cheery 
 Ostcria (or cafe), its ancient history finding expres- 
 sion only in a lugubrious procession of spectres wliich 
 adorns its outer walls. 
 
 ' The spirits seem a lively set,' said the future 
 president of the Royal Academy, as a burst of laugh- 
 ter issued from the door of the Osteria.
 
 108 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 ' Spirits are of two kinds,' said Browning, solemnly. 
 ' I confess I see and hear nothing to suggest a 
 shadowy occupant,' said Mrs. Browning, as a second 
 peal of laughter followed the first. 
 
 ' None the less,' said the sculptor, ' the site has 
 preserved its ghostly reputation for centuries, but it 
 is to the old overhanging cliff that supernatural 
 reminiscences are attached. To it, tradition assigns 
 a most pathetic history.' 
 
 ' Ah, the cliff does look much more canny,' said 
 Mrs. Browning. ' Yes, I can quite fancy the grim 
 old pile containing some awful secret. How it juts 
 forward, as if impelled by an irresistible impulse to 
 fall and disclose its knowledge to the world! ' 
 
 ' You have already half-divined the story,' said 
 the sculptor. 
 
 ' Give us the other half ! ' said all, in chorus ; in- 
 specting the premises with that interest which any 
 site connected with a ghost never fails to inspire in 
 the minds of even the most practical. 
 
 ' All in good time,' was the answer. ' The old cliff 
 furnishes merely the connecting link of the story; 
 we shall find preface and catastrophe further on.' 
 
 Then we passed long lines of wine-carts making 
 for Rome; as often as not, the padrone, lost in easy 
 slumber, was leaving to the little Lupetto dog, with 
 red collar and tinkling bells, the task of guarding, 
 and to his intelligent oxen the task of guiding his 
 vehicle. 
 
 Then the line of the great Claudian aqueduct, 
 whose stately arches form fitting portals to the blue 
 heaven beyond. Then groups of Campagna laborers, 
 men and women, all dressed in the picturesque cos- 
 tume of their class, decked with flowers and singing 
 their pretty native songs, interrupted only by the 
 courteous greeting as we pass by. Then the long line 
 of the Alban and Sabine hills, too serene to be dis-
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 109 
 
 turbed by either the joys or sorrows of mortals; and 
 thus we reached the Albano gate, where old Giovanni, 
 the well-known donkey guide, sat, like Belisarius, 
 but with keener vision, which enabled him to select 
 from among the many travellers those most likely 
 to want a donkey on the morrow. 
 
 After dining at the Hotel Parigi, we descended 
 to the terraced garden, where, among other topics, 
 were discussed the relative difficulties of the arts; 
 and it was interesting to note that each representative 
 considered his art the most difficult. The poets sug- 
 gested that poetry was more difficult than either 
 sculpture or painting, since from the imponderable 
 essence of words must be evolved intelligible sub- 
 stance. The sculptor, on the other hand, regretted 
 the absence of this same pliant imponderability in the 
 rigid substances of bronze and marble. The painter 
 eschewed the imponderables and dwelt upon mere 
 practical, technical difficulties, distribution of color, 
 foreshortening, and the like. In the end, the palm 
 for really sensible criticism, 7nultum in pai'vo, was 
 yielded to old King Ludwig of Bavaria, poet and 
 artist, rather than statesman, who, in conversation 
 one day with the writer, declared that ' We esteem 
 most difficult the art we love best because therein 
 we are most critical.' 
 
 The next morning Browning declared that old 
 Giovanni had been looking in at Iiis window all night 
 to catch his eye at daybreak before other competitors 
 could extol the virtues of their donkeys. However 
 that may be, the quartette was soon mounted and on 
 its winding way. We skirted the Alban Lake, passed 
 the JNIonastery of Palazzuolo, where certain of the 
 Padres, sunning themselves on their little green 
 loggia, gave us "^ Buon giorno ' ; climbed the ruggedly 
 paved steps of Rocca di Papa, emerged upon the 
 camping-ground of Hannibal, silently passed the
 
 110 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 young acolytes of the church, who, by superior com- 
 mand, turn their backs upon all representatives of 
 the female sex, and treading the now narrow moss- 
 grown path over which, in the olden time, marched 
 Rome's minor triumphs, reached the height from 
 which Monte Cavo unrolls her magnificent panorama, 
 recording a page of history unrivalled in the world. 
 Below us on Alba Longa dwelt, as shepherds, those 
 who first traced the map of Rome. On the left 
 sparkled Nemi, ' Diana's Mirror,' still guarding, be- 
 neath her blue waters, the enamel decked yachts 
 of Caligula. Far off was Pratica, where JSneas 
 landed, and Antium, beloved of Nero; and nearer, 
 Lavinia, who still disputes with Pratica the honor of 
 first sheltering the hero, and preserves, in proof of 
 priority and as her most precious possession, the 
 very ring to which he moored liis bark. 
 
 Yet all this history of bygone times seemed com- 
 pressed into yesterday as we turned to the right and 
 viewed the vast stretch of Campagna, whose gentle 
 undulations — as if nature, by a sudden fantasy, had 
 resolved her sea-green waves into sea-green sward — 
 recall that dim age when this portion of our planet, 
 so rich in human events, was still unprepared for 
 the food of man. 
 
 So passed the morning, until a generous hamper 
 exploited under a spreading chestnut reminded us of 
 mundane things. 
 
 ' Now, Hatty, give us your story,' said Mrs. 
 Browning. ' If it is a pretty story, what place more 
 fit than this ? ' 
 
 ' Unfortunately, my story requires illustration,' 
 was the answer, ' and even this wealth of pictorial art 
 does not furnish the desideratum. Rather let us call 
 upon Giovanni for a story. He is not himself if he 
 is not equal to the occasion.' 
 
 To appreciate fully Giovanni's story, it must be
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 111 
 
 remembered that at the time of which we write Italy, 
 was in a state of revolutionaiy ferment, authorities 
 being on constant watch for poHtical offenders. 
 
 Called to the front, Giovanni, with a fine show of 
 mock modesty, for nothing pleased him so much as 
 to relate his experiences, began, with terrible earnest- 
 ness and with a profound salaam at each mention of 
 the ' Signor Sindaco ' : 
 
 ' Last week, O signori, I was granted an inter- 
 view with the Signor Sindaco. " I have come, Signor 
 Sindaco," says I, "to make a disclosure affecting 
 the safety of one of the best-known citizens of Al- 
 bano." 
 
 ' " Dio mio, Giovanni," says Signor Sindaco, " what 
 has come to your knowledge? In these troublous 
 times one cannot be too alert." 
 
 '"Too true, Signor Sindaco!" says I. "When 
 I go to bed at night I never know whether I shall 
 awake in the morning alive or dead." 
 
 ' " Speak freely, Giovanni," says the Signor Sin- 
 daco. " You well know that if you can make any 
 disclosure affecting the well-being of Albano, you 
 will be well rewarded." 
 
 ' " Blood, Signor Sindaco," says I, " and without 
 warning, — it cannot be otherwise, — but my disclosure 
 is confidential! " 
 
 ' " Let all leave the room," says the Signor Sindaco, 
 and Sua Eccellenza and I are alone. 
 
 ' " Well, Signor Sindaco," says I, " I have come 
 to inform you that if that wicked shoemaker, who has 
 been promising me my new boots for a fortnight, does 
 not bring them home by Saturday next I am going 
 to kill him!"' 
 
 ' It's a pity, O signori,' said Giovanni, as we were 
 returning home late that afternoon, encouraged per- 
 haps by the reception given to his interview with 
 the Signor Sindaco, ' that you cannot be here this
 
 112 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 evening to hear the cuckoo call. His voice is like a 
 silver trumpet — like this, O signori,' and Giovanni 
 emitted a sound which caused Browning, in an aside, 
 to inquire if the Bull of Bashan was tethered in the 
 Alban woods. 
 
 The next morning little was done, as the drive 
 home was to take place in the afternoon, but I pro- 
 duced a certain book which, with wise provision, I 
 had insinuated into my travelling-bag; and after 
 much persuasion Browning read us the whole of his 
 magnificent poem of Saul. 
 
 Then came dinner, then preparations for depart- 
 ure; and our delightful stay in Albano became a 
 thing of the past. 
 
 ' Now,' said the sculptor, as, reaching the well- 
 known ' Tor di Mezza Via ' (the half-way house be- 
 tween Rome and Albano), the coachman paused to 
 breathe his horses, ' now for the story ' ; and bidding 
 the trio follow, she crossed the little brook at the 
 base of the fine old bit of aqueduct and mounted the 
 hill opposite the Osteria. ' Now,' she said, pointing 
 to one of the ruins which stand upon the Appian 
 Way, ' what does that old ruin suggest to you? ' 
 
 ' A human head ! ' exclaimed Mr. Browning. 
 
 ' Yes, a human head,' added Mrs. Browning. ' In 
 a dimmer light illusion must be perfect.' 
 
 ' A human head ! ' echoed Leighton. ' I wonder 
 I never noted the resemblance before, but I never 
 saw the old ruin from this point of view.' 
 
 ' Let us seat ourselves here,' said the sculptor, se- 
 lecting a shady nook under one of the old ruined 
 archways, ' and I will tell you the story which con- 
 nects this spot with the " Casa dei Spiriti." 
 
 ' Centuries ago, when this desolate Campagna was 
 crowned with magnificent villas and teemed with 
 human hfe, a certain Apuleius, a noble Roman who 
 held high office under the Emperor Domitian, dwelt
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 113 
 
 upon this very site. Apuleius had but one child — a 
 daughter so beautiful that throughout the empire she 
 was known as the beautiful Apuleia. For tliis child 
 the fond father conceived a most exalted destiny. 
 Nay, he even dreamed, as the emperor was known to 
 be susceptible to the influence of female charms, that 
 the imperial purple lay within her grasp. What, 
 then, was his rage and mortification when Apuleia 
 declared that she had already bestowed her heart 
 upon Belisarius, a young captain in the imperial 
 army, and that while he lived she would espouse no 
 other man! 
 
 * In vain did Apuleius, by entreaty, remonstrance, 
 and threats, oppose the resolution of his daughter. 
 Apuleia remained immovable, and the father, per- 
 ceiving that he had no other means of ridding him- 
 self of the unwelcome suitor, caused Belisarius to be 
 barbarously murdered and his body to be concealed 
 under the overhanging cliff near the well-known 
 " Casa dei Spiriti." Apuleia, overwhelmed with 
 grief at the continued absence of Belisarius, and fear- 
 ing that some ill-fortune had befallen him, withdrew 
 to a lonely tower in the west wing of the mansion, 
 and there kept faithful watch, awaiting her lover's 
 return. But death soon closed her weary vigils, and 
 her father, in his remorse and despair, erected a mag- 
 nificent monument to her memory, of which nothing 
 remains save yonder ruin. 
 
 ' But tradition asserts that as the monument fell 
 into decaj^ the crumbling stones gradually assumed 
 the features of the beautiful Apuleia, her gaze still 
 turned westward, still waiting her lover's return, as 
 if kindly nature, touched by the poor girl's sorrow 
 and devotion, had wrought for her out of the veiy 
 ruin of her life an enduring immortality; and to this 
 day the beautiful Apuleia is known as " the weird 
 watcher of the Roman Campagna." '
 
 114 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 ' That is a charming old legend,' said Mrs. Brown- 
 ing, when the story was told and we had entered the 
 carriage and driven some distance in silence. ' I 
 never heard it before.' 
 
 ' The story is not so well known as it deserves 
 to be,' said the sculptor. ' I often think what an 
 exquisite poem might be wrought out of its delicate 
 materials — too delicate for any but the poet's art.' 
 
 ' You are right,' said Mrs. Browning, gazing with 
 renewed interest at the old ruin. ' Did stone ever 
 imprison so much wistful earnestness, so much weary 
 longing, as does that poor, shattered form, old and 
 gray and mutilated by centuries?' 
 
 ' There is Apuleia,' said Mr. Browning, as some 
 days after this conversation we were walking upon 
 the Campagna and came in view of the ruin. 
 
 ' Don't forget the poem,' said I. 
 
 * Ah, that's Ba's,' said Mr. Browning. ' She means 
 to record the legend. You will see.' 
 
 But too quickly came another recording angel, and 
 Apuleia still waits a worthy historian."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 1857-1860 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Rome, Nov., 1857. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I want to tell you of sometliing which I think will 
 please you, viz. a commission I have received to make 
 a monument for the Church of San Andrea delle 
 Fratte here. Madame Falconnet, who has just lost 
 a daughter, has obtained permission to have a monu- 
 ment erected to her memory in this church, and has 
 desired me to make it. It is to be a sleeping statue 
 of the j^oung girl, who (so much the better for me) 
 was most lovely. The statue is to be placed upon a 
 sarcophagus, and they have given us room enough 
 to make an arch over it, so that we can have a back- 
 ground of darker marble, which will be a great thing 
 for the figure. The place is good and the light 
 magnificent. I shall endeavor to exhaust myself on 
 the work, • only saving enough of my corporeal and 
 mental strength to drag my bones to St. Louis next 
 year to behold you once more. I am very busy now, 
 making a sketch of it (the monument, not the drag- 
 ging of my bones), and my hands will be full for 
 the winter. 
 
 How I enAy you having Mrs. Kemble with you in 
 St. Louis, and hearing her read. Unfortunately we 
 can't be in two places at one time, until we are little 
 cherubs with wings and no places to sit down upon. 
 
 *This is the first instance of any but an Italian artist having been permitted 
 to place a monument in one of the churches of Rome. 
 
 115
 
 116 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 She will be with you when you get this, and you 
 must say eveiything that is loving from me, to her. 
 The time is approaching when I must be thinking 
 of a studio for myself, for when my works increase, 
 I must have more room. JNIy master now says this 
 too, and for several reasons it might be better to 
 hang out my own shingle. Mr. Gibson would not con- 
 sider me less a pupil, so that I should have still the 
 benefit of his advice and instruction, and at the same 
 time not be considered by others a beginner, as of 
 course I shall be, as long as I am with him. This 
 Avas long a forbidden subject, he would not listen to 
 the proposition, saying I was not strong enough to 
 go alone, which certainly was very true, but now it 
 is he who proposes it, so I tell you, though I have 
 not said a word to my dear father yet, who has some 
 latent idea that I may settle down in America. But 
 it pleases me to give you a positive proof that my 
 master thinks I am progressing. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 TO MISS DUNDAS. 
 
 Rome, Dec. 13, (1857). 
 My dear A ; 
 
 The more intimately you become acquainted with 
 me, the more fully you will be persuaded of the fact 
 that you have a friend who knows what she should 
 do and who never does it. Now duty and conviction 
 have been whispering to me for a long time that my 
 field of action was on a piece of paper, my weapon 
 a pen, and that my opponent was yourself, but I have 
 been so terribly busy of late that I have been neglect- 
 ing everything and doing nothing, which often hap- 
 pens when you try to do too much. 
 
 First of all, I wish to address myself to Mrs. 
 Emily, and to thank her most sincerely for her tender
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 117 
 
 affection for me, manifested in the form of a whip 
 which I earnestly desire to possess myself of, for do 
 you know, Mr. Gibson, true to himself, came away 
 and left it in London. He has written to have it 
 sent to Rome, and I am looking most impatiently for 
 its advent. Tell her, that I have a perfect little 
 "Puck"; a little fellow I found and fell in love with 
 in Albano, a wonderful pony whose only fault is in 
 being too small, but strong as an elephant, full of 
 wickedness, and is beginning to jump like a cat. 
 Though my new whip was to be sacred to the train- 
 ing of his youthful qualities, I think I shall reserve 
 it fpr the winter, when I shall have a fine horse and 
 indulge in the wholesome amusement of the chase, 
 and it would be a great comfort to me to break or 
 dislocate some of my bones under its immediate 
 supervision. Ask her if I may do so, or if, in spar- 
 ing its lash on the back of my little " Puck," I shall 
 prove myself false to her and to the pony? 
 
 Of course you know all about poor Julie Falcon- 
 net's death, and perhaps you know that I am to make 
 her monument. It is to be a sleeping statue of her, 
 and I have this day finished the sketch, though 
 Madame Falconnet has not yet seen it. I have rep- 
 resented her lying on a couch, the little feet crossed 
 and a chaplet in one hand, while the other has fallen 
 by her side. The dress is modern, of course, but very 
 simple, with long flowing sleeves which compose 
 well; that is all of it, and the beauty of the thing 
 must depend on the fidelity with which I render the 
 delicacy and elegance of her figure. A mask of her 
 face was taken after death, which is very good, and 
 that, with the bust, will enable me to get a good 
 likeness of her. They have given me a capital place 
 in the church (of San Andrea delle Fratfe) with a 
 beautiful fight, and you may be sure I shall spare 
 neither time nor patience on the work, but do the
 
 118 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 best I can for divers reasons, not the least of which 
 is to prove to JNIadame Falconnet that I am grateful 
 to her for the confidence she has shown in me; for it 
 is not as if I were an old and experienced artist. 
 Besides, I shall be very happy to have a work of 
 mine in Rome, and such a hella comhinatione can- 
 not occur again. 
 
 I have begun a has relief of " Night rising with the 
 Stars," but was forced to suspend operations in that 
 quarter till I had made the sketch for the monument, 
 and while it is being set up in grand, I shall finish 
 the former. 
 
 Are you training that wonderful little dog for me? 
 And has he attained to that point in his education at 
 which he can strike with diagonal precision across a 
 piazza? This is but a shabbj^ letter, but you will 
 pardon it when I tell j^ou that I have so much to do 
 that I have no time for sleeping, even, and that at 
 this present moment, it is ten minutes to one, dopo 
 mezza notte. 
 
 I have made two more compositions for has reliefs, 
 one a pastoral subject, the other, " The Falling Star," 
 which one of these days I will describe to you. . . . 
 Now hold me, Ever yours, H. 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 j^^^^ ^^ Rome, Jan. 8, (1858). 
 
 Now I have no news, nothing but stupidity and 
 affection and " Happy New Year." If there is any 
 truth in magnetism and spiritual communion, you 
 already know that I thought of you and pra^^ed that 
 all blessings might be showered upon you and that 
 all good angels might guard you. I so often think 
 of your life away in your quiet home, and muse how 
 different it is from mine with all the cares of work 
 and the dissipations of gay society; for let me do
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 119 
 
 my best, I am tempted into them, and to a certain 
 extent I suppose it is right to indulge in social gay- 
 eties, but the difficulty is to draw the line between 
 just enough and too much. Wliile you, you are as 
 quiet and snug as can be, looking upon the anxieties 
 and vexations of the great world hke a calm philoso- 
 pher who is great in the attainment of all he cares for 
 tliis side of the grave. ... I am looking for you 
 and the Pater over here next sunmier. I ^dll meet 
 vou wherever vou sav, this side the Atlantic, and 
 you shall be escorted (to Rome) by a guardia as 
 nohile as the Pope's. You don't tliink me a domestic 
 character, but you shall see my talents in that ca- 
 pacity called into play, and when that is the case, 
 the play is no joke. . . . 
 
 And how in this New Year grows my little girl, 
 with her bright little head sunning over "uith curls? 
 Only yesterday I was looking at the golden curl 
 you sent me, which shone like an opal. Fancy our 
 grizzly locks having been once of the same color and 
 having rejoiced our mothers' hearts in the same way! 
 But no little head ever curled like that before, to mv 
 eye, and no Httle wit was ever so sharp underneath 
 it. Give those soft cheeks a shower of kisses for her 
 old Aunt Hat. _ _ ^^j; 
 
 1 our H. 
 
 TO MRS. WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Rome, Feb., 1858. 
 Dear Mrs. Crow: 
 
 Before you get this I shall be as deep in Palmy- 
 rene soil as the old monks of the Cappucini are in 
 the soil of Jerusalem I have not yet begun the 
 Zenobia, as I am waiting for a cast of the coin; not 
 that, as a portrait, it ^\^ll be of great value to me 
 now, but the character of the head determines the
 
 120 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 character of the figure. When I was in Florence, 
 I searched in the Pitti and the MagHabecchian 
 Libraries for costume and liints, but found nothing 
 at all satisfactory. I was bordering on a state of 
 desperation, when Professor Nigliarini, who is the 
 best of authorities in such matters, told me if I copied 
 the dress and ornaments of the Madonna in the old 
 mosaic of San Marco, it would be the very thing, as 
 she is represented in Oriental regal costume. I went 
 and found it. It is invaluable; requiring little change, 
 except a large mantle thrown over all. The orna- 
 ments are quite the thing; very rich and very Eastern, 
 with just such a girdle as is described in Vo- 
 
 P'^"^"^- • • • Yours, H. 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Dearest Hattie:^ Florej.ce, Feb. 21, '58. 
 
 Two months since you wrote! and not two days, — 
 indeed no! — in all the time since, that I have been 
 intending and intending to answer you. The last 
 reason is the best — I have been gripped, and in a vile 
 condition altogether, these three or four weeks — and 
 Penini added very unnecessarily to our bother by 
 going through the same complaint with characteristic 
 variations, the end being that he has lost the Carnival 
 at the same time as his cold. I wish we had been in 
 Rome or Egypt or anywhere rather than here, but 
 it can't be helped now. 
 
 What a darling you will be if you just write us 
 a half a page about yourself. Are you well and 
 happy? Do you work to your heart's content? 
 Have you thought of any other subject? I happen 
 to know you are well, however — Jarvis reported you 
 so, the other day, having heard from you, as I did 
 not deserve to do.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 121 
 
 A friend of ours, the Comtesse du Quaire, an 
 English lady, goes to Rome this week. She is a 
 friend of Mrs. Sartoris and indeed (I should say) 
 of almost every other EngHsh friend you have, and 
 a very clever and accomplished person besides. She 
 paints well and has been studying under Mignaty 
 this winter; I am sure you will like her very much; 
 will you take this for an introduction when she calls? 
 And will you further procure her the favour of an 
 acquaintance with Mr. Gibson? (to whom I wish 
 to be kindly remembered, myself). And finally, 
 will you admire her splendid development when she 
 makes her entry, — which I do not expect will be un- 
 observed, her proportions being Zenobian. She is 
 coming back, I believe, and will tell us all about 
 you. 
 
 Do you see Miss H? Kindest regards to her if 
 you do. And Miss d' Australia! How I should like 
 to know what she is about! 
 
 Mrs. Jameson means to go to Naples at the end 
 of the week, and thence to Rome; she is not very 
 well, and may delay starting, as she has done already, 
 should the weather be unfavorable; she chooses the 
 sea route. How is Page? at Rome? Is your por- 
 trait nearing completion by a touch or two? 
 
 There is a letter for you — the grippe, having 
 evacuated the nobler parts of the body, lingers, I 
 seem to see, at the fingers' ends; don't you catch it 
 thence, that's all. I was counting on my wife's mak- 
 ing the thing worth receiving by adding a word or 
 two, but she has been writing all the morning and 
 is so evidently un-up to it, that I won't let her try. 
 She sends you her dear love. 
 
 Yours affectionately ever, 
 
 Robert Browning.
 
 122 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 ^ ^, Rome, Mar. 4, 1858. 
 
 I am biisj'^ now upon Zenobia, of a size with which 
 I might be compared as a mouse to a camel. My 
 mass of clay in its present humanized form is stun- 
 ning. It certainly does make a larger piece of putty 
 than I had anticipated, but I am consoled by, and 
 rejoice in the fact, that it will be more grandiose 
 when finished. To-morrow I mount a Zouave cos- 
 tume, not intending to break my neck upon the scaf- 
 folding, by remaining in petticoats. . . . 
 
 Did I tell you that one day a ladj^ visited my 
 studio in company with another, a French lady. The 
 stranger was charming in every way, I was delighted 
 with her refinement and culture and in short fell quite 
 in love with her. At the close of the visit, I accom- 
 panied the ladies to the gate. On their way the 
 stranger stopped to admire some tulips and I plucked 
 several and gave them to her. She received them very 
 graciously and said, " When you come to Holland I 
 will return the compliment." Some time after, I was 
 in Holland on a very ceremonious occasion, and found 
 my friend to be the late Queen of Holland. . . . 
 
 Your H. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 T^ itr /-i Rome, Mar. 11, 1858. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 You would not think the troubles and trials of this 
 
 Mfe weighed very heavily upon me if you could see 
 
 my case. It is undoubtedly a hard one, as far as 
 
 physique is concerned, but Lindley Murray, the 
 
 sainted grammarian, might call it a mood indicative 
 
 of the best possible condition of the mortal frame.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 123 
 
 I think my journey last summer did me a " power " 
 of good, drencliing my lungs with my own native 
 atmosphere and purifying my stomachic region by 
 a full meal of the patriotic brine. Will not your 
 gastric battery require additional electricity about 
 next summer, and is there anything so effective as a 
 transit across the ocean? 
 
 There is a deal of illness in Rome, especially among 
 old people. As I am getting to be of that category, 
 I might have been in fear and trembhng myself, ex- 
 cept that I know I am too wicked for the Lord to 
 want me, and too good for the other old gentleman 
 to take an interest in me. I have another order for 
 Puck; he has already brought me his weight in silver. 
 I enclose a photograph of my Fountain, which I sub- 
 mit to your criticism. The history of it is Hylas and 
 the water nymphs, and if the story is not fresh in 
 
 your mind the classical and lassical E will ferret 
 
 it out in the dictionary. 
 
 I have just had a letter from my father, in which 
 he let me into a little secret about a monument.* 
 You never forget me, I see, at births, marriages, or 
 deaths. All I can say is (I won't touch upon so 
 delicate a subject as my man'iage) I sha'n't forget 
 you at my death. 
 
 The Duke of Hamilton has just taken a Puck, 
 and I am making another for the Earl of Portarling- 
 ton. I have been rapping at my brains for the last 
 two years for a fitting subject as a pendant. At last 
 1 have got it, and am going to begin it immediately.! 
 I won't tell you his Christian name, but will send you 
 a photograph from the plaster. At the same time 
 I will send you one of Zenobia, with which I am 
 pleasing myself. It has just passed muster with 
 Mrs. Jameson. 
 
 As for my monument here (the Falconnet) it will 
 
 •The Benton monument. f " Will-o'-the-wisp."
 
 124. HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 be in its i^lace in October next, all ready for you, and 
 how I shall like to show it to you! 
 
 I shall stay here till rather late, into July, and then 
 go to Siena with the Storys, getting back here by 
 the first of October punctually. I am uncommonly 
 well now, and it is gloriously quiet time for work 
 after the bustle of the winter. I would stay all sum- 
 mer if I dared. Yours, H. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ^°^^' ^""^ ^4, 1858. 
 
 I have been long in answering a letter which 
 should have been responded to immediately. I sup- 
 pose, such is the contrariety of the Hosmer nature, 
 that the more imperious the duty, the greater the de- 
 lay in performing it. But the fact is, I waited to 
 send you with this a sketch * I have been making. 
 You know I was always obstinate, so I insist upon 
 the group. If I overrun the limits a trifle it is my 
 lookout. I am determined you shall have something 
 more than a cut and dried Hope leaning on her 
 Anchor, or Charity with her Milk Pail, and in short 
 nothing will do but to let me have my own way, 
 and, as my good father says, " so live the longer." 
 In regard to the material, there is a certain kind of 
 marble, much stronger than statuary marble, which 
 is capable of resisting all the influences of a St. 
 Louis climate, and is far more beautiful than bronze, 
 which at best is but a cold and harsh material. The 
 color of this is gray but very delicate and much to be 
 preferred, in point of effect, to the Carrara, which 
 is too glaringly white for out-of-doors, and I will 
 guarantee that this will last, unless swallowed up by 
 an earthquake, or destroyed in another revolutionary 
 war, till the crack of doom, which is as long as I 
 
 * Of a family monument for Mr. Crow.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 125 
 
 suppose we shall last ourselves. So that is all settled 
 and I will guarantee that you shall be satisfied, or 
 else I will agree to remove the whole thing, and 
 place it over my own remains, having previously com- 
 mitted suicide. ... V TT 
 
 At this time came a tribute to the artist from her 
 old professor, Dr. McDowell, which amused her. 
 He writes to a St. Louis editor: 
 
 My dear Sir: ^^^ ^°u'^' ^"8"^*' ^^^^- 
 
 I observed in your paper a notice of Miss Hosmer, 
 and associated with her triumph as an artist my own 
 humble name; and it has made me feel intensely 
 
 To Harriet Hosmer, I am indebted for a reputa- 
 tion. Well, she is grateful to me for kindness, and 
 gratitude to me is more than gold. St. Louis should 
 be proud that she received the rudimental steps of 
 her education in art among us. 
 
 The triumph of the talented and gifted Powers 
 made me feel proud of my country. The death of 
 Clevenger made me feel that the chisel had fallen most 
 untimely from a hand that would have shed lustre 
 on his country, and I mourned over my pupil. But 
 the pride I feel in the triumph of Miss Hosmer is 
 as much as I could endure ^vithout being haughty! 
 
 To see a man mount step by step through difficul- 
 ties, and at last stand on the first round of fame's 
 proud ladder, commands admiration. But to see a 
 woman dare to scale the mountain height of fame, 
 when she has the heroic courage to plant her ladder 
 on a precipice and lean it on a storm cloud, and 
 dare the lightning's angry passion of jealousy, makes 
 the generous bosom heave with love for the sex and 
 glory that we were born of woman. 
 
 Alexander Von Humboldt said he thought, after
 
 126 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 travelling over the whole world, that the sublimest 
 sight he ever beheld was Cotopaxi in full blast. To 
 my imagination the sublimer spectacle is to see a 
 timid woman rise amid the sea of angry billows of 
 humanity, and lift her proud head above the waves, 
 and know that unscathed she has breasted the storm. 
 May the snowy peak of the mount of Miss Hos- 
 mer's glory ever stand as a beacon to woman's daring. 
 Her heart was as pure as the untrodden mountain 
 snowflake, and her footsteps were as firm as its 
 eternal foundation. 
 
 I am, respectfully yours, 
 
 J. N. McDowell. 
 
 MRS. L. M. CHILD TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Wayland, Aug. 21, 1858. 
 Dear Harriet: 
 
 I was delighted to receive your little love-note, 
 which exhilarated my old heart, as wine does the 
 nerves, but unlike wine, it left no headache or de- 
 pression. I have waited to have something entertain- 
 ing to write you, but nothing entertaining happens 
 in the vicinity of my lonely little den, so I write 
 without having anything to say, except that I love 
 you truly, take the liveliest interest in your success, 
 and have you very often and very affectionately in 
 my thoughts. That little flying visit you made me 
 was delightful ! You " stood beside me like my 
 youth." . . . 
 
 Mrs. S. was here and gave me an animated account 
 of her European reminiscences and of you. How I 
 do wish I could have one day's stroll with you in 
 the enchanted atmosphere of Rome! I was building 
 such a castle in the air when you were here, but the 
 prismatic tints have all faded away from the aerial 
 palace, and left only a pile of clouds. The friend
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 127 
 
 who invited me to go to Italy had his affairs thrown 
 into temporary confusion by the late financial crisis, 
 and though the house was wealthy enough to avoid 
 failure, it became necessary for the partners to give 
 up travelling on the Continent at present. Mean- 
 while I am growing old fast, and I cannot get at 
 you and Rome, to rejuvenate me. 
 
 Did you read Victor Hugo's "Notre Dame?" 
 There is a beautiful young gips}^ named Esmeralda, 
 who dances in the sunshine with her pretty white 
 goat, while the bells of her tambourine, which she 
 shakes above her head, make flitting ripples of light 
 upon her forehead. It would make an exceedingly 
 graceful statue; the flexible, swaying form of the 
 young girl in picturesque gipsy garments, her nimble 
 little feet moving in echoes to her music, while the 
 white goat watches her expressive face and moves at 
 her bidding. 
 
 How comes on the stately Zenobia? I have often 
 recalled the pencil-sketch of that head-dress which 
 Miss Ticknor showed to you, and though it was very 
 graceful and unique, I doubt whether it would be in 
 keeping with the majestic beauty of the glorious 
 Queen of Palmyra. Perhaps, however, the Virgin 
 Mary which you discovered, in regal garments of the 
 Oriental mode, will furnish head-dress and all. . . . 
 
 Would you object to my writing an account of 
 the vision you once told me of, some time when I am 
 writing on the subject of Spiritualism? I may wish 
 to allude to it, by way of illustration, but would not 
 do so without your sanction. We are all so interested 
 about that other life, that it seems as if so remarkable 
 a story, with a " local habitation and a name," ought 
 to have an authentic record. . . . God bless you al- 
 ways. Your truly affectionate friend, 
 
 L. M. Child.
 
 128 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Later, upon being questioned about her psychical 
 experiences, Miss Hosmer related the following in- 
 cidents, to the first of which Mrs. Child alluded in 
 the previous letter: 
 
 " When I was living in Rome I had for several 
 years a maid named Rosa, to whom I became much 
 attached. She was faithful and competent, and I 
 was greatly distressed when she became ill with con- 
 sumption and had to leave me. I used to call fre- 
 quently to see her when I took my customary exercise 
 on horseback, and on one occasion she expressed a 
 desire for a certain kind of wine. I told her I would 
 bring it to her the next morning. This was toward 
 evening, and she appeared no worse than for some 
 days; indeed, I thought her much brighter, and left 
 her with the expectation of calling to see her many 
 times. During the rest of the afternoon I was busy 
 in my studio, and do not remember that Rosa was in 
 my thoughts after I parted from her. I retired to 
 bed in good health and in a quiet frame of mind. I 
 always sleep with my doors locked, and in my bed- 
 room in Rome there were two doors; the key to one 
 my maid kept, and the other was turned on the inside. 
 A tall screen stood around my bed. I awoke early 
 the morning after my visit to Rosa and heard the 
 clock in the library next, distinctly strike five, and 
 just then I was conscious of some presence in the 
 room, back of the screen. I asked if any one was 
 there, when Rosa appeared in front of the screen 
 and said, '^Adesso sono contento, adesso sono felice ' 
 (Now I am content, now I am happy). For the mo- 
 ment it did not seem strange, I felt as though every- 
 thing was as it had been. She had been in the habit 
 of coming into my room early in the morning. In a 
 flash she was gone. I sprang out of bed. There was
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 129 
 
 no Rosa there. I moved the curtain, thinking that 
 she might have playfully hidden behind its folds. The 
 same feeling induced me to look into the closet. The 
 sight of her had come so suddenly, that in the first 
 moment of surprise and bewilderment I did not re- 
 flect that the door was locked. When I became con- 
 vinced that there was no one in the room but myself, 
 I recollected that fact, and then I thought I must 
 have seen a vision. 
 
 At breakfast I mentioned the apparition to my 
 French landlady, and she ridiculed the idea as being 
 anything more than the fantasy of an excited brain. 
 To me it was a distinct fact, and is to this day a dis- 
 tinct vision. Instead of going to see Rosa after 
 breakfast, I sent to enquire, for I felt a strong pre- 
 monition that she was dead. The messenger returned 
 saying Rosa had died at five o'clock. When I told 
 Mr. Gladstone of this experience he was interested 
 until I ciime to the apparition talking. He said he 
 firmly believed in a magnetic current, action of one 
 mind upon another, or whatever you choose to call 
 it, but could not believe ghosts had yet the power of 
 speech. However, to me this occurrence is as much 
 of a reality as any experience of my life. 
 
 Then, too, I have had many strange flashes of inner 
 vision in seeing articles that were lost. I have never 
 been able to produce them by reasoning or strong 
 desire. They have come literally in a flash. I had 
 three such visions during different visits to Lady A., 
 once at her coimtry seat in Scotland and the others at 
 her London house. Lady A. wears a curious gold 
 ring designed by her husband. When taken from 
 the finger it can be straightened into a key. All of 
 her valuables, from jewel cases, to her writing room, 
 where many important papers are kept, are fitted 
 with locks for this key. She has one duplicate of 
 this, made of steel, that she sometimes left with
 
 130 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 her daughter or me, when going away. One morn- 
 ing she came into my room much distressed, say- 
 ing she could not find her ring key, and asked me 
 to come into her room and help in the search that was 
 being made for it by the housekeeper and assistants. 
 She was positive she had put the ring in a cabinet by 
 the side of her bed upon retiring the night before. 
 When I went into the room I saw the ring key, in my 
 mind's eye, plainly on the table in her daughter's 
 apartment. I told her it was needless to search further 
 there, that she had left it in her daughter's room. 
 Lady A. protested that she was certain she had taken 
 it off after retiring. But the ring was found just 
 where I saw it. 
 
 On another occasion Lady A. could not find a 
 despatch box containing valuable papers. She en- 
 listed my services in hunting for it in her writing room. 
 She described the box. She had scarcely finished the 
 description when a vision of it flashed across my brain. 
 I said, ' It is useless to search here, the box is at 
 Drummond's bank, in one of your large boxes.' Lady 
 A. said her secretary had made a careful inspection 
 of every box at the bank, and it was not there. I 
 saw that box distinctly, and I went to the bank. 
 When I reached there the Messrs. Drummond seemed 
 to think it was quite unnecessary to go through the 
 boxes again. I asked the clerk to bring out his ledger 
 containing the list of boxes. I felt that I could locate 
 the right one without examining all. When I ran 
 my hand down the list (there were seven) it stopped 
 at five. Number five was brought from the vault 
 into the private room of the bankers and there opened 
 in the presence of the three brothers. The box proved 
 to have women's belongings in it, rare laces chiefly. 
 The bankers smiled incredulously and said, ' You 
 are not likely to find the despatch box among those 
 things.' All the while I saw that lacquered box.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 131 
 
 After taking out all the carefully packed articles I 
 was rewarded by finding the lost box at the very 
 bottom. * Despatch Box ' across the front in gilt 
 letters. I said to Messrs. Drummond, ' I will not take 
 the box home, my friend must come and see for her- 
 self that my vision was accurate.' So it was left in 
 the private room of the bank while I drove home. 
 When I told Lady A. the circumstance she turned 
 pale and said she believed I was a witch, as the serv- 
 ants thought, because I had such powers of finding 
 lost articles. We drove back and got the treasure. 
 
 How and why these visions come, is, as yet, an 
 unknown science, but I firmly believe it will be made 
 clear some time, perhaps at no distant day." 
 
 During Mr. Gibson's annual visit to England these 
 two letters came to his pupil: 
 
 At Henry Sandbach's^ Hafodunas, N. Wales, 
 
 My dear little Hosmer: ^^^' ^^» ^^^^• 
 
 After I left you we arrived in London on the 10th 
 July, and remained there till the 12th August, then 
 started for Wales, where W. and your slave have 
 been staying with Mr. Sandbach, for whom I made 
 the Hunter and the Aurora in marble. He has 
 built here a beautiful round place with a top light, 
 and the statues have a fine effect. There is also a 
 beautiful .lymph by Wyatt, and he has given Spence 
 an order to make him a female figure for this place. 
 He has also given W.* an order to paint him a 
 picture. 
 
 To-morrow, we go to Mr. Mainwaring (the name 
 is pronounced Mannering). He used to talk so 
 much of you when at Rome. Then I visit Mr. 
 
 * Penry Williams.
 
 132 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Cheney; it was to his mother I made the monument, 
 The Lady and the Angel. About the 18th inst. I go 
 to London for two or three days. There the cholera 
 is at work. Before I left London they were begin- 
 ning to die about JNIrs. Huskisson's house. From 
 London I shall join Mrs. Huskisson at her home in 
 the country, where Williams will join me, and there 
 we stay till the end of the month, when we shall be 
 moving towards Rome, but we must hear before we 
 go there, if the cholera has finished working. 
 
 During my stay in London I did nothing but idle 
 and dine out. I visited the Duke and Duchess of 
 Northumberland, and they asked kindly about you, 
 and so did the Duke of Wellington. I read your 
 worthy name in the " AthenEeum " and also in an- 
 other paper. You must have paid for all this! Now 
 they cannot say that I pay, for they run me down. 
 
 Don't you long to be at the studio, listening to me 
 when I talk nonsense to you? But how are all my 
 ladies? How is the one I like the most? Does she 
 look as young and as pretty as ever? And how is 
 dear little Blagden? I hope quite recovered. But 
 tell me how is my intended? Now you can answer 
 me all these little questions, for I shall be in England, 
 I dare say, long enough to have a letter from you. 
 You must tell me all about your own little self, for 
 I am anxious to know all your proceedings at Flor- 
 ence. Have you any cholera there? Perhaps we 
 may come there to see you, and to bring you back to 
 Rome. The cholera is destroying them here. 
 
 JNIr. Williams requested me to i^resent his love to 
 you, but I said no, that is too familiar. I am very 
 tenacious. How is Miss A. getting on? I must now 
 close my long letter and bid you good-by and God 
 
 bless you. Affectionately yours, 
 
 Write soon. John Gibson. 
 
 V
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 133 
 
 MR. GIBSON TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 At Mrs. Huskisson's, Eastham, 
 NEAR Chichester^ Sussex, Sept., 1858. 
 My dear little Hosmer: 
 
 When I arrived at Mrs. Huskisson's here in the 
 country, a beautiful place! I found your letter. 
 When I got out alone into the grounds, up to the 
 Cedar of Lebanon, sitting under its wide branches 
 in the shade, for it was hot, then I read your letter, 
 which brought your little self before me. My mental 
 sight is strong and I can see the absent one; I saw 
 you sitting by my side. Dear little Hosmer, said I, 
 and j^ou say that you long to be at the studio again; 
 so do I. You will distinguish yourself, I am sure 
 you will. Your talent is evident, you have great 
 enthusiasm, and you have that very necessary in- 
 dustry and also that great advantage of a Roman 
 education in the art. 
 
 Is not ours a happy existence, our lives spent in the 
 study of the beautiful, and flying, as we do, upon the 
 wings of inspiration? And at Rome we learn to 
 curb our flights within proper bounds. It is there, 
 in that school, that we learn the principles of pure 
 taste. Void of pure taste, the works of genius are 
 not of great value. There are many obstacles in the 
 path to fame, but to surmount them, to produce fine 
 works, we must have tranquillity of mind. Those 
 who are envious cannot be happy, nor can the vicious. 
 We must have internal peace, to give birth to beauti- 
 ful ideas. 
 
 I am glad that you feel impatient to begin your 
 statue; that impatience is love, the love of the art. 
 The more you feel it, the more is the soul inflamed 
 with ambition, the ambition of excellence. INIay j^ou 
 reach up to that green branch which the divine An-
 
 134. HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 teros holds up in his hands, the premium of Victory. 
 
 I am glad to find that you have had a letter from 
 
 Miss F , and delighted I am to hear that she will 
 
 be back again. You are wicked; my gladness to see 
 her will be equal to your own. When I think of our 
 little circle of ladies at Rome I am proud of them; 
 everj'' one of them is distinguished more or less. I 
 have been reading some of the poetry of Mrs. Brown- 
 ing; she has certainly obtained the green branch, her 
 productions will be always admired. I have only 
 seen the second volume, but I will purchase hers and 
 his too, and have them sent to Rome. 
 
 And is our bright little star to disappear, she that 
 glittered in the circle, our little sprite, the profile, 
 the black curls, the eyes, the poetic glances, the tal- 
 ent? Cast her arms, pray do, and then the little feet, 
 will you? 
 
 I am very glad that you give such a good account 
 
 of Miss C and all her fine doings, her fine 
 
 works. Please remember me most kindly to her and 
 to Mrs. B and to her sister. 
 
 The cholera is much diminished in London; from 
 Wales I returned there, but only for two days. The 
 appearance of London I did not like, very empty of 
 people. Thousands had gone to the country, thou- 
 sands are dead of the cholera, and still Death is at 
 work there. I was glad to get out of the place, but 
 in four or five days I shall have to return again. 
 About the 15th of October Williams and I will leave 
 England for Rome. If you have no cholera I may 
 come to Florence. 
 
 I suppose you must have had a fight with my 
 greatest favorite, for you never once mention her in 
 your letter. Williams sends his love to you, and he 
 says when we return he will give tea to all of you. 
 So will I. Spence left England 27 days ago for 
 Leghorn. He went through all the cholera; said he
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 135 
 
 would write me; he has not written. Perhaps he is 
 dead somewhere of the cholera. 
 I am, my dear little Hosmer, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 John Gibson. 
 
 I have just had a letter from Spence, from Leg- 
 horn. He is not dead. 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 Dear C: Rome, Nov. 30, 1858. 
 
 I have your letter written from Watertown under 
 the paternal roof and at my own desk, which makes 
 me wish to he there too, that I might tell you how I 
 love the picture (of little Hatty) you send me. It 
 is quite beautiful, and so like my little girl that I 
 can almost hear her call me " Aunt Hatty." She has 
 grown much and looks more heroic and determined 
 than ever, embodying in her sturdy little frame all 
 the wilfulness and the mischievousness which Mrs. 
 Kemble is fond of imputing to American children. 
 My advice is, that you let her grow up in her own 
 way; her auntie budded and blossomed in that man- 
 ner, and the consequence is what you perceive! . . . 
 
 Do you know, I have had to throw away two 
 pieces of marble for my last Puck. Such a run of ill 
 luck never happened to me before. I had a piece 
 which I thought faultless, but when I came to finish- 
 ing up the face it was so spotted I had to begin 
 another. Thus you see that marble, like woman, is 
 capricious ! 
 
 You ask if I knew Frederika Bremer. Yes, one 
 day there came to my studio a lady small of stature, 
 plain of face, but so agreeable in manner and con- 
 versation that form and feature were forgotten. She 
 was accompanied by a young girl, who, as I after-
 
 136 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 wards learned, was regarded as a great musical genius. 
 The lady spoke English, but with the deliberate care 
 peculiar to a foreigner. I am not sure that I re- 
 mained impressed with her taste in art, but she was 
 very entertaining, and one remark is worth recording. 
 " Why do you not model a ' Topsy,' * and cut her 
 out of black marble?" That was Miss Bremer, and 
 
 some years afterwards when 1 was recognized 
 
 as a Prima Donna Assoluta, I learned that the great 
 singer was no other than the little girl I had seen 
 with Miss Bremer, to whom her musical education 
 was mainly due. Your H 
 
 In October Miss Hosmer's monument to Made- 
 moiselle Falconnet was placed in the church of San 
 Andrea delle Fratte, and Sir Henry Layard wrote to 
 Madame Falconnet from Constantinople in Decem- 
 ber, 1858, expressing his commendation of it. 
 
 ..." When in Rome I did not fail to visit the 
 monument to your lamented daughter. It had not 
 been placed, when I arrived, but before my depar- 
 ture I had an opportunity of visiting it, with Miss 
 Hosmer, and returning to it with friends upon whose 
 taste and judgment I have great reliance. I think 
 you may rest most fully satisfied with the success of 
 Miss H's work. It has exceeded every expectation 
 I had formed of it. The unaffected simplicity and 
 tender feeling displayed in the treatment are all that 
 could be desired for such a subject, and cannot fail 
 to touch the most casual observer. I scarcely re- 
 member to have ever seen a monument which more 
 completely commended itself to my sympathy, and 
 more deeply interested me, and I really know of none 
 of modern days which I should sooner have placed 
 
 * A little negro girl immortalized by Mrs. Stowe in Uncle Tom's Cabin. 
 \ Illegible.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 137 
 
 over one who had been dear to me. Do not believe 
 that I mean this as exaggerated praise, I faithfully 
 convey to you the impression which the monument 
 made upon me. I attribute this impression, not more 
 to the artistic merit of the work, than to the com- 
 plete absence of all affectation, to the simple truth- 
 fulness, and to the genuine feeling of the monument 
 itself. Mr. Gibson accompanied me on one occasion, 
 and the opinion he expressed was quite in accordance 
 with my own, and he is not a man to give praise 
 where it is not deserved. The effect of the light is 
 excellent; in this respect the monument could not 
 be better placed. The only drawback, and this is not 
 a very serious one, is its somewhat cramped position, 
 an altar rather preventing a good view of the whole 
 figure. But I understood from Miss Hosmer that a 
 part of this altar will probably be removed, and ample 
 space will then be afforded to judge of the more gen- 
 eral effect. JNIiss Hosmer will undoubtedly add very 
 greatly to her reputation by this successful completion 
 of a work of which she may be justly proud. I feel 
 sure that you could not have raised a monument to 
 your lamented daughter's memory in any way more 
 worthy of her." 
 
 MRS. KEMBLE TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 My dearest Hatty: ^^me, Dec, 1858. 
 
 I cannot tell you how charmed I was with my 
 visit to your studio this morning. The delight your 
 lovely inventions gave me was very great, and I was 
 deeply affected by the whole aspect of your career, 
 as it presented itself to my memory from your early 
 girlhood to your complete development as a true and 
 noble artist, an honor to your country and to your 
 sex. I rejoice in your well-deserved success, and 
 hope with all my heart that your uncommon gifts may
 
 138 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 be preserved to you, so that your art may continue 
 to be a source of pure delight to yourself and to 
 others, and of honor to Him from whom cometh 
 every good and perfect gift, and who has bestowed 
 such very rare powers upon you. . . . 
 
 Your very affectionate old friend, 
 
 Fanny Kemble. 
 
 I have been writing a long account of you and your 
 works to my darling,* and I'll tell you what you 
 shall do for me, Hatty, when she comes; you shall 
 make me a bust of the dear face and fine head and 
 that will be an infinite delight to me. 
 
 Again, Mrs. Kemble to Miss Hosmer after a con- 
 versation upon Schiller: 
 
 Rome, December, 1858. 
 Let us divide the earth, said Zeus one day. 
 Straight seized the husbandman the golden fields. 
 In the dark woods the hunter sought his prey. 
 And to the merchant's keel the smooth wave yields. 
 
 Each took and wrought that which became him best; 
 In goodly place each found his lines to fall; 
 Labor made rich the day, the night brought rest, 
 And the great giver, Zeus, was praised by all. 
 
 Late, with slow, wandering feet the Poet came, 
 And sadly asked for his inheritance. 
 "Father, have I alone," he cried, "no claim.? 
 Am I, thy best beloved, cast forth to chance.'' " 
 
 (( 
 
 Where wert thou," asked the god, " when all was done? " 
 " Beside thy feet," the Poet made reply, 
 " Lost in the glorious splendor of thy throne 
 And in thy voice's awful harmony." 
 
 * Her sister, Adelaide Sartoris.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 139 
 
 " What can be done ? The world away is given, 
 Said Zeus, " the sea, the land are no more mine. 
 Say, wilt thou make thy home with me, in heaven? 
 Whene'er thou thither com'st, it shall be thine." 
 
 Dearest Hatty, it is many years since I have seen 
 Schiller's beautiful ballad, and therefore, strong as 
 was the impression it made upon me, I am conscious 
 that even in point of fidelity, this is a most defective 
 translation which I send you. The beautiful idea 
 of the whole is all I have been able to retain, and 
 that even a miserable translation cannot utterly 
 destroy. If I can procure a copy of Schiller's ballad, 
 I will make you a literal prose translation of it, a 
 far better thing, for thought belongs to no language 
 and can be equally rendered in all; the form of words 
 peculiar to each nation has beauties which may be 
 imitated, but never reproduced in any but the original 
 tongue to which they belong. 
 
 When I learned German, I translated each of 
 Schiller's beautiful poems into English verse, but 
 was so dissatisfied with them that I destroyed them 
 all. I have since seen the English literary world accept 
 with commendation versions very little, if at all, bet- 
 ter than mine, but as an artist you have a better 
 right than I, to know that no judgment of one's 
 works can supersede one's own. No blame can deaden 
 one's own approval, no praise bribe one's own con- 
 demnation. The conscience of an artist is kindred to 
 the moral conscience of an upright man, whose ver- 
 dicts are God's alone. ... I hope I shall see you 
 this evening at my sister's. 
 
 Your affectionate old friend, 
 
 Fanny Kemble.
 
 140 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 TO WAYIVIAN CROW. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: Rome, Dec. 1858. 
 
 I wish you could raise your ej^es from this paper 
 and see what at this particular moment of writing 
 I can see. It would be a huge, magnificent room, not 
 in ]Mr. Gibson's studio, but close by, with a monstrous 
 lumi3 of clay, which will be, as Combe would have 
 said, " when her system is sufficiently consolidated," 
 Zenobia. The resources of my quondam studio being 
 unequal to the demands made upon it this year, I 
 have been forced to seek more spacious quarters, and 
 here I am ready to receive you in regal style. 
 
 So the Cenci is finally at rest. I hope the light is 
 good and that her critics will deal leniently with her. 
 As mothers say, Beatrice has her good points and she 
 has her faults. Nobodj^ knows it better than the 
 parent who brought her forth, but I will leave it to 
 others, to find out what they are. 
 
 I wish you could see my monument, which is now 
 placed in the church. Madame Falconnet, the mother, 
 seems pleased with it, and as for Mr. Gibson, I have 
 never heard him express so much satisfaction since I 
 have been in Rome, as he did when he saw it com- 
 pleted. This I tell you between ourselves. 
 
 We have had the most extraordinary weather for 
 the last week. The Campagna is inundated, and the 
 Ripetta, (which is the street parallel with the river), 
 has to be traversed in boats. The water is advancing 
 up the cross streets to the Corso, and the prospect is 
 fair of having a fish race this year at Carnival, in- 
 stead of the horses. All this is very uncomfortable for 
 riders, but still more so for the shepherds, who, besides 
 losing their flocks and herds, are making tracks as of 
 old to the mountains and high places, but with their 
 slip-and-go-easy way console themselves after the
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 141 
 
 manner of Noah's friend, that it is " only a shower." 
 How comes on the Benton monument? If by 
 chance I should get it to do, I should feel very grand. 
 I should like it for next winter's work, and should 
 like uncommonly to see it raised in St. Louis, where 
 two of my babies, in the words of the pious psalmist, 
 are " not lost, but gone before." 
 
 This is sent to reach you at Christmas time, and 
 bears to you all the merry Christmases and Happy 
 New Years that God can shower upon His children. 
 May He keep you all in the sunniest spot of the 
 earth, and may He preserve us all until we meet 
 again. This wish and prayer, with the most loving 
 love to all, is out of the warmest corner of my heart. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 n i\r r^ u RoME^ Jan. 14, 1859. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ' 
 
 Nothing has surprised me so much for a long time 
 as the date of my dear father's letter. If he had 
 walked unannounced into my studio here I scarcely 
 should have opened my eyes wider than when he ad- 
 dressed me from under your hospitable roof. He 
 seems to have enjoyed his visit in St. Louis thor- 
 oughly, and I see he will go home with a due appre- 
 ciation of the beauties and the merits of the 
 West. . . . 
 
 Now apropos of the subject you broached, about 
 the monument. I quite agree with you that it is time 
 our Christian cemeteries were decked with Christian 
 ornaments. I admit I am Pagan enough to admire 
 Pagan subjects, but still it strikes me that something 
 as poetical and beautiful as classic subjects might 
 suggest, is to be found in more modern and more 
 truly religious ones. This is not the result of re- 
 flections I have made since the receipt of your letter 
 only, but of what has been floating about in the cor-
 
 142 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 ners of my brain for a long time, and I already had 
 nearly worked out " in my mind's eye," a design of 
 which I dare say you might approve, — if you do not 
 think it would be too extensive and expensive, as it 
 would involve the necessity of three figures. You 
 know enough of art, to know how difficult it is to ex- 
 press an abstract idea very clearly or fully, unless 
 j^ou can have the scope in a group. All that my head 
 or hand can do is yours to command, as I consider 
 you pretty well own me. Now, dear Mr. Crow, I 
 shall be working out more fully the idea which I will 
 afterwards submit to you, for if the dimensions I 
 have proposed do not frighten you, I will make a 
 careful study in clay and send you a photograph. I 
 want to do something of which you wouldn't be 
 ashamed, nor I either. . . , 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 After working till the last of July, Miss Hosmer 
 went with friends for a trip through Switzerland and 
 writes : 
 
 Milan, Sep. 14, 1859. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 Ever since I left Rome, which is now six weeks 
 ago precisely, I have been thinking of you with in- 
 tent to write, and find to my horror that I have run 
 through Switzerland, had my holiday, and am now 
 as far towards Rome as Milan, without ever having 
 done the decent. I have been lazy to that degree that 
 I am ashamed to tell you of it. But the fact is, that 
 when I left Rome I felt I never should take up any- 
 thing heavier than a nail belonging to the north side 
 of a coffin again. As Miss Cushman says, " Death 
 was no temptation." I looked like an antique of a 
 thousand, I ought to say, like a mummy of four 
 thousand years old. In plain English, " done up."
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 143 
 
 Well, my beloved friend and preserver, if j''ou could 
 see me now, the bulk of the Great Eastern is nothing 
 to mine, you would say. I live and move and have 
 my being on the principle of the Dome of San Marco, 
 which is famed for its breadth and not its height. 
 My buttons disappear like the Redmen before civi- 
 lization. I might be classed among the monsters of 
 the great deep, if I were only under water, and I 
 am sure all those who advocate ideal in man would 
 think the sooner I got there the better for their 
 disciples. And this is the result of a little good air, 
 in contra-distinction to the delicious malaria of the 
 Campagna. The sage conclusion I have arrived at 
 is, that delightful and healthful as a Roman winter 
 is, a summer is enough to break down the strongest 
 constitution. 
 
 Well, here we are in Milan, to-morrow we leave 
 here for Bologna, then for Florence, and then for 
 Rome, where we shall arrive, I hope, on the first day 
 of October, making just two months and two days 
 that we have been shaking our feet. Shaking one's 
 feet is all very well for a time, too, but one likes to 
 be getting on, and that isn't the mode of progression 
 we read of. I am all ready for work again, and am 
 going back to begin that monument,* which is to 
 immortalize us both! I have been studying it out this 
 summer, in spite of my laziness, and rather think, if 
 my modesty were not in the way of my expressing 
 myself strongly, that it will do. By the time you 
 read this, if you can look around the various corners 
 that intervene between your eyes and my studio, you 
 will see something. . . . 
 
 Milan is filled with French soldiers, but everything 
 is as quiet as possible; it remains yet to be seen how 
 much good resulted from those awful battles. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 * For Mr. Crow.
 
 U4i HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 After the weeks spent in Switzerland Miss Hosmer 
 retiu'ned to Rome and to her home with JNIiss Cush- 
 man. The latter had taken a large apartment at 38 
 Via Gregoriana, with her friend Miss Stebbins, and 
 Miss Hosmer also occupied a small apartment in the 
 same house, where they formed one family, as it were: 
 a pleasant arrangement which continued for five 
 years, till JNIiss Hosmer felt that her increasing work 
 and income warranted her having a home of her own. 
 
 TO MISS E. C. CROW. 
 
 T%p J, ^. RoME^ October, 1859. 
 
 ... I suppose you are all sea-monsters by this 
 time, after your summer at Newport, while I am a 
 monster to see, after mine in Lucerne. . . . 
 
 I don't think we have stopped at a single place 
 since we left Rome, without finding somebody we 
 knew, and in a little out-of-the-way town, in crossing 
 the Simplon, a ge^idarme came up to me and said, 
 " Signorina, I have had the pleasure of seeing you 
 in Rome." In that case the meeting was a lucky one, 
 because he recommended us to a vetturino. . . . 
 
 Miss Cushman is going over the ocean next sum- 
 mer. It is an awful temptation to join her, but we'll 
 see, col tempo tutto. At present my head is in the 
 clay pit, where my fingers soon must be, or I shall 
 be ruined. I tell Miss Cushman that if I could play 
 Lady Macbeth I would set up a carriage, but as I 
 can't, I must be content with a wheelbarrow. We 
 have all decided, that is, " the three old maids " of the 
 Gregoriana, that when everything else fails, we'll go 
 in for lecturing. Miss Cushman will hold forth upon 
 Dramatic Art, Miss Stebbins upon Pictorial Art and
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 145 
 
 I upon the Art of Sculpture. Then the division of 
 the proceeds is to be, that each shall take all, and 
 the others have what is left. . . . 
 
 Now my rattle must cease. ^ tt 
 
 Mrs. L. M. Child writes to Miss Hosmer of the 
 Zenobia, now nearing completion: 
 
 x^ xr • ^ Wayland, Oct., 1859. 
 
 Dear Harriet: 
 
 I was overjoyed to receive your letter and the 
 photographs! Bless your great soul! They set my 
 spirits up on sunny heights for three days, and that 
 is a good deal to accomplish, for one of my age. 
 Your father had such a longing for one of them, that 
 I sent him the front view. I couldn't muster sufficient 
 generosity to give him the other, for it forms one of 
 the greatest ornaments of my little parlor. The 
 statue far surpasses my expectations, yet I expected 
 a good deal. It is the skilful embodiment of a truly 
 regal ideal; a strikingly just conception of the brave 
 and proud Zenobia, and most admirably expressed. 
 I think you have been singularly successful in the 
 obviously difficult task of expressing the right degree 
 of motion. The position of the limbs seems to me to 
 indicate exactly the slow and measured tread natural 
 to one walking in procession. Doesn't Mr. Gibson 
 think so? The drapery is a charming combination of 
 Grecian gracefulness with Oriental magnificence, and 
 it is admirably managed. I admire the helmet-crown, 
 so well suited to that " Warrior Queen." The addi- 
 tion of the fillet was a felicitous idea. It makes an 
 extremely pleasing line with the hands where it is 
 crossed on the breast. 
 
 I wish you joy, my young friend; you have fairly 
 won your spurs in the field of art. " Arise, Sir 
 Harriet Hosmer!" The best of it is, you will not be
 
 146 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 satisfied with what you have done, your motto will 
 always be, " Onward and Upward." But if you take 
 such a long stride with every new effort, I think by 
 the time you are fifty years old, you will have to 
 weep for more worlds to conquer. 
 
 You are very often in my thoughts, dear Harriet, 
 and as my imagination almost sees visions, groups of 
 statuary begin to range themselves round my inner 
 gallery as soon as you come into my mind. One day 
 I saw that Mother of the Gracchi who has been quoted 
 to us women, even to tediousness. She was a noble- 
 looking matron, her youngest son was cuddled close 
 among the folds of her drapery, as if shy of the 
 strangers to whom she was exhibiting him. Her hand 
 rested fondly and protectingly upon the little curly 
 head. The older boy looked up with a frank, manly 
 smile into the maternal face that was looking down 
 upon him with loving pride. 
 
 Another time, I saw the grave, enterprising Cap- 
 tain Smith, in the picturesque dress of the Eliza- 
 bethan age, the clasped mantle and the hat with 
 drooping plume. He sat on a rock in Virginian 
 fields, and the young Pocahontas, vigorous and supple, 
 with her twelve years of free, forest life, reclined on the 
 ground beside him, with the careless grace of a faun. 
 Her dress was a short deer-skin skirt, scarcely reach- 
 ing the knee, and fastened below the waist by a girdle 
 of elaborately embroidered wampum, with tasselled 
 ends. Her long hair was held by a wampum band, 
 in which was inserted a semi-circle of feathers, giving 
 it the look of a coronet. She was wearing a garland 
 of woodland flowers and held up one to her European 
 hero, as if asking him to admire it. But why do I 
 prattle to you of my vision gallery, when your own 
 is swarming with forms of beauty? 
 
 Three weeks ago we spent a night at your father's. 
 You know he and my husband were comrades in their
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 147 
 
 bachelor days, and the meeting made them both young 
 again. Such peals of laughter I have not heard for 
 many a day. All the inanimate fixtures in your 
 studio remain as when you left them. Your father 
 takes an affectionate pride in leaving them undis- 
 turbed. 
 
 Mrs. S. in a letter last week, in speaking of you, 
 says, " I love that child." I don't know whether 
 you like to have friends call you a child, I do. 
 
 I am very sorry to see by the papers that Mrs. 
 Browning is ill. I hope her imprisoned soul will 
 not quit the body for a long time to come, for if she 
 is like the average of spirits, the poetry she will tip 
 through tables won't be a tenth part so elegant as 
 that she writes on earth! 
 
 Good angels keep you, dear. 
 
 Your affectionate old friend, 
 
 L. M. Child. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Rome, Oct. 1859. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 The last time I sanctified ink was by writing to 
 you from Milan, in the character of Signora, which 
 among Italians means a fat woman who has nothing 
 to do; now, however, the scene changes, and I present 
 myself in the form of artist, which in this vernacular 
 signifies an individual who is generally in a fix, and 
 this for the want of something to do. Well, at this 
 present moment, being, as I say, the size of Daniel 
 Lambert, I am not thin, nor, as I am " blest with the 
 opportunity of toil," have I nothing to do, and yet, 
 true to the first characteristic of my species, I am in 
 a fix. Being then in the category of planets (not so 
 much because I am a heavenly, as a fixed body), 
 it seems the most natural thing in the world to make
 
 148 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 you the recipient of my woes. Whether it is on the 
 ground of paternity, or whether it is because that 
 beneficent ear of yours has ever Hstened to my 
 groans, or whether it is that I have been inspired by 
 what you term " the talking business " of your last 
 letter, I am sure I can't say, but I fancy it is a union 
 of the whole three things, and this is the result of it. 
 Well, I came from the mountains of Switzerland 
 redolent of fat, rolling in pounds, so far so good, 
 but unluckily they are not pounds sterling; but that 
 doesn't distress me, because I have a sufficiently fat 
 little sum waiting for me in Rome, as I fondly think, 
 for the reason that I have a right to think it. It is 
 owing to me. It is mine (that is, when I get it!) I 
 arrive at headquarters and a letter is waiting for me, 
 of course there is as good as gold inside it. Not a 
 bit of it, with many excuses I am prayed to wait 
 six months! tearing of hair and stern banker. Shall 
 I throw myself into the Tiber? No, because pros- 
 pects are, on the whole, too bright around me. Shall 
 I take prussic acid? No, because there would be 
 great difficulty in the way of making statues after- 
 wards. Also, I relinquish as ignoble the idea of the 
 fatal puddle, and take, not a bottle of poison, but of 
 ink, a quill, a sheet of paper, and your beneficent ear, 
 and that's my fix. Oh, for the time of the gods when 
 one lived on their nectar and yet got fat! Is it that 
 there is no more genuine nectar to be found, or have 
 our constitutions changed, and do they require much 
 bread and butter to keep them in order? Don't they, 
 though! And no friendly god (but yourself) to fur- 
 nish it. However, twirling the fingers and sighing 
 for Olympus won't help the matter one-half so much 
 as the God saving clause in your kind letter, that 
 you would always " pay something to keep me em- 
 ployed." I didn't think at the time I read it, that 
 I should so soon have occasion to quote it in the
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 149 
 
 present sense, because my day looked clear enough, 
 but you, dear Pater who have so much knowledge of 
 mundane affairs, know how easy it sometimes is to 
 be thrown off the track, even when one has several 
 strings to one's bow, and then how still more so it is 
 when a " feller " has just enough to screw on with, 
 and the only string snaps! 
 
 You have heard tell of such a thing, and I have 
 experienced it, (instead of religion). But to go back, 
 you may smile at the alertness with which I have 
 taken up the proposition of your monument,* but the 
 fact is, that beginning it now, four years would 
 scarcely see it finished, and God only knows where we 
 may be at the end of the fifth. And I think I should 
 lie straighter in my grave, if I knew that that work, 
 in which I shall take the most sincere interest, were 
 accomplished. However that may be, whether I have 
 the satisfaction of looking round a ghostly corner 
 and seeing it, or not, I have made my arrangements 
 to devote this winter and half of next, to it (because 
 I couldn't finish the model this season), so that in a 
 business point of view perhaps my asking for a bite 
 now isn't so intolerable ; only it looks so clutcliy, which 
 is a word I coin for the occasion. It's but a nibble I 
 want, not a large bite, just enough to tickle the 
 Hooker (of Pakenham firm).t That is my reason for 
 dropping a line. You see my imminent fix does not 
 discourage me from having a shy at the King's 
 English. Yours, H. 
 
 MRS. JAMESON TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 16 Chatham Place, Brighton, Oct. 10, 1859. 
 My dear Hatty: 
 
 Your letter (dated Rome, Sep. 26th) and the 
 
 * The monument for Mr. Crow. 
 
 f Pakenham, Hooker & Co., Roman bankers.
 
 150 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 photograph * enclosed are lying before me, and I 
 will, as truly as I can, fulfil your wishes in advising 
 and criticising, but before I begin, I must say two 
 things before I forget: first, that I did obtain the 
 casts from the Zenobia coin at Paris, but they are 
 so bad as to be utterly useless except to an anti- 
 quarian. I keep them, to show you that what I said 
 I would do, I did. The engraved coin you will find 
 more useful and you will find it in the collection of 
 coins of the Roman Emperors, under " Aurelian." 
 Secondly, that I advise you, before paying any atten- 
 tion to my criticism, to refer to Mr. Gibson, not men- 
 tioning my name at first, but merely asking his 
 opinion as to the prints in question. I know the 
 malignant sarcasm of some of your rivals at Rome, 
 as to your having Mr. Gibson " at your elbow " and 
 all that, but, my dear Hatty, I should think lightly of 
 your good sense and your moral courage, if such in- 
 sinuations, irritating to your self-esteem and offensive 
 to your self-dependence, could prevent your availing 
 yourself of all the advantages you may derive from 
 the kind counsel of your friend. If the subject were 
 a bust, or a Puck, it would be otherwise; but in 
 classic sculpture Gibson is first, and the purity of his 
 taste is to be depended on far more than mine. Do 
 I not know that Gibson himself would take counsel 
 of Thorwaldsen or Canova? Did not Raphael take 
 counsel and criticism of every gifted mind around 
 him? The originality of a conception remains your 
 own, with the stamp of your mind upon it, to give it 
 oneness of effect as a whole. Impertinent and ma- 
 licious insinuations die away, and your work and 
 your fame remain, as I hope, for a long, long future. 
 Make your work as perfect as you can, never fear to 
 adopt any change of detail, any hint which is in 
 harmony with your own conception and has reason in 
 
 * Of Zenobia.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 151 
 
 it, and for details of drapery and flow of lines, listen 
 to Gibson. This is between ourselves. I have em- 
 barked so much of pride and hope in you as an artist, 
 that I should be in desj^air if you fall into the error 
 of your countrymen and sacrifice what alone can 
 be permanent in style and taste, to a vulgar ambition 
 of self-sufficing, so-called originalit}^ which is as far 
 from what is truly poetic and original as possible. 
 You know that I can understand and feel in pic- 
 turesque and romantic sculpture, and all that is good 
 in the renaissance style which Mr. Gibson abhors, but 
 in his own dej)artment of art, his taste is exquisite and 
 sure. Your Zenobia is a classical heroine, to be 
 classically treated; therefore when you are in doubt, 
 listen to him and have sufficient dependence on your- 
 self to afford to do this, and to set at naught the gos- 
 sip of the Caffe Greco. 
 
 Well, now for the photograph. So far as it has 
 gone, your statue has man}^ indications of being most 
 beautiful and fulfilling all my ambition for you, which 
 is saying much, but now for criticism. The diadem 
 is too low on the brow, thus taking from the value 
 and dignity of the face and that intellectual look 
 which Zenobia had, I suppose, as indicative of her 
 talents. . . . 
 
 Now do you want a stronger proof that I am truly 
 vours, Anna Jameson. 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 D^dr C: Rome, Nov. 12, 1859. 
 
 Mountain wouldn't and so INIahomet would, vou 
 know, and as I haven't seen the shadow of your fair 
 hand for months, I must trj^ and console myself by 
 looking at my own barbarous fist. But I haven't 
 raised it for the purpose of reproaching or humiliating
 
 152 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 you, but to tell you that I have been brought very 
 near you, for we have had the girls in Rome; only 
 for a few days, it is true, but in another eight days 
 we shall have them again for three long, delicious 
 months. They are such darlings in every way, that 
 I stand straighter in my shoes when I call them sisters 
 mine. Miss Cushman says they are " just the nicest 
 American gii'ls I know," and I say, " myself ex- 
 cepted," upon which she looks at me pityingly and 
 calls me " fiend." I tell them that they mustn't speak 
 anything but Italian, and M. has already got as far 
 as accidejite, which word I will leave you to ferret 
 out in the dictionary. We are going to Albano to 
 meet them on their way back from Naples, make the 
 tour of the Lakes and Nemi, and escort them to 
 Rome in the evening and initiate them into the art 
 of becoming Romans without loss of time. We are 
 always ungrateful wretches in this world, and there- 
 fore, grateful as I am, to have them, I say to myself, 
 *' If we only had them all! " 
 
 Don't be frightened at rumors of war and blood- 
 shed here; the foreign papers are full of troubles and 
 revolutions, but our heads are not off yet and we 
 don't mean they shall be. Any way, whenever we 
 find the place too hot to hold us we shall take E. and 
 M. and be off. So long as the star spangled banner 
 streams from 38 via Gregoriana, you may know all 
 is serene. 
 
 The girls tell me that you clutch at every interest- 
 ing statement that is made of me in the public jour- 
 nals of our glorious republic, and that you are to have 
 a room papered with them. I commission you now 
 to write my naughty-biography, and whenever you 
 desire it, I will die to hasten its publication. 
 
 Your H.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 153 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ^^^^^ J^^' ^0, I860. 
 
 With this I despatch the design for your monu- 
 ment, which I submit to your taste and criticism. I 
 hope the subject will speak for itself, but in case it 
 should not, it is for the artist to throw in a few ex- 
 planatory words. What I have selected is Christ 
 restoring to life the daughter of the Master of the 
 Synagogue. I have done so, because you desired " a 
 Christian subject," and something new, as well as 
 appropriate. It seemed to me that this subject com- 
 bined the three desired qualities, as well as possessing 
 the merit of being sculpturesque, and as far as I 
 know, and as far as the memories of those who have 
 seen the sketch will serve them, it is not hackneyed, a 
 great desideratum. 
 
 I have been in doubt as to the text most applicable, 
 but upon the whole, decided that the text in the design 
 would be best, as more fully generalizing the idea 
 expressed in the group, viz., " I am the Resurrection 
 and the Life." However, I leave this an open ques- 
 tion, and you may be able to suggest another, al- 
 though this, to me, seems not amiss. Then the words, 
 " He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet 
 shall he live," are continued upon the other side. The 
 space below, upon the pedestal, is destined for the 
 name, the wording of which I leave to you. 
 
 So much, dear Mr. Crow, in few words, for the 
 design, trusting it will speak for itself more eloquently 
 than I have done for it. Suffice it to say, that Mr* 
 Gibson approves of it heartilj^ having rendered a 
 verdict in favor of the subject and composition, which 
 set my heart greatly at ease. . . . Yours H.
 
 154, HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Mrs. Browning in speaking of the people in Rome 
 that winter and spring of 1860, says: * " Lady Marian 
 Alford, the Marquis of Northampton's daughter, is 
 here, very eager about hterature, art and Robert, for 
 all which reasons I should care for her; also Hatty 
 calls her divine. She knelt down before Hatty the 
 other day and gave her — placed on her finger — the 
 most splendid ring you can imagine, a large ruby in 
 the form of a heart, surrounded and crowned with 
 diamonds. Hatty is frankly delighted, and says so, 
 with all sorts of fantastical exaggerations." 
 
 * Letters of Mrs. Browning, by Fred G. Kenyon, Vol. II, page 392.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 1860-1863 
 
 In March (1860) Miss Hosmer was suddenly 
 
 called home by her father's illness — a slight attack of 
 
 paralysis, from which he seemed to recover in a few 
 
 months. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Watertown^ April 18, 1860. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 You will not be surprised to find me at home, after 
 the sad news I found awaiting me in Rome, on my 
 return there from Florence. After three days' prep- 
 aration, I took the Sunday boat for Marseilles, and 
 was fortunate enough to catch the " Persia," which 
 brought me here eighteen days out from Rome. You 
 already know how I found my dear father. He is 
 able to come down stairs, but does not seem to be 
 gaining strength. He will worry about his affairs, 
 but I, who for the first time in my life, now, know 
 something of their real condition, find they are by 
 no means so ruinous as they have been represented 
 to me. He bade me look over all his papers, and 
 even break the seal of tlie letter of which, he says, 
 you have a copy. (That letter contained his only 
 bequest. He left his daughter to his friend.* Thus 
 at his death, which occin^red two years later, her sec- 
 ond father became her only one. How more than 
 faithful he was to the trust, maj^ be read between the 
 
 * Wayraan Crow, whom both before and after her father's death she called 
 "the Pater." 
 
 155
 
 156 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 lines of her letters.) He told me he should leave 
 everything at my disposal, as he had destroyed his 
 will. And that the only thing he desired was, that I 
 should follow your advice in all matters. Thus much 
 have I said at his own request, though I tell him he is 
 worth six of us yet, as sometimes he really seems to 
 be, but he would have it so, and made me promise 
 to repeat to you all that I have written. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 May 20th. 
 Dear Pater: 
 
 There is no great change in my father's condition. 
 He suffers no pain, and altogether is very serenely 
 happy. . . . 
 
 I suppose you have read Hawthorne's new book.* 
 What a delicious one, as a j)icture of Italy and Italian 
 life! It is only taking the words out of another's 
 mouth, for me to say that Donatello's creation is one 
 of the most exquisite poems penned. I don't know 
 anything half so ideal and artistic as it is. Of course 
 the plot is nothing, nor did he care that it should be, 
 I fancy, but for perfection of writing, beauty of 
 thought, and for the perfect combination of nature, 
 art, and poetry, I never saw its equal. 
 
 June 10. 
 My father walks in the garden and sometimes a 
 little bit outside the gate, and gains strength. 
 
 June 20th. 
 
 My father sends best love. My good fortune f is 
 
 an elixir vitae to him. Pen and ink can scarcely 
 
 tell you how happy I am. As the matter is all signed, 
 
 sealed, and delivered, I may say that I don't think 
 
 * The Marble Faun. 
 
 f The commission just received for a statue of Thomas Benton.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 157 
 
 I have ever been half so tickled before. Think what 
 a start it gives me, what a thing to have a public 
 work! and above all how rejoiced I am that it will 
 be in St. Louis. 
 
 June 22d. 
 I send with this my official response * to the Com- 
 mittee upon the Benton statue. I have had many 
 congratulations, but I tell them to wait till they see 
 the statue. The best compliment they have paid me 
 is in saying that I am your protegee. I am glad 
 others recognize the truth as clearly (if not as grate- 
 full}^) as I do. My father sends love; he gambols 
 over Benton like a young lamb. 
 
 July 8th. 
 My father is a miracle of health. He drives about, 
 w^alks, is farming, haying, and what not, and is as 
 bright as possible. To-morrow we are all going to 
 Walpole, then I, to St. Louis. I shall sail earlier 
 than I had planned and have a notion of going back 
 in the " Great Eastern "; she is a capital, quiet sailer. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 The artist received this letter while in Watertown 
 after her hurried voyage home: 
 
 LADY EASTLAKE TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 7, FiTZROY Square, London, 13th April, 1860. 
 
 31 y dear Miss Hosmer: 
 
 The little kind pencil note reached me duly, tho' 
 to my great surprise, on the 29th of last month, 
 and I felt quite unhappy to think that I could do 
 nothing for your comfort in your rapid flight through 
 this country. 
 
 * See Appendix A.
 
 158 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 I hope I am not too late in these few lines to you 
 over the Atlantic, for I cannot resist taking advan- 
 tage of your address. Most cordially do I hope that 
 you have found your father recovering, and that the 
 presence of his only child will prove the best cordial 
 for him and the best reward of your exertions. 
 Should his life and health be granted to you, we shall 
 still hope for a happy meeting Jicre as we had planned. 
 Perhaps your return will be delaj^ed till such time 
 as you can meet dear Mr. Gibson at this house. 
 Then if you are spared anxiety regarding your father, 
 we may be as happy as mortals can be! 
 
 As regards the bust of Miss Cushman, I have been 
 twice to Colnaghi's about it. The first time it was 
 not unpacked, but they had meanwhile had a letter 
 from good Miss C. It remains at Colnaghi's — and 
 is as much seen there as it would have been in the 
 small vault of our Academy. 
 
 When you return I expect you will find a first- 
 rate exhibition open. Sir Charles * is very much de- 
 lighted with what he has seen, and is just now all day 
 long at the Academy, seeing pictures till he is quite 
 exhausted. 
 
 We have been very unhappy at the death of dear 
 Mrs. Jameson, who was a most kind friend. Her 
 death was so sudden that many who loved her much 
 saw the first announcement of it in the " Times." She 
 has left a work uncompleted, and there is some idea 
 that I may attempt to take her place, but this de- 
 pends on the amount of labour required, and on other 
 conditions which are not ascertained yet. If, however, 
 my much interrupted time permits, my true regard 
 for the dear lady would prompt me to do my best. 
 
 Now, dear Miss Hosmer, let me have a few lines 
 from you, again, telling me of your father, and in 
 what way we can do something for you on your re- 
 
 * Sir Charles Eastlake, president of the Royal Academy.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 159 
 
 turn. I trust the " Persia " treated you well. We 
 thought much of you on your way. 
 Believe me, 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 Elizabeth Eastlake. 
 
 SIR HENRY LAYARD TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 138 Piccadilly, London, 27th June, 1860. 
 
 My dear Miss Hosmer: 
 
 I was much grieved to hear of the cause of your 
 sudden departure from Rome. I have not heard how 
 you found your father on your arrival in America. 
 I most sincerely hope that he has been spared to you, 
 and that his health will again be such as not to cause 
 you anxiety. 
 
 Your friends in England — and they are many and 
 very enthusiastic and affectionate, were looking for- 
 ward to the pleasure of seeing you in this country. 
 I had counted upon many a pleasant chat, and have 
 been daily enquiring of the Eastlakes whether they 
 had any news of you. We long, too, to see Mr. Gib- 
 son again. 
 
 I have been recently reading Transformation,* 
 so you may easily fancy that you have been very 
 constantly in my thoughts. I of course concluded 
 that you were the heroine, — but I cannot believe that 
 you ever threw a gentleman over the Tarpeian Rock, 
 — even after a picnic in the Coliseum! Then as to the 
 other lady, I could not fancy you with doves and a 
 pet Madonna, — so I gave up all attempts at further 
 identification. Notwithstanding m}^ admiration for 
 the style and fancy of j^our romancer, I cannot for- 
 give his attack upon an excellent artist and his col- 
 ored statues (tho' probably you will sympathize in 
 
 * The Marble Faun, by Hawthorne.
 
 160 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 his views upon the latter, after the cold you caught 
 by my means in visiting the sarcophagus in the Jew- 
 ish Catacomb). I have been fancying ever since, that 
 you owed me a grudge on account of the pilgrimage. 
 Mr. Hawthorne is unfair to Mr. Gibson — I cannot 
 understand a man of his refinement objecting to the 
 colored Venus and figures on the ground he takes; 
 as a mere matter of taste, the question is altogether 
 different. As to the " fact " of the ancients coloring 
 their statues, there can be no doubt. Whether it 
 is good taste or not, so to do, may be questioned, but 
 that it should be considered improper, I cannot under- 
 stand. 
 
 I want to hear about your Zenobia. Is she yet 
 turned into a pillar of marble, for the admiration of 
 posterity, or does she still stand in her frail mortal 
 clay? The photographs which you sent Mrs. M. have 
 been very greatly admired, and I hope that ere long 
 the statue itself will be placed in some place worthy 
 to receive it. You have probably heard that there 
 is to be a great universal exhibition in England in 
 1862 — upon the same principle as the previous one, 
 at which Powers showed his Greek Slave. I hope you 
 will be induced to send something, that the women 
 and men of England may know what a young lady 
 of genius, with the inestimable qualities of persever- 
 ance and determination, can effect. 
 
 I have nothing good to tell you of English art. 
 Watts' fresco in Lincoln's Inn Hall is the only mod- 
 ern work of any credit to us. We are raising monu- 
 ments right and left, but this kind of encouragement 
 does not seem to do much for the development of art. 
 I have just been looking at three huge guardians in 
 bronze, who are bound like Andromeda to a rock 
 (except that they are provided with great coats of 
 bearskin), to commemorate the Crimean War, and 
 the Guards who perished in it. I am on a committee
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 161 
 
 to raise a statue to Lord Lyons, in St. Paul's, and 
 am in despair. 
 
 The public are wild about a picture by Mr. Hol- 
 man Hunt, a pre-raphaelite. He has been some years 
 at it. The picture represents a building supposed 
 to be the Jewish Temple, with thousands of pieces of 
 coloured glass and a pavement of variegated marble; 
 then see also Christ, the Virgin, — the Doctors, — but 
 they are less important than the fly flappers and the 
 ostrich eggs. All this is reviving the true principles 
 of art! I see no hope for this school, which at one 
 time certainly promised great things. . . . 
 
 With every good wish for your health and happi- 
 ness, I am, my dear Miss Hosmer, 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 A. H. Layard. 
 
 The following letter was received while the artist 
 was still in Watertown: 
 
 MRS. CHILD TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Dear Hatty: Wayland, Sep. 16, 1860. 
 
 ... I made a pleasant excursion last week, to a 
 friend's. It was a quaint old-fashioned little cottage 
 close by a mill, surrounded by graceful trees and 
 shrubbery, through which the bright waters glanced 
 in every direction. It was one of the most picturesque 
 spots I ever saw. The owners are poor in worldly 
 wealth, but rich in artistic cultivation; and everj^- 
 thing bore the impress of their characters. It is 
 wonderful and altogether beautiful, this predominance 
 of soul over matter. 
 
 Whittier, the poet, lives a few miles from them, 
 and they proposed to drive me to his house. It was a 
 lovely ride along the side of the sparkling Merrimack
 
 162 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 all the way. Whittier is an old anti-slavery friend and 
 was rejoiced to see me. He is a man of rare genius, 
 the flame of which seems to burn brighter as he grows 
 older. He is one of those whom you wanted to have 
 " hung " alongside of me ! and Frank Shaw and 
 Sarah Shaw and George Kussell and James Russell 
 Lowell and Ralph Waldo Emerson and Wendell 
 Phillips so beautiful, so eloquent, and so brave; and 
 William Lloyd Garrison, " the noblest Roman of 
 them all." If you had had your will, little " Missouri 
 Ruffian" that you are! and had exterminated the 
 abolitionists, let me tell you, you would have destroyed 
 the wheat of the country and left nothing but the 
 chaff. But you didn't know it, so I forgive you. 
 
 Page has come home with his wife and boy. He 
 seems happier than we ever saw him, and is now 
 positively certain, (as he ever has been,) that he has 
 mastered all the secrets of art, and is sure of success, 
 triumphant success. 
 
 I hope you won't get into a fight with any of your 
 rivals and settle the question with Bowie knives and 
 revolvers, Missouri fashion. I can send you a Bowie 
 knife bearing the motto, " Death to Abolitionists," 
 if you want it, but Bowie knives won't kill us. God 
 bless you, dear little Ruffian! 
 
 Always your affectionate friend, 
 
 L. Maria Child. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Watertown, September, 1860. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I am afraid I must delay my visit to you for the 
 Prince * comes to Boston on October 14th and Mr. 
 Gibson would take my head off if I did not do the 
 civil. H. 
 
 * The Prince of Wales.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 163 
 
 Watertown, October 19th. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 Well, I went to the great Ball * last night, and a 
 very jolly time I had of it. The room was crowded 
 to the extent of eight thousand persons, and more in 
 the chinks. The hall was decorated with devices, 
 crests, banners, flowers, and all sorts of pretty 
 things, and the general effect was pleasing, though 
 in detail it might have been improved. The Prince 
 and suite appeared in process of time in a royal box, 
 and having remained a few minutes to gaze, but more 
 particularly to be gazed at, descended to the floor. 
 He looks a little fagged as well he may, but seemed 
 in good spirits. Mr. Everett came to me and said I 
 must go up with him, whereupon I did. The Prince 
 recognized me at once and shook hands most cordially. 
 Afterwards, when I was prowling with Lord Lyons, 
 he came up to me and said how fond he was of my 
 Puck, which now is in his rooms at Oxford. After 
 supper there was more prowling and we got home at 
 three o'clock a.m. So endeth the Ball. 
 
 Later Miss Hosmer went to St. Louis to confer 
 with the committee about the statue of Benton, and 
 then started back to the East, to sail for Italy. The 
 friend whom she had been visiting accompanied her 
 to Boston, and on their way they made a pleasant 
 detour as is explained in this letter: 
 
 Cleveland, Monday night, Oct., 1860. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 Pray open your eyes at our being here. We got 
 on swimmingly up to the moment when I rashly in- 
 vested in a newspaper, which informed us that Mrs. 
 
 * Given to the Prince of Wales in Boston.
 
 164 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Kemble was to read " Othello " to-night in Cleveland. 
 I at once collared a brakeman, who collared the 
 baggage-master, who collared our trunks for us, and 
 here we are and making a very decent appearance. 
 We have seen Mrs. Kemble, who gave us one of her 
 sweetest receptions, and we are off with her, in about 
 twenty minutes, to hear " Othello." Now isn't that 
 being spry and energetic? I lose a day by it, but 
 must make it up somehow, and if I can't, Gabriel 
 must call it even at the last trump. I never saw Mrs. 
 Kemble looking better. She is going from here to St. 
 Louis, and she is to be in Rome next winter! 
 
 We got through last night on the train very well, 
 and had hot tea on every practicable occasion. We 
 are off to-morrow morning at seven o'clock, and don't 
 know what time we shall get to bed to-night, as we 
 sup with Mrs. Kemble after the reading. Isn't it a 
 
 ^'■°'''=- Yours, H. 
 
 jy p / . Lenox, Thursday morning. 
 
 I will now give you the latest. If we reach Boston 
 without accident I shall set this down as one of the 
 most successful and delightful journeys ever accom- 
 plished. When we arrived in Pittsfield yesterday, 
 there seemed a dearth of stages, and those who owned 
 horse-flesh took advantage of the Cattle Fair raging 
 in the town, to demand six dollars (!!!) for a con- 
 veyance to Lenox (six miles). That we thought too 
 much of an imposition for even Beef to extenuate, and 
 while cogitating upon what we should do, we fell upon 
 a darkey, who oddly enough, had been in Rome last 
 winter, as courier to Governor Briggs' son, of Pitts- 
 field, and who is employed now in the depot there. 
 He immediately recognized me and placed himself at 
 our service, put us in the way of a Shandrydan, for 
 which we paid half a dollar each, and arrived under
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 165 
 
 William Curtis' hospitable roof * safe in body and 
 mind. We spent the evening delightfully, seeing 
 Bessie and other dear friends. Now Mr. Curtis is 
 going to drive us to the train for Boston. There is 
 nothing like breaking a journey, particularly when it 
 is broken pleasantly. Yours H 
 
 Immediately after her return to Watertown Miss 
 Hosmer sailed for Italy and writes from her studio: 
 
 ^ ^r r^ Rome, Nov. 16, 1860. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 Here I am, having flitted four thousand miles as 
 safely and comfortably as one who is encumbered 
 with a fat body can. You have already had my re- 
 port as far as Liverpool and London. To begin 
 there anew, and my journey to pursue, I devoted one 
 day to London, then went on Wednesday to France, 
 had a delightful passage across the channel, so quick 
 that I went sound asleep and knew nothing of the 
 transit, till I reached the other side and bade adieu to 
 my native tongue. Took rail to Paris, where I 
 arrived after midnight, and went to Meurice's. I 
 abode there till Friday morning, when I made a bee 
 line for Marseilles. Travelled Friday and all that 
 night, getting to M. about eight o'clock a.m. and 
 engaged my passage on the " Vesuvio " to leave that 
 night at ten o'clock for Civita Vecchia. I disposed 
 of my day by driving about that most unpicturesque 
 of towns. 
 
 So far so good; and now begins my bad luck, for 
 before evening, rain came on, and when I drove to 
 the landing and pushed out, baggage and all, in a 
 little boat, to go on board the steamer, the darkness 
 was blacker than Egyptian. Never did I expect 
 
 * The well-known hostelry of Lenox.
 
 166 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 to get on that ship, short of a corpse. However, we 
 scrambled up the wet, slippery ladder. It wasn't 
 long before I was stretched out in my berth and wait- 
 ing for the thing to be off, but never an inch did she 
 move, on account of the weather, till seven o'clock 
 next morning, when she ran down seventy miles, and 
 there was forced to lay to. One hour, do you think? 
 No, from Sunday noon till Tuesday morning! There 
 she was, and there of course, were we! After that, a 
 rough, nast}^ passage to Civita Vecchia, so that in- 
 stead of arriving on Monday morning at aforesaid 
 port, we got there on Wednesday at noon, and 
 Wednesday night, just three weeks from the day I 
 sailed out of New York harbor, I slept within sound 
 of the bell of St. Peter's. 
 
 And now I never care to see steamer, boat, mud- 
 scow, engine, or rail again. Heartily tired am I of 
 meandering over the world, and quite ready to go to 
 work. I found Mr. Gibson well and pleased to see 
 me. He says I have grown tall, and I tell him he 
 has grown handsome! Found all my studio things 
 in good train, and my marble most beautiful. I am 
 in the direst confusion, sitting in the midst of trunks, 
 and writing on anything I find stationary. Rome is 
 as quiet as the grave, and no one thinks of talking 
 about danger. All the old Anglo-Romans are 
 oacx^. • • • 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 With Miss Hosmer's love for stories, she could not 
 refrain from adding this postscript; 
 
 You know poets have sung, and philosophers (who 
 perhaps do not feel like singing when they discover 
 their reputation waning) admit that the nature of 
 fame is circumscribed and transitory. Well, these 
 two stories would seem to support this theory:
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 167 
 
 Mr. Robert Hay, who was the private secretary of 
 the Duke of Wellington (the Iron Duke), told me 
 that a short time after the Duke's death he found 
 himself in Scotland, and walking one morning in the 
 garden of a friend he met the gardener and thus ad- 
 dressed him: "So the old Duke is dead." "Who, 
 sir?" said the gardener. "The great Duke of Well- 
 ington," returned Mr. Hay, somewhat surprised that 
 the gardener was not aware of the fact. But his 
 surprise increased when the gardener continued, 
 " Well, sir, I am sorry for his family, but, poor man, 
 I never heard of him." 
 
 The next story is my master's. He was crossing 
 Mont Cenis by diligence, before the tunnel was made 
 or thought of, and met a traveller whom he at once 
 recognized as a fellow countryman. Conversation 
 followed, when the stranger spoke of the pleasant 
 journey he had made through Italy, but he said he 
 found it difficult to remember Italian names. " For 
 instance," he continued, " I remember one queer old 
 place beginning with R." " Radicofani," suggested 
 Mr. Gibson, " Ravacione, Ronciglione," and other 
 names somewhat difficult for foreigners. " No, no," 
 said the stranger, " a shorter name. I remember as 
 you entered the gate there was a large church on the 
 left, and a lot of circular columns and two big foun- 
 tains in the square." " It is not possible," said Mr. 
 Gibson, looking aghast at the stranger, " that you 
 mean Rome!" "The verjr place," said he, "and I 
 could not think of the name." 
 
 And still another stor\^ is of mj^ master, which illus- 
 trates his matliematical deficiencies. I went into the 
 studio one day and found him with a great sheet of 
 paper, upon which he had made a number of small 
 marks. There were seven rows and seven in each 
 row. I asked: 
 
 " Signor Giovanni, what are you doing? "
 
 168 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 " Trying to find out how much is seven times 
 seven." 
 
 " Why, forty-nine," I replied. He looked at me 
 in amazement, and observed that I must know the 
 multiplication table. I replied that I did, and he 
 frankly confessed that he " never could learn the 
 thing." ^g^in ^ddio. Yours, H. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: Homie, Nov. 23, 1860. 
 
 Having traversed half a hemisphere and having 
 been here a week, I have made various small sketches 
 in clay of our Colonel,* and flatter myself that they 
 are all cast into the shade by the last one with which 
 his ghost has inspired me. Thinking the matter well 
 over on my journey, by the time I entered the Roman 
 gates I had evolved this one. I discussed the subject 
 with Mr. Gibson, read him Benton's speech which you 
 gave me, dwelt upon the individuality the statue would 
 acquire if treated in this manner, over the rather 
 hackneyed character of a senator. He more than ap- 
 proved of the idea, and, encouraged by his approval, 
 I am confining myself to the India motto. He says 
 he is " willing to put his name to it on all sides " as 
 a good composition and well expressed idea. The 
 motto is " There is the East. There is India." 
 
 As to Rome, tranquillity pervades it. The streets 
 are full of French soldiers, but as for politics and 
 dangers of disunion and bloodshed, I heard more such 
 sanguinary conversation in one day in America, than 
 I have heard here in seven. All the old habitues are 
 back and Rome is already quite full enough to be 
 pleasant. 
 
 I find my studio affairs in tip-top order, and every- 
 thing went on as well during my absence as if I had 
 
 been here, thanks to Camillo. ^^ tx 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 * Thomas Benton.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 169 
 
 TO MISS DUNDAS. 
 
 ,^ , . Rome, Jan. 13th (1861). 
 
 My dear A: ^ ' 
 
 ... In your letter you expressed horror of my 
 beloved and angelic steed, and Lady Lyell reported 
 a roll, which at that time I had not had; but the very 
 day after the letter reached me I slipped on the pave- 
 ment in the Due Machelli, had quite a severe bruising 
 and sprained my thumb just enough to prevent my 
 holding a pen until now. " Voila pourquoi " I have 
 not replied sooner. Was it not odd? 
 
 Bwt to go back to the subject of my dear horse, 
 because I think it is only justice to his equine nature, 
 and to my equestrian, that we defend our cause. The 
 insane idea seems to pervade divers brains, that he is 
 to be the cause of my demise! I utterly protest 
 against having made my arrangements to that effect. 
 I grant he is a large, powerful fellow, but as free 
 from vice as his mistress, and nothing more than that 
 can be said! In short, he is the apple of my eye; 
 better to die with him than to live with any other, 
 and better to be brought home (unlike the Spartans) 
 on a riding whip, than to die an inglorious pedestrian 
 death. 
 
 Mr. Gibson is modelling Bacchus, and a very fine 
 thing it will be. The subject certainly is not new, 
 but he is treating it very beautifully and simply. Mrs. 
 P. is becoming very much disturbed and vexed at 
 his withholding the Venus, but the days of Pygmalion 
 are returning, and I am sure until the Venus wanders 
 over to Liverpool herself, she will never get beyond 
 the precincts of the studio. 
 
 If you have not already been, pray go and see 
 Rosa Bonheur and write me all about her. Mrs. 
 Browning excepted, I do not know a woman for 
 whom I have more respect and admiration than for
 
 170 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 her. I was greatly disappointed at not being able 
 to find her when I was in Paris, but she was in the 
 country, and so of course I couldn't even catch a 
 glimpse of her studio. I wonder she doesn't come to 
 Rome, at least for a time, for the whole Campagna 
 would be her studio, and she would see it in all its 
 wonderful beauty. Fancy the picture she might make 
 of those regal gray oxen and those dragons of 
 fidelity, the Campagna dogs! Browning told me she 
 had half an idea of coming, and it is the most friendly 
 advice one could give her. 
 
 I wish you were here to criticise my Fountain, the 
 story of Hylas and the Water Nymphs, as perhaps 
 I showed you in London. I had a letter from our 
 dear friend a few days ago, speaking of your visit 
 to her last summer, and of lying under the trees and 
 I dare say reading the " Lotus Eaters." Happy 
 creatures! Meanwhile I was visiting the whale, lying 
 on my back, 'tis true, but instead of rejoicing my 
 eyes over the Lotus, I sickened my head and heart, 
 aye, and stomach too, over the Eaters who consumed 
 or would have consumed the main-mast and rejuve- 
 nated themselves on anything else besides Lotus. 
 Truly a sea-life is a horror. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ^^^^^ ^^^' 2^, 1861. 
 
 Now comes your turn, and it would have come be- 
 fore, except that I felt I had better not show my 
 face or hand until it could be accompanied by the 
 drawing (for Benton). Now, unless the winds are 
 capricious and the mail bags treacherous, you have it 
 already before your eyes, and I earnestly trust in 
 good condition, the sea having dealt with its interior 
 more leniently than it does with mine. My letter to 
 the committee (which I beg you to lay before them) 
 will sufficiently tell the story, and I cannot say how
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 171 
 
 anxiously I shall await their verdict. You see I have 
 made the bold stroke with the legs, but it sounds 
 bolder in theory than it looks in practice, for at the 
 height at which the statue will be placed, so much 
 of the form being concealed by drapery, the absence 
 of boots and trousers will be scarcely obvious, while 
 on the other hand, it gives an infinitely higher style 
 of art to the work. Mr. Gibson would not hear of 
 my lumbering up the figure with them. He saj^s, 
 " Tell them that is my practice, and I am a veteran 
 in my art." So you have his authorit}^ on the subject. 
 I am going on at once with the larger statue, at the 
 risk of its being approved, so weigh well your de- 
 liberations, for if you do not smile assent, my only 
 consolation will be the Tiber. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 TO — . 
 
 T^ Rome, Mar. (1861). 
 
 Dear : ^ ' 
 
 Like all the rest of us who are under the peculiar 
 care of Providence, you and yours have been ill and 
 I am anxious. For my part, I am beginning to re- 
 cover my physical equilibrium, but there was a time 
 when I thought the whole contents of Pandora's box 
 had been emptied upon my hapless head. It is easier 
 to keep well than to get well, in Rome, where if your 
 system becomes debilitated, you are quite at the mercy 
 of a train of ills which threaten and howl around you 
 like the wolves round Rizpah, and no torch but the 
 doctor's prescription to keep them off. However, 
 both the wolves and the prescriptions are gradually 
 hiding their diminished heads, so my case is not yet 
 hopeless. 
 
 I had a discussion yesterday with ]\Ir. IMay,* he 
 is a great woman's rights man, I find, just as much 
 
 * Of Syracuse, N. Y.
 
 172 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 so as it seems to me is reasonable, that is, he thinks 
 every woman should have the power of educating 
 herself for any profession and then practicing it for 
 her own benefit and the benefit of others. 'Q^ don't ap- 
 prove of bloomerism and that view of woman's rights, 
 but every woman should have the opportunity of culti- 
 vating her talents to the fullest extent, for they were 
 not given her for nothing, and the domestic circle would 
 not suffer thereby, because in proportion to the few 
 who would prefer fighting their own way through the 
 world, the number would be great who would choose a 
 partner to §ght it for them; but give those few a 
 chance, say I,^And those chances will be given first 
 in America. " What fun it would be to come back to 
 this earth after having been a wandering ghost for 
 a hundred years or so and see what has been going 
 on in flesh while we have been going on in spirit! 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 SIR HENRY LAYARD TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 180 Piccadilly, April 15, 1861. 
 
 My dear Miss Hosmer: 
 
 On coming to England I found myself in the vol- 
 cano of a popular election. For a month I did noth- 
 ing and could do nothing but roar myself hoarse in 
 pressing my virtues and political qualifications upon 
 the multitude. I was returned a member of Parlia- 
 ment, for Southwark, and then came the work of the 
 House of Commons and hundreds of other things. 
 In fine, you know a thing once put off rarely ever 
 comes to pass. However, to-day, after a desperate 
 resolution, I opened a bundle of unanswered letters, 
 and the photograph of your design for a political 
 monument, which you were kind enough to send me, 
 reminded me that the first epistolary debt I had to 
 discharge was to you.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 173 
 
 I have heard vicariously of you from friends who 
 are, or have been, at Rome, for who can go to the 
 Eternal City, ever, without seeing or hearing of Miss 
 Hosmer? And justly proud you may well be of the 
 reputation you have made, for it is no ordinary thing 
 for a young lady, in spite of prejudice and fashion, 
 to fight her way through all the difficulties of a sculp- 
 tor's profession, until she reaches the highest rank 
 of it. I cannot tell you how much I have rejoiced 
 at your success, not onlj^ on account of the regard and 
 esteem I feel for you personally, but because of the 
 example you have set to other women. I have lately 
 been interesting myself (as the term is) for Miss 
 Durant (a sculptress whom you may know by name, 
 if not personally.) She has been competing for a 
 marble statue to be raised in the Mansion House. In 
 representing to our Lord Mayor and Aldermen the 
 importance of giving fair encouragement to a woman 
 of ability and energy, I cited your case. I am glad 
 to say that Miss D. has succeeded, and is now about 
 to execute a statue of Beaumont and Fletcher's 
 " Gentle Shepherdess " in white marble, seven feet 
 high. I hope she will succeed, as I look upon the 
 experiment as one of much interest and importance. 
 
 I presume you have long since got over all j^our 
 difficulties concerning your senator's extremities, of 
 which you wrote so pathetically to me. They are ex- 
 tremely awkward things to deal with in gentlemen of 
 this period, but what, may I ask, would you do with 
 the same part of a lady's form, if you had to devise 
 a colossal statue of one of our female worthies in the 
 dress of the day, to be raised too, on a pedestal? I 
 think on the whole you have had the least delicate 
 and critical of the situations to deal with. It is 
 really a triumph that you should have been entrusted 
 with a great public monument of this nature, and I 
 cannot tell vou with how much interest I sliall watch
 
 174 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 your progress and success. I am afraid, however, 
 that even " extremities " excluded, the subject is an 
 ungrateful one. We go on raising statues to our 
 heroes and public benefactors in this country, upon 
 a safe principle. We cast all in the same mould (not 
 perhaps an heroic one, but certainly typical of our 
 day), and make no distinction except in that which 
 holds them up behind. Sometimes it is the stump of 
 a tree, sometimes a coil of rope, sometimes a bale of 
 cotton. Indeed, the hero sculpturally, as well as 
 morally, depends upon what he rests on. 
 
 It is too late, I presume, to offer any observations 
 upon the photograph * you were good enough to 
 send me, and upon which you flattered me by asking 
 my opinion. There was much in it I admired. The 
 criticism I should dare to make (as you are kind 
 eno' to allow me to speak openly) would be that 
 you have given the composition a rather too cruci- 
 form character which might have been avoided by 
 raising the child a little more, and you would, I think, 
 then have added to the sentiment by giving to her 
 the expression of astonishment of one risen from 
 the dead. 
 
 I am very glad that you have taken to such sub- 
 jects instead of classic ones. You have a wide field 
 open. After all, the great end of art is to touch the 
 multitude and not a class, or a select few. The most 
 beautiful drapery-lacking Venuses and the most cap- 
 tivating Bacchuses fail to excite any real sympathy 
 amongst men in general. It is that which appeals 
 directly to the affections and sympathies of the time, 
 that exacts universal interest. The great painters 
 and sculptors of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries 
 were very near to carrying art to its highest stage of 
 perfection in this direction, when unfortunately re- 
 vived sham classicism and mad heathenism stepped 
 
 * A sepulchral monument.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 175 
 
 in to spoil them. Don't tell Gibson this, or the next 
 time I see him I shall have to run for my life. 
 
 I have very little indeed to tell you on the progress 
 and state of art in this country. We are bringing 
 painting, sculpture, and the fine arts in general to 
 pretty much the same condition as Manchester manu- 
 factures and cast iron. The condition of the arts 
 at any given period only represents the condition 
 of the people, intellectual, social, and political. Art- 
 ists are now crying out for protection, and the House 
 of Commons is going to pass a Bill, a kind of copy- 
 right Bill, to protect them. Poor people! Mr. Frith 
 only gets <£9000 for a picture of a railway station, 
 and Mr. Holman Hunt £6000 for a parcel of dirty 
 Jerusalem Jews! Raphael and Michael Angelo did 
 not want copyright acts. I have some hopes of your 
 country, and I trust I shall not be disappointed. A 
 great number of our friends look forward to seeing 
 you in England this summer, and you must not dis- 
 appoint them as you did last year. 
 
 Pray give my kind regards to Mr. Gibson, for 
 whom, as you know, I entertain ver}^ great regard. 
 Let me hear, too, if I can do anything for you in 
 England. I will not behave so ill a second time as I 
 have recently done. Hoping for your forgiveness, I 
 am, my dear Miss Hosmer, 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 
 A. H. Layard. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 ^ nr r^ Roi^iE, May (10) 1861. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: j \ / 
 
 Rome is rapidly emptying itself of forcstieri, and 
 
 I am approaching that period which I truly adore, 
 
 viz. when I shall have a little peace and quiet. Oh, 
 
 how weary I get of the eternal round of strangers!
 
 176 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Such crowds as have been in Rome this winter! 
 Sometimes I think I should Hke to go off to a desert 
 island and never see another human being (nothing 
 but a horse) as long as I live. However, I sup- 
 pose that wouldn't do, for horses wouldn't want 
 statues! . . . 
 
 Our glorious republic certainly seems to be in an 
 uncommonly bad way, but we at this distance hope 
 and feel that matters will yet be arranged, and that 
 our dear old country (dear, if not old) will still hang 
 together. I suppose clever statesmen foresaw all this 
 when Lincoln was elected, but I am not of that cate- 
 gory, and cannot say that I was quite prepared for 
 such a storm. After all, is it not better that the 
 crisis should come, and that we should see the ground 
 upon which we fairly stand, than that the Union 
 should drag on a wretched existence being union in 
 nothing but the name? 
 
 Removed from the centre of action and excitement, 
 the arguments of sense and humanity prevail in the 
 minds of patriotic Roman- Americans, and we try to 
 think we are not to be reduced to Duchies instead 
 of glorjdng in the boundless Republic. Of course 
 we await the arrival of news with much impatience. 
 In the meantime don't grieve too much over affairs 
 which seem to be beyond human control. Lincoln 
 may be shot, Davis may be hung, but I pray God to 
 watch tenderly over you. Yo ^o tt 
 
 ^ 7,^ ^ Rome, May 23, 1861. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: -^ 
 
 I received your letter of the 26th, and it made me 
 very sad because you are so. I always think the sky 
 must be very blue when you, with your brave heart, 
 feel blue with it. By this time let us hope there may 
 be some glimmering of light, and that our country will 
 pause before actually beginning the bloody work;
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 177 
 
 pause and reflect, and reflecting, come to a more 
 rational frame of mind. The English journals hail 
 it as a good sign, that there is some hesitation about 
 striking the first blow, and entertain strong hopes 
 that, far as matters have already proceeded, there 
 yet may be found a way of bringing about a real 
 peace, short of absolute war. 
 
 The kindly feeling shown to the Prince of Wales,> 
 when in the United States, was the best evidence, 
 after all, that we do not hate the English. And all 
 the articles in their journals deplore the state of 
 things in our country, as if the misfortune had fallen 
 upon their own. I have heard only one opinion ex- 
 pressed, that of the purest and kindliest personal 
 feeling toward our nation. We wait with great 
 anxiety and impatience to hear what is transpiring. 
 Meanwhile do not bestow a single thought on me 
 or my affairs. All in good time, and when there is 
 such a weighty topic as throat-cutting to be dis- 
 cussed, the arts may well bide their time. . . . 
 
 I am on the point of launching another composition 
 of mine for you to criticise, a fountain. You see I 
 am in luck. . . . Some time in July I shall pick up 
 my traps for Florence. How I wish I could stay 
 here! but I have my hands full for next winter, and 
 it would be a foolish policy. . . . 
 
 . . . You once asked me of Hans Andersen. Yes, 
 during his stay here I frequently met him, and more 
 than once he came to my studio. Before he left 
 Rome I had the rare pleasure of hearing him read his 
 " Ugly Duckling." He was a tall, gaunt figure of 
 the Lincoln type witli long, straight, black hair, shad- 
 ing a face striking because of its sweetness and sad- 
 ness. He presented a personality so utterly unlike 
 all my preconceived pictures of him, that I was slow 
 to grasp the fact that the author of that sweetest little 
 thing ever penned, " The Ugly Duckling," stood be-
 
 178 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 fore me. The lines in the pale face bore witness to 
 the hard struggles of his early life. Yet it was per- 
 haps by reason of the very bitterness of his struggles, 
 that he loA^ed to dwell among the more kindly fairies 
 in whose world he found no touch of hard humanity. 
 Very pleasant he was, as he talked of art, of Thor- 
 waldsen, his compatriot, a name dear to all lovers 
 of art, of Rome's atmosphere in which he " felt he 
 could do a little writing." I knew of course his book 
 " The Improvisatore," redolent throughout of the at- 
 mosphere of Italy — of Rome and its Campagna, of 
 Naples and its blue seas. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 T^ 71 r >^ RoME^ June, 1861. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 ... I see that confidence is restored in the State 
 of Missouri, which after all may be as reliable in- 
 formation as that of the prigging of Washington's 
 bones, which statement, after having produced an in- 
 tense feeling of excitement and disgust on this side 
 of the Atlantic, was quietly pronounced a humbug 
 in the last journals. I begin to find it scarcely worth 
 while to get into such patriotic frenzies; one doesn't 
 like to have one's sympathies and feelings lacerated 
 for nothing. No doubt the state of things is bad 
 enough, and too bad, but we are too far off from the 
 battlefield to verify defeats or victories. Universal 
 attention is turned homewards, and Italian affairs 
 have dwindled in the European mind into insignifi- 
 cance by comparison. Count Cavour's death for the 
 while diverted the channel, and certainly that was a 
 frightful blow. This country has lost a good cham- 
 pion in him. 
 
 I send a photograph of my fountain. It is the 
 Song of the Siren, and while she sings, the Amorini 
 on their Dolphins stop to listen to her. The water 
 falls from the shells which form the vase, so they will
 
 THE FOUNTAIN OF THE SIREN
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 179 
 
 be seen, as it were, under the water. Mrs. Browning 
 dubbed it most poetic. Do you call it tragic, comic, 
 or lyric poetry? But never mind, wait till you see 
 the model I am now making. It is to be so sweet 
 that it ought only to play eau sucree! But I haven't 
 given you its history. It is for Lady Marion Alford, 
 to be placed in the conservatory of Alford House at 
 Prince's Gate in London, where it will be seen to the 
 best advantage by those who can best appreciate such 
 things. Isn't it a jolly commission? 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 A friend has further described the fountain thus: 
 
 " A Siren kneeling on a tall rock, surrounded by 
 water, sings to the accompaniment of a flute of reeds 
 which she holds in her hand, and draws around her a 
 group of beautiful baby boys, who, on the backs of 
 dolphins, listen wdth upturned faces to the fascinating 
 songstress. One little fellow finds his dolphin steed 
 rather refractory, and pulls him by the ear (or rather 
 fin), until both horse and rider are nearly overturned 
 in the struggle." 
 
 Antigniano, Aug. 27, 1861. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I doubt if you have ever heard of this place, and 
 I cannot wonder, since I never knew of its existence, 
 having lived so near it, till a week before I came 
 here. I was driven out of Rome, and Providence so 
 ordained that I should join a party who, being ruined 
 by the war, wished to combine sea air with no ex- 
 pense. And I may truly say, this is the place for 
 paupers. It is a little village, near Leghorn, fifteen 
 hours from Rome, and a great discovery for the 
 benefit of those who cannot go far nor fast. 
 
 Tell me of you all, in this most trying time of
 
 180 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 private and public calamity. Truly we must have 
 committed some great sin, to be forced to expiate it 
 in this manner. . . . 
 
 Sorrow has been upon us, here too, in the death of 
 Mrs. Browning. Had you known her, no one could 
 better have appreciated, or more warmly have ad- 
 mired her, for her truly angelic character. She lives 
 in my heart, and in my memory, as the most perfect 
 human being I have ever known. To have seen her, 
 and to have been admitted to her friendship, I must 
 always consider as one of the happiest events of my 
 life, inasmuch as in the study of her character one 
 saw to what a degree of beauty human nature may 
 attain even in this unfavoring world. The calmness 
 of her death, too, was a fitting close to the beauty 
 of her life, for after thanking her husband for all his 
 devotion to her, she laid her head upon his shoulder 
 and died as peacefully as if she were going to sleep. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 After Mrs. Browning's death, Mr. Browning sent 
 to Miss Hosmer a photograph of her: 
 
 Dearest Hattie- ^^^''' ^^^' ^^' '^^- 
 
 You will like to have what I send you, I know. 
 It may be a long time before we meet again and you 
 must remember me kindly. God bless you. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 As has been elsewhere stated the legislators of 
 Missouri, in 1860, had given Miss Hosmer the com- 
 mission to make a statue in bronze of Thomas Hart 
 Benton. The design had been approved by the com- 
 mittee of whom Mr. Crow was one, and he received 
 the following letter :
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 181 
 
 JOHN GIBSON TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Bear Sir: October 25, 1861. 
 
 Being informed that you are chairman of the com- 
 mittee appointed to erect a portrait statue to the late 
 Mr. Benton, I venture to address respectfully these 
 few lines to you, and pray that you will lay my letter 
 before the gentlemen of the committee over which you 
 preside. 
 
 The other day on my return to Rome from a visit 
 to England, I saw the model, now finished, for the 
 bronze statue of the late Colonel Benton, modelled 
 by Miss Hosmer, and it is with the greatest pleasure 
 I offer my opinion, such as it is, upon the work. 
 
 The general effect is grand and simple; the ample 
 cloak which covers considerably the odious modern 
 dress is rich and broad, and the folds are managed 
 with great skill, producing graceful lines. The head, 
 a fine subject, is reflective and well modelled; also 
 the position of the hands holding the map, is natural 
 and well composed. In fact, sir, I consider this work 
 does the author great honor, and I feel it will give 
 satisfaction to the gentlemen of the committee who 
 had the penetration to entrust the execution of such 
 a work to their countrywoman; and, sir, I may add 
 that the Americans may now boast of possessing what 
 no nation in Europe possesses, a public statue by a 
 woman, a little woman — young, with great talent and 
 love of her art. 
 
 I have the honor to remain, sir, your obedient 
 humble servant, j^^^^ (.^3^^^ 
 
 Sculptor, of Rome. 
 
 The plaster cast of the model, when completed, 
 was sent to Munich, Bavaria, to be put into bronze at 
 the royal foundry.
 
 182 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 The statue is colossal, being ten feet in height. It 
 is placed on a pedestal of equal height, upon a founda- 
 tion two feet above the ground, so that the head is 
 twenty-two feet above the level of the beholder, — not 
 too much, for the open air is a great diminisher of size. 
 
 The figure is draped in a Roman cloak, such as 
 Colonel Benton was fond of wearing. He is unroll- 
 ing a map and pointing towards the Pacific shores 
 and is saying, " There is the East. There is India." 
 
 TO MISS DUNDAS. 
 
 Rome, Monday, Dec. 28, 1861. 
 
 My dear A 
 
 Fancy my joy on opening your welcome letter, to 
 find that stern but precious face peering at me! But 
 fancy my still greater joy when I found the assur- 
 ance in your own handwriting that I am really to see 
 the original in Rome at no very distant day! I 
 heard you were coming, but having lived long enough 
 and grown wise enough to distrust every pleasant 
 bit of intelligence, I refused to admit the conviction 
 until you authorized me to do so. You will find 
 Rome unchanged save in the loss of our dear Mr. 
 Hay. The Studio Gibson, with the capo d'opera of 
 a hole in the door, is quite intact, as well as the 
 master, who, being informed that you were shortly 
 to arrive, said, " Oh! I am very glad of it, I am 
 indeed." Pray do not imagine I have a palatial 
 studio, not a bit of it, a very modest, unpretending 
 one, except in point of size, near Mr. Gibson's in the 
 via Margutta; a temporary one until I can secure the 
 plot of ground, garden and all, upon which I have 
 fixed envious eyes for the last three years. 
 
 I hope I shall be able to show you my Zenobia 
 before it leaves for the great exhibition, but if you
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 183 
 
 do not arrive by the last of January it will be gone. 
 I am very busy now upon a fountain for Lady Marian 
 Alford, which shall not be described, but shown. 
 Here I am rushing wildly on and never wishing you 
 and all of yours the haj)piest New Year in the world, 
 which I meant to have done at first. The reason why 
 I did not respond at once to yours was because I 
 wanted to send you my photograph, and thought by 
 this time I might have accomplished it, not of my 
 head alone (oh, no, for the fact is, when one has a 
 nose like mine it is of no use trying), but on horse- 
 back, when naturally the face, and the impertinent 
 s-center of it, becomes such an infinitesimal dose 
 that it is not obtrusive nor snub-stantial. But cir- 
 cumstances have conspired to frustrate my object, 
 and I will not let the old year go by, or the new one 
 come in, without reporting myself. 
 
 By the way, I hear there is a letter waiting for 
 me at the Poste Restante. Would it bore you too 
 much to bring it along with you? It may be an offer 
 of marriage for all I know, and those chances come 
 far too seldom to neglect any! And in return can 
 I do anything for you in the way of making your 
 arrival cheerful? If so, pray make use of me. 
 
 Of course you come with equestrian intentions, we 
 have never had a ride on the Campagna, a negligence 
 we must atone for, without loss of time. I don't 
 know that you are aware that my equine family now 
 consists of two members, two very great darlings 
 whose acquaintance you must consider indispensable 
 for the sake of their mistress. . . . 
 
 Some rainy day, when you can't lionize, write again 
 to Yours, H. 
 
 In tlie beginning of 1862, Miss Hosmer heard of 
 her father's death. It came ratlier suddenly, and she 
 said little about it, for of her sorrows she could not
 
 184 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 speak. She only gave herself more earnestly to her 
 work, to forget her grief. She was left independent 
 by her father's moderate fortune, and according to 
 his expressed wish, she placed her affairs in the hands 
 of her second father, Mr. Crow, by whom they were 
 judiciously cared for, so long as he lived. It was a 
 coincidence that at this time he was the friendly 
 caretaker of the business interests not only of Harriet 
 Hosmer, but also of Charlotte Cushman, and of 
 Fanny Kemble, tlu'ce of the distinguished women of 
 their day. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 r, nr r>i RoME, March, 1862. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I am thoroughly ashamed, as I think of the interval 
 since you last heard the sound of my quill. Weeks 
 and months have fled, and my good resolutions have 
 always gone in search of the fugitives. Meantime we 
 have been in a state of perpetual excitement, relative 
 to the war news from home. One fact is clear, that 
 though we love our country well enough to live out 
 of it, we yet take as much interest in its welfare 
 as if we lived in it. The state of affairs must have 
 been deplorable, and nothing to be thought of beyond 
 powder and balls. . . , 
 
 You don't know what a grand place they have as- 
 signed the Zenobia in the English exhibition. A small 
 octagonal temple is to be erected, with niches on four 
 sides, to be lined with Pompeian red. Into three of 
 these go Mr. Gibson's colored statues, and into the 
 fourth my own unworthy one. This structure is to 
 be just in the centre of the Exhibition Hall, with an 
 admirable light. This is owing to Mr. Layard, prin- 
 cipally. The Prince of Wales sends his copy of
 
 m:: 
 
 THE FAVORITE HUNTER
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 185 
 
 Puck, Lady Marion Alford her Medusa. The latter 
 writes me that there is nothing to compare with the 
 bustle and whirl of London in view of the exhibition. 
 The death of the Prince Consort, although it will 
 undoubtedly cast a certain shadow over what was his 
 original scheme, yet will not affect its ultimate suc- 
 cess so much as was at first feared. . . . 
 
 I hear there is a wonderful fellow in Boston called 
 
 Dr. R , who teaches art by a miracle, and that 
 
 even dear Miss E P hopes at the end 
 
 of twelve lessons to be turned out an accomplished 
 artist! Either the master or the pupil must be very 
 sanguine and know very little about the length of 
 that road, if they expect such happy results in so 
 
 short a time! ... ^r tt 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 The visit of some dear friends in Rome ended in 
 great sorrow, and Miss Hosmer writes: 
 
 TO MISS DUNDAS. 
 
 My dear A : ^^^^^^^ ^P^^^ ^0, 1862. 
 
 I was glad to get your letter from Paris. It as- 
 sured me that you were all well and so far safe on 
 your journey, and it assured me, too, that in thinking 
 of me among the first of your friends, while your 
 heart is full of sorrow,* j^ou count me very near to 
 you. I have been wanting to write ever since j^ou 
 left here, but I thought it would be a more considerate 
 love which should withhold from you what must 
 inevitably recall all that you have left so dear to you 
 in Rome. I have followed you very closely in thought 
 and sympathy, and have gi'ieved to feel how very sad 
 must be the meeting at home with those whose sor- 
 
 * For the death of a younger sister.
 
 186 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 row is as great as your own; but a kind Providence 
 never permits a deep affliction to visit us without 
 sending, as merciful balm, sweet and consoling re- 
 membrance; and He has given you the most comfort- 
 ing in dear Bessie's ever gentle and happy memory. 
 
 I am sure, my A , that }^ou would never give 
 
 such depth to your sorrow as to become unmindful 
 of how long her sisterly love and tenderness were 
 spared you. We are assured, and it is this belief 
 which throws sunshine over the darkest shadows of 
 life, that however inexplicable to us are sometimes 
 the decrees of Providence, they are forever wise and 
 just and merciful, and that sooner or later we shall 
 have wisdom to acknowledge them as blessings. 
 
 It is very good of you to say that it is a comfort to 
 you that I shall place her tomb over her, and surely 
 a loving hand and eye may do it more carefully than 
 a stranger's. I will do it as if for my own sister, and 
 I hope that it may be worthy of her and of your con- 
 fidence in me. I have lost no time in beginning it, 
 and if the hand could work as fast as the will, I would 
 place it before I leave Rome, but that will be im- 
 possible. Will you say to your dear mother that 
 we have been obliged to make it of marble to the 
 ground, that is, to what was the ground in the de- 
 sign. I had it drawn full size, and I found it could 
 not be done in any other way. It required a larger 
 block of marble, but it will be very handsome when 
 finished. 
 
 I will indeed come to Largo this summer, I want 
 much to see you again, the more perhaps that I did 
 not say good-by to j^ou in Rome; but it was best so. 
 It would only have been sorrowful for both. Pray 
 write to me again. We do not leave Rome till June. 
 In London I shall be first at Lady Eastlake's. . . . 
 
 Always yours, H.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 187 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 ^ -, ^ Rome, May 15, 1862. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow. •' 
 
 With events crowding so fast upon one another, so 
 exciting and so important, we all hope to hear that 
 a conclusion of the war at no distant period is in- 
 evitable. News of the taking of New Orleans has 
 just reached us and is of course most important. 
 Not only is it productive of misery enough at home, 
 but they say the suffering in England from the war 
 is fearful in consequence of no demand for work 
 among the cotton spinners. My only fear has been 
 that some foreign power would step in and make 
 matters more complicated, but at the rate at which 
 we are advancing it looks as if we were going to settle 
 the business ourselves. But what am I doing, talk- 
 ing in this way to you who are on the spot! 
 
 We leave Rome in two weeks, that is. Miss Cush- 
 man. Miss Stebbins, Mr. Gibson and I. Everybody 
 is wending towards England to see the Great Ex- 
 hibition. As I did not see the first, I am particularly 
 anxious to see the last. Vnurs H 
 
 Further letters of this time have not been found. 
 Letters of Miss Hosmer's were often sought by 
 autograph collectors, which accounts for the long in- 
 tervals occurring between those given here. 
 
 The next year this letter came from the distin- 
 guished astronomer, Mrs. Mary Somerville: 
 
 TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Spezia, 5th Feb., 1863. 
 A thousand thanks, my dear Miss Hosmer, for your 
 charming photographs. I heartily congratulate you on
 
 188 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 your brilliant success in the most difficult and re- 
 fined of all the arts, and am charmed with what you 
 have so kindly sent to me. INIary Lloyd writes to 
 Martha that the bas-relief j^ou have in hand is ex- 
 quisitely beautiful, and from her description I am 
 sure it must be exquisitely poetical. I hope in time 
 to have a photograph of it, for as my travelling days 
 are past, I never can expect to see the original; but 
 I hope to live to see the author once more and to tell 
 her I am proud of the triumph of my sex, but she 
 must not delay too long. We shall be here, I trust, 
 till the end of autumn, and I do hope that you and 
 vour friend Miss Cushman, whom we shall be de- 
 lighted to see, will come this way and remain longer 
 than you did last year. I am sure after so much 
 mental excitement yow must require rest, before you 
 undertake new works. Tell Mr. Gibson, with my 
 love, that I am still writing more " nonsense about the 
 sky and the stars " than ever I did, besides sinning 
 mortally about things on earth. Be sure you re- 
 proach him for not sending me a photograph of his 
 Pandora, which I am dying to see. At the same time, 
 you may say he shall be forgiven gladly, if he will 
 bring it. 
 
 I see by the newspapers that you have been boating 
 in the streets of Rome; the same has happened in 
 Florence, but we have been worse off, for we have 
 been living on an island. Torrents from the moun- 
 tains have five different times filled our streets a foot 
 and a half deep; we were on one occasion absolutely 
 shut up for two days and nights, and an old English 
 acquaintance, coming to call, was ignominiously car- 
 ried on a man's back; and as the dolphins in the gulf 
 are no longer as amiable as they were wont to be, his 
 wife and I, scorning anything so prosaic, did not 
 meet. 
 
 There is no one here at this season, and we contrive
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 189 
 
 to pass the time very well. I scribble in the morning, 
 read the newspapers and a novel in the afternoon, and 
 when my eyes are tired play Patience at night. Mar- 
 tha and Mary [her daughters] have reading and 
 music to amuse them in bad weather, and drawing 
 in the mountain valleys when the sun shines. They 
 delight me by bringing bunches of beautiful wild 
 spring flowers. Though no one can admire a highly- 
 cultivated garden more than I do, there is a charm in 
 wild uncultivated nature that is indescribable, and 
 which in a few years will vanish from the greater 
 part of Europe. In this quiet lovely spot there is 
 nothing but destruction, preparing for an arsenal, a 
 deposit of weapons of defence as well as annoyance. 
 
 Tell INIary Lloyd that I rejoice in the prospect of 
 seeing her and my friend Miss Cobbe, and that I 
 wish them much enjoyment in their journey to the 
 Holy Land. 
 
 Yours, my dear Miss Hosmer, 
 
 Ever sincerely, 
 
 Mary Somerville. 
 
 Miss Hosmer, in writing of her first meeting with 
 Mrs. Somerville, said: 
 
 *' In returning from a summer's outing in Switzer- 
 land I met Mrs. Mary Somerville, and by invitation, 
 visited her afterwards in her pretty villa near Spezia. 
 On entering, I found her busily arranging papers 
 while a parrot perched on her shoulder was as busily 
 engaged in picking her cap, an attention which ap- 
 parently did not in the least distract her mind from 
 her work. ' This parrot,' said Mrs. Somerville, ten- 
 derly stroking his beak, ' we know to be ninety years 
 old and maybe more, and considering his age, he is 
 a very active old boy. We have much in common in 
 respect of activity and age.' She was then past
 
 190 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 eighty, and at that time was occupied in revising her 
 ' Physical Sciences.' The conversation soon turned 
 upon scientific matters, during which Mrs. Somerville 
 remarked that ' it was not well to import too much 
 science into the kitchen.' That very morning her 
 English servant had given warning, adding that ' she 
 could not remain in any family where she was called 
 bad names, that Miss Somerville had grossly insulted 
 her!' Miss Somerville was summoned to answer to 
 the charge. ' Yes,' said she, ' I called her a parallel- 
 obiped ! ' 
 
 Carlyle growled out one day that ' Mrs. Somerville 
 had never done anything original.' To the Carlyle 
 mind, wherein women never played any conspicuous 
 part, perhaps not, but no one, man or woman, ever 
 possessed a clearer insight into complicated problems, 
 or possessed a greater gift of rendering such problems 
 clear to the mind of the student, one phase of origi- 
 nality, surely. Mrs. Somerville with her two daugh- 
 ters came afterwards to Rome, but eventually moved 
 on to Naples, where she died at the age of ninety- 
 two, vigorous to the last. To her the book of Nature 
 revealed a world of continued enchantment, whose 
 wonders she loved to unveil to visions less keen than 
 her own, and kindly Nature, as if grateful for being 
 presented in so fair a guise, spared her the last pain 
 of humanity, and one summer night called her gently 
 away in her sleep."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 1864-1866 
 
 To return to Zenobia; after the English exhibition 
 the statue was shown in New York and Boston, and 
 during that summer (1864) Miss Hosmer spent some 
 months in her own country. Her greatest pleasure 
 and her first visit were to her beloved teacher, Mrs. 
 Sedgwick, who was ill, and before she returned to 
 Italy she received from her this letter: 
 
 T^ j_ TT Mj. Lenox, Oct. 27, '64. 
 
 Dearest Hatty: 
 
 One more good-by and God bless you. I had great 
 
 pleasure in seeing you. I find you always so true 
 
 hearted, and you are not spoiled but improved by 
 
 success; you are progressive. Be a good Christian 
 
 and remain a good, bright American. When I get 
 
 my spirit wings, I shall surely come to you, though I 
 
 may not be able to render you conscious of my 
 
 presence. 
 
 Your loving old friend, 
 
 E. B. Sedgwick. 
 
 At this time Mrs. L. M. Child addressed the fol- 
 lowing letter to the Boston Transcript. It gives 
 interesting details respecting the Zenobia. She 
 says: 
 
 " This is the third week of the exhibition, and 
 nearly fifteen thousand people have paid homage to 
 
 191
 
 192 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 the Queen, while the gallery continues to be crowded 
 daity. 
 
 In the notices I have seen, it is assumed that the 
 face is altogether ideal; but the fact is, the features 
 were copied from an ancient coin of the Queen of 
 Palmyra, to which the artist has imparted the mingled 
 expression of her dignified character and her fallen 
 fortunes. To me it is more interesting as a like- 
 ness than it would be if the head were purely ideal. 
 Cleopatra and Zenobia were descended from the same 
 line of Macedonian kings, and both received a won- 
 derful inheritance of beauty; but neither in the char- 
 acter nor person of Zenobia was there any trace of 
 the voluptuousness and coquetry which distinguished 
 her royal relative of Egypt. It was her womanly 
 modesty, her manly courage, and her intellectual 
 tastes, which first attracted Miss Hosmer toward 
 her; and the result of her loving study of the char- 
 acter is this marble embodiment of the Queen of the 
 East, by a Queen of the West. 
 
 When I saw Miss Hosmer during her last visit to 
 this country, her whole soul was filled with Zenobia. 
 She was searching libraries to find every allusion to 
 her, whether historic or romantic; but she was so 
 much in love with her subject that she rejected, as 
 unworthy of belief, the statement that the fortitude of 
 Zenobia was ever shaken by her misfortunes. To her 
 imagination she was superbly regal, in the highest 
 sense of the word, from first to last. Like a genuine 
 artist. Miss Hosmer aimed at a true marriage of the 
 real and the ideal. Hence she spared no pains to 
 ascertain the probable admixture of Grecian and 
 Oriental in the costume of Zenobia and her court." 
 
 The poet Whittier said of this statue, " It very 
 fully expresses my conception of what historical 
 sculpture should be. It tells its whole proud and
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 193 
 
 melancholy story. The shadowy outlines of the ma- 
 jestic limbs, which charmed us in the romance of 
 William Ware, are here fixed and permanent (a joy 
 forever). In looking at it, I felt that the artist had 
 been as truly serving her country, while working out 
 her magnificent design abroad, as our soldiers in the 
 field and our public officers in their departments." 
 
 While at home Miss Hosmer indulged in some 
 characteristic verses, and the why and wherefore of 
 them may be thus explained. Rome was then begin- 
 ning to attract women as well as men students to its 
 treasures of art. The men, who had hitherto held 
 sway and arrogated to themselves all the advantages 
 of the classic city, were inclined to resent the in- 
 coming of sister artists, and the lesser lights were 
 not so hospitable towards them as were the greater 
 ones, such as Gibson, Crawford, and Story. It was 
 even whispered that the gossip and chat of the Caffe 
 Greco were not always of the most kindly. This 
 same Caffe was long noted as the haunt of men who 
 formed the literary and artistic element of Rome. 
 This was not because of its comfort or luxury, for 
 neither was to be found within its two, or, perhaps 
 three, small rooms, all equally dingy and smoke- 
 darkened. The furniture was of the plainest, and 
 only the attraction of congenial spirits served to fill 
 the tables, where vino ordinario and good coffee 
 were served. Evidently echoes from its walls had 
 reached our artist and awakened her witty pen. 
 
 The following are the lines first printed in the 
 New York Evening Post, during the summer of 
 1864:
 
 194 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 THE DOLEFUL DITTY OF THE ROMAN 
 CAFFE GRECO. 
 
 'Twas in the Greek Caffe, 
 
 Half screened from public eye. 
 
 We sat, not many months ago, 
 Melpomene and I. 
 
 We sat, and saw in that long room 
 Upon the right hand side, 
 
 That souls, though made of sternest stuff. 
 Are sometimes sternly tried. 
 
 And in the outer, groups 
 
 Of artists sat apart. 
 And much was said of other things, 
 
 Tho' nought was said of art. 
 
 But the luckless half-a-dozen 
 
 Sat motionless and mute ; 
 Each had his heavy, brooding thought. 
 
 And each had his cheroot. 
 
 When rose a portly figure. 
 With beard as black as jet. 
 
 In slightly nasal accents said: 
 " We all know why we've met. 
 
 " 'Tis time, my friends, we cogitate, 
 And make some desperate stand. 
 
 Or else our sister artists here 
 Will drive us from the land. 
 
 " It does seem hard that we at last 
 
 Have rivals in the clay. 
 When for so many happy years 
 
 We had it all our way.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 195 
 
 " Those good old times — alas ! I feel 
 
 That I have said enough, 
 And think, with due respect to art, 
 
 I'll take another pufF." 
 
 Then rose a man of stature small, 
 
 The smallest far of them. 
 And mild and plausible he looked. 
 
 And hemmed a little hem. 
 
 " No fault of mine, my brothers, 
 
 I beg you to recall. 
 To root this evil from the land, 
 
 I've done my little all. 
 
 " For many years this question hath 
 
 Employed my artist mind; 
 I moved with caution, and with skill 
 
 And strategy combined. 
 
 " Nor time, nor patience have I spared, 
 
 But this don't seem to do ; 
 Ye all know that, but what is worse, 
 
 Our sisters know it too." 
 
 He said, and looked the Roman, 
 
 Although a trifle small; 
 Melpomene half whispered he 
 
 In some respects was Gaul. 
 
 But, Gaul or Roman, loud applause 
 
 His observations hailed. 
 Up rose a third. " We know you tried, 
 
 What if we know you failed.'' 
 
 " Wo feel full well, my brother. 
 
 That truth which none deny ; 
 No race is certain to the swift. 
 
 No battle to the sly.
 
 196 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 *' It is in what we strive to do 
 Our greatest merit lies — 
 
 Though scarce a victor, yet in you 
 Our chief we recognize." 
 
 Whereat, o'erspread with modest blush, 
 The hero rose and smiled, 
 
 And sang his little song of thanks, 
 Still plausible and mild. 
 
 Yet, ere the song was fairly sung, 
 
 A man of grizzled hue 
 Inquired, in somewhat ursine speech, 
 
 " Well, what are you going to do.f* " 
 
 Each waited for the other 
 
 To speak with vacant stare. 
 
 Until the awful pause was broke 
 By him of silvered hair. 
 
 A little fun was in his eye, 
 And banter in his tone: 
 
 *' I deal," quoth he, " my brothers, 
 In canvas, not in stone. 
 
 *' In short, I'm not a sculptor ; 
 
 So, well do I surmise, 
 I cannot with you keenly feel 
 
 Just where your aching lies. 
 
 *' We know our loving sisters 
 Are somewhat in your way; 
 
 We know 'tis hard that while you work 
 That they should ' pat their clay.' 
 
 " Yet for your present ills 
 
 The remedy I've hit 
 Is, when you cannot help yourself, 
 
 To make the best of it.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 197 
 
 " And then, again, my brothers, 
 
 One point attention claims, 
 Is it a very manly thing 
 
 To battle with these dames? 
 
 " I sometimes think, for when I speak 
 
 My mind, I speak it all, 
 Recalling, too, what others feel, 
 
 It does look somewhat small. 
 
 " Suppose you try another plan, 
 
 More worthy art and you ; 
 Suppose you give them for their works 
 
 The credit which is due. 
 
 a 
 
 An honest and a kindly word, 
 If spoken now and then, 
 Would prove what seems a doubtful point 
 You could, at least, be men" 
 
 He spoke, and sat ; no voice replied. 
 
 Each lip confusion locks, 
 And nought was heard, save distant sounds. 
 Of " Coffee, two bajocs" 
 
 A furtive glance or two were cast 
 
 To where the chieftain sat. 
 He hemmed his hem, and each moustache 
 
 Was pulled, this way and that. 
 
 " And for that I am woman," 
 
 Melpomene was heard 
 Soliloquizing, " will I sing 
 
 This ditty, word for word." 
 
 The clock struck ten ; I minded me 
 
 Of friends, at home, to sup ; 
 And when we left, what little mind 
 
 They had, was not made up.
 
 198 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 It was while Miss Hosmer was in Boston that the 
 brilliant litterateur, George S. Hillard, wrote of her 
 design for a gold bronze door: 
 
 " The general idea embodied by the artist is the 
 progress of nature from evening till morning, illus- 
 trated by imaginative designs drawn from the air, 
 the earth, and the sea. At the top of the door is 
 an emblematic female figure representing Air, and 
 below, on the left, is Earth, and on the right Ocean. 
 Beneath, in two compartments, the main conception 
 is embodied in various designs to which the following 
 may serve as a key: — 
 
 AIR. 
 EARTH. SEA. 
 
 Vintage. Fishing. 
 
 The Twelve Hours of the Night. 
 12 3 4 
 
 Eolus subdues the Zephyr borne to Iris descends with Night rises with 
 Winds. the Earth. the Dew. the Stars. 
 
 5 6 7 8 
 
 The Hours sleep. The Moon rises. The Dreams descend. The Falling Star. 
 
 9 10 11 12 
 
 Phosphor and The Hours wake. Aurora veils the Morning. 
 
 Hesper. Stars. 
 
 Centaurs and Wood Nymphs. Tritons and Sea Nymphs. 
 
 It will be seen from this description how much of 
 poetic feeling and genuine invention this design in- 
 cludes, and the separate compartments are singularly 
 graceful, animated with the best spirit of Greek art, 
 and yet anything but a tame imitation of existing 
 types. 
 
 Miss Hosmer's works, so conscientiously executed, 
 when compared with each other show uniform and
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 199 
 
 marked progress, and they show how diligently she 
 has toiled, and with how resolute a struggle after the 
 highest excellence. ' Without haste, without rest,' 
 has been her motto. Her success has been proportion- 
 ate to her earnestness and fidelity. She has already 
 commissions which will take two or three years to 
 complete. With her, indeed, the ' past is unsighed 
 for and the future sure.' " 
 
 TO HARRIET HOSMER. 
 
 Black upon white — my art no higher goes, 
 No better skill my pen prosaic knows. 
 You need not stain the virgin page, who write 
 So fine a hand in lines of purest white. 
 
 G. S. HiLLAED. 
 
 Boston, September, 1864. 
 
 Zenobia * was first shown in New York at a private 
 reception, where were met, to do honor to the young 
 artist, such men and women as Bancroft, Tuckerman, 
 Bryant, Church, Grey, Kensett, Bierstadt, Gifford, 
 Eastman Johnson, Drs. Bellows, Beecher, Osgood, 
 and Huntington; Mrs. Stowe, Miss Catherine Sedg- 
 wick, Madame Botta and many others distinguished 
 in art and letters. 
 
 This statue was bought by Mr. Almon Griswold of 
 New York; another copy by Mrs. Potter Palmer of 
 Chicago, another by Mr. Robert W. Emmons of Bos- 
 ton, and by him presented to the St. Louis Museum 
 of Fine Arts, recently built and donated to the city 
 by Wayman Crow. One copy is in the Metropolitan 
 Art Museum of New York, and others are owned 
 both in America and in England. 
 
 * Zenobia was later exhibited in Chicago.
 
 200 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 An enthusiastic admirer wrote these lines, which 
 well describe the statue.* 
 
 ZENOBIA, QUEEN OF PALMYRA. 
 
 The passive hands 
 Held loosely by their golden weight of chain, — 
 The heavy folds of mantle and of robe 
 Partaking of her majesty, — the mien 
 So full of royal dignity and grace, — 
 Thus, with a cloud upon the perfect face, 
 A shadowy sorrow veiling all its fire, 
 A world of passion sleeping on the lips 
 And longing eyes that spoke the heart within, — 
 Zenobia walked through Rome. 
 
 She does not see 
 The changing looks of pity or of hate 
 That fall on her from unfamiliar eyes; 
 Nor hear the rumble of the chariot wheels 
 That bear the haughty conqueror. Away 
 Beyond the yellow Tiber and the flow 
 Of the blue sea that laps the Syrian strand. 
 Beyond the reach of desert and of plain 
 She stands beside the temples of her gods 
 In fair Palmyra. Round her in the air 
 The swaying palm trees nod their tufted plumes. 
 And Eastern blossoms, drunk with eastern bloom, 
 Fling perfume from their honeyed chalices. 
 
 She hears within her palace walls once more 
 
 Her children's voices, playing in the shade 
 
 That filters through the garden walks. Or proud 
 
 With all the blazoned pageantry of war. 
 
 She leads again from out the city gates 
 
 The shining legions of her dauntless hosts, 
 
 And hears, like incense rising from their lips. 
 
 The shout of praise that lifts her name to Heaven. 
 
 ♦ Attributed to Miss Ticknor.
 
 ZENOBIA
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 201 
 
 Her heart is with Palmyra as it stood 
 In bygone days, her glory and her pride; 
 Nor in her silent musing does she dream 
 Of that dark hour when captive and alone 
 She saw the royal purple of her robe 
 Grow dim forever with the stain of blood, 
 And dust of desolation! 
 
 O pale mute marble! most serenely still, 
 Yet eloquent with more than voiceful thought, 
 Thus stand forever, holding through all time 
 The passing record of a passing hour: 
 And, with the seal of silence on thy lips. 
 Yet speak the lessons of a vanished past! 
 
 Two letters, though of later date, may well be 
 given here: 
 
 MISS TICKNOR * TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Boston, Feb. 27, 1865. 
 
 All the weeks of that Queen's reign were great and 
 good, like the first, and of the last week of her 
 sovereign rule over New England, I wish to talk to 
 you about her again, my dear Hatt5^ 
 
 As I have seen so few of your correspondents, I 
 do not know how much they may have told you, of 
 that which I am likely to say, but no matter. The 
 number of people who have gone to see Zenobia is 
 enormous. The janitor tells me that on Saturday 
 night (this is Monday) it had reached 17,385. No 
 single work of art ever attracted so much attention 
 here, and the sum total of praise and admiration has 
 been so immensely prevailing, that criticism has had a 
 hard struggle even to get in a word. I think you may 
 feel assured that your greatest work has been warmly 
 
 * The daughter of George Ticknor.
 
 202 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 and heartily appreciated, that it has made a strong 
 impression on the New England mind. Your agent 
 has served you well, and has spared no pains in giving 
 Zenobia the best opportunity to have her beauty and 
 power truly estimated. He has received your decision 
 not to have the statue exhibited anywhere else, and 
 is much satisfied that no further risk is to be incurred 
 about it. He says the success here has enhanced, to 
 Mr. Griswold, the value of his possession very greatly, 
 and that he too, will be much relieved at not having it 
 further exposed. 
 
 It has been delightful to go into Zenobia's throne 
 room, day after day, and see it always filled with 
 people who looked upon her thoughtfully and with 
 evident admiration. Almost every time I have gone 
 in, there have been from twenty to forty persons 
 there, and I constantly find acquaintances such as 
 you would be glad to have about her. I enclose 
 some more clippings like those I sent two weeks ago. 
 A mem. just sent to me says that of the 17,385 
 attendants, two-thirds were paying visitors, and that 
 the total number in New York was 6,328. The 
 article from the " Atlantic Monthly " * was used the 
 first two weeks as a circular, to put in the hands of 
 visitors. The poetry, I hear, was written by a young 
 Irish girl; it has merit enough for a somewhat higher 
 origin, and is therefore the more interesting, coming 
 from such a source. 
 
 Now I shall leave the pen to Mamma. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 Anna E. Ticknor. 
 
 MRS. GEORGE TICKNOR TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 I really have nothing to add, dear Harriet, but 
 ditto, to the above, except that my own enjoyment 
 
 * See Appendix B.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 203 
 
 of the noble work has been continued from the first 
 night, and that the bit of poetry which Anna sends 
 you anonymously is by herself, and it is so good that 
 i cannot let her modesty prevail. 
 
 Last Saturday we went to see the Queen by 
 evening light, and the effect was so startlingly beau- 
 tiful that I could not repress a very audible exclama- 
 tion. We had left Mr. Ticknor and Mr. Cogswell 
 in great comfort smoking their cigars, but our report 
 sent them, within five minutes, to see if we were right, 
 and they came back full of admiration, recompensed 
 for their effort. You will perceive from all sources 
 what interest has been excited, how much admiration 
 felt, how widely your name and fame are spread, and 
 I think you will be content. 
 
 Ellen Robbins * and her lessons, I suppose you 
 know, are at the top of the fashion. All the lovely 
 young girls and many wealthy mammas are grouped 
 at her talks, and she is doing good, not only in de- 
 veloping faculty and taste, but in cultivating a per- 
 ception of simple beauty. I wish I had anything to 
 tell you, dear child, that would interest you, but com- 
 pared with all that surrounds you, the affairs of little 
 Boston are very tame. 
 
 I am glad to hear that in spite of fox-hunting, 
 your neck is safe thus far. I wish I were where you 
 could run in to brighten us with a greeting; since it 
 cannot be, I hope that you are always able to cheer 
 those near you and to be cheered by them. I con- 
 gratulate you that you have not known such a winter 
 as we have gone through, cold and snow for six weeks, 
 and the rest of the time, snow and cold. Keep a 
 warm place in your heart for us frozen barbarians, 
 and send us a word when you have a chance. 
 Always affectionately yours, 
 
 Anna Ticknor. 
 
 * The well-known painter of wild flowers.
 
 204. HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Senate Chamber, Washington, Nov. 31, 1864. 
 
 3Iy dear : 
 
 As I passed through New York on my way to 
 Washmgton, I made it a point to see the Zenobia, 
 and I enjoyed the opportmiity much. The statue tells 
 its story most successfully. It lives and moves with 
 the solemn grace of a dethroned Queen. 
 
 Character and di'apery are both given with con- 
 smnmate skill. I know enough of the sculptor's art 
 to recognize the labor, as well as talent, which INIiss 
 Hosmer must have brought to this masterpiece, not 
 only in its original conception, but in the details of 
 its execution. I rejoice in such a work by an Ameri- 
 can artist, as in a new poem. 
 
 Believe me. 
 
 Very faithfully yours, 
 
 Charles Sumner. 
 
 After the visit home Miss Hosmer writes: 
 
 7^ Tij- >-r London, Nov., 1864. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I got over the herring pond a little better than 
 usual, had a very good and passably short crossing, 
 arrived in England and fell into the arms of Lady 
 Marian Alford who conveyed me to Ashridge. You 
 see how easily I am seduced from the path of virtue; 
 but isn't life too short to be always doing your duty? 
 I saw Mrs. Kemble for just five minutes in London. 
 
 I found my credit with Stuart all right. At Mor- 
 gan's I was reading it with some other letters and 
 then turned it over to JNIr. Morgan. " What's 
 this?" said he. "Business letter for your perusal," 
 said I. " Nonsense," said he, " what is the use of 
 that letter? You have the run of my bank for any 
 amount you like, in any way you like." " Nothing 
 like credit," said I, " it's as good as gold."
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 205 
 
 I dine with them to-morrow. Mrs. Morgan is 
 going to Rome this winter. Friday I go to Ashridge 
 again for a couple of days. It is really difficult to 
 know what to do with so many good friends, who in 
 the goodness of their hearts would keep me, I am sure, 
 till — they get tired of me! 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Miss Hosmer had been instrumental in getting up 
 a hunting club in Rome, and in importing a pack of 
 hounds from England. For many years she was 
 one of its most generous and enthusiastic members. 
 In the following letters mention occurs of the hunt- 
 ing; 
 
 ^ ^r r^ RoME^ Dec. 30, 1864. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I can only now say that I have got fairly to work 
 and have got my clay harness on again. The winter 
 will be scarcely worth having unless I eke it out with 
 a good bit of the summer. I find my studio progress- 
 ing. Every day I go and prowl about the domain, 
 and feel myself quite a Roman proprietor and have 
 the greatest satisfaction in looking upon the spot 
 where everything is to be, and where nothing is, as 
 Mrs. Kemble said of Washington. When it is done, 
 I may say without exaggeration there will be no 
 studio in Rome which can hold a candle to it. My 
 Faun is going on rapidly and the marble is excellent. 
 
 We went yesterday to see the grand bronze-gilt 
 statue lately discovered, and it is really sublime. 
 Much as I had heard of it, I had no conception of its 
 great beauty. Then we saw the hole, forty feet deep, 
 in which it has lain hidden for eighteen hundred 
 years. Is it not wonderful that at last, by the merest 
 chance, it has been permitted to see the light? It is, 
 as perhaps you know, a colossal statue of the young
 
 206 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Hercules, with the Lion's skin in one hand and some- 
 thing, which might be the aj)ples of Hesperides, in 
 the other. But whatever it was^ it is the grandest 
 thing! It is to be placed in the circular court of the 
 Vatican, which is to be covered over with glass, and 
 will be one of the gems of the place. 
 
 On Monday I make my first appearance this sea- 
 son in the hunting field, so any time you may expect 
 to hear of cracked bones and gelatinous flesh. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: Rome, Jan., 1865. 
 
 We had a very good run on Monday, in process 
 of which, no less than fourteen individuals upset. 
 There has been rather a chapter of accidents, there 
 being about two dislocated shoulders, one broken arm, 
 a broken wrist, and a cracked leg, besides bruises 
 and sprains too numerous to mention. Such is 
 life! . . . We all turned a somerset when we heard 
 of the successful issue of Sherman's march. . . . 
 
 Later. 
 
 Croesus has smiled on me this year. I have noth- 
 ing to complain of in the way of work, and only 
 wish I had more marbles to show in my studio. The 
 season is now drawing to a close, and forestieri are 
 thinking of rushing away. 
 
 We had three very gay days on the occasion of the 
 Pope's festa; grand illuminations and fireworks and 
 all sorts of Meg's diversions. But the festa at which 
 I should most have liked to see you was one of my 
 own getting up. I am sorely tempted to send you 
 a programme. It was a frisk called " Mrs. Dent's 
 Bonnet." Mrs. Dent being the huntsman's wife, and 
 this was her Benefit. The performance consisted of 
 riding at loose rails and paying five francs penalty for 
 every one thrown down. We had great fun, plenty of
 
 MRS. DENT'S BONNET 
 
 (TWO FEET HKJH)
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 207 
 
 riders, and a most aristocratic audience. All the 
 royalties in Rome were present, the day was heavenly, 
 a real summer's day, and everything went off so well 
 that the general vote is to have it repeated next year. 
 Then there was jumping for the grand prize, and the 
 grand prize was the Bonnet^ the winner " to enjoy 
 the happy privilege of passing it round for the bene- 
 fit of Mrs. Dent." I will enclose a photograph of the 
 artistic Bonnet. I think you will agree with me that 
 the " brush," as a feather, was a stroke of genius. I 
 felt rather proud of the grand success of the whole 
 affair, for it was looked upon as my particular festa, 
 certainly it was my own invention. The receipts 
 from contributions and penalties amount to .£45. Not 
 bad for a frisk. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 _, T,, -^ Rome, May 5, 1865. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: > j ^ 
 
 I received your kindest of letters yesterday, in 
 which you tell me to my sincere joy how much you 
 like Zenobia. I can't say how greatly I am pleased 
 that you found her worthy. It is a real delight and 
 makes me proud. I won't say next, but alongside of 
 my master, I work to please you, and it is true en- 
 couragement when you express yourself so warmly 
 upon the result of my labors. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 At its exhibition in Chicago, both Zenobia and the 
 artist received hearty recognition.* 
 
 This year of 1865 was a very full one in many ways 
 for the artist. The Sleeping Faun was shown in the 
 Dublin Exhibition. Her new studio was being built, 
 her own apartment in the Palazzetto Barberini was 
 
 * See Appendix C.
 
 208 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 being prepared for her future home, and her stable 
 was being arranged. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Rome, May 16, 1865. 
 
 Hurrah, hurrah! dear Pater, you are really com- 
 ing! It seems one of the impossibilities of chance, 
 and I can't yet quite believe it. I fear I cannot get 
 away early, not only on account of my work, but 
 because I must stay until my studio has got as far 
 as the pavement, the plastering, and the paint, else I 
 can't be in it next winter. I have just seen a notice of 
 the Dublin Exhibition, which says, " Mr. Story's Saul, 
 Miss Hosmer's Sleeping Faun, and a colossal statue 
 of Pio Nono are first among the exhibits. ..." 
 
 I have also a letter from Mr. Doyle, Superintend- 
 ent of the Fine Art Department, saying, " I hear a 
 strong and general desire expressed that your beauti- 
 ful work may become a permanent possession of the 
 city of Dublin." 
 
 I suspect from this that Mr. Guinness is going to 
 present it as a public gift to be placed in the Ex- 
 hibition .Building, which it is said, will remain as a 
 sort of Crystal Palace, when the present exhibition 
 closes. Mr. Doyle ends by thanking me, in the 
 name of the committee, for having sent " one of the 
 chief attractions of the exhibition. . . ." 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 -r^ -_ ^ June, 1865. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 An extract from a Dublin paper says, " There has 
 never been in this city before, so magnificent a collec- 
 tion of modern marbles, and it is satisfactory that the 
 artists residing in Rome and elsewhere, who have 
 been enterprising enough to send their works, have a
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 209 
 
 fair prospect of disposing of some of them. It is not 
 surprising that Sir Benjamin Guinness should be 
 anxious to secure Miss Hosmer's Sleeping Faun, for 
 it is really a unique work. It is universally admired, 
 and is more frequently the subject of conversation 
 than any statue in the exhibition." 
 
 I declare my children are getting to be as numerous 
 as Brigham Young's wives. I only hope they get 
 along as swimmingly as my babies. Of course I can 
 say all this to you, without its seeming too monstrously 
 conceited, for when I sit down to have a chat with 
 you I tell you all I know. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 At the private view, before the opening of the 
 Dublin Exhibition, Sir Benjamin Guinness was so 
 carried away with the charm of this group that he 
 offered one thousand guineas for it. Upon being 
 told that it was not for sale (for the artist had in- 
 tended to send it to America for exhibition) Sir 
 Benjamin offered to double the price, saying that 
 " if money could buy that statue he intended to have 
 it," and he forthwith placed the added amount to 
 the artist's name. When Miss Hosmer heard of this, 
 she returned the second sum to Sir Benjamin, saying 
 that she should not take advantage of his liberality, 
 while greatly appreciating it, but was pleased to have 
 her work in the possession of one who valued it. 
 
 There were replicas of this group made, for the 
 Prince of Wales, Miss Cushman, Lady Ashburton, 
 Mr. Shortall of Chicago, and others. A copy also is 
 owned by the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. 
 
 Of the Sleeping Faun, Sir Charles Eastlake 
 said, "If it had been discovered among the ruins of
 
 210 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Rome or Pompeii it would have been pronounced one 
 of the best of Grecian statues," and John Gibson said, 
 "It is worthy to be an Antique." 
 
 The London '^ Times " says : — 
 
 " In the groups of statues are many works of ex- 
 quisite beauty, but there is one which at once arrests 
 attention and elicits admiration. It is The Sleeping 
 Faun and Satyr, by Miss Hosmer. It is a curious 
 fact that amid all the statues in this court, contrib- 
 uted by the natives of lands in which the fine arts 
 were naturalized thousands of years ago, one of the 
 finest should be the production of an American artist. 
 But she has received her inspiration under the Italian 
 skies, in presence of the great models of ancient 
 Greece and Rome. Hawthorne's description, in his 
 ' Transformation,' of the Faun of Praxiteles has been 
 quoted in a great measure as applicable to this master- 
 piece of Miss Hosmer." 
 
 The " Galignani " of approximate date says : — 
 
 " The gem of the classic school, in its nobler style of 
 composition, is due to an American artist, Harriet 
 Hosmer, the only pupil of Gibson, whose influence 
 may be traced in her work. The attitude of the 
 Sleeping Faun is graceful and natural. He is seated 
 leaning against the trunk of a tree, partly draped 
 in a tiger's skin. The small satyr so happily intro- 
 duced into the group, crouched behind the tree with 
 mischievous archness, binding the Faun to it with the 
 end of the furry drapery, gives not only symmetry to 
 the composition, but the life which is so seldom found 
 in reminiscences of antiquity. Miss Hosmer in her 
 Sleeping Faun reaches the highest excellence."
 
 K\ .. '•r^an '-J*:4.^J3t.-^-^.=J3a<iuJll 
 
 THE SLEliPlXG FAUN
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 211 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Dear Mr, Crow: ^^^^^ ^^^ 26, 1865. 
 
 Just at this time I am having studio, house, and 
 stable to look after, providing myself with all three 
 at once, trying to get them in order, and to look 
 after a dozen workmen besides. Oh, but you should 
 see my studio, in order to see what things in the way 
 of studios are capable of being made. I am going to 
 have a copy of Lady Marian's fountain put up, com- 
 plete, in the entrance room, not only complete, but 
 playing, and I am going to have birds and flowers 
 and every object of beauty, myself included, scat- 
 tered about among the statues. In fact, I have no 
 doubt people will come to see the appurtenances in- 
 stead of the fine arts! 
 
 Then I am in the midst of domestic transmigra- 
 tions. My apartment, modest but elegant, like the 
 proprietor, will be all that housewives and padrones 
 could desire. All in order Avill it be, and always open, 
 when you and yours pull the latch string. I shall be 
 glad to have it in my power to be a little civil to old 
 friends who come to Rome, for now my attentions to 
 them are limited to intellectual banquets in the studio. 
 A hard twist it will be, though, to leave 38 Gregoriana, 
 where I have been so happy for five years with dear 
 INIiss Cushman. Yours H 
 
 Later. 
 I have been in a state of domestic confusion (con- 
 fusion did I say? a whirlwind) all this week, inasmuch 
 as I liave been moving from 38 Via Gregoriana into 
 my own apartment in the Palazzetto Barberini. You 
 know it is an operation which does not always illus- 
 trate the first law of nature, order. 
 
 H.
 
 212 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 MRS. KEMBLE TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Warnford, Sunday, June 4, (1865). 
 My dear Hatty: 
 
 I do not reason with my friends; what they give 
 me I account free grace, and though I am always 
 most dehghted to hear from you, I do not feel that 
 I have any right upon your time and attention, which 
 can be both more pleasantly and profitably occupied 
 than in writing to me. The old Boston times, dear 
 Hatty, mean very pleasant ones to me, and are 
 among those I should wish to recall, if I wished to 
 recall any. Our delightful Roman days are being 
 revived in our memory just now by the presence of 
 Lord Lyons, who is on a visit to my sister, and whose 
 voice and manner, unchanged in their pleasant 
 peculiarity, take me back to the " good times," what 
 good times they were that we had on the Campagna! 
 
 Others of our then companions will soon be among 
 us, for our friends the Bertie M's are expected in 
 England some time this month, and your beautiful 
 model. Lady Adelaide Talbot, is coming this summer 
 to pay my sister a visit, so you are likely enough to 
 have your name taken, but not in vain, among us 
 all. 
 
 Yes, dearest Hatty, our admirable friend Elizabeth 
 Sedgwick would have rejoiced with her whole soul 
 over the triumph of the righteous cause for which 
 her son gave his young life.* I have had rather a 
 difficult task in sympathizing with my daughter 
 Fanny's grief at the overthrow of the Southern Con- 
 federacy, while joining with every thought and feel- 
 ing of m}'^ own in the victory of the North. Surely 
 there never was a more signal overthrow of the Devil 
 and all his works, in the world's history since it began, 
 
 •Major William Dwight Sedgwick, who fell in the Civil War.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 213 
 
 nor one for which good men and angels are more 
 bound to praise and bless God. 
 
 Good-by, my dear Hatty, the affection I bear you 
 for your own sake is strengthened by all the close and 
 sacred associations of my New England days. I am 
 sorry you are not to cross the Channel, when you 
 come so near to it as Paris. God bless you, dear, 
 always as always. 
 
 Your sincere old friend, 
 
 Fanny Kemble. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 RoME^ July, 1865. 
 Welcome to Europe, dear Pater! 
 
 I speak as if I were Alexander, the master of the 
 world, and wished to extend to you the hospitality of 
 the Hemisphere, and so I do. I have followed you 
 from the day you embarked till now, have fancied 
 myself sky-blue, pea-green, indigo, and every other 
 color of the rainbow, to be in sympathy with you. 
 Well, I hope you have had a good passage, though I 
 doubt if such a thing exists; bad is the best. As you 
 are disembarking at Queenstown, you will get a sight 
 of the Dublin Exhibition and see my representative,* 
 for which I am glad. Any advice or instructions 
 relative to the best way of journeying to Rome, and 
 above all the surest means of staying a long time after 
 you get there, will be jubilantly forwarded by yours, 
 
 H. G. H. 
 
 In July Miss Hosmer joined Mr. and Mrs. Crow 
 in France, and later made a trip with them through 
 Switzerland, returning to Rome in October. 
 
 ♦ The Sleeping Faun.
 
 n4s HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 jy p^ Versailles^ Aug. 23, 1865. 
 
 For something like six weeks before leaving Rome, 
 I just had time to die several times, and that was all. 
 Between my new Studio and my new Apartment I 
 thought there wouldn't be much of me left to inhabit 
 either, and if I had had an offer of marriage made 
 me I shouldn't have found time to respond. . . . 
 
 Your H. 
 
 A little episode in connection with the building of 
 the new studio may be mentioned for its ingenuity. 
 It seems that the occupant of a neighboring house 
 objected to a proposed side-wall, which was neces- 
 sary for the carrying out of Miss Hosmer's plan. 
 She learned that a law existed which forbade the 
 demolition of a wall already built; accordingly she 
 assembled a number of workmen and under the cover 
 of night caused the wall to be erected. When morn- 
 ing dawned there stood the solid masonry, so there 
 was nothing more to be said or done. 
 
 While in Paris during this summer (1865) Miss 
 Hosmer received the commission from a literary man 
 of London to put into marble Hood's touching poem, 
 " The Bridge of Sighs." That she might see for her- 
 self the peculiar effect of such a death upon a 
 drowning girl, she visited the morgue several times, 
 accompanied by Mr. Crow, until she found the de- 
 sired subject, thus studying from death as well as 
 from life. 
 
 It was of the return journey to Rome that Miss
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 215 
 
 Hosmer told this anecdote apropos of one trait of 
 the Italian people. She had bought, in Switzerland, 
 a small quantity of honey. It was in a little hive 
 of straw, in which it had been made. She succeeded 
 in getting back to Rome with it, but there it was 
 seized by the custom officers. They had never seen 
 honey like that before. It was at that time sold by 
 the apothecary strained, and used as a medicinal 
 remedy. 
 
 " Signora, what is this?" one of the officers asked. 
 
 She told him, " Honey." 
 
 " But there is wax in it." 
 
 " That is its natural state," he was informed. 
 
 " It is sticky," he objected. 
 
 " That is also a feature of honey in its natural 
 state." 
 
 " It is solid," he added. 
 
 " That too," she explained. 
 
 He was not entirely satisfied, and summoned a 
 higher official, the director. He came, several men 
 following, until there were about a dozen in the 
 room, all gravely inspecting the honey, which had 
 been placed on the table. The director was a grave 
 man and wore spectacles. He looked at it carefully 
 and then he delivered an oration, the purport of which 
 was, that he had read in a book that honey in a 
 natural state did contain a certain amount of sper- 
 maceti, and that a small animal called a bee manu- 
 factured the article. 
 
 " It seems," he concluded, " that we are now be- 
 liolding a specimen of honey in its natural state. 
 Let the Signorina go in peace."
 
 216 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 It was spoken in Italian, which seemed peculiarly 
 to suit the words. 
 
 " That was the grand oration," she said, " and it 
 shows their wonderful simplicity, a simplicity that 
 would be impossible with the French." 
 
 The opening of the year 1866 brought keen sorrow 
 to the artist in the death of her revered master and 
 friend, John Gibson, which occurred on the 27th of 
 January. He was buried in the little English Ceme- 
 tery at Rome. She writes to Lady Eastlake: 
 
 " Very early on the morning of Mr. Gibson's death 
 Miss Lloyd and I were summoned hastily to his room 
 — she remained with him till the last, but I left a kiss 
 on his forehead and came away. Oh! how cold and 
 drear the stars looked that morning as I walked 
 slowly home! I saw the beloved master a moment, 
 after death. Grand and calm and beautiful his face 
 was! Then I left Rome for a time. One of my best 
 friends was taken from me when the master died." 
 
 Later this account of Mr. Gibson and his pupil 
 was given by his biographer, Lady Eastlake : * 
 
 The only pupil Gibson ever professed to teach, and 
 in whom he may justly be said to have raised a living 
 monument to himself, was Harriet Hosmer, whose 
 name is widely known on two continents. It is in- 
 teresting to have her account of their first meeting. 
 She said : " The first morning I entered Mr. Gib- 
 son's studio (as a pupil) he was working upon the 
 knee of his Wounded Amazon — finishing it in marble. 
 
 ♦ The Life of John Gibson, edited by Lady Eastlake, p. 228.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 217 
 
 He laid down his chisel (how well I can see him 
 now!) and received me most kindly — showed me all 
 the statues in his studio, and then said, ' Now I will 
 show you the room where you are to work, a little 
 room, but as big as you are yourself.' He always 
 poked fun at me about my size. He impressed me 
 as being very kind, but his peculiar, curt manner 
 rather filled me with awe. I did not at first dis- 
 cover that he dearly loved a little nonsense, and I 
 was extremely demure and solemn with him, but that 
 solemnity did not last long, and I never talked more 
 nonsense with any one than with the grave, staid 
 master. Apropos of the knee of the Amazon, I al- 
 ways told him I was more fond of that statue than 
 of any other, from its being connected with my first 
 impression of him. He said I ' always looked senti- 
 mental ' when I saw it. 
 
 " As to his mode of teaching me, he said he could 
 best apply rules as he worked, and often he made 
 me sit by him, by the hour together, as he modelled. 
 He was very funny sometimes in his criticisms. I 
 remember once asking him to come and see the 
 sketch of Zenobia which I was preparing. He looked 
 at it for some time in silence, and I began to flatter 
 myself that I should have some praise, but the only 
 remark he deigned to make was, ' Yes, there is such 
 a thing as equilibrium, yes.' 
 
 " ' But,' said I, ' this is only to see how the drapery 
 comes in.' 
 
 " ' Under all circumstances,' said he, ' there is such 
 a thing as equilibrium — yes — I will leave you to your 
 troubles — yes.' " 
 
 Hawthorne has well described Mr. Gibson, in his 
 Marble Faun. 
 
 " One sculptor there was, an Englishman, endowed 
 with a beautiful fancy, and possesshig at his fingers'
 
 218 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 ends the capability of doing beautiful things. He 
 was a quiet, simple, elderly personage, with eyes 
 brown and bright, under a slightly impending brow, 
 and a Grecian profile, such as he might have cut 
 with his own chisel. He had spent his life, for forty 
 years, in making Venuses, Cupids, Bacchuses, and a 
 vast deal of other marble progeny of dreamwork, or 
 rather frost-work; it was all a vapory exhalation 
 out of the Grecian mythology, crystallizing on the 
 dull window-panes of to-day. Gifted with a more 
 delicate power than any other man alive, he had 
 foregone to be a Christian reality, and perverted 
 himself into a Pagan idealist. . . . Loving and rev- 
 erencing the pure material in which he wrought, as 
 surely this admirable sculptor did, he had nevertheless 
 robbed the marble of its chastity, by giving it an 
 artificial warmth of hue. . . . But, whatever criticism 
 may be ventured on his style it was good to meet a 
 man so modest and yet imbued with such thorough 
 and simple conviction of his own right principles and 
 practice, and so quietly satisfied that his kind of 
 antique achievement was all that sculpture could 
 effect for modern life." 
 
 In the winter of 1865-66 Miss Hosmer had her 
 friend Mr. Crow, with his family, near her in Rome, 
 at the Hotel Europa. In the spring they journeyed 
 northward and again she writes: 
 
 ^ ^'^ Rome, April 19, 1866. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 Your welcome letter despatched from Florence just 
 comes to me. So you have seen again the Ghiberti 
 doors! Do you know, that work occupied the artist 
 twenty-five years? 'Twas lucky he didn't work for 
 Yankees ! 
 
 The day after you left here, I had a visit from Mr.
 
 JOHN CilBSON 
 By HARRIET HOSMER
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 219 
 
 C, president of the Pacific Bank in New York, who 
 wanted a Puck and a companion to it. I suggested 
 one of the figures from the Fountain, for want of a 
 better, though it is scarcely a pendant. He didn't 
 seem to think it would do, and there he was right. 
 So, said I, give me a little time and I will model 
 something expressly for j^ou, which was done. So 
 that has got to be squeezed in. It never rains but it 
 pours, and I have had six applications for portrait 
 busts since you were here. 
 
 I am rejoiced that you have enjoyed your wander- 
 ings so much. I believe if the truth were known, the 
 children of Israel enjoyed their wanderings too, only, 
 having said they didn't, history must stick to it. 
 
 I enclose you a photograph of my Gate for the 
 Academy of Design, and will describe it to you. The 
 two central figures are, as you perceive, figures of two 
 young artists, one a Painter, the other a Sculptor. 
 One with the world in his hand, the other with a 
 book, to signify that artists should be students not 
 only of human nature, but of letters. They are sur- 
 rounded by the Muses, placed, as you see, in the 
 niches between the columns. Then the four bas- 
 reliefs represent the four visions of art, appropriate 
 to the four ages of man: 1st, the vision of Youth; 
 2d, the vision of Love; 3d, the vision of Strength; 
 and 4th, the vision of Age. The first Muse belongs 
 to the first bas-relief more properly, being Thalia, 
 the Muse of Comedy and JNIirth. In the other corner 
 Erato, the INIuse of Love. Below, Melpomene, the 
 JNIuse of Tragedy, and on the other corner, Urania, 
 the Muse of heavenly things. . . . 
 
 Yours, H.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 1866-1868 
 
 This spring and early summer were given to 
 modelling the 'pendant to the group of The Sleeping 
 Faun. It was The Waking Faun, and of it a critic 
 said: 
 
 " If the Sleeping Faun is the expression of com- 
 plete repose, the Waking Faun is that of life and 
 movement. He wakes and suddenly seizes the little 
 Satyr, who struggles in his grasp. He is imprisoned 
 beyond the possibility of escape, but so gently, so 
 tenderly held that we do not fear for his safety. In- 
 deed, he seems quite as much amused in his new 
 position as when knotting the tiger's skin. This 
 work finely exhibits the artist's power of skilful 
 grouping, for the position selected is one of the most 
 difficult to conceive, while its grace and litheness are 
 perfect. When viewed together it is difficult to pro- 
 nounce between the two compositions." 
 
 The artist, intent upon this work, took but a short 
 holiday and wrote: 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Palazzetto Barberini, Oct. 1866. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I have had my five weeks' rest and am at work 
 again. The marble for the Waking Faun is turning 
 out very satisfactory, which is a mercy, as there are 
 
 320
 
 
 THE WAKING FAUN
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 221 
 
 not twenty-four hours to spare, for getting another 
 piece. A very near squeak, inasmuch as a crack came 
 so near to interfering with the figure itself, that my 
 poor blocker-out didn't sleep for a week. But some- 
 thing more than that happened, too, for a row of 
 braziers having been put round the cavaletto to make 
 the plaster dry faster, the fire (which has a tendency 
 to burn wood, though the Italians don't seem to think 
 so) set upon one of the legs of said cavaletto — 
 down it came, down came my statue and broke into 
 I don't know how many pieces. Fortunately the 
 pieces are all there and it is put together so ingeniously 
 that you would scarcely perceive the cracks, which 
 ingenuitj^ though doesn't excuse the stupidity of the 
 first management. However, if it had been the mar- 
 ble one, that would have been worse. 
 
 Did I tell you that I am going to make a Will-o'- 
 the-Wisp for ^Ir. Brewer? I must go immediately 
 now to INIr. S.'s statue, and besides, work in as 
 many bas-reliefs for the door as I can. My heavy 
 work will be a group of Norma, which I have com- 
 posed in Leghorn, diu'ing my holiday, and think 
 I shall make something fine out of it. 
 
 Well I have talked enough about Ego. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 A letter written from Rome to the Reverend 
 Robert Collyer by a friend, in 1867, gives this at- 
 tractive picture of Miss Hosmer's new studio: 
 
 " It is the prettiest studio in Rome. The little 
 entrance court, with its beautiful flowers and singing 
 birds, is a deliglitful change from the hot, dusty 
 streets. When we went in, it being the artist's re- 
 ception day, slic was showing, to some strangers, 
 the fountain in the center of the first room. On the 
 shells, whicli form the capital of the liigli ])edestal,
 
 222 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 in the middle of the basin, a siren sits singing. Be- 
 low, three charming little water-babies are bestriding 
 dolphins. They are fascinated by the music, and one 
 has his dimpled hand at his ear, listening intently, 
 while the water spouts from the shells above. 
 
 JNIiss Hosmer has a very vivacious manner, a little 
 abrupt, and very decided. When she speaks with 
 clear, ringing voice, in moments when you have, or 
 she has, just said something that pleases her, her ex- 
 pression and manner are exceedingly charming, and 
 her laugh, which came often, is most musical. She 
 wore a little velvet cap, which reminded me of 
 Raphael. 
 
 In the same room with the fountain is a copy of 
 her Puck; this little sprite sitting on an enormous 
 toadstool, his disorderly curls capped by a shell, 
 crushing in one chubby hand a beetle, and in the 
 other a lizard, is the very personification of beautiful 
 babyhood. She has a mate for him in her ' Will-o'- 
 the Wisp,' or at least a comrade, almost, if not quite 
 as bewitching. But the glory of her studio is a head 
 of Medusa. I have always thought that to fulfil 
 the true idea of the old myth. Medusa should be 
 wonderfully beautiful, but I never saw her so rep- 
 resented before. This is the head of a lovely maiden, 
 her rich hair kept back by a fillet, off the brow, seems 
 at first to recede in waves and when you see that these 
 waves terminate in serpents, it strikes you with no 
 feeling of repulsion. The face, whose eyes look up- 
 ward, is full of sadness, to which the serpents add 
 mystery and gloom, and make the beauty more thrill- 
 ing. The folded wings above the hair on each side 
 of the face give an air of majesty to the head. It 
 was hard for me to look away from this statue; if 
 long gazing could have turned one to stone, the old 
 tradition would have been fulfilled. In the next room 
 was a colossal statue of the stately Zenobia.
 
 
 WILL-O'-THE-WISP
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 223 
 
 Miss Hosmer took us into the inner room where 
 she works. Just beyond the entrance stands the 
 group on which she is now engaged — The Waking 
 Faun. It is the sequel to the Sleeping Faun, which 
 was exhibited in Edinburgh and in Paris. I despair 
 of being able to describe to you that beautiful being, 
 from whose lips the soft breath of slumber seems to 
 come, and the mirth of the wicked little satyr who is 
 tying together, around the tree against which he re- 
 poses, the tail of the Faun, and the skin of a wild 
 beast, which forms his drapery. The Waking Faun 
 is yet only in the clay, and is daily undergoing the 
 moulding of the sculptor's hand. I was glad to see 
 it in this stage, as it shows how entirely the whole 
 expression of the statue is due to the sculptor him- 
 self, and how mechanical is the work of the chisel. 
 Miss Hosmer pla3xd upon it with a hose as we went 
 in, saying, ' I think sprinking improves his expres- 
 sion.' Here the Waking Faun has caught the of- 
 fender in the act, and with one hand grasping the 
 little ^lischief by the hair, is bending back his head 
 and looking in his face, with a countenance into whose 
 sweetness and good humor he tries in vain to introduce 
 a look of sternness. ' You see he takes it coolly,' 
 said Miss Hosmer, ' Fauns don't get angry you know. 
 I should be ashamed to tell you how long I have been 
 on that statue, but — no, I shouldn't. Mr. Gibson 
 used to say, when I was in his studio, and working 
 so long on the Medusa — " Nobody asks you how long 
 you have been on a thing but fools, and you don't 
 care what they think." ' 
 
 If the chisel of Praxiteles has not been forever 
 lost, Harriet Hosmer has found it. Under her hand 
 the beautiful old myths live again, and all her works 
 are suggestive of noble meaning, not only expressive 
 of genius themselves, but so full of an exquisite fancy 
 that they would inspire genius in others.
 
 224 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 I forgot to say that the Waking Faun is to go to 
 Lady Ashburton, who has his companion, the Sleeping 
 Faun. I grudge them both to her. They should not 
 stand in a fine old English hall, Avhere the guests after 
 dinner will stroll by and give them the praise of 
 connoisseurs. Our eager, over-worked American life 
 needs more such embodiments of the Spirit of Beauty. 
 They should stand in a gallery in one of our noisy 
 cities, where men and women, tired from the long 
 fight with the demon of Worry, could go in and 
 breathe for a few moments the air which they bring 
 from the woods where they played in childliood. 
 
 JNIiss Cushman, whose beautiful house opens wide 
 its hospitable doors to her countrjanen here, is very 
 like her friend, JNIiss Hosmer, in manner. Her Sat- 
 urday receptions assemble the pleasantest elements 
 of artistic and social life in Rome. She herself is a 
 host in entertaining her guests; her singing is some- 
 thing peculiar and characteristic; it is intenselj'^ dra- 
 matic, and impresses one powerfully. Her singing of 
 Kingsley's ' JNIary, go and ca' the cattle hame,' is 
 something never to be forgotten. One holds one's 
 breath, and shivers, as she brings out, ' the cruel foam 
 — the hungry, crawling foam.' " 
 
 The next work of the artist was a chimney-piece, 
 which she thus describes: 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ^°'^- ^^'''^h, 1867. 
 
 . . . Turning from other things, here is my design. 
 A subject for a chimney-piece ought to have some- 
 thing to do with wood or fire, so I have selected this, 
 the Death of the Dryads. At the risk of telling you 
 what you maj^ already know, I will describe a little. 
 According to mythology every tree had its own par- 
 ticular nymph, who dwelt in it; but when the tree
 
 v\-r^' 
 
 
 w^- 
 
 y \} 
 
 
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 A 
 
 '^-.' 
 
 — -^-v. 
 
 :h of the 
 
 .Tv:: 
 
 -'I'.-^j. 
 
 3 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE DRYADS
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 225 
 
 died, the nymph died with it. Now I have represented 
 these Httle lads busily engaged in cutting down the 
 trees, and as they have cut off all but the last branches, 
 there is nothing left for the Dryads but to die, which 
 they are about to do. Below, two of the little fellows 
 are warming themselves by the fire, which they are 
 cutting wood to supply. That is the story. It is to 
 be made of statuary marble and the figures are to be 
 life size, so it will be something rather important. It 
 is for Lady Ashburton, and is to be placed in the 
 drawing-room at JNIelchet Court. . . . 
 
 ... I must tell you of a curious incident which 
 occurred two evenings ago. C. had been dining with 
 me, and shortly after dinner I made the original 
 observation that I would take possession of the sofa 
 and have " forty winks." I had just lain down, when 
 I was moved to saj^ " I have such a feeling of a 
 carriage accident." (It had dwelt on my mind very 
 forcibly for a minute or two, so that at last I felt 
 impelled to speak.) "Nonsense," said C, "you are 
 dreaming, you have been asleep." " Nothing of the 
 sort," I replied (which was true), and I repeated the 
 words again, adding, " Now let's see what comes 
 of it." I then dozed off for about ten minutes, 
 as she reports, when a tremendous crash under my 
 windows, in the Cortile of the Barberini Palace, 
 startled us both. Up I flew to the nearest window 
 and there was the Princess Orsini's carriage, upside 
 down, on a y>\\e of bricks, wliich in true Italian fashion 
 had been left right in tlie drivewa}^ with no lantern. 
 Her face was a good deal cut with the broken glass 
 and both shoulders bruised, and a mercy it was she 
 and the others were not killed. It was quite theatrical 
 to see the servants of the Barberini gatlier about in 
 their gay liveries, torches in hand to watch the rescue 
 of the Princess and her companion, as they were care- 
 fully drawn through tlie window on the upper side of
 
 226 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 the carriage. They were in gay evening gowns, being 
 on their way to a ball at the Palazzo Barberini — so 
 you see what a witch I am! Yours H 
 
 In June Miss Hosmer went to Paris to superintend 
 the placing of her Sleeping Faun, which she had sent 
 to the French Exposition, and from there writes: 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Dear Pater: ^^^^«' ^^^^ ^' ^^^^' 
 
 Though I sent you a line yesterday via C I 
 
 cannot resist sending you another to-night via myself, 
 and for two reasons. One is, to salute you on the 
 " Glorious Fourth," and the other is, to tell you of 
 a curious coincidence which occurred at the Exposi- 
 tion. I mentioned to you yesterday my little plan, 
 in which Mr. Layard is involved. Well, to-day I had 
 thought, what would I give for a five minutes' chat 
 with him, when whose should I see, all at once, but 
 his well-known smiling face! The only face we 
 recognized in the whole exhibition, and the one that 
 I most wanted at that particular moment to see. He 
 was escorting a body of working men * from Lon- 
 don. He arrived the day before yesterday, and he 
 leaves here to-morrow. He says the only thing is 
 to decide upon the best place for showing my design t 
 in London. All the rest is easy sailing. I told him 
 my object was to have it seen by a few, whose opinions 
 were worth having, and send it home endorsed by 
 them. He entered into the plan most heartily. He 
 says he considers the work to be the most interesting 
 and important of any of modern times. 
 
 * Layard had taken a party of some two thousand workmen from Southwark 
 to Paris to see the Exhibition, 
 
 f The design for a monument to Lincoln.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 227 
 
 Well, I have seen my Sleeping Faun. Beckwith * 
 did for me the very best he could, and altogether, I 
 don't think if I had been upon the spot, I could have 
 done better. 
 
 The news of the death of Maximilian has plunged 
 the Court into mourning, and all festivities are sus- 
 pended. It was announced yesterday, and it is said 
 the Emperor was informed of it as he was preparing 
 to award the medals. What a sad knowledge for 
 him; worse too, to keep it to himself all day. It is 
 believed Napoleon may date his downfall from this 
 news, and they say his face in the procession was the 
 saddest ever seen. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 When it was proposed to erect a monument to the 
 Martyr President of the United States (Abraham 
 Lincoln) Miss Hosmer was invited to present a de- 
 sign in competition with other artists. How heartily 
 she entered into this work her own words show. Al- 
 though the commission was eventually given to Mr. 
 Larkin G. Mead, she thoroughly enjoyed making the 
 drawings and the model for it. Those who saw them 
 gave the work great praise, as appears from this letter 
 of Sir Henry Layard: 
 
 SIR HENRY LAYARD TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 130 Piccadilly, August 8, 1867. 
 Dear 3Iiss Hosmer: 
 
 I have carefully examined the design for the monu- 
 ment t to President Lincoln, and I congratulate you 
 most sincerely upon your success. It appears to me 
 
 * The Director. f See Appendix D.
 
 228 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 that the general conception is singularly appropriate, 
 and that you have carried out the great object which 
 should be alwaj^s kept in view in the erection of such 
 monuments, viz., to convey vividly and unmistakably 
 to the spectator the great characteristics of the per- 
 son to whom it is erected. The idea of representing 
 the negro in the four different stages of his existence, 
 from the slave to the free man and citizen, is new 
 and striking. The statue of the President himself, 
 crowning the group, and holding the broken chains 
 in his hands, is admirably conceived. I think that 
 you have done quite right in placing it within a 
 temple, which gives an appropriate architectural 
 termination to the monument. The idea of represent- 
 ing the different states of the Union by allegorical 
 figures on the pedestal is also good, and enables you 
 to give a classical character to the monument. 
 
 Your friends, and they are many in this country, 
 rejoice to find that you have succeeded in producing 
 a design for a monument which will be worthy of that 
 great and good man, whose untimely death every 
 true Englishman and lover of freedom deplores. 
 
 I am most truly, 
 
 Layard. .< 
 
 Mr. Gladstone being an old friend of the artist 
 she asked his opinion of two designs for this monu- 
 ment, and he thus replies: 
 
 Hawarden^ Chester, Sept. 26, 1867. 
 Dear Miss Hosmer: 
 
 I received yesterday the small photograph of your 
 first design in memory of President Lincoln; and I 
 have been fortunate in an opportunity of showing 
 the two to several friends who were here and who 
 are no mean judges of such things, as knowledge goes
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 229 
 
 among non-professional persons, so that I feel my- 
 self less guilty of presumption than I should other- 
 wise have done, in acceding to your request that I 
 would give you my opinion as between the two de- 
 signs. In the first one I venture to like the principle 
 of the recumbent figure, and the greater elevation of 
 the pedestal. But the first is, I fear, unsuited to a 
 monument of this public nature on so large a scale, 
 and the second might be adopted, if you were to 
 think fit. On the other hand, there can be no doubt 
 that you gain a cardinal advantage by bringing the 
 great subject of emancipation out of obscurity into 
 prominence, while in practice, the introduction of a 
 standing figure for a recumbent one appears to be a 
 great improvement. Some other points of the treat- 
 ment I should venture also to prefer; but the grand 
 consideration is, after all, that which I have named 
 the first, and which goes to the root of the whole 
 matter. I cordially wish, therefore, that you may be 
 able to carry out the change which you desire. 
 Believe me 
 
 Very faithfully yours, 
 
 W. E. Gladstone. 
 
 This year the artist made a long sojourn in Great 
 Britain, and wrote of her visits: 
 
 Newbridge, Ireland, August 10, 1867. 
 
 Dear 3Ir. Crow: 
 
 When I told a friend in London that I was going 
 to make a visit in Ireland first and then in Scotland, 
 she thought I had a Herculean journey before me, 
 but I told her that to me, who had travelled from 
 Rome to Boston in seventeen days, the tour in ques- 
 tion was only suggestive of taking one's bag and 
 making it on foot.
 
 230 HARRIET IIOSMER 
 
 Well, here I am, performing the first part of it, 
 in a delightful place and in the old home of a friend 
 who is verj'- dear to me. We are about ten miles from 
 Dublin, and when I speak of a cool summer, I mean 
 such weather as we have in the winter in Rome. 
 Verily it is a jump from the sweltering heat of Rome 
 and even from the getting-to-be-oppressive heat of 
 London. This seems the densest solitude in com- 
 parison with the rush and crush of London, though 
 there is a gay party staying in the house, besides the 
 family. A month of London life would be about as 
 much as I could stand, for what with the late hours, 
 the huge dinners, and the excitement of all sorts, and 
 never having five minutes of quiet, my brain begins 
 to spin about the seventh day and is utterly upset 
 and made gelatinous by the thirtieth. I always think 
 how impossible it would be to accomplish anything 
 serious in that place, and when one has had enough 
 of a holiday, I turn my mental vision toward Rome, 
 as the Mecca of working prophets. 
 
 In another week I leave here for Scotland and 
 then drop down to England again, where I have 
 divers social things on the docket, two or three visits 
 to what I call my " homes." I often say I am the 
 richest woman in England without any trouble, for 
 I have only to say, " I am coming," and all is 
 
 '^"'^y- ■ ■ • Yours, H. 
 
 Bryn Rhodyn, Dolgelly, N. Wai.es, 
 
 Sep. 8, 1867. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I have made a jump and landed on the Welsh hills, 
 and I never breathed such air. I could walk twenty 
 miles at a stretch, which stretch has no reference to 
 length of leg. We have been on a most delightful 
 excursion nearly all day, under the guidance of Miss
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 231 
 
 Lloyd. She has reason to be proud of her country 
 as far as its atmosphere and beauty are concerned. 
 
 You will be pleased to hear that I am now enter- 
 ing upon a course of diet and exercise. I have been 
 doing the " Signora " to such an extent, driving about 
 in smart carriages, ignoring the fact that I had a 
 pair of legs, and eating far too much of the good 
 things of this life, but three days of these hills and a 
 little less of pampering have already set me up very 
 vigorously. I now think that the ascetic mode of 
 life is the true one, and shouldn't wonder if next 
 you heard of me as living upon bread and water and 
 wearing a hair shirt. 
 
 Miss Lloyd is hospitality itself. Miss Cobbe * jollity 
 itself, and we three are as snug as possible. I 
 received your last letter yesterday morning, just as 
 we were booting and spurring ourselves for an ex- 
 pedition which turned out to be one of the most 
 successful on record. I rather astonished Miss Lloyd, 
 who is our tutelary deity, by my spring of leg and 
 vigor of windpipe. The air is perfectly delicious, 
 like champagne, only much better, for that I never 
 drink, but the air! I walk with my mouth wide open 
 to get as much of it as I can. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Then came this note: 
 
 MRS. SARTORIS TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Warsash, Titchfield, Sep. 1867. 
 
 My dearest Hat: 
 
 I leave this on the 29th, so come as quickly as ever 
 you can and I will show you a bit of England that j'^ou 
 shall call pretty in spite of Scotch heather and Welsh 
 hills. We will play cribbage again, and go over 
 
 * Frances Power Cobbe.
 
 232 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 the old days in the beloved Soutliland, and make the 
 old jokes and try to laugh the old laughs. I have just 
 written to Lord Lyons to ask him to come, for I 
 am sure you would both like to meet again. . . . 
 
 Ever j^our loving, 
 
 " Mar/' 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Warsash, Titchfield, Tuesday, Sept. 1867. 
 Dear Pater: 
 
 The other day I put on a six league bootee, — you 
 see what a delicate shade of difference between that 
 and the seven league boot, and just stepped out of 
 Wales over here. Unless your knowledge of English 
 geography is a deal better than mine was twenty- 
 four hours ago, you will not know where " here " is. 
 But first let me repeat what a Paradise upon earth is 
 Wales, or rather Dolgelly. Of all delicious air, 
 that is the finest. I haven't tried the Highlands 
 yet, but as far as my travels extend, the wind 
 whistles round the Welsh hills and into one's lungs 
 complete. 
 
 On Friday I departed; got up at 4:00 a.m.^ which 
 was a corker for me, slept in London, ran round 
 wildly through the metropolis in the morning, for the 
 American consul, and in the afternoon came here 
 to Mrs. Sartoris. How oddly things come round in 
 this world! To think that I am writing you from 
 under her roof! Oh, but she's sweet! Sunday she 
 read to me all the afternoon. Yesterday she sung 
 to me all the dear old Roman songs, and this morning 
 she has been reading to me something of her own. 
 In the evenings she gives me as much cribbage as I 
 ask for. What more can one desire? I stay here 
 till Monday, and then I was going to Stowe, but 
 having, by the merest chance, discovered that Lady 
 Ashburton is only fifteen miles from here, I propose
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 233 
 
 to go to her first, and save the long journey back 
 again. Annie Thackeray is here, and all have been 
 out yachting to-day to Cowes. Needless to say that 
 I stick to terra fi?'ma, and have had Mrs. Sartoris all 
 to myself, which I like better than any sea excursion 
 in the world. 
 
 I shall get away from England very late, and 
 shouldn't dawdle so long if it were not for cholera 
 
 ^^ ^^^^y- Yours, H. 
 
 At this time came an invitation from Lady Alwyne 
 Compton to Castle Ashby. This, the favorite seat 
 of the Marquis of Northampton, is a stately pile 
 standing on high ground in the midst of beautiful 
 gardens, parks, and avenues of ancient trees. It 
 dates from the days of Queen Elizabeth and has 
 been added to at various times. Among those of 
 other noted men, it bears the impress of Inigo 
 Jones's taste and skill. Perhaps its most notable 
 feature is the balustrade which runs around the en- 
 tire top of the castle. It is composed of stone- 
 work in the shape of huge letters, so arranged that 
 they form verses and quaint mottoes, as the follow- 
 ing: 
 
 " Unless the Lord build the house, the labor is but 
 lost that builds it." 
 
 " Unless the Lord keep the city, the watcher 
 watcheth but in vain." 
 
 On the gallery over the entrance is: 
 
 " The Lord preserve thy going out and the Lord 
 preserve thy coming in." 
 
 This unusual decoration is repeated in the balus- 
 trades surrounding the many terraces which overlook
 
 234. HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 the gardens. It is said that only one other mansion 
 in England is ornamented in this unique fashion. 
 
 From this j^lace Miss Hosmer writes: 
 
 „ nr r^ Castle Ashby, Oct. 6, 1867. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I wish you could put your eyes into my head and 
 see this most beautiful of places. I look out of my 
 window on such an ocean of color that it is like a sea 
 of precious stones. Such masses of flowers were 
 never seen, and there, on the right, is the quaint old 
 church covered with ivy and surrounded by grand 
 old trees. In the middle of the garden are two foun- 
 tains playing, whose jets are like so many diamonds 
 tumbling again into the sea of precious stones. Then 
 the old castle itself, half covered with ivy, much of it 
 turning red, which looks so well on the old grey 
 walls, and the courtyard within the two towers on each 
 side, all green with ivy again. 
 
 I am writing to you now in my bedroom, which is 
 called Queen Elizabeth's room, because she came here, 
 I believe, and left her name behind her, and I expect 
 every night to see her ghost dangling from the crim- 
 son damask canopy which screens my humble head. 
 Then I turn to another look-out and see the grand 
 avenue which leads to the castle, a quarter of a mile 
 wide and three miles long, a nice little walk of a 
 morning down to the gates before breakfast. (Really 
 I didn't know I was such a dabster at description!) 
 
 I should like to stay here all my days, but on Mon- 
 day I am inveigled off to another old castle, not by 
 a fierce ogress, however, but by the duchess of Cleve- 
 land, who invites me to Raby Castle. I thought I 
 should not be able to manage that, for it is quite a 
 journey, but when I heard that you could drive a 
 carriage and four into the reception room, and drive 
 out again, I thought I must see it, whether or no.
 
 <
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 235 
 
 I have been here six days and can't get away. It 
 is fatal to come, because it is impossible to go. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 j^ p / . ASHRIDGE^ Oct. 1867. 
 
 Since you say you like descriptions, I will launch 
 into a little one of what I have been doing since I 
 left Castle Ashby. I w^ent to Raby, and I must say 
 that if you intend to lie straight in your grave, you 
 had better see Raby first. It is one of the finest old 
 castles in England, old beyond telling, as I should not 
 think of saying if you could see it, for the grey walls 
 carry conviction with them. 
 
 But first I must record a disaster truly disgraceful 
 for two old travellers like Kuhl * and myself. I lost 
 my luggage, nothing very extraordinary, either; for 
 as we went across country and not straight from 
 London, we had no end of changes, and not a luggage 
 ticket (by which I mean a label) could be found, 
 from the beginning to the end of the journey. Be- 
 tween York and Darlington, which is the chief end of 
 the line, there was a slight misunderstanding, if you 
 can properly apply that term to the loss of all one's 
 petticoats and belongings. In short, I had to wait 
 three hours at Darlington for the blessed boxes, which 
 had been on to Newcastle, to be returned, and lucky 
 was I to get them then. The waiting was not so 
 much as being thrown out of all hours, for as there 
 was no carriage to be obtained at the station further 
 on (which is only a little village), and as one had 
 been sent from Raby at the time I was due, there 
 was nothing for it but to send a messenger and ask 
 them to be good enough to send a second time, which 
 was no joke, seeing it is a distance of several miles. 
 
 * Her maid.
 
 236 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 But at last I arrived at my destination. The first 
 gate, the second gate, then the third gate were all 
 passed, and we came in view of the castle; and never 
 shall I forget the first glimpse of it, and thankful was 
 I that I had lost my luggage and so was to see it first 
 by moonlight. The moon shone upon the moat, the 
 stags were bellowing in the Park, the flag was flying 
 like the ghost of a flag, and it was a picture! Then 
 we crossed the moat, the horn was blown, the gates 
 flew open, and we whisked through three or four 
 courts and then came what produced the strangest 
 effect of all: we were driven into the reception room 
 and landed in front of the most cheerful blaze ever 
 seen, which was not amiss after a long, cold drive. It 
 was then about eleven o'clock, and you better believe 
 that I had a dinner in my own room and whipped 
 into bed and didn't show myself in the ducal presence 
 till the next morning. Then, however, I rose with 
 the lark (larks don't rise in old castles till half -past 
 nine), and on descending and finding the whole party 
 assembled, and a goodly party it was, I discovered 
 that I knew every one of them except one. Rome 
 is certainly a wonderful place for bringing you in con- 
 tact with everybody. 
 
 Well, I had a delightful visit at Raby, and then 
 I came here to Lady Marian Alford, who is more 
 darling than ever. On Monday I go to the Duchess 
 of Buckingham for a few days, then Lady Ashburton 
 claims me for a few more. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 WoTTON House, Aylesbury, Oct. 24, 1867. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I don't know when I have been so late in getting 
 back to Rome. I am afraid the Pope can't do with- 
 out me much longer, besides, a good general should 
 be on the spot in time of danger to encourage his
 
 < 
 
 <
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 237 
 
 men, and, what is much more to the purpose, keep 
 them from running away to join Garibaldi. I am 
 now with the Duchess of Buckingham, but not at 
 Stowe. The Duke being summoned to Balmoral to 
 attend the Queen, she is here and will remain till his 
 return. 
 
 If I came to England often, I should be quite 
 spoiled. I never had such a heavenly grace of en- 
 joyment, but it wouldn't do for long. I should quite 
 lose the power of work. It is altogether too lazy 
 and luxurious a life for a poor artist. The poor 
 artist must fly to her clay pit and her tin tea kettle, 
 and that right soon. I go from here to Lady Ash- 
 burton, then to London for a bit. ^t tt 
 * xours, M. 
 
 From Melchet Court (Lady Ashburton's place) 
 Miss Hosmer decided to go to Ashridge. 
 
 It is of this place where the artist passed so many 
 happy days that a recent writer says, " It has a great 
 past, a beautiful present, and a marvellous history." 
 It dates back more than seven centuries, to the mon- 
 astery of Bons Homines. When the monks were dis- 
 possessed (in 1500) the lands fell to the Crown. 
 Edward VI bestowed it upon his sister Elizabeth, 
 and it proved to her, for a time, a quiet refuge, but 
 after she became Queen she never cared to return 
 to it as a residence. The present princely mansion 
 was built upon the site of the old monks' convent, 
 the ruins of which contributed material for it. It 
 came by descent into the possession of Viscount AI- 
 ford. His widow. Lady Marian Alford, was its 
 gracious hostess during Miss Hosmer's frequent visits. 
 At her death it passed to her son. Lord Brownlow, 
 the present owner.
 
 238 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 The front of the castle extends a thousand feet from 
 tov/er to tower, and looks upon velvety lawns, bright 
 gardens, and avenues of stately trees, with parks and 
 woodlands in the distance. There still is shown a tree 
 planted by Queen Elizabeth during her residence 
 there. Among other relics of her which are still pre- 
 served are her toilet articles. Lady Marian was wont 
 to tell an amusing incident in connection with them. 
 It seems that Miss Hosmer was one of a party gath- 
 ered there, when from among the treasured souvenirs 
 under lock and key, the brush and comb of the Queen 
 were brought forth. At the same time was shown a 
 tiny lock of long, red hair, and one of the family 
 exclaimed, " What a pity we have never been able to 
 find more than three strands of the Queen's hair, 
 though we have tried over and over again." " Oh," 
 said Miss Hosmer, " give me the brush. I'll produce 
 another." Thereupon she drew the comb slowly 
 across it, and one long, red hair appeared, to the 
 amazement of all, but most of all to that of the 
 artist herself, who declared it was the uncanniest 
 thing that ever happened to her. It was added to 
 the precious lock, now numbering four strands. 
 
 Among the guests when Miss Hosmer was at Ash- 
 ridge, was the Honorable Mary Boyle, called one of 
 the wittiest women in London society. For the en- 
 tertainment of the friends gathered together, she 
 wrote and read to them a sketch descriptive of the 
 assembled party, calling it " Court and Camp of 
 Queen Marian." In this she included Miss Hosmer 
 as one of the " loyal subjects of Her Majesty," and 
 described her as " quick, impetuous, laughing, dark-
 
 o 
 p 
 
 1—4 
 
 CO 
 
 <
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 239 
 
 eyed, diminutive, irregular in feature, her whole face 
 and form full of fun and movement and quick transi- 
 tion, which in no way affected her heart that was as 
 steadfast as she herself was motatory. Nothing could 
 conceal that inner fire of the spirit, that glowing light 
 of genius, which shone through the transparent cov- 
 ering that encased the inner soul of Berretina." * 
 
 Miss Hosmer, whose pen was as ready as her wit, 
 replied to this in some verses which are here given. 
 Needless to say, they created quite as much amuse- 
 ment as did the production of Miss Boyle. 
 
 THE GHOST FROM BUNKER HILL 
 
 being a continuation of 
 
 COURT AND CAMP OF QUEEN MARIAN 
 
 o 
 
 Dedicated 
 
 (without asking) 
 
 to 
 
 My Gracious Queen 
 
 by 
 
 Berretina. 
 
 THE GHOST FROM BUNKER HILL. 
 
 I. 
 
 We sat alone, my lamp and I, 
 And it were hard to tell 
 
 Which looked the brightest of the two, 
 Myself or my carcel 
 
 •Berretina — little hat (a favorite nickname).
 
 240 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 II. 
 
 " What say ye now, my friend," quoth I, 
 And stroked his radiant rim, 
 
 "To one more social evening coze?" 
 Says he, " I am in trim." 
 
 III. 
 
 " Then, cheeriest soul upon the globe, 
 Send forth thy cheeriest ray; 
 
 'Tis understood you go not out 
 If I consent to stay. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " We'll have an intellectual feast, 
 Consume your midnight oil, 
 
 While I devour, with ' Court and Camp,' 
 The spice of Mary Boyle." 
 
 V. 
 
 And as I read my fancy drew 
 
 Uncertain poised the while, 
 A something very like a tear, 
 
 And very like a smile. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And then, with pleasant memories, she 
 Unveiled the regal scene — 
 
 I kissed a soft white hand, and swore 
 Allegiance to my Queen. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And, musing thus, one eyelid closed, 
 
 The one became a pair — 
 A demi-nod — and then, methought, 
 
 A rattle in the air.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 241 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Good lack," thought I, " 'tis passing strange ! 
 
 Mine ears deceive, mayhap ; 
 No well-bred spirit now intrudes 
 
 Without, at least, a rap." 
 
 IX. 
 
 But vain my logic, and in vain 
 
 My senses doubted still 
 There stood the spectre on one leg — 
 
 The other leg was nil. 
 
 X. 
 
 Thrice from his maxillaries he 
 
 Emitted ghastly tones ; 
 And thrice he waved impatiently 
 
 His metacarpal bones. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And thus, in hollow accents, spake — 
 
 For reasons plain to see. 
 Because, like other skeletons 
 
 Still hollower was he 
 
 XII. 
 
 " And is it thus my recreant niece 
 
 Preserves my memory green.'' 
 And is it thus," quoth he, " she swears 
 
 Allegiance to a Queen.'' 
 
 XIII. 
 
 « 
 
 Was it for this that seventy-six 
 Her bravest blood did spill? 
 Was it for this I fought and bled. 
 And fell on Bunker Hill?"
 
 242 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " My martial Ancestor," quoth I, 
 
 " From patriot ire refrain, 
 And sit, lest with that missing leg, 
 
 You get a fall again." 
 
 XV. 
 
 " These stiffened bones, my recreant niece, 
 
 No other posture know ; 
 I stand erect, as when I stood 
 
 To meet your country's foe." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " From forcing you to bend the knee 
 My conscience would recoil: 
 
 Is it from principle, or want 
 Of lubricating oil? 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " It irks me much an honored guest, 
 Who once as conqueror shone, 
 
 Should stand; so, prithee, take that nail, 
 And hang your bones thereon." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Correct, I pray you, recreant niece. 
 Correct your speech and air: 
 
 How fares your sire, it fears me much, 
 You very little care." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Oh, osseous Ancestor ! " quoth I, 
 
 "Your pardon I must beg: 
 Say not, in virtue of that nail, 
 
 I do not care a peg ! " 
 
 II
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 243 
 
 XX. 
 
 (( 
 
 Your words offend me, and they fall 
 With graceless point from you: 
 Unto," quoth he, " my battered front, 
 At least respect is due." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Think not thy recreant niece forgets 
 Thy bellicose renown, 
 When all thy grateful country knows 
 You fought against your Crown." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " I hold your wit in just contempt," 
 Quoth he, with vengeful brow, 
 
 " Your very lame and heartless jests 
 111 suit my humor now." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Quoth I, " But jovial we must be, 
 
 I see no help for it. 
 Since, so unstinting, you engraft 
 
 Your humor on my wit." 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Enough ! " quoth he ; " my words are few, 
 
 Before the dews distil. 
 These now insulted bones must lie 
 
 Once more at Bunker Hill. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Go kiss the Sceptre and the Crown, 
 Forgetting what the symbols mean; 
 
 Play out the bitter farce, and swear 
 Allegiance to your Queen."
 
 244. HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And then a pause. Quoth I, " You view 
 One side, and nothing more: 
 
 One word from me " — but that one word 
 Was grave as gay before. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " We own her Queen, because our hearts 
 Grow human 'neath her sway; 
 
 We question no command, secure 
 That none could lead astray. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " We bless the Sceptre, unsustained, 
 
 Yet firmest in the land. 
 Ruling a realm of smiles, self-poised. 
 
 So open is her hand. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " We bless the Crown of goodly deeds, 
 
 Unseen, as, one by one, 
 Like lilies planted in the shade, 
 
 They blossom in the sun. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " We kiss the Robe, and inward pray, 
 
 As lovingly we bend, 
 On us a little portion of 
 
 Her mantle might descend. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " We kiss the lips, we kiss the hand — 
 The softest hand e'er seen — 
 
 And own, in love and loyalty. 
 Allegiance to our Queen. 
 
 j>
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 245 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 What then transpired I may not say, 
 
 For sleep stepped in between ; 
 I went to shadow-land, and swore 
 
 Allegiance to my Queen. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 That happy dream ! it haunts me still, 
 Like poppies twined with flowers ; 
 
 And what is shadow in my sleep 
 Is substance in my waking hours. 
 
 It is of Miss Boyle that Mrs. Browning wrote from 
 Florence in 1847,* " Miss Mary Boyle, niece of the 
 Earl of Cork, authoress and poet, a very vivacious 
 little person with sparkling talk enough, ever and 
 anon, comes at night, at nine o'clock, to catch us at 
 hot chestnuts and mulled wine, and to warm her feet 
 at our fire. A kinder, more cordial little creature, 
 full of talent and accomplishment, never had the 
 world's polish on it. Very amusing, too, and original, 
 and a good deal of laughing she and Robert make 
 between them." 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: Ashridge, Sunday night. 
 
 I am trying to catch Mr. Story, to see if he can 
 tell me anything about affairs in Rome. Nobody is 
 going back at present, and I fear that we should 
 have great difficulty in getting there. Unless I hear 
 more tranquillizing accounts of the bullets I shall de- 
 lay my departure a few days; besides, affairs of state 
 detain me. 
 
 * Life and Letters of Robert Browning, by Mrs. Orr, Vol. I, pages 
 223-225.
 
 246 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 The other day Lady Marian was speaking of her 
 fountain (the photograph, I mean), with which she 
 is greatly pleased, and she said, " I must tell you 
 something about the Fountain. When the Princess 
 Mary was staying in my house at Prince's Gate last 
 winter, the Queen came to see her, and as soon as she 
 got into the house she said, ' But where is Miss Hos- 
 mer's Fountain? I want to see it.' So," said Lady 
 Marian, " when I get it I am going to exhibit it and 
 invite the Queen to see it, and shall get Lady Ash- 
 burton to let me exhibit the two Fauns * at the same 
 
 *""«=• Yours, H. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: Ashbidge, 1867. 
 
 Between exhibitions and friends I have had no time 
 either to eat or sleep, and when I give up the former 
 occupation you must infer I am pretty busy. In fact 
 it wore me out and made me ill-ish, and so Lady 
 Marian just tucked me under her arm, and as it 
 chanced where she was going to visit they were all 
 my friends, too, and glad to see me, we have been 
 enjoying the country together. Then we wound up 
 here for another little rest, and by this time I am 
 equal to anything. I am to join Lady Ashburton 
 next week at Melchet Court, going to dear Mrs. Sar- 
 toris again 'twixt now and then. I had a letter from 
 Lady Warwick inviting me to the Castle, for they 
 were there much later than usual this year, but I was 
 tied in many ways and could not get free. 
 
 I enclose two articles about my Pompeiian Sentinel, 
 the success of the exhibition of which astonished me. 
 
 " Perhaps one of the most interesting and at the 
 same time one of the least well known works of Miss 
 Hosmer is that of the Sentinel of Pompeii. This 
 
 * The Sleeping Faun and the Waking Faun, then in process of finishing.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 247 
 
 is the first work of the artist which presses severity 
 of style to very sternness of subject and expression. 
 It would be a remarkable achievement in any studio, 
 and is even more remarkable as the work of a woman 
 who has hitherto chiefly embodied the sprightly and 
 the graceful. 
 
 The figure is of colossal size; the legionary stands 
 with firmly planted feet that seem to grasp the 
 ground, both hands clasp the staff of his spear, and 
 his face, which is that of a veteran, and recalls the 
 soldiery physiognomies that we see on the Pillar of 
 Trajan, has the settled expression which denotes that 
 expectation is past, and that he has nerved himself to 
 await the inevitable in a state of inaction that is most 
 repugnant to one who has been used ever to confront 
 death with all his energies in unrestrained exertion. 
 The attitude, it need not be said, is not that of a formal 
 sentry of our own period; the suggestion of the pos- 
 sibility of motion is given by the advanced foot, which 
 is still so corrected by the direction of the sloping 
 spear as to indicate at the same time the impulse and 
 its subjugation. The sentinel knows that Death is 
 coming, but he scorns to fly. He will remain and meet 
 him face to face. Herein consists all the poetry of 
 the conception, and the artist has done justice to it." 
 
 This graphic description was given in the London 
 Times, in August, 1867: 
 
 " In the outer wall to the right of the sea-gate of 
 Pompeii, on the road which leads to Herculaneum, 
 is a niche in which, at an early period in the exhuma- 
 tion of the buried city, the excavators found a skele- 
 ton, in the plain armor of a Roman soldier. Helmet, 
 lance, and breast-plate may be seen hanging near 
 the entrance to the second room of the Museo Bor- 
 bonico at Naples.
 
 248 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 The sentinel had kept his post till overpowered 
 by the sulphurous vapor of the falling ashes. There, 
 in the niche of the wall, skeleton, lance, and armor 
 had remained undisturbed from the 23d of November, 
 A.D. 79, when the city was overwhelmed by the ashes 
 and showers of dust from Vesuvius, till the 20th of 
 April, 1794, when the niche and its contents were laid 
 bare in the process of excavation. The story of this 
 sentinel, thus faithful to duty unto death, appeals 
 powerfully and directly to the imagination, and has 
 been taken as the subject of an impressive design 
 for sculpture. Miss Hosmer, the favorite pupil of 
 Gibson, already well known in this country by her 
 Puck, her Zenobia, her Beatrice Cenci, and other 
 works exhibited at the Royal Academy and Inter- 
 national Exhibitions, has modelled a colossal figure 
 of this faithful Pompeiian legionary, now exhibiting 
 for a few days at Mr. Martin Colnaghi's Gallery in 
 the Haymarket. The figure is eight feet in height, 
 clad in helmet and corselet of bronze plates modelled 
 after the originals, leaning upon his lance in vain 
 resistance to the deadening influence of the sulphur- 
 ous fumes of the falling dust and ashes. His eyes 
 are already closed. The blood in his veins thickens 
 and runs slow. Looking at the figure in profile, we 
 see that he already staggers and can scarce sustain 
 himself by aid of his lance, hard clutched and pressed 
 as a point of support against his knee. Besides his 
 helmet and corselet he wears only a short tunic and 
 sandals, showing the instep and toes, so that the limbs 
 are freely displayed, and there is at once the least 
 possible concealment of the figure and the least pos- 
 sible advantage derived from drapery. 
 
 The perfect simplicity and sincerity of the treat- 
 ment give to Miss Hosmer's design the impressive- 
 ness which befits its subject. Under the paramount 
 sense of soldierly duty, the thews and sinews of the
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 249 
 
 strong sentinel are braced to resist the stupefying 
 vapors which are beginning to overpower sense and 
 strength. He has closed his eyes, apparently, more 
 to aid the concentration of his powers than to exclude 
 sights of horror, which through that thick cloud of 
 falling ashes could hardly have been within his ken. 
 The muscles of his limbs are in strong tension, the 
 bones firmly set, giving emphasis to the imj)ression 
 that the man's energies are bent up to their very 
 utmost. It is a worthy embodiment of duty in face 
 of death. Without any intention of left-handed com- 
 pliment, it deserves to be called a masculine work, 
 grave, earnest, and energetic, without contortion, ef- 
 fort, or sense of over-strain. ... In these days, when 
 so much is thought or said about woman's work, it is 
 a satisfaction to call attention to the creation of a 
 woman who has not merely held her own, but taken 
 high rank among the sculptors of her time . . . and 
 has in the course of her career fully justified the in- 
 terest she at once inspired in that pure and simple 
 man and single-minded artist, John Gibson, from her 
 first introduction to him as ' an aspiring and high- 
 couraged young American girl, with a passionate 
 vocation for sculpture.' " 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 T^ Ttr r^ ASHRIDGE, Nov. 1867. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 First of all let me say that I am taking the revolu- 
 tion in Rome very easy here, and am not sorry to have 
 an excuse for prolonging my stay this side the Chan- 
 nel. But letters have come now from the seat of 
 former war, and I find there is no sound reason why 
 I should longer absent myself from my post, and I 
 am off. The next time I shall date from Paris, en 
 route to the clay pit. I have a letter from Ercole,
 
 250 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 my studio, house, and stable are intact, nothing taken 
 possession of, but one of my men, a blocker-out, was 
 going up the Via Tritone when a bomb exploded and 
 injured his right hand so that he was obliged to have 
 the middle finger cut off. Then John, my valiant 
 groom, was set upon by two men as he was going 
 home one evening, and robbed and stabbed, but for- 
 tunately the dagger went through his coat only. 
 
 I paused a bit, hearing all this, but now, with the 
 French, order has returned. As for the Pope, he 
 was never so strong as now, and the papal troops, 
 whom it was the fashion to laugh at, have shown 
 themselves valiant soldiers and have made themselves 
 respected. As for the Romans, they were more loyal 
 than the world gave them credit for being, or else 
 were afraid their " season " would be spoiled, I don't 
 know which. In return for their loyalty, they will 
 have a tremendous rush this winter, everybody will 
 be wanting to see where these events transpired. So 
 much for Roman politics. 
 
 I am glad you like " Hosmer and her men." * I 
 did it by way of a joke, but it has had a great success, 
 and I don't know how many photographs I might 
 have given away if I had had them. 
 
 Last Sunday I was at the Zoological gardens, cran- 
 ing at lions, when I felt a hand laid on my shoulder 
 and thought that I must have been baiting the bear 
 unbeknownst, and that the policeman had come to ar- 
 rest me; but on turning round I discovered Mr. Story, 
 who had come to England to model the statue of 
 George Peabody. Mr. Peabody is a very good sub- 
 ject, but oh, the modern costume, I do not envy him! 
 I happened to have my letter from Rome, the first 
 for a month, which I read to him, the first news he 
 had had for weeks. Yours H. 
 
 * A photograph of Miss Hosmer in her studio, surrounded by her 
 workmen.
 
 o 
 
 w 
 
 Q 
 
 o 
 
 < 
 
 ••♦«.. .'Ufc. 
 
 •f^ 
 
 ♦■*,
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 251 
 
 Upon going to London, Miss Hosmer found it 
 inadvisable to continue her journey to Rome. She 
 was summoned back to Ashridge by Lady Marian 
 Alford and, with characteristic jokes and nonsense, 
 she thus responded: 
 
 THE LOST BALLAD OF THE MELON-COLORED 
 
 MAID. 
 
 I. 
 
 Fierce howled the blast, the wainscot shook, 
 The casement rattled in the gale, 
 While like arrows thick and fast 
 Came deadly sheets of blinding hail. 
 
 XL 
 
 Far flashed the lightning, and in twain 
 The starry vault of Heaven was rent; 
 Far boomed the thunder, waking all 
 The echoes of the firmament. 
 
 IIL 
 
 Thick darkness reigned — the forest trees, 
 Uprooted, prone in dust were laid, 
 Yet all unmoved, unheeding sat 
 The melon-colored maid — 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thrice muttered she, and thrice 
 She stroked her pallid cheeks. 
 E'en in her woe observant of 
 The number of the Greeks.
 
 1 
 
 253 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then slowly oped the portal, 
 And shuddered all dismayed, 
 The trusty menial, to behold 
 The melon-colored maid — 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Yet stirred she not, the maiden, 
 Nor even twirled a thumb, 
 But when she spake, from other worlds 
 The accents seemed to come. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " My faithful Kuhl,* because I know 
 That very Kuhl you are, 
 I prithee fetch the carving knife 
 And cleave my jugular; 
 
 No longer can I bear against 
 
 This crushing weight of woe. 
 
 The rails are blocked, the Dilly's stopped, 
 
 To Rome we may not go. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And there, alas ! my helpless babes 
 No mother's face shall view! 
 Who aids them now, of me bereft.'* 
 The youngest thirty-two ! " 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Arouse thee, gracious lady, 
 Some missive I have here. 
 Mayhap I bring a little ray 
 Of comfort and good cheer." 
 
 *The German maid.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 253 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Now out upon thee, woman ! 
 And leave me as I am. 
 How dare'st thou, minion, bring to me 
 Another telegram? 
 
 5» 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Methinks, my gracious lady, 
 This is unlike the rest; 
 It bears the postmark Grantham, 
 And M. A. and a crest." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Ha ! say'st thou, faithful Kuhly, 
 And dost thou truly tell.'* 
 And dost thou see it is a crest. 
 And can'st thou rightly spell? " 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And then with trembling hand 
 The document she tore. 
 And as she read she looked around 
 As pleased as sad before. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Now blessed be all the Dillys, 
 The babes may ' go to pot ! ' 
 My lady bids me hie to her 
 And, Kuhl, why should we not? " 
 
 XXII. 
 
 When spake the maid, " If, Madame, you 
 Excuse the place I'm in, 
 Nor show just cause why I should not, 
 A somerset I'll spin."
 
 254i HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Good Kuhl," quoth she, " I do admire 
 The spirit you have shown, 
 And by the great Saint Vitus 
 You shall not spin alone." 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Whereat, but quicker than 
 By lightning trees are rent, 
 They both began a-spinning 
 And heels o*er head they went. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The feathers flew, the dust up-heaved, 
 Ne'er vigor was displayed 
 Like that which suddenly inspired 
 The melon-colored maid. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The clock struck twelve, the carpet all 
 In shreds was in the air; 
 Still on they spun without a thought 
 Of pausing anywhere. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The distant cock with windpipe shrill 
 Crowed out the hour of three ; 
 The bats looked in and cried, " Look out ! 
 What whirring can that be.''" 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The morning dawned, but never sun 
 Lit up so strange a scene, 
 Three little mounds of dust revealed 
 Where furniture had been.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 255 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Naught else remained, the field was clear, 
 Triumphant spun the two ; 
 The higher shone the orb of day, 
 The faster still they flew. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 At last paused she, the maiden, 
 
 And spake, but scarce betrayed 
 
 That weight of sorrow which had crushed 
 
 The melon-colored maid. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 But, with a twinkle, " Kuhl," quoth she, 
 " To me it doth appear. 
 With deference to the Pope, we've had 
 A Revolution here. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " I pause for I bethink myself 
 The post leaves here at three. 
 But spin thou on, I prithee. 
 And do not rise for me. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " I pause a moment, only 
 The better to begin 
 Another kind of spinning; 
 A little yam I'll spin. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And may the gods so help me. 
 Such skill may I display, 
 That none shall say my yarn 
 Was worsted in the fray."
 
 256 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 She spake and poised aloft 
 
 Her quill — then let it drive 
 
 With force gigantic through — let's see — 
 
 Through verses thirty-five. 
 
 And here they are, my Lady, 
 And Saturday, arrayed 
 In winks and cheery blinks, you'll see 
 The melon-colored maid- 
 Eventually the artist reached Rome and wrote: 
 
 ^ „^ .-, Rome, Dec. 5, 1867. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 I write now from headquarters, where I arrived 
 a week ago, and have already got into the traces and 
 draw in harness just as if I had never been away 
 further than the Obelisk in the Piazza Trinita. We 
 had a very good journey from Paris, but the quantity 
 of snow on Mt. Cenis made me think I was some- 
 where in the region of my own native land. 
 
 I am going on with my Faun,* and haven't felt so 
 well, dear me, I don't know when, not since the dear 
 old Lenox days; and I mean to do a deal towards 
 filling my studio this winter. It is two years that 
 I haven't been very prolific, that is, in results to show 
 at the present moment. I found all my belongings 
 in first rate order here, and have settled for the last 
 outlay I make in Paris, or anywhere else, for the 
 furnishing of my apartment. 
 
 Gallant t is in splendid condition, and N X 
 
 and I have had a whisk over rails, this afternoon, get- 
 ting ready for foxes. On Sunday afternoon we pro- 
 pose to ride to Mentana, to see where the Garibal- 
 dians were gobbled up. People are beginning to drop 
 
 * The Waking Faun. f Her hunter. 
 
 X The American consul, Mr. Cushman.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 257 
 
 in, but forestieri cannot be said to abound. It will 
 be a late season, but a good one, if the French stay to 
 ensure tranquillity; all depends upon that. They 
 are going, but no further than Civita Vecchia. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Rome, Jan. 1, 1868. 
 
 First of all, dear Pater, let me wish you the hap- 
 piest New Year that ever fell to the lot of mortals, 
 and in number more than ever fell to the lot of 
 mortals ! 
 
 It is a long time since I have written, but the 
 truth is I have been immersed in a design which has 
 bothered me not a little, and I have applied myself 
 to it with the true Hosmer and bull-dog pertinacity. 
 Suffice it to say, I have accomplished it very much to 
 my satisfaction, and will soon send you a drawing 
 of the immortal work. Furthermore, I have been 
 doing the sociable. General P. and daughter have 
 been here, and I am bound to be civil to any one who 
 comes from St. Louis, for I have met with friendliness 
 and encouragement from there as from nowhere else. 
 I went to see the IVIotleys the other night, and he, 
 though suffering from a boil on his neck, insisted upon 
 coming down to the door with me. " Pray," said I, 
 " don't think of such a thing as coming out with 
 your boil." " Alas," said he, " I can't come with- 
 
 ^^* ^*-" • • • Yours, H. 
 
 LADY BLOOMFIELD TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Hotel Costanzi, Feb. 15, 18G8. 
 Dear Miss Hosmer: 
 
 Here is the extract which I promised you. I hope 
 it will give you pleasure as it did me, showing that
 
 258 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 your beautiful statue has not only given momentary 
 pleasure, but left a lasting impression upon a highly 
 cultivated and refined mind. That you may long 
 have health and strength to work is the sincere wish of 
 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 G. Bloomfield. 
 
 My friend says, " And so you have seen Miss Hos- 
 mer! Her talent must be wonderful, and so far as 
 the Sleeping Faun goes, I can enter into it, for 
 the statue was sent over to the Dublin Exhibition and 
 delighted us all. She had so completely embodied 
 the poetic notion of a Faun, that it made me under- 
 stand for the first time that he was intended to be 
 much more than a hobgoblin of the forest. She gives 
 her beautiful figure the delicate charm belonging to 
 a lover of Nature. The small pointed ear seemed 
 ready for acute and distinguishing perception, and 
 his sleep so light that a rustle in his beloved trees 
 would awaken him. But how dull am I, to explain 
 what you have been seeing yourself so lately; it is only 
 the image of what people do, when they are constantly 
 munching at crumbs of memory." 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 ^ P / . Rome, Mar. 26, 1868. 
 
 Although a day after the fair, this is to wish you 
 many happy returns of your birthday. So you have 
 reached the venerable point of sixty. I used to think 
 that sixty was pretty old, but not being so young 
 myself as I was when I was born, I look upon sixty 
 now as about ten years this side of the prime of life. 
 I wish I could model such statues now as I shall be 
 able to make when I am sixty. One has all one's 
 experience by that time, and head enough to use it 
 to the best advantage.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 259 
 
 We have had Admiral Farragut here, and he is 
 a dear old fellow. So simple and bears his honors so 
 modestly. I dined with him on Saturday last at Miss 
 Cushman's. Consul Cusliman had presented him on 
 the same day to the Pope, and on Monday night Mr. 
 Hooker gave a party in his honor, at which all the 
 world and his wife figured. 
 
 I must tell you a great piece of news: my chande- 
 lier, that immortal (but until now invisible) piece 
 of furniture, has not only turned up, but has re- 
 mained up forty-eight hours in my salone and I must 
 say it is the sweetest thing in the way of a glim that 
 I ever did see. With that, my furnishing comes 
 pretty nearly to an end, thank the gods! Next year 
 I shall begin to hoard up, having furnished my studio, 
 my house, and my stable. 
 
 I am still devoted to my Faun,* though a few 
 days more will see him cast. He goes to England 
 to Lady Ashburton, who has his mate, the Sleep- 
 ing Faun. Did I tell you that next year she and 
 I are going to get up an artistic little exhibition 
 of both the Fauns, and have them seen to advantage? 
 I only wish they were ready now, but somehow or 
 other there are certain things that will take their 
 time to grow and blossom, just like the trees and 
 the flowers. Now I am becoming poetic and senti- 
 mental, so had better stop, but first let me say 
 that Rogers spent sixteen years on his " Italy " 
 and Gibbon wrote part of his history over five 
 times. . . . Yours, H. 
 
 No record of the artist's life would seem complete 
 without a word from the hand of the friend to whom 
 her letters are mostly written, and this one serves to 
 show tlie keen and sympathetic interest which he took 
 
 *The Waking Faun.
 
 260 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 in everything concerning her work, and the enthusiasm 
 which helped to carry her on to better things. When 
 her monument of Benton was completed and sent to 
 St. Louis to be placed in Lafayette Park, Colonel 
 Benton's daughter, Mrs. Jessie Benton Fremont, was 
 invited to come to St. Louis to unveil it. She was 
 accompanied by her husband. General John C. Fre- 
 mont, known as " the Pathfinder," from his early ex- 
 plorations in the Rocky Mountains. 
 
 Colonel Benton himself had acquired the name of 
 " Old Bullion " because of his persistent condemna- 
 tion for thirty years (while in the Senate) of paper 
 currency and his advocacy of gold and silver as a 
 medium of exchange. 
 
 WAYMAN CROW TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 My dear Hatty: ^^' L«^^«' ^ay 28, 1868. 
 
 Hip! hip! hurrah! "Old Bullion" is on his feet 
 at last, and he stands magnificent! Yesterday was a 
 proud day for St. Louis, a proud day for you, and 
 I need hardly say it was a proud day for me. The 
 weather was everything to be desired, combining 
 spring and summer. Lafayette Park, (some forty 
 acres in extent,) is almost as beautiful as the Pare 
 Moneeau in Paris, and was in full spring attire. The 
 day opened bright and glorious. It was made a 
 general holiday throughout the city. All places of 
 business were closed, and flags were flying on the 
 public buildings, as on many private houses. 
 
 At two o'clock I called in my carriage for Gen- 
 eral and Mrs. Fremont and took them to the park, 
 entering the grounds just before three o'clock, the 
 hour set for the opening ceremonies. The city is full
 
 THE vSTATUE OF THOMAS II. BENTON
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 261 
 
 of strangers, and the crowd was so great that the 
 pohce had difficulty in making a way for us. An 
 aged colored man, Ralph Harrison, who was a body 
 servant of Colonel Benton's, was provided with a 
 chair near the platform. The ceremonies proceeded 
 as reported in the papers which I am mailing to 
 you. When the speeches were over I escorted IMrs. 
 Fremont to the base of the statue, she touched a 
 silken cord, and the veil fell, revealing the monument. 
 It was gracefully done, and when she caught sight of 
 her father's features her e\^es filled with tears. As she 
 stood there the band played " Hail to the Chief," 
 and the cannon gave thirty salutes in honor of Ben- 
 ton's thirty j^ears in the United States Senate. The 
 bronze was like gold and the afternoon sun equally 
 bright, with a background of blue sky hardly to be ex- 
 celled in Italy. When the gims ceased ]\Irs. Fre- 
 mont walked slowly around the statue, viewing it 
 from every point, the police keeping the crowd back 
 with difficulty. At last she said, " I was prepared to 
 like Miss Hosmer's w^ork, but this surpasses all I 
 had expected; she has caught my father's very ex- 
 pression and his attitude." She approves the drapery 
 and says he wore his cloak much as you have ar- 
 ranged it. She begged me to convey to you her 
 thanks and say that she will write to you. General 
 Fremont said the statue, " as a work of art, was the 
 best one he had seen in America." At six o'clock 
 our carriage was brought up and made the circuit of 
 the monument again. oNIrs. Fremont in parting 
 kissed her hand to her father, and both she and the 
 General bowed to the crowds pressing on each side 
 as we drove away. 
 
 I hear from others to-day that the universal expres- 
 sion of opinion was favorable. Old friends of Ben- 
 ton found the likeness good and the position one of 
 his own. Of course the criticisms will now come, but
 
 262 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 with Gibson's letter to fortify us we can say, " Lay 
 on, Macduff." By the way, I gave Mrs. Fremont 
 the autograph letter of Mr. Gibson. 
 
 Now let us leave the things that are behind and 
 press forward to those that are before. . . . 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 Wayman Crow. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 T^ r, ^ Rome, June, 1868. 
 
 Dear Pater: 
 
 To-day I learn with infinite relief how well the 
 statue of Benton has been received in St. Louis. 
 You know I was prepared for rubs. Portrait statues 
 are ticklish things, particularly when the artist is bold 
 enough to represent a modern without trousers, sub- 
 stituting drapery. I am grateful to Miiller for put- 
 ting my work into such beautiful material.* Now 
 probably this very day another ceremonyt comes off, 
 the result of a deep conspiracy against you. I little 
 thought the time would ever come when I should 
 conspire against you. All I can say is, that the bust 
 ought to be a statue and that statue of gold, to repay 
 you for all the trouble and care you have taken for, 
 and of me, you, my best friend. Where should I 
 have been without you? 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Miss Hosmer had modelled a bust of Mr. Crow, 
 which she desired should be a complete surprise to 
 him. She deputed her friend Mr. James E. Yeat- 
 man to carry out all the details of its presentation to 
 the Washington University in St. Louis; a college 
 founded by him, and whose welfare he had always 
 
 * Bronze. 
 
 f The unveiling in St. Louis of Miss Hosmer's bust of Wayman Crow.
 
 Ant^U.FiHTr 
 
 lT» \*5--i. ■■-«\T-.-i7v.-Tr- -^^"J 
 
 ;^^'?E| 
 
 
 Aj^ 
 
 ^_^^^/0'>^ '>~^
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 263 
 
 at heart. The following letter describes the execution 
 of her plans: 
 
 MR. YEATMAN TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 St. Louis, June 19, 1868. 
 My dear Miss Hosmer: 
 
 You may now write, " Veni, Vidi, Vici." The 
 day has passed, the bust has been presented, all has 
 gone well. Last evening the commencement exercises 
 of the university took place, and the giving of the 
 diplomas. There had been an alcove built on the 
 platform, at the rear, lined with crimson brocade, in 
 which the pedestal and bust had been placed with 
 crimson curtains in front to conceal it. This created 
 no suspicion, but was thought to be intended as a 
 background for the chancellor's chair. The front 
 seats were occui^ied by the president and members 
 of the board of trustees, among whom was Mr. Crow, 
 and by the professors of the university. After the 
 speaking was over and the diplomas had been de- 
 livered, the chancellor moved his chair to one side, a 
 student advanced to the platform and drew aside the 
 curtain revealing the bust. It was such a surprise 
 that it was received with a burst of applause. When 
 it ceased I arose and made the presentation. Mr. 
 Crow was the most surprised man of them all, and 
 I may also say the most gratified. My remarks occu- 
 pied less than five minutes, and I did not mention 
 either your name or that of Mr. Crow till the very 
 last, when they were received with a round of long 
 and loud cheers. The president. Dr. Eliot,* made 
 an appropriate reply, accepting the gift in the name 
 of the college, and giving its history and its arrival 
 in this country entirely unknown to any one except to 
 himself and to me. So you see your instructions have 
 
 * Rev. Willi'im G. Eliot.
 
 264 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 been carried out. The secrecy and non-formality 
 added greatly to the interest of the occasion, and 
 showed that you were an artist in other things than 
 sculpture. There were many pleasant incidents con- 
 nected with it. Dr. Eliot referred to Mr. Crow as 
 having framed the wise and broad charter, and to his 
 substantial donation, which was the initial one in 
 founding the university. The likeness is considered 
 perfect, and I must congratulate you upon its suc- 
 cess in every way. I have written you thus in detail, 
 as I know you will be waiting to hear. . . . 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 James E. Yeatman. 
 
 One of the St. Louis journals in referring to the 
 occasion, said : 
 
 *' The marble bust of Wayman Crow, presented 
 to the Washington University by our eminent Ameri- 
 can artist, Harriet Hosmer, was unveiled last evening 
 in presence of a distinguished gathering of those con- 
 nected with the college and interested in art. Among 
 them were Wayman Crow and James E. Yeatman. 
 Until the bust was unveiled Mr. Crow had no knowl- 
 edge of it and his pleasure equalled his surprise. The 
 bust, of white marble, rests upon a polished pedestal 
 of a darker shade, supported by a carved pediment, 
 the whole rising to a height of six feet. On the 
 base of the bust and on the right and left sides of it, 
 respectively, are carved 
 
 Wayman Crow 
 
 Rome M.D.C.C.C.LXV— Tribute of Gratitude. 
 
 Harriet Hosmer Sculpt. 
 
 These inscriptions are its history, in them the epit- 
 ome of the reason which moved its production. The
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 265 
 
 face wears a calm and noble expression, a look full 
 of meaning, an indescribable something which shows 
 the work to be no less the language of the artist's 
 heart, than a faithful likeness of her friend." 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 T^ T^ . England, Adiscombe, 1868. 
 
 You see I flit round the spheres as if I had already 
 shuffled off this mortal coil and had taken to wings 
 and wet clouds. I must report myself from the 
 British Isles, though I have nothing to write but 
 gossip and greeting. For the first time since my 
 first experience of the Channel, it was as smooth as 
 a lake. And here I have been, most of the time since 
 last JNIonday at the prettiest, cosiest place, belonging 
 to Lady Ashburton, within driving distance of Lon- 
 don, where I am doing the lazy to my heart's con- 
 tent. I was going to write you yesterday, to secure 
 to-day's steamer, but this must wait for the next raft 
 that passes, for just at the epistolary juncture Lady 
 Marian arrived and the post wouldn't wait. 
 
 While seated at the breakfast table this morning 
 a letter was brought to me beginning " dear cousin," 
 and it turned out to be from Dr. Henry Bellows 
 (the Reverend). I copy a passage which bears upon 
 a subject near to both of our hearts. He says, " Your 
 letter from Paris reached me yesterday, and before 
 I am twenty-foiu' hours older I want to say that I 
 think nothing can be better than your design for the 
 Lincoln Monument." 
 
 Did I ever tell you about Mr. Gibson? In the be- 
 ginning he was immensely pleased at my competing, 
 and said, " Xow if any objection should be made to 
 your receiving the commission on the ground of j^our 
 being so young an artist and a woman, I will guaran-
 
 266 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 tee them that the execution of the work will be in 
 every respect worthy of the subject." So much for 
 one, whose judgment and taste were that of the first 
 sculptor in Rome. I did not know how far the acci- 
 dental circumstance of my being a woman would 
 favor or injure my cause. I'll leave that for you 
 to determine, as also how far I would exert myself, 
 in the event of my being the favored one, to justify 
 your confidence in me to produce a work of art of 
 which I should not be ashamed. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Loch Luichart, Scotland, Oct. 1868. 
 Dear Pater: 
 
 Coming from an excursion I find your welcome 
 letter. I am sure that England is the place for being 
 set up, and Scotland is still better. I am up here at 
 the jumping off place, and you would think it winter 
 if you could put your nose among these hills. I shall 
 stay another ten days and then meander south to 
 London, dropping in by the way upon several friends 
 who are holding out their hospitable arms to catch 
 me. I am staying with Lady Ashburton, having 
 come last night from Coulin, Lord Warwick's beau- 
 tiful Highland home. They are just returning to 
 Warwick Castle, it having been put in readiness for 
 them after the fire. Here we have a truly jolly 
 party. Lady Marian arrived last night, and Lord 
 Brownlow (her son) was already here with divers 
 others, and people are coming and going all the while, 
 so we have great variety. . . . You should be here to 
 eat some trout out of the lake, fresh every morning, 
 so fresh that you can almost feel them wriggle down 
 your throat. Then the grouse season has begun, and
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 267 
 
 there are plenty of birds. This is indeed the land of 
 plenty as well as of beauty. . . . 
 
 In spite of the weather the air is delicious, and so 
 are the peat-water baths. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 TO MISS DUNDAS. 
 
 Paris, Tuesday, Nov. 1868. 
 
 My dear A : 
 
 . . . To-morrow we take real wings for Italy. We 
 have been dawdling here for divers necessary and 
 what seemed liwnecessary reasons. Our respective 
 maids and our irrespective luggage have gone on, and, 
 if all goes well, will speedily be in Rome. Having 
 been outwardly disturbed and inwardly tossed by a 
 hateful passage across the Channel, I put my foot 
 down first upon the toe and then upon the heel, that 
 I would stick to the land, for one, between here and 
 Rome. I trust it is in consequence of my ever lumi- 
 nous example that Miss Cushman has decided upon 
 the same way, which is over Mt. Cenis, and therefore 
 we shall be some little time in getting to our journey's 
 end. Then we shall stop in Florence a couple of days 
 which will bring us into the twenties, quite forestieri- 
 like and not like an artist. 
 
 Good-by, and hold me, ^ours ever, jj 
 
 The methods of bargain and sale, forty or fifty 
 years ago, on the Continent, are well remembered 
 by travellers of that day, so this letter will seem 
 familiar. A friend, upon leaving Rome, had asked 
 Miss Hosmer to make some purchases for her, offer- 
 ing a price less than a very exorbitant one which 
 had been demanded of her; and Miss Hosmer writes:
 
 368 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 •My dear friend: '^^' N"^' '^^^^- 
 
 I am sure you will be as much amused as I am, to 
 know that I have been able to execute all your com- 
 missions at your own price; such, however, is the fact, 
 decided only yesterday. Old Minetti was difficult 
 to manipulate. The three interviews before the de- 
 sired result was obtained would have diverted you. 
 The first was when I made him your offer, it was 
 pretty to see his indignation. Did Miladi mean to 
 insult him by offering just one-half his price? Did 
 I, the Sigiiorina who knew him so well, suppose 
 for an instant that he could take one price when he 
 had named another? His face became quite a psy- 
 chological curiosity when I told him it was precisely 
 because I knew him so well, that I had made the 
 offer; the offer of £20 for the frame and little cabinet, 
 was a still deeper insult! I then saw clearly that a 
 colpa would ensue if I prolonged the conversation, so 
 explosive was his wrath, and I departed, quite en- 
 couraged, for in general, you may set it down as a 
 rule, in the Roman States, that the more ungovern- 
 able the rage, the greater is the probability of final 
 concession. Fortunately I was negotiating for a 
 pezzetto for myself, which gave me the opportunity 
 of repeating my visit in a few days, when I imagined 
 mental equilibrium might be restored. On my part, 
 no allusion, however remote, was made to cabinets, 
 although he had very speedily taken occasion to un- 
 cover it. I ignored its very existence, transacted my 
 business, and had said " Addio, Minetti," when, not 
 being able to see me depart without airing a subject 
 so dear to his soul, he mildly insinuated that he might 
 take £800 for it, to which observation I deigned no 
 reply, and drove off. The next morning, however, he 
 sent to know if I would see him on a subject of 
 importanza; to which I, knowing it is fatal to display
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 269 
 
 any degree of eagerness in business transactions, re- 
 sponded, no, but I would come to his magazzino in a 
 day or two. So yesterday I went, and in the blandest 
 of tones he informed me " if Miladi would make a 
 piccolo crescimento she might have the three things." 
 " Not a cresciinento of an ovibra of a hijocco," said 
 I, still more blandly, at which, with more words and 
 gestures than we could squeeze into a year of ordinary 
 conversation, he concluded you should have them 
 for £520, and that, I think, is fair. Now I have 
 faithfully reported the whole story. . . . 
 
 Yours, H.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 1869-1871 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ^^^^' J^^" ^' ^^^^' 
 
 I am making a statue of the Queen of Naples. I 
 don't know that you ever saw that photograph of her 
 with a cloak wrapped about her, called the Gaeta 
 costume? She came to me the other day dressed 
 exactly as she was then, spur and all. It will make 
 an interesting statue, for the subject is invested with 
 so much that is historic. I forgot to say there is a 
 pile of cannon balls at her feet, and upon them I 
 shall get her to write her name and Gaeta and the 
 year. The costume is perfectly classic, and she is so 
 beautiful and artistic looking that she lends herself 
 wonderfully to art. 
 
 I have been thoroughly dissipated for the last fort- 
 night, a succession of dinners has been going on, 
 and the wonder is how the poor frail stomach can 
 endure all that is put upon it. Its yoke may be easy, 
 but its burden is not always light. Mine, thanks to 
 the Constitution of the United States and my own, 
 rises, as Benton has it, " to equal the occasion." 
 Among the people here are Mr. and Mrs. Childs of 
 Philadelphia. They gave the most magnificent dinner 
 at the " Europa " last Tuesday that I have ever seen 
 anywhere. It was gorgeous, profuse, and sumptuous. 
 Last night they dined with me. I had the Long- 
 fellows to meet them, the H's and the A's of Boston. 
 
 270
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 271 
 
 I christened my salone upon the occasion, and all 
 declared it the loveliest of rooms. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 The following extract is taken from a letter writ- 
 ten by a friend in Rome at about this time: 
 
 " I think the public will pronounce that Miss Hos- 
 mer has succeeded in giving elegance and grace to a 
 modern dress, in a life-sized statue of the beautiful 
 Queen of Naples. The costume is that actually worn 
 by the unfortunate queen during the siege of Gaeta. 
 It is a riding-habit nearly concealed by a large 
 cloak, the ample folds of which adapt themselves to 
 the sculptor's purpose quite as well as any ancient 
 drapery. The pose of the Queen is erect and slightly 
 defiant, defiance less of the foe than of the danger 
 and death that surround her. While the right hand 
 rests upon the folds of the cloak, where it is thrown 
 across the breast and shoulder, the other points down- 
 ward, to the cannon balls that lie at her feet. The 
 head, surrounded by a splendid coronet of hair, is 
 slightly thrown back. It is well known in Rome 
 that during the Queen's residence here, she was a 
 frequent visitor to Miss Hosmer's studio, and sat 
 many times for the statue, thus adding the value of 
 a perfect likeness to a noble work of art. It is an 
 extremely handsome head, somewhat disdainful and 
 breathing the utmost firmness and resolution. The 
 Queen's hair is celebrated for its length and sable 
 beauty; when she lets it fall, she might drape herself 
 with it like Godiva. Massed in a bold, broad braid 
 about her brow, it forms a natural crown more beau- 
 tiful than goldsmith's skill could supply. In the 
 statue it has the effect of a diadem, while the rich 
 folds and tassels of the cloak might be taken, without 
 any stretch of imagination, for a royal robe. Royal
 
 272 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 indeed she was at Gaeta, immovable under the deadly 
 shower of Cialdini's shells, more than at any other 
 moment of her short and hapless reign; and the sculp- 
 tor has had a happy idea in placing for sole inscrip- 
 tion, ' Gaetae Maria Regina.' Of the riding habit, 
 only the part nearest the throat is seen, and a small 
 portion of the skirt below the folds of the cloak. A 
 slender, nervous foot, broadened by the firmness of 
 the tread, is in advance, and the braid and lacings 
 of the modern bottine are so arranged as to give it al- 
 most the appearance of a sandal and harmonize it 
 with the remainder of the costume. The work vindi- 
 cates at a glance the high reputation of the artist, and 
 bids fair to be her masterpiece." 
 
 Miss Hosmer's great friendship with the Queen 
 of Naples perhaps drew her attention more interest- 
 edly to all that was artistic in her family, and in 
 writing of three of the Bavarian kings whom she had 
 known, she said: 
 
 " No sovereigns of modern times, perhaps, have 
 influenced art in a manner more direct and personal 
 than have Ludwig I. and Ludwig II. The city of 
 Munich is a worthy monument to the old artist King, 
 Ludwig I. He it was who caused to be erected many 
 of its finest buildings and its art galleries, and who 
 enriched them with gems of painting and sculpture. 
 He it was who established the great bronze foundry 
 which at one time was regarded as the finest in the 
 world, and he fostered art by generously aiding all 
 artists in whom he recognized talent. More artist 
 than statesman. King Ludwig was never so happy as 
 during his frequent visits to Rome, when his beauti- 
 fully situated villa, at that time a possession of the 
 Bavarian crown, became a centre for those who cared 
 for and appreciated art. More than once was I
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 273 
 
 invited to share these symposia when he exhibited 
 with delighted pride some new art treasure which 
 he had unearthed during his rambles about Rome. 
 Not unfrequently his Majesty honored me with a 
 visit in my studio; on one occasion bringing and read- 
 ing to me an original poem, for the king was some- 
 thing of a poet too, and wrote very pretty verse; in- 
 deed, I have known even a Poet Laureate write 
 worse. Most interesting, too, was his conversation 
 touching upon all topics save politics. I well re- 
 member a talk upon the well-worn subject of the 
 relative difficulties of painting and sculpture, in which 
 he maintained that the art we love best appears to us 
 the most difficult, because therein are we most critical 
 and fastidious; a very good argument. 
 
 His successor. King Max, possessed few of the 
 qualities which attract artists. He visited my studio 
 when in Rome, but I remember little of him. Lud- 
 wig II., that weird figure in history, artist, poet, 
 above all musician, to whom, by reason of his appre- 
 ciation of Wagner, the existence of ' the music of the 
 future,' as the king himself designated the school, 
 was so greatly due — having seen the young king, 
 I associate him always with the verses of the folk-lore, 
 lore he loved so well. His lithe and graceful figure, 
 his charm of manner, his pleasant voice, his handsome 
 face, recalling much of the beauty of his distinguished 
 cousin, the Queen of Naples, all these outward gifts 
 he possessed in supreme degree. Clothe him in the 
 shining garb of a Lohengrin, and without further 
 metamorphosis we have the ideal hero of romance. 
 And like a true hero of romance and a dreamer, as 
 he was, he loved to steal away from the outer world 
 and live apart in a world of his own. We can pic- 
 ture to ourselves that lone auditor in the vast theatre, 
 sitting in solitary state, the stage ablaze with lights 
 and all else in darkness, for it was a common occur-
 
 274. HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 rence for the king to command the performance of an 
 opera for himself alone. Or we can fancy him lying 
 in that lone boat, floating wheresoever the winds 
 listed, upon the fateful Starnburg See. Or we catch 
 a glimpse of that fantastic, gilded chariot, wild and 
 weird, plunging through the snow in the dead of 
 night, ' like a shooting star,' as it has been well 
 described, the king its solitary tenant. Strange fan- 
 cies these, truly, fancies which cost him his throne. 
 But whatever were his shortcomings as a ruler, and 
 they appear to have been many, just as Ludwig I. 
 fostered the arts of painting and sculpture, so is the 
 world of music indebted in like degree to Ludwig 
 II. All the world knows of his friendship for and 
 his belief in Wagner. He it was who enabled Wag- 
 ner to pursue his studies untrammelled by financial 
 anxieties; who, at his own expense, placed upon the 
 stage the great works for rehearsal, and who was con- 
 tent to share the ridicule which at that time attached 
 to Wagner's name. Nor is it possible to resist the 
 thought, that as he supplied Wagner with means to 
 complete his works, so his own romantic personality, 
 his beauty of face and figure, his kingly presence, 
 supplied the model for more than one of the great 
 master's striking and fascinating impersonations. 
 
 The name of the young king has now passed into 
 history, and his memory, linked in sympathy with that 
 of his artist ancestor, Ludwig I., will be cherished, 
 not as that of statesman, but as of one who loved 
 and fostered the gentler arts. He was beloved in 
 spite of his eccentricities, of his lavish expenditures, 
 and his disregard of kingly duties. And after the 
 terrible tragedy, as his body lay in state, his people 
 gazed through tears upon their dead king who pre- 
 ferred death to the doom which he foresaw."
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 275 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 j^ ^ Rome, Sep. 1869. 
 
 Oh, I have just had a document. Browning's last 
 unpublished poem! It seems that the Storys, Mr. 
 Browning and his sister (Sarianna), Lady Marian 
 Alford, and Sir Roderick Murchison, all found them- 
 selves staying with Lady Ashburton at her place in 
 Scotland, so they got up a Round Robin, written by 
 Browning, which was despatched to me. Here it is: 
 
 Loch Luichart, Dingwall, N. B. 
 
 Dear Hosmer; or still dearer, Hatty — 
 
 Mixture of imele and of latte. 
 
 So good and sweet and — somewhat fatty — 
 
 Why linger still in Rome's old glory 
 When Scotland lies in cool before ye? 
 Make haste and come ! — quoth Mr. Story. 
 
 Sculpture is not a thing to sit to 
 In summertime ; do find a fit toe 
 To kick the clay aside a bit — oh, 
 Yield to our prayers ! quoth Mrs. Ditto. 
 
 Give comfort to us poor and needy 
 Who, wanting you, are waiting greed}'' 
 Our meat and drink, yourself, quoth Edie. 
 
 Nay, though past clay, you chip the Parian, 
 Throw chisel down ! quoth Lady Marian. 
 
 Be welcome, as to cow — the fodder-rick ! 
 Excuse the simile ! — quoth Sir Roderick. 
 
 Say not (in Scotch) " in troth it canna be 
 But, honey, milk and, indeed, manna be! 
 Forgive a stranger! — Sarianna B. 
 
 »>
 
 276 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Don't set an old acquaintance frowning, 
 But come and quickly ! quoth R. Browning, 
 For since prodigious fault is found with you, 
 I — that is, Robin — must be Round with you. 
 
 P. S. 
 
 Do wash your hands, or leave the dirt on, 
 But leave the tool as Gammer Gurton 
 Her needle lost, — Lady Ashburton 
 Thus ends this letter — ease my sick heart. 
 And come to my divine Loch Luichart ! 
 
 W. W. Story, his mark X. 
 Emelyn Story, 
 Edith Marion Story, 
 M. Alford. 
 Signatures of In order of infraposition 
 
 I am, Roderick Murchison, 
 Sarianna Browning, 
 Robert Browning, 
 L. Ashburton. 
 Sept. 5th, 1869. 
 
 Miss Hosmer, with her well known playfulness, 
 replied : 
 
 My eight beloved friends: ^om^. 
 
 They think perchance, those loving friends 
 
 Who made that lucky hit. 
 That though stuck fast in Roman clay 
 
 I do not care a bit. 
 
 Had I the pinions of the dove 
 
 Of which the poets sing. 
 How quickly would I flee away 
 
 And cut a pigeon wing. 
 
 To say, I breathless revel in 
 
 My occurrent glory. 
 Is what, good lack, my William, is 
 
 A truly precious Story.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 277 
 
 Or willing paddle in the sea 
 
 For numerous friends of mine 
 When wailing cry out, eight of them, 
 
 To send, to 'Em-a-line. 
 
 I know that house as well as church 
 Is full, laws me, of tiede * 
 
 Now all day, enough to make 
 One's very mustard s'Edie. 
 
 Believe me if I had my weigh 
 Though Fortune is a chary 'un 
 
 The scales I'd turn, to take in turn, 
 A turn with Lady Marian. 
 
 You don't believe it, do I hear? 
 
 You don't believe it true. 
 Well then if some among you doubt 
 
 Just see Sir Roderick Dhu. 
 
 Alas such bliss, such earthly bliss 
 
 Is not in store for me, 
 I weep hot tears, that it may not 
 
 My Sarianna B . 
 
 Tell him who stole my early love 
 And while these tears abound 
 
 Rob' erst by name, to cherish me 
 As he goes Robin' Round. 
 
 And tho' fair hostess, though it seem 
 
 I'm seeming to be ill. 
 Yet sight of thee and of thy Loch 
 
 Would make me Chubbier still. 
 
 * Warmth.
 
 278 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 It may not be — may not — alas 
 
 Is the refrain I sing, 
 Yet comforts me this fling at thee, 
 
 This little Highland fling. 
 
 Always, my eight dear friends, 
 
 Your very lovingest, 
 
 Sept. 13th, 1869. ^' ^' ^' 
 
 A visitor in Rome gives another studio picture, and 
 writes : 
 
 " Miss Hosmer's studio is one of the most beautiful 
 in Rome. On entering it the first thing which attracts 
 attention is a large fountain, which occupies the centre 
 of the room, and is the model of one ordered by 
 Lady Marian Alford, of England, which now adorns 
 her conservatory in London. Two side rooms open 
 from this central apartment, and all three are lined 
 with the graceful works which have made their author 
 famous. Puck crouches there, the very embodiment 
 of diablerie; his graceful form seems instinct with the 
 subtle spirit of nature's life. That life which stirs in 
 every rustling leaf, quivers in every blade of grass, 
 and floats in every changing shadow. It was Puck 
 which won for Miss Hosmer her first celebrity in 
 Europe; its originality and beauty attracted the at- 
 tention of the Prince of Wales, who at once purchased 
 a copy of it, and it has since found its way to many 
 art galleries of the Old World and the New. Zenobia, 
 the captive and fettered Queen, stands apart, un- 
 fettered in soul and unconquered by fate. Beatrice 
 Cenci lies near, overcome by weariness, as on the 
 night before her execution; but even in her sleep the 
 bitterness of her despair and her utter sense of 
 abandonment never loose their hold upon the help- 
 less girl. In strong contrast to this earthly misery
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 279 
 
 is the Sleeping Faun, who reclines on a bank in serene 
 repose, so full of calm and peace that one is sure 
 none but a soulless being could fall into this dream- 
 less slumber. Not far from this Faun stands one of 
 Gibson's own works, the Amazon, full of vigor and 
 womanliness, and glowing with the warm, life-like tint 
 which that master loved to give to his marbles. The 
 latest work of Miss Hosmer is a full-length statue 
 of the ex-Queen of Naples, ' the beautiful Queen,' 
 as Mrs. Browning called her. To it she devoted two 
 years of careful labor." 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Bear Pater: ^«^^' ^^^- ^^ ^^^^' 
 
 Well, it is no longer summer, though I had got to 
 feel that it was always August here, and winter is 
 along with its whirl once more. I do not find Rome 
 so full as usual at this season, but many are coming 
 later. As to priests and prelates, the town is black 
 with them. Mrs. Kemble is here, delightful as ever. 
 She really is the most wonderful woman I know. All 
 my Lenox enthusiasm and admiration return when I 
 look upon her, or listen to her. Miss Cushman, too, 
 is on her way, and Miss Lloyd is one of her party. 
 
 Apartments are going up fabulouslj^, and I look 
 with considerable complacency upon my snug little 
 home costing me twenty-eight scudi a month. You 
 see, though it did cost something to furnish, once 
 furnished, house rent comes easy, and it certainly is 
 the only thing to do if one intends to stay here. 
 
 I am beginning to think my summer here has done 
 me good, and Mrs. Story said on first seeing me, 
 " Well, Hatty, I prepared a good scolding for you, 
 but I never saw you look better." 
 
 Lady Marian comes in another three weeks, and
 
 280 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 the Empress of Austria is on her way to stay some 
 time with her sister the Queen of Naples. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ^°*^' ^^^- ^^''^^ 
 
 I have just received an order for a monument to 
 
 be placed in the cemetery at . It is to he of 
 
 bronze and that red free stone of which I am so fond. 
 I have been in correspondence for some months with 
 the members of the family, but knowing that there 
 are slips sometimes in monuments I have said nothing 
 about it till now it is quite settled and may be spoken 
 of. So I don't think I shall see my native land this 
 year. I am as busy as a whole hive of bees, one 
 bee is not sufficient to represent all the irons I have 
 in the fire. One is in Munich, about some casting to 
 be begun, and I should go thither any way to see my 
 Queen. 
 
 Boxall,* my early love and my late one too, was 
 here for nearly a month, and of course I flirted a deal 
 with him. He is as delightful as ever and quite as 
 matrimonial. In fact, I was plighted to him before 
 a justice of the peace, and I told him that positively 
 I never found myself in such a plight before. 
 
 The Queen of Naples (" the lovely Queen," as Mr. 
 Longfellow calls her) is looking uncommonly hand- 
 some. She sent for me last Sunday to show me her 
 new horse, a present from her sister (the Empress of 
 Austria whose own pet saddle horse it was), and 
 really it is the most beautiful thing I ever saw on 
 
 four legs. ... 
 
 ° Yours, H. 
 
 Miss Hosmer's readiness to oblige a friend, even 
 to the gratifying of a whim, is shown in the following 
 letters, which refer particularly to the Empress of 
 
 * The venerable Sir William Boxall.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 281 
 
 Austria, of whom she saw much in Rome, when she 
 was there visiting the Queen of Naples. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Dear Pater: ^o^^^' March 17, (1870). 
 
 This letter is to be devoted entirely to business, and 
 the next one shall be devoted entirely to gossip for 
 I owe you two, but I am generous and shall give you 
 three before I consider my debt paid! ! ! This is a 
 commission I am going to ask you to execute for me 
 in the best style of Art, as it is for the Empress and 
 the Queen (Austria and Naples understood.) They 
 want half-a-dozen SHAKER HATS! ! ! ! ! That in 
 large letters, for I am sure it will make you laugh. 
 Those royal ladies are going to appear this summer 
 in that style of head-dress, and I have no doubt that 
 Shaker hats will afterwards be in great demand 
 throughout Austria and Bavaria. These hats, which, 
 I hear, are to be found in Lebanon, are supposed to 
 be the real thing, though you may know of others 
 nearer home just as good; but the Lebanon ones are 
 those called for. They must be of the finest quality 
 possible, and light, for that is a sine qua non. And 
 now comes the important feature. It appears they 
 have green veils of silk attached to them somewhere. 
 I presume to a portion of the brim, though I confess 
 my mind is not clear on that point. But lightness and 
 the green veils seem to be the great attraction. Now 
 could you help me to attain to these HATS? I am 
 sure you can, if any one can, and I shall be a thou- 
 sand times obliged to you, and so will be, the hand- 
 some ladies in question. Now here is the size of the 
 hats in general, but a trifle bigger, or a trifle smaller, 
 three of them had better be — the other three, the 
 exact size of this cord, which, for fear it should get
 
 282 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 lost, I had better state is twenty-two inches (English). 
 When said hats are ready to depart, I shall ask you 
 to have them packed so that sea air will not injure 
 them, and have the box addressed to Sherlock & Co., 
 Liverpool. I will send you within a week the fuller 
 address, so that there will be no mistake. Meantime, 
 will you give the hats a start towards fabrication, as 
 they are wanted as soon as may be. Pray for 
 Heaven's sake don't omit the green veils. Are they 
 not sewn in the inside of the brim, so as to fall round 
 the neck? I don't remember, but please have them 
 as they are worn. 
 
 I must close or lose this post. You ask if I am 
 coming home this summer. I think it quite an im- 
 possible thing. I am going to see the effect of the 
 hats, and then to England. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Rome, Sunday night I know it is, 
 and I believe it is June 6, (1870) 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 How long it is since I vowed I would not get into 
 my bed before writing you a line, and then — well, 
 I have gone to bed (because I couldn't sit up all this 
 time) and somehow the letter has never got written. 
 I received yours about the hats. With you, I was 
 immensely amused at the idea that the " homelier " 
 they were, the more desirable they appeared to the 
 Shaker mind. Well, when I found that you could 
 only procure a bonnet, still worse a scoop, I thought 
 it wasn't worth while to have such objects sent over, 
 and have written to the Queen to tell her so. I re- 
 member the real grocer's brown sugar scoop, but 
 somehow I still have it on my mind, that centuries 
 ago I used to see hats with a green veil all round, or 
 have I witnessed the apotheosis of some Shaker in a 
 picture, and was the hat the ideal of a bonnet? How-
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 283 
 
 ever that may be, I am a thousand times obliged for 
 all the trouble you have taken, just as much as if 
 the result had been that the Empress was seen seated 
 upon her throne in one of the pious scoops. 
 
 Speaking of art, I enclose a photograph of my new 
 horse that won the steeplechase, and this is my new 
 groom, and " New" is his name; a first rate man he 
 is, and a beautiful rider. I hope you observe the stars 
 and stripes (in the picture), printed stars and 
 " strips " in the programme, don't say I am not 
 patriotic! Mrs. B. said she broke her new parasol 
 cheering the national colors. Vonvc TT 
 
 ^ 7,r /-< Rome, Sep. 21, 1870. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ^ 
 
 Now the oracle becomes garrulous. I am fairly 
 upon the war-path or in the path of war. When I 
 last wrote you I did not think that my next letter 
 would contain a staggerer. Of course you know what 
 that staggerer is, probably know it to-night. Rome 
 belongs no more to the dear old gentleman with the 
 Tiara! ! ! Having written those words I read and 
 re-read them, they are so impossible to realize. I, 
 skeptical to the last, as one always is who has heard 
 of a possibility for eighteen years, would not credit 
 the fact that the Italians were really coming, though 
 they were outside the gates. But yesterday at five 
 o'clock in the morning began a cannonading which 
 made us open our winkers i^retty lively, and keep 
 them open as big as saucers until near eleven o'clock, 
 when a hole was knocked in the wall and in marched 
 Victor Emmanuel's troops. 
 
 All the fighting was at the Porta Pia, which you 
 recollect is very near my house, so we had the full 
 benefit of the noise and of the cannon balls too, as I 
 found when I attempted to see a little of the fun out- 
 side my own walls. When the cry arose that Na-
 
 284. 
 
 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 poleon's Villa was on fire, my curiosity overcame my 
 prudence and I went into the Via Pia, spyglass in 
 hand; but I was soon brought to my senses, for a 
 shell burst within a stone's throw of me and a piece 
 fell not two yards from my feet. A great cry arose 
 of " IndietrOj indietro!'' and I, with the rest of the 
 crowd, left for home, and had not turned the corner 
 by more than a second and a half when another shell 
 burst at the very corner and cut open a man's head 
 who was so near me that he was touching my dress. 
 Pretty lively, wasn't it? 
 
 So I concluded home was as good a place as any, 
 and stayed here as long as I could, but presently 
 sallied forth again, being hailed by two friends, and 
 crept round corners till I got to Rossetti's house in 
 the Porta Pinciana, where we had a grand view of 
 things, with a ball whizzing round our ears every few 
 minutes to add to the excitement of the occasion. We 
 had, however, to make ourselves scarce again when a 
 bomb fell three roofs from ours, and I then began 
 to think I had had enough of the smoke and din of 
 battle, and had better retire gracefully while I had 
 a whole set of bones in my body. 
 
 No one thought the fighting would be so serious, as 
 the Pope had declared he should make only a " moral 
 protest," for which five minutes of actual warfare 
 was as good as five days. After just five and a half 
 hours, the cannonading ceased and Rome became 
 Italian. We can scarcely believe it, and such re- 
 joicings as the Romans are waking up to, are per- 
 fectly unnatural in this quiet Papal city. How many 
 times I have thanked my stars that I was here! I 
 wouldn't have missed it for the world. I write in a 
 disjointed manner, for my head is entirely dazed 
 with what I have seen and heard. You will have a 
 better account than I can give you, in all the papers 
 for the next month, probably, and this is only a sort
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 285 
 
 of excuse for my telling you that I am here and not 
 killed, but very lively indeed. 
 
 In the afternoon everybody went out to the Porta 
 Pia, and you would never have recognized the place. 
 The gate that the dear old Pope has been whittling at 
 for years, his own pet portal, looks like a piece of 
 perforated card, and a strange thing happened that 
 set afloat all sorts of sensational stories. A shell took 
 off the heads of two statues, each side of the gate, 
 and sent them rolling along the pavement. The 
 statues were those of St. Peter and St. Paul. The 
 bodies were not injured. Of course those who so de- 
 sired, read the omen as indicating that ecclesiastical 
 rule was ended forever. The fresco of the Madonna 
 is pretty well punched, and there are so many trenches 
 to skip over that one wants four legs instead of two. 
 The Napoleon Villa (just inside the gate) has suf- 
 fered most. A bomb set fire to it so that all that was 
 combustible went "per aria." The iron gate is 
 twisted into all kinds of shapes, and the garden wall 
 riddled. I got into that garden and there saw a sight 
 I shall never forget, — a dead Zouave all covered 
 with dust, his hands and face like marble, and a most 
 frightful gunshot wound in the lower part of his face, 
 which must have killed him on the spot. There were 
 very few killed, tho' a number were wounded. But 
 it is so impossible to get at the truth of things in this 
 confusion that I believe nothing as yet. The entry 
 of the soldiers was most exciting, to the number, some 
 say, of 40,000, some say 60,000. 
 
 This has been such a summer of astounding events 
 that one's mind fails to grasp any idea that does not 
 savor of the miraculous, and one is so stunned by all 
 that has transpired in France that the drama of yes- 
 terday seems but child's play. What is to be said of 
 the subjugation of France and the imprisonment of 
 the Emperor? We can't take it all in. The fact is
 
 286 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 so vast and brings such consequences. One thing, 
 however, seems to be pretty generally believed, that 
 the Republic can't last, and when it falls many say 
 that the Italians will have to march out of this. The 
 Pope is strong yet. We saw the opening scene yes- 
 terday, but we have still to see the second act. We 
 do not know yet whether the Pope will stay or go, 
 but wherever he is, he has the sympathy of millions 
 of the faithful, and if they can manage to put their 
 sympathy in the tangible form of an army from some- 
 where, Italy will be just exactly where she was in 
 the olden time. The government was forced into this, 
 but I believe did not wish it, foreseeing the troubles 
 it would involve. Playing with the Vatican is a dan- 
 gerous business. 
 
 I am still going to England. I have said so many 
 times that " I am off," that it becomes ridiculous, but 
 I shall go unless I come in for another brush in these 
 unsettled times. We have been entirely cut off from 
 the civilized world for nearly two weeks, and know 
 absolutely nothing, but to-morrow shall be better in- 
 formed. Any way, if Victor Emmanuel is to enter 
 Rome in a hurry, it is a sight I would not miss for 
 
 worlds. ^r TT 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 7^ 71^ /-» Rome, Dec. 1870. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 This is the night before Christmas, so I leave you 
 to guess at the date, and I can't let this evening go 
 by without wishing you a merry one, tho' you won't 
 get my wish till we are well on towards another. It 
 is almost Christmas day now, for I have just come 
 in from a party, which things go on as usual. Though 
 of all the quiet, flat winters, this one bids fair to be 
 superlative; you never saw Rome so quiet. Apart- 
 ment let-ers are grumbling, and house let-ers are 
 growling, and people are beginning to say that if
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 287 
 
 this is the result of the new government, they would 
 rather have the old one back again. This winter in its 
 dulness will do more for the Pope than a whole army, 
 and I am every day more and more convinced that 
 the thing is not going to work. 
 
 The King has made the gi'eat mistake of delaying 
 his coming. He ought to have been here three days 
 after his army. He is Italian, after all, and the idea 
 of coming here and confronting the Pope's scowl is 
 a thing he shivers at. I could not have believed such 
 a thing unless I had heard it, as I did, from a person 
 who is well acquainted with the King, has been behind 
 the scenes throughout the whole performance, culmi- 
 nating in the 20th of September. He is a Liberal, 
 all for Victor Emmanuel, and yet he was forced to ad- 
 mit the truth of it. The Romans have heard so often 
 that the King was coming, and then have been doomed 
 to disappointment, that they talk less about it now, 
 and one sees their ardor is a little cooled. Certain 
 it is that among the Nobs (of the Romans) the very 
 small number is for Victor Emmanuel. Most of them 
 remain loyal to the Pope. They refuse to accept 
 the offices proposed to them by the Italian govern- 
 ment because they will not take the necessary oaths, 
 and altogether it is very rough riding for the Italian 
 Ministers. Now the report circulates that the King 
 is coming on the 8th or 12th, but I shall believe it 
 when I see him; and as soon as he comes, the Pope 
 goes, but not far, and will enter Rome again as soon 
 as the usurper has disappeared, which will be in three 
 days after his arrival. All hope of bringing the 
 Vatican to terms seems distant, and Antonelli, who 
 knows the Romans, counsels general mourning, no 
 ceremonies in the churches, not a whisk of a candle 
 towards an illumination, nothing to attract forestieri, 
 and all that touches the pocket, the seat of the Italian 
 conscience. My opinion is that V. E. has already
 
 288 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 had enough of Rome, but he will have more of it, and 
 I am no good guesser if Italy does not tumble to 
 pieces upon the Roman question. 
 
 Well, that is more of politics than I usually treat 
 you to, but you may like to hear how things look 
 now we are all liberal here. 
 
 Mrs. Kemble has just arrived. Of course this dread- 
 ful war prevents many from getting here, for it is a 
 long roundabout giro through Germany. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Dear Pater: ^«^^' ^^^' ^0, 1870. 
 
 Ever since the flood (I don't mean old Noah's, 
 which he got up when he had nothing better to do, 
 but Pio Nono's when he had) I have meant to tell you 
 about the same. I sat down as soon as I had dried 
 my stockings, to write you pages upon hydraulics, 
 but so much has happened since, that I must let some 
 of those pages slide. 
 
 That inundation was truly awful. It is said that 
 for two centuries, such a visitation has not been known. 
 The Corso, Ripetto, and portions of the Babuino were 
 only navigable in boats, and most of the shops in the 
 Corso have lost fifty thousand francs apiece, on an 
 average. The waters rose with astonishing rapidity, 
 yet I still think that in any other place than Rome, 
 where people have a way of sitting down and expect- 
 ing the Madonna to help them, they would have saved 
 three-fourths of what was lost for want of a little 
 energy and discretion. I was cut off from my studio 
 except through the Hotel Terny, but with the luck 
 that often pursues me, the water came just up to my 
 stable door, which is a trifle lower than the studio, 
 and then went down again, so it did not injure 
 me.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 289 
 
 It gave an excuse for Victor Emmanuel to bodkin 
 himself through these holy walls, and he took advan- 
 tage of it. He came quite on the sly, took a drive 
 through the Corso, and on to the Pincio, and was off 
 the very same day, glad enough, they say, to get out 
 of the place. Whatever the Liberals may say, the 
 fact remains that Victor E. finds himself in a very 
 difficult position in Rome. None of the Romans 
 will accept office under the new government, and this 
 very day the report circulates that the Syndic and 
 Municipality have resigned in a mass. The Pope 
 stays in the Vatican, is determined to make himself a 
 prisoner, and in fact has never been out of the palace 
 and gardens since the 20th of September. The ma- 
 jority of his subjects are loyal to him, in spite of their 
 talk about Liberalism, and I would bet upon the Pope 
 now, especially when we consider the great amount of 
 discontent throughout Italy. A revolution in Sicily 
 has to be put down every now and then, and my 
 impression is, with this Roman question in hand, 
 which is the most difficult question Italy has had to 
 deal with, that her hands may become more full, one 
 of these days, than she can manage. 
 
 The Prince and Princess of Piedmont came the other 
 day, and society (Roman) is completely divided as 
 to who shall speak to them and who shall not. Papa- 
 lini or Liberali you must be. You can't be both. He 
 was at the hunt to-day, and is no beauty. She, they 
 say, is pretty and altogether cliarming. I haven't 
 seen her, not even a glimpse, though one of her gentle- 
 men of honor informs me I am to have a visit from 
 her. But I am faithful to my violet-eyed heroine 
 of Gaeta.* 
 
 And now we are all bowled over by the news of the 
 capitulation of Paris. A year ago, how unintelligible 
 those words would have been! Verily the past six 
 
 * The Queen of Naples.
 
 290 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 months have been those of miracles, and now we shall 
 all stand with ears and eyes open, to know how affairs 
 are going to settle themselves. Poor France is 
 squelched and I am sorry for her, and should have 
 infinitely more compassion if I did not feel that she 
 was unpardonably aggressive in the beginning. Prus- 
 sia is now cock of the walk, the arbiter of Europe, 
 the great German Empire. 
 
 Well, we got up an eclipse here to enliven us, but 
 they beat us in Sicily, whither Professor Peirce wended 
 his steps, all the way from Cambridge. He told me 
 that I had better go and get a squint at it also, but, 
 says I, " Oh Professor, there is sea on the way, 
 and when I know there is sea, I stay on land." 
 
 Then we have had General Sheridan here, whom 1 
 tried to entice out with the hounds, and told him I 
 would give him a mount, but the weather was such 
 it would have been more discreet to go bobbing for 
 eels. In all the years I have been here, I never knew 
 the like of this for rain. Most of the artists are 
 grumbling this year, but I am not so badly off as I 
 might be, and the last bomb that came was the order 
 for a large Zenobia, and a Puck, for Chicago. 
 
 This year I am certainly off betimes. First of all 
 I am going to the Queen of Naples at Munich, then 
 to England and back again to Munich on business. 
 Very few forestieri are here. Apartment let-ers are 
 tearing their hair to such an extent that wigs fetch 
 a double price. 
 
 Well, I should think you must be tired. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Miss Hosmer, who knew the Empress of Austria 
 well, related that when she came to Rome to visit her 
 sister, the Queen of Naples, as the latter was one of 
 the artist's good friends, she of course saw much of 
 her. The Empress paid her the honor of making the
 
 O 
 
 o 
 <
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 291 
 
 first call upon her at her studio. She said, " The 
 fame of her beauty was European, and when I saw 
 her I felt that this fame had not been exaggerated. 
 One day, being in the Queen's boudoir with these two 
 distinguished ladies, who were looking particularly 
 picturesque, I thought mortal eye had never witnessed 
 a fairer duet of loveliness, for the Queen was as beau- 
 tiful as the Empress, both possessing that nameless 
 grace which we all recognize and which no one can 
 describe, an air of highest distinction. One charm of 
 the Empress was her beautiful voice, sounding like a 
 sweet silver bell. . . . 
 
 One of the prettiest stories I ever heard of her was 
 connected with a visit to a certain insane asylum. 
 Her Majesty was shown through various wards, but 
 one door was closed. Upon asking why she was not 
 allowed to enter the ward, one of her ladies in waiting 
 explained that there was a patient inside who fancied 
 she was the Empress of Austria. ' Oh, I understand,' 
 said the Empress, * Pray let me see her ' ; and, on 
 being admitted, humored the poor woman's fancy, 
 and treated her with all the consideration due her- 
 self." 
 
 Miss Hosmer had a beautiful photograph of the 
 Empress with one of her great staghounds * lying 
 at her feet, and still another photograph Avhich she 
 gave her of herself and a favorite horse, for it is well 
 known that Her Majesty was an enthusiastic lover 
 of horses. 
 
 "What do you think of that photograph?" said 
 
 she. 
 
 * One of these Miss Hosmer modelled.
 
 292 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 " This photograph does not do your Majesty jus- 
 tice," Miss Hosmer replied. 
 
 " Oh," said the Empress, for her modesty was as 
 great as her beauty, " don't look at me, look at the 
 horse." 
 
 The last time she heard her musical voice was when 
 she said to her, " If you come to Vienna, I will show 
 you my horses and my dogs and all my pretty things." 
 
 TO . 
 
 Dear ; Rome, (Feb.) 1871. 
 
 Well, what do you think of Paris now? Three 
 weeks to decide its fate! But I take it the fighting 
 is all over, and now there will be a clamoring among 
 the diplomats. The world, I should think, had swal- 
 lowed an effervescing draught, and here are the revo- 
 lutionary consequences. 
 
 You ask about the effect of the Italian troops in 
 Rome. The place will be spoiled (for artists) ; why 
 not leave one little spot upon earth unmolested? 
 Plague on the world that wants to be forever going 
 on. But I have no faith in this state of things last- 
 ing. The dear old Pope won't perform any of his 
 parts in the theatre of St. Peter's or anywhere else. 
 Stays behind the scenes in the Vatican, a prisoner 
 under his own frescoes, and is obliged to pick out a 
 vine and fig tree from among them, to sit under. 
 So wags the world. Yours, H. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Dear Pater: Rome, Sep. 2, 1871. 
 
 I do not know where you expect me to be, in 
 France, Germany, England, or all three, but certainly 
 you do not expect to find me turning up in Italy.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 293 
 
 Yet here have I been, having never turned down, 
 though I believe north is usually represented by the 
 opposite figure of speech. I don't remember when 
 my last letter to you left me, but when I was ready 
 to be off I found the moment was not propitious 
 for passing through Paris with Kuhl * as one of the 
 proscribed nation, so I waited, fully believing that 
 things would get better, instead of which, they have 
 got w^orse and worse, and now I am stuck for yet a 
 little longer, though I am going to make the giro still, 
 incredible as it may appear. If I go later, I come 
 back later, so it is as broad as it is long. 
 
 Now who of us would have supposed that that 
 cocky nation, the French, could have been so laid 
 low? My sympathies, I must tell you, are on the 
 other side, simply because it seems to me the war 
 was so uncalled for, and that the occasion was seized 
 only to strengthen a rather tottering position, sup- 
 posing of course, as he believed fortune would be on 
 his side. My style is a little involved and ambiguous, 
 as you see, for it might be death to the transit of my 
 letter to insert names and relate facts! But all eyes 
 must have been opened in America as well as here, at 
 the astonishing course the war has taken. 
 
 Well, now let me leave war and take up peace. 
 
 I oscillate between Rome and Albano. We have 
 had a delightful summer, not very hot, and you know 
 how I like Rome all to myself. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 ASHRIDGE, Gt. BeRKHAMSTEAD, 
 
 Dear Pater: Wednesday, Nov.. 1871. 
 
 Here I am, safe and sound, having accomplished 
 the journey as easily as possible. Found Lady 
 
 • Her German maid.
 
 294 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Somers just gone, which was a mutual vexation. Lots 
 of other people are here, coming and going. 
 
 Lady ^larian * whispered to me that she was sup- 
 posed to leave on Friday, herself, so that nobody 
 was coming after that time, and she was going to keep 
 till Monday, for me. She is as sweet as ever; and is 
 the perfection of everything lovely and stately. 
 
 I had this morning a summons to Castle Ashby, 
 with postscript added by Lady Alwyne, which I en- 
 close. I consider it artistic.t As I end, up drives 
 a carriageful of newcomers. No travelling dresses 
 here! 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 With rusty pen & 
 
 rustier fingers I've 
 
 nothing to say but — 
 
 COME, Come, Come, 
 
 come, come, come, come and so on 
 
 through imperceptible waves of sound, 
 
 your longing & loving 
 
 F. C. 
 
 * Her hostess, Lady Marian Alford. f The postscript.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 1871-1876 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ^^^"^^' ^^^- ^^^^' 
 
 I wrote 3"ou from Paris, on my way to Munich, 
 where I had a delightful week with the Queen of 
 Naples. They live at the Castle of Garatshausen, two 
 or three hours from Munich, a charming place on 
 the Lake of Starnburg. I never saw her so hand- 
 some. It is quite a delight to look at her, and she 
 was so pleased to see me, I don't know when I have 
 had a warmer welcome. The King, too, received me 
 with open arms, but beat me at chess every night in 
 the most merciless manner. I went for three days and 
 stayed seven. The Queen made me ride all her 
 horses, and drove me about herself in the mornings 
 in her carriage with the most faultless pair of little 
 ponies, round as apples. The country is beautiful 
 about the lake. In the afternoons a ride, and such 
 scampers over the fields! I had never a scrap of rid- 
 ing gear with me, but I was arrayed in her own royal 
 togs, and good riding made up the rest. In the 
 evening always chess with the King, and having for- 
 gotten almost all I ever knew about the game, you 
 may imagine I cut but a sorry figure. Now and then 
 in a sort of wild and desperate way I used to make a 
 hit which made his Majesty stare, but it made me stare 
 much more, I promise you. When I came awaj^ there 
 were three of us sorry, and I promised to repeat my 
 visit next summer. 
 
 295
 
 296 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 I stayed a day in Munich, afterwards, and talked 
 
 bronze with Herr Miiller, and dined with him. So 
 
 ended my autumn jaunt, and I came over the Brenner 
 
 home. ^r TT 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Miss Hosmer later said, " The romance of my life 
 was centred in Garatshausen and the Queen of Naples. 
 My intimate friendship with this lovely woman was 
 an episode to be remembered. In writing of it, to Lady 
 Alwyne Compton, she said in response to my letter, 
 ' It all sounds like a fairy tale.' " 
 
 In connection with Miss Hosmer's statue of the 
 Queen, it may be interesting to recall that this Bava- 
 rian Princess, Maria Sophia, when eighteen years of 
 age, was married by proxy to Francis, Crown Prince 
 of the Two Sicilies. Soon afterwards she joined him 
 in Naples (in February, 1859) and in May, by the 
 death of his father, he became King of Naples, but 
 his reign was short. Victor Emmanuel, aided by his 
 brilliant statesman Cavour, was already marching 
 on to his greatness, and in May, Garibaldi took pos- 
 session, as dictator, of the Two Sicilies and made an 
 easy progress to Naples. Francis struggled until 
 September to hold his kingdom; then, convinced of 
 the futility of resistance and to avoid bloodshed, he 
 withdrew with a portion of the army to Gaeta, the 
 *' Gibraltar of Italy," as it was called. 
 
 The Queen, who had from her first coming won 
 the hearts of their subjects, shared his ill fortunes and 
 his hardships. She was adored by the soldiers, and 
 was quite as much at home on the ramparts of the 
 fortress as was the King. A picture of her at this
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 297 
 
 time has been preserved by the writer Clara Tschudi, 
 who says: 
 
 *' With her Calabrian hat and wrapped in her ample 
 cloak, the Consort of Francis II. was beautiful and 
 fantastic as she walked to and fro among the guns, 
 encouraging the soldiers. In her picturesque and 
 martial garb she passed about under a veritable rain 
 of balls, inciting their defenders to a stubborn resist- 
 ance. In the midst of danger she kept her lofty 
 gayety of spirit and inspired confidence in the men. 
 To the wounded, her devotion and her tender care 
 were unceasing. 
 
 The siege lasted until the following February 
 (1861), when Gaeta was cut off from the world and 
 finally reduced to ruins. The ill-fated sovereigns 
 were then forced to go to Rome and accept the hos- 
 pitality of Pius IX. They took up their residence 
 in the Palazzo Farnese, and for some years passed 
 their winters there and the summers in Austria or 
 Germany. In 1868 their only child, a daughter, was 
 born in Rome, but lived only six months. In 1870 
 they went to Paris, where they made their home." 
 
 The beautiful Queen had reigned but eighteen 
 months, yet long enough to be praised by all Europe 
 for her brave defence of the fortress, and to be called 
 the " Heroine of Gaeta." 
 
 Bear Mr. Crow: ^''''^: ^'^'^- ^^' ^^'^- 
 
 Having had the sniffles and having been stared in 
 the face by death and a pocket-handkerchief, I have 
 naturally thought of my latter end, and my latter end 
 has naturally suggested my periodical piece of litera- 
 ture — my will. (I have been going to write this ever 
 since last summer.) I shall simplify that document 
 amazingly. I wish to re-write it, and it will be pretty
 
 298 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 concise. This is the substance of it, and if you would 
 put it into proper form and then tell me what is to 
 be done, I wish to do it before I turn up my toes, 
 for life is short and toes are precarious and you can- 
 not tell what one toe may bring forth: vide . . . (the 
 will). 
 
 That is all I have to say. Now that is short and I 
 hope sweet and that expresses everything. Whatever 
 I leave, the aforesaid may take immediate possession 
 of, as soon as that upward tendency is perceived in 
 my toes, and do whatever they like with the same. It 
 will not take long to draw up a copy of that docu- 
 ment, and then I will sign it in the presence 
 of proper witnesses, if j^ou will tell me how many 
 and who they must be, and then I will send it to you 
 for safe keeping. 
 
 Now, exit Will iam. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 2)^^^ C: Rome, Aug. 16, (1872). 
 
 I do not know when I have been more shocked than 
 when I read in the " Times " of " the destruction of 
 Melchet Court." Lady Ashburton's beautiful place, 
 which was but barely finished, the paper says is two- 
 thirds destroyed. She was very ill, in danger of her 
 life two weeks before, and was only recovering, 
 just in time to see the place ruined. One thing, 
 however, was providential; it was in the daytime, 
 and all her art treasures are saved. They are 
 enormous, and she has such precious things — a 
 Raphael, a Titian, Rubens, Reynolds, and a perfect 
 gallery of art. . . . 
 
 Your H.
 
 o 
 
 U 
 
 H 
 
 o
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 299 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 Paris, Westminster (Hotel), 
 Dear Mr. Crow: ^^^^ ^^^ of August, 1872. 
 
 Though you see the name of Westminster, you 
 need not fancy I am in the Abbey; quite too busy 
 to be there just yet. But I am not quite so far 
 north as I said I would be at this time. I shall 
 make it up by going fast now. I am boimd for the 
 jumping off place in Scotland, and stop on the way 
 at Glasgow to unpack and set up a statue at Balla- 
 kilrain Castle, if you know where that is. 
 
 Paris has not yet got up and shaken herself. They 
 are about resurrecting the Vendome Column, and 
 they have done much towards stopping up the holes 
 made in such buildings as the Palais Royal, part of 
 the Tuileries, and other sundry small apertures, but 
 a cloud still seems to be hanging over the city, and 
 will hang for many a day to come. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Buxton, England, Oct. 10, 1872. 
 Dear Mr. Crow: 
 
 You see where I am, I am deep in Buxton baths. 
 It sounds as if I were an invalid but you would 
 scarcely think so if you saw me. I do credit to my 
 purveyor. Well I came here because Lady Ashburton 
 who had been strongly recommended to take these 
 waters, was wavering in the balance and my great 
 weight turned the scales in favor of coming, so here 
 I have been longer than I intended, quite fascinated 
 by the pretty place and the cozy life. Then the 
 baths are delightful, and I have become quite gelat- 
 inous in them. 
 
 I have vainly endeavoured to make some visits since 
 I got into these parts, but they have all ended in 
 smoke, and I must shove the most of them over till
 
 300 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 next year. I shall soon be going south and will throw 
 out an anchor or two on the way. The weather is 
 awful but we don't mind it. It is more moist than 
 the baths, and our garments consist entirely of um- 
 brellas. I suppose it is the style of weather till next 
 May. Give me Italy instead, for those months. . . . 
 Between bathing and drinking the waters and nap- 
 ping, there is actually not a moment left for any- 
 thing but eating. We have to do that, to enable us 
 to do the others. But that exercise roimds our day 
 as well as our bodies, and then we go to sleep again. 
 That is our programme and that is why I have not 
 written to you long since. ^ tt 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: Rome, Dec. 9, 1872. 
 
 I am only just back in the studio and believe I 
 have never been so late before. Unlike Lamb, if I 
 go late I stay late. Rome is crowded, every corner 
 is grabbed, and the Hotels are overflowing. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 After another winter of work Miss Hosmer re- 
 turned to England in the summer, and writes: 
 
 Dear Pater: London, Kent House, July, 1873. 
 
 Here I scarcely breathe, have been on the go this 
 whole day, busy in town all the morning, then by rail 
 half an hour to a delightful luncheon, and back again 
 to cut round until a late dinner; and here I am with 
 not even one leg to stand upon. Am invited to meet 
 the Royalties at Ashridge this week, but am going 
 to Melchet until Csesar * is finished, then London 
 again, and Ashridge later. With all my banging 
 about I thrive like a green bay tree. 
 
 * One of the fine Saint Bernard dogs belonging to Lady Ashburton, 
 both of which she modelled.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 301 
 
 You can untie about foiu' hundred and eighty-two 
 Gordian knots for me, and I want you to come to 
 the rescue. Did you ever hear of the house that was 
 so old, it didn't know which way to fall, and so it 
 stood forever? or of the old lady who had so many 
 ailments that she didn't know which to die of, so she 
 plagued her relatives to all perpetuity? Well, I am 
 at this moment due in so many places that I stay here 
 because I do not know where to begin. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 This letter from John Forster was in answer to one 
 which Miss Hosmer wrote in the name of a friend, to 
 thank him for a slight service: 
 
 Palace Gate House^ Kensington W., 
 
 London, Nov. 19, 1873. 
 My dear Miss Hosmer: 
 
 Your letter gave me singular pleasure, and as for 
 your not claiming me for an acquaintance, I think 
 that very strange, when, for my own part, I am bold 
 enough to claim you as nothing less than a very old 
 friend. I have heard of you so much, and always 
 so pleasantly, in past years; and, in these present 
 years and days I hear of you so continually still, that 
 I seem to know you a great deal better, in all that 
 makes knowledge worth having, than half the people 
 I see and talk to. I wish you could hear your old 
 friend Sir William Boxall speaking of you. But 
 what more do I need, to tell me really what you are, 
 than this delightful little letter which you write to me, 
 filled with all that expresses most perfectly a true 
 and generous nature. It is not your fault that it gives 
 me too nuich praise. You derive that from your 
 friend,* who so unselfishly exaggerates into absolute 
 service every small attempt to serve her, and of whom 
 
 * Lady Ashburton.
 
 302 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 I need not say to you, that in liberality and generosity 
 of character she far transcends any one whom I have 
 ever known. I am literally ashamed of her acknowl- 
 edgments for such small help as I give, and of which 
 the pleasure that attends the giving of it might well 
 suffice for its own reward. Here my library, this 
 gloomy November day, is gladdened, brightened, and 
 fragrant with the most precious flowers — her gift, and 
 such things have no stint or measure with her! Be 
 sure that nothing I can do for her will ever be want- 
 ing — I only hope it may some day amount to a serv- 
 ice not unworthy of one so noble. My dear Miss 
 Hosmer, if you come to England, you will let me see 
 you as an old friend, and meanwhile think of me as 
 
 Most sincerely yours, 
 
 John Forster. 
 
 After another lapse of time the artist writes: 
 
 ■n 7,r ^ Rome, Feb. 2, 1875. 
 
 Dear Mr, Crow: ' 
 
 I was invited to Warwick for Christmas, but not 
 having the seven league boots, couldn't go. I shall 
 be wending my way Englandwards again when sum- 
 mer really comes, which means about August. I have 
 been doing a little drama, and it was printed for the 
 Princess Margherita. Hearing that I have embarked 
 in the drama, you may think I am about to abandon 
 sculpture. I am not, but I don't think I ever made 
 so good a hit in the marble line as I did in my new 
 quill-driving several nights ago. You know Mrs. 
 Story gets up theatricals every year, and she has often 
 asked me to write them a play. I never had a suffi- 
 ciently strong attack of inspiration till now, but the 
 ghost of Shakespeare came to my aid, and here is 
 the programme. You may gather a little what it 
 means, and I will send you a copy soon. It went off 
 triumphantly, and " the illustrious author " was
 
 LETTERS AND ME:M0RIES 303 
 
 loudly called for at the close. But the " illustrious 
 author " got ahead of the audience and sent out a 
 quill rather more than six feet high, as the real author 
 of the piece. So much for Thespia! * It was entitled, 
 " 1975 — a Prophetic Drama," by Chi-lo-sa (who 
 knows), and given in Mrs. Story's apartment in the 
 Barberini Palace. The scene was laid in the mummy 
 room of the British Museum, among the mummy cases, 
 the occupants emerging one hundred years later. The 
 actors were: 
 
 First Mummv, Mr. Plowden. 
 
 Second Mummy, William Story. 
 
 The Charioteer, Mr. Richmond (the painter). 
 
 The Prima Donna, Mr. Sturgess. 
 
 Egypt, Miss Edie Story. 
 
 The costumes were nothing if not original. The 
 overture a capital parody by Professor Vera upon the 
 Music of the Future. 
 
 Miss Story did all her part beautifully, but espe- 
 cially the concluding lines: — 
 
 How deftly arc the ages planned, 
 
 Each following each, yet none o'erspanned. 
 
 Wisely the magic circle wheels, 
 
 For each his age the wisest feels. 
 
 Happy illusion ! who would learn 
 
 His wisdom could to folly turn? 
 
 Who feel his skill could be surpassed? 
 
 Who feel his light could be o'ercast? 
 
 What heart so brave, what brain so wise, 
 
 As dreams that aught beyond it lies? 
 
 More wise to think — more wise — more blest — 
 
 Superior wisdom but a jest. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 * Miss Hosmer has coined a feminine narae from Thespis, the founder of 
 the Greek drama.
 
 304. HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Again a year of work and play, then this letter: 
 
 Dear Mr. Crow: Rome, April 26, 1876. 
 
 I have just received yours of the 7th, and write to 
 assure your paternal heart that I am as safe as ever, 
 after what, in anybody else's case, might have been cer- 
 tain death, but with that singular good fortune which 
 ever attends me, proved to be nothing more than a 
 good stretching. It was too awful, though, to speak 
 of otherwise than seriously, for I must tell you that 
 every one thinks my escape naught but miraculous. 
 Among all the falls I have had, this is one which I, 
 myself, felt involved me in the greatest peril. I was 
 in hopes you would never hear of it. Had I thought 
 there was a chance of your doing so, I would have 
 written at once to reassure you, as indeed I was 
 about doing, because I heard it was reported in the 
 " Times," and in consequence I had some English 
 letters. 
 
 Well, after all this preamble I will tell you how it 
 happened. To give emphasis to my words and also to 
 serve to brush up your Italian, I give you the benefit 
 of the enclosed account of the " Caccia/' On that 
 Monday, the meet was, as you see, at Cecilia Metella, 
 and I went out as cocky as anybody. It had rained 
 during the night, which probably hastened the catas- 
 trophe. We had pottered about for an hour or so, 
 w^hen we got into a run, and in crossing one of the 
 gullies which abound upon the Campagna, the acci- 
 dent occurred. It is true that it was in hunting, but 
 it was not in jumping, and might have happened 
 during the quietest ride. The hounds were running 
 and I happened to be leading, over this particular 
 place. There was a bank to run down, and another 
 bank to run up, and the path was so narrow that only 
 one could go at a time. In running up the bank, 
 Bruno * slipped, and fell on the off side, I, of course, 
 
 * Her favorite hunter.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 305 
 
 with him. That wasn't much, of itself, but what was 
 much was that my foot caught in the stirrup and there 
 I hung. I hear you say, " Never ride that horse 
 again," but, my dear friend, if it had been any other 
 horse in the world but Bruno, who is good temper and 
 judgment itself, my brains would have been dashed 
 out upon the spot. As I say, there I hung, and with 
 every step the horse took my head between his heels. 
 It is awful to think what almost any other horse would 
 inevitably have done, but, to take a little credit to 
 myself (because everybody gives it me), I did not 
 lose my presence of mind, but spoke to him as I al- 
 ways do when I want him to stop. Seeing that I 
 was not frightened, he wasn't, and although he did not 
 stop (as this account says), he did not run, but hear- 
 ing my voice, and hearing me call his name, he almost 
 turned round to look at me as he moved on. What 
 I feared was that he would run, but din-ing this in- 
 terval I managed to turn and free my foot, so down I 
 came, having, however, been dragged some thirty 
 yards. I expected instant death, and can only pro- 
 nounce my escape as nothing short of the miraculous. 
 All lay in the horse knowing my voice so well and 
 not getting frightened. If I had ever harbored any 
 intention of parting with Bruno, which I never did, 
 I should as soon think now, after this event, of parting 
 with my own flesh and blood. He had my life in his 
 power, and his good sense and good temper saved me. 
 Well, my dear sir, perhaps I had better stop here, 
 but if I did, you would not have the whole story, and 
 you shall have it to the end. Having seen me safely 
 deposited on the ground, Bruno went off as hard as 
 he could, after the hounds. I got up, shook myself, 
 decided I was not hurt, and New * coming back in 
 about five minutes, with the horse, I got on, continued 
 the run, and had one of the best of the season; not 
 
 * Her groom.
 
 306 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 only that one, but another, and did not get out of 
 my saddle till half past five o'clock, feeling none 
 the worse for my adventure. The next morning, how- 
 ever, I found that I had sprained my side a little, and 
 had to keep quiet a couple of days, when a few mus- 
 tard poultices set me all right. I hurt my shoulder, too. 
 and feel it a little still, but am only grateful that it is 
 no worse. Those who witnessed the fall say it was 
 terrific, and I am glad you were not of the audience. 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Dear Pater: Rome, April 30. (1876). 
 
 I have j^our letter telling me of Miss Cushman's 
 death. Dear, sweet soul she was. It is a great sor- 
 row to me that I shall not see her again. She was 
 one of my staunchest, truest friends, and her love to 
 me, and mine to her, date back to my earliest days in 
 Rome. There are few like her. How her sweet 
 presence will be missed! ^ tt 
 
 In the summer Miss Hosmer went as usual to 
 England and among other visits, in the autumn, made 
 one to the (ex) King and Queen of Naples. At 
 their instance she sought permission of Lady War- 
 wick to take them to the historic Castle, and this is 
 the reply: 
 
 LADY WARWICK TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Warwick Castle, Nov. 25, 1876. 
 
 The conference is over, dear Hatty, and the de- 
 liberations have not involved quite so much thought 
 as the Eastern question. My husband says he will 
 be delighted to receive your friends and more es-
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 307 
 
 pecially yourself, at luncheon on Saturday as pro- 
 posed. It will be very nice getting this little peep of 
 you, and I am trjang to overcome my awe of dis- 
 tinguished foreigners. We will send carriages to meet 
 you at the station, if you will send me a line to say 
 by what train you come, and we v»ill ask one or two 
 friends who possess a French tongue. I do hope the 
 day will be fine and bright, for our beauty depends 
 so much on sunshine. It has also occurred to us, dear 
 Hatty, that if it is very inconvenient to you to come 
 this next week, we might leave orders with the steward 
 to have luncheon and receive you as if we were here. 
 So you must do in this exactly as suits you best, 
 though I own I should be very sorrj'^ to miss you, 
 and a peep at the beautiful Queen. 
 
 Ever yours affectionately, 
 
 L. Warwick. 
 
 Lady Warwick to Miss Hosmer after the visit: 
 
 Warwick Castle, Sunday, Dec. 3, 1876. 
 
 My dear Hatty: 
 
 I am glad to have these letters to forward, as I 
 was particularly wishing for an excuse to plague you 
 with one from myself, and at the same time to beg 
 a favor. We are regretting that we did not petition 
 their Majesties to leave their autographs in our 
 guest-book, as a memorial of their, to us, charming 
 visit. I have that of the Queen and Prince Consort 
 in it, when they were here in 1858, also that of the 
 Queen of Holland, and I should like so much to have 
 the signatures of their Majesties likewise, if they 
 would be so kind as to grant them. If written on a 
 sheet of note paper and placed in an envelope without 
 folding, they would do beautifully for the book. I 
 have yours elsewhere, very preciously treasured, but 
 if you will kindly add it to that of their INIajesties
 
 308 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 and also that of Monsieur V aide-de-camp, it would 
 complete the remembrance of yesterday's very pleas- 
 ant day. 
 
 I wish the sun had shone on us, and though we 
 should have liked to show all possible homage and 
 respect, there were many things not as they ought to 
 have been, for our fire * has left us so terribly de- 
 pourvue. It was a most tantalizing little peep of you, 
 dear Hatty, and I am sorry to be going away just 
 now, though I suppose in any case you could not have 
 come to us at present. We shall look forward to a 
 real visit next year. 
 
 Believe me meanwhile, with affectionate love from 
 us all. 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 L. Warwick. 
 
 I suppose their Majesties would not add their 
 photographs? We are all greatly impressed with the 
 Queen's beauty. 
 
 TO WAYMAN CROW. 
 
 T^ „ ^ Kent House, London. 
 
 Dear Pater: 
 
 ... I have been having a gay time the last fort- 
 night and seeing some pretty sights. I have been 
 staying with the King and Queen of Naplesf and 
 have just returned from them. One day we made 
 an excursion to Warwick Castle, where Lord and 
 Lady Warwick and family, with guests, were wait- 
 ing to receive them, all in fine style, and a pretty 
 sight it was. First luncheon served, then the castle 
 
 * A disastrous fire which had much damaged the old castle some time 
 before. 
 
 f Who were then in England.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 309 
 
 shown by Lady Warwick herself and not by the 
 comely housekeeper whom we remember. Two days 
 later I convoyed their JNIajesties to Castle Ashby * 
 where also was a most pretty reception. . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 Miss Hosmer was by way of often seeing Carlyle 
 while staying at Kent House, for accompanied by 
 his watchful friend Froude he was a frequent visitor 
 there. Upon being questioned about him she said: 
 
 " One day being at his house in Cheyne Row, the 
 conversation turned upon art, and Carlyle, always 
 more philosopher than artist, delivered himself of the 
 following original remark: — 
 
 " ' Yesterday I visited an exhibition of Japanese 
 Art, and there beheld figures thoroughly bestial in 
 form — Art is not dead yet.' 
 
 " ' Is that your idea of art, Mr. Carlyle? ' said I. 
 
 *' ' Well,' said the great philosopher, ' they looked 
 natural.' 
 
 *' ' Now that is the equivalent,' I returned, ' of say- 
 ing that what looks natural is artistic. I thought that 
 art meant the study of beauty as well as of nature.' " 
 
 The artist then went on to say, " There are many 
 besides Carlyle who think that what looks ' natural ' 
 is not only admissible but desirable in art. Some 
 years ago two or three gentlemen, composing a com- 
 mittee for erecting a bronze statue of one of their 
 fellow citizens, called upon me and requested me to 
 undertake the work. ' We want the very man,' said 
 they, ' just as he looked in life, and we will send you 
 his coat and his trousers and his boots. He had the 
 
 * Lord Northampton's place.
 
 310 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 largest feet of any one in our country; he was known 
 by his large feet.' 
 
 " ' Perhaps we might tone them down a little,' said 
 I. ' When we model a crooked nose, we try to 
 straighten it a bit; when we model a too large mouth, 
 we slily make it a trifle smaller; in short, try to infuse 
 a little beauty into our work; why not reduce the size 
 of the feet a little? ' 
 
 " ' Oh no ! ' exclaimed they, ' that would not do at 
 all, it would not look natural, and our people would 
 sooner look at his feet than his face.' 
 
 Then,' said I, ' why go to the expense of the 
 face, why not make a mould upon his boots, cast the 
 boots in bronze, and place them, alone, upon a ped- 
 estal ? That would form a monument at once economi- 
 cal and unique.' 
 
 " It is probable that my suggestion displeased the 
 committee, for I have never heard anything more of 
 the statue from that day to this." 
 
 Then she added, " When we look around and con- 
 sider the matter, how many objects which surround 
 us in our daily lives, and which look ' natural ' to us, 
 are beautiful? How many could we safely introduce 
 into art? Think what advantages the old Greeks 
 enjoyed in that respect! Their eyes could rarely rest 
 upon an unlovely object. Their attire was grace it- 
 self. The athletes in the arena supplied the splendid 
 models which have come down to us as the Apollo, 
 as the Campidoglio Faun, as the Dying and the 
 Fighting Gladiators, as the Laocoon, as the Mercury 
 and Mars in repose, and others. Every article of 
 furniture with them was an object of beauty; their
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 311 
 
 race the finest that the world has ever seen; their 
 very sun the most resplendent; and beauty was their 
 chief delight." 
 
 These words of the artist show that, like her master, 
 she was a devout disciple of Grecian art. Schooled 
 by Gibson, her taste was formed upon the Greek 
 models. To her they were the highest development of 
 beauty. Her own works were modernized by her 
 own originality, but they still retained the grace and 
 perfection of the Grecian outlines, and she has left 
 some of the purest modern examples of Greek art. 
 
 After the winter of 1876-77, the summer again 
 found Miss Hosmer in England and among other 
 visits she made one to Wilton House, the seat of the 
 Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery, whose wife (as 
 Lady Gertrude Talbot) had been one of her earliest 
 friends in Rome. Here were gathered, among others, 
 Lady Ashburton, her daughter the Hon. Miss Baring, 
 afterward IVIarchioness of Northampton, the Stuart- 
 Wortleys, the Herberts, and Earl and Lady Brown- 
 low, this last a sister of Lady Pembroke and famed 
 throughout England for her beauty; she, too, was a 
 friend of the early Roman days. It is to be regretted 
 that no letters of this interesting visit are available, 
 for the artist was wont to call Wilton " perhaps the 
 most classic place in all England." It may be re- 
 called tliat this home of the Herberts existed for some 
 centuries as the Abbey of Wilton, till it fell to Henry 
 VIII., who bestowed it upon tlie Herberts. Its rare 
 architectural beauties and its accumulated treasures
 
 312 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 of art appealed most forcibly to the artist. The 
 present building has grown from the early monastery, 
 of which the picturesque cloisters and the massive 
 walls still remain, into the noble pile enriched by 
 many famous artists and men of genius. Holbein 
 designed the portion known as the " Holbein front." 
 Inigo Jones built the stately drawing-rooms, among 
 them two of marvellous proportions — one called the 
 " double cube " room, because built in the shape of 
 a double cube, with lofty painted ceiling and walls 
 entirely lined with Vandykes, some of them said to 
 be the finest things that painter ever did. The other 
 room, half the size, but of like proportions, is known 
 as the " single cube " room, and the walls are also 
 covered widi full-length family portraits by Van- 
 dj^ke. The bridge by Palladio is easily to be seen 
 (and never to be forgotten) from the windows of the 
 mansion, also the Italian garden, and the group of 
 venerable cedars of Lebanon, said to be the first 
 ever planted in England. 
 
 In returning from Wilton House, Miss Hosmer 
 visited " Broadlands," the former home of Lord 
 Palmerston, his beautiful place in Hampshire. It 
 was then the residence of Mr. Cowper-Temple, the 
 nephew of Lady Palmerston, and interesting because 
 of its wonderful collection of pictures by Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, called, perhaps, the largest and finest in 
 England.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 1878-1888 
 
 Miss Hosmer returned to her studio for another 
 busy winter, and writes: 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 ^^^^ ^. Rome, May 23, 1878. 
 
 Yes, that visit to Melchet Court * was certainly 
 a bit of rosy light, a fortnight never to be forgotten 
 by us and never to cease thanking our beloved hostess t 
 for. 
 
 You ask if I know Lord Houghton. Yes, don't I 
 know and love him? He is one of my particular pals, 
 full of fun, of knowledge and of kindness. I shall 
 never forget meeting him at Brahan Castle when he 
 rose (the room full of company) as I entered, and, 
 putting both arms round me, kissed me first on one 
 cheek and then on the other. I said it was a " Roman 
 custom," and we laughed well. . . . 
 
 Brahan Castle was the very quaint old home of 
 Lady Ashburton's mother, Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie, 
 the daughter of Lord Seaforth. She was the original 
 of Walter Scott's Ellen, in " The Lady of the Lake," 
 and she was a great friend of his. This Castle is 
 within a few miles of Loch Luichart Lodge, and in 
 
 * Two of Miss Hosmer's fountains, Ttie Mermaid's Cradle and The 
 Dolphin, are in Ihc Italian garden here. 
 f Lady Ashburton. 
 
 313
 
 314 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 other days its hospitality was often claimed for over- 
 flow guests from the Lodge. Of the ancient Castle 
 many interesting legends remain and one curious 
 mystery is said never to have been solved. One of the 
 windows (visible in the picture) has apparently no 
 inlet to the building. It is said that repeated search- 
 ings have not revealed any opening into room or 
 closet in the old masonry to correspond with this very 
 real window to be seen in the outside wall half con- 
 cealed by ivy. The secret chambers and staircases, 
 the underground ways and subterranean outlets, all 
 add to the fascinations of this venerable pile. 
 
 The artist went again to England in the summer, 
 where she received this letter: 
 
 MRS. SARTORIS TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Warsash, Titchfield, 
 
 Thursday, 26th Sep., 1878. 
 My dearest Hatty: 
 
 What is this which Hardinge writes me? That you 
 have given your wretched skull another knock against 
 a chimney-piece and have been laid up again at Lady 
 Marian's? My dear little Hat, I am so troubled 
 about j'^our precious pate that the anxiety quite for the 
 moment swamps my vexation at not seeing you. 
 You can't think how disappointed dear Lord Lyons 
 was. You would, I'm sure, have been touched if you 
 could have seen how he watched the arrival hours of 
 the trains, which, alas, came in one after another with 
 no Hatty! He himself is a model of true friend- 
 ship, for he actually took an excursion train which 
 was two hours longer on the road than the regular 
 ones, in order to get here a little earlier. Rhoda
 
 w 
 
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 25
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 315 
 
 Broughton is here too, it was their introduction to 
 each other, and has, on both sides, proved eminently 
 successful. 
 
 How can you ask if you may come back. Don't 
 you know how welcome you are here? By all means 
 come whenever you can, dear, and for as long a time 
 as you can, for I am indeed, 
 
 Your affectionate old friend, 
 
 Adelaide Sartoris. 
 
 P.S. We have been blowing up all the old Roman 
 ashes with many a sigh of tender regret. Write 
 directly how you are and what really has happened. 
 
 Your A. 
 
 While in England came this letter in answer to one 
 asking about a certain artist: 
 
 SIR WILLIAM BOXALL TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 OvERSTONE Park, Northampton, Oct. (1878). 
 
 My dear Hatty: 
 
 Your welcome letter, without date, came to me on 
 Friday when I arrived in London. I had been away 
 for some days, and left London again for this place 
 on Saturday. 
 
 I am growing so old that I have no power over 
 time, and I cannot longer take the old fellow by 
 the " forelock," so that he has become my master. 
 Added to this, I found myself unable to help you as 
 to the choice of such an artist as would suit. It was, 
 you must know, no easy matter for me, generally a 
 solitary prisoner, I have lost the chance of meeting 
 such a '' rara avis " as would be really required. When 
 are you likely to be in London? You know what 
 pleasure it would give me to meet you there, and we 
 then could talk over the matter.
 
 316 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 I am wandering out of London to find the days 
 and spirit of my youth, but I have no hope. An 
 unlucky contretemps prevented me from going to 
 Ottery on Saturday, and as I had heard an unauthen- 
 ticated story that a siren of great loveHness was to 
 be seen delighting the waters of Seton, I had re- 
 solved to pay a visit to her so bright and phenomenal, 
 if only for an hour, but I was summoned back to 
 Welbeck. Thus I am now here for four or five 
 days. Pray let me hear from you, and let me know 
 if you are as happy as ever. If you really remain 
 at Seton it is most probable that in the beginning 
 of next month I must go to Ottery to see my friend 
 Sir John Coleridge. He is one of my oldest and 
 best friends, and is in his 86th year. Before he leaves 
 this world I must see him. 
 
 Forgive this stupid letter, and pray let me hear 
 from you. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 W. BOXALL. 
 
 After rather more than a year. Lady Eastlake 
 wrote : 
 
 TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 7 FiTZROY Square, 29 Jan., 1880. 
 My dear Hattie: 
 
 It is long since you have seen my handwriting, tho' 
 I have seen yours, when I have missed the pleasure of 
 seeing you. . . . You will have heard all there is to 
 hear of our dear old Sir William Boxall, from Mary 
 Boyle, whom I kept supplied. I can say that I am 
 glad he is at rest. The unrest has been great, 
 though it subsided in the last few days. He had 
 genius and was a man of independent thought, with 
 part of two natures in him; the one gentle and help-
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 317 
 
 less, the other most determined. He was one of the 
 few human creatures I have known who did not care 
 a straw about money. I have lost an old friend in 
 him. By the way, there is your portrait, and a 
 capital one, left in his painting room. It was painted 
 for the otJier dear master, who, I suppose, never 
 
 claimed it. Mrs. , his niece, would, I know, 
 
 be glad that you should have it. 
 
 My history is too long since we met, so I won't 
 begin it. The latter part of it is wrapped in darkness, 
 for the sun has hardly shone here for three months. 
 For once we have had those fogs which foreigners do 
 us the honor to think we have always and all the year 
 round. I am tired of cold and gloom, but I shall 
 never leave England again, except for the final 
 Happy Land, for which I am getting rather im- 
 patient. Now, dear Hattie, I kiss you warmly, and 
 I am ever your affectionate old friend, 
 
 Elizabeth Eastlake. 
 
 The death of Miss Hosmer's lifelong friend, Mr. 
 Wayman Crow, on May 10, 1885, came as her great- 
 est sorrow. From this time records of her life are 
 even more broken and fragmentary. Work and play 
 succeeded each other as fancy dictated, and it needs 
 not to chronicle more than a small portion of the years 
 that were passed happily among friends alternately in 
 her English and in her American homes, with an 
 occasional return to Rome. 
 
 After another sad loss, the artist writes:
 
 318 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 Ti^ J, r. London, April 13, 1888. 
 
 . . . Yes, dear Lady Marian's death was the most 
 painful shock to all of us. It seems impossible that 
 we shall see her no more. I do not think any of us 
 yet realize that she is gone. She filled so large a 
 space in so many lives, that her death robs many of 
 their kindest friend and sympathizer. I lost the old- 
 est friend I had in England, when I lost her. She 
 was ill barely twenty-four hours, and the stroke of 
 paralysis, which proved fatal to her, rendered her 
 unconscious from the first. In all the years I knew 
 her, she was my fast and true friend. . . . 
 
 Your H. 
 
 Lady Marian Alford, one of Miss Hosmer's most 
 appreciative and generous patrons, was both artist 
 and writer. To her fostering care The School of 
 Art Needlework at South Kensington owes its es- 
 tablishment. Her volume " Needlework as an Art " 
 is well known. In her conservatory at Alford House, 
 Prince's Gate, London, is placed Miss Hosmer's 
 Fountain, with the nymph sitting aloft and piping 
 to the water-babies below, who sport in their marble 
 basin among the broad leaves of aquatic plants. As 
 they listen, you listen, the water making a musical 
 tinkle, a slumberous murmur, the whole a poem. 
 
 Competition being opened for the Crerar Lincoln 
 Monument in Chicago, a design and model were sub- 
 mitted by Miss Hosmer and she received the following 
 letter from one of the Committee: 
 
 " I cannot refrain from congratulating you, and
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 319 
 
 most heartily, upon your model for the Monument. 
 Prepared as I was for the best result, I was yet 
 astonished at, and delighted with, the great dignity, 
 nobility, and poetic ideality of the composition. Of 
 the figure of the Sibyl I had heard the highest com- 
 mendation already, from Lady Ashburton who de- 
 clared it to be the finest modern statue she knew. 
 In this encomium I most heartily join and the whole 
 group is really an inspiration." 
 
 Miss Hosmer herself once said: " By far my great- 
 est effort is the one which I have partially completed, 
 The African Sibyl foreshadowing the freedom of 
 her race. It is colossal in proportions as the figure, 
 if standing, would measure fully eleven feet in height. 
 An African maiden is seated with, on her left arm, 
 a scroll. The right hand is finishing the last word of 
 Lincoln's famous utterance : ' If slavery is not wrong, 
 nothing is wrong.' Her face is just sufficiently 
 averted for her eyes to rest on the words. Clinging 
 to her knee is a negro boy, his face brightening as he 
 reads the handwriting, and his shackles just fallen 
 from his arms, are lying broken on the ground. This 
 I consider the triumph of my desire to incorporate 
 classic beauty of outline and grace with a modern 
 subject, in a manner that will, at a glance, tell its 
 own story. It is a foundation on which to erect the 
 new school which has been my constant dream. . . . 
 Browning came to me for a photograph of this group 
 to show to Tennyson, who said, ' It is the most poetic 
 rendering in art, of a great historical truth, I have 
 ever seen.' " 
 
 Another friend of the sculptor writes a description 
 of the design and its motive which is entirely sym- 
 pathetic, as follows:
 
 320 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 " When addressing the Chicago Women's Club, 
 Miss Hosmer dwelt upon the value of persistent work, 
 without which no great results could be achieved. 
 This design of hers furnishes the most striking illus- 
 tration of the truth of her assertion, for it tells of 
 steady and well-directed effort. The result of her 
 labors is a revelation. The artist has succeeded in 
 solving that most difficult problem, the treatment of a 
 modern subject in a poetic manner. 
 
 In this group she has created an ideal work, em- 
 bodying a lofty conception of a great National theme, 
 in a manner to stir all hearts. It tells its own story 
 in simple and impressive style. 
 
 The thought pre-eminent in the sculptor's mind 
 is Lincoln, the emancipator and martyr. The figure 
 of Lincoln dominates the group; his earnest gaze is 
 resting upon a figure placed upon a pedestal some- 
 what lower than his own. The inscription beneath 
 his figure, ' God Sent Me a Vision,' supplies the key- 
 note to the whole composition. 
 
 The figure which the vision unfolds to him is that 
 of the African Sibyl, seeress and prophetess, fore- 
 shadowing the freedom of her race. The idea sug- 
 gested by the vision is dawning upon his mind. 
 While the artist has faithfully reproduced his well- 
 known features, they appear idealized by the force and 
 grandeur of the thought which illuminates them and 
 which he soon will translate into action. In spite of 
 the attitude of repose, the figure expresses a world 
 of energy. Through the vision of the Sibyl, the idea 
 of freedom for the slave awakens in his mind, and 
 the possibilities of the race are revealed to him. 
 
 The Sibyl lifts her eyes to Lincoln, and divining the 
 thought awakened in his mind, inscribes upon her 
 tablets the now classic words : ' If slavery is not wrong, 
 nothing is wrong.' She is clothed in a tiger-skin, 
 typical of a ruder civilization, and wears a head-dress
 
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 THE AFRICAN SIBYL
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 321 
 
 into which are introduced elephant tusks, indicating 
 the Orient. Grand, with all the possibilities of her 
 race embodied in her powerful frame, and all the hope 
 of the future expressed in her countenance, she fore- 
 sees the triumph soon to come. 
 
 Clasping her knees a negro child in chains, sj^m- 
 bolizing the degradation and suffering of the race, 
 looks pleadingly into the face of the liberator, with 
 an expression so pathetic that it brings the tears to 
 our eyes. The child, as if by instinct, perceives in 
 the faces of Lincoln and the Sibyl the hope and 
 promise of freedom. 
 
 To the left of the monument, upon a pedestal sim- 
 ilar to that of the Sibyl, reclines the figure of Mourn- 
 ing Victory with averted face and head bowed down 
 in sorrow; foreseeing the dearlj^-bought triumph, she 
 casts her veil over her insignia, the trumpet and the 
 laurel crown. The drooping wings and attitude of 
 grief form a marked contrast to the inspired look of 
 hope on the face of the Sibyl. As we look upon it we 
 seem to hear in the far distance the muffled roll of 
 drums and the funeral dirge, a Nation's sorrow for 
 its illustrious dead. 
 
 The African Sibyl in her strength and grandeur, 
 does not possess ideal beauty in the Greek sense. The 
 Victory, in her majestic beauty, i3resents to us the 
 purest Grecian type in all its refinement and nobility." 
 
 Later during a visit in America, INIiss Hosmer was 
 tempted further West, and wrote: 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 T^ ^ Denver. Colorado, June 20, 1889. 
 
 Dear C : 
 
 I thought I would do a h'ttle skipping, and so 
 
 skipped out to Denver, a sudden move, but I had
 
 322 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 been greatly urged to come and give some " Art 
 Talks " to the miiversity students here, so telegraphing 
 my reply, started after twenty-four hours' preparation. 
 We travelled two nights and one day (from Chicago), 
 arriving on Saturday morning. On Saturday evening 
 I appeared before my audience, without the faintest 
 preparation. However, they said the whole thing 
 went off well, even to my bestowal of prizes upon 
 the art students. The next day I gave another very 
 informal art talk, to two or three hundred more stu- 
 dents, and the following Monday went off to Lead-> 
 ville. 
 
 There I was taken in as partner in a gold mine, 
 and then and there presented with shares of stock in 
 it! We had a charming party, and returned on 
 Wednesday. On Thursday we went into the heart 
 of the Rockies, up the Loop, a wonderful journey, 
 but here comes a pause. Owing probably to a chill 
 I got on the way, I took to my bed on returning, 
 and when I tell you that for several days the doctor 
 came three times a day, you may know I was pretty 
 ill. In fact, I did not know how ill, until trying 
 now to pull up again. Everybody is kindness itself, 
 and they send me the loveliest flowers, but I have 
 missed all the hospitalities which had been arranged 
 for me, the reception of Mrs. Evans (the governor's 
 wife) among the rest. 
 
 A copy of my African Sibyl is wanted here. 
 
 Your H. 
 
 Later occurs a page in Miss Hosmer's own hand: 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning 
 buried in Florence June 1861. 
 
 Robert Browning 
 buried in Westminster Abbey December 1889.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 323 
 
 " Parted by death," we say — they, in that land 
 Where suns spring, blossom and decay, 
 Crowned with the halo of a new content, 
 Our little planet in the firmament 
 All lost to view, smile at our words, 
 And hand in hand wend their eternal way. 
 
 Haeeiet Hosmee.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 1891-1908 
 
 LADY ALWYNE COMPTON TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 The Palace, Ely, Feb. 16, 1891. 
 
 Dearest Hatty: 
 
 Your letter was a delight, all sweet with old mem- 
 ories, that will rise as we talk or think of each other, 
 like the sweet scent of violets when we rode in that 
 wood at Lunghezza. The sky, the hills, the sunset 
 lights are there, but I fear you will agree with Dr. 
 Luard, who told me the other day that you must go 
 six miles from Rome to find Rome. The Storys are 
 there, to remember with you, but otherwise I think 
 you must feel like a ghost, a '' revenante." I wish, 
 but dare not hope, you could find time to talk to me 
 a little. I trust you may be too busy and too full of 
 work to feel the changes that, by all I hear, have 
 furnished Rome with commonplace streets by the 
 yard. But there is still some Campagna, for a lady 
 who has just been here told me that not long ago 
 she went to the top of the Coliseum, and as she was 
 gazing over the Campagna and the Appian Way, she 
 heard a stout American lady, who had puffed up 
 behind her, say: "What a vast country there is yet 
 unbuilt!" 
 
 We are hard at work, Lou, Florence, and I, copy- 
 ing letters written by Alwyne's mother when she was 
 about nineteen. They are wonderful, brimming over 
 with life and fun and cleverness. They are letters; 
 
 324
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 325 
 
 one of them has filled twenty square pages of my 
 writing. Every now and then she writes pages in 
 Italian, and quotes Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, and 
 Tasso, and her dream was always to go to Italy. The 
 last of her letters tells of her marriage, and she says: 
 "Do you know, through all the engagement, who 
 has been father, sister, brother, uncle, everything to 
 me? Walter Scott!" I am glad I saw the Villa 
 Negroni, where they lived, and where she died, be- 
 fore it was effaced by the railway station. 
 
 We have some letters of Aunt Aima Jane, too, writ- 
 ten from Rome the year after her sister died (1831). 
 Alwyne * was five, and sometimes they talked of his 
 being a clergyman; " but if ever he is," she says, '* I'll 
 eat my books, it will be a curious concern." She 
 thinks he is too fond of dress and too anxious to be 
 a soldier! 
 
 Meanwhile, being a bishop, he sends you his " dear 
 love " and says he had much rather have seen you than 
 to have had your messages. You really must come, 
 or we shall be so old you will not know us. You 
 will be like the little boy, who, when he saw an old 
 photograph of me said, " Was that really you? You 
 were ten times as pretty then/' 
 
 Did you find your Queen of Naples, after all these 
 years, still watching in her cloak? I can hardly be- 
 lieve you have never been at Castle Ashby since that 
 day, the darkest and rainiest we ever had there. The 
 life there seems so very far away now and one misses 
 Marian and so do you, I know, always more and 
 more. The last service she attended was in the cathe- 
 dral here. I do not believe you have ever seen it, and 
 you cannot think how beautiful it is. 
 
 Will you be like an Indian native lady who re- 
 gretted that she could not accept an invitation 
 
 •The Bishop of Ely.
 
 326 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 to a party, " on account of inexplicable inconven- 
 lence f 
 
 Good-by, dearest Hattie. 
 
 Always your very affectionate, 
 
 Florence Compton. 
 
 The choir boys, at their supper here, after acting 
 the " Midsummer Night's Dream," gave us this riddle: 
 
 " My first is a great friend ; 
 My second is in a pack of cards ; 
 My whole is where boys like to come. 
 
 " Pal-ace." 
 
 Again work takes the artist back to Rome, where 
 this letter came to her; 
 
 RosLAND, Hampstead, June 8, 1892. 
 
 My dear Miss Hosmer: 
 
 This capricious English weather sends one back 
 regretfully to those delightful Roman days, to enjoy 
 once more the great bath of sunlight on one of the 
 Seven Hills, to smell the mint and thyme as we tramp 
 over the Campagna with Augustus Hare and his 
 Toynebee Hall contingent, — or see the great bunches 
 of roses hanging on the walls of William Story's 
 Studio garden, as if it were the end of June instead 
 of April, or look down upon the city from the Colonna 
 Gardens and feel the delicious fragrance of the orange 
 flowers lulling like an opiate, every tired nerve. 
 
 How is the Mermaid getting on? She is not 
 only in herself very unique and original, but she 
 is very characteristic of you, she possesses that subtle 
 charm which separates you from most of the sculp- 
 tors of our day. I went to the Royal Academy yes- 
 terday and staid just fifteen minutes. I did not want 
 to stay longer and came away feeling that Emerson
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 327 
 
 was quite right when he said, " the day of sculpture 
 is over; it is fit only to be the handmaid of Architec- 
 ture." But I did not feel so when looking upon your 
 Mermaid Fountain in your studio. There was the 
 charm of the woman first. She is very beautiful and 
 striking and there is the mother brooding over the 
 happy, sleeping baby and as Michael Angelo's critic 
 said of his Night, " Since she sleeps, she lives " — and 
 there is the song she sings, (or pipes) to him, it is the 
 " unheard melody " which Keats said, is sweeter than 
 those heard, and that ingenious idea of his sleeping in 
 the curled-up tail, adds just the little touch of earth- 
 liness which gives him the charm of the sea and 
 separates him from our work-a-day world, as your 
 Sleeping Faun has the spell of the forest upon him. 
 Whoever gazes at them in those beautiful gardens 
 of Melchet, will get a moment's rest from care, a bath 
 in the Fountain of Beauty, and from the enchanted 
 waters come like Achilles, "arrow-proof and brave"; 
 that, I take it, is the principal office of beauty here. 
 Did I tell you what Mark Twain said that day, of 
 the Sleeping Faun? " I have generally observed that 
 the artist had a particular point from which he wants 
 you to look at his work and from that point it looks 
 well, but this, I find, looks well from all points." . . . 
 
 Yours, 
 
 C. S. P. 
 A friend said: 
 
 " In a winter twilight two or three years ago, the 
 interesting possibilities of latent impressions were 
 touched upon, and ^liss Hosmer related how, once, 
 in her early youth, soon after going abroad, a merry 
 party of friends proposed to make the journey on 
 horseback, by night, from Rome to Florence, a dis- 
 tance requiring some three nights. This ride, taken 
 for ' a lark,' as Miss Hosmer said — and said as
 
 328 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 merrily as a girl of sixteen, and with an air of not 
 being even at sixty, in the least averse to ' a lark ' — 
 was taken in a perfect effervescence of festivity. 
 
 * But through all the nights as we rode,' she said, 
 
 * I was watching the fascinating effects of light and 
 shade. The way the stars twinkled through the 
 leafy boughs of the forest; the wonderful play of 
 light and shadow in the silhouettes of the trees cast 
 on the turf in the open spaces; and what,' she ques- 
 tioned, in her eager, bird-like way, — ' what do you 
 suppose I have done with those stored-up impressions 
 of more than thirty years ago? I hardly realized that 
 I had them, but I have worked them all into the 
 design for my Gates.' 
 
 It is a most interesting instance of the way impres- 
 sions lie latent in the brain of the artist, to start up 
 like writing in sympathetic ink when the magic of 
 occasion touches the spring." 
 
 In 1891 Miss Hosmer received the commission for 
 her statue of Queen Isabella. This she executed in 
 Rome and returning to the United States in 1894 she 
 went to San Francisco to unveil it. From there she 
 writes : 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 j^ ^ Oakland, Cal., Mar. 8, 1894. 
 
 Day after day and night after night, I have wanted 
 to write, yet every minute seems more than filled. 
 People are generally kind to me everywhere, but 
 never have I been so spoiled as here. It is impossible 
 to tell you how hospitable the people are, and the 
 longer I stay, the more so they grow. Dinners, lunch- 
 eons, breakfasts, speeches, club receptions, everything 
 delightful. I have such a large circle of friends that
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 329 
 
 it seems I must have lived here all my life. I heartily 
 wish you had been here for the unveiling. 
 
 I have invitations from all parts of California, and 
 nothing but time limits my movements. I shall leave 
 here for the East again at the end of the month. 
 
 Your H. 
 
 The following letter from San Francisco voices the 
 general feeling of those most interested in obtaining 
 the statue of the Castilian Queen for their city; and 
 the description is vividly true: 
 
 My dear Miss Hosmer: 
 
 May I express the deep gratitude felt for your 
 Queen Isabella? Her greatness grows upon one. 
 With rare gift you tell us so much that speaks to 
 our highest sense with no ordinary power. 
 
 You have given us an Isabella Victrix! She is 
 indeed a Queen, but she is also a Victory, even as 
 the Venus of JNIilo is a Victory. Isabella, standing 
 as she does, the representative of all that is best in 
 the ideal queen, unites kinghood and womanhood, 
 and is the embodiment of triumphant thought, of 
 Victory. Upon the cushion at her feet Columbus 
 knelt, as with weary and sinking heart he pleaded 
 his cause. The attentive eye lends him new courage. 
 He tells his strange, fascinating tale of lands beyond 
 the seas, reiterating his logical theories of the Indies 
 touched by strange waters, as yet existing only in 
 his imagination. A land of pomegranates and spices, 
 with continents to the West bathed in perpetual sun- 
 shine, gilded with mines of gold and outlined by 
 rivers of precious stones; a new kingdom for the 
 Cross so recently triumphant in Granada. The Queen 
 listens, the spicy breezes touch her brow, her poetic 
 and spiritual nature are stirred, until heart, brain, 
 and noble resolve crystallize into action, and that
 
 330 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 supreme moment you have placed before us! Its 
 inspiration penetrates her whole being, she rises from 
 her throne, places her right foot upon the step, while 
 the left one is held firmly to the spot of inspiration, 
 unwilling for the moment to take a common step; 
 but with latent energy of action stayed, there is yet 
 a spring that sends its power throughout the figure, 
 reaching forward and compassing the centuries. Four 
 hundred years, marking triumph and victory, were 
 present then as now. The birth of the idea was the 
 victorious moment. The past and the present join. 
 The dream and its realization, the pledge and its 
 fulfilment, meet under the stroke of your hand. No 
 need of the words from her queenly lips, " I will as- 
 sume the responsibility for my Crown of Castile, a 
 crown that may be bereft of its jewels; here they are, 
 coin them into money, yet small price do I pay for 
 the gems you offer to place at my feet." 
 
 In every outline, in every lineament, the dignity, 
 grace, and goodness of the Queen speak as she be- 
 comes great through the power of a great thought; 
 a creator, as it were, another creation; this country, 
 this last, rarest jewel in the chaplet of nations! The 
 sublime conception, the reality, is immortalized by 
 our country-woman. Heartily do I congratulate this 
 fair state upon the possession of its Isabella of 
 Castile. 
 
 T -irk lork^ H* W^. R. S. 
 
 Jan. 19, 1894. 
 
 After Miss Hosmer's visit to California an acquaint- 
 ance writes: 
 
 "She has done much for us in many ways during 
 her short stay among us. There is always the in- 
 spiration that comes from association with a master 
 mind, the uplifting that ordinary mortals experience 
 when brought in touch with a genius. There have
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 331 
 
 been many social entertainments in Miss Hosmer's 
 honor, but they have been more than mere surface 
 events, for she has given a depth and tone to each 
 one, making it wholly original in its way. How 
 well it would be if we could all be as bright, as 
 witty, as thoroughly in touch with life as is Miss 
 Hosmer. She has such an original way of telling a 
 story, such a bright sparkle of the eye, such a rare 
 appreciation of the best points when it touches hu- 
 man nature, and all because she is so happy herself. 
 Life to her has meant success. That is always the 
 way; life has neither beginning nor end for a genius; 
 it is only a span of time. ' I called on you thirty 
 years ago, but I suppose you have forgotten me,' said 
 a gentleman at Starr King's reception last night. 
 'You did?' said Miss Hosmer; 'well, call on me 
 thirty years from now, and I shall remember you.' 
 Such a speech from a woman of sixty-five! That 
 is one of the advantages of genius — we may be old in 
 one sense, but never in another." 
 
 While in San Francisco it was objected that Miss 
 Hosmer's criticisms upon their public statues were 
 unjust, to this she replies: 
 
 "I did unreservedly criticise, as I shall ever criticise 
 and deplore, the limited range of our art as displayed 
 in our public parks and squares. Be it observed that 
 I now allude solely to the statues within ' the Park 
 proper,' claiming that they truly represent the char- 
 acter and style of sculpture which generally deco- 
 rates all our parks and squares. Our ideas of art 
 are apparently confined to portraiture — ideal art has 
 vanished. Poetry in art, as poetry in practice, is little 
 in accord with our too utilitarian age. 
 
 We erect a portrait statue to one of our heroes, 
 clad in the outrageous costume of our time, and
 
 832 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 then feel, in a general way, that we have done some- 
 thing for art. We have done something for history, 
 if you will, but all we do for art by the erection of 
 these bronze photographs is to banish true art farther 
 and farther from its legitimate realm. For what is 
 the meaning of art? Its true signification implies 
 creation, and, may I ask, what opportunity has the 
 most imaginative sculptor when executing a work of 
 modern portraiture, fettered by the necessity of ad- 
 hering to an uncouth costume, to display the creative 
 faculty or his sense of beauty and grace? Never since 
 the creation of the world has a costume been devised 
 so utterly ungracious and ungrateful as that which the 
 public demands from us sculptors — intolerable in 
 practice, more than intolerable, more than grotesque, 
 in art. Art must appeal to the mind through the eye, 
 and as a grotesque movement upon the stage traves- 
 ties the noblest thought, so would the uncouth cos- 
 tume of our time paralyze and travesty the genius of 
 Phidias himself. 
 
 Let us glorify our heroes by all means, but why 
 may not historic and ideal art be combined in a man- 
 ner which shall equally content poet and historian? 
 Of this order of art is Daniel French's Monument to 
 Millmore, one of the most beautiful works in the 
 Columbian Exhibition. Here the sculptor presents 
 to us not only historic truth, but beauty of form and 
 sentiment, pathos and outlines of harmony and grace; 
 in short, tells us the story of Millmore's death in a 
 poem, not in a betrousered obituary. 
 
 This is the order of art which delights while it in- 
 structs, and if the mission of art be not still to in- 
 struct and elevate, while it delights, let it be abolished 
 as a spurious growth upon the civilization of the 
 nineteenth century. Our artists wait only for the 
 public taste to demand such art. When the public 
 have sufficient taste to demand that art, it will be seen
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 333 
 
 that our artists have sufficient taste to supply the 
 demand. 
 
 Another point. As a disciple of classic art I am 
 supposed ' to inveigh against the modern realistic 
 school.' Not in the least. Give us everything and 
 the fittest will survive, but against the term ' realistic ' 
 as opposed to the ' classic school ' I rebel. Never was 
 a grosser misapplication of terms. ' Realistic ' I take 
 to mean ' real,' ' true to nature,' and therefore I claim 
 that what is known as the classic school furnishes the 
 most commanding examples of realistic art — who, save 
 Nature herself, reality itself, could conceive of the 
 form of The Fighting Gladiator, or of the Dying 
 Gladiator, or of the Venus of Milo — or of the Neapoli- 
 tan Psyche — or of the Praxiteles Faun, or, greater 
 than all, of the sublime forms expressed in the Elgin 
 Marbles? These statues, one and all, are portrait 
 statues — wrought by the ancient masters with a 
 patience, a knowledge and a keenness of vision, of 
 which few artists are now capable. But one and all 
 reflect Nature in her noblest, happiest mood, which 
 should be the end and aim of all art, not Nature 
 travestied as the result of human accident, or 
 ignorance. 
 
 Deprived of these magnificent monuments of human 
 genius, we could form no conception of the beauty 
 of which the human form is capable. Think what 
 advantages the Greek sculptors enjoyed as compared 
 with the status of art in our time. Their models were 
 furnished by a race supreme in the world's history for 
 physical perfection. Their climate, their games, all 
 their modes of life, fostered and developed this per- 
 fection of form. The study of physical beauty was 
 reduced to a science. No athlete was permitted to 
 contend an unlimited number of times for a given 
 prize, lest certain muscles should be unduly developed. 
 Art was in its prime, because Nature was in her
 
 334! HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 prime. Their intellectual status was on an equal 
 plane, yet it is the sensational fashion of our time to 
 condemn their physical beauty as ' tameness,' their 
 serenity of deportment as ' monotony.' 
 
 But scoff as we may, what is known as the classic 
 school has proved the true and lasting fount of in- 
 spiration of all great art. Michael Angelo so closely 
 studied the famous Herculean Torso in the Vatican, 
 that now by courtesy it is called ' Michael Angelo's 
 Torso.' After the contortions of the Bernini school, 
 arose by revulsion of taste the more modern classic 
 school, of which Thorwaldsen was the bright, par- 
 ticular star, and so will it be to the end. Schools will 
 arise in which grotesqueness will be called ' original- 
 ity ' and caricature ' nature.' But after all these 
 schools have completed their little cycles, lovers of 
 all that is beautiful and true in nature will seek their 
 inspiration from the profounder and serener depths 
 of classic art." 
 
 After the death of his wife William Story wrote to 
 Miss Hosmer: 
 
 Palazzo Barberini, Rome, Dec. 14, 1894. 
 
 My dear Hatty: 
 
 I cannot tell you how gladly I received your dear 
 and tender letter of October 8. It was the first line 
 I had had from you since I lost my beloved wife, and 
 I could not help wondering that I had never heard 
 one word of sympathy and sorrow upon this, to me, 
 irreparable loss. I did not believe that you had for- 
 gotten me, and that you did not share with me this 
 terrible bereavement, so I consoled myself with the 
 thought that you must have written and that your 
 letter had miscarried, as now proves to have been the 
 case. Oh! my dear Hatty, I feel utterly shipwrecked. 
 ... If you want to know what I am, read " An old
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 335 
 
 Seventy-four Frigate " in " Blackwood " for August — 
 that is what I am — a mere wreck. ... I have made a 
 monument to her, which will be placed in the Protes- 
 tant Cemetery, but it is not as yet quite finished in the 
 marble. 
 
 I have been spending the summer at Vallombrosa 
 
 with E and her family, and wandering with them 
 
 through the pine groves. All that was possible to do 
 for me, they have done. But — however, I will not 
 go on. 
 
 . . . Now I am back again in Rome, but I have no 
 
 heart to do anything. W is here, and, I am 
 
 happy to say, has his hands full of work in his studio; 
 and admirable work it is, full of vigor and power, 
 originality and grace. 
 
 And what are you doing, and when are you coming 
 back to us? 
 
 . . . Good-by, dear Hatty. All send their love and 
 hope that we shall see you here this winter. 
 Ever your affectionate 
 
 W. W. Story. 
 
 Later, after the sculptor's own death, a member 
 of his family wrote to Miss Hosmer: 
 
 " How large a piece of your life lies buried in that 
 Poets' Corner of the little cemetery in Rome. One 
 cannot remember the time when you were not looked 
 upon as a daughter, by the two dear ones now lying 
 side by side under the cypress trees. . . . 
 
 After the dear one was brought to Vallombrosa 
 he seemed to gain strength for a time, and he was so 
 happy sitting out in the beautiful woods, surrounded 
 by his grandchildren, up to the last day — a golden 
 autumn day it was. Then before another one had 
 dawned, his spirit had fled, in sleep, without a sigh — 
 his face calm and smiling. We covered him with the 
 lovely leaves of Vallombrosa."
 
 336 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 It was in October, 1895, that William Story died, 
 and Miss Hosmer wrote among her other words of 
 ardent praise, " As a modeller, William Story was un- 
 excelled by any modern artist. His statue of Alcestis 
 is the finest example of his skill in drapery, and he 
 has left behind him a most noble array of works 
 which for knowledge, refinement, and poetic grace 
 stamp him as one of the greatest artists of our time." 
 
 Her long, unbroken friendship with the Storys was 
 ever one of her most faithful and tender memories of 
 the old Roman days. 
 
 In the life of Frances Power Cobbe * written by 
 herself, in Vol. II, is a very truthful and captivating 
 picture of her friend Harriet Hosmer, as she ap- 
 peared to that eminent Englishwoman some years be- 
 fore. She says, " She was in those days the most 
 bewitching sprite that the world ever saw. Never 
 have I laughed so helplessly as at the infinite fun of 
 that bright Yankee girl. Even in later years, when 
 we perforce grew a little graver, she needed only to 
 begin one of her descriptive stories to make us all 
 young again. I have not seen her since her return 
 to America, nor yet any one in the least like her. 
 It is vain to hope to convey to any reader the con- 
 tagion of her merriment. Oh! what a gift beyond 
 rubies are such spirits!" 
 
 Always quick to champion a friend, after the death 
 of Frederick Leighton, Miss Hosmer wrote to an 
 American journal: 
 
 ♦Houghton, Mifflin Co., 1895.
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 337 
 
 Feb. 25, 1896. 
 A paper of the 16th February, contains a para- 
 graph suggesting that " the late Lord Leighton must 
 have been very extravagant," to have left so little 
 of this world's goods, " when we consider the vast 
 sums he must have received for his works." Firstly, I 
 doubt if Leighton ever received " vast sums " for his 
 works. Those halcyon days are limited to the Athe- 
 nian, not to the 19th century period of art. Secondly, 
 it is due to the memory of Leighton, and upon the 
 authority of a life-long friend, to state that more 
 than half his annual income was devoted to his less 
 prosperous brethren in art. No artist ever appealed 
 in vain to Leighton for aid. Well do I remember 
 that so long ago as 1853, when he was making his 
 studies in Rome for his picture of Cimabue and 
 Giotto, and before fortune had in any way smiled 
 upon him, his name was synonymous with helpfulness 
 and kindness to those less fortunate than himself. 
 And so it was to the end. It was enough for Leigh- 
 ton to know that others were in greater want than 
 himself, and his purse was theirs; and it was this 
 kindliness and generosity of heart, this finest quality, 
 which endeared him to his friends and which excited 
 their admiration far more than even his most brilliant 
 achievements. 
 
 Harriet G. Hosmer. 
 
 Miss Hosmer thus wrote of her first meeting with 
 Sir Frederick Leighton and of their long friend- 
 ship: 
 
 rr e 
 
 E' permesso?' said a pleasant young voice, the 
 owner of which paused for a moment at the top of the 
 little narrow staircase which led to my modelling room 
 in the Gibson studio. 
 
 ' Entra pure' said I, and a young man of two
 
 338 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 or three and twenty, very good looking, suggestive 
 of the young Raphael style, stood before me. 
 
 ' Unless you prefer a foreign tongue,' said I, * let 
 us try English.' 
 
 The young man laughed, and after a few words of 
 greeting explained that Mr. Gibson had given him 
 permission to draw the skull of a horse, which was 
 hidden away behind the old green curtain, serving 
 as a background, in the little studio. Pietro, the 
 studio lad, was summoned, and the skull having been 
 produced and arranged in a proper light, the new- 
 comer sat himself down and began his work, and then 
 and there commenced an acquaintance and friendship 
 which ceased only when, long years after. Lord Leigh- 
 ton, President of the Royal Academy, with much 
 pomp and ceremony, was laid to rest in London's 
 great Cathedral of St. Paul. For young Leighton 
 it was, unknown then to the world, yet that day tak- 
 ing a step in his sudden ascent to fame, for the 
 drawing was a study to serve in his painting Cimabue. 
 This was perhaps the most carefully designed and 
 executed of all his works, upon which he labored un- 
 remittingly, and which, when exhibited and purchased 
 by the Queen, landed the artist, at one bound, upon 
 the top wave of prosperity. As the whole work was 
 executed in Rome, and as during these two years I 
 saw much of Leighton, I followed the Cimabue in all 
 its phases and felt an especially personal interest 
 therein when it came about that the Gonfallier was 
 to ride a horse which at that time I chanced to own, 
 very good looking, but which, I told Leighton, * got 
 nearer the " brush " in his studio than he ever did in 
 the hunting field.' 
 
 Following upon the success of his picture, to the 
 regret of all his Roman friends, Leighton was re- 
 called from Rome, but before leaving, his brother 
 artists with whom he was deservedly popular, united
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 339 
 
 in a farewell dinner in his honor, to which I contrib- 
 uted a basket of flowers. Later in the evening, when 
 he joined the circle in Mrs. Sartoris' salon, and 
 thanked me for remembering him, I said, ' When 
 next I send you a basket of flowers, you will be 
 President of the Royal Academy,' — a pledge which 
 in the fulness of time was realized. Soon after this 
 he closed his studio in the Via Sistine and transferred 
 it to Paris. As parting gifts in memory of old times, 
 he presented me with a charming drawing of Angelo, 
 who had served as his model for the young Giotto in 
 the picture of Cimabue, and also with the study of the 
 horse's skull, bearing the hilarious inscription, ' Skull 
 of Os.' 
 
 His next picture, painted in Paris, was not so 
 successful, partly because the subject was probably 
 less sympathetic to him, and partly because the suc- 
 cess of ' Cimabue ' had wounded the susceptibilities 
 of certain brother artists. But non-success had no 
 depressing effect upon Leighton. A friend, stand- 
 ing near him, wrote me from Paris, ' Fay ' (his 
 familiar name in the Sartoris circle) ' is no whit dis- 
 couraged by the failure of his picture, but says, ' Next 
 time I mean to do better.' (Quoted verbatim from 
 Mrs. Sartoris' letter.) 
 
 During this time I saw but little of Leighton, save 
 on the occasions of his flying visits to Rome, when 
 he always dined with me. One of these occasions I 
 well remember, and recalled it whenever I entered 
 his London home. On the day of his visit, I was 
 transferring my lares and penates to tlie Palazzetto 
 Barberini. While the apartment was in the condition 
 attendant upon sucli domestic events, our dinner was 
 served on a packing case, and two smaller packing 
 cases served as chairs. During tliis elegant rc])ast 
 Leighton described to me the lioiise lie intended to 
 build, ' as soon,' said he, ' as I can earn the money
 
 340 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 to pay for it, but I must earn it first.' After dinner, 
 securing the lid of a box, which he balanced upon his 
 knee, he sketched his intended plan, in every respect 
 as it was afterwards executed. 
 
 Few can so successfully form plans for the future, 
 and few can so patiently wait for their fulfilment. 
 ' Toil, constant toil ' was Leighton's watchword. 
 Every portion of every picture he ever painted was 
 studied from life, with a labor of love few artists 
 know. Throughout his career he strove to raise the 
 standard of art, and few have held its banner aloft so 
 nobly as did he. That his health should finally fail 
 under the constant pressure of his artistic, official, 
 and social duties, was no cause of surprise to the 
 friends who knew him in daily life, but he was hopeful 
 to the last. Not many weeks before his final return to 
 London, he wrote to me from Algiers, where he was 
 seeking rest, ' You, who know me so well, can under- 
 stand how irksome to me is this enforced idleness, but 
 the doctors assure me that there is no organic trouble 
 and that a little rest will set me right.' Then he 
 went home to die. 
 
 Leighton will be remembered as a distinguished 
 artist, but he will be longer remembered as an ideal 
 President of the Royal Academy. In that capacity 
 he had no peer, possessing in largest measure every 
 quality and accomplishment essential to his position: 
 profound knowledge of art, executive ability, refined 
 and cultivated taste, delicate tact, an accomplished 
 linguist, familiar with foreigners, a ready and polished 
 speaker, courteous in manner, with a distinguished 
 presence and a kindly heart, whose highest pleasure 
 was to aid and encourage those who were less for- 
 tunate than himself. His eminence as an artist and 
 the distinction conferred by his office invested the 
 ceremonies attending his burial (which has well been 
 described as ' one of the Pageants of the Year ') with
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 341 
 
 unusual solemnity. But it was the memory of his 
 many attaching, personal qualities, to those who knew 
 him best, which invested it with its pathos." 
 
 In her volume on the late Lord Leighton, Alice 
 Corkran tells that when a young art student at Rome, 
 he was generally known to his friends as " The Ad- 
 mirable Crichton." "For," says Miss Corkran, "to 
 his amazing endowments Leighton added the genius 
 which consists of taking infinite pains. One of the 
 handsomest men of his generation, learned in the 
 classics, speaking five languages with fluency, the 
 best dancer in Rome, the possessor of a fine' tenor 
 voice, brilliant in conversation, amiable of disposition, 
 he yet cultivated the humbler virtues of punctuality, 
 hard work, economy, and sobriety." 
 
 The most perfect character I have ever known,' 
 was the verdict of Watts the painter." 
 
 MRS. DUNDAS TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Bear Hatty: ^^^^^«' ^^^•' ^896. 
 
 Leighton's death brought back many memories of 
 long ago — memories in which you had your part. I 
 am sure you must have felt it deeply. After those 
 early Roman days, except in a London crowd, I sel- 
 dom met him, but hearing that he had asked after me, 
 I went to his studio. 
 
 We talked of j^ou and of what you were doing. 
 They will not easily find another president * capable 
 of filling Leighton's chair as he has done. So few 
 men are free from family ties and ready to devote 
 their lives to the business of the Academv. Tlicn, he 
 was cosmopolitan, a very universal man. Critics, 
 especially French ones, say that he should have been 
 
 * For the Royal Academy.
 
 342 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 a sculptor rather than a painter, but it is as president 
 that his name will go down to history. Hardly any 
 of one's contemporaries change more, than did the 
 young man whom we knew as Fred. Leighton 
 change into the massive, dignified " Sir Frederick 
 Leighton, P. R. A." I saw him last October in 
 Venice. I was coming up the Grand Canal one fine 
 morning, and my gondola crossed another hurrying to 
 the Accade^nia, in which sat Leighton. A smile and 
 a bow were all that passed. He did not look ill, one 
 would not, as the Celtic seers say, have seen the 
 shroud already waist high about him, but I suppose 
 his last malady made rapid progress. 
 
 I have heard of your Queen Isabella. It is a 
 charming story of her giving her jewels to fit out 
 Columbus. I hope it is true, because I should like 
 a woman to have a good share in the finding of the 
 New World. Yours, ever, anne D^das. 
 
 P.S. Leigh ton's " Clytie " is fine. You know the 
 way he had of sometimes polishing and finishing till 
 the force and reality were gone; well, this his fare- 
 well to the Academy walls, is left in the rough, what 
 he probably called, " unfinished," and therefore is 
 more powerful than anything that I have seen of his 
 for a long time. Clytie kneels, despairing hands 
 stretched out towards the golden clouds that hide her 
 sun-god. There is a yearning for the unseen in it, 
 which makes it very fit to be the painter's own " Swan 
 song." It is a touching picture, seen after his death. 
 
 A. 
 
 Miss Hosmer had received many medals and deco- 
 rations, but did not mention them except upon being 
 questioned. In 1896 it was that she said: 
 
 " I have never worn my decorations but a few times 
 in my life, and then only to oblige a friend. I do
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 343 
 
 not regard them as ' decorations,' they are simply 
 souvenirs of friends- friends who happened to be 
 rulers of men. They were given to me personalty 
 not through ministers or consuls, and it would not 
 have been polite for me to say, ' Your Majesty, this 
 is pretty, but I don't know what it means.' 
 
 The biggest one you might think to be two or 
 three; there is the sash, then the Russian coat-of-arms 
 and the large cross, which all go together. The sash 
 is made of the Russian colors, red, black, and yellow, 
 in heavy moire ribbon five inches broad. The large 
 cross is quite barbarically magnificent, fully three 
 inches across and about four inches long, of Russian 
 diamonds, not at all the same thing as Koh-i-noors! 
 The setting is chiselled silver and ornamented with 
 small brilliants. The cross is a pendant, and hangs 
 from the coat-of-arms, which was originall}'^ done in 
 rose diamonds. Unfortunately this was stolen, and 
 when I had another made to replace it, I could not 
 afford the diamonds, so it's only in carved silver now. 
 It was the Empress of Russia who gave it to me, 
 the old Empress; I think she was the first Empress 
 who ever came to my studio. An imperial old lady, 
 in those days so infirm that she was brought into the 
 studio in a Sedan chair. What a picture she made, 
 the little old lady with her white hair and her flashing 
 eyes and her must-be-obeyed air, sitting in that mag- 
 nificent chair, between the two stalwart Cossacks who 
 carried her! She was the wife of the Czar Nicholas 
 of Crimean days, the great-grandmother of the present 
 Emperor. 
 
 I have no souvenir of another royal visitor, the 
 Prince of Wales,* but he has two of me, my Puck 
 and my Sleeping Faun. It was during one of his 
 first visits to the continent that he bouglit the former. 
 He was travelling with the Empress Frederic (thcu' 
 Crown Princess) and her husband, and just mar- 
 
 * Afterwards Edward VU.
 
 344 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 ried. The whole party came to my studio, and 
 the Prince was quite taken with Puck, and nothing 
 would do but he must buy it. Afterwards General 
 Ellis (then Colonel) told me the Prince was not al- 
 lowed to make any purchases on this trip except with 
 his own pocket-money, so the Puck came out of his 
 pin-money! Later I saw quite a good deal of his 
 sister, the Crown Princess (afterwards Empress Vic- 
 toria) who was a good artist herself and invited me 
 to come to her studio in Berlin and see her works, for 
 she was a sculptor too. Her sister. Princess Alice of 
 Hesse, mother of the Russian Empress, I saw a good 
 deal of, at one time. It is said she was the favorite 
 daughter of Queen Victoria, and I do not wonder, 
 for she was a sweet creature, with a lovely face, 
 though something tragic about it. She was also an 
 artist, and had asked me to let her come and model 
 in my studio. All the arrangements were made when 
 she was summoned home by the illness of one of her 
 sons, afterwards the Grand Duke of Hesse. 
 
 But to go back, I have two gold medals mounted on 
 red ribbons, granted by Italian Academies, one for the 
 Incouragiemento di Arte, the other from the Acade- 
 mic Udine. Then there was my Bavarian medal 
 mounted on blue and white ribbon, the Bavarian 
 colors. It is a triangle of brilliants set in cut steel, I 
 don't know what it means, any more than the big 
 Russian cross, but when those queer settings are used, 
 it is probably for some historic reason. I prize it as 
 the gift of the old King of Bavaria, a delightful old 
 gentleman who used to come every winter to Italy. 
 
 The Royalties of Europe, when they were tired of 
 being royal, came there for a holiday, and as art was 
 the business of life in Rome, they floated around the 
 studios, and many of them floated into mine at one 
 time or another. Some of them came incognito. Only 
 two came to my studio in that way. One was Maxi-
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 34.5 
 
 milian, passing through Rome on his way to Mexico, 
 poor fellow; one of his gentlemen, lingering a mo- 
 ment after him, told me who my visitor had been. 
 The other one was the Queen of Holland, not the 
 Queen Mother, but the Queen before her, old King 
 William's first wife. 
 
 It was old King Ludwig who brought me his little 
 medal one day and pinned it on, telling me to wear 
 it as a souvenir of his visit, and I've never forgotten 
 him. He practically built modern Munich and was a 
 true artist. He was handsome, too, though he did 
 have a large wen right in the middle of his forehead, 
 so that he wore his hat on the back of his head. His 
 successor. Max, w^as not attractive, but Ludwig II 
 was charming. So I have known personally three 
 kings of Bavaria. Yes, I knew the dear old Pope 
 too, Pio Nono, and Cavour and Garibaldi. It's some- 
 times a surprise to me to find how many people I 
 have known! " 
 
 Miss Krout to Miss Hosmer, with a handful of 
 daisies : 
 
 ,, , J. . J Ightham, Kent, 1896. 
 
 My dear friend: 
 
 I have just returned from a delightful visit to 
 
 Ightham. Perhaps you know it, one of the old, old 
 
 villages with tiled roofs and latticed windows and 
 
 timbered houses of three hundred years ago. There 
 
 is a quaint old church with a tomb to Dame Selby, 
 
 who gave Lord INIounteagle information concerning 
 
 the Gunpowder Plot, also divers of her descendants. 
 
 Strolling about the churchyard I found in one sunny 
 
 corner the grave of your dear friend Adelaide Kemble 
 
 Sartoris. I gadiered for you these daisies which I 
 
 enclose. Her daughter, Mrs. G., is living in Ightham, 
 
 dearly beloved of all the village folk. The niglitin- 
 
 gales, skylarks, and cuckoos were singing as I walked
 
 346 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 for miles through the lanes, among the hedge- 
 rows. . . . 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 M. H. Krout. 
 
 MR. SHORTALL TO MISS HOSMER. 
 
 Bear 3Iiss Hosmer: Chicago, Apl. 7, 1897. 
 
 ... I have just returned from a gij'o including the 
 West Indies and the " Spanish Main," Venezuela, 
 a five-weeks' jaunt. In the island of Barbados, in 
 the city of Bridgetown, in the Council Chamber 
 therein, and in a niche in the wall of the same, stands 
 conspicuous, what do you think? Your "Puck!" 
 You have no idea how delightfully surprised I was, 
 how delightfully familiar it appeared; as we ap- 
 proached it more closely, we read the inscription upon 
 the base. 
 
 " Presented to the Colony of Barbados by Lady 
 Briggs, in memory of her husband, Sir Thomas 
 Graham Briggs, Bart." 
 
 Could anything be more deliciously sentimental? 
 
 I thought you would like to hear of this. I know 
 of no one who would be better qualified to appreciate 
 
 J. L* • • • 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 John G. Shortall. 
 
 An old friend of Miss Hosmer's, in writing of her, 
 recalls one of her innumerable jokes. She says: 
 
 " What most impressed me in my walks and talks 
 with Miss Hosmer, was her wonderful exuberance of 
 spirits. She was as happy and care-free as a child. 
 The present was full of delightful plans for work to 
 be carried out in a bright future extending limitlessly. 
 
 I
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 347 
 
 Not a thought of old age or death apparently entered 
 into her dreams. In our occasional walks together, 
 she was always bubbling over with fun. Not long 
 ago, in Cambridge, as we were nearing home, we 
 came upon two ladies who were evidently tourists, 
 with pencil and notebook in hand. One of them 
 approached, and, addressing Miss Hosmer, begged to 
 be directed to the homes of Longfellow and Lowell. 
 As we were not far from the house of the former, 
 Miss Hosmer offered to point it out and walked on 
 in advance with her. Thinking them beyond hearing, 
 I volunteered a little extra information to the other 
 young girl, who thus became my companion, and 
 said in a low voice, ' There is a woman well worth 
 seeing, whose genius is acknowledged both in Europe 
 and America, Harriet Hosmer.' She expressed gen- 
 uine enthusiasm at seeing a person of whom she had 
 heard so much, and many of whose works she had 
 seen. While she was gazing admiringly at the artist's 
 strong, well-developed back, the latter turned quickly 
 from the Longfellow gate, came towards us, and 
 waving her hand at me, in a pronounced stage whisper 
 said, ' Perhaps you are sight-seeing, young ladies, if 
 so, you will be glad to know that you have been 
 talking with the distinguished Mrs. Somerville.' Then 
 bowing cordially to them, she took my arm and 
 whisked me away from my awe-struck admirers be- 
 fore I had time to realize her joke. She told me 
 later that her first thought had been to present me 
 as Jane Austen or INIrs. Browning, but, fearing her 
 audience might be well up in dates, had selected the 
 other name as safer. No doubt the aforesaid audience 
 congratulated each other upon having met two such 
 noted women in one morning. 
 
 E. C. H."
 
 348 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 ^ ^ Watertown, Aug. 28, 1898? 
 
 I have a letter from the Baroness Adolphe, which 
 I want to show you. She says of the " Martyrdom 
 of an Empress " exactly what I thought she would, 
 that it is a romance, containing certain well-known 
 facts, and the rest fiction. The Baroness was a great 
 friend of the Empress.* She says that Countess 
 Trani, the Empress' sister, told her that she knew of 
 no friend of her sister's who entertained her in Brit- 
 tany or who was with her as described in the book. I 
 also asked the Baroness Adolphe if it were true that 
 the monument to Guy de Maupassant in the 'Pare 
 Monceau in Paris really had a modernly dressed young 
 Parisian seated at the foot of the column reading one 
 of his novels? I read the description in a paper but 
 could scarcely believe that art had dropped so low. 
 The Baroness says it is quite true and that when she 
 walks there (for her house is in the Pare) she avoids 
 the place, not to have her eyes offended by the sight! 
 So much for art in the 19th Century. 
 
 Your H. 
 
 TO MRS. ROBERT EMMONS. 
 
 ^ ^-. The Palace, Ely, Oct. 3, 1900. 
 
 Dear M: > » » 
 
 You see where I am, and I only wish you could 
 look out of my window and see this glorious old 
 cathedral pile, which might well take your breath 
 away. It is gorgeous. Of course I expected great 
 things, but what I see is beyond expectation. Lady 
 Alwyne and I came on Saturday from Castle Ashby, 
 whither I return next Saturday. She, having every 
 place of interest in England at her fingers' ends, 
 
 *0f Austria.
 
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 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 34-9 
 
 pointed out, as we came along, Fotheringay (where 
 Mary Stuart was beheaded), and having to wait at 
 Peterboro' for the Ely train, we visited the cathedral, 
 which I thought splendid till I saw Ely. Arrived at 
 Ely and having got a view of the outside of the 
 cathedral, we had tea in the garden, in sight of the 
 wondrous plane tree, where my Lord Bishop * joined 
 us from London, and then we went inside the 
 cathedral. 
 
 But the chief impression on my mind will always 
 be connected with the service yesterday morning, it 
 being, too, the first time I ever attended a full cathe- 
 dral service. Being a guest of my Lord Bishop, I 
 had a seat in the choir (not, however, on account of 
 any assistance I could render the vocal part of the 
 service) ! but, as you know, from inside the screen 
 (a seat of honor) I could see everything, and hear 
 too, and thought I had never seen anything so fine. 
 And who do you think preached the sermon? Canon 
 Stanton, whom I knew years ago in Italy. He came 
 to the Palace afterward to tea, and we talked over 
 dear old Rome. How circles meet, sooner or later! 
 
 5th., 
 Yesterday both my Lord Bishop and Lady Alwjaie 
 took me over the cathedral, which is 1040 j^ears old. 
 They pointed out all the objects of interest, which are 
 many, and more discovered under their guidance. 
 Then the palace is almost as interesting as the cathe- 
 dral itself. One of the circular staircases, three feet 
 wide, is all worn away, by feet which have been 
 travelling it for centuries. On Monday we went over 
 to Cambridge, which is, as you know, full of archi- 
 tectural wonders. Then to tea with one of the liigh 
 dignitaries, and had a most deliglitful afternoon. 
 How splendid the old chapels are! . . . 
 
 Yours, H. 
 
 * The Right Rev. Lord Alwyne Compton, Bishop of Ely.
 
 350 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 After Miss Hosmer's death Lady Alwyne Compton 
 wrote : 
 
 St. Martin's House, Canterbury, 
 
 Dear Mrs. Carr: ' ' 
 
 It was about 1860 that Hatty first made the 
 acquaintance of my sister-in-law. Lady Marian Al- 
 ford, who soon loved her with an affection that grew 
 and spread to all the family. Lady M. came with her 
 great love of all that was beautiful, and her overflow- 
 ing sj^mpathy, just when Hatty most needed it. 
 
 She might have become rather defiant and too 
 eccentric among those who did not thoroughly under- 
 stand her. Lord Alwyne and I were in Rome with 
 Lady Marian, during the winter of 1861, and saw 
 Hatty every day. It was the winter of the siege of 
 Gaeta, and when it fell, and the King and Queen of 
 Naples took refuge in Rome, Hatty was fascinated 
 by the grace and beauty of the Queen, and afterwards 
 made a statue of her in her Austrian military cloak. 
 When Rome became the capital their Majesties went 
 to Paris to live. 
 
 I enclose one of Hatty's bits of fun; they always 
 came so spontaneously. . . . 
 
 Yours, sincerely, 
 
 Florence Compton. 
 
 After the visit to Ely these lines were written to 
 Lady Alwyne Compton, of whom the artist had bor- 
 rowed four postage stamjis:
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 
 
 351 
 
 Alas! I've justly earned a name 
 Which most the honest dread, 
 
 Four times convicted to my shame, 
 Under a separate head. 
 
 m^f^- 
 
 
 With others' goods and chattels, I 
 
 Feloniously decamped, 
 And by that act, cannot deny. 
 
 My character is stamped. 
 
 4^7w^^rt8^rrr/ 
 
 But what is worse, from near and far 
 The fatal truth is spread; 
 
 Such things stick fast to one, and are 
 As soon as published read.
 
 352 
 
 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 But yet the little I can do, 
 I haste to do, my friend. 
 
 For fourpence I received from you, 
 And four puns here I send. 
 
 ■^t \ '..*-%.'- <^'A-'V. » , .*. 
 
 Again Miss Hosmer returned to Italy for a short 
 time and wrote: 
 
 TO MRS. CARR. 
 
 Dear C: 
 
 Rome, Feb. 3, 1901. 
 
 I do believe you even enjoyed your " very stormy 
 passage," (to Cuba), well some folks are made for 
 the sea, otherwise what is the sea made for? Altho' 
 we are pretty quiet here, a good deal has been hap- 
 pening in other parts of the world, particularly at 
 the Isle of Wight. Think of the dear old Queen 
 being gone and Edward VII instead! But in how 
 short a time will all this seem natural enough. I be- 
 lieve he will make a good king because he has got 
 two of my statues! 
 
 I was lost in admiration of you, that you were 
 able to write on that boat. I can see you in the 
 spirit world with a halo of pens around your brow. 
 But writing up there in the clouds wouldn't be half so 
 effective to my mind, or half so difficult, for you could 
 always pick a quill out of your wings and it would fly 
 of itself. I shall ever remember that boat-letter as an 
 episode of the nineteenth century! . . .
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 353 
 
 The last paragraph that I have seen about art in 
 our country says that a duty of 25 per cent, is to be 
 put upon " paintings, statuary, and bologna sausages." 
 Phidias was lucky to have lived and died when he did. 
 
 Your H. 
 
 Later, in writing from England, she says: 
 
 ■Q^^^ Q, Melchet Court, Oct. 1901. 
 
 . . . We have had a delightful visitor here. Lady 
 Portsmouth. Since her widowhood she farms it, and 
 has invited me to take a hand. I told her if I had 
 to lead my life over again, I would be a farmer. 
 She said if she had to lead her life over again, she 
 would be a sculptor. So you see each one thinks the 
 other's profession the best. 
 
 H. 
 
 j^p y r. Melchet Court, June 16, 1902. 
 
 I have been on a little visit to Compton Wynyates, 
 as the family were there for Whitsuntide. I shall 
 never forget how beautiful the sunshine was, one 
 afternoon in particular, when all the grass was 
 
 VCAVCv* • • • ■w"w- 
 
 Miss Hosmer passed so many happy days here 
 that this reference to Compton Wynyates will bear 
 an additional word, it being imique as a moated 
 manorhouse of the twelfth century. The name comes 
 from the vineyards formerly covering the enclosing 
 liills. While it retains many of the principal features 
 of early years, it has been restored and kept in fitting 
 condition by the present owner, tlie ISIan^uis of 
 Northampton. The quaint old pile is tucked away.
 
 354 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 among the folds of grassy, tumbling hills, which rise 
 six or seven hundred feet above it. The mansion^ 
 built in form of a quadrangle (though a singularly 
 irregular one), is of the same brick seen at Hampton 
 Court, except the gables, which are half-timbered. 
 The wood is darkened with age and the bricks and 
 mortar have grown hoary, as becomes an old fortified 
 place. The drawbridge has disappeared. The moat 
 has been partially filled and planted with flowers of 
 every hue, in most effective masses. They almost 
 encircle the smooth stretches of well-kept lawn, which 
 show up so picturesquely the dull red building. The 
 curious and wonderful chimneys are its most dis- 
 tinguishing feature, and are said to have been trans- 
 ported without a single breakage, in panniers, on the 
 backs of donkeys from the distant castle of Fulbroke. 
 
 Again Miss Hosmer met with a grievous loss, in 
 the death of her beloved friend, Louisa, Lady Ash- 
 burton. 
 
 In the London Spectator of February 7, 1903, 
 Edward Clifford wrote: 
 
 " A very remarkable personality has just passed 
 from our midst in Louisa, Lady Ashburton, a High- 
 land chieftainess of the Seaforth family. She was 
 connected by ties of close and intimate friendship 
 with Thomas Carlyle, with Robert Browning, and 
 with Edwin Landseer, who were all warmly attached 
 to her. For many years she was surrounded by the 
 most eminent and interesting people of the time, and 
 her sympathies were not only religious and philan- 
 thropic, but artistic and literary." 
 
 Nor is this a name which can be lightly passed over
 
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 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 355 
 
 by one who loves England, for not only was Lady 
 Ashburton the staunch friend and generous patron 
 of Harriet Hosmer, but she was one of London's most 
 liberal benefactors, perhaps her greatest philanthro- 
 pist among women. Among many others her chari- 
 ties at the East End have linked her name indis- 
 solubly with the Victoria and Albert Docks and the 
 welfare of their brave seamen. 
 
 Miss Hosmer once described her first meeting with 
 Lady Ashburton, thus: 
 
 " On an eventful day of the year 1867 came a lady 
 to the studio bringing a note of introduction from a 
 mutual friend. I have a distinct recollection of 
 stonily gazing at the lady when she presented her- 
 self, and of so remaining, gazing, with no thought 
 of advancing to greet her, for, as I gazed, it seemed 
 to my bewildered senses that the Ludovisi Goddess 
 in person, weary, perhaps, of the long imprisonment 
 of Art, had assumed the stature and the state of 
 mortals and stood before me. There were the same 
 square-cut and grandiose features, whose classic 
 beauty was humanized by a pair of keen, dark eyes, 
 expressive now of amused surprise; then came a 
 lovely smile, and then a rich, musical voice of inquiry, 
 arousing me to the situation. And here I may add, 
 by way of parenthesis, as greatly amused was I, but 
 less surprised, when, in after years, the lady laugh- 
 ingly characterized my deportment that day as ' most 
 peculiar.' Did no wave from the Fortunate Isles bear 
 to me a prophetic whisper of this beautiful woman? 
 No! and we talked of art, and of Rome, and of our 
 common friend, as strangers talk who meet for a 
 pleasant hour, then go their ways. 
 
 Those who at that period of her life knew Louisa,
 
 356 HARRIET HOSMER 
 
 Lady Ashburton, for she it was, then in the height 
 of her splendid beauty, will recognize the portrait. 
 Born of a great race, she looked her greatness, but 
 her chief charm lay neither in her nobility of presence 
 nor in her classic outline of feature, but in the ever 
 varying radiance of expression, which each moment 
 wrought undiscovered charms in the lovely face, as 
 sunlight playing over a flower renders it ever more 
 beautiful than before. And to those rare gifts was 
 added the perhaps still rarer one of an exquisitely 
 modulated voice, rich and musical, with every inflec- 
 tion of which the human voice is capable. Such was 
 the personality of the lady whose acquaintance I made 
 on that auspicious day, and which ripened into a 
 friendship that throughout her life knew no shadow 
 of change." 
 
 If Miss Hosmer had failures or disappointments, 
 she never knew them as such; they were only step- 
 ping-stones to greater effort, to higher attainment. 
 Certainly, too, she was one of the happiest and 
 merriest of beings. She once said: 
 
 " The other day I had a compliment paid me which 
 was as rare as flattering. Speaking of nonsense, I 
 was indulging in it and apparently was diverting 
 Mrs. Dundas, whereupon she said, ' Oh, Hatty, I wish 
 you would be buried here, it would be jolly only 
 to look at your grave.' ' Thank you,' said I, ' I 
 would rather live, though I had to be wise.' 
 
 J >> 
 
 In late years. Miss Hosmer was much given to 
 reminiscing. She delighted to recall the clever 
 and interesting people whom she had known in inti- 
 mate friendship. Those who were so fortunate as to 
 be present when she was in one of these moods, de-i
 
 LETTERS AND MEMORIES 357 
 
 lighted still more in listening to her brilliant sketches 
 of character, personality, genius, wit, and humor. 
 The last, perhaps, made the most vivid impression 
 upon her, because of her own fun-loving nature. To 
 her all life was sunshine, even the clouds were golden 
 and rose-hued, yet beneath all this lived an earnest 
 spirit and lofty determination to do her best and to 
 see only the best in others. Her grateful, loyal, and 
 generous nature drew from others of their highest, 
 making her very presence a benediction. 
 
 Lord Leighton said in one of his addresses: 
 
 " Believe me, whatever of dignity, whatever of 
 strength we have within us, will dignify and will make 
 strong the labor of our hands; whatever of noble fire 
 is in our hearts will burn also in our work; whatever 
 purity is ours will also chasten and exalt it, for as 
 we are, so our work is." 
 
 Assuredly these words were made true in the life 
 of Harriet Hosmer.
 
 APPENDICES
 
 APPENDICES 
 
 APPENDIX A. 
 
 THE BENTON STATUE. 
 
 It will be seen from the following correspondence 
 that Miss Hosmer was the artist selected to design the 
 first public monument ever erected in the State of 
 Missouri. 
 
 St. Louis, June 15, 1860. 
 
 Miss Harriet G. Hosmer, 
 
 Watertown, Mass. 
 Dear Madam: 
 
 The undersigned, in behalf of the commissioners 
 appointed by the Legislature for the erection of a 
 bronze statue, in this city, of Colonel Thomas Hart 
 Benton, have the pleasure of informing you that you 
 have been unanimously selected as the artist to execute 
 the work. 
 
 The commissioners have confidence in believing 
 that from your hands St. Louis will receive an addi- 
 tion to her objects of art which will be worthy of the 
 great statesman, worthy of the age, and worthy of 
 an American artist. 
 
 The committee trust to have the opportunity, at an 
 early day, of conferring with you in regard to the 
 details of the contract, and the manner in which the 
 subject shall be treated. INIean while they have the 
 
 361
 
 S62 APPENDICES 
 
 honor to be, with great respect, your obedient 
 
 servants, 
 
 J. B. BranTj 
 Wayman Crow^ 
 M. L. Linton, M. D., 
 
 Committee. 
 
 ^ ., Watertown, June 22, 1860. 
 
 Gentlemen: 
 
 I have had the honor to receive your letter of the 
 15th inst., informing me that the execution of the 
 bronze statue in memory of the late Col. Benton, for 
 the city of St. Louis, is entrusted to me. Such a 
 tribute to his merit would demand the best acknowl- 
 edgments of any artist, but in the present instance 
 my most cordial thanks will but insufficiently convey 
 to you a sense of the obligation under which I feel 
 you have placed me. 
 
 I have reason to be grateful to you for this distinc- 
 tion, because I am a young artist, and though I may 
 have given some evidence of skill in those of my 
 statues which are now in your city, I could scarcely 
 have hoped that their merit, whatever it may be, 
 should have inspired the citizens of St. Louis to 
 entrust me with a work whose chief characteristic 
 must be the union of great intellectual power with 
 manly strength. 
 
 .But I have also reason to be grateful to you, be- 
 cause I am a woman, and knowing what barriers must 
 in the outset oppose all womanly efforts, I am in- 
 debted to the chivalry of the West, which has first 
 overleaped them. I am not unmindful of the kind 
 indulgence with which my works have been received, 
 but I have sometimes thought that the critics might 
 be more courteous than just, remembering from what 
 hand they proceeded. Your kindness will now afford 
 me opportunity of proving to what rank I am en- 
 titled as an artist, unsheltered by the broad wings of
 
 APPENDICES 363 
 
 compassion for the sex; for this work must be, as we 
 understand the term, a manly work, and hence its 
 merit alone must be my defence against the attacks 
 of those who stand ready to resist any encroachment 
 upon their self-appropriated sphere. 
 
 I utter these sentiments only to assure you that I 
 am fully aware of the important results which to me, 
 as an artist, wait on the issue of my labors, and hence 
 that I shall spare no pains to produce a monument 
 worthy of your city, and worthy of the statesman, 
 who, though dead, still speaks to you in language 
 more eloquent and enduring than the happiest efforts, 
 in marble or bronze, of ever so cunning a work- 
 man. 
 
 It only remains for me to add, that as I shall 
 visit St. Louis before my departure for Europe, 
 farther details may then be arranged. I have the 
 honor to remain, gentlemen, 
 
 Respectfully yours, 
 
 H. G. HOSMER. 
 
 To Messrs. J. B. Brant, 
 
 Wayman Crow, 
 M. L. Linton, M. D., 
 Committee, 
 
 APPENDIX B. 
 ZENOBIA. 
 
 Perhaps the best criticism of Zenobia was printed 
 in the Atlantic Monthly, December, 1864. 
 
 " In dealing with this subject Miss Hosmer has 
 united womanly dignity and delicacy, with the best 
 qualities of the firm masculine hand. A captive 
 Queen compelled to grace tlie triumph of her con- 
 queror, forced to deck herself in her royal robes, and
 
 364. APPENDICES 
 
 to move at another's will, a Queen who has proved 
 her right to her throne by grand statesmanlike quali- 
 ties, both moral and intellectual; — this is the group of 
 ideas which Miss Hosmer wished to call up in our 
 minds. Has she not done it? Motion, but reluctant 
 motion, is expressed in the graceful limbs; a grand 
 dignity in the attitude of the broad, powerful shoul- 
 ders, and the firm column of the throat; lofty resigna- 
 tion in the bent head; while pride and sorrow struggle 
 in the knotted brow, the level eyelids, contracted 
 nostrils, and scornfully curled lip. 
 
 The fulness of the drapery, of which every fold 
 seems to have a meaning, gives a peculiar pleasure to 
 the eye. For years after Canova had opened a new 
 era in his art, the prevalent idea seemed to be that 
 sculpture and nudity were inseparably united; that 
 the chief duty of a sculptor was to model the human 
 form skilfully and gracefully. We are learning 
 something better than this, but still an American 
 going for the first time through the galleries of ancient 
 art in Europe, is apt to be surprised at the number 
 and beauty of the Greek and Roman draped statues. 
 Miss Hosmer has evidently made drapery a subject 
 of unusually careful study and the result is that 
 Zenobia's robes and mantle seem almost faultless. 
 The ornaments of the diadem and fibula, shoulder-^ 
 brooches and sandals, are kept well subordinated to 
 the whole effect; and though Aurelian's triumph must 
 be heightened by the royal jewels, the majesty of the 
 still unconquered queenly nature makes us forget 
 them. The chain, which is an element in the tragic 
 poetry of the subject, is also no more conspicuous 
 than the accessories of the best ancient statues, as in 
 the scroll of Demosthenes, Minerva's owl, or the 
 thyrsus of Bacchus. 
 
 The heroic proportions of the figure lend much 
 nobility to the grandeur of the whole, and we feel
 
 APPENDICES 365 
 
 that Miss Hosmer did well in choosing this height and 
 breadth in which to develop her thought, while she 
 has perfectly avoided the danger of making us con- 
 scious of unnatural size. And here we see the effect 
 of her great command of anatomy, the result of dili- 
 gent labor. It bears fruit in the satisfaction we feel 
 in the obvious fitness of every limb and muscle to do, 
 if it were living, what it is represented as doing; and 
 in the confidence unobserved perhaps by ourselves 
 with which the eye passes from one line to another, 
 sure of not being provoked to questionings whether 
 this is in proportion, and that in its true place. Un- 
 der all the drapery we feel that there is the well-bal- 
 anced form; while the perfect effect of rest in the 
 midst of motion, and the irresistible sense of propor- 
 tion could not come to us from anything less than the 
 most faithful anatomical truthfulness. 
 
 The unblemished perfection of the large block of 
 marble is extraordinary, for the statue is seven feet 
 high; and the purity and softness of its color is a 
 fortunate element in the beauty of the whole. 
 
 Such a work of art cannot but teach as well as de- 
 light us. It fills us with a sympathetic sense of 
 strength and quietness; and, while the soft, sweeping 
 lines and moulded loveliness of every part give pleas- 
 ure to the eye, the grand endurance and determined 
 fortitude — expressed as well in the open, placid right 
 hand, which hangs by her side, as in the clenched 
 and strained left, which lifts the mantle and clutches 
 the insulting chain, suggest only ennobling and elevat- 
 ing thoughts. 
 
 In fact, one can hardly look long at this statue (and 
 one should look long, for there is too much enshrined 
 in it to be taken in at a glance), without feeling that 
 it is surrounded by the pure, high atmosphere of real 
 art, and that we know better, after seeing it, what the 
 ideal of the sculptor is and ever should be."
 
 366 APPENDICES 
 
 In the Chicago Evening Journal of June 14th, 
 1865, in an account of the Exhibition, occurs another 
 appreciative mention of Zenobia and her' author: 
 
 " The Queen of the East gives audience, for she 
 has arisen again under the loving hands of a woman. 
 The Queen is Zenobia, and the woman is Harriet 
 Hosmer. It is of the one rather than the other, we 
 write to-day. 
 
 And we want to tell you of a delicate little New 
 England girl loved like Byron's Ada, ' sole daughter 
 of his house and heart.' Her father, a physician and 
 a wise man withal, put into her slender hand the 
 working oar, swung her up to the saddle, sent her 
 flying upon the ringing skate, taught her ' Leather 
 Stocking's science of ' sure death at long range ' — 
 all this to save the outside for the inside, that was 
 so richly worth salvation, and both sides for the glory 
 and honor of American art. This girl, the while, 
 was reading anatomy as if it were a romance, and 
 her soul somehow slipped down to the tips of her 
 restless fingers that, guiltless of ink, were working 
 out thoughts in clay. 
 
 And this delicate girl became a woman, as rich in 
 buoyant life as in genius; her bright eyes lighted with 
 hope; her hand firm, her step elastic as a fawn's, her 
 laugh as full of music as a summer morning. Before 
 us now, is the counterfeit presentment of that fine, 
 frank face. That head, with plenty of chamber-room 
 for the beautiful, and as nearly like Thorwaldsen's 
 — ' the royal Dane ' of art — as a woman's ought to 
 be, the man who began in wood and ended in marble 
 and immortality. Miss Hosmer, with all her gift of 
 soul, must have something to wreak it on. One bap- 
 tizes it in ink and is satisfied; another clothes it in 
 rainbow and is glorified; she laid her hands upon the
 
 APPENDICES 367 
 
 dumb stone, and her soul flowed out upon it, it lived 
 and had a being. 
 
 Thirteen years ago — how time runs on like a gos- 
 sip — she laid hands upon ' Hesper ' — the evening 
 star to all the world, but the morning star for her. 
 And then she went away to Rome, that city mightier 
 in its death than it had been in its life, and became 
 the pupil of that kind-hearted, genial sculptor, Gibson, 
 who always had a father's smile and blessing for an 
 art-lover. By and by, she summoned ' Puck,' and 
 that ' merry wanderer of the night ' obeyed her bid- 
 ding. It gave a promise and prophecy, both fulfilled 
 in the Zenobia that awaits admiring eyes. Miss Hos- 
 mer is a Roman now; she has devoted her life to art; 
 but her American heart beats as warmly as ever. 
 Now comes Palmyra's Queen, that graced Aurelian's 
 grand display, to march again in this, our triumph. 
 
 This daughter of New England has proudly vindi- 
 cated a woman's right to stand at the pale tombs of 
 Paria, and grandly cry: 'Bring out your dead!' 
 And so, they brought out this spotless block of the 
 marble of Carrara — a thing for the lapidary rather 
 than the stone-cutter, and worth eighteen hundred 
 dollars before a being was born out of it. She lays 
 her hands upon it; under her eye the marble shroud 
 is removed fragment by fragment, until the sleeper 
 of sixteen hundred years wakes from her long repose, 
 and stands, calm in her scorn, grand in her grief, 
 proud in her humiliation. Her left hand clutches the 
 chain, indignant, her right hangs in thoughtful re- 
 pose by her side. This is the woman's; that, the out- 
 raged Queen's. The same struggle of sorrow that 
 is almost pride, and a gentleness that is almost ten- 
 derness, are legible upon her lips. 
 
 But the heart warms to the woman rather than to 
 the queen; we regret the fallen state, but we welcome 
 her who has descended. We forget the coronet, and
 
 368 APPENDICES 
 
 the royal Armenian robes, and all the bravery of the 
 gilded and jewelled sacrifice, and accept the daughter 
 of the wandering Arab, instead of defiant majesty. 
 And herein, strangely enough, has Miss Hosmer 
 achieved a Republican triumph. She has illustrated 
 for us Burns' line: 
 
 ' The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
 The MAN'S the gold for a' that,' 
 
 and has shown us Nature in all her warmth and worth, 
 seen through the filmy veil of majesty that can be 
 brushed away like a spider's web." 
 
 APPENDIX C. 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 In designing a monument to the memory of Abra- 
 ham Lincoln, I have wished to express the idea that 
 the Temple of Fame which we rear to his memory, 
 is based upon the two great acts of his administra- 
 tion, viz. the emancipation of the slave and the preser- 
 vation of the American Union. I have, therefore, 
 placed at the four outer angles of the lower base, 
 four statues which display the progressive stages of 
 Liberation : 
 
 1st. The slave appears exposed in chains for sale. 
 
 2nd. Laboring on a plantation. 
 
 3rd. Guiding and assisting the loyal troops. 
 
 4th. Serving as a soldier of the Union. 
 
 The four bas-reliefs around the central base illus- 
 trate the principal scenes in the life of the President: 
 
 1st. His birth and early occupations as builder of 
 log cabins, rail splitter, flat-boatman and farmer.
 
 APPENDICES 369 
 
 2nd. His career as a Lawyer and his inauguration 
 as President of the United States. 
 
 3rd. Four memorable events of the war, and 
 
 4th. The assassination of the President: the funeral 
 procession and final interment at Springfield. 
 
 Above these bas-reliefs appears an octagonal plinth, 
 surmounted by the national arms and bearing the 
 inscription 
 
 Abraham Lincoln 
 Martyr President of the United States 
 Emancipator of four millions of men 
 Preserver of the American Union. 
 
 These inscriptions being supplemented by mourn- 
 ing Victories stricken down at the moment of pro- 
 claiming their triumph. Upon this octagonal plinth 
 rests a circular base, which forms the immediate base 
 of the Temple, and which contains a bas-relief rep- 
 resenting thirty-six female figures, hand in hand, sym- 
 bolical of the union of the thirty-six states. When 
 executed in full proportions, each would represent the 
 peculiar character of that state whose shield accom- 
 panies the medallion above. Upon the circular base 
 rise the eight columns of the Temple, in the centre of 
 which is placed a Sarcophagus bearing a recumbent 
 figure of the President, while upon the architrave of 
 the Temple are inscribed the concluding words of the 
 Proclamation of Emancipation: 
 
 " And upon this, sincerely believed to be an act of 
 justice, I invoke the considerate judgment of man- 
 kind and the gracious favor of Almighty God."
 
 370 APPENDICES 
 
 APPENDIX D. 
 THE PROCESS OF SCULPTURE. 
 
 By Harriet Hosmer. 
 
 I have heard so much lately, about artists who do 
 not do their own work, that I feel disposed to raise 
 the veil upon the mysteries of the studio, and enable 
 those who are interested in the subject to form a just 
 conception of the amount of assistance to which a, 
 sculptor is fairly entitled, as well as to correct the 
 false but very general impression, that the artist 
 beginning with the crude block, and guided by his 
 imagination only, hews out his statue with his own 
 hands. 
 
 So far from this being the case, the first labor of the 
 sculptor is upon a small clay model, in which he care- 
 fully studies the composition of his statue, the pro- 
 portions, and the general arrangement of the drapery, 
 without regard to very careful finish of parts. This 
 being accomplished, and the small model cast in plas- 
 ter, he employs some one to enlarge his work to any 
 size which he may require; and this is done by scale, 
 and with almost as much precision as the full-size and 
 perfectly finished model is afterwards copied in 
 marble. 
 
 The first step in this process is to form a skeleton 
 of iron, the size and strength of the iron rods corre- 
 sponding to the size of the figure to be modelled; and 
 here, not only strong hands and arms are requisite, 
 but the blacksmith with his forge, many of the irons 
 requiring to be heated and bent upon the anvil to 
 the desired angle. This solid framework being pre- 
 pared, and the various irons of which it is composed 
 firmly wired and welded together, the next thing is 
 to hang thereon a series of crosses, often several hun-
 
 APPENDICES 371 
 
 dred in number, formed by two bits of wood, two 
 or three inches in length, fastened together by wire, 
 one end of which is attached to the framework. All 
 this is necessary for the support of the clay, which 
 would otherwise fall by its own weight. (I speak here 
 of Roman clay, — the clay obtained in many parts 
 of England and America being more properly pot- 
 ter's clay, and consequently more tenacious.) The 
 clay is then pressed firmly around and upon the irons 
 and crosses with strong hands and a wooden mallet, 
 until, from a clumsy and shapeless mass, it acquires 
 some resemblance to the human form. When the clay 
 is properly prepared, and the work advanced as far 
 as the artist desires, his own work is resumed, and 
 he then laboriously studies every part, corrects his 
 ideal by comparison with living models, copies his 
 drapery from actual drapery arranged upon the lay- 
 figure, and gives to his statue the last refinement of 
 beauty. 
 
 It will thus be seen that there is an intermediate 
 stage, even in the clay, when the work passes com- 
 pletely out of the sculptor's hands and is carried for- 
 ward by his assistant, — the work on which the latter 
 is employed, however, obviously requiring not the 
 least exercise of creative power, which is essentially 
 the attribute of the artist. To perform the part 
 assigned him, it is not necessary that the assistant 
 should be a man of imagination or refined taste, — it 
 is sufficient that he have simply the skill, with the 
 aid of accurate measurements, to construct the frame- 
 work of iron and to copy the small model before him. 
 But in originating that small model, when the artist 
 had nothing to work from but the image existing in 
 his own brain, imagination, refined feeling, and a 
 sense of grace were essential, and were called into 
 constant exercise. So, again, when the clay model 
 returns into the sculptor's hands, and the work ap^
 
 372 APPENDICES 
 
 proaches completion, often after the labor of many 
 months, it is he alone who infuses into the clay that 
 refinement and individuality of beauty which con- 
 stitute his ' style,' and which are the test of the 
 greater or less degree of refinement of his mind, as 
 the force and originality of the conception are the 
 test of his intellectual power. 
 
 The clay model having at last been rendered as 
 perfect as possible, the sculptor's work upon the 
 statue is virtually ended; for it is then cast in plaster 
 and given into the hands of the marble-workers, bj'^ 
 whom, almost entirely, it is completed, the sculptor 
 merely directing and correcting the work as it pro- 
 ceeds. This disclosure, I am aware, will shock the 
 many, who often ingeniously discover traces of the 
 sculptor's hand where they do not exist. It is true, 
 that in some cases, the finishing touches are intro- 
 duced by the artist himself; but I suspect that few 
 who have accomplished and competent workmen give 
 much of their time to the mallet or the chisel, pre- 
 ferring to occupy themselves with some new creation, 
 or considering that these implements may be more 
 advantageously wielded by those who devote them- 
 selves exclusively to their use. It is also true, that, 
 although the process of transferring the statue from 
 plaster to marble is reduced to a science so perfect 
 that to err is almost impossible, yet much depends 
 upon the workmen to whom this operation is intrusted. 
 Still, their position in the studio is a subordinate one. 
 They translate the original thought of the sculptor, 
 written in clay, into the language of marble. The 
 translator may do his work well or ill, — he may ap- 
 preciate . and preserve the delicacy of sentiment and 
 grace which were stamped upon the clay, or he may 
 render the artist's meaning coarsely and unintelligibly. 
 Then it is that the sculptor himself must reproduce 
 his ideal in the marble, and breathe into it that vitality
 
 APPENDICES 373 
 
 which, many contend, only the artist can inspire. But, 
 whether skilful or not, the relation of these workmen 
 to the artist is precisely the same as that of the mere 
 linguist to the author who, in another tongue, has 
 given to the world some striking fancy or original 
 thought. 
 
 *'iit ^ ^ -It 
 •o 1* •?» ^p 
 
 When Thorwaldsen was called upon to execute 
 his twelve statues of the Apostles, he designed and 
 furnished the small models, and gave them into the 
 hands of his pupils and assistants, by whom, almost 
 exclusively, they were copied in their present colossal 
 dimensions. The great master rarely put his own 
 hand to the clay; yet we never hear them spoken 
 of except as " Thorwaldsen's statues." When Vogel- 
 berg accepted the commission to model his colossal 
 equestrian statue of Gustavus Adolphus, physical 
 infirmity prevented the artist from even mounting 
 the scaffolding; but he made the small model, and 
 directed the several workmen employed upon the full- 
 size statue in clay, and we never heard it intimated 
 that Vogelberg was not the sculptor of that great 
 work. Even Crawford, than whom none ever pos- 
 sessed a more rapid or facile hand, could never have 
 accomplished half the immense amount of work which 
 pressed upon him in his later years, had he not had 
 more than one pair of hands to aid him in giving out- 
 ward form to the images in his fertile brain. Nay, 
 not to refer solely to artists who are no longer among 
 us, I could name manv studios, both in Rome and 
 England, belonging to our brothers in Art, in which 
 the assistant-modeller forms as necessary a part of 
 studio-" property " as the living model or the marble- 
 worker. If there are a few instances in which the 
 sculptor himself conducts his clay model through every
 
 874 APPENDICES 
 
 stage, it is iisiiallj'^ because pecuniary considerations 
 prevent his employing a professional modeller. 
 
 I do not wish it to be supposed that Thorwaldsen's 
 general practice was such as I have described in the 
 particular case referred to: probably no artist ever 
 studied or worked more carefully upon the clay model 
 than he did. What I have stated was only with the 
 view of showing to what extent he felt himself justi- 
 fied in employing assistance. 
 
 *j^ *j£, "If, *y, 
 
 *•* ^i* *!* 's* 
 
 Nor should we forget — to draw for examples upon 
 a kindred art — how largely the painters of the fif- 
 teenth and sixteenth centuries relied upon the me- 
 chanical skill of their pupils to assist them in 
 producing the great works which bear their names. 
 All the painters of note of that time, had their pupils, 
 to whom was intrusted much of the laborious portion 
 of their work, the master furnishing the design and 
 superintending its execution. Raphael, for instance, 
 could never have left one-half the treasures of Art 
 which adorn the Vatican and enrich other galleries, 
 had he depended solely upon the rapidity of his own 
 hand; and of the many frescoes which exist in the 
 Farnese Palace, and are called " Raphael's frescoes," 
 there are but two in which is to be traced the mas- 
 ter's hand, — the Galatea, and one of the compart- 
 ments in the series representing the story of Cupid 
 and Psyche. 
 
 It will thus be seen how large a portion of the 
 manual labor which is supposed to devolve entirely 
 upon the artist is, and has always been, really per- 
 formed by other hands than his own. I do not state 
 this fact in a whisper, as if it were a great disclosure 
 which involved the honor of the artist; it is no secret, 
 and there is no reason why it should be. The dis- 
 closure, it is true, will be received by all who regard
 
 APPENDICES 375 
 
 sculpture as simply a mechanical art, with a feeling 
 of disappointment. They will brand the artist who 
 cannot lay claim to the entire manipulation of his 
 statue, whether in clay or marble, as an impostor, — 
 nor will they resign the idea that the truly con- 
 scientious sculptor will carve every ornament upon 
 his sandals and polish every button upon his drapery. 
 But those who look upon sculpture as an intellectual 
 art, requiring the exercise of taste, imagination, and 
 delicate feeling, will never identify the artist who 
 conceives, composes, and completes the design with 
 the workman who simply relieves him from great 
 physical labor, however delicate some portion of that 
 labor may be. It should be a recognized fact, that 
 the sculptor is as fairly entitled to avail himself of 
 mechanical aid in the execution of his work as the 
 architect to call into requisition the services of the 
 stone-mason in the erection of his edifice, or the poet 
 to employ the printer to give his thoughts to the 
 world. Probably the sturdy mason never thinks much 
 about proportion, nor the type-setter much about 
 harmony; but the master-minds which inspire the 
 strong arm and cunning finger with motion think 
 about and study both. It is time that some distinc- 
 tion should be made between the labor of the hand 
 and the labor of the brain. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Miss Hosmer, like all true lovers of art, unceasingly 
 deplored our tariff on all art objects, and several years 
 ago, in a letter to one of our leading journals, wrote 
 deprecatory words, which are, in some degree, ap- 
 plicable perhaps now. She said: 
 
 " Despite the efforts of the great minority, all 
 praise be to it! art has been too heavily handicapped.
 
 376 APPENDICES 
 
 The causes are not far to seek. The unhealthful 
 restlessness of life, the love of sensation, the lack of 
 serenity, the too frequent seasons of political excite- 
 ment; life, in short, at highest pressure presents an 
 array of conditions which cannot but tend to render 
 the gentler arts of slow and uncertain growth. Again, 
 we are a practical people, and, so far as I can dis- 
 cover, care very little where sculpture is concerned, 
 for other than portraiture, interesting enough as his- 
 tory, but by reason of the monstrously inartistic cos- 
 tumes of our time, ungrateful as art, to the cultivated 
 taste. 
 
 Does this duty levied upon foreign art gratify our 
 own artists? ,By no means, as a body they are the 
 first to pronounce it illiberal, ungenerous, and im- 
 politic. Three times within my recollection have the 
 American artists in Rome presented petitions to Con- 
 gress praying that all tax upon foreign art be re- 
 moved. In Italy, as elsewhere abroad, art gal- 
 leries, public and private, are freely opened to us, 
 every aid and courtesy is offered us, and the cour- 
 tesy we have devised in exchange is a tax to practi- 
 cally exclude all works of foreign artists from our 
 shores. 
 
 To music, a sister art, we are far more hospitable. 
 No tax is levied upon the voices of the ' primi asso- 
 luti/ If we cared for art in other forms as we care for 
 operatic art this prohibitive duty upon canvas and 
 marble would not survive a day. 
 
 To King Humbert of Italy is due the inauguration 
 of a system which should be adopted by all nations 
 calling themselves civilized. He causes to sit in the 
 Roman Senate a given number of professional artists 
 competent to pronounce upon subjects affecting the 
 interests and decorum of art. When we have a like 
 number of competent artists sitting in our own Senate
 
 APPENDICES 377 
 
 we may hope that the official mind will be aroused 
 to the fact that our country, pioneer in many things 
 good and great, of all nations, has placed the most 
 effectual bar upon the true progress of art. 
 
 Haeeiet G. Hosmee.
 
 INDEX
 
 INDEX 
 
 African Sibyl, the, 319, 320, 321, 
 322 
 
 Alban Hills, the, 108 
 
 Alcestis, of William Story, 336 
 ^^Alford, Lady Marian, 24, 53, 88, 
 154, 179, 185, 204, 236, 23T, 246, 
 251, 265, 266, 275, 276, 277, 278, 
 294, 314; the death of, 318, 325, 
 350 
 
 Alford, Viscount, 237 
 
 Ampere, 33 
 
 Andersen, Hans, 177 
 
 Antonelli, Cardinal, 287 
 
 Appian Way, the, 112 
 
 Appleton, Mrs. Samuel, 23, 24 
 
 Apuleia, 113 
 
 Apuleius, 112 
 
 ^Ashburton, Louisa, Lady, 97, 129, 
 
 "^ 130, 131, 209, 224, 225, 232, 236, 
 
 246, 259, 265, 266, 275, 276, 277, 
 
 298, 299, 302, 311, 313, 319; the 
 
 death of, 354, 355, 356 
 
 Ashby, Castle, 325, 348 
 
 Ashridge, 235, 237-251 
 
 Assunta, 103, 104 
 
 Aurora Leigh, 65, 99 
 
 Austen, Jane, 347 
 
 Australia, Miss d', 121 
 
 Austria, the Empress of, 280, 281, 
 290, 291 
 
 Autobiography, 152 
 
 B 
 
 Ballakillrain Castle, 299 
 
 Bancroft, Mr., 199 
 
 Baring, Hon. Miss, 311 
 
 Bavaria, King of, 344 
 
 Beecher, Rev. Henry Ward, 199 
 
 Belisarius, 113 
 
 Bellosguardo, 101 
 
 Bellows, Rev. Dr. Henry and Mrs., 
 
 90, 199, 265 
 Benton, Colonel Thomas Hart, 141; 
 
 Monument of, 157, 160, 170, 180, 
 
 181, 182, 260, 261, 262 
 Bierstadt, Mr., 199 
 Blagden, Miss Isabella, 45, 48, 59, 
 
 63, 68, 93, 100, 132 
 Bloomfield, Lady, letter of, 257 
 Bliicher, von, 23 
 Bonheur, Rosa, 60, 169 
 Botta, Madame, 199 
 Boxall, Sir William, 53, 83, 280, 
 
 301; letter of, 315, 316 
 Boyle, Hon. Miss Mary, 238, 239, 
 
 245, 316 
 Brahan Castle, 313 
 Bremer, Fredrika, 3, 135 
 Brewer, Mr. Gardner, 221 
 Briggs, Lady, 346 
 Briggs, Sir Thomas Graham, 346 
 Broadlands, 312 
 Broughton, Miss Rhoda, 365 
 Brownlow, Earl, 237, 266, 311 
 Browning, Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett, 
 
 33; letter of, 47, 48, 49; letter 
 
 of, 68, 76, 94, 99, 100, 101, 105, 
 
 106, 107, 110, 114, 154, 169, 180, 
 
 245, 279 
 Browning, Penini, 45, 47, 69, 93, 
 
 120 
 Browning, Mr. Robert, 33; letter of, 
 
 44, 49, 50; letter of, 58; letter 
 
 of, 63; letter of, 79; letter of, 
 
 93, 95, 97, 101, 114; letter of, 
 
 120, 180; "poem," 275, 276, 277, 
 
 319, 354 
 Browning, Miss Sarianna, 275, 276, 
 
 277 
 Brownings, the, 32, 48, 92, 94, 322, 
 
 323 
 Bryant, Mr. William CuUen, 53, 
 
 199 
 Buckingham, Duchess of, 236, 237 
 Buckingham, Duke of, 237 
 Billow, von, 24 
 
 Bunker Hill, the Ghost of, 239 
 Butler, Mr. Pierce, 21 
 Butler, Miss Sarah, 51, 71 
 
 381
 
 382 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Cacciatore, the, 71 
 
 Camillo, 168 
 
 Campagna, the, 33, 42, 110, 113, 
 
 114, 140, 170, 183, 324, 336 
 Campidoglio Faun, the, 310 
 Canova, 21, 22, 150 
 Cardwell, Mr. and Mrs., 53, 84, 88 
 Caretta drive, the, 101 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 60, 100, 190, 309, 
 _354 
 
 ^larr, Harriet Hosmer, 54, 62, 63, 
 T35 
 
 Cartwright, Mr,, 81 
 Casa Guidi, 99, 101 
 Cass, Mrs., Bust of, 46 
 Cavour, Count, 178, 296, 345 
 Cenci, Beatrice, Statue of, 40, 53, 
 
 69, 76, 78, 80, 82, 84, 85, 87, 90, 
 
 140, 278 
 Child, Mr. Francis J., 3 
 Child, Mrs. Lydia Maria, 13, 15; 
 
 letter of, 126; letter of, 145; let- 
 ter of, 161, 191 
 Childs, Mr. and Mrs. George, 13, 
 
 15, 270 
 Church, Mr., 199 
 Clarendon, iLord, 67 
 Clasped Hands of Mr. and Mrs. 
 
 Browning, the, 92 
 Claudian Aqueduct, the, 108 
 Clemens, Samuel L, (" Mark 
 
 Twain"), 9 
 Cleveland, Duchess of, 234 
 Clifford, Mr. Edward, 354 
 Clift, Mr., 78 
 .,<;obbe. Miss Frances Power, 189, 
 
 231, 336 
 Coleridge, Sir John, 316 
 CoUyer, Rev. Dr. Robert, 221 
 Columbus, 329-342 
 Compton, Lady Alwyne, 233; letter 
 
 of, 294, 296, 324, 348, 349, 350 
 Compton Wynyates, 353 
 Cork, Earl of, 245 
 Corkham, Miss Alice, 341 
 Coulin, 266 
 
 Cowper-Temple, Mr., 312 
 Cranford, 98 
 Crawford, Thomas, 23, 53, 72, 88, 
 
 193 
 Crimean War, the, 34, 52, 160, 343 
 Crow, Mr. Wayman, 3, 8, 23, 25, 39, 
 
 184, 199; letter of, 260, 264; the 
 
 death of, 317 
 
 Curtis, Mr. William, 165 
 ^ushman, Miss Charlotte, 16, 17, 23, 
 53, 62, 71, 78, 83, 143, 144, 152, 
 158, 184, 187, 188, 209, 211, 224, 
 259, 267, 279; death of, 306 
 
 Cushman, Mr. Edwin C, 256, 259 
 
 D 
 
 Daphne, the bust of, 26, 27, 30, 33, 
 
 41, 42 
 Dent's, Mrs., Bonnet, 207 
 Devonshire, Duke of, 39 
 Dickens, Mr. Charles, 66 
 Doyle, Mr., 208 
 Drumraond, the Messrs., 130, 131 
 Dryads, the death of the, 224 
 y'^undas. Miss Anne, 73, 116, 169, 
 182, 185, 267; letter of, 342 
 Dundas, Mrs., 356 
 Durant, Miss, 173 
 
 E 
 
 Eastlake, Lady, letter of, 157, 186, 
 
 216; letter of, 316 
 Eastlake, Sir Charles, 72, 73, 79, 
 
 84, 88, 158, 209 
 Edward VII, King, 352 
 Elgin Marbles, the, 333 
 Eliot, Rev. Dr. William G., 264 
 Ellis, General, 343 
 Ely, the Lord Bishop of, 325, 349, 
 
 350 
 Ely Cathedral, 349 
 Emerson, Mr, Ralph Waldo, 3, 162 
 Emmons, Mrs. Robert W., 348 
 Emmons, Mr. Robert W., 199 
 Everett, Mr. Edward, 163 
 Exhibition, Dublin, 213 
 Exhibition, London, 40 
 Exposition, Paris, 226 
 
 F 
 
 Falconnet, Madame, 115, 140 
 Falconnet, Mile. Julie, 115 
 Falconnet Monument, the, 115 
 Farragut, Admiral, 259 
 Faun, the Sleeping, 207, 208, 209, 
 
 210, 213, 223, 226, 227, 258, 259, 
 
 279, 327, 343 
 Faun, the Waking, 220, 221, 223, 259 
 Flush-my-dog, 48 
 Forster, Mr. John, letter of, 301 
 Frederick, the Empress, 343 
 Fremont, General John C, 260, 261
 
 INDEX 
 
 383 
 
 Fremont, Mrs. Jessie Benton, 260, 
 
 261, 262 
 French, Mr. Daniel, 332 
 Fountain of Hylas and the water 
 
 nymphs, 123, *170 
 Fountain of the Mermaid's Cradle, 
 
 326, 327 
 Fountain of the Siren, 178, 183, 
 
 211, 318 
 
 G 
 
 Garibaldi, 296, 345 
 
 Garrison, Mr. William Lloyd, 162 
 
 Gaskell, Mrs., 98 
 
 Gibbon, 259 
 
 Gibson, Mr. John, 21, 22, 23, 24, 
 25, 26, 27, 35, 39, 41, 46, 53, 58, 
 67, 71, 72, 80; letter of, 87; letter 
 of, 89, 94, 116, 117, 121; letter of, 
 131; letter of, 133, 137, 140, 150, 
 151, 153, 160, 162, 166, 167, 168, 
 169, 171; letter of, 181, 182, 184, 
 187, 188, 193, 210; the death of, 
 216, 217, 262, 265, 311 
 
 GiflFord, Mr., 199 
 
 Giovanni, the story of, 111 
 
 Girolomo, 101 
 
 Gladiator, the Dying, 310, 333 
 
 Gladiator, the Fighting, 310, 333 
 
 Gladstone, the Hon. William E., 53, 
 129; letter of, 227 
 -^Greenwood, Miss Grace, 23 
 
 Grey, Mr. Henry Peters, 199 
 
 Griswold, Mr. Almon, 199, 202 
 
 Guinness, Sir Benjamin, 208, 209 
 
 H 
 
 Hamilton, Duke of, 123 
 Hands, the clasped, 92 
 Hannibal, the battleground of, 74 
 Hare, Mr. Augustus, 326 
 Hawthorne, Mr. Nathaniel, 3, 53, 
 
 92, 156, 159, 210, 217 
 Hay, Mr. Robert, 88, 167, 182 
 -^ayes. Miss Matilda, 16-17, 18, 23, 
 
 59; letter of, 69 
 Head, Mr. and Mrs., 84 
 Herberts, the, 311 
 Hercules, 78, 206 
 Hercules, the Farnese, 74 
 Hesper, the bust of, 15, 18, 21 
 Hesse, Duke of, 344 
 Hesse, Princess Alice of, 344 
 Hillard, Mr. George, 198, 199 
 Holbein, 312 
 
 Holland, the Queen of, 122, 307, 
 
 345 
 Holland, Sir W., 84 
 Hood's Bridge of Sighs, 214 
 Hooker, Mr., 149, 259 
 Hooper, Mr. Samuel, 72 
 Hope, Mr., 39 
 Hosmer, Dr. Hiram, 1; letter of, 
 
 7, 16, 22, 28, 34, 155; death of, 
 
 183 
 Hosmer, Mount, 11, 12 
 Houghton, Lord, 53, 313 
 Houghton, Rev. Mr., letter of, 12 
 Humboldt, Alexander von, 24, 125 
 Hunt, Mr. Holman, 161, 175 
 Huntington, Rev, Dr., 199 
 
 Ironmonger, Miss, 67 
 Isabella, Queen, of Castile, 328, 329, 
 330, 342 
 
 Jameson, Mrs. Anna, 53, 80, 92, 93, 
 94, 97, 101, 102, 104, 105, 106, 
 107, 121, 123; letter of, 149; death 
 of, 158 
 
 Jameson's, Mrs., Legendary Art, 96 
 
 Johnson, Mr. Eastman, 199 
 
 Jones, Inigo, 233, 312 
 
 Kerable, Mr. Charles, 52 
 
 Kemble, Mrs. Frances Anne, 3, 4, 6, 
 21, 23, 25, 26; letter of, 27, 32, 
 33, 41; letter of, 50, 71, 115, 135; 
 letter of, 137, 138, 139, 164, 184, 
 204, 205; letter of, 212, 279-288 
 
 King, Rev. Starr, 331 
 
 Krout, Miss M. H., 345 
 
 Laboucheres, the, 84 
 
 Lady of the Lake, the, 313 
 
 Lanib, Mr. Charles, 300 
 
 Landscer, Sir Edwin, 354 
 
 Laocoon, the, 310 
 
 Lavard, Sir Henry, 53; letter of, 
 
 136; letter of, 159; letter of, 172, 
 
 184, 226; letter of, 227 
 Leighton, Sir Frederick, 47, 60, 64, 
 
 66, 67, 77, 81, 107, 336, 337, 338, 
 
 339, 340, 341, 342, 357 
 Lenox, 2, 3, 4, 8, 35
 
 384? 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Ldncoln, Abraham, Monument to, 
 
 226, 227, 265, 318, 319, 320, 
 
 321 
 Lloyd, Miss Mary, 188, 189, 216, 
 
 231, 279 
 Loch Luichart, 313 
 Locker, Lady Charlotte, 53 
 London, the Bishop of, 84 
 Longfellow, Mr. Henry W., 53, 270, 
 
 280, 347 
 Lowell, Mr. James Russell, 95, 162, 
 
 347 
 Ludwig I, King of Bavaria, 109, 
 
 272, 273, 345 
 Ludwig II, King of Bavaria, 272, 
 
 273 
 Lyell, Lady, 169 
 Lyons, Lord, 33, 67, 161, 163, 212, 
 
 314 
 Lytton, Sir Edward Bulwer, 93 
 
 M 
 
 Mainwaring, Mr., 131 
 
 Margharita, the Princess, 302 
 
 Mary, the Princess, 246 
 
 Maximilian, 227, 345 
 
 Mazzini, 18 
 
 McDowell, Dr. J. N., 8, 12; letter 
 
 of, 19, 20, 21, 23, S3; letter of, 
 
 125 
 Mackenzie, Mrs. Stewart, 313 
 Mead, Dr. Julian, 15 
 Mead, Mr. Larkin G., 227 
 Medusa, the bust of, 24, 33, 185, 
 
 222 
 Melchet Court, 225, 237, 298, 300, 
 
 313, 327, 353 
 Mercury, the, 310 
 Mercury, the, of Florence, 74 
 Michael Angelo, 15, 327, 334 
 Millmore, Mr., 332 
 Missouri Ruffian, 162 
 Morgan, Mr. and Mrs., 204, 205 
 Morley, Lady, 84 
 Morpheus, 74 
 Mosier, Mr., 23 
 Motley, Mr., 257 
 MuUer, Herr, 296 
 Murchison, Sir Roderick, 84, 275, 
 
 276, 277 
 
 N 
 
 Naples, Francis II, King of, 295, 
 306, 307, 308, 350 
 
 •Naples, Queen of, 270, 271, 273, 
 279, 280, 281, 289, 290, 295, 296, 
 297, 306, 307, 308, 325, 350 
 
 Napoleon III, Emperor, 227, 285 
 
 Neapolitan Psyche, the, 333 
 
 Nicholas, Czar, 343 
 
 Night rising with the Stars, a bas- 
 relief of, 70 
 
 Nigliarini, Professor, 120 
 
 Northampton, Marquis of, 154, 233, 
 311 
 
 Northumberland, Duke and Duchess 
 of, 132 
 
 Notre Dame, Victor Hugo's, 127 
 
 O 
 
 CEnone, the statue of, 42, 71, 72, 
 
 76, 79 
 Orsini, Princess, 225 
 Ottery Park, 316 
 
 Page, Mr. William, 28, 45, 47, 60, 
 
 65, 68, 81, 121, 162 
 Pakenham, Hooker & Company, 
 
 149 
 Palladio, 312 
 Palmer, Mrs. Potter, 199 
 Palmerston, Lord and Lady, 84, 
 
 312 
 Peabody, Miss Elizabeth, 32 
 Peabody, George, 250 
 Pembroke, Earl of, 311 
 Pembroke, Lady, 311 
 Phidias, 353 
 
 Phillips, Mr. Wendell, 162 
 Phosphor and Hesper, 70 
 Piedmont, Prince and Princess of, 
 
 289 
 Pierce, Professor Benjamin, 290 
 Plowden, Mr., 303 
 Pocahontas, 146 
 Pompeian Sentinel, 246 
 Pope Pius IX, 41, 250, 259, 283, 
 
 284, 285, 286, 287, 288, 289, 292, 
 
 297, 345 
 Portarlington, Earl of, 123 
 Portsmouth, Lady, 353 
 Powers, Mr. Hiram, 46, 160 
 Praxiteles, 23, 210, 223; the Faun 
 
 of, 333 
 Puck, the statue of, 76, 78, 79, 123, 
 
 135, 163, 278, 290, 343 
 Puns, upon, 95
 
 INDEX 
 
 385 
 
 Q 
 
 Quaire, Comtesse du, 121 
 Queen Elizabeth, 233, 234, 238 
 
 R 
 
 Raby Castle, 234, 235 
 Raphael, 150, 222, 298 
 Rauch, Christian, 24, 27 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 298, 313 
 Richmond, Mr., 303 
 Robbins, Miss Ellen, 203 
 Rocca di Papa, 109 
 Rogers, Mr. Samuel, 259 
 Rosa, the apparition of, 128 
 Rubens, 298 
 Ruskin, 60 
 
 Russell, Mr. George, 162 
 Russia, Empress of, 343 
 Russian Decorations, 343 
 
 Sabine Hills, the, 108 
 
 St. Albans, Duchess of, 24 
 
 St. Peter's, the illumination of, 70 
 
 San Andrea delle Fratte, Church 
 
 of, 115 
 Sandbach, Mr., 88, 131 
 Sartoris, Mrs. Adelaide Kemble, 23, 
 
 26, 32, 33, 41, 59, 60, 64, 67, 77, 
 
 81, 83, 121, 138; letter of, 231, 
 
 232, 233; letter of, 314, 339, 345 
 Sartoris, Mr. Edward, 52, 60, 64 
 Saul, Browning's poem of, 112 
 Saul, Statue of, by William Story, 
 
 208 
 Scheffer, Ary, 18, 66 
 Schiller, 138, 139 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 313, 325 
 Seaforth, Lord, 313 
 Sedg^vick, Miss Catherine M., 3; 
 
 letter of, 5, 90, 199 
 Sedgwick, Mr. Charles, 3 
 Sedg\vick, Mrs. Charles, 2, 40, 51, 
 
 191, 212 
 Sedgwick, Major William Dwight, 
 
 212 
 Shaw, Mr. Frank G., 162 
 Shaw, Mrs. Sarah, 162 
 Sheridan, General, 290 
 Shortall, Mr. John G., 209; letter of, 
 
 346 
 Somers, Lady, 294 
 Somerville, Mrs. Mary, 187, 189, 
 
 347 
 
 Spence, Mr., 23, 88, 134, 135 
 
 Staghound, the, 291 
 
 Stanton, Canon, 349 
 
 Stebbins ^_ ^iss Emin a, 144, 187 
 
 Storys, the, 53, 123' 
 
 Story, Miss Edith, 275, 276, 277, 
 
 303, 334 
 Story, Mr. William Wetmore, 96, 
 
 193, 245, 250, 275, 276, 277, 303; 
 
 letter of, 334, 335 
 Story, Mrs., 47, 275, 276, 277, 279, 
 
 302, 303 
 Stowe, Mrs. Harriet Beecher, 136, 
 
 199 
 Stuart, Mary, Queen, 349 
 Stuart-Wortleys, the, 311 
 Studio of Harriet Hosmer, 211, 278 
 Sturgess, Mr., 303 
 Sumner, Mr. Charles, letter of, 204 
 
 Tail, Archbishop, 84, 96 
 
 Tait, Mrs., 84 
 
 Talbot, Lady Adelaide, 78, 212 
 
 Talbot, Lady Constance, 78 
 
 Tenerani, the sculptor, 72 
 
 Tennyson, Mr. Alfred, his poem of 
 
 Maud, 60, 319 
 Terry, Mr., 23 
 Thackerays, the, 32, 53 
 Thackeray, Miss Annie, 232 
 Thorwaldsen, 21, 25, 39, 150, 334 
 Thrasimene, Lake of, 74 
 Titian, 298 
 
 Tor di Mezza Via, 112 
 Torso, called Michael Angelo's, 334 
 Trollopes, the, 57 
 Tschudi, Clara, 297 
 Tuckerman, Mr., 199 
 "Twain, Mark," 9, 327 
 
 v., Mr., 30, 34, 37, 53, 72 
 
 Vallombrosa, 334, 335 
 
 Vandyke, 312 
 
 Venus of Milo, 333 
 
 Victor Emmanuel, King, 283, 286, 
 
 287, 288, 289, 296 
 Victoria, H. M. Queen, 22, 246, 307, 
 
 344, 352 
 Visions, Psychic, 129 
 
 W 
 
 Waegen, 84 
 Wagner, 273, 274
 
 386 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Wales, The Prince of, 162, 163, 184, Will-o-the-Wisp, the statue of, 221, 
 
 209, 378, 343 
 Walpoles, the, 53 
 Ware, Mr. William, 193 
 Warwick, Lady, 306, 30T, 308 
 Warwick, Lord, 266, 308 
 Waterford, Lady, 79 
 Watts, Mr. George Frederick, the 
 
 frescoes of, 160 
 Wellington, the Duke of, 132, 
 
 167 
 Whittier, Mr. John G., 161, 162, 
 
 192 
 Williams, General, 84 
 Williams, Mr. Penry, 132, 134 
 
 222 
 
 Wilton House, 311, 312 
 Winged Victories, the, 24 
 
 Yeatman, Mr. James E., 262; letter 
 of, 263, 264 
 
 Zanetti, Dr., 45 
 
 Zenobia, the statue of, 119, 122, 123, 
 
 127, 140, 150, 151, 160, 184, 191, 
 
 .199, 202, 207, 278, 290 
 
 APPENDICES 
 
 Benton Statue, 362 
 Crawford, 373 
 Humbert, King, 376 
 Lincoln, 368, 369 
 
 Raphael, 374 
 
 Thorwaldsen, 373, 374 
 
 Vogelberg, 373 
 
 Zenobia, 363, 364, 365, 366, 367, 368
 
 DATE DUE 
 
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 GAYLORD 
 
 
 
 PRINTED IN U S A. 
 
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 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A A 000 246190 3 
 
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 life 
 
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