THE BARTHOLDI COLOSSUS.

By WILLIAM HOWE DOWNES.

The project of erecting a colossal statue of Liberty, which shall at once serve as a lighthouse and as a symbolic work of art, may be discussed from several different points of view. The abstract idea, as it occurred to the sculptor, Mr. Bartholdi, was noble. The colossus was to symbolize the historic friendship of the two great republics, the United States and France; it was to further symbolize the idea of freedom and fraternity which underlies the republican form of government. Lafayette and Jefferson would have been touched by the project. If we are not touched by it, it proves that we have forgotten much which it would become us to recall. Before our nation was, the democratic idea had been for many years existing and expanding among the French people; crushed again and again by tyrants, it ever rose, renewed and fresh for the irrepressible conflict. Through all their vicissitudes the people of France have upheld, unfaltering, their ideal—liberty, equality and fraternity. Our own republic exists to-day because France helped us when England sought to crush us. It is never amiss to freshen our memories as to these historic facts. The symbolism of the colossus would therefore be very fine; it would have a meaning which every one could understand. It would signify not only the amity of France and the United States, and the republican idea of brotherhood and freedom, as I have said; but it would also stand for American hospitality to the European emigrant, and Emma Lazarus has thus imagined the colossus endowed with speech:

Now, there can be no two ways of thinking among patriotic Americans as to this aspect of the Bartholdi colossus question. It must be agreed that the motive of the work is extremely grand, and that its significance would be glorious. The sculptor's project was a generous inspiration, for which he must be cordially remembered. To be sure, it may be said he is getting well advertised; that is very true, but it would be mean in us to begrudge him what personal fame he may derive from the work. To assume that the whole affair is a "job," or that it is entirely the outcome of one man's scheming egotism and desire for notoriety, is to take a deplorably low view of it; to draw unwarranted conclusions and to wrong ourselves. The money to pay for the statue—about $250,000—was raised by popular subscription in France, under the auspices of the Franco-American Union, an association of gentlemen whose membership includes such names as Laboulaye, de Lafayette, de Rochambeau, de Noailles, de Toqueville, de Witt, Martin, de Remusat. The identification of these excellent men with the project should be a sufficient guarantee of its disinterested character. The efforts made in this country to raise the money—$250,000—required to build a suitable pedestal for the statue, are a subject of every day comment, and the failure to obtain the whole amount is a matter for no small degree of chagrin.

Who and what is Mr. Bartholdi? He is a native of Colmar, in Alsace, and comes of a good stock; a pupil of the Lycee Louis-le-Grand, and of Ary Scheffer, he studied first painting then sculpture, and after a journey in the East with Gerome, established his atelier in Paris. He served in the irregular corps of Garibaldi during the war of 1870, and the following year visited the United States. It is admitted that he is a man of talent, but that he is not considered a great sculptor in his own country is equally beyond doubt. He would not be compared, for instance, with such men as Chapu, Dubois, Falguiere, Clesinger, Mercie, Fremiet, men who stand in the front rank of their profession. The list of his works is not long. It includes statues of General Rapp, Vercingetorix, Vauban, Champollion, Lafayette and Rouget de l'Isle; ideal groups entitled "Genius in the Grasp of Misery," and "the Malediction of Alsace;" busts of Messrs. Erckmann and Chatrain; single figures called "Le Vigneron," "Genie Funebre" and "Peace;" and a monument to Martin Schoengauer in the form of a fountain for the courtyard of the Colmar Museum. There may be a few others. Last, but by no means least, there is the great Lion of Belfort, his best work. This is about 91 by 52 feet in dimensions, and is carved from a block of reddish Vosges stone. It is intended to commemorate the defence of Belfort against the German army in 1870, an episode of heroic interest. The immense animal is represented as wounded but still capable of fighting, half lying, half standing, with an expression of rage and mighty defiance. It is not too much to say that Mr. Bartholdi in this case has shown a fine appreciation of the requirements of colossal sculpture. He has sacrificed all unnecessary details, and, taking a lesson from the old Egyptian stone-cutters, has presented an impressive arrangement of simple masses and unvexed surfaces which give to the composition a marvellous breadth of effect. The lion is placed in a sort of rude niche on the side of a rocky hill, which is the foundation of the fortress of Belfort. It is visible at a great distance, and is said to be strikingly noble from every point of view. The idea is not original, however well it may have been carried out, for the Lion of Lucerne by Thorwaldsen is its prototype on a smaller scale and commemorates an event of somewhat similar character. The bronze equestrian statue of Vercingetorix, the fiery Gallic chieftain, in the Clermont museum, is full of violent action. The horse is flying along with his legs in positions which set all the science of Mr. Muybridge at defiance; the man is brandishing his sword and half-turning in his saddle to shout encouragement to his followers. The whole is supported by a bit of artificial rock-work under the horse, and the body of a dead Gaul lies close beside it. In the statue of Rouget de l'Isle we see a young man striking an orator's attitude, with his right arm raised in a gesture which seems to say:

"Aux armes, citoyens / Formes vos bataillons!"

The Lafayette, in New York, is perhaps a mediocre statue, but even so, it is better than most of our statues. A Frenchman has said of it that the figure "resembles rather a young tenor hurling out his C sharp, than a hero offering his heart and sword to liberty." It represents our ancient ally extending his left hand in a gesture of greeting, while his right hand, which holds his sword, is pressed against his breast in a somewhat theatrical movement. It will be inferred that the general criticism to be made upon Mr. Bartholdi's statues is that they are violent and want repose. The Vercingetorix, the Rouget de l'Isle, the Lafayette, all have this exaggerated stress of action. They have counterbalancing features of merit, no doubt, but none of so transcendent weight that we can afford to overlook this grave defect.

The idea that great size in statues is necessarily vulgar, does not seem admissible. It would be quite as just to condemn the paintings on a colossal scale in which Tintoretto and Veronese so nobly manifested their exceptional powers. The size of a work of art per se is an indifferent matter. Mere bigness or mere littleness decides nothing. But a colossal work has its conditions of being: it must conform to certain laws. It must be executed in a large style; it must represent a grand idea; it must possess dignity and strength; it must convey the idea of power and majesty; it must be located in a place where its surroundings shall augment instead of detracting from its aspect of grandeur; it must be magnificent, for if not it will be ridiculous. The engravings of Mr. Bartholdi's statue represent a woman clad in a peplum and tunic which fall in ample folds from waist and shoulder to her feet. The left foot, a trifle advanced supports the main weight of the body. The right arm is uplifted in a vigorous movement and holds aloft a blazing torch. The left hand grasps a tablet on which the date of the Declaration of Independence appears; this is held rather close to the body and at a slight angle from it. The head is that of a handsome, proud and brave woman. It is crowned by a diadem. The arrangement of the draperies is, if one may judge from the pictures, a feature of especial excellence in the design. There is merit in the disposition of the peplum or that portion of the draperies flung back over the left shoulder, the folds of which hang obliquely (from the left shoulder to the right side of the waist and thence downward almost to the right knee,) thus breaking up the monotony of the perpendicular lines formed by the folds of the tunic beneath. The movement of the uplifted right arm is characterized by a certain elan which, however, does not suggest violence; the carriage of the head is dignified, and so far as one may judge from a variety of prints, the face is fine in its proportions and expression. I do not find the movement of the uplifted arm violent, and, on the whole, am inclined to believe the composition a very good one in its main features. There will be an undeniable heaviness in the great masses of drapery, especially as seen from behind, but the illusion as to the size of the figure created by its elevation on a pedestal and foundation nearly twice as high as itself may do much towards obviating this objection. The background of the figure will be the

The island is far enough removed from the city so that no direct comparisons can be made between the statue and any buildings. Seen from the deck of a steamer at a distance say of a quarter of a mile, the horizon, formed by the roofs, towers, spires and chimneys of three cities, will not appear higher than the lower half of the pedestal. In other words the statue will neither be dwarfed nor magnified by the contiguity of any discordant objects. It will stand alone. The abstract idea, as has been said, is noble. The plan of utilizing the statue as a lighthouse at night does not detract from its worth in this respect; it may be said to even emphasize the allegorial sense of the work. "Liberty enlightening the world," lights the way of the sailor in the crowded harbor of the second commercial city of the world. The very magnitude of the work typifies, after a manner, the vast extent of our country, and the audacity of the scheme is not inappropriate in the place where it is to stand. It may be, indeed, that when the statue is set up, we shall find it awkward and offensive, as some critics have already prophecied: but that it must be so inevitably does not appear to me to be a logical deduction from the information we have at hand as to the artist and his plans. It is freely admitted that no modern work of this nature has been successful, but that does not prove that this must absolutely be a failure. The project ought not to be condemned in advance because of the great difficulties surrounding it, its unequalled scope and its novelty. Mr. Bartholdi is above all ingenious, bold, and fertile in resources; it would be a great pity not to have him allowed every opportunity to carry out a design in which, as we have seen, there are so many elements of interest and even of grandeur. It has been said that "there does not exist on French soil such a bombastic work as this will be." Very well; admitting for the sake of argument that it will be bombastic, shall we reject and condemn a colossal statue before having seen it, because there is nothing like it in France? And is it true that it will be bomastic? That is by no means demonstrated. On the contrary an impartial examination of the design would show that the work has been seriously conceived and thought out; that it does not lack dignity; that it is intended to be full of spirit and significance. It would be the part of wisdom at least to avoid dogmatism in an advance judgment as to its worth as a work of art, and to wait awhile before pronouncing a final verdict.