International studio (26.1905)

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Nations, as his Indian figures in 21?e DeafA o/
Ggweraf IFof/e and T'Ag Freafy a/ feim testify. Art
like the poor is with us always. Its mission, though
it cross the seas and leave it behind, is never far to
seek. But its opportunity, the call of a conscious
popular need that would keep it at home at its
proper appointed task, too often delays. And in
some aspects, sculpture, of all the arts, seems in
such a civilization as ours to-day to suffer longest
from the hardness of the general heart.
The Athenians in their sculpture were much
indebted to Pallas Athene, without taking into
account the orthodox Greek view of her functions
as an Olympian patron of the arts. A Greek town
of good repute and importance had, if no more
than in token of a civic self respect, its statue of
Zeus. What Christian town, to put it baldly,
boasts a statue of God? We crossed the seas in
great part for the purpose of worshipping after our
own sweet will, and that did not embrace repre-
sentation in the round. Doubtless the Greeks were
a long time clearing their wild-
erness, and their art did not
come like lightning out of a
clear sky. For all that, had
they Settled the New World
they would not in putting up
their meeting houses have kept
them of set purpose unad-
orned.
When gods go, to invert
the poet, the half gods arrive.
Statues of public characters
are the next best thing, al-
ways an available resource, as
enough history always ex-
tends back behind the mo-
ment. All that is really
necessary is the city. When
the shrine is lost, statues dis-
appear from lonely roads in
the open country. Our rec-
ord for statues is a long one.
From the equestrian figure at
Bowling Green, New York,
which disappeared only to
pass down in history in a
molten condition, to the beau-
tiful group at the Plaza, we
have, for example, been much
inclined to the man on horse-
back. Since the war with the
Confederacy we have pro-
duced almost an army corps

of militiamen, stationed like St. Simeon Stylites, on
the lofty column. And in Central Park, not to
stray out of town, one can hardly see the woods
for the statues.
One of the New York clubs that diverts itself
every year with an amateur play, added a new
horror, not long ago, to one's dreams of mediocre
sculptural commemoration. A character along
Broadway, an old dame who, plying the custom of
smokers, goes by the name of "Matches Mary,"
had discovered, so the stage made plain, an unsus-
pected quality in her merchandise. By lighting one
of her matches under the nose of a bronze figure
she could endue it with life. It was disclosed that
Matches Mary had conceived a passion for a cer-
tain dignitary whom the city has for long years kept
on his pedestal. She would have him down for
converse at desolate hours of night; and she
extended her temporary gift of life to the two black-
smiths who hammer out the hours on the FfcraM
bell, and who proved on nearer acquaintance to be


VASE FOR THE CITY OF BUFFALO BY J. E. FRASER

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