Women artists in all ages and countries

by E. F. Ellet

HARRIET HOSMER.

In the Via Fontanella at Rome—a street close upon the beautiful Piazza del Popolo, and running at a right angle from the Babuino to the Corso, a few steps out of the Babuino on the left—is a large, rough, worm-eaten door, which has evidently seen good service, and from the appearance of which no casual and uninitiated passer-by would suspect the treasures of art it conceals and protects. A small piece of whip-cord, with a knot as handle, issues from a perforated hole, by means of which—a small bell being set in motion—access is gained to the studio of England’s greatest living master of sculpture, John Gibson.

The threshold crossed, the visitor finds himself at once in the midst of this artist’s numerous works. In a large barn-like shed, with a floor of earth, on pedestals of various materials, shapes, and sizes, stand the beautiful Cupid and Butterfly, the wounded Amazon, Paris and Proserpine gathering flowers, the charming groups of Psyche borne by the Zephyrs, of Hylas and the Water Nymphs, and the noble basso-relievo of Phaeton and the Hours leading forth the horses of the Sun, with, perhaps, a bust or figure in progress by the workman whose duty it is to keep the studio and attend to the numerous visitors. Facing the door of entry just described is its counterpart, opening into a fairy-like square plot of garden, filled with orange and lemon trees and roses, and, in the spring, fragrant with violets blue and white, Cape jasmine, and lilies of the valley; while, in a shady recess, and fern-grown nook trickles a perpetual fountain of crystal-clear water. The sun floods this tiny garden with his golden light, flecking the trellised walks with broken shadows, and wooing his way, royal and irresistible lover as he is, to the humbler floral divinities of the place, sheltered beneath their own green leaves, or in the superb shade of the acanthus. Lovely is the effect of this rich glow of sunlight as one stands in the shade of the studio, perfumed with the sweet blossoms of the South; lovely the aspect both of nature and of art, into the presence of which we are so suddenly and unexpectedly ushered from the ugly, dirty street without. Having gazed our fill here, we step into the garden, and, turning to the right, if we be favored visitors, friends, or the friends of friends, we are next ushered into the sanctum of the master himself, whom we shall probably find engaged in modeling, and from whom we shall certainly receive a kind and genial welcome, granting always that we have some claim for our intrusion upon his privacy.

This room, long and narrow, is boarded, and has some pretensions to comfort; but throughout the whole range of studios the absence of care and attention will strike the eye, more especially as it is the present fashion in Rome to render the studios both of painter and sculptor as comfortable and habitable as possible. From Mr. Gibson’s own room we are taken into another rough shed, where the process of transformation from plaster to marble is carried on, and where frequent visitors can not fail to discover the vast difference which exists in skill and natural aptitude among the numerous workmen employed.

As the different processes of sculpture are but little known, it may not be out of place here to throw some light upon them. The artist himself models the figure, bust, or group, whatever it may be, in clay, spending all his skill, time, and labor on this first stage. When complete—and many months, sometimes even years of unwearied study are given to the task—a plaster cast is taken from the clay figure, from which cast the workmen put the subject into marble, the artist superintending it, and reserving to himself the more delicate task of finishing. Thorwaldsen, speaking of these processes, says, “that the clay model may be called creation, the plaster cast death, and the marble resurrection.” Certain it is that the clay model and the marble statue, when each has received the finishing stroke, are more closely allied, more nearly identical, one with the other, than either is with the plaster cast. So alive are sculptors to the fact of the injury done to their works by being seen in plaster casts, that they bestow great pains in working them over by hand to restore something of the fineness and sharpness which the process of modeling has destroyed. So impressed with this is Powers, the American sculptor, that, with the ingenuity and inventive skill of his country, he has succeeded in making a plaster hard almost as marble, and which bears with equal impunity the file, chisel, and polisher.

There are in Rome workmen devoted to the production of certain portions of the figure, draped or undraped; for instance, one man is distinguished for his ability in working the hair, and confines himself to this specialty; while another is famous for his method of rendering the quality of flesh, and a third is unequaled in drapery. Very rarely does it happen that the artist is lucky enough to find all these qualities combined in one man, but it does occasionally happen; and Mr. Gibson is himself fortunate in the possession of a workman whose skill and manipulative power, in all departments, are of the highest order. A Roman by birth, the handsome and highly organized Camillo, with his slight figure, and delicate, almost effeminate hands, is a master of the mallet and chisel, and, from the head to the foot, renders and interprets his model with artistic power and feeling. The man loves his work, and the work repays his love, as when does it not, from the sublime labors of genius to the humblest vocation of street or alley?

To return from our digression; leaving the workroom, we cross one side of the small garden, and by just such another rough door as the two we have already passed through in the first studio, we enter another capacious, barn-like apartment, the centre of which is occupied by the colored Venus, so dear to Mr. Gibson’s heart that, though executed to order, year after year passes on, and he can not make up his mind to part with it. Ranged around the walls of this capacious studio are casts of the Hunter, one of the earliest and most vigorous of Mr. Gibson’s works; of the Queen, of the colossal group in the House of Lords, and sundry others. Having inspected these at our leisure, and viewed the Venus from the most approved point, probably under the eye of the master, who never tires of expatiating on the great knowledge of the ancients in coloring their statues, a curtain across the left-hand corner of the studio is lifted, and the attendant inquires if “la signorina” will receive visitors. The permission given, we ascend a steep flight of stairs, and find ourselves in a small upper studio, face to face with a compact little figure, five feet two in height, in cap and blouse, whose short, sunny brown curls, broad brow, frank and resolute expression of countenance, give one at the first glance the impression of a handsome boy. It is the first glance only, however, which misleads one. The trim waist and well-developed bust belong unmistakably to a woman, and the deep, earnest eyes, firm-set mouth, and modest dignity of deportment show that woman to be one of no ordinary character and ability.

Thus, reader, we Have brought you face to face with the subject of this sketch, Harriet Hosmer, the American sculptress.

Born at Watertown, Mass., in the year 1831, Harriet Hosmer is the only surviving daughter of a physician, who, having lost wife and child by consumption, and fearing a like fate for the survivor, gave her horse, dog, gun, and boat, and insisted upon an out-doors life as indispensable to health. A fearless horsewoman, a good shot, an adept in rowing, swimming, diving, and skating, Harriet Hosmer is a signal instance of what judicious physical training will effect in conquering even hereditary taint of constitution. Willingly as the active, energetic child acquiesced in her father’s wishes, she contrived, at the same time, to gratify and develop her own peculiar tastes; and many a time and oft, when the worthy doctor may have flattered himself that his darling was in active exercise, she might have been found in a certain clay-pit, not very far from the paternal residence, making early attempts at modeling horses, dogs, sheep, men and women, or any object which attracted her attention. Both here, and subsequently at Lenox, she made good use of her time by studying natural history, and of her gun by securing specimens for herself of the wild creatures of the woods, feathered and furred; dissecting some, and with her own hands preparing and stuffing others. The walls of the room devoted to her special use in “the old house at home,” are covered with birds, bats, butterflies and beetles, snakes and toads, while sundry bottles of spirits contain subjects carefully dissected and prepared by herself.

Ingenuity and taste were shown in the use to which the young girl applied the eggs and feathers of the nests and birds she had pilfered. One inkstand, a very early production, evinces mechanical genius and artistic taste. Taking the head, throat, wings, and side feathers of a bluebird, she blew the contents from a hen’s egg, and set it on end, forming the breast of the bird by the oval surface of the egg, while through the open beak and extended neck entrance was gained to the cavity of the egg containing the ink.

No one could look round this apartment, occupied by the child and young girl, without at once recognizing the force and individuality of character which have since distinguished her.

Full of fun and frolic, numerous anecdotes are told of practical jokes perpetrated to such an excess that Dr. Hosmer was satisfied with the progress toward health and strength his child had made; and having endeavored, without success, to place her under tuition in daily and weekly schools near home, he determined to commit her to the care of Mrs. Sedgwick, of Lenox, Massachusetts. Thither the young lady, having been expelled from one school, and given over as incorrigible at another, was accordingly sent, with strict injunctions that health should still be a paramount consideration, and that the new pupil should have liberty to ride and walk, shoot and swim to her heart’s content. In wiser or kinder hands the young girl could not have been placed. Here, too, she met with Mrs. Fanny Kemble, whose influence tended to strengthen and develop her already decided tastes and predilections. To Mrs. Kemble we have heard the young artist gratefully attribute the encouragement which decided her to follow sculpture as a profession, and to devote herself and her life to the pursuit of art.

Miss Hosmer’s school-fellows remember many pranks and exploits that showed her daring spirit and love of frolic. One of these was capturing a hawk’s nest from the top of a very high forest-tree, to which she climbed at the risk of her life. Her room was decorated, as at home, with grotesque preserved specimens, among which was a variety of reptiles, usually the horror of young ladies.

An anonymous squib upon Boston and Bostonians was about this time attributed to Miss Hosmer. A practical joke upon a physician of Boston had been the immediate cause of her being sent to Lenox. Her health having given her father some uneasiness, the gentleman in question, a physician in large practice, was called in to attend her. The rather uncertain visits of this physician proved a source of great annoyance and some real inconvenience to his patient, inasmuch as they interfered with her rides and drives, shooting, and boating excursions. Having borne with the inconvenience some time, she requested the gentleman, as a great favor, to name an hour for his call, that she might make her arrangements accordingly. The physician agreed, but punctuality is not always at the command of professional men. Matters were as bad as ever. Sometimes the twelve o’clock appointment did not come off till three in the afternoon. One day, in particular, Dr. ———— was some hours after the time. A playful quarrel took place between physician and patient; and, as he rose to take his leave, and offered another appointment, Miss Hosmer insisted upon his giving his word to keep it.

“If I am alive,” said he, “I will be here,” naming some time on a certain day.

“Then, if you are not here,” was the reply, “I am to conclude that you are dead.”

Thus they parted. The day and hour arrived, but no doctor made his appearance. That evening Miss Hosmer rode into Boston, and next morning the papers announced the decease of Dr. ———. Half Boston and its neighborhood rushed to the physician’s house to leave cards and messages of condolence for the family, and to inquire into the cause of the sudden and lamentable event.

In 1850, being then nineteen, Harriet Hosmer left Lenox. Mrs. Sedgwick’s judicious treatment, and the motive and encouragement supplied by Mrs. Kemble, had given the right impetus to that activity of mind and body which needed only guiding and directing into legitimate channels. She returned to her father’s house, at Watertown, to pursue her art-studies, and to fit herself for the career she had resolved upon following. There was at this time a cousin of Miss Hosmer’s studying with her father, between whom and herself existed a hearty camaraderie. Together the two spent many hours in dissecting legs and arms, and in making acquaintance with the human frame, Dr. Hosmer having erected a small building at the bottom of his garden to facilitate these studies. Those were days of close study and application. Lessons in drawing and modeling—for which our young student had to repair to Boston, a distance of seven or eight miles—and anatomical studies with her cousin, were alternated with the inevitable rides and boating on which her father wisely insisted. The River Charles runs immediately before the house, and on this river Harriet Hosmer had a boat-house, containing a safe, broad boat, and a fragile, poetical-looking gondola, with silvered prow, the delight of her heart, and the terror of her less experienced and unswimming friends. The life of the young girl was at this period full of earnest purpose and noble ambition, and the untiring energy and perseverance which distinguish her now in so remarkable a degree were at this time evidenced and developed.

Having modeled one or two copies from the antique, she next tried her hand on a portrait-bust, and then cut Canova’s bust of Napoleon in marble, working it entirely with her own hands that she might make herself mistress of the process. Her father, seeing her devoted to her studies, seconded them in every possible way, and proposed to send her to his friend, Dr. M‘Dowell, Professor of Anatomy in the St. Louis College, that she might go through a course of regular instruction, and be thus thoroughly grounded for the branch of art she had chosen. The young artist was but too glad to close with the offer; and, in the autumn of 1850, we find her at St. Louis, residing in the family of her favorite schoolmate from Lenox, winning the hearts of all its members by her frank, joyous nature, and steady application, and securing, in the head of it, what she heartily and energetically calls “the best friend I ever had.”

Her independence of manner and character, joined to the fact of her entering the college as a student, could not fail to bring down animadversion, and many were the tales fabricated and circulated anent the young New Englander, who was said to carry pistols in her belt, and to be prepared to take the life of any one who interfered with her. It was, perhaps, no disadvantage, under the circumstances, to be protected by such a character. The college stood some way from the inhabited part of the town, and in early morning and late evening, going to and fro with the other students, it is not impossible that she owed the perfect impunity with which she set conventionality at defiance to the character for courage, and skill in the use of fire-arms which attended her.

Dr. M‘Dowell, charmed with the talent and earnestness of his pupil, afforded her every facility in his power, giving her the freedom of the college at all times, and occasionally bestowing upon her a private lecture when she attended to see him preparing dissections for the public ones. Pleasant and encouraging it is to find men of ability and eminence so willing to help a woman when she is willing to help herself. The career of this young artist hitherto has been marked by the warm and generous encouragement of first-rate men, from Professor M‘Dowell to John Gibson, and pleasant it is to find the affectionate and grateful appreciation of such kindness, converting the temporary tie of master and pupil into the permanent one of tried and valued friendship. “I remember Professor M‘Dowell,” writes Miss Hosmer, “with great affection and gratitude, as being a most thorough and patient teacher, as well as at all times a good, kind friend.”

Through the winter and spring of 1851, in fact, during the whole term, Harriet Hosmer prosecuted her studies with unremitting zeal and attention, and at the close was presented with a “diploma,” or certificate, testifying to her anatomical efficiency. During her stay at St. Louis, and as a testimony of her gratitude and regard, Miss Hosmer cut, from a bust of Professor M‘Dowell by Clevenger, a medallion in marble, life size, which is now in the museum of the College. It is perhaps worthy of note that Clevenger and Powers both studied anatomy under this professor.

The “diploma” achieved, our young aspirant was bent upon seeing New Orleans before returning to her New England home. It was a season of the year not favorable for such travel, and, from some cause or another, she failed in inducing any of her friends to accompany her. To will and to do are synonymous with some; and so, Harriet Hosmer having set her mind upon an excursion down the Mississippi to the Crescent City, embarked herself one fine morning on board a steamer bound for New Orleans. The river was shallow, the navigation difficult; many a boat did our adventurous traveler pass high and dry; but fortune, as usual, was with her, and she reached her destination in safety. The weather was intensely warm, but, nothing daunted, our young friend saw all that was to be seen, returning at night to sleep on board the steamer as it lay in its place by the levee, and, at the expiration of a week, returning with it to St. Louis. Arrived there, instead of rejoining her friends, she took boat for the Falls of St. Anthony, on the Upper Mississippi, stopping, on the way, at Dubuque, to visit a lead mine, into which she descended by means of a bucket, and came very near an accident which must inevitably have resulted fatally; a catastrophe which, as no one knew where she was, would probably have remained a secret forever. At the Falls of St. Anthony, she went among the Indians, much to their surprise and amusement, and brought away with her a pipe, presented by the chief, in token of amity. She also achieved the ascent of a mountain never before undertaken by a female; and so delighted were the spectators with her courage and agility, that they insisted upon knowing her name, that the mountain might thenceforth be called after her. In a subsequent visit to St. Louis, Miss Hosmer found that her rustic admirers had been as good as their word, and “Hosmer’s Height” remains an evidence of “the little lady’s” ambition and courage.

On her return to St. Louis, where her prolonged absence had created no little uneasiness, she remained but a short time, and, bidding farewell to her kind friends, retraced her steps homeward.

This was in the autumn of 1851. No sooner had Harriet Hosmer reached home than she set to work to model an ideal bust of Hesper, continuing her anatomical studies with her cousin, and employing her intervals of leisure and rest in reading, riding, and boating. Now followed a period of earnest work, cheered and inspired by those visions of success, of purpose fulfilled, of high aims realized, which haunt the young and enthusiastic aspirant, and throw a halo round the youthful days of genius, lending a color to the whole career. As Lowell wisely and poetically says,

“Great dreams preclude low ends.”

Better to aspire and fail than not aspire at all; better to know the dream, and the fever, and the awakening, if it must be, than to pass from the cradle to the grave on the level plane of content with things as they are. There may be aspiration without genius; there can not be genius without aspiration; and where genius is backed by industry and perseverance, the aspiration of one period will meet its realization in another.

To go to Rome—to make herself acquainted with all its treasures of art, ancient and modern—to study and work as the masters of both periods had studied and worked before her—this was now our youthful artist’s ambition; and all the while she labored, heart and soul, at Hesper, the first creation of her genius, watching its growth beneath her hand, as a young mother watches, step by step, the progress of her first-born; kneading in with the plastic clay all those thousand hopes and fears which, turn by turn, charm and agitate all who aspire. At length, the clay model finished, a block of marble was sought and found, and brought home to the shed in the garden, hitherto appropriated to dissecting purposes, but now fitted up as a studio. Here, with her own small hands, the youthful maiden, short of stature and delicate in make, any thing but robust in health, with chisel and mallet blocked out the bust, and subsequently, with rasp and file, finished it to the last degree of manipulative perfection. Months and months it took, and hours and days of quiet toil and patience; but those wings of genius, perseverance and industry, were hers, and love lent zest to the work. It was late summer in 1852 before Hesper was fully completed.

A critic in the New York Tribune thus wrote of this work:

“It has the face of a lovely maiden, gently falling asleep with the sound of distant music. Her hair is gracefully arranged, and intertwined with capsules of the poppy. A star shines 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 swell of the cheeks and the bust is like pure, young, healthy flesh, and the muscles of the beautiful mouth are so delicately cut, it seems like a thing that breathes.

“The poetic conception of the subject is the creation of her own mind, and the embodiment of it is all done by her own hands—even the hard, rough, mechanical portions of the work. She employed a man to chop off some large bits of marble; but, as he was unaccustomed to assist sculptors, she did not venture to have him cut within several inches of the surface she intended to work.”

“Now,” said she to her father, “I am ready to go to Rome.”

“And you shall go, my child, this very autumn,” was the reply.

Anxious as Dr. Hosmer was to facilitate in every way the career his daughter had chosen, there was yet another reason for going to Italy before winter set in. Study and nervous anxiety had made their impression upon a naturally delicate constitution, and a short, dry cough alarmed the worthy doctor for his child’s health.

October of 1852 saw father and daughter on their way to Europe, the St. Louis diploma and daguerreotypes of Hesper being carefully stowed away in the safest corner of the portmanteau as evidences of what the young artist had already achieved, when, arrived at Rome, she should seek the instruction of one of two masters, whose fame, world-wide, alone could satisfy our aspirant’s ambition. So eager was her desire to reach Rome that a week only was given to England; and then, joining some friends in Paris, the whole party proceeded to Rome, arriving in the Eternal City on the evening of November 12, 1852.

Within two days the daguerreotypes were placed in the hands of Mr. Gibson as he sat at breakfast in the Café Greco, a famous place of resort for artists.

Now be it known, as a caution to women not to enter lightly upon any career, to throw it up as lightly upon the first difficulty which arises, that a prejudice existed in Rome against lady artists, from the pretensions with which some had repaired thither, and upon which they had succeeded in gaining access to some of the best studios and instruction from their masters, to throw those valuable opportunities aside at the first obstacle that arose. Mr. Gibson had himself, it was said, been thus victimized and annoyed, and it was represented to Miss Hosmer as doubtful in the extreme if he would either look at the daguerreotypes or listen to the proposal of her becoming his pupil. However, the daguerreotypes were placed before him; and, taking them into his hands—one presenting a full, and the other a profile view of the bust—he sat some moments in silence, looking intently at them. Encouraged by this, the young sculptor who had undertaken to present them proceeded to explain Miss Hosmer’s intentions and wishes, what she had already done, and what she hoped to do. Still Mr. Gibson remained silent. Finally, closing the cases,

“Send the young lady to me,” said he, “and whatever I know, and can teach her, she shall learn.”

In less than a week Harriet Hosmer was fairly installed in Mr. Gibson’s studio, in the up-stairs room already described. Ere long a truly paternal and filial affection sprung up between the master and the pupil, a source of great happiness to themselves, and of pleasure and amusement to all who know and value them, from the curious likeness, yet unlikeness, which existed from the first in Miss Hosmer to Mr. Gibson, and which daily intercourse has not tended to lessen.

In one of her letters she says:

“The dearest wish of my heart is gratified in that I am acknowledged by Gibson as a pupil. He has been resident in Rome thirty-four years, and leads the van. I am greatly in luck. He has just finished the model of the statue of the queen, and, as his room is vacant, he permits me to use it, and I am now in his own studio. I have also a little room for work which was formerly occupied by Canova, and perhaps inspiration may be drawn from the walls.”

The first winter in Rome was passed in modeling from the antique, Mr. Gibson desiring to assure himself of the correctness of Miss Hosmer’s eye, and the soundness of her knowledge; Hesper evincing the possession of the imaginative and creative power. From the first, Mr. Gibson expressed himself more than satisfied with her power of imitating the roundness and softness of flesh, saying, upon one occasion, that he had never seen it surpassed and not often equaled.

Her first attempt at original design in Rome was a bust of Daphne, quickly succeeded by another of the Medusa—the beautiful Medusa—and a lovely thing it is, faultless in form, and intense in its expression of horror and agony, without trenching on the physically painful.

We have already spoken of the warm friend Miss Hosmer made for herself during her winter at St. Louis, in the head of the family at whose house she was a guest. This gentleman, as a God-speed to the young artist on her journey to Rome, sent her, on the eve of departure, an order to a large amount for the first figure she should model, leaving her entirely free to select her own time and subject. A statue of Œnone was the result, which is now in the house of Mr. Crow, at St. Louis, and which gave such satisfaction to its possessor and his fellow-townsmen, that an order was forwarded to Miss Hosmer for a statue for the Public Library at St. Louis, on the same liberal terms. Beatrice Cenci, which has won so many golden opinions from critics and connoisseurs, was sent to St. Louis in fulfillment of this order.

The summers in Rome are, as every one knows, trying to the natives, and full of danger to foreigners. Dr. Hosmer, having seen his daughter finally settled, returned to America, leaving her with strict injunctions to seek some salubrious spot in the neighboring mountains for the summer, if indeed she did not go into Switzerland or England. Rome, however, was the centre of attraction; and, after the first season, which was spent at Sorrento, on the Bay of Naples, Miss Hosmer could not be prevailed upon to go out of sight and reach of its lordly dome and noble treasures of art. The third summer came, and, listening to the advice of her friends, and in obedience to the express wish of her father, she made arrangements for a visit to England. The day was settled, the trunks were packed; she was on the eve of departure, when a letter from America arrived, informing her of heavy losses sustained by her father, which must necessitate retrenchment in every possible way, a surrender of her career in Rome, and an immediate return home.

The news came upon her like a thunderbolt. Stunned and bewildered, she knew not at the moment what to do. An only child, and hitherto indulged in every whim and caprice, the position was indeed startling and perplexing. The surrender of her art-career was the only thing which she felt to be impossible; whatever else might come, that could not, should not be. And now came into play that true independence of character which hitherto had shown itself mostly in wild freaks and tricks. Instead of falling back upon those friends whose means she knew would be at her disposal in this emergency, she dispatched a messenger for the young sculptor who had shown the daguerreotypes to Mr. Gibson, and who, himself dependent upon his professional exertions, was, she decided, the fittest person to consult with as to her own future career. He obeyed the hasty summons, and found the joyous, laughing countenance he had always known, pale and changed, as it were, suddenly, from that of a young girl to a woman full of cares and anxieties. He could scarcely credit the intelligence; but the letter was explicit; the summons home peremptory. “Go, I will not,” was her only coherent resolution; so the two laid their heads together. Miss Hosmer was the owner of a handsome horse and an expensive English saddle; these were doomed at once. The summer in Rome itself, during which season living there costs next to nothing, was determined upon; and during those summer months Miss Hosmer should model something so attractive that it should insure a speedy order, and, exercising strict economy, start thenceforth on an independent artist-career, such as many of those around her with less talent and training, managed to carry on with success. No sooner said than done; the trunks were unpacked; the friends she had been about to accompany departed without her; her father’s reverses were simply and straightforwardly announced, and she entered at once on the line of industry and economy she and her friend had struck out.

It is said that friendship between a young man and a young woman is scarcely possible, and perhaps, under ordinary circumstances, where the woman has no engrossing interests of her own, no definite aim and pursuit in life, it may be so. Here, however, was a case of genuine and helpful friendship, honorable alike to the heads and hearts of both. Under the experienced direction of her friend, Miss Hosmer conducted her affairs with prudence and economy, and, at the same time, with due regard to health. The summer passed away, and neither fever nor any other form of mischief attacked our young friend. She worked hard, and modeled a statue of Puck, so full of spirit, originality, and fun, that it was no sooner finished than orders to put it into marble came in. It was repeated again and again, and, during the succeeding winter, three copies were ordered for England alone—one for the Duke of Hamilton. Thus fairly started on her own ground, Miss Hosmer met with that success which talent, combined with industry and energy, never fails to command.

The winter in which the Cenci was being put into marble she was engaged in modeling a monument to the memory of a beautiful young Catholic lady, destined for a niche in the church of San Andréo delle Fratte, in the Vià Mercede, close upon the Piazza di Spagna. A portrait full-length figure of the young girl, life size, reclines upon a low couch. The attitude is easy and natural, and the tranquil sleep of death is admirably rendered in contradistinction to the warm sleep of life in the Cenci.

Miss Hosmer was engaged during the winter of 1858 in modeling a fountain, for which she has taken the story of Hylas descending for water, when, according to mythology, he is seized upon by the water-nymphs and drowned. Hylas forms the crown of the pyramid, while the nymphs twined around its base, with extended arms, seek to drag him down into the water below, where dolphins are spouting jets which interlace each other. A double basin, the upper one supported by swans, receives the cascade.

During the spring of 1859 Miss Hosmer worked upon her statue of Zenobia, bespoken in America. The young Prince of Wales visited her studio to see this unfinished work, which he greatly admired. He purchased a “Puck,” by her hand, to add to his collection. Miss Hosmer executed, as a side-piece to this, a “Will-o’-the-Wisp,” said even to be superior.