THE VIGOR OF BARTLETT
LAFAYETTE, BY BARTLETT
In the square before the Louvre, Paris
Paul Wayland Bartlett was born in 1865 of artistic ancestry, his father being Truman Bartlett, teacher and critic. The boy grew up in Paris, entering the Beaux-Arts at the age of fifteen, and working also at the Jardin des Plantes under the helpful guidance of Frémiet, the great animalist. His art has always offered an interesting blend of the two influences, animal forms appearing in nearly all his compositions.
Bartlett’s first important exhibit was the “Bohemian Bear Trainer”; the second, the Indian “Ghost Dancer,” shown at the Chicago Exposition. Soon followed those striking works for the Congressional Library, his “Columbus” and “Michelangelo.” The former shows the discoverer in a new light,—no longer the gentle dreamer, the eloquent pleader, the enthusiast, nor yet the silent victim in chains, but a hero of might and confidence, hurling proud defiance at his calumniators. The “Michelangelo” is, if possible, an even more vivid though less vehement presentation of its theme. The short, gnomelike figure with stumpy legs; the big, powerful hands; the stern face, rough hewn, with its frown and tight lips,—all these combine to make this at first sight a not very winning presentation of the great master; but it has the quality that will outlive all others. It was left to an American sculptor to grasp his character profoundly, and to create an adequate representation of the mighty Florentine.
Bartlett’s young “Lafayette” stands in one of the most coveted sites in all Paris, in the square before the Louvre. It is well worthy of the honor, and is a monument to the artist’s capacity for “taking pains,” representing as it does many years of study and experiment.
Bartlett collaborated with Ward upon the pedimental group of the New York Stock Exchange, and a logical result of the good work done there was the commission to design the long awaited pediment for the House of Representatives in Washington, a gigantic undertaking of great significance, which is now in progress.
To select these six names out of a hundred seems invidious. One wants to talk of Herbert Adams and his beautiful busts, of Karl Bitter and all the fine things he has done, of MacNeil and Grafly and Aitken and the Piccirillis and the Borglums and all the rest, of the Boston men, of the women sculptors, even of the little western group; but space fails. They are all working enthusiastically for the love of their art and for the fair fame of America.
