Close by the door at which we entered
stood a gigantic figure of Mason, in bag-wig, and the coat, waistcoat,
breeches, and knee and shoe buckles of the last century, the enlargement
of these unheroic matters to far more than heroic size having a very odd
effect. There was a figure of Jefferson on the same scale; another of
Patrick Henry, besides a horse's head, and other portions of the
equestrian group which is to cover the summit of the monument. In one of
the rooms was a model of the monument itself, on a scale, I should think,
of about an inch to afoot. It did not impress me as having grown out of
any great and genuine idea in the artist's mind, but as being merely an
ingenious contrivance enough. There were also casts of statues that
seemed to be intended for some other monument referring to Revolutionary
times and personages; and with these were intermixed some ideal statues
or groups,--a naked boy playing marbles, very beautiful; a girl with
flowers; the cast of his Orpheus, of which I long ago saw the marble
statue; Adam and Eve; Flora,--all with a good deal of merit, no doubt,
but not a single one that justifies Crawford's reputation, or that
satisfies me of his genius.
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