We complimented
him on his patience; but he said, "O, it's not patience,--it's love!" In
fact, it was a patient and most successful wooing of a beloved object,
which at last rewarded him by yielding itself wholly.
We have likewise been to Mr. B------'s [now dead] studio, where we saw
several pretty statues and busts, and among them an Eve, with her wreath
of fig-leaves lying across her poor nudity; comely in some points, but
with a frightful volume of thighs and calves. I do not altogether see
the necessity of ever sculpturing another nakedness. Man is no longer a
naked animal; his clothes are as natural to him as his skin, and
sculptors have no more right to undress him than to flay him.
Also, we have seen again William Story's Cleopatra,--a work of genuine
thought and energy, representing a terribly dangerous woman; quiet enough
for the moment, but very likely to spring upon you like a tigress. It is
delightful to escape to his creations from this universal prettiness,
which seems to be the highest conception of the crowd of modern
sculptors, and which they almost invariably attain.
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