is
work well or ill,--he may appreciate and preserve the delicacy of
sentiment and grace which were stamped upon the clay, or he may render
the artist's meaning coarsely and unintelligibly. Then it is that the
sculptor himself must reproduce his ideal in the marble, and breathe
into it that vitality which, many contend, only the artist can inspire.
But, whether skilful or not, the relation of these workmen to the artist
is precisely the same as that of the mere linguist to the author who, in
another tongue, has given to the world some striking fancy or original
thought.

But the question when the clay _is_ "properly prepared" forms the
debatable ground, and has already furnished a convenient basis for the
charge that it is never "properly prepared" for women-artists until it
is ready for the caster. I affirm, from personal knowledge, that this
charge is utterly without foundation,--and as it would be affectation in
me to ignore what has been so freely circulating upon this subject in
print, I take this opportunity of stating that I have never yet allowed
a statue to leave my studio, upon the clay model of which I had not
worked during a period of from four to eight months,--and further, that
I should choose to refer all those desirous of ascertaining the truth to
Mr. Nucci, who "prepares" my clay for me, rather than to my
brother-sculptor, in the _Via Margutta_, who originated the report that
I was an impostor. So far, however, as my designs are concerned, I
believe even he has not, as yet, found occasion to accuse me of drawing
upon other brains than my own.

We women-artists have no objection to its being known that we employ
assistants; we merely object to its being supposed that it is a system
peculiar to _ourselves_. When Thorwaldsen was called upon to execute his
twelve statues of the Apostles, he designed and furnished the small
models, and gave them into the hands of his pupils and assistants, by
whom, almost exclusively, they were copied in their present colossal
dimensions. The great master rarely put his own hand to the clay; yet we
never hear them spoken of except as "Thorwaldsen's statues." When
Vogelberg accepted the commission to model his colossal equestrian
statue of Gustavus Adolphus, physical infirmity prevented the artist
from even mounting the scaffolding; but he made the small model, and
directed the several workmen employed upon the full-size statue in clay,
and we never heard it intimated that