HMS Beangle

On opening the hour long tour of select pieces at Saint-Gaudens National Historical Park, our tour guide made a compelling argument that the artists who capture other people and events for posterity have a strong and lasting impact on how we frame our understanding of those subjects. In this way, a talented sculptor has an outsized impact on their subject’s legacy. Augustus Saint-Gaudens (1848-1907) certainly seems to have done just that.

Saint-Gaudens is best known for incorporating realism, what he called the ideal, and movement into his monuments. We were surprised to realize how many of his pieces we’d seen in person, in books, or on television. (Just to be clear, the sculptures on display here at the Saint-Gaudens home and workshop in Cornish, New Hampshire, are re-castings, not the originals.)

The sculpture of Admiral Farragut, best known for his paraphrased, “Damn the torpedoes. Full steam ahead,” was Saint-Gaudens first commission and a spectacular success. We learned from the ranger that an older, well-established sculptor was initially awarded the commission, but withdrew his submittal suggesting that it should be given to this new, younger artist instead. I like to think that the older sculptor saw Saint-Gauden’s model and felt the breeze blowing the edge of the Admiral’s coat back while standing on the deck of his ship. I imagine this older artist noting the skill and genius inherent in the missing button, in the wind pressing pant legs against shins, and in the veins popping on the back of a hand intensely clutching binoculars in the heat of battle.

I apologize for the poor photos. The light was directly overhead, which washed out a lot of the detail, especially under the Farragut statue’s dirty glass roof. The original soft bluestone pedestal full of allegory and mythology (the ideal) was being destroyed by the elements in NYC, so it was shipped to NH to go under this recasting and its cover, with a sturdier recreated pedestal installed in NYC by the Works Progress Administration.

Again, that uncooperative harsh light. Moving on. It’s easy to notice Saint-Gaudens’ trademark realism and deeply human details in his standing Lincoln. The wrinkles in Lincoln’s waistcoat, the deep lines on his forehead, and his messy hair point to a working and intense man. His bent knee and leading foot, just stepping over the edge of the platform, give the viewer the sense that Lincoln has just risen from his chair, perhaps to greet a visiting constituent or legislator? While stately and upright, I think that Saint-Gaudens still managed to present a little bit of the Midwest attorney that Lincoln once was. His fictional chair’s back is a patchwork of patriotic motifs representing a nation divided but brought back together.

It was this commission for Chicago’s Lincoln Park that ultimately brought Saint Gaudens to Cornish, NH. While looking for a life-size model in NYC, the sculptor was pointed to the Windsor, Vermont-Cornish, New Hampshire region by a friend, as it was said to be ‘full of Abe Lincoln-sized men.’ And indeed it was. Saint-Gaudens rented a farm near his Lincoln-sized model to work from and, falling in love with the farm and the region, he eventually bought it for his family’s summer retreat.

The Adams Memorial was commissioned as a grave marker for the remains of Marian Hooper Adams who ended her own life. Her husband, Henry Adams, gave Augustus Saint-Gaudens much freedom in crafting the monument, with the stipulation that it not resemble Marian’s personal appearance. We didn’t learn why, perhaps Mr Adams never said.

The artist created the above piece which he called “The Mystery of the Hereafter and The Peace of God that Passeth Understanding.” The figure’s cloak looks as if its outer folds have just been caught by a stray breeze. You can imagine them just about to return to a settled state. The figure, an androgynous amalgam of numerous men and women who sat for the artist, could be anyone and is no one. I get the sense that the subject is resting briefly, composedly, on its way to something else – but without really knowing what or where or even if that is. I can feel myself reading much into this monument, carrying my own experience and grief into how I see it. As, I believe, Saint-Gaudens intended.

We have been looking forward to seeing the Robert Gould Shaw and the 54th Massachusetts Monument in the Boston Common for some time, so this sneak preview was especially welcome. When originally commissioned, the artist proposed a standard equestrian statue of just Shaw, but the family objected. They insisted that the 54th Regiment be included in the monument, as appropriate considering the role that these men played in opening up combat roles for black soldiers. The resulting sculpture took Saint-Gaudens over a decade to complete.

I argue that the Shaw and 54th Memorial is more accurately described as 24 mini sculptures, as the artist used a different life model for each of the 23 foot soldiers and their gear. Young and old, tall and short, clean shaven and grizzled. Saint-Gaudens made models from 40 different men. The sense of movement in this panel is undeniable. Shaw rides alongside his men, restraining his mount. The infantrymen lean slightly forward, eyes straight ahead, as if determinedly pushing on toward Fort Wagner in full knowledge of what is to come while an angel holding poppies flies above, readying each one for death on the battlefield.

The list of Saint-Gaudens’ works, large and small, is immense and impossible to catalog here. He deserves wider recognition as an important legacy-maker in the United States and Western Europe.