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\1RGL\IA BIOGRAPHY
Edward Virginius Valentine. No stranger
(if ncjte leaves Richmond without a visit
to \'alentine's Studio and in glancing
through the sculptor's register one sees such
names as Matthew Arnold, James Barron
Hope, Edwin Booth, Joe Jefferson, Sol.
Smith Russell, Joaquin Miller, the Alarquis
of Lome, Charlotte Cushman, Dr. S. Weir
Mitchell, Marion Sims and a host of others.
The building stands on Leigh street, whose
spacious homes, in their green settings,
were planned when the possibility of crowd-
ing was remote.
An antique brass knocker on the door of the front building suggests it as the artist's reception room, and having gained a ready admittance, the stranger stands face to face with a man whose youthful figure and fresh complexion refute the imputation made by his whitened locks, while his finely carved poetic face marks him as the denizen of an ideal world, rather than of the commercial one around us. In manner, this genius of the chisel, who has cut his name so deep into the history of his native land that it will last as long as its annals endure, is so natural as to disappoint the inexperienced, who fail to recognize in simplicity the at- tribute of merit, and so modest is he that it is only here a little and there a little that one gleams some knowledge of his life and work.
ISIuch of his modeling is done in the front studio, the other being reserved for his larger work, and both, with the rooms above the first, are storehouses of the most inter- esting and valuable objects. Each has its own story, making a tour through them, with their owner as a guide, a delightful experience. A collection of books in hog- skin bindings, which have withstood the wear of more than two hundred years, would charm the bibliomaniac, as would volumes of illuminations done by the Flor- entine monks, and bound sheets of Pom- peiian colors, whose richness and deJJcacy shame modern achievements. A specimen of Cinque Cento furniture of quaint design and elaborate carving, its secret drawers exciting and baffling the imagination, is an- other notable feature, as is a copy of De La Roche's "'Hemicycle," presented by the family of John R. Thompson after his death, and a steel engraving of Ary SchefTer's por- trait of Lafayette, a .duplicate of which is owned bv Mr. P>everlv Kennon of Wash-
ington. Here, too, are casts from the an-
tique, curios from Egypt, old tapestries,
statuettes by Flamingo, figures from Pom-
peii, with treasures from the galleries of
Florence and Rome. A long row of death
masks, including that of Napoleon, Freder-
ick the Great, X'oltaire, Henry IV. of
France, Charles XH., Queen Louise and
other immortal mortals, extend a ghastly
welcome from an upper shelf, and every-
where one encounters in clay or marble such
celebrities as Humboldt, Edwin Booth,
Mary Anderson and the like, with Lee,
Jackson, Davis, John C. Breckinridge, and
all the rest of the southern heroes of the civil
war. A clay copy of the Apollo Belvidere,
for which Mr. Valentine received a silver
medal, has a special interest as his second
attempt at modeling. It was made from a
bust from the Vatican which stood in the
back parlor of his father's home, and was
the terror of his childhood, making him
"shy" as he passed it in the dark on his way
to the dining room. His first experiment
was a bust portrait of a negro boy, for
which his subject stood in the back yard.
"It was cold," the sculptor says, laughing
as he recalls the scene, "and I can see at
this moment the funny expression on that
darkev's face." His portrayal of the negro
is indeed unequalled, and in "Uncle Henry,"
the family coachman, who drove his parents
to the ball given in Richmond in 1824 to
Lafayette, the antebellum Virginia darkey
will live when the last representative of the
fast vanishing type, and those familiar with
it. have crumbled to dust.
\'alentine's statues, as of JefYerson, in the beautiful hotel of that name in Richmond : of Jackson, Wickham, John C. Breckinridge. Henry Timrod and others adorn the public buildings and squares in various cities, while his bust portraits are scattered everywhere. The "Blind Girl, one of the most exquisite creations, was conceived while hearing an inmate of the blind asylum in Staunton sing the hymn :
For thee. My God, tlie living God, My thirsty soul doth pine;
Oh, wiien shall I behold thy face, Thou majesty divine?
The graceful form seems spiritualized by the ethereal tenant. The lovely hands are clasped in yearning aspiration, the lips parted as if in singing, while the upturned
