THORWALDSEN '2(11 We let three years glide away after the arrival of Thorwaldsen, and ask Zoega what he now says of Albert, or, as the Italians call him, Alberto, and the severe man shakes his head and says : "There is much to blame, little to be satisfied with, and diligent he is not ! " Yet he was diligent in a high degree ; but genius is foreign to a foreign mind. " The snow had just then thawed from my eyes," he has himself often repeated. The drawings of the Danish painter Carstens formed one of those spiritual books that shed its holy baptism over that growing genius. The little atelier looked like a battle-field, for roundabout were broken statues. Genius formed them often in the midnight hours ; despondency over their faults broke them in the day. The three years, for which he had received a stipcndium, were as if they had flown away, and as yet he had produced nothing. The time for his return drew nigh. One work, however, he must complete, that it might not with justice be said in Denmark, " Thorwaldsen has quite wasted his time in Rome." Doubting his genius just when it embraced him most affectionately ; not expecting a vic- tory, while he already stood on its open road, he modelled " Jason who has Gained the Golden Fleece." It was this that Thorwaldsen would have gained in the king- dom of arts, and which he now thought he must resign. The figure stood there in clay, many eyes looked carelessly on it, and — he broke it to pieces ! It was in April, 1801, that his return home was fixed, in company with Zoega. It was put off until the autumn. During this time "Jason" occupied all his thoughts. A new, a larger figure of the hero was formed, an immortal work ; but it had not then been announced to the world, nor understood by it. " Here is something more than common ! " was said by many. Even the man to whom all paid homage, the illustrious Canova, started, and exclaimed : " Quest' opera di quel giovane Danese e fatta in uno stilo nuovo,.e grandioso ! " Zoega smiled. . " It is bravely done !" said he. The Danish songstress, Frederikke Brunn, was then in Rome and sang enthusiastically about Thorwaldsen's "Jason." She assisted the artist, so that he was enabled to get this figure cast in plaster ; for he himself had no more money than was just sufficient for his expenses home, The last glass of wine had been already drunk as a farewell, the boxes packed, and the vetturind's carriage was before the door at daybreak ; the boxes were fastened behind. Then came a fellow-traveller — the sculptor, Hagemann, who was returning to his native city, Berlin. His passport was not ready. Their de- parture must be put off until the next day ; and Thorwaldsen promised, although the vetturino complained and abused him, to remain so long. He stayed — stayed to win an immortal name on earth, and cast a lustre over Denmark. Though forty years resident in Rome, rich and independent, he lived and worked with the thought of once returning home to Denmark, there to rest him- self ; unaccustomed to the great comforts of other rich artists in Rome, he lived a bachelor's life. Was his heart, then, no longer open to love since his first de- parture from Copenhagen ? A thousand beautiful Cupids in marble will tell us how warmly that heart beat. Love belongs to life's mysteries. We know that Thorwaldsen left a daughter in Rome, whose birth he ac-
