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Thorwaldsen spent forty-two years of his life at Rome, but Denmark never lost her hold upon him during this time. The King showered him with honors and gave him every privilege at his command.

The Danish Ambassador always had special instructions “not to neglect the interests and welfare of our brother, Chevalier Thorwaldsen, Artist and Sculptor to the King.”

For years, in the Academy at Copenhagen, rooms were set apart for him, and he was solicited to return and occupy them, and by his gracious presence honor the institution that had sent him forth. Only once, however, did he return, and then his stay was brief. But from time to time he presented specimens of his work to his native city, and various casts and copies of his pieces found their way to the “Thorwaldsen Room” at the Academy; so there gradually grew up there a “Thorwaldsen Museum.”

Now the shadows were lengthening toward the east. The Master had turned his seventieth milestone, and he began to look backward to his boyhood’s home as a place of rest, as old men do. A Commissioner was sent by the King of Denmark with orders to use his best offices to the end that Thorwaldsen should return; and plans were made to evolve the Thorwaldsen Room into a complete museum.

The result of these negotiations brought about the Thorwaldsen Museum–that plainly simple, but solidly built structure at Copenhagen, erected by the city, from plans made by the Master. Here are shown over two hundred large statues and bas-reliefs, copies and originals of the best things done in that long and busy life.

Thorwaldsen left his medals, decorations, pictures, books and thousands of drawings and sketches to this Museum–the sole property of the municipality. The building is arranged in the form of a square, with a court, and here the dust of the Master rests. No artist has ever had a more fitting tomb, designed by himself, surrounded by the creations of his hand and brain. These chant his elegy and there he sleeps.

Good looks, courtesy and social accomplishments are factors in our artistic career that should not be lightly waived. Thorwaldsen won every recognition that is possible for men to win from other men– fame, honor, wealth. In way of success he tasted all the world can offer. He built on Winckelmann, Mengs and Canova, inspired by a classic environment, and examples of work done by men turned to dust centuries before. In many instances Thorwaldsen followed the letter and failed to catch the spirit of Greece; this is not to his discredit–who has completely succeeded in revitalizing the breath of ancient art?

Thorwaldsen won everything but immortality. It sounds harsh, but let us admit it; he was at best a great imitator, however noble the objects of his imitation. A recent writer has tried to put him in the class with “John Rogers, the Pride of America,” but this is manifestly unfair. As an artist he ranks rather with Powers, Story and Palmer.

Never for a moment can he be compared with Saint Gaudens, or our own French; Bartlett and Ward surpass him in general skill and fertility of resources. All is comparative–Thorwaldsen’s fame floats upon the wave, far astern. We are making head.

We have that superb “Night,” so full of tenderness and spirit, done in tears (as all the best things are). The “Night” is not to be spoken of without its beautiful companion-piece, the “Morning.” Each was done at a sitting, in a passion of creative energy. Yet when the roll of all Thorwaldsen’s pieces is called, we see that his fame centers and is chiefly embodied in “The Lion of Lucerne.”

I suppose it need not longer be concealed that in Switzerland you can purchase copies and models of Thorwaldsen’s “Lion of Lucerne.” Some are in marble, some in granite, some in bronze, a great many are in wood–carved while you wait–and at my hotel in Lucerne we used to have the noble beast on the table every morning at breakfast, done in butter.