There are those who are troubled by the introduction of the symbolical figures in such works as the “Shaw Memorial” and the Sherman statue; and, indeed, it was a bold enterprise to place them where they are, mingling thus in the same work the real and the ideal, the actual and the allegorical.  But the boldness seems to me abundantly justified by success.  In either case the entire work is pitched to the key of these figures; the treatment of the whole is so elevated by style and so infused with imagination that there is no shock of unlikeness or difficulty of transition.  And these figures are not merely necessary to the composition, an essential part of its beauty—­they are even more essential to the expression of the artist’s thought.  Without that hovering Angel of Death, the negro troops upon the “Shaw Memorial” might be going anywhere, to battle or to review.  We should have a passing regiment, nothing more.  Without the striding Victory before him, the impetuous movement of Sherman’s horse would have no especial significance.  And these figures are no mere conventional allegories; they are true creations.  To their creator the unseen was as real as the seen—­nay, it was more so.  That Shaw was riding to his death at the command of duty was, the only thing that made Shaw memorable.  That Sherman was marching to a victory the fruits of which should be peace was the essential thing about Sherman.  Death and Duty—­Victory and Peace—­in each case the compound ideal found its expression in a figure entirely original and astonishingly living:  a person as truly as Shaw or Sherman themselves.  He could not have left them out.  It were better to give up the work entirely than to do it otherwise than as he saw it.

[Illustration:  Copyright, De W.C.  Ward.  Plate 32.—­Saint-Gaudens.  “Sherman.”]

I have described and discussed but a few of the many works of this great artist, choosing those which seem to me the most significant and the most important, and in doing so I have keenly felt the inadequacy of words to express the qualities of an art which exists by forms.  Fortunately, the works themselves are, for the most part, readily accessible.  In the originals, in casts, or in photographs, they may be studied by every one.  Nothing is more difficult than to estimate justly the greatness of an object that is too near to us—­it is only as it recedes into the distance that the mountain visibly overtops its neighboring hills.  It is difficult to understand that this man so lately familiar to us, moving among us as one of ourselves, is of the company of the immortals.  Yet I believe, as we make this study of his works, as we yield ourselves to the graciousness of his charm or are exalted by the sweep of his imagination, we shall come to feel an assured conviction that Augustus Saint-Gaudens was not merely the most accomplished artist of America, not merely one of the foremost sculptors of his time—­we shall feel that he is one of those great, creative minds, transcending time and place, not of America or of to-day, but of the world and forever.