is quite eclipsed by its rival.  Still if fauna is interesting in and of itself, which no one who knows Barye’s work would controvert, it is still more interesting when, to put it brutally, something is done with it.  In his ambitious and colossal work at the Trocadero, M. Fremiet does in fact use his fauna freely as artistic material, though at first sight it is its zooelogical interest that appears paramount.  The same is true of the elephant near by, in which it seems as if he had designedly attacked the difficult problem of rendering embodied awkwardness decorative.  Still more conspicuous, of course, is the artistic interest, the fancy, the humor, the sportive grace of his Luxembourg group of a young satyr feeding honey to a brace of bear’s cubs, because he here concerns himself more directly with his idea and gives his genius freer play.  And everyone will remember the sensation caused by his impressively repulsive “Gorilla Carrying off a Woman.”  But it is when he leaves this kind of thing entirely, and, wholly forgetful of his studies at the Jardin des Plantes, devotes himself to purely monumental work, that he is at his best.  And in saying this I do not at all mean to insist on the superiority of monumental sculpture to the sculpture of fauna; it is superior, and Barye himself cannot make one content with the exclusive consecration of admirable talent to picturesque anatomy illustrating distinctly unintellectual passions.  M. Fremiet, in ecstasy over his picturesque anatomy at the Jardin des Plantes, would scout this; but it is nevertheless true that in such works as the “Age de la pierre,” which, if it may be called a monumental clock-top, is nevertheless certainly monumental; his “Louis d’Orleans,” in the quadrangle of the restored Chateau de Pierrefonds; his “Jeanne d’Arc” (the later statue is not, I think, essentially different from the earlier one); and his “Torch-bearer” of the Middle Ages, in the new Hotel de Ville of Paris, not only is his subject a subject of loftier and more enduring interest than his elephants and deer and bears, but his own genius finds a more congenial medium of expression.  In other words, any one who has seen his “Torch-bearer” or his “Louis d’Orleans” must conclude that M. Fremiet is losing his time at the Jardin des Plantes.  In monumental works of the sort he displays a commanding dignity that borders closely upon the grand style itself.  The “Jeanne d’Arc” is indeed criticised for lack of style.  The horse is fine, as always with M. Fremiet; the action of both horse and rider is noble, and the homogeneity of the two, so to speak, is admirably achieved.  But the character of the Maid is not perfectly satisfactory to a priori critics, to critics who have more or less hard and fast notions about the immiscibility of the heroic and the familiar.  The “Jeanne d’Arc” is of course a heroic statue, illustrating one of the most puissant of profane legends; and it is unquestionably familiar and, if one chooses, defiantly