The one sculptor, who absorbed the patriotic spirit generated by the French Revolution, and also found means to express it in marble, was François Rude (1784-1855). Unlike Thorvaldsen, Canova and Flaxman, Rude never lived in Rome. He was French to the marrow. Indeed, when he won the Grand Prix in 1812, he did not take advantage of the opportunity to visit Italy. The son of a Dijon blacksmith, Rude came to Paris in 1807 with £16 in his pocket. He had nothing except an invincible determination to become a sculptor, to ensure success. However, he secured work and joined the École des Beaux Arts. “Seven lost years,” was Rude’s opinion of the time he spent in this centre of academical method. Rude had always been an ardent politician, and the support he gave to Napoleon during “The Hundred Days” led to his exile. After twelve years in Brussels, he returned to Paris—aged forty-three. The exhibition of the “Neapolitan Fisher Boy” in 1833, established Rude’s reputation. The work is now in the Louvre. The circumstances under which it was carved recall those under which Michael Angelo produced his “David.” Rude was furnished with an odd prism-shaped piece of marble. The delightful ingenuity with which he has used the happy pose arising from the boy’s crossed legs is worthy to be remembered along with the achievement of Michael Angelo himself. [Illustration: RUDE “THE MARSEILLAISE” RELIEF Arc de Triomphe, Paris] Charming as the “Neapolitan Fisher Boy” is, Rude’s genius is more completely illustrated by his great bas-relief in the Arc de Triomphe at Paris. Thiers was Louis Philippe’s minister at the time, and he gave Rude the commission for all the “grande sculpture” upon the Arch. The intrigues of rivals, however, resulted in half of the work being handed over to Etex, and finally, Rude only contributed a single group. This was the “Chant du Départ,” generally known as “The Marseillaise.” The magnificent force and vigour with which Rude has carried out the purpose of the memorial is beyond praise. His task was to perpetuate the fame of the Imperial armies which cowed Europe and won such fights as Marengo, Austerlitz, Jena, and Friedland. Surely the difference between the emotion expressed in Rude’s “Chant du Départ,” and any works by the more highly endowed Canova and Thorvaldsen is beyond question. Surely it is equally certain that the difference can only be traced to one thing. The Frenchman was expressing what he felt, whereas, the other two men were only expressing what Wincklemann and Lessing had proved to be correct. Rude was able to infuse his marble with the passion it contains because he had _lived_ through a stirring age. The “Chant du Départ” only nominally dates from the ’thirties of the last century. Really, it was carved in the year 1793, when Rude as a boy of nine, marched up and down the squares of Dijon, with his child-companions in the Royal Bourbon Regiment of the National Guard,