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MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
MODERN 
 FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 A SERIES OF 
 BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL REVIEWS 
 
 AMERICAN ARTISTS 
 
 WITH THIRTY- SEVEN WOOD -ENGRAVINGS AND 
 TWENTY-EIGHT HALF-TONE ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 JOHN C. VAN DYKE 
 
 LONDON 
 
 T. FISHER UNWIN 
 
 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 1896 
 
Copyright, 1889, 1892, 1894, 189G, 
 by The Century Co. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THE painters' contention that no one but a painter is a com- 
 petent judge of a picture is not a new one. It was the 
 Greek painter Apelles who advised the cobbler to stick to his 
 last. " Keep to the shop, friend, and do not attempt to criti- 
 cize what you do not understand." The rebuke was possibly 
 deserved, but it might be used by almost any one in defense of 
 his particular craft or trade. Had Apelles complained to the 
 cobbler that his shoes did not fit him and were not well made, 
 the cobbler could have retorted in kind : " Keep to your palette, 
 friend ; you know nothing about shoes." In the same way it 
 might be said that one who eats a dinner is not to criticize it 
 because he is not a cook, and that the only competent judges 
 of the poem and the novel are the poet and the novelist. The 
 reductio ad dbsurdum of the principle might lead us to think 
 that only brother craftsmen are to say that there are too few 
 latchets to the goloshes, or that the sauce or the poem is too 
 sweet. 
 
 Yet the contention is not so absurd as might at first appear. 
 The painter asserts a half-truth, if not more. He has mastered 
 his craft, and he certainly knows more about it than one who 
 has not mastered it. He knows the limits of materials and 
 methods, he knows what can be done, and he knows after it is 
 done whether it has been well done. In comparison with him 
 the outsider is a mere tyro. The painter is undoubtedly the 
 better critic of the technical features of painting. Few artists 
 of rank at the present day will claim more than this. They 
 are willing to concede that the final result of a work of art, 
 
vi 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 its meaning, and its success or failure as a whole, may be judged 
 quite as truly by the outside public as by the inside gild. 
 
 Granted that the painter is the better judge of the technic 
 of painting, is he also the better judge of its final meaning'? 
 The contrary is sometimes asserted. It is said that he is too 
 near his theme, too much interested in it technically, to esti- 
 mate it intellectually or esthetically. But unless one is near a 
 work of art, unless he does consider it technically, his appre- 
 ciation of it can have little value. Soundness of technic is a 
 condition precedent to all great art. Without it a picture 
 cannot be great no matter what its ultimate meaning. More- 
 over, it does not necessarily follow that because one is inter- 
 ested in methods he is blind to what those methods express. 
 Fromentin's " Les Maitres d' Autrefois," perhaps the best piece 
 of art criticism ever written, offers a contradiction to such an 
 assumption. It is the criticism of a painter, and while it 
 shows great knowledge of methods, it is also very appreciative 
 of the point of view, the mental and esthetic attitude of the 
 Dutch and Flemish masters. Fromentin was, of course, a man 
 of shrewd perceptions, exceptionally good judgment, and ex- 
 cellent literary skill ; but, making allowance for these qualities, 
 that which gave the greatest value to his criticism was his 
 painter's knowledge. He knew his subject thoroughly, and 
 when one is thus specially equipped he is almost sure to give 
 out something of permanent worth. It is for this reason that 
 the writings of specialists in all branches, though they have 
 not been trained writers, have always been well received. It 
 is their knowledge and their point of view that people wish 
 to gain. 
 
 Perhaps then the public will be interested in this book, con- 
 taining as it does a series of biographical and critical mono- 
 graphs on the most famous French masters, written by their 
 American pupils and admirers. The volume has been specially 
 prepared to voice the recollections and opinions of American 
 artists about French artists and their work. That the con- 
 ditions should be as favorable as possible, each writer in the 
 series has been selected because of his knowledge of, and sym- 
 pathy with, the painter about whom he writes. Many of the con- 
 tributions are from pupils who write of the masters that taught 
 them the use of the brush, some are from intimate friends of 
 
PREFACE 
 
 vii 
 
 the men they review, and all are from American artists of rec- 
 ognized standing in their profession. Such a volume, forming 
 as it does a summary of the modern painters of France, and 
 coming from those closely related to these painters, can be 
 considered as little less than unique. It is a book of art criti- 
 cism written by artists, and, laying aside the question of 
 whether this criticism is better or worse than that of the lit- 
 erary critic or the public, I may venture to claim for the book 
 public consideration not only because of its point of view, but 
 because of its special information, and its general value as a 
 contribution to art literature. 
 
 There is another matter about which not only the painter 
 and the public disagree, but about which artists among them- 
 selves differ. This is the question of reproduction in black and 
 white. It is claimed by some that the wood-engraving does 
 not give the truth of fact so exactly as the photographic repro- 
 duction in what is called " half-tone." It is said that the en- 
 graver's personality intrudes and influences the reproduction, 
 though in wood- engraving the picture is always photographed 
 upon the block, and the engraver works directly from the pho- 
 tograph. On the other hand, it is asserted that the half-tone 
 does not deal adequately with subtile tones ; that it is frequently 
 faulty in light and shade ; and that it fails in giving the true 
 values of colors. This contention, like the former one, may be 
 safely left to the public for decision. The present volume offers 
 evidence upon both sides. It contains the best wood-engrav- 
 ings and the best half-tones, placed side by side, sometimes in 
 the same article. It was designed that illustrations by both 
 wood-engraving and half-tone process should appear in the 
 book, that people might judge of the relative merits of the two 
 reproductions. 
 
 It remains to be said that six of the articles, and many of 
 the illustrations, are reprinted from The Centuby Magazine, 
 while fourteen of the articles, and most of the half-tones, were 
 specially prepared for this volume. 
 
 JOHN C. VAN DYKE. 
 
 Rutgers College, 
 New Brunswick, N. J., 1896. 
 
PAGE 
 
 3o 
 
 CONTENTS 
 PAET I 
 
 Thomas Couture George P. A. Healy . 3 
 
 Puvis de Chavannes Kenyon Cox .... 17 
 
 Jean-Leon Gerome Will H. Low .... 31 
 
 Leon Bonnat IE. M. Blaslifield . . 47 
 
 Paul Baudky Kenyon Cox .... 61 
 
 Carolus-Duean J. Carroll Bechwith . 73 
 
 Jean-Paul Laueens K H. Blaslifield . . 83 
 
 Jean-Louis-Ernest Meissonier H. W. Watrous . . 93 
 
 PART II 
 
 Camille Corot TJieodore Robinson . 107 
 
 Theodore Eousseau William A. Coffin . 119 
 
 Narcisse-Virgilio Diaz Arthur Hoeber . . 131 
 
 Constant Troyon William H. Hoive . 143 
 
 Charles-Francois Daubigny D. W. Tryon . . . 155 
 
 Claude Monet Theodore Robinson . 169 
 
x CONTENTS 
 
 PART III 
 
 PAGE 
 
 J ean-Franqois Millet Wyatt Eaton . . . 179 
 
 Gtustave Courbet Samuel Isham . . . 199 
 
 Edouaed Manet J. Carroll Beckwith . 215 
 
 Jules Bastien-Lepage J. Alden Weir . . . 227 
 
 Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret William A. Coffin . 239 
 
 Maurice Boutet de Monvel Will H. Low . . . 251 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Coeot, Oepheus Greeting the Morn Frontispiece 
 
 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 FACING rAGE 
 
 Couture, The Little Confectioner 4 
 
 Engraved by Henry Davidson. 
 
 Couture, Study for the Love of Gold 8 
 
 Engraved by Michael Haider. 
 
 Couture, Harlequin Pleading 10 
 
 Engraved by Charles State. 
 
 Couture, Study of an American Girl 12 
 
 Engraved by Thomas Johnson. 
 
 Puvis de Chavannes, Peace (Detail) 18 
 
 Puvis de Chavannes, Rest 20 
 
 Puvis de Chavannes, The Hemicycle (Detail) 24 
 
 Puvis de Chavannes, St. Genevieve (Detail) 26 
 
 Gerome, Napoleon before the Sphinx (L'CEdipe) 32 
 
 Engraved by Henry Wolf. 
 
 Gerome, The Carpet Merchant 36 
 
 Engraved by Henry Wolf. 
 
 Gerome, Thirst 40 
 
 Engraved by Henry Wolf. 
 
 Bonnat, Louis-Adolphe Thiers . 48 
 
 Engraved by Timothy Cole. 
 
 Bonnat, Martyrdom of St. Denis 52 
 
 xi 
 
xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 Bonnat, Pasteur and his Granddaughter 56 
 
 Engraved by Thomas Johnson. 
 
 Baudry, The Wave and the Pearl 64 
 
 Baudry, Diana Driving Away Love 66 
 
 Baudry, The Shepherds (Detail from the Opera) 68 
 
 Carolus-Duran, Portrait 74 
 
 Engraved by Thomas Johnson. 
 
 Carolus-Duran, Portrait of La Comtesse de Vedal .... 78 
 Laurens, Bust of, by Rodin 84 
 
 Drawn by Wyatt Eaton. 
 
 Laurens, The Arch of Steel 86 
 
 Laurens, Last Moments of Maximilian 88 
 
 Meissonier, Friedland — 1807 94 
 
 Meissonier, The Brothers Van de Velde 96 
 
 Meissonier, Napoleon — 1814 98 
 
 Corot, The Woodgatherers 108 
 
 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 Corot, Lake Nemi 112 
 
 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 Corot, View of the Colosseum, Rome 114 
 
 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 Corot, Landscape with Cattle 114 
 
 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 Rousseau, Ravines of Apremont 120 
 
 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 Rousseau, St. Michael's Mount 124 
 
 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 Rousseau, Twilight 126 
 
 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 Diaz, The Lovers 132 
 
 Engraved by Henry Wolf. 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xiii 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 Diaz, Landscape under Sunshine 136 
 
 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 Diaz, Landscape undee Shadow 138 
 
 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 Trqyon, Cattle 144 
 
 Teoyon, Holland Cattle and Landscape 146 
 
 Teoyon, La Vallee de la Toucques 148 
 
 Daubigny, Poeteait of 156 
 
 Engraved by Thomas Johnson. 
 
 Daubigny, The Setting Sun 160 
 
 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 Daubigny, The Cliffs at Villeeville 162 
 
 Engi'aved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 Daubigny, A Flock of Sheep 164 
 
 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. 
 
 Monet, Poeteait of 169 
 
 Drawn by Theodore Robinson. 
 
 Monet, Boedigheea 170 
 
 Engraved by Michael Haider. 
 
 Monet, On Cape Maetin, neae Mentone 172 
 
 Engraved by Michael Haider. 
 
 Millet, The Chuenee 180 
 
 Engraved by W. B. Closson. 
 
 Millet, The Sowee 184 
 
 Engraved by Timothy Cole. 
 
 Millet, Poeteait of, feom Ceayon Sketch by himself . . . 188 
 Millet, The Sheep-Sheaeers 192 
 
 Engraved by W. B. Closson. 
 
 Courbet, The Musician 200 
 
 Engraved by Timothy Cole. 
 
 Courbet, The Fair Dutchwoman 204 
 
 Engraved by Timothy Cole. 
 
xiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 Courbet, The Deer Retreat 208 
 
 Manet, Le Bon Book 216 
 
 Manet, Boy with Sword 218 
 
 Manet, Port of Boulogne 220 
 
 Bastien-Lepage, Joan of Arc (Detail) 228 
 
 Engraved by Timothy Cole. 
 
 Bastien-Lepage, The First Communion 230 
 
 Engraved by Timothy Cole. 
 
 Bastien-Lepage, Angels Appearing to the Shepherds . . . 232 
 
 Engraved by Henry Wolf. 
 
 Dagnan-Bouveret, Madonna and Child 240 
 
 Dagnan-Bouveret, La Bernoise 242 
 
 Engraved by Henry Wolf. 
 
 Dagnan-Bouveret, Horses at the Watering-Trough 244 
 
 Engraved by Henry Wolf. 
 
 Boutet de Monvel, Portrait of a Young Girl ....... 252 
 
 Boutet de Monvel, The Apotheosis 256 
 
 Boutet de Monvel, Landry at the Bedside of Xaviere . . . 260 
 
MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 PART I 
 
THOMAS COUTURE 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE P. A. HEALY 
 
MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 Of 
 
 THOMAS COUTURE 
 (1815-1879) 
 
 MY first meeting with Couture, who became one of my best 
 and dearest friends, was odd and characteristic. It was 
 in 1834 ; I was not yet one-and-twenty, and had just arrived 
 from the United States, well provided for in the way of courage 
 and determination, with a goodly stock of youthful illusions, 
 and very little besides. I was just beginning to understand a 
 few words of French, and had entered the studio of the great 
 and unfortunate painter Gros. If I understood but few of the 
 things the master and pupils said to me, I understood the lan- 
 guage of the pencil, and worked all the harder that I was the 
 more estranged. 
 
 One day, as the model was resting, and I was looking at my 
 morning's work in a somewhat melancholy state of mind, a 
 short, thick-set young man, with bright brown eyes and shaggy 
 hair, unceremoniously pushed me aside, saying, 11 Donne moi ta 
 place., petit." I was going to protest, when I saw my fellow- 
 student so absorbed that I grew interested in what he was 
 doing. He coolly turned over my sheet of gray paper and 
 sketched the model, who, resting, had fallen into a far better 
 attitude than that which we had copied. The outline drawing 
 was so strong, so full of life, so easily done, that I never re- 
 ceived a better lesson. When he had finished, he left my place 
 as coolly as he had taken it, seemingly quite unconscious of my 
 existence. I did not then know the name of this free-and-easy 
 comrade, but I kept the drawing and prized it. I am sorry 
 
 3 
 
4 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 to say that the woman intrusted with the care of my room 
 had but small respect for the fine arts, and being one day in 
 need of paper to light my fire, took a number of drawings for 
 that purpose. Among those drawings was the outline sketch 
 by Thomas Couture. 
 
 I was scarcely able to profit much by my illustrious mas- 
 ter's directions. Baron Grros had been a very successful as 
 well as a very great painter. His " Battle of Eylau " and his 
 " Plague of Jaffa " at the Louvre show what he was capable of 
 doing. But little by little fashion changed ; other painters be- 
 came the favorites of the moment, and Grros was left somewhat 
 in the background. There are but few sorrows more cruel than 
 such a sorrow — to feel one's own power, to know that one's 
 rivals are less truly artists than one's self, and yet to assist, pow- 
 erless, at the crumbling away of one's own fame. And, as often 
 happens, the very public so eager formerly to praise seems to 
 find a cruel delight in throwing mud at the fallen idol. The 
 criticisms which were not spared Baron Grros when his last pic- 
 ture was exhibited at the Salon so cut him to the heart that he 
 threw himself into the Seine. His body was found near Saint- 
 Cloud. His pupils dispersed, and I had no opportunity to 
 make further acquaintance with my eccentric fellow-student. 
 
 Some years later, when the estranged boy that I was in 1834 
 had become a young man, I happened one day to pass with a 
 comrade, a young Englishman named Coplis, near the shop of 
 Desforges, who sold canvases and paints, and who also exhib- 
 ited pictures in his window. I was greatly struck by a picture 
 representing a young Venetian, and endeavored to excite my 
 companion to enthusiasm. Coplis was hungry, and at first 
 thought more of his delayed lunch than of the painting. But 
 he soon forgot his hunger, and exclaimed, "By Jove! I must 
 get my brother to buy that." Lucky fellow ! I had a certain 
 respect for a painter whose brother was rich enough to buy 
 pictures. In those days painters were by no means able to 
 build their own grand studios, and to fill them with wonderful 
 draperies and precious bric-a-brac ; as a usual thing, they be- 
 longed to modest families, who mourned over the son and 
 brother who had embraced such a profession. 
 
 Mr. Coplis bought the picture signed Thomas Couture, and 
 paid the color-dealer a thousand francs for it. I afterward 
 
BAIUlKDIIi.NNK COLLECTION, PA It IS 
 
 ENORAVLD BY II. DAVIDSON 
 
 THE LITTLE CONFECTIONER." BY COUTURE 
 
THOMAS COUTURE 
 
 5 
 
 found out that the artist received only three hundred francs. 
 As it happened, it was I who was commissioned to go to his 
 studio to tell him of the purchase. As soon as I entered I saw 
 that Couture was no other than the fellow-student who had so 
 unceremoniously taken my place. I was so delighted at the 
 coincidence that Couture, who naturally did not recognize me 
 at all, thought me a little crazy. I exclaimed, " I am so glad 
 that it is you ! " After a while Couture understood that I was 
 not the rich amateur who had bought his picture, but only a 
 poor devil of a painter like himself, and that we both had been 
 pupils of Grros. Our friendship dated from that moment. 
 
 There was in Couture's talent such vigor, such frankness, 
 so much of life and truth, that my admiration for the artist 
 equaled my liking for the man. He was apart among the paint- 
 ers of the day ; as far removed from the cold academic school 
 as from the new art, just then making its way, with Delacroix 
 at its head. The famous quarrel between the classical and the 
 romantic camps left him indifferent. He was, even then, of 
 too independent a nature to follow any chief, however great. 
 He was — himself. His great aim was to approach nature as 
 near as possible, to give life and passion to his painted figures. 
 And in that he succeeded wonderfully. 
 
 On that first visit of mine to his bare studio — a very differ- 
 ent-looking place from the lovely boudoir-like studios of fash- 
 ionable painters nowadays — I saw him at work on a picture 
 only just sketched in. He exclaimed : " The amateur who will 
 buy that canvas for a thousand francs will have his money's 
 worth. Don't you think so ? " A thousand francs ! The pic- 
 ture was large, and represented "The Prodigal Son," a life-size 
 figure. The young man, seated by the wayside, a goatskin 
 about his loins his only garment, thin, his deep-sunken eyes 
 full of despair, his brow overshadowed by a thick shock of 
 black hair, seems to ruminate over his past f oUies and their con- 
 sequences. In the background pass a man and a woman. The 
 young woman is full of compassion, while her companion points 
 to the prodigal and seems to tell his story. The contrast be- 
 tween the prodigal son and these lovers is very happily indi- 
 cated ; and the rich tones of the man's red drapery relieve the 
 somberness of the rest of the picture. While examining the 
 sketch I said to my new friend: "My sitters pay me a thou- 
 
G 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 sand francs for a portrait. If yon will allow me to pay yon by 
 instalments, I will be that amatenr, — and a proud one too, — 
 and I offer yon not a thousand francs, but fifteen hundred." 
 
 I was very proud of my purchase, but a little troubled too. 
 In those days my sitters were not very numerous, and I bor- 
 rowed of Mr. Coplis, the brother of my fellow-student, the first 
 sum paid to Couture. But I never regretted this youthful folly 
 of mine. " The Prodigal Son " remained in my studio for 
 many years, and I took it with me to America. Finally I gave 
 it, with many other pictures, to the city of Chicago. I am 
 sorry to say that the whole collection was destroyed in the 
 great fire of 1871. A small sketch of " The Prodigal Son," 
 and a most spirited one, still exists; it belongs to M. Barbedi- 
 enne, the famous bronze-dealer, who was a personal friend of 
 Couture, and possesses a number of pictures, drawings, and 
 sketches by the master. 
 
 Thomas Couture was of humble origin, and had to fight his 
 way in life; he fought it bravely and successfully. He was 
 born in Senlis, not far from Paris, on December 21, 1815. 
 Sturdy, thick-set, short, with a big voice and somewhat 
 rough manners, he was by no means what is called a " lady's 
 man." He never frequented society, and had a profound con- 
 tempt for those who did. He was a great worker, in his youth 
 especially, for later he grew much fonder of his ease. He cared 
 only for the life of the studio and for artists' jokes, and, I am 
 sorry to say, practical jokes were his particular delight. If 
 he had not been a painter, he might have been a most inimi- 
 table comic actor. When he told a story (and he told funny 
 stories by the dozen), he would act it; his face would turn and 
 twist, his eyes would dance, his nose, with its peculiar nostrils 
 opening upward, would sniff, and he managed so admirably to 
 render the tone of voice and the gestures of those he imitated 
 that he actually looked like them. I remember that many 
 years later, happening to speak of a very fussy old lady whom 
 we both knew, and whom he had known when she was yomig, 
 he so caught the twist of her head, the pleading of her eyes, 
 the flattery of her society phrases, that I saw her before me, 
 and not only as she was then, but as she must have been twenty 
 or thirty years before. 
 
 Couture was a stanch and faithful friend. We were often 
 
THOMAS COUTURE 
 
 7 
 
 separated, as I continually went to America or to England; 
 but when I returned to Paris I was sure to find my old com- 
 rade such as he had been when we parted. When I married, 
 and presented him to my young wife, the impression was not 
 so favorable as I should have liked. His loud voice, his free- 
 and-easy manners, and especially his practical jokes, which 
 he did not always reserve for the painting-room, greatly dis- 
 turbed the shy young Englishwoman. At one time he never 
 came to dine with us without bringing in his pocket a tame liz- 
 ard, which would run up his back and nestle against his neck, 
 or would play the same trick with unsuspecting strangers. He 
 did his best to inspire a disgust for oysters by showing the 
 creatures to be living at the moment when they were swal- 
 lowed. Many other such trifles were set down against him at 
 first ; but with time, and especially after he himself, rather late 
 in life, married, these eccentricities were softened down, and 
 his real sterling qualities — the good heart, the faithfulness, the 
 sturdy courage, and the manly energy — grew to be more tho- 
 roughly appreciated. 
 
 These strong qualities did not go without a certain rough 
 independence of character which did not help him to success 
 and official dignities. He divided the world into two distinct 
 classes: artists, — that is, those whom God created to be the 
 masters of the world, — and the others, whom he called with 
 infinite contempt " Jes bourgeois.'''' The greatest statesmen, 
 kings, noblemen, or shopkeepers were all bourgeois, — that is, 
 inferior beings, who should consider it an honor to buy pic- 
 tures or statues at the highest possible rates. As to allowing 
 them a voice in the matter, the right of directing in any way 
 the artist they employed, that was not to be thought of. Their 
 first duty was to be eternally satisfied, grateful, and enthusiastic. 
 
 At the time that Guizot published his work on Washington 
 I was commissioned by a group of Americans to paint a por- 
 trait of the great French statesman. The sittings were most 
 agreeable, and conversation between the painter and the sitter 
 never flagged. I happened to mention Couture, and I spoke 
 so warmly of my fellow-student that Guizot expressed a wish 
 to see him. The picture of " The Prodigal Son," which he had 
 admired during his sittings, proved to him that my enthusiasm 
 was not inspired merely by friendship. We therefore went to- 
 
8 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 gether to Couture's studio. He had utilized one of his bare 
 walls to sketch in the picture which was to become so cele- 
 brated under the title of " The Romans of the Decadence." 
 Even in that rough state it was easy to see what a strong work 
 it was, and the visitor was very much struck by it. Gluizot 
 was then all-powerful, and a more courtier-like painter would 
 have shown himself more flattered by this visit than did Cou- 
 ture; he considered it but his due. When the statesman asked 
 him whether he had no order for this picture, he answered, 
 " J' 'attends." The orders should come to him: he would never 
 run after them. Gruizot smiled, but continued most graciously: 
 
 " Who was your master ? " 
 
 " Delaroche." 
 
 After the death of Grros, Couture had entered Delaroche's 
 atelier, but remained only a short time under a master whom 
 he did not admire. 
 
 "M. Delaroche is a friend of mine," answered Ghrizot; "I 
 shall have great pleasure in speaking of you to him." 
 
 And he evidently did speak to Delaroche of his pupil, for 
 a short time after this visit Couture happened to meet his 
 old master, the most successful artist of the day, the favorite 
 painter of Louis Philippe and of all his family. Delaroche 
 went up to him and said : 
 
 " M. Guizot seems to have been struck by your work ; he 
 told me so. I replied that you had been my favorite pupil, 
 you had natural talent, but that you had strayed from the true 
 path, and I could not recommend you." 
 
 Probably the favorite court-painter influenced his royal 
 patrons, for when the " Decadence " was exhibited at the 
 Louvre — in those days the Salon took place in the long gal- 
 lery, the modern canvases hiding the works of the old masters 
 — the King, Louis Philippe, when he visited the exhibition, 
 managed to turn his back on Couture's picture, both in coming 
 and in going. The painter's contempt for bourgeois taste 
 by no means kept him from feeling this royal behavior most 
 keenly. However, the picture had such great success, was so 
 generally praised, suddenly causing its author to become fa- 
 mous in a day, that the state bought it for the very large sum 
 of 6000 francs. This sudden reputation of his ex-pupil proba- 
 bly caused Delaroche to modify his judgment. At any rate, 
 
THOMAS COUTURE 
 
 9 
 
 lie called on Couture some time after the purchase of the 
 "Decadence," and said: 
 
 " Monsieur Couture, I have greatly disapproved, I still dis- 
 approve, of your conception of art, but I do not deny that you 
 have talent. You have made for yourself a place in art ; let us 
 be friends." 
 
 But Couture was not a man to be taken by a few pleasant 
 words ; he drew back and answered : 
 
 " Monsieur Delaroche, you have had immense success, you 
 are a member of the Institute, you have innumerable admirers. 
 I never was, I never can be, among those admirers. Therefore 
 there can be no question of friendship between us two." 
 
 And, bowing, he left the great man somewhat astonished 
 at this response to his advances. 
 
 Couture was a good painter, but a very bad courtier ; he 
 proved it every time he was placed in contact with the great 
 ones of this world, whether sovereigns or members of the In- 
 stitute of France. That was not the way to make his talent 
 a popular talent. The rough independence of his nature could 
 admit of no sort of compromise. He had several opportunities 
 of making his way to honors and to fortune — opportunities 
 which another might have utilized, but which he wasted. 
 Doubtless he made good resolutions, but when the time came 
 he was unable to control his impatience and his sharp retorts. 
 
 If Louis Philippe did not appreciate the painter of the 
 "Decadence," Couture's reputation was so well established when 
 Napoleon III took possession of the throne that it was impos- 
 sible to treat him slightingly, though his talent was not such 
 as courts, as a usual thing, cared to encourage. The favorite 
 painter of the Third Empire was Winterhalter, as Delaroche 
 had been of the Orleans family. However, an order was given 
 to Couture for a large picture representing the baptism of the 
 little Prince Imperial. He went to work with great ardor, 
 making sketches, and preparing a vast composition. In the 
 course of the work he had to have sittings from the various 
 members of the imperial family and their immediate followers. 
 If a portrait-painter, when his sitters are ordinary mortals, has 
 nearly always to undergo many unpleasant scenes, it is easy to 
 judge how his temper is tried, and his nerves unstrung, when 
 those sitters are princes or sovereigns. It is likely that in Cou- 
 
 2 
 
10 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 ture's case the sittings were not agreeable either to the painter 
 or to his models. Napoleon III wished to direct his artist, and 
 of all artists Couture was the least easy to direct. Finally, one 
 day, goaded beyond endurance, the painter turned around and 
 said : 
 
 "Sire, who is to paint this picture — your Majesty, or I?" 
 And neither painted it ! The Emperor gave no more sittings, 
 tinned his back on the painter, and his courtiers turned theirs 
 also. The order was not maintained, and all the work of many 
 months was wasted. 
 
 Couture never recovered from this bitter disappointment. 
 He shook the dust from his feet, and returned contempt for 
 contempt. From that day on he never sent any work to the 
 annual Salon, and, little by little, so retired from the world 
 that many thought him dead. For many of his contemporaries 
 he remained the painter of the " Decadence," as though he had 
 painted only that one picture. How many times have I not 
 heard young painters exclaim : " Couture — ah, yes, Couture of 
 the Romans. But he died ages ago. Or, if he still vegetates 
 somewhere, he must be very old indeed. No one has heard of 
 him for many a long year ! " In reality, when Couture died, in 
 March, 1879, he was not sixty-four years of age. 
 
 The truth is that Couture never ceased working, though he 
 worked after a somewhat irregular fashion, giving himself 
 numerous holidays. If he was neglected by the great mass of 
 his countrymen, he was appreciated by foreigners. One of his 
 most charming works, the "Falconer," of which I made a copy 
 the size of the original, is in Germany. But most of his pic- 
 tures were bought, I am glad to say, by Americans. It is rather 
 odd that our new nation should have a love of art, and the 
 instinct of the real amateur, more fully developed than many 
 an Old World country. When Millet was still, if not unknown, 
 at least violently criticized in France, America already pos- 
 sessed some of his best works. Barye found his most fervent 
 admirers in the United States. Couture painted almost ex- 
 clusively for Americans. 
 
 He married rather late in life, and had two children, 
 both girls. He was adored by his wife and daughters, and his 
 married life was a very happy one. Perhaps, with our ideas 
 on such matters, we might consider that his theory of the 
 
THOMAS COUTURE 
 
 11 
 
 superiority of the male creature, and his right to absolute de- 
 votion on the part of his womenfolk, was a reprehensible 
 theory. But he made an excellent father and husband in spite 
 of his conviction that a man was not made to be faithful to one 
 woman, and that education for girls was a dangerous modern 
 notion, not to be encouraged by a reasonable man. 
 
 In 1869 he purchased a country place at Villiers-le-Bel, a 
 short distance from Paris. The house dated from the time of 
 Francis I, and the garden, or rather park, was filled with grand 
 old trees. Here he resided during the last ten years of his 
 life, going to Paris only during a few months in winter. His 
 peculiar ideas of happiness caused him to live in what other 
 mortals might consider great discomfort. Under pretext that 
 nature managed things for the best, he never allowed a gardener 
 to work on his grounds. He was, besides, quite convinced 
 that such hirelings made it a point to sell his vegetables and to 
 steal his fruit. As a natural consequence the beautiful place 
 went to ruin ; the trees brought forth no fruit, and the earth 
 yielded no vegetables. He himself took great delight in wear- 
 ing peasant's garments and in walking in sabots — they at least 
 had nothing to do with civilization ! But as he had a thorough 
 appreciation of the delights of a good table, he employed an 
 excellent cook, and his devoted wife took care that his meals 
 should be of the best and his truffles of the largest. But for 
 the rest of the service a village girl was quite sufficient, and 
 he deemed it by no means beneath their dignity to utilize his 
 wife and daughters in domestic duties of the most active sort. 
 
 In his country retreat he was not, however, abandoned. 
 Pupils gathered about him, living in the village so as to profit 
 by the master's advice. Among these were many Americans, 
 Mr. Ernest LongfeUow, son of the poet, being of the number. 
 Couture was an excellent master, and took great interest in the 
 progress of his pupils. His great precept was, " Look at na- 
 ture ; copy nature." He published a little book full of good 
 advice to young artists, giving the result of many years' ex- 
 perience. All his pupils were fond of him, which proves that 
 the exterior peculiarities which sometimes shocked strangers 
 were soon overlooked by those who were able to appreciate his 
 sterling qualities. A man who is loved by the members of his 
 family, to whom all his friends remain faithful, and who is 
 
12 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 appreciated by young people, is sure to be of a thoroughly lov- 
 able nature. Still, it must be owned that the first impression 
 was not always quite agreeable. On one occasion an American, 
 a rather shy and exquisitely polite gentleman, and a great ad- 
 mirer of Couture's talent, went, provided with a letter of intro- 
 duction, to pay his respects to the master. The master was in 
 his bath, but when his wife told him of the visit, " Let him 
 come in ! " exclaimed he, and, much to our countryman's con- 
 fusion, he was received by Couture, soaking placidly in his 
 bath. He rather splashed his visitor, for, like many Frenchmen, 
 he gesticulated freely while conversing. 
 
 Couture was fond of telling the story of his first pupil. He 
 was still a young man when, one morning, he heard a timid 
 knock at his door. " Come in!" said he, in that gruff voice of 
 his, scarcely calculated to encourage shy visitors. A young 
 fellow, slightly deformed, dressed like a well-to do countryman, 
 entered, and, not without much hesitation and much stutter- 
 ing, begged the painter to take him in as pupil. " I have no 
 pupils ; and I wish for none," was the discouraging answer. 
 But the youth, if he was timid, was tenacious. He would be 
 so discreet ; his master need not feel his presence ; all he asked 
 for was a corner of the atelier from which he could see the 
 great artist at work ; he would make himself of use, wash the 
 brushes, set the palette, run errands — do anything, in short, 
 that was required of him. Couture continued to say no ; the 
 young man continued to plead. Finally the artist impatiently 
 took up his pipe and found that his tobacco-pouch was empty. 
 " Go and buy me some tobacco ! " he cried. The young man 
 disappeared, reappearing soon ; Couture smoked, was mollified 
 and — yielded. 
 
 This strange pupil remained with him for more than a year. 
 Couture often wondered how he managed to live. He seemed 
 poor, but he never borrowed money. He spent all his time work- 
 ing, without showing very great natural talent, and Couture's 
 excellent heart was much concerned. How was that poor fellow 
 ever to get salt for his porridge with his painting? One day 
 the pupil begged a great favor of his master — to let him invite 
 him to dinner. Couture consented, and, to his amazement, the 
 young man, dressed like a gentleman, took him to the best res- 
 taurant in Paris and ordered the best dinner that restaurant 
 
THOMAS COUTURE 
 
 13 
 
 could provide. The poor, humble pupil, who ran on his errands 
 and washed his brushes, was a very rich amateur whose passion 
 for painting had led him to seek the sincere and disinterested 
 lessons of a master he admired. Later, Couture went to visit 
 his ex-pupil in the latter's beautiful chateau in Normandy, 
 which contained one of the finest collections of pictures and 
 rare curiosities in all France. It is needless to say that the 
 master was received with enthusiasm by the pupil. M. Dutuit 
 (the pupil) left his magnificent collection, with a large endow- 
 ment, to the city of Rouen. One of the pictures is a small 
 whole-length of Rembrandt, which I once copied. 
 
 Couture's method of giving a lesson to his pupils was as 
 follows : While they looked on he painted a head from the 
 model, and, while he painted, made judicious remarks as to 
 the drawing, the color, the light and shade. Some of these 
 heads, dashed off in two hours, are charming. M. Barbedienne, 
 Couture's great friend and admirer, possesses several of them. 
 In the same collection are numerous drawings, sketches, half- 
 finished pictures, most interesting to those who like to fol- 
 low the workings of an original genius. Among these is the 
 sketch for his picture, the " Love of Gold." Seated at a table, 
 a man with a fiendish face grasps bags of gold, jewels, and pre- 
 cious stones ; crowding about him, eager for the spoil, we see 
 beautiful women, writers willing to sell their pen, artists their 
 brushes, warriors their valor. Couture's love for symbolical 
 painting grew with years, developed probably by solitude. In 
 the very retired life which he led he did not follow the move- 
 ment of modern art ; he even refused to see what other artists 
 did, declining to let them see his own works. Another of his 
 symbolical pictures, of which M. Barbedienne possesses a large, 
 nearly finished sketch, shows us a beautiful young woman 
 seated in a carriage, whip in hand, driving, instead of horses, a 
 group of men — among them a poet, a warrior, and a satyr-like 
 old lover. I prefer, as a general thing, his simpler works. 
 Among these I must speak of a little picture representing a boy 
 carrying a tray on which are glasses full of wine or red syrup ; 
 his head is covered with a sort of white twisted cloth, and is 
 singularly living and strongly painted. Couture's love of sym- 
 bolical pictures sometimes carried him to the verge of carica- 
 ture, as in his series of pictures of lawyers. He had two pet 
 
14 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 hatreds — lawyers and doctors. In M. Barbedienne's gallery- 
 are some very spirited drawings and sketches of lawyers speak- 
 ing before the court, or sleeping during the discourse of their 
 brother lawyers. As to doctors, he never would allow one in 
 his house. He was so violent in his animosity that, when he 
 fell ill, he refused all medical aid. And his was a terrible sort 
 of disease, which could not be cured, although his sufferings 
 might at least have been somewhat allayed. 
 
 My poor friend died of a cancer in the stomach on the 27th 
 of March, 1879. His loss was a great sorrow to me. We had 
 been young men together ; we had seen years roll on without 
 bringing any changes in our mutual feelings, and when one of 
 us experienced some success in life it was a joy to the other. 
 For his talent I had a sincere and profound admiration; for 
 his strong and manly nature the greatest sympathy. He was 
 a friend in the broadest and best sense of the word. 
 
 a. P. A. Healy. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 GEORGE PETER ALEXANDER 
 HEALY was born in Boston in 
 1813. He went to Paris in 1834, and 
 became a pupil of Gros. He remained 
 in Paris many years, with occasional 
 visits to the United States. He lived 
 in Chicago from 1855 to 1867, then 
 went to Rome and lived there, finally 
 returning to Paris, where the last 
 dozen years of his life were spent. 
 He died in 1894. He was celebrated 
 as a portrait-painter, and during his 
 life executed over GOO portraits, many 
 
 of them from famous sitters — such as 
 Guizot, Louis Philippe, Soult, Cass, 
 Clay, Calhoun, "Webster, Jackson, 
 Pierce, Prescott, Longfellow, Doug- 
 las, Lincoln, Grant. His largest pic- 
 ture, " Webster's Reply to Hayne," 
 containing 130 portraits, is in Fan- 
 euil Hall, Boston, and many of his 
 portraits are in Washington, in the 
 Corcoran Gallery, and elsewhere. He 
 was an honorary member of the 
 Academy of Design. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
PUVIS DE CHAYANNES 
 BY 
 
 KENYON COX 
 
PIERRE-CECILE PUVIS DE CHAVANNES 
 
 (1824- ) 
 
 TO the many Americans who have seen and who will see the 
 great mural painting which the venerable president of the 
 Champ-de-Mars Salon has recently completed for the Public 
 Library of Boston, the old town of Amiens should henceforth 
 have a new interest. Of all the thousands on their way to or 
 from Paris who stop for an hour or two at that city to see her 
 glorious cathedral, how many know that the little provincial 
 museum there contains another treasure of art almost as inter- 
 esting and instructive as the cathedral itself? Your guide- 
 book, if it is Baedeker's " Paris," tells you only that the 
 museum contains some antiquities, and "about 250 French 
 paintings, chiefly of the beginning of the present century,"— a 
 description not likely to stir enthusiasm in you, — and fuller 
 guide-books tell you little more. In the shop-windows of the 
 town you will find no photographs of this treasure, and inquiry 
 at your hotel, or in the shops and streets, will convince you 
 that the inhabitants of Amiens are unaware of its existence. 
 Yet nowhere else in the world will you find such material for 
 the study of the aims and methods of one of the two greatest 
 artists in a great branch of art that this century has produced. 
 The two supreme decorative painters of our time are Baudry 
 and Puvis de Chavannes ; and whoever would understand Pu- 
 vis must study him in Amiens. Much of his finest work is in 
 Paris, and many other French cities possess great paintings by 
 him, — even an American city possesses one now, — but only in 
 Amiens is there a series of great decorations by him, beginning 
 with his earliest effort in this fine, — the first trying of his 
 
18 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 wings, — following with the rapidly maturing works of the next 
 few years, in which the formation and growth of his method 
 and style are plainly to be traced, and ending with a work of 
 his full maturity. 
 
 I have called decoration a great branch of art ; but to me, as 
 to many others, it seems the highest art of all. This is a real- 
 istic age, and the easel-picture is its most marked artistic pro- 
 duction. A painting has come to seem for us a record of fact, 
 differing only a little from a photograph, and we think of it as 
 a thing isolated and portable, a thing per se, and only degraded 
 when it is forced into service and subordinated to an architec- 
 tural whole. We expect our painters to produce for us works 
 of art which shall have no relation to anything else, but shall 
 be whole and self-sufficing ; and then we proceed to put these 
 works of art together in a gallery, where each one swears at all 
 the others, and a thousand conflicting relations are at once es- 
 tablished. It was not so that art was understood in the ages 
 of great production. In Greece each statue was destined for a 
 given pediment or a given niche ; in Italy each picture fres- 
 coed a given wall, or was an altarpiece for a particular altar. 
 The artist might carve the front of the Parthenon or paint the 
 ceiling of the Sistine ; or he might, as Benvenuto did, ornament 
 a salt-cellar or twist the handle of a dagger or a spoon ; but his 
 art was always art in service — it was always the decoration 
 of something which might exist without its aid. 
 
 Indeed, all art, so far as it is art, is decorative. Facts and 
 the record of facts are but the raw material of art ; the art 
 itself is in the arrangement. It is harmony and order that 
 make art, whether the harmony be that of line or color or 
 light and shade ; only to-day we give the artist a piece of can- 
 vas to decorate with ordered lines and colors, and limit his 
 harmony to that, with such help as his gilt frame may give 
 him, — he must trust to chance for everything else, — whereas 
 in the good old days a whole church or a whole palace was 
 one great work of art, of which the picture was a part only ; 
 and instead of confining himself within his frame, the painter 
 had to harmonize what he did with the whole about it. A 
 more difficult problem, but surely a nobler one, and the result 
 how much more satisfactory ! For, the work once done, there 
 it was forever in the light it was painted for and in the sur- 
 
'PEACE" (DETAIL). BY PUVIS DE CHAVANNES 
 
 AMIENS 
 
PIERRE -CECILE PUVIS DE CHAVANNES 19 
 
 roundings it was meant to fit, and not at the mercy of the 
 chance contrasts of the exhibition or the gallery, where each 
 musician plays his own tune, with the natural result of clash 
 and discord. Fortunately for us, all of our modern painting 
 has not been of this isolated, picture-making kind, and we 
 have had artists who have understood decorative art, and 
 have been given the chance to teach us what they knew. 
 The paintings in the foyer of the Paris opera-house, by Paul 
 Baudry, form a complete scheme of splendid ornament, com- 
 parable in extent and in beauty to the great work of the 
 Renaissance ; and in his altogether different manner Puvis de 
 Chavannes has given us — is still giving us — more than one 
 noble page of chaste and lofty decoration. 
 
 Pierre-Cecile Puvis de Chavannes was born at Lyons on 
 December 14, 1824. His family is a very old one, which can 
 trace its authentic history as far back as 1152. One of his an- 
 cestors married Catherine de Coligny, who belonged to the 
 same family as the great admiral. He is the second artist of 
 his race, for the Louvre contains a landscape (No. 105), called 
 " The Shepherds," by Pierre-Domachin, Sieur de Chavannes, 
 who was received into the Academy in 1709, and died in 1744, 
 at the age of seventy-two years. The family would seem to be a 
 long-lived one. They take their name from their place of ori- 
 gin, Chavannes-sur-Suran, commune of the canton of Treport. 
 
 At what age Puvis began the study of art we are not told ; 
 but his masters were Henri Scheffer (brother of the more cele- 
 brated Ary Scheffer) and Thomas Couture — an artistic pedi- 
 gree one would never have guessed from his mature work. He 
 probably began late, for he was in his thirty-fifth year when, 
 in 1859, he made his first appearance at the Salon with a 
 " Return from Hunting," which one would hke to see. It 
 probably bears little resemblance to the work he has since 
 produced. His career as the great decorator we know began 
 in 1861, when he exhibited two large canvases, in something 
 like his present style, entitled "War" and "Peace." They 
 were much criticized, but found an able defender in Theophile 
 Grautier, who, with a discrimination which he often showed, 
 praised them warmly. These pictures received the award of 
 a second-class medal from the jury, and were bought for the 
 museum of Amiens, where they now are. Like all his work, 
 
20 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 they are done on canvas with a medium of wax, and were 
 fastened to the wall with white lead. For Amiens, also, was 
 done most of the work of the next few years — "Work" and 
 "Rest" in 1863; "Ave, Picardia Nutrix" in 1865; and two 
 small grisailles, " Vigilance " and " Fancy," in 1866, thus com- 
 pleting this magnificent series of early works. In 1864 he ex- 
 hibited at the Salon an "Autumn," for which he received a 
 third-class medal. At the Universal Exposition of 1867 he 
 was represented by reductions of " "War," " Peace," " Work," 
 and " Rest," and by another canvas, " Sleep." Here he gained 
 another third-class medal, and was given the red ribbon of the 
 Legion of Honor. From that time his position was assured, 
 his victory gained. Since then he has been constantly a mem- 
 ber of Salon juries and art commissions, and his life is a series 
 of new triumphs and of new commissions for the decoration of 
 public buildings. Let us pass his work rapidly in review: 1868, 
 " Play," for the Cercle de 1'Union Artistique ; 1869, " Massilia, 
 Greek Colony," and "Marseilles, Gate of the East," for the 
 staircase of the museum of Marseilles ; 1880, " The Beheading 
 of John the Baptist" and "Magdalen in the Desert"; 1872, 
 "Hope"; 1873, "Summer"; 1874, "Charles Martel's Victory 
 over the Saracens," for the hotel de ville of Poitiers; 1875, 
 " St. Radegonde protecting Education," for the same building, 
 and a "Fisherman's Family." In 1876 and 1877 he painted 
 his well-known decorations for the Pantheon, dealing with the 
 infancy of St. Genevieve, and for these he was made an Officer 
 of the Legion. In 1879 he exhibited " The Prodigal Son" and 
 " Girls by the Seashore," and in 1880 " Ludus pro Patria," for 
 Amiens again, where it stands opposite the "Ave, Picardia 
 Nutrix," painted fifteen years before. In 1881 came one of his 
 rare easel-pictures, " The Poor Fisherman," which now hangs 
 in the gallery of the Luxembourg, where it was placed in 1887, 
 his " Sleep " being bought for the museum of Lille at the same 
 time. In 1882 he exhibited " Doux Pays " (a title I shall not 
 try to translate), painted for the house of M. Leon Bonnat, 
 and for this work he received the medal of honor by vote of 
 the majority of qualified exhibitors. In 1883 he showed "The 
 Dream," "A Woman at her Toilet," and a "Portrait of Mile. M. 
 C"; and in 1884 the first of his series of decorations for the 
 museum of his native city of Lyons, the lovely " Sacred Wood, 
 
PIERRE- CECILE PUVIS DE CHAVANNES 
 
 21 
 
 dear to the Arts and the Muses," followed in 1885 by "Au- 
 tumn," a variation on the earlier picture of that name, and in 
 1886 by " Antique Vision," " Christian Inspiration," and " The 
 Rhone and the Saone," symbols respectively of the form, of 
 sentiment, and of force and grace. The next two years were 
 occupied with the great hemicycle for the Sorbonne, probably 
 his finest work, which was completed in 1889, in which year 
 he was made a Commander of the Legion. In 1890 came the 
 schism out of which grew the new Salon, known as the 
 Champ-de-Mars, but properly called the Societe Rationale 
 des Beaux-Arts. Puvis was one of the promoters of this 
 movement, and, upon the death of Meissonier in 1891, became 
 its president, which office he still holds. At this new Salon 
 he has exhibited: in 1891, "Inter Artes et Naturam" for the 
 Rouen museum, two smaller panels for the same, " Pottery " 
 and " Ceramics," and " Summer " for the hotel-de-ville of 
 Paris ; in 1892, " Winter," also for the hotel-de-ville ; and in 
 1894, a whole series for the Prefect's Staircase in the same 
 building, the ceiling representing "Victor Hugo offering his 
 Lyre to the City of Paris," while allegories of "Patriotism," 
 " Charity," etc., fill the ten pendentives. In 1895 he also ex- 
 hibited there the great panel now in its permanent place at 
 the head of the main stairway of the Boston Public Library. 
 To this bald list of his exhibited work one must add the ex- 
 hibition, in many cases, of the cartoons of his great decora- 
 tions before the color was added; the "Victor Hugo," for 
 instance, having been exhibited thus at the Champ-de-Mars 
 in 1893. It is only in this state, as pure outline, that the 
 writer has been privileged to see it. 
 
 The position which Puvis de Chavannes now holds is a sin- 
 gular one. A veteran of more than seventy years, and having 
 attained almost every honor that a painter may hope for, he is 
 yet one of the leaders of the young school of to-day, one of the 
 most living and vital influences in contemporary art, one of the 
 most discussed and criticized of artists. His art is certainly of 
 a sort to be " caviare to the general." It has been said to be 
 the negation of everything that has always been counted art, 
 and to be based on the omission of drawing, modeling, light 
 and shade, and even color. On the other hand, his admirers 
 think him a master of drawing in his own style, and certainly 
 
22 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 a master of color. To explain these seeming contradictions ; 
 to show the reason of the omissions in his work, which do 
 not arise from ignorance, but are distinctly wilful ; to exhibit 
 his qualities, and give a reason for the hearty admiration that 
 many of us feel for him — this is the difficult task before me. 
 
 To begin with, one must remember that Puvis is above all 
 things a decorator, and that his work cannot be properly judged 
 except in place. It does not show to good advantage in an ex- 
 hibition, where it is necessarily placed in contrast with works 
 done on radically different principles. I have often felt disap- 
 pointed with a canvas by him when I saw it in the Salon ; but 
 I have seldom seen one of his decorations in the surroundings 
 for which it was intended without being struck with its fitness 
 and the perfection with which it served its purpose. His " Poor 
 Fisherman," hung as an easel-picture among other easel-pic- 
 tures in the Luxembourg, seems almost ludicrous. It was said 
 of Millet's peasants that they were too poor to afford folds in 
 their garments ; here the poverty seems even more abject, and 
 drawing and color seem equally beyond its resources. Trans- 
 fer the contest to his own ground, however, and see how Puvis 
 in his turn triumphs over those who, in a gallery, utterly crush 
 him by their greater strength and brilliancy of technic. Glo to 
 the Pantheon and look at the mural pictures executed there by 
 many of the foremost of the French painters, and I think you 
 will feel that there is just one of them that looks like a true 
 decoration, exactly fitted for the place it occupies and the archi- 
 tecture that surrounds it, and that that one is Puvis de Cha- 
 vannes's. By contrast with it, Cabanel's looks affected and 
 Bonnat's brutal, and many of the others become entirely insig- 
 nificant. By dint of sheer strength and severity of style Lau- 
 rens holds his own better than any one else; but his great 
 compositions do not keep their place on the wall, as do those 
 of Puvis, but cut through it. In color some of these decora- 
 tions look bright and gaudy, some look black and heavy ; in 
 form some look pompous and turbulent, some coarse and real- 
 istic, some slight and languid. Puvis's drawing, with all its 
 omissions, is austere and noble ; and his pale tints, which have 
 been called the denial of color, look here like the only true 
 color, absolute in harmony, a part of the building itself — the 
 delicate efflorescence, as it were, of the gray walls. 
 
PIERRE- CECILE 
 
 PUVIS DE CHAVANNES 
 
 23 
 
 Then go to the Sorbonne and look at the hemicycle, and 
 compare the effect of its dead tones and rude drawing with 
 that of Galland's apparently much more learned work in the 
 panels of the ceiling, and ask yourself if the result is not the 
 same. Of course it would be easy to explain this in the way 
 of the average critic by loose talk about feeling and sentiment 
 and the rest, much as some of them would have us believe that 
 Millet could neither draw nor paint, yet was a great artist all 
 the same ; but for those of us who believe that there is no result 
 without means, that the important thing is not what the artist 
 feels, but what he expresses, and that all expression must be by 
 technical methods, so that there is no good art which is not 
 technically good — for us such an explanation is no explanation. 
 The f eehng and the sentiment are there, and I shall have some- 
 thing to say about them presently : but they have not got upon 
 the wall by miracle, but by the use of means to that end ; and 
 when we find Puvis magnificently successful where others fail, 
 we begin to ask ourselves if it is not, perhaps, because of his 
 apparent shortcomings, rather than in spite of them, that he 
 succeeds, and whether what seem like technical defects are not 
 really, for his purpose, technical merits. 
 
 If this is the case, one would expect to find that the ex- 
 treme simplicity of his present style is acquired, and that he 
 has reached it by a series of eliminations ; and one has only 
 to go to the museum of Amiens to convince one's self of the 
 truth of this surmise. "War" and "Peace," his first trials at 
 grand decorative art, are in many ways singularly unlike the 
 Puvis of to-day. They show little or nothing of the stiffness, 
 the lack of accent, the flatness and the paleness of color, that 
 we associate with his name. They are the work of a good pupil 
 of the schools, showing already something of decorative talent, 
 but rather turbulent in composition, well drawn in an academic 
 style, and painted with full modeling and with an almost over- 
 strong light and shade. They are not the work of a master 
 of realism, but they are realistic in method up to a certain 
 point. There is in one of them the back of a female figure 
 who is engaged in milking a goat, which is a very good bit of 
 flesh-painting, white and plump, with redundant modeling and 
 nearly black shadows. The bits are better painted, in their 
 way, than anything he has done since, but the general effect 
 
24 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 is spotty and unquiet; the pictures cut through, as I have 
 said of Laurens's, and you do not feel the flatness of the wall. 
 The great law of decoration is that the ornament should set 
 off and embellish, but never disguise, the thing ornamented; 
 and in mural painting this thing is the wall, and its essential 
 qualities of flatness and extent should be accentuated, not con- 
 cealed. Look now at the pictures painted two years later, 
 "Work" and "Rest," and see how Puvis is learning this 
 lesson. The drawing is even more able than in "War" and 
 "Peace," — look at the foreshortened arm of the wood-cutter 
 or at the herculean figures of the blacksmiths in "Work," 
 or at the man with the skin about his loins in " Rest," — 
 but the light and shade are much more subordinated, and 
 inside their outlines the figures are nearly flat. The landscape, 
 too, is kept in simpler and flatter masses, though with some 
 beautiful detail. Individual figures are singularly lovely. 
 The mother with her child in " Work " is one of these, and 
 the half -nude stooping woman in "Rest," and the other one 
 who is seated with her back turned to the spectator, are as clas- 
 sically beautiful as the work of Ingres, not to say of Raphael. 
 
 If you have once studied and understood these composi- 
 tions, you will never believe that the apparent absence of form 
 in Puvis's later work is other than intentional. Take one step 
 more, and regard the vast composition called "Ave, Picardia 
 Nutrix," and you will begin to see that the individual beau- 
 ties of " Work " and " Rest " are too prominent, that you have 
 noticed too much this back and the other arm, and that things 
 charming in themselves may nevertheless be prejudicial to the 
 general effect — that it is possible for the decoration to be bet- 
 ter while the details are less noticeably perfect. In this great 
 composition Puvis reached, in a way, the perfection of decora- 
 tive style. Nothing could be finer in large decorative effect 
 and general balance, and no one part forces itself upon your 
 attention, yet individual figures are exquisitely beautiful in 
 their slightly simplified but adequate drawing. The color is 
 quiet and less strong than in earlier work, but not without 
 fullness and beauty. Opposite it stands the " Ludus pro Pa- 
 tria " of fifteen years later, and, looking from one to the other, 
 one may be pardoned for wondering if the process of simplifi- 
 cation and omission has not gone too far. The effect is as fine, 
 
THE HEMICYCLE" (DETAIL). BY PUVIS DE CHAVANNES 
 
 SORBONNE, PARIS 
 
PIERRE-CECILE PUVIS DE CHAVANNES 25 
 
 perhaps, as in the "Ave, Picardia Nutrix," — it could not well 
 be finer, — but one misses the charm of detail and the refine- 
 ment of form. Discarding our modern realism, Puvis has gone 
 back as far as Raphael. Was it necessary to go further ? Sim- 
 . plicity is good, but does it entail so much sacrifice ? Perhaps 
 not ; for there is more than one way of attaining decorative 
 effect, and Veronese and Raphael were great decorators as well 
 as Giotto. But Puvis de Chavannes had to work out the ex- 
 pression of his own artistic personality as well as to form a 
 decorative style. In 1865, at the age of forty, he certainly had 
 not yet entirely expressed himself, even if his artistic character 
 was then fully formed. He was slow of development, and had 
 been a recognized and exhibiting artist for only six years. He 
 had done beautiful work, but his most characteristic work was 
 yet to do. 
 
 The titles of two of his great paintings at Lyons give a hint 
 of the elements of his artistic nature : " Vision Antique — Sym- 
 bol de la Forme" and "Inspiration Chretienne — Symbol du 
 Sentiment," as the catalogue of the Salon of 1886 has it. A 
 desire for Greek simplicity and grandeur, a desire for Gothic 
 sentiment and directness of expression — these two desires have 
 pushed him forward to new and ever new suppressions of the 
 useless, the insignificant, the cumbrous. He has come to leave 
 out not only every detail that may interfere with the effect of the 
 whole, but every detail that is not absolutely necessary to the 
 expression of the whole. He has ehminated now for the sake 
 of perfect clarity and now for the sake of quaint simplicity. On 
 the classic side his highest expression is perhaps in the " Sa- 
 cred Wood." Could the sense of idyllic peace and noble tran- 
 quillity be more perfectly rendered ? At first sight the draw- 
 ing may seem simple and almost childish, and one may think 
 it easy to do the like ; but there is the knowledge of a lifetime 
 in these grand fines, and they are simple only as a Greek statue 
 is simple. There are antique figures that look almost wooden 
 in their lack of detail and of fleshy modeling, and yet in which 
 the more you know the more you shall find, until you are aston- 
 ished at the learning which neglected nothing while omitting 
 so much. 
 
 Giotto and Fra Angelico have also had their influence on 
 Puvis, and he has felt, as have so many others, the wonderful 
 
26 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 effect of their rigidly simple works. Doubtless they were dec- 
 orative by instinct, and simple because they knew no better, 
 and left out facts which they had never learned to put in. Is 
 that a reason why a modern painter may not learn their lesson, 
 and knowingly sacrifice much that we have learned, and which , 
 they never knew, for the sake of attaining their clearness and 
 directness of expression ? The system is capable of abuse, as 
 imitators of Puvis have shown us ; and one must be very sin- 
 cere and very earnest not to make it an empty parody. It is 
 not enough to leave out the unessential ; one must have some- 
 thing essential to say. Puvis, at his best, is absolutely grand 
 and absolutely sincere; and while he sacrifices, it is for the 
 sake of expressing a lofty and pure sentiment in a chastened 
 but all the more effective style. 
 
 But, besides the admirer of the Greeks and of the primi- 
 tives, there is also in Puvis the man of this latter end of the 
 nineteenth century, of the epoch of impressionism and the 
 school of plein air. Nothing is more curious in the history of 
 art than the way in which the continued study of chiaroscuro 
 has brought modern painting back by a devious route to the 
 shadelessness of the primitives. The early painters had no 
 light and shade, as the Japanese have none. After all other 
 possibilities of light and shade had been exhausted, the artists 
 of our day began to study the model out of doors in gray day- 
 light, and lo ! the effect is almost that of the early frescos, 
 but with a difference. There is almost as little shade, but 
 there is more study of values — that is, of the exact relative 
 degree of light or dark of each object as compared with other 
 objects and with the sky. In the use of this truth of value 
 Puvis has added something new to the art of decorative 
 painting, and in this and in his study of landscape he is 
 singularly modern. His earlier backgrounds are entirely clas- 
 sic, but gradually landscape occupies a greater and greater 
 place in his work. In the " Ludus pro Patria " the land- 
 scape is the really important thing, and the figures are more 
 or less incidental; and this is even truer of other composi- 
 tions, such as the great landscapes called " Summer " and 
 "Winter," in the Paris hotel-de-ville. In these the figures 
 are relatively of little more importance than in many a paint- 
 ing by Corot, and they are real landscape pictures, as I have 
 
GENEVIEVE " (DETAIL). BY I'UVIS DE CHAVANNES 
 
 PANTHEON, PARIS 
 
PIERRE-CECILE PUVIS DE CHAVANNES 27 
 
 called them. Of course depth and mystery and the illusion of 
 light are not sought by the painter, who is decorator first and 
 landscapist afterward; the foregrounds are much convention- 
 alized and detail is eliminated. Our painter remains the sim- 
 plifier in landscape as in the figure ; but the essentials of land- 
 scape are studied with wonderful thoroughness, and for tone, 
 value, color, and large form, no modern landscape is better 
 than that of Puvis de Chavannes. In the vast decoration at 
 the head of the staircase in the museum of Rouen a composi- 
 tion otherwise not of his best is saved by the splendid back- 
 ground, in which the panorama of the city of Rouen and the 
 islands of the Seine is painted with all the perfection of mod- 
 ern landscape art. 
 
 Of course the work of no man remains always at its highest 
 level, and it is hard for any one to escape the defects of his 
 qualities. After the long training in elimination, what won- 
 der if the master sometimes seems oblivious of the things he 
 has so striven to subordinate, and if there are passages in 
 some of his latest work where drawing ceases to be simplified 
 and becomes falsified? You will find now and again in his 
 pictures an ankle or a wrist that is out of drawing, feeble, and 
 boneless, or a body that is ill constructed and wrongly put 
 together. He who has learned to forget has sometimes for- 
 gotten too much. The " Victor Hugo," shown in outline only, 
 seemed weak and uninteresting, and one feared that the simple 
 dignity of the hemicycle had declined to simpleness without 
 the dignity. How far it has been redeemed by color one who 
 has not seen it in its completed form cannot say ; nor even in 
 its completion should it be judged except in place. Has the 
 decorator whose instinct is so sure, who has succeeded so of- 
 ten and failed so seldom, this time fallen short of his best ? I 
 cannot tell. 
 
 A classicist of the classicists, a primitive of the primitives, 
 a modern of the moderns, Puvis de Chavannes is, above all, an 
 individual and original artist, and to copy his methods would 
 be to learn ill the lesson he teaches. His style is inclissolubly 
 bound up with his message ; his manner is the only one fit to 
 express what he alone has to say. It would be but an ill-fit- 
 ting, second-hand garment for another. But let us learn from 
 him that imitation is not art, that the whole is greater than the 
 
28 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 parts, and that art in service is the freest art and the noblest. 
 All fact and all research are grist to the mill of art, but they are 
 not bread nntil ground and kneaded and baked. I, for one, 
 believe that the day of mere fact and of mere research is nearly 
 ended, and the day of the isolated easel-picture, too. We are 
 already taking the first steps even here in America ; and before 
 very long we shall have come back to the old true notion that 
 the highest aim of art is to make some useful thing beautiful. 
 Art will again enter that service which is for it the most per- 
 fect freedom, and as the highest aim of the painter will be 
 to beautify the walls of the temples and palaces of the peo- 
 ple, so the highest name he will give himself will be that of 
 " decorator." 
 
 Kenyon Cox. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 KENYON COX was born in War- 
 ren, Ohio, in 1856, and began at 
 the age of thirteen the study of art 
 in the McMicken School, Cincinnati. 
 During the winter of 1876-77 he 
 was at the Pennsylvania Academy of 
 Fine Arts in Philadelphia, but did 
 more work with a sketch-book than 
 in the schools. He went to Paris in 
 1877 ; studied one winter under Car- 
 olus-Duran, but was most of his time 
 a pupil of Gerome, until 1883, when 
 he returned to America and settled 
 in New York, where he has been 
 ever since. He is a member of the 
 Society of American Artists, the 
 Architectural League, and the So- 
 ciety of Mural Painters. The second 
 
 Hallgarten prize at the National 
 Academy of Design was given him 
 in 1889, and the same year he was 
 awarded two bronze medals at the 
 Paris Exposition. He also won the 
 Temple silver medal at Philadelphia, 
 and a medal at the Columbian Expo- 
 sition. One of the domes of the Manu- 
 factures Building at the World's Fair 
 at Chicago was decorated by him. He 
 painted a decoration for the "Walker 
 Art Gallery at Bowdoin College, and 
 has recently completed two decora- 
 tions for the Library of Congress at 
 Washington. Mr. Cox is also well 
 known as an illustrator and a writer 
 on art topics for magazines. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
JEAN-LEON GEROME 
 BY 
 
 WILL H. LOW 
 
JEAN-LEON GrEEOME 
 
 (1824- ) 
 
 IN the museum of the Luxembourg in Paris there is to be 
 seen a picture entitled " Cocks Fighting," which as No. 127 
 is thus described in the official catalogue of the gallery: 
 
 "In an antique landscape, at the foot of a monumental 
 structure decorated with painting and sculpture, looking out 
 on the sea which to the left extends its blue and green surface, 
 from which emerge rocky islands in the distance, a nude youth, 
 with brown body and long black hair crowned with ivy, excites 
 two cocks to fight. By his side, at the left, half reclining, a 
 young girl almost entirely nude, with blond hair and flesh deli- 
 cately amber in tone, assists at the combat. At the right 
 and left, tufts of laurel, myrtle, and other plants. Signed and 
 dated on a stone in the lower part of the canvas to the right, 
 J.-L. Gerome, 1846." 
 
 This was the first picture exhibited by a youth of twenty- 
 two, and if you will quit the Luxembourg and, crossing the Seine, 
 traverse Paris to the rue de Courcelles midway on the heights 
 of Montmartre, you may find its author — now, after the lapse 
 of half a century, no longer a youth — still busy at work. 
 
 In the time comprised between these two periods, that of 
 the production of this picture and our present year of grace, 
 the painter's hand and brain have never ceased to produce works 
 marked, like this initial performance, with the seal of complete 
 and thorough execution. There is naught of youth in Grerome's 
 first work beyond the indication of a vigor necessary to carry out 
 his conception without faltering, without sign, in the smallest 
 detail, of hesitation, of those "repentances" to which the rich 
 
 31 
 
32 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 technical vocabulary of France has given name, and which show 
 through the completed work of so many men. As he was in 
 the beginning he is to-day, and in quantity, upheld by every 
 quality inherent to the man, his production in its repeated 
 instances must far exceed that of any painter of the century. 
 
 When we reflect that the essential characteristic of Gerome's 
 work is absolute completeness in every detail, a completeness 
 only attained by the patient brush-stroke adding each day its 
 quota of accurately expressed form, the realization of the sum 
 of effort comprised in the labor of these fifty years pictures to 
 us a man as courageous in the employment of his means as he 
 is certain of his aim. It would indeed be futile to insist on the 
 element of quantity if the higher element of quality were lack- 
 ing. But it would seem as though at the outset the young 
 painter, conscious of the desire to multiply indefinitely his 
 works, had guarded against the danger of hasty production by 
 the adoption of a style which rigorously prohibits work that 
 stops before the final touch is given — before the rhetorical 
 phrase is complete in grammatical sequence. The result is that, 
 whatever criticism may with justice be applied to his work, 
 incompleteness, the common sin of painters who, like Gerome, 
 have been prolific, can never be ascribed to him. 
 
 At the Salon of 1847 Gerome exhibited the picture just de- 
 scribed, and it met with instant success. The critics of the 
 time, Theophile Gautier at their head, proclaimed that a new 
 art was born, and though the picture received from the jury 
 only a third-class medal, it was crowned by the acclamations 
 of a capital which already claimed Athenian prerogatives' as the 
 commencement of the " Neo-Grec " school. Though only sixteen 
 when he came to Paris, six years before, Gerome had quickly 
 become the favorite pupil of his master, Paul Delaroche, an 
 early instance of the success which has followed him through 
 life. He was born at Vesoul (Haute-Sadne) May 11, 1824, and 
 his parents had facilitated his studies from their inception. 
 After his arrival in Paris he had studied at the Ecole des 
 Beaux-Arts under Delaroche, and when the latter was ap- 
 pointed Director of the French Academy at Rome the pupil 
 accompanied him thither without the formality of the compe- 
 tition for the Prix de Rome. Gerome returned to Paris bring- 
 ing with him the Luxembourg picture for the Salon of 1847. 
 
JEAN-LEON GEROME 
 
 33 
 
 The following year lie exhibited a "Holy Family," and 
 "Anacreon, with Bacchus and Cupid"; passing from the sacred 
 to the profane subject with that impartiality which in the com- 
 ing years was to be one of his marked characteristics. For these 
 pictures he was awarded a second-class medal, and, to complete 
 the list of official recompense, in 1855 he received another of 
 equal grade. At the Universal Exposition of 1867 he received 
 a medal of honor, in the Salon of 1874 the same distinction, 
 and at the successive Universal Expositions of 1878 and 1889 
 rappels of his previous medals of Honor. Made a Chevalier of 
 the Legion of Honor in 1855, an Officer in 1867, and a Com- 
 mander in 1878, having meanwhile taken his place as member 
 of the Institute in 1865, it will be seen that M. Gerome has 
 received all the honorific distinction which his country can 
 bestow. In addition he is an honorary member of many acade- 
 mies of art, including the Royal Academy of England. 
 
 In 1854 he made the first of the voyages to the Orient, 
 which have left an impress on his work, visiting Turkey and the 
 borders of the Danube, and in 1857 he saw Egypt for the first 
 time. These influences, however, did not at once manifest 
 themselves in his work, and in 1855 Gerome's contribution 
 to the Salon was the largest picture which he has painted, a 
 vast allegorical composition entitled " The Age of Augustus." 
 With this he entered the domain of the classical art dear to 
 the Academy, and for the time was welcomed as an adherent 
 to the ranks of the rapidly thinning followers of Ingres. Not 
 for long, however, as at the two successive Salons he showed a 
 number of canvases inspired by the East. In 1857 he also 
 exhibited the " Duel after the Masked Ball." This is one of 
 the few incursions on the field of modern European life which 
 Geronie has made, and even here the costumes are not those of 
 to-day. It is one of the most poignant works of the master in 
 point of sentiment, ranking in this respect with the " Death of 
 Ney." Sentiment, even of a tragic kind, we can seldom look 
 for in Gerome's work, his attitude to his subject being consis- 
 tently impartial. In fact, at the time of its exhibition, the 
 "Death of Ney" was criticized as being absolutely heartless, 
 one critic, Maxime du Camp, if I remember rightly, saying : 
 " We are in the presence of one of the most pathetic of trage- 
 dies, and we see as the most prominent object — a hat!" — a 
 
34 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 criticism as unfair as it is clever, for in the figure stretched out 
 on the ground, and in the file of soldiers vanishing in the mist, 
 there is pathos. In other works this attitude of the just re- 
 corder, who states the facts and allows the beholder to draw 
 his own conclusions, has served the master well. Grace to it, 
 he has escaped where another would have fallen in the large 
 number of pictures which were painted in the early sixties. 
 "King Candaules" (1859), "Phryne before the Tribunal" 
 (1861), " L'Almee" (1864), and many others, had for their sub- 
 ject figures partly or wholly nude, seen under circumstances, 
 acting their parts under conditions, which, though founded on 
 tradition or history, were at least questionable. Nor did Grerome 
 escape wholly unscathed ; for, if one turns to the criticism of 
 the times, the accusation of immorality of intention is met 
 with. Looked at from the standpoint of to-day, and in view 
 of works by other men painted in the interval, it can be seen 
 that the intention of the " Phryne," or of the " Cleopatra and 
 Csesar," was the same as in the "Death of Caesar" (1859), or 
 the "Jerusalem" (1868) — a desire to record certain phases of 
 the life of the past, which, to the painter, seemed interesting 
 pictorially. With moral intention or the converse, it is safe to 
 assume, Gerome has no concern; with fine pagan indiffer- 
 ence he has pursued his way, and the mature boy of 1846 has 
 apparently never aged. 
 
 In the lapse of years he has seen in his country changes be- 
 yond measure. Principles of government, which we may im- 
 agine occupy him but little, have risen and fallen ; principles 
 of art have traversed the hills and valleys of classicism, ro- 
 manticism, realism, and, latest of all, impressionism, without 
 disturbing the curious nature of this man, who, quietly in his 
 corner, has held fast that which so long ago he decided was 
 good. This is the more astonishing for the reason that for 
 many years he has taught in the Ecole des Beaux- Arts, and 
 has counted his pupils by thousands. In this great number 
 of men — and I believe that when I say thousands there is no 
 exaggeration — there have been many who, with the impressibil- 
 ity of youth, have been affected by other and, it is but fair to 
 say, more modern influences than those received from their 
 master. It has therefore been granted to G-erome to see in his 
 pupils' work, after leaving the atelier, engrafted upon a system 
 
JEAN-LEON GEROME 
 
 35 
 
 of his own forming, qualities which have broadened and en- 
 riched the art of these men, and it is to suppose him but human 
 to think that something of this newer spirit would have af- 
 fected him. Not in the least ; the gods of his youth find him 
 still faithful. Despite this immutability, however, the master 
 has something in common with the antique art of which he is 
 the legitimate successor, — in the same spirit would the artists 
 of Pompeii labor were they alive to-day, — and his art has re- 
 mained young with the perennial youth of the classic. There 
 are in the Luxembourg, for instance, a number of canvases 
 contemporaneous with Grerome's picture, and some also painted 
 more recently, which have an old-fashioned air which lacks the 
 dignity of age, and which, resembling women who refuse to 
 recognize the passing of their ability to charm, like them smile 
 ineffectually through their paint. No such reproach, however, 
 can be directed against the " Combat de Coqs," before which 
 one may feel a certain voluntary renunciation of qualities 
 sought in the art of to-day, which has its compensation in the 
 ineffable stamp of an art which is for all time. 
 
 This deliberate choice on the part of a young painter is 
 almost without parallel in the history of art, but, like any rig- 
 orous choice, it had the defects of its virtues. By it Grerome 
 has sacrificed much that is of paramount importance; and 
 though he has gained, if one can prophesy, a place in art by 
 the side of the anonymous artists who cut the Greek gems, or 
 modeled the Tanagra statuettes, the limitation exists. His 
 place, though possibly more sure, will be — to prophesy once 
 more — inferior to more daring spirits, like Millet, the inno- 
 vator, or Baudry, the faithful disciple of the greatest painting 
 that the world has seen — who did not fear in his last years to 
 engraft on his acquisitions from the past the boldest truths 
 of newest discovery. 
 
 The modern spirit in Gerome, therefore, is almost without 
 the realm of painting. If we look for evidence of recognition 
 on his part of discoveries which other painters have made, 
 while his ceaseless activity has manifested itself in the long se- 
 quence of production, we shall find none. Of the color of Dela- 
 croix, of the atmosphere of Corot, of the perception of the cir- 
 cumambient quality of light which Millet, hampered it is true 
 in its rendition by early acquired habits, first saw, there is 
 
36 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 no hint in the perfect works of Gerome. Of still later applica- 
 tions of the laws which must perforce govern the painting of 
 the future, if painting is to have a future instead of a fruitless 
 imitation of the art which has gone before, — which have made 
 Manet and Monet leaders in the direction indicated by Millet, 
 — it would be useless to look for an indication. 
 
 Gerome's right to be considered modern is therefore almost 
 purely intellectual. His point of view — the manner in which 
 he regards the scene which he is to portray and the actors 
 who are to fill it — is essentially of his time. It is more — it is 
 Gallic, almost locally Parisian. It is to the credit of Paris 
 that this can be without too much sacrifice of the plausibility 
 of the mimic reconstitution of ancient Athens or Rome. The 
 painter, the best part of whose life has been passed within the 
 walls of the capital, has made a part of its life. Hand in hand 
 with the archaeological research of French scholars, in constant 
 community of interest with the studies of architects to whom 
 we owe so many of the restorations of ancient monuments, un- 
 doubtedly in sympathy with the best of French men of letters, 
 who never forget the classical source of their language and 
 their literature, Gerome has been able to be of the Paris of 
 to-day, and yet remain within call of that past which he has 
 so often depicted. 
 
 The pictures of Oriental life, again, are viewed from the 
 standpoint of his race and of the time when, in the footsteps of 
 Delacroix and Decamps, of Theophile Gautier and Dumas, the 
 French, when they traveled, reversed the course of empire and 
 turned their faces to the East. There is little of the Orient, 
 as seen through the imagination of Delacroix, in the work of 
 Gerome, but his record of the East, though pitilessly accur- 
 ate, has behind it an austere, intellectual quality that is at 
 least akin to imagination. 
 
 Passing by a certain number of pictures like the " Eminence 
 Grise," " Moliere breakfasting with Louis XIV," and the amus- 
 ing " Frederick the Great practising on the Flute," in all of 
 which Gerome proves his nationality, and evinces the pecu- 
 liarly modern spirit of accuracy of research in costume and 
 type, we come to " Napoleon and the Sphinx." Another great- 
 little painter of this century, Meissonier, has represented the 
 Corsican in many scenes of his life, and it is instructive to re- 
 
JEAN-LEON (JEROME 
 
 37 
 
 call his presentation of the Napoleonic subject. I think that 
 in truth it can be said that, with the possible exception of the 
 scene after Moscow, where the retreating Emperor, at the head 
 of his staff, gives loose rein to his weary horse plodding along 
 the miry road, and sits absorbed in bitterness of thought, Meis- 
 sonier's work gives nothing more than execution, brilliant to 
 the degree of the marvelous, but devoid of imagination. Ge- 
 rome, on the contrary, evolves from the great landmark, around 
 which the eddies of time have swept, a contrast and a resem- 
 blance. The contrast of the ponderous brooding head towering 
 above the tiny conqueror of the land over which the Sphinx 
 has watched for centuries is pictorial, and the resemblance 
 which has tormented the past century in a vain effort to read 
 the riddle of the modern sphinx is intellectual, and the union of 
 these elements produces that highest of artistic achievements, 
 a painted thought pictorially expressed. 
 
 Gerome's work as a sculptor, although a growth of recent 
 years, gives, in more concrete form than does his painting, his 
 mastery of constructive drawing. Less master of style in 
 drawing than Ingres or Baudry, the truth of his observation 
 of form is his most valuable gift. The figure in slightly tinted 
 marble which symbolizes " Tanagra," now in the Luxembourg, 
 is perhaps most typical of the spirit of his art, quite as much 
 so as any of his painting. This thought is borne out by a 
 recent portrait of the master, painted for his children, where 
 he is shown at work on this figure, the living model for which, 
 seated by the side of her marble sister, is no more real than is 
 the statue which so exactly reproduces life. A sculptured 
 group of " Pygmalion and Galatea " repeats another of his 
 paintings, and many minor statuettes give the essence of his 
 art-quality in no less degree than his work in color. 
 
 An attempt to follow Gerome in the myriad spheres of his 
 activity, however, is forbidden by space here, and a few brief 
 words on his influence as a teacher, and a slight description of 
 his person, are more in place. The competency of the present 
 writer to describe the Atelier Gerome might also be questioned, 
 as the memories of twenty years ago must be disinterred from 
 their graves in the attempt. Again, though the impressions 
 made on the mind of a youth of nineteen are strong, and remain 
 in the memory of the grown man, the judgments deduced 
 
38 
 
 MODERN FRENCH 
 
 MASTERS 
 
 therefrom must, of necessity, be the result of later thought, and 
 consequently may be influenced by other than the original im- 
 pressions. Fortunately, at this juncture, another youth almost 
 in his 'teens, newly arrived from Paris, fresh from the Atelier 
 Grerome, comes and confirms the memories of the prior student. 
 
 I have always taken it as a proof of the strength of Gre- 
 rome's personality that a few months, which was all that my 
 ill-fortune permitted me to pass under his tuition, should have 
 left so vivid an impression on my mind. It seems, however, 
 looking back as though it were but yesterday, that I stood, 
 a pitiable object truly, waiting, while the master read a letter 
 of introduction which I had been so fortunate as to procure, 
 at the threshold of the old Atelier Grerome. Pitiable, I con- 
 sidered myself, for behind the master were grouped sixty or 
 seventy students, who had risen from their seats as M. Grerome 
 was about to leave the studio. He had been arrested at the 
 threshold by my appearance, and, stopping with grave courtesy 
 to read the letter which I presented, the students behind him, 
 in perfect silence but with great histrionic ability, gave them- 
 selves up to a spirited pantomime which, I perfectly understood, 
 represented what my fate was to be when once the restraining 
 presence of the master should be removed. To my delight, after 
 indorsing my letter with permission to study in the atelier, M. 
 Grerome was good enough to say to the students that, as I was 
 recommended to him by a friend, he would be pleased if the 
 usual ceremonies of initiation to the school were dispensed 
 with. I have known of similar requests by other masters in 
 other studios which did not prevail over the unwritten law 
 that a nouveau's life must be rendered miserable. It is a testi- 
 mony to the regard which Grerome inspires that his desires 
 were strictly complied with, and as such testimony this very 
 personal memory is perhaps permissible here. 
 
 In the days following I was able to study the details which 
 completed the portrait of the man the first sight of whom had 
 filled me with respect. Grerome has the easy carriage of one 
 who through life has wisely cared for his physical well-being 
 as a means to preserve his intellectual health. A good horse- 
 man, a practised fencer, he moved about the encumbered space 
 of the atelier with ease and grace. Spare of frame, he gave 
 one the impression of being taller than he is. At fifty, — 
 
JEAN-LEON GEROME 
 
 39 
 
 this was in 1873, — his hair was iron gray, abundant, and 
 wavy in texture, framing a face of that uniform olive tint 
 which characterizes the children of the Pyrenees. The mask 
 was finely chiseled, the nose slightly aquiline, and his eyes 
 burned in their deep sockets with extraordinary brilliancy. 
 He was uniformly grave without sadness, and, whether from a 
 sense of dignity in the presence of a lawless band of students, 
 or from natural temperament, I cannot recall a laugh, a witti- 
 cism, or the slightest departure from a courteous but severe 
 demeanor, as he went from student to student pursuing the 
 task of criticism as he had done for many years, and has since 
 continued doing. Nothing is more creditable to France and to 
 many of her artists than this custom, which gives the experi- 
 ence and knowledge of a master free to all comers possessed of 
 sufficient talent to secure their admittance to the govern- 
 mental schools of art. In other instances it has sufficed for 
 a few students to hire a studio, secure models, and without 
 other expense obtain the direction of an artist of their choice 
 who, no matter how occupied he may be with his own work, 
 will consider that noblesse oblige, and give freely where perhaps 
 no less freely he has profited by like counsel in the past. The 
 honorarium of an artist chosen by the Institute to direct one of 
 the studios of architecture, sculpture, or painting at the Ecole 
 des Beaux- Arts is the munificent sum of twelve hundred francs 
 — two hundred and forty dollars — and even this, except where 
 necessity compels its acceptance, is left to swell the pension 
 fund of the Academy. Without recompense other than the 
 honor of the position, which is compensatingly great, in truth, 
 two half days in the week for the best part of the year are given, 
 and in the case of a man like Grerome, who has taught at the 
 Beaux- Arts for more than a generation, the service thus ren- 
 dered is incalculably great. Here in the United States the 
 sum of gratitude which our painters owe to their French mas- 
 ters can hardly be over-estimated, and it is pleasant to record, 
 in a book which owes its being in a large measure to these 
 benefits received, a personal tribute of heartfelt recognition of 
 their service in the cause of art. 
 
 On Tuesdays and Fridays a hush of anticipation could be 
 felt in the noisy studio, and about nine, a whisper of u Le patron" 
 gave the signal, passed from one to another in studio slang, 
 
40 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 that the master had come. Until his departure not a sound 
 disturbed the measured cadence of his voice as, with few well- 
 chosen words, he went his round of criticism. Once in a while 
 he would take the stick of charcoal from the student, and, with 
 a line, which seemed as absolute as the written law, correct the 
 drawing, and occasionally his long thumb-nail would serve a 
 like purpose, making an incised line down the contour of the 
 figure drawn, accompanied by a word — "Comme ca" — of com- 
 ment. I think that I never saw him paint on any of the studies 
 in color, but his criticisms of these were of great liberality of 
 view, so much so that leaving his instruction after a few 
 months on account of ill-health, and entering the newly -formed 
 atelier of Carolus-Duran, there was no susceptible change of 
 criticism. It is true that those principles of art which can be 
 imparted are so crystallized into eternal verities that their 
 transmission from one generation to another, from the master 
 to the student, must be of necessity somewhat similar. 
 
 Of praise again, like other masters accustomed to weigh the 
 actual in the balance of possible achievement, Grerome was 
 parsimonious, and the phrase " not too bad " was counted a 
 success in the annals of the week. In the criticism of studies 
 of landscape, figures, or of compositions made outside of the 
 school and submitted to Mm by his students, a greater latitude 
 of thought was evident. Here, with studies made from actual 
 objects, a wise comprehension of the aim of differing tempera- 
 ments was shown, accompanied at times with a caustic warn- 
 ing when the student showed too great a leaning to the impres- 
 sionism which had then hardly assumed a title, and was timid 
 indeed in view of to-day's assertion. Where the sketch entered 
 the realm of imagination, or presumed to picture an historical 
 event, it was considered first of all from the standpoint of 
 probability. " A great man is not killed like a rat," was the 
 judgment on a death of Caesar, his mind possibly recalling 
 his own solemn and noble presentation of the subject. There 
 was never a reference to antiquated rules of composition, and 
 a novel and personal pictorial arrangement, even where it vio- 
 lated principles of his own adoption, came within the scope 
 of his catholicity. He seemed to carry from week to week a 
 recollection of each student's progress, and varied his criticism 
 of each accordingly. An incident, trivial enough, gave me, 
 
JEAN-LEON gerome 
 
 41 
 
 perhaps the most inconspicuous pupil in the school, a sense of 
 the all-perceptive eye of the master. Having advanced from 
 the antique, and after drawing from life for a while, I suc- 
 cumbed to the malady which attacks the average art-student 
 in the infantile period of his studies, and desired nothing, 
 thought of nothing, so much as painting from the model. 
 Suggestion of such a wish I had at least the sense to bury 
 deeply in my breast, knowing that my severe master would 
 disapprove of it. During a temporary absence of Gerome 
 his place was filled by his friend Gustave Boulanger, who 
 thus replaced him on rare occasions of enforced absence. 
 My delight can be imagined therefore when M. Boulanger, 
 of his own volition, inquired if I had ever painted from the 
 model, and, on my answering negatively, advised me to do so. 
 The next Tuesday found me with my drawing made on a beau- 
 tiful new canvas, awaiting with some trepidation the appear- 
 ance of Gerome ; my chief reliance being my own lack of 
 importance already noted. My place was quite at the end of 
 the class, and when he arrived there his first question was as 
 to my authority for commencing a painted study. This I was 
 able to answer, quoting M. Boulanger's advice, which his friend 
 received with a non-committal " Ah ! " The drawing on the can- 
 vas was criticized, and Friday came, bringing the master for a 
 second criticism. What there might have been of form in my 
 preliminary drawing had been by this time sunk deep in the 
 sea of color, and Gerome, to my horror, made the torn* of 
 the class to begin his criticism at my place. No word was 
 said of the fact that I was painting, my errors of construction 
 and drawing were pointed out, and the master proceeded on his 
 round of criticism leaving me much relieved. Not for long, 
 however, for at the end, after putting on his gloves, and taking 
 his hat and cane from the massier of the class, whose duty it 
 was thus to attend him, M. Gerome walked around the class 
 once more to where I stood. "Next week, draw," was all he 
 said, not unkindly, and then went his way. After that I had 
 a feeling, shared I think by all the students, that the ever at- 
 tentive master knew in detail the exact status of the atelier, an 
 inspiring thought which kept us equally attentive to our work. 
 
 Another memory of Gerome's appearance a few years later, 
 seen in company with some of his colleagues of the Institute, 
 
 6 
 
12 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 will serve to bring these rambling notes to an end. It was at 
 the Montparnasse cemetery, aronnd the newly-made grave of 
 the sculptor Perraud, whither a delegation from the Academy of 
 Fine Arts had come to pay the last honors to their deceased con- 
 frere. In the dark-green costume of the Institute, Meissonier, 
 with his long beard trained in spirals like the "Moses" of 
 Michelangelo, Cabanel, with his handsome weary face, Charles 
 Gamier, the architect of the Grand Opera, with the profile of a 
 Florentine medal, and others no less noted, stood while the 
 funeral ceremony was in progress. In then* midst was Gerome, 
 in his habit as though to the manner born, perhaps the only 
 one whose costume became him. The semi-military uniform 
 accented the firm poise of the head; the impassive, grave face 
 was that of a soldier at the burial of a comrade dead on the 
 field of honor; and when later, moving away from the grave, 
 the Academicians covered their heads with the traditional 
 chapeau a deux-cornes, the martial air of Gerome made him 
 easily the most impressive of the group. It was thus that I 
 last saw him, it is thus that I like to think of him — as of a sol- 
 dier who early in the campaign received his marching orders, 
 and who, faithful to his duty, has followed unflinchingly in 
 the path which they indicate, looking neither to the right 
 nor the left. 
 
 In a century replete with doubt, with the example of many 
 men of parts who through indecision have lost themselves, this 
 conception of, and close adherence to, an ideal is rare. If it de- 
 notes on the one hand a nature less rich than that of one who 
 marches with the progress of the time, accepting only that 
 which is good in the gifts that the sequential days offer, on 
 the other hand it is a noble nature that is thus consistently 
 true to a noble ideal. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 WILL H. LOW was born May 31, 
 1853, and studied art in Paris 
 from 1873 to 1878, at first under Ge- 
 rome and later with Carolus-Duran. 
 lie exhibited al the Salons of 1876 and 
 1877, and his work has been shown at 
 
 many exhibitions, local, national, and 
 international, since then. He received 
 a second-class medal at the Paris Ex- 
 position of 1889, is a member of the 
 Society of American Artists, and a 
 National Academician. Besides pic- 
 
JEAN-LEON GEROME 
 
 43 
 
 tures in private galleries, examples 
 of his work are in the Metropolitan 
 Museum, the Art Institute, Chicago, 
 Smith College, and other institutions. 
 He has done many decorative panels 
 and ceilings for private houses, and for 
 hotels such as the Plaza and Waldorf 
 in New York, has designed for stained 
 glass, and has been successful as an 
 illustrator, notably the illustrations 
 
 for Keats's " Lamia " and Keats's "Odes 
 and Sonnets." He also designed the 
 Diploma for the World's Columbian 
 Exposition, the Government one-dol- 
 lar silver certificate, and has made 
 many decorative designs for maga- 
 zine covers. Mr. Low has also been 
 a frequent contributor to magazines, 
 writing usually upon art topics. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
LEON BONNAT 
 BY 
 
 E. H. BLASHFIELD 
 
LEON BONNAT 
 
 (1833- ) 
 
 ONE spring morning very many years ago, on the morrow 
 of my first arrival in Paris, a friend took me to the studio 
 of M. Gerome, and I saw the first world-famous painter on 
 whom I had ever laid eyes. Tall, spare, and fiery-looking, one 
 would have taken him for the colonel of a crack cavalry regi- 
 ment rather than a painter, and I looked at him with awe and 
 past him with curiosity at copper greaves, and arm-pieces of 
 gladiators' costumes, that lay propped in a shining row agaiost 
 the model platform. If the master's face was severe, his man- 
 ner was kind. " Yes, I will accept you as pupil," he said, after 
 examining my drawings, " but it will require three months at 
 least of routine formalities before you can enter the govern- 
 ment school. You must not lose your time. Go to Bonnat 
 until then ; his is an open school {atelier independent), and 
 there is no better man in Europe to teach you." 
 
 Ten years later M. Bonnat said nearly the same words to 
 me in regard to some matter upon which I had asked his 
 advice. " do to Gerome, my friend, for an answer to that 
 question ; there is no better man in Europe to help you." O 
 temporal here were two artists, one of whom never let a 
 brush-mark show upon his smooth and sometimes almost mono- 
 chromatic canvases ; the other of whom painted with broad 
 strokes, loaded pigment, deep strong colors — and yet each 
 said of the other, " There is no better master in Europe." But 
 I intimated at the start that all this happened very long ago. 
 
 The Place Vintimille lies just below the foot of Mont- 
 martre, and in the middle of it is a little park with a railing, 
 
 47 
 
48 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 a few trees, and many cats. A big square window over- 
 looks the trees, lighting a studio in one of the best houses 
 on the square, and behind that window Leon Bonnat, still 
 young, painted pictures which had already made him famous 
 in Paris and were soon to carry his reputation beyond seas. 
 The studio was at the top of the house. The door was opened 
 by the master himself. He was slender, of medium height, 
 dark, with close-cut pointed beard, and the face of this com- 
 patriot of Henry IV and D'Artagnan showed that his south- 
 western France had given to him too an energy and fire which 
 he would show in pictures of a force and solidity such as Paris 
 had not seen for many a day. In his reception there was the 
 same severity, or at least dignity, overlaying the same kindness 
 of manner as with Gerome. The latter's letter of recommen- 
 dation dispensed with any examination of my work. " Gro to 
 Beliard," said M. Bonnat, " and tell him that I have entered 
 you in the school ; he will let you know what you require." 
 
 "Within an hour, duly furnished with a forty-cent easel, a 
 portfolio, paper, charcoal, and a very large piece of bread for 
 rubbing out the charcoal, I began to study art in Paris. I 
 had anticipated red tape and long waiting before entering 
 the government school, but here was an atelier of a different 
 kind, where you simply knocked at the door and walked in. 
 I had expected academic severity, and these young people 
 were of the freest and easiest manners; it was as if one had 
 been heading for the dress-parade of some martinet, and had 
 suddenly found one's self in Wallenstein's camp. There 
 were English, Americans, Spaniards, Egyptians, men of all 
 countries, and Frenchmen from all the provinces. " I suppose 
 you know," said the massier, "that you have come here to 
 learn French and good manners." The lesson began at once 
 with the drink-money which every nouveau must give. There 
 was plenty of noise and plenty of work, but twice a week 
 the noise stopped as if by enchantment, and not a sound was 
 heard except the voice of le patron, as, with the red ribbon at 
 his buttonhole, Bonnat moved about among the easels. 
 
 When three months had passed, and I might have entered 
 the Beaux- Arts, I liked the Atelier Bonnat too well to leave it ; 
 I had stumbled unwittingly upon a new order of things, a 
 new order which pleased me very much. These young men 
 
LfiON BONNAT 
 
 49 
 
 represented the opposition, not only in political demonstrations, 
 to which the whole atelier went religiously " pour ennuyer le 
 gouvernement" but, what was much more important, in art. 
 
 There had been a time of official painting, of tame and 
 spiritless pictures ; a few masters, great by their style or senti- 
 ment, like Grerome or Breton, painted the figure, and a noble 
 school of landscape flourished at Barbizon, but classicists and 
 romanticists alike, the Ingres and Flandrins, the Delacroix's 
 and Delaroches, had passed away, and a period of artificiality 
 in art had come. This young man from Bayonne, in the south- 
 west, Leon Bonnat, turned his back on the artificial and went 
 directly to nature. His art, steadied by observation of the 
 model, found inspiration too, as all good art should, not only 
 in the world about him, but in the work of the great men who 
 had gone before him, especially in that of Rembrandt and Ri- 
 bera, for to the latter he turned often and again, as befitted a 
 man born within sight of the Pyrenees. In the studio during 
 that winter of 1868 the pupils declared that the patron had 
 but narrowly missed the great prize of the last Salon, the 
 grand medal of honor, far rarer then than now, far harder to 
 win ; and further, they said that a picture then in progress in 
 the Place Vintimille would assuredly win that medal at the 
 forthcoming exhibition, when the atelier, as a self-respecting 
 school, would expend its ultimate centime in rejoicing. 
 
 Not that the scholars as yet more than half understood 
 their master. M. Bonnat painted vigorously, with a full brush, 
 and the pupils imputed a magical property to the thick laying 
 on of paint, not seeing that the stroke must be laid upon ex- 
 actly the right spot, that the value and color must be exactly 
 right, else this robust way of painting would only emphasize 
 blunders. I remember very well that for at least eighteen 
 months after my arrival thin painting meant to me the last 
 expression of weakness, and made Ingres and Flandrin appear 
 very paltry people. What a surprise then when the master 
 one day told me to study them ; what a still greater surprise 
 when he said to another pupil who was troweling valiantly 
 at the blanc oV argent: " Why do you use so much paint ? 
 you only hamper yourself. I do not do so for the sake 
 of painting thickly, but only because I get my effect better 
 in that way." 
 
 7 
 
50 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 But though not yet old enough to understand their master 
 thoroughly, the pupils saw that his work was loyal, sincere, 
 direct, and that he was teaching everything that was sound and 
 solid in painting. His pictured people were round and stood 
 out, they had air to breathe and move in, you could walk be- 
 hind them. When the caricaturists made their annual torn' of 
 the Salon they drew M. Bonnat's figures as stepping from their 
 frames. Truth and logic were the basis of everything he did. 
 Construction and values, values and construction, how often did 
 the student hear those mysterious words, until he learned that, 
 with the addition of color, these made up a formula which, if 
 properly followed in an art work, meant life. 
 
 Breadth and simplicity were fundamental doctrines with 
 the master, and there was constant iteration of the order "half 
 close your eyes," that the pupil might see planes of light and 
 shadow more broadly. 
 
 Apropos of this closing of the eyes, M. Maspero, the famous 
 Egyptologist, once told me an anecdote of M. Bonnat that is 
 worth repeating. M. Maspero is more near-sighted than would 
 seem possible in so indefatigable a reader of hieroglyphic texts, 
 and one night, sitting next to M. Bonnat at a great dinner, 
 the painter said to him : " Maspero, you who are so near- 
 sighted, tell me how does M , away down there at the foot 
 
 of the table, appear to you ? " 
 
 " Well," replied M. Maspero, " I see a white spot, which I 
 know is his shirt-front, and a flesh-colored spot, which I know 
 is his face." 
 
 "Ah," cried Bonnat, "how I wish my pupils could see 
 things in that way ! " 
 
 It was said jokingly, but it expressed the master's feeling, 
 and in a dozen words was a sermon upon the value of simplicity 
 in art. There was a whole school of Manet in the sentence. 
 
 Every great artist has some dominant characteristic in ex- 
 pression, some dominant characteristic in technic. Of M. 
 Bonnat it may be affirmed that at the central core of his artistic 
 nature is the desire for forceful truth, that the central quality of 
 his technic is vigor, that is to say, the choice of the strongest 
 lights and the darkest shadows, for the most powerful expres- 
 sion of that same truth. Ingres and Flandrin, contemporaries 
 of Bonnat's teacher, Leon Cogniet, had been masters of style 
 
LEON bonnat 
 
 51 
 
 and line — great artists, too, but their figures had been some- 
 what flat withal. Bonnat, when he looked at a human body, 
 saw that it had diameter as well as circumference, solidity as 
 well as silhouette. As a boy he had been inspired by the love 
 of art in that marvel of museums, the Prado, at Madrid. What 
 wonder that in his mind and memory the solidly real men and 
 women of Velasquez would tolerate no presence of mere flat 
 and painty simulacra ? What wonder that Bonnat recalled the 
 deep shadows and strong lights of Bibera until his own people 
 stood forth from their canvases'? Construction, values, and 
 texture have always been his watchwords His methods have 
 always been absolutely direct and sincere. Once, in my pres- 
 ence, an artist speaking of different theories regarding prepara- 
 tion of a canvas, underpainting, and the like, asked M. Bonnat 
 for advice as to how a certain figure could best be indicated and 
 " rubbed in." " Make it," said the master, " just as much like 
 nature as possible in the first painting, and in your second 
 painting make it still more like." This advice he carried out 
 faithfully in his own work. Those of us in America who are 
 his pupils, and we are many, have all in some lucky moment of 
 admission to his studio happened upon the master before he had 
 quite finished with his model and was at leisure to turn to us 
 with the wished-for criticism or advice. We have seen how, 
 instead of sitting or standing before his canvas with his model 
 at a distance, he placed the latter close beside the canvas, and 
 then went away from his subject to the very end of his studio. 
 There dropping upon one knee to bring the point of sight 
 to the proper level, and half closing his eyes, he carefully 
 compared model and picture, then going quickly to his easel, 
 painted a few strokes, and repeated his journey. Whatever 
 one's own mental bias, one felt the intense honesty of this 
 method, and to every student who had any temperament of 
 his own, Bonnat was an admirable teacher and guide. 
 
 French art in 1896 differs astonishingly from that of three 
 decades ago in width of range, although probably not in depth. 
 A score of changes are now rung annually on what was quite 
 new then, and to-day we hardly realize what an innovator M. 
 Bonnat was in 1866, when his two pictures, " St. Vincent de 
 Paul freeing a Galley-slave " and " Neapolitan Peasants be- 
 fore the Farnese Palace," took Paris by storm. The " Youth- 
 
52 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 ful Ribera drawing at the Grates of the Ara Coeli" followed 
 these, and that astonishing piece of characterization, the por- 
 trait of Thiers, was shown in the Salon of 1877, while the start- 
 ling realness of the " Christ on the Cross " made everything 
 about it seem but so much artifice. If asked what had been 
 the main influence of Bonnat's work upon French art one 
 might reply, the influence of a tonic, invigorating and temper- 
 ing at once ; it has been a factor for the creating of muscle and 
 fiber in the development of French national painting. There 
 is a certain kind of art which is so honest and sane that it is a 
 point tVappui for a whole school. Perfect directness in an ar- 
 tist makes him an invaluable guide to the student. Others, who 
 wish to venture afield and try experiments more or less daring, 
 feel, if they are fair-minded, that this same directness exists as 
 a sort of a safety signal, a beacon light, by which a too erratic 
 painter may, when he wishes, steer back to port. Sometimes 
 this directness is one-sided. Ingres, for instance, in some of 
 his portraits attained in his drawing astonishing truth, and at 
 the same time style (for style is not necessarily incompatible 
 with even pitiless directness, as witness Raphael's " Tommaso 
 Inghirami"), yet he completely sacrificed color, and thought 
 little of atmosphere. Bonnat never forgot his early days in 
 the Prado, and although his realism is eclectic, as all good real- 
 ism should be, it is all around. Construction, drawing, values, 
 modeling, texture, come in each for an equal share of attention. 
 The master is not satisfied with being merely truthful, he 
 wishes the maximum of solidity and rotundity, and therefore 
 he puts his sitter in the strongest possible light ; and lest any 
 accessory should distract our eye, and diminish the effect pro- 
 duced, he places his model against the simplest possible back- 
 ground — a united plane of dark shadow, or more often still a 
 shadow gradually melting into a plane of powerful light. 
 
 The result of all this is that if we see one of our friends painted 
 in a portrait by Bonnat, the painted figure often looks more 
 real than our friend himself. This is due partly to the masterly 
 emphasis of essentials in the actual subject (in such achieve- 
 ment Velasquez, a source of inspiration to Bonnat, was a master 
 of masters), and partly to our usually seeing our friend only in 
 an ordinary light and against complicated surroundings, while 
 Bonnat puts him under conditions of illumination which, as it 
 
PHOTOGRAPH BY DAAUN, CLEMENT KT CIE. 
 
 MARTYRDOM OF ST. DENIS."' BY BONNAT 
 PANTHEON, PARIS 
 
LfiON BONNAT 
 
 53 
 
 were, relieve him and make upon us instantly and lastingly 
 an impression of what the French call the ronde bosse. There 
 are a hundred different kinds of realism, and any painter, 
 if he have a temperament at all, elects to represent truthfully 
 that aspect of nature which is most congenial to himself. 
 Many painters interest themselves in delicate problems of en- 
 velopment, placing their model against complicated back- 
 grounds, surrounding him with twilight, silhouetting him 
 against a sky, or drowning out everything which could be 
 called shadow in a suffusion of light. Any one of these painters 
 may be perfectly and completely sane in his view, may be in- 
 tensely sympathetic, and a factor in art-progress, for there are 
 many paths in art, any one of which, if rightly pursued, is the 
 right path and leads to the summit. 
 
 That Bonnat cares greatly for many points of view other 
 than that which he adopts for himself is proved by his affec- 
 tionate admiration for Puvis de Chavannes, his praise of 
 Grerome, and by expressions which I have heard from him re- 
 garding such different men as Dubois, Falguiere, Meissonier, 
 and Luc Olivier-Merson. But in his own practice he has turned 
 neither to the right nor to the left. He has not been influ- 
 enced by any of those painters who have dealt with the loveli- 
 ness of blue or purple bloom upon the shadows of sunlit flesh, 
 with sunlight itself — the fresh sunlight of the North — doing its 
 delicate gilding, and filling every crevice of a picture with color, 
 He has cared relatively little for atmospheric problems, gray 
 effects, odd effects of reflection, but has been satisfied with 
 local color and the strong lighting peculiar to the interior of a 
 studio or room. In a word, his has been one sort of forceful 
 realism, deliberately chosen, loyally adhered to, and powerfully 
 expressed. He has kept within his own path, but in that path 
 he has been supremely successful, and stands at the top of it, 
 with a group of famous masters like Gerome, Carolus-Duran, 
 Dubois and Falguiere, Laurens and Puvis de Chavannes — 
 men widely different in aim, yet whom one may praise, each 
 for his own achievement, almost unstintingly. • 
 
 France rightly accounts the arts as among her chiefest na- 
 tional glories, her painters and sculptors as among her most 
 valued sons, and Leon Bonnat, member of the Institute and 
 a Grand Officer of the Legion of Honor, as one of her chiefs. 
 
54 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 Picture has followed picture. His " Ribera painting in Rome," 
 and his "Peasants before the Farnese Palace," were among the 
 most interesting works in the retrospective masterpieces of the 
 century shown in the Universal Exhibition of 1889 ; and his 
 solid and admirable " St. Vincent de Paul," now in the Church 
 of St. Nicolas des Champs, just missed the grand medal which 
 his " Assumption" triumphantly obtained. It was only natural 
 that this keen observer, this lover of logic and construction, 
 and withal, too, of the mystery of deep shadows, the force of 
 brilliant lights, should have become a powerful portrait-painter. 
 So many famous Frenchmen in the last two decades have sat 
 in the great studio of the rue Bassano (for the Place Vinti- 
 mille is a thing of long past), that M. Bonnat, if he lives as 
 long as did Titian, will probably have painted as many cele- 
 brated men as did the old Venetian. Times have changed, and 
 where the Cadorese's most reverenced clients were senators, 
 dukes, and kings, the French artist has liked best to paint the 
 princes of the world of letters and arts and the great statesmen 
 of his time. A notable procession, indeed, has passed the door 
 of the facade where Falguiere's bas-relief testifies to his com- 
 radeship with the painter, and up the broad stairway where 
 Puvis de Chavannes' decorative panel upon the wall is index to 
 another lifelong friendship. Victor Hugo and Thiers, Dumas 
 and Renan, Carnot and Faure, soldiers and savants, republicans 
 and cardinals, have sat by turns upon the model platform. 
 Even my own infrequent visits happened more than once upon 
 the ingoings or outcomings of some famous sitter, when, per- 
 haps, Dumas limped by upon the stairway, or the master said, 
 "You must have met Renan going out as you came up the 
 stairs. Is he not a strange and fine subject % " Not only tout 
 Paris but all France comes to the painter. To those who five 
 in a young country like America, it is almost impossible to 
 realize the wealth and depth of the culture with which such 
 an artist as M. Bonnat is in daily contact. He is indeed a part 
 of that culture, and among the most noteworthy things about 
 this painter are his refinement and knowledge, as well as his 
 enthusiasm and sincerity. 
 
 In his fine studio he has not surrounded himself with such 
 splendid bric-a-brac as one sees for instance in the hotel of M. 
 de Munkacsy, though fine old furniture is not lacking in M. 
 
LEON bonnat 
 
 55 
 
 Bonnat's atelier. But the latter has gone further afield, and 
 brought down higher game in the superb original drawings of 
 old masters, which make his collection one of the best-known 
 in Europe. On the walls hang drawings by Leonardo da Vinci, 
 Raphael, and Michelangelo. Among these latter is a draw- 
 ing of a marble block by Michelangelo, with directions in the 
 sculptor's handwriting for the first cutting of the same. Ingres 
 and the latter-day masters are not forgotten, and there is a 
 whole album full of the drawings of Fra Bartolommeo. Can 
 any one ask a better guarantee of the breadth and depth of an 
 artist's culture than that this painter, who had been inspired by 
 the works of Rembrandt, Ribera, Velasquez, should have wor- 
 shiped so devoutly at the shrine of such a different talent as 
 to obtain a whole series of the studies of the Dominican monk 
 Fra Bartolommeo, an artist who was as devoted to abstractions 
 and to monumental composition as was Velasquez to truth and 
 forceful reality ? 
 
 The study of the ancient masters, who, after nature, have 
 been and always will be our highest inspiration, is a passion 
 with M. Bonnat. Nearly every year he visits Italy ; his en- 
 thusiasm for his collection of drawings is so great that he has 
 even taken the express from Paris directly to Berlin, attended 
 some anticipated sale of ancient masters' drawings, bought his 
 treasure, and carried it straight back to his studio by the first 
 train. He is a linguist as well as a student and traveler, speak- 
 ing English, Italian, and Spanish, and this width of culture and 
 of interest, the solidity of his technic and the volume of his 
 pictorial achievement, have all counted in making up that esti- 
 mate among his fellows which, for many years, returned him as 
 number one in the list of juries elected for the annual Paris 
 Salon, and culminated in his being chosen President of the 
 Society of French Artists. Thus, he has often been at the rud- 
 der, and is an ideal pilot through a channel constantly chang- 
 ing, narrowing or widening with the mere art fashions or the 
 real art movements. 
 
 It is no little thing to stand firmly upon one's feet in the 
 whirl of the Paris art-world for twenty years. One must live 
 in the Quartier Latin or Montmartre, or have graduated thence 
 to the quarters about the Champs-Elysees, the Pare Monceaux, 
 or the Place Malesherbes, to realize what that whirl is. Thou- 
 
56 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 sands of painters are struggling to be first, many thousands of 
 pictures are produced annually, processes of every sort are 
 tried, and changes are rung upon every theme. There are in- 
 dustrial arts and decorative arts, the art of the city of Paris, 
 the Feminine Arts, the arts of the beginning of the century, 
 and of the end of it, exhibitions of an Hundred Masterpieces, of 
 Water-colorists and Pastellists, of Caricaturists and Designers 
 of Posters, of Incoherents and Refuses and Rosicrucians, and 
 above them all are the two vast annuals — the Champs Ely sees 
 and the Champs de Mars — while, again, the universal exhibi- 
 tions have been huge caravansaries of art in which the pictures 
 of North and South, East and West, England and Russia, Swe- 
 den and Spain, have sojourned for a time. 
 
 In such a Sturm unci Drang the struggle is terrible ; the temp- 
 tation is great to stand on tiptoe, to "faire grand'''' by simply 
 painting big canvases, to put a patch of black on a patch of 
 white, to fire a pistol shot, to do anything "pour per eery Many 
 have resisted the temptation; and some of the phases of art 
 which seemed likely to prove ephemeral have left a lasting 
 mark, while others, which promised to be solid, have rung hol- 
 low after all. Scores of painters have made lasting names, but 
 above them all, outranking by seniority even that admirable 
 younger band which counts the Dagnans, and Besnards, and Fla- 
 mengs, and many another, — among whom, too, is a whole line 
 of brilliant Americans, — above them all stands the little group 
 of masters, Grerome and Bonnat, Dubois and Falguiere, Carolus- 
 Duran, Laurens, Lefebvre, Henner, and Puvis de Chavannes, 
 who have been the comrades of Millet and Meissonier, Baudry 
 and Corot, Rousseau and Diaz, and who still live to represent an 
 art that has stood the test of time. To many an American ar- 
 tist these men are the worshipful alumni who stand closest 
 about the figure that is Alma Mater to them — the figure with 
 laurels about her Phrygian cap of liberty, the France whom 
 they gratefully revere for her generous hospitality and her 
 never failing stimulus. And to-day, in a dozen American 
 cities, there are men who with respect, admiration, and affec- 
 tion, claim as their master the sincere, thoughtful, widely-cul- 
 tured, kindly, and famous Leon Bonnat. 
 
 E. H. Blashfield. 
 
" PASTEUR AND HIS GRANDDAUGHTER. ' BY BONNAT 
 
LEON BONN AT 
 
 57 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 EDWIN HOWLAND BLASH- 
 FIELD was born in New York 
 city in 1848, and went to Europe be- 
 fore be was eighteen years of age. He 
 became a pupil of Leon Bonnat in 
 Paris, andhe had also at different times 
 worked under the advice of Wm. M. 
 Hunt, of Boston, and Gerome and 
 Chapu in Paris. He exhibited in the 
 Salon of 1874, and for many years there- 
 after he exhibited pictures in the Paris 
 exhibitions. All told, Mr. Blashfield 
 lived twenty years in Europe, and has 
 traveled and studied extensively in 
 Italy, Greece, and Egypt. During that 
 time he has exhibited pictures in the 
 Royal Academy, London, and else- 
 where in England, and Scotland. He 
 is now living and working in New 
 York, and has been Vice-president of 
 
 the Architectural League, and Presi- 
 dent of the Society of American Ar- 
 tists. He is also a member of the 
 National Academy of Design and an 
 honorary member of the American In- 
 stitute of Architects. He is a figure 
 painter, and his easel pictures have 
 been many and notable. In decorative 
 work he has done many ceilings and 
 wall panels for private houses, painted 
 a dome in the Manufactures Building 
 at the Columbian Exposition, and is 
 now painting the central dome of the 
 Congressional Library at Washington. 
 Medals were awarded him at the Paris 
 Exposition of 1889, and at the World's 
 Fair at Chicago. He has written for 
 magazines, and lectured (at Harvard) 
 on art subjects, and, in addition, is well 
 known as a designer and illustrator. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
 8 
 
PAUL BAUDRY 
 BY 
 
 KENYON COX 
 
PAUL-JACQUES-AIME BAUDRY 
 
 (1828-1886) 
 
 TN our time the academic in art is not greatly relished, and 
 X the whole academic system, as it is so wonderfully developed 
 in France, is more often denounced than defended. Our artis- 
 tic heroes are those who have revolted from the schools, and to 
 speak of a painter as a " Prix de Rome," or a member of the 
 Institute, is often equivalent to a sneer. Yet, as Lady Dilke 
 has very truly remarked, 1 "it is impossible to ignore the fact 
 that the very antagonists of this system have owed to its 
 method and discipline more than half their practical strength," 
 and Mr. Brownell, 2 in concluding a review of the work of two 
 of the foremost protestants in the art of sculpture, challenges 
 the world in this sentence : " Let some country without an 
 institute around which what aesthetic feeling the age permits 
 may crystallize, however sharply, give us a Rodin and a Dalou ! " 
 
 It is not, however, necessary to base the defense of the 
 French organization of art upon the indirect influence it has 
 exercised upon those who have protested against its rule, when 
 we have in the work of Paul Baudry such a shining example 
 of what academic training and governmental encouragement of 
 art can produce, in the normal and regular course of its action, 
 if the right material be given it to work upon. If the decora- 
 tions of the foyer of the Paris Grand Opera were the sole result 
 of France's academic system they would be its justification. 
 
 Paul-Jacques-Aime Baudry, 3 the third of twelve children of 
 
 1 "Art in the Modern State." London : Chapman & Hall, 1888. P. 100. 
 
 2 " French Art." Charles Scribner's Sons, 1892. P. 239. 
 
 3 The facts and dates given in this outline of Baudry's career are taken from "Paul Baudry, 
 Sa Vie et son Qiuvre," by Charles Ephrussi. Paris : Ludovic Baschet, 1887. 
 
 61 
 
62 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 a Breton sabot-maker, was born on November 27, 1828, at 
 Roche-sur-Yon, in Vendee. His fatber was a great lover of 
 music, and wisbed Paul to become a professional musician, but 
 tbe cbild's vocation for painting was early apparent, and at tbe 
 age of thirteen be began tbe serious study of bis art under tbe 
 direction of Antoine Sartoris, the drawing-master of tbe town, 
 an artisan wbose love for pamting bad pusbed him into tbe 
 practice of art, and who had managed to secure two years' in- 
 struction in Paris. With him Baudry remained three years, 
 and toward this humble instructor be always exhibited a pro- 
 found gratitude. To the end of Baudry's life the name of Sar- 
 toris figured beside that of Drolling in the catalogue of tbe 
 Salon after that of then 1 pupil. Tbe young man's progress was 
 rapid, and Sartoris soon felt that he could teach him no more. 
 Study in Paris was necessary for him, and, on the recommen- 
 dation of Sartoris and other friends, the town of Roche-sur-Yon 
 voted him a pension of six hundred francs, which was shortly 
 added to by the Council-General of La Vendee. He entered 
 the studio of Drolhng in 1844, and was soon recognized as the 
 head of the school. He bved upon the meagerest of fare, and 
 worked with indomitable industry and energy, determined to 
 deserve the encouragement he had received, and his student 
 years were marked by a succession of prizes and medals until, 
 in 1847, be was received en loge for the Prix de Rome, and 
 was awarded a premier second grand prix before be was quite 
 nineteen years old. The Grand Prix of that year was Le- 
 nepveu, who was given, after Baudry's death, the commission 
 for the decorative paintings commemorating J oan of Arc which 
 Baudry was to have done for the Pantheon. Baudry's pension 
 was again augmented, and with renewed confidence he went on 
 with tbe struggle toward the first goal of bis ambition, that 
 Grand Prix which, in the absence of any private resources, was 
 so necessary to him. He failed twice, but succeeded tbe third 
 time, and from 1850 the state succeeded the town and the de- 
 partment as his patron. The Prix de Rome can seldom have 
 fallen to so young a man, and when he revisited Rome in 
 1864 as one of tbe foremost of French artists, he found men of 
 his own age among the pensionnaires of the Villa Medici. 
 
 The five years that Baudry spent in Rome left a deep mark 
 upon all his after work. Curiously enough the Institute, which 
 
PAUL-JACQUES-AIMfi BAUDRY 
 
 63 
 
 had sent him there, presumably, that he might study the old 
 masters, was offended when the influence of Raphael and 
 Correggio began to be noticeable in his painting, but the pub- 
 he was of another mind. From Rome he sent home to Paris 
 successively " Theseus in the Labyrinth," — which he afterward 
 destroyed, — "Jacob and the Angel," "Fortune and the Child," 
 now in the Luxembourg, the copy of Raphael's "Jurispru- 
 dence " in the Ecole des Beaux- Arts, and the " Punishment 
 of a Vestal," now in the museum at Lille. The " Fortune " 
 and the " Vestal," together with some smaller pictures and 
 portraits, were exhibited in the Salon of 1857, shortly after 
 his return to France, and his success was instantaneous and 
 complete. He was awarded a medal of the first class by the 
 jury, and was acclaimed a leader among the younger artists. 
 Commissions flowed in upon him, and the next few years 
 brought forth a number of portraits and easel pictures, of 
 which " The Wave and the Pearl" (1863) is the most ex- 
 quisite, and marks the apogee of his early manner. Mean- 
 while he had begun his career as a decorator by a series of 
 works for private parties. In the best of these, " The Five 
 Cities of Italy," executed in 1861, for the Due de Galliera, the 
 future Baudry is already discernible. In this year also he 
 was made a Chevalier of the Legion. 
 
 When the building of the Paris Grand Opera was under- 
 taken Baudry was naturally marked out for a great share in 
 its decoration. The commission for his work in the foyer 
 was given him in 1865, but he had been informed of the prob- 
 ability of his receiving it by his comrade of Roman days, Grar- 
 nier, the architect, a year in advance, and had gone to Rome to 
 prepare for the great work by making a series of full-sized 
 copies after Michelangelo's frescos in the Sistine Chapel. In 
 1868 he went to London to copy the Hampton Court cartoons, 
 and in 1870 to Italy again, still with his work for the Opera 
 in view. In 1869 he was created an Officer of the Legion, and 
 in 1870, during his absence, he was elected to the Institute 
 without having announced his candidacy, made the customary 
 visits, or taken any steps whatever to secure the result. In 
 the same year he volunteered for the defense of his country, 
 and carried a musket through the war with Germany. After 
 the conclusion of peace and the putting down of the Com- 
 
64 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 mime he returned to his task, and for three years lived in the 
 opera house itself, partly from motives of economy, shut up 
 with his work and seeing no one. The great paintings were 
 finally completed and exhibited at the Ecole des Beaux- Arts 
 in 1874. " The success was splendid. The French school 
 counted another great master." 1 For the work of eight years 
 he was paid 140,000 francs, and a great part of it he did lit- 
 erally for nothing, to prevent its being given to another artist 
 and the consequent destruction of the unity of his great deco- 
 rative scheme. 
 
 Worn out with his long labor, he started for a tour in 
 Egypt and Greece, from which he returned a Commander of 
 the Legion, and " the most famous and the poorest of the art- 
 ists of France." 2 In 1876 he was commissioned to decorate 
 the Pantheon with a series of pictures from the life of Joan 
 of Arc, and accepted the task with enthusiasm. He had long 
 thought of the subject, and was profoundly interested in the 
 great French heroine. Unfortunately he could not afford to 
 devote his time to work so wretchedly paid (the whole series 
 was to bring in only 50,000 francs), and he was obliged to ac- 
 cept other commissions for portraits, easel pictures, and minor 
 decorations. A series of brilliant canvases was the result, 
 but that which he intended for the crowning work of his life 
 was never begun. A few of the more notable of his later 
 works are the portrait of General Comte de Palikao, 1876, 
 the " Glorification of the Law " for the Court of Cassation, ex- 
 hibited in the Salon of 1881, and unanimously awarded the 
 medal of honor (then for the first time given by vote of all the 
 qualified exhibitors), the " St. Hubert " for Chantilly, and the 
 two ceilings for the houses of W. H. and Cornelius Vanderbilt 
 in 1882, the portrait of Mme. Bernstein and son, 1883, and his 
 last great work, " L'Enlevement de Psyche," for Chantilly, 1884. 
 To these should be added the " Diana driving away Love," of 
 which the first version was executed in Rome in 1864, but 
 which he repeated in 1877, in 1879, and in 1882. It is one of 
 the later versions that is here illustrated. He died of heart- 
 disease in the fifty-eighth year of his age, on the 17th of 
 January, 1886. 
 
 It is impossible not to think of Raphael when one is con- 
 
 l Ephrussi, p. 220. 2 ibid., p. 242. 
 
PAUL-JACQUES-AIME 
 
 BAUDRY 
 
 65 
 
 templating the life and work of Paul Baudry, not merely be- 
 cause of the great influence of the Italian of the Renaissance 
 upon the modern Frenchman, but because of the great simi- 
 larity of the two artistic natures. Both were men of indomi- 
 table energy and vast industry ; both were brilliantly precocious, 
 and rapidly acquired all the knowledge of their epoch; both 
 were of the true classical temper, preferring beauty to char- 
 acter, and perfection to individuahty. Like Raphael, Baudry 
 was a man of sweet temper and sunny nature, and like Raphael 
 he was entirely devoted to his art, and had scarce any other life 
 than his work. No more than Raphael was he one of the pro- 
 foundly personal natures in whom the man seems more than 
 the artist. He was rather one of those absorbents, of whom 
 Raphael is the chief, whose work is rather to do perfectly what 
 every one else has been trying to do, than to do something 
 unlike anything that has gone before. He borrowed from 
 Raphael and from the antique as freely as Raphael himself 
 borrowed from his predecessors, and he managed, like Raphael, 
 to stamp his own seal upon what he borrowed, so that his 
 very impersonality has a noble individuality. It would be im- 
 possible to take any work by Baudry for the production of any 
 other artist. 
 
 Like Raphael, also, Baudry had many successive manners, 
 and never rested in any one acquired style. Of his early work, 
 before he went to Rome, I know nothing personally, but we 
 are told that it was marked by a certain crude and almost 
 brutal vigor rather than by refinement or style. His first envoi 
 de Borne, the " Theseus," is said to have shown the influence 
 of Caravaggio. In his second envoi, however, the "Jacob 
 and the Angel," the influence of Raphael begins to show 
 itself. He now began his travels over Italy, filling his port- 
 folios with studies after the great masters, and the effect is 
 immediately apparent in his work. Correggio made a pro- 
 found and lasting impression upon him, and the "Fortune 
 and the Child" is a frank imitation of Titian with a remin- 
 iscence of Leonardo in the expression of the lovely head. In 
 the fourth year of his pension he was obliged by the rule 
 to make a copy after an old master containing "at least 
 three figures," and it is characteristic of him that he should 
 have chosen the "Jurisprudence," thus giving himself eight 
 
 9 
 
66 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 figures to do instead of three. Raphael's " Jurisprudence " is 
 the perfect work of the perfect time of that master. It is the 
 smallest of the four great frescos painted in the Stanza della 
 Segnatura, and, in the opinion of Baudry, has " a breadth of 
 style and execution not to be found in the ' Disputa ' or the 
 ' School of Athens.' " 1 It was in copying this picture that 
 Baudry really learned his art. "In the silent conversations we 
 have held together he has taught me the secret of his grace and 
 of his admirable style," 2 he says, and again, " How I love him 
 since I have studied him, and what secrets of harmony and of 
 color he has revealed to me ! Blind, or rather silly, are those 
 who cannot see it." 3 Baudry has been allowed to be a charm- 
 ing colorist even by not over-enthusiastic critics, and his testi- 
 mony to the color quality of Raphael at his best is noteworthy. 
 The making of this copy not only influenced all Baudry's work 
 thereafter, but reminiscences of this special picture are frequent 
 in his work, from the " Five Cities of Italy " to the " Glorifica- 
 tion of the Law." 
 
 From his return to Paris in 1856 to his death the work of 
 Baudry may be divided into three categories, and into three 
 periods. He painted portraits, easel pictures, and decorations, 
 and he painted each of these in three different manners. Of 
 course the changes of style cannot be marked off accurately as 
 having occurred at given dates, but in a general view they are 
 clearly enough apparent. The portraits of the first of these 
 periods are marked by exquisite and accurate drawing, by pro- 
 found study of character, and by an enamel-like smoothness 
 and unity of surface. Two which I remember especially are 
 those of Gruizot and of Madeleine Brohan. Neither Holbein nor 
 Raphael himself, one of the greatest of portrait-painters, ever 
 did anything more perfect or more impersonal, more marked 
 by the subordination of means to ends, by the suppression of 
 the artist before the individuality of the sitter. The easel pic- 
 tures of the same period are less ivory-hard than the portraits, 
 are richer and fuller in color and in texture, but they are 
 marked by the same reserve and mystery of technic. His 
 greatest triumph in this line is "The Wave and the Pearl," 
 which remains, perhaps, the most perfect painting of the nude 
 done in modern times. Its delicate yet naive grace of line, its 
 
 1 Letter cited by Ephrussi, p. 137. 2 ibid., p. 138. 3 Ibid., p. 143. 
 
PHOTOOKAPH BY BKAUM, t Lh.UI.NT LT < 
 
 " DIANA DRIVING AWAY LOVE. " BY BAUDRY 
 
PAUL-JACQUES-AIME BAUDRY 
 
 67 
 
 charm of expression, the slender beauty of the youthful type 
 of figure, and the absolute but unostentatious science of the 
 drawing, may be seen in the black and white reproduction, but 
 the pearly loveliness of the color, the perfection of the firm yet 
 delicate surface, and the solid though mysterious modeling, 
 without visible shadow, must be seen in the original to be 
 understood. It is a pure masterpiece. Other things may be 
 done, but nothing better. The decorations of this period are 
 preludes to the Opera, and hardly need special consideration. 
 
 The middle period of Baudry's work includes the decora- 
 tions of the Opera and a number of portraits, but no easel pic- 
 tures of importance, unless the first version of the " Diana," 
 painted at Rome while the copies of Michelangelo were in 
 progress, be counted. I have not seen it and cannot speak 
 of its quality, but, at the time, it was thought to show a fall- 
 ing off from previous work. The portraits show a growing 
 breadth of style and handling, are often of superb dignity and 
 great power, rich and somber in tone. One I remember — the 
 name of the sitter has quite escaped me — which seemed to me 
 a fitting companion to Titian's "Man with the Grlove." The 
 first fruits of Baudry's assiduous study of Michelangelo are 
 shown in the ceiling painted for Count Henckel-Donners- 
 marck in 1865. It is distinctly Michelangelesque, and the 
 heavy-limbed figures seem too colossal for the space they 
 occupy. It was but a temporary phase of his work, however. 
 The "Muses" of the Opera show the same influence in a much 
 modified form, but thereafter it is seen no more. 
 
 The decorations of the Grand Opera must always remain 
 Baudry's greatest work and his principal claim to permanent 
 fame. The original commission was for the twelve composi- 
 tions in the voussures or vaulting panels, and the ten ovals repre- 
 senting the music of various nations. To these Baudry himself 
 demanded and obtained the right of adding, without compen- 
 sation, the three great ceilings and the eight panels of the 
 " Muses," that his scheme might be completely carried out and 
 the unity of the whole assured. The work thus comprises 
 thirty-three separate compositions, all of them large and some- 
 vast, and it is calculated that the whole space covered with 
 painting comprises five hundred square meters. In size and 
 completeness alone this scheme of decoration is the most im- 
 
68 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 portant since the great days of the Renaissance. Its intellec- 
 tual merit is great and has been much enlarged upon. Neither 
 its size nor its meaning is, however, what we are now con- 
 cerned with. Its purely artistic merit is what we have to con- 
 sider, and that merit is of the highest order. In this work 
 Baudiy has shown himself one of the greatest masters of 
 decorative art that ever lived. His painting bears no resem- 
 blance to that of our other great modern decorator, Puvis de 
 Chavannes. His problem was, in the first place, altogether 
 different. His works were intended for an opera house, and 
 elegance and richness are there more appropriate than auster- 
 ity. They were surrounded by heavy gilding and elaborate 
 architectural forms, rather than by flat gray walls. If he had 
 lived to execute his designs for the Pantheon, the two greatest 
 decorators of modern times would have met upon the same 
 ground, and the result of the competition would have been 
 interesting to see. As it is it may be said that each trium- 
 phantly solved the problem set him, and that Puvis's " St. Gene- 
 vieve " would have been as much out of place in the Opera as 
 would be Baudry's "Judgment of Paris" in the Pantheon. 
 Baudry's reliance is, like that of the Florentines, on balanced 
 linear composition and perfection of drawing. Light and 
 shade is only so far developed as is necessary for the expla- 
 nation of form, and color, while charming, is strictly subordi- 
 nated. This subordination of light and shade and of color 
 assures a sufficient decorative flatness, while the rhythm of 
 beautiful line becomes the principal decorative element, and 
 makes of each picture a pattern far finer and more subtle 
 than pure ornament. Of his power of linear composition 
 no better example could be given than that known as " The 
 Shepherds " or " Pastoral Music." Not Raphael himself has 
 produced a finer piece of ordered, balanced, supple line, con- 
 cise yet free and graceful, full of tranquil dignity and beauty. 
 In strong contrast is " The Assault " or " Military Music," in 
 which the fury of war is as thoroughly expressed as is idyllic 
 peace in "The Shepherds." The larger and more crowded com- 
 positions of the two great panels at the ends of the hall are 
 as masterly as any of the smaller ones, and the whole series 
 demonstrates that in classical composition Baudry has never 
 had a superior. Of his power of significant drawing it is hard 
 for me to speak without indulging in what may seem hyper- 
 
PERMISSION OK B0UBSU1', YALAUUN ET CIE, 
 
 THE SHEPHERDS" (DETAIL). BY HAL) DRY 
 
 'I'lll: OPERA, PARIS 
 
PAUL-JACQUES-AIME BAUDRY 
 
 G9 
 
 bole. I have found, for many years, that my admiration for 
 his draftsmanship has grown with my own knowledge, and 
 I should have no hesitation in placing him third, after Michel- 
 angelo and Raphael only and far before Ingres, in the ex- 
 tremely limited list of the world's really great delineators of 
 the human figure. I do not know why the world has been 
 apt to consider color as a gift and drawing as an acquirement. 
 Mere correctness of proportion may indeed be learned by any 
 one with a true eye, but the gift of significant line is one of 
 the rarest of artistic endowments, and is compatible, as Michel- 
 angelo has shown us, with a neglect of mere accuracy. Bau- 
 dry's drawing is not always accurate, but it is intelligent and 
 significant in the highest degree, and is instinct with what we 
 know as style. The original studies in black and white for 
 the Opera series are lessons forever. No other modern master 
 could have so interpreted, for instance, the movement of the 
 back of the Juno in the "Judgment of Paris." 
 
 After the completion of the Opera Baudry returned to his 
 easel pictures and portraits, but his work is very different from 
 that of his early period. M. Jules Breton seems to consider 
 that it is inferior and says : " He had lost his former admira- 
 ble power of execution. The fine even coloring of his earlier 
 pictures had crumbled into sharp, dry hatchings .... his 
 painting, properly speaking, was on the decline." 1 This seems 
 to me an error, or, at least, an overstatement. The habit of 
 working on a large scale and over vast surfaces had undoubt- 
 edly forever broken up the patina of his early work and given 
 his brush a new freedom. Never again was he to produce such 
 a mysteriously perfect piece of painting as " The Wave and the 
 Pearl." But one might as well object to the later work of 
 Velasquez or Hals or Titian as to that of Baudry. The tech- 
 nic is different, but it is quite as wonderful as ever, and in 
 some of his latest works reaches the virtuosity of a Stevens or 
 a Boldini. One of the first things he painted after the com- 
 pletion of the great decorations was the marvelous portrait of 
 the Comte de Palikao standing by his horse in the open air, as 
 fine as a Van Byck, as free as Velasquez, and a thoroughly 
 modern study of light. It puzzled the beholders at the time, 
 but triumphed splendidly at the Universal Exposition in 1889. 
 The later versions of the " Diana driving away Love " are 
 
 i " The Life of an Artist." D. Appleton & Co., 1890. P. 245. 
 
70 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 painted with this same sweeping freedom, with all the clever- 
 ness of the cleverest modern, but retain the sense of form and 
 the structural knowledge which were Baudry's alone. Still 
 later the drawing also is a little sacrificed, and even the study 
 of character in portraiture, but the dazzling brilliancy of hand- 
 ling, and the charm of light and color, become more and more 
 pronounced. The later decorations show the same change, 
 and suffer from it, in my opinion, more than the smaller 
 works. The gravity of monumental art, which is some- 
 what lacking in the " Glorification of the Law," is less easily 
 supplied by the gaiety of facile execution or the splendor of 
 a palette a la Veronese than in the little "Truth," or the 
 delicious portraits of Madame Bernstein and her son, and of 
 the boy Louis de Montebello. 
 
 Take him for all in all Paul Baudry was the most rounded 
 and complete of modern painters. He was the greatest stylist, 
 the greatest draftsman, and the greatest master of composi- 
 tion of our century, and if he had not been one of the greatest 
 decorators he would still have been the greatest portrait-painter 
 of his time. He was a fine colorist and he became one of the 
 most brilliant of technicians. With all this he has been some- 
 what grudgingly praised by critics, and his influence upon other 
 painters has been comparatively slight because he was not one 
 of the great original forces of modern art. It did, indeed, 
 require a certain originality to found one's art upon Raphael 
 at a time when Raphael's work was profoundly unappreciated, 
 and it is also true that there is an unmistakable air of the nine- 
 teenth century about everything he did, so that even his mas- 
 sive muses are essentially parisiennes ; still he was not a Millet, 
 nor even a Manet, not a profound poet or a revolutionary 
 initiator of a new movement. But he was an artist of genius, 
 and of such accomplishment that compared to him all other 
 modern artists seem bunglers. His is not the kind of great- 
 ness most appreciated to-day, and it is called an "official 
 talent," and few care for it as few really care for Raphael, 
 but it is true greatness nevertheless. There will always be 
 original, unbalanced, one-sided artists. An artist who is wis oily 
 sound and sane and classic, and whose one aim and achieve- 
 ment is consummate beauty, is the greatest of rarities. In 
 our day there has been only one. 
 
 Kenyon Cox. 
 
C AROLUS - D UR AN 
 BY 
 
 CARROLL BECKWITH 
 
CAROLUS -DURAN 
 
 CHARLES -AUGUSTE -EMILE DUEAND 
 
 (1837- ) 
 
 " Aimer la gloire plus que Fargent, 
 L'art plus que la gloire, 
 La uature plus que l'art." 1 
 
 THESE were the words addressed to an encircling crowd of 
 attentive art-students, by M. Carolus-Duran, one bright 
 May morning in 1874, as the monthly product of compositions 
 and sketches hung on the walls of the studio for his inspection. 
 
 The atelier was neither large nor numerously attended. 
 Situated at No. 81, on the Boulevard Montparnasse, it was in 
 an out-of-the-way place, surrounded by many market-gardens 
 and long stretches of convent walls, which gave the neighbor- 
 hood a rather desolate appearance. But the energy of New 
 England had penetrated even to that remote suburb, and, the 
 year before (1873), an enthusiastic young American, — now the 
 Washington artist Mr. Robert Hinckley, — having been fasci- 
 nated by the brilliancy of the master's work he had seen in 
 the Salon, had waited on M. Carolus-Duran and gained per- 
 mission to become his pupil. With Ms acceptance of Mr. 
 Hinckley began the Atelier Carolus-Duran, which has since 
 become famous in the history of French art. 
 
 In those days it was customary among the distinguished 
 French artists to have a following of students to whom they 
 gave, free of all cost, the benefit of their experience and skill. 
 
 1 " Love glory more than money, 
 Art more than glory, 
 Nature more than art." 
 
74 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 We, in the atelier on the Boulevard Montparnasse, were a 
 strange mixture of many nationalities, but the Anglo-Saxon 
 predominated. The French students, I regret to say, were 
 very few and far between at the beginning. M. Carolus was an 
 artist whose work was hotly disputed by the critics, and gen- 
 erally condemned without stint by the painters of the Insti- 
 tute. He had thrown a formidable and dazzling gauntlet into 
 the ring in the shape of a series of masterly portraits, and he 
 was a competitor in the field for popular favor calculated to 
 arouse bitter antagonists as well as enthusiastic adherents. 
 
 The nature of the man was well defined by the words I 
 have quoted as coming from his lips that May morning, as we 
 stood about listening to his criticisms. He was not deaf to 
 the trumpet note of fame, nor indifferent to the advantages 
 of money, yet his art claimed him as her own, and his inspira- 
 tion came directly and frankly from nature. At this time he 
 was still young, having been born at Lille, July 4, 1837. The 
 admixture of Spain and Flanders was exemplified in his char- 
 acter, at once robust and sturdy while harboring the fire and 
 intense enthusiasm of the race of Velasquez. He was a 
 painter by instinct, and at the early age of eight he was en- 
 rolled among the students at the Academy of Arts in his na- 
 tive town, under the able guidance of Francois Souchon, a 
 painter of note and a former pupil of David. When fifteen 
 years old he started for Paris to study art and to earn his 
 livelihood. He had lost his father at an early age, and the 
 modest resources of the family allowed but little to be sent to 
 aid the struggling young artist. 
 
 In Paris Carolus-Duran pursued a course somewhat different 
 from other students of art. He did not attach himself to any 
 master, but applied himself to copying and studying in the 
 Louvre — painting pictures or occasional portraits to contribute 
 to his support — and drawing evenings at Suisse's academy. 
 Evidently his tempestuous love of independence was already 
 declaring itself, and he welcomed a freedom from the seven 
 years of training in the local school of Lille. But the founda- 
 tions had been laid, the precepts of drawing and proportion 
 had been thoroughly imparted, and they had been eagerly ab- 
 sorbed by an impressionable and artistic mind. 
 
 In 1858, as the result of a competition which took place in 
 
"portrait." by carolus-duran 
 
CAROLUS-DURAN 
 
 75 
 
 Lille, he was pensioned by his native town. This permitted 
 him to return to Paris until 1861, when he obtained the Wicart 
 prize, enabling him to go at once to Italy. Of his life in Italy 
 he often speaks with deep and even poetic feeling. He passed 
 the winters in Rome, and the summers found him in Venice, 
 Naples, or Florence. One of these summers, to which must be 
 added the spring and autumn, he lived in the Convent of St. 
 Francis, near Subiaco. The brothers of the convent had fre- 
 quently seen the young painter at work in their neighborhood, 
 and from curiosity to friendship was but a short step. His 
 easel was soon set up in the large refectory, and a bed made 
 for him in one of the cells. Here he lived and worked, read 
 and dreamed, enjoying the frugal hospitality of the convent 
 and the sympathetic and kindly society of the monks. After 
 eight months spent within the convent walls he took his de- 
 parture, and as he followed the path down the hill to Subiaco, 
 he says : " I turned and saw the monks gathered in the golden 
 twilight on the terrace by the church, surrounding their bro- 
 ther superior, who was sadly waving his hand to me in a fare- 
 well blessing, and the tears coursed down my cheeks as I 
 waved back my recognition." It was during this residence in 
 the Convent of St. Francis that he painted his first important 
 work, " The Evening Prayer," for which he received honorable 
 mention in the Salon of 1805. 
 
 Five years passed in Italy developed in a marked degree 
 this impressionable, artistic temperament. It was a tempera- 
 ment that mingled something of the stern, practical good sense 
 characteristic of the Flemish race with the poetic sensitive- 
 ness of the Latin. His common sense recognized the fact that 
 his career could only prosper by dint of industry and resolu- 
 tion, while his poetic nature rendered him susceptible to the 
 charm of color and the sensuous beauty of form. Both were 
 developed and ennobled by contact with Italy. The influence 
 of Renaissance sculpture surrounding him in Rome and Flor- 
 ence was offset and tempered by the splendors of color in 
 Titian and Griorgione, and by the compositions of Veronese and 
 Tintoretto in Venice. It is not difficult to imagine that these 
 influences contributed to a result of no mean importance when 
 concentrated in a youth of fine physical powers and clear, dis- 
 cerning judgment. 
 
76 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 In 1866 Carolus-Duran returned to France, bringing with 
 him his large canvas " The Assassination," now hanging on the 
 walls of the museum of Lille. This picture was honored by a 
 medal, and the artist received for it one thousand dollars, which 
 enabled him to establish himself in Paris. From this time on- 
 ward portraiture received his attention. Later on, a trip to 
 Spain, where he devoted himself to copying Velasquez, and a 
 subsequent trip to England consecrated to Gainsborough, 
 Reynolds, and Lawrence, gave him a needful knowledge of the 
 masters of portraiture, and undoubtedly was an additional in- 
 fluence in his art and life. 
 
 Paris, always eager for sensations, was soon thrilled by the 
 courageous exploits of this gifted young painter. Each Salon 
 contained a work more daring than the last, and in spite of 
 the adverse criticism of many journals, and the shrugs of aca- 
 demic shoulders, he gained daily a more appreciative and enthu- 
 siastic audience. In 1869 he sent to the Palais de l'Industrie 
 the portrait of his wife, now celebrated in the Luxembourg 
 collection as "La Dame au Grant." The following year came 
 the portrait of Madame Feydau, which was the event of the 
 Salon of 1870 and for which the medal of honor was demanded 
 by many artists and critics. The model, a tall and beautiful 
 woman of luxuriant but refined type, is shown at full length 
 upon the canvas, her robe of warm violet satin detached from 
 a background of dull emerald green with great brilliancy. The 
 clear, high light of the satin is softened by the rich folds of an- 
 tique lace surrounding the neck and arms. The illumination 
 is ingeniously arranged to fall full upon the face and figure, 
 while the train is silently enveloped in half tone. The lady 
 holds gently with her right hand the folds of the curtain at the 
 background, which she is in the act of lifting to pass through, 
 while she glances with tenderness at the little dog at her feet, 
 anxiously watching the departure of his mistress. I know of 
 few portraits of women done in this century superior to this 
 masterly work. It possesses a combination of great technical 
 skill and extreme refinement seldom equaled; and it touches 
 a note of harmony in color and composition appealing alike to 
 the experienced artist and the untutored layman. 
 
 In this work Carolus struck the note of his subsequent 
 career — to depict the parisienne, the French woman of fashion, 
 
CAROLUS-DURAN 
 
 77 
 
 at her best. He depicted her faithfully and realistically, while 
 at the same time he invested her with an ideal grace of move- 
 ment that recalls the work of Van Dyck; but, unlike Van Dyck, 
 his palette savors of the Midi, his drawing is more impulsive. 
 A simple medal was awarded to the painter for the portrait of 
 Madame Feydau, and it was not until nine years later that the 
 jury was finally convinced, and gave him the medal of honor. 
 
 In 1873 he exhibited the equestrian portrait of his wife's 
 sister, Mile. Croizette, of the Theatre Francais, catalogued " Au 
 Bord de la Mer." This work was seen in the Art Depart- 
 ment of our Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia in 1876, 
 and is still distinctly remembered for its simplicity of arrange- 
 ment and sterling realistic qualities. The year 1874 was dis- 
 tinguished by two able productions ; the portrait of his little 
 daughter Marie- Anne accompanied by the large piebald gray- 
 hound, and the seated portrait of the Comtesse de Pourtales. 
 In this latter work new qualities were developed, showing that 
 he was not dependent upon the beauty of his sitter alone for 
 success. An intense expression of life, combined with an un- 
 usually distinguished charm of arrangement, marks the canvas; 
 and the hands are made accessories of importance, giving ad- 
 ditional force to the likeness by the enormous realism of their 
 rendering. At this time, when the memory of the art-loving 
 public was still saturated with the sugared mediocrities of the 
 Third Empire, this vital work, gleaming with the luster of 
 black satin and dazzling jewels, bringing forward with intense 
 relief the ivory tone of the skin and emphasizing its delicate 
 carnations, created a sensation, and at the crowded opening of 
 the Salon the name of Carolus -Duran was heard on all sides. 
 The name itself had a flavor of novelty, and an echo of Spain 
 and Velasquez in it. It has been stated that the artist is 
 responsible for the arrangement of the exotic and sonorous 
 syllables in his name, but Charles- Auguste-Emile Durand was 
 the name given him by his parents in baptism. 
 
 At this time M. Carolus was well launched on the crest of 
 the wave of popularity in the great art capital of this century. 
 His studio, removed from the noisy center of Paris, is still the 
 same one in which he began the conquest of the amateurs 
 twenty-five years ago ; but for two decades his name and art 
 have traveled almost around the world. During these years 
 
78 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 titled people and celebrities of all nations have rolled through 
 the modest iron paling at either end of the Passage Stanislas 
 and crossed the unpretentious threshold of No. 11. To-day, 
 as in the past, the visitor is met at the top of the first flight of 
 stairs by a valet, and is ushered almost immediately into the 
 studio, which is not over-spacious, but is finely lighted from 
 the large skylight in the roof. A certain luxury in the arrange- 
 ment and furnishing attests the taste of the artist. Pieces of 
 rare brocade, and curtains of old Genoese velvet, harmonize 
 with the rich gold of frames and the luxurious toilets of sitters. 
 A few bibelots, some foils and rapiers, and an organ whose 
 gilded pipes gleam in the obscurity of a corner, bear testimony 
 also to some of the accomplishments of M. Carolus. For many 
 years he has been one of the noted swordsmen of Paris, and 
 his love of music is most pronounced. Though not a skilled 
 performer himself, his touch on the piano or guitar is marked 
 by thorough musical appreciation. Some of his best heads 
 have been painted from his friends, Gounod, Pasdeloup, and 
 others of the musical world of Paris of to-day. 
 
 The field of portraiture has not entirely absorbed his artis- 
 tic energies. In sculpture he has produced several able works, 
 and some of his larger pictorial compositions, at the head of 
 which stands the decoration in one of the galleries of drawings 
 of the Louvre, entitled the "Triumph of Marie de Medicis," have 
 done him great honor, particularly those that treat realistically 
 out-of-door effects, such as "Les Baigneuses," " La Rosee," etc. 
 
 Like most painters of portraits, all his work bears the mark 
 of research for truth of color and value. Even in his impor- 
 tant "Mise au Tombeau" the characters chosen are portraits 
 of the different individuals all strongly emphasized and painted 
 with great truth of appearance. Throughout his work one 
 can readily detect the influence of his favorite master Velas- 
 quez. He has the same frankness of execution and certainty 
 of touch, the same assured process of the man who knows his 
 purpose, and who is sufficiently confident of himself to handle 
 with great audacity the problems of form and light. 
 
 Like Velasquez, Carolus makes his portraits live, and his 
 canvases bear the imprint of his epoch and are of extreme 
 modernity in the types, the dress, and the attitude. His 
 women have the ease and luxury of the French Salon ; his 
 
PHOTOGRAPH BY BRA UN, CLEMENT ET CIE. 
 
 "PORTRAIT OF LA COMTESSE DE VEDAL." BY CAROLUS-DURAN 
 
CAROLUS-DURAN 
 
 79 
 
 children, in spite of the noise of backgrounds or the exaggera- 
 tion of fashionable costume, have the fresh faces of innocence, 
 with carnations as tenderly and skilfully brushed in as if he 
 were painting the leaf of a rose. In brief, he is a painter in 
 every sense of the word, and notwithstanding his affinity with 
 painters who have preceded him, he has a note essentially per- 
 sonal, distinctly French, and peculiar to his own time. 
 
 Carolus-Duran has attained nearly all the distinction which 
 France, so generous in recognizing her talented children, can 
 give. In 1879 he was awarded the medal of honor at the Salon 
 for his portrait of Madame la Comtesse Vedal. One recom- 
 pense alone is yet denied him, that of member of the Insti- 
 tute; here the last phalanx of his opponents has intrenched 
 itself, and after seeing his name for several years defeated, I 
 understand that he has now withdrawn his candidature, and, 
 in company with Daudet, is indifferent to the academic chair. 
 The embroidered coat of the Academician is, however, amply 
 replaced by the glory of foreign recognition. America, Eng- 
 land, and Russia have united in their appreciation, and his 
 great ability is to-day acknowledged wherever art, with its 
 manifold influences of culture and refinement, has penetrated. 
 
 Caeboll Beckwith. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 JAMES CARROLL BECKWITH 
 was born in Hannibal, Mo., in 
 1852. He began his art studies in 
 Chicago at eighteen years of age. 
 In 1871 he came to New York, and 
 studied at the schools of the National 
 Academy of Design for two winters. 
 In 1873 he went to Europe and after 
 a few months entered the studio of 
 Carolus-Duran. The following year 
 he was appointed massier of the ate- 
 lier, and during his five years of Paris 
 life enjoyed the friendship and inti- 
 macy of his master. Mr. Beckwith, 
 with his fellow-pupil and companion, 
 
 John S. Sargent, helped M. Carolus 
 in his large decoration in the Louvre, 
 " The Triumph of Marie de Medicis." 
 He afterward entered the drawing 
 department of the Ecole des Beaux- 
 Arts, where he obtained four honor- 
 able mentions. His first exhibitions 
 of pictures were in the Salon and in 
 the Universal Exposition of 1878. He 
 returned to New York in 1878, and 
 became professor of drawing at the 
 Art Students League — a position 
 he still holds. He is a member of 
 the Society of American Artists, the 
 National Academy of Design, the 
 
80 
 
 MODERN FRENCH 
 
 MASTERS 
 
 American Water Color Club, and 
 other art organizations. He deco- 
 rated one of the domes of the Manu- 
 factures Building at Chicago, but his 
 chief work has been in portraiture. 
 Many of his portraits are in private 
 
 houses and some are the property of 
 West Point Academy, Yale College, 
 the Union League Club, the New 
 York Bar Association, and other 
 prominent organizations. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
JEAN-PAUL LAURENS 
 BY 
 
 E. H. BLASHFIELD 
 
JEAN-PAUL LAURENS 
 
 (1838- ) 
 
 JEAN-PAUL LAURENS was born in 1838, at Fourquevaux. 
 He won honors at the Ecole des Beaux- Arts of Toulouse, 
 and after leaving the old capital of Languedoc for the national 
 capital and modern art-center, he became successively the pu- 
 pil of Leon Cogniet and of Bida. Both of these masters left a 
 trace of influence upon him, the latter especially by the earnest, 
 grave, and even solemn character of his drawings of scripture 
 scenes. It is said that M. Laurens traveled in his earlier years 
 with a band of young painters, who went in a cart from village 
 to village of the Alpine provinces, painting rude pictures in the 
 little churches — and here again we can imagine that not the 
 Bohemianism of the life, but rather the grandeur of the coun- 
 try about him, was what most impressed a nature the trend and 
 almost the instinct of which seemed to be toward austerity, 
 and toward the expression of the more solemn, at times indeed 
 even the gloomy, side of life. 
 
 In 1863 M. Laurens exhibited at the Salon a picture of the 
 "Death of Cato," and some six years later had his first con- 
 siderable success with his " Supper of Beaucaire," a subject in 
 which the young Napoleon, as lieutenant of artillery, played 
 the principal role. One April day, early in the seventies, I 
 remember that some students of the different schools of Paris 
 were having the annual noisy time at the so-called envoi du 
 Salon, the term set for the receiving of such pictures as are 
 to be submitted for the inspection and judgment of the jury 
 acting for that year's exhibition. The envoi day usually af- 
 forded an excellent opportunity for seeing what the forthcom- 
 
 83 
 
84 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 ing Salon would be like, and every student who could was pre- 
 sent, an eager pregustator of the feast that was to come a month 
 later. On this particular day many pictures had been seen and 
 commented upon by the students, when one from the Atelier 
 Bonnat said to a group of us : " Aves-vous vu le ' Robert le 
 Pienx ' f C ''est rudement Men senti ; c'a impose tout-de-meme." 
 "We hurried off to see it, and a new painter, Jean-Paul Laurens, 
 appeared upon our horizon, conquering not only our suffrages of 
 the Atelier Bonnat and the Beaux- Arts, but a few weeks after- ■ 
 ward obtaining the hearty applause of Paris and government 
 recognition which placed his picture in the Luxembourg. 
 
 Since then M. Laurens has become one of the most famous 
 painters in France. A certain somber dignity, sometimes ris- 
 ing to nobility, sometimes falling into morbidness, but never 
 for a moment descending to the ignoble or even to the trivial, is 
 to be found in all his works. His sentiment, his technic, and 
 his choice of subject all obtained favor with the public at once. 
 His sentiment was one of rather gloomy grandeur, his technic 
 was vigorous and simple, and he selected as his subjects those 
 scenes which lent themselves best to the development of his 
 special idiosyncrasy, choosing for his theater the grand, rough 
 France, of medieval days or of the still more remote Merovin- 
 gian times. He liked the sweeping garments and semi-barbaric 
 splendor of early Capet kings, the magnificently characteristic 
 vestments and ceremonial of the Latin Church, and he loved 
 to set his people against the massive pillars, and under the low- 
 browed architecture, of Romanesque buildings, expressing all 
 in broad planes of strong red and blue, those essentially medi- 
 eval colors, or oftener still in masses of black and white. 
 
 In his picture of " Robert the Pious," the heavy woolen man- 
 tles of vermilion and ultramarine, the huge candles extinguished 
 and overturned upon the floor, the cushions crushed down upon 
 the benches by the churchmen who have just arisen to ana- 
 thematize, and who are disappearing through the round-arched 
 door- way, even the smudged patches upon the walls behind the 
 benches testifying to the rubbing shoulders of those who sat 
 there, all of these accessories in fact are but the powerful set- 
 ting which emphasizes the spirit of the work — the abandon- 
 ment of those cursed by the Church, the loneliness of the ex- 
 communicated King and Queen. It is a grand drama told 
 
'JEAN PAUL LAURENS— PORTRAIT BUST IN MARBLE BY RODIN 
 
JEAN-PAUL LAURENS 
 
 85 
 
 simply, and no one has expressed a certain side of the mid- 
 dle ages better than has Jean-Paul Laurens, — namely, their 
 gloomy force, and that quality which in plastic representation 
 we call character. 
 
 M. Laurens instinctively seeks an epoch in which his som- 
 ber muse may be at ease. Only once among all of his pictures 
 which are familiar to the public does his muse unbend ever so 
 little, and then, when Thalia comes, it is not for comedy, but 
 for satire, the grim satire of " Honorius," the vacant-faced boy- 
 emperor of the West, the very symbol of decadence and of a 
 shrunken empire, a child muffled and lost in the imperial man- 
 tle, sitting stupid with inert dangling legs upon his throne, and 
 unable to hold up the heavy globe and scepter. The grand pas- 
 sions of the Revolution attract the painter as much as do the 
 middle ages, and have afforded subjects for two famous pic- 
 tures — the "Marceau," which obtained the grand medal of 
 honor in 1877, and " The Arch of Steel," shown in the Salon of 
 1892, and now in the hotel-de-ville. Characterization was 
 as possible in 1793 as in Carlovingian days, and again in his 
 "Marceau" M. Laurens has made the stiff-stocked, periwigged 
 Austrian staff, in their voluminous white cloaks, the forceful 
 background and relief to the poignant sentiment of the 
 subject, which centers in the young general lying dead upon 
 his camp-bed. 
 
 Nothing inM. Laurens testifies more to his sympathy with the 
 middle ages than his tendency to paint the dead — his love of the 
 macabre, or perhaps we should say rather his intense perception 
 of its dramatic possibilities. One of his pictures represents a 
 pope, who, exhumed, and enthroned in his cerements, is tried 
 for heresy; another and still more powerful picture is called 
 " Interdict." The porch of a church is seen, the doors are 
 closed and barricaded upon the outside by great logs which are 
 laid against them, before the doors biers have been set down, 
 and under their coverings may be made out the lumpish out- 
 line of bodies, which must lie there abandoned and awaiting 
 burial until the Church shall unsay the words which have de- 
 nied them both holy water and consecrated earth. The dra- 
 peries upon the biers blow in the wind, and in all there is an 
 impressive suggestion of medieval plague and desolation, made 
 none the less strong by the fact that there are no figures in the 
 
86 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 picture, nothing but death and its accessories. Even when he 
 reaches the "Renaissance M. Laurens takes us again into the 
 vaults, and shows us Francesco Borgia before the body of Ele- 
 onora of Portugal. In fact he exhibited so many subjects of 
 this kind that the French reviewers named him " The Painter 
 of the Dead." 
 
 Is there in this special choice of theme anything which may 
 be traced to its origin in the master's technical capacity or tech- 
 nical limitations as well as in his mental bias? Perhaps there is. 
 Certainly it may be interesting, at least, to emphasize here the 
 fact that in his pictures M. Laurens admits no movement. Con- 
 sider some of his canvases, the "Marceau," the "Robert the 
 Pious," the decorations of the Pantheon, the " Arch of Steel," 
 and you will find his finely drawn and admirably characterized 
 people sit or stand still; they do not move. His large picture 
 in the Luxembourg, the " Emmures de Carcassonne," is the 
 typical example of this immobility. The subject represents the 
 medieval inhabitants of Carcassonne attacking with pickaxes 
 and crowbars the masonry behind which prisoners have been 
 walled up alive. Such a scene, of all others, demands frenzy 
 and haste ; but these people stand about motionless, one or two 
 of them raise their picks with the enthusiasm of men who work 
 by the day. They have not even seen Medusa (like some of 
 Andrea Mantegna's figures) and been stricken to stone, for such 
 would have presented the effect of arrested motion ; these have 
 never moved at all. The result is an utter tameness which 
 makes one wonder indeed that the government, having before 
 it so many really noble pictures by M. Laurens to choose from, 
 should have placed the least impressive one in the Luxembourg. 
 For impressive the others are to a remarkable degree, and this 
 impressiveness does not by any means come wholly either from 
 his somber subjects or from the strength of the painter's char- 
 acterization. It arises also from an exceptional capacity for 
 the fulfilment of one of the laws of composition. This is the 
 law of filled and empty spaces. 
 
 In every composition, whether it is of a figure picture, of a 
 landscape, or the decoration of a room, this law must be ob- 
 served if the spectator is to be impressed. Where certain por- 
 tions of a picture are rich and crowded, either with figures or 
 with ornament, certain other portions must be relatively simple, 
 
JEAN-PAUL LAURENS 
 
 87 
 
 in order that there may be spaces which shall rest the eye. 
 This law holds also in architecture ; the walls, columns, piers 
 in a building represent the filled spaces ; the windows, open- 
 ings between the piers, and the like, represent the open spaces. 
 Where a proper relation is not preserved between the two, mo- 
 notony results and the eye is confused. In all great decorative 
 epochs builders and painters alike, the Byzantines of Justinian 
 and the Florentines of Giotto, have effectively consulted this 
 law of filled and empty spaces, and among the painters whose 
 works have become familiar to us through the Paris Salons of 
 the last twenty years, no one has felt the necessity for the ob- 
 servance of this law more instinctively than M. Jean-Paul Lau- 
 rens. To realize this one has only to remember the broad 
 simple spaces of brickwork which relieve his crowd of figures in 
 the "Death of Saint Genevieve," at the Pantheon, and the 
 smooth planes of wall in his "Robert the Pious." No one 
 knows better than this painter how valuable after a heap of 
 rich accoutrements, or a group of gay uniforms, a massive pil- 
 lar, a flight of simple steps may become. Note how effectively 
 he uses his stairway, his cobblestones, his heavy wooden rail, 
 in the picture called the "Arch of Steel." He juxtaposes crowd- 
 ing and simplicity as cleverly as any Arab setting his closely 
 carved panel in the broad bareness of his wall of mosque or 
 house. It is this observance of the law of filled and empty 
 spaces which, perhaps more than any other quality, makes the 
 pictures of M. Jean-Paul Laurens decorative — for exceedingly 
 decorative they are, so much so, indeed, that he was named as 
 one of the painters to execute the great mural paintings of the 
 Pantheon. 
 
 And here almost unwittingly we come upon the word mural, 
 which may be said, if accepted in its technical significance, to 
 open a controversy between the admirers of M. Puvis de Cha- 
 vannes and those of M. Laurens. The admirers for a time 
 became partizans, with a majority in favor of M. Puvis, but 
 partizanship seemed unnecessary, for it was quite possible to 
 admire both painters and even to side with both. M. Puvis de 
 Chavannes and M. Laurens at about the same time set up in the 
 Pantheon upon the interior of the south wall of the nave their 
 decorations representing scenes from the life of Saint Gene- 
 vieve. The followers of the former declared that the paintings 
 
88 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 of M. Laurens were not mural in character, and were therefore 
 not truly decorative ; the friends of M. Laurens fell back upon 
 the fact that his pictures were superb as decorative composi- 
 tions of line and mass. In all this M. Laurens's supporters 
 were right, and in their way so were his opponents, for this dif- 
 ference of opinion brought forward and emphasized some of 
 the most interesting questions which concern the proper pro- 
 vince and functions of so-called decoration. 
 
 "When an architect raises a palace, church, court-house, or 
 other large building, we know that every member (if the ar- 
 chitect is a good one) is structural ; that is to say, it has its 
 reason for being, and it is to be presumed that the builder 
 wishes such members to show what they are ; in a word, he 
 wants his wall to count as a wall. Now, if an artist sets upon it 
 a picture executed realistically, with strong colors, and with 
 many receding planes of atmospheric perspective, he, in pain- 
 ter's parlance, " breaks through " that wall. M. Puvis de Cha- 
 vannes in his Pantheon decoration avoided anything of this 
 kind, perhaps more than any decorator had for many years, — 
 yes, many centuries. Modeling his figures in broad, simple 
 planes, circumscribed by a firm outline, and keeping everything 
 in a very high, light key, figure and landscape alike, M. Puvis 
 produced a work which clung like a tapestry to the wall, neither 
 passing through it nor advancing from it, but harmonizing ab- 
 solutely with the gray, fluted half columns which were engaged 
 in the masonry, and divided the triplicate decoration into its 
 different parts. 
 
 The work took artistic Paris by storm. " This," said con- 
 noisseurs, " is truly mural." So it undeniably was, and just as 
 undeniably M. Laurens's strong colors and perspective " broke 
 through the wall," but would it have been fair to condemn the 
 work of the latter as absolutely undecorative, because not mural 
 in the sense of belonging to the wall-surface ? On the whole it 
 does not seem fair. M. Puvis had displayed an almost phe- 
 nomenal mural sense ; he had felt one whole side of decorative 
 art, and that an important side, as no one since the fourteenth 
 century had felt it. But was his rendering all-comprehen- 
 sive ? Was his method the only one ? Assuredly no. To admit 
 such a claim would be to condemn the whole work of the Vene- 
 tians, save perhaps some of that of Tiepolo, as undecorative. 
 
JEAN-PAUL LAURENS 
 
 89 
 
 It is indisputable that the Venetians constantly and delib- 
 erately broke certain incontrovertible laws of decoration, laws 
 which were held especially dear by the Tuscans, and which have 
 been followed with intelligence and feeling by M. Puvis, but 
 it is equally indisputable that the Venetians painted magnifi- 
 cent pictures which they placed upon walls and ceilings, and 
 which decorated the latter superbly. 
 
 A man can express himself truly only in his own way, and 
 there are many artists possessed of certain decorative qualities 
 of a high order who yet instinctively rebel against a uniform 
 light key, and great flatness of tone, throughout their work. 
 In order to say their say, they must have strong color, strong 
 light and shade. A rigid adherence to the principles of the 
 Tuscans and of M. Puvis would have deprived the world of 
 Veronese's "Supper at Cana" and his "Triumph of Venice," 
 it would have lost us Tintoretto's and Titian's ceilings. 
 
 Now the world wishes to have such works, whether princi- 
 ples are violated or not. Some artists (we have noted Tinto- 
 retto and Veronese, and may add Rubens) absolutely require 
 vast surfaces to express themselves completely. Mere size is 
 often an important factor in producing an impression. Our 
 crowded modern life has no room for vast pictures, unless they 
 are upon wall or ceiling, and by all means let us not exclude 
 good work, noble work even, like the "Sainte Genevieve" of 
 Laurens, simply because it does not meet all the requirements 
 of the purist in matters of decoration. We must exclude ultra- 
 realistic work rigidly from all such parts of a building as are- 
 intended for special structural emphasis. For instance, we 
 must not put realistic pictures upon pendentives, curved sur- 
 faces, or vaulting of any kind ; but a smooth, unbroken wall, or 
 even ceiling, may surely be given up now and then to the painter 
 who " breaks through his wall," since such an artist, while vio- 
 lating certain decorative principles, may, like M. Laurens, con- 
 form to others with the most admirable results. This painter 
 has his place as decorator in the Pantheon by right of the dig- 
 nified and noble ordering of his composition, his broad, if 
 strong, planes of color, and the intelligent distribution of his 
 masses in admirable fulfilment of the decorative law of filled 
 and empty spaces. 
 
 The general tendency of M. Laurens as to subject and char- 
 
 12 
 
90 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 acterization has been touched upon already, as well as his tech- 
 nic as applied specifically to composition. His general tech- 
 nic is simple and direct. As a draftsman he is strong and 
 correct, seeking construction rather than subtlety of modeling, 
 character rather than elegance of silhouette. He likes large 
 figures, and expresses himself easily upon large surfaces ; his 
 handling is broad and vigorous, his color simple and strong, 
 and he never seeks for the subtlety of prismatic color, or for 
 strange effects of lighting and reflection, although he readily 
 uses light as a dramatic accessory, whether it be the light of 
 day, of funeral candles, or of torches. 
 
 M. Laurens has lived for many years in the quiet rue No- 
 tre Dame des Champs, where those who have been fortunate 
 enough to meet him have been able to verify that likeness to 
 the portraits of Michelangelo which is almost startling in his 
 (Laurens's) portrait of himself in the Uffizi of Florence. Those 
 who know him well, however, say that neither the somber char- 
 acter shown in one side of his art, nor his face grave almost to 
 sternness, prevent him from being the kindest and best of 
 friends. He has many enthusiastic pupils, among whom are 
 not a few Americans, and as an artist he is assuredly among 
 the greatest as among the most famous of modern French 
 masters. 
 
 E. H. Blashfield. 
 
JEAN-LOUIS-ERNEST MEISSONIER 
 BY 
 
 HARRY W. WATROUS 
 
JEAN-LOUIS-ERNEST MEISSONIER 
 
 (1815-1891) 
 
 IN Paris, a few years ago, twenty or more well-known artists 
 were dining at the house of a prominent art-dealer. During 
 the evening the question came up : " Who, at the end of the 
 20th century, will he thought the greatest painter of our period?" 
 Here was a question not at all novel, but nevertheless interest- 
 ing. The Salon, Tonquin, and Louise Michel were forgotten, 
 and over our coffee and cigars a jury was formed, not to con- 
 vict, but to immortalize one of our contemporaries. The dis- 
 cussion that followed was most spirited, as each great name 
 brought to trial had its advocate who was sure the crucial test 
 of time would emblazon that name, like Abou-ben-Adhem's 
 in the Angel's Book of Gold. 
 
 But there were many things to be taken into account — the 
 rapid change in popular taste and fashion whereby one idol 
 is shattered and another raised and worshiped in a day, the 
 probable change in tone and color, and the so-called " quality " 
 gained by age and old varnish, such as one now sees in many 
 pictures of the early English school, some of which were un- 
 doubtedly very crude when they were painted. The present 
 standing of a painter's work under discussion was ignored, 
 but the question, "What will it be in one hundred years'?" 
 was very fairly and ably argued ; the verdict of the jury was 
 nearly unanimous that the paintings most sought after toward 
 the close of the twentieth century would be by Bouguereau 
 and Meissonier. Why so? The former, because Bouguer- 
 eau's work is nearly perfect in its draftsmanship, the nude 
 will always occupy a high place in art, and time will mellow 
 
 93 
 
94 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 much that is now rather objectionable in its coloring; the lat- 
 ter because Meissonier's pictures are as nearly perfect techni- 
 cally as human skill can make them, because they are masterful 
 in their knowledge, and because they are true in appearance. 
 
 Speaking for myself, I may as well say at the start that I 
 consider Meissonier one of the greatest genre painters of this 
 or any age. He was not a meteor flashing across the artistic 
 firmament followed by a train of little stars, growing dimmer 
 and dimmer, until finally lost and forgotten, nor was he a ge- 
 nius afflicted with the divine afflatus wielding a spectrum brush 
 on a "vibrating" color-scheme. He was, however, an artist 
 whose every touch was filled with knowledge and intelligence. 
 He left nothing to chance or doubt ; he realized what was be- 
 fore him. Keen insight joined to continual study, and a hand 
 guided by a most exact and sensitive mind, were his equip- 
 ments. Can the results attained by such equipment be lightly 
 swept aside because one may not be in sympathy with his 
 style 1 I cannot believe it, although a short time ago I heard 
 an art student state, with the conviction born of a few months' 
 study, that the works of Meissonier and all those little subject- 
 painters were "rot." But that student will know better some 
 day, and perhaps the best way for any student to become dis- 
 abused of such a weird idea is to study Meissonier's studies. 
 He will often find that a dozen or more have been made by the 
 master for a single figure. A change in the pose of a head or a 
 hand, the position of a horse's legs, the shift of a light or sha- 
 dow will all disclose the untiring search for the combination of 
 truth and beauty in line, in light, in shade, and in composition. 
 The patient study of the painter was something remarkable. 
 Pere Delacre, who posed for the figure which is straining for- 
 ward with the dagger in "La Rixe," told me that he held the 
 position till the veins in his neck would swell nigh to burst- 
 ing, and his head would fairly whirl before Meissonier even 
 touched his brush. Then praying and begging him to keep the 
 pose, the painter fell to work like a madman, offering him extra 
 money to hold it " just a moment longer." It was thus that 
 many studies with only slight variations were made, before the 
 one we all know so well was selected. Look for one moment 
 how every line reveals the fury of the man, how every gesture 
 gives the character of the scene ! It is a masterpiece of action. 
 
JEAN- LOUIS-ERNEST MEISSONIER 
 
 95 
 
 Indeed, Meissonier lived for his art, and painted truth as he 
 saw it, regardless of time, trouble, and expense. On one occa- 
 sion he wished to study a rye-field torn to pieces and mowed 
 down by a rush of cavalry. None of the farmers near Poissy, 
 where he was then living, would sacrifice his rye for the sake 
 of art ; so Meissonier bought a field of rye, and then made ap- 
 plication to a colonel of cuirassiers to allow his troops to charge 
 through it. But the night before the troopers arrived the rye 
 was beaten down and washed out by a severe storm. This re- 
 sult was not what was wanted, because the history of the event 
 he was painting (" Friedland — 1807") stated that the field was 
 in good condition before the charge. So Meissonier bought an- 
 other rye-field, had it destroyed as he wished, and then painted 
 the destruction as we now see it in his picture. And this re- 
 minds me that Galland once called on him when he was mak- 
 ing a replica of the "Friedland — 1807" in water-color, and found 
 him working on new studies of the leg and boot of a man on 
 horseback. When Gralland saw what it was, he exclaimed : 
 "Why, Meissonier, you have already done that figure many 
 times ! " " Yes," he answered, " but I was looking for some- 
 thing I may have missed in my other studies." 
 
 I merely mention these stories to show the seriousness of 
 the man, and his love for the real — the actual presence before 
 him. One might say that this was carrying realism to an ex- 
 treme, but if all history were painted and written by historians 
 like Meissonier, it would be at least a veracious record. We can 
 compare him with no other painter, unless it be with some of 
 the Dutchmen of the seventeenth century, to whom he is cer- 
 tainly allied in method and style. Does he pale by the com- 
 parison 1 ? Are their genre paintings more beautiful than his, 
 in perfection of drawing, delicacy of finish, study of important 
 details, grace, life, and interest in his figures ? His figures are 
 animated ; they are not manikins posing with a piece of dra- 
 pery flung about them. His work was not to show how clev- 
 erly he could paint a glass of wine with the reflection of a face 
 in it, or an interior with brass pots and tile floors, but to paint 
 humanity, with perhaps the glass and the interior as accessory 
 objects. Were the groups of the Dutchmen better composed 
 than his, or their single figures more artistic and natural, or 
 were they carried to greater perfection of finish combined with 
 
96 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 breadth ? A Meissonier picture, though small as a rule, is al- 
 ways broad in treatment, and those who confound the scale 
 with the treatment make a profound blunder. Perhaps Van 
 der Meer of Delft, or Terburg, was a greater colorist. But 
 where can we find pictures of one of these to interest us as 
 does Meissonier's single figure, his group in action, his move- 
 ment and dash of a victorious army, or his sullen despair of a 
 retreating one 1 ? The "Reader" reads, the " Smoker" smokes, 
 the "Drinkers" drink. The soldier in the ranks, the officer of 
 the staff, or the great Emperor himself, obeys the mood of his 
 creator and stands for some decided character. And whose 
 Napoleon is it that is known throughout the world, and will 
 live in history % Meissonier was more than a genre painter ; he 
 was a painter of history, and painted a great historical period. 
 His work, both in historical painting and in genre, was begun on 
 lines that he assumed after long study and earnest conviction. 
 His methods as at first adopted passed through fewer changes 
 than an examination of almost any other painter's work would 
 reveal. He was true to his earliest articles of artistic faith, 
 and allowed no criticism, no change of taste or caprice of 
 fashion to shake his purpose. His earnestness, conviction, and 
 skill carried the people of his time with him — indeed he made 
 his time. Attaining in middle life the premiership in his pro- 
 fession, he held it to the end, and it is hardly likely that the 
 coming century will produce a painter who will be crowned 
 with the laurel wreath taken from the pedestal of his fame. 
 
 Jean-Louis-Ernest Meissonier was born at Lyons in 1815, 
 and went to Paris at an early age, poor, and dependent 
 on the cunning of his hands for a livelihood. For a brief 
 time he studied with Leon Cogniet, but there was no 
 bond of sympathy between master and pupil he soon left that 
 studio. He then began work for himself as an etcher and il- 
 lustrator ; and had he not had in his mind the vision of the 
 brush and the palette, we would perhaps now be searching for 
 his proofs and prints as we to-day buy his pictures when they 
 happen to turn up in an auction sale. But the murmuring of 
 the power that lay in color stirred him to new action, and in 
 1834 his first painting, " The Visitors," was exhibited, and sold 
 for 100 francs to La Societe des Amis des Arts a Paris. On 
 the death of the member to whom this picture was adjudged, 
 
['HGTOUKAPH BY PACH 
 
 " THE BROTHERS VAN DE VELDE. " BY MEISSONIER 
 METROPOLITAN MUSEUM, NEW YORK 
 
JEAN-LOUIS-ERNEST MEISSONIER 
 
 97 
 
 it entered the collection of Sir Richard Wallace, where I sup- 
 pose it still remains. Meissonier attracted little attention, 
 however, until 1839 or 1840. The French amateur then had 
 his eyes opened to the fact that a star had arisen, and from 
 that time began his artistic career — that triumphal march 
 that made him the central figure in the Parisian world of art. 
 England, Holland, Russia, and his own country soon acknow- 
 ledged his greatness, — great in the little if you choose, — and 
 orders, decorations, and medals showered upon him. He was 
 made a Chevalier of the Legion of Honor in 1846 ; an Officer in 
 1856; member of the Institute in 1861; a Commander of the Le- 
 gion of Honor in 1867, and a Grand Officer in 1878. In the 
 Salon of 1864 he exhibited two pictures (the " Defeat of the 
 Austrians at Lodi," and the " 1814 ") which all Paris expected 
 would gain for him the grand medal. But the jury refused to 
 award it, greatly to the disgust of M. Edmond About, who 
 thus voiced the opinion of the multitude in his article in the 
 "Salon de 1864": " Two admiring groups, incessantly renewed 
 from the time of opening the doors until the closing, indicate 
 the places where Meissonier's two pictures are hung. And it 
 is to these two pictures that the jury has refused the grand 
 medaille. It was awarded to M. Yvon some years ago, and 
 Meissonier has not had it ! Oh, Frenchmen of Paris ! Athe- 
 nians of La Villette suburbs ! you do not deserve great painters, 
 for you do not know how to reward them." 
 
 Meissonier made many friends, but he also made many ene- 
 mies, and it is only truth to say that he was a constant source 
 of surprise to both. For the range of his brush seemed bound- 
 less and his versatility inexhaustible. The little interiors he 
 painted are filled with quiet color and subdued light; the "Por- 
 trait of a Sergeant " is a revel in air and daylight ; " The 
 Vedette " has the chill of cold December. We are amazed that 
 the hand that gave us the thoughtful " Chess-Play ers," lost to 
 the world, so intent are they on the next move in the game, 
 also painted "La Rixe" (now the property of the Queen of 
 England), which is violence itself. We turn with surprise 
 from the carefully studied series of works which M. Claretie 
 calls The Napoleonic Cycle to the roystering, devil-may-care 
 cavalier of Louis XIII. 
 
 But perhaps Meissonier's boldest departure was when he 
 
 13 
 
98 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 undertook — what his critics predicted would be his Waterloo 
 — his largest canvas, the " Friedland — 1807," now in the 
 Metropolitan Museum in New York. These critics had agreed 
 to admire his little figures, " miniatures on a sou," as they chris- 
 tened them, but declared that anything larger than these " infi- 
 niment petits " was beyond his powers. Imagine their chagrin 
 when they gazed on this superb example of the master's art. 
 This picture does not represent a battle, for the specter of 
 death is absent, yet it shows to us the grand movement of a 
 cavalry charge. We hear the shrill voice of the trumpet, the 
 thunder of hoofbeats, the shouts of men, and we join in their 
 enthusiasm and excitement, as, sweeping by, they salute their 
 Emperor, their idol and almost their God. His the will to di- 
 rect, theirs the force to obey, and he, the molder of Europe's 
 destiny, calmly sits his horse, and, inscrutable as the Sphinx, 
 proudly surveys the force he has called into existence, and 
 with which he hopes to change the map of a continent. What 
 a superb illustration of the power of mind and hand is this can- 
 vas ! Each figure, man or horse, is a study, and each, while 
 a perfect picture in itself, does not detract from the grandeur 
 of the whole. The eye can rove from detail to detail, but the 
 completed picture, as Meissonier designed it, is ever before us. 
 A close examination of it reveals beauties not at first observed, 
 but it loses nothing when viewed from a distance. No direc- 
 tions to stand at a certain number of feet from it are needed. 
 It is great from every point and any distance. It shows no 
 unmeaning dabs of paint, for which painters of the pretentious 
 touch invoke the spectator's credulous sympathy in anticipa- 
 tion of his unveiled contempt. Meissonier never put brush to 
 canvas or panel unless to depict something exact, something 
 that is a fact, and not a suggestion for the beholder to specu- 
 late about, and upon which he might not inaptly place the 
 motto, Omne ignotum pro magnifico. 
 
 It has been stated by some lovers of the vague that Meis- 
 sonier was a mere technical machine, portraying facts with 
 wonderful skill and fidelity, but with an utter lack of poetical 
 feeling. I am willing to grant this, when any sane person will 
 explain to me the meaning of that ambiguous term, " poetic 
 feeling," as applied to art. For what would be the soul of 
 music to one might be banality to another. If it means that 
 
PERMISSION Ut' liUUSaUD, VALADO.N ET 
 
 NAPOLEON — 1814." BY MEISSONIER 
 
JEAN- LOU IS- ERNEST MEISSONIER 
 
 99 
 
 indefinable something, or lack of something, left for the imagi- 
 nation to supply, we will find much of this so-called poetry in 
 works void of some of the elementary principles of art. When 
 art, as in a Meissonier, is expressed obediently to all the canons 
 of painting, there is a poetry in the very means of expression 
 if one has but the eye to see it and the soul to feel it. The 
 poetry of the literary and the sentimental is one thing; the 
 poetry of the artistic is quite another. Of the latter Meis- 
 sonier's works show enough and to spare. 
 
 On January 31, 1891, Meissonier's work was done ; fame has 
 judged it well done, and history will continue to echo the cry, 
 "Well done." Personally Meissonier will always be remem- 
 bered as we see him portrayed in the word-picture of his friend 
 Jules Claretie, written some years before the great painter's 
 death : " That which is most pleasing with Meissonier is the 
 frank cordiality with which he explains his plans, and looks you 
 in the face the while with his deep, clear eyes (de son mil pro- 
 fond et franc) for the truth of your meaning in reply. This 
 man, who lives in a palace, is as moderate as a soldier on the 
 march. This artist whose canvases are valued by the half mil- 
 lion is as generous as a nabob. He will give to a charity sale 
 a picture worth the price of a house. Hospitably friendly 
 (accueillant) to all, and praised as he is by everybody, he has 
 less conceit in his nature than a wholesale painter (que des 
 barbouilleurs d la toise). With his hair growing thickly above 
 his broad and open forehead, his beard flowing down over his 
 breast like a river, his robust activity, de bon cavalier, he is at 
 the age of sixty-eight as solid and as active as at forty. You 
 see him to be 'well seasoned,' sympathetic, and safe, a man who 
 loves his friends as he loves the truth, with all the passion of 
 twenty." 
 
 In looking back over the life of a great painter, we are apt 
 to see more or less of his influence on contemporary art. We 
 note the uprooting of inherited ideas— the liberation of timid 
 genius held slave by the " what is," but willing to throw off the 
 shackles and follow the lead of a courageous and aggressive 
 master to found a school that shall be equally intolerant of the 
 " what was." But Meissonier stood alone. He had plenty of 
 admirers but few followers, for while all could admire, who 
 could follow ? A clever, student can, by the close study of the 
 
100 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 mannerisms of most of our celebrated painters, give us a sug- 
 gestion of them, to a greater or less degree, in the measure that 
 he is willing to sink his own individuality. We see enough 
 and to spare of this in the products of the art schools, wherein 
 the pupils almost always suggest the master who has taught 
 them. But he who can suggest a Meissonier has passed the 
 student period. Even Meissonier's pupils, the best known of 
 whom is probably Detaille, might as well have studied with 
 another so far as reproducing their master's touch is con- 
 cerned. For the touch of the master could not be taught; 
 it was born in him and died with him. It may possibly have 
 been a gift from the shade of one of the old Dutch painters, 
 who, perhaps in a spirit of mockery at the tendency of modem 
 art, wished to show the world what he would do if rein- 
 carnated. But the men of Meissonier's time were searching 
 other fields than his, fields until then unexplored; and they 
 found treasures equally great, if not equally exact, for the 
 wonder of artist and amateur. 
 
 For the student of the so-called modern school, Meissonier's 
 methods are too serious. Their results are not soon enough 
 apparent, so the student dabbles in a life class, or haunts the 
 antique long enough to learn a few stock phrases, such as 
 " plein air," " suggestiveness," "vibration," "values," and too 
 often " rot." Then with this little knowledge of drawing, he 
 dashes into color, and promptly holds up to the admiring gaze 
 of his similarly incompetent circle his impression of something 
 as somebody else has seen it. As Cabanel once said of that 
 class of artists, " They are like boarding-school misses who write 
 flowing hands to hide bad spelling." 
 
 In writing this article I have endeavored to speak in a gen- 
 eral way of Meissonier, and have purposely avoided mention 
 of his methods of work, but have accepted the grand result by 
 which the world will know him as long as the history of art 
 exists — the grand result, not of his latest period, when old age 
 dimmed his eye, and shook his hand, and led him to produce 
 works which the recorder of his fame will kindly and silently 
 ignore, but of his mature years, when he was in the fullness of 
 his powers. I have also spoken in this article from a partizan 
 point of view, but from honest convictions, and if I have said 
 harsh things of a modern school with which I am not in sym- 
 
JEAN-LOUIS- ERNEST MEISSONIER 
 
 101 
 
 pathy, it is only to contrast the master with some of the artists 
 of his closing generation. I began by saying that Meissonier 
 was " one of the greatest genre painters of this or any age " ; I 
 end after a careful comparison of his art with that of other 
 masters, by amending that sentence so that it shall read, " He 
 was the greatest genre painter of any age." 
 
 Harry W. Watrous. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 UARRY WILLSON WATROUS 
 was born in San Francisco in 
 1857. He was brought as a child to New 
 York, was fitted for college, but aban- 
 doned the idea of college to take up art. 
 He accompanied Humphrey Moore the 
 painter to Spain in 1881, working there 
 some months. He afterward went to 
 Paris and entered the Atelier Bounat. 
 When that closed he went to the Aca- 
 demic Julien, and studied under Le- 
 febvre and Boulanger. He exhibited in 
 
 the Salons of 1884 and 1885, returning 
 to the United States in 1886. He won 
 the Clarke prize at the Academy of 
 Design for his picture called " Bills," 
 and this same year was elected an As- 
 sociate of the Academy. In 1896 he 
 was elected an Academician. Many 
 of his pictures are in private collec- 
 tions in New York, Chicago, London, 
 and elsewhere. He is a figure and 
 genre painter, and, like the man he 
 writes about, prefers the small panel. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 PART II 
 
JE AN-B APTISTE-C AM ILLE COROT 
 BY 
 
 THEODORE ROBINSON 
 
 u 
 
JEAN-BAPTISTE-CAMILLE COROT 
 
 (1796-1875) 
 
 JEAN-BAPTISTE-CAMILLE COROT was born in Paris, 
 July 20, 179G. His father had been a hair-dresser, who, 
 marrying a milliner, accumulated a modest fortune in trade in 
 the rue du Bac, and looked forward to his son's following in 
 his own footsteps. To this end Camille was sent first to 
 Rouen, his father's birthplace, for his education, making his 
 home there with a friend of the family. No doubt his holi- 
 days at Rouen had no small part in deciding the career of the 
 future painter. The valley of the Seine is an ideal painter's 
 country, in some sort a " happy valley " whose charm has been 
 felt by painter and tourist from Turner's time to our own, and 
 there Corot was destined to spend many roving summer days 
 of a joyous landscape-painter's existence. 
 
 After seven years at the College of Rouen came eight years 
 of apprenticeship to a draper in the rue de Richelieu. The 
 long endurance of such a life may be partly explained by the 
 somewhat excessive and Chinese-like regard for parental au- 
 thority that obtains in France, and partly by the docile and 
 loving nature of a son unwilling to disappoint or thwart a 
 parent's wishes. But finally came the end. He declared one 
 morning, at the age of twenty-six, that trade had no attractions 
 for him, that he must follow his bent and become a painter. 
 The father acquiesced, making an allowance, sufficient though 
 not extravagant, for his son's support. Then followed many 
 happy painting days with Michallon, a painter of his own age, 
 and a year later, on Michallon's death, with Victor Bertin, both 
 of them apostles of the historical landscape. 
 
 107 
 
108 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 In 1826 he made his first visit to Italy. At Rome Aligny 
 saw and praised a study he was making of the Colosseum, say- 
 ing it had qualities of exactness, skilful treatment, and style. 
 From the way in which Corot remembered later in life this 
 appreciation, and spoke of Aligny as his first champion, it is 
 probable that his work was little regarded by his brother artists 
 at Rome. He was one of the first, with Aligny, to feel and 
 make known the charm of the Campagna, and his numerous 
 studies at this time were not only an excellent foundation in 
 their solid qualities of drawing for his future art, but they pos- 
 sessed a unique value of their own. Corot himself felt this, 
 and in his will he left to the Luxembourg two noble examples 
 of his early work — a view of the Roman Forum, and another 
 of the Colosseum. 
 
 He returned to Paris in 1827, exhibiting for the first time 
 at the Salon (and every year after until his death), making his 
 debut with two pictures — a " View taken at Norni," and the 
 " Campagna at Rome." Two more trips to Italy in 1834 and 
 1812, various journeys to different parts of France and Switzer- 
 land, one more extensive, in which he went as far as England 
 and the Netherlands, completed the list of his travels. He 
 was faithful to the last to Paris and the country near Ville 
 d'Avray, the forest of Fontainebleau, and the valley of the 
 Seine. Here he found the motifs he came to know so well. 
 Simple they were, and he repeated them often, rendering them 
 each time with more conviction and charm from his constant 
 intimacy with and affection for them. 
 
 His first medal was received in 1833; others came to him 
 in 1855 and 1857, the Cross of the Legion of Honor in 1846, 
 and finally he was made a Commander in 1867. Much disap- 
 pointment was felt by himself and by his friends at his failure 
 to receive the grand medal of honor at the Salon, and the year 
 before his death a gold medal was presented him by friends 
 and admirers as in measure an atonement for the Salon neglect. 
 He died in Paris, February 23, 1875, painting, or making the 
 semblance of painting, in delirium on his death-bed, moving 
 his hand against the wall, and exclaiming, " See how beauti- 
 ful ! I have never seen such beautiful landscapes ! " 
 
 One who knew him long and intimately said : " His life 
 was one continual song." He had a passionate love for music, 
 
JEAN-BAPTISTE-CAMILLE COROT 
 
 109 
 
 joined to an intelligent comprehension of an art so much in 
 sympathy and akin to his own. His whole life was marked by 
 singular serenity and docility of character. His kindness and 
 thoughtfulness were unbounded, and we cannot but admire the 
 spirit that caused him to return at once from an Italian tour 
 on receiving news that his father missed him, or during his 
 mother's life to disappear each evening at nine o'clock, no mat- 
 ter how gay the company, for a game of cards with " la belle 
 dame" as he laughingly called her. And many are the tales 
 of his kindness of heart toward less fortunate brother artists, 
 shown in various and substantial forms. 
 
 His amiability and mildness were opposed to his being an 
 innovator in art in any strict sense. At least, his was the kind 
 of intelligence well disposed toward existing conditions, and 
 demanding much consideration before any radical change 
 was to be inaugurated. Classical landscape was strongly in- 
 trenched in France at the beginning of this century, and Corot 
 inherited in direct line through Michallon and Bertin, his mas- 
 ters, the " Poussinesque tradition." He was, perhaps, too 
 young in his art or too loyal to his masters to be much in- 
 fluenced by the little band of Englishmen, Constable, Boning- 
 ton, and Fielding, whose works made such a sensation in 1824 
 in Paris. Going to Italy the year after, he worked as Michal- 
 lon had taught him, painting simply what he saw, but thor- 
 oughly in the classic spirit. His changes later on were forced 
 upon him as a lover of nature, seeing his own shortcomings, 
 and realizing the possibilities of a painting that should give 
 more of nature's charm in atmosphere, light, and delicacy 
 of feeling, qualities that he rightly considered of more impor- 
 tance than accuracy, minuteness of detail, and skilfulness of 
 execution. He finally formed a manner of expression that 
 can be copied in a way to deceive the very elect, as Trouille- 
 bert and others have proved. But Corot's manner is perhaps 
 the least of his claims to our admiration. It was admirable, 
 indeed, so far as it enabled him to show forth upon canvas his 
 joyous visions of morning skies and moving foliage, of nature 
 never fixed or stagnant, nature even in her calmest moods vi- 
 brating with life, but aside from that it was nothing remarka- 
 ble. How he came to adopt it we can imagine from his own 
 narration. "I arrived in Rome the merest tyro in sketching. 
 
110 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 Two men stopped to converse ; I began to sketch them, begin- 
 ning with one part, the head, for example. They would sepa- 
 rate, and leave me with two pieces of heads on my paper. I 
 resolved not to return without having in its entirety something. 
 I attempted, therefore, to sketch in the winking of an eye the 
 first group that presented itself. If the figures remained in 
 position for a time I had, at least, the character, the general 
 outline; if they remained long I added details." 
 
 In that quotation we have Corot's whole creed of expres- 
 sion. He considered the impression of the whole the matter of 
 first importance, and a wise suppression of the infinity of de- 
 tails demanding representation a necessity. Hence the unfail- 
 ing unity of his pictures. He was one of the first painters who 
 dared to maintain that a picture is finished when it gives the 
 desired effect, that henceforth all the scratching in the world 
 adds nothing, and perhaps for that reason he is by many called 
 the founder or father of the present-day Impressionistic move- 
 ment. The transition has been natural from the discoveries, as 
 we may call them, of Corot to the more radical and sometimes 
 disquieting work of the modern Impressionists — men younger 
 in years and better fighters, but substantially carrying out the 
 same ideas, certainly at least in the matter of atmosphere and 
 synthesis. 
 
 Corot was often reproached for his souvenirs of the antique, 
 and his work was disdained by both the Classical and the Ro- 
 mantic schools of his day. He was not the most intellectual 
 of artists, and his life-work seems to me less logical than Mil- 
 let's, whose more somber art Corot frankly admitted he could 
 not appreciate. Millet in his youth painted charming little 
 figures taken from mythology and classic lore, but in later 
 years he was the consistent painter of peasant life, seen indeed 
 through the eyes of a poet and seer. But Corot, beginning to 
 paint under the influence of the Classic school, continued to 
 the end of his life to people his landscapes with nymphs and 
 dryads, though occasionally introducing, with greater realism, 
 peasants, boatmen, and cattle. In neither case are the figures 
 incongruous ; that would have been impossible with such a 
 consummate artist as Corot. But the variation shows that he 
 was not a thorough Classicist, and the moderns have perhaps a 
 right to claim that he made concessions to the modern spirit. 
 
JEAN-BAPTISTE-CAMILLE 
 
 COROT 
 
 111 
 
 Technically Corot is sometimes said to be a thin, superficial, 
 and foggy painter. But what he loved best to paint often pre- 
 cluded any severe registration of form. To demand of his fore- 
 grounds, seen through the early morning light, and covered 
 with rank herbage and flowers, the masterly and obvious con- 
 struction of a Rousseau, who loved the open and the full light 
 of day, would be manifestly absurd. Draftsmanship in the 
 highest sense is as intangible a quality as color. It may be de- 
 fined to be, briefly, a feeling for form and line independent of 
 mere accuracy ; and this Corot possessed in a high degree. It 
 has been well said : " There are painters who draw more than 
 Corot ; there are none who draw better." The drawing of his 
 figures is not academic, but how well the little groups stand or 
 move, and how well they belong to their landscape ! Even his 
 cows, with their droll length of body, it would be possible to 
 defend from a decorative point of view. But his values are 
 faultless. Everything is in its place ; you go around and be- 
 tween his trees, you look from point to point of his ground re- 
 ceding just as it does in nature. Finally, how consummately 
 right and beautiful are his silhouettes of trees and their dis- 
 tances as seen against the sky! Were ever trees so drawn 
 before? He learned much from Aligny, who was called with 
 happiness " the Ingres of trees," but with Corot there is a 
 sympathy beyond all praise in his drawing of tree-forms, where 
 with Aligny there is a cold correctness, a nobility indeed of 
 form, but little charm. 
 
 Corot's numerous early studies, which, a critic once declared, 
 " shine from their qualities of exactitude," insured a sound 
 foundation to his art. Vigorous and uncompromising in their 
 drawing, they gave him the right to simplify later on. He knew, 
 and little by little he began to conceal that knowledge until the 
 observer sees in one of his landscapes only a happy improvisa- 
 tion. None the less at the bottom there is effort, and of the 
 most genuine kind. His whole life was spent in study, not 
 topographic study of detail, but of the more subtle qualities 
 of modeling and drawing, and the law of enveloppe and val- 
 ues. Nor is he careless and slovenly as a painter. At the right 
 place he knows how to be as precise as a knife-edge, and then 
 again to lose and confuse details, as nature herself loses and 
 confuses them. 
 
112 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 It was Constable who said that " no arrogant man was al- 
 lowed to see nature in all her beauty," and surely there never 
 was a painter with less arrogance than Corot. Unceasing in 
 his devotion and untiring in his endeavors to express nature's 
 beauty, he was continually self-distrustful. He was aware of 
 that curious inability to judge his own work which has been the 
 stumbling-block of many a painter, and said once, in returning 
 from a painting-tour: "I have brought back thirty canvases, 
 among which I hope there are five or six good ones." 
 
 At the time of Corot's appearance, landscape art, thoroughly 
 under the influence of the Classicists, was largely a conventional 
 affair. Certain harmonious lines, a composition severe and 
 restful, and a grandeur and nobility of f orm were insisted upon. 
 This nobility of form was recognized as apparent in certain 
 kinds of trees, rocks, or foregrounds, while others were tabooed 
 as less noble. There should be no rivers, but streams; no 
 houses, but Grecian temples; no peasants, but shepherds and 
 nymphs; no familiar homely trees, such as willows or birches, 
 but cedars and palm-trees ad libitum. Rousseau's choice of un- 
 pretentious motifs and simple flat foregrounds brought down a 
 storm of opposition upon his devoted head. The influence of the 
 Dutch school was little or nothing as against the preponderat- 
 ing Classic theory and the all-powerful inheritance of Poussin 
 and Claude. But Dutch art and activity had affected the Eng- 
 lish painters Constable and Bonington, the Naturalists of 1825, 
 whose exhibition in Paris was to be the beginning of a move- 
 ment with far-reaching influence and aims. From that time 
 forth the idea has lived and thrived, though not without strong 
 opposition, that common things and common people are worth 
 painting. The democratic idea in art that despises nothing, 
 that denies nothing, that seeks for beauty and character every- 
 where, even among the humblest surroundings, has triumphed. 
 And in French art one of those who made possible this triumph 
 was Corot. Trained as he was in the Classic school, he was 
 nevertheless as devoted to the humble things of nature, the 
 willows, the grasses, the little pools, the straw-thatched cot- 
 tages, as to the classic nymph, the Arcadian grove, and the 
 Trojan plain. 
 
 Corot's long and tranquil life, his singleness of aim, and 
 perhaps the fact that success came to him late, resulted in an 
 
JEAN-BAPTISTE-CAMILLE COROT 
 
 113 
 
 art that is exceptionally individual and personal in its spirit. 
 It shows, of course, his constant dependence on nature, but 
 beyond that it shows the charm of a simple-minded, frank, 
 loyal character. His art to many is a painted music. It is lyric 
 and suggestive in the highest degree. And under the influence 
 of certain music, before a landscape by Corot, one has varied 
 and delightful emotions, vague as memories evoked by per- 
 fumes. Sometimes it appears to be a landscape of the imagi- 
 nation, an idyllic country peopled by dancing nymphs. If more 
 naturalistic, it is the pleasant time of morning or evening, 
 when the sun's rays are not unduly warm, and country-folk 
 along the field roads pass the time of day. It is noticeable, 
 too, that on Corot's canvases there is never discomfort or suf- 
 fering. No doubt he avoided winter subjects because they 
 were distasteful to him. For, however great the charm of the 
 " effects " of snow and ice, it is a season of rigor and suffering, 
 and Corot, in his goodness of heart and serenity of disposition, 
 could no more make his peasants suffer than he could paint 
 nature under her terrible or forbidding aspects of wind, and 
 storm, and rain. Perhaps to no painter's work can we so well 
 apply the words " pay sage intime " — nature in her kind and 
 friendly moods, with youth and happiness the order of the day. 
 As a friend said, himself a poet : " He has in him all of youth ; 
 he is the poet's painter." Certainly no painter has evoked the 
 poetry of morning and evening, the charm of air and water, of 
 silvery mists, of woodland glades, and the serenity of summer 
 skies, better than Corot. Before his time there was little pos- 
 sibility, with the then existing ideas, of a landscape which 
 should have the charm of intimacy ; and even among his con- 
 temporaries, the Fontainebleau-Barbizon men, great as they 
 are, and much as we admire and praise them, we find little in 
 their work to love as we love and admire the work of Corot. 
 
 Corot belongs to a category of painters, not large, that pos- 
 sess what is called "charm." They do not take themselves too 
 seriously. In them there is nothing of the pedant, and they 
 are perhaps often reproached for their lack of intellectuality. 
 But before one of their canvases we stop involuntarily. It 
 breathes forth so much honesty and simple radiance ; it has 
 not been painted by cold-blooded skill, but has painted itself. 
 It is interesting to hear Corot speak about this : " There are 
 
 15 
 
114 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 days when it is I who paint ; in those days the work is had. 
 The days when it is not I, an angel has come and worked for 
 me ; then it is good." The spirit in which the work is done is 
 almost everything. Innocence of vision many have in early 
 youth, but Corot never quite lost his, and it gave a singular 
 charm to the work of the fully developed painter. It made 
 in art almost a " union of science and candor." 
 
 He painted a large variety of subjects, including figures, 
 portraits, still-life, flowers, interiors, street and city views, ani- 
 mals, studies from the nude, and many sketches and drawings, 
 beside a number of etchings that have all the grace and charm 
 of his best work. These last are rare, only thirteen are known 
 to be in existence. He was always well pleased to receive a 
 commission for mural decoration, and he has left in several 
 churches in Paris, Ville d'Avray, and the provinces, examples 
 of religious art which, if not in his best vein, are sometimes 
 of great interest. At Ville d'Avray, on the occasion of his 
 mother's birthday in 1849, he painted on the walls of a kiosk 
 in his father's garden a series of six views that have since been 
 taken down by the owner of the property, and removed where 
 they will be preserved from the attacks of time and weather. 
 And at Nantes, on the walls of a bath-house belonging to a 
 friend, he painted several panels of Italian scenery with an in- 
 finite delicacy and lightness of touch, making, as a connoisseur 
 says, " a little Italian paradise." Many similar panels exist in 
 riverside inns from Paris to Rouen. The painters of to-day 
 are less prodigal, alas, of their time and brushes, and the pleas- 
 ant custom of improvising on auberge walls during rainy days 
 has fallen into abeyance. We have become more practical ; the 
 customs of Bohemia in Murgeresque times exist no more. 
 
 Broadly speaking, we may divide Corot's landscape work 
 into three categories. The first comprises his early work. It 
 is full of detail, carefully and severely drawn and painted, yet 
 even in the beginning not without charm of color. There are 
 great accuracy, both in values and drawing, and a rare consci- 
 entiousness and naivete of workmanship. Little by little he 
 began to work with more freedom, until we have among his 
 later productions landscapes that may be divided into two 
 classes : the classical and the natural. Of the natural there 
 are many painted directly from nature, and with very few 
 
JEAN-BAPTIST E-CAMILLE COROT 
 
 115 
 
 added touches, and these for many people rank among the 
 highest achievements of the painter's brush. Their impression 
 is more direct, and there is a certain imprevu quality, a naivete, 
 that one misses in the classic canvases. These classic canvases, 
 many of them studio pictures, while of great beauty and dis- 
 tinction, are a little cloying in their completeness, a little too 
 perfect in the arrangement of line and mass. They lack the 
 acid note, the discord, that gives an added value to so much 
 sweetness. Courbet exclaimed: "Always the same landscape 
 and the same nymphs." They are, perhaps, too similar, too un- 
 like nature herself, who never repeats a composition any more 
 than she does a leaf. 
 
 No great gallery is to-day complete without its Corot. Per- 
 haps the best-known in public galleries are the three in the 
 Luxembourg. The two early pictures are delightful, and the 
 " Danse des Nymphes " is most fascinating. I well remember 
 how oddly at first its blue tone struck me. At that time the 
 purple note was rarer than it is at present. In our own country 
 there are many fine examples of the painter ; some of the first 
 to come here were bought by Mr. Quincy Shaw, and since then 
 each year has seen the addition of new ones to our vast granary 
 of the world's art. A good example is the " Ville d'Avray," in 
 the Wolfe collection in the Metropolitan Museum. One looks 
 across a tiny lake through a confusion of leafage and graceful 
 birch-forms at a high bank, and dimly seen are some construc- 
 tions reflected in the quiet waters. There is a lovely sky with 
 a suspicion of rose-color, the whole at too early an hour to have 
 much positive hue, the only bright touches being a bit of blue 
 on the sleeve and some yellow on the head-dress of a woman 
 stooping in the foreground. But there is the suggestion of 
 color, and one comes back to it with new pleasure to rest the 
 eyes and soothe the spirit. 
 
 Truly an enviable existence was that of Corot. With a fine 
 physique, and a joyous temperament that enabled him to accept 
 without bitterness the little recognition that was his for years, 
 his success yet came in time for him to enjoy it. He had the 
 adoration of the younger painters. One of the most brilliant 
 of them, in speaking of one of Corot's landscapes, said it was 
 " a thing to go down on your knees before." Men of the most 
 varied and opposed ideas and practice are as one in their regard 
 
116 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 for the good Pere Corot. He has gained all the suffrages, ana 
 is indeed the painter of the poets, and of all who love nature 
 not so much for her brilliant and obvious qualities as for her 
 mystery, her poetry, and her charm. 
 
 Theodore Robinson. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 THEODORE ROBINSON, the 
 writer of the foregoing article, and 
 one of the best of our youn ger painters, 
 died on April 2, 1896, before this book 
 was ready for the press. He was born 
 at Irasburg, Vt., June 3, 1852, and af- 
 ter preparatory study at the National 
 Academy of Design went to Paris in 
 1874. He was for two or three years 
 a student under Cai'olus-Duran and 
 later, for a short period, under G6- 
 rorae. Returning to this country, he 
 passed a few years without signal suc- 
 cess in his profession, and in 1884 re- 
 turned to Paris. It was not, however - , 
 until 1886, under the stimulation of 
 advice received from Claude Monet, 
 that, accepting the tenets of Impres- 
 sionism, his work took on a charming 
 sense of color, which (added to the 
 groundwork of his earlier study of 
 form, which his work always main- 
 tained to a high degree) placed him 
 in the front rank of our native art. 
 Returning definitely to the United 
 States in 1892, the too short period of 
 his remaining life, burdened by his 
 
 delicate constitution, was dedicated 
 chiefly to landscape. It was his desire 
 to be identified with his native coun- 
 try, but it was only in the last year that 
 he felt as strong an attachment for 
 home scenes as for those which in Eu- 
 rope were endeared to him by long 
 residence. He was consequently taken 
 from his work at a time when his 
 promise for future achievement was 
 great. 
 
 Mr. Robinson was awarded the 
 Webb prize for landscape in 1890, and 
 the Shaw prize for figure painting in 
 1892. He was a member of the So- 
 ciety of American Artists. His prin- 
 cipal pictures are, "A King's Daugh- 
 ter," " Winter Landscape " (Webb prize 
 S. A. A.), " In the Sun " (Shaw prize), 
 " The Valley of the Seine at Vernon," 
 " La Debacle." His early death, after 
 a serious and dignified life devoted 
 to his art, is greatly to be deplored. 
 About the last work he did was this 
 enthusiastic tribute to the genius of 
 Corot, whom he greatly admired. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
 X 
 
THEODORE ROUSSEAU 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM A. COFFIN 
 
PIERRE-ETIENNE-THEODORE ROUSSEAU 
 
 (1812-1867) 
 
 MY sympathies in art are entirely with the men who do 
 not evade difficulties in portraying nature, and for that 
 reason I have always greatly admired the work of Theodore 
 Rousseau. For the same reason I love and respect Daubigny. 
 If I place Corot at the head of this noble group of three, it is 
 because my reasons spring from a like sympathy, and from a 
 conviction that in one of his pictures, the " Biblis," Corot suc- 
 ceeded in creating a work that surpasses all other landscapes I 
 have ever seen in poetic beauty combined with truth to nature. 
 The three men seem to me, taking the work of each in its en- 
 tirety, to stand apart as the best of all landscape-painters. I 
 have not found it difficult to place them higher than Jules Du- 
 pre and Diaz, while conceding the fine qualities of the work of 
 these two men, but it is a more complicated problem to fix the 
 rank of the three princes. Perhaps the most satisfactory way 
 out of the difficulty is not to try to do so at all, for compari- 
 sons, though valuable, are not essential to a right understand- 
 ing and just appreciation of the art of any one great man. 
 Corot's work is uneven and at times superficial, especially in 
 his later period, but he produced several masterpieces. Rous- 
 seau's is scarcely ever superficial, and even when it is, it im- 
 presses by an innate strength. He too painted, not one or 
 two, but a series of masterpieces. I am completely at a loss 
 when I attempt to name the masterpieces of Daubigny. His 
 work is throughout of such good quality, it is always so sin- 
 cere, so frank, and so plainly a rendering and not an interpre- 
 tation of nature, that it is by its completeness and excellence 
 
 119 
 
120 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 as a whole that he gains his high place. If the " Biblis " had 
 never been painted, if Corot did not so clearly surpass his two 
 contemporaries in his painting of the sky, that first of all 
 things in a landscape, I could scarcely place him in the highest 
 seat. Corot sometimes actually outwitted nature. His work 
 is founded on truth, but he had his own way at times of dilut- 
 ing it, modifying it, concealing it, to make its hidden force 
 felt more strongly by his marvelous synthetic power. The re- 
 quirements of his parti-pris sometimes carried him a long way 
 from truth, and sometimes, to speak plainly, he painted " pot- 
 boilers," which clever craftsmen have found it easy to imitate 
 so well that dozens of Corots have been seen that were never 
 touched by his brush. We may throw aside as unworthy the 
 inferior canvases that are genuine, and yet have the produc- 
 tion of a life-time that enchants and amazes by its variety, 
 sincerity, inherent beauty, and poetic feeling. 
 
 No man ever battled more sturdily with the giant Diffi- 
 culty-of-Portraying-Nature, who stands in every painter's path, 
 and who has slain so many and cast them into the deep lake, 
 Oblivion, than Daubigny. In the long list of pictures and 
 studies that have come from his hand there is scarcely a poor 
 one. He looked straight into the beautiful face of nature, 
 loved her every expression, and spent his life in unwearying 
 attempts to reproduce them on his canvas. His unaffected, 
 simple methods, his sincerity, and his evident determination 
 never to try to add to her beauty any thought of his own that 
 Nature herself had not directly suggested, have endeared his 
 personality to every honest landscape-painter's heart. 
 
 I have thought it well to set down these few notes about 
 the relative positions of Corot, Rousseau, and Daubigny be- 
 fore attempting to consider the work of Rousseau alone, and 
 now that we are in a measure prepared for him, let it be un- 
 derstood that we are in the presence of a very great master. 
 He has more intellect than either of the other two. He was 
 more searching — at least his work gives evidence of more con- 
 tinued searching — than either of the others. Corot and Dau- 
 bigny both seem to have known when they got as high in 
 their art as they could hope to go, but Rousseau, I am sure, 
 never did. He was never satisfied, apparently, and always 
 thought he could do still better. Such a conviction is, of 
 
PIERRE-ETIENNE-THEODORE ROUSSEAU 121 
 
 course, the best that can take possession of an artist. Rous- 
 seau was indefatigable in his analysis of nature. He observed, 
 studied, sought for vulnerable points, and then painted. His 
 results taught him new lessons, and he returned to nature to 
 rind out new secrets. With a wonderful knowledge of the 
 structure of the terrain, and of everything that grows and dies 
 under the rays of the lord of the heavens, he quickly learned 
 the meaning of synthesis in painting. All his great pictures 
 show this knowledge. In some of them he did not seek to 
 conceal details ; in others, and greater ones, he allowed just 
 enough of detail to appear to give the semblance of truth, and 
 impress the spectator by the harmony of the two great factors, 
 the ground-motive as a whole and the sky. 
 
 The best example I know of Rousseau's analytical manner 
 in a completed picture is " The Valley of Tiffauges," last seen 
 in New York at the Barye exhibition in 1890. There are draw- 
 ings by Rousseau in existence — preparations for pictures in 
 thin washes of color on canvas — in which with fine lines made 
 with a pen or the point of a small brush, almost every leaf on 
 a tree seems to be outlined, almost every stalk delineated in a 
 field of grain, and hundreds of little blades and stems carefully 
 indicated in a foreground of grass and herbage. With such a 
 groundwork, and this sort of a preparation was by no means 
 unusual with him, he at times carried out this fidelity to the 
 smallest detail in painting. " The Valley of Tiffauges " illus- 
 trates such treatment. The foreground is a tangle of bushes, 
 weeds, and grass ; in the middle distance are close-growing trees 
 encircling the little valley, and beyond are wooded hills. On 
 the left is a cottage half hidden by the foliage, and the pale 
 sunlight which falls on a poplar-tree in the middle of the pic- 
 ture is not strong enough to illumine the sky, which appears 
 behind the hills with warm gray and black clouds that serve to 
 intensify the effect of the sunlight, and to concentrate the in- 
 terest in the center of the composition. The picture is con- 
 ceived on large hues, and in spite of the presence of an amount 
 of detail that would be utterly bewildering if it were not 
 painted by a great master, it is broad and grand in general ef- 
 fect. Everything is given and yet nothing obtrudes, and, what 
 is perhaps still more remarkable, the artist, while neglecting 
 not even the smallest touch, to bring out the leaves on every 
 
 16 
 
122 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 branch of the trees and every blade of grass, has painted his 
 picture throughout with a fine scheme of color, a strong, rich, 
 deep ensemble of somber tints. 
 
 If we wish to see what Rousseau could do when he did not 
 attempt such a problem as he has triumphantly wrought out in 
 this picture, but applied synthetic treatment solely, we may turn 
 to the "Morning on the Oise," a canvas of medium size, in which 
 is given an effect of warm morning sun in a pleasant valley. The 
 river glides through fertile meadows, and the light plays on trees, 
 field, and water in golden harmony. The sky is dusky blue at 
 the horizon, and there are masses of grayish clouds above. In 
 the middle of the picture the water, reflecting the blue of the 
 sky and the grassy banks of the river, gleams hi the sun, and an 
 idle boat with a white sail shines gently in the light. Every- 
 thing else in the composition is subordinated to this central 
 mass ; not that the foreground is slurred over, or that the trees 
 and hills that hem in the sunny valley are not painted with 
 proper fullness — simply they are not emphasized. We know 
 that they are there, but we only look at the boat on the river, 
 and we feel the smiling sunshine that makes the flowers bloom 
 in the meadows and warms the water where the children are 
 playing on the banks. Rousseau painted pictures that show 
 far more robust strength than this, but it is certain that he 
 never signed a more beautiful little canvas, and that if he too 
 is to be called a poet-painter as Corot is, his best claim to the 
 title will be found in the enchanting " Morning on the Oise." 
 A marvelous analyst in " The Valley of Tiffauges," a forceful 
 synthesist in the " Morning on the Oise," Rousseau appears as 
 both in four of his well-known masterpieces : " The Sunset," in 
 the Louvre ; " Le Grivre," 1 " La Hutte du Charbonnier," 2 and 
 " Les Gorges d'Apremont." 3 These pictures give, each in its 
 own way, the results of all his study and the essence of his 
 creed. 
 
 The " Sunset " was an order given to Rousseau in 1848 by Le- 
 dru Rollin, Minister of the Interior ; Jules Dupre, whose studio 
 was in the same building with Rousseau's in the Place Pigalle, 
 received a commission from the government at the same time, 
 
 1 W. T. Walters Collection, Baltimore. 
 
 2 William H. Fuller Collection, New York. 
 
 3 William H. Vanderbilt Collection, New York. 
 
PIERRE-ETIENNE-THEODORE ROUSSEAU 123 
 
 and both were for the same amount, four thousand francs, then 
 considered a very considerable figure. The " Sunset " was placed 
 in the Luxembourg gallery, and, following the custom in Paris, 
 was hung in the Louvre ten years after the painter's death. He 
 conceived as a composition for the picture an arrangement of 
 great trees on the border of the forest near Brole, with a vista 
 of plain and meadows seen through a vast arch-like opening, 
 and bathed in the light of the setting sun. A cowherd in the 
 underbrush blows his horn, and gathers together his scattered 
 cattle. The foreground was a good deal like the arrangement 
 of the forest scene in the second act of " William Tell" at the 
 opera. Rousseau painted it a second time with an effect of sun- 
 rise, a canvas remarkable for the fine rendering of dewy atmo- 
 sphere and silvery light, but it does not possess the grandeur nor 
 the glory of color of the " Sunset." The play of light in the 
 *' Sunset," and the splendid harmony of tint, the fine drawing 
 and atmospheric feeling, give it a rare distinction. Its place in 
 Rousseau's art might be well stated, I think, by an analogy. It 
 is like one of the brilliant pieces which some famous pianist 
 chooses when he wishes to give a new audience a proof of his 
 powers. 
 
 "Les Gorges d'Apremont" is a composition in which the 
 motive has been found in one of the noblest views in the 
 famous forest of Fontainebleau. The level plain in the fore- 
 ground leads up to a magnificent sky-line made by the irregu- 
 larly piled-up masses of rock formation. Trees break the 
 monotony of the expanse, and here and there rise above the 
 line of the precipitous hills against the sky. It is painted in a 
 sober color-scheme, and dull browns, grays, and greens pre- 
 dominate. The picture is superbly constructed, and produces 
 on the spectator an indefinable impression of majesty. If it be 
 held by some painters that a landscape must be painted in a 
 light key to secure luminousness, here is a complete refutation 
 of the theory. Even if this splendid picture should lose its 
 subtile gradations of tint, and fade with the lapse of time into 
 the veriest silhouette, it can never lose its impressiveness. It 
 will remain, until time obliterates it, a work of dignity and 
 power, so great is the importance of composition and structure 
 in every phase of the painter's art. 
 
 " Le Grivre " cannot be too highly praised. The foreground 
 
124 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 slopes irregularly downward away from the front of the pic- 
 ture, and the hoar-frost, which gives it its title, lies on the 
 chilly rocks and dead grass of the hill-side. In the valley be- 
 yond there are groups of trees that stand up dark and grim 
 against the line of blue hills and the stretch of country that 
 lies cold and cheerless under the heavily clouded sky. At the 
 horizon the burning red glow of the sun breaks through, and 
 its light gilds the edges of the cloud-curtains higher up with 
 yellow, red, and crimson. The air has a frosty breath, and the 
 earth is wrapped in gloomy silence. That is the subject-motive 
 of the picture. It is not a merry one, nor yet is it forbidding. 
 It is simply grim and grand. "Le Grivre " is magnificently 
 painted. It is broad and strong, but not forced, and there is 
 dignity and power in every brush-stroke. It is admirably 
 drawn. In color it is puissant, sober, and rich. Here we reach 
 the summit of Rousseau's art. He painted the picture in eight 
 days, which seems incredible, and he reveals in it such a noble 
 strength, and such power in depicting a sublime effect in nature, 
 that no further proof of his right to rank as a great prince of 
 painting need be sought. 
 
 Alfred Sensier, in his excellent book, " Souvenirs sur Theo- 
 dore Rousseau," writes of a visit to the artist when he was 
 painting the last of the four great works mentioned above. It 
 is interesting to hear what he says, for the picture itself affords 
 a demonstration in its technical processes of some of Rousseau's 
 methods, which every one who sees it may study : 
 
 I went to see him in Indian summer, in November; his- little 
 house was covered with clematis, nasturtium and cobasas. . . . He 
 showed me a whole collection of pictures, sketches, monotint studies, 
 and compositions "laid in," which made him ready for twenty years' 
 work. He was beginning his beautiful landscape, " The Charcoal- 
 Burner's Hut," so luminous and so limpid — an effect of high noon in 
 September sunshine, which he finished in 1850. 1 He had laid it in 
 with the right general effect at the first painting on a canvas prepared 
 in gray tints, and after having placed his masses of trees and the lines 
 of his landscape, he was taking up, with the delicacy of a miniaturist, 
 
 i I think the picture shows, by the way the sunlight falls on the white clouds, that the 
 effect was painted to represent a later or an earlier hour. The clouds are lighted on the sides 
 and not on top, showing that the sun was not in the zenith. It might well be between ten 
 and eleven o'clock in the morning, or more probably about three in the afternoon. — W. A. C. 
 
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PIERRE-ETIENNE-THEODORE ROUSSEAU 
 
 125 
 
 the sky and the trunks of the trees, scraping with a palette-knife to 
 half the depth of the painting, and retouching the masses with im- 
 perceptible subtility of touch. It was a patient labor, which finished 
 by being disturbing, it was so imperceptible. " It seems to you that 
 I am only caressing my picture, does it not? That I am putting 
 nothing on it but magnetic flourishes ? I am trying to proceed like 
 the work of nature itself, by accretions which, brought together, or 
 united, become forces, transparent atmospheric effects, into which I 
 put afterward definite accents as upon a woof of neutral value. These 
 accents are to painting what melody is to harmonic bass, and they 
 determine everything, either victory or defeat. The method is of 
 slight importance in these moments when the end of the work is in 
 sight ; you may make use of anything, even of diabolical conjurings," 
 he said to me, laughingly, " and when there is need of it, when I have 
 exhausted the resources of the colors, I use a scraper, my thumb, a 
 piece of cuttle-bone, and even my brush-handles. They are hard 
 trials, these last moments of the day's work, and I often come out of 
 them worn out but never discouraged." Then stopping short in his 
 talk, " Come, let us go for a walk. I will show you a little of the law 
 of growth of vegetation in nature itself." 
 
 How well he knew that law ! How well he understood 
 the penetrable nature of the soil and the solidity of the rock 
 formations! Look at the moss-covered earth in the foreground 
 of " La Hutte du Charbonnier." Do we not perceive at once 
 that if a spade were driven in it would strike the rock that lies a 
 few inches under the surface? It is so in "Les Gorges d'Apre- 
 mont," and in every one of his principal works there is the 
 same veracity of rendering. I think we must concede, in look- 
 ing at Rousseau's work in its entirety, that no man has made a 
 closer study of nature. If he had merely given us painstaking 
 studies, however ; if his pictures presented nothing more than 
 the facts, his place as a landscape-painter would be very far 
 below what it is. But his artistic perceptions were so keen, 
 his sense of the picturesque was so well developed, his feeling 
 for the grandeur and beauty of nature grew so strongly as he 
 worked, that he was impelled to recognize the harmony of all 
 life out of doors, and endeavored by synthetic treatment of his 
 themes to unite facts with broad impressions. To achieve such 
 unity in a picture is the ne plus ultra of painting, for such 
 qualities as style, sentiment, and poetry are but the results of 
 the painter's individual success in expression. It is to Rous- 
 
126 
 
 MODERN 
 
 FRENCH 
 
 MASTERS 
 
 seau's fine sense of proportion and balance, his innate feeling 
 for line and mass, and the large things in composition, that his 
 wonderful results are due. Having as nearly as possible per- 
 fected his knowledge of the structural elements in nature, his 
 summaries are characterized by that strength which comes 
 from intimate knowledge of underlying detail. He makes its 
 presence felt in his pictures without permitting it to obtrude. 
 A simple colorist, his work is free from anything like flashy 
 quality; a strong draftsman, it is always firm, well-planted, 
 and robust. Add to these factors his undeniably sympathetic 
 treatment of his motives, and the causes of his excellence are 
 revealed. 
 
 Pierre -Etienne -Theodore Rousseau was born in Paris on 
 April 15, 1812, and was an only child. His father, a merchant 
 tailor who had come from the Jura and married in Paris, was 
 highly respected by his customers and neighbors, and noted for 
 his honorable character and charitable works. He conducted 
 himself with such bravery as to attract notice when he was with 
 his " legion " at the Buttes-Chaumont in 1814. In 1825, when 
 his native town of Salins was almost destroyed by fire, he hur- 
 riedly realized on some of his investments and carried ten thou- 
 sand francs of his own savings to the suffering people. Love 
 and respect for his parents to the last day of their fives were 
 notable traits in the character of the painter. Prince Talley- 
 rand, before starting for Ghent in 1815, confided important pa- 
 pers and a large sum in securities to Rousseau's father's safe- 
 keeping. It was natural that when the Bourbons returned the 
 father, whose sole ambition was for his son, should have thought 
 of the influence his relations with people in high places might 
 exert for his benefit in starting out in life, but the boy had de- 
 cided for painting, and he accompanied his kinsman, Pau de St. 
 Martin, a landscape-painter, on a sketching tour to Compiegne 
 in 1826, and soon after entered the studio of Remond. His stu- 
 dent life was like that of many others, discontent following tem- 
 porary satisfaction in the progress of his apprenticeship, quar- 
 rels with the methods of masters and pupils, changes, doubts, and 
 finally flight and relief in nature. Rousseau appeared as one of 
 the champions of the new school of 1830, when Delacroix and 
 Gericault, leading the Romanticists, made their great battle with 
 traditions and Classicism. He frequented the " Cheval Blanc " 
 
PIERRE-ETIENNE- THEODORE ROUSSEAU 
 
 127 
 
 in the rue du Faubourg St. Denis, where Decamps commanded 
 the anti-Classicist forces, and the propaganda of the new school 
 in art, literature, and politics was nourished. In 1831 he ex- 
 hibited for the first time at the Royal Salon in the Louvre. His 
 picture was called " Site d'Auvergne." In 1832 he found him- 
 self in Normandy with his friend Charles de Laberge. La- 
 berge was trying to reproduce nature on his canvas bit by bit 
 with the most painstaking labor. Rousseau resolved to fly from 
 the contact with what he knew was a pernicious influence, but 
 remained on condition that Laberge would agree to paint at 
 least ten roof tiles a day, and when he painted trees, to finish 
 at least seven leaves a week. Laberge, however, soon fell back 
 into what was evidently a form of art insanity, a sort of Pre- 
 raphaelitism gone mad, and Rousseau left him, returning to 
 Paris. His picture, " Les Cotes de Granville," exhibited at the 
 Salon of 1833, attracted the notice of the critic Le Normand, who 
 spoke well of it, and singled him out as a coming man, mention- 
 ing also Corot and Jules Dupre. After this, Rousseau, follow- 
 ing his beliefs, and going contrary to all preconceived notions of 
 how landscapes should be painted, was for years practically an 
 exile from the Salon. It was soon after the refusal of his pic- 
 ture, " La Descente des Vaches," at the Salon of 1836 that he 
 went to the forest of Fontainebleau, where he spent such a 
 large part of his life. Not until thirty years after his reputa- 
 tion was established did he ever show his early studies, but kept 
 them in portfolios, fearing the exposm'e of the details of his 
 processes might compromise his success. The government pur- 
 chased his famous picture, "L' Avenue des Chataigniers,"in 1840. 
 It had been refused by the Salon jury. After struggles and 
 trials we find Rousseau and J ules Dupre placed on the commit- 
 tee to take charge of the Salon of 1848, the celebrated " free 
 Salon, 1 ' in the first year of the new republic. In the years after 
 this, though there were disappointments and injustice, Rousseau 
 received medals and other honors, and became a Salon juror 
 himself. A medal of honor was given him at the Universal 
 Exposition in 1867. He died at Barbizon on the 22d of Decem- 
 ber of the same year. His tomb, built up of rocks brought from 
 the forest, stands between two great pines in the little country 
 cemetery of Chailly-en-Biere, the parish church of Barbizon. 
 His friends, of whom Millet and Dupre were among the most in- 
 
128 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 tiinate, planted about it beeches, elms, and birches, his favorite 
 trees. In Barbizon village his house, purchased by a company 
 of his associates and admirers, is preserved as a memorial, and 
 used as a club house for the friends of art. For us as well, who 
 are far from the scene of his work and his triumphs, his life 
 stands as a beacon-light, and some of his masterpieces are at 
 hand to encourage and delight us. 
 
 William A. Coffin. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 WILLIAM ANDERSON COF- 
 FIN was born in Allegheny, 
 Pa., in 1855. He graduated from Yale 
 College in 1874, studying drawing in 
 the Yale Art School during his senior 
 year, returning there for further art 
 study in 1875-76. In 1877 he went to 
 Paris, and became a pupil of Leon Bon- 
 nat. He exhibited in the Salons of 1879, 
 1880, and 1882, returning to New York 
 in 1882. He is a member of the So" 
 ciety of American Artists, and was its 
 secretary from 1887 to 1892 inclusive, 
 was Vice President of the Architectu- 
 ral League for two terms, and is First 
 Vice President at present of the Mu- 
 nicipal Art Society of New York. He 
 
 was the successful director of the Loan 
 Exhibition of Historical Portraits and 
 Relics in 1889 and the Portraits of 
 Women Exhibition in New York in 
 1894. As a landscape-painter he took 
 the second Hallgarten prize in 1886, 
 the Webb prize in 1891, and received 
 a bronze medal at the Paris Exposi- 
 tion of 1889. His picture of the " Rain" 
 was purchased for the Metropolitan 
 Museum. His landscapes are in many 
 private collections in New York and 
 elsewhere. Mr. Coffin is well known 
 as a writer on art topics, and his con- 
 tributions to the leading magazines 
 are frequent. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
NARCISSE-VIRGILIO DIAZ 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR HOEBER 
 
 17 
 
NARCISSE-VIRGILIO DIAZ DE LA PENA 
 
 (1808-1876) 
 
 AMONG all the painters who composed the group of the 
 .xTX. Barbizon men, none had a more curious history, and few 
 possessed greater individuality, than the French-born Spaniard, 
 Diaz. Like most of his race, he was loaded down with a string 
 of names, having been baptized Narcisse-Virgilio Diaz de la 
 Peha, and he was ushered into the world at Bordeaux, on 
 August 21, 1808, his parents, proscribed refugee patriots, hav- 
 ing fled across the mountains from Salamanca. His father, 
 Thomas Diaz de la Peha, did not remain in Bordeaux, but his 
 child being born, he made his way to England, leaving the 
 poor wife with her son behind him, in a most destitute state. 
 
 The mother's courage and force of character were, however, 
 equal to the emergency. She became a governess ; she taught 
 French and Spanish, and managed to support herself and child. 
 Later, she succeeded in making her way to Paris, a task of no 
 small difficulty when one considers the times, the lack of trav- 
 eling facilities, and the cost of such an undertaking in those 
 days. She settled at Sevres, and soon found herself among 
 friends. When the lad was ten years old the brave woman 
 died, and the future painter, who had grown up a healthy, 
 hearty, robust child, was adopted by a Protestant clergyman 
 named Michael Paira, living at the time in retirement at Belle- 
 vue, near Sevres and in close proximity to Paris, while the 
 father, who seems to have quite overlooked his responsibility 
 in the matter, after being heard of as a teacher of languages in 
 London, disappears entirely from the scene. 
 
 131 
 
132 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 With scorn of training, characteristic of his work all 
 through his life, his studies were made in a haphazard way, 
 and the good pastor allowed him much, too much, liberty. He 
 passed most of his time rambling about the woods and roads 
 of Fleury, Meudon, Sevres, and St. Cloud, for he gave early 
 evidence of a deep and sincere love of nature. It was on one 
 of these excursions, when he was about thirteen years old, 
 that, overcome with fatigue, he fell asleep upon the grass in 
 the fields. He awoke with a distressing pain in his right foot, 
 and the member was soon swollen to great proportions. A 
 blundering peasant woman cared for him in so unfortunate a 
 manner that gangrene set in, and, at the hospital where he 
 was treated, it was discovered that he had been bitten by a 
 viper, so that an amputation of his foot was found to be im- 
 perative. Here he was again unfortunate, and a second am- 
 putation was necessary, so that his whole leg was finally 
 sacrificed. From that time, Diaz went through the world with 
 a wooden leg. 
 
 A long stay at the Hospice de l'Enfant Jesus, with the pain 
 and suffering attendant upon so serious an operation, was not 
 without its effect upon a child who had been accustomed to 
 so much liberty and exercise out of doors. His naturally ac- 
 tive and healthy mind was continually occupied ; he lay on his 
 cot and dreamed out all the stories of his youth as he could re- 
 call them ; he invented new romances ; he peopled the woods 
 and fields with figures of his imagination, and his fancy, always 
 weird and lively, was full of vague unrealities that later took 
 shape in his many pictures, so brilliant, colorful, and original. 
 
 Upon his recovery, Diaz was apprenticed at the age of 
 fifteen to a printer, and subsequently to a maker of porcelains, 
 where he began before long the painting of placques, dishes, 
 and the decoration of such china as the works put out. Here 
 he had for companions Jules Dupre, by whose uncle, Arsene 
 Grillet, he was employed, Louis Cabat, and Raffet, men des- 
 tined later on to make their names famous as painters. He 
 worked, however, with little interest at the porcelains, though 
 it is evident he built better than he knew, imbibing certain 
 qualities of decoration that remained with him to the end of 
 his career, giving to his work brilliancy, at times a gaudiness 
 of tone, but nearly always a fanciful picturesqueness. But the 
 
NARCISSE-VIRGILIO DIAZ DE LA PENA 133 
 
 careful finish, the elaboration of detail, and the pretty pettiness 
 which his employers demanded, chafed the spirit of the young 
 man, and he revolted against the fate that kept him at this 
 sort of labor. He began to paint subjects that appealed more 
 to his artistic feeling, which, though they pleased him, were 
 less and less commercially available. The result was that the 
 lad left the porcelain works, and made shift for himself. He 
 became a pupil of Francois Souchon, an historical painter, at 
 one time director of the school of painting at Lille, but he did 
 not remain long under his tuition. Application to academic 
 rules was distasteful to him, and though he formed warm 
 friendships here with some of the pupils, notably Xavier Siga- 
 lon, he fretted under the severe drudgery of copying plaster 
 casts, and yearned " to let himself go " in a color way, to paint 
 the various compositions his lively imagination conjured up, 
 and so, cutting loose from influences that could in no way have 
 done him anything but good, badly equipped in drawing, with 
 but crude ideas of form and construction, he set himself to 
 painting that which his fancy dictated. 
 
 Prolific, working hastily, and bestowing little attention to 
 detail, Diaz turned out a mass of canvases which, though they 
 brought but little in the market, in the aggregate amounted to 
 no inconsiderable sum, and so through his life he knew nothing 
 of the wretched financial misery that worried and harassed 
 his comrades of the brush, Millet and Rousseau. He put 
 forth a perfect stream of nymphs, cupids, women and children, 
 bright in gay colors, brilliant in execution, careless in draw- 
 ing, but highly decorative, fanciful in design, and of a fascinat- 
 ing originality. These he sold at almost any price, or ex- 
 changed with the bric-a-brac dealers for curios and stuffs 
 with which his studio was crowded. 
 
 It is said that the young man was attracted to the works 
 of Correggio, in the Louvre, and that he studied this master 
 with enthusiasm. Subsequently he became greatly interested 
 in Delacroix, though in the end he went pretty much his own 
 way. He was possessed of remarkable facility, having a keen 
 sense of the pictorial, composing with ease and great rapidity. 
 And it is highly probable his work on the porcelains trained 
 his eye to a realization of interesting arrangement of incident, 
 the secret of his popularity and selling qualities among the 
 
134 
 
 MODERN FRENCH 
 
 MASTERS 
 
 masses. Then lie became at one time strongly attracted by 
 Victor Hugo's " Les Orientales," which suggested to him queer 
 subjects of Turkish life, harems, and the costumes of these 
 people, of which he produced at this period a large quantity. 
 The theater, too, was his great admiration ; he went often, and 
 upon his return he would reproduce the scenes, or, using them 
 as suggestions, evolve his own interpretation of the play. With 
 this enormous production, and consequent financial prosperity, 
 it was said he was thoroughly able to take care of his money, 
 and, though he had nothing of meanness about him, he was 
 businesslike at a bargain, prudent and shrewd. 
 
 His works sold rapidly, and to supply an increasing demand 
 he worked continuously and, it must be confessed, carelessly, 
 giving himself but little time for serious thought. His first 
 exhibited picture was in the Paris Salon of 1831, where a 
 small canvas was hung, but growing more ambitious, he sent 
 to the Salon of 1835 a work entitled " The Battle of Medina." 
 This was brilliant in coloring, but of little importance, some 
 one having described it as a formless sketch, while his com- 
 rades bestowed upon it the name of the " Battle of the Broken 
 Paint-pots." 
 
 Diaz had met Theodore Rousseau as early as 1831 in Paris, 
 at a little estaminet in the Faubourg St. Denis, known as 
 " Le Cheval Blanc," where the painters drifted nightly to dis- 
 cuss art, and where the company, led by Decamps, made war 
 on the Classicists. But though he saw him frequently, Rous- 
 seau was a youth of much reserve and dignity, and Diaz, who 
 recognized his worth and great seriousness, made but little 
 progress towards a closer acquaintance. Sometime about 1836, 
 Diaz drifted down to the little village of Barbizon, where was 
 already ensconced Rousseau, who was destined to have so 
 serious an influence upon the one time apprentice of the por- 
 celain works. They soon became intimate. His mastery of 
 the young colorist was complete, absorbing, and all pervading, 
 the man remaining to the end of his days a faithful admirer 
 of the grand Refuse. Diaz at Barbizon, with the serious Rous- 
 seau working near him, turned his attention to a more sober 
 interpretation of landscape, wherein he gave greater thought 
 to form, tone, and construction. He studied trees, rocks, and 
 gave great attention to the relations of skies, distances, and 
 
NARCISSE-VIRGILIO DIAZ DE LA PENA 135 
 
 foreground. The gaudy, Oriental fantasies were in a measure 
 neglected for quiet forest interior, for glade, fruitful plain, sun- 
 lit foliage, or rich and harmonious effect of twilight and sunset. 
 But his seriousness was only temporary after all. It was the 
 youthful impetuosity to the end. Application was irksome; 
 rules and conventions he despised, and he went his way, unre- 
 strained, passionate, versatile, unequal, but rarely, if ever, un- 
 interesting. 
 
 With all his failings, however, he rose frequently to great 
 heights, and there was about the man an enthusiasm that was 
 at times contagious, a zeal that carried him safely over dan- 
 gerous pitfalls and caused him to triumph despite his weak- 
 nesses. He was possessed of a genuine color-instinct that as- 
 serted itself and gave him distinction, while in his more serious 
 work, where he kept to simplicity of motive, he would fre- 
 quently accomplish great results. Given a few figures so 
 arranged that form and line were but mere suggestions, and 
 Diaz would now and then evolve a masterpiece ; and let him 
 be in full sympathy with his landscape, let the woodland, 
 plain, or marsh combine a few simple elements, and there 
 would result a splendid, serious picture worthy of his talent. 
 In the painting of flowers he was not excelled in the beauty of 
 color-effects he obtained, though possibly these works do not 
 always bear botanical analysis, for he declined to bow to arbi- 
 trary rules of either form or tone, and in his enthusiasm he did 
 not cling to exact likeness or perfect representation of his sub- 
 ject. Nevertheless, he obtained delicious results of harmonious 
 pigment. It is unfortunate for him that he must ever be con- 
 sidered a part of, and indelibly associated with, the great and 
 overshadowing Barbizon men, whose achievements are among 
 the glories of French art. The landscapes of Rousseau stand 
 so uniquely alone as to make comparisons unsatisfactory, yet 
 Diaz was, and probably always will be, bracketed with this 
 genius, and of course ever to his disadvantage. Standing quite 
 by himself, he had made a greater impression upon the world ; 
 linked to the master, it is impossible not to estimate the two 
 from the same high plane. 
 
 With the dogged perseverance characteristic of the truly 
 great, Rousseau came out of his failures and discouragements 
 unscathed, the fire leaving only the pure metal. Dishearten- 
 
136 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 ments, disaster, ill-success before nature — and be sure he had 
 his share — were so many spurs, urging him on to renewed 
 study, to patient searchings, to experiments and to a determi- 
 nation to conquer in the end as he did. Diaz, on the other 
 hand, rebelled at the application that carried with it profound 
 study. He could and did work, but he required performance 
 of the task in his own way. As in his youth he had revolted 
 against system and the routine of the schools, so he ever lacked 
 that foundation of perseverance so essential to the proper devel- 
 opment of his great gifts, higher than which few men have ever 
 received. He was discouraged easily, turning from his path at 
 obstacles that only made his comrade struggle more seriously, 
 and he would in his despair go back to easier channels, wherein 
 he knew he could find his way with less difficulty. 
 
 His weaknesses are thus noted that a better understanding 
 of the man may be had. But in art as in music, literature, and 
 even in humanity itself, there are enduring qualities that are 
 above and beyond laws. As there are melodies that defy the 
 rules of harmony and stir us to the very depths, so there are 
 simple bits of poetry that go straight to the heart, where classic 
 elegance and elaboration leave us cold and unsympathetic. And 
 there are contradictory natures, passionate, illogical, selfish at 
 times, which yet wind themselves about our affections in some 
 inexplicable manner. Others there be whose sunny brilliancy, 
 despite unmistakable defects, draws us to them with unconscious 
 power and holds us willing converts. So with Diaz in his work. 
 We are aware of his shortcomings, we admit his incapacity in 
 some directions, his lackings, and yet the inherent genius, ris- 
 ing higher than schools, than training, than accepted rules and 
 authorities, fascinates us by the bewitching personality with 
 which his canvases glow, the sensuous brilliancy of color, the 
 charm, grace, and lovely harmonies of his inspired work. 
 
 There are so many sides to the work of Diaz that it is diffi- 
 cult to analyze it. He must be taken most seriously as a land- 
 scape man, for it was in this field that he labored with the great- 
 est sobriety and with the largest amount of earnestness. Here 
 he accomplished, from time to time, unusually fine results, 
 though there is never quite manifested the dash and vim evi- 
 dent in his ideal work, wherein he could divest his mind of 
 technic, and, so far as his limitations permitted, plunge into 
 
NARCISSE-VIRGILIO DIAZ DE LA PENA 
 
 137 
 
 his theme con amove, evolving the sentiment nntrammeled by 
 laws of form or the true relations of light and shade. To 
 bring himself down to faithful transcripts of nature, to con- 
 struct and build up foreground, distance, and masses, to bring 
 these in accord with sky and make perfect harmonies such 
 as his friend Rousseau would labor over, he could and did 
 do, but always chafing under the constraint. When he did so, 
 it was under great moral and mental pressure ; he had to force 
 himself to the task. So even in these best efforts one is con- 
 scious that the touch is circiunscribed, the brush falters, there 
 is ever the inclination to exaggerate the light, to force the con- 
 trasts, to bring nature around to the artist's point of view, 
 rather than to discover her inmost truths. 
 
 Thus it was the man fell short of the eminence in a land- 
 scape way which Rousseau attained, though his natural gifts 
 were no less splendid. Nevertheless, he achieved great distinc- 
 tion and merits lasting fame, for he gave to the world much of 
 beauty, of grace, of delicate charm, and his name will remain 
 forever on the honor roll of his profession. To classify him in 
 the ranks of the painters is as difficult as it is to dissect his can- 
 vases. He may be judged by no standard save his own. Few 
 men have surpassed him in the full appreciation of the potenti- 
 alities of color. It would seem as though he had accomplished 
 all the possibilities of the pigment that the palette offers. With 
 the keenest and most delicate sense in his best examples of the 
 decorative, he would occasionally sign some curious, inharmoni- 
 ous panel, commonplace, jarring, and inartistic ; yet to take 
 him at his best — and it is only thus that a man may be judged 
 — he yields to no one in his marvelous tonal qualities, his grace, 
 beauty, and original rendering. 
 
 If he gave to the world vagaries, and swerved from the 
 realism of the materialistic side of nature, he spoke the utter- 
 ances of a genuine poet, and he rarely had aught of the com- 
 monplace to say. His mission was to tell the story of ele- 
 gance and beauty of color and tone ; he bothered little with 
 the serious problems of mankind in his pictures. The joyous 
 side of life he found full of interest; the gay, the brilliant, 
 and the happy views of existence and nature held him as by 
 a spell, exercising a weird fascination that he was unable to 
 resist, if, indeed, he ever had any such desire. So he told his 
 
 18 
 
138 
 
 MODERN FRENCH 
 
 MASTERS 
 
 simple tales, with engaging frankness, in his own way, and the 
 narrations had always the charm of the man's personality, the 
 subtle touch of a delicate nature, appreciative of the many 
 varying expressions of the different emotions upon which, like 
 the skilled performer on some instrument, with a full com- 
 mand of the strings, he played with vibrating touch. 
 
 We may not go far to find the reasons for his success. He 
 spoke from his soul, with a sincerity and a candor unmistak- 
 able. He painted because he loved to paint, and he succeeded 
 because he gave himself up to that which returned him the 
 most pleasure, and with which he was in fullest sympathy. 
 He rose above laws and technic ; he was superior to academic 
 formulas. In the end, his very weakness was his strength, for 
 the fire of his impetuosity burned so brightly as to light up his 
 efforts with a glow that has never dimmed. 
 
 Diaz continued to send his work to the Salon from year to 
 year, no less than ten examples being hung in 1847. In 1844 
 he had received a third-class medal, in 1846 one of the second- 
 class, and in 1848 a first-class medal. In this year he also 
 entered into a competition for a government decoration, in 
 which however he was unsuccessful. In 1851 he was made a 
 Chevalier of the Legion of Honor, and at a dinner given to 
 the new Officers he showed evidence of his impetuous nature 
 by giving a toast that made a scene in that notable gathering. 
 His friend, Rousseau, had been overlooked in the matter of 
 recompenses, the red ribbon having passed him by. Against 
 this injustice Diaz protested with much vehemence, the 
 strong counsel of his intimates only preventing the return of 
 his own decoration. Standing up at the table, he loudly pro- 
 posed the health of " Theodore Rousseau, our master who has 
 been forgotten." 
 
 In 1857 he built a studio in Paris, on the Boulevard de 
 Clichy. Here he entertained with great hospitality, his beau- 
 tiful rooms being fitted up with much artistic prodigality. 
 Two sons were born to him, Emile, who early gave evidence 
 of his father's talent, and Eugene, who became a musician 
 of some note. The first was a pupil of Rousseau, who had for 
 him a great affection. He was, however, more of a poet than 
 a painter, and to his father's great grief he died in early man- 
 hood. The second boy survived his father, and lived to com- 
 
NARCISSE-VIRGILIO DIAZ DE LA PENA 139 
 
 pose successful music. Indeed it was attending the first rep- 
 resentation of his son's "La Coupe du Roi de Thule" at the 
 opera, that Diaz contracted the first serious illness that weak- 
 ened his constitution — a heavy cold resulting from a long 
 wait for his carriage in a drafty corridor. He lived for nearly 
 seventy years, dying in November, 1876, at Mentone, where 
 he had gone in search of health. To the last he retained the 
 vigor and enthusiasm of his youth, working with the fervor 
 and freshness of a student. He passed away rich, prosperous, 
 and full of honors, and he was laid to rest in the cemetery of 
 Montmartre, mourned by his confreres and regretted by the 
 whole art world. It was Jules Dupre, his intimate friend and 
 fellow-painter, who said with a sigh as he stood at the open 
 grave : " The sun has lost one of its most beautiful rays." 
 
 Aethue Hoebee. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 A RTHUR HOEBER was born in 
 -t-^ New York city in 1854. He be- 
 gan the study of art at the Art Stu- 
 dents' League in his native city under 
 J. Carroll Beckwith. He soon went 
 to Paris, and studied for six years un- 
 der Gerome, at the Ecole des Beaux- 
 Arts, and with Gustave Courtois, 
 making his debut at the Salon in 1883, 
 with a canvas entitled " Sur la Grande 
 Route," following this, in 1885, with 
 
 " Le Pain Quotidien." Since his return 
 to New York he has exhibited yearly 
 at the National Academy, the Society 
 of American Artists, and the Amer- 
 ican Water Color Society. He is a 
 painter of the figure, landscape, and 
 genre, and in addition has written for 
 some years on art topics. He is at 
 present the art critic of the " New 
 York Times." 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
CONSTANT TROYON 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM H. HOWE 
 
CONSTANT TROYON 
 
 (1810-1865) 
 
 CONSTANT TROYON, one of the most brilliant stars of 
 the now celebrated Fontainebleau-Barbizon school, was 
 born at Sevres in 1810, of hiunble bnt respectable parentage. 
 Little, if anything, is known of his early boyhood. At an early 
 age he entered the Government Manufactory of Porcelains at 
 Sevres, where his father was employed, and under his instruc- 
 tion and guidance he began his career as a decorator of china, 
 showing at the start much talent for color and design. 
 
 His father was doubtless his first master, and he also was 
 taught something by his grandsire Riocreux and by Poupart. 
 We know little about what this instruction was, but it was 
 likely of a classic kind, like all the instruction at that time. 
 But Troyon was of an absorbing nature, and was quick to take 
 hints from fellow-workers in the factory at Sevres, and among 
 the decorators Troyon soon met and formed intimate compan- 
 ionship with Diaz and Dupre, never dreaming at that time that 
 their combined influence would in after years help lay the 
 foundation of a new school in landscape art, the fame of which 
 has since become world-wide, and the influence of which has 
 affected the entire landscape art of this century. In this tri- 
 umvirate Troyon stands out unique, distinctive, and unrivaled 
 in his way. 
 
 Being of a restless nature, time never found him idle, but 
 early and late, before and after work-hours, he was engaged in 
 the study of nature. He was a hard student, and true to his 
 own convictions ; he pursued nature, and tried to interpret 
 truthfully the impressions she conveyed to him. He looked 
 
 143 
 
144 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 upon her from his own peculiar vantage ground, grasping her 
 meanings with an individual and unbiased mind, and when he 
 reproduced his impressions upon canvas, he did not fail to give 
 the stamp of that individuality. 
 
 At the age of twenty he started upon his career as a land- 
 scape-painter, seeking only occasional employment among the 
 porcelain-workers to obtain the ordinary means of livelihood. 
 One day, on one of his sketching tours, he was fortunate enough 
 to fall in with Camille Roqueplan, the romantic landscapist, and 
 from him he obtained some valuable suggestions, which served 
 to clear away many encumbrances of detail in his art, which 
 were the natural result of his miniature work on porcelain. 
 These suggestions seem to have first opened his eyes to the 
 depths and breadths, the relations of masses in nature, which 
 in after years gave to his work that largeness of truth that 
 we now enjoy in his pictures. It was fortunate for Troy on 
 that he met Roqueplan, for that painter, though a lesser light 
 of the romantic movement, had the true principles of landscape 
 art, and he did not fail to influence Troyon in the right direc- 
 tion. Frequent visits to Roqueplan in Paris, and a meeting 
 with Rousseau, followed. On the former's advice, Troyon in 
 1832 established himself in Paris, and was soon making his 
 way among his fellow- artists, working in the same field with 
 Rousseau, Diaz, and Dupre. 
 
 To the public generally Troyon is known almost exclu- 
 sively as a cattle-painter, but his paintings of sheep and dogs 
 are quite as numerous. His dogs show even greater study and 
 mastery than his cattle, especially in point of draftsmanship. 
 A few years ago, while sketching in the forest of Fontaine- 
 bleau, I learned much regarding Troyon and his fondness for 
 dogs from an old man who in Troyon's time was the lodge- 
 keeper of the royal kennels. He informed me that he had 
 posed many times for Troyon, and described several of his 
 well-known works, for which he had served as a model, one of 
 which, I well remember, was sold in the Secretan collection 
 sale in Paris, and, I believe, was subsequently brought to the 
 United States. This work represented a forester wearing a 
 blue blouse, surrounded by a group of hunting-dogs in leash, 
 a most worthy example, full of color, strong in light and shade, 
 and the animals well rendered both in life and action. The 
 
CONSTANT TROYON 
 
 115 
 
 old man was simply wrapped up in fond remembrance of his 
 friend, and had a way of saying, "Troy on was a jolly old boy"; 
 and again, " Those were jolly old days"; and " Those other fel- 
 lows, Millet, Diaz, and Rousseau, used to get together at night- 
 time and make the hours merry with their jokes and boyish 
 pranks." Troy on, he told me, would get up at all horns of the 
 night and keep everybody else awake playing with the dogs. 
 He was greatly attached to his dogs, and they were his con- 
 stant companions at all times. No doubt his loving preference 
 for these animals gave him a power of treatment and realistic 
 conception of their action not always shown in his pictures of 
 sheep and cattle. 
 
 Another picture from the Secretan Collection, formerly in 
 the collection of Baron Lieberman, and now belonging to Mr. 
 Win. H. Fuller of New York, is also a striking piece of power 
 and simplicity. Here Troyon gives us an example of simple 
 field life, of unusual strength and drawing. The cattle are 
 simply handled and well modeled, displaying a characteristic 
 quiet and contentment. The rich red coloring, the modeling, 
 the light and shade of the cow lying down, are exceedingly well 
 rendered. This is equally true of the black cow standing un- 
 der the tree. The landscape, which represents a vast stretch 
 of flat meadow ending with low hills, displays charming atmo- 
 spheric effect in its light and air, and the gray sky and blue 
 distance harmonize beautifully with the foreground and mid- 
 dle distance. Troyon here introduces the peasant, and he 
 shows how well he understands the character of the peasant's 
 humble life and calling. We also get some glimpse of his 
 treatment of dogs — this time it is the black shepherd-dog, 
 almost human in his intelligence as he watches and guards 
 the herd. This whole work, with its unusual simplicity and 
 breadth, its grasp of the essentials, its truth of character, and 
 its power of technical accomplishment, must always be re- 
 garded as one of Troyon's greatest successes. 
 
 But it must not be forgotten that years before Troyon took 
 up the study of animals he was known only for his landscape 
 work, which, from the start, was marked by distinction and 
 success; and in this branch of his art alone he won all the 
 honors which were accorded to him during his life-time. In 
 the year 1832, at the age of twenty-two, he exhibited his first 
 
 19 
 
146 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 work in the Salon. Three years after (1835) he gained his first 
 honor, a medal of the third class ; in 1840 he obtained a 
 medal of the second class ; in 1846 the medal of the first class; 
 and finally, in 1849, the lofty distinction of the Cross of the 
 Legion of Honor. So highly were Troyon's works regarded at 
 this time that, immediately after his decoration, they trebled in 
 price, and he rapidly accumulated quite a fortune. Before he 
 reached the age of forty he had created a name for himself, 
 and this too before he had taken up the study of, or had painted 
 a single work showing, animal life as a motive. It was after 
 1848 that he entered a new field, and began the career of an 
 animal-painter. From that time up to his death he was de- 
 voted to this branch of art. 
 
 Troyon has always shown his greatest strength in handling 
 and modeling cattle rather than in drawing them. Many times 
 his draftsmanship was exceedingly faulty. His grouping, how- 
 ever, whether in field, roadway, or stable-yard, was almost al- 
 ways harmonious, vivid, and real. At times he was a little 
 conventional in his disposition of objects and in his effects. It 
 was impossible that the painter's brain should not grow weary 
 and his hand lag at times ; but no one ever studied the in- 
 stincts and inner life of animals, their habits, nature, and 
 character, more thoroughly than did he. His pictures carry 
 us from the warm stable-yard to the shady brooklet or the 
 sunny meadow, always giving to each its peculiar charm. For 
 my own part I never tire in tracing out his subtile meanings, 
 forgetting sometimes that they are the work of a great mas- 
 ter's mind and brush, and not nature itself, pure, simple, and 
 sublime. 
 
 And, with all his love of the truth and the essence of na- 
 ture and her creations, Troyon had also the pictorial sense. 
 He saw things picturesquely, put them together harmoniously, 
 surrounded them with a peculiarly poetic charm of sentiment, 
 and finally sent them forth as a completed work of art. The 
 color sentiment of the man alone was a feature of unusual 
 beauty. His clear, transparent blue skies, the depth of his 
 greens, the rich colorings and textures of his cattle, were all 
 given with a decorative sense of their value, and with a feeling 
 that these colors were beautiful in themselves, independent of 
 their meaning. And what a sense of the beautiful in light and 
 
CONSTANT TROYON 
 
 147 
 
 shade the man possessed ! Not alone in the massing of great 
 patches of shade along a row of trees, or in the foreground, or 
 the dashing of sharp light upon patches of open meadow, but 
 in so small a thing as the shadow cast in modeling the hip- 
 bone of a cow he showed an absorbing love for the relief of 
 light by dark. 
 
 Fond of travel, Troyon visited many provinces of France, 
 and, earnest worker that he was, he took delight in being con- 
 stantly in the field and meadow, the result being the creation 
 of an endless number of studies, many, in fact, finished pic- 
 tures. He once said to a friend that eighteen studies a month 
 were nothing unusual as a result of his labor. In his visits to 
 Holland, Troyon found much that interested him, and I can 
 quite comprehend his feeling on making his first trip to the 
 Lowlands, with their great expanse of far-reaching meadows, 
 their countless herds of cattle, their wonderful sky effects and 
 play of atmosphere, together with the endless chain of canals, 
 quaint old wind-mills, and picturesque villages, which ever 
 lend a charm of interest to painters. Once in Holland among 
 the masterpieces of Dutch art, the works of Rembrandt were 
 a revelation to him. He found pleasure in Cuyp and many 
 other masters of the Dutch school ; but Rembrandt gave him 
 the greatest delight, and his works were to him an influence 
 of mighty power. His contemporary painters in Holland ex- 
 tended to Troyon a brotherly welcome, the artists' gilds of all 
 the leading cities paid him high and distinguished honors, and 
 before he left he was made a member of the Academy of Am- 
 sterdam ; but his Holland pilgrimage taught him more of the 
 ancients than the moderns, and opened for him a new vein 
 of thought. Up to this time he had been for the most part 
 violent in the use of color, and many times harsh in outline, 
 but Rembrandt's works showed him how to use atmosphere 
 for softening outline, and how to gain outdoor space. From 
 Rembrandt, too, came that refinement and blending of color 
 which characterize the works of Troyon with which we are the 
 most familiar. 
 
 While in Amsterdam he made a copy of the celebrated 
 " Night Watch," and when Troyon returned to France he ex- 
 hibited in the Salon of 1849, not a cattle picture, as might 
 be supposed, but a landscape called the " Wind-mill," which 
 
148 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 clearly revealed the influence of Rembrandt. It was this pic- 
 ture that Theophile Gautier was so quick to recognize as a 
 masterpiece, and it was this picture that made Troyon Cheva- 
 lier of the Legion of Honor. There was some difficulty at first 
 about the decoration, for the President of the Republic did not 
 recognize the fine qualities of the picture so quickly as others, 
 and was disposed to think it looked like a piece of tapestry. 
 When the list of the decorated was brought to him to sign 
 by his Minister of the Interior, and he found Troyon's name 
 upon it, he remarked rather blandly: "It appears decidedly that 
 I know nothing about painting." He did not know too much 
 about it, but he graciously signed the order, nevertheless. 
 
 Perhaps Troyon's greatest power as an artist lay in his 
 ability to bring us face to face with the living, breathing truth 
 of nature. Take, for example, his large picture in the Louvre, 
 " Oxen going to Work," with its great canopy of morning sky, 
 the far-reaching sweep of field and orchard, the plodding oxen, 
 as they come toward us, casting then* long shadows before 
 them. One is almost disposed to step aside and make way for 
 them, it is all such a breathing truth. The enveloppe and the 
 atmospheric effect in this work are wonderfully well given, and 
 it is not only great in composition, but masterful in color, and 
 charming in its marked individuality. While the drawing of 
 the animals is clumsy, and the proportions badly given, yet the 
 masses are so well balanced, and the values so admirably ren- 
 dered, that we can praise it heartily in spite of some shortcom- 
 ings. It is said Troyon painted this work in fifteen days, yet 
 in that short time how truthfully he has painted it as a whole. 
 And what a forceful example it is to the student, showing as it 
 does what severe training and accurate knowledge of nature 
 are capable of producing. 
 
 The Metropolitan Museum in New York is fortunate in its 
 possession of a most superb work — a so-called "Holland Cat- 
 tle and Landscape " — representing Troyon at his very best. It 
 is unique in its qualities of composition and its choice of sub- 
 ject. In this work, showing a group of cattle in the foreground 
 partly in shadow, with others standing in the water or quietly 
 eating along the grassy banks, the combination of landscape 
 and sky effect is wonderfully well given. The play of light 
 and shade, the restless grouping of the cattle both in move- 
 
CONSTANT TROYON 149 
 
 ment and coloration, are well studied ; and the broad sweep 
 of lowland, with its far receding depth of wooded meadow 
 and marshy river-hanks carrying the eye to the low horizon 
 overhung with a summer blue sky, lends to the whole a gran- 
 deur and charm of atmospheric effect quite unparalleled in art. 
 Again, the stately oaks in the immediate foreground are beau- 
 tifully rendered in their depth of light and shade, while their 
 spreading branches and deep shadows impress one with a feel- 
 ing of the actual breadth, volume, and " leanness " of trees. 
 The purity of the greens in this work is, too, a masterly state- 
 ment of truth and freshness, and the glistening reflections in 
 the water sparkle with a light seldom achieved in painting. 
 
 Troyon's sheep pictures are almost as famous as his cattle 
 pieces. In them he gets what has been called a " bleating 
 truth." One feels the timidity of the fleecy flock and their 
 utter dependence on man's protection. A well-known work 
 in New York illustrates this with much force. A Norman 
 shepherd returning from the hills with his flock is met by two 
 stray cows, which dispute the right of way. The shepherd is 
 pictured in the act of clubbing the intruders. Here Troyon 
 is at his best. The action of the cow with uplifted head, the 
 stampede of the flock, illustrate very forcibly the blundering 
 nature of the cow and the timid character of the sheep. The 
 action and color of this picture are well and forcibly given, 
 and the wide stretch of rolling upland, the thatched roofs 
 of the peasants' homes, the far-reaching brilliant sky, all show 
 Troyon's masterly grasp of things entire. 
 
 Troyon's genius is to-day plainly recognized not only in the 
 country of his birth, but in England, Holland, Germany, and 
 America. No cattle painter of his day or of the j)resent time 
 can claim such wide-spread recognition. People may rave as 
 they please about Paid Potter's " Young Bull " at The Hague, — 
 to my mind a greatly over-rated picture, though deserving of 
 much praise as a careful study of a young bull, — but Potter as 
 an animal-painter was never the equal of Troyon. He could 
 paint isolated objects with harsh truth, but he never could 
 gain the whole, the ensemble of things, as compared with 
 Troyon. He could paint cow-hides and cow anatomy with 
 some precision, but Troyon could and did paint cow life. Ael- 
 bert Cuyp could give the truth of a cow's skeleton, the rack 
 
150 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 of bones and members, with exceptional force, but Troyon in 
 painting cow character, — the clumsy, wet-nosed, heavy-breath- 
 ing bovine — was vastly his superior. Again, Landseer could 
 humanize dogs and other animals, giving them a sentiment 
 quite opposite to their nature, but Troyon never distorted or 
 sentimentalized in any such way. He told the truth. The 
 timidity of sheep, the gentleness of cattle, the watchfulness 
 of dogs, were outer manifestations of their animal natures, and 
 these he gave with shrewd knowledge, and yet simply, quickly, 
 and without the painter's pedantry, from which we suffer so 
 much in these days. It has been said that he was the most 
 . sympathetic painter of this century. It may be added that 
 in the painting of animals and their homes he was the great- 
 est painter of this or any other century. 
 
 Troyon as a man shows all through his artistic and domes- 
 tic career. He was of powerful frame and constitution, and 
 seemed to enjoy the hardships and exposure to which the study 
 of out-of-door themes subjected him. Blessed with fine artistic 
 gifts, happy in disposition, with an extreme kindness of heart 
 and largeness of feeling, he was always surrounded by warm 
 and lasting friends. He was ever ready to help people in mis- 
 fortune, and his devotion to his mother during his life was 
 almost pathetic. She in turn repaid that devotion not only by 
 her kindly acts to him, but by her good deeds to young men 
 following in the footsteps of her illustrious son. She estab- 
 lished in Paris the Troyon prize for students in animal life, 
 affording an incentive for young Frenchmen to carry out the 
 example he had set for their guidance. 
 
 Troyon never married. His life was devoted to his art and 
 to those around him. He died in 1865, leaving behind him an 
 exalted name. His remains found a resting-place in the old 
 historic Montmartre cemetery, Paris. Visitors to this inter- 
 esting spot will find his monument on the right of the avenue 
 called by his name. It is easily found. The avenue intersects 
 a circle a few yards beyond the cemetery entrance. Upon 
 reaching this circle turn to the right, and a few steps will 
 bring you to Troyon's grave, which is marked with a marble 
 monument. 
 
 He exhibited in the Salon from 1833 to 1865 in all sixty 
 pictures. Two are in the Louvre : " Oxen going to Work " 
 
CONSTANT TRO YON 
 
 151 
 
 (1855), "Return to the Farm" (1859). Three more are in 
 Montpellier : "Flock of Sheep," "Drinking Place," and "Drink- 
 ing Place at La Touque" (1853). In Leipsic: "Cows in Pas- 
 ture" (1851). In the Ravene Gallery, Berlin, two fine ex- 
 amples: "Two Dogs in Leash" (1854), and "Cattle Piece" 
 (1855). Hamburg, Havre, and LiUe have good examples of his 
 landscapes. Many masterpieces have found homes in public and 
 private collections in the United States, and I am glad to say 
 that there is an excellent example of him in the Metropolitan 
 Museum in New York, — a picture I have already described, — 
 and also a most characteristic sketch of a white cow, which 
 shows how thoroughly he knew each action and impulse of the 
 animal he loved to paint, and how thoroughly he was in 
 sympathy with his subject. 
 
 William H. Howe. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY HOWE was 
 born in Ravenna, Ohio, in 1844. 
 He studied art in Europe under Otto 
 de Thoren and Vuillefroy, first at 
 Dusseldorf in 1880, and afterward for 
 twelve years in Paris. He has devoted 
 himself largely to the painting of 
 cattle, and his pictures have been 
 seen in the Salon and other yearly art 
 exhibitions for the past dozen years. 
 He received a medal of the third class 
 at the Salon of 1886, a medal of the 
 
 second class at the Paris Exposition 
 of 1889, and gold medals at London, 
 Boston, and Philadelphia (Temple 
 prize) in 1890. Other medals have 
 been awarded him at the World's Fair, 
 at San Francisco, at the Atlanta Ex- 
 position, and in Paris in 1896 he was 
 made an Officier de P Academic Mr. 
 Howe is also an associate of the Na- 
 tional Academy of Design. His pic- 
 tures are largely in private galleries, 
 though one is in the St. Louis museum. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
CHARLES -FRANCOIS DAUBIGNY 
 BY 
 
 D. W. TRYON 
 
 20 
 
CHARLES -FRANgOIS DAUBIGNY 
 
 (1817-1878) 
 
 AN excuse seems necessary for a new monograph of an 
 -XTjL artist so well known in life and character as Charles- 
 Francois Daubigny. I do not know that I have the excuse, 
 but perhaps I can plead personal relationship with him, since 
 he was my master. For the artist I have always had the great- 
 est admiration ; the man I remember most gratefully as the 
 kindly, unpretentious person who welcomed me, a stranger in 
 France, when as a student I went to his studio seeking advice. 
 
 My acquaintance with him began in the winter of 1877. I 
 was at that time working in one of the academies of Paris 
 drawing and painting from the nude. While I was convinced 
 of the value of systematic academic training as a basis of edu- 
 cation, like many another student I had become weary of the 
 conventional methods and standards of the schools, and longed 
 for more individual freedom, more advanced and liberal stan- 
 dards of criticism. I determined to consult some painter whose 
 work gave evidence both of technical skill and natural artistic 
 endowment. For years the work of Daubigny had charmed 
 me with its freshness, virility, and truth, and I resolved to go 
 to him. 
 
 Selecting such studies of the figure as I thought would 
 best represent me, and incidentally adding some studies made 
 about Paris, I called at Daubigny's studio, in the rue Notre 
 Dame de Lorette. Daubigny in person responded to my 
 knock, and bade me enter. In such French as I had at my 
 command I explained to him the object of my visit. With 
 the modesty and naivete which were such marked traits of 
 
 155 
 
156 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 his character he asked where I had heard of him, and why I 
 sought his advice. In reply, I said I had long known and re- 
 spected his work, and added that his name was as well known 
 in my own country as in France, and that many examples of 
 his work were to be found in all of our larger cities. He 
 seemed quite surprised at this, and said he knew of but one 
 of his pictures owned in America, and that that one had gone 
 to Boston ; but he added : " The dealers scatter them, and I 
 rarely know their destination." After a few moments he ex- 
 amined my work, and remarked of my academic studies: "We 
 all go through more or less of that work. I think you have 
 had enough, and are ready to go to the country." He was 
 good enough at this first meeting to speak quite freely of his 
 views of art, and, by way of illustration, he showed me many 
 of his studies and sketches, pointing out certain features which 
 he wished to make clear to me. It was finally arranged, 
 greatly to my satisfaction, that I was to take my sketches to 
 him for criticism, and that he was to be my guide in land- 
 scape-painting — an arrangement that held good up to a short 
 time previous to his death. 
 
 In order to appreciate the position held by Daubigny in the 
 art-world of his day, it becomes almost a necessity to trace 
 the peculiar conditions which led up to, and made possible, the 
 growth of a group of painters of such individual and collective 
 power as the so-called Fontainebleau-Barbizon school — the 
 men of 1830. The popular art of the time was unlike, and in 
 general antagonistic to its growth, and the men who formed 
 this group were living protests to the conventional, classic 
 methods in vogue at that period. In the early part of this 
 century, art, which had for a time languished under flippancy 
 and frivolity, began again to take life. Under the direction of 
 Napoleon, hundreds of works of art which had been confiscated 
 by him (mainly in Italy) were removed to Paris. Never before 
 had so many masterpieces of painting and sculpture been seen 
 in France. An artist of that period, writing from Paris, said : 
 " Not even in Italy can more or better pictures be seen." A 
 regular system of expenditure for art purposes, which had 
 been for years abandoned, was again resumed by the govern- 
 ment. The Prix de Rome was reestablished, and the winners 
 
CHARLES-FRANgOIS DAUBIGNY 
 
 157 
 
 of both first and second prizes were exempted from military 
 duty. 
 
 The result of such patronage was felt in the various fields 
 of art. Production increased, but the general caste of art was 
 cold and classic, and little of vital force was produced. The 
 Classic school, of which David was the head, held its sway for 
 a long time, but finally it gave way to the more intense ideas 
 of the Romanticists. When in 1819 Grericault exhibited his 
 " Raft of the Medusa," and soon after Delacroix showed his 
 " Dante and Virgil," a new impulse was given to art, a new life 
 had come to it, and many pictures of passion and torture — the 
 Sturm unci Drang of Romanticism — were the result. Land- 
 scape art, under the men of 1830, seems to have followed some- 
 what the same general course, for it was in measure the con- 
 sequence and the development of Romanticism. From the 
 classical formulas of Italy the painters turned their attention 
 to the fields and skies of France. From the dark pictures of the 
 Holland schools, which also played a part in the education of 
 the French landscape-painters, they turned to the forest of 
 Fontainebleau and the plains of Barbizon, though many of 
 them were slow to give up the classic conception and the som- 
 ber charm of Ruysdael and Hobbema. In 1822 Bonington ex- 
 hibited in the Salon two views of Normandy which were hailed 
 with enthusiasm by the younger painters. Two years later a 
 collection of pictures by English artists was shown in Paris. 
 Three by Constable roused a storm of discussion, and without 
 doubt did much in pointing out to French painters the model of 
 nature and the necessity of individual methods in interpreting 
 her many phases. 
 
 The period which culminated in the so-called Fontaine- 
 bleau-Barbizon school is unquestionably the most important 
 epoch in the history of landscape-painting which the world 
 has yet known. At other periods, and in other countries, there 
 have appeared isolated men of great ability and power in land- 
 scape, but never before in art history have so many painters 
 of individual power been at one time associated in a general 
 art movement, working together in a group with ideas and 
 methods in such perfect accord. The names of Michel, Dupre, 
 Corot, Rousseau, Troy on, Diaz, and others have become famil- 
 
158 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 iar to all. One of the youngest of this group of painters was 
 Charles -Francois Daubigny. 
 
 He was born at Paris, February 15, 1817. His father, 
 Edme -Francois Daubigny, was a painter and teacher of draw- 
 ing, who occasionally exhibited at the Salon. With an inher- 
 ited tendency to art, and surrounded as he was from infancy 
 by art works, the youthful Daubigny early learned the use of 
 pencil and brush. Being a weak and somewhat sickly child, 
 he was sent into the country in charge of an old nurse who 
 lived at Valmondois, near Isle -Adam. Here he spent his early 
 days, and gained health and strength among the quiet scenes 
 of the river country. The impression made on the child by 
 this charming country seems to have been a lasting one, for 
 in later years he returned to the scenes of his boyhood, and 
 near by, at Auvers, he built his home. In this vicinity were 
 painted most of the river views which are so familiarly asso- 
 ciated with his name, and which to-day are ranked among his 
 finest works. 
 
 At the age of ten he was taken back to Paris, and as the 
 family was poor, the boy began to add to the slender family 
 income by painting such useful articles as fans, snuff-boxes, 
 and even advertising and business signs. The discipline which 
 he received by such labor made him early a self-supporting boy, 
 and no doubt laid the foundation of industry and the capacity 
 for hard work which were marked traits of his character. 
 
 Little of interest occurred during his boyhood in Paris. He 
 worked incessantly and in many directions, painting useful and 
 ornamental articles for the means of existence, but not entirely 
 neglecting the needs of a higher education. He made frequent 
 visits to the scenes of his childhood, and gathered many studies 
 of river and meadow. The streets of Paris also furnished ma- 
 terial for his brush, and many studies of familiar places are to 
 be found among his early works. 
 
 When seventeen years old, Daubigny, in company witli a 
 friend and room-mate named Mignan, started on a strange art 
 pilgrimage to Italy. To pay for the trip they had together 
 saved from time to time such small sums as could be spared 
 from living expenses. For a safe they had utilized a hole in 
 the wall of their room, into which the precious coin which was 
 to help them forward was dropped, bit by bit, until the end of 
 
CHARLES-FRANCOIS DAUBIGNY 
 
 159 
 
 the year. The wall was then broken open, and they found the 
 sum of 1800 francs at their disposal. 
 
 Henriet, in his memoirs, " Charles Daubigny et son CEuvre," 
 narrates : 
 
 Daubigny and Mignan set out, knapsack on back, heavily shod, 
 stick in hand, intoxicated with sunshine and liberty. They felt that 
 all the world was their own. Their walk was one long enchantment, 
 as they saw new perspectives open every moment before their eyes, 
 and a succession of panoramas unrolled, at the richness, the accent, 
 and the variety of which they marveled. Beyond Lyons they recog- 
 nized with ecstasy the presence of the South by the intenser light of 
 the sky and the grandeur of the landscape, dressed in a vegetation 
 unknown in our latitudes — the olive, the cypress, the plane-tree, the 
 pine, all the beloved trees of the antique idyl. They passed at last 
 across the delightful garden shut in on the left by the first mountains 
 of the Alps, and on the right of them shone in the sunlight the peaks 
 of the Cevennes. At last they trod the epic soil of Italy. 
 
 They visited Florence, Rome, and Naples, and finally settled 
 at the old Roman watering-place of Subiaco, where they made 
 many interesting studies of landscape. Unlike Corot, whose 
 poetic nature absorbed much of the classic beauty of Italy, and 
 whose sojourn there was reflected in many of his finest works, 
 Daubigny seems to have been little influenced by his trip, and 
 his art gives us no intimation of his ever having been there so 
 far as its spirit is concerned. His intuitions were perhaps more 
 direct and local than those of Corot, and while his nature was 
 not lacking in the poetic instinct, it required the familiar scenes 
 of his own country to awaken it. 
 
 The two friends remained in Italy about a year, when they 
 again set out, this time for Paris, to which place they walked 
 all the way, arriving nearly penniless. Soon after his return 
 Daubigny entered the studio or picture -hospital of M. Granet, 
 keeper of the king's pictures, where, as he said, he became ex- 
 pert at mending cracks in the old masters, and in the general 
 restoration of old pictures. He also began the serious study of 
 engraving and etching, and scarcely an illustrated book of im- 
 portance at that period but had something from his hand. His 
 etchings, which number over one hundred, are like his paint- 
 ings, very direct and frank, excelling by their massing of lights 
 and darks rather than by their linear drawing. 
 
160 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 In 1838 Daubigny made his first appearance at the Salon 
 with his picture of " The Chancel End of Notre Dame de 
 Paris," which attracted little attention. His early pictures 
 were very minute and careful in detail, and gave little suggestion 
 of the breadth and strength of his later work. In 1840 he 
 exhibited at the Salon " St. Jerome in the Desert," one of the 
 very few of his attempts at classic work. The landscape in 
 this composition consisted of a chain of rugged hills under an 
 evening sky, with St. Jerome kneeling in prayer ; and was de- 
 scribed at the time as a terrible pile of rocks a la Salvator." 
 The classic flavor of the picture recommended it to the acade- 
 micians of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, who suggested that 
 Daubigny make an effort for the Prix de Rome. With the 
 intention of competing for the prize, he entered the studio 
 of Paul Delaroche. He passed the preliminary concours, but 
 failed to win the Prix de Rome, having been absent at a cer- 
 tain time, which disqualified him. Although he regretted this 
 at the time, it was doubtless a blessing in disguise. He was 
 driven to the fields and thrown upon his own resources, and 
 the freshness and beauty of nature more than compensated for 
 the artificial methods which he might have learned in the aca- 
 demic school. From this time forward nature was to be his 
 guide and mistress, and the rivers and fields of his own country 
 his chief subjects. 
 
 With the exception of the period from 1842 to 1846 he ex- 
 hibited annually at the Salon, and in 1848 he was awarded a sec- 
 ond-class medal. In 1853 his " Valley of the Optevoz " gained 
 him a first-class medal. He was now a recognized master, and 
 was hailed by the best critics as one of the first and most tal- 
 ented of the younger men. Count Clement de Ris, one of the 
 authorities of the period, says of the " Valley of the Optevoz ": 
 
 The eye rests on every part with pleasure, and floats undecided 
 between the sapphire of the sky and the velvet of the vegetation. 
 One seems to smell the clover and hay, to hear the hum of the insects, 
 and catch the sparkling of the light over the wheat-fields. 
 
 His " Lock of the Optevoz," which was exhibited at the Salon 
 two years later, was purchased by the government and is now 
 in the Louvre, as are also the "Springtime" and the "Vin- 
 
CHARLES -FRANCOIS DAUBIGNY 
 
 161 
 
 tage." The first two pictures are more finished in detail than 
 many of his later works, and are fine examples of the middle 
 period of his work. In the exposition of 1857 he was again 
 awarded a first-class medal, and was made a Chevalier of the 
 Legion of Honor. 
 
 He exhibited in 1859 his "Beach at Villerville" and the 
 " Banks of the Oise." The great success of the latter led him 
 to think of repeating such subjects. He had always been in 
 love with the river-scenes of his boyhood, and he finally de- 
 cided to build a home at Auvers, on the Oise, that he might 
 be constantly near the scenes with which he was in sympathy. 
 No more charming country for the painter can be found in 
 France than in this vicinity. The river Oise flows by the vil- 
 lage close at hand. The banks in many places are lined with 
 willows, above which tower luxuriant poplars. Green mea- 
 dows stretch far away, and are terminated by low cliffs or 
 gently rolling uplands. At intervals along the bank are often 
 seen groups of washerwomen, whose laughter and gossip mingle 
 with the sound of the bat plied with energy on the linen. 
 
 To facilitate sketching along the wet banks of the river, 
 Daubigny devised a boat which should serve as a house and a 
 studio in one. The result was the curious craft afterward 
 christened the Botin. It was about thirty feet long, flat like 
 a skiff, and, drawing little water, could be easily navigated by 
 oars or sails. In this boat Daubigny moved from place to place, 
 sketching at will. Sometimes he drifted at the mercy of wind 
 or current, making rapid notes of passing effects; or again, 
 moored to the banks, he would paint with care some lovely 
 stretch of river with busy figures in the foreground and a 
 stretch of distant hills beyond. He was a very rapid work- 
 man, laying in with quick, nervous strokes of the brush or pal- 
 ette-knife the masses of the picture. The number of sketches 
 which he brought back after a few days' journey was surpris- 
 ing, and many of the smaller pictures which are to-day found 
 in various collections are the results of a few hours' work, and 
 were rarely touched the second time. 
 
 From this boat were painted most of the river-scenes for 
 which he has become so justly famous. With his son Karl, or 
 some of his pupils, he made numerous excursions on the Seine, 
 the Marne, the Oise, and many tributary streams. Living, as 
 
 21 
 
162 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 he did, a simple life, cooking his own meals and acting in the 
 capacity of captain, cook, artist, and master, he was familiarly 
 called by his friends "Captain Daubigny." His kind and 
 hearty greeting to all made him everywhere welcome. The 
 children hailed with delight the strange craft with its genial 
 occupants, and when it became necessary to shift the moorings 
 their highest delight was to harness themselves to the tow- 
 rope, and assist in navigating the wonderful craft where lived 
 then bon capitaine. 
 
 From this floating studio Daubigny worked in close touch 
 with nature and directly from the model. The dweller ashore 
 is usually up too late to see the rising mist which the sun so 
 quickly dissipates; but from the Botin the last of the evening 
 glow and the earliest flush of dawn were watched and recorded. 
 It is not surprising that the painters who go for a few weeks 
 or a month to a strange country fail to render that subtile 
 charm which is the essence and the soul of every landscape. 
 Only to the persistent lover and close companion does nature 
 reveal her beauty, only to one who no longer looks upon her as 
 a stranger does she yield the secret of her charm. Yet Dau- 
 bigny was capable of more than a study from nature giving the 
 mere facts before him. He had a deep sentiment and feeling 
 about nature which he evinced in almost every work or sketch 
 that he painted. In one sense he was a true Impressionist, one 
 who possessed a sufficient knowledge of nature, and a sufficient 
 strength of memory, to record the most fleeting effects with 
 great force and veracity. 
 
 In 1861 he exhibited a "Moonrise" and the " Sheepfold," 
 pictures of great beauty and force ; and in 1866, at the solicita- 
 tion of artist friends in London, he visited that city and ex- 
 hibited a picture at the Royal Academy. It was badly hung, 
 and to make up in a manner for this ill-treatment it was 
 bought by one of the members of the Academy, who had tried 
 in vain to have it better placed. He did some sketching in 
 England, and I remember that on the walls of his studio were 
 se veral sketches of the muddy Thames with brown-sailed barges, 
 serving as memories of his visit to London. 
 
 He continued to exhibit from year to year pictures steadily 
 growing in breadth and force. In the Salon of 1876 he showed 
 the " Apple Orchard," a large picture rich with the waim greens 
 
CHARLES- 
 
 FRANCOIS 
 
 DAUBIGNY 
 
 163 
 
 of autumn, and the apples ripe for the pickers. A fine breezy 
 sky is over all, and forms an attractive note in the work. From 
 a visit in 1876 to the Normandy coast he brought back nu- 
 merous studies of the shore and the sea. His views of the 
 coast are among the best of his many works, and are filled with 
 suggestions of the salt breezes of La Manche, and the gray, voy- 
 aging clouds of the ocean. One of the studies made during this 
 visit I remember seeing at the Salon of 1877. It was a "View 
 of Dieppe," and is one of the most impressionistic sketches I 
 know from his brush. The picture is, I believe, owned in New 
 York city, and on seeing it the second time, a year ago, I was 
 confirmed in my opinion that it represents the most powerful 
 phase of his later work. 
 
 At this period his work had assumed a breadth of treatment 
 which told of a mind entirely occupied with the larger masses 
 and their relations to one another. In most of his later pictures 
 detail seems to have been almost entirely ignored. The ex- 
 perience of a long lifetime spent in trying to render the unity, 
 not only of the whole but of the parts, had given him such a 
 command of material, and such an appreciation of all that 
 was necessary to a complete impression, that his most vigorous 
 and simple work seems to contain all the necessary parts in 
 proper relationship. He never painted without a clear idea of 
 the impression of the whole, and while his work was done more 
 directly from nature than was the work of most of his contem- 
 poraries, it was far removed from the merely imitative. It was 
 always translative and creative, and therefore the work of a 
 master. Of methods, if he can be said to have had any, he 
 was entirely careless and unconscious. Whenever approached 
 by one who sought a manner or method of doing anything, he 
 would invariably say, " I know of none. I try to paint as di- 
 rectly and rapidly as possible what I see and feel." Vigor- 
 ous, spontaneous, and without ostentation, he painted as he 
 lived, freely, joyously, and honestly, revealing the man in the 
 artist, as all art must. 
 
 To his summer place, Auvers, many of the younger painters 
 were in the habit of going to sketch and seek the advice of 
 the master. In his relations to younger men he was always 
 most kind and considerate, treating them as comrades and 
 equals. His critical and analytical faculties were not particu- 
 
164 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 larly strong. He was easily pleased with his own work and 
 with the work of others ; and to this quality he owed most of 
 his stimulating power as a teacher. He seemed oblivious to 
 the bad in work, but invariably found whatever good there 
 might be, and this he praised without reserve. The effect was, 
 as I have said, stimulating and encouraging, and his pupils 
 made much progress under his teaching. He was quite as 
 ready to take as to give advice, and was always asking his pu- 
 pils to give their views on his own studies. 
 
 To this lack of a strongly developed critical faculty is due 
 to some extent his remarkable productiveness. While to his 
 larger and more important pictures he gave great care and 
 thought, with his smaller pictures and studies he was often too 
 easily satisfied. I have frequently seen him transpose a morn- 
 ing sketch, made in full gray light, into a sunset or twilight 
 by adding a note or two of vivid color at the horizon ; paying 
 little or no attention to the many notes of color necessary to 
 unite and harmonize two such differing effects. Had such in- 
 complete notes as these been kept for his own use, nothing 
 could be said in reproach about them or about their producer ; 
 but they were readily enough yielded up to dealers, who were 
 only too glad to get them at small prices. The effect of such 
 work being distributed broadcast is misleading, and is not cal- 
 culated to add to the general reputation of any painter. Only 
 to those having full knowledge of the best work of an artist- 
 can such fragments be of use, helping, as they then do, to a 
 complete understanding of the whole. 
 
 During the last years of Daubigny's life he was much 
 troubled by rheumatism, contracted by long exposure at all 
 times on the rivers of France. His constant regret was the 
 caution which his rheumatism required of him, and which 
 often kept him a prisoner in the house. He found it difficult 
 at times to use his right hand. On one of my visits to his 
 studio, I remember he was trying to paint with his left hand. 
 This, he said, he found possible but very difficult, remarking : 
 " I have to think twice before laying the color." 
 
 My last visit to his studio was made but a few weeks be- 
 fore his death, which occurred suddenly in Paris, February 19, 
 1 878. He was then in better health than usual. He spoke of 
 his rheumatism having left him for a time, and said he felt 
 
CHARLES-FRANgOIS 
 
 DAUBIGNY 
 
 165 
 
 more than usual zest and interest in his work. On his easels 
 stood two very large pictures nearly completed. These were 
 his last works, and in every way the best I have seen from his 
 brush. One was a most prosaic subject, showing the corner of 
 a stable and a mass of straw and litter in the foreground. 
 There were some trees in the distance, and over them a deep 
 blue sky with stars faintly seen. Low down, near the horizon, 
 the faint light of dawn told of the coming day. The whole ef- 
 fect was so just in color, and so full of the mystery of the hour, 
 that one felt the truth of it, given, as it was, with convincing 
 power. The other picture was a sheepfold with sheep nearly 
 life size. The shepherd was closing the gate, and the moon was 
 rising large and luminous in an opaline sky. Both were noble 
 examples of his work, and made a deep impression upon me. 
 I told him they seemed an advance over all his previous pic- 
 tures. He seemed pleased, and said he had hoped as much, 
 adding, " They are for my family." I asked if they were not 
 for sale, and he replied : " They are both too large and too bold 
 to find a purchaser ; all my best work remains with me, and are 
 pour la famUle? 
 
 A few days after seeing these pictures, I met one of the 
 most successful of the younger landscape-painters in France, 
 who had just returned from Daubigny's studio. He was en- 
 thusiastic over the two pictures he had seen there, saying they 
 were the grandest works of the year, and marked the painter as 
 the greatest living landscape-painter in France. He added, 
 " Many of the painters draw with more care and accuracy parts 
 of their work, but none have the same masterly command of 
 the whole as Daubigny.' 1 
 
 These last pictures, painted, as they were, with a new im- 
 pulse, and marking a distinct artistic advance, told of a man at 
 the age of sixty-one still growing in knowledge and power, of 
 a nature still young, fresh, and progressive. To the last he was 
 always ready to accept and encourage the efforts of other men. 
 He often spoke of work which was radical and even bizarre in 
 character, but in which he found some new mind struggling 
 for expression, and he would, in the face of strong opposition 
 from his brother artists, insist upon a just recognition of its 
 good qualities. 
 
 Many phases and qualities of nature he passed over and left 
 
166 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 untouched. Others have sung, and will continue to sing, songs 
 of nature of which he gave no hint ; but the sea and shore of 
 La Manche, and the orchards and fields of Auvers, and the 
 many rivers of central France, must always recall with pleasure 
 and admiration the life and art of Charles-Frangois Daubigny. 
 
 D. W. Teyon. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 D WIGHT WILLIAM TRYON 
 was born at Hartford, Conn., in 
 1849. He began painting at sixteen 
 without any instruction, and exhibited 
 at various exhibitions until he was 
 twenty-five. He went to Paris in 
 1876, studied at the Ecole des Beaux- 
 Arts, at the Atelier Jacquesson, also 
 with Daubigny, Harpignies, and Guil- 
 lemet. He first exhibited in the Salon 
 in 1881. He is a member of the Na- 
 tional Academy of Design, the Society 
 of American Artists, and the Ameri- 
 can Water Color Society. Since 1882 
 he has taken many prizes in competi- 
 tive exhibitions. In 1887 he won the 
 
 Hallgarten prize, in 1889 the Webb 
 prize, in 1889 the Ellsworth and Pal- 
 mer prizes at Chicago, and in 1895 the 
 first prize of the Cleveland Art Asso- 
 ciation. He was awarded a bronze 
 medal in Boston in 1882, two gold 
 medals in 188G and 1887 by the Amer- 
 ican Art Association, a medal of the 
 first class at the Munich International 
 Exposition, and thirteen medals at the 
 Columbian Exposition. He is a land- 
 scape-painter, and his pictures are in 
 private collections in France and in 
 Amei*ica. Several fine examples are 
 in the art gallery of Smith College. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
CLAUDE MONET 
 BY 
 
 THEODORE ROBINSON 
 
PRAWN ItY Til. ROBINSON 
 
 CLAUDE MONET 
 
CLAUDE MONET 
 
 (1840- ) 
 
 WHEN the group of painters known to-day as the Impres- 
 sionists exhibited together for the first time fifteen or 
 more years ago, they were greeted with much derision. In 
 fact, they were hardly taken seriously, being regarded either 
 as mountebanks or as poseurs who served the purpose of fur- 
 nishing the quick-witted but not infallible Parisians with 
 something to laugh at once a year. But they have seen their 
 influence increase steadily in a remarkable manner, first, as is 
 usually the case, with the painters, and latterly with the public. 
 
 It is a very superficial observer who sees in the Impression- 
 ists only a body of bad or inefficient painters who would at- 
 tract attention at any cost except that of study. The sum 
 total of talent represented by MM. Manet, Degas, Monet, Pis- 
 sarro, Caillebotte, Sisley, Renoir, Mile. Berthe Morisot, and 
 the American Miss Cassatt, not to mention others, is very con- 
 siderable. Of course there have appeared the men of small 
 talent, with their little invention, who have tacked themselves 
 on to the movement (notably the genius who imagined the fly- 
 speck or dot facture), and streaks and stripes have been con- 
 sidered a part of the new school's baggage. All this does not 
 take away from the fact that the influence of the movement 
 has been a healthful and a much-needed one. The movement 
 is to be thanked first, of course, for its independence and revolt 
 from routine, the chic and habilete of the schools ; and then for 
 its voice in behalf of pure, bright color and light, things of which 
 painters as well as the public have been more or less afraid. 
 That refined color must necessarily be dull color; that one 
 should not paint up too near white; that one should " husband 
 
170 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 his resources " ; and that if any qualities must be sacrificed, let 
 them be those of color and air — all these theories have been 
 stoutly and efficiently combated by the Impressionists. 
 
 Of them all M. Claude Monet is the most aggressive, the 
 most forceful painter, the one whose work is influencing this 
 present generation the most. If he has not, as M. Guy de 
 Maupassant says with enthusiasm, " discovered the art of 
 painting," he has certainly painted moving waters, skies, air, 
 and sunlight with a vividness and truth before unknown. 
 Though occasionally painting interior effects, he is, in my opin- 
 ion, most original as an open-air painter, and he has scored his 
 greatest success in that branch. No other painter has given us 
 quite such realism. Individual, and with the courage of his 
 opinions from the first, his work, while remaining substantially 
 the same in intention, has become larger and freer each year. 
 In the beginning there was a visible influence of Corot, as well 
 as certain mannerisms which have disappeared with increasing 
 knowledge. Superbly careless of facture, or at least with no 
 preoccupation in that direction, he has arrived at that greatest 
 of all factures, large, solid, and intangible, which best suggests 
 the mystery of nature. All painters working in the true Im- 
 pressionist spirit, and absorbed by their subject, must feel that 
 neat workmanship is not merely unworthy of the effort but 
 that it is practically impossible. No man can serve two mas- 
 ters, and this noble indifference to facture comes sooner or 
 later to all great painters of air, sea, and sky. 
 
 Most painters have been struck by the charm of a sketch 
 done from nature at a sitting, a charm coming from the one- 
 ness of effect, the instantaneousness, seldom seen in the com- 
 pleted landscape as understood by the studio landscape-painter. 
 M. Claude Monet was the first to imagine the possibility of 
 obtaining this truth and charm on a fair- sized canvas with 
 qualities and drawing unattainable in the small sketch. He 
 found it attainable by working with method at the same time 
 of day and not too long, never for more than an hour. Fre- 
 quently he will be carrying on at the same time fifteen or 
 twenty canvases. It is untrue that he is a painter of clever, 
 large pochades. The canvas that does not go beyond the 
 pochade state never leaves his studio, and his completed pic- 
 tures are often painted over many times. 
 
CLAUDE MONET 
 
 171 
 
 Though these details may be of some interest, the spiritual 
 side of the painter's work is vastly more important. M. Claude 
 Monet's art is vital, robust, healthy. Like Corot's, but in more 
 exuberant fashion, it shows the joy of living. It does not lack 
 thought, and many of his pictures are painted with difficulty; 
 but there is never that unhappy something which often gets 
 into a picture and communicates itself to the spectator, a sense 
 of fatigue, or abatement of interest in the motive. There is 
 always a delightful sense of movement, vibration, and life. 
 One of his favorite sayings is " La nature ne s'arrete pas." 
 Clouds are moving across the sky, leaves are twinkling, the 
 grass is growing. Even the stillest summer day has no feel- 
 ing of fixedness or of stagnation ; moving seas, rivers, and 
 skies have a great charm for him. 
 
 The exhibition of M. Claude Monet's work in the rue de 
 Seze in 1891 was a surprise to many on account of that variety 
 so rare in a collection of pictures by one painter. Those who 
 knew him only as a painter of sunlight saw him in a new vein 
 in the somber, rocky hillsides of La Creuse. There were Paris 
 streets and gardens, gay in movement and color, railway-sta- 
 tions, Holland tulip-fields, and Normandy winter landscapes. 
 One, of grain-stacks in the early morning, with a thin covering 
 of snow, was a most extraordinary piece of realism. Then the 
 sea, for which he has a lover's passion, seen from the Nor- 
 mandy chalk-cliffs, dazzling in sunlight, blue and green shadows 
 chasing one another across its surface, or seen again overlook- 
 ing the stormy waters and black rocks of Belle Isle ! And his 
 "Essais de Figures en Plein Air" — what charm of color and life ! 
 how they belong to the landscape in which they breathe and 
 move ! To my mind no one has yet painted out-of-doors quite 
 so truly. He is a realist, believing that nature and our own 
 day give us abundant and beautiful material for pictures : that, 
 rightly seen and rendered, there is as much charm in a nine- 
 teenth-century girl in her tennis- or yachting-suit, and in a 
 landscape of sunlit meadows or river-bank, as in the Lefebvre 
 nymph with her appropriate but rather dreary setting of " clas- 
 sical landscape " ; that there is an abundance of poetry outside 
 of swamps, twilights, or weeping damosels. Again M. Claude 
 Monet's work proves this fact, if there be need to prove it : that 
 there is no antagonism between broad daylight and modernity, 
 
172 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 and sentiment or charm ; that an intense lover and follower of 
 nature is not necessarily an nndiscriminating note-taker, a pho- 
 tographer of more or less interesting facts. Beauty of line, of 
 light and shade, of arrangement, above all, of color — it is but a 
 truism to say that nowhere except in nature can their secrets 
 be discovered. 
 
 M. Claude Monet's art leaves few indifferent if they but 
 study it long enough. There is a whole gamut of apprecia- 
 tion, from the Classicists who abhor him — as Ingres is said to 
 have spat at the sight of a Delacroix — to M. de Maupassant, 
 whose judgment I have already given. He is often aggressive, 
 sometimes wilfully so, and you feel that he takes a delight in 
 making the " heathen rage." There is always need of such 
 work and such painters. His work is quite as often sane and 
 reasonable, and should interest all who love nature. His paint- 
 ing, direct, honest, and simple, gives one something of the same 
 impression, the same charm, that one gets directly from the 
 great mother — nature herself. 
 
 One cause of the popular prejudice against Impressionism is 
 the supposed wilful exaggeration of color. No doubt restrained, 
 negative color pleases better the average mind, and only a col- 
 orist and searcher can use pure, vivid color with good effect, as 
 Monet certainly does. That there is more color in nature than 
 the average observer is aware of, I believe any one not color- 
 blind can prove for himself by taking the time and trouble to 
 look for it. It is a plausible theory that our forefathers saw 
 fewer tones and colors than we ; that they had, in fact, a simpler 
 and more naive vision ; that the modern eye is being educated 
 to distinguish a complexity of shades and varieties of color 
 before unknown. And, for a parallel, take the sense of taste, 
 which is susceptible of cultivation to such an extraordinary 
 degree that the expert can distinguish not only different va- 
 rieties and ages of wine, but mixtures as well; yet this sense 
 in the generality of mankind hardly exists at all. In like 
 manner a painter gifted with a fine visual perception of things 
 spends years in developing and educating that sense ; then 
 comes the man who never in his life looked at nature save in a 
 casual and patronizing way, and who swears he "never saw 
 such color as that." Which is right, or nearest right ? 
 
 Another cause of popular prejudice against Impressionism 
 
CLAUDE MONET 173 
 
 has been its supposed tendency toward image breaking and ec- 
 centricity. But in reality, while bringing forward new discov- 
 eries of vibration and color, the Impressionists in many ways 
 have been returning to first principles. Manet's " Boy with a 
 Sword " and the much discussed " Olympia " may claim kin- 
 ship with Velasquez for truth of values and for largeness and 
 simplicity of modeling, while the best Monets rank with the 
 best Daubignys, or, to go farther back, with the best Constables 
 in their self-restraint and breadth, combined with fidelity to 
 nature. 
 
 While the Impressionist movement is much in sympathy 
 with the naturalistic movement in literature, yet I should rather 
 insist upon its resemblance to the movement brought about by 
 Constable. In independence of thought and intense love of 
 nature, in the treatment received from public and critics, and 
 in their immediate influence on the younger painters of then 
 day, there is a remarkable similarity between Constable and M. 
 Monet. Leslie records in his life of the English painter how 
 Constable preaches against chic, then called bravura, "an attempt 
 to do something beyond the truth. Fashion always had and al- 
 ways will have its day, but truth in all things only will last and 
 can only have just claim on posterity." " The world is full 
 enough of what has been already done." " My execution an- 
 noys the scholastic ones. Perhaps the sacrifices I make for 
 lightness and brightness are too great, but these things are the 
 essence of landscape." 
 
 In 1824 some of Constable's landscapes exhibited in Paris 
 made a sensation. The French artists " are struck by their vi- 
 vacity and freshness, things unknown to their own pictures — 
 they have made a stir and set the students in landscape to think- 
 ing .... The critics are angry with the public for admir- 
 ing these pictures. They acknowledge the effect to be rich and 
 powerful, and that the whole has the look of nature and the 
 color true and harmonious ; but shall we admire works so un- 
 usual for then excellencies alone — what then is to become of 
 the great Poussin % — and they caution the younger artists to 
 beware of the seduction of these English works." A few years 
 later the younger artists began to profit by Constable's ideas, 
 and the noble Fontainebleau-Barbizon school of 1830 appeared, 
 carrying the art of landscape-painting another step in advance. 
 
174 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 It is not perhaps too soon to prophesy that in the same 
 manner the influence of M. Claude Monet on the landscape art 
 of the future will be strongly felt. Imitation can go but a 
 little way, and is always without value. But as the young 
 Frenchmen of 1830 profited by the example of Constable, and 
 adopted his discovery of breadth and values as we understand 
 them to-day, so will the coming landscape-men use the Im- 
 pressionist discoveries of vibration and the possibilities of pure 
 color, and, while careful to "hold fast to that which is good," 
 will go on to new and delightful achievement. 
 
 Theodore Robinson. 
 
MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 PART III 
 
JEAN-FRANCOIS MILLET 
 BY 
 
 WYATT EATON 
 
 23 
 
JEAN-FRANgOIS MILLET 
 
 (1814-1875) 
 
 I WAS at work under Grerdme at the Ecole des Beaux- Arts 
 in the winter of 1872-73. In the rue Bonaparte, near 
 the school, was an old print-shop, and in the windows were 
 engravings ancient and modern. Among them I noted most 
 frequently some woodcuts after Millet's drawings — one series, 
 " Morning," " Noon," " Evening," and " Night"; the other, eight 
 or ten drawings, were of figures at work, "Reaping," "Mow- 
 ing," " Chopping," " Spinning," etc. I was never tired looking 
 at these, and never got by the shop without stopping to see at 
 least the man mowing — the naturalness of the swing of his 
 body, his foot so firmly planted upon the earth. This was my 
 first acquaintance with Millet, although in America I had seen a 
 lithograph of his " Woman Sewing," which seemed like a Frere 
 to me, but larger and more robust. Some Americans of the 
 Latin Quarter went down to Barbizon in the winter for a few 
 days of recreation. When they came back they told me that 
 Barbizon was on the edge of the forest of Fontainebleau, that 
 Millet lived there near the hotel, and that his studio window 
 looked out on the street. On hearing this I was very sorry 
 that I had not gone down with the party, but resolved that in 
 the spring I would see Barbizon, the forest, and at least the 
 outside of Millet's house. 
 
 I saw one or two landscapes by Millet at Durand-Ruel's, 
 which did not impress me strongly at the time ; but I became 
 familiar with the works of Delacroix, Corot, Rousseau, Diaz, 
 and Jules Dupre, and my sympathies at once became concen- 
 trated upon these masters. Later in the spring, at an exhibi- 
 
 179 
 
180 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 tion at the Hotel Drouot, where all of these men and other 
 strong ones were represented in force, I saw a painting by 
 Millet — a mother sewing by an oil lamp, her baby asleep be- 
 side her. The reality of this scene, the naturalness of move- 
 ment, the perfection of expression, the charm, separated it from 
 all other pictures, and from that moment Millet was to me the 
 greatest of modern painters. 
 
 I went down to Barbizon in the early summer. I found 
 the hotel jolly, the forest grand, and Millet's large studio win- 
 dow always in view. The village was so small, with but one 
 narrow street, that I felt the chances strongly in favor of my 
 meeting Millet, and possibly of making his acquaintance. So, 
 with one or two sketches in the forest, I went back to Paris to 
 make one more study in the class, and to pack my traps pre- 
 paratory to laying in a stock of material for the summer at 
 Barbizon. 
 
 I worked hard, and saw a great deal of Millet's house and 
 studio from the street and the field behind, where a road ran 
 through, going into the forest. There was never an evening 
 that I did not go out for a walk, and whichever direction I took, 
 I always found that my road was by Millet's house in going 
 and that I came back by the same way. Millet's studio was a 
 detached building, separated from the house by a yard; the 
 house, like the studio, was built on the line of the wall on 
 the side of the road. The dining-room window opened into the 
 street, and I sometimes got a glimpse of the family as they sat 
 at their evening meal — a cheerful, noisy lot of young people ; 
 and at the table, later in the evening, I once saw Millet's face 
 distinctly in profile : the nose seemed very long, and I thought 
 he looked like the portrait of Titian. No one at that time 
 could have persuaded me that I should ever sit in that cheerful 
 home and talk with Millet. I found that very little was seen 
 of him in the village. I met a number of artists who had lived 
 for a long time at Barbizon, but none of them seemed to know 
 him. " Siron's," the inn, was the general resort for the artist 
 inhabitants of the place, and they, together with the boarders, 
 made a noisy crowd in the billiard and dining rooms in the 
 evening or on a rainy afternoon ; but Millet never came there 
 to drink a glass of beer or to play a game of billiards. So the 
 artists called him a bear, and had doubts of his ability to paint ; 
 
COLLECTION OF THE LATE FREDERICK L. AM US 
 
 EKQBAVED BY W. fa. CLOSSON 
 
 THE CHURNER." BY MILLET 
 
JEAN- FRANCO IS MILLET 
 
 181 
 
 but the peasant people found in him a good neighbor neverthe- 
 less, and if any one was in trouble Madame Millet was the first 
 person thought of in the way of aid. 
 
 By good fortune I became acquainted with Mr. William 
 Babcock, of Boston, who had lived abroad for many years, and 
 at that time had become a fixture at Barbizon. His house was 
 filled with engravings, photographs, or casts of nearly all the 
 finest things that had been produced in art, and in him I found 
 a man responding in every thought to the beauties of the trea- 
 sures of art and nature about him. He had taken some lessons 
 from Millet many years before in Paris, and always had seen 
 a good deal of him, and his enthusiasm for Millet and Millet's 
 work was without bounds. He had bought from Millet at dif- 
 ferent times a number of drawings and sketches, some of them 
 of great beauty and rare finish. He also had, hanging about his 
 studio, several studies in oil and some finished paintings by 
 Millet, also several by Delacroix and Diaz. All these he had 
 bought for small sums, saved from a limited income, while 
 studying in the schools of Paris. Thus, while in the country 
 painting from nature, I was able to increase my knowledge of 
 ancient art and of the best modern masters. Babcock had care- 
 fully preserved photographs of everything of Millet's that had 
 been reproduced. With these, the drawings, and Babcock's 
 descriptions I became acquainted more fully with Millet's art 
 and its history. I found to be true what I had felt from the 
 first, that Millet was one man in a century ; that his love and 
 sympathy for nature were unbounded. I had suffered much 
 pain in finding — I imagined it so at least — that but few artists 
 really loved nature. They seemed to care only for that which 
 it suited them to paint ; but in Millet I had found a man who 
 adored the stars, the moon, and the sun, the earth, the air, and 
 everything that the sun shone upon. And through this love 
 everything that he touched, frequently the least things of the 
 earth, became monuments. I felt it a privilege to live so near 
 this man. 
 
 Thus I passed the summer with much hard and pleasant 
 work and with many plans and schemes for a visit to Millet, 
 but always abandoning them as soon as made. Finally the 
 nearness for the time of my return for the re-opening of the 
 schools in Paris gave me a new courage. So one Sunday, judg- 
 
182 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 ing carefully the probable hour that the Millet family would 
 have finished their noonday meal, I tapped at the door and 
 asked for Francois, the eldest son, with whom I had made 
 a bowing acquaintance through occasional meetings in the 
 fields or woods. I asked him for his father's permission to 
 visit his studio ; also the privilege of calling upon hhn at his 
 own studio. The last request he at once granted, and going 
 to his father brought word that he would see me in half an 
 hour. This time I spent in trembling and happy expectancy, 
 returning at the time fixed. Millet gave me a friendly shake 
 of the hand and showed me through the door of his sacred 
 workroom. 
 
 Everything was plain and gray. An old green curtain hung 
 across the lower part of the window, which is not unusual in a 
 studio, but two features seemed to me to belong distinctively 
 to this. The window was at the left on entering the room ; at 
 the farther end, beyond the easel, was a large mirror, which I 
 imagined was used by Millet to study a movement which he 
 would give himself, or a detail of folds from his own clothing. 
 I am warranted in this from his having used this mirror in call- 
 ing my attention to certain facts of form and detail upon his 
 own body while criticizing, upon another day, some drawings 
 that I had brought him. The other object which struck me 
 was a curtain suspended from the nearer side of the window and 
 hanging at right angles with it. Behind this Millet would retire 
 to look at his work or to show it to visitors, the curtain inter- 
 cepting the light, and making the picture seen with greater ease. 
 
 The walls were of plaster, darkened by time ; heavy rafters 
 crossed the ceiling; a few plaster casts hung about the walls — 
 reliefs from the Trajan Column, heads by Donatello and Luca 
 della Robbia, the arm of Michelangelo's " Slave," some small 
 Gothic figures and antique torsos, besides some Gothic figures 
 carved in wood, of which Millet was very fond. All the studio 
 accessories or decorations were so unobtrusive that I did not 
 see any of them on my first visit. No pictures were in sight. 
 A large frame hanging over the already mentioned mirror, 
 which I afterward found to contain a rather highly colored 
 seventeenth-century master, was covered with a quiet drapery, 
 but the end and right-hand-side walls were closely stacked with 
 canvases and with frames for temporary use containing can- 
 
JEAN-FRANCOIS MILLET 183 
 
 vases, all standing on the floor, their faces turned to the wall. 
 Immediately upon entering the studio Millet took one of these, 
 and, placing it upon the easel in the middle of the room, sig- 
 naled me to stand with him behind the curtain, which placed 
 us at a considerable distance from the picture. He put before 
 me in this way ten or a dozen pictures, generally in frames, and 
 in an advanced state of completion, always returning the pic- 
 ture to its place in its stack against the wall. As I have said, 
 up to this time I had seen but few of Millet's completed paint- 
 ings : therefore the full force of his power and greatness was 
 revealed to me then, and in his presence words were of little 
 value in expressing my feelings. But the master was evidently 
 satisfied and pleased with my rapt wonder and admiration, 
 and seemed to approve of my difficultly worded comments. He 
 insisted that the pictures should be seen at a considerable dis- 
 tance, say at four or five times their greatest width or height, 
 but called me near sometimes that I might see the simplicity of 
 execution or the few touches required in producing multiplicity 
 and infinity in effect. 
 
 A comment by Millet which impressed me strongly was 
 this : he wished in a landscape to give the feeling that you are 
 looking at a piece of nature — that the mind shall be carried on 
 and outside its limits to that which is lying to the right and left 
 of the picture, beyond the horizon, and to bring the foreground 
 still nearer, surrounding the spectator with the vegetation or 
 growth belonging to that place. He showed me a canvas with 
 the "Two Spaders" in heavy ink outline. In reply to some 
 remarks, I think, he showed me the large reed pen with which 
 he had drawn it. Several of the pictures showed this same ink 
 outline underneath, notably " The Cowherd," which, although 
 complete in its effectiveness as a picture, was painted very 
 thinly in transparent colors — opaque tones being used only in 
 the sky and in one or two of the cows in the foreground. This 
 was undoubtedly the work of a single day, or of a few hours, 
 after the picture had been drawn in outline. 
 
 Another picture in an early stage was the " Women return- 
 ing with Fagots." This was more simply painted, the whole 
 picture having been put in with three or four tones ; the effect 
 was nevertheless very complete and impressive — much more so 
 than the pastel of the same subject. The climax of Millet's 
 
184 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 power, which was revealed to me that day, was a still-life study 
 — three pears lying on a plate or table. I felt that I was look- 
 ing at a picture of no less interest than his larger and more 
 complicated compositions. In the pears I found all the tones 
 of a landscape, in the twisted stems I seemed to see the wea- 
 ther-worn tree, and the modeling of the fruit was studied and 
 rendered with the same interest that he would have given to a 
 hill or a mountain or to the human body. At the same time it 
 was none the less a most faithful presentation of three pears. 
 Millet seemed well pleased in my declaring this to be equal in 
 interest to his other pictures. I now more fully understood his 
 aims in art, and this little still-life was certainly one of his tri- 
 umphs. Did he not write, " One must be able to make use of 
 the trivial for the expression of the sublime"? Aud on his 
 death-bed, while looking out into his garden and at his closed 
 studio door, longing like a young man for more opportunities 
 for work, he described to his son, not colossal canvases and 
 multitudes of figures, but a quiet nook in his native Normandy 
 — the side of a hill, a road, and a few trees. Could he but 
 live, he had so much that he would still say; he would show 
 what could be done with this simple material. 
 
 Millet testified a rare friendliness in talking to me, without 
 reserve, of his loneliness and isolation. This conversation was 
 interrupted by the entrance of a friend who was spending the 
 day at the house. I then asked Millet some questions relating 
 to my studies of art — was anatomy necessary or worth while? 
 Yes, all study was useful; but the larger constructions, the 
 planes and surfaces, must ever be kept in mind. I questioned 
 him about " values," and of thin and solid painting. He treated 
 the subject of values in a way so much larger and more general 
 than we, students of the school of the day, understood, that 
 he was soon beyond my reach. In regard to heavy painting I 
 told him of a picture of his which I had recently seen in Paris, 
 " CEdipus being taken from the Tree," in which the child's face 
 was actually modeled in relief with the pigments. He laughed 
 heartily, and replied that he was "very young when he painted 
 it." Millet was always impatient of detail or particularity in 
 methods. He once said that much must be learned and for- 
 gotten before the painter could really be at the command of 
 his own powers. 
 
'THE SOWER." 
 
 BY MILLET 
 
JEAN-FRANCOIS MILLET 
 
 185 
 
 I had been discussing the question of the beautiful in na- 
 ture, and before leaving Millet I asked him, although I knew 
 what his answer would be, if anything in nature was not beauti- 
 ful ; but his reply came with a directness and force that satisfied 
 me beyond my expectations : " The man who finds any phase 
 or effect in nature not beautiful, the lack is in his own heart." 
 I had been so cordially entertained that in leaving I had no 
 feeling of having stayed too long, or having intruded upon the 
 master's precious time. Millet readily granted me permission 
 to bring him my work for criticism. I then went across the 
 field to the studio of the son, where I found upon his easel a 
 harvest field — a mower sitting in the road and sharpening his 
 scythe in a manner common to the laborers of that country. 
 The painting was much in the method and spirit of the father's 
 art, having not a little of his opulence and charm of color. I 
 then thought, and time has confirmed my belief, that when 
 the same justice has been given the son that at so late an hour 
 was accorded the father he will be hailed as the great pupil of, 
 and co-worker with, Millet, and the question of whether the 
 work was executed by father or by son will be of diminished im- 
 portance. History furnishes us with plenty of such instances. 
 We no longer complain that Andrea had not the individuality 
 of, and was not so original in his art creations as, Luca della 
 Robbia. 
 
 After a little time Millet came in, looked at the picture, and 
 gave a few words of criticism and approval. This unexpected 
 visit gave me a new opportunity to ply fresh questions, — Millet 
 talked much of nature and of art, — but my mind was already 
 filled to overflowing, and I never could recall this hour or two 
 of invaluable words from the master. I remember well the ef- 
 fect produced upon me by this rare afternoon. I needed air 
 and motion to quiet my nerves; I seemed not to touch the 
 ground as I walked. I could almost affirm at this distant day 
 that the air was buoyant, and that it carried me along without 
 effort on my part. I was in a new atmosphere, a new world ; 
 never before had I felt the plain to stretch off into such dis- 
 tances, such vividness and mellowness of color, such depth in 
 the sky. 
 
 I saw Millet again before my return to Paris, and showed 
 him a few studies and pictures. He found in my work a lack 
 
 24 
 
186 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 of simplicity, too much of unnecessary detail, the planes not 
 well felt, and a smallness in the attachments of the limbs 
 to the body. He made some outlines to explain his remarks 
 that had the simplicity of the early Egyptian or Assyrian car- 
 vings. His criticisms upon the more technical points were 
 much the same as those Gerome and Munkacsy had given me 
 upon some of the same things. This served to convince me, 
 even at this early day, that in technic there were large prin- 
 ciples which govern all good art. 
 
 I returned to Barbizon again in the winter, and remained 
 several weeks to finish a picture begun in the autumn. Fran- 
 cois Millet and I were much together, and I sometimes took 
 coffee with the family in the evening. At these times Millet 
 sat at the table like a patriarch, as he has so often been de- 
 scribed, surrounded by his large and handsome family, his 
 manner always cordial and full of hospitality. In the spring 
 I saw him in Paris ; he had come with Madame Millet and 
 Francois for further information in regard to an order he had 
 received from M. de Chennevieres, the Minister of Fine Arts, 
 for the decoration of one of the chapels of the Pantheon, and 
 to see the chapel in which the paintings were to be placed. I 
 went with Francois and found him with Madame Millet eating 
 their lunch at the Duval restaurant in the rue Montesquieu. 
 Millet was cutting his bread with his knife like a peasant, and 
 good-humoredly complained of having to come to Paris. He 
 showed me the written order from the minister, and granted 
 my request to be permitted to find his address. He seemed 
 much pleased in having been chosen for this work, and with 
 the subject assigned him. His mood was more light and gay 
 than ever I had known it to be. We then went to the Palais 
 Royal and took coffee out-of-doors. Millet was full of remi- 
 niscences of his early life in Paris. He told me how a dealer 
 would come to him for a picture. Having nothing painted, he 
 would offer the dealer a book, and ask him to wait for a little 
 while that he might add a few touches to a picture. He would 
 then go into his studio and take a fresh canvas, or a panel, 
 and in two hours bring out a little nude figure, which he had 
 painted during that time, and for which he would receive 
 twenty or twenty-five francs. We have in later days seeu 
 these pictures sold for as many thousands. Millet did not five 
 
J E AN -PR AN QO IS MILLET 
 
 187 
 
 to know anything of the large prices which are now familiar 
 to us. It was only a few years before his death that the "An- 
 gelus " changed hands for $10,000. This seemed to him enor- 
 mous, and he spoke of it to a friend in an apologetic tone, 
 assuring him that he had nothing to do with the transaction. 
 
 If my memory serves me rightly, he was getting about five 
 thousand francs for the larger and more important pictures 
 upon which he was working during the last years of his life, 
 and at that time he was dependent for advances upon in- 
 completed work. This was probably owing to the fact that as 
 he was able to command larger prices he lingered more over 
 his work, always striving for greater simplicity, force of ex- 
 pression, depth of color, for greater perfection in finish, which 
 the small prices of earlier days would not permit. I knew Mil- 
 let to have had very flattering offers from dealers, who wished 
 to place unlimited sums at his disposal provided he would work 
 for them. He refused all offers, preferring to continue his 
 more independent existence. 
 
 I returned again to Barbizon for the summer of 1874. This 
 was Millet's last year. How far I was from knowing that I 
 was spending with him his last well evenings ! I knew that his 
 health was not good and that he did not go for long walks as 
 in former years, but I thought his illness some chronic disease 
 that would not shorten his life. I never heard his illness re- 
 ferred to further than that he would sometimes complain of 
 indigestion and ask for orange-flower water. Once, late in the 
 summer, he lightly spoke of his lack of energy, and said that 
 he would sit and dig with his brush at the dry paint on his 
 palette rather than go to his table for fresh colors. 
 
 At this time I found Millet deeply occupied with the com- 
 positions for the "History of Saint Genevieve." In all his 
 leisure moments he was preoccupied with this work. I would 
 call after dinner to take coffee with Francois, or to go with 
 him for a walk, and would find the father sitting alone at the 
 table, first staring at the cloth, then passing his finger over 
 the surface before him as if drawing, holding his open hands 
 on either side of the place where he had been making indica- 
 tions, and looking as at a complete sketch ; then perhaps he 
 would make the movement of obliterating it with his hand, 
 and seeming to dismiss it from his mind he would then recom- 
 
188 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 mence his invisible markings. Millet explained his preoccu- 
 pation, and would always ask me to excuse his silence. 
 
 This generally took place in the yard or garden, which lay 
 between the house and the studio, where the family dined dur- 
 ing the pleasant summer evenings. In talking of the decora- 
 tions, Millet referred to the difficulties of the composition. The 
 lighting of the chapel was so dim that he wished to make the 
 figures tell in silhouette either in light against dark, or in dark 
 against light. He thought it the work of the historical pain- 
 ter to make the story so plain and complete that it would be 
 told by the paintings without previous knowledge or the aid 
 of books. The sketches for this series that Millet left were 
 very slight. I saw several of them ; they were only a few out- 
 lines in charcoal on small canvases, the movement of the figures 
 indicated with long sweeping strokes. Thus was the master 
 taken away while making preparations for that which, in a 
 certain sense, would have been the most important work of 
 his life. 
 
 During this summer and autumn I spent many evenings 
 with Millet in playing dominoes. He was very fond of the 
 game, and as his eyes would not permit him to draw or read 
 by lamp-light, this was his only means of diversion. Although 
 I did my best, Millet was generally the winner, and he would 
 indulge in much hilarity over my misfortunes. I have always 
 regretted my excessive delicacy in not asking for a sketch 
 which he made on the tallying-sheet upon which I had been 
 marked the loser in every game. It was a figure stretched 
 upon a tomb, and labeled my effigy. 
 
 Frequently some of the family were in Paris, and would 
 be expected home by the late omnibus ; on these evenings we 
 generally kept at the game until its arrival at half -past twelve 
 or one o'clock. I would rarely talk of art matters, unless the 
 subject was started by Millet, and this was not often. Had I 
 been less youthful and inexperienced, how many valuable opin- 
 ions might I have obtained from this great mind. On the 
 other hand, without this youth and inexperience, Millet might 
 have been more reserved with me. I once ventured to ask 
 him his opinion of Japanese pictures. Pie did not express that 
 absolute admiration which I expected. I then asked him if he 
 did not think them superior to the work of the fashionable 
 
PORTRAIT OF MILLET." FROM CRAYON SKETCH BY HIMSELF 
 
 IN 184(3-47 
 
JEAN-FRANCOIS MILLET 
 
 189 
 
 Parisian painter. He replied, " Most decidedly; but their work 
 is far from the beauty of Fra Angelico." 
 
 I more frequently talked to Millet of himself, and he al- 
 ways answered my questions very freely : in conversation, as 
 in painting, he had practised the art, you might say, of for- 
 mulating his ideas in the most concise language — waiting to 
 arrange his sentences before speaking. This peculiarity was 
 probably accentuated in conversation with me, as my know- 
 ledge of French was imperfect, and Millet was always anxious 
 lest he should use a term that I would not understand. But 
 his French always seemed as clear to me as my native tongue. 
 I once said to him that he must have a remarkable memory 
 to be able to work, as was his wont, without nature before 
 him. He replied that in that sense he had not, but that which 
 touched his heart he retained. In regard to working from na- 
 ture he said, " I can say I have never painted (or worked) from 
 nature"; and gave as his reason, "nature does not pose." I would 
 like this to be clearly understood ; Millet had well weighed his 
 words in stating that he had never worked from nature. This 
 was without reference to his student days, when he drew and 
 painted like others from the model; but from the beginning 
 of his production of pictures he seems to have recognized the 
 fact that " nature does not pose." Always looking upon her 
 as animate, — moving and living, — he recorded by the most 
 simple means the stable facts observed during nature's tran- 
 sitions. With the exception of several painted studies of his 
 parental home, and of other places dear to his childhood mem- 
 ories, which were in fact pictures in every sense, well com- 
 posed and effective in light and shade, drawn probably from 
 nature, but painted more from memory, I have never seen any 
 work from nature of Millet's that was not memorandum-like 
 in character, indicating by outline and shadow the principal 
 contour; accenting here and there a prominent or important 
 muscle, or some particular form which he would find to be the 
 key to the expression of the action which he sought. Almost all 
 other painters have left us studies elaborately wrought out either 
 in color or in chalk, surpassing even in detail and research the 
 parts in the picture for which these studies were used. 
 
 Upon my first visit to Millet he took from his pocket a 
 sketch-book about two and a half by three and a half inches 
 
190 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 in size, and showed me upon one of these little pages his study 
 for the wheat-ricks which were the principal objects in his 
 picture called " Winter." This sketch, like many others of 
 the same character, was a masterpiece ; every line was vital, 
 the sinking and bulging of the ricks showing the effect of 
 storm and weather. But the absolute modeling in light and 
 shade, the texture of the straw, etc., were not attempted. This 
 the artist supplied in his painting — not by more elaborate 
 drawings or studies in color, but by his knowledge and mem- 
 ory, and by the observation of other wheat-ricks under effects 
 similar to those represented in his picture. 
 
 Some of his landscape studies in outline with pen and ink 
 were the exact record of proportion and construction, resem- 
 bling the work of a topographical engineer. The other quali- 
 ties of the landscape were too fleeting. He had copied all that 
 would pose for him, as with the ricks ; his memory and know- 
 ledge supplied the rest. Again I have authority for stating that 
 Millet was not indifferent to or incapable of working from na- 
 ture, or of applying it to his pictures in progress. His son has 
 frequently told me of his desire to make more studies from the 
 living model, and his regret at not being able to do so. It 
 seemed to be difficult for Millet to approach people that he 
 wanted to pose for him, and this office of asking a peasant man 
 or woman to sit for him always fell upon his wife. But these 
 sittings were never long or tiresome ; he wanted only the few 
 facts of form or color which that particular model could give 
 him. For a detail or a special quality he would at times take 
 the greatest pains. Madame Millet has told me of having worn 
 the roughest of peasant dresses about the house and garden 
 for weeks, that when it pleased him her husband might call 
 upon her to pose for some part of a picture upon which he 
 would be at work, and of Millet compelling her to wear the 
 same shirt for an uncomfortably long time ; not to paint the 
 dirt, as the early critics of Millet would have us believe, but 
 that the rough linen should simplify its fold and take the 
 form of the body, that he might give a fresher and stronger 
 accent to those qualities he so loved — the garment becoming, as 
 it were, a part of the body, and expressing, as he has said, even 
 more than the nude, the larger and simpler forms of nature. 
 
 A memorable evening was one spent in the discussion of 
 
JEAN-FRANgOIS MILLET 
 
 191 
 
 the beautiful in art. Before Millet had left the dining-table, I 
 think, I asked him to decide a point which was giving me 
 much perplexity. I was painting a road on the plain running 
 off to another village. (The country on the outside of villages 
 and towns in this part of France is entirely without hedges or 
 fences of any kind.) In the foreground I had brought in a 
 wall to express that this was the beginning of a village. An 
 artist friend had advised me to take this out, as it destroyed 
 the " beauty " of the picture. My friend's criticism was prob- 
 ably a good one ; his meaning was that the chief attraction in 
 the picture lay in the simplicity and expanse of the plain. 
 The wall in the foreground, not being an object of interest, 
 detracted from the real interest of the picture, the fields and 
 the wide horizon. But I clung to my desire to express with 
 the wall the entrance to a village. I began telling this to Mil- 
 let, but got no further than my friend's opinion, that the wall 
 destroyed the beauty of the picture. This worked Millet up 
 to an extreme degree ; I might say it put him into a towering 
 rage. The criticism he took as an expression of the prevalent 
 idea of the beautiful, to which he could not listen with calm- 
 ness. To him beauty was the fit, the appropriate, the service- 
 able, the character well rendered, an idea well wrought out, 
 " with largeness and simplicity." This last Millet would put 
 in at times, as if in parenthesis. I often thought of it as the 
 weak point in his argument. This was his bias ; he could not 
 separate beauty from grandeur: but I listened and did not 
 argue ; in fact, there was no chance. Millet went from one 
 illustration to another. Of my picture he said that if I had 
 not composed it in a way that would express my thought, it 
 was a failure. " The artist's first task is to find an arrange- 
 ment (or composition) that will give a full and striking ex- 
 pression to his idea." Seeming to find words inadequate, he 
 took the lamp and went over to his studio, bringing back pho- 
 tographs from the frescos of Giotto. As he showed me these 
 treasures, each one seemed a fresh triumph. Had he not told 
 me so? his manner seemed to say; was not character beauty? 
 Was not that which fitted its place beautiful"? Was not the 
 naturalness of that action beautiful, although it was only one 
 man washing the feet of another % He then took me into his 
 bedroom and showed me, hanging on the wall, an engraving 
 
192 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 of the " Nativity " by Titian. He criticized in this the acces- 
 sories as lacking the character of a stable ; the figures wanting 
 the ruggedness of the peasant type ; and, above all, the un- 
 naturalness of having the child naked. " Why is it not warmly 
 wrapped in woolen clothes'?" His answer to all this was, 
 " This is the beginning of la belle peinture." Millet then turned 
 to another engraving after Poussin, of a man upon his death- 
 bed. " How simple and austere the interior ; only that which 
 is necessary, no more ; the grief of the family, how abject ; the 
 calm movement of the physician as he lays the back of his 
 hand upon the dying man's heart ; and the dying man, the care 
 and soriTOW in his face, and his hands — perhaps your friend 
 would not call them beautiful, but they show age, toil, and 
 suffering : ah ! these are infinitely more beautiful to me than 
 the delicate hands of Titian's peasants." 
 
 I have often been told of the magnificent appearance of 
 Millet as a young man — tall, proud, square, and muscular, of 
 enormous strength. As I knew him he was broad and deep- 
 chested, large and rather portly, always quite erect, his chest 
 well out. Two Americans have reminded me of Millet — 
 George Fuller in the general appearance of his figure, and 
 Walt Whitman in his large and easy manner. His face always 
 impressed me as being long, but it was large in every way. All 
 the features were large except the eyes, which at the same time 
 were not small ; they must have been very blue when young. 
 The nose was finely cut, with large, dilating nostrils; the 
 mouth firm ; the forehead remarkable for its strength — not 
 massive, but in the three-quarter view of the head, where 
 usually the line commences to recede near the middle of the 
 forehead, with him it continued straight to an unusual height. 
 A daguerreotype, now unfortunately effaced, made when he 
 was about thirty-five years of age, without a beard, showed 
 him to have a large chin and a strong lower face, expressive of 
 great will and energy. The hair and the beard were originally 
 a dark brown, the beard strong and heavy ; in his last years 
 they were of an iron gray. His voice was clear and firm, rather 
 low in pitch, and not of that deep bass or sonorous quality one 
 might have expected from so massive a physique. 
 
 Aside from sabots, which he always wore in the country, 
 he in no way affected the peasant dress, as has been stated by 
 
"THE SHEEP-SHEARERS." BY MILLET 
 
JEAN-FRANQOIS MILLET 
 
 193 
 
 the English, but wore a soft felt hat and easy fitting clothes, 
 such as you might see anywhere among the farmers or country 
 people of America. It was only on going to Paris that he 
 would put on leather shoes, a black coat, and silk hat — his 
 apparel on these occasions causing him much discomfort. To 
 his family he never seemed like himself when dressed for Paris. 
 
 I rarely saw Millet out-of-doors, — that is, away from his 
 yard, — but I have vividly impressed upon my memory an eve- 
 ning, the fields, and Millet himself striding along with a short 
 cloak or overcoat thrown over his shoulders. It was on the 
 open plain just back of his home. His " Spring," one of his 
 last and finest landscapes, was almost a literal transcript of 
 this spot. Millet, as I saw him from the distance, was as 
 grand a figure as his " Sower," or any of his heroic types. His 
 dress and general appearance, although not really that of a 
 peasant, — but perhaps more his manner, his heavy tread, and 
 his apparent absorption in all that surrounded him, — gave me 
 the feeling that he was a part of nature, as he so well con- 
 ceived the peasant as a part of the soil which he worked. I 
 was on my way to Francois' studio, a little farther on at the 
 edge of the forest. It was too dark for work, and we often 
 walked together until the hour for dinner. Pierre, a younger 
 brother of Millet, was spending a few weeks at Barbizon, and 
 to give him employment for his hands Millet made a drawing 
 on a block for him to engrave. Pierre worked on this indus- 
 triously until it was finished, cutting a very small piece each 
 day, but that with great care. He put away his work — which 
 he was doing in a small room adjoining Francois' studio — as 
 I came in, and started out for a walk. Soon after, Millet him- 
 self entered, and examined with interest the engraved portion 
 of the work. The drawing was made with the sharp point of a 
 crayon, directly upon the block ; every touch seemed inten- 
 tional and full of expression. It represented a middle-aged man 
 resting both hands and partly leaning upon the handle of his 
 spade, his bare foot resting upon his sabot. I said to Millet 
 that I admired the drawing exceedingly, and thought it as a 
 picture complete. He replied that he was pleased with it him- 
 self, and that he would like to paint the composition, making 
 the figure the size of life ; and, if I remember rightly, he said 
 that he intended to do so. He sat down, and, although he at 
 
 25 
 
194 
 
 MODERN FRENCH 
 
 MASTERS 
 
 first seemed but little inclined to talk, we no longer thought of 
 our walk. Francois was always as eager as myself when his 
 father talked of nature or of art. It was late in September 
 or early in October. Millet spoke of the great beauty of the 
 season, but of its melancholy, and, as I thought, in a tone 
 of depression. He brightened again, however, in returning to 
 the subject of the drawing ; he seemed to feel that it possessed 
 the qualities which he insisted upon in art — repose, expressing 
 more than action. The man leaning upon his spade was more 
 significant of work than one in the act of spading: showing 
 that he had worked and was fatigued; he was resting and 
 would work again. In the same way he preferred to paint the 
 middle-aged man rather than a young or an old one — the mid- 
 dle-aged man showing the effect of toil, his limbs crooked and 
 his body bent, and years of labor still before him. And in 
 type the laborer must show that he was born to labor, that 
 labor is his fit occupation, that his father and father's father 
 were tillers of the soil, and that his children and children's 
 children shall continue the work their fathers have done before 
 them. Millet was always severe on this point — that the artist 
 should paint the typical, and not the exceptional. 
 
 If Millet's life and work were not a refutation of the charge 
 of his being a revolutionist, the remarks he made that evening 
 in speaking of this picture showed his attitude in regard to the 
 question of labor and the laborer most conclusively. He spoke 
 also of the touching or sympathetic in biblical history, and of 
 subjects he would like or intended to paint. The theme which 
 most appealed to him in the New Testament was where Joseph 
 and Mary are turned away from the door of the inn before the 
 birth of the Child, and in his description of the scene, as he 
 had conceived it, I saw the picture painted with all the tender- 
 ness and pathos of his art. 
 
 This I think was my last talk with Millet on subjects of art. 
 My last evenings before returning to Paris in October were 
 spent with him at his favorite game of dominoes. He seemed 
 full of contentment and in his usual spirits, and I left him with- 
 out thought or knowledge of his failing health. With his work 
 for the Pantheon and other projects on hand, his thoughts 
 more than ever seemed to me to be in the future. Later in 
 the autumn or the beginning of winter — I do not now remem- 
 ber what errand took me to Barbizon — I was told of Millet's 
 
JEAN -FRANCOIS MILLET 
 
 195 
 
 illness. I hastened to the house, and found the family and Mr. 
 Babcock in the dining-room, sitting silently as in the house of 
 death. I took my place among them, asking no questions. Mil- 
 let's room was adjoining. There also was silence. I took Francois 
 by the hand and together we went out. His only words were, 
 "All is over." We left each other, too much overcome for more. 
 
 It was thought then that the end could only be stayed a few 
 days, but he lingered until the 20th of J anuary. His relatives 
 and friends in Paris even revived their hopes of his recovery. 
 Babcock wrote me the morning of his death, and I hastened to 
 Francois. It was a bright wintry day. We went out through 
 the garden gate to a seat against the wall where Millet so often 
 had sat, watching the glowing or waning light upon the forest 
 trees, the rolling plain, and the distant hills. Francois told me 
 of his father's wish to be buried as a farmer — that no printed 
 announcements should be sent out, but that a neighbor should 
 go from house to house through the village, telling of his death 
 and time of burial, according to the custom of the people of the 
 country. 
 
 The day of the interment was dark and cold, with a dreary 
 rain. Many uncovered and bowed heads followed him to where 
 he was laid by the side of his well-loved friend Rousseau, in 
 the little cemetery near the church whose roof and tower have 
 appeared in so many of his works. 
 
 Wyatt Eaton. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 WYATT EATON was born at 
 Philipsburg, Canada, May 6, 
 1849. He studied art for five years at 
 the National Academy of Design and 
 also under the late J. O. Eaton. Prom 
 1872 to 1876 he studied in the Ecole 
 des Beaux- Arts, Paris, under Gerome. 
 He sketched and studied in France 
 and England, returning to the United 
 States in 1877 to become one of the 
 founders of the Society of American 
 Artists and its first secretary. He ex- 
 hibited repeatedly in the Paris Salons 
 and in American exhibitions, and dur- 
 ing his life had uncommon success as 
 
 a portrait-painter. Many famous peo- 
 ple sat to him, and some of his por- 
 traits have been engraved and pub- 
 lished in the "Century Magazine" — 
 among them those of Bryant, Emer- 
 son, Longfellow, Whittier, Holmes, 
 Holland. He also painted portraits 
 of Bishop Potter, Roswell Smith, Sir 
 William Dawson, and General Gar- 
 field. His figure pictures are in many 
 private collections, and some of them 
 in public places, like Smith College, 
 Northampton. He died in Brooklyn, 
 June 7, 1896. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
GU STAVE COURBET 
 BY 
 
 SAMUEL ISHAM 
 
GUSTAVE COURBET 
 
 (1819-1877) 
 
 IT is difficult, outside of France, to gain a correct idea of 
 Courbet, either of the painter, or the influence that he has 
 exercised on painting. It is not that his pictures are rare in 
 America. The enterprise of the dealers has made them com- 
 mon enough, and most of the museums and large private col- 
 lections have one or more examples. They appear regularly in 
 the auction sales, and in the stores of the dealers, and prices 
 are paid for them which would seem to indicate that they are 
 fully appreciated. But these examples with which commerce 
 has supplied our amateurs, while often excellent in themselves, 
 are inadequate to represent the man. They are mostly land- 
 scape studies, hurriedly executed, often at a single sitting, not 
 very large in scale, and apparently the sort of canvases to 
 which he refers when he speaks of having made seventy or 
 eighty sketches in a single summer. The critics praise them, 
 and the collectors buy them, yet they leave the general public 
 which looks at pictures rather cold. They are admitted to be 
 good; but people "don't care for them," and treat them and 
 Courbet with a sort of respectful indifference. 
 
 There is poetic justice in thus visiting him after death with 
 a treatment which would have been most intolerable to him 
 in life ; but Courbet is not a man who can be ignored. His 
 best work will endure as long as that of any of his contempo- 
 raries. None has influenced more the development of recent 
 art, and he is especially interesting as showing the most forci- 
 ble and complete development of an art theory of which we have 
 heard much of late — the theory of realism, for of that he was 
 
 199 
 
200 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 the perfect exponent. He is usually classed with the Fontaine- 
 bleau men, and his canvases hang more harmoniously on a wall 
 with Rousseau and Diaz than with the high-keyed productions 
 of the luminists, impressionists, and other eccentrics of to-day ; 
 but his point of view was more in accord with the younger 
 men, whose master and forerunner he was. 
 
 To explain the nature of the man, it is necessary to recall 
 his life and surroundings. The quarrels over his pictures and 
 theories which once filled Paris, France, and the surrounding 
 countries, are fast being forgotten, and the whole story of his 
 career seems strangely antiquated for one which terminated 
 only twenty years ago. He was of peasant stock, born in 1819, 
 at Ornans, a little village in the southeast of France, in a pleas- 
 ant, secluded country of bright streams, and fresh pastures, and 
 woodlands, with glimpses of the Swiss Mountains to be caught 
 in the distance. His parents were well-to-do and well con- 
 nected, according to the local standard, but had the sturdy, nar- 
 row minds of then* class. He lived at Ornans, getting some 
 education, and showing his artistic bent mainly by drawing in- 
 numerable caricatures until he was about twenty, when he was 
 sent to a relative in Paris to study, but soon broke away from 
 school and took to art. He had had some lessons and encou- 
 ragement before leaving Ornans, and he worked in one or two 
 Paris studios, studying from the model, but not receiving much 
 instruction from masters. So that his boasts in after life, that 
 he was self-taught, were not unfounded in fact. 
 
 He sent a portrait of himself to the Salon in 1841, and its 
 rejection was so far from convincing him of its faults that he 
 returned it regularly every spring for six years. His pictures 
 were first received in 1844, and from then on he contributed 
 regularly, but without arousing much attention until 1849, 
 when his " After Dinner at Omans " brought him into notice, 
 which became notoriety in 1851. In that year he contributed 
 six or eight canvases, landscapes, portraits, a " Group of Peas- 
 ants returning from a Fair," the " Stone Breakers," and an im- 
 mense composition, the " Burial at Ornans," which from its 
 very dimensions could not be ignored. And the fact that this 
 last picture reasserted still more forcibly the point of view of 
 his previous work, and outraged every accepted academic canon, 
 made it a rallying ground for attack and defense. Henceforth, 
 
E MUSICIAN.'' BY COURBET 
 
GUSTAVE COURBET 
 
 201 
 
 until he withdrew from France in 1872 to die in voluntary 
 exile, Courbet had small right to complain of the indifference 
 of the public. 
 
 He exhibited continuously, and his works had always an un- 
 expected element in them to renew the battle between his sup- 
 porters and his opponents ; and if perchance his pictures of a 
 year were accepted without too much discussion he had always 
 a letter, a manifesto, a personal eccentricity, or an offense against 
 customary rule, to rouse up his enemies, and bring him into no- 
 tice again. His production was enormous. Hardly a Salon 
 but had several of his works, some of them often of huge size. 
 A complete list would be almost impossible, and it is only prac- 
 ticable to mention for the sake of the dates a few of the more 
 important. In 1852, he exhibited the " Demoiselles du Village," 
 his first successful landscape. In 1853 he showed a number of 
 important figure-pieces. At the Exposition of 1855 he had 
 eleven pictures, and organized outside a special exhibition of 
 thirty-eight more, which included the "Ruisseau du Puits 
 Noir." In 1857 he painted the " Curee," now in Boston, and 
 the "Demoiselles de la Seine," and the next year began the 
 series of his marines. In 1861 he was represented in force 
 by a number of his best works, including the " Combat of 
 Stags," which won universal approval, and he had much honor 
 paid him at the Antwerp Exposition. In 1863 the " Return 
 from the Conference," a forced and unfair satire on the intem- 
 perance of the clergy, was rejected from the Salon on moral 
 grounds, and roused against him the personal dislike of those 
 whose feelings it shocked, which led him to produce several 
 more pictures of a similar character. He was at this time pro- 
 ducing enormously and selling his pictures readily. In 1866 
 he was reported to have sold one hundred and twenty-three 
 thousand francs worth of pictures in six months, an unheard-of 
 achievement at that time, and in the same year he showed his 
 " Deer Retreat," several nude studies, and continued the series 
 of his marines, which culminated in 1870, when he exhibited 
 the " Cliffs at Etretat " and the " Wave." 
 
 Recalling picture after picture in this mass of work, their 
 merits and faults seem sufficiently clear, and through all the 
 variety of subject the interest seems to be purely artistic, and 
 one might almost say technical. They seem characterized by 
 
 26 
 
202 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 absence of thought and mastery of handling ; yet these same 
 works stirred up a passion of attack and defense, their produc- 
 tion was regarded by many as a terrible menace to order and 
 morality, and by some as a dawning of a new and beatific so- 
 cial era. It was a strange world in which Courbet lived, and 
 it is hard for us to realize the feeling about art fifty years ago 
 in France. The Battle of the Schools has been described often 
 enough, but the infinite complication of motives cannot be 
 reproduced. It was not a matter confined to art and literature, 
 with then followers and admirers, as it would be to-day. All 
 France was in an irritable intellectual ferment. The thousand 
 theories of the Revolution had been accepted, exploded, or sup- 
 pressed, and a thousand more were being produced to take 
 their place ; conspiracy and revolt were rife, the government 
 changing in character and policy from day to day. Thousands 
 of dreamers had schemes for a perfect state which they wished 
 applied regardless of the cost of the preliminary disturbance, 
 and many thousands more were sick of the agitation, and wanted 
 to be let alone and have a chance to work and bring up then* 
 families in peace. All of this touched painting directly. It 
 was the opinion in France then, as it is now, that it is the duty 
 of government to foster art, to encourage the production of 
 beautiful things, and to display them to the people for their 
 pleasure and improvement ; and that things ugly, vulgar, or 
 tending to degrade taste ought certainly to have no encourage- 
 ment, and as far as possible should be suppressed. This view 
 is to-day carried out under the nominal leadership of the gov- 
 ernment, but practically by the artists, who conduct the exhi- 
 bitions, and directly or indirectly decide the questions affecting 
 their own interest. 
 
 At the beginning of the century, the ideas of Louis XIV. 
 still prevailed, that the artists were simply to be workmen and 
 to embody the taste of the head of the state. The Academy 
 of Painting, which was a division of the Institute, discussed 
 and decided upon the proper principles of art, acted as jury 
 for the annual Salon, and distributed the official patronage. 
 Revolt against the decisions of the dozen or so venerable acade- 
 micians who held their positions for life was revolt against the 
 government. Artists of original talent, who were obstructed and 
 attacked in the exercise of art by the Academy, rebelled against 
 
GUSTAVE COURBET 
 
 203 
 
 its authority, and consequently against that of the govern- 
 ment. The steady-going people transferred a share of their 
 horror of rebellion to the artists, who retorted by abusing the 
 bourgeois, and openly living noisy and ill-regulated lives as a 
 sort of protest for poesy; and on both sides were a host of 
 writers maintaining their theories by abstract arguments, and 
 relieving their feelings by personal abuse. 
 
 This battle was well under way when Courbet came into 
 it. In 1822 Delacroix had exhibited his " Dante and Virgil," 
 which event is usually accounted as the opening of the con- 
 test, and in the forties the combatants were getting well set- 
 tled down to the warfare. The unrestrained Bohemian life of 
 Romanticism, as well as the idea of opposition to authority, 
 suited Courbet's exuberant vitality, and he threw himself into 
 the revolutionary camp ; but through him the quarrel took a fur- 
 ther development. The Academy maintained that art should 
 be ennobling, dignified, representing not accidents of the mo- 
 ment, but eternal and ideal forms. It was best to inspire 
 oneself from the works of the poets and philosophers, which 
 had traversed the centuries ; but if a modern subject was to 
 be treated, the classical qualities, beauty, nobility, proportion, 
 repose, and the rest, must be sought in it, and the trivial and 
 transitory ignored. To this the opposition retorted with praise 
 of feeling, passion, picturesqueness, color; Shakspere, Victor 
 Hugo, Walter Scott, were set up against Homer, Virgil, and 
 Plutarch ; Rubens, Tintoretto, and the Venetians against the 
 divine Raphael and the Bolognese school ; and the gorgeous 
 costumes of medieval Italy and the Orient, to the classic dig- 
 nity of toga and peplum. 
 
 The quarrel was a good one, and lent itself admirably to 
 impassioned argument ; but to the peasant of Ornans one side 
 was as incomprehensible as the other. He understood Shak- 
 spere and Rubens as little as he did Virgil and the divine Ra- 
 phael, and was as incompetent to reconstruct the Sack of Con- 
 stantinople as the Fall of Troy. It is not worth while to pay 
 much attention to his own exposition of theories, nor to his 
 declaration that he was a realist from principle. He under- 
 went the influence of his surroundings, attempted an unsuc- 
 cessful Walpurgis Night after Groethe, and was haunted all his 
 life with the thought of doing an allegory. His theories were 
 
204 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 an unconscious avowal of his limitations. Nothing that he 
 read or heard or thought left a pictorial impression on his 
 brain. He had to have the actual visual fact before his eyes, 
 and then he saw it with a clearness uncontammated by tradi- 
 tion or imagination. 
 
 Veron speaks of his incurable intellectual mediocrity. The 
 expression is not kindly, but gives fairly well the limitation 
 that runs through all of Courbet's works. He declared that 
 he had mastered the art of all previous times, and he executed 
 some sketches which he thought were in the style of the Flor- 
 entine and other schools ; but he never saw beneath the sur- 
 face of either art or nature, and the only distinct result of his 
 study of the masters was a tendency to imitate the dark tones 
 of old canvases. With these limitations, yet with the deter- 
 mination to be a painter, and with unlimited energy and con- 
 fidence, he took to representing whatever he found ready at 
 hand to be painted. He practised on portraits, his own and 
 others, and the " After Dinner at Ornans," his first success, was 
 simply the portraits of a few of his peasant acquaintances doz- 
 ing or smoking after their meal, as he could find them any 
 day in the year. He painted " Bathers," but they were only 
 the models that came to his studio, the ponderous vulgarity of 
 whose forms precludes the idea of any choice of them from 
 artistic motives. The " Stone Breakers," the " Wrestlers," and 
 his other figure pictures, show little more care in the selection 
 of subject than is taken by the amateur photographer. One 
 picture alone stands out from the general category. 
 
 The "Burial at Ornans" is, like the others, a group of por- 
 traits ; but it has qualities which are shown in none of his 
 other works. The subject itself is more important. Such a 
 funeral is an event in a little village ; the artist has put more 
 labor into it than into any of his other canvases, and he has been 
 forced to make a composition of his own, instead of painting 
 haphazard what absolute realism furnished him. A clump of 
 people facing in toward the grave was an impossible arrange- 
 ment which has been avoided by the purely conventional ex- 
 pedient of placing the thirty-nine figures in a straight line two 
 or three deep, facing the spectator beyond the open grave. 
 The left of the line is taken up with what might be called the 
 official, or mercenary, element, — the grave-diggers, pall-bearers, 
 
GUST AVE COURBET 
 
 205 
 
 beadles, and clergy, — while on the right are the friends and 
 relatives. The two groups are well contrasted; some of the 
 official heads are pushed to the point of caricature, but the 
 opposing group of mourners expresses a sincere, unexagger- 
 ated grief. The tone of the picture is dark, with heavy brown 
 shadows, not in the least the tone of open air, but harmonious 
 and in keeping with the subject. It came like a shock to the 
 Parisians, accustomed, as they were, to the conventional sug- 
 gestions of funeral urns, silver tears on black cloth, and weep- 
 ing angels, to have put before their eyes the actual facts of 
 death and sorrow, neither refined nor degraded, but as they 
 were known and felt by plain, simple people. 
 
 The sentiment of this picture is undeniable, but it never 
 reappears in Courbet's work. It seems quite fair to conclude 
 that it was an accident resulting from the choice of subject, 
 something seen and copied without understanding, or it may 
 be that he found the mental labor of such composition too 
 irksome to repeat. Certainly none of his other figure-pieces 
 shows either sentiment or noble feeling, and this brings up 
 again the question of the fundamental character of the man, 
 which is not to be answered by simply calling him a sturdy 
 peasant thrown into the complex and highly refined life of a 
 great city in a time of unusual intellectual activity. That 
 explains something — his self -consciousness, his unmannerli- 
 ness, his revolt against the social graces which he could not 
 acquire, and to which he opposed an ostentatious coarse- 
 ness of surroundings and costume. We can trace these things 
 as resulting from his origin, but they were in no way a 
 necessary and inevitable result. Millet was as much of a 
 peasant as Courbet, and a poorer one, but all the external 
 harshness of the peasant was softened in him until it was 
 hardly perceptible. 
 
 It would be interesting, if space permitted, to elaborate a 
 comparison between these two men, whose lives ran so curi- 
 ously parallel, who were born and who died within a few years 
 of each other, who exhibited in the same Salons, chose the same 
 subjects, underwent the same attacks from the same critics 
 while they were at heart the antitheses of each other. Mil- 
 let's gentleness, his love and admiration for poets like Virgil 
 and painters like Poussin, his ability to seize their essential 
 
206 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 spirit while ignoring their external forms, his pictures, — not 
 done directly from nature, but with all the infinite facts 
 gleaned from his walks and sketches passed through the cru-« 
 cible of his mind until they reached the canvas, — the simplest, 
 deepest, most perfectly balanced expression of his emotion, 
 all of these things separated him from Courbet as far as if he 
 were of a different race and age. 
 
 Just what the character of the latter really was, how much 
 of his unpleasant side was thoughtless, how much malicious, 
 how much assumed to impress the public, and draw attention 
 to himself, cannot now be clearly unraveled. Posthumous 
 opinion seems to have taken the unfavorable view ; but it may 
 have been somewhat perverted by the disgrace of the final years 
 of Courbet's life, when during the siege of Paris he issued so- 
 cialist manifestos, threw in his fortune with the Commune, 
 and was the leading spirit in the overthrow of the Vendome 
 column. After the restoration of order he was tried, con- 
 demned to six months' imprisonment, and ordered to replace 
 the column at his own expense, which, of course, meant bank- 
 ruptcy. After his release from prison he retired to Switzer- 
 land, and there lived out his few remaining years, poor, broken 
 in health and in spirits. Such things are not forgiven in 
 France, and they permanently blackened his memory ; but long 
 before that final climax he had a band of bitter enemies, who 
 vituperated him heartily, though it did him less real harm than 
 the injudicious praise of his friends. 
 
 The glimpses that we catch of him through unbiased eyes 
 are not unfriendly. Paul Mantz, after meeting him one even- 
 ing in an Antwerp beer-hall, appreciates him as a "jovial young 
 fellow, who admired his own pictures much more than other 
 people's, and who had a mighty thirst." Sainte-Beuve, the mi- 
 nute, refined, cautious critic, was borne away by the torrent of 
 his talk, and impressed by his schemes for the decoration of 
 markets and railway stations, though, as handed down to us, 
 they seem neither very new nor very wise. Philip Gilbert 
 Hamerton, who knew him intimately down in his home coun- 
 try, seems to have heartily liked the man, and to have taken 
 him at his own valuation. It was probably this willingness to 
 look up to him as a master which made Hamerton's inter- 
 course with him so pleasant, for Courbet loved to be surrounded 
 
GUSTAVE COURBET 
 
 207 
 
 by worshipers, and bore with difficulty the society of those 
 who considered themselves his equals or superiors. 
 
 It is a pity that this vanity limited him socially to the lower 
 ranks of life, in which he found his subjects, for he had no 
 sincere sympathy with them as Millet had, and he could have 
 painted as no one else the elegance of the Third Empire, some- 
 what flashy and superficial perhaps, but still with real beauty 
 and distinction. As it is, if we wish grace and dignity of sub- 
 ject from him, we must turn to his landscapes. The nature 
 that he knew was exceptionally beautiful, and he loved it with 
 a kind of animal love. From his boyhood he had haunted the 
 fields and woods of the Jura, and while he painted them in much 
 the same spirit as his figure-pieces, the result, owing to the dif- 
 ference of subject, was very different. With landscape he was 
 as incapable as ever of arranging a composition, or painting 
 what was not before his eyes ; but in full view of nature the 
 last suggestions of the masters of the Louvre dropped away 
 from him. No one else has given so vivid and unsophisticated 
 a reflection of external nature. From his pictures you can go 
 directly out into the reality of woodland life, and feel that the 
 literal truth has been told. No sentiment has been added, no 
 brilliancy lost. The leaves shine and sparkle in their true col- 
 ors against the gray rocks, the brooks run wet and clear, the 
 grass has the vivid green of moist pasture-land, and the sky 
 shines with a luminous, brilliant blue, the true blue of the clear 
 summer sky in a mountainous country. 
 
 With the merits of truth his landscapes have also the de- 
 fects of truth. If poetry is wished for, it must be added by 
 the spectator himself, and it would take a more than ordi- 
 narily powerful imagination to people Courbet's woods and 
 waters with dryads or nymphs. Nothing but the common 
 country fauna could exist at ease there, and none felt this more 
 than Courbet himself. He occasionally introduced a nymph 
 into his landscape background, but it was manifestly a studio 
 nymph, and it was with dogs and deer that he made Ms forest 
 live. He painted the hunting-scenes that have furnished sub- 
 jects to so many artists, but better than that he painted the 
 deer, unmolested in the forest, as the artist or lover of nature 
 comes upon them in his wanderings, with no power or thought 
 to do them harm, but only to crouch motionless for long, 
 
208 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 breathless moments, and watch the beautiful wild creatures 
 feeding, playing, or battling, unconscious of his presence. 
 These are Courbet's most incontestable triumphs. The " Com- 
 bat of Stags " and the " Deer Retreat " are likely to be the basis 
 of his popular reputation, and their beauty comes largely from 
 their realism. The lack of composition in his landscape, which 
 seems like a patch taken at random from the infinite variety 
 of the forest, the natural and unpremeditated action of the 
 deer, give the delight of the actual woodland, as a more ar- 
 ranged and personal composition could not. 
 
 For the artist and amateur, and indirectly for the general 
 public, who feel without analyzing it, the great merit of Courbet 
 lies in his execution. From the first he seems to have known no 
 hesitation or doubt. He worked constantly. Always enthusi- 
 astic, impatient of detail, he covered his canvases with broad 
 sweeps of color, and left their natural brilliancy un weakened by 
 retouching and reworking. His figures are mainly painted with 
 the brush ; he used for his landscapes the palette-knife, which 
 he handled with amazing dexterity. His pictures owe much 
 of their peculiar character to the palette-knife. With it alone 
 were the purity and sparkle of the color, the imitative texture 
 of the f oliage and rock, obtainable, and to it must be attributed 
 most of the limitations of his work. It could not give the de- 
 tail drawing of branch or plant, and the accurate gradation of 
 tones for distance or atmosphere would have required a re- 
 touching or glazing destructive of freshness. In his figure- 
 pieces the brush-work has a different quality, a heavy impasto, 
 the colors melting into each other with a richness and solidity 
 which give beauty to the most commonplace subject. The 
 figures in the "Demoiselles de la Seine" are two most com- 
 mon females, dressed in vulgar finery, and sleeping in ungrace- 
 ful attitudes, but the painting redeems the subject, and makes 
 the tawdry dresses beautiful. It is this handling which gives 
 interest to Courbet's many portraits of himself, and to his study 
 heads. The " Man with the Leathern Belt," the " Spinner," the 
 " Fair Dutchwoman," do not need excuses for their craftsman- 
 ship in any society. They have a quality in places like old 
 Chinese porcelains or lacquer, a smoothness of transparent sur- 
 face, a richness of pure, strong, mellow color, a firmness of 
 broad brush-work that is a delight to the eye. 
 
GUSTAVE COURBET 
 
 209 
 
 It is true that the work is often unequal. Courbet was a 
 poor critic of what he did. To him it was all marvelous and 
 admirable, and when the pure color was false in tone, or the 
 broad brush-work out of place, he was extremely likely to leave 
 it so, and insist that it was perfect. Many of his best works 
 are marred by flaws of this kind. The " Demoiselles du Vil- 
 lage," now in this country, is one of his most brilliant and 
 charming landscapes, but the figures in the middle distance, 
 which give it its name, are so bright that they positively re- 
 fuse to keep their places, and certain spots of white and tan, 
 supposed to represent the cattle, are ludicrously false in tone, 
 color, and drawing. The " Wave," now in the Luxembourg, 
 rolls in toward a couple of fishing-smacks drawn up on the 
 shore, and towers above them five or six times their height, the 
 effect being not to make the wave look a hundred feet high, but 
 to make the boats appear like toys. Besides these little flaws 
 there was a fundamental error in his technic from which his 
 work is already suffering. He liked a black or Indian red can- 
 vas to work on, and he furnished a philosophic reason for his 
 practice : " The world is black until lit up by the rays of light ; 
 we should proceed in the same way." But such dark grounds 
 are sure sooner or later to come through and blacken the pic- 
 ture, and some of his best works, like the " Combat of Stags," 
 and the " Burial at Ornans," have already darkened to their 
 irreparable injury. 
 
 Looking back over this work, so enormous in volume, so 
 varied in subject, so masterly in treatment, an American critic, 
 author of an excellent and exhaustive article on Courbet, has 
 thought to sum up his characteristics by calling him a story- 
 telling painter. The characterization will hardly hold. Cour- 
 bet tried the role of story-teller in his attacks on the clergy, in 
 a great canvas of himself in his studio, surrounded by figures 
 which were supposed to typify his career, and in a few other 
 instances, but he had small success in it. Paul Mantz comes 
 nearer the truth when he calls him a painter of still- life. He 
 reproduced the external aspect of what he saw before him 
 with superb vigor, but with no special feeling or sympathy. 
 Never did a thought or sentiment work out from the mind to 
 the hand; never did he mold his subject until it became the 
 vehicle for expressing his own feeling. The similitude of a 
 
 27 
 
210 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 man with a kodak comes continually to the mind. He saw 
 the peasants at table, the deer in the woods, the great waves 
 rolling in on the shore, the wrestlers in a booth, or the models 
 posing in his studio, and he spread them upon the canvas as 
 one might press the button of a camera. Certain philosophers 
 found in his works illustrations of many and notable theories, 
 — the brotherhood of man, the nobility of labor, and the like, — 
 and suggested that they should replace the images of the 
 saints in the churches ; but the same theories could be applied 
 to instantaneous photographs of the same scenes. In fact, the 
 theories were already made, and the pictures were only a peg 
 upon which to hang them. 
 
 Courbet saw form and color and reproduced them, but he 
 seemed unwilling to see further than the verity of accidental 
 fact. No arrangement was made. No pose was accented to 
 explain an idea or a movement. His figures are the figures of 
 still-life, and stand stolid as waxworks even when action is 
 intended to be conveyed. His stone-breakers do not break 
 stone, his wrestlers do not wrestle, his great wave hangs mo- 
 tionless as though petrified. This came not only because he 
 copied his models in the pose of work rather than working, 
 but also from his lack of composition. To attain to a feeling 
 of action in a picture it is not enough to place the figures in ac- 
 curate poses. The lines and masses must catch and cany the 
 eye forward with a sense of movement. This Courbet never 
 even attempted. He took his subject as he found it, often so 
 carelessly that it fitted his canvas very ill ; and yet even this, 
 like other of his faults, was a part of his strength. If he had 
 brooded over his work, bringing line and mass together into a 
 harmonious whole, it would have crippled him. His enor- 
 mous production, his variety of subject, his brilliancy of exe- 
 cution, would have been impossible, and he would, in short, 
 have been a different and a less important painter. For with 
 all his limitations, which were many and manifest, he was the 
 founder of a school, and did a useful work for art. When he 
 appeared upon the scene, while the greater men were doing 
 the work which lives and which we know, the mass of paint- 
 ers were doing insipid inanities, false in sentiment, false in 
 fact, and false in workmanship. The weak followers of both 
 schools united in producing things of which the illustrations 
 
GUSTAVE COURBET 
 
 1* 1 1 
 
 of the Keepsakes and Books of Beauty are familiar if some- 
 what exaggerated examples. To these invertebrate romantic 
 or sentimental scenes Courbet opposed facts such as all men 
 had before their eyes, but were incapable of seeing until he 
 painted them, and said to the sentimental brotherhood, " Why 
 do you try to paint angels when you can't paint your grand- 
 father. Gro back and study nature." 
 
 There was nothing new in Courbet's command to study 
 nature ; in fact it was a very old and somewhat thread-bare 
 command. It has been insisted upon by every artist who has 
 given counsel to beginners, and even Courbet's more revolu- 
 tionary paradox, " Beauty is ugliness," is only a version of In- 
 gres' " Seek character in nature." His innovation was in his 
 application of the theory, and the completeness with which 
 he rejected everything that was not nature. There is a higher 
 and more essential truth in nature than he found, but his pro- 
 test was needed at the time to sweep away a multitude of out- 
 worn conventionalities of subject, sentiment, composition, and 
 technic. It is claimed that this revolt would have taken place 
 any way, and that Courbet only followed the drift of the time, 
 and was pushed along by the crowd behind him, but that is 
 not so certain. He raised the standard of realism, started the 
 battle, and shaped its course. The men who renewed the fight 
 derived directly from him. Manet is the continuation of Cour- 
 bet, and through him continue Claude Monet and the impres- 
 sionists. Bastien-Lepage, and the multitude of his hard- 
 working successors who fill the Paris Salon with laboriously 
 drawn, gray-toned, out-door scenes with life-sized figures, are 
 but following out his initiative in another direction. His in- 
 novations have become commonplaces, and his faults are being 
 reproduced by docile and forceless followers as the Keepsake 
 artists diluted Delacroix and Ingres. The chance of freeing 
 oneself from the obligation of thinking out a picture and ar- 
 ranging it in color and line was too tempting to be rejected, 
 and the idea was proclaimed abroad that fame and fortune 
 awaited any one who would pass through the training of an 
 art- school and set himself to copying patiently anything he 
 came across. 
 
 Fame and fortune would really be too cheap at the price, 
 aod an unsympathetic world has pretty well demonstrated the 
 
212 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 fallacy of the idea ; but if, as we all hope, a great imaginative 
 school of art is to arise in the not too distant future, it will 
 have to be founded upon a solid basis of technical skill and 
 knowledge of nature, and to the forming of such a basis no 
 influence will have worked more powerfully than that of 
 Courbet. 
 
 Samuel Isham. 
 
 NOTE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 SAMUEL ISHAM was born in New 
 York city in 1855. He was gradu- 
 ated from Yale College in the class 
 of 1875, and while there spent much 
 of his spare time drawing in the Art 
 School under Professor Niemeyer. 
 After graduation he traveled in Eu- 
 rope for three years, passing two win- 
 ters in Paris and drawing in the morn- 
 ings in the studio of Jacquesson de 
 la Chevreuse. This work was done 
 with no idea of becoming a painter, 
 but merely as a matter of general edu- 
 cation. Mr. Isham returned to New 
 
 York in 1878, took up the study of law, 
 was admitted to the bar, and did no- 
 thing with art for the next five years. 
 At the end of that time he abandoned 
 the law and once more turned to art. 
 In 1883 he went again to Paris, entered 
 the Academie Julian, and studied four 
 years under Boulanger and Lefebvre. 
 He first exhibited in the Salon in 1888, 
 and since then his pictures have been 
 seen in many exhibitions here and else- 
 where. He is a member of the Society 
 of American Artists, and is well known 
 as a figure- and portrait-painter. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
EDOUAKD MANET 
 BY 
 
 CARROLL BECKWITH 
 
EDOUARD MANET 
 
 (1833-1883) 
 
 SUFFICIENT time has elapsed since the death of Edouard 
 Manet, in 1883, to permit of a comparatively just estimate 
 being formed of his ability as an artist, and of the influence 
 he has had on contemporaneous art-movement and thought. 
 Artists demonstrating marked individuality in their work have 
 always had an influence more or less strong, and sometimes 
 of long duration, upon their fellow-artists. The more inde- 
 pendent the individuality, and the wider its divergence from 
 popular and routine methods, the greater has been the result- 
 ant good, both in awakening the minds of other producers to 
 a keener observance of nature and in encouraging the timid 
 to efforts at expressing their innate feelings in their own 
 personal way. 
 
 Edouard Manet's greatest achievements are not his own 
 canvases ; for in spite of his profound sincerity and untiring 
 industry his work cannot be looked upon otherwise than as 
 incomplete, and the technical problems which he propounded 
 for himself he never entirely or satisfactorily solved. The 
 problems have, however, been taken up by many thoughtful 
 painters, who have likewise striven for their solution, and his 
 rebellious protests against the methods in vogue during his 
 time have become the inheritance of the profession. 
 
 The present century gives frequent instances of the power- 
 ful effect of a strong and well-defined personality upon current 
 movement and thought in art. One has but to mention the 
 names of David, Ingres, Constable, Delacroix, and, lastly, Ma- 
 net, the leader of the wide-spread Impressionist movement, and 
 
 215 
 
216 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 the one man who, after Constable, taught painters to open 
 their eyes and see the light and air in the world around them. 
 To what degree of truth these searchers for light and atmo- 
 sphere and the just rendering of values have attained is yet a 
 question. The results of human perception as portrayed upon 
 canvas are so entirely dependent upon the medium, the pig- 
 ment, that the end sought for is often defeated. Tones which 
 upon the day of their execution clearly and accurately give the 
 impression to the spectator of air, atmosphere, or light may 
 in a very few years, or even months, so deteriorate and change 
 chemically that the same just transcription of nature no longer 
 exists, and the purpose of the artist is entirely lost. Much of 
 the work of Manet has undoubtedly suffered in this manner. 
 Herein unquestionably lies the superiority of an art emanating 
 from the sensibilities of the mind and heart over those of the 
 eye. In the former case the work may blacken, tarnish, or 
 corrode, but the innate feeling will not be lost ; whereas in 
 the latter, once the semblance of the fact is encroached upon 
 by time, the aim of the work is seriously weakened. 
 
 This, however, must not be interpreted as undervaluing 
 realism in art, or as urging the superiority of poetic ideality 
 over the sterling qualities of fact and reality. It is simply 
 to call attention to the great difficulty under which a searcher 
 for light must necessarily labor. Neither must it be con- 
 cluded that Manet was devoid of the poetic sense, or that 
 his work was without feeling. His main effort was a render- 
 ing of fact; his deepest interest the truthful juxtaposition of 
 values, the broad and simple treatment of planes, combined 
 with a constant search for the character of the person or object 
 portrayed. These points must be always borne in mind, while 
 contemplating his work, to enable one to arrive at a fair esti- 
 mate of his powers as an artist. 
 
 A favorite study of Edouard Manet's was that of values, as 
 his work sufficiently exemplifies. It may be as well to give a 
 word of explanation as to exactly what is meant by values. 
 Imagine several objects of identically the same local color 
 placed at various distances from the eye. The differences of 
 distance will perceptibly change the tone or color of each ob- 
 ject through the interposition of atmosphere. Such differences 
 as these are known as values. The local color may remain the 
 
' ' LE BON BOCK. " BY MANET 
 
EDOUARD MANET 
 
 217 
 
 same, or become entirely changed by the layer of atmosphere 
 intervening, but its variation will follow a natural law which 
 requires every resource of both palette and brain to portray 
 truthfully. The note of departure may be either higher or 
 lower than the local color of the object to be portrayed, follow- 
 ing the temperament of the artist, but in either case the gamut 
 should be continued harmoniously. Thus, the various objects 
 must always bear their proper relation to one another. In the 
 rendering of these variations Manet was a past master. His 
 mind and hand instinctively obeyed the law of values, and the 
 result was that his work was endowed with a singular force 
 and realism. 
 
 Another remarkable quality of Manet's work was la tache. 
 I know of no word in English that exactly conveys the mean- 
 ing of tache. Literally translated, it means spot, but the lan- 
 guage of the studio has somewhat changed its interpretation. 
 La tache means a broad touch, a plane, one tone wherein the 
 larger plane of local color predominates, and the minor vari- 
 ations are ignored, thus simplifying the work, and greatly add- 
 ing to its breadth. It may be more easily grasped when we 
 recall that much of the work which preceded Manet was over- 
 elaborated, killed by detail and excess of modeling. Every- 
 thing was made round until there was a very surfeit of rotun- 
 dity. Manet went to the other extreme, and made things flat. 
 Even Courbet, who was then carrying the banner of reform, 
 could not refrain from saying, when he saw Manet's " Olym- 
 pia " in the Salon of 1864 : " It is flat, and lacks modeling. It 
 looks like the queen of spades coming out of a bath." To which 
 Manet, always ready with a reply, answered, " Courbet tires us 
 with his modeling. His ideal of rotundity is a billiard-ball." 
 
 In studying a picture by Manet two things must always be 
 clearly kept in mind, les valeurs and la tache. However varied 
 his choice of subject, however different his effects of light and 
 shade, values and la tache were constantly before him, urging 
 their superior importance over all other qualities, forcing them- 
 selves upon his vision, and through his hand upon the canvas. 
 There they were emphasized with aggressive prominence, de- 
 stroying the half-tones and blotting out details. Witness the 
 fine example of his work in the Metropolitan Museum of New 
 York — "The Boy with the Sword." Notice how the face 
 
 28 
 
218 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 becomes one simple, almost unbroken mass, marked by its 
 strength of local color. Notice how the eyes are devoid of 
 modeling. To Manet the human eye was but a spot of dark 
 upon the light plane of the flesh. See, too, how perfectly the 
 background takes its place behind the figure. One could accu- 
 rately measure the distance the little figure stands from the 
 curtain behind it. This simplicity of aim, this research for 
 a few fundamental truths, were his constant protest against 
 the tyranny of tradition, against the intricacies of composition 
 and sugary elaboration which pervaded the popular school of 
 French art in his day. 
 
 His work was in every way the expression of his personality 
 and conviction. His heart and thought and life went into it, 
 and as such it should have deliberate and serious consideration, 
 for Edouard Manet was not le premier venu, neither was he a 
 man daft over a few technical notions. He was an intelli- 
 gent man of the world, with an artistic education thoroughly 
 and carefully acquired from one of the most skilful masters in 
 the strongest atelier of that day. Bom in Paris in 1833 in the 
 rue des Vieux-Augustins, now called the rue Bonaparte, in a 
 house almost facing the government School of Fine Arts, 
 Edouard Manet descended from a family of magistrates, people 
 who held the traditions of their ancestors in profound respect, 
 and wished their eldest son to follow in the honored path so 
 long and successfully trodden by their fathers. At an early 
 age, however, he became inspired with a love of drawing by 
 an uncle then attached to the school of artillery, and at the 
 age of sixteen he announced his desire to follow the profession 
 of painting. This appears not to have been relished by his 
 family, who were hoping that he might some day wear either 
 the robe of a judge or the epaulette of an officer. A compro- 
 mise, however, was effected when the marine was suggested, 
 and it was settled that he should make a trial voyage on board 
 the steamship Guadaloupe to Rio de Janeiro. He is described 
 as a boy of a happy, bright nature ; attentive to his duties on 
 board ship, possessing a refinement and intelligence that earned 
 the good will of both officers and men. Returning from this 
 voyage still possessed with the demon of the palette, his family 
 were constrained to give a reluctant consent and he was in- 
 scribed as a pupil of Thomas Couture. 
 
BOY WITH SWORD. BY MAN E 1 
 
 METROPOLITAN MUSEUM, NEW YORK 
 
EDOUARD MANET 
 
 219 
 
 It is said that from the very beginning Manet's tendency 
 toward a crude and unattractive realism was perceptible, and 
 that the sensibilities of the painter of the "Romans of the 
 Decadence " were much disturbed thereby. The young student 
 persisted in searching for his motives outside of the classic 
 routine. Scenes in the active and contemporary life of Paris 
 appealed to him from the first, and this preference was ap- 
 parent throughout his entire career. He stood face to face 
 with surrounding nature, and translated it according to his 
 own individual temperament. He drank from his own glass, 
 as the French say, neither borrowing from his predecessors 
 nor seeing through their eyes. It is easy to understand what 
 a serious crime this was, and still is, from the standpoint of 
 many people. There was a short period, however, of more 
 or less exception to this rule of realism which he had as 
 it were laid down for himself, and this period should be 
 cited as explaining some of his works. A journey made dur- 
 ing his student days was devoted chiefly to the museums of 
 Dresden, Prague, Vienna, and Munich. Another, undertaken 
 in Italy, familiarized him with the galleries of Rome and Flor- 
 ence ; but it was in Venice that the longest halt was made, 
 Tintoretto producing upon the mind of the young painter a 
 strong impression. This master, who had so graphically por- 
 trayed the life of the people of his day, could not but inspire 
 the mind of Manet. We find him enthusiastically copying the 
 works of Tintoretto in the Accademia delle Belle Arti, and to 
 the influence of this voyage we must attribute a series of re- 
 ligious pictures, conceived according to notions imbibed from 
 the Italian schools, but executed in his own manner and 
 marked by his persistent search for realism. 
 
 Six years of study in the atelier of Couture had given him, 
 so far as it was possible, the means of expression. He was not 
 distinguished as a pupil. His nature was not calculated to ac- 
 cept unconditionally the precepts and example of an artist for 
 whose work he could have had little sympathy. For three 
 years after leaving the school he was still struggling to find 
 his way and striving to declare himself. In 1860 he exhibited 
 for the first time one of his works, the " Absinthe Drinker," a 
 picture bearing the impress of his master, but nevertheless be- 
 traying his personal trend. From this time on he was known 
 
220 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 to the public, and his career was followed with interest, either 
 strongly favorable or equally adverse, by artists and critics. 
 He was seldom admitted to the Salon. His works became 
 known largely through the exhibitions of M. Durand-Ruel, the 
 celebrated picture-dealer and champion of the Impressionists, 
 and also at the exhibitions of the pictures refused at the Salon, 
 which were for several years gathered together and shown in 
 a building generously provided by the government, and called 
 the Salon des Refuses. 
 
 It is needless to dilate upon the bitter antagonism evinced 
 toward the works of Edouard Manet. That he was considered a 
 revolutionist of a dangerous kind is too well known. M. Emile 
 Zola, who, in 1866, wrote the articles on art in the " Figaro," 
 then known as the " Evenement," describes him as an outcast, 
 stoned by the mob. Under these circumstances there was nat- 
 urally little or no market for his productions, but he had fortu- 
 nately inherited a small competency, which enabled him to 
 pursue the course of his convictions regardless of popular 
 clamor. A small circle of sympathetic friends formed about 
 him, our talented American artist, Mr. Whistler, being of the 
 number. Some others were Alphonse Legros, now established 
 in England; Fantin-Latour, Monet, Degas; the writers Vignaux, 
 Duranty, and Zola. The rendezvous for the little band was a 
 cafe in the Batignolles, known as the Cafe Guerbois. Hence 
 the name " School of the Batignolles," with which the Pari- 
 sians quickly baptized this new art movement. Twice a week 
 the band gathered together. There were a few who only ap- 
 peared at irregular intervals, — Antonin Proust, and Henner 
 occasionally; Alfred Stevens more often. There, was not 
 much drinking, but a great deal of talking. Schools and ex- 
 positions were discussed with much fervor, new books and 
 plays were criticized, and much time was spent over the works 
 and aims of each member. Subjects for debate were chosen. 
 " In what consists the element of beauty," was one, and the ar- 
 guments would follow — earnest, heated expressions of opinion 
 among those who in reality were searchers for the same end. 
 
 One day, we are told, a quarrel broke out. Duranty, one 
 of the most loyal, suffering from some temporary attack of ill- 
 humor, signed a newspaper article in which Manet was cruelly, 
 even brutally, treated. It was a blow from an unexpected 
 
EDOUARD MANET 
 
 221 
 
 quarter : Duranty, a comrade of the band, a regular attendant 
 at Manet's studio — it was inexplicable. Manet had borne pa- 
 tiently the merciless attacks of his army of enemies, but this, 
 from his friend, cut him to the quick, and, burning from a sense 
 of its unfairness, he went straight to Duranty that evening at 
 the gathering, accused him of his disloyalty and injustice, and 
 terminated the scene with a blow in the writer's face. Efforts 
 were made at reconciliation by the friends of both, but without 
 avail. A duel was unavoidable, and took place on February 23, 
 1870. The report of the affair is as follows : 
 
 A duel with swords took place to-day in the forest of St. Germain 
 at 11 o'clock a. m., between MM. Manet and Duranty. . . . There was 
 but one engagement, in the violence of which both blades were sprung. 
 . . . M. Duranty was wounded in the left breast. The wound was 
 slight, owing to the blade of his adversary coming in contact with the 
 bone of the rib. ... In view of this wound the seconds declared that 
 the honor of the gentleman was satisfied. ... In pursuance of which 
 we have signed the above declaration. 
 
 Seconds for M. Manet. Seconds for M. Duranty. 
 
 Emile Zola. E. Schnekb. 
 
 H. Vignaux. Paul Lafarge. 
 
 It was not long before friendship was restored between the 
 two combatants, and it is interesting to read the following as 
 a tribute to the personal character of Edouard Manet. 
 
 11th January, 1874. 
 My dear Friend : . . . I wish to tell you how much I am touched 
 by the affectionate solicitude you have shown me, and the kindly 
 efforts in my behalf which you have made upon every occasion. Not 
 only do you possess a great talent but you join to it personal qualities 
 of a high and beautiful character. I know of no mind larger or more 
 generous than yours. Lacking other means to convey to you my 
 feelings, I desire you should know the friendship and interest I feel 
 for you, and my deep gratitude, which will find some day, I hope, an 
 occasion to show itself. Yours, Duranty. 
 
 The doors of the Salon still remained closed to the gifted 
 painter. In 1863 M. Martinet established an exhibition in a 
 building on the Boulevard des Italiens. Manet was represented 
 by a number of his works ; the " Spanish Ballet," " Music in 
 
222 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 the Garden of the Tuileries," " Lola de Valence," the " Spanish 
 Singer," and others. To give some idea of the character of 
 the criticisms I will only quote the words of M. Paul Mantz, 
 who is alluded to as one of the most moderate; he declares 
 that he can only see " a struggle between noisy, plastery tones, 
 and black," with a result that is " hard, sinister, and deadly." 
 The whole he sums up as a " caricature of color." 
 
 The hostility manifested thus early continued throughout 
 Manet's entire career. The little band of the Cafe Guerbois 
 increased but slightly in numbers, although imitators grew up 
 on every side. Strange injustice ! Even those who derived the 
 most benefit were reluctant to acknowledge the source of their 
 inspiration. The small coterie which constituted the Ecole des 
 Batignolles has created the great Plein air movement! Search- 
 ers for light, for truth of values and reflections, have grown 
 up on every side. The Salons of to-day present hundreds of 
 examples showing the influence that has descended from the 
 heroic struggle of Edouard Manet. The vigor of his effort, the 
 singleness of his purpose, have left their trace upon the pro- 
 ductions of a later period. His simple, honest tones, his broad, 
 well-sustained brush-work, free from triviality or compromise, 
 stamp him among artists as a painter de race. 
 
 Manet died April 30, 1883, varnishing-day at the Salon. 
 When the news of his death spread through the vast, crowded 
 galleries of the Palais de lTndustrie, there was a hush in the 
 great assemblage. Although unrepresented on the walls, his 
 death left a vacant place. This man, so ill-treated, so con- 
 demned, was nevertheless respected, even admired. One by 
 one his detractors began to acknowledge his ability, and the 
 papers for several days were filled with articles in honor of 
 the dead painter ! The funeral took place on May 2, and was 
 attended by an enormous crowd, in which were recognized art- 
 ists of all schools, writers, diplomats, heads of governmental 
 departments, men of science, and men of the world. At the 
 grave a short discourse was made by M. Antonin Proust, Min- 
 ister of Fine Arts, from which I will only quote the following: 
 " He was possessed of great qualities both of heart and mind, 
 which united to make him an artist and a man. If his talent 
 was sometimes unequal, it was always characterized by a ma- 
 jestic purpose." 
 
EDOUARD MANET 
 
 223 
 
 Since his death his audience has steadily augmented, and, 
 although not large, his circle of admirers is composed chiefly 
 of persons who have made painting a serious study. What 
 they claim for him is a careful consideration of the aims which 
 actuated him, and a recognition of those aims as important in 
 the realm of pictorial production. How near he came to their 
 full realization is, perhaps, a matter of individual appreciation. 
 Sufficient he it to say that his life was a loyal struggle for his 
 beliefs, and that his example has been wholesome and useful 
 in the world of art. 
 
 Cabeoll Beckwith. 
 
JULES BASTIEN-LEPAGE 
 BY 
 
 J. ALDEN WEIR 
 
 29 
 
JULES BASTIEN-LEPAGE 
 
 (1848-1884) 
 
 IN the autumn of 1873 a number of painters — Dagnan- 
 Bouveret, Wencker, Emile Lepage, Courtois, Edlefelt, Bas- 
 tien-Lepage, and Baude the engraver, used to dine together 
 every night at Mile. Anna's restaurant, in the rue St. Benoit, 
 and it was there that I first met Bastien-Lepage. He was at 
 this time about twenty-five years of age, stoutly built, and 
 of medium height, and my first impression of him was that 
 he looked like a man of self-assertive qualities and positive 
 opinions. 
 
 I remember at the time I first met him that his picture of 
 " Springtime,' 1 which had been exhibited at the Salon, was 
 hanging on the wall of this restaurant — a charming picture of 
 a fete champetre in early spring, very suggestive of the rural 
 pastimes of the day, such as might be seen in the Bois de 
 Meudon. Bastien had given it to Mile. Anna in payment of 
 his account. It was the first picture by Bastien-Lepage that 
 I had seen. The next year, that remarkable portrait of his 
 grandfather, and the year following, his " First Communion," 
 produced sensations in the respective Salons. He asked me 
 to make a copy of the " First Communion " for him, which 
 I did. He made a final revision of my copy, and from that 
 time I can date a friendship with Bastien that was broken 
 only by his death. I became one of a small circle of Mends 
 who loved the man for his honesty, his truth, and his sincerity. 
 
 During the Prix de Rome examination in 1875, in which 
 Bastien took part, we used to take our after-dinner coffee at a 
 cafe on the Boulevard St. Michel, facing the garden of the 
 
 227 
 
228 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 Luxembourg. I remember, after Bastien had successfully 
 competed in the preliminary concours, and was en loge, that he 
 described to us how the guardian of the loges, on the arrival of 
 competitors in the morning, examined carefully whatever they 
 brought with them, allowing nothing to be taken into the 
 studios that did not bear the official seal. Afterward he locked 
 each one of them in a separate small studio in the Ecole des 
 Beaux- Arts, and allowed them to depart again at evening. 
 
 The subject given for competition was " The Angels ap- 
 pearing to the Shepherds," sometimes miscalled the " Annunci- 
 ation." Our discussion turned for a long time upon the fact 
 that the scene between the angels and the shepherds took 
 place at night. This worried Bastien greatly. He felt the 
 unpaintable quality of darkness, and it was not until he had 
 completed a number of drawings for the picture that, one 
 evening, he announced to me that he had decided to represent 
 the scene as taking place in the early morning, when the dawn 
 began to make the color of objects visible. As his work ad- 
 vanced we were all much interested, and followed him through 
 the whole of it by the sketches he made on the marble-topped 
 table at the little cafe. In this way he showed us the ar- 
 rangement of the figures, and the slight alterations he made. 
 Any radical change was, of course, impossible, as he was 
 obliged by the conditions of the competition to follow his 
 accepted sketch. 
 
 When at last the picture was placed in the gallery of the 
 Ecole des Beaux- Arts, and was being judged by the members 
 of the jury, some hundred of us were awaiting the result out- 
 side the closed doors. We could hear the president's bell, 
 calling the academic body to order. We felt sure that a 
 stormy discussion was going on within those closed doors, but 
 so confident were we that Bastien would carry off the prize 
 that one of our number had brought a sprig of laurel with 
 him, to decorate the picture directly the successful verdict 
 was announced. When the doors were opened, and we en- 
 tered, we were all dumfounded to find that Bastien's picture 
 had been awarded only the second prize. The change from 
 night to dawn in his picture had lost him the Prix de Rome. 
 The Academy insisted that the letter of the law should be 
 followed, that the angels did appear to the shepherds by night, 
 
"JOAN OF ARC" (DETAIL). BY BASTI EN-LEPAGE 
 
 METROPOLITAN MUSEUM, NEW YORK 
 
JULES BASTIEN-LEPAGE 
 
 229 
 
 and that it should be so represented in the picture for com- 
 petition. In every other quality but that of word-painting 
 Bastien's picture was far in advance of his competitors. Ge- 
 rome, whom we all knew as a just, if exact, judge, fought 
 hard for Bastien's picture, and afterward gave him assurances 
 of his friendship and sympathy, but these did not change the 
 judgment. Bastien had lost. 
 
 That night in the restaurant in the rue St. Benoit, as we ate 
 our dinner in melancholy of spirit, he who had been awarded 
 the first prize sat with his followers in an opposite corner of 
 the room. During the day Ms friends had placed upon his pic- 
 ture in the restaurant a gilded wreath. One of our number 
 had noticed this, and now, excusing himself for a few minutes, 
 went out, and returned shortly with a wreath of green laurel, 
 which he placed on Bastien's picture of "Springtime" with 
 the remark, " The real lam-el belongs here." This little speech 
 was followed by considerable disturbance, but it amounted to 
 nothing serious, and we soon went over as usual to the little 
 cafe for coffee. Most of that night was spent in discussing, 
 and trying to account for, the judgment. We were trying to 
 explain away the inevitable. 
 
 Before our party broke up that evening Bastien had made 
 us promise that we would visit him at Damvillers, where his 
 parents lived, during the fete of the village. In September we 
 all went down there. Dagnan-Bouveret, Wencker, Baude, Edle- 
 felt, Maysat, Courtois, and myself made up the party. We 
 traveled in third-class carriages, as students do in France, and 
 about midnight reached Chalons-sur-Marne. The morning 
 found us at Verdun, where a dash of water and a good break- 
 fast made us all ready for the diligence ride of ten miles to 
 Damvillers. Four of us on the top of the diligence had the 
 pleasure of listening to thrilling episodes told by the driver 
 about Bastien's father, whose vineyard was his source of rev- 
 enue. We entered Damvillers in true coaching style, with 
 cracking whip, and an extra speed to the horses, and were 
 landed with a sharp turn in the square of the village. As we 
 stopped the driver called out, " Voila la mere Bastien? 
 
 We looked and saw only a peasant woman at the village 
 fountain, but she proved to be, indeed, Mme. Bastien stand- 
 ing there with her pail of water. The garrulous driver was not 
 
230 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 slow in calling out, " Madame, these are friends of your son ! " 
 She put down her pail and stood there in a quaint simple way, 
 her hands hidden under her apron, and welcomed us with true 
 French cordiality. She told us Jules did not expect us 
 for an hour yet, and was out in the fields painting. She 
 asked us into her cottage, where we met the grandfather, M. 
 Lepage, and with both of them we speedily touched glasses, 
 and drank good health. Jules arrived shortly afterward. We 
 were disposed about the village with the relatives of the 
 Lepage family, and for several days there was great feasting in 
 Damvillers. The celebrated pot au feu and soupe au lard, 
 with other dishes, and wine galore of a flavor fit for a king 
 to drink, were placed before us. In addition, during our stay 
 we were invited to lunch with the moire of the village — quite 
 a distinguished honor as we understood it. That first even- 
 ing we danced at the fete, at which Bastien's cousin, whom he 
 painted in his picture of the " First Communion," proved her- 
 self the most graceful waltzer in the village. 
 
 During our stay at Damvillers I remember Bastien was 
 painting at odd intervals on the portrait of his father. He 
 worked in his grandfather's garden, which was surrounded by 
 a high wall, and, like most French gardens, had the pear- 
 and peach-trees trained against the wall. It was under an 
 apple-tree that he was painting his father's portrait. The 
 same tree figured in his picture of "Joan of Arc," and the 
 cottage seen in the background of that picture was really the 
 barn, which he transformed into a dwelling by indicating a 
 window. Bastien had completed the head in the portrait of 
 his father, and had just begun to paint the hand, which was 
 carefully drawn in on the canvas. 
 
 In 1880 I arrived in Paris too late for the Salon, where Bas- 
 tien's picture of "Joan of Arc" had been exhibited. Not finding 
 him in Paris, I went down to Damvillers, where he was work- 
 ing. It began to rain the day after I arrived, and while chat- 
 ting after dinner Mme. Bastien brought in two little girls, one 
 of whom, she said, had posed for Joan's eyes, and the other for 
 the mouth and lower part of the face. They were dainty little 
 misses of six and seven years of age, with all the innocence 
 and timidity of childhood, and I was much interested in them. 
 
 A heavy rain set in, and it looked like the beginning of a 
 
THE FIRST COMMUNION." 
 
 BY BASTI F.N -LEPAGE 
 
JULES BASTIEN-LEPAGE 
 
 231 
 
 long storm. There was no chance for out-of-door work, and I 
 had little difficulty in persuading Bastien to accompany me on 
 a trip to Ghent, in Belgium, where his picture of "Joan of Arc " 
 was to be exhibited after leaving the Salon. On our arrival at 
 Ghent, we found his picture had not yet been unpacked. So, 
 without further delay, we went at once to the cathedral to see 
 the beautiful altarpiece by Van Eyck. This picture charmed 
 Bastien greatly. I never knew him to be so enthusiastic over 
 any work of art as over this. The simplicity and naivete of 
 the Madonna were to him marvelous. At one o'clock we 
 lunched with the members of the Ghent jury. About the 
 middle of the repast the president left the room for a few mo- 
 ments, and when he returned he said that Monsieur Lepage's 
 picture was now being unpacked. With one accord we all got 
 up and went out to see it. The applause from the company 
 was something that I shall never forget. The president em- 
 braced Bastien. All of them shook hands with him, and when 
 we returned to the table, his health and long life were duly 
 drunk. But poor Bastien was not destined for a long life. 
 
 The modesty with which he bore these honors, and many 
 subsequent ones, was indicative of the fact that he was not 
 working for success alone, but for the recognition of what he 
 felt to be truth. He was certainly the one man of his time 
 who called many painters back to nature, and established the 
 cult of " nature as she is." Strong in his convictions, he had 
 a great dislike for the academic, and was constantly talking 
 of the decadence of art, in that nature was being transformed 
 from the simplicity of truth to the mere expression of clever- 
 ness and skill. He believed that the only possible chance for 
 art to become healthy again was by getting away from tradi- 
 tion, and returning to the simple rendering of nature without 
 preconceived ideas. Bastien's love of nature, and his determi- 
 nation not to depart from the path of literal truth as it ap- 
 peared to him, are strongly stamped on all his works. The 
 academic was contrary to what he felt in nature, and he never 
 cared to reflect the ideas of others when he could follow nature 
 for himself. That which was sufficient for the fifteenth-cen- 
 tury painters he felt was sufficient for him. 
 
 I returned to America in the fall of 1880, and did not see 
 Bastien again until 1883, although during this time we had 
 
232 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 maintained a correspondence, which had kept me au courant 
 with his work. In 1883 I returned to Paris in time to see the 
 Salon, where Bastien had his picture of " L' Amour au Village." 
 I lunched with him in his studio in the rue Legendre, and I 
 realized then that he was a very ill man. He had been to Italy 
 since I last saw him, and a few souvenirs of his trip were scat- 
 tered about his room. He talked of some day returning there 
 for a longer stay, which dream, alas, was never to he realized. 
 His companions felt that he was doomed to die, and yet when 
 the news of his death came the next year it was a great shock 
 to us all. He was as deeply and sincerely mourned by the 
 painters in America, among whom he had many friends and 
 admirers, as by the men in his own country. I have a bas-relief 
 of him done by Augustus St. Graudens, hanging on the wall of 
 my studio, and whenever I look at it I seem to see in it all the 
 true character of Bastien as I knew him. The individuality is 
 strongly felt, and it was instilled into the bronze by one who 
 was numbered among Bastien's intimates. 
 
 Were I an art-critic I should probably be able to discover 
 the different steps and advances Bastien made in his art, 
 but I am writing only as a friend and painter. I see in all 
 his works that observation and individual rendering of what- 
 ever he undertook that made him one of the first men of 
 his time, and when speaking of his work I include all of it, both 
 early and late. He was uneven at times, and sometimes failed 
 entirely ; yet who but mediocre men do not make failures ? 
 He who dares and fails is often greater than he who enjoys 
 popular renown. Bastien certainly had the courage of his own 
 convictions, and dared to dare. 
 
 I can add little to the established biographical accounts of 
 Bastien-Lepage, though he told me many things about himself 
 at odd times that I cannot now remember definitely enough to 
 state as facts. He was born at Damvillers, November 1, 1848. 
 He had an early liking for drawing, which his parents encou- 
 raged by buying him prints to copy. He became dexterous with 
 the pencil early in lif e, and when, at nine years of age, he was 
 sent to Verdun seminary, he took all the prizes in drawing. As 
 a boy he had determined to become a painter, and finally he 
 was sent to the great Mecca of the art-student, Paris. With 
 little means of support, he for months worked as a postal clerk, 
 
JULES BASTIEN-LEPAGE 
 
 233 
 
 until, finding that either the postal service or art had to be aban- 
 doned, he gave up the former. He went back to Damvillers, but 
 soon returned to Paris to become a pupil of Cabanel. He re- 
 mained in the studio of that master until the summer of 1870, 
 and while there made his debut in the Salon, with the portrait 
 of a friend. The Franco-Prussian war stopped his art studies. 
 He enlisted under the tricolor and shouldered a musket. When 
 the armistice was declared he returned to Damvillers, and again 
 took up the paint-brush, painting portraits of the villagers. 
 Once more back in Paris, the struggle for existence stared him 
 in the face, and he was glad to do some drawings for one of the 
 journals, after he had applied to many others that had refused 
 Ms work. In 1873 he was at Damvillers for a time, and that 
 year he painted the portrait of his grandfather, which has be- 
 come so vividly known to all art-lovers. This portrait was 
 painted out of doors, in that memorable garden. Shortly after 
 his return to Paris, I saw it in his old studio in the rue du 
 Cherche-Midi. The background was then unfinished, but he 
 afterward completed it from studies which he brought back 
 with him. This portrait, to me, contains the same qualities of 
 character as Titian's " Man with the Glove" in the Louvre, and 
 Manet's " Bon Bock." It makes one feel, in looking at it, that 
 the person really existed — a quality rare among portraits. 
 
 In 1874 he received a third-class medal and the government 
 bought his picture for the museum of Verdun. Work now be- 
 gan to come to him. In 1875 he won the second-class medal 
 for his picture of Monsieur Simon Hayem, exhibited at the 
 Salon, with that other charming work, the " First Commun- 
 ion." This latter, a picture of a young girl painted in her com- 
 munion dress, with her wreath of orange-blossoms and white 
 veil, as one so often sees her in France, was a marvel in the 
 delicate rendering of its values. It was a scheme of white re- 
 lieved against white. The modeling of the head was carried to 
 the extent of a Holbein, with all the charm of Bastien's peculiar 
 technic. Indeed, one is frequently reminded of Holbein in 
 studying Bastien's drawing. There is, especially in his por- 
 traits, the same simplicity of line and firmness of form. 
 
 Then followed the Prix de Rome competition, which I have 
 described. Orders for portraits continued to come to him, and 
 in 1873 in London he received a commission to paint the Prince 
 
 30 
 
234 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 of Wales. The cross of the Legion of Honor was finally be- 
 stowed upon him in 1879 for his portrait of Madame Bernhardt. 
 The " Joan of Arc " was first shown in the Salon of 1880, and 
 is now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. 1 In 
 1882 he was appointed to design Grambetta's funeral-car. 
 
 Even at this time, when he was so well known, his pictures 
 sold but poorly, and he relied for support almost entirely on 
 his portraits. After his death in 1884 more than two hundred 
 of his pictures formed a special exhibition in an annex of the 
 Ecole des Beaux-Arts, and in 1889 some of his best works 
 were shown at the Paris Exposition. Bastien enjoyed out-of- 
 doors nature both in art and in lif e. The peasants in the fields 
 were among his earliest observations. His impressions were 
 keen and strong, and he admired and respected the laborer who 
 tilled the soil. The subjects he chose were closely observed, 
 but from a different view-point from those painters who had 
 preceded him. Prettiness and daintiness of form or feature he 
 put aside for the beauty that lies in the individuality and 
 character of the peasant. His mind was not biased by the 
 traditional ; he put down clearly that which he observed, pro- 
 ducing the impression at times of an almost scientific ten- 
 dency in his art. 
 
 It is a difficult matter to assign the place or rank a painter 
 holds in the history of his art. We each have a different stan- 
 dard ; but certain it is that no man more sincerely carried out 
 his art in a direction he had made peculiarly his own than 
 Bastien-Lepage. 
 
 J. Alden Weie. 
 
 NOTE BY ' 
 
 JULIAN ALDEN WEIR was born 
 in 1852 at West Point, New York. 
 He comes from a family of artists, his 
 father being Robert W. Weir, a dis- 
 tinguished American painter and long 
 time professor of drawing at West 
 Point Military Academy. Mr. Weir's 
 first master was his father. From 1872 
 * The public is indebted to Mr. Weir 
 
 IE EDITOR 
 
 to 1876 he was in Paris studying in the 
 Ecole des Beaux- Arts under Gerome. 
 He exhibited first in the Salon in 1873, 
 and since then has received honorable 
 mentions and medals for other works 
 exhibited at the Salon. He received a 
 second-class medal for his paintings 
 and a third-class medal for his draw- 
 r its being in this country. — Editor. 
 
JULES BAST I EN -LEPAGE 
 
 235 
 
 ings at the Paris Exposition of 1889. 
 Besides these he won the American Art 
 Association prize in 1888, a figure prize 
 of the American Water Color Society, 
 and a landscape prize at the Boston 
 Art Club. He was one of the founders 
 of the Society of American Artists, is 
 a member of the National Academy of 
 Design, and a member of the Ameri- 
 can Water Color Society. He has trav- 
 
 eled and sketched in Spain, Holland, 
 France, and elsewhere, and exhibits 
 yearly in the different exhibitions in 
 America and elsewhere. Some of his 
 figure pictures, portraits, and land- 
 scapes are in public places like the 
 Metropolitan Museum, the gallery of 
 Smith College, and the Players Club 
 in New York, and many are in private 
 collections in the United States. 
 
 J. C. V. D. 
 
P.-A.-J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM A. COFFIN 
 
P.-A.-J. D AGNAN - BOUVERET 
 (1852- ) 
 
 I HAD been studying in Paris about six months when, in M. 
 Bonnat's school, where I was making my first attempts at 
 drawing from the model, I heard some of the senior pupils, 
 who had advanced to the dignity of painting studies from life, 
 talk about a picture in the Salon of 1878 by Dagnan-Bouveret. 
 They spoke so highly of it, and said it was so good, that the 
 next time I went to the Salon I made a point of seeing it. It 
 was the " Manon Lescaut," a canvas of moderate size, and, as 
 it seemed to me in my ignorance, rather empty and uninter- 
 esting. I have never had better proof of the fact that appre- 
 ciation of good art depends upon cultivation of the sense of 
 seeing than my first impression of that picture. It is a charm- 
 ing work (I have seen it since) ; the two figures are beautifully 
 drawn, and the delicate color-scheme of pale grays and yellow- 
 ish tints is most artistically conceived, and delightfully carried 
 out in the painting. The next year at the Salon a much less 
 sympathetic subject by Dagnan, "A Wedding-Party at the 
 Photographer's," evoked my admiration for its marvelous 
 technical skill ; and hi 1880, when I saw " The Accident," I 
 became, like every other young painter in Paris, an enthusi- 
 astic advocate of the ability of the brilliant artist whose name 
 became, by the exhibition of that picture, as well known as 
 that of Bastien-Lepage. 
 
 These two young men have always stood side by side in my 
 mental retrospect of the achievement of French painters up to 
 the time that Bastien's career was ended by his untimely death 
 in 1884. Since then I have followed, as closely as my resi- 
 
 239 
 
240 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 dence in New York would permit, the development of Dagnan's 
 art ; and in 1889, at the Paris Exposition, where I saw nine 
 or ten of his best works, I placed him in the first rank of mod- 
 ern painters, and could find in all the galleries of that won- 
 derful exhibition no picture by a living painter on which to 
 found so much hope for the future of the French school as 
 on " The Blessing." It seemed to me, in looking at it, that if 
 it does not prove to be one of the works of our day most held 
 in esteem a generation hence, it will be only because all canons 
 of taste will have been reversed, and all appreciation of the 
 true and beautiful have ceased. In the " Horses at the Water- 
 ing-Trough," and " The Consecrated Bread," at the Luxem- 
 bourg gallery, in the " Breton Women at the Pardon," in 
 " Vaccination," " The Pardon," and other works, I have seen 
 much to convince me that Dagnan-Bouveret is one of the 
 ablest painters of our time, and that his temperament, most 
 refined and sympathetic in its artistic quality, is supported by 
 a skilfulness of technic, and an individuality of expression, 
 that give to his works a personal character such as few others 
 possess. His pictures satisfy the most rigorous technical re- 
 quirements, and impress by their truth to nature and by their 
 healthful sentiment. 
 
 Unfortunately I have not the pleasure of a personal ac- 
 quaintance with M. Dagnan-Bouveret. Those of my friends 
 who have speak of him as a man of gentle temper, and de- 
 voted to his art. From one of them who has told me of his 
 intercourse with him in Paris, where they had studios in the 
 same building, I have heard interesting details of his life and 
 character. He is a man of small stature, with dark hair and 
 beard, intense eyes that investigate and pierce the mystery of 
 the subject that occupies his attention, of a strong, determined 
 will and the most resolute perseverance, but, withal, of such 
 sweet disposition that all who know him are instinctively 
 drawn to him. His will, though it stops at no barrier, never 
 offends those brought in contact with him. " When he used 
 to come into my studio sometimes," says this friend, "he would 
 seem for the moment absorbed in my work, and would examine 
 it closely, and talk about it to me with the same earnestness 
 that he might if it were his own. He is a man of the most 
 sympathetic nature and the kindest heart, and in his work, 
 
COPYRIGHT. iy£)2, HY THOMAS SHIELDS CLARKE 
 
 "MADONNA AND CHILD." BY D AGNAN-BOU VE RET 
 
P.-A.-J. D AC1NAN-B0UVERET 
 
 241 
 
 whether he is occupied with some detail of still life or with 
 the expression of an important figure, he brings to bear on the 
 task in hand the same intense study, and the same strong pur- 
 pose to get out of it all that it means. With his hard study of 
 nature in his school work, and his unflagging perseverance in 
 bringing out in his pictures what he feels in the subject before 
 him, are combined a sympathetic, artistic perception and a poet's 
 thoughts. AU this makes him the artist he is." 
 
 It appears that to Dagnan no quality is greater than sincer- 
 ity ; and this is evident enough in his work for us to know it 
 without being told. He has the greatest admiration for Hol- 
 bein, in whose work he recognizes the presence of the same 
 intentions that are so clearly shown in his own. He cares 
 nothing for fashionable life, but lives solely for his art. In 
 his studio and garden at Neuilly he works incessantly. Some- 
 times he goes to the country with his wife and son, and there 
 too he works with equal ardor. A little story about the " Horses 
 at the Watering-Trough " well illustrates the thoroughness of 
 his methods. Dagnan was passing the summer at his father- 
 in-law's place, and there saw the subject of this picture. His 
 father-in-law entered with great interest into the project of 
 making a picture of the farm-horses, and arranged various de- 
 vices to make the task of painting the picture from nature as 
 convenient as possible. The summer wore on, and the picture 
 progressed, but the way Dagnan paints a large canvas (or a 
 little one, for that matter) takes time. So, at his father-in- 
 law's suggestion, they took primitive sorts of casts of the 
 horses' backs by laying over them cloths soaked in plaster of 
 Paris, and when these were hard and dry, they were set up, 
 and the harness was placed on them just as it would be if the 
 horses themselves were standing before the trough. And here 
 every day Dagnan came to paint his straps and buckles, and 
 before he had finished them to his satisfaction the snow fell 
 on his palette as he worked. 
 
 It is not to make note of mere painstaking labor that I 
 think it worth while to speak of this incident : what it shows 
 is that Dagnan believes that no detail in a picture may be neg- 
 lected; that everything, however small, has its own character, 
 and that that distinctive character can be rendered only by the 
 most thorough study; and that the conditions must be such as 
 
 31 
 
242 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 to enable the painter to make that study conscientiously and 
 well. Like all great artists, he knows that there is as much char- 
 acter in a hand as in a head ; that among all the men in the 
 world no two noses are exactly alike, and no general type will 
 serve to represent them. He carries out the same principle in 
 the minor parts of his pictures, and even when the interest of 
 the work requires that these minor parts should be broadly in- 
 dicated only, we may be sure that the indication is based on 
 the individual character possessed by the objects, and that 
 truth to facts is the foundation of all that we see. 
 
 Dagnan takes little part in the discussions of the groups in 
 the art -world of Paris and the divisions of coteries. He followed 
 his friends from the old Salon to the Champ de Mars when the 
 split came about in 1890, but he lives apart from the strife of 
 the schools. More like an artist of the early Renaissance than 
 a Parisian of to-day, he lives for his art, and finds his pleasure 
 in his work and in the companionship of a few intimate friends. 
 One of these is Grustave Courtois, the well-known painter, who 
 was a fellow-student at the Beaux-Arts, and another of them 
 was Bastien. We can easily understand that the great artist 
 who painted those wonderful portraits of his grandfather and 
 of his mother, " The Haymakers," and " Jeanne d' Arc," would 
 admire the work of his confrere Dagnan, and that their simi- 
 larity of artistic aim would draw them together even without 
 personal sympathy. But a strong attachment existed between 
 them, and they were most intimate friends. 
 
 Pascal- Adolphe - Jean Dagnan-Bouveret was born in Paris, 
 January 7, 1852. His father, going to Brazil to engage in com- 
 merce., took his family with him, and there Dagnan's mother 
 died when he was only six years old. His father then sent 
 him and his brother back to France, and he went to live with 
 his grandfather, M. Bouveret, at Melun. He was brought up 
 by him, and, following a not uncommon practice in France, 
 Dagnan added to his name that of his mother's family. M. 
 Bouveret, who was an old officer of the army of Napoleon I., 
 had acquired a modest but comfortable competence, and sent 
 Dagnan to the College of Melun, where he obtained his educa- 
 tion during the ten years from 1858 to 1868. About the time he 
 finished his studies, his father, who had remained in Brazil, of- 
 fered him a chance to go into business with him ; but Dagnan re- 
 
PHOTOGRAPHED BY BKAUN, CLEMENT ET CIE. EM GRAVED BY U. WOLF 
 
 "LA bernoise." by dagnan-bouveret 
 
P.-A.-J. DAGNAN-BOU VERET 
 
 243 
 
 fused this offer, expressing his firm purpose to become a painter. 
 His father thereupon cut off all financial aid. Assisted by his 
 grandfather, however, he entered the Ecole des Beaux- Arts 
 under the instruction of M. Gerome in 1869. " Bepuis, a part 
 qnelques voyages en Bresil (1874), en Balie (1882), en Hollande el 
 Belgique, en Allemagne et en Algerie (1888)," the painter writes 
 me, " mon existence est oVune platitude extreme toute consacree a 
 mon travail." He worked in the Beaux- Arts until 1876, when 
 he won the second Grand Prix de Rome, a high academic 
 honor, but, fortunately perhaps, not carrying with it, like the 
 first prize, a residence at Rome, at the government's expense, 
 at the French Academy. Had he gone there, his individuality 
 might have been restrained, and we might not have witnessed 
 the development of the real Dagnan so soon. But I fancy that 
 no adverse circumstances, and no uncongenial sunmindings, 
 could long have kept him from following his bent. 
 
 The first picture exhibited by Dagnan was "Atlanta," at the 
 Salon of 1875, and though it attracted some attention, it re- 
 vealed no originality on the part of the artist. " Orpheus," 
 which followed in 1876, may also be passed over without com- 
 ment, the first indication of individual feeling appearing in the 
 " Manon Lescaut " in 1878. The " Wedding-Party at the Pho- 
 tographer's" (1879) brought the artist into prominence, and 
 " The Accident " (1880) achieved for him a settled reputation 
 as a skilful, thoughtful, and individual painter. " The Bless- 
 ing " (1882) placed him definitively in the first rank. His first 
 " recompense " was a third-class medal at the Salon of 1878 for 
 "Manon Lescaut." At the Salon of 1880 for "The Accident" 
 he was awarded a medal of the first class. He was made a 
 Chevalier of the Legion of Honor in 1885, received the medal 
 of honor in painting at the Salon of 1889 for his picture, " Bre- 
 ton Women at the Pardon," and at the Universal Exposition 
 the same year was awarded one of the grand prizes for the col- 
 lective exhibition of his works. In 1892 he was made an Officer 
 of the Legion of Honor. He has received gold medals at in- 
 ternational exhibitions at Munich, Vienna, and Ghent, and is a 
 member of the fine arts academies of Munich, Stockholm, and 
 Berlin. Though a societaire of the Society of French Artists, 
 under whose direction the "Old Salon" is held at the Palais de 
 l'Industrie in the Champs-Elysees, he is more intimately con- 
 
244 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 nected with, the National Society of Fine Arts, which holds the 
 " New Salon " in the galleries erected at the Champ de Mars for 
 the exhibition of 1889, and in 1893 he exhibited there two pic- 
 tures — "In the Forest" and "In the Fields." 
 
 It is one thing to learn the grammar of the art of painting, 
 and another and very different thing to make good use of the 
 knowledge afterward. Any young student with sufficient nat- 
 ural ability to learn may with patience, intelligence, and hard 
 work become proficient in the metier; but to express what one 
 feels depends on qualities of brain and temperament. Indeed, 
 as study to acquire the art of painting is study to educate the 
 eye, what a man will pamt after his eye is trained to a just 
 sense of form, proportion, and color, will be decided by what 
 his imagination prompts him to portray or interpret. Many a 
 clever man, after acquiring the knowledge of how to look at 
 nature, has continued all his life to paint what are veritably no 
 more than school studies. Others who have acquired the 
 knowledge even not so well have been able, by their superior 
 faculty for perceiving what is most interesting in nature, and 
 by their deeper insight into the character of things, to paint 
 pictures that, if technically not so good, have greater human 
 interest. But the man who is endowed with an excelling sense 
 of form and color, who faithfully devotes himself to the hard 
 work necessary to develop them, and who is at the same time 
 gifted with qualities of head and heart, is the one who will 
 become the great artist. Such a man is Dagnan. He could 
 never paint the pictures he has painted if he had not studied as 
 he did in the school with an intense determination to render on 
 his canvas or drawing-paper the exact and literal appearance of 
 things as he saw them in the model before him. He could not 
 robe that truth in such attractive form in his pictures if he had 
 not the technical force fully to express facts in nature as he 
 finds them, and he could not express the truth that the com- 
 bination of these facts reveals without the most thorough study 
 of every one of them in the aspect in which they present them- 
 selves to him. Further than this, with the most perfect tech- 
 nical equipment he could attain, he penetrates the superficial 
 aspects of nature, and, like a man who comes to feel instinc- 
 tively the thoughts in the mind of another person with whom 
 he is in intimate relation, he arrives at a sympathetic know- 
 
PHOTOOltAPIIEl! IJY BUAUN, CLEM RNT ET CIB 
 
 HORSES AT THK WATERING -TROUGH. 
 
 BY DAGNAN-BOUVERET 
 
P.-A.-J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET 
 
 245 
 
 ledge of what is inside. It may be no more than the sleeve of 
 a jacket, but its wrinkles and folds have for him a distinctive 
 character. He does not dissect like the surgeon ; he analyzes, 
 reasons, and forms conclusions with the gentle intelligence of a 
 friend. Peasant at his toil, or Breton woman at her devotions, 
 when Dagnan has painted them for us, we feel that he has felt 
 their thoughts. 
 
 His style is far less synthetic than that of Millet, and it is 
 somewhat less naive than that of Bastien. This delicious 
 quality of naivete, that so often escapes a painter of great tech- 
 nical skill, is present in Dagnan's best work. Very little of it 
 is to be found in the "Wedding-Party at the Photographer's," 
 where there is an evident confidence shown, in the way the pic- 
 ture is painted, to meet difficulties and to vanquish them. In 
 " The Accident " this confidence is less apparent, and the pic- 
 ture is by so much better than the "Wedding-Party"; in 
 " The Blessing " it has almost vanished. There is just enough 
 of it left to hold the interest of the spectator to the technical 
 excellence of the work, and not too much to cause him to think 
 of the means of expression. This timidity before nature (I call 
 it timidity for lack of a better word, meaning by it an artist's 
 fear that he cannot, well as he may paint, paint well enough to 
 do justice to nature) is apparent in most of Bastien's work. In 
 the portrait of his mother, for instance, it shows in every touch 
 of the brush seeking to render the subtlety of expression in the 
 face, in the beautiful drawing of the mouth, in the almost in- 
 decisive way in which the line and form are felt. It is a qual- 
 ity that distinguishes the best art of the kind to which the 
 work of Bastien and Dagnan belongs, and it is not one that 
 needs to be sought for in looking at a picture. If it is present 
 at all, it communicates its charm unknowingly. Such a charm 
 is in the work of Holbein, in that of some of the Dutch mas- 
 ters, Terburg or Van der Meer of Delft, and it pervades that 
 wonderful masterpiece by Rembrandt in the Louvre, the 
 " Supper at Emmaus." 
 
 The chief points of technical excellence in Dagnan's work 
 are, first, his drawing, which, while without nervous quality, is 
 delicately felt, irreproachably correct, and faithful to detail ; 
 second, sympathetic and refined color-schemes of more depth 
 and of more variety than are usually found in the work of 
 
246 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 men who are essentially draftsmen, and give snch careful at- 
 tention to form as he does ; third, frank, simple, and unobtru- 
 sive brush-work; and, fourth, good composition. In compo- 
 sition his originality is remarkable ; for while his groups are 
 unconventional, and the point of view taken by the painter in 
 most of his pictures seems to be a novel one, and in the hands 
 of an artist with a less well-developed sense of symmetry would 
 incline sometimes to eccentricity, his art of arranging his fig- 
 ures on the canvas to give an impression of naturalness is so 
 great that the effect is always agreeable, and impresses by its 
 unity of ensemble. His technical faults, judging his work by 
 an ideal standard, are a tendency at times to " breadiness " of 
 facture, and, in his out-of-door pictures, a slight lack of atmos- 
 phere or enveloppe. His methods in composition are well 
 shown in the " Breton Women at the Pardon," and in " In the 
 Forest," and the quality of his exquisite drawing is especially 
 well exemplified in the heads of the women in the church in 
 the "Consecrated Bread," in "La Bernoise," and in some of his 
 small single figures, which are comparable only to the works of 
 the Dutch masters. 
 
 The scene of " The Blessing " is taken from the life of the 
 French peasantry, and shows a young couple who are about to 
 leave the father's house for the church, receiving the parents' 
 blessing before their marriage. The young man is kneeling on 
 the floor at the left of the picture, in profile to the spectator, 
 and the bride, with the veil falling over her shoulders, is at his 
 right hand and a little in advance. The father and mother, 
 who are standing a little farther to the left, are dressed in 
 clothes kept for such great occasions, and at the back of the 
 room behind the long white-draped table, where the feast will 
 soon be spread, are the friends who are to assist at the cere- 
 mony — young girls in white, with here and there a colored rib- 
 bon, and sturdy-looking men, sunburnt and brown in contrast 
 with their white linen ; and about all the warm glow of the 
 sunlight, veiled by the white muslin curtains at the windows, 
 colors the plastered walls, and the wooden rafters of the ceil- 
 ing, with tints of amber, opal, and blue. Dagnan was never 
 more happy in his choice of a subject than in this, and has 
 never more admirably rendered, nor with such delicate appre- 
 ciation, the subtle values of light and air. In the figures of the 
 
P.-A.-J. DAGN AN-BOU VERET 
 
 247 
 
 young people, the old man, the good mother, and the guests, 
 in every line of the faces and turn of the bodies, there is some- 
 thing expressed that adds its part to the beauty of the picture 
 as a whole. Without a particle of affectation, or over insis- 
 tence upon the sentimental side of the scene, without a vestige of 
 appeal to the literary sense, he gives us a picture full of poetry, 
 and sound, fresh, and charming from the artistic point of view. 
 In the " Vaccination," a scene in one of the large rooms in the 
 municipal building of a provincial town, where mothers, with 
 their children in their arms, and a doctor, the personification of 
 the traditions of the medecin de province, are grouped, there is 
 equal knowledge, the same sure, frank, well-felt modeling as in 
 "The Blessing," and agreeable, quiet color. 
 
 But to describe, even in the most summary way, the pic- 
 tures by Dagnan that deserve as much praise as these is more 
 than space will permit. " The Pardon," one of his pictures 
 owned in this country, is one of the finest of his renderings of 
 Breton character, and the " Breton Women at the Pardon " 
 must be passed with the mere mention that it is one of the 
 finest of his works, and the one perhaps that has given him 
 the most renown. So, too, "In the Forest," of which those 
 who have seen it can speak only with the highest praise for 
 the rugged but gentle sentiment expressed in the scene, where 
 a party of woodcutters, resting after the noonday meal, are lis- 
 tening to one of their number who plays the violin, must be 
 thus briefly referred to. Even in a reproduction in black and 
 white it shows how eloquently, and with what simple pathos, 
 the painter has told an idyl of the woods. Dagnan, whether 
 it be in one of his most important compositions, in a simple, 
 single figure of a peasant, such as the one owned by Mr. Potter 
 Palmer of Chicago, which represents a young Breton holding 
 a taper, or in such a portrait of a lady as the one he painted 
 in 1889, and which belongs to Mr. George F. Baker of New 
 York, is always the same sincere painter. His talent and his 
 skill are indisputably great. 
 
 In this present day, when insincerity and superficiality pa- 
 rade themselves in the exhibitions, and too often receive from 
 the world consideration they do not deserve ; when " fads " and 
 experiments are leading many a good man in art into devious 
 paths; when the rush for notoriety and quick success almost 
 
248 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 excludes from view those who are content to strive in an hon- 
 est way to achieve that which they know is true and good; 
 when Fame cuts capers, and casts her laurels all too carelessly, 
 it is more than gratifying to find such a man as Dagnan stead- 
 ily pursuing his ideal, regardless of clamor and strife, and re- 
 maining faithful to the principles that have made all the good 
 art in the world. There are other men in the French school as 
 solid as he, fortunately, and every one of them is an influence 
 for good. When the dust behind the fin-de-siecle chariot shall 
 have cleared away, we shall find the work of such men as 
 Dagnan standing like sign-posts on the road to point the way 
 to truth. 
 
 William A. Coffin. 
 
MAURICE BOUTET DE MONVEL 
 BY 
 
 WILL H. LOW 
 
 32 
 
MAURICE BOUTET DE MONVEL 
 
 (1850- ) 
 
 TO know thyself is held on the best of authority to be the 
 summit of human attainment, but, difficult as is this self- 
 knowledge in any walk in life, it is perhaps never more diffi- 
 cult than in the case of the artist. 
 
 Professing an art with ill-defined boundaries, eager, and 
 questioning every murmur of the wind as though it were the 
 voice of the god, now progressing boldly, cheered by the ap- 
 proval of the multitude, or again groping blindly amidst general 
 denunciation, the still small voice of artistic conscience his only 
 supporter, this protean creation of supersensitive atoms that 
 we name artist lives with the Sphinx, who smiles encourage- 
 ment but is dumb. Happy indeed are the exceptions to this 
 rule; fortunate is he who from the first sees spread before him 
 the way in which he may walk. He, it is true, will still find 
 the path beset with pitfalls ; the thorns of technical endeavor 
 will still tear at his garment, but these are little ills; the tem- 
 ple, smi-illumined, is clear to his eyes, and, though far distant, 
 every step seems to bring him nearer. 
 
 And, like the roads that lead to Rome, the ways are many : 
 no two men need follow the same way, and the by-path fol- 
 lowed by Chardin leads one thither no less — nay more — 
 surely than the Appian W ay trod by David. The secret of this 
 primrose path is kept, however, so securely that none may say 
 to his fellow, " Follow me, and all will be well"; nor by follow- 
 ing the elect can one hope to be of the chosen. Each must 
 work out his own salvation, and against the temporary wave, 
 whatever it may be, must be on his guard, lest it carry him 
 
 251 
 
252 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 beyond his depth and drown him in the futile and the com- 
 monplace. Every great artist has left resolutely behind him 
 the apparently denned path to success. Giotto deserted the 
 splendors of Byzantine mosaic, and, taking up duller pigments, 
 found freedom of expression ; Michelangelo, leaving the indi- 
 vidualism of his contemporaries, invented a typical art all his 
 own ; and Millet, virile nature ill at ease in the classic pre- 
 cincts of the Hemicycle, betook himself to the fields, and molded 
 his man of clay. 
 
 These are great names to conjure with, and the distance 
 that separates them from that of Maurice Boutet de Monvel is 
 undoubtedly vast ; but as all roads lead to Rome, the by-path 
 chosen by M. de Monvel is of his own discovery, and may lead 
 him far. The infinitely great has many points of contact even 
 with the infinitely small, and in the middle ground between 
 them resemblances multiply and blend, so that it is the pur- 
 pose of this paper to explain in a degree the place of its titular 
 subject in the great family of art. 
 
 Maurice Boutet de Monvel was born at Orleans, France, in 
 1850. and if the proverb of noblesse oblige can be artistically 
 adapted, it is difficult to see how he could have readily escaped 
 following some one of the many branches of an artistic career. 
 Heredity, which is held responsible for so many things, had 
 prepared since 1745 for the present exponent of the artistic 
 temperament in the Monvel family, for it was in that year 
 that his great-great-grandfather saw the light. Jacques-Marie 
 Boutet de Monvel was the son of an actor, and, following the 
 profession of his father, made his debut at the Theatre Fran- 
 cais in 1770. He was the great tragedian of his time, and, 
 preceding Talma, brought tragedy from the bonds of stilted 
 conventionalism into the realm of reality. French writers on 
 the stage assign to him a most important place in theatrical 
 history, and his literary talent was so esteemed by his contem- 
 poraries that he remains the only instance of an actor elected 
 as a member of the Institute. The tragedian's daughter, 
 known to us by her stage name of Mademoiselle Mars, is more 
 celebrated. This astonishing woman, making her first appear- 
 ance at the Theatre Francais in 1803, continued a career of 
 successive triumphs until her farewell representation in 1841, 
 when, at the age of sixty -two, she played the part of Celimene 
 
"portrait of a young GIRL.'' by boutet de monvel 
 
MAURICE BOUTET DE MONVEL 
 
 253 
 
 in "Le Misanthrope" of Moliere. Throughout this long pe- 
 riod, and in a fickle capital, she kept her place as the first 
 actress in the first theater in the world, and the long line of 
 dramatic authors from the time of the First Empire down to 
 Dumas and Hugo were all indebted to her creation of their 
 principal roles. Other artistic stars of lesser magnitude who 
 figure in this artistic genealogy were the brothers, Baptiste of 
 the Comedie Francaise, and Feriol of the Opera Comique. 
 
 The line was to be broken, however, for two generations. 
 The grandfather of the subject of this sketch chose to aban- 
 don the mimic wars of the stage for an actual war, which en- 
 listed him, as it did so many of his generous countrymen, and 
 brought him to the whilom British colonies in North America. 
 Arriving in this country during the War of Independence, and 
 acquiring the rank of captain of engineers in its army, he 
 remained until peace was restored, and then, returning to 
 France, settled to a life of philosophic research at Orleans. 
 Here his son, the father of Maurice, was born, and here the 
 artistic line was resumed by this son's marriage with the 
 daughter of Adolphe Nourrit, who was not only the creator of 
 the chief tenor parts in " Gruillaume Tell," " Robert le Diable," 
 "Les Huguenots," and other operas of Rossini and Meyerbeer, 
 but the intimate friend and counselor of the composers. Dur- 
 ing a too short career — he died in 1839 at the age of thirty- 
 seven — Nourrit succeeded in impressing his personality on 
 his environment to a remarkable degree. It is related of him 
 that Meyerbeer accepted and interpolated into his score of 
 " Robert le Diable " airs of Nourrit's composition, and his ver- 
 satile talent found vent in other directions, drawing " with 
 great taste," says his biographer, and writing a series of criti- 
 cisms on the Salon in the "Journal de Paris." 
 
 From such ancestry Maurice Boutet de Monvel was born. 
 The future of a child in France, in the midst of a family which 
 had already counted such illustrious names in the domain of 
 art, could almost be predicted. In curious contrast to the An- 
 glo-Saxon order of ideas, which looks askance at the artist with 
 a mixture of commiseration and distrust, is the Gallic idea, 
 which not only counts this vocation as preeminently respecta- 
 ble, but, perhaps even more than the pursuit of arms, glorious. 
 Therefore young Monvel found no opposition when at an 
 
254 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 early age his artistic instincts became manifest. Repeating an 
 experience common in the history of painters, it was, above all, 
 his mother's counsel and encouragement which profited him 
 the most, and through his childhood and school-boy days it was 
 her exhortation and her stories of her father's triumphs which 
 fired the youth's ambition, until in the year 1870 (after a year 
 in the private studio of an artist of talent, De Rudder by name) 
 he entered the Atelier Cabanel, in the Ecole des Beaux- Arts. 
 It was on the eve of war, and after the defeat at Sedan our 
 young artist doffed his blouse, dropped his brushes, donned a 
 uniform, and with a chassepot on his shoulder joined the Army 
 of the Loire. The boy of twenty, in the few short months of 
 war, became a man, although of the scenes which he witnessed, 
 of the emotions which war brought to him, there is visible in 
 his work only an occasional tragic note, such as we may see in 
 the " Apotheosis." The war over, Monvel resumed his studies, 
 but this time — an early sign of revolt — in the more indepen- 
 dent Academie Julien. In 1874 came his first exhibition at the 
 Salon. At this time Monvel's equipment, and apparently his 
 aim, were those of hundreds of other young painters, who, 
 benefiting by the wonderfully systematized methods of instruc- 
 tion prevalent in France, find themselves, at the outset of their 
 professional career, with an ideal purely academic, and a docile 
 intention to carry out this ideal in the official manner. 
 
 French art-education has, for the moment, its most bitter 
 opponents in its own birthplace. To our more distant view it 
 would seem to be as good as any general system of education 
 can be. It does not produce artists, say its enemies. True 
 enough, but, given the necessary temperament, does it not put 
 into the artist's hands the weapons which he must wield in 
 battle % Poeta nascitur, non fit is true though trite, but an un- 
 lettered Keats is tongue-tied from birth. The army of painters 
 sallying forth from drill practice counts for the time few but 
 privates in its ranks, but little by little the natural leader is 
 promoted, and at last commands. The ability to draw with 
 correctness, to paint with due regard to " values," to compose a 
 picture in an intelligent, though somewhat conventional, man- 
 ner — all this the schools place at the disposition of the many. 
 It may not make draftsmen with style ; the values may not be 
 sublimated to their last expression; the compositions may 
 
MAURICE BOUTET DE MONVEL 
 
 255 
 
 smack overmuch of traditions; and it never, we may say, 
 makes a colorist : but abolish all this (and every year in Paris 
 there is an effort on the part of certain men and certain jour- 
 nals to do so), and you get what the sad spectacle of English 
 art gives us — irrelevant, desultory effort, evidences enough of 
 talent, but one and all wallowing in the slough of insufficient 
 technical knowledge. 
 
 It can be maintained that it is not possible to judge of the 
 effects of the abolition of the parental academic direction of art 
 study in France, for, despite the theories of those who are now 
 willing to overthrow the system, they — the leaders of the revolt 
 — have profited by it, or if they have not, as in a few isolated 
 instances, the academic influence has been so strong that they 
 have absorbed its principles against their will. The standard 
 of Paris to-day demands of the painter technical acquirements 
 that, left to himself, no man could arrive at, and if the " dried 
 fruit of official culture " is rife upon the market through this 
 system, the blossoms and fresh fruits are also there, the result 
 of its careful culture. 
 
 One of the many at the time of his debut at the Salon, Mon- 
 vel was nevertheless one of the few who think for themselves. 
 The absence of color per se, as a defect in French training, has 
 been noted. Feeling the lack of it, Monvel in 1875 went back 
 to school, this time to the revolutionary atelier of Carolus- 
 Duran, while still working in his own studio and contributing 
 to the Salon. Monvel's work at this time had a strong grasp 
 of character, but in striving for strength of effect there was 
 too great a tendency to over-blackness of shadow, against 
 which Carolus-Duran labored in vain, and from which Monvel 
 was only to be emancipated years later through the forced use 
 of light tones and simple, unaccented silhouettes in the color- 
 reproductions in his books. In 1876, marriage and the atten- 
 dant responsibilities of a household relegated Salon triumphs 
 and ambitions to a second place. To meet these new demands 
 there followed a weary search from illustrated journal to book- 
 publisher and back again, for illustrative work. For a long 
 time it was without result, and, rebuffed on every hand, Mon- 
 vel was losing heart when Delagrave, a publisher, offered him 
 the illustration of a child's history of France. The work was 
 poorly paid, but it was an entering wedge, and, so reasoning, 
 
256 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 Monvel did his best, and as a result was offered other work, 
 notably on the French edition of " St. Nicholas." With illus- 
 tration as a bread-winner, work of more serious intention was 
 undertaken for the Salon. It was still academic in treatment, 
 but with a vein of originality in subject which, though slightly 
 trivial, served to show that back of the tradition there was 
 a glimmering of individuality. In the Salon of 1878 a third- 
 class medal, and in 1880 one of the second class, making its re- 
 cipient hors cancours, came to recompense these efforts. The 
 medaled picture of 1880 represented a young sorceress receiv- 
 ing instruction in the occult arts from an old witch. The sub- 
 ject served as a pretext for painting the nude figure of the 
 young sorceress, which was in parts beautifully painted ; but 
 the bituminous shadows still prevailed, and the picture enters 
 into the category somewhat contemptuously judged by M. de 
 Monvel himself as having no other value than as a lesson in 
 what to avoid. 
 
 With the Salon successes and their official reward there 
 appeared a little book, " Vieilles Chansons et Rondes" ("Old 
 Songs and Dances " ), soon followed by another, " Chansons de 
 France " (" Songs of France "), in which, breaking through the 
 shell of scholastic trammels, the talent of Monvel takes its first 
 flight. These little books, oblong quarto in form, are of fifty 
 or sixty pages, and on each page, surrounding the words and 
 music of the song, is a decoratively treated drawing. In the 
 charming books which the fortunate children of this generation 
 have in such number, I know none superior to these or to their 
 successors, " La Civilite Honnete et Puerile," republished in 
 this country as " Good and Bad Children," and the " Fables of 
 La Fontaine." I do not think that any critical description of 
 them can be made better than a quotation from a letter of M. 
 de Monvel in which, speaking of drawing with a pen, he says : 
 
 Having at my disposition a means so limited [as the pen], I have 
 learned that there is one all-important element which we must seek 
 in everything which we would reproduce, and which, for want of a 
 more definite word, we may call the soul, the spirit of the object rep- 
 resented. A rude stick planted in the ground has a particular char- 
 acter and interest of its own, and if we make of it a drawing which is 
 commonplace, it is because we have failed to grasp its spirit. No 
 
" THE APOTHEOSIS." BY BOUTET DE MONVEL 
 
MAURICE 
 
 BOUTET 
 
 DE MONVEL 
 
 257 
 
 other stick would have the character which belongs to this particular 
 one, and this, which is true of the rude stick, applies the more as we 
 ascend the scale of creation. This is the lesson taught me by the 
 necessity of expressing much with the thin, encircling line of the pen, 
 and all is there. In comparison with this sense of individual charac- 
 ter in anything which we try to represent, all else is unimportant. 
 
 This is a brave profession of faith, which an examination 
 of the artist's work renders convincing. Through all these lit- 
 tle figures we find everywhere a truth of gesture, a reality of 
 type, that are surprising; the children resemble one another 
 only as one child is like another. They are French children, 
 but there the resemblance ceases. And their heads, their hands, 
 their little feet, express so much ! An oval contour, two dots 
 for eyes, a couple of delicately indicated accents for mouth and 
 nose, and we have Mademoiselle Fifine, who turns her cheek and 
 submits to the chaste embrace of Monsieur Paul, in pinafore. 
 Then, in quite another vein, we have the three robbers mak- 
 ing off with, the newly shorn wool, and below, when brought to 
 task by the owner, who, good woman, begs its return on bended 
 knees, how fine the assumption of innocence on the part of the 
 thieves ! A later book, " Nos Enfants," with text by that 
 charming writer, Anatole France, shows the same qualities on 
 a larger page, and is replete with tenderness, half amused, and 
 yet thoroughly in sympathy with child life. Here we have the 
 grave little doctor visiting the indisposed doll, while the little 
 mother, gravely resting her chin on the headboard of the bed, 
 awaits the result of the diagnosis. Very charming, also from 
 this book, are the glimpses of country life — the good old peas- 
 ant grandmother, the children gathering fagots, or the little 
 becapped girl who submits with a mingling of terror and joy 
 to the amicable caress of a great Newfoundland dog. Of more 
 import to Monvel than Salon honors was the reception ac- 
 corded these works. Their popular success was great, and 
 grave critics, turning aside from the consideration of large of- 
 ficial painting, treated these delicately traced pages with be- 
 coming seriousness. 
 
 It is curious to turn from these works to Monvel's offered 
 contribution to the Salon of 1885 — the "Apotheosis," repro- 
 duced herewith. One cannot help feeling that his theatrical 
 
 33 
 
258 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 ancestry must have strongly influenced our painter, an influ- 
 ence wholly for the good when it impels him to throw himself 
 for the nonce into the soul of a child that he wishes to repre- 
 sent, but, in the case of a picture like this, an influence more 
 questionable. Moreover, a picture, even more than a story, de- 
 signed to teach a lesson, to advocate a theory, is an anomaly. 
 In this we have the demagogue, enthroned on a barricade, be- 
 ing crowned by Robert Macaire, while the comrade Bertrand 
 beats the bass-drum, and the crowd acclaims him king. A 
 satire on universal suffrage, a protest against socialism — this 
 may be one or the other, and it matters little ; the real merit 
 of the work is a technical one — the admirable manner in which 
 the uplifted hands of the rabble are treated. Admirable as 
 they are, — and from some of them one could reconstruct the 
 individual as a naturalist reconstructs a prehistoric animal 
 from a single bone, — and though the difficulties vanquished are 
 great, and the success of the achievement considerable, the pic- 
 ture as a picture is not equal to some of the slighter drawings, 
 or, above all, to Monvel's painting of to-day. 
 
 Its history, however, is amusing, and, as a bit of the chro- 
 nique seandaleuse of the Salon, worth relating. The picture was 
 sent to the Salon of 1885, was placed on the line, and duly ad- 
 mired by the jury previous to the official visit of the Assistant 
 Director of Fine Arts, a certain M. Turquet. The official visit 
 of the Director comes before that of the President and the 
 Ministry, which in turn precedes the day of opening to the 
 general public. At the appointed time came M. Turquet, who, 
 considering it seditious, and liable to create a disturbance little 
 short of a revolution, ordered the picture to be detached from 
 the wall and sent home to the painter. The jury meekly acqui- 
 esced, for the Director of Fine Arts sits at the source of official 
 patronage, and as he directs the current the streams of Pactolus 
 flow. So M. de Monvel, properly punished for painting a po- 
 litical opinion, saw hhnself excluded from the Salon — a grave 
 misfortune, for in the capital of art many are striving for recog- 
 nition, and it behooves one at the outset of a reputation to 
 maintain himself before his public. At this junction M. Georges 
 Petit, who was organizing an exhibition in his charming and 
 much frequented gallery of the rue de Seze, invited our painter 
 to show the " Apotheosis " there. It was accordingly sent, and 
 
MAURICE BOUTET DE MONVEL 
 
 259 
 
 placed on the wall, when, just before the exhibition opened, a 
 prominent painter, a member of the Institute, but of different 
 political faith from M. de Monvel, saw the picture, and promptly 
 gave M. Petit the choice of sending away the "Apotheosis" or 
 having the picture painted by himself removed. As M. Petit 
 is but human, and the authority of the Institute is great, Mon- 
 vel once more saw his picture returned, and in this way a 
 change of ministry, and possibly civil war, may have been 
 averted. 
 
 It is pleasant to turn from this tempest in a teapot to an 
 act of pure camaraderie uninfluenced even by personal acquain- 
 tance. Edouard Detaille, presumedly disgusted with the injus- 
 tice from which Monvel was suffering, espoused his cause by 
 proposing him as a member of the French Water-Color So- 
 ciety, a most exclusive body. Considering that at the time 
 Monvel had never painted in water-color, the appropriateness 
 of the election which followed might be considered doubtful, 
 but coming as the voluntary proffer of sympathy on the part 
 of one of the most prominent painters in France, it took on the 
 form of a vindication, and, greatly comforted thereby, Monvel 
 at once applied himself to the manipulation of this (to him) 
 new means of expression. As he knew nothing of the me- 
 dium, all was to learn, and the result has been that his water- 
 color work is peculiarly his own, the effect arrived at being 
 one of singular limpidness and delicacy without undue sacri- 
 fice of strength. 
 
 With this period, and undoubtedly under the influence of 
 this medium, the blackness characteristic of his early work 
 completely disappeared, and in the next important work which 
 Monvel undertook, the illustration of "Xaviere," by Ferdinand 
 Fabre, we have a series of thirty-six drawings which for orig- 
 inality both in method and conception place him not only in 
 the front rank of art, but give him a place by himself. Here 
 we feel that he literally knows himself, that with a congenial 
 subject he is completely master of the situation. The original 
 drawings were executed in water-color, and have been superbly 
 reproduced by the photogravure process of Boussod, Valadon 
 & Cie., who publish the book. The reproductions are in black 
 and white, but so thorough is the work of the artist, so deli- 
 cately adjusted is the scale of light and shade, that the loss 
 
260 
 
 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS 
 
 of color is hardly felt. The characters of the story, a village 
 priest, his old woman-servant, and two children, a boy and 
 a girl, and the simple rustic surroundings both in and out of 
 doors, make up the subjects of the pictures. The atmosphere 
 of the story surrounding these characters is felt through all 
 the work ; the good priest in his close-fitting robe, like a leg- 
 acy from medieval times, moves quietly through it all, with his 
 homely, saint-like face ; the shrewd goodness of the old ser- 
 vant gives a touch of strong reality ; and the young girl Xa- 
 viere, with her sweetheart Landry, adds an idyllic note. 
 
 It is difficult for me to write of these drawings in aught but 
 a superlative way, for with this strong accentuation the means 
 employed are the simplest. The beauty of ordinary daylight 
 and lamplight effects in an interior, simple almost to the point 
 of barrenness, is so well expressed that one almost forgets that 
 simplicity is of all qualities the most difficult to obtain. The 
 sureness of hand which in slighter works we have remarked in 
 Monvel's drawings seems greater here, where the scheme of 
 light and shade is carried so much further, and the luminosity 
 and the color quality of some of the drawings is surprising. 
 How exact in the sense of truth and character, in the " soul of 
 the object represented," are the scenes where the priest and 
 his little household are seated before the fire, the effect of 
 lamplight where the priest searches the pages of St. Jerome, 
 or that of the dappled sunlight as the children dance around 
 the tree to the sound of Landry's flute ! The enumeration of 
 these various subjects at the risk of being tiresome must in- 
 clude at least that of the closing drawings, where poor Xaviere 
 dies, all of which are treated with a sympathetic touch, especi- 
 ally that of the last communion, which it is difficult to con- 
 ceive as the work of the painter of the "Apotheosis," so great 
 is the range of sentiment between. 
 
 In truth, the doctrine of heredity finds confirmation in work 
 like this, and the actor-artist lineage stands our painter in good 
 stead when it plays through a gamut of character such as his 
 work shows. Withal, the merit which of all he would assur- 
 edly claim a desire to possess is his — naivete. It may be some- 
 what the simplicity which ignores nothing, — for to what else 
 can one pretend in this much-informed age ? — but if it is, and 
 is consequently the result of will, it is no less credit to the 
 
FKOM *' XA Vlli KK, " 11Y PERMISSION OF BOUSSOD, VALADON ET CIE. 
 
 "LANDRY AT THE BEDSIDE OF XAV1ERE." 
 BY BOUTET DE MONVEL 
 
MAURICE BOUTET DE MONVEL 
 
 261 
 
 valiant artist who turns his back on cleverness and superficial- 
 ity, and tries humbly to approach each new subject as though 
 it were the first he treated, in closing his eyes to what has gone 
 before, and daring to be himself. 
 
 There can be little more than a passing mention of work 
 which has gone on alongside of work of larger volume if not 
 of greater importance. Monvel enjoys in France an enviable 
 reputation as a painter of children's portraits. It is only a 
 step from the children of his imagination, who people his books 
 and his canvases, to the real children which art-loving parents 
 have brought to him to be portrayed. These works are char- 
 acterized, with a fine artistic sense, by a picture-like quality 
 never carried to such an extent as to recall the "fancy por- 
 traits" of our shepherd and shepherdess grandfathers and 
 grandmothers, but they are very real little children, often en- 
 gaged in the every-day pursuits of every-day children. Of 
 other portraits the number is great, since the early Mounet- 
 Sully, painted in 1876, to the later Mile. Dudley, also of the 
 Comedie Francaise. 
 
 The future of M. de Monvel will be interesting to watch, 
 but the present of his artistic career is no less interesting. He 
 stands by himself, and in the midst of the painters of his time 
 and country, given up for the most part to the exemplification 
 of a pictorial dexterity almost without parallel in the history 
 of art, he is one of the very few who have found the emo- 
 tional quality. Gifted with a capacity which has been carefully 
 trained, so that technically he is armed with knowledge equal 
 to that which the same severe training has given his confreres, 
 he uses it instead of allowing it to use him. In the truest 
 sense he is an Impressionist, in as much as his view of nature 
 is an outcome of his own temperament ; for in the painting of 
 the future, Impressionism must mean more than a wilful sub- 
 ordination of aught else than the visual faculty applied to ex- 
 ternal objects, and he who sees with the eyes of the soul, and, 
 without faltering technically, translates this inner vision, will 
 be the true Impressionist. There are men — their names come 
 to me as I write — who are gifted with the rare qualities which 
 make the complete artist, and who, from a sense of the over- 
 whelming difficulty of adequate technical achievement, from 
 uncertainty of purpose, or from a mean desire to be " in the 
 
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