Yale Universitv LibfafV 39002009485010 ITf^O'^RY' 331 YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY MODERN FRENCH MASTERS I> I llf^' KNQUAVED HY E. KINGSLEY 'ORPHEUS GREETING THE MORN." BY COROT MODERN FRENCH MASTERS A SERIES OF BIOORAPHICAL AND CRITICAL REVIEWS BY AMERICA]^ ARTISTS WITH THIRTY- SEVEN WOOD-ENGRAVINGS AND TWENTY-EIGHT HALF-TONE ILLUSTRATIONS EDITED BX JOHN CYAN DYKE v^' NEW YORK THE CENTUEY CO. 1896 Copyright, 1889, 1892, 1894, 1896, by The Cbntuey Co. The DeVinne Preu. 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, tbe 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 tbat 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 migbt 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 tbe limits of materials and methods, he knows what can be done, and he knows after it is done whether it has been weU 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, ^ PREFACE its meaning, and its success or failure as a whole, maybe judged quite as truly by the outside pubhc 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 asseried. It is said that he is too near his theme, too much interested in it technically, to esti mate it intellectually or estheticaUy. But unless one is near a work of ari, unless he does consider it technically, his appre ciation of it can have httle 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 bhnd to what those methods express. Fromentin's " Les Maitres d' Autrefois," perhaps the best piece of ari 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. Fromentiu was, of course, a man of shrewd perceptions, exceptionally good judgment, and ex cellent hterary skiU ; but, making allowance for these quahties, 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 aU 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 pubhc 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 speciaUy prepared to voice the recoUections and opimons of American ariists 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 pupUs 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 aU are from American ariists 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 httle 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 ht erary critic or the pubhc, I may venture to claim for the book pubhc consideration not only because of its point of view, but because of its special information, and its general value as a contribution to ari Uterature, 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 caUed " haU-tone." It is said that the en graver's personahty 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 subtUe tones ; that it is frequently faulty in Ught and shade ; and that it f aUs in giving the true values of colors. This contention, hke 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 ariicle. It was designed that iUustrations 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 ariicles, and many of the iUustrations, are reprinted from The Centuey Magazine, whUe fourteen of the ariicles, and most of the half-tones, were specially prepared for this volume. JOHN C. VAN DYKE. Rutgers College, New Brunswick, N. J., 1896. CONTENTS PART I Thomas Coutuee George P. A. Healy . 3 PAGE PuvTS DE Chavannes Kcnyofi Cox .... 17 Jean-Leon G-EBdME Will H. Low .... 31 Leon Bonnat E.S. BlashfieU . . 47 Paul Baudby Kenyon Cox .... 61 Cabolus-Duban J. Carroll BecJcwitJi . IB Jean-Paul Laubens K H. BlashfieU . . 83 Jean-Louis-Ebnest Meissonieb H. W. Watrous . . 93 PAET II Camille Cobot Theodore Bobinson . 107 TniioDOBE EoussEAu WilUam A. Coffin . 119 Naboisse-Vibgilio Diaz Arthur Hoeber . . 131 Constant Tboyon William H. Howe . 143 CHAELES-FEANgois Daubigny D. W. Tryon ... 155 Claude Monet Theodore Bobinson . 169 FAQB X CONTENTS PART in jEAN-FEANgois MiLLET Wyatt Eaton ¦ • • 179 GrusTAYE CouBBET Somucl Isham . ¦ ¦ 199 jEdouabd Manet J. Carroll Beckwith . 215 Jules Bastibn-Lepage J. Alden Weir . . . 227 Pascal Dagnan-Bouyeeet WiUiam A. Coffin . 239 Maubice Boutet de Monybl WiU H. Low . . . 251 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Cobot, Obpheus Gbbeting the Mobn Frontispiece Engraved by Elbridgb Kingsley. FACING PAGE Coutuee, The Little Confectionee 4 Engraved by Henet Davidson. Coutuee, Study foe the Loye of Gold 8 Engraved by Michael Haider. Coutuee, Harlequin Pleading 10 Engraved by Chaeles State. Coutuee, Study of an Amebican Gibl 12 Engraved by Thomas Johnson. Puvis DE Chayannes, Peace (Detail) 18 PuYEs DE Chayannes, Eest 20 PuYis DE Chayannes, The Hemicycle (Detail) ........ 24 Puvrs DE Chayannes, St. GeneyiJiye (Detail) 26 Gee6me, Napoleon befoee the Sphinx (L'CEdipe) 32 Engraved by Henry Woli-. Gee6me, The Caepet Meechant 36 Engraved by Henr* Wolf. GIib6me, Thiest 40 Engraved by Henry Wolf. Bonnat, Louis-Adolphe Thiees 48 Engraved by Timothy Cole. Bonnat, Mabtybdom of St. Denis 52 XI xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE Bonnat, Pasteue and his Geanddaughtee 56 Engraved by Thomas Johnson. Baudby, The Waye and the Pearl 64 Baudby, Diana Deiying Away Loye 66 Baudby, The Shephebds (Detail from the Op^ra) 68 Caeolus-Duban, Poetbait 74 Engraved by Thomas Johnson. Cabolus-Duban, Poetbait of La Comtesse de V6dal .... 78 Laubens, Bust of, by Eodin 84 Drawn by Wyatt Eaton. Laubens, The Aech of Steel 86 Laubens, Last Moments of Maximilian 88 Meissonieb, Feiedland — 1807 94 Meissontee, The Beothees Van de Velde 96 Meissonieb, Napoleon — 1814 98 Cobot, The Woodgathebees 108 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. Cobot, Lake Nemi 112 Engraved by Elbeidge Kingsley. Cobot, View of the Colosseum, Rome 114 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. CoEOT, Landscape with Cattle 114 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. Rousseau, Rayines of Apeemont 120 Engraved by Elbeidge Kingsley. Rousseau, St. Michael's Mount 124 Engraved by Elbeidge Kingsley. Rousseau, Twilight 126 Engraved by Elbeidge Kingsley. Diaz, The Loyees 132 Engraved by Henry Wolf. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xiii facing page Diaz, Landscape undee Sunshine 136 Engraved by Elbeidge Kingsley. Diaz, Landscape undee Shadow 138 Engraved by Elbeidge Kingsley. Tboyon, Cattle 144 Tboyon, Holland Cattle and Landscape 146 Tboyon, La Vallee de la Toucqubs 148 Daubigny, Poetbait of 156 Engraved by Thomas Johnson. Daubigny, The Setting Sun 160 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. Daubigny, The Cliffs at Villebyille 162 Engraved by Elbridge Kingsley. Daubigny, A Flock of Sheep 164 Engraved by Elbridge Kjnqsley. Monet, Poetbait of 169 Drawn by Theodore Bobinson. Monet, Boedighbea 170 Engraved by Michael Haider. Monet, On Cape Mabtin, near Mentone 172 Engraved by Michael Haider. Millet, The Chueneb 180 Engraved by W. B. Closson. Millet, The Sowee 184 Engraved by Timothy Cole. Millet, Poetbait of, fbom Ceayon Sketch by himself . . . 188 Millet, The Sheep-Sheaebes 192 Engraved by W. B. Closson. Couebet, The Musician 200 Engraved by Timothy Cole. Couebet, The Faib Dutchwoman 204 Engraved by Timothy Cole. xiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE Couebet, The Debe Reteeat 208 Manet, Le Bon Book 216 Manet, Boy with Swoed 218 Manet, Poet of Boulogne 220 Bastibn-Lepage, Joan of Aec (Detail) 228 Engraved by Timothy Cole. Bastibn-Lepage, The Fiest Communion 230 Engraved by Timothy Cole. Bastibn-Lepage, Angels Appbaeing to the Shephebds . . . 232 Engraved by Henry Wolf. Dagnan-Bouyeeet, Madonna and Child 240 Dagnan-Bouyeeet, La Bernoise 242 Engraved by Henry Wolf. Dagnan-Bouyeeet, Hobses at the Watebing-Tbough 244 Engraved by Hbney Wolf. Boutet de Monybl, Poetbait of a Young Girl 252 Boutet de Monybl, The Apotheosis 256 Boutet de Monybl, Landby at the Bedside of Xayiebe . . . 260 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS PART I THOMAS COUTURE BY GEORGE P. A. HEALY MODEEK FEENOH MA8TEE8 THOMAS COUTURE (1815-1879) 1%/j Y first meeting with Couture, who became one of my best Aj/JL 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, weU provided for in the way of courage and determination, with a goodly stock of youthful Ulusions, and very httle besides. I was just begumiag to understand a few words of French, and had entered the studio of the great and unforiimate paiater Gros, If I understood but few of the things the master and pupUs said to me, I understood the lan guage of the pencU, and worked all the harder that I was the more estranged. One day, as the model was resting, and I was looking at my momiag's work in a somewhat melancholy state of mind, a shori, thick-set young man, with bright brown eyes and shaggy hair, unceremoniously pushed me aside, saying, ^^ 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 cooUy tumed over my sheet of gray paper and sketched the model, who, resting, had faUen into a far better attitude than that which we had copied. The outline drawing was so strong, so fuU of life, so easily done, that I never re ceived a better lesson. When he had finished, he left my place as cooUy 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 4 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS to say that the woman intrusted with the care of my room had but smaU respect for the fine aris, and being one day in need of paper to hght my fire, took a number of drawings for that purpose. Among those drawings was the outUne sketch by Thomas Couture. I was scarcely able to profit much by my illustrious mas ter's directions. Baron Gros had been a very successful as weU 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 Uttie by httle fashion changed ; other painters be came the favorites of the moment, and Gros 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 ariists than one's seU, 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 deUght in throwing mud at the faUen idol. The criticisms which were not spared Baron Gros when Ms 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 pupUs dispersed, and I had no opportunity to make furiher acquaintance with my eccentric feUow-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 Enghshman named CopUs, 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. Cophs 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 feUow ! 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 buUd their own grand studios, and to fiU them with wonderful draperies and precious bric-k-brac ; as a usual thing, they be longed to modest famihes, who mourned over the son and brother who had embraced such a profession. Mr. Cophs bought the picture signed Thomas Couture, and paid the color-dealer a thousand francs for it. I afterward BAIUBEDIBNHE COLLECTION, PAB18 ENGEAVED BT B. DAVIDBOIT 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 teU him of the purchase. As soon as I entered I saw that Couture was no other than the feUow-student who had so unceremoniously taken my place. I was so dehghted at the coincidence that Couture, who naturaUy did not recognize me at aU, thought me a httle 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 Uke himself, and that we both had been pupils of Gros. 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 hking 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 foUow 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 wonderfuUy. On that first visit of mine to his bare studio — a very differ ent-looking place from the lovely boudoir-hke studios of fash ionable painters nowadays — I saw him at work on a picture only just sketched in. He exclaimed : " The amateur who wUl buy that canvas for a thousand francs wiU have his money's worth. Don't you think so ? " A thousand francs ! The pic ture was large, and represented "The Prodigal Son," a hfe-size figure. The young man, seated by the wayside, a goatskin about his loins his only garment, thin, his deep-sunken eyes fuU 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 fuU of compassion, while her companion points to the prodigal and seems to teU his story. The contrast be tween the prodigal son and these lovers is very happUy indi cated ; and the rich tones of the man's red drapery reheve the sombemess of the rest of the picture. WhUe examining the sketch I said to my new friend : " My sitters pay me a thou- 6 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS sand francs for a portrait. If you wiU aUow me to pay you by instalments, I wiU be that amateur, — and a proud one too, — and I offer you not a thousand francs, but fifteen hundred." I was very proud of my purchase, but a httle troubled too. In those days my sitters were not very numerous, and I bor rowed of Mr. Cophs, the brother of my f eUow-student, the first sum paid to Couture. But I never regretted this youthful f oUy of mine. "The Prodigal Son" remained in my studio for many years, and I took it with me to America, FinaUy I gave it, with many other pictures, to the city of Chicago. I am sorry to say that the whole coUection was destroyed in the great fire of 1871. A smaU sketch of " The Prodigal Son," and a most spirited one, stiU 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 hfe; he fought it bravely and successfuUy. He was bom in SenUs, 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 caUed 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 especiaUy, 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 dehght. 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 pecuhar 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 actuaUy 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 young, 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 continuaUy 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 EngUshwoman. At one time he never came to dine with us without bringing in his pocket a tame hz- 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 hving at the moment when they were swal lowed. Many other such trifles were set down against him at first; but with time, and especiaUy after he himself, rather late in hfe, married, these eccentricities were softened down, and his real sterhng quahties — the good heart, the faithfulness, the sturdy courage, and the manly energy — grew to be more tho roughly appreciated. These strong quahties did not go without a certain rough independence of character which did not help him to success and of&cial 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 "fos 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 aUowing them a voice in the matter, the right of directing in any way the ariist they employed, that was not to be thought of. Their first duty was to be etemaUy satisfied, grateful, and enthusiastic. At the time that Guizot pubhshed 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 f eUow-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 utUized one of his bare waUs 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. Guizot was then aU-powerful, and a more couriier-Uke 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, " X attends.''^ The orders should come to him: he would never run after them. Guizot smUed, but continued most graciously: " Who was your master ? " " Delaroche," After the death of Gros, Couture had entered Delaroehe's atelier, but remained only a short time under a master whom he did not admire. "M. Delaroche is a friend of mine," answered Guizot; "I shaU have great pleasure in speaking of you to him." And he evidently did speak to Delaroche of his pupU, 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 Phihppe and of aU his famUy. 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 pupU, you had natural talent, but that you had strayed from the true path, and I could not recommend you." Probably the favorite couri-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 modem canvases hiding the works of the old masters — the King, Louis Phihppe, 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 generaUy praised, suddenly causing its author to beeome fa mous in a day, that the state bought it for the very large sum of 6000 francs. This sudden reputation of his ex-pupU proba bly caused Delaroche to modify his judgment. At any rate, BAEBEDIENNE COLLECTION, PARIS ENGRAVED BY M, HAIDKR STUDY FOR THE LOVE OF GOLD. BY COUTURE THOMAS COUTURE 9 he caUed on Couture some time after the purchase of the "Decadence," and said: " Monsieur Couture, I have greatly disapproved, I stUl 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, boYmig, 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 Phihppe did not appreciate the painter of the "Decadence," Couture's reputation was so weU estabUshed when Napoleon III took possession of the throne that it was impos sible to treat him slightingly, though his talent was not such ias 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 httle 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 foUowers. If a porirait-painter, when his sitters are ordinary morials, has nearly always to undergo many unpleasant scenes, it is easy to judge how his temper is tried, and his nerves tmstrung, when those sitters are princes or sovereigns. It is Ukely that in Cou- 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 tumed around and said: " Sire, who is to paint this picture — your Majesty, or I ? " And neither painted it ! The Emperor gave no more sittings, turned his back on the painter, and his courtiers tumed theirs also. The order was not maintained, and aU the work of many months was wasted. Couture never recovered from this bitter disappointment. He shook the dust from his feet, and retumed contempt for contempt. From that day on he never sent any work to the annual Salon, and, httle by httle, 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 stiU vegetates somewhere, he must be very old indeed. No one has heard of him for many a long year ! " In reahty, 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 hohdays. 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 fuUy developed than many an Old World country. When MiUet was stiU, 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 exceUent 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. La 1869 he purchased a country place at VUliers-le-Bel, a short distance from Paris. The house dated from the time of Francis I, and the garden, or rather park, was fiUed 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 pecuhar ideas of happiness caused him to hve in. what other mortals might consider great discomfort. Under pretext that nature managed things for the best, he never aUowed 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 dehght in wear ing peasant's garments and in walking in sabots — they at least had nothing to do with civihzation ! But as he had a thorough appreciation of the delights of a good table, he employed an exceUent 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 viUage 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, hving in the village so as to proflt by the master's advice. Among these were many Americans, Mr. Emest LongfeUow, son of the poet, being of the number. Couture was an exceUent master, and took great interest in the progress of his pupUs. His great precept was, " Look at na ture ; copy nature." He pubhshed a httle book fuU of good advice to young ariists, giving the result of many years' ex perience. AU 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 famUy, to whom aU 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. StiU, it must he owned that the first impression was not always quite agreeable. On one occasion an American, a rather shy and exquisitely pohte 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 wliile conversing. Couture was fond of telling the story of his first pupU. He was stiU 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, shghtly deformed, dressed hke a weU-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 pupUs; 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 ; aU he asked for was a comer of the atelier from which he could see the great ariist 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. FinaUy 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 moUified and — yielded. This strange pupil remained with him for more than a year. Couture often wondered how he managed to Uve. He seemed poor, but he never borrowed money. He spent aU his time work ing, without showing very great natural talent, and Couture's excellent heart was much concerned. How was that poor f eUow ever to get salt for his porridge with his painting? One day the pupU 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- sr> BARBEDIRNNE C0LLKCTI3N, PARIS ENGRAVED RT T. JOHNSON STUDY OF AN AMERICAN GIRL. BY COUTURE 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-pupU in the latter's beautiful chateau in Normandy, which contained one of the finest coUections 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 pictm-es is a smaU whole-length of Rembrandt, which I once copied. Couture's method of giving a lesson to his pupUs 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 hght 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 coUection are numerous drawings, sketches, half- finished pictures, most interesting to those who hke 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 wiUing to seU their pen, artists their brushes, warriors their valor. Couture's love for symbohcal painting grew with years, developed probably by solitude. In the very retired hfe which he led he did not f oUow the move ment of modem ari ; he even refused to see what other ariists did, declining to let them see his own works. Another of his symbohcal 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 httle 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 Uving and strongly painted. Couture's love of sym bohcal 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 gaUery are some very spirited drawings and sketches of lawyers speak ing before the couri, or sleeping during the discourse of their brother lawyers. As to doctors, he never would aUow one in his house. He was so violent in his animosity that, when he feU Ul, he refused aU medical aid. And Ms was a terrible sort of disease, which could not be cured, although his sufferings might at least have been somewhat aUayed, 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 roU on without bringing any changes in our mutual feelings, and when one of us experienced some success in hfe 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. G. 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 600 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 euU 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. PUYIS DE CHAYANNES BY KENYON COX PIERRE-CElCILE PUYIS DE CHAYANNES (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 Pubhc Library of Boston, the old town of Amiens should henceforth have a new interest. Of aU 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 httle 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," teUs 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 fuUer guide-books teU you Uttie more. In the shop-windows of the town you wUl find no photographs of this treasure, and inquiry at your hotel, or in the shops and streets, wiU convince you that the inhabitants of Amiens are unaware of its existence. Yet nowhere else in the world wUl 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 earUest effort in this line, — the first trying of his 3 17 18 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS Mtnngs, — foUowing 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 aU. 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 httle from a photograph, and we think of it as a thing isolated and portable, a fhiagper 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 shaU have no relation to anything else, but shaU be whole and self-sufficing ; and then we proceed to put these works of art together in a gallery, where each one swears at aU the others, and a thousand conflicting relations are at once es tabhshed. 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 waU, 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-ceUar or tv?ist 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, aU 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 hght and shade ; only to-day we give the ariist a piece of can vas to decorate with ordered Unes and colors, and limit his harmony to that, with such help as his gUt 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 Ught 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 gaUery, where each musician plays his own tune, with the natural result of clash and discord. Fortunately for us, aU of our modem painting has not been of this isolated, picture-making kind, and we have had artists who have understood decorative ari, 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-CecUe Puvis de Chavannes was bom at Lyons on December 14, 1824, His famUy is a very old one, which can trace its authentic history as far back as 1152, One of his an cestors married Catherine de Cohgny, 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), caUed "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-hved 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 "Retum from Hunting," which one would hke to see. It probably bears httle 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 hke his present style, entitled "War" and "Peace." They were much criticized, but found an able defender in Theophile Gautier, 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 waU 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 smaU grisaUles, " VigUance " 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 hfe is a series of new triumphs and of new commissions for the decoration of pubhc buUdings. Let us pass his work rapidly in review: 1868, " Play," for the Cercle de I'Union Artistique ; 1869, "Massiha, 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 h6tel de viUe of Poitiers; 1875, " St. Radegonde protecting Education," for the same buUding, and a "Fisherman's FamUy." 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 gaUery of the Luxembourg, where it was placed in 1887, his " Sleep " being bought for the museum of LiUe at the same time. In 1882 he exhibited " Doux Pays " (a title I shaU not try to translate), painted for the house of M. Leon Bonnatj 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 ToUet," and a "Portrait of MUe. 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, PHOTOGBAPH LENT BY MISS POLLY KIMQ "rest." BY PUVIS DE CHAVANNES AMIENS PIERRE-CfiCILE PUVIS DE CHAVANNES 21 dear to the Arts and the Muses," followed in 1885 by "Au tumn," a variation on the earher 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 caUed the Societe Nationale 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 stiU holds. At this new Salon he has exhibited : in 1891, " Inter Artes et Naturam " for the Rouen museum, two smaUer panels for the same, " Pottery " and " Ceramics," and " Summer " for the h6tel-de-vUle of Paris ; in 1892, " Winter," also for the hotel-de-viUe ; and in 1894, a whole series for the Prefect's Staircase in the same buUding, the ceihng representing "Victor Hugo offering his Lyre to the City of Paris," whUe aUegories 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 Pubhc Library. To this bald hst 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 hving and vital infiuences in contemporary art, one of the most discussed and criticized of ariists. His ari is ceriainly of a sori 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 bim 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 quahties, 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 aU 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 radicaUy 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 ahnost 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 equaUy 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 gaUery, utterly crush him by their greater strength and briUiancy of technic. Go to the Pantheon and look at the mural pictures executed there by many of the foremost of the French painters, and I think you wiU feel that there is just one of them that looks hke 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 waU, 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 aU its omissions, is austere and noble ; and his pale tints, which have been called the denial of color, look here hke the only true color, absolute in harmony, a part of the building itself — the delicate efflorescence, as it were, of the gray walls. PIERRE-CSCILE 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 GaUand's apparently much more leamed work in the panels of the eeUing, 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 feehng and sentiment and the rest, much as some of them would have us beheve that MiUet could neither draw nor paint, yet was a great artist aU the same ; but for those of us who beheve that there is no result without means, that the important thing is not what the artist feels, but what he expresses, and that aU expression must be by technical methods, so that there is no good art which is not technicaUy good — for us such an explanation is no explanation. The feehng and the sentiment are there, and I shaU have some thing to say about them presently : but they have not got upon the waU 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 hke technical defects are not reaUy, 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 ehminations ; 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 Irrst trials at grand decorative art, are in many ways singularly unlike the Puvis of to-day. They show httle 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 aheady something of decorative talent, but rather turbulent in composition, weU drawn in an academic style, and painted with f uU modeling and with an almost over- strong light and shade. They are not the work of a master of reahsm, 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 mUking 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 waU. The great law of decoration is that the omament should set off and embeUish, but never disguise, the thmg omamented ; and in mural painting this thing is the waU, and its essential quahties 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 hght 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 detaU. Individual flgures are singularly lovely. The mother with her chUd in "Work "is one of these, and the half -nude stooping woman in " Rest," and the other one who is seated with her back tumed 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 Ysill never beUeve that the apparent absence of form in Puvis's later work is other than intentional. Take one step more, and regard the vast composition caUed "Ave, Picardia Nutrix," and you wiU 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 whUe 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 shghtly simplified but adequate drawing. The color is quiet and less strong than in earher 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, '-^ PHOTOOBAPHED BY fiBAUN, CLEMENT ET CIE. "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 weU be finer, — but one misses the charm of detail and the refine ment of form. Discarding our modem reahsm, 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 weU as Giotto. But Puvis de Chavannes had to work out the ex pression of bis own ariistic personahty as weU 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 fuUy formed. He was slow of development, and had been a recognized and exhibiting ariist 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 ariistic 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 simphcity and grandeur, a desire for Gothic sentiment and directness of expression — these two desires have pushed bim forward to new and ever new suppressions of the useless, the insignificant, the cumbrous. He has come to leave out not only every detaU that may interfere with the effect of the whole, but every detaU 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 simphcity. On the classic side his highest expression is perhaps in the " Sa cred Wood," Could the sense of idyUic peace and noble tran- quilUty 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 hues, 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 fieshy modeling, and yet in wliich the more you know the more you shall find, until you are aston ished at the leaming which neglected nothing whUe omitting so much. Giotto and Fra Angehco have also had their influence on Puvis, and he has felt, as have so many others, the wonderful 26 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS effect of then- rigidly sunple works. Doubtless they were dec orative by instmct, and simple because they knew no better, and left out facts which they had never leamed to put in. Is that a reason why a modem painter may not leam their lesson, and knowingly sacrifice much that we have leamed, and which they never knew, for the sake of attaining their clearness and directness of expression 1 The system is capable of abuse, as imitators of Puvis have shown us ; and one must be very sin cere and very eamest 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 aU the more effective style. But, besides the admirer of the Greeks and of the primi tives, therd 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 modem 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 aU other possibilities of hght and shade had been exhausted, the artists of our day began to study the model out of doors in gray day- hght, 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 hght 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 modem. His earher backgrounds are entirely clas sic, but graduaUy landscape occupies a greater and greater place in his work. In the "Ludus pro Patria" the land scape is the reaUy important thing, and the figures are more or less incidental; and this is even truer of other composi tions, such as the great landscapes caUed "Summer" and "Winter," in the Paris h6tel-de-viUe. 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 ST. GENEVIEVE" (dETAIL). BY PUVIS DE CHAVANNES PANTHEON, PARIS PIERRE-CfiCILE PUVIS DE CHAVANNES 27 eaUed them. Of course depth and mystery and the illusion of Ught are not sought by the painter, who is decorator first and landscapist afterward; the foregrounds are much convention- ahzed and detail is ehminated. Our painter remains the sim- phfier 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 modem 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 Y?ith all the perfection of mod ern landscape ari. 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 quahties. After the long training in ehmination, what won der if the master sometimes seems obhvious 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 wUl 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 iU constructed and wrongly put together. He who has leamed 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 f aUed so seldom, this time f aUen shori of his best ¦? I cannot teU. A classicist of the classicists, a primitive of the primitives, a modem of the modems, Puvis de Chavannes is, above aU, an individual and original artist, and to copy his methods would be to leam Ul the lesson he teaches. His style is indissolubly 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 iU-fit- ting, second-hand garment for another. But let us leam from him that imitation is not art, that the whole is greater than the 28 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS parts, and that art m service is the freest ari and the noblest. AU fact and aU research are grist to the mUl of ari, but they are not bread untU ground and kneaded and baked. I, for one, beheve that the day of mere fact and of mere research is nearly ended, and the day of the isolated easel-picture, too. We are abeady taking the first steps even here in America ; and before very long we shaU have come back to the old true notion that the highest aun of art is to make some useful thing beautiful. Art wUl again enter that service which is for it the most per fect freedom, and as the highest aun of the painter wiU be to beautify the waUs of the temples and palaces of the peo ple, so the highest name he wUl give himself wUl be that of " decorator." Kenton Cox. NOTE BY THE EDITOR KENYON COX was born in "War- Hallgarten prize at the National ren, Ohio, in 1856, and began at Academy of Design was given Viitti the age of thirteen the study of art in 1889, and the same year he was in the McMicken School, Cincinnati. awarded two bronze medals at the During the winter of 1876-77 he Paris Exposition. He also won the was at the Pennsylvania Academy of Temple silver medal at Philadelphia, Fine Arts in PhUadelphia, but did and a medal at the Columbian Expo- more work with a sketch-book than sition. One of the domes of the Manu- in the schools. He went to Paris in factures Building at the World's Fair 1877 ; studied one winter nnder Car- at Chicago was decorated by him. He olus-Duran, but was most of his time painted a decoration for the "Walker a pupil of G-6rome, until 1883, when Art Gallery at Bowdoin College, and he returned to America and settled has recently completed two decora- in New York, where he has been tions for the Library of Congress at ever since. He is a member of the "Washington, Mr. Cox is also well Society of American Artists, the known as an illustrator and a writer Architectural League, and the So- on art topics for magazines. ciety of Mural Painters. The second J. C. V. D. JEAN-LEON GEROME BY WILL H. LOW JEAN-Li:ON GJEROME (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 gaUery: "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 deh- 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 pari 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 wUl quit the Luxembourg and, crossing the Seine, traverse Paris to the rue de CourceUes midway on the heights of Montmartre, you may find its author — now, after the lapse of half a century, no longer a youth — stiU 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 Gerome's first work beyond the indication of a vigor necessary to carry out his conception without faltering, without sign, in the smaUest 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 m the begmning he is to-day, and in quantity, upheld by every quahty 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 Ger6me's work is absolute completeness in every detaU, a completeness only attained by the patient brush-stroke adding each day its quota of accurately expressed form, the reaUzation of the sum of effori comprised m the labor of these flfty 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 quahty 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 apphed to his work, incompleteness, the common sin of painters who, hke Gerdme, have been prohfic, can never be ascribed to him. At the Salon of 1847 Gerdme exhibited the picture just de scribed, and it met with instant success. The critics of the time, TheophUe Gautier at their head, proclaimed that a new art was bom, 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 ' ' N6o-Grec " school. Though only sixteen when he came to Paris, six years before, G6r6me had quickly become the favorite pupil of his master, Paul Delaroche, an early instance of the success which has foUowed him through life. He was bom at Vesoul (Haute-Sa6ne) May 11, 1824, and his parents had facihtated his studies from their inception. After his arrival in Paris he had studied at the 'Elcole des Beaux-Arts under Delaroche, and when the latter was ap pointed Director of the French Academy at Rome the pupU accompanied him thither without the formahty of the compe tition for the Prix de Rome. Gerome retumed to Paris bring ing with him the Luxembourg picture for the Salon of 1847. "NAPOLEON BEFORE THE SPHINX." ("l'CEDIPE.") BY GEROME JEAN-LEON GErOME 33 The foUowing year he exhibited a "Holy FamUy," and "Anacreon, with Bacchus and Cupid"; passing from the sacred to the profane subject with that impartiahty 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 Ust 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 Chevaher of the Legion of Honor in 1855, an Officer in 1867, and a Com mander in 1878, having meanwhUe taken his place as member of the Institute in 1865, it wiU be seen that M. Ger6me has received aU 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 aUegorical 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 foUowers 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 modem European life which G6r6me 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 Gerdme'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 aUows the beholder to draw his own conclusions, has served the master weU. Grace to it, he has escaped where another would have faUen in the^ large number of pictures which were painted in the early sixties. "King Candaules" (1859), "Phryne before the Tribunal" (1861), " L'Ahnee" (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 Gerome escape whoUy unscathed ; for, if one turns to the criticism of the times, the accusation of immorahty 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 CaBsar," 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 pictoriaUy, With moral intention or the converse, it is safe to assume, Gerome has no concem; 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 govemment, which we may im agine occupy him but httle, have risen and f aUen ; principles of art have traversed the hUls and vaUeys of classicism, ro manticism, reahsm, and, latest of aU, impressionism, without disturbing the curious nature of this man, who, quietly in his comer, 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 ]&cole des Beaux- Arts, and has counted his pupUs by thousands. In this great number of men — and I beheve that when I say thousands there is no exaggeration — there have been many who, with the impressibU- ity of youth, have been affected by other and, it is but fair to say, more modem influences than those received from their master. It has therefore been granted to Ger6me to see in his pupils' work, after leaving the atelier, engrafted upon a system JEAN-LfiON 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 stiU 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 Pompeu labor were they alive to-day, — and his ari has re mained young with the perennial youth of the classic. There are in the Luxembourg, for instance, a number of canvases contemporaneous with Ger6me's picture, and some also painted more recently, which have an old-fashioned air which lacks the dignity of age, and which, resembhng women who refuse to recognize the passing of their abihty to charm, hke them smUe ineffectuaUy 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 quahties sought in the ari of to-day, which has its compensation in the ineffable stamp of an art which is for aU time. This dehberate choice on the part of a young painter is ahnost without paraUel in the history of art, but, like any rig orous choice, it had the defects of its virtues. By it Ger6me has sacrificed much that is of paramount imporiance; 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 hmitation exists. His place, though possibly more sure, wiU be — to prophesy once more — inferior to more daring spirits, Uke MUlet, 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 modem spirit in Gerome, therefore, is ahnost without the reahn of painting. If we look for evidence of recognition on his part of discoveries which other painters have made, whUe 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 quahty of light which MUlet, 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 Gerdme. Of stiU later apphca- tions of the laws which must perforce govem 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 MiUet, —it would be useless to look for an indication. Gerdme's right to be considered modem is therefore almost purely inteUectual. His point of view— the manner in which he regards the scene which he is to poriray and the actors who are to fiU it— is essentiaUy of his time. It is more— it is GaUic, ahnost locaUy Parisian. It is to the credit of Paris that this can be without too much sacrifice of the plausibUity of the mimic reconstitution of ancient Athens or Rome. The painter, the best part of whose hfe has been passed within the waUs 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, Gerdme 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 hfe, again, are viewed from the standpoint of his race and of the time when, in the footsteps of Delacroix and Decamps, of TheophUe Gautier and Dumas, the French, when they traveled, reversed the course of empire and turned their faces to the East. There is Uttie of the Orient, as seen through the imagination of Delacroix, in the work of Gerdme, but his record of the East, though pitUessly accur ate, has behind it an austere, inteUectual quahty that is at least akin to imagination. Passing by a certain number of pictures like the " Eminence Grise," " Mohere breakfasting with Louis XIV," and the amus ing " Frederick the Great practising on the Flute," in aU of which Gerdme proves his nationahty, and evinces the pecu harly modem spirit of accuracy of research in costume and type, we come to " Napoleon and the Sphinx." Another great- httle painter of this century, Meissonier, has represented the Corsican in many scenes of his life, and it is instmctive to re- ENGEA\ED a\ U WOLF 'THE CARPET MERCHANT. BY GEROME JEAN-LfiON GErOME 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 rdme, 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 effori 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 pictoriaUy expressed, Gerdme'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 shghtly tinted marble which symbohzes " 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 chUdren, where he is shown at work on this figure, the hving 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-quahty in no less degree than his work in color. An attempt to foUow Gerdme 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 shght description of his person, are more in place. The competency of the present writer to describe the Ateher Gerdme 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 Ateher Gerdme, comes and confirms the memories of the prior student. I have always taken it as a proof of the strength of Ge rdme's personality that a few months, which was aU that my iU-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 Ateher Gerdme. Pitiable, I con sidered myself, for behind the master were grouped sixty or seventy students, who had risen from their seats as M. Gerdme 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 sUence but with great histrionic abihty, 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 dehght, after indorsing my letter with permission to study in the atelier, M. Gerdme 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 prevaU over the unwritten law that a nouveau's hfe must be rendered miserable. It is a testi mony to the regard which Gerdme inspires that his desires were strictly compUed with, and as such testimony this very personal memory is perhaps permissible here. In the days following I was able to study the detaUs which completed the portrait of the man the first sight of whom had fiUed me with respect. Gerdme has the easy carriage of one who through life has wisely cared for his physical weU-being as a means to preserve his inteUectual 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 taUer than he is. At fifty,— JEAN-LieON GfiRdME 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 aquUine, and his eyes burned in their deep sockets with extraordinary briUiancy. 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 recaU a laugh, a witti cism, or the shghtest 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, wiU consider that noblesse oblige, and give freely where perhaps no less freely he has profited by hke 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 doUars — and even this, except where necessity compels its acceptance, is left to sweU 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 hke Gerdme, 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 hearifelt 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 "ie patron,'''' gave the signal, passed from one to another in studio slang. 40 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS that the master had come, UntU his departure not a sound disturbed the measured cadence of his voice as, with few weU- chosen words, he went his round of criticism. Once in a whUe 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 occasionaUy his long thumb-naU would serve a hke purpose, making an incised hue down the contour of the figure drawn, accompanied by a word— "Comme 9a"— 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 hberahty of view, so much so that leaving his instmction after a few months on account of iU-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, hke other masters accustomed to weigh the actual in the balance of possible achievement, Gerdme 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 him 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 asseriion. Where the sketch entered the reahn of imagination, or presumed to picture an historical event, it was considered first of all from the standpoint of probabihty, "A great man is not kUled Uke 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 cathohcity. He seemed to carry from week to week a recoUection of each student's progress, and varied his criticism of each accordingly. An incident, trivial enough, gave me, ITTI II / I DC enH 03o o>Sm 1' it ^^ ri . t'-i ^ JEAN-LfiON GBrOME 41 perhaps the most inconspicuous pupU in the school, a sense of the aU-perceptive eye of the master. Having advanced from the antique, and after drawing from life for a whUe, I suc cumbed to the malady which attacks the average art-student in the infantUe 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 Gerdme his place was filled by his friend Gustave Boulanger, who thus replaced him on rare occasions of enforced absence. My dehght can be imagmed therefore when M. Boulanger, of his own vohtion, 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 Gerdme; my chief rehance 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 draYring 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 prehmrnary drawing had been by this time sunk deep in the sea of color, and Gerdme, to my horror, made the tour 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, Gerdme walked around the class once more to where I stood. "Next week, draw," was aU he said, not unkindly, and then went his way. After that I had a feehng, shared I think by aU the students, that the ever at tentive master knew in detail the exact status of the atelier, an inspiring thought which kept us equaUy attentive to our work. Another memory of Gerdme's appearance a few years later, seen in company with some of his colleagues of the Institute, 42 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS wUl serve to bring these rambling notes to an end. It was at the Montparnasse cemetery, around 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 whUe the funeral ceremony was in progress. In their midst was Gerdme, in his habit as though to the manner bom, perhaps the only one whose costume became him. The semi-mUitary 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 Gerdme made him easUy the most impressive of the group. It was thus that I last saw him, it is thus that I hke 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, many exhibitions, local, national, and 1853, and studied art in Paris international, since then. He received from 1873 to 1878, at first under G6- a second-class medal at the Paris Ex- r6me and later with Carolus-Duran. position of 1889, is a member of the He exhibited at the Salons of 1876 and Society of American Artists, and a 1877, and his work has been shown at National Academician. Besides pic- JEAN-LfiON GIJR6mE 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. Gerdme, 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 against the model platform. If the master's face was severe, his man ner was kind. " Yes, I wiU accept you as pupil," he said, after examining my drawings, " but it wiU require three months at least of routine formahties before you can enter the govem 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. "Go to Gerdme, my friend, for an answer to that question ; there is no better man in Europe to help you," O tempera! 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 aU this happened very long ago. The Place VintimiUe Ues just below the foot of Mont martre, and in the middle of it is a httle park with a raihng, 47 48 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS a few trees, and many cats. A big square window over looks the trees, hghting a studio in one of the best houses on the square, and behind that window Leon Bonnat, stiU young, painted pictures which had aheady 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- westem France had given to him too an energy and fire which he would show in pictures of a force and sohdity 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 Gerdme. The latter's letter of recommen dation dispensed with any examination of my work. " Go to Behard," said M. Bonnat, " and teU him that I have entered you in the school ; he wUl let you know what you require." Within an hour, duly furnished with a foriy-cent easel, a portfoho, 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 govemment school, but here was an ateher 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 WaUenstein's camp. There were Enghsh, Americans, Spaniards, Egyptians, men of aU countries, and Frenchmen from aU 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 soimd 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 Ateher Bonnat too weU to leave it ; I had stumbled unvdttingly upon a new order of things, a new order which pleased me very much. These young men LOUIS-ADOLPHE THIERS. BY BONNAT LEON BONNAT 49 represented the opposition, not only in political demonstrations, to which the whole atelier went rehgiously ''''pour ennuyer le gouvernement,''^ but, what was much more imporiant, in art. There had been a time of official painting, of tame and sphitless pictures ; a few masters, great by their style or senti ment, hke Gerdme or Breton, painted the figure, and a noble school of landscape flourished at Barbizon, but classicists and romanticists ahke, the Ingres and Flandrins, the Delacroix's and Delaroches, had passed away, and a period of artificiahty in ari 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 aU good art should, not only in the world about him, but in the work of the great men who had gone before him, especiaUy in that of Rembrandt and Ri- bera, for to the latter he tumed often and again, as befitted a man bom within sight of the Pyrenees. In the studio during that winter of 1868 the pupUs 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 VintimiUe 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 weU 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 stiU greater surprise when he said to another pupU who was trowehng vahantly at the blanc d'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." 50 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS But though not yet old enough to understand their master thoroughly, the pupUs 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 roimd and stood out, they had air to breathe and move in, you could walk be hind them. When the caricaturists made their annual tour 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, untU he leamed that, with the addition of color, these made up a formula which, if properly followed in an art work, meant Ufe. Breadth and simphcity were fundamental doctrines with the master, and there was constant iteration of the order "hah close your eyes," that the pupU might see planes of hght 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, teU 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 simphcity 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 tmth, that the central quahty of his technic is vigor, that is to say, the choice of the strongest hghts and the darkest shadows, for the most powerful expres sion of that same tmth. Ingres and Flandrin, contemporaries of Bonnat's teacher, L6on Cogniet, had been masters of style LfiON BONNAT 51 and Une — 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 weU as circumference, soUdity as weU as sUhouette. 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 hghts of Ribera imtU 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 hke, 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 hke nature as possible in the first painting, and in your second painting make it still more hke." 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 carefuUy compared model and picture, then going quickly to his easel, painted a few strokes, and repeated his joumey. 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 reahze what an innovator M. Bonnat was in 1866, when his two pictures, " St, Vincent de Paul freeing a GaUey-slave " and " NeapoUtan Peasants be fore the Famese Palace," took Paris by storm. The " Youth- 52 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS ful Ribera drawing at the Gates of the Ara Coeh " foUowed these, and that astonishing piece of characterization, the por trait of Thiers, was shown in the Salon of 1877, whUe the start- hng 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 flber 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 d'appui 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 sori of a safety signal, a beacon hght, 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 httle of atmosphere, Bonnat never forgot his early days in the Prado, and although his reahsm is eclectic, as aU good real ism should be, it is all around. Construction, drawing, values, modehng, texture, come in each for an equal share of attention. The master is not satisfied with being merely truthful, he Y?ishes the maximum of solidity and rotundity, and therefore he puts his sitter in the strongest possible Ught ; 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 stUl a shadow graduaUy melting into a plane of powerful hght. The result of all this is that if we see one of our friends painted in a porirait 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 Ught and against complicated surroundings, whUe Bonnat puts him under conditions of illumination which, as it PHOTOGRAPH BY BRAUN, CLEMKNT KT CIE. MARTYRDOM OF ST. DENIS." BY BONNAT PANTHEON, PARIS LEON 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 reahsm, and any painter, if he have a temperament at aU, elects to represent truthfuUy that aspect of nature which is most congenial to himself. Many painters interest themselves in delicate problems of en velopment, placing their model against comphcated back grounds, surrounding him with twilight, silhouetting him against a sky, or drowning out everything which could be called shadow in a suffusion of Ught. 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 Gerdme, and by expressions which I have heard from him re garding such different men as Dubois, Falguiere, Meissonier, and Luc Ohvier-Merson. But in his oyoi practice he has tumed 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 sunhght itself — the fresh sunlight of the Norih — doing its dehcate gUding, 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 pecuhar to the interior of a studio or room. In a word, his has been one sort of forceful realism, deUberately 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 hke Gerdme, 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 foUowed picture. His " Ribera paintmg in Rome," and his "Peasants before the Famese Palace," were among the most interesting works in the retrospective masterpieces of the century shown in the Universal Exhibition of 1889 ; and his sohd and admhable " St. Vmcent de Paul," now in the Church of St. Nicolas des Champs, just missed the grand medal which his "Assumption" triumphantly obtamed. It was only natural that this keen observer, this lover of logic and constmction, and withal, too, of the mystery of deep shadows, the force of brilliant Ughts, should have become a powerful portrait-painter. So many famous Frenchmen in the last two decades have sat in the great studio of the me Bassano (for the Place Vinti miUe is a thing of long past), that M. Bonnat, if he hves 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 chents were senators, dukes, and kings, the French artist has hked 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 fagade where Falguiere's bas-reUef testifies to his com radeship with the painter, and up the broad stairway where Puvis de Chavannes' decorative panel upon the waU is index to another hfelong friendship. Victor Hugo and Thiers, Dumas and Renan, Carnot and Faure, soldiers and savants, repubhcans 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 aU France comes to the painter. To those who hve in a young country like America, it is almost impossible to reahze the wealth and depth of the culture with which such an artist as M. Bonnat is in daUy contact. He is indeed a part of that culture, and among the most noteworthy things about this painter are his refinement and knowledge, as weU 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. LfiON 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 waUs 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 Bariolommeo, an artist who was as devoted to abstractions and to monumental composition as was Velasquez to truth and forceful reahty? The study of the ancient masters, who, after nature, have been and always wiU be our highest inspiration, is a passion with M. Bonnat. Nearly every year he visits Italy ; his en thusiasm for his coUection of drawings is so great that he has even taken the express from Paris directly to Berhn, 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 Unguist as weU as a student and traveler, speak ing EngUsh, ItaUan, and Spanish, and this width of culture and of interest, the sohdity of his technic and the volume of his pictorial achievement, have aU counted in making up that esti mate among his feUows which, for many years, retumed him as number one in the hst 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 httle thing to stand firmly upon one's feet in the whirl of the Paris art-world for twenty years. One must hve in the Quartier Latin or Montmartre, or have graduated thence to the quarters about the Champs-!6lysees, the Pare Monceaux, or the Place Malesherbes, to reahze what that whirl is. Thou- 56 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS sands of pamters are strugghng to be first, many thousands of pictures are produced annuaUy, processes of every sort are tried, and changes are mng 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 begmning of the century, and of the end of it, exhibitions of an Hundred Masterpieces, of Water-colorists and PasteUists, of Caricaturists and Designers of Posters, of Incoherents and Refuses and Rosicmcians, andj above them aU are the two vast annuals— the Champs I]lys6esj 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-I den and Spain, have sojourned for a time. ;| In such a Sturm und Drang the struggle is terrible; the temp-* tation is great to stand on tiptoe, to "/a*re 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 percer.^^ Many | have resisted the temptation; and some of the phases of art^ which seemed hkely to prove ephemeral have left a lasting mark, while others, which promised to be sohd, have rung hoi- ^ low after aU. Scores of painters have made lasting names, but above them aU, outranking by seniority even that admirabl younger band which counts the Dagnans, and Besnards, and Fla- mengs, and many another, — among whom, too, is a whole line of briUiant Americans, — above them aU stands the httle group! of masters, Gerdme and Bonnat, Dubois and Falguiere, Carolus- Duran, Laurens, Lefebvre, Henner, and Puvis de Chavanne^ who have been the comrades of MUlet and Meissonier, Baudry and Corot, Rousseau and Diaz, and who stiU Uve 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 hospitaUty 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 L6on Bonnat. E. H. Blashpield. PHOTOSBAPa BY BBAUN, CLKMENT ET CIE. UJQBAVLD BY T JOHNSON PASTEUR AND HIS GRANDDAUGHTER. BY BONNAT L]gON BONNAT NOTE BY THE EDITOR. 57 EDWIN HOWLAND BLASH FIELD was born in New York city in 1848, and went to Europe be fore he was eighteen years of age. He became a pupil of L6on Bonnat in Paris, and he had also at different times worked under the advice of Wm. M. Hunt, of Boston, and G6r6me and Chapu in Paris. He exhibited in the Salon of 1874, and for many years there after he exhibited pictures in the Paris exhibitions. AU told, Mr. Blashfield lived twenty years in Europe, and has traveled and studied extensively in Italy, Greece, and Egypt. Duruig 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. PAUL BAUDRY BY KENYON COX paul-jacques-aimS baudry (1828-1886) IN our time the academic in art is not greatly rehshed, and the whole academic system, as it is so wonderfuUy 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 DUke has very truly remarked,^ " 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. BrowneU,^ in concluding a review of the work of two of the foremost protestants in the ari of sculpture, chaUenges the world in this sentence : " Let some country without an institute around which what sesthetic feehng 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 infiuence 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,* the third of twelve children of 1 "Art in the Modern State." London : Chapman & Hall, 1888. P. 100. 2 "French Art." Charles Seribner's Sons, 1892. P. 239. 3 The facts and dates given in this outline o£ Baudry's career are taken from "Paul Bandry, Sa Vie et son CEuvre," by Charles Ephrussi. Paris : Ludovio Baschet, 1887. 61 Q2 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS a Breton sabot-maker, was bom on November 27, 1828, at Roche-sur-Yon, in Vendee. His father was a great lover of music, and wished Paul to become a professional musician, but the cbild's vocation for painting was early apparent, and at the age of thirteen he began the serious study of his art under the direction of Antoine Sartoris, the drawing-master of the town, an artisan whose love for painting had pushed him into the practice of ari, and who had managed to secure two years' in struction in Paris. With him Baudry remained three years, and toward this humble instructor he always exhibited a pro found gratitude. To the end of Baudry's Ufe the name of Sar toris figured beside that of DroUing in the catalogue of the Salon after that of their pupil. The 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 CouncU-General of La Vendee. He entered the studio of Drolling in 1844, and was soon recognized as the head of the school. He hved 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 untU, in 1847, he was received en loge for the Prix de Rome, and was awarded a premier second grand prix before he 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 Joan 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 the struggle toward the first goal of his ambition, that Grand Prix which, in the absence of any private resources, was so necessary to him. He failed twice, but succeeded the third time, and from 1850 the state succeeded the town and the de partment as his patron. The Prix de Rome can seldom have faUen to so young a man, and when he revisited Rome in 1864 as one of the foremost of French artists, he found men of his own age among the pensionnaires of the ViUa Medici. The five years that Baudry spent in Rome left a deep mark upon aU 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 hc was of another mind. From Rome he sent home to Paris successively "Theseus in the Labyrinth," — wliich 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 whUe he had begun his career as a decorator by a series of works for private pariies. In the best of these, "The Five Cities of Italy," executed in 1861, for the Due de GaUiera, the future Baudry is aheady discernible. In this year also he was made a Chevaher of the Legion. When the buUding 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 abihty of his receiving it by his comrade of Roman days, Gar- nier, the architect, a year in advance, and had gone to Rome to prepare for the great work by making a series of fuU-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 Of&cer 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- Q^ MODERN FRENCH MASTERS mune he retumed to his task, and for three years Uved in the opera house itself, partly from motives of economy, shut up with his work and seeing no one. The great paintmgs were finaUy completed and exhibited at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts in 1874. " The success was splendid. The French school counted another great master." ' For the work of eight years he was paid 140,000 francs, and a great part of it he did ht- erally for nothing, to prevent its being given to another artist and the consequent destraction of the unity of his great deco rative scheme. Wom out with his long labor, he started for a tour in Egypt and Greece, from which he retumed a Commander of the Legion, and " the most famous and the poorest of the art ists of France." ^ 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 obhged to ac cept other commissions for portraits, easel pictures, and minor decorations. A series of brUUant 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 PaUkao, 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 aU the quaUfied exhibitors), the " St. Hubert " for ChantiUy, and the two ceiUngs for the houses of W. H. and ComeUus VanderbUt in 1882, the portrait of Mme. Bernstein and son, 1883, and his last great work, " L'Enlevement de Psyche," for ChantUly, 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- 1 Ephrussi, p. 220. 2 ibid., p. 242. COLLECTION OV WU. H. fiTi:WAST, PAItIS PHOTOGRAPH BT BKAUN, CLEMENT ET CIK. THE WAVE AND THE PEARL. BY BAUDRY PAUL-JACQUES-AIME BAUDRY 65 templating the Ufe and work of Paul Baudry, not merely be cause of the great influence of the Italian of the Renaissance upon the modem 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 briUiantly precocious, and rapidly acquired aU 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 hke Raphael he was entirely devoted to his art, and had scarce any other hfe 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, hke Raphael, to stamp his own seal upon what he borrowed, so that his very impersonahty has a noble individuahty. 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 Roine, I know notliing personaUy, 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 Home, 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, fiUing 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 ChUd" 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 obhged 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 66 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS figures to do instead of three. Raphael's " Jurispmdence " is the perfect work of the perfect time of that master. It is the smaUest of the four great frescos painted in the Stanza deUa Segnatura, and, in the opinion of Baudry, has " a breadth of style and execution not to be found in the ' Dispute, ' or the ' School of Athens.' " ' It was in copying this picture that Baudry reaUy 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," ^ 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 siUy, are those who cannot see it." * Baudry has been allowed to be a charm ing colorist even by not over-enthusiastic critics, and his testi mony to the color quahty 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- v tion of the Law." From his retum to Paris in 1856 to his death the work of Baudry may be diAdded into tliree 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-hke smoothnes^ and unity of surface. Two which I remember especiaUyare those of Guizot and of Madeleine Brohan. Neither Holbein nor,, Raphael bim self, 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 individuahty of the sitter. The easel pic tures of the same period are less ivory-hard than the portraits, are richer and fuUer 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 niodem times. Its dehcate yet naive grace of hne, its 1 Letter cited by Ephrussi, p. 137. 2 Ibid., p. 138. s ibid., p. 143. PHOTOaitAPH BY UHAUN, CLEMl^MT ET CIE. DIANA DRIVING AWAY LOVE. BY BAUDRY PAUL-JACQUES-AIMfi 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 dehcate surface, and the sohd though mysterious modehng, 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 whUe the copies of Michelangelo were in progress, be counted. I have not seen it and cannot speak of its quahty, but, at the time, it was thought to show a faU 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 Glove." 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 infiuence in a much modified form, but thereafter it is seen no more. The decorations of the Grand Op6ra 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, aU 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- gg MODERN FRENCH MASTERS portant since the great days of the Renaissance. Its inteUec tual merit is great and has been much enlarged upon. Neither its size nor its meaning is, however, what we are now con- cemed with. Its purely artistic merit is what we have to con sider, and that merit is of the highest order. In this work Baudry has shown himself one of the greatest masters of decorative art that ever hved. His pamting bears no resem blance to that of our other great modem 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 gUding and elaborate architectural forms, rather than by flat gray waUs. If he had lived to execute his designs for the Pantheon, the two greatest decorators of modem 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 rehance is, hke that of the Florentines, on balanced hnear 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, whUe the rhythm of beautiful hne becomes the principal decorative element, and makes of each picture a pattern far finer and more subtle than pure omament. 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 Une, con cise yet free and graceful, fuU of tranquil dignity and beauty. In strong contrast is " The Assault " or " MUitary 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 haU are as masterly as any of the smaUer ones, and the whole series demonstrates that in classical composition Baudry has never had a superior. Of bis power of significant drawing it is hard for me to speak without indulging in what may seem hyper- fkhhib&ion of boubbou, valadon et cie. THE shepherds" (DETAIL). BY BAUDRY THE OPERA, PARIS PAUL-JACQUES-AIMfi BAUDRY 69 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 Ust of the world's reaUy great deUneators 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 leamed 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 intelUgent 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 earher pictures had crumbled into sharp, dry hatchings .... his painting, properly speaking, was on the decline." ^ 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 Pahkao standing by his horse in the open air, as fine as a Van Dyck, as free as Velasquez, and a thoroughly modem 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 3, " The Life of an Artist." D. Appleton & Co., 1890. P. 245. rjQ MODERN FRENCH MASTERS painted with this same sweeping freedom, with aU the clever ness of the cleverest modern, but retain the sense of form and the structural knowledge which were Baudry's alone. StiU later the drawing also is a httle sacrificed, and even the study of character in portraiture, but the dazzhng briUiancy of hand- hng, 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 smaUer works. The gravity of monumental ari, which is some what lacking in the " Glorification of the Law," is less easUy supphed by the gaiety of facile execution or the splendor of a palette a la Veronese than in the little "Truth," or the dehcious portraits of Madame Bernstein and her son, and of the boy Louis de Montebello. Take him for aU in all Paul Baudry was the most rounded and complete of modem painters. He was the greatest styhst, 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 stiU have been the greatest portrait-painter of his time. He was a fine colorist and he became one of the most briUiant of technicians. With all this he has been some what grudgingly praised by critics, and his influence upon other painters has been comparatively shght because he was not one of the great original forces of modem art. It did, indeed, require a certain originaUty to found one's ari 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 essentiaUy parmewwes; stUl he was not a MUlet, 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 accomphshment that compared to him aU other modern artists seem bunglers. His is not the kind of great ness most appreciated to-day, and it is caUed an "of&cial talent," and few care for it as few really care for Raphael, but it is true greatness nevertheless. There wUl always be original, unbalanced, one-sided artists. An artist who is whoUy 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. KJENyoN Cox. CAROLUS-DURAN BY CARROLL BECKWITH CAROLUS-DURAN CHAELES -AUGUSTE-:6mILE DUEAND (1837- ) " Aimer la gloire plus que I'argent, L'art plus que la gloire, La nature plus que l'art." ' THESE were the words addressed to an encircling crowd of attentive ari-students, by M. Carolus-Duran, one bright May morning in 1874, as the monthly product of compositions and sketches hung on the waUs 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 waUs, 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 ariist Mr. Robert Hinckley, — having been fasci nated by the brUUancy of the master's work he had seen in the Salon, had waited on M. Carolus-Duran and gained per mission to become his pupU. With his 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 foUowing of students to whom they gave, free of aU cost, the benefit of their experience and skUl. 1 " Love glory more than money. Art more than glory. Nature more than art." 10 73 Y4 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS We, m the atelier on the Boulevard Montpamasse, were a strange mixture of many nationahties, 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 eraUy condemned without stint by the painters of the Insti tute. He had thrown a formidable and dazzhng 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 weU as enthusiastic adherents. The nature of the man was well defined by the words I have quoted as coming from his hps that May morning, as we stood about hstening to his criticisms. He was not deaf to the tmmpet 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 stUl young, having been bom at LUle, 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 FrauQois 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 livehhood. He had lost his father at an early age, and the modest resources of the famUy aUowed but Uttie 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 apphed 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 aheady declaring itself, and he welcomed a freedom from the seven years of training in the local school of LUle. But the founda tions had been laid, the precepts of draYsdng 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 ENGRAVED EY T. JOmJaON 'PORTRAIT. BY CAROLUS-DURAN CAROLUS-DURAN 75 LiUe, 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 bim in Venice, Naples, or Florence. One of these summers, to which must be added the spring and autumn, he hved 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 shori step. His easel was soon set up in the large refectory, and a bed made for him in one of the ceUs. Here he hved and worked, read and dreamed, enjoying the frugal hospitahty of the convent and the sympathetic and kindly society of the monks. After eight months spent within the convent waUs he took his de parture, and as he foUowed the path down the hiU to Subiaco, he says : " I tumed 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 weU 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 1865. Five years passed in Italy developed in a marked degree this impressionable, artistic temperament. It was a tempera ment that mingled something of the stem, 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 Giorgione, 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 imporiance when concentrated in a youth of fine physical powers and clear, dis cerning judgment. 76 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS In 1866 Carolus-Duran retumed to France, bringing with him his large canvas " The Assassination," now hanging on the waUs of the museum of LUle. This picture was honored by a medal, and the artist received for it one thousand doUars, which enabled him to estabhsh 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 hfe. Paris, always eager for sensations, was soon thrUled 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 daUy a more appreciative and enthu siastic audience. In 1869 he sent to the Palais de I'lndustrie the portrait of his wife, now celebrated in the Luxembourg coUection as " La Dame au Gant." The foUowing year came the porirait 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 taU and beautiful woman of luxuriant but refined type, is shown at fuU length upon the canvas, her robe of warm violet satin detached from a background of duU emerald green with great briUiancy. ,The clear, high hght of the satin is softened by the rich folds of an tique lace surrounding the neck and arms. The illumination is ingeniously arranged to faU fuU upon the face and figure, whUe the train is sUently 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 skUl 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 realisticaUy, 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 untU nine years later that the jury was finaUy convinced, and gave him the medal of honor. In 1873 he exhibited the equestrian portrait of his wife's sister, MUe. Croizette, of the Theatre Frangais, catalogued " Au Bord de la Mer." This work was seen in the Ari Depart ment of our Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia in 1876, and is stUl distinctly remembered for its simplicity of arrange ment and sterling reaUstic quaUties. The year 1874 was dis tinguished by two able productions ; the portrait of his httle daughter Marie- Anne accompanied by the large piebald gray- hound, and the seated porirait of the Comtesse de Pourtales. In this latter work new quahties were developed, showing that he was not dependent upon the beauty of his sitter alone for success. An intense expression of hfe, combined with an un- usuaUy distinguished charm of arrangement, marks the canvas; and the hands are made accessories of importance, giving ad ditional force to the hkeness by the enormous reahsm of their rendering. At this time, when the memory of the art-loving pubUc was stiU 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 rehef 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 aU 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 syUables in his name, but Charles- Auguste-lEmile 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 stUl the same one in which he began the conquest of the amateurs twenty-flve years ago ; but for two decades his name and art have traveled almost around the world. During these years r^g MODERN FRENCH MASTERS titled people and celebrities of aU nations have roUed tlirough the modest iron paUng at either end of the Passage Stanislas j 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 fronai the large skyhght in the roof. A certain luxury in the arrangeli ment and furnishing attests the taste of the ariist. Pieces of rare brocade, and curtains of old Genoese velvet, harmon^H 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 comer, bear testimoiif- 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 skiUed performer himself, his touch on the piano or guitar is marked by thorough musical appreciation. Some of his best head^f 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 gaUeries of drawingsij of the Louvre, entitled the " Triumph of Marie de Medicis," have done him great honor, pariicularly those that treat reahsticaUy out-of-door effects, such as "Les Baigneuses," " La Rosee," etcs Like most painters of portraits, aU his work bears the mark of research for truth of color and value. Even in his impoi|| 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 sufaciently confident of himself to handis with great audacity the problems of form and Ught. 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 PHOTOGEAPH BT BBAUJf, CLEMENT ET CIE. PORTRAIT OF LA COMTESSE DE VE'DAL. 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 skiUuUy brushed in as if he were painting the leaf of a rose. In brief, he is a painter in every ^ense of the word, and notwithstanding his affinity with painters who have preceded him, he has a note essentially per sonal, distinctly French, and pecuhar to his own time. Carolus-Duran has attained nearly aU the distinction which France, so generous in recognizing her talented chUdren, 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 abihty is to-day acknowledged wherever art, with its manifold influences of culture and refinement, has penetrated. Carboll Beckwith. NOTE BY THE EDITOR JAMES CARROLL BECKWITH John S. Sargent, helped M. Carolus was born in Hannibal, Mo., in in his large decoration in the Louvre, 1852. He began his art studies in " The Triumph of Marie de Medicis." Chicago at eighteen years of age. He afterward entered the drawing In 1871 he came to New York, and department of the Ecole des Beaux- studied at the schools of the National Arts, where he obtained four honor- Academy of Design for two winters. able mentions. His first exhibitions In 1873 he went to Europe and after of pictures were in the Salon and in a few months entered the studio of the Universal Exposition of 1878. He Carolus-Duran. The following year returned to New York in 1878, and he was appointed massier of the ate- became professor of drawing at the Ker and during his five years of Paris Art Students League — a position life' enjoyed the friendship and inti- he still holds. He is a member of macy of his master. Mr. Beckwith, the Society of American Artists, the with his feUow-pupil and companion, National Academy of Design, the 80 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS American Water Color Club, and houses and some are the property of other art organizations. He deco- West Point Academy, Yale College, rated one of the domes of the Manu- the Union League Club, the New factures Building at Chicago, but his York Bar Association, and other chief work has been in portraiture. prominent organizations. Many of his portraits are in private J. C. V. D. JEAN-PAUL LAURENS BY E. H. BLASHFIELD JEAN-PAUL LAURENS (1838- ) JEAN-PAUL LAURENS was bom 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 modem art-center, he became successively the pu pU of L6on Cogniet and of Bida. Both of these masters left a trace of influence upon him, the latter especiaUy by the eamest, 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 vUlage of the Alpine provinces, painting rude pictures in the httle churches — and here again we can imagine that not the Bohemianism of the Ufe, 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 Ueutenant of ariiUery, played the principal r61e. 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-caUed 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 usuaUy af forded an excellent opportunity for seeing what the forthcom- g4 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS ing Salon would be Uke, 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 Ateher Bonnat said to a group of us : " Aves-vous vu le ' Robert le Pieux^f C^est rudement Men senti; c'a impose tout-de-mime."" We hurried off to see it, and a new painter, Jean-Paul Laurens, appeared upon our horizon, conquering not only our suffrages of the Ateher Bonnat and the Beaux- Arts, but a few weeks after ward obtaining the hearty applause of Paris and govemment recognition which placed his picture in the Luxembourg. Since then M. Laurens has become one of the most famous painters in France. A ceriain somber dignity, sometimes ris ing to nobihty, sometimes falhng into morbidness, but never for a moment descending to the ignoble or even to the trivial, is to be found in aU his works. His sentiment, his technic, and his choice of subject aU obtained favor with the pubhc 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 pUlars, and under the low browed architecture, of Romanesque buUdings, expressing aU in broad planes of strong red and blue, those essentially medi eval colors, or oftener stUl in masses of black and white. In his picture of " Robert the Pious," the heavy woolen man tles of vermihon and ultrainarine, 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 waUs 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 It AWN 11 V WYATT KATON "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 quahty which in plastic representation we caU character. M. Laurens instinctively seeks an epoch in which his som ber muse may be at ease. Only once among aU of his pictures which are famUiar to the pubhc does his muse unbend ever so little, and then, when Thaha comes, it is not for comedy, but for sathe, the grim satire of " Honorius," the vacant-faced boy- emperor of the West, the very symbol of decadence and of a shrunken empire, a chUd mufSed and lost in the imperial man tle, sitting stupid with inert danghng 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 h6tel-de-vUle. 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 rehef 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 possibihties. One of his pictures represents a pope, who, exhumed, and enthroned in his cerements, is tried for heresy; another and stiU more powerful picture is caUed "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- hne of bodies, which must lie there abandoned and awaiting burial until the Church shaU unsay the words which have de nied them both holy water and consecrated earih. 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 36 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 weU 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 wiU find his finely drawn and admirably characterized people sit or stand stiU; they do not move. His large picture in the Luxembourg, the " Em mures 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 aU others, demands frenzy and haste ; but these people stand about motionless, one or two of them raise their picks vdth 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 aU. The result is an utter tameness wliich 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 Luxembom'g. For impressive the others are to a remarkable degree, and this impresslveness does not by any means come whoUy 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 fiUed 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 omament, certain other portions must be relatively simple, PHOTOBBAPH BY BRAUX, CLEMENT ET CIE. THE ARCH OF STEEL. BY LAURENS 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 buUding represent the filled spaces ; the windows, open ings between the piers, and the Uke, represent the open spaces. Where a proper relation is not preserved between the two, mo notony results and the eye is confused. In aU great decorative epochs builders and painters ahke, 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 famihar 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 reheve his crowd of figures in the "Death of Saint Genevieve," at the Pantheon, and the smooth planes of waU 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 pU- lar, a fiight of simple steps may become. Note how effectively he uses his stairway, his cobblestones, his heavy wooden raU, in the picture called the "Arch of Steel." He juxtaposes crowd ing and simphcity as cleverly as any Arab setting his closely carved panel in the broad bareness of his waU of mosque or house. It is this observance of the law of filled and empty spaces which, perhaps more than any other quahty, 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 tune 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 waU 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 f eU back upon the fact that his pictures were superb as decorative composi tions of hne 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 concem the proper pro vince and functions of so-caUed 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 buUder 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 reaUsticaUy, 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, hght key, figure and landscape ahke, M. Puvis produced a work which clung hke a tapestry to the waU, 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 triphcate decoration into its different paris. The work took artistic Paris by storm. " This," said con noisseurs, " is traly 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 condemnthe work of the latter as absolutely undecorative, because not mural in the sense of belonging to the wall-surface 1 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 aU-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. PHOTOOBAPH BY DRADN, CLE:UKNT I:T CIL: "last MOMENTS OF MAXIMILIAN. BY LAURENS JEAN-PAUL LAURENS 89 It is indisputable that the Venetians constantly and dehb- erately broke certain incontrovertible laws of decoration, laws which were held especiaUy dear by the Tuscans, and which have been foUowed with inteUigence and feeUng by M. Puvis, but it is equaUy indisputable that the Venetians painted magnifi cent pictures which they placed upon walls and ceUings, and which decorated the latter superbly. A man can express himself truly only in his own way, and there are many ariists possessed of certain decorative quahties of a high order who yet instinctively rebel against a uniform hght key, and great flatness of tone, throughout their work. In order to say their say, they must have strong color, strong Ught 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 ceihngs. Now the world wishes to have such works, whether princi ples are violated or not. Some ariists (we have noted Tinto retto and Veronese, and may add Rubens) absolutely require vast surfaces to express themselves completely. Mere size is often an imporiant factor in producing an impression. Our crowded modem hfe has no room for vast pictures, unless they are upon wall or ceiling, and by aU means let us not exclude good work, noble work even, like the " Sainte Genevieve " of Laurens, simply because it does not meet aU the requirements of the purist in matters of decoration. We must exclude ultra- reahstic work rigidly from all such paris of a buUding as are intended for special structural emphasis. For instance, we must not put reahstic pictures upon pendentives, curved sur faces, or vaiUting of any kind ; but a smooth, unbroken waU, or even ceiling, may surely be given up now and then to the painter who " breaks through his wall," since such an artist, whUe vio lating certain decorative principles, may, hke 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 intelhgent distribution of his masses in admirable fulfilment of the decorative law of fiUed and empty spaces. The general tendency of M. Laurens as to subject and char- 12 90 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS acterization has been touched upon aheady, as weU as his tech nic as apphed 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 modehng, character rather than elegance of sUhouette. He hkes large figures, and expresses himseK 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 hghting and reflection, although he readily uses Ught as a dramatic accessory, whether it be the hght 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 hkeness to the portraits of Michelangelo which is almost starthng in his (Laurens's) portrait of himself in the Uffizi of Florence. Those who know him weU, 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 pupUs, among whom are not a few Americans, and as an artist he is assuredly among the greatest as among the most famous of modem French masters. E. H. BLASHFIEIiD. 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 ari-dealer. During the evening the question came up : " Who, at the end of the 20th century, will be thought the greatest painter of our period?" Here was a question not at aU novel, but neveriheless 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 foUowed 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, hke 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-caUed " quaUty " gained by age and old varnish, such as one now sees in many pictures of the early Enghsh 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 wiU 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 wiU always occupy a high place in art, and time wUl meUow 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 caUy as human skUl can make them, because they are masterful in their knowledge, and because they are tme in appearance. Speaking for myself, I may as weU 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 Uttie stars, growing dimmer and dimmer, untU finaUy lost and forgotten, nor was he a ge nius afflicted with the divine afflatus wielding a spectram bmsh on a "vibrating" color-scheme. He was, however, an artist whose every touch was fiUed with knowledge and intelligence. He left nothing to chance or -doubt ; he reahzed 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 hghtly swept aside because one may not be in sympathy with his style ? 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 httle subject- painters were " rot." But that student wUl 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 wUl 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 hght or sha dow wiU aU disclose the untiring search for the combination of truth and beauty in line, in hght, 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 tiU 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 f eU to work like a madman, offering him extra money to hold it " just a moment longer." It was thus that many studies with only shght 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. "FRIEDLAND — 1807." BY MEISSONIER METROPOLITAN MUSEUM, NEW YORK JEAN-LOUIS-ERNEST MEISSONIER 95 Indeed, Meissonier Uved for his art, and painted tmth as he saw it, regardless of time, trouble, and expense. On one occa sion he wished to study a rye-field tom to pieces and mowed down by a rush of cavaby. None of the farmers near Poissy, where he was then Uving, would sacrifice his rye for the sake of art ; so Meissonier bought a field of rye, and then made ap- phcation to a colonel of cuirassiers to aUow 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 GaUand 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 GaUand saw what it was, he exclaimed: "Why, Meissonier, you have aheady 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 reahsm to an ex treme, but if aU history were painted and written by historians hke 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 aUied in method and style. Does he pale by the com parison? Are their genre paintings more beautiful than his, in perfection of drawing, dehcacy of finish, study of important detaUs, 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 flgures more ariistic and natural, or were they carried to greater perfection of finish combined with 96 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS breadth ? A Meissonier picture, though smaU 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 suUen despair of a retreating one? 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 wUl hve in Mstory ? Meissonier was more than a genre painter ; he was a painter of history, and painted a great historical period. J His work, both in historical painting and in genre, was begun on hues that he assumed after long study and eamest conviction. His methods as at first adopted passed through fewer changes J? than an examination of ahnost any other painter's work would I reveal. He was true to his earhest 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 1 his time. Attaining in middle life the premiership in his pro fession, he held it to the end, and it is hardly Ukely that the 1 coming century wUl produce a painter who wUl be crowned * with the laurel wreath taken from the pedestal of his fame. Jean-Louis-Emest Meissonier was bom at Lyons in 1815, and went to Paris at an early age, poor, and dependent on the cunning of his hands for a livehhood. For a brief time he studied with Leon Cogniet, but there was no bond of sympathy between master and pupU he soon left that studio. He then began work for himself as an etcher and U- 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 tum 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 pamting, " The Visitors," was exhibited, and sold for 100 francs to La Soci6te des Amis des Arts £i Paris. On the death of the member to whom this picture was adjudged. PHOTOGBAPH BY PACK THE BROTHERS VAN DE VELDE. BY MEISSONIER METROPOLITAN MUSEUM, NEW YORK JEAN-LOUIS-ERNEST MEISSONIER 97 it entered the coUection of Sir Richard WaUace, where I sup pose it stiU remains. Meissonier attracted Uttie attention, however, untU 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, HoUand, Russia, and his own coimtry 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 aU 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 untU 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 VUlette 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 versatihty inexhaustible. The httle interiors he painted are fiUed with quiet color and subdued hght; the "Por trait of a Sergeant " is a revel in air and daylight ; " The Vedette " has the chUl of cold December. We are amazed that the hand that gave us the thoughtful " Chess-Players," 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 caUs The Napoleonic Cycle to the roystering, devil-may-care cavaUer of Louis XIII. But perhaps Meissonier's boldest departure was when he 98 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS underiook — what his critics predicted would be his Waterloo — his largest canvas, the "Friedland— 1807," now in the Metropohtan 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 cavahy charge. We hear the shriU 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 ahnost their God. His the wiU 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 iUustration of the power of mind and hand is this can vas ! Each figure, man or horse, is a study, and each, whUe a perfect picture in itself, does not detract from the grandeur of the whole. The eye can rove from detaU to detaU, 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, 0mm ignotum pro magnifico. It has been stated by some lovers of the vague that Meis sonier was a mere technical machine, portraying facts Y^th wonderful skiU and fideUty, but with an utter lack of poetical feehng. I am willing to grant this, when any sane person wUl explain to me the meaning of that ambiguous term, "poetic feeling," as appUed to art. For what would be the soul of music to one might be banahty to another. If it means that PKBMreSION UF BOUaaoP: VAtAUON ET CIE. "NAPOLEON — 1814." BY MEISSONIER JEAN-LOUIS-ERNEST MEISSONIER 99 indefinable something, or lack of something, left for the imagi nation to supply, we wUl find much of this so-caUed poetry in works void of some of the elementary principles of art. Wlien art, as in a Meissonier, is expressed obediently to aU 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 hterary 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 weU done, and history wiU continue to echo the cry, "WeU done." PersonaUy Meissonier wUl 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 cordiahty ynth which he explains his plans, and looks you in the face the while with his deep, clear eyes {de son ceil 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 ariist whose canvases are valued by the half mU- hon is as generous as a nabob. He wUl give to a charity sale a picture worth the price of a house. Hospitably friendly {accueillant) to aU, and praised as he is by everybody, he has less conceit in his nature than a wholesale painter {que des barbouilleurs a la toise). With his hair growing thickly above his broad and open forehead, his beard flowing down over his breast Uke a river, his robust activity, de bon cavalier, he is at the age of sixty-eight as solid and as active as at foriy. You see bim 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 ari. We note the uprooting of inherited ideas — the liberation of timid genius held slave by the " what is," but wiUing to throw off the shackles and foUow the lead of a courageous and aggressive master to found a school that shall be equaUy intolerant of the " what was." But Meissonier stood alone. He had plenty of admirers but few foUowers, for whUe aU coiUd 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 wilhng to sink his own individuahty. 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 pupUs, the best known of whom is probably DetaUle, 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 modern ari, 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 untU then unexplored; and they found treasures equaUy great, if not equaUy exact, for the wonder of artist and amateur. For the student of the so-caUed modem school, Meissonier's methods are too serious. Their results are not soon enough apparent, so the student dabbles in a hfe class, or haunts the antique long enough to leam 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 Uke 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 wUl 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 bim to produce works which the recorder of his fame wiU kindly and silently ignore, but of his mature years, when he was in the fullness of his powers. I have also spoken in this ariicle 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 shaU read, " He was the greatest genre painter of any age." Haeey W. Wateous. NOTE BY THE EDITOR HARRY 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 toSpain in 1881, working there some months. He afterward went to Paris and entered the Atelier Bonnat. When that closed he went to the Aea- dfemie 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 JEAN-BAPTISTE-CAMILLE COROT BY THEODORE ROBINSON u JEAN-BAPTISTE-CAMILLE COROT (1796-1875) JEAN-BAPTISTE-CAMILLE COROT was bom m Paris, July 20, 1796. 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 famUy. No doubt his hoh days at Rouen had no small part in deciding the career of the future painter. The vaUey of the Seine is an ideal painter's country, in some sort a " happy vaUey " 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 Richeheu. The long endurance of such a hfe 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 unwUhng to disappoint or thwart a parent's wishes. But finaUy came the end. He declared one morning, at the age of twenty-six, that trade had no attractions for him, that he must foUow his bent and become a painter. The father acquiesced, making an aUowance, sufficient though not extravagant, for his son's support. Then foUowed many happy painting days with Michallon, a painter of his own age, and a year later, on MichaUon's death, with Victor Bertin, both of them apostles of the historical landscape. 107 IQQ MODERN FRENCH MASTERS In 1826 he made his first visit to Italy. At Rome Ahgny 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 hfe this appreciation, and spoke of Ahgny 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 Ahgny, to feel and make known the charm of the Campagna, and his numerous studies at this time were not only an exceUent foundation in their sohd quahties of drawing for his future art, but they pos sessed a unique value of their own, Corot himself felt this, and in his wUl 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 untU his death), making his debut with two pictures — a " View taken at Nomi," and the " Campagna at Rome." Two more trips to Italy in 1834 and 1842, 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 VUle d'Avray, the forest of Fontainebleau, and the vaUey of the Seine. Here he found the motifs he came to know so weU. 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 finaUy he was made a Commander in 1867. Much disap pointment was felt by himself and by his friends at his faUure to receive the grand medal of honor at the Salon, and the year before his death a gold medal was presented bim 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 waU, and exclaiming, " See how beauti ful ! I have never seen such beautiful landscapes ! " One who knew him long and intimately said: "His hfe was one continual song." He had a passionate love for music. \m ^ VKD BT E, KINGSLEY "THE WOODGATHERERS." BY COROT CORCORAN GALLERY, WASHINGTON JEAN-BAPTISTE-CAMILLE COROT 109 joined to an intelhgent comprehension of an art so much in sympathy and akin to his own. His whole life was marked by singular serenity and docUity of character. His kindness and thoughtf ulness were unbounded, and we cannot but admire the spirit that caused him to return at once from an Itahan 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 caUed 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 mUdness were opposed to his being an innovator in art in any strict sense. At least, his was the kind of inteUigence 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 hne 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 httle band of Englishmen, Constable, Boning- ton, and Fielding, whose works made such a sensation in 1824 in Paris. Ooing 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 bim as a lover of nature, seeing his oytu shoricomings, and realizing the possibihties of a painting that should give more of nature's charm in atmosphere, hght, and dehcacy of feehng, quahties that he rightly considered of more impor tance than accuracy, minuteness of detaU, and skUfulness 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 outhne; 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 unfaU 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 aU 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 substantiaUy 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 inteUectual of artists, and his life-work seems to me less logical than MU- let's, whose more somber art Corot frankly admitted he could not appreciate. MiUet in his youth painted charming httle figures taken from mythology and classic lore, but in later years he was the consistent painter of peasant hfe, seen indeed through the eyes of a poet and seer. But Corot, beginning to paint under the influence of the Classic school, continued to h 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 incongraous; 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 modem spirit. JEAN-BAPTISTE-CAMILLE COROT m TechnicaUy 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 hght, and covered with rank herbage and flowers, the masterly and obvious con struction of a Rousseau, who loved the open and the full Ught of day, would be manifestly absurd. Draftsmanship in the highest sense is as intangible a quahty as color. It may be de fined to be, briefly, a feehng for form and hne independent of mere accuracy ; and this Corot possessed in a high degree. It has been weU 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 httle groups stand or move, and how weU 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. FinaUy, 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 leamed much from Ahgny, 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 Ahgny there is a cold correctness, a nobihty indeed of form, but httle 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 hnew, and little by Uttie 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 quahties 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 aU her beauty," and surely there never was a painter with less arrogance than Corot. Unceasing in his devotion and imtiring in his endeavors to express nature's beauty, he was continuaUy self -distrustful. He was aware of that curious inabihty to judge his own work which has been the stumbhng-block of many a painter, and said once, in retuming 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 nobihty of form were insisted upon. This nobihty of form was recognized as apparent in certain kinds of trees, rocks, or foregrounds, whUe others were tabooed as less noble. There should be no rivers, but streams; no houses, but Orecian temples; no peasants, but shepherds and nymphs; no famihar homely trees, such as wiUows 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 aU-powerfiU inheritance of Poussin and Claude. But Dutch art and activity had affected the Eng hsh painters Constable and Bonington, the NaturaUsts 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 Uved 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 wiUows, the grasses, the httle pools, the straw-thatched cot tages, as to the classic nymph, the Arcadian grove, and the Trojan plain. Corot's long and tranquU Ufe, his singleness of aim, and perhaps the fact that success came to him late, resulted m an r> mZw 2 D3n oO JEAN-BAPTISTE-CAMILLE COROT II3 art that is exceptionaUy 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 idyUic country peopled by dancing nymphs. If more naturahstic, 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 wete 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 weU 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 aU 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 sUvery mists, of woodland glades, and the serenity of summer skies, better than Corot. Before his time there was httle 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 caUed "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 inteUectuaUty. 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 skUl, 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 bad. 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 ahnost a " union of science and candor." He painted a large variety of subjects, including figures, poriraits, still-Ufe, fiowers, interiors, street and city views, ani mals, studies from the nude, and many sketches and drawings, beside a number of etchings that have aU 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, VUle d'Avray, and the provinces, examples of rehgious art which, if not in his best vein, are sometimes of great interest. At VUle d'Avray, on the occasion of his mother's birthday in 1849, he painted on the waUs 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 wiU be preserved from the attacks of time and weather. And at Nantes, on the waUs of a bath-house belonging to a friend, he painted several panels of ItaUan scenery with an in finite dehcacy and hghtness of touch, making, as a connoisseur says, " a httle Itahan 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 waUs during rainy days has faUen 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 detaU, carefuUy 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 httle he began to work with more freedom, untU 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 COLLECriOS or eeweh davis .tu..JldL.^ '^jflLJl'SAM^^UMitii '.=. U^ i...^-.nr.!!^.... i-NGRA-VBD BY E KINGSLEY VIEW OF THE COLOSSEUM, ROME. BY COROT COLLECTION OF F. U. BKAllS UUAVlilU tiX K, KINUDLKY 'LANDSCAPE WITH CATTLE. BY COROT JEAN-BAPTISTE-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, whUe of great beauty and dis tinction, are a Uttie cloying in their completeness, a httle too perfect in the arrangement of hne 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 simUar, too un hke 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 stmck 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 " ViUe d'Avray," in the Wolfe collection in the Metropohtan 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 refiected 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 bittemess the httle 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 briUiant 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 aU the suffrages, ana is indeed the painter of the poets, and of aU who love nature not so much for her briUiant and obvious quahties 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 younger 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 Carolus-Duran and later, for a short period, under Ge rdme. 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 groimdwork 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 D^blcle." 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. THEODORE ROUSSEAU BY WILLIAM A. COFFIN PIERRE-ETIENNE-THEODORE ROUSSEAU (1812-1867) MY sympathies in ari 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 " Bibhs," 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, whUe conceding the fine qualities of the work of these two men, but it is a more comphcated 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 quahty, 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 exceUence U9 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 aU 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 dUut- 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 foom truth, and sometimes, to speak plainly, he painted " pot- boUers," which clever craftsmen have found it easy to imitate so weU 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 sturdUy with the giant Difi&- culty-of-Poriraying-Nature, who stands in every painter's path, and who has slain so many and cast them into the deep lake, Obhvion, 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 personahty to every honest landscape-painter's heart. I have thought it weU 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 inteUect 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 Y'''''''^^'^!P':^;^iif?i^?'r;'«'*'rj7^" COLLECTION OF SI, ILUBMONTEL, FARia ENOBATED BT E. KINGBLEr RAVINES OF APREMONT. BY ROUSSEAU 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 retumed to nature to find 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 leamed the meaning of synthesis in painting. AU his great pictures show this knowledge. In some of them he did not seek to conceal detaUs; in others, and greater ones, he aUowed 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 Yidth fine hnes made with a pen or the point of a smaU brush, almost every leaf on a tree seems to be outlined, almost every stalk delineated in a field of grain, and hundreds of httle 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 smaUest detaU in painting. " The Valley of Tiffauges " Ulus- trates such treatment. The foreground is a tangle of bushes, weeds, and grass ; in the middle distance are close-growing trees encirchng the httle valley, and beyond are wooded hUls. On the left is a cottage half hidden by the foliage, and the pale sunhght which faUs on a poplar-tree in the middle of the pic ture is not strong enough to iUumine the sky, which appears behind the hUls with warm gray and black clouds that serve to intensify the effect of the sunhght, and to concentrate the in terest in the center of the composition. The picture is con ceived on large hnes, and in spite of the presence of an amount of detaU that would be utterly bewUdering 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 stUl 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 apphed synthetic treatment solely, we may tum to the "Morning on the Oise," a canvas of medium size, in which is given an effect of warm morning sun in a pleasant vaUey. The river ghdes through f ertUe meadows, and the hght 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 in the sun, and an idle boat with a white saU shines gently in the hght. Every thing else in the composition is subordinated to this central mass ; not that the foreground is slurred over, or that the trees and hUls that hem in the sunny vaUey 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 chUdren 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 wUl 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 weU-known masterpieces : " The Sunset," in the Louvre ; " Le Grivre," ^ " La Hutte du Charbonnier," * and " Les Grorges d'Apremont." ^ These pictures give, each in its own way, the results of aU his study and the essence of his creed. The " Sunset " was an order given to Rousseau in 1848 by Le- dru RoUin, Minister of the Interior ; JiUes Dupre, whose studio was in the same building with Rousseau's in the Place PigaUe, received a commission from the govemment 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-:fiTIENNE-THfiODORE 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 gaUery, and, foUowing 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-hke opening, and bathed in the hght of the setting sun, A cowherd in the underbrush blows his hom, and gathers together his scattered cattle. TJie foreground was a good deal hke the arrangement of the forest scene in the second act of " William Tell " at the opera. Rousseau painted it a second time Vidth an effect of sun rise, a canvas remarkable for the fine rendering of dewy atmo sphere and silvery Ught, but it does not possess the grandeur nor the glory of color of the " Sunset." The play of hght in the " Simset," 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 weU stated, I think, by an analogy. It is like one of the briUiant pieces which some famous pianist chooses when he wishes to give a new audience a proof of his powers. "Les Oorges 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-hne 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 hUls 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 hght key to secure luminousness, here is a complete refutation of the theory. Even if this splendid picture should lose its subtUe gradations of tint, and fade with the lapse of time into the veriest silhouette, it can never lose its impresslveness. It wiU remain, untU time obUterates 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 Oivre " 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, hes on the chUly rocks and dead grass of the hiU-side. In the vaUey be^ yond there are groups of trees that stand up dark and grim against the hne of blue hiUs and the stretch of country that hes cold and cheerless under the heavUy clouded sky. At the horizon the burning red glow of the sun breaks through, and its hght gUds the edges of the cloud-curtains higher up with yeUow, red, and crimson. The air has a frosty breath, and the earth is YO^apped in gloomy sUence. 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 Givre" 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 exceUent book, " Souvenirs sur Theo dore Rousseau," Yodtes 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 eobseas. ... 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 beginmng his beautiful landscape, "The Charcoal- Burner's Hut," so luminous and so Umpid — an effect of high noon in September sunshine, which he finished in 1850.^ 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, 1 1 think the picture shows, by the way the sunlight falls on the white clouds, that the effect was paiated 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. '¦K-^-'J C. VANDERBILT COLLECTION IJ^QKA^ED BY t.LBKU>GE KINGSLEY ST. MICHAELS MOUNT. BY ROUSSEAU PIERRE-STIENNE-THieODORE 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 hke the work of nature itself, by accretions which, brought together, or united, beeome 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 weU he knew that law ! How weU he understood the penetrable nature of the soU and the sohdity 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 hes a few inches under the surface? It is so in "Les Grorges 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 weU developed, his feehng 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 quahties 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 feehng for hne 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 quahty; a strong draftsman, it is always flrm, well-planted, and robust. Add to these factors his undeniably sympathetic treatment of his motives, and the causes of his exceUence are revealed. Pierre -JEtienne -Theodore Rousseau was bom in Paris on April 15, 1812, and was an only chUd. 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 Sahns 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 hves were notable traits in the character of the painter. Prince TaUeyn i rand, before starting for Ohent 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 retumed the father, whose sole ambition was for his son, should have thought of the influence his relations with people in high places mightk|| 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 Compiegn^'Jil in 1826, and soon after entered the studio of R6mond. His stu dent hfe was like that of many others, discontent foUowing tem porary satisfaction in the progress of his apprenticeship, quar rels with the methods of masters and pupils, changes, doubts, and finaUy flight and relief in nature. Rousseau appeared as one of the champions of the new school of 1830, when Delacroix and G-^ricault, leading the Romanticists, made their great battle with traditions and Classicism. He frequented the " Cheval Blanc " COLLECTION OF CALVIN G. BBICE ENOKA.TGD Br B, SUrpSLET TWILIGHT. BY ROUSSEAU PIERRE-fiTIENNE-THfiODORE 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, hterature, and pohtics 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 fiy 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 feU 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 C6tes de OranviUe," 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, foUow ing his beliefs, and going contrary to aU preconceived notions of how landscapes should be painted, was for years practicaUy 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 untU thirty years after his reputa tion was estabhshed did he ever show his early studies, but kept them in portfohos, fearing the exposure 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 Jules Dupre placed on the commit tee to take charge of the Salon of 1848, the celebrated " free Salon," in the first year of the new repubhc. 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 httle 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 timate, planted about it beeches, elms, and birches, his favorite trees. In Barbizon vUlage 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 weU, who are far from the scene of his work and his triumphs, his life stands as a beacon-hght, and some of his masterpieces are at hand to encourage and dehght us. William A. Coffin. NOTE BY THE EDITOR WILLIAM ANDERSON COF FIN was born in Allegheny, Pa., in 1855. He graduated from Tale College in 1874, studying drawing in the Tale 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 NewTork 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 Tork. He was the successful director of the Loan Exhibition of Historical Portraits and Relics in 1889 and the Portraits of "Women Exhibition in New Tork ia 1894. As a landscape-painter he took the second HaUgarten 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 Tork 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-YIRGILIO DIAZ BY ARTHUR HOEBER NARCISSE-VIRaiLIO DIAZ DE LA PENA (1808-1876) AMONG aU the painters who composed the group of the XX Barbizon men, none had a more curious history, and few possessed greater individuahty, than the French-bom Spaniard, Diaz, Like most of his race, he was loaded down with a string of names, having been baptized Narcisse-VirgUio Diaz de la Pena, 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 Pena, did not remain in Bordeaux, but his chUd being bom, 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 chUd. Later, she succeeded in making her way to Paris, a task of no smaU 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 chUd, 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 aU through his life, his studies were made in a haphazard way, and the good pastor allowed him much, too much, Uberty. He passed most of his time rambhng about the woods and roads of Floury, 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 swoUen 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 finaUy sacrificed. From that time, Diaz went through the world with a wooden leg. A long stay at the Hospice de I'Enf ant Jesus, with the pain and suffering attendant upon so serious an operation, was not without its effect upon a chUd who had been accustomed to so much liberty and exercise out of doors. His naturaUy ac tive and healthy mind was continuaUy occupied ; he lay on his cot and dreamed out aU the stories of his youth as he could re- eaU them ; he invented new romances ; he peopled the woods and fields with figures of his imagination, and his fancy, always weird and hvely, was full of vague unreaUties 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 GUlet, he was employed, Louis Cabat, and Raffet, men des tined later on to make their names famous as painters. He worked, however, with httle 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 COLLKCTION ot I T, WILLIAMS LNUUA.VKD BY U. WOLF THE LOVERS. BY DIAZ NARCISSE-VIROILIO 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 feehng, which, though they pleased him, were less and less commerciaUy available. The result was that the lad left the porcelain works, and made shift for himself. He became a pupil of Fran9ois Souchon, an historical painter, at one time director of the school of painting at Lille, but he did not remain long under his tuition. Appheation 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 hvely 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 httle attention to detaU, Diaz tumed out a mass of canvases which, though they brought but httle in the market, in the aggregate amounted to no inconsiderable sum, and so through his hfe 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, briUiant in execution, careless in draw ing, but highly decorative, fanciful in design, and of a fascinat ing originahty. These he sold at ahnost 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 facihty, 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 selhng quahties among the 134 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS masses. Then he became at one time strongly attracted by Victor Hugo's " Les Orientales," which suggested to him queer subjects of Turkish hfe, 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 smaU canvas was hung, but growing more ambitious, he sent to the Salon of 1835 a work entitled " The Battle of Medina." This was briUiant in coloring, but of Uttie importance, some one having described it as a formless sketch, whUe 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 httle 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 httle progress towards a closer acquaintance. Sometime about 1836, Diaz drifted down to the httle vUlage of Barbizon, where was aheady 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 aU 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 twihght and sunset. But his seriousness was only temporary after all. It was the youthful impetuosity to the end, AppUcation was irksome; rules and conventions he despised, and he went his way, unre strained, passionate, versatile, unequal, but rarely, if ever, un interesting. With aU his faihngs, 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 pitfaUs 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 simphcity of motive, he would fre quently accomphsh 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 fuU sympathy vdth 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 fiowers he was not exceUed 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 hkeness or perfect representation of his sub ject. Neveriheless, he obtained delicious results of harmonious pigment. It is unf oriunate for him that he must ever be con sidered a part of, and indehbly 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 wiU be, bracketed with this genius, and of course ever to his disadvantage. Standing quite by himseE, he had made a greater impression upon the w'orld ; 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 faUures and discouragements xmscathedj the fire leaving only the pure metal. Dishearten- 136 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS ments, disaster, iU-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, rebeUed at the appheation 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, hterature, and even in humanity itself, there are enduring quahties 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, iUogical, selfish at times, which yet ynnd themselves about our affections in some inexphcable 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 personahty with which his canvases glow, the sensuous brilhancy 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 accomphshed, from time to time, unusuaUy 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 hmitations permitted, plunge into 4s* COLLECTION OF B. B. CABLE £NORAVSD BT S. KIN0BLE7 LANDSCAPE UNDER SUNSHINE. BY DIAZ ' NARCISSE-VIRGILIO DIAZ DE LA PENA 137 his theme con amore, evolving the sentiment untrammeled by laws of form or the true relations of hght and shade. To bring himself down to faithful transcripts of nature, to con struct and buUd 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 circumscribed, the brush falters, there is ever the inchnation to exaggerate the hght, 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 dehcate charm, and his name wUl remain forever on the honor roU 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 fuU appreciation of the potenti- ahties of color. It would seem as though he had accomphshed aU the possibUities of the pigment that the palette offers. With the keenest and most dehcate sense in his best examples of the decorative, he would occasionally sign some curious, inharmoni ous panel, commonplace, jarring, and inariistic; 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 quahties, his grace, beauty, and original rendering. If he gave to the world vagaries, and swerved from the realism of the materiaUstic 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 teU the story of ele gance and beauty of color and tone ; he bothered httle Yidth the serious problems of mankind in his pictures. The joyous side of hfe he found full of interest; the gay, the brUUant, 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 X8 138 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS simple tales, with engaging frankness, in his own way, and the narrations had always the charm of the man's personahty, the subtle touch of a dehcate nature, appreciative of the many varying expressions of the different emotions upon which, like the skiUed performer on some instrument, with a fuU 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 retumed him the most pleasure, and with which he was in fuUest 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 hght up his efforts vrith 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 govemment 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 retum 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 Chchy, Here he enteriained with great hospitality, his beau^ tiful rooms being fitted up with much artistic prodigaUty. Two sons were bom 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 hved to com- COLLECTION OP J. A. OARLAND EHGUAVED BY E, EINOSLKT LANDSCAPE UNDER SHADOW. BY DIAZ NARCISSE-VIRGILIO DIAZ DE LA PE^A 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 Ulness that weak ened his constitution — a heavy cold resulting from a long wait for his carriage in a drafty corridor. He Uved 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 fuU 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 feUow-painter, who said with a sigh as he stood at the open grave : " The sun has lost one of its most beautiful rays." Abthue Hoebek. NOTE BT THE EDITOR A RTHUR HOEBER was bom in -l\. New Tork 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 G§r6me, at the Ecole des Beaux- Arts, and with Gustave Courtois, making his d6but at the Salon in 1883, with a canvas entitled " Sur la Grande Route," following this, in 1885, with " Le Pain Quotidien." Since his retum to New Tork 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 Tork Times." J. C. V. D. CONSTANT TROYON BY WILLIAM H. HOWE CONSTANT TROYON (1810-1865) CONSTANT TROYON, one of the most briUiant stars of the now celebrated Fontainebleau-Barbizon school, was born at Sevres in 1810, of humble but respectable parentage. Little, if anything, is known of his early boyhood. At an early age he entered the Govemment 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 cbina, 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 hkely of a classic kind, like all the instmction 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 truthfuUy 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 f aU in with Camille Roqueplan, the romantic landscapist, and from him he obtained some valuable suggestions, which served to clear away many encumbrances of detaU 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 Troyon that he met Roqueplan, for that painter, though a lesser hght of the romantic movement, had the true principles of landscape art, and he did not faU to infiuence Troyon in the right direc tion. Frequent visits to Roqueplan in Paris, and a meeting with Rousseau, foUowed. On the former's advice, Troyon in 1832 estabhshed himself in Paris, and was soon making his way among his fellow- artists, working in the same field vidth Rousseau, Diaz, and Dupre. To the pubhc 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, especiaUy in point of draftsmanship. A few years ago, whUe sketching in the forest of Fontaine bleau, I leamed 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 weU-known works, for which he had served as a model, one of which, I well remember, was sold in the Secretan coUection sale in Paris, and, I beheve, 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, f uU of color, strong in hght and shade, and the animals well rendered both in life and action. The CONSTANT TROTON 145 old man was simply wrapped up in fond remembrance of his friend, and had a way of saying, "Troyon was a joUy old boy"; and again, " Those were jolly old days"; and " Those other fel lows, MiUet, Diaz, and Rousseau, used to get together at night time and make the hours merry with their jokes and boyish pranks." Troyon, he told me, would get up at aU hours 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 aU times. No doubt his loving preference for these animals gave him a power of treatment and reahstic 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. Wm, H, FuUer of New York, is also a striking piece of power and simpUcity. Here Troyon gives us an example of simple field Ufe, of unusual strength and drawing. The cattle are simply handled and well modeled, displaying a characteristic quiet and contentment. The rich red coloring, the modehng, the light and shade of the cow lying down, are exceedingly well rendered. This is equaUy 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 hght 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 weU he understands the character of the peasant's humble Ufe and calling. We also get some ghmpse of his treatment of dogs — this time it is the black shepherd-dog, ahnost human in his inteUigence as he watches and guards the herd. This whole work, with its unusual simphcity and breadth, its grasp of the essentials, its truth of character, and its power of technical accomphshment, 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 aU 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 handUng and modehng 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 ahnost al ways harmonious, vivid, and real. At times he was a httle 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 hfe 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 pecuhar charm. For my own part I never tire in tracing out his subtUe meanings, forgetting sometimes that they are the work of a great mas ter's mind and brush, and not nature itself, pure, simple, and subhme. 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 vrith a pecuharly 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 feehng that these colors were beautiful in themselves, independent of their meaning. And what a sense of the beautiful in hght and HOLLAND CATTLE AND LANDSCAPE." BY TROYON METROPOLITAN MUSEUM, NEW YORK FHOTOOBAFHED HT PACB CONSTANT TROTON 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 hght upon patches of open meadow, but in so small a thing as the shadow cast in modehng the hip bone of a cow he showed an absorbing love for the relief of hght by dark. Fond of travel, Troyon visited many provinces of France, and, eamest worker that he was, he took dehght 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 HoUand, 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 vnnd-miUs, and picturesque villages, which ever lend a charm of interest to painters. Once in HoUand 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 dehght, 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 aU 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 HoUand pilgrimage taught bim more of the ancients than the modems, 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 reflnement and blending of color which characterize the works of Troyon with which we are the most familiar. WhUe 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 caUed the " Wind-mUl," 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 flrst about the decoration, for the President of the Repubhc did not recognize the fine quahties of the picture so quickly as others, and was disposed to think it looked like a piece of tapestry. When the hst 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 abihty to bring us face to face with the hving, breathing truth of nature. Take, for example, his large picture in the LouvrO, " 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 their long shadows before them. One is almost disposed to step aside and make way for them,, it is aU such a breathing truth. The enveloppe and the atmospheric effect in this work are wonderfuUy weU given, and it is not only great in composition, but masterful in color, and charming in its marked individuahty. WhUe the drawing of the animals is clumsy, and the proportions badly given, yet the masses are so weU balanced, and the values so admirably ren dered, that we can praise it heartUy in spite of some shortcom ings. It is said Troyon painted this work in fifteen days, yet in that short time how truthfuUy 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 Metropohtan Museum in New York is fortunate in its possession of a most superb work — a so-caUed "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 wonderfuUy weU given. The play of hght and shade, the restless grouping of the cattle both in move- CONSTANT TROTON 149 ment and coloration, are weU studied ; and the broad sweep of lowland, with its far receding depth of wooded meadow and marshy river-banks 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 unparaUeled in art. Again, the stately oaks in the immediate foreground are beau tifully rendered in their depth of hght and shade, while their spreading branches and deep shadows impress one with a feel ing of the actual breadth, volume, and "leafiness" of trees. The purity of the greens in this work is, too, a masterly state ment of truth and freshness, and the ghstening reflections in the water sparkle with a light seldom achieved in painting, Troyon's sheep pictures are ahnost 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 weU-known work in New York iUustrates this with much force. A Norman shepherd returning from the hiUs 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, Ulustrate very forcibly the blundering nature of the cow and the timid character of the sheep. The action and color of this picture are weU and forcibly given, and the wide stretch of rolhng upland, the thatched roofs of the peasants' homes, the far-reaching brUhant 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 present time can claim such wide-spread recognition. People may rave as they please about Paul Potter's " Young BuU " 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 sentimentahzed 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 ahnost 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 hfe, 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, Yisitors 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 tum to the right, and a few steps wUl 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 TROTON 151 (1855), "Retum to the Farm" (1859). Three more are in Montpelher : "Flock of Sheep," "Drinking Place," and "Drink ing Place at La Touque" (1853). In Leipsic: " Cows in Pas ture" (1851), In the Ravene GaUery, Berlin, two fine ex amples: "Two Dogs in Leash" (1854), and "Cattle Piece" (1855). Hamburg, Havre, and LUle have good examples of his landscapes. Many masterpieces have found homes in pubhc and private coUections in the United States, and I am glad to say that there is an exceUent example of him in the Metropohtan Museum in New York, — a picture I have aheady 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 BT THE EDITOR WILLIAM HENRT HOWE was born in Ravenna, Ohio, in 1844, He studied art in Europe under Otto de Thoren and Vuillefroy, first at Dtisseldorf 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 Offtcier de l'Acad6mie. 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 CHARLES -FRANgOIS DAUBIGNY (1817-1878) AN excuse seems necessary for a new monograph of an Jljl. 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, hke 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 hberal stan dards of criticism. I determined to consult some painter whose work gave evidence both of technical skiU and natural artistic endowment. For years the work of Daubigny had charmed me with its freshness, virihty, 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 caUed 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 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 aU 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 aU 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 finaUy 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 coUective power as the so-caUed 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 hving 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 hfe. 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 govem ment. The Prix de Rome was reestablished, and the winners PUOTOQBAFHED DY TIJilinB PETIT ENGItAVED BY T. JOSKSOK DAUBIGNY, ABOUT 1865 CHARLES-PRANgOIS DAUBIGNT 157 of both first and second prizes were exempted from mUitary 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 httle of vital force was produced. The Classic school, of which David was the head, held its sway for a long time, but finaUy it gave way to the more intense ideas of the Romanticists. When in 1819 G^ricault exhibited his " Raft of the Medusa," and soon after Delacroix showed his " Dante and YirgU," a new impulse was given to art, a new life had come to it, and many pictures of passion and torture — the Sturm und Drang of Romanticism — were the result. Land scape art, under the men of 1830, seems to have foUowed 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 tumed 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 coUection 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-caUed 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 abUity 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, Dupr^, Corot, Rousseau, Troyon, Diaz, and others have become famU- 158 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS iar to aU. One of the youngest of this group of painters was Charles -Francois Daubigny. He was bom at Paris, Febmary 15, 1817. His father, Edme -Francois Daubigny, was a painter and teacher of draw ing, who occasionaUy 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 leamed the use of pencU and brush. Being a weak and somewhat sickly chUd, he was sent into the country in charge of an old nurse who hved at Yalmondois, 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 chUd by this charming country seems to have been a lasting one, for in later years he retumed 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 famiharly 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 famUy was poor, the boy began to add to the slender famUy 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 chUdhood, and gathered many studies of river and meadow. The streets of Paris also furnished ma terial for his brush, and many studies of famihar places are to be found among his early works. When seventeen years old, Daubigny, in company with a friend and room-mate named Mignan, started on a strange art pUgrimage to Italy. To pay for the trip they had together saved from time to time such small sums as could be spared from hving expenses. For a safe they had utihzed 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-FRANgOIS DAUBIGNT 159 the year. The waU 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 ohve, 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 soU 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. Unhke 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 famihar 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 whioh place they walked all the way, arriving nearly pennUess, Soon after his retum 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 hke 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 httle 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 hiUs under an evening sky, with St. Jerome kneehng in prayer ; and was de scribed at the time as " a terrible pile of rocks a la Salvator." The classic fiavor 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 leamed 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 annuaUy at the Salon, and in 1848 he was awarded a sec ond-class medal. In 1853 his " Yalley 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 " YaUey 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 govemment and is now in the Louvre, as are also the " Springtime " and the " Yin- COLLECTION OF THB LATE PBBDERICK L. BY E, KINGSLEY 'THE SETTING SUN." BY DAUBIGNY CHARLES-PRANgOIS DAUBIGNT 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 Chevaher of the Legion of Honor. He exhibited in 1859 his "Beach at Yillerville" 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 finaUy de cided to buUd 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 fiows 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 chffs or gently rolhng uplands. At intervals along the bank are often seen groups of washerwomen, whose laughter and gossip mingle with the sound of the bat phed with energy on the linen. To facihtate 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, fiat like a skiff, and, drawing little water, could be easUy navigated by oars or saUs. In this boat Daubigny moved from place to place, sketching at wiU. 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 bmsh 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 smaUer pictures which are to-day found in various coUections 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 Mame, the Oise, and many tributary streams. Living, as 21 162 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS he did, a simple hfe, cooking his own meals and acting in the capacity of captain, cook, artist, and master, he was famiharly caUed by his friends "Captain Daubigny." His kind and hearty greeting to all made him everywhere welcome. The children haUed with dehght the strange craft with its genial occupants, and when it became necessary to shift the moorings their highest dehght was to harness themselves to the tow- rope, and assist in navigating the wonderful craft where hved their bon capitaine. From this floating studio Daubigny worked in close touch with nature and directly from the model. The dweUer ashore is usuaUy 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 earhest 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 faU to render that subtUe 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 feehng about nature which he evinced in ahnost every work or sketch that he painted. In one sense he was a tme 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 sohcita- tion of artist friends in London, he visited that city and ex hibited a picture at the Royal Academy. It was badly himg, and to make up in a maimer for this iU-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 waUs of his studio were several sketches of the muddy Thames with brown-saUed barges, serving as memories of his visit to London. He continued to exhibit from year to year pictures steadUy growing in breadth and force. In the Salon of 1876 he showed the " Apple Orchard," a large picture rich with the warm greens COLLECTION OF W H PULLER JNGRAVED BY E KINGSLEY THE CLIFFS AT VILLERVILLE. BY DAUBIGNY CHARLES-FRANgOIS DAUBIGNT 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 fiUed 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 1 remember seeing at the Salon of 1877, It was a "Yiew of Dieppe," and is one of the most impressionistic sketches I know from his bmsh. The picture is, I beheve, 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 hfetime 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 aU that was necessary to a complete impression, that his most vigorous and simple work seems to contain aU 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," Yigor ous, spontaneous, and without ostentation, he painted as he hved, freely, joyously, and honestly, revealing the man in the artist, as aU 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 easUy pleased with his own work and with the work of others ; and to this quahty he owed most of his stimulating power as a teacher. He seemed obhvious 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 pupUs 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 imporiant 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 hght, into a sunset or twihght by adding a note or two of vivid color at the horizon ; paying httle 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 readUy 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 fuU 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, 1878. He was then in better health than usual. He spoke of his rheumatism having left him for a time, and said he felt '^^^^^^SP^??'-'^'^'^'"^''^^''^^^^Pf^?|F COLLECTIOS OF HOU. U. A. DKi;SiaiO>"L) ENGRAVED B¥ E, KINGSLEY A FLOCK OF SHEEP. BY DAUBIGNY CHARLES-FRANgOIS DAUBIGNT 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 comer of a stable and a mass of straw and htter 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 hght of dawn told of the coming day. The whole ef fect was so just in color, and so fuU 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 opahne 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 famUy." I asked if they were not for sale, and he rephed : " They are both too large and too bold to find a purchaser; all my best work remains with me, and are pour la famille.''^ A few days after seeing these pictures, I met one of the most successful of the younger landscape-painters in France, who had just retumed 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 hving 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." 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 stiU 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 strugghng 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 wiU 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 hfe and art of Charles-Francois Daubigny. D, W. Teyon, NOTE BT THE EDITOR DWIGHT WILLIAM TRTON was bom 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 fieole des Beaux- Ai-ts, 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 flrst prize of the Cleveland Art Asso ciation. He was awarded a bronze medal in Boston in 1882, two gold medals in 1886 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 Ms pictures are in private collections in France and in America. Several fine examples are in the art gallery of Smith College. J. C, V. D. CLAUDE MONET BY THEODORE ROBINSON DRAWN BT TU. BOBINSO^J 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, flrst, as is usuaUy the case, with the painters, and latterly with the pubhc. It is a very superflcial 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, CaiUebotte, Sisley, Renoir, MUe. Berthe Morisot, and the American Miss Cassatt, not to mention others, is very con siderable. Of course there have appeared the men of smaU talent, with their httle 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 cMc and habilete of the schools ; and then for its voice in behalf of pure, bright color and hght, things of which painters as weU as the pubhc have been more or less afraid. That refined color must necessarUy be duU color; that one should not paint up too near white; that one should " husband 22 169 170 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS his resources " ; and that if any quahties must be sacrificed, let them be those of color and air — aU these theories have been stoutly and efficiently combated by the Impressionists. Of them aU 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 sunhght with a vividness and truth before unknown. Though occasionaUy 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 flrst, his work, whUe remaining substantiaUy the same in intention, has become larger and freer each year. In the beginning there was a visible influence of Corot, as weU 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 aU factures, large, solid, and intangible, which best suggests the mystery of nature. AU painters working in the tme Im pressionist spirit, and absorbed by their subject, must feel that neat workmanship is not merely unworthy of the effort but that it is practicaUy impossible. No man can serve two mas ters, and this noble indifference to facture comes sooner or later to aU 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 flrst to imagine the possibihty of obtaining this truth and charm on a fair-sized canvas with quahties 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 YriU 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. CO O?oo o Xm¦pa> Oz m H 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 hving. 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 dehghtful sense of movement, vibration, and life. One of his favorite sayings is "ia nature ne s'arrUe pas.''"' Clouds are moving across the sky, leaves are twinkling, the grass is growing. Even the stiUest 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 sunhght 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, HoUand 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-chffs, dazzling in sunhght, 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 reahst, 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 dayhght and modernity. 172 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS and sentiment or charm ; that an intense lover and follower of nature is not necessarily an undiscriminating note-taker, a pho tographer of more or less interesting facts. Beauty of hne, of hght 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 wilfuUy so, and you feel that he takes a dehght 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 aU 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 beheve 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 modem 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 experi 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 aU, In Uke 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 o zn >-a mS> m> ?o Sroz OZ ro CO¦<; s oz ro 4 ,, hi ** 0. liMP Aim CLAUDE MONET 173 has been its supposed tendency toward image breaking and ec centricity. But in reahty, while bringing forward new discov eries of vibration and color, the Impressionists in many ways have been retuming to flrst principles. Manet's " Boy with a Sword" and the much discussed "Olympia" may claim kin ship with Yelasquez for truth of values and for largeness and simphcity of modeling, whUe 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 fldehty to nature. WhUe the Impressionist movement is much in sympathy with the naturahstic movement in hterature, 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 pubhc 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 Enghsh painter how Constable preaches against cMc, then caUed 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 fuU enough of what has been already done." " My execution an noys the scholastic ones. Perhaps the sacrifices I make for hghtness 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 shaU we admire works so un usual for their excellencies alone — what then is to become of the great Poussin ? — and they caution the younger artists to beware of the seduction of these Enghsh 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 infiuence of M. Claude Monet on the landscape art of the future wiU be strongly felt. Imitation can go but a Uttie 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 possibUities of pure color, and, while careful to " hold fast to that which is good," wiU go on to new and deUghtful achievement. Theodoee Robinson. MODERN FRENCH MASTERS PART III JEAN-FRANCOIS MILLET BY WYATT EATON JEAN-FRANgOIS MILLET (1814-1875) I WAS at work under Gerdme at the l&cole des Beaux- Arts in the winter of 1872-73. In the me Bonaparte, near the school, was an old print-shop, and in the windows were engravings ancient and modem. Among them I noted most frequently some woodcuts after MiUet'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 hthograph of his " Woman Sewing," which seemed hke 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 MiUet lived there near the hotel, and that his studio window looked out on the street. On hearing this I wa^ 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 famihar 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 H6tel Drouot, where aU of these men and other strong ones were represented in force, I saw a painting by MiUet — a mother sewing by an oU lamp, her baby asleep be side her. The reahty of this scene, the naturalness of move ment, the perfection of expression, the charm, separated it from aU other pictures, and from that moment Millet was to me the greatest of modem painters. I went down to Barbizon in the early summer, I found the hotel joUy, the forest grand, and Millet's large studio win dow always in view. The village was so smaU, 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 MiUet'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 MiUet's house in going and that I came back by the same way. MiUet's studio was a detached building, separated from the house by a yard; the house, like the studio, was buUt on the hne of the waU on the side of the road. The dining-room window opened into the street, and I sometimes got a ghmpse 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 MiUet's face distinctly in profile : the nose seemed very long, and I thought he looked hke 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 MUlet. I found that very httle was seen of him in the village. I met a number of artists who had hved 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 bUhard and dining rooms in the evening or on a rainy afternoon ; but MUlet never came there to drink a glass of beer or to play a game of bUhards. So the artists called him a bear, and had doubts of his abihty to paint ; COLLECTION OF TBE LATE rilEDEIUCI£ L. AMES IiINOEAVED BT W. B. CLOSSON THE CHURNER." BY MILLET JEAN-PRANgOIS MILLET Igl but the peasant people found in him a good neighbor neverthe less, and if any one was in trouble Madame MiUet 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 hved abroad for many years, and at that time had become a fixture at Barbizon. His house was fiUed with engravings, photographs, or casts of nearly aU 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 MUlet and Millet's work was without bounds. He had bought from MiUet 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 MUlet, also several by Delacroix and Diaz. All these he had bought for smaU sums, saved from a hmited income, whUe studying in the schools of Paris. Thus, whUe 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 fuUy preserved photographs of everything of MiUet's that had been reproduced. With these, the drawings, and Babcock's descriptions I became acquainted more fully with MUlet'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 bis 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 MiUet 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 Uve 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 MiUet, 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 carefuUy the probable hour that the Millet famUy 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 privUege of caUing upon him 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 trembhng 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 caU ing my attention to certain facts of form and detaU upon his own body while criticizing, upon another day, some drawings that I had brought him. The other object which stmck me was a curtain suspended from the nearer side of the window and hanging at right angles with it. Behind this MiUet would retire to look at his work or to show it to visitors, the curtain inter cepting the hght, and making the picture seen Yrith greater ease. The waUs were of plaster, darkened by time ; heavy rafters crossed the ceUing; a few plaster casts hung about the walls — reliefs from the Trajan Column, heads by DonateUo and Luca deUa Robbia, the arm of Michelangelo's " Slave," some smaU Gothic figures and antique torsos, besides some Gothic figures carved in wood, of which MiUet was very fond. AU 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-PRANgOIS MILLET 133 vases, all standing on the floor, their faces turned to the wall. Immediately upon entering the studio MiUet 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, generaUy in frames, and in an advanced state of completion, always retuming the pic ture to its place in its stack against the waU. As I have said, up to this time I had seen but few of MUlet'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 httle value in expressing my feelings. But the master was evidently satisfled 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 flve times their greatest width or height, but caUed me near sometimes that I might see the simplicity of execution or the few touches required in producing multiphcity and inflnity in effect. A comment by MiUet 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 stiU 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 outhne. Another picture in an early stage was the " Women retum 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 chmax of Millet's 184 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS power, which was revealed to me that day, was a stiU-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 comphcated compositions. In the pears I found aU the tones of a landscape, in the twisted stems I seemed to see the wea ther-worn tree, and the modehng of the fruit was studied and rendered with the same interest that he would have given to a hiU 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 weU pleased in my declaring this to be equal in interest to his other pictures. I now more f uUy understood his aims in art, and this httle stiU-Ufe 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"? And on his death-bed, while looking out into his garden and at his closed studio door, longing hke a young man for more opportunities for work, he described to his son, not colossal canvases and multitudes of flgures, but a quiet nook in his native Normandy — the side of a biU, a road, and a few trees. Could he but hve, he had so much that he would stUl say; he would show what could be done with this simple material. Millet testifled a rare friendliness in talking to me, without reserve, of his lonehness and isolation. This conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a friend who was spending the day at the house. I then asked MiUet some questions relating to my studies of art — was anatomy necessary or worth whUe? 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 sohd 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, " OEdipus being taken from the Tree," in which the chUd's face was actually modeled in relief with the pigments. He laughed heartUy, and repUed that he was "very young when he painted it," MiUet was always impatient of detaU or particularity in methods. He once said that much must be learned and for gotten before the painter could reaUy be at the command of his own powers. ENOItAVED HY T. COLE 'the SOWER. BY MILLET JEAN-PRANgOIS MILLET 185 I had been discussing the question of the beautiful in na ture, and before leaving MiUet 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. MiUet 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 httle of his opulence and charm of color. I then thought, and time has confirmed my behef, that when the same justice has been given the son that at so late an hour was accorded the father he wiU be hailed as the great pupU of, and co-worker with, MiUet, 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 individuahty of, and was not so original in his art creations as, Luca deUa Robbia. After a httle 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, — MiUet talked much of nature and of art, — but my mind was aheady fiUed to overfiowing, and I never could recaU this hour or two of invaluable words from the master. I remember weU 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 ahnost 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 simphcity, too much of unnecessary detaU, the planes not weU felt, and a smaUness 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 Gerdme 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 govem aU good art. I retumed to Barbizon again in the winter, and remained several weeks to finish a picture begun in the autumn. Fran cois MiUet and I were much together, and I sometimes took coffee with the famUy 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 hospitahty. In the spring I saw him in Paris; he had come with Madame MUlet 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 vrith Madame MiUet eating their lunch at the Duval restaurant in the rue Montesquieu. MiUet was cutting his bread with his knife hke 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 Yrith the subject assigned him. His mood was more hght and gay than ever I had known it to be. We then went to the Palais Royal and took coffee out-of-doors. MiUet was fuU of remi niscences of his early hfe 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 httle whUe 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 httle 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 seen these pictures sold for as many thousands. MiUet did not Uve JEAN-PRANgOIS MILLET 187 to know anything of the large prices which are now famihar 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 hngered more over his work, always striving for greater simphcity, force of ex pression, depth of color, for greater perfection in finish, which the smaU prices of earUer 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 aU offers, preferring to continue his more independent existence. I retumed again to Barbizon for the summer of 1874. This was MiUet's last year. How far I was from knowing that I was spending with him his last weU 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 Ulness some chronic disease that would not shorten his hfe. 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 hghtly spoke of his lack of energy, and said that he would sit and dig with his bmsh at the dry paint on his palette rather than go to his table for fresh colors. At this time I found MiUet 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 caU after dinner to take coffee with Frangois, or to go with him for a walk, and would flnd the father sitting alone at the table, flrst staring at the cloth, then passing his flnger 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 obhterating it with his hand, and seeming to dismiss it from his mind he would then recom- 188 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS mence his invisible markings. MiUet explained his preoccu pation, and would always ask me to excuse his sUence. This generally took place in the yard or garden, which lay between the house and the studio, where the famUy dined dur ing the pleasant summer evenings. In talking of the decora tions, MiUet referred to the difficulties of the composition. The hghting of the chapel was so dim that he wished to make the figures tell in sUhouette either in Ught 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 MiUet left were very sUght. I saw several of them ; they were only a few out- hnes in charcoal on smaU canvases, the movement of the figures indicated with long sweeping strokes. Thus was the master taken away whUe making preparations for that which, in a certain sense, would have been the most important work of his hfe. During this summer and autumn I spent many evenings with MiUet in playing dominoes. He was very fond of the game, and as his eyes would not permit him to draw or read by lamp-hght, this was his only means of diversion. Although I did my best, MiUet was generaUy 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 famUy were in Paris, and would be expected home by the late omnibus ; on these evenings we generaUy 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, MiUet might have been more reserved with me. I once ventured to ask him his opinion of Japanese pictures. He 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 \* I' PORTRAIT OF MILLET." FROM CRAYON SKETCH BY HIMSELF IN 1846-47 JEAN-FRANgOlS MILLET 189 Parisian pamter. He rephed, " Most decidedly ; but theh work is far from the beauty of Fra Angehco." I more frequently taUied to MUlet 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 vrith me, as my know ledge of French was hnperfect, and MUlet 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 rephed 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 hke this to be clearly understood ; Millet had weU 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 hke 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 Ught and shade, drawn probably from nature, but painted more from memory, I have never seen any work from nature of MUlet's that was not memorandum-hke in character, indicating by outhne 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 httle pages his study for the wheat-ricks which were the principal objects in his picture caUed "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 modehng in hght 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 simUar to those represented in his picture. Some of his landscape studies in outhne with pen and ink were the exact record of proportion and construction, resem bhng the work of a topographical engineer. The other quah ties of the landscape were too fieeting. He had copied aU that would pose for him, as with the ricks ; his memory and know ledge supphed the rest. Again I have authority for stating that MiUet 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 hving model, and his regret at not being able to do so. It seemed to be difficult for MUlet 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 feU 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 detaU or a special quaUty 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 caU upon her to pose for some part of a picture upon which he would be at work, and of MiUet compelling her to wear the same shirt for an uncomfortably long time ; not to paint the dirt, as the early critics of MUlet would have us beheve, but that the rough Unen 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 MiUet 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 mnning off to another viUage. (The country on the outside of vUlages and towns in this part of France is entirely without hedges or fences of any kind.) In the foreground I had brought in a waU 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 simphcity and expanse of the plain. The waU 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 waU the entrance to a vUlage. I began teUing this to Mil let, but got no further than my friend's opinion, that the waU destroyed the beauty of the picture. This worked Millet up to an extreme degree ; I might say it put bim into a towering rage. The criticism he took as an expression of the prevalent idea of the beautiful, to which he could not hsten with calm ness. To him beauty was the fit, the appropriate, the service able, the character weU rendered, an idea weU wrought out, " with largeness and simphcity." This last MiUet 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 hstened and did not argue; in fact, there was no chance. MiUet went from one iUustration 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 fuU 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 aU, the un- naturalness of having the chUd naked. " Why is it not warmly wrapped in woolen clothes?" His answer to aU this was, " This is the beginning of la belle peinture." MUlet then tumed 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 famUy, how abject ; the cahn 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 sorrrow in his face, and his hands — perhaps your friend would not caU them beautiful, but they show age, toU, and suffering: ah! these are infinitely more beautiful to me than the dehcate hands of Titian's peasants." I have often been told of the magnificent appearance of MiUet as a young man — taU, 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 MiUet — George FuUer 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, dUating nostrils; the mouth firm; the forehead remarkable for its strength — not massive, but in the three-quarter view of the head, where usually the hne 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 wiU and energy. The hair and the beard were originaUy 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 quahty 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 t > COLLECTION OF P, C, BEOOKS ¦ SiHi%„.i^ ENOBATED BT W, L. CLOSSON THE SHEEP-SHEARERS. BY MILLET ¦ JEAN-FRANgOIS MILLET 193 the Enghsh, 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 sUk hat— his apparel on these occasions causing him much discomfort. To his famUy he never seemed like himself when dressed for Paris, I rarely saw MiUet 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 ahnost a hteral transcript of this spot. MUlet, 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 aU that surrounded him, — gave me the feeUng 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 Frangois' studio, a httle 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 MiUet made a drawing on a block for him to engrave. Pierre worked on this indus triously untu it was finished, cutting a very smaU piece each day, but that with great care. He put away his work — which he was doing in a smaU room adjoining Frangois' studio— as I came in, and started out for a walk. Soon after, MiUet 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 MiUet that I admired the drawing exceedingly, and thought it as a picture complete. He rephed 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 26 194 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS first seemed but httle inchned to talk, we no longer thought of our walk, Frangois was always as eager as myself when his father talked of nature or of art. It was late in September or early in October. MUlet 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 hmbs crooked and his body bent, and years of labor stUl 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 tiUers of the soil, and that his children and chUdren'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 MiUet'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 bibhcal history, and of subjects he would hke or intended to paint. The theme which most appealed to him in the New Testament was where Joseph and Mary are tumed away from the door of the inn before the bh-th of the ChUd, and in his description of the scene, as he had conceived it, I saw the picture painted with aU the tender ness and pathos of his art. This I think was my last talk with MUlet on subjects of art. My last evenings before retuming to Paris in October were spent with him at his favorite game of dominoes. He seemed fuU of contentment and in his usual spirits, and I left him with out thought or knowledge of his f aihng 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 MUlet's JEAN-FRANgOIS MILLET 195 iUness. I hastened to the house, and found the family and Mr. Babcock in the dining-room, sitting sUently 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. Itook Frangois by the hand and together we went out. His only words were, " AU 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 January. 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 Frangois. It was a bright wintry day. We went out through the garden gate to a seat against the waU where Millet so often had sat, watching the glowing or waning hght upon the forest trees, the rolling plain, and the distant hiUs, Frangois 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, teUing 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 weU-loved friend Rousseau, in the httle 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 tlie late J. O. Eaton. From 1872 to 1876 he studied in the ficole des Beaux- Arts, Paris, under G6r6me. He sketched and studied in Prance 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. gustaye courbet BY SAMUEL ISHAM GUSTAYE COURBET (1819-1877) IT is difficult, outside of France, to gain a coirect 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 fuUy appreciated. But these examples with which commerce has supplied our amateurs, whUe 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 pubhc 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 hfe ; but Courbet is not a man who can be ignored. His best work wUl endure as long as that of any of his contempo raries. None has influenced more the development of recent art, and he is especiaUy 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 reahsm, for of that he was 199 200 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS the perfect exponent. He is usuaUy classed with the Fontaine bleau men, and his canvases hang more harmoniously on a waU with Rousseau and Diaz than vrith 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 recaU his hfe and surroundings. The quarrels over his pictures and theories which once fiUed 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, bom in 1819, at Omans, a little vUlage 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 weU-to-do and weU con nected, according to the local standard, but had the sturdy, nar row minds of their class. He hved at Omans, 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 Omans, 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 hfe, 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 bim of its faults that he retumed 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 retuming 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 stUl 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, COLLKCTION OF KRWIN DAVIB ENGRAVED BY T. COLE THE MUSICIAN. BY COURBET GUSTAVE COURBET 201 untu he withdrew from France in 1872 to die in voluntary exile, Courbet had smaU right to complain of the indifference of the pubhc. 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 hst 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 " DemoiseUes du Yillage," his first successful landscape. In 1853 he showed a number of unportant 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 " Retum 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 disUke of those whose feehngs it shocked, which led him to produce several more pictures of a simUar character. He was at this time pro ducing enormously and seUing 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 aU the variety of subject the interest seems to be purely artistic, and one might almost say technical. They seem characterized by 202 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS absence of thought and mastery of handhng ; 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 morahty, and by some as a dawning of a new and beatific so cial era. It was a strange world in which Courbet hved, and it is hard for us to realize the feehng about art fifty years ago in France. The Battle of the Schools has been described often enough, but the infinite comphcation of motives cannot be reproduced. It was not a matter confined to art and hterature, with their foUowers and admirers, as it would be to-day. AU France was in an irritable inteUectual 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 govemment changing in character and pohcy from day to day. Thousands of dreamers had schemes for a perfect state which they wished applied regardless of the cost of the prehminary 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 their famihes in peace. AU of this touched painting directly. It was the opinion in France then, as it is now, that it is the duty of govemment 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 practicaUy 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 XIY. stiU 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 govemment. 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 govem ment. The steady-going people transferred a share of their horror of rebeUion to the artists, who retorted by abusing the bourgeois, and openly hving noisy and iU-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 reheving their feelings by personal abuse. This battle was weU under way when Courbet came into it. In 1822 Delacroix had exhibited his " Dante and YirgU," which event is usuaUy 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 weU as the idea of opposition to authority, suited Courbet's exuberant vitahty, 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 ennobhng, 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, Yictor Hugo, Walter Scott, were set up against Homer, YirgU, and Plutarch ; Rubens, Tintoretto, and the Yenetians 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 Omans one side was as incomprehensible as the other. He understood Shak spere and Rubens as little as he did YirgU and the divine Ra phael, and was as incompetent to reconstruct the Sack of Con stantinople as the FaU of Troy. It is not worth whUe to pay much attention to his own exposition of theories, nor to his declaration that he was a reahst from principle. He under went the influence of his surroundings, attempted an unsuc cessful Walpurgis Night after Goethe, and was haunted all his hfe with the thought of doing an aUegory. His theories were 204 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS an unconscious avowal of his hmitations. 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 uncontaminated by tradi tion or imagination. Yeron speaks of his incurable inteUectual mediocrity. The expression is not kindly, but gives fairly weU the hmitation 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 Omans," 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 &om artistic motives. The " Stone Breakers," the " Wrestlers," and his other figure pictures, show httle 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 Omans " 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 viUage; 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, paU-bearers, HX m>O CnXo> >< n o c ?o w m-J GUSTAVE COURBET 205 beadles, and clergy, — while on the right are the friends and relatives. The two groups are weU 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, sUver 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 feehng, 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 hfe of a great city in a time of unusual intellectual activity. That explains something — his self-consciousness, his unmannerh- 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. MUlet was as much of a peasant as Courbet, and a poorer one, but aU 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 hves 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 whUe they were at heart the antitheses of each other. MU let's gentleness, his love and admiration for poets hke YirgU and painters hke Poussin, his abihty to seize their essential 206 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS spirit whUe 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, aU 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 reaUy was, how much of his unpleasant side was thoughtless, how much mahcious, how much assumed to impress the pubhc, 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- ciahst manifestos, threw in his fortune with the Commune, and was the leading spirit in the overthrow of the Yendome 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 hved 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 chmax he had a band of bitter enemies, who vituperated him heartUy, though it did him less real harm than the injudicious praise of his friends. The ghmpses that we catch of him through unbiased eyes are not unfriendly. Paul Mantz, after meeting him one even ing in an Antwerp beer-haU, appreciates him as a "jovial young feUow, 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 raUway stations, though, as handed down to us, they seem neither very new nor very wise. PhiUp Gilbert Hamerton, who knew him intimately down in his home coun try, seems to have heartUy hked the man, and to have taken him at his own valuation. It was probably this vriUingness 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 hmited him sociaUy to the lower ranks of hfe, in which he found his subjects, for he had no sincere sympathy with them as MiUet 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 tum to his landscapes. The nature that he knew was exceptionaUy 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 whUe 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 fuU 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 reahty of woodland life, and feel that the hteral truth has been told. No sentiment has been added, no brilhancy 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, briUiant blue, the tme 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 his forest hve. 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 hkely to be the basis of his popular reputation, and their beauty comes largely from their reahsm. The lack of composition in his landscape, which seems hke 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 pubhc, who feel without analyzing it, the great merit of Courbet hes 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 briUiancy un weakened by retouching and reworking. His figures are mainly painted vrith the brush ; he used for his landscapes the palette-knife, which he handled with amazing dexterity. His pictures owe much of their pecuhar character to the palette-knife. With it alone were the purity and sparkle of the color, the imitative texture of the f ohage and rock, obtainable, and to it must be attributed most of the limitations of his work. It could not give the de taU 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 quahty, a heavy impasto, the colors melting into each other with a richness and sohdity which give beauty to the most commonplace subject. The figures in the "DemoiseUes 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 handhng which gives interest to Courbet's many portraits of himself, and to his study heads. The " Man with the Leathem Belt," the " Spinner," the " Fair Dutchwoman," do not need excuses for their craftsman ship in any society. They have a quahty in places hke old Chinese porcelains or lacquer, a smoothness of transparent sur face, a richness of pure, strong, meUow color, a firmness of broad brush-work that is a dehght to the eye. PHOTOQBAl'H BY BBAUN, OLKWMNT ET CIE "THE DEER RETREAT." BY COURBET 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 aU 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 " DemoiseUes du Yil lage," now in this country, is one of his most brilliant and charming landscapes, but the flgures 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, roUs 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 aheady 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 untU Ut up by the rays of hght; 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, hke the " Combat of Stags," and the " Burial at Omans," have aheady 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 caUing him a story telling painter. The characterization will hardly hold. Cour bet tried the r61e of story-teUer in his attacks on the clergy, in a great canvas of himself in his studio, surrounded by flgures 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 tmth when he caUs him a painter of stUl-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 untU it became the vehicle for expressing his own feeling. The similitude of a 27 210 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS man with a kodak comes continuaUy to the mind. He saw the peasants at table, the deer in the woods, the great waves roUing 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 iUustrations of many and notable theories, — the brotherhood of man, the nobUity 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 apphed 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 unwUUng 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 flgures are the figures of stiU-hfe, and stand stohd 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 carry 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 iU ; 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 briUiancy 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 hmitations, 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, whUe 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 foUowers of both schools united in producing things of which the iUustrations GUSTAVE COURBET 211 of the Keepsakes and Books of Beauty are famihar if some what exaggerated examples. To these invertebrate romantic or sentimental scenes Courbet opposed facts such as aU 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. Go 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 ughness," is only a version of In gres' " Seek character in nature." His innovation was in his appheation 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 conventionahties of subject, sentiment, composition, and technic. It is claimed that this revolt would have taken place any way, and that Courbet only foUowed 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 reahsm, 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 fiU 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 hne 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 reaUy be too cheap at the price, and an unsympathetic world has pretty well demonstrated the 212 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS faUacy 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 wiU have to be founded upon a sohd basis of technical skiU and knowledge of nature, and to the forming of such a basis no influence wiU 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 CoUege 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 tumed to art. In 1883 he went again to Paris, entered the Academic 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, andis well known as a figure- and portrait-painter. J. C. V. D, EDOUARD MANET BY CARROLL BECKWITH EDOUARD MANET (1833-1883) SUFFICIENT time has elapsed since the death of :6douard Manet, in 1883, to permit of a comparatively just estimate being formed of his abihty as an artist, and of the influence he has had on contemporaneous art-movement and thought. Artists demonstrating marked individuahty in their work have always had an influence more or less strong, and sometimes of long duration, upon their feUow-artists, The more inde pendent the individuahty, 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 hkewise striven for their solution, and his rebeUious 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 weU-deflned personaUty 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 21S 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 tmth these searchers for hght 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 hght 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 hes the superiority of an art emanating from the sensibihties of the mind and heart over those of the eye. In the former case the work may blacken, tarnish, or corrode, but the innate feehng wiU 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 reahsm in art, or as urging the superiority of poetic ideaUty over the sterling quahties of fact and reahty. It is simply to caU attention to the great difficulty under which a searcher for hght must necessarUy labor. Neither must it be con cluded that Manet was devoid of the poetic sense, or that his work was without feehng. 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 bis 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 exemplifles. It may be as weU to give a word of explanation as to exactly what is meant by values. Imagine several objects of identicaUy the same local color placed at various distances from the eye. The differences of distance wiU 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 PERMISSION OF M. DUKAND-EUEL LE BON BOCK. BY MANET ifiDOUARD MANET 217 same, or become entirely changed by the layer of atmosphere intervening, but its variation wiU foUow a natural law which requires every resource of both palette and brain to portray truthfuUy. 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 reahsm. Another remarkable quaUty of Manet's work was la tache. I know of no word in EngUsh 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 modehng. 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- baU," 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 aU other quahties, forcing them selves upon his vision, and through his hand upon the canvas. There they were emphasized with aggressive prominence, de stroying the haU-tones and blotting out detaUs. Witness the fine example of his work in the Metropohtan 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 httle figure stands from the curtain behind it. This simphcity 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 personahty and conviction. His heart and thought and hfe went into it, and as such it should have dehberate 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 Yieux-Augustins, now caUed the me Bonaparte, in a house almost facing the govemment 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 successfuUy 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 artUlery, and at the age of sixteen he announced his desire to foUow the profession of painting. This appears not to have been rehshed 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 inteUigence that earned the good wiU of both officers and men. Retuming 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. PiiUTuUliAl'll BY I'ALU "boy with sword." BY MANET METROPOLITAN MUSEUM, NEW YORK JSDOUARD MANET 219 It is said that from the very beginning Manet's tendency toward a crude and unattractive realism was perceptible, and that the sensibihties 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 hfe 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 reahsm 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, Yienna, and Munich. Another, undertaken in Italy, famUiarized him with the gaUeries of Rome and Flor ence ; but it was in Yenice that the longest halt was made, Tintoretto producing upon the mind of the young painter a strong impression. This master, who had so graphicaUy por trayed the hfe of the people of his day, could not but inspire the mind of Manet. We find him enthusiasticaUy copying the works of Tintoretto in the Accademia deUe Belle Arti, and to the influence of this voyage we must attribute a series of re hgious pictures, conceived according to notions imbibed from the Itahan schools, but executed in his own manner and marked by his persistent search for reahsm. 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 httle sympathy. For three years after leaving the school he was stiU strnggling to flnd 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 pubhc, and his career was foUowed with interest, either strongly favorable or equaUy 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 buUding generously provided by the govemment, and caUed 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 weU known. M. EmUe 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 uraUy Uttie or no market for his productions, but he had fortu nately inherited a smaU competency, which enabled him to pursue the course of his convictions regardless of popular clamor. A smaU circle of sympathetic friends formed about him, our talented American artist, Mr. Whistler, being, of the number. Some others were Alphonse Legros, now estabhshed in England; Fantin-Latour, Monet, Degas; the writers Yignaux, Duranty, and Zola. The rendezvous for the httle band was a cafe in the BatignoUes, known as the Cafe Guerbois. Hence the name " School of the BatignoUes," 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 occasionaUy; 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 foUow — eamest, 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 iU- humor, signed a newspaper article in which Manet was crueUy, even brutally, treated. It was a blow from an unexpected PORT OF BOULOGNE. BY MANET Edouard manet 221 quarter : Duranty, a comrade of the band, a regular attendant at Manet's studio — it was inexphcable. 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 reconcUiation 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. G-ermain at 11 o'clock A, M., between MM. Manet and Duranty. . , . There was bnt 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, Dueanty. Emile Zola. E. Schnekb, H. Yignaux. Paul Lapaege, 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, llth January, 1874, My deab Feiend : . . . 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 flnd some day, I hope, an occasion to show itself. Tours, Dueanty. The doors of the Salon stiU remained closed to the gifted painter. In 1863 M. Martinet estabhshed an exhibition in a building on the Boulevard des Itahens. Manet was represented by a number of his works ; the " Spanish BaUet," " Music in 222 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS the Garden of the TuUeries," " Lola de Yalence," the " Spanish Singer," and others. To give some idea of the character of the criticisms I wUl 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 httle band of the Cafe Guerbois increased but shghtly 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 smaU coterie which constituted the Ecole des BatignoUes 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 tone^, 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 I'lndustrie, there was a hush in the great assemblage. Although unrepresented on the waUs, his death left a vacant place. This man, so iU-treated, so con demned, was nevertheless respected, even admired. One by one his detractors began to acknowledge his abUity, and the papers for several days were fiUed 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 foUowing: " He was possessed of great quaUties 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 reahn of pictorial production. How near he came to their full reaUzation is, perhaps, a matter of individual appreciation. Sufficient be it to say that his Ufe was a loyal struggle for his beliefs, and that his example has been wholesome and useful in the world of art. Cabkoll 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 MUe. 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 hke a man of self-assertive quaUties and positive opinions. I remember at the time I flrst met him that his picture of "Springtime," which had been exhibited at the Salon, was hanging on the waU of this restaurant — a charming picture of a fUe 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 MUe, 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 smaU circle of friends 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 successfuUy competed in the preliminary concows, and was en loge, that he described to us how the guardian of the loges, on the arrival of competitors in the morning, examined carefuUy 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 smaU studio in the Ecole des Beaux- Arts, and aUowed them to depart again at evening. The subject given for competition was " The Angels ap pearing to the Shepherds," sometimes miscaUed the " Annunci ation." Our discussion tumed 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 untU 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 aU much interested, and foUowed him through the whole of it by the sketches he made on the marble-topped table at the httle cafe. In this way he showed us the ar rangement of the figures, and the shght alterations he made. Any radical change was, of course, impossible, as he was obhged by the conditions of the competition to foUow 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 beU, caUing 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 wotdd 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 aU dumfounded to find that Bastion'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, ENQEAVED BY T, COLE "jOAN OF arc" (detail). BY BASTIEN-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 quahty but that of word-painting Bastion's picture was far in advance of his competitors. Ge rdme, whom we all knew as a just, if exact, judge, fought hard for Bastion'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 me 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 comer of the room. During the day his friends had placed upon his pic ture in the restaurant a gUded virreath. One of our number had noticed this, and now, excusing himself for a few minutes, went out, and retumed shortly with a wreath of green laurel, which he placed on Bastion's picture of "Springtime" with the remark, " The real laurel belongs here." This httle speech was foUowed by considerable disturbance, but it amounted to nothing serious, and we soon went over as usual to the httle 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 DamvUlers, where his parents hved, during the f 6te of the viUage. In September we aU 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-Mame. The morning found us at Yerdun, where a dash of water and a good break fast made us all ready for the dUigence ride of ten miles to DamviUers. Four of us on the top of the diligence had the pleasure of hstening to thrilUng episodes told by the driver about Bastion's father, whose vineyard was his source of rev enue. We entered DamviUers in tme coaching style, with cracking whip, and an extra speed to the horses, and were landed with a sharp tum in the square of the village. As we stopped the driver caUed out, " Voild 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 paU of water. The garmlous driver was not 230 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS slow in caUing 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 cordiahty. 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 speedUy touched glasses, and drank good health, Jules arrived shortly afterward. We were disposed about the viUage with the relatives of the Lepage family, and for several days there was great feasting in DamviUers. The celebrated pot au feu and sowpe au la/rd, with other dishes, and wine galore of a fiavor fit for a Mng to drink, were placed before us. In addition, during our stay we were invited to lunch with the maire of the viUage — quite a distinguished honor as we understood it. That first even ing we danced at the f dte, at which Bastion's cousin, whom he painted in his picture of the " First Communion," proved her self the most graceful waltzer in the viUage. During our stay at DamvUlers 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 waU, and, like most French gardens, had the pear- and peach-trees trained against the waU. It was under an apple-tree that he was painting Ms 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 reaUy the barn, which he transformed into a dweUing by indicating a window. Bastien had completed the head in the portrait of his father, and had just begun to paint the hand, wMch was carefuUy drawn in on the canvas. In 1880 I arrived in Paris too late for the Salon, where Bas tion's picture of "Joan of Arc" had been exMbited. Not finding him in Paris, I went down to DamviUers, where he was work ing. It began to rain the day after I arrived, and whUe chat ting after dinner Mme. Bastien brought in two httle 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 httle misses of six and seven years of age, with aU the innocence and timidity of cMldhood, and I was much interested in them. A heavy rain set in, and it looked like the beginning of a a ::Ji 4 fiii V ^^'^"'^''^iw-ai*^ _^ ^ ¦ Ng^ am PHOTOQEAPH BY" BEAUN C MKNT V.T CIE, KNCRAVKI) HY T. COI.K THE FIRST COMMUNION. BY BASTIEN-LEPAGE JULES BASTIEN-LEPAGE 231 long storm. There was no chance for dut-of-door work, and I had httle difficulty in persuading Bastien to accompany me on a trip to Ghent, in Belgium, where Ms picture of " Joan of Arc " was to be exMbited 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 Yan Eyck. TMs picture charmed Bastien greatly. I never knew him to be so enthusiastic over any work of art as over tMs. The simphcity and naivete of the Madonna were to bim 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 retumed he said that Monsieur Lepage's picture was now being unpacked. With one accord we aU got up and went out to see it. The applause from the company was something that I shaU never forget. The president em braced Bastien. AU of them shook hands with Mm, and when we retumed to the table, Ms health and long hfe were duly drunk. But poor Bastien was not destined for a long life. The modesty with wMch he bore these honors, and many subsequent ones, was indicative of the fact that he was not worMng for success alone, but for the recognition of what he felt to be truth. He was certainly the one man of Ms time who caUed many painters back to nature, and estabUshed the cult of " nature as she is." Strong in Ms 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 simphcity of truth to the mere expression of clever ness and skiU. He beUeved that the only possible chance for art to become healthy again was by getting away from tradi tion, and retuming to the simple rendering of nature without preconceived ideas. Bastion's love of nature, and Ms determi nation not to depart from the path of hteral truth as it ap peared to him, are strongly stamped on aU 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 flfteenth-cen- tury painters he felt was sufficient for Mm. I retumed to America in the faU of 1880, and did not see Bastien again untU 1883, although during this time we had 232 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS maintained a correspondence, which had kept me au courant with Ms work. In 1883 I retumed to Paris in time to see the Salon, where Bastien had Ms picture of " L' Amour au Yillage." I lunched with him in his studio in the rue Legendre, and I reahzed then that he was a very Ul man. He had been to Italy since I last saw him, and a few souvenirs of Ms trip were scat tered about Ms room. He talked of some day retuming there for a longer stay, wMch dream, alas, was never to be reahzed. 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 aU, 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 Ms own country. I have a bas-rehef of him done by Augustus St. Gaudens, hanging on the waU of my studio, and whenever I look at it I seem to see in it aU the true character of Bastien as I knew him. The individuahty is strongly felt, and it was instUled into the bronze by one who was numbered among Bastion's intimates. Were I an art-critic I should probably be able to discover the different steps and advances Bastien made in Ms art, but I am writing only as a friend and painter. I see in aU his works that observation and individual rendering of what ever he undertook that made Mm one of the first men of his time, and when speaking of Ms work I include aU of it, both early and late. He was uneven at times, and sometimes faUed entirely; yet who but mediocre men do not make failures'? He who dares and faUs is often greater than he who enjoys popular renown. Bastien certainly had the courage of Ms own convictions, and dared to dare. I can add httle to the estabhshed biograpMcal accounts of Bastien-Lepage, though he told me many things about himself at odd times that I cannot now remember defimtely enough to state as facts. He was bom at DamviUers, November 1, 1848. He had an early hMng for drawing, wMch his parents encou raged by buying him prints to copy. He became dexterous with the pencil early in hfe, and when, at nine years of age, he was sent to Yerdun seminary, he took aU the prizes in drawing. As a boy he had determined to become a painter, and finaUy 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. EHOEAVED BT U. WOLF ANGELS APPEARING TO THE SHEPHERDS. BY BASTIEN-LEPAGE JULES BASTIEN-LEPAGE 233 imtU, finding that either the postal service or art had to be aban doned, he gave up the former. He went back to DamviUers, but soon retumed to Paris to become a pupU of Cabanel. He re mained in the studio of that master untU the summer of 1870, and wMle there made his debut in the Salon, with the portrait of a friend. The Franco-Prussian war stopped his art studies. He enhsted under the tricolor and shouldered a musket. When the armistice was declared he returned to DamviUers, and again took up the paint-bmsh, 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 apphed to many others that had refused Ms work. In 1873 he was at DamviUers for a time, and that year he painted the portrait of his grandfather, which has be come so vividly known to all art-lovers. TMs portrait was painted out of doors, in that memorable garden. Shortly after Ms retum to Paris, I saw it in Ms 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. TMs portrait, to me, contains the same quahties of character as Titian's " Man with the Glove " in the Louvre, and Manet's " Bon Bock." It makes one feel, in looMng at it, that the person reaUy existed — a quaUty rare among portraits. In 1874 he received a third-class medal and the government bought his picture for the museum of Yerdun. Work now be gan to come to Mm. 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." TMs latter, a picture of a young girl painted in her com- mumon dress, with her wreath of orange-blossoms and wMte veU, as one so often sees her in France, was a marvel in the dehcate rendering of its values. It was a scheme of white re Ueved against wMte. The modeling of the head was carried to the extent of a Holbein, with aU the charm of Bastion's peculiar techmc. Indeed, one is frequently reminded of Holbein in studying Bastion's drawing. There is, especially in his por traits, the same simphcity of hne 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 234 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS of Wales, The cross of the Legion of Honor was finaUy 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.^ In 1882 he was appointed to design Gambetta's funeral-car. Even at this time, when he was so well known, his pictures sold but poorly, and he reUed for support almost entirely on his portraits. After his death in 1884 more than two hundred of Ms pictures formed a special exhibition in an annex of the lEIcole des Beaux- Arts, and in 1889 some of Ms best works were shown at the Paris Exposition. Bastien enjoyed out-of- doors nature both in art and in hfe. The peasants in the fields were among his earUest observations. His impressions were keen and strong, and he admired and respected the laborer who tUled 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 hes in the individuahty and character of the peasant. His mind was not biased by the traditional ; he put down clearly that wMch 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 Mstory 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 THE EDITOR JULIAN ALDEN WEIR was born in 1852 at West Point, New Tork. 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 to 1876 he was in Paris studying in the Jficole des Beaux- Arts under Ger6me. 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- The public is indebted to Mr. Weir for its being in this ooimtry. — Editor. JULES BASTIEN-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-BOUYERET BY WILLIAM A. COFFIN p. -A.- J. DAGNAN - BOUYERET (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 MgMy 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 beautifuUy drawn, and the dehcate color-scheme of pale grays and yeUow- ish tints is most artisticaUy conceived, and deUghtfuUy 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 techmcal sMU ; and in 1880, when I saw " The Accident," I became, hke every other young painter in Paris, an enthusi astic advocate of the ability of the briUiant artist whose name became, by the exhibition of that picture, as weU 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 Bastion's career was ended by his untimely death in 1884. Since then I have foUowed, 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 em painters, and could find in aU the gaUeries of that won derful exMbition no picture by a hving painter oh wMch to found so much hope for the future of the French school as on " The Blessing." It seemed to me, in looMng 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 wUl be only because -all canons of taste wUl have been reversed, and aU appreciation of the true and beautiful have ceased. In the " Horses at the Water ing-Trough," and "The Consecrated Bread," at the Luxem bourg gaUery, in the "Breton Women at the Pardon," in " Yaccination," " 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 Ms temperament, most refined and sympathetic in its artistic quahty, is supported by a skilfuMess of techmc, and an individuahty of expression, that give to Ms works a personal character such as few others possess. His pictures satisfy the most rigorous technical re- qmrements, and impress by their truth to nature and by their healtMul sentiment. Unfortunately I have not the pleasure of a personal ac quaintance with M. Dagnan-Bouveret. Those of my friends who have speak of Mm as a man of gentle temper, and de voted to Ms art. From one of them who has told me of Ms intercourse with him in Paris, where they had studios in the same building, I have heard interesting detaUs of Ms Ufe and character. He is a man of smaU 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 wUl and the most resolute perseverance, but, withal, of such sweet disposition that aU who know Mm are instinctively drawn to Mm. His wUl, though it stops at no barrier, never offends those brought in contact with him. " When he used to come into my studio sometimes," says tMs. 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 Mndest heart, and in Ms work, COFTUIOHT, 1892^ BY THOMAS SHIELDS CLABKK MADONNA AND CHILD. BY DAGNAN-BOUVERET P.-A.-J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET 241 whether he is occupied with some detail of stiU Ufe 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 aU that it means. With his hard study of nature in Ms school work, and his unflagging perseverance in bringing out in his pictures what he feels m the subject before Mm, are combined a sympathetic, artistic perception and a poet's thoughts. AU tMs 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 Ms own. He cares nothing for fasMonable hfe, but hves solely for his art. In Ms studio and garden at NeuUly he works incessantly. Some times he goes to the country with his wife and son, and there too he works with equal ardor. A httle story about the " Horses at the Watering-Trough " well iUustrates 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 maMng 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 httle 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 Ms straps and buckles, and before he had fimshed them to his satisfaction the snow feU on his palette as he worked. It is not to make note of mere painstaking labor that I think it worth wMle to speak of this incident : what it shows is that Dagnan behoves that no detaU in a picture may be neg lected; that everything, however smaU, 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 weU. Like aU 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 ahke, and no general type vriU 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 mdividual character possessed by the objects, and that truth to facts is the foundation of aU that we see. Dagnan takes httle part in the discussions of the groups in the art -world of Paris and the divisions of coteries. He foUowed Ms friends from the old Salon to the Champ de Mars when the spht came about in 1890, but he hves apart from the strife of the schools. More hke an artist of the early Renaissance than a Parisian of to-day, he hves for his art, and finds Ms pleasure in Ms work and in the compamonship of a few intimate friends. One of these is Gustave Courtois, the weU-knovra. painter, who was a feUow-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 Ms 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 BrazU to engage in com merce, took his famUy with him, and there Dagnan's mother died when he was only six years old. His father then sent him and Ms brother back to France, and he went to Uve with Ms grandfather, M. Bouyeret, at Melun. He was brought up by him, and, following a not uncommon practice in France, Dagnan added to Ms name that of Ms mother's famUy. M. Bouveret, who was an old of&cer of the army of Napoleon I., had acquired a modest but comfortable competence, and sent Dagnan to the CoUege of Melun, where he obtained Ms educa tion during the ten years from 1858 to 1868. About the time he finished Ms studies, his father, who had remained ih BrazU, of fered him a chance to go into business with Mm ; but Dagnan re- PHOTOOBAPHBD BY BRAUN, CLEMENT ITT CIE. ENQEAVED BY H. WOLF LA BERNOISE," BY DAGNAN-BOUVERET P,-A. J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET 243 fused this offer, expressing his firm purpose to become a painter. His father thereupon cut off aU financial aid. Assisted by Ms grandfather, however, he entered the Ecole des Beaux- Arts under the instmction of M. Ger6me in 1869. " Depuis, a part quelques voyages en Bresil (1874), en Italic (1882), en Hollande et Belgique, en Allemagne et en Algerie (1888)," the painter writes me, " mon existence est d'une 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, Ms 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 surroundings, 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 originahty on the part of the artist. "Orpheus," wMch followed in 1876, may also be passed over without com ment, the first indication of individual feeUng 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) acMeved for him a settled reputation as a sMlful, 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 Ms picture, " Bre ton Women at the Pardon," and at the Universal Exposition the same year was awarded one of the grand pnzes for the col lective exMbition of his works. In 1892 he was made an Ofacer of the Legion of Honor. He has received gold medals at in temational exhibitions at Munich, Yienna, and Ghent, and is a member of the fine arts academies of Mumch, Stockholm, and Berhn. Though a societaire of the Society of French Artists, under whose direction the "Old Salon" is held at the Palais de I'lndustrie 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 gaUeries 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 tMng to leam 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 abihty to leam may with patience, intelhgence, and hard work become proficient in the metier; but to express what one feels depends on quahties of brain and temperament. Indeed, as study to acquire the art of painting is study to educate the eye, what a man wiU pamt after his eye is trained to a just sense of form, proportion, and color, wiU be decided by what his imagmation prompts him to portray or interpret. Many a clever man, after acquiring the knowledge of how to look at nature, has continued aU Ms 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 techmcaUy not so good, have greater human interest. But the man who is endowed with an exceUing sense of form and color, who faitMuUy devotes himself to the hard work necessary to develop them, and who is at the same time gifted with quahties of head and heart, is the one who wiU 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 Ms canvas or drawing-paper the exact and hteral appearance of tMngs as he saw them in the model before Mm. 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 wMch they present them selves to him. Further than tMs, 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- PHOTOGHAPHtD BT BBAUN, CLEMENT ET CIE ii ENGRAVKD BY H. WOLP HORSES AT THE 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 Mm 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 dehcious quahty of naivete, that so often escapes a painter of great tech nical skUl, is present in Dagnan's best work. Yery 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 vanqmsh them. In " The Accident " tMs confidence is less apparent, and the pic ture is by so much better than the "Wedding-Party"; in " The Blessing " it has almost vamshed. 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 Mm to think of the means of expression. This timidity before nature (I caU it timidity for lack of a better word, meaning by it an artist's fear that he cannot, weU as he may paint, paint weU enough to do justice to nature) is apparent in most of Bastion's work. In the portrait of his mother, for instance, it shows in every touch of the bmsh seeking to render the subtlety of expression in the face, in the beautiful drawing of the mouth, in the almost in decisive way in wMch the hne and form are felt. It is a qual ity that distinguishes the best art of the Mnd 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 aU, 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 Yan der Meer of Delft, and it pervades that wonderful masterpiece by Rembrandt in the Louvre, the " Supper at Emmaus." The chief points of technical exceUence in Dagnan's work are, first, his drawing, wMch, whUe without nervous quahty, is dehcately felt, irreproachably correct, and faithful to detaU; 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 essentiaUy draftsmen, and give such careful at tention to form as he does ; third, frank, simple, and unobtru sive brush-work; and, fourth, good composition. In compo sition his originahty is remarkable ; for whUe 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 Ms out-of-door pictures, a shght lack of atmos phere or enveloppe. His methods in composition are weU shown in the " Breton Women at the Pardon," and in " In the Forest," and the quahty of Ms exquisite drawing is especiaUy well exempUfied in the heads of the women in the church in the "Consecrated Bread," in "La Bernoise," and in some of his smaU 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 faUing over her shoulders, is at Ms right hand and a little in advance. The father and mother, who are standing a httle 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 wUl 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 aU the warm glow of the sunhght, veiled by the white muslin curtains at the windows, colors the plastered walls, and the wooden rafters of the ceU ing, with tints of amber, opal, and blue. Dagnan was never more happy in his choice of a subject than in tMs, and has never more admirably rendered, nor with such dehcate appre ciation, the subtle values of hght and air. In the figures of the P.-A.-J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET 247 young people, the old man, the good mother, and the guests, in every hne 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 fuU of poetry, and sound, fresh, and charming from the artistic point of view. In the " Yaccination," 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 mSdecin de province, are grouped, there is equal knowledge, the same sure, frank, weU-felt modehng as in "The Blessmg," 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 wUl permit. " The Pardon," one of his pictures owned in tMs country, is one of the finest of Ms 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 Ms 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 hs tening to one of their number who plays the violin, must be thus briefiy 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 Ms most important compositions, m a simple, single figure of a peasant, such as the one owned by Mr. Potter Pahner of CMcago, 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 Ms sMU are indisputably great. In tMs present day, when insincerity and superficiahty 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 msh 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 aU the good art hi the world. There are other men in the French school as sohd as he, fortunately, and every one of them is an influence for good. When the dust behind the fin-de-siecle chariot shaU have cleared away, we shaU flnd the work of such men as Dagnan standing hke sign-posts on the road to point the way to truth. William A. CoFrnir. MAURICE BOUTET DE MONYEL BY WILL H. LOW MAURICE BOUTET DE MONYEL (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 questiomng 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 bhndly amidst general denunciation, the stiU smaU voice of artistic conscience his only supporter, this protean creation of supersensitive atoms that we name artist lives with the SpMnx, who smUes 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, wiU stiU find the path beset with pitf aUs ; the thorns of techmcal endeavor wiU still tear at Ms garment, but these are little ills; the tem ple, sun-iUumined, is clear to Ms eyes, and, though far distant, every step seems to bring Mm nearer. And, hke 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 Way trod by David. The secret of tMs prhnrose path is kept, however, so securely that none may say to Ms fellow, " Follow me, and aU wiU be weU"; 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 Mm 252 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS beyond Ms depth and drown Mm in the futile and the com monplace. Every great artist has left resolutely behind Mm the apparently defined path to success. Giotto deserted the splendors of Byzantine mosaic, and, taMng up duller pigments, found freedom of expression ; Michelangelo, leaving the indi- viduahsm of his contemporaries, invented a typical art aU Ms own ; and Millet, virUe nature ill at ease in the classic pre cincts of the Henucycle, betook himself to the fields, and molded Ms 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 aU 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 tMs 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 artisticaUy adapted, it is difficult to see how he could have readUy escaped following some one of the many branches of an artistic career. Heredity, wMch 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 Ms great-great-grandfather saw the hght. Jacques-Marie Boutet de Monvel was the son of an actor, and, foUowing the profession of Ms father, made Ms debut at the Theatre Fran- ^ais in 1770. He was the great tragedian of Ms time, and, preceding Talma, brought tragedy from the bonds of stUted conventionaUsm into the reahn of reahty. French writers on the stage assign to Mm a most important place m theatrical Mstory, and his hterary 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 MademoiseUe Mars, is more celebrated. This astonishing woman, makmg her first appear ance at the Theatre Fran^ais in 1803, continued a career of successive triumphs until her fareweU representation in 1841, when, at the age of sixty -two, she played the part of Celim^ne PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG GIRL.'' BY BOUTET DE MONVEL MAURICE BOUTET DE MONVEL 253 in "Le Misanthrope" of Mohere. Throughout tMs long pe riod, and in a fickle capital, she kept her place as the first actress in the first theater m the worid, and the long fine of dramatic authors from the tune of the First Emphe down to Dumas and Hugo were aU mdebted to her creation of theh principal r61es. Other artistic stars of lesser magnitude who figure in this artistic genealogy were the brothers, Baptiste of the Comedie Fran^aise, 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 Usted him, as it did so many of his generous countrymen, and brought him to the whUom 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 untU peace was restored, and then, retuming to France, settled to a life of philosophic research at Orleans. Here his son, the father of Maurice, was born, and here the artistic Ime was resumed by tMs son's marriage with the daughter of Adolphe Nourrit, who was not only the creator of the chief tenor parts in " Guillaume TeU," " 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 personahty on his environment to a remarkable degree. It is related of him that Meyerbeer accepted and interpolated into Ms 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 Ms 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 chUd in France, in the midst of a family which had aheady counted such Ulustrious names in the domain of art, could ahnost be predicted. In curious contrast to the An glo-Saxon order of ideas, wMch looks askance at the artist with a mixture of commiseration and distrust, is the GaUic 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 Ms artistic instincts became manifest. Repeating an experience common in the history of painters, it was, above aU, Ms mother's counsel and encouragement wMch profited him the most, and tMough Ms chUdhood and school-boy days it was her exhortation and her stories of her father's triumphs which fired the youth's ambition, untU in the year 1870 (after a year in the private studio of an artist of talent, De Rudder by name) he entered the Ateher Cabanel, in the Ecole des Beaux- Arts. It was on the eve of war, and after the defeat at Sedan our young artist doffed Ms blouse, dropped Ms brushes, donned a uniform, and with a chassepot on Ms 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 Mm, there is visible in his work only an occasional tragic note, such as we may see in the " Apotheosis." The war over, Monvel resumed Ms studies, but this time — an early sign of revolt — in the more indepen dent Academic Juhen. In 1874 came his first exhibition at the Salon. At this time Monvel's eqmpment, 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 docUe intention to carry out tMs 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 wMch 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 saUying forth from driU practice counts for the time few but privates in its ranks, but httle by httle 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 inteUigent, 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 abohsh aU tMs (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 aU waUowing in the slough of insufficient technical knowledge. It can be maintained that it is not possible to judge of the effects of the abohtion of the parental academic direction of art study in France, for, despite the theories of those who are now wiUing 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 infiuence has been so strong that they have absorbed its principles against their wiU. 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 frait of official culture " is rife upon the market tMough tMs 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 thmk for themselves. The absence of color per se, as a defect in French training, has been noted. Feehng the lack of it, Monvel in 1875 went back to school, tMs time to the revolutionary atelier of Carolus- Duran, whUe stiU working in his own studio and contributing to the Salon. Monvel's work at this time had a strong grasp of character, but m 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 wMch Monvel was only to be emancipated years later through the forced use of hght tones and simple, unaccented sUhouertes m the color- reproductions in Ms books. In 1876, marriage and the atten dant responsibihties of a household relegated Salon triumphs and ambitions to a second place. To meet these new demands there foUowed a weary search from illustrated journal to book- pubhsher and back again, for Ulustrative work. For a long time it was without result, and, rebuffed on every hand, Mon vel was losing heart when Delagrave, a pubhsher, offered Mm the illustration of a chUd's Mstory of France. The work was poorly paid, but it was an entering wedge, and, so reasoning. 256 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS Monvel did Ms 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 stUl academic in treatment, but with a vein of origmahty in subject wMch, though shghtly trivial, served to show that back of the tradition there was a glimmering of individuahty. In the Salon of 1878 a third- class medal, and in 1880 one of the second class, maMng its re cipient hors concours, came to recompense these efforts. The medaled picture of 1880 represented a young sorceress receiv ing instruction in the occult arts from an old vritch. The sub ject served as a pretext for painting the nude figure of the young sorceress, wMch was in parts beautifuUy painted ; but the bituminous shadows stiU prevailed, and the picture enters into the category somewhat contemptuously judged by M. de Monvel Mmself as having no other value than as a lesson in what to avoid. With the Salon successes and their of&cial reward there appeared a httle book, "YieUles Chansons et Rondes" ('"'Old Songs and Dances " ), soon foUowed by another, " Chansons de France " (" Songs of France "), in wMch, breaMng tMough the sheU 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 wMch the fortunate cMldren of this generation have in such number, I know none superior to these or to their successors, "La CiviUt^ Honn^te et Puerile," repubUshed in this country as " Good and Bad ChUdren," and the " Fables of La Fontaine." I do not tMnk that any critical description of them can be made better than a quotation from a letter of M. de Monvel in wMch, speaMng of dravring with a pen, he says : Having at my disposition a means so limited [as the pen], I have learned that there is one aU-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. TMs is a brave profession of faith, which an examination of the artist's work renders convincing. Through aU these lit tle figures we find everywhere a truth of gesture, a reahty of type, that are surprismg; the chUdren resemble one another only as one cMld is hke another. They are French cMldren, but there the resemblance ceases. And their heads, their hands, their httle feet, express so much ! An oval contour, two dots for eyes, a couple of dehcately indicated accents for mouth and nose, and we have MademoiseUe 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 tMeves! A later book, "Nos Enfants," with text by that charming writer, Anatole France, shows the same quahties on a larger page, and is replete vrith tenderness, half amused, and yet thorougMy in sympathy vrith child life. Here we have the grave httle doctor visiting the indisposed doU, whUe the little mother, gravely resting her chin on the headboard of the bed, awaits the result of the diagnosis. Yery charming, also from tMs 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 minglmg of terror and joy to the amicable caress of a great Nev^foundland 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 paintmg, treated these dehcately traced pages vrith be coming seriousness. It is curious to tum from these works to Monvel's offered contribution to the Salon of 1885— the "Apotheosis," repro duced herevrith. One cannot help feeUng that Ms theatrical 33 258 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS ancestry must have strongly influenced our painter, an influ ence whoUy for the good when it impels Mm to tMow Mmself for the nonce into the soul of a chUd that he vrishes 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 tMs we have the demagogue, enthroned on a barricade, be mg crowned by Robert Macaire, whUe the comrade Bertrand beats the bass-drum, and the crowd acclaims him Mng, A satire on umversal suffrage, a protest agamst sociaUsm — tMs may be one or the other, and it matters httle ; the real merit of the work is a technical one — the admirable manner in wMch the uplifted hands of the rabble are treated. Admirable as they are, — and from some of them one could reconstruct the individual as a naturahst reconstructs a preMstoric animal from a single bone, — and though the difficulties vanqmshed are great, and the success of the acMevement considerable, the pic ture as a picture is not equal to some of the shghter dravrings, or, above all, to Monvel's painting of to-day. Its history, however, is amusing, and, as a bit of the chro- nique scandaleuse of the Salon, worth relating. The picture was sent to the Salon of 1885, was placed on the hne, 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 tum precedes the day of opening to the general pubhc. At the appomted time came M. Turquet, who, considering it seditious, and Uable to create a disturbance httle short of a revolution, ordered the picture to be detached from the waU 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 MmseK excluded from the Salon — a grave misfortune, for hi the capital of art many are striving for recog- mtion, and it behooves one at the outset of a reputation to maintain Mmself before Ms public. At this junction M. Georges Petit, who was organizing an exMbition in Ms charmmg and much frequented gaUery of the rue de Seze, invited our painter to show the " Apotheosis " there. It was accordingly sent, and MAURICE BOUTET DE MONVBL 259 placed on the waU, when, just before the exhibition opened, a prominent painter, a member of the Institute, but of different pohtical faith from M. de Monvel, saw the picture, and promptly gave M. Petit the choice of sendmg away the " Apotheosis " or havmg the picture pamted by himself removed. As M, Petit is but human, and the authority of the Institute is great, Mon vel once more saw Ms picture returned, and in this way a change of mimstry, and possibly civU war, may have been averted. It is pleasant to tum from this tempest in a teapot to an act of pure camaraderie uninfluenced even by personal acquain tance. Edouard DetaUle, presumedly disgusted with the injus tice from which Monvel was suffering, espoused his cause by proposmg 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 pamters in France, it took on the form of a vindication, and, greatly comforted thereby, Monvel at once apphed himself to the mampulation of tMs (to Mm) new means of expression. As he knew nothing of the me dium, aU was to learn, and the result has been that his water- color work is pecuharly his own, the effect arrived at being one of singular hmpidness and dehcacy 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 "Xavi&re," by Ferdinand Fabre, we have a series of tMrty-six dravrings wMch for orig inahty 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 hteraUy knows himself, that vrith a congemal subject he is completely master of the situation. The origmal dravrings were executed in water-color, and have been superbly reproduced by the photogravure process of Boussod, Yaladon & Cie., who pubhsh the book. The reproductions are in black and wMte, but so thorough is the work of the artist, so deh 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 vUlage priest, Ms old woman-servant, and two chUdren, 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 tMough aU the work; the good priest in his close-fltting robe, hke a leg acy from medieval times, moves quietly tMough it aU, vrith Ms homely, samt-hke face; the sMewd goodness of the old ser vant gives a touch of strong reahty ; and the young girl Xa- riere, with her sweetheart Landry, adds an idyMc note. It is difficult for me to write of these dravrings in aught but a superlative way, for vrith tMs strong accentuation the means employed are the simplest. The beauty of ordmary dayhght and lampUght effects m an mterior, simple almost to the point of barrenness, is so well expressed that one ahnost forgets that simphcity is of aU quaUties the most difficult to obtam. The sureness of hand which m shghter works we have remarked in Monvel's dravrings 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 dravrings 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 httle household are seated before the flre, the effect of lamphght where the priest searches the pages of St. Jerome, or that of the dappled sunhght as the chUdren dance around the tree to the sound of Landry's flute ! The enumeration of these various subjects at the risk of bemg tiresome must in clude at least that of the closing drawings, where poor Xaviere dies, all of which are treated vrith a sympathetic touch, especi aUy that of the last commuMon, 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 m work like tMs, and the actor-artist hneage stands our painter in good stead when it plays through a gamut of character such as Ms work shows. Withal, the merit which of aU he would assur edly claim a desire to possess is his — naivetL It may be some what the simplicity which ignores notMng, — for to what else can one pretend in this much-informed age ? — but if it is, and is consequently the result of vriU, it is no less credit to the '-¦ VI.- ¦ri' " \ FROM "XAVliRE," BY FQBMISSIOX OP BOUSSOD, VALADON ET CIE. 'LANDRY AT THE BEDSIDE OF XAVIERE. BY BOUTET DE MONVEL MAURICE BOUTET DE MONVEL 261 valiant artist who turns his back on clevemess and superficial ity, and tries humbly to approach each new subject as though it were the first he treated, m closing his eyes to what has gone before, and darmg to be Mmself. There can be httle 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 enriable reputation as a painter of chUdren's portraits. It is only a step from the cMldren of Ms imagination, who people Ms books and his canvases, to the real chUdren which art-loring parents have brought to him to be portrayed. These works are char acterized, vrith a fine artistic sense, by a picture-hke quality never carried to such an extent as to recaU the " fancy por traits" of our shepherd and shepherdess grandfathers and grandmothers, but they are very real httle cMldren, often en gaged in the every-day pursuits of every-day children. Of other portraits the number is great, since the early Mounet- SuUy, pamted m 1876, to the later MUe. Dudley, also of the Comedie Fran9aise. The future of M. de Monvel vrill be interesting to watch, but the present of Ms artistic career is no less interesting. He stands by Mmself, and m the midst Of the painters of Ms time and country, given up for the most part to the exemphfication of a pictorial dexterity almost vrithout paraUel in the history of art, he is one of the very few who have found the emo tional quahty. Gifted with a capacity which has been carefully trained, so that technically he is armed vrith knowledge equal to that wMch the same severe framing has given his confreres, he uses it instead of aUovring it to use Mm. In the truest sense he is an Impressionist, in as much as Ms riew of nature is an outcome of his owm temperament ; for in the painting of the future. Impressionism must mean more than a wUful 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, vrithout faltering technicaUy, translates tMs inner vision, vriU be the true Impressionist. There are men — their names come to me as I vmte — who are gifted vrith the rare quahties which make the complete artist, and who, from a sense of the over whelming difficulty of adequate technical achievement, from imcertainty of purpose, or from a mean desire to be "in the 262 MODERN FRENCH MASTERS swim " of a realistic age (or moment, as ages are counted), con tent themselves vrith showing how a work of art shotUd be made instead of maMng it. Therefore we may be grateful to M. de Monvel that, having through derious ways found what he has to say, and having acquired the means of saying it, he is not ashamed of his honest emotion, and from the gay to the grave note, from the miUer and Ms sons to where the hfe of Xariere fairly fades from our sight — for what he has to say, and for Ms manner of saying it — he is a welcome arrival on the field of modem art. Will H. Low. EWHD'-BY.' Ill '"'^ ft »:^^^