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^ ^be art ot tbe IDatfcan v

^J By MARY KNIGHT POTTER *

^ Zbc art of tbe pittl palace (

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5f a;be art of tbe Xouvre (

£y By MARY KNIGHT POTTER j|

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^ L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (

Oj Publishers, Boston, Mass. 4

MOXA LISA (la GIOCONDA)
By Leonardo da Vinci

{Seepage 243)

be Brt of tbc
Xouvre ^

Containing a Brief History of
the Palace and of Its Collection of Paintings,
as well as Descriptions and Criticisms of Many
of the Principal Pictures and Their Artists

By
Mary Knight Potter

Author of " The Art of the Vatican," " Love in Art," etc.

Boston
C. Page & Company

MDCCCCV

2^030
Pi

]5o^

By L. C. Page & Company

(incorporated)

Published November, 1904

COLONIAL PRESS

BlectrotyPed and Printed by C. H. Simonds &* Co.

Boston, Mass., U.S.A.

Ipreface

The Art of the Louvre, even when that art is restricted
in its meaning to the collection of pictures within the
vast palace, is a subject almost as vast in its scope as the
building that holds it. In a book of this kind, then, it
has been deemed necessary to divide the material into
three classes. A certain number of pictures and painters
have been given extended notice and description ; many
have been treated far more cursorily; still others have
been merely mentioned or even wholly ignored. It is
in just this selection that ground for objection may be
taken. The reasons for enlarging upon the merits or
demerits of certain pictures and painters and for slight-
ing others will, perhaps, appear entirely insufficient. The
writer, of course, cannot hope to escape such adverse
criticism, but it seems only fair to herself to state briefly
the position taken in the book.

In her choice she has been guided first, by the opinions
of the greatest art critics of the western world. Even at
the risk of tiresome repetitions she has g^ven large space
to the greatest masters and their greatest works owned
by the Louvre. She has followed as carefully recognized
authorities in deciding which works and which painters
require slight comment. Between these two extremes,
however, is where she has chiefly exercised her own judg-

vi I>retace

ment. Undoubtedly her own preferences have consider-
ably influenced her decision as to what was or was not
worthy of much place in the pages of this at the best
inadequate account of the marvellous gallery. She
pleads in extenuation that even the most famous author-
ities vary in their estimates of painters or paintings of
what may be called the secondary rank, and begs the
indulgence of her readers if their taste differs from hers.

In the attempt to give a fair idea of all the schools of
painting represented in the museum, it follows that
certain works of very mediocre value have had to be con-
sidered. This very inclusion necessitates of course,
regrettable exclusions. Any one of the works of Rem-
brandt, for instance, is certainly infinitely above any
Goya or Lawrence owned by the Lx)uvre. Yet, it has been
thought desirable to review, however briefly, these two
representative men of their own times and countries, even
if it meant the elimination of some pictures of more noted
men.

This Art of the Louvre cannot claim any real origi-
nality. It must perforce in the main be a compilation of
the opinions of the most famous art critics. As many of
these opinions, however, are entirely at variance one with
another, it has been the aim to choose from among them
what seems to the writer most generally true, and of
especial value to readers who are not connoisseurs or deep
students. Besides this careful culling of authorities, the
writer has not hesitated to record her own ideas and feel-
ings in describing a favourite picture or discussing a
much-loved master. Such latitude has not been felt to
be inconsistent with the object of the book.

Here it may be well to mention that the list of articles
and books given in the bibliography at the end of the
volume, does not of course include nearly all that could be

Ipretace vii

studied to advantage in connection with the art treasures
of the Louvre. Neither does it represent all that have
been consulted in the preparation of this volume. The
list holds only those that have on the whole been of
most benefit.

Unfortunately the writer left Paris before the opening
of the Thomy-Thiery rooms. She has not therefore seen
that wonderful collection. In her descriptions she has
relied upon some excellent carbon photographs, upon
M. Jules Guiffrey's descriptive catalogue, M. Georges
Lafenestre's articles in the Beaux Arts, and upon the
vivid words of some artist friends who have personally
studied these beautiful examples of the Barbizon men.

As the subtitle of the book indicates, only the oil-
paintings in the museum have been considered. For
lack of room neither the pastels, water-colours, nor the
many mural decorations have been included. The com-
paratively large space given to the French school was
thought desirable for two reasons. First because both
the traveller and the general student are usually less
familiar with this school than with any other, secondly,
because, with the exception of the Luxembourg, the
Louvre is the only great museum where French painting
can be satisfactorily studied.

There remains to be said, what is perhaps after all an
unnecessary reminder, that the book makes no claim to be
free from errors. Every effort has been made to avoid
them, but the writer is only too sure that many neverthe-
less must have crept in.

Contents

♦

CHAPTER TKGK

Preface v

I. History of the Louvre . . . . i
II. Concerning the Origin and Growth of

the Picture-gallery .... 26

III. Salle des Primitifs — Room VII — Italian

School 37

IV. Salle Duchatel — Room V. — Italian and

French Schools 59

V. Grande Galerie — Italian Division . . 64
VI. Grande Galerie — Bay Third — Italian

Division 121

VII. Grande Galerie — Bays Fourth and
Fifth — Spanish, German and English

Divisions 126

VIII. Grande Galerie — Flemish School . . 152
IX. Salle Van Dyck and Galerie Rubens
— Rooms XVII. and XVI 1 1. — Flemish

School 172

X. Salles XIX. to XXXVI. — Flemish School 181
XI. Salles XIX. to XXXVI. — Dutch School 195

XII. Salon Carr6 245

XIII. Les Petites Salles Franqaises — Rooms
IX., X., XL, XII., XIIL — Italian and

French Schools 266

XIV. Salle Mollien — Room XIV. — French

School 272

CHAPTER

XV.
XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.
XIX.

XX.

Contents

PAGB

Salle Daru — French School — Room

XVI 288

Salles Henri II. and des Sept Chemi-
NEES — Rooms II. and III. — French

School 312

Salle des Etats — Room VIII. — French

School 334

Salle Lacaze — Room I. — All Schools 370
Salle Denon — Room XV. — All Schools
— Portraits ...... 380

Thomy-Thiery Salles — French School 385

Bibliography 401

Index . . • • • • . . 4^5

%i8t ot miustrations

PAGB

MoNA Lisa (La Qioco^TiPC) {See page 245)' Frontispiece

By Leonardo da Vinci

Bird's-eye View of the Louvre and Its Sur-
roundings 2

Historical Plan of the Louvre and the

Tuileries facing 8

Pavillon Henri IL, the Louvre . , . .12
Perrault's Colonnade, the Louvre . . .18
General View of the Louvre .... 24
Immaculate Conception 34

By Murillo

Plan of the Louvre Gallery . . facing 36
Lorenzo Tornabuoni Led into the Company of

the Liberal Arts 54

By Botticelli

The Visitation 56

By Ghirlandajo

Adoration of the Magi 61

By Luini

La Source 62

By Ingres

Charity . . . i 80

By A ndrea del Sarto

Madonna of Victory •••••• 90

By Mantegna

Portrait of a Man 92

By Messina

xii %ist Of irilustrationa

PAGE

Adoration of the Shepherds . • . .102

Bjf Palma Vecchio

Holy Family 106

By Lotto

Portrait of Philip IV. 130

By Velasquez

Portrait of Richard Warham, Archbishop of

Canterbury 148

By Holbein

Portrait of Mother Catherine Agnes Arnaud

and Sister Catherine of St. Susan . .163

By Champaigtie

Portrait of Charles 1 176

By Van Dyck

Galerie Rubens 178

The Banker and His Wife 190

By Matsys

Bohemian Girl 196

By Frans Hals

Christ at Emmaus 205

By Rembrandt

The Dropsical Woman 214

By Gerard Dou

An Officer Offering Money to a Young Girl . 220

By Ter Borch

The Card Party (A Dutch Interior) . . . 232

By Pieter de Hooch

Bad Company 236

By Jan Steen

The Concert 247

By Giorgione

Entombment 248

By Titian

The Man with the Glove 252

By Titian

La Belle Jardiniere ••••.. 254

By Raphael

%ist ot irilttsttations xUi

PAGK

Jupiter and Antiope 256

£}/ Correggio

Marriage Feast at Can a 260

By Veronese

Portrait of Helen Fourment and Two of Her

Children 262

By Rubens

Portrait of Hendrickje Stoffels . . . 264

By Rembrandt

Time Rescuing Truth from the Attacks of

Envy and Discord 276

By Poussin

Embarkation for Cythera 294

By Watteau

Transportation of Psyche by the Zephyrs to

Cupid's Realm 320

By Prud^hoH

The Bohemians 331

By Diaz

Execution without Judgment 332

By Regnault

A Morning (The Dance of the Nymphs) . . 344

By Corot

Massacre of Chios 348

By Delacroix

Oxen Going to Work 353

By Troyon

The Gleaners . . . . . . . . 358

By MiUtt

Opening in the Forest at Fontainebleau . .361

By Rousseau

Springtime 366

By Daubigny

Head of a Young Girl 379

By Greuze

Great Oak and Watering-place .... 396

By Dupri

Zhc Ert of tbe Xouvre

CHAPTER I.

HISTORY OF THE LOUVRE

Between the rue de Rivoli and the Seine, in the very
heart of Paris, lies the great gray rectangle of buildings
called the Louvre, the most important, as it is the most
perfect architectural expression of the Renaissance in
France. A bird's-eye view of this enormous construction,
with its vast length of walls, its open courts, its frequent
square towers, and its guarded entrances, suggests a
walled city rather than a palace. In other words, these
forty-eight acres of ground appear to be merely bounded
by this long line of wall that throws out a cross-section
or two dividing into squares and oblongs the immense
rectangular enclosure. But across the eastern end the
boundary has gone. With it has gone the whole raison
d'etre of this spanning structure. If the Palace of the
Tuileries had not stood almost directly west of the Louvre,
no such length of wings would ever have been thrown
out from either building. From Catherine de' Medici's
day the object of both king and architect was to make
these two palaces into one continuous and homogeneous
edifice. It was not till Napoleon III. that this was

* Ubc Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

entirely accomplished, and its completion was of short
duration. The Commune, with the unreasoning ven-
geance that destroys even the inanimate surroundings
of its enemy, having driven from its portals the empress
the people themselves had chosen, set fire to her palace.
Thus went up in flames Delorme's famous fagade, one of
the most beautiful architectural creations in the city, the
wonderful library, with its priceless collection of manu-
scripts, and the palace, which was not only of inestimable
value, but, by its conjunction with the Louvre, formed one
of its integral parts.

It is not easy to get a view of the whole plan of the
Louvre, consequently the tremendous loss of the Tuileries
is not generally realized. From the Place du Carrousel,
certainly, even the most casual observer must feel a lack
of meaning in those two parallel arms that end in empty
space, joining nothing, finishing nowhere. But even
there, it is easy to forget this vacancy in looking beyond
the arms out into the Gardens of the Tuileries, the sole
remnant of the days of the royal will that demanded the
blooms of the tropics before his Paris windows. Despite
the vanished palace, the Louvre remains the most nearly
perfect, as it is the most valuable architectural possession
of the Renaissance in Paris.

Perhaps it is its massiveness that strikes one most
forcibly and at once. There is a certain austerity in the
very grayness of the stone with which it is built. In
general it may be called three stories high. But in
effect it is much more than that. For, J^esides the great
elevation of each story, the walls are continually spread-
ing into "pavilions," — square, domed towers that rise
heavily above the connecting walls, adding with their
rich, often florid decorations, both height and grandeur
to the whole building.

I'.IKI) S - I'.VI'. Vli:\V OF TIIK I.orXKK AM) ITS ST K Hoi ' \ I >l N( JS

l)tstor^ ot tbe Xouvre 3

With the exception of certain foundations, no part of
the Louvre is older than the time of Frangois I., and
most of it belongs to much later days. Though in its
present state it is thus of such comparatively recent
erection, the Louvre existed long years before the days of
the " Old Regime."

When or by whom this first Louvre was built, neither
historians, architects, nor archaeologists have discovered.
Nor is the etymology of the name, or why it was applied,
any more definitely settled. It has been supposed to be
derived from Lupus liipera, and is claimed to have been
given because the house at first was a mere hunting-lodge
in the middle of the forest, where wolves abounded.
Others claim that it was not till Philippe-Auguste that
the word was used. Having built what was undoubtedly
the most beautiful and important work in Paris, it was
natural that he should call it the work, — "' I'oeuvre, quasi
chef-d'oeuvre'' — from whence Louvre is easily formed.
Again, it has been said that the name came from " robur/'
implying the situation of the lodge in the middle of the
forest.

Sauval has a still different opinion, and his conjecture
has been accepted by Lebeuf and Jaillot. He declares
that an old Latin-Saxon glossary translates the word
" castellum," fortress, by the word " leouar" which, he
says, must later have been transformed into Louvre.

All these etymologic discussions, therefore, not only
attempt to settle the derivation of the name, but, if any one
of the claims could be absolutely verified, the original
purpose of the building itself would also be demonstrated.
As it is, we do not know whether it was at first a mere
hunting-lodge, or whether it was built as a fortress to
guard the Seine at that important point against the
Norman inroads. Or, its inception may not date much

4 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xoupre

before the first positive account we have of it, which
makes it the work of Philippe-Auguste. The fact that,
in all the old accounts of his time, the tower is called the
new tower, seems to give ground to the supposition that
he was rebuilding, rather than creating anew. And,
indeed, the weight of authority is largely in favour of
this view. If Childebert, in the beginning of the sixth
century, was not its founder, at least there is good reason
for supposing that Dagobert's hunting-lodge, in the early
part of the seventh century, was none other than this same
Louvre. There is even fair ground for believing that as
early as Charlemagne the lodge, or fortress, had grow;n to
such proportions that he settled Alcuin and other learned
men within it, — thus founding the great schools of
France.

Sauval, in the time of Louis XIV., was the first his-
torian to mention the Louvre, except in the briefest terms.
It is to him, and others after him, that we are indebted for
what we do know of the palace as it was in the thirteenth
century. Whether or not there was a Louvre of any
prominence when Philippe-Auguste came to the throne
in 1 1 80, from his day on the edifice of that name has
never ceased to be one of the chief glories of Paris. It
was in 1204 that he began the work which the centuries
since have not seen finished. To-day, all that is left of
his mighty walls and impregnable tower is a part of the
deep foundations on the southeast corner of the Old
Louvre. But for three hundred years it stood practically
as it was built by " this first of French kings after Charle-
magne, who displayed genius for order, reform, and royal
independence."

The Louvre, at the end of his reign, was a great tower,
situated in the centre of a square court, with its four
sides enclosed by four lines of two-storied buildings. The

•fcistor^ of tbe %o\xvtc 5

tower had a conical roof of many coloured tiles, and
was surmounted by a huge and brilliant weathercock.
Within were numerous apartments, including a chapel
and a vault for treasure. Here, too, were the rooms where
the lords of France came to pay their feudal tithes to
the king. The court, in the centre of which was the tower,
was about a quarter the size of the present inner court
of the Old Louvre. It was the space to-day lying between
the Pavilion des Arts, and that of L'Horloge. The walls
surrounding it were of immense thickness, flanked by
a number of towers, and infrequently pierced by narrow
openings, with neither sculptures nor ornaments of any
sort. The principal towers were placed at the four
corners, those near the centre of the fagades being lower,
and, for the most part, of flat roofs with square battle-
ments. Between two of these lower towers w|as the
principal entrance on the river side. As it stood, the
Louvre of Philippe-Auguste was a palace, a fortress and
a dungeon, so constructed as to make its aspect most
formidable. Sauval has unearthed documents which go
to prove that the great central tower measured 144 feet
in circumference, and ninety-six feet in height, with
walls thirteen feet thick. Its only direct communication
with the buildings of the court was by an elevated gallery.
From the time of Philippe-Auguste, during the next
three hundred years, many noted prisoners were confined
here, and it is said that when Frangois I. began the
destruction of this dungeon tower, a great clamour arose
among the Parisians. For years, one of the joys of the
populace had been to watch the various imprisoned princes
walking about the parapets, and they strongly objected
to its curtailment.

The first sovereign after Philippe-Auguste to make
additions to the Louvre, was his grandson, good King

XTbe Hrt of tbc %o\xvvc

Louis. He built, on the first floor of a western wing, an
immense hall, seventy-two feet long by forty-two wide,
which for years after was called by his name. From his
time to 1364, nothing of any importance was added.
In that year Charles V. came to the throne, and he was no
less energetic and revolutionary in the changes he made
in his palace than he was in those he inaugurated in the
state. Charles the Wise was one who, though physically
weak and of not overpowering mental strength, knew
enough to surround himself with, and to be guided by,
men of real power and intellect. He it was who recognized
the great abilities of Du Guesclin, the man who succeeded
in ridding France of those fearful free companies, that
for years had plundered and pillaged the whole country
unpunished, and who brought back to the Crown town
after town that had established its independence.

When, in 1380, Charles died, he had, as Mr. Watson
pithily summarizes, " abolished every tax not authorized
by the national assembly, had amassed a treasure of
seventeen million livres, — great for that time, — had
collected a library of 910 volumes, which became the
nucleus of the national library, and had commenced the
building of the Bastile, the fortress-prison so ominously
identified with French history." If he was interested in
beginning this famous prison, he was no less anxious
to remove the jail-like aspect of his palace. He raised
the walls, increased the tower, made the exterior more
graceful in line and form, gave the towers various shapes,
and put all kinds of sculptured figures over the different
stones, and enclosed the whole within the city walls.
Within, the changes were still more wonderful. The
great hall of St. Louis had fallen into ruins, and he re-
paired that, still retaining the saintly king's name. The
rooms designed for official ceremonies were decorated

t)t6toti5 Of tbe Xoupre 7

most magnificently, and the royal apartments, especially
those of the queen, Jeanne de Bourbon, were lavishly
ornamented with sculptures, paintings, tapestries, and
rare inlays. The furniture was more luxurious than
any so far seen. There was one room, the Chambre aux
Joyaux, where the king placed his objects of art, and
where, filling two stories of a tower called the Tour de
la Libraire, were the manuscripts that made his library.
This was lighted by chandeliers and lamps, enabling
him to read all night. Sixty years after his death his
priceless collection of manuscripts was sold at a ridic-
ulously low price to the Duke of Betfort, and was thus
lost to France for ever. About the palace the king laid
out most beautiful gardens, and among them, and more or
less attached to the palace proper, were all sorts of out-
buildings for the proper running of his establishment, —
such as the creamery, the pastry-house, the falconry, etc.
As Charles knew how to choose Du Guesclin for general
and adviser in state matters, so he knew whom to select
for head architect. Raymond du Temple was the master
of all these works, and the way he carried out his designs
more than justified the king's judgment in placing him
at their head. One of the chief marvels that he con-
structed was a circular stairway, of 124 steps, admirably
planned and decorated, and attached to one of the fagades
of the court. This was not destroyed until the time
of Louis XIII. , during the reconstruction of the Louvre
by Lemercier.

For a century and a half after the death of Charles
V. the Louvre was left to a desolation that finally
threatened the destruction even of the halls themselves.
Charles VI. and Isabelle, his queen, made at first a few
short stays there, during one of which was born Princess
Catherine who married Henry V. of England. The only

s XEbc Htt of tfoe %o\xvxc

additions this son of Charles the Wise made were to its
fortifications, — to do which he destroyed the garden of
the king and queen on the banks of the Seine. For
nearly the entire forty-two years of this debauched,
debased, ruinous, mad reign, the Louvre was uninhabited,
and left to a desolation in which, indeed, all Paris shared.
In 1438, it is said, twenty-four thousand houses stood
empty in the city, and in the streets wolves prowled
unafraid. During the reigns of Charles VI., Louis XL,
Charles VIIL, and Louis XIL, Les Tournelles was the
royal residence. For all those years, nevertheless, the
Louvre was the scene of many important events. In
1358, when John of England was a captive, the bourgeois
of Paris, who upheld the deputies of the Communes
against the general government, besieged and entered the
Louvre, expelled the governor, and took to the Hotel de
Ville all the arms and munitions found in the arsenal.
During the reign of Charles VI., when the king was
combatting the insurrection of Flanders, the Parisians
revolted also, and would have torn down the tower of
both Louvre and Bastile, had not Le Flamand counselled
them so effectually to delay, that their plan was never
carried out. In 1399, Androuin, and in 1400, Manuel
Paleologue, both Emperors of Constantinople, were
lodged at the Louvre, as well as the Emperor Sigismond,
in 1415, and the King and Queen of England, in 1422.
From Louis XII. the officers of the Provost of Paris
obtained permission to transport to the Louvre their
tribunal and their prisons, while they repaired the
" Chatelet," which was fast going to wreck.

Finally came Frangois I. This king, who had neither
honour nor gratitude, morality nor decency, swaggered
through a reign of bloodshed, fanaticism, dissoluteness,
oppression and devastation, and left what had been a

Distort ot tbe Xouvre 9

prosperous kingdom in wreck and ruin. Taste for the
fine arts, however, Frangois had, and some of the money
he wrung from his starving people he lavished on artistic
works and their creators. It was to his court that
Leonardo came, it was his funds Andrea del Sarto was
called guilty of misappropriating, — funds which prob-
ably, by any moral test, never really belonged to the
royal pilferer. He was the first of the French kings to
have a great court. Before his day the nobles came to
Paris only for state or business reasons, and for limited
periods. Now, however, nobles, ladies, scholars, poets,
artists, — all actually lived in or near the palace, and the
king never moved without a great retinue of notables in
his train. To maintain such state it was absolutely
necessary to have a palace of far greater dimensions and
convenience than any then at his disposal. The Louvre
by this time had fallen into such wretched condition that
to make it habitable it needed rebuilding. It was with the
great tower of Philippe-Auguste that Frangois began the
demolition. So enormously massive were the walls that
it took four months of hard labour besides immense
expense, to raze it to the ground. Once this was accom-
plished, certain repairs to the buildings about the court
w;ere undertaken. But the king had too many wars of
conquest, oppression and intrigue on hand. The building
of a palace became of such minor importance that gradu-
ally all work on it ceased, and finally it was once more
left to decay and isolation.

Twelve years after, however, Charles V., Emperor of
Germany, was planning to pass through the French
kingdom on his way to the Netherlands. In spite of
various bitter wars between the two, previous to this time,
Charles and Frangois were now politically friends. The
latter, therefore, determined to lodge the emperor at the

lo Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

Louvre, and to entertain him in a manner that should
rival in splendotu* his greeting to Henry VIII. of England
on the Field of the Qoth of Gold. With this in mind,
despite the short time intervening before the emperor's
arrival, he commanded a rehabilitation of the Louvre
that was nothing short of a resurrection. Windows were
enlarged and multiplied, partitions were torn down
between rooms and new ones substituted, walls were cov-
ered with sculptures,, tapestries, and embroideries. Most
of the buildings which Charles V. had erected between the
river and chateau were destroyed, and upon the levelled
ground took place the plays, the tourneys, and other
things pertaining to a magnificent fete. The reception was
splendid. Charles V., the whole court, the King and
Queen of Navarre, the Duchesse d'Etampes, all remained
at the Louvre for many days.

This restoration, nevertheless, was in reality a mere
" tour de force," having nothing of permanence about
it. The haste and incompleteness of building left the
castle in a less solid condition than before this theatrical
splurge was begun. The king himself, though show was
ever more his watchword than solidity, realized this, and
resolved forthwith on a complete reconstruction. At
this time Greek and Roman architecture was succeeding
that of the Gothic period. A school of artists at Fontaine-
bleau, under celebrated masters, was already started, and
in spite of certain contradictory influences, the art of the
Renaissance was in full swing. In the twenty-fifth year of
his reign, then, Frangois I. confided the execution of his
plans to Pierre Lescot, Abbe de Clagny, an architect of
some renown. With him were associated the sculptors
Jean Bullant, Philibert Delorme, Jean Goujon, and Paolo
Ponzio, all leaders of the new and vigorous school.
Lescot fairly bubbled over with ideas of richness and

Distort ot tbe Xoupre n

beauty. With the assistance of Goujon and Ponzio, his
plan was to be a complete expression of the French
Renaissance. Exactly what these plans were, it is now
impossible to decide. They were most lamentably lost,
and insufficient historical data exist concerning them.
But it is pretty certain that the ancient dimensions of the
Louvre were to be respected, and that whenever possible,
the new walls were to be raised on the old foundations.
It is known also that the tops of the building were sharply
crenelated, and that at the four angles, conforming to the
French traditions, were to be four large, square pavilions,
of which one alone. Pavilion du Roi, exists to-day ; — and
that is almost lost in the massive framing of the Salle
des Sept Cheminees. Also, it is known that the exterior
of the palace was to be in a sober, contained style, Lescot
reserving for the interior fagades Ponzio's and Goujon's
chefs-d'oeuvre of sculpture.

Work was commenced in 1540 by the demolition of the
western wing, which contained the grand hall of St.
Louis and the library of Charles V. The foundations
of these were so solid that Lescot kept them for his
new constructions. This fact, attested by the old
registries of the Chambre des Comptes, the great wall of
the fagade which faced the Tuileries itself confirms. Up
to the rez-de-chaussee it is of an even and unbroken
thickness, exceeding six feet. Lescot conducted the build-
ing of the western wing with greatest care. When, in
1547, Frangois L died, it was still incomplete. Indeed,
little of the real work was accomplished. Only one bit
was entirely finished. That was the reconstruction of one
of the principal corner courts of Charles V., called La
Cour aux Offices, which was destroyed in the reign of
Louis XIV.

During the twelve years' reign of Henri II., from 1547

la XTbe Hrt of tbe Xouvrc

to 1559, Lescot continued his labours uninterruptedly.
A year was given to finishing the western wing, but the
sculptures of it were not done till two years later. Paolo
Ponzio had charge of decorating the attic, whose finish of
detail and perfection of design we admire to-day. The
other parts were left to Goujon, — who was murdered
while there at work during the massacre of St. Bartholo-
mew. When Henri II. was accidentally killed in tourna-
ment by Montgomery, the Pavilion du Roi had been
completed, and the eastern wing parallel to the river was
carried up to the second story. His death was most un-
fortunate for the Louvre. Had he lived to his father's
age, there is no doubt but that Lescot would have com-
pleted the work so ably begun. The seventeen months,
during which his son Frangois 11. , the sickly youth of
seventeen, reigned, saw no appreciable changes in Lescot's
plans. But after his death, after the ill-fated bride, Mary,
~ had sailed back to her Scottish home, the state was in the
hands of the queen of Henri II., acting as regent for her
nitie-year-old son Charles IX. Like all Italians, Catherine
de' Medici had a taste for art. But it was a taste always
subordinated to the caprices of an unquiet nature, which
loved the legitimate in art as little as in life. She had
not the slightest intention of following docilely her
husband's example, of continuing patiently a work which
at the best offered little to a woman always most attracted
by the new. It is not surprising, therefore, that she
interrupted in the very debut of her reign the projects of
the dead king. Her first aim was to make the Louvre
habitable.

The tournament in which Henri II. was killed took
place at Tournelles, the royal residence during the reigns
of Charles VI., Charles VIL, Louis XL, Charles VIIL,
Louis X'lL, Frangois L, and Henri II. As an evidence

•fcistor^ ot tbe Xouvre 13

of her great grief at her husband's death Catherine had
had the palace torn down. This made it all the more nec-
essary to hasten operations at the Louvre. The works in
course of building were stopped, the sculptures left un-
finished, and all activity was concentrated upon the prepa-
rations for habitation. She pushed these rapidly, and
little by little the Louvre was made ready to receive the
court.

The appearance of the building at this time was strange
enough. At the north and east were the severe lines of
Philippe-Auguste and Charles V., with their towers,
ogives, bridges, turrets, pinnacles and weathercocks.
These faced the calm lines of Lescot's new wing but re-
cently finished, with its admirable sculpture of Paolo
Ponzio and Jean Goujon. Then, at the south, in the
midst of materials and rubbish of all kinds, Catherine
started a wing of two stories, which became afterward a
part of the southern wing that joined the Tuileries and
Louvre. There was, however, no attempt at joining it
harmoniously, or even decently, with the rest. One
part was hitched on to another by provisional construc-
tions that produced, it is true, a certain picturesque
effect; but it is of course evident that Lescot had been
allowed no say about it at all. In fact, the great archi-
tect had been ignored, his advice not even asked. Even
after the queen mother was once settled in the palace he
was not permitted to proceed with his plans. They were
altogether too excellent for her erratic taste. She chose
her own way, and her own architects, men of far inferior
talent to the one so summarily dismissed. Following the
Pavilion du Roi, and perpendicularly to the Seine, she
began the building of a res-de-chaiissee, surmounted by
a flat roof. The lining wall of an ancient ditch which
served as foundation seemed her sole reason for con-

14 Ubc Htt of tbe Xouvre

structing as she did. On the long flat roof of this latest
addition, Charles IX. was accustomed daily to walk ; and
it was from a balcony there that he has been said to have
given the signal for the massacre of St. Bartholomew.
The only objection to this is that such a balcony did not
exist in his time. It was not till nearly the end of the cen-
tury that Henri IV. surmounted the roof by a story
which was called the " Petite Galerie," or " Galerie des
Rois," which afterward became the " Galerie d'Apollon."

Catherine's plans were followed not only during the
minority of Charles IX., but throughout the reign of
both himself and his brother Henri III. Considering
that even in most important matters of state these two
vacillating kings were continually checked and counter-
checked by their unscrupulous mother, there is no reason
for doubting that if she had chosen to build a veritable
Tower of Babel, she would have achieved her design.

When Henri IV. began his reign, — that apostle and
defender of the Protestant party, who was actually
crowned only after he had officially renounced his
Protestantism, — Catherine was dead. Jean Goujon had
belonged to the party this Henri of Navarre had so long
championed, and it might be supposed the new monarch
would have returned to the style of building that sculptor
had so ably decorated. But there was now no great
architect living. Lescot, Delorme and Bullant were all
gone. Androuet du Cerceau alone was left. Whether
with his advice or not, Henri determined to build, not
on to the unfinished quadrangle of Lescot, but a wing,
that, starting from the southern corner of the Tuileries,
should join Catherine's southwestern extension of the
Louvre. Partly, at least, under Du Cerceau's direction,
the great Pavilion de Flore at the corner of the Tuileries,
and as much of the Long Gallery as reaches to the

1bi0toti? ot tbe Xouvrc 15

Pavilion de Lesdiguieres was accomplished. Henri's
open statement concerning this wing was that it was
constructed " to adorn the quays." Actually, it was more
for the purpose of preparing a way of escape for him-
self, should occasion demand it. The Long Gallery was
finished in 1608. As has been noted, to Henri IV. also
was due the Galerie d'Apollon.

The future Louis XIH. was only nine when Henri IV.
was assassinated in 1610. During the regency of his
mother, Marie de' Medici, all work on the Louvre was
stopped. Once he himself held the reins of state, or per-
haps more correctly, when Richelieu held them, building
was again energetically resumed, and this time admirably
carried on. The plans of Lescot now seemed decidedly
inadequate. The King of France, it was declared, should
have the finest palace in Europe. Lemercier, chosen by
Richelieu as architect, proposed to leave intact the two
facades of Lescot, making as they did a right angle, and
bounding what was the south and west side of the
original court of the Louvre. The old north and east
wings he destroyed. His intent was to continue the
two fagades of Lescot, making each twice their com-
pleted length, but reproducing in the prolongation the
architecture of the already existing part. Then he
planned to join to these on the east and north, two other
wings, equal in dimensions to the first two. By this plan,
the extent of the buildings was doubled and the court
quadrupled. The only innovation which Lemercier per-
mitted himself was the addition to the four great pavil-
ions of the first design, — of which only one in the
southwest angle, called the Pavilion du Roi, was already
built, — four other pavilions of the same importance and
height, placed in the centre of each of the four fagades,
and thus agreeably interrupting the uniformity of the

i6 XTbe art of tbe Xouvrc

lines so greatly prolonged. This plan was adopted, and
its execution commenced in 1624. On the 28th of June
of that year the first stone was laid with much pomp and
ceremony by Louis X'lII. Shortly afterward the Pavilion
de I'Horloge was erected. This, Lescot had originally
intended to be the northwiestern corner of his square.
Now it became the central one of the western wing.
Lemercier's model was the one Lescot had built at the
southwest corner. From this central pavilion to the
extremity of the northwestern end of the fagade, Lemer-
cier faithfully reproduced the model left him by Lescot.
Then in the corner of that fagade he built a new pavilion
of like character to the Pavilion du Roi, and began the
wing that returns on the north. This he carried through
hardly half-way, and but to the first floor.

During the minority of Louis XIV., work in the
Louvre was confined to decorating the interiors. Upon
his coming of age, and after the death of Lemercier,
Fouquet, superintendent, chose Levau as his successor.
Levau continued the northern wing, and then commenced
the prolongation of the southern. On the inner side he
reproduced the architecture of the part already completed.
On the river side, however, he made some innovations.
Against his central pavilion, for instance, he placed six
great Corinthian columns, equal in height to the two
first stories of the edifice. This entire wing was nearly
finished by 1663. There remained only the completion
of the eastern end, which was to be the principal en-
trance to the Louvre. Levau had his designs ready, and
had begun to lay his foundations when Colbert was
named superintendent of the royal buildings.

For reasons best known to himself Colbert professed
to believe that it was quite possible to find an architect
of more ability and originality than Levau. Perhaps he

Ibtstotp of tbe Xourre

knew that some daring innovation on his part would
make him more pleasing in the sight of that king whom
Bolingbroke epitomized as " the best actor of majesty
the world had ever seen," and who demanded on the
part of his subjects not only abject servility, but never-
ceasing change and amusement. At all events, Colbert
called for plans for the completion of the Louvre quad-
rangle from all the architects of France. Among the
drawings submitted was one that attracted particular
attention. It represented a long series of Corinthian
columns, joined two by two, and resting upon an im-
mense basement. Under the entablature which was
carried by these principal columns, and formed the roof,
was a simple line of open balusters. This original,
imposing plan was not by an architect, but by a doctor,
Qaude Perrault. Colbert was charmed, and wished to
adopt it, but before deciding upon such a radical depar-
ture he sent to Poussin in Rome the plans of Levau and
others of the contestants. Perrault's, however, he did not
forward. Poussin returned the plans, overwhelmed with
criticisms, but added to them new ones of his own.
These pleased neither Colbert nor Louis.

At this juncture a new claimant appeared. Bernini,
*' that prince of mediocrity," though now an old man, was
still pretty generally considered the greatest living
architect. Colbert was pressed by the Abbe Benedetti
and the Cardinal Chigi, and finally by Pope Alexander
VIL to put the Louvre into his hands. The minister
was too much of a Frenchman to acquiesce with unalloyed
delight, but at last, urged thereto by the king, he com-
missioned the Due de Crequy, ambassador at Rome, to
beg the famous man to come to Paris. In his own
estimation Bernini was fully as great as he was in the
estimation of the world generally. The Due de Crequy

i8 Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvre

could not persuade him that it would be possible
him to make such an arduous journey till the king him-
self had sent an .autograph letter personally requesting
the inestimable favour of his presence and advice. This,
of course, brought the Italian. He found it was not
altogether easy sailing, however, once he was on French
soil. His plans were received with, to him, incredible
criticism, and the opposition grew at length so strong
that finally the king gave him a large present and a
pension and sent him home.

After this Colbert hesitated no longer. Perrault began
the work, and the first stone was laid by Louis XIV. on
October 17, 1665. Owing to the enormous activity of
Colbert the new facade was finished in 1670. The lower
part making the base was a smooth wall pierced by
twenty-three openings. Above this were fifty-two col-
umns and pilasters of Corinthian order, joined two by
two. The same order and the arrangement of coupling
were repeated in the two corner pavilions. In the base
of the central pavilion, opening into the rue de Louvre,
was put the principal entrance of the palace.

With an imposing and monumental aspect, the colon-
nade is marked with great nobleness and grandeur.
Nevertheless, it has been the subject of much criticism.
Among other things, it is said that it is difficult to justify
the situation of that immense portico in the first story;
second, the interruption of the same story by the over-
elevation of the principal portal, is a grave fault; third,
the whole facade is not in harmony with the style of
the four interior fagades that make the admirable court
of the Louvre ; and, fourth, the architectural forms of
the colonnade are not suitable for the materials used,
compelling recourse to artificial consolidations, — which
is contrary to the principles of the art of building.

Dtstori^ ot tbe Xouvre 19

In spite of these just criticisms, many authorities
return to the opinion that the work of Perrault is among
the most original and remarkable of modern architects.
For long regarded as the chef-d'cKUvre without equal, it
has, as has been said, exercised upon the architecture in
France an influence that is considerable and that still
endures.

Perrault had no sooner finished the colonnade than he
began to occupy himself with joining it to the former
constructions. By 1680, however, Louis had tired of the
Louvre, and was wholly absorbed with the building
plans for Versailles. There was no money left for Paris,
and finally, when in 1688 Perrault died, the great palace
was once more abandoned. From then till Marigny was
made director of fine arts in 1754, the Louvre was a place
of desolation. Rooms in it were let out to needy
hangers-on of the court, to artists, and to nondescripts
of all sorts. No care was taken of interior or exterior,
no repairs of any kind made. In the courts and gardens
all sorts of rickety buildings were erected for all sorts
of purposes, some leaning against the palace walls, others
huddled in groups outside the gates. That which for
centuries had been the pride of royalty became a squatting-
ground for the petty merchant, the fakir, the mendicant.

Perhaps the names of Pompadour and Du Barry best
recall that puppet king whose jaunty phrase, " Apres moi
le deluge," was so typical of all the selfish callousness,
not only of himself, but of the epoch. It is rather sur-
prising, considering the nature of Louis XV., that he
took any interest in the gaunt, gloomy palace he kept
away from. Nevertheless, Marigny persuaded him to
sanction his plans for putting it into son^e kind of
reputable condition. Gabriel superintended the new
work. He continued the three exterior fagades in the

20 zbc Ert of tbe Xouvre

style that had so far governed, but he introduced certain
changes in the great vestibule which to-day looks over
the rue de Marengo, — a vestibule commenced by
Lemercier, continued by Perrault, and not entirely
finished in decoration until Soufflot. In spite of Mari-
gny's efforts, in 1774, when the ill-fated Louis XVI.
succeeded, the condition of the palace of his ancestors
was not unlike the state in which he found his king-
dom. If the former was not tottering to its very founda-
tions, it was at least despoiled of all its grandeur. Its
walls were almost lost in the clustering buildings that
barnacle-like clung to its sides to a height far above the
rez-de-chaussee. Louis XVI. had his hands too full of
other threatening ruin to do much for the palace.
Nevertheless, he ordered the courts cleared so far as
possible of this rubbish of years, and put architect
Brebion in charge of what alterations could be attempted.
Brebion succeeded in finishing the new vestibule, which
was opened on the Seine side almost on the identical spot
where had been the ancient door of Charles V. But
the days had come when the Old Regime was to build
no more. Perishing in the flames of its own oppression,
callousness, wantonness and ignorance, it was to be held
for three years a quaking prisoner in the palace it had
meant to make one with this most ancient seat of its
forbears.

From early in the reign of Louis XVT., and during all
the scenes of horror of the Revolution, the Louvre was
left to a destruction that made its condition in the days
of Pompadour and Du Barry seem respectable. In
the court and all through the Place du Carrousel, the
dirty, low, tumbledown houses, shops and stables grew
apace, crowding against each other, making narrow,
refuse-filled alleys, clinging like leeches to the palace

Ibistori? of tbe Xouvre 21

walls, darkening all its windows, till, as one writer puts
it, the whole conglomeration was like a rag fair rather
than a famous palace and its environs. But within the
building itself, the desecration was even worse. Where
before had been a few artists and court pensionnaires, the
rooms now fairly swarmed with a herd of dirty, im-
poverished disreputables of all conditions. If there were
some able artists and writers among the lot, even they
could not be said to show any reverence or care for the
palace they were helping to destroy. Windows were
blocked up and torn down. Partition walls were bored
through to make ugly entrances, and the enormous
galleries were divided and subdivided by hastily erected
partitions that were constructed regardless of the ruin
of beautiful carving or decoration. The halls were piled
with refuse and plunder, tottering stairways were thrown
up anywhere, cutting through ceilings or floors without
compunction. Out of the windows iron stovepipes
belched smoke and soot into the very eyes of passers-by.
Before long the lower halls were used for stables, and
everywhere was pandemonium. To such estate had
fallen the palace which Frangois I. planned should be
a Renaissance dream of beauty. And apparently no
one cared. The very artists were helping to make it
hideous. It was during these years of neglect that the
ditch and the entire substructure of both Lemercier's and
Perrault*s work got entirely buried beneath the rubbish
that was continually piled higher and higher. This
substructure was finally forgotten, and it was not till
the later part of 1903 that, through M. Redon, it was
once more partly brought to light.

No sooner had the Republic arisen from the ruins
that had created it, than the restoration of the Lx)uvre
became one of its chief objects. First was cleared out

22 Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvre

the army of pensioners and noble beggars, only the
artists and their ateliers being allowed to remain.
David was at this time the most distinguished occupant
of these. Finally, under the consulate, nearly all the
painters were transferred to the Sorbonne, and the whole
palace was given up to the treasures that Napoleon's
triumphs secured. These, it was determined, should be
properly and beautifully housed in the Louvre for the
benefit of the people. Raymond, and later, Percier and
Fontaine, were charged with the task of reconstructing
the rooms and halls. By 1803, working with extraor-
dinary vigour, they had entirely remodelled the great
gallery where were to be placed the works of the Italian
School. Napoleon as First Consul, and as Emperor,
,carried on the work the Republic had begun. With
muclTbad taste, however, he went against the advice of
the architects who wished to continue the plans of
Lescot in the attic of the wings. He determined instead,
on all sides except the west, to build a third story after
the plans of Perrault. Thus came the end of that
nobly harmonious Court of the Louvre. Besides adding
this story to the quadrangle of the Louvre, he purposed
to throw out a line of buildings that would join the
Louvre to the Tuileries on the north, as it was already
joined on the south. Peroier and Fontaine had charge
of the plans, which they prepared and showed to the
government in 181 3. But Napoleon's overthrow pre-
vented their fulfilment.

When Louis XVIIL became head of the reconstructed
monarchy, he continued the work on the Louvre. The
sculptures on the walls of the court were finished, and
the rooms in the first story of all four wings were pre-
pared to receive their decorations.

Under Charles X. these were executed with great

t)l5toti^ Of tbe Xou\>te 23

richness, both with painting and sculpture. Finally,
after the unstable, phoenix-like nation had recovered
from the revolution of 1830, and Louis Philippe was at
the head of the government, came again the question of
joining the Tuileries and Louvre on the north. M.
Thiers, then minister, presented the project to the
Chambers, demanding a hundred million francs for the
many monuments necessary if the continuation was com-
pleted. The mere building of the wings that should
unite the two would cost but fourteen millions. The
scheme did not become fact, and it was practically the
same one that Comte Jaubert brought up in 1843.
Four days after the revolution of 1848, a decree eman-
ating from the government ordered the completion of the
Louvre, now called the Palace of the People. General
Cavaignac the same year put to vote a bill proposing the
restoration of the two great salons of the Louvre and
of the Galerie d'Apollon. It was M. Duban, architect,
who superintended this restoration in a most intelligent
manner. Then the Assembly tried to carry through the
old project of the 28th of February, after the revolution
of 1848, of joining the Tuileries and Louvre. The plan
submitted was by M. Visconti, and is essentially what we
now see, with only slight modificatioiis. This Assembly,
however, did not act upon it, and it was left for the next
to ratify it.

Napoleon IIL was now emperor, and whatever crimes
may be laid at his door, he at least was earnest in his
desire to beautify Paris. Work was commenced on the
Louvre July 25, 1854, under the direction and after the
plans of Visconti. Dying at the end of that year, he
was succeeded by M. Lefuel, who at certain points
slightly modified the designs of his predecessor. Five
years after all the constructions were finished.

a4 Ubc art ot tbe Xouvre

To unite the Tuileries and Louvre, they began by
clearing the Carrousel of the parasitic buildings that
still encumbered it, and then proceeded to finish the
northern wing which Napoleon I. and Louis XVI IL had
only half accomplished. Besides continuing this northern
wing till it formed a complete connection between the
two palaces, Lefuel threw out from the half nearest the
Louvre, short transverse lines to the south, and joined
them with a wing that, slightly at an angle to the north-
ern wing, was on an exact line with the northern
boundary of the Old Louvre. This arrangement helped
to conceal the lack of parallelism between the Tuileries
and the Louvref From the eastern end of the southern
long wmg, he Duilt a similar construction on the north.
In each of these two masses of buildings, the cross*
sections made three open courts, which were to be used
as gardens. Besides these additions, parts of new
interior fagades were also added to that portion of the
wings nearest the Tuileries.

Considered as a whole, these plans, which in the main
are Visconti's, were such that much of the simple gran-
deur and fine lines of the old buildings were destroyed.
The new facades on the Place du Carrousel were at the
same time mean and banal, and of an amplitude and
exuberance beyond description. In general, the whole
addition has, as has often been noted, an appearance of
theatrical decoration without accent or depth, a luxury
without reason, a lack of harmony, and a manifest dis-
proportion between the framework and the ornamentation.
The six enormous pavilions add to this ruination of pro-
portion and measure. They are covered with an incalcu-
lable number of ornaments, of a pell-mell of flowers, fruits,
garlands, figures, etc., and present immense holes, badly
measured arcades and gigantic coronations. Placed in

t)istorp ot tbe Xouvre 25

every conceivable spot on the fagades of these new build-
ings are caryatides, colossal statues (among them eighty-
six of eminent Frenchmen), and unlimited groups of
sculpture, of which sixty-three are of allegorical char-
acter. Most of these are far from the highest art achieve-
ments and in the main serve only to accentuate the over-
elaboration of this Napoleonic structure.

And yet, when every adverse criticism has been made,
and most of them even recognized to be just, it is still
true, as has been in varying words so often stated, that
the Louvre is one of the most beautiful examples of
the French Renaissance, and one of the most wonderful
palaces in the world. So wonderful and beautiful both
in its interior and exterior that the gravest faults of its
construction cannot spoil its tremendous wprth as a
whole.

CHAPTER II.

CONCERNING THE ORIGIN AND GROWTH OF THE
PICTURE - GALLERY

The first of the museums of the world, is the probably
undisputed rank of the Louvre. There are others, cer-
tainly, that possess individual treasures more valuable
perhaps than any among its collection. If it can claim the
Venus, London has the Parthenon fragments. If the
Victory of Samothrace stands guard within its portals,
Olympia still keeps the Hermes, and Rome holds the
Mercury, the Apollo Belvedere, the Torso, and the
Laocoon. Even its collection of paintings, rich, wonder-
ful and tremendous as it is, does not for the most part
contain the greatest works of the greatest masters. None
of its Raphaels can compare with the Sistine Madonna
or the Vatican frescoes. Michelangelo, of course, can
only be known in Rome. Leonardo, indeed, is there
almost at his highest in the Gioconda, but Milan claims
the Last Supper. Titian's Entombment, and Man with
the Glove, are not far from its greatest expression, but
Rome has his Sacred and Profane Love, Florence his
Venus, and Venice his Presentation of the Virgin, —
to mention only these among their many. The most
wonderful productions of Velasquez, Rembrandt, and
Van Dyck are in other galleries. And so it goes. Of
men of both earlier and later date, Italy, rather than

QviQin of tbe pictute*(5alleti? 27

Paris, retains their masterworks. Yet, if many of the
unapproachable creations of the artistic world are not
found in the Louvre, it does possess an unrivalled collec-
tion of representative and noble works of almost all
the great painters of all time. It is this general and
very unusual excellence, joined to its vast numbers, that
puts this museum at the head of all European galleries,
and makes a thorough study of it a study really of the
art of the world.

The picture-galleries of the Louvre are on the first
floor, and occupy a part of the western side of the old
quadrangle, and then continue with the Salle Lacaze, into
the Salon Carre, and from there through the Galerie
d'Apollon to the end of the Rubens room, which fills the
long gallery over the rez-de-chaussee of Catherine de'
Medici and the Napoleonic additions of the southern
wing of the Louvre. With these are the three rooms
opened in 1903, which are in the second story, beyond the
Musee de Marine.

It may be well to say here that besides its collection
of paintings, within the Louvre are galleries of drawings,
engravings, ancient sculpture, sculpture of the middle
ages and the Renaissance, modern French sculpture,
Assyrian antiquities, Egyptian antiquities, Greek and
Etruscan antiquities, the Algerine Museum, the Marine
Museum, the Ethnographical Museum, a collection of
enamels and jewels, the Sauvageot, the Campana, the
Oriental and Le Noir Museums.

Containing now almost three thousand works, the
picture-gallery has grown to such proportions through
centuries of effort. To Frangois I. is due the first in-
ception of the art collections of the Louvre. This
sovereign acquired, during his Italian wars, a decided
artistic taste, which he proceeded to satisfy in a truly

28 Uhc Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

royal manner. Since France had no great artists, he
would import into that country all whom he could per-
suade to leave their sunny Italy. Leonardo da Vinci
was the most famous of those, but his greatest work had
been already accomplished before he found in the French
court a refuge from his troubles. Besides him and
Andrea del Sarto, Frangois succeeded in getting various
others of lesser fame, and his court was a veritable Gol-
conda for all artistic talent. When he could not induce
the painters themselves to leave Italy, he ordered great
numbers of works from them. Leonardo's Gioconda,
and Virgin of the Rocks, Raphael's Holy Family and St.
Michael, Sebastiano del Piombo's Visitation, and Andrea
del Sarto's Charity, were among those he purchased, and
they are to be seen at the Louvre to-day. Not only did
he care for paintings and sculpture, but he developed a
fondness for all sorts of objects of art and antiquity, such
as bronzes, medallions, jewels, cameos, intaglios, etc.
At one time he brought from Italy 124 antique
statues and reliefs, and a great number of busts. It
was at Fontainebleau, where the new school of art under
Italian influences was begun, that he stored his acquired
treasures. The collection received little addition till the
time of Louis XIII. A writer in 1692 said that this
king found forty-seven paintings in his cabinet. Many
of the valued gems of Frangois had been dispersed, no
one could say where. Among those mentioned at the
close of the seventeenth century were two by Andrea del
Sarto, one by Fra Bartolommeo, one by Paris Bordone,
fourteen by Ambroise Dubois, two by Clouet, four by
Leonardo da Vinci, one by Michelangelo, — which was
the Leda, since destroyed, — three by Perugino, two by
Primaticcio, four by Raphael, three by Sebastiano del
Piombo and one by Titian.

QxiQin ot tbe ptcture*(5alleri? 29

These had been increased to about two hundred when
Louis XIV. came to the throne. At his death the cabinet
held more than two thousand. Colbert, he who discovered
Perrault, the architect of the colonnade of the Louvre,
was also the minister who brought about such an enor-
mous increase to the royal collection. He spared neither
time, pains, nor money in adding to it, and gave its care
and direction to the painter Le Brun.

The banker Jabach, of Cologne, had acquired a large
part of the art treasures of Charles I. of England, and
had transported them to Paris. Ruined finally by his
love of the beautiful, he was obliged to sell at a great
sacrifice. Part went to Mazarin, and part, mostly draw-
ings, was bought by the King of France. At the death
of Mazarin, Colbert purchased for Louis XIV. all the
objects of art left by the minister. These consisted
or 546 original paintings, 92 copies, 130 statues, 196
busts, etc. Other acquisitions made in various ways
and various countries included works cf masters not in
this or Jabach's collection. For awhile the king's cabinet
was taken over to Paris and lodged in the Louvre, in
the very place where, more than a century later, the
Convention created and organized the National Museum.

The Mercure Galant of December, 1681, gives this
account of the opening of the gallery : " On Friday, the
5th of the month, the king graced Paris with his presence,
and came to the old Louvre to visit his cabinet of pictures.
It is in a new apartment near the splendid gallery called
' Galeric d'Apollon.' . . . What is called the cabinet
of his Majesty's pictures, in the old Louvre, comprises
seven large and very high halls, some of which are more
than fifty feet in length. Besides those, there are four
others in the old Hotel de Grammont, that adjoins the
Louvre . . . Among the greatest of the pictures are

30 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

sixteen by Raphael, six by Correggio, ten by Leonardo,
eight by Giorgione, four by Palma Vecchio, twenty-three
by Titian, eighteen by Paolo Veronese, fourteen by Van
Dyck, etc." So that one would say, even while it held
Napoleon's spoils, the Louvre was scarcely richer in the
works of the masters of the Renaissance.

Not long, however, did it keep these marvels. Louis
wished them where he could see them oftener, and where
his view would be undisturbed by the public. He there-
fore moved most of them to Versailles, where they were
scattered in different rooms, and were of little use for
the instruction of artists or public.

During the reign of Louis XV., a critic, La Font de
Saint Yenne, discoursed loudly against this burying of
these great treasures of France, and claimed they should
be put where the people might have a chance to see
them, and where artists and students could study them.
Four years later this was really done under orders of
the Marquis de Marigny, director of buildings, he who
attempted to restore the Louvre to something of its
original noble estate. He charged Bailly, guardian of the
pictures of the king, to put them into the apartments of
the Luxembourg, which the Queen of Spain had occupied.
Here, on October 14, 1750, were opened to the public
about one hundred and ten pictures. Few as the number,
they represented at least the most valuable part of the
king's entire collection. On Wednesday and Saturday
the public in general were granted admittance. Other
days were reserved for artists and students. On the
same days and hours Rubens's Medici gallery was also
open.

Up to -the time of Louis XVL the collection remained
divided, part in the Luxembourg, another and much
larger part at Versailles. At the Louvre, meanwhile.

©rigin ot tbe lPicture*«(^allet^ 31

were about ten thousand drawings, and in the Galerie
d'Apollon, which served as a studio for six proteges of
the king, were the Battles of Alexander, and certain
other pictures of Le Brun, Mignard and Rigaud. This
continued till 1775. About that time Comte d'Angiviller,
director of the palaces, wished to collect all the great
works in painting or sculpture owned by the king, and
to put them all into the Louvre. The writers of the
day highly praised his plan, especially M. de la Conda-
mine. But nothing was actually done, and, the Luxem-
bourg being at the same time given over to other uses,
the pictures were all taken back once more to Versailles.

It was left for the Revolution to act upon M.
d'Angiviller's suggestion. The National Assembly, the
Legislative Assembly, the Convention, one after another
dealt with the question, and finally carried it out as
far as they were able. The Louvre was called first the
Museum de la Republique, then the Museum Frangais,
and the Musee Central des Arts. It was opened to the
public November 8, 1793. It was doubtless a good deal
of a helter-skelter placing, in rooms where there was
no proper arrangement. The painters still retained their
studios, and everywhere remained the confusion and dirt
of the old days. Etienne Delecluse, who was a pupil of
David, and later critic of arts of the Debats, gives a vivid
description of the deplorable state of affairs both within
and without the building.

Meanwhile the city of Versailles had seriously objected
to losing its art treasures, and for some time the col-
lection that was opened in the Louvre lacked many of the
masterpieces which were there. " It was not till the
month of * Thermidor,' year II., that Varon, a member of
the Conservatoire, or board of trustees of the museum,
obtained the delivery of these pictures." It is interesting

3a Ube Htt of tbe Xourre

to note that the Republic subscribed one hundred thou-
sand livres per annum for the purpose of buying pictures
exposed at private sales in foreign countries, or which
were likely to go there, — a sum considerably larger than
the budgets of later times have allowed for such purpose.

This interest in preserving and adding to the art
treasures that France, having guillotined their owners,
could claim for her own, is the more amazing when one
reflects upon the times which gave it expression. Almost,
one is tempted to say, it was the only sane, creditable,
and intelligent act of that entire bloody reign.

After Napoleon's wars, the museum was named for
him, and well it might be. From Italy, Holland, Austria,
and Spain came the caravans of precious objects which
he had pillaged. Immense wagons, carts, vans of every
description were laden with boxes and bales to the number
of thousands. As they were landed from the ships on
the Seine, the Parisians swarmed over the quays in vast
herds, greeting each new arrival with cheers. The huge
crates were all marked with the names of their contents,
and as one after another was carried away, the crowds
would fall in behind, screaming a welcome to the pic-
tures or statues, and escort them in triumph to the
Louvre. These processions have been likened to Caesar's
triumphal returns to Rome, laden with the spoils and
captives of his conquered countries. Rather, perhaps,
to our modern vision do they suggest a mammoth circus
parade, where, instead of the fearsome inscriptions of
Lion or Tiger upon the great travelling arks, one might
read, " Titian's Assumption of the Virgin," " Miracle of
St. Mark, Tintoretto," "Descent from the Cross,
Rubens," "Communion of St, Jerome, Domenichino."

It is not at all to be wondered at, after the allies had
finally overthrown Napoleon, that France bitterly objected

OtiQin ot tbe picturc^Galleri^ 33

to returning all these treasures to the countries from
which they had been taken. She claimed that many had
been ceded in the treaties of peace after Napoleon's Italian
wars, and as such were for ever hers. They were not
pillage, she asserted, but honourable fruits of Napoleon's
victories. So reluctant were the directors of the museum
to loosen their hold on these gems that all sorts of ex-
pedients were resorted to. Pictures and statues suddenly
disappeared. Records as to where certain objects came
from were lost; and when a country claimed this or
that, the government stoutly maintained the impossibility
of proof that it ever belonged to the nation claiming it.
More than one foreign city and state sent in final despera-
tion envoys to England or to Wellington, asking his aid
in the recovery of their old-time possessions. And they
did not ask in vain. In almost all important cases France
was forced to disgorge. The priceless trophies were sent
back, and the Louvre was left denuded. To read some of
the old accounts of this time, it would seem as if the
directors of fine arts, and curators of the Louvre more
bitterly mourned this loss of their art spoils than they
did the overthrow of the whole country.

To help fill up the vacant wall-spaces, the Louvre took
from the Luxembourg the Rubens paintings, comprising
the Medici gallery, Le Sueur's Life of St. Bruno, Ports
of France, by Joseph Vernet, and a few more that had
been placed there in 1803.

From 1817 to 1824, under Louis XVIIL, iii pictures
were added, costing 668,265 francs. Under Charles X.,
in six years, twenty-four more were acquired, at a cost
of 62,790 francs. Louis Philippe spent at least eleven
million francs on the Versailles museum, and the Louvre
therefore gained little, costing the civil list only 74,132
francs, with thirty-three pictures bought.

34 TLbc art of tbe Xouvre

The Second Republic in 1848 voted two million francs
to repair, restore, and set up the Galerie d'Apollon, the
Salon Carre, the Salle des Sept Cheminees, the Grande
Galerie, the halls looking on the river and the halls of the
Colonnade. By 1851 the pictures were chronologically
arranged as well as possible m the different rooms.
About as early appeared Frederic Villot's excellent cata-
logue, still a model. The Louvre had only fifty thousand
francs yearly for purchase-money, but the National
Assembly added to that sum whenever necessary, sub-
scribing one hundred thousand francs at the time of the
art sale of the King of the Low Countries, and twenty-five
thousand francs for Gericault's Hunter and Cuirassier.
In 1852 the allowance was increased to one hundred
thousand francs, and the president of the Republic, by
a decree, granted 615,300 francs for purchasing at the
Marshal Soult's sale, Murillo's Conception.

During the Second Empire, about two hundred paint-
ings of early Italian schools came with the acquisition of
the Campana Museum, in 1862. Besides these, from
1854 to 1870 133 pictures were either purchased or
donated. This does not include the splendid Collection
Lacaze of 265 pictures, which was presented to the
museum in 1869. Since then the museum has continued
to acquire most valuable works, both by purchase and
donation, till, when the end of the nineteenth century
approached, it became more and more apparent that
the old rooms were all too crowded. For long, the
student and artist, and even the tourist, had felt that many
of the most important paintings were so badly lighted
that any real knowledge of them was quite impossible.

Finally, in 1900, was completed what might well be
called a " New Louvre." Everything was perfectly
arranged and accessible. It was possible to go from one

IMMACULATE CONCEPTION
Hy Murillo

OviQin of tbe ptcture*6allerp 3S

room and one department to another without climbing
stairs or, as in the old time, being forced to go outdoors
from one big court to another to obtain entrance. Schools
were hung together, overcrowded walls were thinned
down, pictures hidden in dark corners were brought
out into easy light and vision. Altogether it became to
sight, as it was before in intrinsic value, the '' most
splendid and attractive museum in Europe."

There are still changes that could be made, especially
to give the great French collection of pictures more
room. M. Sandier, in a recent article in Scribner's
Magazine, points out that to accomplish this it may be
necessary to unhouse the Ministry of the Colonies. That
accomplished, the western door of the Rubens hall would
open into what is known as the Galeries des Gardes, "a
gallery," says M. Sandier, " one hundred metres long,
leading in a direct line to the Pavilion de Flore. This
will then open another entrance to the Louvre, and will
connect with the upper story by the great stairway
named after its architect Lefuel, with its celebrated ceil-
ing by Cabanel."

To keep sufficient revenue for the enormous expenses
of the museum, — the buying and caring for collections,
the salaries of officials, etc., — the Louvre has the same
right as the Luxembourg, Versailles and St. Germain-en
Laye. This is called '' la personalite civile/' and means
that the museum can, like private individuals, "possess,
buy, and sell," and thus has its own income, and can dis-
pose of its own belongings. This revenue amounts to
more than four hundred thousand francs a year. In spite
of this it may happen that the Louvre does not have in
hand enough money to purchase some important works
for its collections. To guard against this, there is in
Paris an association called " La Societe des Amis du

36 Ube Htt ot tbe Xouvrc

Louvre,'* "whose purpose is to help the museum to the
possession of works of great importance, and worthy to
appear in its g-alleries. Already, on different occasions,
this association has been of great aid to the museum."

CHAPTER III.

SALLE DES PRIMITIFS — ROOM VII. — ITALIAN SCHOOL

The Salle des Primitifs, sometimes called Salle des
Sept Metres, and numbered VII. on the plan, contains,
as its name denotes, works of the early Renaissance
masters. Especially rich is it in pictures by the painters
of Florence, one of the first of the Italian cities to feel
the awakening power of the spirit that was to rejuvenate
all art and all learning.

Cimabue, the man who for so many generations was
regarded as the founder of all modern painting, is here,
according to the catalogue, represented by one Madonna.
In reality, there is as grave doubt about the authorship
of the picture as there is about his real right to the title
Vasari claimed for him. To-day, criticism has proved
that not a single work can be absolutely certified as a
Cimabue. The most that can be said of the Madonna
in the Louvre is that it bears a strong resemblance to
the Rucellai Madonna, which has for centuries been
attributed to Cimabue, — though many critics strenu-
ously insist that even that altar-piece is not by his hand.
If not by him, this one here is probably by some early
Siennese master, and in spite of its archaistic attributes,
— its lack of form, its conventional posing, its total
absence of what Mr. Berenson calls "tactile values," —

38 Uhc Hrt ot tbe Xoupte

it does evince a certain improvement over the rigidity
of the Greek and the Byzantine schools.

It represents the Virgin on a high architectural throne,
clad in a blue mantle that closely confines her head. She
holds the infant Christ upon her knee, and he too is
wrapped in thick folds of drapery, beneath which his
bare feet show. With his right hand he makes the sign
of blessing. At each side of the throne are three winged
angels, arranged without any regard for perspective, one
above the other, so that only the lowest is seen in full
length. The background is of gold, as of course are
the halos. The draperies also were once sprinkled with
the precious metal, but they have been repainted, as indeed
have the background and many parts of the picture. In
the borders of the old elaborate Gothic frame are twenty-
six medallions of the busts of many saints. Most of these,
too, have been retouched.

As has been noted, there are certain hard to define
but none the less appreciable differences between this
panel and others of the same or earlier date, in which
the rigidity is much more pronounced. Nevertheless, the
long, staring, unseeing eyes, the immobility of the
countenance, the regularity of lines — all indicate the
Greek style of painting that flourished even as late as the
beginning of the fourteenth century.

The Giotto in this room has been much repainted, but
it is generally regarded as an authentic piece of work.

The old story of Giotto's youth that Vasari tells, which
Leonardo believed and retold to his pupils, is now dis-
credited. Giotto was not a shepherd boy, and Cimabue
did not discover him drawing his flock on the rocks or bits
of stray board. What he was is rather uncertain, but
he probably did begin to study with Cimabue early in
life. Modern criticism, however, now seems inclined

Salle bes prtmtttts 39

to insist that he owes more to Pisano and Cavallini than
to Cimabue. He is, at any rate, the first Italian painter
to display any real appreciation of actual life. For the
first time painted figures begin really to stand, to walk,
and, most wonderful of all, are so depicted that one feels
it possible to walk between them and their background.
Individual character, purposeful gestures, and some
attempt at anatomical correctness are among the entirely
new achievements of this first great modern.

St. Francis of Assisi Receiving the Stigmata, was
painted for the altar of San Francesco in Assisi. Ac-
cording to Vasari's pleasing fiction, the picture was such
an object of veneration to the Pisans that it was the
cause of Giotto's being summoned to their city, to paint in
the Campo Santo the Trials of Job, — these in their turn
bringing an invitation from the Pope to go to Rome.
The St. Francis here is the one he painted for Pisa, and
closely resembles that at Assisi. The saint, clad in a
coarse cloth robe, is kneeling at the foot of a mountain
that towers behind him, reminding one, it must be ac-
knowledged, something of a toboggan slide. Above in
the sky is Girist in the form of a winged seraph. From
his head, his feet and his breast come the sharp red lines
of the stigmata which reach to the hands, feet and
breast of St. Francis. In the predella of the picture are
three scenes, the one at the left being the Dream of
Innocent III., in which St. Peter commands him to
maintain the order founded by St. Francis. The middle
panel reveals him presenting the Rules of the Order to
St. Francis, who kneels before him. In the third, St.
Francis is preaching to the birds. Most of the original
colour of this painting has been obscured by dirt, time
and restoring. But there is still recognizable something

40 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouv)re

of Giotto's feeling for form and expression which marks
him as a true inventor.

Probably by Taddeo Gaddi are Salome's Dance, The
Crucifixion, and Christ Giving the Soul of Judas to
Demons, which are but parts of an old predella. The
Gjaddi, Agnolo and Taddeo, were helpers of Giotto, and
like Giottino, and, in fact, like painters for a generation
after, they simply carried on the Giottesque traditions.
For it was long before any men of real ability arose to
express more clearly than he could express, reality or
beauty. Taddeo worked for twenty-four years under
Giotto before he became an independent painter. As
Crowe and Cavalcaselle observe, he stood in the same
relation to Giotto as Giulio Romano stood to Raphael.
And Leonardo's claim that art retrograded under Giotto's
followers applies to no one more forcibly than to him.
He copied the faults of his master even more slavishly
than the excellences, and really kept art at a standstill
in Tuscany.

Gentile da FabrianOy who has ten panels here, though
generally reckoned among the painters of the Umbrian
school, could as easily be claimed for the Venetian or
Florentine, as he spent years working in both those
cities. He and Fra Angelico have been likened to
brothers with similar tastes and tendencies, except that
one became a monk and the other a knight. Fabrino used
gold in high relief very often and freely, putting it on
architectural forms, folds of garments, head-dresses, trap-
pings of horses, and emphasizing and building out with
it petals and leaves of flowers. Many of his pictures are
extraordinairly amusing, because of their apparently
helter-skelter arrangement, combined with a total lack
of feeling for appropriateness. His was a joyous nature,
and the most solemn of his Biblical scenes often are con-

Salle Des prtmitits 41

ducive to laughter by the naive and unconstrained
attitudes of his personages, or by the introduction
of froUcking animals that have nothing to do with the
scene depicted. But there is an exuberance, a gaiety and
brilliancy of colour in Fabriano's pictures that give them
an individuality in its way as marked as Fra Angelico's.
He has, nevertheless, as modern critics agree, been over-
rated, and scarcely deserves the encomiums lavished
upon him. It is his Adoration of the Kings in Florence,
by which he is best known.

In his Virgin and Child in this room the Virgin is
seated in an extensive landscape, dressed in brown robes
edged with golden embroidery, about her head a heavy
nimbus of gold, on the border of which are the words,
Ave Mater Regina Mundi. The child stands on her
right knee, his right hand lifted in blessing, his left
clasping his mother's forefinger to steady himself. Her
right hand is placed against his hip, and she holds a
piece of transparent drapery in front of him. At the
left of the two kneels Pandolfo Malatesta, arrayed in
a gorgeous, embossed and brocaded robe. Back of them
stretches a hilly landscape, with fortified castles and walls
of towns.

The Madonna shows some indication of knowledge
of the figure. Her shoulders are fully felt under her
drapery, and the modelling of her face is delicately ren-
dered. The child, too, though far from anatomical cor-
rectness, is much better drawn than the babies of the
early Dutch school. Both mother and child have a
sweet tenderness of expression, in excellent contrast to
the strongly marked profile of the donor kneeling beside
them.

The Presentation in the Temple is elaborately filled
with architectural constructions. The lack of correct

42 'Q^be Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

perspective between the buildings and the people, though
very evident, shows some appreciation of the vanishing-
point in the lines of the buildings themselves. There is a
real effort, as well, to indicate figures under the draperies,
and always a more or less successful attempt to portray
individual character and expression.

Not far away is the Coronation of the Virgin, by Fra
Angelico, the painter-monk whose works are the veritable
prayers of his devout spirit. No one has ever approached
Fra Giovanni in his rendering of religious beauty. No
angels have ever quite equalled his in their delicacy, their
exquisite colour, their tender flow of line, and in their
beatific expressions. There is no hint of worldliness, of
earth-heaviness about these flower-like beings, who play
on their musical instruments, or sing hymns, or lead
the blessed within the gates of Paradise. Neither is
this piety, like a perfume over all that Angelico painted,
his only gift. He had a rare sense of harmony of line
and of balance of mass, of purity of colour and of dignity
of composition. He had, too, a decided talent for ex-
pressing character, — as witness his greatest work in the
chapel of Nicholas V. in the Vatican. It was only in
his later days that he began to understand perspective
and correct relations between figures and buildings;
but if his compositions show archaic traces in this respect,
they more than make up for it even in their strictly
technical beauties of luminosity of colour, grace of line,
proportion and balance. To-day this Coronation is
regarded as one of the great treasures of the Louvr6.
It was among the spoils of Napoleon, and when most
of his booty was returned to its owners, this was not
considered by the Tuscan government of sufficient value
to pay for its transportation. For long it was huddled

Salle &e5 prtmttits 43

away in the Garde-Robe of the Louvre, and was called
roughly " a coloured drawing."

On a throne at the top of a flight of wide marble steps
sits Christ in full rich robe, holding in his hands the
golden crown which he is about to place on the head
of his kneeling mother. On each side of these two are
grouped the lovely angel choirs that only Beato Angelico
could paint. With their trumpets and violins and zithers,
or with voice alone, they sing the praises of their King.
Below them on the steps and still lower across the
front of the picture, are saints, martyrs, apostles, Popes,
the " hienheureux " of Heaven. Among them are seen
St. Dominic, Moses, John the Baptist, Charlemagne, with
his crown of fleurs-de-lis, St. Nicholas, St. Catherine
with her wheel, and many others. Each has a halo, which
Fra Angelico, like all the earliest masters, treated as a
very solid substance. When angel or saint is facing the
spectator, this solidity of course does not matter, since
only the wide rim appears like a frame around the face.
It is a different affair when the head is back to. There
was nothing to do, since Angelico was not willing to cover
their heads entirely from sight, but to place the gold
plate-like halo so that each aureoled saint or angel seems
to have his face pressed hard and fast against it. Below
this scene is a predella of seven compartrtiicnts showing
miracles performed by St. Dominic, the founder of the
order to which Fra Giovanni da Fiesole belonged.

It seems as if this brilliant yet soft-toned picture, with
its gold, its blues, its pinks, its reds, had been painted
by an angel rather than a man. As Gautier says, its
colours are taken from the white of the lily, the rose of
the dawn, the blue of the sky, the gold of the stars.
The charming variety in the delicate angelic faces, each so
full of love, of joy, of veneration, the skill with which the

44 Ube Hrt ot tbc Xouvre

painter massed and differentiated the varying colours
of their robes, the air of sweet humility that shrouds
the Virgin, — all show Fra Angelico in one of his most
exalted moments.

In the Beheading of St. John the Baptist, Herod and
four companions, magnificently dressed, are seen behind
a long table. In front, at the right, is Salome, dancing,
dressed in a rose-coloured gown. At the left a soldier
brings in a platter bearing the head of the Baptist. Here
there is a total lack of the gruesome and horrible. Were
it not for the head, one might guess the occasion was
some ordinary occurrence. And Salome's face is far
too sweetly featured to suggest the cold-blooded dancer.

On the walls of the upper landing of the Escalier
Daru is his Crucifixion. Against a bluish background
the cross is raised with the figure of the Christ nailed
upon it. At its foot, grasping it, kneels St. Dominic,
his halo making a flat gold background for his profile.
At the right stands St. John, his hands clasped, his
eyes raised, and at the left is Mary, in full face, dressed in
a violet mantle. Fra Angelico could not portray grief,
or terror or despair as he could joy, prayer or praise.
His lack of knowledge of the nude, too, is apparent in the
figure of Christ. Yet true sorrow and the devout spirit
of belief are very apparent.

There is a battle-scene in the Louvre by Paolo Uccello,
and also a portrait panel. Uccello and linear perspective
may almost be said to be synonymous. His whole efforts
as a painter were directed toward achieving complete
success in every kind of a difficult problem in perspective.
As Vasari states, he was much more interested in study-
ing lines of architecture, in getting the exact proportions
of curiously foreshortened objects than he was in por-
traying human nature. The American editors of the

Salle bes prtmttifs 45

Italian biographer say that "His battle pieces are stiff,
ungainly performances; and w^ remember him rather
for what he strove to attain than for what he actually
accomplished."

The one here is sadly damaged by time and by the
unskilful " restoring " of Brigiardini in the sixteenth
century. It is chiefly remarkable, perhaps, for its ex-
traordinary horses, extraordinary in bulk, in construc-
tion, and in attitude. Uccello's evident and laboured
attempts to join legs, bodies and heads correctly, result in
producing an animal that if somewhere near true anatom-
ically is far from that in appearance.

The oblong panel with the portrait busts of five noted
men, is in a sense more interesting. Hard and rigid as
it is as portraiture, it has a solid strength and characteri-
zation that presage the great days of Florentine su-
premacy in line and mass. These five men were all
celebrated in their own fields, and Uccello, according
to Vasari, was a great admirer of each one, and kept
this panel in his own rooms. The first on the board
is Giotto, the painter, the second, Paolo himself, the
great exponent of the principles of perspective, the third
Donatello, the sculptor, the fourth Antonio, not Giovanni,
Manetti, the mathematician, and the fifth Brunellesco
the architect. The name of each is written on the frame
below the portrait.

From Uccello's archaic battle-scene to the Virgin and
Child with Saints and Priests of Filippo Lippi, is a far
cry, though Uccello was only nine years older than the
latter. Art critics are agreed that Fra Filippo Lippi was
influenced by both Masaccio and Fra Angelico. His fig-
ures have a roundness, a fulness, and a real existence that
those of Fra Angelico lack, while his saints and angels
have a sw:eetness and a spirituality beyond Masaccio's

46 Ubc Hrt ot tbe Xouvrc

power. If he owes something of the solidity of hisj
figures to Masaccio, and something of his delicacy and!
purity of line to Angelico, yet he is always and distinctly
himself, with a charm that is wholly his own, and before
unknown in art. Like all Italians he painted religious
pictures almost exclusively. But for the first time in art
he made them human. His Madonnas are real mothers,
his baby Christs real babies ; even his angels are very
natural, and not always beautiful children. Still, he
never lost the reHgious sentiment in spite of thus human-
izing his types. He introduced what may be called the
genre picture into Italy, painting his Madonnas, Nativ-
ities, and Annunciations on small, round surfaces,
suitable for home walls as well as for church altars.

After Filippo's fiftieth year he used only one type of
face for his Madonnas. It is a well-known story of his
commission to paint a Nativity for the nuns of Sta.
Margherita, and of how he chose for his model of the
Virgin young Lucrezia Buti who was a boarder in the
convent. For generations the end of the story was that
he ran away with Lucrezia and then refused to marry her
who became the mother of his son Filippino. The truth,
as Milanesi found it out from old letters and documents,
is not so widely known. Poor Fra Filippo is not the
only one that " Gossip Vasari " wronged. That garrulous
commentator scattered scandal through his accounts with
a free hand. Fra Filippo, then, did marry Lucrezia by
a special dispensation from the Pope, and for her sake
gave up all his priestly revenues, and lived and died a poor
man. It is Lucrezia's face that he paints over and over,
ever dwelling on each softly arched brow, on the wide
eyes, the broad, ingenuous forehead, the tormentingly
pretty nose, the kissable mouth, the little chin, — with a
veritable lover's caress.

Salle 5e0 ©rtmtttts 47

The Virgin and Child alluded to above was painted
when Lippo was only twenty-six years old. It is fuller
of architectural forms than some of his later works, but
already he was in full possession of the style that was
so distinctively and so originally his own. Three orna-
mented arches divide the upper part of this picture,
which represents the interior of a church or some sort
of sanctuary. Under the central arch, before a highly
decorated throne, stands Mary in full face, holding the
child against her right hip. Six angels guard her throne,
three on the right, three on the left. A low balustrade
which curves behind the angels, partly hides from view
two children who look over it at the scene in front.
Farther back at the left a monk's head peers over the
railing, and this has been called a portrait of the painter
himself. Though executed long before he knew Lucrezia,
the Madonna has the wide forehead, short, piquant nose,
and small chin, characteristic of both his earlier and
later portrayals of the Virgin. She is clad in the conven-
tional red gown and blue mantle, and has the fascinat-
ingly diaphanous head-dress Lippo loved to paint. Her
expression is gently serious and contemplative, and if she
is not drawn with quite the understanding of a Raphael,
at least there is a very solid figure under the heavy
drapery. The folds of this drapery are well managed
and carefully realistic. A sort of sling made of a long
piece of cloth and tied in a knot goes about Mary's
neck, and on this knot the baby has put his right foot,
the support helping to keep him in his upright posi-
tion. In one hand he holds a pomegranate, the other
pulls down the drapery at his waist. His tight,
curling hair, fat little limbs and chubby shoulders,
are expressed with Fra Filippo's naturalistic freedom of
handling^. The angels are delightful little beings, with

48 Ube Htt ot tbe !lLouv>rc

their high, curved wings, their voluminous robes and
their easy, unstrained attitudes. Each one bears a
single stalk of Ascension lilies, and if their boyish faces
suggest earthly rather than heavenly denizens, they are
not thereby the less attractive. The two prelates kneel-
ing in front are vigorous, studied portraits, drawn with
strength and emphasis. As a whole, the picture is full
of charm, of individuality, and of power, as well as of
that subtle grace which with Fra Filippo had so much
of sweet homeliness about it.

Morelli thinks the Nativity is probably not by Fra
Filippo, but by some one of the school of Alesso Baldo-
vinetti. It has, at all events, been pretty generally
credited to Filippo, and has many of his characteristics,
though there is some archaic drawing that seems at least
hardly up to his best work. In front of a ruined barn
built of bricks, and apparently even in its first days far
too small to hold man and beast, kneel Mary and Joseph,
adoring the child who is lying flat on the ground between
them. Behind, through one of the numerous breaks in
the wall, an ox and a donkey look out, and above them
two angels float in the air, their hands met prayer-wise.
At the top of the picture is the Holy Spirit in the form
of a dove, sending golden rays on to the group below. At
the left, behind Mary, a very much cut-up landscape of
rivers, pastures and castles is seen, with shepherds and
their flocks curiously out of proportion.

Mary is by far the best of the figures here represented.
The careful drawing of the hands, the youthful face, with
its drooped lids, its sweet mouth, its delicate head-dress,
all recall the style of Filippo Lippi. Joseph, too, has
a certain rough, puzzled expression that is both pathetic
and amusing.

Benozzo Gozzoli is represented by only one picture.

Salle ^es primitifs 49

This painter of earth's gaieties was, strangely enough,
Fra Angelico's pupil, and in Rome his assistant, and was
greatly beloved by the painter-monk. The American
editors of Vasari sum him up well in saying, '' He is a
story-teller par excellence, ... a lover of nature, a stu-
dent of fields and flowers and animals. . . . On the vast
wall-spaces that he covered so rapidly and easily with a
world of story, he revealed himself in turn as landscape-
painter, portrait-painter, animal-painter, costumer, archi-
tect, designer of ornament and superlatively a decorator."

His Triumph of St. Thomas Aquinas is in three
parts. The upper shows Christ blessing, while slightly
below him are St. Paul, Moses and the four Evangel-
ists. In the central division St. Thomas is seated be*
tween Aristotle and Plato, Guillaume de St. Amour
lying at his feet, vanquished. Below all this is the entire
Church of doctors, cardinals and Pope Alexander IV.
who are being instructed by St. Thomas. Here the
painter had little chance to introduce the birds and
beasts and flowers he was so fond of, and by its very
subject the picture is so much the less characteristic of
him.

Signorelli is represented by a fragment of a com-
position, and by the Birth of the Virgin, but they are
far below the best works of the man who is called " the
immediate successor of Michelangelo." Signorelli was
apprentice to Pietro della Francesca, and it was he who
finished the fresco of the Last Judgment which Michel-
angelo had begun. It is his frescoes at Orvieto that
have given him his greatest fame, for in them he shows a
grandeur of form, a strength and virility of expression,
a concentrated passion of action that were never equalled
till the day of Michelangelo. His colour is not always
agreeable, his compositions are frequently crowded.

5© XTbc Hrt of tbc Xouvre

But he is one of the first great moderns in art. He
appeals to us, to our times, to our minds, as almost no'
painter before and as few since.

In the Birth of the Virgin is a certain dignity of line
that marks almost all of Signorelli's works, but it is far
below the height of his power. In a bare-walled room,
slightly at the left, is Anne in bed. She leans out to
reach the new-born Mary to a woman who stoops to take
her. At the foot of the bed a man rests against the
foot-board, leaning over back to. Standing near the
woman taking the child is a young girl whose tall figure
with its fine lines is the one bit in the picture most
suggestive of Signorelli. At the extreme right Joseph
is sitting on the floor writing on his knee, and next to him
a serving-woman bends over some dishes.

Of the pictures in the Louvre catalogued as by Botti-
celli, only the Lemmi frescoes are universally acknowl-
edged to be really by him. These are on the upper land-
ing of the Escalier Daru, near Fra Angelico's Crucifixion.

Berenson says of Botticelli that he is " Never pretty,
scarcely ever charming or even attractive; rarely cor-
rect in drawing and seldom satisfactory in colour; in
types, ill-favoured; in feeling, acutely intense and even
dolorous." It is perhaps this intensity of feeling, com-
bined with its dolorous-languidness in expression, that
has captured so many modern critics, even more than
the wonderful decorative qualities and the grace and
movement of line that are as integral parts of this Floren-
tine's art. The wistful-faced, yearning-eyed Madonnas,
the tired, weary-looking baby Christs, the intense,
strained expression on so many of his angel faces, all
this greatly appeals to the neurotic, anemic, and the
mind-at-high-pressure so characteristic of present day
humanity. No other painter strikes quite the same chord.

Salle t)C0 prtmtttts 51

He has as little of the tragic, solemn depth of Michel-
angelo as he has of the serene poise of Raphael. There
is always poetry, always grace, always the wonderful
sinuosity of line that seems fairly vibrant with music;
but there are other things as well. If there is subtlety
of expression, one suspects disingenuousness in that very
subtlety; if there is rhythmic curve of line, there is an
ignoring of solidity of construction; and if no one has
ever better expressed motion in waving hair, falling
drapery, or turning head, no one either has so revelled
in awkward, ill-formed shapes. The lack of ingenuous-
ness is, however, one of the most salient features of
much of Botticelli's work. There really is some ground
for feeling that he was a bit of a poseur. A certain sort
of artificiality permeates the majority of his pictures; a
fascinating, sensuous, appealing artificiality, doubtless,
but the forced, unreal note is, nevertheless, nearly always
there.

Botticelli was living and working at the same time as
Ghirlandajo, Benozzo Gozzoli, Verocchio, and Perugino,
and for awhile, Filippo Lippi, who was his teacher.
He was considered, at the time of the latter's death, to be
the best master in Florence, though he was then only
twenty-two. His circular pictures of the Virgin and
Child may be assigned to this period, or immediately
after. These tondi are slightly reminiscent of the friar-
painter, but they nevertheless are strongly indicative
of Botticelli's own peculiar qualities.

One of these tondi is the round Madonna called " Le
Magnificat," in Room VH., though it is now considered to
be a rather poor copy of the great one in the Uffizi. It is
certainly far from that in its technique, showing poor
brush-work and inferior treatment of values and colour.
In composition it is identical, except that whereas in the

52 Ubc Hrt ot tbe Xouvrc

one in Paris only one angel holds the crown over Mary's
head, in that of the Uffizi there are two, her head being
thus framed by the two uplifted hands. This arrange-
ment fills up the round more harmoniously, and is so
much the more characteristic of Botticelli. No one has
more beautifully balanced a composition in a circle than
has he in the famous Uffizi tondo.

Mary sits at the right in front of a curved opening
giving a distant view of a " winding stream and wooded
meadow." Behind her is the boy angel in profile whose
right hand holds over her head the crown made of deli-
cate golden tracery. Standing by her knee on the other
side are two more angels, holding an open book and an
ink-well, into which she is dipping her pen preparatory to
writing on the book's half-blank pages. Behind these
two, also looking at the book, a third bends over them,
a hand on each of the others' shoulder. His position
exactly, yet without too much apparent effort, conforms
to the curving line of the picture. On Mary's lap is the
baby Christ, his head lifted, his eyes raised. He rests
his right hand partly on his mother's wrist and partly
on the open book, his left grasping the cut pomegranate
which she holds at his side. The baby is rather uncouth
and heavy and is the least attractive of the whole
group. The boy angels are remarkably charming, their
Medicean type of face infused with a delightful feeling
of innocence.

The Virgin, Child and St. John is a much better piece
of work from a technical standpoint than the Magnificat.
It is supposed, however, not to be by Botticelli but by
some painter who was greatly inspired by him. The
Virgin sits at the right, in a garden, her face in profile,
looking down under deep, full lids at the child who
is standing on her lap. At the left is the little St,

Salic DCS IpttmititB S3

John, his hands crossed on his breast, his great eyes
gazing straight out of the picture. Mary has much of
the ruminative melancholy of BotticelH's Madonnas, but
the type of head is somewhat unlike his usual choice,
her hands are squarer and better articulated, and the
fingers far less long and serpentine. The baby is an
exquisite bit of childhood. The tender loveliness of
his chubby face, as he looks up adoringly at his mother,
the little love pressure of his hand at her throat, are
beautifully rendered. Scarcely less appealing is John,
with the dreamy wistfulness of his expression and his
humble, self-effacing attitude.

The two so-called Lemmi frescoes are parts of a
decoration that Botticelli executed for Giovanni Torna-
buoni when his son Lorenzo married Giovanna degli
Albizzi. The Tornabuoni were related to the Medici
and much interested in art. For years these frescoes had
apparently disappeared. In 1541 the villa had gone
from the family, and later the rooms were whitewashed
and the frescoes wholly covered up. In 1873, when
Doctor Lemmi was owner of the house, some cracks
gave signs of colour beneath, and the whitewash being
removed, Botticelli's paintings appeared. Only two were
really preserved, a third falling to pieces when uncovered.
In 1882 they were somehow purchased and ever since
have been in the Louvre. Both of them are more or
less damaged, one of them being in a much worse state
than the other. Unfortunately the better preserved,
Lorenzo Tornabuoni Led into the Company of the Liberal
Arts, is the poorer painting. Indeed, it is so much less
successful than the other that critics have thought it
could not have been Wholly Botticelli's work. The
balance of opinion, however, seems now to ascribe it as
well as the other to him.

54 XTbe Hrt ot tbe Xoux>re

At the edge of a wood on a high seat at the right
sits Philosophy surrounded by her handmaidens, the
" Liberal Arts." From the left comes Lorenzo led by
Dialectics. A small Cupid was apparently beside him,
but only his head has escaped destruction. Lorenzo,
with his long, blond hair, and serious, thoughtful profile,
is evidently a portrait of the young man who was so
highly esteemed by his contemporaries for his learning
and character. He has a round red cap on his head,
and is dressed in a blue and red striped gown, with a red
cloak falling from his right shoulder. The pensive,
graceful girl figure of Dialectics, who leads him up to the
distinguished company, is clad in white. Philosophy,
in profile, is in the centre of the six " Arts," these latter
making a semicircle about her. She is dignified, heavily
draped with fur-trimmed robes, and is much older than
the others. On her right are Arithmetic, Grammar and
Rhetoric, on her left Geometry, Astronomy and Music.
They are all young maidens and sit or kneel in graceful
attitudes.

Giovanni Tornabuoni Receiving the Gifts of the
Graces, is the other and more valuable fresco. It repre-
sents the interior of a room in which the hostess stands
at the right holding out her apron to receive the gifts
of the Graces, or, as some have said, the four cardinal
Virtues. She is the best preserved bit in the panel, and is
supposed to be a very faithful likeness of the young wife
who was so noted for all the virtues and charms of
womanhood. Her face is in three-quarters view, turned
to the left. Clad in a brownish red gown that falls in
straight, unbroken folds to her ankles, with a white veil
over her hair, and a necklace of pearls, she presents a
sober, quiet appearance, far diflferent from that of most
of the women of Italy of her day. Coming toward her

Salle &es iprimitits S5

from the left are the four maidens, marching two by
two, dressed in soft-coloured robes that are billowed
about them in tortuous folds, caught up by bands and
falling over under-draperies equally turbulent, in a style
that was all Botticelli's own. The girl who seems to lead
the four is supposed to represent Venus, both from her
more prominent position and because she alone wears
sandals and has golden-edged draperies. She has been
a good deal obliterated, the whole back of her head and
part of her shoulder and right leg being lost. Her
profile is not over pretty, but is still intact, as well as
the faces of her three companions, who, while all are
of a marked Botticelli type, are more than usually
regular in outline and charming in expression. Their
flowing locks of hair are painted with all his love for these
waving, living, caressing strands.

As pure decoration, this panel shows Botticelli's
genius at its height. His command of line, his rhythmic
curves were never more beautifully displayed, and one
feels with Berenson that here is " the greatest artist of
lineal design that Europe has ever had."

Ghirlandajo, whose Visitation and Portrait of an Old
Man and Little Boy are in this room, was one of the three
great Florentine painters of the last quarter of the fif-
teenth century, the other two being Botticelli and Filip-
pino. Messrs. Blashfield and Hopkins consider him less
tender than Filippino, less original than Botticelli, but
more powerful and more direct than either. " The note
which he strikes is less thrilling, but deeper; the types
he presents are less fascinating, but more human." His
most distinctive attribute, perhaps, is his ability as a
portrait-painter. In his pictures of the Nativity, the
Annunciation, and other religious subjects, the best part
of the scenes are not the Madonnas and saints that give

s6 XTbe art ot tbc tHouvre

the name of the picture, but the onlookers, the " donors,"
or the attendant citizens. In these figures he painted
simply and directly the actual Florentines of his day, and
painted them with a truth, a reality and an incisiveness
that proclaim him a rare portrait-painter for his own or
any time. In colour he is often far from pleasing, indulg-
ing as he does in an overabundance of bricky red, but in
drawing he is superior to all the painters who had pre-
ceded him. He had, too, a keen sense of the general
effect in his compositions, and did not hesitate to sacrifice
details and accessories to this, which, for the time, was
an unusual and veritable painter's attribute.

The Visitation was one of Napoleon's spoils, and was
left in Paris after most of the pillaged treasures were
returned. It was painted by Ghirlandajo late in life for
the church of Castello, to-day Santa Maria Maddalena
de Pazzi, in Florence. Though it is claimed that he did
not wholly finish it, and that Mainardi's hand can be seen
in its completion, it is, nevertheless, full of Ghirlandajo's
characteristic dignity of pose, vigour of line, and inten-
sity of action.

In a portico before an arched opening that gives a
glimpse of a fortified town on the sea, with boats and a
bridge, Mary and Elizabeth have met. Elizabeth, in
yellow robe with white head-dress, kneels in front of
Mary who leans over her, her hands on the elder
woman's shoulders. Mary is in blue, the long, full
mantle caught at her breast with an enormous brooch
set with precious stones. A soft piece of gauze drawn
about her neck and a ruffled head-dress of muslin nearly
covers her hair which is drawn over her ears on each
side. At the left Mary Cleophas stands, looking away
from the group; at the right Salome advances rapidly
toward them, her hands met prayer-wise in front of her.

THE VISITATION
By CJhirlandajo

Salle Oes prtmttits 57

Her figure is spirited, and full of moveinent, emphasized
by the flying draperies. This waving of folds and ends
of draperies is one of Ghirlandajo's idiosyncrasies, and he
sometimes employs it when there is no evidence that
wind or motion caused the commotion. In this case,
however, it is telling and effective. Mary Cleophas is
a tall, stately figure, well posed and of much individuality.
She has something of the Lippo cast of countenance, with
a slightly longer chin and somewhat less breadth across
the eyes. Her attitude, as she greets the other woman,
is touchingly tender and reverent. Elizabeth's profile
is strong and fine and full of character.

The Portrait of an Old Man and Little Boy is a re-
markable example of Ghirlandajo's skill at portraiture.
Beside an open window sits the old man, his head nearly
in profile, looking down at the child's lifted face, which
is in strict profile. The picture ends at the line of the
boy's shoulder, so that the old man's hands are not
shown nor the child's right one. His left rests affection-
ately on his guardian's chest. Absolute realism was here
Ghirlandajo's evident aim. He has made no attempt to
soften or beautify the old man's visage, dwelling almost
with gusto on the huge bottle-nose, with its painful ex-
crescences, and on the big wart on his forehead. In
spite of these physical deformities his expression, as he
gazes at the little one, is full of a longing love and a ten-
der joy that yet verges upon sorrow. It is a remarkable
bit of character-painting. The child, with its golden
curls so carefully drawn, almost every hair outlined, has
a beautiful face, its questioning little profile as full of
adoring veneration as is the old man's face of protecting
love.

The Louvre owns two of Credi's works, but neither
the Madonna Enthroned between Two Saints in this

58 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

room, nor the Christ and Mary Magdalene in the Grande
Galerie are really worthy of the man whom Verrocchio
recommended to finish the Colleoni monument.

In the former of these two pictures, under the central
one of three archways, the Madonna is represented
seated on a throne. The niche behind her is closed, the
other two arches each spanning an opening that shows
the sky beyond. The arcades and pilasters are richly
and minutely ornamented. Mary holds the child Jesus
on her right knee, her head bent toward her right
shoulder, looking down at him with a sorrowful tender-
ness in her gaze. The transparent veil of her head-
dress is exquisitely rendered as well as the soft curls that
fall over her shoulder. The child has twisted around till
his face is turned to the left, while he blesses St. Julian
who stands before the open arch, his face nearly in
profile, his hands joined in prayer. At the right, in his
pontifical robes, is St. Nicholas, reading a book. Though
too hard, and lacking the feeling of malleable flesh, his
head is finely drawn and modelled and has decided char-
acter. The whole picture is more affected than much
of Credi's earlier work, and has a hard, brilliant polish
almost like porcelain, along with slight and rather un-
meaning chiaroscuro. There are, however, a certain
grace in the treatment of the head of Mary, and a tender
movement of her hands that recall Credi at his happiest.

CHAPTER IV.

SALLE DUCHATEL — ROOM V. — ITALIAN AND FRENCH
SCHOOLS

In the fifth room, called Salle Duchatel, are a
number of important frescoes by Luini, transferred from
the Litta Palace. Of all Italian painters Luini, perhaps,
shows the influence of Leonardo the most. Yet it is not
at all certain that he ever was an actual pupil of the great
Tuscan. Indeed, very little is known about Luini except
through his works. These are quite sufficient to indicate
that he is almost another Da Vinci over again, without
Da Vinci's depth, tragedy, virile power or mysterious
fascination. It is the sweetness, the charm, the soft
modelling, the entrancing chiaroscuro of Leonardo that
Luini repeats so successfully. And though in the main
it can properly be called repetition, yet it is not without
really distinct personality, and, within certain lines,
originality. The tender charm of a Luini Madonna, the
grace of expression, of arrangerruent, of grouping in
his frescoes, are all his own even though they became
his through long Leonardesque infiltration. His sweet-
ness is rarely cloying, for it is backed up by vigorous, if
smooth, modelling, by judicious colour, by skilful light-
ing. And his tenderness and grace never, in his best
works, degenerate into mawkishness and pose. The

6o XTbe Hrt ot tbe Xourte

frescoes from the Litta Palace show him', not as he is
known at the Brera, at San Maurizio, at Lugano and
Saronna, but they at least give a very good idea of his
ability as a decorator. And his ability was of a very
high order, if not the highest.

Of these frescoes the most beautiful are the Nativity
and the Adoration of the Magi. The first is the interior
of a stable with heavy beams cutting the walls into
squares. At the left on the ground is the child Jesus,
in a very babyish position, his toes kicking up, his
forefinger in his mouth. Beside him are two small angels.
The one at his head lifts the cloth beneath the baby's
shoulders while the other at his feet grasps a wooden
cross with both arms and bends over it, looking intently
at the infant. This group is placed directly below the
manger, over which the heads of an ox and a donkey
appear. Above are two adoring angels, kneeling on
clouds, though still within the confines of the building.
On the same level with them at the right, a square opening
in the wall gives a view of the crest of a hill where three
shepherds are observed receiving the " glad tidings "
from an angel who descends out of the sky. In the fore-
ground, at the right of Jesus, kneel Mary, her hands
clasped in prayer, and behind her Joseph. Mary is
dressed in a violet-toned mantle lined with green, and
edged with gold embroidery. Joseph wears a yellow
cloak, also edged with gold. Mary has the Leonardesque
type of face, even with something of the subtle, un-
translatable smile curving her delicate lips, the same
purely lined brows of the Gioconda, — the whole ethere-
alized, and made more spiritual by Luini's brush. St.
Joseph here recalls the Christ type. The long, waving,
parted hair and broad brow are very like the conventional
head of Christ. It was a curious fancy for an Italian

ADORATION OF THK MAGI
Hy Luini

Salle Ducbatel 6i

painter to suggest that Christ would have resembled St.
Joseph in physical attributes.

In the Adoration, where only the head and shoulders of
Joseph appear, and in profile, the likeness to the conven-
tional Christ type is even more noticeable. The scene is
again in the stable, showing Mary sitting on a raised bit
of flooring, with the child standing on her knee, while
he blesses the three kings before him, Joseph looks over
the mother's shoulder. Above, through two oblong
openings, is seen a caravan winding down a mountain
road. Of the three kings, the one in front, with long
gray beard and ermine-trimmed cloak, is kneeling, his
vase of precious ointment laid at Mary's feet. The other
two stand behind him, each bearing his gift. The three
are sharply differentiated, each well individualized and
subtly drawn. Mary, dressed in blue skirt, violet waist
and green mantle, is in three-quarters position, her head
bent forward, her eyes nearly covered by the heavy,
drooped lids. Her face is ideally beautiful and ex-
quisitely painted, the soft, waving hair falling against
her neck, and the transparent border to her head-dress
displaying Luini's delicate surety of touch.

In this room is the Virgin and Child Adored by the
Donors, the work of the Fleming Hans Memlinc, or
Memling, as he is usually called. In the centre of the
nave of a church, seated on a stone throne, with em-
broidered drapery behind her and a canopy over her
head, is Mary, holding the infant Jesus across her lap.
At the left of the picture, on her right, stands St. James,
and kneeling beside him the donor, James Floreins, and
his six sons. On the other side St. Dominic presents the
donor's wife, accompanied by her twelve daughters, the
second of whom is in the costume of a Dominican
nun. Back of the central group stretches the church,

62 Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvrc

and through the arches on each side is a glimpse of the
country, with a castle on the left and a farmhouse at the
right. The figures of both Mary and the child are ex-
quisitely rendered. The little nude body is unusually
correct in outlines and construction and is softly rounded
in forms, if rather tightly painted, compared with the
style of the far more modern Luini. His expression is
both childlike and dreamy, the far-away look in his eyes
giving him a certain aloofness that intensifies the real
piety so strongly felt throughout the picture. The
Madonna, in her red dress and blue cloak, holds the child
with a well-expressed pressure of her slender right hand,
while with the other she keeps open the Scriptures on
which Jesus's left hand rests. Her blond hair waves
softly off her wide forehead and falls in curling masses
over her shoulder. Her eyes are looking downward and
she seems wrapped in a reverie that makes her quite
unconscious of what is going on about her. The soft oval
of her face, her long, slender nose and small, but finely
curved mouth are all characteristic of Memling. It is the
Flemish type, indeed, but painted with the insight, the
veneration, the real adoration of this man, who painted,
one feels, on his knees. He is only equalled in religious
purity and fervour by Fra Angelico. Among all Flem-
ings he is unapproached.

Besides the pictures noted, two by Ingres deserve
mention. These, as well as the Memling, were be-
queathed to the Louvre by Mme. la Comtesse Duchatel,
in whose honour the room was named. Of these two,
La Source is by far the more beautiful. It was not
painted till Ingres was seventy-six years old, though
he made a sketch for it forty years earlier.

Against the rock at the foot of which is a shallow
pool, stands the nude figure of a slender girl, holding

LA SOURCE
By Ingres

Salle Bucbatel 63

on her left shoulder a Greek vase which she has tipped
far up, and out of which the water is running into the
pool at her feet. Her blond head is bent slightly to the
left under the raised right arm,, and her weight rests on
her left leg, the right drawn back a very little. In the
pool her bare feet are reflected. This figure is as beauti-
ful as a Grecian statue of the great Grecian epoch, and is
as subtly modelled, as smoothly rounded, its tones as
exquisitely graded as any marble from a master's hand
could be. Purity, grace, perfection of line, are here
carried to such a height that for the moment it is easy to
forget how Titian's rendering of such a subject would
glow with colour, or how the flesh would fairly throb
with its pulsing life. In its own way it is a bit of almost
absolute perfection, — so perfect that even Ingres's adver-
saries must acknowledge its masterliness.

The other by Ingres, (Edipus Interrogating the Sphinx,
is far less satisfactory. A youth of extraordinarily
faultless Creek figure is seen in profile within a grotto
which opens at the right, giving a glimpse of sky and
clouds, and, lower down, a village. (Edipus is nude save
for a sort of mantle-like scarf which is thrown over his
right shoulder and falls between his knees. Bending
over, with his elbow resting on his knee, he seems to be
questioning the so-called Sphinx, a woman-headed sort of
griffin. Behind CEdipus, seen through the opening, a
man is flying in fright. The young Greek is so carefully
drawn, so smoothly modelled, indeed, so tiresomely drawn
and modelled, that it cannot arouse the enthusiasm such
perfection otherwise might.

CHAPTER V.

GRANDE GALERIE — ITALIAN DIVISIONS

The Grande Galerie, numbered VI. on the plan, is
divided into six bays. The first three of these, and part
of the fourth, are devoted to the ItaHan school. In the
fourth however, besides the few late Italians, are most
of the Spanish, English and German pictures owned
by the Louvre. The fifth and sixth bays contain Flemish
works. For convenience of placing, these bays are marked
A, B, C, D, E and F, as they are in the general catalogue
of the Louvre.

Beginning at the Italian end, which has an entrance
from both Salle des Primitifs and the Salon Carre, one
of the earliest masters represented is Francesco di Marco
di Giacomo Raibolini, known generally by the name he
took in honour of his first master, II Francia. The
Nativity and the Crucifixion do not show II Francia at his
best, though the latter, with the figure of Job kneeling at
the foot of the cross, does give some adequate idea of the
tender gravity that is so notable a distinction of the
Bolognese painter. II Francia, says M. Alexandre, is
somewhat the Perugino of Bologna, with more reflection
and less spontaneity than Perugino possessed. His
figures, if not made so much after a formula, have, on
the whole, less personality, and he has, continues the
French critic, a predilection for calm and pure types, for

GtanOc Oalerie 65

pleasing landscape, for silhouettes against a light back-
ground, and for intense limpidness of tones. Undoubt-
edly it is true that Francia was influenced by Perugino
and later by Raphael. His works have a sweet serious-
ness, a placid joy and a serenity that partakes of
Raphael's earlier manner and in general of the school of
Perugino. His colour is rich and full, rather less trans-
parent than the Umbrian school at its best. His types are
not generally beautiful, but there is a reverent air, a
humble every-day sort of piety in all his works that make
them the highest achievements of the Bolognese school.
Contrary to perhaps the general rule of Italian painting,
he is most successful in his easel pictures. Vasari's
story of Francia's death from envy of the young Raphael
is one of his numerous decorative fictions. The two
painters, when Raphael was in all his glory at Rome, and
when Francia was an old man, were, it seems likely,
acquainted, and it may be that Raphael did send a picture
for a church in Bologna to the care of Francia. It is
even possible that not long after receiving the St. Cecilia,
the old Bolognese painter was taken with the sickness
that proved mortal. It is far from Hkely, however, that
this sickness was caused by his overmastering envy at
the sight of painting so far from what he could produce.
The Nativity represents the infant Jesus lying on
the ground, his head resting on a hard, round pillow,
his mother, Joseph and two angels kneeling in adoration
around him. The angel in the centre is a really lovely
creation. Her little body is drawn with a fineness of line
matching the purity of her face. Mary, too, who is
something of the Peruginesque type, is scarcely less
lovely. The line from the top of her head to her right
shoulder is charming in its sweep and curve. As a com-
position the picture is not highly successful. The group

66 ubc Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

in the foreground is too much of a straight mass and
insufficiently balances the background of high cliffs and
distant mountains.

Perugino has a Holy Family, and a Combat between
Love and Charity in the first division. Judged by the
height Perugino reached in his finest mural paintings,
he is a great painter. Judged by innumerable easel
pictures, he is weak, sentimental, sugary. It is because
these latter are so many and so broadly scattered that the
general opinion has given Perugino a relatively low
place in art. At his best, however, he is so fine, says
so fully the last word of the quattrocento, is so far in
advance of most of his contemporaries in purity and
brilliance of colour, in feeling for the nude, in a very
unusual perception of the beauty and value of landscape
and in appreciation of compositional unity, that he must
be given, as the American editors of Vasari say, " one
of the very highest places in the secondary group."

His Holy Family is one of the half-length pictures he
so often painted. The Virgin is sitting in full face,
holding the Christ-child on her knee. St. Catherine of
Alexandria, in a gold brocaded gown and carrying a pen,
is on the right, Joseph, in a red mantle, at the left. The
Madonna has a red waist and blue mantle. Her face
is heavier about the chin than usual with Perugino, but,
though far from one of his best easel pictures, there are
still the grace and purity of expression peculiar to
him and which, in his greatest works, reach a nobility
that is as fine as it is beautiful.

Isabella d'Este ordered the Combat between Love
and Charity, giving very full directions as to how it
should be painted. It was finished in distemper, about
1505. It is not one of Perugino's most successful works
in composition, in expression or in colour. A wide

Granbe Galerie 67

prairie-like field with scattered trees and bushes and a
rolling line of hills toward the back is the scene of the
conflict. A most unequal conflict it seems, too, though,
in accordance with his orders, Perugino left the actual
outcome of the affair uncertain. In the foreground
Venus and Diana are engaged in a hand-to-hand battle.
Diana, at the left, aims her arrow straight at Venus's
breast, while the goddess of love has meanwhile applied
her torch to her opponent's drapery, which already is
scorched. A little at the left Pallas is seen holding
Cupid by a bandage tied over his eyes. His bow and
arrows are broken at his feet, and her lance is poised
to pierce the little fellow to the heart. All about are
other Loves, satyrs, and the nymphs of Diana. The
little Loves are much the best of the whole scene, the
one who is climbing a tree being the m;ost exquisite bit
of all. Altogether, though the serene sky and softly
rolling plain are admirably treated, it was a subject which
was far from Perugino's taste.

A very poor Virgin and Child that is ascribed to Pin-
turicchio, gives no idea of the rarely fascinating quali-
ties of this master of decoration. Pinturicchio, though
said to be a pupil of Perugino, seems to have acquired
comparatively few of his teacher's peculiarities, and he
never learned to draw the human figure with surety or
ease. Nevertheless, his frescoes at Siena and Rome are
among the world's treasures. As has been well said,
they are full of " an ever-present, tireless fancy, a joyous
and fertile imagination."

Full of none of these is the Virgin and Child here.
It has the golden background he loved so well to paint,
and shows the Madonna seated between two saints, hold-
ing a book upon which the child Jesus writes.

Nowhere so well as at the Louvre can Leonardo da

68 ube art ot tbe Xouvre

Vinci be studied. Of the nine pictures most generally
regarded as actually by him the Louvre possesses four>
and these four are, with the exception of the Cenacola,
his most important works and the best preserved of all.
For four hundred years the world has sung the praises
of Leonardo. Honoured, admired and adored in his own
time by both his countrymen and foreigners to an ex-
tent accorded few men that history ranks great, the cen-
turies have but added wreaths to the laurels of his fame.
Perhaps one of the most extraordinary things about this
fame is its unlimited scope. " Beyond all men in all
things,'* seems to be its dictum. And indeed, there is
scarcely any department of human thought or activity
for which he does not stand as inventor, instigator, pred-
ecessor or at least godfather. Physiologist, astrono-
mer, mathematician, engineer, essayist, poet, musician,
architect, sculptor, painter, — these are but few of the
titles he earned in his wonderful life. Born into the
awakening consciousness of a world whose dawn of
modern life was flushing her horizon, it is as if all the
erstwhile slumbering forces of a mighty universe awoke
to find in him a perfect medium for expression. Even
to-day, science, invention, mechanism, see his explana-
tions, his models, his appliances, in advance of their new
est discoveries. The world is still observing the fulfilment
of the prognostications of this magician of the fifteenth
century. This is what m'akes Leonardo's name a
synonym for all wisdom, for all insight, for all discovery,
for all genius. No life was ever so wide in its activities,
so penetrating in its perceptions, so accomplished in its
manifestations. And yet, the curious part of it is that it
is due to the least of these manifestations of his genius
that his name is accorded such world-wMe paeans of
applause. For the part that painting played in the life

(Branbe Galerie 69

of this Florentine, compared with all the other activities
of his crowded years, is as a noonday rest in a week of
toil. And of what; he accomplished in this brief nooning,
only one perfectly complete picture is known to exist
to-day. And that, as well as the others which his brush
left unfinished, has so suffered from; the ravages of
time, of the restorer and of his own feverish experiments,
that any adequate idea of their first estate must be im-
possible. Nevertheless, it is safe to say that Leonardo's
genius, even his genius as shown in hydraulics, in mathe-
matics, in physiology, in astronomy, in what-not, rests
largely upon just these few, dimmed, incomplete, half-
destroyed pictures. He would be known to scientific
students in many and diverse fields as a wonderful fore-
runner, a marvellous discoverer. But it is his Cenacola,
his Mona Lisa, that have drawn the attention of the
entire world to his unlimited explorations, his preeminent
inventions, his unapproached supremacy in almost every
line of human speculation and endeavour.

He has always been called a Florentine, but he was
really born at Vinci, half-way between Florence and Pisa.
Entering Verocchio's studio when fifteen, where were
Perugino and Lorenzo di Credi, at twenty he was a
member of the Painters' Guild, and soon after was in
receipt of a pension. From Florence, somewhere between
1482 and 1487, he went to Milan, and was in the service
of Lodovico Sforza, where he not only modelled the
famous colossal statue of Lodovico's father, but where
he was engineer, painter, architect and general scientific
consulter of the Milanese court. It is during these years
that the Virgin of the Rocks now in the Louvre, was
painted. From 1449, ^^^er the downfall of Lodovico, for
sixteen years Leonardo travelled everywhere in the
Italian peninsula, fulfilling all kinds of important com-

7© Ubc Htt ot tbe Xouvre

missions. In 1505 came the exposition of his cartoon
of the Florentines and Milanese at Anghiari, and some-
where near this date must the Mona Lisa be placed. In
15 1 5, after repeated urgings from France, Leonardo went
to Paris, where Francois I. lodged him as befitted his
fame, and treated him henceforth with the greatest
honour. The St. Anne in the Louvre is the only painted
record we have of these years. In 15 19 the great spirit
was at rest.

The Madonna of the Rocks is so named from the rocky
cavern in which the group is placed. In the centre Mary
is kneeling in nearly full face, her right hand out-
stretched and resting on the shoulder of the little St.
John, who kneels at the left of the picture. His hands are
clasped in adoring praise and in his arms is his long
reed cross. Mary's left hand is spread open and is held
above the head of the tiny Christ who sits in front of her
in profile, his right hand lifted, blessing the little Baptist.
He is supported by a young girl angel sitting beside him,
her wings half lost in the shadow. Behind the group
the rocky walls of the cave break into sharp points and
open places, showing a winding stream and distant moun-
tains. The whole scene is one of ineffable beauty. The
Virgin has something of the smile of Mona Lisa, but it is
chastened, saddened and more tender. The lines of her
face are longer, her head is more delicate, with finer, purer
planes. The angel is still lovelier. There is such match-
less purity, such a winsome wistfulness, such a naivete,
and yet such a wonderful pride as no painter had ex-
pressed before. Gautier says that no human face has ever
had such beauty, — it is what men may only dream of.
As for the children, he goes on to cry rapturously that
" Nothing could be more admirable than the foreshorten-
ing of the two tender little crouching bodies, nothing

(Branbe Galerie 7*

more finely modelled than the little limbs, with their in-
finite gradations of shadow." The picture is darkened
by the years, but still keeps a tender harmony of tones.

St. John the Baptist was also in the collection of Fran-
gois I. It has grown very deep in the shadows, and has
been repainted in many places. But neither time nor un-
skilled hands have wholly spoiled the wondrous modelling
of the face or of that uplifted hand and arm. It is a half-
length figure showing the Baptist, if it is he, standing,
with his body facing the right, his face turned far toward
the left. In his left hand he holds the tall reed cross,
while with his right he points up to it.

The claim that he does not represent the Man of the
Wilderness at all seems borne out by his type of face and
especially by his expression. It is the head of a Greek
nymph or fawn, — for it is hard to guess whether it be
man or woman, — soft, luxurious in outline, full of an
aesthetic beauty of curve and contour, only intensified and
made more voluptuously seductive by the entrancing
smile of the curving lips, the dancing light in the melting
eyes that look out from under the wealth of curls. The
mystery of the shadow out of which his figure emerges
as if drawn from a dream into reality, adds to the sublety
and tenderness of the modelling of this face and shoulder
and arm.

There is more doubt among critics about the portrait
called La Belle Feronniere. Morelli, Frizzoni, Richter,
Armstrong and Berenson consider it not at all his work,
while Miintz, Liibke, Rosenburg, Brun and Gruyer all
think it can belong to no one else. It is badly cracked
and has been much repainted. In spite of a certain hard-
ness in contour and modelling, with a decided lack of that
suavity so peculiarly Leonardo's, the portrait has great
charm and is full of a personality that, if far less intense

72 Ube Hrt of tbc Xouvte

and subjective than the Mona Lisa, is franker, simpler
and perhaps more honest. And out of the eyes looks
the soul as only Leonardo and Rembrandt could show it

It is hardly a half-length figure, a balustrade cutting
it above the waist line. She is in three-quarters position,
dressed in a square-cut velvet gown with a pearl necklace
wound four times about her firm, full neck. Her hair is
brought down on to each cheek and covers both ears, with
a jewel on the forehead between the waves. She is
evidently a " lady of quality," though not now believed to
be Isabella of Mantua. It seems more probable that she
was Lucrezia Crevelli of Milan.

Salome Receiving the Head of John the Baptist, by
Luini, was in the collection of Louis XIV. Salome, in a
green dress with plaited muslin undersleeves and chemi-
sette, stands at the left, a half-length figure only, holding
in her outstretched hands the huge platter. At the right,
on about a line with her forehead, a hand, wrist and
bit of sleeve appear, the rest of the arm as well as all the
person owning it being out of the picture. The hand
holds by the hair the severed head of the Baptist, streams
of blood running from it into the platter. The grue-
someness of the scene is intensified by this unattached
hand coming out, it seems, of nowhere, with its prey.
Salome has an unusual sort of beauty, with no hint of
wickedness, unless it lies in the depths of those calmly
watching eyes. She is absolutely indifferent, apparently,
to the fearful trophy she is to carry, though she has
turned her face so that she does not actually see it. The
red brown tresses falling in waves over her temples and
down below her shoulders, emphasize her pure, pale
beauty, and with their colour, joined to the sombre flames
in those mysterious eyes, help to suggest the passionate
possibilities in this otherwise seemingly coldly placid

Grange Galerte 73

woman. The head of John is livid; its bluish lips, its
fallen, dead lids that still appear to quiver with the last
agony, the dripping blood, — all adding to its ghastly-
horror.

Fra Bartolommeo and Albertinelli are each represented
here by two pictures. The Holy Family, sometimes
called The Marriage of St. Catherine, was painted by
Bartolommeo while the two men were still working in
companionship, but it is wholly by the Frate's hand.
After he had finished it he painted another, like it except
for certain variations, which is now in the Pitti. The
one here was done in 151 1 for the convent of San Marco.
The following year the Florentine government purchased
it and gave it to Jacques Hurault, Bishop of Autun, and
then envoy of Louis XII. at Florence. He bequeathed
it to the cathedral at Autun, and there it stayed till the
French Revolution, when it was taken away and at length
placed in the Louvre.

It represents the Virgin on a low throne under a sort
of dome, with the child Jesus standing at her knee, plac-
ing the ring on the hand of St. Catherine of Siena, who
kneels at the left at his feet. On either side are groups
of saints, and above three beautifully modelled angels
lift the folds of the green drapery that depends from the
curving dome. Mary is clad in a red robe, a long blue
mantle lined with green hanging from her shoulders.
Her position is both noble and graceful, the lines con-
forming admirably to the space allotted her. One hand
is on her knee loosely holding a book, while with the tips
of the fingers of her other hand she gently touches the
forehead of the little Jesus. Her head is bent downward
and to the left, and, with the soft, contemplative curves
of her lovely mouth, the purity of her brow, and her ador-
able chin, she is one of the Frate's fairest creations.

74 Ubc Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

The child is a round, rosy, smiling babe, and if not of a
very high order spiritually considered, yet with an en-
trancing humanness about him that is rarely appealing.
St. Catherine, who kneels nearly back to, her profile lost
in shadow, is dressed in the white of the Dominican
order. She makes, with her substantial, firmly modelled
figure, a splendid balance, bringing the centre of the
picture thus nearer to the foregrolind, though she herself
is so treated that one's eyes slip directly from her to the
child before her. The saints on each side are noble,
individualized personages, giving, by the arrangement of
the lines of their figures and draperies, a fine depth to
the picture. On the left are St. Peter, St. Vincent and St.
Stephen. On the right a young girl saint in green and
red, St. Bartholomew and another saint, and in the back-
ground St. Dominic and St. Francis are observed em-
bracing each other.

If this picture is not one of Fra Bartolommeo's greatest
efforts, it does give a very fair idea of his especial abili-
ties. It is as a master of composition, this term including
not only well-balanced masses, but a management of
drapery so skilful that they become integral parts of the
pictorial scheme, and as a rich and harmonious colourist,
that he takes rank among the leading painters of the
great Florentine school. He was one of the very first
of the Renaissance masters to feel the beauty of space,
and to treat his figures not as individuals so much, but
as adjuncts to the picture as a whole. His scheme of
geometrical and rhythmical composition was similar to
Leonardo's, but he carried it to a scientific extent not
attempted by Leonardo. Bartolommeo's draperies, till
they became overheavy and voluminous from the in-
fluence of Michelangelo, are rarely beautiful, falling in
line and fold with a stateliness that is almost as express-

Oranbe 6alcrie 75

ive as the figures themselves. In colour, too, especially
after his visit to Venice, Bartolommeo shows a vigour
and brilliancy joined with a richness and depth unexcelled
by any of his contemporaries, and beyond that of any
Florentine of his day.

Albertinelli never equalled his friend as a painter, but
his pictures have many of the same general characteristics,
and if he had never done anything but his Visitation, now>
in the Uffizi, it would be enough to rank him as an admi-
rable artist. And in all his work he is felt to have been
a serious, dignified and earnest worker.

Of his two pictures in the Louvre, the Virgin and
Child is the more interesting. In it Mary, heavily draped,
stands on a pedestal, holding the infant Jesus in her arms.
He is turning to the left to bless St. Jerome who kneels
at the side of the pedestal reading from a big book. At
the right is St. Zenobius in his episcopal robes, his mitre
before him. His hands are met in prayerful adoration, and
his fine old head, which is in profile, is lifted to the group
above. Behind him in the landscape are scenes taken
from his life, while back of St. Jerome, on a rocky moun-
tain, are depicted episodes from his career. The pedestal
is ornamented with a low relief of Adam and Eve, the
serpent wound about a tree-trunk between them. The
pyramidal form here used is evidence of Bartolommeo's
influence, though the latter usually employed it in a less
patent and simple manner. The figure of Mary, if rather
overweighted with clothes, has a nobility of bearing that,
with a trifle less movement of the head, would be classic
in its pose.

There are four pictures by Andrea Solario, in the first
bay, of which the Virgin with the Green Cushion is by
far the most lovely. In this, as in much of his work,
Solario shows how strongly he was influenced by Leo-

7^ Ube Hrt ot tbe %o\xvvc

nardo in both modelling and treatment of chiaroscuro. M.
Alexandre, however, remarks that he often reflects more
the old school of Lombardy and of Padua. But there are
also other influences discernible in his paintings. For
though he is classed as belonging to the Lombard school,
he was much in Venice, where he certainly was brought
into contact with the works of the Flemish school and of
Antonello da Messina. He also went to France and
decorated the chapel of the Chateau de Gaillon.

The Madonna with the Green Cushion is one of
Solario's most celebrated pictures, and is full of a ma*
ternal tenderness that is supremely aflfecting. Lifting
the child slightly with her right hand from the green
cushion where he lies, the Madonna bends over to nurse
him. Behind them is a mass of foliage on each side of
which a distant landscape can be seen. The child has
a round little body of most bewitching curves, and
modelled with the fulness and freedom of a hand sure
and supple. His baby-like attitude as he grabs his right
foot and strikes out into the air with the other, is
more naturalistic than would have seemed possible to
painters even a few years before Solario's time. As uncon-
ventional and natural is the baby's beautiful head with its
thick, long curls, its broad forehead, its questioning eyes.
Mary, as she leans over, is equally lovely. Her soft hair,
rolling off her forehead, is mostly hidden by a thick white
drapery. Nothing more appealing than her love-lit face
can be imagined, drawn as it is with an exquisiteness
of line only matched by its spiritual expression.

The Portrait of Charles d'Amboise is an example of
what Solario could do in portraiture. It too, M. Alex-
andre says, suggests Leonardo in its treatment. At all
events it is a vigorous, lifelike portrait, whose accuracy
of line and proportion is balanced by its excellent colour

©tan^e Galerfe 77

and lighting. It is not much more than a bust, showing
M. d'Anrboise clad in a very magnificent brocaded and
fur-trimmed garment, with a heavy chain over his
shoulders and a cap on his Medici-cut hair. Turned three-
quarters to the left, he is painted with his eyes looking
directly at the spectator. A landscape of winding river
and distant mountains again reminds one of Leonardo.

The Head of St. John cut off and placed on a dish is
even more Leonardesque in its feeling.

A Christ Appearing to Mary Magdalene, by Credi, is a
poor replica of the same subject in the Uffizi. The surface
has been much abraded. Christ is in the garden walking
toward the left and stopping to turn and bless the Magda-
lene, who is kneeling at the right. The figure of Christ
is lacking in dignity and power and his face in expres-
sion. Mary's face is more successful, and her long curl-
ing hair is well treated, but as a whole it is not even
a good example of Credi.

Of very different calibre are the four pictures by
Andrea del Sarto in Bay A of the Grande Galerie. From
the time of Vasari Andrea del Sarto's name has been
coupled with dishonour, disaster and despair. Dis-
honour, because he confiscated to his own use funds that
had been confided to him for other purposes; disaster,
because he was married to a termagant, a coquette and
an utterly selfish, headstrong woman, and because he was
shunned by his compatriots after his theft; despair,
because of anguish at his own misdeeds, his wife's perfidy
and his failure to reach the standard in art set by Leo-
nardo, Michelangelo and Raphael. The man himself has
been more the subject of controversy and question than
have been his works. It would seem as if, having dis-
cussed his personality with all the avidity of a cross-road
gossip, the scandal-mongers found no time to consider

78 Ubc Hrt ot tbe Xouvrc

his pictures. If such consideration was given, however,
the paintings did not greatly gain thereby. Compared
always, and, be it noted, only, with those of Michelangelo,
Leonardo and Raphael, they were rapidly dismissed as
being neither so majestic, so powerful, so purely beautiful
nor so epoch-making.

The facts of the case now appear to show that Andrea
del Sarto has been maligned by historian, poet and critic.
Absolutely no proof of his treachery to Frangois I. can
be found, except Vasari's word. Many other things
make it extremely improbable that Vasari's statement was
even approximately true. That he died despised by his
countrymen, with his works unsought, unbought, another
of Vasari's cheerful bits of scandal, is proved to be the
exact opposite of the truth. There only remains the
truculent account of poor Del Sarto's wife. Whether this
is true or not, is perhaps less possible of verification. But
at least even Vasari states that Del Sarto counted himself
proud to be the husband of the beautiful woman who
was always his Madonna model. And surely, if the hus-
band was satisfied, he required no pity.

As a painter the criticism stands more just, though in
its terms far too limited. Michelangelo, at his supremest,
did reach heights Andrea never scaled; Leonardo, when
the mood was on him, explored the mystery, the secrets
of a world Andrea scarce knew existed; Raphael, the
loved of gods and men, at his happiest wielded a brush
that turned all to gold when Andrea might, at best, have
only silvered. And yet, that is only half-truth. For, to
begin with, Andrea del Sarto never had the chances that
fate bestowed so prodigally upon these others. Given a
Sistine or a Vatican council-chamber to decorate, what
might the superior call have forced him to accomplish?
It was Michelangelo who is reported to have told

©tanDe Galette 79

Raphael that if Del Sarto had his opportunity he would
give him a hard pull. Atid at least it is true that the
greater the demand upon him the greater his achievement.
As the American editors of Vasari have noted, after the
Sistine and the Stanze, the mural decoration of the six-
teenth century in Italy that can rank third is Andrea
del Sarto's series of frescoes in the Chiostro dello Scalzo.

Here it may be well to emphasize again the fact that
it is always with the mightiest works of these mighty
masters that his labours are compared. It seems to be
truth that this Florentine painter, who was one of the
two great Italians that Frangois I. persuaded to come to
Paris, suffers most from his proximity to the three
magic names of Italy's Renaissance. And yet this very
proximity can be regarded as evidence of his real great-
ness. For he was never absorbed by these men. Unlike
the painters in Rome who were about Michelangelo and
Raphael, or those others who were followers of Leo-
nardo, he never lost his personality. He learned to use
chiaroscuro with a skill and beauty unequalled by any
disciple of the painter of the one Cenacola. But he used it
in his own way, adapting it to his own ends and making
it truly his. The sweep of line, the grandeur of form,
the imposing attitude, — those he learned perhaps partly
from the sculptor who painted the vault of the Sistine
Chapel. Yet it is always Andrea, not Michelangelo, we
think of when looking at a Del Sarto Madonna. From
Raphael, too, he may have acquired some of the grace,
the brilHancy, the solidity of his compositions, — but not
even by Raphael is he dominated. In fact, he was of him-
self big enough to take from any one what he wished and
to transform it till it was his alone, — which assuredly
is a trait of only the great originators.

To sum up : in everything he did there is great knowl-

8o Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

edge concealed by greater charm ; great skill, again sub-
merged by the greater seduction of his "soft silver
harmonies." There is grasp of personality, power of
analysis, ability to present the very heart of the subject,
a colour that is as sensuous as it is delicate, a beauty of
line as sure as it is sweeping, an understanding of compo-
sition as large and free as it is definite and certain, a
spiritual quality that in its last analysis is felt perhaps to
be allied to the flesh, yet that is never fleshly. In other
words, there are truth, beauty and infinite grace in all
Del Sarto's works. The best of them even closely ap-
proach the grandeur and dignity that only the greatest
masters of all timie have fully expressed. But generally
he is just below this group. He holds perhaps a place
somewhat like that accorded Van Dyck. If not among
the stars of the first magnitude, he is above those of the
second, and thus has a unique position, by its very separa-
tion more human, more appealing, more knowable.

All of his pictures in the Louvre have suffered greatly
from restoration. So much indeed have they been re-
painted, that often, instead of being Italian in the char-
acter of the heads, they have a distinctly French aspect,
as if Lucrezia had lost her Italian beauty in an effort to
acquire the style of the French capital. The Charity, one
of his most noble works, has, in some respects, been
ruined by this treatment. Originally it was upon wood.
In 1550 it was transferred to canvas by Picault, and then
in 1842, having become hurt from dampness, it was once
more put upon a new canvas. The result, so far as
colour goes, has been disastrous in the extreme. Not
less lamentable is the change that has- taken place in the
face of Charity. As usual, the model for this majestic
figure was his wife, and there is still enough left of the
original work to show the well-known oval of cheek and

CHARITY
liy Andrea del Sarto

Gtan&e Galerie Si

chin, the high brow and the deep eyes. But over it all
an insidious something has spread, giving a most extra-
ordinarily French character to the whole face. The
general lines of the picture, however, the fall of the
draperies, the scheme of the chiaroscuro, are presumably
practically as the painter left them. And they are all of
wonderful beauty. The picture was painted for Frangois
I. sometime about 1518, soon after Andrea arrived in the
French capital. It belongs, then, to what is called his
second period.

In a charming hilly landscape, seated on a rock in the
foreground, is Charity, clad in a rose-pink gown and a
turquoise blue mantle. In her lap she holds and nurses
one small, naked boy, while her right arm encircles
another who kneels beside her and offers her a bunch of
flowers. Below, at the left, a third has flung himself over
on to a bit of the drapery from her robe, and, with face
buried in his arms, is fast asleep in an oblivion that
speaks absolute trust in the care above him. The
majestic beauty of this woman, the noble lines of her
pose, the supple folds of the ample but quiet drapery
about her, are beyond praise. Here are no exaggeration
for effect, no overloading of drapery, no straining for
theatrical attitude. The absolute naturalness and sim-
plicity of the whole scheme are among its greatest charms.
In spite of the tender supervision she evinces for these
babies in her care, there is a certain impersonality in her
regard that exactly defines the allegory. As M. Gautier
has happily observed, she is Charity, not Maternity. The
three children are no less perfect in their own way.
Their chubby, well-fed little bodies, over which the light
plays so entrancingly, changing from brilliancy to a dim
mysteriousness of shadow, giving an effect that is almost
equal to a Correggio, their graceful, childlike abandon-

82 xrbc Hrt ot tbe Xouvtc

ment in their unstudied poses, — all is rendered with a
skill that never strikes a false note. It is impossible, too,
not to speak again of the wonderful drapery of Charity.
No one, surely, has ever better expressed the softness,
the pliability of stuff than Andrea del Sarto. No one,
either, has ever treated big, loose folds more simply, more
inevitably than in that robe as it falls over her right knee
and on to her extended foot.

The little oval picture of the Holy Family has been so
completely repainted, that there is little of Del Sarto left.
Only in the general lines of its composition, and big mass-
ing of light and shade is it probably as he first blocked
it out. A soft brown carbon photograph of it gives per-
haps a truer idea of its first estate than does its present
unsatisfactory colour.

On her knees in the centre is the Virgin, almost in
profile, though her bent face is turned three-quarters to
the spectator. On her lap is the child Jesus, his little
body so twisted that his back is brought round toward the
front, while his head is turned again over his left shoul-
der as he looks out of the picture. Nearly opposite at the
left is Elizabeth, with the little John standing within
her surrounding arms. Elizabeth's face is in profile and
she is looking into the background where, behind Mary,
Joseph is seen. The light falls full on the Christ-child,
on the right side of John and over Mary's face and
Elizabeth's cap and chin. The rest of the composition is
largely submerged in a luminous shadow that, in its
original state, must have been of rare beauty of tone.
Mary is again Lucrezia, and has a piquant, girlish charm
that even restoring has not spoiled. Elizabeth's fine,
strong profile is even more interesting in its suggestion
of vigorous but gentle personality.

The other Holy Family was, according to Vasari,

6ranbe Galcrie 83

painted for the King of France, who was so hugely
pleased with it that he gave the merchants who trans-
ported it to him four times the price agreed upon with
Del Sarto. It is supposed to be the original of those in
Munich and Vienna, but has, as usual, been so badly
repainted that its first condition can only be conjectured.
Mary kneels at the left, facing three-quarters to the right,
dressed in a rose-coloured robe, with a blue mantle falling
about her knees. Her left arm is on the shoulders of the
baby Jesus, who, with his right knee pressed against her
leg, and his right hand grasping her waist, seems prepar-
ing to spring into her lap. He has stopped a second to
turn a laughing, backward glance over his shoulder to
the small St. John who stands beside him between Eliza-
beth's knees, her encircling arms about him. Elizabeth
appears to be the same model who posed for this charac-
ter in the oval picture. Here she is looking down at
her son, her head heavily draped in a white covering that
comes on to her shoulders over her blue robe. Back of
the Virgin, in the shadow, are two angels, their wings
breaking the dark space over their heads. The figures
almost wholly fill the composition, but there is no crowd-
ing, no overloading, — always a perfect balance of parts,
a fine arrangement of light and shade and beautiful lines.
In this same bay are a Nativity and a Portrait of a
Man by Giulio Romano, Raphael's most noted assistant.
He not only worked constantly with the Urbinate before
he died, but he finished many of his works after his
death. While Raphael was alive, Romano's talent was
entirely absorbed by his master. He painted very little,
if anything, that was wholly his own, though many of
the works attributed to-day to Raphael are his only in
original conception of composition, every bit of the
execution being by Giulio. After Raphael's death,

84 XT be Htt ot tbe Xouvrc

Giulio's own more impetuous fancy, more robust nature
and decidedly coarser temperament, led him to desert the
style and manner of the greater artist. His works
showed less and less of Raphael's influence and more and
more exaggeration, excessive action and cruder colour.
Nevertheless, Giulio had a vivid, if sometimes rather
hysterical imagination, a good, if occasionally raw sense
of colour. He was a vigorous draughtsman, and his
compositions had dignity and not seldom grandeur. Of
his easel pictures, which are few except those he painted
under Raphael's direction, the Louvre possesses several
excellent examples.

The Portrait of a Man was for long supposed to be a
likeness of himself. It was an incorrect attribution,
though whose it is is still a matter of conjecture. The
picture is a half-length, turned three-quarters to the right,
dressed in black, with a long beard and short black curly
hair. There is much spirit in the handling.

The next bay of the Grande Galerie holds a large pro-
portion of the Louvre's Italian pictures. Among them
are the two which the catalogue ascribes to the brothers
Bellini. The brothers Giovanni and Gfentile Bellini
were sons and pupils of Jacopo Bellini, who, in his turn,
was a pupil of Gentile da Fabriano, and named his
oldest son for that well-loved teacher. Giovanni again
was teacher of Titian. He was much influenced by
Mantegna, the latter in turn by him', so that some of
Giovanni's earlier pictures have been confounded with
Mantegna's. Giovanni was the greatest Venetian painter
of the fifteenth century. His development was slow but
sure, and his last great works are incomparably beautiful
in colour, line and mass. There are a dignity and aus-
terity about his Madonnas that no other Venetian ever
succeeded in expressing. His brother Gentile's special

Granbe Galerie 85

field was portraiture, in which he was both reaHstic and
dramatic. The brush-work of the two is smooth, subtle
and almost imperceptible.

The Holy Family catalogued as by Giovanni is, ac-
cording to Morelli and other authorities, not by him,
but by Rondinello, one of his pupils and assistants. It
has, of course, certain " Bellinesque " traits, as would be
natural in the work of an assistant. There is a hint of
the wonderful golden tone of Giovanni; the Madonna
has something of the grand aloofness of the Venetian,
and the drawing and modelling recall Giovanni, if not
at his highest. Like so many of the Bellini pictures, too,
the figures are only half-length.

Behind a balustrade, the very top of which is the base
of the picture, stands Mary, turned in three-quarters view
to the left, supporting the baby Jesus who stands up-
right on the top of the railing. He is a fat, rather tightly
modelled little figure, with eyes far apart, gazing out with
a babyish, wondering look, while with his right hand he
makes the sign of the blessing. Mary, dressed in blue,
with a yellow over-robe and white head-dress, is drawn
with a dignity but coldness of line that gives her a sort of
impersonality, as if she were an uninterested spectator.
Her heavy eyebrows, drooping lids, pronounced nose
and small mouth, make her face very unlike the Umbrian,
Florentine or Siennese type of Madonna. Behind the
miother and child, at the left, is Sebastian, his hands
joined, his eyes wistful. At the right is St. Peter, his
rugged, bushy-bearded face in strong contrast to the
soft, full, smooth countenance of St. Sebastian. Above
this group are three cherubs, two in extremely fore-
shortened positions.

The panel of Portraits of Two Men, called by Gentile
Bellini, is now generally considered not to be by Bellini,

86 Uhc Htt Of tbe Xouvrc

It may perhaps be by Catena, or Bissolo. They are really
very fine heads, full of strong drawing, characterization
and individuality, as modern in their feeling as if done
by a painter of to-day. They are merely heads, being
cut off just below their shoulders. Half facing each
other, each is thus in three-quarters view. With their
long, thick hair, strongly marked features and searching
eyes, they are typical Italians of the late fifteenth century.

One of the two pictures attributed to Crivelli in the
Louvre is St. Bernard of Siena, which is in this room.
Crivelli called himself a Venetian, but he partakes of
little that was characteristic of that school. His colour
was frequently unpleasing, his figures angular, often
ugly, generally ill-drawn. He remained very archaic
in many ways, keeping, for instance, always to the raised
gold work in trimmings of gowns, halos, and accessories.
Yet he had great form and energy, and only Mantegna
really eclipsed him in a certain rude powder. He is sup-
posed to have been a pupil of Squarcione. Unlike his
contemporary Venetian artists he always painted in
tempera.

His St. Bernard was originally in Santa Annunziata
at Ascoli. It shows the saint in the costume of his
order, standing before a drapery where are suspended
fruits, looking at two little " donors " who are kneeling
before him.

Andrea Mantegna, who has four pictures here, was
born in Padua, and studied with Squarcione, which feeble
painter claimed many of his works as his own. Mantegna
was greatly influenced by Fra Filippo Lippi, whose works
in Padua he had a chance to study, and also by Bellini.
He has been said as well to unite the qualities of both
Diirer and Michelangelo. His colour was clear and trans-
parent if rather dry, his modelling was sure and definite

(3tan^e aalette 87

with good effects of light and shade. He was a better
colourist than any contemporary Venetian. Kugler says :
" He combined an intensely realistic tendency with an
ardent love for the antique, adding to them great powers
of invention, a solemn poetry of feeling, the grandest ex-
pression of passion and a mastery of hand which is
almost unique. Whoever has learned to relish this great
master will never overlook a scrap by him; for while
his works sometimes show a certain austerity and harsh-
ness bordering on grimace, they have always a force
and an energy of will which belong to no one else."

The Crucifixion here was only a predella of an altar-
piece painted for St. Zeno at Verona. The whole work
was taken to Paris by Napoleon and returned minus this
predella, now one of the most prized gems of the Louvre.
For nobility of feeling and dignity of treatment it would
be hard to surpass it. The foreground of the picture is
a paving made of big square stones into which the three
crosses have been driven. Upon the central one, placed
with its arms squarely across, is Christ. On each side
is another, so turned that its arms make a right angle
with the central one. There is nothing directly in front
of or very near to Christ, the other personages of the
scene being grouped about the robbers. At the right
two mounted soldiers taunt the robber, or watch the
Romans below, who are playing dice over the division
of the clothes of Jesus. At the left Mary has fallen into
the arms of two women, while others guard her behind.
St. John stands at the foot of the second robber's cross
gazing at his master, his hands clasped in agony. In
the distance on a high hill is Jerusalem, and on the road
thither, leaving Calvary, a procession of people mounted
and on foot. Above, a blue sky streaked with clouds. So
much for the general placing. Horrible as is the subject,

88 XTbe Htt of tbe Xouvre

Mantegna has treated it with a restrained passion that
alone bespeaks the great artist. Nothing is overdone, —
the extreme agony of the time, the despair and grief
of Mary and John never transcend the Hmits of pictorial
art. Though the climax of grief is here depicted, all
immoderation is avoided. It is this very restraint that
makes the scene even more poignant. The figure of the
Crucified One is a marvel of anatomical correctness The
way he hangs upon the driven nails is only one of the
master-strokes. Mary has perhaps never been better
expressed as the Mater Dolorosa. The utter slump of her
body, the helpless drop of her arms and hands, the sense
of weight upon her supporters, this is all a technical
marvel only equalled by the agonized face that has half
lost consciousness under its woe. Very beautiful is the
figure of John, young, graceful, as befits the "best
beloved " of the master. Equally splendid in drawing,
modelling and pose are the Romans on the right. Their
indiflference and carelessness, while interrupting the other-
wise unbroken anguish of the scene, add, by their very
callousness, to the tremendous effect of the whole.

Far removed from this is the spirit of the Parnassus.
Mantegna is one of the few painters who could adapt
his style absolutely to the subject in hand. Neither his
types nor his manner of treatment suggest cast-iron
rules. The Parnassus is the very essence of Greek myth-
ology. The joyousness, the freedom, the beauty, the in-
consequence, so typical of the lives of the gods as told
in myth, are as clearly shown as are the rhythm of curving
line, the grace of dancing form!, the perfection of classic
figure. Mantegna's love of the antique, and his keen
knowledge of the human figure, are here both blazoned.
But perhaps it is its spontaneity, its gay abandonment,
that makes the longest impression. Were ever the nine

Grange Galerie 89

Muses so exquisitely depicted ? Has he not here ensnared
the very spirit of Dance? It is not only the individual
grace and rhythm and motion of each one of the flying
figures that so enthrall. It is the composite picture of
the whole nine that leaves in the mind a vision of flying,
diaphanous drapery, of dancing feet, of arms and legs
that seem music incarnated. Light as thistle-down, soft
as summer clouds, full of a lilt that is the quintessence
of melody, this line of dancing Muses is Greece, and
Greek art, epitomized.

The rest of the picture is scarcely less remarkable.
Above these Muses, on a high, wooded and rocky arch,
through which the distant landscape is seen, stand Venus
and Mars. Behind them is a couch with a group of trees
as background. Mars is a royal figure in full armour,
Venus is nude. No one up to this time in Italian art had
ever half so perfectly expressed the nude. She stands
there in a typically classic position, not far removed from
the pose of the Venus of Milo, her weight so resting upon
her left leg that her left hip makes the outward curve
of the graceful line from shoulder to ankle. Other
Italians were to paint this goddess of love, perhaps, more
sensuously, more humanly, but it is doubtful if any ever
kept so strongly the feeling of the Greek ideal. Through
her left arm Mars has drawn his right and the two lovers
are saying farewell. Just below the arched rock at the
foot of a mountain Vulcan is seen in an overpowering
rage, while a small Cupid blows a shooting-tube at him
in derision. At the left in the foreground Apollo plays
a lyre to which the Muses dance. And at the extreme
right Mercury holds Pegasus, whose wings are spread
ready for flight. Mercury is another rarely beautiful
figure, and Pegasus is the realization of a poet's dream.

Another important Mantcgna is his Madonna of

90 TLbc Hrt of tbe Xouvrc

Victory. This he painted for Giovanni Francesco Gon-
zaga, Marquis of Mantua, as a commemoration of his
victory over Charles VIII. of France. The Madonna is
.seated on a throne made of trellis work covered with
vines, fruits and flowers. The baby Jesus stands upright
upon her lap blessing the donor who kneels in armour
at the left. Opposite him is St. Elizabeth whose right
elbow rests on the base of the throne and beside the feet
of a little nude John who stands there gazing upward,
his right hand raised in greeting. On each side of the
Virgin are two other saints : St. Michael on the left, a
very unusually beautiful figure with an ideal face of
purity and strength, with St. Andrew behind him. On
the other side are St. Gteorge or St. Maurice, and St.
Longinus. St. George and St. Michael hold out on each
side the Virgin's mantle, so that Gonzaga, as well as
Elizabeth and John, are within its shelter. Gonzaga, by
the way, is evidently true to life. Mantegna would never
have ventured to paint such a treacherous face if it had
not existed in the model. The overloading here of fruit
and flower does not spoil this rarely splendid picture.
There are dignity, nobility and grace in the Madonna,
and the saints are very fine specimens of early Italian
art.

It was in 1474 that Antonello da Messina painted his
famous Portrait of a Man, now in this room of the
Louvre. Antonello was a southern Italian who preferred
North Italy to live in, and though called a Neapolitan,
his work belongs distinctly to the school of which Bellini,
Giorgione and Titian are the great names. His work at
first was angular, feeble and ill-drawn, and it was not
till he went to Venice, somewhere about 1470, that his
style showed the wonderful advance that soon made him
a master of greater power than Giovanni Bellini. That

MADONNA OF VICTORY
By MatUegna

Grange Galerie 9'

this is not overstated the mere dates of some of the works
of the two painters will prove. Compare any picture of
Bellini's of the date of Antonello's Portrait here, with this
latter, and see how far below it falls. It was not till
1487 that the great Venetian revealed his slow-growing
but more wonderful genius in the Madonnas that are
world-famed. It was as a portrait-painter that Antonello
was at his best, and it was in that line that his contem-
poraries acknowledged his supremacy. He was the one
from whom Giovanni Bellini learned the use of oil paints,
and thus Antonello may be said to have introduced it
into Italy. Vasari's statement that he acquired his
knowledge of the new medium on a visit to Flanders is
probably untrue. Pictures by Van Eyck were imported
into Italy and Antonello may easily have seen them in
Naples.

The Portrait-bust here is considered not only one of
the finest works of the painter, but one of the finest por-
traits in existence. Bellini himself, nor Titian, scarcely
ever surpassed it in reality, in intensity of expression,
in its plastic feeling, its subtle modelling, its splendid
flesh-tones. It represents a man in early middle-age,
clean shaven, with a thick wig of hair cropped straight
across the forehead and bunching over the ears to the base
of the neck. Over this is a high, round, black cap. His
loose coat is black also and fits into a straight standing
collar close about his neck, at the edge of which a bit of
white shows. His head is turned three-quarters to the
left, while his eyes look to the right so that he gazes
straight at the spectator. These eyes are remarkable.
There is a translucence, a limpidity about the pupil, a
marvellous feeling of flesh about the eyelids that accen-
tuate what seems to be actual vision. It seems hardly
credible that those sternly regarding eyes do not see as

92 XTbe Htt of tbe Xouvte

clearly as those of a living man. Not less remarkable is
the rest of the countenance. To speak of the smooth^
astute modelling, that never suggests brush-work ; of the
flesh with the undertones made, it seems, of actual blood-
corpuscles ; of those full, pressed lips as pulsingly soft
as life itself ; of that finely drawn, rather sharp nose ; of
that square, aggressive chin and high cheek-bones, — to
speak of any or all of these is only to emphasize the vary-
ing elements in the picture as a whole. It is the living
presentation of a very much alive Italian of the fifteenth
century, more valuable as a historical document of life
than reams of historical research.

Cima da Conegliano has but one picture in the Louvre,
but that, says M. Alexandre, is a magnificent one. It
represents the Virgin and Child seated upon a throne-
chair in front of a tall baldaquin on a balcony with a
charming landscape for background, and St. John and
Mary Magdalene for attendants. Mary is one of Cima's
most charming Madonnas, her round face, of rather a
peasant type, full of a sweet maternal expression, her
attitude, as she leans over the baby, one of grace and
tender solicitude. Jesus has a very natural, childlike
pose, resting on his right arm and turning to look at
John, who is depicted as a youth many years older. The
Magdalene half-kneels at the right, and receives very
little attention from either mother or babe. The land-
scape, with its wooded cliff at the right, and its low-lying
valley stretching to farther hills, is a scene from the
Friuli country, often chosen by Venetian painters of this
era.

Cima has a certain cleanness, polish, and brilliance that
reminds one, as critics have not failed to notice, of Credi,
though the former has more richness of colour, as is
to be expected of a Venetian, while Lorenzo di Credi has

PORTRAIT OF A MAN
By Messina

GtanDe Galerte 93

perhaps more nobility of line. Cimia was a pupil of
Alvise Vivarini, and we know little more about him.

If not much is known of Cima, still less, from one point
of view, can be definitely stated about Giorgione, the
supposed author of the Holy Family in this bay of the
Grande Galerie. Around no painter's name, probably,
has a fiercer fight raged than about this " Great George,"
of Castel franco, — the golden youth who, according to Va-
sari, and to many later critics, influenced all Venetian art,
influenced Titian himself to such a degree that from his
day on only those paintings that were " Giorgionesque "
received full praise and appreciation. He and Titian
were both pupils of Giovanni Bellini, and so compelling, it
is related, was the young Giorgione's personality and
talent that old Giambellini himself made a desperate
attempt to remodel his own style after that of his pupil.
Titian in his turn was equally impressed with his fellow
pupil's genius, and, after leaving Bellini's hottega, took
lessons of Giorgione. And Giorgione's fame spread all
over Italy and pictures by him were in demand in every
wealthy household. Such is the tradition, — if it be no
more than that. Since those days works by him were
supposed to be in every museum, every private collection
in Europe. But finally came destructive as well as re-
constructive criticism. One by one the pictures ascribed
to the young Venetian have been torn away from him,
till now not half a dozen are indisputably his. So little,
indeed, is left him that there seems some justice in the
questions that naturally arise. From whence come the
universal praise and admiration given his name? Why
is his influence over Titian and the rest of the Venetians
so positively stated? How can one tell, in the dearth of
works positively his, what his style really was, or to
what degree of excellence he had attained when, at

94 Ube Htt ot tbe %o\xvtc

only thirty-two, he died? Is it wholly upon the record
that Vasari left — Vasari, the notoriously inaccurate?
Why is Titian supposed to be indebted to Giorgione in-
stead of Giorgione to Titian?

If there seems to be no very definite answer to all these
questions, or one that to-morrow may not be overturned,
perhaps the most common-sense explanation of the uni-
versally conceded debt of Titian to him lies in the dates
of the two men's lives. Giorgione died before a single
painting can be positively assigned to Titian. For the
earliest dated work by the latter are the frescoes of St.
Antonio, done in 151 1. And Giorgione died in 15 10.
Therefore, all the works attributed to Giorgione were
executed before that date. Since, then, there is unques-
tionably much in Titian that resembles the style, the
colour, the design of these works, it is credible that it
was Giorgione who influenced him, rather than he
Giorgione. The contemporary estimation in which he
was held, Vasari unquestionably voices. Now, at the
end of all the debates between critics, after all these
centuries, Giorgione is probably best or most generally
known by his Madonna at Castelfranco and by the
Concert, whether or not by him, at the Pitti. A glowing
colour for which the word divine seems not inappropriate,
a consummate mastery of line, a musical sense unlike any
other painter, a joyous exuberance joined to exquisite
tenderness as shown in landscape of fields and trees and
water, and a refinement of the sensuous unknown to
Titian, these inadequately perhaps characterize one's
impression of a work by Giorgione.

Of the Holy Family in this bay which is ascribed to
him, a pretty general opinion exists that it is not his,
though some critics think it may be a late work which
Sebastiano del Piombo finished after Giorgione's death.

<3ran&e Galerie 9S

This picture, Mr. Herbert Cook says, " is marked by a
lurid splendour of colour and a certain rough grandeur
of expression well calculated to jar with any preconceived
notion of Giorgionesque sobriety and reserve. Yet here,
if anywhere, we get that fuoco Giorgionesco of which
Vasari speaks, that intensity of feeling, rendered with a
vivacity and power to which the artist could only have
attained in his latest days."

The Virgin is seated at the left, a slightly over half-
length figure, with Joseph's head and shoulders seen
behind her still more at the left. She is in three-quarters
position, dressed in a red gown, a blue mantle lined with
green and a white drapery over her head and shoulders.
On her knee is the baby Christ whom she draws toward
her by the fold of muslin about his waist, the ends of
which she holds in her left hand. Before them, only head
and shoulders appearing, is the donor, a black-bearded
man in profile. Beside him, at the right, is St. Sebastian,
arrow pierced and tied to the tree behind him. Between
this saint and Mary is St. Catherine looking with adora-
tion at the Madonna and Child. A red curtain back of
Mary and Joseph cuts off the scene that shows at the
right beyond the other figures. Mary is a rather full-
faced, exquisitely-browed woman, whose mouth falls into
Cupid curves, and whose whole blooming beauty is one
of richness and splendour. Sebastian's nude torso and
beautiful face are equally glorious in colour and model-
ling.

Carpaccio, best and most famously known for his
series of scenes illustrating St. Ursula's life, is represented
at the Louvre by the one picture, St. Etienne Preaching
at Jerusalem,. The painter was born in or near Venice,
and his last dated work is about the time of Raphael's
death, when, presumably, he was far older than the

9^ Ube Htt of tbe Xouvre

young Urbinate. He is thought to have been a pupil of
both Giovanni BelHni and Alvise Vivarini, and his work
shows their influence. He is the truest, and at the same
time the most poetic historian of Venice of the latter end
\ of the fifteenth and early sixteenth century. In his can-
vases live again the streets, the architecture, the daily life
of the Venice of his day. His colouring is the glowing
translucent tone that only Venetian painters knew, his
compositions are dignified, interesting, and his personages
are depicted with a delicate observation and sympathetic
rendering that makes a figure by Carpaccio as distinctive
and unmistakable as an angel by Fra Angelico.

Not of Venice, however, is the Louvre picture. Stand-
ing at the left of a public square, on a pedestal carved with
a medallion of the Roman emperor, is the saint preach-
ing to an assembly dressed in Eastern costumes. At the
right, in the centre of a group of men, a number of
women are seated, all gazing at the saint with absorbed,
following faces. Back of them are the buildings that
make the towji, minarets rising often against the moun-
tainous background. The colour is glorious, full of rich,
deep tones. It was executed for the Scuola of St. Stefano
at Venice, and was one of a series of five pictures illus-
trating incidents of the saint's life.

Titian is represented at the Louvre with a long list
of pictures, several of which are Titian at his best, and
mjany others are very beautiful works. Unlike most of
the men of the Renaissance, he seems not to have been
a prodigy in his early youth. But if his genius was slow
in developing, it was even slower in showing any signs of
decay. In full perfection it bloomed, presenting the
spectacle of a man past eighty still producing imimortal
w;orks. He died of the plague when he was ninety-nine
years old, and up to a short time before, his brush had

(3ran&e Galerte 97

been as busy as if the hand that held it knew, but half the
century it had helped to mould. The greatest colourist of
the world is the title probably oftenest given to him.
It is both more and less than his due. He was the
greatest Venetian, and the school of Venice stands pre-
eminent for its colour. But Veronese, Giorgione, even
Correggio at times surpassed him in brilliancy, depth
or golden glow. None of these, however, or any other,
ever attained to such universal splendour of colour and
tone. His extraordinarily high standard, a standard that
years did not lower, has never been equalled. On the
other hand, the emphasis that has always been laid upon
his colour seems to hint a limitation of his powers as
draughtsman, composer and master of movement. And
it is true that at times his comjpositions, minus their
colour-scheme, would seem huddled, and the action
inadequate or strained ; that occasionally in his portraits
there is a lack of feeling for the bony construction of
the cranium, and that the hands are sometimes too pulpy.
But this is Titian at his wiorst. At his best he is as
great a draughtsman, as perfect a master of composition,
and has as exquisite feeling for rhythm and movement
as any painter that ever lived. If he lacked certain
of the peculiar, personal attributes of such men as
Raphael, Leonardo, Michelangelo, Correggio or Velas-
quez or Rembrandt, he excelled each one in other respects,
and perhaps equalled them all en masse. " Serene gran-
deur " seerns indeed to be the distinguishing character-
istic of all his work. It is as untroubled as it is brilliant,
as graceful as powerful, as poetic as simple, as full of
clarity as it is of richness, as sane as it is original.

During his life Titian was the friend of emperor, kings,
princes, poets and nobles, and his work was almost
entirely done for these mighty patrons. He was invited

98 Ubc Hrt of tbc Xouvre

to go to Rome, as a young man, to work for the Popes,
but he preferred to stay in his city of Venice, and only
made trips from that city in the service of noted prince^
king or emperor.

The most important of his paintings in the Louvre
are in the Salon Carre, but there are many extremely
interesting ones in this bay of the Grande Galerie.
Among them is the Jupiter and Antiope. This is one of
the mythologic scenes which Titian, in common with
all the Venetians, loved to paint, principally, undoubtedly,
because of the opportunity it gave to portray the nude.
The Venetians, indeed, painted the nude as no others
in Italy ever thought of doing. It was not so much for
the sake of line and contour, like the Florentines, nor
yet to display wonderful movement and action, like
Michelangelo. It was to show the pulsing beauty of
flesh, with the warm sun lighting the rounded planes, or
soft shadows caressing the curves. It was because the
human figure was best adapted to displaying the beauty
of paint. In other words, they treated the nude body as
painters, pure and simple, revelling in its gleaming flesh,
its soft forms, its firm structure, as no other school has
ever done. Even the modern French school has never
approached it with the singleness of purpose that char-
acterized the Venetian at its height. Beauty of tone, of
colour, of light and perforce of contour, and all seen
and expressed as only a painter could see and express,
that was their aim, their entire object.

In this Jupiter and Antiope the landscape proves how
peculiarly sensitive Titian was to its pictorial possibili-
ties. He and Giorgione are the first to show this feeling
for outdoors. Not till Claude Lorrain do we again see
such play of atmosphere, such enveloping air, such golden
shimmering light. At the foot of a tree, Antiope, half-

6ranbe Galerte 99

sitting, half-lying, is stretched out, the upper part of her
body nude. One arm is over her head, and she seems
sleeping, a dreamlike smile curving her lips. Jupiter,
in the guise of a satyr, is at her feet. He has lifted up a
piece of her drapery, and, crouching on elbow, his eyes
are devouring the beautiful sight. Over Antiope's head,
perched on the tree, a small Cupid is aiming his bow and
arrow at the king of the gods. At the left of the tree
a young woman with low-cut bodice and bare arms sits
listening to another satyr, who, back to, leans on his right
hand. Beside them stand a hunter with two dogs in
leash, and another, only partly in the picture, blowing a
horn. A wood behind this group opens out at the left
into a charming landscape of meadow, lake and moun-
tain. In the middle distance a hunt is in progress and
the dogs in chase. The landscape is full of a golden light
that surrounds the figures, softening their outlines, mak-
ing the whole thing a veritable idyl. It is injured by
fire, by much travelling and by restoration, but it is still
Titian in the plenitude of his powers. Antiope is, as
one noted critic has said, " modelled with a purity of
colour and softness of rounding hardly surpassed in the
Parian marbles of the ancients." In 1829 it was trans-
ferred to a new canvas.

Exhibiting Titian in a far different manner is the
Disciples at Emmaus. In a stately pillared room opening
on to a balcony, Jesus sits at table with Qeophas and
Luke. The rich damask of the cloth, the servant and the
page, as well as the splendid hall, are not such as one
associates in thought with the life of the Carpenter of
Nazareth. It would have been contrary to the Venetian
principles in painting, however, to make these surround-
ings of the Master mean or sordid, and in spite of the
incongruousness that must be felt, Titian succeeded in

loo Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

giving the scene an intimate, almost homely character.
Jesus sits facing the spectator, his left hand on the bread,
his right lifted in blessing. Qeophas is at the end of the
table on the right, his head reverently bent, his hands
joined in prayer. At Jesus' right sits Luke in profile, his
hands outspread, his body thrown back, his whole ex-
pression one of rapt wpnder and amaze. Quite indif-
ferent to the meaning of the scene are the servants,
standing with sleeves turned up and looking as if wait-
ing for orders from Luke, and the page who is behind
Luke's chair.

This picture was painted probably about 1547 when
Charles V. had called him to Augsburg. It was at
Mantua and with the rest of the Gonzaga collection
passed into the hands of Charles L, and then, along with
others of the Whitehall gems came to the gallery of
Louis XIV. It is therefore an example of his work
when he was about seventy years old. The sureness
of the touch, the masterly chiaroscuro, the ease in com-
position, the skill in treatment of damask, silk and
stuffs never hint that the hand which held the brush
was already older than most painters' when they drop
it for ever. The figures are under life-size. The colours
are bright, Christ in the conventional red and blue,
Qeophas in tan and red, Luke wearing a green coat and
a blue and white checked scarf. It is said that Charles
I. was model for Luke and Cardinal Ximenes for
Cleophas, and that the page is Philip II. The force and
brilliance of the composition are more marked than its
spirituality. It is a very different conception from Rem-
brandt's picture of the same scene, also in the Louvre.

In the Virgin and Child and Several Saints, the Virgin
sits at the left, facing the right her head almost in
profile. She holds on her lap the infant Jesus, who is

Orange Galerte loi

lying on his back, his feet kicked up, his right hand
grasping her veil. At the right stand St. Etienne
dressed in blue who offers the Madonna a palm, St.
Aimbroise in red, reading from a large book, and St.
Maurice in armour and leaning on his lance. Behind
is a landscape with deeply clouded sky. The Virgin
has a red dress, a blue mantle lined with yellow and a
yellow veil. A replica of the picture is in Vienna.

Of the other works of Titian in this section, the Por-
trait of Frangois I. was perhaps painted from a medallion.
It is a profile view.

The one called simply an Allegory, is supposed to rep-
resent Davolos the warrior who is at the right, his
hand on the breast of his wife, Mary of Arragon. She
is sitting at the left holding a crystal globe in her hands.
At the right, opposite her is Cupid, and farther back
Hymen and Victory, two young maidens crowned with
flower and myrtle. These three are trying to console her
for the departure of her husband. It is painted with
free, full touch and with rich colour, and is a thoroughly
typical work of the great Venetian. The flesh-tones are
pure, rich and delicate. The woman's face is as beauti-
ful as it is calm and full of a soft harmoniousness. The
warrior is splendid and imposing, clad in striking armour.

An Adoration of the Shepherds in this division is by
Palma Vecchio, who is called a pupil of Giovanni Bellini
and also a Venetian. He was really, however, bom near
Bergamo, and Morelli claims that his Bergamese traits
are apparent in all his paintings. He has a richness of
colour, an amplitude of forms, a suppleness of composi-
tion, a large, loose management of drapery that, were it
not for the greater magic of the names of Titian and
Qiorgione would place him at the height of Venetian
masters. His characteristic type of woman was auburn-

102 ube Htt ot tbe Xouvte

haired and brown-eyed, of almost Junoesque splendour
of charms, but interfused as it were with an alluring
softness that made the beauty less statuesque and more
appealing.

All his happiest attributes are shown in the Adoration.
It is glowingly splendid in colour, of vigorous handling,
with brilliant lights that suggest Lx)tto's influence. It
is altogether one of Palma's most beautiful works and
has been assigned, though with no good reason, to
Titian. The Virgin is seated before a ruin overlaid
with ornamental reliefs, dressed in red and blue, in
three-quarters position, her head bent to the right. She
leans over, holding the child in his crib before a young
shepherd who kneels adoringly with hands clasped on
his breast. At the right of the Virgin, between her and
the shepherd, sits Joseph, in a chestnut-toned mantle,
leaning on a stick and looking attentively at the shepherd.
Back of the Virgin, at the left, in a gray, fur-bordered
costume is the donor, this time a woman, her hands
joined. Over her head in the ruin are seen an ox and
ass, and in the middle of the landscape mere shepherds
watching a group of angels in the sky, and a cavalier
conducted by a soldier appearing round the bend of the
road. The light is so arranged that it falls sharply on
the faces of the Virgin, the donor, Joseph and Christ's
little body but only slightly on the kneeling shepherd
lad. The graceful positions of the figures are a trifle too
much planned, perhaps, though Joseph has a very natural
ease.

Not at the Louvre can Jacopo Robusti, he who is
always called Tintoretto, be known, though there are one
or two things well worthy of even him on the walls.
Tintoretto, the last of the great masters of the Renais-
sance was far from being the least. Few can agree

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(Bran^e 6alerie 103

with Ruskin in ranking him superior to all save
Michelangelo, yet at his best it must be acknowledged
that only the giant Florentine rivalled him in force,
majesty of imagination, in virility, in fertility of inven-
tion. The mere name of Tintoretto suggests a veritable
passion of power, an unceasing surging demand for ex-
pression, a boundless vision that could sweep the earth,
or pierce the depths of hell or soar into the fulness of
heaven, an illimitable capacity for work and a lightning-
like facility of execution. Not less does it connote mar-
vellous knowledge of human anatomy, absolute command
over every intricate problem of perspective, construction
or chiaroscuro, joined to such a feeling for movement,
action, as no other painter ever possessed. Nothing was
too difficult for his obedient brush. It was a simple
matter for him to paint figures floating in the ether,
or falling head first like a thunderbolt from the sky, and
simple too, to cover yards and yards of canvas, impro-
vising as he painted. More than any of the masters of
the later Renaissance he was self-taught. The story
miay or may not be true that he originally went to work
in Titian's studio and that in a few days the painter of
Cadore thrust him out front fear of a rival in the boy
who could already make such extraordinary sketches.
It is at least certain that he wtas with Titian at the most
a very short time and from then on worked quite
by himself, studying all the works of Titian he could, and
making copies of casts of Michelangelo's great figures.
It was in the beginning of his career that he wrote on
the wall of his room, " // disegno di Michelangelo, il
colorito di Tiziano." And at his best in the Ducal Palace,
in the Mater Domini, at the Orto, and occasionally in the
San Rocco, it is not too much to say that he has painted
with a brush as glowing as ever Titian used and drawn

104 Zbc Hrt of tbe %o\xvtc

with a pencil as sure, as vigorous and as full of virile
imagination as that of the painter of the Sistine Chapel.

Of the number of sadly inadequate works of Tinto-
retto in this bay, the sketch for the Paradise is perhaps
the most interesting for, principally, its associations. In
1587 Guariento of Padua's picture of Paradise in the
Grand Council Hall of the Ducal Palace, was declared
unworthy of its associates and a new decoration was
wanted to fill its place. It was to cover the whole side
wall which was thirty feet in height by seventy-four in
length. Veronese was chosen to paint it with the assist-
ance of Bassano. But Veronese, dying before he had
even finished his preparatory studies, Tintoretto begged
the senators to let him have the work, saying, " Give me
Paradise now for I am not sure of it hereafter." He
was then either seventy-one or seventy-seven. The
sketch for it in the Louvre shows the general disposition
and gives some effect of the wonderful aerial perspective
which so stamps the huge fresco in Venice. The figures
of Christ and the Virgin are full of dignity and nobility
and Adam and Eve are wonderfully beautiful. But as a
whole it is lacking in unity and coherence.

The Dead Christ with Two Angels is a little canvas
that has a pathetic beauty quite without exaggeration
or sentimentality. Jesus has apparently just been lifted
from the tomb by the two angels, one of whom, standing
beside him, still half-holds him in his arms. The other
is leaning on the tomb, a flaming torch over his shoulder,
his right hand holding his robe to his weeping eyes.
These two celestial beings are very lovely in their con-
ception and realization. The figure of Jesus, helpless,
inert, a dead weight with his dropped head and hanging
arms and bent legs, is brought into strong light, em-
phasizing the gloom and mystery surrounding him.

Orange Oalerie 105

There are three pictures by Lotto in this bay of which
the St. Jerome in the Desert is one of his very earHest
works. The general tone is rather warmi, recalling, says
Mr. Berenson, Alvise Vivarini's Resurrection in San
Giovanni in Bragora at Venice. There are too, he
acknowledges, traces of Bellini in the thin, stiff folds of
the saint's draperies and in the rocks of the foreground.
But, as indeed even a superficial observer must note, the
feeHng and movement of the figure are such as would
be characteristic of neither Vivarini nor Bellini. There is
an expression, a soul-representation in it foreign to these
older Venetian painters. The scene takes place on a
rocky towering cliff that shows a glimpse of sea and
precipitous shore beyond the trees and rocks that make
the foreground. At the foot of one of these huge rocks
sits St. Jerome half-nude, a crucifix in one hand, a
couple of open books beside him. He is looking neither at
them nor at the crucifix. His gaze is bent upon the
ground and his white beard rests upon his bare chest.
Plunged in meditation, the saint does not see the lion
who is coming from behind the rock at the left, nor its
companion, St. Anthony. Equally oblivious is he to
the horseman in the distance.

Christ and the Adulteress was painted somewhere near
1529, after Lotto's so-called Bergamese period, a period
when his art was joyous, glorious, full of a colour as
seductive if somewhat less rich than Titian's. Mr.
Berenson calls this picture as " full of charity as the
Bible itself." It represents Christ standing surrounded
by the Pharisees, the accused being directly at his left.
Mr. Berenson's remarks are worth quoting because
probably no one else has so carefully studied the picture.
" The Christ is Lotto's usual type with the forked beard
and rather bushy hair. The Adulteress recalls the St.

id6 Ube Utt of tbe Xouvre

Lucy in the Carmine Altar-piece. The Pharisees, al-
though bearing a decided resemblance to the corpulent
old men often found in Bonifazio, have here an intentional
coarseness and vulgarity. . . . The crowd, stretching away
into the darkness is painted with a skill in modelling
within deep shadows that surpasses even the altar-piece
in San Bartolommeo at Bergamo; . . . here the shadow
itself is treated atmospherically. The painting of armour
here, " that has not the sparkle and iridescence which
Titian and Rubens give to metallic surface . . . resembles
that of Rembrandt and the Dutch masters." Perhaps one
of the most noticeable things about it is the aggressiveness
shown by the Jews. They evince not the slightest
reverence or respect for Jesus, shaking their hands in his
face, jostling against him, suspicious anger and hatred
showing in every movement and expression. It is a
Lottoesque appreciation of what must have been actuali-
ties.

Soft, tender and lovely is the Holy Family, sometimes
called the Recognition of the Holy Child. The baby
Jesus lies completely nude on a white cloth spread over
the grass and flowers under the shade of large trees. He
is reaching out his hands to the little St. John who so
finely balances him, the latter in his turn pointing out
the divine babe to the Virgin. She is half-lying, half-
sitting near by and has Hfted her hands in amaze as
if she had never before really seen her child, while at
the left, somewhat out of the picture, Joseph is rising
from his knees also to gaze. On the right is Elizabeth,
bending eagerly over the baby and behind her is Joachim
lifting his hands wonderingly. Back of St. John three
angels dressed in white with " pearly, iridescent wings "
that cross, press forward to make their reverence to the
child. The Madonna, remarks Mr. Berenson, is the same

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Grange Galetie 107

type as the Cingola picture and as a whole the painting
in certain ways suggests Savoldo.

According to Mr. Berenson Lotto for years was paint-
ing like an artist of the fifteenth century when already the
sixteenth was in full flower. It is in consequence of this
early manner of his that his later style seems so mar-
vellous a jump. And even in his very earliest work he
shows signs of what for the day, was a most peculiar
personality. It did not reach triumphant expression,
however, till he was past fifty years old. This personality,
— this peculiarly Lottoesque donation to the art of the
Renaissance, is a subjective way of looking at life and
people. Whether he painted an altar-piece or a portrait,
it was always his own interpretation of the Scriptures,
not a mere relating of some long accepted myth or story;
it was always the man as he saw him; and these mar-
vellous portraits are evidence that Lotto saw far below
the flesh ; it seems, at times, as if he pulled the secrets
of the soul too ruthlessly from their hiding. His
was a plummet that reached straight and unswervingly
to the unworded, almost unthought aspirations, longings
and pains of the submerged soul. Titian, continues Mr.
Berenson, might have asked his sitter, " Who are you ?
What is your station in life ? " Lotto would have more
likely questioned, "What sort of a person are you?
How do you take life ? " It is this " that makes him pre-
eminently a psychologist and distinguishes him from
such even of his contemporaries as are most like him;
from Diirer, who is near him in depth, and from Cor-
reggio who comes close to him in sensitiveness."

Next to Venice there is no better place than the Louvre
to see Veronese, — Veronese, who was as little a psy-
chologist as Lotto was a painter of pageants. Although
always classed among the Venetians, he was neither

io8 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

born there nor did he go there to live till he had already
acquired some considerable prominence as fresco-painter
in his own town of Verona. It is to his continued use
of fresco-painting when all the Venetians had dropped it
for the more pliant oils that is doubtless due much of
the transparence and freshness of his colour. In tempera
painting it is impossible to overlay, to muddy by re-
working. He was the best draughtsman in the Venetian
school, for which his early training is largely accountable.
His compositions are brilliant masterpieces for the
apparent ease in the massing of the immense crowds of
figures, for the dignity with which he treated the gor-
geously dressed assemblages and (in spite of an astound-
ing richness of apparel, a loading of jewels and elaborate
architectural ornamentation), for the unerring good
taste that marks all these magnificent wall decorations.
In colour he was somewhat less rich than Titian and
less violent in chiaroscuro than Tintoretto. He has been
accused of being a wholly superficial painter, but his
Calvary alone at the Louvre would absolve him from
that accusation. Nevertheless, it is perfectly true that
he best loved to portray the pageant of life. It was in the
beauty of colour, of gleaming flesh against satin and
velvet, of crowds of courtiers and ladies against the
marble of stately hall, with the blue of Venetian sky for
background, that he revelled. And no one else has so well
expressed the gaiety, the pomp, the splendour of the
Renaissance in the queen of the Italian cities.

The Disciples at Emmaus which is in this bay, shows,
in the centre of an open porch or gallery a small table
at which is seated Jesus blessing the bread. At his
right sits a disciple, in profile, gazing with wonder and
awe at his master, while another on the opposite side
reaches out hi$ hand as if he too, was overcome at the

Orange Galetie 109

sight. Back of them are several servants, both men and
women. At the left stands a group which represents the
painter's own family. He himself, in black, is behind
the disciple who has a bundle knotted on his staff, and
his wife, in rich robes of brilliant colour, stands still
farther to the left, one child in her arms, three others
about her. The painter's brother is against the frame,
in front of a pillar. At the right, through an opening
between pillars, a view of distant country, with Christ
and two disciples walking down the road is seen. In
the very foreground in front of the table is the most
beautiful bit of the whole picture. Two small girls are
on the marble floor playing with a big dog. Their ex-
quisite blondness, soft infantile roundness of cheek and
arm and charming purity of line and colour make the
group a rare gem even for Veronese. They are supposed
to be his own children.

The Calvary is one of Veronese's most noted and most
moving of pictures. He seldom touches the heart, still
less often the deep emotions of the soul. But here, by
a daring originality in composition, by a masterly arrange-
ment of light and shade, by an unusual simplicity in
colour and grouping, he reached an emotional height far
beyond his wont. At the left rise the three crosses in a
diagonal line that brings the third into the middle plane
of the picture, and the first so far forward that the upper
part of the cross and figure is cut off by the top of the
panel. The central one, on which of course is Jesus,
is thus brought into its proper prominence by an unusual
arrangement. Mary Magdalene kneels at the foot of
the cross, her back to the spectator, though her head is
thrown up so that it is brought into profile. Next to her
a woman crouches over the form of the Virgin who has
sunk back fainting into John's arms. Another tall and

no XTbe art of tbc Xouvre

heavily draped woman stands beside her looking down,
her hands clasped at her throat. At the left of this
group are two Romans beside the first robber's cross,
with the head of a horse appearing between them. Below,
in the valley to the right, is a distant view of Jerusalem.
The sky above the city and back of the women is bril-
liant with angry streaks, while heavy clouds crowd the
top of the scene. This makes a wonderfully effective
chiaroscuro. The deep shadow enveloping the group
at the foot of the cross forms a sombre mass against the
flaming sky, while Christ's body, catching the reflection
of this sinister lighting, is thrown into sharpened relief
against the banking clouds behind him. The effect of
this splendidly wrought out scheme is almost overwhelm-
ing, and at the same time there is no false note, no
theatrical element.

In its own way the Burning of Sodom is almost as
effective. In the foreground at the left an angel leads
Lot's two daughters from the doomed Sodom. She is
between the two girls, clasping the hand of the one on
the right who is stooping to lift her gown as she steps
over a rock. The other daughter on the left carries a
big basket and hastens her steps by the angel's side, a
little dog accompanying her. Back of them Lot is being
urged on by another angel while still farther in the
distance the disobedient wife is seen, already whitening
into the shapeless pillar, and beyond, are the flames that
sweep the city. The two maidens with the angel form
a charming group, the voluminous drapery falling about
them almost with a Botticelli sort of rhythm, though
their firm, rounded, vigorous young frames, and brilliant,
clear flesh, are as far as possible from the thin, swaying,
pallid women of the earlier painter. There is an intoxi-
cating sense of freedom, of movement, about these has-

Grange ©alette m

tening figures. It is as if the world lay wide and un-
trammelled before them and they were fairly flying to
reach the vast expanse.

Veronese's two Holy Families at the Louvre are both
full of beauty of colour and composition, though it is
not in such simple scenes that he is generally at his best.
The one here in the Grande Galerie shows the Madonna
seated within a stately room, at the left, her face in
profile, the child in her arms, Elizabeth standing behind
her. The baby is rosy and joyous, his arms and feet
flying out in a very ecstasy of motion, though he is sup-
posed to be only blessing the nun, who, kissing his hand,
kneels before him. By her side is another saint, and back
of her, Joseph, who leans over her, resting on his staff.
The Madonna is rarely young and slender for Veronese,
and has a sweet seriousness and real feeling in her lovely
face. The comlposition is dignified and satisfactory.

The three pictures credited to Bonifazio in this section
of the gallery are probably not all his.

The Holy Family with Elizabeth and Joseph and other
saints, is at least a characteristic example of his earlier
style. It is not so glowing in colour as some of his to be
seen in Italy, but it has real beauty if not great originality
of force. In front of a ruined pillar, overgrown with
flowers sits the Madonna in a red dress and white
mantle with the naked baby Christ standing upright
on her lap, one foot on her knee the other on her
wrist. At the left is Elizabeth holding John, who
has his crossed reed. In the foreground at the
right Joseph, in profile, is resting his chin on his
hand that holds his staff. St. Anthony is at the
left in hermit robes, reading, and behind him St.
Francis stands praying in bent attitude. Beside the

112 TLbc art ot tbc Xottvre

Virgin on the left is the Magdalene offering a vase of
perfumes, and behind all, a landscape with ruins.

Bonifazio was a pupil of Palma Vecchio and so much
a follower of Titian that the question about more than one
painting has been whether he or the man of Cadore was
its creator. Charm of colour was his in a high degree.
Grace of composition, beauty of line, facility of exe-
cution, in fact, a facile brush and a clever head, this was
Bonifazio. Withal, he lacked depth of imagination
and true warmth of feeling and never really created
a single type or even a distinct manner. His usual
picture was a fashionably attired assemblage shown in
a charming country landscape or under trees, engaged
in some sort of " fete champetre"

His pupil, Bassano, is very poorly shown at the Louvre,
none of the seven or eight canvases giving much idea
of the glowing, jewel-like colouring that fairly thrills
with its transcendent brilliancy.

Not much better represented is Paris Bordone, though
his Portrait of a Man does perhaps display his ability
more fairly. Almost, however, he can be called the
painter of one picture, for nothing he ever did begins
to compare with his famous Fisherman Presenting the
Ring of St. Mark to the Doge. That is so splendid that
it does not pale beside Titian or Carpaccio. Bordone was
among the Italians called to the court of Frangois II.,
and it was as a painter of portraits that he was there best
known. The portrait in the Louvre is a work of excel-
lent handling but of little character. It is supposed to be
a likeness of Jeronimo Croft and was painted while the
artist was at Augsburg. The man is seated, turned
three-quarters to the left, his head almost in full face.
Dressed in black, bordered with fur, with a black cap, he
has a dark, full beard, slight moustache and dark eyes.

6rant)e Galette 113

His left hand rests on a table at his right, the other ex-
tended, holds a letter. A column, bearing a large coat-
of-arms is at the left behind him, a curtain at the right.
The face is softly, smoothly modelled with fine grada-
tions of tone. It has a melancholy aspect, emphasized
by the large eyes with their heavy lids and dreamy
expression. The accessories in the way of background
and objects on the table are somewhat overdone.

Another portrait, that of A Sculptor by Bronzino, is
worthy of comment. It is a half-length figure of a
youth, hardly more than a boy, standing in three-
quarters position facing the left. He holds in his hands
a statuette of a nude woman ; and though his left hand
is splendidly articulated and is full of really fine feeling,
neither that nor the other actually grasps the statuette.
The boy is bareheaded with close-cropped dark hair,
long, dark eyes far apart, full lips closed in a wistful line.
He is in black with a white open-work collar; behind
him a green drapery hooked back, showing a bare wall.

Bronzino was an intimate friend of Vasari and
imitated Pontormo who was a pupil of Andrea del
Sarto. He was a capital portrait-painter, though his
colour was not usually equal to his draughtsmanship.

Already these last names hint the end of the great
race of painters of Italy. The Decadence had come, and
only an occasional genius rose to break the downward
race of the art. The Caracci, under the leadership of
Lodovico did make a valiant attempt to return to the
principles of the great past. They were Bolognese, and
their school is generally styled " eclectic." In opposition
to the mannerists, the decadents of the time, they tried
to inculcate the study and imitation of all the great
masters joined to an intelligent observation of nature.
There was therefore in their work often to be seen most

"4 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

flagrant imitation now of this man, now of that. Yet, on
the whole, they may be said to have instigated a healthy
reactionary movement. Of the three, Lodovico, Agostino
and Annibale, the last was by far the most talented. He
had real talent that expressed itself in graceful lines, soft
harmonies of light and shade and a certain tenderness
in modelling that nevertheless did not preclude real
and at times decided vigour. He was one of the first to
paint landscape as landscape and not as mere accessory
for figure studies. He is well represented at the Louvre,
and among the best of the canvases are The Sleeping
Christ, The Virgin with Cherries and The Dead Christ
on the Knees of the Virgin.

In the first of these, behind a table, stands the Ma-
donna, only the upper part of her figure being visible.
She is leaning forward, one arm about the little Jesus,
who, stretched out asleep on the table, has his head on her
shoulder. At the end of the table at the left, the small
St. John stands, one insistent forefinger cautiously touch-
ing the leg of the baby, while his laughing face is turned
in profile up to the Madonna. She is looking at him,
half-smiling, but with her finger at her lips to enjoin
silence. There is a very sympathetic feeling in this
picture. St. John's roguish head with its wealth of
curls and the tender face of the mother, suggesting per-
haps both Correggio and Veronese, belong distinctly to
the Bolognese painter.

The second picture recalls again something of the
manner of Correggio in chiaroscuro, modelling and
types. The Virgin is seated, in full face, the baby Christ
standing on her knees, his left arm about her neck, his
right holding the cherries stretched out to Joseph, whose
large hand is under the tiny one. The man's head is in
deep shadow and it throws a shade also over the upper

6ranbe Galerie "5

part of the child's face. There is a sort of conventional
naturalism in the mother that is not displeasing though
her type is not particularly elevated.

The Dead Christ on the Knees of the Madonna with
the two little angels at the right is one of his best works.
It has something of the deep feeling of the earlier masters
and is remarkably good in line and chiaroscuro.

Guido Reni was a pupil of Caracci and his works
successively show the influence of first one master and
then another. Now he is extremely Raphaelesque, again
he reminds one of Caravaggio, and a third style sug-
gests no great master's name, — it is one of pure affec-
tation,— figures of wax, with eyes turned theatrically
heavenward, and with nothing appealing to either true
emotion or the mind. Of this order are the Magdalene
and the Ecce Homo of the Louvre.

The St. Sebastian in this bay, is better, and is a figure
of careful and beautiful modelling, spiritedly drawn, and
with a vigour characteristic of Caravaggio. He is pre-
sented in nearly full length leaning against a tree to
which he is bound, his hands behind him, his head
turned to the left, his eyes lifted to the sky. At the right,
below and in deep shadow are seen the executioners, and
in the distance beyond, a lake or stream that shimmers
brightly out of the surrounding gloom. The head of
Sebastian is rarely noble, of a deep, pathetic beauty em-
phasized by the strong but luminous shadow that sweeps
over the entire right side. Very beautiful too are the
chest and shoulders which are thrust forward into
intense light.

The St. Cecilia by Domenichino in this bay is by far
his best work in the Louvre. It does not, of course, begin
to come up to the splendid Jerome of the Vatican, a work
which proves that the painter could reach heights beyond

ii6 XTbe Hrt of tbe %o\xvtc

the possibilities of even his masters the Caracci. But
it is full of a grace of colour and tone joined to tender-
ness of expression. The saint is standing in nearly full
face behind a stone balustrade which cuts her off just
below the knees. The big bass viol on which she is
playing rests on the balustrade where is perched also
the small boy angel who serves as music-rack by holding
the score on his head. St. Cecilia is singing as well as
playing and, with eyes raised heavenward she pays no
attention to either music or angel. As was customary
when painting the patron saint of music, Domenichino
dressed her richly, her red robe with its violet sleeves
ornamented with embroidered bands and her broad
turban wound with jewels. The picture was extremely
popular, and has become world-known through its numer-
ous reproductions. Though to-day would not give it
the high place it used to occupy, it has a distinctive and
delicate charm that will always make it enjoyable.

Another painter who was at first largely influenced
by the Caracci and afterward by Caravaggio is
Guercino. Later on his manner grew softer, and he
imitated the style of Guido Reni. His last period is by
far his worst and if he never quite reaches the depths
into which Guido plunged it is because of his more
clear and transparent colouring, though even the colour
finally gets faded and insipid. It was the transparence
and purity of his colour joined to a certain grace and
correctness of drawing that made him famous for
generations. To-day he, like Guido, seems meaningless
and at the same time theatric. Of his works in the
Louvre only a few even approach his best.

Circe represents a fully clothed young woman stand-
ing by a table on which is an open book of geometric
diagrams and a vase. She has a most elaborate turban

(Branbe ©alette 117

on her head ornamented with pearls, and she holds in her
hands another vase. Her face is without distinction of
any kind.

With the Procession of the Doge, and the Fete of
Jeudi Gras at Venice, we come to very different art.
They are by Guardi, a follower of Canaletto, whose views
of Venice are celebrated for the sparkle and brilliance
of their colour. Guardi's works are to-day highly prized
and show an iridescence of colour and great facility of
execution. Of his pictures in the Louvre it is not neces-
sary to particularize many. The two mentioned above
are principally remarkable for their truth of architectural
detail, for the easy management of crowds of pleasure-
seekers and for the scintillating colour that is a part
of the inheritance of the Queen of the Adriatic.

Tiepolo, the last of the great Italian painters, is the
author of the Last Supper hanging on the north wall of
Bay B. It has been said of Tiepolo that had he lived
in the time of Veronese he would have rivalled the
greatest of the masters of the Renaissance. While all
about him the decadence had ceased even to suggest the
days of the golden age, he came, and by his individuality,
his power, his force, and his colour, made a name for him-
self in Italian art that is rivalled only by his predecessors
of a more fortunate age.

In looking at the Last Supper here, there remains no
doubt that it is the work of a modern rather than of a
man of the Renaissance. The freedom of treatment, the
actual brush-work, and finally the point of view, which
is realistic beyond any of the fifteenth or even sixteenth-
century painters, all proclaim it of to-day, in spite of its
century and half age. In a sort of gallery, with huge,
Ionic pillars of green marble, the table is spread. In the
centre, is Christ, dressed in a red robe and blue mantle,

ii8 Ube Hrt of tbe %o\xvvc

— one of the painting's few conventionalities. About
him are the disciples, and Tiepolo has not hesitated to
place two of them back to the spectator. Christ is
blessing the bread and the disciples are in various atti-
tudes, not all, it is evident, full of the spirit of adoration.
In the foreground a dog chews a bone. The violent
action and overexpressive countenances of the disciples,
the unnecessary elaboration of the architectural back-
ground, are characteristic of Tiepolo, but they are faults
of the time rather than inherently his. His influence over
French art was prodigious, and may, perhaps, be felt
even to-day in some of the French painters.

Caravaggio and Salvator Rosa, though of much earlier
time than Tiepolo, are not found till the fourth bay, D,
where they hang in company with the Spanish school,
which indeed, owes much to their influence.

Caravaggio may be said to occupy a similar position
in Rome to that Ribera did a little later in Naples. Both
men had similar ideals and aims in art. Superficially,
the principal attributes of this end of the sixteenth and
early seventeenth-century Italian, are his extraordinary
contrasts between his lights and shadows, a rude force in
types, in attitudes and expression and in the general lines
of his compositions. He lacks unquestionably the highest
attributes of a great painter. He is often wholly devoid
of beauty, has very slight religious feeling even in his
church pictures, is frequently violent, often coarse, and
shows no very elevated type in even his most famous
pictures. But power, originality in massing, a brilliant
if theatric sense of the value of climax, and the way
to express it, a poignant, if more physical than mental
emotion, and a tremendously dramatic use of chiaroscuro,
he shows over and over again. And in the midst of

Grange 6alerte 119

inanities and decadence his name must stand out as at
least representing personality and originality.

His Death of the Virgin in Bay D is a really superbly
realistic scene, painted with a somewhat restrained force,
for Caravaggio, and free from exaggeration. The
Virgin in a red robe covered with a gray cloak lies on
a couch in the centre of a room, one arm flung out
straight, the other at her waist. Her bare feet protrude
below her draperies. In front of her sits a girl bent over
in grief, and behind the bed are the apostles, weeping
or gazing sorrowfully at the dead woman. A conventional
piece of red drapery is lifted up over the top of the
picture. When this canvas was placed in the Chiesa
della Scala, in Trastevere in Rome, it was called too
realistic and with not enough of ideality in the Virgin's
figure.

Very splendid is his Portrait of Alof de Wignacourt,
grand master of Malta in 1601. It is puissant, not at all
theatric, and painted broadly and freely with the unafraid
brush of the daring Italian.

An outcome of the school of Ribera was Salvator
Rosa, who has in Bay D one of his most famous Battles.
The same intense love of contrasts, exaggeration of
action and dramatic feeling that often becomes excessive,
are shown in his pictures. He was extremely versatile,
painting historical scenes, landscapes, genre subjects
or battles, with equal facility. Some of them possess
real power, some are scarcely more than stupid academic
studies.

In this Battle, suflfused with its lurid, yellow light,
the combat rages straight across the foreground. It is
a wild melee of horse and man which has no one central
climax of action, no one point to arrest the eye. Under
rearing, plunging horses, over twisting, screaming, con-

120 UM art ot tbe Xouvre

torted human bodies, the dead and dying are falHng,
while the living make a frothing, yelling mass of in-
furiated beasts. At the right a ruined Ionic portico
forms a sort of rest for the eye before it follows the line
of battle in the distance, where whole companies of
horsemen are pursued by others to the base of the rocky
mountains that loom against the angry sky. At the
left, ships are seen in blaze. The whole scene is one of
terrible power and devastation, lacking, however, in its
indiscriminate conglomeration sufficient focusing to make
it a masterly composition.

CHAPTER VI.

GRANDE GALERIE — BAY THIRD — ITALIAN DIVISION

The third bay, marked C in the Louvre catalogue, may
be called Raphael's room, though a few other painters
are also represented.

The Virgin and Child by Perugino is a round panel
in which the compositional lines do not well conform to
the circular form. Once more, it is not Perugino any-
where near at his best. The Madonna, in a red dress
and blue mantle lined with green, is seated on a throne-
chair in an open balcony holding the child on her lap.
At the right is St. Catherine of Alexandria, in a red
mantle draped crosswise over a green dress, and carrying
a book in her right hand and a feather pen in her left.
On the other side is St. Rose, holding a rose branch in her
left hand and a vase in her right. Both these saints
stand with their heads bent at a very Peruginesque angle,
looking at the Madonna and child. On a parapet behind
them and thus raised above, are two angels whose wings
are outspread and whose hands are met in prayer. There
is a sweetness about this tondo that is not cloying though
the similarity in the five faces and even in the attitudes
suggest lack of invention or carelessness. The child is
far from attractive, being tight in handling and ill-
favoured in expression.

The St. Sebastian is charming only for its lovely land-

121

122 Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvre

scape and depth of limpid blue sky. Otherwise it is
mannered in the extreme, showing Perugino's most
glaring faults.

The Apollo and Marsyas in this bay has been credited
to Raphael, but Morelli calls it by Perugino, and critics
generally agree that it is at least by one of his school.
It is an admirable little picture, with great purity of line
and transparence of colour. The two figures are nude,
and have the perfection of miniatures. Apollo stands at
the right, a slender, graceful figure in a position not
unlike the Dionysius at Rome. He rests on his right foot
and on his tall staff which he holds in his right hand,
while his left is on his hip. He has turned his face till it
is nearly in profile, looking at Marsyas who sits on
a rock at the left, playing on a reed. The latter is
wholly absorbed in his pastime and quite unconscious
of the high disdain expressed in the face of the golden-
haired god. ■ Between the two on the ground are a
lyre, a quiver and arrows. A carefully worked-out
landscape stretches about them and beyond to distant
mountains.

Of all the works credited to Raphael in the Louvre,
there are probably only four that are entirely by him.
The little St. George and the little St. Michael are two
of his very early efforts. There is an archaism about
them that is positively felicitous. The crude technique
and simple forms seem quite adequate for expressing
the old legends that belong to the primitive days of belief.
They were both painted for the Duke Guidobaldo of
Urbino, somewhere about 1500, making them thus repre-
sentative of his tutelage under Timoteo Viti before he
was influenced by Perugino. They are hard in outline
and singularly deficient in the graceful sweetness char-
acteristic of his Peruginesque period.

Grange Galerie 123

In the St. George the scene takes place in a rocky
landscape, in the back of which, among cliffs, the prin-
cess is seen running fearfully away. In the foreground
on a fine white, if decidedly clumsy and rather wooden
horse, is the brave knight in full armour. He has
broken his spear, but part of it still sticks in the dragon,
which, writhing in agony, has reared up on his haunches
and appears about to spring at the saint.

The St. Michael shows the angel in rich mail, his
golden hair flying under his helmet, his shield of shining
white with a red cross on it, his multicoloured wings
rising above his head. With his sword in air he has
trampled the dragon underfoot. All about are various
queer beasts, and at the right at the base of the mountains
are contorted demons. The landscape is dark and mena-
cing.

The Madonna of the Veil was probably executed by
Giulio Romano. In it the Virgin is seen in the midst of
Romanesque ruins, on her knees before the sleeping Jesus,
just lifting the veil from his little body. Encircled by
her left arm the baby Baptist also kneels, adoring.

St. John the Baptist in the Desert is now supposed to be
by Piombo from a sketch by Michelangelo. It shows
the beautiful youth seated on a tree-trunk with upraised
hand.

The St. Marguerite, arising from the dragon which
had swallowed her, was painted for Frangois I. and is
largely again the work of Romano. It is in a most
deplorable state, owing to its transfer from wood to
canvas and its consequent necessary repainting.

The very interesting, sensitive Portrait of a Young
Man, with its joyous, childlike expression, though long
attributed to Raphael is now supposed to be by Bac-
chiacca.

124 Ube Htt ot tbc xouvte

None of these examples whether or not actually by
Raphael gives one even a slight idea of the man who was
the greatest assimilative mind the world of art has ever
known. He was not only the greatest assimilator, he was
the quickest. The history of his life between the ages of
nineteen and thirty-four may be said to be the history
of almost the entire Renaissance of Italy, excepting that
phase most characteristic of Venice. From Timoteo Viti
to Perugino, to Fra Bartolommeo, to Leonardo, to
Michelangeloy to Sebastiano del Piombo, such are the
successive stages shown in the work of a man who lived
to not half the years attained by any of the masters whose
methods he absorbed. It was not only their methods
he made his, but their aims, their achievements, their
spirit, he grasped at a glance, and understood their
very essence as if he had been working for years in the
same direction. While grace and beauty are the two
attributes with which Raphael's works are most generally
stamped, his greatness lies in something beyond mere
grace and beauty, beyond his marvellous gift as illus-
trator and infinitely beyond his extraordinary powers of
assimilation and adaptation. He is the greatest master
of composition that European art up to this twentieth
century can show. No other man has approached him
in his spacing, his arrangement, his management of line
and mass, his instinctive perception of the most perfect
coordination possible between space and figure. No one
else gives us such a feeling of amplitude and air, in his
out-of-door scenes, or of vastness of space in his temples
and chambers. The art of composition as it is to-day
did not exist before Raphael's time. And all that
artists have learned since has only emphasized the extent
and completeness of his supremacy. In the Louvre there
is no opportunity to study him at his highest expression

6ranbe Galede 125

in composition. But the Belle Jardiniere is one of the
most perfectly balanced, exquisitely massed groups
known in all art.

Giulio Romano's Triumph of Titus and Vespasian is
in this section. Drawn by four piebald horses is a
magnificent chariot in which ride the two emperors.
They stand in profile, in full regalia, already crowned with
laurel. Over their heads a Victory flies holding two
other crowns. Beside the chariot a youth carries a
precious vase, and at the horses' heads two men run as
ecuries. In front of them far at the right, a soldier
pushes before him a female figure whom he is grabbing
by the hair. She is supposed to represent the conquered
Jtidea. They are all about to pass under an arch whose
pillars show at the extreme right. In the distance is a
landscape, with a lake and bordering town.

CHAPTER VII.

GRANDE GALERIE — BAYS FOURTH AND FIFTH — SPAN-
ISH, GERMAN AND ENGLISH DIVISIONS

The Spanish pictures in the Louvre are inadequate,
considering the importance of the school, but there are
a few of the more important masters that are well worth
exhaustive study.

Of these, Morales's Christ Carrying the Cross is not
one, except as it is the only example here of this early
Spanish painter. He was the first of the artists of
Spain to achieve more than a national fame. It is not
known with whom he studied but it is certain that he
far surpassed any teacher he may have had. Like most
of the Spanish painters his works were strictly religious
in character. This was a necessity first because the
Church was practically the only patron of the arts, but
even more because the rigid arm of the Inquisition
allowed them to paint only what the Church declared
proper. In his time Morales was titled " The Divine,"
possibly from his skill in rendering the faces of the
Madonna and Christ, but more likely from his extreme
finish of detail. He could out-Diirer Diirer in his minute
drawing of " hyacinthine locks," and even Diirer could
hardly equal him in his power of painting every individual
hair of stubbly beards. Besides this microscopic pains-
taking he had a very devout piety and a real grandeur of

120

Grange (Balerte 127

expression that made the heads and hands of his Christs
and Madonnas far above those of the merely perfunctory
religious painter. In the drawing of the figure he is weak
and ineffectual. Considering that the Inquisition made
it impossible for a painter to study the nude except
from drawings or casts it is remarkable that he achieved
what he did in this line.

His one picture in the Louvre is a very good example
of his work at its best. As the figure is cut off above the
knees, and as the huge cross covers up most of the rest
of the body, his insecure anatomy is not greatly felt.
Standing with the cross clasped close to him, Christ's
body is in full face, while the burden has tipped his head
till it is in three-quarters view. He is crowned with
thorns, and down his face the drops of blood are stream-
ing, the agony of both physical and mental suffering
showing plainly on his drawn, hopeless countenance.
The delicate hands that hold the great arms of the cross
are very beautifully rendered but they do not express
any pressure. Hands so placed could by no possibility
hold their burden. There are dignity, power, beauty and
religious fervour in this picture.

From Morales, born in 1509, to Ribera, whose birth
was not till 1588, is a long jump. Of the few Spanish
painters worth mentioning that come between the two
names the Louvre possesses no noticeable work. And
Ribera, though born in Spain, went early to Italy and
spent almost all his life there. In Italy he went by the
title of Lo Spagnoletto. Though, as has been noted, his
works are strongly influenced by Caravaggio, some of
his paintings have a golden glow and softness, reminding
one of Correggio. His works are scattered all over Italy
and all through Europe. The Louvre has some that are
creditable, though probably not equal to his highest

i«8 Ube art ot tbe Xouvre

achievements. In the Madonna and Child and the Adora-
tion of the Shepherds, he presents a side of his art com-
paratively little known. Instead of the writhing saints
suffering the death agonies of their martyrdom, he has
here depicted the mother and child with a tenderness, a
sweetness and a real power that proclaim him to be a
worthy predecessor of Murillo.

In the Adoration of the Shepherds, the babe is seen
lying on a bundle of straw that rests on a rude, wooden
cradle. He has turned his face and eyes to look at the
two shepherds who kneel at his head, their rough faces
full of a wondering, ecstatic piety. On the other side
of his crib kneels Mary, her hands met in prayer, her
face raised to heaven. Behind her, and looking over her
shoulder is the third shepherd, and back of the first two
a woman comes bearing a bundle. On the hills in the
distance are shepherds with their flocks, and in the sky,
far off, an angel announcing the " glad tidings." In
the immediate foreground a dead calf lies, the gift of the
shepherds. As a composition this is a trifle crowded,
but the light is skilfully managed without the too heavy
forcing of shadows which was too common with Ribera.
The three men are realistically and most sympathetically
portrayed and Mary is a wonderfully lovely creation.
She is thoroughly Spanish, just as the Italians made their
Madonnas Italian, but she has a tender, devout face,
not at all the " Mother of Heaven " type, but rather
that of a sweet earth girl-mother.

In the Madonna and Child, Mary is lifting her son from
his pallet of straw, her own face lifted as if calling down
a blessing on the sleeping babe. It is a half-length
picture, and has more of the depth of shadow usual to
Ribera. The deep tones are used effectively, however,
making the light on the child's and on Mary's counte-

Orange Galerie 129

nance all the more telling in its brilliancy. Correggio
might own the chubby child without shame, and Murillo
has painted far more unsatisfactory Madonnas than this
deep-eyed, earnest woman, who seems to feel a presage
of future woe.

The intense Caravaggioesque blotches of shadows in
the Entombment, proclaim the Italian's dominance over
the Spaniard. While there seems to be no logical ex-
planation for such tremendous spotting, and while it
gives an unreal, rather than dramatic effect to the scene,
Ribera has managed his extremes with much skill, and
has shown remarkable anatomical knowledge and, more,
splendid characterization. Christ is stretched out on the
sepulchre, Joseph of Arimathea standing behind him
holding his head and shoulders. Next to Joseph come
Mary, the Magdalene and Nicodemus, bent over in
grief, gazing at the prostrate figure. Of these four
figures, only their heads and shoulders show, and of them
all Nicodemus, whose face is in sharp profile, alone comes
into full light. He has a dignity and self-control that
give added power to his fine profile. The others are
largely lost in the shadow that makes the background.
The Saviour, entirely nude but for a fold of linen over
his loins, is a magnificent rendering of a limp, lifeless
form. The dead weight of his head and shoulders
is admirably indicated, and the drawing of the loose
hands, the fallen head wonderfully excellent. The cold
black shadows, however, remain to prevent this from
being a greater picture.

Zurbaran, who has been called the Caracci of Spain,
has a couple of pictures that are interesting and not
wholly unworthy of the man who at his best has been
considered greater than Murillo. He was greatly appre-
ciated by Velasquez, and worked with him on important

130 Ube Brt ot tbe Xouvre

commissions. His admiration for Caracci at times led
him into conventionality and a theatric treatment of con-
trasts in chiaroscuro, but at times he reaches a height
of expression and an ideal treatm^ent of shadow that
recalls Rembrandt. At such times, too, his colour has
a depth of richness and his tones a luminosity that few
painters have ever excelled.

The picture here supposed to represent St. Peter and
St. Raymond is wrongly catalogued. It is really St.
Bonaventura Presiding at a Chapter of Minor Brothers.
The other, named Funeral of a Bishop, is the Funeral of
St. Bonaventura, the prelate who died in 1274 in Lyons,
where he had gone to open the council called by Gregory
X. in an attempt to effect the union of the Greek and the
Roman Church. They are both paintings fairly repre-
sentative of Zurbaran, though not full of the beauty of
tone and depth of clear shadow as are some of his
pictures of monks, notably the ones in Munich and the
National Gallery. In the first of these Louvre canvases,
St. Bonaventura stands before a row of his brothers,
exhorting them with great eloquence and with a troubled
countenance. Opposite him is seated the Pope. In the
funeral scene, Zurbaran introduces not only Pope
Gregory X. but also Michael VII., Emperor of the East-
ern Empire, Paleologue of the Patriarch of Constanti-
nople, and of the Envoys of Scythia. Gregory owed his
elevation to the papal throne to the influence of Bona-
ventura at the time of the conclave. Paul Lefort places
these pictures in the front rank of the painter's works.

The poor selection of Spanish works possessed by the
Louvre is never more keenly felt than when its canvases
by Velasquez are considered. The little Infanta Mar-
garita is the only one which conveys any adequate idea
of his genius. The Portrait of Philip IV. is now thought

POKTRAIT OF PHII.IP IV.
Hy Velasquez

Gran^e Galerie 131

to be a copy by Mazo of the celebrated one in the Madrid
gallery. It shows him standing under a tree in hunting
costume. He appears about thirty years old, wears a
buff jacket and long gauntlet gloves. Hanging at his
side his right hand holds a long gun, his left, only partly
seen as he stands facing the right, rests on his hip,
against which he holds his hat. A large dog sits by his
side. Here the pale face of the king has that pasty
white look making the full lips more unnatural in their
redness.

The Assemblage of Thirteen People among whom
at the left are seen Velasquez and Murillo, noted critics
assign to some other painter than Velasquez. The bad
composition, soft modelling, dry rendering have always
made this seem impossible to be the work of the great
Spanish master, he who, born in the same year as Van
Dyck and five years after the death of Tintoretto and
Correggio, was as little influenced by the decadence that
art in Italy had fallen into as he was by Rubens whose
friendship he valued highly. Velasquez unquestionably
learned much from the Italians, especially during his two
prolonged visits in Italy. But he was no more like Cor-
reggio or Titian or Tintoretto than he was like Rubens.
More than any painter that ever lived Velasquez painted
with absolutely no preconceived ideas. He approached
each subject, each face, more, each different view of
a face, exactly as if he had never seen it before, much
less painted it. In other words, no painter ever had
so few receipts. He had no " flesh tones," no " shadow
colour " of any kind. What tone a face had been one
day, that he had faithfully rendered. What tone it
appeared the next day, that he would faithfully dis-
cover and also faithfully transcribe. If the two results
were similar, that was because in actuality they were

132 XTbe Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

similar, not because he had taken it for granted they
would be. It is this intense realism, this candid mind
wholly free from preconceived ideas, that helps to make
Velasquez so preeminently a man of to-day. Of all the
great world painters, he is the one with whom modern
art has most in accord. He is, as has been often said,
the first real discoverer of light, of atmosphere, of that
enveloping air that surrounds every object we see and
changes and varies its appearance infinitesimally or
tremendously as the conditions may be.

Velasquez is preeminently the painter of men. Princi-
pally because, except in royalty, Spanish women were
seldom painted. He it is who has made Philip IV. such
a living personage, as all the historians in the world
could not succeed in doing. Who that has seen that long,
pale, brooding face, with its overfull and overripe lips,
can ever forget it? No flatterer was Velasquez. He
could only paint what his eye saw. But better than
flattery he could so absolutely reproduce the living image
that in looking at his portraits there are as many opinions
as to what the man was as there always are opinions
concerning a living personage. In painting the appear-
ance, Velasquez painted the soul, too, so far as the soul
could look out of the eyes, curve or tighten the lips, pale
or flush the cheek, loosen or clench the hand. In battle-
scenes, in enormous decorative panels, in historical com-
positions, he stands as unrivalled as in portraiture. There
is no one like him in painting the human figure singly
or in groups, as there is no one like him in rendering
the subtility of light and atmosphere. There are others,
perhaps, as great. Rembrandt, Titian, Giorgione, Michel-
angelo, Raphael, even Rubens and Van Dyck, are on
peaks that reach as high, perhaps higher than the summit
where Velasquez rests. But he is alone, this Spaniard,

(5tanbe Valerie 133

on his own peak, untouched by the men before him or
since.

If the Louvre has so Httle of this Spaniard's works, it
has many, and some rarely lovely examples of the art of
his one great countryman. This is because Marshal
Soult robbed Spain of every canvas he could lay his
hands upon, and especially of everything bearing the
name of Murillo. No painter, unless it be Raphael,
has ever been so popular with the public as Murillo.
It has been pointed out, with a certain cynical truth in
the statement, that this very popularity is proof enough
of his lacking the greatest attributes of a great painter.
Yet, of course, it is equally true that what is so univer-
sally admired must have much more than the merely
ephemeral or false about it. It must be more than
simply pleasing, of stronger stuff than simple graceful-
ness. Rated even by his most serious detractors,
Murillo certainly endures such tests as these. Sometimes,
indeed, his Madonnas are dangerously near the wax-
doll confection order, too often his angels have the pink
and white smoothness of sugar Cupids, frequently his
saints are nothing but pleasing lay figures. Nevertheless,
considering the enormous quantity of these Madonnas,
angels and saints Murillo had to turn out every year,
it is only surprising that such failures are not continually
recurring, instead of once in awhile. Eliminate all that
does not reach his own highest, and the residuum is
founc to be, if not the highest in art, at least full of
beauty, of power to charm, of nobility and of poetic piety.

Murillo never went to Italy, and he never could have
seen many of the great works of Italy or Greece. The
influence upon him of the antique was only what came to
him sifted through the works of Rubens, Van Dyck,
Velasquez or such Italian pictures as his short stay in

134 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

Madrid gave him an opportunity to see. He is a product
of Spanish soil far more truly than Velasquez or Ribera.
And his chief greatness, as critics have intimated, is,
perhaps, his truthful rendering of Spanish life, charac-
teristics and people. His Madonnas, saints and angels
are all as truly and distinctively Spanish as are his
beggar boys. As a religious painter he does not touch
the soul as do some few of the early Italians. But he
is far over the head of any seventeenth-century Italian,
and no one since has approached him. As a technician,
he had a facile, flowing touch, a broad, full brush, a
colour glowing, roseate, at times degenerating into the
pretty, but at its best full of a translucence, a light, an
atmosphere, that makes one understand why he has
been said to paint as the birds sing. His drawing was
not remarkable for power, strength or individuality.
Adequate it generally was, and of the kind, so much the
worse for its enduring fame, to appeal to the uninstructed.
In composition he often was far beyond the merely ex-
cellent, showing at times a marvellous fitting of tone,
lighting, line and colour, in one grand ensemble.

The Holy Family, in Bay D, is one of Murillo's noted
works, and is sometimes called La Vierge de Seville.
Mary sits on a rock on the shore, holding on her knees
the baby Christ who stands upright, one hand at his
mother's neck, the other taking a long reed cross from the
little St. John. Elizabeth is kneeling and holds her
arms about her boy in his tunic of skins. Above in
the clouds in the middle of " exceeding light," God is
seen with outspread hands as if in blessing. With him
are a number of cherubs in all sorts of difficult, fore-
shortened positions. Immediately over the head of Jesus
the Holy Spirit in the shape of a dove is hovering. In
the direct foreground a lamb is lying, looking up at

Grange (Balcrte 135

John. Both Mary and Elizabeth are very beautiful
types. Mary, in her young perfection, with the soft dark
hair that grows so tenderly on her forehead, with her
finely curved lips, her exquisite chin and dark, uplifted
eyes, is a true Murillo creation. She holds Jesus with
an adoring pressure that yet intimates a certain aloofness,
as if she dared not bring him closer. Elizabeth is
wrinkled, somewhat worn by years, but her noble pro-
file is charged with an intense earnestness and reverent
gladness that gives it a distinction uncommon among the
pictures of the mothers of the Baptist. The two children
are lovely in colour and Jesus especially has a firm,
perfect little body. But it is the two womien who show
the painter at his best.

The Birth of the Virgin was painted about 1655 ^^^
the cathedral at Seville, and is called in Murillo's calido
or intermediate manner. To quote Gautier, " In the
centre of the composition like a bouquet of flowers
lighted by a ray of the sun, the baby Virgin swims, as it
were, in a cloud of light. Ah old woman, the Ha as the
Spanish call her, raises the child from its cradle with a
caressing gesture. In the foreground a girl, clad in a
lilac, tender green and straw-coloured robe, leans forward
curiously, resting on a beautiful white arm, satin-like in
its texture and dimpled at the rosy elbow. But the most
marvellous figure in this group is the young angel,
modelled, as it seems, from nothing, — a rose-coloured
vapour touched with silver. She leans her adorable head,
made with three brief brush-strokes, over the Virgin,
resting one delicate hand on her breast, the fingers
nestling among the folds of her dress as if in the petals
of a flower. Above the cradle of the Virgin a hovering
glory of angels illumines the room like a glowing smoke.
Half-hidden in the shadow of the background the bed

136 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

of the mother may be vaguely distinguished. It is im-
possible to imagine anything more fresh, more tender,
more lovely than this picture."

The Virgin and Child with Rosary is probably an
early work of Murillo, though some have been inclined
to doubt whether he ever painted it at all. It is hard and
rather unsympathetic in colour, but has in spite of
its faults a charm that Murillo always gave to his dark-
eyed Madonnas and rosy Christ-babies.

The Miracle of San Diego is also an early work painted
for the Convent of San Francisco, along with ten others.
The convent was plundered by the French, and this was
one that Marshal Soult took for himself. His heirs
sold it to the government for 85,500 francs. It has been
repainted and restored. The subtitle by which it is
known, The Kitchen of the Angels, explains the sort of
miracle which it glorifies. More than half of the long low
panel is filled with heavenly visitants who are at work
getting a feast for the monks. The two largest and most
important angels stand talking together in the very
centre of the scene. One holds a big stone jug, the
other is apparently giving directions. These two are
very lovely creations, hardly excelled in delicate beauty
and ethereal loveliness by Raphael's angels in Jacob's
Vision. Immediately at the left of them is the saint,
lifted up in the air by his devout prayers, begging for the
food which even now is being prepared for him. At
the extreme left another brother opens a door, bringing
in two cavaliers. At the right are the rest of the angel
cooks, mostly sm;all cherubs. Their absorption and
interest in their mundane tasks are both amusing and
touching.

The Young Beggar is a ragged boy sitting in a sort of
stone loft, lighted by one deep-set window at the left.

Gtanbe Galerie 137

He is in tatters and has just pulled his shirt open while
he hunts for fleas. If this is not quite equal to some of
Murillo's beggar boys in Munich, the Hghting is re-
markably fine. The sunbeam that strays through the
window, and falls upon the stretched out boy, is warm',
brilliant, sharp.

Two portraits by Goya practically finish the more
important of the Spanish pictures. The Portrait of M.
de F. Gluillemardet, Ambassador of France to Spain in
1798 shows him seated in profile before a table, turning
round, with his right arm thrown across the back of his
chair. His face is in three-quarters position his right
hand is bent, and rests palm up on his right leg which
he has thrown over the other. He wears his official
costume of blue, with a sword and a sash of the tri-
colour about his waist. On the table behind him is his
three-cornered hat with the national colours. The man's
eyes are large and he has a frank expression and fine,
strong features. The position is extremely natural,
caught, it seems as he turned to answer a question. The
figure is well drawn, which Goya frequently made no
pretence of attempting, and a French critic has said of
it that in no other picture have the national colours been
so pictorially treated, or made such an integral part of
the composition.

The Young Spanish Girl stands in the centre of a land-
scape, dressed in black with a black mantle, a knot of
rose in her hair. With arms crossed at her waist, she is
in three-quarters view, turned toward the right. Her
head is thrown proudly back emphasizing still more
strongly her extreme height.

In 1799 the painter of these two canvases was made
private painter to Charles IV. Though miuch of his life
was spent at the court of Spain, he did not hesitate to

138 TLbc art ot tbc Xouvrc

advocate the most revolutionary doctrines, nor to scoff
or revile court or king whenever the mood seized him.
Most of his work may be called little but illustrations
for his democratic and revolutionary beliefs and it has
been suggested by Mr. Hamerton that the great French
regard for his works, at its last analysis, is more admira-
tion for these opinions than for his works themselves.
Whether this be true or not he had an immense influence
on French art, Delacroix especially falling greatly under
his sway. There is no doubt that Goya's draughtsman-
ship was frequently outrageous and his colour even
worse. He was as reckless and sinful with his brush as
he was with his life. But he certainly accomplished some
remarkably fine work, clear, fresh, vigorous, original,
full of life, power and passion. And since him Spain
has had no painter to recall even dimly the halcyon
days of her one great art period.

In this same bay are the few English pictures owned
by the Louvre. There is scarcely one among them that
adequately represents the school, and any extended
notice of them is more to call attention to the position
their painters really hold in the history of art than to
the individual pictures which so poorly represent them
here.

Richard Wilson, who may be called the father of
English landscape art and, who, though his English public
absolutely ignored him, prepared the way for Constable,
has one little canvas in Bay D which was acquired in
1895. It is " more fat," says M. Alexandre, '' in exe-
cution than the landscapes by Vernet, and has a decided
transparence of air and light."

Romney, the impetuous, the fluctuating, the ardent
lover, the neglectful husband, the enthusiastic beginner,
the dilatory finisher, Romney, who had grace, esprit, a

0tan&e ©aletfe 139

true painter's brush, who was without training and who
did much bad work and an occasional gem like the
Parson's Daughter, has one mediocre portrait, Sir
Stanley.

Sir William Beechey, who was a pupil of Reynolds and
in his day an eminent portrait-painter, though he never
approached his master, has one picture in the Louvre,
that, possessed of only fair merit, has a certain sort of
unconscious grace. It is a portrait of a Brother and
Sister. The two children are in a park, the brother at
the left, sitting on the pedestal of a large vase, placing
his sister's broad, flower-decked hat on her head. She
stands beside him, holding up her white skirt within
whose folds she keeps more of the blooms. The boy has
turned his face to the left as has the small dog at his
feet. He is dressed in garnet, with a wide lace collar.
In the distance are a river and clusters of trees, and
back of the vase, the conventional red curtain.

The Portrait of a Disabled Sailor, by Raeburn, the
Frans Hals of England, is a far better piece of work
than any of the pictures so far mentioned. Raeburn
can only be seen to advantage in Edinburgh, for he
was really a Scotchman, though called English. He was
a wonderful manipulator. The freedom, fulness, plastic
quality of his brush-work is quite equal to Frans Hals.
The canvas here is only an average piece of work for him
but even so it is a remarkable portrait, and Chesneau
says that it is painted with not only great vigour but
shows a fineness in its interpretative quality and a
spirit that is rare in any portrait. The heavy, stolid flesh,
with its Saxon-toned, flesh browned, reddened, roughened
and hardened by the winds and waves, with its red nose
showing the effect of gin possibly, as well as the elements,
emphasized by the bleared eyes which nevertheless re-

I40 Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvte

gard you coolly and sharply, all speak the master-hand
that held the brush.

A Portrait of a Woman by Hoppner is clear and
pleasing. It shows her dressed in white with a land-
scape background. Hoppner was a disciple of Reynolds
and a great rival of Lawrence. His portraits of men are
frequently wonderful in directness, simplicity and
dignity. His women are usually so flattered that they
have little individuality or even personality.

The Portrait of a Woman in White by Opie is not a
very good specim^en of his style, but has the solidity and
truth for which Opie was noted and is painted in a
full, large way. If lacking in a certain beauty of finish
and refinement, it has a sincerity and unaffectedness that
show the brush that painted it to be vigorous and sure.
She is sitting in a park, her body turned three-quarters
to the left, her face looking to the right. Her white
dress has short sleeves and across her breast and about
her waist is a piece of blue embroidery. A straw hat
lined with mauve-coloured silk is on her brown tresses,
with the ribbons flying over her bare shoulders.

Another fair example of its creator's brush is nor-
land's Halt. It is of much browner, heavier tone than his
finest work, but is a good bit of composition and is well
spotted in its colour-scheme. Two travellers have stopped
at a thatched inn door. One is still on his white horse,
and has taken a bowl from a gay country lass who
stands beside him. In front is the horse of the other
traveller who has dismounted and is seated on the
ground before a low window of a cobbler's shop. He
holds a pot of beer in his hand and is talking to the man
whose head is seen within the gloom of the shop.

Morland was one of the most popular of English
artists. This popularity is largely because of his skill

Ctanbc Valeric 141

as a story-teller. His ability in this direction blinded the
eyes of his public to his faults in drawing and his lack
of knowledge of anatomy.

The Portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Angerstein by Sir
Thomas Lawrence is in the painter's happiest manner
and seems to have been painted con amove, which was
only seemly, for Mr. Angerstein was one of the men
to whom Lawrence was greatly indebted both for
patronage and gifts. It represents Mr. Angerstein stand-
ing at the left, his face turned to his wife who, seated
beside him, is looking and smiling at him. His left hand
rests on the back of her chair and they are on a balcony,
the wall forming part of the background, trees and a
distant landscape the rest. Mr. Angerstein wears a bril-
liant scarlet coat and appears about sixty years old.
His wife, who was the second Mrs. Angerstein, is in
white, the texture of the dress recalling in its handling
Ter Borch or Van der Heist.

The cleverness felt in this picture is the chief charac-
teristic of this Englishman who had his world at his feet
from the time when, a prodigy of five years old, he was
already painting portraits for money. Yet he was less
great than his country believed him. He had a way of
omitting disagreeables, of emphasizing pleasing attri-
butes, of giving his sitters an air of courtly grace, while
he very seldom bothered his head to suggest what might
be below the soft flesh, the easy pose, the graceful car-
riage. There are portraits of his, to be sure, that are
natural, earnest, unaffected, even virile, direct and con-
tained. But most of these date from before he was thirty,
before society began to crowd upon him till he had neither
time nor chance to hold to sincerity. As a technician he
had undoubtedly skill, and executed with more of the

142 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

" know how " than most of his English brethren. At its
best his style is that of Reynolds.

A very different personality was John Constable and
a very different aim had the man who, though perhaps
indebted to Wilson for some of the principles of his
art, may in truth be called the founder of modern land-
scape art. It has been claimed that it is to Constable
that France owes her naturalistic, her realistic, her im-
pressionistic schools of painting. Beginning with Dela-
croix, the instigator of the so-called romantic movement,
France appreciated and applauded the English landscape-
painter before his own country had learned to value
him. Light, real out-of-doors light, air, the real atmos-
phere of woods, of meadows, of ocean side ; colour, real
outdoors colour, or at least something vastly nearer it
than anything the studio painters had ever expressed
with their interminable browns and olives and opaque
greens ; movement, the movement of wave, and cloud, —
these were the things Constable endeavoured to paint.
N|ot till his death did England appreciate him. Un-
doubtedly the extravagant claims that have been made
concerning his influence over modern, especially French
art, are exaggerated. He was no such tremendous inno-
vator as has been described. Impetus, however, he cer-
tainly did give to the just beginning movement to see
things as they are and to paint them as one sees them.
It is not at the Louvre where he can be known. The
pictures there are all heavy, and lack life and freshness
compared to his best work.

The Rainbow is an autumn landscape, with the tower
of Salisbury seen among the splendid trees, reddened
by the touch of fall. It is a little sketch with a stormy,
heavily-clouded sky.

The Bay of Weymouth at the Approach of the Storm,

(3rant)e (3alerie 143

is the best of the lot. The sea is tumultuous, yet with
a sort of leaden calmness about it. It is the ominous
pause just before the storm strikes. The sky is full of
rushing, tumbling clouds, pressing down to the tops
of the low hills at the right. On the rock-strewn hills is
a woman scurrying from the storm, and farther off a
shepherd with his dog gathers the flock and drives them
into the interior.

Bonington, who is much more of a Frenchman than an
Englishman is represented by a number of pictures, all
of which, as well as all he left when he died at the age
of twenty-seven, are in the nature of studies, rather than
finished works. He had undoubted talent, and if he had
lived longer would probably have won a high place on the
list of fame.

In Frangois I. and the Duchess d'fitampes, the duchess
is sitting in a huge, upholstered chair, with her left hand
resting on the arm and playing with a hound standing
beside her. She wears a yellow silk, square-cut decollete
gown with wide lace undersleeves. Her brown hair
banded across her forehead, falls down her neck loosely.
By her side at the right, stands enormous-nosed Fran-
gois, most gorgeously apparelled, and with him Charles
v., only less royally arrayed. There is another Frangois
by Bonington in a private collection in England which
critics accord higher praise than they do to this.

The collection of German pictures in the Louvre is
not much more satisfactory than the English or Spanish.
Like Spain, Germany has only two giants on her roll
of painters, and of these two only one has a fair showing
here. Durer, the first German painter worthy the name,
was born in 147 1. Before him, one can truly say there
was no art in Germany. And with the exception of
Holbein it is equally true to say that no other German

H4 tCbc Srt ot tbe Xouvre

painter has since arisen anywhere near approaching him.
In spite of his four years of travel Diirer was always and
distinctly German. To us of to-day imbued as we all
are, whether consciously or unconsciously, with the
Italian ideals of art, Diirer's lack of beauty, his accentua-
tion of line, his struggle to express anatomical truths,
make him seem at times almost archaic. Yet even the
great Venetians had unbounded admiration for and
appreciation of his gifts. As he went on, too, some of
the angularities of line, the hardness of drapery and the
rigidity of form, that were a part of his German train-
ing, disappeared. Sidney Colvin, in the Encyclopaedia
Britannica, says most admirably of Diirer : " All the
qualities of his art, — its combination of the wild and
rugged with the homely and tender, its meditative depth,
its enigmatic gloom, its sincerity and energy, its iron
diligence and discipline, — all these are qualities of the
German spirit. . . . He has every gift except the Greek
and Italian of beauty and ideal grace. In religious paint-
ing he has profound earnestness and humanity and an in-
exhaustible dramatic invention; and the accessory land-
scape and scenery of his compositions are more richly
conceived and better studied than by any painter before
him. In portraiture he is equally miaster of the soul and
body, rendering every detail of the human superficies
with a microscopic fidelity, which nevertheless does not
encumber nor overlay the essential and inner character
of the person represented."

His two pictures in the Louvre are both portraits, one
of a young boy, the other an old man. The latter as-
suredly must have been an unusually successful por-
trait for even the great Diirer. There is a directness of
regard, a light in the eye, a subtle feeling of momentary
action in the delicately closed lips, a quick pressure for-

(Bran^e Galerie hs

ward to the head, all suggesting a reproduction of a
very live moment; suggesting too, such a vivid sensa-
tion of movement, that it seems as if the eyes must
actually turn, the head tip back, the mouth open to speak.
The portrait is labelled " An Old Man," and the beard
that grows from under the chin is white, as well as the
stray locks of hair that escape from the close, horned, red
cap. But the features, the expression, the light in the
eyes, are those of a man hardly middle-aged. Intelligence,
quickness, keenness and good humour are mingled in the
face. The drawing and modelling are masterly, but it
is the personality of the sitter that attracts one most.

No one of the four pictures by Cranach is among that
painter's more important works, but the Portrait of
John Frederick III. is a very good example of his style.
Even better is the Portrait of an Unknown Man that
has been said to be Frederick of Saxony, though it is
doubtful if it is he. Whoever he is, it is a striking por-
trait full of realistic attributes and painted with a
faithfulness that presupposes a likeness. He is shown
with a broad flat hat ornamented with feathers and
jewels and a fur-bordered robe opening over an elaborate
sort of shirt. He is turned three-quarters to the right,
and has a broad brown beard, and delicately outlined
moustache leaving entirely free a Cupid-bow mouth.
His sharply-lined eyebrows curve slightly over a pair of
sleepy eyes. About his neck is a heavy chain wound
four times and ending in a dragon-shaped ornament.
This falls over the shirt of puffed white stuff which is
trimmed with rose-coloured bands embroidered with
pearls in the shape of big S's. The picture is cut off at
his waist, allowing only part of his two fat hands to
show. On the forefinger of his left hand is a jewelled
ring. There is no sign in this fleshy, rather stupid-look-

146 XLbe Hrt of tbe Xouvrc

ing German gentleman, of the thin forms, and scraggy
muscles in which Cranach's nude figures abound. The
careful drawing of certain of the features is the more
remarkable considering how badly some of the parts
go together.

His Venus in a Landscape is one of his characteristic
Venus pictures. She is in a garden walking, turned
three-quarters to the left, and is nude save for a big red
cap on her long blond tresses and a rich collar around
her neck. In her hand she carries a gauzy scarf. One
of the amusing features of Cranach's Venuses is that
they are very often fully arrayed as to head-dress if
otherwise quite unadorned! At the left is a clump of
trees, and in the distance at the foot of a mountain a
village, whose houses are reflected in a river.

Cranach, only a year younger than Diirer, who some-
what influenced his style, ranks far below both him and
Holbein, principally because he was so much poorer as
a draughtsman than either of these two. His portraits
are his best works. About all he did there was a certain
sinuous grace if not truth of line, an ingenuousness that
at times was positive bashfulness, and a kind of sweet-
ness that was homely in its intimate expression. Like all
the early German painters his idea of beauty of form
consisted in what the Italians would have considered
most decided examples of malformation. His lanky,
thin-hipped, undeveloped, hackHsch sort of women were
equally far removed from the corpulent Hausfraus of the
Dutch and Flemish painters. Yet there is a charm, a
pristine freshness about his Venuses and Eves that give
them individuality and real power. His colour was at
first very brown and yellow, afterward he secured a more
rosy tone. He was the painter of the Reformation, the
great friend of Luther and Melanchthon, and was one of

(3ran^e (Balerie 147

the two partners of the first printing-press at Wittenberg.
He is said to have brought about Luther's marriage to
Catherine Bora. He was so rapid a painter, and in the
course of his long life produced so much, that he was
called on his gravestone, the '' celerrimus pictor."

Holbein, the second of Germany's two giants of the
Renaissance, in one respect at least ranks above those who
in other ways are far greater than he. Above Titian,
above Van Dyck, he stands as a portrait-painter. These
two painted men as they behave or as they seem. *' Hol-
bein depicts men as they are." He had that rare quality
of being able to eliminate himself entirely when he
painted a portrait. His likenesses are as diverse as men
actually are in outward seeming, and much more, —
they are as diverse in what they suggest as to their real
characters and lives. Holbein painted ruthlessly, so
clearly did he see and portray the soul beneath the mask
of flesh. Far above his German contemporaries in his
knowledge of anatomy, perspective and modelling, he
keeps their scrupulous regard for truth of detail and
accessory. But never does this faithful drawing of fur,
or brocade or golden ornaments or figured backgrounds
make him forget the truth of the thing as a whole. It is
an ensemble that Holbein always achieves and an en-
semble where the soul of the man or woman portrayed
is the central point of focus.

His inability to flatter his sitter was seldom more
strikingly displayed than in the Portrait of Anne of
Oeves, fourth wife of Henry VHI. Stiff, stolid, square
and stupid, seem the most appropriate words to describe
the woman depicted. A more right-angled sort of por-
trait than this he surely never drew. He painted the
portrait, it is said, before Anne became queen, and not
long after Cromwell had secured the king's consent to

148 Ube Htt ot tbe Xouvte

the alliance with this Protestant German princess. She
is standing in full face, with her hands crossed exactly
in front, a little below her waist. On her head is a
transparent cap, and over it a head-dress loaded with
pearls and cut stones. The two sides of this elaborate
head-gear are almost precisely identical in outline, even
the thin muslin border falling into mathematical exact-
ness of fold. Her dress is of crimson velvet, with
enormous draped sleeves and smooth tight skirt, trimmed
with bands of gold embroidered with pearls. The square
opening at the chest is filled in with folds of linen, over it
falling several chains of gold and precious stones. On
her fingers are a number of rings, one even surrounding
her thumb. The background is green, the flesh-tones
somewhat reddish. The colouring of the whole thing,
like everything that Holbein touched is full of life and
originality. It is painted on parchment affixed to a
wooden panel.

The Portrait of Richard Warham, Archbishop of
Canterbury is a replica of the one in Lambeth House,
which is probably the original work, though this in the
Louvre is undoubtedly by Holbein's own hand. It is life-
sized and of it Herr Woltmann says : " The grandeur
and severeness of conception, the plastic feeling and the
whole simplicity cannot be sufficiently admired. . . . Not
merely is the head characteristic and full of individuality,
but also the hands of the old gentleman which are resting
on the gold brocaded cushion." He stands in three-
quarters position, facing toward the left, his head pushed
a Httle forward, giving the impression of rounded shoul-
ders. The close black cap that allows only a line of
his gray hair to show below, has ear-flaps meeting the
broad fur band that goes about his neck and falls down
over his white surplice in front. Behind him on a high

PORTRAIT OF RlfHAKI) WARHAM, ARCHHISHOl' OF ( ANIKKIU'RV

By Holbein

Grange Galerie U9

stand are his mitre and some books and on the other
side a gorgeous cross in gold and jewels carried to such a
degree of finish as Jan Van Eyck himself would have
admired. The background is green.

Holbein painted the Portrait of Nicholas Katzer about
1528. It is one of the best examples of his best manner
in the Louvre. The portrait is life-size, half length. He
is sitting at a table turning toward the right, the light
flowing full over his face, characteristic of Holbein, who
loved best to paint faces in clear light. On his head is
a full black cap and over his black coat falls a brown outer
robe. These open at the neck sufficiently to show a bit
of white ruff and the edge of a red waistcoat. His
hands, which rest on the table before him, have a poly-
hedron in one and a pair of compasses in the other.
Lying about are various astronomical instruments of his
profession, and on the wall are others. The face is
extremely interesting with its large nose, its rather
drooping lids, its wide thin mouth, its square chin. If
not exactly beautiful it has a strongly intelligent look
joined to gentleness of expression. He is the man, who,
when the king asked him why he had not learned
English during his long stay in England, remarked,
" Pardon, your Majesty, how can a man learn English
in thirty years ? "

Erasmus is one of Holbein's most celebrated por-
traits, partly on account of the subject, partly because
of its intimate expression of character and for its sub-
tlety of line. The great Dutch thinker is seated in
profile, facing the left, writing on a paper something
which he is copying from the book held open by his left
hand. Dressed in black, with the black cap whose side
pieces nearly cover his ears and hair, it is the face and
hands alone which convey the tremendous impression

ISO XTbe Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

of personality. The outline of that fine, firm profile is
fairly insistent with life, a life that is wholly inner, how-
ever, and whose repression is clearly shown in those
drawn, cautious lips, in that shaded eye. Almost as full
of spirit-portrayal are the smooth, scholarly hands, too
delicate and too fond of luxury to be the hands of a
martyr, but preeminently the hands of a thinker, a man of
deep culture.

The two Biblical pictures of Elsheimer, who was born
nearly eighty years after Holbein, are in his usual style,
sadly inadequate after such work as the man of Augsburg
achieved. They are small canvases, of realistic character
and with a warmness in the tone that at times suggests
Rembrandt. His colour was of good body and he paid
the most careful attention to truth of detail.

The Death of Adonis by Rottenhammer reminds one
of Tintoretto in " force, warmth and clearness, but unfor-
tunately he adopted," as well, the " Venetian master's
arbitrary and confused arrangement of lines." At the
left Venus is falling into the arms of a nymph while at
her feet supported by another nymph Adonis expires. A
more completely robed maiden is seen back to at the
right holding before her a covering which she is about
to throw over the dead. Above, a Cupid weeps, and
another is by Venus, while in the distance three more
are seen spearing a boar. The swirl and twist of line,
the crowding together of the figures, make a confusion
that nevertheless does not wholly obscure the often really
beautiful lines of figure and the soft smooth niodelling
of the flesh-planes.

A number of Mignon's fruit and flower pieces show
that painter's ability as still-life portrayer, but are of little
real worth. At his best he approaches Jan David de

Grange Galerie 151

Heem, but is much less warm and clear in colour, far
weaker in composition, and often cold and heavy.

Denner's Portrait of a Woman is so painfully finished
that one's pleasure is lost in the multiplicity of details
and in his evident anxiety to get the exact texture of
every hair.

Seybold copied Denner, but had much better colour.
The Portrait of Himself, is warm and interesting in
tone. The colour-scheme is pleasing with the gray cos-
tume, white shirt and green cap.

The Portrait of Marie-Amelie-Christine of Saxony,
Queen of Spain, is not one of Raphael Mengs's most
successful achievements. Mengs was brought up on
Raphael and the ancients. From his earliest childhood
he was put at copying till, if he ever had any individu-
ality it was copied out of him. Yet so perfect were his
drawings, so pleasing his forms compared to the utterly
trashy works of his contemporary countrymen, that it is
not difficult to understand why he was so greatly admired.

CHAPTER VIII.

GRANDE GALERIE — FLEMISH SCHOOL

The last two sections of the Grande Galerie contain
some of the important pictures of the Flemish masters,
the larger number of the remainder owned by the Louvre
being in the new rooms opened in 1900.

Paul Bril, of whose works the Louvre possesses a
number of excellent specimens, lived and worked so
long in Rome that he became greatly Italianized. Still,
he kept certain Flemish attributes. His realistic method
of looking at nature was essentially Flemish, as was his
conscientious care in dealing with details. He was noted
for intelligent distribution of light, for poetic rendering,
and for an effective ensemble that was not too much
broken by his worked-out accessories. He has been called
the precursor of both Claude Lorrain and Poussin.
Both he and his elder brother Matthaus received pensions
from Sixtus V. and most of their work is still to be
seen in Italy.

Of his works owned by the Louvre, one is a landscape
called Diana and Her Nymphs. Bril had a plan for
building his landscapes that was evidently one of pre-
conceived design. His foregrounds are almost always
sunk into a sombre shadow that is brown in tone and
decidedly unnatural. Once in the middle distance, his
light grows clear, his atmosphere vibrating, his colours

152

Cranbe Oalerie iS3

delightful. The general criticism holds true of this
canvas, A winding stream fills the larger part of the
foreground, reeds and bushes growing in it at the right
and two tall trees at the left. This is all in deep shadow,
the more difficult to understand because there seems to
be plenty of open space through which the sunlight could
easily break. A forest makes the middle foreground at the
right and this also is largely in shadow. At the left, how-
ever, the light strikes clear and bright. Here a bridge of
logs is thrown across the river and over this Diana, her
dogs and two of her companions are crossing. Beyond
them again, where a charming rolling land of trees, fields
and hills stretch to the sky, the atmospheric effect is
thoroughly delightful.

Exactly the same distribution of light is shown in The
Duck Shooting. At the right two enormous oaks, the
branches of which are cut off by the top of the picture,
are in a depth of unexplainable shadow. The two hunters
on the ground at their base, are of course entirely sub-
merged by this darkness. Once beyond this point, how
very different the feeling! The pond with its smooth
surface scarcely rippled except by the swimming ducks,
the massed trees across it in the middle distance, the
opening into the fields beyond, the enveloping sky, — all
are full of a peaceful light and are as true and natural
as they are idyllic. In this as in many of Bril's pictures,
the figures are by Annibale Caracci.

The Air and The Earth, by Jan Breughel in this
section, show some of that painter's characteristics. He
was a contemporary of Bril, and was called Velvet Breu-
ghel because he painted flowers that afterward were
largely copied on velvet. He had none of the roystering
style of his father, Peter, and dealt but little in peasant
pictures. He was a celebrated landscape-painter of his

154 Ube Hrt of tbe %o\xvxc

day, and Rubens frequently employed him to paint land-
scapes and flowers in his pictures. He as well as Bril
was a strongly Italianized Fleming, and in most of
his scenes he introduced Roman ruins or classic build-
ings.

The Air shows Urania sitting upon a cloud, nude but
for a bit of red drapery. In her left hand she holds a
spear and upon her right shoulder perches a white
paroquet. By her side a young Love gazes through a
glass at Diana and Apollo in their chariot driving through
the air. At the right are three little Loves in the middle
of a heap of optical instruments, at the left a tree and
a deep valley.

The Earth is an opening of a forest where all kinds
of animals are seen. At the right, near a tree, in the midst
of flowers, is a wolf, in the centre an ox, a turkey-cock
and a peacock, at the left, a lion, a tiger, and a horse.
In the distance at the right is a pond and at the left
Adam and Eve with Gk)d, near the tree of good and
evil. Here are all the elements Breughel revelled in.
And who shall say the picture is not as full of humour
as the more notable peasant scenes of his father?

Entirely different in almost every respect are the
paintings of Frans Pourbus, who, living at the same
time as Breughel, spent a large part of his life in Paris.
His work was chiefly portraiture, though some of his
religious scenes are well known and admired. In Paris
he painted all the royal family and most of the noted
people of the court. They are finished to a high degree,
have always much richness of costume, and seem ex-
tremely truthful in countenance.

Of the two portraits of Henri IV. by him in the
Louvre, the one standing with his hand directly on the
table beside him, is to-day regarded as a classic. The

(Branbe (Balerte ^ss

king is posed squarely in full face, but has turned his
head slightly toward his left shoulder. He has a ruff
about his neck and the order of the Holy Spirit on
a ribbon across his chest. He is in black doublet and
hose which contrast with the red and gold covering
of the table. Henri IV. is a man of middle age in this
portrait and in the furrows of his forehead, in the con-
tracted brows, the firm mouth and the straight pose, can
be felt something of the nature of Henry of Navarre
whose Edict of Nantes is perhaps the best thing that
men remember of him.

Equally characteristic and much more splendid is the
Portrait of Marie de Medici, Henri's wife. She is
seated on a sort of dais covered with red velvet bordered
with gold. Her gown is a most magnificent blue robe
scattered over with golden fleurs-de-lis and bordered
with ermine, the velvet mantle being also enriched with
the flower of France, and lined with the royal fur.
Pearls and precious stones blaze and bloom about her
and if one thinks rather more of the gorgeous costum-
ing of this Italian Queen of France than of her high-
bred, slender, haughty face, it is not because the painter
has slighted the person of the royal sitter but because the
clothes were of such vast importance!

Pourbus's Portrait of Guillaume de Vair, guardian of
the Seals of France under Louis XIII., is another fine
work.

To begin to describe the paintings of Rubens in the
Louvre would require a volume in itself. It is only
possible to mention a few of the more important ones, or
those that are for one reason or another especially char-
acteristic of this painter of whom, one is tempted to say,
everything was characteristic. For Rubens painted every
sort of subject that a painter's brush could choose.

156 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

Biblical, legendary, ancient and modern, historical and
mythological subjects; portraits and salon pieces; battles
and hunting-scenes; grotesques and landscapes, flower
and fruit decorations; nothing was outside the range of
his genius. Though he represents the complete fruition
of Belgic art, in him too, are seen the germs of its
decadence. To a certain extent he may be compared in
this way to Michelangelo. Michelangelo's followers
and even the men who were working right with him,
though they might appreciate his genius, mostly copied
his faults, as if the source of his power lay in the exag-
gerations of his hand. So with Rubens. His heaped-up
mountains of flesh, his tumultuous action and emotion,
his surging blood, his grossness of form, his coarseness
of suggestion, his disregard of the convenances of paint-
ing, his abandonment to the fleshly, the earthly, the
spectacular, — all this again, in Rubens even at his worst,
and it not infrequently was at his worst, is so charged
with the fiery spirit of his brush, so overwhelming in
its beauty of colour, so powerful, so much above as it
is outside the canons of art, that one forgives the lack
of taste, the brutality, the sensuality, in an ecstatic maze
at the versatility, the rush, the sweep, the creative fire
of his art. But, again, it was just this creative fire that
his followers lacked, while his idiosyncrasies and ex-
travagances they found easy enough to copy.

Rubens was born in Cologne of Flemish parents and
returned to Antwerp when a young boy. He travelled
extensively in Italy, in Spain, and England, and was
renowned as a courtier, a savant, a diplomat, and as an
honourable, upright man, a true and tender husband and
father. Besides all his gifts and opportunities, he was
a most indefatigable worker. No other painter ever
began to leave behind such an enormous amount of work.

CranDe Galetfe iS7

The number of his pictures reaches over fifteen hundred,
and though, Hke Raphael, he had a small army of assist-
ants constantly at work, the canvases that show only
his own hand are enough to outnumber the entire output
of the most prolific painters. Fecundity, originality, in-
exhaustible fancy, almost unbelievable facility, a com-
plete command of every trick of technique, a surety of
hand, a certainty of eye, — in all this Rubens has scarcely
ever been approached by any artist of any day. And
yet it remains true that in religious painting he almost
never reached the highest expression, and in portraiture
he cannot be named along with Titian, Velasquez or even
men of lower rank. Yet, he painted the mighty Descent
from the Cross at Antwerp, the St. Ildefonso at Vienna
and the portraits of Helena Fourment.

Of the many canvases of his that are in the Grande
Galerie, the Kermesse, in Bay F, represents one of the
scenes of " low life " that, when he chose, he could revel
in with an abandonment unequalled by Steen or Brauwer.
A large company of peasants is assembled outdoors in
front of an ale-house. A long curving line of them are
dancing madly, a lot of others are squatted on the ground
drinking with equal fury, while others are engaged in
love-making as open as it is indecent. Waagen says
" There is in this marvellous picture such a vivid exhi-
bition of jovial sensuality and a glow of physical life . . .
that every other work of this class must appear tame and
heavy in comparison. At the same time the intellect dis-
played in the treatment, the richness and brilliance of the
colouring, are worthy of the admirable skill and
invention displayed in the composition."

Rubens's colour was never more wonderful than in The
Flight of Lot. It is also more restrained, more dignified,
more imposing in its significance than in most of his

is8 XTbe Htt of tbe Xouvre

Scriptural scenes. At the right, an angel, with wings
spread is showing Lot the path. Another heavenly gpaide
in the centre is hastening the steps of Lot's wife, who is
turning toward him, her hands clasped in pleading, her
eyes full of tears. A daughter, at the left, a basket full
of jewels in her arms, holds the bridle of an ass loaded
with precious articles. Behind the ass the second daugh-
ter carries on her head a large basket full of fruits.
In the sky are four demons armed with thunderbolts
which they are showering upon the doomed town.

One of his characteristic pictures of the Madonna is
the one called The Virgin, Child Jesus and an Angel in
the Middle of a Garland of Flowers. The Madonna, a
half-length figure, is holding the child on her knees, while
an angel places a crown of flowers on her head. The
whole group is encircled with the elaborate wreath of
flowers which it is supposed Velvet Breughel painted.

Neefs, who is represented by a number of church
interiors was the most celebrated " architectural painter "
of Flanders of the seventeenth century, ranking only
below De Witte, who came thirty years after him. He
was a friend of Velvet Breughel, of Francken, of Teniers
and Van Thulden, all of whom at times painted the
figures in his compositions.

His View of the Interior of a Cathedral shows his
delight in portraying processions and funeral services
under the light of torches. Though his chiaroscuro is
not equal to that of De Witte he succeeded in achieving
an effect that is both realistic and telling.

Among the many animal paintings of Snyders in the
Louvre, the Wild Boar Hunt is one of the most amazing.
It is in Bay E and differs only in detail from many
other boar hunts by him. The same desperate wild
animal, the same plucky, furious hounds, some dying.

6ran^e (3aletic 159

some inflicting fearful wounds on their prey, — all is a
wild carnage whose outcome is left to the imagination.
It is always just before the crisis that Snyder depicts
his conflicts, just before the decisive victorious stroke
is made by either combatant. It is partly due to his
ability to suggest that the worst is yet to come that
makes these battles so thrillingly dramatic.

Fyt, the other great animal-painter of Flanders is also
well represented at the Louvre. Npthing of its kind
could be more perfect than his Game in a Larder. In
this crowded canvas he shows what he can do with
feathers. These he can paint till one seemingly can fairly
pluck them from the limp, lifeless bodies they cover.
Heaped on the floor, and piled on a long low bench, are
partridge, woodcock, wild duck, tumbled on their heads,
their wings spread out, thrown flat on their breasts or
half held up, claws in air, with one huge hare hanging
against the wall above them, — the mass of feathers and
fur is as brilliant as it is realistic. An amusing element
is introduced by the cat, who, half-buried among the
birds, sits gazing at two marmosets, they in their turn
studying her with unafraid interest from their perch
on the sill of the partly open window at the left.

Of these two men, it is only during recent years that
Fyt has been given his deserved recognition. Snyders
has been called the Rubens of the Lower Life. There
is the same sweep of brush, the same fulness and
amplitude of form, the same splendour of colour, and rush
of movement, the same richness of ideas, the same com-
mand over materials. He essayed every branch of animal
life and was equally successful in all. His lion, bear and
boar hunts where dogs are the furious antagonists are so
terrific, so full of maddened power, rage and yelping

i6o Ube Hrt of tbe %o\xvtc

victory, that the spectator is fairly carried off his feet by
the concentrated power and passion of the scene.

Fyt had less of the terrible, the overpowering, the
threatening, but he had more sanity, equal freedom of
expression and more truthful realism. Hfe was bolder
in his touch and freer. His rendering of fur and feathers
is amazingly perfect and his brilliance of light, delicacy
of colour and the sincerity of his emphasis often, as has
been said, make him surpass even Snyders himself.

When Louis XIV., at sight of some pictures by David
Teniers exclaimed disgustedly, ** Tirez de devant moi
ces magots," he would have been still more disgusted
could he have dreamed that one day a large number of
these despised works would be given places of honour
in the chief museum of his country. Thirty-three paint-
ings by Teniers are in the Louvre and of these many are
in the Fleming's best vein. It certainly is a vein, how-
ever, that the " grand monarch " who admired above all
art the pomposity of Le Brun, could never have learned
to appreciate. Gautier says of Teniers : " No one has
better painted the outer appearance of Flanders, with
its humid sky, softly gray, its fresh verdures, its brick
houses, ... its hospitable inns, its thickset peasants . . .
and its good, round little women." Teniers not only
painted drinkers, smokers, peasant life in all its ramifica-
tions, but he also essayed Biblical scenes. In these, like
some of the Italians, he made no pretence at historical ac-
curacy. His people were straight Flemings, and his cos-
tumes " a la mode du XVII^ siecle." Teniers was the
friend of princes, was court painter to Archduke Leopold
William, Governor of the Spanish Netherlands, and this
dignitary made him groom of the chamber and superin-
tendent of his picture-gallery. It is to these circum-
stances, probably, that Teniers in spite of his paintings

(3tan^e ©alette i6i

of tavern scenes and drinking bouts escapes the oppro-
brium that was bestowed upon Brauwer and other
painters of " low Hfe."

Most of his works that are not in the Collection La-
caze, are to be found in Bay E. The Inn Beside a
River is one of these. At the left is the little inn of a
story and a half high, and at one corner out-of-doors, a
group of peasants sit or stand about a small table. From
the door in the end of the house the hostess comes bear-
ing a waiter. The shore by the inn slopes down into a
river that flows diagonally across, and in it men stand
busy with their nets. On the opposite shore on a high,
wooded bank, is a castle. In the distance the sun's rays
pierce the clouds and strike brilliantly on a point below
the castle.

The Temptation of St. Anthony was a favourite subject
with Teniers, apparently chiefly because it gave him a
chance to depict grimacing beasts and fearsome birds.
The aged saint kneels in profile in a cave, before a rock
on which is his open book of prayers, a skull, a wooden
crucifix and a jug. With one terrible claw clutching the
saint's hood which has fallen back, a demon leans over
him offering him a glass of wine. The leer on this face
under its hat cocked up with a carrot is enough to give
one bad dreams for a week. Behind Anthony a hag of
a sorceress looks up with a snarling laugh from the
parchment she reads, and above are bats, and night-birds
and gloom and horror.

The Prodigal Son is merely a Dutch out-of-doors party,
except that the girls are rather better dressed and the
furnishings of the table more elaborate than usual in
Dutch paintings of such occasions.

The Village Fete is another kind of scene which
Teniers loved to portray. He was in his element when he

i62 ube Hrt of tbe Xou\>re

could paint a crowded country fair or fete, of dancing,
eating, drinking, love-making peasants. This is full of
the boisterous noise, rude actions and hearty guffaws
which only Jan Steen could more realistically express.
But the truth of action, the vigour of movement, the
amusing episodes, the freedom of handling and excellent
grouping are all found in this as in the Kermesse in
Collection Lacaze.

A soft, gray, luminous sky is one of the chief charms
of the picture called Works of Mercy, in which an old
man is giving bread and milk to a crowd of beggars.

If the Louvre has thirty-three Teniers, it has twenty
Champaignes. And vastly different these latter are from
the former. Champaigne lived and worked so long in
Paris that his pictures are not much like most of his
countrymen's. Yet, in spite of the influence of France
and Poussin, he has been universally regarded as be-
longing to the Low Countries. And indeed he never
lost the Fleming's feeling for colour and depth of tone.
His work was chiefly portraiture and religious scenes,
though he painted some landscapes with real poetic feel-
ing. Of these there are two in the Louvre of no common
interest. But it is in his portraits that he ranks highest.
They are vivid, spirited, and must have been extraordi-
narily realistic as likenesses. His touch is free, his
draughtsmanship able, his colour brilliantly silvery, pure
and transparent except where the shadow-tones have
grown too dark owing to an impure medium. Among
his works here are some of the very best that he pro-
duced.

Very wonderful is the double Portrait of Mother
Catherine Agnes Arnaud and Sister Catherine of St.
Susan, the latter the painter's daughter. The picture was
executed by Champaigne and given to the convent at

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Port Royal in grateful remembrance of what he regarded
as the miraculous cure of his daughter in answer to the
mother superior's prayers. The canvas shows the nun
in the midst of these devotions. Sitting in a wide, low
chair with her feet resting on a broad footstool in front
of her, is the young daughter in the costume of the
nuns of Port Royal. She holds on her lap the little open
box of reliquaries, while, with frail, joined hands, she
prays for health. In the centre, facing the observer, but
on the far side of the young Catherine, kneels the
mother superior, her head lifted, her hands met in
prayerful pleading. The surrounding room is one of the
cells of the convent and the bare gray walls are unbroken
except for a large crucifix over the young nun's head
and a long Latin inscription at the left in which Cham-
paigne expresses his gratitude for the recovery. By the
side of his daughter at the right is a chair on which
is a book of hours. The colour throughout is quiet, re-
strained, a gray harmony. The faces of the two women
are remarkable examples of what portraiture can be.
That they were likenesses, contemporary criticism makes
evident. But that they are much more, the merest tyro
must perceive. The pale, wan, yet peaceful face of the
girl, the older, fuller, but even more spiritual face of the
mother, show an insight, an appreciation of spirit, and a
power of communicating this insight to others that
has rarely been surpassed.

Another double portrait is the one of Frangois Mansard
and Claude Perrault, architects. M. Mansard is at the
left of the two, turning slightly to the right, his face in
three-quarters view. Perrault faces him but looks toward
the spectator, pointing with his right hand to a statue
resting on a column behind. Mansard has a dark mous-
tache, eyes and hair, Perrault is much fairer. The

i64 XTbe Hrt of tbe Xou\>re

former is dressed in black, Perrault in gray with a white
collar. The stone railing on which Mansard's arm rests
makes the base-line of the picture so that the two are
shown scarcely to their waists. If not so celebrated as
the two nuns or the Richelieu, this is among the best
of Champaigne's portraits. The background, the statue,
the somewhat conventional positions, recall Poussin's
influence, but the truth of delineation, the strong in-
dividualization, the smiling interest of Perrault suggest
even more strongly Champaigne's Flemish birth and
training.

His religious pictures, Christ on the Cross, the Dead
Christ, the St. Philip, are all Champaigne Poussinized,
and though full of dignity and religious feeling, are
too thoroughly impregnated with the classic traditions
of the French school to add greatly to Champaigne's
reputation.

The Portrait of Himself is valuable both as a historical
document and as a work of art. The painter is delineated
middle-aged, sober, the marks of sorrow on his lined face,
his regard self-contained and serious, his eyes shining
with a courage that illumines the whole face and makes
it both lovable and strong. As a technical achievement
it is not far below the Perrault in value.

The four pictures of Meel or Miel, his name being
spelled both ways, in Bay E are good examples of his
style. The style, however, is that of the decadence. He
was born in Antwerp, but went to Rome and studied
with Andrea Sacchi. His works display dignity, good
draughtsmanship, and a colour which, though rich, is
often dark to sombreness.

In the foreground of The Halt, a couple of soldiers
are asleep on the ground. In the centre of the grotto,
which is the encampment of the company, an officer is

Cran&e Valerie i^s

giving orders to a subordinate. At the right some sol-
diers are playing cards, a cavalier feeds his horse and
others are about a fire. At the left in the plain are the
tents of the camp.

Much more of a decadent, and far more Italianized,
is Van der Meulen, who has a long list of pictures at the
Louvre. He was one of the painters of the court of Louis
XIV. and followed that monarch to battle, reproducing
scenes of the campaigns on canvas. In many of his
works are found excellent portraits of Louis XIV. and
other notable people of the day. His landscapes are often
too green, though he had Huysmans to assist him in
this part of his labours, and his horses, though fairly
drawn are not of sufficient variety in character or action.
The best of his canvases in the Louvre are, perhaps, The
Entry of Louis XIV. and Marie Theresa into Auras;
The View of the Village and Chateau of Dinant, View of
the Fort of Luxembourg and a View of Fontainebleau.

In the first of these, from the left over a vast plain,
comes a gilded coach drawn by six white horses. Within
are the queen and her ladies in waiting. Her pages
march alongside and behind are Louis on a white horse
and the Dauphin on a sorrel. They precede a cortege of
mounted noblemen. At the right, in the foreground, an
assemblage of people watch the procession and in the
distance the body of the troops is seen. The fortifi-
cations of the town make the horizon line.

In both E and F as well as in other rooms of the
Louvre, are canvases by Huysmans, he who assisted
Van der Meulen in landscape. Huysmans lived at the
time of Ruysdael and Wynants. His style reflects some-
thing of Rembrandt's influence especially in his chiaros-
curo. He had a way of lighting the interior of a wood
or a bit of a clearing with a golden tone that is all the

i66 ube Hrt of tbe Xouvre

more telling in comparison with the dark colouring sur-
rounding it. His landscapes have real poetic feeling
and where they are not spoiled by the dimming of time
still show the out-of-door atmosphere that was so
admired in his day.

Bay E is mostly given up to works of Jordaens, Van
Dyck and Rubens, the rest of their canvases being in the
new rooms at the end of the Grande Galerie. When Ru-
bens died, Jordaens was universally regarded as the great-
est painter left in Flanders. He was then about forty-
seven years old, and had not yet decorated the Maison de
Bois with his celebrated Apotheosis of the Prince of
Orange. Jordaens has rarely had justice done him
either by critics or amateurs. Often he has been dis-
missed with the summing up that he was little more
than an imitator of Rubens. Influenced to a certain
extent by the great painter of Antwerp, undoubtedly he
was, as was every other painter of that time and land.
But he did not become a mere replica of Rubens. He
is indeed seen to be more and more unlike him the more
they are studied together. To begin with, Jordaens is
more truly Flemish. And it does not take long to see
what Alexandre points out, that he was more real than
Rubens. Rubens produced the visions of his mind to
a much greater extent than he copied the views of his
optic nerve. Even when he painted actual, every-day
scenes or portraits, they had first been passed through
the golden alembic of his brain till they were trans-
formed into something more brilliant, more intense, more
glorious than ever mortal eyes had seen. With Jordaens,
on the contrary, his passion for the real, the actual, the
present, allowed no such liberty. To paint things
exactly as they existed was to him the height of achieve-
ment. He would make them more real, if possible, rather

(Bran^e (Balerte 167

than idealize them out of nature. It is this very absorp-
tion in the present, the existing, that has caused the slur
of " vulgar " to be thrown at Jordaens. To our time and
race, those bulging, heavy women, those pompous, over-
fed burghers may indeed seem common, vulgar. But
they were the people of Jordaens's day and race and in
their very truth to nature were neither coarse nor com-
mon. Another point of difference between Rubens and
Jordaens is their colour-scheme. Rubens's palette was
silvery gray, delicate, fresh; Jordaens's hot, brown, and
somewhat heavy. Yet vigour, truth, richness and power
it had to a tremendous degree. In drawing he was more
truthful, more normal, in composition more restrained
but not less felicitous, in modelling of flesh and form
as masterly. It is indeed, as Alexandre again says, not
so much below Rubens that he should be placed. If not
quite on the line of Rubens's pinnacle, he is at least on the
same plateau with him, overlooking a vast plain of artists
who have been more widely praised.

Jordaens was not so successful in his religious scenes
as in his mythologic, historic or portrait pieces. The
Four Evangelists, however, is less a religious scene than
it is a portrait group of one very young and three elderly
men. The one denominated John is in the centre of the
four, all of whom are very earnestly and reverently
studying an open book on a table at the left. His white
robe is so full as to be almost cumbersome and covers
him so completely that his head and hands alone are
exposed. H]e stands in profile, his head bent over, read-
ing, his left hand holding the drapery at his neck, his
right crossing it and resting against his chin. These
hands are nervous, sensitive, complementing well the
impressible, finely drawn face, with its waving dark hair.
At the right is Matthew, who is about to write in a book

i68 Ubc Hrt of tbc Xouvre

wjiich he holds before him, evidently copying from the
one on the table. He is grizzled, gray, but not so old,
apparently, as Mark and Luke who are looking over
the shoulders of the other two. The hands of all four
Evangelists are full of character and very expressive.
They are however, somewhat too prominent and similarly
placed. The heads are vigorous, firmly drawn and
modelled.

Under titles such as A Family Repast, Concert after
Meals etc., scenes similar to the one called here The
King Drinks are among the most characteristic of Jor-
daens. He was never so happy as when he could crowd
about a table as many people as the canvas could hold
giving variety to the scenes both by the difference of the
attitudes and the ages of the company. All sorts and
conditions of men, too, he loved to bring together. This
one shows his usual method and is an average example,
not one of his finest works. There are ten people and one
dog about this family board. Among them are an old
man and an old woman, a middle-aged man and his
slightly younger wife, two maidens, two youths and
a child. And it is not too much to say that Jordaens's
brush has expressed wonderfully the soft pliability of
youthful roundness, the firmer, harder planes of middle
life and again the wrinkled parchment-like flesh of old
age. His colour is equally successful in differentiating, his
chiaroscuro is splendidly managed. At one end of the
table sits he of the family who bears the crown upon his
head. He is back to a window so that his face is in
shadow, the light striking, however, against his hand
holding the goblet from which he is drinking. Behind
him stands a young boy pouring wine into the glass of
an elderly man at the right of him with the crown. In
the foreground, and thus sitting back to the spectator.

Grange (Balerie 169

is the young girl of the party. She has turned her head
to look over her right shoulder, however, so that her
face comes into three-quarters view, catching a charming
play of light on forehead, cheek and nose. Opposite her
is the fool, in cap and bells, grinning, as he rests one
hand on the hostess's shoulder and offers her a goblet
with the other. This woman is richly dressed and looks
at the man at the head of the table with a brilliant smile.
Beside her is the small child, next the grandmother, and
finally at the end of the table a young man with wide open
mouth repeating the note he has just struck from the
tuning-fork in his hand. Back of him the head and
raised arms of a serving lass are seen, and in the imme-
diate foreground standing beside the maiden, is a dog.
All is jollity, glee, all apparently are joining in the song
raised by the youth. There is also much charm to be
found: note the delightful curves of the girl turning
round; much vigour and strength: see the firm hand
holding the tuning-fork or the grandmother's splendidly
drawn face; much amplitude and fulness of design, of
massing and of colour.

The Infancy of Jupiter shows Jordaens with a very
different subject. At the left a satyr sits laughing and
trying to attract the attention of the small Jupiter who
sits weeping at the foot of a pear-tree. In the middle of
the composition a nude woman is curled up milking a
goat. She has turned her smiling face to the baby god,
as if assuring him his dinner would soon come. It was
in such mythologic scenes that Jordaens fairly revelled.
Never was his brush more virile, his colours more bril-
liant, his composition more telling.

Of the five canvases in Bay F by Van Dyck, the Chil-
dren of Charles I. is one of the best known. The little
Prince of Wales, afterward Charles II., stands at the left

lyo '^bc Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

with crossed feet, leaning against the base of a pillar, his
left hand holding the right of the tiny Duke of York,
James II. to be. The third of the trio is the Princess
Mary, afterward wife of William of Orange. At the ex-
treme left, beside the heir apparent sits a shaggy dog,
soberness and importance shining from his intent eye.
The Prince of Wales is in a yellow satin suit with wide
lace collar and cuffs, a rich belt about his waist. The
other two are in full white satin gowns made with the
high waist, low neck, wide sleeves and long stiff-spread-
ing skirt so indissolubly associated with these children of
the unhappy Charles. Back of the three hangs a golden
brocade, and at the far right a view of a garden. Van
Dyck painted so many portraits of these royal babies that
they are to be found all over Europe. Never more delight-
ful than when he depicted children, he was perhaps at his
best in these portrait groups of the children of the king
who so admired the Flemish painter.

The Portrait of the Duke of Richmond is another
noted canvas. The very embodiment of slender grace is
the youthful duke, with his full bloused shirt, his crimson
satin breeches, his blond curls falling on to his shoulders,
his long, delicate face with the half-vacuous, half-won-
dering expression. High breeding, that subtle exhalation
of the exquisite in life which Van Dyck better than any
other could express, speaks from every long curve of the
slender body and hands, from the carefully tended curls,
from the bloom of the pure complexion.

Not only could Van Dyck paint the luxurious life, but
he could and did live it. However much his and Rubens's
surroundings or their work resemble each other, the men
themselves were totally unlike. In spite of the princely
magnificence in which Rubens always lived, in spite of the
voluptuousness felt in many of his paintings, he himself

Gran&e Galerie 171

was most abstemious, with none of the vices too common
at that or any age to men in his position. Van Dyck, on
the contrary, though perhaps first getting his taste for
luxury while he was a pupil of Rubens, carried his
extravagant expenditures into every phase of life. When,
at forty-four years of age, death finally overtook him, he
had thrown away youth, health and wealth in a mad rush
for pleasures that once snatched, were only cast away for
others, newer and more exciting. Even in his early
days when he had only just reached Italy, he spent so
lavishly and lived so recklessly that the Italians called
him '' il pittore cavalier esc o/' It is as a portrait-painter
that Van Dyck is known at his best. Though he painted
some beautiful religious pictures and some noteworthy
historical scenes, it is not in these that his genius finds
full expression. As a delineator of the cavaliers, the
nobles, the princes, the high-bred men and women of
his time, he stands almost unsurpassed. Only Titian
can excel him in this branch and he not often. His
rendering of flesh, the grace, the delicacy, the fineness
of contour, the atmosphere of high breeding with which
he surrounds his sitters, these are characteristic of Van
Dyck more than of any other painter. As has been often
said he lacked the imagination, the unlimited fecundity
of ideas, the originality of Rubens, but he was a better
draughtsman, a truer colourist and a finer naturalist.
In the opinion of the greatest critics. Van Dyck occupies
a place in the annals of art quite by himself. They do
not allow him to stand with the most mighty of the art
giants. Neither can they relegate him to the second rank.
Quite by himself, then, he stands, with the eyes of the
world following him perhaps even more than they follow
his leaders.

CHAPTER IX.

SALLE VAN DYCK AND GALERIE RUBENS — ROOMS XVII.
AND XVIIL FLEMISH SCHOOL

The new Van Dyck and Rubens rooms lead out from
the Grande Galerie. On each side of the Galerie Rubens
are the so-called cabinets where are to be found the larg-
est number of Dutch and Flemish pictures owned by the
Louvre.

One of Champaigne's most celebrated portraits, that
of Cardinal Richelieu, is in the Salle Van Dyck. He
painted the prelate-statesman a number of times, but this,
with the exception perhaps of that wonderful three heads
in one in the National Gallery, is the greatest of all. He
stands in full cardinal's dress, the brilliant red satin
robes falling about him in tremendous amplitude. The
white lace undersleeves and short overskirt by their very
whiteness only make more intense this piercing red.
The lights that strike the edge of the folds, the deep
tones of the under pleats, the shimmering of the surface
of the satin are remarkable brush-work. But it is in the
hands and face of the cardinal that Champaigne^s genius
for characterization displays itself so perfectly. There
is perhaps a trifle less suavity in the aristocratic features
than is felt in the portrait in the National Gallery. But
the watchful regard of the eyes, the self-contained ex-
pression of the none too thin lips, the smooth expanse of

172

Salle IDan Bi^cft an^ 6alerie IRubens 173

the wide, high brow, as untroubled as it is unlined, and
finally the wonderful hands, which, in the nervous move-
ment, the eager grasp, the plausible gesture, reveal most
plainly of all the tension of mind, — this is Champaigne
at his height of expression.

In the Van Dyck room a number of the paintings by
Rubens were once a part of the Medici series which he
painted for the Luxembourg. Of these are the Portrait
of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, father of Marie de
Medici, the Portrait of the Queen's Mother, and a Por-
trait of Marie de Medici herself.

The Portrait of Baron Henri de Vicq, ambassador from
the Low Countries to the court of France, is one of Ru-
bens's masterly works. It exhibits the baron almost in full
face, with close-cut moustache and beard, already gray.
Otherwise in black, he wears about his neck the full-
pleated ruff of the day. Behind him hangs a red curtain.
The penetrating eye, the firm facial muscles, the full
brow, the courtly air, all bespeak the diplomat, the man
of the world. It is painted with a fulness of colour,
a limpidity of stroke, characteristic of this painter whose
first strokes were also his last.

The Tourney in Front of the Moat of a Chateau, shows
six cavaliers in full armour, fighting two by two before
the moat. Two pages at the left are holding the extra
lances and picking up the broken ones. Two heralds
at the right sound their horns and on the same side,
occupying the second plane, is the fortified chateau sur-
rounded by water, leading across which is a bridge to
the square tower where floats the standard. In the
distance at the left are a river and fields with trees. The
sun is sinking and the whole scene is flooded in a warm
golden tone that is translucent in its richness, full of
an atmospheric quality a modern impressionist often fails

174 Ube art ot tbe OLouvte

to get. Hiere Rubens appears as a really great land-
scape painter.

Most of the best Van Dycks are in this room, and if all
are not the very greatest of his achievements, there are
many splendid examples of his wonderful skill.

The Virgin and Child has been said to be a portrait
group as well as a religious painting. David is supposed
to represent the painter's father, Mary his mother, the
Magdalene his mistress and St. John himself. If the
others are no more literal transcriptions than John is
of Van Dyck, they are by no means impeccable likenesses.
In the John, to be sure, may be detected certain character-
istics of Van Dyck, — the broad brow, the deep, full eye,
the delicate chin, — but of actual portraiture there is
comparatively little.

Mary sits at the left, holding upon her lap the child
Jesus who is supporting himself in his standing position
by a firm grasp of his mother's veil and shoulder. The
baby is in profile, the mother turned three-quarters, both
facing the group at the right. Of this group Mary Mag-
dalene, in the foreground, is bending over in adoration,
holding her white drapery half across her breast. Behind
her are King David, with a golden crown on his gray
hair, and John the Baptist, in skins, leaning on his
staff. Back of all the sunset sky throws its glow across
the scene. Mary, clad in a red robe, blue mantle and a
yellow veil, is older than the Italians usually depicted
her, but she is a very beautiful if somewhat Flemish type.
There is a dignity, a poise, a nobility about her lifted face
that Van Dyck has only rarely succeeded in equalling.
The exquisite colour of the brow, cheek and chin where
the light strikes full, exhales a purity and charm that are
still more intensified by the soft fairness of the baby's
flesh. The chubbiness of his short body, again, is more

Salle Dan Bigcft anC) (Balerte IRubens 17s

Dutch than ItaHan. But his face, with its baby profile
half lost in the shadow, his fine, golden hair, the light
caressing the rounded cheek, the tenderness of his grasp
on his mother, the intensity of his regard as he gazes
at the Magdalene, so baby-like, and yet so mysterious in
its significance, this is all marvellous painting for any
school or any time. The voluptuous, radiant face of the
Magdalene is swept with an expression of pain, of sor-
row that somehow enhances her beauty and sanctifies her
charms. King David's lined, aging countenance, and
the youthful face of John, are as satisfactory in their own
way. The colour of the whole picture is glowing, deep,
rich, the touch fairly free, broad, the composition better
massed than Van Dyck always succeeded in accomplish-
ing. The canvas was in the collection of Louis XIV. In
1 7 10 it was at Versailles and in 1747 was placed in the
Galerie d'Apollon.

Of the Equestrian Portrait of Frangois de Moncade,
Waagen says " Composition, drawing, light, depth and
transparence of a warm colour, touch firm and spiritual,
all contribute to make this equestrian portrait the most
beautiful which Van Dyck has painted, and I do not hesi-
tate to declare it one of the most beautiful that exists."
He is mounted on a white horse, turned three-quarters to
the right, his head bare, in armour, with a large white
collar. In his right hand he carries the commander's
baton, and about his left arm is attached a red scarf.
Behind him is a landscape background.

The Portrait of Charles-Louis, Elector Palatine of
Bavaria with his Brother Robert who was later made
Duke of Cumberland by Charles I., is not so masterly
an accomplishment as the Moncade likeness, but it has
much spirit and character. The two brothers stand side
by side, Robert in full face, Charles in three-quarters.

176 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvrc

Robert is in armour without gloves, a guipure collar fall-
ing over his cuirass. His left hand rests upon the guard
of his sword, his right holds a baton. Charles has his
left hand upon his side, his right on his cuirass. In the
background at the right, is a wall, at the left a red and
black curtain, in the centre a view of a landscape.

Van Dyck's greatest picture in the Louvre is un-
questionably the Portrait of Charles I., King of England,
as it is also one of the greatest that he ever painted. M.
Alexandre calls it " a veritable bouquet of flowers," in
its arrangement of colours. The king stands on a rise
of ground, slightly at the left of the picture, his body in
profile, his head turned toward his left shoulder, till it
is in three-quarters view. His right hand is stretched
out, resting upon a tall cane, his left, holding a glove, he
has placed upon his hip. Behind him at the left, a man,
said to be the Marquis of Hamilton, holds the king's
horse, which, only half-entering the picture is nervously
pawing the ground. Farther back in the centre, a page
has his Majesty's cloak on his arm. A big tree at the right
spreads its branches over the group and a bit of sea at
the left ends against a line of hills at the horizon.

The marquis, the horse, the page, are all royal adjuncts
of a royal portrait. Not a false note, in arrangement,
harmony of line and colour, in treatment of subsidiaries,
in subtlety of values can be found. Van Dyck was always
at his best in portraits of " high life," and here he fairly
outdid himself. No placard could make this kingly figure
more definitely royal. The bared heads of his two attend-
ants, his own big hat with its drooping plume, his white
satin short coat, his red velvet trousers and buff leather
hunting-boots, even the sword with its decorated shoul-
der-belt, — none of these kingly appurtenances are needed
for label. Charles the First stands depicted with a

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES I.
By Van Dyck

Salle IDan Dpcft ant> (3alerie IRubens 177

penetrative skill scarcely ever attained by pen or brush.
Noble grace, royal charm, kingly fascination, — these
words seem only half to express the personality of the
sovereign who could do all things well except to rule.
Much more than this has Van Dyck expressed in this
portrait. In the long, delicate face with its dreamy,
mournful eyes, its sensitive lips, its wealth of curls, its
bloom, that, so exquisite, seems already half evanescent,
is felt a prescience of impending doom, — and as one
looks one never wonders at the loyalty the very name
of Stuart could evoke, a loyalty that frailty, incapacity,
even ingratitude and lack of honour hardly ever weak-
ened.

As a piece of technique this is Van Dyck at his height.
Ease of handling, an outline as correct as it is full of
grace, colour as transparent and pure as it is brilliant,
modelling as inevitable, as sure as it is telling, every-
thing here proclaims the prince of the palette.

The Virgin with the Donors is one of Van Dyck's best
pictures of the Madonna. He showed her younger here
than on the other canvas in this room, and her face
is tender and beautiful as is the chubby babe holding
his hand to the man kneeling before him. This kneeling
man and wife are wonderfully expressive as portraits,
and charming too are the couple of little angels who hold
the flowers above their heads.

Van Dyck's Portrait of Himself in the Louvre is one of
many which he painted. Here he appears already thin
and somewhat worn, with a hint of fast living shining
from his weary eyes. None the less it is a beautiful face
with its slight moustache and soft, light curling hair, its
clear-cut nose and rather ineffectual chin.

Twenty-one of the pictures which Rubens painted for
Marie de' Medici now line the sides of the Rubens gallery.

17^ ^be Hrt ot tbe %o\xvxc

For the first time since they were taken from the Luxem-
bourg for whose decoration they were planned, can they
be seen as Rubens intended. Begun in 1620, they were
finished in Httle over two years. With the exception of
the actual portraits in this series, comparatively little
of the painting is by Rubens's hand. He got permission
from Marie de' Medici to execute the series in his own
studio in Antwerp. Here he was surrounded by a regular
school of young artists who worked under his guidance
with such absorption that they may be said to have out-
Rubensed Rubens. The general designs, the colour-
schemes were unquestionably the master's own. As has
been remarked it was not possible for even a talented
pupil to reproduce the genius of Rubens himself. It was
his exaggerations which they could most easily grasp
and copy. Consequently this series of paintings, great as
it is in parts, is, as a whole, an exhibition of Rubens's
art at its most depraved state. Flamboyantly gorgeous,
meretriciously ornate, vulgarly brilliant in colour, and
equally vulgar in form, they display even worse taste in
their conglomeration of the mythologic, the sacred and
the historic. The introduction of pagan deities and nude
nymphs. Loves and naiads holding trains, rowing boats,
observing marriage ceremonies of prince and princess
accurately arrayed in full court costume of the time of
Louis XIII. is certainly a degradation of the very
principles of art. And yet it remains true, that, con-
sidering the limitations under which the decorations
were made, the execrable taste of the time, and especially
Marie de' Medici's demand for a magnificence commen-
surate with her own exalted ideas of her position, con-
sidering, in fact, what it was which Rubens attempted
to do it must be acknowledged that they are more than

Salle Wan B^cft ant) Valerie IRubens 179

successful. They are truly extraordinary in the gorgeous-
ness as a whole and in the unity of their great diversity.

Of the entire series the best are, The Birth of Louis
XIII. , where the queen is shown in the purity and beauty
of first motherhood with a tenderness and penetration
that possibly may have been wasted on this Italian
sovereign; The Landing of the Queen at Marseilles
where objection can scarcely be made to the naiads who
have drawn her boat to shore, for they are three of the
most exquisite creations of the painter's mythologic
brush; The Happiness of the Regency, which was
painted after Rubens reached Paris to superintend the
placing of the others of the series, and is thus more
nearly by his own hand. It is one of his charming impro-
visations, dashed off as only Rubens could dash off a
sketch, full of life, colour and freedom.

The Marriage at Florence showing Marie being
wedded by proxy to the French king is another success-
ful one, the only solecism being that of the half-naked
boy bearing a torch and carrying the queen's train.
Rubens himself was in Florence at the time of this mar-
riage and it is executed with a fulness of detail and a scru-
pulous fidelity that show how perfectly his memory
served him.

Of the whole line, however, it is the Coronation at St.
Denis that is universally regarded as being not only the
best of the series, but one of the really fine compositions
of Rubens's life. It represents the interior of the cathe-
dral with the queen kneeling at the foot of the altar,
before the cardinals and their assisting clergy. She is in
a gorgeous state robe of blue embroidered with lilies
and lined with ermine. Beside her stands the Dauphin,
afterward Louis XIII., while above in a balcony, Henri
IV. watches the scene. Her retinue of women is behind

i8o Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvte

her and in the tribunes and farther back are members of
the court. Above, two allegorical figures bear palm
branches and scatter flowers and gold pieces. The
splendour of the scene, the brilliant colours of the court
and coronation costume, the masterly grouping, the
focusing of interest upon the queen, while at the same
time denying neither place nor importance to those about,
the freedom, the grand sweep of the brush-strokes, all
this in Rubens goes without saying. But the dignity,
the queenly quality, the spirit of the kneeling sovereign,
are more intangible elements and here they are more
in evidence than in most of the Medici series. It is as
if Rubens felt that for the moment, as Cardinal de Joyeuse
places the crown of France upon her head she is trans-
formed into a higher, nobler nature. It is just this that
he has succeeded so well in expressing that it requires
no stretch of imagination to see it in the face of the
kneeling woman.

The others of the huge, gold-bordered pictures need no
description. They help to give completeness to the
decorative scheme and in parts have both beauty and
power; but in general they are as overloaded as they
are gaudy in design and execution.

CHAPTER X.

SALLES XIX. TO XXXVI. — FLEMISH SCHOOL

The small rooms on either side of the Galerie Rubens
contain the larger number of the Dutch and Flemish
pictures owned by the Louvre. Among them are many
that formed part of the Collection Lacaze. Though the
two schools are hung together, it will be easier, perhaps,
to discuss them separately.

To continue, therefore, with the works of the painters
of Flanders, in Room XX. is the one so-called Van Eyck
owned by the museum. Whether the Chancellor Rollin
Kneeling before the Virgin actually is a Van Eyck, has
been doubted. One reason for this question is that it
lacks the deep purple reds that were usual to that painter.
It is at any rate of his school and has many of his char-
acteristics.

The Virgin is seen sitting at the right in a balcony or
gallery opening at the back and sides through arches
supported by delicate pillars. She is clad in a long full
red robe of many folds with borders of gold embroidery
in which are traced words from the Scriptures, and on
her knee is the nude baby Christ, whose wooden, old-
looking body is the poorest piece of work in the picture.
He holds a crystal globe surmounted by a cross in his left
hand, while with the other he is blessing the kneeling
chancellor. Poised above the Virgin's shoulder, with

i8i

i82 ube Hrt ot tbe %o\xvxc

a jewel-studded golden crown in her hands is a blue-
robed angel whose varicoloured wings rise above her
in graceful curves. The donor, Chancellor Rollin, kneels
opposite this group before a prie-dieu on which is an
open Bible. Beyond, through the open arches, a wide-
reaching landscape of plains, river, bridge, houses and
trees is seen.

The microscopical elaboration of detail in this vista is
duplicated by the careful rendering of the tiled floor of
the gallery, by the worked-out cornice and capitals, by
the brocade robe of the chancellor — with every golden
flower marked with exactness against the brown ground
— by Mary's yellow tresses where the individual hairs
can almost be counted. Everywhere is shown this con-
sideration for infinitesimal detail. It is one of the marks
of the real greatness of the painter that in spite of it,
the picture keeps a wholeness, a unity. This is partly
done by a fine use of colour, and also by Van Eyck's in-
stinctive conception of the laws of perspective. It is the
gradations of colour and tone in the landscape that
save it from being a conglomeration of myriads of
spots. To this exquisite colour-sense. Van Eyck joined
a deep religious sentiment and a strong feeling for charac-
terization. The chancellor is as remarkable a portrait
as Pinturicchio's Alexander VI. in the Vatican. The
attitudes are not dissimilar, and the flatly joined prayer-
folded hands are almost identical in placing and in
delicacy of construction. This donor's face, however,
with its so evident wig, shows a very different character
from that of the Roman pontiff. The smooth, enamel-like
surface of its modelling is as fresh and clear as if painted
yesterday. There is a solidity and massiveness of figure
under the rich robe that proves the excellent draughtsman
Van Eyck could be, — this in spite of the wooden baby,

Salles firf . to f f flDir. 183

as out of proportion in size as it is in parts. Mary has
the long face with the extremely high forehead of the
early Flemings, and, except for a sweet earnestness and
her golden hair is quite without beauty.

Jan van Eyck, the first of the Flemish painters to
achieve a world-wide reputation has been credited with
being the inventor of painting in oil. Though this is not
strictly true he did at least perfect certain methods of
working with this medium. It is due to his discovery
that tempera painting became more and more infrequent.
And it is undoubtedly true that the Italian painters owed
their knowledge of the new process to him. Comparing
Van Eyck's work with that of Gentile da Fabriano, who
was a contemporary, the Fleming's is seen to have much
more reality, more truth of construction and infinite more
love of detail. And yet the detail in Van Eyck's work
distracts the eye from the main point much less than does
that of Fabriano's.

In the same room are two pictures by Roger van der
Weyden, up to 1846 known as Roger of Bruges. He
resembles both Hubert and Jan van Eyck, and has been
supposed to be a pupil of the younger brother, but this
is probably untrue. Doctor Waagen says of him that
his " too exclusive aim at truth led Roger van der
Weyden occasionally to represent the tasteless and the
disagreeable. Thus, his nude is meagre, his fingers too
long, his feet, especially in his earlier works, ill-formed."
In colouring he is better. Though he does not rise to the
richness and intensity of Van Eyck, he has a great deal
of brilliancy and strength. His flesh-tones w'ere at first
mellow and golden, later they became colder. His
influence, and thus through him, the influence of the
Van Eycks, spread all over Germany, and the strictly
realistic type that prevailed there may be traced directly

tU U\)C art ot tbe Xourre

to his teachings. None of his best-known works are
at the Louvre.

The Virgin and Child is a small picture with gold
background. It represents the Virg^ on a sort of ledge-
like seat in a niche squarely framed with simple gold
moulding. She is offering her breast to the child whom
she holds on her left knee. He is not exactly seated on
this knee, however, and the actual construction of his
little naked body is hardly more successful. Neither is
his face a type of childish beaut>\ Nevertheless there
are an earnestness and sincerity of purpose ver\' appar-
ent in the careful rendering. Mary's face is much more
lovely. The broad forehead, eyes wide apart, delicate
nose and tender mouth are typically Flemish, yet they
seem to prefigure the Fra Lippo type of Italy. The body
is much poorer in construction than the head. The shoul-
ders are far too narrow, the hand too long and illy joined,
Acre is in fact, no perceptible body imder the long red
robe. It is not strange that the baby does not sit on
her knees, for there are really no knees to hold him!

The Descent from the Cross is a more important, but
in some respects an even more archaic work than the
other. In front of the cross Mary sits holding on her
knees the figure of her son, who is nude save for a bit
of drapery about his loins. Beside her kneels St. John,
drawing a piece of drapery imder the head of his dead
master. Mary Magdalene kneels at the left, farther back.
Beyond lie Jerusalem, a hill, a lakp and distant moun-
tains. Mar}- is distinctly the best figure of the group.
Though she has no shoulders under her blue robes, nor
very little shape of any kind. Van der Weyden suc-
ceeded in getting a face that is remarkably expressive and
well drawn. There is a real tenderness, a restrained
sorrow about her drooped lids and trembling mouth that

Salles ff f . to f ff Uf. i«5

remains in the mind long after the more evident grief of
the Magdalene or that of John has been forgotten, Mary
Magdalene, by false perspective, though supposed to
be farther back in the plane of the picture than is the
Virgin, is brought into the immediate foreground. Her
brilliant red dress and yellow sleeves, green cloak and
white draped cap, make her all the more prominent.
John has an air of deep solicitude and sympathy touch-
ingly hinted at in the way his eyes linger on the Virgin.
The dead Qirist is of course a marvel of ill-drawing, and
as in the German and early Italian Pietas, his emaciation,
and all the terrible insignia of his suflFering are insisted
upon with a total disr^;ard of truth of construction or
perspective.

Van der Weyden is supposed to be the teacher of Hans
Memling, or Memlinc, as it was probably spelled in his
day. He is the great glory of the school of Bruges and
it is there he must be seen really to be known. His
highest triumphs are in religious paintings, though some
of his portraits do not lack strength or individuality. He
had a grace, an expressiveness, and a sweetness of ren-
dering women's faces never equalled in the early Flemish
school. His landscapes too, were not only minute, truthful
and real, but they were treated as the setting for his
figures and scenes in a way none of his contemporaries
achieved. "His Virgins," says one critic, "are not
simply the real and mundane portraits of the ladies of his
time — they embody purit}- of expression, celestial sim-
plicit>', peace and an ineflFable charm." If not among his
finest works the pictures by Memlinc in the Louvre are
sufiiciently good to g^ve a fair idea of this painter's style.
All, with the exception of one, are in Salle XX.

The Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine was painted
about 1475. It is a diptych and though for k>iig the leaves

i86 ube Htt ot tbe Xouvre

were apart, it has now been reunited. On the dexter leaf
the Virgin is shown seated in a meadow with the child
Jesus on her lap surrounded by six saints, three on each
side, and in the sky far above are three angels playing
on flutes. Behind the Virgin is a bank with a trellis of
roses, and on each side is a symmetrical sort of arbour
of trees, opening in the centre to display a distant land-
scape of widening stream and low banks and, against the
horizon, a high peaked mountain. The Virgin is clad
in blue and sits with eyes downcast holding the child in
her hands. He has turned toward the left and is reach-
ing down to place a ring on the finger of St. Catherine,
who is seated at the feet of the Virgin in the left of the
immediate foreground, arrayed in a ricli golden brocade
gown with red velvet waist. Her left hand rests on an
open book on her knees and from under her full draperies
appear the wheel and the sword. Opposite her kneels
St. Barbara, in red, holding a book. At the Virgin's left,
behind St. Barbara, are St. Margaret with the head of
the dragon at her knees and St. Lucy bearing a dish con-
taining two eyes. Facing these are St. Agnes with her
lamb and St. Cecilia with her little organ. These four
saints are dressed in the brilliant clear colours usual to the
early religious painters, and they still retain their original
freshness of tone. The three angels in the sky are
delicately drawn and really seem to float in the ether.
All of the saints are diflFerentiated by subtle changes of
expression that give to each a decided and charming
individuality. With no attempt at shadow, their faces
and forms are yet carefully modelled, and in spite of
certain hesitances and inaccuracies present an appear-
ance of reality. The Virgin and child are no less success-
ful. Better anatomically than in either Van der Weyden's
or Van Eyck's pictures is the little nude Jesus, and there

Salles f 1If . to f f f IDir. 187

is a sweet maternity and yet a cloistral virginity about
the girl-mother that neither of the other men so well
expressed. The composition is somewhat formal but
is naturally composed.

On the other leaf is the Portrait of the Donor of the
Picture, John du Celier, who was one of the guild of
Merchant Grocers, at that time a very rich guild in
Bruges. He is in a robe lined with fur and kneels on the
ground, his hands met in prayer. His patron saint, John
the Baptist, is behind him, one hand on the merchant's
shoulder, the other pointing to the Son. The foreground
is a field where wild flowers and plants are growing in
profusion. A winding stream in front of a band of
trees separates this scene from the ones in the back-
ground. These are incidents from the lives of St. George
and St. John and have become greatly obliterated from
the ravages of time.

The two shutters, St. John the Baptist, and Mary
Magdalene, had once a centre portion whose very subject
is forgotten. They were in Prince Lucien Bonaparte's
collection and afterward were owned by William II. of
Holland. The two here are the fronts of the complete
shutters, sawn apart no one knows when. The Louvre
bought them in 1851 for eleven thousand seven hundred
and twenty-eight francs. The backs of the shutters repre-
sented Saints Stephen and Christopher. Of the ones in
the Louvre, the St. John is on the dexter panel. Gad
in a camel's skin, he stands in a meadow that slopes back
and upwards to a river with high banks on which is
a palace where Herodias's daughter is dancing and where
in the courtyard St. John is beheaded. At the foot of the
hill is John baptizing Jesus, and again he is shown
pointing out the master to the disciples. This placing
in the background of different scenes occurring at dif-

x88 XLbc Hrt of tbe Xouvte

ferent times was characteristic of Memlinc as of the early
Italians.

On the opposite panel, Mary Magdalene stands also in
a landscape. She is dressed in a brocaded gown of red
and gold with a mantle of violet. In her right hand
she carries a pot of ointment. Behind in the distance,
she is seen wiping her Lord's feet in Simon's house, again
she is watching the raising of Lazarus, and once more
she appears under some trees kneeling at the feet of the
risen Saviour. Still farther back on the side of a moun-
tain is the entrance to a cave, and above it two angels
carry the saint to heaven. In each of these panels the
foreground is full of flowering shrubs and plants. Both
are wonderfully finished and the character cf both heads
is vividly depicted. St. John has a strength, a ruggedness,
and a strained expression that tells of his strenuous life,
and in Mary Magdalene both softness and intelligence
appear in her really beautiful countenance.

Whereas Memlinc may be called the last of the pure
Gothic painters, to adopt M. Alexandre's title for the
earliest Flemish painters, Quentin Matsys, says M. Alex-
andre again, is the first of the great moderns. " He was
the rising, as Rubens was the setting sun of Antwerp."
Already in his works can be seen the i^ifluence of the
Italians, though it is not known if he ever visited Italy.
This Italian influence is not always present, however, for
at times he is as truly Gothic as Memlinc himself.
Generally, the two influences are fused in a whole where
neither can be separated from the other. He stands as
it were midway between Van Eyck and Rubens. In his
compositions are signs of the floridity, richness and
magnificence that make those of the later master such
glowing splendours of art. Where Matsys acquired the
training that made him the artist he became, is not

Salles f-fff ♦ to f ff OT- 189

definitely known. It is at least certain that he did not
in six months turn from a blacksmith to an accomplished
painter, all for love of an artist's daughter whose father
had sworn that she should marry only a man of his own
profession.

The two pictures by Matsys in Salle XX. are of very
unequal merit. In the portrait-genre piece The Banker
and His Wife, he is not far from his best. Sitting side
by side behind a counter, are the banker and his wife, he
counting and weighing his coins, she turning over the
leaves of an illuminated book, but pausing for a moment's
look at her husband's employment. Behind them are
two shelves, holding a glass bottle, an orange, a pair of
scales, books and papers. Before them, besides the gold
pieces, are an open, silk purse filled with pearls, a line
of rings run on a roll of paper, and a small round mirror
in which is reflected a wiindow, the head and shoulders
of a man reading by it, and through the window trees
and a tower. All these accessories are done with the
painstaking, accurate brush of the Low Countries. But
how admirably they keep their place ! It is only by close
scrutiny that they can be noticed or enumerated. The
whole attention is riveted exactly where it was intended
it should be, — directly upon the man and woman them-
selves. The man has a big full-rolled cap with a cape
hanging from it, and a blue coat with fur about the
neck and cuffs. His whole mind is absorbed in count-
ing and weighing his treasure, and the skilful, slender
fingers seem made for the careful task. His face is
strongly marked and lined, his eyes deep set, his nose
long and high in bone, his mouth fully curved but firm.
It is not the miser who is here portrayed, but the success-
ful, cautious business man, and it is evident that it is
as capital a likeness as it is a capitally drawn visage. His

19© XTbe Hrt of tbe Xomore

wife, who sits close by on his left, is a quiet, placid, lady-
like soul, viewing the pieces of money with not too great
an interest. She is much more attracted by missals than
by shining doubloons. Her dress is red and the cover of
the counter is green, the colours of the picture therefore
bright, pictorial. But it is his characterization of the
two people and the freedom of his drawing and excel-
lence of modelling that make this what it is, a really
splendid group.

The Blessing Christ, is far less satisfactory. There is
nothing about it that marks it as anything but a very
mediocre work.

In Room XXI. both Peter Breughel, the elder, and
Velvet Breughel his son have examples of their works.
Velvet Breughel as well has several in Room XXXV.
Peter Breughel was very unlike his son both in his man-
ner of working and in the subjects he chose to portray.
Though he studied in Italy, he was never Italianized,
and as a Flemish painter he stands quite apart as truly
as Jan Steen does among the Dutch. Not so great a
humourist, he was a true observer, a wise thinker, a
brilliant raconteur, a keen satirist. If at times in his tran-
scriptions of peasant life he was both rude and even
vulgar, he redeems those faults by a spirit, a life, vigour
of thought and an intense reality.

The Reunion of the Mendicants has been called by
Mantz " a veritable chef-d'oeuvre." It shows a party of
five cripples in a garden marching painfully along on
their crutches. They are dressed in ridiculous costumes
ornamented with foxtails and with hats in the form of
mitres. At the back is a wall of bricks. These cripples
are vividly portrayed, not a disagreeable spared, and yet
the picture is amusing rather than repulsive.

The Parable of the Blind is one of his more serious

THE BANKER AND HIS WIFE
I>y Matsys

Salles f Hf . to ff flDir. 191

and stronger works. For it is not alone with mirth that
this painter dwells. Alexandre's description of it is so
striking that it is worth giving entire. After stating
that it is a repetition in oil of one in tempera at the Naples
museum, he goes on : '' The amplitude of the design, and
of the movement of that line of blind men, who, holding
each by the other^ seem about to fall into the ditch yawn-
ing at the feet of the first one of the queue, the extraor-
dinary conception of those heads with the non-seeing
eyes, so real and so dreadful; the beauty of the harmo-
nious colouring with its greens, grays, browns and reds ;
the magnificent landscape, so powerful, so immense, so
full of unexpected detail ; this it is that makes one
realize how great he was as man and painter."

In Salle XXXV. Snyders has a picture far removed
from the tremendous battles and conflicts he so often
painted. Even in this, however, which is named Dogs
in a Larder, the two snarling dogs and the glaring cat
in the background give an intensity and a passion that
proclaim it truly a Snyders. Standing on his hind legs
with his forepaws on a small square table, the dog at the
left is devouring one of the pieces of meat that forms part
of the pile of legs of mutton, asparagus and artichokes.
In the centre, half under the table, another dog has his
forefeet on a bone, which he guards with an angry show
of teeth from the third canine. This last is at the right,
legs far apart, head down, as near to the coveted morsel
as he dare venture. His raised upper lip, the gleam in
his furtive eye, the whole snarling, sneaking brute is
expressed with a snap and vigour till one expects actually
to hear the vicious barks. Through an open door at
the left, a cat is seen curled up on the table. Her own
evident fright, detestation and spite fairly send sparks
from the starting eyes.

192 XTbe Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

Older by a quarter of a century than Snyders was
Adriaen Brauwer, who can be claimed by both Dutch
and Flemish schools. He studied under Hals at Haarlem,
but afterward worked mostly in Antwerp. He has been
reviled as being a worse toper than his worst pictures
indicated. There is comparatively little known about
him even yet, but enough to indicate that this tale is
a gross exaggeration. Certainly he was a great friend
of Rubens and Rembrandt, both of whom owned paint-
ings by him and esteemed them highly. Rubens, it has
been pointed out, was too correct in his own life to have
been intimate with the carouser Brauwer has been con-
sidered. Waagen says of his pictures that " they display
a singular power of keeping, a delicate and harmonious
colouring, which inclines to the cool shade, an admirable
individuality, and a sfumato of surface in which he is un-
excelled." The Louvre had nothing worth calling his till
the Collection Lacaze came to it. There are several
panels in that that show him somewhere near his best.
Probably the most generally known is the one called
The Smoker in Salle XXXIV. This originally formed
part of a series of five pictures, called The Five Senses.

It is merely the head and bust of- a man, including,
however, his right and part of his left hand. Grasping
a bottle of liquor in both hands along with his clay pipe
which is still smoking, this rough-looking individual is
portrayed with wide-open eyes and stretched, cavern-like
mouth out of which are issuing clouds of smoke. His
bushy, tousled hair hangs over his face and on to his
shoulders, his collar is careless, the general air is that
of a roisterer. And that is undoubtedly just what
Brauwer intended him to appear. It is quite impossible
to look at the silly, distorted face without laughing, even
if the observer is a teetotaler or belongs to an anti-

Salles f irf. to f f flPlF. 193

smokers' league. And like everything Brauwer touched,
there are individuality, expression, intense life, and a
masterly brush shown over every inch of the picture.

Brauwer is much less well known than Teniers and
left far fewer works behind him. But competent critics
acknowledge him a greater master in the same field.
The Operation, in the same room as The Smoker is an-
other most characteristic, realistic work, in which he
shows that broad, full hand that learned its lesson well
under the instruction of Frans Hals.

The Duo in the next room, by Teniers, is a delightful
bit, simple as it is amusing, full of reality and life as it is
of observation. At the left an old man seated on a
wooden chair is vigorously playing a violin, while by his
side, filling the right of the picture sits his wife, holding
a sheet of music in her hands and singing bravely the
while she watches her lord and master. The man wears
a red velvet jacket and gray trousers, a blue hat with
a long, slender plume, and the gaiety of his clothes is
emphasized by his own lively expression and the energy
with which he marks time with his left foot which is rest-
ing, toes up, on the stool before him. His wife has a blue
dress and a white cap. Perhaps the first impression at
seeing this bit of genre, is an amused surprise that this
hard-working old couple have either leisure or taste for
the fine arts!

Among others by Van der Meulen in Room XXXVII.,
is The View of Dinant. Though it is called the siege and
taking of Dinant, there is so little sign of hostility on
the part of the amiable-looking cavalcade advancing
toward it, or of active preparations of defence by the
walled town that it is difficult to associate battle or bom-
bardment with the scene. The colouring is warm and
harmonious if darkened. At the left in the foreground

194

Ube art ot tbe Xouvrc

is a company of mounted officers, the central one of whom
is supposed to be the Marquis de Rochefort. They
are at the end of a long line of troops, the first of which,
winding down the hills and across the plain, have almost
reached the town on the Meuse. Above the village is the
castle, high on a precipitous clifif, and below the river runs
diagonally across the picture. The rocky region, with its
sparse vegetation, the opposite shore with its admirable
distance, the scattered habitations, all are rendered with
a realistic if conventional touch.

. CHAPTER XIL

SALLES XIX. TO XXXVI. — DUTCH SCHOOL

In Salle XXXIV. are two portraits of women by Jan
van Ravestein, the Dutch painter, who, with the exception
of Hals and Rembrandt was scarcely ever equalled as a
portrait-painter in his country. There is a largeness, a
truth, a brilliancy and a style to this man's work that,
though not seen at the Louvre anywhere near at their
height, are at least intimated in these Dutch women. It
is in the Hague where he is best represented with his
great corporation pictures as well as with his splendid
portraits of men. He has not quite the dash, surety and
ease of brush-work that distinguish Hals, but his tech-
nique is free, full and certain and his colour is equal to
Hals at his best. He reminds one, perhaps, of Van Dyck,
both in brush-work and in colour.

These two excellent portraits would attract far more
attention were they not so near the famous Bohemian
Girl of Frans Hals. This picture widely as it is known
and admired, critics generally regard as not one of his
very greatest works. It has nevertheless, some of the
most noted and fascinating characteristics of Hals. The
broad freedom of the brush-work, the way he has ex-
pressed the gay insouciance of the smiling face, — its
abandonment to untrammelled jollity, with a sort of
whole-hearted ignoring of any unpleasant consequences,

195

196 Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvre

— the art that can so paint a smile that it does not grow
wearisome, all this and more are in this gipsy maiden
who looks out so gaily from the rough tangle of her
shadowing hair. It is a picture that makes the most
fastidious smile in sympathy and puts one at once so
in tune with the universe that almost one is ready to
smile good-naturedly with her at the whole huge joke
of living.

The other Portrait of a Woman by Hals in the same
room is very different both in character and technique.
She is of the bourgeois class, and is represented stand-
ing turned toward the left, her hands crossed at her
waist. Her close-fitting cap, deep plain collar and cuffs are
white, her dress a sombre black. Though lacking some
of the brilliant colouring and esprit of his most successful
canvases, this has a truth, a sobriety, and a fine sense of
values that would make a triumph for any man who
had not achieved so much more.

Of yet another calibre is the Portraits of the Van
Beresteyn Family, in Salle XXH. This is a picture of
father, mother, six children and two nurses. They are
seated under the branches of a tree in the midst of an
indeterminate landscape. Hals paid as little attention
to that as he did to the compositional lines of this picture
as a whole. At the extreme left paterfamilias sits cross-
legged on a slight hillock, his left arm thrown around
his wife's shoulder. She is sitting a little lower down
on the ground beside him, and behind her stands one of
the nurses pulling some cherries from the branch over
her head for the small boy next his mother. His smiling
profile, as he raises his hands in anticipation, is charm-
ingly frank and boyish. Slightly below him a small
daughter kneels with her mother's arm about her waist,
while she reaches up a bunch of flowers to her father.

BOHEMIAN CilKL
By Frans Hals

Salles ffff • to f f JM. 197

This gfoup has a certain continuity of interest that, if
loosely, still does hold it together. At the right on the
same plane, is the other nurse, one small child in her
arms and clasping the wrist of another standing beside
her. In front of them a third tiny maiden is sitting flat
on the ground picking flowers, while the fourth infant
looks out from behind the nurse. As a composition this
picture has little or no merit. As a portrait group of ten
people it is a marvellous production. With the exception
of the father and mother, every face is smiling, each
countenance fairly bubbling over with mirth. The elder
ones too, if more sedate, express an equal pleasure. The
picture was painted before 1630 and is consequently
considered to be in his first manner. He has paid great
attention to the rich brocades, silks, velvets and laces that
clothe these patrician sitters of his, but glowing as are
the colours and highly wrought as are the stuffs and
laces, they never obtrude to the detriment or eclipse
of the speaking faces. The painting has been badly re-
stored, the child on the far right seeming to be almost
entirely by another hand.

The separate portraits of Nicholas Van Beresteyn and
his wife represent Hals at an even higher plane than does
the family group. They stand in their respective frames
facing each other. Nicholas is turned toward the right,
his wife to the left. Frau Van Beresteyn has her right
hand resting on the top of a carved chair, the other
hanging closed by her side. The husband's left hand
which holds his hat rests on a table before him, his right
is doubled up against his hip. They are in gala attire,
with wonderful ruches edged with pointed lace, and deep
plaited musHn cuffs elaborately trimmed with lace. Frau
Van Beresteyn has a splendid cap that encircles her head
with its lace border sticking out like an aureole. Both

198 XTbe Hrt of tbc Xouvre

are in rich brocades, the wife with a deep embroidered
stomacher. The drawing of their hands, the modelling
of the flesh, the individuality of the faces, the clear
transparence of the " carnations," the mastery of the
technicalities of robes and stuffs, — all this makes a re-
markable pair of portraits.

The lack of compositional unity apparent in the family
group of the Van Beresteyns was a characteristic failing
of Frans Hals. It is only as a portrait-painter that he
can rank among the great painters of the world. In this
line, even if he rests content with portraying simply what
he saw on the surface, and thus proves himself to
possess less imagination, less depth than Rembrandt; if
he has on the whole a less brilliant, scintillating palette
than Velasquez, or even than Rubens or Van Dyck, — in
his own way, within his own self-imposed limitations,
he is as great as any painter that ever lived, in certain
ways greater. No other man ever so completely revelled
in painting as painting. No one else ever expressed such
a joy in brush-work that he made the mere manipulation
of pigments a great art. It is perhaps this manipulation
that differentiates Hals from all other painters. In
breadth, in freedom, in dash, in surety, in fulness, in
plastic power, in any one of these attributes he has been
equalled, perhaps excelled. But no one has had all of
them developed to such a tremendous height as he had
them. And, as critics have not failed to point out, he
copied nobody's method. He was influenced neither by
his contemporaries nor by the men of the past. Besides
the technical wonders his brush achieved, its greatest
marvel is its perfect adaptability to the subjects he
depicted. Those beaming, buxom Dutch girls, those smil-
ing, well-nourished, care-free matrons, those joking,
laughing, broad-faced cavaliers, or tavern-keepers, —

Sallcs f ff . to f f f IDIF. 199

what other touch, what other brush ever half so well ex-
pressed them? Frans Hals painted in a flat, unforced
light, choosing neither a shadow-lurking studio, nor the
outdoor glare for his sitters. He is thus less concerned
with atmosphere or artificially lighted surroundings than
he is with local colour and values. And no one has ever
had a keener sense of values or expressed them with
freer, flatter tones. In the beginning his colour was some-
what brown in the flesh-tones. In the height of his
powers it was clear, brilliant, pulsating; in his old
age it grew much grayer till finally it became almost
monochromatic. But even at the very end of his long
life he never lost his wonderful sense of values.

Not much younger than Hals was Poelenburgh whose
pictures in Salle XXII. show him to have been in his
own way also an originator. He was a great favourite
with Charles I. of England, and if his technique suggests
in its finish Dou or Metsu, his colour-scheme was dif-
ferent and he may be said to have originated his own
style. He chiefly painted landscapes in which he placed
charming little nude figures of nymphs, fauns, Cupids
and the like. His flesh-tones are somewhat purplish, but
they have the exquisite finish and delicate modelling of
the contemporary school of Dutch painters.

In The Bathers are three women preparing for their
bath in the river which flows at the right under a wooden
bridge. At the left cattle are grazing in the field, and
on the horizon breaks a line of mountains. The women
are carefully drawn and modelled with a finish like
enamel, that nevertheless gives a charming if rather
unreal effect to the flesh.

In the View of Mt. Palatine and the Temple of
Minerva, Poelenburgh had a chance to make his usual
ruins historically and geographically accurate, A herds-

200 XEbc Hrt of tbe %owvxc

man, his very presence emphasizing the age-long wreck
of the palace of the emperors, is in the centre of the
picture, with his dog. He is talking with a peasant
woman, while on the plains the cattle graze. At the right
upon the mountain are the imperial ruins. Finish, joined
to a certain sort of logical truth is perhaps the strongest
characteristic of this little picture.

In the same room are several paintings by Gerard Hon-
thorst, who, unlike most of the Dutch school was strongly
influenced by Italian art, especially by Caravaggio. The
intensity of his shadows and the sharpness of his lights
led to his being called Gherardo delle Notte. Most of his
work is too ostensible, too made, too forced in its scheme
of chiaroscuro. He delighted in having only candle-rays
for the light of a whole composition. By this method one
small spot would shine with a brilliancy greatly exag-
gerated by the depth of the shadows about. The works
of his in the Louvre are not remarkable though they show
his usual tendencies.

In Robert of Bavaria the prince is bareheaded, turned
three-quarters to his right. The wide guipure collar, the
green sash, and the sword are as carefully painted as is
the face. It was regarded as a fine portrait in its day,
but it is a mediocre work.

The Man with the Lute is decidedly better. In style
of subject this somewhat suggests Hals, though Hals
never dealt in such cold, deep shadows. The player is
shown seated before a table, the lute resting upon it and
in his arms. He has lifted his head and is smiling, and,
apparently, singing, with grimaces that divide his merry
countenance into wrinkles. Before him on the table is
a huge beer-mug, and the whole air of the picture is
convivial and rollicking to the last degree. It has less of
the artificial effect of lighting than m<any of Honthorst's.

Salles f 1[f • to f ffOT- 201

Jan van Goyen died the same year as Honthorst, 1656.
He was one of the earliest of Dutch landscape and
marine painters, and was one of the very first to give to
the sky a real place of importance in a picture. His skies
were always remarkably in accord with his fields, his
canals, his seas, and they were always full of light, with
big fleecy clouds, through which shone gleams of the
sun or bits of the blue. The banks of canals or shores of
rivers are his usual subjects, and the scenes of his which
are in Salle XXHI. are fairly representative.

Salles XXXI. and XXXH. are called Rembrandt rooms
and are full of gems by this greatest of Dutch masters.
In calling Rembrandt that, all critics agree. The term
however does not in the least define or limit his genius,
and it is just this definition and limitation about which
students, painters and critics have widely disagreed.
Rembrandt, the marvellous technician, yet often the
slovenly workman ; the greatest realist of his own or any
time, yet one of the idealistic dreamers of the world;
Rembrandt, the unflattering, argus-eyed portrait-painter;
Rembrandt, the mystic ; Rembrandt the Lutheran ; Rem-
brandt, the religious painter par excellence since Fra
Angelico ; Rembrandt, the portrayer of the common, the
unlovely ; Rembrandt, who made flesh look as if it were
only a golden reflection of the impenetrable shadows that
nearly submerged it; Rembrandt, who painted flesh as
glowing, pulsing, rich, as even Rubens of Van Dyck;
Rembrandt, whose compositions were unformed, ill-
balanced; Rembrandt who balanced, massed, combined
his portrait groups into compositions unexcelled by
Raphael himself; Rembrandt, whose brush-work is thick,
rough, heavy, muddy ; Rembrandt, whose surface is as
thin, as smooth, as polished, as free, as supple as Velas-
queu; above all and always Rembrandt the thinker, the

202 Ube Hrt ot tbe %o\xvtc

originator, the free man, dependent on no one before or
beside him, thinking his own thoughts, and expressing
them in his own way, and leaving to posterity a mass
of works enough for three hfetimes. And among these
are masterpieces such as no one else has equalled, master-
pieces that the whole western world agrees in calling
among the few great treasures of art of all time.

The Home of the Carpenter was painted about 1640.
It shows the carpenter back to in his shirt-sleeves by the
open window at the right working at his planing-board.
In front, at the right of him, but still at the left of the
centre of the picture sits the mother holding the little
naked baby to whom she offers her breast. At her
right is the grandmother, who has paused reading from
the big book in her lap to lift the covering from the
child's face The whole light of the picture is concen-
trated upon the child and the mother's breast save where
it rests upon the floor in front in the shape of a square
made by the reflection of the open window. By this
arrangement the father, the grandmother and the mother's
face are thrown into a half-light. But all the rest of the
room, where a large mantel-place fills one side and various
pieces of furniture and utensils other parts, is submerged
in a deep brooding shadow.

It is a bit out of the life of a simple Dutch family here,
such as Rembrandt must have seen daily about him.
The mother is lovely only by her care and tenderness,
the child is a round Dutch baby. Yet so full of feeling,
so rich in tone, so wonderful in lighting is this little scene
that almost it seems as if no one else ever painted so
beautiful a Holy Family.

In this salle are two canvases, each called The Phil-
osopher in Meditation. They are very similar in treat-
ment, and were painted about four years apart. In one

Salles firf . to f f fM. 203

canvas the old man, wrapped in his fur coat and huge
cap sits by the window in the vaulted room alone, plunged
into the deep thought apparently quite apart from the
books lying on the table before him. In the other picture,
the dreaming scholar is not alone. Several women are
about, though in the gloom of the vaulted chamber they
are of little importance. These two scenes are among
the first examples of Rembrandt's work in chiaroscuro,
when the subtility of light and shade plays so important a
part in his pictures. The colours of the two are grayish,
almost monochromatic.

The Angel Raphael Quitting Tobias is no less remark-
able for its chiaroscuro, and it has much more variety of
colour. Gathered on the porch of a house are Tobias
and his family, while immediately above them at the
right of the picture, the angel is just rising into the
heavens. Tobias himself is prostrate on the lowest step,
his son on his knees beside him. Behind them on the
step above, the son's wife stands with prayer-met hands,
her face lifted in wonder to the departing heavenly visi-
tant. Leaning against her, with her head on her shoulder
is the wife of Tobias, overcome both at the apparition
and at her own lack of faith. Between the two groups
is a dog, his attitude one of crouching fear.

The light is concentrated about the figure of Raphael.
With extended arms, wings and legs he is shown in a
foreshortened back view. If the spread feet suggest a
little the feeling of swimming in the ether, rather than
flying, and if they are a little awkward and ugly in their
lines, the wonderful illumination of the whole figure, the
beautiful tones of the feathery wings, the brilliant white
tunic, and the glory of the heavens into which he will
shortly vanish at once make up for any such shortcom-
ings. Almost all the rest of the picture is enveloped in a

^04 XTbe Ert ot tbe Xouvte

rich shadow scarcely lifted except where the radiance
from above strikes Tobias's bent head and neck ancj
parts of the face and breast of the son's wife. This is
quite sufficient, however, to hold the connection between
the upper and lower part of the composition. And the
effect of this lighting is wonderful in its depth of expres-
sion. Nothing more reverent, more impressive could be
imagined than Tobias as he rests on hands and knees.
The light that strikes his fine old head is like a spiritual
radiance from within that answers to the celestial beams
from above. Complete faith, humble gratitude, soul-
exaltation, all are expressed by this wonderful manage-
ment and focusing of light. Almost as telling is the
light that strikes upon the son's wife. The mysticism,
the ideality, the real religion of Rembrandt's art Is here
given expression, if not so fully and so freely, yet almost
as beautifully as in the Good Samaritan which is near by.
This was painted about 1648 and is Rembrandt in his
full power. At the entrance of an inn whose windowed
wall extends more than half across the whole of the
canvas, a boy servant holds the bridle of the horse from
which the sick man has been taken. Two other servants
bear the weak traveller between them.. On the steps, in
fuller light, stands the Samaritan waiting for his guest
and looking at him with sorrow and pity, and behind him,
a trifle higher on the step in the shadow, is his good wife.
From the window of the tavern several heads are peer-
ing, and below a couple of horses are tied. The day is
dying, the light from the twilight-filled sky only touches
here and there the group about the sick man, now em-
phasizing the line of a shoulder, here throwing a face
into half-light, now touching the bandage about the ill
one's head, anon hitting his thin knees, softly rounding
the flank of one of the horses and striking more broadly

CHRIST AT EMMAUS
By Rembrandt

Salles f Iff . to f f flDI. 205

the lower angle of the tavern wall, and finally resting
squarely over the upper part of the Samaritan's figure.
The rest of the scene is enveloped in the darkness of
the oncoming night, full of the rich, dark harmonies
Rembrandt alone knew how to express. Here once more
the art so peculiarly Rembrandt's own is wonderfully
adapted to the subject treated. Nothing else, no other
way of painting, assuredly, would have so visualized, and
so intensified the reality and the beauty of the old story.
Pathos, tenderness, subdued strength, the mystery and
beauty of goodness all seem a part of this subtle, caress-
ing shadow of the sinking day.

This same mystery of darkness plays an important
part in Christ at Emmaus. In a shadowy room the two
disciples sit in profile facing each other at the ends of
the small white-covered table. With them is the Master,
so sitting that he is in full face, with the table in front of
him, a disciple on each side. His hands break the bread
while his eyes are raised to heaven asking the blessing.
And it seems as if it was only at that instant that his two
followers had realized who he was. The one at the left
who has turned till he is nearly back to, joins his hands
in prayer, the other has started back in astonishment and
is gazing eagerly at the guest, as if not yet quite certain
of his identity. A servant at his side is placing a dish
upon his shoulder. He, apparently sees nothing to
startle him, though his face like the others is lighted by
the strange effulgence that plays behind and about the
Saviour of men.

Fromentin says of this composition, so small in size, so
rough in execution, that no other painter has ever
imagined the Christ like this, — with the marks of tor-
ture still showing on his darkened lips, the great, deep,
wide-open eyes lifted heavenward, the halo, a phosphores-

ao6 XTbe Brt of tbc Xouvre

cent envelop that submerges himi in glory, and his face
bearing the inexpHcable look of a living, breathing human
being, who has passed through death; with his bearing
so impossible to describe and more so to copy, with the
entire feeling of the face where there is yet scarcely a
defined feature, — these are the things which no art
recalls and which no one before Rembrandt and no one
after has expressed so marvellously.

The Portrait of an Old Man, painted about 1638 is
an interesting study, if far below the compositions de-
scribed above. He is represented in full face enveloped
in a big cloak, his head bare and almost bald, with a long
beard, and graying moustache.

Of the four Portraits of Rembrandt at the Louvre,
three show himi as a young man. They are all painted
in three-quarters view, the earlier three on oval canvases.
The one without a cap shows him with his bushy, curly
hair thick about his head, wearing a violet velvet cloak
draped with a golden chain set with pearls. There are
already some of the familiar wrinkles in his forehead be-
tween his eyes, but they are the sort that come from close
and sustained thought rather than from worry or trouble.
His eyes are bright, his face is full and round, everything
bespeaks the man of youth, of love, of good fortune, —
the rich clothes and jewels no more than the easy pose,
the comfortable, happy expression, the light in the eye,
the eager mouth.

In the other two he has a velvet cap ornamented with
a golden chain, other gold chains about his neck, and
frankness, good humour, happiness still radiate from the
face, that, though far too heavy and loosely modelled ever
to be beautiful, has a mobility, a life, an intelligence, that
make it wonderfully interesting. Rembrandt's hand was
perhaps not at the height of its power when he painted

Salles f irf • to f f flDIF. 207

these three. Any one of them, nevertheless, easily ranks
among the great portraits of the world.

The fourth was done when he was old, poor, dis-
regarded by the very public that had once adored him,
pressed by difficulties on every side. Yet it is not hard to
trace in this portrait the indomitable energy, the uncom-
plaining spirit, the steady purpose, the love of art that re-
mained with him up to the last gloomy year of his life.
It was painted the year before the famous Syndics, in
1660. It has not the glowing colour of that masterpiece,
nor the haunting, mysterious shadows of transcendent
lights of many of his earlier works. It is somewhat
murky, this painting of the old man in his white cap that,
looking like a night-hood, ill assorts v/ith the long fur-
bordered robe hanging loosely about his figure. In his
left hand he holds his palette and brushes, in his right
his maulstick. He is standing in three-quarters view,
facing toward his left, before a canvas on an easel. Gone
are the gold chains, the velvet caps, the pearl earrings,
the rich surroundings of his earlier years. The plain
walls of a bare room are his only background, and in the
uncompromising flatness of the rather dull tones, the too
heavy brush-work, one seems to read the rebuffs that
made this royal good fellow of 1634, an old, tired man,
with the homely, hanging double chin, the wrinkled,
heavy skin, the short, scant hair. But still the mouth
presses firmly together, still the eyes look* out squarely,
surely, and still shines the unbroken spirit of the man who
kept free and young in the love of his life, — his art.

One of Rembrandt's pupils was Adriaen van Ostade,
whose effects of chiaroscuro gained for him the title
of " the little Rembrandt." He painted generally the
extremely ugly. His tavern scenes, his drinking and
smoking men, even his home interiors, show the Dutch

j2od Zbc Hrt of tbe Xouiote

peasaht in his homeliest, most awkward, rudest aspect.
Yet so glowing is the colour, so marvellous the arrange-
ment of light and shade, that in spite of the gaucheries
of form, the clumsiness of action, they are in their own
way really beautiful. His brother Isaack was his pupil
and in the beginning copied his style of painting. Soon
he dropped that to paint landscape in which he achieved
decided success. Though he has a brownness of shadow,
his scenes are remarkably fresh, breezy and brilliant. He
has a keen observation and rejoices in depicting the
picturesque details of his tavern-yards, his river-banks,
his frozen canals. Both of these brothers are well repre-
sented at the Louvre, pictures by them being in Salles
XXIV., XXV., XXXL, XXXHL, and XXXIV.

Among the most noted by the older man is the family
group of himself, his wife, his six children and his
brother Isaack and his wife. It is one of his largest can-
vases, measuring thirty-two inches in length by twenty-
eight in height. As a portrait group the figures are
combined skilfully enough so that the lines are pleasing
if not distinguished, the massing easy if not striking.
The extreme elongation of the group gave Ostade a
superb chance to paint the varying tones of black gar-
ments and white caps and collars. These blacks have been
called among the most wonderful renderings known of
this most difficult colour. Ostade himself, a middle-aged
man, in big soft black hat, knee-breeches, low ties and
a wide white collar sits at the left holding on his knee
the chubby hand of his wife who sits beside him. Her
mouth is a bit open and her face is turned to her husband.
The little gesture of her left hand indicates the conver-
sation she is carrying on with her good man, who, though
he is assuredly listening, is looking out and away. Five
small girls of varying age are grouped in a more or less

Salles f IFf . to f JJIDIT- 209

broken line extending from the mother's knee almost
to the right of the picture. Their positions are all
natural, easy and full of childlike vivacity. A little
behind the group, in the centre, stand Isaack and his
wife side by side. Back of his father's chair and at the
left is the boy of the family, smiling and holding his
gloves in one hand. All these personages are in black
except the two smallest children in front, one of whom
has a maroon dress, the other a gray. It is a free,
realistic, lifelike group and would do honour to the
greatest painter. The flesh-tones are clear and living,
the modelling supple and simple, the draperies wonderful
creations of tone.

The Fish Market is another celebrated scene by Ostade.
Sitting at his counter in nearly full face, the old merchant
lifts with one hand the fish he has been cleaning and
looks up as if he regarded some possible purchaser. He
is in a cool, even light that does not, to be sure, suggest
out-of-doors though the booth is open. Behind him are
other booths and a crowd of people under the shadows of
the projecting roofs, and farther beyond still, the sun-
light of real outdoors. The management of the shadow,
the softness and graded tones of its mass, the light back
of it emphasizing its own luminosity, show the influence
of Rembrandt. The drawing, modelling and colour of
the old fish-seller are all more than admirable, as is the
atmosphere of the whole thing, with its warm, golden
light, and its humid shadow.

Still another is The Reader. Out of an open window
above which a grape-vine falls down in two graceful
sprays, leans the jolly old man who has apparently
stopped reading to answer the call of some one below.
His right hand still holds the paper, his left his glasses.
On his head is his soft black hat, behind him the deep

210 ubc Hrt ot tbe %o\xvtc

shadow": that allows no details of the room to be seen.
His wrinkled, fat, coarse face is wreathed in a kindly
smile. The green overcoat and undersleeves of maroon
make a fine bit of colour, and the lighting of the face and
hands and their relation to the white paper show splendid
feeling for colour.

Perhaps the best of Isaack van Ostade's works in the
Louvre are his Frozen Canals, though his Halts before
Taverns and his Winter Scene are all good. The Frozen
Canal in Room XXIV. shows a high bank with naked
trees and old thatched cottages rising out of the wide
frozen canal, a strip of lower shore cutting diagonally
across as foreground. Near this shore a man and woman
come skating rapidly and behind them are a dog and a
small boy doubled up with the cold. At the left another
small child pushes herself along on a sled and at the right
two boys have stopped while one tightens his straps.
On the shore at the left of the picture two other children
push to the canal a sled bearing two of their companions,
and up on the bank a peasant drives an old gray horse
hitched to a truck. In the distance are boats and ships
in the ice, other skaters, and farther off mills and roofs
of the village. This is a striking winter scene of Holland,
full of truth, life and action and fairly pervaded with
the cold whiteness of the ice and snow.

Van der Heist, who in the judgment of his fellow
countrymen was considered almost equal to Rembrandt
as a portrait-painter is only meagrely represented at the
Louvre. In his day his clear, bright, sharp portraits with
their admirable construction, definite portraiture and
elaboration of detail were given highest praise. To-day
his colour seems hard and somewhat artificial and his
dislike to use chiaroscuro or to make one part of his

Salles in* to mm. 211

pictures more predominant than another, all militate
against his being considered a real master.

His Judging of the Archery Prize is a small repro-
duction of the larger one at Amsterdam. Sitting around
a table covered with a gaily striped cloth are four of the
chiefs of the archery companies of Amsterdam. They are
looking at the rich prizes in gold and silver and evidently
are discussing their merits. Behind them at the left a
serving-woman carries a huge drinking-horn ornamented
with silver trimmings. At the right, again, in the hall
beyond, three young men are seen standing, holding their
bows and arrows and watching the group about the table.
A huge slate with the score upon it rests against the leg
of the table almost in the centre of the picture. At the
left is a spaniel. These figures are splendidly and finely
drawn, each one admirably posed, the action of the heads
and bodies being in absolute accord. The colour is clear
and brilliant, if somewhat sharp.

In his Portrait of a Man, Van der Heist shows his
mastery of line, of contour, along with his remarkable
power as a discriminating delineator of feature, position
and character. The man is standing with his left hand
spread out on his coat just below his neck. He is in
full face, bareheaded, wears a turned-down collar of lace
tied with cords ending in two tassels, and is dressed in
black with open sleeves showing the full white shirt-
sleeves beneath.

In the same room with many of Rembrandt's great
works are the little genre pieces of Gerard Dou, who it is
claimed was a pupil of the great man. From Rembrandt
he undoubtedly acquired his knowledge of the value of
chiaroscuro and how to employ it. From him, too, he
perhaps learned the art of composition which in his own
way he interpreted as wonderfully as his master. But

mi Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvre

essentially, no two painters were ever more diametrically
opposed in most of their expressions. Besides the mere
matter of large or tiny pictures, of splashing, broad, or
infinitesimal brush-work, of disregard of accessories, or
of microscopical attention to the most insignificant details,
besides such superficialities of differences, it is the under-
lying aim of the two men that is so dissimilar. With
Rembrandt it is always the thought, the emotion behind
his faces, below the scenes. Very different is it with
Dou and with the Dutch school of which he is a leading
representative. It is never the soul-thought, the hidden
spirituality or the real nature underneath the common-
place exterior with which he is concerned. If he paints
a buxom Dutch maiden on her way from market with
a fowl slung over one arm and a milk-can over the other,
he paints her just as he saw her, and as undoubtedly she
would wish to be seen. If she had been neglected by her
lover only the day before it was not Don's business to
proclaim her sorrow to the world. The Dutch maiden
you may be sure would have kept it quite hidden behind
her frank pleasant eyes. Dou, then, confined himself
to painting the homeliest of daily scenes such as the
merest observer was familiar with. But he so filled them
with colour, light, fine composition, and extreme finish,
as only, begging pardon of Mr. Van Dyke and others,
as only an artist, not an artisan could do. It is this ex-
treme love of the minute things in his picture, this lavish
care bestowed upon the feathers of a dead bird, the high
light in a brass firkin, the shine in a flask of water, where,
too, each of these articles is itself scarcely an inch high,
that has helped to make critics belittle Dou's art. Poet,
he may not have been, yet whose canvases tell more truly
their tale, if it is a simple one ? Whose transcripts of the
daily life of the humble or middle class are truer or

Salles fflj. to fffM. 213

more perfect in their own way ? If Dou has never pene-
trated into the ecstasies or agonies of the human soul,
is it not also the province of art to show the beauty, the
colour, the charm of the daily, the usual, the ordinary?
And that Dou has done with no uncertain brush. From
his tiny porcelain-like finished canvases one learns that
in the midst of fearful wars of Church and state, at a
time when Spanish persecutions and Louis XIV. abso-
lutism were contending for the life and soul of the whole
Dutch country, the simple joys of quiet home life still
flourished in the dyke-built land, and virtue, integrity
and a quiet courage were not difficult to find. Or at
least Dou found them. Even in burgher Holland it
must have required some selection, for a painter to have
always read so honourable a tale. Perhaps, then, after
all, he had a bit of the poet's insight that can see the true,
the simple.

The Dropsical Woman was painted in 1633 when Dou
was fifty years old. It is universally considered one of
his masterpieces. Even his detractors have granted to
this a certain sentiment and feeling which they claim
is " unusual " for the painter. It is larger than many
of Dou's works and must have taken him long to paint,
judging from the stories which credit him with spending
five days on a lady's hand and three on an inch-high
broomstick. The picture represents the interior of a
handsome room lighted through the tiny panes of a high
Gothic window, which is at the left of the picture and
by a small round one immediately above it. Here, in
front of the window-settle the sick woman lies back in
her big chair, too ill so much as to look at her young
daughter who kneels before her clasping her loosely hang-
ing hand. Behind the mother is an elderly serving-
woman leaning over her with a spoon in her hand.

214 tibe Hrt ot tbe %o\xvvc

More at the right of the picture, beside and in front of
his patient, stands the doctor, in a brave purple silk robe,
looking at a round glass flask of medicine. He is in
profile, facing the window, so that he is mostly in full
light. The shadow behind him and back in the distance
of the room is wonderfully atmospheric in its gradations
of tone and no less masterly is the management of the
heavy shadows in the folds of his rich robe. Every
piece of furniture, every bit of carving, the thick bro-
caded portiere that is looped up in front of the scene, the
simple one drawn back on its rod at the window, the
reading-desk with its big Bible, the hanging brass
chandelier, catching the light on its polished sides, —
every bit of the surroundings of the scene is carried to the
extreme point of finish Dou alone could accomplish.
Yet the minuteness of execution does not take away from
the pathos of that group whose centre is the sick mother.
Surely here is story enough for even a Preraphaelite,
though dealing with the sorrows of daily life would
probably not interest those who see poetry and feeling
only in the myths of the past.

At the Grocery is one of Dou's smaller pictures, meas-
uring fourteen inches in height by ten and a half in
width. Considering the size of this panel it is amazing
to see how much is within it. The picture is bounded by
the lines of the big open window which has a wide
curve at the top like a Romanesque arch. Running
diagonally backward from its wide sill is the counter at
the right of which is the mistress of the shop. Opposite
her are two customers and in the background among the
shadows a boy is seen carrying a jar before him. Of
the two customers the one in front is an old woman
sitting at the counter reckoning the amount of the various
pieces of silver spread out before her, and the other is

THIi DROPSICAL WOMAN
Hy (ierard Don

Salles fIFJ. to fffM^ 215

a gay young girl in kerchief and cap. She has drawn
her left hand through the handle of her big basket and
leans slightly on it as she looks up smiling at the shop-
keeper who is weighing her purchase on the scales she
holds. On the window-ledge before these are a bunch of
carrots, some onions, and a large earthen jar, and on
the side of the opening above hangs a basket of eggs.
Behind are well-filled shelves and farther back various
grocery belongings appear dimly among the shadows.
Here, the finish of workmanship, the polish, the atten-
tion to every scrap of detail is carried to its limit. But,
once more, the people are what really hold the attention.
Especially does the eye linger on the fresh young maid, at
whom the awkward boy is gazing so furtively.

The Girl with a Fowl is again framed by the wide-
arched window. " Prosaic and trivial " this, as well as
many other transcripts of daily life, has been called.
It shows Don's consummate mastery of line, colour and
an indefinable charm that in spite of its ordinary subject
continues to attract the connoisseur, the amateur and the
public. Standing behind the sill of the arched window,
a young servant-maid leans forward to hang a rooster
on a nail outside, her other hand resting upon a big
copper basket. Beside her a tipped-up silver coffee-pot
is airing next to a heavy candlestick, above which is a
bird-cage attached to the side of the window. The
piquant- faced curly-haired girl might be the same but now
buying of the grocer-lady. There is a hint of wistfulness
in her bright eyes and perhaps she is thinking of the
dull grocer laddie. But with no less care than he gave
to her fair face, Dou has painted the brilliant-hued cock,
the shining bit of copper, the silver coffee-pot, the cage
and the candlestick. Each has its own beauty of colour,
and form, its exact value; and everywhere is that in-

ai6 XTbe Hrt of tbe %o\xvvc

sistence upon actuality, truth. The panel is only eight by
ten inches and is dated 1650.

Like Dou, Ferdinand Bol was also a pupil of Rem-
brandt, and a very famous one. At his best he was so
much like the greater man, that his works have often been
taken for Rembrandt's. Later in life however, he became
sadly Italianized and Rubensized, and lost much of the
beauty of tone and luminosity of shadow which had been
so characteristic of him. His best portraits have life,
dignity, poise, insight. He shows himself master of his
material and uses it with the freedom and ease of a man
to whom it is merely valuable as a medium for express-
ing ideas.

The Mathematician by him in Salle XXXL, is one of
his finest portraits. Sitting sidewise with his right arm
resting upon the stone balustrade the professor holds
before him in his left hand a copper rule with which he
points to a geometrical figure drawn upon the board
behind him. He has turned his face over his left shoul-
der till, in three-quarters view, it is gazing straight out at
you, to whom, apparently he is explaining the problem.
It is a face as full of character as it is of technical beauties.
The firm mouth, the finely-lined nose, the clear, question-
ing eyes, the full broad forehead, all speak the man of
logical mind, of an unruffled, contemplative nature. The
fulness about the chin and the rather delicate hand hint
a certain fondness of the good things of life. Soft,
waving hair falls about the neck on to the broad white
collar and on his head is a black skull-cap at an angle
suggestive of " bonhomie/' The total relations between
the flesh, the gray hair, the white collar and the black robe
are wonderfully fine. Not less so is the shadow on the
left side of the face, breaking as it does into reflected
light by the eye and deepening again under the nose.

Salles ffff. to fffM. *i7

The hand is modelled with a surety and a simplicity that
bespeak ease of draughtsmanship. The whole pose is
as natural, as dignified and as inevitable as if the professor
had been suddenly surprised elucidating a problem in his
own class-room.

The Portrait of a Man is another excellent work. He
is standing on a balcony leaning with his left arm upon
the railing which is behind him. This brings him into a
three-quarters position facing toward the right. The light
comes from the left, throwing the right side of his face,
his white collar and both hands into strong relief.
Dressed in black, the cuffs and collar alone breaking the
sombreness, the man's face is almost Spanish in its con-
tour. Of a rather long type, high bridged and long nose,
large, full-lidded eyes, finely curved mouth which the
small moustache does not hide, his hair waving over his
high forehead and about his ears, this unknown gentle-
man has a serious, intent aspect that proclaims this a
capital portrait.

Less like Bol but more, in a way, like Dou are the
five pictures by Ter Borch in these Dutch rooms. It is
only, however, in their carefulness of finish that they
remind one of the latter, for Ter Borch was as original
and had as distinctive a style as any man of the Dutch
school. No rowdy parties, no brawling tavern-scenes, no
questionable company appear in the scenes of this gentle-
man painter. They all breathe the air of gentle breeding,
sometimes, one is tempted to feel, almost to inanity. His
brush, like Don's, but very differently, is always depicting
the simplest of scenes and he is especially happy in
suggesting the varying shades of even commonplace
expression. In fact it is the commonplaces of eminently
correct society that all of Ter Borch's panels portray.
And it is the minute variations of expression of this great

2i8 Ubc Brt ot tbe %o\xvtc

respectability that he delineates best of all. A half smile,
a tentative glance of curiosity, a fleeting look of incredu-
lity, a questioning lift of eyebrows, a quiescent pause
where the expression is absolutely blank, this is what
Ter Borch can do better than anybody else and with the
simplest means. His marvellous draughtsmanship is
apparently so little allied to art, to study, to effort, that
it is as difficult to try to copy one of his figures as it
is to copy life itself. His colour was restrained but
full of fine gradations, his sense of values and of con-
trast both equally strong. He was one of the greatest
of Holland's painters and in his own line does not fall
far below Hals or even Rembrandt.

In The Concert, in Salle XXVI., the young girl so
often seen in Ter Borch's pictures is the central object
of interest. She sits in profile, by a table with a gay
cover, facing toward the left. Her blond head with its
full, childlike forehead, its small chin, its yellow curls
tied with black velvet ribbons, her white satin skirt fall-
ing in folds that catch and reflect the lights and shades
so entrancingly, all are familiar to us, but yet, as ever
with Ter Borch, all is new. She is sitting with downcast
eyes, singing from the sheet of music held in her left
hand, while with the right she beats time. Standing on
the other side of the table in full face is another girl
playing upon a guitar. She is dressed in gray with a
white chemisette. At the right just behind the first
girl's chair, a page enters the room bearing a salver.
He is not hurrying, and the smile on his lips and the
retrospective expression in his eyes give the reason.
He is decidedly interested in the concert. Behind all is
a tapestry hanging which sinks dimly into the back-
ground without, however, the depth of shadow which
Dou would have thrown upon it.

Salles fff* to fffM* 219

It is a characteristic bit by Ter Borch, — a simple, un-
pretentious scene with few accessories and none of Dou's
insistence upon detail. There is too, far less evident
delight in brush-work, per se. Ter Borch uses his brush
as a tool, not as an object in itself. As brush-work how-
ever, it is supple, full, fat, broad and inclusive, delicate
and fine, with exquisite accents and subtle touches, so
subtle that they are noticed only after careful examination.
It is reality that concerns Ter Borch, and reality is what
he expresses.

The Music Lesson is another variation of a subject
which was a favourite with him. Seated with his elbow
resting on a table covered with a red cloth, the young
musician is playing on a guitar to his fair pupil who
stands in front of him at the right, holding an open
book. She is listening while he sings, and somehow there
is a suggestion that this white-satin gowned, blond
young woman, has more ability to listen than to execute.
At all events a bored expression hovers on the musician's
face and it does not appear that he will be sorry to be
interrupted by the summons of the servant who has just
opened the door in the background. He is extremely well
dressed, this nonchalant teacher, with his big Spanish
riding-boots and spurs, his wide-brimmed hat on the
floor beside him, his waving black hair, his gray cuffs and
collar, his baggy trousers. The girl, too, is more than
richly robed. There is a magnificence about the folds
of her bordered satin gown, the lace in the sleeves, the
necklace, that speak wealth and leisure. It is a leisure
that perhaps tends to somnolence, as exemplified in her
own heavy-lidded eyes and in the little dog curled up
asleep on the chair behind her.

Besides the charming colours of the picture, with the
soft sheen of the satin, the more vivid note struck by the

220 ube Hrt ot tbe Xott\>te

table-cover, this counterbalanced by the black suit of
the musician; besides the absolute justness of the values,
with the exact and actual relation between flesh and
stuffs, stuffs and furniture, furniture and walls; besides
the solidity and strength of drawing, with such feeling
of bone and muscle and form beneath those velvets and
satins ; besides the excellence of composition with the
inevitableness of position and placing; besides, finally,
the actuality and individuality of the man and girl, there
is something else that is even less often in even the
works of the greatest masters. It is the unconscious
reality of the picture as a whole, if it may be so expressed,
and it is this appearance of actuality in all Ter Borch's
scenes that makes them so remarkable.

One of the very best of his works to be seen anywhere,
is in Salle XXIX., called An Officer Offering Money to a
Young Girl. It gives the interior of a room, where,
beside a table covered with red, sits a young girl hold-
ing a glass decanter on one knee from which she is
about to fill the wine-glass in her other hand. She has
been interrupted by the Dutch officer who sits at her
left slightly in front. He is reaching out his fat open
hand, in which are several pieces of money. It is this
movement which has made the girl stop a moment, and
she is gazing down at that '* unctuous palm " quite obliv-
ious of anything else. The officer meanwhile is looking
at her with a roll of his eyes over his fat cheeks that
suggests anything or nothing as one may please to
interpret. Equally enigmatic is the quiet, downward look
of the girl. It is not at all certain what that blond head
is thinking. In fact the countenances are as doubtfully
definite as they would be in real life. The modelling of
these two figures is beyond praise. The solid bulk of the
soldier is no more marvellous than the construction of

AN OFFICER OFFERINC; MONEY TO A YOUNG GIKL
By Ter Borch

SallcB fff^ to fffOT- 221

those pudgy hands, they no more perfect than the silken
folds of the white satin gown, the fluffy fur about the
yellow jacket or the very droop of those hiding eye-
lids of that little blond head.

Fourteen pictures by Wouverman and ten by Jardin
are found in these Dutch rooms. Though modern taste
has relegated these two most popular painters of their
day to nearly complete oblivion, they really deserve
neither such total ignoring nor the sweeping condemna-
tion bestowed upon them by Ruskin. They were both
men of decided parts, who drew with a correct and facile
pencil, whose colour was generally pleasing and whose
figures had individuality and not seldom distinction.
Wouverman especially was a tremendous worker, Smith
in his " Catalogue Raisonne " crediting him with between
seven and eight hundred pictures. They both painted all
sorts of subjects, Wouverman particularly being equally
at home in any scene from a cavalry charge to a picnic
group of ladies and cavaliers. He delighted in filling his
compositions with horses, and generally the highest light
in them falls upon a white horse. It is a sign of his
ingenuity and of a certain sort of fecundity, that he
almost never has duplicated a single picture. Even the
white horses are never the same. In spite of many ex-
cellencies neither he nor Jardin had the ability or the
charna of either of the Ostades.

Among Wouverman's more important works in the
Louvre may be mentioned The Fat Ox, The Stag Hunt,
and The Cavalry Charge that is in Salle XXVIII.

In the first of these the ox is being led by two butchers
along a road bordered by an old city wall. The huge
animal is ornamented with wreaths and bears on his
back two great glasses. Leading the procession are a
man who plays a tambourine and some children. At the

222 ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvrc

right are more peasants and other spectators, among
them a cavalier holding his son on the saddle before him.
This picture is painted in the silvery gray tones Wouver-
man affected toward his later years.

The Charlatans at the Fair by Jardin is a representa-
tive work. Standing on a platform made by boards rest-
ing on barrels, the quack is in profile haranguing the
crowd before him. At his side on a table is his big open
box of drugs and sitting on the platform with his legs
crossed and a mask on his face, a harlequin sings to his
guitar. Behind the quack, peering through a crack in
some curtains Punchinello^s face is seen leering. Among
the listening crowd are a peasant woman with a baby on
her back, a donkey pannier-laden, on the top of which
sits a boy, a man with a great cloak drawn about him
and various others. It is a composition which on the
whole justifies Alexandre's remarks that both Wouver-
man and Jardin were painters of neither the real Dutch
nor yet of the Italian schools. They followed what
happened to be the fashion of the time and had really
few ideas and less originality in expressing them.

A much greater man than either was Aelbert Cuyp of
Dordrecht, who has six panels in these rooms. Fro-
mentin places him in the " first rank," though below not
only Rembrandt, of course, but also Ruysdael and Potter.
He has been called the " Dutch Oaude," and it is the won-
derful atmospheric splendour that fills his canvases that
has given him the greatest renown. He did not confine
himself to landscape, however, portraiture, still life,
flowers, the sea, cattle, horses and interiors were frequent
subjects for his facile brush. He was at his best, never-
theless, in landscape, in which he always placed both
people and animals. His colour, especially when he
portrays the hazy mist that rises over sun-bathed fields,

Salles fflf . to f f f Df. 223

or the golden pathway across a meadow at midday, or
again when the cool glimmer of the moon strikes the
silent river or cuts athwart a bank, then, his colour is
fairly pulsating with an effulgence that only Claude
before him approached and which only the modern im-
pressionists have excelled.

One of his best works here is the landscape in Salle
XXX. At the right in the foreground a herd of cows
graze in a field. At the left, some children, seated near
a dog, listen to a shepherd blowing on a reed. In the
middle distance is a river, and on the banks opposite the
mills and houses and the tower-clock of Dordrecht. At
the right upon a mountainside a flock of sheep and three
shepherds.

The Marine is not one of his best, but the Departure
for the Promenade is a noted example. Two mounted
cavaliers are at the left in front of the walls of a house.
A servant is handing one of them his stirrup, the other
is ready to ride off. There is much bright colour here,
with the horsemen in red and gold and black and gold,
the servant with his green coat and the bay and dapple
gray horses. Two dogs are at the left of the group, one
lying down, heedless of those about, the other standing
watching. The light is brilliant over this foreground
group, and the middle distance is full of soft haze. The
horses, as was apt to be the case with Cuyp are rather
too large-headed for their round bodies.

Unlike most Dutchmen of his time, Cuyp did not care
for extreme finish or polished brush-work. He painted
broadly and freely and, like Rembrandt, one part at
least of his picture is generally lost. Rembrandt loses
it in shadow, Cuyp lets it disappear in the blaze of the
sun.

Though Fromentin places Cuyp on a lower plane than

224 Ube art ot tbe Xouiore

Paul Potter, there are few of Potter's actual works that
are equal to the better examples of Cuyp's talent. Paul
Potter is to be judged rather by his promise than by his
performance. A recognized painter when only fifteen,
he died of the wasting disease he had fought from boy-
hood at the age of twenty-nine. He was almost entirely
self-taught, and seems to have been little influenced by
the great men of his or any time. If he had lived he
undoubtedly would have accomplished greater things
in his chosen line than even the famous Bull at The
Hague. Most of his paintings that are scattered among
the European museums, are, in comparison with this
Bull, tentative, unskilled, uncertain, not much more than
studies. In them is seen almost nothing but his picayun-
ish habit of emphasizing detail, drawing with pains-
taking care every branch, twig and even the separate
leaves in foliage, outlining the feathers of a hen or duck,
laying the fur upon his cattle as it were hair by hair.

One of his pictures at the Louvre is of far greater
interest than most of these studies. It is called Horses
before a Thatched Cottage and is in Salle XXVI. A
twilight sky full of soft clouds and the last gleams of
departing day; a low field with a river in front, the
houses of the distant village cutting against the horizon ;
in front the end of a thatched cottage with its chimney,
and before it two farm-horses standing with heads down
waiting for their evening meal; coming toward them
the farm-boy bearing a pail of water, and beside him a
dog stopping to bark at something in the distance; this
is the picture which Fromentin regards as one of the
most perfect examples of Potter's work at its highest
genius. And assuredly it is not only a marvellously
truthful portrayal of the two old farm-horses, drawn,
modelled, constructed with so exact a knowledge, so

Sallcs ffff. to f f fWir. "5

just a brush, but it has almost as much of the mystery,
the beauty, the pathos of the peasants' Hfe and the dying
day as a scene by Millet. The tone of the luminous sky,
the silhouette of the farmer are as full of charm as they
are of scrupulous truth. As for the beasts, they are as
remarkable bits of fidelity as is the great bull himself,
with much more of poetry and suggestion. One can feel
their tired, gasping breathing, one can see the tense
muscles, the strained haunches, the dragging feet. All
is there, as a poet sees it, and it is like an epitome of the
peasant's life.

The Prairie, says Fromentin, is either very good or very
bad as one regards it as the work of a scholar or of a
master. Signs there are in the reddish beast standing
in the cool of the early morning, of the Bull that was to
come, but the surety, the vigour, the wonderful life
are lacking.

Salle XXV. holds a number of pictures by Ruysdael,
generally considered Holland's greatest landscape-painter.
From the point of view of modern art his canvases are too
dull in key and somewhat heavy. But he had a poetic
mind that loved best the sombre, the sorrowful, and to
express it his palette needed little but browns and grays
and darkening greens. " He transported humanity to
the heart of the hills that it might be still and reflect ; and
he allowed no gay colour, sunlight or blue sky to
distract the attention." He never could paint figures,
and Berchem, Van de Velde, Wouverman and Lingel-
bach used to put the figures into his scenes for him.

The Thicket, in Salle XXV. has the effect of being
higher in its general key than usual with Ruysdael. In
the middle of the foreground is a cluster of trees and
bushes, shaken and tumbled and bent by a fierce wind,
its shadow thrown far in front of it. This thicket makes

226 Zbc art ot tbe 3Lout>re

a sort of point which cuts triangular-wise into a road-
way coming from behind it and thus separated into two
arms. These two arms and the unbroken line beyond it
are in brighter sunlight than Ruysdael often achieved.
Up the right path a man and three dogs are walking and
beyond at the left the village spires and roofs are seen.
The sky is heavy with clouds, but is broken open in wide
patches, letting the sun through. It is a very beautiful
scene, and the massing of the shadow in front with the
light in the distance gives a perspective as full of charm
as it is of distance. The sky is sympathetic, arched, full,
and the mournful note that as usual is never lacking, has
almost lost its plaint in the general brightness that sur^
charges so much of sky and plain.

Ruysdael's Tempest in the same room has been con-
sidered by so just a critic as Michelet, as the greatest
gem in all the Louvre. The general feeling to-day, how-
ever, is that the lashing waves are sadly deficient in
colour, the barks that are scudding under bare poles
equally wrongly monochromatic, and in fact the entire
modern view of what colour is is entirely lacking here.
Yet it is nevertheless a real tempest. The feeling of the
angry sea, the heave and throb of the big waves, the
anger of the tumultuous clouds piled in serried ranks,
the depth of the shadow flung remorselessly upon all
the sea except where a ray of light brightens a bit of the
foreground at the right and makes one slender line in
front of the horizon, — everything adds to the remorse-
lessness of the waves and sky. At the extreme right
where the thatched cottage and its orchard are only
separated by a fence of piles from the advancing tide,
the shadow that envelopes this helpless piece of land is
again used with telling effect. It is as if it would
cover with its darkness the ruin that certainly soon must

Sallcs fff. to fffM. "7

come. Almost one waits to see the huge ships flung pell-
mell on to this unprotected point. Almost one sees a
fearful wave advancing to overwhelm it.

The Ray of Sunlight is more of a classic sort of scene.
There is here a sort of mixture of Holland and Norway,
in its mountains and castle-crowned hills. It is the illu-
mination on the distant hills and across the river that
is so entrancing, joined to the wonderful gray sky, that
throws from its cloud-filled arc only this one gleam.

Eight paintings by Gabriel Metsu give a good oppor-
tunity to study this Dutchman who was a pupil of Dou
and who was undoubtedly influenced by Rembrandt. He
was on the whole more like Ter Borch than any other,
but at the same time he was quite himself and as a whole
deals with simpler and rather more elemental states than
Ter Borch.

The Vegetable Market in Amsterdam is considered one
of his best works as it is one of the least characteristic.
He did not often depict outdoors nor the peasant life,
preferring the drawing-rooms of the opulent. In this
one nevertheless he has succeeded as admirably as would
have Steen himself. Squatted about their piles of vege-
tables the merchants harangue their customers or sell
their wares. At the left one fat woman, seated before
her carrots and turnips is repelling indignantly the accu-
sations of another woman, who, with arms akimbo,
stands facing her, evidently treating her to decided vigour
of language and look. Near by a young gallant in a
red suit tucks his plumed hat under his arm and leans
forward to banter the girl in yellow who walks sedately
along, her brass kettle slung over her arm. In front of
her a hen huddles on the ground and on top of a wicker
cage is a rooster. A dog by the young girl's side is view-
ing this gay cock with a questioning face, much to

228 UM Hrt of tbe %o\xvxc

the latter's disturbance. Behind these are other men and
women engaged in buying and selling. The market-street
runs along a canal and on this is a sailboat and across
on the other bank a row of houses. At the left, with its
branches almost filling the entire upper part of the picture
is a wide-spreading tree whose shadow largely dominates
the scene. It gives a vigorous effect to the view and
makes the aerial perspective of which Metsu was gen-
erally master, more than usually telling as a compositional
unit. Like most of the Dutch painters Metsu knew how
to paint dogs, and neither Landseer nor Decamps has
succeeded in depicting more truly dog nature than he has
in this mildly inquiring spaniel who stands with feet
well planted, quite ready, should occasion oi fun decide,
to frighten that rooster out of his gaily painted feathers.

There is another even more amusing Httle beast in The
Young Woman and the Officer, which, by the way, is a
remarkably fine example of Metsu in his best known field.
This scrap of a long-eared canine stands at the left, his
four tiny paws far apart, his inquisitive head poked far
forward, barking a surprised disapproval of this visitor
to his mistress. He plays the fussy duenna to perfection,
and the two young people pay as much attention to his
objections as is customary in such cases. The richly
dressed young woman is sitting turning toward the right,
looking up smilingly at an officer who stands before her,
his hat in his right hand, his left resting easily on a
table beside himi. Back of the hostess's chair is a young
page, bearing a basket of fruit. Dressed in a black velvet
overgown with petticoat of white satin and guimpe, fichu,
and big bonnet of white muslin, the young woman sits bolt
upright, one hand on her knee the other holding a tall
wine-glass. The formality of her attitude is counter-
balanced by the coquettish tip of her blond head and her

Salles f Iff ♦ to f f f M. 229

smiling lips and eyes. The officer appears fully conscious
of both her charms and her delicate reserves. Complete
and most graceful homage and respect are in the slight
forward bend of his well-knit figure, in the instinctive
gesture of his hand holding his hat, and in his inclined
head and lowered eyes. His finely curved lips smile
with undisguised tenderness, but the innate good taste
and good breeding of the man are even more apparent.

The chiaroscuro of this little scene is remarkably
effective. The shadowed background against which the
blacker velvet of the girl's dress and her brilliant white
kerchief come out so brilliantly suggest somewhat the
spotting of Rembrandt. Like Rembrandt too are the spots
of high light on the white neck and nose of the dog,
on the necktie and full cuff of the gallant, and on the edge
of the page's salver. Equally noticeable, but more
entirely his own is the feeling of restraint in the picture.
It is not only the well-indicated reserve and good taste
of the two young people, it is shown as well in the sober-
ness and delicacy of colouring, in the unforced yet telling
scheme of chiaroscuro.

In The Cook, the subject of the picture is seated by
a table on which is a dead hare and a wooden basket,
peeling an apple from the tray full which rests on a big
basket before her. A close white cap and kerchief and
white undersleeves make strong notes of contrast against
her somewhat toil-worn skin. There is a hint of weari-
ness in the slight strain of the figure and in the eyes, and
Metsu cleverly indicates that this is no model posing but
a real working woman, a bit tired with her daily round
of duties. Metsu paints less accessories than Dou, and
in this case he has only represented the necessary ad-
juncts of the present task of his cook. The surety of
drawing, the fineness of characterization, the exactness

230 Ube art of tbe %o\xvxc

of handling, the splendid rendering of stuffs, wooden
utensils, fur of the hare, the table-cover, all do not
detract in their perfection, from the simple intent of the
picture as a whole.

The two pictures by Pieter de Hooch in Salle XXX.
are all the Louvre owns by this celebrated Dutchman,
who was influenced greatly by Rembrandt, though it is
not known with whom he studied. This influence of
Rembrandt, too, is shown in a rather unexpected way.
In the works of both it is light that plays such an impor-
tant part. But Rembrandt uses his brilliant, forced
spotting to illumine a face, to make an expression telling,
to lift the veil of the soul. Technically, too, he employs it
especially to give more depth, richness and intensity to his
shadows. With half-tones, also, he has little to do. De
Hooch, on the contrary, employs light for light's sake.
It is never his object to treat it as subservient to face or
form. He loves it for itself and especially as it patterns
itself on bare walls or through half-open windows. He
loves eagerly too, the intermediate gradations of it, from
the scarcely shaded reflections through the softened
dimmer tones of inner rooms down to the darkened re-
cesses of half-hidden corners. It is to be doubted if
Rembrandt ever portrayed real sunlight. De Hooch, on
the other hand, used all the notes and tones of shadow,
half-light and clear reflection, merely to make more
dazzling his final outpouring of sunlight. It is as a
painter of interiors that De Hooch is largely known,
though his courtyards and gardens are equally success-
ful if less numerous. And these interiors are really
interiors, not pictures of people within certain rooms.
The people are there to be sure, a few at a time. But
they are placed generally some distance away from the
immediate foreground. Almost always there is a wide

Salles f1[f. to ffflDir. 231

strip of tiled floor or brick yard with absolutely nothing
on it except the pattern of the light that falls from a
high window or through an open door. T|hen, instead
of following the example of most of the Dutch painters
who threw their strongest light upon their group in the
foreground and massed behind them the clustering
shadows of a room beyond, De Hooch again pursued an
almost opposite course. His first room is in a half-light
that in corners grows into deep if translucent shadow.
Back of this another room opens and that, being so much
nearer the court or yard is in higher light. Opening out
of that comes perhaps the court itself where the undiluted
sunshine plays gaily. The skill such treatment requires
it is not necessary to dwell upon. In his own line there
never was a more masterly technician.

The Cottage Interior shows excellently De Hooch's
usual method of dealing with light. In this case the
principal figures are more in the foreground than usual,
but to make up for that there is a wide, unbroken floor-
ing between them and the third figure. It represents a
room where soft shadows lie, though at the back is an
open door with windows above and at the side. Another
door swings open at a right angle to this central one,
showing the first steps of a flight of narrow stairs and
a part of a high leaded window. The first door opens into
a walled court beyond which still another door leads into
a low shed, whose unwindowed interior makes a dark
oblong that repeats the dark tones of the immediate
foreground. Above the walls of the court a bit of the
bright sky makes a triangle of colour seen through the
windows of the large room. In the first room, in the
right-hand corner, a woman sits before a low table on
which is a big hooped bowl or tub. She is pausing in her
work to look at a tiny girl who, in a white ruff and cap,

«3a Ubc art of tbe Xouvtc

stands beside her holding a plaything. The only real
glints of light that actually filter into this rather dim
apartment are those that strike the mother's cap and
kerchief, the top of her right hand, a spot on the hoops
of the basin, and the child's cap and ruff. Nowhere else
except through a crack in the door does the sunlight
steal in. The third figure of the scene is a woman shown
walking toward the shed in the court. Her light blue
hood and kerchief contrast with her dark skirt which
breaks what would be otherwise a rather monotonously
lighted distance.

Perhaps, next to the delight this charming management
of light gives to the spectator, comes the appreciation
of this scene in its household aspects. The composition
breathes a spirit of tranquil happiness, of a placid life
that somehow penetrates more and more the longer it is
studied. And gradually is forgotten the technique, the
mastery of material, and all that skilful adjusting and
arranging of light becomes only a part of the real thing,
which is to give just this feeling of domestic sweetness
and placid calm.

In the Card Party, called often merely A Dutch In-
terior, Pieter de Hooch has chosen more aristocratic sur-
roundings and personages than is his general custom.
Also he has employed almost not at all his way of showing
open rooms beyond the first. The only suggestion of an
outlet is the narrow doorway behind the page, which gives
but an edge of window and floor of the apartment behind
him. At the back, through a high window a bit of sky
and tree-top can be seen, but take it altogether there is
much more uniformity of light here than is often found in
a De Hooch.

At the left, before an open fire under a sort of porch-
like mantel of rich marble columns, sits a young girl

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showing her hand of cards to the gentleman standing
behind her, holding a glass of wine, and evidently direct-
ing her play. These two are in full Hght, a cross-light,
indeed, made by window and dancing fire-flames. Her
scarlet waist, lace kerchief, and yellow silk skirt mass
brilliantly against the darkened corner of the room behind
her, and her laughing face with its bright eyes and
shining teeth adds to the effect. The man with whom
she is playing is at the other side of the table and is
thrown into deep shadow by the columns of the fireplace.
Behind is a window dimly seen through its drawn curtain,
and farther along at the right, under windows that are
open, stand a young man and woman whispering
together, their hands clasped. The light falls over their
heads so that they are in shadow, as well as the page
bearing the bottle of wine at their left. Between these
and the card-player, stretches the tiled floor of yellow and
gray and black porcelains, in a checkered pattern which
De Hooch has used most effectively to show the broken
lights. Here, as ever, it is light that the painter was
enraptured with and he makes the spectator as enraptured
as himself, which is proof sufficient of his success.

Of Vermeer, the Louvre only possesses the Lace Maker
in Salle XXIX. Vermeer was as original as De Hooch,
as full of a charming reserve as Ter Borch. He was
a painter of enigmatical, smiling women, generally gentle-
women, of quiet, reposeful motions. His palette is
brighter, lighter and more penetrating than either of the
other two. He especially loved yellow, soft blues and
delicate greens. The little Lacemaker is a sympathetic
and interesting bit but hardly sufficient to show his style
or capabilities. The figure is capitally drawn, the hands
especially well characterized, the face full of suggestion
and charm.

234 Ube Htt ot tbe Xouvre

Seven or eight pictures by Adriaen Van de Velde in
these Dutch rooms show him worthy of the fame he is
accorded. He painted all sorts of subjects, but is best
known by his landscape and cattle scenes. Some of these
latter are quite equal to Paul Potter's. Among the
painters of landscape he is one of the few who could paint
figures, and Wynants, Ruysdael, Hobbema and Van der
Heyden often got him to put figures into their pictures.

The Beach at Scheveningen is one of his best works
at the Louvre. Alexandre calls it " one of our Dutch
jewels." It was bought by Louis XVL who had a passion
for Dutch paintings as his ancestors had for Italian.

On the shore is the Prince of Orange in his coach
drawn by six little white horses, the members of his
suite following. At the right are a fisherman carrying
a net, a man and woman talking, and a boat drawn up
on the sand. Behind the dunes rise two clock-towers and
in the distance appears a coach with two horses. The
gray shore, the men in their blue suits, the dogs, the
*' plein d'air," the whole vivid life of the long beach is
here so clearly, so justly shown, that a certain monotonous
grayness of colour is scarcely felt. The horses are
admirably drawn, though their heads are a trifle small.
But their attitudes are diverse and full of movement and
spirit and their colour against the gray sands makes a
fine " spotting."

Early morning is the time represented in Landscape
and Cattle in Salle XXX., and though Van de Velde
did not choose the colours to express this time of day
that either Corot or the latter-day impressionists would
have employed, he has nevertheless succeeded in giving
the effect of the new-risen sun with no uncertain touch.
Most of the picture is in cool tones, rather mono-
chromatic in their lack of variety. Only here and

Salles f Iff . to f f flDIF- 235

there do the gHnts of the sun gild the marsh or out-
Hne a branch or strike more fully on the back of some
of the animals. The sky shows purple and red through
the clouds that bank midway in its arch, and this
sky fills more than two-thirds of the entire canvas, or
wooden panel, as is not only this but many of the
Dutch pictures. At the left on a hillock are a weather-
beaten tree, a low hut, some horses, goats, sheep and cattle.
Just below these animals on a point extending into the
water sit a fisherman with rod and line and another
peasant leaning on his elbows. Still farther to the left
are one of the cattle lying down and a goat. All these
are in the demi-tone of the half-shadow. Filling the centre
of the picture are more animals, some standing on the
grassy marsh edge, others wading in the water. In
the distance, a line of land with trees and houses and
another herd at the water's edge.

The Woman at Her Toilet in Salle XXVIII. by Frans
van Mieris the elder, is one of several by him owned by
the Louvre. He is called " the elder ** because his son
and grandson were both followers of him. In his style
of painting he was largely influenced by Dou with whom
he studied. HJs work is dry, minute and over-elaborate,
he has little invention and less imagination. Though
painting before the decadence had reached full swing,
he nevertheless is to be ranked among the men who had
lost the great Dutch spirit. As an imitator he was more
or less successful and he was extremely popular during
his life.

In the Woman at Her Toilet, a richly dressed dame
stands before a table on which is a large mirror, ar-
ranging her hair. At the right a negress carries a
ewer and a basin, and an open door shows a side of a
portico with columns.

236 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

There is no hint of the decadence in the work of Jan
Steen who has three paintings in the Louvre. Of these
three the Flemish Fete in an Inn is an uproarious scene
in a huge tavern. Long tables run down one side at
which men and women sit drinking, while a dance is
going on behind, and at one side a drunken woman is
being pulled up-stairs by two men. Everywhere are to
be seen indiscriminate embracing and the effects of over-
imbibing. It is not an elevating scene, not a moral
scene, not even a respectable scene. But it is consummate
art. The drawings of the figures, the composition of the
groups, the joining of the many adverse groups into one
complete whole are the work of a man who has scarcely
an equal as a master of composition. It Is not strange
that some most eminent critics have claimed that Raphael
himself never surpassed him in this power of making a
picture.

By far the best of his pictures here is the Bad Com-
pany. Again, it is not a scene to elevate thought, morals,
or spirit, unless it can be used as a fearful warning! It
is the interior evidently of some sort of tavern or house
of ill-fame. Wholly overcome by the wine he has been
drinking, a gay cavalier is doubled over in his chair, one
arm hanging limp between his knees, his head dropped on
to the knee of the young girl sitting in a chair facing
him. The girl, whose knee makes his pillow sits very
stiff and straight, a tall glass of liquor still in her hand,
a drunken imbecility on her face. Behind these two are
two women. The one on the left is back to, busily en-
gaged rifling the pockets of the young gallant and hand-
ing the contents over to the old hag who stands behind the
girl's chair, the young fellow's rapier alert in her hands,
and his cloak over her shoulder. The grin of delighted
expectation on her face is wonderfully expressed. Back

HAD COMPANY
My Jail Steen

Sallea f 1[f . to f f f M* 237

in the shadow a musician is playing and another old
villain is smoking, while both keep their eyes on the
comedy going on in front.

The satirical glee of this picture is something extraor-
dinary. It is in looking at a canvas like this that one
understands why this Dutch painter has been likened
to Moliere, why he has been called the greatest wit,
the greatest comique and the greatest satirist in painting.
Hogarth is the painter nearest akin to him but Hogarth is
not so subtle, nor so ingenious as Steen. Hogarth moral-
izes, Steen lets his spectators do their own moralizing.
As a technician, when he chooses, he is equally unap-
proachable. What could be more absolutely true to inert
life than that limp gallant with his weight so solidly
thrown upon the knees of the girl? Did ever a hand
hang just so loose, so fallen, except in somnolent life
itself? Equally remarkable is the girl's figure with its
unconscious, braced knees, its stiff pressure combined
with its mental abandonment. The relation between these
two and those behind and the two men farther back, is
no less vividly actual. Looking at it all, it is easy to
realize, as has been said so many times, that Steen
occupies a place quite alone, not only in Dutch, but in all
art.

He studied with Van Goyen and Adriaen van Ostade
and the influence of both men can be seen in his work.
His biographers have called him a rake and a drunkard,
but it is pretty well established now that his reputation
was largely made by the pictures he painted. The fact
that he left behind him a most appalling number of
paintings did not until comparatively lately count as evi-
dence in his favour. Certainly a wholly dissipated indi-
vidual could not have accomplished a tenth part of
them.

238 XTbe Hrt of tbe Xourre

Almost as unrivalled in his own chosen field as Steen
in his, is Hondecoeter, who also has three pictures in
these rooms. No one else has ever devoted himself
so wholly or so successfully to portraying the feathered
tribe as this man, who, like De Hooch was born in
Utrecht, only six years after him.

His Two Eagles in a Poultry Yard is precisely what
the title calls it. The poultry-yard is in a country-side
which is traversed by a river. At the right an eagle has
grabbed a hen in his claws and is flying off with him,
while in the centre of the scene another is capturing a
cock. Running about in fearful distress are pigeons
and hens, trying to save themselves from what they
believe is to be total slaughter. In the distance is a ruined
chateau and at the right a village. Though Hondecoeter
can only be seen to advantage at The Hague or in Amster-
dam, this, like the other two here show how wonderfully
he could depict the life, the colour, the vivacity, the
plumage of these animals.

Quite a different talent still had Van der Heyden, who
is sometimes called the Gerard Dou of architecture. He
painted the old Dutch streets and squares with a fidelity
and scrupulous attention to detail that make his works
valuable as historical documents. Many of the buildings
and places he depicted so lovingly no longer exist at
all and can only be known through his panels. Though
his particular care for the shape of the bricks, the paving-
stones, the panes in the windows becomes at times
decidedly amusing, on the whole it does not spoil the
effect of the picture as a compositional unit. He never
could paint trees well and his figures were mostly put in
by Adriaen Van de Velde, who was his great friend.
His achievements in perspective show him to have been

Salles f Hf . to ff fM* 239

a thoroughly trained draughtsman and he had beside a
fine feeling for values and for atmosphere.

The Village on the Banks of a Canal, in Salle XXIX.,
has a diagonal line, but very well broken, of pathway and
buildings that reaches from the right side of the picture
to the left in the far distance. Filling what makes a lower
left-hand square is the canal. The straggling line of
houses, churches and trees forms an interesting and di-
versified mass against the sky, and the quiet of its almost
deserted path is supplemented by the square-bowed Dutch
fishing-boats in the canal, their squat heaviness suggesting
only a slow and torpid existence. The effect of light is
well studied, if it is rather cold and thin, and the picture
has merits in composition and in a feeling of sober
earnestness.

Two pictures by Hobbema are in Salle XXVI. He has
been continually compared to Ruysdael but he really does
not greatly resemble him. He was a good deal younger
than Ruysdael and was undoubtedly influenced by him.
It is only within a few years that his canvases have been
greatly appreciated and most of his work is owned in
England who was the first to value him at his true
worth. It has been often said that Ruysdael, Wynants
and Hobbema were the forerunners of Constable and the
English landscape school as Constable was of Rousseau,
Diaz and the French of that day. At least it is true that
these painters of the seventeenth century did what no
others had so far done: painted landscape as landscape
and for its own sake, not as background for figures. And
they did get a remarkable atmospheric feeling in their
scenes, and their skies had depth, expanse, vastness and
luminosity as well as splendid aerial perspective. Their
trees, rocks, mountains and waterfalls too, showed care-
ful drawing and exact delineation. Their trees bent with

240 Ubc Hrt of tbe Xouvte

the storm, one sees and feels the toss of their branches,
the scattering of their leaves, the sharp tension of their
withstanding trunks. Equally successful are they in show-
ing the rush and power of waves and waterfalls. In fact
the motion of outdoors life they portrayed with facility
and power. And if their sunlight was not real sunlight,
at least their values were both just and sure. Ruysdael
was far more of a poet than Hobbema, but Hobbema was
a much better painter.

In The Landscape a curving roadway is at the right,
a tranquil brook flows across the foreground, and winds
among the trees that mass in the centre and at the left
into a forest. This is the picture, with the addition of a
high, arching sky cloud-strewn, yet full of light. Shadow
and sunlight flash over the road, the brook, the trees, now
sharpening a trunk, now silvering a bunch of foliage,
now streaking widely the distant plain, anon submerging
in mystery the recesses of the woods. The light is thus
seen to be not centralized nor specially focalized; it is
somewhat spotty and scattered. Yet it does give the
eflfect of outdoors. This too, in spite of certain brownness
and grayness of colouring.

The Water-Mill was a subject Hobbema often painted.
In this one he gives with photographic clearness and in-
sistence of detail the big wheel, the sheds, the bare logs,
the bridge, the quiet water, the bordering trees. It is the
luminous sky which saves the scene from being common-
place. The two trees in the foreground also are marvels
of careful draughtsmanship. Even better in effect are
those silhouetted against the sky in the middle distance.

There is one beautiful little picture in Salle XXXIII.
by Maes, who was a pupil of Rembrandt, and who did
not lose his individuality even in such close proximity
to the great man. His most important work was done

Sallea f Iff , to f f f M. 241

very early, his later years showing the decadence that
settled upon all the painters of Antwerp at that time.
Though he wias a very popular portrait-painter, he is at
his best in genre subjects such as the Blessing here.
If this is the work of a boy only sixteen years old as is
claimed, it is a remarkable performance. The picture is
on wood, only twenty-two inches high by sixteen wide,
and represents an old woman sitting alone before her
midday meal, silently asking a blessing. The lighting is
simple and most effective, the colour tender. But it is
the religious fervour, the deep feeling in the old peasant's
face, the inward and real piety expressed in the fragile
body before her lonely meal, the expression of the whole
quiet scene that makes this seem like an early Millet.

The Singing Lesson and the Lesson on the Bass Viol
by Casper Netscher in Salle XXIX., are fair examples of
this pupil of Ter Borch. Like his master Netscher
painted scenes taken from the gentle life of Holland. He
has a certain sort of delicate charm, that nevertheless does
not make him anywhere near the equal of his master.
A rather laborious style in composition, a sufficiently
accurate hand in drawing, a trained taste in lighting, a
decent sort of sobriety are all to be found in Netscher's
works as well as a true Dutch ability in the correct
rendering of silks, satins, velvets, utensils and the like.
No one can paint white satin with greater brilliance,
luminosity, sheen and reflection than he. He fairly revels
in the line of a satin fold that catches the light on its
curve, and then melts into the shadow that still reflects
some of the mellow sheen of its lights. There is a rich-
ness, a play of tones to his brush then that he never gets
anywhere else.

The Singing Lesson is just such a subject as Ter
Borch or Metsu would have chosen, but both of these

242 Ube art ot tbe Xouvre

men v/ould have expressed it in a simpler way. The
three figures are naturally placed, if in a too evident tri-
angle, the drawing is admirable (notice how the weight
of the girl rests upon her chair), the focusing of light on
the central figure is full and free of spots, and finally the
interest is well sustained and well led up to. It is the
overdone, or oversized details that help to make it so
far below Ter Borch. The large statue of the wrestlers
placed directly behind the group in the niche in the wall,
the voluminous heavily brocaded table-cover, the too
big and too prominent canister with its bottles and
grape leaves, and finally the triangular space at the left
of the background opening into the Italian sort of land-
scape, — all these things distract the eye and lower the
value of the picture. But the white satin gown of the girl
sitting down is beautiful enough to excuse a thousand
faults. Its stretch across her knees, the soft wide shadow
below, the little glints and gleams on her lap and down
over the deeper folds on the side, the brilliancy as it falls
straight from her left knee, the feel of its shimmering
surface, all this Netscher knew how to express better than
almost any one.

The Lesson on the Bass Viol has not so much objec-
tionable detail, and in it again is a delectable white satin
gown. In the middle of the picture sits the young blonde
girl playing upon the big viol. She has just turned her
head to the left to look at a piece of music which her
teacher behind her is showing. At the right a charming
boy page holds a violin and waits with very reverent air.
This child's face is the best thing in the picture, even
better for once than the white satin gown. The childlike
interest in his eyes, watching so intently, the unconscious
forward thrust of his head, his almost open lips, the awk-

Salles f1[f- to ffflDIT- 243

ward and boyish pose, this is better work than Netscher
usually accomplished.

The pictures of Van der Werff in these rooms do not
require extended description. He was the greatest ex-
emplar of the Italianate-decadence of Dutch art, and in
his own day was greatly admired and his works eagerly
bought by prince and merchant. His drawing was supple,
clear and at times distinguished. His draperies were
pliant, graceful, perfectly drawn and modelled. His
modelling in general was solid yet delicate, but extremely
hard. His flesh was like marble or plaster in substance
and was cold and unsympathetic in colour. He spent
most of his time painting nymphs, goddesses and Scrip-
tural scenes and assiduously imitated the decadent Ital-
ians. The Dancing Nymph, in Salle XXVHI. is a fair
average as well as the group of half-length figures in
Salle XXXIV.

With the name of Huysum, the middle of the eight-
eenth century is reached, when Dutch art, like Italian, is
so far below its Renaissance level that its very heights
would seem like the deep valleys of that happier day. In
his own way, however, Huysum was a remarkable painter
and is still deserving of consideration. He was the great-
est fruit and flower painter of his age, and even now his
pictures are regarded as wonderful examples of an un-
usual sort of skill. With the taste characteristic of his
time, he loved best a perfect melange of flowers and fruit.
Roses of all kinds, tulips, jonquils, pinks, hyacinths, lilies,
every sort of bloom he would put into his vase of Grecian
shape resting on the marble table. Curiously enough,
though it was as a flower and fruit-painter that he made
his reputation and money, he never ceased longing to
be a landscape-painter and it is said of him that he was
always going into the country there to paint with pains-

244 Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvte

taking care the little scenes that remind one of Poelen
burg though his sylvan figures are clumsy and heavy.
The fruit and flower pieces in the Louvre scarcely require
description. The four landscapes show his minute care
and somewhat leaden brush.

CHAPTER XII.

SALON CARRE

The Salon Carre marked Room IV. on the plan, con-
tains the chief gems of the Italian paintings owned by the
Louvre, as well as a few examples of other schools.

Of all the famous pictures hung in this famous room
none, probably, is better known or has been more praised
than the Mona Lisa, La Gioconda, of Leonardo da Vinci.
From the time of Vasari to the present century language
has been exhausted in efforts to find new panegyrics for
this creation. No praise has been too great, no adoration
too excessive, no amazement at its perfection too over-
wrought. The portrait is so universally and thoroughly
known that description seems quite unnecessary. Yet,
when Vasari's glowing words are recalled, extolling its
marvellous bloom of colour, its palpitating flesh, its limpid
eye, its cheeks of rose, its lips of carnation, its exquisite
eyebrows and eyelashes, its hands of pearl, its landscape
background as real as nature herself, the first look at the
picture must surely be disappointing. For the rose, the
carnation, the bloom of the lovely face have gone. The
greens and browns of the trees, the soft azure of the sky,
the sparkling tones of the winding stream have all turned
to a blue-green background that makes still whiter the
white chalky face and emphasizes the disappearance of
the brows and eyelashes over which Vasari raves. And

245

246 Ube Brt ot tbe louvre

yet, after the first surprised look, the spell of the picture
steals over you as it stole over Vasari, as it has over
every one who has looked at it for four hundred years.
Those soft, melting eyes see as far into the soul's myster-
ies as they did when Frangois I. bought it for three thou-
sand golden crowns from its reluctant painter. That full,
broad brow, that noble neck, that firm white bosom, those
perfect hands so temptingly beautiful in line and curve
— all these are the same even if the glory of the colour
has departed. And beyond these, dominating every one
as it dominates the portrait itself, is that subtle, tantaliz-
ing, inscrutable, untranslatable smile, surely never more
full of meaning, never more elusive, never more appeal-
ing or more repelling, more lovable or more malicious,
more full of pure amusement or more cynical, — what-
ever ones point of view, — four hundred years ago than it
is to-day.

The portrait is of the wife of Francesco del Giocondo
and for over four years Leonardo kept the picture with
him, working on it as he chose or could get his model,
and calling it unfinished even when Frangois I. per-
suaded him to part with it.

The Virgin, St. Anne and the Child Jesus by Leonardo
is supposed to be one of the pictures the painter took
with him to France when he entered the French king's
service. It found its way back to Italy afterward, how-
ever, and did not reappear in France till bought by Riche-
lieu. There is some doubt as to whether the picture is
entirely by Da Vinci, in spite of the Leonardesque type
of face of Mary and Anne. Mary is shown sitting in
her mother's lap, while Jesus who is in her arms plays
with a lamb. Anne is scarcely older than Mary in ap-
pearance and the two faces are both rarely beautiful.

There are still critics who doubt whether the Concert

S I

O O

^ 6

Salon Carte 247

is a genuine work by Giorgione, but Morelli, Berenson,
and several other authorities declare unreservedly that
it is not only by the man of Castel franco but that it is
one of his most beautiful works. It has undoubtedly been
much repainted and has suffered greatly in consequence.
But the glow of the poetic landscape, the splendour of
the figures of the two nude women, the magnificent
lines of the composition, the idyllic character of the
whole scene, and above all the feeling of musical pause
that pervades it, — these incline critics to credit it to
Giorgione.

In the foreground on a sloping rise of meadow sit
two young men close together. The one on the left
dressed in a green tunic with red sleeves, showing a bit
of white linen gathered about his neck, and a red cap
on his luxuriant curls, holds a lute in his arms. He has
just struck or is about to strike a chord, as is indicated
by the position of his right hand. Meanwhile he has
turned to speak with his companion, a bushy-haired youth,
and the movement has thrown the two faces into a deep
shadow that breaks into light only on the white about
their necks and on the hand poised above the strings.
The enveloping tone over these two makes all the more
effective the golden light that plays about the woman
sitting back to, in front of them. She holds a flute in her
hand which she evidently waits to sound till the men have
finished their conversation. The lines of this sensuous
figure have a curve, a rhythm and a wonderful sweep that
balance with the lines of the composition in a way pecul-
iarly Giorgionesque. More lovely still is the second
woman who stands at the left resting her left hand on
the edge of a stone fountain while, with only a slight
twist of the torso, she reaches her right arm across to
fill a pitcher with the water. Her head is in profile

248 Ube art of tbe Xouvre

and soft shadows slumber about her eyes and under her
chin, and are augmented by the shadow of the arm over
the chest and thigh. A piece of drapery falls from her
left hip over the leg and around the other leg from the
knee down. The lines of the folds are themselves part
of the untranslatable, but exquisitely joyous, poetic
charm of the whole canvas. At the right, lower dov/n,
coming from the deep shadow of thick trees, a shepherd
leads his flock. The distance gives a stretch of plain, a
castle, a bending tree, a light-broken sky.

Of all the many Entombments of the Italian painters
of the Renaissance, none equals the one by Titian hanging
in this Salon Carre, in depth and intensity of expression,
in grandeur of line, in the superbness of its massing and
wonder of its chiaroscuro. Its colour has unfortunately
darkened and faded but it is still impressive even in its
present state. It must have been a marvel for even
Titian's brush when it left his studio.

Occupying the very centre of the picture is the dead
body of Christ, borne in the arms of Nicodemus and
Joseph of Arimathea. Assisting them, placed between,
but on the other side of his master, is John the disciple,
and at the left stands the m'other, supported by Mary
Magdalene. At the right is the open sepulchre and be-
hind a mass of dense, shadowed woods and a frowning
sky broken by lurid streaks of light. Such is the general
scheme of composition. Not largely different from the
conventionally prescribed plan of treatment of the subject,
but so vivified, so realized by the mind of the genius that
executed it, that the very theme itself seems never to
have been expressed in paint before.

The light is so arranged that it falls on the lower part
of the body of Jesus, and on his arms, leaving his face
and torso in deep shade. Nicodemus, as he stands

o >%

H pq

Salon (Tarre 249

back to lifting the shoulders of the Saviour, is in light,
his head and neck, however, enveloped in the shadow
that covers his burden. John's face, raised and gazing
at Mary is thrown into relief, the shadow sweeping over
him from his neck down. A half-light breaks over
Joseph's head, which is in profile, and grows stronger on
his bent right arm as he lifts the helpless limbs of the
inert form. Again, the light intensifies over the figures
of the two women standing beside and slightly behind
him. It is to this distribution and massing of light that
much of the wonderful impressiveness of the picture is
due. Nothing, for instance, could equal the effect pro-
duced by the deep shadow that shrouds the head and
torso of Christ. Beneath the gloom imagination can
read its own story, see the features it has dreamed of,
feel the power and beauty of the dead face as no brush
could portray it. If the face is left thus indeterminate,
the arms are treated far differently. With them Titian
ventured fully to express his own thought. On those
beautiful, helpless, inert hands and arms he focused the
whole force of the light. On their contour and line, on
their rounded form he lavished all the knowledge, all
the power, all the poetry that lay within the heart of his
amazing genius. In those maimed, dead arms all the
history, the whole life of the Crucified One can be felt.
Not less wonderful in their own way are the loving
bearers and the women. The subordination of Nicodemus
and Joseph, in spite of their necessary prominence in the
part they take, to the beloved disciple and to the mother
of their Lord, is another evidence of Titian's unerring
sense of the dramatic unities. It was his sense too,
of the eternal verities, that made him treat John's face
as he did. Thrown into the light, and immediately over
the dead Redeemer, it might easily have become the

25° ^be Htt ot tbc Xouvrc

secondary point of interest in the picture. Had he not
been looking directly at Mary instead of at Jesus, one's
graze would have lingered on his sensitive, poetic face,
till the part Mary bears in the tragedy would have half
lost its meaning. As it is ones eye at once follows his
anguished regard, and rests immediately upon the
stricken mother in the Magdalene's care. It is a mar-
vellous stroke that thus connects and solidifies the compo-
sition, making it not only so technically perfect, but so
transcendent in its soul qualities.

Of a very different order is the Alfonso of Ferrara
and Laura Dianti. This is supposed to be an actual por-
trait group of these two people, though in past times it
has been given other names. Laura Dianti was a peasant
girl who was first mistress and then wife of the Duke of
Ferrara, and the man whose head is seen dimly in the
shadow bears a strong resemblance to other pictures of
Alfonso by Titian. Behind a stone table, of which only
an edge appears, the young woman is standing, her body
in front view, her face turned to the left, gazing into
a looking-glass held up by a dark-bearded man standing
behind her. In his other hand is a round mirror which
he holds back of her head. Her left hand rests on a glass
on the table, her right lifts a long tress of the curly golden
hair that has fallen over her shoulder. She has a very
low-cut chemisette with big, loose, wide hanging sleeves
coming from under the arm-straps of her dark peasant
bodice that fits close over her full green velvet skirt. Her
large, brilliant eyes, straight nose, curved red lips, softly
moulded chin and rippling golden hair are all distinctly
Titanesque. It is so purely the type of woman he so
often portrayed that its absolute fidelity as a likeness may
be questioned. Those wide, languorous shoulders with
the bones so thoroughly bedded under the soft flesh, the

Salon Carre 251

rather short neck, the round but not small arm, — Titian
of Cadore has painted these over and over. It is his
feminine ideal as distinctly as the Gioconda is Leonardo's.
And if one judges that the type lacks something in mental
equipment, it lacks nothing in the physical, however dif-
ferent may be ones opinion as to what constitutes a beau-
tiful woman. The adorable curve of those shoulders,
the colour of those Cupid-bow lips, the melting brilliancy
of those large eyes, the intense femininity of that low,
broad brow, the entrancing lights and undulations of that
golden hair, — it is woman, woman incarnate.

As painting it is masterly. In spite of darkening due
to time there is still enough of the original tone left
to show what it must have been originally. The scheme
of chiaroscuro is particularly effective, with the hair
and hand so cleverly arranged to break up the expanse
of light on the chest, and thus throw the face into stronger
prominence. For its own sake, too, this shadow that
balances that on her left cheek, chin and neck, is a charm-
ing thought. Titian revelled in painting soft white linen
closely gathered over full soft shoulders, emphasizing
the delicate contrasts of flesh and linen as only he could
do it, and here he has displayed his power to its utmost.

If the Alfonso and Laura is very unlike the great En-
tombment, as unlike in treatment as it is in subject, very
different from either is The Man with the Glove. This
is a half-length portrait of a young man standing with
shoulders square across, his head turned a little to the
right, his eyes looking still farther in that direction. His
left arm rests on a block of stone, the gloved hand falling
loosely and holding his other glove, while with his right
he grasps his belt in front. Nothing could be simpler.
Bareheaded, dressed in black, with the coat open from
the neck in a narrow triangle to the waist and showing

252 Ube Hrt ot tbe QLouvre

a white gathered shirt, crossed by a coral chain, with
ruffled white lace at the wrists, the portrait is painted
without accessories, with nothing to detract from the
w;onder of that quiet face and hands.

There is none of the subtlety, none of the enigma,
none of the seductiveness here that is felt so strongly
in Mona Lisa. Neither is there any intense psychologic
moment suggested, such as one is so often conscious
of in a great Lotto portrait. It is merely a representation
of a youth, scarcely out of boyhood, with the soft, early
down on his upper lip, his large eyes calmly regardful,
his whole expression one of quiet contemplation. What
it is that makes it such a marvel of portraiture is hard
to define, though the most uncritical observer has felt
its power. It is more than its draughtsmanship, though
Michelangelo never showed firnuer construction; it is
something besides colour, though its sombre harmony
of rich and mellow tones has a depth and solidity great
for even Titian to achieve; it is not alone its admirable
composition, though the balance of the hands and the
placing in the canvas so that one scarcely realizes that one
has not seen the entire figure, mark it with a distinction
worthy of Raphael ; it is not even its arrangement of
light and shade, though Leonardo could not have handled
the chiaroscuro more effectively; neither is it the assur-
ance it gives that it must have been a speaking likeness,
— though in that last popular phrase there is a hint of
the truth. There is more than all these. Somehow, in
those limpid, sober, questioning eyes Titian has shown
the spirit that looked out from their depths; shown it
with a truer, juster insight than this most objective of
painters often succeeded in doing. In the smooth oval of
the cheek, in the wide, firm brow, in the steady lips
that could so easily be tremulous, in that sinuous, nervous.

IHK MAX WITH THK (iLOVE

hy Titian

Salon Carte 253

beautiful hand so bent that three fingers are not seen
at all, above all, perhaps, in that hand, he has portrayed a
real personality, with a vigour, a life and a depth of truth
that few painters have equalled, perhaps none surpassed.

One of the greatest portraits that Raphael ever painted
hangs in the Salon Carre. This is Baldassare Casti-
glione, and as a portrait is ranked next to his mighty Leo
now at the Pitti. It is a half-length figure, turned three-
quarters to the left, his face and eyes somewhat more to
the right. He wears a broad black hat and his cloak is
a combination of black and gray, opening to show a white
ruffled shirt. Only a bit of the clasped hands is dis-
played. The background is gray and the effect of the
whole picture is a symphony of gray tones where the
highest lights are on the face and shirt and the darkest
darks on the hat and cloak. There is no touch here that
is not Raphael's own, and the result is a masterly char-
acterization in which every detail but adds to the per-
fection of the whole. The face is modelled with a large,
free touch, the tones having a sort of opalescent feeling
about them, as if the flesh caught some of the reflections
of the gray background and full, gray, shimmering
sleeves. It is an active, open countenance, the large,
observing eyes both gentle and keen, the lips close and
firmly curved, the nose not too fine, but far from coarse.

The picture was first on wood and has since been trans-
ferred to canvas. In the seventeenth century it was in
a Dutchman's collection, afterward it was in Madrid,
where probably Rubens copied it. Rembrandt had earlier
made a water-colour sketch of it. Cardinal Mazarin
finally bought it and his heir sold it to Louis XIV. It is
in fair condition but has become probably grayer than
it was originally.

Raphael's Madonna called La Belle Jardiniere, which is

254 Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvre

in this roomt, he is supposed to have painted toward the
last of his stay in Florence. It is therefore an example
of the time when he had begun to abandon his Perugi-
nesque traditions and had already been influenced by Fra
Bartolommeo and Leonardo. Next to the Sistine and the
Gran Duca Madonna and the Madonna of the Chair,
this is probably his most popular as well as really most
beautiful Madonna. It is supposed to be entirely his own
work with the exception of a little of the blue drapery
which, Vasari states, Ridolfo Ghirlandajo completed for
him.

The shape of the panel is oblong with a circular top.
In the centre of a placid landscape where a horizon line
of mountains rises from a lake, with a village massing
against the hills, sits the Madonna in a flower-bespattered
field, resting apparently on a rock. She has been reading,
but the book has dropped into her lap and she leans over
the little Jesus who stands by her. One of his tiny
hands he has put on her knee, pointing with the other
to the small Baptist who is kneeling at the right, his
tall, cross-tipped reed over his right shoulder, his eyes
fixed longingly on the smiling Jesus. Mary is dressed
in a low-cut, red gown edged with black velvet ribbon,
the sleeveless bodice drawn over undersleeves of yellow.
About her right shoulder and coming around behind her
is a gauzy head-dress, whose ends float down over her
bare neck. She is a typical Raphael type, blonde, of rather
full figure, with a sweet contemplative expression that, if
it lacks the grandeur of the Sistine or even the depth of
tenderness of the Gran Duca or the Madonna of the Chair,
is equally far from the wooden insipidity that unfor-
tunately characterizes many of Raphael's earlier Madon-
nas. The little leaning figure of Jesus is exquisitely pure
in modelling and contour, and his lifted face with its

LA MlihLK JARDINI^CRE
l{y Kapliael

Salon Carte 255

laughing lips, its eager, baby eyes, has rarely been ex-
celled by any painter of the Renaissance.

As has been often said, it is as a composition, how-
ever, that this picture is greatest. The way the group
fills the landscape, the splendid spacing, the balance of
lines, the total absence of both crowding and of empty
holes, all show Raphael's genius. It is seldom that a
group placed in the foreground of a wide landscape is so
marvellously handled in its relation to the landscape.

The large St. Michael, also in this room and catalogued
as a Raphael, is almost wholly Giulio Romano's work.
The angel stands poised on the devil's prostrate shoul-
der, arms, draperies, hair, wings, leg, all out in air as if
he had swooped through space straight on to his victim.
It is supposed to have been painted for Leo X., who
presented it to Frangois I.

The only two paintings by Correggio owned by the
Louvre hang in this Salon Carre. Both are gems, and
if one never saw another work of the man of Modena,
they would be sufficient to give a just idea of this ex-
quisite colourist, he who had too, a charm, a persuasion,
a mystery and a mastery of chiaroscuro possessed by
none other unless by Rembrandt.

In everything that Correggio did is shown an abandon
of joy that permeates the observer like the smile of an
archangel. He peopled his paintings with seraphs, cheru-
bim and heavenly hosts, or with Cupids, gods and god-
desses, surcharging them all with a " light that never was
on sea or land," drenching them in a colour that is a
very perfume of ecstasy. That is Correggio. And with
it all he was a master of realism, painting with a very
passion of truth that sometimes led him into an ugliness
of foreshortened line that only his all-pervading, un-
drownable charm of colour and light makes excusable.

2s6 Zbc Hrt ot tbe OLouvre

It is Ludwig Tieck who says " Let no one say he has
seen Italy, let no one think he has learnt the lofty secrets
of art, till he has seen thee and thy cathedral, O ! Parma ! "
There is where Correggio is in all his glory, and indeed
it is undoubtedly true that there alone can he be seen
in his full expression. Yet, the charm, the joy in glowing,
sunlit flesh, the sweet secrets of the mystery of soft
rich shadows, the abandonment to the allurement of the
spiritually sensuous can be felt in many of Correggio's
panel pieces. Not far below his highest level is the
Jupiter and Antiope in the Salon Carre, which indeed is
one of the most beautiful pictures in the world. " Per-
haps " says M. Alexandre " the most perfect bit of paint-
ing that exists."

Lying against a bank under a group of shaded trees,
is Antiope, and at her side facing her, the winged Cupid,
his head on his arms, he as well as the nymph apparently
fast asleep. Within the shadow of the trees is Jupiter
in the guise of satyr. He is leaning over the sleeping
girl and has just lifted the blue drapery which had
covered her body. The whole of her beautiful nude figure
is thus completely exposed. As she lies her knees are
slightly drawn up, her left arm extended with loosely
dropped hand, her right thrown over her head which is
bent far back, bringing her chin up into a sharply fore-
shortened position. The figure is uncomfortably placed,
and the position of the neck, the thighs and the legs,
and even the head, is distinctly awkward. As has been
noted it is characteristic of the painter of Parma fre-
quently to show this disregard of the beauty of line. No
one is greater than he as a draughtsman, but he is so
absorbed in his wonderful effects of chiaroscuro, he so
revels in depicting his sun-kissed flesh that, though never
drawing falsely, the necessity for beauty of line as well

Jl'riTKK AM) ANiiori-:
hy Correggit)

Salon Carre 257

as of colour, light and shade, seems not always to impress
him.

It is safe to assert that amidst all the treasures that
line the wall of the Salon Carre not one is more com-
pelling, more striking than this. As one enters the room
it is as if the whole light of the apartment drew together
and threw all its brilliancy, all its clarity and transparence
upon this one canvas. Such is the effect of the glowing
palpitating form of the sleeping nymph. No perceptible
brush-work mars what has never been surpassed as a
painting of living, breathing, pulsing flesh, suffused with
a golden light beyond an alchemist's dream. Scarcely
less entrancing is the rosy Cupid, curled up in complacent
slumber over the results of his labour. For it is he who
has brought Jupiter there. All this glorious brilliance
of whitest flesh is in sharp contrast to the dark tones of
the satyr, his natural colour intensified by the shadow
of the trees. Still it is a royal head on the misshapen
body, and its ambrosial curls and Greek purity of profile
bespeak the royal lover.

Correggio is supposed to have painted the Mystic
Marriage of St. Catherine of Alexandria, which hangs
on the same side of the room as the Antiope, in 1522,
and Vasari states it was done on the occasion of the
marriage of the painter's sister Catherine.

Seated at the left, a three-quarter-length figure, is the
Virgin, holding on her lap the child Jesus. Both are in
profile, facing the right. Opposite them is St. Catherine
whose right hand rests in the Virgin's left, her betrothal-
finger being at the same time grasped by the baby Christ.
Behind St. Catherine St. Sebastian is seen leaning over
her, smiling, the arrow of his martyrdom pressed against
his chest. In the charming landscape background are
two scenes from the martyrdom of the two saints, a

258 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

conventional rendering that, by their perspective and
low tones Correggio keeps very unobtrusively back from
the principal group in the foreground. The Madonna is
dressed in the typical red and blue, St. Catherine in a
soft, rich brocade.

The colour in this picture is a dream of golden, light-
illumined flesh, entrancingly heightened by the soft,
luminous shadows that play over cheek and neck, and
sweep down about the draperies and out over the distant
trees. Not less exquisite are the forms themselves. The
Madonna, whose face is as pure as it is femininely charm-
ing; the baby, whose rounded, perfect little body is in
exact keeping with the curly hair and baby face with its
surprised sort of childish regard; St. Catherine, whose
beautiful hand matches the high-bred, gentle lines of
her earnest, lovely countenance ; St. Sebastian, whose
Cupid-like head and waving locks make his arrow seem,
as Gautier observes, more the sign of the god of love than
of his own martyrdom ; — in each and all is that glorious,
pulsing charm of sun-swept flesh, of perfect modelling,
of beauty of form and line and contour that is so pe-
culiarly Correggio's owti.

The marvellous joining of the three hands in the
centre of the composition has often been extolled. It is
doubtful if ever a group of hands was more perfectly,
more picturesquely rendered, and nowhere in all the
history of art, surely, are any more beautiful ones seen.
The supple form, the white softness, the aristocratic lines
of Catherine's delicate hand are counterbalanced and
complemented by the dimpled baby curves of the little
hand over it.

Tintoretto's Susannah at the Bath, is only a '' morceau "
by the great Venetian, but it shows his skill in portraying
the nude. The figure of Susannah, in its fulness of curve

Salon Carre 259

and richness of tint, is a forerunner of the women of
Rubens. It represents the girl sitting at the left before
a cluster of bushes, turned three-quarters to the right.
One serving-woman stands combing her hair, and another
is kneeling and dressing her feet. At the right is a pool
of water where birds and reptiles bathe, and in the dis-
tance behind is a table, introduced with total disregard
of the possibilities of the place, at which the two old men
are sitting and staring.

Unlike Tintoretto, Veronese is splendidly represented
at the Louvre, and in the Salon Carre are several of
his most noted pictures. The immense canvas of the
Marriage Feast at Cana, was one of Napoleon's war
trophies. When, in 1815 most of his artistic spoils were
returned to their previous owners, the officers of the
Louvre persuaded the Austrians that to move once more
this vast expanse of canvas would probably ruin it for
ever. In recompense they took Le Brun's Descent of the
Holy Spirit, now in the academy at Venice. It was an
exchange at which the gods of art must have smiled in
derision or glee, as they favoured the French or Italian
powers.

The scene takes place in a balcony or gallery open to
the sky, with clusters of marble pillars on each side indi-
cating the palace of which it is a part. From right to left
across the centre of the composition runs a marble balus-
trade, which separates a higher balcony from the one in
front. The table forms three sides of a parallelogram
and is placed so that it borders the three sides of the gal-
lery, leaving an open square in the centre of the com-
position. With his head coming against the balustrade,
Jesus sits facing the spectator, occupying the central seat
at the table. At his right is Mary, and about him are the
disciples. This little company, however, is almost over-

26o ube Hrt of tbe Xouvre

looked in the crowd of people who fill all sides of the
table as well as the open space in front, not to mention the
many servants and attendants who throng the upper bal-
cony, looking down upon the scene below. The assem-
blage are all in the costumes of Veronese's time, and, as
usual with this painter, the title of the picture has practi-
cally nothing to do with it. The comparative unimpor-
tance of Jesus is not even lessened by any emphasis laid
upon the miracle he is supposed to be enacting. At the
right corner of the table a servant pours wine from one
jug to another and a man sitting back to is watching him
with some interest, while another looks attentively at a
filled wine-glass which he holds in his hand. Otherwise
the entire company are engaged in talking among them-
selves, listening to the music or speaking to the servitors.
It is necessary therefore to eliminate all consideration of
the picture as a religious painting to appreciate it at
its true value.

As a magnificent decoration, as a most splendid repre-
sentation of a splendid feast in royally splendid surround-
ings, as a picture of Venetian life in the height of her
glory, as an admirably massed, wonderfully balanced, in
every respect superbly composed picture, it takes its
proper rank as one of the greatest paintings of the
Renaissance or of any time. The life, the movement, the
individuality, the enveloping atmosphere, the transparent
silver tone of its colour, the variety in pose, features and
expression in these hundred life-sized figures, the gor-
geousness of the stuffs, the skill displayed in indicating
textures, the nobility of the architectural surroundings, —
these are the things which help to make the work all the
more of a marvel When one remembers that Veronese
completed it in fifteen months.

There are many famous portraits among the guests.

Salon Carre 261

At the left end of the table are Alfonso d'Avalos, and the
Marquis du Guast, beside whom a negro stands offering
wine. At the side of the marquis a young woman behind
whom is a clown, is supposed to be Eleanor of Austria,
Queen of France. Next is Frangois himself and then
comes Mary of England in a yellow robe, and next but
one, picking her teeth, is Vittoria Colonna. Farther
back is seen the Emperor of the Turks, Solyman I.
Veronese is the musician playing on a viol and dressed in
white. Behind him Tintoretto accompanies, Titian plays
on a bass viol and Bassano on a flute. The picture is
thirty feet long by twenty high and was painted originally
for the refectory of San Giorgio Maggiore.

Veronese's Holy Family in this room shows the Ma-
donna seated on a low throne in front of a hanging cur-
tain of rich golden brocade. She supports with both
hands the nude baby Christ who stands on her lap, leaning
to the right toward St. Benedict who kneels at the side of
the throne. St. Catherine of Alexandria stands behind
presenting him to the Mother and Child. At the left St.
George, in full armour, is hastening towjard the throne,
one foot already on its base. The colour of the rich dra-
peries, the folds of the silks and satins are so masterly
here that the eye lingers over them perhaps too long to
do full justice to the splendid modelling of face and
figure, to the grace of Catherine, the winsome charm of
the Madonna or the sturdy earnestness of St. Benedict.

The Repast at the House of Simon is another enor-
mous canvas by Veronese and faces the great Marriage
of Cana. It is less beautiful than that but has many of
the striking characteristics of Veronese at his best.

Barocci, a man of indubitable talent, of immense fa-
cility, and of real enthusiasm, has a Virgin in Glory in the
Salon Carre that, tliough not so exquisite a canvas as his

262 tlbe Hrt ot tbe Xouvrc

Annunciation in Rome, sufficiently shows his love of
rosy flesh, of curving contour, and of the forced lighting
and profound shadows he employed so assiduously in
his attempt to make of himself another Correggio. The
Virgin is seated on clouds, holding on her lap the baby
Jesus who is extending a palm to St. Lucy kneeling below
at the right. Over the Virgin two angels bear a crown
which they are about to place on her head, and above this
is the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove. Behind St.
Lucy stands another angel bearing on a plate the eyes
that the martyr gave up for love of her Lord, and at
the left St. Anthony sits reading. In the distance are the
walls of a city.

The Dead Girist on the Knees of the Virgin by Ca-
racci is one of his best works. It has something of the
deep feeling of the earlier masters and is remarkably
good in line and chiaroscuro.

Guido Reni has several pictures in this golden room
of the Louvre, but they make slight impression compared
to the great works that are all about them. Dejanira and
the Centaur Nessus is mannered and overdone, with what
M. Alexandre calls " a cold romanticism," but it has a
certain seductive charm of colour and real vigour of
action. Dejanira is standing upon the Centaur, who is
trotting toward the left. In the distance at the right
Hercules is seen shooting an arrow after them.

Only one painting by Rubens is given place in the Salon
Carre, but the Portrait of Helen Fourment and Two of
Her Children is quite enough to show the consummate
master this Fleming was. Rubens is never more tender,
more brilliant, more exquisite, never does he paint so con
amore as when his brush portrays his young wife, Helen.
In this one he has added two of their children, Francis

r OK HELKN FOURMKNT AND TWO OK HER CHII.DKEN

Hy Kubens

Salon Carre 263

and Clara. The picture is as full of grace and freshness
as it is of brilliant purity of colour.

The young mother is seated in a big chair, facing the
left, turned so that her face and bust are in three-quarters
view. She is dressed in white, with a big hat that droops
long plumes over her blond hair. On her knees she holds
the little Francis, whose hands play with her corsage,
while he looks over his shoulder at the spectator. He is
a delightful morsel of mankind in his fine gray suit with
velvet cap and curling hair, big, wondering eyes that recall
his mother's, and curving baby lips. Standing on the
other side of her mother's knees is Qara, her brown dress
partly covered by her white apron which she is lifting with
both hands. On the arm of the chair are placed two
little hands of a child not otherwise seen. The sweep
of line in this composition does not lack the movement,
the life that Rubens always attained. But there is a
placidity, a comfortableness, a sort of homelike ease here
that he does not so often get. It is a domestic idyl, full
of clarity of colour, of charm of feeling.

The chief Velasquez gem which the Louvre owns is
the Infanta Margarita which is in this room. It is the
only one in the museum that conveys any adequate impres-
sion of the master's genius. The picture is a half-length
of the four-year-old baby, standing almost in full face,
her right hand resting on a big chair, only partly within
the painting, her left at her side holding a flower. She
is dressed in a grayish white gown, trimmed with black
lace, a gold chain about her neck and another falling over
her shoulders. Her soft fair hair, brushed till it is like a
blond veil about her shoulders, is tied over her right
temple with a rose-coloured bow. This halo of hair with
its delicate tones and reflections is one of the great charms
of the picture as it must have been of the baby princess.

264 Ube Htt of tbe Xouvre

Her complexion is of the pallor associated with the royal
house of Spain, but* it is here like the bloom of a pearl
rather than the dead white tone of the Philip IV. por-
traits. Her big blue eyes that look out so wonderingly
and yet so calmly, the stateliness of the child's pose make
one feel in that little figure as Gautier did, " The conscious
dignity of her position; it is a little daughter, but it is
a daughter of the king who will one day be queen."
Over her head in large gold letters are the words " LTn-
fanta Marguerit." The canvas was painted after Velas-
quez's second return from Italy and follows the one in
Vienna.

After all these great men comes Rembrandt, also with
only a single canvas to show his own greatness. But, as
with Rubens it is enough. No one save a master of
masters could ever have painted the Portrait of Hen-
drickje Stoffels. This likeness of the faithful maiden
servitor of the difficult latter years of his life, is justly
regarded as not only one of the greatest treasures of this
gallery, but as one of the great pictures of the world.
Rembrandt himself did not often surpass it.

Dressed in richest fur-bordered cloak that falls away
from her throat and shows the transparent muslin
chemisette gathered over her breast, with her soft curly
hair falling in ringlets over her ears, with a green velvet
cap, red-knotted on each side, big pearl earrings and a
pearl brooch at her bodice, and bracelets on her left arm,
Hendrickje is as charmingly gowned as she is lovable in
expression. Big dark eyes looking out tenderly and
brightly, mobile, curved lips, and delicate chin, the whole
air of this maid who perhaps did become Rembrandt's
wife, is that of trusting sweetness, joined to a gentle re-
pose that only emphasizes the general intelligence of the
countenance. She is sitting nearly full face and the light

rORTHAIT OF HENDRICKJE STOFFELS
My Rembraiult

Salon Carre 265

strikes her clear and brilliantly, the softness of the shadow
under her chin growing darker till it is lost in the rich
deep tone of the cloak that melts into the darker back-
ground.

The picture was probably painted about 1652, at a
period when Rembrandt's flesh-tones had taken on that
golden hue which generally is regarded as most charac-
teristic, but which during his earlier years was preceded
by a brilliancy of colour as vivid as Velasquez's or
Van Dyck's. If this warm, molten tone is less like living
flesh, it is none the less marvellously beautiful. Here in
Hendrickje it is as if the deep shadows clustering behind
her had but just vanished from across her face, their
transit turning the fair flesh into a sympathetic mellow-
ness. On every inch of this canvas is felt a penetrating
insight, a submerging of technique, an absorption in pure
soul-rendering such as even Rembrandt's greatest works
do not always show. It is as if the realist and the idealist,
as Fromentin calls him, had here met in an accord so
perfect that brush and mind and spirit are joined in a
wfedlock that produced almpst unconsciously this exquisite
portrait.

CHAPTER XIII.

LES PETITES SALLES FRAN^AISES — ROOMS IX.^ X., XI,,
XII.^ XIII. — ITALIAN AND FRENCH SCHOOLS

The Petites Salles Frangaises lead out of the long
gallery from Bay D and, as their name indicates are small
rooms mostly containing French pictures. In Room IX.,
however, are a number of late Italian works, few of
which are of any great interest. On the plan the rooms
are numbered IX., X., XL, XII. and XIII.

In Room IX. which is nearest the Grande Galerie, are
pictures by Cantarini, Giordano, Maratta, Giulio Romano,
Qarofalo and Salvator Rosa. Of these very few are
worthy special notice.

Maratta's Portrait of Maria Maddalena Rospigliosi
is one of the very best examples of this Roman painter
who was a member of the school that formed itself about
Caravaggio. It is a half-length portrait and shows the
princess standing in full face, her right hand, which holds
a fan, resting on a table beside her. She is dressed in
black, with full double-puffed sleeves of white, her neck
and shoulders bare. The careful workmanship displayed
in the rendering of the delicate lace that so elaborately
trims her dress is more than equalled technically by the
handling shown in the face and neck. The face itself is
far from beautiful but it possesses a dignity and poise
that make it interesting.

266

Xes IPetites Salles ffrancatses 267

Mars and Venus by Luca Giordano, called Luca la
Presto because of his extraordinary rapidity of execution,
is a not very good canvas by this man who, had he half
tried might have been one of the great modern masters.
He was possessed of tremendous ability but seemed to
care for nothing but to dash through a picture, getting a
certain daring, brilliant effect, wholly superficial, and thus
ruining what might have been great beauty, dramatic
action and rich colouring. Charles II. invited him to
Spain and he did a large number of wprks in the Escorial.
He belongs to the Neapolitan school, and died in Naples
in 1705.

The picture represents Venus nude, stretched out, half-
sitting, half-reclining on a couch, looking over her shoul-
der at Mars, who, in armour, is standing behind her
pointing out Vulcan at his forge in the distance. Two
women servants are at the right of Venus, one of whom
seems urging her to dress. In the foreground are two
delicious little Loves, one holding on to a large dog, the
other fallen over asleep, his head on his arms.

Of the early French pictures that fill the rest of the
Petites Salles, those by Vouet, Clouet and Le Sueur are
the most important. It is well to mention, however, the
name of Jean Cousin, who has been called the founder of
the French school. He lived during the reigns of Henri
XL, Henri III., and Charles IX. and was the author of a
book " on the proportions of the human body." His
principal work is The Last Judgment in Salle IX. It is
much mixed up and shows little real taste or talent.

In the same room are two portraits by Frangois
Clouet, painter in ordinary to Frangois I. One is Charles
IX., represented standing, the other Elizabeth of Austria.
They have a certain fineness of type and elegance of line,

268 Zbc Htt ot tbe Xouvte

and in the elaboration of costume show Clouet's "taste
for the picturesque."

Salle XII. is given up to the series of pictures by Le
Sueur illustrating the life of St. Bruno. They were
ordered by the monks of the Carthusians in 1645, ^^
memory of St. Bruno himself who wlas the founder of
their order. Le Sueur was helped in the work by many
of his pupils and also by his brother-in-law Gousse. The
pictures were in place in the little cloister in about three
years, arranged under arches that were separated by
Doric pilasters. Between each painting the history of the
saint was written in Latin verse by Jarry. In 1776 they
were presented to the king, and in the year 10 they
Were open to the public in the Palace of Versailles. The
following year they were taken to the Luxembourg, and
finally, in 1848, after being restored, they were put into
the Louvre.

Le Sueur was contemporary with Le Brun and for
years there was great rivalry between them, though so
far as the public was concerned it was only Le Brun who
received its laudations. It was not till the commission
came for the St. Bruno pictures that Le Sueur received
any sort of recognition. He painted with a soft, earnest
feeling that has given him the title, '' faute de mieux " as
Mr. Brownell says, of the "French Raphael." All the
French critics are inclined to grant Le Sueur a far higher
place than they accord Le Brun. But Anglo-Saxons feel
his supremacy less keenly. Brownell expresses the
general opinion, perhaps a trifle sharply, when he says
" He had a great deal of very exquisite feeling for what is
refined and elevated, but clearly it is a moral rather than
an aesthetic delicacy that he exhibits, and aesthetically he
exercises his sweeter and more sympathetic sensibility
within the same rigid limits which circumscribe that of

%CB petite5 Salles fftancaises 269

Le Brun. He has, indeed, less invention, less imagination,
less sense of composition, less wealth of detail, less elabo-
rateness, no greater concentration or sense of effect ; and
though his colour is more agreeable, perhaps, in hue, it
gets its tone through the absence of variety rather than
through juxtapositions and balances."

The first of the St. Bruno series shows the saint listen-
ing to the sermon of Raymond Diocres. It is the interior
of a church and at the right Raymond, who was canon
of Notre Dame, is preaching. At the left the congre-
gation are sitting, Bruno standing among them. He is
dressed in blue with a yellow cloak, and holds a book
under his arm. At the foot of the pulpit a young clerk
records the words of the young preacher. One of the
most notable bits of individuality is the kneeling woman in
the middle of the crowd, whose ecstasy as she listens
is clearly and even spiritually indicated. There is real
absorption shown in her posture; her head is turned
backwards, and a most tender expression is in her profile.
Bruno also shows, says M. Charles Blanc, in the calmness
of his attitude and the serenity of his face, the disinter-
ested and tolerant spirit. The whole composition is full
of individual characterization and breathes a spirit of
earnestness. The preacher has a vigorous, intense per-
sonality, which his gestures intensify without exaggera-
tion.

This same preacher is on his death-bed in the next
picture of the series. He is lying on the bed at the right,
his face turned to the cross which is held out to him
by a priest accompanied by two deacons. An old man
is showing great fear as he watches the coming of the
end. In the foreground St. Bruno is on his knees,
praying, and at the left on the floor are the preparations

270 XTbe Hrt ot tbe Xouvrc

for the funeral. Above the head of the dying man is a
demon.

The third is Raymond Diocres Rising from His Coffin
to pronounce his own condemnation. The officiating
priests are covered with fear and confusion and one boy
in the choir has, in his terror, dropped his book. St.
Bruno is back to Raymond, his hands joined in fervour.
It was, according to the traditions of the order, only
after the death of Raymond that Bruno's conversion took
place. So that it is with the fourth of the series that his
religious life really begins.

In this fourth he is seen on his knees in an ecstasy
before a cross, his head turned in profile to the left. He is
in a long robe, not yet that of his order. Through a
wiindow two men are observed burying the corpse of the
doctor. The figure of Bruno has real expression and
the whole picture, painted almost in monotone, has a quiet,
religious tone.

The fifth, St. Bruno Explaining the Faith to his pupils
in the school at Reims, is not very unlike the first. Bruno
is in the pulpit, pointing heavenward. The scene has a
certain delicacy of treatment, a tranquillity of chiaroscuro
and a colour admirably adapted to the subject. In all
his interiors of this series, Le Sueur uses the Doric order
of architecture. Charles Blanc says it is as if, in por-
traying this life of renunciation, he did not wish to have
the efflorescence of the Corinthian order to interfere with
the simplicity and quietness of his subject.

In the picture showing St. Bruno lying upon a bed
with three angels appearing to him, both the winged ap-
paritions and the saint are painted with great tenderness
and are imbued with an ecstatic mystery.

In the Journey to Chartreuse Le Sueur has drawn the
horses bearing the saint and his companions with much

%C3 petttes Salles iFtancatses 271

ability, though possibly not quite so remarkably as Blanc
affirms.

So they go on, with a certain far-off remembrance of
Raphael, but without his dignity of figures, his mar-
vellous massing in composition, or, in fine, — his original-
ity and mastery. One of the best of all is that showing
Pope Victor III. confirming the order of the Carthusians.
It is the interior of a temple, in which the Pope is sitting
on an elevated throne surrounded by his cardinals, one
of whom, standing, is reading the statutes of the new
order. Blanc again points out that here, with good
knowledge of his subjects, Le Sueur has not painted the
thin, self-denying cadaverous priests of the rigid monas-
tic life. Instead, these princes of the Roman Church have
an amplitude and vigour of flesh and form, well suited
to the world of Rome where they ruled.

In Bruno Refusing the Archiepiscopal Mitre Offered
by Pope Urban II. there are depth of colour and good
chiaroscuro.

Room XIII. has Le Sueur's mural pictures which
he executed for the ceilings of Hotel Lambert, at the time
that Le Brun was also working there. These are myth-
ologic subjects which have a certain sweetness and grace
if no very great authority. The colouring is agreeable
if far from enchanting, and the forms are well-drawn
if without great force. The Cabinet of the Muses was
What the room, was called where he painted, and it was
there that Voltaire lived from 1745 to 1749. There are
less restraint and perhaps less timidity in these decorations
than in his religious scenes.

CHAPTER XIV.

SALLE MOLLIEN — ROOM XIV. — FRENCH SCHOOL

With the exception of the few early men of the school
that are to be found in the Petites Salles Frangaises, the
Louvre's collection of French pictures commences with
Room XIV. called often Salle MoUien. French painting
practically did not begin till the seventeenth century. And
for long it was little but an imitation of Italian art for
which Frangois I. is principally responsible. His admira-
tion for everything Italian, and his bringing to Paris of
all the Italian artists whom he could persuade to leave
their native land, set the taste in France for a century, and
undoubtedly prevented an earlier flowering of French
art, per se.

Vouet, who was the teacher of Le Brun, was much
esteemed in both France and England and was court
painter for Louis XIII. His style is a copy of the Italian,
and his pictures " are rather dull in sentiment, heavy in
painting and demonstrative in design." The Presentation
in the Temple which is in this room, Waagen calls
" careful in execution, with ideal heads after the style of
Guido on forms far more awkward and less expressive."

Nearly forty canvases by Poussin hang in Salle Mol-
lien. Though the Anglo-Saxon mind can rarely agree
with the extreme admiration bestowed upon Poussin by
his countrymen, every critic must acknowledge his pre-

272

Salle /iDollien 273

eminence in certain important respects, and give him a
place quite by himself as far away from the strict academic
school of Le Brun as he was from that of Boucher. He
was a classic of the classicists, though we of to-day may
smile at some of the anachronisms of his works. He
was a scholar, a thinker, an idealist of a rather bounded
type. He was not spontaneous, his love of order and of
well-managed and abundant line made him too careful,
too studied, too cold. His gestures were seldom satis-
factory though his forms were noble. He studied the
antique, not nature, for his figures, and thus it is that
more freedom, more truth, more esprit appear in his land-
scapes, which he did take directly from nature, than in
his figures. In them his colour was often pleasing, some-
times luminous, sometimes softly golden, his eflfects of
perspective generally excellent, his values true. If there
lacked the dream-loveliness of a Lorrain, there were in
them a solidity, a dignity and a repose of their own.
In general it can be said without exaggeration that Pous-
sin's works wiere literary achievements of the brush. The
story, the moral, the historical accuracy (so far as the time
knew it), the orderly and proper arrangement of cause
and effect, the value of climax, the subservience of parts
to the whole, the importance of dramatic action are
the things that were Poussin's first care. It has been said
of him that he was afraid to let his brush revel in colour
for fear the import of his pictures might be lost. In
his classical mind colour was on the whole an unim-
portant adjunct of the art of painting.

His works include almost every kind of subject and the
Louvre possesses examples of his religious, historical and
mythological paintings as well as fables, bacchanals, por-
traits, and landscapes.

The Rape of the Sabines takes place in a large square

274 XTbe Hrt of tbe Xoux>re

at the back of which is a temple, on the right a number
of buildings. On a sort of platform at the left Romulus,
accompanied by two Romans, is giving the signal for the
attack. His left arm is raised high waving his red cloak.
He is in profile, but his fine torso, which is carefully and
accurately modelled, is turned nearly three-quarters
toward the spectator. Below on the ground at his feet
stand two lictors, their excited gestures and eagerness of
mien accentuating the intensity of the moment. The
scene in the square itself is a well-thought out, studiously
arranged pandemonium. Partly because thus scholarly
in its construction, it lacks any real, pervading, over-
powering horror. The Roman soldiers are attacking
women with staves, dragging them from other soldiers,
snatching them from their mothers' arms, hauling them
to their saddles. Before Romulus one mother kneels,
anguished entreaty in her begging hands, terror in her
piercing eyes. In the foreground at the left a soldier is
striding off carrying a daughter of the Sabines. Both
arms being thus more than employed he can only yell
while she pulls with all her might at his thick curling
hair. In the centre a Sabine is fleeing, robes streaming
in the wind, while the maiden following is seized by a
Roman soldier. At the extreme right an old mother on
the ground is trying to cover and protect her daughter
from a Roman who grabs the girl with one hand and
pushes back the mother with the other.

The Holy Family on the south wall has one of the
really lovely landscapes that Poussin often painted. Be-
hind the pyramidal group of the family, a quiet river
twists its way into a softly tinted country stretching out
into a distance gradually lost among low mountains gently
silhouetted against the sky. If the dwellings and build-
ings that interrupt the masses of trees and break the

Salle /iDollten 275

plains, suggest rather a Romian or Greek scene than
Palestine, Poussin has only followed the steps of the
great Italians before him. The gradations of tone in this
whole vista are a triumph of artistic expression.

At the left, Mary, in a blue robe not overburdened with
folds of drapery, is seated holding the child Jesus on
her knees. He is leaning forward to caress the small St.
John in the arms of Elizabeth. She is on her kneeSf
her brown robes relieved by the white head-dress. Her
face is in profile and age has not greatly marred the fine
lines of brow, nose and chin. Behind the group in the
centre stands Joseph, his head and eyes slightly inclined,
his hands joined in prayer. He is dressed in the conven-
tional red. In fact, if Poussin's red and blue robes which
fill so many of his pictures could be eliminated, or at
least toned down, he would stand a much better chance
of being appreciated at his true worth.

The Vision of St. Paul was painted for the Abbe
Scarron, and is a subject which Poussin executed three
times. It is a small panel, measuring only eighteen inches
by thirteen. The one in the Louvre is a replica of his
first attempt. St. Paul is being rapidly borne aloft, by
three large winged angels. One, holding his left hand,
is behind him, and rises over his body, her right hand
pointing heavenward. The head of another below her
is in shadow under the saint's arm. She clasps one leg of
St. Paul and seems with the third really to be bearing
his weight. This last angel placed lower than any of the
others, is more strongly centred in the light than even
St. Paul. Beneath the group are the steps of a large
classic building on the topmost of which is a book, and
over it resting on the portal of the open door, a naked
sword which reflects some of the light focused on
the figures above.

276 XTbe Hrt ot tbe 2.ou\>re

There is not enough concentration of interest here.
The arms and legs are all too prominent, giving a forked
sort of appearance to die whole picture. In spite of very-
real beauties, even in spite of the exquisite figure of
the angel on the left, the first impression is of a super-
fluity of flying legs and waving arms.

Time Rescuing Truth from the Attacks of Envy and
Discord, Poussin painted to show his contempt for Vouet
and the other French painters.

Poussin, after a youth of great hardship and poverty,
went to Rome where he lived for most of the rest of his
life. In 1640 Richelieu called him to Paris where he was
made painter in ordinary to the king, given apartments
at the Louvre and showered with presents and plaudits.
Hlis supremacy over Vouet and the other French artists
led to serious disagreements, and after only twenty-one
months in the capital, Poussin, much hurt in his self-
esteem by the adverse criticisms of Vouet and his fol-
lowers, returned once more to Rome, never to leave it
again. This picture was painted for Cardinal Richelieu
for a ceiling decoration and was, as it were, his final shot
at his antagonists in the French city.

The painting is round, the figures are all of life-size
and the scene represents the clouds of the heavens seen
through a quatrefoil of architectural form. Here in
the sky the figure of Time bears up Truth, carrying her
to Paradise. A cherub floats on his back near by, holding
Time's sickle and a serpent in the shape of a huge circlet.
Below, sitting on the architectural framework, are Envy
on the right. Anger, or Discord, on the left. Time's
body is somewhat dark in line and he is represented as an
old but still wonderfully vigorous man. His drapery
which falls only about the lower part of his torso, is
blue, and the rapidity of his flight has thrown it far off

TIME RESCUING TRUTH FROM THE ATTACKS OF ENVV AND DISCORD

liy Poussin

Salle /iDollien 277

his legs. His wide wings are in brown and gray tones.
Truth, lying in Timie's arms, is a beautiful golden-haired
nude woman, with flesh of much lighter tone than Time.
Her face is turned in profile, her arms are raised as if
welcoming the approach to Eternity. The light falls
strongly on both Truth and the charming little cherub,
while Time is thrown mostly into shadow. The clouds
about them are of a gray-green colour, though imme-
diately below Time's feet is an opening very bright and
gleaming. The figure of Discord on the left shows her
largely enveloped in a mantle that leaves her right shoul-
der bare. She is sitting with one leg drawn sharply up
till the knee is greatly foreshortened, the other stretched
out resting on the edge of the framework. Her head is
thrown back, bringing her features into a profile sadly
marred by the rancour with which she gazes after Truth,
but still showing beauty. The foreshortening of this
figure and of Envy is almost as perfect as Michelangelo
could have accomplished. Indeed the two figures sug-
gest that master. Discord clasps a torch in her upraised
right hand and a poignard in her left, with which she
had evidently struck at Truth just too late to reach her.
She is a brunette in colouring and wears blue-green and
red garments. On the right is Envy, doubled up in a
very frenzy and wound about with serpents whose fangs
are poisoning her. Her left shoulder from which the
green drapery has fallen catches the light and her face is
fairly livid.

In this composition are all the attributes so often
claimed for Poussin but not so often justified in his
works. Real depth of imagination, poetic conception,
magnificent drawing, a composition free from superfluous
accessories, no exaggeration in gesture, pose or draperies,
and a colour that harmonizes with the thought expressed.

278 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

It is a very great work and alone would be enough to
make Poussin's name revered as one of the great men of
all time.

In the colour of the Bacchanals Poussin showed the
influence of Titian. The one on the north wall he painted
for Richelieu before he departed for Rome. In the
immediate foreground a nude Bacchante is lying out upon
a bit of red drapery, her head thrown back in profile,
asleep, a tiny baby, Bacchus-crowned, lying across her,
also asleep. At the left another small boy is drinking
out of a basin held by a satyr sitting with knees under him.
A second satyr leans over and half holds the child up,
while behind the two another Bacchante in a blue peplum
rests against a staff, watching. At the extreme left, two
more babies are standing hugging and kissing each other.
The scene is laid in a kind of arbour with glimpses on
each side of hills, trees, country and cloud-filled skies.

A group of five cherubs makes the Concert. They
are playing and singing in the midst of a rather simple
and sombre landscape. The leader of the band stands
in front, legs planted firmly and widely apart, a laurel
wreath in both extended hands. Behind him sitting on
the ground are three others. One, on the left, in profile,
has his right hand raised as if marking time for the other
two sitting in front of him singing. One of these holds
the sheet of music, while the other looks over his shoul-
der. Between the first and these two stands a fourth
playing a big bass viol. There is a gaiety, spontaneity,
abandon, and light-heartedness about this equal to
Rubens, with a refinement Rubens never had. The
colour, too, is warm and glowing.

The Four Seasons, are scenes taken from Biblical
history and were done late in life. They are not up to

Salle /IDoUien 279

his highest level, though French critics have praised parts
of them greatly.

Like Poussin, Claude Gellee, who is best known by
the name Claude Lorrain, spent most of his artistic life
in Italy. He was a Frenchman by little more than birth.
It was Italy that he loved, painted and chose for home.
Unlike Poussin, it was not the antique that he worshipped
but the panorama of nature herself. At his time French
landscape art was a thing scarcely out of its swaddling-
clothes, if indeed it can be said to have existed at all.
He is not the follower nor yet the founder of any school.
His poetic renderings of Italian country and seas are the
transcripts of his own dreams. He had no one before
him to suggest such renderings and no imitators could re-
produce his style without possessing his mind and im-
agination. So penetrated by individuality is every tone
of this golden singer that to copy is to leave out all that
made the works the exquisite songs they are. Though
Lorrain studied nature directly and spent hours memoriz-
ing every passing atmospheric change, he cannot be called
a literal translator of nature's moods. Whatever he saw
he saw through the golden haze of his own imagination
and as such gave it to the world. He seldom makes an
exact portrayal of any definite place, though he has done
so with the Campo Vaccino, the heights of Tivoli and a
few others. But generally he put in bits from various
places, regardless of their geographical position. He could
not paint figures well and used to say that he sold his land-
scapes and gave aw&y the figures in them. Till Ruskin's
day Claude's name was synonymous for all that was
perfect in landscape art. It is safe to say that now, only
so few years after his arraignment by this English man-
of-letters, Claude's real and undying genius is as thor-
oughly, if more judiciously admired than ever. This lack

28o Ubc Hrt of tbe %o\xvtc

of appreciation on Ruskin's part is one of the many rea-
sons why he was far from being the art critic that he
considered himself.

There are sixteen paintings by Claude in this room,
of which the most beautiful, perhaps, is the Landing of
Cleopatra at Tarsus. This is in splendid preservation,
and is rightly considered one of his chefs-d'oeuvre. At the
left the huge treasure-filled barks of Cleopatra are at
anchor near the shore at the right. Cleopatra has just
landed from one of the small boats and is stepping up
the royally wide entrance to the palace-like portal. Sur-
rounded with attendants, she is holding out her hand in
greeting to Mark Antony who is awaiting her on the
landing. Another marble palace is slightly behind this,
and that too is lapped at its foundations by the waves
that, as they ripple and break, are bathed in the glory
of the sun only just risen. The distance is the glowing
east, and the wonder of the whole picture is not in these
carefully posed, stiff, unnatural figures, nor in the classic
lines of architecture, nor even in the mighty barks that
form so admirable a dark mass against the sky. Not in
these, but in the molten haze that shimmers over the blue
waves broken into silver under the sun's rays, in the
shining of the enfolding atmosphere, in the golden poesie
that, much more than temple, bark or queen recalls the
days that poets sing.

Far different in subject is the Village Dance. In the
centre a number of villagers are dancing in the shadow of
spreading trees. A hunting-party has just arrived and
one of the gay men has taken a village maid by the hand
to join in the festivities. M. Emile Michel thinks it is
perhaps a souvenir of Qaude's birthplace.

The figures in Samuel Anointing David King of
Israel, are placed under a Doric portico, which was an

Salle /iDolUcn 281

anachronism as common to the learned Poussin as to
illiterate Qaude. Time and unfortunate restoration have
greatly injured this, but there is a tender mellow light
that swims over the whole canvas, and the middle distance
with its luminous, delicate gradations, is beautiful.

Ulysses Restoring Chryseis to Her Father was painted
for the Due de Liancourt and used to hang in his beauti-
ful chateau. It is somewhat hurt by time but is still
lovely. The sky is golden, with the sun not far above
the horizon, and almost in front of it is the bark of the
warrior, blurring with its own dark mass and shadow
the golden pathway thrown across the dancing waves.
But the edges of the gently ruffled waves still catch the
shimmer and cut the darker blue sharply. At the left
the enormous pile of princely buildings rises in half-
light, and at the top of a stairway of most royal gran-
deur, Chryseis is presented to her waiting father by
Ulysses. The immediate foreground is the beach that
bounds the harbour and here sailors are unloading small
boats, bringing cattle to land on heavy scow-like barges,
while merchants and others stand talking. Other barks
are seen in the harbour, and as always there is the soft
middle plane and faintly hazy distance where sea and
sky meet.

Campo Vaccino is a picture of the forum with people
scattered here and there. This shows something of
Claude's effulgence of colour and luminosity of sky, but
there is a certain studied effect in the whole scene.

Claude has many so-called Seaports in the Louvre,
sometimes with the sun sinking, sometimes rising, now
bursting through a cloud, anon veiled by a vaporous
haze. But at whatever time or state of day there is
always the shimmering golden atmosphere, the sun-kissed

282 Ti\)c Hrt of tbe Xouvre

waves, the translucent sky. It is sufficient, perhaps, to
describe one to give a fair idea of all.

A Seaport at Sunsei, shows numerous groups of people
on the sandy beach of the harbour. At the left some
travellers are seated on a pile of baggage, one playing a
guitar. Below, two noblemen are talking with a turbaned
Turk, and in the centre a chevalier is drawing his sword
in an attempt to separate a couple of fighting sailors.
Small boats are drawn up on the shore and beyond in the
harbour huge vessels mass themselves dark against the
sky. At the left are a temple and lines of palatial build-
ings. More boats, big and little, float on the golden-tinted
waves of the harbour, and at the right in the distance a
bulky tower, its heaviness half-obscured in the shimmer-
ing haze of the setting sun, looms above the horizon line.
Soft clouds melt into the arching sky, and the whole is
like a day's dream.

There is no poet's day-dreaming in the pictures by
the brothers Le Nain, a number of whose works are
in Salle XIV. It is impossible to distinguish the style
of these three brothers or properly to individuaHze their
personalities. They were among the earliest of the
academicians and were more influenced by the Dutch
or Flemish than by the Italians. Their flesh-tones
are dull, rather gray, with a greenish tone, their brush-
work is tight, their people have a sad, drawn expression
recalling the mournfulness of the visages of the Dutch
Madonnas. Their drawing, if not impeccable is at least
solid, and rather convincing. Their heads are particularly
careful in construction, but their hands, though character-
istic frequently lack definiteness of structure.

The Apparition of St. Scholastica to St. Benedict
by Le Sueur, once in the Salon Carre, shows the saint
kneeling in his white robes, his hands outspread, his face

Salle /IDolUen 283

lifted in profile, the light from the heavens streaming upon
his face. He is in the midst of an indefinite rocky land-
scape and before him sweeps down the celestial group
of his vision. St. Scholastica, her hands crossed on her
breast, is draped in blue. Three little angels look out
from behind her robes and two young maidens are at her
right, almost touching the ground with their feet. At
her left are St. Peter and St. Paul, Peter in front with
outspread arms regarding St. Benedict, Paul behind
pointing to the heavens from which the light streams.
There is beauty of expression here and real character
drawing. As a composition it is not so good. The colour
is pleasing, and as a whole it is full of a reality of religious
fervour.

Nineteen pictures by Le Brun hang in this salle. Le
Brun was the court painter of Louis XIV. He was also
director of the Gobelins where not only tapestries but
furniture, jewelry, mosaics, marquetry and bronzes were
designed. It is really all his work that is now called
Louis Quatorze. He was one of the founders of the
Royal Academy, in 1648, and was given one grade after
another in that celebrated company. Le Brun has been
denominated the " Louis XIV. in art," and a critic has
remarked "That Le Brun's work looks to us as if he
never could have begun to paint without putting on the
biggest of wigs." He had very little real feeling and has
been called the chief of the theatrical school of his time.
The influence of Annibale Caracci is seen in his strongly
contrasted groups, attitudes, draperies, in his forced tones,
and in an ever noticeable grandiose manner. In all his
works there is a pomposity that his marvellous fecundity,
his really noble conceptions do not condone. His was not
the art to express the inner, deeper emotions. He was at
his best when he could indicate feeling by more or less

284 Ube Hrt of tbe %o\xvtc

violent contraction of muscles, by strong movements of
arms, hands, heads or body, by marked gestures and atti-
tudes. All his characteristics are found in his scenes
from the life of Alexander. This series of pictures was
supposed to be a sort of allegorical history of the triumphs
of Louis XIV. himself, and was painted directly under
the eyes of the king. After the fire of 1661 he restored
the gallery of the Louvre and his painting of Apollo on the
ceiling gave to it the name of Galerie d'Apollon. Le Brun
exercised so strong an influence over the artists of his
time that it can be said without exaggeration that Pierre
Mignard and Vouet were the only two who did not
come completely under his sway.

The Martyrdom of St. Etienne and the Holy Family,
called The Blessing, have noble characterizations of face
and scholarly drawing. In the latter especially there is
for him an unusual grace and delicacy of sentiment.

In the Passage of the Granicus Alexander has crossed
the river, his battalions are partly over and partly in the
middle of the stream. Battle-axes and spears are flashing
and crashing on all sides, standards are flying and every-
where are extreme movement, noise, and warfare. Alex-
ander is in the centre of the melee, his white plume flying
victoriously in the air. His sword is drawn in one hand
his shield is in the other, his horse is already trampling
on the white horse of his enemy. Behind the king, Qytus,
armed with a battle-axe parries the thrust that Spithri-
dates tries to give Alexander. A trumpeter behind blows
upon his instrument and orders forward the army who at
the left are crossing the flood. At the right are the
cavalry with their standards flying.

In the Entrance of Alexander into Babylon the con-
queror is standing in profile in his gold and ivory
chariot, drawn by elephants. By his side his slaves bear

Salle /iDollten 285

a huge, elaborately carved vase and before them, directing,
is a mounted captain. Behind and around him his officers
ride, the steps of temples and palaces are crowded with
watchers and at the extreme left a family are crouched
watching the conquering king.

There is some of the pompous grandeur of Le Brun to
be found in the works of Rigaud, who was a boy when
Le Brun was at the height of his fame ; but at his best
Rigaud had perhaps fewer faults than almost any other
painter of his time, and in his more intimate portraits like
those of his wife and mother we find him remarkably
free from the academical restraints and conventions that
governed so largely most of his day. In the seventeenth
century the French were too near the end of the Italian
Renaissance to feel the decadence in Guido, the Caracci,
Caravaggio. It was consequently natural that the
French painters of that day, who, with few exceptions
lived as much as possible in Italy, should fashion them-
selves on this lowered model. Rigaud was remarkably
free from " that domination of misunderstood precedent
which was the bane of all the arts in his time and coun-
try." This may be largely laid to his admiration of Van
Dyck and his endeavour to make his portraits partake
somewhat of the attributes of the great Fleming, but
even of this man his imitation was never slavish. His
heads are marked by strong individuality, his hands no
less. His pictures lose the stiff, set, angular lines of his
contemporaries, his lace ruffles fall in some disorder, his
scarfs and draperies are blown by a contrary wind, there
is a feeling of freedom, perhaps almost of license in the
very accessories of his portraits. In Rigaud's time histori-
cal painting was considered the art par excellence and it
was only by Le Brun's advice, who saw the marked bent
of Rigaud's talent that the latter did not devote himself

286 XTbe Hrt of tbe Xouvre

wholly t}o that so-ca,lled more aristocratic branch of
art.

Of the pictures by him in the Louvre the canvas bear-
ing the Portraits of His Mother in this room is the most
charming. The two heads are painted facing each other,
the left in exact profile, the right turned so that a bit of
the right cheek is seen. Both have a white fichu, a black
waist, earrings and a violet velvet cap. There are a sober
earnestness and yet a decided savoir-faire about the head
that give a very attractive and decidedly French indi-
viduality to them. They are painted with a freedom, a
fineness and a surety that recall Van Dyck, possibly, but
it is nevertheless wholly Rigaud. The face has an aquiline
nose, a noble forehead, a firm yet tender mouth and a
steadfast eye. It is altogether one of Rigaud's greatest
works.

Better known, perhaps, but far inferior in artistic value,
is his Portrait of Louis XIV., painted in 1701. The king
stands with his right hand on his sceptre which he rests on
an ottoman beside him, his left on his hip. His left foot
is advanced with the mincing, pointed toe as if he were
about to step into a minuet. The high red-heeled shoes,
the stupidly statuesque legs and the long folds of the
voluminous draperies, are all so bad that one can only
marvel at the taste of a time that admired them. Spread-
ing about him in deep folds is the enormous blue velvet
robe with its ermine lining, and its golden embroidered
fleurs-de-lis. Back of him are the red curtains fairly
rampant in their folds and creases and back of them the
inevitable pillars. The head, with its overpowering wig
of curls that fall over his shoulders, is well painted and it
is evident that Rigaud was not afraid to put down exactly
what he found in the person of his royal sitter. If at that
day it was called grandeur, dignity and most royal poise,

Salle /IDolUen 287

now it looks very like pomposity, strut and most egre-
gious self-esteem.

The Portrait of Bossuet is much better, and in spite of
the conventional background, and the usual heavy robes
and laces of the prelate, there is very wonderful delinea-
tion in that thin-lipped, keen-eyed, strong-chinned, ascetic-
browed statesman-churchman-poet. It is supposed that
only the face is wholly the work of Rigaud.

CHAPTER XV.

SALLE DARU — FRENCH SCHOOL — ROOM XVI.

Salle Daru numbered XVT. on the plan, contains
French paintings of the eighteenth century. The begin-
ning of this century found art at a low ebb in France. All
artists except Le Moine and De Troy and a few portrait-
painters, were living in great poverty. Everybody was
sick of historical painting yet nobody ventured to express
preference for anything else. No painter dared go con-
trary to the traditions of Le Brun. It was not till
Watteau calmly cut his own path far away from the boun-
daries of the Grand Monarch's domain that French art
found itself started on a highway all its own.

The two Coypels, father and son, who both have pic-
tures in Salle Daru, were samples of this pseudo-classic,
weakly imitative art. Antoine was first painter to the
king and director to the Royal Academy. In his works
at Versailles he evinces an ability in composition, in ex-
pression and in arrangement of line decidedly beyond
anything shown in his easel-pictures at the Louvre.
Susannah and the Elders and Esther in the presence of
Ahasuerus, are the best examples here, and they have
much theatrical arrangement and overdone action.

His son Charles Antoine was his most noted pupil, but
he too made no impression on the art of his time. His
Perseus Delivering Andromeda is conventional, unin-
spired, forced.

Salle Dattt 289

A long list of works by Desportes hang in this room
and show that he, the first great animal-painter of France
was very little influenced by the strictures of the school
of Le Brun. In spite of his unlikeness to the Grand Mon-
arch's chief painter, he was a favourite with Louis XIV.,
and used to attend him often on his hunting expeditions.
The king gave him a pension and lodged him at the
Louvre. When any rare animals arrived Desportes was
called upon to paint their portraits. His pictures of the
hunting-dogs of Louis, placed in decidedly effective land-
scapes, are really wonderful and show a marvellous study
of life. It is only in their surroundings and arrangements
and certain manipulations that they seem to be influenced
by the classicism of the day. His colour was fresh and
transparent, and he was a no mean portrait-painter as is
proved by his Chasseur and the Portrait of Himself at
the Louvre. But it is in his dogs that he is greatest.
They are marvels of exact and most sympathetic observa-
tion. Their nervous little bodies are rendered with a
truth and spirit that show how thoroughly he had
watched and studied their movements and their features.
Their big, pleading eyes, eager, sensitive noses, their
excited ears, their whole palpitating, mobile bodies, find a
quick appreciation and understanding in the brush of this
painter, who was himself a hunter. His birds, rabbits,
foxes and horses are scarcely less extraordinary in their
truth to nature. In still-life also, in painting the grape,
the peach, all fruits, there is perhaps no one but Giardin
in the French school of this century that could approach
him.

Diana and Blond two pack-hounds of Louis XIV., show
the dogs starting a covey of pheasants. One of these has
risen into the air and is flying oflF, two others are in the
grass just in front of Diana's guarding paws. Behind

290 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xou\>re

her half-crouches Blond, head projected, tail straight out,
the tassel-end as stiff as a pump-handle, her eyes staring
in an intensity of excitement that makes her whole lovely,
soft body one quiver. Diana is flat on the ground full
of an equal if more repressed excitement. Her eyes, in
their sharpened gleam, seem as if they would force them-
selves out of that intelligent, dark-spotted face.

Bonne, Nonne and Ponne is a similar scene. Again
the dogs have found the hidden red partridges. The two
birds are at the right behind some high mullion and grass,
and before them, filling the centre and left of the picture,
are the three black and white hounds, in positions as
various as they are graceful and dramatic. The one in
the foreground is crawling along almost on her stomach,
her nose lifted, sniffing, her eye earnest but cautious.
Behind her one with many black spots as well as a black
head and saddle-like smooch, stands upright, her left fore-
paw lifted in a very agony of excitement. The beautiful
sparkling eye and eager mouth and nose are almost
human in expression. Nearer still to the birds is the
third who has evidently stopped just in time to prevent
falling over the treasure. She is turned around as if she
had suddenly twisted herself on to her haunches, her
head toward the prey, her tongue protruding, her eyes
staring.

The Portrait of a Hunter, which critics pronounce
a really magnificent work for that or any time, represents
a man in a gray peruke, dressed in a violet suit, white
cravat and gray gaiters, seated upon a stone, turned
three-quarters to the right. He holds upon his knee his
ferret, one greyhound is at his side, another behind him.

In the Portrait of Himself, Desportes is seated under
a tree, leaning slightly backward, his body stretched out
and turned so it is in nearly full face. By his side,

Salle Daru 291

looking up with pathetic and infinite affection, is a dog,
over whom Desportes has placed his left hand. And
what a firm, fine, sensitive hand it is ! Carefully but
spiritedly drawn, full of a nervous but restrained feeling,
one needs only to look at it to know the character of this
animal lover and this really estimable man. His right
hand is held out grasping a gun. The game they have
captured, a rabbit, a duck, some pheasant, quail and other
birds, is heaped at the dog's feet. At the left of the pic-
ture, three-quarters back to, is a slender, graceful grey-
hound, who also is turning his affectionate face toward
his master. Desportes is clad in regular hunting-costume,
a gray cloak, violet breeches, blue waistcoat and leather
gaiters. A soft white cravat is about his neck, and the
full white shirt-sleeves show below the coat. The land-
scape background is not disagreeably conventional in its
sloping, hilly distance.

The First Chapter of the Order of the Holy Ghost by
De Troy is almost equal to his great Plague at Marseilles.
There are here both energy and dignity. Charles Blanc
says that in all French painting it is difficult to find a
picture more "corsee'/ more " male'' or more " Here."
Within the church of the convent of the " Grands- Augus-
tins," is the king, seated on the right on a throne, in
three-quarters view. He is receiving as new chevaliers
of the order, Henri de Bourbon and Due de Mentpensier,
who are kneeling, and Henri d'Orleans, who is leaning
over with his hand on his breast. About the king are the
grand officers of the throne, and in the tribunes are the
ladies of the court assisting at the ceremony. Behind
the throne is a green drapery with the Holy Spirit flying
in an aureole of gold.

Rigaud said of the painter of that picture that if his
capacity for work had equalled his genius, the art of

*9« Zbc Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

painting had never known a greater illustration. He
could paint flesh delicately, stuffs with reality and pre-
cision and heads and hands with expressiveness.

A great rival of De Troy in the early years of the
eighteenth century was Frangois le Moine, of whom it
has been said that no one ever came up to. him in the
freshness of his brush and the lightness of his touch.
He is claimed to be the inventor of the ''rayon rose/'
which became such a characteristic of his pupil Watteau.
His " air of ease," the apparent lack of effort in his works,
and his pleasing, gay colour gave him great vogue.

Juno, Iris and Flora in this room shows these char-
acteristics accompanied by that pretty surface modelling
which rarely fails to attract us in his drawings and
which in spite of the injuries of time or the rough mercies
of cleansing and restoring, still interests us in his mural
works.

With Watteau, whose famous Embarkation for the
Isle of Cythera, hangs on the north wall of this room,
we come to the great French genius of this age. Like so
many artists, Watteau became a painter in spite of the
incredible hardship and poverty that would have soon
discouraged a less talented nature. His wonderful
draughtsmanship he learned quite by himself, working
late into the night after a long day in a sort of atelier
where portraits or religious scenes were turned out by
the gross for provincial dealers. A few years later he
was employed by Claude Audran, custodian of the Lux-
embourg, so getting a chance to see Rubens's Medici
paintings as well as works of some of the great Italians.
He was undoubtedly influenced by Rubens, by Titian
and Veronese, but he was always himself and copied no
one. He was a most admirable draughtsman, his little
figures stand as firmly on their feet, have as truly felt,

Salle Baru 293

without the least bit of obstreperous, anatomy, as any
giant figures of the greatest masters of any day. Always
sick and suffering, and of an unfailing self-severity,
Watteau shows his own poverty and ill-health in
his pictures as little as Stevenson does his in his
romances. All are suffused with a sort of shimmering,
golden-silver gaiety. They depict a realm of phantasy,
of poetry, of love. Yet the people in them are to a
certain extent the people of the time. Their prototypes
were the ladies and nobles of that airy, flowery, dancing
age, they who were so buoyantly gay, so full of a thistle-
down lightness that for awhile their feet never felt
the crumbling of the ruins beneath them. Watteau loved
the shimmering of striped satins and gay figured silks,
but as much he loved the soft cool tones of the sylvan
glades, the spring laden trees that made such exquisite
settings for his fairylike love-scenes. If his art has
been called trivial, unreal and shallow, it has neverthe-
less a reality of its own, and a charm, a spontaneity, and
a rare golden grace, that in comparison make many
more sober and more noble works seem bereft of some-
thing both vital and alluring. He created, one may
fairly say, an age. At his advent painting had become
merely a tool for the Grand Monarch's display. Historical
paintings, allegorical or symbolical scenes, apotheoses
of that strutting piece of royalty were simply ways of ex-
tolling the person, face or fame of the vainest of human
beings. No wonder art had reached a point where all
initiative, all originality was gone. Into such a condition
did Watteau come and for him the condition apparently
did not exist. It was as if he had never heard what was
the " correct " manner of displaying his art. He was
in the truest if not the most subHme sense, original and
untrammelled, cutting a path for the first time for himself

294 Ube Hrt of tbc Xouvrc

and leaving such a shining track behind him that many
were the lesser minds that knew no better than to follow
close after, never thinking that in such blind following
they were going directly contrary to his very principles of
self-expression. De Goncourt says that all the painters of
the eighteenth century with the exception of Chardin,
partook something of Watteau. He dominated them ail,
says the French critic. Not alone the servile imitators,
Lancret, and Pater, but Boucher, Van Loo, Ollivier, Fra-
gonard, all followed him.

The Embarkation for Cythera is a sketch of the
finished picture nowi in Berlin. It is universally con-
sidered Watteau's greatest achievement. This sketch,
if less perfect than the completed picture, has possibly
an even greater charm in its beauty of suggestion and
in its spontaneous gaiety. The scene represents a knoll
on the bank of a golden stream, whose soft shores stretch
out in the distance till lost in the glowing suffusement
of distant colour. On the right, under noble trees is a
party of lovers, who are preparing to follow their com-
panions down to the shore where lies at anchor the ship
of love's dream. Farther at the right is a statue of
Venus about which two small Cupids are playing. More
of these Cupids are everywhere, now helping an
" amorous swain " to persuade his lady-love to accom-
pany him on the wonder-boat, and now assisting the
loving couples to embark. But most of them swarm
around the bark itself. Some are pulling up the sails,
some weighing anchor, and a whole garland of them are
in the air as high as the topmast, swinging about in a
revel of joy and grace. These Cupids perhaps suggest
Rubens at his very best. But they have an infantile and
yet a fairylike charm that Rubens scarcely approached.
They are neither angels nor Cupids. They are angel-

Salle Batu 295

cupids. If they have an esprit, a fairylike vivacity
hardly compatible with baby angels, they have at the
same time too refined a delicacy, too tender a spiritu-
ality to be Cupids, per se. They are the quintessence
of Watteau's art. In them is seen perhaps more
plainly than anywhere else, how the alembic of his
brush changed all it touched into something more glow-
ing, more exquisite, more sweetly languorous, or more
daintily gay, than ever brush did before or since.
They are indeed the very spirits of the art that Watteau
made the art of the eighteenth century.

Hardly less charming and tender than these dancing,
flying spirits are the lovers who people the scene. The
beautiful soft satins and velvets, the lovely forms, the
graceful groupings, all show, individually and collectively,
not alone Watteau's idyllic sweetness and power to tell
a fairy-tale, but equally well his unerring draughtsman-
ship, ability as a composer and his marvellous eye for
colour. It is this last which is the all-pervading and
ever-remaining attribute of the picture as a whole, and
which, even more than all the rest makes it one of the
loveliest pictures in the world. It is as impossible ade-
quately to describe the golden glow that suffuses the
whole surface as it is to bring by words before ones eyes
the gradations in Titian's flesh-tones. In its own way
it is as great a marvel of the brush. It is this golden
play of colours that puts the whole scene into the realm
of phantasy, into the land of dreams. Nowhere else is
all nature so surcharged with this palpitating, shimmer-
ing, silver-golden haze that wraps about every object
and claims it for its own.

As has been stated there was one painter who was as
little influenced by Watteau as was he by the classic
school of painting. This was Qiardii), as great a man

«9^ XTbe Hrt ot tbe Xouvrc

in his own way as Watteau in his and representing not
all the art of France of the eighteenth century. Lady
Dilke has admirably said, " He was not so much an
eighteenth-century French artist as a French artist of
pure race and type." Unlike all the rest of the men
of that century he does not show in his work the in-
fluence of the fashions, the style, the modishness of the
day. He portrays not pomp, vanity and fashionable court
life, or its imitations. He loves better the simplicity of
quiet home life, the charm of domestic joys. Chardin,
says one critic, " is as natural as a Dutchman, and as
modern as Vollon." If he were only painting still life,
he somehow always got the human, natural note.
" Everything that he touched he touched with feeling
as profound as it was personal." His work in pastel is
as distinguished as that in oil. In his later years when
his eyes were failing he used that medium a great deal.

There are a number of his works in Salle XVL, the
most popular of which is probably The Blessing. It is
the interior of a simple, homely dining-room. Standing
over the table covered with one of the white cloths that
Chardin could paint so deliciously, is the mother, wearing
a soft, full-toned brown waist, a blue apron, a white
gathered cap. About to serve the soup, she pauses to
hear the grace of the little girl seated at the right of
the table in a small chair. She is turned almost in pro-
file, and with her eyes fixed on her mother, has her tiny
hands clasped in prayer. Her dress is white, a cap of rose
on her head. Behind the table on a high chair is a
smaller child, her white cap gathered up with a blue
ribbon, only the tips of her fingers appear over the
edge of the table while she listens to the prayer of her
sister. This is one of Chardin's miost popular works
and it shows his charm of colour, composition and

Salle 2)aru 297

simplicity of style. Everything in it is painted with the
great care and extreme fidelity he gave all his works.

The Housekeeper is even more Dutch-like in its treat-
ment of detail. A servant-maid stands in nearly full face,
leaning against a dresser with her arm resting upon some
loaves of bread deposited upon the table. In her right
hand, dropped at her side, she holds a big napkin by
its corners out of which is sticking a leg of mutton.
Her cap and waist are white, her skirt striped. On the
ground at her feet are two big, dark glass bottles, and at
her left is an open door where a yellow-gowned maid
is seen in profile. A huge cask with spigot and tub
under it is just within the door. There is a half-merry,
half- wistful expression on the square-faced rather Dutch-
looking maid. The position, solidity of figure, and the
fresh, unmixed handling of colour all help to make this
a delightful bit of genre.

In the Busy Mother are more of Chardin's marvellous
tones of white. The mother, seated in profile, with her
high-heeled slippers straight out in front of her, is ex-
amining a piece of embroidery, one end of which is still
held by the small daughter who is standing farther back
in the room, in three-quarters view. The mother's huge
apron which almost entirely covers her is white as is also
her hood-like cap with its deep cape. The sleeves of her
dress beneath show yellow stripes on a white ground.
The daughter is in white, too, even to the white cap on
her youthful head. At the left in front, are a small chest
and a pug-dog. In front of the mother is the big winder
laden with the woollen yarn, behind is a folding green
screen. The same tender sentiment, care for slightest
detail, charm of soft, mellow tones, natural grace and
ease of workmanship are seen in this as in the Blessing.
No less commendable is his insistence of light in exactly

»9^ Ubc Hrt of tbe Xouvre

the right place. " To strike true, was " for Qiardin,
" the fulfilment of his highest ambition."

Three pictures by Nattier in this salle show an entirely
different sort of art. Instead of homely simplicity there
is royal luxuriance; in place of the tender poems of
domestic life there is the coquetry of princess and court;
in lieu of truth of colour and form, there are manu-
factured prettiness and unreal flesh. In fact Nattier
belongs as truly to the age he painted as does Chardin
to all humanity. As such he is worthy of some study,
though the cult Nattier that is of recent growth is a diffi-
cult thing to understand. Nolhac says that what excuses
Nattier's worst faults are " qualities of seduction, of
charm, of the lightness of touch and sweetness of
enveloppe," All royalty, or at least all feminine royalty
sat to him over and over again. It was doubtless a great
delight to find that no matter how scurvily nature had
treated their royal persons, Nattier's canvases would
portray them as their hearts desired. The homeliest,
dowdiest royal scion became under his brush a nymph,
a goddess or Muse, with lines of exquisite curves and
eyes of lustrous softness. If all his fair dames looked a
good deal as if their complexions had been supplied by
nature en gros, it was nevertheless too charming a con-
coction to bemoan its lack of variety. Arsene Alexandre
says of his pictures, that they are " all, of course, as false,
as theatrical as one can well imagine, and yet somehow,
entirely unaffected and broadly simple." And at least
it is true that his eye for harmony was remarkably acute,
and his colours are never overstrong or garish. Softest
silks and satins, laces, embroideries, furs, those are what
he loves. He was in all ways a typical Frenchman, with
a lightness, a sureness of touch, a coquetry and always a
feminine grace. He did not and apparently never tried

Salle Daru 299

to portray character or to go beneath the smooth surface.
The portraits have, largely in consequence, an artificial
air and between them all there is a great similarity. His
princesses are so much alike that it is often difficult to
decide who is who. Of all his many portraits the
Louvre possesses very few.

The Magdalene which is in this room, shows her sitting
in a grotto through whose circular opening at the right,
a view of hills, cataract and houses is seen. Leaning her
blond head on her left hand, the elbow resting on a rock
beside her, she holds a book in her lap. Her sandalled
feet are stretched straight out in front of her showing
beneath more abundant drapery than most of Nattier's
symbolical portraits. She is dressed in white silk.

Because of no allegorical significance his Portrait of
Adelaide, daughter of Louis XV. is a more satisfactory
canvas. She is dressed in blue velvet and sable and has
" a touch of dignified formality." The flesh-tones are
sweetly soft, but the portrait really has a character of
its own.

The Three Graces by Natoire who was a pupil of Le
Moine is a fair example of his style. His drawing was
always bad and his chief work was done as decorator.
The Graces are in rather unusual positions. One, lying
out at full length a little on her left side has raised her-
self somewhat by leaning her left arm on the bent knee
of her sister who is sitting at her head almost in profile.
The third is lower down and rests back to, only the
upper part of her shoulders and arm showing, her head
turned in profile looking at the others. The three are
lifting a part of the garland of blooms which a small
Cupid at the left is holding as he flies toward them. The
composition and placing are pleasing and well balanced.

Tocque, son-in-law of Nattier, studied with Rigaud.

300 Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvre

His first success was with the Portrait of the Dauphin,
Son of Louis XV., which is now in this room. It was
painted by the king's order and displays him standing in
his study, in a red suit with white waistcoat embroidered
with gold and with the Order of the Holy Spirit. He is
turned three-quarters to the right, and wears a powdered
wig. About him are globes and geographical charts.
The picture as a whole reflects something of the colour
of Largilliere.

Marie Leczinska, Queen of France whom Nattier
painted so often, is a full length portrait. The hands
and drapery are especially good here, and are full of
movement. She is standing in a large hall, her body
turned lightly to the left her head in full face. Her
dress is decollete, over her shoulders is the royal velvet
mantle embroidered with the fleurs-de-lis of France and
lined with ermine which she is holding back with her
hand. At her left on a bracket is seen the crown, resting
on a blue cushion.

Diana at the Bath, by Boucher is one of that painter's
most important and beautiful works. At the foot of
a high bank Diana, with her crescent over her brow, sits
on a lot of drapery holding a string of pearls, one leg
thrown lazily over the other, her head turned in profile
to a companion who is seated below her, leaning over
on her hands, her legs drawn up. The two are almost
nude and there is a pastoral, almost virginal charm about
the picture rarely duplicated in his work. At Diana's
left by her bow are a string of birds and a rabbit and
at the pool at the left of the picture a couple of dogs are
drinking. The flesh-tones show Boucher at his best,
with none of the coarsening, deep rose-colour which
designing so much for tapestry and his own careless-
ness afterward so often produced. The figure of Diana

Salle H)aru 301

is exquisite in its modelling, the firm, delicate lines
wholly lacking that sensuality felt in most of his female
figures. The whole thing is an idyl quite in keeping
with the character of the goddess. It has been said that
this figure of Diana and some others that Boucher
painted at this period of his career, in the suppleness of
their limbs, and beautiful curves of body, suggest a
prototype of the Odalisque by Ingres.

Boucher was as celebrated for his Cupids as for his
nymphs and goddesses, and some of these baby gods are
very marvels of infantile grace and spirit. In The Target
are a number of the little fellows in all sorts of positions.
Three are on the ground with their quivers of arrows,
one tipping up a big jar of water, while above in the
air more of them are holding up a target which has a
heart placed in the middle of it. Still higher in air
another small baby lifts two wreaths of laurel far over
his head.

Boucher was above all things else a decorator. Every-
thing he did had this decorative quality, though toward
the end of his life he lost even the ability to decorate
well. He has been considered the most immoral, posi-
tively scandalous painter, accused of using his brush
only to taint the very eyes of the young. The truth is
that he was as Mantz quotes from Emerson, " a represen-
tative man." If ever a painter expressed the very essence
of the spirit of his times it was Boucher. The days of the
Grand Monarch had gone and all France was revelling
in the freedom, the charm, the gaiety of the new reign
that sought first, last and always, pleasure. Inconstancy,
immorality, a light disregard of the claims of virtue and
honour, a joy in all sorts of questionable love-affairs, a
frank abandon to the pleasures of the senses, that was
the actual state of the society in which Boucher found

302 XTbe Hrt of tbe Xouvrc

himself. If his canvases reflect the spirit of these days,
it is not to be wondered at. And on the whole, he has
not made them more debased than they were. Says M.
Michel, however, " Boucher represents but one side of
his epoch. He does not equal Watteau nor Chardin. He
is exclusively and par excellence the painter of Louis XV.
and of the Pompadour." M. Michel also says that up to
his time France had never seen the feminine form so
marvellously portrayed. He painted Venus, the Graces,
Psyche, Diana, all or any of the goddesses simply to
show the exquisite lines and curves and modelling, and
the ravishing colour and poses of woman. It is love,
sensual, fleshly, physical love that his brush is ever busy
depicting. But at least it is seldom brutal or disgusting.
Over the frankest and most undisguised of love-scenes
there is a gay lightness, and a soft beauty of colour that
redeems them from the charge of grossness. This, how-
ever, is Boucher in his early life and at his best. Long
before his career was ended his works showed a degra-
dation of taste, a bad colour, poor design and futile
expression.

Between Boucher, the representative of the day of
frivolous sensuality and David, the leader of the reign
of the coldly classic, came Greuze, who also represents
a distinct epoch in French art and life. It is this perhaps
that has preserved him to posterity as much as the pretty
porcelain tones of his young girls and children. He
seems to have had no example to follow except his own
desires. He turned as naturally to scenes of bourgeois
life and to the painting of young girls as Boucher turned
to lawless nymphs and satyrs or Watteau to fetes gal-
lantes. And because of his subjects he became the rage
of his time. Innocence, purity, all the homely virtues
were found in his works. If to-day it all seems mostly

Salle Daru 303

a pose, and always artificial, it is only necessary to re-
member that life was all artificial then, and the aristo-
cratic attention and care for the humble class the most
artificial of all. Till the Revolution Greuze kept his popu-
larity, but after that was over the taste for his pictures
was gone and though he worked till he was past eighty,
he died poor, neglected, destitute. When Napoleon
heard of his death he is reported to have exclaimed,
" Dead ! Poor and neglected ! Why did he not speak ?
I would have gladly given him a pitcher of Sevres
filled with gold for every copy ever made of his Broken
Pitcher ! "

This Broken Pitcher hangs in Salle XVI. and is prob-
ably the most popular and best known of all his works.
It is not, however, on nearly so high a plane as his
portrait of Fabre Eglantine or the portrait of himself.
Nevertheless, it has in abundance the characteristics that
go to make it one of his most pleasing pictures of bud-
ding girlhood. The maiden stands facing the spectator,
on her arm the jug with its broken side, both dimpled
hands holding up her apron which is full of flowers.
She is dressed in white with a gauzy scarf tied loosely
about her bare neck and so falling that it does not at all
cover the bust from which also the corsage has slipped.
Her soft chestnut hair is parted in the middle and wound
about with a violet ribbon tying a bunch of blossoms
over her ear. Behind her at the right is the fountain
against which she has evidently broken her pitcher. She
is demure, rather than penitent, wondering dreamily how
the accident happened rather than bemoaning her mis-
hap. The bloom of her face, the lustrousness of her
eyes, the Cupid-bow curves to the soft red lips, all are
part of the charms which Greuze threw over his pictures
of young maidenhood.

304 Ube Hrt ot tbe %o\xvvc

The Milkmaid, hanging as pendant to this, might almost
be the same girl a few years older. She stands by her
brown basket-laden ho**se one arm thrown over his neck
and the other holding a tin dipper and the cloak which
is slipping down. She has tipped her head coquettishly to
one side and looks out from under her white cap with a
bewitching gentleness. The white dress has much of the
dirty gray tone Greuze could not help getting, and the
drawing, especially of the left hand and arm is, as often,
not impeccable. But charm it has of the kind that makes
one understand how it has retained its popularity for a
century and a half.

Another well-known canvas is his Study of a Young
Girl's Head. She has the usual open chemisette which
allows one breast to be seen. Her head is turned to her
left in three-quarters view, and is slightly lifted while
her eyes are raised heavenward. Her mouth is partly
open, giving a glimpse of a row of white teeth. Here are
the soft translucent colouring, the exquisite blending of
hair against the temples, the swimming azure eyes, the
fresh, dewy lips, the little chin that Greuze so loved to
paint. Though she is evidently in sorrow, with the tears
half-falling from her suffused eyes, it is a very fetching
sort of weeping. It does not make the eyelids nor the
nose red, and on the whole it seems more becoming than
smiling. And perhaps this very thing is as good an
example as any to show how even in his best works,
Greuze was far from dealing with truth and reality.

The Village Bride is one of the pictures Diderot's pen
raved about in a kind of frenzy that seems positively
funny to us to-day. We are much more conscious of
the faults which De Goncourt summarizes as " inhar-
monious colours, discord of tones, glittering of lights.''
Greuze is never worse than in large compositions such

Salle H)atu 305

as this one, The Paternal Curse and the Punished Son.
This too, in spite of the fact that he had a real deftness in
massing his subjects, and always succeeded in keeping
a central unity that added greatly to the dramatic interest.
Nevertheless, it is in these scenes that his hardness of
drapery, his blackness and opaqueness of shadow, his
ineffectual drawing, his continual use of a type instead
of individuals, and above all his mawkish sentimentality,
his theatricalness and his commonplaceness are always
most in evidence.

The Music Lesson and The Sacrifice of the High
Priest Coresus to Save Callirhoe, by Fragonard, both
hang in this room. Of these the Music Lesson is much
the better. At a harpsichord seated in profile is a young,
light-haired girl with piquant, retrousse nose, dressed in
a robe of blue satin, and playing from a sheet of music
before her. Leaning toward her, face to the spectator,
with one hand on the back of her chair and the other on
the music page, is the young music-teacher, dressed in
black even to the black cap on his head. His gaze is bent
on her hands while hers is strictly on the music. There is
a subtle, indefinable air of romance about the two as
charming as it is indefinite. On a chair in front where
lie some music and a mandolin is also a big-eyed pussy.
This is one of the delightfully simple, natural subjects
full of ingenuous coquetry that Fragonard so often
painted. Simple, light in subject and in the manner of
treatment, it has a grace and quiet charm of its own.

Much more elaborate, not to say theatric is the his-
torical composition. On the steps of an altar, between
heavy pillars, Callirhoe, breast and arms bare, has fallen
among her white draperies, overcome with the terrible
strain. The priest who will save her because of his love
for her, stands at her head and has just thrust the dagger

3o6 Ubc Hrt of tbe Xoux^rc

into his heart. A crowd of affrighted women are at the
left and behind them are aged priests. Above, among the
clouds of incense fly two symbolical figures. Callirhoe
is very beautiful, if her utter collapse seems a trifle
forced. The young priest is equally beautiful, and even
more theatric in his pose. The critics of the time when
the picture was exposed at Fragonard's first salon, com-
plained that he lacked masculinity. It was his first bow
to the French public after his return from Rome, and
even at that day the cry of too much theatricalness was
made. Still, as a composition it has power, the focusing
of the light is penetrating and thrilling and the colour
vivid, if theatrically realistic.

Jean Fragonard, who was a pupil of Boucher, was
lighter, daintier, more exquisite than his master. H<e
painted every kind of subject, religious, historic, mytho-
logic, domestic scenes, pastorals, decorations, country
scenes, vignettes, and he did them in every known
medium. M. Blanc says that in Fragonard one can see
the follies and elegancies of Watteau, the loves and de-
baucheries of Boucher, the honest simplicity of Chardin,
the morality of Greuze, and that indeed he is an epitome
of his entire century " for, his first works are dedicated
to love and his last to his country." He painted only
when he felt inspired. He held a brush it is said before
he could draw a line, and took the " Grand Prix de
Peinture " before he was admitted to the academy courses
of instruction. His portraits are a good deal in the man-
ner of Tiepolo, the one Italian painter whom he passion-
ately admired. He painted flesh with an exquisite value,
though he was very often careless as to the rendering
of form. With Natoire, Van Loo and Boucher, Fra-
gonard's work shows tremendous inequality. Sometimes
it is magnificently finished, perfect and charming. Then

Salle Daru 307

it is slight, unfinished, ineffectual. There is with all of
them, apparently, a total lack of conscientiousness. If
they chose they could draw with great distinction, if they
did not choose they did not even try. The result is that in
almost all they did is found a spontaneity and a certain
quality of life. Fragonard's pencil is always spirited
if it is often slovenly. De Goncourt says that Fragonard's
painting is a dream, the dream of a man asleep in a box
at the opera.

Charles Andre Van Loo who was contemporary with
Boucher has several canvases in this room. Of them all
the Halt is the only one of real merit, though the Portrait
of Marie Leczinska was a great success in its day.

The Halt was painted for the private apartments at
Fontainebleau in 1737 and it has both charm and origi-
nality. In it a company of gallants and ladies have rested
for a repast under the trees during a hunt. Spread out
on the ground in the centre of the composition is the
luncheon, and surrounding it are the young nobles and
ladies in the gayest of gay apparel. A little at the left
one maiden is being served and entertained by a youthful
chevalier who sits at her right. Others are talking with
or helping others, while at the right with legs stretched
out straight before him oblivious of every one else is a
young man who is reaching for a bottle of wine. Coupled
beside him are two well-drawn dogs. A richly capari-
soned mule is being groomed by a huntsman, and other
horses are beyond the feast. Everywhere is indicated
a gallant homage toward the young damsels of the party.
The colouring is pleasant, arrangement and composition
good, the green of the landscape a trifle blue, but the
effect of light and the luminosity of the whole agreeable.

Van Loo really had more solid attributes than Boucher.
Both he and his brother Jean-Baptist, showed traces in

3o8 Ube art ot tbe Xouvre

their work and characters of the Dutch blood which they
inherited from their grandfather. Charles Andre, or
Carle as he was called, was always successful. He had
much more facility and fire than the other members of
the family, three or four of whom were also painters. In
spite of his popularity, when the pseudo-classic revival
was in full swing, he instead of Boucher was held prin-
cipally responsible for the bad taste and ** extravagance "
of the followers of these two. '* * Vanloter ' in those days
was the synonym for careless drawing and riotous
colour." Nevertheless Carle at times painted with great
verve and if he had not chosen to confine his attention
mostly to " serious " subjects, he might have been a vivid
if not poetic portrayer of the life of his own times.

The Louvre has works by the three Vernets who were
grandfather, son, and grandson. Even the grandfather,
Claude- Joseph was the son of a painter so that the line
of artists in the family was unbroken for four genera-
tions. Claude, besides his great seaports that are all in
the Musee de Marine, has a good many canvases in Salle
XVI. He may be considered to have made a real advance
and innovation in art. He studied directly from nature,
and though many of his canvases seem now to have been
painted by receipt, he did at least make a valiant attempt
to copy what he actually saw. He has been called the pre-
cursor of the English romantic school, and it has even
been said his influence can be felt in Corot. It was in his
later years that the commission to paint all the seaports
of France was given him by the Marquis de Marigny who
was the director of fine arts. These immense canvases
do not greatly add to his fame. His best work was done
when he was still in Italy and before the demand for his
pictures had become so great that he was forced in his
attempt to supply that demand into doing very inferior

Salle H)atu 309

work. Lady Dilke says of him that " He had just that
touch of scenic manner which pleased his public, and in
spite of his theatrical planes and theatrical illumination
and other conventions which are now out of date, there is
an element of healthy strength in his work which shows
much honest observation of nature." Nevertheless, he
did not see landscape at all as modems do, and to our
mind Poussin was a truer interpreter.

Most of David's works are in Salle VIIL, but a few are
to be found here, among them the sketch for the Oath
of the Horatii, a composition that was ordered by Louis
XVL in 1784 and was the painting that gave him the
supremacy in the art of France. Belisarius Asking Alms
for the victims of the plague, was the picture that made
him " agree " of the Academy, though the one in this
room is a replica of the original.

David was Boucher's nephew and it was David who
really swept away the immorality, indecency and care-
lessness of Boucher and Van Loo. He and his followers
confined art to the few and educated. They insisted upon
great culture and study and barred to the approach of
art all except those willing to conform to its rules and
worthy to represent them. While therefore it gained in
some respects, it lost heavily in others. " Outline, draw-
ing and composition were the chief characteristics of the
classic school." Colour was of slight consequence and
was just as good if entirely of a neutral tone. There was
no real painting of landscape allowed, and some went
so far as to detach figures from the background simply
by flat tones. Emotion, even ideally spiritual emotion,
was entirely ignored. " It is the body without action,
the human frame simply clothed with flesh, contours in
majestic lines." Never "based on nature," it excluded
"all individuality, all development, all novelty."

310 ube Hrt of tbe Xouvrc

David himself was a sculptor-painter rather than a
painter. His figures have fine contour and exact anatomy,
suggesting studies, however, from the antique rather than
from living beings, smooth, even modelling with the
coldness and hardness of marble, flesh that one could
chisel, but not press, colour as far removed from the
pulsing tones of the human body as black from white.
In his compositions he is never influenced by Christianity.
All his subjects are taken from Greek or Roman history.
In general it may be said that it is only in his portraits
that David shows any real humanity in type, character or
expression.

Peace Restoring Abundance by Madame Vigee-Le Bnm
was the work by which she was received into the Acad-
emy. It shows the figure of Abundance gently led for-
ward by the more ample and majestic form of Peace.
Abundance is a charming blond maiden with a piquant
face, turned in profile up to Peace who is looking down at
her. Her golden hair is bound about with flowers, her
white robe with its yellow over-robe has slipped partly off
leaving her neck and left breast and arm bare. In her
outstretched right hand she holds a bunch of wheat and
bluets. With the other she has tipped up a horn of
plenty out of which fruit and flowers are pouring. Peace,
whose blue mantle is flying behind her as if the wind
had caught and shaken it, is dressed in lilac. She is
crowned with laurel, and in her right hand, resting on
the shoulder of Abundance, is a laurel sprig with berries.
In this picture it is easy to see the faults of the age,
but it has nevertheless a freshness and softness of
colour and a careful handling of stuffs.

Madame Vigee-Le Brun was all her life feted, petted,
admired. She was beautiful, intelligent, charming. At
fifteen she painted admirable portraits and at twenty-

Salle Daru 3"

eight she was received into the Academy. She studied
with Doyen, Greuze and Vernet. In her colour there is
something of the soft bloom and delicate tones and
affected prettiness of Greuze, but she uses them, one is
tempted to say, more legitimately. She lacks force, power,
— in a word, virility. But there is such an undoubted
charm to her works, and so much transparent and fresh
colour, that her pedantry, her entire absorption in the
eighteenth-century principles of art, her overattention to
costumes, stuffs and classical lines, are forgotten in ad-
miration of the very real beauties which her canvases
show.

CHAPTER XVI.

SALLES HENRI II. AND DES SEPT CHEMINEES — ROOMS
II. AND III. — FRENCH SCHOOL

These two rooms contain French pictures of the end
of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth century.
Salle Henri H. is badly lighted and even the important
pictures, of which there are few, cannot be well seen.

In Salle des Sept Cheminees are most of the more
noted works of David. Of these the Coronation of
Napoleon is generally considered his masterpiece, There
are real force in the lines, character and reality in the
faces, which are all excellent portraits, and even the
colouring in parts is magnificent. The Coronation was at
Notre Dame on December 2, 1804.

David chose the instant when Napoleon, taking the
crown from the Due de Berg, who presented it on a
velvet cushion, was about placing it on the head of the
empress. She kneels at his feet clad in a white robe and
crimson and gold mantle, her immense train lifted by the
maids of honour, behind her. All the people present are,
as has been stated, portraits, and David himself is seen
on a platform sketching at a small table. The emperor is
in the robes of state, with a laurel wreath on his brow.
He stands with arms upraised, in profile, holding the
crown, and it is a really wonderful likeness. The em-
press is also in profile, as she kneels with clasped hands

312

Salle Ibenrt ff ♦ 313

and bent head. Behind the two, Pope Pius VII. is
seated, his fingers Hfted in blessing. He is a striking
figure, and his face is full of intense life. About him are
the clergy, beside him Cardinal Fesch. At the left of
the emperor stand a crowd of notables and dignitaries
and behind and at his side his brothers and sisters.
Back upon the platform are other dignitaries and in a
tribune above the empress at the left, the mother of the
emperor with her suite.

As an historical picture it is really great. It has a
shimmering, effective light, a noble colouring. The
white robes and deep-toned crimsons and reds of mantles
with the golden embroideries are as a critic has well
said fairly " organ-like " in their tonal effect. When it
was finished Napoleon went to David's studio and with
the empress and suite walked up and down before it for
half an hour. Then, turning to the painter, and lifting
his hat in his theatrical style, he said " C'est hien, tres
bien; David, je vons salue."

The Rape of the Sabines is an earlier canvas and it
is interesting to see how very differently David and
Poussin have treated the same subject. David's is as
classical, much better massed with no bad spotting, and
no distribution of climax. The eye is carried at once
to the centre of interest and is led gradually and by
proper methods from point to point. It produces a really
strong impression, even if individual positions are forced
and blatantly posed.

Romulus stands in the centre, in profile, his shield on
his arm, his right arm raised, poising his spear against
Titus Tatius who is parrying the attack on the left of the
picture. He holds his sword down, his right arm with
its shield raised high. Between these two springs the
wife of Romulus, Hersilca, with her arms outspread.

314 Ube Hrt ot tbe louvre

Niear her many mothers are on their knees protecting their
children, and behind them stands a woman on a pedestal
holding her child aloft in her arms. The background is
filled with the two armies. At the right are the Roman
standards, and everywhere horses rear and plunge and
over all is a feeling of rushing combat, hurt, however,
by the posing attitudes of the principals in front. Some
of the women express real despair, but the men are
softened almost to the point of losing their sex. Romulus
looks like a woman and Titus moves like one. The
action is poor, they appear merely posing for their picture.
The colouring is less unsatisfactory than in some of
David's classical pictures.

Leonidas at the Pass of the Thermopylae is one of
the series intended to decorate the Louvre, their sub-
jects furnishing historical parallels to Napoleon's great-
ness.

The Portrait of Pope Pius VII. is a vigorous likeness
and shows David's talent in this direction. He is seated
on a large chair turned three-quarters to the left, holding
a letter in his hand.

The Portrait of David as a youth is only a sketch. He
is sitting in full face, holding his palette in his left hand,
a brush in his right, and is apparently looking in a glass.
He wears a gray redingote with large red collar and
cuffs and white cravat. For David this is roughly
executed but it has reality and even charm in the wistful
eyes and rather mournful mouth.

The Portrait of Madame Recamier, left incomplete by
David, was afterward finished by a pupil of his. The
noted beauty is sitting with her feet straight out in front,
face turned three-quarters to the spectator, her hair tied
up on the top of her head. She is dressed in white in a
gown as simple as her surroundings and in spite of a cer-

Salle Ibenrt HIT* 315

tain rigidity and an entire absence of the feeling of
actual flesh, it is rarely beautiful painting. There are
a severity of design and a total lack of ornament in
the surroundings in the room, the background being
an absolutely plain surface, unbroken except for a tall
bronze lamp at the head of the couch. Madame Recamier
herself liked the picture so little after David had it
well started that she refused to sit any more.

Madame Vigee-Le Brun has two portraits in Salle III.,
one of herself with her daughter on her knees and the
other of Madame Mole Raymond, an actress of the
Comedie-Frangaise. This latter is one of the most pop-
ular as it is also one of the very best of the painter's
portraits. It is often called The Girl with the MuflF. One
of the objections that M. Fillet urges against this popular
approval is that it is too full of motion properly to
fulfil the requirements of a portrait. He claims that
in its overgreat animation it loses the dignity and poise
and serenity necessary to keep a portrait from annoying
and finally tiring the spectator. And indeed there seems
almost enough action in the figure of this young girl
to carry her right out of the picture. She is apparently
walking forward with a briskness that sends her long
curling hair and scarf flying out in streamers behind her.
Her figure is in profile but she has turned her face till
it is three-quarters full. It is a rather wide, short face,
with large eyes far apart and a laughing mouth exposing
her white teeth. One suspects that were it not for the
witchery of Madame Le Brun's brush, Madame Raymond
would not seem quite the beautiful creature she does.
The huge muflF which has given its name to the picture
she is holding up with both hands buried in its depths.
Her dress is violet, her hat and waist blue, the fichu over
her shoulders white. The big hat with its side caught up

3i6 XTbe Htt ot tbe Xouvre

by a rosette, and the flying feather add to the coquetry
of the picture. Madame Le Brun has used her brush
here with a full, firm and yet soft stroke. There is a
certain lack of freedom but there is a decided and most
fetching " go " to the whole thing.

In this room as well as in Salle VIII. are a number of
paintings by Prud'hon, the man who was scorned by
David as being hardly better than Boucher and who
to us of to-day represents the true classic spirit to an
extent undreamed of by the founder of the pseudo-classic
school of the end of the eighteenth century. It was
not till he was well on in middle life however, that his
public began to appreciate the gaiety and delicacy of his
choice spirit. He really was the first painter since
the Rococo days to feel at all the beauty of colour, and
his pencil besides was as true, as firm, as sure as David's
own and had a life, a grace, an esprit that that cold, stiff
copyist never began to acquire. Two influences show
themselves strongest in Prud'hon's life and work.
Always he was greatly influenced by women, first by
his mother, then by the woman he so unhappily married
and finally by Mile. Mayer, " his best-loved " pupil,
who became the mother to his neglected children
and the guide and inspiration of his life, to whose de-
votion and intelligence he owed really most of the late
applause and appreciation of his work. In his art it
was Leonardo to whom he was most indebted. He used
to say that this wizard of the Renaissance was his
adored, his master, his everything in one and he com-
pared Raphael to him much to the Urbinate's disadvan-
tage. Prud'hon's women have the mysterious, veiled
smile, the dreamy, inscrutable eyes, the alluring not-to-be-
tabulated womanly charm that, recalling as they do the
great Italian have become so impregnated with the talent

Salle Denri ff* 317

of Prud'hon that they are no longer Italian, but thor-
oughly French. There is a coquetry, a bewitching aban-
donment in all his pictures of women, and almost always
too, there is a half-suggested melancholy, something
indeed that has been felt by many critics in all of
Prud'hon's works, in spite of their gaiety, delight and
witchery.

In the Portrait of Madame Jarre in Salle III., there
are almost all these attributes though she is not the
most distinguished of his feminine portraits. She is
painted on an oval canvas, seated turning three-quarters
to the right, but with her face in full view. Her large
dark eyes look out from under level brows, above which
the full waved hair is parted in the middle. The mouth
is exquisitely drawn, the curves not quite ending in a
smile. She is dressed in a white empire gown, banded
with gold, across her shoulders a red shawl and in her
hair a wreath of daisies and wheat.

Justice and Vengeance Pursuing Crime, was ordered
for the Palais de Justice and kept there till the time
of the Restoration when it was sent to the Louvre.
Prud'hon made a number of sketches for this and all
of them differ from the completed work. It is said he
finished this last in six months. It is universally regarded
as one of the very great pictures of French art, and
French critics have not hesitated to call it one of the chief
gems of all art. Here is, at all events, the veritable sub-
limation of the classic. A humanizing yet idealizing
process seems to envelop this whole picture, so that
the subject, which might have been chosen by David or
by Ingres, becomes, under Prud'hon's magic brush a most
powerfully dramatic tragedy that grips the consciousness
of all time.

The scene takes place in a wild, rugged spot, with

3i8 XTbe Hrt ot tbe Xoux>rc

huge rocks piling high against the dark clouds through
which the moon breaks pallidly. This cold clarity lights
into broad masses the figures of the composition. On
the ground, flung over backwards on to a rock, his arms
far outstretched, as if they had been grasping to save
the fall, is the nude body of a murdered youth, called
generally Abel. His strongly foreshortened head, upper
part of chest and part of the arms are in the shadow cast
by the murderer who is just springing away from his
fatal deed. Contrasting with this lowered tone, which,
unfortunately has blackened with time, is the brilliant if
cold light that throws the rest of the beautiful torso into
strong relief. Cain, the perpetrator, has pulled his tunic
about him, still clutching the bloody knife as if ready
to plunge it once more. His terrible face, already dis-
torted by fear as well as passion, turns toward his victim
seeking absolute assurance of his death. This figure is
as dreadful as the victim is beautiful. As unseen by the
murderer as by the dead, are the two figures above who
sweep with noiseless but irresistible swiftness from the
right out of the celestial regions. Vengeance and Jus-
tice come together, their wings reaching far beyond
their heads and shoulders, their garments streaxning
behind in the rapidity of their approach. Vengeance
carries a flaming torch in her left hand while with the
other she seems about to seize the shoulder of the man
below. Her face is turned toward her companion. Jus-
tice, who is gazing with implacable eyes at the murderer.
In her right hand she grasps a short sword and in her left
are the scales of judgment. These figures are conceived
and executed in the very spirit of the great Greeks, a
spirit nevertheless infused with an individuality, a
modernity, so to speak, that makes them real and con-
vincing beyond the dreams of the school that paraded

Salle Ibenri HIT* 319

classicism as its one aim and object. Prud'hon did not
often paint such gruesome subjects. He preferred the
idylHc to the epic or the tragic. The gay, the froHcsome,
the dainty, the elusive, the feminine, — these were what
mostly appealed to his imagination. But in this masterly
composition he has achieved heights of sombre grandeur,
of power, of virility, of stern nobility, while never losing
the instinctive charm that pervades all his works. It is
a lasting monument to the genius of the man who worked
outside his own era, who was wholly uninfluenced by even
the greatest of those of differing minds, quite as incapable
of copying as he was of actually changing his point of
view.

More near to Prud'hon's heart is the Transportation
of Psyche by the Zephyrs to Cupid's Realm. All his
life he was enraptured with the story of the beautiful
love of Cupid, and innumerable are the pictures and
sketches he made of incidents of her life. This one in the
Louvre is the best known and one of the most perfect
of all his works.

Psyche, still asleep, with a smile on her lips over the
pleasure of her dreaming, is being borne through the air
by Zephyr and three genii. She is half-lying, half-sitting
on their arms and shoulders, every curve of her beautiful
body full of a subtle charm, modelled with a warmth, a
nuance that only Correggio, it seems, could have excelled.
Her head has fallen back on to her left shoulder, her left
arm half-framing the tender, sleeping face. The utter
relaxation of sleep is expressed in every part of the
body. She rests wholly and inevitably upon her con-
veyers. Of these, Zephyr, who is mostly carrying her,
is a slender long-limbed boy, with petal-like wings and an
elfin profile. A genii's head comes out from under
Psyche's knees, another is in the shadow behind the

320 Ube Brt of tbe Xouvte

elbow he holds, the third is on the other side of the
body, only her face showing above the flying violet
veils. Clouds are beneath them, and still lower a daisy-
studded field, and above at the left a glimpse of sky,
rocks and vines. The management of the chiaroscuro
in this picture is Correggioesque in its admirable bal-
ance of parts, its luminous lights, its effective, dramatic
shadows, that never approach the theatric. Most of
Psyche's body is in the light, though both legs and face
are in the half-shadow that forms so entrancing a part
of the picture.

It is a fairylike dream, showing a spontaneity, fer-
tility of imagination, perfection of technique, feeling for
chiaroscuro that place it among the very best of
Prud'hon's works. The entire scheme of colouring, which .
is almost monochromatic in its varying tones of black
to white, is relieved by the yellow drapery beneath the
maiden, the violet clouds of soft veiling flying about her,
the blue wings of Zephyr, and the restrained green of the
fields beneath.

Looking at the paintings by Gerard in the Salle des
Sept Cheminees, it is hard to understand how he could
ever have been called the " Painter of Kings and the
King of Painters." The first of these titles he earned by
being court painter first to NIapoleon and then to Louis
XVIIL, and by the number of princes, nobles and other
great of the land who sat to him for their portraits.
Though he was regarded as a very wonderful portrait-
painter in his day, the second part of the eulogium was
doubtless due not so much to his works as to his personal
appearance. The Baron Frangois-Pascal Simon Gerard
had an appearance so superior, so marked, so distin-
guished, that nothing was felt to be impossible for such a
personality. This estimate, however, was not fulfilled by

TKA.N:5l'OKTATION OF rSYCHK HV THE ZEl'HVKS TO CUI'ID'S REALM

By Prud'hon

Salle t)enti Iff^ 321

his works. He was a pupil of David and counted himself
a member of the strictly classic school. His classical and
historical compositions nevertheless are very mediocre
attainments and it is only as a portrait-painter that he
can receive any decided praise. Even here the encomiums
lavished upon him in his own time seem overdone, and
among the three hundred likenesses that he left only those
executed before 1800 are greatly commendable.

The Psyche Receiving the Kisses of Cupid was at
the time of its production given immense praise, but
in reality it is hard, dry, academic and lifeless, sur-
charged with a sickly sentimentality and affectation. It
shows the god of love bending over his sweetheart
imprinting his first kiss on her brow.

In the Portrait of Isabey and His Daughter there is
something more of the really estimable qualities of the
painter. The two figures are standing in a hall at the
right of the foot of a flight of stairs and at the right
beyond them a passage is seen with a dog just entering
the doorway leading into it. M. Isabey has a black
velvet jacket and breeches of brown, the big boots tied
on below the knees with long ribbon bows. In his left
hand he holds his hat and gloves, in his right his
tiny daughter's hand. She is in a long white Empire
gown and seems to have paused a moment in their walk,
her father turning his face in the direction her eyes are
looking, as if to ascertain the cause of the delay. This
is in the main a creditable work, though for our day his
brush seems to lack freedom and mobility.

Gros, the painter of Bonaparte in the Pest House at
Jaffa which hangs in Room III., was, like Gerard, a pupil
of David. But, though all his life he claimed to belong
to that coldly classic school, he may be called with perfect
truth an involuntary reactionist against it. He always

322 Ube Htt ot tbe Xouv>re

felt that his great scenes of contemporary life were not
up to the demands of the highest art. Even when he was
painting his Napoleonic pictures and when the French
public were at his feet, when he was chosen by the
emperor for special decoration, when he was a member
of the Institute, when he was made baron because
of his artistic achievements, even then he appears never
to have lost his self-distrust. And finally when David was
in exile and Gros had his classes, the banished painter
sent a reproachful cry to his old pupil. "You owe us
the Death of Themistocles," cried he who could see no art
possible in pictures of modern life. And so greatly did
Gros, in spite of his fifty years feel the necessity for com-
plying, that he set about some classical subjects at once.
When, on their exhibition, they were sharply condem.ned,
all the more because the romantic school was beginning
to show its influence, the timid, self-distrustful Gros
moaned that it was a bitter thing to have outlived one's
life. And forthwith, the man who had been a nation's
favourite, who had won nearly all the prizes life could
give, drowned himself in the Seine.

The Jaffa picture is the first of the great scenes that
made his fame. It displays the interior of a highly deco-
rated mosque, surrounded by a vast court, which has been
converted by the French into a hospital. In the middle
of the improvised asylum Bonaparte stands, followed by
his generals Berthier, Bessieres, and Daure and the head
physician Desgenette. Bonaparte is touching the cancer
exposed on a sailor, who, half-naked stands before him.
This royal touch is supposed to cure the terrible malady,
and Gros has given Napoleon a benignity, a fatherliness
and a nobility of expression only heightened by the
youthfulness of the face. All about are terrible scenes
of suffering, things it appears impossible to paint an4

Salle Ibenri n. 323

keep within the bonds of legitimate art. One man is
under the surgeon's knife, another has died in the arms of
an assistant. There seems nothing spared that would
make the horror worse. And yet, strange to say, it
neither repels nor affronts. Nothing could be more
marked than the vital contrast between Napoleon and
his staff, breathing a very exuberance of health and
vigour, and the pallid, wasted and drawn faces and
figures about. It is perhaps this very contrast that
saves the artistic unities. There is at any rate no loath-
ing, no disgust possible in looking at this masterly work.
Truth, reality, dramatic effect, joined to vigorous action
and most excellent colour are the things that must strike
every one. In studying this it is easy to see how, in
spite of himself, as it were, Gros forms the connecting
link between the classic school and that of the succeeding
romantic.

The Portrait of Napoleon at A'rcole Gros painted
through the intervention of Josephine, who persuaded
Napoleon to sit to the painter for a very short time each
day. It represents the general young, intense, full of
fire and passion and absorption. He is placed in profile,
his left arm crossing his chest, bearing a standard whose
colours are flying forward in the wind. His head is
turned looking over his left shoulder bringing it into
three-quarters view. It is a most striking delineation.

The Raft of the Medusa hangs in Salle des Sept Chemi-
nees and is the work by which Gericault is world-known.
Gericault may be called the actual beginner of the
romantic school, though he lived only in the period of the
rule of classicism, dying before Delacroix really was
acknowledged head of the new departure. He was a
ptipil of Guerin, the devoted admirer and pupil of David.
So little impressed was this cold classicist with his pupil's

324 Ubc Hrt of tbe Xouvre

talents that he advised him to give up art entirely. It
was a grave fault he considered that even in copying
casts the young man could " not help giving expression
and dramatic action " to everything he drew. Expression
and dramatic action ! Could anything be worse from the
point of view of a David? Besides his love for intense
moments of life he had a great fondness for horses, and
his studies and pictures of them are most excellent.
Rosa Bonheur, years afterward, acknowledged her in-
debtedness to him. His first exhibited work was at the
Salon of 1812, a portrait of M. Dieudonne as a chasseur
charging. When David saw that spirited bit of realism
he was as amazed as he was disgusted. " Where does it
come from ? " he asked indignantly. " I do not know that
touch." To his mind there was altogether too much life
in it for it to be art and he advised Gericault to abandon
a field he had no chance of ever occupying. Nothing dis-
mayed by his cold reception, in 18 14 he was again repre-
sented by the scene from the retreat from Moscow. There
were great power and original feeling in the snow-cov-
ered field where the grenadier was leading the worn-out
horse of a wounded soldier. In 18 17 he went for two
years to Italy and during the time studied largely Michel-
angelo. In this he both gained and lost. Gained in
dramatic intensity, in virility, in concentrated power. But
unquestionably he lost in colour. Naturally of a sombre
nature he instinctively chose the darker moments of life
as the subjects for his brush, and from now on he began
to express these tragedies in dark, monochromatic tones.
He himself scorned his former " rose tones." Later, when
he went to England, he saw that colour was after all an
integral adjunct of art and it is probable if his short life
had been prolonged he would have left even more wonder-
ful works than now bear his name.

Salle Ibenri ff ♦ 325

It was after his return from Italy that he exhibited his
Raft of the Medusa, over which he had studied for three
years. It was based on the wreck of the frigate Medusa,
which on June 17, 1816, set out for St. Louis, Senegal, to
carry the governor and many members of families of that
colony. The raft that was constructed to hold one hun-
dred and nineteen of the wrecked passengers was de-
serted by the boats which were to have towed it, and after
twelve days of agony fifteen only survived and were at
last, with their dead and dying, picked up by the Argos.
The moment chosen by Gericault was when, in the dis-
tance, a sail is seen far against the horizon.

The loosely put together raft fills almost the whole of
the canvas. Beyond it and behind it huge waves pitch
mountain-high against the sky, but the whole tone and
colouring of this sea has been submerged in a sort of
dirty brown colour that takes away from its reality as
well as from its value as a dramatic adjunct. Mounted
on a barrel on the forward part of the raft, an almost
nude negro is waving a signal to the tiny speck that
shows dimly against the lighter horizon. He is supported
by a man standing below, grasping his legs. Leaning
against the barrel, another also waves a cloth. A num-
ber by the sail still have enough life to raise themselves
with some degree of vigour and one man stretches out
his arm excitedly toward the distance while he is appar-
ently encouraging his companions beside him. A few
others in the centre drag themselves weakly to their
knees, their failing strength making a last desperate
attempt to revive. At their feet lie others, dead, or too
unconscious to notice the new hope of their companions.
A father sits in the stern in an anguish beyond words or
sight to disperse, holding against him the lifeless body
of his son. In front, caught by his legs, a figure is

32^ Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvre

thrown backward into the sea, the upper part covered with
a drapery. It was for this splendidly foreshortened figure
that Delacroix posed. The general colour of the picture
is dull, deeply sombre and without great depth of colour
in that sombreness. It is only in its intensity of dramatic
action, its grandly composed masses, its fine individual
rendering of form, face and expression, in its appeal to the
emotions, in a word, that it is so great. Gericault had
so strong a sense of the limitations and requirements of
art that frightful as the scene is, it is not repulsive. The
approaching vessel has taken away from the stagnant
despair and the ray of hope thus thrown upon the scene
makes it possible to look at the picture without too
great horror.

The painting was not well received and it found no
purchaser. Gericault then took it with him to England
where it created a great sensation, and brought him a
good deal of money. On his return he painted the Epsom
Races which was one of the things he had greatly enjoyed
in England and which gave him a fine chance to depict
his favourite animal in its most intense moment of life.

This Epsom Race is in the same room and shows four
horses of as many shades of colour on a mad run,
mounted by their jockeys, each one urging his animal
to its utmost speed. The landscape is almost a blank, the
sky heavily clouded. Clement calls its treatment dry, but
Gericault has probably never excelled the horses in any
of his many studies of them. The first two are almost
neck and neck, the head of the third comes to the
second's haunches, and the fourth is only a neck behind.
Motion, a very crisis of motion is the dominating thought.
The straining necks, the excited, open mouths, the flying
hoofs add to the intensity of a dramatic moment that,

Salle fbcnti lit. 327

with none of the agony of the Medusa, holds one almost
equally spellbound.

Paul Delaroche's Young Martyr hangs in Salle II., and
though it is largely its literary quality that has made
it so popular, there is undoubtedly a poignancy to the pale,
floating face in the green water, that partly atones for
its evident theatricalness. She floats there with her
hands folded softly, her sweet, pure face turned out
toward her left shoulder. Above her face is the halo,
which seems a bit of unnecessary unreality. The river
is bearing her past the huge towering cliff, at the foot of
which is seen the prow of a Roman boat tied to a post.
Above, on a spur of the cliff two men gaze affrighted
at the vision of the lovely girl. They and the rocks are
in deep shadow massed against the moonlit sky. It is
this silver gleam that strikes the slight body and throws
it out into pallid relief.

Paul Delaroche was a pupil of Gros, and therefore was
never deeply imbued with classicism, yet neither did he
ever revolt from the school. All his life he was a strad-
dler, trying to adopt the principles of both the romanticists
and the classicists. He chose historical painting as his
usual means of expression, putting himself in this way
out of the preempted ground of either school. His
chief idea was to show an agreeable, sparkling, highly
seasoned, bituminous art of painting. And his scheme
worked well during his whole life. He was popular,
idolized, indeed, and overwhelmed with orders at the
very time when Delacroix was scorned, reviled and
ignored. " Colour and spirit of events had no power
over his imagination, he only apprehended them with
a cool understanding and put them laboriously together."

Salle II. has three pictures by Decamps, he who has
been called the father of the French school of modern im-

328 Ubc Hrt of tbe Xourrc

pressionism. He and Delacroix are also regarded as
being the originators of the Oriental school of the nine-
teenth century. These two men and Horace Vernet
began to exhibit Oriental scenes at about the same time.
They all made trips to the East, but before Decamps had
ever been there he had already shown an Oriental sub-
ject in his Turk in Cashmere Robe, Decamps early
achieved great popularity. He had never had much
instruction and his draughtsmanship was often decidedly
defective, but somehow his work struck the public
favourably and so long as he chose he kept this public
his own. It is greatly to his honour that in his later
years he voluntarily abandoned the field w'here he was
so certain of success and began a rigid discipline that,
had he lived would have made him far greater as painter
than he ever had been. But in Fontainebleau, where he
had retired to work and study, he was one day while
riding thrown against a tree, and in August, i860, he
died.

He was considered a wonderful realist in his time,
but he actually almost never absolutely reproduced any-
thing he saw. He had a remarkable talent for giving
the impression of what he had seen, and besides this he
had a fine feeling for composition and for the ethics
of picture-making, if one can so designate it. His skies,
with their piling cloud, his trees with their bare arms,
the movement of light and shadow, — all these were
kept in accordance with the movement of the figures in
the scene. There is always a homogeneity, a wholeness
about the most insignificant of his canvases. He felt the
effect of sunlight very strongly, and in his golden-toned
landscapes he made tremendous efforts to reproduce
the atmospheric conditions he so adored. Unfortunately
he never succeeded in capturing the real sunlight. His

Salle Denr! f f ♦ 329

very attempts toward this were wrong. He intensified
his shadows till they became huge cavernous blotches,
thmking thus to show by their contrast the brilliance of
the light. He did not see, what Marilhat had begun to
notice, that the clearer and more intense the sunlight
the more luminous the shadow. In this respect, as M.
Mantz has pointed out, he belongs rather to the Dutch
school, his works showing a strong similarity in method
to De Hooch and to Rembrandt, the latter, of whom,
indeed, he admired as the greatest master of all time.

The sketch for The Caravan in Room H., is a poem,
a poem that remains almost as subtle, as vivid, as full
of tonal effects in one of the rich carbon photographs as
in the picture itself, — which is a very good proof that
even the blackening of Decamps's forced shadows has
not spoiled the poetic effect of his pictures or hidden his
real value as a great painter. From the left, across the
sands of the desert comes a file of camels, mounted or
laden, going toward the little lake in the centre where
already some are drinking. Not far away filling the
centre and right of the middle distance a softly shaded
mosque, showing the golden tones of the setting sun, cuts
fine square lines against the suffused sky. The fore-
ground is dark again, as are the camels, though here
and there a rider or flank of one of the beasts is thrown
into brilliance. The unfinished state of this sketch, with
the rather indeterminate lines of the camels, on the
whole add to its charm.

A Bulldog and a Scotch Terrier, in the same room,
shows the English canine at the left, lying down with
nose between his paws, his eyes widely watchful, his
whole air if not pugilistic, at least such as would warn the
trespasser to look out. Standing by his side in profile,
is tlie Scotchman. A muzzle covers his longer nose.

330 XTbe art of tbe Xouvte

and a sort of harness is hitched on to his collar and goes
around his body. Apparently wholly unconcerned and
regardless, there is a sharp sidewise look in his eye
that perhaps accounts for his muzzle. The two dogs
are both wonders of expressive dogdom.

Even more truly than Decamps was Diaz one of the
famous men of the so-called Barbizon school, this
name, in its narrowest and earliest meaning, indicating
a number of painters who had left the city and taken up
their abode for part or all of the year in the forest of
Fontainebleau. Diaz was one of the first of this band
and it is his pictures of this grand old forest that have
given him his greatest fame. His attempts at figure-
painting were in the pseudo-classic style and like the
No Entrance and Fairy with Pearls both of which are in
Salle Henri H., are little more than weak imitations of
Prud'hon. His later years were given entirely to the
painting of landscape, or, more definitely " treescapes,"
and it is in these that he shows himself the poet who
has something to say that no one else has said before.
His was the gold-tipped brush that caressed with Midas-
touch the path through the heart of the forest, the
huge trunks of oak, and sycamore, the swaying slender
birches, and filled these hidden forest glades with a
shimmering golden haze that threw its tone over gipsies
or dryads or Orientals or peasants, with impartial lustre.
It is always summer in the depths of these forest glades,
and the quivering dancing sunlight that turns the trunks
almost to gold is a hot, pulsing light, full of the fiery
southern breath that on the bare plain would be fairly
intolerable. Piercing through the thick canopies of
packed leaves and twisted branches, it loses its blasting
heat and only warms, lights, glorifies. That seems to
be its province in all of Diaz's greatest pictures. The

'llll': HOlll.M I AN.

l{y Diaz

Salle Denrt ft* 331

densest wood, the dimmest glen, the heaviest branches, the
most gnarled and bent of tree-trunks, all are transformed,
transmuted, with this golden aroma of dazzling sunlight.

These are the attributes of his greatest works, and
one can see in his Birch-Tree Study in this room how
he revelled over the great trunk, his " stem picture "
as he used to call each new canvas, how he loved it,
caressing it with his shimmering sunlight, studying it,
brightening it. Over and over again he painted almost
the same trees, the same glen, ever trying to approach
nearer his poet's vision.

In The Bohemians the idea is the same as in the one
in the Boston Art Museum, but it is carried out dif-
ferently. In the Boston picture the train of gipsies, in
spite of their great number, is only, in a way, a part of the
whole landscape and it is evident at once that the pic-
ture is not so much of them as of the glowing, sun-
kissed forest. In the Louvre version, the gipsies are the
principal thing. At the back the boughs of the forest
frame a large bit of the sky. A tall gipsy maiden with
a basket on her head, silhouettes against this open square.
Ahead of her come the others of the band, down to the
clearing in front. A woman and child sit at the left,
another young girl stands beside her with outstretched
arms, by her side a man helps a girl over the brook,
and behind these come others down the woodland path.
The golden light is sifted on to the group, the effect
of the whole is rnolten, glowing.

With the Execution without Judgment by Regnault,
which is in the same room, we come to the work of a
man whose life might have extended into this twentieth
century, but who, instead, gave that life to his country
when it had but just begun. Regnault was the idolized
of France, and even to-day more than thirty years after,

s$9 XTbe Hrt of tbe Xouvtc

Frenchmen speak of him with a living sorrow as if he had
died but yesterday. He can be called the last great
representative of the romantic school of which Dela-
croix was the founder. What he would have been, can
only be surmised. But at twenty-seven he was already,
to quote Miss Kingsley, " original as a thinker, magnifi-
cent and daring as a draughtsman, superb as a colourist."
He took the Prix de Rome when only twenty-three and
it was while still " pensionnaire " that, in spite of his
immunity from obligation to serve, he hastened home
from Morocco to join the artists' battalion in the fatal war
of 1870.

The Execution without Judgment has been called a
symphony in red, — and it is in reds that vary from
the pale rose-reds of the Moor's gown to the purplish
red of the pool of blood under his victim. Standing on the
marble steps of the Abencerrages of the Alhambra, is
the immensely tall and muscular Moor, wiping with
perfect nonchalance the blood from his yataghan. His
half-closed eyes glance with a sort of lazy curiosity at his
bloody work, and his whole body is held quietly at ease,
no sign of tension or of disorder in his pose or ex-
pression. Below him on the steps in a heap just as he
has fallen, lies the headless trunk of his prey, and, a
step lower, is the fearful head with its bulging eyes
from which the terror still glares. Connecting head and
body are the dripping pools of blood.

So realistically horrible is this picture that women
have fainted on seeing it. The colour-scheme is rich,
vivid, the composition masterly, the drawing superb.
Whether such a subject belongs properly to the domain
of art, or if belonging can by its subject take high rank,
is a question perhaps, for individualistic answer. At
least it is the sort of subject Regnault revelled in.

EXECUTION WITHOUT JUDGMENT
By Kegnault

Salle Ibenrt IFir^ 333

Though a wonderful portrait-painter, his forceful, puis-
sant, tumultuous nature expressed itself with a perfect
fever of abandonment in scenes of carnage, of riotous
contortions, of sinister meaning, of all things out of the
commonplace.

The Interment at Ornans by Courbet was given to
the Louvre by the artist's sister after his death. At the
time of its first exhibition it raised a tremendous storm
of opposition. It was claimed that it ridiculed a solemn
occasion, that it was a sort of comic opera on themes
best expressed by a dirge. Low, vulgar and disgusting
were the epithets oftenest hurled at it. To-day this all
seems strange enough. The funeral service of which
this is a picture, impresses us as a very real transcript
of every-day, country life, painted with a truth to
ensemble and detail. With no rude irreverence or frivol-
ity, it has also no mawkish sentimentality or forcing of
solemnity. Actually the people represented were por-
traits of real people of Ornans, Courbet's native town
which he always loved to paint. And they are most
excellent portraits as well.

In the very centre of the foreground the farther half
of the open grave is shown. At the end kneels the grave-
digger in his shirt sleeves, looking up at the priest who,
with his assistants and acolytes stands a little at the left
of the grave. Behind them four pall-bearers carry the
draped bier. At the right are the friends and relatives,
three men and a dog standing first and behind them
a number of weeping peasant women. At the extreme
right, the woman holding a child by the hand is Courbet's
mother.

CHAPTER XVII.

SALLE DES ETATS — ROOM VIII. — FRENCH SCHOOL

The Salle des Etats, Room VIII. on the plan, opens
at one end into the Grande Galerie and at the other into
Salle Denon. It contains French pictures mostly of the
second and third quarters of the nineteenth century, and,
with the Thomy-Thiery collection includes most of the
greatest gems of French art owned by the Louvre.

Rather out of its element in this modern collection is
David's classic work, the Oath of the Horatii. At the left
the three brothers stand with extended arms before
their father receiving their swords from his hand, promis-
ing by the act everlasting vengeance upon the Curatii.
At the right sits their sister, who, betrothed as she is
to one of the enemy, leans over in an agony of grief
upon Sabina wife of the eldest brother. The mother holds
in her arms her two little children. The action is
calculated and wholly unspontaneous. The work was
done with the assistance of Drouais.

Prud'hon's Portrait of Baron Denon is evidence that
though he can be called a portrayer of women rather than
of men, he yet could paint men with an insight that was
especially noticeable when his subjects were men of
genuine feeling and artistic sensibility. This is one
of these. It is a portrait that France has seldom sur-
passed. The old Director General of Fine Arts is dressed

334

Salle ^CB Btats 335

in his Academician garments, the Russian Order of St.
Anne about his neck. His short gray hair, soft and
fine, and grown far back on his head, stands up as if
the activity of the brain under it would not allow it to
lie flat and smooth. The forehead is monumental in its
width and breadth. The eyes, far apart, but not wide
open, the large, firmly cut nose, the fine line of the closely
shut mouth, the square, cleft chin, with the slight extra
flesh beneath, — every point of this intense personality
is felt, but as a whole rather than as countable attributes.
The head is in three-quarters position, turned toward
his left shoulder. A decided but very luminous shadow
falls on the right side of his face, breaking into a light
across the eye and cheek-bone. The rest of the face is
mostly in full clear light. And it is as fresh, as mobile,
as free in its brush-work, and as fascinating in its planes
as a face by Correggio, he who was, next to Leonardo,
Prud'hon's great admiration.

Napoleon at Eylau, by Gros, hangs on the east wall.
It was after the exhibition of this immense canvas, with
its figures of more than life-size that Napoleon took
the cross from his own breast and gave it to the painter.

Napoleon, in a gray satin pelisse, bordered with fur,
is mounted on a light bay horse, viewing with his gen-
erals the terrible scene of destruction after the battle.
The ground is covered with snow, and in the background,
where before the lines of French troops the prisoners
of war pass in review, is the village of Eylau in flames.
Before it, what seem to be at first glance natural mounds
of drifted snow, turn out to be heaps of dead bodies
over which the snow has fallen. Napoleon's face and
attitude are very expressive. The reins are dropped
in one hand and the other is lifted with a gesture full
of distress, as he contemplates the gruesome plain. By

336 Zbc Uvt ot tbe Xott\?re

his side are Soult, Davoust, Murat, Berthier, Bessieres
and Caulaincourt. Before them the wounded, dying and
dead. One poor fellow is clasping the emperor's knee
begging his blessing. One is being raised by an aide.
One young " chasseur *' helps to set the leg of a wounded
soldier under the direction of Percy, the surgeon-general.
Even in his agony, the soldier raises himself to salute
his chief. French surgeons are among the enemy also,
bandaging, giving water. Beyond, a little farther back,
a cannonier lies dead across his gun. Farther still two
chasseurs of the Guard places upon one of their horses
a badly wounded grenadier.

Again as in the Jaffa painting is the strong contrast
between the living and dying, between bounding, perfect
health and gray pallidness and waning strength. And
even more than in the other do we feel the pathos, the
pain, the pity of it all. Death in its full grimness is
there in plenty, yet once more the master-brush has
made a great tragedy that stirs the deeps of emotion,
and again one finds that it is not in any way beyond
the limits of true art. By its treatment, by the power-
ful imagination combined with the sanity and instinctive
clarity of its painter, it impresses itself indelibly upon
the memory.

The Apotheosis of Homer, by Ingres, shows the blind
bard seated on the top of a wide flight of stairs at the
entrance to a Greek temple. Standing at his right is
the winged figure of the Muse who, descending from the
sky holds the palm and laurel wreath in her hands.
Homer is partly draped in a robe that falls away leaving
his chest and right arm bare. His left hand is grasping
his staff which he has brought close up before him.
Ranged on each side of the steps is the company of poets >
writers, painters, sculptors and musicians of all time.

Salle bes Btats 337

Those of the oldest of the Greek days are nearer his
level, those of later at the lower sides. At his feet are
the two daughters, for so has Ingres personified his
Iliad and Odyssey, Odyssey at the right holding the oar
of the long voyages of the son of Laertes across her
knee, Iliad on the left, with her arms crossed about her
knees, her head turned mournfully outward.

Among the great ones surrounding Homer, are
Apelles, clasping the hand of Raphael standing behind
him, Phidias with his mallet, Herodotus offering incense,
Virgil and Socrates. Below, on each side, are those of
later days, and of Ingres 's own time. There are Dante
and Shakespeare, Poussin and Gluck, Racine and Boileau,
Fenelon and La Fontaine. And these moderns are won-
derfully characterized. Each head is living, full of force
and personality. No less excellent in their own way are
the ideal heads of the Greeks and Romans above them.
In this work Ingres joined to the strict classicism shown
in the lines and general style, a feeling for beauty and
an expression of individuality that makes it an exponent
of the very highest of the classic school. It does, as
has been often said, suggest Raphael in its scheme and
even in its execution. One may well think that only
he who had spent untold hours absorbing the very spirit
of the Parnassus and the School of Athens, could ever
have produced this modernized Greek epic. Yet a copy
of Raphael it most certainly is not. And all times, all
schools of all shades of belief must acknowledge it as a
work of talent that, if below the par of genius, is at least
w,orthy of a high place on the list of fame.

Ingres studied with David and throughout his long
life upheld the school of his master. He was a rampant,
unyielding classicist, putting his entire efforts into pro-
ducing a beauty of form, a delicacy and truth of line, a

33* Ube Htt of tbe Xouvrc

simplicity that was a perfection of modelling. He was
the one great exponent of the classic school during the
years when Delacroix was triumphantly at the head of
the new romantic movement, and though the age was
realistically romantic, and had mostly outgrown the cold
marbleness of David and his school, yet, so persistent, so
firm, so unyielding was he in his own way, and so fault-
lessly did he carry out his ideas, that he succeeded in
winning from the nation as much honour and appreciation
as was given to his bitter rival, Delacroix. Unquestion-
ably he did achieve a purity, a rarely perfect if purely
intellectual beauty that in spite of its total lack of appeal
to the emotions, in spite of its almost total ignoring of
the power and beauty of colour, did win, and wins to-day,
the admiration and respect even of those who radically
disagree with him as to what constitutes the art of
painting. There are many amusing stories told illustrat-
ing his intense aversion to any kind of art or artist who
did not follow his lines of thought. On taking his pupils
through the Rubens Gallery he would say, " Salute him,
my children, but do not look at him."

In this Salle des Etats, Ary Scheffer has three paint-
ings, which give a fair sample of his work at its best and
at its worst. In the Death of Gericault, he struck a
higher note than ever before or after. There are real
feeling, power and pathos in the scene that shows the
great painter with his two friends. Colonel Brodebout
and Dedreux Dorcy behind his bed. There is even some
attempt at colour here, and, small as is the canvas, marks
Scheffer's greatest achievement.

The Temptation of Christ is a work much better
known from its innumerable reproductions. The devil,
with the usual darkness of colouring and of the conven-
tional figure since Milton's poem, stands near the summit

Salle t>CB lEtats 339

of the mountain showing Christ the distant cities that lie
below. Jesus, in the clinging robes Scheffer loved,
stands rebuking the evil one and points dramatically to
the sky. This is as conventional as it was popular, and
has little to recommend it except the story-telling quality,
which, to be sure, is positively blatant.

Though Ary Scheffer is always included in the French
school, it is only by virtue of his long residence and train-
ing in Paris. His mother was Dutch and his father was
German, and he himself was born in Dordrecht. A
pupil of Guerin he was left by that strict Academician
to follow pretty much his own bent. This bent was
an effort to combine the attributes of the waning classic
school with those of the romantic. Like many another
with two masters he fell between two stools. In spite
of the great popularity won by his works for so many
years, they are mostly a blending of sentiment often
bordering on sentimentality, of a sweet beauty that is next
door to the lachrymose, a tenderness that is positively
unprincipled in its weakness, a purity of line with a total
lack of accent or power, and, joined at times to a poetic
conception, an absolute blindness to colour. In fact
Ary Scheffer's pictures must be regarded as something
existing entirely out of the realms of colour. One wonders
what he ever put on his palette. If there were any rich,
glowing or subtle tones, they stayed there. Never by
any chance did they get placed upon his canvas.

Only a year younger than Scheffer was Corot, who
has two of his most beautiful canvases in this room, but
looking at the paintings of the two, it seems as if an eter-
nity must separate them. In the beginning of Corot's
artistic career, however, there was not so strong a dif-
ference between them. When, at the age of twenty-six
the draper's clerk persuaded his father to let him take up

H^ Zbc art ot tbe Xouvre

art as a profession, he produced, under the instruction
of Michallon, Roman ruins, Greek temples or modern
Italian landscape with a scrupulous fidelity to actuality,
with a brush that drew exactly and vividly if somewhat
angularly the scene before him. It was the influence of
the classic school that shows most in these early paintings.
HJe developed his own particular talent late in life, and it
is undoubtedly due to the perpetual youth of his mind
and spirit that at forty, after fourteen years of continuous
practice in all the traditions of the classic school, he could
so change, vivify and wholly transform his style. If in
Corot's later pictures he has been accused of a lack of
strict drawing, the lack, such as it is, is not due to any
ignorance on his part, but to deliberate intention. With
his depth of knowledge he could afford to neglect what
to lesser minds and a more superficially trained brush
would have seemed overimportant. Corot knew and it
is certainly largely owing to his long academic train-
ing that he could allow himself liberties, that he could
play with nature, and become such a part of her, that
those of any poetic instinct must see that truth and
fidelity are always present in the least as in the great-
est of his works.

It has been claimed that his pictures all look alike.
This is really not much more than saying that his
brush-work becomes after awhile, familiar, or at the
most that he loved chiefly two parts of the day, the
dawn and twilight, and repeated them in his canvases
many times. The middle of the day he did not care
to paint. " One sees too much," he declared. And that
is the real reason for the superficial observer's claim of
the similarity between Corot's paintings. One never does
see too much. Veiled with the dawn's vapours, only sug-
gested in the tremulous mist of earliest spring, softly

Salle bes ]6tat5 341

submerged under the translucent shadows of the twilight,
only half exposed in the pearly light of the new-risen
moon, — these are the moods of nature and the times
of day and season Corot best loved. This is all the
similarity between them. Any one who knows his pic-
tures well, knows best the variety, the individuality and
the surprises that fill them. Silvery green is Cbrot's
palette, on first examination. A myriad other as ex-
quisite tones are found with closer study. The soft grays,
the violets, the clear cool browns, the luminous whites,
the silvered yellows, — those are the tones his lovers
have found in profusion, and they make a gamut as varied
as it is delicate, as penetrative as it is subtle, as true as
it is poetic. It is this last quality that fills every canvas
of Corot's later years. Each scene is an idyl, each
canvas a painted poem, — or better still a tone-poem.
Corot loved music as deeply as he did painting and his
works have suggested musical comparisons to many,
partly because they seem almost as intangibly plastic as
this least plastic of all the arts. Colour-harmonies they
truly are, with a weaving melody sung by the misty,
tremulous vapours of dawn, by Spring, with her violets
and greens that smooch the tips of the budding trees,
by the brooks scarce murmuring under the twilight's last
caress, by the nymphs and dryads dancing in limpid
moonlight. It is always a song that has just begun that
Corot's brush has caught, and so exquisite, so full of sug-
gestion is it that the listener is inspired too and fain goes
on to the end of the strain, as if he too were poet-singer.
Technically, besides Corot's great attributes as a
colourist, he ranks at the very highest for his wonderful
feeling for values. No one else has ever expressed more
perfect concord between sky and foliage, foliage and trunk,
trunk and lake or stream. In, through, behind the woods

34« Ubc Hrt of tbe Xoupre

of Corot you can wander, over the lake you can sail, on
its banks with the nymphs you too could dance. No
other shade or tone could express so perfectly the atmos-
phere that makes the tips of the greenest twigs blend
and yet separate themselves from the softened sky that
is behind and over them.

Most of Corot's later years were spent with the men he
loved so greatly in the forest of Fontainebleau, and he
is always spoken of as one of the Barbizon school of
painters.

The View of the Forum, and that of the Colosseum,
were among his earliest paintings and hung in his studio
till his death. He always cared greatly for them, regard-
ing them with the affection a parent has for his first-
born, and at his death he left them to the government.
They are, of course, in his early manner, and, compared
with the landscapes other Frenchmen were painting at
that time, were of unusual interest and charm. Compared
with his own later works, however, they seem academic,
hard and needlessly literal.

The picture called simply a Landscape might be titled
A Lake where Morning Bathes. Filling the middle plane,
and reaching back on one side to a point of tree-bowered
land, and on the other to a horizon of a soft misty forest,
lies this lake. It is so luminous where the light of the
morning spreads over it, so full of mysterious tender
shadow where the trees are mirrored, that it is like
a soft harmony heard from the wood-wind of an orchestra,
— subtle, deep, caressing, with a tinge of melancholy
that is half-ecstatic. The big tree on the right that
throws its branches far over the pictured space breaks
the extent of sky with its feathery twigs and heavier
masses of leaves, and its trunks make vigorous accents
and balance the dark foreground of the bank. At the

Salle ^es Btats 343

left of this tree is another, which is hardly more than a
single weather-bent stalk. Here and there along its naked
length bunches ol budding twigs still are sprouting, and
a peasant is standing on tiptoes to reach one of the
lower ones of these blossom excrescences. The light that
flickers between the branches of the large tree sweeps
down her arm and shoulder and touches both her petticoat
and the cluster she is plucking. At the base of the stump
are two children, one picking delicate flowers from the
ground, the other holding up her arms for the prize
her mother is securing. From the extreme right under
the willow, — if it is a willow — an older peasant is
advancing, her sunbonnet just catching the light that
sifts through. Soft and tender as this picture is, and full
of the evanescent aroma of early spring and early morn-
ing, there is a vigorous note struck in this bit of peas-
ant life thus introduced. It is as if Corot had said,
" See ! Here is fairy-land all about you. You need
not be poets nor fays to see it. The very peasants are
part of it. It is their very reality, and they can always
dwell within it."

One of the best known and best loved of Corot's
works is the other landscape called sometimes A Morn-
ing and sometimes the Dance of the Nymphs. Here is
not only fairy-land but the inhabitants thereof besides.
And it is a land and people you are quite sure dear old
Pere Corot actually knew. How else could he have
painted those dancing nymphs, those laughing fauns and
satyrs, those dryads, with the abandon that shows such
absolute knowledge behind? It is all so real, so spon-
taneous, so possible, that you are quite sure you could
see those very selfsame elves in that very selfsame glen
if only you might get there early enough in the morning.
Was ever such a delicately frolicsome scene depicted

344 TLbc Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

before? Can a more spiritual gaiety be imagined than
fills this dell where the trees mass soft against the sky of
dawn, where the brooding light rests across the opening
in front of the tree-made bower, where the fields beyond
are all sufifused in a bath of new-risen sun? And did
ever mortal imagine before the very essence of the spirit
oif dance? Do those flying feet of the woodland folk
touch the ground at all? Were ever butterflies above
the roses more full of sprit and spring? Was ever seen
a more abandonment of joy than in those laughing
fauns ? Yet all this gaiety, this f rolicsomeness, this quin-
tessence of laughter is veiled, etherealized, spiritualized,
— what you will — till it becomes as intangible as it is
joyous, as evanescent as it is penetrating, as dreamlike
as it is real — a poet's Land o' Smiles where mortals
cannot tread, but, seeing, can love and believe in all the
more.

Delaroche's Princes in the Tower in this room is one
of that painter's best-known works. It is supposed to
represent the moment before the doomed boys' assassina-
tion. The great carved bed of Edward is shown in one
of the rooms of the Tower. Sitting by its side, on the
top of a high bench, the young Richard rests his richly
illuminated book on the knees of his brother Edward,
who is seated on the bed and leans upon his brother's
shoulder. A small dog near the foot of the bed has
turned toward the door on the other side of which the
assassins are already heard. Richard has stopped his
reading and is looking that way too, his very evident
though silent dread plain on his face. But Edward is too
ill and too indifferent even to lift his eyes from their ,
sombre downward gaze. The velvet suits of the boys-''
emphasize their pallor and their wretched plight. Thi
tells the story so frankly and so fully that the pub^'

o
U

Salle Des Btats 34S

in general has always adored it. It is safe to say that
it is its literary quality which is mostly responsible for
its chief encomiums.

The fame of the works of Eugene Delacroix, seven
of which are in this salle, rests upon something very dif-
ferent. John La Farge places this chief of the romantic
school of France " alone of all the painters of the nine-
teenth century in the line of high expression which runs
from Giotto to Puvis de Chavannes." This painter-
critic says further that with Puvis de Chavannes " he is
the only one of the French painters who has any claim
to connection with the great mural painters of the past."
He continues, " It is to the eternal disgrace of the govern-
ment and official influences that this one most important
exemplar of decorative art had so little opportunity to
illustrate his nation by monumental work." His ceiling
in the Galerie d'Apollon of the Louvre is one of the
great achievements of any age and makes the designs
of Le Brun that surround it look more pompous, theat-
rical, unreal and overelaborate than ever. There is a most
wonderful movement and swing to those celestial horses,
unexcelled by the work of any modern or any ancient
time. Far ahead of all his contemporaries in colour, a
remarkable master in line, in massing, in all that goes to
make a superb composition, his " arrangement " is as little
evident as in a Rubens.

Delacroix, though so bitterly reviled by the classicists,
had really the deepest love and reverence for the great
ancients. Had they but realized it, he never transgressed
the laws of true classicism. Indeed he carried them out
more strictly and more wonderfully than did any of
those labelled " classic." Delacroix saw plainly that those
who merely copied the works of the ancients were going
contrary to the entire spirit of those who had created

346 xrbe Brt of tbe Xouvre

them. They had been original, free, spontaneous, living.
That was what he also wished to be and what in a superla-
tive degree he was.

He was the first great French composer. His massing,
spotting, harmony of line and space, the entire extraordi-
nary ensemble, with its inevitable climacteric centre, its
gradations that lead as inevitable to that focus, — all
these proclaim him a master of masters. Even his de-
tractors were forced to compare him with Raphael and
with Rubens. If he has the balance, the compositional
unity of Raphael, he has combined with it the energy,
fire, dramatic sense and colour of Rubens. A poet, a
decorator, a colourist — those are the three names he has
been truly given, and he is no greater as one than as the
other. Besides all this he was never the exaggerator, the
poseur, the extremist that the school who claimed him
as master often afterward became.

The Bark of Dante on the north wall of the Salle des
Etats, his first exhibited picture, was shown in the Salon
of 1822. The story goes that, being terribly poor at the
time, he sent the picture with no frame except a rude
affair made of four lathes over which he had sprinkled
yellow paint. When, on the opening day he hastened to
see whether it had been accepted, he could find it nowhere.
Suddenly, just as in despair he was about giving up
the search, he discovered it in a fine frame in a place of
honour in the Salon Carre. It was Baron Gros, who, in
spite of his academic predilections, recognizing the
genius of this new painter, had had the picture suitably
framed and hung. And then Delacroix, in palpitating
eagerness and gratitude went to the big man's studio
where he was greeted cordially and told to "come to
us. We will teach you to draw." Gros also said that
the Bark was " Rubens reformed." But at Delacroix's

Salle ^es lEtats 347

next departure even the tolerant Gros was scandalized,
and from that time began the war that waged about
Delacroix so long as he lived.

The colouring of this Bark of Dante is largely account-
able for its partial acceptance by the classicists. In a dim,
sombre light, the open boat is being propelled by Charon
through the waves. He is shown at the stern, his body
nude save for a scarf that goes about the upper part of
his shoulders and thighs. He stands back to, legs far
apart, his whole bent body concentrated upon the huge
oar which he is pushing in front of him. At the other end
are Virgil and Dante, the former placid, calm, unmoved,
while Dante, with both hands outspread, is starting back
in terror at the awful sights about them. Clinging to both
sides of the boat, whirled away by the waves, torn off
by the frantic arms or feet of their companions, are the
lost souls that the Styx devours. These figures are
marvellous examples of draughtsmanship, full of an
emotional intensity that contracts their muscles, agonizes
their features, contorts their limbs. The modelling of the
flesh is no less astonishing, and the whole picture is a
creation genius alone, at any age, could have produced.
And its painter was only twenty-four.

The Massacre of Chios was exhibited in 1824. A
group of the captured men, women and children are
huddled together in the foreground, waiting in terror,
in stoical indifference, or in fury for what shall be their
final disposition by the Turks. At the right, a Turk on a
rearing horse has bound a beautiful nude Greek girl
to the back of the plunging animal. Her arms are
flung above her head in pleading fright, but the rider
pays no attention except to cut down with his scimiter
the Greek who throws himself against the horse in a
futile attempt at rescue. In front of this group sits an

348 XTbe Htt of tbe Xouvre

elderly woman in the costume of the country, her head
turned toward her left shoulder, her eyes wide in anguish,
but with no sound commg from her hopeless lips. Lean-
ing against her, thrown flat on her back, with her arms
bound behind her and the clothing gone from the upper
part of her body, is a young mother, who lies watching
in a very torture of helplessness the little naked babe
crawling up her breast. At the left of these in front, a
man and woman sit close together against a rock. Both
are absolutely quiet, in a despair that is emphasized with
every curve of the supple figures, and accented by the
staring, non-seeing eyes of the man. Another man and his
sweetheart are clasped in each other's arms. By the side
of his father a boy kneels and begs in terrible fear.
Over all is the brilliant, palpitating light, the strong, puls-
ing colour, the juxtaposition of vividly apposite tones.

It took Delacroix two years to paint this picture, and
then, at the end, when it was already hung in the Salon,
he repainted almost every bit of it, intensifying, clarifying,
strengthening, changing his colours till they hummed
with a radiance he had never dreamed of before. It was
due entirely to the works of an Englishman that he
made such a radical innovation. Just as his picture was
carried to the gallery, he had a chance to see two canvases
by Constable which had been brought over from England.
The Briton's palette was a revelation to the French-
man. After a rapid, eager, wholesale study in which
he appears to have actually swallowed the entire method
of the foreigner, he betook himself to his own canvas, got
permission from the authorities, and in a few days had
completely transformed it. If a certain rigidity of tone
might before have saved it in the opinion of the classicists,
it stood no longer any such chance.

It was with this picture that Delacroix began what was

MASSACRE OF CHIOS
»^ By Delacroix

Salle ^e6 Btats 349

an entirely new departure for French art. All the
present-day attempts at colour-effects, the impressionists
themselves, owe their freedom and their brilliancy to
this impetus which Delacroix gave to this side of French
art. In his day, his vibratory, rich and sometimes start-
ling colour was condemned as one of his worst faults.
Quietness carried to sculptured rigidity in action, quiet-
ness, carried to monochromatic tones in colour, quietness,
carried to architectural solidity in grouping, quietness,
carried to meaningless vacuity in expression, — that was
the sign manual of the art as Delacroix found it. Little
wonder that such a stultification of academic rules and
principles found a rampant rebel in this Prince of Emo-
tion, this warrior in action, this " Orlando Furioso of
colourists."

The Twenty-eighth of July, 1830, was one of the two
political pictures Delacroix ever painted. And this, with
its enormous " heroine of the barricade," is really an alle-
gory. In her half-naked state, with her Phrygian cap,
she but symbolizes Liberty, — Liberty for the state, for
the people, for art. It was exhibited in 183 1, and, already
obnoxious by its implied meaning to the government, was
purchased by the direction of the Beaux Arts, and turned
face against the wall.

After this Delacroix made his journey to Morocco,
and there gathered new feeling for colour, new and
wpnderful ideas of sunlight, gleaming sands, golden
days, blue waters and marvellous Oriental people. All
his life he drew from his memory of these Arabian-
Nights days, and made his pictures full of the pulsing
life of the Orient.

Women of Algiers in their Apartment has been com-
pared to an open jewel-box, so gleaming, transparent,
varied, rich, almost intoxicating is its colour. When it was

350 Xl^be Hrt of tbe Xouvre

exhibited he was accused by the critics of having copied
Veronese. In a room of the harem whose walls are tiled
with faience, whose floors of marquetry are partly cov-
ered with the soft rugs on which they lie, are three
women, " half-recHning," says a critic, "... doing
nothing, hardly holding their narghiles in their non-
chalant fingers, present no prevalence of life and thought,
more than flowers or jewels, and so leave the play of
colour undominated by any intellectual interest. , He
has pushed to their maximum of splendour, but has
brought to a repose by a perfect equilibrium of in-
tensities, the great brilliancy, opulence and fulness
of colour of the accessories, — stuflFs, and faience and
walls of wonderful combinations. He has made use
of complementary contrasts and harmonies of tints, and
of blacks and whites as amalgams, so to speak."

His Entry of the Crusaders into Constantinople re-
sembles, says Muther, "an old, delicately tinted carpet,
full of powerful, tranquil harmony." In its scheme of
colour, in action, it is as full of motion, and emotion, as
are all of Delacroix's pictures. Like all of his composi-
tions, too, the tone suits the subject. It is a glorious sight
to Christian eyes to see this stronghold of the Sultan cap-
tured by Christians, and this feeling is emphasized
in the golden tone of the canvas. The very air scintil-
lates as if the oxygen were transmuted gold.

On the same wall hangs Decamps's On the Towpath.
With the western sky all aglow with the setting sun,
the foreground of this picture except as spots or edges
catch the rays, is in heavy shadow. The canal runs
straight across, and splashing through the water come
the four tow-horses. Only the first two are wholly in the
picture, and they fill the centre of the composition.
Behind them at the extreme right are seen the heads of

Salle &es Btats 351

the following two. Mounted squarely sidewise, as if
sitting on a bench, with both feet hanging straight over
the left of the white horse, is the driver, a deep silhou-
ette against the glowing sky. High in air he holds his
whip, preparatory to using it to urge the horses forward.
Absolutely anatomically correct the great animals un-
doubtedly are not, yet surely no photograph ever pre-
sented a more vivid picture of seeming truth. The
heavy muscles, the strain on the big necks, the pull and
pressure everywhere, seem not only real but exact. At
the left in the middle distance is a slender tree, near by
a peasant driving a flock of geese and at the right are an
inn or dwelling and other peasants at the door. All
are dark against the luminous sky.

Another " stem-picture " is Diaz's Under the Trees,
which is only a sketch. In it again, are the big, lapping,
spreading branches, the depths of forest behind, the
glinting light, and over all the shimmer no one has ever
painted so well as he.

Hippolyte Flandrin has three canvases in this salle.
The one called simply Figure Study is well known by
reproductions. It represents the nude figure of a young
man seated in profile on a rock at the edge of the sea.
His knees are drawn up, his head bent upon them, while
his arms are brought around, his left hand clasping the
wrist of his right in front. His profile is lost in shadow,
only the cheek, ear and hair being in full view. The
drawing of this figure is as beautiful as it is marvellously
true. There is a very fine feeling shown for form and
contour and the modelling while full is not overdone.

The Portrait of a Young Girl is neither so well done
nor so well known. The maiden is seated in profile, the
picture cut just below the waist, and only partly showing
the crossed arms and hands, one of which holds a closed

352 Ube Hrt of tbe Xouvrc

book. A soft shadow submerges the delicate profile,
her curling hair is bound with a black velvet band and
wound into a large knot at the base of her neck. The
waist of white muslin is slightly open exposing the soft
lines of throat and neck. The modelling is exquisite,
the drawing pure and fine.

Flandrin was a pupil of Ingres and carried out in his
works the principles of his master with a faithfulness
and sincerity, that, if proving he was not highly endowed
with originality, at least proclaimed him a remarkably
perfect draughtsman, a lover of pure line and contour,
a zealous and most conscientious worker. As a rule he
paid no more attention to colour than did any of the
classic school. He became a very noted religious
painter and was the first since Le Sueur to show true
spiritual feeling in his works. If they are little more
than assimilations of the fifteenth-century Italians, they
are full of real feeling, and have a purity of line and
form not often seen. His one specialty outside of these
religious paintings may be said to be the portraiture of
young girls. No resemblance can be found in these
gentle, pensive, nun-like maidens to the coquettish,
roguish, sentimental creations of Greuze, that other
French painter of maidenhood.

Two great canvases by Constant Troyon hang on
opposite sides of this Salle des Etats. Until the open-
ing of the Thomy-Thi6ry collection these were the only
Troyons the Louvre owned.

Oxen Going to Work is the name of the picture by
which Troyon is probably best known throughout the
Western world. Probably, too, he never surpassed this
during all the years of his artistic life. One is inclined
to go still farther and say that probably, also, no one else
has ever surpassed it. Whether one speaks of the broad

Salle ^es iBtatB 353

extent of fields smoking under the early rays of the sun,
of the glowing, sun-bathed sky, of the heavy, patient
oxen, — of any part or of the whole of this composition,
only superlatives rise to the lips.

Over a rough roadway, through a deeply furrowed
field where vegetation is scarce and where heather and
grass grow in hummocks, advancing straight toward the
spectator come the six huge oxen with their driver.
Yoked two by two, the three couples follow one after
another, the first two close together, the third farther
behind and a trifle at the right of the first group. At the
left walks the driver with his long sharp prod, and at
the moment he is looking over his shoulder at the two
loitering behind. On each side stretch the wide fields,
sloping gently upward to the horizon-line that is blurred
with low clustering trees. At the left are more cattle
with their drivers and over all the glowing early morning
sky. It is this feeling of the morning, the light of
it, the freshness, the haze, that is perhaps the most
wonderful effect of the picture. You catch the very
breath of those early breezes that are hardly more than
vapours. You feel the exhilaration of the air that comes
like a soft puff from the awakening sky. You are
enveloped in that wonderful tenderness of colouring of
the world not yet wholly unveiled by the inquisitive sun.
In fact you are bodily as well as mentally taken into the
very atmosphere, into the very spot itself. It is as if a
great window had suddenly been opened out of a stifling
room, and through it out in the open, nature is at her
morning bath. As for the oxen themselves, though
mostly felt as merely a part of all this wakening world,
they are fully as marvellous in their own way. Great,
plodding, patient beasts, you feel and see the tramp of
their heavy feet. You smell the sweetness of their

354 Zbc Hrt ot tbc Xouvrc

steaming breaths, you feel the ponderous weight of the
mighty flanks. Thrown against the sky, they are in a
shadow as luminous almost as light itself. One of the
minor though delightful details is the way Troyon indi-
cated the high lights where their horns or backs .or legs
catch the unbroken rays of the sun.

Troyon has been called a painter pure and simple,
indicating that he was no poet. Yet here, surely is
poetry. Poetry of the early morning, poetry of the
plodding beasts, poetry of the mist and haze. It is
modern, intensely modern, and as real as day and night,
but none the less is it full of a poetry that is as beautiful
as it is vigorous.

If this picture palpitates with the colour, the light, the
freshness of morning, The Return to the Farm exhales
the calm, the softness, perhaps the heaviness of the
dying day. Only the yapping dog and the hastening
feet of the home-going animals give a certain vivifying
note to the silence that otherwise broods over the scene.
The sky is full of clouds, the trees that mass at the turn
of the road are already catching the gloom of the coming
twilight, the shadows of the herd stretch long across the
roadway, and the sheep and cows themselves are fairly
bathed in the last effulgence of the dropping sun.

Ten or a dozen sheep are at the right in the immediate
foreground. Their sharp little hoofs beat a quick tattoo
on the hard road, and they are jostling one another in
their eagerness for home. At the left, in the centre of
the picture, two cows advance, and they too, hurry their
steps. Farther still to the left more of them have stopped
to wander down the bank for a last nibble, and two have
gone into a pool for a drink. Behind the flock trots a
little ass, like the rear-guard of a procession, and ahead
of all, running and barking and full of the importance

Salle ^CB Btats 355

of his position is the dog who apparently feels that the
whole care of the journey rests upon him. This picture
was first exhibited in 1859, and in 1865, after his death,
was given by Troyon's mother to the government.

Troyon, like Dupre and Diaz as well as others was
first in the painting department of a porcelain factory, and
it took him many years to outgrow entirely the habits
there formed. In 1847 he went to Holland and it is
due to the influence of Rembrandt and Van Cuyp that
his work became so much stronger and more real. After
that he was in Barbizon with Rousseau and the others
of the outdoor painters and gradually his pictures grew
to be the brilliant, truthful transcriptions of nature that
they were. As a painter of cattle in landscape of which
they are an integral part, he has never had a rival. On
the other hand too, his - landscapes themselves were
always as important, as truth-telling, as beautiful, as his
animals. He had a much less difficult time than many
of his contemporaries, achieving earlier than most a
popular success. He received the decoration of Cheva-
lier of the Legion of Honour in 1849, the same year it was
given to Daubigny, and from that date he could almost
treble the prices for his works. His education, save in
his own art was very slight, almost rudimentary.

Wholly different was the education of the peasant and
the painter of peasants, Jean Frangois Millet, four of
whose canvases hang in this room. For though Millet
was not only the son but the grandson of Normandy peas-
ants, he inherited nevertheless artistic and intellectual
g^fts from his forbears. When, at the age of eighteen he
went to Cherbourg to study painting, he could already
read his Bible and Virgil in Latin. And during his
several years there he spent his nights studying Homer
and Shakespeare, Milton and Scott, Goethe and Byron,

35^ XTbe Hrt of tbe Xouvre

Victor Hugo and Chateaubriand. During all his life
Millet was a great reader, and his sympathy and under-
standing of the peasant's Ufe was founded not only on
personal experience but on his wide humanitarian studies.
By dint of tremendous family sacrifices Millet finally
went to Paris where he entered the studio of Delaroche.
A more uncongenial pair could scarcely be imagined.
Millet at best was never teachable and under the man
who was posing as the great pacificator between the
romantic and classic schools he became even less so.
Delaroche for his part acknowledged the talent of the
country boy, but did not try to do much for him. It was
not till Millet got into the Louvre and studied the great
men there on the walls, that his spirit found what seemed
worthy of copying. Now began the years of poverty and
struggle that lasted almost as long as Millet lived.
He took to making little pictures after the style of
Boucher, finding that that was the only kind of art
he could persuade the public to buy. Then he painted
portraits for five and ten francs apiece or little genre
subjects for as much as twenty, or sign-boards, or any-
thing he could find to do. Until after his first wife
died, which was in 1844, Millet's colouring was marked
with purity and clarity and his flesh-tones were soft,
glowing and full of brilliance. Diaz, Rousseau and
Jacque saw his talent and loved the man and from then
on began the friendship that lasted throughout their
lives. In these years he was called the " Master of the
Nude," and his little figures were full of charm and grace
and colour, as unlike as possible the Millet known to-day.
It was a curious accident that finally forced him out
of this line of work. One day he overheard some one
say while looking at a pastel of a woman bathing, that
it was by that " fellow named Millet who always paints

Salle bes Btats 3S7

naked women." That was enough. The pure-minded
peasant from that time entirely renounced the style and
subjects which were beginning to bring him both recogni-
tion and a fairly good living. He began at once to paint
only what he had always longed to paint — scenes of
peasant life. His second wife, the brave Catherine Le
Marie knew the hardships that were probably in store,
but she was willing to face them.

The year 1848, with two or three children and almost
no commissions was a terrible strain on husband and
wife. Once the whole family lived for two weeks on
less than six dollars which he had earned painting a
sign-board. Finally when the Revolution broke out, dis-
gusted with the life, worn out with the city noise, sham
and frauds, he and Jacque agreed to go to Barbizon for
the summer. Before the end of the month they were
there and Millet had rented the little house which was
to be his home for the rest of his life. Rousseau was
already settled near by and so began the colony that has
since become so famous under the name of the Barbizon
school. In the dull little plain that stretched from the
Fontainebleau forest to Chailly, the tiny town where
Barbizon folks went to get married or buried, the peas-
ants were at work all the year round, and here was where
Millet found the subjects for his cycle of peasant life.

His own life was hard and difficult enough. Purchasers
for the first ten years were almost a minus quantity.
If it had not been for the generosity of his artist friends
Millet would many times have been in even more des-
perate straits than he was. In 1855, under the guise of
a rich American Rousseau bought his Paysan Greflfant,
and Corot and Diaz were always ready with a helping
hand for the man they loved and whose talent they
revered. His Angelus was finished in 1859, but it was

3S8 XTbe Hrt of tbe Xouvre

months before it sold for a small fraction of what less
than fifteen years after it brought the first purchaser.
And in that same year the Salon refused La Mort et la
Bucheron, which was founded on a La Fontaine fable.
This was a crushing blow to Millet for he felt keenly that
it was aimed directly at himself as a man. He was being
called at this time a revolutionist, a demagogue, a St.
Simonist, and his glorious Gleaners was declared a pro-
mulgation of most seditionary messages. It is amazing
to reflect that it was the subjects Millet chose that kept
him from being either a popular or an academic success.
If he had but returned to his nymphs, nudes and alle-
gories he could have had fame, commissions, riches. It
is a debt that posterity can never repay that he was not
to be beguiled by any promise of material prosperity to
resign his chosen work. And finally, when in 1864 his
Bergere was exhibited, he found himself at length, pop-
ular. For three years the dire extremity that Millet had
so often known was a thing of the past. In 1868 he
won the cross of the Legion of Honour and in '70 was
made one of the jurors of the Salon. And then the state
gave him a commission for a series of historical paint-
ings for the Pantheon. But the order came too late.
Only the preliminary studies were completed when,
January 20, 1875, this great poet of peasant life passed
away.

Of his works in the Louvre, the Gleaners is by far the
greatest as it is one of the greatest that he ever painted.
Against the horizon at the right are the roofs of a
little hamlet among the trees ; at the left, two mammoth
stacks of grain. Between these two extremes come the
grain-cart and horses, the workers cutting and stacking
the full harvest and the overseer on horseback ordering
the work. In the immediate foreground are three peasant

■i^^ii^

Salle bes iBtatB 359

women picking from the barren, stubble-field the scat-
tering blades the reapers have left behind. Over all is
the atmosphere of a hot, cloudless August day. This is
the outline of the picture that raised such a storm of
abuse on its exhibition. Why ? It represents in simplest,
most unexaggerated manner a scene as common in the
French fields as harvesting itself. It is as unadorned and
direct as a fable of La Fontaine, but quite without its
moral. At least its author does not insist upon the
moral. That is left for the observer himself to apply.
And this is undoubtedly the real reason for the vitupera-
tions. The spectator, be he ever so careless or callous
can scarcely help feeling the inner significance of the
picture. The rough field in front, where the broken, un-
reaped blades of grain are so few, so mean; the bent,
toil-worn figures of the three women with their piteously
scanty bundles of the precious spears in their jealous
hands; the hot, scorching sun over their heads; and
behind, the heaped-up riches of the owner of the soil.
That is all. But could the pathetic, insecure, toilsome,
hungering life of the peasant be more poignantly ex-
pressed? Or could any words heighten the description
of the difference between their life and that of the rich
husbandman behind them? And yet it is not too much
to say as has indeed often been said, that Millet had
no intention in painting this or any other picture actually
to draw a moral or preach a sermon, or even to
emphasize the inequality between the poor labourer and
the landowner. He was too true an artist so to mis-
use his brush. His whole heart and soul and his entire
artistic consciousness were bound up in the life of
the plains about him. Pictures, pictures everywhere,
his poet's eyes saw, and saw so simply that it almost

36o zbc Hrt of tbe %o\xvvc

seems as if he never had to make that choice and selection
which is generally the first effort of the artistic mind.

In the Gleaners there is a vividness, a luminosity, a
most marvellous atmospheric effect that fairly envelops
the spectator as well as the scene. It ranks, perhaps, after
his Angelus and the Sower, lacking as it does a certain
mystic austerity so strongly possessed by those two works,
but its wonderful clarity, its feeling of " plein air" its
pathos and significance, make it a great poem of the
peasant life.

In Spring, a grass-grown roadway through an apple-
orchard in bloom leads to a village at the back whose
thatched roofs show among the trees. A storm has
been drenching the country, but already the rainbow
shines over the clouds, and the freshness of the water-
soaked earth and dripping trees fills the canvas. The
whole picture breathes an air of pulsing spring to which
the soft, clear colours add a delicate force. The general
tones are a dark gray, light green and brown, with here
and there reds, whites and yellows and a bit of blue in
the frock of the man under the apple-tree at the end
of the path. It is thickly and heavily painted and is
quite without the brilliance of a Monet. But it has a feel-
ing of the spirit of spring itself.

The Church of Greville was bought by the state after
his death in its present unfinished condition. The
quaint old church with is square low tower and over-
hanging roof, is built upon a cliff. In the distance is a
glimpse of the sea and in front on the path going by the
church are a man and two sheep. About the clock-tower
myriads of birds are flying. The gray stones of the
church set the general scheme of colour. This is varied
by the thin greens about the path and in the trees showing
over the roofs of the village behind.

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Salle ^e8 Btats 361

The Bathers are two women, one of whom, seated
upon a hillock is helping her companion to go into the
water. This was painted by Millet when he was still
the "painter of nude women," and has the fresh colour
and grace of that period.

Rousseau, the first of the painters to go to Barbizon, has
five canvases in this room. Of these, the Opening in the
Forest at Fontainebleau, is one of his greatest works
and is in a more completely finished condition than
usual with him. It shows his love of differentiating the
details of a landscape and is a wonderful example of his
power to do this without sacrificing in the least the
homogeneity and effect of it as a whole. The foreground,
with its weeds, rocks, twigs and bushes is carefully and
conscientiously worked out, yet the eye does not linger
over it too long. It is carried at once to the centre of
interest, — the cows grazing and drinking in and near the
shallow pools of the sun-bathed marsh. Old moss-grown
oaks make a frame for this scene, their branches inter-
locking thickly overhead. The sky, dropping down to a
low horizon-line, marked by soft masses of low trees and
hills, is suffused with the glory of the setting sun still
partly visible over the low hills at the left. From there,
the fields all in their sunset dress stretch forward to
where one lone tree breaks the opening made by the
framing oaks. This tree stands almost in a pool, and its
old bent trunk sweeps over far to the right, its full plume
of foliage catching some of the light of the sky, thus
making a satisfying break between the heavy darkness
of the oaks on each side and the brightness of the sky
and fields beyond. Beneath the branches the cows are
grazing and beyond, nearer the horizon is a larger herd.
The picture is one of the great masterpieces of the
French school of landscape-painting, and is full of vigour

362 Ubc Hrt ot tbe Xourrc

yet, like most of Rousseau's, is wonderfully serene. The
richness of the colouring, the fineness of composition,
the splendid balance of the whole, are characteristic of
Rousseau at his best.

The Marsh shows a wide, flat district half-inundated
with pools and rivulets. At the right in the middle
distance a thin line of firs stretches nearly to the centre
of the picture. Behind them, and reaching all the way
across the horizon are the snow-capped Pyrenees half-
lost in the clouds. The centre of the composition, and of
the interest, is the herd of cattle drinking the water of
the pools or wading knee-deep through them. Dark
brown, light cream and spotted animals, they are painted
as Rousseau always painted them, vigorously, surely,
living embodiments of the solidity, strength and stupidity
of their race. The sky of this painting is possibly a
little leaden, but as a whole there is exquisite feeling es-
pecially in the distance of the vast expanse reaching to
the mountains. The canvas was bought by the govern-
ment in 1 88 1 for I29,cxx) francs.

In The Storm, a wide flat plain stretches out to a low
hill rising above the centre of the horizon-line. On the
crest of the hill are three windmills and at the foot a
stream spreads from one side of the picture to the other.
In the foreground is nothing but the arid, flat plain, the
grasses and rushes already bending under the oncoming
storm. The sky is crowded with dark menacing clouds
and everywhere are the force and power of the tempest
about to break.

Along the River is exactly what its title designates. A
river opens out almost unbroken to the horizon-line, only
low points of land covered with trees or bushes sepa^
rating it from the sky. In the foreground it flows into
a sort of double inlet or bay bordered with trees and

Salle t)cs 36tat0 363

shrubs yellowed by the sun. A skiff is pulled up to a
point of land breaking one of these indentations and a
fisherman sits within it arranging his tackle. The sky is
misty.

Rousseau has been called the father of modern French
landscape art. Yet for almost all his life he was com-
bated, scorned or ignored. From 1836 till 1848, he was
denied admittance to the Salon for what was regarded as
his unauthorized style of painting, and even after the
Revolution of 1849 when the jury of the Salon was
chosen from among the artists themselves, though he
was at first loudly acclaimed as the greatest landscape-
painter living, things continued to go badly with him.
So far as his treatment at the Salon is concerned, he
never received the honours that, in the judgment of the
first critics of to-day he should have had. He was finally
made Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, but that was
as high a rank as was ever accorded him. And for years
the classic hostility was so great that he was never either
decorated nor half-decently hung at the Salon. It is an
indication of a curious state of art in France when even
to-day the adherents of what must still be called the
classic school are so bitter against all those whose ideas
of art, of beauty, and of the way of rendering nature
do not agree with theirs. So taken for granted is this
condition of affairs that it occasioned no surprise when,
only a few years ago, two of the most famous of France's
painters declared that if they had the chance to-day they
would never allow a Millet or a Rousseau to be exhibited
in the Salon. Such is the antagonism between the two
so-called " schools."

But with Rousseau it was not only the Salon that used
him hardly. Dealers were even worse in their treatment
of him for nearly all his life. Men whom Rousseau made

364 XTbe Hrt of tbe Xouvre

wealthy returned to him a mere fraction of the money
his works brought them. And while they were growing
rich the tormented painter was struggling along under
big debts, an insane wife and his own incompetency in
business affairs. By fits and starts, to be sure, he man-
aged to down the demon of poverty, and it was during one
of these breathing spaces that he impersonated the rich
American and bought the picture from the starving Millet
for four thousand francs. These two men were always
close friends and it was in the arms of the painter of the
Angelus that Rousseau died.

Rousseau is noted not only for his direct return to
nature, but for his wonderful knowledge of all sorts of
vegetations. It was not enough for him to represent any
kind of a tree or a vague order of underbrush. He
worked over every trunk, every branch, almost every
leaf, till the absolute portrait of each was obtained. The
rocks, the bushes, the flowers, the weeds, the grass, he
differentiated them all and gave to all the exact forms,
lines and colours that Mother Nature herself had be-
stowed upon them. Yet, in spite of such a display of
knowledge and such an amount of painstaking detail,
Rousseau did not lose his ensemble. Almost never did
the minute care or attention to the most luxuriant of
foregrounds, middle distances or backgrounds spoil the
effect of the picture as a whole.

Even with the bitter disappointments that came to both
Millet and Rousseau, they made no attempt to wage war
against their enemies. All they asked was a chance to
work as seemed best to them, in peace and quiet, with
decent remuneration and appreciation. No such attitude
was taken by Courbet, whose motto, " Paint only what
you see " became the motto for the impressionists.
Courbet was as great an iconoclast in his line as was

Salle &es Btats 365

ever Martin Luther in his. In politics a Republican, he
got embroiled in all sorts of political troubles and finally
in 1 87 1, charged with being wholly responsible for the
demolition of the Vendome Column, he was arrested and
fined for its entire cost of restoration, some four hundred
thousand francs. He died across the border in Switzer-
land, a ruined and most unhappy artist. Yet, if ever art
needed the virile force, the unblinded eyes, the unafraid
brush, the whole point of view of this unquenchable,
masculine nature, it was when he came upon the scene,
and stigmatized the ]&cole des Beaux Arts, and its classi-
cal traditions as pure and unmitigated rubbish. It is to
his aggressiveness that much of the freedom of French
art is to-day due. As has been said, his method was
very different from that of most of the Barbizon men.
He was determined to convince the world that the world
was all wrong and he waged an unceasing, blatant war-
fare that, if proving himself egoist of egoists, did much
to teach the younger generation that each artist must
see for himself, by himself.

In the Salle des Etats, his Wounded Man is one of
his famous canvases. Here his overwhite flesh shows to
advantage and adds to the gruesomeness and actuality
of the injured man.

The two pictures of Deer, in their forest homes are
full of Courbet's love of primeval nature. One can almost
smell the bark and turf. As critics have said, however,
Courbet is not greatest in his outdoor scenes, because
in spite of a very real portrait of nature in her world-
dress, he has forgotten the veil of atmosphere that she
always throws between herself and her most ardent lover.
What Corot felt most and is always telling, Courbet never
saw and as little felt. Nevertheless these woodland depths

366 tibc Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

have a freshness, a verve, a veritable shout of youth and
spring.

Until the gift of the Thomy-Thiery collection the
Louvre had a very inadequate representation of Daubigny
in the two canvases in the Salle des Etats. Daubigny,
who began by painting classical figure subjects might
have been merely a mediocre academic figure-painter if
an accident had not kept him away when his name was
called to enter the competition for the Prix de Rome.
Disappointed in this way, he then turned his attention
strictly to the painting of landscape. He was perhaps
less original, less inspired than most of the others of
the Barbizon school. His work shows the influence at
times of Millet, of Corot, of Rousseau, and he was less an
interpreter of nature than her photographer. He loved
her devotedly however, and his canvases show an intimate
friendship, a deep feeling for all the simplest sights and
views. Gray murmuring water, silvery Spring all apple-
blossom-laden, old boats drawn to a marshy shore, fields
of waving corn, mills working by sputtering streams, —
it is the homely, daily life about the river Oise that he
loves best and paints best. His work too, is full of a
delicious vapour, a softness of air and atmosphere that
can be fairly felt. It is not surprising that the con-
sumptive boy, on seeing one of Daubigny's Springtimes
should have cried, " Oh ! I can breathe now." He liked
best to paint the cool of the evening after the glow of
the sunset has quite left the sky. His days he spent in
his big boat-barge, and as it drifted up or down the Oise
he would moor it wherever a gentle turn, an old mill or a
waving field attracted him.

The Springtime in this room is one of his more finished
canvases. Down a path leading through the end of a
field of green wheat, rides a young girl on donkey-back,

Salle bes jEtats 367

the framework for panniers sticking far out on each side
of the beast. Behind her in the wheat two rustic lovers
are embracing. At the left at the top of a softly sloping
hill the orchards bloom against the sky. Over all is the
exquisite tenderness of the early spring.

The Vintage in Burgundy shows the peasants gathering
grapes. At the left is a cart drawn by two oxen on
which is loaded a tub and from it by a little path comes
one of the gatherers. Two boys are lying down in the
foreground. The landscape is flat.

Fromentin's unfinished canvas, An Arabian Encamp-
ment, hangs on the west wall of the Salle des Etats. It
was bought after the death of the painter, just as he had
left it. In the foreground, slightly at the left are two
white horses, standing in profile, absolutely quiet, though
wholly unharnessed and unhitched. In front of them,
slightly farther back in the scene are three half-nude
Arab women, one standing with arm on hip, facing her
two companions, who are sitting and half-lying on the
ground. Behind them and the sands of the foreground,
are three or four umbrella-sort of tents and back of
them the oasis with a few picturesque trees and wooded
mounds, and beyond a line of blue hills against the
luminous sky. Toward the end of his life Fromentin
was accused of painting an East Parisianized, and this
picture is hardly up to his earlier Poems of the Desert.

For whatever this lawyer-writer-painter did he was
a true poet. In colouring he was always charming, and
his aim was to give not only local character and colour
to his Eastern scenes but to give them besides a breadth
and largeness of vision which to his mind painting was
in danger of losing. It was in 1847, after four years in
Algeria that his picture Gorges de la ChifFa was exhibited
and at the same time his " L'£te dans le Sahara " was pub-

368 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

lished. Sainte-Beuve said of him " Hie paints in two
languages and is an amateur in neither. The two are in
accord — he passes from one to the other with facihty."
As a critic of art of other lands and times, Fromentin is
almost unapproachable. As a painter he has been called
the " Watteau of the East." His canvases are full of
lovely whites, blues and greens. It was the silvery
gamut which he felt above all else in the East.

Regnault's Equestrian Portrait of Juan Prim is not
so great a work as his portrait of Mile. Breton, his
fiancee, but it has, nevertheless, very great claims to
highest praise. Painted when Regnault was full of fresh
fire in his devotion to Velasquez, this, though not accepted
by the sitter, is one of the notable portraits of the century.
It represents the general seated on a backing Andalusian
horse, his head uncovered, his troops lightly indicated
behind him. The general himself called it " A dirty
fellow with unwashed face." But in the Salon of 1869
it was tremendously admired and called " Most mag-
nificently rendered."

The Romans of the Decadence by Couture is a picture
of an orgy, held in a Corinthian hall, decorated with
statues of Brutus, Pompey, Cato and Germanicus.
Through the pillars and open roof gleams a delicious
blue-toned sky. Lying about on the marble seats and
standing on the tesselated floor are Roman men and
women, the latter mostly only half-clothed. Nearly all
are more or less overcome by the wines they have been
drinking, and the attitudes of the men and women are
recklessly indecent. In the centre, facing the spectator
is a woman diaphanously but more completely robed than
most of her companions. Of a very beautiful form, with
noble lines, she is in much the posture of a figure in one
of the tympana of the Parthenon. Her eyes are vacant,

Salle ^es Btats 369

her whole attitude expresses a listless indifference that
is emphasized by her expressionless face. The model for
this woman was the betrothed of Couture.

The composition is far beyond the merely excellent,
the harmony of colours is delightful, the mass and line
full of curve, balance and dignity. But so meaningless
are the faces, so merely typical the figures, so little vital
interest is in the whole picture that it affects one almost
like stepping into a cold-storage warehouse. If the
colour is more rich and full than a David, for instance,
that does not redeem it sufficiently to give it any impor-
tance.

Couture never equalled this picture which won an
early fame for him when he was only thirty. His draw-
ing was impeccable, his design rich and fertile, his
colours pleasing, in general of a golden tone. But he was
too closely bound to the academic school and traditions
ever to reach the heights he might have attained.

CHAPTER XVIII.

SALLE LACAZE — ROOM I. — ALL SCHOOLS

In 1869 M. Lacaze left to the Louvre a large collection
of paintings, principally of Flemish, Dutch and French
painters. As already noted the Dutch and most of the
Flemish pictures have been put into the Cabinets on either
side of the Rubens Gallery. In Room I., called Salle
Lacaze are the others of the bequest. The pictures are
chiefly French of the Louis XIV. era, but a few other
periods as well as other countries are represented.

Among the Spanish pictures in the room are two por-
traits by Murillo of the poet Quevado and the Duke
d'Assuna. They are both round panels, showing only the
head and shoulders of the sitters. Quevado, the poet,
with his enormous round eyeglasses, his soft curling
hair that falls to his shoulder, his stiff right-angled collar
projecting far out, looks as a typical poet should, so much
so that in spite of the excellence of the painting it is
difficult to believe in his reality.

The duke is a man of the world, with wide sleepy eyes,
a double chin and a dissatisfied mouth. It is painted with
a soft, full, easy stroke.

A very beautiful Ribera is in this room, the Madonna
and Qiild. Mary is lifting her son from his pallet of
straw, her own face raised to heaven as if calling a bless-
ing upon the sleeping babe. It is a half-length picture

370

Salle Xaca3e 371

and has much of the depth of shadow usual to Ribera.
The deep tones are used effectively, however, making
the light on the child and Mary's face all the more telHng
in brilliancy. Correggio might own the chubby baby
without shame, and Murillo has painted far more un-
satisfactory Madonnas than this deep-eyed, earnest
woman who seems to feel a presage of future woe.

Two out of the seven works labelled Velasquez owned
by the Louvre are in this collection. The bust of Philip
IV. is a repetition of the one in the National Gallery.
Here the monarch is about fifty years old, is dressed in
a close-fitting habit of black silk, a broad white collar
and the chain of the Order of the Golden Fleece. His
long hair falls in waves on his collar, his moustache as
always is turned sharply upward and the intense pallor
of his face is more marked than usual.

The so-called Marie-Theresa is now believed to be
the Queen Mariana, second wife of Philip IV. M.
Beruete claims this as the study for the full-length of
Mariana in Vienna. It represents the young queen about
twelve years old, in three-quarters view, turned toward
the left. The heavy under lip of the Austrian, the blond
hair with its extraordinary ornamentation are character-
istics of the girl who, engaged to the Prince of Spain,
afterward became the wife of his father. The arrangement
of the hair in this portrait is a marvel. Drawn out on
each side of her face into regular balloons, it is then
curled and puffed, and false hair added, the whole sur-
mounted with bows of pink ribbon, feathers and jewels
till it is doubtful if she could ever have moved her head
so much as an inch. She is dressed in white with a
gauze collar bordered with rose-coloured embroidery.
Upon her breast are the jewels of some order and on her
left shoulder a knot of ribbon. A gvctn curtain partly

37« ^be Htt of tbe %o\xvtc

lifted forms the background. This, like most of the
Velasquez pictures in the Louvre is far below the painter's
best work.

A family Portrait Group by Largilliere of himself, his
wife and his daughter, is not particularly happy in com-
position. The painter, in a wig that rivals Le Brun's
in length and luxuriance, is seated in profile at the
extreme left of an outdoor scene. Standing before him
and holding a scroll of music in her hand, his young
daughter is turning slightly toward her mother who is
seated opposite the painter, facing him, her head thus
in almost complete profile. The girl is rather charming,
the mother high-bred, the accessories conventional and
academic as indeed is the entire picture. It does not as
a whole compare favourably with much of the painter's
work. For Largilliere was not only a noted portrait-
painter of his day, but he has left many canvases that
reveal real talent. His colour is somewhat heavy, his
shadows are too brown, his lights too yellow, the half-
tones in his flesh often too green. Yet, nevertheless, the
general effect has a sort of distinction of its own. His
drawing is vigorous and frequently extremely interesting.

Nattier's Portrait of Mile, de Lambesc and the Young
Comte de Brienne is an average example of this painter's
style. In front of a drapery lifted at the right mademoi-
selle is sitting, turned three-quarters to the left. Her
costume, as usual in a Nattier portrait is a mythologic
sort of affair. A blue mantle covers the lower part of her
figure, her white corsage is low-cut, with a belt of gold,
and over her right shoulder a tiger skin is thrown. She
is buckling on the sword of her young brother who is
standing at her left. He is gaily attired in yellow and
red, and carries a red banner.

Hercules and Omphale by Le Moine is one of that

Salle !!Laca3e 373

painter's characteristic works, with some real charm in
the handHng of flesh. Omphale is standing on her
right foot, her left leg brought around crossing her right.
Her right hand hangs at her side, her left arm is about
the neck of the seated Hercules who is gazing into her
laughing face, while he awkwardly holds the distaff she
has given him. At his feet, leaning against his leg, is an
adorable little Cupid. The modelling here, especially of
the bust of Omphale has a delicate softness that is one
of Le Moine's pleasing attributes.

A well-known picture by Boucher in this room is his
Three Graces. The three bear on their shoulders a tiny
Cupid who, singing in triumph, holds in each outstretched
hand, a torch. The maidens can hardly be said to rest,
even on one foot. They are all just beginning, it seems,
to enter into a dance. The one on the left, holding
Cupid's quiver, is almost wholly back to, her head how-
ever in profile, turned sharply to the left, and bent down-
ward. Her uplifted right arm helps to steady the
triumphant Cupid. The central Grace is nearly full face,
with her right leg advanced and her left bent backward.
She holds a wreath of blooms, and a bit of drapery falls
over her left arm across her breast, while her head is
thrown back and turned to the left in profile. The one
on the right, of darker tone than the others, is more
frankly dancing. She rests on her left foot, which is
pointed outward, almost meeting the extended right one
of the central Grace. Her right foot is thrown out behind
and lifted some distance from the ground. All these
figures have the upper part of their bodies twisted more
or less sharply. There are a grace, an abandon, and if a
certain roughness in their postures, also a vigour and
frankness that suggest abounding life. About them swirl
the clouds of the universe, behind them the luminous

374 XCbe Hrt of tbe ntouvre

ether, full of golden light. They are on top of what looks
like the rolling globe and at their feet are the roses and
dropped petals from their wreaths of flowers. Cupid is
a fat baby full of a hilarity his eyes and laughing mouth
proclaim loudly, and the reckless way in which he flings
his lighted torch about gives a key to the whole picture.

There are a large number of canvases by Chardin in
this room, most of which are still-life groups. The one
called Various Utensils shows a large quantity of all
kinds of dishes on a buffet. At the left is a silver chafing-
dish, then a loaf of sugar in a blue paper, a soup-tureen,
a napkin and knife, and some jugs. At the right is a
small red table with an open drawer and on it porcelain
cups and a sugar-bowl. Nothing here looks as if it had
been arranged for a picture; the things are placed ex-
actly as they might easily have been left by a servant.
All Chardin's still life is simply wonderful. It seems
painted less for itself than for its surroundings of which
it appears merely an integral part.

The House of Cards is a noted figure composition by
Chardin here. A young man with large, soft hat is seated
in profile before a table upon which he is constructing a
house of cards. He has a serious expression, is perhaps
a trifle ennuied. His coat is gray, hat black, his long
loosely curling hair blond. There are no accessories, the
background being as plain as a modern painter would
make it, and though Chardin reminds one in certain ways
of the Dutch school he is very unlike it in this simplicity
of details.

A most charming example of Rigaud is his portrait
of the young Due de Lesdiguieres. The duke was only
eight years old when the picture was painted, in 1687.
He has a blond peruke, holds in his left hand the baton
of the commander, and is in armour, as if emphasizing

Salle %aca3C 375

that he was the youngest of a race of soldiers. The tone
of the flesh is fine and rarely clear, the complexion charm-
ing, the drawing almost a caress, so exquisitely has the
point indicated the delicate forms. The large eyes are
brilliant with a spirit that seems as gay as it is intense.
About the whole figure there are nevertheless a slightness
and a transparency in the exquisite flesh, that convey
an impression of the delicate health of the young duke
who died so early. The picture is Rigaud at his best.

With the exception of the Embarkation for Cythera
the Louvre owned nothing of Watteau till it received the
bequest from M. Lacaze. Though none of the ten panels
in this collection equals that famous one, there are a
number of great merit and charm. Of them all Gilles
and the Antiope are the most noted.

Gilles stands with both arms flat at his side, all in
his white costume, at the top of a knoll up to which
others are scrambling after him. It is life-size, and it
is said Watteau never painted another life-size figure.
The contention that he could not, seems here answered.
Certainly the figure is as splendidly drawn, as firmly
modelled, as a Rubens or a Veronese would have done
it. The characterization of the face is as remarkable as
its firm full modelling. The mingled amusement and
spitefulness that overspread it are most aptly indicated.
The tones of his white costume abound in the pearly
lights Watteau so loved.

More beautiful, if not more famous, is the Jupiter and
Antiope, which up to the late rearrangement of the
rooms in the museum had a place in the Salon Carre.
Lying at the edge of a bank on her side, facing out, is
Antiope, her head resting on her right arm, her left
hanging straight down across her breast. Her right
knee is drawn sharply up, her left leg stretched out more

37^ 'C^bc Hrt of tbe !lLou\>re

nearly to its length. Under the sleeping figure is a bit
of drapery, but over her is none, for the slight wrapping
that evidently had shielded her is being plucked back by
the dark, brawny arm of Jupiter, who, in satyr guise,
is behind her gazing down entranced.

It is a scene almost more Titianesque than Titian ever
painted. Its similarity to that master's works has been
frequently pointed out, as well as certain Rubenesque
attributes. That it is neither a copy of Rubens nor of
Titian is its greatest claim to admiration. If the style
and subject of the composition and the flesh gradations
suggest Titian, or if the drawing of the nymph's body
and certain tones of the flesh recall Rubens, it is neverthe-
less all Watteau.

The figure of Antiope is hardly less beautiful than
any Venus that Titian ever painted. The modulations
in the golden tones are almost as exquisite as the Venetian
painter could have achieved, but there is a sort of silver
coolness about them that makes them Watteau's own.
The surety of construction, the mastery of form, the sim-
ple handling, have rarely been excelled by the greatest
masters of the Renaissance of Italy. Perhaps that fallen
left arm, cutting as it does in its brilliant colour so
sharply against the dark bank, is a doubtful note, from
a compositional point of view. But as a bit of local colour
and modelling it is in itself a reason for being. The
head of this sleeping favourite of the king of the gods
is piquant, fascinating, — but unquestionably it is the
head of a veritable French girl. Titian's nymphs and
goddesses are mostly of a large, impersonal type, sug-
gesting by this very impersonality the calm-eyed Greek
statues. But here, Watteau has gone far beyond
the impersonal, the general. This is an individual, un-
doubted French nymph, in spite of the ugly satyr above

Salle aLaca3e 377

her, not so much a Grecian goddess, as a gay Gallic
sprite.

La Finette and L'Indifferent are small pictures on
wood. They were both once the property of Madame
de Pompadour. Biirger calls them masterpieces for
"quality and purity."

LTndifferent is a counterpart of Gilles. He stands
with one foot pointed, both arms extended, his short
cape falling over his right arm. He is just about to
make a pas-seul and he is fairly thrilling with life, move-
ment and grace, though the whole figure is not twenty
centimetres high. He has a pink short cloak lined with
pale blue, waistcoat of blue-green, breeches to match and
pink silk stockings, hat of the same delicate green as the
costume. The background of trees on the left keeps
the general blue-green scheme, and on the right it is
lightened by a sun setting in silvery pinks, thus com-
plementing the cloak and the pink silk stockings. The
charm of the whole picture is in this exquisite gradation
of such delicate tones, broken up by reflections that
produce a " harmony which is very simple but extremely
distingue and rare."

In Finette are much the same qualities, perhaps intensi-
fied.

The False Step shows a young woman who has slipped
and fallen and is seated almost squarely back to on the
ground, resting on her left arm with which she has
caught herself. With her right arm she is somewhat
uncertainly pushing back the young man who is leaning
over her, his arm about her waist. The light strikes full
on her charming neck, and her head and the young
cavalier's stand out against a blue sky called by M,
Burger " tm peu vif."

The Juggler is attributed to the earliest period of

37^ Ube Hrt of tbe tHouvrc

Watteau's art. The juggler himself stands in profile
before an oval table on which is a pack of cards and three
dice-boxes. Above these latter he holds his right hand,
while with the left he is attracting the attention of his
audience, two women seated opposite him with a child
between them. Back of the chair of the one on the right
is a gallant, much interested in a young woman who is
at the extreme left and is apparently about leaving the
room, not without, however, a parting glance at the
watching youth. Here are the fine soft silks, and gay ap-
parel Watteau so delights in, and in the countenance of
the juggler he had a chance to display his love for the
grotesque.

Fragonard as well as Watteau has a long list of pictures
in this room, of many different subjects.

The Bathers represents half a dozen nymphs or maidens
in a very revel of bathing. They are springing into
the waves, rushing through them, or coming buoyantly
to the top. The water is not deep, and trees, rushes and
grass are all about. Two of the principal figures are
in the centre of the composition, one throwing herself
backward into the water with arms and legs extended,
while the other is springing in from the bordering grass,
showing her full back. This is not far removed from
the manner of Boucher. But loosely as it is drawn and
constructed it has much charm of colour and joy of move-
m.ent.

The two figure studies called Inspiration and a Figure
of Fantasy are almost identical in position. In both a
young man is seated turned three-quarters to the right,
his head facing in the opposite direction. Each head is
slightly lifted and has clear-cut, vigorous features, firm
full brow, and searching eyes. The one called an imagi-
nary figure holds its hands rather tightly closed, one

UKAI) OF A VOUN(i (ilKI-

Hy (Ireuze

Salle Xaca3e 379

on the balustrade in front of him, the other above clasping
his coat. A black hat with a gray plume is on the balus-
trade beside him, his full loose ruffle is close about his
neck, his tunic is blue and his hair blond. In Inspiration
the loose white collar is open far down the throat.
Before him on a table are papers and he holds a pen
suspended in his left hand. Both of these figures have
life and character and are firmly and vividly drawn.

Another charming panel is the one called A Study,
showing a very young girl seated before a table, hold-
ing an open book. Her head is bent somewhat back and
sidewards, her eyes merrily glancing to the left, a be-
witching smile on her soft red lips. Neck and part of the
bust are bare, surrounded by a big, flaring Marie-Antoi-
nette sort of collar.

The Head of a Young Girl by Greuze is not one of his
most beautiful faces, being somewhat heavy in feature.
It is worth noticing however for one reason, that com-
paratively few of his girls' faces are ever seen in profile.
In this the shoulders are nearly in full view, but the head
is turned up and around toward the left shoulder. Her
light hair is bound with a violet ribbon run over it twice,
her gray chemisette is open at the neck leaving one
breast uncovered. The heaviness and angularity of the
drapery so often found in Greuze's works is very notice-
able here, but as usual, also, there are the clear, fresh,
transparent tones and the soft luminous eyes.

CHAPTER XIX.

SALLE DENON — ROOM XV. — ALL SCHOOLS — PORTRAITS

Salle Denon, marked Room XV. on the plan, is re-
served for portraits of artists. It was opened in 1887 and
is modelled on the general lines of the collection of
portraits in the Uffizi. The portraits here, however, do
not begin to compare with those in the Florentine gallery
either in number or extent.

One of the most important in the room is Tintoretto's
Portrait of Himself. Indeed, of all the long list of
paintings ascribed to Tintoretto in the Louvre, it is only
in this portrait that a half-adequate idea of his genius
can be obtained. It is supposed to have been painted
either just before or just after he did the Paradise and
represents him therefore as an old man. He is in full
face, dressed in black against a dark background, the
deep tones of his surroundings making more striking
the whiteness of his curly beard and short-cropped hair.
It is a face in which the fires of youth still burn in the
slumberous depths of the great dark eyes, a face that is
marked genius from the square, ridged, long forehead to
the mouth which though hidden under the moustache,
reveals itself in the sensitive lines that mark the shadows
above and below. It is a worn face, with shadows
under the eyes, with hollow cheeks, with mournful fur-
rows reaching downward from the nose. It is a self-

380

Salle Denon 381

contained, solitary spirit that yet looks out at the world
eagerly, passionately, and if the stoop of the shoulders
hints of the weary years that rest upon them, there is a
firmness of pose, a calmness even in the flames within
the eyes that bespeak the undying creative spirit.

The Portrait of Le Brun by Largilliere is one of the
best known of all Largilliere's works. Seated before an
easel on which is a large sketch of one of his Versailles
compositions, Le Brun, in his enormous curled wig that
reaches almost to his waist, points to this sketch while
his face is turned outward as if he were speaking to
some one about it. His ample cloak of red velvet covers
his legs, and seems to accentuate the princely character
of the man. Beside him on the right, on a table, is an
engraving of the Tent of Darius, a small cast of
Antinoiis and of the Gladiator. At the left, on the floor,
are a head and a torso modelled upon the antique, a
globe, a book, a drawing and papers. It is the portrait
best recognized as Charles Le Brun, and though, so far
as surroundings and treatment go it is a thoroughly
academic portrait, it has besides much more than the
elements of style, individuality and characterization. Its
very pseudo-classicism is after all extremely fitting in a
portrait of that great champion of the Grand Monarch.

Another Portrait of Le Brun is by Rigaud, Largilliere's
great friend. Le Brun is here painted on the same panel
with Mignard, and the two, if less beautiful examples of
Rigaud 's skill than the celebrated double portrait of his
mother, are worthy of the painter who was the great
favourite of kings and princes. The two men are behind
a sort of railing. At the right, Le Brun, turning to the
left is seen in three-quarters position, his costume a
dead-leaf colour, his cloak of violet velvet. In one hand
he holds his palette and brushes, his maulstick in tlie

382 ube Hrt ot tbc Xouvre

other. Mignard is on the left, almost full face, his head
bare, as is Le Brun's, dressed in black velvet, one hand
resting on a drawing, the other raised, pointing to
something out of the picture.

Tocque is represented in this gallery by two admirable
portraits, one of the painter Louis Galloche, the other
of the sculptor Jean-Louis Lemoyne. Tocque had a
vigour and simplicity in portraiture rare in that day,
though he was injured by Nattier 's influence.

One of the best portraits that Greuze ever painted is
that of himself in this room. He was an extremely inter-
esting man in appearance, of middle height, with a strik-
ing head, full, high forehead, large, luminous eyes, finely
formed nose, rather thin mouth. His hair he wore in
curls on either side of his face, the front being combed
straight back. This portrait shows him rather late in
life, in three-quarters position, turned toward the left.
The hair is powdered and he has a blue coat, a gray
waistcoat and a loosely tied white cravat. About the
mouth and the eyes there is, perhaps, a hint of the self-
esteem and vanity which were his worst faults.

Three portraits by Madame Vigee-Le Brun are here,
of Joseph Vernet, of Hubert Robert and of herself and
daughter. This latter is one of her best known and
most successful works. She is seated upon a green sofa,
in a white muslin dress that leaves her right arm, shoul-
der and neck bare. Bound about her waist with a red
sash the ends of an olive-toned mantle behind her drop
on to her lap. Her soft blond hair with the fascinating
loose curls about her face, is partly confined by a red
ribbon. Leaning against her mother's knee, with both
arms clasped about her neck, and her head against her
shoulder, is the small daughter, dressed in blue. Her
tender little face with its half-open mouth expresses a

Salle Denon 383

childlike and very real devotion. Madame Le Brun
herself, if somewhat conscious of her delicate oval face,
shining eyes and pink cheeks, shows a maternal love
that is both spontaneous and unaffected. This picture is
painted with a full if delicate brush, the general tone is
most harmonious, the scheme of colour distinguished.

Hubert Robert is posed in an attitude absolutely free
from affectation. It is exactly as if he had suddenly
leaned upon the stone balustrade before him while work-
ing at his painting, and for a moment stopped to turn
and talk. His hair is white, his full neck is bound about
with a soft white kerchief giving a brilliant high light
to the rather gay costume. His coat is violet with a red
collar, displaying a yellow waistcoat. In his left hand
he holds his palette and brushes. There is a vigour of
expression about the face, a very living feeling in the
modelling, that indicates that it must have been a most
excellent portrait. The brush-work is free, loose and
supple. There is none of the dryness Madame Le Brun
sometimes fell into in her later years.

The Portrait of Himself by Delacroix, painted in
1827, shows clearly the kind of man he was. For
strangely enough, this painter who revelled in colour, in
warmth, in movement, in a very orgy of emotion on
canvas, lived the simplest, quietest, most reserved of
lives. All his strength, energy and passion went into his
brush, — he had none left for his daily life. Fighting
disease always, fragile from boyhood, it was only by
thus conserving all his powers that he could have begun
to produce the enormous mass of work he left behind
him. This pale-faced young man, with the deep,
shadowed eyes, the heavy hair over the full square brow,
the sensitive, firm mouth, was almost a recluse. He
left the portrait to his governess with the verbal stipula-

384 XTbe Htt ot tbe Xoux^tc

tion that it should be given to the Louvre so soon as
a Bourbon should be once more on the French throne.
The Man with the Leather Belt by Courbet is a por-
trait of the painter himself when he was a young man.
Seated beside a table, he is shown in three-quarters view,
facing to the right of the picture. Has right elbow rests
upon a volume or portfolio on the table and his head
leans slightly against his right hand which is drawn up
to his neck. His left hand fingers the broad leather
belt which has given the name to the picture. He is
dressed in black, has bushy, curling black hair, worn long,
black eyes and a thin black moustache and beard. The
face that Sylvestre likened to an Assyrian bas-relief,
shows the finely-drawn eyebrows, the full forehead, the
mobile lips, the deep, passionate eyes that made Courbet,
especially as a young man, so remarkably handsome.
Even with greater pow'er are the hands portrayed. The
virile strength, yet fineness of line and construction of
that flexible right hand would alone mark Courbet as a
powerful draughtsman.

CHAPTER XX.

THOMY-THIERY SALLES — FRENCH SCHOOL

With the opening of the Thomy-Thiery collection in
1903, three more rooms of the Louvre were given up
to paintings. These rooms are far from the rest of the
picture-gallery, being up-stairs and across the court,
over the double colonnade of Louis XIV., at the end of
the Musee de Marine. To get to them it is necessary
to go up crooked, narrow, wooden back stairs, but it
is an ascent that must more than repay the climber.
These pictures, most of which are of rather small dimen-
sions, represent the very height of French art — espe-
cially French landscape art, — from 1830 to, say, 1870
or later. Such a collection the Louvre probably never
could have owned without individual generosity like this
of M. Thomy-Thiery.

Corot, Daubigny, Decamps, Delacroix, Diaz, Dupre,
Fromentin, Isabey, Meissonier, Millet, Rousseau and
Troyon are all represented in the hundred pictures left
by M. Thomy-Thiery as well as Barye with one sketch
and a hundred and forty-four bronzes. Painters who
otherwise are hardly known in the Louvre are most
splendidly in evidence in this collection.

There are seventeen of Decamps and they are very
various in subject and quality. All sides of his art are
here shown. The splendid dogs, the Oriental subjects,

38s

386 XTbe Hrt of tbe Xouvre

the Elephant and the Tiger at the Stream, where the
light is so golden, composition so picturesque, with such
a superb effect made by the huge and sombre mass of the
elephant against the evening sky, the Street of Smyrna, so
sun-kissed, the Knife-Grinder, the Beggar Counting His
Gains, the Valet of the Dogs, the Bell-Ringers, the Hunt-
ing Dogs at Rest, — these are all chefs-d'oeuvre.

The Monkey Painter shows one of the beasts Decamps
so often painted, seated on the ground, profile turned
to the right, before a canvas. He is dressed in a black
velvet suit ornamented with gold braid and bound about
his waist with a leather belt. In his left hand he holds
his palette and extra brushes, while he paints with a
long-handled brush held in his right, the canvas which
is leaning against a table on top of which is a bottle of
varnish and an earthen jar full of a lot of brushes. A
palette, a Dutch pipe, and another landscape hang on
the wall behind, and an elaborate jar and tea-caddy are on
the floor in front of the table. Around the corner, in
back at the left, a second monkey is seen back to, mixing
colours on a slab. The earnestness and gravity of the
mimic workmen are expressed with a sort of glee and
one can nearly hear the laugh of the painter who por-
trayed them. The arrangement, colour and delicate
esprit of this composition are a marvel, the execution
broad and free.

His Valet de Chiens was one of his greatest successes
in the Exposition of 1855, at which time his works filled
almost an entire room. The valet is just opening the
door at the back of the yard or court which contains six
dogs. He has raised his whip in air, and is about to
land one of his feet on the yelping brutes below him,
in an attempt to stop their noise. The dogs, the court,
the bit of sky, the man himself are all vivid, actual and

XTbom^^Ubtet^ Salles 387

full of life and movement. As a whole, however, the
composition is spotted and lacks balance and massing.

The Bulldog and Scotch Terrier here is a small picture
of the larger sketch already described.

With Delacroix the museum has gained even more.
These are his smaller pictures illustrating scenes from
Shakespeare and Walter Scott, such as the Abduction
of Rebecca, which is full of movement, the Fiancee
d'Abydos, the Death of Ophelia, Hamlet and Horatio,
all excellent works. The romantic elements are equally
strongly marked in Roger Delivering Angelica, a most
dramatic picture, which, compared with the same subject
treated by Ingres is a very antithesis in its point of
view. As an animal-painter, and Delacroix took high
rank as that, he is only represented by two canvases, both
of lions.

There are thirteen scenes by Daubigny, of which per-
haps the most important are La Mare aux Cigognes, La
Vue de la Tamise a firith, Les Peniches, L'J&tang, Les
Bords de I'Oise, Le Moulin de Gylieu. The first of
these, The Pond of the Storks, has as foreground a
marshy pool where rushes and water-lilies grow thickly.
In the middle of it are five or six storks fishing with
their long necks and bills and making dark spots on
the gleaming surface. At the right is a tree in blossom,
and beyond a forest of trees stands deep in the water.
At the left are more trees on a higher bit of ground,
and beyond soft hills blur against the luminous sky.
A tender tranquillity broods over this shaded pool, and
soft zephyrs whisper through the branches and scarce lift
the leaves and blossoms. The pond is exquisite in its
fleckings and reflections, the whole scene a dream of
beauty.

Almost everything Diaz loved to paint has at least one

388 ube art of tbe Xouvre

sample here. Mythologic scenes, nude women, animals,
country landscape, Oriental subjects and some of his
beautiful bits of the Barbizon forest.

One of the most exquisite of them all is L'l&ploree. It
is evening in the woods. In this dim and shrouding light
is seen a young woman turned back to, but slightly to
the left, her head bent forward. Her shoulders and back
are bare above a gray skirt. The colour of her flesh is
wonderful. The soft creaminess of the skin, the delicious
gradations of tone are indescribable in words. And over
all is the feeling of the evening. It is in its own way
as rare a tone-poem as a Corot.

Sous Bois is a characteristic bit in the very heart of
the Forest of Fontainebleau. The low, scraggy trees with
mossgrown, twisted trunks and branches suggest in their
outline something of an old New England orchard. The
leaves are not too thick to hide the gnarled limbs, nor
to prevent the sunlight from flickering through down on
to the mossy, rocky ground. At the foot of two trees
close together, in the shade, sits a man with two dogs
beside him. One lies close to his side, the other stands
at his right, his body half in the broad shaft of light that
falls beyond the man. The picture is full of the sheen
and glimmer and soft coolness and dim glades of a
summer forest.

Corot has many lovely examples here, the most notice-
able being La Porte d' Amiens, La Route d'Arras, Le Soir,
L'figlogue, Le Vallon, L'fitang.

The little canvas of Le Vallon is in his rather early
manner, or perhaps better in his transition style. The
greenness of the beautiful scene is fairly thrilling. It is
so very green and sunny that it is hard to reconcile it
with the silvery palette Corot is mostly known by. Yet,
intense as it is, it is soft and exquisite in colour. The

Ubomp^Ubterp Salles 389

composition is almost like a Daubigny with its solidity
and definiteness of place. At the right stretching over
to beyond the centre of the canvas, is a clump of trees,
with hedges running out from it at each end. The
sun is behind all this foliage and therefore its shadow
fills nearly the whole of the foreground. And what a
tender, luminous shadow it is! Between the trunks and
through openings in the leaves, the sun-bathed sky and
fields can be seen. In the foreground, mostly in the
shadow, are a group of peasants, a cow and a labourer.
There is more tangibility here than in some of Corot's
later works, but it has almost as great a charm and
poetic feeling as his best known canvases.

The Landscape with Cows called also L'fitang, is a
rather curious composition, the massing of the five or six
willows against the sky looking a little like a procession
of long-legged, soft-winged birds, wandering through
the marshy water. It is however, none the less charming.
Again, as so often with Corot, the trees are silhouetted
against the sky, which is here of a soft golden tone full
of the effulgence of the setting sun. The trees are massed
mostly at the left, growing on a point of land that
sharpens into the water to nothing, and leaves two
willows as advance-guard, striding into the glowing
pool. Two cows stand gazing ruminatingly about in this
pool which fills the left and centre of the foreground and
is beautiful in its silvery-golden shimmer. On a high
bank a herdsman in a red cap sits watching the cows, and
in the distance, at the left, a gray hill rises against the
sunset sky. It is dreamy, poetic, soft and tender.

One of the most important of the Thomy-Thiery Corots
is La Route d'Arras. It is a scene of very humble peasant
surroundings, as simple and frankly stated as the severest
naturalist could desire. Yet how Corot's brush has caught

390 Ube Hrt ot tbe %o\xvtc

the poetry, the charm, the hidden beauty! No longer
banal, low, dingy or commonplace, the little hamlet with
its stagnant pool, its thin, poverty-stricken trees, its old,
red-roofed cottages, becomes a tender painter's dream,
yet so real, so true, that there can be no doubts of its
actual existence. At the right, stretching diagonally to
the central plane of the picture, is the row of beech, birch
and ash-trees, with slender, crooked trunks and scattering
leaves of gray-green, that mass against a pale sky, soft,
wide-arched, infinite. At the right of the trees is a line
of low cottages following the row of trees, and in front
the torpid gutter reflecting the tree-trunks. A wide road
stretches out to the horizon at the left, here and there
dotted with heavy-headed willows. A horseman walks
toward this distance, soft clouds float in the pale, clear
sky. A gentle shadow envelops most of the foreground.

Le Paysage d'ltalie, L'figlogue, with their lengthened
gi-oups of trees, the Porte d'Amiens, Le Chemin de
Sevres, La Soulaie, L'Entree de Village, Les Chaumieres,
— all are exquisite notes, subtle, full of the spirit of the
painter, he who saw with different eyes from most of
us workaday mortals, — full of the perfume of a quiet,
peaceful soul, yet as true and just as serene.

Of all the landscape-painters of the romantic school,
Theodore Rousseau is here represented with the great-
est variety of works and of the greatest value. There are
small bits of the highest excellence, Hke Le Coteau, Le
Passeur, L'fitang, and La Plaine des Pyrenees and there
are the larger canvases, evincing still more clearly his
wonderful mastery, such as Les Chenes, Les Bords de la
Loire, Le Printemps, Le Village sous les Arbres.

The foreground of Les Bords de la Loire is a low
marsh, over which the river has flowed into little pools
and inlets. In one of these bigger inlets in the very

centre of the foreground, a fisherman has moored his
boat at the edge of the marshy shore, and, leaning over
its side, he is washing his nets. Back of him and a Httle
to the left, is a group of trees under which a peasant sits
watching. Beyond, again, the wide unbroken Loire, till
it reaches the farthest bank which, with its trees, a
church and some cottages, blurs softly against the sky.
This sky is gray, illumined here and there with the rays
of the sun behind the clouds. It is a beautiful landscape,
full of the peace of a quiet spot far from the noise and
turmoil of city life. Like all of Rosseau's canvases it is
surcharged with rich, deep colour, vigorous yet tender.

Les Chenes shows how differently he paints the oak
from Dupre. He sees in it perhaps, less of mood, and
more of tree. Dupre often seems to endow his marvellous
French oaks with a personality that makes them half-
human. With Rousseau they are, if less personified, none
the less wonderful. Actual trees of actual forests, taken
root and branch right out of mother earth, they seem
positively planted in these compositions of this father
of modern landscape art. This one is a picture of a rich
green field, crossed by a narrow, curving roadway. In
the middle ground are three of the tremendous oaks,
their trunks grouped together in the centre, with several
more separate ones at short distances apart. Their foliage
makes one mass, even the limbs of those farthest meeting
the middle group. The shadows are spotted over the
field which is dotted also with cows and peasants. Noth-
ing much more beautiful can be imagined than the
way in which these trees mass together and make the
composition.

In Village sous les Arbres, are a number of little
low huts nestling under the deep shade of some enormous
oaks. Against the clear sky this forms a sombre, heavy

392 Ube Hrt of tbe Xou\?re

mass, and the poor little cottages seem, in their shadowed
retreat, insignificant and lowly enough. A peasant carry-
ing two pails is walking toward a rivulet that flows
at the right of the hamlet. As a composition it is dig-
nified, even stately. And as ever the great oaks are
magnificently portrayed.

Millet has a number of beautiful works, among them
being La Bruleuse d'Herbes, Le Fendeur de Bois, La
Lessiveuse, Le Vanneur, La Precaution Maternelle, and
Les Botteleurs, which, showing the peasants making hay,
is a canvas almost rivalling the Gleaners in popularity.

La Bruleuse d'Herbes is one of the single-figure com-
positions Millet was so fond of, where a solitary woman
stands in a landscape that tells its own story and so helps
to tell hers. Here she is leaning on her three-pronged
rake, looking down at a burning mound of dry leaves
and twigs. She has been clearing the ground and all
about her is the dry, bubbly earth, and back, against
which she is silhouetted, is the illimitable sky, enveloping
all. There is infinite patience, a calmness born of long
experience, a oneness with stern nature in this admirably
drawn and poised figure, which is in a shadow that is
only lightened on her left shoulder and down the left
half of her heavy apron. Scarcely any of Millet's pic-
tures are fuller of poetry than is this little canvas.

La Lessiveuse is the interior of a kitchen lighted only
from the left, with the housewife standing by her huge
tub pouring the lye on to the cloth thrown over it. The
steam rises in thick vapour and she has pulled back her
skirts to keep them away from the too strong fumes.
She is so placed that the light strikes the left side of her
face, the upper part of her body, a little on the right below
the waist and her right arm. The rest of her body is
thrown into shadow by the tub. This is an immense but

Zbom^^Zbict^ Salles 393

rather low, wooden affair bound about many times with
wooden hoops and resting upon two wooden saw-horses.
Behind the woman is the big fireplace where the fire
crackles about the pot of grease. The woman herself,
dressed in roughest of peasant clothes, is interesting even
as mere spots of colour, with her gray cap, her rose
bodice and her blue apron. As a personality she is more
than interesting. Vigour, absorption in her work, firm-
ness of muscle, quietness of pose all go to make this
sturdy figure a sort of prose pastel.

Le Vanneur is still another interior, and one with
even less light is the barn wherein is the winnower.
Coming from the left, which is the direction from which
comes the light also, is the man, bent almost double back-
wards under the weight of an enormous flat, scuttle-
shaped basket. This is filled with grain and from it a
cloud of chaff arises. The labourer is in strict profile,
dressed in a gray waistcoat and blue overalls. As he
staggers across the barn the light strikes against his
back and hits his left hand, thus making a spot of bril-
liancy toward the centre of the picture and helping to
balance the composition. It is only the simplest sort of
scene, of a bit of rough peasant life. But by the arrange-
ment of light, by the choice of sympathetic if very quiet
colours, by very excellent and very forceful drawing, it
would be a splendid piece of work even without the
attribute that was in everything Millet did, — that soul-
quality without which none of his canvases would be
truly his.

The collection of Troyons in these rooms is wonder-
ful. They were picked with great discrimination and
taste and almost every one is a masterpiece. The Hau-
teurs de Suresnes is perhaps the most marvellous, though
Others are almost as beautiful, such as L*Abreuvoir,

394 Ube Htt of tbe Xouvte

Le Gue, La Barriere, La Rencontre des Troupeaux, La
Provende des Poules.

In the first of these the Seine makes a broad curve as
it sweeps on toward the low hills that break the line of
the horizon. On a level rise of ground a herd of cows
is grazing while a young boy keeps watch, and coming
from the hills at the right is a peasant on horseback.
This is one of Troyon's canvases noted for its clearness
of atmosphere, its charm of landscape, its quiet country
life, its stolid ruminating cows.

In La Barriere a stream runs diagonally across the
foreground, a low bank sloping to it on the right, a rail
fence crossing it on the left. In the middle ground in the
field beyond, a man on horseback drives a herd of cattle
before him. Three of these have already come around
the corner of the fence and are going to the water for
drink. The fields stretch out broadly on all sides rising
to low hills in the distance which are bathed by the sun's
rays. This brilliant canvas is, like all, a veritable bit of
outdoors. The cows are portrayed as only Troyon could
portray them, with a solidity, a massive impassiveness,
and a surety of vision that did not need microscopically
exact anatomical drawing to make them splendidly real.

In looking at Le Matin, once more one is inclined to
cavil at those who call Troyon a painter but no poet. If
this is not poetry, then it is painting that is more pregnant
with beauty and meaning than most poems. Here are the
very hours of the day that Corot loved. Yet with what
a vastly different brush are they portrayed. Perhaps
it is this very difference that makes the critics claim that
if Corot is poetry, then forsooth this is none. Cer-
tainly it is more direct, less subtle, more vigorous, less
ethereal, more earthly than the exquisite tone-poems of
Pere Corot. Yet it is none the less so full of the spirit

Zbom^^Ubict^ Salles 395

of the morning, so charged with the freshness that is
perennial, so full of the gladness of spring, withal so
simply natural, so exuberantly sane, that it must be a
soul of one idea who cannot see beauty as well as truth,
poetry as well as vivid reality in this canvas.

On a path coming straight forward walks a peasant
holding her small boy by the hand. The pathway is
broken by the long, soft shadows thrown by the border-
ing trees and the two travellers, for directly behind them
the sun is just rising. Ajt the woman's left and
ahead of her two cows have gone to the pool below the
pathway. A dog barks at them, and far behind in the
morning mist a peasant in a cart talks with a woman.
This distance is peculiarly lovely in tone. The shimmer-
ing, hazy air is rendered with a charm very unusual in
paintings, however common in nature. And it is a
charm that rests over all the scene.

The Troupeau de Moutons are coming out of a clear-
ing into the woods, driven by a shepherd-boy behind
them. Back of them the sun shows clearer, here within
the forest it only flecks in spots and streaks over boy and
sheep. Troyon was said to paint sheep till one could
hear them bleat, and this flock justifies his reputation.
Surely living sheep could hardly be more real, or seem
more capable of filling the air with their baa-ahs.

It is evening, in the Rencontre des Troupeaux, and
through the broad pathway of the forest one man driv-
ing his cows, meets a flock of sheep. Beyond the road
shines the clear light of the evening sky.

La Provende des Poules is a bit of brilliant colour. A
deep thundercloud is back of the farm and its outbuild-
ings, and at the right the men are hastily piling hay into
the carts. In the foreground a woman has just fed the
flock of poultry and is going back to the farm. The

396 Ube Hrt ot tbe Xou\>re

wonderful light that breaks through the clouds strikes
her and the poultry squarely, intensifying the bright
feathers of the hens and roosters.

No pictures by Dupre are in the Louvre except in this
collection. Here are twelve of his canvases, and almost
all are chefs-d'oeuvre, not so greatly retouched and re-
handled as are some of his later works. Studying these
it is possible to see how Dupre's contemporaries could
have had the tremendous admiration for this solitary
man of L'Isle Adam, who worked without ceasing, in
great humility of spirit, avoiding both connoisseurs and
buyers, fretting with a consciousness of what he felt
to be the impossibility of ever adequately representing
the spirit of his vision. It is this care, this dissatisfaction
that has made us of to-day feel that his touch was heavy
and laboured, that his canvas was overladen, too solid,
too full of consideration and lacking in that esprit and
ease which seems obligatory in works of art. These, in
this collection, however, show him at his best, and, in
the four, L'Abreuvoir et Grand Chene, Les Landes, Soleil
Couchant apres I'Orage, and Soleil Couchant sur un
Marais, he is seen to be a master almost without an equal
in his own line.

The Great Oak and Watering- Place shows this mighty,
wide-armed tree filling nearly the centre of the picture.
It grows on a bank that slopes down rather sharply to
a clear pool bordered with reeds, that fills the left of the
foreground. To this pool come straying down a dozen
or so of cattle from the road that stretches above from
the tree to the left. Some are already drinking, some
are still only part-way down the bank. Under the
spreading branches of the tree are the thatched roofs
of peasants' cottages, and walking down the roadway
toward them is a man with his scythe over his shoulder.

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TLbom^^Ubict^ Salles 397

At the left is a glimpse of plain to the horizon, and at
the right a hint of forest against the sky. This sky is very
beautiful, filled with soft, gray, tremulous clouds. It is
a peaceful scene full of a placid poetry.

More brilliant in colour is the one where the sun is
setting over a marsh. In the foreground a wet marsh
with small and big pools of reed-grown water is spotted
with grazing cattle. In the distance a line of trees and
thatched cottages are dark against the gleaming sky. The
rays of the sun, just hidden by the lowest bank of cloud,
separate fanlike over the sky, which is flecked with other
clouds whose edges only hint the gold behind them.
The water reflects in more unbroken expanse the golden
light, and drowns the shadows of the trees and reeds.
It is softly glorious in colour, full of sentiment and
feeling, one of the very best canvases by Jules Dupre.

Almost equal to it is the Sun Smiling after a Storm.
Cows again are drinking from the pond, at one side of
which a huge oak grows, its branches half-denuded of
leaves. The plain extends out beyond to a dark forest
at the edge of the horizon. Gray, heavy clouds fill the
sky whose outlines are limned with the golden pencil of
the setting sun.

Les Landes is a gray-toned scene, and is perhaps the
greatest of all the painter's canvases here. Above all
trees Dupre loved the oak, and it is the oak in all its
moods, in sun, in rain, in quiet, in storm, under the
morning light, darkened against the evening sky, half-
disrobed of its reddened leaves or full of richest greenery,
that he has painted over and over with a scrupulous
fidelity but with an artistic poetizing that reveals the very
spirit of this ancient tree. Here, in Les Landes are the
oaks of central France. Not the great, free, broad-armed,
vigorous oaks of Brittany, but the poor, little, misshaped,

39^ Ube Hrt ot tbe Xouvte

obstinate, sad trees of the arid soil that only half-nour-
ishes. The land is sadder still with its autumn dryness
and burnt surfaces. In the foreground some cows are
grazing in a pasture all dry and full of crisp heath and
herbs. Farther back are the oaks, growing on the bank
of a river. The sky is full of clouds, so full that not one
gleam from the sun can pierce through. One critic says
that Dupre has rendered the scene with "a brush rude,
intense, majestic," and " shown the penetrating silence
of the solitude, the melancholy, and at the same time the
dolorousness and splendour in that deserted land."

Meissonier also has no canvases yet in the Louvre ex-
cept these in this gallery. Among these other men, mostly
of the school of Barbizon, this painter's works stand out
with an individuality and almost strangeness. Meissonier
out-Dutched the Dutch in his extraordinary care for
detail, his microscopical finish. It may be said that he
was great in spite of his historical accuracy, his elaborate
button-detail. He possessed to a high degree first-class
draughtsmanship, a feeling for movement, mass and
climax. He could tell, none better, a story most won-
derfully well. He had a strong dramatic sense, was
a vigorous if not subtle or poetic colourist and was
able to infuse life into the smallest, most minutely finished
of his most insignificant canvases. Coming as a boy
to Paris when romanticists and classicists were in the
depths of their most violent discussions, he was already
strong enough and original enough to choose a path for
himself quite unassailed and untroubled by either school.
For years he painted almost entirely little genre subjects;
not till the emperor ordered a picture of Solferino did he
begin the military scenes that have made his name world-
renowned. The pictures here show him with all his ex-

XTbomi^^Ubtet^ Salles 399

quisite brush-work, his vivacity, his reality, his fine draw-
ing, admirable composition and striking local colour.

Les Ordonnances is one where his wonderful knowl-
edge of the horse is apparent in the four animals here
depicted, each in an extremely foreshortened position,
scarcely lessened in difficulty because all are at rest. In
front of a stone house are two mounted hussars, each
holding by the bridle another fully harnessed animal.
The wall of the house is in brilliant sunshine, augmented
in effect by the three-cornered shadow of a balcony or
landing that projects from a doorway in the second story.
The sun is high in the heavens, for the shadows under
the horses' feet are only slightly prolonged and their
flanks glisten in the sharp light. The two forward horses
stand facing the wall and the grenadier at the entrance
on guard. The hussar is almost squarely back to, giving
a fine view of his braided and fur-bound jacket, slung
across his shoulders. The other soldier has his two
horses planted facing almost opposite and as he bends
forward over his bundle of blankets, his face is in
shadow. In the distance another grenadier is at a
wide opening of a building with a sharp-pointed roof.
This picture was once in the Stuart collection.

The Poet is seated in profile at the right at a table
which is in front of a window. He is in gray, in the
style of Louis XV., and as he sits meditating and reading
what he has written, he lays the end of his goose-quill pen
against his lips. Large books rest upon the table and
back on the wall a tapestry hangs. There is an air
of distinction about this that satisfies, even if it does
not profoundly impress.

Le Liseur is in a costume of the time of Louis XIII.,
the Flute-Player in that of Louis XV. These are both
Meissonier at his level, which is also his best.

400 XTbe Hrt ot tbe Xouvre

Of the several Isabeys perhaps the most delightful
is A Marriage in the Church at Delft. The colour of tiiis
little picture, so crowded with tiny figures, is like the heart
of a gem. The church interior is thronged with spectators
of a noble wedding. Banners hang from the pillars, and
as the bride and groom advance from the left up toward
the stairway leading to the balcony, they are followed
and preceded by a brilliant cortege in the costume of the
seventeenth century. The shimmer of the satins and silks
is wonderful, and the bride's gown of white satin is a
marvellous rendering of the lights and shadows of that
entrancing material.

Besides the splendid collection of bronzes by Barye
there is one sketch by him in oil. It shows two lions
near their cave on a rocky hillside. One has his head
on the other's back. The surroundings are savage. It
is evening, and the loneliness, the wildness, the untam-
ableness and yet the intimacy and friendship of the two
wild beasts are here clearly displayed.

THE END.

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•ffnbei

AlbertinelH, ^y, "Visitation,"
75; "Virgin and Child,"

75-
Albizzi, Giovanna degli, 53.
Alcuin, 4.

Alexander VII., Pope, 17.
Alexandre Arsene, 64, ^6, 92,

165, 166, 176, 188, 191, 222,

234, 256, 262.
Algerine Museum, Louvre,

Andrea del Sarto (see Sarto,

Andrea del).
Androuin, 8.

Angiviller, Comte d', 31.
Antonello da Messina (see

Messina).
Armstrong, 71.
Audran, Claude, 292.

Bacchiacca, " Portrait of a
Young Man," 123.

Bailly, 30.

Baldovinetti, Alesso, 48.

Barocci, " Virgin in Glory,"
261-262.

Barry, Madame du, 19, 20.

Barye, 385, 400.

Bassano, 104, 112.

Bastile, The, 6. 8.

Beechey, Sir William,
" Brother and Sister," 139.

Bellini, Gentile, 84-85 ; " Por-
traits of Two Men," 85-86.

Bellini, Giovanni, 84, 90-91,
93» loi, 105; "Holy Fam-
ily," 85, 96.

Bellini, Jacopo, 84.

Benedetti, Abbe, 17.

Berchem, 225.

Berenson, 2>7y 50, 55, 71, 105-
107, 247.

Bernini, 17-18.

Beruete, 371.

Betfort, Duke of, 7.

Bissolo, 86.

Blanc, Charles, 269, 270, 291,
306.

Blashfield and Hopkins, 55.

Bol, Ferdinand, 216, 217;
"The Mathematician," 216-
217; "Portrait of a Man,"
217.

Bolingbroke, 17.

Bonheur, Rosa, 324.

Bonifazio, 106, 112; "Holy
Family with Elizabeth and
Joseph," 111-112.

Bonington, 143 ; " Frangois
I. and the Duchess d'fi-
tampes," 143.

Bordone, Paris, 28; "Por-
trait of a Man," 112- 113.

Botticelli, 50-51, no; " Le
Magnificat " ( Madonna) ,
51-52; " Virgin, Child, and
St. John," 52-53; Lemmi
Frescoes, 50, 53-55; "Lo-
renzo Tornabuoni," etc.,
53-54 ; " Giovanni Torna-
buoni," etc., 54-55.

Boucher, 273, 294, 301-302,
306, 307, 309. 316, 356, 378;
"Diana at the Bath," 300-

405

4o6

fnt)cx

301; "The Target," 301;

"Three Graces," 373-374.
Bourbon, Jeanne de, 7.
Brauwer, Adriaen, 157, 161,

192, 193; "The Smoker,"

192-193; "The Operation,"

193.
Brebion, 20.
Breughel, Jan, 158, 190;

"The Air and the Earth,"

153-154.

Breughel, Peter, 153, 190;
" Reunion of the Mendi-
cants," 190 ; " Parable of
the Blind," 190-191.

Brigiardini, 45.

Bril, Matthaus, 152.

Bril, Paul, 152, 154; "Diana
and Her Nymphs," 152-
153; "Duck Shooting,"
153.

Bronzino, "A Sculptor," 113.

Brownell, 268.

Brun, 71.

Brunellesco, 45.

Bullant, Jean, 10, 14.

Burger, 377.

Buti, Lucrezia, 46, 47.

Cabanel, 35.

Campana, The, Louvre, 27.

Campana Museum, 34.

Canaletto, 117.

Cantarini, 266.

Caracci, Agostino, 114, 116,
285. .

Caracci, Annibale, 114, 116,
130, 153,. 283, 285; "Sleep-
ing Christ," 114; "Virgin
with Cherries," 114-115;
"Dead Christ," etc., 114,

115, 262.

Caracci, Lodovico, 113, 114,

116, 285.

Caravaggio, 115, 116, 118- 119,
127, 129, 200, 266, 285;
"Death of the Virgin,"
119; "Portrait of Alof de
Wignacourt," 119.

Carpaccio, 1 12 ; " St. Etienne

Preaching at Jerusalem,"

95-96.
Catena, 86.
Catherine, wife of Henry

v., 7.

Cavaignac, General, 23.

Cavallini, 39.

Cerceau, Androuet du, 14.

Chambre aux Joyaux,
Louvre, 7.

Chambre des Comptes,
Louvre, 11.

Champaigne, 162; "Portrait
of Mother Catherine Agnes
Arnaud," etc., 162 - 163 ;
" Frangois Mansard and
Claude Perrault," 163-164;
" Portrait of Richelieu,"
164, 172-173; "Christ on
the Cross," 164; "Dead
Christ," 164; "St. Philip,"
164; "Portrait of Him-
self," 164.

Chardin, 289, 294, 295-296,
302, 306; "The Blessing,"
296-297, 298 ; " The House-
keeper," 297 ; " The Busy
Mother," 297-298; "Vari-
ous Utensils," 374; "House
of Cards," 374.

Charlemagne, 4.

Charles I. of England, 29,
100, 175, 199.

Charles V., 6-8, 10, 11, 13, 20.

Charles V. of Germany, 9-10.

Charles VI., 7, 8, 12.

Charles VII., 12.

Charles VIII., 8, 12, 90.

Charles IX., 12, 13, 267.

Charles X., 22, 33.

Chatelet, The, 8.

Chavannes, Puvis de, 345.

Chesneau, 139.

Chigi, Cardinal, 17.

Childebert, 4.

Cima da Conegliano, 93;
"Virgin and Child," 92.

Cimabue, 38 ; " Madonna,'*
37-38 ; " Rucellai Ma-
donna," Z7'

ITnbei

407

Cingola, 107.

Clagny, Abbe de, 10- 11.

Clement, 326.

Clouet, Francois, 28, 267-268;

"Charles IX./' 267-268;

" Elizabeth of Austria,"

267-268.
Colbert, 16-18, 29.
Colonnade, Halls of the, 34.
Colvin, Sidney, 14:^.
Condamine, M. de la, 31.
Conegliano, Cima da (see

Cima).
Constable, John, 138, 142, 239,

348; "The Rainbow," 142;

"Bay of Weymouth," etc.,

142-143.

Cook, Herbert, 95.

Corot, 234, 308, 339-342, 357,
365, 366, 385, 388, 394;
" View of the Forum," 342 ;
" View of the Colosseum,"
342; "A Landscape," 342-
343; "A Morning"
(" Dance of the Nymphs "),
343-344 ; " Porte d' Ami-
ens," 388, 390; "Route
d' Arras," 388, 389-390 ; " Le
Soir," 388; "L'figlogue,"
388, 390; "Le Vallon,"
388-389; "L'fitang" (or
"Landscape with Cows"),
388 - 389 ; " Le Pay sage
d'ltalie," 390; " Chemin de
Sevres," 390; "La Sou-
laie," 390 ; " Entree de Vil-
lage," 390 ; " Les Chaumi-
eres," 390.

Correggio, 30, 81, 97» 107,
114, 127, 129, 131, 255-256,
262, 319, 320, 335, 371;
" Jupiter and Antiope," 256-
257; "Mystic Marriage of
St. Catherine," 257-258.

Cour aux Offices, La, Louvre,

Courbet, 364-365 ; " Inter-
ment at Ornans," 333;
" Wounded Man," 365 ;
"Deer" (2), 365-366;

"Man with the Leather
Belt," 384.

Court of the Louvre, 22.

Cousin, Jean, 267 ; " Last
Judgment," 267.

Couture, " Romans of the
Decadence," 368-369.

Coypel, Antoine, 288; "Su-
sannah and the Elders,"
288; "Esther in the Pres-
ence of Ahasuerus," 288.

Coypel, Charles Antoine, 288;
" Perseus Delivering An-
dromeda," 288.

Cranach, 146-147; "Portrait
of John Frederick IH.,"
145 ; " Portrait of an Un-
known Man," 145 - 146 ;
" Venus in a Landscape,"
146.

Credi, Lorenzo di, 69, 92;
" Madonna Enthroned," etc.,
57-58 ; " Mary Magdalene,"
58 ; " Christ Appearing to
Mary Magdalene," 77.

Crequy, Due de, 17-18.

Crevelli, Lucrezia, 72.

Crivelli, " St. Bernard of
Siena," 86.

Crowe and Cavalcaselle, 40.

Cuyp, Aelbert, 222-223, 224,
355 ; " Landscape," 223 ;
" Marine," 223 ; " Depar-
ture for the Promenade,"
223.

Dagobert, 4,

Daubigny, 355, 366, 385, 389;
" Sprmgtim,e," 366 - 367 ;
" Vintage in Burgundy,"
367 ; " Pond of the Storks,"
387 ; " Vue de la Tamise
a firith," 387; "Les Pe-
niches," 387; "L'fitang,"
387 ; " Les Bords de I'Oise,"
387; "Le Moulin de Gy-
licu," 387.

David, 22. 31, 302, 30Q-3io»
316, 317, 321, 322, 323-324,
337-338, 369; "Oath of the

4o8

fn^eJC

Horatii," 309, 334; "Beli-
sarius Asking Alms," etc.,
309 ; " Coronation of Napo-
leon," 312-313; "Rape of
Sabines," 313-314; "Leoni-
das at the Pass of the
Thermopylse," 314; "Por-
trait of Pope Pius VII.,"
314; " Portrait of Himself,"
314; "Portrait of Madame
Recamier," 314-315.

Da Vinci (see Leonardo).

Decamps, 228, 327-329, 330,
385-386; "The Caravan,"
329 ; " Bulldog and Scotch
Terrier," 329-330, 387 ; " On
the Towpath," 350-351 ;
" Elephant and Tiger at
Stream," 386; "Street of
Smyrna," 386; " Knife-
Grinder," 386 ; " Beggar
Counting His Gains," 386;
"Valet of the Dogs,"
386-387; " Bell - Ringers,"
386; "Hunting Dogs at
Rest," 386; "Monkey
Painter," 386.

De Goncourt, 294, 304, 306.

Delacroix, Eugene, 138, 142,
323, 326, 327, 328, 332, 338,
345-346, 349, 385 ; " Bark of
Dante," 346-347 ; " Massa-
cre of Chios," 347-349;
" The Twenty-eighth of
July," 349; "Women of
Algiers," etc., 349-350;
"Entry of the Crusaders
into Constantinople," 350 ;
" Portrait of Himself," 383-
384 ; " Fiancee d'Abydos,"
387; "Death of Ophelia,"
387; "Hamlet and Hora-
tio," 387; "Abduction of
Rebecca," 387; "Roger De-
livering Angelica," 387.

Delaroche, Paul, 327, 356,
" Young Martyr," 327 ;
" Princes in the Tower,"
344-345.

Del6cluse, Etienne, 31.

Delorme, Philibert, 10, 14.

Delorme's Facade, 2.

Denner, " Portrait of a
Woman," 151.

Desportes, 289; "Chasseur,"
289; "Portrait of Himself,"
289, 290-291; "Diana and
Blond," 289-290 ; " Bonne,
Nonne and Ponne," 290;
"Portrait of a Hunter,"
290.

De Troy, 288, 291-292; " First
Chapter of the Order of
the Holy Ghost," 291.

De Witte, 158.

Diaz, 239, 330-331, 355, 3S6,
357, 385, 387-388; "No En-
trance," 330 ; " Fairy with
Pearls," 330; "Birch-Tree
Study," 331; "The Bohe-
mians," 331; "Under the
Trees" (2), 351, 388;
"L'fiploree," 388.

Diderot, 304.

Dilke, Lady, 296, 309.

Domenichino, " Communion
of St. Jerome," 32, 115;
"St. Cecilia," 115-116.

Donatello, 45.

Dou, Gerard, 199, 211-213,
216, 217, 219, 227, 229, 238;
" Dropsical Woman," 213-
214; "At the Grocery,"
214-215; "Girl with a
Fowl," 215-216.

Doyen, 311.

Drouais, 334.

Duban, 23.

Dubois, Amboise, 28.

Duchatel, Comtesse, 62.

Du Guesclin, 6, 7.

Dupre, Jules, 355, 385, 39i;
" L'Abreuvoir et Grand
Chene," 396 - 397, " Les
Landes," 396, 397 - 398 ;
" Soleil Couchant apres
I'Orage," 396, 397; "Soleil
Couchant sur un Marais,"
396, 397.

Diirer, 86, 107, 126, 143-144,

fnt)ex

409

146; "An Old Man," 144-

145.
Dyck, Van (see Van Dyck).

Elsheimer, 150.

Escalier Daru, Louvre, 44,

50.
Este, Isabella d', ^.
fitampes, Duchesse d', 10.
Ethnographical Museum,

Louvre, ^y.

Fabriano, Gentile da, 40-41,
84, 183; "Virgin and
Child," 41; "Presentation
in the Temple," 41-42.

Fiesole, Giovanni da (see
Fra Angelico),

Filippino (see Lippi, Filip-
pino).

Flandrin, 352; "Figure
Study," 351 ; " Portrait of
a Young Girl," 351-352.

Fontaine, 22.

Fontainebkau, 10, 28, 307,
328, 330, 342, 357.

Fouquet, 16,

Fra Angelico, 40-4i» 45> 49»
62, 96, 201 ; " Coronation of
the Virgin," 42-44; "Be-
heading of St. John the
Baptist," 44; "Crucifixion,"
44, 50.

Fra Bartolommeo, 28, 124,
254; "Holy Family" (or
" Marriage of St. Cath-
erine"), 73-75-

Fragonard, Jean, 294, 306-
307 ; " Music Lesson," 305 ;
" Sacrifice of the High
Priest Coresus," etc., 305-
306; "The Bathers," 378;
" Inspiration," 378 - 379 ;
" Figure of Fantasy," 378-
379; "A Study," 379.

Francesca, Pietro della, 49.

Francia (see II Francia).

Francken, 158.

Francois I., 3, 5, 8-1 1, 12, 21,

27-28, 70, 71, 78, 79, 81,

123, 246, 255, 267, 272.
Frangois II., 12, 112.
Frizzoni, 71.
Fromentin, 205, 222, 223, 224,

225, 265, 367-368, 385;

" Arabian Encampment,"

Fyt, 160; "Game in a
Larder," 159.

Gabriel, 19-20.

Gaddi, Agnolo, 40.

Gaddi, Taddeo, " Salome's
Dance," 40 ; " Crucifixion,"
40 ; " Christ Giving the
Soul of Judas to Demons,"
40.

Galerie d'Apollon, Louvre, 14,
15, 2Z, 27, 29, 31, 175, 284,
345.

Galerie des Rois, Louvre, 14,

34.

Galerie Rubens, Louvre, 27,
30, 35, 172, 177-180, 181,
370.

Galeries des Gardes, Louvre,
35-

Gardens of the Tuileries, 2.

Garofalo, 266.

Gautier, 43, 70, 81, 135, 160,
258, 264.

Gellee, Claude (see Lorrain,
Claude).

Gentile da Fabriano (see
Fabriano).

Gerard, Baron Frangois-Pas-
cal Simon, 320-321 ; " Psy-
che Receiving the Kisses
of Cupid," 321 ; " Portrait
of Isabey and His Daugh-
ter." 321.

Gericault, 323-324; "Raft of
the Medusa," 323, 324-326,
327 ; " Epsom Race," 326-
327.

Ghirlandajo, Ridolfo, 51, 55-
56, 254; "Visitation," 55,
56-57 ; " Portrait of an Old
Man ?ind Little Boy /' 55,

4IO

tnbcx

57; "Nativity," 55; "An-
nunciation," 55.

Giordano, Luca, 266; "Mars
and Venus," 267.

Giorgione, 30, 90, 97, 98, loi,
132 ; " Holy Family," 93, 94-
95; "Concert," 246-247.

Giottino, 40.

Giotto, 45, 345 ; " St. Francis
of Assisi Receiving the
Stigmata," 38-40.

Giovanni, Fra (see Fra An-
gelico).

Gonzaga, 90, 100.

Goujon, Jean, 10, 11, 12, 13,
14.

Gousse, 268.

Goya, 138; "Portrait of
Guillemardet," 137; "Young
Spanish Girl," 137.

Goyen, Jan van, 201, 237,

Gozzoli, Benozzo, 48, 51 ;
"Triumph of St. Thomas
Aquinas," 49.

Grande Galerie, Louvre, 34,
58, 64-171, 172, 266, 335.

Greuze, 302-303, 306, 311,
352 ; " Broken Pitcher,"
303 ; " The Milkmaid," 304 ;
" Study of a Young Girl's
Head," 304; "The Village
Bride," 304-305 ; " Parental
. Curse," 305 ; " Punished
Son," 305; "Head of a
Young Girl," 379; "Por-
trait of Himself," 382.

Gros, 321-322, 327, 346-347;
" Bonaparte in the Pest
House at Jaffa," 321, 322-
323, 336 ; " Napoleon at Ar-
cole," 323 ; " Napoleon at
Eylau," 335-336.

Gruyer, 71.

Guardi, " Procession of the
Doge," 117; "Fete of Jeudi
Gras," 117.

Guariento of Padua, 104.

Guercino, 116; "Circe," 116.

Guerin, 323, 339.

Guido Reni (see Reni).

Hals, Frans, 139, 192, 193,
198-199, 200, 218; "Bohe-
mian Girl," 195-196, " Por-
trait of a Woman," 196;
" Van Beresteyn Family,"
196-197, 198; "Van Bere-
steyn and Wife," 197-198.

Hamerton, 138.

Heem, Jan David de, 151.

Heist, Van der (see Van der
Heist).

Henry H., 11-12, 267.

Henry HI., 14, 267.

Henry IV., 14-15.

Henry V. of England, 7.

Henry VHI. of England, 10,

147.

Heyden, Van der (see Van
der Heyden).

Hobbema, 234, 239, 240;
" Landscape," 240 ; " Water-
Mill," 240.

Hogarth, 237.

Holbein, 143, 146, 147 ; " Por-
trait of Anne of Cleves,"
147 - 148 ; " Portrait of
Richard Warham," 148-
149; "Portrait of Nicholas
Katzer," 149 ; " Portrait of
Erasmus," 149-150.

Hondecoeter, 238 ; " Two
Eagles," etc., 238.

Honthorst, Gerard, 200, 201 ;
"Robert of Bavaria," 200;
" Man with the Lute," 200.

Hooch, Pieter de, 230-231,
233, 238, 329; "Cottage
Interior," 231-232; "Card
Party," 232-233.

Hoppner, " Portrait of a
Woman," 140.

Hotel de Grammont, 29.

Hotel de Ville, 8.

Hurault, Jacques, 73.

Huysmans, 165.

Huysum, 243-244.

II Francia, "Nativity," 64,

65-66 ; " Crucifixion," 64.
Ingres, 301, 317* 337-33^, 352,

1[n^ex

411

387; *'La Source," 62-63;
" QEdipus Interrogating the
Sphinx," 63 ; ** Apotheosis
of Homer," 336-337-

Isabella of Mantua, 72.

Isabelle, wife of Charles VI.,
7.

Isabey, 385 ; " Marriage in the
Church at Delft," 400.

Jabach, 29,

Jacque, 356, 357-

Jaillot, 3.

Jardin, 221 ; " Charlatans at

the Fair," 222.
Jaubert, Comte, 23.
John of England, 8.
Jordaens, 166-167; "Four

Evangelists," 167-168;

"Family Repast," 168;

" Concert after Meals," 168 ;

"The King Drinks," 168-169;

"Infancy of Jupiter," 169.

Kingsley, Miss, 332.
Kugler, 87.

Lacaze Collection, 34, 161,
162, 181, 192, 370-379.

Lacaze, M., 370, 375.

La Farge, John, 345,

La Font de Saint Yenne, 30.

Lancret, 294.

Landseer, 228.

Largilliere, 300 ; " Family
Portrait Group," 372; "Por-
trait of Le Brun," 381.

Lawrence, Sir Thomas, 140,
141-142; "Mr. and Mrs.
Augerstein," 141.

Lebeuf, 3.

Le Brun, Madame Vigee
(see Vigec-Le Brun).

Le Brun, Charles, 29, 31, 160,
268-269, 271, 272, 273, 283-
284, 285, 288, 289, 345, 372,
381 ; " Descent of the Holy
Spirit," 259; "Life of Al-
exander Scries," 284-285 ;

"Apollo," 284; "The

Blessing," 284.
Le Flamand, 8,
Lefort, Paul, 130.
Lef uel, 23-24 ; " Staircase,"

35.

Lemercier, 7, 15-16, 20, 21.

Lemmi, Doctor, 53.

Le Moine, Francois, 288, 292,
299; "Juno, Iris and
Flora," 292 ; " Hercules
and Omphale," 372-373-

Le Nain Brothers, 282.

Le Noir Museum, Louvre,
27.

Leonardo da Vinci, 9, 30, 38,
40, 59, 60, 67, 74, 75, 76, 77,
78, 97, 124, 251, 252, 254,
316, 335; " Mona Lisa"
("La Gioconda"), 26, 28,
60, 69, 70, 72, 245-246, 251,
252 ; " Madonna of the
Rocks," 28, 69; "Cena-
cola," 68, 69, 79; "St.
Anne," 70 ; " St. John the
Baptist," 71; "La Belle
Feronniere," 71-72 ; " Vir-
gin, St. Anne and the
Child Jesus," 246.

Lescot, Pierre, 10-14, I5. 16,
22.

Le Sueur, 267, 268-269, 352;
" Life of St. Bruno Series,"
33, 268-271 ; " Cabinet of
the Muses Series," 271;
" Apparition of St. Scho-
lastica," etc., 282-283.

Levau, 16, 17.

Lingelbach, 225.

Lippi, Filippino, 46, 55.

Lippi, Filippo, 51, 86; "Vir-
gin and Child," etc., 45-48;
" Nativity," 48.

Lippo, 57, 184.

Long Gallery, Louvre, 14-15.

Lorrain, Claude, 98, 152, 273.
279; "Landing of Cleo-
patra," 280; "Village
DancQ," 280; "Samuel
Anointing David," 280-281 ;

412

fnt)ei

" Ulysses Restoring Chry-
seis," 281 ; " Campo Vac-
cino," 281 ; " Seaport at
Sunset," 282.

Lo Spagnoletto (see li-
bera).

Lotto, 102, 107, 252; "St.
Jerome in the Desert," 105 ;
" Christ and the Adulter-
ess," 105-106; "Holy Fam-
ily," 106.

Louis, Saint, 6, 11.

Louis XL, 8, 12.

Louis XIL, 8, 12, 73.

Louis XIIL, 7, 15-16, 28, 155,
272.

Louis XIV., 4, II, 16-19, 29-
30, 72, 100, 160, 165, 175,
213, 253, 283, 284, 288, 289,
293, 301, 370.

Louis XV., 19, 30.

Louis XVL, 20-21, 30-31,
234 309.

Louis XVIIL, 22, 24, 33, 320.

Louis Philippe, 23, 33.

Liibke, 71.

Luini, 59, 62 ; " Nativity," 60-
61 ; " Adoration of the
Magi," 60, 61 ; " Salome
Receiving the Head of
John the Baptist," 72-73.

Luxembourg, The, 30, 31, 33,
35, 178, 268, 292.

Maes, 240-241; "The Bless-
ing," 241.

Mainardi, 56.

Manetti, Antonio, 45.

Manetti, Giovanni, 45.

Mantegna, Andrea, 84, 86-87;
" Crucifixion," 87-88; " Par-
nassus," 88-89 ; " Madonna
of Victory," 89-90.

Mantz, 190, 301, 329.

Maratta, 266 ; " Maria Mad-
dalena Rospigliosi," 266.

Marigny, Marquis de, 19-20,
30.

Marilhat, 329.

Mary of Scotland, 12.

Masaccio, 45-46.

Matsys, Quentin, 188-189;
"Banker and His Wife,"
189-190; "Blessing Christ,"
190.

Mayer, Mile., 316.

Mazarin, 29, 253.

Mazo, 131.

Medici, Catherine de', i, 12-
14, 27.

Medici, Marie de', 15, 177-
178.

Meel, "The Halt," 164-165.

Meissonier, 385, 398-399;
" Les Ordonnances," 399 ;
"The Poet," 399; "Le Li-
seur," 399; "The Flute
Player," 399.

Memling (or Memlinc),
Hans, "Virgin and Child,"
61-62, 185; "Mystic Mar-
riage of St. Catherine,"
185-188.

Mengs, Raphael, " Portrait of
Marie-Amelie-Christine of
Saxony," 151.

Messina, Antonello da, 76;
"Portrait of a Man," 90-
92.

Metsu, Gabriel, 199, 227, 241 ;
"Vegetable Market," 227-
228; "Young Woman and
Officer," 228-229; "The
Cook," 229-230.

Meulen, Van der (see Van
der Meulen).

Michallon, 340.

Michel, Emile, 280, 302.

Michelangelo, 26, 49, 51, 74,
77, 78, 79, 86, 97, 98, 103,
123, 124, 132, 156, 252, 277,
324; "Leda," 28; "Last
Judgment," 49.

Michelet, 226.

Miel (see Meel).

Mieris, Fams van, the Elder,
"Woman at Her Toilet,"
235.

Mignard, Pierre, 31, 284.

Mignon, 150.

fn^ex

413

Milanesi, 46.

Millet, Jean Frangois, 225,
241, 355-358, 363, 364, 366,
385 ; " Paysan Greffant,"
357; "Angelus," 357-358,
360; "La Mort et la
Bucheron," 358 ; " Glean-
ers," 358-360, 392; "Ber-
gere," 358; "The Sower,"
360 ; " In Spring," 360 ;
"Church of Greville," 360;
" The Bathers," 361 ; " Bru-
leuse d'Herbes," 392;
" Fendeur de Bois," 392 ;
" La Lessiveuse," 392-393 ;
"Le Vanneur," 392, 393;
" La Precaution Mater-
nelle," 392; "Les Botte-
leurs," 392.

Moliere, 237.

Monet, 360.

Montgomery, 12.

Morales, " Christ Carrying
the Cross," 126-127.

Morelli, 48, 71, 85, loi, 122,

247-

Morland, 140- 141 ; " Halt,"
140.

Miintz, 71.

Murillo, 129, 131, 133-134,
371; "Conception," 34;
"Holy Family," I34-I35;
" Birth of the Virgin," 135-
136 ; " Virgin and Child
with Rosary," 136 ; " Mira-
cle of San EWego," 136;
"Young Beggar," 136-137;
" Portrait of Quevado,"
370; " Portrait of the Duke
d'Assuna," 370.

Musee de Marine, Louvre,
^.-J, 308, 385.

Muther, 350.

Napoleon L, 22, 24, 30, Z2--^Zy
42, 56, 87, 259. 303, 313, 320.

Napoleon HL, i, 22,.

Natoire, 299, 306; "Three
Graces," 299 ; " Marie Le-
czinska," 300,

Nattier, 298-299, 300, 382;
"Magdalene," 299; "Por-
trait of Adelaide," 299;
" Mile, de Lambesc and
Young Comte de Brienne,"

Neefs, " Interior of a Cathe-
dral," 158.

Netscher, Casper, " Singing
Lesson," 241-242; "Lesson
on the Bass Viol," 241, 242-

243-
Nolhac, 298.

Ollivier, 294.

Opie, "Woman in White,"
140.

Oriental Museum, Louvre, 27.

Ostade, Adriaen van, 207-208,
221, 237; "Family Group,"
208-209; "Fish Market,"
209; "The Reader," 209-
210.

Ostade, Isaack van, 208, 221 ;
"Frozen Canals," 210;
" Halts before Taverns,"
210; "Winter Scene," 210.

Paleologue, Manuel, 8.

Palma Vecchio, 30, 112; "Ad-
oration of the Shepherds,"
101-102.

Pater, 294.

Pavilion de Flore, Louvre,

^4. 35.

Pavilion de Lesdiguieres,
Louvre, 15.

Pavilion de L'Horloge,
Louvre, 5, 16.

Pavilion des Arts, Louvre, 5.

Pavilion du Roi, Louvre, 11,
12, 13, 15, 16.

Percier, 22.

Perrault, Claude, 17-19. 20,
21, 22, 29.

Perugino, 28, 51, 64-65, 69,
124, 254; "Holy Family,"
66 ; " Combat between Love
and Charity," 66-67 ; " Vir-
gin and Child," 121; "St.

414

irn&ex

S e b a s t i a n/' 121 - 122 ;

" Apollo and Marsyas,"

122.
Petite Galerie, Louvre, 14.
Petites Salles Frangaises,

266-271, 2^2.
Philippe-Auguste, 3, 4-5, 9,

13-

Picault, 80.

Pillet, 315.

Pinturicchio, 182; "Virgin
and Child," dy.

Pisano, 39.

Place du Carrousel, 2, 20, 24.

Poelenburgh, 199, 244 ; " The
Bathers," 199; "View of
Mt Palatine," etc., 199-200.

Pompadour, 19, 20.

Pontormo, 113.

Ponzio, Paolo, 10, 11, 12, 13.

Potter, Paul, 222, 224, 234;
"Bull," 224, 225; "Horses
before a Thatched Cot-
tage," 224-225; "The Prai-
rie," 225.

Pourbus, Frans, 154; "Por-
traits of Henry IV./' 154-
155; "Portrait of Marie de
Medici," 155; "Portrait of
Guillaume de Vair," 155.

Poussin, 17, 152, 162, 164,
272-273, 279, 281, 309, 313;
"Rape of the Sabines,"
273-274; "Holy Family,"
274-275; "Vision of St.
Paul," 275-276 ; " Time
Rescuing Truth," etc., 276-
278; "The Bacchanals,"
278; "The Concert," 278;
" Four Seasons," 278-279.

Primaticcio, 28.

Prud'hon, 316-317, 33© ; "Por-
trait of Madame Jarre,"
317; "Justice and Ven-
geance Pursuing Crime,"
317-319 ; " Transportation
of Psyche," etc., 319-320;

"Portrait of Baron De-
non," 334-335.

Raeburn, " Disabled Sailor,"

139-140.
Raibolini (see II Francia).
Raphael, 26, 30, 40, 47, 51, 65,

Tl, 78, 79, 83-84, 95, 97, ii5,

121, 124, 132, 133, 136, 151,
157, 201, 236, 252, 268, 271,
316, 2>Z7, 346; "Holy Fam-
ily," 28; "St. Michael," 28,

122, 123, 255 ; " Apollo and
Marsyas," 122; "St.
George," 122, 123 ; " Ma-
donna of the Veil," 123;
"St. John the Baptist,"
etc., 123 ; " St. Margue-
rite," 123 ; " Portrait of a
Young Man," 123; "Belle
Jardiniere," 125, 253-255;
" Portrait of Baldassare
Castiglione," 253.

Ravenstein, Jan van, 195.

Raymond, 22.

Raymond du Temple, 7.

Redon, M., 21.

Regnault, 331-332; "Execu-
tion without Judgment,"
331, ZZ'2-ZZZ\ "Equestrian
Portrait of Juan Prim,"
368; "Portrait of Mile.
Breton," 368.

Rembrandt, 26, 72, 97, 106,
130, 132, 150, 165, 192, 195,
198, 201-202, 209, 210, 211-
212, 216, 218, 222, 223, 227,
229, 230, 240, 253, 255, 329,
355 ; " Supper at Emmaus,"
100, 204-205 ; " Home of
the Carpenter," 202 ; " Phi-
losopher in Meditation "
(2), 202-203; "Angel Ra-
phael Quitting Tobias,"
203 ; " Good Samaritan,"
204-205 ; " Portrait of an
Old Man," 206 ; " Portraits
of Himself" (4), 206-207;
" Portrait of Hendrickje
Stoffels," 264-265.

fnbex

415

Rembrandt Rooms, 201-208.

Reni, Guide, 116, 272, 285;
"Magdalene," 115; " Ecce
Homo," 115; "St. Sebas-
tian," 115; "Dejanira and
the Centaur Nessus," 262.

Reynolds, 139, 140, 142.

Ribera, 118, 119, 134; "Ma-
donna and Child," 128-129,
370-371 ; " Adoration of the
Shepherds," 128; "Entomb-
ment," 129.

Richelieu, 15, 246, 2.^6, 278.

Richter, 71.

Rigaud, 31, 285-286, 291, 299;
" Portraits of His Mother,"
286 ; " Portrait of Louis
XIV.," 286-287; "Portrait
of Bossuet," 287 ; " Por-
trait of Due de Lesdigui-
eres," 374-375 ; " Portraits
of Le Brun and Mignard,"
381-382.

Robusti, Jacopo (see Tinto-
retto).

Romano, Giulio, 40, 255, 266;
"Nativity," 83; "Portrait
of a Man," 83, 84; "Ma-
donna of the Veil," 123 ;
" St. Marguerite," 123 ;
"Triumph of Titus and
Vespasian," 125.

Romney, 138-139; "Sir Stan-
ley," 139-

Rondinello, 85.

Rosa, Salvator, 118, 266;
"Battle-Scene," 1 19-120.

Rosenburg, 71.

Rottenhammer, " Death of
Adonis," 150,

Rousseau, Theodore, 239, 355,
356, 357, 363-364, 366, 385;
" Opening in the Forest at
Fontainebleau," 361-362;
"The Marsh," 362; "The
Storm," 362; "Along the
River." 362-363; " Le Co-
teau," 3Qo; " Le Passeur,"
390; "L'fitang," 390; "La
Plainc dc8 Pyrenees," 390;

"Les Chenes," 390, 391;
" Bords de la Loire," 390-
391; "Le Printempjs," 390 ;
" Village sous le« Arbres,"
390, 391-392.

Rubens, 106, 131, 132, I33»
154, 155-157, 159, 166-167,
170-171, 188, 192, 198, 201,
216, 253, 259, 264, 278, 292,
294, 345, 346, 375, 2n(i\
"Kermesse," 157; "Flight
of Lot," 157-158; "Virgin,
Child Jesus and an Angel,"
etc., 158; "Portrait of
Baron Henri de Vicq,"
^y2)\ "Tourney in Front
of the Moat," etc., 173-174;
"Marie de Medici Series,"
2>Z, 173, 177-180, 292; "Por-
trait of Helen Fourment
and Two of Her Children,**
262-263.

Rubens Room, Louvre (see
Galerie Rubens).

Rue de Louvre, 18.

Rue de Marengo, 20.

Rue de Rivoli, i.

Ruskin, 103, 221, 279-280.

Ruysdael, 165, 222, 225, 234,
239, 240; "The Thicket,"
225-226 ; " The Tempest,"
226-227 ; " The Ray of Sun-
light," 227.

Sainte-Beuve, 368.
Salle Daru, 288-311.
Salle Denon, 334, 380-384.
Salle des fitats, 334-369.
Salle des Primitifs, 37-51, 64,
Salle des Sept Chemin6es,

Louvre, 11, 34, 312.
Salle des Sept Metres (see

Salle des Primitifs).
Salle Duchatel, Louvre, 59-

63.
Salle Henri TL, Louvre, 312.
Salic Lacazc, Louvre, 27,

370-379-
Salle Mollien, 272-287.
Salle Van Dyck, 173-177.

4i6

fnOei

Salon Carre, Louvre, 27, 34,
64, 98, 245-265, 346, 375.

Sandier, 35.

Sarto, Andrea del, 9, 77-80,
113; "Charity," 28, 80-82;
"Holy Family" (2), 82-

83.

Sauvageot, The, Louvre, 27.

Sauval, 3, 4.

Savoldo, 107.

Scheffer, Ary, 339; "Death
of Gericault," 338 ; " Temp-
tation of Christ," 338-339.

Seine, The, i, 3, 8, 13, 20, 32.

Seybold, " Portrait of Him-
self," 151.

Sforza, Lodovico, 69.

Sigismond, Emperor, 8.

Signorelli, "Birth of the
Virgin," 49-50.

Smith's " Catalogue Rai-
sonne," 221.

Snyders, 159-160; "Wild
Boar Hunt," 158-159;
"Dogs in a Larder," 191.

Solario, Andrea, " Madonna
with the Green Cushion,"
75-76 ; " Portrait of Charles
d'Amboise," 'id-'JT, "Head
of St. John," r?'

Sorbonne, The, 22.

Soufflot, 20.

Soult, Marshal, 34, 133, 136.

Squarcione, 86.

Steen, Jan, 157, 162, 190, 227,
^Z7y 238 ; " Flemish Fete in
an Inn," 236; "Bad Com-
pany," 236-237.

Stevenson, 293.

St. Germain-en-Laye, 35.

Sylvestre, 384.

Teniers, 158, 160-161, 193;
" Inn beside a River," 161 ;
"Temptation of St. An-
thony," 161 ; " Prodigal
Son," 161 ; " Village Fete,"
161-162; "Kermesse," 162;
"Works of Mercy," 162;
"The Duo," 193.

Ter Borch, 141, 217-218, 227,
233, 241, 242; "The Con-
cert," 218-219; "The Mu-
sic-Lesson," 219-220; "Of-
ficer Offering Money to a
Young Girl," 220-221.

Thiers, 2Z.

Thomy - Thiery Collection,
334, 352, 366, 385-400.

Thomy-Thiery, M., 385.

Tieck, Ludwig, 256.

Tiepolo, 306; "Last Supper,"
117-118.

Tintoretto, 103-104, 108, 131,
150; "Miracle of St
Mark," 32; "Paradise"
(sketch), 104; "Dead
Christ with Two Angels,"
104; "Susannah at the
Bath," 258-259 ; " Portrait
of Himself," 380-381.

Titian, 28, 30, 63, 84, 90, 91,
93-94, 96-98, 102, 103, 105,
106, 107, 108, 112, 131, 132,
147, 157, 171, 278, 292, 295,
Z7^ ; " Entombment," 2!^,
248-250; "Man with the
Glove," 26, 251-253; "As-
sumption of the Virgin,"
32; "Jupiter and Antiope,"
98-99; "Disciples at Em-
maus," 99 - 100 ; " Virgin
and Child," etc., loo-ioi ;
"Portrait of Francois I.,'*
loi; "An Allegory," loi ;
" Alfonso of Ferrara and
Laura Dianti," 250-251.

Tocque, 299-300 ; " Portrait
of the Dauphin," 300;
"Portrait of Louis Gal-
loche," 382; "Portrait of
Jean-Louis Lemoyne," 382.

Tomabuoni, Giovanni, 53.

Tornabuoni, Lorenzo, 53.

Tour de la Libraire, Louvre,
7.

Tournelles, 8, 12-13.

Troyon, Constant, 354, 355,
385; "Oxen Going to
Work," 352-354; "Return

fnt)ex

417

to the Farm," 354-355;
" Hauteurs de Suresnes,"
393-394; "L'Abrevoir," 393;
"La Barriere," 394; "Ren-
contre des Troupeaux,"
394» 395 ; " Provende des
Poules," 394, 395-396; "Le
Matin," 394-395 ; " Trou-
peau de Moutons," 395.

Tuileries, Gardens of the (see
Gardens).

Tuileries, Palace of the, i, 2,
II, 13, 14, 22, 23, 24.

Ucello, Paolo, 44-45-

Van der Heist, 141, 210-211 ;
"Judging of the Archery
Prize," 211; "Portrait of
a Man," 211.

Van der Heyden, 234, 238;
"Village on the Banks of
a Canal," 239.

Van der Meulen, 165; "En-
try of Louis XIV.," etc.,
165 ; " Village and Cha-
teau of Dinant," 165;
" Fort of Luxembourg,"
165; "View of Fontaine-
bleau," 165; "View of Di-
nant," 193-194-

Van der Wcrff, 243; "Danc-
ing Nymph," 243.

Van der Weyden, Roger, 183,
185, 186; "Virgin and
Child," 184; "Descent from
the Cross," 184-185.

Van de Velde, Adriaen, 225,
234, 238 ; " Beach at Sche-
veningen," 234; "Land-
scape and Cattle," 234-235.

Van Dyck, 26, 30, 80, 131, 132,
133, 147, 166, 170-171, 195,
198, 201, 212, 265, 285, 286;
"Children of Charles L,"
169-170; "Duke of Rich-
mond," 170; "Virgin and
Child," 174; "Equestrian
Portrait of Francois de
Moncadc," 175; "Portrait

of Charles-Louis of Bava-
ria," etc., 175-176; "Por-
trait of Charles I.," 176-
177 ; " Virgin with the
Donors," 177 ; " Portrait of
Himsplf," 177.

Van Dyck Room (see Salle
Van Dyck).

Van Eyck, Hubert, 183.

Van Eyck, Jan, 91, 149, 183,
186, 188; "Chancellor Rol-
lin," etc., 181-183.

Van Loo, Charles Andre, 294,
306, 307-308, 309; "The
Halt," 307 ; " Marie Le-
czinska," 307.

Van Loo, Jean-Baptist, 307-
308.

Van Thulden, 158.

Varon, 31.

Vasari, zj, 38, 39, 44, 45, 46,
49, 65, 66, 7T, 78, 79, 82, 91,
94, 95, 113, 245, 246, 254,
257.

Velasquez, 26, 97, 129, 132-
133, 134, 157, 198, 201, 265,
368; "Infanta Margarita,"
130, 263-264; "Portrait of
Philip IV.," 130-131, 132,
264 ; " Assemblage of Thir-
teen People," 131; "Bust
of Philip IV.," 371 ; •' Por-
trait of Marie-Theresa "
(or "Queen Mariana"),

Vermeer, " The Lace Maker,"
233-

Vernet, Claude, 308-309, 311.

Vernet, Claude-Joseph, 308.

Vernet, Joseph, " Ports of
France," 33.

Vernet, Horace, 308, 328.

Verocchio, 51, 69.

Veronese, Paolo, 30, 97, 104,
107-108, 114, 117, 292, 350,
375; "Calvary," 108, 109-
iio; "Disciples at Em-
maus," 108-109; "Burning
of Sodom," iio-iii ; " Holy
Family," iii, 261; "Mar-

4i8

tn^cx

riage Feast at Cana," 259-
261 ; " Repast at the House
of Simon," 261.

Versailles, 19, 30, 31, 33, 35,
175, 268.

Vigee - Le Brun, Madame,
310-31 1 ; "Peace Restoring
Abundance," 310; "Herself
and Daughter" (2), 315,
382-383 ; " Madame Ray-
mond" ("Girl with
Muff"), 315-316; "Joseph
Vernet," 382 ; " Hubert
Robert," 382, 383.

Villot, Frederic, 34.

Vinci, Leonardo da (see Le-
onardo).

Visconti, 23-24.

Viti, Timoteo, 122, 124.

Vivarini, Alvise, 93, 96, 105.

Vollon, 296.

Vouet, 267, 272, 276, 284;
" Presentation in the Tem-
ple," 272.

Waagen, 157, 175, 183, 272.
Watson, 6.

Watteau, 288, 292-294, 296,
302, 306, 368 ; " Embarka-
tion for the Isle of Cyth-
era," 292, 294-295, 375;
"Gilles," 375, 377; "Jupi-
ter and Antiope," 375-377;
"La Finette," 377; "L'ln-
different," 377 ; " The False
Step," 377; "The Juggler,"
377-378.

Wellington, Duke of, 33.

Weyden, Roger van der (see
Van der Weyden).

Wilson, Richard, 138, 142.

Woltmann, 148.

Wouverman, 221, 222, 225;
"The Fat Ox," 221-222;
"The Stag Hunt," 221;
" The Cavalrj' Charge,"
221.

Wynants, 165, 234, 239.

Zurbaran, 129 ; " St. Peter
and St. Raymond " (or
" St. Bonaventura Presid-
ing," etc.), 130; "Funeral
of a Bishop," 130.

University of Toronto Robarts

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9-9

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Full text of "The art of the Louvre : containing a brief history of the palace and of its collection of paintings, as well as descriptions nd criticisms of many of the principal pictures and their artists"

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