Meissonier and the Salon Julian

Fortnightly Review (London), 1 July 1890, pages 44-55, 6,285 words

In 1868 M. Julian founded an academy of painting in the Passage des Panoramas, in the very rooms in which the illustrious Markouski had taught two generations how to dance. A few biographical and personal details will be of interest concerning a man who, in the opinion of many competent judges, has done much to popularise and improve French art, concerning a man who, in the opinion of an equal number of competent judges, has done much to degrade and destroy it, concerning a man who to-day is the most notorious and powerful personage in the Paris art world, whose studios are in every quarter of the town, almost as numerous as brasseries, whose pupils, in the past and present, are numbered by thousands, fear and hatred of whom have occasioned irreparable schism in La Société des Artistes Français, dividing it in twain, one half remaining at the Salon under the presidency of M. Bouguereau, the other half following M. Meissonier to the Champ de Mars, there to found another society, La Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts.

M. Julian was once a shepherd in the south of France. In his native village he established a reputation for extraordinary strength and artistic capacity. He had thrown every young man within twenty miles in the wrestling contests, and he had astonished every one by the skill he showed in drawing. For a time his fate hung in the balance. A great wrestler or a great painter, which was it to be? The village decided that he was to be a painter and sent him to Paris. The young provincial walked about and wondered, read Balzac, dreamed, studied at the Beaux-Arts. But his artistic talents were slight, and a certain succès de scandale gained in Le Salon des Refusés for a picture in illustration of the last scene in Rolla did not help him in the least towards selling his work. It is curious to note that in the same salon, Le Salon des Refusés, two men of undoubted genius – Manet and Whistler – laid the foundation stones of their future reputations. But the public could not then distinguish between the "Rolla," by Julian, the '' Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe," by Manet, and the "Femme en Blanc," by Whistler. All three pictures provoked an equal amount of sarcasm in the press, and an equal amount of laughter among the sightseers. Two of the three painters had genius, and were able to continue their art and conquer the public; the third, a subtle, crafty southerner, whose peasant blood had been but warmed in the sacred fire, found himself forced to seek a livelihood in artistic commercialism. His student days were over, he could expect nothing more either from his village or his parents, the time had come when he must support himself. But how? At some time all who have sought a livelihood in art have been asked this question; and never, I believe, was it put more pitilessly than to Julian. Too proud to return home, confess failure, and take up his crook, Julian said No – the word reverberating in his brain as he questioned his garret walls, for his eyes fell only upon the coarse and crude art from which, notwithstanding his very real intelligence, he could not escape. He examined it in despair; and the iron of a despairing conviction forced him to admit that the struggle was hopeless. We may only work in conjunction with nature; none may war against her successfully; and the wise man is he who judges if nature's opposition to his desire is real or only apparent; if it is real he abandons the battle. But Julian possessed just sufficient talent to obscure the truth, even to a point of rendering any certain reading of it an impossibility. There is the " Rolla," truly not a bad piece of painting. The naked flanks and back are full of colour, the drawing is hard and coarse, but, ma foi, c'est assez crâne.

Is not an insufficient talent the most cruel of all temptations? Julian could not surrender his cherished hope, and yet he could not improve upon his "Rolla." Worse still, the creative :faculty withered in those days of poverty and privation; he did not exhibit again for two yean, he was forgotten, it became harder than ever to obtain a meal, and his thoughts turned swiftly surveying every horizon. Julian used to tell us stories of those days, making us feel how implacable nature had told, not the whole truth at once, but bit by bit in her own cruel fashion, and how she urged him at the same time to seek by other means the sweets of life for which his southern nature craved. He told us how suddenly, through some dreams of the old days, of the luminous south, of the great wrestling contests, the thought struck him that Paris knew nothing of these sports, and that, to grasp fortune securely, he had only to bring the champions, Coeur de Lion, Œil de Boeuf, Bras de Fer, to Paris, and show the Parisians the splendid Lutte Romaine. Hardly was the thought conceived than it was put into execution. A capitalist waa found, and a light wooden circus was run up on a piece of waste ground somewhere between the Rue Lafitte and the Rue Chateaudun. Julian departed for and returned from the south with five-and-twenty of the most famous wrestlers, and to stimulate public curiosity still further, with one announced to be unconquerable – L'homme masqué. Soon all Paris waa tremulous with curiosity to know who was the mysterious person in black hose and black mask, who came at the end of every performance and overthrew the victor in the preceding contests. The movement and press of bodies strain forward, even to the great danger of the precarious building! Now the unknown man, his mask securely chained about his head, has appeared. See he throws down his white glove to any who may choose to accept his challenge. In the abandonment of the moment Sculpture awakes from her sleep of ages, and the circus seems like the frieze of an antique temple.

A member of the Jockey Club paid Coeur de Lion a thousand francs to tear off the mask, but the heralds were able to intervene in time; spies were stationed at all the exits, I'homme masqué was followed by the swiftest horses, pursued far into the country, and when his carriage was overtaken it was found to be empty. It was said at the time that Julian himself was I'homme masqué, and to prove that this was not true he showed himself among the spectators while I'homme masqué was in the arena.

At the end of the season Julian found that he had cleared over a hundred thousand francs. It would have been well if he had then sent the wrestlers home and sold the circus for firewood, for the novelty of the entertainment had worn off, and the heat in the following year was tropical. Julian lost all the money he had made, and once again had to turn to painting as a means of livelihood. He bethought himself of pupils, and becoming the tenant of the whilom halls of the illustrious Markouski, waited in the company of a model as patiently as he might. Julian was then a. stout man of about thirty. The legs short and slightly bowed, the trunk that of a Hercules, an enormous width of shoulders, short, heavy arms. A dark beard covered the lower part of the face; large brown eyes interested you, likewise a voice soft and flexible ; add to this the charm of much visible strength and the gracious, winning manner of the sensual south. Although without capital and friends who could assist him, nature had, as the following anecdote will show, intended him to succeed in this new enterprise. Day after day passed; Julian trembled at every noise on the staircase . . . a pupil? One had come, that is to say, one was hesitating on the threshold. The model yawned over her knitting, the easels were set out in line-like squadrons as if on a review day, the chairs were empty. It was a solitude comparable to that of the auditorium of the Odéon on a night when a tragedy is being played. Julian saw that the pupil was hesitating, that he was frightened by the mournful silence, and was seeking escape. Poor pupil! full of faith in the old legend he had expected the noise and gaiety of youth. Julian called him back gently, and in a voice tremulous with emotion said, " You are going, sir; what is there that you do not approve of? Tell me what you wish to have changed and it shall be changed immediately." "Oh, nothing, nothing, but . . ." "If you do not like the model she shall be changed." "Oh no, on the contrary, I like the model very much." "Then I think I can guess your reason: because you don't see anyone here; but you will be able to work better without neighbours; besides, I did not engage to provide you with neighbours." "No, no, that is quite true." "Well, then remain."

Do we not see clearly that such qualities of tact and bonhomie would stand Julian in good stead, and win for him many subsequent victories? Three or four pupils, then a dozen. .After the war, when work was resumed, the studio numbered about twenty. It was then, about the year 1872, that Julian succeeded in persuading Jules Lefebvre and Boulanger to pass round the room amongst the easels, giving words of advice on alternate weeks. But notwithstanding this advance in artistic tuition, the studio had not yet lost its character of a little family gathering; nearly all who worked there were Julian's intimate acquaintances, if they were not his friends, and he used to go with us to Meudon and Bas Meudon, and after a long day spent in painting some picturesque old staircase, full of sunlight, or a quiet water-way lost in the shadows of an island, we would dine together in some humble river-side auberge, and then not unfrequently, as we sat smoking in the porch, the hot evening would awake in Julian some memory of his beloved South, and he would tell of his first years in Paris, when, a lone boy, with only Balzac for a friend, he would pass along the cemeteries, stopping to peer through the railings, trembling lest he might meet the ghost of Rastignac or La Palfarine; or he would tell the story of I'homme masqué, and then his descriptions taking fire in our hearts, we demanded instruction in attack and counter-attack, and soon the moonlight was filled with straining and prostrate forms. But as the studio filled with new faces Julian found it necessary to withdraw from companionship with us, and his last confidence to us I remember was when the Government had closed the schools in the Beaux-Arts for some more than usual cruelty or barbarism perpetrated by a jocular student. Then Julian said to a friend with whom he was walking in the Salon: "One day all this will belong to me." On being questioned as to his meaning, he answered: "Now that they have closed the Beaux-Arts, all the great painters that the next ten years may produce will come from

my studio." It is hardly to be thought that Julian entertained at the time even a remote suspicion that he was speaking but the plain and literal truth. The closing of the Beaux-Arts could not but

prove to his advantage, and he interpreted the chance that had come to him as any other Gascon would have done. All who come from the south in Zola's books, speak of "La conquête de Paris." A few weeks after Julian appeared at the studio with a medal in his hand.

To succeed in England you must offer a new reading of the Book of Genesis; to succeed in France you must offer medals. There are as many societies for the distribution of medals in France as there are associations in England for the propagation of dissent. We laugh at our religious crazes, our friends across the Channel laugh at their medals, but neither our national characteristics nor theirs are affected thereby. We distribute tracts, the French distribute medals.

Hairdressers and tailors have academies which award medals. The societies of mutual help, gymnastic and shooting societies, choral and philharmonic societies have medals, palms, and crowns. The various societies for the preservation of human life are covered with medals; these medals are purchased; the Belgian diplomas cost from eight to ten francs, and on St. Nicholas-day every one walks about proudly, his breast covered with medals and multicoloured

ribbons; yet not one out of every ten ever saved a fly fallen into a milk-jug from drowning. Pork butchers, bakers, the makers and the sellers of insect powder, rag pickers, and itinerant musicians, all have medals. Without this explanation of a Frenchman's love of medals it would not be possible for the English reader to realise the real emotion produced in the studio, when Julian appeared at the door of his private room leading into the studio, holding a medal in his hand. He said, "Everywhere in France there are medals! why should there not be medals in my studio? I have therefore decided to offer a medal each month for the best drawing or painting. Those who wish to compete will send in their drawings and paintings on the last Saturday of the month, and on the following Monday M. Lefebvre will award the medal. And knowing well the necessities and temptations of a student's life, and foreseeing that the winner of a gold medal might find himself forced to dispose of it, and as he would get nothing like the original value for it, I have decided to give a hundred francs and a bronze medal. The first competition for this medal begins to-day."

Julian's appeal to the instincts of his countrymen met with immediate response. Before three months had passed every square foot of parquet in the whilom halls of the illustrious Markouski

was occupied by an easel, and Julian had to seek for new premises; the fame of his medals soon reached England and America; every mail brought him new students. Events too were running in his favour. Wearied by the constant protestations of the artists against its administration of the Salon, the Government, in 1881, surrendered its right to nominate the jury, giving up the Palais de l'Industrie to the artists, with full power to manage their own affairs. Art was at last in the hands of the artists, art was free at last, no more oppression, no more injustice, no more lagging behind in the mire of old aestheticisms. This time there were to be no mistakes. The exhibitors should elect their own jury. It is difficult to imagine anything more frankly democratic. But in art the democratic is always reactionary. In 1820, the democrats were against Victor Hugo and Delacroix. When the Pall Mall Gazette started a plebiscite to determine

which was the worst picture in the Academy, the intelligent "middles" selected a very fine portrait by Mr. John Sargent; and when the three thousand exhibitors elected their own jury, their selection proved to be no more than a consecration of the art of M. Bouguereau. When we learn who are the three thousand exhibitors, no one will wonder. All people who have once in their lives exhibited a drawing have a right to vote. Among the three thousand are found waiters in cafes, hackney-coachmen, lawyers' clerks. An elderly spinster copies a drawing, it is accepted by accident, and she obtains a vote. Sketches are done by an artist and sent in the name of one of his models, so that he may have many votes for those who, he thinks, will look after his interests. The Salon had not enjoyed democracy more than three years when it came to be noticed that the best places were occupied by pictures painted by les élèves de Julian, and that a large proportion of the medals were distributed among them. Julian had turned his business into a company, of which he was managing director, at forty thousand francs a year; M. Bouguereau received ten thousand francs a year for his professorial services, and it is said that more than one of the professors has money invested in the studio. Branch-establishments had sprung up in every quarter of the town, eighteen in all, some of the larger ones numbering two hundred pupils. A large proportion of these students could do a piece of painting that would pass muster; those who could not, had drawings done for them, and so it came to pass that les élèves de Julian elected a jury devoted to their interests, and headed by their own professors. In return for the honour paid them, the professors gave the best places to their pupils and covered them with medals.

Julian had conquered. He was omnipotent in the Salon. But a turning-point comes in the affairs of all men, and the Universal Exhibition was to Julian what Leipzic was to Napoleon. The Universal Exhibition being Government business, the election of the jury became the duty of one of the Ministers. It was undertaken by M. Proust, whose knowledge of art and advanced aestheticism are well known, and he elected a jury more representative of France than of Julian's studios; and this jury, being unconcerned with any but national interests, awarded some four hundred and odd recompenses, including medals, exempts, hors concours, and mentions honorables, to foreign artists. These exempts and hors concours, unless they meant free admission into exhibitions at the Salon, would mean nothing whatever, unless, indeed, they were considered as so many practical jokes played upon foreign exhibitors. But MM. Bouguereau, Lefebvre, Tony Robert Fleury, Benjamin Constant, and the many other professors of painting and sculpture in Julian's studio, thought that it was far more important that les élèves de Julian should have good places in the Salon than that the foreign exhibitors should not be publicly insulted, and it was voted, at a meeting of Le Comité de la Société Française, that neither medal, nor the exempts, nor the hors concours awarded by M. Meissonier's jury at the Universal Exhibition should have effect at the Salon. Very naturally M. Meissonier, and those who had sat with him on the jury of the Universal Exhibition, protested very bitterly, denying the right of the committee to pass any such resolution. It therefore became necessary to call a general meeting of La Société des Artistes Français; in other words, of the three thousand exhibitors whose claim to artistic suffrage I have already alluded to. They assembled in their thousands – cafe waiters, hackney-coachmen, professional models, &c. Needless to say that a "whip'' marked urgent had been sent round the studios, and at the head of many hundreds Julian arrived in person at the Salle Jean on one of the last days of December. This big man with bowed legs and colossal shoulders, this shepherd from the south, this ancient wrestler, a sort of modem Tamburlane, directed the applause and urged his men to the ballot-boxes without further parley. It was the fight of a studio for its life-one of those dramatic scenes of contemporary life with which Zola has irrevocably associated his genius.

The mutterings of an approaching storm were heard along the extremities of the vast hall, and the annual reports of work done were listened to with indifference. It was not until M. Tony Robert Fleury spoke of the Universal Exhibition that he succeeded in obtaining public attention. Then you might have heard the proverbial pin drop. He wound up his speech with a solemn appeal for the maintenance of peace and mutual agreement. "Do not forget the value and power of the association; think of the way we have trodden together now for several years; think of the difficulties we have surmounted together. Think calmly of the best means of arriving at some agreement, and let us, my dear colleagues, unite in one body, so that we may defend this society which, in a burst of enthusiasm, we founded to guard our interests, our dignity, and our liberties." This peroration was received with unanimous applause. Then M. Bouguereau, in the name of the Committee, submitted to the assembly Clause 7 in the orders of the day.

Here is the clause:

"The Committee ask the General Assembly to decide by a yes or a no whether the awards given at the Universal Exhibition will prevail in our Annual Exhibitions, that is to say, will they carry with them the right of hors concours and exempts?"

In tum, and sometimes together, M. Bouguereau, M. Tony Robert Fleury, and the many other professors and shareholders in Julian's studio, urged the meeting to vote that the awards given at the Universal Exhibition should carry with them no right in the annual exhibition at the Salon.

Here is their argument :

"During the nine years – this year 1890 is the tenth – that the artists have managed the Salon, there have been distributed each year about 86 medals thus: painting, 40; sculpture, 21; architecture, 12; engraving, 12; and this brings the sum total of of hors concours and exempts to 1,586; if there be added to thissum the 493 given to foreign artists in the Universal Exhibition, we obtain a total of 2,079 exempts and hors concours.

"As each of these has a right to send two works to the Salon, if they use their rights, we obtain a total of 4,158 works that are passed without examination by the jury.

"In 1876, there were 2,095 paintings exhibited; in 1881, 2,248; and in 1888, 3,586; this gives an average of 2,310 works exhibited yearly in the Salon; there would therefore be 1,848 exempts and hors concours, for which places could not be found. We should aim at the opposite result; for, in the opinion of the committee, 1,500 places are necessary for the young artists."

To this Meissonier replied:

"My dear Colleagues, I must tell you that the high distinction which has been accorded to me is a decoration which is shared by you all; it is a manifestation which places the arts on a level with the most beautiful things.

"I must explain to you that the new awards cannot cause any prejudice to the members non-exempts of the Société des Artistes Français; the exempts who, it is true, have the right, will not all send two works. To prove this, it is only necessary to read the figures of the last three years. These are the figures relating to painting: in 1887, there were 875 exempts; they only

sent 621 canvases and 21 drawings; in 1889 there were 929; they only sent 362 canvases and 89 drawings. You see that the new exempts are less terrifying than you were led to believe; and in architecture and sculpture, without fear of falling wide of the mark, we may base our calculation on these figures.

"A great deal too much has been made of the 493 foreigners, and it has been used as a means to frighten you. But an equal number cannot be found again for the next ten years. It would require a universal exhibition. Foreigners will not find every year governments and syndicates to pay for the transport of their works."

M. Meissonier could not continue; his speech was interrupted by the Julian cohorts massed in front, and by cries of  ''Tais ta gueule" on his right. Turning to them, he said: '' Mes chers confrères, car je veux bien vous encore appeler ainsi;" but with still more horrible cries he was howled down, and in the unearthly din Julian was soon urging his legionaries to the ballot-boxes. A few of the committee declared that they would resign. Fearing, however, that they might reconsider their determination, Roll asked them to sign their names; and there were but nine, including Meissonier, Puvis de Chavannes, Carolus Duran, Duez, Dagnan, Bouseret, Gervex, Roll, Walter. A few minutes after, Meissonier reascended the platform: and having read out the names of dissident members of committee, and stated again the reason of their resignations, he said:

"But before I leave you, my dear colleagues, let me tell you it is deplorable that artists should band together like you; tho.t men of heart and honour, Frenchmen before all, cannot rise to a region sufficiently high to understand that above the interests of particular groups and societies there is a sentiment of patriotism which, after the triumph of the Universal Exhibition, ought to

overrule all, and that France by no faction of her children should seek to diminish the value of the awards that foreigners received thankfully at our hands with public acknowledgment."

This protest, delivered, it appears, with all the fire and energy of Gambetta in his best moments, was received with some slight applause in the midst of an extraordinary tumult which Tony Robert Fleury and Garnier strove vainly to calm. Then again did Julian excite his legionaries onwards to the ballot-boxes. But without waiting for the poll to be taken Meissonier left, declaring "that from no point of view could he admit a vote upon a question in which our national

honour was compromised."

He retired with his followers to Ledoyen. There happened at that moment to be a man distributing the prospectuses of some obscure studio. "Never mind your prospectuses," said Roll, "here are four francs, and keep shouting for the next hour that M. Meissonier has retired to Ledoyen to arrange the constitution of a new society." Roll spoke at random, but the words were happily chosen, and, half an hour after, some fifty or sixty eminent painters had severed their connection with the old society and given in their adhesion to the new and yet unborn society. This number of painters included some twenty-five members of the committee of the Société des Artistes Français, and it was resolved that these should go, with Meissonier at their head, and explain how they had come to resign their connection with the old society of fine arts, and their plan for the founding a new and truly national one, which would be able to offer that hospitality to the foreign artists which the Salon had refused. M. Meissonier spoke as brilliantly as before, but his eloquence could not prevent the question: How many are you? twenty-five out of how many? eighty-five? M. Tirard, who had till then been listening with singular satisfaction to all that Meissonier had to say in defence of the national honour, could not but feel himself obliged to advise the twenty-five dissidents to return and arrange their differences as best they could. He was, it appears, on the point of dismissing the delegation, when one of those comic incidents occurred which so often turn the scale. Some one, it never was discovered who, cried out, at the last moment: – "Mais toute la province est avec nous." "Then," cried M. Tirard, rising as if he were impelled by the sudden loosing of a spring, "if the provinces are with you, I am with you too. I will speak, and you are at liberty to make my words public." He told them that they had

his entire sympathy; he authorised them to make known the step they had taken. The same delegation proceeded immediately to M. Fallières to explain to him the reasons that brought about the dissidence. M. Fallières answered that the society in progress of formation had all his sympathies: and he shortly after placed at its disposal the galleries of the Exhibition in the Champ de Mars.

Every day fresh artists withdrew from the old and went over to the new society; the secession increased, and the Société des Artistes Français, seriously alarmed, called another meeting, where a resolution, proposed by M. Garnier, to do away with all exempts, was unanimously adopted. This being done, MM. Guillaume, Garnier, and Bonnat called on Meissonier to name a commission that might suggest a way out of the difficulty. But Meissonier refused categorically to enter into discussion with the old society. "The new society," he said, "has been founded; its statutes have been approved of; it is too late for compromise." This phrase afforded Meissonier's followers much gratification; it shows the amount of animus that existed, and it is probable that, if all their demands had been granted, they would not have returned to the Salon

under the headship of M. Bouguereau. Until then the plea of patriotism had alone been put forward as the motive of the secession, but under the elegant phrases about the honour of France and justice to the foreigners who had contributed so largely to the success of the glorious exhibition, there lay a second motive, as important in determining the action of the dissidents as the first. The first was flown in the face of the world, a pennon; the second was sunk deep in the heart, an anchor. And a good stout anchor too, did hatred of Julian's studio prove in the swift-running tide of secession. Deep fixed it lay, unmoved, keeping the vessel's head well off shore, and never alluded to in public speech until all shoals and sandbanks were cleared.'' The plan of Julian's studio," said Meissonier, "since it has become necessary to name it, was prepared long ago, and executed in every detail. Even those who proposed the adjournment of the meeting, ran to the ballot-boxes, Julian himself exciting the waverers."

And it is in fact Julian's studio that endows the secession of the French artists in the Salon with a deep and grave significance, that raises it from the triviality of a petty dispute and makes of it a matter of national, perhaps I should say international, importance. Very little does it matter to us whether M. Bouguereau and M. Meissonier hold different exhibitions in the Champs Elysees and the Champ de Mars, or abjure their differences, and in perfect communion open one exhibition to the artists of the whole world; but what does concern us, and very deeply indeed, is that we should preserve unsullied our own beautiful English art traditions – I mean the eighteenth century traditions bequeathed to us by Gainsborough and Reynolds, and worthily continued even unto the present generation by Millais and Orchardson.

Twenty years ago the mischief began. It began then to be generally regarded as a truth that it was necessary to go to Paris to learn painting. Twenty years ago we began to tire of the naiveté, the quaintness, the simplicity of our English drawing, because it did not measure so correctly with the model as those done in the Beaux-Arts; and we became infected, about the time I speak of, with a desire of construction, that is the mapping out of the figure into so many dioramic shapes, some to be filled with light, some with shadow. We began then dimly to understand that the figure should be ''built up," that to draw by the character, as we had hitherto been content to do, was but the infancy of art, whereas to draw by the "masses " was its manhood and apotheosis. So we went to France to learn to draw by the" masses," and there we

heard of "solid painting," and we were told that all other painting was primitive and barbarous. The special temperament of the artist, we learnt, was nothing to the point; there was la bonne peinture, la peinture au premier coup, which was produced in such and such a way, and if we could not learn the trick, it was clear that nature had not intended us to be artists. And we were introduced to the nude model, propped up on boxes, or standing in a conventional pose, hand on hip. We were told to count the number of heads, and to mark them off on our paper; then with the plumb-line we were shown how to determine the sway of the figure. It drops through

the ear, the right breast, the hipbone, passing, let us say, through the heel. The leading measurements and general lines being thus obtained, note was taken how much of the body fell to the left and right of our plumb-line, and we were instructed to sketch in, drawing by the masses of light and shade. This was the way, and the only way, to learn to draw, we were assured; we needed not to think of anything but the studio model; the world in the fields and the streets, that living world full of passionate colour and joyous movement, was but an illusive temptation; the studio model was the truth, the truth in essence; if we could draw the nude, we

could draw anything. For the success of the studio it was necessary that this should be accepted as an article of faith. In the highest sense to draw the nude is well-nigh impossible; in another sense, it is almost as easy to draw from the nude as from the flat. I have seen hundreds draw the posed studio model fairly well, but to catch the movement of a man's hands, say, as he lights a match, is quite another thing. To do that at all satisfactorily demands great skill and knowledge, and no one can learn of another to do it well.

But it will be argued that those who are geniuses of the first rank will separate themselves from Julian's. This is not so certain as some of us think, but I will let the point pass; I am concerned rather with the preservation of the character of our art as a whole than with the genius of the favoured few, and I will ask those who think this of no consequence to look at some ordinary English work done fifty years ago and compare it with the best work done at Julian's. The English work is simple and racy of the soil, full of an engaging ignorance, au moins les figures ne sont pas bien construites. The French work is cosmopolitan and pedantic. A drawing by Westhall, for instance, would not measure very correctly with the model, but Westhall's drawing is homely and English, and we love it for its old-fashioned air, for the sentiment of the time that it reflects so naively; and in the decoration of a room it takes a hybrid place, existing somewhere between an artistic bibelot and a work of art, something more than one, something less than the other. But what charm will any of the mechanical drawings and paintings done in Julian's studio have in fifty-years time? not more I think than that of a machine-painted plate. Another example: Stubbs was not a great artist, but his pictures exhale an English air that will always be pleasant; and this particular air he acquired by remaining at home, by remaining ignorant of all but English influences. The artists of the last century and the artists of the beginning of this century were content to till one plot of ground, planting there always the same flower, they were content with the only true genius – le génie de terroir. Only by being parochial, in the first instance, may any man's art become cosmopolitan in the end. Parochialism bas been hitherto the distinguishing character and charm of the English school; until about twenty years ago the English artist consistently rejected all elaborate systems of education, choosing rather to cultivate his own individuality than any trick of hand ; but for the last twenty years public education has been preferred to self-education; and the walls of every exhibition, be it held in New York, Sydney, or

London, is hung with painting as it is taught in Julian's studio. From every wall it looks down upon us with its stereotyped, educational, school-board stare.

But the French artists are, as we have seen, determined to crush the illegitimate influences that this studio exercises in the Salon. It is well that the dignity of art should be upheld, and our confrères should have our full sympathy in their efforts to wipe away all suspicions of intrigue and favoritism from their exhibitions; but our concern in the matter lies far deeper than theirs, far deeper than the false distribution of a few medals, for we are concerned to preserve what remains of our artistic tradition. The commercialism of Julian's studio is the most flagrant, its appeal to England and America the loudest, but its influence on our art is hardly more detestable than that of another Parisian studio. True, had I to choose I would accept Duran's instruction in preference to Bouguereau's; but, exercised on English talent, or even genius, both are disastrous, for both are un-English. Italian influence destroyed Flemish art in the sixteenth century; French influence is destroying English art in the nineteenth. So, if it behoves French artists to separate themselves from all alliance with Julian's studio, it is doubly desirable that English artists, English art critics, all interested in English art to whom the ways of public speech and writing are open, should, forgetting all internecine broils, unite in upholding our own Academy, which at least is not corrupt, and endeavour to teach love of England to the youth within and without its walls, who, discontented with the naive simplicity of our tradition, are turning their eyes towards Paris. GEORGE MOORE.