[Illustration:  RENOIR

YOUNG GIRL PROMENADING]

Renoir’s realism bears in spite of all, the imprint of the lyric spirit and of sweetness.  It has neither the nervous veracity of Manet, nor the bitterness of Degas, who both love their epoch and find it interesting without idealising it and who have the vision of psychologist novelists.  Before everything else he is a painter.  What he sees in the Bal au Moulin de la Galette, are not the stigmata of vice and impudence, the ridiculous and the sad sides of the doubtful types of this low resort.  He sees the gaiety of Sundays, the flashes of the sun, the oddity of a crowd carried away by the rhythm of the valses, the laughter, the clinking of glasses, the vibrating and hot atmosphere; and he applies to this spectacle of joyous vulgarity his gifts as a sumptuous colourist, the arabesque of the lines, the gracefulness of his bathers, and the happy eurythmy of his soul.  The straw hats are changed into gold, the blue jackets are sapphires, and out of a still exact realism is born a poem of light.  The Dejeuner des Canotiers is a subject which has been painted a hundred times, either for the purpose of studying popular types, or of painting white table-cloths amidst sunny foliage.  Yet Renoir is the only painter who has raised this small subject to the proportions and the style of a large canvas, through the pictorial charm and the masterly richness of the arrangement.  The Box, conceived in a low harmony, in a golden twilight, is a work worthy of Reynolds.  The pale and attentive face of the lady makes one think of the great English master’s best works; the necklace, the flesh, the flounce of lace and the hands are marvels of skill and of taste, which the greatest modern virtuosos, Sargent and Besnard, have not surpassed, and, as far as the man in the background is concerned, his white waistcoat, his dress-coat, his gloved hand would suffice to secure the fame of a painter.  The Sleeping Woman, the First Step, the Terrace, and the decorative Dance panels reveal Renoir as an intimiste and as an admirable painter of children.  His strange colouring and his gifts of grasping nature and of ingenuity—­strangers to all decadent complexity—­have allowed him to rank among the best of those who have expressed childhood in its true aspect, without overloading it with over-precocious thoughts.  Finally, Renoir is a painter of flowers of dazzling variety and exquisite splendour.  They supply him with inexhaustible pretexts for suave and subtle harmonies.

[Illustration:  RENOIR

WOMAN’S BUST]