more effective, more “fetching,” to use a modern term, than anything purely academic can be.  Elie Delaunay, another master of decoration, is, on the other hand, as real as the most rigorous literalist could ask of a painter of decorative works.  Chartran, who has an individual charm that both Baudry and Delaunay lack, inferior as he is to them in sweep and power, is perhaps in this respect midway between the two.  Clairin is, like Mazerolles, a pure fantaisiste.  Dubufe fils, whose at least equally famous father ranks in a somewhat similar category with Couture, shows a distinct advance upon him in reality of rendering, as the term would be understood at present.

In other departments of painting the note of realism is naturally still more universally apparent; but as in the work of the painters of decoration it is often most noticeable as an undertone, indicating a point of departure rather than an aim.  Bonvin is a realist only as Chardin, as Van der Meer of Delft, as Nicholas Maes were, before the jargon of realism had been thought of.  He is, first of all, an exquisite artist, in love with the beautiful in reality, finding in it the humblest material, and expressing it with the gentlest, sweetest, aesthetic severity and composure imaginable.  The most fastidious critic needs but a touch of human feeling to convert any characterization of this most refined and elevated of painters into pure panegyric.  Vollon’s touch is felicity itself, and it is evident that he takes more pleasure in exercising and exploiting it than in its successful imitation, striking as its imitative quality is.  Gervex and Duez are very much more than impressionists, both in theory and practice.  There is nothing polemic in either.  Painters extol in the heartiest way the color, the creative coloration of Gervex’s “Rolla,” quite aside from its dramatic force or its truth of aspect.  Personal feeling is clearly the inspiration of every work of Duez, not the demonstration of a theory of treating light and atmosphere.  The same may be said of Roll at his best, as in his superb rendering of what may be called the modern painter’s conception of the myth of Europa.  Compared with Paul Veronese’s admirable classic, that violates all the unities (which Veronese, nevertheless, may readily be pardoned by all but literalists and theorists for neglecting), this splendid nude girl in plein air, flecked with splotches of sunlight filtered through a sieve of leafage, with her realistic taurine companion, and their environment of veridically rendered out-of-doors, may stand for an illustrative definition of modernity; but what you feel most of all is Roll.  It is ten chances to one that he has never even been to Venice or thought of Veronese.  He has not always been so successful; as when in his “Work” he earned Degas’s acute comment:  “A crowd is made with five persons, not with fifty.” ("Il y a cinquante figures, mais je ne vois pas la foule; on fait une foule avec cinq, et non pas avec