VOL. XII.

No. 5.

FOR over a year there has been in the possession of the American Art Association, a painting that has created a great sensation among artistic circles, and won for the artist an immortal crown of laurels. It became the property of this association only through persistent efforts to obtain possession of it. Purchased at the auction sale of an almost priceless collection of a French contractor and speculator, for the sum of five hundred and fifty-three thousand francs, which the state charges and cost of sale raised to five hundred and eighty thousand six hundred and fifty francs, it was carried in triumph across the sea to America, and has been exhibited in several leading cities of the United States. But the French government, realizing what had been its loss by allowing this masterpiece to slip from its hands, recently purchased it of the American Art Association for seven hundred thousand francs, and it is now on its way back to Paris.

The picture is known as "The Angelus," painted by Jean François Millet, one of the greatest artists of his time, who, however, little realized, as he sat wearily at work before his easel, in a little cottage at Brabizon, developing this idea upon canvas, nor when completed he sold it for but three hundred francs, what great honors and fame the painting was in time to bring to his name. How cruel and shy of so many men of genius fortune has been, and ever will be! They make lifelong sacrifices of themselves to their pursuits, and seldom realize success until old age or infirmity has carried them beyond the appreciation of it, or they have passed that "mysterious bourne whence no traveler returns."

The picture, an illustration of French peasant life, is at once true to nature and suggestive of thought. In the foreground are the figures of a man and a woman, who have evidently been at work on the surrounding rough potato field, he turning the earth from the potatoes with his fork, she gathering them into the basket which stands half full beside her. They are represented as having just dropped their work at the ringing of the evening Angelus bell, that summons one and all to set aside every other occupation, for a sufficient length of time, to recite the short form of prayer called the "Angelus Domini." The man has left his fork thrust into the ground, the woman has arisen from her task, and they both stand with bent heads, wrapt in humble devotion. Far back across the field, through the gathering twilight, we see dimly the little village church spire, whence wę suppose the pealing of the bells to sound. Thus, looking from one object to another, with careful attention, an explanation of the picture gradually unfolds itself to us.

The custom of ringing the Angelus has existed ever since the time of the early Christians, and is said to have originated with the ringing of bells on the eve of festivals. It was in the year one thousand three hundred and twenty-seven that Pope John the XXII. ordered that, at the ringing of the bells on these occasions, all the faithful should recite their "Ave Marias." In the year one thousand three hundred and sixty-eight it became the custom to ring the Angelus at sunrise, through the order of the council of Lavaur. It is more uncertain as to the origination of the noon Angelus, but it has been attributed by some to Pope

Calixtus the III., in the year one thousand four hundred and fifty-six, and by others to King Louis the XI. in the year one thousand four hundred and seventytwo.

Mabillon, the learned historian of the Benedictine order, thinks that the Angelus, as now practiced, is of French origin, and that it became general at the beginning of the sixteenth century. It is at present practiced by the Roman Catholics, and at the ringing of the bells three times daily, in commemoration of the annunciation of the Virgin Mary by the Angel Gabriel, of the incarnation of the Son of God, a devotional prayer is recited. It consists of three scriptural texts describing the mystery, recited alternately with the angelic salutation, "Hail, Mary. The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary and she conceived by the Holy Ghost. Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen." Mary replies: "Behold the handmaid of the Lord! Be it done unto me according to thy word. Ave Maria! The Word was made flesh and dwelt amongst us. Ave Maria! Pray for us, oh, Holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ. Pour forth, we beseech thee, O Lord, Thy grace into our hearts that we, to whom the incarnation of Christ, Thy son, was made known by the visit of an angel, may by His passion and cross, be brought to the glory of His resurrection, through the same Christ our Lord."

This short history will serve to throw a light upon the subject of Millet's painting, which otherwise might not be clearly understood by one and all.

The picture is an expression of the custom and sentiments attending the sweet and solemn ringing of the Angelus, and seems to lack nothing toward the complete reproduction of both. Does not the very spirit of prayer seem to pervade the picture? Is there not the very feeling of life and history in every line of it-the low-toned back-ground, the village spire,

the rough field, and the rough figures in the foreground? Their surroundings bespeak hard and wearisome labor, and our sympathies are aroused as we contem. plate them, stiff with bending over their tasks, hot, tired and perspiring, when across the field comes stealing the soft and soothing tones of the bell, that carry with them, to these poor laborers, hope, and the comforting assurance of nightfall and rest, cooling their dulled and heated senses, and filling them with gladness.

The atmospheric effect is so wonderfully natural that we almost imagine that we can step right into the picture and listen with those devout peasants to the pealing of the Angelus. It has the stamp of bold originality, predominant in all of Millet's work, and this quality, for which his work is now so highly prized, was the very thing which at first rendered it unpopular, and made his path to success so hard and thorny. The classical school of art had no sympathy with his work, and was slow to recognize his genius. But this was only temporary; talent such as he possessed, could not long remain in obsurity, and in time he became acknowledged as one of the greatest artists of his age. To him and his contemporaries is acceded the honor of having founded a new school of art, so different was their style from that of the stiff conventionality of the classical school.

Millet was born in the little village of Gruchy, lying in the depths of a valley that opens upon the sea of the savage Norman coast. He came of a strong and hardy race, that had for generations earned their bread by severe and trying manual labor, and he himself was a sturdy child, accustomed to rough and robust ways. Born and bred among peasants, it can easily be imagined under what difficulties he obtained the education necessary to the career of an artist. However, his father happened to be a man of fair intelligence, noticed in his son artistic tendencies, and gave him every possible encouragement that his limited means would allow, while the boy himself was not slow to take advantage of every opportunity in this line, that pre

sented itself. But up to his eighteenth year, young Millet had received no artistic instructions whatever. When he had attained that age, his father sent him to Cherbourg, to study under Mouchel, who at once recognized the boy's genius. After his career as an artist was once begun, there was but one interval during which he set aside, entirely, his artistic efforts, and it was at the death of his father, two years later. At this time he sacrificed himself and his pursuits to the maintenance of his family, which was left entirely without a head, and he considered it his duty to endeavor to fill the position. But matters in time being adjusted, he returned to his chosen labors with renewed vigor, studying under Langlois, at Cherbourg, when he also derived a great deal of benefit reading in Latin and French, from whence he was sent by the civic authorities, being voted a small annual allowance, to study art in Paris.

He there entered the studio of Paul Delaroche, finding among his fellow students such men as Couture, Edouard Frère, Adolph Yvon, Feyen-Perrin, who like himself were destined to leave a permanent impression on French art. In this studio he found but little that appealed to his sympathies. His own painting, so original, and one might say, full of the breath of life, his fellow pupils could not understand; even Delaroche himself was puzzled over this young peasant, whose education seemed so incompatible with his circumstances.

Meanwhile, the income voted him by the Cherbourg authorities, being hardly sufficient to maintain him, however plainly he lived, Millet was obliged to take in any and every little job that he could secure, and even then lived very meagerly. But he bravely stuck to his work through the severest trials, with a determination deserving of success. In the year eighteen hundred and forty he made his first attempt to exhibit his work at the Salon, and of the two studies he submitted, one was rejected, the other hung, but unnoticed. In eighteen hundred and forty-two he tried once more, but this time both studies presented were rejected. Two years later he met with

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better luck, successfully placing within the Salon several of his paintings, which there and then, first won for him the attention of the critical public.

Adversity followed him again, however, until, having left Paris and in his wandering happening upon Havre, he found sufficient work to keep him busy for the time being. In fact his painting became popular in this city, and by his strong, characteristic work he created almost a furore.

But not content with his good fortune here, he turned once more toward Paris, for the conquering of Paris meant to him the conquering of the artistic world. Arriving there, he entered upon a career of privation and misery. He painted, at this time, the "Temptation of St. Jerome," which the Salon refused in the year eighteen hundred and forty-six, and the next year successfully placed therein his "Edipus Detached from the Tree," but without financial gain. In eighteen hundred and forty-eight, "Le Vanneur," and the "Captivity of the Jews," were accepted.

But once more disheartened with a life of poverty in Paris, he left it and went to dwell in the little village of Brabizon, where, amidst the pleasant quiet of the country, he accomplished his best work. He seemed here to be in his element, and painted with vigor and interest, rustic scenes taken from the daily life of the peasants. These, though well executed, brought but little remunerative recompense. He exhibited three peasant pictures at the Salon in the year eighteen hundred and forty-nine, and in eighteen hundred and fifty, "The Sower," and "The Sheaf Binders," the former of which made a great impression amongst the progressive school of artists. In eighteen hundred and fifty-two, his "Haymakers," a "Shepherd" and the "Sheepshearers," were received, and in eighteen hundred and fifty-three his "Ruth and Boaz" won for him a secondclass medal. This picture, as many others of his paintings had been, was purchased by an American. In fact, the patronage of the Americans was a material aid to him.