ammed
II. into Constantinople_), and Sylvestre (_Locusta and Nero trying a
Poison_) have sent to the Champ de Mars the fine historical compositions
that gained for them the first medals and the prize of honor at the last
Salons. M. Tony Robert-Fleury has two vast canvases, the _Sack of
Corinth_ and the _Reform of the Mad-house in 1795_--large and admirable
compositions, which engraving has already made popular. Of course we
find M. Landelle's inevitable _Eastern Dancing-Girl_, and an _Italian
Woman_ by M. Hebert. There could be no exhibition without these. These
two painters have talent, individuality, delicacy of feeling, but they
are absolutely without imagination. M. Hebert, in particular, has
learned nothing since his _Malaria_, which has been for a long time at
the Museum of the Luxembourg. He has not discovered, nor even sought
for, anything beyond this; and this eternal repetition of the same
subject is a malady which afflicts too many of the artists of our day.
One no longer distinguishes between the pictures of certain of our
popular painters. Even M. Luminais never travels beyond his specialty,
which is the barbarian Gaul, though he does vary somewhat the attitudes
and physiognomy of his characters. Henner and Ribot, two great artists,
who are better appreciated by their professional brethren than by the
public, will undoubtedly gain much by this year's exhibition. The eulogy
of competent criticism will be accepted as authoritative, and will
compel the admiration of the crowd, which is not very apt to comprehend
new and original forms in painting. Schopenhauer has classified the
professions according to the degree of difficulty which they find in
making their merits understood by the world at large; and he puts in the
front rank, as the most quickly and easily comprehended and applauded,
acrobats, dancers and players; philosophers come last of all; and
immediately before them the painters.

Portraiture would seem to be more in esteem than ever. Everywhere along
the walls are to be seen nothing but statesmen, poets and women of the
world, whose identity is indicated in the official catalogue by initials
only, but whom everybody recognizes at a glance. Many of these portraits
are life-like and admirable in expression, and one can say of them what
Victor Cherbuliez said of Mademoiselle Nelly Jacquemart's picture of
Thiers: "The house is inhabited: some one is looking out of the
window." This time Mademoiselle Jac