quemart exhibits portraits of M.
Duruy, M. Dufaure and a young lady. Singularly enough, she paints men
better than she does women. Her portrait of Mademoiselle G---- B---- is
very inferior to the others. Virility, in short, is the distinguishing
characteristic of the talent of this woman.

M. Cabanel's portraits of women of the great world are conventionally
painted, and with the coldness of manner which distinguishes him. One
feels that if these fine creatures should speak they would utter nothing
but the commonplaces which pass for conversation in the salons. The
duchess of Vallambrosa--"the queen of the strand," as they call her at
Cannes--Madame de Lavalette, the countess of Mercy-Argenteau, are all
there, as if against their will and disdainful of the vulgar herd which
is staring at them. To make amends, however, the duchess of Luynes is
charming, surrounded and, as it were, adorned by her beautiful children.
M. Cabanel is the recognized head of what may be called the official
school. To get medals and crosses or the prize of Rome, to obtain
commissions from government, it is now-a-days almost necessary to have
been his pupil. Never had painter a more lofty position. Perhaps it is
the opinion at the ministry of Fine Arts that Bonnat and Laurens will be
so well paid by posthumous fame and the admiration of future generations
that it is but fair to keep the balance between the masters even by
rewarding M. Cabanel in his lifetime.

I have said that there are many portraits at the Exhibition, but I do
not mean to complain of this. Indeed, we cannot too highly applaud the
revival of this noble branch of art, to which we owe the _Joconde_ of
the Louvre and the _Violin-player_ of the Sciarra Palace. Many a fair
young girl unknown to fame, many a matron whose quiet life will pass
unheeded by the world, will by her portrait enter into immortality.
Torn, sooner or later, from the family roof and carried to a museum,
there to be gazed upon by thousands of eyes, her smile or her reverie
will recall for generations to come that sigh of Senancour's: "O woman
that I might have loved!"

It is doubtful if this regretful tribute to genius--which may perhaps
some day be heard before the portraits of Henner, of Bonnat or of
Madrazzo--will ever be inspired by those of M. Carolus Duran. This
artist is the painter of elegant trifles and worldly vanities, of grand
and striking toilettes, of blondes in violet and yellow and brunettes in