Original Picture: Louvre (lōō´vr’) Gallery, Paris, France.
Artist: Jean Baptiste Greuze (grûz).
Birthplace: Tournus (Tōōr´nüs´), France.
Dates: Born, 1725; died, 1805.
The story of the picture. One glance at this picture tells us what has happened, and why the little girl looks so serious. On her arm she carries a quaint old pitcher which she has just broken. It looks as though she were dressed for a party, for there are flowers in her hair, a bouquet on her dress, and flowers in her apron. Perhaps she had picked the flowers and was getting the water so that she could place the pitcher full of blossoms on the table. She may have gathered up all the broken pieces in her apron, hoping that the pitcher can be mended. We are sure that it must have been a pitcher that she prized very highly and hopes to save, for she still holds it. But surely it is not customary to take such a good pitcher to the fountain; a tin pail or a jug would be so much safer. It must be that there is company at her home. She must have caught up the pitcher from the table and hurried away, impatient to be back with her friends. In her haste she may have slipped and fallen. Now she must go home, and they will all know what has happened.
She stands still a moment, trying to think how to tell them; she does not know just how it did happen, or whether she was really to blame or not. Had the board she stepped on not been slippery, or the pitcher not quite so heavy, and if she had not been in a hurry, all would have been well. Of one thing she is certain—she did not do it purposely. She wishes she had brought an old pitcher or a pail; but it is of no use to think about that now—the mischief is done. And somehow we feel sure she will not be punished or even scolded very much.
What a very pretty girl she is, with just such a sweet face as the artist Greuze always loved to paint. In the original painting she has blue eyes, light hair, pink cheeks, very red lips, and her dress is white. In the background we see the old stone fountain, the cool water flowing in a steady stream from the mouth of the rudely carved head. What interesting tales that fountain could tell of the rich and the poor who pass that way each day; of the many little acts of courtesy and kindness it has seen; of the thirsty, the wasteful and careless, the happy and the sad people it has known and served.
THE FOUNTAIN
Through the earth a tiny streamlet
Pushed its way so clear and cool,