These pictures—for they are not studies, but admirably finished creations—represent the working man and the working woman in the pursuit of their various occupations. We see the blanchisseuse stagger home through the drizzling mist, bowed under her huge burden of linen. On the skeleton scaffolding the builder becomes a speck, infinitely far from his fellows; the apprentice goes chattering gaily along with her companions,—again we have the attractive girl of the people, whose class in France is distinct, and whose personality is so agreeable. Steinlen touches with his happiest, lightest stroke the gay figure of youth and charm.
Another drawing portrays the family again around
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the humble board. But the finest of the suite are four pictures drawn at Monsieur Pelletan’s suggestion that Steinlen should show the public what his skill was in careful, minute technique; for the critics have accused him of too great facility and too rapid production. He has called the first picture “Le Bois,” where a carpenter, a strong, well-drawn figure, nude to the waist, bends over the rough planks of wood, yielding in long curling shavings to his plane. In the second, “La Pierre,” the stone-polisher crouches over his well-nigh implacable mass of stone, until he may almost distinguish his image in the smooth surface. In the third, “Le Fer,” a like half-nude labourer struggles with his contortion of the mighty mineral. Lastly, Steinlen has depicted the miner, deep in his cavern’s interior.
These studies demand a first place in the catalogue of modern drawing, and lack in the perfected workmanship none of Steinlen’s distinctive, free, untrammelled handling of his subject and expression of his art. They would not lose, placed side by side with the drawings of Puvis, and indeed possess the primitive purity of line and reveal the serious conception which mark the work of masters.
Pelletan has just published Anatole France’s new book “L’Affaire Crainquebille,” a satire on French law and modes of justice, done in Anatole France’s most delightful manner, and illustrated by Steinlen.
Crainquebille, a seller of turnips, which he pushes through the streets in a little hand-cart, is accused of having called out to a policeman “Mort aux Vaches!”—a slang opprobium of the streets. The poor innocent, unconscious of offending, is haled to the courts, where he becomes the victim of a most amusing and witty procès, withal tragically pathetic. He is condemned to prison, and when once more at liberty attempts to resume his ancient, respectable calling. He finds himself a pariah, shunned because of the stigma of “jail-bird!” Crainquebille falls into abject poverty and inebriation. In his starving misery he reflects, “Prison isn’t half a bad place, after all!” and to partake once more of its peace he sins deliberately. Bearding the policeman in his den—that is, the street lamp’s shadow—he cries out to him, “Mort aux Vaches!” But the amiable officer, “un bon père de famille,” laughs at the old man and bids him go about his business. The poor old Crainquebille finds the justice of the world too intricate to comprehend. Imprisoned for a fault which when repeated evokes