"A marvelous group," writes M. Lapauze, "in which the depth and intimacy of the feeling expressed is in no way marred by the wonderfully minute rendering of the accessories. Each little detail of costume, each fold of material, all the differences in texture—everything is given its own special character; everything is perceptible, tangible, so to speak. Science of draftsmanship, eloquence of line, could not possibly be carried farther."

'LA SOURCE'
[PLATE VI]

'La Source'—The Spring—considered by Charles Blanc the most beautiful figure ever produced by the French school—was not painted until Ingres was seventy-six, though the study for it had been made many years before. In the admirable purity of its line, in its grace of form and its masterly modeling in light, this work has the beauty of a Greek statue.

Standing against a dark wall of rock, her little feet reflected in the pool of water at its base, is the nude figure of a young girl. One rounded arm is thrown above her head to help support against her shoulder a Grecian urn from which a stream of water falls into the pool beneath. With her blond hair, her smooth brow and clear blue eyes, her lips parted in a slight smile, her childish form, and her expression of unconsciousness and innocence, she is a figure of almost ideal loveliness.

Upon its completion 'La Source' was exhibited in Paris, and later in London. Everywhere it aroused feelings of enthusiastic admiration. The hypercritical, to be sure, found fault with the drawing of the legs, which, repainted by the artist when the picture was finished and the model no longer before him, are not carried so far as is the upper part of the body. But on the whole even those who most strenuously opposed Ingres' methods acknowledged its beauty and excellence.

"It is difficult to imagine," writes Mr. George Moore, "what further beauty he may have introduced into a face, or what further word he might have had to say on the beauty of a virgin body."

The picture was bought by Count Duchâtel, whose widow bequeathed it to the Louvre, where it now hangs. It is on canvas and measures five and a half feet high by two feet eight inches wide.

'PORTRAIT OF MONSIEUR BERTIN'
[PLATE VII]

This celebrated portrait of Bertin, manager of the Journal des Débats, one of the leading papers of Paris, is generally regarded as the artist's masterpiece in portraiture. It was painted in 1832. Ingres has himself related how he made repeated studies for this work, frequently changing his original plan, and as frequently beginning over again; how anxious and discouraged he became; how he finally confessed to Monsieur Bertin that all the sittings had been in vain, that nothing had been accomplished, and how grateful he was when the busy man of affairs begged him not to be so distressed but to try once more, for that he, Bertin, was in no way weary, but would gladly give him as many sittings as he wished. Reassured by such consideration, Ingres took heart and resolved to make another attempt. The pose, however, perplexed him. While still undecided on this point it happened that he spent an evening in Bertin's house, and while there the conversation turned upon some political question of the day in which opposite views were held by Bertin and his sons. Each side vehemently maintained its ground, but no argument could convince the elder Bertin that the young men had reason on their side. While listening to their argument he leaned slightly forward in his armchair, and planting his hands squarely upon his knees turned toward the speaker with an expression on his strong face indicative of interest, lack of conviction, and consciousness of power to refute the argument advanced. The pose and expression—both so characteristic and unstudied—at once struck Ingres, and when he bade his host good night, "Monsieur Bertin," he said, "your portrait is done. I have you this time and shall not let you go."

The result, attained quickly and without effort, was the superb portrait here reproduced, so forceful and expressive, so true to life, that as we stand before it in the Louvre, where it now hangs, we seem to be in the presence of the man himself.