The great names—Meissonier, Gérôme, Munkacsy, Madrazo, Berne-Bellecour, Détaille, De Neuville, Rosa Bonheur, Flameng, etc.—are conspicuous this year by their absence from the catalogue of the Salon. It is whispered that the reason Munkacsy does not exhibit is because the administration of the Beaux-Arts saw fit to place the pictures by foreign artists separately in the Galérie des Étrangers. An "impressionist" artist-friend of mine—Miss Cassatt, the sister of Vice-President Cassatt of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company—says that the reason these distinguished artists do not exhibit any more is that they are disgusted with the way in which the Salon is conducted by Edmond Turquet, the present sous-secrétaire aux Beaux-Arts, and the very unfair acts committed in the awarding of medals, admission of pictures, etc.
M. Jean Jacques Henner's La Fontaine is a true Correggio in delicacy and clearness of tone. His treatment of the flesh is peculiar, and much envied by many a Paris artist. In this picture the nymph, leaning over the fountain, is dressed in a very inexpensive costume—in fact, the same fashion that Mother Eve introduced into Eden. There in the placid water the beautiful creature contemplates the reflection of her face, and seems to breathe, with all her being, those charming lines of Lafenestre:
Heure silencieuse, où la nymphe se penche
Sur la source des bois qui lui sert de miroir,
Et rêve en regardant mourir sa forme blanche
Dans l'eau pâle où descend le mystère du soir.
Gustave Jacquet's Le Minuet is one of those pictures which fascinate and draw us back again and again. A rarely-beautiful girl is dancing the minuet, surrounded by a group of her friends, beautiful blonde girls and a fair-haired young man. The costumes are perfectly exquisite, yet there is not too much chiffonnerie in the picture. There is a remarkable effect of depth in the painting of the figure of the dancing girl, especially at the feet and at the bottom of her skirt. Perhaps the only criticism that could fairly be passed upon M. Jacquet's picture is that there is too much of mere "prettiness" about his principal figures.
A curious feature in this year's exhibition is that there are three pictures of the assassination of Marat by Charlotte Corday, two of which are hung in the same room. There are also three paintings representing a scene from Victor Hugo's Histoire d'un Crime, "L'enfant avait reçu deux balles dans la tête." The child is represented in Henry Gervex's picture as being lifted up by his friends, who are examining the poor little wounded, bleeding head. It is powerful in composition and a very thrilling, realistic picture. The other two representations of this subject are by Paul Langlois and Paul Robert.
Gustave Courtois's Dante and Virgil in Hell: The Circle of the Traitors to their Country, is a picture very much studied by all the artists who visit the Salon because of its strange landscape, its wonderful effect of the glacial formations and its marvellous effects of color. Benjamin Constant's Les Derniers Rebelles is one of the best efforts of this artist, so fruitful in scenes drawn from Morocco and Egyptian life. He has depicted the sultan going forth in great splendor from the gates of the city of Morocco, surrounded by his army and courtiers, and before him are brought, either dead or alive, all the principal chiefs of the revolted tribes. There is much that is noble in the composition, and the coloring is perfect.
The arrangement of the pictures this year is not altogether satisfactory to the artists. A radical change has been made—grouping all the hors-concours men by themselves, and all the foreigners by themselves, and crowding about one thousand pictures out of doors into the corridors which run around the garden of the Palais de l'Industrie. A friend of mine saw a French artist mount a stepladder and deliberately cut out of the frame his picture and carry it away with him, because it was so badly hung.
The Illustrated Catalogue of the Salon is a somewhat remarkable work. It is specially noticeable for the very curious English translations of the titles of some of the paintings. For instance, the title of Gabriel Boutel's picture, Bonne à tout faire—a soldier seated with a baby in his arms—is rendered, Maid for anything(!). Prière à Saint Janvier is rendered Prayer AT Saint Januarious. Le Cabaret du Pot d'Étain is translated The Tavern of the Brass POT (instead of Pewter Mug). Ed. Morin's Promenade en Marne is A F_rip on the Marne!_ Our friend from Boston, Edwin Lord Weeks, is mentioned as "LORD" Edwin Weeks! But the best of all is La Cruche cassée, translated The Broken PIG! The title of another picture is (in the catalogue) _Good-bye, Swee_L hart!
Out of the 3957 oil paintings exhibited, our country is represented by 113 pictures, the productions of 83 Americans. Then we claim 13 of the aquarelle painters, and there are in addition 11 natives of the United States who exhibit designs in charcoal, sanguine, gouache, and paintings on either porcelain or faïence; also 7 sculptors—in all, 114 of our compatriots whose works are in the present Salon. New York claims the lion's share of these artists, 40 being accredited to that State. Of the remainder, 18 are from Boston, 13 from Philadelphia, 6 from New Orleans, 3 from Chicago, 2 from Toledo, 2 from San Francisco, etc. etc.
I think it will be generally admitted that the only really strong pictures exhibited by the American artists are John S. Sargent's portrait of Madame Pailleron (wife of the author of L'Étincelle) and his Fumée d'Ambre Gris; Henry Mosler's Toilette de Noce; D.R. Knight's Une Halte; Miss Gardner's Priscilla the Puritan; F.A. Bridgman's Habitation Arabe à Biskra; Charles E. DuBois's Autumn Evening on Lake Neuchâtel; and Edwin L. Weeks's Embarkment of the Camels and Gateway of an Old Fondak in the Holy City of Sallée (Morocco)—both of which were sold immediately after the opening. Of course there are several other good pictures by our compatriots, and some that possess great merit. But the ones indicated above are the only ones which (excepting Picknell's two landscapes, Sur le Bord du Marais and La Route de Concarneau) have called forth any special notice from French critics or in any way attracted much of the public attention thus far. Mr. Sargent is a surprise and a wonder to even his master, Carolus Duran, whose portrait, painted by Sargent, attracted great attention in the Salon of last year and received an "honorable mention." He has painted this year a full-length in the open air, producing a very sunny, strong out-door effect. The hands attract much praise, but opinions vary as to the face. His Fumée d'Ambre Gris represents a woman of Tangiers engaged in perfuming her clothing with the fumes from a lamp in which ambergris is burning. The white robes of the woman set off against a pearly-gray background, the rising smoke, the curiously-tinted finger-nails of the woman, and the rich rug on which the lamp stands, combine to make a very notable and curious picture.