To those who asked him why he did not go to Italy for his subjects, Georges Michel would answer: “The man who can not find enough to paint during his whole life in a circuit of four miles is in reality no artist.” This artistic creed was nothing less than revolutionary at that time, in the early days of the XIX century, when the landscape painter regarded nature as unworthy of his brush unless it was bedecked with ancient temples and peopled with gods and goddesses, or at least suggested Italy or some distant land. Georges Michel lived on the heights of Montmartre in Paris. He walked out into the country and painted what he saw. His landscapes are actual studies of nature painted in the open air. As one of the first painters of paysage intime, Michel was a forerunner of Rousseau and the men of 1830. His narrow, subdued scheme of color establishes his relationship with the great Dutch masters of the XVII century. In France, however, his was pioneer work; he did not cater to the popular demand, and it was not until the World Exhibition in 1889 that his genius was generally recognized.—Gift of James J. Hill.

The most popular figure paintings of the mid-nineteenth century in France were those of the group of compromisers or semi-classicists. Their compositions were the natural successors to the classicism of the academicians David and Ingres, modified by a new vogue in France for romantic types and for modern history. One of the important men of this group was Bouguereau. He had much skill in drawing and in composition. He makes his appeal, however, chiefly through his choice of themes, employing usually either sentimental religious subjects or pretty children.—From the Bequest of Mrs. W. H. Dunwoody.

The bright Turkish interior, which Gerome has chosen for his scene, gives it a colorful setting. The walls are covered with rich blue-green tiles. The brilliant garment thrown over the seat at the right, and the towel hanging above it give the complementary colors. Against this vivid ground are played the cool flesh tones of the seated woman and the sleek, dusky skin of the negro attendant. Further color and exotic interest are given by the gaudy bangles and kerchief of the slave.

Gerome is usually classed with Bouguereau among the semi-classicists of the XIX century in France. In his work, we find the strong interest in contours, in reposeful composition, and in smooth finish for which the academy stood, while his subjects take us to the romantic Orient and spread before us the pageantry of history.—Gift of Mrs. Frederick B. Wells in memory of her father, Frank H. Peavey.

This battle scene by the French military painter de Neuville depicts the crucial moment in a hard campaign undertaken to crush a rebellion among the Egyptians. In the gray dawn of September 13, 1882, a British force with bayonets fixed stormed the entrenched natives; and in a few minutes hard fighting decided the supremacy of Great Britain in Egypt.

The Polish painter Chelminski was contemporary with the military painters working in France, and his work is similar, although his training was that of Munich, not Paris. In Napoleon's Retreat from Russia, he suggests in the tragic sunset lighting of the sky, the frightful demoralization and suffering of Napoleon's army, defeated by boundless steppes and relentless winter.—Gift of James J. Hill.

Few great artists have been so little influenced by their great forerunners as Courbet was. A man of strong peasant instincts, of incomparable forcefulness and initiative, he looked at the works of the great romanticists of his time and laughed with a titantic contempt. He looked at the works of Raphael and Michelangelo and laughed again. Their power and beauty were nothing to Courbet because they were afraid of the unvarnished truth. The Spaniards he admired. He was instinctively the “painter of raw material.” Moreover, he was a truculent propagandist, an “individualist with strong elbows.”

In his own time, he was a subject of ridicule; but we now know that he was a great painter as well as a blunt pioneer. His great artistry is inescabable when we see in such a painting as The Roe Covert, the bold naturalism of vision, and directness of brushing combined with such a fine power of harmonizing tones, and through all, such a tender feeling for the subject. He is as a young savage might be in his element; he can love Nature without first making romantic literature of her.—Gift of James J. Hill.

Rousseau, the founder of the Barbizon school, had the landscapes of such XVII century Hollanders as Ruisdael and of the English Constable as precedents. Diaz, one of Rousseau's followers, was fond of painting landscapes dark with sullen skies or forest shade, enlivened with bright spots where human figures are introduced or where the sun penetrates the trees. Daubigny, younger and less romantic, introduces with his freer handling, a yet more modern spirit. These two paintings are part of the memorial gift of Mrs. Frederick B. Wells.

Troyon, a member of the Barbizon group, was fascinated by the pastoral aspect of cattle in landscapes. While Ruisdael was the principal example for Rousseau and Diaz, it was to Cuyp, the Dutch cattle painter, that Troyon went for inspiration. These two paintings are part of the bequest of Mrs. W. H. Dunwoody.

Historically, Boudin is important as a link between the Men of 1830 and the Impressionists—more specifically, between Corot and Monet. If the public and the conservatives of the Academy ignored him, his art was understood and admired by his greatest confreres. “King of the skies,” Corot called him. Courbet, after watching him paint a canvas, exclaimed, “Truly you are one of the seraphim, for you alone understand the heavens!” Monet, in a letter to him in 1889, wrote “in recognition of the advice which has made me what I am.” The modest Boudin in turn gives much credit to Corot, Courbet and Jongkind for his own insight into the subtle truths of atmosphere.

Born at Honfleur, the son of a steamboat pilot, Boudin was a cabin-boy until the age of fourteen. In spare moments, he began to make sketches which revealed talent. Later he was able to devote more time to painting, although even beyond the age of fifty there were periods when he was obliged to turn day-laborer to keep himself alive. The greater part of his paintings represent scenes in Norman and Breton harbors showing quais and jetties with the bare masts of square-riggers fretted against gray skies. Some time after 1868 Isabey persuaded him to paint the fashionable watering places, and it was several years later that our Beach at Trouville must have been produced. Yet in reality his subject was always sky and atmosphere. The charm of his water, the depth and reach of his skies, with that marvelous subtlety of silvery grays, and violet grays, and leaden grays, his habit of painting always “en plein-air,” his way of using the brush, these things must indeed have influenced the younger Monet, and Monet's canvases dated around 1870 show a clear parallelism.

Albert Andre is known especially for his charming flower pieces. These show the artist as a master of technique, gifted with a peculiar sensitiveness to value relations and an unusual color sense. He is particularly happy in securing an agreeable texture. He is a realist in intention, but combines truth of representation with beauty of design. In the Geranium, the emphasis is rather more upon decoration of the rectangular surface of the canvas than upon the representation of tri-dimensional form. The clear note of the salmon pink blossoms against the accompaniment of the carefully distinguished grays and the Venetian red in leaves, wall, and draperies is finely felt. Andre holds a distinguished position among painters of the contemporary French school.

The Conversion is an excellent example of the work of Gabriel Max, one of the well-known painters of Germany in the XIX century. It represents a scene apparently laid in the catacombs of Rome early in the Christian era. A woman seated on some stone steps is trying to persuade three men standing opposite her to embrace the new religion to which she has already become a convert. It is a good piece of psychological illustration. The woman's figure is painted much in the style of Bouguereau, but there is a deeper sincerity in her face, her mouth betraying the neurotic sensitiveness not uncommon among religious mystics. The group of three men is well painted and fine in color. The two nearer men seem to have been completely won over by the gentle teachings, while the young man at the right, though much moved, still resists conversion. The strong interest in the literary or illustrative aspect of the subject is characteristic of this period of painting in Germany.—Given in memory of Mrs. Thomas Lowry by Mrs. Gustav Schwyzer, Mrs. Percy Hagerman and Horace Lowry.

The exotic quality of this painting of Arab horsemen appeals quickly to one's love of travel and romance—the great extent of the untamed surroundings, the quivering refinement of the horses, the bizarre barbarity of the costumes and accoutrements, the fascination of these fierce handsome Arab faces, the rich color of the whole! Schreyer was the German reflection of the French Orientalist-romanticists, Delacroix and Decamps, although his less fiery spirit is perhaps closer to his refined contemporary Fromentin.—Given in memory of Mrs. Thomas Lowry.

This little village is painted with a love of sunlight and color, breathes a mountain quality in the sharp, clear atmosphere.

Zugel shows a brilliance in his work which suggests paintings by the American Sargent. One might hunt long for a truer animal study, or for a more beautiful rendering of sunlight and beguiling purple shadow.

These two paintings are the foundation of a collection belonging to the Scandinavian Art Society, and deposited in the Institute. The figure of the old peasant is instinct with character. The complex planes of the weather-beaten face and gnarled hands are established with the minimum of means. The painting by Fjaestad owes its fascination mainly to the almost Chinese sense of style and pattern. The movement of the water's swirling lines is interesting, well schemed, and perfectly balanced.

The art of Israels, with its straightforward and sympathetic portrayal of the emotions of the common folk, makes a direct and wholesome appeal to all. Its democratic, ethical purport would have satisfied the demands of Tolstoy. Without theatricality, or morbid invention of horrible and ironic situations, he interprets the lives of poor people. The types he chooses are strong and simple. Sometimes he tenderly portrays young men and girls in the fields, or happy peasant mothers with their children, as in our painting; and when poverty or tragedy are the theme, as they in much of his later work, he sees no demoralization nor degradation—only fortitude and sadness. The spirit of man triumphs.—Gift of Mrs. Frederick B. Wells.

Sorolla, born at Valencia in the warm sunshine of southern Spain, is one of the most joyous and spontaneous artists who ever slapped paint onto canvas. The first exhibition of his work in this country was held at the Hispanic Museum in New York in 1909; and there has probably never been in America an exhibition of paintings crowded with such enthusiastic thousands of people. As one came into the exhibition gallery, one was fairly dazzled by the high key and the headlong virtuosity of the paintings which lined the walls; one felt a sense of heightened vitality.

We are told that Sorolla studied in the Academies of Valencia and Rome, and finally that he was influenced by Bastien Lepage, Menzel, and by the old Spanish and Italian masters whom he copied. It is hard to think of him in connection with any such schools or painters. His bold brushwork, his unaffected and individual handling of bright sunlight, his high animal spirits, are like no other painter we know, unless it be the Scandinavian Zorn.

The subjects chosen by Sorolla are varied. He paints fashionable portraits, and occasionally landscape. Mostly he paints scenes on the sunny Mediterranean shores of Spain. Into these he introduces figures, sometimes subordinated to the sea, more often as the principal interest of the picture. Sometimes he shows fishermen working at their boats, as in the stunning canvas in the Metropolitan Museum. When he does, they are no bent-backed toilers, but joyous, active, triumphant creatures. More often Sorolla loves to paint people playing on the beach, their light clothes spotted cleverly against the bright sand or waves; or best of all, children! Healthy and full of vivid glee, they race along the beach, lie on the sand in the wash of reaching breakers, or swim frog-like in the green transparency of sheltered water.

This landscape by the Scotch painter, Alexander Nasmyth, is so unobtrusive as to be easily overlooked by the visitor. For those who feel the spirit of the little picture, however, it has an abiding charm. The artist was a man of extraordinary versatility and enterprise, an able scene painter and architect, and an inventor and engineer of eminence. In our painting one sees little of the boldness expected from a mind given credit for originating principles of steamboat propulsion and bridge construction. The touch is formal, almost shy, in its reserve; the drawing is precise, and the lighting and color conventional. Much of the charm of the work is probably due to this reticence. The scene presents a restful tranquility, and a quaint homeliness. The interest plays back and forth between the romantic old ruin and the contrasting rural and domestic life which has put past splendors to such strange modern uses. The theme is reminiscent of Piranesi's etchings of classical ruins. Out of death springs life; from the decayed tree come strange fungus growths. After hundreds of years, the castle wall of a feudal lord gives support to a peasant cottage; his hall serves to shelter cattle.

Alexander Nasmyth was a pupil of the portraitist, Allan Ramsay (1713-1784). Ramsay discovered him in Edinburgh painting armorial bearings on carriage doors, and took him to London. Upon his return to Edinburgh, he painted portraits, including a famous portrait of Robert Burns; but turned his attention, after 1793, exclusively to landscapes.

The story of Psyche's Wedding is a myth of Greek origin, and runs as follows: A certain king in the west country had three beautiful daughters. The youngest was by far the most beautiful; so beautiful, indeed, that she received homage from men which was due to Venus alone. The anger of the goddess was aroused against her, and the maiden herself became unhappy because, due to her awesome beauty, no one sought her in marriage. The King, her father, inquired of the Oracle of Apollo what should be done. The story is told in Walter Pater's Marius the Epicurean, from which the following extract is taken:

“And Apollo answered him thus: ‘Let the damsel be placed on the top of a certain mountain, adorned as for the bed of marriage and of death. Look not for a son-in-law of mortal birth but for that evil serpent-thing by reason of whom even the gods tremble and the shades of Styx are afraid.’ So the king returned home and made known the oracle to his wife. For many days she lamented, but at last the fulfillment of the divine precept is urgent upon her, and the company make ready to conduct the maiden to her deadly bridal. And now the nuptial torch gathers dark smoke and ashes, the pleasant sound of the pipe is changed into a cry, the marriage hymn concludes in a sorrowful wailing, below her yellow wedding veil, the bride shook away her tears; insomuch that the whole city was afflicted together at the ill-luck of the stricken household.... she was silent, and with firm step went on her way, and they proceeded to the appointed place on a steep mountain and left there the maiden alone and took their way homeward dejectedly.” It was Cupid, however, not a monster, who welcomed the sorrowful maiden, and after many adventures, Psyche found happiness.

In this cheerful painting, representing two little girls seated at a breakfast table flooded with the bright, clear light of a summer morning, the real theme which has engaged the artist is nothing more nor less than light itself. The tablecloth and window curtains half in sunlight, half in luminous shadow, and the shining glassware and silver urn are ably painted. The green of the garden and the yellow-green of sundrenched lawn are seen through the window echoed in the interior by daffodills, lemons and lime juice bottle, while happy touches of blue appear in the china and one of the frocks. Silver and Green was painted 1913, and was awarded Honorable Mention at the International Exhibition in Pittsburg in 1914.