Prejudices of this kind, however foolish and unfounded, are not of much consequence in painters, because if they have an antipathy to a certain colour or tree, they only avoid it. But one or two such prejudices might vitiate the judgment of a critic, so as to make him unjust to whole classes of artists.

The artifices of pseudo art criticism are so transparent that it seems hardly worth while to indicate them; still, as they appear to impose upon some people even yet, they have a claim upon our attention.

To be a true art critic it is necessary, first, to be in possession of an enormous amount of information about Art and Nature such as very few persons have either time or industry to acquire. Of course we presuppose a natural talent or disposition for criticism, but that, without the information, only makes people talk; and when people talk about matters which they do not understand, they generally talk nonsense.

The pseudo art critic is a person who writes what is called criticism without being in possession of the preliminary information which is indispensable to the production of true criticism. His chief anxiety is to hide this deficiency from his readers, and to leave the impression on their minds that he knows all about the Fine Arts. This is easy or difficult in exact proportion to the cultivation of his audience.

A genuine art critic often confesses ignorance of particular truths; as, for instance, in criticizing a naked figure, if he does not understand anatomy he will probably tell you so with perfect frankness; or if he has not witnessed a storm at sea, yet has to criticize a shipwreck, he will begin by telling you that his opinion on the subject is not of much value, but that the remarks he ventures to offer may be taken for what they are worth. A pseudo critic never does this, and whenever a critic pretends to know everything, it is the surest sign that he knows nothing, that he has not even an idea of what it is to know anything thoroughly. The pretence to universality in art criticism is sure to be hollow, because human life is not long enough for a man to become a universal art critic, if he studied for it ten hours a day, and never did anything else.

The immediate object of a pseudo critic is to discover defects; that of a true one, to arrive at opinions. The false critic cannot, however, afford to point out the defects of painters already canonized, because, by so doing, he would oppose the popular opinion, which he always takes care to conciliate. There is this peculiarity about painting, that it is impossible to produce an absolutely true picture, because some truths must always be sacrificed to others. If, in a landscape, the relation of one shadow to its light is truly given, the rest of the picture must be either false or out of harmony with that shadow. Again, colour has to be sacrificed to light, and form to colour. A painter has always to purchase truths with falsities, as men buy bread with money; and this necessity being not in the least

* That is, up to the date of the present publication. When they have read this article they will invent a new set of dodges, amongst which-who knows ?—even modesty may find a place.

understood by the public generally, offers to the pseudo critic infinite opportunities for the exercise of his little art or trick of petty fault-finding. And not only that, but the extreme difficulty of painting exposes all painters, even the greatest, to genuine errors, which a noble critic notices only when absolutely necessary, but which the base one fastens upon instinctively, whenever he dare, to the neglect of everything else; so that the whole tissue of his criticism, like the talk of an ill-tempered woman, is tiresome and interminable fault-finding.

Then there is the safe old well-known critical trick of blaming a thing for not being something else. The aims of our English painters are, to their honour, so large and various that endless opportunities occur for the exercise of this ancient artifice. The wonder is, that there should exist people so simple as to be imposed upon by it, yet it still apparently answers, like many other cunning contrivances of our ancestors, which modern ingenuity strives vainly to supersede. Thus, if I want to leave. an impression that John Lewis and John Brett are not what they should be, I have only to suggest that Reynolds and Gainsborough did not paint in that manner, which, of course, is undeniable.

But an invention which modern times may fairly claim is, the art of hinting that you could say a good deal against a picture if you felt inclined, but that the faults you vaguely allude to are too obvious to require specification. This has great effect on people not very conversant with Art. Another form of it is to allude to classes of Art, whose merit and value you cannot quite safely deny, as if they were so very familiar as to have become stale and tiresome. There exists amongst artists a complete vocabulary of slang, the great convenience of which is that it enables you to talk knowingly about your superiors, and, without committing yourself to the expression of a single real opinion, affect to estimate lightly all that they have accomplished.

The one distinguishing quality of all valuable art criticism is largeness -largeness of acquired information, to grasp the knowledge of so many thousands of artists, and largeness of natural sympathy, to enter into the individual feelings and affections of so great a multitude of minds. For to criticize adequately any artist's work, mere talent and honesty, though needful, are not enough. It is necessary to have learned what he has learned, and felt what he has felt.

P. G. II.

344

Richelieu's Shabby Suit.

THE researches of M. Morny Lafon have recently brought to light the particulars of a cause célèbre which was the talk of all Paris in the earlier days of Louis XVI., but which is not, that we are aware, familiar to many English readers. The principal person engaged in it was the Duke of Richelieu, Marshal of France, celebrated in so many novels and plays as the beau idéal of a courtly libertine; and it shows what sort of institution the once famous Parliament of Paris had become, when, after its dissolution in 1771, the Minister Maurepas recalled it into existence, in the vain hope of acquiring popularity. The book in which all the minutie of the case described by M. Lafon are stated at length, and which is entitled Le Maréchal de Richelieu et Madame de Saint Vincent, is well worthy of an attentive perusal, because it brings forward many persons whose characters illustrate the period immediately preceding the first French Revolution. Here we have confined ourselves to the main facts, deeming these sufficient to constitute a tolerably good story, and to furnish a picture of a state of manners to which nothing corresponds at the present day.

The heroine of the tale is a lady of ancient Provençal lineage, whose family name was Vence-Villeneuve, and who very early in life became the wife of the Marquis Fauris de Saint Vincent, President of the Parliament of Aix. So lightly did she regard her matrimonial obligations, that at a period by no means remarkable for moral austerity, the members of her family, including her father and her husband, held a meeting, and applied to the Government as to the best means of providing for so discreditable a connection. The result of the application was a Royal order to the effect that Julie, Countess of Vence-Villeneuve, wife of the President, should be conducted to a Benedictine convent situated at Millau in Languedoc. This event occurred in the year 1753.

Shortly after or before her marriage, the Duke of Richelieu, who was governor of the provinces of Guyenne and Gascony, had paid a visit to M. de Vence, father of the fair Julie. The young girl made a slight impression upon the duke, and the duke was too long remembered by the young girl. There was not much to do in the convent, and Madame de Vincent, proud of her acquaintance with the great man, amused her companions by talking of the memorable visit to Aix. She soon had the further gratification of bestowing a little patronage. One of the nuns requested she would exert her influence in favour of her brother, and a letter was accordingly despatched to Bordeaux, where the governor resided. The chances were, that the old duke, who had passed ten good years in folly

and dissipation since he had seen his little friend, had forgotten all about her. Such, however, was unfortunately not the case. Richelieu not only answered the letter, but immediately granted the favour requested. Nay, the old scapegrace was so pleased at being reminded of one of the few innocent acts in the course of his sinful life, that he wrote to Madame de Saint Vincent, about once a week, in a semi-gallant sort of style, expressing his regret that he could not call upon her, and delicately warning her not to ask more favours for her friends than he could possibly grant.

The warning was not needed. Madame de Saint Vincent had soon given up all thoughts of her friends, and was only thinking how she might benefit herself. She had greatly exceeded her allowance, was deeply in debt, and found creditors intrusive. A modest epistle, hinting at the shortness of her supplies, was written to the duke; and, strange to sayfor Richelieu was the stingiest of libertines-was honoured with a favourable reply, namely, an order for 3,000 livres.

By divers articles of virtù, illuminated missals, and what not, we are constantly reminded that the seclusion of convents has sometimes proved favourable to the cultivation of the imitative arts. Possessed of Richelieu's letters, a desire of becoming a proficient in imitative art took possession of Madame de Saint Vincent. Placing a letter against the window of her holy retreat, she would cover it with a blank sheet of paper, and ingeniously copy one word after another, till she had produced documents which, to all appearance, were in the hand-writing of Richelieu, but the contents of which were entirely dictated by the exigencies of Madame de Saint Vincent. Among other works of art thus created was a copy of the order for 3,000 livres, which was greatly improved upon the original by the addition of a cipher. Madame de Saint Vincent was no servile copyist; while she carefully studied her model, she threw in beauties emphatically her own.

Unlike many great artists, this ingenious lady had carefully consulted the tastes of the peculiar spectators to whom her works were exhibited; and never was the civilizing, mollifying effect of art more plainly shown than in her case. Those rapacious vultures, the creditors of Millau, had no sooner set their eyes on the fabricated order for 30,000-livres, with the duke's signature in the corner, than their rapacity vanished at once, and where they had intended contumely they lavished respect.

Madame de Saint Vincent, however, was not so totally absorbed in the pursuit of art as to neglect the performance of a virtuous action. She had taken notice of one M. Védel du Montel, major of the Dauphin's regiment, who had visited one of her fellow-residents, Mademoiselle Maury de Saint Victor, in the character of an accepted lover. Knowing-for she knew a great deal—something of the antecedents of this gentleman, she assured her young friend that the qualities of the major were not of a kind likely to ensure domestic happiness; and thus occasioned a series of inquiries, which resulted in a dissolution of the engagement. Her conduct on

this occasion is rendered the more admirable by the circumstance that Mademoiselle de Saint Victor, who had once been her most intimate friend, had gradually become unaccountably cool and distant. The cause of the change she did not know, but we do. Mademoiselle de Saint Victor had observed, unseen, the labours of Madame de Saint Vincent in her studio; and it is the peculiarity of the line of art to which the latter had devoted herself, that the works belonging to it are only admired by those who have not seen them executed.

All of a sudden Madame de Saint Vincent grew heartily sick of the Benedictine convent, and, by repeated epistles, bored her father and her husband to such an extent that, merely for the sake of peace and quietness, they allowed her to take up her residence among the Ursulines of Tarbes. However, before she could quit Millau she had to satisfy other persons besides the heads of her family. These were her creditors, who, much as they had been gratified by the inspection of the order for 30,000 livres, had as yet touched nothing, and had no notion of allowing her to slip through their fingers. What was to be done?

The lovely recluse bethought herself of one M. des Angles, who held a place under the duke, and who was the person for whom, at the request of his sister, she had in the first instance asked a favour. Gratitude, she thought, would secure his devotion; and summoning him to Millau, she laid before him the state of her affairs, hoping that he would aid her in obtaining the assistance of the duke, and talking about a legacy of 10,000 livres which had been bequeathed to her by her mother, and with which she intended to pay her debts. M. des Angles was not only satisfied, but delighted; and when, a month afterwards, Madame de Saint Vincent showed him a letter from Richelieu, in which the story of the legacy was confirmed, and the duke promised that he would see everything set right, M. des Angles called in all the bills of his lovely confidant, and made himself responsible for their aggregate amount-viz. 5,525 livres-convinced that Richelieu was his guarantee.

M. des Angles must have been one of those men by no means rare in the world, who, when once they take a fancy to a thing, will easily rush into a scrape with their eyes wide open. Just when his last conversation with Madame de Saint Vincent had reached its most interesting point, and he was taking the burden of her debts on his own obliging shoulders, in walked Mademoiselle de Saint Victor, and, unobserved by the marchioness, began shaking her head at him with all her might and main. M. des Angles did not pause in his operations, but he noticed the signal, and Madame de Saint Vincent having retired, he took the opportunity of asking Mademoiselle de Saint Victor what she meant by her kindly solicitude. The young lady's explanation was clear enough. She roundly declared that the legacy bequeathed by the marchioness's mother had no existence, save in the imagination of the marchioness, and that her significant shakes of the head were intended to prevent M. des Angles from making a fool of himself.