compiled a gallery of very real sociologic interest.  M. Raffaelli has also exhibited Parisian landscapes in which appear great qualities of light.  He excels in rendering the mornings in the spring, with their pearly skies, their pale lights, their transparency and their slight shadows, and finally he has proved his mastery by some large portraits, fresh harmonies, generally devoted to the study of different qualities of white.  If the name “Impressionist” meant, as has been wrongly believed, an artist who confines himself to giving the impression of what he sees, then M. Raffaelli would be the real Impressionist.  He suggests more than he paints.  He employs a curious technique:  he often leaves a sky completely bare, throwing on to the white of the canvas a few colour notes which suffice to give the illusion.  He has a decided preference for white and black, and paints very slightly in small touches.  His very correct feeling for values makes him an excellent painter; but what interests him beyond all, is psychologic expression.  He notes it with so hasty a pencil, that one might almost say that he writes with colour.  He is also an etcher of great merit, and an original sculptor.  He has invented small bas-reliefs in bronze which can be attached to the wall, like sketches or nick-nacks; and he has applied his talent even to renewing the material for painting.  He is an ingenious artist and a prolific producer, a roguish, but sympathetic, observer of the life of the small people, which has not prevented him from painting very seriously when he wanted to, as is witnessed among other works by his very fine portrait of M. Clemenceau speaking at a public meeting, in the presence of a vociferous audience from which rise some hundred of heads whose expressions are noted with really splendid energy and fervour.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, who died recently, insane, leaves a great work behind him.  He had a kind of cruel genius.  Descended from one of the greatest families of France, badly treated by nature who made him a kind of ailing dwarf, he seemed to take a bitter pleasure in the study of modern vice.  He painted scenes at cafe-concerts and the rooms of wantons with intense truth.  Nobody has revealed better than he the lowness and suffering of the creatures “of pleasure,” as they have been dubbed by the heartrending irony of life.  Lautrec has shown the artificiality of the painted faces; the vulgarity of the types of the prostitutes of low origin; the infamous gestures, the disorder, the slovenliness of the dwellings of these women; all the shady side of their existence.  It has been said that he loved ugliness.  As a matter of fact, he did not exaggerate, he raised a powerful accusation against everything he saw.  But his terrible clairvoyance passed for caricature.  This sad psychologist was a great painter; he pleased himself with dressing in rose-coloured costumes the coarsest and most vulgar creatures he painted, such as one can find at the cabarets and concerts, and