Part 2

His pictures always tell a story, and tell it so plainly that they do not need titles. They have brought him great praise and many honors, but he is a modest man and we know very little about his life.

He signs his paintings “Geo.”

=Questions about the artist.= Who painted this picture? Where does he live? What other pictures has he painted? Why do his pictures not need titles?

WOMAN CHURNING

=Questions to arouse interest.= What is this woman doing? How many know how butter is made? How many have ever tried to churn it? What else can you see in the picture? What does the cat want? What is she doing? What can you see in the back of the room? What do you see on the bench? Of what is the floor made? Why do you think this room is cool? How is the woman dressed? What can you see in the doorway? What is the hen doing? What do you like best about this picture?

=Original Picture=: Luxembourg Gallery, Paris, France. =Artist=: Jean François Millet (mē´lĕ´) =Birthplace=: Gruchy, France. =Dates=: Born, 1814; died, 1875.

=The story of the picture.= When the artist, Jean François Millet, was a little boy he lived in the country where nearly all the people knew how to churn and make their own butter. No doubt he often watched his grandmother churn and helped her, too. He must have liked to see her pour the milk into the big pans, which she then set away in a cool place until all the cream had come to the top. Then she would skim the cream from the milk, put it into the big wooden churn, and begin to work the churning rod up and down, up and down, until her arms grew so tired that she was glad to rest them a while and let him churn.

At the end of the rod inside the churn are two boards fastened crosswise which work the cream into butter as the rod is moved up and down. The churn in the picture has a cover with a hole in the center for the handle, and as soon as the cream begins to thicken some of it works up with the rod to the top of the churn. We can see it in the picture. This cream must be what the cat smells and wants. If you have ever watched a cat sniffing at something it likes, you will know right away what the cat in the picture is doing. She rubs against the woman’s dress as a gentle reminder that she is there, and would very much like to have some cream. If the woman is called away for a few moments she had better take the cat with her or I fear Puss will not wait to be served.

A hen looks in at the open door, curious to know what is going on. The woman continues her churning. She must churn until the butter comes, which may be in twenty minutes or an hour, depending upon the condition of the cream. Then the butter will be salted and prepared for the table.

Many farmers now send their milk to the creameries, where it is made into butter. In these days of cream separators and machinery of all kinds, buttermaking has ceased to be the difficult task that it once was.

Butter has not always been used for the table as we use it now. We read that, long ago, the Romans used it only as an ointment and in medicine. The people of India used it to anoint the wounds of their elephants. The Greeks knew very little about it, and considered its odor very disagreeable. One writer (Plutarch) tells us of a visit which a great Spartan lady paid to the wife of an important official, when the one smelled so strongly of sweet ointment and the other of butter that they could not endure each other. People in those days used olive oil in place of butter and this must have satisfied their tastes as well as butter does ours.

This picture is often called “The Buttermaker.” Like all of Millet’s pictures, it is a picture of work. The woman looks strong and capable, and willing to do each task as it comes to her. Farther back in the room we can see a bench upon which are placed the great jars of milk. The stone floor and the half-darkened room suggest a cool, comfortable place in which to work on a hot summer day. The woman is dressed like all the French peasants, a handkerchief wound around her head, and wearing those wooden shoes which everybody wore, even the little children. The broom resting against the bench suggests another task when this one is finished.

The strong light in the left-hand side of the picture must come from some window near by, for that side of the woman’s face and dress, and of the churn and handle, is brightly lighted. Most of the woman’s face, however, is indistinct, for Millet did not consider the features important and usually painted his faces in shadow. It is in what the men and women are doing and how they do it that he wished to interest us.

=Questions to help the pupil understand the picture.= How did Millet know so much about churning butter? How did his grandmother make butter? Describe the churn. What is at the end of the rod inside the churn? What can you see on the top of this churn? What does the cat want? How does she ask for it? How long must the woman churn? How is the butter prepared for the table? Where is most of our butter made to-day? How is it churned? How did the Romans use butter? the people of India? the Greeks? Tell about the visit of the Spartan lady. What did people use instead of butter? What is this picture sometimes called? What are the figures in most of Millet’s pictures doing? How is this woman dressed? Why did Millet paint most of her face indistinctly? What did he consider important? Where does the light come from?

=To the Teacher=: Have a child pose as if churning. An ordinary pail or the waste-paper basket with a broom or mop handle will do very well for the churn. If possible, have the child stand on a platform or table. The teacher’s apron may be worn, but the idea is to represent the action,—the bent head, curve of shoulders, position of arms, and general feeling of the figure. Use brush and ink for silhouette picture, or charcoal and manila paper.

SUBJECTS FOR SHORT COMPOSITIONS What I See in This Picture. How Butter Is Made. The Cat and the Hen. What I Like about This Picture. The Man Who Painted This Picture.

=The story of the artist.= It was not a very long walk to the little village schoolhouse at Gruchy where Jean François Millet studied. His good old grandmother had taught him his letters at home, and he could read and spell very well before he ever went to school at all. He was past six years old, and large for his age, before he started. When he arrived at the school yard the first thing he did was to fight. There was a boy in the school who had fought every boy in the class, and proved that he was the strongest. So when he saw Millet coming down the street with the older children in whose care he had been sent, this boy hurried toward him and dared him to fight. Millet himself tells how he came out victorious, and how proud the older children were. “Millet is only six and a half,” they said, “and he has beaten a boy more than seven years old.”

But Millet was not a fighter, and fought only when he was forced to. He loved to study, and soon stood at the head of his class. When the village priest offered to teach him Latin he was only too glad to study evenings or at any other time. At home he found little to read except the Bible, which belonged to his grandmother; even when he was very little she had told him many wonderful stories from this book. This Bible contained many pictures, and one day he surprised her by making a drawing from one of them. He drew his picture on the wall of the house, with white chalk. She was delighted, and so were his mother and father when they saw the picture. After that he drew many pictures of things in and about the house, and of his grandmother, his brothers and sisters, and his parents.

As a boy Millet had to work in the fields with his father and he had little time to spend on his drawings or his studies. In France it is the custom among the peasants to spend an hour every day in rest. But Millet, instead of sleeping during that hour, spent it in drawing the homely scenes around him.

It was not until he was eighteen years old, however, that he drew a picture which made his parents decide he should become an artist. This picture was of an old man bent over a cane, whom Millet met as he was coming home from church. He drew this with charcoal on a stone wall, and people recognized it at once and were very much pleased. His father said he would take him to see an artist in the next village to whom he would show some of Millet’s drawings and find out whether he thought the boy could become an artist. Millet took two drawings with him. The first represented two shepherds with their sheep, one shepherd playing a flute, the other listening as he watched the sheep nibbling the grass near by. The second drawing was of a man giving bread to a beggar at his door. When the artist (Mouchel) saw these drawings he was amazed, and at first would not believe Millet had drawn them himself. He said that Millet would surely be a great painter. This decided the matter, and Millet became Mouchel’s pupil.

Millet studied with the artist not quite two months when his father died, and he was obliged to return home to take his father’s place on the farm as best he could. But the people of the village thought it was too bad for him to give up his painting, and they determined to help him. So they raised a sum of money for him and sent him back to the artist to study, and finally to the great city of Paris, France.

At Paris he became the pupil of a fashionable painter of that day. When he entered the class, a green peasant boy, the other pupils laughed at him, but when they saw his work they admired it very much. However, they did not care for the people he painted, for he always pictured the poor French peasants whom he knew and loved best. The very paintings we prize so highly now were not appreciated then, and it was not easy for Millet to sell them. He was very poor until the last ten years of his life. Then people began to give him the honor and praise that he so much deserved.

Then too with his increasing fame came better financial conditions. In 1867 he received a medal and the blue ribbon of the Legion of Honor. Soon afterward the death of a dear artist friend made Millet fall ill. He never recovered his health and died a few years later.

=Questions about the artist.= Who painted this picture? How old was he when he started to school? Tell about his first day at school. How did he get along at school? What did he study with the priest? What did he read at home? How did he surprise his grandmother? Where did he draw his picture? What else did he draw? Of whom did he draw a picture as he was coming home from church? Why must it have looked like the man? Where did Millet’s father take him? What two drawings did they take with them? What did the artist think about these drawings? What did he say about Millet? Why did Millet return home? What did his neighbors do for him? Who laughed at him in the city? How did they feel when they saw what he could do? Why could he not sell all his pictures? When were they appreciated? Why are they so valuable now?

THE BROKEN PITCHER

=Questions to arouse interest.= Where is this young girl? Why do you think so? What do you see in the background that tells you so? What has happened? Why does she look so serious? Does she look frightened, or just sorry? What is she carrying on her arm? What is she carrying in her apron? How is she dressed? How is her hair combed? What do you see in her hair? What is pinned on her dress? How old do you think she is? Why do you think you would like her?

=Original Picture=: Louvre (lōō´vr’) Gallery, Paris, France. =Artist=: Jean Baptiste Greuze (grûz). =Birthplace=: Tournus (Tōōr´nüs´), France. =Dates=: Born, 1725; died, 1805.

=The story of the picture.= One glance at this picture tells us what has happened, and why the little girl looks so serious. On her arm she carries a quaint old pitcher which she has just broken. It looks as though she were dressed for a party, for there are flowers in her hair, a bouquet on her dress, and flowers in her apron. Perhaps she had picked the flowers and was getting the water so that she could place the pitcher full of blossoms on the table. She may have gathered up all the broken pieces in her apron, hoping that the pitcher can be mended. We are sure that it must have been a pitcher that she prized very highly and hopes to save, for she still holds it. But surely it is not customary to take such a good pitcher to the fountain; a tin pail or a jug would be so much safer. It must be that there is company at her home. She must have caught up the pitcher from the table and hurried away, impatient to be back with her friends. In her haste she may have slipped and fallen. Now she must go home, and they will all know what has happened.

She stands still a moment, trying to think how to tell them; she does not know just how it did happen, or whether she was really to blame or not. Had the board she stepped on not been slippery, or the pitcher not quite so heavy, and if she had not been in a hurry, all would have been well. Of one thing she is certain—she did not do it purposely. She wishes she had brought an old pitcher or a pail; but it is of no use to think about that now—the mischief is done. And somehow we feel sure she will not be punished or even scolded very much.

What a very pretty girl she is, with just such a sweet face as the artist Greuze always loved to paint. In the original painting she has blue eyes, light hair, pink cheeks, very red lips, and her dress is white. In the background we see the old stone fountain, the cool water flowing in a steady stream from the mouth of the rudely carved head. What interesting tales that fountain could tell of the rich and the poor who pass that way each day; of the many little acts of courtesy and kindness it has seen; of the thirsty, the wasteful and careless, the happy and the sad people it has known and served.

THE FOUNTAIN

Through the earth a tiny streamlet Pushed its way so clear and cool, Shot right up where all could see it And at length it formed a pool.

People, passing stopped to taste it And it quenched their thirst so soon That they said, “Let’s build a fountain,” And to all it proved a boon.

Rich and poor came there to seek it, Came with pails and pitchers too. But the streamlet still flowed strongly Whether many came or few.

Years passed on and still the fountain Gave to all its nectar sweet; Gave it freely to all comers, And it always proved a treat.

So it gleamed with those in gladness As it moaned for those too sad. Did its very best to help them, Soothed them with the strength it had.

Come, then, tarry by this fountain, Learn its lesson ere you go. Can we do as much for others? Can we help them, friend or foe?

=Questions to help the pupil understand the picture.= What color is this young girl’s dress? her eyes? her hair? her cheeks? How do you think she would look if she smiled? Why does she look so serious? How do you suppose she happened to come to the fountain? Why did she hurry? What makes you think she wanted to keep this pitcher? Why do you think they will not scold her? What kind of a fountain is it? From what does the water flow? How many have watched the people who come to a fountain for water? Why do you think the fountain could tell us some interesting stories if it could talk?

=To the Teacher=: Have the pupils illustrate the story of the little girl going for water. Use charcoal and manila paper.

=The story of the artist.= Jean Baptiste Greuze was born at Tournus, France, in 1725. When, as a small boy, he began to show decided talent for drawing, his father was very much disappointed. He wanted his boy to pursue some more profitable profession, for, as he said, it was only the few who won fame and wealth as artists; the rest starved.

However, the boy persevered and finally was permitted to study with an artist friend of the family. This artist became much interested in him, and when, some months later, he moved to Paris, he persuaded the father to allow Greuze to go with him. Here the study was continued, Greuze receiving special instruction in the painting of heads. His greatest delight was in painting heads of children and of old men, and “Greuze heads” soon became famous.

Then, too, he painted many pictures from the Bible, and at one time he was ambitious to become a historical painter. It was then he went to Rome to study the paintings of the famous masters there. His first painting to bring him fame was “A Father Explaining the Scriptures to His Family.” Our picture, “The Broken Pitcher” is one of the best known and most popular of his paintings.

=Questions about the artist.= Who painted this picture? Of what nationality was he? Why did his father not want him to become an artist? What did the boy persist in doing? Who helped him? Where did he go to continue his study? What did he paint most? what other subjects?

MADAME LEBRUN AND HER DAUGHTER

=Questions to arouse interest.= What do you see in this picture? What relation are these two to each other? Why do you think so? How are they dressed? Why do you suppose they look so happy? How could Madame Lebrun paint this picture of herself? From what direction does the light come? Why do you like the picture?

=Original Picture=: The Louvre, Paris, France. =Artist=: Madame Vigée-Lebrun (lē brŭN´). =Birthplace=: Paris, France. =Dates=: Born, 1755; died, 1842.

=The story of the picture.= Probably we think we know just how we look and yet I wonder how many of us could tell it to an artist so plainly that he would be able to paint our portrait. Perhaps at best all we could tell him would be that his picture did not look like us, though without knowing why. But it is true that many great artists have painted their own portraits, and very good likenesses they are, too. In some ways it ought to be easy, for as they are their own models they can sit for their pictures as often and as long as they wish.

Madame Lebrun had been planning for some time perhaps to paint a portrait of herself. Then, just as she was all ready and seated in front of a long mirror, the door had opened suddenly and in had come her little daughter. With a hop and a jump she had thrown herself into her mother’s arms. Then with her arms still about her mother’s neck, she had happened to think of the mirror, and half turning there she had seen herself held close in her mother’s embrace. Madame Lebrun realized at once what a lovely picture it would make, and so she began to paint it.

How much they resemble each other! The little girl’s name was Jeanne Julie Louise Lebrun, and she must have been very lovely indeed. Her mother tells us, “She was charming in every respect. Her large blue eyes sparkling with spirit, her slightly tip-tilted nose, her pretty mouth, magnificent teeth, a dazzling fresh complexion, all went to make up one of the sweetest faces to be seen.”

She did not care to draw and paint as her mother did, but she loved to write stories.

How proud of her lovely mother she seems to be! And indeed she ought to look proud, and happy too, for perhaps there never was a little girl more petted and loved. Imagine how proud she must have felt that her mother was such a great artist, and painted beautiful pictures which every one admired and which, with her pleasant ways, made her one of the most beloved women in France.

The light in the picture seems to come from a window at the left-hand side and to fall directly upon the faces of the mother and child. So interested are we in them we do not realize that there is no landscape background, only a suggestion of a curtain or screen against which the two faces stand out clearly. The mother is dressed in white, the daughter in a blue which matches her merry blue eyes.

To us these two can never grow sad or old, and we are glad Madame Lebrun looked in her mirror and gave us this beautiful picture.

MADAME LEBRUN AND HER DAUGHTER

Once a mirror, tall and stately, Caught an image, held it safely, Gleamed and glistened, Dreamed and listened,

While the artist, glancing in it, Glanced again, and smiled within it, Thought and pondered, Sought and wondered.

As she sat thus at her mirror, Came a vision of one dearer, Danced and shouted, Pranced and pouted.

Quickly threw her arms about her, Clasped her closely—’twas her daughter, Light and airy, Sprite and fairy.

Both into the mirror glancing, Saw at once the sight entrancing, Glanced and smiling, ’Tranced, beguiling.

Then the artist seized her brushes, For her paints the daughter rushes: Sought, and bringing, Brought them, singing.

And the artist, painting quickly, Paints until the light grows sickly. Starts and lingers, Parts tired fingers.

When at last the work was ended, All the critics called it “splendid.” Fame and honors Came as donors.

=Questions to help the pupil understand the picture.= How did Madame Lebrun paint this picture of herself? Who came running into the room? Why do you think the mother was glad she came? What made her think of painting her daughter, too? What is the color of her daughter’s hair? her eyes? What is the daughter’s name? What did she like to do? What is the color of her dress? of her mother’s? Why should she be so proud of her mother?

=The story of the artist.= Madame Lebrun began to draw and paint when she was not as old as the little daughter we see in the picture. Her father was her teacher. One day when she was only seven years old she surprised him by drawing a picture of a man with a long beard, which was so good that he said, “You will be a great painter, my child, if ever there has been one.” She always remembered this, and when she was sent away to the convent to school she drew just as much and as often as she could. Her notebooks were full of drawings which were so well done they were kept in the convent to show to visitors.

After she returned home she began to paint in earnest. Her father had many artist friends, and when they came to the house she loved to sit quietly in a corner and listen to their talk about great pictures and artists. It was not very long before she was painting pictures which brought her great praise and honor. About this time her father died, and later on her mother married again. The stepfather was a rich man, but he was very stingy, and insisted upon her giving him all the money she earned. By this time her fame had spread over the country, and people came from far and near to have her paint their portraits.