hat he had the genius of great science and of
high morality, which is the best possible definition in a single phrase
of his artistic faculty. He had the kind of sensitiveness, or
self-esteem, if you will, that frequently goes with a mind confident
of its merits, but not indifferent to criticism or sufficiently elevated
and aloof to dispense with resentment. In 1832 he sent to the Salon his
_Lion Crushing a Serpent_, and in 1833 he sent a dozen animal
sculptures, a group of medallions and six water-colors. That year he was
made chevalier of the Legion of Honour, but the following year nine
groups made for the Duke of Orleans were rejected by the Salon jury, and
again in 1836 several small pieces were rejected, although the _Seated
Lion_, later bought by the government, was accepted. The reasons for the
rejections are not entirely clear, but Barye was an innovator, and in
the field of art the way of the innovator is far harder than that of the
transgressor. Charges of commercialism were among those made against
him, and he--the least commercial of men--took them deeply to heart. His
bitterness assumed a self-respecting but an inconvenient and
unprofitable form, as he made up his mind to exhibit thereafter only in
his own workshop, a resolution to which he held for thirteen years.
After the rejection of his groups in 1834 he happened to meet Jules
Dupre, who expressed his disgust with the decision. "It is quite easy to
understand," Barye replied, "I have too many friends on the jury." This
touch of cynicism indicates the ease with which he was wounded, but it
was equally characteristic of him that in planning his simple revenge
he hurt only himself. He did indeed refrain from sending his bronzes to
the Salon and he did act as his own salesman, and the result was the
incurrence of a heavy debt. To meet this he was obliged to sell all his
wares to a founder who wanted them for the purpose of repeating them in
debased reproductions. His own care in obtaining the best possible
results in each article that he produced, his reluctance to sell
anything of the second class, and his perfectly natural dislike to
parting with an especially beautiful piece under any circumstances, did
not, of course, work to his business advantage, although the amateurs
who have bought the bronzes that came from his own refining hand have
profited by it immensely. It would be a mistake, however, to think of
him as a crushed or even a deeply misfortunat