cessfully revived the old process, _vernis
mou_. A sober workman, he spent at least fourteen hours a day at his
desk. Being musical, he designed some genre pieces, notably that of
the truthfully observed Bassoonist. And though not originating he
certainly carried to the pitch of the artistically ludicrous those
progressive pictures of goats dissolving into pianists; of Liszt
tearing passion and grand pianos into tatters. He has contributed to
the gaiety of nations with his celebrated design: Ma fille! Monsieur
Cabanel, which shows a harpy-like mother presenting her nude daughter
as a model for that painter. The malicious ingenuity of Rops never
failed him. He produced for years numerous anecdotes in black and
white. The elasticity of his line, its variety and richness, the
harmonies, elliptical and condensed, of his designs; the agile, fiery
movement, his handling of his velvety blacks, his tonal gradations,
his caressing touch by which the metal reproduced muscular crispations
of his dry-point and the fat silhouettes of beautiful human forms,
above all, his virile grasp which is revealed in his balanced
ensembles--these prove him to be one of the masters of modern etching.
And from his cynical yet truthful motto: "J'appelle un chat un chat,"
he never swerved.

A student and follower of Jean Francois Millet, several landscapes and
pastorals of Rops recall the French painter's style. In his Belgian
out-of-doors scenes and interiors the Belgian heredity of Rops
projects itself unmistakably. Such a picture as Scandal, for example,
might have been signed by Israels. Le Bout de Sillon is Millet, and
beautifully drawn. The scheme is trite. Two peasants, a young woman
and a young man holding a rope, exchange love vows. It is very simple,
very expressive. His portraits of women, Walloons, and of Antwerp are
solidly built, replete with character and quaint charm. Charming, too,
is the portrait of his great-aunt. Scandal is an ambitious design. A
group of women strongly differentiated as to types and ages are
enjoying over a table their tea and a choice morsel of scandal. The
situation is seized; it is a picture that appeals. Ghastly is his
portrait of a wretched young woman ravaged by absinthe. Her lips are
blistered by the wormwood, and in her fevered glance there is despair.
Another delineation of disease, a grinning, skull-like head with a
scythe back of it, is a tribute to the artist's power of rendering the
repulsive. His