at filled me with admiration,--the one where the young
Electra, raising her brother on his bed of pain, wipes away the froth
that gathers on his lips, puts aside the locks that blind his eyes and
beseeches the brother she loves to hearken to what she will tell him
while the Furies are at peace for the moment.... As I read and re-read
this translation, I seemed to be aware of a kind of fog that shrouded
the forms of Greek perfection, a fog I could not drive away. I pictured
the original text to myself as more nervous and pitched in a different
accent. Feeling a keen desire to get a precise idea of the thing, I went
to Monsieur Gail, who was the Professor of Greek at the College de
France (this was in '91), and begged him to expound the scene to me word
by word. He did what I asked, and I then saw that the Ancients are much
more simple and homely than people think. Thus, for instance, Electra
says to Orestes: 'Dear brother, what joy it gave me to see thee sleep!
Shall I help thee to rise?' And Orestes answers: 'Yes, help me, take me
in thy arms, and wipe away the spume that still clings about my mouth
and eyes. Put thy bosom against mine and part from my brow my tangled
hair, for it blinds my eyes....' My mind still full of this poetry, so
young and vivid, ringing with these simple, strong phrases, I sketched
the picture you see there, _citoyenne_."

The painter, who, as a rule, spoke so sparingly of his works, waxed
eloquent on the subject of this one. At an encouraging gesture from the
_citoyenne_ Rochemaure, who lifted her quizzing-glasses in token of
attention, he continued:

"Hennequin has depicted the madness of Orestes in masterly fashion. But
Orestes appeals to us still more poignantly in his sorrow than when he
is distraught. What a fate was his! It was filial piety, obedience to a
sacred obligation, drove him to commit his dreadful deed,--a sin the
gods cannot but pardon, but which men will never condone. To avenge
outraged justice, he has repudiated Nature, has made himself a monster,
has torn out his own heart. But his spirit remains unbroken under the
weight of his horrible, yet innocent crime.... That is what I would fain
have exhibited in my group of brother and sister." He stepped up to the
canvas and looked at it not without satisfaction.

"Parts of the picture," he said, "are pretty nearly finished; the head
and arm of Orestes, for instance."

"It is an admirable composition.... And Orestes reminds me