cutting, and the natural inference from this statement is that he was in the habit of drawing on the block only, and that he left the tedious process of cutting to the workmen, on whose want of skill he so bitterly comments. The character of Cousin's workmanship is, however, even more distinctly manifest in the 'Entrée à Paris,' which Papillon does not ascribe to him, than in the 'Entrée à Rouen.' In spite of this, M. Duplessis in his 'Merveilles de la Gravure,' attributes the Entrée à Paris' to Geoffroy Tory, but M. Renouvier, on the other hand, decides in favour of Cousin. He says, 'La composition et le style n'appartiennent qu'à lui.' Certainly both books are by the same hand, and not only do the architectural constructions closely resemble the details with which Cousin always filled in his backgrounds, but the defects and merits of the general treatment are equally characteristic. The occasionally too obtrusive science of brilliant foreshortening is his; and his too, in a peculiar sense, is that accent of martial pride, combined with a sentiment of simple dignity, which distinguishes the Typhoeus of the triumphal arch, and recalls the fiery grandeur of the warriors of the Rouen Entry and the untamed nobility of spirit which breathes defiance to fate from the prostrate splendour of Chabot's effigy.

The personification of Paris, 'Lutetia,' as Nova Pandora,' in a picture which is mentioned in the

'Entrée à Paris,' seems also specially to connect Cousin's name with the work, for the legend of Pandora furnished the motive of one of his chief works as a painter; and, another figure of Pandora, surrounded by an ornamental framework, which was the mark of the printer Gilles Gourbin, bears a close resemblance to the general features of Cousin's design. For the subject of his picture, he chose, however, not 'The New Pandora, Paris,' but 'Eva Prima Pandora,' a conception in which he found suggestions of profound and poetic morality.

Eve, the fertile mother of nations, the source of all life-in her, the manifold forces of Nature herself are embodied. All desirable charm of beauty reigns in body and face. Latent passion lives in the quick compression of the lips, in the swelling curve of the throat; the lines of the supple limbs tell of bodily strength. But this woman rules not the dominion of sense alone, she holds the keys which open the house of wisdom. The fruit of the tree of knowledge was plucked in deliberate choice, not in lustful passion, and the sceptre which she bears in her right hand, the sceptre which speaks her sovereign and author of life, is the broken. branch from which the golden apples hang. For her there is neither foul nor fair, but all things are seen with equal eyes.

Stretched at length before us on the ground, she pillows her right arm on a Death's-head, whilst from

her extended left, her instrument, the Serpent, having fulfilled her uses, is permitted to uncoil and pass into the vase at her side, from whose secret recesses he had been summoned. The long and delicate fingers point the way, and, slightly parting, facilitate, by their action, the sinuous movement of the reptile, but the contact is unshrinking. She averts her head, but here is no sickly revulsion from the necessary means by which complete experience has been sought; no instinct of feeble disgust colours the full and complex expression of the face ; her eyes are without choice or desire of evil or of good, and the weight which hangs upon their lids is no burden of melancholy regret, born of a weak asceticism, but the profound quiet which is the gift of knowledge. Body and mind alike are poised in calm.

M. Didot has spoken of the 'mélange du sacré et profane' which is to be found in 'Eva Prima Pandora,' and has suggested that Cousin was inspired by the 'Melencolia' of Albert Dürer. M. Didot is here speaking of the ethical and not of the artistic conception of the subject, for the two designs are wholly and evidently dissimilar, and the root of the moral concept also is, in each case, profoundly different.

The 'Melencolia' of Albert Dürer is an essentially Christian conception, an expression of that despairing quietism which has in a greater or less degree been an ever-present element of Christian sentiment. The spirit of the Melencolia' is that of disheartened protest

contra vanam et sæcularem scientiam.' From her lips goes up the cry, 'Væ eis, qui multa curiosa ab hominibus inquirunt.' But the intention which animates Cousin's Eva is derived from a precisely opposite attitude of mind. Every detail helps the complete expression of that deliberate revolt of the human intelligence against self-imposed bonds, which burst forth in the Humanist movement, the embodiment of the activity of the Renaissance in its highest form. The 'Melencolia' of Dürer casts from her the instruments of knowledge: 'Plus profecit in relinquendo omnia quam in studendo subtilia.' But the Eva of Cousin claims, with wellweighed purpose, universal dominion; hers are the realms of earth and sea and sky; all things shall be under her feet, shall obey the rightful uses of spirit and flesh.

The picture was probably painted during one of Cousin's visits to Sens, for at Sens it first came into notice when Félibien mentioned it as in the possession of a certain M. le Fèvre, who was, says Millin 'parent de Jean Cousin par les femmes;' the Eva, he adds, had remained in the family, and belonged, at the time of his visit, to M. de Bonnaire. Jamais il n'a voulu permettre dessiner ce tableau.' This determination has been inherited by succeeding possessors of the painting, and Mme. Chaulay, the present owner, continues to reject all solicitations. Look as much as you like; when you have left my house you may see

how your memory will serve you. Write if you like, but draw a line you shall not.'

The object of this resolve is not clear. The issue of an etching, such as M. Didot,-had he been permitted,-would have had executed by a competent master, could in no wise have injured the value of the work, and would have done service to the renown of its author. The little sketch in outline, made 'from memory,' for M. Didot, is less inexact than the illustration given by Millin, but it conveys no idea of the largeness and firmness of the drawing; of the fine style with which the smallest details of structure are accented; of the skill with which the grave dignity and reserve of the sentiment are enhanced by the sombre mystery of the shades, out of which the figure looms; nor do we feel the sudden relief and scope given to the imagination by the rift which cuts through the overhanging gloom of the forest background, and carries the eye over a far-reaching expanse of fertile land, teeming with the life of cities, and washed by the perpetual movement of the sea.

The variety and fulness of the minor passages, as well as the more delicate parts of the modelling of the principal figure, have suffered, not from re-painting, but from ruthless cleaning. The surface has almost everywhere been destroyed, and in one or two places the original design has been completely effaced. The group of genii escaping from the vase to which the