By some strange contradiction, ever since the doors are open to every
one there has been much talk of unknown and unrecognized genius. When,
twelve years earlier, Ingres' "Courtesan," and that of Sigalon, the
"Medusa" of Gericault, the "Massacre of Scio" by Delacroix, the
"Baptism of Henri IV." by Eugene Deveria, admitted by celebrated
artists accused of jealousy, showed the world, in spite of the denials
of criticism, that young and vigorous palettes existed, no such
complaint was made. Now, when the veriest dauber of canvas can send in
his work, the whole talk is of genius neglected! Where judgment no
longer exists, there is no longer anything judged. But whatever
artists may be doing now, they will come back in time to the
examination and selection which presents their works to the admiration
of the crowd for whom they work. Without selection by the Academy
there will be no Salon, and without the Salon art may perish.
Ever since the catalogue has grown into a book, many names have
appeared in it which still remain in their native obscurity, in spite
of the ten or a dozen pictures attached to them. Among these names
perhaps the most unknown to fame is that of an artist named Pierre
Grassou, coming from Fougeres, and called simply "Fougeres" among his
brother-artists, who, at the present moment holds a place, as the
saying is, "in the sun," and who suggested the rather bitter
reflections by which this sketch of his life is introduced,
--reflections that are applicable to many other individuals of the
tribe of artists.
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