“They stand within the field at prayer,
The rustic man and maid,
While silvery thro’ the amber air
The angel’s song is played!
“They bow their heads in gratitude
For gift of life and health;
And for content—their highest good,
And love—their only wealth.
“There is a closeness to the soil
In both their garb and mien
That tells of happiness and toil,
And quiet peace serene.
“A lark above them sings and sings
A song of hope and youth.
Theirs is the joy of common things—
The beauty of the truth!”
—_Edward Wilbur Mason_
=Questions to help the pupil understand the picture.= What time of day
does this picture represent? What can you see in the distance? In what
direction is the woman facing? How can you tell? What have these
peasants been doing? Why have they stopped their work? Why is the
picture called “The Angelus”? Tell about Millet and the new bells for
the church. Tell something of the life of these peasants. How did the
artist Millet know so much about their life? What can you say about the
composition of this picture? What was the financial condition of the
artist when he painted this picture? What did he do with this painting?
About how much is it worth now?
=The story of the artist.= Let us try to imagine the artist, Jean
François Millet, as a young man nineteen years old on his first visit to
the great city of Paris. Brought up on a farm among the lowliest of the
French peasants, he had met few except those with whom he labored in the
fields or those who, poorer than they, were made welcome under the ever
hospitable roof of the elder Millets. These neighbors and friends were
mostly sailors or farmers, who looked upon the journey to Paris as a
great event, as indeed it was. For weeks the kind old grandmother had
kept her spinning wheel busy, spinning and weaving the cloth for his new
suit of clothes. She was the tailor who cut, stitched, and pressed them.
All her savings of years had been sewed into a belt and given to him for
this journey. As he stood in the doorway, waiting for the old stagecoach
which presently came rattling down the stone road of the village, he
must have felt anew the great sacrifices they were all so willing to
make to send him where he could study his beloved art.
In Paris, Millet presented an unusual appearance—six feet in height,
slender, a downy beard on his face, his brown hair hanging to his
shoulders. All his belongings were neatly packed in the sailor’s canvas
bag which he carried over his shoulder. Is it any wonder that many did
not see the straightforward, honest, manly look of the calm gray eyes?
There was in that gaze and in the rude bearing a certain quiet
confidence and strength which only the home folks recognized and valued.
The boy could draw, and draw well they knew, and had not the drawing
master of the village told them he would surely one day become a great
artist?
Tired from the three days’ ride in the old stagecoach, jostled by the
hurrying crowds, for it was evening and all were on their way home, he
stood confused. A policeman, catching sight of the stupid-looking youth
blocking the sidewalk with his great bag, asked him where he wanted to
go. Is it any wonder that he answered, “Back to Gruchy”? We are told
that he even inquired when the next coach left for Gruchy, but there was
none until morning.
The policeman sent him to a boarding house of moderate prices, and the
next morning he started out to find the great art gallery of the Louvre.
He had attempted to inquire the way at the boarding house, but the
boarders laughed at his Normandy accent and strange appearance and he
did not wait for the answer. And so he wandered the streets for three
days, not daring to ask the way for fear of being laughed at again,
until at last he stood before the great gallery, recognizing it at once
by the pictures he had seen of it.
In writing of it years later, Millet says: “My feelings were too great
for words, and I closed my eyes lest I be dazzled by the sight, and then
dared not open them lest I should find it all a dream. And if I ever
reach Paradise I know my joy will be no greater than it was that first
morning when I realized that I stood within the Louvre Palace.”
In the meantime he had found a room and place to board near by. The
landlady having suggested that he had better not carry much money about
with him, he immediately gave her all he had to keep for him; that was
the last he saw of his money.
He spent a week just visiting the Louvre, and finally became acquainted
with a student who was copying one of the paintings. This student took
him to the artist Delaroche, who, after looking at his sketches, gladly
admitted him as a pupil.
The other students were greatly amused at Millet’s awkward appearance
and called him the “man of the woods.” It was almost impossible to
persuade him to talk, and his answers to all questions were in
monosyllables; but if pressed too hard he could use his fists
effectively. They soon found out, too, that he could paint, and paint
well. All idea of going home was given up, and Millet spent twelve years
in Paris, enduring poverty and hunger but working faithfully and long.
When he went back to his home for a visit he was so nearly starved that
he fell fainting on the ground when he tried to work in the fields.
Millet painted landscapes, portraits, and signs, but fortune never
seemed to smile on him long at a time. People said his pictures did not
sell because he painted such common things and such poor people instead
of choosing beautiful girls or fine gentlemen for his models.
But he painted the people he knew about and loved best—the French
peasants—and as their lives were full of toil, he must represent them at
their labor.
Returning to Paris, and finding his life there still one of continuous
struggle with poverty, Millet with his wife and children went to live at
Barbizon, a small village a day’s ride from Paris. Many descriptions
have been written and pictures painted of the modest white stone cottage
with its clinging vines and its thrifty gardens in which he spent the
rest of his life.
It was not until the last few years of his life that he ceased to be
wretchedly poor, for then at last his pictures were appreciated and he
received the profit and honor that were his due.
He died at Barbizon, January 20, 1875.
=Questions about the artist.= Tell about Millet’s early training and the
preparations made for his journey to Paris. How did he travel? Describe
his first evening in Paris. How did he find the great gallery of the
Louvre? Why did he not inquire the way? What became of his money? With
whom did he study, and how did this happen? What did the other students
call him? Why did they do this? How many years did he stay in Paris?
What was his success there? Why did his pictures not sell? Where did he
finally go to live? When were his paintings appreciated?
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: SHEEP IN SPRING]