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telegraph and telephone completed his connection with official life and its cares. Nevertheless, he always found time for a daily walk or ride over his broad acres, taking delight in seeing things grow, watching the work going forward, and making suggestions to his overseers about things to be done. He has himself gone into agricultural science with considerable thoroughness; he knows the character of soils and fertilization they need. His farm-laborers, drawn from the village of Hohenfinow, are much attached to him, and many of them have worked for him for years. He has his pew in the little church; he caused the building to be renovated just before the war at his own expense and according to his own ideas. His home is a fine old mansion in a moderate rococo style. It is set in a park effectively varied with lawn, pond, and clustered trees. A double row of linden-trees, finely arching, surrounds the park; and farther back are more trees and shrubbery that serve as shelter for the chancellor's pheasants.

For he is, like most German country noblemen, very fond of hunting. The walls of his work-room at Hohenfinow are thickly studded with bucks' horns, the trophies from animals that have fallen before his rifle. He has good huntinggrounds in his own forests, and before official duties engrossed his time too greatly he was wont to invite hunting

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parties there from the capital. The kaiser himself has been a hunting-guest at Hohenfinow; a big granite boulder in the forest, with chiseled inscription, marks the spot where he, as Prince Wilhelm of Prussia, felled his first buck, and where later, as young emperor, he planted an oak to commemorate a feat that had given him unbounded joy. Before the war, the chancellor regularly accepted an invitation to hunt in the Bavarian mountains with the king of that state, and at an earlier period he took great delight in excursions to Hungary, where with friends he would spend a week or more in a rude mountain shanty while stalking stags.

When the time comes for BethmannHollweg to lay down the burdens of office he will doubtless spend the rest of his days at Hohenfinow. If the writer has succeeded in conveying to his readers an adequate impression of the chancellor's character, they can easily imagine that his back-to-the-land release will mean for him the return to a life of freedom and rational enjoyment. With the consciousness that he strove unselfishly for high ideals, for his country, for humanity, he will have few regrets for the past, and will not have to reproach himself for the part that he has played in the mighty events that are now shaking the world. He will return to his books, will till his acres, will hunt his forests, and will grow old in rational contentment.

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Fall, rhythms! Die, music! My lovers betray me.

They kiss me, and sing, but their brothers are creeping to slay me;

A darkness is in their eyes, foreboding death.

They have conspired with silence to suck my breath.

One ran into the pine-wood, calling me after

With a wave of her hand;

One, with a soft, hypocritical laughter,

Slid through the lips of the sand;

One ran lightly up silver ladders of rain.

I never saw her again.

Fall, rhythms! Die, music! For always, in moonlight,
Soon as I start to praise, and she to love,

The moonlight is shattered, the petals are blown away.
Darkness whistles between us, the music shudders,

The enchantment passes, the audience rises,

The curtain falls, the musicians cease to play.

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From a photograph by J. E. Bulloz

"The Poet and the Muse" by Auguste Rodin

dence of Europe and, one may say, of the world. Artists at that time divided themselves into two camps, the conservatives, with, at their head, David and his school, who pictured an art of convention and approved formulas, and the independents, who continued, although in a somewhat revolutionary and extravagant spirit, the true traditions of French art. Among those fine rebellious men of talent of the first order were Rude, Barye, and Carpeaux in sculpture, and le Caron Gros, Eugène Delacroix, Courbet, and Manet in painting.

By a singular contradiction, Louis David was as baneful a theorist as he was a great painter and, above all, an excellent draftsman. That explains itself. The quality of his drawing he owed to the eighteenth century, in which he had appeared and a pupil of which he was; but he derived his esthetic doctrine from the Revolution, which made use of the same sectarian zeal to obtain the triumph of certain false ideas that it used to advance

the right principles that was its glory. Through one, David produced works of great worth and some admirable portraits; through the other, he wrought great havoc among artists. The world was, moreover, well disposed to submit to these principles. When art restricts itself to repeating certain attitudes, gestures, approved receipts without having studied or observed them in nature in her constant changes, it is full decadence. If David was able to have his theories accepted, it was because the time was ripe to receive them, to be contented with them; and in declaring the time ripe is only to say that it was a degenerate time, satisfied to be relieved of the task of reflecting, of discovering for itself the laws of beauty, or, in short, of working from the foundation.

Official painter of the Revolution and the Empire, Louis David proclaimed his doctrine with the authority of a pontiff. He made a set of

narrow rules which advocated a superficial imitation of the antique, a copying of the works of Greece and Rome, not in spirit, but in letter; not in an accurate knowledge of construction and of the model, which made up their supreme worth, but in their conventional attitudes and expressions.

Even from beyond the grave David continued to rule in the academy of the Beaux-Arts in the name of the artificial idealism which he had proclaimed, and whoever rejected his sorry instruction. saw himself without mercy shown to the door of the national schools and academies. They had shown it to Rude, the author of the masterpiece of the Arc de Triomphe, "The Departure of the Volun-. teers of 1792." They had shown it to the unhappy Carpeaux, treated all his life as a heretic and persecuted by the official class, defenders of the so-called heroic achievements and stereotyped forms. They went to every extreme in their contest with free and determined genius. As a last resort they employed every weapon

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