passed from stool to stool, rebuking the idler
with scorn; correcting here with the pencil,
there with the brush, and taking some defect
on the canvas of the ablest, to make a
theme on which to speak and descant short
words on art. When he left, how pleased
would those be who had got praise! how
crest-fallen those who had got what was
usually called a "galop!"

Nothing strange would happen, even in the
intermediate minutes allowed for model and
student alike to rest, unless the day were marked
by the introduction of what was called a
nouveau—a new pupil. The first question asked of
a nouveau was the startling one, " When are
you to stand a punch ? " and then, without
waiting for an answer, the unfortunate would
be pounced upon, and subjected to a most
fiery ordeal:—while a stalwart fellow quickly
tied the hands together, a second would pass
them over the victim's bent-up knees; a third,
thrusting the pole of an easel in the guise
of a skewer, would effectually complete the
disablement. Then, came a disorderly scene.
The victim might be seen, at one moment
spinning in a helpless manner on the ground,
or carried in triumph round the room, threatened
with a poker that had been painted of a
fiery colour. His head would then be daubed
all over with Prussian blue; and, adorned with
a bladder, he would be exposed in the street
outside for a quarter-of-an-hour, to the
astonishment of the passers-by. If the victim were
passive, there was but little sport; but the
simulated red-hot poker rarely failed to raise
the ire and to excite a struggle, and to give
play and amusement to his persecutors. A
copious drenching usually followed all these
inflictions, and restored the nouveau to his self-
possession. But what a figure! It was then
you might see of what a mercurial temperament
the mind of the student was composed.
The victim of these persecutions became
suddenly the victim of their care and solicitude.
While one broke up canvas frames and
stools to feed the fire that was to dry his
clothes, another warmed water to wash away
the paint. Restoratives were freely applied;
the patient was made quite comfortable; and
the Rapins were ready to commit similar
excesses on other new comers, in which the
victim of this week might become, not unlikely,
the persecutor of the next. So goes
the world.

It was strange to see with what awe the
approach of the master was regarded. If the
tumult were at its height, the wheels of his
carriage heard at the door, caused a stillness
as by enchantment. The lazy took a fit of
diligence, and resumed their seats, and the
noisiest of the whole received the sarcastic
reproaches of De la Roche with a meekness so
great as to change his aspect, and to make one
doubt his very identity.

The most curious character in the place,
however, was the old man to whom was
entrusted the roll-call and management of these
turbulent fellows. The persecutions which
he endured; the jokes and sarcasms that
were made at his expense, and which he
bore with an equanimity that only provoked
the evil; must have tended to make the
poor fellow a complete martyr. The unfortunate
man who held this post, technically
called massier, was twice cursed— he was at
once a bad painter and a bad musician. In
the first capacity, he might be seen at the
Louvre, painting a wretched copy; and in
the last, playing the clarionet in a band of
National Guards. This duality of accomplishment
brought numberless jokes upon him; but
what drove him mad at last, was a series of
frescoes which adorned the walls of the atelier,
all painted in his honour. In one place, he
was to be seen learning the rudiments of the
clarionet under the tuition of a drum-major;
in another, he was studying the art of drawing.
Elsewhere, in ludicrous proportions, he figured
in the band of his legion. Then, he shone
prosperous, in the exalted post of massier to
the atelier, surrounded by bags of gold. In
the principal fresco, he was to be seen driving
a carriage and four into Belgium; the roof
laden with his bags of money. The execution
of frescoes occupied the leisure hours
of the atelier, after the model had departed.
These quiet studies were now and then diversified,
however, by a clamorous rat hunt,
or a match at fencing.

Often, when the merry young band of
students were in no humour for noisy sport,
they would chat together, and pay models
to sit in groups, or give what were called
"têtes d'expression." At the Institut of the
Beaux Arts, a prize was awarded every
year for the best head, expressing a certain
form of grief, horror, joy, or laughter; hence
the desire to study such expressions. A true
smile, a true look of horror, or even a genuine
expression of repose, cannot, however, be
bought in any market. In all studies from
a model, there is unavoidable defect. The
model may be placed in the attitude of a
man walking, or of a foot-racer— and, at the
moment of his assuming the position, the
muscles have, no doubt, the proper tension;
but, leave him for an hour to make-believe,
and very soon the muscles all become relaxed.
Besides, he is making-believe, at the best.
Study of nature requires, not only acute
observation and sharp correct vision, but
memory.

Outside the walls of their common meeting-
place, the students were quiet enough, whether
they laboured at copies in the Louvre,or played
at billiards in the neighbouring café. Only
they were not quiet when a nouveau was induced
to give the "punch," concerning which
his memory had been so kindly jogged on his
arrival. Copious libations then took place,
and often ended in quarrels. The most
melancholy of these feasts was one— in the
remembrance of many an artist still existing—
in which an unfortunate fellow, who