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poetic sense. He contributed many important papers to mathematical societies on geometrical analysis, and did much useful work in advancing the science of classical etymology, notably in his Greek and Latin Etymology in England, The Etymology of Liddell and Scott. His philosophical works include Outlines of the History of Religion (1900), Human Nature and Morals according to A. Comte (1901), Practical Morals (1904), and the Final Transition (1905). He contributed to the 9th edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica an historical and biographical article on political economy, which was translated into nearly every European language. His History of Slavery and Serfdom was also written for the 9th edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. He died in Dublin on the 18th of May 1907.

INGRES, JEAN AUGUSTE DOMINIQUE (1780–1867), French painter, was born at Montauban, on the 29th of August 1780. His father, for whom he entertained the most tender and respectful affection, has described himself as sculpteur en plâtre; he was, however, equally ready to execute every other kind of decorative work, and now and again eked out his living by taking portraits or obtained an engagement as a violin-player. He brought up his son to command the same varied resources, but in consequence of certain early successes—the lad’s performance of a concerto of Viotti’s was applauded at the theatre of Toulouse—his attention was directed chiefly to the study of music. At Toulouse, to which place his father had removed from Montauban in 1792, Ingres had, however, received lessons from Joseph Roques, a painter whom he quitted at the end of a few months to become a pupil of M. Vigan, professor at the academy of fine arts in the same town. From Vigan, Ingres, whose vocation became day by day more distinctly evident, passed to M. Briant, a landscape-painter who insisted that his pupil was specially gifted by nature to follow the same line as himself. For a while Ingres obeyed, but he had been thoroughly aroused and enlightened as to his own objects and desires by the sight of a copy of Raphael’s “Madonna della Sedia,” and, having ended his connexion with Briant, he started for Paris, where he arrived about the close of 1796. He was then admitted to the studio of David, for whose lofty standard and severe principles he always retained a profound appreciation. Ingres, after four years of devoted study, during which (1800) he obtained the second place in the yearly competition, finally carried off the Grand Prix (1801). The work thus rewarded—the “Ambassadors of Agamemnon in the Tent of Achilles” (École des Beaux Arts)—was admired by Flaxman so much as to give umbrage to David, and was succeeded in the following year (1802) by the execution of a “Girl after Bathing,” and a woman’s portrait; in 1804 Ingres exhibited “Portrait of the First Consul” (Musée de Liége), and portraits of his father and himself; these were followed in 1806 by “Portrait of the Emperor” (Invalides), and portraits of M, Mme, and Mlle Rivière (the first two now in the Louvre). These and various minor works were executed in Paris (for it was not until 1809 that the state of public affairs admitted of the re-establishment of the Academy of France at Rome), and they produced a disturbing impression on the public. It was clear that the artist was some one who must be counted with; his talent, the purity of his line, and his power of literal rendering were generally acknowledged; but he was reproached with a desire to be singular and extraordinary. “Ingres,” writes Frau v. Hastfer (Leben und Kunst in Paris, 1806) “wird nach Italien gehen, und dort wird er vielleicht vergessen dass er zu etwas Grossem geboren ist, und wird eben darum ein hohes Ziel erreichen.” In this spirit, also, Chaussard violently attacked his “Portrait of the Emperor” (Pausanias Français, 1806), nor did the portraits of the Rivière family escape. The points on which Chaussard justly lays stress are the strange discordances of colour—such as the blue of the cushion against which Mme Rivière leans, and the want of the relief and warmth of life, but he omits to touch on that grasp of his subject as a whole, shown in the portraits of both husband and wife, which already evidences the strength and sincerity of the passionless point of view which marks all Ingres’s best productions. The very year after his arrival in Rome (1808) Ingres produced “Oedipus and the Sphinx” (Louvre; lithographed by Sudre, engraved by Gaillard), a work which proved him in the full possession of his mature powers, and began the “Venus Anadyomene” (Collection Rieset; engraving by Pollet), completed forty years later, and exhibited in 1855. These works were followed by some of his best portraits, that of M. Bochet (Louvre), and that of Mme la Comtesse de Tournon, mother of the prefect of the department of the Tiber; in 1811 he finished “Jupiter and Thetis,” an immense canvas now in the Musée of Aix; in 1812 “Romulus and Acron” (École des Beaux Arts), and “Virgil reading the Aeneid”—a composition very different from the version of it which has become popular through the engraving executed by Pradier in 1832. The original work, executed for a bedchamber in the Villa Aldobrandini-Miollis, contained neither the figures of Maecenas and Agrippa nor the statue of Marcellus; and Ingres, who had obtained possession of it during his second stay in Rome, intended to complete it with the additions made for engraving. But he never got beyond the stage of preparation, and the picture left by him, together with various other studies and sketches, to the Musée of his native town, remains half destroyed by the process meant for its regeneration. The “Virgil” was followed by the “Betrothal of Raphael,” a small painting, now lost, executed for Queen Caroline of Naples; “Don Pedro of Toledo Kissing the Sword of Henry IV.” (Collection Deymié; Montauban), exhibited at the Salon of 1814, together with the “Chapelle Sistine” (Collection Legentil; lithographed by Sudre), and the “Grande Odalisque” (Collection Seillière; lithographed by Sudre). In 1815 Ingres executed “Raphael and the Fornarina” (Collection Mme N. de Rothschild; engraved by Pradier); in 1816 “Aretin” and the “Envoy of Charles V.” (Collection Schroth), and “Aretin and Tintoret” (Collection Schroth); in 1817 the “Death of Leonardo” (engraved by Richomme) and “Henry IV. Playing with his Children” (engraved by Richomme), both of which works were commissions from M. le Comte de Blacas, then ambassador of France at the Vatican. “Roger and Angelique” (Louvre; lithographed by Sudre), and “Francesca di Rimini” (Musée of Angers; lithographed by Aubry Lecomte), were completed in 1819, and followed in 1820 by “Christ giving the Keys to Peter” (Louvre). In 1815, also, Ingres had made many projects for treating a subject from the life of the celebrated duke of Alva, a commission from the family, but a loathing for “cet horrible homme” grew upon him, and finally he abandoned the task and entered in his diary—“J’étais forcé par la nécessité de peindre un pareil tableau; Dieu a voulu qu’il restât en ébauche.” During all these years Ingres’s reputation in France did not increase. The interest which his “Chapelle Sistine” had aroused at the Salon of 1814 soon died away; not only was the public indifferent, but amongst his brother artists Ingres found scant recognition. The strict classicists looked upon him as a renegade, and strangely enough Delacroix and other pupils of Guérin—the leaders of that romantic movement for which Ingres, throughout his long life, always expressed the deepest abhorrence—alone seem to have been sensible of his merits. The weight of poverty, too, was hard to bear. In 1813 Ingres had married; his marriage had been arranged for him with a young woman who came in a business-like way from Montauban, on the strength of the representations of her friends in Rome. Mme Ingres speedily acquired a faith in her husband which enabled her to combat with heroic courage and patience the difficulties which beset their common existence, and which were increased by their removal to Florence. There Bartolini, an old friend, had hoped that Ingres might have materially bettered his position, and that he might have aroused the Florentine school—a weak offshoot from that of David—to a sense of its own shortcomings. These expectations were disappointed. The good offices of Bartolini, and of one or two other persons, could only alleviate the miseries of this stay in a town where Ingres was all but deprived of the means of gaining daily bread by the making of those small portraits for the execution of which, in Rome, his pencil had been constantly in request. Before his departure he had, however, been commissioned to paint for M. de Pastoret the “Entry of