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
