had to feel the pulse of the society; and a breach of its undefined

observances was promptly punished. A man might be as plain, as

dull, as slovenly, as free of speech as he desired; but to a touch

of presumption or a word of hectoring these free Barbizonians were

as sensitive as a tea-party of maiden ladies. I have seen people

driven forth from Barbizon; it would be difficult to say in words

what they had done, but they deserved their fate. They had shown

themselves unworthy to enjoy these corporate freedoms; they had

pushed themselves; they had "made their head"; they wanted tact to

appreciate the "fine shades" of Barbizonian etiquette. And once

they were condemned, the process of extrusion was ruthless in its

cruelty; after one evening with the formidable Bodmer, the Baily of

our commonwealth, the erring stranger was beheld no more; he rose

exceeding early the next day, and the first coach conveyed him from

the scene of his discomfiture. These sentences of banishment were

never, in my knowledge, delivered against an artist; such would, I

believe, have been illegal; but the odd and pleasant fact is this,

that they were never needed. Painters, sculptors, writers,

singers, I have seen all of these in Barbizon; and some were sulky,

and some blatant and inane; but one and all entered at once into

the spirit of the association. This singular society is purely

French, a creature of French virtues, and possibly of French

defects. It cannot be imitated by the English. The roughness, the

impatience, the more obvious selfishness, and even the more ardent

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