The dignity of art and the self-respect of one of its most illustrious professors were coarsely assailed by the canons of Courtray, and angrily vindicated by VANDYCK. The artist had been commissioned by the churchmen to paint a grand altar-piece for the collegiate church, and Vandyck put forth all his powers in order to the production of a master-piece. The subject selected was "The Raising of the Cross," and as soon as it was finished, the painter accompanied it from Antwerp to Courtray to superintend the putting it up. As soon as it was unrolled, the canons, whose knowledge of art was probably on a par with their general learning, made a critical examination of the picture and pronounced it a mere daub. To permit it to be placed in the situation intended for it was a tax upon their good-nature, and payment for it was made very grudgingly and after some little delay. The picture was a perfect eyesore to them; not so, however, to the ignorant laity out of doors-artists, connoisseurs, men of cultivated tastes, and the public generally. They discerned the merit of the work, and were loud and unanimous in its praise. Thereupon the conviction slowly dawned upon the minds of the critical canons that they had made a very great mistake. So they summoned a chapter and discussed the matter with becoming gravity, ultimately arriving at the conclusion that the most effectual way of cancelling their former judgment would be by

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offering the much abused artist a commission to paint two other pictures for their church. Vandyck received their offer, and returned for answer that there were "daubers" enough already in Courtray, and that therefore the importation of another from Antwerp would be quite superfluous.

NICHOLAS POUSSIN derived the chief felicities of his life from the pursuit of his art, and set so modest a price upon his pictures that, notwithstanding his great industry and genius, he amassed but little wealth. He was fully alive, however-or, perhaps we ought to say, consequently, to the respect due to the artist, as such, apart from the adventitious circumstances which usually constitute the claims of mankind upon the respect of their fellow men. On one occasion, when Cardinal Mancini, who was a frequent visitor at Poussin's, had protracted his stay until a late hour of the evening, the artist lighted his excellency to his carriage, lamp in hand. "I pity you, Poussin," said the cardinal, "that you have not one domestic for such an office." "And I," replied the painter, "pity your excellency much more, that you are obliged to keep so many."

TINTORETTO declined to be nominated a chevalier of St. Michael, observing the undiscriminating facility with which Henry the Third conferred that order upon men who possessed but questionable titles to such an honour. The self-respect of

PHILIPPE DE CHAMPAGNE was shown in the message which he sent to Cardinal Richelieu by his eminence's principal valet, who had been commissioned to offer very liberal terms to the artist with a view to attach him to the household of his master. "Tell his Eminence," said Philippe, "that if it were possible he could make me a better painter, I would willingly enter his service, but as this does not lie in the Cardinal's power, I desire from him nothing more than the honour of his good opinion." This decided refusal, it is said, so far from exciting the anger of the minister, only served to augment the esteem which he had conceived for the artist. There was possibly as much of wounded pride as of self-respect in the anecdote which Mr. Sterling relates concerning PABLO DE CESPEDES' painting of the "Last Supper" in the cathedral of Cordoba. "To the jars and vases in the foreground," writes that gentleman, (on the authority of Palomino,) "there hangs the tale that whilst the picture was yet on the easel, these accessories, by their exquisite finish, engaged the attention of some visitors, to the exclusion of the higher parts of the composition, and to the great disgust of the artist. 'Andres,' cried he, somewhat testily, to his servant, rub me out these things, since, after all my care and study, and amongst so many heads, figures, hands, and expressions, people choose to see nothing but these

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impertinences;' and much entreaty and properly directed admiration was needed to save the devoted pipkins from destruction."

Not altogether irrelevant to the subject of our present chapter is the story which has been told of BACICI. A gentleman at Rome had commissioned him to paint his (the gentleman's) portrait, without making any stipulation as to the price to be paid. On its completion the painter demanded a hundred crowns for the work. The patron appeared to be astonished, and withdrew; nor did he return to claim the portrait he had ordered. Bacici very

composedly painted some iron bars across the picture, which then presented the appearance of the well-known portrait at Hampton Court Palace, wrote above it "Imprisoned for Debt," and exhibited it in the most prominent part of his studio. The defaulter's uncle, a gentleman who stood very much upon his dignity, was informed of what had occurred, and waited upon the artist. "I believe," said he, pointing to the portrait, "that is my nephew."— "The same, sir," replied Bacici; "but the poor

gentleman is unfortunately imprisoned for debt."

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Humph," producing his purse and counting out the hundred crowns, "it is only right that he should be liberated;" and the bars were effaced and the portrait removed.

A similar story is told of the portrait of an English captain, painted by JACQUES DE POINDRE, only

the latter artist resorted to an expedient still more humiliating to the original, for he exhibited the picture, with its bars and its inscription, in his own front window, where it was seen by the gallant captain and promptly redeemed from its ignoble captivity.

The studio of GUIDO was often visited by the Pope, who felt a pleasure in watching the progress of the artist's labours, and on such occasions would insist upon his remaining covered, touching which the painter, jealous of his dignity, was accustomed to observe, "If the Pope had not accorded me that favour, out of consideration for the personal inconvenience to which I should be exposed from remaining bare-headed, I should have remained covered from a sense of the respect due to my art." In this particular Guido was consistent throughout, refusing several commissions to execute the portraits of monarchs, because the rigid etiquette of their courts would have compelled him to "veil his bonnet" in the royal presence. When he was reproached with not having paid his court to the Cardinal Legate of Bologna, who was well disposed towards the artist, Guido haughtily replied, that he would not wager his pencil against the hat even of a cardinal. It must not be supposed, however, that this pride arose from any overweening sense of his own power as an artist, but rather from a consciousness of the dignity of his art. His modesty, indeed, was constantly