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Updated: June 11, 2025
Pierre Grassou stood with arms pendent, gaping mouth, and no word upon his lips as he recognized half his own pictures in these works of art. He was Rubens, he was Rembrandt, Mieris, Metzu, Paul Potter, Gerard Douw! He was twenty great masters all by himself. "What is the matter? You've turned pale!" "Daughter, a glass of water! quick!" cried Madame Vervelle.
To know to what extend this proposition would act upon the painter, and what effect would be produced upon him by the Sieur and Dame Vervelle, adorned by their only daughter, it is necessary to cast an eye on the anterior life of Pierre Grassou of Fougeres. When a pupil, Fougeres had studied drawing with Servin, who was thought a great draughtsman in academic circles.
Do you notice the effect produced in the salon by those portraits of Monsieur and Madame and Mademoiselle Thuillier by Pierre Grassou, the artist par excellence of the modern bourgeoisie. Have you remarked the card-tables and the consoles of the Empire, the tea-table supported by a lyre, and that species of sofa, of gnarled mahogany, covered in painted velvet of a chocolate tone?
Among these names perhaps the most unknown to fame is that of an artist named Pierre Grassou, coming from Fougeres, and called simply "Fougeres" among his brother-artists, who, at the present moment holds a place, as the saying is, "in the sun," and who suggested the rather bitter reflections by which this sketch of his life is introduced, reflections that are applicable to many other individuals of the tribe of artists.
When the Cenacle friends or some brother-painter, like Schinner, Pierre Grassou, Leon de Lora, a very youthful "rapin" who was called at that time Mistigris, discussed a picture, she would come back afterwards, examine it attentively, and discover nothing to justify their fine words and their hot disputes.
The family replied with smiles as flattering as those of the artist. Virginie became the color of her hair, lowered her eyes, and turned aside her head to look at the sketches. Pierre Grassou thought these little affectations charming, Virginie had such grace; happily she didn't look like her father or her mother; but whom did she look like?
But for all this, Grassou gave excellent counsel, like those feuilletonists incapable of writing a book who know very well where a book is wanting.
"Who is your notary if it is not indiscreet to ask?" said Madame Vervelle. "A good fellow, all round," replied Grassou. "His name is Cardot." "Well, well! if that isn't a joke!" exclaimed Vervelle. "Cardot is our notary too." "Take care! don't move," said the painter. "Do pray hold still, Antenor," said the wife.
But by a not very unusual train of circumstance, the man's dexterity was partial and circumscribed. Whistler; on board a brig he was Pierre Grassou. Again and again in the course of the morning he had reasoned out his policy and rehearsed his orders; and ever with the same depression and weariness.
After this discovery of a gold mine, Grassou de Fougeres obtained his benefit of the fatal principle to which society owes the wretched mediocrities to whom are intrusted in these days the election of leaders in all social classes; who proceed, naturally, to elect themselves and who wage a bitter war against all true talent.
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