We endeavor to console ourselves for having lost the _Seven Sacraments_, and for not having known how to keep from England and Germany so many productions of Poussin, now buried in foreign collections,[141] by going to see at the Louvre what remains to us of the great French artist,--thirty pictures produced at different epochs of his life, which, for the most part, worthily sustain his renown,--the portrait of _Poussin_, one of the _Bacchanals_ made for Richelieu, _Mars and Venus_, the _Death of Adonis_, the _Rape of the Sabines_,[142] _Eliezer and Rebecca_, _Moses saved from the Waters_, the _Infant Jesus on the Knees of the Virgin and St. Joseph standing by_,[143] especially the _Manna in the Desert_, the _Judgment of Solomon_, the _Blind Men of Jericho_, the _Woman taken in Adultery_, the _Inspiration of St. Paul_, the _Diogenes_, the _Deluge_, the _Arcadia_. Time has turned the color, which was never very brilliant; but it has not been able to disturb what will make them live forever,--the design, the composition, and the expression. The _Deluge_ has remained, and in fact will always be, the most striking. After so many masters who have treated the same subject, Poussin has found the secret of being original, and more pathetic than his predecessors, in representing the solemn moment when the race is about to disappear. There are few details; some dead bodies are floating upon the abyss; a sinister-looking moon has scarcely risen; a few moments and mankind will be no more; the last mother uselessly extends her last child to the last father, who cannot take it, and the serpent that has destroyed mankind darts forth triumphant. We try in vain to find in the Deluge some signs of a trembling hand: the soul that sustained and conducted that hand makes itself felt by our soul, and profoundly moves it. Stop at that scene of mourning, and almost by its side let your eyes rest upon that fresh landscape and upon those shepherds that surround a tomb. The most aged, with a knee on the ground, reads these words graven upon the stone: _Et in Arcadia ego_, and I also lived in Arcadia. At the left a shepherd listens with serious attention. At the right is a charming group, composed of a shepherd in the spring-time of life, and a young girl of ravishing beauty. An artless admiration is painted on the face of the young peasant, who looks with happiness on his beautiful companion. As for her, her adorable face is not even veiled with the slightest shade; she smiles, her hand resting carelessly upon the shoulder of the young man, and she has no appearance of comprehending that lecture given to beauty, youth, and love. I confess that, for this picture alone, of so touching a philosophy, I would give many master-pieces of coloring, all the pastorals of Potter, all the badinages of Ostade, all the buffooneries of Teniers.