somewhat disconcerting through the preciousness of his
method; others are surprisingly spontaneous. All his work has an
undercurrent of thought. In short, this Realist is almost a mystic. He
has observed a limited section of humanity, but what he has seen has not
been seen so profoundly by anybody else.

[Illustration: DEGAS

HORSES IN THE MEADOWS]

Degas has exercised an occult, but very serious, influence. He has lived
alone, without pupils and almost without friends; the only pupils one
might speak of are the caricaturist Forain, who has painted many small
pictures inspired by him, and the excellent American lady-artist Miss
Mary Cassatt. But all modern draughtsmen have been taught a lesson by
his painting: Renouard, Toulouse-Lautrec and Steinlen have been
impressed by it, and the young generation considers Degas as a master.
And that is also the unexpressed idea of the academicians, and
especially of those who have sufficient talent to be able to appreciate
all the science and power of such an art. The writer of this book
happened one day to mention Degas's name before a member of the
Institute. "What!" exclaimed he, "you know him? Why didn't you speak to
me about him?" And when he received the reply, that I did not consider
Degas to be an agreeable topic for him, the illustrious official
answered vivaciously, "But do you think I am a fool, and that I do not
know that Degas is one of the greatest draughtsmen who have ever
lived?"--"Why, then, my dear sir, has he never been received at the
Salons, and not even been decorated at the age of sixty-five?"--"Ah,"
replied the Academician a little angrily, "that is another matter!"

Degas despises glory. It is believed that he has by him a number of
canvases which will have to be burnt after his death in accordance with
his will. He is a man who has loved his art like a mistress, with
jealous passion, and has sacrificed to it all that other
artists--enthusiasts even--are accustomed to reserve for their personal
interest. Degas, the incomparable pastellist, the faultless draughtsman,
the bitter, satirical, pessimistic genius, is an isolated phenomenon in
his period, a grand creator, unattached to his time. The painters and
the select few among art-lovers know what considerable force there is in
him. Though almost latent as yet, it will reveal itself brilliantly,
when an opportunity arises for bringing together the vast quantity of
his work. As is the case with Manet, th