y was attained, though the next day I
read in the papers that Professor This and Professor That were
exhibiting masterpieces full of profound ideas. Ah! these paint
professors, these philosophy-soaked critics, and that profound idea!
Not, however, a word about the pictorial image.

In Munich, beside the standard galleries, I visited the Secession
Gallery, and there I saw pictures by Becker-Gundhal, Louis Corinth,
Paul Crodel, Josef Damberger, Julius Diez, Eichfeld, Von Habermann (a
portraitist of distinction), Herterich (with much decorative ability),
Von Heyden (deceased, and a capital delineator of chickens), Von
Keller, Landenberger, Arthur Langhammer (deceased), Pietzsch, Bruno
Piglhein (also deceased, I am sorry to say, for he had genuine
ability), Leo Samberger (an interesting portraitist, monotonous in his
colour-gamut), Schramm-Zitau, the inevitable Von Stuck (whose
productions look like melodramatic posters), the late Fritz von Uhde,
W. Volz, and others, mostly dead, and but recently. The portrait of
Conrad Ansorge, a former Liszt pupil, by Louis Corinth, was not
without character, the tempo slow, as is the tempo of Ansorge himself.
Corinth, like Von Uhde, Leopold von Kalckreuth, O. H. Engel, Skarbina,
Bantzer, Slevogt, Waldemar Roesler, is a follower of Max Liebermann,
whose influence is easily discernible in the work of these younger
men. To be sure, there are no landscapists in Germany, such as Davies,
Ernest Lawson, Alden Weir, Childe Hassam, Metcalf--I mention a few at
random--but the younger chaps are getting away from the sentimental
panoramas of Hans Thoma and other "idealists" who ought to be writing
verse or music, not painting, as too many ideas, like too many cooks,
spoil the pictorial broth.

Grant the Germans fertility of fancy, invention, science in building
up a figure, force, humour, sentiment, philosophy, and artistic
ability generally, yet they have a deficiency in the colour sense and
an absence of a marked personal style. An exhibition of new art on the
Odeonplatz, Munich, did not give me much hope. There were some
pictures so bad as to be humorous; a dancer by the Holland-Parisian,
Kees van Dongen, had the merit at least of sincerity. Erbsloeh has
joined the extremists, Kirchner, Guimi, Kanoldt, Kandinsky, Utrello--a
good street effect; Werefkin and several Frenchmen were in evidence.
The modelling was both grotesque and indecent. The human figure as an
arabesque is well within the compr