ph Lepkes's
new galleries in the Potsdamerstrasse, except that it was much less
objectionable than the one in 1911, then held across the street.

Therefore I don't think I exaggerate the claims of Max Liebermann, who
is, for me, the most important of living German artists, and one of
the few great painters of to-day in any land. His boys bathing, his
peaceful Holland interiors, his sympathetic presentment of poor folk,
superannuated survivals awaiting death, his spirited horses and
horsemen, polo pony players, race-course, his vivid transcription of
Berlin out-of-door life, the concert gardens, the Zoo, the crowded
streets, his children, his portraits, his sonorous, sparkling colour,
his etchings and drawings--the list is large; all these various
aspects of the world he has recorded with a fresh, unfailing touch.
His horses are not as rhythmic as those of Degas, his landscapes are
not as sun-flooded as those of Monet, nor are his Holland bits so
charged with homely sentiment as those of Josef Israels. But
Liebermann is Liebermann, with a supple, flowing, pregnant line, his
condensed style a versatile conception, a cynical, at times, outlook
upon the life about him; enfin--a colourist.

My admiration for Liebermann's draughtsmanship shown in the Berlin
Secession Gallery in the Kurfuerstdam was reproved by a German friend,
who remarked that Anselm Feuerbach was a "sounder" draughtsman. No
doubt, but I prefer Liebermann's more nervous graphic line, also more
eloquent, for Feuerbach, who is still called a master in Munich--he
made grey cartoons--is as frigid and academic as a painted nude in a
blizzard.

X

A MUSICAL PRIMITIVE: MODESTE MOUSSORGSKY

One need not be a Slavophile to admire Russian patriotism. The love of
the Russian for his country is a passion. And from lips parched by the
desire of liberty--though persecuted, exiled, imprisoned--this passion
is still voiced with unabated intensity. What eloquent apostrophes
have been addressed Russia by her great writers! How Turgenieff
praised her noble tongue! The youngest among the European nations,
herself a nation with genius, must possess a mighty power thus to
arouse the souls of her children. Russia right or wrong! seems to be
the slogan, even of those whom injustice and cruelty have driven to
desperation. It is the land of neuroses, and the form that patriotism
assumes there may be one other specimen. Ye