Page:The Dial (Volume 68).djvu/705

In the light of the noonday sun his last works had not that bricky quality of colour often so disagreeable, a mannerism which he had affected for several years. His heads, too, seemed more distinguished. This curious collection of pictures gave me the impression of a heap of precious stones.

I asked the servant how Renoir painted then.

"I place the brushes between his fingers," she said, "and tie them with the cords and ribbons which you saw. Sometimes they will fall and I have to replace them, but what is most surprising about Monsieur Renoir is the sharpness of his eyes. I have known him to call upon me to remove a bristle from his brush which had disengaged itself in the paint. I look over the canvas carefully but without success, and it 1s always Monsieur who points it out to me."

This good woman had been in his service for thirteen years and was desolated not to be able to discuss art with the Master for his distraction, merely acting as his nurse. She later conducted me to a little 1solated studio in a corner of the garden, and there showed me the canvas upon which Renoir was working at the time: his famous nude woman, a well-studied back pose. The stretcher on the easel, in lieu of being held in place by a block, was supported by a counter-poise, which allowed Renoir to raise or lower his canvas with the utmost ease.

I returned presently to the old painter and said: "What marvellous pictures. The number of canvases you have produced is incredible."

"During my life," he said, "I have sold more than three thousand canvases."

"It must be a great joy for you to realize how strong the influence of your school has been throughout the world. Its impress on the artistic mind has been so positive that it did not give people of other nations a chance to develop in a national way. This is felt in America, Canada, Sweden, Norway, and Germany. Everywhere the spirit of the French school is felt. Everywhere, even in Germany, a country where everything remains Gothic, exactly as in the Middle Ages. Its architecture still dates from that period."

Then we spoke of Degas and he said: "What a beast that Degas was! Violent and bitter-tongued. All his friends grew to shun him in time. I was one of the last to remain by him, but even I did not hold out until the end. It is incomprehensible that Manet,