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"
No
,
blast
you
;
I
want
you
to
hold
your
tongue
.
"
He
placed
a
picture
on
the
easel
,
and
let
me
look
at
it
for
a
minute
or
two
;
then
took
it
down
and
put
another
in
its
place
.
I
think
he
showed
me
about
thirty
canvases
.
It
was
the
result
of
the
six
years
during
which
he
had
been
painting
.
He
had
never
sold
a
picture
.
The
canvases
were
of
different
sizes
.
The
smaller
were
pictures
of
still
-
life
and
the
largest
were
landscapes
.
There
were
about
half
a
dozen
portraits
.
"
That
is
the
lot
,
"
he
said
at
last
.
I
wish
I
could
say
that
I
recognised
at
once
their
beauty
and
their
great
originality
.
Now
that
I
have
seen
many
of
them
again
and
the
rest
are
familiar
to
me
in
reproductions
,
I
am
astonished
that
at
first
sight
I
was
bitterly
disappointed
.
I
felt
nothing
of
the
peculiar
thrill
which
it
is
the
property
of
art
to
give
.
The
impression
that
Strickland
’
s
pictures
gave
me
was
disconcerting
;
and
the
fact
remains
,
always
to
reproach
me
,
that
I
never
even
thought
of
buying
any
.
I
missed
a
wonderful
chance
.
Most
of
them
have
found
their
way
into
museums
,
and
the
rest
are
the
treasured
possessions
of
wealthy
amateurs
.
I
try
to
find
excuses
for
myself
.
I
think
that
my
taste
is
good
,
but
I
am
conscious
that
it
has
no
originality
.
I
know
very
little
about
painting
,
and
I
wander
along
trails
that
others
have
blazed
for
me
.
At
that
time
I
had
the
greatest
admiration
for
the
impressionists
.
I
longed
to
possess
a
Sisley
and
a
Degas
,
and
I
worshipped
Manet
.
His
Olympia
seemed
to
me
the
greatest
picture
of
modern
times
,
and
Le
Dejeuner
sur
l
’
Herbe
moved
me
profoundly
.
These
works
seemed
to
me
the
last
word
in
painting
.
I
will
not
describe
the
pictures
that
Strickland
showed
me
.
Descriptions
of
pictures
are
always
dull
,
and
these
,
besides
,
are
familiar
to
all
who
take
an
interest
in
such
things
.
Now
that
his
influence
has
so
enormously
affected
modern
painting
,
now
that
others
have
charted
the
country
which
he
was
among
the
first
to
explore
,
Strickland
’
s
pictures
,
seen
for
the
first
time
,
would
find
the
mind
more
prepared
for
them
;
but
it
must
be
remembered
that
I
had
never
seen
anything
of
the
sort
.
First
of
all
I
was
taken
aback
by
what
seemed
to
me
the
clumsiness
of
his
technique
.
Accustomed
to
the
drawing
of
the
old
masters
,
and
convinced
that
Ingres
was
the
greatest
draughtsman
of
recent
times
,
I
thought
that
Strickland
drew
very
badly
.
I
knew
nothing
of
the
simplification
at
which
he
aimed
.
I
remember
a
still
-
life
of
oranges
on
a
plate
,
and
I
was
bothered
because
the
plate
was
not
round
and
the
oranges
were
lop
-
sided
.
The
portraits
were
a
little
larger
than
life
-
size
,
and
this
gave
them
an
ungainly
look
.
To
my
eyes
the
faces
looked
like
caricatures
.
They
were
painted
in
a
way
that
was
entirely
new
to
me
.
The
landscapes
puzzled
me
even
more
.
There
were
two
or
three
pictures
of
the
forest
at
Fontainebleau
and
several
of
streets
in
Paris
:
my
first
feeling
was
that
they
might
have
been
painted
by
a
drunken
cabdriver
.
I
was
perfectly
bewildered
.
The
colour
seemed
to
me
extraordinarily
crude
.
It
passed
through
my
mind
that
the
whole
thing
was
a
stupendous
,
incomprehensible
farce
.
Now
that
I
look
back
I
am
more
than
ever
impressed
by
Stroeve
’
s
acuteness
.
He
saw
from
the
first
that
here
was
a
revolution
in
art
,
and
he
recognised
in
its
beginnings
the
genius
which
now
all
the
world
allows
.
But
if
I
was
puzzled
and
disconcerted
,
I
was
not
unimpressed
.
Even
I
,
in
my
colossal
ignorance
,
could
not
but
feel
that
here
,
trying
to
express
itself
,
was
real
power
.
I
was
excited
and
interested
.
I
felt
that
these
pictures
had
something
to
say
to
me
that
was
very
important
for
me
to
know
,
but
I
could
not
tell
what
it
was
.
They
seemed
to
me
ugly
,
but
they
suggested
without
disclosing
a
secret
of
momentous
significance
.
They
were
strangely
tantalising
.
They
gave
me
an
emotion
that
I
could
not
analyse
.
They
said
something
that
words
were
powerless
to
utter
.
I
fancy
that
Strickland
saw
vaguely
some
spiritual
meaning
in
material
things
that
was
so
strange
that
he
could
only
suggest
it
with
halting
symbols
.
It
was
as
though
he
found
in
the
chaos
of
the
universe
a
new
pattern
,
and
were
attempting
clumsily
,
with
anguish
of
soul
,
to
set
it
down
.
I
saw
a
tormented
spirit
striving
for
the
release
of
expression
.
I
turned
to
him
.
"
I
wonder
if
you
haven
’
t
mistaken
your
medium
,
"
I
said
.
