Moore, George: Reminiscences of the Impressionist painters (Dublin: Maunsel, 1906)

art is bad because it is anonymous. The work
of the great artist is himself, and, being one of
the greatest painters that ever lived, Manet’s
art was all Manet ; one cannot think of
Manet’s painting without thinking of the man
himself. The last time I saw Monet was at
dinner in the Cafe Royal, and, after talking of
many things, suddenly, without any transition,
Monet said, speaking out of a dream, “ How
like Manet was to his painting,” and I
answered delighted, for it is always exciting
to talk about Manet: “Yes, how like. That
blonde, amusing face, the clear eyes that saw
simply, truly, and quickly and having said
so much, my thoughts went back to the time
when the glass door of the cafe grated upon
the sanded floor, and Manet entered. Though
by birth and by education essentially Parisian,
there was something in his appearance and
manner of speaking that often suggested an
Englishman. Perhaps it was his dress—his
clean-cut clothes and figure. That figure 1
Those square shoulders that swaggered as he
went across the room, and the thin waist; the
face, the beard, and the nose, satyr-like shall I
say ? No, for I would evoke an idea of beauty
of line united to that of intellectual expression
—frank words, frank passion in his convictions,
loyal and simple phrases, clear as well water,
sometimes a little hard, sometimes as they
flowed away bitter, but at the fountain head
sweet and full of light.
I should emphasize Manet’s courage, for
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