painted a religious subject-—angels watching
by the side of the Dead Christ—or yachting
at Argenteuil. Manet was an instinct, Degas
an intellectuality, and his originality is accord-
ing to the prescription of Edgar Poe, who
held that one is original by saying, “I will
not do a certain thing because it has been
done before.” So the day came when Degas
put “Semiramis” aside for a ballet girl.
“Semiramis” had been painted, the ballet girl
in pink tights, clumsy shoes and bunched
skirts, looking unnatural as a cockatoo, had
not. And it was Degas who introduced the
acrobat into art, and the repasseuse, His
portrait of Manet on the sofa listening to
Madame Manet playing the piano is one of the
most intellectual pieces of painting ever done
in the world; its intellectuality reminds one
of Leonardo da Vinci, for, like Degas,
Leonardo painted by intellect rather than by
instinct. It was in the Louvre a few months
ago that it occured to me to compare Leonardo
with Degas. I had gone there on a special
errand, and when wearied with examination
and debate I turned into the Salle Carree for
relaxation, and there wandered about, waiting
to be attracted. Long ago the “Mona Liza”
was my adventure, but this year Rembrandt’s
portrait of his wife held me at gaze. It did
not delight me as Manet delights ; the emotion
was deeper, vaguer and more intense, and I
seemed to myself like a magnetic patient in
the coil of some powerful enchantment. The
2 6
by the side of the Dead Christ—or yachting
at Argenteuil. Manet was an instinct, Degas
an intellectuality, and his originality is accord-
ing to the prescription of Edgar Poe, who
held that one is original by saying, “I will
not do a certain thing because it has been
done before.” So the day came when Degas
put “Semiramis” aside for a ballet girl.
“Semiramis” had been painted, the ballet girl
in pink tights, clumsy shoes and bunched
skirts, looking unnatural as a cockatoo, had
not. And it was Degas who introduced the
acrobat into art, and the repasseuse, His
portrait of Manet on the sofa listening to
Madame Manet playing the piano is one of the
most intellectual pieces of painting ever done
in the world; its intellectuality reminds one
of Leonardo da Vinci, for, like Degas,
Leonardo painted by intellect rather than by
instinct. It was in the Louvre a few months
ago that it occured to me to compare Leonardo
with Degas. I had gone there on a special
errand, and when wearied with examination
and debate I turned into the Salle Carree for
relaxation, and there wandered about, waiting
to be attracted. Long ago the “Mona Liza”
was my adventure, but this year Rembrandt’s
portrait of his wife held me at gaze. It did
not delight me as Manet delights ; the emotion
was deeper, vaguer and more intense, and I
seemed to myself like a magnetic patient in
the coil of some powerful enchantment. The
2 6