supposed, to attract from himself for a moment the attention of the most
preoccupied and self-absorbed of men. When Cézanne lived in Paris he
rose early, painted as long as there was light to paint by, and went to
bed immediately after dinner. The time during which he was not painting
he seems to have spent in wondering whether the light would be
satisfactory ("gris clair") next day. Cézanne in Paris, like the peasant
in the country, spent most of his spare time thinking about the weather.

Comme il se couchait de très bonne heure, il lui arrivait de
s'éveiller au milieu de la nuit. Hanté par son idée fixe, il ouvrait
la fenêtre. Une fois rassuré, avant de regagner son lit il allait,
une bougie à la main, revoir l'étude qui était en train. Si
l'impression était bonne, il réveillait sa femme pour lui faire
partager sa satisfaction. Et pour la dédommager de ce dérangement,
il l'invitait à faire une partie de dames.

All of Cézanne went into his painting; only now and then a drop escaped
that voracious funnel and splashed on to life. It is by collecting and
arranging these odd drops and splashes that M. Vollard has managed to
construct his lively picture of this extraordinary character. It is
because his task must have been so abominably exacting--the task of
catching the artist outside his work--that we easily forgive him a few
lapses from good sense when he is not talking about his hero. It
is annoying, nevertheless, to hear quite so much of the stupid and
insensitive people who attacked and insulted Cézanne. M. Vollard never
tires of telling us about those who hid their Cézannes or threw them out
of window, or sold them for next to nothing and would now give their
eyes to get them back; of those who jeered at Cézanne and would not hang
his pictures at exhibitions, refusing him that public recognition he was
human enough to covet--in a word, of the now discomfited and penitent