into his picture except good painting. I remember his saying to me, "I
also tried to write, but I did not succeed; I never could do anything
but paint." And what a splendid thing for an artist to be able to say.
The real meaning of his words did not reach me till years after;
perhaps I even thought at the time that he was disappointed that he
could not write. I know now what was passing in his mind: _Je ne me
suis pas trompe de metier_. How many of us can say as much? Go round a
picture gallery, and of how many pictures, ancient or modern, can you
stand before and say, _Voila un homme qui ne s'est pas trompe de
metier?_

Perhaps above all men of our generation Manet made the least mistake
in his choice of a trade. Let those who doubt go and look at the
beautiful picture of Boulogne Pier, now on view in Mr. Van
Wesselingh's gallery, 26 Old Bond Street. The wooden pier goes right
across the canvas; all the wood piers are drawn, there is no attempt
to hide or attenuate their regularity. Why should Manet attenuate when
he could fill the interspaces with the soft lapping of such exquisite
blue sea-water. Above the piers there is the ugly yellow-painted rail.
But why alter the colour when he could keep it in such exquisite
value? On the canvas it is beautiful. In the middle of the pier there
is a mast and a sail which does duty for an awning; perhaps it is only
a marine decoration. A few loungers are on the pier--men and women in
grey clothes. Why introduce reds and blues when he was sure of being
able to set the little figures in their places, to draw them so
firmly, and relieve the grey monotony with such beauty of execution?
It would be vain to invent when so exquisite an execution is always at
hand to relieve and to transform. Mr. Whistler would have chosen to
look at the pier from a more fanciful point of view. Degas would have
taken an odd corner; he would have cut the composition strangely, and