now has quite dropped out.  Friesz, on the other hand, has gone ahead, and is to-day one of the half-dozen leaders:  I shall have a good deal to say about him in a later part of this book.  Vlaminck a few years ago had the misfortune to learn a recipe for making attractive and sparkling pictures; he is now, I understand, in retirement trying to unlearn it.  Rouault is a very interesting artist of whom we see little; from what I have seen I should be inclined to fear that a taste for romance and drama is too often suffered to smother his remarkable gift for painting.  Marquet, with gifts equal to almost anything, is content, it seems, to remain a brilliant but superficial impressionist.  Puy is a thoroughly sound artist, and so in a smaller way is Manguin.  What has become of Chabaud, who was a bit too clever, and a little vulgar even?  And what of Delaunay?  And of Flandrin—­what has become of him?  Something sufficiently interesting, at any rate, to give pause even to a critic in a hurry.  His name must not go by unmarked.  Flandrin was amongst the first to rebel against Impressionism—­against that impressionism, I mean, which remained implicit in post-impressionism.  Resolutely he set his face against the prevailing habit of expressing an aspect of things, and tried hard to make a picture.  So far he has succeeded imperfectly:  but he is still trying.

Of one artist who is certainly no Doctrinaire, nor yet, I think, a Fauve, but who has been influenced by Cezanne, I shall here do myself the honour of pronouncing the name.  Aristide Maillol is so obviously the best sculptor alive that to people familiar with his work there is something comic about those discussions in which are canvassed the claims of Mestrovic and Epstein, Archipenko and Bourdelle.  These have their merits; but Maillol is a great artist.  He works in the classical tradition, modified by Cezanne, thanks largely to whom, I imagine, he has freed himself from the impressionism—­the tiresome agitation and emphasis—­of Rodin.  He has founded no school; but one pupil of his, Gimon—­a very young sculptor—­deserves watching.  From the doctrine a small but interesting school of sculpture has come:  Laurens, an artist of sensibility and some power, and Lipsitz are its most admired representatives.  At home we have Epstein and Dobson; both have been through the stern school of abstract construction, and Epstein has emerged the most brilliant pasticheur alive.  Brancuzi (a Bohemian) is, I should say, by temperament more Fauve than Doctrinaire.  Older than most of Cezanne’s descendants, he has nevertheless been profoundly influenced by the master; but the delicacy of his touch, which gives sometimes to his modelling almost the quality of Wei sculpture, he learnt from no one—­such things not being taught.  Gaudier Brzcska, a young French sculptor of considerable promise, was killed in the early months of the war.  He had been living in England, where his work, probably on account of its manifest superiority