"No. But a man doesn't make himself a great artist by cutting off his ear." "Van Gogh was a great artist before that. He killed himself: shot himself in his bed, and the doctor found him in bed smoking a pipe. He was quite happy, for he had done all he could." That sounded more like it to Mendel, more like the deed of a warrior of the spirit. "I'll show you," said Thompson, and they went round the galleries. Mendel's head was nearly bursting when he came out. The riotous colour, the apparent neglect of drawing and abuse of form, the entire absence of tone and atmosphere, shocked him. He resented the wrench given to all his training, and he took Thompson to the Louvre to go back to Cranach and the early Italians. Thompson would not hear of them, and insisted on his spending over an hour with Poussin. "I can see nothing in them. Good painting, good drawing, but dull, so dull! The flat, papery figures mean nothing." "They mean everything to the picture," said Thompson, "and you have no right to go outside the picture. Poussin kept to his picture, and so must you if you are to understand him." "I can see all that," said Mendel, "but he is dull. I can't help it, he bores me." "It is pure art." "Then I like it impure." "You don't really. But you are all like that when you first come from London. You think that because a thing is different it must be wrong. Have you come over alone?" "No. I'm with a man called Logan and his girl. He is a great painter, or he will be one. Anyhow, he is alive and has ideas." "Does he know about Van Gogh?" "No; but he says the next great painter must come from England." "Pooh! Whistler!" said Thompson in a tone of vast superiority. "Nous sommes bien loin de ça." "Please don't talk French," said Mendel. "I don't understand a word." "Whistler had good ideas," continued Thompson. "It is a pity he was not a better artist." Mendel was beginning to feel bored. He did not understand this new painting for painting's sake, and did not want to understand it. To change the subject he said:-- "I nearly brought Jessie Petrie with me." "I wish you had. She is a dear little girl, and I nearly sent for her the other day, but I've no use for the model now. It is perfectly futile trying to cram a living figure into a modern picture." "I don't see why, if you can paint it." "Really," said Thompson, "I don't see what you have come to Paris for, if you haven't come to learn something about painting. One wouldn't expect you to understand Picasso straight off, but anyone who has handled paint ought to be able to grasp Van Gogh." "He is trying for the impossible," grunted Mendel. "The important thing in art is art. I've come to Paris to have a good time." "Oh! very well," said Thompson. "Why didn't you say so before? I'll show you round." * * * * *