were in for a disappointment. There was no programme. Of course, people came who had been affected by Matisse's pictures and who had lost their bearings, trying perhaps to renounce correct drawing and to paint with large masses and conflicts. But the majority at the school were not long lost in this direction, and Matisse helped them patiently to find their own way out. In fact, it was his customary procedure to attack any false aspects or mannerisms in a student; he would reduce a work to its ultimate nudity, examine the residuum for some trace of a personal art, and then devote himself to clarifying and strengthening this residuum. Matisse would address a student with words which to us were rare and remarkable: the artist must begin with the conventional—to have something interesting at the start is a mere hoax—the interest occurs as we move on from this conventional. . . . "You are not committing suicide if you lean more on nature and strive for an exact reproduction. You must first subject yourself to nature, recapture it, then motivate it and perhaps even heighten its beauty! But you must be able to walk well on the ground before you get on the tight-rope. True, I believe I could tell you whether you are on the tight-rope or are lying underneath, but I don't see how that would be of any use to you. You must learn to do your own criticizing." Or Matisse stops before the work of another student: "Oh, don't think that you can frighten me; I am not afraid, although you may succeed with some one more naïve. But what sort of satisfaction do you get out of that?" Matisse took every work in earnest, even that of the seemingly least gifted of his students. Just as if dealing with one of his own works, he would study out what was lacking, what method to pursue, and placing himself in the spiritual point of view of the student he would discuss only those matters germane to the work itself.
Perhaps Matisse had but one weakness. If he found a work pleasant in its colouring, he fell a victim to its charm and could not leave off expressing his approval. The studio was open for only a few years. It became terribly overcrowded and began to tire Matisse. Still, it would be worth while checking up its successes by the number of people who came to it from all over the world and have since become noteworthy painters. Once while with Matisse I met a Hungarian painter who was imitating Matisse heartlessly, and whose exhibits were being quite successful. "Oh," Ma-
