first to perceive the full implications, both intellectual and æsthetic, of Cézanne's later way of working, and to attempt to deduce from them an entirely new theory and practice of painting. This involved a still further step, in the complete substitution of synthesis for analysis. But synthesis is design; and, as design is the expressive element in art, Matisse, in stressing this, emphasized the subjective side of the artist's double function, as interpreter, placing it above that which is purely representative. The artist's eye was no longer to be upon nature in repainting Poussin, but turned within. . . .

Matisse has done much experimenting in the graphic arts, and in his work on the stone, on the copper-plate, and on the woodblock, are clearly revealed both his strength and his weakness as an artist whose almost P.aphaelesque suavity of design degenerates at times into a veritable Parisian chic. Adopting the linear method of Cézanne, he carries it, in intention at least, even farther and more systematically. But, as a matter of fact, his line has little of the structural character and quality of the older master's. It is subtle and refined rather than strong and expressive. It gives us the shapes and the patterns of things seen on a flat surface rather than their weight, volume, and density. But it also gives us delicacies of modelling and of texture, as about the temples and in the beard of the man's head which we reproduce; and, above all, color. For, in whatever medium he works, Matisse remains the rich and audacious colorist, as well as the savant designer, and I know of no modern artist who surpasses him, in this respect at least, in the blackand-white medium.

Matisse was the first to draw attention to that negro sculpture which has so profoundly affected recent art. But it was left for another artist to realize its full æsthetic significance-Pablo Picasso.

"In choosing for guides the savage art

barbarism," writes M. Salmon. "Only he conceived logically that they had attempted the real figuration of the being, and not the realization of the idea-sentimental, for the

Portrait of a man by Henri Matisse.

most part-that we fashion of it for ourselves. . . . Thus he wishes to give a total representation of man and things. Such was the attempt of the barbarous imagemakers." And such, in another medium, with the special problems involved in representing this totality on a plane surface, has been that of Picasso. It has led him directly to so-called "Cubism," of which Picasso is the father, precisely as Matisse is

But is not with Picasso the Cubist that ve are zere forcsmel It is with Picasso n hat irst ine period of us maturity the 3ine Panod when, fresh from a visit to ns me a rain. te revelis new the infuence of the great ramish masters Greco az int inaciter net ir nutitel v ut if a modern Frenco urists is Dummer and Tuicuse Later, is a ins saet p-ike irures of ab3: Passos mastery of mare ine & le nomad, even more evident use mats where vut he seeks is iti am and harwhere te sets, it the same n realong a vial vigor of concepIs be musical sement that is upn the impression prothe sight out signincant sketch men via torses and by the group of JIOS CIK, VILI 4 ev dating himself on a call, but in the ferner at least it is a and architectural music which, with its croge assenapes and discords, makes us SE18 ISISUR V JE some fugue or chorale 2v Cesar Franck.

Mong men a, 100, are the figures in the There is the suggestion of net stipcure in the figure of his nude aude save for his clown's cap. But sange anteding beauty and significance heit highest pitch in the nude woman parung her hair before a glass-a figure of lo ne tá bet Can of desh, which suggests Je neciphysical evocations of John Donne o some of our modern English poets. I dowed his igure to an artist friend. He coace at it in despair. "But the pelvis is id oặc or drawing "he exclaimed. Well, no VING R So much the worse for the

totally disappeared in the later stages of his development. The relentless logic of the Cubist dreamer, bent on reducing the human form to its geometric equivalents, has effectually destroyed it, swallowed it up. He may rise to intellectual and emotional levels hitherto unknown in his own work, or in the history of art; but, as M. Salmon says, never again can he become "the fecund ingenuous, and learned creator of human poetry.”

With Matisse and Picasso must be mentioned André Derain. An eclectic, if we divorce the word from its common connotation of lifeless dilettanteism, Derain has experienced a far wider range of influences than either Matisse or Picasso, between whom he is, in a sense, a link. He owes more to the Japanese than to Matisse, and at least as much to the German and Italian Primitives as to the barbarous art of to-day. His work is a sort of impassioned synthesis of these influences, upon which he has managed to impress the unmistakable stamp of his own individuality. There is a suggestion of Gauguin's South Sea Islanders in an admirably etched nude figure, and of tropical palms in the stiff foliage of the trees in the background. But there is also a suggestion of Dürer and of Campagnola, and the artist takes us back, in imagination, to the age when influences were extended across the Alps and over Europe, and one national school had its direct impact upon another.

Georges Braque and Jacques Villon, oldest of the three brothers, are other painters of the new movement, who have turned their hand to etching, with interesting results. Both have etched plates that, like later ones by Picasso, are purely "Cubist" in character. Among the best examples of the working out of this latest phase in terms of black and white, is Villon's very beautiful plate entitled "The Table under the Trees." Here etching and dry-point are skilfully combined to produce that harmonious balance of forms and of tone which is the main object of modern art.

WILLIAM ASPENWALL BRADLEY.

America's
Dramatic

Part in the
Fight

tention has been wholly diverted from the economic effects of the European war to the events of the war itself. Not since the advance of the German army into France in 1914, culminating in the disastrous reverse of September on the Marne, have the news bulletins been scanned with the eager anxiety which has characterized the period since the "German drive": reached its furthest point a month ago. The later stages of the episode, though perhaps not marked by such sense of overwhelming relief from an impending tragedy as those of four years ago, were even more stimulating to the imagination. That it would be American divisions which, barely fifteen months after our declaration of war, would stop the tide of German invasion at its nearest approach to Paris, and that American troops would be co-operating, in formidable numbers, in the blow which crushed the German right flank, was a chapter in history which the boldest prophet had not so much as ventured to predict. Nothing was missed in the dramatic setting of the picture-the complete surprise to Allies, to enemy, and the American people themselves; the blows of our reinforcements against the German front at the moment when Germany was protesting that the Americans could not possibly be there, or the French people's celebration of our national holiday in recognition of what our soldiers might do next year, followed within a fortnight by the very achievements which on July 4th had been fixed for 1919.

This second great victory of the Allies on the Marne was by no means the victory of the American troops alone; the ratio of Americans actually engaged was still relatively small when measured by the total strength of General Foch's

sand of them were in the battle; they proved themselves, man for man, better fighters than their German antagonists, and the remainder of their force in France, numerically nearly a million, increased to very large proportions the Allied reserve army, The sense that the German High Command had staked everything on this single blow, because it must be dealt before America arrived, had intensified interest in the early stages of the campaign. The unexpected arrival of the Americans, at the moment most disconcerting for the German plans, necessarily raised that interest to the highest pitch. A very few months before, the world had begun to talk of "war-weariness," of physical or economic exhaustion among our European allies, of financial demoralization in the United States itself as a result of our own economic burden. All such considerations dropped into the background with the turn in the fortunes of the campaign.

IT will be long before the military and

Economic

political aspects of the situation lose first place in every one's calculations. Nevertheless, as another autumn season approaches, with the emphasis which that season always applies to the economic problems of war- Problems time, it is natural that two to the Fore questions should recur to the financial mind-first, as to what will be the economic result of another year of war; second, as to what economic conditions will confront us when the war is

outsider, was greatly affected both financially and industrially by the war, threw our markets into constant agitation over the possibility of sudden change to peacetime conditions. It has been much less talked about since 1916, not primarily because of our government's joining in the war, but because the entire community appeared to have made up its mind that the end of the war was much further away than any one had previously imagined.

During many generations, the stockmarket has been the index-finger which pointed out the probable character of the financial, industrial, and political future. Exactly how far it can be relied upon to perform that function in war-time, is a disputed question. Under ordinary circumstances, an investment market displays prophetic power for the well-known reason that values are raised or depressed, as the case may be, by the purchases or sales of people whose judgment regarding the trend of affairs is most highly trained and whose information as to financial and political tendencies is of the best. In the Case of a great war, however, two influences often operate to hamper the stockmarket in its reflection of probable developments by a rise or fall in prices. One is inflation of the paper currency, which, if it results in actual depreciation of the money standard, will thereby create false values for investment securities as for ordinary commodities.

This was a well-known phenomenon of our Civil War. Prices of that day on the New York Stock Exchange were quite as fundamentally governed by the rise in gold as by news from the battle-front; so that the upward tendency was fairly constant, even when the news was unfavorable. The same phenomenon has been witnessed during this war on the stockmarket of Austria, for instance, where depreciation of the currency has visibly come into effect on a greater scale than in any other belligerent state except Russia. Not only in Austria, but in Germany also, shares even of ocean-steamship companies whose ordinary business had been ruined by the war have risen 50 or 100 per cent on the stock exchange since the war began.

The other complicating influence arises

from the restrictive policies of government itself. On no European stock exchange does there exist to-day what would ordinarily be described as a "free market." Ön some of them no purchases or sales are allowed except for actual cash; on all of them speculative activities are frowned upon and sometimes directly prohibited, as tending to divert capital from investment in the war loans. It is clear that markets thus restricted cannot be depended on to reflect quickly or emphatically the good or evil probabilities of a situation.

IN the United States, however, a free

A Free

Stock

the U. S.

stock-market still exists. No restrictions are placed by the government upon the trading. Our currency is undoubtedly much expanded; money in actual circulation, outside the Treasury and Federal Reserve banks, amounted to $5,384,000,000 Market in in the middle of this year, as against $4,702,000,000 when the United States went to war, in April, 1917, and $3,367,000,000 in July of 1914. This is a very substantial increase. But the question of actual depreciation rests, not primarily on the volume of a currency, but on the power to redeem it in gold and the provision for doing so. Now, in the case of our own outstanding paper currency, the $346,000,000 of United States notes are by law secured to the extent of 44 per cent in gold, while the $1,700,000,000 Federal Reserve notes now in circulation were protected, as shown in the midsummer reports, by an abundant gold reserve in the hands of government; which, amounting as it did to $1,900,000,000, was 614 per cent of outstanding circulation and deposit liabilities combined. Our pre-war national-bank notes had no gold reserve against them.

In the case of Germany, the $1,750,o00,000 Loan Bureau currency of the war is protected by no gold reserve whatever. The Austrian Bank's note circulation increased $6,125,000,000 between July of 1914 and December of 1917, while its gold reserve in the same time decreased $1,730,000,000. The fourfold increase in the French Bank's circulation has been accompanied by increase of barely 10