it, his pride in upholding his beliefs like a provocative banner, again won the upper hand.
Though he had actually no choice but to carry on where Seurat had left off, instead of
doing so with resignation, he was ready to lead the fight with his old vigor and enthusiasm.
By his premature death Seurat had become something like a martyr of divisionism; his
actions, his theories, his works assumed the aspect of a holy legacy, inalterably established
for posterity, while life brought new demands, new problems, new exigencies. And Signac
was there to fulfill his destiny, even at the risk of doing so alone. But he could not help
musing about the strange decisions of fate. Less than four years after Seurat's death he
sadly compared van Gogh's rising fame to the oblivion that seemed to have descended upon
his best friend. Dipping his pen into his prejudices against the former and his by now almost
blind veneration for the latter, he confided to his diary:

"How unjust people are towards Seurat. To think that they refuse to recognize in him
one of the geniuses of the century! The young people are full of admiration for [the poet]
Laforgue and for van Gogh--these also dead (otherwise, would they be so admired?). And
for Seurat: oblivion, silence. Yet he is a greater painter than van Gogh who is interesting
merely as an insane phenomenon . . . and whose only interesting paintings are those done
during his illness, at Arles. At the time of Seurat's death, the critics did justice to his talent
but found that he did not leave a complete work! It seems to me, on the contrary, that he
gave everything he could give, and admirably. He would certainly still have produced and
progressed greatly, but his task was accomplished with finality: the black and white [draw-
ings], the harmonies of line, composition, the contrast and harmony of colors . . . and even
the frames. What more can one ask of a painter?" ⁸⁴

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