Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1905-03-04
UNDER ANOTHER NAME

'Seven years ago." said a well-known
American landscape painter, who ran
down from New York to have a look at
the Inauguration pagearltry. 81 was pass
ing through the second stage of my starv-
ing period on Manhattan Island. had
previously starved for four years in Paris.
I had a picture or two exhibited in New
York-'skyed,' 1 ought to say-but I
couldn't sell much Of my handiwork.
81 did a good deal of meditating at that
time on the life and environment of truck
drivers as a class, for it seemed as il I
might have to join their union sooner or
later.
old landscapes, but nobody else knew it..
Nobody came near me-
Now, hate that cheap thing called Bo-
hemia by the asinine tabled hooters of New
YORK. l had seen the real Bohemia in the
Quarter, and l knew what malodorous
outfit genuine Bohemianism, much less "a
tuppeny imitation of it, was. and is. So l
didn't mingle with that crew at ALL l
proiied my little chop in the studio when
| could get the ten cents for the chop. and
smoked my pipe, when 1 had the tobacco,
and painted, painted, painted.
The dealers just about kept me alive.
one day l got hold of enough car fare to
run up into Westchester county, New York,
and a little scene on the Bronx stream
caught my fancy. An arch of new leaves,
very clear whitey-blue water a dead oak
light painted it, and it was GEM
MY best dealer offered me $40 for it.
folded the wrapper around it and took it
elsewhere. My second-best dealer offered
Ten dollars was the best offer for it.
took 1T back to my 'studio'-funny name.
that, for the little Sx10 dive l worked in
then-and turned it to the wall
II
thing like ten,' 1 said to myself. This is a
good picture. If 1 can't get $50 for it I'll
saw the canvas into shoestrings I need
shoestrings. anyhow
About week later a fellow never saw
before came to my studio. A chatty. ner-
vous shrewd-eyed fellow he was. well
dressed prosperous looking-a Yankee, by
the way he talked
Got anything to SELL? he asked me.
oh, DEALER L thought, exultantly A
dealer actually looking me up-that was odd
Lots to sell, l replied. Look them
He glanced at about twenty canvases
that had scattered around, and then he
came to my little Bronx scene
Give you fifty for this he said, after
he had examined it,
God rest you merry gentleman it's
yours said I.
He paid me the fifty and took the picture
out under his arm. telling me that he'd be
seen him SINCE
"a "A few evenings ago Washingtonian
70 whom had been introduced by friend
invited me out to his place to have look
at his pictures He said that he had lot
of rubbish. but, then, few good ones. too.
Il found that he had more good ones
than rubbish: He showed them all to me
In detail, telling me quite frankly what
he had paid for them.
Then he came to my little Bronx
scene.
Here is neat little thing he said,
not observing my manner, which you may
suppose was somewhat agitated. "A bit
of the headwaters of the River Loire in
France. By an obscure artist, it is true,
but none the less a real gem. I prize it
very highly. Essentially French, isn't it.
that way of treating sunlight? The young
artist who painted this died, understand,
just when he was beginning to gain recog-
milton. Rather mellow little bit, don't you
Think?
Charmingly mellow said I. quite can
didly. Nice picture. 1 don't seem to re-
member the artist, though. This thing
proves that he had promise, beyond a
doubt. No doubt you got the picture at a
bargain?
well, no, I did not said he. 7 paid
rather a stiff price for it. That's the
trouble Of dealing with agents-they
cruel you. I paid three hundred and fifty
for that. 1 wanted it very badly, for I
liked it, and the man who sold it to me
had such an exalted idea of the fame that
would come to the young French painter
after the real value of his work was
recognized. 1 don't begrude the money a
little bit. -" 1-l>e'
That young Frenchman would have
got ahead If he had lived I said. quite
truthfully-for, you see, the young French
artist had never, of course, lived, and the
crafty dealer had only painted in the fic-
titious French signature with a delight
fully Frenchy flourish.
what would have been the use of put
ting the owner of my little old Bronx scene
right? I'm only ar. American, with rather
a prosac name, and all of the sunlight
would go out of the picture for him, l
think if / were to tell him that his young
Frenchman had never existed, and that
had painted the picture and sold it for fifty
dollars, and deucedly glad to get it.