Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1936-10-09
CHAPTER ONE

Provinces to study art, he had cherish
ed one ambition, for a long time: to
visit Holland, the home of the masters
he admired almost to the exclusion OF
all others. Vermeer, Franz Halls, Ter
Borch, Rembrandt! He had directed
all his efforts to this end, living mea-
gerly, depriving himself of many ne
cessities, in order to save money need
ed for the voyage.
Before the war, trip to Holland
had not been beyond the purse OF
those in small circumstances, but
since the conflict, the florin exchange
had risen so high above the franc that
what had been easy in the past had
become almost unattainable. But
without losing hope, Jean had contin-
ued to stint himself, saving penny by
penny until his wallet was full.
The sum was not large, but then
there are so many needless expenses!
The necessities were few-tickets to
Amsterdam with stop-over privileges,
a few extra francs for admission to
the museum and for light meals, eat
en- between visits to the galleries. If
heed arose, one could go without din
ner and retire few hours earlier.
One day Jean Hibeau had boarded
the train at the Care du Nord. He
was poor, almost broke, but neatly
dressed. His sole piece of baggage
was a musette bag crammed with
sketch pads, crayons, linen and lunch
con. He had gone to Anvers, from
Anvers to Dordrecht, from there to
Rotterdam.
Rapidly he visited Delft, halted lit
tie longer to admire the Rembrandts
and Vermeers Of The Hague, stood
respectfully before the Franz Halls in
Harlan, nibbling microscopic lunch
es in the parks, plying his crayons
feverishly, filling his soul with color
and light, discovering a new world,
happy as a god of Olympus.
Finally he reached Amsterdam with
the zeal Of pilgrim arriving in Je-
rusalem, forgetting everything that
had happened. The Riksmuseum was
an open book to him-he arrived there
at the moment it opened, after having
spent the night in sailors boarding
house and breaking his fast on bread
and cheese. He left only when the
doors were being closed.
Other times he wandered thru the
old town, criss-crossed by calm canals
gathering different aspects of the
sector; the markets with vegetables
and poultry heaped high on the carts
and in the stalls, subjects of his mas
ters' paintings. He Toasted on the
passing men with their profiles in the
Judenstraat mold, sketched sailors
before the saloons.
At night when he felt hunger mount
ing in him, he bought huge bowl of
soup in an estaminet on the water
frnt, and consumed it while cycling
the broad barques swaying on the ruff
fled waters of the Zuyder Zee and
the passenger boats steaming outward
towards the Sonde Islands.
Too soon he was at the end of his
esources-nothing remained but
few cents and his return ticket. His
joy brusquely vanished. Then he saw
himself alone-abandoned in a town
suddenly become strange and alien,
without enough money left to pay his
lodging for the night.
In Amsterdam the railroad station
lis on the waterfront, few PAGES from
the moored vessels. Jean inquired the
time of the night trains departure.
All! To reach Paris, his refuge,
without stopping on the whole route,
with no food during the long hours
CT the return trip.
He felt the return ticket in his hand
small pasteboard slip, tangible
means of regaining the land where
his little room under the roofs of
Montparnasse and his peaceful occu-
patton of an artist.
''Well, the dream is over, the awak-
ening is here" he sighed, counting the
few pieces of money remaining in his
wallet. "Not enough to eat my fill,
and not enough to get drunk so as
to add a slight tint of gayety to my
departure!"
He shivered. A light drizzle oozed
from the leaden sky. Deciding to
warm himself, he entered small cafe
threw his few francs on the table and
in hating English-the only foreign
tongue he knew-ordered coffee and
gin. The waiter brought a cup and