Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1942-05-15
A Paris Model Loses
Love and Riches But
Saves a Painting for
France
IN TWO PARTS-PART ONE


As our clipper gained altitude over
the water and the roofs Of Lisbon
faded astern, even the air we breathed
seemed changed. The atmosphere Of
hate and terror which poisoned Europe
was dropping behind.
My seat companion relaxed with
sigh that said Thank Cod" more
eloquently than any number of spoken
words. He had been hugging a large
leather briefcase tightly secured by
embassy seals. Now he placed 1t in
front of him on the floor and grinned
at me.
His name was Haines. All cores
pondents assigned to Paris had been
as certain to meet this man as to
eat pressed duck at the Tour d'Argent
or to drink fine leau at the Dome
An entrepreneur in works of art.
particularly distinguished paintings, he
had made 1t his business to get around
and know everyone, both exalted and
low For awhile he had helped our
embassy staff after the government
moved to Vichy, and now that his
time had come to go home he was
serving as diplomatic courier.
1t soon became apparent to me that
Haines had something big on his mind.
Like boy who has been in an esca-
pade, he must brag or bust. Yet he
was discreet. Not until we quit the
Azores and our clipper was Declining
straight for New York did he even
hint at what consumed him. Then he
Slapped my knee.
Here's a story for you. have my
reasons for telling it now. Because,
you see, it's not yet finished-even
though chapter one began when Co.
lumbus was sailing the ocean down
there"
Having thus scrambled his meta
phors, Haines asked if I knew Ger
maine Benoit No. had never met the
lady nor heard of her even. By the
time my paper sent me to France,
Germaine, it seems. was walking the
streets, her head still high, her eyes
clear her hoydenish hair still clipped
In the bangs which had punctuated her
conquering youth.
She belonged peculiarly to Paris. The
daughter of laborer in the Batig-
nolles quarter, with nothing except
her native wits and exuberant charm
to carry her up, she began in her
teens as an artists model. She lived
with half a dozen painters before be-
ing seen by the Due de Moret-faith-
full in turn to each.
She was small, barely more than
feet 3, with a wild things grace and,
indeed, its nature. Her Kaleidoscope
play of expression, forever changing
from smiles to a pout, come-and-get-it
allure or innocent trust, one moment
a child, in the next, a woman who
knew, and she knew the answers, gave
to a face which was merely pretty
thu rl{ct,,rh{r0 illycior, IF vivid haa11tv
The duke marked the highest point
in her fortunes. For seven years she
remained his mistress, dazzling crea-
ture, all youth and delight, as known
in season at Deauville, the Lido and
Biarritz, as home in Paris.
But she was never completely
happy" Haines assured me, away
from Paris. Germaine was Paris per-
sonified, beautiful and tolerant and
sinful. If client of mine were to
say, See here, want picture that
stands for Paris, the city that was, be-
fore this war; would tell him it's
all there, everything, in her portrait
done by Jean Dugat when little Ger
maine was riding the crest. 1t was
characteristic, by the way, that she
should have given that job to Dugat,
a brilliant failure who muffed his
promise and came at last to the bitter
business of copying masters that hang
in the Louvre. Germaine's first lover
had been Dugat.
"And if this client wanted picture
which stood for Paris as it is now, its
spirit crushed by the nazi invader,
would say, What shame! The perfect
model for that was Germaine-Ger-
maine Benoit as she looked on the
day, five weeks ago, when she sent
for me-"
Had the summons, he said. not come
in her name, he would certainly not
have recognized her. Her bangs were
gone and her French-blonde hair,
which had been as alive in its way
as her mouth, was dead to look at and
streaked with gray. She was i'll. All
luster had left her eyes. A little old
woman was what he saw, and yet she
had just turned 80.
Haines was as shocked, almost, by
the place where he found Germaine
as he was by her Not even the poor
est of struggling artists had ever lived
in quite such squalor There were just
that broken-down bed and chair
not even a washstand with pitcher and
bowl.
She got down to business without
delay. Her friend remembered La
Belle Lucrece, the fabulous portrait
by Leonardo2 1t was like asking Tos-
canini if he were acquainted, perhaps,
with Wagner. There have been greater
works of art, but none which, touches
Lucrece for glamor.. She is small,