(1861 - 1931)

"Day by day, [the workmen] went on with their work until the thatch was replaced by scarlet tile, new partitions; new stairways were erected with barn transformed into studio and library. It was a most extraordinary maze. The outer walls were splashed in pink stucco with white trimmings and, to complete the picture, a turret was stuck at one of the corners over the gate. In the centre of the main wall Father had an oval frame made of white plaster inside which he painted a toga clad artist seated at an easel with the motto, "Ars et Natura."

The studio, flanked by its turret, is on the top floor. One of its ends fronts on the old Moutier Road. It is a large room, about thirty-six feet wide by twenty-four long. It covers over half of the area of the third floor which is on the same level as the land back of the house, from which it is separated by a deep corridor. This corridor was dug to eliminate dampness due to contact of the rear wall with the earth of the side hill. To permit access to the rear a bridge has been built from the studio to land across this moat-like excavation. On the bridge side, the roof is half glazed giving a magnificent North skylight.

With his turret at one end and his bridge at the other end of his studio Father feels like a lord in his castle. Yet the resemblance stops there for the inside is most un-castle like. A jumble of easels, canvases, casts, draperies, ill-hidden packing boxes, a small table serving as desk for his correspondence or verse writing are more or less grouped in intricate patterns yet not unpleasant to look at. There is no attempt at symmetry but rather towards something more subtle: harmonious asymmetry which, through the eye, inspires the brain to create beautiful things.

This is the place where he works at his compositions based on sketches, and studies made in the field or from models. As long as I am quiet I can move in or out as I please. It never seems to disturb him."

"Reaching the place where the study was to be made, he would unfold easel, and stool, place his canvas, open his paintbox. A first calculating glance would be given to the subject, singling it out of the maze of fields, trees and skies, framing it in his mind as it were, before framing it in the canvas. He would start with a general lay-out in charcoal, following it with brush and paint, gradually building up the chosen scene. Birds twittered, breezes waved the grass and the green crops, hours slipped in Nirvana.

Meanwhile, left to my devices I would explore, never far from the protecting shadow of my father and his easel. There were bugs, multicolored, long-whiskered, there was the grass, the dirt even. I generally managed to gather a fine bouquet. At four o'clock or so we would have a bite to eat, a bit of bread and chocolate to tide us till supper. Afterwards, the brushes would go on, more vigorously than even, well into the afterglow. Frequently dusk would be settling before he would say "Well it's time to pack" or some such remark. The process followed on our arrival would be reversed -- everything was put away, brushes, paint, pallette, easel, stool and umbrella. This was always done in a most methodical manner, with the fresh painted canvas resting face up on the grass. The last thing was to give one last searching look at the trampled place where he had sat so as not to miss some dropped brush or paint tube. This over, the wet canvas was picked up and we would tramp home in the gloaming. Mother would be waiting with a good supper to be partaken of after a copious wash up, of which the soiled brushes got their full share. These tools of his art were never neglected as long as he lived."

"Chief among these was Ulpiano Checa. He and Father shared a studio at 235 Faubourg St. Honoré. Checa was a Spaniard, dark, thick set, nearly stout. To me he seemed to have a perpetual smile, so engaging and so tender, that I can still see it plainly under his merry, luminous eyes. He claimed Arab descent from the ancient Moslems who had occupied Spain. This fact explained, he stated, his unusual command of brush and pencil in painting horses.

Checa, the mild tempered, soft-mannered Spaniard, could paint unhesitatingly the wildest scenes of gore and sword. Father on the other hand with a streak of red in his hair could be, to say the least, formidably as resolute as any Englishman can be. Yet he painted soft lowing cattle, soft sunsets and soft ladies in soft tones. Perhaps that was why they got on so well."

"Pictures to a painter are as books to a writer. In them is felt the impress of graphic thought and they become both guides and companions in following after that idea which is the beginning and end of an artist's life.

I have always been strongly attracted toward the masters of the school of 1830 and I believe them to be luminaries as fixed in the sky of art as the masters of the Italian Renaissance or of the Spanish or Flemish Schools.

My taste has followed this belief and for study and recreation I gathered round me the present collection. Obliged to part with them now, I do so with regret, yet trusting that those into whose hands they may fall will enjoy them as much as I have done.

Pictures should be appreciated for what beauty they may inherently possess but a certain interest also attaches to the source from which they come. I have always endeavored to be well assured of their genuine quality first on their own merits and secondly in tracing them as near the painters as possible. In a number of instances they have come direct from the artists' studios, families or intimate friends."

"He had the speculative spirit just as much as any Wall Street operator might, which was more than bolstered by a deep love for good painting which doubled his desire for acquisition. Sundry dealers were not slow to place tempting morsels before him with most enticing letters to urge him.

How gorgeous these works seemed to me when Father hung them after a painstaking process of cleaning. As he studied them he would invariably point out some peculiarity of the painting or of the painter who had done it, giving me the opportunity of absorbing a liking and a recognition of the works of all the principal schools of painters, especially the Barbizon men, his favorites.

At this period many Oriental art products from Asia Minor and from Algeria came on the market. He bought many of these at very reasonable figures and covered vacant spaces of the walls with rich rugs, camel bands, saddle bags, etc., while on the floors, prayer rugs and carpets were spread among antique pieces of furniture.

Since this was the library, book shelves were filled with ancient volumes in leather bindings, picked up on the Seine "Quais." Father spent hours reading them, calling to me to listen to passages that appealed particularly to him -- to which, I am sorry to say I listened with a rather "distrait" ear."

"… he was quite overwhelmed with applications from other French artists eager to connect with U.S. Dollars. As they were quite unable to comply with, let alone understand the rules and regulations which were all in English, he was obliged to do everything for them, even to assuming responsibility for their pictures. All they did was to drop their works in Father's lap for him to accomplish the rest: applications, history of painters, customs, entries, etc.

It was a mean, thankless job for, not only did many of them fail to show any gratitude, but they prodded him unmercifully if things did not seem to go fast enough. In addition, others set prices, quite exorbitant in many cases, which prevented sales. When pictures were returned they were in a rage. This job must have been quite a chore for I note bills for customs entries, bills of every description, on account of the pictures of various artists. They are all duly receipted but Heaven knows whether Father ever was reimbursed for all these outgoes. He was most particular about paying bills for which he was in any way responsible and I am certain that with his very conscientious habits he would have surrendered the receipted vouchers to artists on collecting from them, which makes me think that he was never reimbursed for those I found. Many for whom he devoted himself kept friendly as long as he was willing to do their donkey work. When this unprofitable pastime ended, Father incurred their displeasure. Thus in trying to benefit them he got kicks and no ha'pence.

There was no return on their part for benefits secured. At the cost of his own patronage he secured thousands of dollars worth of commissions for them but never a cent did he get through them in return. On the contrary, when this source of golden revenue dried up, they did all in their power to check and prevent the awards he so well merited in the many exhibitions where his works appeared, hoping in this way to divert his sources of revenue to themselves. This did not occur to any extent and they were, as a result, induced to feelings meaner than ever."

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