Chapter 14

Marevna was waiting at the park gate.
"Vee gaits?" she smiled.
"Fine." I was learning her foreign greetings. I pointed up Gertrude's narrow street. It's not very far, just a block from here.
"So lead on", she said.

Alice responded to my knock. "Good evening, Bobchen," she said almost formally. "And this must be the famous Miss Vorobiev."
Marevna extended her hand. "Morevna Vorobiev," she announced.
We were led into Gertrude's atelier.

(Through this entrance and garden at 27 rue de Fleurus in Paris one finds the atelier, or gallery, where the original painting of Gertrude Stein by Picasso was hung)

"Miss Stein will be with you in a moment. Please feel free to look around. Would you like some tea?
"Thank you. Yes." from the tiny painter. She was businesslike but not nearly as nervous as I was.
"Nothing for me," I stated.

Marevna Examines the Painting

Alice departed. Marevna began to examine the painting. It was difficult to see detail in the dull gaslight, but the reaction of my friend was obvious.

"That's a Cezanne," she said, "and there's another. And a Renoir. I like that one. Look, here's Matisse and a Gris...and ah, the famous Picasso portrait. It's bigger than I thought. But it is special...yes...a work with special qualities...see, the face is done in a different style from the body...probably done at a different time. Does it look like Miss Stein?"
A voice from behind us said,"No. People tell Picasso I do not look like that. He usually replies. 'Don't worry. One day she will'. Now, isn't that interesting." She extended her hand. "I'm Gertrude Stein."

(Gertrude Stein in a pensive pose at her home in the village of Culoz, France)

The two shook hands. Marevna did a slight curtsy. Very European, I thought.

"Hello Bobschen," she smiled. "Thank you for being prompt. And how do you like my collection? Some people like to eat. Some people like to drink. But I like to look at painted pictures."
"It's very interesting but unusually modern."
"Yes. Most people don't understand painting. Take this Matisse portrait of a woman. When it was first shown, people tried to scratch the paint off. Can you imagine? I could not understand why they laughed at it and I bought it."

"He is becoming popular, that one," said Marevna.
Yes, my brother Michael and Sara, his spouse, are very fond of Matisse. But he is not my favorite".

"For him it is all color," Marevna offered.
"Yes. Color. Like beasts in the jungle. I prefer Cezanne," Gertrude said with a smile".

Marevna nodded. "Yes, architecture; space".
Gertrude continued. "Cezanne is our father. It all began with Cezanne. Don't you agree?"
"Absolutely," Marevna agreed.
"It is the beginnings of twentieth century art."

Gertrude clasped her hands together. "Oh, I like your friend, Bobschen. We will get along famously; like brothers."

Confused, Marevna and I simply smiled.

An Occasion for a Sweet Liquor

Gertrude turned to Alice. "This occasion calls for a sweet liquor. Do you like pears?" she asked. Then without waiting for an answer, she said, "Alice, bring some glasses for our guests".
The liquor hat a strong, sweet flavor that heated as it went down. Alice served little cakes as Marevna and Gertrude chatted. Alice talked to me in a whisper.

After a few moments, Gertrude turned to Alice and me. "Why don't you and Bobschen give me a half hour with Marevna? You can take a walk in the gardens. for half an hour. Well, perhaps a little more. Then, when you return, you can show me the painting you brought".
It was more of a command than a request. Alice and I left the building and turned down the rue de Fleurus.

Alice explained, "Fleurus was the site of a Napoleonic battle. The French still remember him as their greatest hero. He was a bully, you know...ambitious little man."
"And not even a born Frenchman," I added, trying to find some way into the conversation.
"That is a moot point," said Alice.
Then she added. "Do you know Hemingway "?
"I know who he is, but we never met."

Saturday Night Soirees

"Well, you'll have to start coming to our little soirees. They are on Saturday nights. Last Saturday at Picasso's was a rare exception. Gertrude can't say no to Picasso. Hem is often here. My but he's a handsome young man, and so young. He often takes walks with Gertrude. She's helping him with his work. Gertrude says that Hem should begin over again and concentrate. He told me the other day that writing was easy until he met Gertrude. But she spends too much time with him. He doesn't deserve it. Why just yesterday when Gertrude went for a walk, I said, "Don't you come home with Hemingway on your arm." She did.

The one way conversation went on. I learned about Sherwood Anderson and how he had written a letter of introduction to Gertrude for Hemingway. And I learned that Anderson met Gertrude through Sylvia Beach.

"Just as I did," I finally said. "
"Sylvia is very nice to me. I like going to her bookstore."
"Sylvia is wasting her time with Joyce. She thinks he's a writer. He's not. And Pound. I don't care much for Pound. Gertrude says he's a village explainer. That's excellent if you're a village, but if not, not."

She was beginning to sound like Gertrude.
We sat on a bench, eating chestnuts and watching two boys play tennis.
She returned to Pound. "He used to come to our Saturday nights all the time but one day he fell out of Gertrude's favorite little armchair and broke it. Gertrude was not amused. A few months later they met him in the gardens.

"But I'd like to come up and see you," he said.
"No, I'm sorry," said Gertrude. "Alice has a toothache and this season we are very busy picking wild flowers."
"We haven't seen him since."
"I met him recently. He is a strange looking man...but very bright." I obviously said the wrong thing.

Alice frowned. "What has that got to do with it?'' she barked.
Then after a long silence, she asked. Did you say you were from Canada?"
"Yes," I replied. "Montreal."
"I've never been there."
I might have talked about home, but Alice was standing, ready to go home. I followed.

Paris Evenings Crowned with a Halo of Light

We returned to the atelier as it was finally getting dark.
Paris evenings were crowned with a halo of light until after 10 pm. Inside, the gaslight glowed like an orange jack-o-lantern. Gertrude and Morevna could be seen, deep in conversation, closely facing each on high-backed chairs.

We listened silently, not wanting to break the spell of their intense conversation.

"And why did you leave the United States?" Minerva asked.
Gertrude answered in her usual way. "There is no there, there. Foreigners belong in France. Surely you felt that draw when you came here."

"Yes, but most foreigners who come here to work stay and integrate. They start to act like Frenchmen."
"But they always look like foreigners. They are always foreigners there and they invariably settle in Paris.'
"I know, but they live with other 'landsmen', people from their own country. The Russians are always together, even the Americans stay with Americans."
"It's easier because of the language," said Marevna.
I saw a chance to interrupt. "What about Canadians?"

"Ah, Bobolink", Gertrude smiled. "You're back. Good." We have good news. Meravna and I have struck a bargain. I will have my portrait copied. She slapped me on the back.
"Isn't that good news?"
"Yes, good news, indeed. So you're both happy?"
"Yes. Isn't it wonderful Alice?"
Alice fussed with some tea cups. She showed little emotion.
Yes," she replied, dryly. I suppose so. Alice was a hard woman to impress.
Then Gertrude asked, "Did Alice show you the neighborhood, Bobschen?"
"Yes," I smiled. She's a good guide and a great story-teller."
Gertrude smiled and watched Alice. "She's my best critic, and my best friend. I'd be lost without her."
During this, Marevna walked around, admiring the paintings.

"Do you like the Matisse?"

"Do you like the Matisse?" Gertrude asked." Do you like the wild colors?"
"Yes, I've seen that use of color but this portrait here is more unusual than most."
Actually, my brother bought that one. He thought it was brilliant and powerful, but the 'nastiest smear of paint 'he had ever seen. It was what he unknowingly wanted most. Many visitors have the same reaction. At first they are shocked but after a while they begin looking closely."
She turned to me. "And speaking of paintings, let's have a look at what you brought us."
"But I had..." I started.
"Never mind," said Gertrude. "Let's have a look."

I removed the wrapping and propped up the small canvass on the table. Gertrude came very close to the canvass and studied it from two sides.
"Hmm," she mused. "It shows promise. Yes. I will buy it and I will hang it. Then, on Saturday evening, when my friends come over, they will see it and I'll tell them all how brilliant you are. They will scour the galleries for your work. Robert Bartlett Haas will be in great demand because I say so."

"But I have so few pieces," I protested.
"Nonsense," she replied. "It will make the dealers and buyers seek you out even more. Everyone wants what they can't have. Isn't that so, Alice?"

Alice went about her work quietly. "Yes," she replied, "If you say so."
"But that's not why I brought the painting here ", I protested.
"Nonsense," she laughed. "I will pay you 200 francs. That's half of what Leo paid Matisse for his nasty smear. I will make you a familiar figure."
"Familiarity breeds contempt," I said, not knowing why.
"Nonsense," she snapped. "The more familiarity, the more beauty."
I wasn't quite sure what she meant. She noticed my bewilderment.
She explained. "The more people become familiar with something, the more they embrace it."
"Congratulations," Marevna smiled.
"And to you too," I smiled.

Alice Puts Her Arm aorund Them Both

Gertrude put her arm around us both. I felt I was being suffocated by a big bear. But there was a feeling of warmth in the room as she said, "It's all settled. We will make you both famous. But before you go, Alice and I want to invite you to our little party on Saturday night. A few friends will be here. About 8 pm. Of course we won't talk of the copy until it's finished. It will be our little secret, n'est- ce- pas?"
"And everyone benefits," from Marevna.
"You mean everyone profits," from Alice.

Gertrude laughed loudly. "It's a perfect plan. I'm an absolute genius for thinking of it."

I wasn't sure how to take her remark but I knew positively after she added, with a nervous giggle, "It takes a lot of time to be a genius. You have to sit around so much doing nothing."

We shook hands all around and left with a certain amount of emotion. Four lives were changed by that meeting. Perhaps more.
Marevna was pensive on the way back to La Rotonde. The usual crowd of rowdies was present. I had just sold my first painting, even if the circumstances were unusual. It would hang in the atelier of Gertrude Stein. Marevna had a pocket full of money with more to come. We drank and were happy together

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