CHAPTER 15

"I want to surround myself with interestingly talented people," Gertrude pronounced. "Everybody who is anybody."
They arrived from all directions on Saturday night. Old friends gathered and their friends, writers, musicians, artists and a few rich friends.

There were regulars and new faces all gathered to eat, drink, smoke, (how they smoked) and talk together of the things that interested them. It was Gertrude's way of keeping up with the news and the trends. For me it was like entering a private club. The difference came when Alice greeted me and announced my arrival.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," she announced, "the painter, Robert Bartlett Haas."

Important Paris Litrerati Come Forward

One can't imagine my surprise when some of the most important literati in Paris all came forward, champagne flute in hand calling out congratulations. I was surprised and quite self-conscious. I hadn't expected an announced introduction. I could see Gertrude's broad grin. I hadn't counted on her sense of humor, or should I say, her sense of the dramatic. I shook hands with so many smiling faces that I couldn't remember more than one or two names and those were people I had heard about before. By the time the evening was over I would be able to put most names to faces.

(A crowded cafe scene in Paris)

For Gertrude, Saturday night put her in touch with the new personalities and the gossip.

"Enjoy it, dear boy," she whispered as she darted around being the clever hostess, "this is only the beginning."

It would be impossible to name all the important personalities who were at Gertrude's on those Saturday nights. Hemingway was there often and on other days when he sat at her feet and listened. He drank distilled plum drinks and ate Alice's little sandwiches as he sat at Gertrude's feet listening to her advice. "Begin over again and concentrate," she had told him. Hem told that story to anyone who would listen. She shaped the writer in him, purged him of the extra adjective, made a writer with a honed down style.

Once, when he arrived drunk she said to him," Hem, you turn around and never come back."

He left and didn't return. Gertrude called her agent who knew Hemingway well.

"What have I done?" she asked the older man. It didn't bother her that she had awakened him from a deep sleep.

Like Gertrude, Hemingway Was Pigheaded

She almost screamed, "You must get Hemingway back at any price."
Like Gertrude, Hemingway was pigheaded. He never returned. Years later when I knew him better, we talked about Gertrude. "Salon woman," he said. "What a lousy stinking life." Then he added, "A Rose is a Rose is an onion."

By then he was able to go it alone. But he remembered her well as a good teacher.

His ex wife Hadley, visited Gertrude often. She and her little boy, John, lived next door. Hem came to visit the little boy he called 'Mister Bumby'. But he never rang Gertrude's bell. Gertrude was hurt, in the final analysis, especially since she had been godmother to the Hemingway' first born. But once it was over, it was over.

There were other gatherings going on during that time in Paris. One could go to the Kisslings' on Wednesday afternoons, as I always did. Some went to Nathalie Barney's every Friday on the Rue Christine. They all attracted different groups. Nathalie's was more 'sapho-like'. Gertrude's more cerebral; Kissling's more rowdy and male oriented.

Saturday Afternoons at Gertrude's Brother Michael's

Then there were the Saturday afternoons at Gertrude's brother Michael's. He and his wife Sally lived in a converted church apartment on the Rue Madame, just a block from Gertrude's. Here, the air was redolent smoke and with talk of Matisse. The painter was often present. Michael and Sally were Matisse's first patrons. With their friends Etta and Claribel Cone, they brought the first Matisse paintings to America.

So, if you wanted good food and good talk, surrounded by some of the most creative people in France, you had a number of places to choose from. I preferred Gertrude's. It was to become my home away from home, especially after that first Saturday night when Gertrude and Alice prepared such an elaborate welcome for me. She had hung my small landscape in a place of honor next to the first of Picasso's paintings, she and Leo had bought.

"You're my second discovery," she said.

Gertrude's Strong Influence on Her Friends

Perhaps it was lack of confidence or naiveté on my part, or underestimating Gertrude's ability to sell artists, but I was amazed at the influence Gertrude had on those who came into her aura. I found, after time, that while she was good at selling the talents, she had less success getting people to take her writing seriously. She was a writer ahead of her time, often misunderstood and easily derided and attacked. I am one of those who truly believe that Gertrude Stein had broken through the outmoded uses of words.

For her, words were more important for their sound than for their meaning. One of the problems is that we learn rules of grammar and rules and create something new. I think that, in a way, she helped Picasso understand the concept of Cezanne that in art, each part is as important as the whole and each piece should be able to stand on its own. Both Gertrude and Pablo agreed that Cezanne was the father of modern art. And as far as creating something meaningful is concerned, Picasso took her advice and with Braque, worked out cubism which people thought was ugly.

Picasso: Creating Some New Is to Create Something Ugly

Picasso once said, "The man who creates something new is forced to create something ugly. Those who follow make this a beautiful thing because they know in advance what they are doing."

(Behind this gate lay Picasso's studio on the rue des Grands Augustins, where the master did Guernica during World War II)

It took me a long time to work all of this out, but I soon came to believe that there was much genius in Gertrude Stein as there was in Picasso. So here I was, drawn by fate into their charmed circle and it all started that first day I met that remarkable lady and painters far more talented and important than I would ever be. But how many people living today can say they had a landscape hanging at 27 Rue de Fleurus?
I spent the evening answering questions. I found it pleasant enough but it was also a little frightening.

"You'll become rich and famous now," Sylvia Beach whispered. "You have found the right sponsor."

"But... I started.

"Don't fight it, dear boy. Just enjoy it while it lasts. At one time or another we can all use a boost up. I saw the greatness in Joyce's Ulysses. I wanted to help Joyce, so I did. Now the book is done and Joyce is known. I feel good about that. I'm sure Gertrude feels good about helping you. And if she has an ulterior motive, it hardly matters. We have to take care of ourselves in this world."

She smiled knowingly then went off to talk to Alice, but not before she winked at me.

Picasso Puts His Army around My Shoulder

Later, Picasso put his arm around my shoulder. He raised a glass and smiled broadly, his black eyes flashing.
"You see, my young friend, we are alike. We have been both taken under the wing of Gertrude. But be careful now. One day I might steal one of your ideas from you. I'm to be feared, you know."
"I don't think so. You can take anything you want. Besides, I don't believe that you do that and if you do, I will be honored."

His eyes widened and he laughed loudly. "But it's true, I do steal from everybody. My greatest fear is that one day I will steal from myself."
Then he added, "My friend, this is the way it happens. It doesn't matter why. Just enjoy it. If Gertrude likes you, she can be a great help. Listen to Pablo."

At the food table, I met Alice. Alice put her forefinger to her lips.
"Not a word," she whispered.
I imitated her. "Not a word."
At this point, a tall woman with a rather pleasant smile introduced herself.

"Hello. We haven't met. I'm Kay Boyle."
We shook hands. "Bob Haas. I'm pleased to meet you."
"Oh," she said, wide-eyed, Bob Haas the painter. I just love your little painting."

I was embarrassed. "Oh, it's just something Gertrude took a shine to. I'm still learning."
"Never mind," she smiled, touching my arm. "If Gertrude chose to hang it, success will follow." Kay added. "I've never seen you here before, or have I?"
"I've been here a few times but only twice at the soirees." I was a little embarrassed, still the outsider, I thought.

"Odd," she still smiled. "I thought I knew everyone. But never mind.
I know you now."
"Are you a painter too?" I asked, hesitantly.

She laughed loudly. "Oh, no. I don't know one end of a brush from another.

"I'm a writer," she said. She went on about how difficult it was to discipline oneself on a daily basis. I watched her animated pleasant face. She made me feel at ease.
She was rather tall, especially next to me. She was thin but not skinny. Her hair was cropped short in the style of the day. I think they called it 'bobbed.'

"Well, we have that in common. We're both would-bees,"
I remarked. She touched my arm again and became more serious.
"No more, you're not. Once Gertrude 'finds' you, the dealers will be pounding on your door.

You had better get a portfolio together."

Gertrude's Power in the World of Art

I still couldn't believe the whole thing. I mulled over the notion of recognition. Could Gertrude have such power in the world of art? Could she create an interest simply by hanging something on her wall?
Kay must have sensed my thoughts. "This is no ordinary atelier" she said, seriously.

"Gertrude is no ordinary collector. She bought paintings no one else wanted.

Look what she created. Nobody had heard of Picasso until she discovered. Now the dealers, collectors and even artists with great reputations come to see what she likes and recommends."
She's a bit of a genius that way."

"I'll say," I agreed. "But where did she get all that money for so many great works? She doesn't work and her books don't sell very well."
"It's family money," she suggested. "Her brother Michael, that's him
with the black beard, controls the San Francisco Cable Car company. You know about those little trolley cars that go up and down in San Francisco.

They generate a modest income for all the Steins."
"Modest?" I asked.

"The amount is irrelevant. Gertrude receives an allowance."
"So do I, but hardly enough to buy paintings like these."
"Well," she mused, maybe the amount is relevant."
We both laughed loudly.
"Actually," she added, "many of these were quite inexpensive when she first bought them. Nobody saw anything in them. Gertrude did apparently."
"But mine is just..."
"Never mind," she interrupted. "That will all change now. You'll see soon enough."

A Very Attractive Woman Appears...

A very attractive young woman appeared behind Kay. She stood smiling with a drink in her hand. My eyes glanced over Kay's shoulder. She sensed it and turned around.

"Bryher," she almost shouted. They kissed on both cheeks.
Very old world, I thought. I just watched as two old friends went through the ritual of meeting each other after an absence.
Kay turned to face me. "Bryher Ellerman McAlmon," she started,
"I'd like you to meet Bob Haas, a painter from Canada."
"Ahh," she said, "the famous Bobshen Haas."

We shook hands. Hers was tiny, boney and warm. It was very pleasant.
"I see Gertrude has gotten to you. Nobody else calls me Bobshen."
"Gertrude has gotten to everybody," she
smiled. "Can you feel everyone's eyes watching you?"
I was embarrassed. "Well, no. I'm not a painter. I'm a person who paints. There's a difference."
"Oh my," said Bryher, feigning a serious, wide-eyed look, a Canadian eligible bachelor who has humility, too. I must tell all the young women about you.

Thank goodness Kay changed the subject. "Where's Bob?" she asked. She was obviously referring to Bryher's husband.

"Oh, he's somewhere talking to that old walrus, Ford Maddox Ford. They're probably plotting something sinister. Actually, it might interest you to know that Bob & Ford are talking about setting up a new publishing house." Then she whispered, "One that I'll, no doubt, be asked to finance. Why don't you show Bob the manuscript you've..."
"I already did," Kay interrupted. "But right now Harry is considering it for Black Sun Press."

"Harry Crosby?" I asked.
"I've met him. I know his wife, Caresse."
Bryher smiled coyly "I know, dear boy. I know."

A Remark Raises Eyebrows

The remark and the raised eyebrows were not lost on me. I felt it was time to take leave of the two and get a stiff drink.

I pondered the reason Bryher Ellerman McAlmon would discuss me with Caresse. What could possibly interest them in me? Who were they as they moved around in their expensive clothing and phony accents?
Later that evening I did meet Ford Maddox Ford and understood from his droopy moustache why Bryher called him 'Walrus.' He introduced me to the elegant Nancy Cunard.

She wore heavy black eye shadow and dressed entirely in black leather. She was sensational, I thought. With them were two maiden ladies from Baltimore. They were old friends of Alice. One of them was a doctor. I had never met a woman doctor before. Their names were Conn or Cone or, I couldn't remember. But they did complement me on my painting.

"Actually," said the older one, "our only interest is in Matisse. But you'll do well, one day. Your work is not without interest."
'Interest,' I thought. I lived in an age where any time a person knew nothing of art, they said it was very interesting'.

I especially enjoyed Jacques Lipchitz. He had a thick Russian accent. It was he who told me who Bryher Ellerman was. What a shock to find out that she was indeed British and the daughter of Ellermans who were shipping magnates. Imagine, Cunard and Ellerman in the same room.

"But I could never interest her in sculpture. She didn't like the bother of having to walk around a piece to see it. It also has something to do with the material itself." Then he pursed his lips and shook his head. "I think she just likes paintings." He smiled and put his arm around me.
"You are a lucky young man," he started. "Gertrude can be a good friend for you. She will help you. Listen to what she says."
Lipchitz moved off and I stood at a make-shift bar. Next to me, Robert McAlmon was talking to Sherwood Anderson, whose recent book, I had read.

"I introduced Hem to Gertrude," Anderson stated.
"Really," said McAlmon." Wondered how they met." "I thought she hatched him" he said acidly.

"Yeah," Anderson continued, ignoring McAlmon's sarcasm. "We had been working together on the Star. Hem had just taken a job in Paris, for a Toronto paper." "I hear he & Hadley have separated."
"So they tell me. Too bad, really. Great gal, Hadley and they have a wonderful son."

"Someone asked Him why he wanted to divorce her," said McAlmon. "He said it was because he was a bastard. That's why. But I know otherwise. He got mixed up with Pauline. It's sad, because she was a good friend of Hadley's."
"Pitty," Anderson frowned. "She's a good sort. I must look her up one of these days."

"By the way," said McAlmon, did you know Hem had a boxing match with a friend from Toronto?"
"I'm sure Hem made short work of the man," Anderson suggested, while sipping his drink.

"Not at all. The other fellow had been on the Toronto University boxing team. Knocked our man down, they say."
Anderson smiled. "That's probably why he's not here. Probably home licking his wounds. Just like Hem."
Both men laughed loudly.

"Big brooding bear," Anderson continued. "Feeling sorry for himself. He hasn't changed. Give him my best, though, if you run into him. I'm leaving for Chicago on Monday. "

McAlmon noticed me nearby. He extended his hand. "I'm Robert McAlmon. I don't think we've met."
"Robert Haas," I said shyly, offering my hand.
"Oh yes. Saw your painting. Jolly good."
I was probably blushing when Anderson introduced himself. "You from California, Bobby?"

"No. Canada. Montreal."

"Bet you're glad to be out of the snow," from Anderson.

Paris Was Better Even on Damp, Rainy Days

We chatted about winters and came to the conclusion that even damp, rainy days in Paris were better than snowy months in Montreal. By the time the evening was over, I had met so many important people, my head was swimming. I was buoyed by the reception I had received. Alice shook my hand as I left. Gertrude waved and threw me a kiss. Everyone turned.

"You did well, Bobschen," said Alice. "You made new friends. Our door is always open to you."

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