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EDITORIAL POLICY AUTHORS
Mathematics Magazine a i ms to p rov i d e Lawrence Brenton received his Bachelor of Arts de­
l ive ly and appea l i ng mathemat i ca l expos i­ gree in 1 968 from the University of Pennsylvania
tion. The Magazine i s not a research jou r­ and earned his Ph.D. from the University of Wash­
ington in 1 974. He held posts as a post-doctoral re­
na l , so the terse sty l e app rop r i ate for s uch a
search fellow at the University of Bonn, Germany,
jou rna l ( l e m ma-theorem-proof-coro l l ary) i s
and as a visiting professor at Tulane University be­
not approp r i ate f o r t h e Magazine. Arti c l es
fore joining the faculty of Wayne State University,
shou l d inc l u de exa m p l es, app l icati ons, h i s­ where he has served for twenty-six years. His re­
torical background, and i l l u strati ons, where search interests are several complex variables and
approp r i ate. They shou l d be attractive and algebraic geometry, especially the theory of singu­
acces s i b l e to undergraduates and wou l d, larities of analytic varieties. His current passion is
i deal ly, be h e l pful in su pplem enting un­ directing the Wayne State University Undergradu­
dergradu ate cou rses or in sti m u l ating stu­ ate Research Program.
dent investi gati ons. Manu scri pts on h istory
Ana Vasiliu was a participant in the WSU Under­
are espec i a l l y we l come, as are those show­
graduate Research Program and worked on Znam's
ing rel ati ons h i ps among various b ranches of
problem together with others under the supervision
mathematics and between math e m atics and of Professor Brenton. She is currently working to­
other d i sci p l ines . wards a Master's degree at Oklahoma State Univer­
A more deta i l ed statement of author sity.
gu i d e l ines appears in th i s Magazine, Vo l.
74, pp. 75-76, and i s ava i l a b l e from the Edi­ Richard A. Mollin received his Ph.D. in 1 975 in
tor or at www. maa.org/pu bs/mat h m ag.htm l. mathematics from Queen's University, Kingston,
Ontario, Canada, where he was born. He is now a
Manuscri pts to be s u b m i tted shou l d not be
full professor in the Mathematics Department at the
conc u r rentl y s u b m i tted to, accepted fo r p u b­
University of Calgary, with over 1 50 publications in
l icati on by, or pu b l i shed by another jou rna l
algebra, number theory, and computational math­
or pu b l i sher. ematics to his credit. The development behind the
S u b m i t new manuscri pts to Frank A ideas for this article was an inspiration for the writ­
Far r i s, E d i tor, Mathematics Magazi ne, Santa ing of his latest book, An Introduction to Cryptogra­
C l ara Univers ity, 500 El Cam i no Rea l , Santa phy (Chapman and Haii/CRC Press). He resides in
C l ara, CA 95053-0373. Manusc r i pts shou l d Calgary with his wife Bridget and two cats. When
b e l aser printed, w i th wid e l ine s pacing, and not engaged in mathematics or entertaining math­
prepared in a sty l e cons i stent with the fo rmat ematical visitors at Mollin Manor, he and Bridget
enjoy hiking in the Rockies.
of Mathematics Magazine. Authors shou l d
m a i l th ree cop i es and keep one copy. I n
Peter Schumer received his B.S. and M.S. from
add ition, authors shou l d s u p p l y t h e fu l l Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute and his Ph.D. from
five-sy mbol 2000 Mathemati cs S u bject University of Maryland, College Park. Since 1 983
C l assificati on nu m ber, as descri bed in Math­ he has been a member of the mathematics faculty
ematical Reviews. at Middlebury College in Vermont. His main math­
ematical interests include elementary number the­
Cover i m age: Thoth Bestows Mathematics ory, combinatorics, and the history of mathematics.
He has written a textbook, Introduction to Number
upon Humankind, by jason Cha l l as, who be­
Theory (PWS Publishing) and was the 2000 recipi­
stows i nstruction in com p uter a rt at Santa
ent of the MAA's Trevor Evans Award for the article,
C l ara Univers ity . Drawing of Th oth by I r ina
"The Magician of Budapest." His interests in math­
Vas i l i u . ematics and the game of go have been amicably
combined during several sabbaticals to California
and to Japan.
Vol. 75, No. 1, February 2002

MATHEMATICS
MAGAZINE

EDITOR
Frank A. Farris
Santa Clara University

ASSOCIATE EDITORS
Glenn D. Appleby
Santa Clara University
Arthur T. Benjamin
Harvey Mudd College
Paul j. Campbell
Beloit College
Annalisa Crannell
Franklin & Marshall College
David M. james
Howard University
Elgin H. johnston
Iowa State University
Victor j. Katz
University of District of Columbia
jennifer j. Quinn
Occidental College
David R. Scott
University of Puget Sound
Sanford L. Segal
University of Rochester
Harry Waldman
MAA, Washington, DC

EDITORIAL ASSISTANT
Martha L. Giannini
MATHEMATICS MAGAZINE (ISSN 0025-570X) is pub­
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VO L . 75, N O . 1 , F E B R U A RY 2 002 3

Znam's Problem
LAWR ENCE BR ENT ON
Wayne State University
Detroit, Michigan 48202

ANA VAS I LI U
Oklahoma State University
Stillwater, Oklahoma 74075

The mysterious science of mathematics was bestowed

upon humankind as a gift from the benevolent ibis-headed
god Thoth in prehistoric times. So asserts the Egyptian
B ook of the Dead, a compilation of myths and incanta­
tions from the oldest civilization of which we have a sub­
stantial body of reliable historical documents [17]. Ac­
cording to legend, the evil god Seth damaged the eye of
Horus, son of Isis and Osiri s . The Eye of Horus had mys­
tical significance, as each of its parts was associated with
a fraction of the form I /2".
Thoth i s credited with restoring the eye "by the touch
of his finger," making it whole. Later scholars interpreted
this story as an allegorical reference to the geometric sum

Thi s sum is "made whole" (that is, it sums to I) by the

addition of one more "finger" (one counting unit, or 1 /64
in this example) .

Fractional expressions of this sort occurred naturally within the Egyptian system of
arithmetic . The mathematician-scribes of dynastic Egypt denoted rational numbers by
strings of unit fractions-fractions whose numerators are 1. What we would think of
as a subtraction problem, for instance, 1 - 1 /3 - 1 /4 - 1 /8 - 1 /10 - 1 /30 - 1 /45,
was posed in Egyptian mathematical texts in the form of "completion to unity": given
the unit fraction sum

3
1
+ 1 + 1 + 101 + 301 + 45'1
4 8
4 MAT H EMAT ICS MAGAZ I N E

what unit fractions must b e added in order to obtain one? This i s problem 23 in the fa­
mous Ahmose papyrus ( 1500 BCE; also called the Rhind mathematical papyrus [20] ),
which derives the solution
1 1
+ - +- = 1
9 40
Thoth' s sum (1 ) has the additional feature that the missing part is "as small as
possible." That is, if we are given any sum L;= l 1 ln; < 1 then the missing part 1 -

L;= 1 1 ln; is equal to D l lcm( n 1 , n 2 , . . . , n k ) for some positive integer D, where lcm
is the least common multiple. If we want to make our fraction whole "by the touch
of one finger," we must have D = 1. Thus, we wish to investigate solutions to the
fractional Diophantine equation

1 1 1 1
- + - + · · · + - + =1. (2)
n1 n2 nk lcm(n 1 , n 2 , . . . , n k )
This equation has been given an amusing interpretation as an inheritance problem [1] .
Equally interesting is the companion equation

(3)

(cf Borwein [2] ). For instance, for k = 3 we have the following relation between solu­
tions of equation (3) and the geometry of the five regular polyhedra (Platonic solids).
For a fixed regular polyhedron, denote by F, E, and V the number of faces, edges,
and vertices, respectively, let S be the number of sides of each face, and let R be the
number of rays that meet at each vertex . Since each edge adjoins exactly two faces and
produces exactly two rays, we have the relations

I 1
E=-VR=-FS. (4)
2 2
Now consider the Euler formula V - E + F = 2, valid for any sphere-like polyhe­
dron , regular or not. From ( 4) we have 2£ IR - E + 2£ IS= 2, or

I 1 1 1
--- + = - ­ (5)
R 2 S E
and thus
1 I 1 1
- + - + - -- = 1 . (6)
2 R S E
We claim that E = lcm(2, R, S). To see this, first, from geometric symmetry consid­
erations, observe that F, E, and V are all even. Thus, ( 4) shows that E is a com­
mon multiple of 2, R, and S. But by (5), E is also a divisor of lcm(2, R, S). Thus
E= lcm (2, R, S), and equation (7) is revealed as a special case of our equation ( 3 ).
In fact, every solution of length 3 to equation (3) arises in this way, except for the
infinite family (2, 2, 2n), n = 1 , 2, . . . . We do not know any deep geometric explana­
tion of this observation; perhaps it is merely a concidence based on the fact that there
are only a few solutions to the inequality

1 1 1
- + - + - > 1.
n 1 n 2 n3
VO L . 7 5 , N O . 1 , F E B R U A RY 2 002 5
TAB L E 1 :

1 1 1 1 Tetrahedron : triangles meeting 3

-+-+---=1
2 3 3 6 at a point.

1 1 1 1 Cube: squares meeting 3 at a

-+-+---=1
2 3 4 12 point.

1 1 1 1 Octahedron: triangles meeting 4 at

-+-+---=1
2 4 3 12 a point.

1 1 1 1 Dodecahedron: pentagon s meeting

-+-+---=1
2 3 5 30 3 at a point.

1 1 1 1 Icosahedron : triangles meeting 5

-+-+---=1
2 5 3 30 at a poin t.

For k > 3 the first sy stematic search for solution s to equations (2) and (3) was
undertaken in the 1880s by J. J. S ylvester [22] , a founder of the American Mathe­
matical Society. Sylvester considered the sequence {2, 3, 7, 43, ...} defined recur­
7
sively by AI = 2, An+l = 1 + n =1 A;. It is easy to check that for each k, the fi­
nite sequence {A1, , Ad is a solution to equation (2). Similarly, two infinite sets
• • .

of solutions to equation (3) are given by {A1, , Ak_1, Ak-2}, 3 :=::: k < oo, and
• • •

{A1, ..., Ak-z, 2Ak-1-3, 2Ak-1-1}, 4 :S k < oo .

Znam's problem

Slovak mathematician Stefan Znam is credited w ith posing the following problem in
the theory of systems of congruences : find all sequences {n1, . . . of integers :::: , nd
2 with the property that for each i , n;
properly divides 1+ Here Odi nj. Odi n j
denotes the deleted product n 1 nz ... n;_1 n i+l ... n k.
For example, {2, 3, 11, 23, 31} is a solution to Znam's problem, because

(leave out 2) 1+3 x 11 x 23 x 31 =23530, which is divisible by 2.

(leave out 3) 1+2 x 11 x 23 x 31 =15687, which is divisible by 3.
(leave out 11) 1+2 x 3 x 23 x 31 = 4279, which is divisible by 11.
(leave out 23) 1+2 x 3 x 11 x 31 = 2047, which is divisible by 23.
(leave out 31) 1+2 x 3 x 11 x 23= 1519, which is divisible by 31.
6 MAT H E MAT I C S MAGAZ I N E

All known solutions to Znam's problem produce solutions to equation (2), but a
more exact relationship is not known. Suppose that n 1 , . . . , n k is a fixed solution to
Znam's problem, and for 1 ::S i ::S k, put X; = flHi n j . First, it is clear that the n;s are
relatively prime in pairs, because if d > 1 were a common divisor of n; and n j , then,
since n; divides 1 + X;, so does d. But by definition n j is one of the factors of X;, so
we conclude that d divides both X; and 1 + X;, an impossibility.
=
Now consider the integer N = 1 + L� l X;. As above, for each i, n; divides N,
since for j f= i the term Xj contains n; as a factor, while by assumption n; also divides
1 + X;. Thus, since the n;s are relatively prime, fl�=l n; also divides N. If we write
N = r fl�=l n; and divide by fl�=l n;, we obtain the unit fraction equation

k
1 1
I: -+ k
i = l n; fli=I n;
= r. (7)

Now lcm(n" n 2 , • . . ,
n k ) = fl�= l n; for relatively prime n;, so if r = 1 then these
integers satisfy the unit fraction equation (2).
Can r > 1 ever occur? This is an unsolved problem. No solution to (7) is known
in integers n; ::: 2 for r > 1. If n1, ,
n k is such a solution, then, again since the
• • •

n;s are relatively prime, the largest possible value of L�=l 1/n; + I n; is the ;n;=,
corresponding sum for the first k primes:

where p;is the ith prime. This sum is less than 2 for k ::S 58 <I:7�, = *
1.998740043 . . . ) . Thus without loss of generality we may take r = I in equation (7)
when searching for solutions to Znam's problem of small length :
k
1 I
I:
i=l -
n;
+
nki=l n;
=1. (8)

This is the special case of Horus' equation (2) in which the n;s are relatively prime.
(If all of the n; s happen to be prime then the resulting product N= I n; is called a n;=
primary pseudopeifect number [8].)
Conversely, any solution n 1 < n 2 < < n k o f equation (8) i s a solution to Znam's
· · ·

problem unless n k = 1 + n;,:; n;, in which case n k does not properly divide this last
expression as required in Znam's original formulation of the problem.

Modern history

Znam posed his problem in 1972. In 1983, Sun [21] proved that there are infinitely
many solutions to Znam's problem. The proof is as follows: Consider again the
Sylvester sequence 2, 3, 7, 43, 1807, 3263443, . . . , An , An + ! = 1 + A;, . . f17=1 . .

First we claim that for all n ::: 1, A2n ends in a 3 and A2n +l ends in a 7, which is
easy to prove by induction. For n = 1, we have A2 =3 and A3 = 7. Now let n > 1
and assume that the claim is true for all i < n . Then computing mod 10 we have
2n -1
A2n = 1+ n A; 3 n -l r-l 2 1 n -l
i=l
= 1+2 X X = 1+2 X
VO L . 75, N O . 1 , F E B R UA RY 2 002 7

= 1 + 2 x ln - I = 3 mod 10; and

2n
A 2n + l = 1 + Tl A; = 1 + 2 X 3 11 X 7n - l = 1 + 6 X 2ln - l = 1 + 6 = 7 mod 10,
i= l
as required.
From this it follows that n;:�' A; = A 2n - 1 ends in a 2, and hence the inte­
ger 1 + n�:�1 A� = 1 + 22 mod 1 0, ends in a 5. Thus the rational expression ( 1 +
n�:�' A7)/5 is actually an integer. Sun then proceeded to show that for all n > 1 the
sequence {A1, A2, A211_1, B11, Cn } is a solution to Znam' s problem for
• • •

To see this, we use the fact that the first 2n - 1 terms of the Sylvester sequence
satisfy equation (8):
2n-1 ]
]
" +
11 -1
L � = 1.
2
n != I A-I
l= t l
Now put P = n7n--l
f=l A; and compute
2n I I ] ] 2n-l
L A + - + - + I/ BnCn Tl A;
-

i= t B C; n n i=t
I I I I
= 1--+ -- + + ---- ----�
P P+5 P+(1 +P )/5 P(P+5)(P+ ( 1 +P2)/5)
2
I I 5 5
= I - -+ -- + 2 + --=-- ---- - -�

P P+5 P +5P+l P(P+5)(P2+5P+ I)

-(P+5)(P2+5P+ 1 )+P(P2+5P+ 1 )+5P(P+5)+5
= l+ = 1.
P(P+5)(P2+5P+ I)

Thus {A1, , A211_1, 811, C11} is a solution to Znam ' s problem, as clai med. The first
• • •

solution of this type is {2, 3, 7, 5+ 2 x 3 x 7, 42+ ( 1 + 422 )/5 } = {2, 3 , 7, 47, 395}.
The second (n = 3) is {2, 3, 7, 43 , 1 807, 3263447, 2 1 300 140009 1 5}.
In 1 978 Janek and Skula found all solutions t o Znam ' s problem o f length k ::=: 6.
They are

k=5 k=6
2, 3 , 7, 47, 395 2, 3 , 7, 47, 3952, 3 , 7, 43 , 1 823 , 193667
2, 3 , 1 1 , 23 , 3 1 2, 3 , 1 1 , 23, 3 12, 3 , 7, 47, 403 , 1 9403
2, 3 , 7, 47, 4 15, 8 1 1 1
2, 3 , 7, 47, 583, 1 223
2, 3 , 7, 55, 1 79, 24323
After several new solutions of length 7 were found by Cao, Liu, and Zhang [10], the list
of all solutions of length 7 was published by Brenton and Hill [6]. Another geometric
application is given by Brenton and Hill in the same paper, this time to the subject
of the topological structure of four-dimensional singularities (see also [3]). Further
applications in number theory and graph theory appear in [7].
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
"displayed their genius from childhood. Lanfranc, one of the most
distinguished pupils of the Caracci, being in the service of Count
Scotti, covered all the walls with charcoal drawings, his paper being
insufficient to contain the fertility of his imagination. Philippe de
Champagne, a native of Brussels, but classed amongst the painters
of the French school, and who died President of the Academy, used,
when about eight or nine years of age, to copy every picture and
engraving that came in his way; and Claude Gelée, called Lorraine, a
real phenomenon, such as the history of the arts can offer but few
examples of, could learn nothing while at school; his parents
therefore apprenticed him to a confectioner, with whom he
succeeded still worse. Not knowing what to do, he went to Rome,
and, unable to find employment, he entered by chance the service of
Augustin Tasso to grind his colours and clean his palette. This
master, in the hope of obtaining some advantage from his talents,
taught him some of the rules of perspective; and Lorraine, devoting
himself entirely to painting, passed whole days in the fields
sketching and painting, and became the celebrated and almost
unique landscape painter, whose works we still daily admire in our
Museum."
José had listened to this recital with an attention which scarcely
permitted him to breathe. When M. Enguehard had finished
speaking, a silence of a few moments ensued, which José at length
interrupted by rising suddenly and crying out with all his might,
"Why not? why not?"... He then blushed when he beheld Francisco
and M. Enguehard laughing heartily. M. Enguehard sent them to
play, and, reflecting upon the words which had escaped from José,
he felt tempted to direct him into a career to which everything
seemed to call him; but the kind-hearted engraver was poor; to
charge himself with José was impossible; and then, was he not
wrong in diverting the child's mind from the ideas that were suitable
to his present position? Again he hesitated. "Good God! what a pity!"
he repeated; "but if I should render him unhappy without being able
to assist him!" And from that day M. Enguehard related no more
stories, nor gave himself any further anxiety about the lessons which
Francisco continued to give to José. But all precautions were now
useless; José was born a painter; Claude Lorraine incessantly
recurred to his mind, and for want of fields, which he was denied the
privilege of beholding, he sketched horses and figures in every
corner, and sought subjects for composition in the historical
anecdotes which Francisco related to him. Francisco, however, could
only teach him the elements and mechanical details of art, things
which José's genius rendered almost useless to him. Drawing even
was not enough; he burned with a desire to paint, and found a
secret pleasure in touching palettes and colours. Examining with
attention the occupations of the various painters on whom he waited
with parcels, his imagination became excited, and when alone in his
garret, he grieved at being only able to work with black and white.
He took good care, however, to keep from Madame Barbe the
knowledge of his favourite amusement. It was at the expense of his
sleep that he exercised his talents; and his friend Gabri, his only
confidant, did not feel tempted to betray his secret.
But a circumstance occurred, which all his prudence could not have
foreseen, and which, by enlightening Madame Barbe, cost poor José
many tears.
We have already spoken of Barbe's kindness in giving room in his
house, not only to those pictures, whether good or bad, which their
authors had no convenience for keeping; but also to the colour
boxes of the young men employed in copying in the Museum; as
well as to the studies which the pupils were very glad to bring under
the notice of the crowd of artists, who were continually congregated
in the shop of the honest colour vender. Before being admitted to
compete for the great prize for painting which annually sends to
Rome, and maintains there, at the expense of the government, the
person who has the good fortune to obtain it, the students have a
first trial with a full-length figure, and afterwards with painted
sketches; and the six or eight most successful competitors then take
their places, and commence the pictures for which the prize is to be
awarded. It may easily be conceived how great is the importance
attached to these competitions by those young and poor students,
who behold in them the termination of their elementary course, and
the possibility of pursuing their studies on a more extended scale.
One of the most promising pupils of that time had just obtained the
prize for the figure. As Barbe had assisted him in various ways, he
was anxious to make him a participator in his joy, and place in his
hands his triumphant work. He arrived, therefore, followed by a
dozen of his companions and rivals, who, the first moment of
disappointment over, usually participate cordially in the delight of the
victor, especially when they happen to study under the same master.
José was a witness to the transports of these young men, and heard
the praises lavished by the spectators on the fortunate student.
Agitated by a thousand varied emotions, jealous, but with that noble
and rare jealousy which made Cæsar weep at the feet of Alexander's
statue, he would doubtless in his excitement have drawn upon
himself a severe reprimand from Madame Barbe, had not Gabri
whom nothing could divert from his silent watchfulness, led him
away, in spite of himself.
"Ah!" said José, with emotion, "Do you see that young man? He is
only fifteen.... Claude Lorraine was a confectioner.... And I, what am
I?... I feel that I, too, have something in me!..."
Gabri knew nothing about Claude Lorraine, but he exerted himself
with so much kindness to pacify José, that he at length succeeded,
by means of a positive promise, to satisfy, at least, the most
attainable of his wishes. The Exhibition had just opened, and José
from his station in Madame Barbe's shop, could see successive
crowds of amateurs thronging the entrance to the Museum; and he
was constantly hearing the merits of the different paintings
discussed. How, then, could he help ardently longing to examine for
himself those interesting works? He had once ventured timidly to
approach the door of the Museum, but the dark scowl of the porter,
and a slight movement of his cane, warned him to make a
precipitate retreat; not that working-men of all kinds, and soldiers,
cannot without difficulty gain admission into these exhibitions; but it
must be owned that poor José, at his age, and in his linen
pantaloons, besmeared with every colour in M. Barbe's
establishment, and in his tattered and scanty jacket, presented an
appearance by no means calculated to soften the rigour of so proper
a gentleman. Having then confided his grief, both to his young and
his old friend,—to Francisco and to Gabri,—the affair was settled in
the following manner. Francisco, with his father's permission,
presented his little companion with a coat, and a pair of nankeen
trousers, which he had laid aside, and which could easily be made to
fit José. Philip, who had for some time been working at a tailor's,
eagerly offered his services. Dame Robert purchased a pretty piece
of stuff, which her daughter cut out for a waistcoat; and Gabri
declared that he would take upon himself to provide the hat. José
burned with impatience to enjoy the generosity of his friends; but
the requisite preparations necessarily took some time, for the little
workers had more zeal than capacity; and, besides, they could not
neglect their ordinary tasks. It was necessary, therefore, to wait, and
José, finding himself alone in the shop, and wishing to divert his
mind, determined to take another view of the picture which had
made so deep an impression on him, and which the young painter,
according to custom, had left for some time with M. Barbe. It was
hung at a considerable height; José mounted a ladder, to get it
down; but, thinking he heard the voice of the terrible Madame
Barbe, he hastily replaced it, and, in his precipitation, brushed
against the still fresh paint with his sleeve, and rubbed out a portion
of the ground and almost the whole of one leg. Recovering from his
fright, and finding no one approach, he again raised his eyes: judge
of his dismay, on beholding what had occurred! What was to be
done? What would become of him, if the young painter happened to
come for his picture? What would Madame Barbe say? for, if
questioned on the subject, he would not utter a falsehood. Besides,
all evasion would be as useless as it would be wicked, as such an act
of carelessness could have been committed by no one but him. The
poor child was in despair; he already saw himself ignominiously
turned out of the house; but time pressed, and he must discover
some means of repairing the mischief. He could find but one. He ran
to hide the picture in his room, and was presumptuous enough to
rely upon his own ability to repair the fatal blemish.
It may be thought, that so daring an idea was but little likely to
enter the mind of a child only thirteen years of age; but José, as we
have before observed, was born with extraordinary talents for
painting; besides, he knew nothing else; he occupied his thoughts
with nothing else;—all that he had seen and heard from his earliest
childhood had reference to painting. Neither is it without example,
that remarkable talents—especially when constantly directed
towards one object—have produced, even in extreme youth, very
astonishing results. Some years ago at Florence, when there
happened to be a fall of snow of a few inches thick, a very unusual
occurrence in that climate, the children of the common people might
be seen gathering it together into great heaps, forming it into giants
in the principal square, and in the streets into colonnades and
statues, and even into groups, in which artists themselves could not
but acknowledge a remarkable imitation of the great works in the
midst of which they were born; so much does the influence of what
they hear and see act upon the minds and dispositions of children,
and give, as a mere starting-point, to some of those who live in the
atmosphere of art, that which to others less favoured proves almost
a goal. It must also be remembered, that the work on which José
was about to try his skill was that of a youth of fifteen, and,
consequently, far from being faultless.
He had seen enough of painting to feel at no loss in charging a
palette; but he wanted colours, brushes, &c.; and José well knew
that, though in the midst of everything of this kind, he had no right
to touch any. He therefore resolved to have recourse to the
friendship of Francisco, and to ask him for the money necessary to
make his purchases at a distant shop. It may perhaps appear
singular that his friend Gabri did not come to his aid; but the
absence of this guardian angel had been the cause of his misfortune
as there was no friendly glance or hand to warn, or raise him up.
Gabri, for the first time during the whole fifteen years that he had
lived with M. Barbe, had asked leave of absence for a few days, in
order to visit his native place; his request was so reasonable, that it
could not be refused, but Madame Barbe's ill-temper was at its
height when she beheld him depart without being able to obtain a
single word of explanation relative to the motives which had induced
him to undertake this unexpected journey.
Gabri was to return on the Sunday evening, the day following that
which had proved so fatal to poor José; but to wait for his coming
was impossible, this same Sunday being the only time that the poor
boy had at his own disposal. He therefore hastened to M.
Enguehard's, and having fortunately found Francisco alone, he
confided to him his embarrassment. Francisco shuddered at his
friend's danger, but was almost as much terrified at the projected
reparation as at the accident itself; nevertheless, at the urgent
entreaty of José, who feared lest his absence should be remarked,
he gave him all the money he had, amounting to four francs ten
sous. This was sufficient for José's purpose; for, as may be easily
imagined, there was no question of easel, nor colour box, and he
made so much haste, that his purchases were completed and hidden
before Madame Barbe had once asked for him.
José was tormented during the whole of the day by the idea of his
daring undertaking; and his preoccupation prevented him from being
as much delighted as he would otherwise have been with his new
clothes, which Philip, with an air of importance, brought home tied
up in a handkerchief, in tailor fashion, under his arm. The poor boy,
who expected great praise and many thanks, was somewhat
disconcerted at the indifference with which José examined an
invisible seam, which in spite of this qualification was even more
easily distinguishable than any of the others. He therefore went off,
persuaded that José was ill, for he could never attach an unkind
motive to his conduct.
José, awakening with the earliest dawn, at first felt nothing but the
delight of possessing colours and brushes. He prepared his rude
palette with extreme care, and made this important operation last as
long as he could; but when all was ready, the difficulty of
commencing vividly presented itself to his mind, and caused him so
much anxiety, that he remained motionless, not daring to touch a
brush, when all at once a fortunate inspiration restored his courage.
"I have to paint half a leg," he said to himself. "Well, then, why not
copy my own? The greatest masters use models, and paint
everything from nature; I can easily place one foot without
inconveniencing myself. We shall see if with this assistance I cannot
manage." And José commenced by cutting a caper; then looking at
the figure, the legs of which, fortunately for him, were outstretched,
he placed one of his own in nearly the same position, and with a
trembling hand gave the first touch. By degrees that fever of
enthusiasm, which always fills the mind in every kind of composition,
took possession of him; he became excited; he fancied himself
drawing like Raphael, colouring like Rubens; and his hand, so timid
at first, worked with freedom and facility; he felt no further
embarrassment, and did not cease until he had completely repaired
the mischief.
 Poor José, p. 264.
His task ended, José went down, to watch for an opportunity of
replacing the picture without being observed. It was already late, the
whole of the family were going out for a walk; and Madame Barbe
was in such good humour, on account of a pretty cap which her
husband had just given her, that José had no difficulty in obtaining
leave to go to the Exhibition, on the understanding that he was to
be back before dinner-time, to arrange certain things, which Gabri's
absence had left in disorder. José, with a light heart, had no sooner
lost sight of them than he hastened to hang up the picture, and
smiled, as from beneath he beheld the fine effect of his work.
Having now nothing to think of but the delight of possessing his new
clothes, and, especially, of being privileged to pass the threshold of
that door, so long closed against him, he went out, fastening with
some pride the metal buttons of his coat, and entered the Exhibition,
eyeing the burly porter, as he passed, with a confident air.
At that period, the noble staircase, with its double banister, which we
admire at present, was not built; the square saloon of the Exhibition
was reached by a side door, leading from the Place du Musée, and a
staircase, which now only serves as a private entrance. This
entrance was neither so convenient nor handsome as the present
one; but still it was princely in its dimensions, and especially so to
the unaccustomed eyes of poor José, who had never seen anything
more splendid than the church of Saint Roch. Those wide steps of
white stone; those walls covered with pictures, for they reached
almost to the first landing-place; the tumult of the crowd which
pressed forward, carrying him along with it,—all combined to throw
José into a kind of bewilderment. He looked without seeing, walked
without thinking, and, driven onwards by the crowd, at length found
himself at the door of the great gallery of the Museum, which is left
open during the Exhibition, but which at that time contained only the
works of the old masters. At the sight of this immense gallery,
magnificent even to those who are familiar with magnificence, José
stood struck with astonishment, while an involuntary feeling of
respect caused him to take off his hat. There were but few visitors in
that part of the Museum; José breathed more freely, and being able
to examine without being jostled, began deliciously to taste the
pleasure he had so often longed for. Various pictures attracted his
attention; but too ignorant to divine their subjects, there was
something wanting to his enjoyment. But when, at last, he came to
that picture of Raphael's, known by the name of La Vierge à la
chaise, the figures could easily be recognised, and José found
himself, so to speak, in the midst of his habitual acquaintances; he
was able to make comparisons, having seen other church paintings;
and his natural taste was so pure, and he had so remarkable an
instinct for appreciating the master-pieces of art, that at the sight of
this admirable production, an emotion hitherto unknown took
possession of him. The more he looked, the more complete did the
illusion become; the face of the divine infant seemed to become
animated, and to smile upon him. José, leaning against the
balustrade, extended his arms and smiled too, and in the delight of
these new sensations, forgot everything else, when a noise close by
him made him start and awake from his reverie. He turned his head,
and beheld a man attentively examining him; he was still young, and
possessed a countenance remarkable for its expression; his eyes, full
of fire, were fixed with kindness upon José, who, notwithstanding his
ordinary timidity, replied without embarrassment to the questions
addressed to him. The stranger wished to know his name, what he
thought of Raphael's picture, what were his views, his occupations,
&c. José's artless statements, through which his precocious genius
could readily be discerned, deeply interested the stranger. "You were
born a painter, child," he said, touching José's forehead. "You
already know what no master could teach you, but you must be
directed, and this I will undertake to do. Here is my address, my
name is G——; call upon me, I will make something of you."
José, overwhelmed with joy in recognising the name of one of our
most celebrated artists, clasped his hands without being able to
utter a word. Monsieur G. gave him another kind look, and departed.
It was some time before José recovered from the agitation into
which this event had thrown him, and the day was already far
advanced when he remembered that he was still in the service of
Madame Barbe, and that his accident caused him to run great risk of
not remaining in it. Full of anxiety, he precipitately retraced his
steps, and soon reached home. Alas! every one had returned, and
the manner in which he was received, was a presage of the storm
about to burst over his devoted head.
Barbe, who was hurriedly pacing the shop, advanced towards him,
as if to question him, then turned away his head with an expression
of vivid sorrow. José, confounded, was beginning to murmur some
excuses, when Madame Barbe, the violence of whose passion had
hitherto prevented her from speaking, at length recovered the power
of pouring forth the abuse destined for the hapless culprit.
"Here you are, at last, Sir!" she said. "You are certainly very
punctual; however, I can easily imagine, you young rascal, that you
were in no hurry to make your appearance."
"I am very sorry, Madame....." replied José.
But Madame Barbe would not give him time to finish.
"Do not interrupt, you shameless liar," she cried; "you little viper,
whom we have nourished, and who now stings his benefactors. But I
could pardon you for being idle and ungrateful, if you had not
sacrificed the reputation of my house, by destroying the pictures
confided to us. Yes," she continued with more vehemence, seeing
José turn pale, "you fancied, you hardened, good-for-nothing, that
your tricks would not be discovered; thief, we know all: not content
with having irreparably destroyed a fine work, you have carried your
villany so far as to steal from us the things necessary for your
undertaking." José uttered a cry of horror, and rushing towards his
implacable mistress, who still continued her invectives, he protested
his innocence, in so far at least as related to the second part of the
accusation; but neither his tears nor his protestations produced any
effect upon the prejudiced minds of his employers. It had so
happened that when they entered, the light which M. Barbe carried,
fell directly upon the unfortunate figure restored by José; and as
nature had made him a colorist, a quality which can never be
acquired, and one in which the young student was deficient, it was
an easy matter to perceive the difference. Besides, poor José, in his
embarrassment, had copied the left foot, which happened to be
most convenient for him, without observing whether it was the
proper one, and had so placed it that the great toe was on the
outside. The loft in which the culprit slept was visited, and his still
moist palette and colours left no doubt of what he had done. Barbe
would have pardoned the injury done to the painting, but the idea of
theft revolted his honest nature, and it was difficult to avoid
suspecting José, since they were ignorant of Francisco's friendship
for him, and well knew that he had nothing of his own. It was in
vain that he related the simple truth, it only appeared an ingeniously
concocted story; and Madame Barbe, after a second explosion of
invectives, took him by the arm, and would have turned him out of
doors that very evening, had not her husband positively declared
that he should remain for that night. His wife, obliged to yield,
revenged herself by seeking two or three of her neighbours, who
hurried with malicious eagerness to see the left foot upon the right
leg, and the woful condition of poor little José, choking with grief in
a corner. He was spared none of their commentaries, these kind
souls taking care to speak very loudly and very distinctly.
"Certainly," said one, "his mother did well to die, poor dear woman.
She did not deserve such a son."
"I always expected it," said another, "this is what comes of picking
up vagabonds; but Dame Robert is such an obstinate woman. What
is one to do?" A third added that everything must be locked up, and
care taken that he was never left alone. Finally, their cruelty was
carried to such extremes, that poor José was unable any longer to
restrain his sobs, which being heard by M. Barbe in his room, he
immediately hastened to the poor child and sent him to bed.
José passed a frightful night; a few hours more and he would be
sent away disgraced, and obliged to return to his adopted mother,
without the means of support, and with a charge of dishonesty
weighing upon him. One hope alone remained to him, Francisco
might attest the truth of what he had said; he therefore determined
to entreat M. Barbe, who was more humane than his wife, to go and
question Francisco, who would establish his innocence; but even this
resource failed the unfortunate child. The same idea had occurred to
Barbe, who was very fond of him, and early in the morning he had
called upon M. Enguehard. Wishing to spare his favourite as much as
possible, he merely asked Francisco whether he had lent José any
money. But Francisco not having been put upon his guard, and
fearing lest he might in some manner injure his friend, or be
reprimanded by his father, committed a fault too common among
children, and in order to save José he told a falsehood, and by so
doing completed his ruin, for he assured M. Barbe that he had not
lent his apprentice anything. M. Enguehard knew nothing more, and
Barbe returned, convinced of José's theft, and of the necessity of
sending him away. He therefore repulsed him angrily when he came
to present his request, and told him to pack up his things. But
Madame Barbe was not a woman to lose an opportunity of delivering
a speech or making a scene, and therefore determined before
expelling the unhappy boy, to oblige him to make an apology to the
young student whom she had begged to call at the shop. José
almost happy at this unexpected respite, placed his little bundle on
the ground, and leaning upon it, cast a sorrowful look on all the
objects around him, and which he was about to leave for ever.
Gabri's vacant place caused his tears to flow afresh; would that
faithful friend believe his protestations any more than the rest, whilst
proofs were so strong against him? At that moment the postman
placed a letter in M. Barbe's hand. "Oh!" said the latter, "it is from
Nogent-sur-Marne, and from friend Gabri. What can he have to write
to us about?" and he read the letter to himself with signs of the
greatest surprise. Madame Barbe, impatient to know what it
contained, snatched it from his hand, and, after reading it,
exclaimed, "Heaven be praised, this act of folly will never be
committed. Listen to this," she said, calling to José, "behold the just
punishment of your infamous conduct;" and she read, or rather
declaimed the following letter:—

"From Nogent-sur-Marne, my native place, September the 7th.

"Monsieur Barbe,—Notwithstanding my intention of returning the
day after that fixed by you, I write to inform you in a more
authentic and convenient manner of my intentions with regard
to Joseph Berr, called José, your apprentice. Monsieur Barbe, I
have lost my wife and three children, three fine boys whom God
 has taken away from me; but I dare say I have already told you
this. I have a nice little property perfectly free from all claims (a
good seven thousand francs placed here in honest hands).
Therefore, being master of my own will, which is to love and
assist the said José, I intend that he shall follow the calling
which he is so anxious for, viz., that of an artist, and for this I
have bound myself, by my signature, which you will see at the
end of the deed written by me upon stamped paper, and which
accompanies this letter. I beg that it may be read to the said
José, and never again recurred to, being, notwithstanding,
Monsieur Barbe,
"Your very faithful Servant,
"Sebastian Gabri."

The second paper was as follows:—

"Joseph Berr, called José, requiring, in order to be able to

prosecute his studies in painting, during four years, a sum of
money, which I possess, I give it to him as a loan which he will
return to me when his profession becomes profitable, together
with the interests and costs as is just and customary.
f. c.
"First. One franc per day for maintenance during
the space of four years, making 1460 0
Item. For entering the studio of a celebrated
master, 15 francs per month for four years 720 0
Item. For indemnifying Madame Barbe, for three
years' apprenticeship, still due to her 50 0
Item. For 25 centimes every Sunday, for child's
amusements 52 0
Item. For my journey hither by coach, expressly on
his account 10 0
Item. For my expenses while here 12 0
Item. For this sheet of stamped paper 0 30
 Item. For interest during four years 460 6
2764 36
"Which sum I undertake to pay, according as required, Provided
that the board and lodging be furnished by Dame Robert as
heretofore.
"The said José will put his mark at the end of this deed, to
which I also cheerfully put my name.
"Sebastian Gabri."

It is easy to imagine the agony of poor José while listening to the

reading of these papers; what would have overwhelmed him with
joy the evening before, now filled him with anguish. Gabri, that
tender and generous friend, as a reward for his sacrifice, was about
to learn that the object of his care was unworthy of it. Still José was
not guilty, and these bitter trials were now on the point of coming to
the happiest termination. Francisco, tormented as one always is by
the consciousness of having done wrong, and rendered uneasy
about his friend on account of M. Barbe's visit, determined to
confess all to his father, who had no difficulty in convincing him of
the gravity of his fault, and of the inconvenience which might result
to the innocent José, who might perhaps be accused of having
stolen the colours from his master. Francisco, alarmed at this idea,
entreated his father to take him instantly to M. Barbe's; and there,
regardless of the spectators, he had the courage and the merit to
confess his fault, and thus completely justify his friend.
Whilst Madame Barbe stood biting her lips, and saying, "It is very
singular, very strange," and her kind-hearted husband brushed the
tears from his eyes, the two boys affectionately embraced each
other, and enjoyed the happiest moment of their young lives. A
moment afterwards, José had another triumph, highly flattering
indeed to his self-love, but not to be compared in real worth with the
noble friendship of Francisco. The young author of the injured
painting was with his master when Madame Barbe wrote to him her
anything but clear account of the accident, which she was anxious to
turn to the disgrace of poor José. This master was the very Monsieur
G—— before mentioned, who, recognising in the hero of the story,
the child who had so much interested him at the Museum, wished to
accompany his pupil to M. Barbe's. For a long time he examined in
silence the attempt which had cost the poor boy so dear, then
turning towards his pupil, "If you don't make haste," he said, "I can
tell you he will catch you." This man, distinguished as much by
feeling as by genius, was able to appreciate the action of the worthy
and generous Gabri; he read his letter with emotion, and taking a
pencil, ran it through the fifteen francs per month destined for José's
instruction. "I cannot hope," he said, smiling, to José, "to be the
celebrated master mentioned by Gabri, but he must at least let me
teach you all I know."
It may easily be imagined, that everything was arranged, without
difficulty, to the entire delight of the poor boy. Madame Barbe, awed
by the presence of Monsieur G—— and Monsieur Enguehard, felt
that she must put some restraint upon her tongue. She
unhesitatingly accepted, it is true, the indemnification of fifty francs,
and only murmured on the day that Barbe presented José with his
first box of colours. Dame Robert, who was consulted in all
important arrangements, was at first somewhat discontented with
José's choice; but she could refuse nothing to her dear child. "And,
after all," she said, "it is a trade, like any other. I am only sorry that
the apprenticeship is so long." She was completely consoled,
however, when José came once more to live with her.
To complete José's happiness, M. Enguehard, a short time after
these occurrences, begged M. G—— to receive his son as a pupil.
The two friends, therefore, were again together, following the same
career with equal ardour, and although with different success, still
without any interruption to their mutual friendship.
Those who are curious to know whether José justified the hopes
inspired by his childhood, may have their curiosity gratified by a
perusal of the Second Part of his history.
 SEQUEL
TO
THE HISTORY OF POOR JOSÉ.
How tranquil and pleasant is the life of the artist! He possesses an
advantage which is denied even to the fortunate of this world,—an
occupation always affording amusement and variety, together with
an almost total indifference to everything which does not bear
directly upon painting. The artist sees that all is quiet in the town in
which he lives; this is enough for him: scarcely does he know the
names of the ministers in office, and he is the last to learn what is
going on around. Occupied the whole day with his art, his studio is
his universe; and at night, in the midst of a re-union of friends,
artists like himself, he still dwells upon his favourite idea, which is
never absent from his mind, while he gains instruction, or is inspired
with increased ardour by the conversation of his colleagues or rivals.
These re-unions are gay, and abound in wit, as well as in mischief.
Not a few of those caricatures which attract the loungers of the
Boulevards and the Rue du Coq, have been sketched by a skilful
hand during these moments of recreation. A few amiable women,
authors, distinguished musicians, and poets, make a part of these
seductive meetings: each one amuses himself according to his fancy;
and if the mirth is sometimes a little noisy, and the wit a little too
free, wit and mirth are at least always to be found in them.
But if the artist is happy, the student is even more so. The former,
being no longer at an age in which he can advance much, is keenly
alive to his own deficiencies, and, if it must be owned, often looks
with a jealous eye on the success of his brother artists; while to the
other, on the contrary the horizon of his hopes is unbounded, and
emulation but a healthy stimulant, which does not degenerate into
envy. The student tries to excel his companions, but he loves them
all; he encourages the less skilful, frankly admires those who are
superior to himself, and, while pursuing his laborious occupations,
seldom fails to lay the foundation of one of those honourable and
lasting friendships which embellish the remainder of his life. Little
favoured by fortune, as a general rule, these young men endure
privations with cheerfulness, or rather their simple habits prevent
them from feeling them as such. The whole of their time and
powers, being constantly directed towards the one object in view,
there is no space left for the minor passions, which so often disturb
the mind of youth. The pleasures of the toilet are unknown to him
who spends his days in the studio, and public amusements are too
expensive to be thought of more than once or twice a year.
Francisco and José, re-united as we have already said in the studio
of a celebrated painter, led a life in every way consonant to their
tastes; but José especially felt the happiness of a condition, to which
he had never thought it possible to attain. He was no longer the
hapless child, rescued from the street by the benevolence of a kind-
hearted woman, but a fine young man, the honour and hope of
Monsieur G——'s studio, and, what was still better, a good young
man, always simple and modest, almost ashamed of being
distinguished, and redoubling his attentions towards his first
protectors, in proportion as his success rendered them less
necessary to him. The excellent Gabri devoted a portion of the sum
which had been destined for his instruction to the hire of a room in
the house in which Dame Robert lived, where José could work
without much inconvenience. He rose very early, and commenced
the labours of the day by making pictures of everything that
presented itself to his imagination, or copied drawings lent to him by
his master. After a hasty breakfast, he repaired to the studio, worked
until five o'clock, when, accompanied by Francisco, and conversing
together on their projects and hopes, he quietly returned home. M.
Enguehard often invited him to dinner, and took great pleasure in
extending his knowledge in such a manner as might be useful to
him. Thanks to the kind instruction of Madame Enguehard, and to
his own natural abilities, he soon learned to read and write; while M.
Enguehard especially endeavoured to make him acquainted with
history and fable,—acquirements indispensable to a painter, who, in
fact, ought not, if it were possible, to remain in ignorance of any
branch of knowledge. Everything can and ought to tend to his
advancement in art: travel, reading, science, the habits of different
classes of society, solitude, happiness, and misery, all are useful and
profitable to him who seeks to represent, with the utmost possible
truth, the acts and passions of man.
Francisco and José had not yet reached what might be called the
moral portion of their studies; but José could form some idea of it,
and began to make, beforehand, his provisions for the future. During
the winter evenings, the two friends used to draw by lamplight, from
seven till ten, according to the custom of almost all the students.
Each pay a trifling sum monthly for the hire of the room, the models,
and the lights. The students of the various academies assemble
together, and their masters often take pleasure in passing an hour
with them, and aiding them with their counsel.
It may, perhaps, be thought that such constant occupation must be
very fatiguing, but there are so many attractions, and so much
novelty, in the study of art, that weariness is seldom felt, especially
in the full vigour of youth; and those who have experienced it, can
say whether a week in the life of a man of the world does not leave
behind it more lassitude, more weariness, and more void, than one
such as I have just described. Besides, all is not labour in these
pursuits: they rest, they chat; ideas are exchanged and corrected;
the rich are generous towards the poor, and never refuse to share
with them their experience. The character even is improved in these
studious reunions—images in miniature of the great world into which
they will have, at a later period, to be thrown; it is no longer the rod
and the rule of college, but it is still the salutary influence of
companionship; it is emulation, and a something of the honours of
renown, without that alloy which so often spoils it for man. But woe
to the sullen and morose! woe to those who cherish absurd or bad
propensities! for justice is speedily rendered either by bitter sarcasm
or by force. There, as elsewhere, the most distinguished take the
lead, and it can easily be understood that studies, whose aim in
general is to trace the good and the beautiful, may tend to elevate
the mind, and strengthen every generous sentiment of the heart.
José enjoyed, with intense delight, the idea of being something of
himself, of seeing before him the almost certain prospect of an
honourable subsistence, acquired by a great talent. He may one day,
perhaps, be rich; the name of Berr may one day be uttered with
respect, and his pictures placed with care in the cabinets of the most
fastidious lovers of art; but I may confidently assert, in advance, that
nothing will be so dear to him, that nothing will efface from his
memory the remembrance of the time, when, on the Monday,
accompanied by Francisco, each went to purchase his sheet of tinted
paper, or when, before retiring to rest, once more turning his
canvass to take another look at the morning's work, he ventured to
hope for all that he might then possess.
Profoundly impressed with the obligations which he was under to
Dame Robert and to Gabri, he made it a law to himself never to lose
a single day during the whole four years of his pupilage. Always the
first at the studio, he never left before the time of the lessons, as is
sometimes done by those idlers who, having gossiped or wasted in
play the whole of the morning, hide themselves at the arrival of the
master, who supposes them absent. Still, José was not always in an
equally favourable disposition; the games and boyish tricks of his
companions possessed some attraction for him; but he rarely yielded
to the temptation, and did all he could to prevent his too volatile
friend Francisco from doing so. "What matters," said the latter,
"losing a few hours? We have time enough!" and Francisco wasted
his time without scruple. Nevertheless, his natural ability, and a few
weeks' steadiness, always kept him pretty nearly in the second rank
among his companions.
At the expiration of a year, José began to paint sufficiently well from
nature to attempt some portraits; and he eagerly availed himself of
this means of being less burdensome to his friend Gabri. At his
express desire, Dame Robert persuaded one of her relations to have
her face drawn in colours; at the same time assuring her, that her
boy was well skilled in his business. José would certainly have been
sadly distressed could he have heard her thus torture the language
of art; but, happily, he was not present, and the good woman, with
two or three phrases of this kind, persuaded her cousin, who merely
stipulated that she should be painted with two eyes, and with her
lace cap and coral ear-rings. This portrait was to be finished for her
husband's birthday. José therefore left the studio a little earlier every
day; and, as the likeness was very striking, and had but little shade,
while the eyes looked full at the spectator, and the coral ear-rings
seemed as if they could be taken in the fingers, the work was
universally applauded. The young painter received innumerable
compliments, twelve francs, and several commissions, which,
although paid for below their value, so much increased his little
store, that he had the satisfaction of being able, at the end of a year,
to reimburse Gabri for the hire of his room, and Dame Robert for the
trifling expense of his board. The greater his advancement, the more
profitable did his talents become; and he at length followed the
example of many other students of slender means, who, having the
good sense not to be ashamed of employing their talents in sign-
painting, adorn the shops of Paris with what might almost be called
handsome pictures.
All Monsieur G——'s instructions were attentively listened to by José,
who sometimes even wrote down the most remarkable passages
before he went to bed. One phrase especially struck him as being
the true definition of an artist. "Three things," said this clever master
to his pupils, "are requisite for him who devotes his life to the fine
arts,—genius to conceive, taste to select, and talent to execute."
These conditions are equally applicable to the musician and to the
poet; but who can flatter himself with being possessed at once of all
these three qualifications? José dare not cherish such a hope; he
dare not believe that he had genius; but taste and talent might be
acquired, he thought; and, as our sage little friend was still but just
emerged from childhood, he wrote in large letters, upon his table
and upon his easel, the words which thus became to him a
fundamental law of painting.
The excellent Gabri experienced the most heartfelt joy at the
success of his protégé; he frequently visited him when at work in his
room, and, for fear of disturbing him, would remain in perfect
silence behind his chair, and then, after embracing him, he would go
down to listen to Dame Robert's chat. As we have already observed,
Gabri was no talker; their intercourse, therefore, was rather a
monologue than a dialogue; but he was never weary of listening, so
long as José was the theme; but when Dame Robert went on to any
other subject, "Good evening, neighbour," he would say; "Madame
Barbe is expecting me, and you know she is not one to make light of
things."
One morning, at the class, Monsieur G—— said to his pupils,
"Gentlemen, you will to-morrow have a new companion. I
recommend him to your kindness. Not too many experiments or
jokes, if you please. He is very young, and, doubtless, but little
experienced in your ways; be, therefore, good boys. He is sent to
me by the city of Angers. Berr, my friend, you will place him by you;
and I beg that you, Enguehard, will not show off the Parisian too
much." Francisco smiled, without replying; but Monsieur G——'s
speech produced the ordinary effect, and which he very well knew
himself. The desire of tormenting the new comer immediately seized
all these young madcaps, and Francisco in particular. "Oh!" said he,
"a pupil from the provinces! how odd that we have had none before.
And they think I shall not amuse myself with this young Raphael
from Angers! Stuff! our master very well knows the value of his
recommendations in this line." And Francisco, encouraged by the
laughter of his auditors, began to make a grotesque sketch upon the
wall which he assured them was an exact portrait of the Angevin.
"Angevin! Yes, that must be his name," said another young rogue,
the usual companion of Francisco's follies; "you know how that
exasperates them."
"Oh! as to that," replied Francisco, "we have all our nicknames: am I
not the Madcap, and Berr the Phœnix? But listen! I'll tell you what
we must do;" and hereupon these two giddy brains began
whispering in a corner. José hazarded a few words in favour of the
provincial; but he was only laughed at, and was at last obliged to
end by joining in their mirth, though he determined, nevertheless, to
exert his influence to the utmost at the proper time, in order to save
the new pupil from too much annoyance.
Many of the provincial towns had then, and still have, academies of
painting, destined for the artistic education of children in humble
circumstances; and the pupil who displayed the greatest amount of
talent was sent to Paris, to continue his studies under a better
master than could generally be obtained in a small town, the
expenses of those studies being defrayed by the establishment
which elected him. The youth, from whom Francisco and his
mischievous companions expected so much diversion, had been
chosen by the professors of the Academy of Angers as the most
promising of its pupils. This, however, was not saying much; and it
did not unfrequently happen, that those who occupied the first rank
in the Departmental Schools, were, on entering those of Paris,
immediately placed in the lowest; still, however, fortunate that the
principles inculcated by their professors were not those of the time
of Jouvenet and Boucher. The young student had, unhappily, been
directed by an old master—an admirer of that age of absurdity and
bad taste. He made his pupils copy figures in red chalk, portraits in
pastel, and showed them with pride his prize picture—for he, too,
had been to Rome. But we may judge of the merits of his rivals, and
of the advantage he derived from his journey, when we learn that
this picture, regarded by him thirty years afterwards as his best
production, represented Cleobis and Biton; and that the Grecian
characters wore Roman armour, and draperies of gauze and silk. To
crown his misfortune, the poor candidate, small, ill-made, and more
than plainly attired, not so much in conformity with the fashions of
his province as with the length of his purse, presented an
appearance not altogether unlike the caricature sketched by
Francisco upon the wall; and it may, therefore, be easily imagined,
that these young satirists did not lose so favourable an opportunity
of exercising their humour.
Scarcely had the young man entered, than he was received with
noisy acclamations; and two of the pupils, eagerly pressing forward
to receive him, overwhelmed him with ironical and outré
compliments.
"Sir!" they exclaimed, "your reputation has preceded you; the
admiration of your native city was insufficient for such distinguished
merit. You are about to receive the homage of Paris, while you have
ours already...."
"The name of the Angevin is already celebrated," added another;
"and it will be handed down to posterity like that of Josepin."
"But, gentlemen," said the unfortunate victim,—speaking as if all the
A's and E's had circumflex accents over them, according to the
agreeable custom of his province,—"Gentlemen, I am not called the
Angevin. My father's, as well as my own name, is Valentin lâ
Grimâudière."[3]
This name, and especially the tone in which it was pronounced, a
kind of sing-song, difficult of imitation to those unacquainted with
the fair province of Anjou, excited fresh bursts of laughter; and
Francisco again taking the word, "You must be aware, Sir," he said,
gravely, and at the same time endeavouring to imitate the accent of
the stranger, "that the great painters are rarely known by their true
names. Thus we speak of Dominichino and Guercino, instead of
Dominico Zampieri, and Barbieri da Cento. Assuredly then it is not
surprising that you should be called the Angevin."
"But, gentlemen," replied the simple youth, "you are indeed too
good; I do not deserve...."
"You deserve our most profound respect, illustrious companion,"
interrupted Francisco. "Gentlemen, I present to you the glory of the
Angevin Academy, the hero of Pasticcio,[4] the conqueror of Stipling,
and the favourite of the Rococos.[5] And to you, noble Angevin, I
present my especial friends, Landort, Galvaudeur (the Disturber), La
Picoterie (the Torment), Rubens the Younger, and myself, Le Braque
(the Madcap), your very humble servant. Now, my worthy friend,
you know us perfectly, so away with ceremony; take your place, my
Gringalet, and let us see what you can do. At the first rest, you shall
be made to read, to write, and to sing, and, after the model, you
shall pay your welcome."
The unfortunate Angevin, bewildered by this torrent of bad jokes,
dared neither reply nor resist. He had arrived early, in the hope of
finding his future companions less numerous; but his precaution had
proved a failure. Francisco, and the merry participators in his follies,
had divined his intention, and their diligence surpassed his own. The
more sober pupils had not yet arrived; and José, detained by a
portrait which he had to finish that morning, did not arrive until late,
so that the innocent victim remained unprotected in the midst of his
persecutors. Although he had announced himself as having painted,
Monsieur G—— made him commence by drawing, in order to judge
of his power.
"Sit there," said Francisco, pointing to an empty seat between two of
his companions; "the call has been made, but that is the place of
honour, the best for the light, and the one always chosen by the first
on the master's list;" and he pushed the poor lad towards the place
which his mischief had destined for him.
As studios in repute are usually well attended, and as space is not
always in proportion to the number of the pupils, they are often
much inconvenienced, and press round the model in three or four
rows of different elevations. Those of the first row are seated upon
low wooden benches; those of the second upon chairs; others again
upon high stools; while, behind these, upon still higher stools, or
standing, come those who paint, with scarcely room for themselves
and their light easels. The place pointed out by Francisco to the
unfortunate competitor, was upon one of the little benches, so that
above him were seated two pupils who amused themselves by
resting their drawing-boards upon his head, and obliged him to hold
it bent down, in a position by no means convenient, especially for
looking at the model, which was placed upon a table two or three
feet high. Besides, the disagreeable person above him, pretending to
be obliged to touch and retouch his work again and again, crumbled
up large pieces of bread, which he afterwards shook over the work
of the patient Angevin. More than one bullet of bread was aimed at
his nose, too, and by such well-practised hands, that their
occupation seemed in no way interrupted. Conversation, however,
flowed on as usual, while the elder students, busied with their work,
thought no more of the stranger. He, poor fellow, tormented,
crushed, with heavy drops of perspiration standing on his brow, and
not daring to utter a syllable, smudged his paper at random, while
tears rolled down his cheeks when he thought of the opinion
Monsieur G—— would form of his talents. Summoning up his
courage, however, he at length ventured to address his right-hand
neighbour, and said gently, "Would you be so kind as to lend me
your penknife, Sir?" No reply. "Sir;" he resumed in a somewhat
louder tone, and gently touching him, "if you have a penknife...."
The young man looked at him with astonishment, and pointing to his
ear, gave him to understand that he was deaf. The Angevin sighed,
not wishing to speak louder, for fear of again becoming an object of
ridicule, and turning towards his left-hand neighbour, he again said,
"Oblige me with a penknife, Sir, if you please." The student raised
his head, and replied gravely, "Non intelligo, domine; non sum
Gallus." "But, Sir, it is a penknife I want," continued the Angevin, at
the same time making a movement with his fingers, as if cutting a
pencil. His mischievous companion pretended not to understand
him, and affecting to believe that he was making game of him, he
pretended to be angry, and gave him so rude a push that he almost
fell from his by no means steady seat. His portfolio escaped from his
hold, and all the drawings and papers contained in it flew into the
middle of the room. The Angevin, in despair, crept as softly as
possible to pick them up, but his persecutors were not yet weary of
the sport. "Get away from the model! Silence!" exclaimed those of
the last row, who were disturbed by this commotion. "To the hunt!
dog! hunt!" cried the others. At length the poor boy succeeded in
returning to his place; but he found himself so much pressed, and so
ill at ease, his companions having designedly drawn closer together,
that, urged to extremes, his anger was on the point of triumphing
over his timidity, when the door opened, and José appeared.
"Ah! Phœnix, Phœnix!" exclaimed the young students. "Good
morning, my brave Phœnix," said Francisco; "you are late for a
Monday morning, and will get no place for painting."—"I shall not
paint this week," replied José, advancing towards the fire-place;
then looking round him he said, "Who will give me his place, and I
will give him my study?"—"I! I!" exclaimed several voices.
"Come, then!" said José, who had immediately observed the
uncomfortable position of the Angevin, "it shall be you, Maurice;"
and he pointed to the pupil seated beside the stranger, who had
pretended to be deaf. "Bravo!" exclaimed Maurice, rising, "I shall
have your study. Besides, I am not very industriously disposed. I
shall do nothing this week. I'll be a gentleman at large!"
José took his place, and by a glance caused the drawing-boards
which crushed his unfortunate protégé to be removed: then, as if he
had forgotten to bring paper with him, he asked him for a sheet. The
Angevin hastened to comply with the request, and José having
kindly addressed some questions to him, he began to feel a little
more at his ease. At the hour of recreation, these mischief-loving
urchins again met to decide whether some grand joke could not be
played off upon their victim; but José, stepping into the midst of the
group, exclaimed, "No! no! gentlemen, enough of this; let us leave
the poor fellow in peace; he is not a Paris boy, and I demand an
exception in his favour. I was far more of a foreigner among you
than he is, yet have I found in you most excellent comrades."
José was so much beloved, and possessed so much influence over
his companions, that their sport had no longer any interest for them
the moment he disapproved of it; so the Angevin was abandoned to
his young protector. The nickname alone adhered to him, and it was
not long before they discovered in him so much kindness and good-
nature, that they soon ceased to have any desire of tormenting him.
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