Robert Hooker, for one, did not agree with him.
The catalogue was duly announced, to be published within the year and presented to the museums and libraries of this country and Europe. Photographers and printers, art writers and reviewers were employed to get up the sumptuous work.
Hooker suddenly became imbued with a passion for photography; he became intimate with the distinguished artist who was to take the pictures of the Stevens collection.
Hooker became so much interested in his new work that he offered his services as an assistant, without pay of course. It was just for the experience. Nothing more.... Hooker spent one whole morning in the Stevens' residence helping the celebrated photographer. They were to take negatives that day of the portfolio of seventeenth century etchings. John Bull was there of course, suspicious and watchful. The photograph of the "Three Trees" was made the exact size of the superb original.
When this had been successfully accomplished, Hooker, the careless assistant, seemingly nervous in the presence of the great collector, let fall the frame that held the great etching; the glass was shattered and Stevens swore as many picturesque and artistic curses as there were fragments upon the floor. The assistant was properly rebuked and as quickly dismissed; the unfortunate Hooker offered sixty cents to pay for the shattered glass,—which was promptly accepted! He departed, covered with ignominy under the glances of the angry Stevens.
That evening a plate was made from the negative by a new intaglio process. All that night on the top floor of a dingy building on Thirty-ninth Street engravers worked on the copper, bringing out the excellencies of a famous etching; old paper with the watermark of 1631 had been procured and all that remained to be done was the printing. By noon the next day a facsimile had been made, beautiful as the original itself, as poetic and as glorious as the veritable "Three Trees."
But what was to be done with it, now that it had been created, a true brother of the original? The fertile brain of Robert Hooker had long before conceived the answer. The clumsy photographer's assistant had deftly dropped the frame with practiced skill, leaving the etching untouched, the glass alone being injured. There is even an art in dropping a picture!
But before the disgraced apprentice departed he had heard Stevens give directions to a faithful servant: "Take that carefully to Kemble's. See that a new glass is put on it and returned to me to-morrow, without fail!"
The next morning Hooker happened to stroll into the picture galleries, known everywhere as "Kemble's," and actually purchased something, paying for it with real money. It came hard with him, for he no longer liked to buy things in what he termed "the ordinary way."
He purchased for sixty dollars a little etching by D. Y. Cameron, and, strange to say, not a frame in that great establishment suited him. One was too brown or too "antique," or not the right width; the salesman, who was a good fellow, became irritated. A whole hour wasted over a three dollar frame. He gave vent to his pent-up feelings by being excruciatingly polite, which is rude. He suggested that as Mr. Hooker did not see anything to suit his fastidious taste among the thousands of mouldings already shown, perhaps he would like to look through the samples in the workshop? Hooker reluctantly consented, and there among the old and new frames, in the company of gilders, fitters and mat-makers he carefully made a suitable selection.