"How the old dodge works," said Robert Hooker to himself on his way back to New York. "The duplicate package, known since the days of Adam! And how easy it was to substitute it under his very eyes! I shall call Beau Brummel's 'Unpublishable Memoirs' number one in my new library."
THE THREE TREES
In the famous cabinet of John Bull Stevens was a superb impression of Rembrandt's celebrated etching, "The Three Trees." It was the only copy known in what print collectors chose to term "the first state." This exquisite work of art had only recently been discovered in Amsterdam by a world-renowned critic, and promptly sold at a fabulous price to the American enthusiast. It had several lines from right to left in the middle tree that had never been noticed in any other copy; the etching, according to the earlier authorities, had existed in but one state.
To the uninitiated all this disturbance about a few lines on the trunk of a tree seemed unintelligible and ridiculous, but to the print collectors it was considered a magnificent "find," ranking with the discovery of electricity or the Roentgen rays. Periodicals devoted to the fine arts published many profound articles about the unique "Three Trees," and one of them suggested that such an extraordinary treasure should repose in a museum, where the art-loving public would have an opportunity to enjoy its marvelous beauty; it was a crime that it should be locked away forever in a private residence.
Robert Hooker was reading this one evening in the "Art Journal" when a thought came to him. Why not add this immortal work of Rembrandt's to his museum, which at that time existed only in his mind? Why not appropriate this etching and place it securely under lock and key, awaiting the time when it would be freely offered to the gaze of the public in an institution to be proudly called after his name?
He had already some tangible things to put therein,—the famous "Unpublishable Memoirs" of Beau Brummel from the Fenn collection; the "Kann" rug; and a few other wonderful curiosities that he had "borrowed" from celebrated amateurs as the nucleus of a loan collection in his mythical museum. The "Three Trees" should, by right, bloom in his own fair garden.
John Bull Stevens was unapproachable. He did not show his things. He gloated over them alone, in the most selfish, wicked manner, in his dark old mansion on lower Fifth Avenue. Admission was denied to everyone, except a few intimate friends; no one could see the originals of some of the world's masterpieces.
Art institutes pestered him with requests to examine this or that; celebrated students everywhere clamored for a view of Whistler's portrait of John Bull himself, or Gilbert Stuart's more celebrated portrait of John Bull's grandfather. When curtly refused admission to his galleries, extraordinary letters were written him, full of caustic and delightful epithets, which had not the slightest effect upon him. It was said he had no conception of the universality of art, which includes kings and paupers,—wicked, rich collectors and virtuous, poor students!
To make himself appear more human, John Bull Stevens at last determined to publish a catalogue raisonné of his pictures, his drawings, his etchings and his engravings. He thought a beautiful reproduction or facsimile would be as satisfying to the critics as a view of the original.