“A matter of great importance,” he answered. “The fact that the tonsil is of no importance.”
I have since heard this disputed, but I thought it very interesting that these learned men should work so long and so hard for such a result.
The British artists passed by Concarneau and went on to Pont Aven, where there were ready-made landscapes for the water-colorists. Truth to tell, they were frightened by the bigness of the coast and left it to the French and Americans, who formed a very happy crowd, all living at the Hotel des Voyageurs. There was Thaddeus Jones, who has since painted a portrait of the Pope; Alexander Harrison, the famous marine painter; Frank Chadwick; Howard Russell Butler; M. Brion; Emile Renouf; Paul Dubois, the sculptor; and Bastien Le Page. Bastien was the first in importance in the Concarneau older set, being almost the father of the Realistic movement. He was a quiet, well-bred person, swift at repartee, and could write as corking a letter to the press as Whistler.
One day I caught him painting a sketch of the little stone church on the shore at the edge of the town, something we had all tried. He was drawing and painting, with meticulous care, every slate on the roof, each with its little lichen. I brought the subject up, after dinner, when we were sitting on the sidewalk having our coffee.
“M. Bastien,” I said (no one ever called him Le Page) “we have all been taught by Le Febvre, Boulanger, Cabanel, and Durand to ebaucher our subject broadly and put in only the details that are absolutely necessary. I saw you to-day painting every slate on that roof for its own sake. How about it?”
He laughed.
“I have tried all these different methods, but none of them got me what I saw; so now I do everything as truthfully as I am able, then take my picture to Paris, where, in my studio, away from nature, I can consider it broadly and remove all the unnecessary detail.”
“Yes,” said Harrison, “but when we younger men see your picture in the Salon we don’t think you have done what you say you do.”
He threw his hands in the air.
“Helas! Helas! Sacré Nom de Dieu! Vous avez raison. I am so much in love with it when I see it in my studio that I cannot bear to touch it.”