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dence of the labor and progress of the
students under his charge.

In what quarter he lodged his pupils is
not known. All existing documents are
mute in regard to this. Wherever it was,
however, the place, according to the laws
of the school still preserved, was dedicated
to "virtue." Pupils were forbidden to
blaspheme, to utter impious or dishonest
words, under pain of being expelled, and
the students ate at a common table, pre-
sided over by the director, known then as
" rector," who selected each day some one
to read history during the meal. In sum-
mer the class rose at five o'clock, in winter
at six ; two hours every day were devoted



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Froiii a Bruun phutui^raph of the painting by Luc-OHvicr Mcrson, 1869. Ilulftune plate engraved by F. II, Wellington

MERSON'S PRIZE PICTURE "THE SOLDIER OF MARATHOxN "



to the Study of arithmetic, geometry, per-
spective, and architecture, and the director
had orders to visit the pupils daily at the
academy or in outside places where their
work took them. On Thursday of each
week they had a holiday. More than this,
the academy was open gratuitously to out-
side pupils, and all students, French or
other, were free to come and draw— a
liberal procedure which resulted in the
establishment of "outside scholarships,"
giving the privilege of lodging in the
academy without meals.

At the beginning the home authorities
allowed each pupil a pension annually of
three hundred livres (a livre having about
the value of a franc) ; in 1676 this was
doubled. Each student who followed the
full course in a manner satisfactory to the
direction received, upon his return to
France, two hundred livres as a gratuity.
This was changed, in 1750, to three hun-
dred livres. At present the arrangements
of a financial nature are most liberal. Each



man is allowed four thousand francs a year,
out of which the government puts aside
one thousand, to be given to the student
when his term is completed; so that he
leaves for home with four thousand francs
to his credit, insuring him the means of
existence until he can get settled and
started properly in his profession. He is
given a studio and sleeping-room, with
service, in the beautiful palace of the Me-
dici, and has only to buy his meals. These,
however, are prepared by a chef in the
employ of the French government, and are
furnished at cost, the lunches being twenty-
five cents and the dinners thirty, wine, of
course, being extra.

But we must return to the old academy.
Errard was succeeded for two years by
Noel Coypel, when he was again placed
at the head of the school, and given the
title of director, which was thought to give
him more dignity and authority. Mean-
while, under Coyi^el, the academy had
been installed in the Caprinica Palace,



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From a Braun photograph of the sculpture by J eaii> Alexandre- Joseph Falgukre, 1859

FALGUlfeRE'S PRIZE SCULPTURE "COMBAT OF ROMANS"



and in Errard's second term it was joined
with the old Roman academy called St.
Luke's. About 1704, France being in
financial distress, no new pupils were sent,
as no appropriation had been made. The
pupils were reduced to four, to two, to
none. The work of all the previous years
was about to go for naught, when the
death of Mansard, in Paris, put at the head
of the ministry of fine arts the energetic
Due d'Antin, an intelligent, enthusiastic
amateur. He found the school, in 1708,
almost on the point of disappearance. At
his death, in 1736, he left it in a most
prosperous condition.

In 1792 a deputy named Romme pro-
posed a bill before the Convention to sup-
press the institution, and a decree to that
effect was promulgated. In June of that
year, the bill having been passed, and
Basseville, the charg? d'affaires in Rome,
having been assassinated, the director of
the school, with all his pupils, servants, and



employees, fled to Naples. Better days
followed, however, for on October 25,
1797, the Convention prepared a decree
to reestablish the school, and the Directory
introduced into the treaty of Tolentino
(February 19, 1797) an article defi-
nitely restoring the institution, which was
promptly reorganized, and to the list of
painters, sculptors, and architects were
added, in 1803, musicians; in 1804, en-
gravers; in 1805, cutters of fine stones;
and, in 1809, engravers of medals.

In consequence of the unsettled state of
affairs in Italy in 1796, the director did
not take his post until 1801, and in 1803
France became possessed of the Villa Me-
dici, where the school was at once installed.
About 1852 the age limit was changed
from thirty to twenty-five years, and the
term of study reduced to four years.

Of course life in the old city is idyllic to
the young student fresh from his triumphs.
Here he finds a most congenial social side,



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10



THE CENTURY MAGAZINE



old friends and comrades in the academy,
and sympathetic people in plenty else-
where. The requirements of the school are
that in his first year, as a proof that he
has not been idle, the student shall send
back a picture containing at least one life-
sized figure, preferably of the nude. In
his next season there must be returned a
composition of two figures, either nude or
draped. The third year calls for a com-
position sketch, carefully thought out, to
show the pupil's application in this im-
portant branch of art study. In addition,
there must be a copy after some old master.
For this the state pays the painter one
hundred and fifty francs and takes the
picture. These copies are generally given
to provincial museums. They are valu-
able, because they are executed with great
fidelity by competent men, and convey
excellent impressions of the originals.

The last year's picture must be an ori-
ginal work, containing not less than three
figures. This is expected to be a worthy,
serious picture, justifying the study and
experience of the course at the academy.
As a general rule, if it meets with the ex-
pectations of the authorities, it is bought
at a modest sum, and is added to the pos-
sessions of the government, while it rarely
fails to receive a recompense from the
jury at the Salon, where it is usually sent.
Thus the men may do much or little actual
labor, for these demands, as will be seen,
are not excessive. Possibly the work is
more in contemplation, in analysis of the
older masters in the gallery, and in experi-
menting, than in the constant production
of pictiu-es or the turning out of studies.
In addition to other emoliunents, there is
yet more in store for the fortunate prize-
winners ; for from a fund instituted by the
Countess of Caen, each painter, sculptor,
and architect who remains in Rome after
completing his course can draw four thou-
sand francs for a year's extra stay, it being
only necessary that, as a return, he shall
send home some work for the museum
founded in Paris by this estimable and
public-spirited woman.

Old Prize of Rome men are ever wel-
come to their alma mater in the Eternal
City. They may eat there, paying only the
modest prices charged to students, and if
there are vacant chambers, they are at their
disposal, without money and without price.
During the four years the students are not



supposed to return to Paris, though the
presence of the clever, hard-working men
in the streets or galleries of the French me-
tropolis is never noticed— officially at least.
If, however, men who are in disfavor, by
reason of idleness or dissipation, flee be-
yond the walls, they do so at their own
peril, and render themselves liable to severe
penalties, if not dismissal.

Most of the able French artists have
had a trial at the Prize of Rome, and many
of them who have subsequently attained
much renown have failed to win the de-
sired award. It may be that, in frequent
cases, success in this direction would have
been less fortunate than failiu-e. Certain
men with strong personal tendencies, ori-
ginal in ideas, and with an abhorrence of
rule and tradition, would probably have
chafed under the authority, and have been
discouraged at the restraint and conven-
tion of academic demands.

Some splendid names have been enrolled
at the academy, however. Looking back
over the list of the nineteenth century, we
find among the prize-winners such painters
as Ingres, in 1801, at the age of twenty-
two; Flandrin, 1832; Couture, 1837; Ca-
banel, 1845; Boulanger, 1849; Henner,
1858; Lefebvre, 1861; Regnault, 1866;
Merson, 1869; F^vrier, 1872; Morot,
1873; Besnard, 1874; Chartran, 1877;
Doucet, 1880; Foumier, 1881; and Bas-
chet, 1883.

In the list of sculptors there are Car-
peaux, 1854; Chapu, 1855; Falgui^re,
1859; Barrias, 1865; and others. In this
same century there were years when no
prizes were awarded, the excellence of the
work offered in competition not being
deemed sufficiently high. These omissions
occurred in the years 1822, 1835, 1862,
and 1888 for the painters, while the sculp-
tors failed of a first award in 1800, 1822,
1835, 1846, 1853, 1858, and 1866.

Naturally, the men who by hard work,
capacity, and studious application have
won an honorable position in French art,
and who, as they say in their own expres-
sive language, have "passed that way."
look back with unalloyed pleasure on their
alma mater, uphold its hcmor, stand bravely
by its traditions, and swear by its efficacy.
So the sturdy institution flourishes, despite
modem movements and the changing,
fickle art tastes of a time curious indeed
in its esthetic innovations.



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NEW

PORTRAITS

OFA GROUP OF

BRITISH AUTHORS




PHCfTDCRAPHS BY
ALVIN LANCDON COBURN



GEORGE MEREDITH

Mrs. H UMPH RY nA^ARD
III

AUSTIN DOBSON

IV

ANDREW LANG
EDMUND GOSSE

VI

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
GILBERT K. CHESTERTON




8



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Copyright, 1905, by Alvin Langdon Coburu



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Copynifht, 1905. by Al\in Langdon Coburn






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Copyright. 19U5. by Alvin Laugdon Coburn






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Copyright, X90S> ^y Alvin Laagdoa Coburn



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Lopynght. 1905. by Alviii Langdon Coburu






oxp€.



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Copyright, 1905, by Alrin Langdon Coburn




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Cupyright, 1905. by Alvin Laiigdon Coburn



i^ Q!L(E>tlJCu



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MONICA'S VILLAGE

BY ELIZABETH ROBINS

Author of " The Magnetic North " and " The Open Question '




|WO men had lost their way
on the Yukon trail in a
snow-storm. More serious
still, the sun-dried salmon
upon which they fed their
dogs— in lean times like
these, themselves to boot— was well-nigh
exhausted.

By ten o'clock on that wild March morn-
ing the snow was falling so thick that they
could not see the river bank, even on the
nearer side. But what they did see, about
that time, was a couple of Indians with
rifles coming down the river, bringing un-
consciously a false ray of hope.

" How do! " called out the younger of
the two white travelers. "Where you
goin' ? "

The answer was unintelligible.

" Is this only a slough," asked the older
man, " or is it the Yukon ? "

The last word, at all events, conveyed
something to the natives. They pointed in
the direction from which they had come,
uttering a string of explosive syllables.

" And where did you say you were
goin' ? "

They repeated gutturally those first
clicking sounds, bristling with sharply
aspirated >&'s.

"Where can we get fish— like this on
your sled ? Fish. Hey ? Where get ? "

They pointed.

"How far?"

They stared.

" Winter village ? "

Whether they understood or not, they
nodded. One of them, pointing back the
way they had come, added, after a volley



of harsh consonants, a word that sounded
like " Cut-off."

" Oh, that 's the portage to their village.
And what river 's this ? " The boy made a
sweeping gesture up and down the frozen
highway, saying hopefully, " Yukon ? "

Simultaneously the Indians shook their
heads, and exploded a reply.

"Hey? Wait! Not so fast! What's
this river ? "

Again the long word, like a missile, end-
ing in " cockett," and the Indians went on,
looking back through the snow and nod-
ding encouragingly as the white men took
up their trail.

" Do you suppose it rver stops snowing
in this country ? " asked Burnet by and by.

" Begin to doubt it," said the elder man.

" If it goes on like this, in an hour we '11
lose even this trail, which is probably the
wrong trail."

" Any old trail 's good enough for me."

Both had the highest opinion of it in
that moment when it brought them in sight
of an Indian village.

They had not wintered in Alaska with-
out discovering that the inland aborigines,
like the Eskimos of the coast, crave no-
thing so much at the hands of the white
man as intoxicants, preferably " hootch,"
the deadly home-brewed liquor of the
North. Nevertheless, Colonel Warren and
young Burnet had hitherto encountered no
insuperable difficulty in keeping to their
original trading staples, sugar and tea (the
copper and small silver coin of the coun-
try) and tobacco (next in value, in native
eyes, to the pure gold of gin). But at this
particular village, in response to the white



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20



THE CENTURY MAGAZINE



man's demand for moose-meat or ptar-
migan in exchange for tea, the natives
shook their heads, coughed, and whined,
" Hootch," as if nothing else on earth would
tempt them to part with even a portion of
their game. The travelers cut short the
parley by buying a small quantity of in-
ferior fish, leaving the more important
negotiation till they should have had some
sort of meal, however frugal, and a night's
rest in one of the miserable huts.

They waked to hear the fire crackHng
in front of the bear-skin curtain that did
duty for door, and to smell an agreeable
mingling of the aroma of salmon and tea.

The brown men were finishing breakfast.

With the exception of one, who every
now and then punctuated his coughing
by a feeble inquiry for hootch, they mani-
fested very little interest in their guests,
until Colonel Warren displayed his to-
bacco. Then their eagerness became rather
painful, as eagerness on the part of the
naturally stolid is apt to be.

Yes, yes, they should all have some, said
the white man; let them bring out their
meat, their game, and their flour.

He tried to supplement this demand by
pantomime, but it seemed singularly diffi-
cult to make them understand. In addition
to the winter stock of game in their caches,
diey must have trading-post supplies as
well, for they were dressed in denim.

"What's the nearest white man's
camp ? " asked Warren. There was no
answer.

" Where you buy clothes ? How you get
this ? " Young Burnet pointed to the fry-
ing-pan.

The master of the hut, frowning, took
the 4)an up and laid it down on its face as
if it were somehow in disgrace.

" What *s he mean by that ? "

The others, crouched by the fire, de-
voured the tobacco with their eyes, but to
the strangers' words and gestures, having
reference to provender in return, only
blinked and were dimib.

" They 're waiting till we bring out the
whisky, devil take them ! " observed the el-
der man. He began to pack away the tea
and tobacco in the sleeping-bag. The
coughing about the fire was punctuated by
despairing gnmts. An old squaw went out
and came back with two httle dried fish,
for which she received a measure of tea
and a leaf of tobacco, whereupon a man



disappeared and returned with a single
fish.

"But nuai is what we want— caribou,
moose, rabbits."

The entire company blinked, coughed,
waited.

" This is the stupidest lot I ever struck,"
said the younger of the travelers. " Let 's
go out and talk to the others."

It was not snowing, for a wonder, but
the clouds hung low and a heaviness was
in the air. In the gray light of early morn-
ing the village looked even more desolate
than in the evening shadows and the fire-
light.

A band of lean and mangy curs, occa-
sionally pausing to give battle, were being
chased about by the white men's wolf-dogs.

In the huts forlorn figures, hardly human^
huddled about the fires.

" Hootch ? " inquired one or two, as the
strangers looked in. But they asked for
supreme happiness much as other men do,
hardly expecting it and meaning to take a
lesser if it came.

Colonel Warren drew some " blackjack''
out of his pocket No one so sick, or so
old, or so young, that the eye did not
brighten at the sight of " tabak." But when
asked about something besides fish, they
returned only the same grim looks and
slow head-shakings.

It was then that the travelers, out of
patience, marched boldly on the caches —
cUmbed up, looked in, stopped aghast.
Empty— all empty! It was from famine,
then, that those Indians on the trail were
fleeing. And these had stayed behind only
because they had not strength to go. Fam-
ine and Disease were masters of the camp.

The white men stopped to examine a
sled, but, like the others lying about, it was
as dilapidated as their own. Only the birch-
bark canoes, Ufted high on crossed poles,
seemed in decent condition. These boat-
racks, and the raised platforms where the
natives kept their harness, fishing-tackle,
and skins, were all together, off to one side,
a stone's throw from the huts.

The white men, ready to start, but still de-
bating in which direction, strolled over to
look at a three-holed bidarkiy laid keel up
on the biggest of the driftwood platforms.

"These people have been prosperous
enough before this winter."

" Lots can say the same," was the de-
jected answer, as Burnet moved farther



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MONICA'S VILLAGE



21



away to look at the only kyak he remem-
bered seeing up the river. This one was
evidently old, but ingeniously ornamented
with beluga teeth and bits of ivory carved
into crows' heads.

** How can they live in such wretched-
ness—fellas who can turn out a piece o'
work like this ? " The colonel was still ex-
amining the admirably made bidarki. There
was not a rivet, not a- scrap of metal, in the
whole adroit combination of wood and
hide and sinew.

Here and there, half -buried in the snow
about the platforms, were rude wooden
masks, such as are worn at native feasts.
Was it possible that such people had ever
danced ? Perhaps their fathers had ; and
these, their sorrowful children, in sight of
the evidence of better days, stood with
heavy looks and down-hung heads, as if
rebuked by the memory of the skill and
the merry-making of their sires.

The white man has not even set these
people on his map, but they shiver in the
white man's cheap cotton, having bartered
their costly fiu«. White traders and pro-
spectors have slaughtered caribou by the
herd, and left them to rot on the hills.
The few that escape are scared away by the
white man's steamers. Very necessary that
some of the Indians should find their way
to the nearest trading-post. Lacking the
wild meat their fathers flourished on, they
would buy or beg a little flour, and come
back here to die. There is no commoner
story in the North.

On the same platform with the bidarki,
half under snow, was a long, narrow roll,
wrapped in a finely woven grass mat and
a bit of old sail ; beyond that—

"Hooray!"

" A sled ! Yes, sir ; a tiptopper ! "

It was overlaid with paddles, boat-hooks,
throwing-stick, etc. ; but they pulled it
down, dumped out what snow the wind
had left along with fishing-tackle, floats,
decoys, and various unknown objects, joy-
fully agreeing there was " nothing the mat-
ter with this sled, anyhow."

" Did you notice what was wrapped in
the long bundle ? " inquired the colonel,
briskly. As Burnet laid his hand on the
crisply frozen grass mat, a commotion in
the camp made him turn his head. Several
Indians were running toward the white
men with sharp cries and angry gesticu-
lations.



The strangers stared. " It 's all right,"
they called out. " Whatever we take, we
pay."

" Heap tabak," Burnet assured them.

But it was obvious that, by means of
a telegraphy invisible, some stirring news
had spread. Other groups were converging
toward the first ; even the sick and old came
running as if for life. The very dogs forgot
fish and private feuds, and followed their
masters, howling. The little huts yawned,
and out came more people than they could
hold— like a thousand yards of ribbon from
a conjurer's hat. On they came, scream-
ing, crying, catching up sticks on the way,
menacing the white men as they gathered
about.

" What the devil 's the matter with you ? "

But they only seized hold of the sled,
feverishly pulling it away from the white
man's reluctant hands, pushing the stran-
gers back from the platform and screaming
abuse above the howling of the dogs.

"ITiey 've gone clean crazy," said the
colonel. He pulled out some black Jack
and waved it over their heads; but the
black-jack spell was broken.

The white men, trying to resist the pres-
sure without aggravating it to the pitch of
actual violence, had worked round the
bidarki platform rather than away from it.
At the bow of the big boat they lifted up
their eyes and understood. Under the
woven mat the sail-cloth wrapping on the
bundle by the bidarki was weather-worn,
worm-eaten, rotted ; a tuft of coarse black
hair stirred in the sluggish wind. The
bidarki platform was a grave.

"Oh:"

"We did n't know — "

But it was no use. With looks of unap-
peased horror, the stronger of the natives
pushed the strangers farther away, and
more roughly now, as they saw no resistance
was offered. Others, still chattering abuse,
restored the sled to the corpse, and care-
fully put back the floats, decoys, and things.
Then they joined the rest in chasing the
white men out of camp.

The winter dark had yielded. No matter
now if the snow would not bear at midday.
It was light enough at any hour to keep the
trail, if only they could find it ; and each
night's newlyiced-over surface made splen-
did going. Instead of the eight or ten miles
a day they had made at the beginning.



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nightly now they covered from thirty to
forty miles. So they refused to lose heart.

They waked up that second afternoon
after their ignominious exit from the last
settlement to find it still clear and warm.

" Like April.''

" Well, it is April, all but a day or two."

" Oh, but like April down below — in
God's country."

The colonel got a fire going, and just as
they were sitting down to a meal four men
with a dog-team came laboring along last
night's trail.

Young Burnet shouted out such a wel-
come that the colonel nearly dropped the
fish in the fire.

'* Somebody you know ? "

"No," replied Burnet; "but I 'm glad,
good and plenty, all the same."

" Oh, yes," agreed the colonel, shielding
his eyes from the snow-glare and watch-
ing the approach. "It 's queer how bro-
therly you feel toward 'any old' white
man you meet in this blasted country."

"Hello!"

"Hello!"

" Where is this ? "

"Where is what?"

"This camp o' yours."

" Ask me an easy one."

The two white men in advance looked
blank; the cordiality of their greeting
faded.

"Do you mean you don't know where
you are ? "

" That 's about the size of it."

" And we 've been plodding along yoiu*
trail only to—"

" To help us eat a fish-dinner," said the
colonel. "Walk in — walk in and make
yourselves miserable."

" Give us the fish for our dogs. We 've
nm out. But we 've got moose."

Indeed, their larder was nothing short
of princely in a trailman's eyes, and all
they lacked was fish. The Indians of the
party were coast natives who had come
up the river with a trader last season and
were fabled to know the trail. They had
lost that article some time before, and
hoped they had found it at last

" No, sah. You *ve only found two other
fellas who 've lost it."

When the dogs were satisfied— no; no
husky worthy of the name is ever satisfied
—but after each of the new dogs was given
his fish, masters and Indians sat down



together and ate as only men on the trail
are able. And the white men made friends,
and told, man-fashion, the exterior and
comparatively imimportant facts of their
history, and talked about the country and
its prospects, meaning their own.

Nathan Black, the elder of the twp white
strangers, believed there was a great future



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