A LIVELY CHASE

state that the number of Americans going to Europe this year is far greater than last year, immensely greater than in any
other year. Why Why do they leave their comfortable homes, these millions of Americans, to be herded, fretful and
perspiring, through France and Italy and Greece, where every hand is against them Why do they go to Canterbury and
Chartres, Florence and Rome What are we seeking, we Americans who crowd the cities of Europe Is it merely curiosity
or is it a search for new zones of the spirit Are we weary of our clamorous, mmonplace cities and bored by our dull and
commonplace neighbors Suppose we call it a search for culture, something to boast about on our return will that avail to
cover the ugliness of our lives We have attained a physical well being without parallel, but our esthetic natures cry out
for something other As a people we are still without sufficing intellectual resource. We hunger for contrasts, for
something of the spirit. We hardly know our need, but that we need we know. In my life I have seen the ideals of
America change from those of a republic almost purely rustic to those of a cynical pleasure seeking crowd worshipping
mob, whose cerebration is dependent on the radio, the machine made magazine, the tabloid newspapers and the moving
picture. Few of us have time to meditate, so incessant is the battering assault of outside excitations. Some of us have
reached a stage where we are dimly conscious of the futility of our lives and are confessedly bored by our surroundings On
the axm, we see the village as a social center. From the village we hasten to the town which offers something more
dramatic. Outgrowing the town we enter the nearest city. From the city we venture to the met ropolis From the
metropolis we look away to the historic Old World, perceiving other and deeper contrasts there, and though in Europe we
bluster and brag of back home, of the peace and security of Titusville and Blanktown, we know that in returning there.
we shall be returning to surroundings with no appeal to the imagination, to communities with no historical associations
and very little esthetic life. Millions of us protest a satisfaction which we do not feel. We continue to move, to seek, to
integrate. It is all a backtrailing from the border, a reaction from the psychology the pioneer. It is a stage of American
progress toward what Artistic Expatriates. WHILE my daughters had lost interest in moldering ruins and historic
towers, they retained an interest in paintings and sculpture, and were willing to revisit art galleries at such times as they
were free from social engagements and the theater. On our revisitation of the National Gallery this year we were greatly
delighted to find that a room had been set aside for a collection of John Sargents paintings, the finest representation of
his work we had ever seen. It included the famous Wertheimer group of port raits, and in studying them, I was reminded
of my promise to the American Academy, of which Sargent was a member, to bring back some biographical material and
if possible to secure a sketch ormanuscript. Furthermore I had led Constance to hope that she might sometime see him in
his studio. Thus far I had not been able to find anyone who knew him or had any knowledge of his movements. He was
an almost legendary figure Bame said He is reported to spend most of his time in Boston, and Ive no doubt in Boston
they say lie spends most of his time in London Hes the most elusive man in all England. It is easier to meet the King. In
our reading of papers and magazines we had not discovered his name among the society lists. He attended no receptions
or public dinners and yet his home address, on file in the Academy office, was not more than fifteen minutes walk from
Sloane Terrace With the odds all against me I sent a letter to this number, stating the wishes of the Academy and my
own personal desire to meet him. I was quite as surprised as pleased when a note written in his own had made answer.
I am working every day at my studio in Fulham Road and I shall be very glad to have you drop in almost any afternoon
Encouraged by this cordial invitation, I wrote again, May I bring my wife who is a sister of Lorado Taft and has been
trained as an artist, and my daughter Constance who is a student of illustration Our telephone number was on my
stationery, and when on the following morning, in answer to a call on the phone, I took up the receiver, a rich and
powerful voice filled my ear. This is John Sargent I shall be very glad to have you come in this afternoon, and I hope you
will bring your wife and both daughters. As I hung up the receiver I said to Zulime, I have just been speaking with the
Kind. He has invited us all to have tea with him this afternoon What do you mean she demanded. That was John
Sargent on the wire I cant believe it she exclaimed. John Sargent is a myth. He doesnt exist. He couldnt phone.
Nevertheless, lie has just spoken to me with most human cordiality, inviting me to bring you and the daughters to his
studio. We were all enormously interested in Sargent, but to Constance he was the Emperor of painters Mary Isabel,
alasi had another engagement and could not go. Promptly at the hour named we found ourselves in Fulham Road.
searching. I repeat the word for emphasis, searching for the workshop of the most distinguished portrait painter of
modern times. It was an impossible place in which to find John Sargent The building was very evidently a hive for artists
of very moderate income, a series of studios in an arcade which led off from a noisy thoroughfare. On reaching Number
we halted in the dustk of the halland debated whether to knock or not Had we made a mistake It could not be that
behind this obscure door John Sargent was waiting for us. Nevertheless, as this was the number on his card, I knocked.

CONFIDENTIAL

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