LACADEMIE JULIAN IN PARIS.

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, Volume V, Issue 1, 1 October 1901, Page 17

LACADEMIE JULIAN IN PARIS.

Sc^l^HJhiN a man decides to study Art cJl|§|kl|k iii Paris, it is quite unnecessary [ tlxi^r 1 ] for the purpose. All he requires to do is to call on the Secretary at the " Academic Julian," lay the matter before him, and, if he decides to study there, he is immediately installed without any preliminaries at all. He is told that if he comes on Monday morning he had better be in good time, and secure a place near the model. This precaution is only necessary, however, in winter, as during the summer months, there is only a sprinkling of students, and the " Nouveau," as he is called for the first week or two, can sit where he likes. He will also find that, whereas in summer amongst the few his presence will attract some attention, and he will be the butt of the presiding wits for the time being, in the winter months the new chum, unless perchance he happens to be over shy and self conscious, can make his debut on Monday morning without molestation. Perhaps during the quarter of an hour's rest, which takes place once in every hour, some of his Trench critics will inform him that his drawing is tres chic, and that he ia well Vol. III.— No. 1.— 3.

f/ dressed, and if his work is exceptionally weak, he may bo questioned aw to whether he is studying for the "Prix do Rome," which is considered the "Blue Riband " of the Art World in Franco. Probably it will be suggested that he shall forthwith pay up his ten francs, boing the contribution that each student is taxed for the use of "fixatif," for the preservation of his charcoal drawings or for turpentine for the mixing of paints. Usually the money, which is collected by the " Massier," or head student, and which is termed the " Masse," amounts to a considerable sum in winter, when the studios are full of new arrivals, and if the Massier happens to be in. a thirsty mood, ho will stand up at the eleven o'clock rest, and shout, " Messieurs, there are now eighty francs in the Masse ; we go to drink !" The cry, Nousallons hoire! is instantly universal, and the whole school makes a rush for the street, and takes possession of the nearest cafe, where a scene of indescribable confusion takes place, verily a " Babel of many tongues." What do we hear? Mostly French, good, bad, and indifferent, English, Grerman, Italian, Spanish, Polish, oven Japanese, though at the time of which I am writing, only one student represented the land of strange pictures, and ho invariably spoke English, flavoured with a strong American accent, for he had lived some years in the States, and was the politest and most amiable of Art students.

The casual observer would be amused to notice, long after the first mad rush is over,

the English "Nouveau," spotlessly clad iv check suit and high collar, with his slow dignified [stride, half shy of joining in, and yet feelingjit is the proper thing to do. If he find another of his own sort, to whom he has been duly presented, he will probably take him to another cafe, where each will, as in duty bound, " shout " solemnly for the ot h er. And how different will be the

ways and appearance of both after the

" shaking up " of a month in a French Art School !

At the time of which we write there

was, one Mon-

day morning, a fresh arrival, who, though

possessi n g something of the English " Nouveau's " shyness, had considerable abil it y as a

comic singer, and this having got about, he was promptly " bluffed "into believing that it was the . proper thing, to sing on his first day at the school. . Having quite made up his mind that he was. bound byfthe unwritten laws of the students .to go through some more or less terrible ordeal, he was pleased at being so easily let off, and in a most good natured and affable manner got up, and sang an English comic song. The Frenohmen were delighted at this new departure on the part of " Les Anglais,"

and, amid cheers (and jeers), he was informed that, in singing the second verse of a" song, it was usual to mount his stool, which, being higher' than his waist, made his position a trifle ricketty. However, with the courage <>f his race, he battled manfully through. When he had finished the last

verse, and was

struggling along with his piece of charcoal, looking all the time as if he didn't know whether to laugh or to swear, his dis-

comfiture was completed by a well - meaning little man from

Lancashire, who informed him that, instead of being the only "Nouveau " on that

particular

Monday morning, he was one

of about a

dozen; and gave him to understand, in short, that he had been "doing the proper thing" busi-

ness to death,

and worst of all, making an exhibition of himself, to the intense amusement of the whole room.

Thus it is that the student with dignity gets it knocked off the first week, and, having no further use for it, lays it aside till he goes home. Unless, by the way, his mother and sister come over for a holiday, in which case he may be seen sneaking about the fashionable neighbourhood of The Arc d§ Triomphe or the Rue de Rivoli, and

some would even go so far as to mount an eyeglass and a silk hat for a few days. The amicable arrangement of seats for some eighty or a hundred men and boys of all nationalities, and of any age from sixteen to sixty, naturally entails the settling of a variety of disputes amongst so mixed a congregation, and, to simplify matters, a system of regulation by the " Esquisse," or composition, of tho week before is gone through. The " Esquisse " is a rough sketch in oils, illustrating a given allegorical subject. The best works .are placed in order of merit by the Professor on Saturday morning, the

most successful student having the priority of seats on Monday morning, when they can chalk their names on the floor as near the model as they please. The best place would usually be a seat about as high as an ordinary chair, the stools varying in height from less than a foot to four or five feet, the smallest being close to the model's stand, and therefore having the disadvantage of giving a violent perspective to the figure. The

highest chairs aye, of coui'se, out in the middle of the room, being managed like the spokes of a wheel, with the model's platform for the axle. On Wednesday morning about ten o'clock, the " Nouveau " would notice a sadden lull in the uproar, the insolent boy in front of him has ceased to whistle and throw bread, the light banter at the model's expense has dropped to a whisper, and that nighty individual herself has ceased to giggle and wriggle to the disgust of the severe American-German, who doesn't see why those darned Frenchmen want to go fooling

around with the model. He is at least outspoken, and acts as a moral censor.

The cause of this unusual behaviour is probably the kindly warning of the secretary, "Le Professeur est la," wafted in a loud stage whisper from the door, or perhaps the arrival of that important individual himself, in which case [all noises^ instantly cease, the model becomes a statue, and everyone ishard at work.

There can be no possible mistake about which professor it is that attends that morning. A student would know with his eyes shut. M. Ferrier enters quickly, energetically, full of life and action. M. Bouguereau, a fatherly old gentleman, and looking as much like a hearty Scotchman as anything else, comes slowly up behind the nearest student, and gives his opinion in the kindest manner. He hails from the North, and has the more phlegmatic temperament of the Norman. M. Ferrier, on the other hand, comes from the South of France, is more demonstrative, and generally ends by seizing the charcoal if the drawing is hopelessly out, and putting it right in a few touches. Upstairs the professors are Messieurs Benjamin Constant (the Queen's portrait painter) and Jean Paul Luurons ; thus the student in Paris can have the highest talent in France to come and look at him twice a week for a mere trifle. They work in the interests of Art, the pay is merely nominal. The professor comes on Monday and Saturday ; he stays two hours, and goes liberally and conscientiously through his work. The students like him, and believe in him.

A sly tear trickles down the youthful cheek us the great man hurls the nuked truth nt the luckless offender. He needn't cry, nobody is listening, there is no jealousy at Julian's, no ill feeling. Nobody cares. The only competition is at the monthly " Concnurs," where medals nre given for the best work in colour or charcoal. Vim are looking at a canvas ; the model** head is pretty. The artist has beautified it. The study of perhaps two days is now a picture you would value for your drawingroom. The workman stops as you watch himHe raises his palette knife — one quick slash, and your picture is wiped on to <i dirty rag, a mass of meaningless paint. Ho is out of conceit with his study, he turns his canvas upside down, lights his cigarette, and strolls away. Next to him is such a nice young man, with a fair moustache and a big nose. Ho also has painted the same head. If he would only take his palette knife and — but ho won't. He is satisfied, there is the difference.

The man that scraped off two days' work knows when he is wrong. The other man leans hack with a pleased smile, turns his head from side to side, and — is happy.

Sidu by Hide they peg a w a y — ha 1 d heads and curly heads, the duffer and the genius, the beggar and the Count, the Australian and the Parisian. No part of tho world is too remote, no social state too humble, no incapacity too glaring. Everyone is ■welcome at tho "Academic Julian" in Paris. Even New Zealand, farthest probably of all countries, being almost the Antipodes of Paris, had at one

time three representatives in one studio. This was in the early nineties, when Messrs. T. Ryan, 0. F. Goldie and the writer, all from Auckland, were at Julian's, while on the walls, among the compositions, may be seen the signatui'e of S. Begg, now well known as an illustrator, who hails from Napier. This and Mr. Goldie's pronounced success as a medalist at the Academic, speak well for our future in the World of Art.