Evening Star Newspaper, February 7, 1926, Page 76

4 Fisht-Year-Old Savage Guardian Saves White Men in Bakongo Amazing Youngster and His Devas- tating Tonguc Are Factors in Story of Adventure in Wilds—Dread Rumors and the Effect on Our Porters—A Marvel to the Bakongo Women—A Tense Situation and a Peal of Childish Laup’}}ten Anwn both dans this auther of the be fou land, €0 crow flic the ceeded without A milit frontier, again. Ca) at length eny merit to those to Simpson elways re ever. if exploit, claim and B Mayuyu bala teer: o tion was 1 impo ing w manazed our favor even The Bakor s into subr ized an cunpl vitation to ¢ scceptance—on condition t} challenger accept an invitation to : dinner previous k i us talk before we ki won't be able to do it afte say—and the swashbuckler peased by his blandishments. What Mayuyu by gentle sion was hened by va's terrorism. a was a child about § years of age: it is impossible to state it exactly because Kongo n tives do not keep count of their years. With Buya the thing became complicated: sometimes. or, more cor- rectly speaking, nearly always, he Was S0 STOWR up. * * k * hurl at the hostile Kenge a torrent of sle billingszate made it difficult to assimilate him with the products of our nurseries, or when, atter o 30-mile march, he refused to give up the little rifle which had been, was th st re a her: we would was up- hear him chief of sophisticated jur ¥BUYA’S AWFUL LANGUAGE OVERAWED THEM.” B his own request, intrusted to his care, he was a man; but the day we went home and left him under good care on the shore, when he was sob- bing bitterly, stretching his brown arms longingly after us and kicking away viciously all the precious treas- ures which we had given him on parting, he shrieked, “I don’t want these, I want you!" he was a little child again. But it is no ood talking about him 3 a child, one waxes sentimental. Buya had been intrusted to me by his iather, a Muyanzi chief, who had asked me to take him with me so that his son might see the world. Ag T knew we would run some risks 1 refused at first, but the chief Lelng @n old friend insisted, and 1 had to give in. I never had to regret it. He had never been outside his vil- fage, and was quite primitive; he had not yet acquired the habit of wearing garments, but our “old” boy Sam, a gentleman of about 15, having lent him an old pair of breeches, he longed to have some of his very own. So Lie came to me and explained that he found it humiliating to wear dirty 1rousers belonging to his friend and vet his situation demanded that his nakedness should be covered. “If you were to &ive me some cloth, » big plece, I might make myself a worthy of me and I refuse? A\t Kikwit, where there was a store, f Picce of culico, white with He borrowed my scls- ind some cotton and make himself a ward would have none of those hings 1 wore; his trousers volummous and fell in elegant over his feet, except when they vped then they impeded ess to some extent. To see wr through the village and winfully aside any Mumbala garb was worth a pint of you. s pros a strict sense of dis ipiine —what I said was law. Had I id him to kil qone it without the slightest hesita- he knew how to obey without tions, without even pre- hink. It is this gift that : al soldier, not one who e battles, it is true, but the r who 18 marked out for promo- If T told him to call Hilton m in the morning, and my friend hesitated to leave his bed, + would pull the blanket off him, siless of the fact that he was a 1 had sid so—that was h. if Buya did not mind, nay, liked lorded over by me, he was not rding it over the other peo- ne day while We were stay- short time in a_ European he hired for a few empty ed tins. etc.. f his own, a boy about hi How be bossed that la t he was at his bes When we had forbid @ village stockad; ared th it be k s what he thought of them a Muyanzi, he was a canni- He did not make the slight- f this fact. And he would the natives to start fighting them that, of course, thes ot and then he would a fine tuck-in! With his arms 1bo in front of a bearded old war- ior. a< dour as they are made, he ould tell him how he would crack his head with a woman's hoe handle, ind then, when properly prepared, devour him. The fact that we dared to have a child with us, and his un- bounded cheek, helped no doubt to m- press the Bakongo. | Proximity did not fmprove the repu- | tation of these people, and as we ap- | proached their country the natives told our men what terrible fellows they were and that we were all su®e to be killed by them. The Bambala | porters stood it for a while, but at last they talked matters gver among them- selves and came to me in a body. Their spokesman, speaking as if he were not In the least concerned in the tter (a favorite method with natives en they ask for a favor or have a complaint to make) said, “These men 1y that they have been informed that the Bakongo will kill us all if we go into their country, so they ask to re- turn to their villag 1 thought the request a reasonable one, though it put me in a sore plight. However, I had no right to drag these people into danger against their will, 50 I told the men to come in an hour when I would pay them their due; they were free to go. After an hour they came back; the goods were ready for payment; the spokesman asked me, | “If we go home will you still proceed to the Bakongo?' I answered in the affirmative. “Then, please put these goods back because we shall go with you; if you want to have your throat cut, we shall at any rate share your fate.” And as they had come, so they strolled leisure- Iy back to their quarters. While the journey lasted they never complained, they never tired, they never falled us. T have to thank the chief of Insashi; he put us into communication with the Bakongo, arranged our passage across the River Loange and gave us such a good character that we started under the best possible auspices. At the Loange, the Bakongo came with one boat, in which I passed the first to the other side; I took absolutely no arms with me, to demonstrate my peaceful intentions. * k ok ok WHERE I had landed the forest came down to the water's edge. There I sat on one of my boxes and walted for- something to happen. Some thing did happen. An ant, one of those charming little creatures which a man he would have | Il the | THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, FFBRUARY 7, 1926—PART 5. “‘LOOK AT THA A CHIEF! THAT OLD THING A CHIEF!"” had somehow found its my puttees and suddenly elf of justifying its havé ingeniously muue(l‘ way under bethouht me. Slapping my duced no pract leggings having | al result, I slowly un did my puttee, and, turning my stock- ing down, wanted to “break his bones | between two stones.” when all of a sud- | den a horus “Ah’s!” came from | the su®oundin thicket 1 i » drew stocking to pier the u miring voices. Some ted human th gu itlines | When nus thicket crossed and over her out of a thers, her hands breast. One by one other women appeared; ¢ ot er and nea dared not move for fear of frighten- ing them away. At last one girl younger than the rest, pointed to my leg. I at once grasped the possibilities of the situation. 1 turned one of my sleeves up. As my hands face and | neck were burnt coppery brown and tropical anema gives every one a very fair skin, my arm naturally seemed @ very wonderful sizht to these people who had never seen a European. They simply shrieked and insisted on seeing my chest to make sure I was white all over. One lady passed her finger over my arm and was duly astonished that the paint did not_come off. The elders of the village and the chief came to have a conference. and Al went well while I explained to| them that we were neither traders, missionaries nor officials, and that all we wanted was a little hunting on our way to the Kasal. When, however, I mentioned that I should ltke to take | some presents to thelr great chiet, | Goma N' Vula, the disposition of th- | men suddenly changed; some rose and went awav, others looked angry I had touched upon a subfect which obviously aroused their hostility. I thought it wise to break up the con- ference and return to my tent. * X ¥ ¥ EANWHILE Mayuyu had some- how managed to make friends, and Buya was holding forth to an ad miring crowd. They understood but few words of what he said, but what words falled to express gestures help- ed to make clear. I was glad to hear on his authority that Simpson and I used to shoot our daily elephant be- fore breakfast and that the buffaloes that had fallen before our rifles were greater in number than the blades of grass between the Loange and the Kasai. 1t filled me with pride to be pro- claimed the greatest chief of Europe and all other countries, but when he began to explain that the only way to my heart was through him, and that any one who wanted to obtain anything from me could do no better than bribe my confidential adviser, | 1 who was no other than Master Buya, | I was teginning to get a little nervous. 1 went to the fire near which I heard his volce, but when I saw the little beggar sitting there with a big pot of palm wine in front of him sucking away at the chief's pipe, 1 was reassured. Who would take such a child serlously? | The village had gone to rest; the last drunkard had been led home by . his friends, when the flap of my | tent opened quietly and Mayuyu ap- peared. He explained to me he had learned that we had had to wait for our passage across the Loange be- cause the permission of the sreat chief, whose name was Goma N'Vula (the Drum of Rain—Thunder), had to be obtained; that the great man had granted it reluctantly, but had at the same time given strict orders that on no account were we to be allowed to come to his village, and any attempt of ours to do so was to be resisted by force. . He told me that the natives simply trembled at Goma N'Vula's name, and that the best thing for me would be never to mention it. * ok ok % UR plan was to proceed by slow stages toward the Kasai, so as to see as much as possible of the people; on our way we were going to attemapt to visit the great | pro- | ire | impart !a nasty grin on his ugly face. {a while the younger chief came and at his court we were certain - able to guther more informa tivn than among the simple “country o'k, and, as for collecting, well. we vore going to the royal y and exchan our European zoods for the beautiful carvings of ich we had already found some overhaul we soon found out tk rich t we had onl he na ma they use for tliltor we found men and asked wh about it ail 4 ravan who did hering over o ppy and thou safety as was with He wus p: me squander my goods in enis to chiefs who showed litt ill, und when they retur s stingily he did not m what he thought of We used to give the ried our loads a little paper with initials so as to avoid discussion payment at the end of the j but one day Bakongo carriei found a littie Reckitt's blue, and with this tried to f these initials on odd had found in our ay these and the in us ame cver, adamant their worst. ya took the matter in hand and 1 forth on the wickedn ing in a way which would ored the teacher of a Sunday except for the figures of speect which he indulged: One day Simpson distributed the loads to the Bakongo as they came on, giving each a paper. Having foi that they could not imitate our init well enough to mistead use, these por- ters conceived the ingenicus idea of caring our papers in two and pre- senting each half separately for pay- ment. I would not pay till the other half was produced; naturally, they could not identify it, and some men who had really carried loads went empty-hand- ed, while others who had not earned it reccived their wages. I refused to pay more than was due. Simpson, when he arrived, found me surround- ed by a hostile crowd, armed and ready to use violence. Then Buya's awful language over- awed them. Bakongo, like Bushongo people, ob- ject stronglv to obscene words; Ba- vanzi, and Buya was a Muyanzi, do not. The kid told them things they had never heard in their lives. The funniest part of it was that the impudent little fellow did not shout or show any signs of excitement; he talked as if it were simply his duty to certain {nformation, more in w than in anger. Candidly, It me pleasure to hear some one curse the Bakongo and give them a piece of his mind, when prudence and a wrong upbringing prevented me from doing so. * kK ¥ AT last the Bakongo men left, but our character was besmirched, and we had made a false start in the place. The village had two chiefs: one, it seemed to me, a rather decent fellow; the other, a very old man, had all the appearances of a consummate scoun- drel. When all the Bakongo porters, grumbling and swearing, had left, the old villain came to me and told me that he had changed his mind (we had naturally asked him by messenger if he would have us in his village), and invited us to leave the place at once. I consented to do so, on condition that he provided me with porters to carry my loads. This he refused, and told me peremptorily to clear out with- out delay. “What about my goods?” lI’"aaked. That was my business, not s. Meanwhile the faithful Bambala had pitched cur tents and sat stolidly and defied them to do {round our belongings to prevent pil- fering. Seeing that his bullying had no effect on me, the old chief left with After gave me some fowls, and I responded with a generous present. When we had arrived we had found the natives unarmed, but now they were strutting about with bows and arrows ready ror use. As night fell we heard a violent palaver going on in the village. The old chief s inciting the men, the younger one pleading for moderation. Next day the natives refused to sell us food and would not show us where to get water, but we still had supplies, and it was not long before the Bam- bala found a brook nearby. The men had been forbidden to enter the stockade, but Master Buya simply walked in and his youth preserved him from harm. It is true that one warrior, probably in fun, aimed at him with his bow, but Buya, cursing his father, mother and all his ancestors, ordered him to lower it at once—and he did! Then Buya congratulated him, say- ing: “If you had ndt obeyed I would have told my master and then off would go your head, and you would be put into the pot! Not that I like Bakongo; I like pig better!” Buya's reputation as a cannibal was known everywhere, and he was greatly pleased with the horror it inspired. * k Kk X BUYA and my little dog Sanga had struck up a great friendship. Now Buya had brought Banga with him, and, the warrio tive dogs nd after having browbeaten set her to chase the na The old chief came up furi- Jld him to call the dog off; rmcd him that he was the great Mu i chief and be ordel ibout by any ously Buya i son of would not one. him he The old man retorted by telling that in this place, at any rate, was chief. suya rolled with laughter, you say chief? Ha! ha! h to the natives surrounding at that! A chief! That old thing you | have to feed on pap, a chief! Ha! h: ha! Then, in a sort of confidential tone, he said to his audience: “My father keeps chiefs like this in a pen und fatiens them for feast days. But I wouldn't eat that!” Buya spat out, called Sunga and walked off. And the Bakonzo? With their | hande before their open mouths they | marveled and, being plucky people | themselves, liked the boy for his cheek. But Buva did one better. vounger chief wus just coming along, so he walked up to him and said: | “hief, thi: d slave of yours (point- | ing at’ his antagonist) is getting off hix head. He claims to be the vhief! | Ha! ha! ha! Now you, one can see | “Did | Turning hem, *“Look | |out in the silence of the night like sil you are a tell us. (censored) chief, you don't need to But this . . . with . . . now insults your guests. It fs time you knocked him on the head—he may become dangerous.” There never had been any love lost hetween the two men, and this ad- dress of the child, fortunately for us, raised the old man's anger, and in his folly he scolded the younger chi When Buya strutted off they were exchanging confpliments, but none of them equaled Buya's genius for invective. * x x ¥ HIS was Buya's day: he was to shine in all his glory. As evening ime, our men gathered round a fire, and we, after & smoke or two, retired to our tents. After a while I got up again to see how things were going | on, and when the flame of the men’ fire flared up I noticed shadows in the cassava which surrounded our tents: I pretended not to see them and, tak- ing cover all the time, approached the fire of our men. I wanted to know what they were talking about at this moment, when they iight be called any instant, un armed as they were, to fight for their | lives. They formed a circle and lis- tened intently to Sam, our Muluba boy. | ‘ho was talking quletly. He was tell- folk story of a jackal and a arf antelope. The jackal was about to cut the antelope’s throat and the antelope begged him to hold the knife with both hands, 50 as to make it sure. The juckal, thinking this reasonable, agreed. The moment the jackal had let go the little antelope to clutch the knife with the other hand too, the siim little fellow had slipped out of his reach, and shouted o Kal you kn which is & dwarf antelope Which?"” When you have got him!” laughed the antelope, and ran straight home, The men again gurgled, but Buya was so amused that, forgetting good manners, he laughed oud, and the merry peal of his young voice rang Uncle Jackal, do he best time to kil ver bells. It rang out and raised the echo in the little wood, and suddenly |tiny fellow |at an hour when even grown dark figures rose in the cassava near our tent. They rose and gasped, then suddenly they sank buack into dark- ness To this day T b peal of laughter t Kongo. What baffled these Bakongo, what overawed them was this: Here was a nandful of people who had besn openly told that they would be were many hundred would se it that should be absolutely useless, what did they do? The two strangers went into their tents and slept! The Bambala at round their fire, smoked calmly und listened to stories! And there was this little child, who ought to be hiding somewhe: ing out for his mother laughing, ve that it was it defeated the this Ba- ; there any laughi loud in of their village, fght provoke olent spirit of the perfect security keep quiet lest they some ghost or a m: darkness. This was not natural: these people, acting so unnaturally, must be super- natural themselves, or possessed of uncanny powers which it might be fatal to provoke. Who would dare to go_against them? Thus Buya beat the Bakongo. “Seasickless™ Ships. Recent storms on the Atiantic, it is claimed, have shown the value of the antirolling tanks installed on the steamships of the Albert Ballin class, n the ideas ¢ solve 12 problem zled naval construct #hips are huilt with at the water holes for the e water. T! even in ro such that the: ed “sea sick were first tried dur! war on German subr found of unique v: bulgine i there are exit of sea passengers, the world s and were Artist Finds His Reputation for Beauty BY PAUL SWAN. week I gave an e New York of r und_sculp. It for any artist id never get rid of. it with ion was a culmi- nal gathering of n that fought My ex attempt, a es to throw it ¢ at was thi y. disastrous me 1 how it came and you will understand born and reared on an Indiana e children. I wanted to become an artist. [ went to Chi- cago to study. It seemed to me that 1 made excellent progress. I saw my- self achieving eminence at painting and sculpture. I was eagerly ambi- tious, and in & most earnest and seri- ous way. That is in accordance with my temperament. 1 am not inclined ity and frivolity. I have no ering show Th weighed me curse was me, and down at every step. I was considered good looking, but at fuss was made about it. I liked it. I suppose any youth would. It seemed to be an advantage in life and art. It was a long time, in fact, before my personal semblance seemed likely to cause me injury. Indeed, there was a perlod when it helped me a great deal. T went abroad, to Athens. Sculpture had captivated me quite, and a sculp- tor's enthusiasm turns naturally to Greece. There 1 felt as though I had been born to the land of the Hellenes. The mood of the people, especially the artists with whom I associated, seemed vastly like that of their classical an- cestors, and, with the ruins of ancient Greece on every side, I became an Athenfan among Athenians. I fell naturally into the spirit of those about me. I was at home. T studied with an artist, Tomaso- poulos by name, and he, struck by my appearance, asked me to pose for him. I did. The painting made a great sen- sation and I along with it. A writer, Scopas, set the trumpets blowing with in the newspaper. e 1 incarnation of the classic Greek ideal of physical perfection—the most beautiful man. Tha high praise in Gre but nothing ridicu- lous. The Athenians considered it as natural to call & man beautiful as we to call one handsome, and they thought it quite in their ancient tradi tion to celebrate beauty whether in woman or in man. I became a much feted person among people of the upper circles in Athens, Scopas, my sponsor, suggested that I put those immediate advantages that nature had given me to practical use in the way of dancing. I was not well supplied with money, and that would help. I had been interested in danc- ing. I found now that I had a certain natural skill at it. I made my debut in an ancient Greek theater, aund had a fine success. Thereafter, with a succession of performances, I became a public celebrity in Athena. I made it negyr called me ._-—_-“ HEAD OF RAQUEL MELLER, SPANISH SINGER AND FILM ACTRESS, BY PAUL SWAN. some money and finished my studies in a better way than I hoped. All of this seemed marvelous good fortune to me, but nothing grotesque. ‘The praise of beauty in a man did not appear to me as innately ludicrous. Of course, it was far removed from the Indiana farm on which I had been reared, but I had simply fallen com small | Big Handicap in Painting and Sculpture PAUL SWAN AND SARI KARENYI IN A BALLET PICTURE. what was not preposterous there did | not appear preposterous to me at all. | T returned to the United States to | begin my s a painter and sculptor.” I knew that a New York | | newspaper had printed a story from | | Athens about the young American | there "who was all ‘the rage as the | most bautiful man in the world. What | {an irresistible newspaper line that ’llhr:l‘«‘ made! I had thought little of that bit of publicity. In New York I needed money 10 finance me on my painting career. The most immediate way to get it was the same as in Athens— dancing. I got a contract with a the- atrical concern. They promptly billed me far and wide as the most beautiful man in the world. 1 knew it sounded ridiculous here and protested. They | sald it as 4 nece ry part of put- ting my dancing across. My recitals were very successful, both at the box office and in the way of publicity. 1 went ahead with them, and soon near- ly everybody knew about Paul Swan, career the most beautiful man in the world It had been profitable to me in draw ing audiences to my dancing, but it was beginning to get on my nerves 1 knew I was absurd in the eyes o the people, and it was hard for them to take me seriously. And seriously 1 wanted to be taken. Dancing was & side line. My ambition was painting and sculpture. I thought then that T would bear for a_while with the odium of being | the most beautiful man in the world, and then would let it drc into simple Paul Swan, painter sculptor. It did not take me long t realize that the stigma of “beauty would be a serious burden for an earnest, hard working artist, The most beautiful man in the world | I remained. Everywhere it was flung | into my face. It was irremovably i tached to my name. It se le to forget. The named me as Paul Swan, eyes turned to me, curious and full of amazement. Nobody was interested in my paintings ____(Continued from Third Page.) ner, went there to live and to attend him until he was well and could dance again. All_of this Senor Delmas learned. Of the girl he learned ths while, she had fallen in love Riviera spender, one of the mysterious foreign men iwho have plenty of | money and who are keen judges of women. There was a parting with Jean, the Apache, who merely shrug- ged his shoulders and found himself. ® Kok x T was not long before word was carried to Jean himself that the de- tective from Spain had been making inquiries. In fact, Senor Delmas saw | that the warning was delivered to him. The police have their spies and their | agents in the very deepest of the underworld. Senor Delmas expect- |ed, after he had put a number of two- and-two’s together and made a conse- quent number of fours, Jean Matteau came to his hotel room one morning and asked that he be allowed to enter. In the way that remains an' apache’s, no matter how far from the {apache haunts he ma ystray, Jean ! Matteau asked the detective the direct | question: | _ “Why do vo uask about me, senor” T am come to tell you whatever you wish jo know, so that you may not be at further trouble,” “Only what you know of the slaying of Senor. Bartolomeo, in Toledo, by his young wife, your former dancing partner,” Senor Delmas returned. “Of such a thing I know nothing,” the apache wid. “I have heard of the death of Senor Bartolomeo; that is all. I do not believe Amy Agerno killed him, but that is only my belief.” “Then it was you, Jean Matteau, who killed him!”" Senor Delmas ex- claimed. “For you were in Toledo that day, and you were in the house. This we know."” “You know that, senor?” “Very certainly. And we know that Senor Gabriel was very cruel to his wife, after the first week of their love | was passed and he realized that he had lost the friendship and support of his relatives. We know that even here, in Marseille, he beat her about the head and shoulders, and that she still bears the scars. And that you, Jean, True Detective Story. ped, on vour way through Toledo, to ask of her it she had found happiness. All this we know, Jean, and because we know of it, we don't think she, Amy Agerno, killed her husband, but | we think you did. If you say you didn’t, why, then it is very plain what we must do. We must take Amy Agerno, who is a Spanish citizen now, because of her marriage, back to Toledo, and send her out to the Stone Hcuse for the rest of her life—for, of course, it is not likely we would exe- cute her. Not, at any rate, while we would still suspect that it was not she, but you, who handled the knife tha night. How about it, Jean Matteau? _The dancing apache asked for a little time to think the thing over, an hour or two. ‘“Take 24, or even more,” Senor Delmas agreed. But the next morning Jean return- ed. “I am ready, he said, simply. “It was I who killed him, nd he deserved it. For Amy Agerno a girl who is good, and who does not deserve cruelties.” So they took Jean back to Toledo 2nd the Bartolomeo family was glad, for by his confession he saved a scan: cal and made things easy for the poliée. There was nothing disgrace- ful about Senor Gabriel being killed by a robber who had broken into his house at night, as Jean said he had. | But they gave him only four years in prison, which seemed very odd to | everybody except to one or two offi- clals to whom Senor Delmas had con- fided thut Jean Matteau, who had been in the Bartolomeo house earlier on the day of the tragedy, had left Toledo | by train before nightfall, and had al- ready reached Madrid by the time Senor Gabriel was killed. But the officlals held their counsel, since Jean confessed, and sent him to the Stone Prison for four years. That is why Amy Agerno is the Dancing Girl of Toledo. She is danc- ing every one of the four years away, dancing” and waiting close to the Stone House on the Barbarosa, where Toledo goes to see her and to whisper about the rumor that she knows about u murder. (Copyright. 1926.) Public land reserved as valuable for water power purposes and held for disposal in the United States now pletely into the mood of Athens, and{ were told of it by her when you stop- | totals 4,762,844eacres. A | either "t | bition | the most beautt | fortunate phrase that, bad | works in sculpture. but only would L with the world. It was announ of the : pictures. paper comment stu “It will be in kind of pair the most The newspapers fun of me. That good to resist space, and that that was u fine artist, who can be made or ruined by publicity. My experience with t tures will how re: cted from weorld."” constantly made > motion pi sh i I believe 1and > my handicap was. en Hur.” With Grecian costume, ing, I was qualified to do well with the part. I did, and it was recognized in the criticisms of the plcture. That was because I was not in the world The director said when he engaged me: as Paul Swa inother name. ¥ most beautiful man in the world stuff Il make your part ridiculous.” inew he wus right I think I could have made a cess and much money in the mot pictures i had not be for “beauty.” I dared not zo ahead with it. not even under an a ned nane After a while it would get around whe 1 was, the newspapers would pick it up, and that would be the end. Just before I decided on my recen’ exhibition, and while 1 was still plan- ning for it, I asked a friend of mine: “I don’t know if I should try it. Do you think people will forgive me for that tragic nonsense’ There have always been a few pec ple who have believed me to be a sin cere, honest worker at the plastic arts This man was one of then E he replied, “and 1 think it was my own sensitiveness that was the greatest misfortune Certainly people were prejudic against the most beautiful man, and the reputation made me absurd. But far more than that 1 was afraid they were prejudiced—and that [ was ab surd. It was a gnawing, insidious fear. It kept me back in my work and made me timid about coming for- ward with the work I did. T had been 50 dogged and intimidated by that un my case was, I imagined it much wor. During the past se 1 years I be gan to get together u large body of work. I decided to hold an exhibition which I hoped would show that I v no frivolous idler but an artist of earnest intentlon and one deserving of a certain amount of serious considera- tion. I thought I might in this way kill off the bane of “beauty.” That was the point of my recent exhibition. Did I succeed? You may believe me that I watched eagerly for an answer to that question. I think I did suc- ceed. I watched the hundreds of pe ple who came to see the pictures Of cou a one looked at me with riosity, but it seemed to me that with all when they had observed the ar of my work 1 was not so much Paul Swan, the most beautiful man_in the world, but Paul Swan, the hard work- ing artist. . <