The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 20, 1898, Page 20

: THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, MARCH 20, 1898 REASON ST. GAUDENS ’ HAS LEFT AMERICA Will Reside ;hfir/b Because of Too Much Politics in Sculp- ture Awards Here. LMOST simultaneously with the announcement that M. Car- olus Duran will next season join the winter colony of French por- trait painters who have of late years been adding both to their reputation and their fortune in this city, comes the news that Mr. St Gaudens, the distinguished American sculptor, has decided to take up his residence abroad. When Mr. St. Gaudens went abroad not long ago it was supposed that he intended to stay only a few months. But now his studio in New York has been stripped of nearly everything, it is to rent, and his belongings have been shipped to Paris. Mr. St. Gaudens is building a residence and studio in Flor- ence, and will divide his time between that city and Paris. ¥ In taking up his residence abroad Mr. St. Gaudens is only following the ex- ample of other American artis like Edwin A. Abbey, Frank B. Millet and Mr. Sargent, who find the foreign art atm »here more congenial and stimu- lating than that of America. Certain conditions prevail here which cannot fail to be rasping to a sensitive artist like Mr. St. Gaudens. Among these may be mentioned the fact that the award of public monu-= ments is often the result of politica wire pulling rather than of artis it. While Mr. St. Gaudens ma have suffered individually from this, it indirect was nevertheless cause of annoyance to him. He also cha der the criticism which was pa: on him for placing the nude figure of a man in the World's Fair award med- al which he designed. Attempts to hu ry him in his work also greatly ved him. An instance of this which became public was the effort of eMr: John A. Logan to persuade him to h ten work on the statue of her hus- band. Augustus St. Gaudens' departure will create a distinct personal void in art circles here. He is not only the fore- a most American sculptor, but is recog- nized, even in foreign art circl 1e of the leading sculptors of modern times. Such a man could not fail to have a distinct personality, and while somewhat reserved manner, espe- cially when any ¢ sion of his own work was under way, he was neve theless a figure both in art and soc circles here. He fond of 1 sic. and he ud frequent! the and at One of Mr. most mate friends in New Yo Mr. ford *“White. In regard to the actuating Mr. St. Ga i abroad Mr. White said ing Gaudens felt the absolute ne- of breathing a n the art at- He has been so mosphere of Burope. busy during the ] ot think he h more than one trip abre time, and then he r weeks. New have sprung up : Gaudens has lived there- may be said that an entirely of sculp he natur: where ever sitive to “There is uestion that art for art’s sake flourishes abroad more than it does here and that the art atmos phere over there is far more stimulat- ing than here. There h a thing ears that [ ble to make Mr. St. as art life in Europe, a gett her of artists with common ide: hich results in mutual inspiration. The pub- lic, too, takes art more serio v, and altogether the situation of affairs is more agreeable and more helpful to an artist’s self-development than the situ- ation here. “I am thoroughly informed with re- gard to his thod of work because he and I have done so much together. I shouild say that at the rate at which St. from his more arduous labors, and T presume he will occasionally turn aside to execute sculpture of this kind.” What Mr. White says about Mr. St. Gaudens’ method of werk is borne out by the fact that his most famous monument, the Shaw memorial in Bos- ton, was not completed until twelve years after he received the commis- sion for it. It was erected in memory of Robert Gould Shaw, colonel of the first regiment of colored troops which Massachusetts sent to the front, and who was killed in_the famous assault on Fort Wagner. By a curious coinci- dence it was finished on October 10, 1896, the anniversary of Shaw's birth. Yet, while Mr. St. Gaudens was oc- cupied so long in completing this work, he also executed during these twelve years much of the sculpture which has given him his international reputation. The Shaw memorial, which he was “thinking " out” durine these many years, is in the shape of a huge bronze mural tablet, 14 feet wide and 11 feet high from the base line to the center of the arch which forms its top. While his idea for the memorial always consisted of an equestrial figure of Col- Gauden enough lar yme the to Phil I one for v be recall at pi work or two othe ht of diversions y in the li onel Shaw, with colered troops in the ound, he neverthe made a in the scheme at>i time when emorial was aimost finished. De- ing everything he had done, he the work all over again. He 1 that he had not brought out figur i rh enough relief, and now finished and in place the relief so high that the figures are almost “in the round,” and the str gth of the des preserved whether you obtain front or side view of it. Mr. St. Gaudens’ cdreer is again proof that art is democratic, for so far as known there was nothing in his ances- conside: try to predispose him to art. His father was from the south of France and his mother was a native of Dublin, where Mr. St. Gaudens himself was born, in 1848. But he was only six months old when his parents came to this coun- try. ‘For many years the elder St. Gaudens had a small shoe store in Fourth avenue, near_ the National Academy of Design. Part of the Ly- ceum Theater now occupies its site. When he was 13 years old St. Gaudens went to work with a cameo cutter. At the same time he began studying draw- ing at night. For four years he was a pupil at the Cooper. n and then for two years at the National Academy of Design. In 1867 he entered the sculpture studio of Jouffroy in Paris, He remained there three years and af- terward spent three years in Italy. In 1880 his statue of Farragut, which stands ‘in Madison square upon the highly artistic pedestal designed by ‘Mr. Stanford White, statue and pedestal forming a wonderfully effective com- bination of the realistic and the imagi- native, was exhibited in plaster at the Paris Solon. The novel merits of the work were appreciated at once and re- ST. GAUDENS AT WORK of digging 50 miles of tunnels, and ev- ery foot of this vast system will be un- der Pikes Peak and the mountains that tower on each side. The main tunmnel will pass directly under the cone of Pikes Peak at a depth of nearly 7000 feet, and 2700 feet beneath the town of Victor. Its average depth from the surface will be 2800 feet, and it is. de- signed to test the mineral deposits of the territory at these great depths. ——————————— An ice breaker has been built at Co- penhagen for the Russian Government, by whom it is to be used at Viadivo- stock in cutting a passage for vessels through the ice north of the district. The performances of the ship beat all previous records, a thi.xness of twenty- two feet having been cut through for over a mile. The steel plating used in building the hull is three-quarters, seven-eighths and one inch thick in different parts. The engine horse-power is 3600. —_—————— The birth rate among the very poor of Paris is three times greater than among the very rich, according to sta- ceived the highest praise from the French critics The work made a de- cided impression when it was unveiled in this nd from that time on Mr. 'ns ha been acknowl- eds of the leading sculptors of the d: ——————————— Two gangs of wcerkmen have just begun digging in Colorado the longest tunnel whi man ever attempted to construct. The main bore will be 20 miles nd connecting this are subsid. els, with a total length of 30 So, reality, the task that has been put under way is that tistics compiled by Bertillon. - As the social scale declines there is a corre- sponding increase, ——————— Sir John Lubbock has gone to the ant again, and if he keeps up his visits nd ot imitate him, that interest- ing ins ess for Sun- s * John sue- in getting fifty ants helplessly drunk and then placed them outside an ant hill. The s ants came out, picked up their friends and put them to bed to sleep off the effects of Sir John’s liquor. The strangers, however, they sternly rolled over into the ditch. MUSEUM FREAKS HE museum freak is no longer what he or she used to be as a “money maker.” Freaks have sunk so low in public favor in this country, which once wild over a “What Is It?” that profitable “dickers” with museum man- agers are now matters of extreme diffi- culty. ‘What has become of our old favor- ftes? Are they dead, or have they gone out of the business? An old museum lecturer told me the other day that the rage for human phenomena had sub- sided; that for years the supply had far exceeded the demand. Consequently, he argued, the scale of salaries had so declined that the phenomena had either died from lack of care which their money making possibilities had form- erly provided them, like Sprague,” the “lving skeleton,” who died in poverty in Chicago; married and retired to pri- vate life in disgust, like Malcolm, the “armless wonder,” who took a mate “out of the profession,” and is now raising vegetables und a family in the environs of St. Louis; or migrated to Europe, where thelr services are in great demand, lfke Annie Jones, the bearded lady, who, tradition has it, is the daughter of a wealthy Westerner and the wife of a gymnast. ° Europe seems to have taken kindly to the phenomena, pays them “enormous * and will soon have depleted American market to the point of panic. As it is one can't fill an order for a tattooed lady off-hand. And what is to be expected when across the water the human billlard ball, the Countess Le Blane, draws $100 per week: the “fat woman” $150; the elastic man as mach as $200, and the ‘“‘two-headed boy” $500? Surely, a general exodus. ‘While the “poetical orator’'s” theory as to the present scarcity of aks may be correct, his statement of the pe- cuniary offers that tempt them to Eu- rope, and the offers they refuse for their appearance at home, is to betaken with a pinch of salt. Although in the palmy days of the side show, years ago, certain unfortunates—the Tocci twins, for example—were paid as much as $300 per week for their appearance, of late years a laborer’s wage is greedily accepted by the men and women who are billed as ‘“secured at an enormous expense.” The proprietor of a side show recently offered, for a small commission, to pro- cure an outfit of freaks for $50 per week, exclusive of expenses. It was learned upon careful inquiry that the appearance of a fat woman could be secured for $12 per week, a living skel- eton for $15, a bearded lady for §15, a tattooed lady for $8, a Circassian beau- ty for $6, an Albino for $5, a pair of armless wonders for $25, a fire eater went IN THEIR HOME LIFE for $10, snake charmer for $12—in fact, that the expenditu rarely need exceed 25. Tt must be understood, however, that a fine wardrobe, the ability to do a “sensation,” and other pow- add con- r of a id, is par- A freak. A ticularly valuable. Extraordinary monstrosities, such as two headed boys, three legged men and dog faced men, have no ted market price. They “draw” well paid accordingly, when the pear, but they lose in mon power in exact proportion a miliarity to the public inc passing of a few years reduces them to such an extent that they are content with a salary just sufficient to support themse! nd manage Nevertheles Tocci twins were paid $500 per week for a four weeks' engagement in New York, the double-headed nightingale $600 the ossified man $400. “Giants,” said the poetical orator, “come high,” and it is believed that they do—in a sense—but it is hardly to be believed that the German giant, Herr Hague, was paid $600 per week on his first appearance here, when a oncercelebrated giant, whose name the writer has forgotten, is selling tooth wash through the small towns of the State, and confesses to a ‘mighty skimpy” living. Museum freaks in New York are re- quired to be in their places at 9 o'clock in the morning each day of the week and to remain there until 10 o'clock at night, with short intervals for dinner and supper. They are subject to many petty rules, which differ with each es- tablishment, and for infringements of which small penalties are exacted. Their ‘“appearances’—they are al- ways “on exhibition”’—number as many as the performances, occasionally as many as nine in a single da; The ublquitous *lecturer,” with a prefatory, *And now, ladies and gentle- men, direct your attention to the hu- man"”—— waves his hand. The freak rises and smiles, while the lecturer, in grandiloquent phrase and with many a pleasantry, if he be able to turn them— and therein lies his own value in the sight of the proprietor—recommends him to the careful inspection of the “audience,” always concluding with, “The lady (or gentleman) will be pleased to converse with as many as may desire.” Meanwhile the freaks read yellow covered love stories; busy themselves with their “work,” or gape and muse, looking bored and ill. Few minutes’ conversations with “any one who may desire” are eagerly welcomed, for they afford a little relief to the monotony and offer the chance of the sale of a photograph or “story of my life.” More- over, “‘conversation holders,” as they are called, are always wanted by the managers. The weary round over, the skeleton wraps himself carefull great coat and mufllers; the Circassian beauty—‘never better than she should be,” a tattooed lady told the writer— dons her street costume: and joins her beau; the bearded lady’s husban strange to say, she never lacks one— appears; the South Sea Islander wash off his war paint and loosens his hai so reducing himself suddenly to civi- lization; the monstrosities who are un- able to help themselves are prepared to meet the night air by their parasitic managers—one and all hurry away to their living places or to their amuse- ments. The friends of the museum freak, properly so called, are limited strictly to the members of his profession. How- ever ignorant of the worth of his ab- normality he may have been when “discovered” and first exhibited, he goon gathers a high appreciation of it —indeed, no one has a higher—and be comes supgrcilious to a degree in his treatment of those of the public with whom necessity forces him into con- tact. A more potent influence, how- ever, is his realization of the fact that people to whom his stock in trade ap- peals will not pay to see that which, with patience, they can see for noth- ing. ‘Thus he cannot afford to cheapen himself by pursuing companionship, pleasure or even health, if need be that he pass frequently through the open streets. He spends his time at the theater and at home, concealing his identity as best he cangwhile going quickly to and fro. In former years so carefully were the freaks guarded from free exposure to the public gaze that living rooms were provided for them in the museums. So accommodated, they rarely pasged through the door from the first day of their engagement to the last. While, with the decline of public interest, these queer places have been, for the most part, closed, there is still one to be seen in New York. It is situated in the topmost story of the museum building, and ap- proached by a narrow, broken stair. Designed as a spacious curio hall, it has been partitioned off into a dozen or more straitened sleeping rooms, fur- nished as barely as dire necessity will permit. The partitions @re unpainted and unpapered, and covered, in scrawl- ing hands, with names and dates and reflections, wise and otherwise; hardly an inch of space within reach is free from such initfals as “C. T.” (possibly Charles Tripp, thfi Armless Wonder, now in Europe), and such data as “Jan. 15, 1885. Western circuit next,” to which have been added, in other hands, remarks complimentary and the re- verse—"“The Bum Freak,” "Good Fel- low,” and the like. The writer was told that if he cared to take the pains he might find written here “some me- living v in his --SKETCHES OF MUSEUM morial of every famous freak America has produced—or nearly every one.” Passing from room to room, and ob- serving the countless marks with which the four walls of each were cov- ered, the boast seemed to be well made. Night after night, ten years ago, these little rooms were lively plac and many a jcily supper was eaten in the adjoining dining room by the queer peo- ple who tenanted them. Fat women and dwarfs, giants, skeletons, canni- bals and all such, lived there together in great good humor; met at the week's beginning, parted at the week’s end to go their widely diverging ways—on the Southern, Northern and Western “clr- cuif,” with the side shows or the “big"” shew, or wherever the best chance of- fered to turn their misfortunes into money. Here they met again, eventu- ally, if death overlooked them, to re- new friendships and quarrels, to eat and sleep, to drink and gamble, even as other men do. Nowadays one or other of the rooms occasionally finds a tenant for a brief time; but the din- ing room is closed, and the freaks pre- fer to live in lodgings. New York may be called “the great museum freak center of the universe.” a lecturer said. . Engagements are made from here: the circuits have this as their starting peint, European and Vo 74 797 % THE BEARDED LADY AND THE , HUMAN BILLIARD BALL. FREAKS IN THEIR HOMES. American, and a few weeks of cv’ery} HER THIRTY YEARS EXPERIENCE IN TROUSERS Dr. Mary Walker Tells of Some of the Amusing Adventures She Has Had. WAS talking the other day with Dr. Mary Walker, the only woman in the United States who wears trousers and doesn't wish she were a man. That is her boast, and she has made an international reputa- tion by pursuing her fad. There is really nothing mannish " about Dr. Mary except her clothes, and in wearing thcm she is L. .nd to have her own way, which is distinctly a fem- inine trait. She is a diminutive crea- ture, with the thinnest of treble voices, sharp features, abbreviated hair just turning to gray, and spectacles. Her ordinary dress is a plain black suit of broadcloth, with frock coat and a. silk hat. For street wear in the winter she has a heavy brown overcoat with velvet collar and a cape, and at all times she carries a stout cane with a silver head fully as large as her fist: If she wore skirts she would look very like a little old maid. As it is, with her erect carriage, trim figure and sprightly walk she seems like a boy dressed a little beyond his years. She has been wearing trousers for thirty years and longer. Nobody knows exactly how long, for this is a point on which the doctor resolutely closes her mouth. “This is a free country,” she said, “and as I was not responsible for be- ing a woman, I failed to see the reason why I should be compelled to endure the discomforts of -skirts for a life- time simply because I didn’t happen to be born a man.” ‘When Dr. Mary was in the army she was ah ‘acting assistant surgeon with the rark of first lieutenant, and she dressed the same as the other officers. She wore trousers at that time, with a stripe of gold lace down the side of the leg; a felt hat, with gold cords, and an officer’s' overcoat. Her coat was not like that which she has since adopted, but was shaped like a blouse, cut loosely about the neck. “When I had on my overcoat, though,” she said proudly, *I looked every inch the man, and I am sure I acted it for I vas the only woman holding a commission in the army of the United States, and I am the only woman who has been grante . a medal by Congress for active military duty.” As she said this the little doctor point- ed to the bronze medal fastened with a big black-headed pin and a red, white and blue ribbon to the lapel of her coat. On the back of the medal was engraved the legend: “Presented by the Congress of the United States to Mary E. Walker, A. A. Surgeon, U. Do I ever have unkind things said to me?’ she said, echoing back my question. “Yes, of course; by ill-bred people. “The other day at the White House reception I met Mr. Wu, the Chinese Minister, who was there with his wife. When I was introduced the Minister asked me why I wore pants. I saw the question was suggested by the natural inquisitiveness of the Asiatic, and I replied the same vein, ‘Why do you r sRirts?’ ‘Because it is the custem of my country to wear them, _he replied. ‘Well," said I, ‘I wear pants because this is a free country and people are not hampered with customs.’” Then he said: "They say you are a doctor. If I was sick I would not send for you; but if my wife was sick I should.” I told him I should be glad to attend his wife or him, and, would you believe it, he has sent for me to see Mme. Wu, and I have paid her a professional visit. How was she dressed? Well, that is the funniest part of it. She hflld broad- cloth pants and a t;\nlc. She was ressed just about as I a d“l ha\"e been taken for a Catholie priest a good many times,” said Dr. Mary. “More than once people have sworn to me that I was Father So a_nd So, and they wouldn’t listen to & denial. Once at the White House a man h:lihf\l me as Brother Brown of his church in Atlanta, and when I told him he was mistaken I couldn’t get him to believe me. Sometimes the mistakes have been very funny. Young girls have tried to flirt with me and I have been simply shocked by the brazen effront- ery of some women whom I have met while traveling. One of them actually asked me how often I shaved. She thought I was a bey, and wouldn't take my word to the contrary. “Some women delight in asking ma why I don't dress like them. I al- ways tell them I buy my own clothes and I really don't see why I can’t have them cut as I like without having peo- ple asking me questions about them. I tell such women that if they will send me their gowns I will wear them. I take very good care not to say how I will wear them, and as they never send me any I am saved the trouble of ex- plaining. Orfe lady promised to send me a skirt and asked me if I would wear it as she wore hers. I told her L would put it on over my trousers and then hold it up as she did so as not to interfere with my walking. She was angry and left me. I suppose she gave me up as a hopeless case.” “Who is my tailor? Well, that de- pends. I don’t patronize anybody in particular, and I suppose I am like most other people. “So I don’t see why they should be called men’s clothes when they answer just as well for women. And that re- minds me. Why should young fellows who have been born since I grew to womanhood #&alk about my copying af- ter them. It strikes me that they are the ones who are copying after me. “I don't pretend to be a dude, and T don’t care very much about following the latest styles. I don’t care whether my trousers are cut on the American or the Persian or the Russian pattern. All T ask is that they look well and fit comfortably. “T really don’'t know,” she added, in answer to a question, “how many palrs of pantaloons I wear out in the course of a year. Not a great many, though. 1t depends on the quality of the goods. and that depends, in turn, on the pocketbook, S0, you see, it is a variable quantity. In the practice of medi- cine, of course, one doesn’t have _to wear out one's clothes very rapidly, and, besides, I think I am careful of my clothing. Somebody asked me once whether I made my own clothes. Of course I don’ 1 have too many other things to do. For foot gear the doctor wears a pair of little old-fashioned calfskin boots, and they are very neatly In evi- dence as she crosses her legs while talking. Her shirt bosom and high standing collar are immaculately white, and in her black satin tie are six gold- headed pins—the only conspicuously feminine feature of her dress. If she were a man she would be called 60 years of age. But, being a woman, nobody would ever be so un- gallant as to guess.—Copyrighted, 1898, by S. 8. Mcvlure. year are spent here. Once, at least, in every three years, it is said, every freak in the world sees New York. The fa- vorite lodging houses are scattered through that district lying on the east side below Fourteenth street for a few blocks. The extremity of discomfort may be found in most of them; some few, however, make a great pretense at ‘“ all the conveniences” and charge ac- cordingly. Annette Anderson, a bearded lady, lived in apartments on East Twelfth street, with her husband, a lecturer, and an interesting family of two little girls, both of whom gave no promise of winning fame as their mother has done; the family is said to be on the Western circuit now. Millie Army, a THE HUMAN BEAN FoLe AND THE CIRCASSIAN BEAUTY. | tattooed lady, retired, lives in a five- roomed flat street; she also has a husband and family, two remarkably bright boys, whom she keeps at the pink of neat- ness. When poor Sprague, the living on West Thirty-sixth * trombone)—That's what I say. small hotel on East Fourteenth street, where Annie Bell and Clarence Mollen, the “heaviest couple in the world,” used to reside when in the city. Mary Mar- tin, the albino, lives with her mother and sisters in Brooklyn in . enviable comfort. Millie-Christine, the two- headed negress, used to live in lodgings in East Eleventh street; Galoth, the rubber-skin man, in lodgings in East Tenth street, and many others in the same quarter of the town. Many of these people marry among themselves and live happily enough; few marry out of the profession. It is, as a matter of fact, not out of the or- dinary to find the snake charmer and the tattooed man husband and wife, or the rubber-skin man and the Circassian beauty; for by combining their attrac- tions they can increase their salaries and reduce their living expenses. Mon- strosities, of course, never marry. Of the few ‘“curiosities” now living in this city, Fiji Annie is the best known and most interesting. She, with her husband, Fiji Jim, who died recently; Fiji John, and Raumb, a dwarf, were brought to this country in 1871. They “worked” as cannibals for P. T. Bar- num in the “big” tent for seven years, all their earnings, as it developed in a lawsuit for the recovery of them, go- ing to the agent who persuaded them to come here. —_———— The Gallery’s Noisy Gods. First God (whistling anxiously acro the house)—Hi, ’Arry, where's little Billy? . Second God (returning the cat call)— Hi, ’e's swalléred his shillin’, and the cove won't let 'im in. First God—Well, of all the bloomin® blokes. (Intrepidly)—I'm off to turn Billy upside down and get that “bob™ back. First Goddess (with severity)—Sit down, Jim. Don't make a exhibition of yourself. Sit down, I say. ’'Ave done. First God (resolutely)—I'm going ar- ter Billy (endeavors to force his way out). Various Voices of Expostulation— Keep quiet—sit down—you're drunk. First God (indignantly facing his ac- cusers)—All right. Keep your ’air on. Drunk, am I? We'll soon see who's drunk. First Goddess (in minatory tones)— Look ’‘ere, Jim, it's the last time I ever come out with you, see if it ain’t. You're a disgrace, that's what you are. No, never again. Second Goddess (with the best Inten- tions)—My good woman, ’adn’'t you better take your ’usband ’ome? First Goddess (promptly returning good for evil)—Who are you a-talking to? I'm not a good woman, and this gentleman ain’t my ‘usband. No need for you to hinterfere. Second Goddess (loudly to a neigh- boring divinity)—What a hojius per- son, dear! First Goddess (with bellicose looks)— Person, indeed! There are some per- sons who'd be better at ’ome, frying their ugly faces. No, Jim, I shan't. She’s no lady. (The orchestra strikes up.) Voices (from behind, as before)— Sh! Sh! Order! Silence! Turn ’er out! 2 First Goddess (competing with the turn er out! Himpertinence! (and in such wise, until the curtain rises, wheu her attention is at once attracted to the stage.) Oh, my, Jim, ain't that beautl- skeleton, was alive, he patronized a ful? —London World. Y