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'THE SUN, SUNDAY, APRIL 29, 1917. 1: It If Russian Drama Will Find Fresh Its New- Freedom Inspiration ,in Richard Ordynski and Ossip Dymow Look for Plays of Another Kind Now That the Restrictions of the Censorship Have Been Removed . IN an upper room at the Bandbox Theatre two men sat and talked tho other. day about tlio llUBslnn revolution and tho effect It will have on tho Russian drama. They were Richard Ordynski and Osslp Dymow. , Probably no other men in America from tho old drama as a man In chains In different from a man that Is free. Dymow here Ih already planning to bo hack to Russia, because nt last he can .do the work he has wanted to do. You will see, I believe, a Rreat dramatic awakening In Russia, and In Poland too. Wo had Home special restrictions are bettor qualified to discuss tho thca- j -oiniid, you know. For Instance, U tre In Russia. Both 'of them have been actively connected with It. Mr. Ordynski Is a producing manager. Mr. Dymow a playwright. One of his plays, "NJu," was given recently at tho a Historical play was prouucea in which an ancient Polish king was one of tho characters he couldn't bo called 'King So-and-so. He must be called 'Prince.' No word of reference was ever permitted to tho fuct that Poland I hnd onoo been a separate kingdom." uuuuuv. uuuci v.ic ' , ...... ,, . , ... management. Both men aro still young. Both arc radicals. In art as welt as In politics. Both have known what It was to work under tho most oppressive and most tupld censorship In the world. Both kindle with enthusiasm as they talk Of a free theatro In free Russia. "What about tho censorship under the now regime?'' I asked. Dymow made an expressive gesture with both hands. "There Is to be no censorship at all!" ho said. "You know?" demanded Ordynski eagerly. "You havo heard?" Dymow nodded. "Ahl'' said Ordynski softly, and his blue eyes the most extraordinary blue yes I bare ever seen blazed with satisfaction. There could not be n greater physi cal contrast than that between these two men. Ordynski Is a Pole, blond, square of head, with those strange eyes full of blue fire. Dymow Is not at all Russian In type. He Is black haired and" dark eyed. His face Is curiously ono sided; his mouth cyni cal. Ho has known what It Is to be watched by the police, to have his house searched, to be arrested, to be forced to flee from Russia. And these experiences have left their mark In the sombroness of his eyes, the bitter ness of his rare, smile. "There Is always one thing," said Ordynski, "that you Americans com plain of In our Russian drama. You 'ay It Is gloomy, repressed, It lacks -action. Gloomy! What else could It biT Repressed! Wasn't that the Whole spirit of the Russian people? "Ivet me tell you! Imagine a great cafe In a Russian city; Moscow, for example. Suppose you had gone Into that cafe some night before the revo lution. You would have found every table taken. There would have been perhaps 400 persona there. And-yet you would have heard hardly a sound of a human voice. If you had shut censor," said Dymow with nis cynical smile. "Once In a whllo we managed to produce a play which actually dealt with Russian conditions and every body that saw It knew that It did. But by adding a footnote, 'The action 50 cents In your money, will buy more than a dollar does here. Bo that when a Russian pays three rubles to go to the theatre It is as if you paid 13 in New York." "Yes," Interrupted Dymow: "and the students will go hungry to save the few kopecks they pay for a seat or a place to stand. I've done It myself many a time. What was dinner com pared with seeing a play? "And over there wo don't care about the happy ending you Americans are so keen about. We like serious drama, one that makes us think. And we al ways respond to the tragic note. Per haps that is because tragedy has been a common human experience In Rus sia. I bellcvo things will be different now." At this point Ordynski went off to a rehearsal and Dymow drifted Into an explanation of the'way plays are han dled In his country. He thinks the ar- Now York it probably Is shelved en tirely, In spite of tnc fact that the peo ple of Milwaukee or of Atlanta or of scores of other places might like It Im mensely, i "Even If It has a phenomenal run In New York the author receives royal ties, from only bno performance a night. Later, In cases of great suc cesses, a few road companies go out and he gets royalties from three or four performances a night But I am told that the one night stand business Is almost dead In tfls country; that thero are thousands of towns which do not get a dozen theatrical perform ances a year. "In Russia every town of any size has Its own theatre and Its own com pany. As soon as a play Is published it can be given In the most remote provincial .theatre. That means that It Is played In all parts of the country nt the same time. I have had a play given in 400 theatres on the same night. "If s production In this country has a run of 400 nights It Is called a great success. In Russia we don't have long A Recluse for the Sake of His Was .the Late Albert P. - - T 1 V T "But a Roof, a Crust of Bread and an teasel iNeeaed by the Artist, He Once Wrote, and He Lived Up to His Creed Art Ryder Br JEANNE JUDSON. HE story of Albert P. Ryder, the painter who died a few weeks ago, la the story of a mediaval monastic artist reincarnated In the twentieth century. So secluded was the life he lived, so entirely engrossed In his work was ho, that as a man he was known only to a few painters who had studied with him In the Academy of Design, and as a painter he was known only to other painters and to a few connoisseurs who bought his pictures rong beforo they were completed and sometimes waited as long as ten years for de livery. Around his unusual personality there have been woven a series of anecdotes so true In text and so fanciful In de tail that It Is almost Impossible to get at the true story ot his life. Many columns of fact and many of fancy have been written of htm, but only since his death. Albert Plnkham Ryder was born In New Bedford, Mass., and was brought runs: Our theatres all give repertory, j to New York as a child. Ho studied free than Individual speach. Iss free even than literature. "Not a line could be printed without being stamped with official 'permission to publish.' But when a play had passed the censor at Petrograd Its troubles were not over.' It had to run the gantlet of hundreds of minor cen sorships. Each town where it was produced had some little official who decided whether it might be played in fne local theatre or not. "Most of them were stupid. All of them had their personal prejudices. And It made no difference how great the author, every line ho had written was at tho mercy of come provincial nobody who liked to feel his Impor tance. The consequence was that a play could be given In one town and suppressed In another; that lines which would be permitted In Moscow had to bo changed In Kiev. It was absurd. But In Its effect on the spirit of the author it was also tragic. "Oh. the whole thing was Impossl hie!" broko In Dymow. "You cannot conceive tho stupidities of the censor ship. Imagine that there could not ' be a play in which there was a trial scene. A Jury must not be shown on a Russian stace. nor a priest, nor a funeral, nor an Ikon, nor an officer unless he was a.nlco ofllccr who talked about loyalty to, the Government. "A man might not cross himself- one of the commonest gestures In Russia. Ho might begin tho motion fair touching his forehead. But ho must stop there. Of course the audi ence knew he meant to cross himself. But he mustn't complete the gesture. ' "If tho play called for a priest we had to substitute an old man with a long beard. Everybody know ho was meant for a priest. That was tho ab surdity of It. A whole system of hid den understandings grew up. For In stance, one could not mention Social- lam on tho' stage. But If a character said, 'I demand Justice," It was under stood that he meant he wanted Social ism. "Wo could not quote, words from the Bible. Wo could not even mention tho Bible! I did refer to it In one of my nlava and tho censor demanded that I ohango It 6o I substituted tho words an old book,' und that was satlsfac tory. Everybody knew what was meant, but tho word 'lllble' mustn't -bo spoken. "Neither could wo mention God. In one play I mado a, character say, 'I swear by my God." Tho censor went up in the air, as you Americans put it. "'God!' he exclaimed. 'You can't speak of God on the stage!' "So I had to change It. Of course these wcro mere stupid details, pin pricks that Irritated you and kept hampering any freedom of expression. The situation was worse when It enmo to the subjects wo wcro allowed to handle. Wo knew by experience that It was absolutely useless to try to deal with any vital question. Action? Thero wasn't any nctlon possible, ex cept 'I lovo you' and 'Do you. lovo moV" "Then what could you deal with?" I srkffd, , The two men looked at each other and answered In the tumo words; "Tho psychology of n soul." "And now," I usked, "will there be a now drama In Russia?" "Unquestionably !" exclaimed Or dynski. "And It will be as different rsr BSssBsssjrV "1bsssssssssbsVs we bHHIV;" ' "lTsssssssssss i mm w-m sssBHsssssssssssssssH 1 I of this play takes place In Austria,' got it by the censor. "Ibsen's 'Ghosts' was produced too in spite of the fact that his plays were officially forbidden. The text was changed slightly and the name given as that of the author was not Ibsen's, but that of one of our most lncon- your eyes you would, have thought It , EpiCuous playwrights. The censor a company of deaf mutes." passed It and the play was produced He leaned forward, as If across a . Wtn great success. "When the royal table, and spoke In barely audible tca began to come to the man whose tones. name had been put on the title page "Every one talked under his breath, ne was tho most astonished person In like this! It was always so. Russia RUssia. He made quite a lot of money has had to guard every word. Can a out ot jbscn's 'Ghosts.' " people be gay under those conditions? ..Dui the Czar go to the theatre?" I And the-drama, you Know, was less as)ted. "No," said Dymow scornfully. "In ten years he never went even to the Imperial Theatre In Petrograd. He was afraid. Night after night lor years the imperial box was empty, ex cept for two soldiers, one at cither side, standing rigidly, guarding va cancy. PICHA.BD OPDYNSKt A play, even If successful, has at most two or three performances a week. But when those two or three perform ances are going on In hundreds .of towns the total number of productions climbs amazingly. And they often go on for years. "The business end of It Is very sim ple. We have the Society of Russian Dramatists, to which alt playwrights belong. The headquarters are In Petrograd, but there Is an agent In every town possessing a theatre. This agent collects the royalties for every play that Is produced In his town and forwards them to Petrograd to the headquarters Of the society. Fnotn there they are sent to the authors, wherever they may be. My royalties come to me here In America without any trouble on my part to collect them. "The agfit Is generally some local personage of more or less importance, the postmaster perhaps or a doctor or lawyer. He takes 6 per cent, of the mount collected. And ho has always two seats at the theatre. He likes that! And he boasts that he Is repre senting the great authors, and that gives him a certain local Importance. "There is no chance of anybody pirating your play. The agent knows of every production and If his demand for royalties Isn't complied with he simply tells the police to shut up the theatre, and there you are. The sys tem works excellently for every one concerned. The people see the best plays and see them as soon as they are published. And the author's In terests are safeguarded without his lifting a finger. "I believe that with the growth of local stock companies in America you will adopt some such system here. As It is now a man Is always wondering If some obscure company off some where Isn't stealing his play for a week." "But we have one advantage.' I said. "With our system of travelling com panies the best actors do go to other cities than New York. In Rus sia apparently they stay at their home theatres In Petrograd or Moscow." "No, not always. A famous actor often goes on a tour to different cities. But he doesn't take with him a whole company and all the paraphernalia of scenery and so on. He doesn't need to. Every place he goes he finds a trained company ready to support him. It Is as If your Mr. Arllss were to visit a dozen cities like Rochester, Buffalo, 'I Cleveland and Detroit and play "DIs- "Ho, had a small theatre In the rangements aro better than they are I raeI1' with a good local company. It Is palace at Tsarskoe-Selo, and occa sionally he had a company play there. But he has the Intelligence of a child. here, "When I write a play," he said, "I first submit it to tho censor. If he The onjy plays he cares for are one act passes It I have it printed myself. I rarces, stupid, crude tilings or me Kino, own the copyright, which extends that appeal to the commonest, unedu- through fifty years. The publisher ad- cated people. I've been told by those vertlses the play, Just an a book Is ad who saw him that he would langh Im moderately over these farces. 'And yet he had absolute authority over every author in Russia. It was by the Czar's personal order that Maxim Gorky's play 'A Nights Ixdg Ing' was suppressed. He Is he Is an Idiot! Do you wonder that men writ ing under the shadow of such condi tions produced gloomy plays?" "And yet our people love the thea tre," said Ordynski. "In proportion to their means they pay more than you In America to see a play. The best seats in a Russian theatre cost three rubles. But a ruble, which is about vertlsed In this country. It Is then i available for production In all the the atres in Russia. ' "Our whole theatrical machinery Is different from yours. Every house has its own company what you call a stock company. And nny theatre, great or small, can produce any play by pay ing the required royalties to the au thor. "In America a play Is bought by one manager. Generally ho produces It In New York. San Francisco has to wait a year, two years, to see It. Hundreds of smaller towns never get a chance to see It "at all. If It doesn't succeed In a very satisfactory arrangement.' "Will most of the Russian dramatists welcome the revolution?" "Most of them!" exclaimed Dymow in surprise. "All of them! All writers In Russia are radicals. If there are a few exceptions, men who have written In support of the bureaucracy, they In the Academy ot Design and It was here that he formed the few friend ships that lasted through his life. Ho never went abroad to study, and did not go abroad even as a traveller until lato In his life. He was essentially an American painter and an individualist It was his desire to be original and to keep his work uninfluenced by the work or the thoughts of others that led him to live the life of a recluse. As one painter said, "He was the Thoreau of painting." His Dlctures were the expression of his thought, 1 nnd ho feared to color that thought by any outside Influence. Innumer able stories have been told of how the artist died In poverty, cared for by friends during his last years. This was true onlv Hi a mmtvirn. tlve sense. Albert Ryder was never ' in abject poverty. There was always a ready sale for his pictures, but his positive refusal to ever let a picture leave his studio until he himself was perfectly satisfied with it mado checks come far apart and he never be came rich, as he might easily have done. And though his pictures are now worth thousands of dollars, the ' prices for which he originally sold them were much smaller. In 1915 ho became 111 and was In a hospital for several weeks. Need forced htm to sell a picture, a thing which he al ways disliked doing, for his pictures were like children and he loved them. He received $500 for a small painting which to-day Is valued at 115,000. Alone in his small room, not a studio In the accepted meaning of tho word, Ryder worked over his paint ings, oblivious alike ofthe reproach of relatives, the praise of friends or the demands of dealers. His futher and brothers, all of whom are now dead, discouraged his career, as much as possible. They thought he was wasting time. Sometimes a dealer heard of htm and came to see him In his room, and usually the dealer went away with the Impression that Ryder was either a fool or crazy. The room was filled wrth a miscel laneous collection of things, few of which had any connection with art. In front of the grate was a heap of ashes; f)lles of newspapers heaped In comers. Nothing was ever dusted or ever moved. He never ex pressed any desire to sell his work, though he did sell to thoso few peo ple who knew his genius nnd were willing to wait. To the outsider his workroom was merely a place of dirt and disorder, but ho himself had a very different Idea of It. Ho once wroto the following description: ! "I have two windows in my work- shop that look out upon an old garden whose great trees thrust their green i laden branches over casement silK i filtering a network of light and shadow on the bare boards of my floor islllllMBBsnsllBlllllllK!altalBllli'Blllllllllll rrfjjllllllHfjjillHHIl'ijl'ijl'ijlH n siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisiiiiiiiiHiiasBiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHHi - IbIIIoIIIHbIIIIIIIIIIIHbibIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIB !m slllllllllslllflBllBKMBlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllHM ijHf9B1..111H i ' i; l.lalHHHisaaHslsHHsHHBHsH i rhoto by Alice Oouchton. Albert Pinkham Ryder. had formed so thickly that It gave the effect of a skull cap. I spoke about It, but he asked me not to dis turb the dust; he said he liked tho effect He lived very simply, cooking many of his own meals over the grate fire. I often drank coffee with him there. In his genuineness nnd sim plicity he extended his hospitality ns graciously aa If he had been living tn a palace. On various occuslons I asked him to meet friends of mine, but he always refused. Ho was cour teous about It, but hedUl not like, to meet strangers. Ho always said, 'Come yourself; you nre always wel come, but I don't want to meet any were . new people.' " Other painters who were his Intimate frltnds aro .7. Alden Weir, now presi dent of tho academy where they both or the photographer. In an old copy of the Broadicay Magazine I found a' story about Ryder and his art, and from this magazine may be pained such knowledge of his philosophy us has ever reached the general public. His writing explains why ho spent twenty years on one picture and why he was afraid to mingle with the world. He wrote: "Art is long. The artist must biu kle himself with infinite patience. His ears must lc deaf to the clamor of in sistent friends who would quicken his pace. His eyes see naught but tho vision beyond. Ho must await tho season of fruitage without haste, with out worldly ambition, without vexa tion of spirit. An inspiration Is no more than a seed that must be planted and nourished. It gives growth as It studied, and Charles Melville Dewey, ' grows to the artist only as he watche who Is also a friend of his student and awaits with lils highest elTort. days. Mr. Dewey has many stories to So i!,(ier watched and waited over Ryder ,3 pictures, and neither hl own need tell of tho artist's shyness. have been made to feel that they were outside the fellowship of Intellectuals. If n man did write anything tainted with reactionary spirit well, we didn't see him after that. "No, the men who have made Rus sian drama what It Is, made It In f pile of Indescribable, difficulties and dis couragements, aro heart and soul In sympathy with the new Government. I am going back; myself to work for Russia. II believe we shall send you dramas that will reveal a whole new life of a people that has never before been, able to express Itself freely." visited Mr. Dewey frequently, but al- of tnoney nor t),c Importunities or ways telephoned in advance to make , thrests of the man who had probably sure that no one else would be there. pn,i for lt ftvo years previous could If he found that Mr. Dewey was going mlllu. nlm Kemj ono 0t 0f iua studio to havo other guests he would not unlli i,c was satisfied that It was com- come. His avoidance of people was not en tirely shyness but was partly a result of his firm conviction that meeting plete. Again he wrote: "The canvas I began ten years ago I shall perhaps complete to-day or to-mnrrna- It tins l!nn HneniniT under Beyond the low rooftops of nelghlK)r- people detracted from his work. As . ...nltpht nf the vears that come Ing houses sweeps the eternal firma- i ho expressed it. "It breaks me n for um, BO u ,s not mt n c:lnV!l, should ment with Its ever changing panorama days when I meet new people." worhe(, ati It ls a wlsip nrtst wj,0 knows when to cry 'half In his com- of mystery and beauty. I would not , If Albert Ryder had not devoted his exchange these two windows for a lire to painting no might nave done palace with less a vlston than this old ) equally great things in literature ns a garden with Its whispering leafage. , poet nnd philosopher, for he wrote nature's tender gift to the least of her , both poetry and philosophy. Many of little ones." ' his poems wero descriptive of his But the dealers and even the artists paintings, and tho poetry of others who came to visit Ryder did not see ' wan the inspiration fur much of his these things. Albert Groll, tho pnlnter, who was one of his close fricndB, told , me about his studio. "On the floor sat a bust of Shake speare, on the top of which the dust position, but lt should be pondered over In his heart and worked out with prayer and fasting." The painter's amusements were very few; he delighted In tho conver sation of his few friends, but he never work. attended so-called bohemian parties. While he avoided meetinsr people he Ho nover drank, yet he seldom rose was never rude, and during his before noon. He would go out nt seventy-three years of life ho did not dusk and take long walks, not city entirely escape either tho interviewer J walks, but miles out Into tho country THIS POLICEMAN AN ART LOVER AND COLLECTOR OF PICTURES Wl HEN the Municipal Art Society the course of Its campaign for beautifying the bare and barren places which afflict city prop erty submitted colorful designs with which to embellish the -walls at Police Headquarters the artists assured Com missioner Arthur Woods that their de signs were mural gems. Tho Com missioner didn't know. His Job -was commissioning and In the general bustle of looking after some 11,000 policemen his art periscope had be come rather dusty. "Have some of your art connois seurs In the department pass Judgment on the pictures," was suggested. The Commissioner referred to his pollco "Who's Who." This, It may bo said for the Information of thoso who know nothing about the department except that It dresses In blue, wears brass buttons and carries a club, ls an exhaustive record showing Just what each policeman has done and can do. It was compiled as part of the pre paredness programme for use In caso of emergency. A careful search re vealed blacksmiths, stenographers, butchers, engineers, clerks, plumbers, masons, tailors, soldiers, sailors, doc tors, bakers, tinsmiths, Indeed men of practically every occupation, but noth ing appertaining to art. , "I've got everything but an art ex pert," said the Commissioner In cha grin. The boast of the police officials that no matter what kind of Job-the department had to undertake they al ways had somebody who knew some thing about Hiat particular subject had apparently been torpedoed. But only for a while was there a vacant line on tho roster. Now if tho Art Society or some other organization comes around with pretty pictures to doll up the puritanical walls the Com missioner can push tho electric button on his desk and tell tho trim officer who answers, "Summon Patrolman Dugan, I'vo a bit of art I'd like him to Investigate." And thero you are. Tho Commissioner would get an ex pert opinion, for John Dugan knows art and artists. In his home at 401 Halscy street, Brooklyn, he has a col lection which would be the envy of many a man whose automobile rolls up Fifth avenue. For more than a score of years tho quiet, phlegmatic police man who has been going about with his thoughts apparently' concentrated on tho various functions of a cop has been collecting these brush gems In nil kinds of out of tho way pistes. Art Is his hobby and he knows the old masters and their styles as well as be knows the rules and regulations of the Police Department, for Dugan Is a model policeman. Ho lias received a commendation tor excellent police duty In rescuing a boy from drowning in 1912. Also there are no marks against him during his long service. Eight years after his birth In Ire land. In 1868, his father canio to America. They settled In Brooklyn. Young Dugan took the isual Irish lad's Interest in politics, nnd for a long time It was a tossup whether ho would become one of Tammany's henchmen or don the uniform. Tho blue coat, won, and on April 18, 1806, John Dugan was enrolled on the force and started to pound his bent in tho Second precinct. Whllo rated by his sergeant as a good dependable cop his career was not such as to bring him Into flaring prominence. He made no sensational arrests, he got Into no particular dif ficulties. He was Just the ordinary cop. He enjoyed life as It came with .no particular thought of tho futuro and no overwhelming ambition to be satisfied. Such was John Dugan during his first year of swinging a nightstick. Then he got his first vacation, and decided to spend lt in pucbec. In that city of history and romance, with the frco and easy good fellowship of the Irishman he becamo very friendly with a young artist. The artist en deavored to Interest the cop in his hobby, and strange to say the cop found It very attractive. Day after day, during the long vacation hours, they frequented the galleries, the artist pointing out paintings and ex plaining tneir vniuc. That vacation trip proved a turn ing point for Dugan. He was no longer Just a plain cop engaged in the somewhat rough practice of keeping the peace. Ho had a hobby. Because he was a true fan ho determined to know all about his hobby. I When his tour of duty on patrol was finished Instead of going off with his brother patrolmen to havo a good time ha went to tho public libraries and art galleries and spent hours In studying pictures. Ho read books about painters and paintings. Ho began to acquire a library. History appealed to him and as much of his salary as he could spare after buying pictures he spent for books. He spent his vacations travel ling around the country and probing Into all sorts of odd places In tho hopo ho might find some art gem. One day tn a dark Uttlo furniture store In the old French quarter of Quebec ho came across a picture. It had been there so long and received such rough treatment that tho frame was hulf torn off and tho canvas scnttched. It showed an old time har bor with a mediaeval castle frowning down upon some frigates at anchor. In the left hand corner, no covered with dust and dirt as to be almost Illegible, was the signature "Joseph Vernet." Before -the dealer recovered from his surprise -that any one should be willing to pay him the price he asked for the old painting Dug.in had the treasure under his arm. It was "Tho Harbor of Bordeaux from the Castle of Trompctto" and the signature was that of a famous marine painter. Vernet, who lived from 171" to 1789, was commissioned by King Louis XV. to paint twenty seaports of France. After finishing fifteen the painter grow tlrod of travelling and never completed his task. Tho old picture wajt one of thoso completed. To-day, cleaned up nnd In a massUe frame. It forms one of the policeman's collection. A few feet nw.xy from Vernet's ple turo Is a canvas about 4H by 3 feet. It represents a beautiful woman evi dently In deep contemplation. Across her kncc.s Is an ancient manuscript. So delicately sketched that it seems as much a part of the plcturo ns the pwullnr red slrailed robe, ono sees a fnlnt halo about her head. Tho face resembles that of tho .Madonna. W'ti l ii ii i j i j. .y j ii. i 1 i'1' j j..'1.. ii"L!i j'L'U'ii mrJiU n t n i mm i mm i n "T" mi m m n m m Fi imi T.r mi iniiiiMinimaa - ( Patrolman John Dugan. art collector, It was nearly a dozen years ago that Dugan first saw this painting. Then It was in the rear of a furniture store in Montreal. Attracted by the peculiar red In the plcturo Dugan made, a close examination of it. Many an hour the patrolman had spent in art galleries admiring tho canvas Jewels of Tin toretto, the Italian master who painted during the sixteenth century. Be cause of the unusual shade of red fro qucntly used in his works It was called after him. Dugan knew that. Through an Interpreter, because the dealer spoko only French, he arranged the purchase of the canvas. To tho shopkeeper It was simply a picture true, a rather nice one, but then only a picture. Tho patrolman bought It for a song. Experts who havo ex amined It have pronounced It tho work of Tintoretto, a picture of tremendous value. And so it lias been with most of the collection which each year has In creased In numbers. The hours spent in Btuny after the tirlnc -work nf being a policeman on patrol have brought their reward. Dugan learned l the real things In art. At an auction sale In Utlca a paint- Ing by James M. Hart, "Summer Memory of Berkshire," was knocked duwn to "tho heavy set man with the Irish brogue," for a few dollars. Said the auctioneer with n laugh, "You'm getting a great bargain thero, Paddy. If you hud nil tho money that picture is worth you would not need to carry a dinner pall." "It's myself knows that better than you," -wiia thn dry retort ns ho counted j tho change from tho bill ho had given, Ah a policeman of 21 years, Dugati draws a salary of $1,100, ills entire year's pay would not begin tn buy any ono nf a number of tho paintings he has, yet with such skill has ho made his purchases that outside of do ing without many little luxuries he has not missed tho money thus spent, "Westphalia," a canvas 43 by 31 In New Jersey, not returning until daylight. Then ho would go to bed and sleep until 1 or 2 o'clock. Of tho few existing photographs of Albert Ryder, tho most recent was taken a few years ago by Alice Houghton. He posed for this nlcttire because his friend Arthur Davie, tlx pointer, asked him to do It. Having met Miss Boughton ho asked her tu visit him and she went. Few people refused an Invitation to his disordered room on West Ninth street She aj. mired a canvas which had been standing In a dark corner for years and was covered with dust and wanted to movo lt to tho light for a better view. Mr. Ryder calmly dipped a spongt In water and washed the picture with lt "They say lt isn't good for them," he said, "but It will brighten lt up to that you can see lt." This was one of his many Incon sistencies. He loved his pictures, he would not let them go for years, but he took no care of them. Later h formed the habit of washing off pic tures with coal oil, so that somo of them turned so black as to bo mlnci completely. Only once did romance In connec tion with a woman enter Into his life, and then it was more love of music than love of the woman that influenced him. His friends were constantly trylnr to persuade htm to live In more luxur ious surroundings, and once a friend did persuade him to move Into a real studio, which ho had fitted up for hi use. For days Ryder was quite miser able In his comfort nnd had about de cided to leave when ho heard a violin being played next door. Ho was n passionately fond of tho violin as of poetry and for the sake of the music he decided to remain. The' player wis a woman and one day, without pre- . vlous Introduction, ho called on her ( and asked her to marry him. Whether ' the woman refused or accepted Is not known, but friends of the artist heard of his Impetuous action (he was by no means young nt the time) und Daniel Cottier, a dealer, took him away on his first trip to Europe. It was Cottier who "discovered" Ryder and who Introduced him and his work to the few people who now possess tho greater number of hl paintings. It ls a lamentable fact that very little of his work is owned by Americans. The late Sir William Van Home, E. P. Orcenshlelds, John Gel latly and Sir William Drummond, all Canadian, were his constant patrons ami bought most of his best work. Thee men usually paid for tho pictures In advance and thtn waited years for delivery- A few of his good pictures are s: part of the Alexander P. Jtorton eat nnd one or two other Americans ov- TA few, but it Is improbable that nr of these pictures will be put on sale at least for many years. A few pictures also are scattered among dealer?, but even dealers ore not anxious to part with Ryder canvases. One client of Ryder's told him that when he died he Intended to leave n structlons that the hearse should stop before Rytler's door. "Perhaps then you will deliver the painting," he sa il. "If It isn't finished. .ou can't have it even then,'' said Hjder. His friendship for the Fltzp-itrteto at whoso home in Elmhurrt I. I he passed tho last three months of life, began fifteen years ago Thev were his neighbors when he I ved in his room on Ninth street and Mrs Fltzpatrlck tool; a gie;it ln'eiest In him, caring for him when he w.-is III and seeing that be was properly fed In return Mr Ryder taught her to paint. His gratitude for any Kino ness and his sincere friendship for those few people 'whom he knew nnd trusted are proof that ho did not live his secluded life because be dlslike'l people, but because lie thought he d d not havo time for them and for paint ing too. He was as careless about hln r'ron aa about his lodgings, but nature hnd given him features ot unusual sym metry and his expression was one of kindliness and peace. Mr. Dewey, who was made adminis trator of his modest estate, deseriMi his appearance as noble. "In de.i'h H looked like the old paintings n? -e Christ," he said. Of himself, the artist wrote 'The RTtlst needs but n rW a "'!" of brend and his easel, and all t e re't Ood gives him In abundance lb ml't live to paint nnd not pa'nt tn live H cannot be a good fellow : be s rsrelv a wealthy man, and upon f o rot boiler ls Inscribed the eplt.ph of his art." I inches, one of thn works of '"' Klerstadt, was purchased nt n" ac tion sale In a little up-Ptate t.n- Tvf owner had failed and wn foi.e. to sell everything he owned T e n'i'- tioneer did not know the picture nnd Pim.ui bousbt i' nominal sum. One afternoon Diigan go ii: from patrol, glanced up from l. when the trolley car Mopped ' store window was the head of ' terrier. He got off tile iiir a"-' In tho shop. Five minutes 1 came out with the picture in arm and a smile of i-.itsfai-ti Ills face. He wns very little i- pecuniarily. Tho head was fro" brush of Sir Francis t Inint who.' tho last century becamo fnni" -s cause of Ills animal painllng" Durlnc a vara! inn In the !;' Dugan visited nn old mansion. On he wall of one room was a t-cene In Hol land. It was painted bv Daniel Ruts' way Knight, and when once more tV cop camo back to New York and '' patrol another was added to the inaJ' tcrpleces of Ills collection. And so It goes with nearly nil the painttnfj which 1111 the rooms nml hallwavs that Brooklyn home To Dugnn Ills pictures hid Ills P"l' He has given n score of ve.us to col lecting them nml he knows enei ' brush stroke nml twist lie i e tired of pointing out those sin.i ' fercn'cos in technique, the bl- ini ' colors and other clwiracteristn w distinguish ono muster from - b" nth