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had a love affair on the roof, and during the howling
period, slipped and dropped down on his naked
body. He woke up with a scream and ran up the
Boulevard Raspail into the arms of an astonished
policeman. Every night he would come to the
Rotonde and sit beside me. He drew all the time
and I watched him. When he got too drunk to
draw he would put his head on my shoulder and go
to sleep. I was rather embarrassed and sat straight
up feeling proud but rather foolish. One day I
went to the Salon des Independants. This was the
year that Arthur Graven—the nephew of Oscar
Wilde's wife—edited a paper called Maintenant, and
wrote a criticism of the Independants. He stood
outside and sold it himself for thirty centimes. He
was at one time a champion boxer and it tickled the
French, who wrote columns about the " ex-
champion of France " who sold art criticisms outside
the " Exposition des Independants." The criticism
was very funny and a great deal of it very true. He
criticized celebrated female artists5 figures and ap-
pearance rather than their talents. Of one lady he
criticized her legs, which he did not approve of.
Her lover, a distinguished critic, took exception to
this and challenged him to a duel. He wrote in the
next column of his paper, " Si Monsieur------continue
de rrfemmerder avec ses challenges je tordrai ses parties
sexuelles" He would also write such things as,
" Nous sommes heureux d[entendre la mort de I* academicien
Jules Lefibvre" I never met him but I saw him often
sparring with negro boxers at Van Dongen's studio
on Thursday afternoons. Van Dongen lived near