Wife of the great artist, who
has stood by him through all the reverses of his early life and
been, in every sense, his guiding star.
And now began visits to the studio, a great room he had built on
to his house at New Rochelle. It had an enormous fire place where
great logs were burned, and the walls were hung with the most
rare and wonderful Indian curios. There he did all the painting
which has made him famous in the last twenty years, and all the
modelling which has already become so well known and would have
eventually made him a name as a great sculptor. He always worked
steadily until three o'clock and then there was a walk or game of
tennis or a ride. After dinner, delightful evenings in the
studio.
Frederic was a student and a deep thinker. He liked to solve all
questions for himself and did not accept readily other men's
theories. He thought much on religious subjects and the future
life, and liked to compare the Christian religion with the
religions of Eastern countries, weighing them one against the
other with fairness and clear logic.
And so we sat, many evenings into the night, Frederic and Jack
stretched in their big leather chairs puffing away at their
pipes, Eva with her needlework,and myself a rapt listener:
wondering at this man of genius, who could work with his creative
brush all day long and talk with the eloquence of a learned
Doctor of Divinity half the night.
During the time we were stationed at Davids Island, Mr. Remington
and Jack made a trip to the Southwest, where they shot the
peccary (wild hog) in Texas and afterwards blue quail and other
game in Mexico. Artist and soldier, they got on famously together
notwithstanding the difference in their ages.
And now he was going to try his hand at a novel, a real romance.
We talked a good deal about the little Indian boy, and I got to
love White Weasel long before he appeared in print as John
Ermine.The book came out after we had left New Rochelle - but I
received a copy from him, and wrote him my opinion of it, which
was one of unstinted praise. But it did not surprise me to learn
that he did not consider it a success from a financial point of
view.
"You see," he said a year afterwards, "that sort of thing does
not interest the public. What they want," - here he began to mimic
some funny old East Side person, and both hands
gesticulating - "is a back yard and a cabbage patch and a cook
stove and babies' clothes drying beside it, you see, Mattie," he
said. "They don't want to know anything about the Indian or the
half-breed, or what he thinks or believes." And then he went off
into one of his irresistible tirades combining ridicule and abuse
of the reading public, in language such as only Frederic
Remington could use before women and still retain his dignity.
"Well, Frederic," I said, "I will try to recollect that, when I
write my experiences of Army Life."
In writing him my opinion of his book the year before, I had
said, "In fact, I am in love with John Ermine." The following
Christmas he sent me the accompanying card.
Now the book was dramatized and produced, with Hackett as John
Ermine, at the Globe Theatre in September of 1902 - the hottest
weather ever on record in Boston at that season. Of course seats
were reserved for us; we were living at Nantucket that year, and
we set sail at noon to see the great production. We snatched a
bite of supper at a near-by hotel in Boston and hurried to the
theatre, but being late, had some difficulty in getting our
seats.
The curtain was up and there sat Hackett, not with long yellow
hair (which was the salient point in the half-breed scout) but
rather well-groomed, looking more like a parlor Indian than a
real live half-breed, such as all we army people knew. I thought
"this will never do."
The house was full, Hackett did the part well, and the audience
murmured on going out: "a very artistic success." But the play
was too mystical, too sad. It would have suited the "New Theatre"
patrons better. I wrote him from Nantucket and criticized one or
two minor points, such as the 1850 riding habits of the women,
which were slouchy and unbecoming and made the army people look
like poor emigrants and I received this letter in reply:
WEBSTER AVENUE,
NEW ROCHELLE, N. Y.
My dear Mrs. S.,
Much obliged for your talk - it is just what we want - proper
impressions.
I fought for that long hair but the management said the audience
has got to, have some Hackett - why I could not see - but he is a
matinee idol and that long with the box office.
We'll dress Katherine up better.
The long rehearsals at night nearly killed me - I was completely
done up and came home on train Monday in that terrific heat and
now I am in the hands of a doctor. Imagine me a week without
sleep.
Hope that fight took Jack back to his youth. For the stage I
don't think it was bad. We'll get grey shirts on their men later.
The old lady arrives to-day - she has been in Gloversville.
I think the play will go - but, we may have to save Ermine. The
public is a funny old cat and won't stand for the mustard.
Well, glad you had a good time and of course you can't charge me
up with the heat.
