International studio (34.1908)

Franz Courtens, Flemish Painter

and gesture so marked that the master’s short pipe
—his inseparable companion—is almost always
out.”
In what is he most keenly interested ? In paint-
ing, of course. But he is not much inclined to
long dissertations. Very curtly he emits his ideas
by displaying his canvases one by one before his
interlocutor. His works, even the most important,
are hurriedly inspected ; the artist and his factotum,
“Jef,” throw them aside in one direction or
another, giving one the barest time to see them;
and when they are all gone the visitor feels that
there must be more somewhere—in the studio, in
the hall, in the drawing-room, even in the garret.
Then, as though quite worn out—as he might well
be with less exercise — when peradventure his
visitor chances to be agreeable, which is always the
case, seeing that the master is
careful to exclude the bore, will
come the command: “Jef, go
and fetch a bottle of cham-
pagne,” and we drink the wine
as rapidly as we had seen the
pictures ; and we talk—or, rather,
Franz Courtens talks—no longer
of his feverish painting, but of
the miscarriage of justice of
which he declares himself to be
the victim ; of the off-hand way
in which artists are treated in
Belgium; of the successes he has
won abroad; of his connections
with foreign Courts—especially
the little German Courts ; of the
decorations bestowed upon him
(quite unimportant things, to his
mind); of the superb, astounding,
colossal sales he has had in
Germany, England and France.
From his childhood he was
attracted by the pleasure of
drawing and painting. His father
was somewhat uneasy about this
distraction, which the mother, on
the other hand, quietly en-
couraged. About this period
the two excellent landscape
painters, Jacques Rosseels and
Isidore Meyers, were acting as
professors at the Academy of
Fine Arts at Termonde, and
young Courtens obtained permis-
sion to attend the Sunday class
only. In a very short time his

parents found themselves unable to repress him
further, and they decided to let him go entirely in
the direction of his favourite study. But there
came a day when the father, on the death of one
of his sons who had been his chief help in the
business, found it necessary to replace him. There-
upon he summoned young Franz, and told him it
was time he devoted himself to serious things and
gave up “the pleasures of the chase.” The ‘ chase,”
to the paternal mind, meant the visits of his little
son to the country, whither, painter’s kit in hand,
he would betake himself, and, face to face with
Nature, obstinately demand from her the secrets of
light and the means whereby to fix that light on his
canvas. Franz made no reply, but his mind was
made up on the spot. Packing his bag immediately,
he borrowed twenty francs from a friend, and


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