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It was an idealistic world from his viewpoint, one that freed him, at least in theory, from the rules, laws, religious dogmas, which he believed were unfairly conceptualized, aimed at the limitation of an individual's natural rights. This is why he always protested the system's oppressive restriction of his activities, denying him a free choice of what he wanted from life. I believe, in thinking of this, that it was a tour de force of the first magnitude when he made an adjustment to the power of the State, achieving a kind of status quo where both sides functioned, even if it was at a level where neither side was satisfied with the results. Despite the standoff, the accomodation allowed a situation which tolerated Maurice's grave deficiences in a legal and social sense, and, at the same time, satisfied the system's need for enforcement of the law even if it fell short of what that should be. The quid pro quo approach, when you look at it carefully, was a good resolution of the differences involved, and about as good as Maurice could obtain, under the circumstances. The curious thing about Maurice's abrasive relationship with the minions of the law, was that he hadn't the slightest antagonism for them, seeing them as individuals caught up in a process where they had no choice but to fulfill their mission in life. Maurice did his thing and, conversely, they did theirs; if he got roughed up in the process, he didn't consider it to be personal at all .... This kind of thinking, astonishingly, managed to survive the alcoholism and the numerous beatings Maurice absorbed on a day to day basis. As a matter of fact, I never heard him complain about the treatment he was accorded by the authorities, accepting it as non-negotiable, the inevitable consequence of his choice to embrace a lifestyle which brought him into direct conflict with society. Collectors were becoming aware of his art, and as they fell in love with his work, they frequently became ardent supporters. "Revelation," as Tabarant expressed it, "the paradox of a poor inebriate creating high art, became the favorite topic among the sophisticates of the Paris art community." Among this group, the writers, in particular, were intrigued by the contradictions, and they fueled public interest by a profusion of articles which began appearing in the popular press and magazine publications. I think the legend of Utrillo which eventually emerged, spread his reputation everywhere, adding an aura about his life which made it something special. Collectors, reviewers, gallery salesmen, never seemed to get tired of telling and retelling the story of a poor drunk who had made it big in the art scene. As Maurice became aware of the widespread cultural curiousity about his activities, seeing his name in print as a successful artist, he was amused by the importance others attached to his accomplishment. He himself was quickly bored by any discussion of it, and he couldn't believe they would see anything significant about making a painting. Feeling superior about his talent, taking credit for it, was not, he had decided, a wise move. "God," he told me one day when I showed him an article from L'Evenement, "wouldn't approve of such a thing." And he had concluded: "The people who write such things would be much better off by turning their attention upward toward heaven," he said, pointing a finger, yellow-stained from incessant cigarette smoking, toward the ceiling, "and not spend so much time bothering with earthly concerns." Maurice's ability to concentrate on any subject for an extended period of time was severely limited; he found it impossible to keep a thought in his head very long. He had recall, if you want to describe his general philosophy, but when it came to abstract mental processes like deciding by simple deductive reasoning, he was completely lost. The sides of the river, for Maurice, were smooth, they had no meaning, and, if he touched them, he was soon back in deep water, drifting aimlessly, doing what pleased him the most, which was getting soused to the eyeballs. Paintings by Maurice were often sold before the pigment was dry on the canvas, a condition that warranted careful handling.... When, in one instance, damage did occur, and Sagot demanded that he make the repairs, my son scornfully turned his back, drank from a bottle of wine he carried with him, belched loudly, dropping the empty bottle at the dealer's feet. Maurice never retouched a picture, in my memory, after he had signed his name. When this, and other arguments developed between them, the exchanges got rough at times, pushing, screaming, cursing, and wrestling on the sidewalk outside the gallery on the Rue Lafitte, surrounded by delighted spectators, cheering them on as they made side bets on who would get the best of it.... Sagot finally solved the problem of patching up the art by hiring a journeyman artist who made fake Utrillos for the tourist trade. "You can hardly tell the difference," he told me, "and maybe there is some improvement!" Sagot never forgave Maurice, however, for his obstinacy, saying he was depressed with dealing with a pychopathic moron who had no respect for his religious dignities as a lay preacher. Then, shaking his fist at me, he added: "That lousy bastard will get what's coming to him one of these days!" Despite this hostility, Sagot realized that Maurice's art was a hot item; the paintings moved rapidly; people, all types, average citizens, bourgeois dandies, politicians, critics, even academicians, bought Utrillos. Because of this, Sagot never had a large inventory, an interesting fact, considering that most Frenchmen were tight-fisted, hard-nosed, and damned few were easy targets for dealers peddling art. The fact was that Maurice's painting was already well-known to them; they were eager to acquire a canvas, not only because of its future value, but for the pleasure of seeing it in their home. The wheeling and dealing often got hot and heavy, fist-fights were common as buyers jockeyed for position, and the purchaser often sported a few lumps on his face as he walked away with a picture under his arm. Both Maurice and Sagot became angry if a person contracted for a canvas for a specified price, and then refused to go through with the deal for one reason or another. In an example of this, they tangled with a famous actor, Dorival, noted for his roles in the French theatre. The controversy began shortly after a selling session at the Cafe de I'Abreuvoir, where Dorival had agreed to purchase a "Place du Tertre," signing a note to this effect. When Dorival reneged, Sagot and Maurice were infuriated, with Maurice charging at the actor, arms flailing in all directions, screaming obscenities, intent on avenging what he considered an, affront to his dignity. Dorival, anticipating the attack, clubbed him viciously with his heavy knobbed cane, knocking him insensible. Sagot following behind Maurice, and putting his religious scruples aside for the moment, hit Dorival neatly with a wine bottle, putting him corpse-like next to Maurice--out cold. At this juncture, the police arrived, billy clubs in hand, just in time to prevent Sagot from, hitting the unconscious Dorival again as he lay on the floor. The three of them were carted off to the 18th Arrondisement, with Dorival shouting in his best matinee voice, Sagot reading his Bible for comfort, and Maurice holding his bloody head. The Prefect Beraud, naturally, advised them to forget the incident--good advice--but unfortunately, the exchanges between the three irate individual, gained in intensity as the weeks went by; Dorival was hunted out at the Theatre Francais where he was acting in Moliere's "Les Precieuses Ridicules," a one-act prose satire, very popular at the moment. The two of them waited at the stage door for Dorival to emerge after the performance. As the actor came out, the furious argument over Dorival's reneging on the painting, began all over again. It soon degenerated into brawling, with Maurice and Sagot gaining the upper hand, sending the thespian into the gutter, his cane flying off across the street, his clothing soaked with the seepage from the drain which emptied on his head from a pipe hanging from the theatre building. Again, the policemen arrived on the run, threw the three of them into the paddy-wagon, bringing the group before the Prefect Beraud for the second time. Beraud, annoyed at being bothered with the problem again, laid down the law, threatening jail terms if they didn't come to some sort of agreement. A deal was negotiated with the reluctant Dorival who took the painting at issue at a slightly lower price; he seized the moment to make a speech about dealing with ruffians who hadn't the slightest sensitivity about dealing with a man in his position, and he told Sagot that he would give the painting to his gardener because looking at it would bring too many painful memories. Maurice was convinced he had won a great victory, that justice had been served, and that he in some way had triumphed over evil forces, although he was unable to explain what he meant when I asked him about it. Anyway, he celebrated at the Cafe Belle Gabrielle, with Sagot watching his charge carefully in the forlorn hope of reducing the amount of wine being consumed. The dealer finally gave up following Maurice after acommpanying him to the Cafe de I'Abreuvoir and the Cafe Deux-Garcons. It was evident that Maurice had his head set on a protracted drunk; it had already passed through the first stage, the critical phase, convincing Sagot that there was no further point in playing watchdog. The binge which followed was a good one by Maurice's standards; very smooth, few major problems, from start to finish. He ended up at the small gilded statue of Christ on the Cross just outside the main doorway of the Little Church of Saint Pierre, accompanied by two bummers who carried several bottles of wine under their arms. The Church usually ignored drunks sleeping or carousing on church property, letting them sleep off their problems next to the cast-iron fence, if they didn't make a disturbance, or start breaking things. Maurice and his two friends, however, made so much noise, fighting over the wine, that they eventually attracted the attention of the policeman assigned to the Place du Tertre, who immediately came to Saint Pierre, ordering them to quiet down, or face charges. Maurice, who invariably became provocative in the presence of the law, and having a pressing need to relieve himself, urinated in the collection box which hung outside the entrance to the structure. The officer reacted instantly, dragging Maurice to the jailhouse, where he was held overnight without charges. He was released the following morning at dawn, wandering around the dark streets, and ending up at the Rue Cortot, where I found him sitting on the stone steps drinking a small bottle of absinthe he had saved from the day before when he and Sagot were toasting their triumph over Dorival. Libaude, another Montmartre character, who had been hanging on Maurice's coattails for a long time, wedged himself into the situation, applying a combination of guile and intimidation. Libaude was a clever man, fully acquainted with business of dealing in art, and he knew all the tricks in the book. Libaude was a notch above the others financially; he had some capital of his own; he was not hand to mouth as a lot of his grubby competitors were. Libaude's flat at 26 Place Emile Goudeau was filled with artifacts he had purchased at the regular monthly auctions at the Hotel Drouot, a collection which included paintings, drawings, small sculptures, and a variety of Meissen porcelains which were special favorites of his. Professionally, Libaude had been in the publishing business as the editor of L'Art Litteraire, a sophisticated periodical. He was a literate and intelligent person, widely read in the arts in general, and an associate in several publications that were desseminated among individuals, mostly on a professional level, interested in the history and collation of material pertinent to the manufacture of high class dishware. Honesty didn't enter into these matters and I probably couldn't trust him any more than Soulier, but with the uncertainties facing me over someone to represent Maurice, I decided to take a chance on him, hoping for improvement, especially in a financial way, in the situation which confronted me. Inasmuch as he had already wormed into the dealing process, by-passing Sagot and Soulier easily through Maurice, I agreed, over a handshake, to cut everybody else out, and provide him with an exclusive which mandated that each painting would be recorded through me, and that we would maintain accounts that would be compared at specific intervals to make sure everything was on the up and up.

CHAPTER 8  -->

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