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MODEL OF A WAR-SHIP OF THE LATTER HALF OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY This remarkable model, constructed to show on one side the method of arranging the timbers of a ship, is owned by the New York Yacht Club, to which it was presented by Mr. J. Pierpont Morgan.
man has an Italian war-ship of the eighteenth century, several full-rigged merchant-ships, and some small craft. Mr. Clarke numbers among his possessions a fine model of an early sixteenth-century Dutch admiral's ship, a copy of one abroad, which he had made for him in Switzerland, the work of making it requiring nearly a year. One of the finest models owned in the city is made of red lacquer, and it may be said truly that this stunning production has aroused feelings of friendly envy in the breast of more than one New York collector. It belongs to another artist.
Still another New York painter rejoices in the possession of several interesting models obtained in Portugal. One of the rarest models in New York was found abroad by Stanford White and was presented to the New York Yacht Club by J. Pierpont Morgan. Its ornate stern appears at the head of this article. It is known as the Royal Sovereign, but cannot be identified as the model of any of the famous British fighting-ships of that name. Mr. White was so enthusiastic over it that he declared it the finest model in existence. Below the water-line it is not
planked, and the construction of the stem and stern-post can be plainly seen and clearly studied. It represents an English ship of the latter half of the seventeenth century. The librarian of the British Admiralty, after endeavoring to identify it, wrote as follows to the model committee of the yacht club:
"My assistant has carefully compared the photographs with the models of the period at the Royal United Service Institution and at the Naval College Museum at Greenwich, but has been unable to find any corresponding model, and we can only conclude that your model is one which escaped retention in England at the time when, by order of His Majesty William IV, the models at Kensington palace were transferred, in 1830, to the Naval College at Greenwich."
Another interesting model at the club is that of the Half-Moon, which was made in Holland at the time that the reproduction of the Half-Moon was constructed and sent to New York for the HudsonFulton celebration. One of Mr. White's models appears in the illustration of the "Lilliputian Shipyard," where there is also a stern view of the Santa Maria.
SPEKTOR IN SEARCH OF A MODEL
BY HERMAN SCHEFFAUER
WITH PICTURES BY JAY HAMBIDGE
BIG man he must be," cried Pinchas Spektor, the little Russian sculptor to his assistant Yuski Golubok-"big, with long hair. And strong arms he must have, and a beard what curls and is long -my prophet, my nowi. And with a nose like an eagle,-positively,—and, first of all, a Jewish man he must be, an old one, a healthy one, a big one, a stern one-my prophet. Such a type,-see, Yuski?— such a one, and so."
With a few strokes of his wire modeling-tool he traced a patriarchal Hebrew head upon the surface of soft clay before him, and then completed it with the muscular torso and legs of a Samson. Yuski Golubok paused in his task of sprinkling the gray mass in the clay-bin, and looked critically at the outline that the sculptor drew. The eyes of lean little Yuski, Spektor's faithful man-of-all-work, were black, his arms sinewy and hairy, his face
was rodent-like, but filled with a crafty humor.
"So a nowi is a hard thing in this city to find by the Jews," said he, cocking his cropped head. "Demetropolis the Greek he is big in his body and has a big beard." "A Jew he must be," replied the sculptor, vehemently-"a Jew; for the monument is of a Jew and for a Jew and by a Jew. Am I the Almighty that I can shape a Greek into a Jew? No; I will go out looking, and find yet my model for my monument."
Yuski tittered and resumed his sprinkling. Spektor slapped his soft, dusty hat upon his tumbled locks, thrust his hands into his pockets, strutted to a lime-covered revolving-stand, and removed a soiled damp cloth from something that stood upon it. A beautiful model of a statue was revealed, an heroic figure of Moses, half clad in a fluttering robe, standing upright on the summit of Sinai, his kingly head upraised, and two massive stone tablets in his stalwart arms. Fondly Pinchas contemplated this offspring of his fancy. By October 17 it must be finished, cast in imperishable bronze, and erected in an open spot on Delancey Street. Ludwig Samoschein, the multimillionaire banker, had given him the commission, and this was Spektor's first important work since he had come to America from Warsaw.
"By October 17," Ludwig Samoschein had said, "on my birthday, the statue must be unveiled."
Ten thousand dollars was the price he had agreed to pay to Spektor. This monument of the great Hebrew lawgiver was to be a gift to the people of the East Side and to the city. "October 17, October 17, 17," rang in the ears of the sculptor. Only four brief months! Would he ever be able to find a suitable model for his great nowi Moses? Ever in his sight upon its pedestal against the wall there glowered, like a vigilant taskmaster, the saturnine, mocking plaster bust which Spektor had made of the banker. Carefully he replaced the damp cloth to keep the clay plastic, left his barnlike atelier near Washington Square, and, sharp-eyed on his quest, went forth to roam the streets of the East Side. The sun was bright in Seward Park. The mutter of the rushing multitudes, the rattle and rumble of wagons, the calls of push-cart men, the shouts of boys and
screech of girls, made a stunning din and pother; but on the benches sprawled, dozed, and nodded countless shabby and dingy forms, lethargic, listless, basking and blinking in the sun. Pinchas Spektor caught sight of a figure on one of the benches; his eyes shone, his artist's heart gave a sudden leap, and hastening, he stood in rapt admiration before the man.
Large of frame, long of limb, venerable, yet robust, his massive head resting upon his hand, his face half turned to the sun, his long gray locks straggling over his rugged temples, his nose bold and aquiline, and his forked gray beard covering half his chest, the old Hebrew sat upon the bench with eyes closed and legs crossed. His Moses at last, in the flesh! Spektor stood in awe before the snoring patriarch, not daring to wake him. Then, strolling along the walk, came a policeman. With a deft thwack of his club upon the upturned, gaping sole of the old man's boot, he brought him suddenly upright and widely awake, then went whistling on. The gray-head glared, and muttered a curse in Yiddish. Spektor approached him delicately, joy in his heart.
"A swine," said he, sympathetically, "a brute-a brute of blue and brass. You are busy, what?"
The old man raised himself to his great height and looked down upon the sculptor with large and brilliant black eyes. Surprise replaced the anger in his look, scorn the wrath in his voice.
Am I busy, you say? Are you meshugge-crazy? Very busy am I. Have you eyes? So busy am I that I waste no time on loafers what ask foolish questions. For three days and three nights have I been busy sleeping on this bench."
"Do you want a job?" asked Pinchas, timidly.
"A job?" said the old man, suspiciously. "What, at my age shall I work yet, an old man, a raven of the Lord? I gets enough to eat."
"It is not work," answered Spektor; "it is rest-rest with wages. It is only still to sit with some of your clothes off, and I make a statue of you-a monument."
The patriarch's coal-black eyes narrowed with distrust. Elaborately Pinchas Spektor told of the necessity of finding a model for his Moses. The old orthodox
Israelite drew himself up, his dark eyes sparkled with fire, he grew rigid with holy indignation, and shook his finger in the little sculptor's face.
"Moses," he cried, "a monument of Moses! Abomination! And it is a Jew you are, you mensch? A Jewish maker of images? A black sheep you are-an Epikuris. By our father Abraham and all the host of Israel, by the seraphim, listen to me to me, who for five-and-thirty years have stood and worshiped in the synagogue Sherith-Israel! By the Moses you mock, listen with your wicked ears!
like Isaiah His long
The old man stood there cursing the daughters of sin. beard wagged, his eyes blazed, his voice was like thunder. A crowd had gathered. Pinchas Spektor fled.
He fled so hurriedly and blundered along so blindly that he collided with a push-cart man and spattered himself with the brine that splashed from the tubs of pickles. One tub fell into the gutter; a swarm of urchins pounced upon it. The angry peddler grasped Pinchas by the arm. Pinchas looked upon him. Again a nowi, again the long-sought model for his Moses!
Have you such a donkey become not to know Moses himself it was what said: "Take ye therefore good heed unto yourselves, for ye saw no manner of form on that day that God spake unto you in Horeb out of the midst of the fire; lest ye corrupt yourselves, and make you a graven image, the form of any figure, the likeness of male or female'? And you of Moses himself, the prophet, would an image make! And you would have me-me, sit for model for that! Sacrilege, I say; abomination! Shame upon you! Old am I and poor, but by the high Awrohom Owinu, my hands paralyzed shall be before I do such wicked things! I spit upon your job. A curse upon your evil works!"
"I will pay," said Pinchas, "for the pickles damaged," and thrust a dollar into the grimy hand. It was a large hand, too, and Pinchas, measuring the man with his sculptor's eye, began to admire and, admiring, to covet him. The beard, the locks, the features were not quite so fine as those of the park-sleeper, but still it was a passable model. Again Pinchas drew a roseate picture of ease and good pay as he made his seductive offer. The push-cart man made no objections on the score of orthodoxy; but he said:
"My Sarah first I must speak with, and my son Asher Goldenski."
"Come, then," said Pinchas, "at once." "My pickles are not all sold already,"