“The artist,” he declared--and it seemed to her that he was talking to himself--“The artist should approach nature with great reverence.” [Illustration: BORGLUM WORKING IN FIRST IMPROVISED STUDIO AT STAMFORD] [Illustration: “DR. TRUDEAU,” THE BELOVED PHYSICIAN] He left the class for a while when he went to work with William Keith, an artist in San Francisco. Gutzon was an extravagant admirer of Keith, who was called the “Grand Old Man of California Painting.” He stayed in his class for several months. During that same period he took a short course under Virgil Williams. Mrs. Turner vividly remembered his home-coming and how his old students reassembled with him for outdoor sketching. But he was not long for his old ways. He had painted a picture called “Stage Coach” and some rich man had seen it. There was an immediate furor over the picture and Gutzon. And so presently he went to Paris to study. “He won prizes,” Mrs. Turner mentioned, “and he was greatly admired.” And then we have the memory of Bob Davis, onetime editor of _Munsey’s Magazine_ and a columnist for the New York _Evening Sun_. In his California days he was a printer’s apprentice with a job near Gutzon’s studio. Davis describes Gutzon’s studio thus: His walls were the most fascinating thing in my life. They were hung with pictures of stage coaches and horses leaping at you from every direction. These things were painted in oils and I thought they were the finest things in California. He also modeled in clay and chiseled a bit in stone. During the lunch hour I visited his studio and struck up a friendly acquaintance. He confided that his ambition was to excel in sculpture and that he painted only to get the sinews with which to go on. One noon I entered his studio and found him in high spirits. He was rigging a large canvas on the easel and making great preparations for something important. “I’m going to do a life-size, seated portrait of General Frémont in military regalia,” he told me. “Mrs. Frémont is bringing him around this afternoon for the first sitting. Come around tomorrow at lunch time and I’ll have the figure rounded in. He has a strong face and I think I can make a pretty good picture.” I saw the painting from the first touch of the brush. Frémont always came in on the arm of his wife who seemed to be the one person he wanted to please. She brought with her a military coat adorned with gold fringe and epaulets, a garment the great Indian fighter wore with dignity. And it was a good picture. Day after day it assumed more life and grandeur until it was finished and taken away to be exhibited in an art gallery on Spring Street. I went to see it there. And I boasted about my acquaintance with the artist to anybody who would listen to me.