The Magician

     The sale of my first relief in Paris in 1926 was black magic.
The magician was Viot, the art dealer.  He had ensnared D., the collector,
with promising speeches about indescribable beauty, and lured him to my
studio.  Looking very unhappy, D. weighed my little relief, first in his
left, then in his right hand.  He seemed to find no objection to the weight.
Around his beautiful miser's neck he wore a still more beautiful necktie.*
He twisted and fidgeted.  He struggled to make up his mind.  He opened his
eyes wide and then wearily closed them.  He opened them again and looked
madly for some chance to escape.  Now was the time to be on our guard.  
He really seemed about to seek safety in flight.  With ruffled crest,
Viot swaggered round his victim.  He bragged and boasted of his incom-
parable knowledge of the arts.  D. groaned.  "Five hundred francs is a
lot of money for a little piece of wood!"  Viot did not lessen his efforts.
Now it was the dark and mysterious that filled his sails.  His eyes gleamed
like two magic lanterns.  His eloquence became more and more daemonic until
at length D. collapsed in a chair and handed Viot the five hundred francs.

* Geizhals, literally "avarice neck," is German for skinflint.

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