More Sargents

The sale of pictures by the late John Singer Sargent at Christie's Galleries, London (TIME, Aug. 3), continued.

"Blink," went the hammer of the auctioneer. People thought distantly of Velazquez, more immediately of Mr. Sargent, and concentrated what was left of their attention upon a certain Dutchman who was present--one Vanderneut.

Velazquez (1599-1660) because, long ago, he conceived that the plump oval face of a little Spanish prince with beady eyes would almost achieve piquancy if tilted beneath a hat like a black velvet sofa pillow--that the princeling's rotund body, swathed in the ribbon-counter elegance of his period, would appear almost slight if mounted upon a very fat pony--that the obese quadruped would appear speedy as a blooded stallion if he were poised on his hind-legs against a sky of troubled fire and blown grey cloud. (The result of Velazquez's cogitation, Prince Baltasar Carlos, hangs in the Prado Gallery in Madrid.)

John Singer Sargent because, when he was a youth, he had beheld Velazquez' painting, and with discernment enough to realize that he beheld an immortal example of a great master's ability to triumph over his subject, he had copied the picture in the nicest oil-colors on his palet.

Vanderneut (a quaint though unfamiliar name) because, when the hammer descended with its above-onomatopeotized concussion, the noise was no more than a polite acknowledgement from Christie's auctioneer of Mr. Vanderneut's right to pay 6,000 guineas (about $30,000) for Sargent's earnest copy of a master's struggle with difficulties.

No copy has ever before fetched anything approaching this price.

Other Sargents brought sums almost as huge.

The dead painter's sisters, Miss Emily Sargent and Mrs. Violet Ormond, announced that they had 200 of their brother's water-colors and oils which they would not sell for all the Dutchmen in London.