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but not all sanitary pads are Kotex. It will pay 
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Easy to dispose of quickly is only one of several 

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name for Kotex. 


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(additional thickness) 

Kotex cabinets are now being dis- 
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obtained one Kotex, with two 
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Studio 1263, 1922 Sunnyside Avenue, Chicago 


: M. Sergei Marinoff, 

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Page Three 


Advertised Goods Reach You 
Without Lost Motion 

A big part of the cost of living today may be charged 
to lost motion, to slow, slipshod distribution of 
goods, and to old-style, wasteful selling methods. 

For example, every year tons 
of fruits and vegetables rot on 
the ground, because it doesn't 
pay to pick them. Discouraged 
growers plant less the next sea- 
son, and the supply of food is re- 
duced. Meanwhile, consumers 
in the cities near by grumble 
over high prices. Demand and 
supply are not brought together. 

Contrast this with the han- 
dling of oranges. $1,000,000 a 
year is spent for advertising by 
the co-operative association of 
the California Fruit Growers. 
A large sum ; yet it is only about 
one-fifth of a cent per dozen — 
one-sixtieth of a cent for each 
orange sold. 

And this advertising has kept 
down the cost of oranges. To 
quote an official of the Exchange : 

"The cost of selling oranges and 
lemons through the California Fruit 
Growers' Exchange is lower today 
than it was ten years ago. 

"In the twelve years since the first 
campaign was launched the con- 
sumption of Californian oranges has 
doubled. The American consumer 
has been taught by co-operative ad- 
vertising to eat nearly twice as many 
oranges as before. 

"Had the orange industry re- 
mained on the old basis, there would 
have been no profit in growing 
oranges. New acreage would not 
have been planted. Old orchards 
would most surely have been up- 
rooted and other crops planted." 

Advertising, properly done, 
saves money for the consumer 
and makes money for the pro- 
ducer by driving out wasteful 
methods, increasing volume and 
cutting down the costs of sell- 
ing and distribution. 

[Published by Brewster Publications, Inc., in co-operation! 
with The American Association of Advertising Agenciesl 

Page Four 

MAR -2 '23 

— "^t. 

Important Features in This Issue. 


Painting and Sculpture 

Charles Sheeler Thomas Craven 

The Art of Naoum Aronson, Russian Sculptor 

"Etchings that Dance" Troy Kinney 

Architecture : 

A Pictorial Feature — Unforgettable Corners of Paris, The Spell of Old Mexico, Castella 
del Morro 


Cartagena Eroica William McFee 

American Writers and European Readers R. le Clerc Phillips 

The Impotence of Reason Burton Rascoe 

A Young Lady of Character (Translated from the French) Frederic Boutet 

Satire and Humor: 
Poetry : 

Iron Shutters and Open Lawns Henry Altimus 

Satire: The Humor that Crucifies Benjamin De Casseres 

Vignettes in Verse. 

Drama : 


Two o' Them Talking (Translated from the Hungarian) Ferenc Molnar 

Rroadway's Melting Pot Kenneth Macgowan 

A Pictorial Feature — Camera Studies of Marjorie Peterson, Lola Herdenmenger, 
M. Kochetovsky, Dorothy Arnold, Wanda Grazer, Lillibel, Muriel Stryker and others 

The Decline of Light Opera , Victor Herbert 

Melomaniacs and Modernists Jerome Hart 

Motion Pictures: 

A Pictorial Feature — Portraits of Nita Naldi, Marie Prevost, and Elena Sagrary 

Caricature : 

Pages by Robert James Malone, Bill Breck, and August Henkel 

Arts and Crafts: 

From the Looms of the North — Examples of Scandinavian Weaving, Ancient and Modern 

Photography : 

The Camera Contest — Looking Backward 

Published Monthly by Brewster Publications, Inc., at Jamaica, N. Y. 

Entered at the Post Office at Jamaica, N. Y., as second-class matter, under the act of March 3rd, 1879. Printed in U. S. A. 

Eugene V. Brewster, President and Editor-in-Chief ; Guy L. Harrington, Vice-President and Business Manager; L. G. Conlon, Treasurer; 

E. M. Heinemann, Secretary 


Editors : 

F. M. Osborne 

Jerome Hart 

Managing Editor: Adele Whitely Fletcher 

Art Director: A. M. Hopfmuller 

Subscription $3.50 per year, in advance, including postage in the U. S., Cuba, Mexico and Philippines; in Canada $4.00, and in foreign countries, $4.50 per 
year. Single copies, 35 cents. Postage prepaid. One and two cent United States Government stamps accepted. Subscribers must notify us at once 

of any change of address, giving both old and new address. 

Copyright, 1923, by Brewster Publications, Inc., in the United States and Great Britain 

rSS^-^nSM L— — -us fc 







Page Five 

Courtesy of Kennedy and Company 


An etching by James McNeill Whistler 

Page Six 



This is the first of a portrait-series of motion picture stars, 
painted by Albert Vargas, the talented Peruvian artist 

Courtesy of Montross Galleries 


Arthur B. Davis, who painted this ex- 
quisitely colored imaginative group, was a 
pupil of Dwight Williams. He is a member 
of the New York Water-Color Club and 
has exhibited thruout the United States 

Courtesy of Babcock Galleries 


Carl J. Nordell was born in Copenhagen, but received his 
early art training in Boston and at the Art Students' League 
of New York, under Bridgman and Dumond. Later, he at- 
tended the Academie Julien in Paris. His work has been in- 
cluded in the Paris Salon and the leading exhibits in America 

Courtesy of Daniel Galleries 


Charles Sheeler is practically self-taught, and, having made a thoro 
study of photography, his paintings at times show that influence. 
Here is an example of sane and arresting cubism, the effect of 
the different planes of light being conveyed in masterly fashion 

Charles Sheeler 

Who has brought to painting a highly specialized technical equipment peculiarly his own 

By Thomas Craven 

IT is now many years since Post- Impressionism shocked 
the world of art. This movement was a revolt 
against the inanities of naturalistic imitation, and, as 
originally conceived, undertook to restore form to painting. 
In a measure it has fulfilled its intention, hut there is 
abundant evidence, not only in America but also in France, 
the home of the movement, of a declining purpose. In 
this respect the modern uprising has its parallel in past 
rebellions : within a 
given period, il 
seems the trend of all 
art is toward me- 
chanical perfection. 

First, we have the 
primary creative im- 
pulse, a complex ac- 
tivity arising, on the 
one hand, from man's 
dissatisfaction with 
standardized utter- 
ance, and, on the 
other, from his de- 
sire to summarize his 
spiritual adventures 
thru pictorial medi- 
ation : second, the 
experimental stage — 
the struggle with 
materials ; third, the 
triumph over proc- 
esses — the culmina- 
tion ; fourth and last, 
exhausted inspiration 
— the interest in 
purely technical 
problems. Charles 
Sheeler is a curious 
example of the over- 
lapping of tenden- 
cies. Unquestionably 
an artist, and as sen- 
sitive to nature as 
any American I 
know of, he has, at 
the same time, 
brought to painting 
a highly specialized 
technical equipment 
peculiarly hi"s own. 

Mr. Sheeler was 
born in Philadelphia. ^ 
For three years he 
attended the Penn- 
sylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, and was known at 
this institution as one of the most promising pupils of 
the late William Chase. After his academic training came 
the disillusion, the sense of wasted endeavor which claims 
every genuine painter on the realization that he has been 
taught methods and not art. He went to Europe, visiting 
England and Spain, saw the canvases of El Greco, and 
returned to Philadelphia in better spirits. He became 
interested in Robert Henri — then in his prime both as a 
teacher and an artist — and tried the experiment of con- 
structive" visualization without direct reference to models. 
About 1910, at the instigation of Morton Schamberg, he 


took up the camera, and his success with this instrument 
has been so pronounced that he is today recognized as 
one of the foremost living photographers. The great 
liberating agent in Mr. Sheeler's development occurred in 
1909; he went to Europe again at an auspicious moment 
and came in contact with the pictures of Cezanne and 
the Post-Impressionists. It may be said that his ma- 
turity has been determined largely by two factors — the 

stimulus of Modern- 
ism and the influence 
of the camera. 

Mr. Sheeler ad- 
vances the theory 
that photography, 
while different from 
painting in many of 
its aspects, is equally 
as important and 
beautiful. An expert 
in both departments, 
he speaks with au- 
thority. In his ex- 
hibition at the Daniel 
Gallery in the spring 
of 1922, he gave us 
the opportunity to 
test his theory. Here, 
hung side by side, 
were productions of 
the brush and prints 
from the negative. 
So -far as I am con- 
cerned, the prints 
were not emotionally 
exciting. As photo- 
graphs, they were 
undoubtedly superior 
and distinguished; 
as works of art, they 
were practically de- 
void of plastic beau- 
ty. One cannot over- 
look the fact that the 
instantaneous action 
of the lens is a far 
different thing from 
the human vision. 
The lens deals with 
the physically beauti- 
ful, with surfaces, 
textures and the nat*- 
ural play of light and 
shade, and in spite 
of. all human intervention seizes what is before it; the 
human vision is a constant growth, the retina plus ac- 
cumulated experiences — once an image enters the brain 
by way of the eye, it is modified by every impression of 
the past. In short, the camera is an impersonal instru- 
ment ; the vision an act of imagination. 

It is undeniable that Mr. Sheeler's painting has been 
affected by the camera, but it is not because of these 
essentially photographic elements that his work is artistic. 
He would. I think, be the last person to maintain that the 
dextrous manipulation of natural values is of a piece with 
(Continued on page 7\) 



Page Eleven 

Edith Barakovich, Vienna 


A petite artiste who in the pride of Vienna. 
She is a true representative of the modern 
Munich school of expressionistic dancing 

Page Twelve 


A camera study of Dorothy Arnold by Abbe 


Page Thirteen 

KfKvt'n Bower rtesser 


One of the most fascinating bits of 
folly in the Greenwich Village Follies 

Page Fourteen 

Cartagena Eroica 

Mprne ville jadis reine des Oceans; 
Aujourd'hui le requin poursuit en paire les scombri's 
Et le nuage errant allonge seul les ombres. 
Sur ta rade on roulaient les gallons geants. 

— Jose Maria De Heredia 

By William McFee 

OL'T of the darkness of a great gulf you come 
tow anl that glamorous haze, a gulf within whose 
un furrowed recesses lie the bones of the legend- 
ary Englishman waiting for the rumble of his drum : 

Slung between the round-shot in Nombre Dios Bay, 
Dreaming all the while of Plymouth Hoe. 

and as the great swell from the Leeward Islands dimin- 
ishes and dies away, and the ship rides steadily toward a 
long, shining and perplexing barrier, you behold a faint 
amber radiance, a blur of towers and a touch of gold, 
against the luminous azure of the horizon. And that is 
Cartagena, the heroic city of New Granada, compact of 
splendor and decrepitude, listening behind her enormous 
walls to the soothing murmur of the sea. 

For a space, however, as you approach the long and 
winding lagoon by the Boca Chica, there rises sharp and 
problematical the great ramp of La Popa, a hill running 
up into a headland and crowned by the ruined convent of 
Saint Candelaria. A notable landmark in a flat plain, 
like the hull of a vast stranded galleon cast away on the 
landward side and overshadowing the lower rocky for- 
tresses of the citadel. And then, as you enter and the low 
grey forts of the lagoon come into view, the eye with- 
draws from the distances and becomes preoccupied with 
the city, which rises in a cluster of domes and towers, 
with here and there a stark factory in the outskirts, and 
white villas among palms. Domes and towers, faint, yet 
in the morning light, and touched with the reluctant 
glamorous haze even now, spread out as tho floating in 
the lagoon and distinct from the solidity beyond it, a 
romantic efflorescence of the sea. 

So it seems as you come in. The magic of this old 
town is multiplied as you draw near. She, surrounded so 
nearly by the purifying ocean, holds the secret of her 
charm against your foreign curiosity. You dare not 
scorn her, for she had made no demand upon your im- 
agination in earlier days. You come ; she is there. You 
go; she remains, lovely behind her trernendous ramparts, 
a relic of a stately and vanished culture. 

These are just thoughts for the voyager as he ap- 
proaches the shabby timber jetty which is her point of 
contact with an alien world, a jetty far out on a curving 
spit of land which divides the harbor from the lagoon. 
For it is a habit of these ancient cities to withdraw, as it 
were, shyly from a world of screaming deck winches and 
grunting locomotives and noisy stevedores. You find it 
so at Tunis, which is old Carthage, and 
Sfax, which is old Hadrumetum. 
You find it in old Suez since the 
Canal runs another road. 
You find it particularly 
here in Cartagena des 
Indias, who behind 
her walls of surf 
and masonry is 
against the arts 
of modern 

No trolley- 
cars can ever 

grind and jangle down those narrow streets with their 
innumerable balconies. No huge department store could 
lure her affrighted inhabitants within its crystal portals. 
Such gaunt phenomena of progress must stay outside, 
where are already relegated the railroad station and the 
cinema shows, beyond the great gate with the yellow 
clock-tower. So that within the city there reigns even 
at the busiest hours of the day a repose beyond measure 
ecclesiastical. There are streets which are but ambu- 
latories of cathedrals, and squares dedicated beneath 
their somber vaulted cloisters to the meditations of piety. 
So there is no sense of secular unworthiness, as you 
enter the harsh interior of some enormous sanctuary 
from these quiet thorofares — an interior of plaster in 
daunting primary coloring, blood-red, blue and saffron, 
flanked by chapels of astonishing newness, and glittering 
with hardware. 

Here at first you discover no haven of rest; yet you 
tarry, noting the two little negresses whispering their 
confessions to a perforated .disk in the side of yonder 
mahogany cabinet, and wondering dizzily the nature of 
their nine-year-old wickedness, when you observe an 
opening into a patio on one side and make for it, cheered 
by the living green of the palms and ferns that grow 
there as in a well with yellow ochre walls. So you 
stand there by the stout railings, watching the old person 
who works amid the great fronds until you look up and 
see what might be called a miracle, in a less ironic age. 
For those walls of yellow ochre, flooded with light from 
the sun behind the cupolas, have a magical effect upon a 
sky that is always blue, but takes on now a depth and 
vitality of azure that eludes all categories or pigments. 
It is a blue that is alive and vibrating with thought. It 
is the blue of the Virgin's cloak in the stories, the blue 
of moonlight seen from beneath a summer sea, the color 
of eternity. 

Here, with your eyes lifted to the brim of this amber 
well, above the spouting verdure of the tropics, you can 
worship and become conscious of a soul moving stiffly 
within the coil of the senses. Yet moving. The little 
colored girls whispering to the perforated disk are less 
incomprehensible, the ironmongery of the altar merges 
'into the common symbolism of life, and you turn to 
watch the tall bony figure of a priest in his blaGk robe 
and great hat patting the frizzed heads of his small 
charges ere they burst out into the sunshine of the street. 
And you are aware, as you follow 
across the sepulchred floor, that 
you have gotten something of 
that essence of humanity 
you left home to find. 
And outside in those 
same streets, as they 
burrow under the 
balconies in unde- 
viating straight 
lines to the sea. 
the imagination 
can feed its 
(Cont'd on 
page 70) 

Page Fifteen 

The Art 


Naoum Aronson was born at Kreslavka, Russia, in 1872, but has lived in Paris for the past 
thirty years. At the age of fourteen he was already attracting attention with his work. He 
has never been to school; has never had a master; and has developed his art, so far as it is 
humanly possible, from within. He has been called the greatest individualist among modern 
Russian sculptors. In his work is shown a complete and unfaltering devotion to art, combined 
with virtuosity and intelligence. N. Aronson finds his chief inspiration in men of genius and 
children; his Dante, Turgenev, Beethoven, Chopin, Tolstoi are masterpieces. He is an inde- 
fatigable worker and studies his subject for months before touching the clay. He spent eight 
months with Tolstoi before beginning his bust. The picture above shows the sculptor in a 
corner of his studio. The center bust is of Pasteur; the French Government plans to place it 
near the little village in the Jura Mountains, where the great savant and humanitarian was born 

Page Sixteen 


This remarkable bust stands in the yard of the 
Beethoven museum at Bonn, under the tree 
where it was made. It reveals what Arthur 
Machen would call the ecstatic feeling. It was 
created after months of study and meditation, 
under the open sky, while the townspeople 
oj Bonn looked on 


Wistfulness is the principal characteristic of 
M. Aronson's child studies. The sculptor's idea 
is that the modeling is almost all done by the 
light and that the hand of the artist must touch 
the surfaces as delicately as possible. Note the 
contrast here in technic with that of his virile 
male studies 



The woman' s 
figure at the left 
shows in combi- 
nation the sub- 
tlety of Rodin 
and a Greek 
perfection of 

Page Seventeen 


An English writer endeavoring to infuse American "pep" into his stories 

American Writers and European Readers 

English readers and critics will not substitute the American "pep" standard for that of genuine artistry 

B;y R. le Clerc Phillips 

OF late one has heard much concerning the European 
and more particularly the English neglect of 
American literature. It cannot be denied that 
English books sell better here than do American books 
in England, but the reasons for this are not always fully 
appreciated by Americans. 

In the first place, one often wonders if Americans 
realize how very difficult it is for English readers to visual- 
ize the American social picture. It is one that is difficult, 
indeed, for any European to understand, owing to an 
almost complete lack of those vivid tones and sharp out- 
lines which are features of the European social picture, 
and compared with which the relative colorlessness and 
flatness of the American, judged from the standpoint of 
both novelist and reader, are at a distinct disadvantage. 

Consider for a moment the social picture of France. 
It contains within its frame a whole system of different 
worlds. There is, for example, that of the remnants of 
the ancien regime, its members, ghosts of what they once 
were, but still essentially aristocrats, still proud and aloof ; 
that of modern politics, with its struggles and scandals 
and heartbreaking problems ; that of the Quartier Latin 
and of those artists and intellectuals who have "arrived" 
and whose names are known the world over ; that of the 
financiers, merchants and newspaper proprietors ; that of 
the demi-monde; that of the solid bourgeoisie; and that 
of the French peasant, frugal, devout, industrious, whose 
forbears have tilled and farmed the fertile soil of France 
for a thousand years. 

And all the worlds are different; all their denizens are 
different. The French demi-mondaine is one woman, the 
aristocrat of the Faubourg St. Germain, ultra-Catholic, 
bound and controlled by centuries of tradition, is another ; 
the French peasant is a world apart from the French 
bourgeois; the intellectual and artist utterly unlike the 
parvenu financier. They one and all differ in bearing, 
in manners, in deportment, in speech and in thought, and 
the only similarity that links the one to the other is that 
all are French. And in England these differences, these 
worlds, are even more pronounced, more clearly defined 
and more dissimilar. 

Now the trend of American life does not encourage 
such dissimilarities. Compared with European countries, 
it may even be said that they almost do not exist, the 

largest and broadest difference being that created by the 
absence or presence of wealth — a very grave difference, 
to be* sure, but capable of adjustment by the acquisition 
of money or by the loss of it. 

It certainly is not to be denied that the American social 
system carries with it some great advantages over that 
of Europe, but, most assu.edly, it does not lend to novelists 
such a rich, varied and romantic background to write 
against. And it is precisely this background of the 
American social picture that European readers find dull, 
colorless and uninteresting. It is possible for a European 
to be resident for years in America and yet fail to over- 
come a feeling of boredom produced by the intense same- 
ness of the American social picture as contrasted with 
the romance, variety and richness of the European. It 
would seem as if that uniformity and equality which are 
the pride and aim of the American social system are not 
altogether to be considered and delighted in as unmixed 
blessings from the fiction writer's point of view. 

I have American friends who find much food for mirth 
in what they consider to be the childish pomps and vanities 
of English life. Possibly they are childish — and again, 
possibly not. But they certainly form a better background, 
a happier environment for the development of the creative 
arts than the flatness of universal equality. For a poet is 
more likely to burst into song (and by song I mean song 
and not a strident shriek or raucous bawl) in the garden of 
an old English manor house than amidst the roaring ma- 
chinery of even the biggest factory in the world ; a painter 
is more likely to encompass beauty amongst the architec- 
tural glories of a dead and gone age — yes, ruins, tho they 
be — than in the engine-room of the very newest and finest 
ship in the world ; and a great dramatist is more likely to 
come to life amongst those peoples whose lives offer the 
violent contrasts, the heart-rending struggles and -bitter 
conflicts that are the very marrow of great drama, than 
amongst those races where money is comparatively easy 
and no one is so very different from anyone else. 


n the matter of his background, the American writer is, 
thru no fault of his own, at a certain very grave dis- 
advantage as compared with the European writer ; and 
when to this handicap, imposed by the very conditions of 

Page Eighteen 


Vmerican life, is added thai of the superficial knowledg« 
of America possessed by the average Englishman and 
Englishwoman (and Continental, for that matter), it must 
be admitted that there are cogent causes for the neglect 
of American fiction on the part of English readers. 

The average European knows almost nothing of how 
Americans live. Ice-water, overheated rooms, baseball, 
easy divorce, big business, movie queens, "flivvers" and 
stupendous wealth are the things the United States more 
or less vaguely call to his mind. It is not his fault ; 
t is simply that his newspapers and magazines do not 
*ive him a very great deal of information concerning 
\meriea — at least, so far as it is a question of social, 
iterary, scientific or artistic America. , 

Whether this lack of information is the fault of the 
English publications or whether it lies with the quality of 
he information itself (and here we come back to our 
irst point — the relative colorlessness of American life) 
t is beside the point to discuss ; the fact remains that 
he average Englishman, thru no fault of his own, is not 
n possession of this information. 

On the other hand, the average American has a fair 
knowledge of 
the English so- 
cial picture, de- 
rived mainly 
from the study 
of the English 
classics, and in a 
lesser degree 
from the infor- 
mation which his 
native publica- 
tions afford him. 
The majority of 
American news- 
papers deal at 
some length with 
the scandals of 
"high life" ' in 
England, and 
appear to be 
anxious to de- 
scribe the ex- 
travagances of 
the aristocracy 
and to dwell on 
the social side of 
fashionable life 
in London. 

And, in addi- 
tion to all this, 
there are the so- 
ciety weeklies 
and fortnightlies 
which write ex- 
tensively on such 
questions, as 
English house- 
parties, presenta- 
tions at court, 
the brilliancy of 
Ascot (illustrat- 
ed with photo- 
graphs of the 
Prince of Wales 
and the Duke of 
York), and the 
great ball of the 
London season. 
And when it is 
also borne in 
mind that thou- 

An American novelist trying to acquire the 
English contemporaries 

sands upon thousands of Americans visit Europe, wherea 
few Europeans visit America, except for restricted busi 
ness purposes, the immense advantage of the American 
in the matter of initial knowledge, cannot be denied. 
And then there comes the question of tradition. 

The cultivated English reader starts his fiction-reading 
with an accumulated mass of literary tradition behind 
him. The American opinion, no doubt, is that the Bnr- 
isher is much hampered by such tradition ; the English ( and 
Continental) view, on the contrary, is that it constitutes 
a valuable standard and reliable guide in literary taste. 
American fiction, therefore, whether consciously or un- 
consciously, is judged by the European according to the 
standard set by tradition, and when an American novel 
crosses the Atlantic heralded as a work of art, that novel is 
judged by the standards of literary art set by a Balzac, a 
Dickens, a Hardy, a Turgenev, a Thackeray or a Flaubert. 
Not so very long ago I read an article by a well-known 
American critic, in which he proved that American poets 
had done more vital work than English poets — provided 
Keats Shelley Swinburne, Tennyson, Browning, Words- 
worth, and other 
first - rank Eng- 
lish poets were 
eliminated ! 

This is a 
method of criti- 
cism which hard- 
ly seems fair to 
English poetry 
and is by no 
means compli- 
mentary to 
American poetry , 
and it is one 
which most as- 
suredly all for- 
eign critics will 
refuse resolutely 
to adopt when 
called upon to 
express an opin- 
ion on American 
art and .litera- 

It is asking 
too much of a 
French critic, 
for instance, to 
expect him to 
agree to the 
proposition thai 
American novel- 
ists have done 
more vital worl 
than French 
novelists . — pro 
vided that Vic 
tor Hugo, Gau 
tier, Georgeir 
Sand, Balzac f 
Flaubert, Dau- 
det, de Maupas- 
sant, Bourget, 
Anatole France, 
Pierre Loti and 
a few others be 
eliminated from 
His answer 
(Continued on 
page 65) 

'grand manner" of his 

Page Nineteen 


Keystone View Co. 

An Italian stage and screen star of 
extraordinary beauty and versatility 


This youthful French actress has been 

trained by Sarah Bernhardt. She is to 

appear in New York this season in a 

series of French plays 

Ira D. Schwarz 

i' i iiimiw 111 imiiBMhMPH 1 t n iiHwnHniri'HtMiwMw**** 

Youthful Stars 

of the 
European Stage 


The only American actress now 
appearing on the German-speak- 
ing stage. She is a member of 
the company at the famous old 
Lessing Theater in Berlin, 
where Otto Brahm, first cham- 
pion of realism, was the director 


Page Twenty 

Alfred Cheney Johnston 


The piquant star of Brass, which is being filmed by Warner Brothers 

Page Twenty-One 

A scene from Babes in Toyland, produced more than twenty years ago 

The Decline of Light Opera 

The older generation deplores the modern musical show which is half revue, half vaudeville 

By Victor Herbert 

rGHT opera is no longer what it used to be ; but 
then it never was, quite That is why everyone 
J who has ever been half-way' young loves it so 
much. The high-brow may frown upon it for a flippant 
thing, but one needn't mind the high-brows, and as for 
their grand operas, the best beloved of those are the ones 
in which melodrama at its mellowest is set to flagrantly 
tuneful airs. Music is the most subjective form of ex- 
pression ; therefore the soundest judgments upon it will 
be highly subjective and therefore, also, normal music- 
lovers — critics and professors notwithstanding— will con- 
tinue to like that music best which is most dear to their 
recollection. It is not for nothing that John McCormack 
draws thousands to hear him at the Hippodrome, while 
other singers with "classier" programs find it hard to fill 
the meager capacity of Aeolian Hall. 

The difference between opera and operetta is less a 
difference of type than of an element which I might call 
memory-content. There is nothing that so brings back 
your youth as a snatch of an old musical-comedy tune 
that you whistled and the milkman whistled and the 
grocer's boy whistled for weeks after, say, the peerless 
Lillian Russell sang it at the opening night twenty-five 
years ago. How it all comes back to you ! How glorious 
she was ! There had never been so gay and brilliant a 
show within the memory of the oldest inhabitant ! And 
how very young you were ! Can you imagine feeling 
that resurgence of your departed youth upon hearing an 
echo of Gotterdammerung ? Who could be beguiled into 
forgetting his grey hairs when the phonograph next-door 
proclaims La Forza del Destino? But it's worth being 
sixty to feel the years roll back from you when a street- 
organ pauses outside your door to grind out Daisy, Daisy, 
Give Me Your Answer, Do, closely followed by Oh, Tell 
Me, Pretty Maiden, Are There Any More At Home Like 

You? I am not rendered the more immune from such 
sentimental lapses for having compounded a few of those 
musical elixirs myself. 

It isn't a matter of quality, for your true light opera is 
every bit as reputable a production both for music and 
libretto as the "grandest" opera ever thought of. It is 
growing rarer and rarer nowadays, however, and the half- 
revue, half -vaudeville show which seems to be taking its 
place is too purely topical and too heterogeneous an affair 
worthily to succeed it. Offenbach and Suppe are already 
canonized classics, but Sullivan, despite the Anglican com- 
plex which is the dismal heritage of every Handel-raised 
English musician, was as great a composer as any we 
know. And who would deny as much to Lehar and both 
Johann and Oscar Strauss? 

Perhaps, it's partly a matter of time. To my calcula- 
tion it takes the public from five to ten years to 
admit a song into its intimate and permanent repertoire — 
songs of the late war excepted, of course. It is very 
pleasant to me to know that some of my own tunes 
have waltzed their way into the whole world's affections. 
Kiss Me Again has perhaps turned out to be about as 
popular an air as there is. It is played and sung from 
Nigeria, to Peru, and altho I dare say it is quite a nice tune, 
I know many that equal it. Something about it, how- 
ever, has endeared it to the world at large more than any 
of my other songs and I am charmed to have it so. But 
my friends are distressed. They come to me and say : 
"Why cant you write tunes like that now? What's the 
matter? Why dont you give us some more like Kiss Me 
Again and Gypsy Love Song?" They do not realize how 
much memory — recollections of happy days past, old 
friends and all the rest of it — has entered into their idea 
of these songs. They forget they have known them foi 

Page Tiventy-Two 


nearly twenty years. When Kiss Me Again first came out, 
nobody thought very much of it ; 1 wasn't crazy about it. 
nor was the producer, nor was Fritzi Scheflf who sang it. 
nor was Henry Blossom, of beloved memory. But the 
public liked it then, and seemingly goes on liking it more 
and more. That is why these disappointed friends of 
mine complain, and I shall never he able to satisfy them. 
For 1 can duplicate a tune, but not the age of it. 

I confess I am as bad as they. If I were to write an 
opera tomorrow of which every note would out-Lehar 
Lehar and every word out-Gilbert Gilbert, and which 
would take New York by storm overnight, my joy of it 
would be tame in comparison with my memory of the 
days when Alice Nielsen sang in The Fortune Teller and 
the Babes In Toyland scored the hit of their lives. 

This is all very elegiac, I fear, but it makes one sad 
to see light opera in the United States falling into such 
an untimely decline. It would be such a pity to let it die : 
everybody would far rather it went on living, and there 
may be some way of saving it, tho the prospect looks 
far from bright. 

I believe the principal reason for this unhappy state 
of things is a financial one. In this respect conditions 
are not what they were years ago, or what they were still 
in F.urope until the war ; and by Europe I mean Germany, 
Austria and France, for Italy has never done very much 
in the way of comic opera. Austria is far in the lead of 
all the rest, of course, for to think of light opera is to 
think of Vienna, with its traditions of the great Strauss 
families so proudly carried on by the incomparable Franz 
Lehar. of whom it may be truly said that he stands the 
undisputed king of all of us today. His exquisite, haunt- 
ing melodies are known wherever a civilized tongue is 
spoken ; The Merry Widow, with its grace, its dash and 
its enchanting music, has become the acknowledged model 
for most of the light opera which has followed it. 

The Continental productions are usually lavish in the 
extreme. In the theaters the orchestras are of symphonic 
strength, and are composed of highly trained musicians 
under the baton of such conductors as in this country we 
have only at the head of important symphony orchestras. 

\'o wonder Americans came back from Europe before the 
war to grow rhapsodical over the loveliness of the Vien- 
nese scores and their artistic rendition. You can write a 
full score when you know you are going to have a full 
orchestra to play it, as well as a chorus with trained voices 
to sing it. In Europe, they train their choruses; they 
know girls cant sing with their looks, but here, be it said, 
we know just as positively that they cant "look" with 
their voices; and the combination of both is a dream 
seldom realized. For chic, beauty and lightsome feet, 
there are no girls in the world to compare with the Broad- 
way choruses, so perhaps the choice is well made after all. 
Another serious consideration in this country is that both 
orchestra and chorus have to be well paid, whereas, over 
there, salaries for these positions amount to mere pittances. 

P\RADOxiCAi. as it may sound, it is the rise of the 
symphony orchestra in America which has dealt the 
heaviest blow to the better kind of light opera. When I 
first came to New York, symphonic music here was in its 
infancy. In that day you could have counted all the 
orchestras in the United States on the fingers of one 
hand, even if a couple of them had been shot off. Since 
then, however, these orchestras have become so many and 
so large that they have absorbed very nearly all the com- 
petent orchestra] players in the country. The few they 
left were in turn recruited by the large movie houses, 
which provide such admirable music for their audiences. 

This phenomenal growth of orchestras has produced 
a two-fold result : on the one hand, the only players 
remaining in the towns of a stock itinerary are neither 
sufficiently numerous nor sufficiently expert to tackle a 
good score ; and, on the other hand, the people's judgment 
of music has become so educated and so discriminating 
that they will no longer tolerate inferior performances. 

Between this Scylla and Charybdis, light opera steers a 
risky and often a disastrous course. The cost of carrying 
an adequate orchestra out on the road with a light-opera 
company is utterly prohibitive. It is terribly expensive 
to assemble even the exceedingly limited number of 
{Continued on page 70) 


The Toy Shop number of the Greenwich Village Follies of 1922 

Page Twenty-Three 



This magnificent interpretation by M. Kochetovsky has 
been revived for the fourth program of the Chauve Souris 

Page Twenty-Four 


Posed for Goldberg by the Marmein sisters, dancers in Keith vaudeville 


Page Twenty-Five 

Two o' them Talking 

By Ferenc Molnar 

Translated from the Hungarian by Joseph Szebenyei 

TWO little boys, one of them five and the other six 
years old. They are standing on the porch. There 
is a gas lamp burning on the street just in front of 
the house. It is a dreary winter evening, about five o'clock 
— time to light up all around. In the dim light there, they 
are softly conversing. 

The First One: I've got six pennies already. By 
Sunday I'll have eight and by Wednesday sixteen. By 
Friday I shall have twenty, for my grandma comes on 
that day always and I am going to buy the aeroplane that 
you can pull. 

The Other One: The one you can pull? 

The First : Yes. The one that you push costs forty. 
Only girls get that. The boy aeroplane is a puller, and it 
has rubber inside and it's only twenty. 

The Other: Why don't you ask your father for more 
money ? 

The First : Because he committed suicide. 

The Other: What did he commit? 

The First : Suicide. Still, he is a lawyer. 

The Other: (Looking at him very gravely.) How 
did he commit suicide? 

The First : Well, he committed, that's all. Cant he 
if he likes to? 

The Other: But when? At noon I saw him on the 

The First : Yes, he was taking a walk and then we had 
lunch and then he lay down on the sofa and so he com- 
mitted suicide. I couldn't ask him for money, but I am 
telling you, when my grandma comes on Friday, she al- 
ways gives me at least five. With that I shall have the 
twenty and I'll buy the aeroplane. 

The Other: But your father . . . 

The First : What do you want always with my father ? 
1 told you to leave me alone. 

The Other: Did he die? 

The First: Of course he died: What are you looking 
at me like that for ? What are you teasing me for ? Your 
father is a janitor and I never teased you for it, altho I 
could have done, because my father is a lawyer. Even if 
he died, he is a lawyer, attorney-at-law-. 

The Other: Why dont you tell me? 

Both are looking intensely at each other. The Other's 
eyes are very bright and he is all excitement. He is urging 
the First One with his very eyes to tell the story. 

The First: You are looking so funny with your eyes. 

The Other: Why dont you tell me? 

The First: Should I tell you? 

The Other: Yes, go on. 

The First : I think I can tell it. 

The Other: Of course you can. If you want me, I 
cross my heart and it will remain a secret forever ; be- 
sides, I am not going to tell anybody. 

The First: So you see we had lunch, and a very good 
lunch, for we had green peas in the soup and my mother 
said : I say, Sigmund, why are you so silent ? The clients 
call him Councillor and my mother calls him Sigmund 
and your father calls him the Landlord. 

The Other: Not always, for sometimes he calls him 
just Sir-— rand you needn't throw it up every time, either. 

The First : I am not throwing it up, only you needn't 
think, that now that my father is dead, we are as poor 
as you are, for we are still the landlords. 

The Other: Not true. 

The First : Yes it is. 

The Other: No, it isn't. (Pause.) 

The Other: And then, how was it? 

The First : My mother asked him : Have you got a 
headache, Sigmund? And she asked him: What are you 
looking at the child for constantly? You see, I am the 
child, for we have only myself. You see, that's why we 
shall not be poor, for we are rich because we only have 
one child. If we were poor, we Would have six. 

The Other: We only have four. 

The First: Well, you are not very poor; just poor. 
Your father only gets wages and tips for the garbage, 
but we get money from the court. 

The Other: And how was it? 

The First : Because my father was always looking at 
me. My father gave her no answer, and my mother 
asked him again : What's the matter with you ? Have 
you lost your voice? Sigmund, why dont you answer 
me ? My father told her : Leave me alone, my dear. He 
called her my dear, for with gentlemanly people it is a 
custom to call one another my dear. Your father doesn't 
call your mother my dear, for you are just common 

The Other: Why should we be common people? 

The First : Because your father is just a working- 
man, a laborer, what they call a laborer. 

The Other: We are not laborers, we dont go out to 

The First: Who cleans the stairs and who sweeps 
away the snow ? That's laboring, that's laboring. 

The Other: No it isn't. 

The First: What then is it? 

The Other : That's house-superintending. 

The First : That's laboring, too, as long as it goes with 
broom and shovel. So when we finished lunch and I 
kissed them, my father pressed me to his waistcoat, and 
kissed me, and pressed me and he wouldn't leave go, so 
my mother asked him in French so that I shouldn't under- 
stand : quelqueshosc, quelqueshose? And my father 
said : non, non, nori, and that, too, is in French and means 
no, but I was not supposed to understand, you know. 

The Other: And then he committed suicide? 

The First: No. He first told my mother that he 
wants to lie down a bit and sleep, and my mother told the 
chambermaid to put a pillow on the sofa and the ash-tray 
on a chair next to the sofa, for he would throw the ashes 
all on the floor — you burned the carpet last week, my 
dear, she said. 

The Other: Does he smoke cigars? 

The First: No, cigarettes. 

The Other: Do you ever steal any? 

The First : No, I dont. Do you collect tobacco ? Why 
didn't you tell me before? I could have brought you 
some. Now it's too late, he is dead. 

The Other: How did he die? 

The First : He lay down on the sofa and my mother 
went out of the room to read the newspaper, and then my 
father called me, and as I went in he was smiling. 

The Other: Was he smiling? 

The First : Yes, with his mouth and face, but with 
his eyes he was crying, for the tears were running down 
his face and he told me I should go right near to him. 

The Other: And you went? 

The First : Sure. He pressed me again to his 
(Continued on page 74) 

Page Twenty-Six 

Setzer — Wien, Germany 


Of the Imperial Opera, Vienna, and the Metropolitan Opera, New York 

Page Twenty-Seven 

Courtesy 01 Aenneay and Company 


"An artist must realize," says Mr. Kinney, "that to express his God-given individuality as if 
he had accomplished his work in a moment of inspiration, he must be always rehearsing. It 
is only by doing a thing over and over again that one can achieve a technique that is so perfect 
that it seems unconscious. Watching Pavlowa rehearse taught me more than any art school 
about application to work. She rehearses a dance twenty, thirty and even fifty times, and 
then she dances before her audience so perfectly and so seemingly unconscious of practice 
that they think tvhat a marvelous thing it is to interpret music on the spur of the moment. 
And that is what an artist should be eager to attain — the effect of premiere touche achieved 

by rehearsal" 

Page Twenty-Eight 

r ...-.,-- W r.c - , -iw ^ i-'tso^^^y,.^.^ ■■ 

Dance ' 

Troy Kinney studied at the Yale Ari Scliool 
and later at the Chicago Art Institute during 
the time that the Barhizon influence was at its 
height, which pushed design to the background. 
However, Mr. Kinney paid slight attention to 
the Barhizon trend and devoted himself to per- 
fecting his oicn method, which is, stated in 
simple terms, constant application and constant 
practice. His sense of design is delicately fin- 
ished, and his technique is so sure that the 
feeling of deliberate design never intrudes. 
Mr. Kinney's etchings are known everywhere. 
They are exquisite things, full of motion 
and life; they have been appropriately called 
"etchings that dance" 


1 '< 

■ \ V 



\ ! 



Courtesy of Kennedy and Company 







Page Twenty-Nine 

The Spell 

Old Mexico 

Photographs by Nicholas Hdz 

The churches and missions of Old Mexico 
are its most inevitable buildings. Tho 
they are numbered in the thousands, 
hardly one lacks some notable character- 
istic. Here the Jesuit, Dominican and 
Franciscan schools of architecture have 
their most perfect convention 

Orizaba is one of the most picturesque of 
Mexican cities. An Indian town, called 
Ahuaializ-apan (Pleasant Waters), subject 
to Aztec rule, stood here when Cortes 
arrived on the coast 






Page Thirty 

Nicholas Haz 




Morro, Castle of the Three Kings, which guards 
the entrance to the harbor of Havana, Cuba, is 
celebrated in the history of the Island, for it 
was built in 1597 to protect the city from 
pirates, freebooters, and other enemies. It is a 
replica of the ancient Moorish fortress at Lis- 
bon, Portugal, but thru the years its original 
design has been considerably altered. With its 
age-grey walls and irregular contour it seems 
a very part of the rock formation on which it 
stands. Usually depicted from the sea or coast, 
we have here a rear view of the old Castle, 
quite unusual in its aspect of crumbling antiquity 

Page Thirty-One 

Feodor Chaliapin 
as Escamillo 


Captain Zu- 
niga (Scotti) 
becomes en- 
tangled in the 
affairs of the 

Excerpts from Carmen 

With a few familiar faces in unfamiliar roles 
B;y Robert James Malone 

Below, Carmen (Marguerite D' Alvarez) tosses a rose to Don Jose 
(John McCormack), while Damrosch is Bizet-ly conducting the opera 

Page Thirty-Two 



ne— « 

Escamillo tries to throw the bull and is almost 
impaled upon the horns of a dilemma. The 
poor beast has been maddened by his insistent 
singing out of time of the Toreador's song 

-t — 

Carmen chucks up her hand and de- 
clares a misdeal when the cards fore- 
tell her tragic fate. But she cannot 
thus cheat destiny, and she gets what 
is coming to her, for Don Jose meet- 
ing her outside the Plaza des Toros 
makes a last appeal. Reckless of 
danger and anxious to show off her 
brand-neiv mantilla and celhdoid 
comb (presents from Escamillo), she 
tries to rush into the arena. Don 
Jose intercepts her, and with a dagger 
utterly ruins her best frock, besides 
incidentally killing her 

Page Thirty-Three 

Posed for Lumiere by Muriel Stryker 


Page Thirty-Four 

Satire: the Humor that Crucifies 

"Great satirists are as rare as great poets: the laughter 
that slays and the image that creates are twin -born" 

By Benjamin De Casseres 

SATIRE is a giant wasp playing 
in and out of the mouth of an 
Ass. It is a poisoned poignard 
plunged into the heart of Seriousness. 
It is the humor which crucifies. It is 
a Medusa with mischief in her eye. It 
is part Puck and part Mephistopheles ; 
and it is sometimes Isaiah, and its 
nature is not a stranger to the Neronic 

Satire is the human mind at the 
apex of alertness, the climax of wide- 
awakeness. It is the eyeball of com- 
prehension, and its look is thaumaturgic. What was sub- 
lime becomes grotesque, what was dignified becomes 
ridiculous. Titans shrivel to dwarfs. Dogmas vanish 
like puff-balls. Pride cracks into a silly cackle and 
Prudery with skinny ribs has not where to hide her 

Great satirists are as rare as great poets. The laughter 
that slays and the image that creates are twin-born. 
Satire in Moliere is a heady wine ; in Juvenal it is a 
knout ; in Cervantes a tear ; in Rabelais a guffaw ; in 
Ibsen it is a syringe of vitriol; in Swift it is a Fury; in 
Byron a poisoned dirk ; in Aristophanes a murderous 
sleet that slits the faces of gods and men ; in Voltaire 
it is a siccant light that brings out the spectral stains and 
rents in man, the social beast. 

Satire is the enemy of the sentimental and romantic, 
those elaborate poses of the human. It rubs the buckram 
off of our attitudes and passes over our deckle-edged 
mannerisms to peer inside at the reading matter. Pose 
is orthodox, instinctive. Satire is always heterodox, con- 
scious ; a single epithet may turn a Goliath into a dwarf. 
Ridicule, the brigand, strips the gods of their peacock 
plumes and leaves them to strut in their polar skies undone 
and diswrapt. 

HpHE frigid smile of disbelief has jostled many a 
-*- Malvolio out of his complacency. Ridicule is sanitary. 
The unleavened smile of irony redeems. The profane 
hand of satire forces into the gullets of sapless sentimen- 
talists a rending purgative. 

The satirist has a nose that is a spy and an eye that is 
an X-ray. He is a breaker of molds, a bespatterer of 
images. He has the proud sincerity of Lucifer and the 
daring of Cain. Standing on the earth with his long 
dusting-brush, he brushes the printed mirages of construc- 
tive idealism off the face of the heavens as a housemaid 
brushes away a pastel. He routs the world out of its 
cozy corners and warms his heart under the pole-star. 

The elements of satire are moral rage, contempt, 
cruelty, scepticism, a reversed idealism and extreme sen- 
sitiveness. It is often only the malicious mask of failure, 
a kind of frozen anger. It is the crystal armor of the 
hypersensitive. It is the scintillating mica of a broken 
dream. It is a cold diamond on the finger of Scorn 
engraving an epitaph on the glass houses of human folly. 

Juvenal's skull was a nest of tarantulas. His deadly 
bite sunk deep into the fat of pretense and penetrated 
the bare ribs of Rome. His satires are giant magnifiers 
wherein Reality, hopeless, implacable, sinister, lies 
stark to the sight. Every sentence is a pike on 

which is rammed a human head; 
and after twenty centuries he is 
ultra-modern, a startling demonstra- 
tion of the consanguinity of all over- 
civilized epochs. Like Carlyle, Juvenal 
was a satirist because he was a 

Aristophanes and Juvenal were 
poles apart. Aristophanes' immortal 
smile had something of a joyous 
satanism in its play over men. He 
mocks with the mockery of the gods. 
His mind sepulchred a thousand 
ruined hierophants of myth. Socrates lies petrified in 
his gleaming spite. The satiric spirit picked out in 
Aristophanes what was most inhuman in the man and 
made him the Cain of comic writers. It was Heine who 
called God "a celestial Aristophanes." In the universe 
of art Aristophanes is the full moon, the frozen sneer 
rising on the sundown of Greek philosophy. 

Destroy all books but leave us Don Quixote ! It is 
Alpha and Omega. It tells all. It is the Epic of Man. 
Cervantes was the supreme seer, greater than Shake- 
speare, greater than ^Eschylus, greater than Balzac. He 
was the supreme philosopher, greater than Spinoza, 
greater than Schopenhauer, greater than Plato. He was 
the supreme ironist, greater than Aristophanes, greater 
than Isben, greater than Swift. 

Don Quixote is the comic CEdipus Rex. The shimmer 
of all the tears of man had condensed in the light of 
Cervantes' eyes — and it was not unlike a smile. His book 
is the dance macabre of Ideals. It is the tale of the 
starved Heart that migrates to the Brain, and spins its 
Cockaynes and Elysiums on the air. It is the saga of 
the race. It is the legend repeated for all future time 
of man's adventure in that hell called Reality. Its 
metaphysic is one's self — the elemental illusion. Its 
moral is : What is not absurd is not true. Rosinante is 
the nag we all bestraddle. The skinny, shivering bare- 
ness of Reality we thicken and hide with the feathers of 
Hope. And still Rosinante is not the Pegasus of our will ! 
The divine frivolity of Cervantes ! His starlit 
mockeries ! The whipped waters of his magical fancy ! 
Don Quixote is a thing done once for all time, and 
those who lived before Cervantes' birth lived without 
mirrors. The Knight of La Mancha riding furiously in 
the wake of half -remembered images, the Troubadour 
of the Ideal singing his passionate songs to the eternal 
Jezebel-Dulcinea, the mournful eye of the Seeker 
bruised and blackened by muscled circumstance — that is 
all of life, all of you and me, the ridiculous earth-gods 
flourishing paper swords. 

Don Quixote is the human mind rubbing the dreams 
out of its eyes. 

A javelin from the quiver of an immedicable bitter- 
■**• ness — a javelin that smoked in its passionate flight 
toward its throbbing target, the human heart — that is the 
' satire of Jonathan Swift. In the sunlight he hollowed a 
monstrous hole, and packed the race into it. Man was, 
to him, merely an obscene accident whose heart was the 
parade ground of all the villainies of life. 
(Continued on page 74) 

Page Thirty-Five 

. ■ - i : 


Kendall Evans 




"... I'm the king-prisoner in his capital, 
Ruling strange peoples of a world unknown; 
Yet there come envoys from the untraveled lands 
That fill my corridors with miracles 
As it were tribute, secretly, by night; 
And I wake in the dawn like Solomon, 
To stare at peacocks, apes and ivory, 
And a closed door. . . . 

—Will Shakespeare's description of himself to Mary Fitton. 

— Act ii, Scene i. 

Page Thirty-Six 

Will Shakespeare 

An Invention 

Clemencc Dane, the English dramatist, has done a 
fine tho daring thins in her so-called "invention," 
which is written partly in blank verse, as befits the 
period and characters. The success which the play 
achieved in London has been paralleled here in its 
admirable production by Winthrop Ames. The cast 
was perfectly selected. At the right is Katherine 
Cornell as Mary Fitton, the Dark Lady of the Soti- 
nets. "... pale, with black hair, a smiling mouth and 
brilliant eyes. She is quick and graceful as a cat, and 
her voice is the voice of a singer, low and full. ..." 

A.11 photographs by Kendall Evans 

Above is Haidee Wright as Queen Eliza- 
beth. "... She is old, as an oak or a cliff 
or a cathedral is old — there is no frailty of 
age in her. Her gestures are measured; she 
moves very little, and frowns oftener than 
she smiles. ..." 

At the right is Winifred Lenihan as Anne 
Hathaway. " ... She is a slender woman 
with reddish hair. Her movements are 
quick and furtive, and she has a high sweet 
voice that shrills too easily. ..." 

Page Thirty-Seven 

What more satisfying to us poor mortals than to gaze upon gods — especially intellectual gods — eating, and while eating, 
talking? At the Algonquin Round Table, Alexander W oollcott, with finger upraised, holds Horace Liveright spell- 
bound, while to the extreme right F. P. A. listens cynically. Marc Connolly dogmatizes on Americana to Johnny 
Weaver, who throws up his hands protestingly. Next on the left, Heywood Broun and the spectacled Joe Kaufman, 
across the table, indulge in sad reflections on the failure of the 49ers. Behind, immaculately attired Host Case, 
explains to the elongated Bob Sherwood the futility of all things, especially of trying to squeeze in another chair at 
the table. The solitary lady, who seems awe-stricken by her surroundings, is a composite of the very few members of 
her sex who have been privileged to penetrate this literary arcanum. Next her, Hendrik van Loon glares thru his mon- 
ocle at Bob Benchley as he scoffs at history and mankind. In the offing, disconsolate, like the Peri outside Paradise, 
stand the hirsute Bercovici and the hungry Burton Rascoe, the latter waiting to take Mrs. Dawson in to lunch; also 
Jimmy Reynolds and others longing for deification by inclusion in the sacred circle 

Page Thirty-Eight 

Vignettes in Verse 


By Walter Adolphe Roberts 

"y.VLE! It is not well with us who bring 
So frail a reed, 

To flute of love and April's blossoming 

To her. who is the priestess of the spring 

And will not heed 

The little loves that plead. 

She. the heloved one. the marvelous. 

Is onlj amorous 

Of an old god who is most tyrannous. 

She was the mate of Pan ere this hefell. 

Poets, we may not sing 

So brave a song 

As the immortal pipes the whole day long. 

And so. farewell! 


By Charles Divine 

THIS gay commotion on the earth 

That singers hail so dear 
Is love that, gypsy-eyed, forgets 

The love of yesterday. 
And all the lanes are young with spring. 

Philosophers will weep 
That earth is born so new again 

While they their ages keep. 

By Hazel Hall 

T ET the day come out of the night, 

And the night come out of the day- 
Night from day, and day from night, 
And let the hours be a flight 
Of wild birds winging away. 

And whether the night or whether the day, 

As the hours forever fly, 
Holding the sun on their wings, or grey 
With dusk of night, let them go their way 

Calling across the sky. 


Love cannot stay, love cannot pass; 

For every love that dies, 
Swift as a flower from the grass, 

A newer love shall rise. 

Then why have I so long a face, 

And why are you so proud? 
For one, the spring comes on apace, 

For one, the snow's white shroud. 


By Gladys Hall 

'THERE is no path of glory where you 

Life seems to be triumphantly the same, 
Ah, but my heart breaks into aching bits 

To form your name. 
No one acclaimed you; you went unrepaid. 

Your wistful brow untouched by laurel 
Save as my tears weave tenderly for you 

A crown of grief. 

BOB— i;-iin»-»M m ! iLH J v. j uii» viL-p~ l -i ' ii Mwtft t < TBa 

By Pierre Loving 



Against burnt-brown bodies, squatting 
or leaning; 
Lissom springtime youth 
Bathing in cool blue waters; 
Mother of God sun-caressed, tawny-eyed, 
With heaped-up baskets of colored fruit 

at her feet. 

Gaunt vigor, raw embodied sap 
Athwart an earthy, intimate sky; 
Succulent listless fruit 
Or pearly fish spilled on tables; 
Earth force, sun force, body force, tree 

Force of crude bursting life. 

Lemon-yellow backgrounds, 
Sun-etched figures, slouching or sitting, 
Shored against chrome walls . . . 
A high browed man with stiff brushy red 

And green icy points of madness in his 

wide eyes. 

Odilon Re don 

Blackish tortures and inquisitions; 

Another mood: 

Feathery wind-scattered beauty of cloud- 

Pale blue and fleecy white; 

The rainbow picked out in rock; 

Romance, faerie, white horses, enchanted 
virgins, , 

Witchery out of an old stanza; 

Pale hunger for translunary fates, 

Hands reaching for pale-gold unsetting 
suns . . . 

By Oscar Williams 

CANNOT hear the sound of the rain 
Beating the whole day thru, 
But know it for the music 
The waves are dancing to. • 

I cannot see a shaggy hill 

Dark and silent and grave, 
But know there is music in his heart 

To see a dancing wave. 

For all the trees on tiptoe 

Trying to glimpse the sea; 
The stark twilight climbs the skies 

Drawn by the harmony. 

I cannot hear the sound of the rain 

Beating the whole day thru, 
But know it for the music 

My songs are swaying to. 

By Pascale D'Angelo 

TJAWN flies like a white swan out of the 

purpling pond of night; 
The young valley glimmers happily, 
For May is now shoring the overwhelming 

sea of spring. 

And the great soul opens its eyes serene, 
Its eyes that can see in a calm while light 
Both the vast wind that dies like a kiss on 

the lips of silence, 
And the tiny rose petal trembling under 

the caresses of a dew-drop. 


By Mary Siegrist 

^^HAT have you done 

That now you must be 
With a face like a fox? 

You are, they say, a great executive 

Who knows how to manage men 

And move them about 

Like pawns on a checker-board. 

But oh, what have you done 

That now you must go 


With a face like a fox? 

By Gordon Malherbe Hillman 

'THE tanker made the harbor when the 

tide was at the flood, 
When the glory of the sunset had turned 

the sky to blood, 
When the masts were tipped with crim- 
son and the funnel guys were gold 
And the long decks shimmered as the old 

ship rolled! 

The tanker made the harbor when the 
wind was in the trees 

And the silver moon was rolling up be- 
yond the farthest seas, 

When the dusk was on the village and the 
night was on the strait, 

And the tackle heaved and grated as it 
bore ashore her freight! 

The tanker made the harbor when the bar 

was white with spray, 
When the jungle shadows lengthened 

across the golden bay, 
When the mist was on the marshes and 

the Southern Cross rode high, 
And the waving palms stood starkly black 
against the scarlet sky! 

By Jack Hyatt, jr. 

T IKE Istar, of Babylon, you are a moon 

But, at high noon . . . when the sun shines 

. . . pitilessly . . . 
Your beauty has fled. 

Page Thirty-Nine 


A French motion picture star of extraordinary talent. She is here shown in a setting for the 
film, Fever, by Louis Delluc, who is a successful novelist and editor as well as scenarist and 
director. Fever is considered by authoritative critics to be one of the finest motion pictures 

produced by the French 

Page Forty 

Iron Shutters and Open Lawns 

The sealed windows and iron shutters of France are the 
citizen's contribution to the perpetuation of French liberty 

By Henry Altimus 


XE o\ the first impulses of an American on enter- 
ing a French home is to throw open a window, 
thereby at once establishing himself in the eyes 

of his hosts as a citizen of a country where liberty is 
non-existent. Unwittingly, the American thus avows 
that he is not a freeman but a -lave. 

One of the first conclusions of an American on seeing 
the heavy iron shutters that almost hermetically seal 
Paris shops over-night and over the week-end is that the 
French are a mean, suspicious, distrustful race ; and he 
at once begins boasting of his own country, with its acres 
of unprotected plate-glass windows and its miles of open, 
fenceless and often even hedgeless lawns. 

Xow bragging, a perfectly healthy, normal impulse, is 
in disrepute merely because the braggart nearly always 
boasts about the wrong thing, just as the chief fault with 
criticism is that it nearly always carps at the wrong thing. 
"When the American abroad boasts of open windows and 
open lawns, he is not aware that he is praising his 
shackles as tho they were ornaments ; and when he criti- 
cizes the sealed windows and iron shutters of France, 
he does not realize that he is attacking the most eloquent 
symbols of French liberty. 

For some reason or other, Americans mistakenly 
believe that the French keep their windows shut in 
order to exclude fresh air and that the iron shutters 
behind which Paris shops withdraw at night, are 
designed to exclude thieves. The sealed windows 
and iron shutters of France are the national monu 
ments to French liberty. They are the citizen's 
contribution to the perpetuation of that 

When an American throws open a window 
in his own home, he ma}- do so with the 
perfect assurance that only fresh air will 
enter, and he may step up to the window 
and tranquilly look out upon a tranqui 
world : a world made orderly by police 
regulations, made silent by anti-noise 
associations, made inoffensive by anti- 
vice societies. 

When a Frenchman throws 
open a window in his home, he 
does so with fear and trepida- 
tion, for he knows that he ex- 
poses himself not merely to a 
rush of fresh air but to the in- 
vasion of the countless mani- 
festations of individual lib- 
erty: the right to make as 
much noise as one likes, the 
absence of traffic regulations 
and the resultant pande- 
monium, the lack of speed 
limit, the freedom to court 
lover or mistress on the 
curb as ardently as tho one 
were shielded by the pri- 
vacy of a boudoir, the 
right to live one's life as 
one pleases. 

The first American 
who threw open his win- 
dow' became the founder 

of the first society to suppress something. The Frenchman 
shuts his window, preferring asphyxiation to restraint. 

The iron shutters of France are an assurance that indi- 
vidual liberty must have no limits, that the shop-owner 
will protect himself, but will impose no obstacles. The 
wide, untrammeled lawns of the typical American estate 
are an assurance that the country is so thoroly policed, 
restraint so effective, the individual so neatly trimmed 
by preventive legislation to the accepted pattern of virtue, 
that any deviation from the pattern, any unseemly out- 
burst of individuality, is a remote possibility. The 
French build high stone walls about their estates, sacri- 
ficing the lovely view so that the world beyond may live 
as it likes. 

The failure of Americans in France to understand this 
and to adjust themselves to a degree of individual liberty 
to which they are unaccustomed is the source of consid- 
erable amusement to the French — and not seldom of con- 
siderable annoyance. For the American abroad cannot 
ignore his missionary instinct to drag the heathen for- 
eigner down to his own heaven. 

Recently the daughter of an American millionaire 
flounced indignantly out of a Montmartre cabaret and 
rushed to the nearest police station to lodge a 
complaint, declaring that it was an outrage that 
such a place should be allowed to remain open. 
The officer in charge politely informed her 
that he would attend the performance in 
person the next day. The modesty of the 
heiress having made it impossible for her to 
lodge a specific complaint, the officer was 
somewhat puzzled after witnessing a typical, 
amusing and orthodoxly nude Montmartre 
performance. The audience was enjoying 
itself hugely, which to him was the su- 
preme test, and he was at a loss until he 
happened to scan the price list. The 
next day the heiress was informed that 
her complaint was a thoroly just one, 
: A. that the prices charged for drinks at 

the cabaret were outrageously high, 
j and that the proprietor had been 
ordered to cut them almost in half. 
To the naive French officer of 
the law it was inconceivable that the 
heiress was objecting on moral and 
not on economic grounds and that 
she could wish to suppress the 
pleasure of a thousand people in 
order to satisfy her prudery. 
He did not realize that the 
American girl was acting on a 
principle widely accepted in her 
country : that it is simpler to in- 
voke the law than to shut one's 

I was in the Gare de Lyon one 
evening, waiting in line for my 
ticket, when I saw a youth clash 
thru the gateway from an arriv- 
ing train, cleave a path thru 
the crowds, and bolt for 
the street. Behind him was 
(Continued on page 71) 

Page Forty-One 

Unforgettable Corners 
of Paris 



PA p. i S 


!jf tt ft 

U '»; 


UUu-flg ** 




I Si' 

The artist has 
sketched these fa- 
miliar landmarks 
from unaccustom- 
ed angles. You 
gaze upon Notre 
Dame (above) 
from a corner in 
a byway, instead 
of from the Pont 
des Arts, the 
view favored by 
many artists and 
by all snap-shot- 
ting tourists 

, t \ \ I 1 ; '1 • 

AovV ^F if « r ~'' ■ ' 

7" „ *fc "• w 

T» BE 


■ ^_#p"« 

VAW-S - AU0US1 15 



^iA M^V-W. tuj" 

» t 

> ' ,"V j< * c ?! ■ ft- fl I t JL > 

■> ft * x P ?" 


<- 4! !i 



Paws Aug 1<j- 


Page Porty-Two 

These sketches were maele by Samuel 
Chamberlain from thumbnail notes by 
Ernest A. Grunsfeld Jr. Both men were 
in Paris the past year, Chamberlain as 
an artist and Grunsfeld as an archi- 
tect in the Ecole des Beaux Arts. 

W x - i g 1 W B 1 S I 

- ■- . 


*-,-. "y 



Here, too, you are 

given unfamiliar 
views of familiar his- 
toric buildings. In 
every instance the 
conventional front 
view has been dis- 
regarded by the artist. 
At the right is the 
impressive Institute of 
Paris as you glimpse 
it from a little side 
street instead of from 
the Seine 


Page Forty-Three 

A scene from The Tidings Brought to Mary; settings by Theodore Komisarjevsky and Lee Shnonson 

Broadway's Melting Pot 

Immigrant plays from every land throng the Ellis Island of Art 

By Kenneth Macgowan 


THE New York stage is quite ready to be all things 
to all men. Perhaps, in the future, to all super- 
men. Today you can find all manner of enter- 
tainment and all manner of art along Broadway. The 
audience of today has only to choose wisely for the 
audience of tomorrow. Our theater is ripe for develop- 
ment in half a dozen directions, good and evil. We can 
choose the road. 

Broadway was never so cosmopolitan as this season. 
The first twenty-five days of December displayed a 
Shakespearean revival by Belasco ; a bizarre German im- 
portation, Johannes Kreisler ; a French poetic and mysti- 
cal drama, Claudel's The Tidings Brought to Mary ; a 
Hungarian comedy, Passions for Men, by the author of 
Liliom ; a drama from and of the Yiddish, The God of 
Vengeance ; a couple of cheap French melodramas ; an 
American play about Mexico, an American play about 
murder, and Zoe Akins' best comedy, The Texas 

The materials in these plays include Jew-baiting, usury, 
the artistic temperament (German and American), 
mysticism, faith, miracles, leprosy, the triumph of the 
meek, cheek-turning as a fine art, prostitution, lesbianism, 
apache-cum-shiek love, aged and exhilarating depravity, 
the conscientious objector, and the childlike bandit. 

Here there is every variety of writing, from the 
towering argosies of Shakespeare to Miss Akins' smart, 
incisive speech ; from the free verse of M. Claudel, to 
the melodramatic banalities of M. Mere ; every kind of 
dramaturgy, from Shakespeare's anticipation of the 
motion picture "flash-back" in The Merchant of Venice, 
to the attempt of the authors of Johannes Kreisler to tell 
a motion picture story in forty-two scenes; and from the 
messed-up plot of The Tidings Brought to Mary, to the 
plotless meanderings of Miss Akins. 

As for methods of production — But that is worth a 
good deal of talk in this year of our Lord 1923 and 
of Gordon Craig the fiftieth. 

Forget The Texas Nightingale, Passions for Men, It 
Is the Law — they are all done in the usual fourth-wall 
style. Realism of various kinds, and at its best "only 
remarkable," as Arthur Hopkins has reminded us, because 
it is not real. Take, instead, the three-costume pieces of 
the month — Belasco's Merchant, the cinemese Kreisler, 
and the Theatre Guild's production of The Tidings 
Brought to Mary. They are all three either poetic or 
fantastic, and they strive by three utterly different 
methods to achieve a background of persuasive beauty. 

Belasco's revival is the canonization of scenery. He 
has actors, of course, and he gives a great deal of care 
to their selection and drilling. A. E. Anson is noble as 
the Duke of Venice, and there are Philip Merivale, 
Fuller Mellish, Ian MacLaren and Albert Bruning — but 
no uncommon actress — to back up David Warfield's 
long-awaited Shylock. But even Warfield — playing a 
sympathetic and very personal Jew, sometimes too 
dumbly, sometimes with mere belly-muscle, now and 
then with the great pathos for which alone he is cele- 
brated — even Warfield is not important, compared with 
the scenery. This is not because it is good scenery. 
Only one of the canvases by Ernest Gros is really fine — 
the courtroom scene. The scenery is important merely 
because it gets deliberately in the way of Shakespeare. 
These great towering halls and houses, these thick box- 
trees and rounded pillars cannot be shifted about with 
any great amount of speed. And so the orderly scheme 
that Shakespeare devised for the telling of his two stories 
— the story of Shylock and Antonio and the story of 
Portia and Bassanio — has to go by the board. 

Page Forty-Four 


Instead oi presenting these stories in alternating 
scenes, as Shakespeare wrote them, Belasco lias to lump 
together all the scenes in Venice and all the scenes in 
Belmont. The dexterous, lyric swiftness of Shakespeare's 

narrative is sacrificed, as it always has been l>v our con- 
servative producers, for the sake of realistic scenic display. 



x the other hand — just as had a hand — take this 
Johannes Kreisler. It is written in forty-two scenes 
against the Merchant's twenty. The scenes of this 
tragedy of the artistic temperament, drawn from the 
same sources as The Tales of Hoffman, are given almost 
as rapidly as in any movie. Indeed, the entertainment 
is practically a movie in .stage terms. The tiling is accom- 
plished by all manner of mechanical devices and an 
endless profusion of lights. 

A little stage containing just room enough for the 
composer Kreisler and his crony-confidant rolls out of 
one corner and the old man begins his tale: "It was on 
the hillside of Bamberg. . . ." Black-out. The little 
stage rolls back. The lights come up, upon a deep setting 
of the hillside and the young Kreisler of many years 
before. Back to the study again, and another "spoken 
title," as the movies call it. Then out of the blackness a 
glimpse of a little stage high in the air, which rolls for- 
ward from the back. And so on for two hours and half. 
Machinery, machinery, machinery. Beauty also now and 
then, when Svend 
Gade, the artist 
from Berlin, is at 
his best. But not 
much drama. The 
business of this 
production is 
novelty and dis- 
play, not the 
depths of human 
emotion. It 
touches the sig- 
nificant only 
when the fantasy 
of the German 
stage directors, 
who put it to- 
gether, ventures 
off into fantastic 
visions of the ar- 
tistic tempera- 
ment, and these 
are accomplished 
with only light, a 
very few prop- 
erties, or at most 
the ordinary full- 
stage innocent of 
machines. In this 
squirrel cage is 
Jacob Ben- Ami, a 
fine artist, racing 
madly to keep up 
with the whirling 
wheel. He 
achieves a sur- 
prising amount of 
even while he 
dodges scenery, 
rips off a grey 
wig and smooths 
out the wrinkles 

of age as he Courtesy of the Selwyns 

slides Clow n the ^ scene from Johannes Kreisler, 

years to youth. performance 

hen there is the Theatre Guild's production of The 
idings Broughl to Mary. Claudel's play is a turbid 
and mystical drama of the Middle Ages, built Up, like the 
Merchant and Kreisler from more than the usual three 
or four scenes of our dramas. Instead of spending time, 
energy, and illusion over trying to turn roadsides into 
cottages and cottages into mystical hills, the Guild's 
director, Theodore Komisarjevsky, and the Guild's artist, 
Lee Simonson, have boldly kicked scenery clear out the 
stage door. They have thrown the curtain after it. 

When you first enter the theater and during the only 
intermission, you see the steps which fill the stage, the 
gold hanging at the back, the forestage where the 
orchestra pit used to be, and a flight of stairs leading to 
small doors in the walls of the theater close to the 
proscenium. Add a rude table-cloth, two stools, a couple 
of ceremonial candles, and some flowering branches, and 
you have the whole scenic equipment. Gloriously garbed 
nuns enter from the side doors at the beginning of each 
scene to add some little definitive detail. Here is nothing 
but a permanent, formal stage, plainer than Shakespeare's 
own playhouse; but a little thought and the patterned 
loveliness of costumes and lights make it into a magic 
spot where anything may take form. The spirit of the 
past lives here — the past of Claudel's play and the past of 
the theater. The spirit of the future may live here as 
well. Perhaps it will some day. 

So much for 
the disappoint- 
ments of Be- 
lasco's Merchant, 
the mechanical 
tricks of Johannes 
Kreisler and the 
beauty of The 
Tidings Brought 
to Mary. 

Br o a d w a y 
dashes afar 
off from all this 
when it goes to 
see Franz Mol- 
nar, creator of 
the sublime 
Liliom, now busy 
competing with 
The Passing of 
the Third-Floor 
Back and Win- 
ched Smith in a 
comedy of the 
terrible meek 
called Passions 
for Men. Here is 
an innocent and 
mildly amusing 
play written 
round the kind of 
angelic incom- 
petent which O. 
P. Heggie plays 
so perfectly. He 
plays him just as 
perfectly in this 

For a contrast 
consider The God 
of Vengeance, a 
drama of the 

drawn by John Held. Jr., during a ( Continued on 

of the play page 69) 

Page Forty-Five 

Curtain People of Importance 

Ira L. Hill 

Lenore Ulric, a characteristic por- 
trait of whom appears above, has 
been packing Belasco's Theatre to 
the doors by her remarkable study 
of that impudent but alluring 
gamine, Kiki, for well over a year. 
She scored her first big success in 
Tiger Rose, and followed it with 
a Chinese play, the Son-Daughter 

It is a far cry from The Music 
Master to The Merchant of Venice, 
but David Warfield (below) has at 
length achieved his greatest ambi- 
tion: "to play the Jew which 
Shakespeare drew." David Belasco 
has given him a splendid back- 
ground, and the play and imper- 
sonation are well worth seeing 

Lotus Robb shares the 
honors with Ben-Ami in 
that novel and beautiful 
production, Johannes 
Kreisler. Miss Robb 
plays four distinct char- 
acters — each embodying 
Kreisler s ideal. Below, 
she is costumed as 
Donna Anna 



Ann Mason (above) has hitherto 
been regarded as a beautiful 
woman who can wear beautiful 
clothes with remarkable distinc- 
tion, and who can act with charm. 
But in The Last Warning, while 
always a handsome figure, she 
acts with the intensity demanded 
by this engrossing mystery play 

Bela Lugosi (below) is a new- 
comer to the American stage, 
where he scored an instantaneous 
hit as Fernando in The Red Poppy. 
He is a member of the Budapest 
National Theatre and has been ac- 
claimed there as one of the most 
promising of the younger leading 
men of the stage 


Nicholas Haz 

. .is,.. fit 

Page Forty-Six 

A Young Lady of Character 

By Frederic Boutet 

Translated from the French by William L. McPherson 


7"OU shall not marry him. I am absolutely op- 
posed to it. and your mother is also. You are 
Eoolish, Marie-Therese. He is an imbecile and 
an incapable — that young fellow. He hasn't a cent to 
his name. He has no situation and is incompetent to 
make one for himself. He is a pretty boy who knows 
nothing but a few parlor tricks. A fortune-hunter, who 
thinks only of fascinating some rich girl. And you let 
yourself be caught like that! You, my daughter, who 
are educated and intelligent and have real force of char- 
acter ! It is idiotic. But I will not let you do it. You 
shall not marry him." 

M. Yallagne, who had been pacing up and down the 
room in great irritation as he talked, stopped in front of 
his daughter and repeated with emphasis : 

"You shall not marry him. I am absolutely opposed 
to it." 

Marie-Therese. erect and pale, confronted her father. 
Her black eyes flashed, her hair straggled down over her 
little forehead and an inflexible resolution hardened her 
pretty face. 

"I shall marry him," she declared in a voice which she 
tried to control, but which trembled, nevertheless. "Pierre 
Corbellier is neither incapable nor a fortune-hunter. 
He is a man of great promise who has never yet had a 
chance to show his ability — that is all. I have studied 
him closely, and I never make a mistake. He loves me. 
I love him. I shall be proud and happy to devote my 
life to him. I am free to dispose of myself, I think. The 
days have gone by when parents married their daughters 
by force." 

''But. my dear child," Mme. Yallagne interposed, "your 
father is perfectly right. This Corbellier may be a nice 
voung man. But, all the same, he doesn't seem to be 
worthy of you. I am astonished that after having re- 
fused many good offers . . . And then you know that 
your Aunt Henriette will not approve." 

"That doesn't matter to me. Let Aunt Henriette disin- 
herit me, if she wishes to. And dont give me a penny of 
dowry if you think I oughtn't to have it. I dont care 
about that, either. I shall marry the man I love." 

"And I tell you, you shall not marry him," cried M. 
Yallagne, whose choler was increasing. "I dont want 
to have my daughter marry a clown, who ..." 

"Your insults dont affect me and they dont affect him," 
Marie - Therese 
haughtily. "I 
shall marry 

She left the 
room with all 
the dignity she 
could muster. 
Her parents ex- 
changed de- 
spairing looks. 
She was their 
only child. They 
were rich. They 
had completely 
spoiled her and 
dreamed of a 
brilliant mar- 

riage for her. M. Yallagne wanted her to wed a rising 
politician. Mme. Yallagne had a weakness for diplomats. 
And here was Marie-Therese picking out this Corbellier, 
who made vague claims to being an author and art critic, 
but who had never published anything beyond unimportant 
articles, once in a while, in unimportant newspapers. It 
was heart-breaking. 

Marie-Therese had retired to her chamber. For some 
minutes she sat there motionless, her eyes fixed, strug- 
gling to control herself and to think. Her decision was 
soon taken. She would fight to the end, and she would 
triumph. In order to put herself more clearly on record 
she went to her desk and wrote Pierre Corbellier : 

"I love you and I shall never belong to anyone but you. 
Obstacles which appear almost insurmountable keep us 
apart. What does that matter? I shall be your wife. 
I want to be. Have confidence in me." 

She signed her name. 

That evening she told her parents what she had done. 
They were indignant and furious. Such a letter 
would compromise their daughter forever. 

"That's just what I meant to do," she said defiantly. 
The scene was violent and long drawn out. It was 
repeated the next day in the presence of Aunt Henriette, 
whom the parents had summoned to use her influence 
with Marie-Therese. But no influence was of any avail 
with this young woman. She had inherited from her 
father an obstinacy which, up to now, they had mutually 
admired, calling it strength of will. She was immovable. 
She wanted to be Mme. Corbellier. She would be Mme. 
Corbellier. To that end she kept up for three months an 
unceasing combat, into which all the friends of the fam- 
ily were drawn. Most of them took sides against Marie- 

There were some young girls, however, who admired 
her courage and offered up prayers for the triumph of 

This triumph came about in a romantic fashion. Marie- 
Therese eloped with Pierre Corbellier. She reached this 
decision after a scene more violent than any of the others, 
in the course of which her father went so far as to threat- 
en to "break that boy's neck." 

She wrote to Corbellier immediately, telling him ex- 
actly what to do. The elopement was to take place the 

next evening, 
by automobile, 
at nine o'clock. 
After dinner 
Marie - Therese 
stole away from 
the apartment, 
leaving a letter 
for her parents. 
Corbellier, who 
followed the 
young girl's 
orders with 
submissive ad- 
miration, drove 
her to a hotel, 
where he took 
( Continued on 
page 78) 

Page Forty-Seven 

Before the first crocus peeps from trie ground or the 
first robin cheeps from the tree-tops, you will see fond 
young things wandering thru the desolate parks and 
woodlands. They are the earliest heralds of Spring 

To the preoccupied commuter, who seems un- 
aware of Spring's charming presence, she will 
make herself known by chucking him under 
the chin with garden tools, or tickling his ear 
with shrubs and shoots, or bumping his knees 
with a lawn-mower 

Spring Is Here! 

A few signs whereby the busy per- 
son who has no time to give to Com- 
munion with Nature or the perusal 
of Almanacs may be made aware 
of the arrival of the most beautiful 
season of the year 


August Henkel 

Some Sunday morning Pop- 
per's mind will be detracted 
from the ghastly total of the 
Coal Company's recent bill, 
by wails and sputterings 
from the adjoining room. 
He will peep thru the door- 
way and behold Grandma, 
doling out large tablespoon- 
fuls of sulphur-and-molasses 
to his unappreciative off- 
spring. "Ah!" he will ex- 
claim, remembering his 
childhood, "Spring must be 
here !" 

Page Forty-Eight 

W hcncver a policeman sees a group of 
noisy, gesticulating urchins, and hears 
the clink of marbles, he knoivs that 
Spring has come. Tho he remembers 
the joys of his boyhood, he remembers 
as well that he represents Law and 
Order, so he gruffly orders the gamesters 
to "Move On!" 

Even in these days of smokeless coal and vacuum 
cleaners, there is many an old-fashioned housewife 
who annually treats her family to a Spring house- 
cleaning fete, where the man of the house dines on 
a cup of brackish coffee and an unbuttered sandwich, 
and glooms over the departure of Winter, while the 
pet bird coaxes him to "cheer-up, cheer-up" 

No, this is not the closing day of a prize contest, it is 
merely the opening day of Spring, and the poets have 
apprised the weary editor of the fact by making their 
annual offering of triolets, villanelles and odes — 
praying for unpoetic coin of the realm in exchange 

Mr. Younghusband returns to his two-room 
apartment after a hard day at the office and 
sees the fruits and vegetables, that he had ex- 
pected to find adorning the dining-table, 
adorning his wife's new hat instead — but in a 
highly glazed, inedible form. Tho not at all 
a caveman, he wishes he were living in the 
Stone Age, when Spring did not come in with 
bonnets and bills 

Page Forty-Nine 

A camera study of Wanda Grazer by Howard C. Cloye 


Page Fifty 

The Impotence of Reason 

The Mind and the World are ruled by the Emotions 

By Burton Rascoe 


FEW weeks ago a man for whose intelligence 1 And 1 give you my word, I found nothing in them that 

have the greatest admiration — Dr. James Harvey was new, instructive, profound or entertaining. I record 

Robinson, author of The Mind in the Making — this in humble frankness, for it is just possible that 

told me he considered John Dewey's Human Nature and Professor Dewey's words say more to him and to Dr. 

Conduct, and Reconstruction in Philosophy to be the Robinson than they do to me and that subtleties of his 

greatest philosophical 

works ever written. The 
statement astounded me, 
for I had read, with con- 
siderahle difficulty, a 
number of Professor 
Dewey's disquisitions in 
various periodicals, and 
had been much less im- 
pressed by the weight of 
his utterances than by 
the heaviness of his 
prose : and my mind 
summoned up the names 
of such philosophers as 
Plato, Aristotle, Kant, 
Comte, Voltaire, Fichte, 
Hegel, Spencer, Nie- 
tzsche, Mill, William 
James, and so forth. 

You will note that I 
confined myself instinc- 
tively to the thinkers of 
Western civilization and 
dwelt not at all on such 
names as Confucius, 
Buddha, Zoroaster, 
Moses, Jesus and Mo- 
hammed. In other 
words, I modified Dr. 
Robinson's statement in 
receiving it and took it 
to mean that in his opin- 
ion Professor Dewey is 
the greatest speculative 
philosopher the occi- 
dental world has pro- 

Of the philosophers 
whose names occurred 
to me I recalled that, tho 
I considered him a great 
and charming essayist, I 
could follow Plato 

something less than half way in his idealism ; that Ar- 
istotle held to certain superstitions now outmoded for 
some two thousand years ; that from Kant I learned but 
two phrases, the categorical imperative and knowledge a 
priori; that Comte and Fichte I had read but a little and 
had forgotten that ; and that I had found the others 
stimulating, interesting, provocative but not infallible 
proclaimers of the truth as I see it. When I came to 
think of it, I had not yet read any philosopher whose 
ideas I could swallow whole. I had detected, or thought 
I had detected, in them all occasional flaws in logic, pre- 
cept and even in common sense. 

I resolved forthwith to procure the two Dewey vol- 
umes and give them a careful scrutiny. This I did every 
night for an entire week. I read one of them twice. 

T£. A. Hoppe 

Whose latest book, The Waste Land, is one of the most significant poems 
of this generation. Last year he was awarded the Dial prize of two 
thousand dollars, offered yearly to the American deemed to have 
contributed the most toward the advancement of Arts and Letters 

thought are past my 
comprehension. When 
he tells me that there is, 
properly speaking, no 
such thing as an instinct 
for self-preservation, no 
such thing as a will to 
power, no such thing as 
self-deception, and then 
does no more than give 
new handles to the 
things we mean when 
we use those terms, I 
can see nothing pro- 
found in that. 

However, in the midst 
of his ponderous 
thought, Professor 
Dewey has thrown a 
great deal of current 
psychological grist for 
the grinding. Psychol- 
ogy is the newest of the 
sciences and much yet is 
to be learned in the field. 
Very little has been as- 
certained with any de- 
gree of certainty about 
the workings of the 
human mind, but a 
number of theories have 
been advanced which at 
all events sound reason- 
able enough. The book 
which contains the most 
acceptable of these the- 
ories, that has come my 
way, is Human Char- 
acter, by Hugh Elliot, 
an English psychologist. 

T^ lliot's 

■V^ simp] 

s book is the 
lest, clearest, 
best-ordered, most read- 
ily comprehended, and most readable work on psychology 
I have encountered since William James was alive and 
writing. He has a happy audacity for a psychologist. 
He worked out his academic apprenticeship, "but," he 
writes, "it is not in books that we shall learn to know 
human nature ; on the contrary, too much reading is a 
burden, which brings not a truer view of life, but a view 
of life artificially extracted and to some degree dis- 
torted." And so, instead of sitting in his study reading 
the works of other men, he went among all classes of 
people, observing traits of character at first hand. . 

He is the first psychologist I have read who has treated 
psychology as a separate and distinct field for investiga- 
tion. The others almost invariably make psychology a 
branch of ethics, and mingle with their data and 

Page Fifty-One 


deductions their individual ideas of desirable conduct. 
Elliot has apparently rid himself of all the usual ethical 
prepossessions and traditional prejudices. He has not 
concerned himself with ideas of good and evil but ex- 
clusively with what prompts us to do this and that. He 
has endeavored to find the mainsprings of all the unrea- 

emotions. "A good poet is a bad lover"; for intense 
feeling cannot be reduced to refined expression ; it is too 
blunt and heavy. 

6: Friendship is a minor emotion which is not strong 
enough to permit of any extensive draft upon the egoism 
of another, and a friendship which is opposed to the per- 

soning actions that take place in our lives — why men sonal interests of one party is very unlikely to endure. 

and women talk 
scandal about their 
friends, why a patient 
who has gone thru a 
serious operation likes 
to relate the details of 
his illness, why a per- 
son in a high state of 
excitement has to com- 
municate his excite- 
ment to everyone he 
meets, why we applaud 
by clapping our hands, 
and so on. 

Perhaps the most 
important feature of 
Elliot's new starting- 
point in psychological 
investigation is the ele- 
vation of emotion to 
the position of su- 
preme importance in 
the determination of 
character. The earlier 
psychologists divided 
mind into intellect, 
feeling and will, and 
attached the greatest 
importance to intellect. 
This was due to the 
fact that intellect is the 
factor which distin- 
guishes men from the 
other animals and to 
the fact that it was the 
easiest to study. Now, 
the more advanced 
psychologists say that 
thought itself is only a 
manifestation of emo- 
tion and that reason 
has very little influence 

on the activities or conduct of an individual. Intellect 
is a comparatively recent acquisition with man, while his 
instincts, his emotions, are heritages from his most re- 
mote ancestors. 

Here are, in brief, some of the conclusions Elliot 
draws : 

1 : The character of an individual is not an absolute 
fixed property, but fluctuates from time to time accord- 
ing to his physical state as well as to the mental factors 
which may be in operation. 

2 : Motives spring from instinct, not from reason : the 
human mind consists of feelings to which the intellect is 
merely a superficial veneer. 

3 : The mental life consists of a succession of feelings 
following continuously one upon another. The more 
vivid the feeling of the moment, the more buried the re- 
mainder of the mind. Strong mental concentration im- 
plies anaesthesia elsewhere. 

4: There can be no such thing as a "cold" intellectual. 
If a man is "cold," (i.e., emotionally deficient), he can- 
not be an intellectual, because he cannot bring into intel- 
lectual service any considerable energizing emotion. 

5 : Art and literature are the expressions of minor 

Author of The Mind in the Making 

On the other hand, a 
friendship which has 
arisen by degrees over 
a long period may be- 
come very strong and 
resist many impacts 
with the major pas- 

7 : The philosopher 
may be proof against 
the vicissitudes of life, 
but in so far as he is 
anaesthetic to the pains 
of life he is also an- 
aesthetic to its pleas- 
ures. His life is emo- 
tionally flat. Lives de- 
voted to thought very 
commonly fail of their 
purpose. They lack 
driving energy and the 
power of thought it- 
self wanes on account 
of inadequate pressure 
and stimulus. 

8: The more the 
mental energy is 
trained on to one 
branch of thought the 
less is there available 
for other branches. 
Mental energy is a lim- 
ited quantity for each 
individual, and if it is 
used up in one way, 
other ways are ne- 

9: Life is a continu- 
ous flow of feeling; 
the happiness of life 
depends upon the na- 
ture of the feelings 
which we experience as we move along. If the normal 
flow of feeling is seriously disturbed by our mode of life, 
then that mode of life is hedonistically unreasonable. 

Under the classification of major passions, Elliot in- 
cludes egoism, love, social and moral feeling, jeal- 
ousy and religion. He finds that, altho it is probably a 
late acquisition in the human species, the social and 
moral feeling has become so deeply embedded in our 
subconsciousness as to amount to an instinct. It is an 
instinct subserving the preservation of the individual and 
the perpetuation of the species ; without it the human 
species would soon disintegrate. It has no stronger rela- 
tion to morals and to law than the emotion which gives 
rise to a law has to the law itself. Morals, legislation, 
and convention are codified expressions of social feeling, 
but they have no higher sanction than that; for this 
reason, when a law or moral concept or convention no 
longer exists as an expression of the social and moral 
feeling it is a dead letter so far as human action is con- 
cerned, no matter how much pressure is exerted to make 
people conform to it. To take a familiar example: 
the Eighteenth Amendment is disregarded in every 
(Continued on page 76) 

(0 Blank & Stoller 

Page Fifty-Two 

The World 
We Live In 

A Satiric Comedy 


Karl and Joseph Capek 

Of the two brothers who have collaborated in the 
satiric insect comedy now playing in New York, 
Karl is the busier and more prominent. He was 
born in 1890 in Northern Bohemia. His work 
includes plays, poems, criticism and short stories. 
His first play was The Robber, begun in 1911, but 
not completed until after the war. It depicts the 
victorious and ruthless spirit of youth seizing all 
it covets and ridiculing the advice and logic of 
old age and experience. It was followed first by 
R.U.R., then The World We hive In (originally 
The Life of the Insects), which is a curious and 
effective satire on human society. It was a cou- 
rageous thing to attempt to transfer it to the New 
York theater, and Mr. W. A. Brady deserves 
credit for the very successful result. Fortunately 
he had seen the play on more than one occasion 
during his visit to Europe, and was able to re- 
produce its salient features here. 

Karl Capek' s short stories also reveal a strong, 
and original talent. The volume, entitled The 
Crucifix, contains penetrating psychological studies, 
and Tales of Distress displays a broad humanity 
and pity for the fallibility of human nature 

Photograph by Abbe 



The illustra- 
tions give an 
excellent idea 
of the quaint 
b a ckgrounds 
and costumes of 
the play, which 
relies largely on 
the scenic and 
sartorial set- 
tings for its ef- 
fect. The third 
act, however, is 
a masterpiece 
of compressed 
and mordant 

Page Fifty-Three 



Reflections after straying 
among musical reaction- 
aries and revolutionaries 


Jerome Hart 

Tito Schipa is one of the 
finest and handsomest of 
lyric tenors. He has sung 
with enormous success at 
La Scala, Milan, with the 
Chicago Civic Opera, and 
in the South American 
opera houses 

JLumiere, N. Y. 

IT takes all sorts and conditions to make up the musical 
world of New York. The more or less enchanting 
fauns and satyrs of modernism jostle with the staid 
and serious mortals who were bred on Bach, nurtured on 
Beethoven, and weaned on Brahms, and only a few of 
whom consider Debussy the last choice morsel in modern 
musical sustenance, to be consumed sparingly, like caviar. 
This season we have again had the Beethoven Associa- 
tion harking back to the ancient classics ; and for the pure 
love of music, or the love of pure music, and without fee 
or reward, great artists have come forward to revive and 
interpret splendid compositions which but for their gen- 
erous aid might be neglected and mayhap forgotten. The 
admirable Society of the Friends of Music has also con- 
tinued to seek the more sequestered paths and peaceful 
byways of music, in search of works of fine facture, and 
under the baton of the masterful and magnetic Bodansky 
has given concerts such as delighted our ancestors in the 
earliest days of the Philharmonic Society. All these 
concerts, and there have already been several this season, 
have been largely attended, chiefly by the older class of 

But the young and aggressive moderns are knocking 
loudly at the door, and are insistently and sonorously 
demanding to be heard. And heard they must and should 
be, for some of them have much which is interesting and 
striking to say. We of an older generation cannot say 

to music as Canute said to the waves, "Thus far and no 
farther," and if we did, we know that we should very 
properly be laughed at, just as Canute knew that he 
was commanding the impossible to happen. It cannot 
be believed that music, one of the oldest as well as in 
one respect the youngest of the arts, is going to stand 
still, that the last melodic and harmonic word has been 
spoken, that all the possible melodies have been sung, 
the complete category of chords has been compiled, the 
limit of progressions attained. 

Music has been spoken of as one of the oldest as well 
as youngest of the arts for the reason that, as we now 
know it, music, with its system of notation, harmonization 
and modulation, has not been in existence for more than 
a few centuries. The various old classic modes, dating 
back to the Golden Age of the ancient Greeks, and prob- 
ably long before that, are still retained. But music as 
a science is comparatively new and is still in process of 
evolution and development. To shut one's ears to the 
modernists is therefore absurd and, indeed, impossible. 
Those who are in the musical movement could not if 
they would, and sensible persons would not if they could. 

Nevertheless, ultra-conservative critics scoff and deride 
nearly everything new which is submitted for their judg- 
ment, just as of old Davison of the London Times, 
derided Wagner, and Hanslick sneered at Brahms. One 
cannot altogether blame them, for a good deal of modern 

Page Fifty-Four 


music seems to lie mere noise and nonsense on a 
first hearing, and intimate acquaintance and care- 
ful analysis only tend to confirm this opinion. 
In music, as in other forms of art, we are getting 
what is called impressionism and expressionism, 
with many of the affectations, extravagances and 
impostures of those cults. But, while too often 
so-called musical modernism is a mere cloak for 
impudent charlatanry and a disguise for ignorance 
of technique and the mere fundamentals id music, 
this is by no means invariably the case. The 
modernist, however, who is well founded in music, 
who has mastered the principles of harmony and 
counterpoint, who knows his Rach, Beethoven and 
Brahms, and understands and appreciates their 
greatness, but who at the same time is exploring 
the resources of new tonalities or scales and of 
harmonic and enharmonic combinations, is like 
Cezanne, who before he became the great impres- 
sionist he was. had learned all there was to learn 
in the academies about the technique of drawing 
and painting, and to whom the glories of the old 
masters were fully revealed. 

Which brings us to the first concert given on 
a recent Sunday evening, at the Klaw Theater by 
the International Composers' Guild. About this 
my own feelings are still considerably mixed. 
With the best will in the world, it was impossible 
to recognize in some of the compositions submitted 
aught beyond sheer eccentricity and downright 
ugliness. Of beauty in the accepted musical sense 
there was little or nothing, save charming settings 
by Marius Francis Gaillard of stanzas by Ver- 
laine. This young French composer, who is also 
an admirable pianist, should have a considerable 
future, for his work is sanely modern. Inciden- 
tally his songs were sung by Madame Georgette 
Le Blanc Maeterlinck with a maximum of dra- 
matic expression and a minimum of voice. 

I also liked much of Arthur Honneger's first 
sonata for violin and piano, exquisitely played by 
Gustave Tinlot and Carlos Salzedo. But this also 

Pauline Hamilton 


Gladys Axman has appeared with the Metropolitan and San 
Carlo Operas in classic roles. Olga Samaroff (left ) , in private life 
Madame Stokowsky, is one of the most distinguished of pianistes 

was spoiled by a too obvious straining after effects which, in 
my humble opinion, do not rightly come within the province 
and purview of music. To be told, as we were by the program, 
that the composition "derives its thematic material from a 
centrifugal figure in each movement" is not very helpful to 
the average individual. Indeed, it seems only a little less non- 
sensical than the alleged ambition of another modernist, Migot, 
of whom I recently read in a French publication, which is to 
write three-dimensional music, "music which has density plus 
surface," a feat achieved by writing in several planes, however 
that is accomplished. 

Another composer who played his own work at the Klaw 
Theater was Dane Rudhyar, who gave on the piano his 
Luciferian Stanza, a succession of crashing dissonances, and 
another entitled, apparently on the Incus a non luccndo principle, 
Ravissement. The first, we were informed by the program, 
"belongs to a larger group of piano pieces, Soul Fires, which 
is the first part of the composer's Cosmophony of the Universe 
and Man." Now I have no doubt that Mr. Rudhyar is a very 
clever young man, for he won a thousand dollar prize at Los 
Angeles. He has also written a brochure on Debussy and has 
contributed musical articles to high -class magazines. Mr. 
{Continued on page 77) 

Page Fifty-Five 

Aage Remfeldt 


A Norwegian dancer, well known on the Continent, who plays "Anitra" in the Theatre Guild's 
production of Peer Gynt. She is the wife of Tancred Ibsen, grandson of the famous dramatist 

Page fifty-Sir 

They Drive Dull Care Away 

American readers — including the critics 
■ — long ago crowned Carolyn Wells (be- 
low) Queen of Humor. She gives her 
verses and essays a distinctly original 
and delicious touch. She also writes 
marvelous mystery and detective stories 
for the entertainment of the T. B. M. At 
present she is at work on an Outline of 


To the petulant child, the bored 
flapper, and the troubled 
grown-up^ we give the same 
prescription: Tony Sarg's 
Marionettes. They offer rare 
entertainment, and much food 
for laughter and philosophic 

Gene Kornman 

Harold Lloyd is one of the 
greatest merriment-makers in 
motion pictures. His expres- 
sion of injured innocence 
would have brought a smile to 
the face of Timon of Athens. 
His newest film is titled 
Safety Last 

Below is Elsie Janis, the ever-youthful, ever- 
fascinating, ever-popular entertainer of the stage. 
Her singing and dancing are a delight, and as 
a mimic she is unsurpassed 

Victor Ge org 

© George Maillard Kesslere, B. P. 

Paul Whiteman looks over 
his audience before he raises 
his baton, the signal for his 
famous orchestra to make 
the tantalizing music that 
goes directly to your feet 

Above is the most popular 
and widely read newspaper 
contributor in the world. 
He is Bud Fisher, the cre- 
ator of those immortal en- 
tertainers, Mutt and Jeff 

Page Fifty-Seven 


The Man About Town 

MEN are inveterate gossips — even more so than 
women, I believe. Especially do they love to 
sit and talk together about old days and old 
ways. Thus it is that often, when determined that I will 
go and hear some beau- 
tiful singing by Bori, 
Alda or Easton, John- 
son, Gigli or Danise 
from a corner of the 
press box at the Metro- 
politan Opera, I get no 
farther than the public- 
ity office of that famous 
institution. There one 
can usually spend a 
happy and harmonious 
hour gossiping over old 
times and old friends 
with Willy Guard, lis- 
tening with becoming- 
deference to the well- 
considered obiter dicta 
of General Director 
Gatti-Casazza on old 
operas and famous sing- 
ers of days past ; laugh- 
ing at the snatches of 
ancient balladry as well 
as the newest story of 
that chartered jester 
Frank Warren, and ex- 
changing greetings or 
reflections with the crit- 
ics and other journal- 
ists, most of them vet- 
erans, who for years 
have made Willy 
Guard's sanctum an- 
other Press Club. 

/Occasionally Tom 

Bull, the genial 
Cerberus in front of the 
house for more than a 

generation, and who knows every opera by heart and 
every habitue and star as a personal friend, will drop in 
and keep the ball of reminiscence and anecdote rolling. 
Eddie Ziegler, second in command, who grows more like 
an impresario every day, and who himself graduated as a 
journalist and critic, will unbend and jest with the best, 
and "Ally" Seligsberg, the learned counsel of the Metro- 
politan as well as of every great star, and who knows 
all their professional and unprofessional secrets, but who 
has never been known to reveal an inkling of his knowl- 
edge, becomes a genial gossip about everything in general 
and nothing in particular. 

From time to time a self-styled journalist or dead- 
head creeps in almost furtively to beg one of those 
little slips which the Publicity Director hands out with 
so much liberality but discrimination withal, and one 
gets an object lesson in urbanity and courtesy. Ever 
and anon also famous singing-birds hop in just for the 
pleasure of exchanging greetings with one of the most 
popular persons on Broadway. 

"Touring the years that I have been privileged to make 
*** the Metropolitan's publicity office a place of frequent 
resort, I have seen some renowned personages in the lit- 
tle ante-room leading from it to the stage and auditorium. 

I saw President Wilson 
there when he came 
back from Paris in the 
Spring of 1919 ex- 
\ pressly to explain his 

League of Nations 
scheme from the stage 
t % v of the Metropolitan. 

And only the other day 
I stood a few feet from 
another member of "the 
Big Four," Clemenceau, 
who expounded the 
wrongs as well as the 
rights of France under 
the Treaty of Versailles 
from the same platform. 
Others whom I have 
seen in the same place 
are ex-President Taft, 
Ambassadors Jusserand 
and Rolando Ricci, also 
sage senators, great 
judges, shining lights of 
literature, the drama 
and the arts too numer- 
ous to mention or even 

There are few more 
interesting persons who 
come and go thru that 
little ante-room than the 
great musical figures of 
today as well as occa- 
sionally of the days be- 
fore yesterday. Indeed, 
it seems but yesterday 
since I saw there Ca- 
ruso, stout, swarthy, 
jovial as always, with, 
also as always, a small knot of friends and admirers 
clustered round him, and looking as if he had many 
years of almost unexampled success and prosperity be- 
fore him. Anon stalks by, wonderfully erect, alert and 
youthful for a man well on in the seventies, Victor 
Maurel, greatest of singing actors of his day ; and then 
that even greater actor-singer Chaliapin, like a big jolly 
boy, full of the joie de vivre. That most exquisite of 
singers, Madame Sembrich, comes tripping along like a 
girl after witnessing the performance of Thais, with her 
pupil Jeritza as the splendid courtezan of Alexandria. 
It would be rude as well as silly even to hint at her age, 
but she looks half of it, whatever it is. 

Ane of the youngest and sprightliest of the veterans 
^^ of grand opera is Antonio Scotti, "Toni" to his inti- 
mates, nothing downcast by his recent experiences as an 
operatic impresario, tho it is known and deeply regretted 
that his last venture in that capacity made heavy inroads 
(Continued on page 72) 

Page Fifty-Eight 


The chasuble at the right 
shows the exquisite 
beauty and the perfec- 
tion of workmanship at- 
tained by textile artists 
in the making of eccle- 
siastical garments. This 
vestment teas woven by 
Agnes Branting of Sweden 
in 1918 

From the Looms 
of the North 

Textiles have occupied a foremost place in 
Scandinavian handicraft for centuries. The 
artists have followed along traditional lines 
largely, and have disregarded modern inno- 
vations. An international exhibition of Swedish 
textile art will be shown at the Gothenburg 
Jubilee Exposition this summer 

The strip at the top of 
the page is a wall-hang- 
ing of unusual beauty, 
woven during the Middle 
Ages. The design is sym- 
bolical, and the patterns 
are very like those in the 
larger hanging pictured 
below, which was made 
in 1922 

Above, a small rug 
of conventional de- 
sign and loose 
weave, giving an 
effect of shaggU 
ness. At the right, 
a wall-hanging 
from the Middle 

The pattern of the 
elaborate hanging 
above, is based on 
principles of old 
Swedish textile de- 
sign. It was woven 
by Marta Maas 
F jailer strom last 

Page Fifty-Nine 



A piquant entrant in the Beauty Contest 

Page Sixty 

In Studio and Gallery 

THE Fourth Exhibition oi the New Society of Art- 
ists at the Anderson Galleries touched the high 
mark in events on the Art Calendar. Some of the 
best work of our painters and sculptors of the first rank 
was shown. Opportunity was offered for better compari- 
son in the treatments of subjects by placing the work of 
each man together instead of according to the usual man- 
ner of hanging. Altho no prizes were offered, the work of 
the artists was unusually fine, and the tone of the exhibi- 
tion was raised immeasurably beyond that of last year. 
Works of the following were exhibited: Chester Beach, 
Gifford Beal, Reynolds Beal, George Bellows, A. Stirling 
Calder, Robert Chan- 
ler, Timothy Cole, 
Randall Davey, Hunt 
Diederich, Paul 
Dougherty. Guy Pene 
Du Bois, Frederick E. 
Frieseke, William J. 
Glackens, Samuel Hal- 
pert, Robert Henri, 
Rockwell Kent, Leon 
Kroll, Gaston La- 
chaise, Albert Laessle, 
Ernest Law 7 son. Hay- 
ley Lever, Jonas Lie, 
George Luks, Dodge 
Macknight, Paul Man- 
ship, Henry Lee Mc- 
Fee, Gari Melchers, 
Jerome Myers, Elie 
Nadelman, Joseph 
Pennell, Van Deering 
Perrine, Maurice B. 
Prendergast. Edmond 
Quinn, Board man 
Robinson, Frederick 
G. R. Roth, C. C. 
Rumsey (the late), 
John Sloan, Eugene 
Speicher, Maurice 
Sterne, Albert Sterner 
and Mrs. Harry Payne 
Whitney ( Gertrude V.). 
Portrait, by George 
Bellows, is an excep- 
tionally fine study. 
The subject is Mrs. 
Bellows, and the art- 
ist has placed on the 

canvas all his feeling for character, lighting and color. 
The face is the subject and the center of attraction. 
There is no opportunity for the eye to be attracted by 
minor details. His landscapes are even freer in brush 
work, and are painted without fear of subject, color or 

Leon Kroll's, The Sonata, has the feeling of music. 
The figures are serenely in keeping with a melody, and 
the picture as a whole has the charm that comes over one 
when listening to the soft chords of a piano. In Full 
Blossom the artist gloriously makes the apple-tree to the 
Spring landscape what a light is to the darkness. Land- 
scape — Central Park is entirely in keeping with our New 
York days, and reflects truly the real grey-brown of our 

Rockwell Kent has gone to the far North for inspira- 
tion. His paintings stand out in their individuality. 
Equinox, Winter, a big subject for canvas, shows bril- 
liance of color and splendid composition. Alaskan Land- 

Courtesy of the artist. Copyright reserved 


scape is again the country of beautiful snow-clad moun- 
tains. The foreground is splendidly handled, the bluish 
shadow of a huge mountain emphasizing the distance 
in its beautiful sunshine. The higness of the snow-coun- 
try is felt thruout his work. 

The Creek, by Hay ley Lever, makes a sharp impres- 
sion by strong use of color and freedom in brushwork. 
The picture reflects the keen enjoyment of the artist in 
his subject, and radiates the heat of a summer day. 

Dodge Macknight ranks high among water colorists. 
His work is distinctive and shows an unusually fine un- 
derstanding of color. Whether he paints in a high or 

low key, his handling 
is sure. Snow in New 
Hampshire shows free- 
dom in treatment and 
unusual placement of 
strong color on the 
white snow back- 

The Pot Hunters, by 
Gari Melchers, stands 
apart from his other 
subjects. The picture 
is beautiful in color; in 
fact, the dull red neck- 
erchief on one of the 
figures is so handsome 
in tone that it holds 
one long and compels 
another glance. The 
mind looking at this 
painting recurs instinc- 
tively to the artist's 
murals, so rich in color. 
Paintings by Maurice 
B. Prendergast are 
recognizable at once as 
his work, which is 
marked by a powerful 
originality in assem- 
bling many figures on 
a small canvas and in 
balancing his subject 
completely. Not only 
is the composition well 
thought out, but the 
placement and use of 
color are entirely char- 
Paintings by Eugene Speicher are dominated by the 
use of greys. And they are compelling in attraction. 
They give out the spirit of the modern and yet bring back 
to us almost a feeling of the daguerreotype. 

Maurice Sterne revels in antiquity. His Head of a 
Child seems to have come from the workshops of long 
ago. His pictures are of great interest and hark back to 
the time of the Florentines. 

Painting, Pastel, and Drawings by Albert Sterner 
have great charm. This artist has the faculty of working 
in any medium. Each composition strikes the juste 
milieu in the trend toward the modern. Beautiful color, 
sympathy and understanding of subject make Mr. 
Sterner a commanding figure in the art world. 

Oculpture by Gertrude V. Whitney, covering a period 

^ of twenty years, has been on view at the Wildenstein 

Galleries. Mrs. Whitney in many of her subjects shows 

(Continued on page 69) 

by Eugene Speicher 

Page Sixty-One 


First Prize 
By Laura Gilpin 

There is an ease of pose and lack of stiffness in this photograph that is 
charming; you are conscious of the movement arrested while the boy 
pats the dog. The action is not frozen and the spacing and picture hold 
together. It was rather daring to cut the dog in two, but one is not 
conscious of the loss. In fact, if the whole of the dog had been shown, 
it would have been too much repetition of the vertical, with the balus- 
ters, the boy's legs and the four legs of the dog 

Page Sixty-Two 

The Camera Contest 

Looking Backward 

THIS habit has been eondemned as fatal to one's 
advancement, but it is sometimes necessary, to measure 
one progression. So it is with us. In looking back 
over the past six months, since the inauguration of the 
Contest, we are more than gratified with the results. We 
have built up gradually, as all good building must be done. 
Prints have been received from Denmark, Holland, Eng- 
land, China, Saskatchewan, New Zealand, and from every 
nook and crevice of the United States. Not all pictorialists 
wander about on the paved streets of cities, for time and 
time again packets have come to us from almost unknown 
hamlets, and these packets have contained photographs of 
beautifully seen things. 

Beginning, as we did, in the middle of summer (prints 
are always judged two months previous to their appear- 
ance) the returns were negligible. At first, the prizes were 
won principally by those residing in the East ; soon, how- 
ever, we began to hear from the Western section of the 
country, and this month both first and second prizes go to 
the Far W r est. The judging has been fair and impartial. Sel- 
dom does one judge know who is to be on the jury with him. 
The judging of prints is done along the following lines: 
Originality is sought first (another word for that would 
be composition). At this point I would like to repeat a 
conversation I had recently with a well-known photographer. 
She said that Europe was full of beautiful things waiting 
for someone to come along with a camera ; that on account 
of this beautiful architecture the pictorialists of Europe 
seldom strove to create, but were satisfied to copy, while 
the pictorialists of America had to combat many things to 


Third Prize 

By Meyers R. Jones 

A charming bit of architecture and a beautiful example of 

a bromoil, one of the most- difficult and at the same time 

individualistic methods of expression 

create beauty. For in this busy country of ours 
picturesque ruins are not efficient and soon give 
way to sky-scrapers and model factories where 
efficiency reigns. 

The second point of consideration is treatment. 
Time and again has a print lost because of a lack 
of proper treatment. First, we must consider the 
reproduction qualities if we are to have good 
studies in the magazine. If your prints are 
under-exposed and lack detail, they are sure to be 
criticised. As all things in this world are judged 
relatively, so it is that sometimes a well seen bit 
must step aside for one not so well seen, because 
the taker of the first was careless in his treatment 
either of the negative or print. 

Remember, each time a print is photographed 
there is a falling off in values, and if the detail 
is indistinct in the original, it is very apt to be 


Second Prize 

By John Hagemeyer 

Originality of view-point; effective pattern without an 

unnatural forcing. If he saw his theme so beautifully, 

it is regretted that he did not go further and make a 

more interesting pattern 

Page Sixty-Three 



Honorable Mention 

By Paul Wierum 

Good perspective, but the lack of detail in the mass of the station 

platform makes the picture too heavy on that side 

totally lost in the reproduction or cut, and that faint 
lines will fill up very quickly with ink and smudge 
in the printing. The snap-shot or drug-store- 
developed print stands a poor chance because it is 
constantly being compared with prints that have 
been carefully prepared. Also, it is apt to give the 
judges the impression that the taker doesn't believe 
in his pictures or he would have given them better 

But do not be discouraged if you do not win a 
prize quickly. The efforts put forward in the 
endeavor to win will repay you. The monthly 
perusal of the magazine and the comparison of the 
prize-winning pictures with your own work will 
quickly show you some point where you can im- 
prove and in a later contest be one of those whose 
prints are admired. 


Honorable Mention 

By Mrs. Antoinette B. Hervey 

Well balanced, interesting and a good example of 

architectural photography 


|>K*:>*-'< . 



Try and send in some figure studies. Because we 
are called "Pictorial Photographers" do not sup- 
pose we are only interested in the scenic. The 
unusual in portraiture is wanted. Send us still- 
life studies — they are the most difficult of all. But, 
no matter what type of photograph you attempt, 
never forget that thing so often mentioned — 

(Continued on page 75) 


Honorable Mention 

By P. Murray 

Excellent composition and a beautiful picture found in a 

clump of weeds that most people would pass by 

Page Sixty-Four 

American Writers and European Readers 

(Continued from page 19) 

would naturally be that he refused to eliminate these 
novelists from consideration when challenged to make any 
such comparison, since he has the right to match the best, 
and not the second-best, that his country has produced 
against the best that America has produced. 

No, the European critic and reader will not readily 
abandon the traditional standards when it is a question 
of classifying or awarding a place in literary art to any 
work acclaimed as "vital," "great," "memorable," "mo- 
mentous" and so on— no matter whether the work be of 
Latin, Slav, Scandinavian, English or American origin. 

Sinclair Lewis is on record as having asserted that 
English writers are "too darn literary for any use." 
Xow, the English reader, like the Continental reader, 
rather inclines to think that literature ought to be literary, 
just as music ought to be musical and art artistic. One 
wonders if Air. Lewis is of the opinion that Schubert, let 
us say, is too darn musical for any use? Or, Gains- 
borough and Raphael too darn artistic, and Shelley and 
Tennyson too darn poetical ? 

"Pep" and "snap" and "punch" are no doubt most 
estimable qualities — in pugilists, salesmen, baggage-smash- 
ers and successful thieves — but one asks if it is really 
essential that creative and imaginative artists (as distinct 
from animated fiction pumps) shall also be required to 
exude these particular virtues. 

It is certain that, judged by the American "pep" stand- 
ard, many of the greatest writers the world has ever 
known would have no standing whatsoever ; and it is 
equally certain that neither English nor Continental read- 
ers and critics will readily substitute this extraordinary 
standard for that of genuine artistry. 

I once worked for a short time in a certain American 
literary agency which handled almost exclusively the work 
of European writers. Some of these writers had consider- 
able standing in their own countries, but their work was 
frequently returned to them as unsalable in America owing 
to a lack of "pep," and many were the letters sent implor- 
ing them to infuse a little more of this magic quality into 
their stories — a quality absolutely incomprehensible to the 
cultured Continental writer and probably regarded as con- 
temptible when comprehensible. 

A few weeks ago I was talking to the editor of a well- 
known monthly magazine about the work of Johan Bojer, 

European writers derive their inspiration largely from 
a background of medieval history, with its accessories 
of magnificent sacred shrines and picturesque palaces, 
castles and manor houses. Great kings and princes, 
soldiers, statesmen and churchmen, scholars, writers 
and artists, whose lives often were fraught with high 
romance, have proved a strong stimulus to fine writing 

for which I expressed great admiration. He told me that 
he had received several of this author's short stories for 
consideration, but that they were quite unpublishable in 
his magazine 1 asked why. 

"They've no pep ; they're nothing but atmosphere," he 
replied. "Well, what of it ?" I said. He looked at me as if 

I were losing my 
reason. "We must 
have some pep," 
was the reply, "a 
story cant get 
along without 
some pep." (It is 
amazing how 
many of them 
have and still do, 
all the same.) 

HpH e "pep" 
-*- standard con- 
stitutes one more 
stumbling - block 
in the way of Eu- 
ropean apprecia- 
tion of American 
novelists, just as 
the lack of it in 
European novels 
must prejudice 
them in the eyes 
of tens and hun- 
dreds of thou- 
sands in this 
country. The Eu- 
ropean reader will 
forego "pep," but 
he usually appre- 
ciates the sophis- 
ticated viewpoint 
of the man of the 
world ; the Ameri- 
can reader, on the 
other hand, is 
little impressed by 
worldly sophistication but extremely appreciative of 
"punch" and "pep." How can such divergent demands 
be squared? 

They cannot ; not unless and until the European writers 
acquire "snap" and the American writers that intangible 
something which, for lack of a better term, I will call 
the grand manner. The term, I know, will meet with a 
good democratic sneer, but, nevertheless, I persist in using 
it, as it expresses more or less accurately the quality I 
have in mind. With a rich and picturesque background to 
write against, and a little of the grand manner in writing, 
American authors would have at the very least as good 
a public in England as any good non-British writers. 
In the meanwhile, America's contributions to the world 
in fields other than that of art are loudly, widely and 
insistently proclaimed. Her pre-eminence in commerce, 
industry and business enterprise and her singular gift of 
mechanical inventiveness are universally acknowledged. 
Can she, then, any more than any other race of these or 
earlier times, expect complete success in every province 
of human endeavor? For, as the late Dr. Emil Reich 
wrote in the opening sentence of his Success Among Na- 
tions, "Scarcely anybody, upon the most cursory consid- 
eration, can have failed to realize how rarely, if ever, 
national success has been complete." 

Americans who write about their coun- 
try are deficient in a background of 
romantic and chivalrous history and the 
traditions of statecraft, while for the 
most part the public and private build- 
ings, save those devoted to education, 
lack picturesqueness, and all alike have 
yet to create history and tradition. The 
enormous size of great office buildings 
and hotels, while grandiose and impres- 
sive, is apt to become monotonous, while 
there is corresponding monotony and 
sameness in political, and social condi- 
tions thruout the country 

Page Sixty-Five 

(Information about theatrical productions cannot invariably be accurate because of 

the time it takes to print Shadowland. In the meantime, new plays may have opened 

and others may have changed theaters or have been discontinued.) 

Drama — Major and Melo- 

Dagmar. Selwyn. — Alia Nazimova in Austrian play 
translated from the German. 

The Fool. Times Square. — Channing Pollock has 
almost written "the great American play." Finely acted. 

Hamlet. Harris. — John Barrymore at his best. 

It Is the Law. Boxes. — Modern melodrama ex- 
cellently acted. 

Johannes Kreisler. Apollo. — Fantastic puzzle play, 
wonderfully staged. 

The Last Warning. Klaw, — Of all mystery plays 
the most exciting. 

The Laughing Lady. Longacre. — Smart modern play 
by Sutro, with Ethel Barrymore, repeating the London 
success of Marie Lohr. 

Listening In. Bijou. — Full of thrills, natural and 

The Love Child. Cohan. — Highly emotional play 
from the French. 

Loyalties. Gaiety. — Fine Galsworthy play superbly 

The Masked Woman. Eltinge. — Another French 
play, with Lowell Sherman in a remarkable study of 

The Moscow Art Theatre. Jolson's Fifty-ninth St. 
— The perfection of high dramatic art. 

The Merchant of Venice. Lyceum. — Sumptuous 
Belasco production, with David Warfield as the Jew. 

Peer Gynt. Garrick. — A fine Theatre Guild produc- 
tion of a great play. 

R. U. R. Frazee. — Fantastic melodrama and social 
satire by Capek; excellently produced and played. 

Rain. Maxine Elliott. — Mordant sociological study, 
with Jeanne Eagles playing superbly. 

Romeo and Juliet. Henry Miller. — A beautiful 
production. Jane Cowl is a lovely Juliet. 

The Seventh Heaven. Booth. — Good melodrama, 
well acted. 

Six Characters in Search of an Author. Princess. — 
Excellent satire and irony admirably played. 

Whispering Wires. Brpadhurst. — First-rate and ex- 
citing melodrama. 

Will Shakespeare. National. — Admirable poetic play, 
perfectly acted and produced. 

The World We Live In. Forty-fourth St.— Another 
of Capek's allegorical satires. Admirably staged and 
well acted. 

Humor and Human Interest 

Abie's Irish Rose. Republic. — Jewish - Hibernian 
comedy written and played in farcical spirit. 

The Egotist. Thirty-ninth St. — Leo Ditrichstein in a 
part which fits him to a nicety. 

Give and Take. Forty-ninth St.— Aaron Hoffman's 
new play, with Louis Mann and George Sidney. 

The Humming Bird. Ritz. — Maude Fulton stars in 
her own play. 

Jitta's Atonement. Comedy. — Brilliant tragi-comedy 
adapted by G. B. S. from a play by Trebitsch. Bertha 
Kalich as Jitta. 

Kiki. Belasco. — In its second year, with Lenore Ulric 
as a bewitching gamine. 

Merton of the Movies. Cort.— 
Mirthful and sometimes touching satire 
of a screen-struck hero. 

Mike Angelo. Morosco. — Carillo in one of his 
inimitable Italo-American studies. 

The Old Soak. Plymouth. — Don Marquis' immortal 
creation splendidly transferred to the stage. 

Passions for Men. Belmont. — A sentimental but de- 
lightful play by the author of Liliom. 

Polly Preferred. Little. — Another amusing skit on 
the movies, with Genevieve Tobin. 

Rose Briar. Empire. — Agreeable and amusing vehicle 
for the dainty charm of Billie Burke. 

Secrets. Fulton. — A real, old-fashioned love story, 
with beautiful acting by Margaret Lawrence. 

So This Is London! Hudson. — Comic social satire 
on British and American types. 

Why Not? Equity Forty-eighth St. — The Equity 
Players' third and best production. A cynical satire on 
modern marriages. 

Melody and Maidens 

Better Times. Hippodrome. — The 
greatest show on earth since Barnum's. 

Blossom Time. Century. — Shubert's 
life and music pleasantly perverted. 

The Bunch and Judy. Globe. — Ex- 
cellent fun, charming music, admirable 

Chauve-Souris. Century Roof. — 
Fourth, last and best program. 

The Clinging Vine. Knickerbocker. 
— A peg for pretty Peggy Wood. 

The Dancing Girl. Winter Garden. 
— Lots of girls and plenty of dancing. 

The Gingham Girl. Earl Carroll. — 
Funny, melodious and fascinating blend 
of new and old. 

Glory. Vanderbilt Theatre. — Nonde- 
script but pretty and pleasant. 

Greenwich Village Follies. Shubert. 
— The last word in the modern revue. 
A perfect entertainment. 

The Lady in Ermine. Ambassador. 
— A reversion to the best type of 
musical play. 

Little Nellie Kelly. Liberty. — George 
Cohan excels himself. 

Liza. Daly's Sixty-third St. — Infec- 
tiously jolly, jazzy second edition of 
Shuffle Along. 

Music Box Revue. Music Box. — 
Irving Berlin's latest songs ; lovely girls ; 
a glittering gorgeous show. 

Sally, Irene, and Mary. Casino. — 
Very chic and up-to-date girly-girly 

Up She Goes. Playhouse.- — A 
splendid evening's entertainment, full 
of fun and other good things. 

Ziegfeld Follies. New Amsterdam. — 
As usual, better than its best "prede- 
cessors. — F. R. C. 



Page Sixty-Six 


Our Contributors 

WILLIAM McFEE. whose last 
novel, Command, is now in its 
third edition, has decided to 
leave all things English, except his 
accent, and become a naturalized 
American citizen. Once a month Mr. 
McFee walks thru the romantic streets 
of Cartagena Eroica, and he has ex- 
pressed, in his imperial prose, its true 
atmosphere. Not only does he find 
time to contribute to various maga- 
zines, and be chief engineer of the 
Metapan, but he is working- on. a new 
novel. * * * Victor Herbert, 
America's most popular composer of 
light opera, is a descendant on his 
mother's side of Ireland's famous 
novelist. Samuel Lover. He was 
educated musically in Germany, and 
was principal 'cellist in the Court 
Orchestra, Stuttgart, before coming to 
the United States. Here he was solo 
'cellist in the orchestras of Theodore 
Thomas, Seidl and others, and after- 
ward conducted the Pittsburgh Sym- 
phony Orchestra and his own New 
York Orchestra. He has composed 
more than twenty successful light 
operas. * * * Troy Kinney has 
two passions — which are really one — 
etching and hard work, the hard work 
having principally to do with etching. 
This last season he had a one-man 
show at the St. Louis Art Institute 
and, coincidently with that, one at the 
Cornell University School of Architec- 
ture. * * * R. le Clerc Phillips 
was born in Pembrokeshire, Wales. 
She was educated at Clifton, afterward 
taking to literature and lecturing. She 
has lived much on the continent of 
Europe, and during the war was in the 
service of the French Government, at- 
tached to the Ministry of Propaganda, 
and both wrote and lectured on 
France's war aims. She has been in 
America three years doing historical 
research work specially connected with 
the economics of war, and writing 
articles for various publications. 

* * * Thomas Craven is a lecturer, 
writer and 

critic and an 
authority on 
modern art; 
painting is his 
avocation. H e 
contributes to 
the Dial and to 
art magazines 

* * * Ferenc 
Molnar, author 
of Liliom. is at 
present in 
Budapest, su- 
the superb pro- 
duction of his 
latest play, 
Heavenly and 
Earthly Love, 
for which 
foreign managers from all over the 
world are competing for the rights of 
production. He was married a few 
months ago to Sari Fedak, the Hun- 
garian musical comedy star. Two o' 
Them Talking is one of a group of 
short plays about children written by 
Molnar several years ago. * * * 
Joseph Szebenyei, Molnar's translator 
into English, is known in Hungary as 
the translator of Kipling and Wilde 
into Hungarian, as a war corre- 
spondent, and as a magazine writer on 
subjects of finance and economics. 

During the war he was on the staff 
of the London Morning Post and 
his articles were cabled daily to the 
New York Times. He writes for the 
Century, Atlantic Monthly, and other 
publications. * * * Clayton Knight, 
whose clever sketches for R. le Clerc 
Phillips' article so well express the 
ideas of the author, does a great deal 
of magazine illustrating. He is now 
making a scries of drawings of the old 
houses of Long Island. * * * Henry 
Altimus, author of many gay stories 
of Paris, left ten years ago for the 
South Seas to escape modern plumb- 
ing, telephones and chewing-gum pub- 
licity. He never got farther than 
Paris, where two of these do not exist 
and where the other does not work. 
His article in this issue reveals the 
unique point of view which has made 
his stories so exceptional. * * * 
Robert James Malone, who has amused 
you with his Excerpts from Carmen, 
started his artistic career on a Balti- 
more newspaper, and has developed a 
remarkable technique in his caricatures. 
* * * Benjamin De Casseres, sati- 
rist, iconoclast and weaver of words, 
has just had a new edition of his book, 
The Shadow Eater, published by 
Gould of the American Library Service. 
Don Marquis has written the preface 
and Wallace Smith, after staying 
awake all night haunted by the pictorial 
possibilities, made the illustrations. 
There is one fascinating cartoon by 
Decayas. * * * George William 
Breck is a war veteran, caricaturist, 
and writer. In his clever cartoon on 
page thirty-eight he shows the Olym- 
pians at Lunch, at the sacred Round 
Table of the Algonquin. * * * 
Jerome Hart is an editor of British and 
American journals and magazines, a 
writer of musical reviews, and a com- 
poser of songs. He contributes special 
musical articles to these pages. * * * 
Kenneth Macgowan graduated from 
Harvard in 1911, and for nearly five 
years was a newspaper-man in Boston 
and Philadel- 
p h i a . For a 
change of work 
he became pub- 
licity and ad- 
vertising direc- 
tor for Gold- 
wyn. He is now 
dramatic critic 
for the New 
York Globe and 
Vogue, and con- 
tributes to 
many leading 
* * * Samuel 
C hamberlain 
calls himself an 
"architectural 1 
artist.'' He 
spends his 
Europe and his winters in 
He is a graduate of the 
Boston Institute of Technology, and his 
work appears in art and architectural 
journals. * * * Frederic Boutet is 
one of the most talented and versatile 
of the present-day short-story writers 
of France. * * * William McPher- 
son is a newspaper-man and an au- 
thority on international politics. By 
way of diversion, he translates stories 
from the French. * * * A. M. 
Hopfmuller is the Art Director of the 
{Continued on page 78) 

summers in 
New York. 

It overshadows 
even beauty 

WOMAN'S charm is a subtle 
thing. The slender fingers of 
its magic often cast a strange hyp- 
notic spell. And then you hear peo- 
ple say: "What can he possibly see 
in her!" 

But Mary was different. She was 
simply and obviously beautiful and 
every one said so; even the girls 
who envied her most. 

Yet she had fox-trotted blithely 
through that period when a girl is 
supposed to pause over marriage 
as a more serious thing than it ap- 
pears to be at twenty. 

And now she was rapidly ap- 
proaching those more serious years 
that pendulum about the thirty mark 
when friends begin to be just a lit- 
tle concerned. 

All of the girls of her set were 
either married or about to be. She 
was not — and, very apparently, not 
about to be. 

In spite of all her charm, some in- 
visible something was eclipsing her 
beauty and holding her back. 

If any of her friends knew why, 
no one dared to tell her. 

And she, least of all, knew the 

* # * 

The insidious thing about halitosis 
(the medical term for unpleasant 
breath) is that you, yourself, rarely 
know when you have it. And even 
your closest friends won't tell you. 

Sometimes, of course, halitosis 
comes from some deep-seated or- 
ganic disorder that requires profes- 
sional advice. But usually — and 
fortunately — halitosis is only a local 
condition that yields to the regular 
use of Listerine as a mouth-wash 
and gargle. 

This halts food fermentation in 
the mouth and leaves the breath 
sweet, fresh and clean. So the sys- 
tematic use of Listerine this way 
puts you on the safe and polite side. 
You know your breath is right. Fas- 
tidious people everywhere are mak- 
ing it a regular part of their daily 

Your druggist will supply you with 
Listerine. He sells lots of it. It has 
dozens of different uses as a safe anti- 
septic and has been trusted as such for 
half a century. Read the interesting 
booklet that comes with every bottle.-; — 
Lambert Pharmacal Company, Saint Louis, 
U. S. A. 

Page Sixty-Seven 


She Found A Pleasant Way To 
Reduce Her Fat 

She did not have to go to the 
trouble of diet or exercise. . She 
found a better way, which aids the 
digestive organs to turn food into 
muscle, bone and sinew instead of fat. 

She used Marmola. Prescription Tab' 
lets, which are made from the famous 
Marmola prescription. They aid the 
digestive system to obtain the full 
nutriment of food. They will allow you 
to eat many kinds of food without the 
necessity of dieting or exercising. 

Thousands have found that Mar- 
mola Prescription Tablets give com- 
plete relief from obesity. And when 
the accumulation of fat is checked, 
reduction to normal, healthy weight 
soon follows. 

All good drugstores the world over sell Mar- 
mola Prescription Tablets at one dollar a box. 
Ask your druggist for them, or order direct and 
they will be sent in plain wrapper, postpaid 

430 Garfield BIdg., Detroit, Mich. 


for April 

"First, let us examine the qualifications of the 
student. I find the American student tremen- 
dously responsive, sensitive to suggestion, 
eager, ardent, persevering (often doggedly so) 
and untiring. Qualities of grace and feeling 
for line are not lacking in the make-up, nor 
is a sense of rhythm totally absent but, and 
here is a most important fact, the dancer in 
America is fundamentally, one might say, in- 
tellectually undernourished." 

The Future of the Dance in America 


MediumBrown : 


Looks best of all after ; 
a Golden Glint Shampoo. 
It gives the hair a 
tiny tint 

From a Collector's Note-Book 

By W. G. Bowdoin 

THE technique of collecting varies. 
For the collector with a long purse 
there are the antique shops that are 
to be found in almost every city, nearly 
all of which charge all that the traffic will 
bear. Then come the auction rooms, where 
competition for desirable pieces is more 
than likely to run the prices up. 

The by-paths which may be followed 
with much occasional success by the col- 
lector with a short purse include the so- 
called "rummage sales," where curios once 
highly valued, but which have served and 
have been discarded in favor of something 
better, may now and then be secured for 
the proverbial song. 

A source that contains many gems, but 
which has been held negligible by most 
collectors, is to be found in the push-carts 
of the New York Ghetto. On Orchard 
Street, sandwiched in between carts over- 
flowing with pharmaceutical seconds, old 
boots and shoes, and much junk, may be 
found carts stocked with curios. These 
come from 

the sale of 

sales, and 
maybe from 

Among the 
items that 
were thus 
picked up by 
a collector 
who made 
this section 
a part of his 
were an 
drawing by 
W. Hamil- 
ton Gibson, 
in a frame 
that gave 
the page in 
Sharp Eyes 
in which the 
drawing was 
an original 
drawing by 
B o ardman 
(framed), a wood-block print in color by 
Arthur W. Dow, with the exhibition label 
still in place; several Chinese printings on 
silk; a Florentine mosaic; certain Indian 
elephants carved in ebony ; some Swiss 
carved nut-crackers in animal and bird 
forms ; a Polynesia fishhook with native 
cord attached, constructed from an Abo- 
lona shell ; some Eskimo carvings on bone ; 
an eagle's claw; and some valuable auto- 
graphed books. 

HP HERE was lately shown in the Art 
-*- Center, New York, a highly interesting 
lot of rare perfume bottles, patch-boxes, 
and other toilette articles ranging from 
the seventeenth century, in the Houbigant 

Chelsea porcelain items, articles from 
the hand of Wedgwood, fabrics of Batter- 
sea enamel, tortoise shell, galuchat (fish 
skin), mother-of-pearl, rock crystal, cut 
glass, ivory, gold, silver, Vernis Martin, 
agate and buhl work were all included 
and made a fine showing. 

This antique vanity-case contains, besides the two per- 
fume bottles with gold caps, the blending-funnel thru 
which men and women of the seventeenth and eighteenth 
centuries mixed their own perfume bouquets. A mirror 
is in place back of the bottles. The other articles 
are an ivory tablet and pencil, a gold knife for mixing 
rouge paste, a gold rake-edged tongue-scraper, gold 
pincers and a gold needle, which was used to thread 
ribbon thru the hair of the wigs worn in the time of 
Louis XVI. The whole set stands about three and one- 
half inches high 

The Wedgwood item was a jolly bottle 
with a light blue ground, upon which a 
myth figure in white, after Flaxman, was 
superimposed, floral border holding the 
design together. 

One of the patch-boxes was of red 
leather ; it contained an eyelash brush, a 
silver tongue-scraper and a needle for 
ribbons. This box showed incidentally 
that some of the grand dames of the late 
eighteenth century had something on the 
modern fashionables, for our flapper's 
vanity-box is not quite so thoroly equipped. 

HTHE curio collection belonging to the 
late Mrs. S. B. Duryea, of Brooklyn, 
was dispersed at the Anderson Galleries, 
last November. There were nearly 500 
lots in the catalog. 

The collection was a most unusual one 
for a woman, and included weapons from 
Oceania, Asia, Europe and America, arms 
and armor, hunting trophies, objects of 
ethnographical and geological interest, 

ivory and 
lacquer, pot- 
tery, porce- 
lain, brasses, 
coppers, fur- 
niture rugs 
and miscel- 
laneous ob- 
jects of art. 

THE prac- 
t i ce of 
using coins 
for buttons 
is by no 
means an un- 
common one. 
Certain of 
the Siamese 
coins, called 
bullet coins, 
lend them- 
selves well 
for this pur- 
p o s e. A 
discovered in 
a corner of 
Bafaria an 
old inn- 
keeper who 
us,ed large 
silver coins 
for his waistcoat buttons and some of the 
Mexican Indians are said to employ them. 
The practice of using buttons for coins, 
on the contrary, is unusual. It may be of 
interest to the man in the street, to recall, 
therefore, that this was done quite gener- 
ally here during and after the Civil War. 
Because of the scarcity brought about 
by exportation and hoarding, metallic 
money of all kinds commanded a premium 
at that time. Therefore, many firms, and 
in some cases individuals, used buttons and 
various forms of tokens as money. These 
were in reality promises to pay, or I. O. 
U's. This personal currency was recog- 
nized and accepted in the communities in 
which it was issued and in nearby places. 
The use of buttons and tokens as money 
was in part responsible for the issuance by 
the United States Government of fractional 
currency that earned the term of "shin- 
plasters." Some of these carried pictures 
of current postage-stamps and were called 
"postage-stamp currency." They ranged in 
value from three to fifty cents. 

Page Sixty-Eight 

Broadway's Melting Pot 

(( ontinued from page 4?) 

Yiddish underworld which, 1 believe, 
A. 11. Woods once threatened to exploit on 
Broadway. This study of character and 

ideals and neuroses, written by Sholom 
Ash and poorly translated, takes a busi- 
nesslike brothel-master and conscientious 
father for its hero, and enables us to see 
Rudolph Schildkraut, father of young 
Joseph and lout; one of Max Keinhardt's 
best players, doing his first part in English. 
He does it so well that the prospect of a. 
l.ear. or a Shylock, from the man is 
decidedly exciting. 

Last comes the poor little American 
drama — so basely neglected this season. 
Zoe Akins' comedy of a roughneck but 
artistic temperament, The Texas Night- 
ingale, is already dead, dead as a stage 
doornail. It was a frail thing, plotless, 
cheap, too, but unquestionably observant 
and veracious. It seemed to me that 
Jobyna Howland played the rambunctious 
prima donna with a bit too much of the 
sledge-hammer touch even in the most 
pianissimo passages. Yet she was far too 
good to deserve the contumely which her 
manager, Gilbert Miller, heaped on her by 
abruptly closing the play when it had some 
prospects of making its way, and explain- 
ing that he was doing an act of histrionic 

We must have American plays, no 
matter how cosmopolitan we may care to 
be. And one good way of getting them is 
to encourage Zoe Akins. 


In Studio and Gallery 

(Continued from page 61) 

that the late war has meant much to her. 
Honorably Discharged has the keen under- 
standing of duty well done. Fourth Divi- 
sion Memorial is a perfect specimen of 
the fine young American soldier. Buffalo 
Bill is particularly strong in action. The 
taut reins, the open mouth of the horse, 
with front leg lifted, all help to complete 
a vigorous piece of workmanship. Doors 
of El Dorado is a well-balanced compo- 
sition having the feeling of expectancy in 
the half-opened doors. Washington Heights 
and Inwood Memorial, a commanding 
group, is powerful and shows the imagina- 
tive and technical ability of this sincere 

'"Phe Brooklyn Society of Artists has, 
according to some of its members, out- 
lived its usefulness. A great many of 
these artists have resigned or are about 
to resign, but they announce with one voice 
this wholesale resignation is not in any 
sense a secession — merely insinuating that 
they are leaving a train which has run 
out of coal. Meanwhile a new society has 
been formed by them and has been chris- 
tened The Brooklyn Society of Modern 
Artists, whose expressed purpose is to hold 
exhibits of American progressive art, fea- 
turing or fostering no individual school, 
but encouraging originality and individual- 
ity in the arts. H. B. Tschudy is president 
of the new society; Edmond Weill, secre- 
tary, and Alex. P. Couard, treasurer. 

T^he Milch Galleries held the first ex- 
hibition of Water Colors by James 
Montgomery Flagg. The subjects were 
landscapes, portraits and interiors. In the 
out-of-door sketches the handling is freer 
and farther from the touch of illustration. 
In the portraits and interiors the artist 
(Continued on page 73) 

Beauty Secrets for Everywoman 

Buy the April "Beauty," on the news-stands March eighth. 

How Often Do You Look in Your Mirror? 

Not the idle cursory glance when you pat your hair in place, nor yet 
the quick look as you powder your nose, but rather the cold, critical 
scrutiny that notes the unkempt eyebrows, the enlarged pores, the crow's- 
feet and the tired lines from nose to mouth. Do it. For unless you 
know your faults you cannot find the remedy. Note all the blemishes, 
then consult Beauty for the cures. A new department starts in the 
April number particularly designed for mirror studiers. The advice is 
short, sharp and pertinent. Look for "The Mirror." 

Your Mouth and Your Character 

Do you want to know the character of your friends — and enemies? Take 
a look at their mouths; sizes, shapes, thinness or thickness of lips, these 
all mean something. In the April Beauty you will find the key that 
will tell you what all these signs mean. But what is better still you 
will find out how to disguise your own mouth, if you don't like it. 

Two Clever Articles 

Modern Dancing Beauty for the Business Girl 

Annie Hamilton Donnell's Serial 

"The Transformation of Mrs. Prettyman" 

Beauty Secrets for Everywoman 

Buy the April "Beauty" on the news-stands March eighth. 

Page Sixty-Nine 


The Picture Book De Luxe of 
the Movie World 

Advice to the Interviewer 

You never can fell, some of 
these days you may have the 
opportunity of interviewing 
your favorite movie star. 
How will you make your 
approach ? What will you 
say when you are, at last, in 
the presence of the celebrity? 
An interview can be ruined 
by a tactless remark. What 
to do — and why. The fatal 
results of doing the wrong 
thing. Humorously told by 
one who has been inter- 
viewed many times. 

Flashes From the Eastern 

In April not only will the 
stars of the silver sheet 
sparkle from this page, but 
the stars of the footlights 
will also twinkle. Melville 
Johnson, who has talked 
with many of them, will set 
down the gossip that proves 
altho stars may be stars they 
are also human. 

Priscilla Dean 

Why is it that nearly all the 
photographs of the charming 
Priscilla are full-face? She 
has a striking profile. Hal 
Phyfe has caught its haughty 
beauty perfectly i" his sketch. 


The first of a se i of three 
articles on cense vship — they 
should not be missed. Stan- 
ton Leeds has written clev- 
erly and sanely of the nu- 
merous absurdities of the 
Argus eyed and pompous 


The Picture Book De Luxe 

of the Movie World 


for APRIL 

Cartagena Eroica 

{Continued from page 15) 

fill. Always to the sea, which clashes 
softly upon the rocks behind the tremen- 
dous walls. Even when you emerge by 
some cavernous portal to see the country 
beyond, the waters of the lagoon are within 
a few feet of your wheels, a placid mirror 
upon which floats the distant jetty with 
your ship looking toylike beside it. 

Perhaps it is this all-embracing presence 
of salt-water that makes a walled and 
heated city healthy in spite of the primitive 
habits of the citizens, the exposed proven- 
der, the unprotected drinking-sources and 
the indifference to mosquitoes. One is 
reluctant to debate hygiene in an atmos- 
phere of royal blue and gold, where the 
old walls are monoliths of bloodstone and 
porphyry, and the shadows of ancient 
chambers are alive with contralto laughter, 
with mystery and romance. The imagina- 
tion, as we say, can feed. Save for the 
insolent squawk of a shabby motor-car, 
which may pass you, rolling like a laden 
ship in a sea-way, as it plunges axle-deep 
in the undulating dust, there is naught to 
diminish your secret conviction that you 
are a Spanish aristocrat of inconceivably 
ancient lineage and yonder balcony the goal 
of your desire. She lives there, that ravish- 
ing creature you met only yesterday at 
sunset, taking the air upon the walls, her 
two austere slaves following not far away. 
You imagine the patio, palms with a foun- 
tain playing in a marble basin and the lady 
regarding you from the balcony with enor- 
mous sentimental black eyes. 

You are now fully emancipated from the 
life which hems you in so closely in the 
colder Northern clime. You have aban- 
doned your wife and children, and your 
stenographer will never see you again. 
Your business associates have long since 
given you up. It must be the sunlight that 
transmutes the vague longings of romantic 
youth into a fantastic stage play upon so 
exotic and gorgeous a stage. You have 
left Spain because you had, in the jargon 
of the period, killed your man. Even the 
discovery that you have a guitar under 
your cloak, or possibly a bandura, and that 
you are determined to play it, has ceased 
to have any humorous aspect. You are 
prepared, if need arise, to kill another man. 

Later, as you keep your watch on the 
wall, by moonlight, pacing to and fro in 
front of your little domed turret, you have 
that most desperate of romantic affairs, 
an assignation. You have never been en- 
tirely clear in your mind as to the nature 
of an assignation, preferring to let the 
mind wander in the thickets of mystery. 
Now you know. Assignations mean danger. 
In every black shadow there are vengeful 
eyes watching you. At any moment a long 
sword, exactly like the one at, your side, 
may slide thru your ribs, you will utter a 
devastating scream at the burning agony 
of it, and topple. 

All this in the moonlight. It is not the 
moonlight of the nights at home. It has a 
quality you have not hitherto encountered 

in moonlight, a quality of being alive and 
sentient, like the blue of that sky this 
morning, a quality that evokes the legends 
of past days. It pours down upon you 
until you conceive yourself doing ferocious 
things, ordering executions and walling up 
virgins in grim fortresses. 

Descending from the walls, you stalk 
majestically along the narrow sidewalks. 
Here and there you catch sight of some- 
thing you have been educated to call ro- 
mantic. You see a black male figure 
clinging to the embrasure of a window. 
He too has an assignation. As you pass, 
he maintains a silence and immobility 
ominous to the stranger, while a pair of 
black eyes in a dead-white face examine 
your blond clumsiness as you stumble 
past. You begin to doubt whether you 
are such a tremendous cosmopolitan after 
all. You are not sure that you could prove 
your consanguinity with these swart enig- 
mas of a Southern clime. Their glances, 
and the glances of their women, the level 
penetrating appraisal of the Latin — fancy 
having that in the home ! 

You are no longer in the moonlight, and 
you have lost the desire to illumine the 
battlements with burning heretics. This 
old city of the Caribbean has a personality 
of its own, one not entirely synchronising 
with your home town, it appears. The 
huge thick nail-studded doors must surely 
harbor something more sinister than do- 
mesticity. You recall the Inquisition, 
which like assignation has a vaguely terri- 
fying sound to folk who pay income tax 
and garage hire and club dues. A broaden- 
ing business, this travel, you conclude as 
you debouch upon a plaza flooded with that 
disturbing moonlight. A marble statue in 
the center of the irregular space resembles a 
congregation of the sheeted dead. The semi- 
circular arches of the arcades are dramatic 
in the profundity of their shadows. 

The silence is oppressive, and you reflect 
with some uneasiness that this is not the 
plaza, after all, that you were looking for. 
And you want your hotel ! This moonlight 
is wearing, you discover. You need very 
much the bright cheerful electric light, the 
white table-napery and pleasant clink of 
bottles. After all, you decide to postpone 
abandoning your wife — if you can only 
find the hotel ! 

A figure detaches itself from a dark 
corner and moves toward another figure 
now approaching. The bells of the Cathe- 
dral boom out the hour in clangorous re- 
luctant tones that vibrate in the air among 
the cloisters. The two figures, which are 
policemen, change places, and one of them 
emits a shrill and terrifying whine on his 
little tin horn. He has changed the watch 
and all's well. You hasten away from 
these alarms and excursions, and recognize 
an opening which leads, you feel sure, to 
the hotel. It does, and as you gain once 
more its friendly neighborhood, you are 
aware you have gotten something of that 
romantic essence you left home to find. 

■ IIIIIINimillMlllllllllMltltlllllll 

The Decline of Light Opera 


players which is all the very small orches- 
tra pits of our New York theaters allow 
for ; but to transport the whole band of 
them about the country would drain the 
resources of a Mfecenas. 

In all European countries the fine arts 
are ranked as equally essential to the pub- 
lic welfare with the more sober necessities 
of life, and governments see to their 

from page 23) 

financial support with no more question 
than they maintain the national highways. 
It seems to me that a similar arrangement 
is the" only one by which we can hope to 
keep our more costly forms of musical 
presentation alive, and assure to our chil- 
dren, in their middle age, the same delight- 
ful and rejuvenating memories the comic 
opera of our younger days gave to us. 

Page Seventy 


Charles Sheeler 

( i. ontinued fi otn page 1 1 ) 

plastic organization, or that sheer crafts- 
manship can raise the impersonal to the 
plane where it becomes personalized again. 
Compare his oil study of skyscrapers with 
liis camera study of the same: in the paint- 
ing I find a certain definite quality, a linear 
precision, and a remarkable range of tonal 
contrasts which suggest the photograph ; 
but the beauty of the painting lies in its 
design, in the imaginative reconstruction 
of the basic planes to produce a new form 
stronger than the literal object of the 

And so it is with his exquisite flower- 
pieces, his astonishing drawings of indi- 
vidual trees, and his landscapes. Here 
again it is the mind of the artist working" 
upon the raw material of nature to create 
a new order. Mr. Sheeler remarked to 
me that it was his aim to give his work 
"The absolute beauty we are accustomed 
to associate with objects suspended in a 
vacuum," meaning, by this to strip his 
drawing of all superfluous ornamentation, 
to direct attention to one form, and one 
only, complete in itself, satisfying, and 
coherent. To accomplish this aim, his pic- 

tures are simplified to the last degree — the 
background is generally an uncovered space 
of Hat white, and the structure emphasized 
by sharp black-and-white contrasts. He 
employs color sparingly, one or two tones 
in most cases, and these applied in flat 
areas, the exact opposite of the Impres- 
sionistic method. His refined workman- 
ship is unapproachable, an attribute quite 
in keeping with his subtle vision and his 
ability to render form with singular deli- 
cacy, and yet without needless adornment. 
An art of this character has its dangers : 
It is likely to lead to an absorption in 
processes, and to give primacy to mate- 
rials ; it tends to lose itself in textures, 
arbitrary patterns and decorative pretti- 
ness, and to forget that the medium is only 
a vehicle for the expression of life and 
reality. As concerns Mr. Sheeler, there is 
little to be feared : he is too genuine an 
artist to surrender his talents to a mechan- 
ical pastime. He works slowly and with 
the utmost care, and exhibits only those 
productions which he feels carry out his 
own conception of a definite and enduring 


Iron Shutters and Open Lawns 

(Continued from page 41) 

a uniformed ticket collector, too weighed 
down with the instruments of his busi- 
ness to gain on the fugitive. 

I took in the situation at once, and, 
tho I had been living in France many 
years, I suffered a momentary relapse and 
joined the ticket collector in the chase. 
Suddenly, however, I recovered my self- 
possession and realized that I was com- 
mitting a breach of individual liberty. I 
stopped and joined the onlookers, leaving 
the official, as they did, to pursue his duty. 
It was his business to collect tickets on 
the arrival of trains, and it had been the 
particular whim of this young passenger 
not to pay his fare and bolt the collection 
at the gate. Pursued and pursuer were 
each attending strictly to his own business, 
and the crowds looked on while this busi- 
ness was being transacted. 

The collector did not call Stop Thief ; 
he asked for no help, and none was of- 
fered him. The youth was free to get 
away if he could, the official was free to 
catch the fugitive if he could; and, which- 
ever way the issue went, the onlookers 
were merely interested in seeing that there 
was no interference one way or the other. 
If the setting had been the Grand Central 
Station instead of the Gare de Lyon, a 
thousand travelers would have been at the 
heels of the fugitive and would have de- 
livered him up to the law with the sadistic 
pleasure of a joyless people. 

It would be an error to conclude from 
this that the French are a lawless race. 
The difference is psychological. The 
American, in such an instance, sees himself 
as the ticket collector, charged with the 
sacred duty of protecting property. The 
Frenchman sees himself as the fleeing 


youth, drawn by the lure of Paris and 
determined that the price of a train ticket 
should not stand in the way of his happi- 
ness. The American trembles lest the 
youth, escaping the law, climb thru the 
open windows and unencumbered lawns of 
his home. The Frenchman, his windows 
sealed and his shop protected by heavy 
iron shutters, feels secure in allowing the 
youth the freedom of the city. 

On the evening of the last Quat'z Arts 
Ball, the Paris students and their models 
marched in a body, as usual, to the hall 
where their mad annual revel was to take 
place. On their way up the Champs- 
Elysees, they made a slight detour into the 
rue Royal and invaded Maxim's, taking 
possession of the dance-floor and of the 
tables, drinking the guests' wine, eating 
their food, and turning that dignified cafe 
into a veritable love-den of Nineveh. The 
French couples, surprised in the midst of 
their dinner, entered readily into the spirit 
of the invaders and ordered more food 
and wine for the marauders. The Ameri- 
cans, outraged, appealed to the manager. 
The latter shrugged his shoulders, smiled, 
and said : "What can we do? It is youth !" 
The Americans appealed to the police, who 
had marched with the students and had 
entered the cafe with them. The police 
replied: "Que voulez-vous? C'est la jeu- 
nesse !" 

The Americans, thinking of their open 
windows and unprotected lawns, were ter- 
ror-stricken. The French guests, the 
windows of their homes sealed and their 
shops secure behind iron shutters, toasted 
piratical youth. While the police stood by, 
ready to interpret French law to the un- 
initiate and to explain that fun did not 
constitute an infraction of that law. 

Zr T J^r JET 

{Under Contract with Bermuda Government) 

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Everlasting Spring 

Only 2 Days from New York 

Sailings Twice Weekly 

From New York Wed. & Sat. 

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For Illustrated Booklets on Bermuda, 
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34 Whitehall Street, N. Y., or Any Local Tourist Agent 


for April 

In April the theatrical season is draw- 
ing to a close, but you feel that there 
are some plays you have missed that 
really should be seen. Your time is too 
limited to make mistakes and see poor 
plays. If you read Kenneth Mac- 
ffoivan's sane criticisms first, you ivill 
not make mistakes. 

TkiARX Photo 


THIS is the" 
portunity f 
to art studer; 
and all who delt^ 
artistic presentation, o 
f ul womanhood to ot 
reasonable price phot 
studies that in com; 
artistry and sheer beat 
pare with Triart Studid 
are actual photograpi 
direct from the origin; 
and finished on buff p 

Each is 8 by io incl 

Some were made inc 
a studio; others were 
in charming natural st 

The models are unusual 
artistic. These picture: 
for use by artists in pla 

Set A, eight pictures, $3.50 Set B, eight pictures, #3.50 
Single print, 8xro, of picture above, mail prepaid, #1.00 

Triart Publishing Company, Inc. 

406 West 31st Street New York City 

Page Seventy-One 







A Moron is a person whose 
brain development is several 
years behind the physical de- 
velopment. Eighty - five per 
cent, of the population is sup- 
posed to be morons. Wise pro- 
fessors found this out by ask- 
ing foolish questions. So look 
out for the next beautiful 
blonde you meet. She may look 
twenty and have the mind of 
thirteen. Then, again, you 
never can tell about this naive 

You with rejected scenarios, 

you technical error film scouts, 

you who go to the movies, 

"-"rrely to pass the time," and 

it in making re- 

the stars, similar 

ear, they say she 

write her name." 

p ! Come to ! 
out of it! 


/all knows morons, 
|cnows the movie 
Id her article 




for APRIL 


{Continued from page 58) 

on the savings of a lifetime of hard and 
admirable work. He, too, keeps amazingly 
youthful in appearance because he has a 
young heart. There is no greater favorite 
both before and behind the curtain than 
the man who has taken the place once oc- 
cupied by Maurel and Renaud, and one 
hopes to see him once again in perhaps his 
finest role, that of the amorous Don in 
Mozart's greatest opera. 

I have reproduced a capital autographed 
pencil portrait of Scotti which I found 
pasted on the wall of Willy Guard's of- 
fice. It is one of a collection of similar 
portraits of operatic celebrities by Roy 
Stowell, recently on view at the Ehrich 
Galleries. It is interesting to know that 
the artist is a young man who looks after 
the great curtain which veils the stage of 
the Metropolitan from the audience. There 
are many such interesting and clever peo- 
ple among the hundreds of persons en- 
gaged nightly at New York's great opera 
house, and at some time or another one 
sees them all in that snug little publicity 
room, which is just as untidy as a busy 
pressman's room ought to be. 

r\ x a recent Sunday evening I attended 
^ a dress rehearsal at the Empire 
Theatre of Rose Briar, a rather weakly 
pretty comedy of modern manners, 
especially ill manners, by Booth Tarking- 
ton. There was a galaxy of theatrical 
and other celebrities present, and they 
made the most appreciative audience pos- 
sible, conveying the impression that one 
was witnessing a masterpiece played as a 
masterpiece should be, which was very far 
from being the case. I could not help 
reflecting on the first time I had seen Miss 
Billie Burke, who enacted the heroine so 
prettily, and also on the first time I had 
read a Booth Tarkington book. It was in 
London, nearly a score of years ago, that 
I first saw Miss Burke, with that admir- 
able comedian Charles Hawtrey, in an 
eighteenth century costume comedy by 
Louis Napoleon Parker entitled Mr. 
George. Then as now she was what Aus- 
tin Dobson called "a dainty rogue in 
porcelain." Without any desire to flatter 
unduly, the passage of years seems to have 
made no difference whatever in her, ex- 
cept that she has greatly improved as an 

The first time I read a book by Booth 
Tarkington was when I was in Petrograd 
in the early stages of the great war. It 
was Penrod, lent me by the charming wife 
of the then American Ambassador and I 
thought then and do still that it was the 
best and most amusing book about a boy 
I had ever read, and that no other writer 
had ever written with such humor and 
comprehension about young people. I 
cannot help wishing that Mr. Tarkington 
would give up writing plays about modern 
society, Bolshevists and such like, and give 
us more books and plays like Penrod or 
Clarence. No one understands the psy- 
chology of youth better or conveys it more 
sympathetically, while, frankly, I do not 
think he knows very much about the other 
subjects. Besid ., who wants to know 
any more than is already known about the 
knaves, jooIs and crazy idealists who have 
ruined Russia, or about the pretentious, 
silly folks who live in ostentatious homes 
on Long Island and frequent road-houses 
and cabarets? 

C peaking of cabarets, the other night I 
went to one of a character which Mr. 
S. Jay Kaufman would call "different." 
I mention Mr. Kaufman because that in- 
veterate "Round-the-Towner" beguiled me 
there. It is called the Club Gallant, and is 
situated on Macdougal Street, near Wash- 
ington Square, that is almost in the heart 
of "the Village." It is a little slice of 
night life as it is lived in Vienna or Buda- 
Pesth, where Mr. Kaufman has recently 
been sojourning. Small, cosy, intimate, 
with striking and amusing murals by 
De Fornaro and others depicting New York 
celebrities, one gets there an entertainment 
which without being downright shocking 
is sufficiently daring to make one sit up 
and take notice. Anecdotes which, as the 
English say, are "well, not quite . . ." 
episodes which approach the knuckle with- 
out being absolutely raw, and songs saucy 
and chic help to give a piquancy to one's 
supper or light refreshment. One would 
like to repeat the sayings and describe the 
doings of Miss Betty Brown, as commere. 
She is a budding Fanny Brice, who will 
yet be a star on Broadway, or I am much 
mistaken. Betty can say and do things 
which are extremely amusing, but which do 
not gain by being recorded in cold print. 
Then there is a brilliant young Mexican 
pianist and composer, Tata Natcho, who 
does not even need an enormous hat or a 
short jacket and braided bell-bottom 
trousers to proclaim his nationality, for he 
is a remarkably genial and picturesque- 
looking desperado, just the type for a 
"movie." As for Barney Gallant himself, 
he is the mildest-mannered Socialist who 
ever threatened to undermine the founda- 
tions of society, while there are several 
other clever and amusing folk to make one 
forget that it is high time for all respect- 
able folk to be in bed and asleep. For 
those who believe with Tom Moore that 
"the best of all ways to add to .your days 
is to steal a few hours from the night," 
the Club Gallant is exactly the place to go 
to just before the witching hour. 

YX/'hile on the subject of clubs, I ought 
to say something about that social 
galaxy which calls itself The Pleiades. The 
members and their friends congregate 
every Sunday night at the Hotel Brevoort 
and regale themselves with a good dinner 
and a good entertainment to follow. On 
recent occasions among the invited guests 
were such celebrities' as Dr. Lorenz, wizard 
of bloodless and orthopedic surgery, 
Senator Royal Copeland, Edwin Markham 
the poet, Augustin Duncan, head of the 
Equity Players Theatre, and Miss Virginia 
Murray, Secretary of the Travelers' Aid 
Society, which does such interesting and 
beneficent work for the friendless stranger 
in New York, especially among young 
girls, and other interesting folk. There 
was some capital singing, especially by 
Knight Macgregor, who gave an aria from 
Le Nozze di Figaro in a manner which 
befitted him for the Metropolitan Opera ; 
and Miss Claire Stratton, a charming 
young soprano, who so far has only sung 
in light opera, but who deserves a leading 
position among our concert vocalists. I 
can think of few more agreeable ways of 
spending a Sunday evening than with the 

Page Seventy-Two 


In Studio and Gallery 

U 'ontinucd from page 69) 

goes nearer to his old field, and the broader 
stroke is missing'. The showing is pleasing 
in general and it is of interest indeed to 
see a well-known illustrator break from 
his usual routine. 

T>obert Strong Woodward has on view 
at the Babeock Galleries two paint- 
ings. The Brook, and Apple Blossom. 
They are the only two paintings he has 
to show for a lifetime of work. Air. 
Woodward lives and has his studio at 
Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts, and for 
the past few months has been assembling 
his pictures for his first exhibition. One 
morning after breakfast he decided to go 
over to the studio, about three miles away, 
and finish the minor details connected with 
his show. The nurse (Mr. Woodward has 
been forced to go in a wheel-chair for the 
last fourteen years) then broke the news 
to him that his studio had been completely 
destroyed by fire during the night. Two 
hours of flames had destroyed fifteen 
years' work. But he immediately sent the 
two remaining pictures to the gallery and 
he has started to repaint the first pictures 
of his new collection. 

HP he annual combined exhibition of the 
American Water Color Society and the 
New York Water Color Club, held as 
usual in the American Fine Arts' Build- 
ing, brought together a notable showing 
of work in this medium. Water colors 
gain power in color and in breadth of 
handling minus the use of tube white. 
Nothing can give the brilliance and lumi- 
nous effect that the bits of white paper 
showing thru the color masses bring out. 
The works of Briger Sandzen seem to 
prove this theory, two small sketches in 
particular, The Best Cedar and Snow and 
Sunshine, standing out in their colorful 
simplicity. John E. Costigan is splendidly 
represented by his Girl in a Boat. Joseph 
Lenhard's many sketches show his power 
in water color. Storm stands forth boldly 
in its orange and black, and others can 
readily be matched as the work of this 
artist. Irene Weir has caught the brilliance 
of Capri's sunshine in her sketches of the 
island. Her work is strong and shows 
character. Gifford Beal, Granville Smith, 
Chauncey Ryder, George Hallowell, A. 
Schille, W. Emerton Heitland, Sandor 
Bernath, William Crossman, and many 
other well-known painters completed a 
satisfactory exhibition. 

T one Wolf from Glacier Park, Montana, 
whose exhibition last year caused quite 
a lot of comment, announces that he is 
coming back to our village. He has some 
new pictures with him which he expects 
to exhibit and,, altho he will never be num- 
bered among the great artists, his Indians 
and cowboys are always worthy of note. 
For one thing, Lone Wolf, knowing his 
people and the West, never makes technical 
mistakes. If in painting a native dance 
he has one feather stuck behind the 
Chief's left ear, that is where the feather 

should be fur that particular type of 
dance; therefore, historically, Lone Wolf 
is important. Also it adds interest to know 
that he is self-taught, tho Thomas Moran 
and Charles Russell occasionally criticised 
his work. 

HP he Toronto Museum had an excellent 
showing, in their February exhibit, of 
contemporary American art. It was due 
entirely to the efforts of Mrs. Albert 
Sterner that so many noteworthy paintings 
were shown. With less than a month's 
time at her command she managed to 
locate the artists and personally view the 
eighty pictures which she selected for 
Toronto. Her choice ranged from con- 
servatism to radicalism ; one of the best 
things she chose was Portrait of a Lady, 
by Sargent. Gifford Beal, George Bellows, 
Paul Dougherty, Guy Pene Du Bois, Rock- 
well Kent, Walter Ufer, Kenneth Hayes 
Miller and Hayley Lever are only a few 
of the names of the artists represented. 
Mrs. Sterner herself supervised the hang- 
ings of the pictures in Toronto. 

'"Phe Brown-Robertson Galleries have 
had on view Western Landscapes in 
Water Color by George Samuels. These 
interesting sketches are the outcome of 
study and travel in the West. The paint- 
ings Pyramid Lake, Cypress Trees, and 
Old Witch Cypress Tree have a distinct 
feeling of Japan. They are lovely in color, 
but stronger in their decorative quality. 

'"Phe seventh annual exhibition of the 
Society of Independent Artists is on 
in the roof galleries of the Waldorf- 
Astoria. The Independent show is the 
great democratic muster of American art, 
presenting, as it does, the works of any 
artist without reference to his previous 
condition of fame or servitude. Works 
for the Independent show are not selected 
by a jury, and no prizes are distributed. 
It is the society's guiding principle that all 
artists are hung free and equal. Some 
facetious persons may be in favor of just 
that thing for the Independents. The fact 
is, however," that notwithstanding acres of 
freaks and fantasies, the Independent show 
remafns the one great, colorful, rollicking 
art show of the American year. It be- 
longs. It is ours. It is a democracy, with 
the weakness and the strength of 

This year the society is showing an un- 
usual Mexican group, with work by 
Diego M. Rivera, and other giants from 
across the Rio Grande. But we must not 
forget the work of our own giants — such 
men as Sloan, with his fine paintings of 
New Mexico, Bellows, Henri, Halpert, 
George Hart, Mrs. Whitney, A. H. 
Maurer, Baylinson, Hammer, and a host 
of other talents. Among the interesting 
features this year is the fine series of 
drawings and water colors of American 
buildings by Howard Mingos, a talented 
young artist who is rapidly winning the 
appreciation he deserves. 




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City State -. 

Page Seventy-Three 


The Treasure Chest 

Is Now Open To Readers 
Of This Magazine 

Are you, dear Reader, acquainted with 
the accomplishments of our wonderful 
Club? Have you heard how the pres- 
ents of money, which are given daily 
from our Chest, are helping girls and 
women from all walks of life to pull 
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meet. Too old to enter ordinary busi- 
ness in competition with the younger 
and more active generation — too proud 
to accept charity, this lady of our tale 
knew not where to turn when widow- 
hood left her with no visible means of 
support for the future. The Treasure 
Chest was her friend in need. 

In Central New York lives a young 
girl, waiting and planning for the day 
when the "best man in the world" 
will claim his own. She is poor — too 
poor to provide herself with the things 
that you know and I know she should 
have. To her we have sent the key to 
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New York 

Two o' Them Talking 

(Continued from page 26) 

waistcoat and it hurt, and I said : papa dont, 
and then I saw a revolver behind his back 
on the sofa and I wanted to tell him to 
let me see it. 

The Other: What was it like? Shiny? 
Soldiers have shiny ones and policemen 
black ones. 

The First: It was a police one. 

The Other: Where is it now? 

The First: He is holding it in his hand 
still, they said you mustn't take it away 
from him. 

The Other: And how did he shoot? 

The First: I wanted to tell him to let 
me see it, but he sent me out of the room 
and the tears were coming from his eyes 
and I was just going to tell my mother 
that he's got a nice revolver, when I heard 
a boom, like a backfire, so I ran back to 
the room and saw him, and he shot into his 
heart, and his mouth was a bit drawn to 
the side, but he didn't say anything. 

The Other: Did he shoot only once? 

The First: I thought: he will shoot 
some more, and waited, but he didn't. Al- 
tho there are six bullets in a revolver. 
That's why they call it revolver. 

The Other: And why didn't he shoot 
some more? 

The First: Because he was dead. He 
hit the middle of his heart. But it's easy 
from so near. It is more difficult to hit 
a target in a shooting range. Did you 
ever go to a shooting gallery? 

The Other: Yes. Three shots for ten. 
In the City Park it is three for five. 

The First : Is there a drummer there, 
too? If you hit it with the gun, he beats 
the drum. 

The Other : Yes. There is one there. 
There is even a rabbit, and if you hit the 
tail, it runs. I saw a soldier, and he was 
an artillery soldier, too, and he couldn't 
hit the tail. All Sunday afternoon he 
tried. And the other soldiers were laugh- 
ing, but they were just infantry. Then his 
money gave out and he went off without 
scoring a hit. He was an artillery soldier. 

A long and embarrassed silence. 

The First: What are you going to be? 

The Other: Artillery soldier. 

Without noticing the First One, the 
Other One walks slowly off toivards the 
garden and climbs up the dusting-pole. 
There he is perched and is looking up at 
the Laivyer's windows on the first floor. 
He is silent and is biting his nails. 


Satire: the Humor that Crucifies 

(Continued from page 35) 

Swift is the satirist of satirists. He is so 
great that he has to hide himself behind 
triple veils. His misanthropic passion is 
so deadly, his scorn of the race so over- 
whelming, that he invents a comic narra- 
tive while he puts you to death. Behind 
his books stands a diabolist, a baffled Fury, 
a glittering Eye whose lights are frozen 
hells. Swift was the Dante of satirists. 

Moliere conceived in the living flesh ; 
the satiric spirit in him pulsates with the 
life of every-day. He undresses society 
and exposes its comical nakedness. But 
his eyes droop forgivingly. He was a 
riant Ibsen. He unmasks convention, 
scolds hypocrisy, castigates insincerity with 
the enormous reservation of his incurable 
humanity. His satire ridicules, but never 
condemns. He was the spiritual father 
of Thackeray. Tartuffe, Danden, Don 
Juan — society is at fault. Social usage 
and social necessity are the criminals — 
and you cannot indict an abstraction. 

Moliere's touch is as sure as Shake- 
speare's, and as impersonal. Light, negli- 
gent, mischievous, his misanthropy flowed 
from red corpuscles. The sweet alloy of 
earth is in all he created. What his char- 
acters lose in infinite sweep they gain in 
clarity, suppleness, familiarity. 

Moliere was the golden bee of literature. 

"Doets pay their debts in stars and are 
paid in wormwood. This is true of 
Heinrich Heine, whose irony slashed the 
entrails of German complacency and whose 
poetry marked an epoch. His was a colos- 
sal head diademed by a thousand blazing 
contradictions. His satire was born of a 
gigantic internal strife. Many of his 
poems begin with the song of the night- 
ingale and end with the hiss of the ser- 
pent. Dreams of alabaster he pedestaled 

on blocks of ebony. He was a monastic 
sybarite, a dilettante of flagellations. Sud- 
den, inexplicable tears turned to streams 
of acid on his cheek. From his violin he 
struck a maddening-mournful note while 
leaning over that gigantic trough — the 

Heine was the pixy of ironists, a senti- 
mental imp. He was half Hamlet, half 
Pierrot. In his pages everything vibrates, 
everything quivers, sings and stings. He 
wrote with phosphorus. Glimmer and 
gleam and infernal twilights. Whirling 
fireflies pricking the dark of an unquench- 
able melancholy. He was an Orestes pur- 
sued by the demons of the comic, for 
there is a laughter that is fatal and a smile 
that slays him unto whom it is born. And 
Heine had that dreadful dower. His wit 
was tragic. He himself played jester to 
his discrowned ideals. His brain crashed 
against his heart, and there flashed forth 
the bolt of laughter that killed him. 

How well and how sanely the satirists 
are hated by Conformity, that Goliath who 
is a eunuch ! — Voltaire, who ripped the 
earlaps from Belief ; Byron, whose fist 
of iron, like a murderous club, split the 
skull of British conformity ; Victor Hugo, 
who quartered kings and popes on his steel, 
hurtling through empyrean heights ; Ibsen, 
who had knuckles of brass, Thomas 
Hardy, whose irony and satire indict Life 

With Juvenal, Aristophanes, Swift, 
Cervantes, Moliere and Heine, they are 
cleaners and regenerators. They traffic 
in gods, they retail thrones, they are the 
auctioneers and the parcel- wrappers of 
ancient diadems and modern shams. 

The Satirist is the supreme witness of 

Page Seventy-Four 


The Camera Contest 

{Continued from page 64) 

The judges for this month's contest are 
Margaret Watkins, ex-recording secretar 
of the Pictorial Photographers o 
America. C. R. Myer and Eugene V 


First Prise — We. I. aura Gilpin, 30 We: 
Dale Street. Colorado Springs, Colorad< 

Second Prise — Crossing. John Hage 
merer, Carmel bv the Sea, California. 

Third Prise—Street, St. Mihiel, Franci 
Meyers R. Jones, 274 Henry Strcel 
Brooklyn, New York. 

Honorable Mention — Teasels. P. Mm 
ray, 234 Plymouth Avenue, Buffalo, Ne> 

Honorable Mention — Cathedral Patten 
Mrs. Antoinette B. Hervey, 251 We: 
114th St., New York City. 

Honorable Mention — On the "L." Pat 
Wierum, 29 East Madison Street, Chicagc 

Monthly prizes of at least $25, $15, an 
$10 are awarded in order of merit, to 
gether with three prizes of yearly sut 
scriptions to Shadowland to go to thrc 
honorary mentions. All prize-winnin 
pictures will probably be published i 

The jury of selection, to be announce 
each month with their selections, consisi 
of three members, to be chosen from tlj 
committee or the membership of the sc 
ciety. No member of the jury thus chose 
for any given month shall submit pictur 
for that month's contest. 

Shadowland desires that every earner 
enthusiast reap benefit from this conte: 
and to this end makes the inclusion of w 
following data re contesting prints inj 
perative : 

(a) Date and hour of exposure. 

(b) Stop number used. 

(c) Printing medium used. 

(d) Character of print — whether 
straight or. manipulated. 

(e) Make of camera and lens. 

Any print previously published is not 

No printing medium is debarred, but 
capability of good reproduction will be a 
factor in the selection of prints. 

Contestants may submit prints up to any 
number and to as many of the monthly 
contests as they desire. 

Prints received on or prior to the first 
of each month to be considered entered in 
that month's contest. 

Name and address of maker, title and 
number must be printed or plainly written 
upon the back of each print. Return ad- 
dress to be written plainly upon package. 

Prints must be packed flat. A small 
mount makes for safety in handling but is 
not required. 

Prints will be acknowledged upon their 

Rejected prints will be returned im- 
mediately, provided proper postage for the 
purpose be included. It is, however, un- 
derstood that Shadowland reserves the 
right to reproduce any print submitted and 
to hold such for a reasonable time for that 

Special care will be taken of all prints 
submitted, but neither The Brezvster Pub- 
lications nor the Pictorial Photographers 
of America assume responsibility for loss 
or damage. 

All prints and all communications rela- 
tive to the contest are to be sent to Joseph 
R. Mason, Art Center, 65 East 56th 
Street, New York City. 

No prints will be considered if sent else- 
where than stated above. 

Submission of prints will imply accep- 
tance of all conditions. 

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Page Seventy-Five 


/ Don't Enjoy Society Because 

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rice of Reason 

' from page 52) 

! A careful reading of such modern in- 

quiries as Elliot's Human Character, 
Robert Chenault Givler's Psychology: the 
Science of Human Behavior, and James 
Harvey Robinson's The Mind in the 
Making is calculated to give a severe jolt 
to most of our little complacencies. It is 
shooting a bit wide of the mark to say 
that such reading will alter to any con- 
siderable extent our habitual behavior, for 
it is the very essence of these observations 
about human character to assert that 
thought, reason, logic have little if any 
effect upon our courses of actions. Yet, 
when thought, reason and logic do not in- 
terfere seriously with the expression of 
our major passions, they may modify and 
transmute some of the concomitants of 
these major passions and our minor emo- 

: tions into a saner attitude toward life. 

.: Thus, in the light of these recent investi- 

j gations, it is a fallacy to assume that there 
is truth in the old adage that to understand 
is to forgive ; there is a relative truth in 
it, in so far as when an understanding of 
a situation is reached, we are likely to for- 
give by reason of the fact that such an 
understanding does not involve our major 


in Brief Review 

Of' ._- ■ -ft-U -■-; ••'•- . ■ A'. I 

fered us his mordant epitaphs in The 
Spoon River Anthology. At least five 
parodies of the poem appeared during the 
first month of its publication. That alone 
is enough to attest to its originality and 
distinction : a parody, even when it is of- 
fered in the vein of critical satire, is al- 
ways an oblique tribute to the high qual- 
ities of the thing that is parodied. I have 
discussed The Waste Land in these columns 
hitherto, dwelling at the time upon the 
poetic emotions evoked by the poem, and 
that is, finally, the only thing that matters 
in estimating a poem's value. Because 
Eliot is not as explicit as an apartment- 
lease, a great deal of irrelevant noise has 
been made about the poem's "obscurity." 
He is not particularly obscure; but that is 
not the point : the finest poetry is by its 
very nature obscure, in that it suggests 
and connotes rather than defines and de- 

Poetry is not the medium of logic, 
dialects, exposition, or even of exact de- 
scription : prose performs the function ex- 
pressed in those terms. Poetry of all 
arts bears the closest resemblance to music, 
the most impalpable of the arts, and the 
one most devoid of intellectual content. A 
poem is least a poem when its philosophical 
and intellectual ingredients are preponder- 
ant, because a poem's first aim is the evo- 
cation of a mood. One does not demand 
that the Brahms Fourth Symphony be 
readily translatable into prose ; one does 
not demand that it be explained except 
upon the score of the emotions that it 
produces in its auditors. Nor should one 
ask that a poem perform a function that 
is more properly the work of prose. True 
enough, a poem must arise to some extent 
from a philosophy or an idea ; one's per- 
sonal philosophy is, as Arthur Symons 
once remarked, the soil which lies at the 
roots of a poem and nourishes it; but it 

should always lie at the roots ; it should 
never obtrude upon and cling to the flower 
of poetry itself. 

The Waste Land arises out of a philo- 
sophical conviction that energy is dying 
among the civilized peoples of the earth, 
leaving a parched, dry, ineffective, un- 
healthy regimen of life. It is, then, a 
lament, a dirge, a tragic poem, suggesting 
the consequences of drouth. It is ingen- 
ious. Eliot employs a special and individual 
technique. For the effect he wishes to at- 
tain, he frequently parodies or transcribes 
lines from the great poets — Sappho, Virgil, 
Dante, Shakespeare, Milton and a host of 
others — gives to these lines a sardonic 
twist, expressing in a manner he could 
attain in no other way a mood of hurt 
and broken jrony and disillusion. It is 
much as if a man should, in the midst of 
a recitation of lines expressing noble and 
high-sounding sentiments, break off sud- 
denly with a coarse and brutal expletive. 
The impression one gains from such a 
course of action is invariably one of trag- 
edy. It has its analogy (in poetic emo- 
tional effect) in II Pagliacci, when Canio 
sings his hurt and the audience knows it 
is not make-believe. 

A mong the new novels of merit are : 
Jr ^ The Penitent (Houghton, Mifflin) by 
Edna Worthley Underwood, an excellent 
historical novel centering upon the per- 
sonalities of Alexander the First of Russia 
and Pushkin, the Russian epic poet ; The 
Quest (Knopf) by Pio Baroja, a novel in 
the Zolaesque manner, expressing ideas of 
heretical distinction concerning the Madrid 
slums ; Joseph Greer and His Daughter 
(Bobbs-Merrill) by Henry Kitchell Web- 
ster, a competent and entertaining story of a 
Chicago big business man and his amorous 
enterprises; Against the Grain (Lieber and 
Lewis) by Joris-Karl Huysmans, an ex- 
cellent and belated translation of the source 
book of inspiration for the Yellow Nine- 
(Continued on page 78) 

Page Seventy-Six 


Melomaniacs and Modernists 

(Continued from /> t / < y < • 55) 

Rudhyar is a theosophist, and theosophy, 
as we know, Is a very esoteric and pro- 
found subject. He would appear to desire 
to introduce theosophy into his music, 
with the result that it can only he under- 
stood and appreciated by the elect and 
initiate. One feels disposed to say of him 
as was said of Bunthorne in Patience : 
// this young man expresses himself 

In terms too deep for me. 
Why. what a very singularly deep 
young man 
Tli is deep young man must be. 

There was one truly remarkable number 
on the first program here of the Interna- 
tional Composers' Guild, and that was 
Angels, the second movement from a sym- 
phonic suite, Man and Angels, by Carl 
Ruggles. It is scored for six muted 
trumpets, and to me and to most of the 
audience it sounded like sheer cacophony. 
I had, however, been previously assured by 
that very eminent and sincere musician 
Carlos Salzedo, who has himself written 
some beautiful modern music, that it was 
a truly remarkable example of contrapun- 
tal writing. 

Contrapuntal it certainly was, in the 
sense that every player appeared to be 
playing counter to and independently of 
the rest. The parts did not seem to have 
the slightest association, in fact, the 
trumpeters gave one the impression that 
they were all playing different tunes in 
different keys. The politeness of the 
audience was sorely tried, especially when 
the player nearest the prompt wing of 
the stage became almost apoplectic as the 
result of his exertions. One criticism of- 
fered was in the form of a query by a 
frank but slightly profane Philistine : "If 
his angels make such a horrible din, what 
in hell sort of a noise would Ruggles' men 
make?" I fear that if any of the young 
Modernists condescend to read this, they 
will shrug their shoulders in pitying con- 
tempt. But I would beseech them as they 
are youthful to be merciful, to cultivate a 
sense of humor — for most of them are so 
deadly in earnest — and to avoid the pose of 
preciosity and superiority which makes 
many of us take them less seriously than 
we might otherwise be disposed to do. 

A few evenings later the American 
Music Guild held its first subscription con- 
cert in the Town Hall. This organiza- 
tion, which came into existence a year or 
so ago, comprises a group of the younger 
composers who have united to secure 
greater recognition and opportunities for 
performing musical compositions by 
Americans, a most laudable enterprise. A 
first sonata for violin and piano by Louis 
Gruenberg contained much excellent ma- 
terial, including a charming but all too 
brief scherzando in the opening movement. 
But it was scrappy and diffuse and much 
too long, for it lasted over half an hour. 
It was admirably played by the composer 
and Air. Albert Stoessel, a violinist of fine 

Mr. Daniel Gregory Mason is a talented 
and earnest musician, but one could not 
find much to admire in his Russian songs, 
altho The Revolutionary and The Prophet 
have big moments. But one could not 
help sensing that the composer had not 
caught the Russian feeling, and that that 
sort of thing has been far too well done 
by Moussorgsky and other Slavic com- 
posers for a non-Slav to attempt to follow 
in their footsteps. Mr. Werrenrath, al- 
most of course, sang them finely. By far 
the best thing of the evening was a sonata 
for piano by the late Charles T. Griffes, 
played with perfect insight and apprecia- 

tion by Miss Kathcrinc Bacon. Thoroly 
modern in themes and treatment, it showed 
what can he accomplished by an essentially 
modern writer when there is absolute 
sincerity combined with inspiration and 
rare musicianship. 

The modernists would be scarcely likely 
to recognize the two Rhapsodies for oboe, 
viola and piano by Charles Martin Loeffier 
as belonging to their school. None the less 
they are beautifully wrought, while the 
writing for the different instruments shows 
a perfect sense of tone color. Would that 
American composers would give us more 
of such music ! However, the American 
Composers' Guild has made an excellent 
start, and one can cordially wish it the 
success which it has already shown it 

Receipt of the Eolian Rei'iezv, an ad- 
mirably compiled and well-written musical 
quarterly, edited by Carlos Salzedo, which 
has just reached the first number of its 
second volume, calls to mind the fact that 
recently a National Association of 
Harpists has been formed, with headquar- 
ters in New York. Time was, and not so 
long ago, when the harp was a somewhat 
despised instrument. Thanks, however, to 
the mechanical and tonal improvements ef- 
fected by such makers as Wurlitzer, and 
Lyon and Healy, and to the development 
of a new harp technique, partly as the 
result of its increased use in the modern 
orchestra and partly from the brilliant 
compositions written for it by Debussy, 
Salzedo and others, the harp now takes 
its place as an instrument of first-class 
importance. To what extent the harp and 
its technique have improved may be deduced 
from tH fact that up to a few years ago 
only four distinct tone colors could be pro- 
duced from it, while today there are thirty- 
two distinct effects. Music students who 
are in doubt as to what instrument they 
shall take up might well turn their atten- 
tion to the harp, which is likely to be in 
growing request for orchestral and solo 

The cry is "Still they come." Yet 
another orchestral organization with, it is 
said, a strong 'financial backing, has sprung 
into existence in New York, the City 
Symphony Orchestra. It has been "dedi- 
cated to the service of the people of New 
York," and is to be maintained by the 
Musical Society of the City of New York, 
which fortunately numbers several mil- 
lionaires among its members. It has as 
conductor Dirk Foch, a Hollander who 
has been residing here for some time and 
who has previously done good work in 
Europe. He has a strong, significant beat, 
and usually knows his scores sufficiently 
well to conduct without them. The or- 
chestra contains excellent material, and 
when the members have played together 
for a few months will doubtless be welded 
into a homogeneous body. Some of its 
concerts which I have attended have been 
of excellent quality both as to programs 
and performance. 

But it seems to me that the organization 
errs in playing north of Thirty-fourth 
Street. Already two local and two visiting 
orchestras give regular concert-goers all 
the symphonic music they can assimilate at 
the Carnegie and Aeolian Halls, the lobbies 
of which are overrun — I was going to say 
infested— by people from the East and 
West Sides seeking for free admission. 
If the City Symphony Orchestra would 
cater for these musically starving and 
deserving folk, and play at armories and 
schools south of Thirty-fourth Street, it 
would be doing a fine work. 

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Page Seventy-Seven 



for APRIL 


Wagner Economized 

Henry Osborne Osgood, 
who was repetiteur at the 
Munich Royal Opera House 
and has recently returned 
from Germany, tells what 
the German stage, driven by 
necessity, is doing to the 
stage pictures of the Bay- 
reuth master. 

The Future of the Dance 
in America 

Adolph Bohn, who has writ- 
ten this truthful and, there- 
fore, somewhat provocative 
article, is a man who utilizes 
his studio not for the teach- 
ing of dancing alone, but as 
a laboratory where he studies 
the characteristics, back- 
ground and other qualities 
of his pupils. Read why 
Americans are not so apt to 
interpret the Dance as well 
as other races do. 

Two Ladies Take Tea 

A ten-minute playlet with a 
surprise. The author, Djuna 
Barnes, has somewhat of the 
same satirical touch in her 
writing that she has in her 

Juan Jose Tablada;' himself 
a Mexican and author of this 
article illustrated by Mexi- 
can cartoons. 


for APRIL 

A Young Lady of Character 

{Continued from page 47) 

two rooms — one for her and one for him- 
self. She instructed him to write on the 
register : "M. and Mme. Corbellier." Then 
she bade him good night and locked her- 
self in her own room, where she slept per- 
fectly. Corbellier, in the next room, did 
not sleep at all. He was much disturbed. 
What would be the outcome of this ad- 
venture? Besides, the young lady's energy 
and initiative began to frighten him. 

np he elopement forced a marriage as 
Marie-Therese had foreseen it would. 
After a dramatic explosion M. Vallagne 
was obliged to recognize that there was no 
other way out of his frightful situation. 
He gave his daughter's hand, to Pierre 

In order that the latter might have the 
air of doing something, they procured for 
him a respectable sinecure, with a small 
salary attachment. The marriage was 
celebrated after a brief delay. Love 

Before long Marie-Therese, now Mme. 
Corbellier, made three discoveries : first, 
Pierre Corbellier was a fool ; second, 
Pierre Corbellier was tiresome ; third, 
Pierre Corbellier was lazy. These dis- 
coveries greatly annoyed her. She did not 
hide from her husband what she thought 
of him. He was humiliated, for he had a 
very good opinion of himself. 

Nevertheless, he did not dare to con- 
tradict Marie-Therese, for she filled him 

with terror. This sentiment was rapidly 
aggravated, since she fell into the habit 
of making cruel scenes which rendered him 
thoroughly unhappy. These scenes never 
occurred in public. They were reserved 
for tete-a-tetcs. But they increased in 
violence and became more frequent, so 
that the unfortunate Corbellier's life be- 
came intolerable. 

After a year of suffering he recognized 
that there could never be a turn for the 
better. He said to himself that any sort of 
life would be preferable to life with 
Marie-Therese. He also ventured to tell 
her this. 

"My dear," he said timidly one evening, 
after a most trying clash, "I realize that 
you were deceived in me. I am not at 
all what you thought me to be. That is 
clear to both of us. I am very sorry. I 
dont want to impose myself on you any 
longer. Since you cannot endure me, 
since you are so distressed to have 
married me, it is useless for you to spoil 
your life by living it with me. I under- 
stand that you would like to have a 
divorce. ..." 

She jumped in the air. 

"Divorce? Divorce? You are a fool. 
Divorce you, after all I did to marry you ! 
To change my line of conduct, to look 
like a weathercock ! I do that ? Never ! 
Yes, it is true that I was deceived in you. 
But I dont want anyone to know it, you 
imbecile. That would be the last straw !" 


Our Contributors 

{Continued from page 67) 

Brewster Publications. His cover on 
this number of Shadowland is an im- 
pression of the boisterous March 
wind. * * * Burton Rascoe, who 
is a well-known critic and contributes 
to many newspapers and magazines, 
says that the best exercise in writing 
he ever had was when he wrote nearly 
all the papers for two women's clubs, 
in his youth. As these papers had to 
be read by different club members as 
though they were original productions, 
he was obliged to vary his style to 
avoid detection. So he imitated Carlyle, 
Hugo, Macaulay, Emerson, and other 
noted authors. By this means he made 
enough money to spend the summer in 
Canada, and to visit New York for the 
first time. * * * Eldon Kelley, 

whose decoration on page forty-one, so 
well expresses the spirit of the article, 
plans to spend this summer in Paris, 
studying very hard, and playing occa- 
sionally. * * * August Henkel is a 
talented cartoonist and illustrator, and 
hopes some day to be a painter. 
* * * W» G. Bowdoin is on the 
editorial staff of the Evening World, 
and spends his spare time haunting 
old shops and auction rooms, add- 
ing to his collections of antiques and 
novelties. * * * Leo Kober, whose 
pencil portrait of Charles Sheeler ap- 
pears on page eleven, is not from 
Czecho-Slovakia as we stated in the 
February Shadowland, but is a native. of 
Hungary. It is his best beloved coun- 
try, and next to it in his mind and 
heart he places America. 


Recent Books in Brief Review 

{Continued from page 76) 

ties, the era of French Symbolism, and the 
period of Decadence; Command (Double- 
day, Page) by William McFee, a first-rate 
performance in the Conradian manner, de- 
tailing the emotions of a man of scruples 
and idealism; Where the Blue Begins 
(Doubleday, Page) by Christopher Mor- 
ley, a delicious satiric fantasy, more con- 
siderable in merit than all that Morley 

has hitherto written ; Wanderer in the 
Waste Land (Harper) by Zane Grey, the 
most ambitious effort of this popular 
writer of Western stories, marred stylisti- 
cally by false poetics, inverted sentences, 
and easy heroics; Captain Blood (Hough- 
ton, Mifflin) by Rafael Sabatini, a roman- 
tic costume tale of pirates for the sort of 
people who like that sort of thing. 

Page Seventy-Eight 



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Page Three 


Things We Have Always 


The recent business condition has 
brought to the forefront of thought 
many fundamental considerations 
that have always been known but 
have been damned with faint praise. 

Human nature in the mass is very 
much like human nature in the in- 
dividual. One of its dominant char- 
acteristics has been summed up in 
the observation, "You never miss the 
water till the well runs dry." We 
never appreciate fundamental things 
until we have occasion to do with- 
out them. 

This observation has a special 
application to the Demand of the 
public for the products of industry. 
While the Demand was at high tide 
and everybody was busy trying to 
supply that Demand at a profit no 
one, seemingly, gave a thought to 
where the Demand came from, how 
long it might last, or what would 
happen if it should fail. We merely 
assumed the permanent existence of 
the Demand, just as we assume the 
presence of water, air, and fire. 

But a day came when Demand 
began to subside, and in many indus- 
tries it came almost to a full stop. 
And then we missed it, and realized, 
as never before, what an important 

thing it was. And we began to in- 
quire where it came from in the first 
place, and how it might be restored. 

We always knew — everybody knew 
— that Desire for things made a De- 
mand for them in the market. That 
people desired things we accepted as 
an elemental fact. But when we dis- 
covered that Desire fluctuated we 
began to appreciate that Desire, as 
we know it, is a thing created by the 
art of man. It is a highly specialized 
form of an elemental need — just as 
a Louis XVI chair is made out of 
a tree. 

This discovery led to another 
equally important discovery that the 
means of refining and specializing 
that Desire was Advertising. The 
gigantic work that has been accom- 
plished by modern advertising now 
stands out in bold relief. It has been 
the means by which the refinements 
of civilization have been made known 
and made desirable, and this desire 
has been made into Demand. It is a 
simple fact that a million profitable 
forms of industrial activity owe their 
very existence to the fact that Adver- 
tising upheld the standards of living 
which in turn provided the demand 
for their products. 

["Published by ^UADQWIAND in co-operation withl 
|.The American Association of Advertising AgenciesJ 

Page Four 

CI B 5 7 :\ 9 5 1 

-^rj^O ^^-^zrss^gam^^^^ 

APRIL, 1923 

Expressing the Arts 


Important Features in This Issue: 

Painting and Sculpture: 

Kenneth Hayes Miller Edgar Cah.Ul 

Portraiture in Wood Chana Orloff 

Savely Sorine Leo Randole 


The Entrance to the Academy of Fine Arts, Venice 


Literature with a Silver Lining N. P. Dawson 

The Man Who Was Mad (translated from the French) Frederic Boutet 

Satire and Humor: 

The Unearthly Imagination Benjamin De Casseres 

Phonomania Henry Altimus 



Two Ladies Take Tea Djuna Barnes 

A "Little Theater" from Russia Kenneth Macgowan 

Peer Gynt Conies to New York Leo Kober 

The Future of the Dance in America Adolph Boh, 

Wagner Economized Henry Osborne Osgood 

Euterpean Recollections and Reflections Jerome Hart 

Motion Pictures: 

A Pictorial Feature — Portraits of Dorothy Gish, Lya Mara, Marie Therese Mathys. 

Caricature : 

Caricature That Stings Jose Juan Tablada 

Pages by Wynn, August Henkel, Eldon Kelley, Robert James Malone 

Arts and Crafts: 

The Trend in Modern American Ceramics Ernestine Evans 

Photography : 

The Camera Contest — A discussion of the Bromoil method 




Published Monthly by Brewster Publications, Inc., at Jamaica, N. Y. 

Entered at the Post Office at Jamaica, N. Y., as second-class matter, under the act oj March 3rd, 1879. Printed in U. S. A. 

Eugene V. Brewster, President and Editor-in-Chief ; Guy L. Harrington, Vice-President and Business Manager; L G. Conlon, Treasurer; 

E. M. Heinemann, Secretary 


Editors : 

F. M. Osborne 

Jerome Hart 

Managing Editor: Adele Whitely Fletcher 

Art Director: A. M. Hopfmuller 

Subscription $3.50 per year, in advance, including postage in the U. S., Cuba, Mexico and Philippines; in Canada $4.00, and in foreign countries, $4,50 per 
year. Single copies, 35 cents. Postage prepaid. One and two cent United States Government stamps accepted. Subscribers must notify us at once 

ot any change of address, giving both old and new address. 

Copyright, 1923, by Brewster Publications, Inc., in the United States and Great Britain 




Page hive 

An etching by Karl Schwetz — Wien, Austria 


Page Six 

* ft 


Gi/y Rowe studied at the Detroit School of Fine Arts under 
the direction of John P. Wilkes, and was allowed to develop 
his own method. Depicting character is what he desires, and 
technique interests him only in so far as it enables him to 
achieve this end. He has exhibited at the National Academy 

Courtesy of Mrs. Albert sterner 


Leon Kroll was a student at the Art Students' League 
in New York, and later worked under Laurens in 
Paris. He has exhibited at the National Academy, the 
Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, and is represented 
in many of the museums thruout the United States 


Courtesy ot Mrs. Albert Sterner 


Louise Upton Brombach has never studied 
at any school or under any artist. She has 
developed her oivn method. Her exhibits have 
been shown in all the well-known galleries 

Courtesy of Montross Galleries 


In this painting Kenneth Hayes Miller has achieved the 
austerity and melancholy that are a part of autumn 

Kenneth Hayes Miller 

Who occupies the place in the world of Art. that James Branch Cabell holds in Literature 

By Edgar Cahill 

ART in America exists in a world of clangor and 
subway crush. In such a world the race is to the 
L active elbower; the platform to the leather-lunged. 
Mere unobtrusive merit has little chance. Perhaps that 
explains why so many of the pandits and purveyors of 
art for the American people have remained insensitive to 
the fine work of Kenneth Hayes .Miller. In a world of 
shouters Miller continues to speak in a quiet voice. I 
have not. so far as I can remember, read more than two 
intelligent sentences, anywhere, about Miller's art, and 
yet the man has been living and working and teaching in 
our New York for the past twenty-odd years. T have seen 
critics approach his 
work with Renoir in 
<>ne hand and Freud 
in the other. But the 
intricate traps of his- 
tory and psycho-anal- 
ysis are sorry things 
to set for beauty. It 
is like laying fish-nets 
to catch a river. 

Xow, in esthetics, 
as elsewhere, quiet, 
simple things are best. 
Simplicity lies at the 
heart of all truly beau- 
tiful things. Great art 
is simple. It is di- 
vinely simple, and like 
the white radiance of 
eternity it has already 
broken up into some- 
thing else when it 
passes thru the critic's 
dome of many-colored 
glass. An artist usu- 
ally speaks to us about 
some one thing, some 
esthetic passion which 
has made him its in- 
spired orator. With 
Kenneth Hayes Miller 
it is the human body. 
Everywhere it is the 
human body, its 
forms, contours, 

Miller's landscapes 
show an earth that 
displays her curves 
like a rich - bodied 
woman. His hills un- 
dulate like human tor- 
sos, nobly and gener- 
ously planned. Miller 
has a very individual 

way of giving us his impressions of landscape. One might 
call them personalistic rather than impressionistic. - Realis- 
tic they are not, altho the painter has succeeded in giving 
us a hypnotic suggestion of reality while leading us into 
an inner world of his own, where reality depends upon 
a rhythm established between the artist and the beholder. 
He make* us read ourselves, the structures, and tensions, 

and movements of our own bodies into those landscapes, 
and into those ample and calmly splendid nudes. They 
restate the pleasure which we take in the harmoniously 
balanced masses of the one reality we can really know, 
our own physical selves. 

Take those Bathers of Miller's, poised in full-bodied 
nudity against a mysterious and yet peculiarly real earth 
and sky. They are like stanzas in a calmly phrased hymn 
to the. triumph of human body. They are like the women 
of a more gracious and subtly colored Sparta, so real that 
a scratch would make them bleed, and yet as elusive as 
Daphne of the morning mist. 

There is a gentle 
melancholy in Miller's 
nudes and in his land- 
scapes. They are like 
ripe flowers, drooping 
with excess of life, 
and brooding silently 
in the great calm of 
midsummer. There is 
an almost hieratic 
calm in all his things. 
His women are full- 
blown flowers that do 
not flaunt their colors. 
Their colorfulness is 
suggested rather than 
stated, red, lips, per- 
haps, caught up and 
carried out in a slen- 
der flute-like refrain 
thru the canvas. Mil- 
ler knows how to use 
quiet colors richly. 
Look at a thing like 
Breakfast in Bed, 
which shows a rich 
grey personality 
slightly touched with 
brighter color, and 
might be called Wom- 
an in a Grey - Eyed 
Calm. Or, again, look- 
at Girl in a Green 
Jacket. Here we feel 
the rising of a sub- 
dued but strong tide 
of the colors of youth, 
a quiet, dreaming 
youth, on the morning 
when life holds out a 
promise of more bril- 
liant and fuller-bodied 

Miller seems to have 
turned from the nude 
in recent years. In the Park is an example of this later 
work, which is proving rather troublesome to his admirers. 
Is he giving us a satire on clothes, on the shame of sack- 
cloth which man has cast upon the shrinking divinity of the 
human form ? Perhaps. And then perhaps it is only a 
mood of the painter. In the Park is an autumnal poem, 
(Continued on page 71) 

Page Eleven 

The Dance as a Medium 

for Interpreting 

History and Folk-lore 

E. O. Hopp*. Lond 






Ruth St. Denis and her terpsicho- 
rean partner, Ted Shawn, have not 
only restored the classic spirit to 
the dance, hut have infused into 
their varied measures the spirit of 
folk-lore and historic romance. 
They have gone far afield and 
have explored, the ages in their re- 
searches, ranging from China to 
Peru and going back to the far- 
off days when Israel was in bond- 
age to Egypt and the great Tut- 
ankh-amen reigned in prodigious 
luxury at Luxor. Chinese gods, 
Javanese warriors and toiling 
slaves are portrayed by these 
graceful and dramatic dancers, 
who are equally successful in the 
display of social joy, religious 
exaltation and profound emotion 

Page Twelve 

Edith Bar.ikovich, Vienna 


This brilliant young interpreter of the immortal melodies 
of Johann Strauss is now in Vienna, playing the title role 
in Franz Lehar's latest operetta, The Cousin From Nowhere 

Page Thirteen 

The Future of the Dance in America 

It depends on the cultural foundation of the race — on 
appreciation of the glory, the beauty, the value of the arts 

By Adolph Bolm 

And yet it is just here that American students reveal 
the weak spot in their educational armor. The reason 
may be found in the fact that the average American home 
is by no means an art center.. In Europe good music 
is. a familiar friend of both plutocrat and proletariat. 
The plumber, the butcher, and the bricklayer sing or 
whistle their favorite operas at their work. But America's 

greatest passion 

is sport — the 
athletic life. This 
is not necessarily 
a drawback to 
the appreciation 
of art. On the 
contrary, to those 
who want to 
study the dance 
as a life profes- 
sion or even for 
diversion, a well- 
trained body is a 
superb asset. Ac- 
tually it is the 
foundation to 

BECAUSE I am so intimately interested in the 
development of dancing as an art, in the creation 
of a public understanding of its multiple message 
— its far-reaching message of beauty and joy — I feel 
justified in asking what is the present, the future, of the 
dance in America? 

I have lived and worked here intermittently since 1916, 
long enough, I 
believe, to be able 
to formulate and 
express an opin- 
ion with pardon- 
able assurance. I 
have studied the 
American stu- 
dent, as well as 
the people at 
large, at their 
dance diversions, 
and my studio 
may fairly be 
designated a 
laboratory as well 
as a classroom. 

Before making 
a prophecy, or 
admitting my 
hopes for the 
future, let .me 
give what I con- 
sider a resume of 
the present status 
of the dance in 
this country. 

First, let us 
examine the 
qualifications of 
the student. I 
find the Ameri- 
can student tre- 
mendously re- 
sponsive, sensi- 
tive to suggestion, 
eager, ardent, 
persevering (oft- 
en doggedly per- 
severing) and un- 
tiring. Qualities 
of grace and feel- 
ing for line are 
not lacking in the 
make-up, and a 
sense of rhythm 
is far from 

absent, but — and here is a most important fact — the 

dancer in America has been fundamentally, one might familiarity with the history of music, of religions, of the 
say intellectually, under-nourished. fine arts, of the secrets of color, design and harmony — in 

The larger number of students and even professional short, it is the story of the world and its races, together 
dancers have hitherto lacked a most vital requisite: that with racial traditions through different phases of their 
of an inherited or acquired knowledge of music. Music evolution. They learn that dancing is not merely trained 
is naturally the most potent expression of rhythm. The gestures of the body, but the culmination of profound, 
dance has its birth, development, and climax in music, sincere emotion. To paraphrase Jacques Dalcroze. 1 
It is the inspiration of every creator of the dance form. would say that "the dance is the visualization of thought." 

Adolph Bolm as Prince Igor 

nother indi- 
cation of the 
failure of Ameri- 
cans to grasp the 
wide, almost 
limitless educa- 
tional meaning of 
the dance is the 
average student's 
ignorance of the 
necessary intel- 
lectual training. 

When aspir- 
ants to education 
in this difficult 
profession enter 
my studio they 
enter a new 
world. They 
learn that the 
dance is synthetic. 
a composite crea- 
tion of art and 
science, the ripen- 
ing of years of 
research, unflag- 
ging labor, erudi- 
tion won by unremitting study. All this involves some 

Eugene Hutchinson 

Page Fourteen 


I >o you see then how vast is its field and its 

Therefore. I say that the future of the dance 

in America depends on the cultural foundation 

of the race — on appreciation of the glory, the 

beauty, the value of the arts, developed from 

the earliest days of childhood to and onward 

from maturity. 

A never-ceasing pursuit of the ideal expres- 
sion of emotion should he the first incentive of 

the student. Unless this be present, the 

drudgerv of study, the endless technical exer- 
cise, will kill ambition, and inspiration will 

never rustle its glorious wings over the uplifted 

head of the student. 

So much for the artistic standpoint as 

viewed from the pedagogic perspective. 

But there is a subtle poison working against 

real appreciation.of the pure form of the dance 

art. It is the "society" dance as I have seen 

it practised in American ballrooms. 

I hope to be pardoned if I say that I con- 
sider many ballroom dances positively immoral. 

They are. usually, a corruption, a degeneration 

of the self-expression of an extraordinary and 

tragic race — the Negro. I have visited Negro 

quarters, have seen their revival meetings, have 

heard them sing their spirituals. I have seen their 

genuine native dances, and was sincerely sur- 
prised, touched and inspired by the passionate 

spontaneity, the pathetic tragedy, the humility, 

the ecstasy, the abandon, the imagination, and 

even the genius they reveal in both dance and 

song. Their contribution to this branch of 

modern art is, in its way, just as remarkable as 

anything the white race has done. 

But this wonderful rhythm and this primitive 

gesture, so eloquent in its own sphere, have been 

degraded by having been transplanted into the 

social life of an alien people. The Negro dance 

has thereby lost much of its character, its. real influence Negro art we call "jazz," has become a devastating enemy 

and its significance. The modern society dance, together to the progress of appreciation of the art of dancing. It 

with that other false and commercialized expression of should have "no place in the drawing-rooms of cultivated 


American boys and girls are 
growing up in this atmosphere. It 
is their main, and often their sole 
choreographic education. To 
remedy this we must bring back the 
social dance of yesterday, the dance 
of the people. It is healthy and 
has nothing of the decadence, the 
sophistication and suggestiveness of 
the modern social pastime. 

To do this one must begin in the 
home ; begin with the child, and not 
stop there! Teaching the child to 
dance must not mean merely a 
dancing-class in which children ape 
the atrocious habits of their elders. 
Modern society dances lack variety, 
imagination and grace. Sorry fare 
for the young of the race. 

No ! Let us have a return of the 
folk dance, the original expression 
of the dance instinct in the people. 
Let us take up again the mazurka, 
the polka, the waltz, and other 
forms derived from these, such as 
the "round" and "square" dances of 
other days — clean, beautiful, 
healthful, interesting and social. 
{Continued on page 71) 

Ruth Page, a talented pupil of Adolph Bolm. Below, the master himself 
in the Suggestion Diabolique 

Page Fifteen 


Who has searchlights trained upon her whenever she 

embarks on the High C's 


Whose realistic execution of the Flying Dutchman \ 
brings down the heavens as well as the house 

Who has been trained to register in- 
significance, but who knows he is a 
better pianist than the tenor is a singer 

Hardy Perennials 

of the 

Concert Hall 

By Eldon Kelley 

Who, as the years roll by, never dresses a day older 

Page Sixteen 

Ten-Minute Plays 

By Djuna Barnes 

rHE drawing-room of Countess Nicoletti Lupa's 
little zilla overlooking one of the bluest of Italian 

The walls are sweetly melancholy with prints of a past 
voluptuousness. A myriad of tiny glass pendants impale 
the atmosphere on their darting points. Venetian mir- 
rors, that lied with brittle persistoicc in an age long past, 
still lie. but the task is not an ungracious one, for the face 
that pauses before them occasionally, is at once enig- 
matic, handsome and daring. 

The Countess is seated at a desk, resting the hilt of a 
pearl-ha>idlcd pen lightly against her cheek. Tho seated, 
it is evident that she is tall and stately. She is miraculous 
with black lace, and pernicious with un purchasable per- 
fume. The motif of her blue and red ear-rings is carried 
out by the tall windozvs directly behind her, representing 
the Nativity at that moment when the Mother is most 
poignantly co)ivalescent. 

The Countess is of uncertain years. When she moves 
it is with a dangerous smalhiess of gesture, the movement 
of a sword in a scabbard, accompanied by just the right 
murmur of rebellious ribbons and desperate taffeta. She 
is so fearfully blase that she does not care where her next 
shudder is coming from. 

She is alone, tho she is evidently expecting a single 
person to tea. Two delicate cups stand upon a tray near 
at hand. 

The sound of a distant bell is heard, and somewhere 
from the lake the cry of a grieving bird, just deciding to 
stand on both feet. 

There then descends silence. Presently, however, the 
countess is aware of the presence' of Fanny Blaze, a 
young American. She has come along the garden path, 
and nozv stands leaning against the casement. Slowly 
she comes in. She is blonde, dressed in hyacinth, and is 
without ornament save for a single red rose, which she 
has placed behind her ear.. When in Italy do as the 
Italians, etc. 

She is below medium in height, but as one might say, ex- 
quisitely lacking in inches. It is evident that the tzvo have 
met both for tea and for no good. 

Fanny (coming forward, directly, warmly) : May I? 
Lupa (rising, gracious, both hands extended) : Oh, my 
dear ! 

Fanny: It is very warm, isn't it? 

Lupa : Detestable ! But here, in the shade 

Fanny : Perfect. 

n Lupa (pouring tea) 
something with ice in 

Fanny: Oh I 
thank you, no. Just a 
little lemon. It's al- 
ways so touching to 
be Russian in Italy. 

Lupa (the shade of 
a smile hovering over 
her lips) : Or at home 
abroad — or calm dur- 
ing a storm 

Fanny (moving 
her spoon in a perfect 
circle) : Quite. 

Perhaps you would rather have 

Lupa (softly, in a voice pitched to hospitality) : You 
are in love with my husband, the count? 

Fanny (turning her head a little to one side arranging 
the rose) : Ravished. 

Lupa : Is it possible that you are naive ? 
Fanny : No, brilliant. 

Lupa: I see. Well, as my husband's wife, what have 
you to offer? 

Fanny: Nothing. He is bound to accept. 
Lupa : You are — rich ? 
Fanny : But not quite American. 
Lupa : I love little, blonde, frank women. 
Fanny: And I, I am fascinated by your tall brutality. 
Lupa : Of course, you know that I ride better than 

Fanny : Undoubtedly. 
Lupa : I have my own way with animals. 
Fanny (enthusiastically) : Dont I know it. 
Lupa (drawling slightly) : I have a beautiful foot. It 
looks well in a stirrup, descending a staircase, on a 


Fanny (nodding) : While mine are deformed with 

pinching. But they are piquant 

Lupa : And I have a sharp tongue 

Fanny: My dear countess, you are brilliant, adorable, 
fascinating ! Were I a man I would choose you, of 
course. But men are fools, they adore safety ; therefore 
your husband will follow me home like a chick. 

Lupa (leaning forward on one ringed hand): Just 
what does he see in you? 

Fanny : Well, to put it in the Scott Fitzgerald way : the 
speechless and dum founded. 

Lupa : Let us put it still another way : What is wrong 
with me? 

Fanny (impatiently) : You are superb. That is 
enough. If we were liqueur I could explain it even 
better, by saying that I am moonshine and you are aged 
in the wood. You are too perfect. You need no prun- 
ing. What possible use have you for a lifelong devotion? 
You will continue, like the sea, no matter what little 
sloops are set upon you. 

Lupa (smiling) : What will you do with Nicoletti when 
you get him? 

Fanny: Heavens! I hadn't thought of that. (She 
begins counting off on her fingers.) I promise to muffle 
him against the cold, to introduce him to at least one 
new dish a season, and once in a long while I shall make 
him a trifle jealous, as we sit in the first-class carriage of 
some train, leaving one place for another. 

Lupa: You almost 

convince me 

Fanny (with a 
sigh of ecstasy) : 
Darling ! 

Lupa : That you 
wont do at all. 

Fanny (coming 
out of her ecstasy ab- 
ruptly) : Won't do? 

Lupa (rising to her 
full height, lighting a 
cigarette with fearful 
poise) : You see, to 
(Cont'd on page 70) 

Page Seventeen 


Fred and Adele Astaire belong to no particular school of dancing, but they 
have the priceless gifts of grace and charm. They perform almost unbelievable 
feats of pedal dexterity as they twist and turn and flit across the stage like 
sprites. At present they are among the chief attractions of The Bunch and Judy 

White Studio 

Page Eighteen 


// you should ask the artists, critics, or motion 
picture enthusiasts in the German and Hungarian 
speaking countries who they consider the most 
beautiful of their blonde screen stars, you 
would be answered: "Iza Lenkeffy." This lovely 
actress has played the leading role in more 
than two hundred pictures, and is as beloved 
by her countrymen as is Mary Pickford by 
us. Her husband, J. Roboz, is the manager 
of the Comic Theatre of Budapest 

Page Nineteen 

The Unearthly Imagination 

Of which four types are: Odilon Redon, in painting; Edgar Allan Poe, in poetry 
and prose; Claude Debussy, in music; Maurice Maeterlinck, in philosophy 

By Benjamin De Casseres 

THE Imagination — that stupendous aquarium of 
the soul in which moves as thru ether all colored 
forms and monstrous indefinite images — has three 

In painting, literature, philosophy, and music, one of 
these three ways of holding the universe in solution must 

There is the realist imagination, which reproduces what 
it sees, and sees no more than it reproduces ; the romantic- 
ethereal-heroic imagination, whose images are a fusion 
of the personal will and the indestructible pagan delirium ; 
and the Unearthly Imagination, rarest vintage from the 
press worked by the encelled ghosts that agglomerate by 
the million in the blood and marrow of a few beings, and 
whose images, chromatic and verbal, will be no other than 
bare insinuations, mythic hints, infoliate whispers — apoca- 
lyptic annunciations from the immensities of the spaces 
buried in what we call the Unconscious, with its fatal 
stars, unorbital planets and comets, and its mal-shapen 
and no-shapen wilderness of clouds that throw their Man- 
made and Devil-damned reflections on the screen of 

Four types of the Unearthly Imagination are : Odilon 
Redon, in painting ; Edgar Allan Poe, in poetry and prose ; 
Claude Debussy, in music; Maurice Maeterlinck (the 
Maeterlinck of The Treasure of the Humble, Wisdom 
and Destiny, and the Plays), in philosophy. 

It is an empire aside, a Prester John Land where 
Prospero and Titania rule, turn and turn about, with a 
shadowy but cosmic Mephistopheles and his paramour, a 
hopelessly unhinged and startle-eyed Cassandra. 

Art is the humor of reality. 
The Unearthly Imagination typed 
in these four men is the humor 
of the imagination itself — that 
celestial humor whose terrible 
irony is hid in the sunbeams of 
the anonymous Source. 

Iife is a ghost story. From the 
■J clear, snow-clad peaks of ab- 
solute Realism — that summit on which 
Schopenhauer stood — or from the arca- 
num of ultra-violet rays from which peer 
the eyes of an Odilon Redon, an Arthur 
B. Davies, a Frederic Chopin, a Percy 
Bysshe Shelley or a Francis Thompson, 
the vision and the verdict are the same : 
We are fabulous dust thrilled by a 

The external universe is a phantasmo- 
rama that brews sensations. The earth is 
unearthly because the finest, rarest spirits 
on this half -dried sun-flake apprehend 
what is nominally called the Real as a 
morphinated vision. The poet, who is the 
final critic of all finite things, is drugged 
with the Infinite and the Eternal. He is 
a cataleptic in a state of Mystery — which 
is our state of Grace. 

The Unearthly Imagination being the 
very highest form of the poetic imagina- 
tion, it follows, logically, intuitively and 

absolutely, that the great Decadent, as rare in the psychic 
upswirl as is radium in the physical upswirl, is the very 
Logos of Beauty. 

The Unearthly Imagination lives by suggestion. It has 
never uttered a complete sound, painted a full-length 
dream, or sounded the scale. Spokesman of an Other- 
where, it lingers, half-syncopated, behind the irrelevant. 
(Seven-eighths of the brain is always immersed in the 

There in that world of perpetual shadow it is that 
Odilon Redon has set up his easel and worked by the 
light streaming from that wispy other eighth which we 
call consciousness. 

It is in that tenebrous seven-eighths that Poe wrote 
and saw, for he, like Jules Laforgue and Charles Baude- 
laire, was nyctaloptic and one of the suns that blaze in 

It is there that Arthur B. Davies found Form. It is 
there, in the trackless Mammoth Cave of creation, that 
William Blake traveled and worked. 

Even the wide-eyed brain of Robert Browning fell 
under the spell when he wrote his mysterious and beau- 
tiful Childe Roland ; and that surgeon of emotional shreds, 
Henry James, took the veil of the Unearthly and soaked 
his consciousness in the glamour of the deeps when he 
wrote The Turn of the Screw, the greatest ghost story 
in any language. 

But it was Gustave Flaubert who gave to us, for all 
time, the ironical epic of the Unearthly Imagination in 
his Temptation of Saint Anthony. For nothing is com- 
plete in this world until it wear the crown of cactus — Irony. 

The Unearthly Imagination is like 
music in the Fourth Dimension. 
It is a theme for a James Huneker 
or a Remy de Gourmont. That there 
are varieties of the Unearthly Imag- 
ination that border on lunacy adds 
to the beauty of it. Sanity has never 
been the criterion of anything ex- 
cept business and other forms of theft. 
Shakespeare has been called the sanest 
of poets, Leonardo da Vinci the sanest of 
painters, and Emerson the sanest of 
thinkers. Yet when Shakespeare gave to 
us his greatest creation, Hamlet — the 
most suggestive and subtle creation in all 
dramatic literature, except it be that other 
victim of the Unearthly Imagination, Don 
Quixote — he gave us a victim of unearth- 
ly ' dreams, one whose sanity is moot, 
among the Philistines at least. 

Leonardo da Vinci is known today to 
millions because he put the smile of in- 
sanity and wisdom (two parallel mental 
lines that often meet) on the face of 
Mona Lisa. And it was Emerson who 
came out flatfooted for insanity as a nec- 
essary ingredient in all genius. 

Look at the albums of Odilon Redon, 
unique in the world of paint. They are 
the last word in the evolution of the 
(Continued on page 69) 

Page Twenty 




By Chana Orloff 


. Bmn ■ • ., 



(M. Edward Fleg) 

Chana Orloff is a Russian 
modernist sculptor who 
caused great sensation in 
one of the Paris Salons 
by her study, La Fenvme 
Enceinte, around which a 
furious discussion raged. 
She is considered by 
many of the leading 
European critics to be 
one of the greatest wom- 
an sculptors on the Con- 
tinent, and the greatest 
practitioner of the an- 
cient art of carving di- 
rectly in wood. In all 
her work there is an un- 
usual compactness of 
form and an avoidance 
of angles. Her studio is 
in Paris, near that sec- 
tion beloved of all art- 
ists, Montparnasse 



Page Twenty-One 

Wagner Economized 

What the German stage, driven by necessity, is doing to the stage pictures of the Bayreuth master 

By Henry Osborne Osgood 

THE visit to America for the first time in its musical 
annals of a complete German Opera Company, 
which at the time of writing was to make its first 
New York appearance at the Manhattan Opera House 
on Monday evening, February twelfth, is a matter of 
interest and importance almost on a parity with the visit 
of the Moscow Art Theatre. , 

The company, composed of many of the best operatic 
artists which Germany possesses, and numbering with 
orchestra and chorus about two hundred persons, brings 
its own scenery, costumes and mechanical devices, and 
is under the management of George Hartmann, distin- 
guished general director of the famous Deutsches Opern- 
haus of Berlin. Mr. Hartmann is to the opera in Germany 
what Reinhardt is to the drama, and while remaining faith- 
ful to the spirit of Wagner, he presents the Master's 
music dramas with all the features rendered possible by 
the advances made since Wagner's time in scenic art 
and stage lighting. It is understood that the scenery and 
dresses of the visiting German company have been spe- 
cially designed and made, and are notable for several 
interesting innovations. 

Which brings me to the consideration of some of the 
modern methods of staging Wagner's works, as I noticed 

them during my re- 
cent visit to Germany, 
and especially what I 
saw at the Munich 
Opera House, where 
I had for some years 
occupied an official 

There was 
nothing con- 
nected with 
the science 
of opera 
making and 
that Richard 
Wagner did 
|tn o t know 
from A to Z. 
First, he 

wrote the texts of his own operas — or music dramas, as 
he was careful to call them and have them called — and, 
in writing them, he elaborated his theory of the necessity 
of unity between music, text, and drama, regarded be- 
fore his time as a matter of no importance. 

Next, he set these texts to music. But it is only as a 
composer that Wagner was the supreme genius ; his 
talent as a dramatic poet would never have saved his name 
from oblivion had he not written his magnificent music 
in which to preserve his poems. And when the music 
dramas were completed, it was Wagner who prescribed 
and personally attended to every detail of the production. 

Hampered by the jealousy and stupidity of bureaucrats 
in the Munich Royal Opera, where, thru the patronage 
of the King of Bavaria, most of his later operas were 
first given, Wagner found ways and means to erect a 
theater after his own ideas at Bayreuth, in which he 
reigned supreme. There he saw to it that those selected 
artists who were allowed the privilege of singing for him 
without pay were made to take every step and make every 
gesture he had written down with minute care in his 
scores, on the stage he had planned, and amid scenery 
which he prescribed down to the last detail. 

Thus the "Bayreuth Tradition" was established by 
Richard himself and has 
been carried on under the 
watchful and jealous eye 
of Frau Cosima, with Sieg- 
fried to assist her (more 
or less), thru' all the years 
between the master's 
death and the interrup- 
tion of the festivals 
caused by the war. 

The ridiculous part | 
of the Bayreuth tra- 
dition is that Rich- 
ard — himself, an 
active and exiled 
revolution ist 
way back in 
1848, and as 
progressive in 

Tho Germany is economizing to- 
day in mounting Wagner's music 
dramas, the costumes designed for 
the "Wagnerian Opera Festival, 
given here by the company from 
Berlin, were far from lacking in 
magnificence. George Hartmann, so 
long head of the Berlin Deutsches 
Opernhaus and an artistic director 
of first rank, came over with the 
company and supervised the de- 
signing of each production. At the 
left is the costume for Hans Sachs 
in Die Meistersinger ; at the right, 
the uniform for one of the Knights 
in Tannhauser 

Page Twenty-Two 


A Siegfried setting, specially designed and made for the German Opera Company now visiting 
this country. Note the fine composition, dignity and simplicity of this setting as compared 
with the old and traditional one so long in use at Bayreuth, Munich, and elsewhere 

else as he was in politics — would have been the first to 
get away from it had he lived, and to have adopted 
everything new and good that came along in stagecraft. 
Not so his widow. What Richard had ordained re- 
mained the final word for her, and the rest of Germany 
followed Bayreuth, as it always had done. In conse- 
quence, up to the time of the war, the Wagner scenery 
was pretty much alike on all German stages, a little more 
or a little less elaborate, according to the resources of 
the theaters, a little fresher or a little more ragged, 
according to its age, but as a rule in the same general 
style — and that style, unfortunately, dating back to the 
seventies of the last century. A few stage technicians 
had done their best to improve the old designs with 
modern lighting, but nowhere had there been an at- 
tempt to simplify or conventionalize the designs them- 

But since the war — that is quite another story ! It 
was, however, necessity, and not voluntary artistic impulse, 
that brought about the departure from tradition. With 
the steady drop in value of the German mark, and the 
consequent shrinkage of the budget for productions in 
German theaters, Wagner scenery a la Wagner became 
altogether too expensive. Brains were set to work to 
evolve a new style of investiture that would, be adequate 
and effective without costing too much. As might be 
expected, some of the results have been satisfactory, 
others are by no means so. 

The very Munich that saw so many Wagner premieres, 
a half century and more ago, was one of the first cities 
to step away from the tradition. Just at the end of 1921, 
the State (formerly the Royal) Opera came out with a 
whole new suit of scenery for the Ring. Munich — the 
home of the famous Secession movement and of its pres- 
ent-day stepchild, the New Secession — has always occupied 

the drum-major position in German art ; and, as a matter 
of fact, in the case of the Bavarian capital it was on 
artistic rather than economic grounds that the innova- 
tions were undertaken. 

But the new Munich settings do not seem to show an 
improvement on the original Wagner designs commen- 
surate with the amount of thought and time that went 
into their design and construction. Part of this is due to 
the fact that the lighting frequently is not what it should 
be. Siegfried's forest, instead of being drenched in glori- 
ous sunlight, is half dark ; in fact, there is thruout the Ring 
an atmosphere of darkness that wearies the spectator 
and makes any facial expression of emotion by the actor- 
singers quite useless. And the innovators have not had 
the courage of their convictions. Those ridiculous reeds, 
behind which Mime lurks in that same forest scene, look 
like nothing except what they are, dry sticks stuck in 
holes in a stage bank. A courageous designer would 
banish them entirely. For the interior scenes — Hun- 
ding's hut and Siegfried's cave — the designers also failed 
to find any better plan than that laid down by Wagner, 
tho, of course, the execution is in accordance with 
modern stage practice. 

Most successful were the settings for the Siegfried- 
Wanderer scene in Siegfried and — strangely enough — 
the rather elaborate landscape for the scene of Siegfried's 
death in Die Gotterdammerung, a happy combination 
of naturalistic design and lighting that made one long 
to be sitting among Gunther's henchmen, listening to the 
beautiful narrative from the lips of the — it must be said 
— not over-modest hero. (Gunther was not such a bad 
fellow, after all, still, a lot of us dont care for the gentle- 
man who kisses and then tells — not once, but every time 
anybody will let him get started.) 

(Continued on page 72) 

Page Twenty-Three 


Kendall Evans 


As La Clavel, the dancer from old Seville, in the film 
version of The Bright Shawl, by Joseph Hergesheimer 

Page Twenty-Four 

Two Stars 


First Magnitude 

in the 



D'Ora, Vienna 


An Italian motion picture star oj extraor- 
dinary dramatic ability. She had won a 
high place for herself on . the speaking 
stage before she was lured to the screen 
a few years ago. She hopes some day 
to appear in an American picture 


This twenty-year-old French 
girl is known in screenland 
under the name Marie The. 
She has just finished a dramatic 
film in Paris, and is now pre- 
paring to go to Berlin, where 
she is to be starred in a play 
staged by the Ufa Film Com- 
pany, under the direction of 
Regisseur Lubitsch 

' Page Twenty-Fwe 


An expatriate, descending from the leisurely altitudes of Montparnasse, 
finds all America bowed down before a gun-metal instrument 

Efy Henry Altimus 

AS an expatriate, living in Paris and visiting this 
country only at long intervals, I have wondered 
_ why the American colony in Paris has grown with 
such amazing rapidity of late, why Americans were coming 
to the City of Light in such numbers and coming to stay. 
They were not coming for cultural reasons, as they did 
a decade or two ago, for today the music in New York 
is far better, the theaters are much more interesting, and 
our art is rapidly approaching the European level. I had 
not been back forty-eight hours when I discovered the 
reason : the most unbearably perfect telephone system 
in the world. 

Of course, some Americans go to Paris to train for 
divorce in an environment more fashionable than Reno, 
and others go because only those with a thoro education in 
chemistry can wink at the Eighteenth Amendment and 
preserve life and eye-sight, but the vast majority emigrate 
to escape the telephone system. If they dont, they should. 

There is a legend that China at one point in her devel- 
opment, many centuries ago, had attained a degree of 
civilization far superior to our own today, but that at 
this point the emperor had decreed that every mechanical 
invention, every ingenious device which made that civiliza- 
tion superior, be destroyed. I do not know precisely in 
which century this occurred, but it was approximately 
within a year after the telephone service had reached the 
perfection it now enjoys in this country. Unfortunately, 
this is a republic and the President has only the power 
to call disarmament conferences and issue Thanksgiving 
Day proclamations, so that civilization must go pitilessly 
on its course. 

When a foreigner, with admirable clarity and calm, 
speaks of the next war, there is great consternation 
among Americans, yet it is only the frequency of wars in 
Europe which has made the Continent such a wonderful 
place to live. Europe has always been so busy fighting 
that it has never had the leisure to install modern plumb- 
ing or perfect its telephone system. 

For a brief space, during the recent war, there appeared 
a little hope for America : the telephone service deteri- 
orated appreciably, expert operators became scarce, run- 
down material was hard to replace, and a telephone sub- 
scriber could at last call his soul his own. But the hope 
was short-lived. The war ended prematurely. 

If General Pershing had had his way, if the Metz 
offensive had been carried thru, the American troops 
marched to Berlin and the war prolonged another year, 
the telephone system might have broken down so com- 
pletely in this country that it could be scarcely improved 
before the next war, thus attaining a chronic condition of 
fitful operation such as makes telephoning in Europe a 
romantic and uncertain adventure* a diversion of many 
surprises, not the least of which is getting your number 
within the same day you ask for it. But the counsels of 
General Pershing did not prevail, the Yankee troops did 
not march to Berlin, and Americans began to emigrate 
to Paris in increasing numbers. 

On my arrival in New York I put up with an old friend. 
On my second day I had occasion to use the telephone. 
I made my usual preparations. I drew a comfortable 
arm-chair up to the telephone instrument, piled it high 
with cushions, lighted a pipe, and opened The Boy Grew 

Older to page eighty-seven, with the pleasant prospect 
of finishing it at the sitting. I put the receiver to my ear. 

-ease r 

It was a woman's voice. Central had put me on a 
busy wire. I waited. A busy wire is always an adventure. 
But my curiosity was not rewarded, for not another sound 
came, and I hung up for a moment. Again I lifted the 
receiver to my ear. 

"Please?" Again the same woman's voice, more cajol- 
ing. Again the busy wire, I thought. A woman pleading. 
Perhaps with a man, a lover. Mystery. Tragedy. I 
waited breathlessly, but evidently the couple had heard 
me lift the receiver from the hook, knew there was an 
eavesdropper to their drama, and at once became silent. 
Despairing, I once more hung up the receiver. I put it 
to my ear after a wait. 

"What's the matter with you? I've been asking you 
for your number, please?" 

It was the operator. I recognized the voice, realized 
at once that it had not been a busy wire but the truncated 
formula of Central, "Number, please?" Her response 
had been so prompt, that by the time the receiver had 
reached my ear she had already achieved the formula. 
Stunned, I stammered my apologies and gave my number : 
"Gramercy 5042." 

"Gram " The voice vanished after an audible break 

in the connection. We had been cut off. I began to 
breathe more easily, to finger page eighty-seven with the 
pleasant anticipation of a chapter or two. This was more 
like the Paris service. I jiggled the hook in orthodox 
fashion. Almost immediately there was a woman's, 

"I'm sorry, operator. We were cut off. I asked for 
Gramercy 5042." 

"This is Gramercy 5042," replied the voice. I recog- 
nized it. Flustered, speechless, I stammered : "I'll call 
up later," and hung up the receiver. I could not have 
delivered the message I had planned. I was too dum- 
founded. The whole operation had lasted eighty seconds. 
But for my blundering, it would not have required more 
than twenty seconds. It was bewildering, incredible. I 
had not even framed my speech. I had thought there 
would be plenty of time for that after I had skimmed 
a chapter or two. 

Irose and began to pace the room. My reading was 
spoiled for the clay. From years of habit as a telephone 
subscriber in Paris, I can only read with a telephone 
receiver to my ear. I have done all my reading that way. 
My education during the past ten years has been acquired 
during telephone calls. I average from three to four 
volumes a week. Busy Parisians get their only sleep 
during calls. There is always a couch near the instrument 
in well-appointed homes. But with twenty-second 
service . . . 

I began to understand America. I realized why the 
newspaper has supplanted the novel, why the anecdote 
has superseded the short story. I paced up and down the 
room reflecting on these things when the telephone bell 
rang. I had scarcely concluded the conversation when it 
rang again. 

It rang all day, ceaselessly, relentlessly. By four o'clock 
(Continued on page 69) 

Page Tzventy-Six 


An original water-color drawing by Arthur Rackham, made for 

Milton's Comus and included in the exhibition of the artist's work 

at the Scott and Fowles Galleries this past winter 

Page Twenty-Seven 




Maurice Sterne 

Courtesy of the Bourgeois Galleries 



Maurice Sterne is an individualist. His works are 
heartfelt results of phases in his life. Born in 
Russia, he came to America a poor boy struggling to 
attain an art education. By winning a prize for his 
work, he was enabled to live and study abroad. 
Feeling the desire for different surroundings he 
went to India and Java, but still the inspiration did 
not come. Impulsively he took a steamer for Bali, 
in the Malay Archipelago, and there his ideal was 
found. In Bali the natives lived in perfect harmony 
with nature. The costumes, the processions, the old 
ceremonies, made a deep impression on the artist and 
the outcome was some of his finest work. After 
spending about two years in Bali he returned to New 
York, and Mr. Birnbaum exhibited his drawings with 
great success. He could not, hoivever, re-adjust him- 
self to American life, and much time was spent in 
the study and painting of flowers. In Maine he pro- 
duced Rock Studies, entirely individual and interest- 
ing. Then came life with the Pueblo Indians in New 
Mexico. The artist with his great friendliness and 
understanding gained the confidence of these people, 
thereby making drawings and sculpture unusual and 
distinctive. At present Maurice Sterne is working in 
Italy and devoting much time to sculpture. The 
Bourgeois Galleries have twice exhibited his ivork 
and succeeded in placing drawings and a sculpture, 
The Bomb Thrower, in the Metropolitan Museum 


■Jg ■ ■ HBkk 





V i 



Page Twenty-Eight 





Some of Maurice Sterne's 
finest ivork was done 
during his ttvo-years' so- 
journ in Bali 


One of a number of symbolical drawings made by the artist when he ivas depressed in spirit 

Page Twenty-Nine 



Page Thirty 



Page Thirty-One 




Sketched by Wynn 

Constantin Stanislavsky, co-founder of the Moscow 
Art Theatre, and for more than twenty years its lead- 
ing spirit, began as an amateur. He has developed 
into the greatest director and one of the finest actors 
of his generation. He himself has set the example of 
perfect team work, ivhich has made the Moscow or- 
ganization the most notable theatrical organization 
that has ever been brought into existence. Gifted 
with a splendid imagination and with original 
theories of stage direction and acting, his productions 
are perfect examples of naturalism which never over- 
steps the bounds of good taste and results in over- 
emphasis. The visit of the Moscow Art Theatre to 
New York and other cities in this country is likely to 
have an abiding effect on the American stage 



Moskvin's ability to merge his identity in 
whatever part he plays is shown at its 
best in the role of that Russian rolling- 
stone, Luka, in Gorky's The Lower 
Depths. Here we have humor and hu- 
manity, high comedy and low. He cre- 
ated the role in the original production 
in 1902 

Page Thirty-Two 

Thanks to Chaliapin and Didur, Boris 
Godunow was not unknown to American 
audiences before the arrival of the Mos- 
cow Art Theatre. Alexander Vishnevsky 
(beloic), of that organization, gives an- 
other fine impersonation of the character 
in Tsar Fyodor Ivanovitch 

Fiana Shevtchenko and Peter Baksheieff 
(above) give fascinating but repellent 
portrayals of sensual and selfish types in 
The Lower Depths. She is the wife of 
the lodging-house keeper and he is the 
smart young thief who has grown tired 
of their illicit love 

At the right is one of 
the great moments in 
The Lower Depths, 
ivhen the broken- 
down gentleman is 
discussing the situa- 
tion with some of his 
companions and they 
realize their different 
degrees of misery and 
degradation. The epi- 
sode, as well as the 
whole play, is pre- 
sented with such na- 
turalness and absence 
of melodramatic ef- 
fect that it is pro- 
foundly moving 

Page Thirty-Three 




Looking as 'if they 
had stepped from a 
Greek frieze, the 
Duncan Sisters are 
the Three Graces 
come to life. They 
quitted the Duncan 
School three years 
ago and developed 
their own choreo- 
graphic methods. 
Today they are the 
rage of Paris, and 
doubtless will be of 
New York, whither 
they come next 

Page Thirty-Four 

The Man Who Was Mad 

By Frederic Boutet 

Translated from the French by William L. McPherson 


IT is not very agreeable to meet a man who was your 
friend at college, and who afterward was interned 
for many months in an asylum — an asylum for high- 
class pay patients, but a madhouse just the same. 

Lucien Canalle had the appearance of a man who had 
perfectly recovered when I met him face to face on the 
boulevard. Apart from a certain air of sadness and of 
premature old age (he is thirty-two, I believe), he seemed 
quite normal, and I tried to treat him as if nothing had 
happened. We took seats on the terrace of a cafe and I 
talked gaily of old times at college, where he and his 
brother had been in the same class with me. 

"Yon are very polite," he said. "You talk to me as 
you would to anybody else, dont you? But I know, you 
see. I am the man who was mad. With you, as with the 
others, and as long as I live, I shall be an object of sus- 
picion. They keep watch on me without seeming to do so. 
They are too free and easy, too gay, too amiable. They 
agree with me too pointedly. I am the man who was mad. 

"But, no, I am not mad! I have never been mad! I 
want, for once, to tell the whole truth. But the truth 
now is no longer of any importance. A wrong has been 
done to me and another has benefited from it. I was not 
the madman. It was my brother Louis. No, I beg of you, 
let me tell you the whole story before you assume that I 
have not been cured. 

"Louis went mad seven years ago. He was twenty- 
and I was twenty-six. 
He was not mad all the time. 
He had periodical attacks. He 
undressed himself, he thought 
that he was surrounded by 
enemies, he argued with pieces 
of furniture and fought with 
them. We come of stock some- 
what abnormal mentally, and 
Louis, besides, overdid things 
between his eighteenth and 
twenty-fifth year. He studied 
mathematics too hard and dis- 
sipated too much. The two 
things dont go together. 

"When this derangement be- 
gan, we were in the country, at 
the family chateau. You know 
that our parents died long ago. 
I was alone there with Louis. 
He grew worse and worse. The 
attacks became more frequent 
and more violent. The rest of 
the time, however, he had no 
trouble. And he had no mem- 
ory whatever of the crises after 
they were over. He was a good 
fellow, as always, cheerful and 
perfectly content with life. 

"I persuaded him to return 
to Paris. I had already con- 
sulted Prunier. You remember 
him, dont you? He was also 
at college with us, and he re- 
mained — he had remained, I 
should say — my best friend. 
He had just taken his degree in 

medicine. He was a pupil of Cave, the celebrated alienist, 
and I could not have found a better man to consult. 

"He knew Louis well. He examined him carefully 
without letting him notice it, without putting him in the 
least on his guard, treating him like an old friend. He 
told me finally that it was a serious case, though curable. 
With care, rest, fresh air and hydrotherapy he could 
recover in less than a year, but only on condition that 
he be put in charge of Cave, who had a sanitarium in the 
suburbs. Everything at Cave's is up-to-date. You can 
well believe me, for I was there myself. 

"I hesitated. It seemed horrible to me. As I just told 
you, between attacks he was relatively rational. He at- 
tended to his affairs and pursued his studies in physics, 
directing the latter, moreover, toward fantastic problems 
and scientific extravagances, impossible of realization. 
But for the most part he lived like everybody else, and 
lived even at too rapid a, pace, for he went out every 
evening and indulged in all sorts of excesses. I was 
obliged to accompany him on these expeditions and God 
knows if that was not a torment to me, for I was a 
serious-minded person. But I hardly dared to let him 
go alone. 

"Besides, nobody else suspected anything. In the 
house in which we had our apartment, in the Avenue 
Villiers, the other tenants found him more sociable than 
they found me. Pie never had any attacks outside and 

I did my best to conceal them 
from the servants, locking my- 
self up with him and trying to 
quiet and stifle his cries. 

"But that state of things 
could not last. He became more 
violent than ever. Prunier was 
annoyed and told me that I was 
to blame. He said that Louis 
was in danger, that he was 
aggravating his condition every 
day by the life which he led and 
that it was necessary to confine 
him without delay, if we wished 
to avoid a catastrophe and a 
public scandal. 

"Prunier also told me that he 
was going to America to study 
asylum methods there, and that 
he wanted to set his mind at 
ease about the two of us be- 
fore he started. Finally, he in- 
sisted peremptorily that some- 
thing should be done. 

"And then, in addition, 1 
wanted to get married. I was 
very much in love and I feared 
the results of some eccentricity 
or worse on Louis' part. He 
also knew the girl I loved — 
Yvonne Martier." 

"Yvonne Martier?" I said in 
astonishment. 'But she 
married. ..." 

"Yes, she married my broth- 
er," Lucien Canalle interrupted. 
(Continued on page 74) 

Page Thirty-Five 

Henrik Ibsen wrote his mas- 
ter poem, Peer Gynt, when a 
wanderer in Southern Italy in 
1867. In a letter to a friend 
he affirmed that much of it 
liad its origin in the circum- 
stances of his own boyhood. 
His imagination created a 
perfect type of the errant 
and erring youth, partly real 
and partly fanciful, with 
folklore as a background 

Norway's most famous com- 
poser, Edward Grieg, luis 
done much to perpetuate 
the story of Peer Gynt, for 
his vividly pictorial music 
has been heard the world 
over. Who does not know 
and love Solveig's Song, the 
Death of Ase and Anitra's 




Peer Gynt Comes to New York 

Sketches by Leo Kober 

Page Thirty-Six 

To keep his mother, Asc, from 
following him. Peer has perched 
her on the mill-house roof. As he 
strides away, she cries: 

"Peer! — God help me, now 
he's off; 
Reindeer-rider! Liar! Hei! 
Will you listen? No; he's 

O'er the meadow — Help! 
I'm dizzy!" 

At the left is the young 
hero impudently defying 
the Troll King in his hall 
under the mountain. 
Joseph Schildkraut plays 
the difficult role of Peer 
Gynt with extraordinary 
skill and spirit 

On the opposite page 
is Peer watching three 
farm girls dancing and 
singing in the meadow. 
He cries out to them: 
"To whom do you 
call?" They answer: 
"To the trolls! To 
the trolls!" Peer leaps 
from the bridge and 
dances with them 

Ladislas Kun (right) conducts the orchestra for the Theatre 
Guild's production of Ibsen's drama. He is one of the finest 
classic musicians of Hungary. Theodore Komisarjevsky 
(left), who so ably directed Peer Gynt, ivas one of the 
experimentalists and pioneers in the theater in Russia 

Peer meets Solveig at 
the wedding celebra- 
tion. He grasps her 
wrist, crying: "Oh, it 
is well you have 
come! Now I will 
swing you round fast 
and fine!" But Sol- 
veig answers : "Loose 
me! You are so wild!" 
"The reindeer is wild 
too, when summer is 
dawning," retorts Peer 

Page Thirty-Seven 

Savely Sorine 

A master of pure and austere art among radicals 
By Leo Randole 

ONE may say : "A quelque chose malheur est bon," 
and thank the Russian Revolution for turning the 
greatest artists of Russia into wandering refugees. 
Yet it seems unfair to both artists and the public to have 
tossed and crowded together the incongruous individuali- 
ties of the captivating group of Russian modernists known 
as the "Mir Isskoustva," as was done in a recent exhibi- 
tion. Primarily founded by Alexandre Benois to com- 
bat the influence of impressionism, the "Mir Isskoustva" 
reflects the individual reaction of each member toward 
the tendencies of the modern movement in Art. 

In spite of the Rus- 
sian Ballet and the ex- 
hibitions of some Rus- 
sian artists, in spite of 
their own Futurists and 
Independents, neither 
Paris nor New York 
has been quite prepared 
for the bold individual- 
ism of the "Mir Is- 
skoustva" members, 
presented as they are 
en masse. The inheri- 
tance of Byzantium and 
the Tartars, the peril- 
ous and primitive can- 
dor with which these 
enfants tcrribles demol- 
ish to rebuild again, the 
poignancy of their sor- 
row, their sharp sensu- 
alism — all this is too 
overwhelmingly dis- 
quieting and stirring to 
occidental senses. But 
one should not grumble 
at so many riches, and 
bear in mind that this 
extraordinary exhibi- 
tion in the Brooklyn 
Museum is the group- 
ing of artist friends, 
primarily collaborators 
of an art magazine, 
brought together by 
their common sympathy 
with the modern move- 
ment in arts ; and that 
each artist is perfectly 

free to express his own genius with no school nor formula 
to trammel his individuality. 

Acquainted as one may be with these facts, one still 
experiences surprise in facing the serene art of Savely 
Sorine. And in recovering from the perplexity at 
finding such masterly simplicity and perfection next to 
the most riotous and unrestrained radicalism, an immediate 
comparison forces itself between Sorine and a French 
master of the nineteenth century — the great Ingres. The 
comparison is immediate and lasting, with strong points 
of similitude, in spite of Sonne's personality and the fact 
that between Ingres and him was Cezanne — that other 
French master who brought new blood and vivified the 
spirit of the present generation. 


Nowadays it is common to invoke the name of Ingres in 
connection with modern painters. "Ingrism" in its abso- 
lute classicism has become a cult among the most abstract 
Futurists, and many a drawing of Picasso and Matisse 
could affirm the sincerity of this idolatry. All those who 
know how to draw were called at one time or other 

It is easy to understand why the most exasperated 
cquilibriste feels appeased by this genius of order and 
purity and has consecrated him as patron. While such 
sayings of Ingres as : "Draughtsmanship is the honesty of 

art," "The line is the 
design," "The line is 
everything," "One can- 
not find beauty by prac- 
tising, one should find 
it in the model," or 
"Draw purely but 
broadly," have become 
gospels to them, there 
is something perversely 
paradoxical in the 
adulation of a master 
whose sensibility and 
perfection are felt and 
recognized but not ac- 
cepted as means to at- 

The connection be- 
tween Sorine and In- 
gres is, however, of a 
different and more inti- 
mate nature. It does 
not solely apply to their 
"manner" of painting. 
Spiritually the two men 
are kin. In art, such 
miracles do happen. 
Separated by a century, 
an Ingres is found re- 
incarnated in Russia by 
a Sorine. He who re- 
volted against the tyr- 
anny of David and his 
cold mimicry of ancient 
Rome and Greece, is 
found reincarnated in 
one whose revolt con- 
sists precisely in re- 
maining himself in calm 
and truth, while all around him is raging in a chaotic 
tempest. This beautiful and calm faith of Sorine, stands 
above the technical resemblance that exists between him 
and Ingres. 

Tike the art of Ingres, that of Sorine captivates by its 
■*— ' spiritual quality. As an artist Sorine is an aristocrat. 
Art only outwardly appears democratic. Like life itself 
it throws out all it possesses and it has its "low-brows" 
and aristocrats, its false prophets and apostles. To Sorine 
— the aristocrat — it was given to portray the human beauty 
of soul and mind. For this reason he is often referred to 
as the portraitist of aristocracy. This title ordinarily 
( Continued on page 72) 

Cliche Vizzanova 

Page Thirty-Eight 




Cliche Yizzanov; 


The art of Savely Sorine captivates by its spiritual quality. As an artist, 
he is an aristocrat. He cannot paint unless his sitter possesses nobility of 
mind and spirit — de la race. This quality becomes the motif of his paint- 
ing; all seems to be simplified and eliminated for its sake — it shines over 
everything like an impalpable aureole 

Page Thirty-Nine 

Francis Bruguiere 


Vanda Hoff, dancer at the Palais Royal, poses before 
a wall panel of carved wood by Norman-Bel Geddes 

Page Forty 


Claire Sims is a Danish artist who is popular on the Continent for 
her "Parody Dances." Above she appears in her number, The Naughty 
Child, with her three assistants, Jocko, Mother Goose and Teddy Bear 

Page Forty-One 

A Study in Patience — Warfield, Shakespeare and Shylock waiting for twelve years outside Belasco's office 

A "Little Theater" from Russia 

Out of the amateur actors of 1898 comes the genius of the Moscow Art Theatre 

Ety Kenneth Macgowan 

IT is 1938. Berlin and the whole German nation is in 
ecstasy over the great company of American actors 
appearing at Pariserplatz Theater. Press and pulpit 
re-echo with praise of the "first theater of the world." 
Cordons of the Schutzpolisei are needed to calm the 
crowds fighting their way to the box-office. At dinner 
parties you hear no other names than those of the great 
tragedians Frank Conroy and E. J. Ballentine ; the dis- 
tinguished actresses Helen Westley and Margaret Mower ; 
the two playwrights who have given this company its 
greatest triumphs, Philip Moeller and Lawrence Langner ; 
its scenic artist, Lee Simonson ; its autocratic but inspired 
director, Edward Goodman. Perfection of ensemble, 
brilliance of scenic detail, genius in impersonation and 
exaltation of dramaturgy stamp with authenticity the 
climax of the triumphal tour thru Europe of the Wash- 
ington Square Players. 

This is not so very fanciful a parallel to what happened 
in New York when the Moscow Art Theatre came to 
town. This brilliant organization — whose advent may 
well mark a turning-point in the history of the American 
stage — began its life a quarter of a century ago in cir- 
cumstances very much like those that ushered the Wash- 
ington Square Players into the Bandbox Theater. The 
finest acting company in the world is nothing more nor 
less than the outgrowth in Russia of what we in America 
call the "little theater movement." 

Constantin Stanislavsky, its chief director, was an 
amateur actor in 1897, and he managed a little theater 
organization that went by the name of the Society of Art 
and Literature. Nyemirovitch Dantchenko, its regisseur, 
its business man, and its picker of plays, was a rich 
dilettante and teacher of dramatic art. The result of an 
eighteen-hour session over a cafe table was the union 
of these men and their ideas, and the formation of the 
Moscow Art Theatre. Before their playhouse opened in 

Page F orty-Tzvo 

the fail of 1898 they had gathered together the young 
men and young women who still form the center and 
first-line of the company. Almost without exception, 
they were the sort of people you find in our little theater 
companies today — amateurs who earned their livings at 
law, business or teaching. 

Two things account for the quality of the Moscow Art 
Theatre today. One is the idealism and the artistic 
intuition of its directors, Stanislavsky and Dantchenko ; 
their genius and their judgment have molded the efforts 
of their associates. But quite as important— far more 
important as a lesson to the American stage — is the fact 
that this group was organized as a repertory theater, one 
playhouse, one permanent company, one policy of direc- 
tion, and a repertory of great plays given in alternation, 
night by night, to one loyal audience. Upon this founda- 
tion, the Moscow Art Theatre has built financial success ; 
and, thru the years of constant practice and association 
in a wide variety of parts, the actors have developed their 
individual talents and created an ensemble beyond any- 
thing we know in America — or ever will know until we 
have repertory theaters of our own. 

The Broadway playgoer who visits Jolson's Fifty-ninth 
Street Theater every Monday to see the Russians at work 
gets one extraordinary shock. It is not the good plays — 
Tchekov's The Cherry Orchard and The Three Sisters, 
Gorky's The Lower Depths, and Alexei Tolstoy's Tsar 
Fyodor. It is not even the brilliant direction and the 
amazingly smooth ensemble. It is the virtuosity and va- 
riety of the actors. 

Here on one night is a dumpy comedian named Moskvin 
playing that tragic half-wit Tsar Fyodor, and on another 
the moth-eaten old pilgrim in The Lower Depths, and 
playing both parts with equal brilliance. Here on another 
night is the company's greatest actor, Katchaloff, pre- 



senting the same Tsar in a different and even more moving 
interpretation, and on still another playing with such 
extraordinary finesse the degenerate Baron in Gorky's 
polyphony of the slums. Stanislavsky, himself, is in one 
play a Nordic noble that might have stepped down from 
Valhalla, in another an ornately ragged philosopher of the 
cellar, and in still a third a debilitated country gentleman 
with a taste for billiards. 

It is the constant practice on such varied parts, under 
a direction ^i the intuitive understanding of Stanislavsky, 
which has made the little theater of the Society of Art 
and Literature into the greatest acting-machine in the 
world. The thing is not impossible in America. Capital, 
energy and a very little genius are all we need. In the 
playgoers that sit enthralled before the pageantry of Tsar 
Fyodor, the squalor and ecstasy of The Lower Depths 
and deep, piteous humanity of Tchekov, America already 
has the eager audience which would complete its theater. 

HP] ie American manager who should have had such a 
-*■ repertory theater years ago ■ — Arthur Hopkins, of 
course — signalized the arrival of the Russian players with 
the most disappointing production of his career. Of the 
two versions of Romeo and Juliet announced for mid- 
season, the one that Hopkins made for Ethel Barrymore 
arrived first and departed almost immediately for very 
good reasons. As Juliet, Miss Barrymore was heavy, 
slow, and doomed. Even her physical radiance seemed 
dimmed. The company was almost as ponderous as the 
star. They were directed at a leisurely pace, and the 
stage-hands — who had 

Only tO drop Curtains Courtesy of Morris Gest 

across the front of 
Robert E. Jones's per- 
manent setting and add 
or subtract a chair or 
two — took their time 
with the changes of 
scene. There was no 
youth, no passion, no 
fire, no speed to match 
the boundless lyricism 
of Shakespeare. Only 
one actor, Basil Syd- 
ney, acquitted himself 
as well as his part de- 
served and, tho he read 
Mercutio's lines with 
uncommon cleverness, 
he, too, lacked dash. 

Against this Romeo 
and Juliet stand Jane 
Cowl and the produc- 
tion which the Selwyns 
have sponsored. It lacks 
much. The scenes of 
Rollo Peters are with- 
out style; and fifteen 
lengthy intermissions 
delay the sweep of the 
story. The supporting 
company is generally 
without distinction. But 
the production has cer- 

A group of suppliant 
peasants in Tsar 
Fyodor Ivanovitch, 
produced by the Mos- 
cow Art Theatre 

tain qualities that Hopkins' lacked. The speeches race 
from the tongues of the players. Miss Cowl and Rollo 
Peters, who plays Romeo, give us youth and passion. 
Peters seems to me the best Romeo of the last twenty 
years. Miss Cowl must stand below Julia Marlowe, for 
to her beauty and charm she adds no fresh vision of the 
part, and her voice is far too cloudy and unmusical for 
such poetry. 

"pV[o fault of performance is at the bottom of the failure 
■*■ ^ of Will Shakespeare. Otto Kruger is a little over 
his depth as the Bard, yet he shows enough growth in his 
playing to make you lenient. The rest of the cast, from 
Haidee Wright's magnificent bit as Queen Elizabeth to 
Katharine Cornell's courageous and capable attack on the 
ungrateful part of Mary Fitton, is thoroly adequate. The 
play itself is at fault. Clemence Dane, author of A Bill 
of Divorcement, has stretched facts and plausibility to 
make a feminist holiday out of the world's greatest drama- 
tist. By dint of twisted history and much imagination, 
he becomes the creature of Anne Hathaway, Mary Fitton, 
Elizabeth, in turn. Perhaps we could agree to owe 
Romeo and Juliet and the murder of Marlowe to the Dark 
Lady of the Sonnets if the whole play were as interesting 
as the last two of its six scenes. It is in these scenes, 
incidentally, that the puzzle-box setting which the bril- 
liant Norman-Bel Geddes has provided comes out to best 

From the disaster of Romeo and Juliet Ethel Barry- 
more promptly retreated to the sort of thing she does 

Page Forty-Three 


White Studios — Courtesy of the Selwyns 
A scene from Romeo and Juliet, with Jane Cowl as the heroine 

best, which is the sort of thing "her public" — as we call 
the frightful monster which limits the range of almost 
every actress in America — likes best to see her do. This is, 
of course, the grand lady. She must be as beautiful as 
Miss Barrymore herself, she. must wear unapproachable 
gowns. She must chat familiarly with Sir Gerald Apple- 
gate, K. C. B. And she must be just a little "declassee." 
Not enough to be vulgar — need I say? — but just enough. 
Enough, at any rate, so that shoddily aristocratic Ameri- 
cans can feel at home in her presence. 

This is the sort of part that Miss Barrymore finds in 
The Laughing Lady, a London drawing-room success 
written by that grand old man of the teacups, Alfred 
Sutro. It is all very like being back in Piccadilly in June, 
1-914. Smart and yet well-bred by twentieth-century 
standards. Ingenious, too, at least, in the first two acts ; 
the English playwrights of this sort were always ready to 
begin the evening with a new idea or a little freshness of 
dramaturgy if only you agreed not to hold it against them, 
or not to expect them to provide anything but the usual 

Perhaps I ought to say one of the two usual endings. 
For in these plays about the lady who loves somebody 
besides her own husband there are always a couple of 
solutions. In one of them, the lover goes away to Zam- 
besi to improve The Empire and his morals, and the wife 
settles down again with her boring spouse. In the other — 
when both are married — they both settle clown. Unhappy 
boredom reigns supreme and the British family is saved. 

Sutro goes to the length of having his heroine divorced 
about 4 p. m. and falling in love with her husband's 
ruthless counsel at 9:15. This gives Miss Barrymore an 
opportunity for some humor as well as emotion, but it 
makes the reconciliation with her husband particularly 

The Laughing Lady is better acted, I think, than any 
American production of this sort in many years. Cyril 
Keightly is a little out of the passionate picture, but he 
is no lout, and the rest of the cast is quite, quite expert, 

as Lady Stutfield of A Woman of No Importance would 
have said. There is nothing slow or labored here. Except, 
of course, Mr. Sutro's last act. 

The remainder of the month provides a number of pro- 
ductions worth some sort of comment : 

The Lady Cristilinda — now departed; a sentimental but 
deft piece of work by Monckton Hoffe, in which Fay 
Bainter did the best acting of her career. 

The Egoist — also of brief duration ; a sophisticated and 
spasmodically brilliant comedy by Ben Hecht, in which 
Leo Ditrichstein gave his usual performance of the Con- 
tinental great lover in a part supposed to be an American 

Secrets — a combination of Milestones and Romance, 
with an anti-feminist philosophy of its own, written with 
a fair amount of skill by Rudolph Besier and May 
Edginton, and well acted by Margaret Lawrence and 
Tom Nesbit. 

Why Not? — a pseudo-Shavian discussion of the ab- 
surdities of divorce, brightly but not brilliantly written 
by Jesse Lynch Williams, rather well mounted by the 
Equity Players, and enthusiastically endorsed by the 
Reverend Percy Stickney Grant. 

Rose Briar — Booth Tarkington engaged on far too 
polite and slow-paced a comedy, with Billie Burke, Victor 
Herbert, Joseph Urban, Florence O'Denishawn, Allan 
Dinehart, Frank Conroy, and Julia Hoyt lavishly engaged 
in an attempt to enliven it. 

Jitta's Attonement — Bernard Shaw's rather dull trans- 
lation from the German of a quadrangular problem play, 
in no way exciting, except for the skill of Frances Byrne 
and a few moments of Bertha Kalich's acting. 

Polly Preferred — a comedy of bluff, founded by Guy 
Bolton on the historical precedents of Cohan & Harris, 
and uncommonly well directed by Winchell Smith. 

A Square Peg — Lewis Beach's over-documented trag- 
edy of family life near Detroit, proving that what's sauce 
for the New England goose is sauce for the Michigander. 
{Continued on page 75) 

Page Forty-Four 

Don Quixote 



Above, Feodor 
Chaliapin's mag- 
nificent imp er- 
sonation of Don 
Q uichott e in 
Massenet's famous 

At the left, a 
bronze of Don 
Quixote and his 
famous steed 
Rosinante, made 
by the sculptor, 
C. E. Dallin 

A puppet of the picturesque rover, 
made by Tony Sarg for his marion- 
ette play, The Adventures of Don 

At the left, one of Gustave Dore's 
famous woodcuts for the 1863 edi- 
tion of Cervantes' book. The cap- 
tion reads: "II se promenait d'un 
pas lent et mesure" 

Page Forty-Five 

Seven Characters 
in Search of 
An Author 

Sketches by August Henkel 

The poor little country girl hasn't been per- 
mitted to seek her fortune in the city for many 
years. And she always had such a wonderful 
time, miraculously escaping the pitfalls of the 
Great White Way, becoming a famous prima 
donna, then renouncing her career forever 
when the boy from back home begged her 
to return 

The Prodigal Son has been sadly neglected of late, and never 
has the need for him been greater. This is the day of the 
small-town story in ivhich poverty and despair predominate. 
And all such distress used to be remedied by the return of the 
prodigal. Below, observe that he has arrived just in time to 
save the family homestead for the old folks 

Nowadays the popular heroes are af- 
fected, analytical and anemic. The 
girls of the present generation are 
being cheated — they do not know the 
meaning of the word Romance. They 
should meet the dashing, red-blooded 
Western hero of our youth, who fell 
in love with the Eastern heiress and 
who, when his suit was flouted by her 
parents, held up the stage-coach and 
kidnapped the fair lady 

Page Forty-Six 

A few of the best-seller heroes 

and heroines of the past twenty 

years beg to be restored to 

popular favor 

Here are the favorites of our boarding-school days — 
the princess-in-disguise who is enamored of the poor 
poet. In all our reading we never have experienced 
a thrill equal to the one when we discovered that the 
poet was traveling incognito, and was really of royal 

Here is the poor little English governess who used 
to be employed regularly by some branch of the 
Social-Climber family. She ivas always ordered from 
the house when the son-and-heir fell in love with 
her, she always dropped the locket with the crest 
that proved her of noble blood, and in consequence 
the ivedding-bells always rang merrily 

The noble young district attorney, who proves 
that his sweetheart's father has embezzled the 
city's funds, has been smothering in the dust 
of library stack-room shelves for many a year. 
Who ivill resuscitate him? 

Little orphan Pollyannie, whose sun- 
niness warmed to life the dying af- 
fections of numberless young married 
couples a few years ago, should be re- 
stored to the public to carry on the 
good ivork of Doctor Coue 

Page Forty-Seven 

Titto Ruffo, Caruso and Chaliapin, painted by Tade Styka in 1912 

Courtesy of M. Knoedler & Co. 

Euterpean Recollections and Reflections 

Concerning London's Royal Opera House, now the home of "Jazzaganza" 
— and Opera and Symphony in New York 

By Jerome Hart 

WHILE the grandest of grand opera flourishes 
in New York for six months in the year, and 
our super-Metropolis is more than ever the 
Mecca of the modern musician, opera seems to be on 
its last legs in London, and the concert season is languish- 
ing. The Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, after an 
existence of nearly two hundred years, is now the home 
of what the advertisements describe by the egregious 
name of "Jazzaganza" — a combination of musical com- 
edy, revue and vaudeville of a distinctly American type. 
Sic transit gloria Londiniensis ! 

Since the post-war failure of that modern Maecenas 
of musicians, Sir Thomas Beecham, who lost over two 
hundred thousand pounds in endeavoring to restore 
opera in England, and especially opera in English, to the 
proud position it once held, spasmodic attempts have been 
made to present grand opera at the famous house which 
has been its home since 1732. But they have been 
more or less failures, a fact due largely to the impover- 
ishment of society as the result of the war. Only a few 
weeks ago the last attempt of the British National 
Opera Company to keep alight the operatic torch flick- 
ered out. But it made a brave final sputter, for in the 
last week such standard works were presented as Mo- 
zart's Magic Flute, his Marriage of Figaro, The Valkyrie, 
Hansel and Gretel, Aida and La Boheme, the last with no 
less a person than Dame Nellie Melba, who returned for 
one night only to the scene of her former triumphs, in 

Page Forty-Eight 

aid of her less fortunate brothers and sisters of the 
operatic stage. 

Incidentally, in the penultimate week of grand opera at 
Covent Garden, one especially interesting, and, so far as 
this country is concerned, almost unknown work was 
performed — Phoebus and Pan, by John Sebastian Bach. 
But did Bach ever write an opera? some will ask. He 
did not. But the grand old kapellmeister did write a 
satirical and jovial cantata as a rejoinder to some of his 
critics who found fault with his music as too dry, and i 
this Beecham, a few seasons ago, had made over into an 
opera, which proved a great success, and which one 
would like to see on this side of the fishpond. I have 
the score, and find it an excellent and melodious bit of 
rather bucolic fun, which would make a good half of a 
double bill. 

T>ut let us get back to Covent Garden and indulge in 
•*-* a little retrospection. It first opened its doors on 
December 7th, 1732, as a home for. English opera, under 
the management of John Rich. One of the first works 
performed there was Gay's Beggar's Opera, which, as 
someone said at the time, made Rich gay and Gay rich. 
This work was revived in London between two and three 
years ago, and is still running after considerably more 
than a thousand performances, while its successor, Polly, 
by the same author, has also recently been successfully 
revived at another London theater. It was a mystery 


and disappointment to many that the famous ballad 
opera did not prove a success in New York, for the 
company was excellent and the performance a de- 
light. Perhaps it was produced at the wrong theater, 
or it was not in the right hands, as some thought. At 
any rate it is pleasant to know that the admirable 
old work has had great success in other and more 
appreciative cities in America. 

Among the hnglish operas produced at Covent 
Garden was \rtaxerxes, by Richard Arne, composer 
of Rule Britannia. Later Charles Dibdin, the bal- 
ladist, Henry Atwood and Henry Rowley Bishop 
wrote many operas, chiefly of the ballad type, for 
Covent Garden. Weber composed the music of 
Oberon, to an English libretto written by J. R. 
Planche, especially for that house, where it was 
first produced on April 28th, 1825. "When I en- 
tered the orchestra," Weber wrote to his wife, "the 
house, crammed to the roof, burst into a frenzy of 
applause. Hats and handkerchiefs were waved in 
the air. The overture had to be performed twice, 
as had also several pieces in the opera itself." 
Weber, who received a fee of one thousand pounds 
for Oberon, the largest sum up to that time 
ever paid to the composer of an opera, died in 
London a few weeks after its production. It re- 
mains in the repertory, and was revived at the 
Metropolitan, New York, a few seasons ago. with 
no little success. 

Beethoven's only opera Fidelio was first staged 
in English at Covent Garden on June 12, 1835, 
with the famous Malibran as the noble heroine. 
Adelaide Kemble, sister of the more eminent Fanny 
Kemble — who married and settled in America — ap-j 
peared there in an English version of * Bellini's 
Norma in 1841. The theater was burned down in 

The German Grand Opera Company, which has been playing to large 
and appreciative New York audiences, has produced The Ring and 
other operas of The Master. Above are Friederich Plaschke and Eva 
von der Gsten as Wotan and Brunnhilde, while below is yet another 
Brunnhilde in the imposing person of Elsa Alsen 

1856, and was rebuilt at a cost of one hundred and 
twenty thousand pounds, a .very large sum for a 
theatrical enterprise in those days. Recording the re- 
opening in May, 1858, a contemporary chronicler com- 
mented thus on the luxurious accommodation : "There is 
a distinct rest for each arm to every fauteuil, so that 
no one, however quarrelsome, can dispute that point of 
repose with his neighbor. The Norfolk giant himself 
might sit with perfect ease in any of the chairs, and the 
most extensive of crinolines might pass from end to end 
of each row without producing a ruffle of either silk 
or temper." 

Then came the memorable Gye and Mapleson 
regimes, with Mario, Grisi, Patti, Nilsson and others. 
My own recollections of Covent Garden commence in 
the middle nineties of last century, when the house was 
under the direction of Augustus Harris — "Augustus 
Druriolanus," as Punch dubbed him, for he also man- 
aged the other royal patent house, Drury Lane Theatre. 
I was at the time an official delegate from Australia to 
an Imperial Conference, and I well recall receiving 
from Sir Augustus, then a Sheriff of London, an im- 
mense, gorgeously illuminated card of invitation to a 
gala performance of Die Meistersinger, followed by a 
ball at Covent Garden. The opera, which was done 
in Italian, had a truly remarkable cast including Eames, 
the two de Reszkes, and David Bispham. A month 
later Harris died, the house passed into the hands of 
the newly formed Grand Opera Syndicate, presided 
over by the then Countess de Grey, afterwards Mar- 
chioness of Ripon, a beautiful and distinguished grande 
dame. She had as her right hand man the adroit 
{Continued on page 73) 

Page Forty-Nine 

.Francis Bruguiere 


In the galleries of this renowned Academy are canvases by Titian, Paul Veronese, Tintoretto, 
Corpaccio, Bellini, and other great masters of color. In his guide to the Academy, published 
in 1882, John Ruskin gives this description of the facade: "Over the entrance gate are three 
of the most precious pieces of sculpture in Venice — her native work, dated, and belonging to 
the school of severe Gothic: St. Leonard on the left, St. Christopher on the right, under 
Gothic cuspid niches, and the Madonna in the center, under a simple gable bearing the date 
1345. You see the infant sprawling over her knee in an ungainly manner; she herself sits with 
quiet maiden dignity, but in no manner of sentimental adoration. That is Venetian naturalism 
— showing their steady desire to represent things as they really might have existed. . . . 

Page Fifty 

Literature With a Silver Lining 

Stories about a gentleman, hardly a gentleman, and the head of a family 

By N. P. Dawson 

RICHARD MTDDLETON told the story about the 
man from Scotland who was found standing in 
.the middle of a London street laughing out loud. 
When someone asked the man why he was laughing, he 
replied, "Oh, 1 was just laughing at Glesca!" He was 
laughing because Glasgow, which had seemed to him so 
big, had suddenly be- 
come so small. 

If we are ever found 
standing in the middle 
of a street laughing out 
loud, it will be because 
we may have just come 
out of a museum 
where we have seen 
James Joyce's Ulysses, 
that novel in which 
"everything" is told, 
reposing in a glass case, 
where one of its most 
enthusiastic admirers 
early consigned it ; or 
we may have been 
thinking of T. S. 
Eliot's trick poem. The 
Waste Land, which 
had hymned the "dry- 
ing combinations," and 
the moon shining 
bright on Mrs. Porter 
and her daughter, who 
washed their feet in 
soda water — these two 
works of tremendous 
significance in their 
day, in which were to 
be found all the 
anguish and torment 
of a tottering world on 
the evening of its 

Why, as Rose Ma- 
caulay says of widows 
in their fresh bereave- 
ment, should the 
perennial prospect of a 
sick old world tumbling 
to its doom always be 

"wonderful"? We do not know. Yet it has ever been so, 
and from Chateaubriand down young men have filled the 
land with their ecstatic moanings. But when the world 
does not collapse after all, and when such truly affrighting 
portents as Ulysses and The Waste Land have passed 
and been forgotten, then is the time for laughter. And 
there are already signs — if the character and tone of 
books being written is a sign — that the laughter, messieurs 
et mesdames, is about to begin. 

Tx Mystery at Geneva Rose Macaulay is not having her 
■*• fun with a League of Nations Assembly because she 
does not "believe in" the League. She herself seems to 
have what she calls "the League mind" — which she says 
the French have not. She gets her fun out of the fact 
that League delegates are likely to be as human as the 

Sketched by W. W. Seaton 

Rose Macaulay, author of Potterism, Dangerous Ages and Mystery at 


rest of us ; and to be human is often to be funny. So 
Miss Macaulay in her witty and most amusing story 
plays fair and distributes her raillery evenly. If she 
says the Serb-Croat-Slovenes spat most accurately, she 
hastens to add that the Unprotected Armenians spat most 
frequently, and the Assyrio-Chaldeans farthest. 

It is a colorful and 
turbulent scene to 
which Miss Macaulay 
introduces us in Mys- 
tery at Geneva, with 
the Babel of tongues, 
and everybody talking 
(except the Japs), and 
everybody receiving 
telegrams and commit- 
tee-ing and propagan- 
da-ing. Whenever the 
lady delegate from 
Roumania gets a 
chance, she makes her 
speech about "traffick- 
ing in women." The 
Birth Control League 
from America sends 
word to Geneva to 
"make the world safe 
from babies" — at least 
that is how the message 
came thru ; and the 
Blackpool Methodist 
union wired, "The 
Lord be with your 
efforts after a world 
peace, watched by all 
Methodists with hope, 
faith and prayer." 
Here we recall that in 
The Enchanted April, 
by "Elizabeth" ( who 
also laughs), on the 
wild drive of the two> 
women to their medi- 
aeval castle, the one 
was afraid only when 
she heard her friend 
whisper that they were 
"in God's hands." 
The delegates at Geneva had reason to be afraid, since 
they are kidnapped one by one — all but the Irish, who 
it is believed will aid more by their presence than by 
their absence in destroying the League — which is the 
plot. Henry Beechtree, correspondent of the British 
Bolshevist tells the story — a somewhat timorous and in- 
effectual young man of whom it is said that "he looked 
like a gentleman, which, in the usual sense, he was' not." 
But more than the story, everyone will enjoy Miss 
Macaulay's running fire of lively and humorous comment 
upon the human comedy and the fools we mortals are. 

A/f" R s. wharton, in her preface to Futility, the Russian 
*■*■*- story by William Gerhardi, makes the frank (we 
had almost said "frank and friendly" when we recalled 
that Rose Macaulay wonders why two such incompatible 

Page Fifty-One 


words are always used together) confession that, while 
recognizing the greatness of the Russians, there must 
always be something alien for an English reader in a 
Russian novel. The people are interesting, as Mrs. 
Wharton says, but so different from us. 

The Russian family in Futility is unlike anything in 
the Western world, heavens knows. But the people are 
understandable and highly amusing. In its brightness 
and vividness Futility may be likened to the 
Chauve-Souris of Russia rather than to 
the Moscow Art Theatre with its pres- 
entations of The Lower Depths of 
Gorky and The Three Sisters by 
Tchekov. There are three sisters 
in Futility, too — called "the 
bouquet"; and the play of 
The Three Sisters comes into 
the story, and even furnishes 
its theme. 

To attempt to describe 
Nikolai Vasiliovich's family 
in Futility would give the 
impression that the story 
is a farce when, in fact, it 
is brilliant comedy. When 
the story opens, Nikolai is 
living with Fanny Ivan- 
ovna, whom he had prom- 
ised to marry when he 
could get a divorce from 
his wife who has gone off 
with a Jew dentist. In the 
meantime, Nikolai had 
fallen in love with the 
young girl, Zina, who lives 
in a very small flat with 
her very large family, in- 
cluding two ancient grand- 
fathers, who are as long a 
time in dying as the Eng- 
lish king, and not so apolo- 
getic. But Fanny refuses 
to be deserted until Nikolai 
can provide for her and 
her brothers in the German 
Guards. In the meantime 
also, Nikolai's wife wants 
to leave the Jew dentist and 
marry the rich Austrian. 

But the revolution comes, and the Austrian is no longer 
rich (even if he has suddenly become a Czecho-Slovak) 
and Nikolai's Petrograd home is taken away from him, 
and the workers in Siberia seize his mines. There is 
nothing to do but for all to go to Vladivostok to demand 
Intervention ! No one is left behind, not even the two 
grandfathers, who, it is said, stood the journey very 
well, altho the dying husband Fanny had hurriedly 
acquired (to be able to stay in the country and take the 
journey at all) suffered a good deal. They all had to 
go, even the now discarded Jew dentist, and "the bouquet" 
and everybody else, because they are all dependent upon 
Nikolai, and Nikolai is dependent upon the mines. 

It is as complicated as the Pirandello play, Six Char- 
acters in Search of an Author. One night the young 
Anglo-Russian, who tells the story, writes all the names 
down in two columns, in an effort to straighten everyone 
out. But he is only laughed at for his pains, and he says 
he felt like President Wilson with his League of Nations. 

Mr. Gerhardi is blessed with humor, and gloom is not 
in his vocabulary. The opening words of the novel are: 

"And then it struck me that the only thing to do was 
to fit all this into a book. It is the classic way of treat- 
ing life." 


By Nan Murphy 

piERROT! His lute upon the midnight air, 
The music of despair 
Is sobbing, 
To Harlequin's mute plays and poses. 

With airy grace, the bubble-tinted boy 
Mimes all his passion's joy — 
And sorrow! — 
Red lips, bright eyes, the most wayward of noses. 

From out her bower leans the Columbine — 
And he has leapt the vine 
To meet her! 
The fool's voice falters and a wan star dozes. 

"My heart is buried in the last year's snows . . ." 
Her moon-pale hand a rose 

Lets fall 

The song is ended, and the lattice closes. 

"And I am richer than them all, my dear, 
In any other year 

To come 

If you count wealth in withered roses." 

Much will be expected of William Gerhardi after this 
brilliant initial work. He was brought up and educated 
in Russia, being born there, "incidentally," as he says, 
of British parents. 

Tt is not the material of a story that produces its effect 
-*- so much as the method with which it is told. There is 
little of the old Russian gloom either in Futility or The 
Gentleman from San Francisco, by I. A. Bunin, a 
Russian. The latter is the story of the. 
gentleman who went to Europe in a 
cabine de luxe, and of "it" that came 
back in the hold. This is not ex- 
actly cheerful, it will be said, but 
the story is told with a bril- 
liancy that is almost gaiety. It 
shines like fresh paint. It is 
all as vivid as an actual ex- 
perience, and the reader 
takes the voyage with the 
Gentleman — the voyage 
over and back again. 

It is said nobody in San 
Francisco even remem- 
bered the Gentleman's 
name. He had been a suc- 
cessful business man, and at 
fifty-eight, decided to take 
a vacation. The Gentleman 
and his wife and daughter 
sail on the big luxurious 
ship for Europe ; and the 
Gentleman puts on his 
dinner jacket every night — 
he looks younger in his 
dinner jacket; and his wife 
and daughter are properly 
arrayed to match his own 
glory, and they are two 
hours at their dinner ; there 
are wine, and flowers, and 
music and dancing, with 
much ringing of bells and 
scurrying of servants. 
While far down below, be- 
neath the tiers of decks — 
and here we think of Eu- 
gene O'Neill's play The 
Hairy Ape — "was the sub- 
merged womb of the steamer, where gigantic furnaces 
roared and dully giggled, devouring with their red-hot 
maws mountains of coal cast hoarsely in by men naked 
to the waist, bathed in their own corrosive dirty sweat, 
and lurid with the purple-red reflection of flame." 

The "Gentleman from San Francisco" did not find an 
"Enchanted April" in Italy. It rained in Naples, so he 
went on to Capri, and there in a hotel as luxurious as the 
ship, a regal suite is assigned to him. Once more bells 
are ringing and servants are hurrying, and the gentleman 
is putting on his dinner jacket — in which he looks 
younger; and once more his face is "dove-blue" from 
his over-tight collar — and perhaps too much dining? 

The Gentleman is never permitted to sleep in the bed 
so recently occupied by a Personage. He has a fit in the 
dining-room and dies. It is all very disagreeable — for 
the hotel proprietor and his guests. The evening taran- 
tella had to be abandoned. The thing that had been "The 
Gentleman from San Francisco" is hurried into the 
smallest room in the hotel, and laid upon a cheap iron 
bed. "It" must be removed from the hotel during the 

So "The Gentleman from San Francisco" is started 
{Continued on page 75) 

Page Fifty -Two 

White Studios 


A charming study of Margaret Severn, who returns to 
Broadway in a new revue next season 

Page Fifty-Three 

Above is a "Portrait" by J. Clemente Orozco; at the 
right is his caricature of La Picara 

Here are two excellent examples of 
the work of Garcia Cabral. At the left 
is Benito Mussolini as the caricaturist 
sees him; below is a study of Silveti 

Page Fifty-Four 

Caricature That Stings 

"Old Mexico is a land of flowers, and for that reason she has a right to her wasps" 

By Jose Juan Tablada 

CARICATURE is an ancient art in Mexico. It is 
not difficult to trace its beginning- as early as in 
the pre-Conquest period. Many of the Indian 
terra-cotta statuettes so often found around the em- 
placement of old native towns are modeled with an 
evident caricatural purpose. Certain "codex" or pictorial 
manuscripts preserved in the Dresden Library show 
whimsical and forceful drawings which recall somewhat 
the "grotesques" of Leonardo de Yinci. 

The grotesque was, in fact, very strongly suggested' in 
the Indian representations of gods who were given the 
most bestial and repel- 
lent features. The fierce 
and thrilling power 
manifested in the great 
stone sculptures was 
not usually attained by 
the craftsmen who 
practised the minor 
arts and whose creative 
work remained either 
grotesque or frankly 

The sense of whimsy 
and wit was developed 
early among the Indi- 
ans and that trend as- 
sumed at times a feel- 
ing of cruelty, as is 
shown in an old calen- 
daric manuscript in the 
Library of the Palais 
Bourbon — a crude 
satire against the Indi- 
an priests. 

Under Spanish 
domination the restric- 
tive political conditions 
were not favorable to 
a free display of car- 
icature, so often used 

as a weapon against government acts. But the peculiar 
tendency to make fun of the most serious events (a 
marked characteristic of the Mexican mind) was often 
directed against the vice-roys, as in Rome it was aimed at 
the Cardinals thru the famous statues of Pasquino and 
Marforio. But of those libels or "pasquinades" the 
literary part only has been preserved — the drawings were 
invariably destroyed by the indignant officials. 

After her emancipation from Spain, Mexico achieved 
freedom for public expression and exercised it in carica- 
ture as soon as the lithographic process was introduced 
into the country. But do not imagine that the overthrow 
of the various governments of Mexico was brought about 
solely by the manu militari or by force of arms. The 
cartoonists and humorous political writers with their jokes 
and caricatures were as much responsible for these 
changes as the guns and the generals. 

As far back as 1861 La Orquesta a caricature weekly, 
covered with ridicule the so-called Emperor Maximilian, 
his partisans, supporters and the chiefs of the French 
army. Later on El Ahuizote was instrumental in the 
downfall of President Lerdo de Tejada, who died 
thirteen years later, a voluntary exile in New York City. 

From a caricature 

Multicolor, in which the gifted Cabral made his debut as 
cartoonist, is now considered by many as having been a 
powerful factor in the feeling aroused against President 

These are rather tragic manifestations of a medium of 
expression which, the more it becomes tainted with 
politics, the less it seems to deserve the dignity of an art. 
Nevertheless genuine artistic talent has manifested itself 
along this line, by the same phenomenon — common thru- 
out Latin America — that often compels a poet to earn his 
living as journalist and lack of opportunity for specializa- 
tion often endangers, 
if it does not utterly 
ruin, a genuine talent. 

A mong modern 
■**■ Mexican cartoon- 
ists Cabral is perhaps 
the most popular. But 
is he the more signifi- 
cant? We are inclined 
to doubt it when we 
consider the strikingly 
individual creations of 
Jose Clemente Orozco 
whose works betray 
such a deep feeling for 
the sorrow concealed in 
human beings, and who 
has a high disdain for 
the mere skill of the 
. Cabral is, above all, 
a designer. The ap- 
parent structure of a 
body, no matter in 
what unusual fore- 
shortening it appears, 
is familiar and easy for 
him to portray. He 
does not insist on shad- 
ing or chiaroscuro, line is sufficient for him, and with line 
only he constructs in a succession of planes like a sculptor, 
and succeeds in suggesting volume by all the convention- 
alisms which in drawing stand for it. Looking at Cabral 
cartoons, one exclaims involuntarily : "How easily and 
spontaneously he draws !" 

This is indeed true. It is true also that Cabral can 
quickly distinguish and cleverly disassociate any feature 
in a human body and by exaggeration and emphasis obtain 
a grotesque and caricatural effect, carried always to 
cruelty and frequently making repulsive the victim of 
his wit. But all these characteristics of Cabral's art do 
not go beyond the physical aspect of his models. His 
pencil and pen have never touched, nay, even scratched 
the soul within. 

The contrary is true of Jose Clemente Orozco's intense 
and inimitable caricatures. Of technical ability he pos- 
sesses enough to give strength to his creations, but it is 
so skilfully subdued to his subject that in looking at his 
work the technique of the painter does not strike you at 
first. You will notice these qualities, but not until after 
you are impressed by the sad, poetic feeling so mightily 
(Continued on page 70) 

by Covarrubias 

Page Fifty-Five 


The Man About Town 

WANDERING down Forty-second Street the 
other day, I met an elderly dignified man with 
a leonine head and strongly marked features 
which were strangely familiar. I raised my hat, and my 
salute was courteously returned. I wanted to stop and 
speak, but the knowledge that I could not for the moment 
address the distinguished-looking personage by name 
deterred me. Too late 
to go back, I recalled 
his identity. It was 
Joseph Hollman, the 
Dutch composer and 
'cellist, who twenty 
years ago occupied the 
position that Casals 
holds today. And then 
I called to mind where 
I had last met him and 
heard him play. It was 
at the house of Alfred 
Harmsworth, after- 
wards Lord North- 
cliffe, at a grand enter- 
tainment he gave at his 
new home in Berkeley 
Square in honor of the 
Indian Princes, Colo- 
nial Prime Ministers 
and other distinguished 
visitors gathered to- 
gether in London for 
Queen Victoria's Dia- 
mond Jubilee celebra- 

A few nights later 
I was talking with 
my old friend Daniel 
Mayer, doyen of Lon- 
don and New York 
musical managers, who 
had arranged the de- 
tails of the wonderful 
musical program which 
young Harmsworth 
and his charming wife 
gave as part of their 

house-warming when they first burst into London Society 
and became neighbors of Lord Rosebery and other cele- 
brities social and political. The brilliant young editor and 
publisher at the age of thirty had already made his first 
million (pounds, not dollars), and, following up other 
successful journalistic enterprises, had just started the 
Daily Mail, which was a huge success from the first. 
He had given Mr. Mayer virtually carte blanche in the 
matter of engaging artists of the first caliber, and Melba 
and Ada Crossley, the Australian contralto, were asked 
by way of compliment to the colonials, while others who 
contributed to the program were Paderewski, Ysaye, 
Vandyke and Hollman. What this galaxy of artists cost 
Harmsworth only Mayer could say, but it must have 
been enormous, for they were the highest paid singers and 
players of their day. As for the audience, it comprised, 
in addition to Indian and colonial celebrities, half London 
society, for it was realized that Harmsworth had "arrived." 

My own part in the proceedings was not without in- 
terest. I had but recently returned to London after a 
long sojourn in Australia, and had been invited by the 
then Secretary of State for the Colonies — none less than 
Joseph Chamberlain himself — to assist him in showing 
proper attention to colonial and Indian visitors. Part of 
my duties was to arrange the visitors in lists according to 

their social and official 
prominence for partici- 
pation in the various 
Jubilee festivities ar- 
ranged by the Govern- 
ment. When Harms- 
worth decided to give 
his entertainment, he 
wrote to the Colonial 
Office for its official 
list of guests, and was 
referred to me. To- 
gether we made up a 
special list, and I got 
an interesting insight 
into the man's methods 
and psychology. 

We became good 
friends and I saw a 
great deal of him both 
before and after his 
entertainment. It must 
have cost him a for- 
tune, for besides the 
artists engaged lavish 
refreshments were pro- 
vided by Gunter, most 
expensive of Piccadilly 
caterers, andthe 
flowers, which were 
superb and profuse, 
were from Gerard, the 
Regent Street florist. 

Seated next to me at 
the musical part of the 
entertainment was Sir 
William Ingram, M. P., 
proprietor of the Illus- 
trated London News, 
the Sketch, and Other 
publications, himself a very rich man. I recall his remark- 
ing to me. "You know, Alfred was with me only eight or 
nine years ago, drawing a few hundreds a year, and now 
— well, I cant afford to do this. In a few years he will 
be either one of the richest men in England, or a pauper 
and a lunatic." 

He was the former when he died a few months ago, 
while his active brain certainly showed signs of weaken- 
ing, judging only by those strange letters which he wrote 
to the Times from Germany. His ambitions were bound- 
less from the first. I did not know, until Daniel Mayer 
told me the other day, that on the night of his Mayfair 
house-warming he was expecting to receive word of his 
baronetcy, and sat up all night for the official letter. The 
honor, however, did not come until months later, for there 
were elements in the then conservative government which 
objected to the ennoblement of an "upstart journalist." 
(Continued on page 65) 

George Maillard Kesslere 
Marion Bauer, America's Leading Woman Composer 

Page Fifty -Six 

Curtain People of Importance 

Variety is the spice of life, 
and especially on Broad- 
way. Here we have five 
of the most popular per- 
formers on and about the 
Great White Way, who 
fascinate their audiences 
in the most varied forms 
of dramatic art 

White Studios 

Edwin Bower 

Helen MacKellar is thrilling 
large audiences at the Eltinge 
in The Masked Woman. Fortu- 
nately this beautiful actress has 
not to remain masked thruout 
the piece, and so her admirers 
are able to watch the play of 
varied emotions which animate 
her thruout this drama of mys- 
tery and passion 

Few of the young actors of 
the American stage could give 
such a graceful and romantic 
performance of Romeo as 
Rollo Peters', who not only 
looks the part of the fervent 
young lover but plays him with 
rare tenderness 

Nikolas Muray 

WFw*'-' *" 1 

^■t '4 

1^^^^ '"V\B 

■* 1 

Ethel BarrymoreJ after 
somewhat mistaken es- 
says as Rose Bernd and 
as Juliet, lias once more 
found her true metier in 
Alfred Sutro's drama of 
English society, The 
Laughing Lady. She 
plays in the vein, of high 
comedy and graceful dis- 
tinction of which she is 
the mistress 


Ina Claire's success in The 
Gold Diggers has been equaled 
in The Awful Truth. There is 
no more vivacious comedienne 
before the public, and no 
author has been able to fit her 
more perfectly with a part than 
Avery Hopwood, who is now at 
work on the play in which she 
is to be starred next season 

Harry Beresford is no ordinary 
red-nosed comedian in The 
Old Soak, but gives a subtly 
humorous and human imper- 
sonation of a man who has no 
enemy except himself and 
whose little weakness is not 

Page Fifty-Seven 

A WELL-KNOWN dealer in Chinese and Persian 
antiques happened to visit the Montross galleries 
. last winter when the tiles and plates of Henry 
Varnum Poor were being shown. He wheeled once, 
twice, thrice round the gallery and then left in irritation, 
saying, "It's things like this ruin my business." For he 
recognized at once not only an important artist who 
had chosen pottery as his medium but a pathfinder who 
would lead others after him thru the maze of modern art 
and its diminishing satisfaction with canvas as medium, 
to find their fulfilment in working out problems of de- 
sign and color in the crafts. 

Courtesy of Wildenstein &• Co. 

The Trend 


Modern American 

A few of our eminent painters are 
turning to the potter's craft in their 
search for a new medium, therefore 
the day of commonplace American 
pottery is surely doomed 

Ernestine Evans 

The plates and platters of old Persia, the wine bowls 
of Korea, things of beauty and forever joyful to con- 
template, are still the works of artists long dead made 
for the use of their fellows long dead, and the craving 
of a living' society for beauty should find its satisfaction 
in the work of artists now living and creating for their 
fellows. Canvases — well, in spite of the returning vigor 
which a growing market is helping to bring to mural art, 

At the top of the 
page are two 
small bowls and 
a vase from the 
Durant Kilns of 
New York City. 
They are highly 
glazed and the 
colors are Per- 
sian blue and 
Chinese green. 
At the left is a 
jug decorated 
with a figure by 
George Biddle 

This four-handled jug from the Paul Revere 

Pottery at Brighton, Massachusetts, is a pure 

turquoise-blue in color, decorated with a line 

design in black and yellow 

Page Fifty-Eiylit 


for canvases there is East approaching a saturation point. 

But let Mr. Poor speak for himself and tell the story 
of how he came to turn his artistry to a new medium. 

"The forms ami simplifications of modern painting," 
he says, "are largely drawn from the forms and simplifi- 
cations arrived at in other less suave materials than paint 
and canvas. The sharp color divisions of mosaics, the 
severe simplifications of early wood and stone carvings, 
have greatly influenced modern painters. Distortions so 
disconcerting - in an easel picture have a sense of Tight- 
ness when arrived at thru the demands of proper space- 
filling in decorative art. 1 believe that the natural de- 
velopment of modern art lies in a closer application to 
things more related to everyday usage. In this direction 
the artist escapes the devitalizing isolation of the studio 
and finds in the appropriate materials those inherent limi- 
tations and demands which give a sense of necessity and 
fitness to the completed form." 

The method of pottery chosen by Mr. Poor is the very 
simple one used often by the Persians, and so beautifully 
by the Catalonian tile-makers, and is known as Under- 
glaze Decoration. "It allows," he says, "the same subor- 
dination of technique that is shown in modern painting, 
and for the same reason ; to keep clear the essential point 
of view which is judgment of form and color." Under- 
glaze decoration on a white-clay slip, over a coarse pot- 
tery body, tho simple technically, is a bothersome proc- 
ess, and requires a skill in manipulation that has caused 
its discard by the modern factory. The white slip is ap- 
plied over the ware and fired. The decoration is then 
carried out on this ground in various metallic oxides 
which develop their color only when fused with clear 
over-glaze. A second firing, at intense white heat, brings 
out the depth and rich brilliance which characterizes 
this ceramic method. 

Mr. Poor has used, too, a method familiar to lovers of 
Italian and Hungarian pottery, "scraffito," scratching his 
pattern with a sharp tool into the surface of his plate or 
bowl before the first firing. The results of this method 
remind one of the rare early American pie-plates and 
other dishes made by Pennsylvanians who settled in Lee 

Paul Thompson 

m V'' * 

This plate and the tile (below) are examples of Under- 
glaze decoration by Henry Poor 

and Montgomery counties and who brought with them 
the tradition of this method from southeastern Europe 
and southern Germany. 

The colors in Mr. Poor's bowls and teapots have 
been surpassed by the Durant Kilns for richness in blues 
and greens, and for technical perfection of surface and 
symmetry, but his pottery, because of endless variety of 
design in his painting on the clay slip — his designs play 
from zinnia, tulips, hyacinths, to water buffaloes, bees, 
kittens, landscape, nudes — has an exciting, stimulating 
quality. The beholder sees the whole field of pottery 
and porcelain as something hardly explored by our art- 
ists as yet. 

Mr. George Biddle's exhibit this winter at 
the Wildestein Galleries had a hint of the search 
for a medium other than canvas in the two water- 
jugs he brought home from Papeete. To be sure 
they were not even native water-jugs that he deco- 
rated ; they were French importations made, how- 
ever, in the old tribal fashion for the South Sea 
Island trade. On the surface of these Mr. Biddle 
had placed his design, a reclining nude. What 
he achieved does not much matter, and one can 
hardly call painting on so casual a pottery form 
an achievement, but the fact that he chose to 
exhibit the jugs, along with his show of can- 
vases, is a straw happily in the wind. One more 
modern artist has felt about him, and in the 
search for a new medium has come upon clay. 
Mr. Biddle will repeat the experiment. The 
contact between the modern artist in design, 
drawing and color, and the potter's craft, is 
bound to be fertile. 

There was a time when antique dealers could 
make long speeches about the lost perfection of 
the craftsmen of Asia- — the priceless craftsman- 
ship. As a matter of fact, few specimens of ori- 
ental ceramics show more painstaking mastery 
than those of Adelaide Alsop-Robineau of Syra- 
cuse. Her favorite process of decoration, carv- 
ing in dry paste, is almost the most patient of 
processes, for two or three months' work may be 
lost in a firing. A single vase, delicately carved 
{Continued on page 78) 

Page Fifty-Nine 


A Symbolic Study by Hori 

Page Sixty 

In Studio and Gallery 

GEORGE LUKS'S paintings have been shown at 
the ECraushaar Galleries. His portrait of Otis 
Skinner as Colonel Bridau in the Honor of the 
Family dominates the exhibition. The artist has com- 
pletely grasped the spirit of the character, while the 
figure has all the dash and go of the French dandy. The 
OKI Dominican is a portrait of great dignity, the whites 
of the vestments lending much charm. Holiday on the 
1 Unison does away 
with an oily river 
and shows it holding 
and reflecting an 
array of small craft. 
The picture is hand- 
some in color, big in 
b r u s h work and 
pleasant to see from 
Lnks's viewpoint of 
the Hudson. Earlier 
portraits and color- 
ful landscapes hold- 
ing true to the 
artist's handling 
complete a worthy 

We feel a bond 
between George 
Luks and Robert 
Henri, whose paint- 
ings were at the 
Ainslie Galleries. 
"While the two men 
enjoy entirely differ- 
ent subjects, the 
manner in which the 
treatment is worked 
out shows many 
similarities, not only 
in portraiture, but in 
landscape as well. 

Robert Henri's 
painting of Fay 
Bainter in The Wil- 
low Tree portrays 
the subject gay in 
color and bold in 
stroke. We feel a 
keener interest in 
the Indian pictures, 
however. The con- 
struction, facial expression and coloring in these subjects 
conveys a thoro knowledge of Henri's feeling for these 
people. The portraits of children are entirely pleasant 
and enough color is used to please the eye and not 
detract from the subject. The Rain, a simply treated 
landscape, shows realistically the distant shower. Henri, 
like George Luks, can turn his hand from the portrait 
to the soil, and still achieve success. 

Joseph brummer is showing paintings, water colors 
and drawings by Jules Pascin. They startled us for 
a moment by their frankness. The subjects are mainly 
unfortunates of the streets. It would seem that Pascin 
can describe these with an uncanny truthfulness. The 
work is extremely clever in handling, and the subject is, 
if possible, too well understood by the artist. Pascin 
evidently knows the cities of Europe. Life has been 
good to him, for at eighteen his art was appreciated, and 
from then on he has delved only in that which fancy 

prompted. For years Siiiiplicissiiiius, in Munich, pub- 
lished his drawings, and he is well known thruout 
Europe. The newspapers of Sweden, Norway, France, 
I Iolland, in fact all the European papers, have shown 
his work. 

Jules Pascin was in America from 1914 to 1920 and is 
known and admired by all of our artists, many of 
whom possess one or more of his original sketches. 


Courtesy of M. Knoedler & Co. 

By Claggett "Wilson 


recent sculpture 
is being shown at 
the Scott and 
Fowles Gallery. 
Many will be carried 
away by the classic 
beauty and exquisite 
handling of the head 
in marble, Made- 
moiselle D, or the 
bronze of the little 
girl — the sculptor's 
daughter. But the 
center of attraction 
for us is the won- 
derful head of a 
baby carved so beau- 
tifully in marble. 
The work is sub- 
limely tender ; it 
appeals at once to 
the emotions. The 
brow of the infant 
shows the bit of 
misunderstanding at 
being with us. The 
Melisande marble 
piece has beauty, 
but lacks the Clare 
Sheridan originality. 
Jazz gives the 
modern touch and 
probably will be 
much heralded. 
Head and figures of 
well-known people 
complete the exhibit. 


n the Knoedler 
Galleries paint- 
ings by Claggett Wilson have deservedly attracted atten- 
tion. These studies are the result of time passed in 
Portugal and the Basque country of Northern Spain. 
The gallery was bright with the blue of the Basque 
sailor's suit, and the dominating paintings in the exhibi- 
tion are of men of the sea. Basque Sailors shows three 
stalwart young Spaniards, reflecting life on the deep in 
their sunburned skin and rugged health. The painting 
appeals strongly by its harmony of color. Basque Sea 
Captain is a study of the same type, but is of one on 
whom the sea has left its sterner mark. Deep-set eyes of 
feeling in a well-set-up head have for a background gay 
sails, making a merry contrast and a fine array of color. 
In the two music-hall studies we grasp instantly that 
the singer has life and joy in her song. 

The paintings of Claggett Wilson, as we have said 
before, are strongest in their color value. The handling 
is broad and no minor details spoil the composition. A 
(Continued on page 77) 

Page Sixty-One 





Charles H. Jaeger 
(Third Prize) 

The Camera Contest 

A few paragraphs about the prize-winning photographs, and a discussion of the bromoil method 

THE selections this month are varied as to subject 
and treatment and many points may be gathered 
by the careful observer. The original print of the 
first prize, The Dancer, was decidedly improved by treat- 
ment in bromoil. And the judges placed great weight 
upon this treatment in making their selection. In Miss 
Watkins' still life, A Study in Circles, which won the 
second prize, the 
exceptional quality 
of the photograph, 
besides the handling 
of the subject, gave 
her an easy place in 
the judging. 

Mr. Nilsen was 
not so fortunate. He 
was credited for his 
original idea, but it 
was felt the con- 
trasting effect of the 
print made it impos- 
sible to give him 
more than honor- 
able mention. Mr. 
Hagemeyer has, of 
late, been a consist- 
ent winner — and the 



By Margaret Watkins 
(Second Prize) 

honorable awarded him is just another of his "seeing 
things." The light spot of the ball nearest the corner 
insisted upon protruding itself to the dominating point 
and detracted from the general effect. Cover this light 
spot with your finger, and see how the photograph is 
affected. The scene in the room, entitled Tavern, while 
not original in theme, impressed as to its quality, as did 

Page Sixty-Two 




Eugene P. Henry 

(First Prize) 

Here is a lady in 
a "tou-tou" who 
would have de- 
lighted Degas, 
and might be an 
impre ssionist 
study by that 
arch - interpreter 
of the ballet 

Miss Watkins' still life. Quality always impresses in 
everything, and in photography it often raises an uninter- 
esting subject into the winning class. Dr. Jaeger's charm- 
ing bit was given third prize — the reason being very 

As the winning print this month was executed in 
bromoil, a discussion of the method may be found inter- 
esting and informative. To many a photographer this 
method presents the widest latitude of expression, inas- 
much as the print is always subject to the whim or caprice 
— or the artistry — of the worker. By this method, should 
a portion of the print be too black, it can easily be held 
back to the desired color by merely using a smaller amount 
of ink. Should a high light be needed in a certain spot, 
this can be accomplished, and then if the effect desired is 
not obtained it can be covered with the ink and put at 
another spot. 

This method is too expensive for use in the commercial 
world, but as a means of expression it is as desirable as 
a hand-developed platinum. 

Those who wish to make bromoil or oils and are not 
familiar with the process will find instructions in nearly 

any reliable book on photography. Do not be discouraged 
if your first attempts are failures. Each step must be 
executed with great care, and it is not until you have 
arrived at the final step that you are made aware of 
failure or success. Persevere, and in the end you will 
be rewarded by having a print that will be a joy for 
many years to come. 

Another advantage of the bromoil method is that the 
final, or inking step, can be taken away from the con- 
fines of the dark-room, even into the full light. This 
method and that of the hand-developed platinum, come 
the closest to that of the painter than any other used by 
the photographer. But please understand that I am not 
advising imitation of the painter's art. This cannot and 
should not be the goal. Photography is an art of itself 
and is unlike painting. In many ways it is far more 
difficult, as the lens and plate register just what is be- 
fore them, while the artist may refuse to set down a 
trim likeness. Tbis, then, is why we recommend, to 
those desirous of injecting more of the individual taste, 
the treatment in bromoil. 

The judges for this month's contest were: 

Page Sixty-Three 


No printing medium is debarred, but capa- 
bility of good reproduction will be a factor in 
the selection of prints. 

Contestants may submit prints up to any 
number and to as many of the monthly con- 
tests as they desire. They must be packed flat. 

Name and address of maker, title and num- 
ber must be printed or plainly written upon 
the back of each print. Return address to be 
written plainly upon package. 

Rejected prints will be returned immedi- 
ately, provided proper postage for the pur- 
pose be included. It is, however, understood 
that Shadowland reserves the right to re- 
produce any print submitted and to hold 


By Johan Hagemeyer 
(Honorable Mention) 


By Carl Klein 
(Honorable Mention) 

G. W. Harting, Myers R. Jones and Eugene V. Brewster. 

First Prize — The Dancer. Eugene P. Henry, 137 Jorale- 
mon Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Second Prise — A Study in Circles. Margaret Watkins, 
46 Jane Street, New York City. 

Third Prize — In Kew Gardens. Dr. Charles H. Jaeger, 
471 Park Ave., New York City. 

Honorable Mention — Pool. Johan Hagemeyer, Carmel- 
by-the-Sea, California. 

Honorable Mention — Araby. Dr. Arthur Nilsen, 55 W. 
10th Street, New York City. 

Honorable Mention — The Tavern. Carl Klein, 5 W. 16th 
Street, New York City. 

Monthly prizes of at least $25, $15, and $10 are awarded 
in order of merit, together with three prizes of yearly sub- 
scriptions to Shadowland to go to three honorary mentions. 

Shadowland desires that every camera enthusiast reap 
benefit from this contest and to this end makes the inclusion 
of the following data re contesting prints imperative : 

(a) Date and hour of exposure. 

(b) Stop number used. 

(c) Printing medium used. 

(d) Character of print — whether straight or manipulated. 

(e) Make of camera and lens. 

Any print previously published is not eligible. 

such for a reasonable time for 
that purpose. 

Special care will be taken of all 
prints submitted, but neither The 
Brewster Publications nor the Pic- 
torial Photographers of America 
assume responsibility for loss or 

All prints and all communications 
relative to the contest are to be 
sent to Joseph R. Mason, Art 
Center, 65 East 56th Street, New 
York City. 

No prints will be considered if 
sent elsewhere than stated above. 

Submission of prints will imply 
acceptance of all conditions. 


By Arthur Nilsen 
(Honorable Mention) 

Page Sixty-Four 


(Continued from page 56) 

Isaw a good deal of Harmsworth after this, and two 
years later, when the motor-car was coming into more 
general use. we made the trip together from Nice to Paris 
in one of the new Mercedes cars, then the best and most 
expensive in the market. 1 found him an interesting 
companion — eager, restless, almost feverishly gay, and oc- 
casionally sombre and abstracted, and possessed by an 
insatiable curiosity. This last was part of his equipment 
which made him the uniquely successful newspaper 
man into which he developed. 

The last time I met 
him was a few years 
ago in New York, 
when he was occupying 
an enormous suite at 
the Hotel Gotham as 
special ambassador to 
this country. He was 
surrounded by a large 
staff of secretaries and 
aides of various kinds, 
military, naval and 
civil, and he had some 
five or six men to 
breakfast with him 
besides myself. He was 
as insatiably curious as 
ever, and plied us in- 
cessantly with ques- 

I noted a great 
change in him. In the 
score of years that had 
elapsed since first we 
met, he had grown 
stouter, his face was 
puffy and almost flab- 
by, and his complexion 
patchy. While the old 
eagerness remained, 
there was a lack of 
concentration and an 
occasional absence of 
mind and irrelevance 
in his observations 
which seemed premoni- 
tory of a breaking 
down in a remarkable 
mentality. And so 
it proved. My own 
feeling with regard to 

Northcliffe was that he was a likable but not a lovable 
man, and that on occasions he could be inconsiderate and 
even ruthless. But he had many of the elements of great- 
ness, like Napoleon, whom he felt he resembled physically 
and otherwise, and none more than the determination to 
succeed and to override all obstacles. 

The visit of the Moscow Art Theatre has proved a 
remarkable stimulus to interest in the higher drama. 
It may have far-reaching effects, for it has induced Morris 
Gest — to whose enterprise we owe the visit of the dis- 
tinguished Stanislavsky and his talented coadjutors — to 
embark on the project of establishing a permanent art 
theater in New York. Morris, whose life story is a 
remarkable romance, is just the man to carry out the 
project and make a brilliant success of it, for there is no 


Joseph Hollman, Dutch Composer and 'Cellist 

limit to his energies and ambition, and he wishes to carry 
on the tradition of his father-in-law, Belasco. 

Incidentally, the visit of the Moscow Art Theatre has 
knocked the expressionists kite high, and one derives a 
certain amount of amused, if not malicious, satisfaction 
from reading between the lines of their press comments 
and criticisms. The art of the Muscovites is realism and 
naturalism of the first order, and their versatility is ex- 
traordinary, The "type actor," to which Mr. Kenneth 
Macgowan makes interesting reference in his last book, 

does not exist in the 
Moscow Art Theatre. 
Every man and woman 
merges himself for the 
nonce and is lost in his 
or her part. 

It is encouraging to 
know that Mr. Otto 
H. Kahn, who largely 
controls the destinies 
of the Metropolitan 
Opera, and who is as- 
sociated with many 
projects for the artistic 
enlightenment and en- 
joyment of New York- 
ers, is behind Morris 
Gest's Art Theatre proj- 
ect. Moreover, I have it 
from Mr. Kahn himself 
that among other in- 
teresting and desirable 
things the new theater 
will be a means for 
providing a season of 
opera at popular prices. 
• Here is something 
many of us have been 
talking and writing 
about for years. So 
mote it be. 

I have received from 
my friend Mr. Ken- 
neth Macgowan a copy 
of his last book, Conti- 
nental Stagecraft, in 
which he has had some 
artistic assistance from 
that arch stage expres- 
sionist Mr. Robert 
Edmond Jones. It is a handsome volume, replete with 
interesting information and several striking illustrations 
of the latest developments in stagecraft, especially in 
Germany. It is but just to Mr. Macgowan to say that 
he gives a whole chapter to the play as distinct from pro- 
duction, and deals therein with the efforts of Ibsen, 
Tchekov, Wedekind and Strindberg to reflect life. Nor 
does he omit to refer to the "violence, morbidity and 
failure" of expressionism in the German theater. There 
is also an interesting and penetrating chapter on acting. 
It is a volume which those concerned in the modern stage 
should make a point of reading. I look forward to the 
time when this brilliant young critic will become as great 
an authority on plays and acting as he now is upon produc- 
tion and lighting. 

(Continued on page 78) 

Page Sixty-Five 

(Information about theatrical productions cannot invariably be accurate because of 

the time it takes to print Shadowland. In the meantime, new plays may have opened 

and others may have changed theaters or have been discontinued.) 

Drama — Major and Melo- 

Dagmar. Selwyn. — Nazimova herself in tragi- 

The God of Vengeance. Apollo.- — Fine performance 
of an unpleasant play by Sholom Asch, with the elder 
Schildkraut in the leading role. 

Hail and Farewell. Morosco. — Love story of the 
Second Empire, with Florence Reed. 

Humoreske. Vanderbilt. — Laurette Taylor in a Jew- 
ish domestic drama, written originally by Fannie Hurst 
as a short story. 

Icebound. Sam H. Harris. — Unusually well-written 
and well-acted New England play. 

It Is the Law. Bayes.- — Excellently acted melodrama, 
with well-sustained mystery. 

The Last Warning. Klaiv. — Exciting melodrama, full 
of thrills and fraught with mystery. 

The Love Child. George M. Cohan. — Emotional 
French melodrama, finely acted. 

Loyalties. Gaiety.- — Fine Galsworthy play, perfectly 
acted and produced. 

The Masked Woman. Eltinge. — The villain still 
pursues her but virtue triumphs. Excellent acting by 
Helen MacKellar and Lowell Sherman. 

Moscow Art Theatre. Jolson's. — Realism in excelsis. 
A revelation in acting. 

Peer Gynt. Garrick. — Theatre Guild's production of 
Grieg masterwork with young Joseph Schildkraut. 

R. U. R. Frazee. — Capek's fantastic melodrama. 

Rain. Maxine Elliott's. — One of the season's great 
successes, with Jeanne Eagels doing some remarkable 

Romeo and Juliet. Henry Miller's. — A beautiful 
production, with Jane Cowl a lovely Juliet. 

Seventh Heaven. Booth. — Persistent John Golden 
success. Excellent melodrama. 

Whispering Wires. Broadhurst. — Thrilling melo- 
drama with several surprises. 

Humor and Human Interest 

Abie's Irish Rose. Republic. ■ — Jewish-Hibernian 
comedy written and played in farcical spirit. 

Anything Might Happen. Comedy. — Light bright 
comedy, with Estelle Winwood and Roland Young. 

Give and Take. Forty-ninth Street. — Laughable play 
by Aaron Hoffman, with Louis Mann and George Sidney 
in Typical roles. 

Kiki. Belasco. — Lenore Ulric in her second year as 
a bewitching gamine. 

Mary the Third. Thirty-ninth Street. — Typical 
Rachel Crothers' play of love and romance plus gentle 

Merton of the Movies. Cort. — Mirthful and oc- 
casionally moving travesty of the movie hero. 

The Old Soak. Plymouth. — Don Marquis' immortal 
creation admirably transferred to the stage. 

Polly Preferred. Little. ■ — Another 

amusing skit on the movies, with Genevieve Tobin. 

Rita Coventry. Bijou. — Dramatization of Julian 
Street's striking novel of Society and the Stage. 

Rose Briar. Empire. — Engaging light comedy, with 
charming Billie Burke 

Secrets. Fulton. — A real, old-fashioned love story, 
with charming 'Margaret Lawrence. 

So This Is London. Hudson. — Most amusing Anglo- 
American farcical comedy. 

The Sporting Thing To Do. Ritz. — Social comedy 
with brilliant cast, including Emily Stevens. 

A Square Peg. Punch and Judy. — A cleverly written 
and well acted satirical play. 

Why Not? National. — The Equity Players' success- 
ful production transferred for a run. 

You and I. Belmont. — Harvard Prize Play, with 
H. B. Warner, Lucille Watson and star cast. 

Melody and "Maidens 

Better Times. Hippodrome. — Accord- 
ing to the Coue method, it grows better 
and better. 

The Blushing Bride. Central— A 
musical comedy success, with Cecil Lean 
and Cleo Mayfield. 

Caroline. Ambassador. — An admirably 
staged and played operetta, with Tessa 

The Chauve-Souris. Century Roof. 
— This particular and delightful brand of 
Russian humor and art flourishes on a 
roof as it once did in a cellar. 

The Clinging Vine. Knickerbocker. 
—Charming Peggy Wood at her bright- 
est and best in delightful musical play. 

The Dancing Girl. New Winter 
Garden. — What its name implies, plus 
comedy and music galore. 

The Gingham Girl. Earl Carroll. — 
One of the best musical comedies in town. 

Greenwich Village Follies. Shubert. 
— A perennial revue, full of delights. 

Lady Butterfly. The Globe. — First- 

rate Dillingham show, with excellent 

The Lady In Ermine. Century. — 
Very bright and amusing musical play 
with good cast. 

Little Nelly Kelly. Liberty. — George 
H. Cohan's comedians in typical Cohan 

Liza. Daly's Sixty-third Street. — 
Capital dancing and musical show by 
colored folk. 

Sally, Irene and Mary. Forty-fourth 
Street. — Lives up to the reputations of 
three charming musical comedies. 

Sun Showers. Astor. — Cheery musical 
play with admirable dancing. 

Up She Goes. Playhouse. — Continues 
a career of unusual success as a musical 
play. _ 

Wildflower. Casino. — Winsome Edith 
Day in a part which suits her to perfection. 

Ziegfeld Follies. Nezv Amsterdam. 
A national institution, glorifying the 
American girl. — F. R. C. 


Page Sixty-Six 

Our Contributors 

in Mexico City iii 1871. He lias 
been Secretary and Minister Pleni- 
potentiary of Mexico, Professor of 
Fine Arts and of Mexican Archeology 
in his National University, and is today 
a recognized authority in Spanish and 
English letters. His early inclinations 
were toward a career as a painter, and 
thruout all his writings, especially in 
his poetry, there is a persistent leaning' 
toward the visual beauty of life. * * * 
N. P. Dawson is the distinguished 
hook reviewer of the New York Globe. 
She was born in Chicago and was a Phi 
Beta Kappa student at Wisconsin Uni- 
versity. Her first venture into literary 
work was as an assistant to her hus- 
band, when he was editor of the Des 
Moines Leader. When Mr. Dawson be- 
came editor of the New York Globe, she 
joined him, and has for several years 
been literary critic for that paper, and 
has also contributed to leading maga- 
zines and monthly reviews. * * * 
Adolph Bolm is maitre de ballet of the 
Chicago Civic Opera Association, and 
is eager to create an art-center or 
nucleus in that city. He was formerly 
connected with the Metropolitan Opera 
House, and has created and produced 
John Alden Carpenter's The Birthday 
of the Infanta, Victor Herbert's The 
Spirit of the Wind, and other ballets 
by American composers. At present he 
is preparing a Javanese ballet entitled 
The Marriage of Prigava. * * * 
Leo Randole is a French woman who 
contributes essays and criticisms on 
the modernists in the Arts — both fine 
and industrial — to various magazines 
here and abroad. Last year, in Paris, 
she adapted an American play for the 
French stage and a French play for the 
American stage. An original comedy 
followed, and at present she is writing 
a fantastic play. * * * Since 1915 
Henry Osborne Osgood has been asso- 
ciate editor of the Musical Courier; prior 
to that he studied music in Munich, 
and was for three years repetiteur at 
the Royal Opera there. * * * Ernes- 
tine Evans is a writer and newspaper- 
woman who has traveled much. She 
has studied peasant art in Scandinavia, 
Greece, Russia, Czecho-Slovakia and 
other European countries. She de- 
clares that she would "really rather 
discover one live American artist than 
any number of Egyptian tombs." 

* * * No French writer has demon- 
strated a finer technical mastery of 
the short story — the short story in the 
French sense — than has Frederic 
Boutet. He has produced hundreds of 
them — they would fill a dozen volumes 
— and all are remarkable for their 
high level of literary skill. 

* * * William Mac- 
Pherson has been trans- 
lating French fiction since 
1915, as a side-line to his 
editorial work on the New 
York Tribune, and his his- 
torical writing. As a trans- 
lator his aim is to give the 
American reader an equiva- 
lent of the French original 
in spirit as well as in sub- 
stance. * * * Edgar 
Cahill is a critic and writer 
who contributes to art 
magazines. At present he 
is arranging an exhibition 
of Swedish applied art for 
the museum of Newark, 
New Jersey, which will be 

the fust show of its kind to/- 
America. He plans to spenr 1 1 
mer in the country southe 
Baltic Sea. * * * Henry 
once more an expatriate. 1' 
to Paris a few weeks ago t 
the reading and writing lha 
impossible to carry on here 
the interruptions of our ' 
god," the telephone. * * j 
who is really Wynn 
found his family name 
unpronounceable in Frenc 
dropped it while he was i 
Paris two years ago. Hi 
have won high praise hot' 
abroad for their subtle humw 
feet composition. * * * I* ' 
is an American girl and for / 
bia student, who has recen..., 
from two years in Europe with many 
amusing travel experiences, besides a 
degree from the Sorbonne. She is at 
present engaged in writing a "first 
novel," having successfully completed 
a translation of Dans les Rues from 
the French of J. H. Rosny aine, which 
is shortly to be published. * * * 
Leo Kober, whose sketches of Peer 
Gynt appear in this number, saw the 
first performance of Ibsen's famous 
drama in Vienna more than twenty-five 
years ago. * * * Benjamin De 
Casseres is the author of several books 
and a contributor of critical and satir- 
ical articles to newspapers and maga- 
zines. * * * I'idon Kelley, who 
transplanted four hardy perennials of 
the Concert Hall to a page in this num- 
ber, says that the most interesting pic- 
ture he expects to see this year is his 
own photograph on a passport to 
Europe. * * * Kenneth Macgowan 
is a recognized authority on stagecraft. 
He has written several books pertain- 
ing to the theater, and is a significant 
dramatic critic and editor. * * * 
Djuna Barnes is writer of short plays 
and articles that always have a deli- 
ciously ironic touch. She also is a 
clever caricaturist. * * * August 
Henkel's present ambition is to spend 
six months in the woods of Northern 
Maine, painting, and trying to forget 
that he ever has been an illustrator 
and cartoonist. * * * Jerome Hart 
was for many years editor of the Lon- 
don Globe. He contributes articles to 
various English and American journals. 

* * * Robert James Malone is a 
newspaperman, writer and caricaturist. 

* * * w # G. Bowdoin, editor and 
collector, wishes he had acquired the 
Magic Carpet of Bagdad so that he 
might be wafted to Luxor and delve 
for the treasures of Tut-ankh-Amen. 

* * * A. M. Hopfmuller, the Art 

Director of Shadowland, 
gives us, in this month's 
cover, his conception of 
the origin of glass-blowing. 
* * * Our "Man About 
Town" is a modern Ulysses, 
except that he solemnly 
avers no Penelope is await- 
ing his return. There are 
few parts of the old and 
new world where he has 
not been — even to the far 
Nor'west of Australia and 
the hinterland of the 
Northern territories of the 
African Gold Coast. In his 
wanderings he met with many 
an adventure that was stranger 
than any to be found in the 
modern "thriller." 

HOW would you like to 
make $100 a week as a 
commercial artist? If 
you like to draw, you are in- 
deed fortunate — for well 
trained artists are always at a 
premium. They readily earn 
$75, $100, $150 a week, and 
even more. Beginners with 
practical ability soon com- 
mand $50 a week. 

Learn Quickly at Home 
in Your Spare Time 

Develop your talent — learn the methods 
and secrets that make your drawings 
worth real money. Thousands of busi- 
ness firms pay millions of dollars an- 
nually for good advertising drawings and 
.. designs. No previous training or experi- 
11 ence is needed for the Federal Course, 
which clearly' explains each step, and 
gives you individual personal criticisms 
on all your lessons. 

Leading designers, artists, illustrating 
companies and hundreds of successful 
Federal students have enthusiastically 
endorsed Federal Training. Through the 
Federal Advisory Council it brings you the 
advice and experience of men who have 
produced and sold hundreds of thousands 
of dollars' worth of commercial art. 

Get this Free Book 



It is beautifully illustrated in colors, and 
tells every detail you need to know about 
the Federal Course. It shows work of 
Federal students, many of whom earn 
more than the course costs 
while studying. The 
Federal Course is 
aimed at practi- 
cal results — and 
gets them. If 
you are in ear- 
nest about your 
future and 16 
years old or more 
send today for this 
free book, kindly 
stating your age. 


IHI Federal School of Commercial Designing 

403 Federal Schools Bldg., Minneapolis. Minn. 

Please send me "Your Future" without charge 
or obligation. 




(Write your address 
plainly in 

Page Sixty-Seven 

>m a Collector's Note-Book 

B;y W. G. Bowdoin 


by Albert Arthur Allen 

r T" , HE direft and forceful handling 
-*• of this original collection of "Alo 
Studies" reflefts the life work of 
Albert Arthur Allen, one of Ameri- 
ca's foremost pictorialists. 

Thirty-two photographic studies from 
life, depict models of the highest type 
of feminine beauty, and settings typi- 
cally Californian. This magnificent 
collection marks a serious step toward 
the art of tomorrow. 

If you wish to obtain this celebrated 
colle&ion, order it at once. 

Bound in art paper $1.00 

Write dirett to 

Allen Art Studios 

4123 Broadway, Oakland, California, U. S. A. 

(Under Contract with Bermuda Government) 

All Sports in a Climate of 
[^ Everlasting Spring 

Only 2 Days from New York 

Sailings Twice Weekly 

From New York Wed. & Sat. 

Via Palatial Twin-Screw 
Oil Burning Transadanbc Liners 

S. S. "Fort Victoria" and 
S. S. "Fort St. George" 

Each 14,000 Tons Displacement 
Modern Hotels. No Passports Required 

Finest Cuisine and service. Tennis, 
Golf, Magnificent, Tiled Swimming 

WEST INDIA LINE — Steamers Sailing 
Fortnightly to the Gems of the Caribbean Sea 

For Illustrated Booklets on Bermuda, 

West Indies, or St. George 

Hotel, write 


34 Whitehall Street, N. Y., or Any Local Touriit Agent 

IY sold at a recent auction 
for less than five hundred 
las just been found to be 
ntury piece of high value, 
le sale it was so dirty that 
id it of little worth, and 
hered to catalog it. This 
unonstrates the fact that 
be picked under the very- 
no are supposed to know 
:ognize genuine antiques, 
le things that gives zest 

Indian relics in Carthage, 

two old Indian arrows, 

led a white man on the 

B .c« piains 111 
the vicinity of 
Kays, Kansas, 
in 1868. These 
arrows are 
tipped with 
steel, appar- 
ently filed 
from the 
blades of case- 
knives which 
the Indians 
had purchased 
from traders 
or which had 
been taken 
from the emi- 
grant trains 
captured on 
the plains. 
They are still 
faintly spotted 
with the old- 
time stains. 
The shafts 
are of light 
wood, resem- 
b 1 i n g box- 
wood, and are 
marked with 
grooves and 
daubs of red 
and black 
paint, which 
are in the 
nature of 
tribal marks, 
to indicate 
which tribe 
the owners 

Axe of the Hamburg-American liners, 
^^ Bayern, recently brought to this 
country the very piano upon which Richard 
Wagner composed certain of his master- 
pieces. It belonged to the famous musician 
in his early days, when he was befriended 
by King Ludwig of Bavaria, who, it is 
believed, presented him with the instru- 

It is now owned by Robert H. Prosser, 
an ex-service man, who discovered it a 
few years ago when he was abroad. Mr. 
Prosser plans to place it, with other items 
that illustrate the development of the 
piano, in an exhibit that has been prepared 
by the Aeolian Company of New York. 
The instrument has much sentimental 
value, since 
The Ring, 
Tristan and 
Isolde, Parsi- 
fal and Die 
were com- 
posed upon it. 

(~)ld Horse 

Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum 

This ivory box is of Hispano-Arabic origin and was 
carved in 999 A. D. Its importance is due largely 
to its great rarity, as only about a dozen pieces of 
similar workmanship of such an early period sur- 
vive to the present day. It was made by some un- 
known craftsman of Moslem Spain, for the Vizir 
Abu-al-Mutarrif, and was used for jewels or 

rows are 
feathered in 
three rows, of 
what appears 

to be goose feathers, split in half and neatly 
bound in place with sinews. The end of each 
shaft is carefully notched, and smoothed 
for the bowstrings. Legend»has it that the 
white men they killed were two of a party 
engaged in buffalo hunting, then a popular 
sport on the wide prairies. 

T^he modest tin shingle, which once hung 
outside a building in Scollay Square, 
Boston, and informed the passer-by, that 
Daniel Webster, lawyer, had an office 
within, has been found and has been added 
to the collection of Websteriana at the 
birthplace of the great statesman. The 
sign measures twelve by five and one-half 
inches, and was discovered in a pile of 
rubbish. It bears the simple inscription: 
D. Webster. 

have consider- 
able populari- 
ty in England 
as collecting 
objects. The 
desirable spec- 
imen s are 
those which 
have been 
cast, not 

To anyone 
who makes a 
special study 
of signs and 
symbols, the 
and designs 
on these amu- 
lets are very 
appealing and 
there is a 
wide range as 
to the devices 
used. For in- 
stance : vari- 
ous heraldic 
units, flags, 
ships, wind- 
mills, locomo- 
tives, ele- 
phants, lions, 
stags, horses' 
heads, horse- 
shoes, bells, 
camels, cres- 
cents, a ship's anchor, harps, a four-barred 
gate, pierced designs, thistles, hearts, and 
various geometrical designs. 

The silk badges that were formerly is- 
sued in connection with the presidential 
elections, now make tremendously inter- 
esting collecting objects. 

Originally these badges were made of 
silk or satin ribbons, upon which the presi- 
dential portraits were printed or woven, 
together with phrases and mottoes that we 
would today term slogans. The badge 
that figured in the Zachary Taylor cam- 
paign referred to the candidate as the hero 
of Fort Harrison, Palo Alto, Resaca de la 
Palma, Monterey and Buena Vista; the 
slogan used was "A little more grape, 
Capt. Bragg." 

Page Sixty-Eight 

The Unearthly Imagination 

{Continued from /v;/<- 20) 

Unearthly Imagination. Here is the magic 
that was never in hell or cubism, His 
own soul is that terrible Eye that sees the 
grotesi|ue, the sinister, the ironical, and the 
foundered visions and decomposed land- 
scapes of dismembered psychical antiqui- 

What is the skull but a cemetery wall, 
and the soul hut a kingdom of wraiths? 
Foul things and ethereal splendors walk 
out of the under murk into the badly 
lighted avenues of consciousness. If our Un- 
conscious nature is a Fountain of Eternal 
Youth, and if we may all be our own Ponce 
de Leons, it is also true that our uncon- 
scious nature is the cuspidor of Time. 

In the sea of the Unearthly Imagination 
all that swims to the surface is beautiful 
and is touched with the chrism of the 

In the subtle sleep of God, what dreams 
may come ! And the Unearthly Imagina- 
tion may be the escapades of His som- 



(Continued from page 26) 

my left hand had given out from lifting 
and replacing the receiver. My temper 
had given out long before. My voice had 
gone hoarse. And when the telephone 
rang once more, with the little strength 
that was in me, I rushed at the instru- 
ment of torture, plugged the bell with my 
handkerchief, and collapsed into my arm- 
chair. I had peace at last, but I was in 
no condition to enjoy it. 

Twenty-second service. I understood 
now the feeling of Moses descending from 
Mount Sinai and finding his people bowed 
down before a golden calf. Descending 
from the leisurely altitudes of Mont- 
parnasse, I found all America bowed down 
before a gun-metal instrument. Phono- 
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Two Ladies Take Tea 

{Continued from page 17) 

begin with, the count has one of those 
debauched skulls that come to a family 
only when the blood can feel no more 
terror, the heart no more anguish and the 
mind no further philosophy. The count 
is built in every line for a magnificent 
funeral — neither more nor less. It will 
be his last gesture. (Raising her hand) : 
Wait, I'm not proposing to kill him. He'll 
do it all in good time, at just the right 
moment, perfectly, leisurely. It will, I 
promise you, be superb, irrevocably com- 
plete. It will however, as I said, be his 
last, his very last gesture, my dear Fanny 

Fanny (rising nervously) : I've only 
your word for it. 

Lupa : (Laughing , a soft mirthless 
laugh) : My word, my dear? No, you 
have the assurance of the ages. Look at 
him for yourself. What you took for 
princeliness and grandeur was princely and 
was grand, but the princeliness came from 
the knowledge that after me there will be 
no one ; and the grandeur from the security 
of such a knowledge. The count was tired 

when I married him, some twenty-odd 
years ago. (Holding out her hand with a 
generous movement, not unalloyed with 
amusement) : On my word of honor, my 

Fanny : Somehow — I feel — extremely 
ridiculous, all of a sudden — it was so nice 

Lupa : And will be again. You must 
not despair ; you are a young and charm- 
ing girl, and you have one priceless quality 
■ — it's bound to take you far ■ 

Fanny: What? 

Lupa : That : "See her first" impulse, 
very rare my dear, very rare. 

Fanny : You are making fun of me. 

Lupa : No, I'm putting you where you 

Fanny: Countess Lupa! 

Lupa (disregarding the interruption) : 
Ahead of your time; you were just a little 
inclined toward the wrong generation, 
that's all. 

Fanny: What do you mean? 

Lupa : That your future is assured, my 
dear. I have a son. 


Caricature That Stings 

(Continued from page 55) 

expressed that you cannot evade it. Pres- 
ently you will agree that the painter 
knows how to work with pencil, pen and 
ink, water color or oils. 

Knowing this, it is easy to understand 
why Cabral is so popular with the crowd 
and Orozco so admired by the intelligent- 
sia. The former makes one laugh, and that 
the public loves. The latter forces one 
to think, and that is not a popular sport. 
Cabral, victimizing somebody with tne in- 
herited and "sublimated" cruelty of an 
Aztec sacrificator priest, gives a slight 
titillation to one's sadistic "urge." Orozco 
almost converts one into a judge confront- 
ing the problem of human sorrow and 
i.nguish he has discovered, felt and ex- 
messed. Cabral caricatures are individual 
and rather frivolous, those of Orozco, so- 
:ial and transcendental. Cabral is comediae 
— sometimes Aristophanesque — but Orozco 
is pure tragediae, sombre, deep, pitiless. 
. . . Doubtless with Orozco something will 
happen similar to the case of Honore 
Daumier, who at first was regarded as a 
mere cartoonist, but who of late has been 
promoted by a more enlightened criticism 
to the rank of a great painter. Orozco's 
works, by their acute feeling of femininity, 
recall Constantin Guys, and their morbid 
sadness recalls Toulouse-Lautrec, but 
above all he is himself, Mexican and in- 
dividual to the finger-tips. 

A round Cabral, and allured by his pop- 
ularity, fly a swarm of young talents, 
the more noted among them being Olagui- 
bel, Covarrubias, Hidalgo and Salazar. 
The first is a cartoonist in clay. Four 
years ago in Mexico City and New York 

he held exhibitions of Some very remark- 
able little sculptures, portraying in comic 
aspect Caruso, Galli-Curci, Turpin-of-the- 
Movies and scores of others. Since then 
he has added nothing to his output. Covar- 
rubias seems to be the more alive and 
gifted of them all. In the variety and pic- 
turesqueness of his portraits, he even sur- 
passes Cabral, who, compelled to work on 
a daily paper, is inclined to be monotonous. 
Covarrubias characterizes his subjects with 
peculiar ingenuity, surrounding them often 
with symbolic accessories and atmosphere. 
The poet loving the Orient is represented 
by him as a Buddha seated on the lotus 
flower ; the Mexicanist painter is por- 
trayed in the style of the old hieroglyphic 
manuscript, and so all his cartoons are 
worked out with a peculiar ingenuity. 
His cartoon of the famous painter, Diego 
Rivera, is one of charm and of cleverness ; 
his pen seems to run without leaving the 
paper, in a sort of continuous caligraphic 

Hidalgo is also a cartoonist-sculptor. 
He has revived the popular craft of wax 
and cloth statuettes, imbuing them with 
vivid personal talent. 

Salazar is most uneven in his produc- 
tion. Some of his works are clever, 
others commonplace. Among the first 
must be classed his cartoon of the famous 
Spanish writer, Valle Inclan, which ap- 
proaches the dignity of a masterpiece. 

The name of the Mexican cartoonist is 
legion. The joke, the epigram in art as 
well as in literature, buzzes and stings 
there almost continuously. Old Mexico is 
a land of flowers, and for that reason she 
has a right to her wasps. 


The Future of the Dance in America 

{Continued from page 15) 

T rave seen men and women in 
■*■ America go thru the same steps and 
rhythms from nine in the evening until 

early morn, and often with but one partner. 
This is in itself false, for the dame should 
be first of all "social." The only time 1 
really enjoyed a dance in this country was 
when 1 joined in an old- fashioned Virginia 
Keel at a recent evening party in the home 
of Mrs. John Alden Carpenter. It was 
altogether charming. 

1 suggest the forming of neighborhood 
dance clubs to re-learn these old and de- 
lightful forms, as well as other graceful 
steps, all under a fine and duly authorized 
instructor. Many families cannot afford 
to pay the fee for a good teacher. The 
club could pool the expense and thus bring 
the best instruction within the reach of 

I am willing to prophesy that a renais- 
sance of the old-time dance will introduce 
an exhilarating atmosphere into the social 
life, change boredom into joyous amuse- 
ment, clear away the miasma of ugliness 
and vulgarity which now taints our diver- 
sions, and radiate a benign influence upon 
other forms of modern art. 

That the public appreciates the finer 
forms of art is proved by what is being 
done in the motion picture theaters. Not 
so very long ago the cinema meant a poorly 
lighted, stuffy, box of a place, with a 
jingling piano banged upon by a pianist 
whose sole ambition seemed to be to make 
as much noise as possible. In an almost 
incredibly short time there has been 
evolved a new ideal. Today we have 
cinema palaces furnished with royal 
splendor, fine orchestras, excellent and 
scientific lighting. The quality of the 
music has also greatly improved with or- 
chestras under able conductors. 

Here has been found a very effective 
medium for the popularization of the ballet 
at its best. And if motion picture palaces 
would feature the ballet as it is done at 
the Capitol Theatre in New York, I be- 
lieve that public taste for it would be 
remarkably stimulated and the demand 
would become universal. 

Another great coadjutor for the dis- 
semination of art-appreciation is the 
school, public and private. If the youth of 
America is to receive its art education in 
schools controlled by the municipality, or 
in those attainable by the parental budget, 
let the teachers be chosen for nothing else 
but their unquestioned merit and knowl- 
edge. They should be able to lead the 
young mind toward proper channels of 

suggestion, so that later they will find it 
perfectly natural to discriminate between 
the lovely and the false in art. 

"Ri i to come back to the dance as an 
13 art. We find that the ballet, that most 
complex form of the dance, has not at 
present sufficient practical support. It is 
not recognized as an institution, an educa- 
tional factor, a necessity in the develop- 
ment of the art life in a community. 

Undoubtedly what it needs is practical 
encouragement. All over the country or- 
chestras have been or are being formed. 
In some cities even three or four orches- 
tras exist, and huge deficits are cheerfully 
made up because orchestras are considered 
"educational." Other institutions are also 
sponsored with enormous outlays of 
money. The late Mr. Juillard left a fund 
of several million dollars for the en- 
couragement of musical talent. But the 
ballet? Who thinks of that? Tho it is the 
bringer of joy, it gets not a cent. 

In olden days the actor was a social 
outcast. He was branded as socially unfit, 
or, at least, treated as an interesting figure 
to be "exhibited" for the entertainment of 
guests. Today the dancer is looked upon 
with much the same Puritan scorn and 
aloofness. And yet the great dancer is a 
savant, a scholar. His studio is a temple 
dedicated to beauty. 

Powerful managers and men of finance, 
who understand the wonderful uplifting 
influence of the dance, should establish 
funds of, let us say, from fifty thousand 
to one hundred thousand dollars in opera- 
houses or other art centers for the sup- 
port and encouragement of the dance-art. 
An orchestra is limited in its scope of 
benefit. The ballet has as many arms as 
Buddha ! It gives employment to com- 
posers who -write the music, literary peo- 
ple who prepare the scenario or write the 
poem, the painter who creates the scenery, 
the craftsmen who make it, the designer 
who composes the costumes and the color 
schemes, the seamstresses who make the 
garments, lighting experts and their as- 
sistants, and, of course, the ballet-master, 
the musicians and the dancers — to say 
nothing of the hundred minor industries 
which are actively connected with the pro- 
duction and maintenance of a ballet. That 
is why the ballet deserves its own noble 
environment and the practical support of 
the community. 

This dream of mine is shared by many 
devotees of the ballet in America. Only 
they can make the dream a reality. 


Kenneth Hayes Miller 

(Continued from page 11) 

a cool, pale-green poem of autumn stained 
with memories of summer color that be- 
comes dominant in the lady's hat. 

Miller has the power of suggesting 
reality with the most economical means, 
and this is evident in his etchings, where 
with a few slight lines he is able to sug- 
gest the texture and solidity of bodies. 
These etchings illustrate the magic with 
which a single line is made to body forth 
bulk and to hint of curving planes and 
spaces beyond. 

Kenneth Hayes Miller was born in 
Oneida, New York, in 1876. He studied 
at the Art Students' League and in Europe, 
and has been a teacher of art in New 
York since 1899. He has had one-man 
shows at the Montross Galleries, and has 

exhibited in the Luxembourg Galleries in 
Paris, and at the San Francisco Exposition 
in 1915. He is a member of the Painter- 
Gravers' Society and an honorary member 
of the Societe Internationale des Beaux 

Miller is like his art. He has its re- 
serve, its almost hieratic calm, and its 
suggestion of color underneath. If one 
were to seek for his literary analogue in 
our time, I think it would be James Branch 
Cabell. There is romance, satire, and a 
remarkable deftness and ease in imparting 
reality to what is pure dream in the work 
of both men. Miller is a rather unusual 
apparition in American art. He is one of 
our big men, and his stature will increase 
as the years advance. 

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A task half done 

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Seattle, Wash. 

Page Seventy-One 


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What does Tommy Meighan say when 
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Or when the eggs are not right at 

Too much of the human touch is 
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That is just what is going to be put in 
— The Editor Gossips. 


for May 


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Wagner Economized 

{Continued from page 23) 

'T'he Munich innovations have been dealt 
■*• with at some length because that city- 
was the first to undertake Wagner improve- 
ments on a large scale. But certain other 
German cities, under the urge of economy, 
have made changes far more drastic than 
those at Munich. The newly organized 
People's Opera (Volksoper) in Berlin put 
on a Lohengrin during its opening week 
last September that was quite extraordi- 
nary scenically. The principal feature of 
all the sets except the wedding chamber 
was the "Jessner stairs," the latest fad in 
German stage technic, invented by stage- 
manager Jessner for a production of 
Richard III at the State Theatre. These 
Jessner stairs are designed to cover a mul- 
titude of shortcomings and omissions. In 
the first act of Lohengrin, as given at the 
Volksoper, one imagines they must have 
been the dyke of the Scheldt, for the con- 
ventionalized swan swam along way up at 
the top of them, and King Henry sat up 
there, too, on his throne, under a cubistic 
tree, safe from any sudden flood. They 
were among those present in the second 
act also, for everybody to run up and 
down or group upon, with a blank wall 
for castle on one side and another for 
minster on the other. Hans Strobach 
designed the settings, which are regarded 
seemingly as about the best compromise 
between the old and the extreme new that 
has yet been offered. 

For there is an extreme new. If you 
do not believe it, you must see the Parsifal 
designs which Johannes Schriider made 

for the small city of Bochum : fantastic 
back-drops and a few fantastic planes. One 
of them is the Temple of the Grail (recall 
Josef Urban's beautifully impressive set- 
ting at the Metropolitan!) and the other 
Klingsor's tower with the garden behind. 
These settings may be expressionistic, but 
they are certainly not beautiful. And 
another of the smaller cities, Halle, so they 
say, outfitted Die Meistersinger complete 
a year or two ago for four thousand marks, 
which was only one thousand dollars in 
the best of days and hasn't been anywhere 
near as much as that for a long time. 

Without doubt the general breaking 
away from the Bayreuth tradition is a 
step in the right direction, even if some 
of the reformers, with characteristic zeal, 
stride ahead a bit too fast. And the im- 
mortal Richard, looking down from what- 
ever heaven his supreme genius admitted 
him to, surely is content as long as none 
of our ultra-modern musicians attempts to 
improve upon the music of his master- 
pieces — as Schoenberg has recently "im- 
proved" Bach. So long as we earthworms 
continue to discuss and wrangle about him, 
experimenting in order to improve upon 
his ideas, interest in him will be kept alive 
and exceedingly vital ; and the only thing 
that would move Richard to withdraw into 
the ultimate, furthermost niche of his 
heaven, never to be seen or felt again, 
would be a failure of human interest in 
him. He never could stand that, even 
before he had been snatched up in a cloud 
of glory. 

i ] i ] i j 1 1 m m n i ] [ 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 j 1 1 [ i j 1 1 [ 1 1 1 1 1 

Savely Sorine 

{Continued from page 38) 

means a fashionable artist, one whose por- 
traits are ordered by Society, and it 
should not be misused in Sonne's case. 
While it is true that many of his models 
carry noble names, he cannot paint unless 
his sitters possess nobility of mind and 
spirit — de la race. Sometimes weeks pass 
before he beholds the spiritual quality of 
his sitter. Then it becomes the motif of 
his painting. All seems to be simplified 
and eliminated for its sake, and, restrained 
as it may be in its feeling, it shines over 
everything like an impalpable aureole. 

Ingres has not attained this, altho he 
made up for its lack in vitality. Nor was 
he ever as free as Sorine, even in some of 
his earliest and most daring works. The 
realism of the twentieth century has come 
between them. The art of Sorine has met 
it serenely and uncompromisingly, for the 
spiritual grace by which he touches his 
sitters extends even to the wrinkles, moles, 
and the distorted phalanges. Usually real- 
ism in art is hard to face, not because it 
is plain truth or plain life, but because it 
asserts itself inexorably, as if done in a 
spirit of vengeance, and with none of the 
spiritual counterbalance that life offers. 

Privileged by his epoch, it is to his con- 
temporaries — the "constrnctcurs" — the 
builders of condensed volumes, that this 
Russian Ingres owes the concise outline 
in which he encloses his paintings. All 
the charm and mastery of Sorine's art 
affirms itself in this harmonious, envelop- 
ing outline. The portrait of the Princess 
Orloff can serve as a good example. In 
it is all that he can accomplish in the con- 
centration of outline without detracting 
from the spiritual motif. The precise out- 
line exists even in the portrait of Pavlowa, 
which is all transparency and, like Pavlowa 
herself, half woman, half vision — a breath 
of immaterial poetry. 

The Ballet Russe served as a Temple to 
Sorine. For seventeen years he frequented 
it almost daily. Like Degas, he studied and 
knows every pas and attitude of the 
danscuses. Among his paintings of the 
Ballet is a portrait of Tamara Karsavina, 
unfortunately left in Russia. 

A few weeks ago Savely Sorine arrived 
in America. It will be interesting to see 
how this young master possessing the 
"grand manner" will attest the nobility of 
the American thorobred. 

Page Seventy-Two 


Euterpean Recollections and Reflections 

(Continued from page 49) 
Mr. Harry Higgins — "'Any 'Iggins," as 

he was generally called. 

The marchioness made grand opera a 
social institution and the fashion in Lon- 
don. Edward VII, then Prince of Wales, 
with his lovely and popular princess, was 
a regular attendant, and Frequently went 
behind the scenes or had the artists in his 
box to compliment them. Her ladyship did 
not scruple to use her social prestige and 
influence to secure subscriptions, and who 
could say her nay? The greatest singers 
in the world were heard at Covent Garden 
for a period extending over fifteen years, 
and the operas were generally produced 
in first-rate style. The death of King 
Edward in 1910 was a heavy blow to the 
season, and then came the passing of the 
great lady who lent such distinction to 
grand opera at Covent Garden. 

Sir Thomas Beecham now came on the 
scene, with the millions derived from the 
sale of his father's pills, sold at a shilling 
and advertised as "worth a guinea a box." 
But not even Beecham's pills could remedy 
the situation when war overtook Europe, 
and England's sons went to the front in 
their millions, and when, by and by, al- 
most every great house as well as humble 
home w r as "in mourning. Followed the 
heavy aftermath of the war, with its 
heaped-up debt and enormous resultant 
taxation, which has literally cut in half 
the incomes of all those with any incomes 
to tax. And so London is now without 
its regular season of grand opera, and 
while England is paying its debt to Amer- 
ica, Covent Garden is devoted to American 

I once asked Caruso which of all the 
opera houses looked best from the stage, 
and he unhesitatingly replied, "Covent 
Garden." And then he recalled the splen- 
did appearance presented by the dignified 
old London house on a gala or "tiara" 
night, when royalty was officially present, 
when the four tiers were banked with 
roses, and the peeresses wore their coronets 
and most magnificent jewels, while the 
men were for a large part in court dress 
or uniform, with their orders and ribands. 
Having been in practically all the great 
opera houses of Europe, I can endorse the 
great tenor's opinion. The nearest ap- 
proach to Covent Garden on such an oc- 
casion was the Imperial Opera House, 
Vienna, when old Francis Joseph and his 
stately empress were present with a glit- 
tering entourage, including the most beau- 
tiful women conceivable. 

A xd now for a few words about the 
waning season at New York's own 
Metropolitan. Mr. Gatti-Casazza has to 
the time of writing given four of his 
promised revivals — Thais, Romeo et Juli- 
ette, William Tell, and Tannhauser, and 
produced Vittadini's new work, Anima Al- 
legra. He has also given the wonderful 
repertory, including over thirty operas, 
with the accustomed pomp and circum- 
stance, and in some instances with extraor- 
dinary casts. Massenet's somewhat tawdry 
work has achieved a success of curiosity 
because of Jeritza, who, it should in justice 
be said, is commencing to sing much better 
than she did last season. Her greatest suc- 
cess has been as Elizabeth in Tannhauser, 
the music of which she sings remarkably 
well, especially in the finale to the second 
act, while she is also acting much better. 
This entire production is in accordance 
with the best traditions, including the 
scenic and sartorial investiture, and Gatti- 
Casazza has done wisely and well in 
strictly adhering to them. But why did 

not Bodanzky use the priming-knife, which 
he employs so judiciously on Wagner? 

William Tell was not worth while, ex- 
cept for the opportunity it gives Danise 
to show what an admirable singer and 
actor he is. It is portentously long and 
insufferably dull, and the stereotyped arias 
and choruses and stilted action provoke 
to ennui and occasional derision. It is 
mounted according to the venerable tradi- 
tions which have been carried on by the 
politeamas of the small Italian cities. But 
to do it in more modern style would only 
be to make it additionally ridiculous, so the 
General Director was well advised in not 
attempting innovations. 

Some of the critics have sniffed and 
sneered at Vittadini's Anima Allegra, one 
of them on account of its "Pollyanish" 
tendencies. Personally I enjoyed it im- 
mensely. It is a wholesome and lightly 
humorous story, adapted in good style by 
Adami from the original Genio Alegre 
(Anglice: The Merry Soul) by the Quin- 
tero Brothers. The music by Vittadini, 
if occasionally reminiscent, is melodious, 
well made and delightfully scored, and the 
stage settings are in excellent taste, and 
glowing with rich color. Bori looks like 
a tropical bird, sings like a thrush and acts 
like a Rejane. What a talented and richly 
endowed creature she is ! The others in 
the cast are as good as possible, especially 
in the matter of acting; in fact, in regard 
to team work they are another Moscow 
Art Theatre. As for the general produc- 
tion, it reflects much credit on the new 
stage director, Mr. Wymetal. 

There have been two great symphonic 
experiences within recent weeks — the per- 
formance of the Eroica by the Philhar- 
monic under Mengelberg, and of the 
Brahms Number One by the Philadelphia 
Orchestra under Stokowski, just returned 
from conducting in Paris and Rome. Of 
the two, I am disposed to think the latter 
bore away the palm, for it is music which 
makes a greater demand on both conductor 
and orchestra. Preferably to just record- 
ing my own impression, I will mention the 
opinion of one eminent visiting critic, Dr. 
Von Seybel, of the Vienna Neue Freie 
Pressc, who remarked to me : "What a 
truly extraordinary man is Stokowski ! He 
is the greatest conductor of them all. I 
have heard this symphony done many times 
before by Weingartner, Walter, Nikisch 
and others, but I never understood and 
appreciated it as I have tonight!" It is 
also interesting to record that it was heard 
by scores of visiting musicians of eminence, 
and in one box alone were four conductors : 
Bruno Walter, Mengelberg, Casella and 
Enesco, who listened with eager attention 
and applauded with enthusiasm. Coates 
was also in the audience, and was equally 

Speaking of Coates, reminds me that he 
has been and gone, after conducting in 
fine style the New York Symphony in a 
series of concerts in the Metropolis and 

The sudden and unexpected resignation 
of Stransky from the Philharmonic filled 
everyone with surprise. Equally sudden, 
if not unexpected, was the appointment of 
Van Hoogstraten to succeed him in con- 
junction with Mengelberg. The young 
and masterful Dutch conductor led the 
Philharmonic forces with marked au- 
thority during the summer season at the 
Stadium. There is an element of suitability 
in New York's oldest musical society being 
directed by two Hollanders, for the tradi- 
tions of Father Knickerbocker are still 
strong in what was once New Amsterdam. 

for May 


Will he be like a comet that 
flashes across the sky and dis- 
appears over the brim of the 
horizon only to appear once 
more and start all over 
again? Will he disappear 
again or when he reaches the 
zenith will he become a fixed 
star ? That is what everyone 
is wondering about Antonio 

Interviewed ! 

If you have not been inter- 
viewed yet, perhaps you will 
be someday. Meanwhile, if 
you want to know how it 
feels, read what a famous 
movie star thinks of the 
many interviewers she has 
known. She tells how to 
beguile words of wisdom 
(for publication) from the 
movie celebrity. The article 
might be entitled "How to 
Behave at an Interview." 

Futures ! 

What does Jackie Coogan 
think of his own work and 
what is he planning to do? 
He told Frank Lloyd all 
about it, and Frank Lloyd 
has set it down for the 
readers of Classic. 

Characters ! 

Some famous characters have 
been created on the silver 
sheet. Two pages of photo- 
graphs of the most famous 
appear in the May Classic. 

The Picture Book De Luxe 
of the Movie World 

for May 

Page Seventy-Three 



for MAY 


Walter Prichard Eaton 
The distinguished critic and 
man of letters, while yielding 
its due to Expressionism in the 
Drama, enters a plea for True 
Realism. Mr. Eaton is an ec- 
lectic who can appreciate the 
Realism of the Moscow Art 
Theatre and the Expressionism 
of "The Hairy Ape." 


Pierre Duhamel 
Delightful personal and pic- 
torial peeps at a perfect para- 
dise. Read and see them. 

Lydia Steptoe 
Readers of this charming bit of 
fantasy and banter will wish to 
know something of the identity 
of the author which would ap- 
pear to be concealed rather than 
revealed by the name she gives 
herself. She writes with de- 
lightful whimsicality, slightly 
tinged with irony, on little 
foibles and conventions in social 
habits and customs. 


Ferenc Molnar 
The famous author of "Liliom" 
and "Fashions for Men" would 
seem to know as much about 
the heart and brain of a child 
as he does of the powers for 
both good and evil in man and 
woman. A penetrating and 
fascinating study. 


Charles Prendergast 

Walter Pack 

With an exquisite reproduction 

in four colors. 


With delightful sketches of the 
Moscow Art Theatre. 


for MAY 

The Man Who Was Mad 

{Continued from page 35) 

"It was this way : I loved her, and it 
seemed that Louis also loved her, altho 
I wasn't aware of it. We had both known 
her since childhood. We had the same 
right to be loved by her. I always wanted 
to ask her to marry me, but I was pre- 
vented from doing so by Louis' illness, 
since I couldn't leave him. 

"But this did not control my decision. 
I swear it. Prunier is a doctor of stand- 
ing, isn't he? And it was he who required 
the internment of a patient who was be- 
coming dangerous. The formalities were 
discreetly and quickly arranged, for 
Prunier had his engagements in America. 
The day of his departure he came to our 
house, told me that everything was settled. 
He added that two hours later Cave's hos- 
pital attendants would be on hand to take 
my brother away. 

"At that moment Louis entered my 
room. Neither Prunier nor I dared to say 
a word to him about the matter. He was, 
in fact, perfectly rational just then, for 
he joked with Prunier about the latter's 
projected trip to the land of the 'crack- 
brained.' This made our blood run cold. 
Prunier said good-bye and went off, telling 
me again, in an undertone, that the atten- 
dants would soon arrive. 

"Louis went to his room, intending to 
work, as he informed me ; I shut myself 
up at the other end of the apartment. I 
was distressed and over-wrought, and won- 
dered if I were really fulfilling my duty. 
I had instructed the servant that if any 
persons came they were to be taken to my 
brother. I was anxious not to be present. 
You will understand that, I think. 

"There was a ring at the door. I heard 
voices, then footsteps in the direction of 
Louis' room. I listened for cries, protests, 
a struggle. But the steps now came my 
way. There was a knock on my door. A 
man entered. He stepped forward politely 
and said to me in a low voice : 

" 'Monsieur, Doctor Prunier is waiting 
for you downstairs. Will you not go 

"I said to myself that Prunier had for- 
gotten something important and that he 
did not want to put Louis on his guard by 
coming upstairs with the attendants. I 
hurried belOw just as I was, without hat or 
overcoat. The man who had addressed me 
followed. Outside the house I saw a big 
closed automobile. The door swung open. 

"With the idea that I should see Prunier 
inside I mounted the rail. But he was not 
there. A man who was there pulled me 
in. The man who had followed me pushed 
me from behind. They got me into the 
vehicle. The door slammed and the car 
tore away. 

"I tried to shout, to argue, to explain. 
It was useless ; the automobile was padded. 
The men held on to me, politely but firmly ; 
they talked to me as if I were a child of 
four, doubtless with the intention of calm- 
ing me. I did quiet down, in fact, saying 
to myself that it was a ridiculous mistake 
which would be cleared up when we 
reached the sanitarium. We arrived there 
in forty-five minutes. I remained there 
fifteen months ! 

"I never knew exactly," Lucien Canalle 
began again, after a silence, "how the at- 
tendants made so glaring an error. The 
servants took them to my brother's room. 
He was perfectly normal at that moment 
and was doing some equations on his 
blackboard. They never thought that this 
man of science could be mad. Doubtless 
they excused themselves for intruding and 
asked for the M. Canalle whom they were 
to take away. 

"Louis must at first have been astounded, 
for he at once thought that they were 
speaking of me. He probably said .to 
himself that Prunier had arranged, with- 
out forewarning him, to have me taken 
care of, and that some mental malady was 
the cause of my sadness and distraction, 
which came in reality from my worriment 
about him. Besides, madmen always sense 
madness in their own neighborhood and 
they are ever ready to attribute it to others, 
perhaps from an obscure fear that it may 
be attributed to them. 

"In short, Louis, with his diseased im- 
agination, absolutely accepted the idea that 
I was mad. Perhaps he believed that he 
was himself going thru certain formalities 
which had been represented to him as 
necessary. He directed the attendants to 
my room and from his window he was 
a witness to my abduction. This pained 
him, too, for he loves me with all his 
heart. But he probably concluded that it 
was for my own good. Our servant, who 
had heard his cries in the course of at- 
tacks during which I tried to quiet him, 
and who, after I was interned, naturally 
attributed those outbreaks to me, con- 
firmed him in this opinion. 

"I do not like to speak of my life at 
Professor Cave's. They were never will- 
ing to admit my mental equilibrium. 
Prunier had made a report on my aliena- 
tion (Louis' alienation, of course), and my 
lucidity did not help matters any for me. 
They awaited the periodical attacks. They 
gave me the most devoted and the most 
exasperating care. They promised to cure 
me. They also promised my cure to my 
brother, to whom they sent reports reg- 
ularly, and who came himself to the sani- 
tarium to get news of me, altho he was 
never allowed to see me. I was kept 
rigidly isolated. That is part of Cave's 

"You cannot conceive what I suffered. 
I may have been mad during hours of 
despair and rage — at times when I saw my 
life ruined by a mischance, by a stupid 
error. It is never safe to speak of im- 
possible coincidences. In this affair every- 
thing worked together marvelously — im- 
mediate disaster to me and incredible tri- 
umph to another. 

"For do you know what Louis did in 
those thirteen months? He was cured and 
he married. Exactly that ! He married 
Yvonne, whom I loved and who loved him, 
it appears, without my even having sus- 
pected it. My brother received a violent 
shock when he saw me taken away. He 
changed completely. He gave up his 
studies and his nights of orgy. Sad and 
lonely he turned back toward the affec- 
tions of childhood and discovered that he 
loved Yvonne. He married her and the 
strength of their mutual affection banished 
his attacks of mania, or, at least, if he had 
any relapses, his wife has never told any- 

"I got out in the end, all the same. I 
was delivered by Prunier, who came back 
from America, and who, I venture to say, 
was greatly startled when he came to Dr. 
Cave's and was ushered into the presence 
of 'Monsieur Canalle,' whom they had been 
treating for fifteen months. 

"But Prunier is a man of resource. Do 
you know, he maintained his assurance, 
talked me down and sought to prove to 
me that I had nothing to complain of and 
that I couldn't say a word without showing 
myself to be a miserable creature? My 
brother was married and cured ; he had 
a child. By what right and for what pur- 
pose would I dare ruin the lives of this 

Page Seventy-Four 

family '. One of the two of us had beei 
mad. 1 had merelj taken my brather' 
place. That was all. 

"1 remained silent, naturally. But ' 
had to go away. 1 had to flee to the end 
of the world in order to find disttfactio: 
and make myself forget to escaae il 
pity, the terror, the repugnance of all n 
acquaintances, for whom 1 was, arid a 
still, the man who was mad. And the 
listen, Louis was too happy with Yvonr. 

"I have become a nomad. 1 ccane j 
Paris once in a while and then start o 
again, for 1 dont know where." 

With that he left me. 

Some days later I went to see DoctOJ 
Prunier, to get a little further informatior 
"This is an old story," he said. "Dont g 
mixed up in it. If an alienist of Cav< 
standing keeps a patient for fifteen mont' 
there must he some reason for it. Do y 
get the point?" 

Literature With a Silvei 

(Continued from page 52) 

back on his return voyage — or "it,"' as 
must now be called. Once more there 
lights and dancing and music and flow 
and dining on the great ship. "Nor c 
anyone knows of that thing which lay dee 
deep below at the very bottom of tl 
dark hold, near the gloomy and sulti 
bowels of the ship that was so gravel 
overcoming the darkness, the ocean, th 
blizzard. . . ." 

As Futility is not farcical, The Gentle- 
man from San Francisco is not tragedy 
exactly either. In both cases, pieces of 
life have been fitted into a book. "It is 
the classic way r of treating life." 


A "Little Theater" from 

(Continued from page 44) 

Give and Take — a series of verbal en- 
counters between Louis Mann and George 
Sidney, refereed by Aaron Hoffman under 
the auspices of the National Committee 
for the Improvement of the Relations be- 
tween Capital and Labor ; hokum and 
bunkum by turns. 

The God of Vengeance — a ghastly 
tragedy of prostitution, written by Sholom 
Ash, and serving to introduce into English 
the Fine art of Rudolph Schildkraut, 
father of the star of Liliom. 

The Clinging Vine — a really fresh 
musical comedy by- Zelda Sears, with the 
delectable Peggy Wood trying to make 
us think her prettier in ruffles than in a 
business suit. 

Do You Understand It? 

Anything is possible if you have beauty, Dont be satis- 
fied to say I am fairly good-looking and let it go at that. 
Make yourself beautiful, it can be done. You will be 
surprised at the effect it will have. 

Perhaps you are married 
and lazily settling down. 
You are letting your per- 
sonal app earance slide. 
Dont do it. Your beauty 
had more to do in attracting 
your husband than you re- 
alize. Make it hold him. 

Beauty Secrets for Everywoman 

Buy the May "Beauty" on the news-stands April eighth. 

Page Seventy-Five 

vvneuici ;uu 

Grandmother, Stenographer, Clerk or 
Schoolgirl, if you want more money 
and can give us just a little time, we 
will show you how to turn your spare 
hours into dollars. 

The work we will give you to do 
is not hard. Because other members 
like it, we feel you will like it too. If 
you enjoy calling on your friends and 
acquaintances and talking to them 
about clothes and beauty secrets, then 
you'll surely like our work, for that's 
precisely what the work is, telling your 
friends about Beauty, the Magazine 
for Everywoman, and getting subscrip- 
tions for it. Shall we tell you more 
about it and the money you can make? 
Then address a letter today to 

Secretary, The Treasure Chest 

175 Duffield St. 

New York 

paper a»T>u«u..~„, 

and failures, in a way which leaves i^ 
doubt as to his veracity. This remarkable 
autobiographical document should be eager- 
ly read and pondered by journalists both 
of a generation ago and today, for it sheds 
fresh light on the earlier history and de- 
velopments of some of our greatest news- 
papers. One gets a series of graphic por- 
traits of famous and sometimes notorious 
persons in this interesting volume, which 
is a valuable addition to American jour- 
nalistic history. 

Ivan Narodny is the author of one of 
the handsomest books that has come from 
the press for many a moon : The Art of 
Robert Winthrop Chanler (W. Helburn, 
Inc., N. Y '.). It is 12x17 and contains 
fourteen plates in full color, and twenty- 
seven half-tone illustrations. One of the 
color plates is no less than 9x18, beauti- 
fully reproduced, entitled Deep Sea Fan- 
tasy, Screen. The contents of the text 
include an introduction by Christian Brin- 
ton, The Symbolism of Robert Winthrop 
Chanler, Potentiality of ^Esthetic Sym- 
bols, The Magic Origin of Decorative Art, 
The Story of the Screen, Creative Genius 
and Majority Rule, Soil and Soul of a 
Creation, and An Eastern Point of View, 
by Dr. Tao Chin. The book sells for 
twenty-five dollars and is well worth it. 

Pender Among the Residents, by For- 
rest Reid (Houghton-Mifflin and Com- 
pany), is a supernatural romance set in a 
framework of a very human drama. The 
scene is laid in the little Irish town of 
Ballycastle by the sea. The two narratives, 
the real and the unreal, are entirely distinct 

ief Review 

elated thru their influence on the 
jters. Rex Pender, tho engaged to a 
Jul flesh-and-blood cousin, becomes 
;d in a love triangle of his ghostly 
j>rs, who step out of their portraits 
|come more absorbing to him than 
al people about him. The many 
:ers are depicted with that realism 
as become famous in small-town 
erization, but to this the author 
ded the charm of a delicate touch 
measure of spirituality, 
majority of our young realists in 
sal completely ignore the fact that 
Mtermittingly offers interludes of 
\and beauty. And it is of such an 
jle — April on the shores of the Medi- 
'an, against the background of a 
il castle, bathed in sunshine and 
/ith wistaria — that the anonymous 
of The Enchanted April (Double- 
ge and Company) tells with gentle 
and in a simple style. There is a 
. plots and subplots, but there is, to 
I the scale, charming writing. You 
as enchanted as t-he intimates of 
etching gardens of San Salvatore 
here is color and fragrance and the 
:ly lapping the little hot rocks. 
ips in drab English suburbs or in 
pld houses of Prince of Wales Ter- 
le people of The Enchanted April 
make sufficiently depressing char- 
for the most radical, ultra-modern 
pal story. Perhaps . . . but it really 
| matter. It is a refreshing antidote 
stupidly decadent Women in Love 
other work of the same stamp. 
Jp and Coming (Putnam) Nalbro 
iy gives us the analytical story of an 
ican who has sprung from simple 
nt stock, but thru refining environ- 
and education has evolved a patrician 
I. The struggle of these two natures 
ing in the one body furnishes the main 
ie of the book. 

ruida, by John T. Frederick (Alfred 
1 Knopf), is an honest work, written 
_- efully and seriously, and has been com- 
pared favorably with My Antonia. But 
it lacks the fine quality of Miss Cather's 
book. Mr. Frederick has made the child 
Druida vividly interesting — it is the woman 
Druida who is disappointing. This is a 
"first novel," however, and its author is 
well worth watching. 

Arthur Stringer's The City of Peril 
(Alfred A. Knopf) is a murder-mystery 
story that moves with such amazing swift- 
ness that the reader has no time to ques- 
tion statements or style. It is excellent 

In Faint Perfume (D. Appleton and 
Company) Zona Gale has written another 
Miss Lulu Bett. Again she has given us 
in her nervous,' incisive style the intimate 
picture of a petty, quarreling, small-town 
family, the abused heroine, and the senti- 
mental love motive with a realistic back- 

For those who like romantic tales of 
the days when Knights were bold and 
Richard Cceur de Lion was King of Eng- 
land, Walter of Tiverton, by Bernard 
Marshall (D. Appleton and Company) , 
will help to pass a dull evening. Louise 
Dutton, in Going Together (Bobbs-Mer- 
rill), has done for the female of the species 
what Booth Tarkington in his Seventeen 
did for the male ; a charming, whimsical 
story of the love affairs of an adolescent 
girl, delightfully written with laughter 
barely concealing the heart aches that lie 

Now that Sinclair Lewis has become 
famous, his earlier novels are being re- 

Page Seventy-Six 


issued in new bindings. Tlie Job (Har- 
court, Brace and Company), first published 
in l () 17. is the detailed study of the strug- 
gles of a small-town girl in New York's 
business world in those days when fifteen 
dollars a week was a big salary, .hist as 
The Barge of Haunted Lives (Macmillan 
*>any), by J. Aubrey Tyson, is one of 
the best mystery yarns we have ever read, 
SO is The Meredith Mystery (/>. Appleton 
and Company), by Natalie Sumner Lin- 
coln, one of the worst. 

A good time should be assured when a 
real sea captain tells his own story. Cap- 
tain Arthur Mason sees life as an exciting, 
romantic adventure, and in Ocean Echoes 
' Henry Holt and Company) has given us 
one of the most delightful bits of auto- 
biography it has ever been our good fortune 
to read. Mary Cinderella Brown, by Dor- 
othy Whitehall (D. Appleton and Com- 
pany K is another Pollyanna — a sweet little 
girl adopted by a wealthy bachelor. 

The Gauntlet of Alceste, by Hopkins 
Moorhouse (James A. McCann Company), 

is a first-rate mystery story with a master 
criminal, a super-human detective, stolen 
jewels, a murder or two, abductions, and 
everything. Corduroy, by Ruth Comfort 
Mitchell (D. Appleton and Company', 
is a Western novel of the "big open 
spaces," where an effete Bostonian becomes 
a man again. 

The C( de of the Karstens, by Henry 
Walsworth Kinney (Little, Brown and 
Company), is the narration of the love 
life of Erik Karsten, descendant of a long 
line of Karstens whose code was: Never 
touch a friend's wife, nor his daughter 
nor a maid. Never let any woman suffer 
thru fault of yours. On Erik's curly head 
descended the curse pronounced on the first 
Erik Karsten, because of his traitorous 
love for his queen, that no curly Karsten 
should bring happiness to the woman he 
loves nor get happiness from his love. 
But Erik pursues love relentlessly. The 
work is a delicate tho vivid analysis of 
the most intricate emotions of a poetic 
nature. — B. T. S. 


In Studio and Gallery 

(Continued from page 61) 

big point is reached when pictures are en- 
tirely pleasant to the eye, and it is true 
of this exhibit. 

The spacious Knoedler Galleries also 
house the paintings of Tade Styka. These 
attractive works have a decidedly foreign 
appearance. Many people in the public 
eye are shown in portraiture. The Titto 
C h a 1 i a p i n 
group, My 
Father, Canon 
Caron, and 
Self Portrait 
are strong ex- 
amples of the 
artist's work. 

TV/T a u e i c E 
1 Sterne 
is expected 
back from 
Italy before 
long. At pre- 
sent he is en- 
tirely preoc- 
cupied by a 
life-sized stat- 
ue. As to the 
subject we 
admit we are 
deep in the 
fog, but an 
per sonality 
such as this, 
always pro- 
vokes eager 
interest. He 
has also found 
time to be in- 
tensely inter- 
ested in an 

artist, Mario Toppi by name. Mr. Sterne 
vouches for a splendid exhibit, and Mr. 
Bourgeois will show the work in his gal- 
leries. Toppi is entirely self taught; his 
parents were models for Sterne. Since 
1919 Mr.' Bourgeois has also been inter- 
ested in Emile Branchard, whose work he 
will exhibit later in the season. His paint- 
ings were first seen in the Independents' 
Show of that year, and were the subject 
of much comment. 

[" ouis Bouche's Annual American Ex- 
hibition in the Bel Maison showed 
many paintings of interest. George Bel- 

Courtesy of the Ehrich Galleries 


An unusual abstract composition by Henrietta Shore 

lows' Nude rightfully holds the command- 
ing position. It is essentially the Bellows' 
workmanship. H. E. Schnakenberg's Still 
Life interests at once. Neutral in tones 
of yellow, greens and browns, the open 
window shows the backs of city houses, 
usually ugly, but treated by the artist un- 
derstandingly. Jules Pascin's wistful Ruth- 
w o o d ex- 
presses this 
French man's 
c 1 e verness. 
Joseph Stella's 
Nocturne and 
the Rain, 
Belleport, is a 
typical Great 
South Bay 
s u b j e c t . 
Works of 
many other 
wel 1-known 
artists are in- 
cluded in the 
ex h i b ition. 
The showing 
benefited us. 
We did not 
grasp it in its 
entirety, but 
unsolved pro- 
blem is not 

Op a i n is 
brought to the 
public eye by 
William J. 
Potter's paint- 
ings at the 
Milch Galler- 
ies. The stone 
churches and adobe dwellings give out the 
warmth of a Spanish sun, and the fine 
use of deep shadows makes one feel like 
stepping into the picture for a quiet re- 
treat. Spanish atmosphere is admirably 
grasped and carried out in brilliance of 
color. Strength and grandeur in the fine 
old monasteries also lend unusual charm 
to this interesting showing. Splendid ex- 
amples of Mr. Potter's are may be seen in 
the American Hispanic Museum, the 
Indianapolis Art Institute, in Rochester, 
Los Angeles and Sydney, Australia. 

— K. C. S. 



Would You Like Every Day 
To Be Pay Day For You? 

Friends, meet Mr. A. B. Arment, 
one of our valued co-workers. 
Not for years has he depended on 
the whim of a boss to increase the 
amount in his pay envelope. Mr. 
Arment is his own boss and like- 
wise his own paymaster. He is 
master of both his time and in- 

In no other business will you find 
such liberties nor such opportu- 
nities for making money. With no 
experience at all, men and women 
everywhere are working them- 
selves into our business and aver- 
aging $1.00 an hour and more 
while building for larger returns 
from their efforts. You can begin 
on spare time and gradually work 
into a full time job. 

The Way To An Independent Income 

is the manner in which our plan is 
spoken of in some quarters. Mr. 
Arment, for one, thinks of it in 
this way. He paved the way to 
an independent income years ago. 
Today he is living from the fruits 
of previous efforts. And Mr. Ar- 
ment believes that new comers in 
the field have advantages that just 
double their chances for success. 


extra each month, it will pay you to 
investigate our plan. Representatives 
of our magazines are making this 
much and more thruout the year. 
Or if you want just $50 and no more, 
let us show you how to get it. By 
acting as our representative in your 
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scriptions for four well-known maga- 
zines, there is a chance for you to 
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might be your big opportunity. 



Subscription Department 

175 Duffield Street, 
Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Please tell me how I can make every 
day a pay day for me. 


St. and No 

City State. 

Page Seventy-Seven 




A retouched photograph ; an 
interview prepared by a press- 
agent ; a set speech — these are 
the things that the public knows 
about the movie stars ; their as- 
sumed characters in a world of 

But the real persons ' beneath 
these poses — what are they 
like? What is Glenn Hunter 
like when he wipes off the 
grease paint and joins his own 

What did Mary Pickford say 
while chatting with Neysa Mc- 
Mein, the famous illustrator, 
who has just made Mary's most 
recent portrait? 

If you want to know the hu- 
man side of your favorite mov- 
ing picture stars 




What does the future hold for 
him? What will he do when 
he loses the round face of child- 
hood and cannot wring your 
hearts with his pathetic inter- 
pretations — as he did in Oliver 
Twist? Will he stay "in the 
movies" and become an actor 
of parts, or will he go into the 
world of business and learn 
how to handle his enormous 
fortune — or will he be content 
to sit back and live on his in- 

rnmp ? 

Motion Picture 


for May 

The Trend of Modern American Ceramics 

{Continued from page 59) 

in scarabs, took a thousand hours. Her 
example in method will not be largely 
followed. The patience, the time, and the 
expense of the time required, toll too high. 
But the very existence of so exquisite an 
artist shows that superb achievement is 
possible in all directions. 

Mrs. Robineau in her seventeen years of 
work has penetrated many secrets of the 
great potters of the ages, among them the 
famous oxblood glazes of the Chinese, 
made from reds of copper under very high 
flame. Much of her value to the potter's 
craft lies in the fact that the standard of 
perfection in craftsmanship, which she 
has set for herself, assures her fellows 
that there are no "lost" processes that ex- 
periment may not find again, no pains- 
taking exquisiteness of detail that even 
American patience may not accomplish. 

The real inspiration in the potter's craft 
during the next few years must most cer- 
tainly come from those who seek pottery 
as a medium for the making of useful 
as well as decorative objects. Mr. Poor's 
show was especially rich in suggestions of 
not only his own future but the future of 
all American ceramics. He had made very 
few vases. Vases are useful, of course, 
but surely the proportion of used to un- 
used vases in American homes must be 
ten to one, a proportion that makes "vase" 
mean to the average man a mantel adorn- 
ment, not a flower container, or even an 
intrinsic work of art. Mr. Poor has made 
plates — plates with pictures and designs, 
plates that doubtless will be bracketed and 
hung — to use in daily living, in eating. 
He has made little bowls for tea, cups 

occasionally, big bowls, and platters. He 
has made tile designs that wake the archi- 
tect to a new vision of what can be done 
to bring rich color and design to the 
hallway, the overmantel, the hearth. He 
has made door-knobs, and door-plates, and 
cupboard panels. He has a few examples 
of modeled and perforated pottery that 
will undoubtedly lead to garden fountains. 

Most of the potters in the United States 
are of no particular consequence : in the 
world of art. But the existence of thou- 
sands of kilns is a healthy sign. The 
Paul Revere Pottery just outside Boston, 
which makes unpretentious pottery, mostly 
handwrought, grew from a settlement ex- 
periment in arts and crafts as recreation 
and "uplift." What they make now in 
their sunny hilltop pottery is simple and 
delightful, far above the banal ceramic 
work which was the American average 
not so very long ago. To such simple 
potteries, and hundreds like them, the 
work of the greater artists at the Durant 
Kilns, of Adelaide Alsop-Robineau, of 
Henry Varnum Poor brings a lift and 
stirring of the imagination to greater ex- 
periment in technique and in design. 

To the modern artist, canvas-weary, 
canvas-puzzled, Henry Poor particularly 
opens a road. The day of commonplace 
American ceramics is most surely doomed. 
Prophecy is an easy occupation, but the 
doom of the dullness of American pottery 
must be prophesied by someone, and if one 
sees just around the corner .a number of 
American painters turnjng to tiles instead 
of to walls and canvas, why not point them 
out in a positive long-bearded manner ? 

'iiiiiiiiiiimmiiiiii nimiimi 


{Continued from page 65) 

Dy far the best music done at the Ameri- 
can Music Guild's last concert was that 
of Miss Marion Bauer, whom I do not 
hesitate to describe as America's foremost 
woman composer. Her three preludes, 
charmingly played by Mr. Robert E. 
Schmitz, are, unlike the work of most 
moderns, all too brief. They are original 
and graceful as to thematic material and 
sanely modern in harmonic treatment. I 
sincerely hope that Miss Bauer will not 
be led from the paths of musical rectitude 
by the company in which she occasionally 
finds herself. 

At this same Guild concert, A Portrait, 
for clarinet and piano (originally for or- 
chestra), by Sandor Harmati, had interest- 
ing and even beautiful moments. But, ye 
gods, how long-winded and diffuse ! It 
was, as my neighbor Frank Warren said, 
a full-length portrait. These modernists 
rarely know when to leave off, and some 
of them should never begin, for they have 
nothing which is worth listening to to say. 

Some relief was afforded by excerpts 
from Emerson Whithorne's New York 
Days and Nights. These were amusingly 
imitative of noises musical and unmusical 
of a great city. But that sort of thing 
has been ever so much better done by 
Vaughan Williams in his London Sym- 
phony, which is finely-wrought as well as 
pictorial and poetical music. Fortunately 
for Mr. Whithorne, he is primarily a busi- 
ness man, and so has not to depend on the 
art which he follows with more or less suc- 
cess. It is better in some cases to sell other 
people's music than to make your own. 

T find that these wanderings have been 
A chiefly along musical and sometimes: un- 
musical paths. But I have found time to 
see a few plays and pictures. Notable 
among the former was Clemence: Dane's 
Will Shakespeare, so beautifully produced 
by Winthrop Ames, and above all so' per- 
fectly acted by Miss Haidee Wright, as 
Queen Elizabeth — a remarkable impersona- 
tion — Miss Katherine Cornell as the Dark 
Lady of the Sonnets, and Miss Winifred 
Lenihan as Anne Hathaway. The play 
has an admirable literary : as well as 
dramatic quality. 

Jane Cowl is a sweetly pretty and oc- 
casionally gently impassioned Juliet, and 
Rollo Peters a romantic-looking and fer- 
vent Romeo, while the support accorded 
them is generally excellent. One cannot say 
much for the scenery and settings of Mr. 
Peters, except that they suggest that he 
is less an artist than he is an actor, but 
as a whole the production is well worth 
seeing. The same can certainly be said 
for Mr. Belasco's Merchant of Venice, in 
which Mr. Warfield is a very gentlemanly 
Shylock. Shakespeare lovers should see 
this performance if only to compare it 
with others in their recollection, including 
Walter Hampden's. The latter, next to 
Irving, is the best Shylock in my ex- 
perience. It is good news that he is likely 
to have his own theater in New York, and 
will there give Shakespearean repertory 
as well as his masterly performance of 
Sir Giles Overreach in A New Way to 
Pay Old Debts, which so far has not come 
nearer the metropolis than Brooklyn. 

Page Seventy-Eight 


Tl>r restaurant of 
the famous CLi- 
Hotel on the 

mis two malun 

he Q,a/uM&ine6 

Send for 

M. Kerkoff's new 

sample paquet 

A new paquet of 
Dicr • Kiss samples, 
containing Parfum, 
Face Powder. Cold 
Creamand Vanishing 
Cream, will gladly 
be mailed in return 
for merely 15 cents. 
Address Alfred H. 
Smith Co.,5 + West 
34th St., New York 


The dinner hour at Cla- 
ridge's in Paris. At each 
table some striking ex- 
ample of beauty and 
charm! Surely it is some 
unusual secret of fascina- 
tion francaise which so 
marks these Paris iennes. 

It is a secret, Madame, 
Mademoiselle, known to 
elite French boudoirs and 
sent to you now in Amer- 
ica. It is this secret of 
the true harmony of the 

"Each article of the toilet 
table, Face Powders, Talc, 
Sachet, Soap, Rouges, 
Compacts and Creams — 
must breathe gently the 
same Parfum — the same 
French fragrance." 

And so do Madame and 
Mademoiselle, turn quite 
naturally to Djer-Kiss, oafc/zr 
inimitable created by Mon- 
sieur Kerkoff in Paris. He 
sends you in his specialites 
Djer-Kiss each necessity of 
the Toilette — Face Powders, 
Talc, Sachet, the Rouges, 
the Creams, the Toilet 
Water, all fragranced de- 
lightfully with Parfum Djer- 
Kiss. To employ them all 
-as to capture something of 
the very charm of France 

If you, Madame, know 
not the charm of Djer-Kiss, 
do purchase the Djer-Kiss 
Specialites and achieve, so 
simply, a harmony of the 
toilette quite French and 
quite fashionable. 


These specialties — Rouge. Lip Rouge. Compacts and Creams - blended here 
with pure Djer-Kiss Parfum imported from Frame. 

How French ! How 
fashionable! How con- 
venient! This charm- 
ing little Vanette of 
Djer-Kiss — fashion's 
new vogue. Now may 
Madame carryalwaysin 
her vanity bag this 
Vanette of her favor- 
ite Parfum Djer-Kiss. 
The price? Ah! Ma- 
dame, so very moder- 
ate! Do ask. then, for 
this Vanette of Djer- 
Kiss — the personal 
paquet of parfum. 

l .* 

e 1<>23 K H S Co 


^ ^ MAY 35<Z 



is"i <r 


'Onyx'' § Hosiery 


© E.*B.Co. 1923 

HEG. 11. S. r*T. OFF. 

Emery & Beers Company, Inc. 

Wholesale Distributors 

New York 


Just a few drops 
combed into the 
hair and almost 
immediately you 
can see "listless 

And in 20 minutes 
your mirror shows you a 
new head of hair — mar- 
celled and curled as you 
like it best; witha natural 
wave that no artificial 
beauty - parlor process 
could possibly duplicate. 

can see listless - -^ \ jm 

locks" begin to / • / M /^ 

wmr Marvelous Mw 

straggly strands V^^^r 

melding into ^^^^ 

glorious waves X^ • w /^ • • g 

~ Spanish Qquii 

Tviakes any hair naturally cu 
in 2o minutes 


The Spanish Beggar's 
Priceless Gift 

by Winnifred Ralston 

FROM the day we started to school, Charity 
Winthrop and I were called the touseled- 
hair twins. 

Our mothers despaired of us. Our hair 
simply wouldn't behave. 

As we grew older the hated name still clung 
to us. It followed us through the grades and 
into boarding school. Then Charity's family 
moved to Spain and I didn't see her again 
until last New Year's eve. 

A party of us had gone to the Drake Hotel 
for dinner that night. As usual I was terribly 
embarrassed and ashamed of my hair. 

Horribly self-conscious I was sitting at the 
table, scarcely touching my food, wishing I 
were home. It seemed that everyone had won- 
derful, lustrous, curly hair but me and I felt 
they were all laughing or worse, pitying me 
behind my back. 

My eyes strayed to the dance floor and there 
I saw a beautiful girl dancing with Tom 
Harvey. Her eye caught mine and to my sur- 
prise she smiled and started toward me. 

About this girl's face was a halo of golden 
curls. I think she had the most beautiful hair 
I ever saw. My face must have turned scarlet 
as I compared it mentally with my own strag- 
gly, ugly mop. 

Of course you have guessed her identity — 
Charity Winthrop who once had dull straight 
hair like mine. 

It had been five long years since I had seen 
her. But I simply couldn't wait. 
I blurted out — "Charity Winthrop 
— tell me — what miracle has hap- 
pened to your hair?" 

She smiled and said mysteri- 
ously, "Come to my room and I 
will tell you the whole story." 

Qharity tells of the 
beggar's gift 

"Our house in Madrid faced a 
little, old plaza where I often 
strolled after my siesta. A Matchless Marcelle 

"Miguel, the beggar, always occupied the end bench of 
the south end of the plaza. I always dropped a few 
centavos in his hat when I passed and he soon grew to 
know me. 

"The day before I left Madrid I stopped to bid him 
goodby and pressed a gold coin in his palm." 

"Hija 7nia," he said, "You have been very kind to an 
old man. Digamelo (tell me) se?iorita, what it is your heart 
most desires." 

"I laughed at the idea, then said jokingly, 'Miguel, my 
hair is straight and dull. I would have it lustrous and 
curly'. " 

' Oigame, senorita," he said — "Many years ago — a 
Castilian prince was wedded to a Moorish beauty. Her 
hair was black as a raven's wing and straight as an arrow. 
Like you, this lady wanted los -pelos rizos (curly hair). 
Her husband offered thousands of pesos to the man who 
would fulfill her wish. The prize fell to Pedro, the droguero. 
Out of roots and herbs he brewed a potion that converted 
theprincess' straight, unruly hair into a glorious mass 
of ringlet curls. 

"Pedro, son of the son of Pedro, has that secret today. 
Years ago I did him a great service. Here you will find 
him, go to him and tell your wish." 

"I called a coche and gave the driver the address Miguel 
had given me. 

"At the door of the apothecary shop, a funny old hawk- 
nosed Spaniard met me. I stammered out my explana- 
tion. When I finished, be bowed and vanished into his 
store. Presently he returned and handed me a bottle. 

"Terribly excited — I could hardly wait until I reached 
home. When I was in my room alone, I took down my 
hair and applied the liquid as directed. In twenty minutes, 
not one second more, the transformation, which you have 
noted, had taken place. 

"Come, Winnifred — apply it to your own hair and see 
what it can do for you." 

Twenty minutes later as I looked into Charity's 
mirror I could hardly believe my eyes. The impossible 
had happened. My dull, straight hair had wound itself 
into curling tendrils. My head was a mass of ringlets and 
waves. It shone with a lustre it never had before. 

You can imagine the amazement of the others in the 
party when I returned to the ballroom. Everybody 
noticed the change. Never did I have such a glorious 
night. I was popular. Men clustered about me. I had 
never been so happy. 

The next morning when I awoke, I hardly dared look 
in my mirror fearing it had all been a dream. But it 
was true — gloriously true. My hair was curly and 

I asked Charity's permission to 
take a sample of the Spanish liquid 
to my cousin at the Century Lab- 
oratories. For days he worked, 
analyzing the liquid. Finally, he 
solved the problem, isolated the 
two Spanish herbs, the important 

They experimented on fifty 
women and the results were sim- 
ply astounding. Now the Century 
Chemists are prepared to supply 
the wonderful Spanish Curling 
Lovely Curls Liquid to women every where. 

Take advantage of their generous trial offer— 

I told my cousin I did not want one penny for 
the information I had given him. I did make one 
stipulation, however. I insisted that he introduce the 
discovery by selling it for a limited time at actual 
laboratory cost plus postage so that as many women as 
possible could take advantage of it. This he agreed to do. 

No need to undergo the torture and expense of the 
so-called permanent wave, which might even destroy 
your hair. You can have natural curly hair in twenty 
minutes. One application will keep your hair beautiful 
for a week or more. 

Don't delay another day. For the Century Chemists 
guarantee satisfaction or refund your money. 

Wavy Bob 

Free Distribution 
of $3.50 Bottles 

(only one to a family) 

We are offering for a limited 
time only, no-profit distribu- 
tion of the regular S3. 50 size \ 
ofourSpanish Curling Liquid, i 

The actual cost of preparing 
and compounding this Span- 
ish Curling Fluid, including 
bottling, packing and shipping 
is SI. 87. We have decided to 
ship the first bottle to each 
new user at actual cost price. 

You do not have to send one 
penny in advance. Merely fill 
out the coupon below — then pay the postman 
$1.87 plus the few cents postage, when he delivers 
the liquid. If you are not satisfied in every way, 
even this low laboratory fee will be refunded 
promptly. This opportunity may never appear 
again. Miss Ralston urges that you take advan- 
tage of it at once. 


(Originators of the famous 40 Minute Beauty Clay) 

Century Bldg. , Chicago 
SendNoMoney —Simply Sign and Mail Coupon 


Century Bldg., Chicago 

Please send me, in plain wrapper, by insured 
parcel post, a full size $3 .50 bottle of Liquid Mar- 
celle (Spanish Curling Liquid). I will pay post- 
man SI. 87, plus few cents postage, on delivery, 
with the understanding that if, after a five-day 
trial, I am not elated with the results from this 
magic curling fluid, I may return the unused con- 
tents in the bottle, and you will immediately 
return my money in full. 

Name „ 




Page Three 


"Look at that!" he said. Susie 
saw two pictures of herself on the 
first page. And underneath was 
the story of her disappearance. 

Hired To Live The Life Of Another 

Never before more than a few miles from home . . . turned out 
of her room after a few days in New York . . . almost penniless 
. . . followed to a park bench by a mysterious man in a Rolls-Royce 
limousine. . . . 

She casts her own identity aside like an old dress. . . . Cuts 
herself off from all who know her. . . . Masquerades as another 
in the other s own home . . . and what happens? 

TUT ERE you have a fragmentary synopsis of the open- 
ing instalment of one of the greatest stories 
written in years. Be sure to read it ... in MOTION 
PICTURE MAGAZINE for June. "Susie Takes a Chance" 
is the title. Lucian Cary is the author. 

Mystery . . . suspense . . . surprise . . . strange 
situations . . . developments still more strange . . . 
characters so real and human that they will remind 
you of people you know ... all woven with supreme 
skill into an absorbing story entirely unlike anything 
else you have ever read. 

The opening chapters of this gripping story are 
alone well worth the price of the complete magazine 
. . . but it is only one of a long list of good things 
set before you in the big June number. 

Other Good Things 
for June 

Who really "discovered" Rodolph Val- 
entino — who really started him on the road 
to fame and fortune? In a whimsical in- 
terview in the June Motion Picture 
Magazine, Rodolph tells Gladys Hall and 
Adele Whitely Fletcher the real cross-my- 
heart-and-hope-to-die truth of it. 

"Behind the Scenes With Pola" — some 
interesting and fascinating sidelights on 
the interesting and fascinating Pola Negri 
. . . with incidental mention of Charlie 

In Tennis Togs — an article with the 
famous tennis court of King and Florence 
Vidor as the background — and in the 
foreground some of the notables who 
regularly or occasionally seek exercise 
and excitement there. 

But, sh-sh — we mustn't tell you any 
more — we want some of the treats in the 
June issue to take you entirely by surprise. 


Susie Takes A Chance 


A New Kind of Story 

Beginning In The June Number of Motion Picture Magazine 

Page Four 

m 19 1923 

; Cl B :"> 7 4 » J •; 

l Q 

MAY, 1923 



Expressing the Arts 



VOLUME VIII Important Features in This Issue: NUMBER 3 

Painting and Sculpture: 

The Wizard Wood-Carver Walter Pach 

Kultur Dolls Lottie Pritzel 

Architecture : 

An Artist Sketches Unfamiliar Spots in Southern France Auguste Vimnera 

Literature : 

Was She "Sterne's Eliza"? N. P. Dawson 

The Brilliant Marriage (translated from the French) J. Joseph-Renaud 

Satire and Humor: 

Naming the Rose Lydia Steptoe 

An Ending to Suit Everyone G. William Breck 

Poetry : 

Sonnets and Songs 

Drama : 

Ringing Out Realism Walter Prichard Eaton 

The Double-Barreled Eraser (translated from the Hungarian) Franz Molnar 

Behind the Fourth Wall Kenneth Macgowan 

Dancing : 

A Pictorial Feature — Portraits of Mme. Kimura Komako, Ula Sharon, Jenny Hasselquist, 
Jack Marchon, Rose Rolanda, Ebon Strandin, Ronny Johannson 


The Celebrity Seen Thru the Lens Herman Mishkin 

An Operatic Solution of the Mona Lisa Enigma Jerome Hart 

Motion Pictures: 

The Episode of the Deceived Husband, from Boccaccio's Decameron 

Portraits of Doris Kenyon, Mabel Normand, Andree Lafayette, Corliss Palmer, Mary 
Astor and Richard Barthelmess 

Caricature : 

Among Those Present Leo Kober 

The Greatest Show of Them All John Decker 

Our Disgruntled Playwrights Robert James Malone 

Arts and Crafts : 

Sculptured Glass from Sweden 

Photography : 

The Camera Contest — A Reprimand for the Imitator 

Published Monthly by Brewster Publications, Inc., at Jamaica, N. Y. 

Entered at the Post Office at Jamaica, N. Y., as second-class matter, tinder the act of March 3rd, 1879, Printed in U. S. A. 

Eugene V. Brewster, President and Editor-in-Chief; Guy L. Harrington, Vice-President and Business Manager; L. G. Conlon, Treasurer; 

E. M. Heinemann, Secretary 


Editors : 

F. M. Osborne 

Jerome Hart 

Managing Editor: Adele Whitely Fletcher Art Director: A. M. Hopfmuller 

Subscription $3.50 per year, in advance, including postage in the U. S., Cuba, Mexico and Philippines; in Canada $4.00, and in foreign countries, $4.50 per 
year. Single copies, 35 cents. Postage prepaid. One and two cent United States Government stamps accepted. Subscribers must notify us at once 

of any change of address, giving both old and new address. 

Copyright, 1923, by Brewster Publications, Inc.fin the United States and Great Britain 




: =^S3E^: 

Page Five 

Lloyd C. Bishop and Harriet A. Stover 


Page Six 



From a painting by Albert Vargas 

Courtesy of the Daniel Gallery 


John Carroll is a young painter 
ivhose ivork has won recogni- 
tion thru the excellence of his 
drawing and the vitality with 
which he has endued his por- 
traits. Those of children show 
a remarkable sweetness and an 
excellent technique 


George Pearse Ennis ivas a pupil of Chase. The three Victory 
windows in the J\eiv York Military Academy, and the memorial 
windows in the ISew York Athletic Club are his ivork. Last 
year he received the thousand dollar prize offered by Isadore 
Purchase to exhibiting members at the Salmagundi Club 

Courtesy of the Montross Galleries 


The foundation for Charles Prendergast's imaginative panels is a coating 

of plaster on wood, easy to cut into with a pointed tool, ideal for gilding, 

and offering to color a dry mat surface peculiar to itself 

The Wizard Wood -Carver 

Charles E. Prendergast has combined the fine workmanship of the New 
England artisan with the imaginative strain of the poet and painter 

By Walter Pach 

A some far distant time in the future, there will 
doubtless be a book called Tales of Old America, 
written to tell of the strange and beautiful things 
that were done in that romantic period which was the 
early twentieth century — just as in his Tales of Old Japan 
Lord Redesdale has enchanted us with the glamor of the 
Dai Nippon of long 

ago. And as Japan ■■■ , ■ ^_ 

has woven around one 
of her great work- 
man-artists the leg- 
end which is told in 
the play of Zingoro, 
the Faithful Statue- 
Maker, so in this 
future book about our 
country there will be 
a half-true, half- 
mythical account of 
Charles Prendergast, 
the Wizard Wood- 
Carver. And perhaps 
even the mythical 
parts of the story will 
be true, for myths 
can be, indeed should 
be, the truest of all 
stories, their material 
not being the small 
detail of history but 
the large and charac- 
teristic traits of a 
people and a period. 

Myths have to 
grow up slowly in the 
talk of the fireside 
and the fields, or now- 
adays (why not?) 
over the tables of our 
down-town lunch- 
rooms and on the 
trains' by w h i c h 
neighbors go to and 
from their work. It 
takes a deal of such 
discussion to solve so 
complicated a prob- 
lem as the character 
of a people, but it is 

only so that it can be done— not by the hardest thinking 
of any one individual. And so, by the time those Tales 
of Old America will be written, this country will have 
shown its character more clearly, and it will be easier to 
say what place in the scheme of things is to be given an 
artist of so unusual a type as Charles Prendergast. 

In an art that stands in a class of its own today he has 
combined the fine workmanship of the New England 
artisan with the imaginative, fanciful strain not infre- 
quent, to be sure, in poets and painters in the land of 
Edgar Allan Poe and Albert P. Ryder, but which we did 
not expect to see pairing off with the diligence and in- 
ventiveness of the Yankee cabinet-maker, gunsmith or 
silversmith. For many years Mr. Prendergast was heard 


of merely as the best frame-carver in the country, one 
who could be trusted to make for a great picture, of 
whatever school, a frame suited to it in design and in the 
special warmth or burnish of the gold, for which his 
practice with that fascinating material had given him the 
mastery. But in his workshop there was always some 

ob j ec t — a box, a 
mirror-frame or a 
figure — that he had 
carved and painted or 
gilded for his own 
pleasure and that of 
his friends. The 
latter had so keen a 
pleasure from them 
that they begged the 
half - reluctant, half- 
eager craftsman to do 
more of such things. 
He had always 
worked at drawing, 
and so there were 
evolved those, re- 
markable panels — cul- 
minating today, in a 
splendid full-length 
and almost life-size 
figure of a girl — in 
which the resources 
of the artist and ar- 
tisan merge inextri- 
cably, as they did in 
so many works of the 

It is the old Italian 
art of the gesso — a 
coating of plaster on 
wood, easy to cut into 
with a pointed tool, 
ideal for gilding, and 
offering to color a dry 
mat surface peculiar 
to itself. To realize 
how admirable is Mr. 
Prendergast's use of 
his material, compare 
his work with a Flor- 
entine cassone — the 
way in which our 
contemporary stands this severe test will surprise the 
most critical. 

But one does not know the artist until one has ob- 
served the phase of imagination that runs thru his art 
today. In the painting of his brother, Maurice B. Pren- 
dergast, this breath of fantasy is forever hovering over 
the blue waters and quivering in the gold and the green 
of the trees; with the blithe and gracious figures. that 
people his landscapes, it causes something of that en- 
chantment which endears to us the Tuscan countryside 
when seen by its early painters ; and yet, like those paint- 
ers, Maurice Prendergast belongs to a school whose quest 
is the facts of vision, of light, air and matter — the 
(Continued on page 72) 

m& i 


' S 1 ' 

:. ^T<5 

$M ) ■ 

Pane Eleven 

The wife who 
deceives her 
husband wel- 
comes her hand- 
some lover. The 
role of the co- 
quettish lady is 
played with 
great skill fey 
Mine. Kozmov- 
skaya. Her part- 
ner in deceit is 
by M. Zarubin, 
a well-known 
Russian actor 

An Episode from the Decameron 

Giovanni Boccaccio is the originator of the modern novel. His Decameron, published in 1353, 
has been a great force in literature. Chaucer felt its influence in England; Shakespeare drew 
inspiration from it. Its genesis is due to a plague that ravished Florence, Italy, in 1348. 
Boccaccio created ten characters, then transported them to a luxurious villa two miles from 
the stricken city where they spent their days in gay dalliance — eating, drinking, and telling 
frivolous and daring stories. The Episode of the Deceived Husband is the only one of these 
stories from the Decameron that has been filmed 

Page Twelve 

The ten Florentines, 
who Boccaccio made 
responsible for the in- 
cidents he chronicled 
in his Decameron, are 
shown below as they 
appear in the film, 
The Episode of the 
Deceived Husband, 
produced in Russia 
by Mr. V . Viskovsky, 
before the Revolution, 
and soon to be shown 
in this country. Mr. 
Viskovsky has also 
made this Episode the 
basis for a musical 

M. de Jassi gives an admirable repre- 
sentation of the unattractive but very 
wealthy merchant who is the deceived 

Here is the screen impersonator of 
Giovanni Boccaccio who, as the au- 
thor of the Episode, introduces the 
ten story-tellers 

Page Thirteen 

The Doable ^Barreled Eraser 

By Franz Molnar 

Translated from the Hungarian by Joseph Szebenyei 

T]HE Cast is a father and his son, seven 
years old. The Scene is the father's 
study. On the writing-desk there is an 
eraser, of the sort that has been glued to 
get her from Hvo parts. The lighter half 
is used to erase pencil script, and the 
other is supposed to erase ink. The 
father is talking to the boy in a serious 
tone of voice. 

Father: In short, you came home at 
six o'clock. 

The Boy : Yes. 

Father: And you said your piano teacher 
was to come at six. 

The Boy: Yes. 

Father: Well, my boy, the teacher was to come 
at five, and he did come as a matter of fact. In short, 
you told a lie. 

The Boy (noticing the eraser) : What 

Father : You lied. 

The Boy (looking at the eraser) : Yes. 

Father: You told a lie, my child, and that in itself is 
a serious offense. Apart from that, you were even 
clumsy in your lying, for you should have known that 
the teacher would be here at five and your deception 
would be discovered. Why did you do that ? 

(This is what passes thru the Boy's mind) : (I know 
this much : that the lighter half is for erasing. What the 
darker half is good for, I dont know. I never saw any- 
thing like that in my life.) 

Father: Answer me! 

The Boy : I beg pardon ? 

Father: Answer me, why did you do it? 

The Boy: Yes. (To himself) : (Is it glued together? 
That's impossible. Is it painted darker? That's impos- 
sible too. How is it that half of it is light and the other 
half dark?) 

Father: Dont be so embarrassed, my dear. I am not 
going to eat you. Answer courageously like a man. 
Look into my eyes. You need not be afraid, I am not 
going to beat you. I just want to lecture to you. In 
life it is the best way to tell the straight truth. Look 
into my eyes. Tell me, why did you tell a lie ? 

The Boy: Because . . . because . . . (To himself): 
( The darker side cannot be the handle, because the end 
of it is worn out as if they had been erasing with it. So 
that is an eraser as well. But it must be a queer sort, for 
otherwise it would not have a different color.) 

Father (to himself): (The boy has self-respect and 
sense of respectability. I am talking to him as mildly as 
possible and still he looks about with a blank gaze, an- 
swers all in an embarrassment, and it seems he is deeply 
affected. They say there is a good deal of severity in my 
gaze, and it has been remarked that few of the judges 
have such penetrating eyes as I have. The culprits are 
in a tremble when they come into my court. However, 
now I am not a judge but a father, and this chap is not a 
defendant, but my son. I ought to treat him with more 
kindness.) (In a very tftild tone) : Are you sorry for 
telling a lie, my dear child? 

The Boy: Yes. (To himself): (I'll be sorry for 
everything, confess everything, beg pardon, or whatever 
he likes, so as to get done with it. And as soon as he is 

out of the room, I am going to examine the 
Father: Are you ever going to tell -a lie 

The Boy : Never. 
Father: Will you be a good boy? 
The Boy : Yes. 

Father: Then I am not going to pun- 
ish you, my child. But so that you 
should keep it in mind, you will write, 
one hundred times : "One should never 
tell a lie." 

The Boy: With pencil or ink? 
Father : With ink. But as I see, my dear, 
that you are a decent lad, if you request me to 
be excused, I will let you off this time without the 
copying. (To himself): (One must be kind to a 
child. He is made of good material. I was just like 

The Boy (to himself) : (In that case, the eraser will 
be off too.) 

Father: Well? 

The Boy : I would rather write it a hundred times. 
Father: How? You wouldn't apologize? 
The Boy : No. 

Father (to himself) : (Just like I was. Just like his 
father. He would not accept a present that would hurt 
his self-respect, Just like I have been. But as a father 
I cannot allow it.) (To the boy) : You wouldn't apolo- 
gize?' Dont you see you are, at fault? 

The Boy (to himself) : (I am sure it would erase ink 
in a jiffy. But I shall try the dark one on pencil script 
as well.) 

Father: Now answer me, my boy. Your silence is 
manly enough, but it is impolite toward your father. 
Your father is not only a judge, but a friend as well. 

The Boy (to himself) : (If I should say a word now, 
he will let me off and I cant sit at the desk unless I am 
punished. I am going to cut off a bit of the eraser with 
the knife, just a tiny bit, and then I'll smear the cut end 
with my dirty finger, so as not to show that it has been 
cut. ) 

Father: Have you no confidence in your father? 
The Boy : Daddy, I . . . 

Father: He is stubborn. (To himself): (I was just 
like that.) Well? 

The Boy : I would rather write it a hundred times. 
Father (to himself) : (I must not give in. I am glad 
he did not apologize, but now let him write it a hundred 
times. I, too, took the punishment rather than humiliate 
myself.) (Severely, to the boy) : Now you set to it and 
write for a hundred times : "One should never tell a lie." 
No supper till you are finished. 

The Boy: Fifty times with ink and fifty times with 
pencil ? 

Father : I dqnt care. Now you sit at my desk and do 
not move away' until you have written every word of it. 
(The Boy sits at the desk, the Father exits.) 
Father (to himself): (Not a muscle of his face 
moved. He was even glad to sit down. He was happy 
not to humiliate himself. And I am happy too. This boy 
has character. An individuality.) (Exits.) 
(An hour later.) 

(Continued on page 69) 

Page Fourteen 

Francis Bruguiere 


Who has achieved her greatest success in the role of Sadie 
Thompson, the heroine of Somerset Maugham's drama, Rain 

Page Fifteen 

A Captivating 

Madame Kimura poses as Madame 

Butterfly, the immortal heroine 

of Puccini's opera 




Madame Komako Kimura, who looks as if she had 
just stepped out of a print by Hiroshige, is the 
only woman in America who performs the authen- 
tic traditional Japanese dances. She is a many- 
sided and talented representative of her country- 
women, for she was a prominent speaker and 
writer on suffrage in Japan, and also the editor 
of a suffrage paper. Her husband is an eminent 
doctor of philosophy 

Page Sixteen 

Hiller and Mott 


An interpretation by Jack Marchon 

Page Seventeen 

Along the Corniche Road 

Glimpses of the Riviera from the highway which overlooks this enchanted playground of Europe 

By Pierre Duhamel 

TO the French Riviera last summer came a group 
of American moving picture actors headed by 
Lionel Barrymore and Alma Rubens. For many 

weeks they worked on a picture, several scenes of which 

were laid in and around Monaco. It was my great pleas- 
ure to meet one 

of the members of 

the company and 

show him many of 

the beauties of that 

radiantly beautiful 

countryside. For 

him the happiest 

hours were spent 

the day we mean- 
dered along the 

Great Corniche 

Road. From that 

exalted highway 

we looked down 

on the enchanted 

playground of 

Europe and saw 

from the terraces 

of La Turbie 

. . . by the moun- 
tain road; 

How like a gem, 
beneath, the city 

Of little Monaco, 
basking, glow'd. 

"If only," said 
my companion, 
"someone would 
picture the Riviera 
from this road in- 
stead of giving the 
same everlasting 
touched-up picture 
of the gambling 
life of Monte 
Carlo and the so- 
cial whirl of Nice. 
More beauty and 
less excitement is 
what we need." 

"I will- do the 
picture in words, 
and you shall have 
it as a memory of 
this day. Doesn't 
your English poet 
Masefield say : 

'The days that make us happy make us zvise'f 
We shall grow wise from happily remembered beauty." 
Now that I come seriously to write about the Riviera 
from the Corniche Road, I am appalled by the wealth of 
emotions and memories ; by the staggering piles of histor- 
ical data and modern incident. Some readers, I know, 
would like to read all about the city of Grasse, whose 
perfume factories each year consume four million pounds 
of orange-blossoms, three million pounds of rose-leaves 
and uncounted millions of pounds of other fragrant blos- 

soms. Others might like to hear of the interminable 
battles between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines which 
raged in this region during the bloody but colorful 
Middle Ages. But all that may be done in the confines 
of an article is to point out certain beauties and recite 

briefly whatever 
incidents may be 
of general interest. 

he Corniche 
Road on the 

A glimpse of the Corniche Road across the bay of Villefranche 


French Riviera 
runs along a cor- 
nice or ledge of the 
Maritime Alp? 
which rise from 
the Mediterranean 
Sea. To be precise, 
there are three 
Corniche Roads 
along the Riviera 
—the Little, the 
Middle and the 
Great. It is of the 
Great we will 

Now there is 
nothing very excit- 
ing about this road 
according to most 
people. It is not 
an ancient high- 
way ; it was built 
as a military road 
by the French in 
1806 to carry the 
hosts of Napoleon 
the First into Italy. 
It is not a road of 
any commercial 
importance, for no 
other highway en- 
ters into it or 
crosses it at any 
point, and it 
touches no town 
save La Turbie. 
What then about 
it? Only this: 

Geographically it 
is one of the most 
beautiful roads of 
the civilized 
world ; it passes thru fertile and lovely countryside, places 
of sunshine and riotous colored masses of flowers. The 
slopes are covered with terraced vineyards and with 
ancient grey and gnarled olive trees. There are pine, 
cypress and oak trees. One may see there lemon trees 
which flower all the year round. Often on the same tree 
may be found buds, flowers, and fruit in various stages 
of ripeness. Looking down from the highest point of 
the road — over seventeen hundred feet above the sea — 
there lies unfolded, like a brilliantly colored relief map, 
one of the world's most sublime panoramas. 

Page Eighteen 


Starting from Nice, the road slowly ascends from the 
Valley of the Paillon and encircles Mont Gros and Mont 
Yinaigrier. Soon one may look down to see Nice smil- 
ing in the sunshine by the sparkling Bay of the Angels. 
A few kilometers farther along the road one may look- 
down to the little town of Yillefranche with the great 
natural harbor lying before it. From the height the 
"Rade" looks very tiny. It is hard to believe that the 
French Mediterranean Fleet and the visiting foreign 
war-craft all ride at anchor there during the Nice Carnival 
.Week. A glorious sight. At other times, and save for 
the advent of a large pleasure liner, the place is a peace- 
ful fishing village. Everywhere, in the streets and by the 
shore, are varicolored fishing-boats. And down among 
the boats sit the net-menders singing at their tasks. No 
other noise is there and no bustle of traffic, for the streets 
of the town are but a series of steps mounting steeply 

At Yillefranche the line of the coast goes out with a 
sweep to the point of Cap Ferrat where stands the light- 
house. There, forming a little bay, it touches Cap Saint 
Hospice, passes the village of Saint Jean and rejoins the 
mainland at Beaulieu. For many years this peninsula of 
Saint Jean-Cap Ferrat was the resort of the week-end 
merrymakers from Nice. Nowadays it is the winter 
residence of the Duke of Connaught, the Princess Louise, 
Duchess of Argyle and other English aristocrats who 
praise the beauty of the place and its delightful seclusion. 

Near the great round tower on the Point Saint Hos- 
pice there is a stone to mark the spot where once 
the famous violinist Paganini lay buried. Not many peo- 
ple are alive today who heard the great Italian Maestro 
when he held an audience spell-bound with his "Devil's 
Trill." They say he was possessed by the Devil himself. 
Even the church seemed to think so, for when he died in 
Nice on May twenty-seventh, 1840, they denied him the 
last rites and refused to let the body be buried in conse- 
crated ground. His son immediately took action against 
the clergy, but failed. In the meantime, the body of the 
violinist was placed in the cellar of a house near where 

Above, cypress trees near La Turbie. Below, one of the 
streets of Villefranche — a series of steps, mounting upward 

he had died, and the son appealed to the Papal Court. 
A few days later the body was removed from Nice and 
placed in a lazaretto at Yillefranche. Then, because 
of complaints of the stench, it was removed from there 
and set down on the beach near the sea. To some of 
the friends of the dead genius this seemed intolerable. 
Therefore one night five of them in a boat carried 
the coffin around the point of Cap Ferrat to Saint 
Hospice and there by torchlight they decently buried 
their maestro and erected a stone to mark the spot. 

Not for long did he lie at peace. In 1841 the son 
decided to take his father's body to his native land. 
With a ship chartered from Marseilles he set sail for 
Genoa. Arriving there he was not allowed to land, 
for the boat had come from a port where cholera was 
raging. Back they sailed from Genoa and attempted 
to enter Cannes. There also they were refused. Out- 
side Cannes lie the Lerrin Islands and there on the 
most barren and forsaken, Sainte Ferreol. they rein- 
terred the body and erected a stone over the grave. 

Four years passed and Achillino Paganini decided 
that, as his father had owned some land at Parma in 
Italy, he really ought to be buried there and not on a 
lonely island unvisited save for the crying seabirds. 
So was Paganini disturbed again in 1845 and carried 
back to his native shore to be laid in the earth of 
Parma. But no peace yet! In 1853 they decided to 
re-embalm the musician's body. Then in 1876 the 
Papal Court decided that, after all, Paganini had been 
a distinguished man and might be allowed, for a 
(Continued on page 71) 

Page Nineteen 


For her colorful 
Spanish dance Miss 
Rolando wears the 
costume of a. Bra- 
zilian SehOrita 

Nickolas Muray 

The Senorita is a type that is ever intriguing .to the stars of the stage and the screen. And 
what opera singer has not aspired to impersonate Carmen? , The beauty and grace of the 
Spanish woman, her vigor and independence of character have long been rhapsodized by artists 
and writers. But these picturesque elements are a heritage. The maternal ancestors of the 
Senorita were the first to contend for the independence of woman. As far back as the fourth 
century, the Senora of Spain insisted on retaining her own name after marriage, and a law was 
passed giving a man the right to assume the maternal surname if he chose. The greatest of 
Spanish painters is known to the world by the name of his mother, Velasquez, and to this day 
many a Spaniard uses the united names of his parents 

Page Twenty 



of a 

Daughter of Spain 





Edwin Bower Hesser 


In the final scene of her latest motion 
picture, Suzanna, Mabel Normand 
chose to wear a mantilla of sheer 
white lace for her impersonation of 
a Senorita in festal array 


Miss Strandin is a mem- 
ber of the Swedish Royal 
Opera in Stockholm. Not 
only is her voice unusual 
in quality, but her danc- 
ing shows great technical 
proficiency. She is the 
gypsy Carmen, not the 
conventional Carmen of 
the gaily-embroidered 
shawl and high comb 

Page Twenty-One 

From the pedestal 
upon ivhich the 
conservative intel- 
lect u a I s have 
placed him, John 
Galsworthy (be- 
low) scowls at a 
Fate that has grant- 
ed him but one 
Broadway success 
this season. He 
could say a few 
more things about 
Loyalty note. . . . 

Rumor has it that one day while Booth 
Tarkington was strolling in his garden 
a slight mishap proved to be the inspira- 
tion for Rose Briar, which — alas! — 
wasted its fragrance on Broadway. Mr. 
Tarkington communes no more with 
Nature; instead, he listens in on the 
neighbors' domestic wrangles, hoping to 
catch inspiration for another Clarence 


These popular dramatists have been 
represented on Broadway this year 
by only one (or one-half) a play, 
while at least five theaters have been 
given over to productions by the 
hoary Shakespeare — who bends his 
gentle gaze upon his disappointed 
confreres from the opposite page 


At the right is George Ber- 
nard Shaw in his most re- 
gretful pose — translating Jit- 
ta's Atonement from the 
Hungarian. He should have 
known that Broadway likes 
its Shaw straight, not one- 
half of one percent 

Above, our own 
Don Marquis has 
sought prohibited 
solace for his bit- 
ter disappointment. 
Oh, yes, the Old 
Soak is popular 
enough, and he's 
an amusing old 
. party, but what 
real chance has he 
against a combina- 
tion like Romeo 
and Hamlet? 

Page Twenty-Two 

Ringing Out Realism 

"Realism may not have beauty and wonder, but it has a commonsense actuality and a capacity 
tor intellectual comment that not only will not be given up, but should not be given up" 

By Walter Prichard Eaton 

IT cannot be said that the American theater has 
ever been greatly troubled by theory, or even that 
American dramatic criticism has been of the theo- 
retical sort. Even so sharp a divergence in methods of 
production as that between Mr. Belasco and Mr. Arthur 
Hopkins has not brought forth any statement of artistic 
creed. Producers of sufficient individuality to put a stamp 
on their productions have, apparently, worked from spon- 
taneous instinct, or from acquired habit. Of course, this 
is not altogether true, but it appears so. Most other pro- 
ducers have, assuredly, not followed a theory, but always 
a fashion, whether they understood and approved it or not. 

In American criticism, William Winter, for example 
expressed rather an instinct than a theory, even as the 
managers. One could not help feeling his resistance to 
Ibsen and Shaw more as the result of hostility to the new 
and strange — especially of hostility to what disturbed well 
fixed, comfortable adjustments to a "moral" art — than as 
the result of a reasoned theory of the theater which Ibsen 
or Shaw sought deliberately to overthrow. 
Xor can it be said that the Yankee defenders 
of Ibsen (who, when he needed them, were not 
many) were always more rational. He 
was new — hence true. 

Before Ibsen had really been ac- 
cepted in America, his own practice 
had led him far on the way out of the 
very position into which he had ma- 
nceuvered modern drama, but I dont 
recall any American dramatic critic 
detecting that fact at the time. James 
Huneker was a fountain of enthusiasm 
for Ibsen, but he never actually said 
much about him. Jimmie, of course, 
knew a theory when he met one-; — and 
used that knowledge to avoid the meet- 
ing ! For the most part, American 
•dramatic criticism has been pragmatic 
to a degree. All it asks of a play is : 
"Does it work?" 

Certain men like Brander Matthews, 
of course, writing not for the daily 
press, but rather for academic students, 
have theorized about the theater ; but 
their theories have been too remote 
from its practice to have much effect. 
Besides, for the most part, they have theo- 
rized after the event. Historical analysis 
never produced a Moscow Art Theatre. 

For these reasons, the appearance of such 
a book as Kenneth Macgowan's Con- 
tinental Stagecraft (actually an explanation 
and clarification of his Theatre of Tomor- 
row) is of very considerable interest, apart 
from its immediate contents. My shelves 
show a great number of recent American 
publications concerned with the theater — 
more, certainly, than ever before in a single 
year. But most,of them are plays, published 
to meet the growing demand from the 
serious amateurs. 

Mr. Macgowan's book, enormously aided 



by the illustrations by Robert Edmond Jones, is pure 
explanation of theory. He is a critic of the practical 
theater, fighting quite definitely for certain esthetic 
methods, or rather, should we say, for escape from the 
present dominant method of realism ; and he is, moreover, 
working with one of our foremost stage designers, who 
can, and does give concrete expression to such theories 
as they share. It makes no difference whether,you agree 
with Mr. Macgowan or not, or whether you liked Jones's 
setting for Hamlet or not, or whether you liked O'Neill's 
Hairy Ape or not — this book, that setting, and that play 
(to include O'Neill thus suddenly because he chances to 
be the outstanding native dramatist consciously working 
in the same theory) are not haphazard things, but are 
feeling toward a newer kind of dramatic expression be- 
cause they are dissatisfied with the old, and know why 
they are dissatisfied. They are examples of a new esthetic 
self -consciousness and self-scrutiny in our playhouse; 
not the only ones, of course, but the ones who have 
chanced just now to find expression thru books. 
Macgowan's theories, Jones's sketches, certain 
of O'Neill's published plays, are the beginnings 
of our library of the "new theater." 
That theater, as the title of Mac- 
gowan's book would suggest, is of 
Continental inspiration. Among pro- 
fessional producers hereabouts, only 
Arthur Hopkins and the Theatre Guild 
have .been much affected by it. Of 
our playwrights, only O'Neill has ad- 
vanced into it with either vision or 
confidence. Among our critics, it is 
variously regarded, according to their 
age and temperament ; but few indeed 
have championed it with any convic- 
tion or eloquence. Among our stage 
decorators, we have made more prog- 
ress : — possibly because it is at least 
open to question whether the decora- 
tors are not the backbone of this new 
theater, tho it may be destined to leave 
them behind. Among our actors, we 
have made no progress at all. 

In a word, the new theater might be 

called the revolt from realism, and this 

revolt is caused by the theory that the 

realistic stage, the "peephole" stage of sharp 

proscenium and removed fourth wall, lacks 

the power to bring about that spiritual purge 

which is the peculiar function of acted 

drama. Right here it may be said, of course, 

that if the realistic theater satisfies a demand 

of today, then that must be another function 

of acted drama. But to our definitions first. 

The acted drama, say the new theorists, 

has been becoming more and more realistic, 

or representational, until poetry, beauty, 

great acting, the thrill and wonder of life, 

have vanished from it. Since little progress 

is accomplished by going backward, crab 

fashion, let us feel our way forward, to find 

new ways of expressing the wonder and 

(Continued on page 65) 

Page Twenty-Three 

Edward Thayer Monroe 


This young descendant of General Lafayette is the cinema idol 

of the French. She came to America recently to play the title 

role in Du Maurier's famous novel, Trilby, which is being 

filmed by Richard Watson Tully 

Page Twenty-Four 

The Idol (right) and its 
companion Kultiir Dolls 
are an entirely new art 
manifestation. Lottie Pritzel 
of Munich believes that the 
innocent nursery toy can no 
longer exist in the present 
world of discord 

These so-called grown-up 
dolls, with their wonderfully 
expressive faces, are model- 
ed in colored wax and are 
about two feet high. The Sad 
Pierrot (below) is dressed 
in gold lace • and wears a 
real jewel on his finger 

Kultur Dolls 

Lottie Pritzel 

The artists taste runs to the 
exotic. She models strange 
characters in legend and his- 
tory — Lilith, Helen of Troy, 
Faustine. Above is one of 
her favorite dolls, Bajadere 

These dolls have never been 
shoivn in the United States, 
but they are eagerly sought 
by art connoisseurs in 
France and Germany. At 
the left is Melisande 

Page Tzventy-Five 

Naming the Rose 

How to make so-called "unsafe" things, safe for the home 
By Lydia Steptoe 

I HAVE thought of something delightful: Making 
things safe for the home ! 
It all happened because I stopped to think of the 
great number of things you simply cant bring into the 
house, because they are not yet safe. 

Now for instance : yesterday I saw an endless number 
of objects I could not bring home no matter how I tried. 

One was that gorgeous "rangy" Australian singer who 
menaces you with love songs, who smells so wonderfully 
of chypre, and who wears all that drippy fringe. 

One was a French doll. I loved her not because she 
was intrinsically French, but because she wore an aigrette 
in her hair in a way that only a Frenchwoman can, and 
because she had the most sophisticated cast in one eye. 
Mother said the cast was precisely what made her inap- 
propriate. I am not convinced. 

One was that delightful poisonous-looking woman on 
the corner who sells Venetian glass-ware. She is a 
woman I simply adore, but I ask you, you just know she 
wouldn't do, by the way she slides her rings up and down 
her fingers. 

Then those two bantam light-weight aerial Italians 
who do that space defying act in vaudeville. They live 
just around the corner, but will Mother have them in to 
tea? She will not. 

She says they are, an fond muscular, and that muscles 
are, au fond not to be thought of. 

It's really incredible the number of things, animate and 
inanimate, that come under the head of unsafe. It ap r 
pears that the most inactive objects are simply 
writhing with danger. 

Incense for instance. There are certain stand- 
ard brands that any young lady may safely 
burn under her mother's nose. But just 
let a new odor, or strain, or taint, or what- 
ever you like to call it, creep into it, and 
the maid is instantly directed to put 
"that corruption" out on the piazza 
with the cat's biscuits. 

Cigarets are not entirely taboo, that 
is, certain kinds of cigarets, preferably 
ones from London, certainly nothing 
farther East, or West. If you dont 
believe me, just try smoking one of 
those nice, long, evil-looking things 
from Mexico. 

Families like such innocuous 
things, dont they ? 

Tiger rugs without the tiger, 
cats bred down to such a fine 
point that they mistrust them- 
selves, butterflies on pins, lions 
in bronze, as a background for 
Dad when he is photographed 
running for some political va- 
cancy. People all dried and safe 
for the family by college and 
seminary educations ; characters 
all desiccated for the purpose of 
getting together in the parlor 
without sticking to anything. 

And what has all this sort of 
thing done to me? It has made 
me sulky at the age of fifteen. 

In my own short life I recall what 
was thought of women wearing red 

Therefore I decided to do something. I went away 
behind the lilacs and sat down on that part of the lawn 
where it is dampest, because I might catch cold — and I 
had it out with myself. 

I said to myself: the only thing that is wrong with 
anything is its name. Give it the right title and you 
may have it at any hour. 

For all that is back of this safe versus unsafe question 
is this:. that which is safe was once a rose which has 
been called by another name ; that which is unsafe is 
simply a thing that has been left standing around with 
its original name attached to it — a thing that has re- 
ceived no safe caption. 

Take, for instance, the case of Walt Whitman. He 
was at one time an entity that you had to leave in the 
tool-house with the lawn-mower. He was not even 
spoken of in whispers — that would have made it worse. 
If you dont believe me, try it. 

Then someone thought of a neat, ineluctable excuse 
for him, saying that he was, in his simple rustic way, 
trying to make the home safe for the people in it. And 
with that everyone accepted him at once. His efforts 
might be clumsy, but that only made him the dearer. He 
was at once safe and healthy. He became indispensable 
to the children. He was almost as good for them as a 
drive thru the country. 

At one time it was thought extremely unsafe to eat 
with the knife. Then some quick-witted guest called it 
sword swallowing. Presto ! People pay to see it ! 

And do you remember the time when it was ut- 
terly bad form to bring Czechs, Poles or Slavs of 
any kind into the house? Then, one day, sister 
made a mistake in embroidering baby's dress; it 
was called a beautifully inevitable Slavic stitch, 
and now the best homes are inarticulate with 
these foreigners. 

In my own short life I recall what was 
thought of women wearing red. Such women 
were not to be tampered with. If you did 
tamper, your hair would come out of curl, 
your buttons drop off, or the house would be 
struck by lightning. 

Such women had, they said, no respect 
for politics, or the trend of the mind, or 
men, or evolution. They were not to be 
trusted, their habits were too pecu- 
liar, and they always treated the 
amenities as tho they were points of 

At least such was the opinion 
until someone pointed out that 
red in itself was neither here nor 
there ; that too much red cer- 
tainly suggested license, but that 
on the other hand a sparing 
amount gave one a feeling of 

Then there are things that 
have quite lost their safety. 
For instance, it was once thought 
charming to dream. Brother 
was greeted with a tender smile 
when he came to breakfast 
(Continued on page 70) 

Page Twenty-Six 

Edward Thayer Monroe 


Whose distinctive work in The Bunch and Judy has won for 
her a leading part in a comedy to be produced next season 

Page Twenty-Seven 

Courtesy of Kennedy and Company 


Jean Louis Forain, a native of Bheims, has been called many times "a master of comedy and 
irony." Even if the technique of his paintings were negligible, which it is not, the knowledge 
of human nature displayed in his pictures woidd alone make them memorable. His art, while 
influenced by Manet and Degas, remains distinctly original. His "wise economy of line" has 
been unequaled, and there is no question that he possesses an uncanny instinct for the use of 
paint and color. Forain's religious etchings, shameless almost in the revelation of human 
feeling, represent the height of his recent work. They show the spiritual plane the artist 
might have trod but for the constant demands made upon him by the Parisian journals for 
"actualities." Always a propagandist, Forain's ivork for the French Government during the 
World War was poiverful in its influence, for he turned his talent into a merciless weapon for 
his country. Leaving the Court, the etching reproduced above, is filled with pathos without 
bathos. Note the pity and compassion delineated on the faces of the judge and court members 

Page Tiventy-Eight 





When Edgar Degas died in 1917 
he ivas recognized as one of the 
greatest draughtsmen and im- 
pressionists of liis time, and 
above all a master in drawing 
the human figure. He was a 
pupil of Ingres and a student 
of the French School of Fine 
Arts. He is best known for his 
paintings and sketches of ballet 
girls and the dance. He de- 
lighted in the coulisses and 
dressing-room scenes, for he 
possessed a passion for vivid 
first-hand impressions, and he 
recorded, purely for what they 
were worth, sights and incidents 
that would escape the ordinary 

Courtesy of Kennedy and Company 


The spirit of the dance, interpreted by the ballet 
girls on the stage and seen over the shoulder of a 
woman spectator in her box, does not become 
less pronounced because of the detail work in 
the pattern on her fan 


The commonplace task of the 
day, free from all taint of self- 
consciousness, was taken by 
Degas to portray his ideal of 
modern energy. He painted 
without sentiment or cynicism, 
and the powerful lines, depth 
and originality of color which 
are typical of his work are 
found in A Study. Degas left 
stamped upon his pictures his 
trade-mark — perfect contour of 
body and marvelous flesh 

Page Tivcnty-Nine 

Doing Rome 
and the 

At the left, Mr. Simmons from Cincinnati, the-man-who- 
married-a-rich-wife, glowers at the Coliseum of Rome and 
longs for the Casino of Monte Carlo. Below, one of those 
omnipresent college boys is hoping to add two Forum 
pillars to the souvenirs he is collecting to impress his 
fellow students back home 



By Wynn 

Miss Perkins, in her privately printed book A Rambler 

in Rome, declared that she captured the spirit of Ancient 

Rome only when she wrapped herself in a toga and 

employed a guide garbed like a Greek slave 

Page Thirty 

- -UJ 

The Facisti are practical folk, who are determined to make Italy once more the happy hunting-ground for the 
American tourist. The eminent Signor Bussolini has himself issued an edict permitting American families in 
a hurry to see all the sights in the shortest possible time to rush thru the churches and galleries on roller-skates, 
electric scooters being permitted in the cases of the elderly and adipose. Hyram B. Slapdash (above) is urging 
his maternal relative: "Hurry up, mommer, we have just five minutes left in which to see the Ufizzi Gallery, and 
the Pitti Palace will take us another ten. Give your scooter a little more juice. Come along, Selina and 
Percy, and stop looking at those stoopid statues without legs. Think what your own were made for!" 

Page Thirty-One 



Better known as the 
Bridge of Avignon, and 
the scene of that delight- 
ful tambourin: 

"Sur le pont 
D' Avignon 
Son y danse 
Tous en rond" 

Near Avignon the River Rhone winds between wooded banks and swirls about the 
pointed bases of St. Benezet's bridge. This bridge is named for its builder, a saintly 
enthusiast who in the twelfth century chained the Rhone for the benefit of his country- 
men, thus accomplishing ivhat Caesar and Charlemagne had failed to do. For centuries, 
the little chapel perched amid-stream was the last resting-place of the saint. During his 
lifetime he was one of the Fraternity of Bridge Builders — The Freres Pontifes — a guild 
of architects descended probably from the Collegium Pontificum of Ancient Rome. 
The mission of the fraternity was "to build bridges and maintain them, to establish 
ferries, and to render assistance to travelers on the banks of the rivers." St. Benezet s 
bridge is more than nine hundred feet long. Its arches are built upon immense but- 
tresses, sharply pointed, in order to cope with the flood-water of the river and the 
masses of ice which it brings down in the winter 

Page Thirty-Two 

An Artist 

Unfamiliar Spots 

Southern France 

Auguste Vimnera was born in 
Paris in 1891 and when only sev- 
enteen was awarded a prize by 
the French Government for his 
extraordinary work. He studied 
under Jean-Paul Laurens, and is 
a graduate of the Ecole des 
Beaux Arts 


The quaint village of Sospel nestles in the mountains 
sixteen miles northeast of Nice. The Bevere River flows 
thru the town and is spanned by the ancient Pont de 
Sospel. In design it is very like that of the Pont St. 
Benezet, shown on the opposite page, and both bridges 
must have been copied from that wonderful ivork of 
Agrippa — the Pont du Gard 




On June 27, 1472, the town of Beau- 
vais was assaulted by the troops of 
Charles the Bold, duke of Burgundy. 
One of their number had planted a 
flag on the battlements when Jeanne 
Hachette, axe in hand, flung herself 
upon him, hurled him into the moat, 
tore down the flag and revived the 
drooping courage of the garrison. In 
gratitude for the deed, Louis XI in- 
stituted an annual procession in Beau- 
vais called the Procession of the As- 
sault, which is observed to this day. 
The king al%o rewarded Jeanne and 
married her to h°r chosen lover, 
Colin Pilon 

Page Thirty-Three 

D'Ora, Vienna 


A vivacious dancer who is lauded thruout Europe 

Page Thirty-Four 

The Brilliant Marriage 

B>' J. Joseph-Renaud 

Translated from the French by William L. McPhcrson 


(AKE Marcelle, Monsieur Ruault. She will be 

so glad to go to the picture-show with you. But 
1 cant go. Remember that even up to half past 
nine subscribers come in here to exchange books." 

M. Ruault. a man of forty, standing erect in his frock- 
coat, with a pleasant face and a thick mustache, had 
not time to express in words the insistence which could 
be read in the gesture which he made with his gloved 
hands. Marcelle. as slender as a child despite her eighteen 
years, anticipated him : 

"Come, mother, all the libraries close at seven o'clock. 
You are the only one who keeps open after that." 

""With only fifty volumes, and most of them not new. 
and this poor little shop, I must offer my subscribers 
some special advantages. And then, after seven, I often 
sell some other things because the big stores are closed." 

Plump, fresh-looking, with brilliant white teeth and 
hair still genuinely golden, she kept on setting forth her 
objections. But Marcelle was equally obstinate. 

"Nonsense, mamma! This evening you will put up 
the shutters at half past seven. ..." 

"And at eight I will come and take you both to the 

"What, you insist that an old woman like me ... 

"What do you mean, mother? People often take us 
for sisters. Isn't that so?" 

"I'll see you both later," said M. Ruault, as he opened 
the door of the modest library. He got into his limousine, 
which started away noisily, while he waved good-bye. 

"Think, mamma! Douglas Fairbanks is on the pro- 
gram ! And Jean Toulout." 

The mother gave the daughter a tender hug. 

"It was great luck, Marcelle, that your first engage- 
ment as a typist was in Monsieur Ruault's factory. You 
dont understand what I mean, do you, my little 
baby? You are so naive. There are six 
typists in his office. Does he ever invite 
the others to go to the movies ? Does 
he give them nothing but the 
easiest work to do? Does he yf~M' - - 
make them presents? Does 
he come and sit in their 
mothers' shops — a proof 
that his intentions are of 
the very best. He is an 
old bachelor. He edu- 
cated himself and made 
his own fortune. He 
has no relatives. And 
he is dying to ask my 
little Marcelle's hand 
in marriage." 

"My hand? Me? To 
ask me to marry him ."" 

"Why, yes, my baby 
Marcelle. It isn't only 
in novels that rich manu- 
facturers marry poor 
young girls. And then, we 
are of good family. Your 
poor papa was a pharmacist at 
Haubourdin, which is the chief 
town in one of the most important 
cantons in the North of France. If 
the war hadn't come, we would have been 

well off by this time. On the other hand, Monsieur 
Ruault's father was only a farmer. . . . ' 

"What? I marry M. Ruault? But he has grey hair! 
And he is getting bald !" 

"He is a good-looking man and is still a lively bachelor. 
He will go well with you — with his pepper and salt 
mustache and his big black eyes. You will have a 
handsome husband." 

"His military service card is always on his desk. He 
is past thirty-nine." 

"What of that? I am forty, and you said just now 
that people often take us for sisters. Up to sixty a man 
is a man. And at that age they have even more sentiment. 
If you make this fine marriage, I could work only for 
myself and take things more easily. Who gets up at six 
o'clock, even in December, that my little girl may have 
her hot chocolate, her shoes polished and her clothes 
brushed? Who bustles about here all day long with her 
books, stationery and notions? Who makes out accounts 
until midnight? Who has neither holidays nor Sundays, 
because a little sale here and a little sale there make both 
ends meet? And, besides, Monsieur Ruault will now and 
then give his mother-in-law invitations, as he does now, 
altho I am not yet his mother-in-law. That will insure 
me some good times. It will remind me of before the 
war, at Haubourdin, when your father was still alive, 
Marcelle, and we had some money. Why, what is the mat- 
ter with you? Are you crying? Why are you crying?" 
"I cant — I cant marry Monsieur Ruault." 
"Listen to that ! You are certainly a hard person to 
please. You have a chance to marry your employer — 
a man immensely rich — and to help your mother a little, 
and you go into the sulks. In 1914, when the Bodies 
arrived and you had pneumonia, did I sulk because I had 
to push you in a carriage nearly seventy miles ? 
And, afterwards, because I had to deliver 
bread and work as a housekeeper, after 
your poor papa was killed at Pierre- 
pont? And other things, until I 
could buy this stock of books 
and rent this little shop ! Any- 
body would be proud to have 
Monsieur Ruault for a hus- 
band. Oh ! dont cry like 
that ! It distresses me. 
Come, my child, be 
frank with mamma ! Is 
there any other man 
vou have in mind?" 

"Who is it?" 
"Roger — Roger 
"What? That em- 
ployee of Ruault's — a 
young man with only a 
beginner's position? He 
has just finished his mili- 
tary service. He can hardly 
support himself. He has no 

"But, mamma. I earn some- 
g, too. And then he and I — 
e decided to wait a little longer." 
(Continued on page 68) 

Page Thirty-Five 


Yosei Amemiya, the Japanese artist who first took up photography as a hobby and 
then adopted it as a profession after much experimentalizing, has achieved equal 
success in both landscape and figure work. His portraits have been highly praised 
by noted artists. Altho there is often a strongly Japanese influence in his work, 
there is great variety in it. He himself says: "In my art I am not Japanese. I am 
a cosmopolitan. Japanese art is all right as far as it goes, but it does not go far 
enough. It is charming, delicate and pretty, but it fusses too much with small 
things. It lacks the strength, the sweep, the vitality of Western art. So I seek to 
combine them in order that I may express the more. Stieglitz, whom I greatly 
admire, has encouraged me very much, and I hope some day to be able to give 
all my time to working for perfection as he does" 

Page Thirty-Six 



Page Thirty-Seven 


The Greatest Show of Them All 

The Ballyhoo Speaks : 

THE one and only, ladies and gentlemen, the most 
unique and colossal circus of paragraphical para- 
doxalists now under the auspices of B m, 

D r and B y, Mr. George Jean Nathan doing 

the honors. Pray observe Mr. Nathan's magnificent new 
fur overcoat ; it makes him look like a f urriner and was 
awarded to him for his unflagging flagellation of the 
booboisie. Literary lambasting of the genus Americanus 
has now become the second largest industry in the United 

The neo-Napoleonic figure at his right is Mr. Alexander 
Woollcott, wearing extra-size glasses the better to discern 
the faults in the American drama, and ready at a moment's 
notice to take Mr. Nathan's place as the Bad Boy of 
dramatic criticism. His several medals were presented 
to him by the Shuberts, Belasco and others in gratitude 
for his having so forcibly pointed out the defects in their 

Surveying the scene with the bored disdain of a Max 
Beerbohm is Mr. John Drew, who, having taken on re- 
newed energy after a holiday sojourn on a ranch, has 
abandoned polite comedy to compete with William S. 
Hart by playing the title role in The Tenderfoot. You 
will observe that he is preparing to shoot up the whole 
darn show should anyone deny that Pola Negri is the 
greatest actress of them all since Ada Rehan. The fair 
Pola herself (not a motion picture) on Mr. Nathan's left, 
having first charmed a snake, is now preparing to exercise 
her charms on the American public as Bella Donna. She 
has among her stage- johnnies Mutt and Jeff, disguised 
as Raymond Hitchcock and Alan Dale, who are seen 
stealthily approaching from the left. 

The Beau Brummel in silk hat and fine raiment, be- 
twixt Mr. Woollcott and Mr. Drew, is, of course, Sir 
George Arliss, recently knighted for being so very Eng- 
lish in appearance, and given a life-membership in the 
Primrose Club, founded to perpetuate the dizzy dreams 
of Queen Victoria's favorite prime minister. 

The small person with the bulging brow, at the extreme 
right, must be introduced with great caution, for he has 
disguised himself as Charlie Chaplin the better to carry 
out one of his periodic crusades in the cause of morality 
and the higher life. He too is a British knight. He has 
not, however, entirely divested himself of his identity, for 
he is carrying a little Cain. He has adopted his present 
disguise in order to investigate Hollywood, about which 
he has heard some awful things. His appearance is so 
deceptive that he is soon to get slapped by that sad clown, 
Richard Bennett, who really believes him to be a brother 
fun-maker. The artist has our knight-errant of virtue in 
dangerous proximity to naughty Kiki, but he is even re- 
forming her. After she had read one of his most famous 
works she was heard to remark, 'Almost thou persuadest 
me to be a Christian." 

Among all these celebrities, and yet trying his best to 
look as if he were uninterested in them, you will find S. 
Jay Kaufman, with his hat cocked at the perfect angle 
prescribed by the Nczv York Times Book of Etiquette. 
Behind S. Jay is a poster displaying Nazimova in the 
Wilde Yiddish drama Salami. She is carrying the head 
of that devout Baptist, Harold Lloyd, on a platter. 
Harold's predicament does not worry him in the least, 
having joined the medical profession as Dr. Jack, and so 
{Continued on page 75) 

Page Thirty-Eight 

An Ending To Suit Everyone 

How to please the Public, from Puritan to Pugilist 
B? G. William Breck 

THE author has dragged Petunia Palate and Perciva] 
Pigment thru miles of assorted scenery. He has 
led them thru perils and pitfalls. Torn them apart 
in Peru only to join them together again in Phoenicia, 
N. Y. By Pullman and steamhoat, by motor and airplane 
they have covered innumerable miles. They have been 
fed the richest and most indigestible of foods procurable 
in hotels and homes. They have talked enough type to 
supply the Sunday edition of a Metropolitan newspaper. 
He has allowed them to indulge in all the politest passions. 
They have raved and rampaged for the edification of a 
diverse public thru some three hundred and ninety-odd 

But now — a calculating publisher and an ennuied author 
have decreed a general wind-up of their affairs. 

Briefly they are two pages away from The End ! 

It is a crucial moment. 

If they do not clutch and kiss (with object matrimony), 
the sentimental reader will be outraged. If they do, the 
materialist will snort ! A gory ending will send the 
modernist into fits. A Russian brevity will alienate all 
but a few. 

The exasperated author takes two bromides and tries 
to think! 

The remedy is simple — oh, so beautifully simple ! 

Why not assorted endings to suit everyone? 

Jet us illustrate the idea by a short example. 
-*— * Petunia and Percival — a trifle weather-beaten and 
nicked a bit, to be sure, but still in the ring — have been 
reunited for the very last time. The birds are twittering 
in the trees, the sun is about to set. Petunia in a white 
dress (tucked up the left seam, five gored and pleated 
about the hem, shirred neck and sleeves) has stopped off 
to visit the old family orchard. She is on her way from 
Paris, France, to visit her sister in Tulsa, Okla. Percival 
also has been bitten by the Home Week bug. He has run 
over from Siam just for a glimpse of the old apple-trees. 

Both enter the orchard at about the same moment — but 
from opposite sides. They do not see each other until 
both have ruminated three pages apiece over old times. 

Let us quote : 

"Suddenly Percival saw that he was not alone. At 
the same moment Petunia received the same impression 
about herself. 

" 'Petunia,' cried Percival. 

" 'Percival,' cried Petunia." 

The reader of the absorbing tale is an elderly lady, 
slightly mid-Tennysonian, highly romantic. Following the 
line "Percival, cried Petunia" there are three endings for 

her to choose from. She will undoubtedly choose number 
two, labeled "Very Romantic." 

"Petunia could see the lovelight leap like lightning into 
her lover's eyes. Percival could perceive the precious 
passion penetrating Petunia's pupils. 

" 'Dearest !' 

" 'Darling !' 

"While the sun slowly sunk behind the sumachs their 
lips met — and met — and met." 

The slightly mid-Tennysonian lady is highly delighted. 
She will buy every book that author writes. 

Another reader is a girl of twenty. She just 
L "adores" Russian literature. She picks Ending num- 
ber one — "Very Modern." 

" 'Ah, so it's you,' said the man quietly. 

" Tt's I,' answered Petunia. 

" Tt's me, too,' said Percival in a dull dead voice. 

"For an hour or so neither spoke. 

"In the orchard only the hum of the hornets and the 
fireflies broke the silence. 

"Finally they, too, were still. 

"Another hour passed. True, Petunia had sneezed once 
and Percival twice during this time. 

"Then in an even more deadly voice than before 
Percival broke the remaining silence : 

" 'What is more disheartening than a Spanish omelette 
for breakfast ?' 

" 'Two Spanish omelettes,' said Petunia. 

"There was despair in her tone. 

" 'You are right,' answered Percival as he left the 
orchard with bent head." 

The young lady with the Russian complex is charmed. 
She is forever a steady customer of that particular author. 

A third reader is a hard-boiled guy. He naturally 
chooses Ending number three, entitled "Exciting." 

"A fierce hate stamped the noble girl's features. 

"Drawing a bomb from her pocket she lit the fuse 
and threw it with deadly accuracy at the man. 

' 'Take that, you reptile !' she cried. 

"But he, too, had not been unbusy. Hastily unslinging his 
trusty bird-gun, he aimed it at her and pulled the trigger. 

"The sinking sun heard both their last gasps at the 
same moment. 

"Also saw two red pools in the orchard. 

"Petunia and Percival were no more." 

And the hard-boiled guy simply eats it up, and runs 
for more. 

(Continued on page 71) 

Page Thinty-Nme 

The Celebrity Seen Thru the Lens 

Anecdotes about operatic favorites who have left their shadows behind them in my studio 

B)> Herman Mishkin 



HE camera cannot lie," said a character in a once 
famous melodrama, when he confronted the vil- 
lain with a photograph which convicted him of 
the crime he had denied. 

But it can and it very often does, and today all sorts of 
deceiving tricks are played with it. Need I mention the 
so-called spirit photographs which have beguiled even the 
creator of the astute Sherlock Holmes? And we know 
from the movies what extraordinary illusions can be ob- 
tained by means of double exposure, while, by manipula- 
tion of the plate, effects can be produced other than those 
originally recorded by light on a sensitized surface. 

Photography, in fact, like many other arts and sciences, 
has undergone great 
developments, and the 
artist as well as the faker 
can accomplish things 
which would once have 
been regarded as beyond 
the bounds of possibility. 

For this is the day of 
the art photograph, and 
many modern workers 
with the camera are as 
much entitled to be called 
artists as those who 
paint in oils or water- 
colors, or use the graver's 
tool or the etcher's 

Iwas only a lad of 
thirteen when I got 
my first job in a Brook- 
lyn studio. That was in 
1884, soon after my ar- 
rival from Russia with 
my parents. Full of am- 
bition and fired with de- 
termination to succeed, I 
occupied my spare hours 
in retouching photo- 
graphs taken by my 
principal, whose work 
was of the usual small 
studio character. At that 
time the most eminent 
photographer in New 
York was Rosetti. I felt 
that the best way to get 
on was to obtain em- 
ployment in his studio, 
which I succeeded in do- 
ing, and worked with 
him for several years. 
In 1902 I achieved part 
of my ambition, and es- 
tablished my own studio 
on Fifth Avenue. 

My connection with 
opera and the theater 
came about thru my in- 
troduction by the late 
Louis de Foe, dramatic 
critic of the World, to 

Caruso's sketch of his photographer 

Oscar Hammerstein, who was then directing the Met- 
ropolitan Opera House. Hammerstein offered me the 
post of official photographer to the Metropolitan — a posi- 
tion I have retained uninterruptedly for sixteen years, 
during which practically every artist of note in the operatic 
world has posed before my camera. 

It is interesting to recall some of my associations and 
experiences with renowned artists at the Metropolitan. 
The first portrait I ever made for Hammerstein was that 
of Regina Pinkert, a Polish coloratura of fine accomplish- 
ment. Soon after came the great Dalmores, followed 
by Mary Garden, then in the first flower of her beauty, 
and I have never had as a sitter a more interesting or 

vivid personality. 

I first met Miss Gar- 
den at the end of 1907, 
when she made her sen- 
sational New York debut 
as Thais. William 
Guard, then publicity 
manager for Hammer- 
stein, as he now is for 
the Metropolitan, 
brought her to me. She 
was wearing street 
clothes when I took my 
first picture of her, and 
impressed me then as al- 
ways as a woman of 
marked personality and 
even genius. On the fol- 
lowing day she posed for 
me as Thais, and later I 
went to the opera house 
to photograph her during 
a dress rehearsal of Sa- 
lome. But she was so 
excited and engrossed 
that I had to give up the 
task, and wait for her 
to come to my studio 
with the wonderful cos- 
tume of the daughter of 

Foremost among all 
the famous artists I 
have photographed is 
Caruso. He was a dear 
friend of mine, as he was 
of practically everyone 
associated with the opera 
house, from the highest 
to the humblest. I first 
photographed him in or- 
dinary costume, but af- 
terward I took him in 
every character he por- 
trayed during his long 
connection with the Met- 
ropolitan, including his 
last and, as many think, 
his best impersonation, 
Eleazar in La Juive. 
(Continued on page 72) 

Page Forty 

This photograph teas 
taken in Caruso's dress- 
ing-room on the memo- 
rable occasion of his last 
i appearance at the Metro- 
' politan in perhaps his 
most effective role, that 
of the Jew in La Jnive. 
He was mortally sick at 
the time, and the signs 
of suffering are easily 
discernible under his 
marvelous make-up. 
Those ivho saw him on 
that occasion say he 
never acted with more 
force and feeling, or sang 
with greater beauty of tone 



Philip the Fourth 

of Spain 


Verdi's opera 

Don Carlos 

This is the first picture 
taken of the incompara- 
ble Pavlowa in America, 
and is Mishkin's favorite 
study of the dancer. At 
that time she was appear- 
ing with the original 
Russian Ballet and Mord- 
kin was her dancing part- 
ner. Her consummate art 
and exquisite appearance 
took New York by storm. 
In the photograph Pav- 
lowa is wearing the cos- 
tume for her famous Bac- 
chanale. At present the 
dancer is touring the 
Orient with her company 

This portrait of 
Chaliapin, taken 
in his dressing- 
room, at the 
Metropolitan, is 
a salient example 
of M ishk i n's 
latest work. After 
singing with the 
Russian Opera 
Company in Chi- 
cago, Chaliapin 
returned to New 
York for a sec- 
ond season 

Page Forty-One 

A camera study of two Viennese dancers, by Reiss 


Page Forty-Two 


Sonnets and Songs 


By Helen M. Francis 

[ WOULD not tell you even half my 

Lest, loving nie. you came to understand 
This whimsy you admire. 'Twas only 

To please you and perfected as I planned. 
And what you take as impulse has been 

From care and thought into a rhythmic 

charm ; 
Far better you should love the tunes I 

Than tire of me. And, therefore, where 

the harm, 
If to delight you and prolong the spell 
Until you love me, and are finished quite. 
I seem to care too much for beauty's shell. 
For patterned colors, yellow candlelight? 

Comes all too soon the end of lovely- 

And I must harbor what the moment 


By he Baron Cooke 

T) ARKNESS curves around me. 

I have stemmed fierce tides 
For freedom, 
Hope making vigorous 
My efforts; 
And now, 

On the promised shore, 
Stands another, 
Waiting to enchain me 
With her love . . . 
Darkness curves around me. 

By Adele Whitely Fletcher 

THESE are my jewels . . . 

Morning hours on a sun-drenched bill 

Where the ruins of a Dream stand sentinel, 

Oh, enchantment I found on that high 
hill's crest 

And from the world's toil benedictory- 

These are my jewels . . . 

A twilight span on the ocean's shore 

With the boom and swish of the breakers' 

When a mantle of fog softly blurring the 

Seeped thru to my soul and shrived mc 


These are my jewels . . . 

Interludes of forgetting that Life at best 

Is a cruel and frequent ironic jest. 

So I'll string them with love thru the years 

of Time 
And to clasp them secure, your hand in 


For these are my jewels! 

By Gertrude Robinson Ross 

r SMILED at Love in passing 

One wanton summer day; 
Oh, the silver clouds a-massing! 
I smiled at Love in passing, 
But the dark the light out-classing 
Turned the silver clouds to grey. 
I smiled at Love in passing 
And he turned his head away! 

By Leslie Nelson Jennings 

TVJY Love was like a comb of honey sealed 

In fullness of that time of plenty when 

Orchards have called the bees to feast, 

when field 
And lane are sown with colored stars 

Her body was like snow brought down 

from high 
Hushed places; she was like a little fire 
Kindled in my heart's house when bleak 

winds cry 
At window chinks, and roads are deep 

with mire. 

The honey-comb is broken ; snow retreats 
Into the ever-thirsty earth; and where 
Sunset has gilded evening and the streets 
Of towns are quiet, in the crystal air — 
Wraith-like, ephemeral as departing day — ■ 
A thin blue smoke ascends and blows 

By Walter Adolphe Roberts 

TV/TY galleon of adventure 

Beat thru the Golden Gate; 
The sailors said it was a ship 
With passengers and freight. 

But I was young and dreamful, 
Dreams were the best of me; 

And I, to San Francisco, 

Came dreaming from the sea. 

I found a woman city, 
Suave as a cooing dove. 

I sought her as a lover, 

But was too young for love. 

Draped on her like a mantle, 
Her fog was cool and grey; 

But since her girdle baffled me, 
She sent me on my way. 

Now I have learned that poets 
When youth is gone kiss best ; 

I think, if I went back, that she 
Would take me to her breast. 


By Norman R. J affray 

gO much I love you that I fear to kiss 


For just to touch your fingers is sublime, 

And I'd much rather weave a fragile tissue 

Of dreams of what it might be like 

some time. 

Then it will seem far sweeter than if 
Upon a night so rapturous as this, 
For sweetmeats cloy the lips, the more 
they're tasted — 
God grant that I may never spurn your 

So I'll just keep your little hands im- 
Within my own, like poems in a book, 
And some day when our love is cold and 
I'll dream about that kiss I never took. 


By Wright Field 

]yjY heart 

Is a violin; 
You played upon it 
And your light feet danced 
To the music . . . for a while. 
Then you grew weary of your playing, 
And, after a few harsh discords, 
You threw it aside. 
The strings snapped, 
And there has been no music 
Since you went away. But today . . . 
A soft, hand 

Drew the strings into place again, 
And I thought, 

As I sat alone in the moonlight tonight, 
That I heard a faint, sweet, far-off chord, 
Whose thrilling tenderness 
Surpassed your most impassioned cadenza! 

By Charlotte Becker 

THE forest seems no different from last 

The stillness waits as green and deep and 

No rank weed mars the little lily pool; 
Just as before the fragrant trails appear — 
Why is it that a sudden breath of fear 
Stirs me with prescience that I cannot 

As some trapped thing may feel a hunter's 

And still behold no alien presence near. 

Is it, perchance, that, tho the trees are old, 
Their boughs a covering of new leaves 

That all the lily plants new blossoms bear, 
And down the trails new grasses' blades 

unfold — 
That, tho one marks no leaf or blossom 

Yet, everything has undergone a change? 

Page Forty-Three 

Among Those Present 

You see them at every first-night, whether the 
play be by Shakespeare or Eugene O'Neill or 
George M. Cohan. You meet them at "invitation 
openings" of the Horse Show, the Silk Show or 
the Independent Artists' Exhibit. They are the 
Seekers after Publicity. To be recognized is food 
to them: to be courted is their wine 


The Crown Princess of 
Screendom looks over 
her subjects with well- 
practised regal hauteur 
and forces a glance of 
interest from every eye. 
Only the hard-boiled car- 
toonist dares to turn his 


Armed with those devas- 
tating weapons a sketclu 
pad and a carbon pencil, 
he pitilessly destroys the 
poise of those present, 
and shatters their sense 
of superiority 


The molasses magnate from Wall 
Street who finds cornering Society far 
more difficult than cornering sorghum 







Whether it were better to be tousled 

or to be sleek — that is the question. 

The answer is: It were better to be 

either than to be bald 

Page Forty-Four 

Sketched by Leo Koher 





A prophet 
without harm 
in his own 
country, but 
uho assumes 
the role of 
the -man- on -a- 
secret- mission 
whenever he 
crosses the 


Find the one who knows henv to abolish 
the income tax and still pay the national 
debt, the one who can settle the European 
question, and the one who subscribes to 
a suffrage magazine 


Who thinks it is his charming personality that turns 

the heads of the sweet young things from their sulky 

cavaliers to himself 





Whose hobby is 
prohibiti on — one 
small drink drives 
her to forgetful- 
ness of the for- 
eign accent she 
acquired when she 
left Second Avenue 
for the Rue de la 

Page Forty-Five 





The fine portrayal of the Jewish 
father, Yekel, in The God of 
Vengeance, marks Rudolph Schild- 
kraut's first appearance on the 
English-speaking stage. As an actor 
he has had a varied career. In his 
youth he joined a company of 
strolling players that traveled thru 
Austria and Hungary. Later he be- 
came a member of an operetta 
company in Vienna. From 1905 to 
1911 he played leading parts at the 
Reinhardt Theater in Berlin 

It was rumored that Mar.garet 
Anglin was to give New York her 
repertoire of Greek plays this past 
spring, but the phenomenal suc- 
cess of The Woman of Bronze has 
kept her on tour 

Charlotte Fa'r.chuj& 

Marcia Stein 

The leading part in the Harvard 
prize play, You and I, brought 
H. B. Warner back to Broadway 
from Hollywood. He plays the 
lovable, idealistic, middle-aged-but- 
not-grown-up benedict with great 
artistry. Mr. Warner was born in 
London and his first appearance 
here was as Eleanor Robson's 
leading man in Merely Mary Ann; 
later, in the title role of Alias 
Jimmy Valentine, he scored a 
great success 

Alma Tell has just completed a 
successful season as the leading 
lady of It Is the Law. Her first 
appearance on Broadway was with 
Marjorie Rambeau in The Eyes 
of Youth 

White Studio 

Estelle Winwood 
has experimented 
with many plays 
of late, but at last 
she has found a 
part admirably 
suited to her — the 
independent hero- 
ine in Anything 
Might Happen. 
Miss Winwood' s 
first appearance on 
the stage was in 
London at the age 
of seven, with Sir 
John Hare. The 
role she dreams of 
playing is Portia 
in The Merchant 
of Venice 

Edward Thayer Monroe 

Page forty-Six 



Prima Ballerina of the Greenwich Village Follies 

Page Forty-Seven 

of the 


Peer Gynt, product 

of the days before 

realism, returns to 




A scene from the last act of 
Peer Gynt, showing Joseph 
Schildkraut as the aged Peer 

THE difference between Peer Gynt and Hedda 
Gabler is the difference between a velveteen jacket 
and a frock coat. Peer Gynt was practically the 
last play of Ibsen's youth and he wrote it somewhere in 
Italy sitting comfortably at his ease in the famous loung- 
ing coat. Hedda Gabler and all the other realistic plays 
that upset and remade the whole European theater were 
written in Germany after Ibsen had adopted the still more 
famous silk hat and Prince Albert that went with the 
white whiskers. Peer Gynt, even more than Brand, 
or his earlier dramas of Norse history, is a work of free 
imagination. Hedda Gabler along with the rest of his 
work, up to When We Dead Awaken, is bound in by the 
conventions of modern life. 

The frock coat of Ibsen became a strait-jacket on the 
divine madness of creative drama. To see Peer Gynt 
again after all these years of realism and realistic plays 
is to remember suddenly that the theater wasn't always 
a place of tea-cups and dirty linen, and to discover that 
in the plays of the imagination which are coming forth 
from Eugene O'Neill, George Kaiser, Ernst Toller, John 
Howard Lawson, even Lord Dunsany, and to do battle 
with realism, the theater is simply swinging its circle 

When Ibsen perfected the dramatic form which he used 
for Hedda Gabler and which everyone quickly adopted, 

Francis Bruguiere 

he bound down the drama to what could be plausibly 
squeezed into three of four rooms. He made it enor- 
mously difficult to retain the qualities of imagination and 
true theatricalism which had distinguished the greatest 
drama of the past. In Peer Gynt he allowed no technical 
difficulties, except the difficulty — and the inspiration of 
verse, to interfere with pure flights of imagination. The 
drama passes in thirty-eight scenes, occupies about twice 
the time of an ordinary play, and jumps about over the 
continent of Europe and Africa. It is symbolic, philo- 
sophic, satiric, and adventurous by turns. Fairies, peasants, 
madmen, and merchants populate its scenes. The Nor- 
wegian mountains, the African desert, a madhouse in 
Cairo, and a shipwreck at sea provide settings. And it 
is the story of one of those gorgeously irresponsible, 
immoral, and dissipated figures whom we all love whether 
we meet them in Lightnin', Gil Bias, Rip Van Winkle, 
or The Old Soak. 

The Theatre Guild has cut out half of Ibsen's play — 
. the worse half in the main. Lee Simonson has given 
it a simplified kind of scenery which is expressionistic or 
symbolic in the foreground, and mildly real at the back. 
Formalized rocks bound most of the Norwegian scenes ; 
hot orange curtains, the episodes in Africa. Between this 
simple scheme, by means of some ingenious arrangements 

Page Forty-Eight 


of elevators and little turn-tables, and a lantern to throw 
the landscapes of Africa on the back-drop, the Guild 
manages the scene changes very swiftly. So swiftly, in 
fact, that the Grieg score, which was originally written to 
provide time for the stage-hands, now has to be cut, and 
still is too long. 

It is impossible to say as much good of the performance 
as of the play or the setting. Komisarjevsky, the Guild's 
Russian director, labors under the double disadvantage of 
unfamiliarity with our language and our actors, and also 
of being without a permanent company and plenty of time 
for preparation. The performance that be provides is 
capable and well-paced, but it is not distinguished. Helen 
Westley is almost grossly realistic as the Troll King's 
Daughter. Louise Closser Hale substitutes her excellent 
American old lady for Peer's mother. The actor who 
plays the invisible Boyg was inarticulate when I saw 
the play. 

Joseph Schildkraut plays Peer in staggering fashion 
for a man of twenty-six. He must also be credited with 
the faith and persistence that made the Guild revive the 
play and win success with it. But it is again obvious in 
Peer Gynt. as it was in the death scene in Liliom, that this 
remarkably trained, attractive, high-spirited, ambitious, 
and intelligent actor has not yet acquired a spiritual depth 
to match his physical virtuosity. His figure as the three 
Peers — boyish, middle-aged, and old — is excellent. He 
plavs the young man with more illusion than Mansfield's 
admirers declare 
he attained. But 
it is onlv when 
Schildkraut has 
to color his voice 
for old age that 
he gets a. moving 
dramatic quality. 
and even then his- 
torical experts 
put him far below 

T TxTiLLawson's 
^ expressionist 
drama, Roger 
Bloomer, comes 
along from the 
Equity Players 
there will be no 
example of the 
modern revolt 
against the real- 
ism of Ibsen with 
which to compare 
Peer Gynt. But 
even so humdrum 
and orthodox a 
play as Owen 
Davis' Icebound 
gives some evi- 
dence that Amer- 
ica does not quite 
accept the later 
Ibscenic revela- 
tion. America de- 
mands more vital- 
ity, and I think it 
will demand more 
significance than 
you can insinuate 
into any narrow 
slice of life. 
America's instinct 
is for the poster 

White Studio 

Laurette Taylor as the Jewish mother in Humoresque 

in art, the skyscraper in architecture, jazz in music. 
Icebound is basically real enough. It is the second 
attempt by the author of Bertha, the beautiful Cloak 
Model, to write serious drama of the continental type. 
This study of a hard-shelled New England family isn't 
so unsparingly drab and terrible as the dun tragedy of 
The Detour, and for that reason I like it a little better. 
It isn't so closely unified a piece of art. There is much 
jolly hokum in it. But there is also human vitality that 
wont die and wont be defeated by things New England. 
And that is good indeed. The two young ones that upset 
the money-grabbers hanging about the deathbed of their 
mother — this black-sheep son and this waif of a great- 
niece — have the kind of spirit in them that makes life 
and drama — and even New England — go on. This quality 
in the play is reinforced by the performance. The di- 
rection of Sam Forrest is excellent and the cast supplied 
by the ambitious Sam Harris is equally good. But above 
them all stand Phyllis Povah and Robert Ames as the 
girl and the boy. 

T^iie younger generation, which will see whether America 
■■■ has a new drama of the sort I look for, comes in for 
some active exploitation among the month's plays. In 
You and I, the eleventh Harvard Prize Play, written by 
Philip Barry, and Mary the Third, by Rachel Crothers, 
both gain interest and vitality from the youth of today. 
Mary the Third is a story of the revolt of the flapper — 

something more 
than the flapper — 
against the out- 
worn and collaps- 
ing marriage code. 
Miss Crothers 
does not take the 
fine advantage 
that John Gals- 
worthy might of 
a situation in 
which the chil- 
dren of a family, 
badgered and lec- 
tured for their 
free ideas on mar- 
riage, discovered 
their righteous 
parents living a 
life of mutual 
hate. But Miss 
Crothers does a 
good deal with the 
scene and she 
gives her heroine 
a sweet and per- 
suasive voice 
ringing with all 
the idealism and 
the bravery of 
youth today. 

You and I deals 
with the choice 
that youth some- 
times has to make 
between art and 
earning the money 
to keep a wife. 
In this case the 
author's faults are 
the opposite of 
Miss Crothers'. 
He has no heroine 
(Continued on 
page 70) 

Page Forty-Nine 

Posed for Albin by Mary Astor and Richard Barthelmess 

Sunset already! have we sat so long? 

The parting hour, and so much left unsaid! 
The garden has grown silent — void of song; 
Our sorrow shakes us with a sudden dread! 
Ah! hitter word "Farewell." 

— Olive distance. 

Page Fifty 

Was She "Sterne's Eliza"? 

A discussion of the letters of Eliza Draper, published after a hundred and fifty years 

By N. P. Dawson 



'ERNE'S Eliza"? The interrogation is our own. 

Was she Sterne's Eliza? Was she the Abbe Ray- 
nal's Eliza? Was she even the Eliza of Daniel 
Draper — who was in the way of being her husband? Was 
she, in short, anybody's Eliza but her own? This is the 
question that will be 
asked after reading 
these letters of Eliza 
Draper, now first pub- 
lished after a hundred 
and fifty years. 

It is curious how 
with some closely as- 
sociated names the co- 
ordinate is always 
used, and with others 
the possessive No one 
would ever think of 
saying Napoleon's 
Josephine, or Thomas 
Carlyle's Jane — hardly ; 
or even of Abelard's 
Heloise. On the other 
hand, it is always 
Sterne's Eliza, just as 
it is Swift's Stella, and 
Keats 's Fanny — altho 
in regard to the last a 
recent critic, seeking to 
prove that Keats wrote 
his best poetry after he 
knew Fanny Brawne, 
turned the phrase 
about and wrote 
"Fanny's Keats!" 
After reading these 
letters written by 
Sterne's Eliza so many 
years ago, we may per- 
haps be forgiven if 
henceforth we think of 
the author of Tristram 
Shandy and The Senti- 
mental Journey as 
Eliza's Sterne. 

The conviction is 
borne home after read- 
ing these letters that 
Eliza was nobody's 
Eliza but her own. She 
may even have been 
the first feminist, since 

Shelley's Mary Wollstonecraft came along later. If 
Eliza lived today she would doubtless have bobbed her 
hair — or would have bobbed it last year when the bob- 
bing was good. She would surely have belonged to the 
Lucy Stone League and have kept her own name, which 
was Sclater. For the Eliza in the letters written a cen- 
tury and a half ago is startlingly alive and modern. 

"Never dipriciate Females when many of them can 
think so well as your Cousin," wrote Eliza to her cousin, 
Thomas Limbrey Sclater, whose Eliza she was if any- 
one's— "all my kmfolk are in comparison of Thee, as 
trifling in my Estimation as my little finger is in Com- 
parison to my two bright Eyes." Eliza at this time is 

Courtesy of Alfred Knopf 


returning to Daniel Draper and India after her visit to 
England where she met Sterne. Eliza was married in 
India at fourteen, as was also her sister; no wonder they 
called it in those days "committing matrimony." Eliza 
was now possibly all of twenty-two or twenty-three when 

she wrote to her 
cousin : "I have vanity 
enough to think I have 
understanding suffi- 
cient to give laws to my 
Family, but as that 
cannot be, if provi- 
dence for wise pur- 
poses constituted the 
Male the Head, I will 
endeavor to act an un- 
der part with grace." 
In another letter to her 
cousin Eliza writes: 
"You must not blame 
a woman of my Un- 
derstanding and Eru- 
dition for anything she 
pleases to do. For in 
my conscience, I be- 
lieve, I shall be too 
hard for you, if you 
undertake it, as indeed 
all the sex would for 
Lords of Creation." 

Yet despite this 
warning, Eliza's pres- 
>- ent editors and biog- 

ip rap hers, Arnold 

<Ji Wright and William 

gjj Lutley Sclater (the 

js| latter a kinsman) do 

this very thing and 
spend most of, their 
time trying to make up 
their minds whether 
Eliza's relations with 
Sterne, during the 
three months when she 
knew him, were en- 
tirely platonic. These 
biographers of Eliza 
furnish the comic mo- 
tive to the book. After 
each letter, they put 
their heads together, 
repeat the more sig- 
nificant things in the letter, and then solemnly debate the 
question of Eliza's innocence. Was she "really bad?" 

Eliza's biographers do not give her up as definitely 
"lost," however, until she left her husband and eloped 
with the Commodore. They seem to think no excuse 
can be made for her then, even if their final summing 
up of all the evidence, and their own verdict, in the last 
words of the book, is that Eliza was "more smned against 
than sinning." Eliza made it plain in her letter to Daniel 
Draper that she regarded herself more sinned against than 
sinning, and that she is going to suffer "to the hour of 
my death" from the step he has forced her to take because 
of his intimacy with her maid, Leeds. 

Page Fifty-One 


We ourself actually trembled at the thunderous tones 
of that letter, and sympathized with Daniel, since he was 
not only a great deal older than Eliza but had "nerves." 
"Danile Draper," the letter begins; and "O, Draper," she 
continues, "a word, a look sympathetick of regret on 
Tuesday or Wednesday" would have saved her the "con- 
duct that will so utterly disgrace me with all I love." 
But Eliza took the step, or jump rather; since the inter- 
esting story is that the waters washed the walls of the 
Draper mansion, so 
that by means of a 
rope ladder, Eliza was 
able to land right on 
the accommodating 
Commodore's deck. 

But was Eliza "lost" 
even then? Within a 
year she was appar- 
ently a happy and 
cherished guest in her 
rich uncle's house at 
Masulipatam. Within 
another year she was 
living in London in 
Queen Anne Street, 
Cavendish Square, 
along with other "lit- 
erary" people, includ- 
ing Boswell who was 



raphy ; and where she 
met the Abbe Raynal, 
and gave him an en- 
tirely new sensation — 
"a sensation unknown 
to me ;" so that in his 
ten volume history of 
European trade in the 
Indies he incorporated 
his famous rhapsody 
to Eliza, almost out- 
weeping Sterne : "Ter- 
ritory of Anjengo, 
thou art nothing ; but 
thou hast given birth 
to Eliza." Nothing, 
that Anjengo was the 
center of the pepper in- 
dustry on the Malabar 
Coast ; Anjengo is cele- 
brated alone because it 
was there Eliza was 
born in 1744. 

And a little later Eliza is in Bristol visiting, of all 
people, some Drapers, and it was at Bristol she died at 
the advanced age of thirty-three. At Bristol is the monu- 
ment to Eliza erected by some unknown admirer, with 
two female figures personifying Genius and Benevolence, 
"and a bird in the act of feeding its young, said to b.' 
an attribute of the latter virtue." Nor is the inscription 
on the monument "more sinned against than sinning," 
but "Sacred to the memory of Mrs. Eliza Draper, in 
whom Genius and Benevolence were united." 

At least Eliza's biographers have no difficulty in prov- 
ing that however much the susceptible Sterne may have 
lost his old head over her, Eliza, after her three months 
in London, did not shed many tears over him. The re- 
turn voyage to India consumed nine months. Eliza was 
the most popular person on the boat. She writes to "my 
Sclater," her cousin, "if it had been the present ton to 
dignify a Conqueress with Laurel I should have gained 
as many wreaths as would have formed a pretty rural 
Arbour." Belle Indian, she is called, "positively 'tis too 

Katherine Mansfield, author of Bliss and The Garden Party 

much. I shall grow vain — then I lose half my excellence 
which consists in the prettiest decent sort of humility 
you ever was a witness of." "I am all life, air and spir- 
its," writes Eliza to her cousin after reaching Bombay. 
Truly, she is not as much .Sterne's Eliza as she decently 
should have been. When she heard of his death she ex- 
claimed something about "the mild generous good Yor- 
ick." It is not even recorded that she said "Alas !" She 
wrote that she had been "almost an idolator of his 

worth." She hung his 
picture above her 
dressing table. 

"I have brought 
your name, Eliza, and 
picture into my work 
— where they will re- 
main when you and I 
are at rest forever," 
wrote Sterne, in re- 
gard to his "Senti- 
mental Journey," by 
"Mr. Yorick." It has 
been even so. And it 
is curious to think that 
because of this Eliza's 
letters are housed in 
the British Museum 
under such important 
and high-sounding cat- 
aloguing as "(Addt. 
MSS. 34525, pp, 1- 

"You are not hand- 
some, Eliza," wrote 
Sterne . . . "but are 
something more ; for I 
scruple not to tell you, 
I never saw so intelli- 
gent, so animated, so 
good a countenance." 
So "talking of wid- 
ows" — as well they 
might be talking of 
Uncle Toby and the 
Widow Wardman — • 
"pray, Eliza, if you are 
ever such, do not think 
of giving yourself to 
some wealthy nabob, 
because I design to 
marry you myself. . . . 
Not Swift so loved 
Stella, Scarron his 
Maintenon, or Waller his Sacharissa, as I will love, and 
sing thee, my wife elect!" 

"The foul satyr," wrote Thackeray. But we think he 
was too hard. We prefer to say, "Alas, poor Yorick, I 
knew him well ;" and better than ever after reading these 
letters. Not all the excitement, these times, is in discov- 
ering the tomb of a Pharaoh. For with all the treasure 
and the trappings, the Pharaoh remains a mummy still. 
While "Sterne's Eliza" in these newly discovered letters 
becomes alive. 

KATHERINE MANSFIELD left tWO Volumes of short 
stories that should make her name remembered — ■ 
perhaps as long as Eliza's. These are Bliss and The 
Garden Party. The stories are different, and yet not at 
all eccentric ; original and yet not obscure. She had her 
own way of telling a story, and yet her own way, for the 
time, seemed the only natural and most effective way. 
Pier stories do not begin anywhere in particular, or end 
(Continued on page 69) 

Page Fifty-Two 


E. V. Brewster 


A camera study of Corliss Palmer who is soon to ap- 
pear on the screen in a Romance of the Old South 

Page Fifty-Three 




of the 




Jerome Hart 

At the left is Donna 
Sacramento in the new 
opera, Anima Allegra, 
as portrayed by Kath- 
leen Howard who is 
a writer of distinction 
as well as a singer 

White Studio 

MANY have sought to discover the secret of the 
enigmatic smile on the face of Leonardo da 
Vinci's most famous portrait, that of the wife 
of a rich Florentine, Messire Francesco del Giocondo, 
the lady known to posterity as La Gioconda. It was 
obviously a labor of love, for Leonardo worked on the 
painting for four years, and then had not completed it to 
his satisfaction. It is also recorded that the artist sought 
to stimulate and retain the famous smile by keeping his 
sitter in good humor, and hired musicians to play to her 
during the sittings. The music may have also helped the 
artist, and indeed one has a shrewd suspicion that he 
prolonged the sittings for the mere joy of being with 
the fascinating Mona Fiordilisa. 

Be this as it may, the mystery of the smile remains un- 
solved. Various legends have been woven round it, and 
now comes Beatrice Dovski, a German dramatist, who 
has made La Gioconda the central figure of a tragedy 
of jealousy and revenge as lurid and thrilling as ever 

inspired a novelist or poet of the Cincequento. Noting 
the climacteric progress of this really remarkable drama, 
you forgot the music for the most part. When conscious 
of it, you had the thought that it neither helped nor im- 
peded the action, but there came also the reflection : what 
would not Montemezzi, composer of L'Amore dei Tre 
Re, have done with this and that situation of tense emo- 
tion and terrible tragedy? Or if only Verdi in his later 
and best days had had the book, what a masterwork he 
might have produced from it. Even Puccini could have 
done better — witness his Tosca. Such reflections were 
probably in the minds of many experienced opera-goers 
who attended the dress rehearsal or subsequent perform- 
ances. Nevertheless it is almost possible to forget the 
music in watching the progress of the drama and the 
extraordinarily fine acting of Michael Bohnen and of 
Madame Barbara Kemp, whose likeness to the picture 
of La Gioconda is most striking, and accounts in consid- 
erable measure for her success in the role. 

Page Fifty-Four 


1" MUST confess T had never heard of 
-*- Michael Bohnen until I saw him in Mona 
Lisa at the Metropolitan. I find that he is not 

an important figure in German opera. 


but is also a 

Germany. 1 



leading motion picture actor in 
1 le has a compelling personality, 
by intense virility; his poses and 
are striking' without being stagey, 
while his voice takes on many varieties of 
shading to suit his mood and lend emphasis 
to his utterances. lie centers attention upon 
himself almost as much as docs Chaliapin, 
and this without apparent effort. His sub- 
sequent performance of King Henry in 
Lohengrin confirmed the impression that the 
Metropolitan has gained in Michael Bohnen, 
a singing actor of the first rank. 

Madame Barbara Kemp is also an effec- 
tive dramatic singer; she acts with real 
power, and, as already said, looks the part 
of Mona Lisa to perfection. It is, however, 
somewhat early to judge her general quali- 
fications, altho she has given a very accept- 
able performance of Elsa in Lohengrin. 

The production of Mona Lisa is another 
feather in the managerial cap of Gatti-Ca- 
sazza, for the musical production is admir- 
able, and the mounting and dressing of the 
new work are thoroly of their period and in 
fine taste, excepting some of the processions 
and figures which pass without the hall of 
Francesco del Giocondo's dwelling. These 
are, on occasions, clumsy and badly composed 
and lighted. It should be especially noted 
that in the first half an hour or so devoted to 
the festal episodes the composer entirely 
misses his opportunities, and has written 
music which is only remarkable for its lack 
of color and charm. All the same, our ad- 
vice is not to miss seeing Mona Lisa, if only 
because of the remarkable acting of Michael 
Bohnen, and the striking embodiment of La 
Gioconda by Barbara Kemp. They have 
already drawn thousands, and a worthless 
opera musically becomes part of the Metro- 
politan repertory. 


Barbara Kemp as herself (below) and as Mona Lisa, with the latter's 
smile expressed in terms of a musical leit-motif by the composer, Schillings 

Tp he Ultras have been going it since last I wrote. They beguiled 
*- me one sunny Sunday afternoon to the Wurlitzer Auditorium 
to hear a dull and prolix lecture on Schoenberg's Pierre Lunaire, 
"Loony Pete" as Pitts Sanborn calls him. They also ensnared me 
into the Klaw Theater to hear that same pestiferous example of 
modern musical corruption. Let me at once say that I shared the 
disgust of two-thirds of the audience. Pierre Lunaire is perverse 
almost to the point of Sadism. 

It is one thing to try out and explore new tonalities, modes, 
scales and harmonic and enharmonic combinations. It is another to 
throw all the accepted ideas, theories and rules of the past into the 
discard ; to write barless, beatless tuneless music ; to produce ugly 
and meaningless noises by means of tom-toms, tambourines, police 
rattles, and other percussive inventions, and to make the beautiful 
human voice utter inhuman shrieks and wails and moans, as it is 
called upon by Schoenberg to do in his Pierre Lunaire. What sane 
and serious-minded musician would, in the first place, trouble to 
set to music the mad-brained maunderings of Otto Erich Hartleben 
— which Giraud has translated into French and Charles Henry 
(Continued on page 77) 

Page Fifty-Five 

Below is the pump- 
kin-headed Scare- 
crow constructed by 
the Witch with the 
aid of the Devil, 
who voices his ad 
miration: "Oh, Jo- 
hannes Baptista! 
What wouldst thou 
have given for such 
a head! I helped 
Salome to cut hit 
off, Witch, and it 
looked not half so 
appetizing on her 

The Witch (left) is 
so delighted with 
the beauty of the 
pumpkin-headed im- 
age that the Devil 
introduces it to her 
as her son. There- 
upon she begs that 
he endow the Scare- 
crow with life. He 
makes various mystic 
passes, repeats an 
incantation, and the 
pumpkin head grad- 
ually assumes human 

At the right is the Mani- 
kin — now Lord Ravens- 
bane — after his transfor- 
mation is complete. He 
has been decked in fine 
raiment and is leaving 
the home of the Witch. 
She calls after him: 
"'Whoa, Pumpkin Jack! 
Whither away?" He re- 
plies, coached by the 
Devil: "I go — with my 
tutor — to pay my respects 
— to his worship — Justice 
Merton — to solicit — the 
hand — of his daughter — 
the fair Mistress Rachel" 

After the Scarecrow has 
proved that he can move 
and speak, the Witch 
conceives a rare revenge 
upon her old enemy, 
Justice Merton, who had 
jilted her many years be- 
fore. She vows that this 
Scarecrow, in the guise 
of a handsome young 
lord, shall wed Mistress 
Rachel, the daughter of 
the Justice. The Devil 
accedes to the plan and, 
disguised as the tutor of 
the Scarecrow, promises 
to coach him in the part 
he is to play 

Paqe Fifty-Six 

Aage Remfeldt 


A Swedish dancer, and a member of the Royal Opera 

Page Fifty-Seven 

In Studio and Gallery 

By Helen Appleton Read 

THE past month in the art world, has not brought 
to light any new or startling display of genius, but 
it has brought before the public certain new points 
of view m approaching art, plus the revival of an almost 
forgotten art. 

Freud and Freudian complexes have been a byword 
with us for some time. Psycho-analysis has long since 
found its way into 
books and plays, but 
it has only recently 
been expressed in 

The exhibitions of 
abstract paintings by 
Henrietta Shore and 
Georgia O'Keefe were 
frankly Freudian in 
their inspiration. 
O'Keefe is a protegee 
of Stiegletz, the fa- 
mous founder o f 
"291" Fifth Avenue, 
where Cezanne and 
Matisse were first in- 
troduced to this coun- 
try. He has sponsored 
many an unknown 
genius and his prophe- 
cies have a startling 
way of being backed 
up by the test of time. 
He believes unques- 
tionably in O'Keefe. 

O'Keefe and her 
work are a complica- 
tion of good straight 
painting, a fine clean 
color sense, and then 
a mass of "suppressed 
desires" that she puts 
into strange abstrac- 
tions. She admits that 
she has never done 
anything that she 
wanted to do, gone 
anywhere that she 
wanted to go, and fi- 
nally that she didn't paint the way she would like to. 
Here at least she has decided to free herself. She has 
succeeded. No artist could be more entirely personal. 
Marsden Hartley says of the New Art that it is the most 
naked and unashamed human document that he has ever 
seen. Fortunately for most of us who do not enjoy 
prying into our neighbors holy of holies — or horror of 
horrors — these naked statements are sufficiently veiled to 
allow us only a hint of their real significance. To those 
who do not care to see a "complex" in work, they remain 
the expression of a powerful personality. She leans on 
no master or school. You cannot connect her with any 
of the so-called "isms." When she is not painting her 
complicated abstractions she paints gorgeous still-lifes 
of red apples, and flaming beds of canna lilies. There is 
an extraordinary quality of purity to her red. It is the 
dominant note of her work. 

The Shore pictures are complexes of a different sort. 
That is their only relationship to the others. The color 
and the style are entirely different. Miss Shore, in strange 

Page Fifty-Eight 

exotic intertwining shapes, gives us the life-force. It is 
again an emotional escape, but not such a violent one. 

The story of how Henry Wight became a painter at the 
mature age of thirty-five, without any previous train- 
ing, or even any interest in art, is a proof that you cannot 
bottle up real talent indefinitely. 

It would seem to be 
another case of The 
Moon and Sixpence, 
but, most fortunately 
for society, Mr. 
Wight's only resem- 
blance to the hero of 
Mr. Maugham's novel 
is that at the height 
of a successful busi- 
ness career he dis- 
covered that he had 
an ungovernable urge 
to paint. 

Henry Wight paints 
poetical or mystical 
ideas. . His work at 
once suggests the 
great painters of mys- 
tics of England, Blake 
and Watts, or Ryder 
and Blakelock in this 
country. He groups 
his symbolic little fig- 
ures into circles of 
lunettes. His titles — 
as is always the case 
with art when it 
poaches on the pre- 
serves of poetry — are 
necessary keys to an 
understanding of the 
pictures. Freed 
Thoughts, and The 
Sea of Souls are typ- 
ical titles. 

Courtesy of M. Knoedler and Company 

A silhouette by the Baroness Maydell 

HP he art of cutting 
■*- portraits in silhou- 
ette has been revived 
by the Baroness Maydell, a young Russian refugee of 
noble family, who has come to this country. So another 
Russian exhibition has been added to the already long 
list of Slavic shows that we have enjoyed this winter. 
The art of the Baroness Maydell, however, cannot be 
considered directly in line with the modern Russian 

Cutting portraits in silhouette is an ancient art, too 
little revived these times. It was popular in colonial 
days, as many American families can testify who have 
portraits of their great-great-grandmothers in silhouette. 

Now this is not a slight or unimportant art. In the 
hands of an artist a silhouette can be an excellent likeness, 
provided, of course, the artist has that rare gift of getting 
the characteristic pose and spirit of the subject. She has 
only outline to deal with, therefore it is more necessary 
than in a drawing to size up the most characteristic aspects 
of her subject. 

This is a quality the Baroness Maydell possesses to a 
(Continued on page 74) 

Two covered crystal cups and 
a rose vase by Simon Gate 

Sculptured Glass from Sweden 

On the crest of the 
tvave of modern arts 
and crafts, which has 
been sweeping over 
Sweden, is the Orre- 
fors sculptured or 
cameo glass. It is a 
development of the 
last five years and is 
the result of co-opera- 
tion between a glass 
factory and two artist- 
designers, Simon Gate 
and Edward Hold 

This sculptured glass 
has been enthusiasti- 
cally received wher- 
ever it has been shown 
in Europe. The Mu- 
seum of Newark, New 
Jersey, plans to bring 
an exhibit of it to 
America from the 
Gothenburg Exposi- 
tion. The perfection 
attained in this Swed- 
ish art should be an 
inspiration to the 
American craftsman 

This dish is one of the finest examples of the 
perfection achieved by the artist-designers 

A crystal boivl designed and ex- 
ecuted by Simon Gate 

Above, a plate by Edward Hald; 
at the left, a comfit dish 

Page Fifty-Nine 


Dual Roles 

William Butler Yates (below) is knoivn to 
Americans as an essayist, poet and dramatist 
of eminent ability. Many of his Plays for 
an Irish Theater have been produced by 
Little Theater groups thruout this country. 
His last book, Seven Poems and a Frag- 
ment, was published in 1922. But in Eng- 
land and Ireland there are many who give 
his literary work a second place, and honor 
him as a statesman and politician. He was 
elected to the New Irish Senate which went 
into session recently at Leinster House, 

Max Ree (above) is an 
architect by profession, 
well known thruout Scan- 
dinavia. He has planned 
some of the finest homes 
in Copenhagen. In Cen- 
tral and Southern Europe, 
however, he is acclaimed 
as an artist of another 
sort. Ever since he de- 
signed the stage settings 
and costumes for Max 
Reinhardt's production 
of Orfeus, and A Mid- 
summer Night's Dream, 
the theatrical producers 
have refused to let him 
return to the business of 

John N. Kelley 
© Pirie jMacDonalri 

Sherril Schell 

At the left is a successful lawyer who at 
one time bore the title: Special Deputy 
Attorney General of the State of New York. 
The lawyer has his lighter moments, how- 
ever, and it is as Arthur Train the novelist 
that he is famous thruout the U. S. A. He 
is the author of more than a dozen novels, 
and is the beneficent creator of Tutt and 
Mr. Tutt. Since the publication of his last 
book, His Children's Children, some critics 
have acclaimed him a second Thackeray 

Page Sixty 


The Man About Town 

IT was worth enduring the longueurs of such a play 
as The Chastening, produced for a series of Lenten 
matinees at the Equity 'Theater, to see and hear 
again Miss Edith Wynne Matthison. More than a dozen 
years have elapsed since I first saw her as Everyman in 
the noble old miracle play of that name. It was a per- 
formance which drew 
crowds of thoughtful 
playgoers to the subur- 
ban Coronet Theater 
at Notting Hill, and 
s h e s u I) s e q u e n 1 1 y 
played it all over Eng- 
land and then in this 
country, and was ac- 
claimed one of the 
truly great actresses of 
her day. That day has 
far from departed, for 
as the Wife in Charles 
Rann Kennedy's mo- 
dern miracle play she 
showed that the lovely 
voice, the perfect dic- 
tion and beautiful 
presence which lent so 
much effect to her im- 
personations in Every- 
man and in ancient 
Creek tragedy are un- 

In The Chastening 
M r . Kennedy has 
sought to repeat the in- 
dubitable impression 
he made with his first 
and best mystery play, 
The Servant in the 
House, but he has by 
no means succeeded. 
That sort of thing to 

Reiss, Berlin 

be successful and im- 
pressive must be done 
in the artless and al- 
most naive way of the 

old miracle playwriters, who were monks. The familiar 
treatment of sacred subjects and characters by a modern 
playwright on the stage of a modern theater is apt to 
jar and offend. Miss Matthison as the Wife, that is 
Mary, was always beautiful and impressive in bearing 
and voice ; and her husband, Mr. Kennedy, who himself 
plaved the Carpenter, otherwise Joseph, was not inef- 
fective, altho there was a prosy matter-of-factness about 
his diction which became tiresome after the first two acts 
of the five. As for the young actress who represented 
the Son — the supremely sacred figure of the three who 
make up the whole cast — well, instead of looking like a 
beautiful youth, she was a rather gawky young woman, 
who spoke and acted like a girl taking part in some col- 
lege exercises. The whole thing was too talky-talky, 
preachy-preachy, and had not a single thrill or even im- 
pressive moment. But for the fact that it gave the op- 
portunity to see and hear once again a truly great actress, 
I should have regarded the afternoon I gave to The 
Chastening as wasted. 

Composer of Mona Lisa, and General Director of State Opera, Berlin 

New vokk has no reason to develop an inferiority com- 
plex — to use the jargon of the pseudo-psychologists 
— with regard to musical revue. They do not do these 
things so much better in France, or, for that matter, in 
Russia, whence come the Chauve-Souris and so much 
which is now regarded as the last word in art, pictorial, 

plastic, dramatic and 
musical. What, for in- 
stance, could have been 
more perfect in its way 
than the last annual 
revue of the Green- 
wich Village Follies, 
which I only chanced 
to see a couple of 
weeks before its with- 
drawal at what seemed 
to be the height of its 
popularity ? John Mur- 
ray Anderson, the pro- 
ducer, once again 
demonstrated himself a 
genius, and the word is 
one which I try not to 
use with the customary 
carelessness. After the 
clumsy imitations 
which were thro w n 
upon the London stage, 
I used to think that 
the French alone un- 
derstood their own art 
of revue. But the pro- 
ductions of the Green- 
wich Village and Zieg- 
feld Follies long ago 
led me to revise this 
opinion. New York 
now can, and does, 
give points to Paris, 
and for sheer origi- 
nality, wit, variety and 
beauty, in fact all the 
factors which go to 
make up this exhilarat- 
ing brand of entertainment, the Greenwich Villagers bear 
away the palm. 

Their last show was the apotheosis of youth, the 
apogee of beauty, the synthesis of many elements cal- 
culated to charm and beguile. The most experienced 
and blase of theatergoers can surely find something to 
delight him in an entertainment devised by John Murray 
Anderson. One thing struck me particularly when I 
chanced to drop in at the Shubert Theater and occupied 
my seat for the rest of a delight fid evening, and that was 
the youth of the principal artists, especially the dancers. 
And they were so diminutive and so dainty. They were 
the veritable "little people" of the Irish. Ula Sharon, a 
winsome fluttering butterfly, a lark trilling with her toes 
in Oscar Wilde's exquisite fantasy set to music and 
dance, The Nightingale and the Rose; Marjorie Peter- 
son, a tiny Puck-like elf, looking out on the world with 
wide-eyed surprise ; Carl Randall, a short, slim and 
debonair youth, juggling with hands and feet; Yakovleff, 
(Continued on page 74) 

Page Sixty-One 


By James C. Coppola 
(First Prize) 

In awarding this photograph the first prize, the Judges took 
into consideration the very simple subject rendered in a 
pictorial manner, and the unusual effect of light and shcde 

Page Sixty-Two 

The Camera Contest 

A reprimand for the imitator 

THERE is nothing quite so stimulating as 
an occasional difference of opinion. It 
has a tendency to rub away the corners 
of conventionality and, in arousing us, it may jar 
us from a rut, especially if the views advanced 
are radically different from those we hold. 
"Difference of opinion makes horse-races," said 
Mark Twain. Let us see if, in this case, it will 
not help us to get better pictures. 

It was our pleasure to listen to a lecture 
on Photography delivered by former Colonel 
Eduard J. Steichen, Photographic Section, A. 
E. F., at the Pictorialists' rooms in the Art 
Center. Mr. Steichen has long since identified 
himself as one of the foremost and most artistic 
of our camera artists and it would be well for 
us to listen and give heed to some of his remarks. 

Mr. Steichen briefly sketched photography 
from the beginning and then hurled forth the 
remark that "no progress has been made in 
photography since the daguerreotype." He 
called the soft-focus lens "the most pernicious 
influence in the pictorial world," and bitterly 
criticized the "fuzziness" now in vogue among 
photographers. "I dont care about making 
photography an art," he continued, "but I do 
want to make good photographs. Take things 


By Olive Garrison 

(Third Prize) 


By Margaret Watkins 

(Second Prize) 

as they are; take good photographs and art will take care 
of itself. Pd like to know who first got it in his head that 
dreaminess and mist are art." 

But bitterest of all were his remarks (and here we are 
heartily in accord) about imitativeness. A new idea in 
painting, or a differently seen thing, sweeps about like a 
contagious disease each step losing in creation and rendition. 
Then comes the soft-focus lens to cover up this lack of 
endeavor. Have we not all seen this thing? We feel that 
could those who have submitted prints to this contest stood 
at our side as we opened parcel after parcel they would have 
been struck with the similarity and frequency of many 
things. About the only things different were the addresses 
and signatures on the prints. 

Mr. Steichen referred to Charlie Chaplin. And, by the 
way, he called him a photographer because "he made things 
we all know, live." Chaplin had imitators — lots of them. 
Where are they? You can still remember the remarks of 
derision as those imitators were flashed on the screen. Would 
not this be true in the judging of pictures of, say, the 
International Show, that will be held in the galleries of the 
Art Center by the Pictorial Photographers during the month 
of May? Or the Annual? Or the prints in this contest? 
Cant you hear the juries of any of these saying : "Old 
stuff" ? 

Let us create — not imitate. Let us stop- this imitation of 
painting and of each other. According to Mr. Steichen: 
"Since photography is an objective art, a photographer is 
supposed to take things as they are without injecting his 

Page Sixty-Three 



Arthur Nilsen 
(Honorable Mention) 

Do you feel that the photographer of today excels 
his brother artist of yesterday? Let me call your at- 
tention to a series of portraits or camera studies by 
David Octavius Hill in the December issue of 
Shadowland. These were done about 1843 and the 
subject had to pose in the strong sunlight for about 
five minutes. Compare these studies by Hill with 
those made today and we may be forced to agree, 
however much we would wish otherwise. Notice the 
utter lack of striving for grotesque poses. Simplicity 
was the keynote. 

There are many other things done by Mr. Hill 
which would well repay the effort made to find them. 
One is of a street where everyone stood still for sev- 
eral minutes, a length of time that would be deemed 
impossible today. Things can become so easy for us 
that we cease to strive, and that ceasing sounds the 
knell of advancement. As we remarked before, you 
may not agree with all these things, but at least they 
merit a little consideration. 

The Judges for this month's contest were : 
Adele C. Shreve, William Zerbe and Eugene V. 


First Price — In the Bam. James C. Coppola, 389 
Flushing Ave., Astoria, L. I. 

Second Prise — Sun Pattern. Margaret Watkins, 
46 Jane St., New York City. 

Third Prize — In the Studio. Olive Garrison, 84 
Highland Ave., Yonkers, N. Y. 

(Continued on page 77) 


By J. Hi Field 

(Honorable Mention) 




Charles A. Hellmuth 

(Honorable Mention) 

Page Sixty-Four 

Ringing Out Realism 

(Continued from page 23) 

thrill, the beauty and poetry, the soul and not the 
shell, of life. Let us try expressionism. Let us ex- 
periment with light and eolor, let us restore the actor 
to the frank intimacy of make-believe with his audi- 
ence ; and so on. Of these experiments as they are 
being conducted on the Continent Mr. Macgowan writes, 
with the enthusiasm of utter belief. And Mr. Jones 
pictures them at what we feel sure are their best 

However, we prefer the artist's living illustrations. 
Not often is a book of theory published so pat to the 
occasion as was this book to Mr. Jones's setting of the 
Barrymore Hamlet. If you attended that production, 
you saw the use of steps and other purely artificial levels 
on the stage (as Lee Simonson, less formally, used them 
in He Who Gets Slapped) designed better to exhibit 
crowds and colors and massed composition, to accentuate 
exits and entrances, and in many ways to appeal other 
than to the mere sense of actuality. You saw, too, a 
forestage apron built out over the orchestra pit (there 
were no footlights), and at a lower level than the stage. 
On this Claudius knelt to pray, so close to the audience 
that those in the front row could have touched him. 
Hamlet parted the purely decorative drop curtain, saw 
him there, and began : 

"Now might I do it pat " 

There, then, was a scene without scenery, and a scene 
played with as much intimacy between actors and 
audience as is possible in our present playhouse. With 
all the light on Hamlet, behind him, the King looked, 
indeed, like one of the audience. Personally, we found 
this scene much more than satisfactory. We got from it 
something of the thrill Mr. Macgowan would restore by 
the circus theater. Others may not have been so 
affected. Many details of Hamlet were illustrations in 
practice of the theories Mr. Macgowan writes of in his 
book. The Theatre Guild's production of The Tidings 
Brought to Mary furnished other illustrations, for the 
production was made by Komisarjevsky, a Russian 
theorist of the theater who also is reasoning 
awav from realism. 

Where, it seems to me, 
the theorists like 
Mr. Macgowan 
err (the prac- 
tical theater 
artists, how- 
ever theoreti- 
cal, are in less 
danger for 
they cannot 
risk too far 
their public), 
is not in 
asserting that 
the peephole 
drama has 
taken the 
beauty and 
wonder of life 
out of the 
theater — as a 
realism has 
taken it, per- 
haps, out of 

A setting by Emil Pirchan for Shakespeare's Othello, produced at the 
State Theater in Berlin under the direction of Leopold Jessner 

the novel, and even to some extent out of poetry — nor 
in asserting that it should be restored, and fighting the 
battles of those who strive to find a way ; but rather in 
asserting that realism is dead, that the theater of the 
future will have no place for it, that the only function 
of the theater is to rouse the thrill of beauty and wonder. 
Realism is not dead — far from it. Mr. Macgowan says 
it is the creation of the last fifty years, the product of a 
scientific century. This, at most, is only a half truth. 
So far as the technique of their age permitted, Euripides 
and Moliere were realists. The modern English novel 
began not fifty but more than a hundred and fifty years 
ago, and so far as the technique of the time permitted, 
it was realistic. It would even seem to be the testimony 
of the first modern English novel that a certain amount 
of realism was to be detected in the theatrical per- 
formances of one David Garrick. Goldsmith's She Stoops 
to Conquer was a pressing toward the representational 
aim of peephole drama. 

Every step, in all literature, that man has taken away from 
generalities toward the particulars of his own time and 
place and people, has been a step toward realism, and in- 
creasingly difficult as he got nearer and nearer home, so that 
he has had constantly to forge a subtler technique. Having 
now reached the point where he can, in his drama, make 
such social comment as Galsworthy's Loyalties, or such 
homespun pictures as Craven's The First Year, he is not 
in the least likely to forego the legitimate satisfactions of 
this art form. It may not have beauty and wonder, but 
it has a commonsense actuality and a capacity for in- 
tellectual comment that not only will not be given up, but 
should not be given up. The theorists of the new theater, 
searching for something lost, forget what has been found. 
That is why, it seems to me, any theater constructed 
as a circus arena, or otherwise devised to eliminate 
realism and compel platform acting, or expressionism, or 
what not, will be too restricted long to satisfy anybody, 
even its directors. The ideal playhouse of the immediate 
tomorrow would be capable of easy internal transfor- 
mation from the conventional picture-frame 
stage to terraced forestage or domed 
arena. It should be adapted to 
house the plays of Gals- 
worthy, no less than 
to present 
Shakespeare in 
the most effec- 
five stage 
idiom of the 
hour, to train 
the platform 
actor so needed 
by Shake- 
speare, to 
sweep all the 
audience into 
a great new 
play, perhaps, 
and shake 
them with 
beauty and 

Realism, ex- 
cept in the 
definition, is 
(Continued on 
page 75) 

Page Sixty-Five 

(Information about theatrical productions cannot invariably be accurate because of 

the time it takes to print Shadowland. In the meantime, neixi plays may have opened 

and others m<ay have changed theaters or have been discontinued.) 

Drama — Major and Melo- 

The Adding Machine. Garrick. — Dudley Digges 
and Margaret Wycherly in a play where most of the 
characters are automatons talking in numbers. 

The God of Vengeance. Apollo.-\-F'mt performance 
of an unpleasant play, with the elder Schildkraut, as the 
Jewish father, Yekel. 

The Guilty One. Selwyn. — A tragic play featuring 
Pauline Frederick. 

Icebound. Sam H. Harris. — Unusually well-written 
and well-acted play of New England) life. 

The Laughing Lady. Longacrc.l — Ethel Barrymore 
at her best. 

The Love Child. George M. \ Cohan. — Emotional 
French melodrama, finely acted. i 

The Masked Woman. Eltinge. — The villain still 
pursues her but virtue triumphs. Exciting acting by 
Helen Mackellar and Lowell Sherman. 

Pasteur. Empire. — Henry Miller in an unusual play 
by Guitry — no women in the cast. 

Peer Gynt. Shubert. — Theatre Guild's production of 
Grieg's masterwork, with young Joseph Schildkraut as 

Rain. Maxine Elliott's. — One of the season's great suc- 
cesses, with Jeanne Eagels doing some remarkable acting. 

Romeo and Juliet. Henry Miller's. — A beautiful 
production, with Jane Cowl a lovely Juliet. 

The Seventh Heaven. Booth. — Persistent John 
Golden Success. Excellent melodrama. 

Humor and Human Interest 

Abie's Irish Rose. Republic. — Jewish-Hibernian 
comedy written and played in farcical spirit. 

Anything Might Happen. Comedy. — Light bright 
comedy, with Estelle Winwood and Roland Young. 

Barnum Was Right. Frazee. — A Theatre Guild pro- 
duction with Donald Brian and Marion Oakley. 

The Comedian. Lyceum. — Belasco at his best in the 
production of Guitry's play, featuring Lionel Atwell. 

Give and Take. Forty-ninth Street. — Laughable play 
by Aaron Hoffman, with Louis Mann and George Sidney 
in typical roles. 

Kiki. Belasco. — Lenore Ulric in her second year as 
a bewitching gamine. 

The Love Habit. Bijou. — Another French farce with 
a splendid cast. 

Mary the Third. Thirty-ninth Street. — Typical 
Rachel Crothers play of love and romance plus gentle 

Merton of the Movies. Cort. — Mirthful and occa- 
sionally moving travesty of the movie hero. 

The Old Soak. Plymouth. — Don Marquis' immortal 
creation admirably transferred to the stage. 

Papa Joe. Princess. — The new name for Mister 
Malatesta. A play of Italian life. 

Polly Preferred. Little. — Another amusing skit' on 
the movies, with Genevieve Tobin. 

Secrets. Fulton. — A real, old-fashioned love story, 
with charming Margaret Lawrence. 

So This Is London! Hudson. — Most amusing Anglo- 
American farcical comedy. 

Why Not? Equity. — The Equity Players' successful 
production transferred for a run. 

You and I. Belmont.— Harvard Prize Play, with 
H. B. Warner and Lucille Watson as the stars of the 

Melody and Maidens 

Caroline. Ambassador. — An admirably 
staged and played operetta, with Tessa 

The Chauve-Souris. Century Roof. 
— This particular and delightful brand 
of Russian humor and art flourishes on 
a roof as it once did in a cellar. 

The Clinging Vine. Knickerbocker. 
— Charming Peggy Wood at her brightest 
in a delightful musical play. 

The Dancing Girl. Nezv Winter 
Garden. — What its name implies, plus 
comedy and music galore. 

The Gingham Girl. Earl Carroll. — 
One of the most tuneful comedies in 

Go-Go. Daly's Sixty-third Street 
Theatre. — Catchy music and funny lines. 

Jack and Jill. The Globe.— John 
Murray Anderson's own revue, featur- 
ing Ann Pennington. Excellent enter- 

Lady Butterfly. The Astor. — First- 
rate Dillingham Show, with extraordi- 
nary dancing. 

The Lady in Ermine. Century. — 
Very bright and beautiful musical play, 
with a good cast. 

Little Nelly Kelly. Liberty. — George 
M. Cohan's comedians in a typical Cohan 

Liza. Bayes. — Capital dancing and 
musical show by colored folk. 

Sally, Irene and Mary. Forty-fourth 
Street. — Lives up to the reputations of 
three charming musical comedies. 

Up She Goes. Playhouse.' — Continues 
a career of unusual success. 

Wildflower. Casino. — Winsome Edith 
Day in a part which suits her to per- 

Ziegfeld Follies. New Amsterdam. — 
A national institution, glorifying the 
American girl. — F. R. C. 




Page Sixty-Six 


became William Winter's assist- 
ant on the New York Tribune 
when he was twenty-lour. Later, he 
was appointed dramatic critic of the 
Sun. After two years of the grind he 
moved to the country and became a 
free-lance. He has written books of 
Nature Study, short stories, and 
countless articles on the drama. His 
hobby is gardening. * * * N. P. 
Dawson is the literary editor of the 
Xew York Globe and one of the most 
popular book reviewers. Like the 
character in Rose Macaulay's novel, 
Mystery at Geneva, she has often been 
taken for a gentleman, but, in the 
usual sense, is not one. She was 
brought up in Iowa, and knows the 
cornstalks well, but says she never 
saw such sex-driven women writhing 
among them as Sherwood Anderson 
describes in his stories. After graduat- 
ing from the University of Wisconsin, 
she spent a year in Berlin and one in 
Paris. * * * Franz Molnar is a 
Hungarian dramatist and writer of 
short stories, whose play r s Liliom and 
Fashions for Alen have been pro- 
duced on Broadway within the past two 
y-ears. Molnar has always been inter- 
ested in child psychology and the short 
play, The Double-Barreled Eraser, is 
one of a group of dramas about chil- 
dren, the result of close study and 
observation. * * * Joseph Szeben- 
yei, who translated Molnar's play, is 
an editor, writer and translator well 
known in this country and in Europe. 
He carries on his literary labors in 
five different languages. * * * 
Lydia Steptoe is an essayist and writer 
of brief satirical plays. She has spent 
a great deal of her time on the Con- 
tinent. * * * Walter Pach is an 
art critic and lecturer, as well as a 
painter and etcher whose work is in- 
cluded in various public and private 
collections. He has given courses in 
Art at the University of California 
and the National University of 
Mexico. * * * Herman Mishkin is 
the official photographer of the Metro- 
politan Opera Company and he can 
claim to have photographed more 
celebrities in his experience of well- 
nigh thirty years than perhaps any 
other member of his profession in New 
York. A large proportion of his 
sitters have been connected with the 
opera and theater, but presidents, 
princes and prime ministers have 
faced his camera, and many prominent 
figures in politics, the arts, and society 
have also left their shadows behind 
them in his studio. * * * Pierre 
Duhamel has spent most of his life in 
Southern France. He is a writer of 

verse and essays. 

* George 

William Breck, whose An Ending to 
Suit Everyone is a sly bit of satire and 
humor, is an artist who can write. He 
even occupied the editorial chair when 
serving in the army at home and 
abroad. He ran his regimental maga- 
zine with success, and contributed not 
only sketches but literary matter to 
the portly volume which contains the 
splendid record of the Seventh Regi- 
ment. * * * Helen Appleton Read 
was appointed Art Critic of the 
Brooklyn Eagle in 1917, but resigned 
{Continued on page 6S) 


Who was to blame? 

SHE fascinated each 
one only for a little 
while. Nothing ever 
came of it. 

Yet she was attractive 
— unusually so. She had 
beguiling ways. Beauti- 
ful hair, radiant skin, 
exquisite teeth and an 
intriguing smile. Still 
there was something 
about her that made men 
show only a transient 

She was often a brides- 
maid but never a bride. 

And the pathetic trag- 
edy of it all was that she 
herself was utterly igno- 
rant as to why. Those of 
her friends who did know 
the reason didn't have 
the heart to tell her. 

Who was really to 


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Page Sixty-Seven 




A task half done 

Noted actresses all recognize the 
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Our Contributors 

(Continued from page 67) 

a year later to go to Lima, Peru, 
where she remained until last June. 
After a summer spent in Europe 
studying the modern movement in 
Art, she returned to the Eagle, to re- 
sume the position of Art Critic on the 
resignation of Joseph Pennell. * * * 
John Decker is a painter and stage 
designer as well as a caricaturist. He 
has roamed the world over, and two 
years ago gave an exhibition of 
symbolistic paintings at the Bragalia 
Galleries in Rome that created a 
furore. * * * Leo Kober is a Hun- 
garian artist who wields a cruel pencil, 
often, in the making of his caricatures. 
He wishes you to know that the 
Cartoonist in Among Those 
not a self-portrait. * * * 
graduation from Harvard 
Kenneth Macgowan has 
been a publicity director, 
an advertising manager, 
a literary editor, a dra- 
matic critic, and between 
times has contributed to 
many magazines and has 
written two books on 
the theater. He is at 
work on the third, Masks 
and Demons. * * * 
J. Joseph-Renaud is one of 
the younger French fiction 
writers. * * * William 

Present is 
Since his 
in 1911 

MacPherson is a New York newspaper 
man who has three books on political 
history to his credit, and many trans- 
lations of French novels and short 
stories. * * * The caricatures and 
sketches of Robert James Malone 
have a distinction all their own. His 
work appears in various magazines. 
* * * Jerome Hart has heard grand 
opera in almost every country where 
it is given, including Europe, America 
and the Antipodes. His own ballad 
opera, The Nut Brown Maid, written 
in conjunction with the late Sir 
William Robinson, Governor of 
Western Australia, was first per- 
formed at the Princess Theater, Mel- 
bourne. * * * Wynn Holcomb 
who has given you his impressions of 
the American tourist in Rome, says 
that the ideal European 
city for the artist is not 
Paris or Vienna, but 
Rome. He plans to 
spend the coming winter 
there studying and paint- 
ing and once in a while 
making his inimitable car- 
toons. * * * The 
cover of this number of 
Shadoivland is a canvas 
by A. M. Hopfmiiller that 
has been highly praised 
at local exhibitions. 


The Brilliant Marriage 

(Continued from page 35) 

"He and I ? Decided ? That's it, is it ?" 

"Pardon me, mamma ! But I cant do 
anything else. It is stronger than I am 
Mamma, mamma, dont be cross !" 

"You are ungrateful." 

"No, mamma ! No ! I dont want to go 
against your wishes. You have been too 
good. So I will do as you say. I will 
marry M. Ruault. Yes." 

Marcelle climbed the wooden stairs lead- 
ing to. the attic room where she slept. She 
took off her shirt waist. She undid her 
scant locks, which straggled down over 
her angular shoulders. She sobbed as if 
she would choke — with all her might, with 
all her desperation. She did not hear the 
noises outside. She did not see the shad- 
ows of the lamps which lighted the 

But finally she felt two arms encircle 
her gently. 

"Dont be afraid, my baby. It is I, baby's 
mamma. Dont cry any more. Yes, you 
shall marry Roger. You shall marry him 
and not Monsieur Ruault." 

"Dear mamma ! Oh ! Is it really so ? Tell 
me it is !" 

"Yes, it is all decided. In a few minutes 
you will go straight to the picture show. 
You will wait for us at the door. When 
Monsieur Ruault comes for us, I shall be 
alone with him and I will talk to him. 
It is too bad, all the same, because he is 
a fine man, on whose arm anyone ought to 
feel proud. But since you love the 
other . . ." 

"Dearest mamma ! My little mother !" 

M. Ruault, entering the library, his auto 

standing at the door, had an unpleasant 
surprise and showed it in his looks. 

"What, not dressed yet? Aren't you 
coming ?" 

"Marcelle is going. She is waiting for 
you in front of the theater. But I have 
something to tell you. . . ." 

"Yes, tell me, now that we are alone, 
why you are so indifferent to me, altho 
I am so interested in you. Do you believe 
that if I come here it is for the pleasure of 
sitting among these dingy books, with peo- 
ple always passing in and out ? Listen ! 
I am no longer very young. But I am 
rich. Every time I leave your shop my. 
loneliness weighs on me. I have never had 
time to create a home. But perhaps it is 
not too late. Now, Marcelle . . ." 

"Marcelle is in love with one of your 
employees, Monsieur Ruault." 

"Yes, I noticed that — Roger Desfeux, a 
promising young man, to whom I am going 
to give every advantage and all possible 
opportunities to distinguish himself. If 
Marcelle marries him, you will be left 
alone. I, too, am alone. Would you be 
willing to sell your books and give up your 
shop, so that we could get married — you 
and I? I have loved you for a long time." 

"Me, Monsieur Ruault? Me?" 

"Why not ? Then, is it yes ?" 

"Is it yes? Certainly it is. Oh, yes! 
Yes !" 

"My darling!" 

An old woman subscriber came in to ex- 
change Le Crime d'Orcival for another 
book of Gaboriau's. But she fled away 

Page Sixty-Eight 

The Double-Barreled 


{Continued from /• 1 1 < / 1 - 14) 

F wiim;: Arc you ready ? 

The Boy: Yes, father. Only, by mis- 
take 1 wrote it a hundred and ten times. 
Five more of each, with the pencil and 
with ink. I am just erasing the five over. 

(Willi cheeks flushed, and eyes bright, 
he is working away zvith the eraser.) 

Father {to himself): (How particular 
and how pedant he is! Character, self- 
respect, manly stubbornness and pedantry. 
I am going to make a judge of him.) 

(He kisses the boy's head zoitli a happy 


Was She "Sterne's Eliza"? 

(Continued from page 52) 

anywhere in particular. In fact, they seerr 
like chapters out of a novel almost, anc 
always leave the reader with the feeling 
that there is more to be told. 

It is difficult to tell just wherein la} 
Katherine Mansfield's extraordinary power 
If ever the tuning fork of art was in ai 
author's writing, it is in hers. He' 
stories vibrate with life and with feeling 
They fairly shimmer with reality. The} 
are the furthest removed from the convert 
tional patterned short story. If she hac 
lived (her death was announced in January 
of this year) it is certain that she would 
have written novels that would have beer 
as distinguished as her short stories. Sh< 
could picture a scene with absolute fidelity 
and yet she seemed to secure her effect 
not so much from accuracy of detail a 
from accuracy of impressions, and inten 
sity of feeling. She had humor, withou 
which something is always left out. 

Miss Mansfield (who was Mrs. Johi. 
Middleton Murry) could describe all ages 
apparently equally well — babies at feeding 
time, sleeping little girls, young girls 
"waiting," servant girls walking out with 
their "perishall," "The Late Colonel's 
Daughters," not able to forget his impres- 
sive presence even after his death ; espe- 
cially his last terrible look at them — out 
of one eye. One of the author's best 
stories, Prelude, is the story of a 
family's "moving." The two little girls 
had to be picked up later by the store man 
in his wagon. It was so late that the lit- 
tle girls could wonder if "stars ever went 
out." They were not sleepy. Yet when 
they were handed down from the wagon, 
they staggered like young birds that had 
fallen out of their nest. 

One test, at least, of a story, is how well 
it is remembered. Anyone who read the 
stories in Bliss and The Garden Party 
is not likely to have forgotten a single 
one of them. John Middleton Murry, the 
London editor and critic, says he thinks 
there are enough of his wife's stories to 
fill two more volumes. 

They Would Rath 

AN article by Harry Car., "Hungry neans oi u ui 
■*■ ^- lywood," will tell you about the various unful- 
filled ambitions of various screen stars. Mary Pick- 
ford wants to be a painter, Douglas Fairbanks a 
playwright, Charlie Chaplin wants to lead an orchestra, 
Griffith an orator, James Rennie a newspaper man, 
Dorothy Gish (his wife) anything but an actress — 
and so on — illustrated with photographs and sketches. 

Some of the additional features in June Classic 
will be : 

An interview with Gloria Swanson with a 
full-page drawing to accompany it. 

The third article on "Censorship" by 
Stanton Leeds. 

A novelization of "Little Old New York" 
with charming illustrations. 

The "success" story of S. L. Rothaphel. 

The Picture Book De Luxe of the Movie World 

Buy June Classic at any newsstand 

Page Sixty-Nine 





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Back of the Fourth Wall 

(Continued from page 49) 

to tell him that a woman may share with 
her lover the burdens of life if his cause 
is so noble as art, and that being kept is 
made no better by a wedding ring. He 
turns his men to art instead of business, 
but only by some devious devices. Yet, 
at the same time, Barry manages to grasp 
with a good deal of emotional understand- 
ing the mind of a man who has foresworn 
his soul steadily to the age of forty-eight. 
The cast of You and I is perhaps the 
smoothest .r\f ■»«_■ •' - '-- '- •'•- ^Tew 







uine play. Humoresque, whic'i, Fanme 
Hurst has made for Miss Taylor out' of 
her short story, is all well enough as a 
set of jokes and situations flavorously. 

Jewish. But it is too badly built to get 
much effect out of the sorrow of the slum- 
mother when her genius son goes to war, 
the war itself has shrunk to its proper size 
beside art, and, lastly, I am very much in- 
clined to think that geniuses dont do such 
things anyhow. The total result is a fine 
opportunity for Miss Taylor to display her 
skill at simulating age and a Jewish ac- 
cent, and occasionally to be very true and 
very touching. 

T^or its last bill the Moscow Art Thea- 
tre has got together a very ordinary 
piece of foolery, The Provincial Lady, 
which Turgenieff called a comedy but 
which the Russians play like a wild, comic- 
valentine burlesque, and three short mono- 
logs out of Dostoieffsky's The Brothers 
Karamazoff. The singular way in which 
Moskvin and Katchaloff play their mono- 
logs against simple indications of settings 
in the middle of faun-colored curtains sug- 
gests a final reflection on the art of these 
people. It seems an extraordinarily fine ex- 
ample — doubtless the best in the world — of 
a kind of acting that has gone out, partly 
because we have no permanent theatrical 
companies in which to train players, and 
partly because we want a more poster- 
esque kind of art. 

These players have a proficiency, a 
versatility in impersonation, and a coordi- 
nated ensemble which we need to master. 
They have also a knack for detail which 
we need do no more than understand. 
They are backward in lighting and setting, 
and minor matters of stage management 
are sometimes absurdly bad. We can 
honor their minute realism as well as their 
proficiency. We can bid our players learn as 
much — if somebody will give them reper- 
tory theaters to act in. But we must most 
decidedly remember that our stage may be 
on the track of a very different kind of act- 
ing art, an art nearer the poster than either 
Peer Gynt or the Cherry Orchard. 


Naming the Rose 

(Continued from page 26) 

saying : "Last night I dreamed that I was 
walking in a garden of roses." Now there 
is Freud. It has become a point of honor 
to sit up all night. 

In the early sixties anemia was chic. 
Heroines were always having the vapors, 
or sobbing into pine-needle pillows. They 
were betrayed in four-wheelers. They 
took up fancy sewing. It was they who 
were responsible for the pansies on Papa's 

Then take the case of the stiletto. Once 
it was wielded by a woman with tawny 
hair, who tore thru the portieres with a 
low, muffled groan. 

Now it's a letter opener. 

I am going to put an end to my suf- 
fering. This is what I am going to do : 

I am going to put on my gown with the 
uneven hems, my nine-button gloves and 
the hat with the longest veil, and making 
some excuse for myself, I shall leave the 
house, taking the shady side of the street. 

I shall bend my steps in the direction of 
Hell's Kitchen, and as I go I shall look at 
everything I've been told not to look 
at, and I shall, as it were, locate the 
rose as it stands, undefiled by any other 

For I'm going to get those aerial Italians 
into the house if it costs me my mind. 
That Venetian glass-ware vendor shall yet 
sit by my chaise-longue and tell me just 
what thin glass means to her. The 
Australian singer shall sing one of those 
dangerous love songs right at me. I am 

Yes, I am going to name the rose. 

Then, when I have got four or five of 
the most evil objects together, I am going 
to plunge. 

I'm going to bring something home and 
I'm going to trust to the inspiration of 
the moment to find it a name as it stands 
before Mother. 

If I succeed, I shall have you in to tea. 


Page Seventy 


Along the Corniche Road 

(Continual from page 19) 

consideration, to rest in sanctified ground. 
Vgain the body was lifted, and with 

groat pomp and solemn ceremony it was 
carried for burial in the church of the 
Madonna della Staccato at Parma. There 
it ought to have rested had not a certain 
Hungarian violinist, seeking, maybe, a lit- 
tle free advertising, at the expense of the 
departed and much disturbed musician, 
spread abroad the report that the body so 
solemnly laid in the church was not that 
of Paganini ! Once more the bones were 
disturbed by permission of the son. In 
the coffin the investigators saw the gaunt 
face with the side whiskers and the long- 
fingers that had once drawn such magical 
music from the violin and they knew that 
the body was truly that of the maestro. 
Few who walk these enchanted ways of 
the Riviera know of these strange wan- 
derings of the once famous musician and 
fewer care. Sic transit gloria mundi! 

TI/'axiierixg on our road we see the 
** ancient city of Eze perched on its hill 
before us. It is difficult to tell where the 
city begins and where the rocky height 
leaves off, so blended have the colors be- 
come by the winds and the suns. It is 
hard to feel that this crumbling place was 
once one of the greatest fortified cities 
of this coast : that its castle was probably 
built by the Saracens : that it was later 
held, now by the Guelphs, now by the 
Ghibellines, now by House of Anjou, now 
by the Counts of Provence. No more are 
there glorious cavalcades marching out of 
its gates with steel and banners glittering 
triumphantly in the sun — only leisurely 
peasants who wander listlessly about the 
winding cobble and brick-paved alleys. 

So on, and we enter the square of La 
Turbie, where stands the remains of the 
great Victory Tower erected in the year 
6 B. C. by the Roman Senate to com- 
memorate the victories of the Emperor 
Caesar Augustus over the tribes of South- 
ern Gaul. All that is left now of the 

mighty monument is two brave pillars 
against a crumbling wall. 

A brief walk and we reach the terrace 
from which we may look down upon the 
Principality of Monaco and the town of 
Monte Carlo. As it lies there before us 
at the edge of the sapphire sea, looking so 
immaculate, we cannot help but think of 
the advertisements for cleansing powders 
and soaps. In the sunlight Monte Carlo 
looks like "Spotless Town." Glowing, 
and radiantly clean ! Beyond the town 
lies the little harbor where the pleasure 
boats of many a millionaire are anchored. 
Towering above the harbor is the height 
en which is perched the castle of the 
Grimaldi princes and the world-famous 
Oceanographical Museum. There was a 
time during the Middle Ages when the in- 
habitants of the height were among the 
most accomplished pirates of the Mediter- 
ranean. No passing ship was safe from 
these Monegasque Corsairs. The ships to- 
day are safe. Only the passengers who 
venture ashore with gold in their pockets 
are unsafe. The Monegasque croupiers 
have only to cry : 

"Messieurs, faites vos jeux!" 

And the Tribe of There-Is-One-Born- 
Every-Minute plank down their gold, even 
to the last penny. 

On then toward the end of our road 
which leads past the old town of Cabbe- 
Roquebrun and descends to Mentone. 
From there we can, if you would like to, 
return by car along the edge of the sea to 
try our luck at Monte Carlo. Maybe, 
who knows, we shall break the bank ! 
Maybe ! Anyway there is always the 
Mediterranean to look at. And aperatifs 
are not so very expensive at the Cafe de 
Paris. And it's fun to watch the gayly 
dressed crowds come and go on the ter- 
rasse. And the sun shines ! And there is 
music ! . . . 

Thank God, day-dreams aren't taxed by 
the State yet! 


An Ending To Suit Everyone 

(Continued from page 39) 

A xd last, but never least, is the tired 
"^ business man. He will choose the 
ending marked "Very O. Henryish." 

"A gleam of radiance lit up the male 
eyes of the indomitable Percival. 

" 'At last — at last !' he cried. One could 
see that he was shaken to the very core. 

"Petunia looked the same way. 

"'Do you — ?' he paused, timidity 
fighting with expectancy in his accents. 

"She nodded slowly, solemnly — but there 
was a great gladness in her eyes. 

"He rushed forward and clasped her 
in his arms. 

" 'Now,' he cried in an exultant voice. 
'I can go back to Siam, mix in the best 
society and not mortify my wife with a 
wrong pronunciation. Sister, you are a 
wonder. What is it?' 

" 'It's pronounced Tut-ankh-Amen,' she 
cried. 'The accent is on the last syllable.' 

"And arm in arm they left the orchard 
for their several trains." 

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Page Seventy-One 


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The Celebrity Seen Thru the Lens 

{Continued from page 40) 

That was on Christmas Eve, 1920, when 
he had been indisposed and suffering more 
or less severely for some days. He had 
telephoned me in the morning, and asked 
me to be at the opera house with my 
camera that evening. I was there some 
time before the curtain rose, and found 
him in his dressing-room already made up 
as the Jew — and a wonderful make up it 
was. Apart from his marvelous disguise, 
I noted a great change from his ordinary 
cheerful self, for usually he was as full 
of spirits and exuberant vitality as a 

He said to me : "Mish, I'm awfully sick 
tonight. I dont think I can get thru the 

I was very anxious about him, and 
went round in front to see how he was 
getting on. During the performance he 
almost constantly held his hand to his side, 
as tho in pain. Nevertheless he sang and 
acted magnificently, and it was a memor- 
able performance in a double sense, for it 
was his last. 

His fidelity to his public, which he had 
never disappointed, cost him dear. He 
was a great artist and the best of friends. 
I treasure a caricature he made of myself 
while I was photographing him. Some 
stupid persons have said that he did not 
draw the sketches attributed to him. As 
well say he did not sing. I have seen him 
make sketches of his friends and others 
anywhere and everywhere, and there must 

be hundreds of them in existence for he was 
always giving them away. He might have 
been a successful cartoonist had he not 
been the world's greatest tenor. 

"D everting to my own work, one of my 
favorite photographs and also a popu- 
lar favorite, is that of Pavlowa with her 
first dancing partner, the great Mordkin, 
in the famous Bacchanale. It was taken 
literally at a moment's notice, just after 
her first arrival in this country thirteen 
years ago, and has been reproduced all 
over the world. 

But it is time for me to stop these ran- 
dom recollections. Let me say, however, 
that I have witnessed many changes and 
great improvements at the Metropolitan 
since I first became its official photog- 
rapher. In the days of Hammerstein 
trouble was always brewing ; there was 
often much confusion and bickering be- 
hind the scenes, and a lack of order and 
discipline. Today there is no confusion, 
no wrangling, no inordinate waits between 
the acts because something or other has 
gone wrong. Everything is as systematic 
and well ordered as if it were a big bank. 
Everyone knows what he or she has to do, 
and does it. The curtain rises each night 
punctually to the minute, the public is 
never disappointed. The productions are 
magnificent, better, in fact, than at any 
other opera house in the world, and the 
one man responsible is Gatti-Casazza. 

iimiiiinii mi mil 

The Wizard Wood - Carver 

{Continued from page 11) 

imagination that pervades his work being 
simply a kind of overtone inseparable from 
the scene and its painter. 

In the work of Charles E. Prendergast, 
where the decorative function of his art 
renders naturalistic fidelity less necessary 
(tho there is a reminiscence of nature be- 
hind his forms and colors), the gates of 
his fantasy are thrown wide open and one 
is made the companion of gay spirits of 
the woods and waters — birds, beasts and 
fishes, the creatures of Christian legend, 
and the princesses and genii of the Thou- 
sand and One Nights ; aureoled saints 
come out from old manuscripts or from for- 
gotten niches in Romanesque cathedrals 
and live again amid the gold and silver 
panels that would grace a Sienese palace. 

Does the artist accept the aid of other 
artists, those of the old-time and of far 
countries? With full hands he accepts 
it, just as they did in their day, tho not 
so literally as Botticelli did when he 
copied the legs and feet of the Venus de 
Medici as those of his own Venus — a fact 
which Mr. Clarence Kennedy recently 
brought out in his admirable photographs. 
It is a poor and priggish originality that 
is afraid of borrowing from the masters. 
They are willing lenders when approached 
by one who can understand them, and they 
destroy only those who are unworthy to 
follow them, not those who continue their 

work by bringing into the world a beauty 
it has not seen before. 

In the few years since Charles Prender- 
gast made his first bow before the general 
public, his work has been accepted with 
something like unanimity as a most valu- 
able contribution to American achieve- 
ment. Unexpected as was the develop- 
ment he made of his craft, the innovation 
was soon recognized as deriving from the 
beautiful art of the carvers and gilders to 
be seen in the museums and churches of 
the Old World. Mr. Prendergast has en- 
joyed their work, and knows perhaps more 
of their secrets than any one else today. 
But to see the other side of his art, to see 
him as a modern, living the life of his 
time and enriching it, one has only to 
glance at a panel like that of the New 
England landscape ■ which he recently 
transmuted into a thing as brave and gay 
as a song. Or look at the leaves which 
he loves to bring into clear relief against 
the sky; look at the brooks where his 
ducks and geese paddle along in stately 
procession like their ancestors in Egyptian 
bas-reliefs ; look at the young men and 
young women of his scenes, with their 
grace and dignity : you will see that here 
is not only knowledge of materials and 
processes — the craftsman's business — but 
a vivid appreciation of nature and life, 
which is the study of the artist. 

mini mill iiiiiimmiiiimii Illlllllllllllllllllllimiimmn 1:111111 mini;' 

Page Seventy-Tzvo 


The Ways That Add 
To Woman's Charms 

IT is the daily right and privilege and duty of every 
woman to make the most of all her inborn charms — - 
and to know and use the w T ays that will enhance and 
accentuate those charms and the ways that will give 
new charm. 

It is the monthly province and privilege of Beauty 
to set forth the simple and sensible "Hows" that will 
help women look-their-prettiest. 

Beauty's scope is wide — runs the whole range from 
a woman's complexion to her clothes, from her head to 
her heels. The editors of Beauty are constantly on the 
alert for every hint that will aid in the retainment or 
acquirement of prettiness and attractiveness. 

The June Number 
Is Chock Full of Real Help 

Buy the 



on the news-stands 
May Eighth 

Are You Afraid of Getting 

If she knows how, every woman 
can easily keep herself young both 
mentally and physically. Are you 
doing this? If not, what excuse have 
you to offer? See the June number 
of Beauty. 

The Eternal Problem 

How to attain beauty and how to 
retain it are problems which can be 
solved only by learning the rules and 
by applying them correctly. The 
June issue of Beauty lays down 
certain rules that greatly simplify 

Are You Putting Yourself 
in the Best Light? 

There are articles by well-known 
and beautiful women on ho\y to bring 
out one's good points to the best 
advantage and on how to hide and 
overcome the bad ones. 

The Psychology of Clothes 

There are specialists who tell you 
how to dress ; how to buy clothes 
that suit your individuality. Do not 
let your ignorance of these things 
hold you back any longer. Do not 
submerge your personality — accentu- 
ate it. Beauty will help you do this 
Read and learn. 



Beauty Secrets for Everywoman 

Page Seventy-Three 


~-<>^ r j 


~ m 


Slie Found A Pleasant Way To 
Reduce Her Fat 

She did not have to go to the 
trouble of diet or exercise. She 
found a better way, which aids the 
digestive organs to turn food into 
muscle, bone and sinew instead of fat. 

She used Marmola Prescription Tab' 
lets, which are made from the famous 
Marmola prescription. They aid the 
digestive system to obtain the full 
nutriment of food. They will allow you 
to eat many kinds of food without the 
necessity of dieting or exercising. 

Thousands have found that Mar- 
mola Prescription Tablets give com- 
plete relief from obesity. And when 
the accumulation of fat is checked, 
reduction to normal, healthy weight 
soon follows. 

AH good drug stores the world over sell Mar- 
mola Prescription Tablets at one dollar a box. 
Ask your druggist for them, or order direct and 
they will be sent in plain wrapper, postpaid 

430 Garfield Bldg., Detroit, Mich. 



The Magazine de Luxe of All the Arts 

Poetry and Literature 

Short Stories from the French 

Music and the Drama 

The Movies at Home and Abroad 

The Picture Galleries 

Art Exhibitions I 

And a hundred and one things which charm 
and beguile. 

Superb Illustrations in Color and Black and 
White Portraits of Famous Stars of the Stage, 
Opera and Screen, as well as of many others 
in the public eye. 

Shadowland has been proclaimed the most 
beautiful and interesting of all the Monthlies. 
Order Immediately from Your Newsvendor 



There was every reason to believe the win- 
ner of the American Beauty Contest would 
be announced in this number. At the last 
moment, however, the judges are unwilling tq 
make a final decision before considering, in 
some instances, additional photographs. 


will, therefore, not be announced until next 
month, when the Honorary Mentions also 
will be granted. • 


would be foolish and inasmuch as it only 
means a month's delay, we hope you will bear 
with the eminent judges in their difficult task. 

In Studio and Gallery 

(Continued from page 58) 

large degree. No titles are necessary 
for some of her portraits, we recognize 
Leginska or Paderewski at a glance. She 
is also able to suggest textures and 
materials in her portraits. With extraor- 
dinary delicacy she gives us the filmi- 
ness of lace and gauze or the softness 
of fur. 

The Baroness does not confine herself 
to straight portraiture. She can use her 
art to express amusing human episodes, 
such as her own difficulties at Ellis Island, 
where she was told she must be deported 
on account of having been born in Persia, 
the Persian quota being filled. Inci- 
dentally, by proving that she was born in 
the Russian Legation, she was allowed to 
enter. Her portraits of the puzzled of- 
ficials, herself and a group of Russian 
immigrants are really extraordinary ex- 
amples of art and workmanship. 

Cpeaking of Ellis Island, the Martha 
^ Walter Ellis Island Series, has been 
one of the most attended exhibitions of 
the season. Miss Walter, departing from 
her favorite subjects, which are for the 
most part gay happy scenes along the 
Massachusetts coast, has painted a series 
of pictures which have as subject matter 
the multi-colored, multi-tongued immi- 
grants herded together in The Detention 
room at Ellis Island. The psychology 
of her choice is in reality not so different. 
Miss Walter has always been interested 
in catching for a moment on canvas the 
fluid and chance formations that a crowd 
will momentarily assume. These canvases 
were shown in Paris last winter and the 
Luxembourg Museum bought one. This 
makes Miss Walter and Cecilia Beaux 
the only two American women represented 
in the Salon des Etrangers. 



(Continued from page 61) 

Repelsky and the Berkoffs, miniature 
Slavs, with all the fire of their race, doing 
incredible things with their legs and feet, 
bounding like rubber balls and spinning 
like tops ; and all sorts of doll-like, de- 
lightful little folk in the Village Box 
of Tricks, the Chauve-Souris and other 

As for the comedians, they were as 
original as they were amusing, including 
as they did that ineffable pair Savoy and 
Brennan, who made me laugh so much 
that I forgot to blush ; and John Sheehan 
with his superb burlesque of Balieff and 
a gorgeous Old Timer's song. Then there 
was Lucille Chalfant, looking as if she 
had stepped out of a fashion print of the 
fifties, indulging in marvelous vocal acro- 
batics and staccati a la Jenny Lind. Al- 
together these clever people gave me one 
of the best evenings I have spent in a 
New York theater, and I shall, with many 
others, eagerly look forward to the next 
Greenwich Village Follies. 

Nothing delighted me more than the 
blossoming of Ula Sharon. I had been 
one of a select few who some three years 
ago were invited by her manager to see 
this exquisite little creature dance before 
certain prominent European and New 
York theatrical and variety magnates in 
the ballroom of the Hotel Majestic. 
Yvette Guilbert was seated beside me, and 
shared in the general delight expressed at 
the spontaneous and graceful poses and 
pirouettes and the self -created interpreta- 
tions of this tiny bud, who had just come 
out of a small mid-Western town. I ven- 
tured to prophesy to Ottikar Bartok, ballet 
master of the Metropolitan Opera, that she 
would develop into a second Genee, and she 
has, only more so. This, I know is say- 
ing a lot, but the tribute is the more sin- 
cere for in my youth I was one of Genee's 
most fervent admirers. It should not be 
long before Ula Sharon has a reputation 
in Europe, where she is going, equal to 
that she has obtained in the country of her 

T> ecenti.y I was called on at very short 
notice to address that eminently select 
and intellectual organization known as The 
League of American Penwomen. For a 
shy person like myself the ordeal was a 
considerable one. But my audience was 
as kind as it was fair, in both senses of 
that word, and when I had finished my say 
ladies who had won distinction in the field 

of letters said nice things to me. What 
has prompted me to refer to the matter 
was that when I had occasion to decline 
over the 'phone a social engagement on 
the score that I was that evening address- 
ing The League of American Penwomen, 
the reply came back, "The League of 
American Penguins! Whatever's that?" 

I could not help expressing the wish that 
I was going to address an audience of 
penguins, because they would not be 
capable of comprehending, still less of 
criticising, my remarks, and I should be 
able to express myself without fear of con- 
tradiction. But my audience consisted of 
birds of much prettier plumage. I fear 
some of them knew a good deal more 
of the subjects I talked about than I did 
myself. However, all's well that ends 

But, talking of penguins, I hope some of 
my readers are acquainted with that re- 
markable book by Anatole France, LTle 
des Pingouins. It is probably the greatest 
of all his works, and, although I am con- 
stitutionally conservative, I found it some- 
what disturbing to my political beliefs. 
It is, indeed, a most mordant bit of satire 
and irony. 

The island where the penguins dwell 
was evangelized by St. Mael, who 
naively relates how he navigated to its 
shores in a stone trough. He took the 
penguins for men and baptised them, 
which caused a lot of pother in heaven. 
St. Patrick said that baptism could not 
benefit birds and admit them to paradise. 
St. Damasius said it could, for St. Mael 
was competent to administer the rite and 
its benefits followed as a matter of course. 
St. Guenole disagreed, for he contended 
that penguins were not conceived in sin. 
That eminent controversialist Tertullian 
grew quite nasty and said he was sorry 
that penguins could not go to hell because 
they had no souls. Ultimately the inter- 
vention of the Almighty was invoked, and, 
to end the trouble, the penguins were 
turned into men, when all their troubles 
began. Property was created, and they 
fought over its possession and killed each 
other. Later a state was set up and taxes 
were imposed to the dissatisfaction of 
everybody. A freebooter arose and he 
converted himself into a king. The whole 
book is, in fact, a fierce satire on existing 
institutions and provokes to very serious 
reflection, while it is the most perfect 
piece of writing imaginable. 

Page Seventy-Four 


The Greatest Show of 
Them All 

(( ontinued from page .58) 

rendered himself immune to the evil ef- 
fects of decapitation. He seems mightily 
amused at Douglas Fairbanks in his imita- 
tion of a Sphinx crossing the desert on 

its hands. This is a scene from Doug's 
magnificent new production — to cost ten 
millions—The Very Last of the Pharaohs, 
for which he is transporting the Pyramids 
to Hollywood, as well as the whole of 
Tut-ankh-Amen's effects. 

A few of the great ones of the earth 
are mingling with the crowd, and in the 
background "will be observed King George 
walking away in contempt from his former 
prime minister Lloyd George, who has 
gone back to the ranks of the radicals 
after a temporary sojourn in the tents of 
the aristocracy, and who is bewailing with 
Clemenceau the evanescence of human 

To the right of these eminent authors 
of the Versailles Treaty is the real Charlie 
Chaplin modestly hiding behind his mus- 
tache, and hoping to see something funny 
enough to incorporate into his next motion 
picture— written and directed by himself. 
At the right of Charlie and the postered 
Doug is Our Alary, ignoring the great 
ones of the stage and the world of letters 
and loyally flashing her smile on the other 
two members of the Great Movie Trium- 

The background shows citizens, senators, 
gladiators, soldiers, horses, and bootleg- 

Scene : The Imagination. Time : The 
Present. Let 'er go! 

-J. F. 


Ringing Out Realism 

(Continued from page 65) 

not a fashion. It is a hard won accomplish- 
ment of the writing craft. In the theater, 
perhaps elsewhere, it has been won by too 
exclusive a devotion, granted. The thea- 
ter has many values, some of supreme ef- 
fectiveness, which realism ignores. They 
must be rediscovered. But realism is too 
integral and too important a part of our 
modern civilization to be, in its turn, cast 

However, there is no danger that it will 
be. The danger always is that theorists 
who fight for the new, as against the pres- 
ent, will not be sufficiently heard, not that 
they will be listened to over readily. Be- 
sides, true realism in the American thea- 
ter has hardly begun as yet. Most of us 
haven't had time to get tired of it. 

See If You Agree 

With Neysa McMein 

You know Neysa McMein — and her beautiful drawings 
of beautiful women — and the princely price she gets for 
them. She ought to be a good judge of good looks. We 
asked her to name the six most beautiful women of the 
screen. You will find her selection in Motion Picture 
Magazine for May. See if her choice agrees with yours. 

* * * * 

Jackie Coogan is growing up — and outgrowing the parts 
that brought him fame and $500,000 contracts. As he 
waxes bigger and older, will his pay and popularity in- 
crease or decrease? Read what Harry Carr says in 
Motion Picture Magazine for May. 

She once earned her bread and butter and her sealskin 
coats at a telephone switchboard — now she is a plutocratic 
motion picture producer. Straight facts, not fiction. One 
of the many good things in the May issue of Motion 
Picture Magazine. 

* * * ' * 

"Betty Compson Confesses" — you will find her full and 
frank confession in this month's Motion Picture Magazine. 

* * * * 

Also a lot more to interest, entertain, inform and amuse you. 

Motion Picture Magazine 

for MAY 

Now on the News-stands 

They Overlooked the 

THERE is a modern flipp 
you don't know won't h' 
For instance : 

The farmers of Kimberley v. 
lot. They said the soil was tc 
Some of them left. Others d 

And all the tune their children 

But the farmers didn't know. 
gems were pebbles. 

Don't be like those Kimberley 

Don't seek opportunity in sor 
the diamonds that are daily wi 

Advertising is a mine of oppo 
wouldn't know about if it we 

The secret of economical bu) 
or woman who is best inform' 

Read the advert 


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Street .City .State 

New Books in Brief Review 


The picture book de luxe of the 

IF asked off-hand to name the most 
remarkable book of its year, many 
would unhesitatingly say Beasts, Men 
and Gods, by Ferdinand Ossendowski 
(E. P. Dutton). This book has all the 
elements of thrilling adventure in regions 
well-nigh unknown, while it deals with 
personalities far more interesting than any 
which could be conceived or invented by 
the most experienced writer of adventurous 
fiction. The writer is a Polish professor 
who was living in the Siberian town of 
Krasnoyarsk, on 
the shores of the 
Yenesei River, 
and was caught 
in the meshes of 
the Russian Rev- 
olution. In order 
to evade the Bol- 
sheviki, he made 
his way, some- 
times with a few 
"White" officers, 
most of whom 
were captured or 
died, thru Mon- 
golia and Thibet 
to British India, 
being ultimately 
compelled to re- 
trace his steps 
alone, until he 
penetrated Urga, 
the secret city of 
the Living Bud- 
dha, whence he 
managed to reach 
Manchuria and 
ultimately safety. 
The terrors of 
this remarkable 
Odyssey are re- 
lated with a di- 
rectness and ut- 
ter simplicity 
which impress 
far more than 

woulH any attempt to heap up and magnify 
ion by excess of detail. As a scien- 
jbserver Dr. Ossendowski records 
with a detached and almost cold 
on, and yet he succeeds in stimulat- 
i imagination and exciting the reader 
indescribable degree. 

clothing, and then and there has a pain- 
ful interview with his wife and daughter, 
and explains in much detail to the latter 
the amatory complex which is disturbing 
him. It is an extraordinary scene, pro- 
longed, with any amount of embarrassing 
detail, but the father feels that his daugh- 
ter has to be made acquainted with some 
of the fundamental facts of life and be 
preserved from the loveless union so many 
wives are forced to endure. 
There is no plot and no complications 
beyond what has 
been briefly nar- 
rated. The 
father, hav- 
ing told every- 
thing to his 
daughter, with 
his wife listening 
in the back- 
ground, puts on 
his clothes, and 
ultimately goes 
off with his sec- 
retary, leaving 
the women de- 
pendent on him 
to their own de- 
vices. The only 
impression I can 
derive from this 
e xtraordinar y 
book is that the 
hero is mad. 

ner's) . 

play's the 
\ with 
of The 
of the 
This is 

Alfred Stieglitz 

Sherwood Anderson, author of Many Marriages 

going to show them what a frank 
id fearless person I am," one can 
Mr. Anderson saying to himself 
ae set out to write Many Marriages 
sch ) . "I shant call a spade an 
tural instrument, or a loose woman 
dalen." Simple and shy folks like 
'iewer must take his book or leave 
i the prospective purchaser thinks 
;he title that he is going to read 
Some much-married man like Blue- 
br Henry VIII he will be disap- 
. The chief and in fact the sole 
brson in Mr. Anderson's book only 
one matrimonial experiment and 
isappointing one. He is the reverse 
ious, but he suddenly develops from 
pry small-town maker of washing- 
Is into a great lover. After a 
and, as he discovers, a loveless 
life of eighteen years or so, which 
tilted in one daughter who has 
i the age of seventeen, he develops 
nate affection for his secretary, a 
at-faced woman, not very hand- 
'ith thick lips, "but her skin was 
iar and she had very clear fine 
Altho he becomes a worshipper at 
le of Venus, he purchases an image 
Virgin, and having installed it be- 
/o lighted candles, he removes his 

a book of papers 
on the theater 
contributed by 
the writer to The 
New Re public 
and Theatre Arts Magazine, together with 
others which have not previously seen the 
light. Mr. Young is one of the best of 
the younger writers who are now giving 
attention to that universally interesting 
subject the theater. While he gives the 
play and its writer their proper place, he 
has much, very much, which is interesting 
and suggestive to say about acting, in fact 
the first quarter of his volume is given to 
that subject. With him the play is the 
head, and "acting itself is the body of the 
art of the theater." His panegyric on 
Charles Chaplin is not one of the usual 
semi-patronising, semi-apologetic screeds 
in which certain writers are prone to 
indulge, but is as whole-hearted as it is 
discriminating. While some of the papers 
are mere pieces de circonstance, all are 
worthy of perusal on account of their 
sound discrimination. 

Magic Lanterns {Scribner's) is a book 
of four short plays written by Louise 
Saunders, who shows a sense of character 
and a command of bright dialog in such 
fantastic little pieces as Figureheads, Poor 
Maddalena — a very original not to say 
unusual Pierrot play — and King and Com- 
moner. All can be played in what Thack- 
eray used to call "Theatre Royal Back 
Drawing-Room," but King and Commoner 
can be give in the open air. The collec- 
tion is a useful addition to the not too com- 
plete or valuable list of plays for amateurs. 

In Paint (Harcourt, Brace & Co.) 
Thomas Craven gives a brutal presenta- 
tion of the struggle of an American artist 

for recognition in his native country. The 
story opens with Oarlock's return to Now 

York alter eight years of art study in 
Paris. Entirely out oi sympathy with his 
old college chums, who have become illus- 
trators, makers of pretty-girl magazine 
covers, or portrait painters for American 
millionaires, Carlock finds himself aloof 
and almost friendless. 

A genius, his passion for art submerges 
every other emotion. America refuses to 
recognize his talent, hut he works madly 
on. He suffers untold privations. The 
niceties of civilization drop from him. 

Once a clean-cut youth, he becomev save 
for his art -a brute, living on the earn- 
ings of Xettie, a street-walker. He docs 
not hesitate to strike or kick her, yet he 
immortalizes tier body in his masterpieces. 
The one soft note in the story is Nettie's 
devotion to Carlock and his work, and his 
loyalty in not turning her away when 
she becomes useless. The coup is Car- 
lock's tragic revenge on the art dealers. 
Paint is written in the interest of art and 
Carlock's tragedy is typical of the strug- 
gle of numberless American geniuses who 
are lost in the oblivion of unrecognition. 


The Camera Contest 

{Continued from page 64) 

First Honorable — The Arcade. Dr. 
Arthur Nilsen, 55 West 10th St., New 
York City. 

Second Honorable — Thru the Back 
W indole. Charles A. Hellmuth, 338 West 
22nd St., New York City. 

Third Honorable — Ghosts of Summer. 
T. H. Field, Fayetteville, Ark. 

Monthly prizes of at least $25, $15, and 
$10 are awarded in order of merit, to- 
gether with three prizes of yearly sub- 
scription to Shadowland to go to three 
honorary mentions. 

Shadowland desires that every camera 
enthusiast reap benefit from this contest 
and to this end makes the inclusion of the 
following data re contesting prints im- 
perative : 

(a) Date and hour of exposure. 

(b) Stop number used. 

(c) Printing medium used. 

(d) Character of print — whether straight 
or manipulated. 

(e) Make of camera and lens. 

Any print previously published is not 

Prints will be acknowledged upon their 

Rejected prints will be returned im- 
mediately, provided proper postage for the 
purpose be included. It is, however, un- 
derstood that Shadowland reserves the 
right to reproduce any print submitted and 
to hold such for a reasonable time for 
that purpose. 

Special care will be taken of all prints 
submitted, but neither The Brczvster Pub- 
lications nor the Pictorial Photographers 
of America assume responsibility for loss 
or damage. 

All prints and all communications rela- 
tive to the contest are to be sent to Joseph 
R. Mason, Art Center, 65 East 56th Street, 
New York City. 

No prints will be considered if sent else- 
where than stated above. 

Submission of prints will imply accep- 
tance of all conditions. 


An Operatic Solution of the Mona Lisa Enigma 

(Continued from page 55) 

Meltzer into English without adding to 
their reputations, but rather the reverse? 
Who but silly or nasty folk are interested 
in pallid maidens washing their dirty linen 
by moonlight ; Pierrot serving the supper 
of the Red Mass ; or a "scrawny hussy," 
the last of Pierrot's paramours, about to 
"stick a nail in his noddle" and strangle 

T T was saddening and sometimes almost 
-*- maddening to have to sit for an hour 
or more and listen to that admirable young 
singer Greta Torpedie monotoning and 
moaning out the absolutely impossible 
vocal part. And when I saw persons I 
have hitherto regarded as sane and serious, 
as well as really nice, applauding such 
dreadful rubbish I commenced to wonder 
if I myself were in my right mind. One 
hesitates to stigmatize them as insincere, 
but I cannot help thinking that it is a 
species of moral cowardice which prevents 
some of them from saying flatly and 
frankly just what they think and feel 
about the nasty noises and silly poses of 
the Ultras. 

One has, however, a haunting fear that 
listening to such stuff has a deadening, 
narcotising effect upon the senses, which 
become first of all irritated and then doped, 
for I have even found myself listening to 
some of it with decreasing disgust and 
resentment. It simply means, I suppose, 
that one can become accustomed to almost 
anything in course of time and by degrees, 
even to being skinned alive. 

After Pierre Lunaire the Ultras gave 
yet another concert at the Klaw Theater, 
at which was produced among other things 

a piece called Hyperprism, by Edgar 
Varese. All sorts of weird instruments of 
torture were used in its performance, and 
there was plenty of tittering as it pro- 
gressed. I shall say nothing about the ill 
manners of those who thought that the 
possession of a ticket, either compli- 
mentary or paid for, entitled them -to add 
to the din of the evening, which wound up 
in a scene of great disturbance. This was 
not diminished by my friend Mr. Salzedo 
jumping on the stage at the end of Mr. 
Varese's piece and assuring the audience 
that it was a very serious work. It only 
added fuel to the fire, which again burst into 
flame when this extraordinary example of 
rhythmic cacophony was repeated. 

It seems almost superfluous to say any- 
thing about the rest of the program, which 
included some songs imitated from the 
German by Lord Berners, who divides his 
time between music and diplomacy. One 
can only hope that he is a more agreeable 
diplomat than he is a musician. Like Satie, 
Milhaud and others, Berners is one of the 
numerous composers of the day who would 
be genuinely humorous if they would not 
try so desperately hard to be funny. In- 
cidentally, as an example of real musical 
humor allied with fine musicianship, I 
would mention the tone poem by Deems 
Taylor, founded on the immortal Alice in 
Wonderland and Through the Looking- 
Glass. It was excellently done the other 
day by the New York Symphony Orches- 
tra. The highest praise I can give it is 
that it is entirely worthy of the subjects 
which inspired it. I am glad to learn that 
it is to be given in London by Albert 
Coates, with the London Symphony Or- 
chestra. O. si sic omnes! 


The Treasure Chest 

Is Now Open To Readers 
Of This Magazine 

Are you, dear Reader, acquainted with 
the accomplishments of our wonderful 
Club ? Have you heard how the pres- 
ents of money, which are given daily 
from our Chest, are helping girls and 
women from all walks of life to pull 
themselves out of situations of contin- 
ual want? 

In the Middle West lives a dear old 
lady, one of the most lovable char- 
acters it will ever be your pleasure to 
meet. Too old to enter ordinary busi- 
ness in competition with the younger 
and more active generation — too proud 
to accept charity, this lady of our tale 
knew not where to turn when widow- 
hood left her with no visible means of 
support for the future. The Treasure 
Chest was her friend in need. 

In Central New York lives a young 
girl, waiting and planning for the day 
when the "best man in the world" 
will claim his own. She is poor — too 
poor to provide herself with the things 
that you know and I know she should 
have. To her we have sent the key to 
our Treasure Chest, and she will soon 
have her heart's desires fulfilled. 

In Western Pennsylvania, Southern 
New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland — 
in fact, in most every state in the 
Union — keys to our Treasure Chest 
have gone out to girls and women who 
have told us of their desire or need of 
more money. Not one will be denied. 
To each and every one, we have given 
the privilege of unlocking the Chest at 
will and taking such Treasures as she 
proves herself entitled to. 

We do not seek your financial support 
to carry on this good work. If you 
need money, however, then we do 
want you to join us, for, thru our 
plan, we offer you an unprecedented 
opportunity to increase your income so 
you will be prosperous and happy. 

Unfortunately, space does not permit us to 
explain our entire plan here, but, briefly, 
it is collecting renewals and securing new 
subscribers for Beauty — the magazine for 
every woman — work that can be done 
without previous experience and during 
spare time. Would you like to hear more 
about it? Then address a letter or post 
card at once to 

Secretary, The Treasure Chest 

175 Duffield St. 

New York 

Page Seventy-Seven 


TF you are artistic 

■*■ If you love fine things 

If you respond to the beautiful and 
thrill in its presence 

You will miss one of the fine and 
beautiful things that this country of 
yours has to offer, some say the finest in 
the field of current art and literature, 
if you do not see and read Shadowland. 

This superbly illustrated and bril- 
liantly written magazine, which is en- 
listing in its service and yours the finest 
talent available in both hemispheres, is 
acclaimed the most sumptuous and the 
most readable of all current magazines. 
Its pictures are a joy, its reading matter 
a delight. 

No other magazine keeps its readers 
so thoroly informed as to what is 
going on in this world of beautiful and 
wonderful things, and no one can be- 
come bored in scanning its pages. 

Herewith are but a few hints of the 
many things of interest and charm in 
Shadowland for June, now on the 
newsstands thruout America. Your 
highest expectations will be gratified if 
you secure a copy, and you must do so 
at once, for the edition will be speedily 

Some of the Choice Things in 
"Shadowland" for June 

Hitherto unpublished reminiscences 
of the great Hungarian pianist and com- 
poser, Franz Liszt, by one of his pupils, 
Carl Lachmund, himself a New York 
musician of eminence. Besides anecdotes 
and information never before published, 
there is the only photograph ever taken 
of the Master seated at his piano and 
other intimate pictures. Of even greater 
interest is the facsimile of a hitherto un- 
published autograph letter from the 
composer to Henry Wadsworth Long- 
fellow, also an original score entitled 

An amusing and agreeably ironic skit, 
"The Standard Bearers," by Thyra 
Samter Winslow, whose recent book, 
"Picture Frames," is one of the literary 
sensations of the season. Mrs. Winslow 
discusses the changing standards of taste 
and habits from our great-grandmother's 
day to the present time. Now, Mrs. 
Winslow declares, it is the woman who 

has all the freedom, and it is the 
married man who lives a stupid, narrow 
life. She pleads for a new single stand- 
ard which will include the married man. 

A stimulating and provocative article by 
the distinguished writer and critic, E. Le- 
Clerc Phillips, entitled "The American Short 
Story." The peculiarities of certain well- 
known purveyors of short fiction are gently 
satirised in a way which should rouse Amer- 
ican writers and critics to a defence of the 
short story. 

One of our popular Ten Minute Plays. 
Reviews of the latest books by N. P. Daw- 
son, plays by Kenneth Macgowan, motion 
pictures by Alison Smith, music by Jerome 
Hart. Brilliant short story from the French, 
poetry and many other features. 

Exquisite reproductions in four colors of 
the work of "Pop" Hart, who preceded 
Gauguin in the South Seas, and of other 
leading artists. Two-colored prints, car- 
toons by Winn, Breck, Decker, Kober and 
others; hundreds of photographic studies 
and portraits of charming and interesting 
folk in the public eye. 

June Issue on Sale at Newsstands May Twenty-Third 

Order It Now. 

Page Seventy-Eight 


Tin restaurant of 
tht famous Cla- 

rit/gt j Hntel on the 



'his new mcuun 
mm/ she 

xf.ilie QmiSimnes 

Send for 

M. Kerkoff's new 

sample paquet 

A new paquet of 
Djer-Kiss samples, 
containing Parfum, 
Face Powder, Cold 
Crcamand Vanishing 
Cream, will gladly 
be mailed in return 
for merely 15 cents. 
Address Alfred H. 
Smith Co ,54^'est 
34th St., New York 

The dinner hour at Cla- 
ridge's in Paris. At each 
table some striking ex- 
ample of beauty and 
charm! Surely it is some 
unusual secret of fascina- 
tion francaise which so 
marks these Parisiennes. 

It is a secret, Madame, 
Alademoiselle, known to 
elite French boudoirs and 
sent to you now in Amer- 
ica. It is this secret of 
the true harmony o( the 

"Each article of the toilet 
table, Face Powders, Talc, 
Sachet, Soap, Rouges, 
Compacts and Creams — 
must breathe gently the 
same Parfum — the same 
French fragrance." 

CJr CMad/s in France. 

And so do Madame and 
Mademoiselle, turn quite 
naturally to Djer-Kiss, odeur 
inimitable created by Mon- 
sieur Kerkoff in Paris. He 
sends you in his specialties 
Djer-Kiss each necessity of 
the Toilette — Face Powders, 
Talc, Sachet, the Rouges, 
the Creams, the Toilet 
Water, all fragranced de- 
lightfully with Parfum Djer- 
Kiss, To employ them all 
is to capture something of 
the very charm of France 

If you, Madame, know 
not the charm of Djer-Kiss, 
do purchase the Djer-Kiss 
Speciality and achieve, so 
simply, a harmony of the 
toilette quite French and 
quite fashionable. 


These specialties —Rouge. Lip Rouge, Compacts and Creams -blended here 
with pure Djer-Kiss Parfum imported from France. 



How French ! How 
fashionable! How con- 
venient! This charm- 
ing little Vanette of 
Djer-Kiss — fashion's 
new vogue. Now may 
Madame carry always in 
her vanity bag this 
Vanette of her favor- 
ite Parfum Djer-Kiss. 
The price? Ah! Ma- 
dame, so very moder- 
ate! Do ask. then, for 
this Vanette of Djer- 
Kiss — the personal 
paquet of parfum. 

e 1»23 tHSCo 

How a double chin 

can be reduced or prevented 


Worn while you sleep 

SO MANY women have found The Davi 
Chin Strap helpful in reducing double chin 
In thousands of instances it has gently re 
stored the trim contours of girlhood to chin an 
neck — while women slept. 

A double chin makes a woman seem so careless 
of her appearance! Sagging face-muscles make 
woman frequently seem older than she actually i 
That mistaken idea cannot even be corrected by 
the most fashionable apparel. 

The double chin is the accepted mark of care- 
less middle age. It can be reduced or prevented 
simply by wearing The Davis Chin Strap at night. 

This fits snugly and comfortably around the 
chin and crown of the head, holding the facial 
muscles in their proper position, during the hours 
that you sleep. 

The constant support gives the muscles a rest during which 
they recover their earlier strength. It keeps excess fat from 
settling there while you sleep. In time, this simple treatment 
restores the more pleasing contour of earlier years. 

The Davis Chin Strap stops mouth-breathing while you 
sleep — that unfortunate habit which causes the chin to droop 
and forms wrinkles at the mouth-corners. Physicians suggest 
it for children after throat and nose operations. 

Get a Davis Chin Strap and wear it tonight. It fits like a 
glove and washes like a handkerchief. It will add immeasur- 
ably to your good health and spirits. 

Cotton, $2.00; linen, $3.00; mesh, $4.00. Measure size 
around crown of head and point of chin. Buy it from any one 
of the dealers listed here, or send money order or check to 


Dept. S.C. 507 Fifth Avenue 

New York City 

To Drug Stores, Department Stores and Beauty Parlors 

— The Davis Chin Strap is so well advertised that 

it sells rapidly. Write for wholesale prices 

These Stores Sell The Davi/ Chin Straps: 


Steinback Co. 

M. De'Hart, care Black- 
stone Hotel 

Alice Wright, Boardwalk 

Dollie Donovan 

Shepard Stores 

A. I. Namm & Son 

Abraham & Strauss 

Liggett's Drug Stores 

William Hengeref 

Kathryn Army Euclid Bldg. 

Charles W. Lane, 90 North 
High St. 

Margaret English, 247 
Main St. 

Woodbury Drug Co. 

Lewis & Son 

Liggett's, 321 Sixth Ave. 

J. L. Hudson 

Betty Jean Co. Shop, 1300 
S. Calhoun St. 

Elizabeth Nowack, Strand 
Theatre Bldg. 

Friedman Spring Dry 
Goods Co. 

Stasia Norton, 411 N. 

Mrs. M. I. Caudle, Coulter 

G. Fox & Co. 

Gertrude Lang 

The Misses Murray Beauty 

L. S. Donaldson Company 

Dr. E. L. Ellsworth, Park 

L. Bamberger 

Maison Blanche 



Jafcies McCreery & Co. 

Saks & Co. 

Stern Bros. 

Gimbel Brothers 

Hearn, 14th St. 


Barnett Bros. , 
Ave. and 74th St. and at 
all other dept. stores 

Liggett's Drug Stores 

Hetherington, 53 E. 42nd 

Kalish Pharmacies 

Harlow & Luther, 40th and 

Kane's, Broadway and 83rd 

Bale Drug Co., Broadway 
and 79th 

Schoonmaker, 42nd St. and 
Vanderbilt Ave., and 

A. D. Yeagler, 240 Main 

Liggett's, 165 Market St. 

Bita A. Kraus, 1615 Wal- 
nut St. 

Pauline Campbell, 13th 
and Sansbm St. 

Strawbridge, Clothier 

Lit Bros. 

Geo. G. Evans, 1012 Market 

McGinnis Vanity Shop. 

Joseph Home Co. 

May Drug Co. 

McCullough Drug Co. 

Scranton Dental Co. 

The Sheppard Company 

Dr. C. C. Benden 

. The Emporium 

Sterling Drug Co. 

Liggett's, 70 East Wash- 
ington St. 

England & McCaffry 

Liggett's, 1006 F. Street, 

Mrs. B. Gacklis, 67 Ran- 
dolph Place, N.W. 


The Charlotte Shop, 248 
Pine St. 

Brell L.lho. Co., N. Y. 

f* ^ JUNE 7 35<£ 







ow a double chin 
can be reduced or prevented^ 

Worn while you sleep 

SO MANY women have found The Davis 
Chin Strap helpful in reducing double chin! 
In thousands of instances it has gently re- 
stored the trim contours of girlhood to chin and 
neck — while women slept. 

A double chin makes a woman seem so careless 
of her appearance! Sagging face-muscles make a 
woman frequently seem older than she actually is. 
That mistaken idea cannot even be corrected by 
the most fashionable apparel. 

The double chin is the accepted mark of care- 
less middle age. It can be reduced or prevented 
simply by wearing The Davis Chin Strap at night. 

This fits snugly and comfortably around the 
chin and crown of the head, holding the facial 
muscles in their proper position, during the hours 
that you sleep. 

The constant support gives the muscles a rest during which 
they recover their earlier strength. It keeps excess fat from 
settling there while you sleep. In time, this simple treatment 
restores the more pleasing contour of earlier years. 

The Davis Chin Strap stops mouth-breathing while you 
sleep — that unfortunate habit which causes the chin to droop 
and forms wrinkles at the mouth-corners. Physicians suggest 
it for children after throat and nose operations. 

Get a Davis Chin Strap and wear it tonight. It fits like a 
glove and washes like a handkerchief. It will add immeasur- 
ably to your good health and spirits. 

Cotton, $2.00; linen, $3.00; mesh, $4.00. Measure size 
around crown of head and point of chin. Buy it from any one 
of the dealers listed here, or send money order or check to 


Dept. S.C. 507 Fifth Avenue 

New York City 

To Drug Stores, Department Stores and Beauty Parlors 

— The Davis Chin Strap is so well advertised that 

it sells rapidly. Write for wholesale prices 

These Stores Sell The Davis Chin Straps: 



Steinback Co. 

M. De'Hart. care Black- 
stone Hotel 

Alice Wright, Boardwalk 

Dollie Donovan 

Shepard Stores 

A. I. Namm & Son 

Abraham & Strauss 

Liggett's Drug Stores 

William Hengerer 

Kathryn Ann, Euclid Bldg. 

Charles W. Lane, 90 North 
High St. 

Margaret English, 247 
Main St. 

Woodbury Drug Co. 

Lewis & Son 

Liggett's, 321 Sixth Ave. 

3. L. Hudson 

Betty Jean Co. Shop, 1300 
S. Calhoun St. 

Elizabeth Nowack, Strand 
Theatre Bldg. 

Friedman Spring Dry 
Goods Co. 

Stasia Norton, 411 N. 

Mrs. M. I. Caudle, Coulter 

G. Fox & Co. 

Gertrude Lang 

The Misses Murray Beauty 

L. S. Donaldson Company 

Dr. E. L. Ellsworth, Park 

L. Bamberger 

Malson Blanche 



James McCreery & Co. 

Saks & Co. 

Stern Bros. 

Gimbel Brothers 

Hearn, 14th St. 


Barnett Bros. , 
Ave. and 74th St, and at 
all other dept. stores 

Liggett's Drug Stores 

Hetherington, 53 E. 42nd 

Kalish Pharmacies 

Harlow & Luther, 46th and 

Kane's, Broadway and 83rd 

Rale Drug Co., Broadway 
and 79th 

Schoonmaker, 42nd St. and 
Vanderbilt Ave., and 

A. D. Yeagler, 240 Main 

Liggett's, 165 Market St. 

Rita. A. Kraus, 1615 Wal- 
nut SL 

Pauline Campbell, 13th 
and Sansom St. 

Strawbrldge, Clothier 

Lit Bros. 

Geo. G. Evans, 1012 Market 

McGinnis Vanity Shop. 

Joseph Home Co. 

May Drug Co. 

McCullough Drug Co. 

Scranton Dental Co. 

The Sheppard Company 

Dr. C. C. Benden 

The Emporium 

Sterling Drug Co. 

Liggett's, 70 East Wash- 
ington St. 

England & McCaffry 

Liggett's, 1006 F. Street, 

Mrs. B. Gaddis, 67 Ran- 
dolph Place, N.W. 


The Charlotte Shop, 248 
Pine St. 

Women know what they want 

—and £et it 

A woman buys many differ- 
ent food products, dozens of 
fabrics and articles of ap- 
parel, shoes, things for the 
home, toilet preparations — 
quite probably in a year she 
makes a thousand purchases. 
Personally to judge the qual- 
ity of each, she would need to 
be a chemist, an engineer, a 
metallurgist and a good many 
other things. 

So, given the choice, of 
course she buys the goods she 
knows in preference to those 
she does not know. And she 
is going to have that choice 
for a good many years. She 
is boss. 

Manufacturers who want 
to work for her must realize 
this : — They must put in their 
application at once ; convince 
her of their intention and abil- 
ity to give her merchandise of 
known value; and then live 
up to the standard. 

For she is a just but ruthless 
boss. She neither forgets nor 
forgives. She rewards loyal 
service with loyalty, but her 
condemnation of broken faith 
is final. 

Her favor is the sunlight of 
success; her indifference, the 
outer darkness. 

[Published by dUADOWLAND in co-operation 
with The American Association of Advertising Agencies 

Page Three 


Susie had the Courage of a Pioneer 

That is why she dared to leave the harbor of her home in a little Western 
town and come to New York 

And then New York put her courage to the test. 

Hired to Live the Life of Another 

But Susie did not flinch. 

She dared accept an opportunity which would have tried the courage 
of women less brave 

And putting the disillusion and disappointment which had come to her 
away from her mind, Susie went on 

Susie Cast off Her own Identity Like an Old Dress 

And became, for the nonce, the glamorous Magda Basarov, the motion 
picture star 

Where Magda Basarov was invited, Susie went 

And no one was the wiser 

Susie wore the Basarov gowns — emulated the Basarov accent — and 
affected the Basarov mannerisms 

VJ7ITHOUT a doubt 
** Susie Takes a 

Chance is one of the 

greatest stories written in 
years. Be sure to read it — 
in the Motion Picture 
Magazine. Lucian Cary, 
the popular and well-liked 
magazine writer, is the 





MYSTERY . . . sus- 
pense . . . surprise 
. . . strange situations . . . 
developments still stranger 
. . . characters so real and 
human that they will re- 
mind you of people you 
know ... all woven with 
supreme skill into an ab- 
sorbing story entirely un- 
like anything else you have 
ever read. 

A New Kind of Story by Lucian Cary 

In the July Motion Picture Magazine 

Page Four 

MAY 29 1923 



Expressing the Arts 

Important Features in This Issue: 


Number 4 

Painting and Sculpture: 

The Odyssey of George Hart Edgar Cahill 

The Genius of Jo Davidson 

Independence and Otherwise in Paris Allan Ross MacDougall 

Literary Criticism : 

The America 
The Faringto 

Fiction and Poetry 
Drama : 

The American Short Story R. le Clerc Phillips 

The Farington Diary A'. P. Dawson 

The Embezzler (translated from the French) Frederic Bontet 

June's Ministrant Bliss Carman 

Dancing : 

The Russian Renaissance in Berlin Sinclair Dombroiv 

The Unhappy Lady (one-act play) Carl Glick 

Expressionism on Broadway Kenneth Macgoivan 

A Pictorial Feature — Portraits of Maria Ley, Lisa Stier, Sven Tropp, Marie Anderson, 
Janet Stone, Marion Hamilton, Louis and Frieda Berkoff 

Satire and Humor: 

Our Standard Bearers Thyra Samter JF'insloiv 


Meister Liszt, the Man ■ Joseph Szebenyei 


Undiplomatic Relations August Henkel 

"With Stage Settings By": Blanding Sloan 

The Swedish Movement Wynn 

Motion Pictures: 

On the Watermelon-Seed Circuit Elsie McCormick 

A Romance of the Fifteenth Century — Scenes from Monna Vanna 

Arts and Crafts: 

Porcelains from Russia — Pieces from an exhibition recently held in Berlin 

Photography : 

The Camera Contest — Our Swan Song. 

Published Monthly by Brewster Publications, Inc., at Jamaica, N. Y. 

Entered at the Post Office at Jamaica, N. Y., as second-class matter, under the act oj March 3rd, 1879. Printed in U. S. A. 

Eugene V. Brewster, President and Editor-in-Chief ; Guy L. Harrington, Vice-President and Business Manager ; L. G. Conlon, Treasurer ; 

E. M. Heinemann, Secretary 



Managing Editor: A dele Whitely Fletcher 

Editor : 
F. M. Osborne 

Associate Editor: Jerome Hart 

Art Director: A. M. Hopfmuller 

Subscription $3.50 per year, in advance, including postage in the U. S., Cuba, Mexico and Philippines; in Canada $4.00, and in foreign countries, $4.50 per 
year. Single copies, 35 cents. Postage prepaid. One and two cent United States Government stamps accepted. Subscribers must notify us at once 

of any change of address, giving both old and new address. 

Copyright, 1923, by Brewster Publications, Inc., Ijb the United States and Great Britain 








— <^^S 

Page Five 

Courtesy of Kennedy & Company 


From the pencil drawing by C. F. Ryder 

Page Six 


A water-color poster by Guy Rowe 




Warren Dahler is a pupil of Albert Herter, and 
has won fame thru his paintings and his stage 
settings, especially those for The Czarina. He 
is the designer of the tapestries depicting the 
history of Missouri, which are hung in the State 
Capitol, and those descriptive of the history of 
Neiv York, which are in the McALpin Hotel, 
New York City. Mr. Dahler has exhibited at the 
Architectural League and the National Academy 


Courtesy of the Ferargil Galleries 


Murray Bewley, who is famous for his portraits of chil- 
dren, was a pupil of Chase and Henri, and also studied 
at the Beaux Arts. He has won the Winter Academy 
Prize and the First Prize of the Pennsylvania Academy of 
Fine Arts, and his work has been shown at the Paris Salon 

Courtesy ot the Keppel Galleries 


An excellent example of George (Pop) Hart's most recent work 

The Odyssey of George Hart 

Who is the dean of the globe-trotting painters, and whose work shows a genuine gusto for life 

By Edgar Cahill 

IT has been said that the American creative intelli- 
gences who made die deepest impression on Europe 
have been precisely these who never left these shores. 
Argument from this would proceed to the conclusion that 
home-grown talent is 
best. It may be. Cer- ■ 
tainly the man deeply 
rooted in his native 
earth is better off, 
aesthetically, than the 
cosmopolitan tumble- 
weed hustled hither 
and yon in response 
to all the winds of art 
doctrine, and the ob- 
scure tides of unvisit- 
ed. island-dotted seas. 
But this does not 
exhaust our categories. 
There is another type 
of artist, the true 
space-eater, the man 
in love with all the 
moods and manifesta- 
tions of the world. 
Such an one is not in- 
fluenced by an igno- 
rant public's demand 
for "tourist art." He 
<ees beyond the mere- 
ly odd, the mildly 
exotic, and the postal- 
card picturesque so 
dear to a people fed 
on canned tours and 
evaporated culture. 
He knows that adven- 
tures are internal ; that 
they take place inside 
a nervous system. 
And he paints pictures 
of himself against all 
the gorgeous back- 
drops of this sublu- 
nary globe. If his in- 
ternal adventures are 
interesting, then his 

works are also. If they are not, his works drop with 
scarcely an audible splash into the great ocean of travelogs 
in paint, which is fed by copious streams from nearly 
every art gallery this side of the Statue of Liberty. 
An artist who has lived a co'orful subjective Odyssey, 
with chapters staged in all parts of the known world, is 
George O. Hart. Mr. Hart is, perhaps, the dean of globe- 
trotting painters. Iceland and Patagonia, Egypt and Tahiti. 
the West Indies, Europe, Mexico, the hills and flats of 
New Jersey, and a thousand other places, are his familiar 
stamping grounds. Everywhere he is vividly himself. 
He is not trying to imitate anyone, or to please anyone' 
but himself. He has followed no art fashions, and he 



has worshipped no idols, excessively. The names 
Daumier and of Rowlandson have been mentioned 
connection with his. But his likeness to these artists 
there be one, is temperamental rather than technical. 


hi= love of human character for its own 

sake, and in his ability to use the roughest manifestations 
of this roughneck world to construct pictures of undeni- 
able charm. He shows a genuine gusto for life, from 
high to low tide. One must love these vagabonds, these 

dice players and cock- 
fighters, these bits of 
human wreckage that 
float up to our social 
sea walls, if one is to 
make them live as 
Hart makes them live. 

The Odyssey of 
George Hart began 
when, as a boy, he 
found himself much 
more interested in 
drawing pictures than 
in anything else. He 
studied drawing for a 
while in a Rochester 
school, and then 
moved on, painting 
signs for a living all 
over the Union. Later 
he saved up enough 
money to go to Paris 
where he studied for 
some months at the 
Julian Academy. Tir- 
ing of academical rou- 
tine he quit and went 
out into the French 
countryside to paint 
landscape. The first 
one of these was ac- 
cepted for exhibition 
by the Carnegie Insti- 
tute in Pittsburgh. 

Then followed years 
of restless wandering 
all over the globe. 
Hart lugged portfolios 
full of sketches thru 
Egypt when Maspero, 
the great French 
Egyptologist, was car- 
rying on his investigations ; thru Tahiti when Gauguin was 
still an unknown ornament of that widely advertised 
island ; thru the West Indies when Jamaica rum was not 
on the contraband list. A bare catalog of his wanderings 
would more than fill this magazine. Thru all these 
wanderings went his sketch-book and his portfolio of 
water colors. Why? Because he wanted to astound the 
people "back home" with his tourist picture-book? Not 
at all. George Hart did not exhibit those things for years. 
He had no idea of exhibiting or selling them. He did 
them for his own pleasure as he traveled about the world, 
paying his way, meanwhile, by working at all sorts of 
things unrelated to his art. It was not until he had been 
painting for a score of years that two well-known artists 
persuaded him to exhibit at the Montross Galleries. 

The result is that, instead of the usual tricks of 
the traveling artist-showman, we have the sensitive, 
{Continued on page 70) 


Page Eleven 

Treinitz, Stockholm 


Leaders of the Royal Opera ballet in the new Swedish opera-pantomime, The 
Mountain King, which was composed by Hugo Alfven, and recently produced 
with settings designed by Prince Eugene, brother of King Gustaf of Sweden 

Page Twelve 


The American Short Story 

"The fault above all others with which Europeans 
reproach American fiction is its lack of sincerity" 

By R. le Clerc Phillips 

IF one consults the card catalog of the New York 
Public Library, there is one section where the cards 
will be found to be extremely well-thumbed at the 
corners; that section is Fiction: Short Story. So black 
have these corners become that in glancing at them one 
has mental visions of that long stream of all sorts and 
conditions of men and women who have sought and are 
still seeking either money or immortality (usually the 
former, I imagine) via short-story writing. For the 
catalog lists a whole little library of books, the writers of 
which offer to tell their readers how the trick of writing 
stories is to be acquired ; and since most of us are simple 
souls with trusting dispositions, ever ready to believe that 
which we wish to believe, it is evident that there is a 
rooted conviction in the minds of large numbers of liter- 
ary aspirants that the gift of writing can be learned from 
instruction books on the subject. And, indeed, who 
could resist such comforting and positive assurance as 
the following: 

"There is no magic connected with story writing and 

no especial gifts for it required Neither is a long 

and toilsome apprenticeship necessary." Or again (and 
from the same mentor) : "And when one's bread and 
butter, not to speak of jam, depends upon the number 
of words one turns out and sells, I submit that the 'pur- 
suit of letters' becomes a very practical proposition — just 
as practical a proposition as running a shoe store or con- 
ducting a bank. . . . Story-writing at present is a definite 
and well-paid occupation, very much on the same plane 
as law, medicine or salesmanship." 

It is true that a little farther on a gust of modesty 
assails our sage, since he adds: "I do not say that I can 
make you one of the great Immortals, a Balzac or a 
Thackeray, a Kipling or a de Maupassant." Neverthe- 
less, his promises are alluring enough, since he under- 
takes to teach his disciples a "well-paid occupation, very 
much on the same plane as law, medicine or salesman- 
ship," and this without the long study, the expense and 
the examinations that at least the professions of law and 
medicine demand. 

Now, it is precisely on this foregoing matter, and 
right at the outset, that a split occurs between the 
ideals and opinions of American writers and those of 

Europe. Europeans emphatically do not believe that 
short-story writing is an occupation "very much on the 
same plane as law, medicine or salesmanship" ; they 
do not believe that it can be acquired without a long and 
toilsome apprenticeship. They emphatically do believe 
that very definite and special natural gifts are necessary 
for the writing of short stories, and that if these gifts be 
lacking, it is best for literary aspirants, for their own 
sake, for the sake of those who realty do possess the 
requisite gifts, and most of all the sake of the reading 
public at large, whose tastes should not be vitiated by 
mediocrity in standards, to refrain from further attempts 
of a literary nature, and to turn instead to law, medicine 
or salesmanship— preferably the latter. 

That this divergence of opinion between Americans 
and Europeans goes very deep is proved by the fact 
that in this country institutions as dignified as uni- 
versities apparently sincerely believe that story-writing 
can be taught, since many of them advertise regular 
courses of instruction in the "subject," treating it much 
as if it were algebra, French grammar, geography or 
Latin, or a laboratory course. 

With regard to story writing, it is, of course, true 
that the grammar of a language can be taught, but 
one would suppose that the literary aspirant had already 
learnt this at school. It is equally true that a few tech- 
nical hints can be imparted, such, for instance, as those 
concerning length, number of characters and unity of 
effect; but if the literary aspirant has not sufficient liter- 
ary instinct to perceive these things for himself, without 
spending good money to attend courses, or precious time 
to read and absorb printed instructions, he had better 
by far abandon all thought of becoming a writer of 
short stories. 

There are, God knows, more than enough bad fiction 
writers already in existence ; let humanity be spared un- 
necessary additions, since the only type of story writing 
that is capable of being taught is that of the soulless, 
machine-made variety, that observes every technical regu- 
lation with mechanical precision, but into which the 
author has not been able to infuse one small spark of life 
nor one throb of honest emotion. 

Page Thirteen 



iter this preliminary disagreement concerning the 
nature, training for and practice of short-story 
writing, one arrives at the question of the stories them- 
selves, executed with or without the assistance of paid 
instruction and duly published in the magazines. 

Why is it that these American short stories, which 
command such fabulous prices according to European 
ideas, such an enormous public and such profound rever- 
ence in this country, command none of these things to any 
noticeable extent in European countries? Is it jealousy 
of American superiority in this branch of literature? 
Yet the Russians, with such a short story writer as 
Tchekhov, have surely no need to be jealous; the French 
have their de Maupassant, whom even American in- 
structors hold up to their pupils as a model of what a 
short-story writer should be (plus a little "uplift,"' of 
course, of which poor de Maupassant had none) ; and 
the English have their Kipling, also used as a model for 
American literary aspirants, and one well worth studying, 
for at one time did not American magazine editors offer. 
him as much as a dollar a word for his tales? In any 
case, there is a very firm conviction amongst 
Americans that they 
excel all other races in 
the writing of the short 

Miss Jean W i c k 
writes in her Stories 
Editors Buy and Why, 
which was published, 
I believe, about two 
years ago : 

"American magazines 
(and this is said in no 
spirit of braggadocio) 
today carry more and 
better short stor-ies 
than do the magazines 
of any other countrv." 
Yet Mr. E. J. O'Brien, 
commonly regarded as 
the first authority on 
short stories in the 
United States, in his 
last annual merit list, 
gives the first place to 
the Dial, as having 
during 1922 published 
one hundred per cent 
admirable stories, and 
second place to the 

new magazine, World Fiction, as having in its very 
short existence attained to ninety-five per cent of 

Now, the stories published in World Fiction are prac- 
tically without exception translations of foreign stories, 
countries as remote as Iceland, Algeria and Roumania 
being drawn upon to supply material. It would seem as 
if considerable discrepancy of opinion as to what con- 
stitutes a good story exists between Mr. O'Brien on the 
one hand, and that body of critics who loudly proclaim 
the absolute preeminence of the American short story 
on the other. Were there agreement on the point, Mr. 
O'Brien could not possibly have considered the stories of 
World Fiction to be of any literary value, these stories 
differing so widely in theme, style, manner and treat- 
ment from American stories as to have practically 
nothing whatever in common with them. Mr. O'Brien 
is, however, a man whose opinions concerning the short 
story are widely deferred to, and he can, no doubt, if he 
has not already done so, give excellent reason"; for his 
approval of the stories which have appeared in World 

When a foreigner picks up a book 
the flippant smartness of many of 
is to recoi 

In considering short stories there are two qualities that 
the average educated European reader most strongly 
and insistently calls for: sincerity and charm. Some, no 
doubt, will even place charm of literary manner first 
(hence the great vogue of Pierre Loti, for example, 
whose matter is of the slightest, but whose manner is of 
an almost uncanny fascination). But all will demand 
at least a modicum of it. Therefore, when a foreigner 
picks up a book of American short stories, and, begin- 
ning to read, is met with such an opening passage as 
"Momma was sick, right sick. Momma was awful sick ! 
Momma looked like she was going to die any minute. 
And she didn't care if she did. She up and as good as 
told Poppa that," his instinct is to recoil in dismay. 

Neither will the educated European see anything what- 
ever to admire in the flippant "smartness,'' of such an 
opening as this : "When you try to do a story about three 
people like Sid Hahn and Mizzi Markis and Wallie 
Ascher, you find yourself pawing around amongst 
the personalities hopelessly. For the three of them are 
what is known in newspaper parlance as national figures. 
One n. f. is enough for any short story. Three would 

swamp a book," etc.. 
etc. (I should add that 
I have picked these 
openings entirely at 
random from a book 
of specially selected 

The probable reply 
to any criticism con- 
cerning the style just 
quoted would base its 
defence on the plea 
that since these are 
tales of common peo- 
ple, a certain unity of 
effect is obtained by 
deliberately keying 
the whole style of the 
writing to accord with 
the commonness of the 
characters. If so, this 
is a somewhat novel 
theory of the writer's 
craft, and one that has 
never been practised 
by the great masters, 
no matter how humble 
the characters of 
whom they wrote. De 
Maupassant wrote much of the poor and obscure, as 
well as of the rich and worldly, yet he never dreamed, 
when writing of his peasants and little shop-keepers, of 
there being any necessity for adopting a common style 
merely because he wrote of common people. Few have 
written more of the utterly uneducated classes than Kip- 
ling with his Tommies, yet this writer's style, tho often 
harsh and even brutal, is never common or foolish. But 
many of the American short-story writers seem to take 
a singular pride in adopting a style that revolts by its 
ugliness^ its rawness, its inanity and its utter lack of 
charm and distinction. One can almost hear them saying 
as they sit down to write : 

"I write about reg'lar fellers and plain folks — not 
pink-tea hounds or effete Europeans ; and I write in a 
plain style anyone can understand, and without any 
frills and ornaments." 

Crudeness, ugliness and lack of distinction can, it is 

true, occasionally be overlooked when utterly outweighed 

by the power, originality and sincerity of the story itself. 

Rut it would be absurd to claim that the average American 

(Continued on page 67) 

of American short stories and reads 
the opening paragraphs, his instinct 
1 in dismay 

Page Fourteen 

, Maurice Goldberg 


Miss Wycherly was the first one to produce the plays of Lady 
Gregory, Synge, and Yeats in this country. She began her career 
when a very young girl, playing a minor part with Madame 
Janauschek. Since then she has played only leading roles, «nd 
is appearing now as Daisy Diana Dorothea Devore in the Theatre 
Guild's production of The Adding Machine 

Page Fifteen 

The Genius 

]o Davidson 

AH Photographs Courtesy of the Fearon Galleries 






This portrait bust shows that greatest 

of achievements — the conquest of age 

by a virile mind and spirit 

(Mrs. Robert W. Goelet) 


Here the Buddha- 
like pose, the calm 
scrutinizing gaze, 
the beautiful treat- 
ment of the hands, 
prove Jo David- 
son's great art in 
bringing out domi- 
nant elements of 

Tage Sixteen 









Henri Manuel, Paris 

History is taking all sorts of strange forms today. Hendrik Van Loon gives us a 
fascinating new use of an old medium; motion picture films vivify the progress/ 
of the world for the bootblack and the business' magnate alike: the clever younger 
generation burlesques history until all the old gods and demugods lie ludicrously 
shattered at our feet. And Jo Davidson gives it still another form. In his two 
studios in Paris he presents what he calls, "a plastic history of the times." A 
history of individual and world achievement in terms of a most expressive art. 
An unprejudiced history, which features a Coue and a Gertrude Stein, as well as 
a Pershing and a Clemenceau and an Anatole France. The question, "Why are 
you devoting so much time to portraying older people and giving the beauty of 
youth so little attention?" brought the ready answer: "I am interested in the 
people who have accomplished. Their faces aren't disguises. Their struggles 
and their achievements are there for the world to see" 

Page Seventeen 

On the Watermelon -Seed Circuit 

The Motion Picture climbs the wall into the Land of the Dragon 

By Elsie McCormick 

WHEN the shades of night have 
fallen in a Chinese city and the 
shopkeeper has cheated the last 
tourist, put the boards over the windows, 
excoriated his assistants because the cash- 
drawer was four coppers short, dispatched 
his rice, and lit a punk-stick or two in 
honor of his ancestors, he begins to feel 
the beckoning lure of certain colored 
lights on the Street of a Million Fairies. 
Thus, after telling his wife that there is 
an important guild-meeting on, he makes 
footprints with the toes toward the 
Heavenly Fragrance and Eternal Right- 
eous Motion Picture Palace, prepared to 
spend a pleasant evening watching beau- 
tiful American ladies tied to railroad tracks by dark- 
browed gentlemen. 

In the meantime, the city magistrate in long silk 
robes, the sing-song girl sparkling with diamonds, the 
Chinese flapper in knee-length trousers, the ricsha-coolie 
who has just won a pot in fan-tan, and the Number 
One, Two and Three wives of the city's richest garlic 
merchant are all likewise on their way to view new 
phases of life in unquiet America. 

China has fallen en masse for the flickerings of the 
silver screen. Thru the agency of the educative film, 
wide-eyed little Hop Joy is learning that Americans 
spend most of their leisure drawing black crosses in 
secret conclaves, being chased by screaming shadows, 
tying friends to buzz-saws, and pushing innocent, 
golden-haired stenographers off the roofs of twenty- 
story buildings. 

"My savee why you come Chinaside," remarked my 
cook one day, after a large evening at the White Plum- 
Blossom Cinema Theater ; "America too muchee shootee. 
China more quiet nice country." In the meantime, mis- 
sionaries are wondering why the Chinese brethren donl 
show more enthusiasm when urged to adopt the ad- 
vantages of Western civilization. 

There are, of course, moving-picture theaters in China 
that show films of a higher grade than The Ravings 
of Rosa or The Mysteries of the Iron Bath-tub. Every 
port city has a decorous moving-picture palace with 
stuffed canaries and wicker flower-baskets in the lobby 
and appropriate music by a full or two-thirds full or- 
chestra. If the Chinese only patronised these theaters, 
they would learn in two or three lessons that American 
murders are often well-conducted affairs perpetrated 
by men in dinner-jackets and that the buzz-saw 
method is regarded, at least in the best circles, 
as a little rough. 

Unfortunately, however, the seventy-five 
cents to one dollar and a half required at the 
box-office, and an inexplicable prejudice ^ 
against water-melon seeds, rice-cakes, bird- 
cages and hot towels on the part of the man- 
agement, have prevented the native commu- 
nity from correcting its misconceptions about 
America. Many a worthy ricsha-coolie will 
travel to his grave thinking that there are 
American societies of vengeance that go 

out, garbed in black masks and robes, to 
lynch their victims. 

No Chinese, let it be mentioned in pass- 
ing, can enjoy a moving-picture without a 
hot towel. We dont know whether they 
usually postpone their fortnightly ablutions 
until they happen to be in the movies or 
whether the impressionable audiences want 
to wipe away the tears. Anyway, there is 
a vacancy in the Chinese soul that only a 
hot towel can fill. Hence towel agents stand 
in-the aisles and throw their wares over the 
heads of the audience to people who want 
to treat, themselves and friends. It is a bit 
disconcerting to foreigners to see a towel 
hurtle like a great black bird across the 
screen, just as little Marjorie is falling 
thru the trap-door. 

The moving-picture theater cannot exist long in a 
country without creating the personal fan. We've seen 
a number of dignified, silk-robed men in Peking stamp 
the varnish off the floor when some antedeluvian foot- 
prints representing the name of Charles Spencer Chaplin 
were flashed on the screen. One theater-owner of 
Canton refused to take any more Charlie Chaplin pic- 
tures because, he said, too many people came. 

Judging from the number of times that her features 
appear on the cover of the one moving-picture magazine 
published in Chinese, Mary Pickford leads the race of 
feminine popularity — even tho it is seldom that her pic- 
tures descend to the hot towel and watermelon-seed 
circuit. Her popularity, however, is not universal. One 
Chinese lady who was leaving the theater after a Mary 
Pickford production remarked that, first, she ought to 
comb her hair, and, second, she ought to cut her eye- 
lashes, because they were so long that they looked untidy. 

In the meantime, the Chinese have begun to make 
pictures themselves. They decided that they might 
as well because they have plenty of railroad crossings 
of their own and, tho they are a trifle short of twenn - 
story buildings, it is always possible to push a 
stenographer off a pagoda. As a result, their first release, 
Vampires' Prey, was turned loose on Shanghai some 
months ago. Running across its action as plainly as a 
streak of jam on a three-year-old mouth, was the in- 
fluence of The Meddlings of Madeline or The Terrors 
of Tessibel. As such apt pupils wou 1 d hardly be likely 
to omit the usual conclave scene, the picture included a 
secret basement meeting of hooded and masked 
Chinese women chatting cozily over a coffin. 
Not in everything, however, was the Chinese 
producer of Vampires' Prey an imitator. On 
the theory that if one vampire is a drawing- 
card, two must double the box-office receipts, 
the Oriental Griffith introduced a pair of 
wicked ladies playing a sister act. The vampires 
in question wore no snaky gowns that fit them 
like a coat of varnish, nor long jet earrings 
that scraped their shoukler-blades. They didn't 
even burn incense or smoke cigarets in long 
amber holders, disposing of the ashes with that 
(Continued on page 70) 

Page Eighteen 



The sixteen-year-old star of the company of Oriental players 
tvho are producing a series of native classical dramas in the 
Chinese Theater of San Francisco. Here she is dressed for 
her role in Mew Fon Woey Gar Young (A Cruel Relative) 

Paye Nineteen 

A Romance 

of the 

Fifteenth Century 

The story of Monna V anna, which has so long been the 
inspiration of painters arid poets, has been filmed by a 
German company and soon will be released in this 
country. The scene is laid in Italy at the end of the 
fifteenth century. The Town of Pisa, whose garrison is 
commanded by Guido Colonna, is besieged by Prinzi- 
valle, a general in the pay of Florence. When the Pisans 
are starving and their ammunition is spent, Prinzivalle 
promises deliverance if Colonna will send his young 
wife, Monna Vanna, alone to his tent to beg that he save 
her people. Tho Monna Vanna realizes her danger, she 
consents, and discovers in Prinzivalle not the barbarian 
he had been pictured, but a long-forgotten playmate of 
her childhood who has ever been in love with her. In 
explanation of his strange request, Prinzivalle tells 
Monna Vanna: . 

"I am a poor wretch, who for one single instant wist- 
fully gazes at what has been the aim of his life; an 
unhappy man who asks nothing, who knows not even 
what it is he should ask; and yet he would tell you 
before you go of what you have been to him, and will 
be, to the very end of life. ..." 


Reiss, Berlin 







Page Twenty 

Reiss, Berlin 


An interpretation of the Renaissance grandezza 
by the well-known German actor, Conrad Veidt 

Page Twenty-One 

Ballet movement in An Old Russian Wedding. The costumes and decor were designed by Tchelitcheff 

The Russian Renaissance in Berlin 

By Sinclair Dombrow 

BERLIN is now the second largest city of Russia. 
Moscow is still first in population but hardly in 
national fervor. In Moscow good Russian is still 
an accomplishment. In Berlin it is already an affectation. 
Charlottenburg, the western part of the town, with the 
traditional score of Russian newspapers, three acres of 
bookshops and innumerable constellations of tea r shops, 
has seceded from the city proper and declared itself an 
exiled Russian principality. "After us the deluge and 
after that the Wanka-Tanka," is inscribed on the lintel of 
every good home in Charlottenburg. Or rather of every 
good atelier. In Charlottenburg there are only , ateliers. 
Dark, squalid rooms in still more squalid pensions, where 
the children of Balieff, too joyous in vision to bear the 
tragic cloak of communism with comfort, build feverish 
dreams of European tours that end on Broadway. 

For these emigrants have all but one art, the art of 
pleasing. If Stanislawski be the mode they rush to file 
certificates at the Moscow Art Theater and come back 
laden with the gift of the unspoken word, with the magic 
of a desolate realism. And if Nijinski holds the stage 
there is a mad scamper for St. Petersburg, and from 
every corner of Russia come enchanting figures in spangle 
and fluff, waving the seal of the "late Imperial Ballet." 
And now Balieff pleases and there are no longer actors 
or painters or confercncieurs in Berlin. There are only 
the children of Balieff. And there is but one art in Berlin, 
the art of the Russian cabaret, the art of the wooden 
puppet and of earth-songs heard at sundown in the 
canyons of the Caucasus. 

The tired business man of Berlin goes to the Staats 
Theater today in a critical mood commensurate with the 
gloss on the back of his coat. He has learned to leave 
his crumbling evening dress home and bring his wits 
instead. And so he scoffs at Jessner's "steps" and ponders 
heavily upon the demise of Max Reinhardt. But to the 
Russian theater he comes in full dress and with that 
generous untutored receptivity that flourishes in a white 
shirt-front and a bottle of Haut Sauterne. The German 
stage has gone to the "Rotters," but long live Der Blaue 
Vogel and Karussel and Das Russische Romantische 

Russia has moved far in stage decor and costume since 
- the coloristic extravaganzas of Bakst and Benois 
startled the Western world. The triumphant experiments 
of Goncharova and Larionov in Paris have loosed a flooc' 
of uncontrolled fertility among her younger imaginations. 
Like all uncontrolled fertility much of it is abortive and 
illegitimate. But a sufficient part makes new challenging 
applications of cubism and expressionism to. stage costume. 
These fertile imaginations have been lured westward 
by the rising popularity of the Russian cabaret in every 
capital of Europe. The boldest have sought at one leap 
to join the scintillating cliques of Paris. But the majority 
have been content to arrange a tentative alliance with the 
lowly German mark. In Berlin, A. Chudjak'ow and 
R. Larteau are doing the major decors for the Blue Bird. 
Xenia Boguslawskaja, "Pitum" and Georges A. de Poge- 
daieff are frantically preparing new sets for Karussel 

Page Tiventy-Two 


And Loo Zack and Paul Tchelitcheff arc designing the costumes for the 
Russian Romantic Theater. 

The buffooneries of the Russian cabarets are not the buffooneries of 
the street and the dance hall. They are the primal joys and hungers of 
all peoples poured thru the delicate screen of serious artists. Their move- 
ments are the movements of the dance. Their rhythms are the rhythms 
of music. And because color is the surest road to primal feeling their 
decorations are bathed in riotous tones, molded to plastic form and 
imbued with dynamic tempo by daring painters full of a new 
seeing and a new feeling in paint. 

A renaissance out of buffoonery seems hardly plausible. But 
the solution lies in the rich fruition to which sheer decorative 
color has been brought by these artists. And Berlin rejoices 
because it is hungry for simple, universal concepts, for primi- 
tive emotions that dissolve the leaden noondays and free the 
mind from a naturalistic concern with the dollar market. For 
a time she had hoped much from her own expressionists. But 
she soon grew weary of flatulent torsos attaining cosmic unity 
thru murky vistas of purple and grey. They offered no release. 
Decency forbade the universal concepts they inspired, and no 
others were conceivable. 

But at the Blue Bird the matter is really simple. Confrere 
Jushnij is there to obviate the trouble of making false concepts. 
He makes them religiously himself. Moreover, here the burdens 
of body and thought may be magically washed away in pools 
of fluid color. In at least nine of the twelve numbers of the 
new program color masses dominate the emotional theme and 
are inseparable from the rhythm. In Dame Pique, a fragment 
out of the opera by Tschaikowski, a tender, subdued treatment 
of the decorative motif by Pogedaieff weaves a fragrant charm 

Here are two costume studies for 
Dreams of Harlequin by Georges 
A. de Pogedaieff, who invites the 
spectator into a world of mild in- 
tellectual amusement by conven- 
tionalizing character and destroy- 
ing all verisimilitude save that of 
caricature. He calls himself a syn- 
thesist of realism and cubism. But 
cubism has no place in his art. 
His synthesis is but a strained rep- 
resentation in which plastic planes 
take the place of flat surfaces. New 
York may see his work in Rimsky- 
Korsakoff's Satco, at the Metro- 
politan Opera House next season 

A T 

of memoried petals over a group of silent figures. And in Tchelitcheff's 
costumes to The Wooing an oriental ecstasy wells out of the joyous 
rhythm of his mosaics. 

t the new Karussel on Kurfiirstendamm an attempt has been made 
to vitiate the Russian formula by introducing German text and by 
dramatizing the action down to the intelligence of a Kurfiirstendamm 
(Broadway) audience. Chinese Gods seeks also an elemental emo- 
tional effect thru color masses. But here the treatment falls 

tritely short of being either Russian or oriental. 
x In the same program, however, an Italian opera caricature 
uses figurines designed by Xenia Boguslawskaja. These 
\ figurines show the Russian buffoonery at its best, in 

I \ the hands of an authoritative imagination. Again 
^^ the punchinello stage of old Italian burlesque 
creaks with frenzied animation. Harlequin is 
here, and Columbine, and the staid judge and 
the proud soldier. But how marvelously 
altered in attire. The old painful verisi- 
militude has given way to a lusty sym- 
bolism from which there is no escape 
for actor or spectator save in joyous 
play. The haughty nobleman in purple 
and gold, the shriveled notary in 
(Continued on page 73) 

Page Tzvrntx-1 h'\-- 

Posed for Abbe by Louis and Frieda Berkoff of the Greenwich Village Follies 


Page Twenty-Four 

Kdward Thayer Monroe 


Selena Royle is the seventeen-year-old daughter of the play- 
wright Milton Royle. Her first part teas that of Guinevere in 
her father's drama, Lancelot and Elaine. So appealing was her 
portrayal that the Theatre Guild wisely entrusted her with 
the role of Solveig in their production of Peer Gynt 

Page Twenty-Five 

Ten-Minute Plays 

By Carl Glick 

THE Characters are a Broom and a Book. Should 
the author be consulted in the casting of this play 
he would have Mrs. Pat Campbell as the Book and 
Jimmy Watts as the Broom. 

The Scene is in a comer of the Genealogical Room of 
the Public Library. To the right is a long shelf of books. 
To the left is a huge table. Leaning against the table is 
a Broom, quite an ordinary broom. Lying on the floor is 
a Book, quite an unusual book. To all outward appear- 
ances these tzvo are like all other books and brooms you 
have ever seen. It is useless to mention their souls. Be- 
sides, they speak for themselves. The hour is midnight. 

Book: Oh, Mr. Broom? 

Broom : Yes, fna'am. 

Book (hesitatingly) : You— you are a gentleman? 

Broom : I trust so. Tho I am kept in the basement, I 
have been in many drawing-rooms. And I have ancestors 
who have seen the inside of king's palaces. But who am 
I to boast ? 

Book ( with awe) : A friend of kings! 

Broom: Yes, ma'am, even if I say so, who shouldn't. 
I have never been immortalized in song, yet poets have 
beaten their wives over the head with me. Indeed, 
ma'am, I have had gentlemanly uses. 

Book (with relief) : Then I know you will help me. 

Broom : A woman in distress, ma'am, finds comfort in 
a broom. 

Book : .We are alone ? 

Broom : Yes, ma'am. The janitor has gone for the 
dust-pan. It will take him all of ten minutes. He is 
very slow, ma'am. Did you want him to put you back 
upon the shelves ? 

Book (shuddering) : Oh, dear me, no! Not that! 

Broom : How came you upon the floor, if I might be 
so personal as to ask ? 

Book : I was dropped- — quite accidentally — by a terrible 
person. He had no respect for me. I am most unhappy. 

Broom : Oh, ma'am! 

Book: Not at being dropped. Oh, dear, no! I con- 
sider that, under the circumstances, most fortunate. The 
young man in charge at the 
desk thinks I am lost. He 
has my slip, but he cant find 
me. He went home worried. 
I am a most valuable book. 
I assure you. (Proudly) : 
I was published, if you 
please, in 1828. Yes, as old 
as that. There aren't many 
like me left. And I doubt 
if there ever will be an- 
other edition of me. . . . 
But, sir, since you are a 
gentleman, you can do me 
a great favor. Please — be- 
fore the janitor returns — 
you see that spot under the 
shelf — please, with one 
quick push, shove me 
there. Then I will be 
hidden. Hidden and lost 
and my miseries at an end. 

Broom : But- -I cant. 

Book : Cant ? 

Pierrot? bv Madame Vassilieff of Paris 

Broom : I have no more power to move about than 
you have. 

Book (sighing) : Oh that we had the power to move 
us, to move ourselves as others move us ! 

Broom : But I fail to understand why such a distin- 
guished lady as yourself should want to be lost. 

Book : I must tell you the truth, then perhaps you will 
understand. I realized today for the first time that I 
have become declasse. 

Broom (rustles faintly) : The word, ma'am, is un- 
known in our family. Brooms wear out, but never be- 
come declasse. What do you mean? 

Book : You know what a wonderful genealogy I am — ' 
what a proud family I represent? 

Broom : No, ma'am. I do not. We have so many 
genealogies here — all proud. 

Book : I am the Gullibuson family. (As if this were 
quite sufficient.) 

Broom : Oh, the Gullibusons. (It's all in the way he 
says it.) 

Book : We go clear back to Charles I. We are quite 
proud of the bar sinister across our coat of arms. We 
were the first bar sinister that Charles recognized. And 
that's saying a great deal. They used to call him "The 
Merry Monarch," you know ... It was one Mary 
Gullibuson. Her son took her name. NoW dont be 
shocked, Mr. Broom. Royalty, like geniuses, have their 
off moments. The first branch of my family came to 
this country in 1642. They settled in Virginia. • Since 
that time they have all distinguished themselves. One 
signed the Declaration of Independence; seventeen 
fought in the Revolutionary War ; fifty-five helped with 
their money — but that unfortunately excludes their de- 
scendants from joining the Daughters of the American 
Revolution. We have had forty-two judges, eighteen 
Congressmen, one Governor, two poets, fourteen col- 
lege professors, and two hundred and eighty preachers — 
all God-fearing men. 

Broom : And proud, too, I dare say, ma'am, to have 
royal blood in their veins. 

Book : Oh, yes. I was compiled by a preacher. Then, 

too, we have had successful 
business men too .numerous 
to mention ; one founded a 
college, another a museum. 
six made themselves im- 
mortal with stained-glass 
windows, one sailed on an 
expedition to the North 
Pole, and there was one 
Gullibuson who never 
missed a revival meeting 
and alone converted three 
thousand souls. 

Broom : That must 
have pleased Charles I, 
had he but known. 

Book : Of course we 
have made our mistakes, 
too. What family hasn't? 

Broom : A black sheep 
more or less doesn't mat- 
ter. For my part I never 
recognize vacuum cleaners. 
(Continued on page 72) 

pntv- 9/.r 

D'Ora, Vienna 


Madame Maria Ley is a member of Vienna's fashionable 

younger set who has devoted much of her time to the art 

of dancing. At present she is appearing at the Olympia 

Theater in Paris 

Page Twenty-Seven 




Harry Wickey's land- 
scapes and scenes 
along the palisades of 
the Hudson display a 
dramatic feeling and 
a sureness of touch 
that are worthy of any 
etching needle 

A Matin and Nocturnes 

Dry Point 


"•=£f --, ■~£&ttmr,- M ■■» :--3BB 

Pa<7£ Twenty-Eight 


Harry Wickey began his study of Art with John P. Wicker of the Detroit School of 
Fine Arts. Tivo years later he entered the Art Institute in Chicago, but he soon left 
this school and worked as a free lance for several months before coming to New 
York. Here he has received instruction from George Belloivs, Robert Henri, Arthur 
S. Covey and Harvey Dunn. His etchings have been exhibited at the Academy, and 
at the School of Design and Liberal Arts this past winter. His dry point, Midsummer 
Night — a Scene in Washington Square, which is reproduced on the opposite page, 
has been acquired by the Metropolitan Museum of Art for its permanent collection 
of etchings. It is a lively plate, full of tumbling forms of children at play about a 
bandstand, and it shows how eminently successful the artist is in his attempt to 
express activity. Movement seems to be his especial interest, and his croivds and 
groups are depicted with much the same feeling for design and dramatic emphasis 
as is found in the drawings of Bellows 

Page Twenty-Nine 

The Swedish Movement 

The undisputed success of the 
Ballet Suedois is a naive and 
entrancing dance number called 
A Box of Toys, designed by Andre 
Helle, and mimed to the music 
of Debussy's last composition. 
Below is Jou Jou, the masked 
villain of the ballet; at the left 
is the droll little figure of the 
immortal Punchinello, who seems 
to have stepped right out of a 
Champs Elysees Guignol. When 
this Ballet comes to America, 
the Toy-box number will equal 
the popularity of the Parade of 
the Wooden Soldiers in the 

At the right is the bathing-girl 
heroine of Les Maries de la Tour 
Eiffel. The story of this ballet 
is recited to the audience thru 
two megaphones on the stage, but 
the reason for the appearance of 
a bathing-girl on the top of the 
Eiffel Tower is not given. Per- 
haps she is obeying the maternal 
injunction of the old nursery 
rhyme: "But dont go near the 



At the left is the gen- 
eral who is the "big 
gun" at the wedding in 
the ballet Les Maries 
de la Tour Eiffel. He 
insists on relating hh 
exploits in Africa and 
in revenge for his tales 
of lion hunting he is 
devoured by a fierce 
Swedish lion — but re- 
turns at the close of the 
ballet to tell the audi- 
ence how it all came 


Page Thirty 

Caricatures from the famous Ballet Suedois 


Somewhat like "smorgasbord" — 
the elaborate collection of rel- 
ishes which precedes and often 
supplants a Swedish dinner — is 
the unique Ballet Suedois which 
piqued the palate of jaded Paris 
last year. This original and bi- 
zarre entertainment will be pre- 
sented in America next season 


One of the important features of the Ballet is Jean 
Cocteaus terpsichorean cocktail Les Maries de la 
Tour Eiffel. It introduces a weird collection of 
guests — from a runaway ostrich to a batch of tele- 
graphic dispatches ivhich materialize as coryphees 
performing a neo-classic ballet to the tempo of a 
battery of typewriters. This aerial romance is very 
far advanced — even the future progeny (left) of 
the happy pair appears at the wedding. At the 
right is a portrait of the bride who is dressed in 
the mode of 1890 

Below is an impression of another number of the 
Ballet Suedois: Man and His Desires. It is a droll 
display of realism and symbolism presented on a 
three-decker stage. The setting is described as "A 
Wild Forest in America." The hero, "Man," is im- 
personated by Jean Borlin, the John Barrymore 
of the Swedish Stage 



Page Thirty-One 

Clarence H. White 


Page Thirty-Two 

Eugene P. Henry 






Gloucester, Massachusetts, the City of Fishermen, 
lies near the end of Cape Ann which stretches 
itself many miles into the Atlantic. The town 
was settled in 1623 by a colony of merchant 
adventurers from England, and it is now one of 
the great fishing ports of the world. Our ship- 
building industry ivas founded in Gloucester, and 
Captain Andrew Robinson slipped the first Ameri- 
can schooner into the harbor in 1713. Away from 
the shore the surface of the country is sterile, with 
high rocky ledges, but this rugged beauty and the 
picturesqueness of the shore-line have made it the 
favorite haunt of many famous painters 

Page Thirty-Three 

Charles J. McManus 


Of the Chicago Opera Ballet, who is 
dancing in a Parisian Revue this summer 

Page Thirty-Four 

Meister Liszt, the Man 

Anecdotes and unpublished photographs and documents from one of his pupils 

By Joseph Szebenyei 

■ t<< <i /li-vi,, 





THE ranks of those 
who knew Liszt and 
who studied under 
him at Weimar are thinning 
year by year, and only a very 
few of his friends and pupils 
are to be found. Some of 
them still treasure relics and 
reminiscences of "The Mas- 
ter" — of the great man who 
was friend and biographer 
of Chopin and father-in-law 
of Wagner, and whose whole 
life was a romance. One of 
these friends and pupils, Mr. 
Carl A'. Lachmund, of Xew 
York, a prominent musician 
and professor of the piano, 
is the fortunate possessor of 
a number of interesting rel- 
ics and hitherto unpublished 
photographs and musical 
manuscripts of Liszt, and 
thru Mr. Lachmund's cour- 
tesy I am able to reproduce 
some of these for the first 
time, and at the same time 
give vivid verbal glimpses of 
the great composer and pian- 
ist surrounded by his friends 
and pupils. 

Mr. Lachmund declares 
that of all the great geniuses 
there never was one so un- 
selfish as Liszt. He always 
lived for others. What a 
difference between him and 
Wagner in this respect! 
Wagner would be self-cen- 
tered and full of pride, while 
Liszt would bend over in- 
terestedly and inquire about 
your work. "He was impul- 
sive," says Mr. Lachmund, 
"and this was once shown at 
a party given by myself and 
my wife. D'Albert had 
played and Mrs. Scott Sid- 
dons, the famous English 
actress, had read the sleep- 
walking scene from Macbeth. 
This stirred Liszt so much 
that he walked over to the 
piano, and. with his back 
toward the instrument, began 
strumming on the keys with 
his left hand. We wouldn't 
have dared to ask him to 
play, but we immediately 
placed at the piano one of 
the chairs which had been employed at the reading. Liszt 
at once sat down and played two numbers for us and 
we felt very much honored, for we were told that this 
was something that the Master very seldom did. 

"In teaching, Liszt never made lengthy explanations, 

Jhu~ M*-y. • ' 


~W .'_. 

*— *M 

/fe X 






. 1— ~ S Jfj/t/t 

much of his instruction being 
by symbolism, or even ges- 
ture or grimace. His words 
were few, but decidedly to 
the point. Ordinary matters 
of technique he would not 
teach, and when a pupil was 
indifferent in these things he 
arched his great eyebrows 
and indignantly exclaimed : 
T am no Pro-fes-sor! You 
must go elsewhere. Go to 
a conservatory !' One im- 
portant point as to technique 
I got from him in the course 
of my three years at Wei- 
mar. He made it very clear 
to me without uttering a 
word. Anxious for a deep- 
pressure legato, I had gradu- 
ally got into a habit of com- 
pressing my hands too much. 
He had seated himself be- 
side me, and when I had 
finished he held out his own 
hand, exaggerating the man- 
ner in which I held mine, 
and with a grimace, ending 
in a kindly smile, he nega- 
tively shook his head. I un- 
derstood perfectly. Arching 
my hand better thereafter, I 
found I had much more free- 
dom in thumb action, as also 
in producing vibrant chords. 
"He was very painstaking 
and particular as to phras- 
ing. By a slight break, for 
instance, he would some- 
times bring out a marvelous 
change in the spirit of a 
strain. Alert to this, I de- 
voted much care to phrasing, 
and at one lesson found my 
efforts rewarded. It was with 
Schumann's difficult and in- 
cessantly moving Toccata, a 

An unpublished letter from Liszt to Longfellow, 
tion appears on page seventy-four 

piece rather discouraging for 
attempts at phrasing (espe- 
cially for such an over-sen- 
sitive player as I was, for 
which reason I never could 
do myself justice then, or 
later in public). Neverthe- 
less, when I had done, he 
said, very kindly, 'Bravo ! 
Well played and well 
phrased.' I took it that he 
meant to be encouraging to 
a nervous fellow. But it 
seems I was mistaken, for on returning to Weimar the 
next season I was told that when a pupil had brought 
the Toccata to play, Liszt had said to the class : 'Ah ! 
Lachmund played that well for us last fall.' 

"Preoccupied as he was with his compositions, the 

The transla- 

Page Thirty-Five 


Master would often be at a loss to recall some of the 
visitors he had invited to the lesson-soirees. Then he 
went to Mrs. Lachmund to ascertain their identity, and 
she would remind him of their standing so that he might 
give them consideration accordingly. He was very grate- 
ful to this 'information bureau,' and jestingly called her 
his 'dearest Baedeker.' 

"Tiszt's playing cannot be compared with that of any 
-'-' other artist. Probably the reason lies in the fact 
that he was especially a great creative genius. His play- 
ing was distinguished 
from all others main- 
ly in its clarity and 
freedom of phrasing. 
While he seemed to 
pay no particular at- 
tention to time, his 
rhythm was beauti- 
fully symmetrical. 
His technique was re- 
markable because 
here, too, he seemed 
oblivious of any dif- 
ficulty. Once he 
played the great skips 
in his Campanella, 
seemingly without re- 
garding the keyboard 
at all. At another 
time he played the 
famous (or shall I 
say, infamous) skips 
in the great Schu- 
mann Fantasie — in 
Avhich both hands 
rapidly and repeatedly 
fly from the extreme 
ends of the keyboard 
to the center — at the 
same time turning his 
head, smiling at us, 
and seeming not to 
watch the keys. 

"There was an al- 
most uncanny charm 
about the variety of 
his tone production. 
Reisenauer, who 
played with more 
tonal variety and 
beauty than did any 
of the other great pu- 
pils, was the only one 
who could approach- 
ingly imitate Liszt in this. I recall a peculiar experience. 
Liszt was playing a transcendental melody ; I stood at his 
right, leaning on the piano, and had forgotten myself in 
listening. Each tone seemed to take an individual mean- 
ing ; it seemed to come from farther away than the 
piano on which I was leaning. Suddenly it seemed as 
if the tone was coming dozvn to me from the corner of 
the room at my right. Unconsciously I looked up in that 
direction ; then I awoke and smiled at my simplicity. 
But I understood better when later he said to us, with a 
slow bridgelike movement of his hand and arm: 'Es 
muss schwchcn.' (Tt must float.) 

juring the summer many were the visitors from 
other parts and countries, men and women bearing 
illustrious names in art, literature, or science, who came 
to pay their respects to the beloved master, lieber Meister, 
as he was called by pupils and friends. Usually such 

Franz Liszt and Mr. and Mrs. Lachmund in the Master's garden at Weimar 

notables were also invited to attend the lessons, and with 
several mothers of young women pupils, or local friends 
who were privileged to attend, the number present varied 
from twenty to thirty. We would assemble a little before 
four o'clock in the garden of the court gardener, the 
second story of whose home constituted the Master's 
modest domicile. Having concluded his afternoon nap, 
Liszt would lean out of the window to beckon us up. 
Ascending the stairs, with perhaps a good-natured jest 
thrown at 'Pauline' his faithful servant and cook for 
thirty-odd years, we usually found him standing near the 

Bechstein grand pi- 
ano, and as the pro- 
cession passed, each 
one greeted and was 
greeted by the Master 
according to the 
standing of intimacy 
or friendship. 

"It was a levee of 
a sovereign — a mo- 
ment worthy of a 
great painter. A bash- 
ful young lady, new 
and strange, would 
curtsey as at a royal 
reception ; a strange 
young man would 
make his stiff bow ; 
more seasoned pupils 
would take his prof- 
fered hand and kiss 
it; while to those on 
more intimate terms 
he would turn his 
cheek and also kiss 
their brow, as is the 
custom in some Euro- 
pean countries. 

"In the meantime, 
those who had 
brought something to 
play placed the music 
on a round table at 
one side of the studio. 
Some seated them- 
selves, others stood 
or gathered in groups 
in different parts of 
the large double stu- 
dio. My own pref- 
erence always was to 
be near the piano, 
where I could be sure 
to take in the Mas- 
ter's every remark, or, if the mood should seize him to 
play, I would have the 'proscenium loge.' The Master 
sometimes sat down — not necessarily by the piano — 
usually he preferred to move about. 

"Finally, Liszt would glance over the music on the 
little table, and selecting some piece, preferably one that 
was not hackneyed, he would ask, as he held it up to 
view, 'Who has brought this?' Perhaps it was a con- 
certo of Chopin, or a sonata of Beethoven, and the young 
lady who answered did not inspire much confidence. 
'Perhaps, later,' was the Master's verdict. 

"Occasionally he would address a young lady of whom 
he was especially fond : 

" 'Lina, have you brought something today?' 
" 'Your Second Rhapsody, lieber Meister.' 
" 'Huh ! You should know by this time that I do not 
care to hear that threshed-out circus piece,' and mockingly 
he sang the melody of the finale: 'Ta-ta — ta — ta, tata!' 

Page Thirty-Six 


"In July usually some now faces appeared at t lie class, 
for that was the season when the conservatories of Leipzig, 
Berlin, and Stuttgart shed their fruit in the shape of young 
graduates, some of whom, believing that they were now 
finished artists, felt confident that they were worthy to join 
the 'Lisztianer/ as his pupils and disciples were called. In 
the goodness of his great heart the Master permitted them 
to attend the lesson. Rarely they proved healthy fruit; 
mostly they resembled the worm-eaten specimen. They 
were one-day flies, who, having played their graduation 
concerto movements like parrots, and unable to achieve 
anything else, soon disappeared. 

"Such a one was present at this lesson. He looked like 
a cross between a dapper ribbon clerk and a barber, even 
to the nice little mustache. The Master, as he turned, 
noticed the bound volume in his hand, and asked kindly : 
'And what have you?' It was one of Beethoven's Sonatas, 
and he was asked to play it. An ominous glance passed 
from one Lisztianer to another, for the knowing ones were 
aware that the 'Lieber Meister' was more particular with 
Beethoven than with his own compositions, and that he 
devoutly 'got onto his knees' to Bach or Beethoven. 

"Before the young man had played twenty measures it- 
was plain that he had not dropped from the conservatory 
tree a ripe fruit, nor was there a suspicion of salt or 'pep' 
in his playing. The Master usually liked to move about 
while anyone was playing, but when Beethoven was played 
he preferred to be seated near the keyboard, the better to 
watch the minutest details and interpretation of the music. 

At the left is Liszt's 
Diary, with entries 
for the second week 
of March, 1876. Be- 
low, the only photo- 
graph (heretofore un- 
published) of the 
Master at his piano. 
He disliked posing 
and consented to sit 
for this picture only 
after long persuasion 
by his pupils 

■:':■■ M 



3 f j- i r ' i 

ri-rji f" , r \ ^ !TC:S} C 

; V* 

L& •-. 


,) jj-j 


Xot so now. Having 
called out several 
rather indifferent cor- 
rections to the neo- 
phyte, while he paced 
the floor slowly and 
obviously ill at ease, 
suddenly he darted to 
the piano, and slap- 
ping his finger on the 
place in the music he 
shouted, 'Can you not 
see it says forte? One 
who cannot even ob- 
serve the dead letter 
should not attempt to 
play Beethoven,' and 
he closed the book 
with a bang. The 
poor fellow withdrew 
behind a group stand- 
ing in a corner and 
endeavored to hide 
his crimsoned face. 
Neither did he appear 
again at any future 

/tit^iunt-itd t^x. //'/i i Wl r'n /i '7S~ 

lesson. Evidently the Master had been too busy 
to test him when he applied for the privilege of 
attending the lessons. 

"Liszt's irritation soon faded away, and a title 
on the table caught his attention: Paganini Ca- 
prices, transcribed by Brahms. Only one of the 
few real pianists was likely to bring this. It 
proved to be Eugene D'Albert, an Englishman. 
Those at distant parts of the room interestedly 
drew closer to the piano, and the Master also 
seated himself near so that he could follow 'the 

lines' (this was al- 
ways considered a 
special mark of favor 
and attention). As he 
did so, he remarked : 
'I have transcribed 
those Caprices too, 
but those of Brahms 
I think have more 
musical value,' a 
statement, however, 
which is disputed by 
some of the best pian- 
ists. D'Albert played 
the first Caprice with 
the spirit and speed 
of a racehorse — as he 
always did — and 
without being inter- 
rupted by the Master, 
who merely once had 
placed his hand on the 
player's shoulder to 
steady his fire. 
(Continued on 
page 74) 

Page Thirty-Seven 


There is tragic irony in the love story of the painter Sandro Botticelli and Simonetta, the reign- 
ing beauty of the court of Lorenzo dei Medici. In this galaxy of genius Simonetta is distressed 
that she has nothing to commend her but her mortal beauty, so she resolves to go to the studio 
of Botticelli that he may immortalize this beauty on canvas. In reality it is her love for the 
painter — who has declared that he worships her — that prompts her decision. In the studio, how- 
ever, when he addresses her curtly as a mere model, she feels all the rage of a woman scorned and 
rushes out into a violent storm. The result is that Botticelli paints his masterpiece, The Birth of 
Venus, and Simonetta dies of a fever, watched by Giuliano dei Medici (Reginald Goode) whom 
she believes in her delirium to be Sandro. Above is a scene from the first act of the play. Sandro 
Botticelli (Basil Sydney) declares to Simonetta (Eva he Gallienne) : "You are the most beauti- 
ful woman in all Italy . . . having seen you it is like finding and gazing into the heart of a star. . . ." 

Page Thirty-Eight 

Tragic Romance 


Sandro Botticelli 



In her play, Sandro Botticelli, recently produced in New 
York, Mercedes de Acosta has recounted the love story of 
two characters from history — a painter, and a noted beauty. 
Her hero, Alessandro del Filipepi (Sandro Botticelli) is 
one of the most interesting among the Florentine painters 
of the Renaissance. Both his art and his personality have 
had a singular fascination for scholars and critics. He gave 
expression to the life and thought of his fellow citizens 
more fully than any master of the age 

All -photographs by Richard Burke 

Simonetta comes to the studio 



The heroine of the 
play, Simonetta Cat- 
taneo, was a Genoese 
who came to Florence 
as the sixteen-year-old 
bride of Marco Ves- 
pucci in 1469, and 
died in 1476. She was 
a universal favorite 

Page Thirty-Nine 

The Embezzler 

By Frederic Boutet 

Translated from the French by William L. McPherson 



O there is no possible doubt, is there Jacques?" 
The elder M. Corbet laid on his desk the re- 
port which he had been studying and looked at 
his son with a disappointed air. 

"There is no doubt, father. He is the one. He has 
been stealing from us for about two years. Not very 
large sums, but regularly — six hundred to eight hundred 
francs a month." 

"It is incredible — Georges Tillois robbing tis. For 
fifteen years he has been a perfect employee." 

"What are we going to do?" asked Jacques Corbet. 
"Shall we call in the police?" 

The father shrugged his shoulders. 

"Almost anyone would do so in our place. But I dont 
like the idea. Tillois' father was one of my first clerks 
when I built the factory. He served me faithfully until 
he died. His son has had a good record, too — up to 
now. It is hard to understand — this petty robbery, as 
regular as his work as a model accountant. And he is 
married and settled " 

"Father, suppose that before you make up your mind 
I visit him at his house. I would like to see how he 
lives. I could probably get him to tell me the motive of 
his thefts. You could decide afterward whether to 
prosecute him or simply to ask for restitution. If you 
question him here yourself it would be different. He 
would be on his guard. He would not tell the truth. He 
lives in one of the suburbs, I believe. I will go there in 
my machine, after dinner. How does that strike you?" 

The elder Corbet thought for a moment. 

"Yes," he said finally, "try it. We ought to act with 
good will as far as we can." 

That evening Jacques Corbet alighted from his auto 
before the gate of a modest little suburban home just 
beyond the Bois de Boulogne, and rang the bell. A few 
seconds later he heard the house door open. Thru the 
iron bars, covered with ivy, he heard a woman's voice 

"What do you want?" 

"I want to see M. Georges Tillois," he answered. 

He added : "I am Jacques Corbet, the son of his 

"Oh, I beg your pardon, monsieur. Come in." 

The gate opened. Jacques saw the slender 
figure of a woman, half enveloped in a cloak 
She had dark hair and an appealing face 

"My husband isn't here, but he 
will be back soon. Wont you wait 
for him?" 

Jacques followed her up a 
sandy pathway to the house. He 
found himself in a moderate- 
sized room, simply furnished, 
but decorated with a sure 
taste. A slight perfume came 
to his nostrils. A coal fire 
burned in the hearth. There 
was an easy chair beside a 
table. On the latter were a 
delicately shaded lamp and 
an open book. 

"My husband went out, 
monsieur, to see his mother, 
who is ill. He will not be 
gone long." 

she said, in a 
"I am so sorry 

She took off her cloak and stood erect before her 
visitor. He saw her better now and found that she was 
pretty, graceful and very young. In her presence, in 
this bright and cheery room, after a run thru the cold 
and the dark, he experienced a subtle sense of charm. 
Suddenly he asked himself with a touch of horror : 
"Does she know? Is she an accomplice?" But no, it 
was impossible. It was enough to look at her to realize 

Will you not take a seat, monsieur,' 
manner which still showed nervousness, 
that my husband is not here." 

Evidently disturbed by this important visit, she strove 
to be very polite and at the same time quite at her ease. 
"I thank you, madame," Jacques said with a bow. 
He sat down in a chair which she indicated to him, 
near the fire. She herself, after hesitating, resumed her 
place in the easy chair by the table. There was a silence. 
"You must have had a cold ride, monsieur, on your 
way here?" she began, blushing slightly. She wondered 
whether she ought to ask him to take off his coat, but 
did not dare to make the suggestion. She wondered 
whether she ought to offer him a cup of tea. But again 
she did not dare to take the initiative. Jacques under- 
stood her last intention, since she had looked at another 
table on which a tea service stood. The young woman's 
embarrassment was painful to him. He asked himself 
what she must be when she was free and unconstrained, 
and among equals. He also asked himself what opinion 
she could have of him, Jacques Corbet, the omnipotent 
employer, on whom so many things depended. Pity 
began to grip him. All at once he noticed that he had 
not replied to her question. 

"Cold? No, it wasn't too cold. I crossed the Bois. 
There is snow there still and the trees are frosted. It 
was very beautiful." 

"Yes, I love the Bois, too," she responded eagerly. "I 
go there almost every day." 

She continued to talk of the Bois de Boulogne, as 
if her chief concern was not to lose that precious topic 
of conversation. Jacques Corbet could not help respond- 
ing gaily and sympathetically as he saw her becoming 
more natural and self-confident. 

"But I am tiring you, monsieur. I am talking 
too much." 

He protested warmly. She did not an- 
noy him — quite the contrary. En- 
couraged, she talked of herself, of 
her husband, of their simple ex- 
istence, but very happy one — 
especially in the last two 
years. She stopped again, 
becoming red and embar- 

"Yes, we are especially 
happy now, thanks to you, 
monsieur, and thanks to 
your father, who has al- 
ways been so good to my 
husband. Yes, it is since 
you increased his salary two 
years ago, that everything 
has been going so well. Be- 
fore that, with the cost of 
{Continued on page 76) 

Page Forty 


Stage Settings 

*'> ft 





®feftA^«^A*.fc^V«^ttv-^. ( 

Page Forty-One 

Posed for Maurice Goldberg by Janet Stone and Marion Hamilton, dancing in Lady Butterfly 


Page Forty-Two 



One of the leaders of the Metropolitan Opera Ballet 

Page Forty-Three 

Independence and Otherwise in Paris 

"All the foolish Schools have their day, but Beauty goes on forever in spite of them" 

B;y Allan Ross Macdougall 

IN Paris Spring has many heralds. At a certain period 
of the year one finds the streets littered with the little 
brown and sticky coats which have been dropped 
from the bursting buds of the chestnut trees along the 
boulevards. On a certain day — never given in the 
calendars — walking up the Avenue des Champs Elysees 
and noticing that the little 
iron chairs have been 
brought from their winter 
storeroom and placed out 
under the trees, one 
smiles and murmurs 
happily to one's neighbor : 
"Le frrintemps s'an- 
nonce!" Sometime in the 
month of February the 
opening of the Salon des 
Independants is an- 
nounced and walking in 
the caressing sunshine 
along the Cours de la 
Reine towards the Grand 
Palais to attend the Ver- 
nissage one feels that, 
even tho it be but mid- 
February, the Spring is 
not far off. 

There was a time when 
one went to the Vernis- 
sage of the Independants 
gaily and with high hopes 
of seeing all sorts of 
weird and maybe shock- 
ing things. But that was 
many years ago. Today it 
is the thirty-fourth Salon 
des Independants to open 
its too hospitable doors 
and it is a little more sober 
than in the days of its 
youth. Independence is 
not what it was in the 
days before the great war 
was fought for it. It is 


An illustration by Louis-Robert Antral for Alfred Machard's 

famous story 

very easy these days to 

tag along with this little clan and that little school. There 
has been too much serious fighting in the world to bother 
with battles over this theory and that practice in Art. 
Even the Dadaists find it hard to arouse the fighting blood 
of their enemies. But to the Salon. 

Think for a moment of a place as large as Madison 
Square Garden with two floors divided into about 
seventy rooms. Think then of all the paintings of every 
known and unknown school, of all the pieces of sculpture, 
illustrations and designs for carpets and tapestries ; 
imagine them to the tune of six thousand sent in by 
almost two thousand artists and you begin to have a vague 
idea of what this Salon means. Anybody with the 
entrance fee can exhibit three or four paintings, pieces of 
sculpture, designs for anything in the way of carpets or 
hangings, or illustrations for books. 

It is a sort of gathering place — an artistic international 
clearing-house. Any artist, no matter how amateurish his 
work, is sure of a showing. Nor has nationality anything 

to do with it. All nationals, including some Germans, 
are represented on the walls. America is represented 
by a small army of diverse talents ranging from Gerald 
Murphy, who has several cubistic studies of machinery, 
to Charles Thornedyke the well-known landscape painter, 
who shows among other things a painting of Niagara Falls ! 

The Americans exhibit- 
ing are indeed an inter- 
esting group. There are 
some fine things in the 
way of landscape paint- 
ings by the two Butlers, 
the American son-in-law 
and grandson of the cele- 
brated French Impres- 
sionist, Claude Monet. 
Frank Morse Rummel, 
the grandson of the in- 
ventor of the Morse Code, 
has three studies of the 
Riviera countryside in 
striking contrast to the 
Norwegian studies which 
usually come from his 
talented brush. Myron C. 
Nutting has but one large 
picture, Dans la Foret, 
wherein are several nudes 
finely painted. His wife, 
Mrs. Elena Nutting, has 
three excellent landscapes. 
Many other American 
women artists are repre- 
sented including Lucille 
Hitt, Bertha Phillips, 
Mary Ritter Hamilton, 
Anna Woods Brown, 
Judith Chamberlain, 
Estelle Stinch field, 
Beatrice Tessancourt 
Edwards, and Mrs. Ro- 
maine Brooks, two of 
whose canvases are now 
hanging in the famous 
Luxembourg Collection. 
The sensation of the American group is the composition 
of Raymond Duncan, called Nativite. To describe this 
painting is a task which my pen shall not attempt. It 
will be sufficient to say that it would be quite an excellent 
illustration for a text -book on Obstetrics. It is interesting 
to note that a few days after the Salon was opened this 
painting was lifted from the walls by a representative 
of the Prefect de Police. You see, in Paris, Independence 
and Liberty can only go so far and not a centimetre 
farther ! 

Of the other things in this particular Salon there is 
really not much to say. There is the usual group of 
Dadaists, Cubists, Pointilists, and other 1st searchers 
after the new and the bizarre. Somehow or other they 
dont get over this year. They no longer shock us. They 
dont even amuse us. The most pitiful sight on the 
Varnishing Day was a group of young Dadaists who 
threaded their way in and out among the crowds of dull 
(Continued on page 65) 

Page Forty-Four 

Spring was heralded 
in Paris by the open- 
ing of the thirty- 
fourth Salon des 
Independants, which 
is a sort of artistic in- 
ternational clearing- 
house. The exhibition 
covered the walls and 
floors of seventy 
rooms. The entrants 
exceeded two thou- 
sand and their offer- 
ings were three times 
that number 


In the section devoted to cari- 
cature the work of the Roger 
Cartier, the well-known French 
humorist, drew much comment. 
Above is his clever but cruel 
portrait of that favorite of the 
Parisian stage, Mistinguett. It 
is icork of this sort that is pro- 
voking comment nowadays — 
not the bizarre canvases of the 
Dadaists, Cubists and Pointi- 
lists. These searchers after the 
new in art are finding it hard to 
arouse the fighting blood of 
their enemies 


One of the studies of the Riviera countryside 

exhibited by Frank Morse Rummel, the American 

grandson of the inventor of the Morse Code 


An etching by the famous artist, 
Louis-Robert Antral, for Alfred 
Machard's novel Titine, just published 
in a de luxe edition of five hundred 
and seventy-five copies 


Gerald Murphy's cubistic 
studies of machinery were 
the center of attraction for 
the critics on Varnishing 


A striking portrait 
by lacovleff of the 
celebrated Russian 
singer, Madame 
Efremova, who was 
one of the original 
cast of the Chauve- 
Souris when it first 
opened in Paris. 
Since then she has 
toured France with 
a Russian company 
of her own in The 
Fair of Moscow 

Page Forty-Five 




Undiplomatic Relations 

As seventeen-year-old Elizabeth — called Bessie by 
her unfeeling family — departs with her first escort 
to her first formal dance, she drops her dignity 
long enough to make a face at Mother and Father 
and Bud, watching the grand exit with snickers 
of delight. "Why is it," she glooms, "that families 
never understand one . . . that they utterly lack 
those fine, sensitive inner feelings that really make 
one Oneself. . . ." 

"He won't be King or President 
And steer the course of nations, 

Who doth not first begin at home 
To rule his own relations" 

— Old Song 



August Henkel 

Mr. and Mrs. Edward Climber have invested 
a week's salary in food and fixin's for a dinner 
to Employer and Wife, hoping to make such 
a favorable impression that Ed's salary will be 
raised. But Grandma spoils the effect by 
showing an album filled with photographs of 
Eddie and Maudie in their courting days — tin- 
types taken at the Hicktown County Fair; snap- 
shots of them going buggy-riding. . . . Every 
minute in every tvay that raise is growing 
smaller and smaller 

In his three months at college our 
hero has acquired a bulldog pipe, a 
pledge pin and the correct clothes for 
Campus wear — the movies have taught 
him how to assume the blase manner 
that is worn ivith the aforementioned 
outfit. He knows that he has made 
the right impression on the right set. 
Now along comes Uncle Jo from the 
up-state farm to spend the day with 
nephew Joey. Not even the basket of 
lusciousness sent by Aunt Kitty can 
take the curse off Uncle's tactless sur- 

Page Forty-Six 

Aunty Em, arriving for a long visit with 
Hobby's folks, unexpectedly meets her 
small nephew with three of his cronies — 
"reg'lar fellers," to whose inner circle 
Bob has just been granted admission, i 
Now with one fell smack he knows that 
tactless Aunty has knocked him outside 
the sacred circle again — for cant he hear 
his erstichile pals begging her to 


issim s more 

The Jonsen-Smythes are entertaining a group of smart new 
friends, having first put the family skeleton — Grandpa — to 
bed. The guests are noticeably impressed. "Then," as our 
writers of pot-boiling serials put it, "on the stroke of mid- 
night, our beautiful heroine heard an ominous footstep on 
the stair. . . ." 

vVfA',' to 

A monolog by a Bachelor (right): 

"Lives there a man with soul so dead, who 
never to himself has said, this is niy own, 
my native land, and I am supposed to be 
Captain of my Soul, yet I've got to make a 
call on those stupid cousins of mine in that 
four-flights-walk-up apartment in Jersey, just 
to show 'em I'm not snobbish — and if not 
callin' on 'em is being a snob, well, dammit, 
I want to be one . . . etc., etc., etc." 

Not a cloud in the sky, but 
just because the Skimpville 
Daily Bugle said "Probable 
Showers Today" mother 
makes Lonnie (Alonzo to 
himself) wear Dad's rubbers 
and carry Grandpap's 
mouldy umbrella to the 
High School picnic. And 
it's the very first time he has 
asked HER to go anywhere. 
"My gosh!" he wails, "ain't 
I never goin' to be treated 
like a man. . . . Just wait 
till I'm my own boss!" 

Page Forty-Seven 




The Adding Machine 
and Roger Bloomer 
as American contri- 
butions to a new dra- 
matic movement 


Kenneth Macgowan 

Drawings by Everett Henry 

ART movements are like women's fashions. Realism 
J_\ or the bustle, expressionism or the short skirt — 
Ji A- they come and they go, and the results are much 
the same. 

New forms in literature, like new forms in women, 
are important because they are stimulating, and because 
stimulation is the first step to creation and understand- 

New forms have their drawbacks. Our senses are raw 
to their impact and lack nicety of judgment. The mere 
novelty thrills. It is some time before we acquire a ripe, 
educated discrimination. Look back at some old number 
of Life and wonder at the women of our raptures. As 
for our plays — that romantic pioneer Hernani, some 
early Hauptmann, or Henry Arthur Jones — read 'em 
and weep ! 

These reflections are the result of the exposure on our 
New York stage of two specimens of the newest dramatic 
movement, a movement to which I have been long and 
hopelessly addicted, Expressionism. These plays are 
Roger Bloomer and The Adding Machine, contributions 
respectively from the Equity Players and John Howard 
Lawson, and from the Theatre Guild and Elmer Rice. 
Roger Bloomer makes rather a mess of the business of 
entertaining an audience, and The Adding Machine gravi- 
tates steadily down from tight and expressive drama to 
pure amusement. But both have their gleams of real 

illumination, and the American stage is the better be- 
cause they have been produced. 

Expressionism, in a large sense, is the antithesis of 
realism ; it is the attempt of an artist to come freely and 
openly at the values of the spirit without all this hokus- 
pokus of the fourth wall. Resemblance and plausibility 
dont matter, and psychology isn't as important as soul. In 
the sweep of time, you see, the expressionist stands with 
the romanticist, even with the classicist against the fol- 
lowers of Zola. He claims Shakespeare and TEschylus in 
his war on Pinero. He calls upon the author of Peer Gynt 
to join him in a row with the author of Hedda Gabler. 

Shakespeare and ^Eschylus — let alone Ibsen — would 
be shocked all the same at most of the ideas and the 
works of the modern expressionist. He has all the 
movements of the past behind him and his effort to 
arrive at a direct expression of his own feelings is con- 
siderably complicated sometimes by the fact that he is 
trying to avoid all the forms of the past as well as the 
actuality of the present. His tendency is to attempt 
posteresque effects in idea, movement, and background, 
and to wade about in a good deal of neuroticism as the 
result of a deep, subjective treatment of his materials. 


during the past half-dozen years. The plays produced- 

xpressionism in the narrowest sense has had its 
greatest theatrical development in Germany, and 

Page Forty-Eight 


those of George Kaiser and Walter Hasenclever arc the 
most notable — have been neurotic and oversexed to a 
startling degree. In America we have seen one of the 
best oi ihe^e German dramas, From Morn to Midnight, 
and we have had at least three native attempts to handle 
the new form. They are Eugene O'Neill's The Hairy 
Ape. Lawson's Roger Bloomer, and Rice's The Adding 

Like all the other attempts at expressionism, Roger 
Bloomer and The Adding' Machine run to many short 
scenes, each doing a certain definite and fairly simple 
thing. Roger Bloomer pushes this freedom from old- 
fashioned Ibsenic technique to the point where three seem to me to be of the theater. It is more like a piece 
dozen episodes replace the customary three or four acts. of modern verse read by costumed actors. And not read 
In this respect it recalls Johannes Kreisler, and it suffers too well, incidentally. 

darknessand I wo blood-red spots pulsing in theair. Murder. 
The Adding Machine develops firmly and dramatically 
thru its first three or four scenes. Then the narrative 
veers off into heaven and a good many amusing but not 
very important jokes about the after life. The logical 
drive of The Hairy Ape is absent; the careful design of 
From Morn to Midnight. 

ROGER Bloomer is still more deficient in dramatic sig- 
nificance. It has fine qualities. It is poignant, even 
lyrical. It is sensitive and understanding. Its language 
is above Rice's workaday speech. But the thing does not 

from the same failing that doomed that play — an over- 
emphasis on trickery of production at the expense of 
solid dramatic interest. Roger, searching for some out- 
let for his adolescent energies, wanders from one to an- 
other of the three tiny rooms at the back of the stage 

Both the plays point to a weakness in expressionism 
against which its playwrights must carefully guard. 
This is the danger of being seduced by freedom into 
amusing, suggestive caricature. Power and vitality 
should be the minimum aimed at — dramatic power, 

and then appears suddenly and, I think, illogically against dramatic vitality always. Whether expressionism in 
bizarre backdrops placed far down stage. The Adding this narrower form can reach the best stuff of the 
Machine treats the stage as the stage, and shews us half theater, beauty and exaltation, is a question for the 
a dozen settings by Lee Simonson, most of them excel- future. But it must not stop at provocative satire. 
lent, placed squarely in the middle of our vision. The Adding Machine is excellently acted by Dudley 

Both plays are posteresque. They are condensa- Digges and Margaret Wycherly, but always in a perfectly 
tions. symbols, high-lights. The Adding Machine tries natural fashion. Philip Moeller, the director, has ven- 
to show us something about the soul of a bookkeeper, tured upon no experiment with expressionistic acting. 

His individual players could have appeared in the month's 
most realistic drama. Sacha Guitry's Pasteur, without 

changing their style. 
No play coul d 
stand out more 
sharply from Roger 
Bloomer and The 
Adding Machine 
than Guitry's biog- 
raphy of the great 
French scientist. 
This drama has 
none of the tech- 
nical brilliance of 
Ibsen's work, but — 
perhaps I should say 
because of this — it 
shows the extraor- 
dinary distance that 
the modern stage 
can go in creating 
the illusion of real 
life. No plot — 
simply eight scenes 
from Pasteur's life : 
but always the exact 
effect of peeping 
thru a chink in the 
fourth wall. A 
solid, illusive room; 
people casual or 
grave as the case 
may be, talking in 
ordinary accents, 
behaving almost ex- 
actly as they would 
behave in real life. 
Because Pasteur 

One scene should demonstrate its method. Two high 
desks back to back. A man and a woman reading 
endless strings of 
figures to each 
other. Back of them 
a blank wall. One 
reads a figure, the 
other repeats it and 
puts it down. A 
drone of numbers, 
an eternity of digits. 
Presently the man 
begins to think- 
aloud as the woman 
drones. Then the 
woman thinks and 
the man drones. 
Their thoughts in- 
terlock. They play 
a sort of cacopho- 
nous duet. "We learn 
all their tiny pas- 
sions and frustra- 
tions. At the end, 
the man is left alone 
on the stage. Enter 
the boss. It is 
twenty-five years 
since the man came 
to work there, and 
he expects a raise. 
Instead, he gets the 
air and the air is 
filled with numbers. 
Darkness, and the 
two men and the 
desks whirling about 
against a faintly 
luminous back- 
ground. Figures, 
numbers, sums, dol- 
lars, all over this 
background. Sud- 
denly a beating of 
wild noise. Then 

The scene from The Adding Machine when the discharged bookkeeper 
murders his employer. On the opposite page the murderer appears before 

the Court of Justice 

who did great 
things, the effect of 
eavesdropping on 
his life is to me and 
(Continued on 
page 72) 

Page Forty-Nine 


The late Leon Bonnat was born in Bayonne in 1833. He belongs to Spain almost as much as 
to France for his youth was spent in Madrid, and he did not study in Paris until he was past 
twenty, leaving there in 1858 to spend four years in Rome. He was the instructor of many 
artists, yet he always remained their master. He consecrated his whole life to art, even endow- 
ing his native town with a museum. The governing rule of his artistic efforts was the celebrated 
dictum of Ingres: "Drawing is the probity of Art." The family group reproduced here, tho 
painted when the artist was only eighteen, is considered one of the finest examples of his work. 
Jean Louis Forain was recently elected to the chair in the Academie des Beaux Arts left 

vacant by the death of Bonnat 

Page Fifty 


The Farington Diary 

The Diary of an eighteenth-century artist, which was found in a London attic 

By N. P. Dawson 

HE recently discovered Farington Diary might be "Mrs. Wyndham, who lives with Lord Egremont, 

called the "Who's Who" of present-day England's called on me to see my pictures. . . . She had a fine 
great great-grandparents. This Joseph Earing- little Boy with her, abt. 2 years old, very like Lord Egre- 

t o n . \v h o w a s a 
painter and Acade- 
mician, living in the 
latter part of the 
eighteenth century, 
apparently knew ev- 
ery - English - body's 
great great-grand- 
father and great 
great - grandmother 
worth knowing. And 
he wrote about them 
all in his Diary. 
Some auctioneers 
found the manu- 
script in the attic of 
an old house in Lon- 
don — where such 
things properly 
should be found. 

The London 
Morning Post, when 
it purchased the 
Diary at the auction 
sale for one hundred 
and ten pounds, had 
no idea, it is said, of 
publishing as much 
of it as finally had to 
be published to meet 
the demand. Like 
the host of the poker 
party in H. C. thin- 
ner's story, who 
when it came to the 
beer had not counted 
on the Bishop, the 
London paper had 
not counted on all 
the people in Eng- 
land and elsewhere 
scattered over the 
globe, with Caven- 
dish legs, for ex- 
ample, who would 
be greedily interested in the Cavendishes. Early in the 
Diary Horace Walpole is quoted as saying that if he saw 
thru a window only the legs of a cousin of his, even of a 
collateral branch, he would know he was a Cavendish. 
There was something wavering, it seems, in the gait of 
the Cavendishes. 

During the first instalments of the Diary, there may 
well have been beating hearts in England. Who could 
know what legs would be dangled before the public, 
what family skeleton would be rattled for all to hear? 
But Iwni soit qui mal y pense — which is the motto for 
the present English Who's Who. Joseph Farington 
does not seem to have been at all a malicious gossip. 
There will be those who will say his Diary would have 
been more interesting if he had been. However, to 
gratify the more curious, it may be held out that once in 
a while he uses some winking italics ; as in the entry : 

Courtesy of George H. Doran & Co. 

Jto: '/ 

£ls?~Zy7T^£> , 


But seldom has a 
Diarist been more 
impersonal. Unlike 
other diarists, both 
ancient and modern, 
Joseph Farington 
seems to have been 
more interested in 
his friends than him- 
self. It is not re- 
called that he once, 
like Pepys so many 
times, records his 
going to bed. Nor 
does he describe the 
state of his finances, 
nor tell what good 
resolutions he has 
made — or broken. 
Instead we have in 
the Farington Diary 
a picture of eight- 
eenth-century Eng- 
land, its political as 
well as its artistic 
and social world. 
With the Diary was 
found a ticket for 
the thirty-second ses- 
sion of the Warren 
Hastings trial — it 
lasted seven years. It 
is learned that the 
great Pitt said 
"furder" instead of 
further, and that 
Burke used to rap 
"My dear Jane" (his 
wife) rather sharply 
when she could not 
immediately find a 
particular paper he 

Seldom has a serial had so large and interested a read- 
ing public as this Farington Diary ; so large an audi- 
ence, that is, since the readers by writing daily letters to 
the Morning Post, seemed to be taking part in the publi- 
cation, or performance. These letters are now used as 
footnotes in the book, and are not the least interesting 
part. Some of the letters confirm, others make correc- 
tions, others additions, while still others send thanks for 
some bit of information about some great great-aunt or 
other whom they did not know. There is agreement as 
to the very great interest of the Diary for the Caven- 
dishes and all the rest. 

One woman writes that altho she is not a Conservative, 
she must subscribe to the Morning Post because of the 
Diary. Another denies that her great great-grandfather 
who married Sir Joshua Reynolds' sister, could have 
been vain as the Diary states : 

Page Fifty-One 

a dirty 


"As I happened to have a pencil drawing of his head 
within reach while reading your paper, which was drawn 
by one of his twenty-three children, I was rather amused, 
as he certainly could not have been conceited about his 
good looks!" 

Another correspondent objects 
to having someone her 
father knew well called 
Scotsman," saying her 
father always said he was "one 
of the handsomest men of his 
day," "and was a great-great- 
great-grandson of that Lady Jean 
Gordon whom the Earl of Both- 
well divorced to marry Mary 
Queen of Scots." Still another 
woman correspondent was won- 
dering whether her great grand- 
father would be mentioned in the 
Diary, and was surprised at last 
to have his name appear as a 
"minor and eccentric artist." She 
confesses, however, that at a pic- 
nic once her ancestor displayed a 
waistcoat-back made of one of 
his own canvases, "with a mag- 
nificent waterfall !" One of the 
most interesting of the letters 
gives some spicy particulars re- 
garding the dramatic episode 
when George III, having discov- 
ered that the painter Beechey 
had included the Prince of Wales 
in the picture with himself, or- 
dered the canvas cut from its 
frame and thrown out of the 

By Bliss Carman 

"Pionia virtutem habet occultani 
Arnoldus Villanova— 1235-1313 

A 1 

ltho art and artists naturally 
have a large part in the 
Diary, literature is not neglected. 
One of the first persons to be 
mentioned in the Diary is Horace 
Walpole, and the "Miss Berrys," 
as they are called ; his "Twin 
Wives," his "Dear Both," either 
one of whom he would have mar- 
ried if the other had been away ; 
and to whom he gave Little 
Strawberry Hill, Kitty Clive's 
home, so that, as one of the 
"Miss Berrys" said, he could en- 
joy their society, "without the 
ridicule and trouble of marriage" 
— and committing polygamy, 
should be added. The poet Burns 
is listed like someone in the auc- 
tion sale catalog : 

"Mr. Burns, the Scottish poet. 
At present an Exciseman in 
Dumfries, on £70 a year. He is 
married, and has a family. He is 
a middle-sized man, black-com- 
plexioned, and his general ap- 
pearance that of a tradesman or 
mechanic. He has a strong ex- 
pressive manner of delivering 
himself in conversation. He is 
not acquainted with the Latin 
language. His father was a 
gardener in Ayrshire." 

Later, however, the Diarist 
mentions having bought a new 


Six hundred years ago 
Said "Peonies have magic," 
And I believe it so. 
There stands his learned dictum 
Which any boy may read, 
But he who learns the secret 
Will be made wise indeed. 

edition of Burns, at four shillings, containing a picture 
of the house in which he was born — "a proof to what a 
length they carry their admiration for him." Dr. Johnson 
is dead when Farington writes his diary (1793 — 1802), 
but Bos well is living and object- 
ing to anyone but Johnson call- 
ing him "Bozzy." The "Swan of 
Lichfield," as Johnson called 
Miss Seward, was doubtless also 
living, since an "Epigrammatick 
Dialogue," written by George 
Steevens, a critic, is included, in 
which Mr. Hayley, a poet, and 
the Swan are represented as 
"complimenting each other in a 
fulsome manner" — not unlike our 
own tuneful Mr. Shean and Mr. 
Gallagher : 

Astrologer and doctor 
In the science of his day, 
Have we so far outstripped him? 
What more is there to say? 
His medieval Latin 
Records the truth for us, 
Which I translate — virtutem 
Habet occultam — thus: 

She hath a deep-hid virtue 
No other flower hath. 
When summer comes rejoicing 
A-down my garden path, 
In opulence of color, 
In robe of satin sheen, 
She casts o'er all the hours 
Her sorcery serene. 

A subtle heartening fragrance 
Comes piercing the warm hush, 
And from the greening woodland 
I hear the first wild thrush. 
They move my heart to pity 
For all the vanished years, 
With ecstasy of longing 
And tenderness of tears. 

By many names we call her — 

Pale exquisite Aurore, 

Luxuriant Gismonda 

Or sunny Couronne d'Or. 

What matter — Grandiflora, 

A queen in some proud book, 

Or little sister Piny 

With her old-fashioned look? 

The crowding Apple Blossoms 

Above the orchard wall; 

The Moonflower in August 

When eerie nights befall; 

Chrysanthemum in autumn, 

Whose pageantries appear 

With mystery and silence 

To deck the dying year; 

And many a mystic flower 

Of the wildwood I have known, 

But Pionia Arnoldi 

Hath a transport all her own. 

For Peony, my Peony, 

Hath strength to make me whole; 

She gives her heart of beauty 

For the healing of my soul. 

Arnoldus Villanova, 
Tho earth is growing old, 
As long as life has longing 
Your guess at truth will hold. 

Tuneful poet, Britain's glory, 
Mr. Hayley, that is you. 

Ma'am you carry all before you, 
Trust me Lichfields Swan you do. 

She : 
Ode didactick, Epic, Sonnet, 
Mr. Hayley, your divine; 

Ma'am, I'll take my oath upon it 
You alone are all the Nine. 

The stage also is represented in 
the Diary, but the intelligence of 
eighteenth-century actors is not 
placed very high. For Garrick, 
who made out his will for twice 
what he possessed, the apology 
is made: "Garrick had read but 
little." Mrs. Jordan, friend of 
the Duke of Clarence, is put 
down as "very ignorant as to in- 
formation excepting in what re- 
lates merely to the stage," and 
"affords very little entertainment 
in Company." Even the great 
Mrs. Siddons, altho always the 
Tragedy Queen — even in her 
own family — owes, according to 
one witness in the Diary, "most 
of her fame to her figure, coun- 
tenance and deportment," and was 
not a "woman of superior under- 
standing." It is interesting to 
read that the Miss Farren, whom 
Lord Derby married, and whom 
Lawrence made more famous by 
painting her, asked the artist 
please to make her fatter, and "at 
all events diminish the bend you 
are so attached to." 

But eighteenth-century actors, 
if not intelligent, were apparently 
gallant, judging by the follow- 
ing advertisement which John 
Kemble, brother of Mrs. Sid- 
dons, inserted in several papers. 
The Miss De Camp mentioned 
played Lucy in The Beggar's 
Opera — "as perfect a perform- 
ance as ever perhaps appeared 
on the stage" : 

(Continued on page 67) 

Page Fifty-Two 


A Diseuse, a Balladist, and a Puppeteer 

whose talents have made them 

internationally famous 


Nickolas Muray 


Miss Draper is an inspired diseuse 
who has brought the art of monolog 
to its highest achievement. She ap- 
pears alone upon the stage, yet she 
gives the impression of a large cast. 
In such numbers as At a Sivitchboard 
or Three Generations in a Court of 
Domestic Relations, a dozen human 
beings seem to be present in the flesh. 
She leads forth in a parade characters 
familiar in fiction and starts her 
audience cheering, laughing and 

Hixon-Connelly Studios 


Ballad singers generally confine themselves 
to the songs of their own country, but Miss 
Kremer is an international balladist who 
knoivs the language of every country whose 
folk music she sings. Her repertoire in- 
cludes old Lkrainian lullabies, cantos of the 
Italian peasants, haunting ballads from 
Roumania, and the fiery folk-songs of the 


Here we see the Queen of Puppeteers 
giving instructions to one of the most 
important characters in her marionette 
show — the Announcer. Miss Owen made 
her first puppet for the Chicago Little 
Theater in 1916; afterward she worked 
with Tony Sarg in New York; but since 
1920 she has held successful "one- 
woman shoivs" of her own. At present 
she is working on two engaging pro- 
ductions, Cyrano de Bergerac and Alice 
in Wonderland 

Page Fifty-Three 

A camera study by White of Jetta Goudal appearing in The Bright Shawl 


Page Fifty-Four 

Our Standard Bearers 

A plea for a new Single Standard that will include the Married Man 

By Thyra Samter Winslow 

OXF. of the most 
ing proble 
the presum 

thinking world is the 
problem of the 
Married Man. He 
isn't a problem 
to unmarried 
people except- 
ing in a de- 
tached, father- 
ly way. To 
married wom- 
en he is often 
more of a condi- 
tion than a prob- 
lem. Perhaps he 
is a problem only to 
himself. Even then 
is usually so far unde 
influence of the anes 
marriage that he takes his fate for 
granted and doesn't know or 
struggle against conditions. The 
Married Man is usually a pitiful 
object — of course he will object to 
the adjective — and an effort ought to be made for him. 

In my grandmother's day there was much talk about 
the Double Standard. Men could do all sorts of devilishly 
alluring but horrid things that women weren't supposed 
even to know about. A man could be seen coming out 
of the side door of a saloon and lose his reputation for 
the shortest period of time. A lady couldn't even enter 
the side door without losing her reputation forever. 
Men chewed cloves. A lady was supposed to think that 
cloves were used only for spice cake. Knowledge "of the 
world — the least misstep — but perhaps you had a grand- 

The next generation adopted the delightful Single 
Standard. Cloves went out of style. Folks could eat, 
drink and be fairly merry, without regard to sex. Every 
roadhouse served anything to anyone. Divorces were 
granted to the sexes for equal causes. A woman could 
make a misstep, if she felt like it, with the same fine 
careless gesture as a man. Ganders and geese were 
served indiscriminately. "Parasite Woman" was a term 
of disdain. Women began to do half a dozen fairly 
useful things to Help Out. Sex equality had arrived. 

Then came this generation of the new Double Standard. 
I admit, neither sadly nor joyfully, that I belong to it. 
I go even farther. I look ahead to the coming generation 
and a fight for the new r Single Standard — one that will 
include the Married Man. 

Take the Married Man — just in this instance, anyhow. 
What does he get out of living, outside of a doubtfully 
pleasant home life? As a single man he enjoyed all 
advantages of his sex. He came and went as he liked, 
dictated to only by the whims of his feminine friends. 
He belonged to clubs, had rooms in town. An odd 
single man — not too odd — is always desirable at dinner 
or for week-ends in the country. Then some woman 
showed the superiority of mind over matter, proved to 
the man that he was in love with her, or at least over- 
came, temporarily, his resistances. He married. He 

In my grandmother's day men could do all 

sorts of devilishly alluring things that women 

weren't supposed even to know about 

tore his lofty ensign down 
and became — a Married 

The curious part 
is that a man 
doesn't have to 
marry, excepting 
in unusual and 
unnecessary - 
to - consider 
cases. He can 
get feminine 
without mar- 
riage. He can 
procure almost 
identical home 
comforts. Until un- 
married women can be 
reduced to the mental 
evel of the unmarried male, 
marriage, as an institution, will 

The care-free, no-one-but-him- 
self-to-worry-about bachelor be- 
comes a Married Man. For the 
first year or two he may even glory in his abjectness. 
After that, he sometimes makes a pitiful attempt at 
rebellion, usually to sink again into the depths of serfdom, 
too deadened to do more. 

The Married Man has a home. Usually, it is run 
with his money, even if his wife makes a pretense at 
financial independence. The Married Man rises earlier 
than he likes, eats a hurried breakfast so as to be on his 
job in time — for keeping a job is a serious thing when 
a man is married. To be sure, employers give preference 
to Married Men because they know the pressure at home 
is such that Married Men dare not rebel. The Married 
Man is busy all day. He hurries home to dinner. He 
is always hurrying. The dinner is inferior, in prepara- 
tion and service, to what he could have bought, were he 
single. After dinner, unless there is a dull engagement 
with other Married Couples, the Married Man lapses into 
a state of coma. If he cannot escape entertainment, he 
accepts, dolefully. If nothing is planned, he goes to sleep 
over his books two hours after eating. Life goes on. . . . 

^~\xce upon a time someone told me a gruesome and 
^-' probably untrue story of how an insect of some sort 
stuns into semi-consciousness a larger insect so that the 
insect-of-the-first-part's children might have food. They 
feed on the larger insect, who does not quite die, until 
he is entirely consumed. Need I point out that the larger 
insect reminds me, in a sad way, of the Married Man? 
The Married Man often casts a longing eye on a desir- 
able Cutie. The Cutie, unless she is so young as to think 
going with a Married Man a devilish thing to do or so 
old that even he is good as a foil, ignores him. Marriage 
is her ultimate aim, a good time comes next. If the Mar- 
ried Man's wife is any sort at all, she manages to keep 
him down to lunch money and gasoline. His conversa- 
tion is flat. There are old, rich Papas who are good 
company, but the average Married Man is one creature 
the attractive young girl absolutely avoids. 
{Continued on page 65) 

Page Fifty-Five 

Curtain People of Importance 

Cyril Keightley is a native of 
Australia. He studied for the 
bar, but finding it dull, joined 
a company of traveling players 
touring the English Colonies. 
In 1902 he made his debut in 
London with Nance O'Neill in 
Magda. At present he is Ethel 
Barrymore's leading man in 
The Laughing Lady 

White Studio 

White Studio 

Lowell Sherman is a child of 
the theater. He has appeared 
in vaudeville, stock, and the 
movies. He is now being 
starred in matinees of Morphia, 
and featured in The Masked 

Minnie Maddern Fiske began her 
stage career at the age of three, as 
the little Duke of York in Richard 
II. When fifteen, she was starred at 
Wallack's Theater, New York. Her 
greatest roles have been as Tess of 
the d'Urbervilles, and as Becky Sharp 
in Vanity Fair 

Edward Thayer Monroe 

Lionel Atwill is by education 
an architect, but in 1905 he 
joined a stock company playing 
Shakespeare in London, and 
has never left the stage. He is 
now starring in The Comedian 

Emily Stevens is the niece of Mrs. 
Fiske and her first appearance on the 
stage was as the maid to her Aunt's 
Becky Sharp. She remained in her 
Aunt's company for eight years. She 
appeared on Broadway this past sea- 
son as the heroine in The Sporting 
Thing To Do 

White Studio 

Page Fifty-Six 


The Man About Town 



AS 1 write the dramatic and musical season is waning 
/\ fast, and so too are the strength and energy of 
-L M~ the critics who must needs go to theater, opera 
and concert day in and day out, whether they wish to or 
not. With three and 
four premieres a week ; 
with one hundred and 
fifty opera perform- 
not including- a 
weeks' German 
opera season ; with an- 
other one hundred and 
fifty symphony concerts 
by half a dozen orches- 
tras ; with recitals two or 
three times daily by the 
leading instrumentalists 
and singers of the world, 
not to mention the shoal 
of smaller fry, life for 
the critics and other 
habitues is simply one 
darn thing after another. 
Three musical critics and 
one dramatic ditto have 
been killed off within the 
past two years — Jim 
Huneker, Sylvester 
Rawlings, Henry E. 
Krehbiel, and Louis de 
Foe, and the question is 
who next ? 

It was very obvious to 
his friends that the big 
frame and once stout con- 
stitution of Krehbiel 
were giving way. He 
had to take a rest early 
in the present season at 
Bermuda, from which 
he returned little if any 
better. And then the end 
came suddenly, and now 
Krehbiel has joined his 
friends Lafcadio Hearn, 
"William Winter, Jim 
Huneker and others in 

the beyond, with which, according to Conan Doyle, Sir 
Oliver Lodge, a Methodist Bishop and others, we shall 
soon be in direct and constant communication. We shall 
then be able to tell Krehbiel what Harry Finck wrote 
about him in the Evening Post after he had joined the 
shades, and how a highly select and cultured audience 
hissed Schoenberg's Kammersymphonie at Carnegie Hall 
when it was magnificently played by the Philadelphia 
Orchestra under the baton of the brilliant and elegant 

Doubtless Krehbiel will be very indignant when he 
hears that Willie Henderson greeted that work with 
modified rapture, for the latter admits that it is now 
possible to listen to it with less astonishment than of 
yore, that it is "admirably put together," and is at times 
"irresistibly swept into utterances of old-fashioned 
beauty." One can hear the shade of the uncompromising 
Krehbiel muttering "Et tu, Brute," when he gets wind of 



Madame Amelita Galli-Curci, Signor Titta Ruffo, and Signor Tito Schipa, 
junior, who has not yet decided whether he will be a bass or tenor 

Willie's apostasy, for he was a resolute foe of all that 
was modern in music, and even the harmless utterances of 
Cyril Scott made him squirm, while he severely castigated 
his once white-headed boy Percy Grainger because of his 

departure from the 
musical conventions. 

To speak frankly, and 
T am sure the shade of 
Krehbiel will not worry 
about the views of one 
so obscure as the writer, 
he was a very old and 
crusted musical conser- 
vative, and could and 
did often display a good 
deal of prejudice as well 
as not a little ignorance 
of the subject with 
which he had to deal, 
while he could be almost 
femininely jealous of his 
fellow critics if they 
wrote something which 
brought them into favor- 
able notice, and spiteful 
toward those artists who 
had incurred his dis- 
pleasure. All the same, 
he was in his way a great 
personality and a very 
useful and well equipped 
musical historian and 
chronicler. But a great 
critic he certainly was 

It is more than satis- 
factory to learn that 
Krehbiel's place on the 
Tribune is to be taken by 
Lawrence Gilman. There 
is at the present time no 
better informed or more 
charming writer on 
music than Mr. Gilman, 
whose program notes for 
the Philharmonic and 
Philadelphia orchestras 
are a joy. Far from being a dogmatist, like his prede- 
cessor, it is obvious that he knows a great deal more about 
his subject fundamentally and scientifically, while he 
writes like a scholar and a gentleman. I was going to 
call him the George Grove of America, but I dislike 
labels, and besides he is a much better writer than ever 
Sir George was, while he knows his subject every bit 
as well. 

A devotee of no particular school, but acquainted with 
them all, eclectic and sympathetic, both the inner and 
outer spheres of music should benefit much from the 
criticism of Mr. Gilman. But I may be permitted to 
hope that he will not be half killed by overwork like 
most of the critical confraternity. Mr. Gilman should 
only be called upon to deal with the high lights of music, 
and not given the journeyman or reporter's jobs that too 
often fall to a critic's share, and such as I am glad to 
learn my friend Max Smith recently declined to do for 

Page Fifty-Seven 


the New York American, with the result that he has left 
that paper. Such journalistic independence is as rare 
as it is refreshing. 

Tn addition to sermons and stunts by sensational, self- 
•*■ advertising, Bolshie-loving parsons, a fresh terror has 
been added to church-going in New York. At the fine 
old church of St. Mark's-in-the-Bouwerie, poets such as 
Johnnie Weaver, Babette Deutsch, Elinor Wylie and 
Leslie M. Jennings have been reading their own poetry, 
verse or worse. It is enough to make the spirit of stout 
old Peter Stuyvesant 
(who lies buried in the 
church standing on the 
site of the chapel he built 
on his bouwerie or 
farm) rise in protest, as 
he protested at the 
usurpation of New Am- 
sterdam by the minions / 
of the Duke of York. 
The reverend gentleman 
who introduced the poets 
took the precaution of 
advising those present to 
accept the stuff offered 
them with the same 
naiveness that children 
receive verse. He added 
that adults are apt to get 
away from poetry, and 
that the word "Art" 
might properly be sub- 
stituted for the last word 
in the text, "Except ye 
become as little children 
ye cannot enter the 
kingdom of Heaven." It 
would be difficult for 
ordinary grown persons 
to become as childish as 
much of the so-called 
poetry which passes cur- 
rent nowadays among 
our intelligentsia of the 
Algonquin and the 

Tnvited to be present at 
•*- a meeting of Theater 
Guild subscribers and 
others at the Garrick 
Theater on a recent Sun- 
day afternoon, held in 
connection with the 
flotation of a five hun- 
dred thousand dollar 
bond issue for the pur- 
pose of providing the Guild with its own theater, I first 
attended a performance of Elmer Rice's expression- 
istic play The Adding Machine, which I was told was 
going to be travestied by a Guild author and Guild players 
at the meeting in question. I found much of Elmer Rice's 
play dull and utterly expressionless, and was bored almost 
to tears. Were all the Guild productions of similar quality 
it would never have justified its existence, much less the 
acquisition of a theater. Fortunately it has to its credit 
such things as Liliom (which, too, like The Adding 
Machine, has a stupid scene in Heaven), Back to 
Methuselah, He Who Gets Slapped, and Peer Gynt. 
Elmer Rice's play has a sufficiently dramatic central idea, 
but this is all but submerged in a morass of turbid, turgid 
expressionism and sometimes would-be humor, and the 


To few sculptors is given the faculty of making living likeness, but this 
bust of the well-known Wall Street lawyer and counsel of the Metro- 
politan Opera, almost speaks. It is by Alexander Zeitlin, Russian 
sculptor, now living in New York 

result is bewilderment and boredom. That excellent actor 
Dudley Digges did remarkably well, especially in the 
murder and trial scenes ; and Helen Westley showed her 
usual sense of character as well as even more than her 
usual absence of personal vanity in a physically and morally 
unlovely part. Miss Wycherley was an instance of utterly 
wasted material, while Louis Calvert, one of the finest 
actors of our stage, did the little he had to do as well as 
it could be done. But those who know his record and 
recall him during the famous Vedrenne-Barker regime at 
the Court Theater, London, could not but deplore 

that his inherited talent 
and fine art should be 
thus thrown away. It 
was like using a high- 
bred, perfectly trained 
racehorse to draw a 
garbage wagon. 

However, to get away 
from this dull example 
of ultra-expressionism to 
the proceedings at the 
meeting of the Guild — if 
proof were needed of 
the firm hold it has 
secured on its members, 
it was forthcoming in 
the fact that they sub- 
scribed more than half 
the five hundred thou- 
sand dollars required. 
Incidentally, an admir- 
able address was de- 
livered by Mr. Otto H. 
Kahri, who had made the 
Guild possible by pro- 
viding it with the Gar- 
rick Theater on the 
basis of no success no 
rent. It was the utter- 
ance of a man of culture, 
a man of heart, and a 
shrewd man of affairs 
withal. Then, after a 
number of ladies, headed 
by Miss Louise Closser 
Hale, had vainly essayed, 
amid much mirth, to 
cast up on regular add- 
ing machines the figures 
of subscriptions called 
out to them, there fol- 
lowed a travesty by 
Lawrence Langner, one 
of the Guild's leading 
spirits, on The Adding 
Machine itself. In this 
Dudley Digges and Helen 
Westley burlesqued their own performances in capital 
style. Suffice it to add that Mr. Langner's travesty was 
vastly better, expressionistically and otherwise, than the 


famous person with whom I had a slight acquaint- 
ance and who has recently passed away was Sarah 
Bernhardt. I was introduced to her by Sir Henry Irving 
in the Beefsteak room at the Lyceum Theater, where the 
great actor was wont to entertain celebrities and friends 
after the play. His guests on this occasion were the 
Divine Sarah, Coquelin ainc, Irving's two sons, Harry 
and Lawrence — all of them now dead — Ellen Terry, 
Comyns Carr, man of letters and delightful conversa- 
(Continued on page 76) 

Pac/e fifty-Eight 

The Sea 


Three scenes from a highly 
imaginative film innovation 
created by an artist and pro- 
duced by him in his own 
small working studio 

The Sea of Dreams marks a long step up- 
ward in the making of artistic motion pic- 
tures. Impressionistic paintings and bits of 
sculpture are used for the sets and the long 
shots; the actors in the play appear only 
in the close-ups, yet the illusion of reality 
is perfectly sustained. The chief merit of 
the picture lies in its power to stimulate the 
imagination. Its appeal is like that of a 
lyrical poem or a symphony. Warren A. 
Neivcombe, the originator of The Sea of 
Dreams, is a painter and scenic designer. 
He studied under Joseph de Camp at the 
Museum School in Boston 





Page Fifty-Nine 

Porcelains from Russia 

These pieces were 
a part of the first 
official art exhib- 
it of Soviet Rus- 
sia, held recently 
in Berlin. There 
was on view a 
large array of 
decorative and 
industrial art ob- 
jects ranging 
from earthenware 
to jewelry, em- 
broideries and 
toys. Such re- 
nowned artists as 
Chagall, Archi- 
penko and Kan- 
dinski were rep- 



These Russian por- 
celains are prod- 
ucts of the Petro- 
grad Porcelain 
Manufact ory, and 
the pupils of the 
Moscow Ceramic 
Faculty. These 
workers are re- 
cruited largely 
from the peasant 
class, and many of 
them are disabled 

There is something 
primitive and 
naive in the de- 
signs and colorings 
of many of the 
porcelains. The 
products are as in- 
dividual in the 
world of ceramics 
as is the Clvauve- 
Souris in the world 
of the theater 


bold design in brilliant colors on a 
glazed white ground 


A shallow, bowl-like piece with a 

black ground 

An example of the gro- 
tesque in decoration 


The design is repeated around the 

rim of the cup 

Page Sixty 

In Studio and Gallery 

By Helen Appleton Read 

THE art pendulum lias been doing sonic wild 
swinging backward and forward this past season. 
No sooner has it swung way over to modernism 
and we have decided that the public is definitely won 
over to the more radical phases of art as evinced by 
the crowds which at- 
tended the big Rus- 
sian Exhibition of 
Modern Art, than it 
swings back to the 
other extreme, as 
evinced by the popu- 
larity of the academic 
and traditional art of 
the Spring Academy 
and the National 
Sculptors Society. 
The Academy was as 
much an Academy as 
ever. The — to the 
academicians — hydra - 
headed monster of 
modernism, didn't 
raise a single head. 
But one heard on all 
sides the general com- 
ment: "Isn't the 
Academy nice ?" The 
intelligentsia, who for 
so many years have 
found damning the 
Academy one of their 
favorite indoor sports, 
have suddenly redis- 
covered the fact that 
traditional art can be 

To only like mod- 
ernistic tendencies in 
art is to be academ- 
ical. Modernistic art 
has become just as 
much academized as 
the traditional Acad- 
emy. It is only an- 
other form. The academic radicals are just as severe in 
their judgments of an art which does not measure up to 
certain prescribed standards of modernism as are the 
regular academicians. 

So now that modernism, the Peck's Bad Boy of 
Art, has become a classic, it is time to look about for 
a new art phase. Classicism is the last word in art. 
Paris is full of the return to classicism. When the 
bobbed-haired flapper lengthened her skirts and decided 
to let her hair grow we were showing, if from another 
angle, that we were ready for traditionalism again. We 
are also showing it in our renewed interest in conserva- 
tive art, when only a year ago we would have been out- 
lawed intellectually if the opinion had been vouchsafed 
that the Academy was enjoyable. 

All the professional picture makers were there doing 
the usual thing, but doing it pleasantly and profession- 
ally. Someone called this type of painting good manners 
in art. It may not be great art. But what of it? We 
need not always concern ourselves with superlatives. 
We need not always, in order to prove ourselves the 
elect, intellectually speaking, evince a taste for Shake- 

Courtesy of Scott and Fowles Galleries 

"Dolores" by G. L. Brockhurst 

speare or James Joyce — the latter if we belong to the 
Dial Intellectuals." 

The work of the Academy is very much on a level, 
nothing startingly bad or startlingly good. The Sargent 
portrait of Charles Woodbery is unobtrusive. Usually 

the Sargent portrait is 
the important portrait 
of an Academy show. 
We might almost pass 
this one by — almost — 
then once more we are 
held spell-bound by a 
touch of vertuosity 
and bravura which is 
typically Sargentesque. 
The hand hasn't lost 
its cunning that can 
suggest spectacles and 
the shadowed eyes be- 
hind the glass with 
only a staccato touch 
of white paint. The 
portrait which attract- 
ed the most attention 
was Wayman Adams' 
portrait of Irvin Cobb 
and his daughter. 
Jocularly called 
"Beauty and Irvin 
Cobb," since the artist 
has emphasized the 
beautiful and ethereal 
qualities of the girl 
even to painting her 
slightly under life size, 
and has overempha- 
sized the heavy and 
fleshly qualities of the 
father. It is an amus- 
ing stunt in portrai- 
ture, and brilliantly 

Prize pictures are 
usually dull and or- 
thodox ; the prizes are 
awarded, one feels, because the artist is next in line for 
the current prize award. Fortunately one prize went to 
Dines Carlson for his handsome still life which was the 
most distinguished painting at the exhibition. 

HP he exhibition of sculpture under the auspices of the 
■*• National Society of Sculptors arranged on the ter- 
races and grounds and in the buildings of the Hispanic 
Museum and Numismatic Society is the first comprehen- 
sive exhibition of American sculpture to have been held 
in this country. 

The American sculptor has always complained that his 
work could not be adequately shown. Sculpture is killed 
with pictures as a background, and the Academy has 
been the only place until now where the sculptor could 

Yet the sculptor claims a more prominent role in our 
national life than the painter. Memorial and decorative 
pieces are always being ordered. Sculpture relates itself 
closely to architecture and so to every-day life. A great 
body of American sculptors has grown up about us, their 
(Continued on page 71) 

Fage Sixty-One 


Salome E. Marckwardt 
(First Prize) 

Page Sixty-Two 

The Camera Contest 


Our Swan Song 

By Joseph R. Mason 

HE camera contest will be brought to a close 
with the next number of Shadow-land. And 
it has been a most successful contest — far beyond 
our hopes. As we glance thru the issues of the 
magazine we are conscious that the pictures 
awarded the prizes were the best of those sub- 
mitted. Please note that we say submitted. Prob- 
ably there are better pictures than some which were 
awarded prizes — you may own them — but we did 
not receive any in this contest. 

Should you feel that print of yours did not 
receive the reward it merited — and we hope this 
is not true — please be lenient. Perhaps it was re- 
ceived in a month that the going was particularly 
hard — more so than some previous month. You 
should judge each month's prints separately, for 
the standard varied exceedingly. Do not try to 
match a prize-winner of July against one of 
January. For who can say if the winner of one 
month would have received the same prize in an- 
other month's judgment? 

It is a pleasure and a privilege to have been 
associated with the contest. I feel I have received 
more than the combined prizes for the entire year, 
and for this I am extremely grateful. It has 
entailed a vast amount of labor, as it was neces- 
sary to work alone, save in the judging, in order 
to eliminate any possible loss of prints due to many 
handlings. But it was worth the labor many times 

We wish to extend our thanks to those who 
stood by and helped us put the contest across. 
This holds true even for the persons who wrote 
only to inquire about it. That denoted interest, 
and interest in photography — better photography — ■ 


By Josephine M. Wallace 

(Third Prize) 

was our aim in promoting this 

We should be glad to have you write 
us and tell just what the contest has 
meant to you. And we are not par- 
ticularly interested in bouquets. 
Should you have derived benefit, we 
hope you will say so, but do not 
hesitate to write if your opinion is 
otherwise. Throw the brick-bats — if 
you have any. They will be just as 
welcome as the bouquets. The fellow 
who cant stand being criticized is too 
saturated in ego to advance. And we 
can assure you that, after handling 
this contest for a year, our ego is just 
about zero. 

Next month we hope the editors 
will tell you in these columns what 
the contest has been as seen thru their 

By B. S. Home 
(Second Prize) 

Page Sixty-Three 


Honorable Mention — The Steam Shovel. Johan Hage- 
meyer, Carmel-by-the-Sea, California. 

Honorable Mention — A Temple Gallery, near Kobe. 
Hirai Masakichi, 265 Sannomivacho, Nichome, Kobe. 

Monthly prizes of at least $25, $15, and $10 are 
awarded in order of merit, together with three prizes of 
yearly subscription to Shadowland to go to three 
honorary mentions. 

Shadowland desires that every camera enthusiast 

reap benefit from this contest 

and to this end makes the inclu- 

PENNSYLVANIA s ^ on °^ the following data re 

STATION contesting prints imperative : 

By D. J. Ruzicka (a) Date and hour of ex- 

(Honorable Mention) pOSUre. 

eyes. Having done our bit we will now bow, wish you 
good luck, and again thank you for your support. 

The judges for this month's contest were : 

Clarence H. White, Eugene V. Brewster and Roy 

First Prise — Angles. Salome E. Marckwardt, 437 West 
117th St., New York City. 

Second Prize — The Artist. B. S. Home, Princeton, N.J. 

Third Prize — The Shadow on the Door. Josephine M. 
Wallace, 756, 16th St., Des Moines, Iowa. 

Honorable Mention — Pennsylvania Station. Dr. D. J. 
Ruzicka, 65 East 56th St., New York City. 

By Hirai Masakichi 
(Honorable Mention) 

By Johan Hagemeyer 
(Honorable Mention) 

(b) Stop number used. 

(c) Printing medium used. 

(d) Character of print — whether 
straight or manipulated. 

(e) Make of camera and lens. 

Any print previously published is not 

Prints will be acknowledged upon 
their receipt. 

Rejected prints will be returned im- 
mediately, provided proper postage for 
the purpose be included. It is, however, 
understood that Shadowland reserves 
the right to reproduce any print sub- 
mitted and to hold such for a reasonable 
time for that purpose. 

Special care will be taken of all prints 
submitted, but neither The Brewster 
(Continued on page 75) 

Page Sixty-Four 

Our Standard Bearers 

{Continued from page 55) 

Single men do not care for Married Men. They see 
lid reason for inflicting domestic rules upon their own 
freedom. Too, when a woman is married, the one pos- 
sible person she does not want to go with is a Married 
Man. She has found out that all Married Men are alike. 
She is looking for Romance. Why go to dinner with a 
Married Man who is probably wondering about his own 
wife and thinking himself a devil because he has gained 
a moment of seeming 
freedom ? 

So the Married 
'Man is left to his 
own kind or to 
solitude. Groups of 
Married Men are al- 
ways miserable. 
Married women have 
dozens of things to 
discuss — their own 
husbands, their ad- 
mirers, whom they 
might have married 
if they hadn't made 
their present blunders, 
clothes — anything. 
Married Men have a 
peculiar code which 
forbids them discuss- 
ing their wives. They 
have no sweeties 
whom they may dis- 
cuss legitimately — 
and a Married Man 
is, first of all, legiti- 
mate. So Married Men take to solitude. What can we do 
with the Married Man so that his hours may seem at least 

Tn my own case — and no woman can withstand the 
-*- chance to be personal- — my own husband, excepting 
from a sociological standpoint, is no problem at all. Last 
winter, when I sat in front of the fireplace talking with 
callow youths, my husband retired at eleven and read 
himself to sleep with Wells' Outline of History. He is 
perhaps the only man who ever honored Mr. Wells by 
reading every word of this noble work. Now, while I 
disport myself with youths fortunately a trifle less callow 
and happily more inclined to explore what remains of 
New York's night life, my husband is retiring at ten- 
thirty and reading Gargoyles and The Waste Land. As 
long as the Younger Generation continues to write, my 
own domestic problem is settled. What of the Married 

Now, while I disport myself with youths happily inclined to explore what 

remains of New York's night life, my home-loving husband sits by the 

fire and falls asleep over Wells' Outline of History 

Men who do not care for reading? Their plight is 
far worse. 

What can we do and who can do it? 
I belong to a club of supposedly Advanced Women 
who are presumably independent in so-called artistic 
fields. Nearly all of these one hundred and fifty women 
are or were married. At luncheon innumerable ones 
are called to the telephone. The telephone callers are 

always masculine and 
single. Married Men, 
excepting on business, 
are not allowed to 
waste the time of the 

These women have 
retained their maiden 
names or added their 
husbands' surnames. 
In no case are they 
called "Mrs." Any- 
body. One member, 
named, we will say, 
Hudd, married a Mr. 
Budd. She refused 
to change the "H" 
to the more recently 
acquired "B." An- 
other member gave 
up a trip to Europe 
because it would 
mean wearing her 
husband's name. The 
Married Man's last 
stronghold — that his 
wife is his in name, at least — is taken from him. 

HP he "Parasite Woman," as a term of reproach, has 
A passed out with the Equal Standard. The modern 
woman takes all that her husband offers her and sees to 
it that he offers all he has. To leave him anything would 
only give him a chance to escape. The married woman 
today is a combination Lily of the Field, Gold Digger, 
Gentle Grafter and Plaza Puff, with the added advantage 
of having achieved matrimony. 

Men continue to marry, to accept the degradation which 
marriage thrusts upon them. So I propose a League for 
the New Single Standard. Single men dare not join on. 
Single women have problems of their own. The more 
advanced married women should be willing to work 
together to offer a fighting chance to the Married Men, 
who have, unconsciously, taken up the burden of the 

nun minimi i ii i ii i in in hi i in i mi 1 1 ii i i i hi 

Independence and Otherwise in Paris 

(Continued from page 44) 

people ringing a bell and making loud and pseudo-gay 
remarks for the benefit of the bonne bourgeoisie. 

All the foolish schools have their day but Beauty goes 
on forever in spite of them. And here and there in these 
vast halls hung with human endeavor there are bits of 
beauty. There is Paul Signac with his spots of lovely 
color and light. I heard one critic say that it seemed as 
tho Signac's work was painted with confetti. Maybe 
so, but it is confetti with a genius for throwing off an 

indefinable quality of captured light. There is Andre 
L'Hote, with his opposing masses of cubistic color and 
rhythm in the large canvas Sur le Pont d' Avignon. And 
there is the Japanese Fugita with his meticulously drawn 
and superbly painted nude. Fugita is an artist whose 
work is beginning to be sought after in America, I believe, 
and several of his best canvases have found homes in vari- 
ous permanent collections in Chicago and the Middle West. 
(Continued on page 75) 

Page Sixty-Five 

{Information about theatrical productions cannot invariably be accurate because of 

the time it takes to print Shadowland. In the meantime, new plays may have opened 

and others may have changed theaters or have been discontinued.) 

Drama — Major and Melo- 

The Adding Machine. Comedy. — Dudley Digges 
and Margaret Wycherly in a play where most of the 
characters are automatons talking in numbers. 

As You Like It. Forty-fourth Street. — Marjorie 
Rambeau as Rosalind in the first production made by 
the Producing Managers' Association in an attempt to 
found a National Theater. 

The Cat and the Canary. National. — Good excite- 
ment and suspense. 

The Devil's Disciple. Garrick. — The Theatre Guild's 
production of Shaw's play with Roland Young playing 
the role of General Burgoyne. 

The Enchanted Cottage. Rite. — An unusually de- 
lightful play that truly enchants everyone who sees it. 

The Fool. Times Square. — Channing Pollock's play 
of an idealistic young minister who tries to live the life 
that Christ would lead if He were on earth today. 

Icebound. Sam H. Harris. — Unusually well-written 
and well-acted play of New England life. 

If Winter Comes. Gaiety. — The stage version of 
Hutchinson's popular novel, with Cyril Maude playing 
the role of Mark Sabre. 

The Last Warning. Klaw. — An exciting play in 
which William Courtleigh appears. 

The Laughing Lady. Longacre. — Ethel Barrymore 
at her best in a drama that is none too good. 

The Love Child. George M. Cohan. — Emotional 
French melodrama, finely acted. 

Morphia. Eltinge. — Lowell Sherman in a tense drama, 
with Olive Tell as the heroine who redeems him. 

Peer Gynt. Shubert. — Theatre Guild's production of 
Grieg's masterwork, with young Joseph Schildkraut as 

Rain. Ma.rine Elliott's. — One of the season's great 
successes, with Jeanne Eagels doing some remarkable 

Romeo and Juliet. Henry Miller's. — A beautiful 
production, with Jane Cowl a lovely Juliet. 

The Seventh Heaven. Booth. — Persistent John 
Golden Success. Excellent melodrama. 

Sweet Nell of Old Dmry. Forty-eighth Street. — 
Laurette Taylor as Nell Gwynne in J. Hartley Manners' 
version of Paul Kester's play which was first presented 
in 1900. 

The Wasp. Morosco. — A highly interesting and in- 
tensely romantic play. 

Whispering Wires. Broadhurst. — A headliner among 
mystery melodramas. 

Zander the Great. Empire. — Alice Brady in a tense 
drama centering about a child. 

Humor and Human Interest 

Abie's Irish Rose. Republic. — Jewish-Hibernian 
comedy written and played in farcical spirit. 

Barnum Was Right. France. ■ — An amusing pro- 
duction with Donald Brian and Marion Coakley. 

The Comedian. Lyceum. — Belasco at his best in the 
production of Guitry's play, featuring Lionel Atwill. 

The Exile. Geo. M. Cohan. — A French costume play 
with Eleanor Painter and Jose Ruben. 

Give and Take. Forty-ninth Street. — Laughable play 
by Aaron Hoffman, with Louis Mann 
and George Sidney in typical roles. 

Mary the Third. Thirty-ninth Street. 
— Typical Rachel Crothers' play of love 
and romance plus gentle satire. 

Merton of the Movies. Cort. — 
Mirthful and occasionally moving trav- 
esty of the movie hero. 

The Old Soak. Plymouth. — Don Marquis' immortal 
creation admirably transferred to the stage. 

Papa Joe. Lyric. — The new name for Mister Mala- 
testa. A play of Italian life. 

Polly Preferred. Little. — Another amusing skit on 
the movies, with Genevieve Tobin. 

Secrets, Fulton. — A real, old-fashioned love story, 
with charming Margaret Lawrence. 

So This Is London! Hudson. — Most amusing Anglo- 
American farcical comedy. 

Uptown West. Bijou. — A realistic domestic comedy. 

Within Four Walls. Selwyn. — A play by Glen 
MacDonough featuring Helen Ware. 

You and I. Belmont. — Harvard Prize play, with 
H. B. Warner and Lucille Watson as the stars of the cast. 

Melody and Maidens 

Caroline. Ambassador. — An admirably 
staged operetta, with Tessa Kosta. 

Cinders. Dresden. — A delightful new 
musical whirlwind. 

The Clinging Vine. Knickerbocker. 
— Charming Peggy Wood at her bright- 
est in a delightful musical play. 

The Dancing Girl. Neiv Winter Gar- 
den. — What its name implies, plus 
comedy and music. 

Elsie. Vanderbilt. — Lively musical 
comedy with every indication of long 
run on Broadway. 

The Gingham Girl. Earl Carroll. — 
One of the most tuneful comedies in 

Go-Go. Daly's Sixty-third Street. — 
Catchy music and funny lines. 

How Come? Apollo. — A musical 
revue composed of negro performers. 

Jack and Jill. The Globe. — John 
Murray Anderson's own revue, featur- 
ing Ann Pennington. 

Lady Butterfly. The Astor. — First- 
rate Dillingham Show, with extraordi- 
nary dancing. 

Little Nellie Kelly. Liberty. — George 
M. Cohan's comedians in a typical show. 

Music Box Revue. Music Box. — 
One of the best revues in the city. 

Sally, Irene and Mary. Century.- — 
Lives up to the reputations of three 
charming musical comedies. 

Up She Goes. Playhouse. — Continues 
a career of unusual success. 

Wildflower. Casino.- — Winsome Edith 
Day in a perfect role. 

Ziegfeld Follies. New Amsterdam. — 
A national institution, glorifying the 
American girl. — F. R. C. 


Page Sixty-Six 

The American Short Story 

( ( 'ontinued from page 14 ) 

story is more powerful, original or sin- 
cere than the average Eoreign story, and 
the fault above all others with which 
Europeans reproach American fiction is 
its lack of sincerity. 

"It has been a source of much ques- 
tioning to me to determine why Ameri- 
can fiction, as well as the other arts, fails 
so conspicuously in presenting a national 
soul, why it fails to measure sincerely 
the heights and depths of our aspirations 
ami failures as a nation, and why it lacks 
the vital elan which is so characteristic of 
other literatures," wrote Mr. O'Brien in a 
recent collection of stories, published 
under the title Best Short Stories of 1919. 

Mr. "Waldo Frank in Our America 
supplies the answer : "There is nothing 
more horrible than a physically mature 
body moved by a childish mind. And 
if the average American production re- 
pels the sensitive American reader, the 
reason is that he is witnessing just this 

Tt has frequently been remarked that 

-*- the American public will submit to 

strong doses of the starkest sincerity if 

the doses be administered by foreigners 

and the sincerity relates to foreign life. 

They will willingly read of rascals, 

drunkards, murderers and fallen women, 

of suicides and seductions, provided that 

they be not of the American variety. 

Russian, French, German, English and 

Italian rascals, drunkards, murderers and 

fallen women are a different question, since everyone 

knows that European life is not perfect, and that 

Europeans are a rather sorry lot, anyway. It is well, 

indeed, to hold up the mirror to their vices and follies, 

just as it would be only fair to point to their sweetness 

and light did they possess them in sufficient quantity to 

be worth reflecting in literature. 

Naturally, the European has a ready retort in pointing 
to the heavy figures for crime and divorce in this country, 
and cannot for the life of him refrain from asking why, 
since these things are, and everyone (including the sin- 
ful Europeans) knows that they are, they should be so 

resolutely denied, or at least ignored, in 
any and every attempt to portray Ameri- 
can life in literature. There are, of 
course, a few new and admirable writers, 
such as Willa Gather, Sherwood Ander- 
son and others, who do not ignore the 
darker sides of American life, but I am, 
I confess, curious to know if there is 
much competition for their work on the 
part of the magazine editors. 

As a general rule, European writers 
prefer to deal with the exceptional and 
the dramatic in the matter of themes ; 
and if the everyday and the commonplace 
is chosen, then it must be so treated that 
the writer's art and style redeem this 
choice of subject. In a word, manner 
must compensate for matter. But when 
the commonplace in subject is allied to 
the commonplace in manner, the effect is 
one of cruel mediocrity. Such medi- 
ocrity is a speciality of many women 
writers, who seem to shun the unusual, 
the dramatic and the vivid as they would 
the Evil One himself, and in their love of 
the trivial, they are strongly supported by 
a large number of American 
magazines, which have as their 
aim an immense circulation 
amongst American womanhood. 
My own feeling is that if the 
short story output were cut down 
some seventy-five per cent, and 
rigidly high standards were en- 
forced by editors whose care it is 
to serve American literature, a 
rapid improvement in the quality of American magazine 
fiction would almost immediately be discernible. It is 
true that as a result of this drastic process many scores 
of writers would find that their services as fiction pro- 
ducers were no longer in demand. But what of it? Did 
not our aforementioned sage declare that authorship was 
on exactly the same plane as the law or medicine or 
salesmanship ? 

Then off with the old love and on with the new ! Let 
them embrace either the law, medicine or salesmanship — 
and, as I have said, preferably the latter, for it is easier. 
As easy, indeed, as story-writing. 

De Maupassant wrote of his peasants, 
never adopting a common style be- 
cause he wrote of common people 


The Farington Diary 

(Continued from page 52) 

"I, John Kemble, of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, 
do adopt this method of publickly apologizing to Miss De 
Camp, for the very improper and unjustifiable behaviour 
I was lately guilty of toward her . . ." 

(~\f the artists mentioned in the Diary, perhaps American 
^-J readers should be most interested in Benjamin West. 
Yet it is doubtful if we can rightly call him "our 
Benjamin" — and whether we would if we could. He was 
so English as to say "Hackacademy," and even his royal 
patron made fun of him for this. He was elected to 
succeed Sir Joshua Reynolds as President of the Royal 

Academy — which indeed seems to have been the King's 
Academy in its early years — and with brief intermission 
held the office until 1820. Once when a scattering vote 
went to a Mary Moser, the man exclaimed that he 
thought he "might as well vote for one old woman as 
another" — meaning our Benjamin. West received large 
sums of money in commissions from the King, but he 
seemed to think he earned them. 

Farington himself apparently stood well with his 
brother artists, and his criticism was much in demand. 
Flow much his opinion was valued may be known by the 
(Continued on page 78) 

Page Sixty-Seven 

New Books in Brief Review 

SIR PHILIP GIBBS has put the 
best that is in him into his last 
book, The End of the Road, pub- 
lished by George H. Doran. How good 
that best is is known to a host of 
readers in this country who remember 
his remarkable war correspondence The 
Way to Victory, not to mention his very 
first book, written long before his soul had 
been seared by the war, The Street of Ad- 
venture. The Middle of the Road is a 
post-war book in theme as well as in fact. 
The principal male character is a young 
British officer who has won high distinc- 
tion during the conflict, and who marries a 
beautiful young girl of the hereditary 
aristocratic order. There is, after a time, 
a clash of temperament as well as to a 
certain extent of class, they separate, and 
then sad and embittered he sets about to 
make a literary career for himself. At- 
tached to the staff of a liberal weekly, he 
revisits scenes in France, where he had 
fought ; Germany, where he has a sister, 
married before the war to a German 
officer ; and finally Russia, where he sees 
at first hand the workings of Bolshevism 
and the cruel effects of the famine in the 
stricken areas. 

All these places have been visited by the 
author himself since the war, and he has 
an almost photographic eye which makes 
his descriptions of scenes and sights 
graphic to the extreme point of realism. 
But his book has other and higher values 
than its fidelity to facts, and it is above 
all a first-rate, not to say tremendously 
engrossing, story. Its studies of character 
and its psychology, as well as its human 
interest, make it of the highest value as 
a work of fiction, while it presents a re- 
markable picture of Europe as it was two 
or three years after the war and as it still 
is, for the most part. Sir Philip Gibbs has 
written a novel with a purpose, but he 
has also written one with a very good plot 
which is so logically developed that inter- 
est in it and the characters never flags. 
Decidedly this is one of the outstanding 
novels of the season. 

T A. G. Strong, author of a book of 
• verse Dublin Days, just issued by 
Boni and Liveright, is both humanist and 
humorist as well as poet. It is one of the 
best and most authentic poetical embodi- 
ments of Irish mentality and spirituality, 
combined with that national element of 
wild humor, that we have read in a long 
time. The opening verses are in their way 
a gem : 

Have I a wife? Bedam I have! 

But we zvas badly mated, 
I hit her a great clout one night, 

And now we're separated. 

Ana mornin's, going to me work, 

I meets her on the quay: 
"Good momin' to ye, ma'am," says I; 

"To hell with ye!" says slie. 

And here is a stanza from a Lover's 

The world is hard, its eyes bum bright, 
And in that hot and searching glare, 

The gentlest words, the loveliest thoughts 
Seem void of grace and bare. 

But in your mind, where all is pure, 
And all things wear a gentler hue, 

They come, and are renewed, until 

They are poured forth the lovelier still 
For having lodged with you. 

^Translated verse is rarely satisfactory, 
so much is lost in idiom, rhythm, ac- 
cent and original expressiveness. But 
Joseph T. Shipley's translations of some of 
the exquisite verses of Paul Geraldy, You 
and Me (Toi et Moi), are for the most 
part notable exceptions and Boni and Live- 
right have done well in publishing them. 
Over one hundred thousand copies of the 
original poems have sold in France and 
they might well have an almost equal popu- 
larity in their English dress. They have 
form without being formal, they have true 
Gallic grace combined with tender, playful 
sentiment, in fact they are veritable poemes 
d'amour, with just the requisite dash of 
passion. They belong to the boudoir, they 
have a faint perfume, they are scented with 
chypre, but not with patchouli. 

T n the depiction of the God of Moses — 

the God of vengeance and jealousy — as 
the all-pervading factor in the life and 
destiny of John Strong in Titans (Duf- 
field), Charles Guernon has challenged his 
readers, immersed in twentieth century 
skepticism, by his art in realistic charac- 
terization. The story is of the hardy 
fishermen, of the Northern coasts, who 
hold to a childlike belief in a God not to 
be questioned nor interpreted but obeyed. 
John Strong, a blond Titan, alone defies 

Everything goes well with John until 
he brings home from the mainland Lysette, 
a tiny flower-like bride, won, not by 
love, but because she was too weak- 
willed to oppose his wish. In doing this 
John has denied his foreordained mate, 
Judith Nyte, a Titan fisher-maid. Lysette 
in her loneliness, while John is out on the 
catch, is drawn to Neil, John's weakling 
poet brother. Judith in her untamed pas- 
sion for John, reveals their love to him. 
In the denouement that follows, John is 
called upon to sacrifice himself, body and 
soul, for Neil. In fighting this new enemy 
of the spirit John realizes that every act 
of his life since boyhood has been set upon 
the pedestal of his belief in Self; his power 
to control destiny to his uses, and he at 
last acknowledges that he is weak 

Had Guernon been less convincing the 
reader instead of capitulating with John, 
when all was said and done, would still 
have been crying: "Is this the God you 
brat and bray about? Aye, I do defy 
him !" 

A tremendous elemental force sweeps 
thru this tale of fate and love like the 
unruly wind and waves that give it setting. 

"JP ew men of their day, which is still 
very much the present, have better 
understood the art of living than Lord 
Frederic and Lord Richard Hamilton, 
two of "the handsome Hamiltons." 
Lord Frederic Hamilton has given the 
world the benefit of his mature and 
mellow experience in two volumes which 
have had a great vogue with those who 
regard biography as one of the most inter- 
esting forms of literature. They are en- 
titled respectively The Days Before 
Yesterday and The Vanished Pomps of 
Yesterday, and are both delightful vol- 
umes, full of wit and wisdom and of 
reminiscences of interesting people whom 
he met as a man about town, a sportsman, 
a diplomat and traveler. Lord Ernest 
Hamilton's volume, entitled Forty Years 
On, issued like his brother's books, by 
George H. Doran, has all the good quali- 
ties which might be expected from a mem- 
ber of a large and eminently brilliant 
family. None of the Hamiltons has been 
a mere lounger or drone in the hive. They 
have all, from the first Duke of Abercorn, 
who was a stately Viceroy of Ireland, to 
the second, who was the head of the great 
Chartered Company of South Africa, been 
hard workers either in the field of politics, 
and statecraft, or of diplomacy and busi- 
ness — Lord Claud Hamilton is head of the 
Great Eastern Railway in England. Lord 
Ernest, who tells part of the story of his 
life in Forty Years On, is a born raconteur, 
and has some excellent yarns to relate 
about himself and the many interesting 
men and women whom he has known dur- 
ing his brilliant and useful career. He is 
best described as a connoisseur of the art 
of enjoyment, and he passes on his enjoy- 
ment to his readers. 

HP imes Have Changed, (Robert M. Mc- 
■*■ Bride & Co.) by Elmer Davis, is 
brimming with complicated situations, 
ludicrous, wholly improbable, but thoroly 
enjoyable. It is like a fascinating, glorified 
scenario with never a dull line or sagging 
action. The first few chapters lead one 
to expect a more serious story. The 
character analysis is superb. Mark, the 
hero, strangely stirred by the sky-line of 
New York; Marjorie, his wife, remarkably 
endowed with common sense; her people, 
the Redman tribe, straight-laced and over- 
bearing are delightfully portrayed. It is 
plain that Elmer Davis sees beneath the 
hard shell of human nature and writes 
humorously and tolerantly of what he finds. 
This book is ideal for reading during a 
vacation, convalescence, or a rainy evening, 
as it does not miss its mark in aiming to 

Of the lighter novels, Challenge (George 
H. Doran) by V. Sackville-West is 
most romantic. The story deals with a 
hot-headed youth and a revolution that he 
fosters in a tiny republic near Greece. 
Will Levington Comfort's The Public 
Square (D. Appleton) smacks of various 
sorts of propaganda including thumps at 
the British rule in India, applause for the 
passive resistance policy of Gandhi, and 
{Continued on page 78) 

Page Sixty-Eight 


Our Contributors 

writings were mainly of a political 
and technical nature, but after sev- 
eral years as an editor and feature writer 
he turned his attention exclusively to 
art, literature, and the drama. A year 
ago he went to Germany to study post- 
war conditions in these fields. He has 
contributed significant critical essays, 
covering- a wide range of subjects, to 
a number of artistic and literary medi- 
ums. * * * Allan Ross MacDougall 
was born in Dundee, Scotland, and 
educated at the University there. He 
has been a secretary, an advertising" 
man, an actor, a soldier and a journal- 
ist. He conducted the Line o' Type 
Column for the Paris edition of the 
Chicago Tribune thru 1921, and is still 
residing at the French Capital writing. 

* * * Elsie McCormick has just re- 
turned from a lengthy sojourn in 
China. While there two of her books 
were published, The LTnexpurgated 
Diary of a Chinese Baby, and Auda- 
cious Angles on China. * * * 
Blanding Sloan, whose drawings of 
four of our designers appear on page 
forty-one, is a well-known etcher and 
artist of the theater. At present he 
is in the Far East collecting material 
for a book on the Oriental theater, 
and making first-hand sketches of de- 
signs for stage settings to be used in 
this country. * * * Thyra Samter 
Winslow is one of the most talented 
of our younger fiction writers. Her 
book of short stories, Picture Frames, 
is still the talk of the literary world. 
At present, she is rounding out a novel 
that is to be published in the autumn. 

* * * After graduating from North- 
western University, Carl Glick turned 
actor and barn-stormed thru the Mid- 
dle West as Romeo. When the com- 
pany stranded, he became a member 
of the Faculty of a college in Kansas. 
A year later he organized the Com- 
munity Theater of Waterloo, Iowa — 
the first Little Theater in the state — 
and for three years was its director. 
Since then he has been a free-lance 
in New York. Several of his one-act 
plays have been presented by Little 
Theater groups. * * * Everett 
Henry, who made the drawings of The 
Adding Machine for this number, was 
born in Brooklyn, educated in New 
Jersey, and studied Art in New York. 
He served overseas in the 40th Engi- 
neers during the war, and since his 
return has been painting, sketching 
and — he hates to admit this — design- 
ing labels for tin-cans. * * * Bliss 
Carman studied for the law and holds 
degrees from Universities here and 
abroad. He was the editor of the 
Independent from 1890 to 1892, and his 
first volume of poems, Low Tide on 
Grand Pre, was published a year later. 
Since then he has brought out twenty 
volumes and several books of sketches 
and essays. He is the joint author 
with Richard Hovey of the famous 

Songs from Vagabondia. * * * 
August Henkel shortened his vacation 
in the Maine woods to illustrate a 
serial to be published by one of our 
leading fiction magazines. His next 
vacation is to be spent where he can 
be cut off completely from communi- 
cation with the outside world. * * * 
N. P. Dawson comes of newspaper 
stock from 'way back, but says that she 
became a newspaper writer by mar- 
riage with Allan Dawson, who was at 
that time editor of a Des Moines daily. 
Her favorite recreation is book review- 
ing, and reading her reviews is the 
favorite pastime of thousands. * * * 
Clayton Knight, whose illustrations 
for The American Short Story have 
surely amused you, has just returned 
from a sojourn in Bermuda and has 
started work on a series of sketches 
of the best plays of the season for 
the Drama League. * * * R. Le 
Clerc Phillips is an Englishwoman who, 
before the war, in the enthusiasm of 
youth, joined one of the women's suf- 
frage organizations in London — an ex- 
perience which was chiefly instrumen- 
tal in making her a pronounced "anti." 
She has been in America for three 
years, engaged in writing and in his- 
torical and economic research work. 

* * * Joseph Szebenyei is an editor, 
writer and translator whose work is 
well known in this country and in 
Europe. * * * Helen Appleton 
Read is a graduate of Smith College 
and has studied at the Art Students' 
League in New York, and at the Henri 
School. She has traveled the world 
over, and returned from Italy last fall 
to become Critic of the Brooklyn Eagle. 

* * * Kenneth Macgowan is the 
author of several books about the the- 
ater, and is an authority on stagecraft. 
He is the dramatic critic of the New 
York Globe and contributes to various 
magazines. * * * Edgar Cahill was 
born in Iceland and has lived in all 
the Scandinavian countries. His work 
is to be found regularly in the Ameri- 
can art journals. * * * William L. 
MacPherson is the author of several 
books on international politics. His 
diversion is translating stories from 
the French — usually short fiction, tho 
he has made a translation of one novel, 
The Moles, by Georges Imann. 

* * * Frederic Boutet is one of the 
most skilful as well as most prolific 
of the younger French writers. He is 
economic in his effects, but his work 
always has a vigor, finish, and genuine 
artistic quality. * * * Wynn Hol- 
comb's first work as a cartoonist was 
at the age of seven. He illustrated the 
Children's Page of the Washington 
Post. He has studied abroad, occa- 
sionally holding down a "regular job," 
and expects to spend next winter in 
Rome. * * * The cover of this 
month's Shadowland is a marine dec- 
oration by A. M. Hopfmiiller. 

April 34, IQ23. 
Just as Shadowland goes to press the sad nezvs comes of Mrs. Dazvson's sudden 
death from cerebral hemorrhage. Words are feeble things in which to express the per- 
sonal regret which ice and the great number of her friends and admirers zvill feel at 
this bereavement. Only a few days ago we received a communication from her, full of 
the cheerfulness and zest in her work which ivere so characteristic. Her capacity for 
getting at the heart of every book which passed before her for review, her fine critical 
acumen and, not least, her sense of humor, gave her a unique position among the liter- 
ary critics of her time, and at the moment there does not seem to be any one zvho can 
adequately take her place. — The Editors. 

; ua Ie5h 



Between 53 rd G" 54 th StS. 

Fifth Avenue 's Smartest 

Innovations for Motor, 

Street and Sport 

Priced always with Restraint 

A List of 


in the 

Summer Numbers 


George Middleton 
H. L. Mencken 
Franz Molnar 
Walter Pri chard Eat 071 
Allan Ross MacDougall 
Georges Enesco 
Henry Albert Phillips 
Thyra Samter Winslow 
Frances Gilchrist Wood 
Djuna Barnes 
Babette F)eutsch 
Kenneth Macgowan 
Henry Altimus 

Page Sixty-Nine 


Slie Found A Pleasant Way To 
Reduce Her Fat 

She did not have to go to the 
trouble of diet or exercise. She 
found a better way, which aids the 
digestive organs to turn food into 
muscle, bone and sinew instead of fat. 

She used Marrnola Prescription Tab' 
lets, which are made from the famous 
Marrnola prescription. They aid the 
digestive system to obtain the full 
nutriment of food. They will allow you 
to eat many kinds of food without the 
necessity of dieting or exercising. 

Thousands have found that Mar- 
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the accumulation of fat is checked, 
reduction to normal, healthy weight 
soon follows. 

All good drugstores the world over sell Mar- 
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Aslc your druggist for them, or order direct and 
they will be sent in plain wrapper, postpaid 

430 Garfield Rldg., Detroit, Mich. 

SHADOWLAND published MONTHLY at 175 DUF- 
FIELD ST., BROOKLYN, N. Y., for APRIL 1st, 1923. 
State of NEW. YORK, County of KINGS. Before me, a 
NOTARY PUBLIC in and for the State and County 
aforesaid, personally appeared EUGENE V. BREW- 
STER, who, having been duly sworn according to law, 
deposes and says that he is the PRESIDENT of the 
SHADOWLAND and that the following is, to the 
best of his knowledge and belief, a true statement of 
the ownership, management {and if a daily paper, the 
circulation), etc., of the aforesaid publication for the 
date shown in the above caption, required by the Act 
of August 24, 1912, embodied in section 443, Postal 
Laws and Regulations printed on the reverse of this 
form, to wit: 1. That the names and addresses of the 
publisher, editor, managing editor, and business man- 
agers are: Publisher, BREWSTER PUBLICATIONS, 
BROOKLYN, N. Y. Managing Editor, ADELE 
LYN, N. Y. Business Manager, GUY L. HARRING- 
2. That the owners are: (Give names and addresses of 
individual owners, or, if a corporation, give its name 
and the names and addresses of stockholders owning 
or holding 1 per cent or more of the total amount of 
known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security 
holders owning or holding 1 per cent or more of total 
amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities are*. 
(If there are none, so state.) NONE. 4. That the two 
paragraphs next above, giving the names of the owners, 
stockholders, and security holders, if any, contain not 
only the list of stockholders and security holders as 
they appear upon the books of the company but also, 
in cases where the stockholder or security holder ap- 
pears upon the books of the company as trustee or in 
any other fiduciary relation, the name of the person or 
corporation for whom such trustee, is acting, is given; 
also that the said two paragraphs contain statements 
embracing affiant's full knowledge and belief as to the 
circumstances and conditions under which stockholders 
and security holders who do not appear upon the books 
of the company as trustees, hold stock and securities in 
a capacity other than that of a bona fide owner; and this 
affiant has no reason to believe that any other person, 
association, or corporation has any interest direct or 
indirect in the said stock, bonds, or other securities 
than as so stated by him. 5. That the average number 
of copies of each issue of this publication sold or dis- 
tributed, thru the mails or otherwise, to paid subscrib- 
ers during the six months preceding the date shown 
above is . . . (This information is required from daily 
publications only.) EUGENE V. BREWSTER. (Sig- 
nature of editor, publisher, business manager or owner.) 
Sworn to and subscribed before me this 27th day of 
March, 1923. E. M. HEINEMANN. (My commission 
expires MARCH 30th, 1924.) 

The Odyssey of George Hart 

(Continued from page 11) 

spontaneous impressions of a painter who 
sees things with an innocent eye. There 
is a free, natural use of the medium, sound 
structural feeling, and a good but well- 
restrained color sense, a constantly grow- 
ing technical proficiency in Hart's water 
colors. His etchings, aquatints, and 
lithographs are always interesting in de- 
sign, and original in conception, full of a 
grey-white poetry, and a fugue-like 
balance of bodies and spaces, and inter- 
weaving lights and shadows. Hart feels 
the human drama, but he never lets it get 
in the way of his sense of structure and 
design. In such a thing as Voodoo Dance 
or the various pictures of West Indian 
fairs and markets, an unerringly imposed 
rhythm subdues that maddest composition 
to order. Sea Waves and Native Baptism 
— Trinidad are of a different order. They 
are quiet, rich, greyish compositions ex- 
hibiting a refined feeling for structure. 
The Bathers is an interesting and decora- 
tive design of broken lines, built up from 
sketches made in various parts of the world. 

There is another side to Hart — his 
humor. It is ubiquitous, and enters all his 
pictures in one form or another. The in- 
teresting thing about his humor is that he 
does not seem to try for it. It just hap- 
pens to be there, an ingratiating element 
in all his work. 

In recent years Hart has exhibited with 
the Society of Independent Artists, in 
the New York Public Library, at Knoed- 
ler's, and last winter in Mrs. Albert 
Sterner's gallery. His Odyssey seems to 
be guiding him to the Ithaca of success. 
One of the phenomena of the late New 
York art season was the almost epidemic 
interest, expressed in terms of purchase, 
which the general public manifested in his 
art. To find oneself, at the age of fifty 
(Hart was born in Cairo, Illinois, a little 
over fifty years ago), enrolling among the 
best sellers — surely that is a Heaven-de- 
vised consummation. Those who know the 
work of George Hart, will rejoice that the 
American public has come to appreciate 
so sensitive and sincere an artist. 


On the Watermelon -Seed Circuit 

(Continued from page 18) 

subtle gesture that seems to drive 
men mad. Instead, they wore the usual 
Chinese jacket and trousers, but their 
heads were topped by knitted tarn 
o' shanters pulled over one eye. Their 
methods, too, differed somewhat from 
those of the home-wrecking sisterhood of 
the West. When one of them wanted to 
add a handsome Chinese youth to her col- 
lection, she did not take the usual pro- 
cedure of creating complexes by a beguil- 
ing glance, instead, she followed the direct 
action method of dropping a bag weighing 
approximately ten pounds on his toe and 
he was her devoted admirer from then on. 
Tho the acting in Vampires' Prey 
was much more natural than the Delsartian 
culture that passes for realism in Chinese 
theaters, the actors, with remarkable una- 
nimity, muffed all the love scenes. Per- 
haps the universal custom of letting papa 
and mamma arrange the wedding prelimi- 
naries doesn't afford the best training in 
the world for artistic hand-holding. 
Anyway, when the hero wished to indicate 
his sentiments toward a young lady, he 
led her to an exposed bench in the middle 
of a public park, pulled her to him like 
a stevedore handling a sack of potatoes, 
and failed by some two inches to make a 
proper contact between her head and his 
shoulder. The young lady kept her head in 
this unsupported condition thruout the pro- 
posal, rousing only when Mother appeared 
and exclaimed, according to the sub-title. 
"What shame ! I dont like to think of it !" 

The sub-titles of Vampires' Prey, in 
English translation, deserve an article all 
their own. They wiggled uncertainly on 
the line between mission-school English 
and the Letters of a Japanese Schoolboy. 
The synopsis announced that "the pair of 
youthful lovers soon become sweet 
friends." When poison was applied to a 
gentleman's tea-cup, the sub-title carefully 
explained that it was administered "so as 
to gradually cease his activities." At that, 
however, they were as intelligible as the 
sub-titles of many American photoplays. 

The appearance of the film industry in 
the Orient gives rise to many conjectures. 
What we want to know is : Will China 
develop a Hollywood? Will there even- 
tually be a film capital where heroines 
fight and villains die by day, and where 
the merry, merry tea-houses tinkle and 
glitter all the night? Will Chinese flap- 
pers travel in sedan-chairs from the tall 
bamboo to try for positions as extras ? 
Will Chinese youths in the shadow of the 
farthermost pagoda spend their time care- 
fully tracing epistles to the ladies of the 
flickering screen? When we put these sup- 
positions up to Ah Ling, our button-eating 
laundryman, he shook his head pensively 
and murmured : "My no savee." 

Anyway, the first Chinese movie had 
one scene that might bring cheer to the 
downtrodden men of America. When the 
hero escorted his "sweet friend" to dinner 
at a hotel, it was the sweet friend who 
paid the bill. 

Page Seventy 


In Studio and Gallery 

(Continued from page 61) 

work is distributed over our city parks 
and squares, or adorns our public build- 
ings. Yet nothing is so quickly forgotten. 
It becomes part of the general scene; we 
cease to see it. 

In the present exhibition which numbers 
eight hundred exhibits and remains open 
until August first, we have the opportunity 
of seeing the spirit of American sculpture 
as a whole. From the colossal memorial 
figure commemorating a tragic event to 
the garden statues of laughing goose girls 
or languishing Ledas, every phase is shown. 

Xo one need sigh for the gardens of 
the Luxembourg or the Tuileries. Here 
too out-of-door sculpture is displayed in 
its appropriate habitat. We catch a 
glimpse of the white marble limbs of 
Nymph and Satyr, half hidden by trees and 
flowers, sun-dials are placed in garden 
settings and all is as it should be. We 
cannot doubt that this is a truly repre- 
sentative exhibition of American sculp- 
ture. A glance at the catalog will assure 
us of that but certain conclusions are in- 
evitable. Most obviously this is an 
Academy of sculpture. All of the many 
exhibitors are well known and honored. 
The spice of adventure is lacking, we are 
on sure ground. Nothing is shown that 
is not technically expert and conservative 
in point of view. Modernism and the so- 
called younger men are absent. The spirit 
of St. Gaudens and Daniel Chester French 
is omnipresent, a spirit which translates 
itself in terms of purity, highmindedness 
and moral earnestness — qualities which by 
no means preclude imagination or imply 
prudishness. True, one can trace the all- 
powerful influence of Rodin. There is 
no modern sculptor but has profited by his 
example at some time in his career. Then 
there is the influence of Bourdelle, and 
the recently popular neo-orientalism of the 
Academy of Rome. Notwithstanding, this 
is American sculpture, and in the American 
tradition and spirit. 

/~\ xe of the most talked-of art events of 
^~^ the year has been the opening of the 
Grand Central Art Galleries on top of the 
Grand Central Station, where pictures and 
sculpture are to be sold with only the in- 
terests of the artists at stake, no com- 
missions for sales being charged. It is an 
event which has received tremendous pub- 
licity and if it is not financially success- 
ful it will not be the fault of the publicity 
man. The situation of the Galleries is 
psychological. "Buy your art between 
trains" is the slogan. Dont go to a near-by 
hotel or waiting-room if you have an hour 
to spare, it is much more attractive, more 
restful to spend that time in the charm- 
ingly arranged galleries on top of the 
Grand Central Station. And besides you 
may lay the foundation of a future pic- 
ture collection. Every red cap will show 
you the way. They have received special 
instructions, in fact have been given les- 
sons in acting as guides thru the picture 
galleries. The idea back of the gallery 
is that artists instead of allowing unsold 
canvases to remain in their studios shall 
bring them here to a free sales gallery 
where they may be seen by great numbers 
of the people. The artists whose works 
are exhibited must first be invited to be- 
come members of the association. It is 
not a case of a starving young artist get- 
ting a free showing. It will be found that 
only successful artists have been invited 
to join. It is only another sales-room with 
the Academy brand of pictures, good ones 
of course, and the ghosts of past Academy 
(Continued on page 74) 


Symbolized by the 




Original outdoor illustrations of Beautiful Dancing Figures, 8 bv 10, contact photographs printed 
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exhibited all over the world are made and signed by the artist. 

The work of JAMES WALLACE PONDELICEK has been lauded by the most exacting 
connoisseurs of art in the United States and abroad ; reproductions in magazines appearing in this 
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Priced at $1.50 the Print. 

A sixteen page booklet containing 178 sample illustrations sent upon receipt of twenty— five cents coin or stamps. 

James Wallace Pondelicek Studios, 4125 West 21st St., Chicago, 111. 


The American invasion in Paris is not confined entirely to the audience hut now extends to the 
stage as well. Allan Ross Macdougall after witnessing nearly every performance there ends 
by thanking Providence for America and the dancers she sends to Paris. Read his delightful 
article, Reviewing the Revues of Paris, appearing in the July issue of 


Why Dont You Buy 


for JULY 

The Picture Book De Luxe of the Movie World 
Considering the Costume 

Historical photoplays are not always free from anachronisms when 
it comes to costumes. Read this interesting article on costume research 
with its suggestions for the practical operations to prevent the com- 
mon mistakes found in this field. 

"The Scarecrow" 

A fictionization in short story form of the photoplay by Percy 
Mackaye in which Glenn Hunter is featured. This picture is the last 
one that Mr. Hunter will do for the Film Guild. Sketches of the 
various characters are used to illustrate the story. 

Interviewing Strongheart 

The brightest star in the constellation is said to be the dog-star. 
Strongheart, the canine actor, is the dog star of the First National 
and he does not belie his title. Read what he says about a dog's life 
in the movies. 

Speaking of Pictures 

There are any number of interesting photographs to be found in 
Foreign Films, a new department in Classic; a two-page spread of 
famous character actors; another of scenes from the screen version 
of "If Winter Comes" and "Main Street"; and a display of Norma 
Talmadge's new and unusually beautiful home in Hollywood. 



That "Different" Screen Magazine 


Page Seventy-One 


Don't Hide Them With a Veil; Remove 
Them With Othine- Double Strength 

This preparation for the treatment of 
freckles is usually so successful in removing 
freckles and giving a clear, beautiful com- 
plexion that it is sold under guarantee to 
refund the money if it fails. 

Don't hide your freckles under a veil ; get 
an ounce of Othine and remove them. Even 
the first few applications should show a won- 
derful improvement, some of the lighter 
freckles vanishing entirely. 

Be sure to ask the druggist for the double 
strength Othine ; it is this that is sold on the 
money -back guarantee. 


Combines Beauty and Information 

If you are interested in art you will 
find, reproductions in color of pic- 
tures by foremost artists. 

Each issue contains articles on modern 
literature, music, and drama. 

You will also find a ten-minute play 
by some well-known author. 

One page is devoted to sonnets and 
songs contributions by the best poets 
of today. 




Every Woman Wants Beautiful, Slim, 

Appealing, Dainty Ankles 

f After many hours on your feet, you ca 
your swollen ankles and relieve the til 
cles and tendons by wearing 

Work While You Sleep 

r Putthem on when you go to bed. In the ____ 
your ankles are smaller. Reduces and shapes the 
ankle and lower calf without the slightest pain. 
Nothing to rub on or massage. Put on and taken 
off as a glove. Used by society women and actresses 
everywhere. Can be worn during the day with the heaviest 
silk stockings without detection. Order now at $2.95, but 


Simply send us size of ankle and catf . and we will send you. 
in plain wrapper a pair of Delray Ankle Reducers designed 
to shape your ankles to fairy slimness. Pay postman $2.95 
plus a few cents postage and start reducing at once ami 
painlessly. You will notice results immediately. Retain 
your shapely ankles while in bathing and when dancing by 
wearing them. ACT NOW. 


30 East 23rd St., Dept. 64 New York City 

The Unhappy Lady 

{Continued from page 26) 

Book : Why, the family on the shelf to 
my right has had eighteen men in 
one generation alone go to prison — six 
were hung, too. And on the shelf below 
me a New York family has had nine 
divorces, not to mention numerous minor 
scandals. But the striking thing about our 
family is that we forgive and forget. Not 
once do we mention the sins of our people. 
Just a word, the date of their birth and 
when they died. That's all. Tactful, dont 
you think? 

Broom : Clever, ma'am. And accidents 
will happen even to the best of families. 
But at that you are one of the most popular 
genealogies in the library. 

Book : It makes me shudder to think of 
it. So many queer people have used me 
since the war. Last week a woman from 
Yonkers — well, really she wasn't a bit 
nice, and doubted so many of my mar- 
riages. And a giggling schoolboy threw 
me down in disgust because his name wasn't 
mentioned. And then three weeks ago a 
chorus girl — why, even she found she was 
related to me. She will have it in the 
papers. You know chorus girls. 

Broom : No, ma'am. I never come 
across them in my profession. 

Book : Such crude publicity. Recently 
she's been involved in a most unsavory 
affair. She wanted to prove that she was 
from just as proud a family as some 
young man of her acquaintance who lives 
on Fifth Avenue. She proved it, too. 
Wealth isn't everything, is it? 

Broom : No, ma'am. I'm a Socialist my- 
self and know what it means to be sold 
for fifty cents. 

Book : But today came the final, crush- 
ing blow. An awful person came in and 
asked for a genealogy. Not his, mind you, 

just a genealogy. Any one would do. 
They gave him me. Think of it! They 
could just as well have given him the 
Smiths or the Browns. He is a person 
with no family connections at all. The 
steerage brought him to this country not 
more than fifteen years ago. Russian, I 
believe. Peasant blood. But he's made a 
lot of money in the cloak and suit business 
over on the East Side. He lived for a 
time in the Bronx. Now he has moved 
to Riverside Drive and wants to get into 
society. He wanted a coat of arms, and 
— will you believe it? — he copied mine, 
bar sinister and all. He'll use my coat of 
arms on his limousine, his cigaret-case, his 
silver, his stationery — everything. And his 
wife will use my crest on her linen, her 
jewelry, her invitations. It is more than 
I can bear. To think the Gullibusons have 
come to this. So please, Mr. Broom, I 
want to disappear — be completely wiped 
out. Just a little shove and I'll be hidden 
under that shelf. I wont be able to look 
a Mayflower family in the face again. 
Please, quick! 

Broom : But — ma'am 

Book : I beg you ! 

Broom : Hush ! The janitor. Be quiet. 
He may not notice you. 

Book : Oh, dear, oh, dear. 

{A huge hand descends and picks up the 
book. We know she will be placed back 
upon the shelf.) 

Book: {as she vanishes): Save me! 
Save me ! 

Broom : Alas, how that poor woman 
must suffer ! Thank God, I'm but a broom. 
Life is terrible — and gets worse after ten 

( Then he, too, is suddenly seized and 
disappears in a zvhirl of dust.) 


Expressionism on Broadway 

{Continued from page 49) 

certain others very exciting, in spite of 
the fact that the playwright provides no 
elaborate mechanism of plot to hold our 

The financial failure of Pasteur, meas- 
ured against the success of The Adding 
Machine, may mean many things — or noth- 
ing. It may mean that the American 
audience has definitely turned the corner 
of realism, and wants something more. 
But there is the comparative failure of 
Roger Bloomer on the other side, and we 
must remember that Pasteur was staged 
with a more expensive cast and in a more 
costly theater. 

The fine performance that Henry Miller 
gave of the part of Pasteur did a great 
deal to reinforce the play. Here was 
something like genuine impersonation. The 
actor sank his own figure and tempera- 
ment in the figure and temperament of 
the scientist. He did a great deal to make 
us see the greatness of this man who dis- 
covered the microbe, and developed the 
theory of vaccines and antisepsis upon 
which almost the whole of modern 
medicine depends. Guitry, writing simply 
and austerely and often with grave power, 
did more. 

The month has brought another play 
by Guitry, an ironical comedy about the 
theater itself. The Comedian, as it is 
called, catches the mood of a distinguished 
French actor at the approach of middle 
age. Talk of his failing youth drives him 
into marriage with a flapping admirer. She 
insists on playing his leading woman. 

The results are disastrous, yet she is 
adamant on her "career." At this point 
the actor's devotion to his art triumphs. 
He lets her go, and he turns to his proper 
mistress again, the theater. It is a slight 
but observant comedy, turning toward 
burlesque in its central scene, a rehearsal. 
David Belasco has directed it far too 
broadly. Lionel Atwill and Elsie Mackay 
escape the tendency to violent exaggera- 
tion, but A. P. Kaye, H. Cooper Cliffe and 
many another clown it most of the time. 
Except for Brock Pemberton's capable 
production of The Love Habit, a French 
farce with a lover, a mistress and — as Al 
Jolson would remark — everything, the rest 
of the month has been given over to a 
singular array of trivial, crude, or absurd 
blunders in public entertainment : Bot- 
ticelli, Mercedes de Acosta's skimpy little 
drama out of Maeterlinck by Ben Ali 
Haggin, ineffectively staged with Eva 
LeGallienne and Basil Sydney ; Morphia, 
a Viennese drug-drama which gives the 
decisive Lowell Sherman a chance at a 
singularly horrible portrait of an addict ; 
The Guilty One, a comical trick melo- 
drama destined for the motion picture 
admirers of Pauline Frederick : Hail 
and Farewell, William Hurlbutt's at- 
titudinizing flubdub about a demi-mondaine 
of the 70's salted for a moment or two 
by the tears of Florence Reed : and The 
Wasp, a tedious and interminable fabrica- 
tion by the man who discovered that Wads- 
worth Camp's story, The House of Fear, 
could be turned into The Last Warning. 

Page Seventy-Two 


The Russian Renaissance in Berlin 

(Continued from page 23) 

parchmenty hat — these are not illusions. 
They are the puppets of a frank, make- 
believe vision that finds the deepest 
emotional reality in a complete release 
from all representational verisimilitude. 

Careful consideration must also be paid 
the work of Pogedaieff and Tehelitchcff, 
as much for its characteristic qualities as 
for its unique, experimental departures. 

Pogedaieff left Russia in 1920, having 
done his best work with Sanin in Moscow. 
His work in Bucharest, Prague and now 
in Berlin has stamped him among his 
friends as a synthesist, and among his 
enemies as an impostor. He explains his 
synthesism himself as a fusion of realism 
in composition with cubism in expression. 
But his very loyal wife insists that the 
secret lies rather in his union of east and 
west — the soul of the East and the tech- 
nique of the West. It is barely possible, 
however, that Madame is prejudiced. The 
cold observer will see a frank use of garish 
color, broken into massed, sculptured 
planes, like mad toys cut out of wood. 

Unlike Larionov, Pogedaieff does not 
reduce character to universal factors. He 
caricatures incidentals. He does not dis- 
solve emotion. He deliberately vivisects 
it. His virtue in this respect, if virtue 
it be, is the very vice which Aldous Huxley 
lays at the feet of Soudeikine. But per- 
haps Mr. Huxley forgets that the avoid- 
ance of "real" emotion is the first principle 
of modern Russian art. In his Dreams of 
Harlequin, for instance, Pogedaieff invites 
the spectator into a world of mild, intel- 
lectual amusement by conventionalizing 
character and destroying all verisimilitude 
save that of caricature. But his major 
weakness lies in the fallacy of that very 
synthesis upon which he prides himself. 
Cubism has no place in his formula. His 
synthesis is but a labored representation 
in which plastic planes take the place of 
flat surfaces. 

Paul TchelitchclT, on the other hand, has 
much the rarer imagination of the two. 
He is a fresh, boyish personality who, six 
years ago at the age of eighteen, astounded 
the good citizens of Kiev with his Gargan- 
tuan marionettes, and whose work now at 
the Blue Bird and the Russian Romantic 
Theater has attracted the attention of 
Diaglieff in Paris. 

Mood, character, emotion, stylized in 
immemorial pose. Life spurned by a proud 
jester, deprived of all import save that of 
primitive form. A panopticon of empty 
masks. This is the world of Tehelitchcff, 
and in An Old Russian Wedding at the 
Russian Romantic Theater he has built it 
for Boris Romanoff and his dancers, in all 
its appalling grotesquery. Here the slow 
religious movements of the dance intensify 
the element of formal mysticism which is 
ever present in Tchelitcheff's work. His 
designs seems sometimes to have been stolen 
from the pages of a medieval bible. 
A monastic ecstasy lives in their straight 
lines and rapturous mosaics. The young 
painter attributes this quality in his art 
to an admixture of oriental blood in 
his veins, but it is not necessary to seek 
beyond the illimitable springs of the Slav 

Tchelitcheff, like Larionov, makes a dar- 
ing leap into the realm of pure fancy and 
play. His puppets are huge, impossible 
creatures, clothed in towering headgear 
and garments of a stiff, sculptured im- 
mobility. He attains his fantastic vision- 
ings partly by original gradations of color ; 
sometimes in exquisite tints of blue and 
yellow, sometimes in sheer gold and silver 
tinsel. But his secret lies in the epic 
fantasia of his forms and in his reduc- 
tion of character to simple, decorative 
elements. And always his aim is to restore 
the theater to its genuine function of play, 
to release the working-day vision of the 
spectator by primal symbols of feeling. 

This scene from 
Roger Bloomer 
shows the 
young hero 
(Henry Hull) 
d e fi a ntly an- 
nouncing to the 
college examin- 
e r (W i 1 s o n 
Day) that he 
will not answer 
his questions, 
and that he 
does not wish to 
enter college 




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St. and No. 

City State. 

Page Seventy-Three 


The American 
Beauty Has 
Been Chosen! 

At last the difficult 
task has been com- 
pleted. Too late for 
editorial space in this 
number the judges 
named the winner of 
the American Beauty 
Contest which has 
been conducted in the 
four Brewster Publica- 

Next Month You 
Will Know Who 
She Is 

Already the cuts of 
her new photograph 
have been made and 
the story about the 
judges' final decision is 
now being prepared. 
So, without any doubts, 
the announcement will 
appear in the July 

There Are Honor- 
ary Mentions Too 

Of course the win- 
ner was selected from a 
certain few and the re- 
maining members of 
that select group have 
been given honorary 

Dont Miss The 
Judges 9 Decision 

in the 


Meister Liszt, the Man 

(Continued from page 37) 

"When he had finished, Liszt uttered a 
hearty 'Bravo !' Then, more seriously, he 
said : 'But remember we belong to the 
Maszigkeit s - 
Verein (Tem- 
perance Society ; 
in German this 
does not mean 
abstinence from 
drink). Now, 
let us have the 
Second Ca- 

"'Oh, but, 
lieber Meister, 
I have practised 
only the first 
as yet,' D'Al- 
bert demurred. 

" 'Never mind, 
we'll try it any- 
way,' was the 
Master's good- 
natured com- 

"Glances of 
passed from 
one to another, 
and there stood 
R e i s en auer, 
Rosenthal, and 
other very 
clever fellows. 
Well, the young 
racehorse — still 
in his teens, 
mind you — de- 
terminedly took 
the bit between 
his teeth and 
off he went, at full speed once more. 

"Liszt divined what this young wonder 

could do, and delighted to demonstrate 
it for us. It was a feat no other present- 
day pianist could have achieved, certainly 
not at the age 
of eighteen. In 
fact, D'Albert 
never really 
practised hard ; 
he merely 
played a piece 
over a number 
of times. One 
afternoon I was 
practising a 
difficult run 
from Rubin- 
stein's Concerto 
in G when there 
was a knock at 
my door. Re- 
sponding to my 
'Come in,' the 
door flew open 
wide and there 
stood the rather 
short figure of 
D'Albert, his 
ruddy face 
grinning at me. 
In tones rather 
junior-like, he 
squawked out : 
'I cannot prac- 
tise that way.' 
To my query : 
'Well, how do 
you practise?' 
he exclaimed : 
T do not prac- 
tise at all, I 
just play — just 
play.' I told him that might do for him, 
but not for ordinary mortals." 

Nicholas Haz 

A very active musician who conducts a Conser- 
vatory of Music in Steinway Hall, New York 

Translation of Liszt's Letter to Longfellow 
(A reproduction of the original appears on page 35) 
Illustrious Poet, 

Following our meeting in Rome, you have been so good as to ask 
of Mr. Henlay a characteristic picture which represents us both at 
the entrance of Santa Francesca Romana. Permit me to continue this 
sympathetic rapprochement by dedicating to you the musical setting 
of your poem "The Bells of Strasbourg Cathedral" — with the Prelude 
also inspired by one of your poems, "Excelsior." 

"Excelsior" ! It is the aim of poetry and music. They perpetually 
sing to the ages and to the skies the exaltation of the human soul, and 
thus accompany the "Sursum Corda" which resounds each day in the 
churches and their bells. 

November 22, 1874. 
Villa D'Este. 

"Vigilemus omnes 
Laudamns Deum verum." 

F. Liszt. 

In Studio and Gallery 

(Continued from page 71) 

successes and World's Fair prize-winners, 
greet us as we pass thru the galleries. 

Such artists as Sargent, Pennell, Way- 
man Adams, Frieseke and Cecilia Beaux 
are represented. The radicals are con- 
spicuously absent, altho a Rockwell Kent 
picture was hung before the committee 
waited to find out if he would become a 
member. When he returned from South 
America he was much annoyed and 
promptly withdrew his picture. Mr. Kent, 
with Bellows and Henri, are among the 
well-known artists who refused to join. 
Any organization which savors of a jury 
or Academy is anathema to them. 

A painter little known to us in this coun- 
■^^ try, but extremely popular in England, 
is Gerald Brockhurst whose portraits have 
been on view at Scott and Fowlers. 

Mr. Brockhurst at once suggests the old 
Florentine portraits in the clear definite- 
ness of his statement and the cool greys 
of his half-tones. There is also a sugges- 
tion of that same romance and idealism 
which animated the portraits of Rossetti 
and Burne-Jones. It seems as if no En- 
glish painter were entirely without some 
trace of this poetic idealism. It is un- 
deniably an English trait, to be poet and 
painter at the same time. 

Page Seventy-Four 


The Camera Contest 

{Continued from page 64) 

Publications nor the Pictorial Photogra- 
phers of America assume responsibility for 
loss or damage. 

All prints and all communications rela- 
tive to the contest are to be sent to Joseph 
K. Mason. Art Center, 65 East 56th Street. 
New York City. 

No prints will he considered if sent else- 
where than stated above. 

Submission of prints will imply accep- 
tance of all conditions. 


Independence and Other- 
wise in Paris 

(Continued from page 65) 

In the Section devoted to Sculpture and 
Decorative Arts there is not very much of 
note. What there is of interest is supplied 
by two artists whose works have already 
appeared in the pages of Shadowlaxd. I 
speak of Marie Yasilieff and Chana Or- 
loff, two Russian women artists of great 
worth. Madame Yasilieff seems to have 
left off doing her famous caricature 
foupees and taken to sculpture after the 
negro fashion. In this Salon she is repre- 
sented by a singularly beautiful Madonna 
and Child, a head of the modernist poet 
Blaise Cendrars, and another head which 
purports to be a symbolic portrait of 
Trotsky. Among other things Orloff ex- 
hibits a series of six panels in her usual 
style in wood destined for the house of 
Madame Lara of the Comedie Franchise. 
The only other artist in this section is the 
Spanish sculptor Hernandez, who has some 
delightfully stylised animals hewn direct 
from black granite. 

So much for the so-called Independents. 
In the world of Art here in France a real 
Independent has just been honored by a. 
seat in the Academie des Beaux Arts. 
Forain. The great Forain whose influ- 
ence on the work of men like Boardman 
Robinson, Weed and certain other Ameri- 
can and English cartoonists has been incal- 
culable. But it is not alone as a black and 
white artist that Forain should be known, 
for as a painter he is without a peer today 
in France. And it was because of his 
greatness as a painter that he was elected 
to the chair in the Academie left vacant 
bv the death of Bonnat. 

Beacon Lights 

of Business 

ALONG perilous coasts, lighthouses throw their guiding 
rays far into the night to warn the mariners and help 
them safely past the shoals. 

Business, too, has its beacons. They are the advertisements , 
which throw a powerful light to guide you in your buying. 
They show you what to buy, where to buy and when to buy. 

Spend a few minutes running through the advertisements in 
this publication. Then buy the products that have proved 
up in the light of advertising. 

Manufacturers who advertise deliberately focus thousands 
of eyes on their products. Their wares must be good, their 
values honest and their prices right or they could not ad- 
vertise successfully. 

In the advertisements you see products that have made good 
under the critical inspection of buyers. These products are 
full value products. They return you dollar for dollar. Buy 

Let the beacon of advertising guide you as it is guiding so 
many astute buyers. 


Then you can know that every cent you spend 
buys its full quota of value. 

Some of the Things to be Found in 


for JULY 

vvhat Does American Fiction JKeea? 

Is realism sufficient to satisfy us or do we require something of 
a more stirring and imaginative quality that is yet to come? 
Does our drama surpass our fiction in fineness? Walter Prich- 
ard Eaton expresses his opinion in regard to these questions in 
his article, "Is the Novel Slipping?" 

London After Dark 

This is the first of a series of articles entitled "Side-shows on 
the Other Side," by Henry Albert Phillips, who has drawn 
word-pictures of things seen in the three-ringed affair under the 
Big Canvas of Life. 

The Gold Vvatcn and Chain 

A short psychological sketch by Franz Molnar, author of 

ohadowland for July also contains reproductions in colors of pictures 
by foremost artists; humorous cartoons and delightful verse. 


Combines JDeauty and Information 


Page Seventy-Five 



. . . are fascinating 
things when they are 
well done — and when 
the subject is worthy of 
the consideration. 

Ernst Lubitsche has 
come to America to 
direct Mary Pickford. 
His continental success 
has proved his individu- 
ality and Harry Carr 
presents his character 
study in the July MO- 
TION Picture Maga- 
zine in a fascinating 
way. He actually suc- 
ceeds in giving you a 
vivid word picture of 
this dynamic little man 
who is undoubtedly one 
of the greatest directors 
of the motion picture. 

Memories . . . They have 
a charm which is never possible 
in reality. And the story which 
Harold Lloyd's mother tells of 
Harold as a boy is enhanced 
with all the charm possessed in 
the memories themselves. 
There are illustrative pictures, 
too, which find the screen's be- 
spectacled comedian as a 
freckled youth — barefooted — 
typically the rural youth of our 
West. . . . 

To talk of all the interesting 
features in the July Motion 
Picture Magazine would 
take prohibitive space — suffice 
it to say that they cover the 
wide bounds of the motion pic- 
ture today. And the photo- 
graphs thruout this issue are 
particularly lovely. . . . 

Sfce JULY 

Motion Picture 

On the stands June First 

The Embezzler 

{Continued from page 40) 

living so high, it was hard for us. We 
had to be very economical. And Georges 
was grieved because I could not buy things 
which I wanted, but which I had got along 
without very well. After the increase in 
salary and after you gave him an interest 
in the profits, each month has brought a 
delightful surprise. . . ." 

She went on, rosy with satisfaction, 
touched to be so happy. 

Jacques listened without saying a word, 
touched also to see her elated over so 
modest an existence and finding it so lavish 
in joys. He no longer dared to judge the 
man who had stolen in order to secure a 
few extra comforts and to make his simple 
happiness complete. 

Suddenly the young wife stopped, hear- 
ing a step on the road. 

"Oh ! It's Georges !" she exclaimed. 

Already she had crossed the garden and 
opened the gate for her husband. 

"Oh ! Georges, listen — " she began. 

"I came back earlier than you expected, 
didn't I? Whose auto is this? Is there 
someone here ?" he asked. 

"Yes, yes, M. Jacques Corbet." 

Georges Tillois turned pale. His fea- 
tures contracted. He had no doubts, even 
for a second. They had discovered his 
thefts. They knew everything. He shrug- 
ged his shoulders. Desperate but de- 
termined, he followed his wife into the hall, 
where Jacques Corbet stood waiting for 
him. Madeleine left them there. 

"Monsieur Tillois," said Jacques Corbet, 
"we have found out " 

"Monsieur," Tillois interrupted, "it is 
useless to reproach me. You could never 
blame me as much as I blame myself. I 
only want you to know that since the be- 
ginning of my thefts I have suffered 
frightfully, more and more each day. And 
I have gone on each day — without power, 
without will, and even, I believe, without 
any sense that I ought to stop my pecula- 

He trembled violently and drops of sweat 
stood out on his forehead. Corbet looked 
at him steadily. 

"Tillois, control yourself," he said, in a 
tone of authority. "We shall make no 

complaint against you. We shall not dis- 
charge you. I promise you that. We have 
to consider" (the young man did not wish 
to disclose the real motive of his clemency) 
— "we have to consider your father's long 
years of service. We have to consider 
your own services — before. No one knows 
anything but my father and myself. We 
shall forget." 

He paused and then said in quite another 
tone : 

"This increase of salary of which you 
spoke to your wife — yes, this so-called 
share in the profits, which represents the 
monthly total of your — of your diversions 
— well, it will continue to be paid to you." 

Without awaiting an answer he walked 

The accountant, left alone, fell into a 
chair. He was astounded, filled with a 
wild sense of gratitude to the Corbets. 
But a sudden thought sent a shiver thru 

At that moment Madeleine came back. 

He straightened up and looked her in 
the face inquiringly and harshly : 

"How does Jacques Corbet happen to 
know you?" he said at last. "Where did 
he see you ?" 

"He came to our wedding, I believe, 
three years ago," she replied in astonish- 

"You lie, you lie. You see him when I 
am not here. He is paying you attentions. 
He is — Dont lie. I know, I know." 

The young wife drew back in terror. 
Never before had Georges Tillois let her 
see how jealous he was of her — with a 
jealousy which was frenzied, unappeasable 
and the more torturing in that he had tried 
to conceal it. 

"But Georges, Georges," she stammered, 
"is it possible that you suspect me?" 

"They are not suspicious," he cried. "I 
am sure of it. Oh ! the scoundrel ! Other- 
wise he would not have forgiven " 

"Forgiven what?" she asked in surprise. 

He would not answer. He did not want 
to confess that he had stolen for her. 

"You dont love me any longer," she 
groaned. "You dont love me any longer. 
That is the truth!" 



{Continued from page 58) 

tionalist ; Irving's secretary and subse- 
quent biographer, Bram Stoker, a big, red- 
bearded Irishman, who wrote that remark- 
able book Dracula, also dead; and a few 
others. Irving had no French and Sarah 
no English, but she was seated on her host's 
right, while Comyns Carr was at his left 
to assist as interpreter, and somehow the 
ball of conversation was kept merrily roll- 
ing. After supper I congratulated the 
famous actress on her impersonation of 
Lorenzaccio, a male role in which she acted 
very well. But she seemed prouder of her 
legs than of her acting, for she asked me 
what I thought of them, and said merrily 
that they had been a surprise to the critics. 
Little did she think that she was to lose 
one of them. It was very interesting to see 
Irving and Bernhardt together, for they 
both had remarkable personalities. 

C peaking of Ellen Terry, I recently re- 
^ read her own story of her life, writ- 
ten some ten years ago. It is a scrappy, 
inconsequential, incomplete record of the 
career of one of the most charming and 

interesting women ever seen on the Eng- 
lish-speaking stage. It is frank enough in 
places, especially with regard to her early 
marriage to the artist G. F. Watts, when 
she was barely seventeen and he was past 
fifty, and also her retirement from the 
stage for half a dozen years when she was, 
to use her own words, "in love with love," 
and indulging in the felicity of unbounded 
domesticity. But, oh, how much she omits 
which might have been told, and which 
would have been of enthralling interest to 
students of theatrical history and of the 
social and artistic life of London in the 
latter part of the nineteenth century ! Why 
doesn't she in her mellow old age sit down 
and write an enlargement of her memoirs 
or a sequel to them? 

HPo those who knew Lord Carnarvon in 
his younger days it is odd to think of 
his going down to posterity as an Egyp- 
tologist. I was personally acquainted with 
him a quarter of a century ago, when we 
were both members of the same sporting 
club and sometimes went racing together. 

Page Seventy-Siv 


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St. and No 

City State 

In those days he seemed to have no inter- 
ests outside sporting and big game hunting. 

He owned a racing stable, and bred 
and ran some notable horses. 1 recall win- 
ning two hundred and fifty pounds at the 
risk of losing ten on one of his horses 
as far back as 1899, which was the more 
noteworthy as few of his horses started at 
a long price. It was Robert le Diable, and 
the race was the City and Suburban, at 
the First Spring Meeting at Epsom. Dean 
Swift, a grey gelding, was a hot favorite, 
but I had a prejudice against greys and 
geldings, especially on the racing track, 
and altho I had received a strong tip from 
the famous jockey Morny Cannon to back 
"the Dean," which subsequently won sev- 
eral important events, I did not do so, 
but followed my own fancy. 

Watching the preliminary parade of can- 
didates, just before the race, I liked the 
way one horse in particular was moving- 
over the ground when cantering up to take 
his place. He looked in fine condition, he 
had a long clean stride, and was ridden by 
Willie Lane, one of the crack jockeys of 
the day. Comparing the number on his 
saddle. , cloth with the racing program, I 
found it was Robert le Diable, owned by 
Lord Carnarvon and trained by Fallon, a 
noteworthy combination, especially with 
Lane up. So, down I went to Tattersall's 
ring and asked a price of the first book- 
maker I came across. "Forties to you, 
sir," was the unexpected reply. I hesitated, 
for the price seemed too good, and I could 
not see Carnarvon in the ring to ask him 
about his horse. But I decided to risk it, 
and backed him for five pounds to win and 
five pounds for a place. Then I went back 
to my seat on the grandstand and watched 
the race. It was Robert le Diable's for 
the greater part of the distance, and he was 
an easy winner. So was I of two hundred 
and fifty pounds. 

A few days later I saw Carnarvon in the 
club and told him of my luck. "You did 
better than I did," he replied. "I hadn't 
a penny on him myself, for I didn't think 
he was good enough for the distance, and 
backed the Dean." Carnarvon was then a 
young man of less than thirty and had a 
very sporting looking appearance, especial- 
ly on a racecourse, where, save when roy- 
alty was in attendance, he usually wore 
rather noticeable checked tweeds, a grey 
bowler, or derby as it is called in America, 
with a narrow black band to it, and a New- 
market coat. He was a lively, amusing 
companion, who seemed to get a great deal 
of fun out of life, and was devoted to his 
very pretty and rich little wife. But he 
was one of the last whom one would have 
expected to interest himself in Egyptian 
archaeology. Perhaps it was its sporting 
side which recommended it to him. At any 
rate, he risked a lot of money on it, and 
as it now turns out his life. 

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Dull Hair 

Noted actresses all abhor dull 
hair — they can't afford to have it. 
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Page Seventy-Seven 


Harrison Fisher Says 


for July 

The Most Damnable 
Thing Is a Half -Truth 

Beauty is governed by 
certain laws which a 
woman must learn 
thoroly before she can 
succeed in being beauti- 

A Desire for Beauty 
Is Natural 

Women reach out un- 
consciously for beauty 
hoping that by some 
mystic alchemy they may 
attain it. 

Beauty Is Every 
Woman's Birthright 

That is why when she 
looks at a beautiful por- 
trait she sees a glorified 
picture of herself. 

Harrison Fisher, one of 
the most popular artists 
today, creator of the 
Harrison Fisher girl, an 
authority on beauty in 
women, knows whereof 
he speaks when he makes 
these three statements. 

If you have grasped only 
a half-truth in your de- 
sire to possess beauty, 
you should read Beauty, 
a magazine devoted to 
showing women how 
they may attain and keep 

The July 

On the news-stands 
June eighth 

The Farington Diary 

{Continued from page 67) 

fact that being asked what he thought of 
Lawrence's "whole length of Miss Jen- 
nings," altho declaring it to be a "female 
portrait of higher order" than any he had 
seen, yet made so bold as to find the flesh 
"too pinky." Another critic is quoted as 
saying of this famous portrait that the lady 
looked as if she were scratching her arm; 
but Benjamin West said this "whole 
length" of Miss Jennings made other 
"women look like dowdies." Lawrence was 
apparently one of the most successful of 
the artists of his time. "His Academy 
room cost £150 — a Cold Bath he made to 
supply it with water £5 a yr. tax and 
never was in it !" 

Just as we read of the artist who often 
"put in" for Turner the animals in his 
landscapes, we read of numerous canvases 
which Sir Joshua Reynolds "never touched." 
We read also of the day when Turner 
decided to give no more lessons — five 
shillings a lesson; and of the call Faring- 
ton made upon him at his father's, "a Hair 
Dresser, in Hand-court, Maiden Lane." 
One of the most interesting entries in the 
Diary is this : 

"December IS, 1796: Buttals sale I went 
to. Gainsboroughs picture of a Boy in 
Blue Vandyke dress sold for 35 guineas." 

This seems to be the picture recently 
brought to America, and for which five 
hundred thousand dollars was paid. In 
another entry we read : "Beechey has 30 
guineas for a three-quarter portrait. 
Romney has the same." 

Current prices for other things than pic- 
tures are often quoted in the Diary. Maid- 
servants in Glasgow, for example, receive 
from thirty shillings to three pounds for 
half a year, "which I was told is very 
high compared with wages formerly paid." 
These Glasgow maid-servants wore "only 

a Cap or Mob on the head (& some bare- 
headed), and their legs naked." As for 
nakedness, there is the following entry: 

"Lady Melbourne brought Madame 
Recamier, the celebrated Parisian beauty, 
to Hoppners a few days ago . . . Her 
dress was very bare, both back and front 
. . . Such is the latitude of female dress- 

Footmen are chosen for their height, 
"regardless of character;" and instead of 
soliciting books for the Navy, reading for 
the sailors is frowned upon. "Newspapers 
are now regularly reed, on board ships 
and do much harm," an Admiral is quoted 
— "as they are chiefly the Opposition 
papers !" 

Not a great deal of drinking is reported 
— perhaps it is taken for granted; and at 
least the Benchers at the Temple seemed 
to have fared very well indeed. Snuff- 
taking was prevalent, with Sir Joshua 
Reynolds seeming to hold the consumption 
record. Gambling appears as the favorite 
sport; sport indeed, when a Miss Pelham 
could lose seventy thousand pounds in a 
single night, and live to weep and lose 
some more. 

Englishmen discouraged over the condi- 
tion of their country today should be 
cheered by the fact that a century and a 
quarter ago they were also saying "Eng- 
land has seen her best days." Plus ga 
change in England, plus e'est la mime 
chose. It is even recorded in this 
eighteenth-century Diary that "Ireland is 
in a state of Rebellion L" 

This is only the first volume of what is 
one of the most interesting and romantic 
literary discoveries made in many years. 
It is published in this country by Doran, 
and is admirably edited by James Greig. 


New Books in Brief Review 

{Continued from page 68) 

soulful murmurs over the beauties of 
Eastern mysticism. One of the best his- 
torical plays that has ever come our way 
is Franklin (Henry Holt) by Constance 
D'Arcy Mackay. Miss Mackay's play is 
witty and charming* and she has succeeded 
in making her hero an interesting, human, 
and appealing figure. Eleanor Farjeon, 
whose poetry is already known to discrimi- 
nating readers, has written in her first 
novel, Martin Pippin in the Apple-Orchard 
(Frederick Stokes), six delightful fairy 
stories that a romantic vagabond tells to 
cure a love-sick maiden. Producing in 
Little Theatres (Henry Holt) by Clarence 

Stratton is one of the most valuable books 
on this subject written so far. 

In The Talkers (George H. Doran) 
Robert W. Chambers has written his fifty- 
seventh novel. He is doing almost as well 
as Nick Carter. In his thin volume, Have 
You an Educated Heart (Boni & Live- 
right), Gelett Burgess repeats the clever- 
ness that characterized his former volumes, 
and creates a readable essay, in which much 
of the philosophy and much of the swank 
of today are set forth. There is a deal of 
pronounced common-sense in the story 
and no one can read it carefully without 
getting something beneficial out of it. 

—B. T. S. 

Page Seventy-Eight 


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Regular Size, 12 for 65c 
Hospital Size, 6 for 45c 

(additional thickness) 

Kotex cabinets are now 
being distribute d in 
women's rest rooms 
everywhere — hotels, 
office buildings, restau- 
rants, theatres, and 
other places — from 
which may be obtained 
one Kotex with two 
safety pins, in plain 
wrapper, for 10 cents. 

Insure poise in the daintiest frocks 

Women everywhere have adopted Kotex, the new 
sanitary pads, as an essential to summer comfort. 
Made from Cellucotton — the wonderful absorbent 
which science contributed to war hospital use ■ — 
Kotex are lighter and more absorbent than cotton, 
cooler, hold their shape, and remain lastingly soft. 

Kotex are always comfortable. They are so thor- 
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confidence even when wearing the daintiest frock. 
Ask for them by name. 

At drug, drygoods and department stores 

Copyright 1923, Cellucotton Products Co., 166 W. Jackson Boul., Chicago; 51 Chambers Street, N. Y. 

Inexpensive, Comfortable, Hygienic and Safe- — KOT6X 

cai&ss adds lovtiinjtss I 

This beauty accessory sets a new 
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A size to fit each individual taste. 



Gainsborough Powder 
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Each packed in attrac- 
tive sanitary dust-proof 
container. Your hands 
are the first to touch 

10 cents to 75 cents 

Manufacturers of the famous 
Gainsborough Hair Net 

Manufacturers of the famous 
Dr. West's Tooth Brush 

Page Three 


Susie Takes A Chance 

Lucian Cary's Fascinating Story 

Determined not to be Mediocre 

Is why Susie dared to leave the shelter that her small-town home of- 

She decided to come to New York in quest of fame and fortune. 
Just to experience the thrill of being a part of the great Metropolis 
was what Susie desired above all else. And then comes the acid test — 

Susie Gambles with Fate 

With a true sporting nature she dares to do things few women would 
have the courage to attempt if the same opportunity were theirs. 

She decides to cast aside her own identity and live the life of some- 
one else. 

Masquerading as Another Woman 

Is what Susie is compelled to do if she hopes to win out. 

No one is the wiser when she steps into the shoes of a famous mo- 
tion-picture actress. 

She affects a new accent, a new walk and new mannerisms in order to 
accomplish her purpose. 

How Susie does it makes thrilling reading. 

MYSTERY . . . suspense . . . surprise 
. . . strange situations . . . develop- 
ments still stranger . . . characters so real 
and human that they will remind you of peo- 
ple you know ... all woven with supreme 
skill into an absorbing story entirely unlike 
anything else you have ever read. 

TX7ITHOUT a doubt Susie Takes a 

* Chance is one of the greatest stories 

written in years. Be sure to read it — in the 
Motion Picture Magazine. Lucian Cary, 
the popular and well-liked magazine writer, 
is the author. 

Do Not Miss This Remarkable Story 

In The August Motion Picture Magazine 

Page Four 

'«- J V^Ll D J * " *■ " * 

^Otr^- 1 ^j^p^O 

JULY, 1923 

Expressing the Arts 

Important Features in This Issue: 

Painting and Sculpture : 

A Painter of Light Helen C. Candee 

Alexander Archipenko — a Provocative Sculptor 

Literary Criticism 

Is the Novel 
The Return ( 

Fiction and Poetry : 

Is the Novel Slipping? Walter Prichard Eaton 

The Return of the Story-Teller John H. Anderson 

Two Letters (translated from the French) Frederic Boutet 

Expressionism in Poetry 


Reviewing the Revues of Paris Allan Ross Macdougall 

The Gold Watch and Chain (translated from the Hungarian) . . Franz Molnar 

National Theaters to Order Kenneth Macgowan 

A Pictorial Feature — Portraits of Beth Beri, Martha Sleeper, Olga and Mura, Elizabeth 
North, and Camea Montaguena 

In Defence of Decay Henry Altimus 

Mrs. Aesop's Fables Harriet Henry 

Satire and Humor 


Musical Retrospect and Prospect Jerome Hart 

Travel : 

London After Dark Henry Albert Phillips 

Motion Pictures: 

A Pictorial Feature — Camera Studies of Lillian Gish, Julia Hoyt, Mady Christians, and 
a scene from Douglas Fairbanks' latest picture, Bagdad 

Caricature : 

A Concert at Carnegie Hall Gladys Bryant 

The City Cousin Visits the Country Cousin — A. D. 1923 Kenneth Stelleniverf 

A Few Victims of Good Intentions Eldon Kelley 

Arts and Crafts : 

Painting With a Needle — Reproductions of the embroideries of Marguerite Zorach 

Photography : 

The Camera Contest — At the International Salon Joseph R. Mason 





Published Monthly by Brewster Publications, Inc., at Jamaica, N. Y. 

Entered at the Post Office at Jamaica, N. Y., as second-class matter, under the act oj March 3rd, 1879. Printed in U. S. A. 

Eugene V. Brewster, President and Editor-in-Chief ; Guy L. Harrington, Vice-President and Business Manager; L G. Conlon, Treasurer ; 

E. M. Heinemann, Secretary 


Editor : 
F. M. Osborne 

Associate Editor: Jerome Hart 

Managing Editor: Adele Whitely Fletcher 

Art Director: A. M. Hopfmuller 

Subscription $3.50 per year, in advance, including postage in the U. S., Cuba, Mexico and Philippines; in Canada $4.00, and in foreign countries, $4.50 per 
year. Single copies, 35 cents. Postage prepaid. One and two cent United States Government stamps accepted. Subscribers must notify us at once 

of any change of address, giving both old and new address. 

Copyright, 1923, by Brewster Publications, Inc., in the United States and Great Britain 




^zrgag -^rrzz: 

Page Five 




A pencil sketch of, France, by Samuel V. Chamberlain 

Page Six 


A portrait by Albert Vargas 

Courtesy of the Ehrich Galleries 


Henrietta Shore is a Canadian artist who has studied in Toronto, New 
York, and London. She was one of the organizers of the Los Angeles 
Modern Art Society, and her work has been exhibited in all the leading 
cities in this country and in Canada. She always has been interested in 
modern tendencies in Art, but recently her work has developed toward 
the abstract. Her painting, Among the Trees, was included in her one- 
woman shorv in New York this past winter 

Courtesy of the Daniel Galleries 


Samuel Halpert first studied at the New 
York Academy then spent ten years in Paris 
under Leon Bonnat and other masters. He 
looks with sensitive eyes thru the simplified 
glasses of the Moderns and thereby trans- 
lates the American landscape in a new and 
vital form. His Lake George canvases, tho 
painted ten years ago, are still worthy of all 
the praise they received when they were 
first shown 

Courtesy of the Knoedler Galleries 


The years spent by Claggett Wilson in Spain and the Basque country 

gave him a love for light. Tho he flouts shadows, he accomplishes his 

effects with no suggestion of the flatness of poster-painting 

A Painter of Light 

Spain has given Claggett Wilson a love for light, and he has imprisoned it in every canvas 

B)> Helen C. Candee 

AS a lad at school, Claggett Wilson saw humor in 
life and depicted it with a forceful, healthy boy's 
L disregard of beauty. From the very first he 
showed a vigorous individuality in his work. How this 
was directed by 

events in his life and 

by the development 
of his character is an 
interesting study. 

Painting in Xew 
York under the in- 
fluence of F. Luis 
Mora : painting i n 
France and Holland 
under foreign tui- 
tion, he tumbled one 
dry into the sunshine 
of Spain. Then for 
the first time he 
ceased to be a pupil. 
At last he could loose 
his own impulses 
and revel in the in- 
terpretation of joy 
and humor as in the 
old schooldays. 

For a glorious 
year he was a Span- 
iard. He lived with 
the men of the bull- 
ring, made merry 
with the gypsies of 
the Albaicin on the 
other side of the 
Darro, eschewing 
the Alhambra. and 
when a holiday 
called the girls of 
the music halls into 
the sunlight of the 
Paseo, he shared 
with them their joy- 
ous abandon of 
dance and song. 

In those first 
Spanish days his 

smaller canvases were charming mosaics of the admix- 
ture of the joy and melancholy of his gypsy-like days. 
His larger squares, on the other hand, carried a stronger 
note, a very evident desire to convey deeper emotions. 
Also there was exhibited an attempt to solve, in greater 
measure, problems in composition and light. And there 
was perceptible as well a decided influence of the Zu- 
biarre brothers, those modern masters who know so well 
how to picture Spain with truth and beauty. 

At this period, when Claggett Wilson's work was 
fraught with romance and beauty, America entered the 
World War, and Mr, Wilson plunged into the mael- 
strom, serving in the thick of battle until the Armistice 
was signed. 

The color, the drama, the heroics, the life and death 
which he saw and experienced, Claggett Wilson put into 
a post-war series of paintings which eventually won for 
him an exalted place in the world of art. 

His pictures of the war expressed its psychology and 

C\ *- <c>e\t "W ti&enxJ 

traced in telling detail the great tragedy. He discarded 
all theories, all instructions, all schools of painting, and 
in scene after scene expressed the horror, the elation, 
the madness, and even the religion of those terrible 

months. This series 
cannot be ticketed as 
post - impressionistic, 
or given any label. 
It was painted by 
individual impulse 
without thought 
other than to ex- 
press the unspeak- 
able emotions which 
tore men's souls. 
Modern, in the ex- 
treme, it was a mod- 
ernity expressed 
from a new angle. 

Having purged 
himself thru his can- 
vases he sought balm 
for the annihilating 
influence of war in 
Spain again. Expres- 
sionism as he had 
used it in picturing 
the great conflict 
seemed inappropriate 
for the salvaging of 
his and the world's 
peace of mind. This 
mode fell from him 
in his second Span- 
ish visit, as the chill 
in the blood yields to 
hot Spanish sun- 

Last summer, 
working in Portugal 
and then in the 
Basque country. 
Wilson eventually 
— . - dropped all that be- 

longed to his forma- 
tive years, all that 
was born of the violence of the war. and created men 
and women who are strong or beautiful, or tender, or 
joyous — human beings of our own consciousness. Per- 
haps they are composite types, perhaps portraits, it mat- 
ters little. We understand them, each and even 7 one. 
whether it be the grandmother wrinkled and sage with 
years, or the babe with wide, questioning eyes ; whether 
it be the sailor-boys serious with youth, or the music- 
hall gypsies reckless in abandon. 

Claggett Wilson's work is now in full flower. Mel- 
lowness of character and strength of experience speak 
in his pictures. Tho they exhibit a splendid technique, 
what he has accomplished has not been done by technique 
alone. That is but an instrument, a means to an end. 
He has told a story, depicted an emotion, sketched a 

Spain has given him a love for light, and he has caught 
and held it in every one of his canvases. Strangely 
(Continued on page 71) 


Page Eleven 

Eugene P. Henry 


Martha Sleeper, the talented twelve-year-old dancer, as she appears in 
one of her Russian numbers 

Page Twelve 


A . recent portrait of Camea Montaguena, the famous 
Spanish dancer and mimic actress 

Page Thirteen 

The Gold Watch and Chain 

By Franz Molnar 

Translated from the Hungarian by Joseph Szebenyei 

fMTfHE scene is an apartment of the 

m better sort. There is nobody in it, 
JL as the whole family has gone to a 
funeral. The lady of the house, a pen- 
sioned old zvidow, has died, and 
they are burying her this very 

The Janitress enters, opens the 
door of the front room and looks 
around with evident emotion. She 
surveys the furniture, then goes to 
the kitchen, and, altho she is an honest soul, she 
is pondering which one of the kitchen tools it 
would be worth while to steal. She notices with 
genuine surprise that most of the smaller silver 
has already disappeared. 

The Servant girl with eyes red from crying, 
dressed in black and with a black kerchief on 
her head, enters. 

The Servant Girl : What are you doing 
here, Janitress? 

Janitress : I saw you coming from the door and I 
thought I would come upstairs and help you make a 
little order. Was the funeral nice? 

The Servant girl begins to cry. There is a long pause. 

Janitress : Miss, please, I am not saying it because 
. . . but my soup strainer is in such bad condition, that 
... so if you think you can spare it, I . . . there is 
no one here any longer that wants soup strained. . . . 

Servant Girl: Nothing can be taken out of the 
house. Her son is here and he makes me account for 
everything. {She goes into the scullery to sec if the 
strainer is still where she had hidden it. The relatives 
are coming up the stairs.) 

The Widow's Son : Sit down, please. I say, Mary, 
is there anything to eat around the house? 

Servant Girl (coming and going amidst the relations 
with a face as miserable and mournful as that of any of 
them) : We have some preserves. 

A Lady: Just bring some, please. Is there a lot? 

Servant Girl: Some twenty jars. 

A Lady: Poor Aunt Louise. She was so orderly even 
in those things. Put five jars in a basket, my dear, I 
shall take it home as a souvenir. There is no one here 
to consume it anyhow. (She weeps quite sincerely, 
takes a seat in the corner of the sofa and gases straight 
ahead. There is soft conversation. The women are 
coming and going thru the rooms.) 

Another Lady (sighing) : Alas, alas, that's how it 
all ends ! 

The First Lady: We shall all have to go. 

The Son : Please dont, dont . . . (He rises, goes 
to the cupboard and opens it. He takes out an inlaid 
box in which there are all sorts of bric-a-brac: rings, 
clasps, decorative buttons, an artificial bird worn on a 
hat, a few brooches, a bracelet, a gold watch and a chain. 
He pours the lot on the table.) 

The Son : Choose a little keepsake, each of you, 
from poor mother. 

A Lady (going to tjie table and searching among the 
heap) : The dear old thing, how many knickknacks 
she had. . . . (She looks at the watch and chain with 
evident delight.) 

The Other Lady : I . . . I . . . just want some 
quite unvaluable little thing. . . . This button perhaps, 


is looking 
Aren't you going 
No. (She 

or rather this clasp. 
at the zvatch.) 

The First Lady: 
to take the clasp? 

The Other Lady 
is pondering that if she should 
take the clasp now she zvould for- 
feit her chance of the watch.) 
The First Lady (to a little 
girl) : Here you are, Julia, take 
the clasp. It was poor Aunt 
(She gives the clasp to the little girl, so as 
to eliminate the worthless thing from the heap.) 
The Other Lady : Here you. are, Julia, take the 
button too. 

Julia: Thank you. (She looks at the watch.) 

The FiRst Lady : Who wants the bird ? 

■> There is great silence. None wants to forfeit her 

right to the watch by accepting the bird. The general 

idea seems to prevail that the zvatch will remain the 

final thing disposed of, and the one zvill get it who waits 

till the last. 

A Third Lady: Julia, dont you want this bird? 
Julia (looking at the watch) : No. And I will put 
back the clasp and the button too. (She quickly carries 
out the threat.) 

The First Lady : You cant do that. The clasp and 
the button are yours. (She returns them to her.) Just 
keep what you have ; it isn't nice to select. Aren't you 
ashamed of yourself? 

Julia begins to cry, but puts the clasp and button in 
her pockets, seeing that she has not the slightest chance. 
Julia : Then . . . then . . . please let me have the 
bird too. 

Three of them hurriedly reach for the bird to hand it to 
her. Julia is settled for good, and she goes into retirement. 
The First Lady : What a pretty little watch ! 
There is a long pause. 

The Other Lady (to the Son) : Of course, you are 
going to keep this watch, Steve? 

The Son : I am not going to keep anything. 
They all step up to the table. 

The First Lady (picking up the zvatch) : Beautiful 
little watch! (Then she picks out the chain from the 
bunch of trinkets) : And what a cute little chain ! Does 
that belong to it? 

The Other Lady : Yes, yes, just- hang the chain on 
to it. 

She contemplates that there is still a possibility of her 
getting the watch, and in that case it is better if the 
chain is attached to it. The Other Lady is of the same 
mind, consequently she clasps the chain into the ring 
of the watch as fast as possible. 

The Third Lady : Very pretty. ( Then, somewhat 
nervously) : Now put it down. 

The First Lady (who does not put it down) : Poor 
auntie. She was always wearing this watch and chain. 
(Still she docs not put it down.) Do you recall how 
elegant she looked in her black silk dress with this thin 
chain hanging from her neck ? She wore it like this, 
didn't she? 

She tries it on. There is general dismay. 
The Other Lady : Yes, something like it. Put it 

(Continued on page 70) 

Page Fourteen 

Aunty Marion (be- 
low) thought she 
would be giving little 
Roland a real treat 
when she took him to 
a matinee perform- 
ance of Goldilocks 
and the Three Bears. 
But Roland, being an 
ultra-modern child, 
knows not his Grimm 
nor his Andersen, and 
had expected to see 
either the circus or a 
lively musical comedy. 
He has decided to 
change aunty's name 
from Marion to Moron 

During their early 
married life Harriet 
was flattered by what 
she called "John's 
dear little thoughtful 
ways." But after ten 
years the expression 
has been changed into 
"John's old-maidish 
fussiness." We all 
know that her hus- 
band is merely one of 
those born altruists, 
but Harriet is certain 
that his "mothering" 
is a reminder that 
she's three years his 
. senior 

A Few Victims 




' by 
Eldon Kelley 

Mrs. Walter Jones has 
dragged "dear Wally" (right) 
from his "horrid old real 
estate office" to a vacation 
resort in the mountains. 
Wally is the quintessence of 
'gloom. His new golf tweeds 
are scratching unmercifully 
— he hates golf anyway, be- 
ing more interested in tak- 
ing than in putting — and the 
open country means merely 
unused building lots to him 

Mrs. Splurge (above) is a 
social gardener who takes 
special interest in cultivat- 
ing the species wall-flower. 
Here she has picked out an 
attractive specimen and is 
feeding him gossip about 
those present. "That oldish 
brunette in the hideous 
green goun," says she, "is 
the most notorious flirt in 
her set. ... No one seems 
to know anything about her 
husband. ..." The wall- 
flower brightens — the well- 
meaning soul knows not that 
the brunette is his wife 

Page Fifteen 








The American National Theater, shepherded by Augustus Thomas, began its career in 
New York this season by producing As You Like It. This romantic pastoral drama 
was written by Shakespeare about 1599 — probably immediately after the completion of 
Henry V. — and has been called his "summer vacation comedy." After dwelling so long 
in courts and camps and battlefields, it is small wonder that Shakespeare's imagination 
craved an unconventional holiday in the woods. And so, borrowing outright a few 
characters from Thomas Lodge's prose tale Rosalynde, changing the names and person- 
alities of certain others, and himself creating the delicious Audrey and Jacques and 
Touchstone, he played with them for a brief season in the Forest of Arden. 
Above, behold Rosalind (Marjorie Rambeau), Touchstone (Ernest Lawford), and Celia 
(Margalo Gillmore) as they appeared at the end of their long flight from the palace of 
Duke Frederick. ^~ 

Rosalind: Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! 
Touchstone: / care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. 

Rosalind: / could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel and to cry like a 
woman, but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself 
courageous to petticoat; therefore courage, good Celia! 

Page Sixteen 

A Group 


Strolling Players 

from the 
Forest of Arden 







Rosalind's lover (Ian Keith) has just carved her name 
upon the branch of a tree. He soliloquizes: 

"O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books, 
And in their barks my thoughts I'll character, 

That every eye which in this forest looks 
Shall see thy virtue witness'd everywhere. 

Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree 

The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she" 


This melancholy member of the gay 
band (A. E. Anson), defends himself to 

"Why, 'tis good to be sad and say 
To which she retorts: 

"Why then, 'tis good to be a post" 


The shepherd (William Williams) 

woos his capricious sweetheart 

(Gwynedd Vernon) 

Page Seventeen 


Who is appearing in two productions of the Theatre Guild — as one of 

the Saeter girls in the first act of Peer Gynt, and as the prostitute 

in the second act of The Adding Machine. Miss Bartlett is the wife of 

Joseph Schildkraut 

Maurice Goldberg 

Paae Eighteen 

Is the Novel Slipping? 

"What evidence can our novelists bring that the stage, after a century of playing 
second riddle, hasn't at last grabbed not only the first fiddle but the conductor's baton ? " 

Efy Walter Prichard Eaton 

BEFORE the mid-eighteenth century there were 
no novels, in our modern sense; there was only 
the prose romance. The prose romance, to he 
sure, in the hands of men like Rahelais or Cervantes, 
was sometimes a good deal more than a pretty tale ; but 
on the whole it is fair to say that the modern novel be- 
gan with Tom Jones, 

and not until the nine- r 

teenth century did the 
novelist become a more 
important person than 
the poet or the play- 
wright. For the true 
expression in literature 
of Elizabeth's England 
we turn to the plays and 
poems of the period. 
For a true expression 
of Anne's England we 
turn to the plays, the 
political pamphlets, the 
poems of Mr. Pope, the 
essays of Mr. Addison. 
But for the literary ex- 
pression of England or 
America in the latter 
half of the nineteenth century, 
we would certainly turn chiefly 
to the novels. You cannot name a 
dramatist on either side of the water remotely to compete 
with Thackeray, Meredith, Hardy, Hawthorne, Howells, 
and the rest. After the passing of Browning and Tenny- 
son, there was no poet to compete with them,- either. 
The novelists reigned supreme in the English-speaking 
world, and held the upper hand in most other countries. 

We have come to accept this so much as a matter of 
course that when we discuss "literature" we mean the 
works of prose fiction, and all our literary magazines and 
book-review supplements devote most of their space to 
novels, a little to poetry, essays and books of informa- 
tion, and none at all to the acted drama. If fiction, the 
novel, should sink back again to a secondary place, it 
would be a surprising revolution. 

Yet I believe that revolution is quite possible. I even 
see signs that it has begun. 

Tt was the constant reproach brought by thoughtful 
-■- people against the English-speaking stage all during 
the latter years of the nineteenth century and the early 
years of the twentieth, that the drama lagged far behind 
the times. If there were new ideas in the air, it was the 
novelist who put them into art form. Altho Ibsen, as 
early as 1878. forged a technique which enabled the 
dramatist to handle contemporary life as realistically as 
a Zola or a Howells, it- was the novelists (outside of one 
or two European countries) who really used realism to 
say something important concerning our modern life. A 
whole generation after Ibsen, we saw the American 
drama no more realistic than a Fitch or a Cohan play, 
while, in the same period, we had produced novels by 
Howells and Garland and Edith Wharton. Even today 
an older author like Booth Tarkington writes Alice 
Adams as a book, nearly breaking your heart with its 
truth, and for the stage writes sophomoric piffle. 

That, I say, was the case. But it isn't quite the case 
today. Today, the better dramatists are responding to 
the new things, the currents of modern thought and feel- 
ing, possibly more readily than the novelists. In Amer- 
ica today, or in parts of it at any rate, the theater is sud- 
denly of more literary importance than the novel. This 

is an interesting phe- 
nomenon, and one 
which it would pay our 
novelists to think about. 
I am speaking, of 
course, about our better 
and more serious novel- 
ists. Those writers who 
merely concoct tales of 
adventure, the James 
Oliver Curwoods and 
Zane Greys, or of senti- 
mental amorousness, 
dont count. They are 
merely the modern de- 
generate descendants of 
the troubadour romanc- 
ers. Every age has- 
them, and will have 
them. They create bed- 
time stories for grown- 
up infants. I am speak- 
ing "ather, of writers 
like Mrs. Wharton and Miss Gather and Sinclair Lewis 
and scores of others who take their job seriously, and 
recognize the modern novel as the expression of an atti- 
tude toward life. 

Now, in our theater of late we have had two such mov- 
ing examples of expressionism as O'Neill's Emperor 
Jones and The Hairy Ape. We have had plays almost 
by the dozen which in one way or another experimented 
with freer forms, with greater imaginative suggestive- 
ne'ss. We have developed scenic artists like Geddes, 
Jones and Simonson, v who have opened up to us a whole 
new range of emotional appeal and suggestiveness. Our 
younger dramatists, like the author of Roger Bloomer 
(produced- by the Equity Players), and Elmer Rice, 
whose fantasy, The Adding Machine, was mounted by 
Theatre Guild, are definitely and resolutely feeling their 
way into new and unexplored tracts ; they are trying to 
put a new spiritual and emotional note into drama. 

What is there in the field of American prose fiction 
at all corresponding to this dramatic renaissance ? What 
evidence can our novelists bring that the stage, after a 
century of playing second fiddle, hasn't at last grabbed 
not only the first fiddle but the conductor's baton ? 

know, of course, what the novelists will say. I know 
■*• the books, English and American, they will bring forth 
(some of them from secret places!) by way of evidence. 
They will point to Dorothy Richardson's books, to Sher- 
wood Anderson's books, to D. H. Lawrence's books, to 
Ben Hecht's books, to James Joyce's books, including 
that extraordinary production, Ulysses, which is so 
smutty it had to be printed in Paris, and, I am told, sells 
for one hundred dollars a volume. I read it in a bor- 
rowed copy ! They may even point to The Waste Land, 
T. S. Eliot's new poem. The works of all these writers. 

Page Nineteen 


they will say, show that the novelists, also, are feeling 
toward new forms, are seeking to break the shackles of 
tradition. And, of course, we must admit that they are. 
The impulse which has affected the theater is not con- 
fined to the theater. It is a phase of the modern spirit. 
But when we come to consider the results of this spirit 
at work in the theater, and in prose fiction, it seems to 
me we can find evidence that the theater is apparently its 
more effective medium ; so far, at any rate, it has not 
affected prose fiction notably, as it has the stage. 

This new spirit in fiction has in the first place, driven 
those novelists who have yielded to it, in upon them- 
selves. Revolting 
from the photo- 
graphic realism of 
the late nineteenth 
century novel of so- 
cial criticism, they 
have apparently felt 
but two ways of es- 
cape — one into ro- 
mantic fantasy, 
which would be, per- 
haps, a step down- 
ward and backward ; 
the other into their 
own minds. Choos- 
ing the latter, they 
try to set forth a pic- 
ture of their "stream 
of consciousness," 
with all its irrelevan- 
cies, nobilities (il 
any ) , and indecencies. 
They write a kind of 
inchoate autobiog- 
raphy. Also, most of 
them having swal- 
lowed Freud whole, 
they disgorge so 
much about com- 
plexes and sex that 
.the average reader 
who isn't aware of 
his or her sex more 
than twenty per cent 
of the time is either 
bewildered or be- 

I would not for a 
moment be so rash as 
to say that the pe- 
culiar technique of a 
book like Ulysses 
could not be de- 
veloped by a more normal writer into a weapon which 
would forge a new kind of prose fiction understandable 
and appealing to this modern age. I only say that, so 
far, Joyce and D. H. Lawrence and Miss Richardson and 
the rest have not done it. At most they have influenced 
a very small coterie of writers and readers, while the 
new stage artists have been reaching the wider public. 

HP he great vogue of the novel in the past hundred years 
-*- was, perhaps, based on the fact that it could tell a 
story, thus appealing to all mankind, and it could tell this 
story with more realism than is possible in any other 
medium. As soon as you throw away your story, .as the 
modern social novel has more and more tended to do, 
and, at the same time, your public grows weary of real- 
ism, asking for something different, for beauty, or sug- 
gestiveness, you are in rather a precarious position. 
It is a question whether the novel is not maneuvering 

doing today. 


Joseph Conrad and William McFee extend the Freedom of the Seas to 

John Masefield 

itself, and being maneuvered, into that position today. 
On the other hand, the theater, which at first blush 
seems so real because it has real actors upon its stage, is 
not real at all. The eye, the physical eye, of the spectator 
is always present to tell you everything is make-believe. 
Realism in the theater depends just as much on a com- 
promise with the audience, a willingness to accept a 
premise, as does any other style in the theater. Hence, 
if a public tire of realism, if they want something more 
of ideal beauty, of suggestiveness, of pure emotion, the 
theater can give it to them easily. That is what it is 
That is what our fiction is not doing, be- 
cause it is still either 
bound to the realistic 
tradition or has not 
yet found an escape 
from that tradition 
which the public will 
accept as satisfactory. 
The best American 
novel last year (cer- 
tainly the most widely 
read) was, I should 
say, Babbitt, which 
was out and out real- 
ism, with no beauty, 
no suggestiveness, no 
spiritual probing. It 
was bitter social crit- 
icism. The best 
American play was 
Eugene O'Neill's 
The Hairy Ape, 
which combined so- 
cial criticism with 
profound, almost 
lyric emotion and a 
striking beauty of 
thought, of speech, 
of vision. To some 
of us the difference 
almost -seems the dif- 
ference between a 
gospel and the mat- 
ter-of-fact commen- 
tary on a gospel. The 
one is dynamic ; the 
other isn't. The one 
gives us spiritual 
drive; the other 
social discontent. The 
one seems of the fu- 
ture; the other, one 
more novel in the 
style of the past. 
It may be, of course, that some of my readers feel 
toward Ulysses or Women In Love, or Gargoyles as 
I feel toward The Hairy Ape. We are dealing here with 
intangible things ; not even with matters of opinion, but 
merely of feeling. I can only say that to me the revolt 
in the new fiction strikes me nearly always as a kicking 
over the traces ; it is like the "hell raising" of a church- 
school graduate when he first gets to college with nobody 
to look after him. Victorianism forbade the honest men- 
tion of sex problems, so the new writers, bemused by 
Freud and their freedom, simply wallow in eroticism. 
The American public libraries, the popular magazines, 
the publishers, so long insisted on propriety, on senti- 
mentality, on the bread-and-butter realism which every- 
body could understand, that the new writers plunge into 
gloom with cries of joy, as small boys on a hot clay leap 
into the brown water under the willow tree ; they are 
{Continued on page 67) 

Page Twenty 

TORSO, 1915 

The individual has no 
meaning for Archipenko. 
He molds woman because 
in her he finds the archi- 
type of form. The torso 
shown above has no age 
nor place nor name; it 
is beauty itself distilled 
into pure form 

Alexander Archipenko is 
looked upon by earnest 
critics as the dominant 
spirit of the day in the 
field of plastique. His 
experiments with metals 
are bold attempts to con- 
quer new materials for 
his art. Before the war 
he founded a school of 
sculpture in Paris, but 
the past two years have 
been spent in Berlin 
where his studio is the 
gathering-place of artists 
and litterateurs from ev- 
ery corner of the world. 
He is coming to America 
this summer, following 
upon an exhibition of his 
work in New York by 
the Societe Anonyme 




WOMAN, 1923 

Here is the sculptor's lat- 
est adventure in mecha- 
nistic plastique. In this 
abstraction he adds to the 
three-dimensional relief 
of the sculptor the color 
perspective of the cubist. 
The figure is composed 
of frail brass and copper 
plates, painted in dull 
reds and browns. Archi- 
penko feels that the spirit 
of this highly mechanized 
generation cannot be ex- 
pressed in placid' marble 
and bronze 

GROUP, 1915 

No one in any field 
of art has dared so 
to distort the hu- 
man form as has 
Archipenko, and 
no one has suc- 
ceeded in building 
more surely, more 
eloquently, the 
presence of ani- 
mate beauty 

Page Twenty-One 



h^BhmB MUma/m 

i"i" MaSmtUf 





A camera study by Maurice Goldberg of Beth Beri in Jack and Jill 


Page Twenty-Two 

In Defence of Decay 

"All life is merely progressive decay, and the futility of life is due to the fact that 
we are taught how to live well when we ought to be taught how to decay well" 

By Henry Altimus 

FRANCE seems to be flooded with elixirs of youth. 
At a time when living is becoming increasingly 
more difficult, a vogue of longevity has spread, 
and the popular fancy, with a waywardness which would 
delight a Schopenhauer, turns from logical reflection on 
death to the specious lure of immortality. Naturally, 
there are many only too quick to capitalize such a vogue, 
and one can buy elixirs of youth at almost any street- 
corner. Men with a smattering of chemistry are setting 
up laboratories for the manufacture of the magic fluid, 
and alert shopkeepers are laying in abundant stores. 

And the vogue is not confined alone to the unim- 
aginative classes. There • is my friend Chardonnet, a 
French journalist of no mean attainments. In order 
to keep himself in the most modest fashion, Chardonnet 
is obliged to work in the afternoon for an evening paper, 
in the evening for a morning paper, and in the morning 
for an afternoon paper, for in France intelligence pays 
dividends only when applied to politics or to the illicit 
trade in cocaine. Besides, Chardonnet's life is further 
harassed by a wife who threatens to kill herself, a mis- 
tress who threatens to kill him, and a spendthrift son 
who lives only for himself. It, always appeared to me 
that Chardonnet would find more consolation in the 
anodyne of Dr. Osier than in the scalpel of Dr. Voronoff, 
yet my friend, who is fifty-two, is taking one of the 
"youth" treatments now in vogue. 

Curiosity drew me recently to the little shop in the 
Rue de Rivoli which is the headquarters for the particular 
system of elixirization which Chardonnet has elected. 
The show window is occupied by two huge photographic 
portraits. One, "before,'' reveals a man of about sixty- 
four, wrinkled, venerable, with drooping white moustache 
and straggling white beard, frankly and charmingly old, 
the terrors of youth behind him, the peace of old age 
achieved at last. The other portrait, "after," reveals 
the same man, twenty years 
younger, twenty years meaner, 
twenty years unhappier, his 
moustache darkened and stiff- 
ened, his beard bristling, his 
eyes showing something be- 
tween challenge and fear, and 
peace completely vanished from 
his countenance. 

It seemed appalling to me that 
anyone could possibly construe 
the evidence of these two por- 
traits as a recommendation for 
the elixir advertised. A ven- 
erable, kindly, lovable old man, 
whom any youth would intro- 
duce with pride as his grand- 
father, had been corrupted to 
a repugnant, hostile, unbear- 
able man of middle age, whom 
any youth would reluctantly 
and apologetically acknowledge 
as his father. I was appalled 
by the cruelty of the transfor- 
mation. If the "before" and 
"after" signs were swerved, ii 
it were claimed for the elixii 
that it could rescue a man from From a p os ter by 

the pangs of middle age and procure him the peace 
of old age, the appeal of the portraits would become 
intelligible. Yet, even as I stood before the show window, 
many people entered the shop and many people left it. 
And, as I observed them, it appeared to me that they 
were like people who had had teeth extracted and had 
returned because life was empty without a toothache. 

FT is our education which is at fault. Decay is the 
-■- law of life. Decay begins from the moment of birth 
and continues until death. All life is merely progressive 
decay. And the futility of life is due to the fact that 
we are taught how to live well when we ought to be 
taught how to decay well. 

Decay constitutes the beauty of life. The Coliseum 
has certain distinct advantages over Madison Square 
Garden. London Tower presents a marked aesthetic 
superiority over the Tombs Building. And three thou- 
sand years must pass before Trinity Churchyard will 
gather about it the romantic tradition of the Valley of 
the Kings. 

It is one of the singular eccentricities of humans that 
they venerate age in everything but themselves, and, tho 
they are exhorted from their infancy to respect old age, 
the best they can achieve is pity. For, tho the law of 
life is decay, the rule of life is resistance. And therein 
lies the tragedy of humanity, the pathos of history. 

The ignoble collapse of Athens and Rome, like the 
ignoble decline of man, follows inevitably upon the fact 
that these glorious capitals of ancient culture did not 
know how to decay, that they consumed- their vanishing 
years in heroic postures and hollow pomps unbecoming 
to their age, when they might have paled gracefully to 
a mellow, crumbling, venerable senility and expired with 
a smile rather than a grimace. 

History is the wan record of men past forty, and 
therefore declining in mental 
and physical vigor, desperate- 
ly trying to make themselves 
and their contemporaries ' be- 
. lieve that they are still on the 
upward grade. All tragedy is 
the result of the resistance to 
decay. All the mischief of the 
world is created by aging men 
who make a vice of their senil- 
ity when they might make of 
it an ornament. The harm 
youth may do in resisting de- 
cay hurts only itself, but whole 
communities and entire nations 
are the victims of the harm 
done when adults resist decay. 
For, tho there is nothing so 
interesting as the spectacle of 
youths misspending their days, 
there is nothing so distressing 
as the spectacle of adults 
misspending their declining 

Herein lies the key to the 
horrors of the past decade. 
The frightful war and the still 
Vyvyan Donner [Continued on page 72) 

Page Twenty-Three 


Talented Daughters of Famous Fathers 


Richard Burke 

Whenever the novelist, Hamlin Garland, goes 
on a lecture tour, he is assisted by his daughter 
Isabel. But a feio months ago her personality 
and poise caught the critical eye of Augustus 
Thomas, head of the American National 
Theater, and he persuaded her to forsake the 
lecture platform for the stage, giving her the 
role of Lady of the Court in As You Like It 



Danford Barney 

This young daughter of Walter Dam- 
rosch, conductor of the New York 
Symphony Orchestra, has exchanged 
the frivolous existence of a debutante 
for the serious life of the stage. She 
was highly praised for her work in 
Rita Coventry the past season 



Professor Albert Ein- 
stein's daughter is an 
extraordinarily gifted 
musician and a leader of 
Berlin's fashionable 
younger set. She is her 
father's close companion, 
and often assists him as 
his private secretary 

Page Twenty-Four 

Xickolas Mura> 


The youngest member of the Theatre Guild's group of players. At present 

she is an appealing Essie in The Devil's Disciple. Last year she toured the 

Middle West as Consuelo in He Who Gets Slapped 

Page Twenty-Five 

Mrs. Aesop's Fables 

With apologies to the Master-Wit of the Court of Croesus 

By Harriet Henry 

A LITERARY MATRON was carrying her latest 
novel to the publisher when she fell a-musing : 
"The money for this book will be at least sev- 
eral hundred dollars. The dollars will buy beautiful 
clothes for my two plain daughters. The beautiful 
clothes will bring prominent suitors, and my daughters 
will get wealthy and influential husbands. The impor- 
tance of these husbands will give me social glamor and 
prestige." On the day that the publisher accepted her 
novel the plainer of the two daughters died, and the less 
plain announced that she had married the chauffeur. 
Count not your chickens before they are matched. 


lOLLY Doe, accustomed to novels of sordid realism 
and movies of sordid melodrama, was ^always very 
careful when dining or supping with an enamored swain 
to imbibe but little from the sparkling cup of Bacchus. 
One night in the studio of a suitor she was mortally 
poisoned by a French artichoke with Hollandaise sauce. 
Said she: "Oh, wretched creature that I am, to take such 
precautions against wine, and to find food so perilous !" 

Danger sometimes comes from a sauce that is least 

\. Rejected Suitor followed the object of his faithful 
•**- tho unrequited passion down the Avenue for so 
many blocks that she became annoyed and dodged into 
a florist's shop. He entered after her and found her 
attempting to conceal herself by crowding back of some 
blooms that emitted a cloyingly sweet perfume. He 
raised his hat and said : "The fragrance of those flowers 
will make you ill." To which the girl replied : "I would 
rather be annoyed by the flowers than by you." 

77 is safer to he among friends than among anemones. 

I" aurette wrote an ardent letter to one of her numer- 
-■— ' ous suitors which brought about such successful re- 
sults that she wrote another man, her most difficult 
swain, a similar epistle word for word. Unfortunately, 
the two men were close friends, and compared notes — 
literally speaking. _ The second suitor's answer to Lau- 
rette was a sheet of carbon paper. 
It is absurd to ape oar letters. 

An Old Man given to fainting spells saw a Boy 
■**■ crumple into a heap on the pavement before him, 
and knowing the mode of procedure for such weakness, 
dragged him into a nearby drug-store. The effort and 
excitement brought on one of his own spells, and he 
faded into unconsciousness. When he came to, his money 
was gone, and so was the Boy. 

Every man should be content to mind his own dizzi- 

\ Lazy Youth owned a high-powered car with an 
**- old-fashioned horn that he had to bend over to 
reach. This exercise caused him so much exertion that 
he rarely ever used the horn, and trusted his safety to 
luck. One day he abruptly rounded a corner, and was 
hit broadside by another car. The Lazy Youth was 
hurled thru the wind shield, which caused him infinitely 
more exertion and inconvenience than using the horn 
could possibly have done. 
Stoop to honk her. 

Johnny Crow paid marked attention to the ugly 
** daughter of a banker. He hated her eyes, he loathed 
her mouth, he detested her figure, her conversation bored 
him to the point of surreptitious napping, but he was 
continually with her. Johnny Crow was exceedingly 
poor and in well-nigh desperate straits, and he needed 
three meals a day. 

Necessity is the mother of attention. 

\ Certain Theatrical Manager made it his principle 
■**- never to pay much attention outside of the theater to 
the actresses he employed. Unfortunately, he fell in 
love with two women at once, both starring in his two 
most successful plays, and took them about continually, 
carefully concealing from each the fact that he was 
courting the other. But they found out. There was a 
triangular and bitter quarrel, and both, stars resigned. 

He that submits his principles to the influences and 
caprices of opposites will end in having no principals at 

"jV/f ignon was introduced to an Adonis with patent- 
-*-*-*- leather hair, gold-headed cane, and spotless spats. 
She took him for a stock broker, and worked on him with 
such subtlety and finesse that he married her within ten 
days. After which it took Mignon but ten hours to dis- 
cover that he was not a stock broker, but a hock broker. 
She who marries in haste will repent at Reno. 

TTEThen Freddy Farmer visited France with the A. E. 
* * F. he fell in love with Yvette. Her virtue, according 
to her own advertising, was her most valued possession, 
and Freddy asked her to marry him. Returning to his 
native Fifth Avenue, Yvette cabled that she was follow- 
ing. Freddy lived thru two weeks of hectic and ecstatic 
expectancy, and was on the dock when the steamer hove 
in view. He spotted Yvette leaning eagerly over the 
rail. Her arm was linked within the arm of a beautiful 
woman notorious on the Paris boulevards. Freddy 
stared. Yvette blew dainty kisses. The beautiful 
woman smiled. Freddy raised his hat with casual polite- 
ness, and hurried away. 

Birds of a feather dock together. 

A Shy young Debutante before her first charity ball 
^"*- borrowed some rouge and lipstick from a more 
sophisticated member of her set. Her newly cerised lips 
and vivid cheeks gave her a look of dissipation, and sev- 
eral young men who had been imbibing too freely of one 
of the seven deadly gins pressed somewhat too ardent at- 
tentions upon her. Frightened, she resorted to the dress- 
ing-room in tears. 

Everyone should keep his own colors. 

TP WO Chorus Girls dropped into a charming young 
■■■ bachelor's apartment on an evening when he was ex- 
pecting his mother and fiancee. Very much annoyed, he 
tried to persuade them to leave, but his pleading was of 
no avail. Picking up the bellows from beside the fire- 
place, he began puffing little gusts of air into, the girls' 
faces, causing their eyes to water and their bobbed hair 
to get into tangled and unattractive disarray. The girls 
took an angry departure. 

If words suffice not, blows must follow. 

Page Tiventy-Six 

Courtesy of H. A. Phillips 


Jules Bastien-Le page's famous portrait of Sarah Bernhardt is regarded in France as one of its 
finest mementos of the great actress. The young artist's arrogant assertion that he would make 
her famous, so amused Bernhardt that she consented to sit for him, tho she had refused painters 

of established reputation 

Page Twenty-Seven 

The Haunts of the Wild Fowl 

A group of etchings by Frank W. Benson 




This was etched from 

a drawing of a tame 

pelican made at Long 

Key, Florida 

Mr. Benson's etching 
of the Yellow Legs 
(above), tho unusu- 
ally sensitive in its ar- 
rangement and treat- 
ment, reflects the feel- 
ing of a sportsman as 
well as an artist 

Page Twenty-Eight 




Altho the general public associates Frank 
W'\ Benson's name with etchings of wild 
foicl, it was not until 1912 that he took 
any interest in this work, making studies 
of bird life during one of his vacation- 
trips. These etchings, done primarily for 
his otvn pleasure and interest, have 
gained him an international reputation. 
One virtue of his plates is that the birds 
are scientifically observed, for he is an 
ornithologist, as well as sportsman and 
artist. Mr. Benson studied both here and 
abroad, and has been granted practically 
all the academic honors in America. His 
paintings hang in the Library of Con- 
gress, the Carnegie Institute of Pitts- 
burgh, and the Corcoran Gallery at 

All etchings courtesy of Kennedy and Company 



Page Twenty-Nine 

Edith Barakovich, Vienna 


One of the foremost actresses appearing in the famous Max Reinhardt 
Theater in Berlin. She is also a successful screen star 

Page Thirty 

A camera study by D'Ora of Olga and Mura, Viennese dancers 


Page Thirty-One 

John Kabel 




This picturesque old tree, which peers down 
eternally from its rocky shelf, marks the 
farthest point of the timber-line on a trail that 
scales one of the mountains north of Many 
Glacier in Glacier National Park, Montana. 
The great park stands alone in kind amid the 
scenic wonders of the world. It is rightly 
named, for clinging to its peaks are eighty 
glaciers, and nestling in painted basins molded 
by the grinding of earlier glaciers are more 
than three hundred lakes 

Page Thirty-Two 

John Kabel 


A view of the shore of the Carmel Coast, California's Riviera, ivhich stretches down 
from Monterey for many miles along the Pacific 

Page Thirty-Three 

Henry Waxman 


A young dancer of extraordinary beauty and talent, 
appearing in John Murray Andersons revue, Jack and Jill 

Page Thirty-Four 


Two Letters 

By Frederic Boutet 

Translated from the French by William L. McPherson 

A RRIVING in the town at half-past nine in the 
% morning M. de Vreuil left his carriage at the 
A. A. Hotel Dauphin and took a stroll thru the streets. 
He was ahead of time. Before going to the Golden Sun 
Hotel he stopped in a quiet place and drew a letter from 
his pocket. Altho he knew it by heart, he read it over 
again, weighing each word: 

Monsieur, I Jiave some very important information 
to give you. It concerns the true character and the 
real past of the woman to whom you gave your 
name eight years ago. I sliall be waiting for you 
tomorrow, day after tomorrow, and the day follow- 
ing, at the Golden Sun Hotel, at ten a.m. You will 
ask for M. Didicr. If you knozv, my letter will be 
superfluous. But from what I have learned of you, 
it is impossible that you should know. I count on 
seeing you. 

The letter, addressed to M. Louis de Vreuil, and 
marked "personal," had arrived the evening before. M. 
de Yreuil put it back in his pocket and reflected. He 
asked himself once more whether he ought to go to this 
strange rendezvous. Would that not be doing his wife 
a terrible wrong? But if the letter implied some danger 
which threatened her? And then, in his heart of hearts, 
he wanted to know. 

A certain mystery had surrounded his wife since their 
marriage. This woman, who was the most precious 
thing in his life — he knew nothing about her except that 
her maiden name was Marceline Bouvine. He had seen 
her in his notary's office, where she was a stenographer 
and typewriter. He had fallen in love with her and had 
asked her to marry him. She had refused. He had 
pleaded with her with the irresistible passion of a man, 
sincere, straightforward and unsophisticated, who, living 
alone in his little chateau, lost in the woods, had preserved 
an unusual simplicity and directness of feeling. 

Marceline had finally said yes, on condition that he 
would never ask her about her past. She had added: "I 
have never done anything which could prevent you from 
marrying me." 

M. de Vreuil had made the promise which she re- 
quired and had kept it. He had suffered at first. But 
with the years he had almost forgotten. This letter 
recalled his suffering and aggravated it. 

He was deeply agitated. What was he going to learn? 
The letter had said : "It is impossible that you should 
know." In fact, 
he knew noth- 
ing — absolutely 
nothing. Sud- 
denly he cor- 
rected himself. 
Yes, he knew 
certain things 
which could not 
be disproved. 
He knew that 
Marceline was 
beautiful, intel- 
ligent, charming 
and good. He 
knew that she 
loved him. 

Ten o'clock struck. He shuddered, but walked toward 
the Golden Sun Hotel, where M. Didier awaited him. 
M. Didier was a youngish man, dressed like a poor 
clerk. He had a humble but determined air. 

"Suppose we go to the public garden to talk?" he said. 
"Monsieur," he began, when they reached a solitary 
path, "what I have to tell you is important. Your 
position and your character make even more monstrous 
the deception which has been practised on you. Listen 
to me. I am going to tell you my story. 

"My name is not Didier. My name is Arloize. The 
Arloize case made some stir, once. In short, twelve 
years ago I was Jean Arloize. I had some money. I 
did some business on the Bourse. I lived happily. One 
evening at supper I met a woman called Fanny Lerial. 
She was an actress. No, I exaggerate. She was hardly 
a professional actress. She played small roles now and 
then. I fell in love at first sight. She refused me. I 
pursued her. She posed as a young girl of good family 
who had had misfortunes. Finally she yielded. Then 
my love became a madness. 

"All the foolish things I did for her — she made me 
do them without having the air of influencing me. To 
secure roles for her I financed specialties in which she 
appeared. I went on the road with her. I had but one 
idea — that she should be happy and know how much I 
loved her. This lasted two or three years. I hadn't a 
sou left. I didn't dare to confess it. I was afraid that 
someone would take her away from me. So I became a 
thief. I stole considerable sums of money. I was mad, 
I tell you. Her demands increased. I needed more and 
more money. 

"One fine day I learned that my thefts had been dis- 
covered. I got together all the money I could lay my 
hands on and asked Fanny to run away with me. She 
declined. I insisted. I lost my temper. I told her 
everything — everything that I had done for her. Then 
she said that she did not want to run away with a thief 
— that she had never loved me, that she had tolerated 
me only because of my money. Monsieur, I saw then 
another woman — a girl of the streets, insulting, vulgar, 
cynical and brutal. I was infuriated. I sprang at her 
to choke her. She screamed, people came, she informed 
on me and I was arrested. 

"She came near being tried with me. The police in- 
vestigated her past. She had had many admirers, in my 
time and before me. She had led a life of dissipation 
since she was fifteen. Nevertheless, they found nothing 

to show that 
she was my ac- 
complice. I was 
convicted. Since 
my release from 
prison I have 
had to fight for 
a bare existence. 
I obtained a 
little clerkship 
in the country. 
I merely vege- 
tate. My life is 
finished, and all 
because of her. 
(Continued on 
page 73) 

Page Thirty-Five 


A Concert at Carnegie Hall 

Sketched by Alice Harvey 

This great concert hall, built by Andrew Carnegie, remains one of the rallying points of music-lovers in New 
York City. It was opened on May 5, 1891, and the guest of honor was Peter Ilyitch Tschaikovsky, who 
conducted his Marche Solennelle at the dedicatory concert. The following autumn Antonin Dvorak con- 
ducted there an overture specially written for the occasion, and the next year this hall was the scene of 
the world premiere of the composer's famous New World Symphony. The visits of Saint-Saens and Richard 
Strauss are also among incidents that stand out in the career of Carnegie Hall. This past season many 
noteworthy musical events have added to its history. Prominent among them was the reappearance on 
the concert platform of Paderewski, after an absence of six years, during which he was the first Premier 
of Poland; the performance of the second symphony of Georges Enesco, conducted by the composer; 
the first performance of Captain Ernest Schelling's symphonic poem The Victory Ball; performances of 
Berlioz's Faust Symphony by both the Boston and Philadelphia Orchestras; concerts by the New York 
Symphony, the Philharmonic, the City Symphony and the Cleveland Orchestras, and recitals by many of 

the greatest artists and virtuosi of the day 

Page Thirty-Six 

Reviewing the Revues of Paris 

"If it were not for the dancers America sends to the French capital, 
its musical shows would be too sad and boring to think about" 

By Allan Ross Macdougall 

THERE is no doubt about it. Paris is rapidly be- 
coming a bi-lingual city — a European Montreal. 
A few months ago the new revue at the Concert 
Mayol was billed as follows: 

Oh! ucl Nu! 
Ladies Shirts Off! 

The translation was piquant at least if not quite literal. 
Then came the Palace with : 

Toutcs les Fannies 
All the Women 

Xow the latest revue at the Folies Bergere comes 
heralded not only in French and English but with a 
Spanish title also : 

En Pleine Folic 

In Full Folly 

En Plenaria Locura 

I have an idea that they ought to save themselves all 
this trouble and print the programs and posters in one 
language entirely — English ; for if a census were to be 
taken of the audience at any performance at the Folies 
Bergere I am sure that they would discover the fact that 
ninety per cent, of it was made up of English-speaking 
visitors to the capital. The remaining ten per cent, 
would be of other unimportant nationalities, chiefly South 
Americans. Naturally the revues themselves would have 
to be translated to suit the majority of the audience. 
This however would be a great saving to the manage- 
ment, for they could then dispense with their staff of 
translators and the horny-handed claque which they now 
pay to let the unsophisticated audience know the proper 
moment for the expected applause. 

This English-American invasion is not only confined 
to the audience. Mistinguett, in the revue at the Casino 
de Paris, is surrounded by statuesque English and 
American beauties. 

Then there is Earl Leslie, the dancing partner of Mis- 
tinguett, who is as American as the "Mitchel's Jazz 
Kings" band that accompanies the extraordinary acrobatic 
dancing of the American dancer, Miss Marion Forde, in 
the same revue : and Miss Joan Carroll is no stranger 
to Broadway. 

Tx the new revue at the Ba-Ta-Clan Theater 
-*■ two colored boys from New York, Douglas 
and Jones, dance and sing with a joyous verve 
and rhythm that reminds one of the nights of 
Shuffle Along. 

At the newly opened Palace Theater, the 
foreign invasion is swept on by the American 
Harry Pil- 
cer, who is 
the bright 
star of the 
show, aided 
by his new 
partner. Miss 
YYyn Rich- 
ardson, the 

English, Miss Peggy Vere, and two bagpipe players from 
Scotland. While at the Folies Bergere, great support is 
added to the invasion by the light-stepping misses from 
the school of John Tiller in England, who add beauty 
and life to the chorus ; the wonderful eccentric dancing 
of the American team, Gilbert and French ; and the 
highly original work of Miss Nina Payne, aided and 
abetted by the happy "Ad-Libs" band. 

The case of Miss Payne is very interesting. A few 
years ago she came to Paris and for a while danced at 
several chic restaurants with that other excellent Ameri- 
can dancer, Donald Sawyer. Then she was offered an 
engagement at the Olympia Music Hall. There, with 
no advance publicity, without even a regular poster out- 
side the theater, she carried away the house and became 
the talk of the town. She was then engaged for the 
revue, Folies sur Folies, at the Folies Bergere, where 
she repeated her Olympia success. 

At the present time she is as much a fixture at this 
theater as the droll little Bach, the comic. In the new 
revue, En Pleine Folie, she not only dances in her own 
amazingly vivacious and cubistic manner but she has 
also arranged the choreography for the delightful ultra- 
modern pantomime Arlequin Tata-iste. The program 
translation of this is "Futurist Arlequin," but a much 
more explanatory rendering would be "Auntie Harlequin." 

As is usual in these revues, the state of undress prevails. 
-**- To most people the spectacle of so much nudity is a 
little wearying. As one eminent French critic recently 
said, apropos of these scenes : 

"The sight of one splendid nude can only be 
equalled by Death ; the display of many semi-nudes 
is merely a tiresome irritation." 

And surely it is not because of the lack of beautiful 
costumes. Never have I seen such splendor as is displayed 
in the costumes which the famous artist Erte has de- 
signed for the tableau. The Great Rivers of the World, 
and which is crowned by what I think is the most beau- 
tiful costume I have ever seen — The Waves of the Sea. 
In the series of Second Empire costumes which 
Brunelleschi has designed for the scene, Un Souper chez 
La Paiva, there is all the rare beauty of a mid-Victorian 
color print. There is no doubt that in America 
the theaters have all the pick of excellent stage 
artists and mechanics, but here in Paris the littlest 
revue can command some of the greatest costume 
artists in the world : Poiret, Erte, Guy Arnoux, 
Zinovieff, Georges Barbier, Rasimi. 
. . . "All the world's my manne- 
quin which 




Pavlowa, Diaghlieff, Bakst and Stravinski in the Reviewing Stand 


o f Rasimi, 
brings me to 
the Ba-Ta- 
Clan Theater, 
which is run 
by that 
on page 71) 

Page Thirty-Nine 

Antoinette B. Hervey 


Pcge Forty 

Laura Gilpin 

Page Forty-One 




Progressive stages in 

drawing, ranging from. 

the academic to the 

purely abstract form 

Alexander P. Couard 



In the seated figure above, 
all unessentials, such as 
modeling and shading, have 
been eliminated. This out- 
line comes under the head 
of academic drawing, how- 
ever, for the human figure 
is still recognizable. In 
Figure III there is a further 
elimination. The lines are 
broken; regularity of line 
has given place to the heavily 
shaded stroke, and thereby 
a feeling of solid modeling 
is achieved 

In Figures IV and V prac- 
tically all academic form is 
eliminated, yet when V is 
compared with Figure III, 
and IV with Figure II, a 
decided resemblance can be 
found. But note how the 
massing of the blacks inten- 
sifies the feeling of solidity 
and force. The artist 
considers that an accurate 
delineation of the human 
figure is of secondary im- 
portance; the vital thing is 
to feel its strength 


Above, is an example of the usual aca- 
demic drawing of the human figure. Art 
students, since the days of the Old 
Masters, have been taught to outline the 
figure accurately, and to give the effect: 
of modeling by delicate lines and shad-j 
ings. Eliminate all shading in this sketch} 
and you have a weak, flat outline, lack- 
ing all force and effectiveness 



Page Forty-Two 

Expressionism in Poetry 


By Helene Mullins 

U-NDER the opaline sky 

Of a fading summer, 
I lie, 
Humming jocund songs. 

I sing 

Because you are going to leave me, 
And I want to keep my mouth 
Out of the shape for sobbing. . . . 

I sing, 

Partly to console myself. 

And partly to deceive that inquisitive old 

Slyly peeping from behind yonder 
Jade-grey hill. 

Come and listen to me. 
And you will be deceived 
Also. . . . 


By Djuna Barnes 

QOLD tears, my brave man? Come, my 

little garcon, 
I'll take you to my girl's breast, and sing 

you a war-song. 
Where the horses gather, listen to their 

hoofs strike. 
What is a pigeon or a scythe within the 

wheat like? 
Oh, the single, cool thought that we string 

in childhood, 
As clean and as brittle as a small stick of 

Now it is a massacre, a scandal, or a pen- 
I'll cut you down a clear curl, to thicken 

out your swan-song. 


By Friedrich von Falkenburg 

AFTER all, 

Thou art not so great. 
Something of a wonder, yes. 
But only a wonder of 
Stone upon stone . . . 
Stone upon stone. 

Soon . . . 

Days . . . months . . . 
Years . . . centuries . . . 
("Time does not matter) 
Thou wilt crumble . . . 
Leaving ruin and 
Worthless debris. 

I am greater than thou. 

I, whom thy smallest stone 

Would crush. 

I, beside thou, so weak and small. 

I am greater. 

Soon . . . 

Hours . . . days . . . 

Months . . . years . . . 

I shall crumble. 

But I will leave behind 

Another structure, 

Which, like myself, 

Will crumble, 

Leaving another . • . 

And on, and on, and on. ... 


By Maxwell Bodenheim 

LIKE a dream of ugliness 

Dwarfed between the sternness of two 

The brown toad crouched and did not 

His uncomplaining beads of eyes. 
The flutter of a soul, 
Stirring within his cold body. 
Gave bis wrinkled skin 
The trembling of mysterious messages. 
Within the caressing shade 
Between the rocks, he watched the nervous 

Of sunlight giving crystal dignities 
To blades of grass and stooping flowers. 
It was another world to him: 
A vast and splendidly confused 
Land that held a terrifying light, 
And brushed its softly tall 
Colors recklessly against his eyes. 
Dimly he wondered whether this huge 

Might not be death — a blinding punish- 
For toads whose legs had sprang with sin 

each night. 
But while he meditated on the light, 
A beetle, sleekly black, sped from a crack 
Within one rock and darted thru the shade, 
His motion leading to the sun outside. 
The brown toad gazed upon him, horrified. 
And hopped to save him from the cruel 

He dropped upon the beetle's back, and 

Quivering with heroic attitudes. 
Then, filled with victory, he leapt away 
And waited for the beetle to return, 
Subdued and thankful, to his cleft of rock. 
Perhaps he still squats there and gazes 

Upon the crushed, black mite, and does 

not know 
That death has long since taken up his 


By Kenneth Fearing 

TVT1XT door there's happened something 

It's death has happened, 
And crepe. (I wonder if he's marveling 

At the change.) 

His eyelids, they are cold and tight; 

But underneath, 
The pupils of his eyes are up, 

His eyes are white. 

For men come dead when stomachs break — 

(His did, it seems I — 
Their nerves and tendons cease to jerk, 

Their hearts to shake. 

However, sits a dry-eyed sobbing 

Beside the muteness. 
She grieves for him all night, with neurons 

Mightily throbbing. 

By Pierre Loving 

J^_ TREE is not just a rondured tree 

But something thinly silhouetted from 
the world of whimsy 

In my curious eye. 

Children are quaintly flat-bodied and bow- 

And a cow ruminant is only a hairy brown 

A slant-eyed boatman rows a shalloped 

Up a narrow snaky stream 

That is tossed most weirdly close 

And flows carelessly on the sheer toil of 
the canvas. 


By Josephine van Dolzen Pease 

J)EATH, yours are not feet delicate, 

Demanding soft walking. 
I see plainly you have trod rough cobbles. 
You are not possessed of sensitive tastes, 
And have not disdained to hang white 

On the latches of stained doors. 


By Bio De Casseres 

f^ROWDS encompassed me, 

Memories bloodless and cold stalked 
by my side; 

Fears, abortive things, darkened the com- 
ing day. 

Heavy as one in a dream, I groped; 

A new grief burst like a rocket within me, 

And all its sentient stars sought out the 

I had not guessed was there. 

Distance, blue as the celestial field, 

Floated by. I touched its velvet hem, 

And lo! the rhythm of the days and nights, 

White and black keys of a great clavichord, 

And I the player! 

The days of humble happenings 

Caught in the mystic overflow 

Were simple poems of exceeding beauty — 

The Woman at the Well . . . 

Ruth gathering the corn . . . 

And all the women of the world 

Like classic pictures at their tasks — 

At last the dream made real, 

And with a visioning Homer I can cry, 

These epic days! 


By John McClure 

~¥ 0X1 ghostly gossips with your demon- 

Go, and be damned for it! 
Small songs are aimless, futile — even so. 

You say it and you know. 
Small songs are futile: so are gold and iron 

(And beauty, and delight) , 

Diamond and ebonite, 
The earth and the abysms that environ 
The earth and sun and comets flame-en- 

"So is the world." 

Page Forty-Three 



Jerome Hart 

FOR those who have to deal with musical matters 
day by day, currente calamo, the past musical season 
has been an exhausting one. It has only been 
possible to indulge in more or less hasty impressions. 
Serious analysis of any new work, however interesting 
and important, has been almost out of the question, and 
if one were to try to put together a collected volume 
of current musical criticism from the diurnal mass of 
matter which has been published with regard to opera, 
symphony and other musical performances in New York, 
it would shed little light on the intrinsic value and salient 
characteristics of new and important musical works. 
Especially would one be puzzled by the disparity of 
opinion, in fact this is very evident in the pages of Mr. 
Key's Musical Digest. 

Of course one cannot expect absolute agreement on 
any subject which is open to controversial discussion, and 
especially with respect to music, appreciation of which is 
so largely a matter of individual taste. And now that 
the recognized rules of musical composition are going 
by the board, and each and every composer feels at 
liberty to follow the dictates of his own sweet will, the 
critics are more or less at sea, and have no standards by 
which to judge that which is submitted for their con- 
sideration. Some of them hesitate to express their own 
opinions and reactions to this or that new work of the 
ultra-modern school. Musical history, they are apt to 
remember, is replete with the errors of contemporary 
criticism. So far as we know, no critic has ever been 
denounced for acclaiming a spurious genius. You may 
hail as many musical shams as you please, and nobody 
is much the worse. Your comments are forgotten. The 

Michael Bohnen, bass- 
barytone of the Metro- 
politan Opera, as Fran- 
cesco in Max Schilling's 
opera, Mona Lisa 


champions of Mahler are forgotten, if not forgiven. 
But condemn the works of a Brahms or a Wagner, and 
you become a spectacle for all time — witness Davison 
of the London Times and Hanslick, the German critic. 
However, there is less risk of condemning that which 
is intrinsically excellent in these days of sheer ugliness 
and sensationalism. It is not difficult to discern that the 
rejection of rules, the revolt against beauty, the utter 
discordancy and jazzing of modern music is a sign of the 
unsettled times and is merely a passing phase. Neverthe- 
less, in the midst of much which is unredeemedly ugly 
and perverse may be found gleams of beauty and flashes 
of genius, and they often shine with such brilliance as 
to encourage the hope that out of much which is evil 
good may come, and that it will be possible to preserve 
and develop new forms which will be of abiding value. 
The craving for independence and originality on the part 
of our young moderns is easy to understand, and not 
difficult to sympathize with. But in some instances that 
craving is merely a desire to astonish and shock and to 
be talked about — that is, it is merely vanity. Instead of 
being independent, as some of the ultras flatter them- 
selves, they are really showing their dependence on the 
opinion of others. 

And now to attempt to synthetize, but not to particu- 
**• larize, one's own impressions of the musical season 
just past. Little fresh ground has been broken, few new 
and brilliant lights have made themselves visible in the 
musical firmament, no epoch-making composition has 
been heard, and yet, as Galileo murmured, "it moves." 
Of course the little school, clique, or gang — whichever 

Page Forty-Four 


one chooses to call it — of the ultras has been working 
industriously and noisily, but the visit of Darius Mil- 
haud, whilom loader of "The Six," has only slightly 
stirred — or shall we say muddied? — the musical waters. 
The Internationalists in music, who have been much in 
evidence, hear a good deal of resemblance to their 
political brethren. They are bent on upsetting the exist- 
ing order of things. Most of them are well known to the 
writer personally, and while it is possible to recognize in 
sonic of them real sincerity, as well as musical accom- 
plishment, others are undoubtedly affecting a pose and 
are striving to achieve a prominence to which their 
talents do not entitle them. A few are sincere seekers 
after musical light, and are earnestly striving for some- 
thing which is new and good, if not precisely beautiful, 
for beauty at present is a minor consideration. 

What they seem to aim at chiefly is form — sometimes 
distorted form — "color." and lots of it. The latter they 
achieve with the aid of sound producers — they cannot 
be called musical instruments — never be.fore heard in an 
orchestra, and all sorts of new sensations and shocks, as 
witness Mr. Edgar Varese's Hyperprism, not to omit 
Mr. Carl Ruggles' ex- 
traordinary composi- 

tion for muted trum- 
pets. This sort of thing 
is sheer eccentricity or 
oddity, and needless to 
say nothing ages so 
quickly. As I have 
elsewhere pointed out, 
jazz seems today a 
much more antiquated 
affair than a composi- 
tion by Palestrina. But 
jazz is only ten years 
or so old, and Pales- 
trina is three hundred 
and fifty. People who 
deliberately do this 
sort of thing must be 
regarded as the 
barnacles of music. 
The medical profes- 
sion has its quacks, 
the legal its shysters, 
the clergy its blatant, 
self-advertising pulpi- 
teers, and so with all 

Teaving the region of 
*-* debatable subjec- 
tivity in music and 
coming to a brief re- 
view of the opera sea- 
son, Mr. Gatti-Casazza 
has fulfilled all his 
promises and has had 
the most successful 
season on record at the 
Metropolitan. He has 
maintained the Italian 
repertoire, be has re- 
duced the French, and 
he has augmented the 
German, but not one 
opera has been sung in 
English or has been of 
American or English 
origin. The great im- 
presario has, however, 
done wonders. In a 

Charles II. Davis 

Queena Mario of the Metropolitan Opera, as Juliet in Romeo et Juliette 

season of twenty-three weeks and one hundred and sixty- 
nine performances at the Metropolitan he has given forty 
operas, including two novelties — Mona Lisa and Anima 
Allcgra — and six revivals, Der Rosenkavalier, Romeo et 
Juliette, Thais, William Tell, Tannhauscr, and L'Afri- 
caine. The organization has also given ten performances 
in Brooklyn, seventeen in Philadelphia, and seven in 
Atlanta, as well as twenty-three Sunday concerts — in all, 
two hundred and twenty-six performances, a truly won- 
derful record. 

The character and quality of the two novelties of last 
season have already been sufficiently indicated in these 
pages. In Anima Allegra, a charming little work, which 
has scarcely received its due meed of praise from those 
who sit in judgment, the brilliant and fascinating Lucrezia 
Bori was at her best, and so long as she is at the Metro- 
politan Vittadini's work ought to be included in the 
repertory. Mona Lisa, valueless musically, served to 
introduce a singing actor of remarkable force and dis- 
tinction, who is likely to be a permanent and important 
addition to the ranks of the Metropolitan company, 
Michael Bohnen. Lie was also heard as King Mark in 

Tristan and Isolde, and 
King Henry in Lohen- 
grin, in which roles he 
confirmed the favorable 
estimate of his histri- 
onic and vocal powers. 
So far he has only 
sung in his own lan- 
guage, German, but he 
is now studying Italian 
and French, and will 
be heard in operas in 
those languages next 

Several new German 
or Germanic artists 
came to the Metropoli- 
tan last season, among 
them Elizabeth Reth- 
berg, a really beautiful 
singer, but somewhat 
lacking in personality ; 
Sigrid Onegin, who 
claims Scandinavian 
origin, a superb speci- 
men physically, with a 
glorious voice, which 
she does not use quite 
so well as she should ; 
Barbara Kemp, whom 
it is difficult to judge 
by such a succes de 
curiosite as her Mona 
Lisa, and who was dis- 
appointing as Isolde ; 
and Delia Reinhardt, 
who was disabled by 
sickness early in the 
season, and had scarce- 
ly recovered sufficient- 
ly to be judged on her 
merits when she reap- 
peared just before the 
season's close as a life- 
less Elsa. Of the male 
German additions to 
the company, Michael 
Bohnen has already 
been referred to ; Paul 
(Continued on 
page 76) 

Page Forty-Five 

Kenneth Alexander 


Lillian Gish, one of the loveliest stars of the screen, 
reads her fortune in the tea-leaves 

Page Forty-Six 

Informal Portraits 

Famous Painters 

Edna M. Wells 


Tho Walter Ufer studied 
abroad for many years, and 
for a time was located in 
Chicago, he is now a per- 
manent resident of Taos, 
New Mexico, that famous 
colony of artists. He is our 
foremost painter of the 
Pueblo Indians; they are his 
neighbors and his great 
friends. Above, you see him 
ivorking on his canvas, The 
Watcher, his easel set up 
amidst the sage-brush of the 
New Mexican desert 

Jonas Lie (right) is 
equally well known 
for his landscapes and 
his paintings of in- 
dustry. Winter is his 
favorite season, and 
his favorite sport is to 
wander on skis over 
the snow-covered foot- 
hills of New England, 
with his parapher- 
nalia for painting 
under his arm. This 
love of winter is a 
heritage, for the artist 
is a N orwegian by 
birth, and his youth 
was spent in the Scan- 
dinavian countries 


The picture of Augustus John (below), the famous Eng- 
lish painter who is now in America, was snapped shortly 
before he sailed to act as a member of the jury of award 
for the international exhibition of painting at Carnegie 
Institute, Pittsburgh. He has a gift for portraying domi- 
nating personalities, but on the Continent his romantic 
canvases of gypsy life are as greatly admired as his por- 
traits. The artist knows the language of the gypsies, and 
has often gone caravanning with the tribes 

Kadel & Herbert 


Page Forty-Seven 

On a foggy evening near Covent Garden Market 


Side-Shows on the Other Side 

B;y Henry Albert Phillips 

WHEN I had safely arrived inside the box, I 
discreetly looked the "gift-horse" in the mouth 
— for the ticket had been presented to me — 
and found that the stub had "$5.50" brazenly printed 
across the face of it. What large gold-filled teeth the 
gift-horse had! 

That set me to reflecting upon the last occasion I had 
seen this same Chauve-Souris — paying a little less than 
eleven cents (including the penny War Tax). I made 
up my mind to detect where the difference of more than 
five dollars between the two shows came in. I exposed 
my funny-bone to the grotesque blows of Balieff's uncouth 
English ; I swayed back and forth to the captivating 
rhythm of the Wooden Soldiers ; and I opened the win- 
dow of my imagination to the tinkling charm of Katrinka 
— but I failed to get the original eleven-cent kick out of it. 

Why had I been entertained, by almost the same bill, 
more at one time than at another? Of what does en- 
tertainment consist, anyway? 

Can entertainment be like a pretty lady who becomes 
even more charming in proportion as she is decked out 
in the stuff of which Dreams are made, surrounded by 
the glamor of Romance and given the air of Make- 
believe ? 

T had seen Chauve-Souris on the former occasion in 
-*- London at the Coliseum — one of the famous Music 
'Alls, as they call their vaudeville houses. I had been in 
London just a day, after an interval of years. I had 
dined in Soho, chatted a few minutes with a Bobby in 
Piccadilly Circus, and then taken a stroll thru foggy 
AVhitehall, all the way down to the Houses of Parliament, 
the towers of which, together with the spires of the 

Abbey, gave a fairy-castle substance to my mood. As 
Big Ben boomed seven, I hurried back to the Coliseum 
and took my place in line for the six-penny seats in the 
gallery. So you see I took my vision of London inside 
with me and saw the incomparable Russian show thru 
its iridescent haze. 

There was a considerable bill in addition to Chauve- 
Souris — mostly rough comedy. I couldn't tell you what 
it was all about, but a tragedy interposed itself. A neat, 
pretty little woman sat just in front of me with her 
husband. Their Cockney conversation revealed that they 
came from Whitechapel. Gradually her careworn face 
came to reflect the Make-believe, and if her man had 
cared to look he would have found beside him the girl he 
had married a few years before. But the man had an- 
other love. Every now and again he had been slipping 
out to the "pub" connected with the theater, stumbling 
back reeking with gin. By the time Chauve-Souris had 
been succeeded by the comedy stuff, she was weeping, and 
he was cursing her and twisting her arm. Glorious Make- 
believe had been ripped away and stark Realism mocked 
the little woman. Slap-stick Comedy had vanished and 
grim Tragedy sat beside her. Finally, the brute jerked 
her out of the theater. . . . Her holiday was over. 

I wonder what her impression of the entertainment was? 

Yet I am not so sure that the more wonderful Show 
had not taken place down there in the streets before I 
went into the theater at all. It had all the elements of 
good vaudeville entertainment, interpolated with comic, 
tragic and epic moments. The performers were derelicts 
— derelicts of the War in the' main. For as we stood in 
line there for a half hour or so, waiting for the doors to 
open to the cheap seats, we were audience to a drama 

Page Forty-Eight 


familiar to London. First came a blind veteran, led by 

his little daughter. 

His voice was never meant for sing- 

ing — but he sang 'ln't Mil A Shime To Drive 'Fr From 
V'r Door! — or something like that. Von thanked God 
when it was over. As he passed hi^ tin cup along, plead- 
ing, "Wont you shove me a copper, please!" his sightless 
face came uncomfortably close to your wide-open eyes 
and it made you think. 

Then came a hurdy-gurdy, propelled by two fragments 
of men. One had no arms and the other but one leg. 
Their photographs in uniform were hung on the side of 
the musical van — two handsome, whole young English 
soldiers. But they were a jolly pair of beggars, and the 
hurdy-gurdy was rilled with lively airs. They sang comic 
songs, smiling up at you and singing lustily, giving a 
noble and unexpected twist to Life's Show that somehow 
made you feel that God was in His Heaven after all. 

The next was an odd number. He planted himself 
right in the center of Charing Cross Road, swarming with 
hansom cabs and reckless taxis at this hour. His "act" 
was "impersonations," and his paraphernalia consisted of 
a broad-brimmed slouch hat. When he put the hat cross- 
wise on his head, folded his arms and frowned, he became 
Xapoleon ! Every time he changed the position of his hat 
he "became" somebody else, or at least he seemed to think 
so, and that made us laugh. In truth, it was only the hat 
that changed. The same gentle, untenanted countenance 
always appeared beneath it, placid, poignant, pathetic. 
It didn't matter to him what we thought — he was 
Napoleon. We, poor wretches, were the crazy ones. 

But the traffic had become tied in a knot. Drivers were 
hurling Billingsgate at him and anxious "fares" were 
shaking their fists at him, when a big Bobby came and 
clapped his hand on his shoulder. He 
turned and smiled, for the first time, 
Waterloo was at hand. 

The line moved forward- 
up the long stairs to the 
top gallery. 

Tn America, we take 
-*- entertai nment 
harder than London 
does, and God knows, 
life has been hard to 
live there for going 
on nine years now ! 
Englishmen have a 
habit of laughing at 
the Little Things — 
it's a streak of subtle 
national humor that's 
a veritable gift o' 
God ! They smile at 
Big Things too, like 
the War. 

For example : One 
afternoon I lingered 
late in Trafalgar 
Square — seeking en- 
tertainment. I found 
it. An Irish agitation 
meeting was going on 
wildly at the foot of 
the "column," on top 
of which stands the 
effigy of that patriot 
of patriots, Lord Nel- 
son. Now, at the foot 
of the column, several 
Irishmen were taking 
turns in vilifying 
England. There was 

11 rovvn 

Midnight in Piccadilly Circus 

an audience of scarcely a couple of hundred people. 
About half of them were Irishmen spoiling for a fight. 
Then there was a large group of Labor Unionists echo- 
ing the vilification. The remainder were ordinary Eng- 
lishmen, attentive, half-smiling. Nearby, busses were 
drawing up in quick succession on their way to West- 
minster, Lambeth, Clapham Common. The crowding 
passengers glanced sidelong toward the agitators and 
smiled. It was no laughing matter, but they could not 
refrain from smiling, grim tho it was. 

How easily London is entertained may be deducted from 
another gathering I found just on the other side of the 
same Square. England's real National Theater had been 
set up in a six-foot radius, and when I arrived the play 
that has had the longest run in the history of the theater 
was in full swing — Punch and Judy ! Every Englishman 
in the crowd had seen this classic a score of times or more. 
Yet he stood there again — knowing that his supper was 
growing cold at home — with a little drizzle of December 
rain penetrating his clothes, and the rumble of a thousand 
busses almost drowning Punch's squeaky voice. He stood 
there with all his native dignity doffed, gaping recep- 
tively — boyish England shining in the man of Britain's 

I could never be sure which was the more entertaining 
— Punch and Judy or John Bull at play! 

(~\x a former visit to London, I had attended a per- 
^^ formance of the Royal Opera in Covent Garden. 
It was a "command" performance and King Edward and 
Queen Alexandra were there in the royal box. The touch 
of pageantry this side of the footlights outshone the gor- 
geous setting of Le Prophete itself. 

On my current visit to the famous playhouse, 
I had taken in the "movies" there ! 
The world do move backward, it 
seems, sometimes. There was 
a curious audience there 
that first time. 

It was the celluloid 
debut of a blue- 
blooded star — my 
Lady Diana Manners, 
daughter of their 
Graces the Duke and 
Duchess of Rutland. 
Probably few of 
Lady Di's "set" had 
ever seen a cinema 
before. "It isn't 
done." Lady Di had 
"gone out to work," 
and not a few were 
anxious to see how 
she had managed to 
pick up so many 
pounds-shillings -and- 
pence outside their 

It was a most en- 
tertaining audience, 
far more entertaining 
than the picture. 

"Mme. Tussaud's" 
is another London in- 
stitution of amuse- 
ment. For more than 
five generations all 
London has been 
swarming thru Mme. 
Tussaud's on every 
(Continued on 
page 74) 

Page Forty-Nine 

A camera study by Maurice Goldberg of a dance number trom Jack and Jill 


Page Fifty 


The Return of the Story-Teller 

Kai Lung resumes the perilous business of Scheherezadc, and Mr. Montague tells a few tales 

Efy John H. Anderson 

ECONOMY, except in the 
most expert hands, is, 
perhaps, the most per- 
verse thing in the world. In a 
moment it may trip its acolytes 
into grotesque penuriousness or 
lure them, without shame, into 
the most abject extravagance. 
And. like many idols, it never 
lets its worshippers know they 
have been betrayed. 

Thus we have many things 
committed in the name of econ- 
omv. A government may spend 
any sum so long as it burns 
decent incense in the temple of 
the public's god. A rigorous 
simplicity must be maintained. 

It is the same with books. We 
are invited, often enough, to be- 
stow our attention upon a mere 
scenario amid the overwhelming 
cheers for economy. That isn't 
economy. It is poverty, and 
poverty seldom permits a real 
economy lest it become nothing 
at all. Fat economies are scarce- 
ly better than lean ones, for re- 
duction, at best, is a compromise, 
and, in the case of books, may 
deceive us into accepting tedium 
for husbandry. 

Probably there is no parallel 
except that elusive thing called 
artistic economy, between such 
diverse books as C. E. Monta- 
gue's Fiery Particles and Kai 
Lung's Golden Hours by Ernest 
Bramah, yet this fact alone 
seems sufficient warrant for 
considering them together. 

To those in whose memory the Wallet of Kai Lung still 
lives, this new book by Bramah needs little introduction. 
If their number is small, it may be hoped that the Golden 
Hours will make it larger before another volume comes. 
Kai Lung belongs to the immortal company of story- 
tellers and, like Scheherezade, extends his precarious ex- 
istence from day to day by beguiling official ears with 
the delicacy of his narration. 

In the tales that he has put into the mouth of this 
Oriental Munchausen, Mr. Bramah has exercised all the 
subtleties of his art. Kai Lung not only lives himself but 
breathes life into characters upon whose quaint doings 
he relies for whatever longevity may be his lot. Therein 
Mr. Bramah has created for himself a double problem in 
construction, and the apparent ease with which it has 
been solved indicates, better than anything else, an art 
that is most cunningly concealed. 

Behold, then, Kai Lung in the untroubled days before 
he incurred the displeasure of the "obtuse Ming-Shu," 
admitting that "in one form or another all (stories) that 
exist are within my mental grasp. Thus equipped, there 
is no arising emergency for which I am unprepared." 

It was, as anyone may find out, not an idle boast, and it 
may be added, with discretion, that Ming-Shu did not 

allow the versatile "relater of 
imagined tales" to languish in 
silent idleness for want of emer- 

There was, for instance, the 
ineffable occasion on which 
Hwa-Mei, Kai Lung's amiable 
accomplice and the object of his 
affections, proved to the omi- 
nously attentive officials that 
whereas a coin may have only 
two sides the third is often the 
most important. 

There was, again, the story of 
Lao Ting and the Luminous In- 
sect by whose dim light the 
knavish student prepared for his 
examinations. Lao Ting sold his 
chances in the examinations by 
pledging, for thirty-seven taels, 
"the repose of his venerated an- 
cestors practically back to pre- 
historic times," to absent himself 
from the city until the days set 
for the tests had passed. By re- 
moving the proclamations an- 
nouncing the postponement of 
the dates, he complied with the 
terms of his contract and re- 
turned in time to take the exami- 
nations and win a high place on 
the lists. Sheng-Yin, the un- 
fortunate victim of Lao Ting's 
enterprise, attempted revenge in 
the post-mortem affliction of the 
rascally Lao Ting. 

"Waiting until night had 

' '".. . . • • fallen he sought the student's 

doorstep and there took a potent 

drug, laying upon his ghost a 

strict injunction to devote itself 

to haunting and thwarting the ambitions of the one who 

dwelt within. But even in this he was inept, for the 

poison was less speedy than he thought, and Lao Ting 

returned in time to convey him to another door." 

Almost any page in the book will yield other rich ex- 
amples of this surreptitious humor, a humor which 
invades by stealth and conquers without striking a blow. 
Witness for a moment the return of Yuan Yan, the pilot 
of blind mendicants, after the historic occasion on which 
he "cast a missile at the Tablets," and betrayed publicly 
the results of his splendid defiance. 

"Much of the leisurely dignity had melted out of his 
footsteps and he wore his hat and outer garments at an 
angle which plainly testified that he was a person who 
might be supposed to have a marked objection to return- 
ing home before the early hours of the morning. Further- 
more, as he entered he was chanting certain melodious 
words by which he endeavored to convey the misleading 
impression that his chief amusement consisted in defying 
the official watchers of the town, and he was continually 
reiterating a claim to be regarded as 'one of the beardless 
goats.' Thus expressing himself Yan sank down in his 
appointed corner and would doubtlessly soon have been 
floating peacefully in the Middle Distance had not the 

Page Fifty-One 


door been again thrown open and a stranger named 
Chou-hu entered." 

Kai Lung's proverbs alone deserve an anthology, with 
perhaps an appendix of maledictions such as the hope that 
bats may "defile his Ancestral Tablets and goats propagate 
within his neglected tomb ! May the sinews of his hams 
snap in moments of achievement! May the principles 
of his warmth and cold never be properly adjusted!" 
' Tho you set a monkey on horseback,' " quotes Kai 
Lung, " 'yet will 
his hands and 
feet remain 
hairy.' 'He who 
believes in 
gambling will 
live to sell his 
sandals,' and 
'From three 
things cross the 
road to avoid : a 
falling tree, your 
chief and second 
wives whisper- 
ing in agree- 
ment, and a 
goat wearing a 
leopard's tail.' " 

And all of 
this praise, as 
Hilaire Belloc 
points out in a 
preface to the 
present edition, 
is not extrava- 
gant praise, nor 
praise at all in 
the conversa- 
tional sense of 
that term. "It is 
merely a judg- 
ment ; a putting 
into as carefully 
exact words as I 
can find the ap- 
preciation I make 
of this style and 
its triumph." 

From the etching by Arthur J. Elder 

There is no place richer in historical associations than Old Chelsea, London. Sir Thomas 
More lived here in 1527, and Holbein painted in a room overlooking the Thames. Here 
Handel composed his famous Water Music; here Sir Walter Raleigh introduced the poet 
Spenser to Queen Elizabeth. Addison, Steele, Pope, Dr. Johnson, Dean Swift, David 
Garrick, Oscar Wilde made their homes in Chelsea for a time; and Rossetti, Swinburne, 
George Meredith and Mrs. Humphry Ward all lived on Cheyne Walk, which faces the 
river. In the large gabled house toward the right of the picture Whistler painted his 
White Girl; here Rodin stayed with Tweed the Sculptor, while Sargent, Pryde, Derwent 
Wood, Augustus John, and other famous artists lived nearby. Reginald Blunt has said of 
it: "The English-speaking race knows its name the world over, and if all good Americans 
go to Paris when they die they certainly go to Chelsea sooner or later while they live." 

TV/Tr. Montague has not assumed the inviting bowl 
-"■J- of Mr. Bramah's yarn-spinning mendicant, nor 
are the days of his life numbered by the inventions 
of his imagination. One might be forgiven the wish that 
they were, and that he was, at the same time, imbued with 
the aspirations of Methuselah. For he is, whatever else 
he may be, a teller of tales, and as such he has not over- 
looked his obligations to his listeners. 
• The nine stories that make up the volume are real 
stories, stories that would demand consideration on their 
own account if there were no better reasons for examina- 
tion. But happily for us, and for Mr. Montague, there 
are better reasons, tho, perhaps, they are not so easily 

There is, for instance, the fairly obvious reason of 
style and execution— the artistic economy already men- 
tioned. We are not offered mere outlines, for Mr. 
Montague does not practise false economies. Neither does 
he permit himself the doubtful luxury of literary gyra- 
tions which frequently pass for technical accomplishments. 
Somewhere in these negative assertions lies the secret of 
what he offers us and perhaps the explanation of a rare 
talent. He sees clearly, with humor and with an under- 
standing of what he sees. Doubtless these are not un- 
common attributes, but added to them Mr. Montague has 

an uncompromising spirit, a forthright and unwavering 
honesty, and in this combination, I submit, we have 
something which has fulfilled its early promise. 

This forthrightness has led Mr. Montague to ignore the 
loud chorus of those nimble-memoried individuals who bid 
us to forget the war. One might imagine that he has noth- 
ing save scorn for those of such adjustable mentality. He 
writes of war bravely, perhaps even defiantly, and he 
dissipates with an irony — clouds of hokum which the 

apostles of vol- 
untary forget- 
fulness helped 
to create. 

Fiery Par- 
ticles, however, 
is not a book 
devoted solely 
to the war, tho 
it may be called, 
with accuracy, a 
book of fight- 
ing. Not, of 
course, the or- 
dinary broils of 
belligerent men, 
but the finer 
fight which Mr. 
Montague has 
hinted at in his 

he says of his 
"numbly to suf- 
fer the business 
or game of liv- 
ing, not to pull 
it about nor try 
to give it new 
twists, each to 
his own way- 
ward liking. 
Ours is the day 
of the hero who 
slips thru life ; 
voluble, yes ; but 
passive, a drift- 
er, pleading that 
he is the fault of everyone else and declining all of life 
that is declinable. Still, what is a fellow to do? If, of all 
the men you have known, none will come back to your 
mind except arrant lovers of living, mighty hunters of 
lions or shadows, rapt amateurs of shady adventure or 
profitless zeal, how can you steep them in languor enough 
to bring them up to the mark? Better let them go and 
take their chance, as the fiery particles that they were in 
the flesh." 

There are such men all thru the book, and Mr. Monta- 
gue declines to intervene and help them out of their 
desperate engagements. Being as they are, he has said 
to them they must take the consequences, whether it be 
the destruction of the wonderful still in Another Temple 
Gone or the smashing of journalistic ideals in Two or 
Three Witnesses. He has called them "ardent cranks" 
and refused to believe that life deals gently with such as 

Perhaps it was not quite right to say that there is no 
parallel except that of artistic achievement between Kai 
Lung and Fiery Particles. Kai Lung was something of 
a fiery particle himself, tho Mr. Bramah understands him 
well enough to know that he would not blaze so much as 
he would exhibit secretly, perhaps, a discreet and engag- 
ing glow. 

Page Fifty-Tzvo 

Curtain People of Importance 

Helen R. Webster 


This star of the Theatre Guild's 
production of Elmer Rice's expres- 
sionistic drama, The Adding Ma- 
chine, was born in Dublin, and 
obtained his first acting experience 
when a member of the Irish Na- 
tional Theater Company in his 
native city. He has created famous 
character parts in nearly all the 
productions of the Theatre Guild, 
among them the husband in Jane 
Clegg and the Sparrow in Liliom 


As the Devil's Disciple 
in the Theatre Guild's 
production of Shaw's 
great drama, Basil Syd- 
ney has added one more 
name to his long list of 
successful interpretations. 
At eighteen he organized 
a company in England, 
playing Romeo, with 
Ellen Terry as the nurse 
and Doris Keane as Juliet 

Nickolas Muray 

The wanderer on Broadway has 
surely been offered a pot-pourri of 
plays this past season, and not for 
years has there been such a large 
percentage of short runs. It is 
small wonder that the managers 
have failed to discover the right 
ingredient for an all-round play, 
when the awards for satisfying the 
public go to such variety as Abie's 
Irish Rose, Romeo and Juliet, 
Whispering Wires, the depressing 
Rain, and the cockney So This Is 
London! On this page are the 
stars of five widely different shows 
with which various producers have 
been trying to please the play- 
goer's palate 



A diverting comedy, to which 
the capricious public turned 
thumbs down after a brief run, 
was My Aunt from Ypsilanti, 
with Alice Fischer in the title 
role. This clever actress played 
the rich, blustering, modern 
Aunt with her usual finish and 
finesse. She is one of the best- 
known women in New York, 
and devotes her spare time to 
the Stage Women's War Relief 
and many other philanthropic 

Edward Thayer Monroe 


Icebound, by Owen Davis, has just 
been awarded the Pulitzer Prize 
for the season's best play of Ameri- 
can life. It is a grim study of New 
England character, and the honors 
go to Miss Povah, who has the 
leading feminine role. She is a 
graduate of the University of 
Michigan, and was a successful 
advertising woman before she 
sought a career on the stage 


This past spring a coura- 
geous manager decided 
to tempt the playgoer 
with such intellectual 
fare as The Chastening 
and Antigone, served at 
special matinees, with 
Edith Wynne Matthison 
in the leading roles. The 
experiment proved to be 
a high success 


Page Fifty-Three 

The trial scene from the Theatre Guild's production of The Devil's Disciple, 
with Roland Young as General Burgoyne. Setting by Lee Simonson 


National Theaters to Order 

Augustus Thomas sets up shop in competition with Moliere and Stanislavsky 

By Kenneth Macgowan 

NATIONAL THEATERS are made, not born. 
Even the State cannot say: "Go to! Here is half 
a million dollars. Let us have a national theater." 

It took Moliere and two centuries to make the Theatre 
Francais the French Theater. The Tzar spent millions 
of rubles on the State Theaters of Russia, but an amateur 
named Stanislavsky made the Moscow Art Theater the 
true expression of Russia's theatrical genius. If Ger- 
many ever had a national theater, it was not the Konig- 
liches Schauspielhaus, for which the Kaiser paid the bills, 
but the acting organization which Max Reinhardt created 
in his two Berlin playhouses. 

Consider, therefore, the spectacle of the earnest but not 
exactly inspired Augustus Thomas, overlord of Broad- 
way, extracting twenty-five thousand dollars from the till 
of the Producing Managers' Association and double that 
amount from the Carnegie Foundation, and blithely an- 
nouncing the foundation of the American National 

An idealistic project no doubt, but not much more. No 
permanent home, no permanent organization, no perma- 
nent company. Some excellent actors gathered from those 
out of work at the moment. A good director, Robert 
Milton. An exceptionally able scenic artist, Lee Simon- 
son. One play, As You Like It, to be followed — if the 
money holds out — by other classics ; and some day a com- 
pany to act modern pieces. A patronizing proposal to 
teach the wisdom and art of Broadway to "little theaters," 
which might better teach Thomas how to organize a per- 
manent repertory company. And a committee of eminent 
professors and authorities of fifty years and up to bless 
the proceedings. 

So one-sided an analysis of the American National 
Theater could only be made after it had had its innings 
and shown the quality of its art. But anyone might have 
remarked long ago that a people makes its own national 

theater by the recognition of a long record of accomplish- 
ment. The thing cannot be done by a laying on of names. 
Here, however, is As You Like It. Let us talk of it 
as of any production offered at some theater where one 
week we see a musical comedy and another week a pic- 
ture by Griffith. 

As You Like It is probably a dull play no matter who 
-^-acts it. A chorus arises: "Ah, but you should have 
seen Ada Rehan!" Or Modjeska, or Mrs. Siddons, or 
heaven knows what great person who could have reani- 
mated even so terrible a thing as If Winter Comes, if 
only she could get into the shoes — and the pants — of 
Cyril Maude. As Shaw has pointed out, Shakespeare 
knew the kind of thing he was doing, and contemptuously 
flung the title, As You Like It, in the faces of the matinee 
boys of Elizabethan England. I dont believe that any 
modern audience can recapture the peculiar taste and in- 
terests of those days, but it is, of course, possible that 
if the play were ripped off at top speed on some kind of 
semi-Shakespearean stage, with no intermissions, the plot 
might be able to stand up to the lyric poetry. 

Here is an As You Like It that almost succeeds in 
doing this for one act. Ian Keith — a young fellow with 
the ink hardly dry on his dramatic school diploma — dashes 
at the part of Orlando with such abandon that he makes 
you actually believe that there is something exciting about 
the explanation to Old Adam of everything that Old 
Adam already knows about his persecution. Robert Mil- 
ton keeps things moving swiftly. Margalo Gillmore is 
a dream of a Celia, and even Marjorie Rambeau is balked 
of the bovine charm which settles down on her in the 
Forest of Arden. Finally, Lee Simonson provides a 
towering tapestry of dull burned orange and soothing 
greens, so lovely in its ancient and primitive art, so 
admirably spaced to the width of the stage and the narrow 

Page Fifty-Four 


height of creamy portals, that Celia and Rosalind, garbed 
in ravishing simplicity, stand out like ladies oi unbe- 
lievable and towering beauty. Then the tapestry loops 
up, crimson banners shout, and before a princely dais, 
Orlando and Charles wrestle tumultuously while a court 
of Simonsonesque loveliness looks on. 

Thereafter, Arden ; foresters eternally singing them- 
selves on and off the stage; jesters, clowns, and louts 
eternally chattering; Rosalind and Orlando eternally 
wandering about pretending not to know each other; that 
prize high-school pessimist, Jacques, eternally driveling 
over poor mankind. Slower and slower pace. Ernest 
Law ford, A. E. Anson, Fuller Mellish and Percival 
Vivian beset by the stupidity of plot and characters. Miss 
Rambeau alternately slumberous and coy. An ambitious 
and expensive and earnest effort gone to shipwreck in a 
Sargasso Sea of inertia. 

HP he American National Theater, if it exists anywhere 
-*• but in the womb of time, is located in the executive 
offices of the Theatre Guild. There a considerable 
amount of steady effort, permanent organization, and 
theatrical idealism are to be found. The latest outcome 
of these things is a revival of Bernard Shaw's very likable 
melodrama, The Devil's Disciple. The faults in the pro- 
duction are those that mark off the Guild from great 
national accomplishment. The Guild has no permanent 
company where actors may be trained and studied, and 
it has no director of genius. As a result, half of The 
Devil's Disciple is amazingly underplayed. Beverly Sit- 
greaves, good actress tho sbe is, turns Dick Dudgeon's 
mother into a figure of cruel tragedy, and no one laughs at 
her hatreds. Basil Sydney, an intelligent and accomplished 
player, slowly and carefully works his way thru the part 
of the diabolian Dick without any of the reckless and 
tumultuous derisiveness which Shaw wrote into his stage 
directions, not to mention the lines of the part. Sydney 
is slow and elaborately emphatic, never inspired or 
possessed. Perhaps 
these actors are incapa- 
ble of anything more, 
but I am inclined to 
put the fault down to 
a stage director who 
has made Dick mount 
the table and heroically 
shout for American 
freedom when Shaw 
describes the man as 
"boisterously derisive." 
With the third act, 
enter General Bur- 
goyne and Roland 
Young. A great part 
— witty beyond words. 
A fine comedian — 
sharp and subtle. There 
is no need for a stage 
director to tell this 
actor what to do, to 
spur him on. With the 
first lines of Burgoyne, 
The Devil's Disciple 
jumps to its feet and 
dashes madly off 
tow r ard success. 

\ good director has 
■**■ been busy with 
Zander the Great, the 
comedy by Salisbury 
Field in which Alice 
Brady comforts the 

White Studio 

Katherine Cornell as the dream bride in Pinero's play, 
The Enchanted Cottage 

last moment of the dying season. David Burton keeps 
the slight little play moving briskly and plausibly. His 
players handle the hokum with as much skill as Salisbury 
brings to the lines. Between Fields and Burton and Miss 
Brady you almost forget that it is hokum — this tale of 
a Peg o' my heart who rushes a child across the continent 
in a Ford to find a father who left no permanent address 
with his now departed wife; this conglomeration of 
cowboy-bootleggers rounded up and corralled by the wee 
hands and winning smiles of one of those omnipotent 

The whole thing is perfect foolishness of a most engag- 
ing kind — particularly engaging so close to the end of the 
season. And if Jerome Patrick is very Farnum-esque as 
the rubber-stamp hero, Joseph Allen and George Abbott 
are grand as the cowboys, and Miss Brady ranges from 
fairly obvious comedy to fine emotion and subtle imper- 

Shakespeare and Shaw shared the month with two 
other playwrights of some reputation — -that distraught and 
brilliant Russian who wrote He Who Gets Slapped, and 
the much-overrated gentleman who turned out The Second 
Mrs. Tanqueray when the British drama was at the level 
of Corse Payton's repertory. 

Andreyeff's Anathema, which brings Maurice Swartz 
uptown from the Yiddish Art Theater with a supp