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EXPRESSING THE ARTS

% >.

JXiJL

Korex

Ask for them by name

The word Kotex has come to mean sanitary pads,
but not all sanitary pads are Kotex. It will pay
you to say "Kotex," and to see that this name
appears on .the box you buy.

Kotex is made of cellucotton, which is far more
absorbent than ordinary cotton. It also possesses
other exclusive features which are soon apparent.
Easy to dispose of quickly is only one of several
advantages.

The first box usually — the second box always —
results in the discovery of a new comfort, a new
convenience, a new economy, a new habit. Ask by
name for Kotex.

CELLUCOTTON PRODUCTS CO.

166 W. Jackson Boul., Chicago 51 Chambers Street, New York
Factories: Neenah, Wis.

Regular Size, 12 for 65c.
Hospital Size, 6 for 45c.

(additional thickness)

Kotex cabinets are now being dis-
tributed in women's rest rooms
everywhere — from which may be
obtained one Kotex, with two
safety pins, in plain wrapper, for
10 cents.

Inexpensive, Comfortable, Hygienic and Safe- — KQT6X

W\DOwL*NL>

Miss Charlotte Stevens, dancer,
tutlh C/iristie Film Company.

Photo by 0. &'. Day

"I CanTeachTSbtt to Dance Like This

SergefMarinofF

"And you can study under my personal
direction right in your own home."

FEW PEOPLE living outside of
New York, Chicago, or the great
European capitals have the op-
portunity to study dancing with any
of the really great masters. And the
private, personal instructions of
even average teachers range upward
from $10 an hour.

But now, the famous Sergei Marinoff
has worked out a system of home
instruction. You can learn classic
dancing in all its forms — interpretive,
Russian, ballet, aesthetic, Greek — at
a mere fraction of the cost of lessons
in the studio.

A Fascinating Way to Learn

It is so easy and so delightful. Just
put the record on the phonograph,
slip into the dainty litde dancing
costume (furnished free with the
Course) and you are ready to start.
Now comes the voice of MarinoS
himself instructing you, telling you
what to do, while the spirited rhythm
of the music inspires grace and confi-
dence in you. And guided by the
charts, the photographs of Marinoff
and his students and the easy text, you
master the technique of the dance.

Your progress is rapid and soon you
develop confidence so that you are
eager to dance before an audience.

FREE

Dancing Costume, Phonograph
Records, Complete Studio Outfit

A dainty costume designed so as to permit
free use of the limbs, ballet slippers, every-
thing you need to help you with your les-
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and your lessons will be pleasant and easy.

Charm and Grace

The natural beauty of the body is
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ing in classic dancing. For better
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And Fortune — and Glory

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For the theatre — vaudeville — the
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addition, one is so much more desira-
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when she has developed a sense of
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through classic dancing.

Write to Sergei Marinoff

Everyone interested in dancing
should write to Sergei Marinoff at
once and get complete information
concerning his splendid system
of home instruction in Classic
Dancing. This information is free.
Send the coupon today.

M. SERGEI MARINOFF

School of Classic Dancing

Studio 1263, 1922 Sunnyside Avenue, Chicago

1' M,,C IIIHIIIIIIIIIIIII I ■■■■■■■•■■IIMIMMj

: M. Sergei Marinoff,

\ School of Classic Dancing,

: Studio 1263, 1922 Sunnyside Ave., Chicago :

s Please send me FREE portfolio oi art plates J

z and full information about your home study =

: course in Classic Dancing. I understand that \

= this is absolutely FREE.

r Name .

\ Address

\ Do you sing? If not, would you like to?.

Page Three

SuADOWLAND

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

Literature

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 :

Dancing
Music:

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.

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E. M. Heinemann, Secretary

EXECUTIVE and EDITORIAL OFFICES, 175 DUFFIELD STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

Editors :

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Jerome Hart

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rSS^-^nSML— — -usfc

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Page Five

Courtesy of Kennedy and Company

THE BRIDGE, VENICE

An etching by James McNeill Whistler

Page Six

NITA NALDI

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

Courtesy of Montross Galleries

EARLY SUMMER

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

STILL LIFE

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

NEW YORK

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

(^JiLjvdU*

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

LOLA HERDENMENGER

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

IN OLD MADRID

Page Thirteen

KfKvt'n Bower rtesser

MARJORIE PETERSON

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
impregnable
against the arts
of modern
trade.

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

of
Naoum
Aronson

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

BEETHOVEN

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

A CHILD

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

FIGURE

OF A
WOMAN

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

Page Seventeen

<^<<iM-r

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

WWO*»LA\J

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-
ture.

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, Balzacf
Flaubert, Dau-
det, de Maupas-
sant, Bourget,
Anatole France,
Pierre Loti and
a few others be
eliminated from
consideration!
His answer
(Continued on
page 65)

'grand manner" of his

Page Nineteen

MADAME KORDA

Keystone View Co.

An Italian stage and screen star of
extraordinary beauty and versatility

REMY CARPEN

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 imiiBMhMPH1 t n iiHwnHniri'HtMiwMw****

Youthful Stars

of the
European Stage

RITA MATTHIAS

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

Schneider

Page Twenty

Alfred Cheney Johnston

MARIE PREVOST

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

SuADOWLAND

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)

Ahbe

The Toy Shop number of the Greenwich Village Follies of 1922

Page Twenty-Three

Rabinoviteh

THE TARTAR DANCE

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

Page Twenty-Four

<«NMWMM

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

THE PASTRY PEDDLERS

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
street.

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
people.

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
work.

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

MARIE JERITZA

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

Page Twenty-Seven

Courtesy 01 Aenneay and Company

PAVLOWA GAVOTTE

"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...-.,--Wr.c- , -iw ^i-'tso^^^y,.^.^ ■■

"Etchings
that
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

\ !

SBR^EBHEHHHHtcBEExt*- .

Courtesy of Kennedy and Company

THE SEVENTH VEIL

SWALLOWS

.->/*

•__

§^»

Page Twenty-Nine

The Spell

of
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

AN OLD CHURCH IN MEXICO CITY

OVER

THE ROOFS

ORIZABA

Page Thirty

Nicholas Haz

CASTELLO

DEL

MORRO

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
smugglers

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

CMS:

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

DIANA

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
taint.

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
nakedness.

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
moralist.

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 :

m^'^-n

Kendall Evans

OTTO KRUGER

WILL SHAKESPEARE

"... 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

VALE!

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!

fed

PHILOSOPHERS IN SPRING
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.

SONGS TO BE SAID WHILE WALKING
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
trod,

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
leaf;
Save as my tears weave tenderly for you

A crown of grief.

BOB— i;-iin»-»Mm!iLHJv.juii»viL-p~l-i'iiMwtftt<TBa

WIZARDS OF THE BRUSH
By Pierre Loving

Gauguin

ORANGE-YELLOW sashes

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.
Atolls!

Cezanne
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,
Force of crude bursting life.

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

hair
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-
naves,

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 . . .

MUSIC
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.

MAY
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.

KARMA

By Mary Siegrist

^^HAT have you done

That now you must be
Slit-eyed
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

Slit-eyed

With a face like a fox?

AFRICAN HARBOR
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!

BROADWAY GIRL
By Jack Hyatt, jr.

T IKE Istar, of Babylon, you are a moon

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

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

Page Thirty-Nine

ELENA SAGRARY

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
liberty.

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
window.

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

\Ar%.

MB*-

PA p. i S

!jf tt ft

U '»;

UUu-flg **

*:^;j^'i«

L'f

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

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COUQ, Dii DKAGOrt
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KU6 CA^OINAl.e

Paws Aug 1<j-

Louvree
R*R1S

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

- ■- .

/At

*-,-. "y

Svc

Ky5EE DECUJWr

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

Bruguiere

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
Nightingale.

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

SUADQWLAND

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
characterization
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
roughneck,
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
piece.

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

Abbe

Muray

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

White

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
answered
haughtily. "I
shall marry
him."

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-
Therese.

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

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

SUMMER SHADOWS

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-
duced.

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

T. S. ELIOT
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

SuiADQWlAND

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

JAMES HARVEY ROBINSON
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-
sions.

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-
glected.

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 PARASITE

THE FLIES

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
satire

Page Fifty-Three

Melomaniacs

and
Modernists

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
concert-goers.

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

WVJUW'L/VND

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

Rabinovitch

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

MADAME LILLEBEL IBSEN

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
Humor

Muray

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
reflection

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

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

Wanderings

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
recall.

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

i~"*

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
Ages

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
year

Page Fifty-Nine

Davies

LILY LEONHARD

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 Law7son. 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
handling.

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
park.

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

HEAD OF A DANCER

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-
ground.

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-
acteristic.
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 Wrest. 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

STREET, ST. MIHIEL, FRANCE

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

CROSSING

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

SLlADOWLAND

ON THE "L"

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
treatment.

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.

CATHEDRAL PATTERN

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 —
composition.

(Continued on page 75)

TEASELS

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
supernatural.

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

Loyalties. Gaiety. — Fine Galsworthy play superbly
acted.

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

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
dancing.

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
show.

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

Suadowland

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-
perintending
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
magazines.
* * * Samuel
C hamberlain
calls himself an
"architectural1
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
reason.

* # *

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
routine.

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

Suadowland

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

MARMOLA COMPANY
430 Garfield BIdg., Detroit, Mich.

SblADOWLAND

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

By ADOLPH BOLM

MediumBrown :

HAIR

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

unclaimed
baggage,
storage
warehouse
sales, and
maybe from
robberies.

Among the
items that
were thus
picked up by
a collector
who made
this section
a part of his
hunting
ground,
were an
original
drawing by
W. Hamil-
ton Gibson,
in a frame
that gave
the page in
Sharp Eyes
in which the
drawing was
reproduced;
an original
drawing by
B o ardman
Robinson
(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
collection.

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
wooden
carvings,
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
globe-trotter
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
prophylaxis.

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.

IIMIIIIIIIIIIlllIIIMIIMIIIIIIIMIIItL

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
artist.

'"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

SuADOWLAND

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
Stars

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.

Censorship

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
censors.

The Picture Book De Luxe

of the Movie World

SIC

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

{Continued

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

SuiAL>OWLAND

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
negative.

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
beauty.

miiiiiMiiiiniMimiMlimiiiiiiiiTi

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

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34 Whitehall Street, N. Y., or Any Local Tourist Agent

SuADOWLAND

for April
THEATERS

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

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are actual photograpi
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Some were made inc
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The models are unusual
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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

SllADOWLAND

ARE YOU A MORON?

THIS LADY ISN'T

THATS WHY SHE CRIES

SHE IS A MOVIE

ACTRESS

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
stuff.

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

pNS IN THE
40VIES"

MOTION PICTURE

MAGAZINE

for APRIL

Wanderings

{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
actress.

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
Pleiades.

Page Seventy-Two

SUADOWLAND

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
democracy.

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.

EVERY DAY

IS PAY DAY

FOR THIS LADY ^ ^\

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Page Seventy-Three

SUAPOWLAND

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.

Brooklyn,
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.

iiiitiiiiiiNiMiiiMiiilllMlimiiim

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
grave.

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
itself.

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
Life.

Page Seventy-Four

SuiADOWLAND

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

Brewster.

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>
York.

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
Illinois.

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
Shadowland.

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.

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

(e) Make of camera and lens.

Any print previously published is not
eligible.

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
receipt.

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 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

SuADOWLANO

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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
passions.

liiiimiiHimiiiiiimi

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-
notes.

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

SllADQWLAND

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
quality.

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
deserves.

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
work.

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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for April
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Page Seventy-Seven

SuiADQWLAND

SUADOWLANP

for APRIL

Includes:

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.

*UAE>OWLAND

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
Corbellier.

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
triumphed.

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 !"

iiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiniiiiliiiiiMiiiin

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.

lltllMIIIIIIIMIIIIIIIIIIIII'llllllllll'

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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SJ.*

Page Three

SuiADOWLAND

Things We Have Always

Known

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

Architecture:

The Entrance to the Academy of Fine Arts, Venice

Literature

Literature with a Silver Lining N. P. Dawson

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

Satire and Humor:
Drama

The Unearthly Imagination Benjamin De Casseres

Phonomania Henry Altimus

Dancing

Music:

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

EXECUTIVE and EDITORIAL OFFICES, 175 DUFFIELD STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

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.

ZHZTi:

-^sJ^nss;

'C^2^52Z2C^

Page hive

An etching by Karl Schwetz — Wien, Austria

ALTER SCHAFER

Page Six

* ft

TAPESTRY

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

WATER LILIES

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

Uga*

Courtesy ot Mrs. Albert Sterner

ON THE BEACH

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 THE PARK\

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,
colors.

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
blossoms.

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

A CHINESE GODDESS

THE

SLAVES

OF THE

PHARAOHS

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

LOLA GRAHL

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
success.

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
comparative
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

SuADOWLAND

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

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

people.

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

THE COLORATURA SOPRANO

Who has searchlights trained upon her whenever she

embarks on the High C's

THE PIANIST

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

THE ACCOMPANIST
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

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

Page Sixteen

Ten-Minute Plays

II: TWO LADIES TAKE TEA
By Djuna Barnes

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

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.

nLupa (pouring tea)
something with ice in
it?

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
you?

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

neck

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

THE ASTAIRES

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

IZA LENKEFFY

// 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
qualities.

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

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
consciousness.

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
Mystery.

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
unconscious.)

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
Cimmeria.

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

Portraiture

Wood

By Chana Orloff

. Bmn ■ • .,

DANSEUSE

LA BRETONNE

PORTRAIT OF AN AUTHOR
(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

L'ENFANT

PETITE FILLE

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
position.

There was
nothing con-
nected with
the science
of opera
making and
producing
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
everything

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

SuiADOwiAND

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-
selves.

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

DOROTHY GISH

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

Continental

Cinema

D'Ora, Vienna

LYA MARA

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

MARIE THERESE MATHYS

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

Phonomania

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,
"Hello."

"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

DAPHNIS

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

Individual

and
Symbolical
Studi

les

By
Maurice Sterne

Courtesy of the Bourgeois Galleries

PUEBLO INDIAN

^^**"*M<t..

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

HEAD OF AN INDIAN GIRL

■Jg ■ ■ HBkk

M WM

V i

*^MS:^-:

Page Twenty-Eight

NATIVE

BALI

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

SALOME

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

Page Twenty-Nine

Waida

STILL LIFE

Page Thirty

Waida

ROCKBOUND

Page Thirty-One

Artists

from

Muscovy

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

CONSTANTIN
STANISLAVSKY

IVAN MOSKVIN

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

DAUGHTERS

HELLAS

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
season

Page Thirty-Four

The Man Who Was Mad

By Frederic Boutet

Translated from the French by William L. McPherson

eight

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
Dance?

i&(

CS,f^i£<3|

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

striding
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.

A PORTRAIT

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
"Ingrist."

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-
tainment.

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 GIRL WITH THE MIRROR

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

THE MIMIC

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

Page Forty

DANSE GROTESQUE

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-

SuADOWLAND

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
advantage.

From the disaster of Romeo and Juliet Ethel Barry-
more promptly retreated to the sort of thing she does

Page Forty-Three

SuADQWLAND

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
ending.

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
foolish.

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
playwright.

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

the
Immortal

Kaplan

Above, Feodor
Chaliapin's mag-
nificent imp er-
sonation of Don
Q uichott e in
Massenet's famous
opera

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
Quixote

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
lineage

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

SuADOWLAND

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

ENTRANCE TO THE ACADEMY OF FINE ARTS, VENICE

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
collapse.

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

Geneva

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"Rs. 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

SuADQwLAND

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."

SONG TO A COLUMBINE

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
night.

So "The Gentleman from San Francisco" is started
{Continued on page 75)

Page Fifty -Two

White Studios

COLUMBINE

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
comic.

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.

JOSE JUAN
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
Madero.

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
draughtsman.
. 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)

TABLADA
by Covarrubias

Page Fifty-Five

Wanderings

By
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-
tions.

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

Abbe

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
unattractive

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
Ceramics

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

SUADQWL/XND

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

INSPIRATION

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
showing.

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.

BASQUE SAILORS
By Claggett "Wilson

ILARE SHERIDAN S

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

KEW GARDENS

LONDON

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

A STUDY

IN
CIRCLES

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

SuiAl>OWLANL>

THE
DANCER

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
apparent.

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

SuADOWLAND

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

POOL

By Johan Hagemeyer
(Honorable Mention)

THE TAVERN

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.

(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
damage.

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.

ARABY

By Arthur Nilsen
(Honorable Mention)

Page Sixty-Four

Wanderings

(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-
tions.

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

Mishkin

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-
comedy.

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
acting.

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
satire.

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
Kosta.

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
dancing.

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
production.

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.

'-LT,

Page Sixty-Six

Our Contributors

JOSE JUAN TABLADA was born
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 spenr1 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
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few parts of the old and
new world where he has
not been — even to the far
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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."

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Page Sixty-Seven

>m a Collector's Note-Book

B;y W. G. Bowdoin

THE NUDE IN ART

by Albert Arthur Allen

rT",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)

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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
ollecting.

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
curious
grooves and
daubs of red
and black
paint, which
are in the
nature of
tribal marks,
to indicate
which tribe
the owners
claimed.
These

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-
ment.

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
Meistersinger,
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
perfumes

ar-
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.

Amulets
have consider-
able populari-
ty in England
as collecting
objects. The
desirable spec-
imen s are
those which
have been
cast, not
stamped.

To anyone
who makes a
special study
of signs and
symbols, the
patterns
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-
ties.

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
mysterious.

In the subtle sleep of God, what dreams
may come ! And the Unearthly Imagina-
tion may be the escapades of His som-
nambulisms.

ilimiiiiiiMiiiiiiMMiMiiiimiiii

Phonomania

(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-
maniacs. A new malady : phonomania.
No one wrote letters. No, one telephoned.
Twenty-second service ? Twenty-second
servitude.

At six o'clock my friend came in. "Any
messages while I was out?" "I dont know.
I'm sorry. I plugged the telephone."

"But I may have missed ." I caught

the mad gleam in his eyes. Phonomaniac !

It is not the fault of the public. It
is the State Department, with its absurd
policy of isolation, which is to blame. If
we could only contract an entangling al-
liance with some European Power and be
dragged into the next war, it might prove
our salvation. The gun-metal now going
into telephone instruments would be di-
verted to cannon and other weapons harm-
less by comparison.

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She Found A Pleasant Way To
Reduce Her Fat

She did not have to go to the
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found a better way, which aids the
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muscle, bone and sinew instead of fat

She used MarmolaePrescription Tab'
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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
Blaze.

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
dear

Fanny : Somehow — I feel — extremely
ridiculous, all of a sudden — it was so nice
before

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
belong.

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.

iiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiimiiiiimiii

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
arabesque.

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.

SU4DOWL/\NO

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
everyone.

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.

timuimiiimiminiiiilHllllllll!

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
Arts.

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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Shampooing

A task half done

Noted actresses all recog-
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beautiful needs more than just
shampooing. They have no more
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Page Seventy-One

SuADOWLAND

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 complexion 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. Evon the first few
applications should show a wonderful 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 oil the money-back
guarantee.

FORE!

What does Tommy Meighan say when
he fails to sink a two-foot putt? Or
when the self-starter fails to work?
Or when the eggs are not right at
breakfast?

Too much of the human touch is
left out when a star is interviewed.
That is just what is going to be put in
— The Editor Gossips.

MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE

for May

THE PRISON E

And there will I keep you forever.

Yes, forever and a day.
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin.
And moulder in dust away?
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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

SUADQWLAND

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 wras "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
"jazzaganza."

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
enthusiastic.

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
elsewhere.

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

Rediscovered!

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
Moreno.

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

SijADOWLAND

SuADOWLAND

for MAY
Includes:

RINGING OUT REALISM

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."

THE RIVIERA FROM
THE CORNICHE ROAD

Pierre Duhamel
Delightful personal and pic-
torial peeps at a perfect para-
dise. Read and see them.

NAMING THE ROSE
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.

THE DOUBLE-BAR-
RELED ERASER

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.

THE WORK OF

Charles Prendergast

Walter Pack

With an exquisite reproduction

in four colors.

THE INIMITABLE

WYNN
With delightful sketches of the
Moscow Art Theatre.

SuADOWLAND

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
down?'

"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
system.

"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-
body.

"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
Lining

(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 wayr of treating life."

IIIHIMIINIIMIIIIIIIIIIHMIIIIIIIIU

A "Little Theater" from
Russia

(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.

Brooklyn,
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
entertainment.

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-
ground.

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
beneath.

Now that Sinclair Lewis has become
famous, his earlier novels are being re-

Page Seventy-Six

SuADOWLAND

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.

iMiiHMiiinmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

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
Ruffo-Caruso-
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
interesting
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

TWO WORLDS

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
displeasing.

Op a i n is
again
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.

EVERY DAY
IS PAY DAY
FOR THIS MAN

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-
come.

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.

IF YOU CAN USE $50

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
locality, taking new and renewal sub-
scriptions for four well-known maga-
zines, there is a chance for you to
make all the extra money you may
need. Better let us send you partic-
ulars. By writing you will be under
no obligations to work, so sign the
coupon below and mail at once. This
might be your big opportunity.

.CUT HERE.

Subscription Department

SHADOWLAND
175 Duffield Street,
Brooklyn, N. Y.

Please tell me how I can make every
day a pay day for me.

Name

St. and No

City State.

Page Seventy-Seven

SUAPOWLAND

THE EDITOR
GOSSIPS

MASK AND MAKEUP

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
make-believe.

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
friends?

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

READ

THE EDITOR
GOSSIPS

JACKIE COOGAN
IS GROWING UP

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

Magazine

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

Wanderings

{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

EDWARD LANGER PRINTINQ CO., INC.,
JAMAICA. NEW YORK OITX.

Tl>r restaurant of
the famous CLi-
Hotel on the
Cbamps-Elysees

mis two malun
mat

he Q,a/uM&ine6
cliaiurv

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
City.

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
toilette.

"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
herself.

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.

KERKOFF, PARIS

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

^4Sbt

^ ^ MAY 35<Z

*UADOWLAND

EXPRESSING THE ARTS

is"i <r

A BREWSTER PUBLICATION

'Onyx'' § Hosiery

"Pointex"

HEG. 11. S. r*T. OFF.

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■:■

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
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~ Spanish Qquii

Tviakes any hair naturally cu
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rly

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
beautiful.

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
ingredients.

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
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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
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ofourSpanish Curling Liquid, i

The actual cost of preparing
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bottling, packing and shipping
is SI. 87. We have decided to
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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
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the liquid. If you are not satisfied in every way,
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CENTURY CHEMISTS

(Originators of the famous 40 Minute Beauty Clay)

Century Bldg. , Chicago
SendNoMoney —Simply Sign and Mail Coupon

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Century Bldg., Chicago

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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 „

Street

Town

State

Page Three

il-IADQWLAND

"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
Chaplin.

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

By LUCIAN GARY
Beginning In The June Number of Motion Picture Magazine

Page Four

m 19 1923

; Cl B :"> 7 4 » J •;

MAY, 1923

m**\

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

Music:

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

EXECUTIVE and EDITORIAL OFFICES, 175 DUFFIELD STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

Editors :

F. M. Osborne

Jerome Hart

Managing Editor: Adele Whitely Fletcher Art Director: A. M. Hopfmuller

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

rsPK^nsss:

'^zQ^&sni^z

:3£c

:=^S3E^:

Page Five

Lloyd C. Bishop and Harriet A. Stover

SHADOW WRITING

Page Six

ALBCRT
VAROA5

DORIS KENYON

From a painting by Albert Vargas

Courtesy of the Daniel Gallery

CATHERINE

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

RUNNING THE SEINE

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

PANEL DECORATION

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
Renaissance.

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

m&f

' 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
impersonated
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
comedy

M. de Jassi gives an admirable repre-
sentation of the unattractive but very
wealthy merchant who is the deceived
husband

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
eraser.
Father: Are you ever going to tell -a lie
again?

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
that.)

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

JEANNE EAGELS

Who has achieved her greatest success in the role of Sadie
Thompson, the heroine of Somerset Maugham's drama, Rain

Page Fifteen

A Captivating
CioCioSan

Madame Kimura poses as Madame

Butterfly, the immortal heroine

of Puccini's opera

Photographs

Amemiya

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

DANSE ORIENTALE

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
write.

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

W\l>OWL/\ND

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
upward.

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

ROSE
ROLANDA

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

Three

Impersonations

of a

Daughter of Spain

Jaeger

<3*,

°^\

Edwin Bower Hesser

MABEL NORMAND

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

EBON STRANDIN

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

Disgruntled
Playwrights

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

■/A.

)

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

ANDREE LAFAYETTE

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

By
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 apr
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
departure.

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
hospitality.

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

HELEN EBY ROCK

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

LEAVING THE COURT

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

Two

Lithographs

Degas

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
observer

Courtesy of Kennedy and Company

THE BALLET

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

A STUDY

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
texture

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

£^,

Romans

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

THE BRIDGE

OF
ST. BENEZET

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

Sketches
Unfamiliar Spots

in
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 BRIDGE OF SOSPEL

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

THE HOUSE

JEANNE HACHETTE

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

RONNY JOHANSSEN

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
movies."

"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?"
"Yes."

"Who is it?"
"Roger — Roger
Desfeux."
"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
future."

"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

A BACK-WATER

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

Amemiya

AT THE EDGE OF THE LAKE

Page Thirty-Seven

Ism^W^

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
States.

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
productions.

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
pages.

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
needle.

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
Herodias.

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

FEODOR
CHALIAPIN

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

COQUETRY

Page Forty-Two

IIPPISBU-—

Sonnets and Songs

CIRCE

By Helen M. Francis

[ WOULD not tell you even half my
thought,

Lest, loving nie. you came to understand
This whimsy you admire. 'Twas only

caught
To please you and perfected as I planned.
And what you take as impulse has been

made
From care and thought into a rhythmic

charm ;
Far better you should love the tunes I

played
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-
things,

And I must harbor what the moment
brings.

FUTILITY

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.

THESE ARE MY JEWELS . . .
By Adele Whitely Fletcher

THESE are my jewels . . .

Morning hours on a sun-drenched bill

Where the ruins of a Dream stand sentinel,
still.

Oh, enchantment I found on that high
hill's crest

And from the world's toil benedictory-
rest.

These are my jewels . . .

A twilight span on the ocean's shore

With the boom and swish of the breakers'

roar;
When a mantle of fog softly blurring the

scene
Seeped thru to my soul and shrived mc

clean.

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

mine.

For these are my jewels!

IN PASSING
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!

ELEGY
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

again.
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
away-.

SAN FRANCISCO
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.

THE ULTIMATE PLATONISM

By Norman R. J affray

gO much I love you that I fear to kiss

you,

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
wasted
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
kiss!

So I'll just keep your little hands im-
prisoned
Within my own, like poems in a book,
And some day when our love is cold and
wizened
I'll dream about that kiss I never took.

SECOND LOVE

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!

EVOLUTION
By Charlotte Becker

THE forest seems no different from last

year,
The stillness waits as green and deep and

cool,
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

name,
As some trapped thing may feel a hunter's

aim.
And still behold no alien presence near.

Is it, perchance, that, tho the trees are old,
Their boughs a covering of new leaves

wear,
That all the lily plants new blossoms bear,
And down the trails new grasses' blades

unfold —
That, tho one marks no leaf or blossom

strange.
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 MOVIE STAR

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
back

THE CARTOONIST

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 SELF-MADE MILLIONAIRE

The molasses magnate from Wall
Street who finds cornering Society far
more difficult than cornering sorghum

THE

THE MAN

SHORT STORY

WITH

WRITER

A WIG

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

THE
REPRESENTATIVE

FROM A

SOUTH AMERICAN

REPUBLIC

A prophet
without harm
in his own
country, but
uho assumes
the role of
the -man- on -a-
secret- mission
whenever he
crosses the
border

POLITICIANS

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

THE BIG PRODUCER

Who thinks it is his charming personality that turns

the heads of the sweet young things from their sulky

cavaliers to himself

THE

DANCER

FROM THE

OTHER SIDE

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
Paix

Page Forty-Five

Curtain

People

of
Importance

Muray

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

Rabinovitch

ULA SHARON

Prima Ballerina of the Greenwich Village Follies

Page Forty-Seven

Back
of the
Fourth

Wall

Peer Gynt, product

of the days before

realism, returns to

Broadway

Kenneth
Macgowan

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
again.

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

Suadowland

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
Mansfield.

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

STERNE'S ELIZA

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

SuADOWLANO

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

his

biog-

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-
40)."

"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

THE CONSPIRATORS

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

Operatic

Solution

of the

Mona

Lisa

Enigma

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

SuADOWLANO

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.

onlj

but is also a

Germany. 1

market

gesture

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.

Mishkin

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
cliarger"

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
features

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

JENNY HASSELQUIST

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
painting.

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

THE BUSINESS WOMAN
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
tradition.

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

Playing
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,
Dublin

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
building

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

Wanderings

By
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-
impaired.

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.

MAX SCHILLINGS
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

IN THE BARN

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

IN THE STUDIO

By Olive Garrison

(Third Prize)

SUN PATTERN

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
personality."

Page Sixty-Three

SuADOWLAND

THE ARCADE
By

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.

Brewster.

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)

GHOSTS OF SUMMER

By J. Hi Field

(Honorable Mention)

THRU THE

BACK WINDOW

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
moments.

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
outstripping
their public),
is not in
asserting that
the peephole
drama has
taken the
beauty and
wonder of life
out of the
theater — as a
corresponding
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
wonder.

Realism, ex-
cept in the
narrowest
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
Peer.

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
satire.

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
cast.

Melody and Maidens

Caroline. Ambassador. — An admirably
staged and played operetta, with Tessa
Kosta.

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
town.

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-
tainment.

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
production.

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-
fection.

Ziegfeld Follies. New Amsterdam. —
A national institution, glorifying the
American girl. — F. R. C.

Page Sixty-Six

Our
Contributors

WALTER PRICHARD EATON
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 playrs 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)

SuiADOWLAND

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
interest.

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

blame?

s $ $

People don't like to
talk about halitosis (un-

pleasant breath) . It isn't
a pretty subject. Yet why
in the world should this
topic be taboo even
among intimate friends
when it may mean so
much to the individual
to know the facts and
f\> 1 correct the trouble?

ost forms of halitosis are
. . temporary. Unless Kali--
tosi is due to some deep-seated
. ■ e (which a physician should
treat), the liquid antiseptic,
L >terine, used regularly as a
mouth-wash and gargle, will
fdy correct it. The well-
ra antiseptic properties of
effective deodorant arrest
rein.entation in the mouth and
leave the breath clean, fresh
and sweet. It is an ideal com-
batant of halitosis.

So why have the uncomfort-
able feeling of being uncertain
about whether your breath is
just right when the precaution
is so simple and near at hand. —
Lambert Pharmacal Company,
St. Louis, U. S. A.

^or
HALITOSIS

use
LISTERINE

Page Sixty-Seven

SUADOWLAND

ampooing

A task half done

Noted actresses all recognize the
fact that hair to be beautiful needs
more than just shampooing. They
have no more choice in the color of
their hair than you have. Their hair
is more beautiful, because their pro-
fession— their very environment —
soon teaches them how to make the
best of what nature has given them.

Practically every woman has reason-
ably good hair — satisfactory in quan-
tity, texture and color. So-called dull
hair is the result of improper care.
Ordinary shampooing is not enough;
just washing cannot sufficiently improve
dull, drab hair. Only a shampoo that
adds "that little something" dull hair
lacks can really improve it.

Golden Glint Shampoo was made
particularly for medium brown hair —
to make it look brighter and more beau-
tiful. When your hair appears lifeless,
all you need do is have a Golden Glint
Shampoo. It does more and IS more
than an ordinary shampoo. With it you
can correct — correct, mind you — any lit-
tle shortcomings your hair may have.
It places your hair in your own hands,
so to speak.

Have a Golden Glint Shampoo today
and give your hair the special treat-
ment which is all it needs to make it as
beautiful as you desire it. 25c a pack-
age at toilet goods counters or postpaid
direct. J. W. Kobi Co., 117 Spring St.,
Seattle, Wash.

We Need Several Men
To Earn $3000 a Year

Perhaps You Are The Man
We Are Looking For

If you are between the ages of 21
and 50 ; if you have a Public School
education or better ; if you are of neat
appearance and have the respect of
the folks in your neighborhood; if
you are ambitious to better your posi-
tion in life; and if you are not afraid
to work hard for independence and
big pay ; then, you are the man we
are looking for and we want to get in
touch with you at once.

Men interested in having more money,
should send to us at once for further
particulars. If you qualify, we will
furnish everything you need to work
with, FREE. Use the coupon below.

Cut Here --

SHADOWLAND

175 Duffield Street
Brooklyn, N. Y.

Subscription Department;

Please tell me how I can earn $3,000.00
a year.

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.

niiiimmiiiiimimiimmimiiii

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
streets.

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
scandalized.

Page Sixty-Eight

The Double-Barreled

Eraser

{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
countenance.)

iiiiiiiii'iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

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 uui
■*■ ^- 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

d
e
is
•s

y
y,
"s
1-
e
l-
a

ig
in

:n
:e

'i,

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.

lliilliliiliilimiliiimiimmmMl

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
slippers.

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
name.

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
determined.

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.

MINI i II IIIIM MUM II IMI II III II III II I II I II II Ml III IN III III Ml II III il IIMMII 111 II IMIM IINU Mill 111 II INK

Page Seventy

^U/XDOWLAND

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!

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMihimiHiiMiiiimii

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."

/^ inc.

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Page Seventy-One

SuADOWLAND

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.

Read This Month's

Shadowund

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going on in the world of the stage,
opera, the movies, art and literature
can afford to miss this magazine of
magazines. The most sumptuous and
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Hundreds of exquisite illustrations,
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and many others in the public eye.
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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
schoolboy.

He said to me : "Mish, I'm awfully sick
tonight. I dont think I can get thru the
performance."

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

SUADOWLAND

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 wTays 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

June

"Beauty"

on the news-stands
May Eighth

Are You Afraid of Getting
Old?

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
matters.

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.

Gcaut

Beauty Secrets for Everywoman

Page Seventy-Three

SlJADOWLAND

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SuAdOWkAND

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

ANNOUNCEMENT!

IT CANT BE HELPED

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.

THE AMERICAN BEAUTY—

will, therefore, not be announced until next
month, when the Honorary Mentions also
will be granted. •

TO DECIDE IN HASTE AND
REPENT AT LEISURE

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.

umiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiimiimiiiiiiiii

Wanderings

(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
scenes.

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
origin.

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
well.

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

SuiADOWL/\Nt>

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
greatness.

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-
virate.

The background shows citizens, senators,
gladiators, soldiers, horses, and bootleg-
gers.

Scene : The Imagination. Time : The
Present. Let 'er go!

-J. F.

iiiiiiniuiimmiiiimmiimimii

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
aside.

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

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New Books in Brief Review

WHYDONTYOU BUY

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.

THE J
thin
Stark
author
Flower
Drama
ner's) .

play's the
\ with
Young,
of The
of the
(Scrib-
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.

lillMMIIIIIMIIIIIIlllllllllllMIIIIM

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.

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

(e) Make of camera and lens.

Any print previously published is not
eligible.

Prints will be acknowledged upon their
receipt.

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.

Miimmiiiiiimmiiiiimiiimm!

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
him?

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!

SuAUUWLANt}

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?

Secretary, The Treasure Chest

175 Duffield St.

Brooklyn,
New York

Page Seventy-Seven

Si-IADOWLAND

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
exhausted.

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
"Fanfare."

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

EDWARD LANCER PRINTING CO., INC.,
JAMAICA, NKW YORK CITY.

Tin restaurant of
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The dinner hour at Cla-
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table some striking ex-
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charm! Surely it is some
unusual secret of fascina-
tion francaise which so
marks these Parisiennes.

It is a secret, Madame,
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ica. It is this secret of
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table, Face Powders, Talc,
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CJr CMad/s in France.

And so do Madame and
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e 1»23 tHSCo

How a double chin

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■i^^m

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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

CORA M. DAVIS

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:

ASBURY PARK, N. J.

Steinback Co.
ATLANTIC CITY, N. J.

M. De'Hart, care Black-
stone Hotel

Alice Wright, Boardwalk
BOSTON, MASS.

Dollie Donovan

Shepard Stores
BROOKLYN. N. Y.

A. I. Namm & Son

Abraham & Strauss

Liggett's Drug Stores
BUFFALO, N. Y.

William Hengeref
CLEVELAND, 0.

Kathryn Army Euclid Bldg.
COLUMBUS, OHIO

Charles W. Lane, 90 North
High St.
DANBURY. CONN.

Margaret English, 247
Main St.
DANVILLE. ILL.

Woodbury Drug Co.
DENVER. COLO.

Lewis & Son
DES MOINES. IOWA

Liggett's, 321 Sixth Ave.
DETROIT, MICH.

J. L. Hudson
FORT WAYNE. IND.

Betty Jean Co. Shop, 1300
S. Calhoun St.
FREEHOLD, N. J.

Elizabeth Nowack, Strand
Theatre Bldg.
GRAND RAPIDS, MICH.

Friedman Spring Dry
Goods Co.
GREEN BAY, WIS.

Stasia Norton, 411 N.
Broadway
GREENSBURG, PA.

Mrs. M. I. Caudle, Coulter
Building
HARTFORD, CONN.

G. Fox & Co.
LONG BEACH, CALIF.

Gertrude Lang
MALONE, N. Y.

The Misses Murray Beauty
Shop
MINNEAPOLIS, MINN.

L. S. Donaldson Company
MORRISTOWN, N. J.

Dr. E. L. Ellsworth, Park
Place
NEWARK, N. J.

L. Bamberger
NEW ORLEANS, LA.

Maison Blanche

Columbus

NEW/ YORK, N. Y.

Jafcies McCreery & Co.

Saks & Co.

Stern Bros.

Gimbel Brothers

Hearn, 14th St.
Ave.

Bloomingdale's

Barnett Bros. ,
Ave. and 74th St. and at
all other dept. stores

Liggett's Drug Stores

Hetherington, 53 E. 42nd
St.

Kalish Pharmacies

Harlow & Luther, 40th and
Broadway

Kane's, Broadway and 83rd

Bale Drug Co., Broadway
and 79th

Schoonmaker, 42nd St. and
Vanderbilt Ave., and
others.
PASSAIC, N. J.

A. D. Yeagler, 240 Main
St.
PATERSON, N. J.

Liggett's, 165 Market St.
PHILADELPHIA, PA.

Bita A. Kraus, 1615 Wal-
nut St.

Pauline Campbell, 13th
and Sansbm St.

Strawbridge, Clothier

Lit Bros.

Geo. G. Evans, 1012 Market
St.
PITTSBURGH, PA.

McGinnis Vanity Shop.

Joseph Home Co.

May Drug Co.

McCullough Drug Co.

Scranton Dental Co.
PROVIDENCE, R. I.

The Sheppard Company
SAN DIEGO, CALIF.

Dr. C. C. Benden
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIF.

. The Emporium
SANTA BARBARA, CALIF.

Sterling Drug Co.
SOUTH NORWALK. CONN.

Liggett's, 70 East Wash-
ington St.
UTICA, N. Y.

England & McCaffry
WASHINGTON, D. C.

Liggett's, 1006 F. Street,
N.W.

Mrs. B. Gacklis, 67 Ran-
dolph Place, N.W.

WILLIAMSPORT, PA.

The Charlotte Shop, 248
Pine St.

Brell L.lho. Co., N. Y.

f* ^ JUNE 7 35<£

^UADOWLAN»

EXPRESSING THE ARTS

■

A BREWSTER PUBLICATION

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.

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

CORA M. DAVIS

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:

^j!»^

ASBURY PARK, N.

Steinback Co.
ATLANTIC CITY, N. J.

M. De'Hart. care Black-
stone Hotel

Alice Wright, Boardwalk
BOSTON, MASS.

Dollie Donovan

Shepard Stores
BROOKLYN, N. Y.

A. I. Namm & Son

Abraham & Strauss

Liggett's Drug Stores
BUFFALO, N. Y.

William Hengerer
CLEVELAND, 0.

Kathryn Ann, Euclid Bldg.
COLUMBUS, OHIO

Charles W. Lane, 90 North
High St.
DANBURY, CONN.

Margaret English, 247
Main St.
DANVILLE. ILL.

Woodbury Drug Co.
DENVER, COLO.

Lewis & Son
DES MOINES, IOWA

Liggett's, 321 Sixth Ave.
DETROIT, MICH.

3. L. Hudson
FORT WAYNE, IND.

Betty Jean Co. Shop, 1300
S. Calhoun St.
FREEHOLD, N. J.

Elizabeth Nowack, Strand
Theatre Bldg.
GRAND RAPIDS, MICH.

Friedman Spring Dry
Goods Co.
GREEN BAY, WIS.

Stasia Norton, 411 N.
Broadway
GREENSBURG, PA.

Mrs. M. I. Caudle, Coulter
Building
HARTFORD, CONN. *

G. Fox & Co.
LONG BEACH. CALIF.

Gertrude Lang
MALONE, N. Y.

The Misses Murray Beauty
Shop
MINNEAPOLIS, MINN.

L. S. Donaldson Company
MORRISTOWN, N. J.

Dr. E. L. Ellsworth, Park
Place
NEWARK, N. J.

L. Bamberger
NEW ORLEANS, LA.

Malson Blanche

Columbus

NEW YORK. N. Y.

James McCreery & Co.

Saks & Co.

Stern Bros.

Gimbel Brothers

Hearn, 14th St.
Ave.

Bloomingdale's

Barnett Bros. ,
Ave. and 74th St, and at
all other dept. stores

Liggett's Drug Stores

Hetherington, 53 E. 42nd
St.

Kalish Pharmacies

Harlow & Luther, 46th and
Broadway

Kane's, Broadway and 83rd

Rale Drug Co., Broadway
and 79th

Schoonmaker, 42nd St. and
Vanderbilt Ave., and
others.
PASSAIC, N. J.

A. D. Yeagler, 240 Main
SL
PATERSON. N. J.

Liggett's, 165 Market St.
PHILADELPHIA, PA.

Rita. A. Kraus, 1615 Wal-
nut SL

Pauline Campbell, 13th
and Sansom St.

Strawbrldge, Clothier

Lit Bros.

Geo. G. Evans, 1012 Market
St
PITTSBURGH, PA.

McGinnis Vanity Shop.

Joseph Home Co.

May Drug Co.

McCullough Drug Co.

Scranton Dental Co.
PROVIDENCE, R. I.

The Sheppard Company
SAN DIEGO, CALIF.

Dr. C. C. Benden
SAN FRANCISCO. CALIF.

The Emporium
SANTA BARBARA, CALIF.

Sterling Drug Co.
SOUTH NORWALK, CONN.

Liggett's, 70 East Wash-
ington St.
UTICA, N. Y.

England & McCaffry
WASHINGTON, D. C.

Liggett's, 1006 F. Street,
N.W.

Mrs. B. Gaddis, 67 Ran-
dolph Place, N.W.

WILLIAMSPORT, PA.

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

^UADOwiAND

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
author.

SUSIE

TAKES

CHANCB

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

VOLUME VIII

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

Music:

Meister Liszt, the Man ■ Joseph Szebenyei

Caricature

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

EXECUTIVE and EDITORIAL OFFICES, 175 DUFFIELD STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

Managing Editor: A dele Whitely Fletcher

Editor :
F. M. Osborne

Associate Editor: Jerome Hart

Art Director: A. M. Hopfmuller

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

-3$k£eE$K

'C^d^^zzacn

:3teizz=C=iz^3£nri^

— <^^S

Page Five

Courtesy of Kennedy & Company

MONHEGAN

From the pencil drawing by C. F. Ryder

Page Six

MEDITATION

A water-color poster by Guy Rowe

THE VALLEY

CONTENTMENT

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

/vV.,0,

Courtesy of the Ferargil Galleries

LITTLE SISTER

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

THE BATHERS

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

of
in
if
It

PSWtetfVl

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.

his

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)

pB«w.

Page Eleven

Treinitz, Stockholm

LISA STIER AND SVEN TROPP

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

Sl-IADOWLAND

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
story.

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
excellence.

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
Fiction.

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
stories.)

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

MARGARET WYCHERLY

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

of
]o Davidson

AH Photographs Courtesy of the Fearon Galleries

THE AWAKENING

PORTRAIT STUDY

OF A

WOMAN

ANATOLE FRANCE

This portrait bust shows that greatest

of achievements — the conquest of age

by a virile mind and spirit

(Mrs. Robert W. Goelet)

GERTRUDE
STEIN

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
personality

Tage Sixteen

THE

MASTER

AT WORK

HIS STUDIO

IN THE

AVENUE DU MAIN

PARIS

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 wou1d 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

Underwood

LEE SHUT MOY

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. ..."

LEE PARRY

Reiss, Berlin

MONNA VANNA

RECEIVES

THE BLESSING

OF THE

STARVING

PISANS

Page Twenty

Reiss, Berlin

CESARE BORGIA

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 tearshops,
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
Theater.

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

SuiADOWLAND

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

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

THE RUSSKAYA

Page Twenty-Four

Kdward Thayer Monroe

SOLVEIG

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

III: THE UNHAPPY LADY
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

PIERRETTE

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

LANDSCAPE

SUNRISE

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

in
Dry Point

MIDSUMMER NIGHT

"•=£f --, ■~£&ttmr,- M ■■» :--3BB

Pa<7£ Twenty-Eight

A SUMMER EVENING IN CENTRAL PARK*

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
Chauve-Souris

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
water"

LA
BAIGNEUSE

PUNCHINELLO

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
about

LE GENERAL

Page Thirty

Caricatures from the famous Ballet Suedois

By
Wynn

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

L'ENFANT

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

LA MARIEE

L'HOMME ET SES DESIRS

Page Thirty-One

Clarence H. White

THE SWIMMING-HOLE

Page Thirty-Two

Eugene P. Henry

OLD

WHARVES

AT LOW TIDE

GLOUCESTER HARBOR

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

LYDIA ROMANY

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

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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,

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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

SUADOWLAND

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

SUADUWL/XNO

"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

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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

THE DECLARATION

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

The
Tragic Romance

Sandro Botticelli

and

Simonetta

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 DEATH

OF
SIMONETTA

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
ask:

"What do you want?"

"I want to see M. Georges Tillois," he answered.

He added : "I am Jacques Corbet, the son of his
employer."

"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
that.

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-
rassed.

"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

"With

Stage Settings
By:"

*'> ft

ROBERT EDMOND JONES

JOSEPH URBAN

LEE SIMONSON

JAMES REYNOLDS

®feftA^«^A*.fc^V«^ttv-^. (

Page Forty-One

Posed for Maurice Goldberg by Janet Stone and Marion Hamilton, dancing in Lady Butterfly

MOMENT MUSICAL

Page Forty-Two

Scandlen

MARIE ANDERSON

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

TITINE

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

MISTINGUETT

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

THE ROCK OF MONACO

One of the studies of the Riviera countryside

exhibited by Frank Morse Rummel, the American

grandson of the inventor of the Morse Code

L'HOMME

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

TURBINES

Gerald Murphy's cubistic
studies of machinery were
the center of attraction for
the critics on Varnishing
Day

MADAME
EFREMOVA

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

Sketches

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-
prise-visit

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

Expressionism

Broadway

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-
ing.

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

SUADOWLAND

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
Machine.

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

LA FAMILLE DU PEINTRE

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^£> ,

mont.

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
wanted,

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

grand-
a dirty
grand-

SuADQWLAND

"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
window.

JUNE'S MINISTRANT
By Bliss Carman

"Pionia virtutem habet occultani
Arnoldus Villanova— 1235-1313

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

ARNOLDUS VILLANOVA

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.

She:
Tuneful poet, Britain's glory,
Mr. Hayley, that is you.

He:
Ma'am you carry all before you,
Trust me Lichfields Swan you do.

She :
Ode didactick, Epic, Sonnet,
Mr. Hayley, your divine;

He:
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

Artists
Extraordinary

A Diseuse, a Balladist, and a Puppeteer

whose talents have made them

internationally famous

Nickolas Muray

RUTH DRAPER

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
weeping

Hixon-Connelly Studios

ISA KREMER

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
Russians

LILIAN OWEN

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

IN CRINOLINE DAYS

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-
mother.

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 newr 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
Man.

The curious part
is that a man
doesn't have to
marry, excepting
in unusual and
unnecessary -
to - consider
cases. He can
get feminine
companionship
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
continue.

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

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
Woman

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

Wanderings

By
The Man About Town

ances,

seven

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
Stokowski.

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

0 Lumiere

A FAMOUS OPERATIC TRIO

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
not.

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

SuAOOWlAND

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
Village.

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

ALFRED F. SELIGSBERG

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
original.

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

of
Dreams

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

THE

DREAM CASTLE

THE LOVERS

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-
resented

PLATE

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
soldiers

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

-PiHULKV*

TEAPOT
bold design in brilliant colors on a
glazed white ground

PLATE

A shallow, bowl-like piece with a

black ground

BOWL
An example of the gro-
tesque in decoration

SAUCER

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
nice.

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
painted.

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
exhibit.

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

ANGLES

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
over.

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 — ■

THE SHADOW ON THE DOOR

By Josephine M. Wallace

(Third Prize)

was our aim in promoting this
contest.

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

THE ARTIST
By B. S. Home
(Second Prize)

Page Sixty-Three

SUADOWLAND

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
Greenleaf.

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.

A TEMPLE GALLERY NEAR KOBE
By Hirai Masakichi
(Honorable Mention)

THE STEAM SHOVEL
By Johan Hagemeyer
(Honorable Mention)

(b) Stop number used.

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

(e) Make of camera and lens.

Any print previously published is not
eligible.

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
bearable?

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
members.

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
sexes.

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
Peer.

Rain. Ma.rine Elliott's. — One of the season's great
successes, 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.

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
town.

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
condition."

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

llMlumiiimiiiimimmiitMiiiiMiMiiji

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
Song:

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
Him.

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
indeed.

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
entertain.

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

SU4DUWL/XNL>

Our Contributors

SINCLAIR DOMBROW'S earlier
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.

;uaIe5h

tms

7-.C

677 FIFTH AVENUE
Between 53rd G" 54 th StS.

Fifth Avenue 's Smartest

Innovations for Motor,

Street and Sport

Priced always with Restraint

A List of

Contributors

in the

Summer Numbers
of

Shadowland

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

SuiADOWLAND

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-
rnola 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-
rnola Prescription Tablets at one dollar a box.
Aslc your druggist for them, or order direct and
they will be sent in plain wrapper, postpaid

MARMOLA COMPANY
430 Garfield Rldg., Detroit, Mich.

STATEMENT OF THE OWNERSHIP, MANAGE-
MENT, CIRCULATION, ETC., REQUIRED BY THE
ACT OF CONGRESS OF AUGUST 24, 1912, of
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,
INC., 175 DUFFIELD ST., BROOKLYN, N. Y. -Edi-
tor, FLORENCE OSBORNE, 175 DUFFIELD ST.,
BROOKLYN, N. Y. Managing Editor, ADELE
WHITELY FLETCHER, 175 DUFFIELD ST., BROOK-
LYN, N. Y. Business Manager, GUY L. HARRING-
TON, 1 75 DUFFIELD ST. , BROOKLYN, N. Y .
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
stock. ) EUGENE V. BREWSTER, 1 75 DUFFIELD
ST., BROOKLYN, N. Y. CARLETON E. BREW-
STER, BAYSTIORE, LONG ISLAND. 3. That the
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.

MmmimiiiMiiiimimiiiimmiii

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

SuiADOWLAND

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)

OUTDOOR ILLUSIONS OF THE DANCE

Symbolized by the

BEAUTIFUL DANCING FIGURES

From the PICTORIAL COLLECTION of

JAMES WALLACE PONDELICEK

Original outdoor illustrations of Beautiful Dancing Figures, 8 bv 10, contact photographs printed
from the original plates on double weight buff paper. These prints will appeal to the seeker of true
art and beauty, to those who earnestly discriminate between the gross and the sensual, and the pure
and ideal inspiration. These CAMERA PAINTINGS, many of which are first prize winners and
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
and foreign countries. A happy suggestion for gifts or framing.

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.

SHADOWLAND for JULY

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

SuADUWLANO

Why Dont You Buy

Ql^vssic

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.

JULY

Q^vssic

That "Different" Screen Magazine

JULY

Page Seventy-One

SkJADOWLAND

Don't Hide Them With a Veil; Remove
Them With Othine- Double Strength

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-
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Be sure to ask the druggist for the double
strength Othine ; it is this that is sold on the
money -back guarantee.

SwABOWtAND

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.

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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
generations.

( Then he, too, is suddenly seized and
disappears in a zvhirl of dust.)

llll!llllllMIIMI]imill!IIIMIIIIIIt:i

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
interest.

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

S-IADQWLAND

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
spirit.

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

Bruguiere

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Page Seventy-Three

SuADOWLAND

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-
tions.

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
number.

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
mention

Dont Miss The
Judges9 Decision

in the

JULY MOTION
PICTURE MAGAZINE

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-
price.'

"'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-
mand.

"Glances of
consternation
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

CARL V. LACHMUND
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

SuiADQWLAND

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.

iMimitimmiMiini

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
them.

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

SuADOWLANP

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
"Liliom."

ohadowland for July also contains reproductions in colors of pictures
by foremost artists; humorous cartoons and delightful verse.

JULY SuAOOWLAND

Combines JDeauty and Information

JULY

Page Seventy-Five

SuiADOWLAND

Character
Studies

. . . 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
Magazine

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-
tions."

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
away.

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
him.

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-
ment.

"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!"

iimiimmiimtiiiiiiiiiMiiiimui

Wanderings

{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

Su/XDQWLAND

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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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Page Seventy-Seven

SuiADOWLAND

Harrison Fisher Says
in

BEAUTY

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-
ful.

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
beauty.

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-
ing."

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.

iiiMllllllllliimmiiiimiiilllniii

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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EXPRESSING THE ARTS

ION

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women's rest rooms
everywhere — hotels,
office buildings, restau-
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other places — from
which may be obtained
one Kotex with two
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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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Ask for them by name.

At drug, drygoods and department stores

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Manufacturers of the famous
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Manufacturers of the famous
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Page Three

SuiADOWLAND

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-
fered.

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 :
Drama

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

Dancing

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

Music:

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

EXECUTIVE and EDITORIAL OFFICES, 175 DUFFIELD STREET, BROOKLYN, N. Y.

Editor :
F. M. Osborne

Associate Editor: Jerome Hart

Managing Editor: Adele Whitely Fletcher

Art Director: A. M. Hopfmuller

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

IC^JJII^.

-g£^h

C^fc^zzzzzrr

^zrgag -^rrzz:

Page Five

AT THE BASE OF THE CHATEAU WALL

A pencil sketch of Loch.es, France, by Samuel V. Chamberlain

Page Six

JULIA HOYT

A portrait by Albert Vargas

Courtesy of the Ehrich Galleries

AMONG THE TREES

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

LANDSCAPE
LAKE GEORGE

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

BASQUES ON A BALCONY

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-
shine.

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 even7 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
character.

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)

-To

Page Eleven

Eugene P. Henry

MARFUSHKA

Martha Sleeper, the talented twelve-year-old dancer, as she appears in
one of her Russian numbers

Page Twelve

THE SORCERESS

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
afternoon.

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,

(She

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
down.

(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

Good

Intentions

Sketches
' 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

ROSALIND

CELIA

AND

TOUCHSTONE

ENTER

THE

FOREST OF ARDEN

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

All

Photographs

Richard

Burke

ORLANDO

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"

JACQUES

This melancholy member of the gay
band (A. E. Anson), defends himself to
Rosalind:

"Why, 'tis good to be sad and say
nothing."
To which she retorts:

"Why then, 'tis good to be a post"

SYLVIUS AND PHOEBE

The shepherd (William Williams)

woos his capricious sweetheart

(Gwynedd Vernon)

Page Seventeen

ELISE BARTLETT

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,vwho 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

SulADOWLANO

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-
smirched.

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.

THE NEW HAND

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

Provocative
Sculptor

ALEXANDER ARCHIPENKO

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

^SaBsRfiss^

gKIWtKi

h^BhmB MUma/m

i"i" MaSmtUf

&8Bfi£mX4Em3fc

■H

PRfflKMglfBj

A camera study by Maurice Goldberg of Beth Beri in Jack and Jill

THE PKOMENADE

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 poster 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
years.

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

Junior
Celebrities

Talented Daughters of Famous Fathers

ISABEL GARLAND

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

Reiss,
Berlin

LEOPOLDINE DAMROSCH

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

ILSE

EINSTEIN

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>

MARTHA BRYAN ALLEN

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
suspected.

\. 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-
ness.

\ 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
all.

"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

Qj/^^^^^^^^^L^Z—.

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

THE

PERCHING

PELICAN

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

THE

MARSH

GUNNER

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
Washington

All etchings courtesy of Kennedy and Company

OVER

SUNKEN
MARSHES

Page Twenty-Nine

Edith Barakovich, Vienna

MADY CHRISTIANS

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

PASTORALE

Page Thirty-One

John Kabel

THE OLD GUARD

OF THE

TIMBER-LINE

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

THE FOG RISES OUT OF THE SEA

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

ELIZABETH NORTH

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

THE LOBBY AND THE STREET

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! 0 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
dancer,
Harry Pil-
cer, who is
the bright
star of the
show, aided
by his new
dancing
partner. Miss
YYyn Rich-
ardson, the
sprightly

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

shall

says

Pavlowa, Diaghlieff, Bakst and Stravinski in the Reviewing Stand

costume,
Paris.

Speaking
o f Rasimi,
brings me to
the Ba-Ta-
Clan Theater,
which is run
by that
amazing
dynamic
{Continued
on page 71)

Page Thirty-Nine

Antoinette B. Hervey

ORIENTAL TAPESTRY

Pcge Forty

Laura Gilpin

Page Forty-One

Expressionism

Art

Progressive stages in

drawing, ranging from.

the academic to the

purely abstract form

B;y
Alexander P. Couard

FIGURE II

FIGURE III

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

FIGURE I

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

FIGURE
IV

FIGURE
V

Page Forty-Two

Expressionism in Poetry

AN OPPORTUNITY FOR GRIEVING
REJECTED

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

moon,
Slyly peeping from behind yonder
Jade-grey hill.

Come and listen to me.
And you will be deceived
Also. . . .

oMv

THE CHILD WOULD BE OLDER
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

hard-wood,
Now it is a massacre, a scandal, or a pen-
chant.
I'll cut you down a clear curl, to thicken

out your swan-song.

-kf

WOOLWORTH BUILDING
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. ...

■fff

FABLE BETWEEN TWO BOULDERS
By Maxwell Bodenheim

LIKE a dream of ugliness

Dwarfed between the sternness of two

rocks,
The brown toad crouched and did not

move.
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

glare
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

world
Might not be death — a blinding punish-
ment
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

light.
He dropped upon the beetle's back, and

stopped,
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

down
Upon the crushed, black mite, and does

not know
That death has long since taken up his

prey.

MAN DEAD
By Kenneth Fearing

TVT1XT door there's happened something
strange.

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.

A CANVAS BY KUNIYOSHA
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-
legged

And a cow ruminant is only a hairy brown
angle.

A slant-eyed boatman rows a shalloped
cockle-shell

Up a narrow snaky stream

That is tossed most weirdly close

And flows carelessly on the sheer toil of
the canvas.

-ntf!

LE BOURGEOIS
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

flowers
On the latches of stained doors.

THE WOMAN
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
heaven

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!

tfMv

YOU GHOSTLY GOSSIPS
By John McClure

~¥ 0X1 ghostly gossips with your demon-
wit,

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-
furled.

"So is the world."

Page Forty-Three

Musical
Retrospect

and
Prospect

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

Mishkin

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

Su4l>OW'l/\NL>

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
professions.

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
season.

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

A FUTURE IN A TEA-CUP

Lillian Gish, one of the loveliest stars of the screen,
reads her fortune in the tea-leaves

Page Forty-Six

Informal Portraits

of
Famous Painters

Edna M. Wells

WALTER UFER

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

JONAS LIE

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

AUGUSTUS
JOHN

Page Forty-Seven

On a foggy evening near Covent Garden Market

Brown

Side-Shows on the Other Side

I: LONDON AFTER DARK
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

Su4£OWLANL>

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
eyes.

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
"circles."

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

THE MINUET

Page Fifty

'im

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-
gencies.

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

Si-IADOWLAND

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

CHELSEA, "THE VILLAGE OF PALACES"
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
definable.

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
foreword.

"Theyought,"
he says of his
characters,
"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
they.

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

DUDLEY DIGGES

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

BASIL SYDNEY

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

Matzene

ALICE FISCHER

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
movements

Edward Thayer Monroe

PHYLLIS POVAH

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

EDITH WYNNE
MATTHISON

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

Mishkin

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

Bruguiere

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
Theater.

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

Su4L>OWLANL>

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
towrard 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
stage-children.

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-
sonation.

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 supply of
brilliantly painted Russian scenery by Samuel Ostrovsky,
is a deeply philosophic drama which could only be effec-
tive in English if consummately translated and miracu-
lously acted. Naturally enough the translation is just
passable, and Ernest Glendinning is a bit out of his depth
as a most likable and intellectual devil who tries to probe
truth and to show God the iniquities of His order on
earth. Swartz himself does fairly well with the good
old Jew whom the devil plays for a kind of Christ.

Equipped with expressionistic scenery by Mitchell
Oenslager which sometimes expresses the wrong thing,
but is just as often effective, the Harvard Dramatic Club

has presented Broad-
way with another An-
dreyeff play, The Life
of Man, as well as a
pleasant but unimpor-
tant little thing by
Sacha Guitry called
Beranger. The college
actors quite naturally
lack the ability to put
significance or emotion
into this rather obvious
statement that man is
born to sorrow.

"Dinero's play, The
•*■ Enchanted Cottage,
is merely a belated
effort to keep up with
the dramatic procession
by deserting realism
for — expressions ?
Oh, no, merely Bar-
riesque romance. It is
Barrie with Barrie left
out — a pleasant yarn
about how love makes
two ugly twisted
young people over into
dreams of loveliness.
At one moment it is
truly poignant — the
moment when they ask
their chilly old relatives
(Cont'd on page 67)

Page Fifty-Five

THE WATERFALL

Painting With _ a Needle

With silk and wool as a medium, instead of paint

Marguerite Zorach's
embroideries are built
up and developed as a
painter constructs a pic-
ture. Her color is often
as brilliant as that found
in the canvases of the
ultra-moderns. She has a
flair for Matisse pinks
and greens; tho she can
give us — as in her em-
broidered painting, The
Island — all the subdued
tones found in an Old
Master. Miss Zorach has
developed her own
methods, and no one has
been able to imitate her
stitches successfully

AN INDIAN WEDDING

THE DANCE

These embroideries
bear no relation to
ordinary needle-
work; they are
more nearly re-
lated to the tapes-
tries woven by the
artists of the
Renaissance, but
Miss Zorach never
makes use of set or
formal designs.
Tho she has estab-
lished a reputation
as a painter in oils,
and belongs to the
modernistic group,
her embroideries
ihave given her a
definite place in
the World of Art

THE ISLAND

Page Fifty-Six

In Studio and Gallery

By Helen Appleton Read

FIE art event of greatest importance for the past
month and one which, being international, has a

consequently wide appeal, is the Twenty-second
Carnegie International Exhibition at Pittsburgh. With
it came as a much
heralded corollary,
the English painter
Augustus John. John
served in the capacity
of one of the Inter-
national Jurors. He
has remained to paint
portraits and to be
the subject of an
enormous amount of
discussion and con-
jecture as to the
truth of the many
romantic tales which
have circulated about
his paintings, his per-
sonality, and his
history.

The Carnegie Ex-
hibition is not only
the important art
event of the month
but of the whole
year, since the Amer-
ican art lover has the
opportunity to see,
side by side with the
best work produced
in the United States,
the best work, or
rather the supposed
best work, that is be-
ing produced in Eu-
rope. It is the only
International Exhi-
bition in the United
States ; in fact, the
only International
Exhibition to be held
anywrhere annually,
as the Venice Inter-
national is held every
two years.

To assemble an ex-
hibition which is rep-
resentative not only
of the United States

but of Europe is net an easy thing. A thing made more
difficult by the fact that there are rules and precedents
connected with the choosing of the Carnegie Interna-
tional which are difficult to alter all at once. Such as,
for instance, the long list of names from which the
American pictures have for years been chosen, a list
which needs much altering in order to make it in any
way representative of the best work that is being done
in the United States today.

Homer St. Gaudens, son of Augustus St. Gaudens, is
the new director and has done much, in this first exhi-
bition under his guidance, to clear away the dead wood.
New names which stand almost for radicalism are ad-
mitted, and as a result, the American section of the ex-
hibition is the most alive selection that has as vet been

The Countess of Rocksavage and Her Son, by Charles Sims, the English

portrait painter, on view at the Twenty-second International Exhibition

of Paintings at Carnegie Institute in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

English tradition

hung on the walls of the Institute. Here is an academy
or a salon of an entirely new kind, whose motivating
principle, instead of being the typical academy point of
view — which is, "Keep out anything that is different."

"Only academic
standards of art are
good." "Down with
the new men" —
wants to preserve an
open mind, to show
the best of all
schools, academic,
radical, primitive or
whatever thev may
be.

There is a diver-
sity of opinion con-
cerning the European
galleries. Personally
I feel that the Eng-
lish section is pretty
nearly representative,
and that the French
is decidedly not. The
English and Amer-
ican galleries are side
by side. Comparisons
are obvious. The
English galleries are
almost entirely de-
voted to portraits.
These have a dash
and charm and an air
of aristocracy that
give the room an es-
sentially English
ethos or at least the
American idea of the
English ethos.

In looking over
our fine gathering of
well-painted can-
vases, nowhere, with
the exception of two
old Sargent's, do we
find portraits which
compare in charm
and distinction with
those in the English
group. To paint
charmingly, lyrically
one might say, is the
One has only to remember the eigh-
teenth-century portrait painters — Romney, Lawrence,
and Raeburn, to be sure of that. Even thruout the latest
phases of modernism — commonly known as "the cult of
ugliness" — altho no English moderns are represented,
this same thing holds true.

Decidedly, so far, our specialty is not painting society
portraits. For some reason our so-called society por-
trait painters are either hopelessly vulgar and technically
inexpert — -magazine-cover artists or illustrators, self-
promoted to portraiture — or else they are academic and
heavy-handed imitations of Sargent. That society por-
traiture and good painting are not necessarily mutually
exclusive is evidenced by the Sargent portraits and the
(Continued on page 73)

Page Fifty-Seven

Apeda

FLORINE FINDLAY DE HART

The crown of the Queen of Beauty
has been placed upon this win-
some sixteen-year-old Daughter of
the South. Miss De Hart has deep-
blue eyes, golden-brown hair, and
that exquisite complexion which
the Virginians call "peachblow."
Since childhood she has studied
interpretive dancing, so the quality
of grace is added to her beauty
and charm

The judges of the American
Beauty Contest, all of whom were
well-known artists and writers, pre-
sent herewith their unanimous
selection of the Queen of Beauty
and her Maids of Honor. The task
of this judging committee was a
difficult and tiresome one, entail-
ing the consideration of thousands
of photographs, sent from all over
the country. Furthermore, scores
of the pictures were lovely, as was
attested by those which were re-
produced from month to month
during the past year in the four
magazines of the Brewster Publi-
cations. In compliance with the re-
ward offered the reigning beauty,
Miss De Hart will be given a trip
to New York from her home in
Bristol, Virginia, and during her
sojourn she will be the honor
guest at many enjoyable functions,
and the center of much attention

At the Court

of
Beauty

The Queen and her. Maids of Honor

Page Fifty-Eight

T)ERFECTION of form is the physical
-*- framework upon which beauty is built.
This entails health, grace and purity of
feature. To be truly the esthetic type,
this physical symmetry must be endued
with the spirit of ideals and enthusiasms,
illuminated with intelligence, and made
radiant with a personality unique to the
individual

Unkncnvn to the judges, tvhen the
selection was made, the honorary
trio consisted of three blondes, all
professionals of stage or screen.
Kathryn McGuire, of Hollywood,
(below) is one of the Mack Sennett
girls who has helped to build that
producer's reputation as a connois-
seur of beauty

• Horwitz/

KATHRYN McGUIRE

ELVA POMFRET
Elva Pomfret, of Brooklyn, N. Y.,
(right) is a petite, blue-eyed
blonde. She made her bow to
Broadway audiences in Orange
Blossoms. The modest pose of
these Maids of Honor would
signify that the twentieth-century
girl still has her demure moments

White Studio

PEGGY WOOD

Peggy Wood is the popular star of The Clinging Vine, a musical comedy of

extended run on Broadway. She is a worthy exponent of beauty and charm,

as she well demonstrates in her roles on the stage

Edward Thayer Monroe

Page Fifty-Nine

I I

EiMj2il5?En>

The City Cousin Visits the Country Cousin

A. D. 1923

B;y
Kenneth C. Stellenwerf

The farmhouse early
breakfast is usually a one-
man show, the owner be-
ing the only person inter-
ested in catching the
sunrise

The City Cousin is alarmed
by this brother of Bo-Peep —
a product of the post-impres-
sionistic School of Agriculture

Ye Old Swimmin' Hole has been bereft of
its mud-turtles, and its waters, carefully
filtered and salted, have been piped to a vast
marble basin — a reproduction of an old
Roman bath

The Country
Cousin takes his
usual before-dinner
exercise. The cock-
tail-shaker, alas,
has replaced the
old-fashioned
cider-jug

Landscape in Modern Treatment

Our visitor, shorn of the illusion of
the farm of her childhood, returns to
her moss-back metropolis in a state
of collapse, eager for the sylvan
repose of the enclosed city block

Page Sixty

Wanderings

By
The Man About Town

After the opera is over,

After the opera is done.
We items of the -eery first ivater

Go off on our frolic and fun

O ran an old music hall ditty, and it Kas its applica-
tion today as yesterday. Our song birds of the
M e t r o p o 1 i t a n,
headed by their impre-
sario, Don Giulio Gatti-
Casazza, have most of
them flown to Europe —
to the continent of the
fallen mark and the
deeply depressed kronen,
where one can purchase
a principality for a pep-
percorn and almost live
on one's exchange. I
took some part in the
concluding festivities at
the Metropolitan Opera
House on the last day
and night of the season,
when two of its biggest
and most spectacular
productions were given
— L'Africaine and Aida
— with that flawless
smoothness one has
learned to expect under
the Gatti management.
As the scenes of the two
operas were taken down
at the end of each act
they were placed on
trucks for removal to
the Pennsylvania Ter-
minus, whence they were
transported to Atlanta,
Georgia, the same night.

I was down at the ter-
minus somewhere past
midnight to bid my an
revoir to the company
as they went, figurative-
ly speaking, marching to
Georgia, and also to gain

some idea of how it was all done, and was immensely

It required two special trains,
platform between them was
crowded with operatic celebrities bidding farewell to
friends and admirers amid a scene of great animation.
At the foot of the stairway leading to the platform were
Otto Weil, who for years has had charge of the Metro-
politan transport arrangements, and Edward Siedle,
technical director and oldest and most experienced mem-
ber of the opera staff. They were engaged in checking
off the principals as they arrived, and directing them to
their allotted places in the Pullman cars, while Judels
was doing the same for chorus, band and ballet.

Tripping down the stairs, carrying an enormous bou-
quet, came Rosa Ponselle, who had removed all traces
of her African complexion as Selika, whom she had
represented a few hours before, and looked as blooming
as her flowers. Star upon star dazzled my vision, beam-

entertained and interested,
and when I arrived the

ing on me with bright smiles, and giving me an occasional
much prized salute. Edward Ziegler, second in command
at the Metropolitan, traveled in charge of the company,
and was as placid and observant as is his wont. Scotti,
the acme of sartorial correctitude, with the eternal cigaret
between his lips, gave me a firm grip of the hand as he

put the vain question to
me, "Why dont you
come with us?" How I
wished I could ! Then
appeared a pair of heav-
enly twins — Bamboschek
and Carlo Edwards,
things of beauty rare, in
brand-new green golfing
suits, with resplendent
checked stockings, daz-
zling yellow shoes and
Tyrolean hats.

A group surrounded
dainty little Rosina Galli,
and would not let her
go until she had given
her droll imitation of a
famous prima donna in
Le Coq d'Or. One of
the sights of the gather-
ing was an enormous
stage-hand, weighing
some three hundred
pounds, dancing a pas
dc deux with the small
and agile Agnini, who
stage-manages the Met-
ropolitan shows. We en-
tered this car and that,
drank pre - Volsteadian
libations, snatched a few
salutes, and at two
o'clock in the morning
of Sunday, April 22,
two long trains contain-
ing some three hundred
people, including many
of the most famous sing-
ers of the day, conduc-
tors, orchestral players,
dancers and supers in super-abundance, with scenery and
dresses for nine operas (two of them added for emer-
gencies) drew out of the Pennsylvania Station. What a
marvelous organization, and what perfect method !

TVTo theatrical fare has given me greater pleasure in a
■*- ^ long time than the Theatre Guild's revival of Shaw's
The Devil's Disciple. Apart from its brilliant dialectics,
what good fun it is. Shaw sat down, it may be said, with
his tongue in his cheek to write a melodrama full of the
old theatrical tricks. He had in mind Sidney Carton, of
A Tale of Two Cities, or rather its stage version, The
Only Way, when he drew Dick Dudgeon, the devil-may-
care hero, who is ready to be hanged in place of a man
he scarcely knows, all on account of a woman; while for
sheer ostentatious theatricalism such incidents as the
reading of the will, the substitution by Dick of himself
{Continued on page 65)

Bud Fisher's cartoon of Albert Spalding, the violinist

Page Sixty -One

A PORTRAIT

By Margaret Watkins

(First Prize)

This portrait of B. S. Home was given the first award be-
cause it combines originality of design and quality of tone

Page Sixty-Two

The Camera Contest

At the International Salon
By Joseph R. Mason

TITAT photography is beginning more and more
to have a universal appeal was evidenced by the
International Salon held by the Pictorial Photog-
raphers of America during the month of May at the
Art Center in New York City.

It is a pleasure to note as the world struggles back
to normalcy that the minds of folk can, once more, be
turned to the contemplation of things other than
methods and weapons of destruction. This was clearly
proclaimed by the entrance of prints from twenty-five
countries — even those countries now supposedly in the
most turbulent states of mind were contributors:
Russia, Germany, France and Mexico.

Conspicuous were prints from Robert Demachy, of
Paris, Leonard Misonne, of Belgium, L. Garcia Smarth,
Mexico; Herbert Bairston, Halifax, England; Robert
Fohannson, Moscow, Russia; Joh E. J. Huysser,
Bloemendaal, Holland; J. Dudley Johnston, London;
Herbert Lambert, Bath, England ; Prof. Frank Eugene
Smith, Leipzig, Germany; Hugo Van Veverka, Car-
diff, South Wales; John M. Whitehead, Alva, Scot-
land; Nikolaus Schindler, Vienna; and Duhrkoop M.
Diez, Hamburg.

From a total of twenty-five hundred prints sub-

THE FAN

By Holmes I. Mettee

(Second Prize)

mitted, four hundred and fifty were
selected as representative. These filled to
overflowing the six galleries and the Pic-
torialists' room. The placing of the foreign
prints on the second floor, apart from the
domestic prints, was indeed a happy
thought, as it enabled us to form an
opinion as to the "vision" and merits of
the worker abroad, quite unhampered by
comparison with those of our own country.
The work of ninety-three foreign workers
was listed in the catalog out of a total of
three hundred and fifty exhibitors. This
is an excellent showing, when one thinks
of the difficulty entailed in packing, ship-
ping, and the procedure at the custom-
office.

The following number of prints were
listed in the various methods : Artatone, 8
Bromide, 86; Bromoil, 80; Chloride, 55
Carbon, 5 ; Gum, 36 ; Gum Platinum, 4
Oil, 6; Platinum or Palladium, 53
Satista, 5; Transfer (oil or bromoil), 44.
There was a preponderance of prints
that were not "straight" photography, and,
in glancing about, the observer was struck
with the number of prints taken with the
soft-focus lens. As a member of the jury
remarked : "There is a tendency to have

done with the
straight print
and an endeavor
to 'paint' by
treatment."

Today, in
ph o tographic

FACADE

By Salome E. Marckwardt

(Third Prize)

Page Sixty-Three

SuADOWLAND

there has sprung anew the desire to do photog-
raphy for photography's sake and have done with
the endeavor to paint. When such leaders as
Steiglitz, White, and Steichen call for the return
of the "straight" print, we doubt not but that the
next Salon will show a return to that method.

In the next issue, we hope to give the names of
those to whom the jury awarded the honors of the
exhibit, and we will endeavor to secure these
prints for reproduction in the magazine.

The judges of this month's contest were: Mil-
dred Ruth Wilson, Bernard S. Home, and Eu-
gene V. Brewster.

First Prize — A Portrait. Margaret Watkins,
46 Jane Street, New York City.

Second Prize — The Fan. Holmes I. Mettee,
Baltimore, Md.

Third Prize — Facade. Salome E. Marckwardt,
437 West 117th St.- New York City.

ALONG THE RIVER

By Robert Waida

(Honorable Mention)

circles, there has come a swinging back of the pendulum — a
reaction from the so-called soft-focus lens, just as the soft-
focus lens was a reaction from the harsh, wiry print of a genera-
tion ago. This was inevitable — due to a lack of moderation in
the use and treatment of the print of today. The harsh, wiry
print of yesterday has passed, except for purposes of repro-
duction, but, with the various grades and textures of paper
today, the hazy, fuzzy print has no legitimate place in photog-
raphy. Among those best fitted to speak for photography,

THE SARDINE FISHERS
OF BRITTANY

By Laura Gilpin
(Honorable Mention)

Honorable Mention — Along the
River. Robert Waida, 9 West 14th
St.. New York City.

Honorable Mention — A Landscape
Pattern. Mrs. Antoinette B. Hervey,
351 West 114th St., New York City.

Honorable Mention — The Sardine
Fishers of Brittany. Laura Gilpin, 30
West Dale Street, Colorado Springs,
Colo.

HRBSHNHHHnMflH

A LANDSCAPE
PATTERN

By Antoinette B. Hervey
(Honorable Mention)

Page Sixty-Four

Wanderings

{Continued from page 61)

for the parson by the simple expedient of putting on the
latter'* eoat, the court martial — horrowed from the old
nautical melodrama by Douglas Jerrold, Black-Eyed
Susan — and the final scene in the jail courtyard, with its
murmuring, groaning crowd, Dead March in Saul, and
the hero reprieved at the
very last moment as he
stands on the gallows
with the rope round his
neck — these all belong to
what some might call the
dark ages of the theater.
All the same, The
Devil's Disciple is first-
rate entertainment, and
I recaptured many of the
thrills I felt when I saw
Forbes-Robertson as
Dick, goodness knows
how many years ago.

Basil Sidney as Dick
is a thought too stagey
and deliberate for such
a dashing hero of ro-
mance, but he gives an
effective performance on
the whole and one of
which I am sure the
author would approve.
The best to be said of
Roland Young in the
perfectly glorious part
of General Burgoyne is
that he is as good as the
part itself. He acts it
with consummate dis-
tinction, and his dry,
slightly cynical humor,
his perfect breeding, his
quiet recognition of the
gallantry and self-sacri-
fice of Dick, of the dull
barrack-room stupidity
of his brother officer,
Major Swindon, and of
the political and military
blundering he is up
against, are admirably

conveyed. The performance stamps Roland Young as
one of the most polished actors on our stage. I may be
permitted to express the hope that by this time he has a
uniform which fits him, and that sartorially he looks
''Gentlemanly Johnny" as well as he plays him.

As to the stage direction, the play succeeded in spite
of it, but Philipp Moeller all but killed the last act by his
clumsy groupings, and halting, indecisive action. He
should go back to writing plays, in which he has shown
some promise, and leave this sort of thing to others. I
can imagine how Shaw would have squirmed if he had
noted some of the stage direction in the Guild's pro-
duction of his early play, altho I have known him to
slumber thru a dull performance of one of his own pieces.
Which reminds me of a story about Shaw when he was
called before the curtain to be loudly applauded on the
first night of one of his plays. There was a solitary boo
from the gallery, and looking up he said. "I quite agree
with you, but what are we two among so many?" However
I advise all who can to see The Devil's Disciple with its

Mishkin

"SWEET ARE THE USES OF PUBLICITY"
Impresario Gatti-Casazza is caught reading his forecast for the coming
opera season, with his publicity secretary, William J. Guard (right)
and Alfonse Eyssautier of the International Publicity Bureau looking on

present cast, for it supplies an evening of almost un-
alloyed enjoyment.

One is glad to welcome to this country Arthur Bliss,
prominent among the younger school of English

composers. That school,
which includes such men
as Hoist, Bax, Ireland,
Goosens and Percy
Scott, and which has as
its acknowledged foster-
father Vaughan-Wil-
liams, is cutting a wide
swathe for itself. It is
marked not only by sin-
cerity and originality but
has that distinctly na-
tional flavor which, pace
Ernest Newman, it
ought to possess. It has,
as Mr. Bliss pointed out
in his interesting and
amusing address before
the League of Composers
— by whom he was en-
tertained at the Mac-
dowell Club — shaken it-
self free from those
Germanic influences
which, beginning with
Handel and carried on
thru Mendelssohn and
Wagner, more or less
prevailed up to the time
of the outbreak of the
war.

Mr. Bliss is going
West with his father,
who has purchased a
home in California, and
he will try some inter-
esting musical experi-
ments with the films at
Hollywood. He returns
to New York in the au-
tumn to conduct two of
his own compositions. A
charming and cultured
man, Mr. Bliss is a distinguished addition to musical
society on this side. The reception given to him by the
League of Composers, the board of which he has joined,
was a pleasant affair. The younger set danced to music
provided by some eminent persons, including Harold
Bauer, who amused himself and delighted everybody by
improvising a set of waltzes on themes from Tristan,
Lohengrin, Tannhauser (imagine the Pilgrim's Chorus
as a waltz!), and the Ring. Dulce est desipere in loco, or
as Pope has it :

A little nonsense now and then
Is relished by the wisest men.

T have a deep-seated prejudice against amateur shows,
•*■ and especially against men dressed in female attire,
when that dressing up is by way of close imitation and
not burlesque. Once, when a very young man, I played
the part of Little Buttercup in H. M. S. Pinafore, and
I never felt more uncomfortable and. indeed, ashamed
(Continued on page 72)

Page Sixty-Five

(Information about theatrical productions cannot invariably be accurate because of

the time it takes to print Shadowland. In the meantime, neiv 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.

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 Basil Sydney in the title
role and Roland Young as General Burgoyne.

The Enchanted Cottage. Ritz. — An unusually de-
lightful play that truly enchants everyone that 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.

The Mountebank. Lyceum. — Norman Trevor in a
fairly human war drama.

Rain. Maxine Elliott's. — One of the season's great
successes, 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.

Sweet Nell of Old Drury. 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. Selwyn. — A highly interesting and in-
tensely romantic play.

Whispering Wires. Broadhnrst. — 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.

Aren't We All? Gaiety. — An interesting comedy
featuring Cyril Maude.

Cold Feet. Fulton. — May Vokes and Glenn Anders
in a brisk farce.

The Comedian. Belasco. — Belasco at his best in the
production of Guitry's play, featuring Lionel Atwill.

For Value Received. Longacre. — Augustin Duncan
in a comedy-drama of laughter and tears.

Give and Take. Forty-ninth Street. — Laughable play
by Aaron Hoffman, with Louis Mann and George Sid-
ney in typical roles.

Mary the Third. Thirty-ninth Street.
& — A play of love and romance plus gentle

satire, by Rachel Crothers.

Merton of the Movies. Cort. — Mirthful and oc-
casionally moving travesty of the movie hero.

Not So Fast. Morosco. — Taylor Holmes returns to
Broadway in a clever role.

The Old Soak. Plytnouth. — Don Marquis' immortal
creation admirably transferred to the stage.

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

So This Is London! Hudson. — Most amusing
Anglo-American farcical comedy.

Uptown, West. Bijou. — A realistic play of Japanese-
American life.

You and I. Belmont. — Harvard Prize play, with
H. B. Warner and Lucille Watson as the stars of the
cast.

Melody and Maidens

ggy Wood at her
delightful musical

Bombo. Winter Garden. — Return
engagement of Al Jolson's lively musical
comedy, featuring many new numbers.

Caroline. Ambassador. — An admir-
ably staged operetta, with Tessa Kosta.

The Clinging Vine. Knickerbocker.
— ■ Charming Pe
brightest in a
comedy.

Dew Drop Inn. Astor. — James Bar-
ton in a lively musical play.

The Gingham Girl. Central. — One
of the most tuneful comedies in town.

Go-Go. Daly's Sixty-third Street. —
Catchy music and funny lines.

Jack and Jill. The Globe. — John Mur-

ray Anderson's own revue, featuring
Ann Pennington.

Little Nelly 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 cemedies.

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.

\j\

Page Sixty-Six

National Theaters to Order

{Continued from page 55)

to inspect the transformation and
discover that the change is only in
the mind's eye. The fantasy is obvi-
ous, the humor is heavy- footed, and
there isn't an ounce of real grace or
whimsy in the whole thing.

While the Equity Players are re-
covering- from Roger Bloomer, and
Maurice Swartz from Anathema,
Equity has brought forward a re-
vival of The Rivals crowded with
as many famous names as there
are parts in the play, and Swartz
has staged an English version of
The Inspector General on the
very opposite principle. Gogol's
'"classic" piece of very low-brow
Russian farce is not the sort of
thing to be trusted either to un-
known incompetents or the mercies
of the American public. The Ri-
vals, on the other hand, is sturdy
enough to withstand even an all-
star cast. In certain quarters, there
is a prejudice in favor of directors ;
it is thought that players like Fran-

White Studiu

A scene from Zander the Great, with Alice
Brady and Jerome Patrick in the leading roles

mi mm mi mi in mi iiiiiiiiiiimiiimni! m iiiii i ii i ii i mi mi in mi mi in ii 1 1! mi mi in

cis Wilson, McKay Morris, Violet
lleming, Maclyn Arbuckle, Mary
Shaw, and Eva Le Gallienne en
masse are even more likely than
ordinary mortals to require a guid-
ing and a chastening hand.

The rest of the month is dis-
tinguished by the spectacle of the
extraordinary and indescribable art
of Mrs. Fiske going down in a
fortnight in an ill-fated ship called
The Dice of the Gods ; an earnest
and almost successful attempt by
Lincoln Osborn to write a middle-
class tragedy of racial intermar-
riage. Uptown West, which ex-
hibits Henry Herbert's skill ; a melo-
dramatic and untheatrical drama-
tization of If Winter Comes, in
which the adroit Cyril Maude labors
loyally but hopelessly ; a stupidity
by Glen McDonough called
Within Four Walls, and another
of those alternately exciting and
impossible negro musical shows,
How Come ?

Is the Novel Slipping?

(Continued from page 20"

drunk with unhappy endings ; and they turn, also, from
contemplation of their neighbors, in whom they've had
to pretend a greater interest than they ever felt, to the
most bizarre and incomprehensible exposition of their
own little private persons.

Xow, in spite of a good deal of freakish stuff on the
German stage, my own feeling is that the dramatists are
loosening up the forms of drama, breaking down tradi-
tion, seeking fresher and freer effects, not nearly so
much because they have been cramped by the old forms
and want to kick over the traces as because they feel an
urge to express something which the old forms are inade-
quate to give body to. Robert Edmond Jones doesn't set
Hamlet in one formal arrangement because he's allowed
to try something new, and revels in his freedom. He
sets it so because he has a perfectly definite vision of a
kind of theatrical beauty and emotion impossible on the
realistic stage. O'Neill didn't write The Hairy Ape just
to show that he'd kicked realism into the gutter. He
hadn't. He is even now working on a new realistic play.
He wrote The Hairy Ape because he wanted to make a
kind of ironic poem about the soul of a stoker, because
he wanted to say something about modern society with
an ecstasy and tragic intensity impossible in realistic
form. The form of his play was conditioned by his
need. In other words, I feel behind the new dramatists
a definite sincerity and purpose, which is just as much
concerned with the social implications of art as was
the best of the older realism. I feel behind the new
novelists a more or less conscious repudiation of social
implications, a desire simply to splash about in unre-
strained individualism. And I believe the world has got
beyond the point where such unrestrained individualism
in art will ever again gain the sufferance of mankind.

I dont wish to give the impression that I am so foolish
as to think that either in prose fiction or the drama are
the new forms the only ones of consequence, or that
they will usurp the field in the future. I hope to have
more to say on that point later. So long as men and
women like a good story (and that will be always), we
shall have plays and tales of adventure, of romance, of
comedy ; and so long as men and women like to see them-
selves on the stage or in books, we shall have realism.
However, realism isn't enough, and mere stories are not
enough, to satisfy a world which is spiritually upset.
The world was spiritually upset after the French Revo-
lution, and the result was the great renaissance of
poetry, and Scott's historical romances in England, and
Victor Hugo's in France. The world is again upset. A
literature and drama of flat, literal prose again will not
suffice. Something of more stirring and imaginative
quality has got to come. It seems to be coming in the
drama of most countries. Is it coming in poetry and
fiction? Frankly, I dont find it — not in American verse
and fiction, at any rate. It doesn't seem to me that
Gargoyles or Women in Love or Winesburg, Ohio, in
any way measures up to the need. Between the public
response to R.U.R. or Liliom, or The Hairy Ape, and
the limited twitter of the dilettantes over the few novel-
ists who have sought freedom thru Freud, yawns a signifi-
cant gulf. Our novelists are not coming up to the mark.
Their imaginations do not seem equal to the task.

That task is not to try to make mankind forget its
troubles by watching the sexual images flit darkly thru
Ben Hecht's brain, but to give mankind courage to face
an awful future by planting in him the seeds of faith,
faith that somewhere, somehow, beauty and truth dwell
unconquered and unconquerable in the human soul.

Page Sixty-Seven

New Books in Brief Review

CHILDREN have a guessing game
called Fish, Flesh or Fowl which
furnishes endless amusement pro-
vided some bright child does not discover
in the dictionary a queer creature called
the platypus or duckbill, habitat Australia,
which falls into all three categories and
into none of them. The platypus is able
to live under water like a fish. In ap-
pearance it resembles a gargantuan mole,
and like a bird it lays eggs. Among the
literary "fish, flesh or fowl" of the past
year, Mumbo-Jumbo, by Henry Clews,
Jr. {Boni and .Liveright) is the platy-
pus.

It is really a play, preceded by a
lengthy introduction in the Shavian man-
ner. More than this, it is a tremendous
tirade against most things, modern and
contemporary. As Mr. Clews proclaims,
he is a reactionary of purest ray, a Bour-
bon and the most immaculate of the
White Guard. He believes the destruc-
tion of a civilization founded upon negro
slavery was a calamity, and the French
revolution he sees in the light of an
atrocious crime. He loathes James
Watts for having discovered the princi-
ple which made modern mechanical in-
dustrial development possible, and be-
lieves earnestly — terribly earnestly — that
all forward movements in the arts since
the time of Leonardo are Mumbo-Jumbo.
To this limbo he consigns, with a fine
free gesture of contempt, all modern in-
dustry, science, politics, journalism,
democracy, feminism and what-not.

In a book so personal and so highly
colored, it is impossible to consider the
content without curiosity as to the
author himself. Mr. Clews has devoted
himself to the study of painting and has
made his home abroad for a number of
years, dividing his time between France
and England. He is the son of the late
Henry Clews, New York banker and mil-
lionaire, whose fortune had its founda-
tions in the very industry which the son
loathes so whole-heartedly. His contact
has been slight with the machinery, the
sky-scrapers and the slaughter-houses
which inspire Carl Sandburg and Maxwell
Bodenheim to the poetic efforts which the
author of Mumbo-Jumbo cannot mention
without nausea.

Clearly this book owes its origin in no
small degree to the amount of time which
Mr. Clews has been able to devote to the
"ultra" journals of the day. He quotes
freely from the Dial, Broom, the New
Republic, the Nation, Poetry, the Freeman
and others of their class. This perhaps
explains the explosiveness of Mumbo-
Jumbo. Such a reading list might drive
Sherwood Anderson and James Joyce into
a return to La Vie de Boheme.

Mr. Clews dislikes so many people and
things that it is certain every reader will
find some "hate" which he shares with
him. He has an effective fashion of at-
tacking the modernist with his own
weapons. He writes of "Barnumized
Shaw" and conceives his book in the
Shavian pattern. He spurns H. L.
Mencken, and proceeds to set down whole
pages not to be surpassed by the most
scarlet passages of the autocrat of the
Smart Set. He writes that a critical
evaluation published in Vanity Fair —
which he takes with a curious lack of
humor — is "pathetically silly, perversely
cynical, hysterically pretentious, prig-
gishly grotesque, morbidly self-conscious,
effetely insincere, clownishly self-exploit-
ing," and so on for a full half page.
Why not say the evaluations arrived at by
a score or so of our smartest critics are

self-conscious and full of literary at-
titudinizing ? Too many complex ad-
jectives produce exhaustion.

One thing the author has spared the
long-suffering reader. He has not seized
upon the favorite shield of our reactionary
leaders — a symbol which they call "Old

Margrethe Mather

KONRAD BERCOVICI

Author of Murdo, Ghitza, and other books

of gypsy life

Glory." On the contrary, he frankly
admits his loathing for the United States
as the source of all that is noisy, vulgar
and self-exploiting in the Occident of to-
day.

Despite his hatred of sensationalism,
Mr. Clews has written a book frankly
calculated to arouse a sensation. If it
fails to provoke serious consideration, it
will be because the author has substituted
savage denunciation for logic and con-
vincing criticism. It is a turbulent, inter-
esting book, and the play, at which one ar-
rives after some eighty pages of Shavian
preface, is genuinely amusing, and full of
good solid blows at the fetiches, the poses
and the hypocrisies of this puzzling
modern world. But it lacks the delicate
thrust of the rapier. It is satire done
with a shillalah.

HThat eminent baseball expert Mr. Hey-
wood Broun having light-heartedly
taken to dramatic criticism, it may be per-
mitted to one who, like the writer, does
not profess to be profoundly versed in the
national game to indulge in a a few com-
ments upon a book entitled My Thirty
Years in Baseball, by John J. McGraw.
The author is reputed to be "the biggest
man in baseball today" and he looks it,
judging from his portrait, which is the
frontispiece to his book. Manager of
eight National League Champion teams,
including the Giants of today, and three
World's Champions, he speaks with the
voice of authority, and his face suggests
that he can exercise it when necessary.
That "great little fellow" George M.
Cohan has written an introduction which
is almost as terse and stimulating as his
famous patriotic song Over There. From

it one gathers that Mr. McGraw has all

the virtues and qualities which go to the

making of a great baseball expert and

manager, and in asking the portentous

question, "What is it this man has on the

ball ?" Mr. Cohan supplies the answer —

"Everything." What more is there to be

said, except that the book (published by

Boni and Liveright) has a number of

remarkable stories and illustrations in

action of those heroes of bat and ball,

Ty Cobb, Ned Hanlon, Christy Mathew-

son, Babe Ruth and very many others?

It may, however, be added that it is a

succinct record of baseball for more than

thirty years, since, in fact, the author

himself was a member of the Olean

Team in 1890, and, according to Hanlon,

the most valuable player to a baseball

club he ever knew. Baseball fans will

eagerly read Mr. McGraw's book, which

means that it is bound to be "best-seller."

HThe Sea-Hawk, by Rafael Sabatini,
{Houghton Mifflin Co.), is a semi-
historic, romantic work of the Eliza-
bethan era dealing with the adventures
of Sir Oliver Tressilian, a Cornish
gentleman, who became a renegade and
a Barbary corsair, and might have be-
come Basha of Algiers but for a twist
in circumstances which rounded out his
circle of destiny and set him down once
more in Cornwall.

The story opens with Sir Oliver a
much to be envied person — a possessor
of "youth, wealth and a good digestion"
— recently knighted by the Virgin Queen,
and the affianced husband of the delight-
ful Mistress Rosamund Godolphin. But
immediately across this picture falls the
shadow of Peter Godolphin, Rosa-
mund's brother, who opposes the mar-
riage. Complications pile up when Sir
Oliver's weakling, tho beloved, half-
brother kills Peter in a duel under cir-
cumstances which make it appear mur-
der. Suspicion falls on Sir Oliver ; even
Rosamund in her grief declares him a
murderer. To protect Lionel, Sir Oliver
keeps silent.

In time the craven Lionel, fearing his
elder brother will tell the truth in order
to reinstate himself with Rosamund, has
Sir Oliver kidnapped with the intent of
selling him into slavery on the Barbary
coast. Rid of him, Lionel not only takes
over his estate but persuades Rosamund
into a promise of marriage.

Sir Oliver is thus plunged into the
tumult of piracy, galley slavery and the
fatalism of the Muslimeen. Here Saba-
tini sketches brutally the soul of a Cornish
gentleman betrayed and tormented, until
he is transformed into a cruel follower
of Allah. With his genius for silhouet-
ting, Sabatini pictures the elemental loves
and hates, the craftiness of the Musli-
meen, the bloody battles by which Sir
Oliver wins for himself the title of Sakr-
el-Bahr, the Sea-Hawk, thru which he
may become the divine Basha of Algiers.
But in his thirst for vengeance the Sea-
Hawk dashes back to England and kid-
naps Lionel and Rosamund on the eve of
their marriage.

The solution is worked out amid the
splendor and glamour of the land of Allah.
Sabatini's power for telling a tale, his
flair for picturing bold adventure against
a colorful background, his technique in
characterization, coupled with the romance
itself, built solidly on historic facts, car-
ries the reader as tho he were truly
kidnapped to the Barbary coast, and makes
the hazardous journey well worth while.
{Continued on page 77)

Page Sixty-Eight

SuADOWLAND

Our Contributors

JOHN H. ANDERSON tor the past
five years has been on the staff of
the New York Evening Post. His
first newspaper experience was ob-
tained on a Southern daily, where he
was the City Editor and Columnist.
He is a writer of literary and dramatic
criticism. * * * Henry Altimus is
aji American writer of essays and
stories who makes his home in Paris.
His work is always distinguished for
its gentle irony and subtle humor.

* * * Helen C. Candee is a well-
known traveler and writer. She re-
turned this spring from a prolonged
stay in China, and departed in May for
a summer in England. * * * Walter
Prichard Eaton gave up the business
of being an editor in New York in
favor of being a farmer in Massachu-
setts. However, he has not discon-
tinued the literary life altogether, for
he still produces books for boys and
critical articles for various magazines.

* * * Dwight Taylor, whose carica-
tures illustrate Mr. Eaton's article on
the novel, is a twenty-year-old artist
and writer whose book of verses and
sketches, Some Pierrots Come from
Behind the Moon, has just been pub-
lished. He is tramping thru England
this summer with a pad and a pencil
and a knapsack. * * * Henry Albert
Phillips is a very well-known writer
and critic who has just returned from
a prolonged sojourn in Europe. He,
too, is a "gentleman farmer," and is re-
siding in the hills of Connecticut, busily
editing his novel, The Untenanted
Heart, for his publishers. * * * Of
the poets whose work appears on page
forty-three, Maxwell Bodenheim is best
known. He is the author of four books
of verse and the creator of a recently
published "first novel" entitled Black-
guard. Bio De Casseres is that rare
thing in America- — a real American.
Her grandfather became the first
settler of northern Illinois, and her
grandmother was Ho-no-ne-gah, a
princess of the Pottawotamie tribe of
Indians. She is the wife of Benjamin
De Casseres, author of Forty Im-
mortals and other books. John Mc-
Clure is the author of Airs and Ballads,
a contributor to various magazines,
and the managing editor of The Double
Dealer. Djuna Barnes is a poet, play-
wright, essayist, and writer of fiction.
Friedrich von Falkenburg has contrib-
uted to many magazines here and
abroad, and was for a time the editor
of a mid-Western publication devoted
to art and literature. Helene Mullins'
poems and brief plays have appeared
in the Forum, Poet Lore and other liter-
ary magazines. Kenneth Fearing is a
student at the University of Wiscon-
sin, and spends his vacations in Chicago
newspaper offices. Josephine von
Dolzen Pease is best known as a writer
of charming verse for children. Pierre
Loving is a poet, critic, and playwright.
At- present he is doing some special
writing in Europe. * * * Allan

Ross MacDougall is in Paris, writing
and wandering. * * * Alexander P.
Couard, whose sketches appear on
page forty-two, is a self-developed art-
ist, who uses a technique all his own.
His art is thoroly American; he is the
one man of the modern school who is
not influenced by such artists as
Cezanne and Gauguin. He is one of
the foremost colorists in this country,
and will have a one-man show in New
York this coming season. * * *
Jerome Hart was educated at Win-
chester and Oxford. He studied piano
under Dannreuther and composition
under Prout. He has been editor of
the London Globe, music critic of the
New York Herald, and is a contributor
of articles to various magazines both
here and abroad. * * * Harriet
Henry is one of the younger fiction
writers, who occasionally produces
clever bits of satire, and unusual verse.

* * * Kenneth Macgowan graduated
from Harvard in 1911 and since then
has been connected with motion picture
work, advertising, editing and pub-
lishing. He is the author of several
books on stagecraft, and at present is
the dramatic critic for the New York
Globe. * * * William MacPherson
is a writer and newspaperman who has
been translating French fiction since
1915. In this number he has given us
a story by Frederic Boutet, who is one
of the most prolific as well as talented
of the younger French fiction writers.

* * * Alice Harvey, whose sketches
of Carnegie Hall have surely interested
you, is studying with Wallace Morgan,
the well-known illustrator. * * *
Samuel Chamberlain, whose sketch of
the Chateau Wall opens this number,
is a graduate of the Boston Institute
of Technology and spends most of his
time abroad. He calls himself an
"architectural artist." At present he
is in France. * * * The work of
Franz Molnar, the Hungarian drama-
tist, is well known in this country.
Two of his new plays are to be
produced on Broadway this coming
season. * . * .* Joseph Szebenyei,
Molnar's translator, was on the edi-
torial staff of the London Morning Post,
and has translated the works of Kip-
ling and WTilde into Hungarian. * * *
Kenneth C. Stellenwerf, who sketched
the City Cousin on her visit to the
Country Cousin, studied at the Art
Students' League. His decorations
have often appeared in Shadowland.

* * * Helen Appleton Read is the
art critic for the Brooklyn Eagle. She
has studied with famous artists, both
here and abroad. * * * Joseph R.
Mason, who has conducted our Camera
Contest for the past year, is himself
a photographer of note. * * * Eldon
Kelley works in black and white for
various magazines, but paints in vivid
oils for his own pleasure. * * * The
cover of this number of Shadowland
is a decorative landscape by our art
director, A. M. Hopfmuller.

and
atutal

,rJashionab(Q
Jfue

SanFrancisco,611 Mission^t.
Chicago, Clark&Madison.St.
LosArujeIes,6£&. Broadway
New York, 230W H^Street.

Piaase Sand Box Pum-Kin Rouge to —

Page Sixty-Nine

SuiADOWLAND

Dull Hair

Noted actresses all abhor dull
hair — they can't afford to have it.
They have no more choice in the
color of their hair than you have.
Their hair is more beautiful, be-
cause their profession — their
very environment — soon teaches
them how to make the best of
what nature has given them.

an ordinary shampoo. It does more than
merely clean. It adds that little something
which distinguishes really pretty hair from
that which is dull and ordinary.

M/hoksome

Pure good gum
—good for the
digestion, teeth
and nerves — «
for good health
use Beemans-

"a sensible,

Deliciously flavored

BEEMA

Pepsin Gum

American Chicle Co.

The Gold Watch and Chain

(Continued from page 14)

The First One (taking it off, but hold-
ing it in her hand) : She got it from her
late husband.

The Other One: Yes, yes. Put it
down.

The Third Lady (energetically) : Why
dont you put it down when you are told
so many times ?

A Lean Lady : Here is a black bracelet.
Mourning jewelry. Who wants it? (No-
body answers.) What about this brooch
from Ischl? "Souvenir from Ischl" is
engraved on it. Who wants it?

Several of them (sincerely, direct from
their hearts) : Why not keep them your-
self, my dear? Do keep them.

The Lean Lady: I have never been to
Ischl. (Puts it back.) Very cute little
watch. Give it to me. Let me see it too.

The Other Lady: Give it to. her!

Several of them : Give it to her, for
heaven's sake. Let her look at it.

They think that the First Lady has had
■it too long already, and that in the Lean
One's hand it is in less danger.

The First Lady (handing her the
watch, but keeping the end of the chain in
her hand for the sake of security) : It's
a repeater.

The Lean One : Let the chain go.

The First One : You can look at it
this way.

The chain suddenly breaks, a circum-
stance revealing the fact that they were
pulling it. All look on with hearts throb-
bing, for they begin to feel that a serious
struggle is in progress for the possession
of the watch.

The Lean One : There you are. Now
you have broken it.

The First Lady : You broke it.

The Lean One: /.' How can you say
such a thing? (Within a second she per-
ceives that the longer part of the chain
remains in her hand, and that she could
wear it even so.) No matter. It will be
all right.

A Lady who has not yet spoken :
Where is that Souvenir from Ischl?
(She too steps up to the table.)

The First One : Ho, ho ! Slower,
please. (She pushes her back.)

The New Lady : Let me see that
watch, too.

All (to the Lean One) : Give it to her.

They figure that it is best to let an out-
sider inspect it as well, and not permit one
or the other to hold it too long, having
already demonstrated their claim to it by
their particular interest.

The Lean One (handing it to her) :
It's a repeater.

The New Lady (calmly) : Well then,
I choose this.

There is general amazement at the fact
that this seemingly complicated problem
can be settled in such a simple manner.

The First Lady: Pardon me, you
asked for the Souvenir from Ischl.

The New Lady: I? All I said was:

'Where is it?" (She opens her bag to
place the watch inside.)

The First Lady : Pardon me, that does
not go.

The Other Lady : That is a valuable
piece. One selects some little trinket, a
sort of souvenir, but not a watch and
chain.

The New Lady (calmly putting the
watch azvay) : You may select some sou-
venir if you like.

She goes to the mirror and arranges her
hat and powders her face. Slozvly they
all retire from the table, which becomes
uninteresting from that moment. They
surround the clever woman, all looking into
the mirror, examining their own faces, but
talking to her.

The First One : What could we select
when you took the only pretty piece?

The Lady with the Watch : It's all
the same ... It wasn't because I wanted
it . . . but someone had to take it. . . .

The Other Lady: Give me the chain,
at least.

The Lady with the Watch : Why,
it's broken! (With her left hand she
pulls her blouse down and smooths it with
her right.) Good-bye, my dear Steve.

The Son : Good-bye, dear Aunt
Anthonie. Thanks for your kindness.

Aunt Anthonie : That's all right, my
boy. You know how dearly I loved your
poor mother. (She begins to cry and
quickly exits.)

There is along pause.

The First Lady: That woman has got
the watch. ,(She is in evident despair;
nevertheless sjie puts the fragment of the
chain in her 'bag.)

The Lean One: Where is the Souve-
nir from Ischl ?

The Souvenir from Ischl has disap-
peared. The mourning jewel has also dis-
appeared. Ordinary buttons only are left
on the table, everything else has been
taken.

The Lean One: Nothing left for me?

Julia, fearful that they may take her
souvenirs, rises and prepares to go.

The Lean One: Julia, let me have the
clasp ; you will have the bird and the
button.

Julia : You can have the bird.

The Lean One : You can have the
bird.

The Lean One: I dont want the bird.
Let me have the clasp.

Julia : In that case I wont give you
anything. (Prepares to go.)

The Lean One : All right, then. Give
me the bird.

She puts the glass-eyed colibri bird in
her bag and leaves without a word. The
others follow suit. Even the bone buttons
noiv have disappeared from the table. The
apartment is deserted, the son only re-
mains, sitting in the corner of the sofa,
silently weeping. It is evening. The Ser-
vant girl enters and turns on the light.

Page Seventy

SLlADOWLAND

A Painter of Light

(( ontinued from page 11)

enough he (louts shadows, yet in so doing
he accents light. If the picture must have
shadows, as on the side of a group of
white buildings at a seaport, he gives them
a certain sense of warmth and life. But
in general, shadows are avoided, and the
effect is reached by contrast in colors only,
as in the pictures of the three sailors. He
accomplishes his effects in a masterly way
without any suggestion of the flatness of
poster-painting.

A review of his canvases cannot be made
without an instant recognition of his strong
sense of decoration. Even his portraits
are decorative, apart from the likeness
to the sitter, for which quality they are
famous. This decorative motif gives them
a double value. In the later Spanish pic-
tures he has introduced a sketchy motif
of Spanish decoration which suggests the
propre decor of the human figure which
it frames, sometimes illuminating the bent
form of the grandmother, at others that
of the buoyant flower-girl of splendid al-
lure.

As Claggett Wilson has developed in
seriousness of purpose, his figures have
become more and more sculptural, and in
consequence they stir deep emotions. Even
his peasant girls with their tender charm
and warm appeal are splendid with this
distinguishing quality.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllD

Reviewing the Revues
of Paris

(Continued from page 39)

creature. Not only does Madame Rasimi
control the destinies of the theater, but
she also sends out revue companies to the
provinces, to Spain and the Americas, for
which she designs and executes the cos-
tumes. This year she intends, I believe,
to send a revue company headed by
Mistinguett, Earl Leslie, Oy-Ra, Parysis,
and other well-known entertainers, to tour
South America and the United States.
In the present revue at the Casino de
Paris, En Douce, Mistinguett dances, sings
and acts with prodigality ; she is, in fact,
almost the whole show. Compared to
others of former years, this new produc-
tion is startlingly poor in novelties of wit
or music, and about the only feature of
interest in the new revue at the Palace
Theater, apart from the dancing of Harry
Piker and several costumes designed by
Paul Poiret, is the permanent flight of
stairs up-stage used much after the same
fashion as those in the production of Ham-
let by Hopkins. There is a painful
paucity of wit, and nothing very novel
in the wajr of music, unless one considers
that the performance of the whole of
Debussy's The Afternoon of a Faun in a
music-hall is a novelty. And the appear-
ance of Mademoiselle Polaire in a revue
may be considered somewhat of a novelty,
except that she does nothing very un-
usual and her attempts at dancing with
Piker bring down the house. But that,
unlike so many other things in these
revues, is not meant to be funny. And the
things meant to be amusing, like the mock
marriage of Cecile Sorel to Georges
Clemenceau interrupted by Lloyd George,
are too sad and boring to think about.
So, after all these shows, one is left with
the feeling : Thank God for America and
all the dancers she sends to Paris.

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of a world-renowned purity, and exquisite scent.

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and Canada

Do Women Love More Completely than Men ?

And if they do or do not — according to individual
opinions — what is the difference between their love
today as compared with that of the old-fashioned
woman's love ? These questions are answered in
the August number by a man and a woman — both
prominent motion-picture stars. Which one is
right ?

Three Little Girls ^Vho Came Back

An unusually good story by Harry Carr concerning
the struggle of three well-known stars who believe
that freedom of self-expression under the guidance
of sympathetic direction means development and
that forcing an actor into wrong parts is the quick-
est way to ruin him. Read how they each eventu-
ally triumphed.

The Family Gallery

Due to the popularity that was given to a display
of photographs some months ago in Motion Pic-
ture Magazine of stars and their families, a num-
ber of artistic and interesting pictures similar in
character will be shown in the August issue. You
will not want to miss it.

Motion Picture Magazine
for August

On the stands July First

Page Seventy-One

Si-IADOWLAND

Don't Hide Them With a Veil; Remove
Them With Othine Double Strength

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.

A Few of the Contributors to the August

SUADOWLAND

William McFee

Allan Ross Macdougall

Georges Enesco

Willy Pogany

Henry Altimus

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On delivery I will pay Postman $3.75, plus few cents
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Name

Street City .State

In Defence of Decay

(Continued from page 23)

more frightful peace were not the result
of dynastic ambitions, or a clash of civili-
zations, or a competition for oil. They
were the consequence of misspent old age :
the work of doddering statesmen who
might have been growing old beautifully
and who tried to stay young in the ugliest
manner they knew.

If I were asked to restore to Europe the
comparative calm which it enjoyed be-
fore the war, the balmy senility of a nor-
mal and painless decay, I would not resort
to such devastating elixirs as Reparations
Commissions or Ambassadors' Councils or
Leagues of Nations, which are making of
Europe what the elixir has made of our
charming and venerable old man. I would
invite all the statesmen who made the
war and concluded the peace to come to
Paris to spend ten minutes in silent medita-
tion before the little shop in the Rue de
Rivoli. The terrible object lesson could
not fail to penetrate even their enfeebled
comprehension and bring home to them
effectively a belated revelation of the com-
pensations of decay.

Then, after having lodged them securely
in the retreat of a Peace Palace, designed
rather for the attainable peace of old age
than for the unattainable peace of nations,
I would call a commission of college
sophomores and entrust them with the re-
vision of the Treaty of Versailles. The

frivolous provisions of the treaty they will
devise will be entirely in accord with the
inconsequential nature of peace pacts, and
will be free from the malice and venom
written into such pacts by men embittered
by defeat in their struggle against decay.

All the world over, there are societies
for the prevention of cruelty to animals
and children, but there are, alas, none in
existence for the prevention of cruelty to
adults. The hideous cruelty, the savage
brutality of the exploiter of the elixir of
youth in the Rue de Rivoli is not accessible
to the law, and yet no penalty could be
so severe as to exceed the enormity of
his crime.

My friend Chardonnet is a charming
man. In a few years, in the normal course
of decay, he would attain the senility
which is the only reward of life. Secure
behind the barricade of old age, he would
be immune to the despair of his wife, the
malice of his mistress, the importunities
of his son. But his elixir treatment will
make him twenty years younger and thrust
him back once more into the turmoil of a
harassed existence.

And tragedy is inevitable. His wife will
surely kill herself, his mistress will surely
kill him, and his son will certainly come to
an untimely end in the dissipation of his
trivial heritage.

1 1 [ 1 1 1 1 1 M 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 r F 1 11 IE I M 1 1 1 1 1 1 r

Wanderings

(Continued from page 65)

of myself, than I did in the garments of
the old bumboat woman. Vividly do I
recall the broad jests indulged in at my
expense by my fellow actors in the dress-
ing-room. Never a member of the famous
O. U. D. C, I frequently attended their
performances at Oxford, and in these the
female parts were taken by women and
girls and not by young men and lads.
There is indeed a rooted objection to the as-
sumption of female roles by males at Brit-
ish universities and even schools, and I have
been unable to shake myself free of it.

Nevertheless, candor compels me to ad-
mit that I greatly enjoyed the performance
given at the Metropolitan Opera House
by the Mask and Wig Club of the Uni-
versity of Pennsylvania of a musical play
entitled Here's Howe. In it two or three
score young men disported themselves in
gay feminine costumes of the Revolution-
ary period, for the play was based on an
historic episode of that time, and the
title was a punning reference to General
Howe, of the British Army. The danc-
ing, groupings and stage direction were
most animated, and the reverse of ama-
teurish ; in fact, New York producers
could learn much in these matters from
this famous college dramatic club. The
only thing that disconcerted and indeed
irritated me was to hear manly baritones
uttering soft nothings and singing the ex-
cellent melodies of Mr. Charles Gilpin an
octave or so lower than they were written.
But it was a jolly entertainment, and none
enjoyed it more than the performers them-
selves, except perhaps their sisters and
their cousins and their aunts. My thanks,
therefore, for an invitation to attend the
show from that old Masker and Wigger
Mr. Milton V. Snyder, who with Senator
George Wharton Pepper played in the
Archanians of Aristophanes some thirty

years ago, and still retains an active in-
terest in the club.

Q peaking of Aristophanes, there was a
decidedly Aristophanic touch about
the entertainment following the last dinner
of the Ten Nights' Club of the Metro-
politan Opera. That event is an annual
diversion of the musical critics and
other choice spirits, when they seize the
opportunity to roast and toast in good
humored fashion the distinguished im-
presario, the opulent committee and the
leading artists of the opera, as well as
other persons associated with that organi-
zation. The prime conspirator was, as
usual Frank H. Warren, the wittily ir-
reverent music critic of the Evening
World, and he was ably seconded by Gil-
bert Gabriel of the Sun, Harry Osgood,
composer and pianist, and that Franco-
Hibernian idol of the ladies, "Alfonse,"
alias Georges Eyssautier. No one can
utter a Rabelaisian jest or a more or less
delicate innuendo with greater freedom
from offense than Frank Warren, and his
lantern lecture, was convulsing.

HPhe other day I wandered into the new
offices of the Tribune at the invitation
of a brilliant young member of the literary
staff. He obligingly showed me over the
building, which is a miracle of careful
planning. What a difference from the old
grimy, stuffy conditions amid which news-
paper men, from the editor down to the
cub reporter, worked in days past ! The
superbly spacious, well-lighted, perfectly
ventilated editorial, art, business,
and machining departments all 1"" lp not
only to facilitate the work of a great daily,
but also to make the workers more
ful and self-respecting.

(Continued on pa

Page Seventy-Two

SuADQWLAND

Two Letters

i ( ontimied from page 35)

"1 d-d not know what became of her.
1 learned two months ago by accident.
1 met an old drunkard, who used to be
stage manager of a road company in
which 1 had done one-night stands with
Fanny. He said that he had read in a
newspaper that she had married a man
of wealth and of good family, lie gave
me your name and told me where your
chateau was."

"You are mad," M. de Yrcuil inter-
rupted jubilantly, feeling- freed of a
frightful burden. "The name of the girl
whom I married "

"Is Marceline Bouvine. Yes, and she
is now thirty-three years old. You see,
monsieur, the stage manager and I knew
Fanny Lerial's real name. In our travels
it appeared on the passports, because
Fanny Lerial was Marceline Bouvine,
and it is she whom you married, Monsieur
de Vreuil.

"I dont ask anything of you," the man
continued. "I am not trying to black-
mail you. I am revenging myself on her
— that is all. It is not a very fine thing
to do, perhaps, but she made me an out-
cast. I wanted you to know. Now I
am going to return to my hole in the
country, to vegetate there miserably until
I die. You will hear nothing more of me.
Adieu, monsieur."

He went away.

M. de Yreuil remained in the garden
for a few moments. Then he regained
the Dauphin Hotel, got into his carriage
and drove back to the chateau.

His wife was waiting for him in the
breakfast-room. He gave her a searching
look. A hideous uncertainty tortured
him. When should he speak? He did
not speak that day, or the next day, or
any of the days that followed.

Weeks and months passed. One morn-
ing M. de Vreuil saw in the mail a letter
which had come from Marseilles. The
envelope and the handwriting on it were

equally cheap looking. It was addressed
to Mme. de Vreuil. The latter, after
reading it, seemed to he keenly affected,
altho she tried to conceal her emotion.

M . de Vreuil watched her all day. Fie
was torn by contradictory sentiments
Finally he said quietly to her :

"Marceline, have confidence in me. I
am your friend. You have received
threats. Yes — have no fears, I will pro-
tect you. You would have done better to
tell me everything. This man, this
Arloize, your former lover, came to see
me last year "

She turned pale as she listened to him.
At the last words she trembled violently.

"My lover ! I — a lover ! How could
you have believed that it was I ?"

He looked at her in amazement. She
continued :

"It was my sister Alice. It was not I.
She led a horrible life. I did not see her.
I was a teacher. She took my birth cer-
tificate when she went on the stage in
order to appear younger. When the
scandal came I was afraid that the peo-
ple among whom I worked would hear
about it. I left Paris. I took refuge
here, where a place was found for me.
I was so ashamed. And the letter which
came this morning — here, look at it ! Alice
died in Marseilles and left instructions
that I should be told. Oh ! Louis, Louis,
you could believe this of me "

He rushed toward her. He took her
hands. Delivered finally from his fright-
ful nightmare, he could only stammer
rapturously.

"You could believe this," she repeated
dolefully.

She suffered. What was she, then, to
him? Had he not had eight years in
which to judge her and to know her?

But she thought again with a sudden joy :

"Yes, he believed it, but he said nothing
to me. And in spite of it he loved me
just the same."

iimMMMIMTMIIMIIIIMMIIIIIMMIt

In Studio and Gallery

(Continued from page 57)

Augustus Johns. This idea, however, is
prevalent among our most talented young
painters.

The English gallery is dominated by the
large portraits of Lady Rocksavage and
her son, by Charles Sims, which we re-
produce, and the daring and theatrical
portraits of Augustus John, England's
most popular portrait painter. One can-
not help having the suspicion that this
collection of portraits of titled person-
ages was selected with the American pub-
lic's weakness for titles and aristocracy
in mind.

Sims' Lady Rocksavage is so slimly
aristocratic in manner, one might say
even over-aristocratic, that the portrait
suggests the Sunday supplement's idea of
what titled people look like when caught
unawares, not by the cameraman this
time, but by the portrait painter. Lady
Rocksavage, in a low-neck evening gown,
is seated out of doors with the blaze of
the midday sun behind her, her infant son
wears nothing but a shirt. Here is a
portrait that is superficial, almost puerile,
but possessing charm, vivacity and dash.
The bubble of its iridescent, ephemeral
charm would burst before a close analysis
of its essential painter qualities, or in a
comparison with Sargent's society por-

traits in the next gallery, or Speicher's
solid and finished portrait of The Young
Hunter. Sargent is the supreme painter
of charming externalities and gracious
mundanity. When he paints a portrait of
a woman, dressed in the hideous bustled
and ruchinged dress of the 70's, sur-
rounded by the dreadful ottoman and
what-not type of furniture, he makes it
wholly delightful.

Augustus John, who creates a lot of talk
wherever he is, has been the romantic
figure of the exhibition. He has a fatal
fascination for the opposite sex, and is
a brilliant painter in spite of the fact that
he has become the popular lion of English
drawing-rooms. John sends four portraits.
He has the gift of painting dominating
personalities. We are apt to remember
his portraits because they are pictures of
persons whose personalities pique our
curiosity, rather than because of their in-
trinsic value as paintings. One would like
to know something more about the wicked-
looking, scarlet-haired Marchesa Casati,
with her pinched, cruel nostrils ; and of
the Duchess de Gramont, with what
Swinburne for was.it Rosetti?) would
call her "splendid kissing mouth." These
portraits, fascinating and spell-binding as
(Continued on page 75)

The Odds Are Long
— 4 to 1 Against You

Pyorrhea Follows
Bleeding Gums

At the first sign of bleeding
gums, watch out for Pyorrhea.
It strikes four persons out
of every five past forty, and
thousands younger, too.

Brush your teeth with
Forhan's For the Gums. If
used consistently and used m
time, it 'will prevent Pyorrhea
or check its progress. As a
dentifrice, it will keep your
teeth white and clean, your
gums firm and healthy.
Pleasant to the taste.
At all druggists, 35c
and 60c in tubes.

Formula of
R. J. Forhan, D. D. S.

Forhan Company
New York

Forhan's, Limited
Montreal

Forhan's

FOR THE GUMS

dMorc than a tooth paste

Page Seventy-Three

SuiADOWLAND

Why Dont You Buy
for AUGUST

The Picture Book De Luxe
of the Movie World

Freud Invades the
Screen !

"Public Opinion," the new
comedy which Charlie
Chaplin is directing, is to
depict humanity disrobed
of its well-tailored beliefs.
Charlie tells Ted LeBer-
thon in an interview of his
endeavors to bring to the
films a bit of Freudian
technique.

The Most Beautiful
Feet in France

Belong to Andree Lafay-
ette who has been brought
to America in order to play
the title role in the picture,
"Trilby." There is an in-
teresting interview with
Miss Lafayette and also a
picture of the famous feet.

The Golden Lure of
Mary's Curls

Mary Pickford's curls won
her fame but now that she
has reached maturity will
these same curls strangle
her attempt to play grown-
up roles? This is the prob-
lem confronting Mary.

Q^ssic

That "Different" Screen
Magazine

Side-Shows on the Other Side

I: LONDON AFTER DARK

{Continued from page 49)

Bank Holiday and Sunday. They take
along their lunches and their babies and
their county relatives. Perhaps you re-
member the old Eden Musee on West
Twenty-th i r d
Street in New
York. _ Well, try
to think of a
building with ten
times as many
wax effigies. . . .
You wander thru
great "halls."
General Per-
shing is there —
you would never
know him with-
out a program.
The uniform
makes you sus-
picious, but his
wax face will re-
in i n d you of
some half - for -
gotten barber
you didn't like.
W o o d r o w
Wilson is there
also. But Colo-
nel House could
ask him for a
"light" and never
suspect that W.
W. had been in
the vicinity.

P a i nstaking
visitors are al-
ways getting
mixed up. You
can hear them
anxiously inquir-
ing if that isn't Alfred Lord Tennyson
over there, posed at an agonizing angle of
forty-five degrees. (We suspected that the
bearded gentlemen in question was a
"Russian Nihilist," and were surprised to
learn that he was none other than "H. M.
King Edward in Street Attire"!)

At Mme. Tussaud's anyone is privileged
to be horrified in The Chamber of Hor-
rors for the small sum of sixpence. This
Chamber has been appropriately placed in
the cellar and is purposely ill-lighted,
bringing into high relief mortal wounds
and the perennially heaving breasts of
murdered innocents. But perhaps the most
deliciously horrible of all — sixpence ex-
tra, please — is the French Revolution col-
lection of guillotine relics. The original
Mme. Tussaud had the honor of being
compelled to make the death mask of
Marie Antoinette and many other stars in
that tragic moving picture. There lie the
heads, fashioned with the death grimace
upon them— to the never-dying delight of
weak-hearted ladies and trembling small
boys who gaze at them and shudder
ecstatically. The crowds make the rounds
the day long, always with the vain hope
of recognizing the Great and always con-
fusing them with the Wicked.

T ondon's Little Theater is on John

Street, just off the Strand and around

the corner from Adelphi Terrace, where

Davy Garrick and the Brothers Adam

Keystone View Co.

In Ely Place, London, the night watchman in

his silk hat and frock-coat still calls out the

hours between ten o'clock at night and five

in the morning

used to live, and where today the Irish
Bernard Shaw and the Scotch Barrie
sharpen their darts and feather their
whimsies. The Little Theater is Paris's
Grand Guignol
transplanted —
and it endeavors
to gratify those
exotics who have
a craving for
caviar and the
horrific. Every-
thing is done on
the gloomy stage
to shock the
audience — in
vain. The as-
semblage in its
formal attire
simply continues
to stare and
stare thru its
monocles and
lorgnons until
the curtain falls.
The audience ab-
solutely refuses
to shiver.

The bill is
usually composed
of short plays
— three of them.
One Sybil
Thorndyke was
given all the
"fat" parts, if
memory serves,
and did them in
a thin manner.
And the audi-
ence, in refusing
point-blank to be entertained, was flaunt-
ingly, comically entertaining.

'VX/'hat I really started out to discover
* in this article, was the great Secret :
What constitutes entertainment, anyway?
Is it really strongly impregnated with a
personal flavor, or is it a national pen-
chant? The Pollyanna Circle refuses to
be entertained unless you give it "glad"
stuff ; our Slav cannot be amused unless
you stage hours of despair for him; the
t. b. m. must be un-ennuied by his little
"happy ending" ; our bobbed highbrows
will further revolt if they cannot have
their sad endings ; the Village must have
its occasional offering, strengthened with
a slightly unvarnished atmosphere of Sex
— ad infinitum. . . . But it is all enter-
tainment ! What is one man's meat of
amusement is another man's poison of en-
tertainment. Take the right people to
the wrong show and there will be a
riot.

Does entertainment disclose characters
on a stage, or reveal puppets in an audi-
ence? The audience often laughs at the
characters — do the characters ever laugh
at the audience? But what would we do
without our silly Side-shows, filled with
Nature's freaks — the Side-shows_ which
prepare us to enjoy and appreciate the
wonders and the trivialities of that be-
wildering three-ringed affair under the
Big Canvas of Life.

Ml II I M III Mill Ml III MM IIIIIIM II III Mill 1 1 II II I M 1 1 1 1 M M 1 1 II 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 ! MM I M I II I Ml

Page Seventy-Four

Suadowlano

In Studio and Gallery

i £ oh tinned from page 73 >

they arc, arc not Augustus John at his
best. These arc not John, the draftsman,
or John, the romantic painter of gypsy
life, which marvelously drawn and rhyth-
mically felt compositions arc what one
must think of when one makes the state-
ment that Augustus John is one of the
great modern painters.

Mr. John is at present in New York,
where he is executing several commis-
sions. This is his first visit to the United
States, and next fall he will hold a one-
man show here. In a recent interview he
stated that he found American women
very beautiful, but added that he thought
some of the negresses whom he _ noticed
on the streets would also make interest-
ing subjects for pictures.

Arthur B. Davies' • Afterthoughts, and
Eugene Speicher's The Hunter, won the
first and second prizes. This fact alone
shows the trend of the exhibition and its
possibilities for the future. For they have
no popular appeal.

Looking at the French room, where
painters such as Claude Monet and Guil-
bumin are among the most thrilling
names, one is forced to wonder what sort
of jury they had in Paris that could send
over such a collection of old-timers, as
representative of modern French art.
These men were the excitement of the
'80's. Their work has long since become
popular and academized. George des
Yalliers, who represented France on the
jury of awards, when questioned as to
why the younger French painters, with
whose work every' art student is familiar
— Matisse, Picasso, and Derain, to men-
tion a few — were not represented, replied :
*'Oh, we didn't think the American public
was up to that sort of art." Such a to-do
has been made by the reviewers of the
Twenty-second International because of
this omission, that the timid estimate of
the French jury as to what America can
appreciate will surely be altered another
season. France continues to be the center
from which emanates one of the most
vital art impulses, and its vital art should
be shown.

Among the most interesting and repre-
sentative paintings by Americans are :
George Bellows' Easter Snow ; Rockwell
Kent's Down to the Sea ; Arthur B.
Carles' Calla Lilies ; and George Luks'
The Sulking Boy.

itiiiiiiiiniifiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiif

Wanderings

(Continued from page 72)

In the old days journalism was a more
or less grubby occupation, for few offices
considered the comfort of their staffs.
Things in Xew York took a turn for the
better in 1874, when the Tribune erected
the pioneer sky-scraper on Park Rowr.
Pulitzer followed with the World building
and Gordon Bennett with his ornate
Italian villa on Herald Square. In Lon-
don, Xorthcliffe, or Harmsworth, as he
was then, went several degrees better with
the new Daily Mail offices in Carmelite
Street, and then the Times took the lead
with its new buildings on Times Square.
But the Tribune has again shot ahead and
beaten them all. My experience is that
bright clean offices generally mean bright
clean journalism. The offices of the Lon-
don News of the World, which publishes
all the news that is unfit to print, and
which, alas, has a circulation of three mil-
lions, are distinctly grimy. It is time
that the owner — that super-press agent,
Riddell — built new offices.

•?^r >^Sfe-- ^JSk&^^^&S&F1^

.'. ■■ : s :"

JCnow f/ieJoij O;
1 Jl Smootfi7(edlthif Sfciru

THE first step towards attaining a healthy
skin is right living — spending hours in whole-
some outdoor activities, etc. But the second,
and equally important, is proper cleansing. Your
skin is like a delicate fabric — easily injured by
rough scrubbing or the use of a harsh, caustic
soap. Why run the risk of hurting it by using
anything that happens to be handy, when you
know that Resinol Soap protects it.

Try this exceptional toilet soap for your complexion and

see how gently yet thoroughly it cleanses the pores and

l helps to overcome skin defects. Take a Resinol bath

0l and note the healthy glow that follows. Place it in the

nursery and keep baby sweet, clean and contented.

A trial size, cake will prove to you the
delights of Resinol Soap. May we send
you one free? Write Dept 14-G, Resinol,
Baltimore, Md.

BUY RESINOL SOAP BY THE BOX FROM YOUR
DRUGGIST OR TOILET GOODS DEALER

Page Seventy-Five

Sliadgwland

&^i

Musical Retrospect and Prospect

(Continued from page 45)

?-■>•

The Miracle

of a

J^iving Odeur!

Choose, Mademoiselle!

The caressing fragrance

of living flowers.

Or — the sombreness of

perfumery?

From Lournay it comes,
this miracle of a living
odeur?

It is gayety and life; entice-
ment and lure. The sub-
tlety of a Pompadour. The
charm of a La Valliere.
The wisdom of a Josephine,
in every precious drop !

C'est tres important

So as to avoid the faux pas of
discord in one's scheme of fra-
grance— a creme of one scent,
poudre of another, rouge of yet
another! — L'odeurVivante wafts
its personality throughout all ar-
ticles de toilette by Lournay.

You may obtain a small
vial of Lournay Vivante
by sending 15 cents to
our American address.

PARIS
7 Rue de L'Isly

NEW YORK
366 Fifth Avenue

1933 ,

Bender is an accomplished singer with a
fine flexible voice, imposing stage pres-
ence and plentiful histrionic experience ;
and Kurt Taucher is frankly a disap-
pointment, for his voice is that of the
typical German tenor — throaty and lack-
ing in timbre and color, while his stage
presence is the reverse of impressive.

Of the old and tried members of the
company, Florence Easton showed her-
self as versatile as ever, and sang beauti-
fully in whatever part was allotted her,
whether it was Fiordiligi in Cosi Fan
Tutte or Cio-Cio San in Madame Butter-
fly. Jentza has profited greatly by the
coaching she has had from Madame Sem-
brich, and this was particularly noticeable
in her singing as Elizabeth in Tannhauser.
One still feels that she is somewhat limited
in her range as an opera artiste, but she
is emphatically a personality and rarely
fails to be interesting.

'"Phere is little to add to what has already
■*■ been said and written about Chaliapin.
He still reigns supreme as a singing actor,
and the only rival near his throne is
Bohnen. Next season the great Russian
is to be heard as another Mephisto, that
of Gounod's Faust, in which the op-
portunities are not equal to those afforded
him in Boito's Mefistfele. Why not let
him sing Rubinstein's Demon at the Met-
ropolitan? The opera is in the standard
Russian repertory and I greatly enjoyed its
performance when I heard it twice at the
Nairodni Dom, Petrograd. There was
some talk of reviving Don Giovanni, with
Chaliapin as Leporello to the Don of
Bohnen. That would be tremendously in-
teresting, but Gatti balks at Mozart, and
at the star cast which the Salzburg
master's greatest operatic work demands.
And there is another Don. Why does
not the impresario give us Massenet's
Don Quichotte, with Chaliapin, of course?
I saw him in this at the bandbox of an
opera house at Monte Carlo, and hold it
to be one of his greatest achievements.
Like many other tragic actors, Chaliapin
has the true vis comica, and no one could
better realize the tragi-comedy of the
Knight of the Rueful Countenance.

One of the most gratifying successes
of the opera season has been Edward
Johnson, than whom the American con-
tinent has produced no more admirably
equipped operatic artist. A beautiful
singer, who never forces or otherwise
misuses his voice, an actor of uncommon
force and high intelligence, with a pres-
ence and bearing which lend themselves
to romantic roles, his performances have
given unalloyed pleasure. It may be hoped
that if Gatti-Casazza carries out his ex-
pressed intention to revive Giordano's
Fedora, he will allot the role of Loris
Ipanoff to Johnson, instead of to Marti-
uelli. This was the part in which the for-
mer made his first appearance with the
Chicago forces, and he played as well and
sang it with consummate distinction. For
one thing he showed that it is possible to

wear modern dress on the stage and still
look romantic as well as a gentleman.
There are other parts in which Johnson
should be heard at the Metropolitan while
he is .in his vocal and physical prime —
among them Lohengrin, for he has proved
himself elsewhere an ideal Knight of the
Swan — and Tristan, a role he played at
La Scala, under Toscanini a score or more
of times, to the acclamations of the most
critical audience in the world.

(~\ f the heavily preponderating Italian
" contingent at the Metropolitan, Gigli
showed the most marked improvement,
especially as an actor. He must, however,
beware of overstraining his charming
lyric voice. This should be heard to the
best advantage in next season's revival of
Marta. Danise was mainly responsible
for the undoubted success of last season's
William Tell revival, while he sang with
good effect in L'Africaine. But what
stupid, archaic ponderosities both those
operas are, despite their flashes of musical
inspiration ! However, Mr. Gatti-Casazza's
tastes are in the direction of the older
school of Italian opera, and his law is
like that of the Medes and Persians. Be-
sides, nothing succeeds like success, and
he can point to the box-office receipts by
way of justification for these revivals.

Of the American contingent at the
Metropolitan, young Mario Chamlee has
made great strides, and by many is still
regarded as Caruso's successor. Certainly
his voice is improving enormously in
power and quality. Orville Harrold, who
is generally given the most difficult and
ungrateful tenor roles — witness Paul in
Die Tote Stadt and Nicias in Thais —
keeps his voice and general good form in
surprising manner. Clarence Whitehill
remains the dignified and impressive
singer and actor he has always been, and
is an honor to American operatic art. Jean
Gordon sings with ever increasing power
and distinction ; while a young American
artist has come to the fore in gratifying
style — Miss Queena Mario, who has a
light lyric soprano of charming quality.

Some of next season's contemplated
novelties and revivals have already been
mentioned. Others are Massenet's
grandiose and spectacular Le Roi de
Lahore ; Laparra's La Habanera, long a
favorite at the Paris Opera Comique, and
which was once given by the Boston
Opera Company. The story of the latter
is almost lurid, but the music is light and
lyric for the most part. Mascagni's
L'Amico Fritz, which was produced in the
tenth season of the Metropolitan 1893-4,
and disappeared after two performances,
is to be compressed into two acts and
form part of a double bill. The delight-
ful Le Coq D'Or is to be restored to its
place in the repertory, with Galli-Curci
singing the coloratura role and Kosloff
miming the King. Die Meistersinger,
Siegfried, and Die Freischuetz are to be
added to the German repertory. On the
whole, an encouraging and hopeful list.

^ ■fi^t

►xtfJSfiEwiS

L'/'*li3

M fc^v

^A»!!JM.'£S£&

^ ^fl ifill

Page Seventy-Six

SuiADOWLAND

New Books in Brief Review

1 1 ontinued from page 68)

A;Tn;iv. the collection of short stories of
gypsy life by Konrad Bercovici
(Boni and Liveright), is a curious blend
of romance and realism. The book con-
tains nine episodes, each complete in it-
self, depicting this strange, bizarre race,
and for each episode one dominant charac-
ter is selected around whom the plot is
woven. In Murdo Mr. Bercovici gives us
the story of the tribal chieftain, whose
maxim was that one "must not bind him-
self to a woman unless he considers her
worth greater than the blood of his best
friend." Mincti is a gay young gypsy
fiddler who throws his tribe into con-
fusion by leaving his first love for a girl
beyond its circle; Father and Son tells
of the struggle for mastery between the
old chief and his supposed heir. Not one
of the nine stories fails to holdthereader ;
all are intensely vital, imaginative and
dramatic.

tn Stella Dallas (Houghton Mifflin Co.),
A Olive Higgins Prouty has written the
story of an uncultivated, superficial, and
selfish woman who marries a man of
education and breeding whose sensitive na-
ture she is wholly incapable of understand-
ing. The tragedy of their life together
is apparent to everyone, and not even
Laurel, their exquisite child, can make
life with Stella Dallas endurable to
Stephen, her husband. When oppor-
tunity comes for him to take up work in
another city he goes gladly, with a sense
of freedom, and gradually time and dis-
tance make their separation a settled thing.
Then Stella Dallas faces life alone, de-
termined that her child, the predominating
interest in her life, shall have the best.
And Laurel does have the best — that
money can buy. It is from her father,
with whom she spends a few weeks each
year, that Laurel learns to appreciate the
real things of life. Eventually, the
awakening of Stella Dallas comes thru her
love for her daughter. Pathetically igno-
rant of life's basic principles, it is sur-
prising that the mother does not flinch
when the revelation comes. Suffering has
opened her eyes and what she sees gives
her the needed courage, for "like a white-
sailed ship, when the fog lifts a moment
— a white-sailed ship in distress" Stella
Dallas comes thru. Whether you like the
style in which the book is written or not,
the story alone will hold you.

"P\emiax, by Hermann Hesse (Boni and
Liveright), is a book vigorous in
style, symbolic in presentation, and con-
cerned with the problem of self-realiza-
tion and psychic interest. It is a novel that
realistically portrays the struggle for in-
dividualism of Emil Sinclair from his
childhood to the time he reaches maturity.
Groping his way falteringly toward what
he hopes will reveal the true meaning of
life, Sinclair is greatly influenced by the
thoughts and beliefs of his friend, Demian,
a philosopher and mystic. The dreams
which come to Sinclair, his interpretations
of them, and his endeavor to build his
destiny from them, fill a large part of the
book. The story is told in the first per-
son, and after perusing over two hundred
pages, one is convinced of the truth that
lies embedded in Sinclair's remark : "It is
my own self which occupied my attention,
always myself." And yet there seems to
be in the narrow confines of Sinclair's
personal struggle, the travail of the world
as a whole to give birth to a new spiritual
understanding of life.

SuADOWkANO

for AUGUST

William McFee s Day in Town

The mental impressions received on arriving in New York for one
day after an extended absence, are given by the author of "Com-
mand" and other fascinating novels of the sea.

Tne Chamber Theater of Moscow

This provocative group of players, the talk of the Continent, will
open their season in New York next fall. An illustrated article
from Allan Ross Macdougall, tells of their work and their aspirations.

My Musical Impressions m America

Georges Enesco, the Roumanian musician, who has enjoyed the priv-
ilege of appraising every important orchestra in Europe, gives his
impressions of American music and orchestras.

On Illustrating Children s Books

To the mind of a child an illustration is a symbol ; it should show
the spirit of the story. This is why Willy Pogany decided to specialize
in this particular branch of art. He tells of the fascination his work
has for him.

Reproductions in color of paintings by foremost artists, clever cartoons,

delightful verse, short fiction, one-act plays, critical articles on drama, art, and

literature are in every issue of "Shadowland"

SuADOWkANP

Combines Beauty ana Information

vvhat is Psycho - Physical (culture ?

The means by which mental, moral, and physical development is
acquired. It teaches the Harmony of Being — elasticity of muscle,
control of nerves, and conserved vitality. Beginning in August, a
series of lessons will be conducted for the readers of Beauty by a
teacher who, is an authority on the subject.

vvhy are the Follies Famous?

Because Flo Ziegfeld knows more than any other man how to pick
American beauties. His Follies are famous for their girls with
perfect faces and figures. How he makes his selections is told by
Mr. Ziegfeld to Gladys Hall in August Beauty.

Do You Have Beauty Proolems?

To help women solve the perplexing problems of how to attain and
retain attractiveness is the reason Beauty Magazine was founded.
There are a number of departments conducted by specialists who
understand the technique of acquiring health, beauty, and grace.
Why not take advantage of what they offer you?

On the news-stands July sixth

^eerutv,

for AUGUST

Page Seventy-Seven

SUADOWLAND

POSES from the seven
exquisite dances given
by Marinoff as part ot
his training. There is a
Grecian Dance, a Classical
Toe Dance, an Oriental
Dance, a Butterfly Dance,
a Chinese Dance, a Spanish
Dance and a "Raggedy
Ann" Eccentric Dance.

Classic Dancing!

Now you can learn at home under the
personal direction of SERQEI MARINOFF

SOMETIME in her life, every girl, every woman has dreamed of dancing.
There is no more charming accomplishment — it is an important part of
the cultured girl's education. Whether you study it for professional or for
cultural purposes — or merely to enjoy the pleasant, body building exercises —
it will bring great happiness into your life.

And now you can learn dancing at home! Here is your opportunity to enjoy
the advantages of real ballet training under this great master. Anyone can
learn by this method. It is simple, easy, delightful. MarinoS has pupils of all
ages. He teaches every pupil individually.

Marinofi training is correct training. You could not get training like this except
in the studios of the greatest masters of the dance. Tarasoff has endorsed the
IsAarinoff system. Merriell Abbott, Director of the Abbott Dancers [Chicago
Theatre, Chicago], says: "A beginner who knows nothing of dancing can learn
by this system." MarinoS training includes a complete outfit — a studio bar,
practice costume, slippers, phonograph records and sheet music. This is fur-
nished to every MarinoS student without charge.

Write

for free portfolio of dancers' pictures and full
information about training and the fees for
tuition. Merely send coupon. No obligation.

QovrroT Mavi'r.r.f? SCHOOL OF CLASSIC DANCING

OCX gCl IVldllllUXX 1924 Sunnyside Ave., Studio A-126 Chicago, 111.

M. Sergei Marinoff, School of Classic Dancing

1924 Sunnyside Ave., Studio A-l 26 .Chicago

Please send me free portfolio of dancers* pictures and full informa-
tion about your home study course in Classic Dancing. I understand
that there is no obligation.

Name....
Address .

Age.

*SP *

h£3E0££*

Page Seventy-Eight

ow a double chin
can be reduced or prevented^

-t&^m

The New Cora Davis
Treatment for Double Chin

CHIN REDUCING CREAM
—THE DAVIS CHIN STRAP
—SPECIAL ASTRINGENT

THE now famous method of reducing double
chin, (by means of the Davis Chin Strap),
has been improved by the addition of two
new Cora Davis Preparations.

It was found that a reducing cream, of certain
harmless ingredients, would greatly facilitate the
reduction of double chin if used in connection with
the Davis Chin Strap. Then an astringent was
found necessary to take up the folds of flesh that
were caused by the reduction of fatty tissues. So
able chemists were employed to compound these
preparations so that they could be used with the
Davis Chin Strap. They are now ready!

The new Davis Chin Reducing Cream is to be used at night
when you retire. It is to be worked into the pores of the skin
with the finger tips so that it dissolves the underlying, fatty
tissue. The new Cora Davis Astringent is then applied with a
piece of cotton. This firms the skin and eliminates the tendency
of sagging fleshy folds when excess fatty tissue disappears. A
firm chin line is also assured by the Davis Chin Strap which is
worn all night after the two preparations have been applied.
It holds the facial muscles gently but firmly in place and re-
stores the youthful line of beauty. All three are essential to a
quick, safe and convenient treatment for the reduction of double
chin and back of all three stands the time-tested reputation of
the name Cora M. Davis.

The Cora Davis Reducing Cream is $1.00, the Special As-
tringent is $1.00 and the Davis Chin Strap is $2.00. (For Size
of Chin Strap measure over crown of head and point of chin.)
A combination of all three will be sent postpaid at a special
introductory price of $3.50. Only one set will be sent to each
person at this special price.

CORA M. DAVIS

Dept. MS. 507 Fifth Avenue

New York City

To Drug Stores, Department Stores and Beauty Parlors

— Cora M. Davis products are so well advertised that

they sell rapidly. Write for wholesale prices

These Stores Sell The Davis Products.

ASBURY PARK, N. J.

Steinback Co.

ATLANTIC CITY. N. J.

M. De'Hart, care Black-
stone Hotel
BOSTON. MASS.

Dollie Donovan
• Shepard Stores
BROOKLYN, N. Y.

A. I. Nanim & Son

Abraham & Strauss

Liggett's Drug Stores
BUFFALO. N. Y.

William Hengerer
CHICAGO, ILL.

Carson. Pirie & Scott

Mandel Bros.

CINCINNATI, 0.

Rogge Drug Stores
CLEVELAND. 0.

Kathryn Ann. Euclid Kldg.

May Dept. Store
COLUMBUS, OHIO

Charles W. Lane, 90 North
High St.
DANBURY, CONN.

Margaret English, 247
Main St.
DANVILLE, ILL.

Woodbury Drug Co.
DENVER. COLO.

Lewis & Son
DES MOINES, IOWA

Liggetfs, 321 Sixth Ave.
DETROIT. MICH.

J. L. Hudson

McLaughlin Beauty Shop,
Grand Blvd.
FORT WAYNE, IND.

Betty Jean Co. Shop. 1306
S. Calhoun St.
GRAND RAPIDS, MICH.

Friedman Spring Dry
Goods Co.
GREENSBURG, PA.

Mrs. M. I. Caudle. Coulter
Building
HARTFORD, CONN.

G. Fox & Co.

MINNEAPOLIS. MINN.
L. S. Donaldson Company

MORRISTOWN. N. J.

Dr. E. L. Ellsworth. Park
Place
NEWARK. N. J.

L. Bamberger
NEW ORLEANS, LA.

Maison Blanche

NEW YORK, N. Y.

.lames McCreery & Co.

Saks & Co.

Stern Bros.

Gimbel Brothers

Hearn. 14th St. near 5th

Ave.
Bloomingdale's
Barnett Bros., Columbus

Ave. and 74th St. and at

all other dept. stores
Liggett's Drug Stores
Hetherington, 53 E. 42nd

St.
Kalish Pharmacies
Harlow & Luther, 46th and

Broadway
Schconmaker. 42nd St. and

Vanderbilt Ave., ancf

others.
PATERSON. N. J.

Liggetfs. 165 Market St.
PHILADELPHIA, PA.
Rita A. Kraus, 1615 Wal-
nut St..
Pauline Campbell. 13th

and Sansom St.
Strawbridge, Clothier
Lit Bros.
Geo. G. Evans, 1012 Market

St.
PITTSBURGH, PA.
McCreery

Kaufman & Baer
McGinnis Vanity Shop
Joseph Home Co.
May Drug Co.
McCullough Drug Co.
Scranton Dental Co.
PROVIDENCE.. R. I.

The Sheppard Company
RED BANK. N. J.
Vanity Box Shop
SAN DIEGO. CALIF.

Dr. C. C. Benden
SAN FRANCISCO. CALIF.
The Emporium

SANTA BARBARA, CALIF.

Sterling Drug Co.

SOUTH NORWALK, CONN.

Liggett's, 70 East Wash-
ington St.
UTICA, N. Y.
England & McCafTry

WASHINGTON, D. C.

Liggett's, 1006 F Street,
N.W.

Mrs. B. Gaddis, 67 Ran-
dolph Place, N.W.
WILLIAMSPORT, PA.

The Charlotte Shop, 248
Pine St.

The secret
of having
beautiful hair

How to keep your hair soft
and silky, full of life and lus-
tre, bright and fresh-looking

N~~ O one can be really attractive, without
beautiful well kept hair.
Stop and think of all the good look-

. ing, attractive women you know. You will
find their hair plays a mighty important part
in their appearance.

Beautiful hair is not a matter of luck, it
is simply a matter of care.

You, too, can have beautiful hair, if you
care for it properly.

In caring for the hair, proper shampooing
is the most important thing.

It is the shampooing which brings out all
the real life and lustre, the natural wave
and color, and makes your hair soft, fresh and
. luxuriant.

While your hair must have frequent and
regular washing to keep it beautiful, it can-
not stand the harsh effect of ordinary soaps.
The free alkali in ordinary soaps soon dries
the scalp, makes the hair brittle and ruins it.
That is why discriminating women, every-
where, now use Mulsified cocoanut oil sham-
poo. This clear, pure and entirely greaseless
product cannot possibly injure, and it does
not dry the scalp or make the hair brittle, no
matter how often you use it.

When oily, dry or dull

If your hair is too oily, or too dry; if it is
dull and heavy, lifeless, stiff and gummy; if
the strands cling together, and it feels harsh
and disagreeable to the touch; or if it is full
of dandruff, it is all due to improper sham-
pooing. You will be delighted to see how easy
it is to keep your hair looking beautiful, when
you use Mulsified cocoanut oil shampoo.

The quick, easy way

Two or three teaspoonfuls of Mulsified in

a cup or glass with a little warm water is suf-
ficient to cleanse the hair and'scalp thoroughly.

Simply pour the Mulsified evenly over the
hair and rub it in. It makes an abundance
of rich, creamy lather, which rinses out quick-
ly and easily, removing every particle of dust,
dirt, dandruff and excess oil — the chief cause
of all hair troubles.

After a Mulsified shampoo you will find the
hair will dry quickly and evenly and have
the appearance of being much thicker and
heavier than it really is.

It keeps the scalp soft and healthy, the hair
fine and silky, bright, fresh-looking and
fluffy, wavy and easy to manage.

You can get Mulsified at any drug store Or
toilet goods counter, anywhere in the world.
A 4-ounce bottle should last for months.

Splendid for Children
— Fine for Men

Mulsified

REG. U.S. P AT . OFF.

Cocoanut Oil Shampoo

MULSIFIED

COCOANUT Oil
SHAMPOO

|I»I RL.Watkins Cohmkt

f ^ AUGUST 35C

*UAK>©VbANP

EXPRESSING THE ARTS

ft*

A BREWSTER PUBLICATION

The Nestle Home Outfit for Permanent
Waving by the New Lanoil Process

Paper Tubes, Borax, Pastes

and Lengthy Heating

All Eliminated

The girl "After" — hair
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THESE warm summer days.
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fessional Nestle Lanoil Waver, or
apply the - Nestle Home Outfit.
Imagine the comfort and relief of
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From a photograph submitted to us showing the pleasant time these two
girls are having while permanently waving each other's hair in their home.

If you are struggling with straight
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Over 60,000 Home Outfits have been sent
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Write for our free interesting booklet
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It will give you further, particulars.

NESTLE LANOIL CO., LTD.,Dept.S.

Established 1905

12 and 14 East 49th St., New York City

Just Off Fifth Avenue

Fill in, tear off, and mail this coupon today

NESTLE LANOIL CO., LTD.
Dept. S. 12 and 14 East 49th St.
New York City, N. Y.

I would like you to send me the Nestle LANOTL
Home Outfit for Permanent Waving. It is distinctly
understood that if, after using the Outfit and the free
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Home Outfit any time within 30 days) and receive bacx
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I I I enclose $15 in check, money order, or bank
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We have arranged with A.
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dreSs authority, to give wearers
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free advice and suggestions for
obtaining the most charming
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Page Three

SUADOWLAND

Little Did This Young Lady
Dream That She Would Be A d judged
The Most Beautiful Girl in A merica

" 'Way down in Virginia" lives Florine Findley de Hart,
winner of the American Beauty Contest recently closed. Far
from confident of her leadership, Miss de Hart nevertheless,
sent her photograph to the contest Judges and lo and behold she
now finds herself heralded as the most beautiful girl in America.

Every day new beauties are being discovered. Women
who never before appreciated the wealth of personal
attractiveness they possessed are coming to the front
with rightful claims for attention. A little touch here
— a little twist there, and you wouldn't know it was
the same girl. Today, she may be as plain and unat-
tractive as can be. And tomorrow — the most admired
of her entire set.

There is no girl or woman alive who cannot be at-
tractive if she only will. With such a true and helpful
counselor as Beauty Magazine to guide you in bring-
ing out your natural charm, you can grow more attrac-
tive in every way, every additional day of your life.

Not a thing has been left undone by the Editors, in
making Beauty the most authoritative, interesting
and helpful magazine published on the subject of in-
dividual beauty culture. First comes the care of the
face, hair and figure. And last but not the least by
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On the title page of Beauty here is what you will
read as the motto of this magazine. "I want to help
you to grow as beautiful as God meant you to be when
he made you first." That Beauty is faithfully living
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Page Pour

AUG 13 1923

l C1B 583127

AUGUST, 1923

VOLUME VIII

Expressing the Arts

Important Features in This Issue.

Painting and Sculpture:

A Painter of City Streets Stuart Davis

American Sculpture — Pieces from the exhibit of the National Sculpture Society

Literary Criticism :

What It's All About Louis Bromfield

Fiction and Narration :

Day in Town William McFee

The Hand of the Master (translated from the French ) Frederic Boutet

The Swan — A Pastel of Greenwich Village Charlton Lawrence Edholm

Satire and Humor:

Divertissement — Grist from the Mill of Sebastien Dudon

The Other Side of It Harriet Henry

Number 6

Poetry
Drama :

Poems from the Chinese Witter Bynner

Actor and Demon Kenneth Macgowan

In the Laboratory of the Theater Allan Ross Macdougall

Initiation ( one-act play ) Francis Edwards Faragoh

Illustration :

The Lost Land of Make-Believe Willy Pogany

Music:

New Motifs for Old Georges Enesco

Schism Among the Moderns Jerome Hart

Architecture :

Sketching in Italy and Belgium Greville Rickard

Motion Pictures:

A Pictorial Feature — Studies of Carol Dempster, Mary Pickford, Rodolph Valentino,
Lucille La Verne, and scenes from the production of Boccaccio's story The Falcon.

A Page of Colored Jazz, Syncopated in Pen and Ink William Gropper

Going to the Circus Wynn

Caricature :
Travel :

Vienna, the City of Beautiful Pathos Henry Albert Phillips

Arts and Crafts :

Decorative Art by Hunt Diederich — Reproductions of his recent work

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

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Page Five

Courtesy ot tne Anderson Galleries

THE SUN-DIAL

From an etching by Allen Lewis

This sun-dial of dark-green granite was presented to Columbia Uni-
versity by the surviving members of the class of 1885, to mark the
twenty-fifth anniversary of their graduation. It stands on the south-
side of the campus, and faces the main entrance to the University
Library. The ball casts a great oval shadow upon the base, and it is
from the moving edge that time is ascertained. As there are two
shadow edges, there are also two bronze time plates, the East and
the West. The bronze inlays circling the base were designed by
William Ordway Partridge, a member of the class

Page Six

CONTEMPLATION

Guy Rowe studied at the Detroit School of Fine Arts, and his work has
been exhibited there and in New York. His craftsmanship is unsophisti-
cated; he is interested in technique only as an aid in depicting character

Courtesy of the Mussmann Galleries

MIRIAM

Henry Davenport is a graduate of Ecole des Beaux Arts in Paris; he also
studied for two years in the Julian Academy, and in the Museum of
Fine Arts in Boston. At present he is a member of the faculty of Yale
University, holding the professorship in the History of Art and in the
Teaching of Painting

Courtesy of the Ehrich Galleries

JAPANESE JAPONICA

After her graduation from Pratt Institute, Anna Fisher remained for a

time as an instructor in the Art Department. Her work has been widely

exhibited and has been given many awards. She was made a member of

the American National Academy in 1920

OLD CHURCH

Glenn Coleman is always keenly sensitive to the human character of

the scene he paints. He has recorded on his canvases many aspects of

New York street life that have long passed away

A Painter of City Streets

An analysis of the work of Glenn Coleman, whose canvases are unique in their vivid
portrayal of the human aspects of street life

B;y Stuart Davis

IN Paris, in the Luxem-
bourg Gallery, hangs a
painting of a little
street clown in Greenwich
Village called Minetta
Lane. In passing thru
the galleries you are at-
tracted by the vivid reality
of this picture, and are
likely to give it more than
the usual amount of atten-
tion. It shows a short,
narrow street lined with
old three- and four-story
buildings. The street is
covered with snow, on
which the lights from the
windows of small shops
throw angular patterns.
In the foreground of the
picture, the dark figure of
a woman with a shawl
over her head is crossing
the street, while farther
back another woman is
sweeping snow from the
sidewalk, and a man with-
out an overcoat hurries
along with his hands in his
pockets. At the end of the
street, against the red of a
building made brilliant by
an arc-light, the silhou-
etted figures of children
are seen, playing a game.

All of these facts are
indicated in the most sim-
ple and direct manner
imaginable. There is no
elaboration of detail ; in
' fact, ninety per cent, of
the ordinary features of
the scene are left out, and
yet when you look at the
picture a mood is created
that makes you feel that '
the place is one with
which you are very famil-
iar. This power is the result of instinctive selection of
the essentials that make up the character of the scene.

In a whole row of buildings the artist may only paint
a dozen windows, but each one of these windows will
have been selected because of some distinguishing char-
acteristic that makes it a thing of importance in creating
the mood of the scene, and as a result you forget all
about the windows that are left out because of your
interest in the ones that are there. It may be the way that
a shutter hangs on one window that calls to your mind
similar windows you have noticed, or it may be the color
of the light that comes from it that stimulates your
memory into recognition.

A red sign protrudes from over the doorway of a shop,
with the words Hop Sing, Laundry on it ; a group of chil-
dren play in the street, a woman is leaning out of a win-

4s>\

dow calling to them ; a
beggar is holding his palm
extended for money;
thru the window of a
butcher-shop the pro-
prietor is going over an
assortment of sausages
with a customer ; a large
wooden horseshoe painted
yellow announces the
presence of the black-
smith ; an arc-light throws
its concentric circles of
light on the street . . .
and as a result the spec-
tator feels himself trans-
ported to the scene itself.
This picture was painted
by Glenn Coleman, a New
York artist, who is pri-
marily a painter of the
manifold aspects of the
city streets. His work is
notable for a personal
viewpoint that is always
interesting because of its
humanity. He is never
the technical experiment-
er, never the abstract in-
terpreter of light, but al-
ways an artist with a keen
sensitivity to the essential
human character of the
scene. With the most
simple of technical pro-
cedures he has painted
many canvases that are
unique in their vivid por-
trayal of certain aspects of
New York street life. His
earlier works are records
of a life that has already
} passed away. The old
Chinatown, Coney Island,
and the burlesque theaters
of the same period, the
Bowery, Atlantic Garden,
the Haymarket can now
be seen only in Coleman's works.

His artistic derivation is not obvious, in fact it is diffi-
cult to think of any American painter who is less in-
fluenced by the styles and tendencies of the art world.
He is not a conscious artist, but a man of great sensibility,
who finds life interesting and is able to express himself
in paint in a direct and vivid manner.

Glenn Coleman was born in Ohio but spent his boyhood
in Indianapolis, Indiana, where he attended high school
and later worked in the art department of a newspaper.
He conceived the idea of coming to New York to study ■
art, and made the trip in the capacity of attendant to cattle
which were bound for- the same place for a different pur-
pose. On arrival, he took up his residence with two other
art students in a tenement-house on the West Side, and
(Continued on page 75)

<v-n &A*.

Page Eleven

Yvonne Park, Paris

LA BOHEME

Page T<

A camera study by Maurice Goldberg of Ten Eyck and Weily, dancers

LES APACHES

Page Thirteen

Day in Town

A gentleman engaged in maritime affairs revisits the scenes of his former iniquities and takes in
various other adventures evoked by his present enterprises

By William McFee

PROBLEM arises, as express roars thru Harlem :
It is to explain the pleasure derived from coming
back. After going away because you dislike it.
Friend, just back from a year in Middle West, says with
emotion it is the only possible place. What ? . Middle
West? Friend says, No, New York. Grand Central.

Impressions, under such conditions, seem bound to be
scattered, diffuse, syncopated. That's the word. Coming
in like this, only rarely, have to dovetail appointments.
First on list, Greenwich Village. Stenographic lady lives
there. Elevated to Eighth Street. Village, looked at with
outsider's view, fresh from rolling uplands and breezy
Sound, doesn't resemble Village much. More like a
slum. Flowever, make no remark. Typist, taking package
of mss. gives news of Village and asks for cigaret. Busi-
ness is fair, but many girls' out of york. One observed
from window, trying
doors of studios, seeking
work. Freak trade gone
down. Blue Kittens and
Torquoise Mandarin Tea
Rooms tended to become
Blind Pigs, which is re-
acting against bona fide
places. Many raids. Ciga-
rets finished, we depart.

Next date on ship, Pier
15, East River. Down
town to Cortlandt and
across to South Street.
Cold spring day makes
South sordid. Very diffi-
cult to make it anything
else. Friend, in Navy dur-
ing war, comments on the
tendency of ships and art
to have sordid contacts
with life. But that's old
stuff, I tell him. Look at
the Village. So, on board.

Captain in his room,
Sir, and how are you?
Quartermaster, very glad
to see a shipmate, inquires.
Assured of visitor's
health, permits us to as-
cend. Strange to be on
ship again. Familiar, yet
weird. Everywhere, old
friends emerge and crack
jokes. Barber in particu-
lar, overcome at the meet-
ing. Looks less like the
Barber of Seville than
ever, I remark, and
hurry on.

Captain discovered en-
tertaining Customs officers
and putting on collar.
Very glad to see us, and
introduces the minions of
the law. Business with
Captain transacted, sit for

The esteemed authors of Babbitt and Cytberea

a while and .discuss bootlegging. Minions not optimistic
about putting it down. Mention of Chris Morley's
Tusitala evokes remark that it is a "daring scheme."
Minion opines "they'll be caught first trip !" Horrified
exit of self and friend. Minion thinks Tusitala code-word
for Rum Runner. Ashore and in taxi for other side of
Manhattan.

Another ship. Discover Aquitania departing. Business,
however, on next ship, Tuscania. Ask for Captain — in
his cabin, Sir. Very nice ship but unusual lay-out, and
we lose our way. Put right by young gentleman with
East Scottish accent. Consonants qualified! with a windy
hiss, like wind up Kirkaldy High Street on a winter Sun-
day evening. Here it iss ! Captain Bo'ne in ? What name,
pleasse? Come inn ! come inn !
Here for a spell, no syncopations. Everything is orderly,

deliberate. A fine ship,
Captain? He assents, but
whispers. Ah! So? "Well;
now, . after a voyage or
two, there's no doubt ye'll
find where — No? Oh! I
see." Technical confidence
ended, we absorb nautico-
literary atmosphere. Com-
mander being author of
books naturally has
library. Man of wide in-
terest, too, with letters
from the eminent to ex-
hibit. Fine prints on bulk-
heads, by brother of Cap-
tain, Muirhead Bone.
Captain himself of short
stature, solid on pins, a
good specimen of the
West of Scotland man.
who is not, as is imagined,
tall and red. Quiet humor
in eye, pipe in regular
commission, suddenly pro-
ducing excellent sample of
Caledonian balm.

Suggest to self in mid-
dle of libations that balm
may be responsible for
lack of syncopation. Life
here under new regime,
savors of the fidgets.
Friend from Middle West
assents emphatically.
More so out there, he
thinks. Interrogated, he
becomes evasive ; displays
the usual reaction of
American suffocating in
freedom's air. Prefers
not to say where he gets
it, out there. Poor stuff
at best, he admits. Eyes
glass, swallows, sighs.
Well, we've given him
something to think about,

Page Fourteen

SuiA&OWlAND

we decide. Possibly made a convert. Commander suggests
tour of ship and lunch.

Extraordinary efforts on part of naval architect to
conceal fact from passengers that they are on a ship.
Imitation red-coal fires in rooms, oak panels, easy chairs,
pictures and so forth. Curtains like a cottage in the coun-
try. Usual smell in alley ways, however Ships, work-
houses, prisons and hos-
pitals all have charac-
teristic odors. Fine etch-
ings on walls. Visit
gymnasium. Attendant
looks intellectual — ask
him if he writes books
too. No. Bar, we notice,
is closed, out of compli-
ment to friend from
Middle, West, no doubt.
Out on deck discover
novel feature — High
Seas Book Store. Natty,
little corner available to
first and second class.
Young man in charge in-
troduced. Asked if he
writes books, produces
one, modestly — a Scot on
Scots. Visitors discon-
certed and delighted.
Buy book and demand
autograph. Fine selec-
tion. Also buy copy of
The Vital Spark by
Hugh Foulis. Remem-
ber asking George
Whitelaw in Glasgow
and in presence of Neil
Munro, "who was Hugh
Foulis." George says,
"this man here," and in-
dicates Munro. A great
book, inimitable in its
way, as is Para Handy
and Erchie, the ' waiter

who had "a flat fut but a warrm heart." A great lingo,
the Glesca dialect. Tell Commander tale of Wee Mac-
Gregor, not in printed edition. All roar. Good, but un-
printable. We go to lunch.

Here we find gentlemen, released from fatigue of dis-
patching Aquitania, in great good humor. Note general
type of men who occupy positions on shore staff. Humane
executives, most of them. Understand life is something
that cannot be put in a roll-top desk and filed for refer-
ence. Main characteristic, unobtrusive integrity. Rather
plump too, most of them, but they have been round, and
carry dreams in their hearts, I'm certain. The sea is their
common-law wife, as it were. They could not be other-
wise than honorable.

Up again, and carry on talk of books, Captain showing
mss. of new venture, The Queerfella, elaborately typed in
purple ink on ivory foolscap with hand-drawn initials.
Very artistic, but feel disposed to leave job to lady in
Greenwich Village. No capitals to speak of, but some
speed! Bid Commander good-bye, after a doch-an-doris,
and clatter down to West Fourteenth Street.

Next date very different. Friend from Middle West
wishes to hunt apartment nearby. Bid temporary fare-
well until dinner. Take taxi uptown.

Syncopation returning, one observes, as new problems
loom. Visit to motion picture studio to observe tech-
nique. Call on screen-lady. All ready. Car outside.
Screen-lady and chow, also friend, get in. Car slides up-

G. K. C, thrower of intellectual handsprings

town. Fresh revelations of New York as we enter
mountainous region of Yonkers. New York a unique
city. Screen-lady hopes so, hating it. Longs for Medi-
terranean. Difficult mood to encounter, after one had
been in Mediterranean four years and nearly went to jail
in effort to get out of it. Suggest New York beautiful
so long as you dont live there. All agree.

Studio in sight, com-
ment on wild environ-
ment so close to City.
Subway in distance, only
up in the air now. Sort
of Chestertonian subway
is suggested. A subway
of elevated sentiments.
We arrive, and go in, led
by chow, who, it appears,
is a star. Lost in a for-
est of flats. Screen-lady
leads us to little group
behind set, presents to
star, who is going on.
Star is made up as vamp,
■very horrible when seen
close. Thought passes
thru mind — peculiar
evolution of modern art
— beautiful lady has to
be made hideous in order
to appear as beautiful as
she really is. Paradoxi-
cal. Wish G. K. C. were
here, to throw intel-
lectual handspring and
show us the reasons for
this. Star suddenly goes
into set and sneers at
gentleman who is acting
rapidly with his eyes
shut. Sneer also carried
out with closed eyes.
Discover lights too pow-
erful to endure, so artists
shut eyes until camera
shoots. Extraordinary lingo of modern life. Syncopated
terminolgy. The set is shot. On the other hand,
journalese tends to polysyllabic redundancies as in pic-
turization, and clwuffeurette. Horrible !

The scene, if phrase be allowed, is villainous. Gentle-
man in cutaway is villain. Camera. Shows teeth. Star
raises shoulder, thrusts out jaw, and defies the teeth. He
seizes her. She spurns him. Curtains part at rear. Plot
thickens. Ethiopian slave, very fat, enters with extra
supply of teeth. At this the director signals, assistant
holds up board in front of camera with cabalistic signs,
and the shot is over.

Viewing film, so far, in projection-room and without
titles as yet, remark upon the reiief of this and marvel
why public insist on titles. Needed by director and
artist, truly, but person of intelligence needs nothing of
sort. It is explained that movies are not attended by
such people. Further explained minds of average folk in
theater move very slowly. Must give several seconds for
each line of title to sink in. Fine points, unless scored
heavily, are missed. Sounds paradoxical again, but find
confirmation in experience. Take Chaplin's last piece,
The Pilgrim. There you have artist extracting utmost
possible from material. Charlie, escaped from jail, buys
railroad ticket. Waiting for change, puts up hands and
grasps bars of ticket window. Whole pose is symbolic of
years of captivity. Yet it passes unnoticed in a flash.
Proper course it seems, would be to put in title : Charlie
{Continued on page 71)

Page Fifteen

The Falcon of Count Federigo

LADY GIOVANNA
AND

HER SON

The part of Lady Gio-
vanna is admirably played
by Irma Harrison, with'
George Neville, Junior,
as Florio

In the scene above, Lady
Giovanna's repentant
brother, Vinciola (Arthur
Donaldson) , has reunited
his sister and the im-
p ov er i shed Federigo
(Henry Hull), and has
agreed to restore the
young Count's castle and
lands

Page Sixteen

The Falcon is perhaps the most appeal-
ing of the stories in Boccaccio's Decam-
eron. Tennyson based a play upon it,
Longfellow wrote verses to its pathos,
and it is now being filmed in color by
the Lund Productions. It tells the story
of Count Federigo of Tuscany, who is
defrauded of his estates by the brother of
his love, the Lady Giovantui, that she may
be forced to wed a rich merchant. After
years of wandering with his pet falcon,
the impoverished Federigo returns, and
becomes the friend of Giovanna's young
son. When the child falls ill and begs
for the falcon, his mother seeks her old
suitor. As there is no food in his hut,
Federigo sacrifices his pet bird to make
a feast for his lady. When the truth
comes out, Giovanna's brother is contrite
and restores the Count's estates

All photographs courtesy of the Lund Productions

Count Federigo sings the
charms of his love, the
Lady Giovanna, to his old
nurse Elizabeth ( May
Kitson)

At the end of the
game of cards, in
which the rich mer-
chant has won the
castle of the Count,
Federigo discovers
that he has been
cheated, and chal-
lenges the mer-
chant to a settle-
ment with swords

Page Seventeen

Ten -Minute Plays

IV: INITIATION
By Francis Edwards Faragoh

MARGIE and Bess are sitting on the stoop, and
below them is the street, with evening over the
unswept sidewalks and the garbage-cans tltat line
the curb. Until now they h<id been talking inside, in the
living-room of Margie's home, but as it was getting late
and the bookcase-front folding-bed had to be opened and
the davenport made ready for its nocturnal office, this is
the only place left for them. They dont mind being on the
stoop — it is cooler than the flat, and there is more privacy.
The privacy is important, for Bess has news to tell.
This is her first visit to Margie since she had moved away
a year ago. And now Bess is engaged; therefore there is a
story to come. Margie, pink, expectant, is waiting for it.
Margie is sixteen, Bess somewhat older. Eighteen, per-
haps. But there is an important difference in social status.
Bess has been a stenographer for the past year or so, while
the other has just entered the neighborhood "business
college." Bess, accordingly, is conscious of her superiority,
just as Margie is conscious of the other's lip-rouge and
silk stockings and crepe de Chine waist and high-heeled
slippers. If she is slightly envious, she consoles herself
with the fact that in six montlis she, too, zvill have a job,
and then . . .

But just now the story is the important thing.

Bess : Well, so I got engaged, like I was tryin' to tell
you, only your kid brother dont let up howlin'. . . .

Margie : Yeah, he gets fierce in summer, when it's hot
like this. But we're all right out here. Go on, tell me all
about it !

Bess : There ain't nothin' much to tell.
You seen the ring.

Margie ( With impatient enthusiasm.
She said this before) : It's gorgeous,
Bess. And the setting is a peach
. . . Yeah ! Now let's hear it.
You know — how it all hap-"
pened !

Bess : Say, you cant ex-
pect me to remember every
little detail, like I didn't have
nothin' else to think about.
He's my boss, that's all. An
awful nice feller.

Margie (She had read
about such things in stories.
And this is Real Life. Ro-
mance. And so close to
her!) : You wanted to tell
how he got stuck on you an'.
. . . All the good times. . . .

Bess (After all, she is rather
anxious to give details) : Well . . .
You know, Margie, I never made out
that I ain't no fortune-teller, but I knew
what was gonna happen the first time I took
dictation off him.

Margie : How'd you know, Bess ? How could you tell
so quick?

Bess : Oh, I dunno ! I can size 'em up pretty good.
Sure! He acted awful refined, not like that other dumb-
bell I used to work for before, and he went nice an' slow
so' as to gimme a chanct to catch up with my notes. . . .
Well, you know ! When they get that way, you can tell.

Margie : Yeah, you can tell.

Bess : Then, pretty soon, he comes to my desk, sorta
accidental, he made believe, and says : "What you doin'
this evenin' ?" I look pretty innocent at him an' I says :
"What you mean what I'm doin' this evenin'?"
Margie: Then?

Bess: Then he tried to date me up, see? Well, you
know how it is takin' chances with your boss, and all them
girls losin' out on it like the papers is always full of,
only I knew he was different. So I says "all right."
Margie : So he took you out ?
Bess : So he took me out.

Margie: What he take you to? A Broadway show?
(Because Broadway shows mean more than just vaude-
ville, or the movies, or even the stock company around the
corner. Broadway! She expects to hear .wonderful
things.) Was it awful excitin'?

Bess: Excitin'? Well, kinda ! Only it ain't so differ-
ent from the shows we seen around here, you and me.
There wasn't no singin' even, just a lot of talk.

Margie (She had stood on Broadway in the evenings,
and watched people go into the theaters. Inside it must
be marble and gilt and mirrors and carpets. . . . Why
doesn't Bess speak of all that? So she asks) : But it's
awful swell just the same, ain't it, Bess?

Bess : Oh, I dunno ! I didn't see nothin' special to rave
over. The seats cost more, that's all !

Margie: (She is puzzled, disappointed): I used to
think ...
Bess: What?

Margie : Oh . . . Never mind. Where else did you go ?
Bess : Well, for a coupla days he took me
out pretty steady. Then one day as we're
sittin' in a cabaret . . .
Margie (breathless) : Cabaret?
Bess : Sure ! We went to lots.
Margie (She is greatly excited.
She has been to any number of
dance halls — but a cabaret is
different! She bends for-
ward now, eagerly) : Oh,
Bess, what was that like?

Bess: What was what
like?

Margie (this is almost a
reverent whisper) : The
cabaret. . . .

Bess : That was the real
goods, no mistake about it!
Talk of fancy prices for
food ! Little sandwiches that
you could hardly see, they had
the nerve . . .
Margie (Sandwiches do not inter-
est her. There is something else) :
Yeah, yeah . . . but how about . . .
the other things?"
Bess : What other things ? Oh, the dancing, you mean,
I guess ! Well, there was a classy band and a perfectly
grand floor. Tables all around. . . . But you can hardly
move, the. way it's all crowded, and the space so small.
You been to the Jazz Palace — well, it's somethin' like
that ! Only, the Palace is maybe better, because you have
more room there for dancin'.

Margie (This is not what she had expected. To her
(Continued on page 68)

Page Eighteen

GIRL WITH BLACK SWAN

Stirling Colder is an Academician
without an Academic vision. His
work is characterized by imagination
and a primitive baldness of conception
and technique

American
Sculpture

Representative pieces chosen
from the eight hundred in
the exhibition organized by
the National Sculpture So-
ciety, and now on display in
the rooms and gardens of
the Hispanic Museum
New York

LITTLE MOTHER
By Abastemia St. Leger Eberle

SEA SPRAY

Chester Beach has been ex-
traordinarily successful in
modeling youth. His figures
are notable for their nervous
vitality and slim grace

QUEEN OF ATLANTIS

Florio is a young Italian who has re-
ceived his training in the United
States. His work reflects the popular
seeking for Assyrian and Oriental
mannerisms

CATS

Whether Hunt Diedrich
models cats or polo ponies
or figures, he brings to his
subject a stylistic treatment
which is entirely his own

Page Nineteen1

Maurice Goldberg

EDITH DAY

The brilliant star of Wildflower

Page Twenty

The Swan

An atmospheric pastel of Greenwich Village
By Charlton Lawrence Edholm

IF always saddens me when one of the shabby old
houses in Greenwich Village is demolished, or (what
amounts to the same thing) when a new stucco front
is plastered over the dusky weather-toned bricks, anil a
flaunting apartment-house called the Yseult or the May-
fair is made out of the honest old rookery.

Three Steps Down is gone, so is the Pagan Bookshop,
so is — but why linger among tombstones ! It only de-
presses one who knew the departed jolly personalities;
for all these Village ventures have their personality like
people. What I have in mind is a little incident that I
remember from that dusky basement, devoted to cookery
and the discussion of the arts, known in its time- as Three
Steps Down.

It was a dingy interior, with low. smoke-stained ceiling
and dark walls, that received but little light from windows
on the sidewalk level. Gay posters of Village dances
made bright spots in the gloom, and the lamps carried
shades of warm hues, but the most cheerfully hospitable
detail of the eating-place was a hearthstone of ample
width, from which a grate piled high with burning coals
extended. The genial glow of that grate fire and the
warm, savory breath from a kitchen, redolent of goulashes
and thick soup, made it a cozy nest of a winter night :
many a struggling author, artist, dancer or playwright
found shelter there from unheated "studios," cheerless
quarters which, uptown, would have been termed hall-
bedrooms.

The poet who drank coffee at my expense for a Decem-
ber evening, and who consumed all my cigarets. has be-
come famous since those happy-go-lucky days, and tonight
he may be dining at the Plaza. Then he was obscure,
and, as he sat at one of the score of bare, elbow-polished
tables, among unshaved young fellows in dark shirts and
girls in smocks and gay tarns, he reminded me of
Francois Villon, making bad jokes and good rhymes in
some smoky tavern. I shall not describe him. His ap-
pearance is too well known to the great world today.
Form your own mental picture of Villon, dress him in
grey flannel shirt and rough, w-orkingman's clothes, stick
one of my cigarets in the corner of his loose mouth, and
you have Oswald Garrick, the author of Episodes of
the Pavement.

Garrick was always amenable to flattery and in some
of those Village circles the unknown geniuses feed their
famished self-esteem by flattering each other. It's very
practical. Just as sheep huddle closely in a storm to
warm each other by mutual contact. Only the lonely
outsider perishes. Freezes.

TThe poet was in good humor. He had cashed a check
-*• for ten dollars that day and some of the for-
tune remained. He had eaten well, if not
daintily, and my cigarets were to his
taste. The coffee, without stint, in
toxicated him. He read us a poem,
one of the Episodes, then unpub-
lished, that presented a minia-
ture drama of the gutter in
language as white and deli-
cately fragrant as a lily.

As the poet read, the place
had grown quiet. The chat-
ter had died down, and the
whispering lovers at dis-

tant tables had ceased to whisper. At the last word of
his poem, there was a profound silence.

Only at a table near the door an old, old woman breathed
hoarsely in sleep, her bonnet askew, her head on her arms.

The girl in the scarlet tarn was the first to speak. It
was as if she were awaking to reality after listening to
lofty music, full of strange harmonies : "And did you
really know Jennie?"

The poet smiled quizzically and pinched her cheek.
"Why, of course, dear child. As well as I know you."

"Ah-h." The girl sighed a long, melancholy sigh.
"And is it true? Did she really die?"

The author of Episodes gulped the remainder of his
coffee and laughed unpleasantly. "My artless young
friend," he replied, "how little you know of the ways of
poets ! Maybe she died. Maybe not. For all I know
she may be married to a delicatessen artist on Sixth
Avenue. How should I know?"

"But the story. It is true, is it not? She was like that ?
Capable of such love? Such sacrifice?" The girl's eyes
questioned him appealingly.

"Bless me ! Every woman is capable of such love and-
such sacrifice. Whether Jennie was put to the test or
not, I cannot say. The only time I met her she was
peeling turnips and occasionally stuffing a piece into her
mouth. I remember she always opened her mouth wide
as she chewed, and champed her food like a horse."

"But there is nothing like that in your poem !" The
girl was horrified. "You gave Jennie a soul like the
golden heart of a rose."

"Certainly. Certainly. That was what I saw. You
dont put everything into a poem that you see. If I told
everything she devoured, the poem would read like a bill-
of-fare in a Bowery eating joint. That girl ate every-
thing! Onions, garlic, eels, tripe! Everything!"

"Then your poem is not true?" '

"Of course it's true !" Garrick struck match after
match, trying to ignite the cigaret that stuck to his lower
lip. "But my dear little one, not everything that is true
goes into a poem. You strip the non-essentials from
reality and preserve the essential truth. It is no more
complicated than peeling a banana before you pop the
soft fruit into your rosy mouth."

The girl looked unconvinced. "Your poem is beautiful,"
she said, "but Jenny is not the same to me after this."

"She is the same Jenny that you wrould have seen in
real life. Your reaction would have been : 'That girl
needs a bath. And she should visit a dentist.' "

T^-rankly, I must admit that I was nauseated at this
-*- bald recital of crudities. My admiration of Oswald
Garrick had diminished. This poet whose works
made me dream of a white swan floating
among water-lilies in a twilight em-
purpled pool, appeared to me now like
the same swan in the sunlight,
waddling about on the bank and
gobbling crusts of stale bread.
Hard to distinguish from a
goose, the swan on the bank !
I arose to go. It was an
annoyance that Oswald Gar-
rick insisted on accompany-
ing me. He wanted to read
(Continued on page 71)

Page Twenty-One

Scenes

from

Productions

of the

Kamerny Theater

Players

of
Moscow

> v~ - r ■-' : ' ~v;T\G~...' ,

illlHHIHIHIIBB

Antoine, the founder of the famous Theatre
Libre, and one of the most penetrating of the
Parisian dramatic critics, wrote his opinion of
this iconoclastic company of players as follows:

"Here I believe is the most dangerous offensive
to which our theater has submitted for a long
time. Everything in these performances, the dec-
■orations, the costumes, the staging, the interpre-
tation, makes for the destruction of our dramatic
art such as it has been constituted thru the slow
evolution of many centuries.

"Twenty years ago it was that an infiltration
started from Munich which today we see disin-
tegrating our genius and our taste. The Chauve-
Souris, prudent, and with a rare seduction, took
up the movement after the war. Stanislavski we
received warmly because he did not destroy, he
perfected. But the Kamerny Theater in apply-
ing its destructive methods to the fund of our
national works has permitted us to see where
all this may lead to. Its influence can become a
peril for the young and living spirits among us
who are already too prone to seek adventure."

ROMEO AND JULIET

The two scenes reproduced above
show to what extremes this experi-
mental group of players dared to go
in designing settings and costumes for
Shakespeare's conventional drama

PHEDRE

In the settings for
Racine's famous trag-
edy . impressive sim-
plicity ivas the funda-
mental note

Page Twenty-Two

In the Laboratory of the Theater

A discussion of two recent experiments: the venture of the Kamerny Theater of Moscow, and

the presentation of Le Carnaval des Enfants

B;y Allan Ross Macdougall

SINCE the war Paris seems to have become the
dramatic half-way house between Moscow and
New York. First came here the now famous
Chauve-Souris, with Balieff}- Last year came the great
company of the Moscow Art Theater, headed by Stanis-
lavski. The latest band of dramatic pilgrims from
Russia, resting here before setting sail for the land of
the dollar, is the company of the Kamerny Theater, or
Chamber Theater, of Moscow. But whether this latest
Russian recruit for the artistic suffrages and the less
artistic dollars of America will have the same success as
its two forerunners I, for one, will not prophesy.

Let me with brevity set down its history. Conceived
during the first months of the World War, it waxed
and grew to its full stature during the tormented period
of the Revolution. December 12, 1914, saw the rise of
the curtain on the first play, Sakountala, and with but
a few days' intermission in the same month followed the
premieres of Synge's Playboy of the Western World,
and Calderon's tragedy Life is a Dream. The inspiring
genius of the company was and still is, Alexander Tairoff.
This director, having made some theatrical experiments
with his productions of The Yellow Jacket and Pierrette's
Veil at the Moscow Free Theater, decided to found a
theater of his own where his ideas might have free rein.
In his task he was
aided by Alice
Coonen, who, tho
a Belgian by birth,
had been for some
time one of the
leading members
of Stanislavski's
company at the Art
Theater.

In 1917, in order
further to work
out his ideas and
give them the
fullest and best
possible interpreta-
tion, Tairoff
founded a school
• in connection with
the Chamber Thea-
ter. Also he gath-
ered about him the
leading members
of the advance-
guard in art and
music in Russia.
Artists like Sou-
deikine, Kousnets-
off , Gontcharova,

Larionoff , Exeter, Vesynine ; musicians like Alexandroff ,
Gattel, and the French composer, Forterre. The result
is, that whatever one may feel about the productions of
this company, at least they are all of a piece. One will
never have the doubtful pleasure of seeing at the Chamber
Theater a spectacle like the Hopkins production of
Macbeth in New York, where the decorations belonged
to one school, the acting to any and all schools, and the
music to no school at all !

For my part, after, having seen the various perform-
ances of the Tairoff company, I am quite undecided about
their worth. They seem to be a company of diabolically
clever marionettes who can do anything in the realm
of the theater. One night they can play a tragedy like
Wilde's Salome. The night following they can, with
equal ease and virtuosity, do a ballet like Debussy's Boite
a Joujoux. The next night they can make a circus out
of the old-fashioned operette of Lecocq's Girofle-Girofla,
and follow that the night after with the Merry Wives
of Windsor or Romeo and Juliet. These and a score
of other dramas, pantomimes, ballets, comedies and
operettas are all in the repertoire of this interesting
company.

What a spirit they bring to their work! What energy
they infuse into a piece like the Lecocq operette ! One
feels in watching them that their patron saint must surely
be the Russian equivalent of St. Vitus. By their speech,
their gestures, their decorations they take the poor audi-
ence by assault. There are no half measures ; no repose.
If. one actor says to another "I love you," it seems to be
a formidable threat. As one French critic said :

"How such spectacles permit us to measure the dis-
tance between these still half-barbaric natures given over
to abstract ideas and bounding instincts and our own

old civilization,
our tempered civil-
ization ! Even our
frenzies have not
the virulence of
their simple de-
sires. They do not
walk, they leap.
They do not speak,
they shout. They
do not converse,
they quarrel.
What tempera-
ments!"

But of all these
things America
shall have the op-
portunity of judg-
ing soon, for it is
the intention of
Tairoff and hi s
company to visit
the United States
this autumn.

A scene from Claudel's drama The Tidings Brought to Mary

(^l? all the things
^-' that have hap-
pened in the world
of the theater here
in Paris I think the most thrilling was the opening night
of M. St. Georges de Bouhelier's play, Le Carnaval des
Enfants, at the Theatre de la Comedie Francaise. I have
had many exciting evenings in the theater, but never in
my wildest dreams did I expect to be found standing on
my fauteuil in that dignified House of Moliere shouting
"Bravos" to the actors and "Boos" to a certain section of
the audience.

{Continued on page 77)

Page Tzventy-Three

LOVE SONG

By Pascale D'Angelo

Your lips are a garden in summer
bloom,

And my soul is a timid child, steal-
ing tiptoe thru their rosy gate

To pluck a flower of kisses from
them ;

But ah! it scampers off, frightened
by the heart that murmurs
within your breast.

Is not the whole universe awed to
loveliness

At your pure beauty?

The moon, a giant pale taper burn-
ing in the mosque of night,

Floods your hair with calm golden
splendor ;

And the adoring wind weaves her
soft silken tresses with yours.

And tomorrow when you fling open
the windows,

The sunbeams that hovered with-
out

Will swarm thru, like bees, to
alight

Upon the pure white flower of your
beauty.

A camera study of Maria Ley and Ernst Walt, by d'Ora, Vienna

Page Twenty-Four

Keystone View Company

IN THE TEMPLE

This past season, blase Europeans have been highly diverted by

the novel programs of two Oriental dancers, Takka-Lakka and Yogo

Karo, who perform the classical religious dances of Siam

Page Twenty-Five

Divertissement

Grist from the Mill of
Sebastien Dudon*

THERE is this to be said for repetition, that it
renders impossible the charge of inconsistency. I
therefore repeat, as I have always maintained, that
man, despite appearances, is the more faithful of the two
recognized sexes. The error, of which he is a victim, is
due to a false conclusion from a misleading premise : his
platonic varietism. A man may own twenty cravats, but
he will continue wearing one, his favorite, until it is
threadbare. He may have a dozen suits, but he will con-
tinue to don the same one until its shabbiness shames him
into changing. He may have a razor for each day of the
week, but he will use one until it is as blunt as his pen-
knife. And only his respect for the laws of hygiene and
the fear of his wife make him change his under-linen.
For that is man's nature. And his nature does not alter in
respect to women. He would remain as steadfastly faith-
ful to one woman as he does to one cravat, one suit, one
razor, but for the maladroit, selfish and unintelligent in-
terference of the one woman. For, just as he must have
his nineteen other cravats, his eleven other suits, and his
six other razors, so man must have his other women.
Tho he may never resort to them, they are indispensable
to his inalienable and instinctive varietism. But this the
one woman will never suffer, and, unless she be extremely
gifted, she comes to grief, the victim of her own prohibi-
tions. Man, by nature faithful, will abide by the one
woman, would abide by her forever, but for the fact that
presently she must, by her own nature, become as thread-
bare as his cravat, as shabby as his suit, as dull as his
razor. And then her prohibitions are of no avail. It is
always the fault of woman if man strays. I lay it down
as an axiom, somewhat bold but nevertheless exact : if it
were not for women, men would never be unfaithful.

Figures are always fascinating. Of the 20,000 French-
women who cast a vote' in the marriage inquiry con-
ducted by Femina, 14,000 gave first choice to the
American husband as their preference among all nation-
alities. England came second, with* practically the bulk
of the remaining ballots. The other countries were
hardly in the running. Financial statistics, too, are
fascinating. At the time of the poll, the dollar could buy
17.80 francs (normal exchange 5), and the pound sterling
could procure 79.20 francs (normal exchange 25).
Figures are fascinating, but they are dangerous. Let no
impassioned and purblind statistician draw any rash con-
clusion from what is so manifestly a mere coincidence.

*T"-he campaign to check the wave of indecency in our
■*■ theaters, in our literary output, and in our new mode
of living, merely thwarts the process of evolution. Pour-
ing fire on the wave of indecency will not level it. It
must run its course and nothing will hinder it. And its
course, if unhindered, is brief. Nothing becomes tedious
so quickly as indecency — unless it be decency. The im-
morality of today is the reaction from the morality of
yesterday, the prelude to the morality of tomorrow. The
pendulum swings back and forth every thirty-three years.
The present generation is sowing its wild oats, but it will
grow to a maturity as staid as that of its fathers. Un-
less, of course, it comes to an untimely end in a brothel.

TTowEVER, there is justification for the campaign
-*• A against the nude on our stage, a justification eco-
nomic rather than moral. If our pompous Senators and

* Translated by Henri Lajeunesse.

Deputies, not to speak of the police department, have
lent their weight to this campaign, they have done so with
traditional French gallantry and with a traditional respect
for French thrift. For nudity on the stage threatens the
existence of a whole class of women. Every night of the
week scores of petites femmes, distinguished from grandcs
dames only in that they are known merely by their first
names, appear at the box-offices of the Olympia, the
Casino, the Palace and the Folies Bergere, and give five
francs for the privilege of strolling in the promenade.
These women have paid their way into the theater, paid
with what, according to the ethics of business, has become
their own money, and thus have a claim to certain indis-
putable rights. Now, nudity on the stage of our revues is
a manifest infringement on these rights. It is taking the
bread out of the mouths of these petites femmes. For
nudity, as any psychologist can tell you, is the most effec-
tive inspiration of chastity.

There can be only one explanation of the high cost of
milk. The milk dealers must have taken to the use of
mineral waters instead of the hydrant product.

Parts has always had a warm spot in its heart for the
midinette, but when the modern Mimi Pinson laid
down her needle and walked out of the dress-making shops
of the Rue de la Paix, a severe chill invaded that heart.
The strike of the midinettes was the gayest demonstra-
tion the city has ever witnessed. There was no singing
of the Internationale or the Red Flag, the favorite tune
of the strikers being Lucien Boyer's lilting and joyous :

Climb up, climb up,

And you'll see Montm-artre!

And yet, tho the brave little midinettes maintained their
gaiety in the most trying circumstances, gay Paris
frowned on their walk-out as it had never frowned on
the more somber and menacing strikes of the past. The
reason is not far to seek. The walk-out of the midinettes
struck at the very heart of one of the oldest, the most
respected and most convenient institutions in France. By
the industrious use of her clever fingers for ten hours a
day, the midinette receives the munificent weekly recom-
pense of sixty francs, the equivalent of four dollars. The
munificence of the award becomes manifest when one
realizes how very close it comes to meeting the needs of
her budget, which, stripped down to the very barest neces-
sities, totals eighty francs. Her weekly deficit is therefore
a mere trifle of twenty francs, a little more than a dollar.
An absurdly small deficit, when you consider that she has
from seven o'clock in the evening until seven o'clock in
the morning, during seven days of the week, in which to
strike a balance in her budget. And if she is young, pretty,
devoted, and anxious to please ; if she is willing to prepare
dinner for two on returning from work and breakfast for
two before .leaving for work; if she can darn socks, lay
out and count linen, run errands, keep a house in order ; if,
above all, she can preserve her gaiety and give ample and
constant evidence of her gratitude — well, then, it is the
simplest of matters. There are many benevolent bachelors
in Paris. And it is an old and honored institution, deep-
rooted in French economics. It was the benevolent
bachelors who suffered a chill when the midinette went on
strike. What if she should win, get an increase of twenty
francs, and become self-supporting? Horror! Twenty
francs would not buy a smile in the Champs-Elysees !

Page Twenty-Six

Albin

CAROL DEMPSTER

One of the stars of David Wark Griffith's latest production,
The White Rose

Page Twenty-Seven

THE TUMBLE

Dramatic Impressions on Copper

RESTING

J|W«*""«^' '■"■■

HHHHHHHMMIMHHH

J»Ui"t>"- V

Page Twenty -Eight

I /

-f

■

FISHERMEN'S RETURN

All etchings courtesy of the Schwartz Gallery

Edmund Blampied spent his boyhood on the coast of the Isle of Jersey in the
English Channel. He attended a village school, then worked as a farm hand
to support himself and his widowed mother until he was seventeen. His idle
moments were spent sketching the coast and agricultural scenes around him —
the shaggy-coated horses and cattle, and the fishermen and peasants of the
island. At fifteen he was given instruction in drawing and painting by a
French artist who had seen some of his work. Two years later a wealthy
resident sent the boy to London for a year's study. Young Blampied was able
to remain three years, however, and in that time won for himself a place
among the younger artists of England. He learned the technique of etching
from Walter Seymour, while attending the County Council's Art classes at
Bolt Court. Mr. Blampied's etchings and dry-points are always artistically
alive, and few artists seem to have so vivid a sense of the pictorial interest

of humdrum things

Page Twenty-Nine

Antoinette B. Hervey

THE GHOST SHIP

Page Thirty

William H. Zerbe

EARLY MORNING IN GLOUCESTER HARBOR

Beginning August the twenty-sixth, the city of Gloucester,
Massachusetts, will celebrate the three-hundredth anniver-
sary of its settlement. A water pageant will be one feature
of the festival. The Long Dragon, bearing a crew of venture-
some Norsemen, will again discover the harbor; the Puritan
fishermen and farmers from Dorchester, England, will land
a second time upon the shore; and the gallant Champlain
once more will steer his ship into the blue waters

Page Thirty-One

9CCWQ TUC

CIRCUS

WlTU

* WYMW

Page Thirty-Two

On the left is Fanny, the
Fat Lady. On the right
is Bertha, the Lady-with-
a-Beard. Does Fanny
like being fat? Yes. She
is on a starch-and-sugar
diet. The more she puts
on, the more she takes off
— the manager's bank-roll.
Does Bertha like her
beard? No. She is only
slightly attached to it —
with glue

A Page from the Circus Primer

Here are the three fierce lions. Here is the one fearless lion-tamer.
He is hired to please the Public. And the Public is pleased by what he
is doing in the picture. When he removes his head the lions will roar.
The Public will think they are roaring ivith anger. But the Public will
be mistaken. The lions will be roaring with laughter. They laugh be-
cause the Public is being fooled. The fierce lions are not fierce. The
fearless lion-tamer is not fearless. Why? Because the lions have lost
all their teeth and their claws are tipped with rubber

<s-U>/NtV

Page Thirty-Three

Courtesy of Houghton Mifflin Company

THE GENIE AND THE PRINCESS

An illustration by Willy Pogany for Tales of the Persian Genii,
by Frances Jenkins Olcott

Page Thirty-Four

The Lost Land of Make-Believe

The children of this brisk, industrial age seem to lack the fanciful imagination that should be their

rightful heritage from their romantic forefathers

B;y Willy Pogany

THERE is nothing in the world so sensitive to im-
pressions as the mind of a child. Long before he
can give a name to things he sees or knows he has
tucked away in his head hundreds of pictures. And all
the pictures that are essential to him his imagination holds.
That is why the child that is alone is never lonely. During
the first eight years of his life he lives in a world con-
structed by himself, and his imagination fills this world
with mysterious life. He gives the animals and birds
tongues to speak to him ; the flowers and trees have eyes
to watch him ; inanimate things become animate. He can
conjure up all sorts of "little people" for his playmates.
No child has had a real childhood unless he has lived in
this land of make-believe.

But the modern, machine-made world is peopled with
rationalists instead of romanticists — materialists who seem
bent upon robbing the child of his fancies and dreams.
In our cities, alas, the materials of make-believe are want-
ing. Who can create a magic country in an apartment
house, where attics and gardens, and even big fireplaces
with crackling logs and cavernous chimneys are missing?
The city provides playgrounds for its children, but they
are equipped for physical play only. They contain noth-
ing to stimulate his mind to play.

It is the right of every child to have a garden, with
flowers, trees, a
fountain and, yes, a
maze, such as was a
part of all old Euro-
pean gardens ; a
maze in which he
can become lost
from home, and in
which there may be
a giant ogre, lurking
around the next
turn — some familiar
old ogre that has
stepped from a
favorite fairy book.
Where in the
modern city can
such an ogre lurk?
And where can the
fairy princess live
who can always save
the child from the
delicious terror that
the ogre inspires ?

The sense of
terror is an active
element of the im-
aginative life of
every child. Chil-
dren who are
shielded from
stories of goblins
and ogres and
wicked stepmothers
will invent dreadful
creatures that will
haunt their familiar
world.

Courtesy of Houghton Mifflin Company

An illustration by Mr. Pogany for Sara Cone Bryant's book, Stories to Tell

the Littlest Ones

But the forms that terrorize the modern child are the
bewhiskered villains of the motion pictures. His fairy
princess is the screen flapper or, worse yet, the screen
vampire. His little grown-up mind scorns the film ver-
sion of a fairy story. He would rather see a story of
cowboys and masked robbers on the screen than a pic-
turization of Jack the Giant Killer, and he prefers a
Chaplin comedy to the story of Snow White. Even the
books he chooses to read are as brittle and machine-made
as the world he lives in.

Certain altruists prophesy that the pendulum will soon
swing back toward the age of romanticism. For the
sake of the grown-up as well as the child, let us speed the
day when Imagination will rule the world again. For
imagination is the natural prerogative of mankind.

It is truly the gift of a fairy godmother in this century
of insatiable inventiveness ; it is an Aladdin's lamp that
will not grow tarnished unless it is unused.

We can and should build our own castles in the air,
where we can flee from the perplexities that press so
heavily upon us, and can roam the unexplored hemispheres
of fancy. For facts exist in the land of make-believe
only as we create them, and they are not unalterable ; they
can be changed or modified according to our whim.

To but few
grown-ups is grant-
ed the boon to make
visible the adven-
tures they encounter
in their land of
make-believe, but
this gift is denied to
no child. All chil-
d r e n are born
artists. Just as the
illustration of a
story is the language
— a visual language
— that the child best
understands, so his
own crayon is the
most sympathetic
means of projecting
his own experiences
on paper, and thus
recording the whole
retinue of impres-
sions which each
waking hour brings
him.

He draw:s for the
sake of telling a
story, and in doing
so supplements and
enriches his own
direct observation of
objects. Drawing
and imagining are
his pleasure, and
tho his results are
termed crude by
adults, he soon stains

Page Thirty-Five

SuADOWLAND

more control
over this mode
of expression
than over either
written or oral
language.

If the grown-
up is not apt in
imagination he
may need a key
in order to deci-
pher the child's
story — the few
o dd-looking
black marks that
represent a man,
for instance —
but anyone
endued with
imagination can
easily read this
child-Sanskrit.
Because he
draws mostly
from memory,
he draws what
he knows, not
what he sees,
and the newest
detail conceived
always looms
far out of pro-
portion to the
rest of the figure
or scene. Thus,
perspective for a
child does not
exist, or rather
it is a perspec-
tive of interest,

of imagination, or, in other words, the perspective of the
fairy-tale. A little child's drawing is almost a catalog —
a graphic vocabulary consisting of forms systematically
accumulated — and in this fact we can read the value to the
child of visual language, both for pleasure and education.
My childhood was spent in Hungary, among its
romantic, sensitive, imaginative people. And the mental
stimulation and impressions received in that environment
are still my source of inspiration in painting and illustrat-
ing. I well remember the thrill of expectation I felt
when I came into possession of a new book, with its
revelations held close between its unopened covers. It

was the pictures I was "just
looking for" — the pictures that
carried me into a realm un-
known, where strange things al-
ways happened.

Over and over again I would
live the episodes played by my
pictured heroes. Read, I could
not, but those dead blotches
called letters did not intrigue me.
It was the picture that told me
the story; the picture was real,
an actual fact, and the printed
word seemed a pretense and
superfluous.

To us in Hungary, pictures
have long told stories and stood
for facts. The shops in my
home town still use big pictorial
signs to advertise their com-
modities, because the peasants

An unfinished drawing by Willy Pogany for a collection of Norse fairy-tales

and other simple
folk cannot
read. From
childhood I was
surrounded by
these vivid pic-
tures, set out-
side the shop
doors — pictures
of hams and
chickens at the
butcher-shop ;
of dresses and
coats at the
clothing-store;
of apples, bags
of salt, whips
and what-not at
the general
store. The pic-
tures on these
signs could be
seen from afar
and entirely
overshadowed
the lettering.
We of primitive
mind were still
back in the age
of symbols and
hieroglyphics,
and were only
interested in pic-
tures — espe-
cially those that
were printed
and stood out
boldly.

I used to copy
these simple
signs when a small child, and, as I grew older, I copied
the illustrations in my books of fairy- and folk-tales.
Later, when I learned to read, I began making pictures of
characters and incidents that were not already illustrated.
It became my childhood ambition to illustrate "a real
fairy book."

Thru all my years of study and travel I never lost this
desire, and to this day I am never so happy as when illus-
trating fairy-tales. They appeal to me because an imagi-
native subject lends itself readily to illustration, and can
be pictured without injuring the reader's power of imagi-
nation. I can give suggestions without hampering his
fancy, and can give him, more-
over, the opportunity to become
creative himself.

The illustrator of fairy-tales
must have a deep and sympathetic
comprehension of children, and
be keenly alive to their humor ;
he must be sensitive to all the
beauty of child life ; he must see
the adventures of the fairy folk
with the child's own mind. He
must have not only imagination,
but tenderness, humor, whimsi-
cality, friendliness. He must omit
satire and any other mature note
— it will only bewilder the child.
He must himself believe in the
reality of the fairies and elves and
ogres that he pictures. Life must
engross him with the same ardor
that it did in his childhood.

This sketch and the one
opposite are from
Stories to Tell the Lit-
tlest Ones, by Sara Cone
Bryant, and published
by Hon g hto n Mifflin
Company

Page Thirty-Six

Maurice Goldberg

ERNITA LASCELLES

"ho is a talented writer of fiction as well as an actress. This past
season she appeared with Mrs. Fiske in The Dice of the Gods ,

Page Thirty-Seven

A study by Kenneth Alexander, awarded the Silver Medal at the International Arts and Crafts Exposition

NINA HAVEMAN

A member of the Moscow Art Theater, who
appeared in their production of Tsar Fyodor

Page Thirty-Eight

The Hand of the Master

By Frederic Boutet

Translated from the French by William /.. McPhcrson

Let

A SANCTUARY to which the confused noises of
the factory scarcely penetrated, M. YagaFlon's
private office was vast, hare and commonplace.
The mahogany furniture was set off by green tapestry.
From the windows you could see the rainy sky and the
muddy Seine, over which the morning fog still hung. In a
corner of the room M. Vagallon's stenographer sat waiting
before her machine. Gathered about the gigantic Ameri-
can desk, still closed, were M. Vagallon's three secre-
taries. The technical secretary, the commercial secretary,
and the secretary for the personnel stood there, stiff and
silent.

Nine o'clock struck. A heavy step, at once rapid and
majestic, was heard outside. M. Vagallon entered. Tall
and massive-looking in his loosely fitting suit of checked
cloth, his face red, his glance dominating, he presented
an image of force, sure of itself — and of despotic power.

"Good-day, gentlemen," he said, and then took a seat
at his desk.

The stenographer brought him the mail, which he began
to open. Some time passed. Pushing back the letters,
M. Vagallon turned to the secretaries, listened to their
reports and gave orders. But suddenly his face con-
tracted and grew purple. He struck the desk with his fist.

"How is this, Monsieur Lebois? You have taken the
liberty, without consulting me, of hiring a workman to
replace Pere Eloi. What does this mean? How
dare you permit yourself an initiative like
that? I forbid initiative. I prohibit in-
dependence. I wish to be strictly
obeyed. I give my orders,
others execute them. That
all. You may retire."

The secretaries left the
room. M. Vagallon, with
a frown still on his face,
resumed the reading of
the mail. Then he dic-
tated some letters to
the stenographer and
received two gentle-
men who had come to
talk about an im-
portant order.

After a brief dis-
cussion, in which they
came to an agreement,
he invited them to in-
spect the factory. Then
he brought them back to
the office.

"My dear sir," said one of
the visitors politely, but with
evident sincerity, "all that wre
have seen is admirable. But what a
heavy burden on a man's shoulders it
must be to manage such an enterprise !
a world in itself "

M. Vagallon smiled proudly.

"You are right in saying that it is a world." he replied
majestically. "It is a world which I have created and
organized, which I alone direct, which rests entirely
on me "

"Have you no collaborators ?" asked the second visitor.

M. Vagallon tossed back his head.

It is

"No, monsieur. I have instruments that I use; that
is all. What I fear most is that they will assume
initiative. I have confidence in myself, and in
myself alone. Ah! messieurs, since we have now entered
into business relations and those relations are to continue,
it is well that you should know me. I am a self-made
man, and am proud of it. I am the son of a peasant —
and of a poor peasant. I got my education by working
for it, and was despised and treated shamefully by my
rich fellow students. I nearly starved at eighteen. I
worked at almost anything. You might have seen me,
thirty years ago, driving a little cab in the streets of
Paris. I make no concealments. I am not a man of the
world, nor a man of elegant associations. The world and
its elegancies — I leave them to others. I leave them to
my wife. She has pearl necklaces and dresses which cost
two thousand francs .apiece. She goes to teas, to exposi-
tions, to the theater. She spends what she pleases. She
is a woman of the world. She was born to that. What
I am telling you, I tell everybody. Yes. I work twelve
or fifteen hours a day. Yes, everything depends on me,
even to the slightest detail. Yes, I am the pivot on which
the whole machine turns. Yes, I alone see to everything,
direct everything, keep everything going."

He stopped a moment, swollen with pride. The visitors
looked at him with admiration. He began again :

"Since you are doing me the honor to breakfast
with me, messieurs, you will see my wife.
She is an accomplished society woman.
She knows how to receive people.
She is not like me. With the aid
of some connoisseurs she has
made a real museum of art of
the house which I bought at
Neuilly some years ago.
As for me, I know noth-
ing about such things."

At Neuilly, M.
•**- Vagallon's two
guests found a house
furnished with per-
fect taste, and in the
person of Mme. Va-
gallon a charming
woman, blonde, deli-
cate, slender and ele-
gant. One of them, who
was still young and rather
attractive in appearance,
tried, when coffee was being
served, to pay her some dis-
creet attentions. But she did
not seem to understand them.
At this moment M. Vagallon, who
was talking with the other visitor, gave
a faint cry.
"Oh ! How badly I feel !" he groaned.
They hurried to his assistance. He kept on groaning
and held his hand to his side. Very much frightened but
preserving her sang-froid, Mme. Vagallon sent for a
doctor. The two guests saw that they were in the way,
and being somewhat embarrassed, felt it wise to withdraw,
after a brief interval, with polite expressions of concern.
{Continued on page 74)

Page Thirty-Nine

*—

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Opposite the Villa Land in Viterbo

Sketching in Italy

By Greville Rickard

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Gift's

The Grand Canal, Venice

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San Pietro in Rome

Piazza delta Signoria

Florence

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Sketching in Belgium

With one impression of a French cathedral

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The Tour de Beurre of the Cathedral of Rouen

A Street in Malines

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CfHEVJl.LL TtlCKARD

r/ie Cizy Gate in Bruges

Old City Gate
in Malines

Page Forty-One

New Motifs for Old

The impressions of a visiting composer and conductor, on the development of music in America

By Georges Enesco

I SHOULD like to be-
gin by saying that I
was perhaps the only
musician in Europe two
years ago who had never
had any intention of com-
ing to America. Then,
without foreseeing the
consequences, I dedicated
my quartet to the Flon-
zaleys, who played it here
so much better than it
deserved that I found not
only my work welcomed
in the friendliest fashion,
but myself brought within
the charmed circle of com-
posers whom these king-
makers in music deign to
honor. So, "in spite of all
temptations to remain in
other nations," I gladly
fell- in with a suggestion
that I should come over
as guest conductor.

Almost before I knew
it, I was in the United
States, and receiving my
first impression of the
greatness of American
orchestras with Mr.
Stokowski's incomparable
players in Philadelphia.
As a student who has
made an earnest effort

to appraise the work of every important orchestra in
Europe, I take the utmost pleasure in telling my American
readers how extremely proud they ought to be to count
this among their other unique and superlative posses-
sions— the most magnificent symphony orchestra in the
world. I pay this tribute to supreme excellence without
prejudice to the outstanding merits of other American
orchestras, both those I had the pleasure of conducting
and those for whom I was merely one member of an
admiring audience.

I have been struck by the very appreciative attitude of
American concert-goers. In New York you enjoy every
opportunity for progress in this direction, for not only
do you have more symphony concerts to the square mile
than all the European countries put together, but side by
side with the works of the classic masters you are offered
an ever-increasing number of modern works each season.
Apropos of this, I beg leave to remind you that for this
latter Mr. Stokowski is largely to thank. As a modern
composer, I may say that neither I nor my colleagues
flatter ourselves that he admires everything we write, but
he has insisted for years that his audiences should at
least be kept informed of what is going on in the musical
world. It is fortunate for us that his audiences are so
much his disciples.

A disadvantage under which the American composer
•**- in the modern idiom labors is not that he does not
hear the best of what his European contemporaries are
doing, but that he is so far removed from the atmosphere

Courtesy of the Supplement de la Revue Musicale
Maurice Ravel, a man of genius, who is a disciple of Debussy

in which they are doing it.
His handicap lies in the
curious fact that the
farther one is from any
strong creative influence
the greater one's effort to
remain within its sphere ;
whereas the nearer one is
to the source, the more in-
dependent of its conven-
tions one becomes.

It would be perhaps to
the American composer's
advantage to disengage
himself as much as pos-
sible from European in-
fluences which of their
nature conflict with the in-
digenous material on
which he must eventually
base his work. For it is
a truism that the inspira-
tion of all enduring art
springs from the soil. Al-
ready John Powell, with
his remarkable Rhapsodie
Negre, has shown that an
American can follow
where Dvorak led. This
work is not in the modern
idiom, but its extraordi-
nary thematic richness
and the primitive vitality
of its rhythms should be
enough to convince the
young moderns of the New World that they need not
look to the Old for what they have in such ungarnered
abundance at home.

This talk of imitation reminds me of what the great
Debussy once said to me, apropos of Ravel. I had been
remarking what a pity it was that a man of genius like
Ravel should so completely lose himself in the disciple,
even tho it were Debussy whom he followed. "All art
starts by imitation," replied Debussy ; "I had to have
someone to copy — so do the others ; it doesn't matter any-
way who your models are, for they are nothing but pegs
to hang your real self on — if you have one."

The god of my own youthful adoration was Brahms,
and I wrote my early work quite flagrantly "in the man-
ner of" the immortal Johannes. To my mind, the young
composer, ambitious to write symphonies, could choose
no more happily than I did, for from Brahms he may
learn how to combine classic integrity of form with the
most perfect freedom and mobility of expression, without
in the least impeding the spontaneity of his utterances. It
is not wise to destroy until we have learnt how to build ;
and the only progress which can profoundly influence the
future is that which grows out of the past, not that which
is artificially imposed upon it.

It is long ago now that I ceased to imitate Brahms, but
while the musical speech in which I have perhaps found
my true expression is ostensibly that of my contempo-
raries, it actually differs radically from theirs, bearing
deeply, I hope, the impress of the past out of which it
grew, and therefore lacking their accent of repudiation.

Page Forty-Tivo

SUA&OWLAND

Which brings me to the "Six," of whose divagations I
hear so much over lure. This ambitious group of torch-
bearers may count itself fortunafe in having enlisted so
much attention on the part of New York's more sophisti-
cated connoisseurs, whoso grave consideration of their
works is in flattering contrast to the attitude of some
Parisian audiences.

Now T am very far from wishing to belittle the mem-
bers of this famous company, whose sincerity is usually
beyond question; and if 1 point out the reasons why I
think they have failed to fulfil the purpose of their
association, I do so in order rather to explain them to their
detractors than to range myself on the enemy's side.

In the beginning, these young exponents of the futur-
istic method, each doubtless believing his contribution to
musical history to be in the truest sense representative,
came together with the idea of mutual encouragement and
support. They wished to make their influence felt as
quickly and as widely as possible, and tin's end could be
achieved more easily by a group than by each alone. It
takes more ridicule to lampoon a "school" than an indi-
vidual out of existence, and they knew they were throw-
ing out a challenge to the caustic and reactionary Parisian
public, which would not be slow to take it up. The Six
had plenty of courage, and very soon found they needed
all they had. Perhaps if they had been better artists they
would not have been such good reformers ; perhaps if they
had been better reformers they would not have been
artists at all. Who can say? One certain result of their
ardent crusade, how-
ever, was that public
curiosity in the New
Music was definitely
excited, and concert-
goers were quickly
familiarized with the
futuristic idiom.

The conscious ex-
tremism of the Six,
bow-ever unsuccessful
as art, yet helped the
cause along by creating
the "horrible example,"
which is as good a way
as any of setting a fair
standard of judgment.
But for their sensa-
tionalism, the more
moderate expressions
in the new manner
would have come as a
shock to audiences who
would surely have mis-
taken the unfamiliar
for the deliberately
eccentric, as often hap-
pens. The rapid
recognition which has
been given to the work
of such men as Mala-
piero. Berners. Goos-
sens. Casella and
others is largely, if in-
directly, due to the Six.

Unfortunately they
have now arrived at a
point where their pur-
pose is no longer obvi-
ous. If any one of
them is ever going to
do great work, he will
certainly have to leave
the group. Honnegger,

Courtesy of the Supplement

The late Deodat de Severac may be regarded as standing midway between

Caesar Franck and the moderns. He was less profound than he was

playful, and did not take himself and his art too seriously

in fact, by far the finest talent of them all, is already prac-
tically outside the circle, and the others no doubt, will go
their separate ways eventually. For as an artist develops,
he finds he cannot always subserve the ends of a "move-
ment." While his genius is still not quite certain of itself,
he needs sympathetic support, but the more it matures the
less it stands in need of protection. The only ones who
remain long in groups are those who cannot stand alone.

T have nothing but praise for the seriousness of the
*■ younger school ; hut like many others who set out to
"jazz up," as you Americans would say, the slow process
of evolution, they have let themselves become the victim^
of catch-words. "No compromise," they cry, and so
great is their terror of betraying the slightest derivation
from the effete past which it is their mission to obliterate,
that they go to fantastic lengths in avoiding treason to
their ideals. In concentrating so insistently upon how
to express things, they have forgotten they had anything
to express- — which is a pity. It is rather foolish, also,
and leads to the sort of artistic smugness which is death
to worth-while work. One would like to bring them back
to their senses by recalling to them the story of the young
futurist painter, who said Degas : "Master, when you were
a young man, what did one do in order to arrive?" "My
dear young man," answered the Master, "when I was a
young man, one did not arrive !"

It would not be possible to exclude from any notice
of modern music an appreciative mention of the devoted

and tireless efforts of
Alfredo Casella to give
currency to the works
of his compatriots,
whose compositions,
but for him, would
have had to wait much
longer for an audition
in the musical centers
of the world. The re-
naissance of instru-
mental music in Italy,
which is opening a
significant chapter in
modern musical his-
tory, owes much of its
impetus to his beauti-
ful and sympathetic
performances of their
piano works, and to his
gift for communicating
his own enthusiasm to
the conductors of
orchestras here and
abroad. The names
he had made most
familiar to American
audiences are. no
doubt, those of Mala-
piero, Zandonai, and
Respighi ; but the
catholicity of his inter-
est, not confined to his
own countrymen, has
extended to such men
as the Spaniard, Al-
beniz, of whose Iberia,
orchestrated by Casella
himself, he has given
more than one superb
performance. In the
midst of all these al-
truistic activities it is
(Cont'd on [>agc 73 )

evue Musicale

Page Forty-Three

r- ;:.;::

A camera study by .Robert Demachy, Paris

IN BRITTANY

Robert Demachy is past-master of individualistic photographic processes. His name
will ever rank among the most powerful and successful of the leaders and pioneers
of the pictorial movement. His artistic individuality, as expressed in the creations
of his camera, has given the world some of the finest work that it possesses. The
'study reproduced above. In Brittany, is one of the six prints by this artist sent in
from France to the International Salon of Pictorial Photographers, which opened in
New York last May. Of the twenty-five hundred prints submitted, fewer than five
hundred were selected for exhibition on the walls of the Art Center. Twenty-seven
different countries were represented. The study at the right, A Sunlit Corner, came
from Summercroft, Nova Scotia, and received high commendation

Page Forty-Four

A camera study by Herbert Bairstow, Summercroft, Halifax

Page Forty-Five

The Other Side of It

The confessions of a few well-known characters in history and fiction

Efy Harriet Henry

XANTHIPPE

TYPICAL terma-
it, was I, a

shrew, and a vira-
go? Vexatious, perverse,
and turbulent? By Zeus,
could you but know what I
put up with! When
Socrates married me I was
mild-mannered, mild-dis-
positioned, and mild of
eye. Five years later, and
I was short-mannered, of a
bitter disposition, and my
eye had a cold and steely
flash. The unpractical and
unconventional life I was
forced to lead ! No sooner
was my house thoroly
tidied of a morning — no
attendant could we afford
to keep — than Lysias,
Sophicles, Plato, Aristoph-
anes, Euripides, and all that crowd of sophists would
drop in, smoking herbs, and scattering the ashes every-
where, or, what was worse, concealing them everywhere.
(My pet toque was once craftily used as an ash receptacle,
which I never discovered until I had put it upon my
head.) They lolled about our house all day, freely im-
bibing nectar and ambrosia until they knew not whereof
they spoke, slopping it over my favorite chattels with
no notice nor hesitancy. And well into the night did all
this continue. Then Soccy would tumble into bed leaving
me to mop, and scrub, and scour. Wearily then to our
couch I'd drag myself. To sleep? Oh, no. Soccy ate
graham crackers every night, and every night I twisted
and turned amidst a multitude of crumbs. Oh, Zeus,
blame me not for an unenviable disposition !

DIOGENES

Always have I been considered an eccentric. It annoys
■**- me vastly. There was nothing eccentric about me.
Eccentric, if the truth be known, was the least apt word
one could apply to me. Shrewd was I, and keen — a
clever, ambitious, and tenacious Cynic philosopher. How
then do I account for sleeping in a tub, you ask — that,
apparently, most eccentric of my eccentricities? Be not
a fool — Antisthenes put me up to that. No publicity was
I getting. No criticism, nor comment ; no notoriety, nor
homage. Antisthenes was my press agent. It was a pub-
licity trick. And it worked, didn't it?

HELEN OF TROY

A/|"y face it was that launched a thousand ships. Yea,
-'■"-'■ my sapphire eyes, black-fringed and clear as the
Hellespont, made me the wife of Menelaus. But my lips
it was, red as the blood of warriors, soft and cool as a
rose's heart, and unattainable as rubies, that made Paris
bear me away to Troy. And all the heroes of Greece
flew to arms; Agamemnon there was, Odysseus, and
Achilles — they'd paid me court here and there, them-
selves, the foxes — to avenge the wrong done Menelaus.

Twelve hundred galleys.
Ten years the siege waged.
By Zeus and Aphrodite, it
was amusing ! And all be-
cause of my fair face ! And
why shouldn't it have been
fair ? All day did my hand-
maidens slave o'er it. Clay
from the banks of the
Hellespont to keep away
the creases, stain from rare
berries to dye my lips, and
stain from e'en rarer
blossoms to tint my cheeks.
Butterflies' pollen to keep
my skin dulled and creamy,
a liquid from the temple
fountain to make my pupils
large and bright. A prepa-
ration of honey to keep the
glint in my luxurious locks,
and, torture of tortures,
one by one my eyebrows
plucked by Hermione,
hand-maiden of the nimblest fingers. All day, and every
clay, flat on my back on my couch — poor reward, indeed,
had my face not launched a thousand ships !

RIP VAN WINKLE

The biggest lie that ever was swallowed was mine about
sleeping twenty years. Did you ever hear of anyone
sleeping for twenty years? It couldn't be done, methinks,
and I didn't do it either. But how was I to explain away
two decades? Twenty years is a long time to account
for— 240 months ; 12,480 weeks ; 87,360 days— think on't !
And I didn't want to disappear to begin with. I loved
the Hudsc - and I loved the Kaatskills, and I loved the
children, and I almost loved Dame Van Winkle. It was
her tart temper and sharp tongue that did it. They got
tarter and sharper, and I couldn't bear the nagging,
nagging, nagging, so one cheery autumnal day, a rare,
golden autumnal day, I whistled Wolf to heel — dear,
faithful Wolf, henpecked a dog as I was a man — and we
shambled out of view. It took us a year to get to the
City where, after taking in a great deal that was miracu-
lous to our eyes, we finally got in with a band of traveling-
players, and Wolf and I did a little act of our own. Oh,
those were happy years ! And I discovered that all women
were not tart of temper, nor sharp of tongue. Quite the
contrary, quite, quite. Dearie me ! I would never have
gone back if Wolf hadn't died. I was old, and bearded
and grey by then, so I wandered home to the Kaatskills
and the Hudson. And that's when I pulled the sleep story.
It was the best idea, methinks. I couldn't have told of
the City, leaving out the strolling players ; and I couldn't
have told of the players, leaving out Gretta — no, no, all
women are not tart — dearie me !

MONA LISA

An odd thing it is about that sweet, vague smile of mine
- in Leonardo's portrait. It was probably that smile
that caused Francis I to purchase the picture for nine
(Continued on page 73)

Page Forty-Six

A Page

Colored Jazz

Syncopated in Pen and Ink

By
William Gropper

JJJJJ)-'

litlli

;■..■■■:.'■■'■'.■:■.■.'::;::.':■■.;■■

The most popular
headliner on the Coon
and Company Circuit
is little Georgia Wash-
ington, who brings
down the house when
she sings:

"Oh, mah Liza's eyes —
They tantalize"

Rastus (left) is telling the
world that he has the Prohi-
bition Blues, while Bryan's
Big Brass Band (above) is
doing its jazzy best to prove
to him that joy can come out
of a saxophone as well as a
bottle

THE

CAKE-WALKING

BOYS

FROM

DARKTOWN

Miss Mamie Jackson

sings movingly of life

on a 'Way Down South

Sea Isle

Page Forty-Seven

A scene from The Mountebank, with Norman Trevor in the title role

Actor and Demon

Some reflections on the most baffling of the arts aroused by spring on Broadway

By Kenneth Macgowan

White Studio

SOMEWHERE back of history a savage turned
into a priest, and the priest turned into an actor.
A mask did it all. If the process were as simple
a.i that today, we might be able to understand more about
the art of acting. But it is all sadly complicated. The
savage is buried in the unconscious mind. Ritualism
is represented by the mask of a morning coat or a device
for annihilating the feminine figure. An actor becomes
anything from an exhibitionist of his own charming per-
sonality to a man who goes mad in public, and lets out
an entertaining demon that nobody ever meets off the
stage. And in between are all kinds of players, including
that rare bird who tries to forget himself and slip into
the skin of somebody or other invented by a playwright.
Spring is no time to look for plays in New York ;
such a sophisticated comedy as Aren't We All? in which
Cyril Maude appears, positively reverberates with wit in
the vacuum of May. But spring can — and spring does
— bring enough varieties of acting, even in the worst
failures, to provide examples for almost any discourse
on that baffling art.

Here is Maude, for instance, merrily engaged at sixty-
one in an occupation which even the spriest of our stars
finds too arduous. He is acting — actually acting — a man
of his own age. John DreAV would be content to be John
Drew, or at most the comic, Punchian Drew. Drew is
ever adroit, never unintelligent, always a gentleman equal
to the demands of Haddon Chambers, Somerset Maug-
ham, or Sir Arthur Wing Pinero ; American universities
honor themselves and the stage, rather than the actor,
when they shower degrees upon him. But Drew would
play the merry old philanderer of Frederick Lonsdale's
comedy much as he has played a dozen other British

gentlemen. He might play the part in a dapperer mood
than he brought to Rupert Hughes' ruminant hero in
The Cat-Bird, but he would never devise a new make-up,
a new walk, a new poise, a new shade of voice as
Maude does.

The Englishman cocks a wicked eye and a wickeder
mustache. He dresses the dandy almost fulsomely. He
sets him cantering across the stage with an aged imitation
of youth which collapses on the edge of a chair as the
stiff legs carefully lower the body into repose. Just to
turn the whole thing more obviously humorous, he makes
the man swing his arms backward and forward together
as he walks, instead of letting them alternate in their
movements. This is not the Mark Saber of If Winter
Comes, any more than Mark Saber was Grumpy. You
can recognize the same actor under these disguises, but
they are disguises all the same. Maude tries to build up
something in the way of a physical man which shall be
as individual as the playwright's character. The result
is such a surprise to playgoers brought up on Broadway
actors that one critic accused Maude of not being "natu-
ral." What he would say to Punch, if he should ever
see him in the little guignol show upon the Champs
Elysees, I hesitate to think. For Punch is the perfect
realization of the long-forgotten playwright's wicked
thought, and, tho he has never played any other character,
this wooden old actor is a true actor and a striking,
theatrical actor into the bargain.

If you must be "natural," try Sidney Blackmer. Black-
mer is more or less of a star — certainly a matinee
idol — after playing less than a half dozen parts. He
has a quiet charm that women admire. When that charm

Page Forty-Eight

What It's All About

An effort to discover the significance of the latest disturbance in the literary mill-pond

By Louis Bromfield

NO one who follows even superficially the trend
of contemporary writing- here and in Europe
can be unaware that something is going on — a
disturbance in the world of letters uncqualed since Flau-
bert, from his solitude in Normandy, cast Madame
Bovary into the liter-
ary mill - pond and
started a ring of rip-
ples which still faintly
lap the reeds along
the shore. But the
Flaubert disturbance
was as nothing to this
latter-day agitation,
which resembles the
explosion of a stick
of dynamite loosed
amid the mud at the
bottom of the mill-
pond. Flaubert's siz-
able disturbance agi-
tated the mandarins
of Paris, and the de
Goncourts and Zola
helped to keep the
ripples alive ; but out-
side of France, every-
body sat tight for a
long time afterward.
It was close to thirty
years before the out-
side world began to
find traces of Madame
Bovary in the books
of the circulating li-
brary. The traces are
still bobbing up un-
expectedly— a year or
two ago in John Dos
Passos' elegantly re-
alistic Three Soldiers,

more recently in Elliott Paul's hard, Zolaesque Impromptu.
But it is out of date if you are one of those who keep
anywhere near the head of the literary procession. Even
if you dont keep well in the van, you'll be bumped along
from time to time unwillingly by the new disturbance
that has taken place. If you read at random three or
four novels a week, you cannot escape an occasional salt-
peter whiff of the explosion. Something is going on and
it appears to be going on, not alone in France (which
seems to foster such disturbances), but in Italy, Central
Europe, the British Isles, and even in these conservative
United States. Literary explosions carry farther today,
what with cables, wirelesses, literary correspondents, and
publishing houses issuing new works simultaneously in a
half dozen countries. The late N. P. Dawson, one of the
soundest, shrewdest and most polished of literary critics,
referred to the disturbance as "the stream of conscious-
ness movement" and sometimes, with justification, as
"the cuttlefish school."

Both names are pertinent and explanatory. To the
reader who "keeps up," the former designation is clear;
to the reader who simply comes across an occasional
whiff of saltpeter, the latter is likewise explanatory. (The
cuttlefish, let it be explained, is an organism living in the

water which, when attacked, excretes an inky fluid to
act as a smoke cloud.)

JAMES JOYCE

UNDAMENTALLY, the new school acts upon the belief
that "the mind is the thing." The play, the emotions,

the plot, the glamor
— as these things are
understood by estab-
lished and conven-
tional standards —
have been cast over-
board. It is no longer
what the hero does or
even why he does it.
The interest of the
new school lies in the
chaotic processes of
the mind, disordered
and unmotivated, set
down in detail.

Now the average
reader, coming sud-
denly upon a book
written in the "new
manner," is certain to
be lost, for the simple
reason that he has
never seen anything"
before quite like it.
In order to under-
stand this latest
disturbance of the
literary world, it is
necessary to under-
take a course of spe-
cialized training. The
average reader, com-
ing suddenly upon
James Joyce's Ulys-
ses (an unlikely hap-
pening since it sells
at some incredible sum), must experience the sensations
of a traveler lost in a jungle. He must find it confused,
incomprehensible, gibbering. The trouble in such an*
encounter lies not so much with Mr. Joyce as with the
reader, who is in the position of a schoolboy trying to
understand a work by Bergson or a treatise on astronomy.
What he needs is a preparatory course, a gentle leading-
up to the heights of the subject.

Joyce is the superb example because he stands well
at the peak of the movement, aloof and solitary, as if
taking the air on the Matterhorn. Amid the violence of
the critical controversy over Ulysses, he has conducted
himself admirably, remaining indifferent to everything'
save his work. So far as can be learned, he has not
followed the example of the Dadaists and similar ex-
ploiters of the bizarre, in issuing pamphlets and treatises,
explaining his work. He does not even furnish a key,
without which T. S. Eliot's masterpiece, The Waste
Land, is supposed to be incomprehensible save to a small
group of rare minds. This induces an admiration for
Joyce. His attitude has been that of a true artist: "Here

it is Take it or leave it."

He has left it to the poseur, the erotic and the youthful
critic suffering from more enthusiasm than taste, to set

Page Fifty-One

Si-IADOWLANO

off about him the firecrackers of adulation. One young
woman is even quoted as having said on closing Ulysses :
"I shall never again be able to write." He has not bene-
fited by these hysterical minor disturbances, because his
admirers usually shout: "Here is the greatest book of
our day. If you dont understand and admire it, you
are a nincompoop !" Inevitably such outbursts disgust
and alienate a host of inquiring minds which demand
something more than dogmatic
abuse to establish conviction. Be-
sides, it is a dangerous proceed-
ing for men who dispose of the
wreath of greatness with such
ease. . . . There is always a
chance that someone else may
arise who will do the same thing
a little better. What then?

Joyce has said little of what
he was trying to do. In Ulys-
ses he gives us the record of
what passes in the minds of a
group of characters without se-
lection or arrangement and with-
out a consciously conceived con-
sideration for effect.

It is the human mind as it
works, pitifully confused and
illogical, comically irrelevant and
clamorous.

To jump from reading Gals-
worthy, Walpole and Locke
(chosen as pretty average fare
in a circulating library) to Ulys-
ses is a leap beyond the mental
athletics of any but a superman.
In between, however, lie many
stepping-stones which make the
progress less difficult and the
reader less liable to a literary

ducking. At random there are
the stones of Henry James, Vir-
ginia Woolf, Dorothy Richard-
son, Marcel Proust and Joseph
Conrad. Not one of these will
serve to bridge the gap. The
nearest approach to it is Joyce's
own Portrait of the Artist as a
Young Man, because it stands
somewhere between Ulysses and
the conventional novel of the
circulating library. Taken to-
gether, they construct a ford
which leads to the other side of
the pond where Joyce stood
when he tossed the dynamite.

At the root of the disturbance
lies Henry James, who began it
with his delicately elaborated
probings into mind and conduct.

Dorothy Richardson set out on a by-path, recording
scrupulously details, items, scraps, that litter the human
mind. Virginia Woolf, one of the most skilful and
finished of the probers, followed a sign-post labeled
"Impressionism," arriving close to her destination in her
latest book Jacob's Room. Marcel Proust, in the stu-
pendous A la Recherche du Temps Perdu, confines him-
self in beautiful and polished sentences to exploration,
and sometimes exploitation, of the memory. It is a
book no more ordered than human life. It is like a fine
engraving delicately conceived by a master.

Conrad may seem a strange rock among the stepping-
stones, yet his place is there, and in a sense he is the
surest stepping-stone of all because he works uncon-

Poems from the Chinese

Translated by
Witter Bynner and Kiang Kang-hu

ON PARTING WITH THE BUDDHIST

PILGRIM LING-CH'E

By Liu Chang-ch'ing

JTROM the temple, deep in its tender

bamboos,
Low comes the sound of an evening-bell,
While the hat of a pilgrim carries the

sunset
Farther and farther down the green

mountain.

ON HEARING A LUTE-PLAYER
By Liu Chang-ch'ing

TTHE seven strings are like the voice

Of a cold wind in the pines
ringing an old beloved song
Which no one cares for any more.

Ill

A BRIEF BUT GLAD MEETING
WITH MY BROTHER-IN-LAW
("Meeting by accident, only to part")
By Li Yi

sciously, and the workings of his machinery are never
visible. His technique is too much a part of the man
himself ; it is something born in him and not striven for
with great effort. Because he is, first of all, a story-
teller, he seems to be out of place among these others.
Yet his romances have little to do with the physical
aspects of life, with the actual death of the hero or the
actual rescue of the heroine. They are concerned with

the shadowy ghosts of the mind.
It is the technique of "the stream
of consciousness." It flows thru
hazy country, moving with the
fascination of uncertainty, to-
ward a vague and inconsequen-
tial end. It is life itself. Lord
Jim, one of his best, and The
Nigger of the Narcissus are fine
examples.

Among the others, who are each
conscious of his means, Virginia
Woolf seems to have worked
with the surest hand in Jacob's
Room. She has taken the life of
the most commonplace and con-
ventional of young Englishmen
and made it into a fascinating
tale by presenting it in a manner
which creates at once a startling
illusion of reality, hazy and con-
fused, unmotivated and irrele-
vant. There is no story. Jacob
is ignorant of the whys and the
wherefores of his existence. But
it is life. Jacob's Room is not
an easy book to grasp unless
there has been preparation. The
reader runs the risk of becoming
mired if he has not read Mrs.
Woolf's earlier books, Night and
Day and The Voyage Out. In
these lies the key to Jacob's
Room. In these she was trying
the hand that has become sure
in her latest book.

A FTER these ten torn wearisome years

Meeting again, we are both so changed

That hearing your surname I thought you

a stranger
And only your first name recalled your

young face.
Many full tides have intervened;
We talk and talk till the evening

bell ...
And tomorrow you journey on to Pa-ling
Leaving autumn between us, peak after

peak.

T t is impossible, in considering
-"- the new movement in books,
to omit consideration of a paral-
lel if not identical movement in
the theater. Here Americans
have been more active. The
theater calls the disturbance "ex-
pressionism," a term which no
one has succeeded in fixing with
a satisfactory definition. Ken-
neth Macgowan has contributed
__ two books — Continental Stage-

craft and The Theater of To-
morrow — which contain much
valuable help in discovering what the new movement is
about. New York has witnessed presentations of four
interesting plays conceived in the "stream of conscious-
ness" manner. Three are by Americans. Chronologi-
cally these were Georg Kaiser's Morn to Midnight,
Eugene O'Neill's The Hairy Ape, John Lawson's Roger
Bloomer and Elmer Rice's The Adding Machine. Each
one provided evidence that something is going on which
we must take into consideration, whether we will or no.

There have been a good many alarums and excursions
and a great deal of offstage shouts and trumpetings
over the "mud" which the explosion has brought up
(Continued on page 76)

Page Fifty-Two

Nickolas Muray

THE CHINESE COAT

Gladys Frazin will be seen on Broadway next season as the
leading lady in Casanova

Page Fifty-Three

Sweet Nell of Old Drury

The Equity Players have proved to producers and critics that old-fashioned romance can thrive
today on a Broadway stage. Their production of Paul Kester's comedy, Sweet Nell of Old
Drury, with Laurette Taylor in the title part, is the hit of the past season. The picture above
is from the last act of the play. Lord Jeffreys (Herbert Grimwood) and Lady Castlemaine
(Lynn Fontanne) have persuaded King Charles (Alfred Lunt) that Nell Gwynne — the orange
girl he has lifted from the streets to be his favorite at court, and who has become the most
popular actress of London — is untrue to him, that she is in love with a traitor, Sir Roger
Fairfax. Consequently she has been banished from court, and the death-warrant of her sup-
posed lover has been signed. But Nell forces her way into Whitehall Palace, with proof of
her constancy, of Roger's innocence, and of the treachery of Lady Castlemaine and the Chief
Justice. The traitors are sent away from London to meditate on the benefits of loyalty, Roger
is pardoned, and Nell is restored to the king's favor

Page Fifty-Four

All phot ograplis by Richard Burke

LORD JEFFREYS

Young Roger Fairfax has
been sentenced to death, and
tvhen Nell Gwynne accuses
Jeffreys of conspiracy and
threatens to disclose the
truth to the king at White-
hall, he taunts her:
"Go to the king! Use your
witchery to save your lover;
but I fear, Mistress Givynne,
that your reign is ended"

SWEET NELL OF OLD DRURY

She questions : "Who'd love Nell Gwynne? My name
is a byword, and my dower a basket of oranges"

CHARLES II

The king addresses his
dog: "Ah, you are like
the rest of them. You
love to gaze in a king's
face and eat morsels from
a king's hand. Aye, and
to show your teeth to a
king. Well, we all live
as best we can, and die
as best we can. Yet of all
my court I love you best,
because of all my court
you tell me no lies!"

Page Fifty-Five

Schism
Among

the
Moderns

The International Music

Guild versus the League

of Composers

Jerome Hart

Cecilia Hansen, a pupil

of Auer, who begins her

first American tour in

October

Marie Miilley, Breslau

BIRDS in their little nests agree, so we were ad-
monishingly told in our youth, when we were
disposed to be quarrelsome. But our bird-nesting
experiences taught us that the feathered tribes are among
the most quarrelsome of created things, whether in their
nests or out of them. And so, too, the song-birds of
society — in which category we will include those who
make music for us in other ways than with the voice —
are decidedly prone to disagreement.

A not unamusing demonstration of this has been af-
forded recently in the schism which has arisen in the
ranks of the International Composers' Guild. That or-
ganization— whose third season was remarkable for two
concerts at which were given works by composers of the
modern school, some of which evoked mixed feelings in
their hearers, and, in one or two instances, loudly ex-
pressed disapproval — has been somewhat upset by the
action of a small section, which has, for reasons of its
own, cut itself adrift and established itself under the style
and title of the League of Composers.

That section, or clique, as some may call it, brought
itself into a little prominence in New York just before
the close of the season by organizing a reception to a
rising young English composer, Arthur Bliss. To this
function were invited several prominent musicians, some
of whom do not belong to the International Composers'
Guild, but who are more or less in sympathy with its
aims, and who, all unconscious that they might be re-

garded as lending countenance to anything which was in
direct rivalry with that organization, accepted the invita-
tion, as they were very ready to do honor to a young
British composer in the van of musical progress.

Mr. Bliss found himself in a rather awkward position.
The International Composers' Guild had given first per-
formances in New York to one of his compositions,
Madame Noy, several of the members are his personal
friends, and it was but natural that he felt under a con-
siderable obligation to them. But he was in ignorance
of the conditions which had arisen, and so he willingly
became the guest of the new League of Composers, and
with others spent a pleasant evening. Then he learned
that he was regarded by some of the Guild as having
joined the ranks of the "enemy." However, all seems to
have been settled satisfactorily, as Mr. Bliss has accepted
a position on the advisory council of the Guild.

Nevertheless this little rumpus is to be regretted, as it
is calculated to be injurious to the cause which the rival
organizations have at heart, namely, the advancement of
music by the performance of works by modern composers.
As is too often the case in such matters, it is a case of
cherchez la femme. There are occasionally to be found,
in social and artistic movements, feminine elements which
tend to unsettlement and disruption. This seems to be
especially so in New York, where certain would-be lead-
ers, identify themselves with a cause in order to climb
into social prominence.

Page Fifty-Six

SuADOWLAND

Surely the interests of art and of those who follow it
sincerely are of more importance than the fancied claims
of a few individuals, who seek social and official promi-
nence. Hut when they happen to enlist the support of one,
or two, or three artists who also aim at a greater share
of "the spotlight" than that to which they are entitled,
the result is likely to be disaffection and disruption ; in
fact, very much what has happened in the present case.
Combinations for the advancement of art are good things,
combinations for the advancement of a few individuals
are bad. A fortune may be occasionally derived from
them, but rarely fame.

However, the International Composers' Guild, nothing
discouraged by the incident referred to, and still less by
the criticism and controversy evoked by certain works
which were given at the Guild concerts last season, has in
preparation an active campaign, and will present some
interesting and probably exciting novelties next season.
Thanks to that brilliant young composer, Alfred Casella,
who has become a member of the technical board of the
Guild, and who is now in Rome. His distinguished con-
freres, Malipiero and Castelnuovo, have joined the ad-
visory board, and we may look forward to hearing some
of their works in the near future. In the opinion of the
writer, these three Italians, with the addition of Pizetti
and Respighi, are among
the most talented of the
moderns, and great things
may be expected of them.

Let credit above all be
given to Edgar Varese,
who has carried aloft the
banner of modernism in
music undismayed by the
hostility and scoffs and
sneers of those who refuse
to move with the times,
and who brand everything
couched in new idioms and
tonalities as meaningless
and hideous. Varese, who
has a singularly lovable per-
sonality, could have gained
much by following the
primrose path of ortho-
doxy. But his intense
honesty as well as his re-
markable genius, would not
permit this, and he writes
as he does, not to please,
but simply from an irre-
sistible urge. Whatever may
be said of such a work as
Hyperprism — and this
writer was among those
who could not grasp its
true import and inwardness
at one hearing, or even the
two which it received at its
first performance — Varese
is such a fine musician, so
steeped in the best tradi-
tions of his art, and so sane

and simply honest in all his relations with others, that
one must give him credit not only for sincerity but also
for talent of a fine order, maybe even genius. Time will
tell.

Meanwhile, he has completed the score of a new work,
Ameriques, which competent judges who have perused it
regard as a remarkable example of his command of
orchestral expression and architectonis. Personally we
have only glanced thru this score, which struck us as an
astounding example of absolute freedom from ancient

Claudio Arrau, a hidalgo among the younger pianists

restrictions in the matter of orchestral color-bar division,
and chordal construction. If it sounds as beautifully as
it looks, then it will indeed be a masterpiece. Varese is
also working on two other orchestral works of major
importance, so it will be seen that the leader of the
moderns in New York is extremely busy.

He has an enthusiastic co-worker and ally in Carlos
Salzedo, in whom we have the combination of brilliant
harpist and pianist — one who has almost immeasurably
extended, by his inventiveness and technique, the re-
sources of the former instrument, and who, at the same
time, is a composer of rare talent and originality. It is
utterly impossible to believe that such men are other than
sincere in their devotion to the new school of composi-
tion, and therefore one must listen to them with respect,
hoping that fuller appreciation and understanding may
follow.

T^he summer season of Stadium Concerts given by an
■*■ orchestra selected from Philharmonic and City Sym-
phony players to the number of over one* hundred will
bave commenced by the time this is in print. They are
an immense boon to music lovers who are compelled to
stay in the metropolis during the sweltering summer
evenings ; and, given fine weather, the attendance should

be larger than ever before.
The musicians are accom-
modated in a new stand
which has been removed
thirty feet farther back
than the old one, thus al-
lowing several more tables
and chairs for those who
prefer to sit in the field.
There is a sounding board,
with an air space between
it and the roof, the effect
of which is eminently satis-
factory according to those
who have heard it tried out.
The lighting of the orches-
tra is also vastly improved,
as sunken and concealed
lights give plenty of illu-
mination to the players,
while not a glimmer es-
capes beyond the stand.

While Willem van Hoog-
straten, who conducts the
entire series this year, will
give many of the standard
classical works, several new
compositions will be heard,
some for the first time, in-
cluding works of American
composers. At the same
time it could have been
wished that an American
conductor had been given
the opportunity of control-
ling the orchestra, for a

part of the season at any
rate. Let us be specific and
say that Henry Hadley should have had another chance.
He may not be an ideal, much less a sensational con-
ductor, but he is a first-rate musician; his readings are
sound and his beat significant and decisive. If he was
good enough to conduct leading orchestras in Central
Europe, he is surely good enough to conduct the Stadium
concerts in New York.

Speaking of Hadley, I had a short talk with him in the
Philharmonic offices the other day, just as he was rushing
(Continued on page 72)

Page Fifty-Seven

Mishkin

LUCILLE LA VERNE

Who gives a magnificent interpretation of a North
Carolina mountain woman, the Widow Cagle, in Lulu
Vollmers play, Sun Up. Miss La Verne is well
known to film fans as well as theater- goers. Per-
haps her best-remembered screen characterization is
Mother Frochard in D. W . Griffith's production of
The Two Orphans

Page Fifty-Eight

Curtain People of Importance

We present the distinguished cast of

Sheridan's time-honored comedy, The

Rivals, produced in New York this

past season by the Equity Players

All photographs by Frank-Bernay

McKay Morris as Captain Absolute

Francis Wilson as Bob Acres

Henry Hull as Faulkland

Mary Shaw as Mrs. Malaprop

J. M. Kerrigan as Sir Lucius
O'Trigger

John Craig as Fag

Violet Heming as Lydia Languish

Maclyn Arbuchle as Sir Anthony
Absolute

Eva Le Gallienne as Julia

Page Fifty-Mine

Side-Shows on the Other Side

II: VIENNA, THE CITY OF BEAUTIFUL PATHOS
By Henry Albert Phillips

VIENNA cannot be entertained. Vienna is bank-
rupt. Vienna is inconsolable. Thus I reflected
on my way to this city. But I soon learned that
I had reckoned without my hosts — the Viennese. For
Vienna has a merry-making complex that the war could
suppress only temporarily.

The royal palace on the Ring is thrown open to the
hoi polloi, and they stride thru the Queen's Bedchamber
with their hats on at an insolent angle, but with a vague
feeling of abjectness in their hearts at the thought that
simple old Franz Joseph no longer fathers them, that
they are at the mercy of plain men, no bigger and no
better than themselves.

One night I went with some American friends to the
Schriftstellers' Ball, held in the ceremonial salons of the
Old Palace. One small grilled gate in one of the finest
royal entrances in the world was open. Two soldiers
of the Republic examined our
tickets, and we went thru the
dimly lighted cave of sculp- i
tured stone and emerged into
the Hof, or inner court. A
few automobiles were assem-
bled, otherwise we were sur-
rounded by frowning walls
that had sheltered the proud
Hapsburgs for centuries.
None but a conqueror or a
spying enemy could have ap-
proached this inner precinct
with so little ceremony. Up
the wide marble staircase . . .
and soon American jazz
seeped, like a bad odor, down
into the rotunda. It seemed al-
together righteous and appro-
priate to pray for the shade
of Maria Theresa to rise and
smite these musical assassins.
Within the great and gor-
geous rooms were thousands
of Austrians entertaining
themselves by dancing. There
were a few monocles and a
few haughty and vacant
stares, but in the main the
dancers were of the Four
Million who had bought their
tickets and had dropped in to
hobnail the polished floors of
their palace, and were trying
their best to appear at home.
The favorite terpsichorean
exercise seemed to be the
"Jimmy," less modestly known
on this side of the water as
the "Shimmy." One of the
large chambers, however, was
given over altogether to the
Viennese waltz, which bears
a startling resemblance to the
gyrations of the Dancing Der-
vish. Partners whirled round
and round, never reversing,
within a six-foot circle.

I left these frenzied dancers and strolled into the
Presence Chamber. On the dais, where formerly both
Franz Joseph and Carl had sat with their Queens and
received the homage of the Elect on bended knee, there
now sat two very stout middle-class persons. What
does it matter if they were Herr and Frau Delicatessen
or Herr and Frau Arbeiter? They had caught the ruling
gesture, and there was something in their mien that
spelled power . . . and they were in the King's seat !

The spire of St. Stefan's dominates the city

went to the Palace on another evening to hear The
Marriage of Figaro, given by the old Royal Opera
Company in the exquisite Redoutensaal in the Hofburg.
It was in this chamber that the Royal Redout — or Rout,
as they called it in plain English in the time of Good
Queen Bess — was held. The raised platform, where the
Emperor and Empress used to sit, is now a stage. Two

curtains slide from the sides,
and the scenery remains prac-
tically unchanged. There was
a promise of charm in this ,
particular opera presented
amid these gracious sur-
: roundings that it would seem

difficult to enhance, but the
appearance of Richard Strauss
as Conductor brimmed the
cup. Strauss is almost mili-
taristic in his method of con-
ducting. He plays the open-
ing bars on a harpsichord with
. the singers, and in moments

of stress directs his baton
fiercely with one hand and
plays with the other. The
composer of Electra will take
but one encore, and the whole
house can rise and shout
"Noch ein mall" until the
rafters fall, and he will merely
frown and turn his back.

Money has become at once
the ludicrous and the
tragic side of Vienna — ludi-
crous to us Dollar Foreigners,
and tragic to those old regime
Austrians. My landlady's
father had died happy in the
knowledge that he had left his
unmarried daughter comfort-
ably well-off for life. Her
income was eight thousand
kronen a year — two thousand
dollars. But eight thousand
kronen are now worth less
than eleven cents ! And those
plutocrats whose income was
nearly a quarter of a million
dollars a year may now draw
the lordly sum of twelve dol-
lars or so. The laboring man
with a job is a swaggering
kronen millionaire.

But the former aristocrats

From an etching by Schindler

Page Sixty

SUADOWLAND

arc surely good sports. A baroness who had turned
seamstress amused us with stories of how her two great

houses had become a liability and forced her to go out

to work at fifty cents a day. The slogan of the competing

Steamship companies should be: "Go to Austria and

become a multi-millionaire !" But dont forget that you

will have to begin the day

with a breakfast that costs

thirty thousand kronen or

more, and as you step out

of your hotel a blouse

marked down to two and

one-half million kronen

may catch your wife's

eye from a shop window

across the way. Yes, it

is all very entertaining —

to us.

Grand Opera is so-so
everywhere — except
in Vienna. I tried all
winter to secure the ex-
Royal Box for a single
evening's performance.
But it seemed there was
a long waiting list of
Communists or Bolshe-
vists, or some other-ists
not believing in kings, who
wanted to sit there. Per-
haps the old Emperor in
his mutton-chop whiskers
would have looked just as
commonplace as the pres-
ent nightly occupants of
the Royal Loge, with their
meek mustaches and fierce
pompadours — if His
Majesty had appeared
sans majeste!

Another baroness, who
managed to keep her state-
ly head above the pecuni-
ary tides by parting with
a pearl or a picture at
regular intervals, spoke to
me of her annoyance
when she went to the

From an etching by Pollak

Along the Reitschiilgasse

opera and was obliged to sit in the orchestra with good
gracious-only-knows-who-ac/i/ The climax was capped
when she turned to squelch a most annoying person, who
kept up an irritating tapping on the back of her stall,
and found him to be a kind-faced man, who smiled apolo-
getically at her show of attention. He had simply been
cracking the shells of hard-boiled eggs, and was most
courteously handing one to each member of his hungry
and numerous family.

Now we have inadvertently trespassed on Vienna's
chief form of entertainment — eating. All of us have
heard a great deal of "hungry Austria." It was a source
of distress to me, before going there. But I soon found
that to be hungry is Austria's fondest and favorite in-
and-outdoor sport ! She wants to be hungry ! For when
one is hungry then one can eat — eat with gusto, with
vision, with flair !

Let us saunter into one of the Kaffees. There are
times when Vienna seems to out-Paris Paris — and this
is one of them. It is early summer. We sit at a painted
iron table on the terrace in the Stadt Park. The orchestra
is playing — as only a Viennese orchestra can play — out
yonder in the music-stand. It is a Hungarian Rhapsody.
We see wistfulness touching the faces of hundreds of the

listeners. Hungary! But a few short years ago Hungary
was a part of the Dual Monarchy — the Empire, llow
poignant that grand movement seemed! It tears the
Austrian heart to think of those days. . . .

V ith a sigh, we look beyond the music-stand, over
the gardens of bright blooms planted in French taste,

and see the white marble
monument to j o h a n n
Strauss. In fancy we can
see his effigy smile as the
orchestra bursts into The
Beautiful Blue Danube
Waltz, for encore. We
recall the last time we
heard that played here.
Everywhere were gay
uniforms ; barons and
baronesses smiled over
their afternoon tea ; the
tinsel of monarchy shone
brazenly in the sun at
every turn. Every man
and woman in the then
dazzling Empire of sixty
million souls knew his
place — and kept it ! Now,
nobody has a place to
know. The Empire has
shrunken to six millions
v»^ of dissatisfied, impover-
ished people. The old
Emperor is long departed,
and his successor dead
and buried in exile. The
gay soldiers lie in sod-
covered Russian and
Italian trenches. . . .

The music stops ; the
spell is over. Everybody
bursts into laughter and
sprightly conversation.
Cups and glasses are
drained, men light the
ladies' cigarets, and Vien-
nese confections are
passed around.

We pay our bill, leave
a thousand kronen for
pourboire, and stroll on
down the Ring to Schwarzenbergplatz. On every side
is a white-capped sea of tables with the same gay crowd.
Snatches of music drift from every billow. We pause a
moment to bow in all but worship before the Karlskirche,
with its mighty oval dome and its two imperial columns.
We give a sidelong glance at the Belvedere — the former
pleasure ground of the vanished Grand Dukes— and then
hasten on again into the Kartner Ring, thru the thronged
tables in front of The Imperial, Grand, and Bristol
Hotels. The babel of light chatter in various tongues
almost convinces us that the world is rehearsing for a
hymn of mutual praise and peace, until our glance hap-
pens to fall upon one of the many sad or frowning
visages in the crowd. . . .

Vienna is a little of nearly everything nice and very
little disagreeable, except the smells — and one even
develops a fondness for them. One of the best side-
shows in Vienna is Kartnerstrasse, and that's Paris all
over. Any normal woman will lose her head on the
Kartnerstrasse, somewhere between Stefansplatz and
Opernring, and if her husband is with her his losses will
be appreciable too. St. Stefan's — the Cathedral — just
{Continued on page 74)

Page Sixty-One

xi camera study of Dennis King by Victor Georg

MERCUTIO

Mercutio challenges Tybalt:

"And but one word with one of us? Couple it
with something; make it a word and a blow"

— Romeo and Juliet — Act III., Scene I.

Page Sixty-Two

New York Interpreted

Efy Helen Appleton Read

Courtesy of the Belmaison Galleries

The City, by Bertram Hartman

NEW YORK, considered pictorially, has been an
increasingly popular subject with artists for the
last quarter of a century. The majority of our
painters have had at least a try at putting down, on
canvas or on paper, their interpretations of her elusive
spirit. Of late this has
become almost an ob-
session.

Our younger artists,
true to the spirit of
the times they live in,
have forsaken the
farm and countryside
( pictorially speaking) ,
and have come to the
city for subject mat-
ter. The walls of any
exhibition will tell you
this. The terms
"Snow Trust" and
"Autumn Trust" —
given to the large
group of painters who
have achieved fame
and financial success
by repeating either
one of these popular
subjects — have been
changed to "East Side
Trust" and "High
Building Trust."

It was a brilliant
idea to arrange a picture exhibition representing New
York's past and present, as interpreted by her artists,
just when New York was celebrating her Silver Jubilee.
This unique exhibition was held at the Belmaison Gal-
leries in Wanamaker's during the month of June, and
contained one hundred and sixty-six pictures. The city's
past was represented by a delightful collection of old
prints ; its present, by a much larger collection of all
types of modern painting and black and white studies.

Seen side by side, one is immediately impressed by the
psychological change that has come over our artists. In
the old days the painter of New York scenes thought it
was sufficient to give an accurate rendition of a subject,
its relative size, its position, etc. There was no attempt
made by these old-timers to give New York's soul and
spirit. Neither did they use New York as a medium
thru which to expound certain artistic theories. These
old prints are simply straight-forward portraits of places,
in which the sordid and the disagreeable have been polite-
ly left out or glossed over.

I dont suppose it occurred to the artists of the early
part of the last century that New York had a soul which
could be expressed in terms of painting. Venice and
Rome, the obviously picturesque, might possibly have an
aura of romance or a mysterious soul. This was the type
of city to perpetuate on canvas. But certainly not a new
crude city devoted to commercial ideals. And yet in their
pictures they left us an accurate record of their opinions
on art, if not of actual conditions. Which only bears
out the theory that, if you do not want people to know
what you are thinking about, dont commit yourself in
paint. A picture is always self-revealing.

These pictures show us primarily that the artists be-
lieved that art should be a thing apart from life. Por-
traits of people and places should be painted as if life

were an impossible Utopia — "Men like Gods" and places
like "Spotless Town." That a place could be painted so
that it might be a screaming accusation of existing con-
ditions did not occur to them. Expressionistic art, as
well as expressionistic literature, was still to be born.

All of the artists
who make up the
modern group seem
to have some thesis
to prove. One group
confines itself to an
arraignment of the
social conditions.
Their pictures show
huddled groups of
humanity in dark
side-streets, or starved
and stunted creatures
who dance to the mu-
sic of hand-organs in
dirty alley-ways or
find a few hours'
pleasure in the board-
walks and shooting
alleys of the beaches.
Then there is the
other group who sees
New York as a cubist
picture on a huge
scale. New York, with
its perpendicular lines
and geometrical ar-
rangements, cannot help impressing even the layman as
something entirely new in visual experience. To the
painter, however, with cubistic memories in the back of
his mind, it lends itself perfectly. The reviled gas-tank
and factory chimney are no longer an eyesore. The
modern painter has seen them pictorially, and as pure
form. He makes an arrangement of forms out of them
that is truly beautiful. He does not have to resort to
Whistlerian tactics. He has not veiled this supposed
ugliness in violet mists. He hasn't made campaniles out
of loft buildings and chimneys, or fooled us into thinking
that downtown New York is a fairy castle with golden
lights. The modern painter is very anxious to call a
spade a spade. A gas-tank is a gas-tank, and if you
cannot see the beauty of form in it, when interpreted by
the modern artists, so much the worse for you. This
group of painters has, of course, no human thesis to
prove. Their pictures are singularly lacking in human
element. Their streets are empty of humanity, and their
buildings merely interesting arrangements of shapes. The
human element is left for the other groups of moderns
who may be classed as realists.

It is interesting to trace the beginnings of New York
Interpreted. The first attempt to give expression to the
spirit of New York was made by Walt Whitman, and
that of course in verse. His poems My Manhattan and
On Crossing Brooklyn Ferry were directly responsible
for the attitude assumed by artists who chose to interpret
New York City. If a poet got the spirit of a city in
verse, they argued, it was possible to do so in paint. Whit-
man had shown that New York had romance and beauty
quite apart from the traditional sort of thing.

It was in the famous Henri composition class that the
majority of our well-known painters of New York scenes
{Continued on page 76)

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 Devil's Disciple. Garrick. — The Theatre Guild's
production of Shaw's play, with. Basil Sydney in the
title role and Roland Young as General Burgoyne.

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.

Rain. Maxine Elliott's. — A bitter tragedy. One of
the season's great successes, with Jeanne Eagels doing
some remarkable acting.

The Seventh Heaven. Booth. — Persistent John
Golden success. Excellent melodrama.

Sun Up. Provincetown. — A passionate tragedy of the
North Carolina mountain folk, with Lucille La Verne
as the Widow Cagle.

Humor and Human Interest

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

Aren't We All? Gaiety. — An interesting light comedy
which revolves around a philandering husband and wife.
Cyril Maude is featured.

Give and Take. Central. — Laughable play by Aaron
Hoffman, with Louis Mann and George Sidney in typical
roles.

Mary the Third. Thirty-ninth Street. — Rachel
Crothers' play of love and romance plus gentle satire.

Merton of the Movies. Cort. — Mirthful and oc-
casionally moving travesty of the movie hero.

Not So Fast. Morosco. — Taylor Holmes' return to
Broadway in a clever role.

Polly Preferred. Little. — Another amusing skit on
the movies, in which Genevieve Tobin does some ex-
cellent acting.

-Most amusing Anglo-

So This Is London! Hudson.-
American farcical comedy.

Uptown, West. Bijou. — A realistic drama of racial
intermarriage.

You and I. Belmont. — Harvard prize play, with
H. B. Warner and Lucille Watson as the stars of the
cast.

Zander the Great. Empire. — Alice Brady in a
dramatic comedy, centering about a child and its lost
father.

Melody and Maidens

Adrienne. Cohan. — A tuneful pro-
duction in two acts. The cast boasts a
long list of principals.

Dew Drop Inn. Astor. — James Bar-
ton in a lively musical play.

George White's Scandals. Globe. —
A dc luxe edition of the Scandals.

Go-Go. Daly's Sixty-third Street. —
Catchy music and funny lines.

Helen of Troy, New York. Selwyn.
— With a distinct cast and a score of pic-
turesque beauties.

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.

The Passing Show of 1923. Winter
Garden. — A superb revue with good
music and dancing.

Vanities of 1923. Carroll— A good
musical revue with Peggy Hopkins
Joyce.

Wildflower. Casino. — Winsome Edith
Day in a perfect musical role.

Ziegfeld Follies. New Amsterdam.
— A national institution, glorifying the
American girl, and introducing several
new numbers for the summer run.

— F. R. C.

mi Mill inn M nullum nMiiumumnumnuin

Page Sixty-Six

New Books in Brief Review

SIXCE Mrs. Clare Sheridan succeeded
in fluttering the social dovecotes of
New York with her somewhat un-
mannerly criticisms and strictures upon
those who had admitted her to the hospi-
tality and intimacy of their homes,
she has been a sort of literary
enfant terrible, and there was no
guessing what she might say or
do next. Mr. Herbert Swope,
editor of the World, for some
time at least one of her most in-
timate friends, found an outlet for
her unbounded energies and some-
what more limited literary abilities
by sending her to Europe as
special correspondent of his paper.
Doubtless he felt that, apart from
the accuracy of her observations
of conditions as she might find
them, she could scarcely fail to
be interesting and occasionally
sensational. He should certainly
not have been disappointed, for in
her very first article she described
her interview with Rudyard Kip-
ling, in which he was alleged to
have indulged in some astringent
remarks about America and its
post-war policies. The interview
was repudiated by Kipling, but the
blonde interviewer stuck to her
guns, and a little additional inter-
national ill-feeling was the result.
Her articles have now been
brought together in book form by
Boni and Liveright, and many of
those who failed to see them in
the newspapers will doubtless take
the opportunity of reading them in
the volume before us, which is
amusingly illustrated with sketches
of well-known figures in European
politics, and "end papers" depicting
the author dancing a "Red Dance"
with Tchicherin while Trotzky
supplies the music. Nevertheless
Mrs. Sheridan does not seem to be
quite so cordial with her friends,
the Bolshies, as of yore. She met
Tchicherin in Berlin, who casually
or cautiously said to her : "I think
I met you at dinner in Moscow."
But later they became a little more
intimate, and she was able to tell him that
the Russians in America who were not
Bolshevists boycotted her. Whether she
did this complacently or complainingly is
not quite clear. She evidently does not
think much of Mussolini, who having
yielded to her solicitations to give her a
sitting for his bust, countermanded the
engagement because he happened to have
heard that she was a Russian spy.

In the course of her newspaper mission
she visited Ireland during the heavy fight-
ing between Free State and Republican
troops, which resulted in the destruction
of the Four Courts in Dublin, where she
personally interviewed the Republican
general, Rory O'Connor, shortly before
his capture, while she also had an inter-
view at Republican headquarters with De
Yalera, who, she said, "looked like a great
bird of prey and had a great flow of rapid
talk." From Ireland she passed to Paris,
which, together with the rest of France,
receives scanty and unsympathetic notice.
But she has many words of sympathy for
Germany, whence she proceeded to Danzig,
Geneva — during a meeting of the League
of Nations- — Constantinople, Smyrna —
where she interviewed Kemal Pasha, for
whom she has a warmly expressed ad-
miration— and saw the terrible sufferings of
the refugee Greeks and other Christians,
which she describes fcr the most part with

a wealth of detached if not unsympathetic
detail. From Turkey .she passed to Bul-
garia, and then Roumania. Here she saw
Queen Marie, who did not hesitate to give
her a good "talking to" on account of her

is not clear cut and is too often dissipated
by mere burlesque and bad jokes. Vege-
tables undoubtedly make bad jokes, when
they indulge their sense of humor, but Mr.
Fitzgerald need not descend to their level
even for the purpose of caricature.
Where the piece breaks down is
in the White House scene. For
obvious reasons of probability Mr.
Fitzgerald has been obliged to
make this incident the substance
of a drunken dream. At the same
time, however, he has apparently
overlooked the fact that, being a
dream, it becomes in a sense Jerry
Frost's unconscious estimate of
himself and his incompetence.

Consequently the incidents in the
scene hardly represent the outward
action of society on Jerry, but
merely his own reaction -to his
own inebrieties. Awakening, he
flings himself into his long-hoped-
for job as postman, and becomes
briskly efficient in what is, sup-
posedly, a promotion from his
dreary clerkship. That isn't vege-
tating, or whatever Mr. Fitzgerald
calls the creed, but good one hun-
dred-percent go-getter philosophy
expressed in the ancient axiom
that it is well to shoot at the moon
evert tho you hit only the barn
door.

Royal Atelier

F. Scott Fitzgerald, author of The Vegetable

Bolshevist sympathies and affiliations.
Mrs. Sheridan gets "a bit of her own
back" by saying of her majesty that "she
is clever but not deep ; arrogant and yet
attractive, self-absorbed and vain," and
calls her "a violent reactionary." Alto-
gether this book is just what might have
been expected from a woman than whom
no one seems to have more carefully cul-
tivated "the gentle art of making enemies."

~JP Scott Fitzgerald, in his new book,
■*• * The Vegetable (Scribners) , has

poised his stealthy rapier against the heart
of America's fetich — ambition, but this
time he seems to have missed his delicate
thrust and resorted to the doubtful ex-
pedient of lashing the air, with the hilt as
an indiscriminate bludgeon. His play is a
prolonged jeer at the following sentiment
expressed in one of the hundred-per-cent
magazines : "Any man who doesn't want
to get on in the world, to make a million
dollars, and maybe even park his tooth-
brush in the White House, hasn't got as
much to him as a good dog has — he's
nothing more or less than a vegetable."

Here, certainly, is a fine target, and Mr.
Fitzgerald has given us every reason to
believe him a splendid marksman. He
has, however, chosen the play-form, and
his aim may have been impaired by the
uncertainty of his new weapon. The satire

ith a gullible humanity mak-
an all-year-round festa of
patent-medicine swallowing, The
Wrong Shadow by Harold Brig-
house (Robert M. McBride &
Co.), written from an original
prescription, proves an excellent
mental tonic with a chuckle in
every spoonful. The plot of the
story hinges on a patent-medicine
formula, thrown into the ashes be-
cause of a decimal point gone
wrong. It revolves about two
young dispensing-clerks in a large
chemical company in London, who
make a pact to enter the producing
field of patent medicine. Wyler,
the better physicist of the two, is
to produce a harmless and inex-
pensive formula, while Bassett is to fur-
nish the money and swing the business.
Wyler writes the aforesaid formula and
disappears after a quarrel with Bassett,
believing the formula useless. By chance
Bassett retrieves it, and makes millions on
the resulting "Bassett's Tonic."

The fly in the cure-all tonic, however, is
Bassett's conscience, an old-fashioned
malady. He cannot reconcile himself to
accept the millions derived from his evapo-
rated partner's formula without sharing the
gains with him. He believes Wyler dead,
but he still devises various means of salv-
ing his own conscience, even going to the
hngth of having a memorial welfare
canteen dedicated to his lost friend. But
each time he thinks he has stilled the
ghost, a shadow falls across his golden
path, chilling the kiss he is about to de-
liver to the girl he loves, and dulling the
flare of his vain-glorious plans.

Ironic humor tinges the entire ■ book.
It is the trifles that are played upon, the
human foibles that paint the characters —
and the result is comedy masking the
subtle tragic vein in the commonplace.
Mr. Brighouse has had the temerity to
revert to the Victorian style in telling
his story, and this has made his quibs and
quirks and twists of humor particularly
refreshing.

(Continued on page 72)

Page Sixty-Seven

Ten-Minute Plays

{Continued from page 18)

it is a magic word, cabaret, and means
soft-shaded lamps, and aristocratic waiters,
and szvell ladies and swell gents in evening
clothes. Whispers and perfume and cigarei
smoke and the suggestion of smiling, ex-
citing sin. ... It means perhaps blue
pools, even, and grottoes, and the music of
the moonlight. Things mysterious. . . .
She had never seen those things, of course,
and had never definitely thought of them,
but she feels they ought to be behind the
silver veil of the word cabaret. . . . And
nozv Bess is telling her that the place is
just like a dance-hall. Oh, Bess must be
wrong!) : But there must 'ave been
lotsa. . . . (She doesn't know what to
ask for. Margies have few words. So) :
Gorgeous things, Bess . . . that's what.

Bess: "What else did you expect? I
told you pretty near all. . . .
Margie (There is still a hope) : Maybe
. . maybe it wasn't to a real one he took
you to?

Bess: Where do you get that stuff?
Swell chance him not takin' me to a real
cabaret! I guess the Blues Land is as
good as they come ! ( With justifiable
sarcasm) : 'Course maybe you was to lotsa
better ones.

Margie: It ain't that. . . . (Quietly) :
Go on with your story, Bess !

Bess : So, like I was tellin' you, he got
more and more stuck on me, see? Honest,
Margie, you shoulda seen that man! Not
knowin' half the time what he was say in'
in them letters when he was dictatin'. I
hadda laugh the way he look at me just
cock-eyed with love always. I was pretty
wise, tho. Catch me lettin' on I knew
what was up! Not on your life. 'Course
there was kisses when he took me home
an' sayin' good-bye down in the_ hall, but
that didn't mean nothin' in my life.

Margie (This, at last, is beautiful. Her
eyes widen) : He kissed you?

Bess : He kissed me. You cant expect
no man to take you out for a good time
without you shouldn't let them kiss you.
You gotta !

Margie (thinking of her own leave-
takings after movies) : Yeah, you gotta !
(Quickly) : But you didn't kiss him?

Bess : Oh, I kissed him a coupla times,
too ! Not real hard, tho.

Margie (indignant) : You shouldn't
'ave done it. Lettin' fellers kiss you is
different, but . . .

Bess (She is a little confused, because
she knows that Margie is right. It is all
right to allow them to kiss you, but you
must remain passive! That is the Code.
She tries to explain) : Say, it ain't like
when one of these kids around here takes
you out to the movies ! Wait till you
hook up with a regular guy. When they
spend a lotta money on you, you must
give 'em a good time, too !

Margie (dogmatically) : Just the same,
it ain't right ! You shouldn't kiss 'em,
not unless you're engaged !

Bess : That goes only around here. You
just wait ! Dont you worry, you'll
change a few ideas later on. You got a
whole lot to learn yet.

Margie : What have I got to learn ?
Bess (Really, she hadn't intended to
tell this, but) : Now, for instance, take
this: Do you suppose that just because a
man gets dippy about you, right away he's
gonna pop the question?
Margie (Vaguely she fears what is to

follow) : No-o ! I know it dont go that
quick.

Bess : You bet it dont ! You gotta
make 'em do it. You gotta make 'em come

EDNA ST. VINCENT MTLLAY

This bust of the young American poet was
made in Paris recently by the Polish sculp-
tor, Baron Louis du Puget, and exhibited
there at the Salon des Tuileries

acrost. Now, the way it was with me,
I was wise from the start, see?

Margie : Yeah. . . .

Bess : I seen that we was gettin' no-
where. Just goin' out with a guy dont
get a girl nothin'. So I started makin'
him jealous.

Margie: Makin' him jealous?

Bess : Sure ! There was a pretty good-
lookin' feller on the same floor where our
office is an' I smiled at him sorta careless-
like one day. . . . Well, we got friendly
and soon when the boss says somethin'
about him an' me runnin' over to a show
that night, I says : "I'm terrible sorry, but
I made a date with a gent'man friend."
Like that, get me? You shoulda seen his
face drop ! He moped aroun' for maybe
a week, an' all the time I had the other
guy call me on the phone on purpose, an'
makin' dates with him out loud.

Margie : Gee, you had your nerve with
you!

Bess : Well, it worked swell ! Next
thing I knew he waits for me one night
till all the others was gone from the of-
fice and says, kinda sad : "What's the
matter with you lately?" I knew what
was up, but I made believe I wasn't wise.
"I dont see nothin' the matter," I says.
Says he : "You always tell me you got
another date, an' you're always with that
young feller from the real-estate place."
"Oh, you mean Jack," I says, careless.
"He's different." So he wanted to know

why Jack is different, an' I told 'im I
was goin' steady with Jack now.

Margie : But you wasn't goin' steady. . . .

Bess : Sure not. Jack didn't mean
nothin' in my young life. But that's what
I told 'im. He says : "Dont you like me no
more ?" So I says : "Sure, I like you, all
right, but you know how it is." "Forget
about Jack," he tells me, "an' come with
me this evenin'." Then he says he'll hire
a car an' he knows a nice road-house on
Long Island where we can have good eats.

Margie (She is genuinely shocked) :
That's terrible, him askin' you to a road-
house like that. You didn't go?

Bess : You bet I didn't ! What you
think I am, eh? I told 'im I dont go to
no road-houses with no man, not unless
I'm engaged to him.

Margie (Satisfied that this, at least,
was done correctly) : That's right. Well?

Bess : Well, he kept pretty quiet. So
I laughs: "That sorta scared you, eh?"
"What?" he asks. "My speakin' of an
engagement," I come back. "Dont worry,
I was only kiddin'." He looks at me
queer an' pipes up : "Oh, I knew it. You
wouldn't want to marry an old man like
me." There ! That was my chance to
say, quick : "You ain't so old. I dont like
kids. . . ."

Margie (surprised) : You didn't tell
me he was old!

Bess: Not exactly old, just settled-like.
Oh, he ain't no spring chicken, but his
ideas are still pretty young, I'll tell the
world. (She laughs, but she is rather
embarrassed.)

Margie (involuntarily): An. old
man. . . .

Bess : He's not old, I told you. Now,
what would be the use of me marryin' a
young kid who dont earn enough yet an'
expects you to keep on workin' ?

Margie: I'd keep on workin'. . . .

Bess: Like hell you would! Wait till
you try work. No fun hittin' them keys
till your fingers almost come off.

Margie : I'd keep on workin'. ... If I
loved 'im somethin' fierce !

Bess : Yeah, love ! I used to feel that
way, too, before. Now I know better.
What a girl wants is a man who can give
'er enough money for clothes an' things,
an' a nice home.

(Margie remains silent. She is not
convinced.)

Bess : So lemme tell the rest : About
three days later he says I should stay
after hours, because he's got somethin' to
tell me. Margie, I was wise ! An' sure
enough, he hands me the sparkler. . . .
Well, you seen it !

Margie (One must be polite! She
says, quietly) : Yeah, I seen it! It's ele-
gant.

Bess : So that's all. An' I'm engaged
now.

Margie (For a while she sits without
speaking. She looks down into the eve-
ning of the street. And as tho many things
had disappeared from there. . . . Then
she turns to Bess) : Tell me, Bess, you
love 'im?

Bess: Sure I love 'im! What you think?
Ain't we engaged?

Margie : Yeah, I know ! But . . . well,
different. . . .

Bess : What you mean ?

Margie: Different. . . . (Pause.)
How . . . how was it the time . . . the
(Continued on page 75)

Page Sixty-Eight

^UADUWL.'\NL>

Our Contributors

SEBASTIEN DUDON is a spark-
ling columnist, who is considered
the best paragrapher on the Con-
tinent. Writing under a dozen noms
(/.- plume, he has made under each a
reputation which the average satirist
well might envy. He is a great ad-
mirer of the modern iconoclasts, of
whom he is one of the most effective
spokesmen. * * * Henri Lajeunesse
is a fiction writer and journalist resid-
ing in Paris, who acts as translator for
Monsieur Dudon. * * * William
McFee evidently enjoyed his "Day in
Town," for he has decided to stay
ashore for a time, and has taken# a
permanent berth at Westport, Connect-
icut, consisting of a five-room bunga-
low. Altho it was Mr. McFee's avowed
intention to retire to this calm, sylvan
spot and work on his new novel, so far
he has merely been first assistant to
the carpenter in helping to make his
recently acquired possession ship-shape.

* * * Dwight Taylor, whose carica-
tures decorate Mr. McFee's article, is
a writer as well as a cartoonist; his
work has appeared in various news-
papers and periodicals. * * * Do
you believe in fairies? If you dont,
visit the Children's Theater of the
Heckscher Foundation and you will be
convinced by Willy Pogany's fascinat-
ing murals of your childhood favorites.
But perhaps you already know his
work from the illustrations of your
own Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam,
Tannhiiuser, or Parsifal. A Hungarian,
Mr. Pogany's wanderings thru Ger-
many, Austria, France and England
have added a picturesque quality to his
work. He is at present engaged on
mural paintings for a New York high
school. * * * Helen Appleton Read
is the Art

Critic of the
Brooklyn
Eagle. She
has traveled
m u c h a n d
studied with
famous art-
ists, giving"
particular
thought to
the modern
movement.

* * * Louis
Bromfield is
one of the
Babbitts —
from Ohio,
to be exact
— who out-
grew M a i n
Street. He
earned a war
degree at
Columbia
Un iversity
and served
as an attache

to the French army. He has also
worked with the Associated Press,
• done critical articles on music and
books for American and British jour-
nals, and assisted Brock Pemberton
in the theater. * * * Georges Enesco
is a well-known European composer,
conductor and violinist. He has been
engaged for three appearances next
season with the New York Symphony
Orchestra, beginning in January. * * *
Witter Bynner and Kiang Kang-hu,
occidental and oriental poets, met as
members of the faculty of the Uni-
versity of California. Thereupon they

Witter Bynner, with Mr. and Mrs. D. H. Lawrence,
on the Pyramid of the Sun, at Teotihuacan, Mexico

began their collaboration in translating
verse from the Golden Age of Chinese
literature — the T'ang period, A. D.
600-900. Since then, Mr. Bynner has
spent a year in China with Kiang, con-
tinuing the work. Their volume of
translations, to be called The Jade
Mountain, will probably be issued next
year. * * * Greville Rickard is a
Yale man. For a decade he has been
associated with many architectural of-
fices of New York City and at present
is practising architecture independent-
ly. He was with the Camouflage Sec-
tion of the A. E. F. during the war.
This glimpse of Old World architecture
inspired him to return later for ob-
servation and study. * * * With
Omaha as a starting-point, Charlton
Lawrence Edholm, after growing up
all the way from the West to the East
Coast, studied art for five years in the
German academies. Then he came
back to show America what he had
accomplished but as Americans didn't
stop to look, he started writing. Thence-
forth he has spent his time edit-
ing, writing and picture making. At
present he is on an editorial desk job.

* "* * Harriet Henry is a youthful
fiction writer, and if you read her Mrs.
iEsop's Fables in the July issue, and
this month's follow-up, you know that
her satirical humor does not require
the use of field-glasses. * * * Stuart
Davis is primarily an artist whose work
falls into that category labeled "Ultra-
Modern Painting." * * * Francis
Edwards Faragoh, by nativity a Hun-
garian, is educationally a product of
the College of the City of New York
and Columbia University, He has
tried newspaper reporting, and acting,
and has now found his niche as a

writer of
short stories
which ap-
pear in vari-
ous popular
magazines,
and of play-
let s which
have been
acted by
Little Thea-
ter groups.
* * * Hunt
Diederich is
at present
working in
Austria, in
the studio of
a castle that
he bought
for two hun-
dred and fif-
ty American
dollars. He
says: "There
is more art
in the han-
dle of an axe
or the back of a chair than in political
movements, bank entrances, or the
portrait of a millionaire debutante."

* * * Allan Ross MacDougall was
born in Dundee, Scotland, near Barrie's
"Thrums." At seventeen he ran away
from home to London — his City of
Dreams. Later he reached Canada,
and the United States, and then entered
varied lanes: advertising, sailoring,
humming; acting, secretarial work, am-
bulance service. At present he is in
France. * * * William Gropper is
not only a caricaturist, but an artist of

{Continued on page 76)

$ioo~

a week

for Drawing

COMMERCIAL art is a
necessity to modern
business and advertis-
ing. If you like to draw, you
are indeed fortunate — for well
trained artists are always at
a premium. They readilv
earn $75, $100, $150 a week,
and even more. Beginners
with practical ability soon
command $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 business
firms pay millions of dollars annually for
good advertising drawings and designs.
No previous training or experience is
needed to learn by 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
Federal authors it brings you the advice
and experience of men who have pro-
duced and sold hundreds of thousands
of dollars' worth of commercial art.

Send Today for

"YOUR FUTURE"

It is beautifully illustrated in colors, and
tells every detail you need to know about
the Federal Course. It shows work of
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Course is aimed at
practical results —
and gets them. If
you are in earnest
about your future
and 16 years old or
more send 6 cents in
stamps today for
this book, kindly
stating your age.

COUPON

Federal School of Commercial Designing

404 Federal Schools Bldg. , Minneapolis, Minn

Please send me "Your Future" for which I
enclose 6 cents in stamps.

Name.

Age.

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(Write your address plainly in margin)

Page Sixty-Nine

Sliaoowland

Don't Hide Them With a Veil; Remove
Them With Othine- Double Strength

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.

A Few of the Contributors to
SEPTEMBER

StiADOWLAND

HERMAN GEORGE SCHEFFAUER

GEORGE MIDDLETON

JOHN H. ANDERSON

FRANZ MOLNAR

ALLAN ROSS MACDOUGALL

KENNETH MACGOWAN

DOROTHY DONNELL CALHOUN

SEBASTIEN DUDON

LYDIA STEPTOE

HELEN WOLJESKA

JEROME HART

MARGARET BREUNING

EDGAR CAH1LL

Film Star

Reveals Secret

of Alluring Eyes

Tells of Amazing Liquid That
Transforms Brows and Lashes

A GNES AYRES is enthusiastic about the new discovery
that makes lashes instantly appear long and sweeping.
She says, "I use it and recommend it to others. It makes
the eyes seem larger and more fascinating."

Other famous stars use Lashbrow Liquid, the new dis-
covery, to make their eyes alluring. Bttty Blythe, Ruth
Roland. Alma Rubens and others recommend It. It is a
fragrant liquid, easily applied with a brush. It dries
instantly, remains all day, and does not run, rub off or
smear. It is not an ordinary cosmetic. It is absolutely
harmless and does not give a "made-up" or beaded effect.

The formula from which Lashbrow Liquid is prepared
was brought from France recently by a beauty expert.
There is nothing else just like it. Always be sure you
are using the original, genuine Lashbrow Liquid. It gives
the eyes instant enchantment.

FREE TRIAL

For Introductory purposes, we will send you free a
generous supply of Lashbrow Liquid. And we will include
a trial size of another Lashbrow product. Lashbrow
Pomade, which quickly stimulates the growth of the
brows and lashes. Clip this announcement and send it at
once to Lashbrow Laboratories, Dept. 248, 37 West
20th Street, New York City. Enclose 10c to cover cost
of packing and shipping.

From a Collector's Note-Book

Efy W. G. Bowdoin

NEW YORK CITY is to have a
sequoia (redwood) tree from the
"petrified forest" of Sonoma
County, California. It is to be made a
permanent exhibit in Central Park. The
specimen weighs nearly six thousand
pounds and was brought to San Francisco
on a heavy truck under the supervision of
Harold Bochee, the son of Mrs. Ollie
Bochee, the owner of the forest.

A few big sequoias still are found
growing in California. They are regarded
by scientists as the scanty and sole sur-
vivors, with but slight variation, of an
ancient or-
der of forest
trees which
f lou rished
extensively
during the
Cretaceous
and Tertiary
periods of
the earth's
life, and
which were
contem po-
raneous with
such huge
animals as
the mam-
moth and
ichthyosau-
rus.

Agatized
or jasper-
ized wood in
small speci-
m en s has
long been
popular with
collectors.

Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art

Drawing in water-color of Knights in Armor, from a
tournament book of the XVI Century. It was picked
up in Paris by William H. Riggs who bought it to go
with his collection of armor now in the Metropolitan
Museum

true collector will sooner or later find the
way to gratify his taste.

HPhe sewing birds of our grandmothers
and great-grandmothers make lovely
collecting objects that are decorative in
high degree. They may be found in the
hands of families and with the dealers.
They are not so tremendously expensive
and if placed upon a small bracket they
may be fastened to the wall in a very
pleasing way. In the olden days these
birds were in frequent use as aids for
sewing long seams. Their beaks could be

opened, but
were kept in
place with a
strong steel
spring. They
were screw-
ed to the
work - table
and the ma-
terial insert-
ed into the
beak, which
held it firm-
ly until the
spring was
released.
Some of the
birds had
little cush-
ions on their
backs into
which pins
and needles
could be
thrust when
not in use,
and some
had hollow
backs — a
place for the
thimble.

HPhere are
in Zanzi-
bar certain

copals that enter into the manufacture of T> esidents in the larger cities which are
varnishes, that contain insects. These publishing centers will often have op-

make highly interesting collecting objects.
These insects were submerged when the
copals were merely liquid exudations from
native trees which flowed over them as they
rested or crawled upon the bark. Many
of the imprisoned insects are now extinct,
which adds to the interest in collecting
them.

Such copals with insect inclusions, may
sometimes be obtained from dealers in
shellacs and varnishes. The substance is
easily polished and the insects look very
beautiful in their amber-like setting.
Sometimes other objects have found their
way into the copals. Bits of bark, leaves,
hairs, and even small fish have had copal
tombs.

Amber is similar in origin to copal but
has the advantage of being harder and of
taking a higher polish in consequence ; it,
too, sometimes contains flies and other in-
sects.

HPhe collection of whole suit armor is
-*- not always practical for the ordinary
collector because of the amount of space
required for its storage, even if the matter
of expense for the individual pieces is
unconsidered. But it is easily possible to
collect books on armor, prints relating to
armor and even coins carrying the effigies
of plumed knights, tournaments etc. Now
and then it is possible to pick up a sheet
or two of the monkish illuminations that
deal quaintly with armored warriors in
and out of combat. Given the desire, the

portumties to acquire original drawings
by well-known artists and cartoonists.
The magazines accumulate these drawings
in considerable numbers in the course of
years and they must dispose of them
sooner or later. Sometimes they sell them
themselves, and at other times they are'
sold to dealers who offer them at graduated
prices. There are certain stores in New
York City where original drawings may
be had from twenty-five cents up, and the
same thing is doubtless true in other large
cities. These drawings also drift into the
second-hand book stores where they may be
bought at bargain prices. In this, as in
other branches of collecting, a little
patience coupled with some knowledge will
result in the acquisition of many unex-
pected treasures.

A man in London adopted a curious col-
lecting fad that had for its object the
assembling of used railway tickets. He
saved all of his own tickets and extended
his operations into the securing of tickets
used by others. The result was a con-
glomeration, of course, but with it all he
managed to secure much .variety and his
collection in time will have an historical
value of no mean importance.

"Dkusons living in the neighborhood of
coastal districts will find the collection
and preservation of marine alga? (sea-
weed) very fascinating. It is to be found
in three colors : olive, red, and green.

Page Seventy

SU4L>UWL/\NL>

Day in Town

(Continued from page 15)

thinks of his time behind the bars, which
would ruin picture. Prefer Charlie's way.
Great Man! Emerge, and get into car.

Question of technique baffling-. All very
well for Hergesheimer to say pictures are
driving out novels. But did he say it.
Doubt it. Certainly, his own work has
that clear articulated melodrama most
adaptable to a picture. Recall the de-
scriptions of dress and furniture in Three
Black Pennys. Sumptuous fellow. I'd
give the Habana book for all his cock-
tails and legs exposed in country clubs.

Which reminds one, going downtown to
dinner, much modern literature panders to
those instincts kept under in the home
town. Take Cytherea, for example.
Nothing in it, to a seaman. Pity, fine
writers like these modern men messing
round in the mud. Same in Babbitt. Can
confirm Babbitt as authentic. Have seen
him in his home town. Picture of Bab-
bitt going on the loose is magnificent, very
like, as seen about two A. M. Propound
cure at dinner, but am voted down.
Literature would vanish, says one, if
Freud is abolished. Doubt this. Nordau
was the Freud of my young days, and we
survived him. Trouble is, authors find it
easier to read Freud than create characters
out of themselves. This is passed unani-
mously. Friend adds, slyly, Freud need
never bother an artist. Novelist who reads
Freud, he says, is like a man who fakes
furniture by boring it full of worm-holes.
Makes it appear to be rotten. Which, he
adds, is unnecessary, once you look at the
stuff.

Ten minutes to get to Grand Central.
We arrive with a minute to spare.

i !!i:ii"!iriil!i

The Swan

(Continued from page 21)

aloud some more of his poems in my warm
room. We made our way out, between
crowded tables where the low-toned
chatter of the girls and the pipe-smoking
youngsters was broken by an occasional
high-pitched laugh.

At the door we paused. There was the
bloated old woman, snoring away with her
nose buried in her crossed arms. The
rusty bonnet was half fallen from her
grey head, partly bald, and streaked with
strands of faded yellow. From her dirty
black garments, bunchy and ill-fitting, was
exhaled the odor of gin and yellow soap.
She was some wretched scrubwoman who
had drifted in here by accident, to warm
her old bones and drink a cup of coffee.

I edged away from her in disgust, long-
ing for the fresh, keen winter air out-
doors, but Garrick seized my arm and
stared at the sodden wreck as if fascinated.

"How beautiful !" he whispered. "I can
see her dream. She is a girl again. A
flaxen-haired little maid, walking timidly
down an English lane in the twilight. She
wears a dress of white muslin, with little
flounces, and she is very proud of it. She
is a little frightened, too, for at the stile,
half seen, half imagined in the shadow,
her lover is waiting for her. There. He
has just whistled — a soft, soft call. All
around in the warm spring air is the faint
scent of primroses, pale and pure as her
hair. . . . The happy, happy little maid !"

In my room that night Garrick wrote
The Dream. Once more the swan was
floating on the dusky pool where lilies lay
like ivory lamps.

piping!

—for those who live!

It is life itself, Mademoiselle, this tan'
taliz;ing fragrance of living flowers that
is sweeping the world like a happy
bon mot, overwhelming the artificiality
of perfumery.

VlVANTE

A single drop, an ephemeral fragrance,
and Voila! — one's thoughts are of
Paris in the Springtime, with every
blossom -scented breeze a temptation,
the very cobblestones whispering mes-
sages of love

As chaste as sixteen !
As discreet as thirty!
As sophisticated as forty !

Page Seventy-One

SuiADOWLAND

DRAWING $$
*> FORTUNE

Ali Hafed, a Persian farmer, sold his acres to
so out and seek his fortune. He who bought the
farm found it contained a diamond mine which
made him fabulously rich. Ali Hafed overlooked
the great opportunity at his door to go far afield in
search of wealth — which illustrates a great truth.

Do You Like to Draw?

If you do, it is an almost certain indication
that you have talent, a talent which few possess.
Then don't follow Ali Hafed's example and look
farther for fortune. Develop your talent — your
fortune lies in your hand !

Earn $200.00 to $500.00 A MONTH AND MORE

Present opportunities for both men and women
to illustrate magazines, newspapers, etc., have
never been excelled. Thousands of publishers buy
millions of dollars' worth of illustrations every
year. Illustrating is the highest type of art —
pleasant work, yielding a large income.

The Federal Course is a Proven Result Getter

It is the only Home Study Course which has
been built by over fifty nationally known artists
— Sid Smith, Neysa McMein, Norman Rockwell,
Clare Briggs, Charles Livingston Bull and
Fontaine Fox among them.

Free — "A Road To Bigger Things'

If you like to draw you should read this free book
before deciding on your life's work. It tells about illus-
trating as a highly paid, fascinating profession and about
the famous artists who have helped build the Federal
Course. We will also send you a sample lesson by which
you can test your skill. Just tear out this ad, write your
name, age, and address in the margin,
mail it to us and we will send you your
copy of the hook and the sample lesson
free. Do it right now while you are think-
ing about it.

854 Federal School Bldg. Minneapolis, Minn.

SuADOWkAND

for September

Art lovers will appreciate the
reproduction in full color of a
painting by

LEON GASPARD

with a discussion of his work by
EDGAR CAHILL

Schism Among the Moderns

{Continued from page 57)

off to the Coast. He was going there to
conduct his setting of the Bohemians' an-
nual High Jinks production, the title of
which is Semper Virens. It is not the
first time that Mr. Hadley has composed
the music for this famous sylvan spree,
which has an ideal setting amid the giant
sequoias.

I also had a chat with that very busy
but always equable and amiable big gun
among musical managers, Arthur Judson,
who controls the business end of the
Philharmonic, Philadelphia and Cincinnati
Orchestras (how does he do it?), and at
the same time looks after the professional
affairs of several eminent artists. He was
very sanguine with regard to the Stadium
concerts and the future of the recon-
structed Philharmonic orchestra, while he
considers the outlook for the next musical
season is most encouraging. He is of
opinion that New York audiences are be-
coming less attracted by the merely sen-
sational in music, especially as regards the
tricks of virtuosi, and attach major im-
portance to sound and serious musicianship.

Nevertheless I hear a great deal of a
few new artists— new, that is, to this
country, who are likely to attract a good
deal of notice by reason of their ex-
ceptional virtuosity. One of these is
Moritz Rosenthal, the pianist, who, per-
sonally, I consider a good deal more than
a virtuoso, in fact he is among the truly

great masters of the keyboard. The last
time I heard him was shortly before the
war, at the Norwich (England) Music
Festival. His musicianship is, to my mind,
at least as striking as his extraordinary
technique, and at times he leaves one
almost breathless with astonishment.
Another eminent pianist who is coming to
this country after an absence of many
years is the freakish and eccentric but ex-
quisitely artistic interpreter of Chopin,
Vladimir de Pachmann. He is an old man
now — over seventy-five — but my English
correspondence tells me that he has lost
none of his power to play upon the softer
emotions of his audience, as well as to
amuse them with his quaint remarks ut-
tered by way of comment on his own play-
ing.

Then there is young Claudio Arrau, who
hails from Santiago, and who has captured
European audiences by proving himself a
grandee or hidalgo among the younger
pianists. Only nineteen, romantically good-
looking and with a winning personality, he
is sure to captivate the feminine section
of his hearers, while his musicianship has
already won him the respect of sterner
critics. Finally there is Cecilia Hansen,
yet another of the pupils of Auer. She,
too, begins a first American tour in
October after more than merely satisfy-
ing the exigent tastes of the leading critics
of Central Europe.

iimiimiiiiimiimiiiiiiHiMiMiii

New Books in Brief Review

{Continued from page 67)

ll over America are to be found young
women who, having had a few lessons
in singing and been complimented by ad-
miring relatives and friends, believe that
they are budding Melbas or Mary Gardens
or Geraldine Farrars, and aspire to an
operatic career. They should one and all
read Our Little Girl, by Robert A. Simon,
for it graphically portrays the career of a
girl who essays to take the musical world
of New York by storm ; the means, most
of them mistaken, by which she seeks to at-
tain her end; the queer and sometimes
questionable methods of a certain class of
teachers and publicity-mongers ; and how,
in the end, the ambitious young woman
finds her level. Incidentally, Mr. Simon's
book (published by Boni and Liveright),
is a study of selfishness as well as self-
will, and there is an undercurrent of good-
humor as well as satire, which makes it
very pleasant reading. No one should
know that of which he writes better than
the author, for he is a prominent figure in
the musical world of New York.

Tessup, by Newton Fuessle {Boni and
" Liveright) , is the story of a nameless
girl who comes to New York to seek the
stage as a medium of self-expression, and
also to bury all evidence of her clouded
birth. Conscious of the unrestrained pas-
sions which are her heritage, Jessup sets a
higher standard for herself than is con-
sidered necessary by most of her associates

— girls who dance with her in the chorus
of a Broadway musical comedy. Com-
bined with charm and talent, Jessup pos-
sesses brains and a level head. She
dances in the chorus by night and attends
art school during the day, which leaves
her little time to indulge in much gayety.
Then, into her life comes Ivan Banning,
an architect, whose social background
Jessup longs to make her own. Tho she
had intended never to marry, her love for
this man, his constant persuasions for her
to become his wife, and the knowledge
that security and respectability will be
hers, gradually influence Jessup to take the
step. No one knows of the circumstances
surrounding her birth, not even Ivan, who
is a stickler for good breeding. Then —
the pendulum of fate swings back and
Jessup sees her carefully laid plans de-
molished.

How she meets and stands up under the
strain of the inevitable makes absorbing
reading. The book is realistic in style,
without a morbid note, and is an excellent
portrayal of the struggle of a girl to main-
tain a foothold in New York. The story
is simply but vividly told ; the characteri-
zation exceptionally well done ; the plot
construction executed with perfect finesse ;
and the ending — the high part of the book
— convincing in its reality. This ending
is neither sentimental nor "tacked on" ; it
is merely a logical conclusion for this
particular type of story.

Page Seventy-Two

Su/\L>UWLANL>

New Motifs for Old

{Continued from page 4.5)

noteworthy that his own development as a
composer goes steadily on.

In conclusion, I should like to say just
a word about the music of my own
country, and what we may expect from it
in the light of its historical background.
Contrary to the general idea, Roumania is
not a Slavic hut a Latin country. Settled
two thousand years ago, it has maintained
its completely Latin character, in spite of
its insignificant size, and tho surrounded
on every side by alien communities, Slavic
and Teutonic. So entirely, indeed, has the
preservation of its identity seemed to

absorb its energies, that it has hitherto
found little leisure for the cultivation of
the arts. Most of the creative work
by Roumanians has been done within the
past fifteen years. Our music, curiously
enough, is influenced not by the neighbor-
ing Slav, but by the Indian and Egyptian
folk-songs introduced by the members of
these remote races, now classed as Gypsies,
brought to Roumania as servants of the
Roman conquerors. The deeply Oriental
character of our own folk-music derives
from these sources, and possesses a flavor
as singular as it is beautiful.

timiiiitiiiimiiMMiiiiiiiiilMit

The Other Side of It

(Continued from page 46)

thousand dollars. It was probably that smile
that permits me to hang now in the Louvre
with such security. The serenity of it,
the seductiveness of it, the incomprehen-
sibleness of it! What does that smile
mean, ask the critics? Shall I tell you?
While painting me, Leonardo would subtly,
suavely, and most charmingly assure me
that he was a much handsomer man than
my husband, Giocondo. On the particular
day that he caught so well that enigmatic
smile of mine, he had hectically swept a
fly from his nose with a wet paintbrush,
and a jagged smudgy streak of black
decorated its former resting-place.

"There is something markedly unusual
about my features," he was assuring me,
"something no one could help noticing. . . ."

"Yes," replied I with grave emphasis,
"something truly remarkable, Leo." And
my smile of the moment has gone down
in the history of Art.

ALICE IN WONDERLAND

T hate thrusting myself in among these

old fogies, I do indeed, but for a long,

long time I've had a dreadful urge to

really explain myself. Mr. Carroll was so
nice about fixing me up in such a beauti-
ful and whimsical fairy story, that I've
always been quite a little bit uncomfortable
about it.

Of course it was true that I fell asleep,
and dreamed myself down the rabbit-hole,
and tiny one minute and overgrown the
next according to those bottles I drank
marked poison. I did in my dreams run
across the Mad Hatter, and the March
Hare, the Queen of Hearts, and the
Cheshire Cat, the Walrus, and the Carpen-
ter. There ivas Bill, the Lizard, and the
White Knight, the Jabberwocky, and the
Red Queen — Mr. Carroll was quite right
about all that.

But tell me this : Doesn't such a
panorama of characters seem pretty funny
for a little girl to dream of? Did you
ever wonder about that? As a matter of
fact, I was a very naughty, little nine-
teenth-century flapper — that's what you
call them nowadays, dont you, flappers ? —
and Jerry Jones and I had imbibed entirely
too freely of father's old Madeira. Quaint
of us, wasn't it?

Delirium Tremens the doctor called it !

miimiittiniimnmi

Actor and Demon

(Continued from page 49)

Not so rollicking and not quite so black
was the brief attempt of the Ethiopian
Art Theater of Chicago, Philadelphia,
Washington, and Harlem to present The
Comedy of Errors a la jazz. An amusing
idea, promising much — this jazzing up of
the classics by a company of negroes
which a white director, Raymond O'Neil,
gathered together. A tent for a back-
ground on the stage ; clowns dancing little
bits of scenery into place, while a ring-
master cracked his whip ; and the Dromios
played by a cabaret dancer who waltzed
thru his more monotonous speeches. But
the thing lacked finish ; the players hadn't
quite the sharp distinction necessary to put
the conception over. Shakespeare at his
dullest seemed even duller than before.
And Salome, done by these same mulattoes
in a reverentially white spirit, likewise
showed its worst side. It was only in a
little comedy of negro life, The Chip

Woman's Fortune, that the true dramatic
flair of the race came out sure and striking.
Which leaves us facing the last produc-
tion of the first season of the Equity
Players, a revival of a commonplace piece
of fustian called Sweet Nell of Old Drury.
Twenty-three years ago it was thoroly in
fashion ; yet even then the expert atten-
tions of Ada Rehan could not win more
than eighteen performances for it, against
the hundred and forty-four of Mistress
Nell with Henrietta Crosman. Perhaps
this means that it was much the better of
the two; but the friendly ministrations of
Hartley Manners and the capital acting
of Laurette Taylor as Nell Gwyn cannot
cheer up Paul Kester's old narrative into
more than a passing curiosity. The Equity
Players cleverly insist that this was all
they expected of the play — this and a few
thousand dollars in the till. A modest
thing to ask of the divine theater.

Perfectly
Watutal

ew
^fashionahiQ
Jfue

SanFrancisco,6llMissior\Sl:.
Chicago, Clark &Madison.St.
Los Angeles , 6 £&. B road w& y
NewYork, 230W lT^Street.

Pieose Send Box Pum-M/n /?ouge lo ~

Page Seventy-Three

SwADQWLAND

SuADOWLANE*

for SEPTEMBER

Cizek, Advocate of Self-Expression

Dorothy Donnell Calhoun who
spent several days visiting the
school of Cizek, the famous
painter and revolutionary peda-
gogue, writes of what this un-
usual teacher has accomplished in
his classes by allowing pupils to
work out their own ideas. The
recognition accorded them both
at home and abroad is sufficient
proof that Cizek's method is suc-
cessful.

When Harris Met Gorky

The story of a frustrated "por-
trait" is given in an account by
Herman George Scheffauer of the
time when Frank Harris at-
tempted to interview the great
Maxim Gorky. That Mr. Schef-
fauer fully appreciated the sur-
prising turn of events is shown
in the manner in which he tells
of what he saw and heard on
this momentous occasion.

Play-Going Pests in Paris

George Middleton writes humor-
ously of the difficulties encoun-
tered by the average American
who attempts to visit the theater
in Paris. What with the many
complications that arise, going to
the theater becomes almost an oc-
cupation. The author knows
whereof he writes, having lived
thru many of the experiences
which he relates.

Making and Breaking Laws

Why do we behave? Why do
we misbehave? What marks the
boundary line of resistance to re-
striction, imposed either by law
or custom? What impels people
to cross this line? Is there more
lawlessness than there used to be
because there are more laws and
easier ways to break them?
These are some of the questions
discussed by John H. Anderson
in his article.

Princess Olga at the Funeral

Franz Molnar has written a
short story that will linger in the
mind of the reader a long time.
It concerns a young princess who
decides to walk among the peo-
ple. That tragedy disregards
class is plainly shown in the in-
cidents that follow.

Shadowland Will Also Contain —

Paragraphs gleaned from the
writings of the French columnist,
Sebastien Dudon; extracts from
"The Diary of a Small Boy,"
by Lydia Steptoe; a discus-
sion of the work of Leon Gas-
pard, by Edgar Cahill, with a
reproduction in full color of one
of his paintings; a one-act play,
"Red Hair," by Helen Woljeska ;
and two pages of humorous
sketches by August Henkel.

SuAOOWbANE*

On the News-stands AugustTwenty-third

Side-Shows on the Other Side

{Continued from page 61)

stands there as it has thruout the ages, and
dominates the city. The spire almost fol-
lows you about, for wherever you go in
the whole city you will find it along by
your side. Take a trip away out to the hills
beside the Danube, and look back, and it
wont be Vienna that you see, but St.
Stefan's.

And so it will be when you leave and
try to visualize Vienna — as I do this
moment: All I can picture is St. Stefan's.
The sun is sinking over the Graben ; the red

roofs of the ancient houses ripple over the
horizon. I can hear one of the funny
horns of the city's few hundred motor-
cars ; the bell in the old Minorittenkirche
sounds dolefully thru the twilight. Then I
come back to St. Stefan's, standing out
clear and dominant in its beautiful profile, a
symbol of ineffaceable beauty, looking on
the city below that is bearing its hard
burden without whining or whimpering,
with a never-failing gesture of gaiety that
is beautifully pathetic !

HimmiiiiiiiiiiiiiirimmiimMii

The Hand of the Master

{Continued from page 39)

Up to this day M. Vagallon had enjoyed
the most robust health. Now that he
realized that he was ill, and seriously ill,
and the physician who had been called
told him that an immediate operation was
necessary and had him carried to the hos-
pital, a terrible fear possessed his soul
and drove out all other feelings. Horrible
sufferings, the pangs of bodily anguish and
fever, preceded the operation, and fol-
lowed it for many days. Then M.
Vagallon learned that his life was saved,
and the simple joy of being still in the
world absorbed him for many other days.
He experienced all the animal satisfac-
tions of convalescence. The mere fact of
breathing pure air, of feeling sleepy and
of falling asleep without terror, was a
happiness in itself. The food which they
served him was exquisite to a degree
that he had never suspected. With the
languor of a sick child, a touching thing in
this colossus, he stretched out his big hand
to grasp the hand of his wife, who spent
hours seated at his bedside.

Then M. Vagallon came suddenly to
life and to himself. He was again the
Vagallon of former days. His old ambi-
tions took hold of him. He thought of
his business, his factory, of his life work,
the burden of which rested on him alone.
An atrocious fear tortured him. What
has happened to all these during his ill-
ness? What catastrophes had occurred
while he lay helpless in bed?

He left the hospital one afternoon and
drove to the factory, where nobody ex-
pected him.

"I will go with you, my dear," said
Mme. Vagallon.

"I'll be glad to have you go," he
answered condescendingly.

They arrived at the factory. Every-
where there were evidences of normal ac-
tivity. M. Vagallon, followed by his wife,
entered the private office. The stenog-
rapher was typewriting letters.

The three secretaries appeared. They
expressed delight at their chief's return.
Then they spoke briefly of business con-
ditions. Everything had gone along
smoothly. Orders had been filled on
schedule time ; the correspondence was up
to date. M. Vagallon, learning these
things, had very mixed emotions — sur-
prise, pleasure, certainly, that his business
had been safeguarded and was as flour-
ishing as ever, but also profound amaze-
ment.

"How did it happen?" he stammered in
his confusion. "How did it happen?"

"Well, my dear, I will try to explain
it to you," said Mme. Vagallon. "Every
day I spent a few hours here. With these
gentlemen, who are familiar with the busi-
ness, and with mademoiselle, who knows
all about the correspondence — we received
all the orders. The work was done. I
signed the letters. I took it upon myself
to deal with urgent matters "

She stopped. M. Vagallon's face was
the very image of distress and horror. He
made no reply. The secretaries filed out,
followed by the stenographer. M. Vagal-
lon, glued to the directorial chair, remained
silent.

Suddenly Mme. Vagallon noticed that
there were tears in his eyes. She under-
stood, and pitied him.

"You see," she said gently, "you created
a machine so well organized that it runs
itself."

"And has no more need of me," he
groaned feebly, confessing in his weakness
the torments of frustrated vanity.

Mme. Vagallon laughed and began to
lie.

"All the same," she said, "it was time
you came back here to take charge of
things. We were beginning to lose our
grip."

"I am tired," said M. Vagallon bitterly.
"I shall go home and go to bed."

Page Seventy-Four

SuADQWLANt)

A Painter of City Streets

( ( ontinued from page 1 1 )

doubtless this actual contact with the life
he chose to depict is responsible to some
extent for the vivid reality of his work.

He studied in the classes of William
Chase and Robert Henri, and after a year
bad developed sufficiently to make that re-
markable series of street scenes and in-
teriors that were reproduced in portfolio
form in a private edition called Scenes
from the Lives of the People. The small
edition was quickly sold out to artists and
a few friends who appreciated the quality
of his work. Later on the originals were
exhibited and met with similar success.
1 [owever, efforts to get his work in maga-
zines and books were all but unavailing,
altho much of it was admirably suited to
that purpose. The one exception was a
book called Types from City Streets, by
Hutchins Hapgood, for which Coleman
made the illustrations.

His inability to get his black and white
work used in this field led him to devote
his energies to painting in color. These
products of his brush were notable for
their color harmonies and the same intense
appreciation of character that was in the
drawings, but were even less successful
from a financial point of view. He turned
his attention to more lucrative occupations,
and a period of artistic unproductivity
followed. Circumstances again made it
possible for him to paint, and a trip to
Cuba in 1919 was the inspiration for some
paintings that have all the qualities of his
previous things, with the addition of a
greater color range and more decorative
treatment.

Coleman's picture, Minetta Lane, which
hangs in the Luxembourg Gallery, was
purchased for that collection by the French
Government. An American artist of repu-
tation, who is familiar with Coleman's
work and also the Luxembourg collection,
said, when he heard of the sale : "They are
looking up over there."

iiimmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiini!

Ten-Minute Plays

(Continued front page 68)

time he give you the ring . . . when he
kissed you then ? How'd you feel ?

Bess : All right ! It wasn't the first
time he ever kissed me. And lots of other
fellers kissed me, too, before.

Margie : I dont mean that. Only. . . .
Didn't you feel nothin'. . . special?

Bess : Nothin' special. Why should I
'ave? A kiss is a kiss.

Margie : Nothin' ? Like cryin',
maybe . . . The way you loved him,
terrible . . . ?

Bess: Gee, you're a funny kid, I'll say!
Where do you get them ideas ?

Margie (She is sad and cannot account
for her sadness) : I got no ideas, but . . .
(Suddenly) : Bess, you shouldn't 'ave told
me !

Bess: What's the matter with you?
Shouldn't 'ave told you what?

Margie: This. Everythin'. About
things, the way it all is. Everythin'. . . .

Bess (puzzled) : I dont get you ! You
wanted to hear 'em. Didn't you ask
me to?

Margie : Yeah, I know. . . . Still . . .
You shouldn't 'ave told me. . . .

(But Margie doesn't knoiu why. And
doesn't understand zuhy she zvants to
cry. . . . Bess, as they sit there, looks at
the other and shakes her head. Her ex-
planation is that Margie must be gettin
queer or somethin'. Maybe jealous. . . .
Margie is sobbing now, quietly.)

Dull Hair

Noted actresses all abhor dull
hair — they can't afford to have it.
They have no more choice in the
color of their hair than you have.
Their hair is more beautiful, be-
cause their profession — their
very environment — soon teaches
them how to make the best of
what nature has given them.

an ordinary shampoo. It does more than
merely clean. It adds that little something
which distinguishes really pretty hair from
that which is dull and ordinary.

Ones Eyes Js[ever
Have a Vacation

Vacation-time brings needed rest
and relaxation — except to your
EYES. Not only does travel ex-
pose them to cinders, smoke and
coal gas, but days spent in the
open result in irritation by sun,
wind and dust.

Protect and rest your EYES this

summer with Murine. This harmless

lotion instantly soothes, refreshes

and beautifies irritated EYES.

Send for Free Eye Care Book

Murine Eye Remedy Co.

Dept. 21, Chicago

MINI

For /our EVES

Why Dont You Buy

for SEPTEMBER

The Picture Book De Luxe of the Movie World

THE SPORT OF KINGS AND MOVIE STARS

However great the heat may be when you open the September num-
ber of Classic, you will forget about it when your eye falls upon the
picture display of yachts and motor-boats owned by movie stars.
You will enjoy seeing how your favorite actors spend their
leisure hours.

NEPTUNE'S SONS AND DAUGHTERS

A double-page spread of pictures showing many prominent motion-
picture people sporting along the beach in fascinating bathing suits
will interest you greatly.

IMPRESSIONS BY LOUISE FAZENDA

Louise Fazenda, one of the most amusing comedians of the silver
sheet, gives some remarkably clever impressions regarding the
salient characteristics of certain famous movie folk. These impres-
sions truly serve to delineate the versatility of Miss Fazenda.

September

That "Different" Screen Magazine

September

Page Seventy-Five

Why Not Let The
Treasure Chest Solve
Your Clothes Problem

One thing that members of our club
will not worry about this summer, is
money for clothes.

Oh yes, our members will need clothes
— lots of them. And they are going to
buy them too, with money which they
themselves have earned.

On the list will be hats, shoes, dresses
and oh, the most gorgeous array of
finery that your eyes could wish to see.
Can't you just picture the things you
would choose if you were a member of
our Club, privileged to draw from the
Treasure Chest until your heart's
desires were fulfilled ?

NO MORE WISHING OR
WINDOW SHOPPING

For those who elect to join us, the days
of wishing and window shopping, will
soon be memories of the past. We now
cordially invite you to become a mem-
ber of our club where you will be in-
itiated into the "Order of Money
Makers."

Yes, indeed there is work to be done
before you may become the possessor of
the good things in store for you. But
if you are an ambitious girl or woman,
you will quickly "catch on" and will
soon be making money like the rest
of us.

Now Is The Best Time

of all the year to join our club.
Women all around you are more in-
terested at this season than ever, in
enhancing their personal attractiveness.
And as our work is securing subscribers
for Beauty, the magazine of beauty
secrets for every woman, you will
readily see how perfectly conditions
have shaped themselves to your ad-
vantage.

If you are interested in having more
money, by all means write at once for
further particulars of our plan. Send
a letter, postcard or the handy coupon
below to

Secretary The Treasure Chest

Cut Here

KATHARINE LAMBERT,

Secretary, the Treasure Chest,

BEAUTY, 175 Duffield St., Brooklyn, N. Y.

Please tell me how I can make money thru
the Treasure Chest.

Name

St. and No

City State.

Our Contributors

(Continued from page 69)

realism as well. His sketches of the
Ghetto are famous the world over.

* * * Kenneth Macgowan is a Har-
vard man who has taken a fling at
advertising, editing, and publishing.
He is best known, however, as a dra-
matic critic, and the author of three
books on stagecraft. * * * Jerome
Hart is a contributor of special musical
articles to various other maga-
zines. His critical ability along this
line has been developed by work under
renowned masters, by a study of grand
opera in almost every country where it
is given, and by original composition.

* * * Frederic Boutet is a prolific
young French writer who has demon-
strated a fine technical mastery of the
short story in a French sense. * * *
William L. MacPherson has recently
been awarded the Degree of Doctor
of Literature by Gettysburg (formerly

Pennsylvania) College, in recognition
of his historical writings, his work on
the New York Tribune, and his trans-
lations from the French, which always
carry the true tone of the original.

* * * Wynn (Holcomb) is deter-
mined to spend the coming winter in
Rome. He will study and paint there,
and occasionally fling one of his in-
imitable cartoons across the sea to us.

* * * Henry Albert Phillips recently
returned from a European tour to find
himself a novelist as well as lecturer,
editor, and writer of short stories. His
first novel, The Untenanted Heart,
will appear this fall. * * * W. G.
Bowdoin's hobby is collecting curios.
He is on the editorial staff of the New
York World. * * * The cover of
this month's Shadowland is by A. M.
Hopfmuller, the Art Director, and is
titled The Lake.

tmmnMiiiniiiiiimiMMiMiinim

What It's All About

(Continued from page 52)

from the bottom of the mill-pond. No
one person is resoonsible for that, and it
is doubtful if any writer of importance
has dug up "mud" for its own sake. The
disturbance can be traced back even to
Darwin and Huxley, when intelligent men
began to consider life from a new angle,
more scientific than sentimental. Freud
and Jung, with their increasing multitudes
of followers, Havelock Ellis, and a great
multitude of honorable and sincere psy-
chologists in universities thruout the Oc-
cident have had an agitating effect. In
the field of psychology "something is go-
ing on" and sometimes it seems as con-
fused and uncertain as the disturbance in
the field of literature. Neither movement
can be ignored, and it is well-nigh a cer-
tainty that when we begin to consider_ sex
as we consider eating and drinking, it is
quite likely to prove not "mud" at all but

good, honest, fertile soil instead, in which
healthy plants may sink their roots and
flourish.

The trouble is that there is so much
going on in the world we find difficulty
in adjusting ourselves. The disturbance
requires a new set of critical standards
and a new comprehension of literary form
and matter. It requires a study of the
entire movement before sound and honest
judgments are possible. Therefore it is
ridiculous to call any book the "greatest."
How can we judge when no one seems to
understand clearly what it is all about?

Now that the North and South Poles
have been discovered and the South Sea
Islands have become a tourists' resort, it
may be that the only field left for ex-
ploration by the adventurous and thought-
ful is the mind, a country still full of
jungles, romance and wild animals.

iiiiliMMimniiimiimmminiMi

New York Interpreted

(Continued from page 65)

began — George Bellows, John Sloan, Ran-
dal Davy, Stuart Davis, Glenn Coleman,
to mention only a few. Walt Whitman
was the idol of this group. _ They tore
down the Whistlerian traditions. They
were going to paint New York as she
really was. Real life was the thing they
were after. And they made the usual
mistake of thinking that, if they did not
paint squalor and despair, they were not
looking life in the face. George Bellows
has long since outgrown this limited view-
point. As a painter, he comes the nearest
to giving us the spirit of New York, its
fun, its squalor and its grandeur. He is
neither too abstract, as are the painters
who see New York cubistically, nor has
he any violent accusation to make. He is
satisfying, both pictorially and_ humanly.
For this reason he is justly considered one
of our foremost American artists.

So much for the two modern types of
New York painters. But there is another
medium which comes as near to giving
us the elusive spirit of our city as do either
of the others, and that is the camera as
used by George Sheeler. Time was when
no one would have thought of showing
photographs alongside of paintings. But

Sheeler is an artist, a painter as well as
a photographer. He uses the same selec-
tions in his photography that he does in
his pictures. These cool detached records
of high buildings, streets, roofs or door-
ways seem to be as satisfying an inter-
pretation of New York as any of the emo-
tional or stylistic canvases on view.

Other examples of his selective photog-
raphy are on view at the Salons of
America. Sheeler in his art tries to divest
a subject of any of the accidental tricks
that atmosphere and light may play upon
it.

A high building may look like a fairy
castle, given the proper amount of mist;
or it may be symbolized as the temporary
abiding place of conflicting human emo-
tions ; but in its last analysis it remains an
office building. And it is the last analysis
that Sheeler gives us.

We are hearing a great deal about
Sheeler these days, and we are going to
hear a lot more. He is directly in line with
those art manifestations that are purely
American, which qualities are described by
Forbes Watson as being "a clean-cut fine-
ness, a cool austerity, and a complete dis-
trust of superfluities."

Page Seventy-Six

SUADUWL/XNU

In the Laboratory o{ the
Theater

(Continued from page 23)

The play of M. dc Rouhclier, a curious
melange of realistic and symbolistic drama,
was first produced at the Theatre des Arts
in 1908. In 1916 it was reproduced at the
Theatre de l'Odeon, and this year was
adopted into the repertoire of the Comedie
Franchise. Admirably directed by Leon
Bernard, it was given the benefit of an ex-
cellent company of interpreters, including
Bernard himself, Mesdames Ventura and
Bovy, Messieurs Fresnay, Andre Brunot,
and others.

All thru the opening act, during which a
poverty-stricken keeper of a little draper's
shop is dying in the back room attended by
her brother and her two daughters, there
was a glacial silence. In the course of the
second act, during the heart-rending scene
where her two hard-faced spinster sisters
uncover with unbearable and triumphant
thin-lipped malice the secrets of her inti-
mate life and the paternity of the two chil-
dren, murmurs began to be heard in the
audience. Then someone in the orchestra
seats began to whistle with the aid of a
key. Uproar! "Sortez-le!" cried some.
"Au rideau!" cried others. "Silence!"
''Bravo!" "Bravo!" "Continues!" "Con-
tinues!" On the stage, at a sign from Leon
Bernard, the white-faced actors had re-
mained dumb.

Silence having been restored in the audi-
ence, the actors continued without interrup-
tion till the moment when Celine dies, and
the masqued and costumed figures of the
carnival merry-makers come dancing in
thru the open door of the shop. Once again
the man with the whistle expressed his dis-
taste, and turmoil was let loose. From the
galleries and the parterre came the shouts :
"Sortcc-lcs!" "Bravo pour les acteurs!"
"Hon! Hon! le bourgeois!" "Respectez mi
moins les acteurs!" So the act finished
amid the storm, and the curtain rose and
fell accompanied by the most frantic waves
of cheers and yells and general applause it
has ever been my fortune to hear in a
theater. On the stage the actors bowed
their thanks for the appreciation, all save
Madame Ventura, who had risen from her
death-bed and was gesticulating furiously
in the direction of the man with the
whistle !

During the intermission there was eager
and feverish discussion in the lobbies and
the foyer. The little man who had started
all the commotion was pushed and pinched
and called imbecile and other piquant
names less printable. Old-timers recalled
that, among others, Hugo's Hernani and
Becque's La Parisienne, two pieces now
firmly established in the affections of the
public attending the Comedie Frangaise,
were, at their debuts, received by a house
vigorously vocal with disapproval.

The last act was but a repetition of the
second, save that one man who cried out
something disrespectful to Leon Bernard
had his face slapped by a neighbor and re-
tired nursing his cheek. When the final
curtain descended, it was to torrential ap-
plause, not only for the actors but also for
the play, and it rose and fell to satisfy the
audience that cheered itself hoarse. A most
exciting evening, and one difficult to im-
agine having happened anywhere but in
Paris.

an enchanting packag
for your dressing tabl

Swimset

containing V/INX and
PERT the waterproof rouge

IN this wave-colored box,
cool-gleaming as only the
freshest of greens and blues
could make it, you will find
the regular full-size packages of
PERT and WINX, together
with an eyebrow brush. Think
of the added pleasure of using
them from such a box!

PERT is a cream rouge, or-
ange-colored in the jar, but a
natural pink when applied. It
lasts until you yourself remove

cream or soap and water.

WINX is a waterproof liquid
for darkening the lashes and
making them appear heavier.
Apply it with the glass rod at-
tached to the stopper. Unaf-
fected by swimming or tears.

SWIMSET, at drug or depart-
ment stores, or by mail, $1.50.

Samples ofPertand Winxareadime
each. Send for them — enclose coin ■

ROSS COMPANY

70 Grand Street New York

107 Duke Street, Toronto, Ont., Canada

SK^Sas^

On the

News-stands

August

First

Motion Picture Magazine

For SEPTEMBER

On the

News-stands

August

First

Tne Crenerosity of JVLovie Stars

Personal contact with motion picture celebrities is the medium by
which Adele Whitely Fletcher accumulated a group of short stories
delineating the generosity of movie people. They do not stop with
merely giving money, but continue to give themselves to those who
are less fortunate than they are. "Human Hearts" will remain in
your mind a long time.

JVlary Pickford in "The Street Singer

There will be a fascinating display of Mary's latest photoplay. It is
her first production by Ernst Lubitsch and shows her in an entirely
new role.

A Good vvay To vvaste Advice

Harry Carr, from the depth of his vast experience, tells of the thank-
less job he has had in giving advice to movie people. His tone of
mock tragedy is irresistible and will provoke much laughter.

On the

News-stands

August

First

Motion Picture Magazine

For SEPTEMBER

On the

News-stands

August

First

Page Seventy-Seven

SuAL>QWL/XNL>

Could You Do This?

Masquerade as a famous movie star if you were be-
ing paid to play the part?

To continue the pose after a man with whom you
were once associated appeared in your new life?

To refrain from revealing your true identity when
you found yourself falling in love with this man who
failed to recognise you?

Unknown Quantities

Problem after problem has to be solved by Susie,
an obscure young girl who comes to New York in
search of adventure. Some are tangible but the major-
ity are elusive and Susie finds that adventure with a
vengeance has been thrust upon her.

Susie Takes a Chance

An Absorbing Story by Lucian Cary

From beginning to end it is full of thrills, mystery
and suspense. Compromising situations, perplexing
problems and whirl-wind escapades are at your com-
mand.

How Susie copes with every daring incident will
hold your interest until the last page is read.

You Cannot Afford to Miss It
in the

September Motion Picture Magazine

On the news-stand August first

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Everyone knows the Davis Chin Strap. Thou-
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After many months of investigation in co-operation with a
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Dept. S 5, 507 Fifth Avenue

New York City

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For the enclosed check or money order please send
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Name.
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The beach at Deauville — summer rendezvous
of les elegantes from all the world.

^->. Fww Deauville
I\ews of the Day's

'Mode de Toilette

Deauville! That French seaside village which
becomes for a few short weeks the rendezvous of
les elegantes from all the world. Deauville ! There
one naturally looks for the day's mode in the inti-
mate affairs of the toilette. What, then, is that mode?

Ah! Madame, it is so simple! In the very words
of France, it is this: "On ne melange jamais les par-
fums, " (one should never mingle varying scents).
Rather should one choose a subtle French odeur
which will lend its fragrance to each article of the
toilet table.

What, then, will Madame choose but Djer-Kiss, supreme
creation of Monsieur Kerkoff, which brings to America the
very spirit of Paris herself. Djer-Kiss — that alluring French
parfum which graces with its fragrance each Djer-Kiss
speciality — Parfum, Toilet Water, Vegetale, Face Powder,
Talc, Sachet, Soap, Rouges, Compacts and Creams.

If Madame knows not the charm of Djer-Kiss,
may we suggest that she visit to-day her favorite
shop and learn through the purchase of the
Djer-Kiss specialites the joy of a perfect harmony
*W , of the toilette.

Special

SAMPLE OFFER

In return for 15c
Monsieur Kerkoff's
I mportateurs will send
to Madame their
Parisian Paquet
containing dainty
samples of Djer-Kiss
Parfum, Face Pow-
der and Sachet.
Address Alfred H.
Smith Company, 24
West 34th Street,

New York City

KERKOFF. PARIS

EXTRACT • FACE POWDERS TALC

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Djer-Kiss Talc ! The
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Used with Djer-Kiss
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I »

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Full text of "Shadowland (Mar-Aug 1923)"

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