the craftsman - 1907 - 07 - july.pdf

7/27/2019 The Craftsman - 1907 - 07 - July.pdf

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THECRAFTSMAN\OX~MI XII NC.MLrEK 4

Edward Carpenter: Photograph .Music from the Ojibways Point of View :H) :ll?~i~~A.


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THE CRAFTSMANHOME BUILDERS CLUB

HE CRAFTSMAN HOAlE RUILDERS CLUB includes all yearly subscribersto IIIE CRAFTS MAN. To l~long to it implies neither dues nor obllgatlons of anys


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Fr om a Photografilr by Alvin I,. Cobum.See Page 394.



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Ji&THECRAFTSMA?r

GUSTAV STICKLEY. EDITOR AND PUBLISHERVOLUME XII JULY, 1907 NUMBER 4

MUSIC FROM THE OJ IBWAYS POINT OFVIEW: ART AN UNKNOWN WORD TO THESEPRIMITIVE PEOPLE, AND SONG A PART OFEVERYDAY LIVING: BY FREDERICK BURTON

HE Ojibways respect for music is profound. It meansmore to him than it does to us, for it is an essentialpart of his daily life. IIe does not divorce it fromhis ordinary experiences and look upon it as an art; hehas no comprelicnsion of what art is; music is one ofthe several manifestations of his existence, characterand environinent; it is a spontaneous expression ofhis inl~orn :~pprcciation of beauty, and this form of expression, asdistinguished from other expressions, decorative art for example, heholds in the highest esteem, for nature has endowed him with un-usual!y fine perception of musical beauty. It means more to himthan it does to us in still another sense, for it implies verse. He has

110 wortf for poetry. \IIiatever departs from plain prose is w~gcrn-iw.song, which means that his poetry is not only inseparable from music,l)ut indisting~lislia~~le from it. Among allof cxprcssion through verse is one thing, civilized peoples the artalld the art of expressiontll~OUgll I~lOdUl:ltf31 SOUlldS is quite iIllOtllf?~. linked though they oftenare l)y the deliberate intent of the composer; in the OjibJ\-av conccp-tion the two arts are not mcrcly linked inscparwhl\-, tllc; :im2 fusedinto one.I have been at considerable pilillS during recent years to bringhefore the public in one w!iy and another the results oi research thathave demonstrated the existence among the Ojilways of a type offolksong at once distinctive and beautiful. In that work I spokeand wrote as a musician, to whom song is n form of music, and towhom the chief interest in his research lay in the discovery of ex-quisite melodies, or tunes. In this paper I shall give brief attentionto the other factor in the Ojihways art, for such his music-poetry is,and shall try to indicate how it enters into his daily life.

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MUSIC A PART OF EVERYDAY LIVINGSong is the beginning and end of Ojibway music. He has noinstrumental outfit for the production of music as such, which helpsto establish the fact that he does not conceive of music apart from

words, although he does have a strong perception of absolute music,his sense of melodic beauty being far superior to his sense of poeticbeauty. For the moment let us understand that whenever he ex-presses himself through music, he sings. The pounding of theunrnelodious drum, so disturbing to the civilized ear, is always anaccompaniment to song. He never drums for the sake of drumming.In all his ceremonies, secular and sacred, he dances to vocal music,and no ceremony is complete, or even possible, without it. So, too, withmany of his games; he must have song when he gambles. His prayersarc songs; every action, impulse, or aspiration in his experience is ex-pressed in song. His one instrument aside from the drum, and it isvery rare, is a so-called flute, but it is not designed for the making ofmusic for its own sake; it is always a substitute for the voice, and thetunes played on it are invariably songs.It often proves difficult for an Ojibway to apprehend music as adistinct, separate creation. Time and again after I had come toterms of intimacy with the people, a man would come to me sayingthat he had thought of a new song, and proceed to sing it only toreveal a set of words that I had not heard before, the melody beingsubstantially and often exactly the same as I had taken from hislips on a previous occasion.. Some of the Indians could not be madeto perceive that under these circumstances they had not contributeda new song to my collection. The sound (tune) might be very like,yes, but the nogamon was different-and yet nogamon is a form of theverb which means, I sing.

W HEN the paleface separates the factors in the joint art andexamines Ojibway verse, he is struck first by its extraordinarycompactness. The Ojibway wastes no words, and, beingprimitive, he usually restricts his poem to the expression of a singlethought. This thought may frame itself in words sufficiently clearto him and yet so few that they cannot fill out the melody to whichhe attaches them. In this contingency he repeats words and phrases,.after the manner of the civilized composer, or he resorts to syllablesthat have no meaning. Here are the words of a wedding song,Bayzhi g equayzess ne m ,enegonun , gayget senn ah negechedaybe ego.They mean: A girl has been given to me ; yes, I am exceedinglyglad that she has been given. That is to say, I am transported



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MUSIC A PART OF EVERYDAY LIVINGwith delight because my sweethearts parents have consented to ourmarriage. From our point of view this is the entire poem, but thecomposer of it, who, be it remembered, was of necessity also the com-poser of the music, was so tumultuously stirred by emotion over thegreat event in his life that music was awakened in him to an unusualdegree, and his tune could not be confined to a plain statement ofhis joy. The paleface under similar circumstances might have ampli-fied his original thought by entering upon a glowing description ofhis sweethearts beauty of face and form; he might have descanted onher virtues and graces;Henry Cary in Sally or, following the immortal model set byin Our Alley, he might have narrated hispresent relations with her and forecast the future. Not thus with theIndian. That one thought of jubilant satisfaction was all his mindcould carry with comfort at one time; so, having stated the circum-stances and his feeling, he proceeds to the conclusion of his tune with heyah, which means nothing at all in any language. Does it notsuggest the warbling of birds? a musical impulse expressive of deepemotion finding its vent through modulated tones and resorting tomeaningless syllables merely because the melody needs pegs, soto speak, to hang it on, or because the emotion, as musical feeling atlast anaylsis really is, is utterly outside the pale of such thoughts ascan be expressed in words.

This song, by no means one of the best examples of Ojibwaymelody, although it is fluent and regular in structure, is one of thecomparatively few that may be termed independent, by which I377



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mean that its words convey quite enough to enable the listener tounderstand it. Most songs are dependent for their meaning on cir-cumstances in the knowledge of the listener but unexpressed in thewords. This accounts partly for the compactness referred to. TheIndian tells a story, and at the end says, This is the song for it,proceeding then to sing perhaps three words which, in the light ofthe story, are perfectly intelligible, but, without knowledge of it, in-comprehensible to the Indians themselves. 1 may remark that,owing to the Ojibways extraordinary appreciation of melody as such,many songs are sung to-day to words which the singers do not under-stand. This is sometimes because the words are archaic, and some-times because in the advance of civilization the ancient story hasbeen forgotten, the song surviving because of the strength Gf thetune, and the words lingering because memory easily retains \vordsassociated with music, and because, fimdamentally, as hinted above,the Ojibways love of music is absolute, the words being merely aconvenience to him in expressing his sense of beauty in tone.A song that illustrates capitally the compactness of structure anddependence on circumstances unstated in the verse, proceeds asfollows :

Setting the English equivalents under the Ojibway lords, weget this:Keezhoplz shqu ambp, bcrybogir t shquct m~qyr n keexhoyuh shpmda~y mWarm door in Ivinter door warm doorOjibways who understand English told me that this meant hIydoor is warm in winter time, but not one could give me a hint asto the meaning of his translation. The voung fellows sang it withgreat gusto at all sorts of times and occakions, and not one of them378



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MUSIC A PART OF E\ERYDAY LIVINGseemed to comprehend the difficulty I had in understanding them.I did get an impression that in some way it was a song of hospitality,but it was not until three years after I had put the melody and originalwords on paper that I found an Indian who enabled me to look atthe song from the Indian point of view and grasp its full significance.W EN I was a boy, said he, I often heard my grandfathertell the story that goes with that song. He&then told methe story which, very briefly, concerned a hunter*who waslost in a three-days snowstorm. Just as he was about to succumbto cold and weariness, he heard the soured of a drum. He made hisway hopefully toward the sound, but cautiously, too, for the drumbeats could not tell him that the singer, whose voice was inaudibleat first, was not an enemy. At length he drew near enough to hearthe singer, who was seated in his comfortable wigwam. And thisis what the man was singing, says the relator, plunging at once into Keezhoyah shgunn daym . The words being Ojibway, the perish-ing hunter knew that he had found a friend, and the story ends bytelling how he of the wigwam entertained the wayfarer and, afterthe storm, sent him on his way refreshed.The story presents to the imagination a vivid picture of winter,the sufferings of the lost hunter serving to set forth the terrors andperils of the season, which the man within doors mocks triumphantlym his three-word song.The song, then, may be regarded as a mnemonic summary ofthoughts and impressions. In my opinion it would be doing rankinjustice to the Ojibways imagination if I were to limit the translationof such verse as this to the literal significance of the words. To putthe Indians whole thought in terms of our art it is necessary to statea.t least a suggestion of what the Indian thought but did not express:

Freeze, ye northern winds!Blow, ye frosty blasts!Here within tis warmWhile the winter lasts.Whirl, ye driven snow,Heap in smothring drifts!Winter here lies lowNor his cold hand lifts.There is no rhyme in Ojibway verse, but there are songs whereinthe words fall into rhythkic order beautifully. These are usually

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MUSIC A PART OF EVERYDAY LIVINGthe non-dependent songs, those that tell a story, or express more thana single fact. In such songs the melody is always more hiphly de-veloped and more nearly after the manner of the music of civi ization,though always with distinctive Indian characteristics.Presentation of the Ojibway regard for music would be incom-plete without some reference to the proprietary value they set ontheir songs. The composer is the owner, and wherever ancient cus-toms are still preserved no Indian ventures to sing a song that doesnot belontribes, per% to his family. This view, I believe, is common to manyaps all, but among the Ojibways the march of civilizationhas thrown down so many barriers that a great many of the old songsare now widely distributed. It is still a common experience for theinvestigator, however, to fail of getting a song he wants because theIndian who sang it yesterday refuses to repeat it today on the groundthat it belongs to another, and if it is to be reduced to the white mansnotes, that others permission must be obtained. Aproprietorship is also manifested in the extreme re uctance of theeneral sense ofpeople to sing for the white man with his pencil and note paper. Asone dusky friend exto us that are f lained to me,who ly Indian. Our songs are the only thing leftYouve taken away everything elsethat was ours, and now you want to rob us of our songs. It tookme many months of patient argument with this man and his neighborsto persuade them that I left behind all I took away, and that mywork was the one sure way to preserve the songs from oblivion.I OJIBWAY music the general lack of development, speaking tech-nically for the moment, is the chief mark of its primitive character;and it is much the same in Ojibway verse. Often is the poetic im-pulse plainly manifest, and with equal plainness the inability to work1t out. The Ojibway is more gifted in music than in poetry; he haswrought out a type of beautiful melody, much of it in perfect form;his verse, for the most part, has not emerged from the condition ofraw material. The spirit of music, struggling for expression throughhis primitive soul, finds its way to utterance in spite of the words withwhich he associates it. The Indian, like the average paleface, is in-capable of grasping the conception of music as a thing of absolutebeauty. Does a melody sing in his head and insist upon vocal utter-ance, he must forthwith invent a series of words that fit the rhythmicscheme of the tune, for thus alone can he correlate his sense of pleasurein modulated sounds with his habitual regard of other phenomenathat appeal to him through the material senses as plain, compre-380



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MUSIC A PART OF EVERYDAY LIVINGhensible facts. We might conceive of an Indian voicing a melodytentatively to meaningless syllables and wondering as to the natureof that tonal entity that comes from he knows not where, that allureshis soul, that compels him to sing. He might wonder at it as ahermit who is visited by angels in a vision. It might awaken awe, asif it were a message from another world, the very holiest of holyspeech of Gitche Manitou himself. Thrilling with the pure delighttha.t music alone of all the arts and things upon or above the earthcan arouse, he might yet hesitate to link it to words lest he offendthe manitou who sent it, lest he misinterpret the message so subtlyand convincingly spoken to his heart; and thus, bowing in humilitybefore the mysterious presence manifested in new melody, he mightcontent himself and the visiting impulse with a wordless song, leavingthe meaning of it to be revealed at the manitous own pleasure.The fact probably is that no Indian ever went as far as this inspeculation. His process of composition, as far as that process canbe manifested, is identically such as I have suggested. He does singhis new melody to meaningless syllables, tentatively, correcting ithere and there, but meantime experimenting with words that conveymeaning ; and the probability is that the precise sentiment of thewords finally accepted is established by rhythmic consideration,those that fall readily into the scheme of accents appealing to him asthe most suitable vehicle for the melody. And, aside from depend-ence upon the scheme of accents, the character of the words thatsugmo ii est themselves to him must depend upon his own character, hise of life, manner of thought, the exigency of his immediate situa-tion, whatever that may be, and not upon the unborn tune. I amaware that there is room for controversy in this view, and it wouldgive me great pleasure to break the cudgels of argument with anywho hold a different opinion; but this is no place for controversy, andI must be content if I have suggested, what so few palefaces compre-hend, that there is a warm human side to the redman which demandsrespect and commands the admiration and affection of those whohave been fortunate enough to become intimately acquainted withhim. It is no savage who speaks through these beautiful melodies;it is a man, deficient in development, but a man nevertheless whofeels as we do, and who gropes blindly and often hopelessly towardthat freedom of expression which distinguishes the man of clvllization.

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SOLON H. BORGLUM: SCULPTOR OF AMERI-CAN LIFE: AN ARTIST WHO KNOWS THEVALUE OF OUR INCOMPARABLE MATERI-ALS: BY SELENE AYER ARMSTRONGHE ironical fate which decrees that a prophet shall bewithout honor in his own country has permitted thehigh achievement of the American sculptor, Solon II.Borglum, to be more loudly heralded and widelyrecognized in Europe than in America. Such is notto be wondered at in the instance of those of our artistswhose study abroad causes their work to be dominatedby French and Classical influences to such a degree that it loses itsAmerican character, but in the case of Mr. Borglum the circumstanceis somewhat extraordinary. For he stands pre-eminent as a sculptorof American life in one of its most distinctive phases, and the spiritand form of his art have remained essentially American. His groups

embody in marble and bronze the free, primitive life of the greatWest, and in the freshness of their inspiration show no trace evenof the despotic influence of Rodins genius, or of aught that is aliento America. We have yet had no genius in America, with tyrannous eye whichknew the value of our incomparable materials, wrote Emerson.As Mr. Borglum talked to me recently of the ideal which has beenthe guiding principle of his work, it seemed to me that here, aftermany years, was the answer to Emersons words. I set out for Paris, said Borglum, hilt when I got there I wassuddenly dismayed. I saw that the most any artist can do is to liveand work with nature, and I said to myself, that is what I must doat home. Why have I come ? And the whole time I stayed, Istruggled not to let my work lose its stamp of American life. Thatis what our artists fail to prevent. They go to Europe and becomeEuropeans. They absorb the mythology and classicism which inEurope are the true thing, but which in America are not true. Iwish I could tell you how deep in me lies this American idea ; howsacred to me is the ambition to make my work typically American,to have it express the democracy, the splendid youth, the crudeness,too, if you will, of my native countrv. Such ambition in us all is theonly basis for a great national life!Although as a child and youth Solon Borglum seems to have beenunaware of the genius latent within him, his entire life experience wasan unconscious preparation for his destined work. He was born in382



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- &.-- ^.

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Fr om a Photografih by A. B. Bogart.

EVENING. BYSOLON BORGLUM.

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From a Photogro#J r by A. B. Bogart.

SIOUX INDIAN BUFFALO DANCE.BY SOLON BORGLUM.



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rjq@y -- .-

Fr om Photogrnphs by A. B. Bogart.NIGHT HAWKING.BUCKING BRONCHO.BY SOLON BORGLUM.



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Fr ona a PhotograQh by A. B. Bogart.

SNOWDRIFT. BYSOLON BORGLU$t.

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AMERICAS INCOM?AR~ABLE MATERIALSOgden, Utah, in eighteen hundred and sixty-eight, of Danish parents,who later settled in Omaha. The boy Solon was a timid, quiet child, oflively imagination; ilr nothing so ,tn acknowledged failure at his books, delightingmuch as the companionship of his fathers horses andthe freedom of the prairie. At the age of fifteen he went with aneltler brother to California to stock a ranch, and here he was initiatedfor the first time into the full round of activities which make up thecowboys life. He soon became inured to the primitiveness of itail. and his heart opened to the wild, free messages of the plains asit had never opened to the influences of the schoolroom and the pro-gressive prairie city. \Yhen, at the end of a year on the Californiaranch, his brother decided to return to civilization, Solon determineddefinitely upon the profession of a ranchman. He took charge ofhis fathers ranch at Loop River, Nebraska, threw up his shackthere, and was soon absorbed in the responsibilities of boss. Therbgime at Loop River, however, was a model of democracy, forBorglum was one with the boys, eating, sleeping with them, andperforming the same tasks which fell to the crudest of them. Thehorses and cattle, too, were his constant companions, and his loveand sympathy for them taught him the secrets of their every mood.Sun, wind, rain and blizzard went also plentifully into the makingof life at Loop River. And like the child in the poem who wentforth every day with open heart and receptive consciousness, so itwas with Solon Borglum. These things became a part of him,-the close comradeship of the cowboys, the dumb love of animals,the desolation of the plains, the fury of the stampede, the prairiesuns fierce heat, and the stinging cold of the blizzard. They enteredhis soul as silent forces, to become articulate later in his work.Y UNG Borglum was twenty-four, when, influenced largelyby the advice of his brother, who was a successful painter,he determined to become an artist. He sold the ranch for anindifferent sum, and a year later we find him struggling againstpoverty in Los Angeles and Santa Ana, and trying to learn to paint.The art journals which he read spurred his ambition, and on themeager proceeds from a sale of the pictures he had painted, he wentto Cincinnati to enter the Art School there. The passion for art,which had been latent in him so long, was now fully aroused, andhe worked incessantly.Both because he yearned for the companionship of his old friends,the horses, and because modeling would give him an anatomical

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AMERICAS INCOJlIJAR~4BLE MATERIALS knowledge of the animal that would be helpful in painting, he ob-tained admission to the United States stables in Cincinnati, and beganto model his first group. This represented a horse pawing the bodyof a dead horse on the plains, and, if weak technically, showed suchunusual boldness of conception and depth of feeling, that when itwas exhibited in the annual school exhibition Borglum was awardeda special prize of fifty dollars.The winning of a larger award, and of a scholarship during hissecond year at the Cincinnati school, fired his determination to goto Paris. He was soon established in a poor, bare room in the LatmQuarter there, and after some difficulty succeeded in obtaining ad-mission to the city stables. With the Louvre and Luxembourgeasily accessible, surrounded as it were by the most glorious examplesof Old World art, he heard still the call of the wild, and it was largelyas a panacea for homesickness for the prairie that he beaan the Lassoing Wild Horses. $ .Id%orseroupIn this, a cowboy has lassoe a wlby the neck, and his partner, on a plunging pony, leans forward witharm upraised in the act of lassoing the legs. The tense fi ures of theaowboys, and the spirited grace and fierce resistance of t e animals,are executed with a realism that epitomizes the thrilling action ofWestern life. To the delight of the young sculptor the group wasaccepted by that years Salon, and was highly praised by the critics.Encouraged by words of approval from Fremiet, the Frenchsculptor, and from other artists who had become interested, andreolcing that he had found in sculpture the medium of his truestie f expression, Borglum set to work with renewed energy. Thefamous Stampede of Wild Horses, exhibited at the Paris Expo-sition and now owned by the Cincinnati Museum, was speedily com-pleted. This is a life-size group in which the frenzy and terror ofanimals plunging on the brmk of an abyss are depicted with thatpassionate abandon of the artist to his subject which is an aspect ofgenius.I IS also interesting, and not surprising, to note the warm humansentiment with which the sculptor endows his animal groups.As an illustration of this let us take the infinitely pathetic andtender piece Snowdrift. Could anything be more hunianly elo-quent than its appeal of maternity and infantile helplessness ?-themother filled with anxiety for the safety of her young, the foal whollyunconscious of the danger of the storm, and happily nestling closefor warmth.



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THE FRIENDS INGRATITUDEOf course not. But have patience, Doctor! You will find Ihave estimated him correctly. Why, only this morning, when I toldhim a friend of mine was coming, meaning you, he leaped up likeone stark mad. I thought he would strike me. Friend, he yelledwildly, you have no friends; you are deceived. There is no suchthing. Now what do you say to that ?Oh, well, I admitted, perhaps he is interesting after all.But in mercy get me something to eat, my good Larsen, and hurryabout it. I can devour an ox.You Americans are always in a hurry-and always want to dobig things, he 1aughed, and ran of? to the kitchen. In a momenthe returned.He is coming, he said, almost with excitement. I saw himfrom the kitchen window. Maria pointed him out. Maria was hiswife.The knob was turned round quickly and the door flew back.The object of our curiosity stamped his feet on the threshold, the snowfrom 111s shoes spattering in every direction. He glanced at neitherof us, but crossed the room in a few hurried steps.Now! spoke my host, a bit exultingly.He is queer. \Vill he come down again ?He will-if he is hungry. Ilarsen shot one of his knowingglances at me.A HOUR passed, during which curiosity held my appetite incheck. The mysterious *guest had not looked like a man tobe afraid of. While his Jaw was broad and square, his eyes, adark gray, made him seem harmless enough. Of course I had not

seen tiuch of him, and was in no position to form a conclusive judg-ment. At last the big, old-fashioned timepiece cracked off six strokesvery emphatically, and T,arsen, smiling, issued from the kitchen. Supper is ready, Doctor. Now well have a good look at him.Lucky I have so few guests at this time. I fancy my friend is notfond of company, he -added, chuckling.Peter, arrayed in a clean, white shirt, came in to announce thathe thought the mares foot was now so much improved that if I choseWC might drive to Svendborg in the morning.The snow is excellent, he explained, and the mare will likeit better than the bare road.The three of us repaired to the little, low-lofted dining room,where Maria was running about placing dishes on the square old391



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THE FRIENDS INGRATITUDE

table that had probably seen twenty years of service. Only por-ridge and pancakes, sir, she said simply, giving me a chair. ButI kne w that Maria could make porridge and pancakes as few womenin Denmark could, and I was quite satisfied.I had despatched my first plateful of porridge and called for asecond one, which Maria had gone for, when our silent uest camein. He stopped to look at us a moment, then wal ed slowlyaround the table to a chair next to mine.Peter and Larsen both turned their eyes upon me; I turned mineupon the guest, who looked about indifferently.He is my friend, said my host, coming opportunely. to therescue. I spoke to you of him this morning.Yes, you said he was a friend, the man replied shortly. Thento Maria, who stood waiting.I took up the thread. A small portion.I am from America-

So am I, he snapped out.The gruffness of his manner irritated me. He was, perhaps,more dangerous than I had at first supposed. I must be careful.There was a long while of oppressive silence. Larsen left the tablewithout ceremony, Peter following. Superior pancakes, I lingered over my coffee.make these over there. cried the man suddenly. They cantThis last was spoken half unconsciously,as if to himself. Folding his arms and half closing his eyes, hestared at the empty plate in front of him. He drew a long sigh.With tense interest I watched and waited. Presently he spokeagain.all. But the articulation was vague. America-back-tell-I could catch only a word or two. All at once his head felllifelessly on his breast. I sprang up and made a cry, at which Larsenand Peter darted into the room. The guest did not move.He is dead, cried Larsen with terrified concern.But the syncope was quickly over. A few drops of cognac re-vived him. He sat up again and looked at me hard.Why did you bother me? he demanded sullenly, but I couldsee that he was rather pleased than resentful. Because, I replied, soberly enough, you are our friend.I had touched the wound. He reflected a moment.I cannot believe you, he said, yet-We stood by you, perhaps saved you, I urged.He glanced suspiciously at us; then exclaimed, with fierce de-vision.392



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THE FRIENDS INGRATITUDEI might as well tell you.No, not to you, I am going back to give myself up.ened, drew back. he said sharply to Larsen and Peter, who, fright-He put a hand on my shoulder. Come, he

whispered. In his room he sat down on the edge of the bed; I tookthe only chair and placed it very close. I ts my conscience,mine. he began abruptly, fixing his eyes uponI thought I could forget.lessly strong. I thought I was strong, heart-IIe laughed a little and paused.X0, you are not strong, I put in.But I was,pace the floor. he insisted vehemently, rising and beginning toI was strong enough to-. He checked him-self. Oh, a weaker man, a boy could have done it.After a minute of silence he made a new start.It is twenty years ago or more. He called himself my friend;you are listening-my friend. He was poor and I helped him. Wewere both young then ; both orphans ; that was the common tie. Hehad always been sickly, and could do but little work. He lookedto me as to a guardian, a protector. The happiest hours of my lifewere spent in taking care of him. He was a companion. I wantedhim the weakling he was. I could not picture him otherwise. Ishould have hated him if he had been strong. His eyes flashedand the blood was in his cheek.I took him to America-to Dakota. In watching his slim,boyish figure my own strength seemed to increase. My sole am-bition was to make a cosy home for him. Thus I lived for him alone.The clean, crisp air of the west had a strange effect upon him. Hesaid he wished he could join me in the work. We had a farm outthere. He begged me to let him handle the plow. He was strongnow, he said. But I was afraid to lose him. Then his will grewstronger.were vain. He begged me no more. I was angry. RemonstrancesA day of hard work would kill him, I thought.Then he upbraided me, relentlessly, I who had thrown everystone out of his path.he would go away. IIe upbraided me. He threatened me, sayingYou shall not leave me, I cried, frenzied atthe change. But he only smiled. And that night he left me.His eyes flashed again, and he sprang up.But I found him. I found him and I killed-.He stopped and turned upon me.Tell them, Larsen and Peter, to bring the police. I am ready.The next morning the guest did not come down. He was gone.

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PHOTOGRAPHY AS ONE OF THE FINEARTS: THE CAMERA PICTURES OF ALVINLANGDON COBURN A VINDICATION OF THISSTATEMENT: BY GILES EDGERTONHE claims of photography to a place among the finearts have formed the subject-matter of frequent keencontroversies between artist and photographer. lliedefenders of the claims of photography have stoutlycontended that the whole spirit and meaning of arthave been missed by the opponents of those claimswhen they have based their arguments upon the factthat the photographer must work through such a mechanical mediumas the camera. JYliy not also deny the claim of music for the reasonthat, in its highest form, it demands such mechanical means of ex-pression as the highly complex and mechanical musical instruments ?

Why. should the creative impulse and the quickened imz~ginationbe restrained from using an?/ agency, any means of expresslou ?lhe victory of the champions of photography, now genrrall~conceded, was not the result of formal argument, however, but ofachievement . The work of such leading exponents of the Photo-Secessionist movement as Gertrude Kiisebier, (Jlarence E-1. \\liite,Alfred Stieglitz and Edward Steichen has been an all-sufficientanswer to those Jvho carped about the necessary limitations of I~urelymechanical processes, and a vindication of the claims of those n-howould place such work among the fine arts, along with music.painting and sculpture. These pioneers in the new derclopmcnt ofphotography, burstir1.g the narrow bounds which held camera workto the more mechamcally exact reproduction of physical likcness-bounds which had not been essentially widened since the daguerrco-type days-set out to conquer the camera, to make it express spiritand feeling no less realistically than physical shapes. In a word,they believed it possible to so dominate the mechanical processes ofphotography as to produce pictures as truly artistic, as expressiveof creative imagination and poetic inspiration, as painting OIsculpture. They believed that no innate qualities to express emotionand insight into life belon, 0 to the materials with which artists haveworked, but that they are inherent in the artist. Therefore, theyargued, there is no reason why those qualities which constitute thesoul of art should stop short, and, having conquered pen and ink.chalk, paint, brushes, marble, wax, clay, bronze, and a variety ofother things, making them means of art-expression, refuse to admit.39-I



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From a Photogra#h by Alvi n L. Coburrr

ALBERT STIEGLITZ.

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From L) Photograph by Alvin L. Coburn.

ALVIN LANGDON COBURN.



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-Frr m a Photograph by Alvin L. Coburn.

MRS. GERTRUDE KiiSEBIER.



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. , .,

From a Photograph by Aloi n L . Coburn.

VAN DEERING PERRINE INONE OF THE WINTER STORMSHE LOVES TO PAINT.

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From D Photograph by Alv in L. Cobum.

A PORTRAIT STUDY



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CREATIVE IMPULSE IN PHOTOGRAPHYthe possibility of achieving a similar conquest over the camera andthe dry plate and their accessories.and conquered. In this spirit they set to work,Among the most brilliant and successful of these artist-photog-raphers is Alvin Langdon Cobum, a young American artist who hasbeen winning golden rmow11 in England, and to whom no smallmeasure of the success of the new art-photography in commandingrecognition and respectful placing among the fine arts is due. &=.Coburn is only twenty-four, but he has achieved an unique and enviableposition in the art world. Among his fellow Secessionists, it is thewonderful, seemingly limitless, range of his work, no less than hismastery of almost every technical process known to our greatly en-larged modern photography, which commands attention and respect.Some of his finest prints are simple bromide enlargements, though-Mr. Bernard Shaw says--they do not look in the least like anybodyelses enlargements. He also takes the platinotype and secures, bysimple, straightforward platinotype printing, results which are theenvy of the best photographic artists. He turns to what is knownamong photographers as the gum process and is quite as much athome as when using the platinotrpe. Again, he takes the ingeniousand somewhat difficult device of unposing a gum print on a platino-type, as a means of subduing contrast. Many other photographershave done this and given it up when they found it did not producethe result a,imed at.~ But not so Mr. Coburn: finding the methodlittle better than worthless as a means of subduing contrast, he dis-covered-apparently by close observation of the accidents of ex-periment after experiment-that by it he could secure a wonderfulgolden brown tone, quite unlike anything produced by chemicallytoned platinotype, which combines with tile softness and delicacy ofthe platinotypc image. Studying oil painting as an auxiliary to hiscamera work, he adapts the three-color process, and with a singlenegative and a few casual pigments produces wonderful color effectsin his portraits. In short, from the simplest process to the mostdifficult multiple printing he is master of the technical difficultiesinvolved in printing from negatives.

G 01) negatives are ver? largely a matter of accident. Giventhe utmost care and wisdom in the selection of subjects andtime, it is nevertheless true that the novice may secure withhis kodak a more artistic negative than the trained veteran, and thatthe veteran himself will get the most artistic negatives largely as a401



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CREATIVE IMPULSE IN PHOTOGRAPHYresult of chance. The genius of the artist is called into play after-ward-in the hand-work upon the negative and the printing. 1Manyof his fellow artists and many critics marvel at Mr. Coburns work,and are amazed that so young a man should be so completely masterof the technical difficulties which they still encounter.that while he is a young man, They forgetMr. Coburn is really quite a veterancraftsman, who has sixteen years experience behind him.Unlike most artist-photographers, Mr. Coburn does not dependto any extent upon the manipulation of lights and special studio ac-cessories. Indeed, he has no studio, preferring to wander in questof suitable subjects and to photograph them amid their own sur-roundings. He does not believe m the studio method, holding it asa fundamental article of his creed that people cannot be convincinglyportrayed out of their proper environment. In the spirit of the oldliterary canon that in order to write a biography it is necessary firstof all to love the subject and enter into full sympathy with it (a canonmost of our modern professional biographers ignore), Mr. Coburnbelieves that to secure an artistic portrait of a person, the artist, nomatter whether he works with canvas and brush or with camera anddry plates, must know his subject and be in full sympathy with it.Coburns admiration for Rodin and his work inspired him to do a por-trait of that great master sculptor of the age, and the result is awonderful presentation of the man and artist.So, too, with the portrait of Mr. George Bernard Sham. Tobegin with, it is admirable as a picture. Without knowing whoseportrait it was, a lover of the beautiful would proudly andhang it in a prominent place and revel in it as a picture of rare c iladlyarm.As a portrait of the famous writer of cynical plays, however, it is amasterpiece. The pose is a copy of Rodins En Penseur.ILIKE manner the portrait of Edward Carpenter appeals to oneas an intimate and almost reverent portrayal of the fine spiritwhose constructive and wholesome gospel inspires so many ear-nest souls in two hemispheres. It is not a mere likeness of the physicalman. The sentient spirit, the vital force of this prophet of Democ-racv, is expressed with just as much power and inspiration as Wattsput into his painted portraits. The same feeling is produced by hisportraits of H. G. Wells, Mark Twain, Gilbert Chesterton, the Eng-lish maker of paradoxical essays, and of the artists mother. Thereis an entire freedom from artificiality and an overwhelming sense ofsympathy and the impelling power of the creative impulse.402



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CREATIVE IMPULSE IX PIIOTOGRAPHYThis is also true of his studies of architecture and of charac-teristic city scenes. He takes a towering New York skyscraper, forexample, and one knows at once that he believes in the glorious future

of a form of architecture almost universally condemned as ugly andrepellant. Almost superfluous are his wise and courageous words toan English interviewer Kow, the idea I had in making this pi+ture . . . was to try and render the beauty of what is commonly,but quite erroneously, regarded as a very ugly thing. If I have madethe observer feel the dignity of the architecture, with its straight linespra.ctically unornamented and with only the proportions to give itcha,rm, . . . I am satisfied, for 1 feel that the architects of thefuture, artists all of them (such as the architects of Wells in hisModern Utopia), will do wonderful thing with steel and stone-like this building, only much finer-towering to the clouds. Inthis spirit Mr. Coburn seeks subjects amid the great docks of Liver-pool, the bridges of London, Rome and Venice.In landscape he manifests equal power. There is a study, The Snowy Hill-Top, which, for the charm with which it glorifiesa simple and commonplace bit of scenery, deserves to be called anartistic masterpiece. The silhouetted branches of the trees arecharmingly brought out in a composition that in a painting would gofar to establish the artists reputation. The Day After the Blizzardand The Track Through the Woods are almost equally effectiveand pleasing. Characteristic of the highest level of the great Palis-a.des which guard the Hudson, and as beautiful as it is characteristic,is Above the Hudson. The struggling figure, making his waythrough the heavy snowdrift, is Van Deering Perrine, the painter ofthe Palisades, and Mr. Coburns photograph might almost be takenfor a reproduction of one of his paintings.Mr. Coburn is no apologist for his art. He believes in it thor-oughly. To him, photography is not a lesser medium than painting,but for many purposes a greater. I do not feel that it is the aimof a work of graphic art to tell a story, he says, but rather to ex-press the feelings of the artist. If he has a story to tell, his thoughtsshould he expressed with a pen and not with a lens, or any of theclumsier methods of making pictures, such as painting or etching.But for the ensnaring and illusive visions of things, only half felt andhardly realized, fleeting things like the movement of smoke, the re-flections in water, or the ever-changing forms of clouds on a windyday, there is no other medium but photography responsive enoughto give these things in their fulness.

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THE STORY OF A TRANSPLANTED INDUSTRY:LACE WORKERS OF THE ITALIAN QUARTEROF NEW YORK: BY ELISABETH A. IRWIN

TALL, ugly office building at the lower end of Mac-Dougal Street marks the entrance to what was onceAaron Burrs suburban estate. Here one hundredyears ago the beautiful Theodosia used to gallopout on her pony to meet her father coming up fromthe city. From here a winding road led to the charm-ing old house near the river bank where ,4aronentertained his friends. This was knoivn as Richmond Hill. Nowthe house is gone, the trees are felled, and streets run ruthlesslythrough Theodosias garden. Ilie charm is not gone, however.The whole district reeks with associations and the rows of old houseson Charlton, Varick and MacDougal Streets at least have the airof being the immediate successors of the Burrs wild roses and holly-hocks. In contrast to these dignified old mansions we find thetenants a picturesque community of Southern Italians. MacDougalStreet from Washington Square to Spring Street is teeming withswarthy babies and their gaily, attired mothers. In the fall of theyear, children bearing trays of gay flowers for our spring hats plyback and forth from home to shop. Red peppers hanging in stringsfrom the windows and the little stands green with salads add thebright colors that belong to the native land of this transplanted race.It is very fittingly in this quarter, with more Italians to the acrethan Italy itself has ever boasted, that a true Italian industry hasbeen started. The big, light rooms on the second floor of one ofthese old mansions have been turned over to the making of Italianembroidery and lace. The Rosies, the Angelinas, the Lucias andMarias need no longer wear out their deft artistic fingers by wrappingcandy, or binding pasteboard boxes. Here the Italian instinct folcreating the beautiful finds full p!ay, and full pay.The embroidery and lace which is being made is from the pat-terns of the fifteenth and sixteenth century. This art was almostforgotten in Italy itself until about fifty years ago, when it was re-vived by some of the wealthy Italian ladles, under whose eyes thepeasants were often idle and in n-ant because of no remunerativeoccupation when crops failed or famine came. Simultaneously inseveral different sections of Italy, this industry was recreated. A fewold women were found who had learned some of the original stitchesfrom their grandmothers and were able to copy pieces of work that404



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STORY OF A TRANSPLANTED INDUSTRYhad come down in the families of the nobility. These old womenwere made teachers and soon it became evident that the genius formaking beautiful laces had not died with the work itself. With thisrevival of interest, old samples of lace and embroidery have beencollected from monasteries, convents, churches and castles, manypieces several hundred years old.desistitcfl

In this way nearly all the antiquens which are rare and beautiful have been revived and copiedby stitch.The number of schools increased rapidly, and the quality of thework improved until now it is possible to buy in Italy laces as fineand embroideries as beautiful as those old bits that have been so longadmired as examples of a lost art.

T WO years ago several American women who are interested inthe Italians in New York were sand admiring the laces, lamente cr ending the winter in Italy,that such talent should belost upon box factories and sweatshops when the Italian girls migrateto America. Fromthis discussion, underthe spell of the blueItalian sky, originatedthe plan of starting theindustry here. Theytalked much about it,and while they werestill in Italy they en-listed the co-operationof the patronesses andteachers of the workthere, and one of thefinest teachers atRome promised tocome and start thework in New York, ifthey would find thegirls.By November,nineteen hundred andfive, the AmericanCommittee had se-cured one room and CHATTERI NG IN ITALI AN AS FASTAS THEIR FINGER S CAN FLY.

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STORY OF A TRASSPLANIEI) INDUSTRYsix girls willing to begin the work at two dollars a week. l-he Scuola dIndustrie Italiane, as the school is called, opened in thissmall way under the direction of 3Iiss Carolina Amari, who c;tmefrom Italy according to her promise, with patterns and materials tolaunch the enterprise here. Miss Amari brought with her manyof the old patterns to be copied and pieces of work begun in theschool there, to be finished.It was a problem at first how the beginners work should be madeto pay for itself. This was solved, however, by Miss Amari, whobrought partially finished pieces where the more complicated workwas done and the easy, but time-consuming stitches were left for theirls here.fi This plan worked very successfully. By the time of therst exhibition of work in December, several handsome pieces wereactually finished to be shown in addition to the Italian samples ofwhat might later be expected.The adaptability of the girls in Italy to this work encouragedthe American women to bring over not only the patterns for the laces,but the form of or anization as nearly as possible. No time cardmarks the arrival o9 the girls, and no forewoman shouts commandsand reproofs into their ears. A glimpse into their rooms, now twoinstead of one, on a winter morning would show half a dozen groupsof girls gathered about the cheery grate fire or near the big windowschattering in Italian as fast as their fingers can fly-that IS the chat-tering limit-when their tongues outstrip their needles; then, and onlythen, is restraint placed upon them. Here twenty girls, each work-ing out a different pattern on a different fabric, present quite anotheraspect from that of the box factory on the next block, where a glimpseinto a badly-lighted, ill-smelling loft reveals forty or fifty youngItalians, who might be the sisters of the merry lace-makers, pastingand folding boxes amid the clatter of machinery and the harsh com-mands of the foreman, whose sole duty it is to walk up and downthe long lines and spur them on to faster work.The factory laws, however, are carefully observed bv the managersof the Scuola in spirit as well as in letter. No child laborers, noovertime, no evening work, are found here.stringently insisted upon, Working papers areout after the days work. and half past five sees the girls troopingMore than that, a bright, homelike at-mosphere, not stipulated hy the Labor Commission, pervades thewhole place. The house where it is situated is a Settlement andoften as someone opens the door, to pass in or out, a song from thekindergarten below floats in and is taken up by the girls as they sew.406



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STOR 1- OF A TRANSPLANTED INDUSTRYremunerative trades to learn this new craft. One girl, loath to re-linquish her three dollars a week, to which she had recently beenraised from two-fifty, and reluctant to start again on two dollars,at the end of a month passed her fondest hopes and was earning three-fifty ; now she is making seven. Had she remained at her formertask of wrapping chocolates, five dollars a week would have been allshe could have hoped for in a lifetime.nine and ten dollars, and one eleven. Other girls are earning eightThis fact is sufEicient to keepthe school full and to have a waiting list, so that no pay is given nowuntil the beginners have learned enough to be really earners. Theyusually begin earning after the second week. Then, too, the induce-ment of piece-work, always a luring prospect, is a great spur to am-bition. Since this prize falls to the fine rather than the fast workers,it keeps up the standard of work.LMlss Amari has been back and forth twice between her twoschools, the one in Rome and the one here, carrying inspiration fromone to the other in the form of samples and finished products. QueenMargherita, interested in the embroidery schools from the beginningin Italy, has taken an especial interest in the starting of the NewYork school.L ST autumn Miss Amari took work done here for exhibitionat Milan, and left here several genuine antiques to be copied.One particularly beautiful lace pattern is copied from an in-sertion that was found on the skirt of a pope. Another takes itsname from the Queen. Several exhibits have been held here wherethe work has found admirers, and from these have come enough ordersto keep the girls at work from one season to the next. At first thework was mostly strips of embroidery for trimmings, then adaptablepieces, such as table covers, doilies and pillows; but now since thedemand has been created, shirt-waists and collars, belts, ba s anddresses are being rapidly designed and produced. Most of tB e oldwork is done on very heavy unbleached linen, with thread of thesame color. The result is very effective. A lighter grade, white or grayjust off the white, is used for many pieces, and a few of the smaller,finer patterns are being put on fine handkerchief linen for babiescaps and dresses.It was uncertain at first just how much of a market could be foundfor the work in this country. It was tolerably certain, however, thatone could be worked up, for New York women, many of them, goto Italy for the purpose of procuring just such laces as are now being408



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STORl- OF A TRANSPLANTED INDUSTRYma.de here. Ihe present appreciation of hand-work, joined withthe previous reputation of ltalian work, have made the products ofthe school salable from the beginning. NOW a salesroom hasbeen started, where the work is always on exhibition. Exhibitsof the work have also been sent to other cities in this country.The results of these have demonstrated that America is ca able ofappreciating the same work here that it usually travels abroa cf to find.Miss Florence Colgate, chairman of the executive committee, haslong been interested in Italian cut-work, embroidery and lace, andwas one of the originators of the scheme.of the executive work from the beginning, She has done a great dealnot only in her practicalwork in connection with the school, but m planning and manathe exhibits and getting the work before


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WHOM THE GODS LOVE: BY CAROLYNSHERWIN BAILEYHE problem had been a difficult one to tackle. It

Because of

wasL necessary, even, to refer it to a number of sub-committees, and it had been side-tracked for weeks;but the Society had arrived, at last, at a happy andhumane solution. In the polite nomenclature ofcharity the family of Pasquale junior was about tobe broken up.tendencies not to be tolerated in polite society, Pas-.~quale senior had, some time since, been landed at that haven of alldaring souls: The Island.and washed a The wife of Pasquale had washed,.other islands, %ain, and coughed, and had recently landed, also, atut of uncertain location. It was not reasonable to,suppose that the Society could go on paying weekly rent for threechildren when the responsibility might be shifted, so the Sub-Com-mittee had decided upon a farm for Pasquale junior, a Home spelledwith a capital II for little Assunta, and the orphan asylum for thebaby; a.nd it sent its chairlady to notify the family.Assunta had just finished wiping the three dishes, and the tea-pot-from which the baby had drained the last blissful dregs-andshe was rolling up the dish towel into the fi ure of a doll.since Assunta had abandoned the doll myt fi Some timeas an exploded theory-as long ago as three years, when she was six; but the baby was anexcuse for slight frivolity.Pasquale junior sat upon the table, jingling three dimes and anickel, and raising his thin little chest to greater height than wouldhave seemed possible from his twelve hard years.Sausages this night, Assunta, he said, and macaroni! Iah-eady got them by the delicatessen. All the papers by me I sold. Murder, murder !! I cry, All about the murder! And nomurder is, but I sell all the papers. Assunta, Pasquales voicesa.nk to a whisper, lest the bare walls repeat his words, Assunta,one can a dollar and seventy-five make by the hospital! Run undera horse at the curbing-a little bit-so.under the table. He illustrated bp crawlingGet run over.doctor. Comes the ambulance; comes the cop and theCome free beds at the hospital; and from off visitors youcan get money by telling how your mother died on you.did it. I, also, could do it. My frienBut the tenement door opened, and the chairlady entered. Itwas not an attractive interior, and it did seem that the Society had410



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WHOM THE GODS LOYE been wise in its decision. The table, chair, couch, and the packingbox cut down for a cradle, had all seen better, palmier days. Thebaby, who put his thumb in his mouth, and curled his lip uncertainlyat the entrance of a stranger, was not quite cleanly in his appearance.Assunta picked up her brown calico skirts, and made the quaintcourtesy her mother had brought from the old country. Pasquale,recovering suddenly from his horse episode beneath the table, roseand doffed his fathers fur cap which he wore at all times now asinsi nia of his rank as head of the family-and Pasquale bowed, also,ao t e representative of charity. Dear little children, began the chairlady, ausdown to pick up the baby, who promptly emitted iciously, stoopings lrieks of anguish,and held up his arms beseechingly to Assunta, You are not goingto live in this horrible tenement house any longer.to get you all in the morning. We are comingPasquale shall go to a nice farmer inthe country, and learn how to make hay. Assunta is going to a bighouse where she can have a clean apron every day, and learn tocook-and the baby, little man, -the baby opened his mouth fora fresh wail-is going to live with all the other babies.We all by the same train go ? asked Assunta passively. Longexperience in sudden exits and entrances had left her stolid as regardsthe unexpected descent of Societies.Pasquale will the baby carry, and I his bottles ?But you dont understand, little girl, said the chairlady withdecision. You cant all go to the same place. We really have tobreak up families often in order to care for them pro erly.Good-bye. Be ready by ten in the morning, an dpdo try to haveclean faces and hands. And the chairlady took her rustling de-parture down the long stairs, on other errands of mercy bent.Assunta carefully closed the door, and wiped two tears from hercheek with the hem of her dress.Who will the babys bottles fix? she asked, as if of the EastSide in general-And who will your tea make, Pasquale ?She sat down on the floor and rocked her arms in an agony ofanticipation.Pasquale, Pasquale, I our mother promised to mind the baby.But Pasquale was a man of action.Never go I to the country, Assunta, crickets are there, and cowswith bushing tails, and other beasts of prey. Off books I read ofthem. Never will I chuck my job of papers. I will my familysupport. 411



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WHOM THE GODS LOVE6 Assunta, the furniture pack, and the baby dress. I rent theCinnys cart for five cents. We, to-night, move!II WAS a gala night in the vicinity of Chatham Square. PortArthur from cellar to roof garden waslights, and resounding with the crash of 8 littering with flags andhinese music, the rattleof lasses, and the Thelitt e Chinese sho R opping of corks, as the diners made merry.so flourishing a Iii eeper around the corner on Pell Street was doingusiness that merry bells and Fyiama China hadrisen several points in value since early in the evening.Here, in a dusky alley, could be seen a Bowery tough making hiscautious way toward the shadows of Doyers Street and from theBowery Mission came the vociferous strain:

Just as I am, without one plea,Save that Thy blood was shed for me.A painted lady in pink evening dress and red slippers, passing by,rapped upon the window, and pressed her face against the pane witha drunken leer that turned the hymn to a lurid song in the back ofthe room, and caused the departure of half a dozen men in her wake.On one side of the street appeared the startlin siPiano Players Renovated, Inside and Out - ankedf B n: by theannouncement:Men Soled and Heeled While You Wait.From the sky a light snow bethe Elevated tracks, and mocke f an sifting down-filtering throughin its purity by the mud it metbelow.In the back room of Hot Tom and Jerrys, business was boom-

ing. Hot Tom himself was presiding at the bar, and Jerry was keptbusy opening the side door which, from the outside, looked so muchlike a Tate m the wall, and which could, from the inside, be con-venient y locked, and barred. Every table in the room was taken.A white-coated waiter was holdin a bottle with one hand as he swunga girl about in a mad waltz wit the other. From the shrill pianocame the tune of New Hampshire Molly, and in the midst of therevelry the painted lady wandered in and leaned nonchalantly againstthe bar. Howdy, Diza ! said Hot Tom as he began industriously mixinggin and lemons for her. Bowery Diza, said the waiter in explanation to a girl.Shes a-slick un, she is! Threw a lamp at a man and killed412



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WHOM THE GODS LOVEhim last year. Got another woman strung up for it. She knowsevery den in the Bowery. Put her onto the ob, and she could makeway with the Commissioner himself, if she hin it. oughtJerry pays her a good round sum for-. there was enoughDiza interrupted the conversation by stumbling into the centerof the hall, swinging her arms in a mocking imitation of the leaderof the Bowery Mission, and swaying to and fro in a dance, as shesang in a quavering voice:

Just as I am, and waiting notTo rid my soul of one dark blot.Her movements became quicker and quicker as the heat of theroom and the applause of the men and women at the tables eggedher on-but, suddenly, Jerry stepped in from the hall.He was wiping the tears of suppressed mirth from his eyes with

his coat sleeve, as he said:66D ZA, Diza, heres the rummest go of the season! Theresa little kid outside with a load of furniture in a push-cart.Got a girl and a baby with him. Says his family was goingto be broke up m the morning and so he had to move tonight. Sawthe sign next door. Rooms for Gentlemen, 25c. Says he wantsone fur his family. Jerry doubled up, and was obliged to wipe hiseyes again at the humor of his news.Says he thought the Square would be a good paper stand, andhe could earn fifty a day. Told him he couldnt have one of thoserooms under a dollar seventy-five a night-come on out, and see theshow, Diza !

It may have been the breath of cool, night air that blew in withthe entrance of Jerry--or it was, perhaps, the chance of a gatheringcrowd and the opportunity of being seen by the multitude, and thenovelty of the situation as presented by Jerry. Whatever may havebeen the stimulus, Diza went to the saloon door, still hummingmockingly, Just as I am, and looked out into the night at a novelsight in Chinatown.Assunta sat on the curbing in the gathering snow; the baby asleepin her lap, and the teapot beside her. The push-cart which it hadtaken great labor to pack and push stood in the gutter, and Pasqualestood beside it, his hands in his pockets, his fathers cap pulled downover his ears, and a discouraged tone in his voice.:as he looked up atthe tempting sign.413



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WHOM THE GODS LOVEThe man said 1 should one dollar seventy-five pay, he said toAssunta. And the lady of the house comes out in a pink dress.She, also, will say the price is rise.Up Third Avenue could be heard the rattle of the fire truck.A friend of mine by the hospital, one dollar and seventy-fiveearned, said Pasquale, in a half whisper.

* * * * * * Hold tight,by the baby, Assunta.It was a matter of seconds, only,-and the crying came from thebaby thus rudely awakened from his nap by the crowd and the con-fusion-so one could be quite sure that Diza felt no pain.They ca.rried her in, and laid her tenderly on the bar with some-ones coat for a pillow, and Hot Toms apron to cover the red spotson the pink.And as Jerry said in a husky voice to the Bowery in general,

She saved the Kids life, Diza did-Diza opened her eyes onlyonce, and whispered :A rum little kid- Just as I am, and waiting not -before her soul fared out through the snow.The underworld rolled on at its usual rapid rate the next day,save for the fact that Hot Tom was absent from his time-honored%ost. Purple from the embarrassment of a collar and necktie, head traversed the white vista of the Childrens Ward until he reachedPasquale in his free bed, and Assunta, the baby, and a store doll,seated nearby upon the floor.Oh, no, not seriously injured, said the nurse, smoothinand adjusting a bandage with her practised hand, only t coversruised.Yes, I will explain to the Society that has the case in char e. Youwish to deposit the amount in trust for them? Thatrelieve the little boys mind. wi 1 greatlyhis sister and the baby. He is worried lest he be separated fromAnd Pasquale shut his eyes, and buried his head in the pillows.Had he not, after all, emulated the example of his friend ?

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ALBERT HUMPHREYS: AMERICAN PAINTERAND SCULPTOR: BY J OHN SPARGOHE children rushed into the little Scttlemcnt full ofexcitement, their shrill voices making an indescribable

din. Little citizens-to-be, taking their first lessonsin the kindergarten, as proud of their Blue StarClub as ever they will be of their marching clubsin the years to come, had been to the Bronx Zoo, andwith them the demure little maidens, of like age,eclually proud of their Rosebuds Club. They shouted t heiiloudest and I heard of big lines, gee-rafis, tlgurscs. ellun-futs-in short, all the wonders of the great Zoo were dinned intomy ear. Most interesting of all, however, was a wonderful taleof a man who \vas making big lines and tigurses out of cla,v--and not afraid of the ferocious beasts! Such was my introductionto Albert Humphreys. Long afterward, when I had *grown to knowsomething of his work, Mr. Humphreys visited the little Settlementone day and was instantly recognized by several proud Blue Starsand several demure and coy Rosebuds as their hero of the LionsHouse. Here was a hero indeed! Not afraid to pat the big, wildanimals on the head, and able to make their pictures in clay.Although little more than two years have passed since Mr. Ilum-phreys, already favorably known as a painter of distinction, turnedhis attention to animal sculpture, he has won an enviable reputation,especially among his fellow artists, for his work in that very difficultbranch of art. Artists like Gutzon Borglum and MYhelm Funkhave appreciated Mr. IIumphreys unquestionable genius andsecured for their personal collections examples of his work. IJewAmerican sculptors have won such admiration from their brotherartists as Mr. Humphreys has succeeded in doing in the very shorttime that he ha.s been evgaged in this lint of creative endeavor.The critics, too, ha.ve received Mr. Humphreys animal studies withwarm praise, often calling him the American Barye. (riticalappreciation has not been wanting, and in this respect our sculpt01is a most fortunate man.Public appreciation is another matter, however. The publicdoes not always follow the critics, nor does it adopt readily the judg-ments of its own favorite and successful artists. One might reason-ably expect that the public, even if it disregarded the verdict of theprofessiona. critics (for which indeed it has abundant reason), wouldnevertheless manifest more than a casual interest in the work of anartist whose achievements have appealed with so much force to a416



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THE WIDOW. BYALBERT HUYPHRBYS.



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POT AU FEU : A REL -GIAN INTERIOR. RYAl.UERT HUMPHREY5



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LIONESS WASHING HER BABIES.AFTER DINNER. BY ALBERT HUMPHREY%



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AN AMERICAN BARYEsculptor like Gutzon Borglum, or to a painter like \Yilhelm Funk.Yet, be the explanation what it may, it must be said that Mr. Hum-phreys has not as yet won the serious attention of the art-loving publicof America with his animal studies. From an artistic point of viewthe exhibition of a representative collection of his sculpture at thePratt Institute, Brooklyn, during May, was one of the most im-portant exhibitions of the whole season east of Chicago, but it at-tra.cted comparatively little attention.

T

0 COUPARE the work of a sculptor like Rlr. Humphreyswith that of Barve is not quite just, either to Barye or Hum-phreys. It is meritable, perhaps, that such comparisonsshould be made, but it grows very wearisome to have to endure allthis precise cataloguing, this measuring the work of every artistof genius by French standards-American Millets, AmericanCorots, -American Baryes, American Balzacs, and so on,wl nauseam. At his best Mr. Humphreys attains a level which thegreat Barbizon sculptor of a *generation ago never excelled. Notall of his work maintains this high level of excellence, however;some of it is decidedly mediocre. If we are to judge a mans achieve-ment by the sum of 11;s work, taking the great with the commonplace,we can only justly judge his capacity by his best. And Mr. Hum-phreys best in animal sculpture is evidence of an indisputably greattalent. I am free to say that some of the little anima.1 studies Mr.Humphrevs ha.s given us equal, in my judgment, Baryes best. In-deed, I like some of them better than any of the French sculptorswith which I am familiar. There is more of the sneakiness, thesly, slinking way of the big cats in 31r. Humphreys work. Lions,tigers, cougars, leopards-all these our artist knows intimately andmodels with wonderful fidelity. In a few of his pieces he has por-trayed the ferociousness and power of the great beasts. TheInterrupted Feast, depicting a tiger at breakfast, snarling over afawn, is full of cruel passion.Pathway, So, too. is the study, The Disputedshowing a lioness come suddenly upon a snake.But for the most part, 3R9r. Humphreys maintains an aflectionateattitude toward the animals, and loves best to show the more gentleand lovable features of their nature. There is something almosthuman in the great beasts as he thus portrays them, motherhoodand childhood among them being just as delightful and inspiringas among the human family. The lioness washing her cubs, here-with reproduced, and the group Good Morning, in which a tigress

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AN AMERICAN RARYEis shown kissing her cub as it wakes, show a maternal tendernessthat is appealing. and beautiful. There is another group, CubsWrestling, showmg a number of lion cubs at play, which is quiteas remarkable a study of animal childlife as it IS a study of animalanatomy. It is this intimately affectionate note so characteristicof his work which makes the failure of the art-public to appreciateit all the more remarkable.in a broad and free manner. Mr. Humphreys treats his subjectswas by Gustave Planche, He will never be reproached, as Baryewith suffocating the life of his animalsunder a multitude of details too pettily reproduced. Freedomand calm strength characterize his work, with no trace of servitudeto detail.the studio. One feels that these animals are of the jungle and not of

0

F MR. Humphreys work as a painter mention has alreadybeen made. His canvases are to be seen in some of the bestgalleries in the country, and they show a talent scarcely lessnotable than his sculptured work, expressed in an almost unlimitedrange of subjects. The illustrations here given show somethinthe wide range of his art, but by no means its full measure. k ofheWidow, a fine canvas exhibited at the Champ de Mars Salon, Paris,and elsewhere, is a good example of his portraiture, strongly reminis-cent of Whistler. beated by the big stone column in an old Frenchchurch, one feels how memories of the past mingle with the servicein her mind. Patient resignation and quiet, matronly virtue aresplendidly suggested. Pot au Feu, the Belgian interior shown,is one of a long series of interior studies of domestic life which theartist has painted.As a painter of nocturnal scenes Mr. Humphreys is at his best,however. Some years ago he held an exhibition in Paris of fiftypictures, mostly nocturnes, which attracted much attention. Thereare still artists and critics of distinction who talk enthusiastically ofthat exhibition in the Rue St. Honore, and who wonder why theAmerican painter has not before this reaped his due reward. Ofthis series of nocturnes The Seine at Night is a good example.There is tranquility andin this as in all the series. something of the mysterious hush of mghtThere 1s another,which ap La Nuit au Village,Mr. Peals to me personally with even greater force.umphreys was born near Cincinnati, some fifty years ago.AS a boy he worked in a large printing establishment. The workwas heavy and left the young tooler, who was not naturally of very



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AS AMERICAN BAR%%robust health, a legacy of physical weakne= ror which nothing cancompensate him. Later, he became a decorator at the Rookwoodpottery, art teacher, scene painter and illustrator in turn. His firstpictures were exhibited at the Philadelphia Art Academy. Soonafter this he went to London, hoping to become an illustrator, btiton the advice of Edwin A. Abbey, decided to go to Paris and devotehimself to the more serious aspects of art. In Paris he entered theEcole Julien and the Ecole des Beaux Arts under G&ome, and wasfortunate in having one of his canvases accepted at the Salon uponhis first attempt. Feeling the restraint of the schools, he spent mostof his time in the country-at Cerny la Ville, in Brittany and elsewhere.His wanderings took him to Italy, Switzerland, and Belgium, and ofthe latter country his work contains many pictures. The friendshipof such noted painters as Pelouse, Cazin, Munkacsy and the AmericanAlexander Harrison had an abiding influence upon him.

This story of his life in Europe difIers little from that of the averagepoor artist. There were the usual struggles and disappointments;the days when food itself was lacking. Humphreys, who is a trainedmusician (he once contemplated becoming a virtuoso and was anexpert violinist until he had the misfortune to break his arm), tellsthe story of a famous orchestra in Paris which used to play frequentlya symphony entitled Tasso. There were three movements-Hope, Lament and Triumph. I have played the first two move-ments in my life symphony, says the artist, but not yet the last.Shall I ever play it, or will my finish be like the last wonderful move-ment of Tchaikowskys Symphonie Path&ique-that poignantlament, as if it were for the sorrows of all mankind ?To that question time alone must answer. Artistic success andmaterial prosperity do not always go together. One contemplateshis sculpture and his paintings, and thinks of Barye upon his death-bed. His faithful wife was dusting some of the bronzes, now grownso precious, and complained that they were not signed legibly enough.When thou art well, thou shouldst see to it that the signature of thyworks be more legible, she said. Proudly the dying sculptor an-swered, Be tranquil. Twenty years hence they will search for itwith a magnifying glass. Some of Mr. Humphreys work at leastseems likely to stand the test of time: the pity, the tragedy, is thathe needs must wait so long for the recognition he merits.



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CHILD WAGE-EARNERS IN ENGLAND: WHYTHE HALF-TIME SYSTEM HAS FAILED TOSOLVE THE PROBLEM: BY MARY RANKINCRANSTONHE modern factory systell- I -.-- J -l,.-- -...-1. c- ..a.:se

the standard of living for w1 llab UUllC LllL lUll I, lillthe masses. By lesseni]the cost of production, it has placed within the reachof slender purses articles formerly classed as luxuries.It gives employment to a vast army of skilled workers,thus raising the standard of labor, even though manymust be nushed aside in this survival of the fittest.The concentration of industry in fewer large establishments insteadof innumerable homes or small workshops makes inspection notonly necessary, but less difficult. Better working conditions, as arule, are the result.There is another side to the question, however;

the craftsman - 1907 - 07 - july.pdf

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