Springfield weekly Republican. [volume], June 13, 1912, Page 6, Image 6

About Springfield weekly Republican. [volume] (Springfield, Mass.) 1851-1946

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6
OF MUSIC AND MUSICIANS.
NEWS. CRITICISMS, NOTIONS.
DON QUIXOTE'S STORY IN TONES.
The Incomplete Expresalon M«»«enet
Ha« Put Into the Opera. Worldnc
With • Conventional Libretto.
Massenet's opera. "Don Quichotte, fas
performed for the first time in England
last month, at the London opera house.
The Times said: Massenet lias certainly
succeeded in keeping his music free from
realism: to a great extent, too. his libret
tist. Henri Cain, has abandoned the origi
nal story. and except for the incident of
the windmills, it is the character rather
than the adventures of Don Quixote which
he iias taken from Cervantes. The story
is vulgarized by the fact that Dulcinea is
the conventional courtesan of French
opera. The alteration gives an easy mech
anism to the opera: it gives purpose to
Don Quixote's actions, since it is on the
search for a stolen necklace of Dulcinea
that he encounters the windmills in be
second act. and gets taken prisoner by
bandits in the third: it provides the inev
itable fete scene in the fourth act. a type
of scene which has beeu passed through
many generations of opera. It has. no
doubt, the practical advantage that it
makes the general form of this opera not
too unlike that of many others to be read
ily appreciated, and provides an easy es
cape from the episodic character of the
original. We need uot quarrel with this
mechanism, since it does make a concise
setting for the character of the Don with
Sancho beside him
In spite of all defects, then, the librettist
has given plenty of opportunity to the com
poser. What surprises one is that Mas
senet should have made so little of it. He
seems purposely to keep the music in the
position of a suggestive background to the
drama. Sometimes one feels that the
librettist and composer have treated one
another too respectfully. The librettist has
been careful to leave room for musical dis
play: the composer has refused to avail
himself of it. Possibly the weakness of the
serenade in act 1 is meant to suggest that
the knight was no more an artist than a
warrior: but since it- melody is one of the
principal motives of the opera, recurring
whenever he sees visions of bis Dulcinea,
we could wish that it had been less ob
vious. It would not, of course, be within
Massenet * scope to contrast the idea! with
the actual Dulcinea, by two versions of
the same theme, as Strauss has done in
imitably: but it would have required ne
great flight Of imagination to find some
melody of greater distinction than this.
One can see the modesty of Massenet’s
intention perhaps more certainly in the
fact that the orchestration is kept un
usually quiet. He has shown plenty of
capacity for the use of strong color else
where. but here the color is constantly
simple, and often sounds unnecessarily I
thin. We wish that he conld have avoided
the affectation of an organ accompaniment
to Don Quixote's prayer.
In the fourth act, the fete at Dulcinea's
house, he seems to put aside many oppor
tunities. In her song with the guitar he
ventures somewhat tentatively upon a
characteristic rhythm. The chorus of this
scene, some of which was cut last night,
lacks energy and abandon, and the whole
act is musically inconclusive, though it
seems designed to be the strongest of the
five. One may find, however, passages of
more appropriateness, the strong rhythm
which takes possession of the orchestra
when, in act 2, Don Quixote discovers the
windmills, the dainty dance measure early
in the fourth act. and the delicate. Mozart
like accompaniment to the passage in
which Don Quixote unfolds to Sancho his
high-flown schemes of reward. But it is
only in the last act that the music finds
and keeps its place completely. Here it
says nothing particular, but there is noth
ing particular fit for it to say. It dreams and
dies: it hightens the disappointment of Don
Quixote's failure and the despair of Sancho
at his loss. It places ns in touch with
both, and one is thankful for its reticence.
Audiences and the “Foreign Reputa
tion. '*
Mrs Fanny Bloomfield Zeisler. the dis
tinguished pianist, has boon speaking her
mind about the absurdity of demanding a
"foreign reputation'' before an American
audience will accept an artist. The Chi- I
cago Evening Post quotes her as saying:—
It is a delusion of the American people
and not their modesty which leads them to
believe that critics of Berlin, for instance,
must be the judges of our artists. An
audience of New York or Chicago is better
able to judge the merits of a singer’s work
than any other audience in the world to
day.
In America we arc having the best opera
that is sung. The symphony orchestras of
New York and Boston and the Thomas
orchestra of Chicago are unsurpassed by
any in Europe. There are audiences here
who can appreciate the excellent work of
those organizations, yet the same audi
ences take the absurd position that an
artist is not great enough tn win their a<-
< laim until he has been approved by critics
of Germany.
Twenty years ago it was different. Per
haps at that time the American public was
uot. on the whole, qualified to judge the
merits of an artist's work. But to-dav
there is so much discrimination shown that
the presentations of operas in little boles
in Italy, which give many artists European
prominence, would be hooted front our
stage. If we Americans pay the best
prices in the world for opera, why is it
that we do not know the best?
Felice Lyne Gives Credit to Her
Mother.
Felice Lyne, the operatic idol of London
i few months ago. is reported to have had
i dispute with Oscar Hammerstein, and is
said to have received an offer to appear in
vaudeville in America for 20 weeks, at
SWOO a week. It is possible that her fame
was too suddenly achieved to last. Yet
iier preparation for an operatic career was
by no means hasty. Her interesting story
lias recently been told by a writer tn Mc-
Clure's magazine:—
Her story is one of a magnificent gamble,
six years ago an American pupil of Mme
Marchesi's heard the little girl sing, and
tdvised her mother to take the child to
Paris. This the mother did, and when
Mme Marehesi heard Felice sing, she de
lated that the child had the four great
sscntials for a grand opera star—voice.
ntoUigenee, dramatic ability and person
ility.
Felice Lyne began her work under Mme
Marches! in 1906. Her father and mother
staked all they had on the girl’s talent.
Her mother stayed with her. and her
father practiced osteopathy at home. For
five years she worked incessantly.
"No girl,” she herself says, "ever suc
eeded on the operatic stage unless she
bad to do so. If I had been rich I should
have given up the struggle long ago." She
l.v" her mother most of the credit for
aer success.
“My mother just made me sing and
study,” she says. "She has been with me
nil tnc time. When I got tired or discour
aged, she was always there to cheer me
up. The has taught me many things that a
teacher never could—the things thut come
through love and happiness.
"She never allowed me to 'show off’ as
a child. I never saug before people. It
was fortunate, for I conserved whatever
powers I hnd. Our friends thought it
rather absurd when we went to Faris. I
can hear them saying, ‘Why, I never knew
j Felicia Lyne had a voice.' They always
called me Felicia nt home, though Fehee
I is my name: it was the name of one of my
j mother’s bridemnids."
in Paris she studied with Mme Marches'.
De Keszke and D Aubigny. the last of
| wliont she thinks helped her most of all.
j Her mother saw to It that she had no Side
I interests to distract her; she had nothing
I to unlearn, and sho progressed with mar
velous rapidity. But she was continually
haunted by on* bugaboo.
"I wanted to sing in grand opera." she
says, "but 1 weigh only 02 pounds, «o they
all spoke of comic onern for me. I grew
to bate the word. I end momentary temp-
I tatioas to accept engagements for .smir
I opera, and when I suffered n disappoint
. m*nt from the Tioynl opera at Covent Gar
| den. London. I signed with Mr Hammer
stein for 'Hans tho Fluteplayer.' After
that I was miserable I was afraid that
I was sentenced forever to frivolous light
opera.”
It was one day in June. 1909. three
: years after she had gon* t” Paris, that
Oscar Hammersteiu heard her sing nt one
of Mme Marchesis recitals. He engaged
her then .-md there, though i c admits he
did not foresee her grand oners sm *ss.
She was so tiny and >o yonng: he. too. was
thinking of light opera, but he had to make
certain concessions to her ambition, and
extend hone s : of gran*} opera biter, before
she wovld consent tn om* to America and
sing in "Hans the Fluteplayer.
Lydfa Llpkcw«k«’» London Success.
Mlle Lydia Lipkowska of the Boston
epera bourse is now- singing at the Royal
opera. Covent Garden. London, and is
winning new and deserved laurels. The
■ London Morning Post said the other day:
"Mile Lydia Lipko'-sks - proving her
self a versatile artist. She has already
appeared in both old and new Italian op
era. arid last night she sang in ^French
, itera. As Micaela in Bizet’s 'Cqrmen’
she again impressed by her artistic gifts.
Individuality is a distinguishing feature
of her work, and her reading of the part
was individual in every wgi. There were
many original ideas• sr -h as seating her- j
self on a rock to sing tho well-known and
beautiful air in the scene of the smug
glers. and in the greater force of charac
--r which she made Micaela to possess.
The part generally was taken out of the
ruck it has fallen into of late. If the
reading ignored tradition there was noth
ing in it < ontrary to the spirit of the opera.”
Continuing, iti regard to the principals,
the Morning Dost said: "As Carmen and
Don Jcs* Mile Tarquinis Tarquini and
Signor Cellini repeated their successful
efforts of a mouth ago. hut with more
marked effect. Mile Tarquini's charac
terization is strencer. sad Signor Cellini
was more at homo on the stage, and there
fore able to give more weight to his effect
ive singing. Signor Hamman o, to whom
Escamillo is a new role as far as London
is concerned, also sang with greater point.
Aon* of the characters, either in feature
or color, however. looked Spanish; Carmen
had a pink and white complexion, and her
companions. Frasqnita and Mercedes, the
appearance—and it may lie added the bear
ing—of English school girls Dresses and
scenery were of their usual excellence, and
the chorus sang well. Signor Campanini's
conducting was in turn vigorous and sym
pathetic."
Forgotten English I’omnoser.
An overture to "Macbeth." by Henry
Hugo Pierson, a forgotten English com
poser, was played at the Shakespeare
promenade concert in London on May 25.
Pierson w-as u Cambridge university man.
whose intention was to become n doctor,
but who found early that music was his
destined career. Living in Germany he
composed a number of successful operas
but he seems to have lacked the genius
for advertising himself. A Leipsic jour
nal. in its account of his death, which oc
curred in 1873. called him "a great art
ist. whose strivings were ever after the
noblest ends’’ The tribute it paid him
was worth winning, though he died wtih
ont glory: "Holding no musical appoint
ment, and consequently without influence
highly educated, but, after the fashion
of true genius, somewhat of a recluse,
and unpractical, he did not know how to
make his glorious works valued. He
showed himself seldom, though liis ap
pearance was poetic and imposing: and he
was such a player on both organ and
pianoforte as is seldom met with.’’
Other Note and Comment.
A Vienna correspondent bf the New York
Times, interviewing Carl Rurrian on his
arrival for the opera season there, quotes
him as follows: My \ ieuna *ngagament
is satisfactory from every point of view.
; This will not interfere, however, with
my duties to the Metropolitan, for to ns
I artists. America, especially New ' York.
I is nf th* utmost importance, because if
successful there we may become independ
i *nt in Europe, both artistically and eco
nomically. In my opinion Puccini seems
to be the, most favored of all composers
N? n ’ ^ork at present. In consequence
of this Puccini mtt th* Metropolitan opera,
though its artistic management is very
i refined, is making tl e impression of a
i regular elaborate Italian stagione.’’.
symphonic triptych, "Evocations." by
. Albert Roussel, a pupil of Vincent d'lndy,
was iterformod with notable success at
the yearly orchestra! concert of the So
t® Nationale. His most famous work.
I "Le Poeme de la Foret.” w-as first per
| formed at the Lamoureux concerts three
i years ago. since when he has been re
■ garded as among the foremost of the
। younger French composers.
, A concert in memory of the Titanic’s
i musicians was held last Sunday night in
New York at the Moulin Rouge. A num
i her of bands took part. L'apt Rostron of
! the Carpathia. three officers of the Car
। pathia and 140 members of the crew were
। guests ot the memorial committee.
Mahler’s "Symphony of the Thousand."
which requires a thousand performers,
, had its first Berlin performances last
; month at ih* Circus Schumann. The
' ^^Pbony will be heard later in London
and Paris.
, Michele Sigaldi's grand opera company
from the City of Mexico is contemplating
. a season early next fall at a New York
theater.
THE CHORAL UNION.
“EHjali” Rendered Before Lnrge and
Enthusiastic Audience.
The Litchfield county choral un
ion sang “Elijah” in the music
shed in Norfolk last week Wednesday
night before an audience as enthusiastic
Si IF? wWch Attended the rendition of
A a ale of Old Japan” on Tuesday even
ing. A New York syndicate has made a
proposition to erect a large hotel in Nor
folk. to enlarge the music ahed and to
bring to Norfolk from time to tim* dur
ing spring, summer and fall rhe principal
singing societies and orchestras in Amer
ica for choral and orchestral festivals
with the assistance of the world's best
soloists.
However, Carl Stoecknl of Norfolk, chief
patron of the union, in not in fax or of the
phm. which he believes would have a ten
d*ney to commercialize the project and de
slroy the idealism that pervade* the move
ment.
OLD ROMAN nOAO* IN ENGLAND.
(From the Field.J
British motorists lire showing some inter
est in a project which is being revived of
reopening and putting in usable condition
the old Roman roads that led out from
London tn the surrounding cities and that
connected up the outlying places. The an
cient highways, built by the Roman gen
erals for military purposes, were well con
structed and their routes were exceedingly
straight, but they have apparently in many
instances been practically abnudoned.
Few except students of the subject are
aware of the great network of highways
which w ere driven across England, Wnies
and g. otland by th* Roman generals. The
straightness of these mads probably is ex
plained by th* fail that the cities and
towns they linked up were founded sub-
THE SPRINGFIELD WEEKLY REPUBLICAN: THURSDAY. JUNE 13. 1912.
sequent to the road making. The roads
were constructed for military purposes
the subjugation and control of the turbu
lent Britons and bad no set objective,
lamps grew into cities and towns founded
at mints of military vantage. These nat
urally lost their importance iu many in
stances when the conquerors withdrew:
and their very sites are forgotten.
TEN REPRESENTATIVE PLAYS.
V anderbeyden Fyles's suggestions
for a Practical Repertory.
Vanderheyden Fyles. formerly a literary
adviser of the New theater and non a dra
matic critic, iu n letter to the Brooklyn
Eagle, sele- ts 10 plays whiehhe thinks would
form the nucleus of a repertory for a prac
tical repertory theater in Brooklyn. He
suggests the followins: -
No 1. "Julius Caesar." by William
Shakespeare. Shakc-ptare should be rep
resente 1 by two plays, a comedy and a
tragedy or history. "Julius Caesar" fills |
the lat’er requirements: is not diff- j
-n’t io mount; is in the curriculum of
contemporary private schools ami high I
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FAMILY GROUP, YOROI. JAPAN.
schools; is not so familiar as such trage
dies as "Hamlet" and "Romeo and Juliet."
and. for the last named reason, would not
burden the available actors with Jreahly
informed comparisons with such exceptiou
an actors as Forbes-Robertson, Mr Sothern
and Miss Marlowe.
No 2. "As You Like It,” by William
Shakespeare. The freshest and invariably
most popular of Shakespeare’s comedies.
Also desirable as applying a rich teatament
of Shakespeare the lover, an aspect of bis
genius lacking in "Julius Caesar.”
No 3. "She Stoops to Conquer," by
Oliver Goldsmith. Recognized as the only
rival to "The School for Scandal’’ and
"The Rivals” for the title of the greatest
comedy written between the days of
Shakespeare and the practically present of
Gilbert and Pinero: and more desirable
than either of the Sheridan comedies be
cause less familiar to playgoers of to-day.
Either of them would invite invidious and
unfair comparisons with roseate modern
memories of Ada Rehan, Jefferson. Rose
Coghlan, Mrs John Drew-, etc.: aud, fur
thermore, are so covered over with para
site "traditions’ as to be avoided, for the
present, by a repertory theater of the first
grade. "She Stoops to Conquer” offers no
difficulties in production; is as fresh and
merry as any farce of a 1912 model aud is
sweet with the fragrant air of Old Eng
land.
Unfortunately, the life of our country is
too varied to admit of representation in
anything like all its aspects, within the
limits of three plays, so the only thing to
do is to take three violently dissimilar lo
cales. "The Great Divide” has the strong
element in its favor of contrasting New
England and the West very vividly and
vigorously within its own limits: but. these
and other splendid merits are outbalanced,
in my opinion, by its nasty pint, which
renders it unfit for consideration by people
of refinement. So I nominate one play
solely of Western life: another that deftly
excesses the New England spirit in one of
its offshoots—rural Indiana, and a high
comedy of metropolitan life. Such South
ern dramas as “Alabama” and “The Nig
ger." such u keen study of New England
as "Myself—Bettina,” by Rachel Crothers,
and such vigorous metropolitan studies is
"The Boss’’ and "Salvation Nell” are omit
ted unwillingly, but necessarily.
4. "Arizona." by Augustas Thomas,
especially valuable as pure drama, hut
vivid, vigorous and truthful in the matter
of authentic "atmosphere.” Also the infu
sion of some r*d blood of popular melo
drama insures life to the repertory scheme:
the entertainment of all sorts of people
is a primary essential to the long life of
a reirertory theater.
No 5. "The County Chairman.” by
George. z\de. A healthy, fresh, diverting
satire on middle Western Americans: in
deed, on the entire American spirit. While
balancing the seriousness of Ibsen. Shake
speare, Galsworthy and Pinero, it gives
Americans n keen insight into themselves
which is none the less a gain in spite of
the hearty laughter that washes down the
lesson. Also, a desirable play as hitting
off a corner of American politics.
No 6. "The Climbers.” by Clyde Fitch.
An absorbing drama, yet as keen in its
satire of tho "effete East’ as is (he Ade
comedy in its laughing picture of the mid
dle West. Not difficult to stage, replete
with good "acting parts," and desirable as
representative of the best in the numerous
but uneven output of the most accom
plished dramatist America has as yet pro
duced.
No I. “The Silver Rox,” by John Gals
worthy. A great play; acted only a few
times here, and then nnintclligeutly; and,
above all, the most impartial, while vivid,
vital and enthralling exposition of modern
socialistic conditions thus far contributed
to drama.
No 8. "The Doll's House,” by Henrik Ib
sen. Either “Die Haimath" i"Magdu”», by
Hermann Sudermann, or "Candida," by
Bernard Shaw, would fill this number ns
well. The chief requirement is an "actable"
treatment of the most enlightened attitude
toward woman, emanating from a master
dramatist.
No 9. "Trelawney of the 'Wells,''’ by
Arthur Wing Pinero. A quaint, delightful
picture of London life in the 'fiOs. Crowded
with unforgettable “types:” delightfully
; humourous: tenderly appealing; authentic
and illuminative, nnd a play so mnsterfnny
designed and ex'ecuted as to be "aetor
proof."
No 10. “Old Heidelberg,” by Wilhelm
Meyer-Forster. It s"cma to me hardly ton
much Io say that this drama of “love in
springtime" sounds the tenderest and most
beautifully sad note of any play sim-e “Ro
meo and Juliet." I have seen it played by
many enmpuniea and before almost every
grade of audience, and have never known
Us appeal to fall on unresponsive ears and
eyes aud hcarta.
LITTLE JOURNEY TO OLD JAPAN.
FIRST FOREIGNERS IN YOROI.
Intimate Vie-ns of Simple Home Life
—The Beanties of Cherry-Blossom
lime.
Correspondence of The llepuMican.
Kyoto. Japan, April 20. 1912.
The cherries are in blossom in Japan.
From end to end the island is a veritable
garden in spripgtune. AH our dreams of
Japan at cherry-blossom time arc realized
an I exceeded, for our fancies had not.
painted cherry blossoms from the size of
ours at home to great, double ones the size
of a silver half-dollar. Ai Nagasaki, in
the south, they were "just, out" as we
touched there at the -nd of March, along
the shores of the inland sea. during the
following week, they were coining to their
best. Here at Kyoto they have uot at
tained their best beauty, and lire heginping
to fall, but along the west coast, from
Maizuru ail the way to Matsue, they are
superb beyond words to paint. And nil
this for the love of their beauty, mind you,
for the fruit is worthless for the most part,
and the Japanese are just beginning to
plant the American cherry for its fruit.
There are also many orchards of peaches
in bloom, as well as plums aud pears,
while everywhere are fields of brilliant
yellow rape. Camellia trees as large as
our largest apple trees are covered now
with deep-red flowers.
The effect produced on the observer by
all this wealth.of bt-'om is no doubt greatly
intensified by the suoiber background, the
setting of the. picture: fur Japan is dull in
coloring back of these spring blossoms, and
it is perhaps ihe gbld monotone of her
pines; Ihe bleak ns-peef of a country so
rugged that onjy 12 per cent of its surface
is cultivable, that makes the Japanese peo
ple so lore the flowers.
There are many tourists in Japan just
now. for all seek to come at the season of
the Cherry blossoming, but for the most
part these tourists travel in each other's
footprints along the “beaten path." and so
miss much of the charm. Along this beat
en path, from open port to open port, north
to Nikko, south to Kobe (rarely to Naga
saki, except as (he steamer may stop a
day en route), these tourists move from
one hotel with American beds, American
table. American plnpihing. etc., to another
hotel similarly appointed. They throng the
same shops, view the same temples, visit
the same "cherry dance” and ‘‘garden
party." and perhaps see the jiu-jitsu. How’
like the typical tourist all over the world:
only here the beaten path is narrower. Not
that all this is not interesting and very
well worth while, but it isn't Japan, and
the peal Japan, as yet unspoiled, is still
here, infinitely more interesting and much
more worth while.
. The first of last month the west coast
was connected by railway with the rest
of th* island. Yet during nearly a week
along that coast we did not see another
white face. To be sure, it is some 15
hours by rail from Kyoto or Kobe to Mat
sue, the nearest station to the oldest and
second holiest Shinto temple, that of
Izumo, and one finds neither European ho
tels nor English language on that route.
Yet the finest cherry blossoms we have
seen we found there, and along that coast,
not so very far from the railroad, we found
the “Old Japan." too-as little touched by
the new “civilization" of the West as our
guide had assured us we would find it.
Naturally the concentration of foreign
influence to the “opfln ports.” a few other
cities, and the routes between them, has
greatly modified and changed all that por
tion of Japan. Yet whenever we have left
th* railroad w* have left behind us the Eu
ropeanized Japanese, and when we have
put a mountain range between us and the
railroad we have found ourselves among
a simple, interesting people, still possessing
the characteristics and largely following
the customs of former centuries.
Making our way by rikisha through
many a quaint village clustering about a
tiny cove or nestling under deep thatched
roofs behind th* saml dimes which alter
nate with the boldest and grimmest of
rocky hills, we round imagine ourselves the
discoverers of these hrnwn fisherfolk of the
Japan sea. The women of our party espe
cially are objects of extreme curioetty.
When we walk, scores of wooden sandals
clatter along behind ns: when we stop,
then half the village surrounds us and
gazes, and if we stay a while, the rest of
th* village, little by little, joins the throng,
mild-eyed, frankly curious and friendly.
As we alight from our rikisha at a vil
lage. "Eu” the host and bis household,
kneeling just inside the threshold, heads
bowed to th* floor, receive us. Whether
w* stop to lunch or to spend the night,
we are shown to chambers, for here parlor,
dining-room, bedroom, all arc one. A room
without furniture, except for a few cush
ions on the matting-eovered floor, and a
brazier or two, it will open on a porch or
balcony, which at night will he inclosed by
sliding windows or doors, securely fast
ened. On all other sides ar* only sliding
paper screens, through which the maids
who serve w ill come and go without warn
ing or ceremony.
Tea is served at on**, and. kneeling, the
mnid receives th* order regarding meals,
etc. Here are no bolts nor locks, and as
on* summons a servant by a clap of the
lianrls. th* response, “At once." comes dis
tinctly, though perhaps from the opposite
end of the house and through perhaps a
dozen partitions. A kimono is brought to
each guest, in feet, two, an inn*r one of
washable material, and an outer coat kimo
no. Shoes have been left at the outer
<lnor. and in kimono and. soft sandnls (all
confining clothing removed >, on* could be
btxnrtonalv comfortable if he had no legs.
Still, one learns qdieWy to adapt himself
to living on the floor, and perhaps may
come to like it.
Here dinner is served later by the same
dainty little almond-eyed maids, h tiny
tabouret 8 to 10 inches high being placed
in front of ench guest. The repnst is
served with all the formality of the "ten
ceremonial,” the kneeling maids bowing to
tlie floor before and after each service
offered, and never taking or passing a dish
directly from hand to hand or to table. A
tiny tray is always extended cither to
offer or to receive tho dish.
Ar this time the host appears, and so
silently has he iiuslied open a side of the
room that, catching sight of him, you won
der how long he has heen kneeling, fore
liead to the floor, awaiting recognition. He
politely apologizes for his poor house, his
unworthy self, the ejei-ruble service (which
he is quite sure are iierfcet. one and alb.
and hopes that our "honorable augustness"
may overlook the defects. There's no ser
vility in all this. It is dignity personified,
and deserving au equally serious and polite
response.
But I am forgetting it very important
function which will have preceded tho din
ner. One socks to arrive early tsay an
hour before sunset) nt a .lupanese inn, that
lie may enter the bath first, before the
water is h-iited to a temperature which
the white skin cannot endure, and before
the native guests, who, ill the order of their
arrival, have the right to the same bath.
It is not to wash in. this bath. One washes
himself clean before he enters the hath,
where he sits luxuriously simmering at
perhaps 11(1 degrees, while a heating ap
paratus at one side is busily and constantly
raising the temperature of the water. M e
hoar often of these baths in tho middle of
the garden or lawn, but haven't had the
Im k to encounter one, A separate bath
or bath hour for each sox is fast becoming
tho Title, except in remote regions, since
the police regulation against the common
bath was promulgated,
Tiwre is no prudery in Japan, albeit
much social honesty. Ono learns quickly
the customs of a Japanese inn, whether
he will or no. and that by personal obser
vation simply impossible to avoid. There
is a charming simplicity, a naivete about
it all that simply thinks no evil and seea
none. Then. too. the Japanese, taken ns
a whole, are the cleanest people in the
world. This is not true everywhere of
their houses nor of their clothing, but high
and low. rich and poor, all bathe their
bodies.
But to return to our Japanese chamber.
Dinner is finished while the maid demure
ly watches us use the chopsticks. The
writer means to carry always a knife, fork
nnd sponn ifhc women get on deftly with
tho chopsticksi hut has been reduced *o
chopsticks before a breakfast of broiled
fish, rice and soft-boiled eggs. Japanese
tea takes the place of after-dinner coffee,
and presently the maids reappear laden
with great, soft, thick "fiitnncs." or quilts,
for our beds. The native guest sleeps on
one of these futanes and under three or
four, but we reverse this, sleeping under
one. the'others making a very comfortable
hed.
Strange as we found all this, and sim
ple and seemingly unspoiled as we found
this '■ est <<>a«r region, so recently mail*
accessible by the railroad, we didn't, of
course, seriously doubt for a moment thnt
many foreigners had preceded us in these
same villages, enjoying like experiences,
though our Japanese guide of many years
experience had never been this way.
Whether, in fact, we were, in more than
one village, the first foreign visitors. I can
not say (the people had the air of never
having seen fore(gn women at least) but
a' Yoroi, a village on the Japan sea. sur
rounded by mountains almost too precipi
tous for even a jinrickisha to pass, ami
completely isolated till the new railroad
came this way, we had the unique experi
ence of knowing ourselves the first foreign
visitors.
This in Japan, so rapidly becoming Eu
ropeanized! Yet, perhaps in no other civ
ilized country would a similar experience
be possible, for Japan has been “open” to
the outside world only during the past
half-century, and for comfortable, even
safe, touring except in the open ports and
between them over the beaten path, only
during a portion of that, half-century. Our
treaty with Japan in 1854 technically
“opened” the country, but the Japanese
people, during four uenturies of total ex
clusion of the outside world (and its cor
ollary, th* equally total inclusion of all
Japanese) had come to fee] very content
with their island and very hostile to any
change, as th* many assassinations and
petty insurrections attest. Latterly, since
travel in any part of the empire has been
perfectly safe, the necessity of taking
along dne.’s own provisions, unless one
chooses to live "a la Japanese.” has tend
ed to confine the travel to the frequented
routes.
We had heard th* story of the romantic
origin of the little village of Y'oroi; hence
our visit. Some 600 years ago, in the days
of the Shoguns, the head of each house
or clan was a feudal lord, at war with
ali the other elans and seeking to gain the
supreme power. The Hei-ke elan, defeat
ed by the Genjis in a disastrous battle at
Ichi-no-tani. were everywhere pursued by
their implacable enemies, who sought to
exterminate them. A remnant of the Hei
kes made their way over the great moun
tain "divide" and settled at this isolated
spot on th* west coast, where they have
ever since kept aloof from contact with all
the rest of the world. The very name
Yoroi. signifying “armor." is said to com
memorate their custom of never putting off
their armor or laying aside their anns.
A vigorous and intelligent people they
are, as the photograph of the family with
whom we took "afternoon tea” Will testi
fy; the first photograph, by th* way. that
has ever been taken of any of them. Our
guide had sought a tea-house, which no
village is ordinarily too small to possess,
but Yoroi has never felt the need of a tea
house. Tea was offered, none the less, at
one of th* more pretentious houses and
we entered a most picturesque habitation.
First, a largo room without floor and oc
cupying fully half the building. A litter
of ropes, nets, tackle, etc., indicate the
most important occupation of the village.
Ladders lead to lofts, which, with roof
and cross timbers, are blackened by smoke,
for the house has no chimney. Two steps
higher the living-room has a floor and. at
the moment of our entry, from under this
floor a basket of potatoes is thrust, then a
hnnd and an arm appear and, little by
little, chuckling nt our astonishment,
emerges the merriest little brown grand
mother. Reminiscent of early motoring
(iays nnd crawling on one’s back from un
der th* “running hoard.” this exit of the
grandlady from the “cellar.”
Presently, our shoes removed, we are
scatPil on the matting-covered portion, the
parlor part of the floor. A few feet away,
in the kitchen part, beside a stone hearth
in the middle of the floor and a bit low
er. sits our smiling host presiding at the
boiling of the kettle over an open wood
fire. We chanced tn have brought cake*
which sufficed for the whole party and
helped us to decline without offense th*
raw fish and other goodies hospitably of
fered by these kindly people.
Much against our wishes, the whole fam
ily made a toilet for the photograph. We
much preferred the picturesque "every
day” clothing in which we found them, but
knowing the photographs we sent back to
them would be shown to all their friends
niid neighbors one quite understands their
point of view. Once posed, they took the
matter so seriously that they were with
difficulty pcreundeu that the operation was
so quickly over. I think I detected a
shade of disappointment in their faces und
am quite sure they lost confidence in any
thing coming of it.
Thus, many quaint and interesting ex
periences have conic to us *ach lime we
rave ventured off the beaten track and
into old Japan. These will be the “red
letter days” of our sojourn in the Land of
the Rising Sun.
Chablus H. Bartlett.
“Th* Marseillaise,” played at Algiers,
is reported, by way of Paris, to have been
distinctly heard by wireless telephone at
Toulon. 480 miles away, on board a yacht
owned by the prime of Monaco. The Brit
ish drumbeat that was henrd around the
world seems destined to be exceeded by
the achievement of an Instrument of peace
and world friendship.
FAME FOR THE INSECTS' HOMER.
J. HENRI FABRE IS NEARLY 90.
Xovr tho Honor Duc the (irMl l<ntn
moloifiM Im (OminK Him—Hi»
(Jeniuw Urro^nizcd by Darwin, Mne
lorHnrk and ftontantl.
I Copyright. 1012, by Curtis Brown.[
Uorrespuivtenec of Tho Republican.
Fab:s. Mny 2D. 1012.
On tho outskirts of the sleepy village of
Snrignan. in the of old ribvonre.
stands a little, wealher-beaten. six-roomed
cottage, half-hidden behind cypress and
lilac trees. In front of it is a pond, ten
anted largely by frogs. And on all aides
is waste land-they call it a “harmas” in
this part of France-land which, to quote
its owner,, “no one would have as a gift
to sow with :» pinch of turnip-seed”; a
stony, sun-baked waste, which tho flame
of a match would set ablaze from one end
to tho other. Yet this cottage, this pond,
and this desert form the “Eden” —the ex
pression is his own-of one of the mo«t
astonishing men living to-day. A man
wi n. though ho is nearly 90, and though
tributes to his genius harp been paid by
Darwin, by Maeterlinck and by Rostnnd,
remains nil but unknown outside his own
w-
FABRE AT SIXTY.
country. A man whose life-story is a rec
ord of such a game fight against adversity
as seldom is heard of: a great writer, a
great poet, and. besides all this, the great
est livins entomologist, such is J. Henri
Fabre, the "Insects' Homer." as the au
thor of "The Blue Bird" called him.
It seems, probable that Fabre, through
his own writings, soon may become better
known to Americans, for 1 understand
that a complete edition in English of his
magically written "Entomological Mem
ories" is being planned, to take the place
of the rather indifferent translations of
single volumes of Fabre's which, nt pres
ent. are all that are obtainable in our lan
guage. His 89th birthday, which comes
this year, is to be celebrated fittingly in
Serignan, and also in the nearby town of
Orange.
Forty years of what he himself de
scribes as “a desperate struggle” was re
quired to win for Fabre his “laboratory in
the open fields.” as he calls it, in the
shape of the barren, sun-scorched, thistle
ridden little estate at Serignan. But now
that it has been won, the “incomparable
observer,” as Darwin named him, devotes
his days to patient study of the tiny crea
tures which swarm in the “harmas,” and
of which, and their habits, he writes with
a charm that seldom has been surpassed,
Even as a boy the insect world had a fas
cination for Fabre, but poverty stood be
tween him and the study of it. The story
of his 40-years' struggle to attain the in
dependence that would enable him to de
vote himself to it is a striking on*, and
liis words on the tardy attainment of his
desire are pathetic enough. “The wish is
realized.” he writes. “It is a little late,
oh, my pretty insects. I greatly fear that
the peach is offered to me only when I
have no teeth wherewith to eat it: Is the
time remaining enough, oh, m.v busy Hy
menoptera. to enable me to add yet a few
seemly pages to your history? Or will my
failing strength cheat iny good inten
tions?"
He is a queer mixture, this lovable old
philosopher, who is so shy and retiring
that when an emperor of France wished
to pay him honor he had to threaten to
send gendarmes to fetch him to insure his
coming, and yet who, as a struggling
young pedagog, had the check to under
take to teach algebra without himself
knowing the first thing about (hat subject.
But you will be able to sum Fabre up for
yourself if I tell his story, which may as
well begin at the beginning, in the ortho
dox way. His parents were poor, hard
working farmers, who lived at Sainte-
Leone. in the department of Aveyron, and
here, in 1823. their son was born. When
he was barely five years old. the natural
ist in him hnd begun to peep out, and he
was trying to discover how the “cicada”
—th* French cricket—managed to chirp.
At seven he was sent to school. You can
imagine the kind of schooling he got from
the fact that his. teacher was also bailiff
for an absentee landlord, as well as local
hnrber. bell-ringer and leader of the choir.
In the winter each child had to bring a
log of wood ns a contribution to the warm
ing of the school-house.
As soon as he could read the boy de
voured La Fontaine's fables and reveled
in the pictures of the beasts and birds de
scribed therein. At his school the children
often were allowed to help their teacher
ip his garden or on his farm, and when
ever young Fabre was brought face to
face with Nature he found something new
to examine and investigate. Meanwhile
he sang iu the church choir, and in return
for his services was given a free educa
tion at the college at Rodez. Here be
learned Latin, nnd Virgil made a strong
impression on his mind with his descrip
tions of th* things of the field nnd his ac
counts of the bees and the turtle-dove.
Thus far the boy's life had been a pretty
happy one, flint now began his struggle
with adversity—sometimes against actual
want, that lasted for two-score years and
over. His “people’ fell on evil days, and
the boy had to start working for his bread
and butter. Of this part of his life he
tells us little, only mentioning that be was
always discovering some new creature to
study and watching its habits. Mean
while he bad decided that if he hnd a nat
ural bent, apart from his mission for nat
ural history, it was for mathematics, and
ho decided to fit himself to be a teacher of
this subject, realizing thnt the work near
< st to his heart would not produce enough
to keep him. So he plunged into the study
of conie sections and tho rest. He had
no master, nor nny one to guide him, but
he faced difficulties with dogged persever
anee and worked out the problems for
himself.
His reward was being appointed teacher
of physics at the college of Ajaccio. Mean
while he hqd put a curb on his natural
bent, for fear it would interfere with the
subject in hand, but soon nfter his arrival
in Corsica an accidental acquaintance with
Moquinlandon, th* botanist, revived all
his ambitions. “Leave your mathemat
ics,” said the savant, "and get to the
beast and the plant, and if, as I think,
। you have some ardor in your veins, the
world will listen to you.” Fabre followed
hix adv.ee. AVithmft masters or guides,
often without books, in poverty and
wnoriienn.ss he persevered.
'I he story of how he taught a young man
algebra without knowing the first thing
about it himself is worth telling because
it is so characteristic. The would-be stu
dent was preparing for his examination ns
a civil engineer, and the extra money to
be earned by teaching him was tempting,
but how is one to teach what he does not
know.' Fabre asked himself. For. oddly
enough, this was a branch of mathematics
wbicn he had neglected. Ho hesitated
and then determined to try. He fixed the
first lesson for the following day thus
gaining 24 hours in which tn make some
sort of preparation. It was Thursdav. the
weekly half-holiday in French schools,
nnd habre stirred up tho colic fire in his
cell of a room, and sat down in front of it
to do some hard thinking.
It was rather a tough situation. Be
sides knowing nothing of algebra, he had
no text-book on the subject and. even if
it had been possible to buy one in Corsica,
off-hand, he hnd no money. Then he had
an inspiration. The master of sciences
bad a study and laboratory at the college,
nnd the keys of all the masters' rooms
were of the same pattern. Fabre decided
tn break the eighth commandment, pro
tern, and pnrlnin the science-master's text
hnnk till be could afford tn buy one nf his
own. Shaking in his shoes, he unlocked
the door of his superior's mom. helped
himself to th* bndly needed volume, and.
in less than no time, was back in his own
room nnd turning over the pages. Next
day be gave his first lesson, lie explained
the first principles to his pupil, so far ns
Im bad been able tn grasp them himself,
and lie and th* confiding youth worked out
the problem together with highly satisfac
tory results. Am! so the lessons went on
the pupil little dreaming that his master
often was ns much at sea ns himself, until
—supreme triumph!—the scholar passed
bis examination.
That is one of th* mighty few episodes
that raise a smile in the story nf Fabre's
life for the 30 years following his start
in Corsica. Still grubbing along ns a |>ed
agog, he married and. of course, had a big
family. In time he became a professor
at the Lycee at Avignon. It was bls
dvenm to secure th* chair of natural his
tory nt some university, but this dream
he had t-> dismiss, having discovered that,
for such a position, private means were
necessar:. Meanwhile, every hour of his
spare time was spent in the museums of
the fields and woods, studying his beloved
insects. What lie learned of them, he gave
to the world in the first three volumes of
his "Entomological Memories." which at
tracted a lot of attention among natural
ists. and particnlarly fascinated Darwin,
leading him to christen Fabre "the incom
parable observer,” but did not bring in
much money.
Money Fabre had to have if over he was
to devote himself to his chosen work, anti
In the hope of getting some he turned Io
chemical research. The principal trade
at Avignon is that in the mnddewoot,
grown in the neighborhood and supplied
to the factories, where it is treated for
dyeing purposes. Fabre's predecessor had
experimented, with some success, in per
fecting the process: the laboratory was fit
ted op in a modest way. for that purpose,
and Fabre decided to try his skill in the
same direction. Apparently he was in
curably shy. and does not seem to have
heen able to realize that he already had
made a noise in the world, Given a little
more practicalness, he might have found
the way smoothed for him. from this point
on. but he failed to improve a golden op
portunity for realizing his dearest ambi
tion.
This came in the shape of an unexpected
visit, to Fabre's laboratory from the fa
mons Victor Duruy, who at that time was
minister of education. Evidently Duruy
was all kindness and interest. He would
not allow Fabre even to take off his work
ing dress, find soon png the experimenter
at ease, asking him many questions about
his researches. Then he spontaneously
offered to supply whatever Fabre needed
for his laboratory. And Fabre declined,
saying that he could manage with w r hat he
had! Then Duruy inquired wliat he could
do? Fabre replied that he asked only for
the privilege of shaking hands with the
renowned minister, and then, on further
pressure, suggested naively, that, as the
Paris zoological gardens were under the
minister of education, when the next
crocodile died the skin might be sent to
him so that he could stuff it with straw
and hang it iu his laboratory, like the wiz
ards of old!
Six months afterward Fabre got a let
ter from Duruy. asking him to call on him
in Paris, but the naturalist was afraid
the minister meant to offer him a place
at some other grammar school; so he
wrote begging not to b* transferred. Du
ruy's reply was a. peremptory letter, signed
bv the minister's own hand, and ordering
him to come to Paris at once, failing
which, Duruy declared he would have him
brought there by gendarmes. IVenty
four hours later Fabre was in the minis
ter's room, where he got the heartiest of
greetings, was decorated with the Legion
of Honor and. willy-nilly, forced to accept
the sum of $250 to cover the expenses of
his journey. He protested that they did
not amount to any such sum. and was told
to spend th? surplus on his laboratory.
Then, to his great alarm, he w-as told that
he was to bo presented t® the entperer,
Napoleon lll—next day and that, if he
did not put in an appearance the gen
darmes would Ite sent to fetch him.
So the shy "Homer of the insects” re
luctantly allowed himself to be driven to
the Tuileries where he was rather sur
prised to find the emperor quite a common
place looking mortal, dressed like any
body else, with the exception of the broad
ribbon of the Legion of Honor across his
brenst. Napoleon received Fabre as cor
dially as his minister had done, and talked
with him of his latest work, with which
he seemed to be fairly well acquainted.
Afterward, while lunching with Duruy,
Fabre was asked if he wouldn’t like to
visit the Paris museums and collections,
but he was homesick already, and went
straight back to his beloved Provence,
where a bitter disappointment was watt
ing for him. Some time before his per
fected process for turning the madder
plant into dye bad been accepted, a fac
tory was being built, and it looked as if
he were a made man, when an artificial
nlizaline suddenly was discovered, and all
Fabre's hopes were shattered.
Not discouraged yet, however, he kept
pegging away, always studying and writ
ing in the intervals of his duties at the
Lycee. And gradually, now that he was
an old man. fame tame to him and with
it a sale for his books and other writings
that finally made it possible for him to
give up his professorshiii, and, turning
his back on Avignon, to possess himself,
at Serignan. of the "litbqratory in the open
fields” which had been his heart's desire
for so masiy years. He himself built the
tiny voltage which be occupies with bis
family, and, mice settled, he turned with
the eagerness bred of years of waiting .to
the uninterrupted study of "bis dear in
sects.”
Now that it is too late to interest him
much, the chorus in praise of M Fibre,
has grown louder and louder, Maeterlinck
declares that Fabre’s brow should be
“girt with a double and radiant crown, as
one of the glories of the civilized world,
one of tho most profound anti inventive
scholars, and also one of the purest writ
ers end one of the finest poets of the cen
tury that is just past." Rostand describes
him as "a savant who thinks lil<e a nhiltw
opher and writes like a poet,” and Itlelie
pm paid n similar tribute. Frank Har
ris, one Of the soundest of English crit
ics. calls Fabre "the wisest man! and cer
tainly the best read in the books of Na
ture of whom the centuries hav« left us
nny record."