New-York tribune., 1922-10-07

Dacdal is hunting Beauty !.
always, everywhere, forever, unceas-
ingly. Beauty" says Daedal, rapt-
ly; 20 Beautyi Beauty"
She refers to it as her Quest
While she has been seeking it she
has acquired, by the way, three OF
four husbands Of her own; and mo-
body knows how many belonging te
other persons. But she has never
consciously sought them; they are
merely byproducts of the Quest
Daedal Is slender. Fothergil Finch
says that her eyes remind him of
the gloom, and the mystery and the
accumulated emotion at the very
center Of an Egyptian pyramid
where monarch has lain four thou
sand years with his queens about
him. We do not know whether
Fothergil has ever been at the CEN
ter Of an Egyptian pyramid
nor do we understand why the emo
tion there should be cumulative
through the centuries but
the figure pleased Daedal, and we
record it, Daedal goes just far
enough with the lip rouge, and never
too far.
And nature and art have con-
spired to give her set Of eyebrows
that are wasted upon an age that
goes in for free verse to such an
extent; the right one is sonnet,
the left one is a sonnet, and the way
she uses them is a chant royal. And
not only brows, but lashes /.
Daedal surely does swing mean
eyelash.
But she is sad, Daedal Is; almost
always sad. The Quest, the Quest
for Beauty, that is what has made
her sad. 1t made Hedda Gabler
peevish; but Daedal is too graceful
ever to allow herself to become
peevish; too graceful with an inner
grace, Fothergil Finch says. And
Daedal would never have shot her
self. If her husbands should shoot
themselves, that is another matter,
and would add something to the ex-
quisite sadness of existence. We
feel about Daedal that it Is owing to
her that two or three Of her hus-
bands should shoot themselves for
her sake; but the callous beasts are
too unappreciative.
We discussed it with her one time.
"Do you think" she said, musingly,
"that I am worthy of the tribute?
For it woa1ld. be,.a tribute!"
"a beautiful tribute!' we said.
And Daedal looked, for an instant,
almost happy-with that perfect
happiness which is always mingled
with melancholy-as she murmured:
90 Beauty! Beauty"
That was long time ago. 1t was
before we dedicated poem to her.
Since we dedicated the poem to her
she does not speak to us. We do
not know why, for the poem was an
honest outburst Of emotion, inspired
by the contemplation Of her sadness.
Here it, is:
Melancholy Reflections
I never saw a steamed clam crawl
Out Of soup tureen,
But that / thought: "Love is not all!
Death matters, too, | aOeen"
And have stood where waters wild
Rushed through the cobbled street,
And sobbed because some tom-cat's
child
Was wetting Of it's feet.
When the Autumnal Equinox
Sweeps the horizons verge,
The sardine means within his box,
Feeling primal urge;
And when the snail's prong'd peri
scope
Is withered by the snow,
I murmur: Hope? Farewell to
Hope!
The world is full of wosl"
A couple Of weeks ago Hermione
and her little group pulled a party.
They are always pulling parties, on
one excuse or another tea
and-poetry fights, soul tests, parties
Of all sorts. But this one was in
honor Of Daedal. She had men,
toned, in her sad, sweet way, that
her wedding anniversary was ap-
preaching, and Hermione remem-
bered the date. Tie party was
staged in Hermiones studio.
~
About midway during the festivi-
ties there were steps on the stair
and rap on the door. Some one
wanted Daedal. She went out onto
the landing and spoke to a gentle
man, a stranger to all present. When
she returned, her usual melancholy
was accentuated, and she called
Fothergil Finch and Willie Appel
xUhita and Voka Eoco1a1, ord +,,,a