Historians of American music have vigorously acclaimed the rising young composers of the 1920s. As the legend goes, that decade saw something special happen, and New York City was the central place where it occurred. Challenging a conservative and inhospitable music establishment, res such as Aaron Copland, Henry Cowell, and Edgard Varèse struck out on their own to form performance societies and publishing enterprises that would promote the newest compositions. In a few short years New York was transformed from a remote outpost of modernism, a city whose concert life had been suffocated by "the grey musty presence" of the traditional European repertory (as the critic Paul Rosenfeld rued in 1920), into "the capital of the musical world," as contemporary commentators repeatedly boasted. 1 The composers at the center of these changes deliberately cultivated an image of autonomy and iconoclasm. While such a stance was basic to modernists throughout the Western world, it assumed particular contours in the United States, where the battle for recognition and respect was especially intense. Leaders among America's young composers, perhaps by necessity, became deft spin artists who shaped gritty images of self-sufficiency, often tapping into cherished American myths of the pioneer and the inventor. Henry Cowell, for example, described his colleagues from this period as "experimental," "uninhibited," and "untamed," characterizations that have been repeated over the years by subsequent historians. The British critic Wilfrid Mellers, in a survey of American music history, titles his chapter on composers since World War I, "The Pioneer and the Wilderness." 2
While notions of iconclasm and aesthetic autonomy can account for some features of the modern-music movement in New York during the 1920s, they obscure the complexity of the community that brought it into being. Composers certainly dominated the foreground, but they did not attain success alone. Theirs was a collective effort rather than one of isolated trailblazers, and it succeeded because of an intricate network of publishers, promoters, performers, editors, and patrons. At its core were women. They often worked behind the scenes, devising strategies to give the new music viability on the American cultural scene. As Walter Damrosch, conductor of the New York Symphony Society, wrote in 1923, "I do not think there has ever been a country whose musical development has been fostered so almost exclusively by women as America." 3 Damrosch was not just reflecting on the recent past, when women had worked to establish prominent musical institutions such as the New York Philharmonic and the Metropolitan Opera, but also revealing much about the scene in which the avant-garde was taking hold.
Simultaneously, however, Damrosch's comment also pinpointed the limitations of women's involvement in modern music: they "fostered" its growth. Among American modernist composers, few were female--only Marion Bauer, whose work as composer, critic, and teacher remains insufficiently appreciated, and Ruth Crawford Seeger, a much more widely acclaimed re, especially for her innovative String Quartet 1931. Some women specialized in performing new repertory, most notably the singers Eva Gauthier, Greta Torpadie, and Radiana Pazmor. Others edited New York's composer magazines. Minna Lederman was the best known among them for her work at the helm of Modern Music, a "little magazine" published in New York from 1924 to 1946; Louise Varèse, wife of the composer and noted translator in her own right, worked with Carlos Salzedo to edit Eolian Review, a harp journal that became a forum for Edgard Varèse's International Composers' Guild; and Ely Jade, a pseudonym for Germaine Schmitz, edited Pro Musica Quarterly, the publication of yet another modern-music organization, Pro Musica, that was directed by her husband E. Robert Schmitz. 4 While a complete account of the impact of women on New York's new-music movement would treat all these res, the focus here will be on a sector of female activity that was crucial to shaping the institutional network in which modernist composers emerged--the patronage of Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney, Alma Morgenthau Wertheim, and Blanche Walton, and the patronage and organizational skill of Claire Reis. These women have been largely absent from accounts of the period, partly because they chose to keep a low profile and documentation of their work is sparse, but partly because of lingering if unacknowledged attitudes about gender and the writing of music history. A broader account of the new-music movement that explores their contribution can offer striking perspectives on this critical decade, revealing close connections to patterns of patronage in literature and art; suggesting what might on the surface seem an unlikely alliance between social feminism and the American avant-garde; and raising questions about the interaction between patronage and commercialization in the growth of modernism.
In 1925 George Antheil, a brash young American who two years later was to achieve notoriety for the premiere of his Ballet Mécanique in Carnegie Hall, wrote to Mary Louise Curtis Bok, the woman who was generously financing his work. While his outcry was typically histrionic, it articulated the central economic issue for his generation:
If you want composers like Beethoven or Chopin, you shall have to be prepared to do what the princes of other days did for these people. The joke of it is that the rich and wealthy people of our States want these thing[s] without paying for them [underlined twice]. For nothing! The princes of other days had to pay for them. So will the princes of today. 5
Antheil made his appeal, of course, not to the American equivalent of a prince, but a princess, as did so many of his contemporaries. More than men, women stepped forward as patrons of the American musical avant-garde. Whether Mary Louise Curtis Bok in Philadelphia, Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge in Massachusetts and Washington D.C., or Alma Morgenthau Wertheim in New York City, women of means put their energy and dollars behind young, often experimental, composers. This was not just a musical phenomenon or an American one: wealthy European women subsidized the avant-garde in music, and women on both sides of the Atlantic supported writers and visual artists. Private patronage experienced a major revival during the 1920s. In Paris, for example, the Princesse de Polignac (an American from the Singer sewing machine family) supported Igor Stravinsky; he dedicated his Piano Sonata of 1924 to her, and many of his new compositions received private auditions in her salon. She also subsidized Ravel and Satie, among others. 6 Well-to-do women also supported writers and painters of the period, for example Lady Gregory, who financed Yeats; Harriet Shaw Weaver, who subsidized Joyce; or Mabel Dodge Luhan, who supported D. H. Lawrence and others. In discussing early twentieth-century modernist writers, both European and American, the literary critics Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar have observed:
A striking characteristic of the twentieth-century avant-garde, after all, was its determinedly anti-commercial cast. Perhaps there has been no circle of writers since the sixteenth century which was more dependent on private patronage, and, like such sixteenth-century res as Sidney and Spenser, many prominent modernists were subsidized by a series of wealthy women or publicized by a set of powerful women. 7
Patronage during the 1920s, writes historian Dorothy Brown, was a "feminized" area, similar to teaching, social work, nursing, and librarianship; while Minna Lederman, longtime editor of Modern Music, later observed that the rich felt a deep responsibility to support the arts during the 1920s, that being a patron then was "like tithing." 8
Such was certainly the case with Whitney, Wertheim, and Walton, who provided essential financial help and moral support to New York's concert-music composers during the 1920s. Yet for Americans, private patronage of composers was a relatively new concept. In the late nineteenth century, as an American wealthy class rose to prominence through expanding railroads, mines, and industry, it became involved in supporting cultural improvement. In music, however, support most often went toward performance, not composition, and its focus was on the European repertory. 9
Just as the notion of being a patron followed European models, so too did the choice of music to support. The same occurred with American museums: underwriting the purchase and exhibition of European masterworks brought a cachet of sophistication and cultivation that local art could not match. America's wealthy citizens munificently funded the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Metropolitan Opera, the New York Philharmonic, and Carnegie Hall, but with the exception of Isabella Stewart Gardner, who in Boston at the turn of the century subsidized Charles Martin Loeffler, they paid little attention to native composers.
Things began changing in the late 1910s, especially with the work of Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge, and by the early 1920s patronage of composers was becoming more frequent. Though many continued to support the performance of European masterworks, other patrons reached out to contemporary American composers, and they made quite a difference. Suddenly an ambitious group of young musicians did not need to spend time earning a living outside of composition, as had William Billings who worked as a tanner in late eighteenth-century Boston, or Charles Ives who built a successful insurance business in early twentieth-century New York. Instead they could devote themselves fully to practicing their art.
Gertrude Whitney, Alma Wertheim, and Blanche Walton, then, were continuing an old tradition but giving it a new twist. Each allied herself with a different faction of the avant-garde, and each shaped her giving in an individual way. In biographical terms, they sought personal satisfaction by contributing to a cause that seemed both adventuresome and important. In an institutional sense, they established a fragile but crucial network for the early performance and reception of the avant-garde in New York.
Although remembered primarily as a patron of visual artists, Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney (1875-1942) advanced modernism in America in a variety of art forms, including music. An accomplished sculptor, she was a major benefactor of the famous 1913 Armory Show, through which European modernist painting first reached New York, and her Whitney Studio Club, located on West Eighth Street in Greenwich Village, led to the founding of the Whitney Museum of American Art in 1931. Her involvement in music, while less celebrated, had a similar purpose: to promote modernism in a society reluctant to accept it. The focus of her support was the Franco-American composer Edgard Varèse and others within the so-called "ultra-modern" camp ("ultra-modern" being a designation during the 1910s and 1920s for a range of new styles that seemed either especially experimental or notably distinct from the music of Western Europe). Whitney's patronage of Varèse began in 1917, when she helped underwrite his performance of Hector Berlioz's Requiem at the Hippodrome, and continued two years later with his New Symphony Orchestra, a group that in retrospect seems like a musical response to the Armory Show. Whitney was among a group of four women who formed the orchestra's "executive committee." 10 In April 1919 the New Symphony Orchestra gave a concert conducted by Varèse, which included American premieres of works by the European modernists Alfredo Casella and Béla Bartók. Afterwards, in the wake of a harsh critical response, the venture ended abruptly with Varèse's resignation.
More important was Whitney's position as "one of the principal sponsors" of Varèse's International Composers' Guild, founded in 1921 as an early organization devoted to promoting modernist music in New York (VLD, 154). Whitney provided the group with direct financial support and housed its office at the Whitney Studio Club from mid-1923 to late 1925. 11 During its six-season existence, the Guild gave a series of important premieres, including those of Varèse's own music and compositions by Carl Ruggles, an American composer renowned for writing "dissonant counterpoint." Its main activity, however, was directed toward bringing the newest European compositions to New York. The Guild sponsored American premieres of Stravinsky's Renard and Les Noces , Satie's Sports et divertissements , and Milhaud's Saudades do Brasil , and its most illustrious moment came with the presentation of Arnold Schoenberg's Pierrot lunaire on 4 February 1923, eleven years after its world premiere in Europe. By then Pierrot was a middle-aged icon of modernism. Yet its belated American premiere was more than an example of American cultural lag, as historians have often claimed in connection with such events. The New York debut of Pierrot occurred at a time when the work was being revived elsewhere as well, following a break in performances during World War I. Beginning April 1921, the Society for Private Performances in Vienna--in many ways the model for Varèse's International Composers' Guild--presented Pierrot in both Vienna and Prague. 12 In January 1922 Darius Milhaud conducted it in Paris (he also attended the New York premiere), and shortly after its New York debut Alfredo Casella introduced it to Italy. 13 World War I inhibited the dissemination of other European modernist compositions as well.
In supporting the International Composers' Guild, Gertrude Whitney was following the example of older members of her family, most of whom were male, but she did so in her own way. Among the heirs of the Vanderbilt family fortune, built on ships and railroads, she expanded her financial base by marrying Harry Payne Whitney, whose money lay largely in oil and tobacco. Yet the Whitneys and Vanderbilts had focused their philanthropy on major institutions such as Columbia University and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Gertrude, instead, directed her gifts to living artists. For her, patronage became a way of relieving what historian Ann Firor Scott has termed "the inchoate sense of uselessness which afflicted young women of leisure." 14 It also helped her cope with an unhappy marriage. After bearing children and submitting to the constraints of New York's high society, Whitney seemed like a wealthy counterpart of Lily Bart in Edith Wharton's House of Mirth, whom Wharton characterized as "so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate." 15 Whitney, in a similar fashion, confessed to her journal in 1901 a feeling of uselessness: "I pity, I pity above all that class of people who have no necessity to work. . . . [The wealthy are] the great and grand unemployed--the dregs of humanity." 16 Patronage, like sculpture, provided Whitney with a means of attaining fulfillment.
Whitney's support of Varèse appears to have been her primary activity in new music. Besides helping to underwrite his performance organizations, in 1921 she gave him what his wife Louise later described as "an adequate allowance" so that he would not have to take a job (VLD, 155). It is unclear how long her subsidies lasted. She also hosted post-concert parties and lectures. After the Guild's first concert in February 1922, she threw a party at the Whitney Club that was attended "by practically the entire audience," as Louise Varèse later recalled, and in subsequent years there were social events for composers at the Club and at the home of Juliana Force, Whitney's secretary and active liaison to artists (VLD, 172). But details about her substantial support of the International Composers' Guild remain obscure, in part because Varèse's papers are inaccessible to scholars and little about this facet of Whitney's work survives among her papers. 17 There is a broader reason as well. Looking back on her patronage of visual artists, the painter John Sloan observed: "No one will ever know the extent of the private benefactions Mrs. Whitney performed through Mrs. Force. The records have been destroyed, probably at Mrs. Whitney's request. But . . . I know of innumerable artists whose studio rent was paid, or pictures purchased just at the right time to keep the wolf from the door, or hospital expenses covered, or a trip to Europe made possible." 18
Because information about Whitney's music patronage is so sparse, her importance can easily be slighted. Yet her assistance in launching the first major organization for American modernist composers made her one of the earliest patrons to subsidize new music in New York. By extending the kind of support already being given visual artists to those who wrote music, Whitney's efforts in the late 1910s and early 1920s helped turn the attention of American patrons away from performances of European classics, which were a safe investment with high cultural prestige, and towards American composers. A kind of venture capitalist for new music, she supported a key modernist and his institutional forum, confident that her investment would yield a more vital and imaginative creative environment.
Alma Morgenthau Wertheim (1887-1953) expanded on the work begun by Whitney. A decade younger than Whitney and a child of Jewish financiers rather than Protestant industrialists, Wertheim began her support for new music within Whitney's orbit, becoming one of several subsidiary financiers of the International Composers' Guild. 19 But Wertheim soon went her own way, largely focusing her support on the League of Composers, a rival organization within New York's modern-music movement. There were other revealing differences between the two women. While Whitney's deepest connection had been to the visual arts and her direct participation in new music had been slight, Wertheim took much more of a composer-focused, hands-on approach. She was among the dissenters who broke from the Guild in 1923 to form the League of Composers, she became an active member of the new organization's board, and she founded her own publishing firm for issuing new scores. 20 Wertheim helped turn the League of Composers into a major force in American music. Although initially modeling itself on the Guild by featuring new European compositions, the League went on to nurture native talent, becoming an important sponsor of Aaron Copland and other Americans who had studied in France with Nadia Boulanger.
In yet another contrast to Whitney, Wertheim's work as a music patron has been better documented, though its sources are still scattered. The Morgenthau archive at the Library of Congress contains materials mostly about male family members, especially Alma's father, the financier and ambassador Henry Morgenthau, and her brother Henry Morgenthau, Jr., who was secretary of the treasury under Franklin Roosevelt. 21 Her first husband, Maurice Wertheim, owned a Wall Street investment firm and was a major patron of the Theater Guild. (Their marriage ended in 1929.) Thus information about Alma's legacy largely comes from the files of composers--especially Aaron Copland, Virgil Thomson, and Louis Gruenberg--and from interviews with Claire Reis and Minna Lederman, two women with whom she worked at the League. Even her daughters (who included the late historian Barbara Tuchman) saved few of her papers. 22
Wertheim's efforts took several forms. One involved contributions to new-music organizations. In addition to providing cash to both the Guild and the League, she underwrote the League's journal Modern Music for its first few years, contributing $1500 annually to its publication costs. 23 She also gave stipends to individual composers, most of whom fell within the League's orbit. Copland was a chief recipient of her help and became a kind of hub around which her patronage spun. 24 Ironically, considering that the modern-music movement focused on breaking with the past, Copland's link to Wertheim began within the social conventions of old New York. In 1925 he made at least two pilgrimages to her Upper East Side apartment for tea; both times he played some of his music, and as a result she handed him a check for $1000. Copland later recalled, "I don't know how, without that, I would have managed in the year that followed while I was composing Music for the Theatre," recounting a key example of how support networks were formed. 25 Copland wrote this jazz-inflected composition for chamber orchestra while subsidized by Wertheim; at the same time he had a commission for it from the League of Composers. Wertheim also helped others. She presented Roy Harris with at least $1800 so he could study with Nadia Boulanger, and she provided smaller cash stipends to Israel Citkowitz, among others. 26
Another aspect of Wertheim's work was by far the boldest and ultimately the most monumental: the founding of Cos Cob Press in 1929, which in the next nine years published some thirty-five volumes of music by young Americans. These were scores that commercial houses of the period would never have released. Cos Cob Press gained distinction as Copland's first major American publisher, and it also gave publication premieres to Roy Harris, Walter Piston, Roger Sessions, and Virgil Thomson (see 1), most of whom had some link to Nadia Boulanger or the neoclassical style then in vogue. 27 Wertheim underwrote all the expenses of the press, and through it she joined other women, especially in Paris, who were publishing the work of young writers. For example, Nancy Cunard ran The Hours Press in the late 1920s and counted Samuel Beckett among her major literary discoveries, and Caresse Crosby started Black Sun Press with her husband Harry, managing it singlehandedly after his death. 28 Wertheim was also involved in the firm's operation. She designed the cover used for the scores and helped select pieces to issue.
Yet Wertheim's relationship to composers was volatile. Minna Lederman, a member with Wertheim of the League's board, described her as "a very special re in her own circle . . . with beautiful taste for decor, personal and otherwise, and a very hot, passionate temperament." 29 Her passion also affected her patronage: just as her tenure with the Guild ended explosively, so it did with the League. In the November-December 1928 issue of Modern Music, Wertheim's name did not appear on the League's Executive Board. It never turned up there again. According to Claire Reis, Wertheim resigned because of a confrontation over the design of Modern Music and a belief that her opinions were not being taken seriously by the board. 30 The next year she struck out on her own and founded Cos Cob Press.
Blanche Wetherill Walton (1871-1963) presents an altogether different case. While Whitney allied herself with Varèse and the International Composers' Guild and Wertheim focused on Copland and the League of Composers, Walton took on another faction of the new-music community: she became a close friend of Henry Cowell and some of his colleagues among the "ultra-moderns," including Ruth Crawford, Carl Ruggles, and Charles Seeger. All stylistic experimentalists and mostly hailing from outside New York, although spending large blocks of time there during the 1920s, these composers produced some of the more radical compositions of the decade. Walton was by no means as wealthy as Whitney or Wertheim, and the cash stipends that she gave were modest. But her big contribution came through offering housing and hospitality to composers and presiding over a kind of salon for the ultra-moderns. In other words, she exploited the traditional female domain of the home to help the struggling avant-garde, becoming a kind of domestic impresario. Carl Ruggles, an irascible Vermonter who often stayed in her apartment when in the city, acknowledged her importance in a 1928 letter: "Keep on, and you will become such a power in musical circles that all we poor, damned composers will have to do is to take our scores and our troubles to you and everything will be 'velvet.'" 31
Like Whitney and Wertheim, Walton took up her work as part of a search for personal satisfaction. Unlike them, she had professional potential as a musician. A gifted pianist who had studied with Edward MacDowell, she was later described by Henry Cowell as "a pianist of professional calibre in the days when a public career was unthinkable for a girl of good family." 32
Instead, after raising two children, she sought a new life in contemporary music, and her various New York apartments--in Bronxville, at West 68th Street and Central Park West, and in Washington Square--became havens for experimentalists. 33 Walton later recalled:
The one contribution I could make to the gifted and struggling pioneer composer was to turn my apartment on Central Park West into a meeting place. It was then a shabby elderly house which had a large corner room which proved to be excellent for a music room with Steinway piano. My rooms were comfortably apart which left other rooms for visiting composers of whom Cowell was a frequent one. 34
Walton's patronage may have been inspired by the work of Edward De Coppet, for whom her husband had worked. De Coppet was a major music patron in New York early in the century, noted for having founded and supported the Flonzaley Quartet, an ensemble holding the status of the Juilliard Quartet today. And Cowell was most likely responsible for directing her attention toward composers in his orbit. She met him through the singer Radiana Pazmor during a visit to California in the early 1920s.
Walton was involved in the American modernist movement from the very beginning of the decade. A few remaining letters, housed within a small collection of her papers at the New York Public Library, suggest the dimensions of her efforts. 35 She gave money to the International Composers' Guild. 36 More important, she helped support Cowell's New Music Society, founded in California in 1925 as a West-Coast counterpart to the Guild. Like Varèse, Cowell initially focused on music by European modernists, but he soon became an activist for his American contemporaries, most notably through New Music, "a quarterly of modern compositions" that he began in 1927 and distributed nationally. Walton also supported that enterprise. Principally, though, she gave composers free housing in New York. Béla Bartók used her West 68th Street apartment as a base during his 1927 tour of the United States; Carl Ruggles and Henry Cowell stayed with her for long periods; and during the winter of 1929-1930 Ruth Crawford lived with Walton while she began studying with Charles Seeger. Also, the first meeting of what would become the American Musicological Society was held at her apartment in 1930. 37
Walton's private musicales also served an important function for young modernists. In early December 1929, for example, she arranged an informal concert in her apartment for Ruth Crawford, which featured the premiere of Crawford's Suite No. 2 for Four Strings and Piano. 38 Another musicale, probably scheduled that same year, centered on Aaron Copland's work, suggesting that Walton's generosity extended beyond the circle surrounding Henry Cowell. 39
Because Walton did not take on huge financial responsibilities with new music, like Whitney and Wertheim, or step forward as an outspoken activist, as will be seen with Claire Reis, her legacy is more difficult to assess. Measured against today's standards of feminine achievement, her work could easily be devalued because of its domestic nature. Yet by establishing a base of operation for struggling young composers and by hosting musicales, as well as after-concert parties, she gave essential assistance. The ultra-modern wing of the American composers' movement was not as well organized in the 1920s as that of the so-called "neoclassicists." Cowell began the Pan American Association of Compoers in New York in 1928, which established a crucial forum, but it was a small organization that had only limited activities its first few years. By offering up her apartment, Walton gave these composers a much-needed headquarters for their work--a kind of private club for radical thinkers. In 1959, Henry Cowell paid tribute to Walton, calling her "one of the most important and best beloved sponsors that modern music has had here." He went on to pinpoint the substance of her contribution: "Much of the activity of composers of modern music was centered in her home, and we owe to her hospitality an early focusing of modern musical thought in New York. She created a stimulating atmosphere where nothing but generosity toward divergent ideas was possible." 40
As patrons, then, these women provided the support necessary for composers to write, publish, and perform new works. While their gifts took different forms--whether giving stipends to individual composers, subsidizing performance organizations, underwriting the publication of music and journals, hosting social functions after concerts, presenting musicales, or housing composers--they shared a commitment to advancing modernism in America. Yet an important part of their role as patrons was to stay modestly in the background. Louise Varèse called Gertrude Whitney "self-effacing," and the same adjective could be applied in varying degrees to all three (VLD, 153).  Her creative energy went into discovering and encouraging others, not into drawing attention to her own work.
While women patrons stood discreetly behind the scenes, Claire Raphael Reis (1888-1978), perhaps the most indispensable woman to modernist musicians in New York, was much more visible, first as executive director of the International Composers' Guild and later of the League of Composers. Her "luminous, nourishing energy," as the writer Waldo Frank once characterized it, became legendary. 41
Diverse ideologies converged to inspire Reis. Ironically, given modern music's small, elite audience, she approached her task with the tools and ideals of a settlement-house volunteer. If Gertrude Whitney embodied the high-society ambivalence of an Edith Wharton character, Claire Reis reflected the social mission of Jane Addams or Lillian Wald. A consummate organizer, she had deep roots in important feminized spheres--social service and the woman's club--and she embraced the goals of social feminism: to promote reform through vigorous action. While her female contemporaries labored for the rights of children, new immigrants, and the poor, Reis took on another of society's underdogs, the composer. Her activism and progressive roots closely paralleled those of Katherine Dreier, one of the founders and driving forces behind New York's Société Anonyme, an organization begun in 1920 to exhibit contemporary art. 42 Like the International Composers' Guild, the Société Anonyme came about through the alliance of a French modernist residing in New York--in this case Marcel Duchamp--and a high-energy woman.
Reis's career also reveals much about early musical modernism in New York, especially the years between 1910 and 1920, a decade that remains largely overlooked by music historians. Like Blanche Walton, Claire Reis was a gifted pianist inhibited from becoming a professional by the conventions of her time and class. While Reis later claimed that her teachers had encouraged a concert career, "playing for charity was my mother's idea of bringing up a musical daughter." 43 And musical charity became her principal pursuit. But she also happened upon modernism while both she and it were young, especially through piano studies with Bertha Fiering Tapper at the New York Institute of Musical Art (now The Juilliard School). 44 Tapper held Saturday afternoon musicales at her home, and it was there that she presented Leo Ornstein, another of her students, whose career she helped promote. While New Yorkers were still concentraing on Brahms and Mahler, Ornstein began giving concerts of his own tone-cluster based compositions, earning instant notoriety as an "American Futurist." Reis later recalled bringing both the writer Waldo Frank and another of her good friends, the future critic Paul Rosenfeld, to hear Ornstein at one of Tapper's concerts (IVP). For all three, as for others, these musicales gave a valuable introduction to music that was just beginning to reach America, including recent compositions by Schoenberg, Satie, and Stravinsky. Frank vividly recalled an afternoon that probably took place in 1914:
The long room [in Tapper's home on Riverside Drive] with a façade of windows giving on the Hudson was astir like a convention of birds with the elegant gentlemen and ladies perched on their camp stools. . . . [After Ornstein played some Debussy, Ravel, and Albéniz], Mrs. Tapper stood up and announced to her guests that Leo would now play some of his own music. Leo responded with a voluminous, cacophonous broadside of chords that seemed about to blow the instrument in the air and break the windows. Chaos spoke [sic]. 45
Ornstein may have regaled them with his Wild Men's Dance of 1913 or Three Moods of the next year, both of which combined percussive tone clusters with washes of impressionistic pentatonicism.
For Reis, encountering Ornstein "was really the beginning, the ear opening, if not the eye opener for me" (IVP). In the spring of 1916, eight months after Tapper's death, Reis took up her teacher's mission, presenting Ornstein in a series of "Four Informal Recitals" at her home on Madison Avenue. 46 Those events were an important harbinger of the 1920s, as much for giving new directions to Reis's work in music as for laying crucial groundwork for the composer societies that would make modern music flourish in New York. Paul Rosenfeld had proposed the concerts in letters to Reis, and as he wrote, a glimpse of her future unfolded:
The point is, that in the back of my mind there is adesire to help organize a modern music club . . . and I wonder whether an audience gotten together for Leo's recital couldn't help form a nucleus for such a society? There's really a crying need for such an organization to make headway against the sluggish conservatism in musical circles. 47
No such organization materialized immediately, but Rosenfeld's letter shows that the idea for the International Composers' Guild and the League of Composers was germinating in the mid-1910s, long before either came into being.
Significantly, Reis was at the same time helping the poor. In 1911, she had fulfilled her mother's vision of musical charity by establishing the People's Music League, an organization that offered recent immigrants some two hundred free concerts each year in New York schools. 48 It was an extension of the settlement house, places such as the Henry Street Settlement House in New York or Hull House in Chicago where recent immigrants could obtain education and social services. Reis later called the concerts her "first satisfying experience combining music and social service in a civic project. . . . [It] stirred great sympathy [for] people poor and hungry for music." 49 For the League's tenth anniversary in 1922 Reis staged a concert of contemporary music, which included works by Rebecca Clarke, Louis Gruenberg, Frederick Jacobi, A. Walter Kramer, Lazare Saminsky, and Deems Taylor, almost all of whom would become prominent in the League of Composers. 50 For Reis, it was a pivotal event:
My reputation with the Cooper Union Composers' concert led me into the next phase of music--this time with a feeling of service to composers. . . . My sympathy for the masses and for music seemed to begin a new chapter; sympathy for the composers. 51
That fall, after the People's Music League ended, Reis became Executive Director of the International Composers' Guild. It was a productive but unhappy appointment. She moved the concerts uptown to the Klaw Theater, which she had obtained from a family friend at low rent; she put Alma Wertheim and the art dealer Stephan Bourgeois, well known for his exhibits of modernist painting, on the board; and she brought the Guild out of debt. Yet Edgard Varèse felt that Reis had "[taken] over" the Guild, and he disdained her after-concert receptions as "those delicatessen parties" (VLD, 177, 186). His choice of words, coupled with the extent to which anti-Semitism has surfaced in speculations about why the League split from the Guild, may support the view that bigotry did play a rule in severing the two groups. The anti-Semitism of one member of the Guild, Carl Ruggles, was well-known at the time; and Virgil Thomson later called the group the "League of Jewish Composers." 52 (He had felt ignored by its leaders in the 1920s--the League did not sponsor a performance of his work until February 1933--and he never forgot his sense of being excluded from the League's inner circle.) Claire Reis, however, vehemently denied that anti-Semitism had provoked the split, even though a substantial majority of the League's members were Jewish: "No, I definitely don't think there was any anti-Semitism at all. Salzedo was a Jew, Varèse's best friend." 53
Reis's account of the schism focused on two points: the "great disorder" at the Guild's board meetings and the degree to which some members took pride in obscurity: "People like Ruggles would loudly voice their opinions. His was, if more than a dozen people [were] in [the] hall they were catering to the public." 54 While Ruggles and others believed that broad audience appeal threatened artistic corruption, Reis adopted a more populist perspective. In a 1923 essay titled "Contemporary Music and 'the Man on the Street'" (published in the Guild's unofficial journal, Eolian Review), Reis urged that the ideal audience for new music might stem not from the "so-called musically educated class," as she put it, but from those less committed to the European classics. She went on:
'The man on the street,' as signified by the average person without esthetic standards which belong to the past, this man can hear, can see, can sense an art belonging to his age because it is part of his life, because he has not been educated to accept definite laws based upon tradition. 55
Modernist composers, in other words, might circumvent the audience that attended performances by the Philharmonic or the Metropolitan Opera, instead building a congregation of modernists from average lovers of music whose aesthetic boundaries had not yet been firmly set in place. Reis never spelled out who would make up this new constituency, but it seems likely that she had in mind the same working class audience who had participated in the People's Music League. Social feminism could benefit modernist composers.
Not surprisingly, Reis's article was greeted with charges hurled at other social feminists of the day. Jerome Hart, a conservative music critic, dismissed her theory as evidence of the depths to which modernism had plunged:
Of course, this is but a phase of present-day unrestand revolutionism, which finds its extreme expression in Bolshevism, under which anarchists are elevated into prime ministers, incendiaries and criminals into judges, and all the rules of decent and orderly living are thrown into the discard. It is a passing phase, in which ugliness, both moral and physical, boldly asserts itself. 56
Hart published this not long after the Red Scare of 1919-1920, when the epithet "Bolshevist" had been hurled at many espousing new ideas. 57 It hit social feminists especially hard. The pioneering Sheppard-Towner Maternity and Infancy Protection Act of 1921, for which women had campaigned vigorously, was dubbed "Bolshevist" by its opponents, and four years later such name-calling defeated a child-labor initiative in Congress. Hart, in short, viewed both the music that Reis supported and the audience that she anticipated as subversive, a charge also leveled by the composer and critic Daniel Gregory Mason, a professor of music at Columbia University and a notorious reactionary against both modernism and jazz.
Reis's work in social service had prepared her for activism in new music. As leader of the group that seceded from the International Composers' Guild in 1923 to form the League of Composers, she became Executive Director of the new organization, a successor in name as well as spirit to the People's Music League. 58 The League of Composers instantly offered a major forum in New York for the presentation of both European and American new music, and unlike the Guild, which collapsed in 1927, it remains active today. Reis conceived the organization in a democratic spirit, similar to other leagues founded at the same time, such as the Women's International League for Peace and Freedom or the National League of Women Voters. And she was tireless in mobilizing its resources. She organized its concerts, staged publicity campaigns, negotiated with conductors and performers, hosted social functions, raised money, provided office space in her home, and made her car and chauffeur available for conducting business. Directing the League became a full-time job, though her position was never salaried. Aaron Copland later characterized her as "a pro. Her day was as highly organized as that of any modern career woman," and his words provide an important clue to the context in which she should be viewed. 59 By no means a radical feminist, Reis fit into a particular breed of "modern" woman. Proud to have marched with the suffragists--or so her daughter, Hilda Bijur, recalls--she embraced a feminist ideal that combined activism with a Victorian sense of womanly duty. 60 As one historian has observed, social feminists did not campaign for suffrage to advance themselves but "to win the power to clean up America. Social feminism was serviceable and safe." 61 Reis later acknowledged her model to be one of social feminism's great architects, Jane Addams, who advocated combining home and family with public service. Addams also supported volunteerism for women, and Reis later articulated the same philosophy: "In those days if a girl did not need to earn money, neither Jane Addams nor Lillian Wald--both very modern, liberal women--[did. They] were adamant that girls should not work for money" (IVP). To Reis and others of her generation, social service was modern, and volunteering provided an acceptable way of accomplishing it.
Also striking was Reis's connection to the Women's City Club of New York, which was begun in 1916 by a group of suffragists, and, more importantly, to the Auxiliary of the New York Philharmonic, both of which provided her with well-tested strategies for running organizations and raising money. 62 The Auxiliary had been formed during the 1921-1922 season, though its roots went back to 1909, and Reis had joined it the next season. 63 She formed her own Auxiliary within the League of Composers in 1927 and modeled it on the Philharmonic's, using it to finance special staged productions, such as those of Igor Stravinsky's L'Histoire du Soldat in 1928, his Les Noces in 1929, or Schoenberg's Die glückliche Hand in 1930. The group had a membership of around thirty-five, mostly women, each of whom gave a small gift of approximately one or two hundred dollars for individual stage presentations. Some were recruited from the ranks of the Philharmonic's Auxiliary, notably the Countess Mercati, who chaired the League's Auxiliary and had served on the executive committee for Varèse's New Symphony Orchestra, and Mrs. Charles (Minnie) Guggenheimer, who had also helped with Varèse's orchestra and founded the famous Lewisohn Stadium Concerns in 1918 (an inexpensive popular summer series by the Philharmonic). 64 Reis, in effect, was transporting the cultivated cachet of the New York Philharmonic to the new music supported by the League. Her donors supported appearances at the league by world-renowned conductors such as Pierre Monteux, Leopold Stokowski, and Tullio Serafin, performing well-established compositions by European titans. Yet this procedure also had limitations. When Reis asked the Auxiliary members to contribute to a composers' fund that would commission new works by Americans, she met with flat refusal: "We were keenly disappointed when not a single response came from any of the hundred-odd 'pillars of art,' although they had gladly spent $250 for a box from which to see and be seen for one evening. . . . They seemed little aware of the composer as a fellow human being." 65
Although the Auxiliary Board made it possible for the League to produce a series of high-profile American stage premieres, its members often faced criticism. Minna Lederman recalled that members were often referred to as "the ladies." But she added: "I don't think they gave money except when there was an opera coming on. . . . They did so then because of the glamour of the conductor." 66 Others felt the same way about analogous groups. Louise Varèse, for example, recalled somewhat disparagingly that Varèse's New Symphony Orchestra had a "large Ladies' Committee" that did "whatever ladies' committees do" (VLD, 140).
Among Reis's many other achievements, a final item deserves attention: her publication in 1930 of American Composers of Today, the first catalogue of music by American modernists. While today the compilation of bibliographies and work lists has become almost commonplace, in 1930, for these composers, such a source was unique. It served as an invaluable and highly practical means of giving conductors, performers, publishers, and critics a sense of existing contemporary literature, and it made access to these works possible. Two years later Reis produced a revision of the catalogue with two-and-a-half times as many entries (expanding from fifty-five names to one hundred and thirty-five), with subsequent editions in 1938 and 1947. 67
The involvement of Reis, Whitney, Wertheim, and Walton in new music during the 1920s has been obscured in subsequent accounts of modernism, but attitudes already in place at the time helped prepare the way. Female leaders of composer organizations may have disparaged the social pretensions of "the ladies" on their auxiliary boards, but men who viewed these same groups often evinced even broader disdain that also included women organizers and patrons. Some composers, it is true, expressed gratitude for the help they had received; Copland and Cowell publicly acknowledged their debts to Reis and Walton. 68 But others all but demonized their benefactors, expressing gendered bigotry. Music critics tended to be the most outspoken, often attacking women as a group rather than singling out individuals, exposing a deep-seated misogyny with many sources.
On the one hand, the 1920s not only witnessed the birth of a new American art, straining to free itself from ties to the past and to Europe, but the continuing struggle of the "New Woman," whose desire for freedom was equally as intense and ambitious. She threatened cherished traditions, especially in the first decade after the nineteenth amendment, when women gained the right to vote. As Minna Lederman put it, "We thought we could do anything." 69
That was the "modern" side of the issue. For musicians, however, there was an even stronger attitude that had roots in the nineteenth-century notion of music as a feminized sphere. As stewards of the parlor, as supporters of opera and symphony orchestras, as teachers, and as local activists through music clubs, women had increasingly gained control over certain aspects of music-making in the United States. For many men, this gave music a disturbing air of effeminacy, leading musicians to a "manliness complex," as a 1924 editorial in Musical America put it. 70 Women had become associated with the genteel tradition of the late nineteenth century, and when that tradition faced rejection women suffered accordingly. This was a major issue in early modernism, and it remained strong throughout the 1920s. Further, women were viewed as agents of "conspicuous consumption," to use Thorstein Veblin's famous term, and so became an easy target in the complex of anti-commercialism and anti-traditionalism fundamental to American modernism. Increasingly, consonant music, and especially the pretty sort representing longstanding European traditions, became linked with effeminacy, while strong dissonance was labeled "manly" or "virile." Witness a review of one of the Copland-Sessions Concerts, a series that from 1928 to 1931 was dedicated to promoting the music of young American composers, in which a compliment is paid in sharply gendered language: "But there is a pretty high average in ideas and workmanship, and an an especially high one in virility." 71
Gender dichotomies frequently overlapped with distinctions between new and old, highbrow and lowbrow. In an essay published in 1929, Nicolas Slonimsky, a member of the young generation of composers, illustrated this process at work. "Yes, we want our musical tastes to be governed by the young sophisticates rather than by Mrs. Carrie Jacobs Bond" (a turn-of-the-century composer of popular songs, most notably "I Love You Truly"). 72 Similarly, the composer George Antheil attacked popular tunes of the recent past with an obscene and gendered slur.
I pride myself with the fact that most of the themes [of Antheil's Second Sonata for Violin, Piano, and Bass-Drums] are not original. 'In the shade of the Old Apple Tree,' 'Hochee Chooche' [sic], 'Darling, you are growing older,' and all the most vomiting, repulsive material. This sonata is like Joyce, and like spew . . . nevertheless it is electrical. For the first time in the history of the concert stage the world is allowed to gaze raptuously [sic] into an open cunt. 73
Women patrons, as highly visible focal points for the tensions within modernism, were often criticized. In 1920 the critic Paul Rosenfeld--the same Rosenfeld who was a close friend of Claire Reis and would become one of the most enlightened voices of the decade (at least in his concert-music tastes)--wrote an article for The Dial that discussed the demise of Varèse's tenure with the New Symphony Orchestra (the group subsidized primarily by Gertrude Whitney). The orchestra's failure to succeed in performing contemporary music was "one of the innumerable consequences of the fact that in America musical organizations have patronesses more often than they have patrons."
Great musical bodies cannot exist in America today, it is a commonplace, without subsidies. . . . But in our civilization, the man is not interested in art. . . . The control of the purer forms of music are almost entirely left to the distaff side. . . . But, unfortunately, the control by women of art is not the health of art. . . . In consequence, artistic activity remains, for the majority of those who engage in it, a lightly social expression. 74
In the same vein are the remarks of Deems Taylor, a stylistically conservative composer and well-known critic of the 1920s, who presented his survey of contemporary music in Civilization in the United States, a collection of essays that assessed the state of American culture. "Women," wrote Taylor, "constitute ninety per cent of those who support music in this country. . . . It is no disparagement of their activities to say that such a state of affairs is unhealthy." Rather than being lightweight, as Rosenfeld had charged, women were prone to "demand that art be edifying" and to encourage chauvinism among American composers. 75
In 1928, a year after Varèse's next organizational effort, the International Composers' Guild, had come to an end, Rosenfeld hailed the group for its achievements and compared it with its principal rival, the League of Composers--again in gendered terms. The League, which was dominated by women, fulfilled "a social function where the performance of music served the ambitions of mediocrities; handsomely dressed people conversed up and down the aisles; and music preluded to an apotheosis of personal projections and chicken salad in close quarter." 76
As critics increasingly connected women to the new-musci movement, they questioned whether those on the "distaff side" were capable of intellectual engagement with the bold new sounds they were fostering. Satire became a frequent weapon. In 1926, the critic W. J. Henderson published an article in The New Yorker, titled "The Modern Music Jag," in which he sarcastically pointed out that women were giving up the Charleston for another fad: new music. 77 Three years later Vanity Fair published a caricature by the famed artist Miguel Covarrubias (see 2).  Blitzstein was saying as much about the hypocrisy of artists who accepted support as he was about the women who gave it, but he was also drawing on a cultural stereotype now firmly established. As late as 1981 the composer Jerome Moross dimsissed the League of Composers as not being "a dues paying organization, but . . . a pet project of two rich ladies who were constantly struggling over the leadership." 79
Such charges, now and then, have overlooked the importance of the social functions hosted by women, occasions that made it possible for composers to integrate themselves into a network of publishers, performers, and concert managers. Varèse himself benefited from such events, whether hosted by Gertrude Whitney or Juliana Force, as did composers associated with the League. A particularly revealing document in this regard is an annotated guest list drawn up by Aaron Copland in the spring of 1930 for a party given by Blanche Walton, probably after one of the Copland-Sessions Concerts on 13 April. 80 Some of the guests were plainly invited for their topicality. The program that evening had included three new Hungarian works, Istvan Szelenyi's Recitative, Pál Kadosa's Sonatina, and Imre Weisshaus's Piano Study, and a number of Hungarians were among the invitees (the Hungarian Consulate General, the violinist Leopold Auer, the composer and violinist Sandor Harmati), most likely a reflection of Walton's association with Béla Bartók. There is also a small Polish contingent, in deference to a work by a Polish composer that had been performed. But the other invitees show that Copland was staging an event that brought together the many powerful res associated with modern music. They included leaders of the League of Composers, such as Claire Reis and her husband Arthur, as well as cofounders Emerson Whithorne and Federick Jacobi; concert managers, especially Arthur Judson and F. C. Coppicus, two of the most important of the day; and members of the press, especially the British critic and composer Leigh Henry and Robert Simon of the New Yorker.
It was through these mundane yet effective means that women patrons and supporters played such a crucial role in the rapid acceptance and institutionalization of modernist music. Yet their role in the new-music movement in America during the 1920s also raises questions with ongoing implications. Did women support a musical and cultural form that was deeply implicated with misogyny? And if so, how did they view themselves within it? Was the American modernist movement much more elitist and much less based in counter-cultural impulses than we have often imagined it to be? Was modernism's "traffic with the emerging world of consumerism and fashion," as the literary critic Lawrence Rainey has urged, "more complicated, more ambiguous" that we have often assumed? 81
Modernist composers, in many respects, tried to have it both ways. They constructed an autonomous profile and often took pride in the elitist constituency to which their music appealed. Deeply suspicious of the pressures brought to bear by a mass market, they consciously distinguished themselves from "commercial" musicians--a designation that was increasingly applied not only to composers of popular songs, such as George Gershwin or Jerome Kern, but to conductors of the standard European repertory, such as Damrosch and Arturo Toscanini, who vigorously marketed the music of Beethoven and Brahms through the newer media of radio and recordings. 82 At the same time, though, they sought recognition and success, and they were not above using techniques derived from the realm of commercial advertising to promote their work. Cowell staged a press conference--or as Musical America put it, "an impromptu recital for the benefit of the cameramen"--on the roof of the Knabe Building on Fifth Avenue a week after his Carnegie Hall debut in February 1924, and George Antheil hired a professional agent to promote the New York premiere of his Ballet Mécanique three years later. 83 Further, composers increasingly sought concert venues that would attract widespread publicity. In December 1924 the International Composers' Guild moved its concerts to Aeolian Hall, the same spacious facility where Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue had premiered that February, and increasingly the Guild's programs featured conductor-celebrities, most notably Leopold Stokowski and Fritz Reiner. Even its premiere of Pierrot lunaire in 1923 had created a kind of popular sensation: the Klaw Theater had been packed, and the audience had included no less than the movie star John Barrymore, whom Minna Lederman later recalled meeting there. 84 And as already noted, productions of the League of Composers became increasingly splashy throughout the course of the decade.
But what of the women who funded and organized many of these events? Did they willfilly submit to becoming scapegoats for composers' ambivalence about success and commercialism? Little evidence survives to indicate their reaction. Yet Minna Lederman, whom I knew during the final fifteen years of her life, may provide a revealing example. Although a tough professional, shrewd political strategist, and brilliant editor, she never questioned the degree to which she helped build a world that was largely male. She saw criticisms of wealthy female patrons, the League's Auxiliary, or even Claire Reis, as being directed at another species. To some degree, she saw herself as one of the guys, and her sense of being exceptional may have been more common than we now imagine; some, perhaps most, of the women attacked by composers and critics may have believed that the bigotry they witnessed was directed elsewhere. Seeing themselves as strong intellectuals and gifted administrators, not as representatives of unpleasant stereotypes, they may have floated above the misogynist comments that surrounded them.
However they rationalized their ambiguous status, women patrons were collaborating with male composers who seemed to be as living in a state of cultural paranoia. They feared their European contemporaries, who they felt were viewed as the real thing, while they struggled for crumbs of credibility. They feared jazz because it posed stiff competition, especially among continental critics. "American music is not jazz. Jazz is not music," declared Rosenfeld in the opening salvo of his An Hour with American Music, essentially a treatise on behalf of American modernism. 85 If they were descendants of America's Protestant past, they feared Jews, who were gaining prominence in many arenas of American musical life. And they feared the women whose patronage and social networks were indispensable to their careers. "Political, psychological, and aesthetic discourse around the turn of the century," writes Andreas Huyssen, "consistently and obsessively genders mass culture as feminine, while high culture, whether traditional or modern, clearly remains the privileged realm of male activities."
Male apprehension about "the 'wrong' kind of success," meaning commodification, went hand in hand with "the persistent gendering as feminine of that which is devalued." 86 Women patrons and activists, in short, may have symbolized much more than the sum of their monetary contributions or hours volunteered. They represented gender change and shifting power relations. They highlighted the deep dependency of composers on a complex modernist community. They also reminded them of the degree to which new technologies were abetting the commodification of art. And they were easy targets, in part because they seldom struck back, preferring to position themselves above misogyny. Of the many paradoxes that characterized New York's modern-music community in the 1920s, one of the most vexing is how an aesthetic ideal so deeply committed to openness and free-wheeling experimentation should have been beset by so many self-constructed limitations. If we continue to accept the received account of this period, then the stories of Whitney, Walton, Wertheim, Reis, and other women who labored for modernism will stay safely within the realm of "women's history." If not, we may move closer to a more integrated assessment of the American musical past--one that honors all voices while keeping in plain view the tensions and paradoxes of the contexts in which they were first heard.
Carol J. Oja is Professor of Music at Brooklyn College and the Graduate Center, CUNY, and is Director of the Institute for Studies in American Music at Brooklyn College. She is currently at work on Experiments in Modern Music: New York in the 1920s.
Research for this project has been aided by a Mellon Faculty Fellowship at Harvard University and a grant-in-aid from the American Council of Learned Societies. I am grateful to Judith Tick for many kinds of help, and also to Adrienne Block, Minna Lederman, Ralph Locke, Vivian Perlis, Catherine Smith, Mark Tucker, and Linda Whitesitt. Throughout the notes, the following sigla indicate the location of manuscripts: LCMD for the Library of Congress, Music Division; and NYMD, for New York Public Library at Lincoln Center, Music Division. These are followed by the name of the collection, with box numbers furnished whenever available.
1. Paul Rosenfeld, "Musical Chronicle: Introit," The Dial 69 (November, 1920): 550; and Carlos Salzedo, who with Edgard Varèse was cofounder of the International Composers' Guild, "Outward Shows," Eolus 5 (May 1926): 4.
2. Henry Cowell, "Introduction to the 1962 Edition," in Henry Cowell, ed., American Composers on American Music ([Palo Alto:] Stanford University Press, 1933; reprint, New York: Frederick Ungar Publishing, 1962), x. Wilfrid Mellers, Music in a New Found Land (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 1.
3. Walter Damrosch, My Musical Life (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1926), 323.
4. See Minna Lederman, Modern Music: The Life and Death of a Small Magazine ("Modern Music," 1924-1946), I. S. A. M. Monographs, Number 18 (Brooklyn: Institute for Studies in American Music, 1983); and Carol J. Oja, "The Mother of Them All: Remembering Minna Lederman," Institute for Studies in American Music Newsletter, 15 (spring 1996): 1-2, 14. On Varèse, see Louise Varèse, Varèse: A Looking-Glass Diary (New York: W. W. Norton, 1972); hereafter abbreviated VLD.
5. George Antheil to Mary Louise Curtis Bok, 7 July 1925, written from Paris, LCMD, Antheil Collection.
6. See K. H. Ruppel, "Die Prinzesssin Edmond de Polignac," Melos 34 (June 1967): 198-203.
7. Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar, No Man's Land: The Place of the Woman Writer in the Twentieth Century, vol. 1, The War of the Words (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988), 147.
8. Dorothy Brown, Setting a Course: American Women in the 1920s (Boston: Twayne, 1987), 151; Lederman, interview with author, 3 March 1988.
9. See Richard Crawford, "Professions and Patronage: American Musical Economics," unpublished essay, n.d. Material from this essay is incorporated in Chapter 2 of Crawford's The American Musical Landscape (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993).
10. Program, The New Symphony Orchestra, April 1919, NYMD, Program Collection.
11. See Olivia Mattis, Edgard Varèse and the Visual Arts, Ph.D. dissertation, Stanford University, 1992, 149.
12. See Bryan R. Simms, "The Society for Private Musical Performance: Resources and Documents in Schoenberg's Legacy," Journal of the Arnold Schoenberg Institute 3 (October 1979): 135-42.
13. On Milhaud's Paris performance see Willi Reich, Schoenberg: A Critical Biography, trans. Leo Black (London: Longman, 1971), 128. Casella chronicled his performances of the work in an article for Modern Music, stating that "little of Schoenberg's music has been heard in Italy" and that Schoenberg's art was "so alien to our temperament" that Italians presented him with a "chasm [that] can never be bridged" (Alfredo Casella, "Schoenberg in Italy," Modern Music 1 [November 1924]: 7, 8).
14. Anne Firor Scott, Making the Invisible Woman Visible (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1984), 127. In a study of the patronage of literary modernism in England, Paul Delany quotes a British census of 1911 as listing 52,432 men and 195,712 women as having "Private Means" and being "Without Specified Occupations." A comparably disproportionate number of American wealthy women faced a similar lack of fulfilling occupation (Paul Delany, "Who Paid for Modernism?" in New Economic Criticism, eds. Martha Woodmansee and Mark Osteen [London: Routledge, forthcoming 1997]).
15. Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth (1904; New York: Signet Classics, 1964), 9.
16. B. H. Friedman, Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney, with the research collaboration of Flora Miller Irving (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1978), 181.
17. The most informative sources about Whitney's patronage of composers are VLD, 153-5 and 259; Friedman, Whitney, 387, 405; and Mattis, Edgard Varèse, 149-61.
18. John Sloan, quoted in Juliana Force and American Art: A Memorial Exhibition, September 24-October 30, 1949 (New York: Whitney Museum of American Art, 1949), 35-6. Whitney's contribution as an art patron is evaluated in Roberta K. Tarbell, "Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney as Patron," in Patricia Hills and Roberta K. Tarbell, eds., The rative Tradition and the Whitney Museum of American Art (New York: Whitney Museum of American Art, 1980), 11-22, 171-2.
19. Another of the Guild's patrons was Mrs. Christian Holmes, born Betti Fleischmann and heir to the yeast fortune, who came to New York from Cincinnati around 1920. She had been head of the board of directors of the Cincinnati Orchestra (it was she who hired Leopold Stokowski as the Cincinnati Orchestra's conductor in 1909). An article published in the Cincinnati Times Star after her estate was settled, gives a rare view into the dimensions of one person's patronage. Among the reported $20 million that Holmes gave away during her lifetime, $222,812 went to the Philharmonic Symphony Society of New York, $158,118 to the National Music League, and $36,500 to the American National Opera Company. By contrast, her gifts to the Guild must have been too small to be reported ("Holmes Estate Is $7,836,623," [Cincinnati] Times Star, 23 December 1947; clippings, Cincinnati Historical Society). Other information about Holmes comes from: Oliver Daniel, Stokowski: A Counterpoint of View (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1982), 50-3.
20. The split between the Guild and the League ostensibly came over whether or not the performance of Pierrot lunaire should be repeated after its American premiere (Varèse opposed repeat performances, while those who eventually formed the League favored them). But there was also a power struggle going on between Varèse and Claire Reis, and it left hard feelings on both sides. Probably because of this, Louise Varèse gives little credit to Wertheim in writing the Guild's history. She mentions Wertheim only twice: as one of Claire Reis's appointments to the Guild's executive board and as a host of Guild meetings (VLD, 177, 185). In addition to her financial and administrative involvement in the Guild, Wertheim wrote at least one article promoting its work, "World-Wide Guild of Composers," Christian Science Monitor, 17 December 1922.
21. A "family history" of the Morgenthaus continues the focus on males, noting that Henry Morgenthau, Jr., had "real talent" as a singer, but that "a musical career was the last thing in the world [his father] had in mind for his only son. Music was all right, though, for the girls. Alma, one of my father's three sisters, trained her voice to the edge of professionalism; later she became a discriminating and demanding patron of avant garde composers like Arnold Schoenberg and Aaron Copland" (Henry Morgenthau III, Mostly Morgenthaus: A Family History [New York: Ticknor and Fields, 1991], 240.)
22. Barbara Tuchman, letter to author, 11 December 1987; Anne W. Werner, interview with author, 21 February 1988.
23. Minna Lederman, interview with author, 1 April 1989.
24. While New York composers tended to fall into separate ideological camps after the split between the Guild and League, there was some overlap. For example, a letter from Carl Ruggles to Blanche Walton, written in 1926, shows that Wertheim continued to reach out to Ruggles, one of the ICG's principal res: "Curious: Dr. Bartlett forwarded a note from Mrs. Wertheim asking about me, and what I was doing, and I answered her a fortnight ago, but have received no reply" (Ruggles to Walton, postmarked 19 November 1926, NYMD, Walton Collection).
25. Aaron Copland and Vivian Perlis, Copland: 1900 through 1942 (New York: St. Martin's, 1984), 112.
26. Copland and Perlis, Copland, 129; Aaron Copland to Nadia Boulanger, 19 December 1927, "Mrs. Wertheim gave me $100 for Israel" (LCMD, Copland Collection).
27. On Wertheim and Cos Cob Press see Carol J. Oja, "Cos Cob Press and the American Composer," Music Library Association Notes 45 (December 1988): 227-52. See also her obituary, "Mrs. Morgenthau, A Patron of Arts," The New York Times, 26 December 1953, 13. Through their dedications, Cos Cob imprints suggest something of Wertheim's patronage. Five scores were dedicated to her: Copland's Piano Concerto, Gruenberg's Jazz-Suite for Orchestra, Marion Bauer's "Chromaticon" from Four Piano Pieces, Roy Harris's Concerto for Piano, Clarinet, and String Quartet, and Israel Citkowitz's "Gentle Lady," published in the Cos Cob Song Volume.
28. On women publishers see Shari Benstock, Women of the Left Bank: Paris, 1900-1940 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1986).
29. Minna Lederman, letter to author, 17 July 1988.
30. Claire Reis, interview with Vivian Perlis, 5 February 1976, Yale University Oral History/American Music Collection. Also, Wertheim's daughter, Anne Werner, recalls that her mother's finances diminished after divorcing Maurice Wertheim in 1929.
31. Carl Ruggles to Blanche Walton, 7 February 1928, NYMD, Walton Collection.
32. Cowell, "Program Note" for a concert honoring Blanche Walton, given at the New School for Social Research, 12 April 1959; typescript copy in the collection of Mildred Baker, New York City. For biographical information on Walton see Richard Jackson, "Blanche Wetherill Walton," in H. Wiley Hitchcock and Stanley Sadie, eds., The New Grove Dictionary of American Music, vol. 4, (London: Macmillan, 1986), 474.
33. Marion Walton Putnam (Walton's daughter), interview with author, 19 April 1989.
34. Blanche Walton, "Only a Sketch," manuscript fragment of a memoir, n.d., NYMD, Walton Collection.
35. Letters from the pianist Richard Buhlig and the composers Carlos Chávez, Aaron Copland, Roy Harris, Carl Ruggles, and Edgard Varèse, NYMD, Walton Collection.
36. Walton's gifts to the Guild are documented in Varèse to Walton, 8 December 1924, NYMD, Walton Collection.
37. "The Founding of the Society," AMS Bulletin 1 : 1.
38. See Judith Tick, "Ruth Crawford Seeger--A Modernist Pioneer," introduction to Ruth Crawford Seeger, Suite No. 2, series "Music In the United States of America" issued by the American Musicological Society (Madison: A-R Editions, 1993), xxii-xxiii. Tick also explores Crawford's relationship with Walton in a forthcoming biography of Crawford to be published with Oxford University Press.
39. This musicale is the subject of a letter from Copland to Walton; since his "Trio" was to be among the featured compositions on the program, the musicale probably occurred after the completion of Vitebsk in 1929 (Copland to Walton, "Wed," n.d., NYMD, Walton Collection).
40. Henry Cowell, "Program Note" for a concert honoring Blanche Walton; NYMD, Walton Collection.
41. Waldo Frank to Claire Reis, 21 September 1956, NYMD, Reis Collection, Box 2.
42. According to Susan Noyes Platt, Katherine Dreier "assumed an aggressive, didactic attitude toward the endeavor of the Société Anonyme"; she was a "crusading spirit" who sought to "enlighten the unseeing masses who did not understand the new art because of their inability to see beyond externals" (Modernism in the 1920s: Interpretations of Modern Art in New York from Expressionism to Constructivism [Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1985], 8-9, 11). In 1923 Dreier published her influential account of Western Art and the New Era (New York: Brentano's).
43. Reis discussed her potential for a concert career in an interview with Vivian Perlis, 21 January 1976; hereafter abbreviated IVP. The interview was one of a series, and the tapes and transcript are at Yale University, Oral History/American Music Collection; they are an invaluable source, with the transcript running to some 300 pages. The quotation about charity is from Reis, "Outline," undated typescript autobiographical statement, NYMD, Reis Collection, Box 1. Reis's obituary also provides biographical information: "Claire Raphael Reis Dies at 89; Leader in New York Cultural Life," The New York Times, 13 April 1978, sec. B, 2.
44. Born in Brownsville, Texas, to a Jewish family, Reis moved to New York with her mother, sister, and brother shortly after her father's death in 1898. She first studied piano in France and Germany. "Notes on Contributors" in Eolian Review 2 (March 1923): 28, accompanying an article by Reis, states that she worked with Tapper from 1908 to 1910. However among Reis's papers is a photograph of Tapper, stating on the back that Reis studied with her from 1906 to 1913; NYMD, Reis Collection, Box 1a. Tapper (1859-1915) was an interesting re in her own right. Born in Norway, she had studied in Leipzig with Carl Reinecke and Louis Maas, and was friends with Edvard Grieg, for whom she edited two volumes of piano compositions. Like many women, Tapper focused her career on nurturing others. A. Walter Kramer, editor of Musical America and another member of the circle that included Tapper and Reis, noted this trait: "And so she lived, for others, never for herself . . . I know that she composed much and that she destroyed it, never wishing to have her music appear in print" (A. Walter Kramer, "Bertha Fiering Tapper: Altruist [obituary]," Musical America 22 [25 September 1915]: 9).
45. Memoirs of Waldo Frank, ed. Alan Trachtenberg (Amherst: The University of Massachusetts Press, 1973), 65. Since Frank describes Ornstein as "just back from overseas successes," 1914 is a likely year for this event left undated by Frank; Ornstein had just returned to New York then after a highly acclaimed recital in London. There were other connections between Frank and Reis. His first wife was Margaret Naumburg, with whom Reis started the Walden School; and Reis's husband Arthur, whom she married in 1915, was business adviser to Frank's little magazine, The Seven Arts, which ran from 1916 to 1917. Arthur Reis was president of Robert Reis and Company, a firm established by his father that manufactured men's underwear.
46. Programs for the recitals are in NYMD, Reis Collection, Box 2. Included were works by Scriabin, Debussy, D'Indy, Schoenberg (Drei Klavierstücke, Op. 11), Ravel, Busoni, Casella, Cyril Scott, and Stravinsky (Piano Pieces of 1915). Ornstein also performed his own Melancholie, Danse Arabe, A la Chinoise, Dwarf Suite, Sonata , and The Masqueraders.
47. Paul Rosenfeld to Claire Reis, 16 August 1915, NYMD, Reis Collection, Box 2.
48. Reis, typescript resume, dated 6 January 1952, NYMD, Reis Collection, Box 1. The date of the inception of the People's Music League appears to be 1911. In Reis's biography (included in "Notes on Contributors," Eolian Review 2 [March 1923]: 28), it is given as that, also in several sets of typescript notes at NYMD, Reis Collection, Box 1. However, in one of her interviews with Vivian Perlis, Reis stated 1912 (21 January 1976), and Perlis gives that year in her article about Reis for The New Grove Dictionary of American Music, vol. 4, 28. As Reis tells it, her founding of the People's Music League came about under the aegis of Maurice Wertheim, husband of Alma Morgenthau, who gave her a letter of introduction to Frederic Howe of the People's Institute. Mrs. Maurice Wertheim (Alma Morgenthau) became a member of the advisory council of the People's Music League.
49. Reis, "Outline," undated typescript autobiographical statement, NYMD, Reis Collection, Box 1.
50. The event took place on 12 February 1922; a program for it is in NYMD, Reis Collection, Box 2.
51. Reis, "Outline."
52. Examples of Ruggles's anti-Semitism appear throughout his personal papers, housed at Yale University, the Beinecke Library, and his biographer refers to "Carl's anti-Semitism" as though it were so well known as to require no explanation (Marilyn Ziffrin, Carl Ruggles: Composer, Painter, and Storyteller) [Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1994], 195). Virgil Thomson, interview with author, 29 February 1988.
53. Reis, interview with Vivian Perlis, 29 January 1976; Yale University, Oral History/American Music Collection. When I reported Reis's remark to Minna Lederman (herself from a Jewish family), she was shocked to learn that Salzedo was Jewish, since she recalled him as an anti-Semite (interview with author, 21 June 1991).
54. Reis, interview with Perlis, 29 January 1976; and Reis, "Notes Added to Music," undated typescript, NYMD, Reis Collection, Box 1.
55. Claire Reis, "Contemporary Music and 'the Man on the Street,'" Eolian Review 2 (March 1923): 24, 27.
56. Jerome Hart, "Modern Music: Its Appreciators and Depreciators," The Sackbut 4 (November 1923): 102. Hart was a frequent contributor to The Freeman, a journal for which Daniel Gregory Mason also wrote (in fact he also discusses a contemporaneous article by Mason in this same piece), and his language in The Sackbut sounds similar to that of the critic Henry T. Finck, suggesting a pattern of linking revolution, feminism, and modernist music: "Schönberg learned a lesson from the militant suffragettes. He was ignored till he began to smash parlor furniture [and] throw bombs" ("Schoenberg and the Suffragettes," Musical Progress [New York: Harper & Bros., 1923], 393). The text of this excerpt is in turn very close to that of an unsigned review in the New York Post on 27 January 1914; Finck was then music critic for that paper. Connections between misogyny and modernist music are explored in Catherine Parsons Smith, "'A Distinguishing Virility': Feminism and Modernism in American Art Music," in Cecilia Reclaimed: Feminist Perspectives on Gender and Music, ed Susan C. Cook and Judy S. Tsou (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1994), 90-106.
57. Hart also called Henry Cowell a "Bolshevik" after hearing his tone-clusters, suggesting that his opinions were as much anti-modernist as anti-feminist (Jerome Hart, "Musical Bolshevism," The New York Times, 30 July 1922, sec. 2, 6.
58. Other members of the League's board who had defected from the Guild were Stephan Bourgeois, Frederick Jacobi, Louis Bruenberg, Minna Lederman, and Alma Morgenthau Wertheim.
59. Aaron Copland, "Claire Reis (1889 [sic]-1978)," The Musical Quarterly 64 (July 1978): 387.
60. Hilda Reis Bijur, interview with author, 16 November 1990. Not all suffragists, of course, were necessarily feminists. See Winnifred Harper, "The Younger Suffragists," Harper's Weekly 58 (September 27, 1913): 7-8, as discussed in June Sochen, The New Woman: Feminism in Greenwich Village, 1910-1920 (New York: Quadrangle Books, 1972), 26.
61. Dorothy M. Brown, Setting a Course: American Women in the 1920s, 34.
62. Reis, interview with Perlis, 6 May 1977; Yale University, Oral History/American Music Collection.
63. See Howard Shanet, Philharmonic: A History of New York's Orchestra (New York: Doubleday, 1975), 207-8, 245.
64. VLD, 140; Sophie Guggenheimer Untermeyer and Alix Williamson, Mother is Music (New York: Doubleday, 1960), 16. Apart from the Countess Mercati, who served as Chair, the members of the Auxiliary Board comprised: Mrs. Henry Alexander, Mrs. John Alexander, Mrs. Paul Baerwald, Mrs. Nicolai Berezowsky, Miss Dorothy Berliner, Mrs. Sidney Borg, Mrs. Henry Churchill, Mrs. David B. Dearborn, Jr., Mrs. Reginald De Koven, Mrs. Morris Fatman, Mrs. Henry Glazier, Mrs. Frank Gray Griswold, Mrs. Charles Guggenheimer, Mrs. Morgan Hamilton, Mr. Charles Hayden, Mrs. Christian Holmes, Mrs. Otto Kahn, Mr. Frederick Juilliard, Mrs. Philip Lewisohn, Mrs. Charles D. Liebman, Mr. Walter Meyer, Mrs. Charles E. Mitchell, Mrs. Henry Morgenthau, Miss Harriet Mundy, Miss Alice Newman, Mrs. John De Witt Peltz, Miss Elizabeth Rethberg, Mr. Sidney Ross, Mrs. Arthur Sachs, Mr. Alfred Seligsberg, Mrs. Horatio N. Shonnard, Mrs. Frederick Steinway, Mrs. S. W. Straus, Mrs. Charles Triller, and Mrs. N. Orme Wilson.
65. Claire R. Reis, Composers, Conductors, and Critics (New York: Oxford University Press, 1955; reprint, Detroit: Detroit Reprints in Music, 1974), 73.
66. Minna Lederman, interview with author, 1 April 1989.
67. Claire Reis, American Composers of Today (New York: International Society for Contemporary Music, United States Section, 1930; Reis, American Composers: A Record of Works Written Between 1912 and 1932, 2nd ed. (New York: United States Section of the International Society for Contemporary Music, 1932); Reis, Composers in America: Biographical Sketches of Living Composers with a Record of their Works, 1912-1937 (New York: Macmillan, 1938); and Reis, Composers in America: Biographical Sketches of Contemporary Composers with a Record of their Works, revised and enlarged edition (New York: Macmillan, 1947). Reis's other achievements include founding New York's Walden School, a private school for children, in the 1910s; later she also played a prominent role in establishing the New York City Center.
68. Copland, "Claire Reis," and Cowell, "Program Note," typescript version, 1959.
69. Lederman, stated in a private conversation with the author.
70. Unsigned editorial, "Music and Manliness," Musical America (2 February 1924): 20, as cited by Mary Herron DuPree in "The Failure of American Music: The Critical View from the 1920s," Journal of Musicology 2 (summer 1983): 311-2. Since some young composers of the 1920s were homosexual, women were not the only threat to "manliness." Decades later Louis Gruenberg would rue, to Claire Reis, "the sad state of music in America today since the politicians and homosexuals are dominating it" (Louis Gruenberg to Claire Reis, 1 December 1951, NYDM, Reis Collection, Box 2).
71. Irving Weil, "The Wizardry of Toscanini and the Latest from America," Musical America (10 March 1929): 53.
72. Nicolas Slonimsky, "The Patient, the Doctors, the Verdicts," Boston Globe, undated clipping (probably January, 1929), LCMD, Slonimsky Collection. This was a review of Paul Rosenfeld's An Hour with American Music.
73. George Antheil to Stanley Hart, [9 March? 1925], LCMD, Antheil Collection.
74. Rosenfeld, "Musical Chronicle: The New, or National, Symphony Orchestra," The Dial 69 (December 1920): 670.
75. Deems Taylor, "Music," Harold E. Stearns, ed., Civilization in the United States: An Inquiry by Thirty Americans (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1922; reprint, Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1971), 205-6.
76. Paul Rosenfeld, "Thanks to the International Guild: A Musical Chronicle," By Way of Art (New York: Coward McGann, 1928), 14. Rosenfeld's statement, when coupled with ones such as the following, suggest that the League--at least occasionally--was perceived as being more lightweight than the Guild. "The league seems to entertian a rather good-humored, even indulgent, notion of its responsibilities to the public. In Making up its programs, it favors music which is fanciful and entertaining, rather than that which is intellectual and uncomporomising" ("Modern Music Guilds and their Messages," Christian Science Monitor, 15 May 1926, 16).
77. W. J. Henderson, "The Modern Music Jag," The New Yorker (21 February 1926): 21; a copy of the article is included among Claire Reis's papers (NYMD, Reis Collection, Box 1).
78. Vanity Fair 31 (February 1929): 54.
79. Jerome Moross to Catherine Smith, 20 July 1981. Quoted with the permission of Catherine Smith.
80. Copland, party list now attached to an undated letter [before 16 March 1930], "Monday," NYMD, Walton Collection. A page in a scrapbook compiled by Claire Reis includes clippings for such events at her house, including "a companionable tea" for the Pro Arte Quartet, a reception for Frederick Jacobi, and "an amazing party" after a League concert; all are unidentified and undated (NYMD, Reis Collection, Box 1a). The exact date of the party is unclear. It may also have followed the previous concert on 16 March, for an undated letter from Copland to Blanche Walton states: "Our concert is scheduled for 16 March. I'll be able to send you a list of people to ask before the week is out. You might word it: To meet composers and assisting artists after the C-S concert" (n.d., written on stationery for the Copland-Sessions Concerts, NYMD, Walton Collection).
81. Lawrence Rainey, "The Social Structure of Modernism," in The Cambridge Companion to Modernism, ed. Michael Levenson (Cambridge: Cambrdige University Press, 1997), 29 (in typescript).
82. See Judith Tick, "Charles Ives and Gender Ideology," in Musicology and Difference: Gender and Sexuality in Music Scholarship, ed. Ruth Solie (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 102, who discusses Ives's gendered tirades against the cultural "monopoly" represented by the marketing of European classics. See also Carol Oja, "Gershwin and American Modernists of the 1920s," The Musical Quarterly 78 (winter 1994): 646-68.
83. "Henry Cowell, American Modernist, Demonstrates his 'Fist Technic,'" Musical America 39 (16 February 1924): 3.
84. Minna Lederman, interview with author, 21 June 1991.
85. Paul Rosenfeld, An Hour with American Music (Philadelphia and London: J. B. Lippincott, 1929), 11.
86. Andreas Huyssen, "Mass Culture as Woman," in After the Great Divide: Modernism, Mass Culture, Postmodernism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), 53.
.


I was trying to make an emblem but it gave me dificulties trying to save it...
There are 40 layers allowed but around 31 layers it started to get verry diffivult to get it to save .
I get the red message box in the upper left corner ; Image Did not save!
Verry annoying after spending a few hours getting it just right.... and then needing to remove 12 layers of work.....in order to get it to save.
! BTW : Whats up with battlefield crashing all the time can we get some descend answers on that ? i can only play 15 minits!! it used to be Hours on end .... but not untill 2 updates ago!
Thx for your time.
BrainFooLong
Administrator
Please goto DICE.
BBLog have nothing todo with the emblem editor.


Mandor Mountains [ao22], mountain, in Mandoria, peasants: 10000
Last updated Turn #145
Mandor Mountains [ao22], mountain, in Mandoria, peasants: 10000
------------------------------------------------------------------------
12: An unknown assassin kills Norn [n8b]!
14: It has become quite windy.
26: Stack of savages [fn5x], savages, number: 10, arrived from Newbald
26: Pit [q05].
30: Overcrowding causes zero peasant deaths.
Routes leaving Mandor Mountains:
North, mountain, to Mandor Mountains [an22], 10 days
East, mountain, to Mandor Mountains [ao23], 10 days
South, mountain, to Mandor Mountains [ap22], 10 days
Garrison [ap7q], garrison, uncontrolled, with four peasants
West, mountain, to Mandor Mountains [ao21], 10 days
Garrison [dd0w], garrison, uncontrolled, with ten undead
Down, mine-shaft, to Newbald Pit [q05], 0 days
Inner locations:
Newbald [ad6k], city, 1 day
Waystation [e40], inn, 44% damaged
WatchTower [v72], tower, defense 20
Battlement [x58], tower, defense 20
WatchTower [i33], tower, defense 20
It is windy.
Seen here:
Stack of savages [fn5x], savages, number: 10


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