{"numero_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_sha256": "50456e5d913916be83b9bb646123899d19f6b1ea3f6638c5a969edd67158f0a9", "source_tei": "https://github.com/Princeton-CDH/bluemountain-transcriptions/blob/main/periodicals/bmtnaap/issues/1922/09_01/bmtnaap_1922-09_01.tei.xml", "source_mets": "https://github.com/pulibrary/BlueMountain/blob/main/metadata/periodicals/bmtnaap/issues/1922/09_01/bmtnaap_1922-09_01.mets.xml", "url_numero": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01", "articles": [{"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c002", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c002", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 2, "image_fin": 2, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.2", "titre_corps": "Table of Contents", "titre_sommaire": "Table of Contents", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 1254, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2235, "texte": "Cover Design (Woodcut) — Jijan Oris. Page\nVitrion — Ilya Ehrenbourg 83\nSleep — Little Birds and Old Men — Lawrence Vail ............ .95-96\nReproductions of Chinese, South Indian and Javanese Sculpture —\nAnimals — Karl With .< 97\nA Toast to Ourselves -t- Vadim Shershenyevitch 102\nThe Lay of Maldoror (Selections, Canto II) — Comte de Lautreamont .... 103\nReproductions of Javanese and South Indian sculpture ............ —\nPoems in Prose — Pierre Reverdy 113\nTHE Mysticism OF MONEY.— H. A. L. .................. v.. . . 11'5\nEtchings — Thomas Pym Cope 131\nPoplars — Earth — Kathryn White Ryan 132\nBattle of Flowers — Albert-Jean ...................... 133\nAphorisms — Edwin Muir 141\nMorning Walks in the City —I. Schneider . . . . 145\n1001 Nights in a Bar-Room — Matthew Josephson . . ............ 146\nNatural Things — William Rose Benet 151\nFactory Chimneys at Daybreak — Ernst Toller . 152\nPainting, Past and Present — De Fa yet . 153\nComment ......... ..................... 156"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c003", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c003", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "83", "page_fin": "94", "image_debut": 5, "image_fin": 16, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.3", "titre_corps": "Vitrion", "titre_sommaire": "Vitrion", "signature_source": "Ilya Ehrenbourg ; Louis Lozowick", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "83", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2031, "texte": "VITRION\n\nGloom: window facing wall. Relief afforded by hole about the size of a\nhead. Bielov was making ready to putin a stove. That is, a stove was promised\nhim by Marya Ilyishna, the colonel's wife. She had got a big brick one from\nthe State Publishing House. She promised to sell him her old stove for a twenty\nthousand spot. And the twenty thousand spot was promised him by Dober,\na reliable man. To get it Bielov had only to botch up a poster : chimneys smok-\ning ; sun rising above them; workman, all muscle — main thing to emphazise the\nmuscles — extending hand to middle peasant. Middle peasant, of course,\nmiddling — does not count. Appropriate inscription on bottom :\nBring Your Potatoes!\nBielov set to work stove in mind. Bnt instead of chimney he got sticks,\ninstead of muscles — distended commas. And as for the inscription —\nIlyitch (i) himself would not understand it; Bielov rather guessed at it. There\nwould not be any potatoes that was evident. Nor any stove. And he, foolishly\nhad already broken a hole in the wall. No matter. More light anyhow. And\nflying visitors sometimes — thick-feathered white birds. The sun, aiming at\nhole, spat copiously making Bielov bray with joy like a donkey.\nA professor, his neighbour, a desperate \" Counter \" (2) busy with an ille-\ngal investigation on \" the Symptoms of Mental Diseases among Criminal Ele-\nments, \" heard the braying. He scattered his cheap tobacco, rushed to a secret\nchink in the wall, got out his note book and jotted down rapidly :\n\" Another case : lusty cries without reasonable cause. \"\nBielov's bed — a hill. His chair shouting : \" Attention ! When you sit\ndown lean over to the right to keep your balance. \" Cracked wash basin cov-\nered with black icy bark. Slippery floor. Frozen since morning — Bielov\nhad been washing. He was not cold, however —had on a fur jacket. Boys\nhad got it for him. Stolen goods still bearing Army stamp. Had to be\ndyed. Not enough color — finished right sleeve with wax-dye. Therefore\n\n(1) I^enine.\n(2) Counter-revolutionary."}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "84", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2950, "texte": "unaproachable. All winter : \" Fresh paint! \" Lydia Stepanovna, to make\nsure, would not allow him to get near her even from his dry honest side.\nQueer things in room : boards and, attached to them, sockets for electric\nlamps, a horse-shoe, cords all around, tin disks, glass, rusty wheel from clock,\ncigarette box, trash. All this not discarded rubbish piled up by accident, but care-\nfully picked collection full of significance. Bielov was not a freak, not a rag-\npicker, but an artist-constructor. Remember the name : Vassily Bielov.\nTough job getting materials. Though registered in the All-Russian Artists'\nUnion, he could get nothing. Received a card from the Section of Representative\nArts. Went there :If you please, some tin, glass, wood and a few other small\nthings. And in answer :\" We have only paint in tubes. Would you like some\nVeronese Green ? \" Jackasses ! He was forced to get everything by a sort of\nguerilla method, not free from danger sometimes. Electric lamp sockets could, of\ncourse, be simply unscrewed anywhere : in Soviet institutions or when visiting.\nOne could always do it by ingenuously turning conversation to the \" pyok \" (i).\nMuch worse getting tin. Not long ago he swiped a sheet from a burned down\nhouse on Zubov Boulevard. Militiaman saw him and wras going to shoot. Barely\nescaped. Same with everything up to cord issued by wise chiefs. To top it\nall — time lacking. Bielov would therefore work at night, freeze — and work.\nNothing else mattered then ; the stove, the floor of the \" Ice Palace \", the smell\nof cabbage soup — did not taste like soup but rags — all that was part of the daily\ngrind not worth speaking of. Compass. - Quantity. Circle great and splendid.\nNo mistake there ; nor passion ; nor wretched foreign vanity. Existence cabbage-\nlike, crinkled, rotten. Jaw of compass could seize it, measure it, reconstruct it:\nroom then — a berth in sub-lunar regions ; four senses forty-four continents.\nAnd an Object. There had been others : muzzle of dog inevitably in profile,\ncamel driver in Arabia, fish, cross. Now simply an object. It could be construct-\ned — with due regard to the laws of gravitation — so that it should revolve alone\nabove earth, a new heavenly body among other heavenly bodies.\nGloom —fiddlesticks. Only two objects mattered. Was begetting one now\nlying on hunch-backed bed supported by board for greater comfort. Stencilled\ninscription on board : \" Attention ! Biscuits. \" New form. Weight of cy-\nlinder and sphere. Teeth of triangles darted forward reaching, grasping other\nparts. All revolving. Walking. Monument to new era. Could not stand\nstill like scarecrow. Would have to be promenading from Strasteny Monast-\nery over all boulevards in circle along car line \" A jades wrould\ndie with fright. Object would be stalking, step by step, marvelous, infallible.\nCould not pass unnoticed. Even the American special correspondent of the\n\n(i) Bread portion allotted by government."}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "85", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2555, "texte": "\" Chicago Tribune \" born on the thirty-eighth floor and spitting every hour\nfive thousand words over cable, even he, having seen, would fall prostrate, his\nyellow shoes pointing heavenward. Would be won over to faith in new era.\nBielov had been at work two years. Sockets and tin. Project finished\nonly today. Easy to construct — all calculated, measured, clear. Even\n'name — Vitrion. Foolish name. As if some romantic trash were still astir\nunder the c}dinders of Bielov's vitals.\nHence second object — more ordinary in appearance than self-moving angles\n—- Lydia Stepanovna Barykova. Love — subject still somewhat dark, uninvesti-\ngated. Very hard to explain. Why should Bielov so contemptuous of emotion\npay visits to this Soviet lady with hair dressed over ears, and cupid cameo, who\nwould come playing pranks, ruffle him up, tease him, laugh her full at construction,\njust letting her lips skim over the steep knobs of Bielov's forehead fairly bursting\nwith Vitrions ? Why should he ? How explain it ? One thing — returning\npast midnight he would flop on his hunchbacked bed all exhausted. His eyes\nwould no longer see a glorious sphere but dimples in cheeks, — imperfections,\nhair dressed on one side, pupil dim and pale from tenderness and anguish — dis-\norder, splendid nonsense. He looked on without comprehending, while golden\nbeetles were descending from the sky through the hole. Yes ! One could\nconstruct an object that would revolve in the air — big, steel, unique. But\nnothing could be done with love : put it down and up it jumps ; say \" fly ! \" and\nit drops like stone and kills you.\n*\n* *\nNo one would accept the Vitrion.\n\" Well, exhibit project... it has some graphic qualities. \"\nOther object born. Like fire, wheel, screw. Lured a big Communist,\na fellow whose signature counted for more than any monograph. Every letter\nthereof in itself conclusion, criterion, mandate. He came, polite, sweet. And his\nvoice, his watch chain, his golden hair — all rang and rang.\n\" Construction forty-seven .. . provisional draught. \"\nAt last, breathless, pointing out his child :\n\" This ? This is Vitrion. \"\nHere something disagreable happened. The teeth of the triangles sank\ninto the soft soul of the Communist. He became irritated, mad, once again\nirritated. Stopping his tears with a cough he cried :\n\" Why do you do this ? Was it of this I dreamed in Geneva ? What we\nneed is sunlight, beauty, grace ! And this is prison, affliction ! I am losing my\nsanity when I look at it, as if I were to blame that this compass had devoured\nthe universe. \""}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "86", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2532, "texte": "The \" Counter \" behind the wall held his breath. Why indeed breathe —\nplenty of time for that later. Now he was reporting in his notebook another\nfirst rate case.\n\" Confession of criminal. Symptoms : pathological note in the voice, most\nprobably a masochist. \"\nCould not resist the temptation of looking in.\n\" Tell me, have you ever a desire to touch these wheels ? \"\n\" Yes ! Often. I pat the globe. This is not art. This is an object. \"\nProfessor having forgotten danger of being detected, purred happily :\n\" We'll note: Communists are inclined to perversion known as fetishism. \"\nFearing he might forget it, he ran quickly to the stove.\nMost painful rebuff from Lydia Stepanovna. She did not laugh. She\nlooked with loathing at Vitrion.\n\" Tear it! Break it! \"\nHow could he betray the new object still unborn for the sake of the old one\nHe threw at her the friendly phrase:\n\" You're a stand patter. \"\nYet quite often, at night, he would crumple the worn sheets, break the glass\npartitions and moan aloud like an old woman. The professor made no further\nnotes. It was all so evident. He feared only one thing — infection. Then he,\ntoo, would get himself a globe, enroll in the party — in general go to the dogs.\nThe high bulging forehead cooled off — has long been untouched by hot\ndry breath. Then suddenly, like a mushroom, appeared Tomilin the pupil of a\nballet studio. In the first place he was a dancer — not a Vitrion. In the second\nplace — his legs — Lydia Stepanovna had a soft spot for legs as if made by Eiffel.\nIn the third place -—- in adition to the first two —he was an idealist, could do\nall things, play pranks, steal a kiss in the dark, describe the golden beetles be-\nyond the wall with particular poetic gift. In the fourth place, in the fifth.. .\nIn a word, the kick of Tomilin's Eiffel leg frequently echoed in her talk now.\n\" Bielov, you never portray love in your work. \"\nNo, of course not. He was creating something else, the other object. He\nwas exposing love in all its nudity. Tomilin could leap to his feet, stand breath-\nless, throw open his arms — everything according to print: \"You are my\nown—for eternity!\" Eternity fairly bursting from his very shoes. But a globe\ncould exist all alone, and if well contrived and constructed could even move above\nand outside the earth. To give up then ? To let Tomilin alone lose his head\nseek out the hungry, mad, happy glance. No, he could not give up. Walking.\nLooking,, And suppressing his sorrow calmly continued constructing Vitrion.\nLost patience and asked :"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "87", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2508, "texte": "\" Tell me frankly — is it Tomilin ? \"\nGravely, sadly, eyes tinder lowered lashes like birds in a cage, she said:\n\" No. \"\nThen — a pleasantry offensive enough to take one's breath away, to make\none stamp one's feet:\n\" I love only your Vitrion. \"\nBielov wanted to understand but could not. And so it all remained\nunchanged — from golden down on nape of neck to tin and glass, from meta-\nphysics of Tomilin to the sudden rustle of her passing hands.\n*\nHC *\n. IvUcky day. A certain Guguerman visited Bielov. Looked at Vitrion and\nbecame agitated. Guguerman was, of course, the man who had formerly been\nlawyer. He used to transact small law suits, consumed quantities of \"booze'\",\nand, being of a melancholy disposition, would cogitate : did Raskolnikov have\nthe right to kill the old woman ? Was the love of Anna Karenina criminal from\nthe standpoint of higher ethics ? And so on. Then came October and its after\nresults. Guguerman's father, a jewelry man, was done in by the Revolutionary\nTribunal, probably on account of his all too many carats. Mother died from ty-\nphoid fever. And, in general, nothing was left — even his purse with monogram\non it was swiped in a car. Left with neither family nor monogram. Guguerman\nwas a man — and pants on him. Moscow, a city — and L,ubiansky Square in\nit. Evidently one must live. And Guguerman landed a job — fate had its laugh\nat his melancholy —in the Circus Section of the State Theatre. He served con-\nscientiously, was never swerved by Raskolnikov or \" booze \". He tried his best to\nharmonize the black clowns, the wrestlers bellowing \"Mmm\" with the eleven\npoints of the resolution on the \" Proletarian Spirit in the Modern Circus\nsign orders from his three-legged Empire chair with a coat of arms on it, and\nreceived two thirds of the corresponding \" pyok\nHaving looked at Vitrion, Guguerman first got frightened, then began to\nlaugh; the big triangles were darting forward exactly like Chief Kiriushin the\njealous attendant of all girl secretaries in the State Theatre. Quite amusing.\nWhat if the thing should be put into a Circus ? Men, snakes, two piece ele-\nphants, living dolls — everybody already sick of that. This contrivance would\nprovoke merriment at any rate; one could even slip in edgewise some idealism :\nthe world proletariat awakening, stretching its limbs, rising, walking forward,\ndestroying.\n\" Would you want it in the Circus ? \" Queer. And yet. . . Well let it\nbe the Circus. Main thing is to finish it. And then it would move of itself from"}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "88", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2172, "texte": "tlie stage to the boulevards ; no member of the Revolutionary Tribunal would\never catch it.\nDecided. In the evening at Lydia Stepanovna's. Success. She was silent.\nWould not even tease him. It was time for him to go, to work away full speed.\n\" Good night. \" •\n\" Vassia, stay a while ... I can't bear it. \"\nFirst time \" Vassia l,aughing at him ? Should he stay ? But globe\ncould not wait. Wanted to live, to move, to be born.\n\" All this is moonshine. There is Vitrion waiting at home. \"\nDark on the stairs. Treacherous landing — he slipped. And straight into\nsomebody's arms. Tenderly and maliciously fur ear laps of Tomilin's hat\nbrushed his face. Dancer fearless, bent down, swung up his arms — like wings —\none could see at once he was an idealist, and up over two steps to the top.\n*\n* *\nIn the Circus Section of the State Theatre work was in full swing. A new\nsketch \" The Third International \" was being rehearsed. Nations would come in\ntremendous masks. Make-up out of date. Masks indispensable. Mugs a foot\nlong. Terrible mugs. Not only Australian and Kaffir, but even some name-\nless beasts came crawling up. Violet varnished muzzle — neither eyes nor nose\nonly a black mysterious slit, an enraptured mouth shouting greetings. Tried it\non. Everybody frightened. Looked like the behind of some baboon; one could\nnot tell whether it was a face or something else.\nCame the horse rider, a negro. Sad. Coughing. \" Pyok\" had been re-\nduced. Dressed in some nondescript pantaloons. Could not bear it any longer :\n\" Wanna, go back to Marseilles. \"\nGuguerman, reasoning with him. Splendid suit according to all rules of\n\" Suprematism \" (i).\nDriver cringing for shoes -— toes sticking out, shame before horses' hoofs.\nAnd on side, reader from Communist group spouting:\n\" Circus must reveal the physical beauty of the proletariat. It's all in the\nmuscles. \"\nMuscles to be sure not commas. But the negro insisted :\n\" Pyok \" reduced.\nEasy to say: muscles. Bones still held together in\" Suprematist \" pants\n— thank Heaven for that.\nAnimals too — not men alone Vyssokov came up excited :\n\" You want the bear to call* nations together with drum ? Tear the\n\n(i) School of Painting."}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "89", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2637, "texte": "hydra of capital to pieces ? I tell you lie is going to croak. Can hardly walk.\nGive him the hydra — and he to lick it. How can you feed a big bear on a\npound of bread a day ? Do you think he's a bourgeois ? Hell kick the bucket\nand you'll be stuck with your hydra. \"\nHe could hardly be calmed. And the girl secretary tapped out:\n\" Circus section of the State Theatre herewith issue orders to give Comrade\nVyssokov a larger \" Pyok \" for the Circus bear in view of his arduous service. \"\nWell, sketch finished. Waiting for Bielov to demonstrade Vitrion.\nTruth is — all were scared. The manager's wife scared of her husband. Pious\nman he. Last summer she had to ride on army horse. No sooner had she mount-\ned than horse took to dancing American dance. Trained horse Merimee. Hus-\nband wTas at the window. Poor wretch got mad with fright. Seized holy image\nand into yard to save wife. And Merimee, having finished dance did next\nnumber on program — fell on her knees. Right in front of the holy image. Hus-\nband made sign of cross. Won over to faith in wonder-working image. But\nwife was Communist •— awkward situation. What would happen with Vitrion\nin action ? Husband would repeat old trick and then — public scandal.\n, Cuguerman had neither husband nor wife to fear, but there was the Com-\nmunist group. What if they suspected it all to be a hoax ? Some figures are\ncomprehensible to all: cross, star. But here was something mysterious : globe\nneither white nor red. Frejezing poor thing though set on pipes.\nArrived with some dark youth. Unpacked. Vitrion came to himself, rose,\nand went straight for the corridor. In the back, delegate from Penza at work\non linen, fitting up a suit for Julius Caesar who had been forced to parade in\nLittle Russian shirt. Twenty-five foot order. Suddenly something advancing\nwithout feet, without hands — with grinding intestines. Angles, globe, wheels,\ntin, trash. Though the delegate was party-man he fell back on superstition from\ngreat fright, and suddenly began to pray for the intercession of the Holy Virgin.\nSat down on \" Izviestia \" (i) in a corner and whined :\n\" Why did they ever send me to Moscow ? — Assassins People came\nrunning from other rooms. Guguerman understood and shouted :\n\"For the State Circus ! Model of the world proletariat. \"\nA.nd in a twang :\n\" Our latest. \"\n-Commander, a sailor, saluted. Everybody sang. Took to examining Vitrion\nEven the delegate picked up enough courage :\n\" Would be fine thing to send us to Penza ; trick like this for propaganda\npurposes. When everybody is out to look, have orator ready on Tax in Kind. \"\n\n(i) Official paper of Soviet Government."}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "90", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2424, "texte": "Everybody pleased. First performance decided for February 27. Sketch,\ntrained animals, and finally apotheosis. Victory of Vitrion.\nBielov no longer listening. Rushed to Ostojenka. Only to see her. To\nhell with all globes and triangles. Not at home. He came in. On window\nsill emerald rags from card table — Lydia Stepanovna was making a hat from\nthem. Empty vials of Paris perfume. Bottle of linseed oil. Old card for\narticles of first necessities. On back beginning of letter:\n\"3A. M. Come, dear .. . \" Ink spot. Bad ink ? Tears ? For whom ?\nFor Tomilin ? He got mad. Tore card and threw on floor one rag particularly\nspring like — as he would tin or cardboard.\n\" To please dancer ! \"\nAnd perhaps to please some one else ? Then .. . Moved to tenderness,\nsalty taste in mouth, eyes dimmed. Left note :\n\" Come on Sunday 27th. —to First Circus. Will leave ticket for you\nat offices. Vitrion is to perform. \"\n*\n* *\nBefore the performance everybody apprehensive of some misfortune\nTrouble started in the morning. On Soukharev Square speculators' fair dispersed..\nThere was shooting. Puppy killed. Only old man selling phonographs alone\nremained. In snow-storm, on deserted square, horn bawling :\n\" Please don't go away, please stay with me . . . . \"\nBut even crows frightened. Watchman of mimo-plastic studio on Boje-\ndomka swore that Soukharev Tower leaned visibly forward and a distinct voice\ncame thence roaring :\n\" And devourers shall be devoured like unto Egyptian kine. \"\nAt noon before the theatre on Theatre Square, speculator Guliash, having\nbeen paid for choice wheat flour intended ostensibly for an infant home, drop-\nped eleven millions. Wind blew. Like birds the ten-thousand rouble bills\nwent soaring up with all their Arabian, Chinese and other inscriptions. Passersby\nbegan to run after them — children after butterflies. Then they felt offend-\ned — let them fly. They did. And in a secret joint at Mrs. Bayzay's on\nKislovka a poet of the \" Nothingist \" school, absent-mindedly imbibed some\nwine, and began to poetize somebody in extremely syncopated verse.\nSoon, however, he thawed to such degree — he could not even finish his wine.\nGot under the table and began to crawl backwards like a crab. And he just\ndrank a drop. Bad day !\nArena swept. Came Army students in a bunch headed by chief explaining\neverything and keeping order.\nVitrion lay as in a cradle in the straw near the stable, Merimee was agitated,"}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "91", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2566, "texte": "scratched her neck, stamped her hoof as if tapping a message to somebody.\nBielov sat down on box near the stall. Was not thinking of triumph but of\ntender distracted smile. Ivetter for somebody. From Office:\n\" Comrade Bielov. \"\nLydia Stepanovna. Behind her insignificant but annoying shadow -— To-\nmilin. Why did he wear such tremendous hat. L,ike some Lapp.\n\" You want a ticket ? I left instruction to give you one . . . \"\nWhat if she should suddenly say \" I want You \" ? She squinted tenderly\nher cunning eye at him.\n\" I came to see Vitrion. I confessed to you already I love him. \"\nTomilin dissatisfied. Shot up his arms like wings of a bat and was gone.\nBielov did not answer. Grunted courteously and back to stable.\n\" Bielov, some people here from Executive Committee and Peoples' Comissa-\nriat of Education. In box on left. Great success. Academic \" pyok\nCompletely exhausted. To seize the damned globe, to knock it flat. To\nwrench its cogs like pincers of crab and make them crack. Fine, how do you\ndo. To conceive and beget his own rival. How did she dare think of this tin\nwhen there was Bielov with his hairy breast and the animal rumble in it ? How\ndid she dare that ? To her house now. To the green rags, to the empty perfume\nvials. Bend them over and drink ! Mouth dry .. .\nSat down and asked for water, but even this smelled of wretched tin. lyike\nVitrion when his monstrous body perspires with effort.\nGeneral restlessness. Negro all in cubes tried a somersault, then yawned aloud\nsuddenly like an old dog before a storm, rambled oft and whispered to Merimee :\n\" Would like to go Marseille. But they won't let me. \"\nMerimee darted aside* and neighed. Bad sign.\nNo people left. Alarm. What if in truth last man has gone to ruin. All\nthings are possible. Masks hatched out began to turn somersaults, and express\ntheir hellish weariness in -all manner of ways. Afghans, Irish — that was not-\nso bad. There was worse. The nondescript thing, the creature of no definite\nnationality or region -— some monstrosity, turned its baboon behind on main\nbox. In box, a woman hiccuped and dropped lorgnette as if she had eaten\nBielov's cabbage and not a first class Savoy ragout.\n*\n* *\nMasks at least resembled something. Then came animals. Nothing but\ntails. Hares charging cannons and pulling up by string various flags : merchant,\nwar, sea — red background with five gold letters in left corner. What cowards.\nIn gallery, wheedlers and grafters, shallow tide of officialdom, surged and swell-\ned. Armored breast breathing rapidly. You looked and thought it was a"}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "92", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2274, "texte": "human being. Mistake. Exterior: — jacket turned to look new : interior — big\nsecond hand stuffing. Then a dog gave exhibition of faithfulness. Newspaper\nman Fedin who must have previously imbibed a good pail of home-made brew,\nbegan to remove his pants shouting as in a public bath:\n\" Down with imperialism. I demand a new tariff. Man is no dog. \"\nThey led him away. Trouble not yet over. Fox and hen kissing tenderly.\nAbomination. Someone very elegant began to toss about, cackling :\n\" How so ? How so ? \"\nCrept under bench ashamed, but to remove suspicion stuck a frozen ap-\nple into his mouth. Some night!\nBielov saw nothing. Heard only tramping of hoofs and neighing of Merimee\nwho was sadly thinking of home and colt. Drum. Grooms in red frocks quickly\nfolded rug. Last number : Vitrion.\nBielov went reluctantly to exit. Red now emerald shouted:\n\" Triumph ! Ki — ki! \"\nGong -— palm on behind. Silence. Vitrion got up. Prim and orderly,\none would say American president; walked forward. Shiver through crowd.\nTried to hold him. Away ! Poked clown and student in the shoulderblades.\nAnd forward. General terror. Where was he going ? Where ?\nOnly Bielov understood everything. Noticed in sixth row to the right\nher cunning eye. Globe stalking straight for her across rows, extending his\nclaws, grinding the cogs of his wheels. She gave him her glove. Too much for\nBielov. Tried to catch them. Flopped in the sand. Roared:\nHold him ! Hey, Vitrion ! Rascal! Vitia ! Halt! Don't you dare ! \"\nCalm again. Dark. Public gone. Only accountant making uproar in empty\nentrance — some one swiped silk handkerchief. Fine business ! Sketch ! Culture !\nBielov knew, of course, where the impertinent fled. On after him. Over\nboulevards where car \"A \" used to pass formerly. At the door — locked. En-\n. trance closed by boards. He knocked: \" Open the door. \" No answer. In\nterrible racket woman's voice heard :\n\" Citizen, what's this noise ? After ten, strangers not allowed. Rule of\nHouse Committee. \"\n\" Why did you let him in ? \"\n\" Whom ?\n\" Vitrion, \"\n\" Who is that ? What flat ? \"\n\" Globe cylinder and trash. Let me in. \"\n\" Seen no cylinders. \"\nSilence. One hour passed. Another. Feet freezing. Stepped into snow\ndrift Morning came. Ran up, listened at door. Rattle, Sigh — languorous"}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "93", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2403, "texte": "moan. Dry tin kiss. Pushed against,door with all the might of his love and an-\nguish. Door gave way. Remained hanging guiltily on one hinge. He did not\neven notice on table Lapland hat which lay there grinning, ears thrown back.\nNoticed Vitrion in corner, cheeks sunken in and pale with kissing. He knew it.\nSeized the machine, pummeled it, breaking, crushing glass, tearing tin. Mis-\ntress screaming:\n\" Good Lord ! A massacre ! \"\nInto yard. Back home. Lying on hunchbacked' bed till night, till end of\nthings, till death. t\n* ' ❖\nSix weeks in bed. Professor saved him. And was himself infected. Without\nglobe or party card, to be sure, but with lamentation, torrents of tears, with\nbellowing to bleached sun. Fed Bielov to satiety with frozen potatoes naus-\neatingly sweet. Had pity for all — as in opera — for traitress with hair dressed\non side, for stabbed lucky rival, bearing this Italian name Vitrion, for poor\njealous lover who exhaled all the three as well as the fourth — love, and was\nchoking in glass globe.\nBielov got up. Took a walk. Reeled from intoxication with warm pools\n— as if some one drank and spilled the finest wine. Everybody drunk and no\nbother about accounts or discounts •— all gift of spring.\nOn to her. She was changed. Eyes still there through habit but no cunning in\nthem. Vacant stare. Cold — all the time picking up kerchief with her elbow. There\nare such unspringlike springs. Spoke distinctly, in distant voice as in telephone.\n\" I was waiting for you so anxiously then .. . And you were preoccupied\nwith your tin. . . Now it is too late. . . I loved without love as an object! \"\nAnd then, changing telephone voice very quietly to herself, no, to him :\n\"he might have been father —he was not. \" And with despairing tenderness,\nhardly audible:\n\"I am all in another ... lam expecting a child. \"\nA child ? A child of Vitrion ? Bielov got up Stamped his feet.\nIn self torment:\n\" When did it happen ? \"\n\" The night you left and fell sick. . . We carried him together. . . And\nhe remained ! \"\nHe did not listen. On to the boulevards* Speeding around circle. An-\nother must have passed here, stalking alone, restoring order. Climbed up into\npavilion where soldiers used to play once potpourris and now just came in for\nordinary business. In a prophetic voice:\n\" The race of Vitrion is continued. \"\nAt Nikitska Gate threw himself at motor-cycle leaning wTearily against wall."}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "94", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2649, "texte": "\" You chatter. You breathe. My son. \"\nMotorcycle was property of Revolutionary War Committee, and no dis-\norderly conduct would be tolerated, anyhow. Nobody believed story of son.\nGloom. Insults. Somebody's arms, clutches, angles, long painful jolting\nover all the bumps of Moscow's pavements. Got up. Head turning. On floor.\nFarewell love ! Too late. Cold long-suffering head. Painted floor. Silence.\n*\n* *\nNo days — just day. Bielov was shy like a girl, sensible and gentle. Even\nFedotova, worst nurse there, would feed him sometimes on millet broth. He\ncould not eat without aid. Knew he had to, but was always forgetting.\nWould take the dish then at once drowsiness, din, shiver. Seemed to rise like vapor.\nAt first he felt very tired. Patted globes of flowerbeds, bells, jugs, and every\ndiscarded object. All those — children. Pressed them to his breast, sang lul-\nlabies, called them tenderly Vitia, and worried over cracks in them, as a mother\nwould over children's sickness. Was anxious to be out in the world where objects\nwalked, revolved, grew, where at night, whole caravans of disks and angles,\ndoubtless, passed at Strasteny Monastery and along the boulevards.\nLater he became quiet. Great serenity of spirit; caressed his knees, squinted\nhis eyes. He was patriarch, ancestor of thousand generations, great first source,\nlyooked closely at men for first time —- all children of Vitrion but in foolish soft\nmasks. Not bodies, but tin warmed to perspiration. Step. Half turn. Quiet.\nSleep. Grating. Grinding. Death.\nlyooked at Moscow through window : roofs, chimneys, smoke, bustle. Splendid\nnest of tin. At night he could hear the rattle and wheeling and cry of big glass heart.\nWarm. Growing dark. Bielov counted chimneys : fourteen, seventeen. Hard\nto continue. All his past — waste ground, and his house — mere lumber. Very\nrarely the wind would blow Mp from brick stomach a scrap of wall paper coming\nfrom children's room, showing Chinaman behind net; another scrap, green,\nwarm. Bielov happy — happy to have engendered great tin tribe. Happy also\nnot to be with it but rather away on cot near window. Came wave of dense\nheat from belly of earth. Green rag and hair dressed on side cascade-like. Dis-\norder. Far away world and Vitrion. Also love. Better for him. And sky\nthe same as in hole down there. Bielov got up and hummed tenderly like golden\nbeetles passing by :\n\" Dzoom — dzoom. \"\nAnd higher into window like vapor.\nAnd if he should come down later — love is no globe. If forgotten it flies;\nif triumphant falls like stone to ground. To love, all things are possible.\n\n(From the Russian of Ilya Ehrenbourg by Louis Lozowick)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c004", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c004", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "95", "page_fin": "95", "image_debut": 17, "image_fin": 17, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.4", "titre_corps": "Sleep", "titre_sommaire": "Sleep", "signature_source": "Lawrence Vail", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "95", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.17", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 244, "texte": "SLEEP\nSleep is the enemy of love,\nA monstrous\nAll powerful,\nWho takes my soft beloved\nWith an indecent utterness\nAnd makes her\nAlien metal.\nHer breasts\nAre pinkish bronze,\nFain would I polish them\nWith emery paper,\nHer head\nSplit with a hammer."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c006", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c006", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "96", "page_fin": "96", "image_debut": 18, "image_fin": 18, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.6", "titre_corps": "Little Birds and Old Men", "titre_sommaire": "Little Birds and Old Men", "signature_source": "Lawrence Vail", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "96", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 378, "texte": "LITTLE BIRDS AND OLD MEN\nLawrence Vail\nOld men and little birds\nToo early in morning-\nMake squeaks.\nIvittle birds are more brazen ;\nPrimly, they dip feet in puddles.\nOld men have delicate feet.\nOld men have weak bowels,\nIyittle birds are careless,\nNear love of neither\nIs sweet.\nlyittle birds chirp, chirp, chirp, chirrup;\nOld men tell stories, tell stories ;\nBoth die too late."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c007", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c007", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 19, "image_fin": 19, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.7", "titre_corps": "Camel", "titre_sommaire": "Camel", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 19, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 13, "texte": "Camel.\nPekin."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c008", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c008", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 20, "image_fin": 20, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.8", "titre_corps": "Elephant: Mämallapuram", "titre_sommaire": "Elephant: Mämallapuram", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 20, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 51, "texte": "Elephant: Mämallapuram.\nSouth India.\nVIIth Century."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c009", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c009", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 21, "image_fin": 21, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.9", "titre_corps": "Nandi: Mämallapuram", "titre_sommaire": "Nandi: Mämallapuram", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 21, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.21", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 48, "texte": "Nandi: Mämallapuram.\nSouth India.\nVIIth Century."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c010", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c010", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 21, "image_fin": 21, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.10", "titre_corps": "Nandi: Java.", "titre_sommaire": "Nandi: Java.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 21, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.21", "debut_caractere": 50, "fin_caractere_exclue": 76, "texte": "Nandi: Java.\nXIth Century."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c011", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c011", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 22, "image_fin": 22, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.11", "titre_corps": "Tjandi Prambanan: Relief Panel Temple of Siva.", "titre_sommaire": "Tjandi Prambanan: Relief Panel Temple of Siva.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 22, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.22", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 52, "texte": "Tjandi Prambanan: Relief Panel\nTemple of Siva.\nJava."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c012", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c012", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "97", "page_fin": "101", "image_debut": 23, "image_fin": 27, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.12", "titre_corps": "Animals", "titre_sommaire": "Animals", "signature_source": "Karl With", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 23, "page_imprimee": "97", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.23", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2524, "texte": "ANIMALS\n\nOnly man still exists today as the hub of life, sole possessor of that which\nis visible and utter able, all that, in short, which contributes to the value and sub-\nstance of being. Reality has dissolved in human reflections. Works of art seem\nto be the summit of vitality ; not the expression of an objective reality so much\nas of a personal will and valuation of a subjective passion. The subject matter\nis all instinct, the execution of the work is a creative process of the artist, where-\nas the form is a higher and absolute reality.\nThe brain and the heart live of themselves and in themselves ; there are\nonly slight points of contact between man and earth which produce electric sparks.\nThe whole outside world is thus merely subjective material for the artist who in\nhis impenetrable isolation can grasp only himself. Nor can he let go of himself\nany more, and pierce deep into the reality of the world that he may be reborn a\nthousand times thereby.\nWhat are animals? What do they mean to us? Domesticated beings,\ndistorted for the sake of heightened utility, tamed, dull and spiritless ; or \" wild\nbeasts, \" dragged out of some strange region and exhibited as spectacles for instruc-\ntion and amusement, scorned curiosities, distortions of their own types. Children\nhave fearful dreams of serpents and spiders ; scorpions and hyenas appear to\nour nerves as evil and hostile monsters ; the serpent as temptation for Adam and\nEve ! Man and nature are estranged ; and eternal enmity seems to have arisen\nbetween them ; dualistic broodings threaten and torture the innermost recesses\nof the mind. But the formidable spirit of science comes with its promise of order,\ntranquility and power, and demands therefor the salvation of all living organisms.\nAll nature gives way before a dreadful succession of rigorous categories\nunless biological bridges are flung out between man and animals. But man is\n\" Victor triumphans \", man is the goal, the ultimate form of animal existence.\nAnd thus the community of life in Nature and all earthly brotherhood vanish\nbefore the restrictions and hostility of a destructive dualism.\nIt is quite otherwise in the tropical world, where a fantastically luxuriant\nnature besets and embraces man ; where the overflowing vitality of the earthly\nforces never releases him and gives him 110 chance to banish nature from the\nmind or to oppress and immolate it; man can never become ruler over this chaos\nof gigantic fertility and remains instead — its brother. There his body remains"}, {"page_pdf": 24, "page_imprimee": "98", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.24", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3023, "texte": "physically at one with the organism of nature ; there animals and men live inti-\nmately together even today.\nThis physical fraternity does not imply a domestic relationship. It is based\non the general idea in Southern Asia, that the whole world is a living unity, that\nman is not exiled from the bosom of nature by his rebellious intellect. The pro-\nfound abstractions of Indian philosophy do not bring about separation from life,\nevoke no condemnations ; they bind and gather everything living together into\na harmonious existence. Whereas European thought is harrowed by an agon-\nizing dualism, the life of the Indian postulates a persistent consciousness of the\nidentity of all being. This feeling for the supreme unity and totality is revealed\nwith superhuman power even as early as the \" Rigveda \", in the Song of Unity,\nor in the Hymn of Creation as well as in the expression of the great mystico-re-\nligious conceptions. Philosophy and religion nourish all being in themselves\nwithout distorting or segregating any phase or species of life from the others. All\nnature with its worlds of plants, animals, men and gods constitutes an original\nentity. The human consciousness does not cease to function at the limits of human\nforms of existence, and that of the gods, for that matter, reaches deep down into\nthe realm of animals. The divisions between animal and man, and between man\nand god are only transitional. Everything is one living unity which binds plants,\nanimals, men, demons and gods in one vast erotic architecture, boundless as the\ntropics, and of infinite directions. Myths and religion, legends and tales are filled\nwith the unplumbed power of animals. Tropical man is surrounded by a\nfantastic world of animals, which reflects itself with eternally new associations\nin his pictorial language, and in his whole literature from the Rigveda and the\nKalidasa up to Tagore.\nThe faculty of synthesis reaches its highest expression in plastic art. The\nforms of the human body are too narrow and too near to embody certain elementary\npowers. The richness which wells out of its affiliation wih the most vital aspects\nof nature and her inner relationships, attains here its greatest significance. The\nanimal body — through its physical superiority and greater potency — becomes\nthe adequate medium for expressing cosmic and metaphysical conceptions. Meta-\nphysically, the animal form in all its lurid vitality becomes the symbol of super-\nhuman greatness ; this is what animal representation means in India. Certain\ndifferences can be defined in accordance with supra-sensual interpretations, i.e.\nBuddhist or Brahman interpretations.\nTo the Buddhists the animal is the brother, the past of oneself ; one's soul\nwanders in a thousand forms through the realm of animals, men and gods. The\nhuman being is deemed as a better form of existence only because out of it alone\nis the reincarnation into a superhuman state possible. But animals too parti-\ncipate in the doctrine of salvation, and to kill them is sinful."}, {"page_pdf": 25, "page_imprimee": "99", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.25", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3060, "texte": "Although early Buddhism puts emphasis on the spiritual relationship with\nthe animal world, through Brahmanism -— which is rooted in the old mythology\n— representations of animals become gigantic masses of elementary forces. Human\nexistence appears here as something small, ephemeral and mutable, against the\ncolossal strength of nature, and the divine power of natural energies. Here the\nworld of animals approaches closest to the life of man and at once surpasses\nman in most vital ways. The animal world becomes the field for transformations,\nthe arena of divine apparitions, where symbols and primitive forces are continually\nrepresented. Animals become incarnations of God, holy symbols, and in the sac-\nrifices, man mingles with the blood of gods through the blood of animals; in the\nanimal the earth's power to conceive and the passions of celestial beings seem to\ncome together with the most violent shock.\nThe animal god \" Siva \" represents eternal energy, destruction and renewal;\nhe is time and death as well as resurrection and eternity. The bull \" Nandi \"\nis his chosen animal, revealing the mighty power of the earth, which bears and ab-\nsorbs again all earthly life. Its head appears on the altar emerging from the severe\nsimplicity of the towering block ; a piece of telluric mystery and plastic greatness.\nThe spiritual quality of the animal is less important here, while its strange substan-\ntiality is felt as a demoniac apparition and seen as symbol of the immanent powers\nof objects and apparitions; the physical shape of the bull becomes the symbol\nof natural laws and is not considered a reproduction, but rather the concrete em-\nbodiment of an elementary force or spiritual power.\nThe strange symbolism of the \" Ganesha \" representations is rather difficult\nfor us to understand. His animal is the elephant, expressing spiritual powers,\nan embodiment of primitive, earth-born wisdom, full of earthly secrets and their\nprojection in soul and phallus. From an artistic point of view, these\nfigures of \" Ganesha \" reach the greatest harmony of curved forms in the\nsculpture of India; they are the mightiest \" ronde-bosse \" presentations of plas-\ntic elements. A connection between the Nandi and Ganesha symbolism, and astro-\nlogy can be surmised; the elephant having been consecrated to the East, and the\nbull to the West, the basis of this being the sun's course and the relation of sun\nand earth.\nLater Buddhism absorbed many of these elements of the Hindu credo in its\nMahay ana system. In this form it spread to China and Japan ; and thus the same\nanimalistic elements emerge in Eastern Asia too, though in a different light; they\nare not conceived and formalized in such cosmic proportions and such fundamen-\ntal earthliness, but as mystical beings, akin toman -— which might seem to suggest\nthe influence of the Bodhisattvas. In China as well as in India, the literature of tales\nand popular fables shows a strong inter-dependence between men and animals,\na profound picture of human and animal life. \" Here it is not the mysticism of"}, {"page_pdf": 26, "page_imprimee": "100", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.26", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3058, "texte": "a clear-eyed awe, so much as the magic of the purely natural. The order of Na-\nture is not distorted, but enlarged: the abundance of life ceases nowhere, and\neverything living carries the seed of the spirit. Consciousness exists in animals,\nplants and stones which all have the desire to be transformed into human\nshape as their ultimate reincarnation, What thy hand forms, wants to breathe\nand mix with others who breathe; what thy mind thinks, moves and presents itself\nas something real and visible. — But all this is not unfamiliar, it is home, it is\nlife. This race (in which the teaching of Laotse of the all-embracing paths\nand the teaching of Buddha of the all-effective deed dwell beside one another or\neven with one another) — created in its ghost tales a song of the sister-elements\nin love, a song for Gods and men. \" (Martin Buber). In these ghost and an-\nimal stories human fates mingle immediately with the fates of animals. All this\nis less elemental, less profoundly stirring than in India, but mote intimate and\nperhaps richer in charm and magic by grace of the united rhythms of the lives\nof humans, animals, trees and stars.\nWe can class in the feeling of this atmosphere the small animal figures, carv-\ned in nephrite, jade or ivory, which can be considered as amulets and symbols\nof fabulous relationships far beyond the frivolously decorative. Elemental great-\nness and earthly sorrow, fervent devotion and spiritual revelations appear in\nthem, and the earth's beating heart gently offers itself to hands, which vibrate\nto it. It is said in the Yiking ; \" Chien is sky, is jade, is gold, \" it is the symbol-\nic word for all the positive powers of nature ; and these stones — embodying\nthe Yang, the sheer male power -— were placed in the tombs to prevent the de-\ncomposition of the corpses. The simple forms of these animal figures reflect\nthe taoistic culture of the Chinese in its graceful and refined calm, in all its\ngrandeur, bound to the earth and yet far above it.\nThe animal plays a far-reaching role in the era of realty religious cultures,\nin which the events of the surrounding world, of sky, earth, death and deity are\nstill formidable powers, where fundamental relations between man and time\nand between man's fate and the fate of nature still exist. The sacred bronze\njars — many in the shapes of animals — belong to the oldest and most solemn\ndocuments of Chinese art; generally the animal's back carries the vase, used for\nwine or the blood of sacrificed animals.\nIn India, animal representations reached their highest perfection m the\nNandi figures; in China in the great animal alleys of the imperial tombs and\ninside the labyrinths of palaces. Since the time of Han we know of animal figures\nformed in clay, which were placed in tombs. Mighty animal sculptures stand in\nthe burial ground of the emperors as if at the gates of death, as precious testi-\nmonials to the greatness of plastic creation. Since, in the later periods of Chinese\nculture, most of the specimens of monumental art of the Chinese have been lost,"}, {"page_pdf": 27, "page_imprimee": "101", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.27", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2323, "texte": "In the burial ground of the Sung emperors at Kungh (xth century A. D.),\nthere is the \" Path of the Spirit\" composed of animals of angular firmness and\ncyclopean massiveness. Yungloh the second Ming emperor who, transferred the\nimperial residence from Nanking to Peking, founded the cemetery in a level valley\nat Changping, about 50 kilometres north of Peking, where thirteen emperors\nwere buried during the xvth, xvith, and xvnth centuries. The burial temples\nstand at the foot of the mountain which encloses the valley in a gentle semicircle.\nA long path with two high gates leads to them, flanked by sculptures 18 meters\napart: with pairs of standing and reclining lions, Kylins, i.e. fantastic unicorns,\ncamels, elephants, horses and one pair of military and four pairs of civil mandarins.\nThese statues stand before the remains of emperors — mortal men — as signs of\nthe triumph of greater lives. And yet this triumph seems to be a torture, a ban-\nishment, inevitably turned into stone — and resisting metempsychosis. Or\nare these sculptures only manifestations of a constraining and guarding power,\nfilled with wisdom and duty ?\nIn Asia, animals are always represented at the limits of human life, where\nit goes on to a primary or eternal existence : in the sacrifice, in the rites of death,\nand in the coitus. They are represented as symbols of divine beings, as sisters\nor elements of nature.\nBut what do we know of animals, of sacrifices, death, and the bright\nnoon of nature ?\n\" Dshuang Dsi took a walk once with Hui Dsi along a river. Dshuang\nDsi said : 'How gaily the fish leap out of the water ! How happy the fish are!'\nSaid Hui Dsi : 'You are not a fish ; how can you know the joy of the fish ?'\nDshuang Dsi said : 'You are not me, how can you know whether I know the\njoy of the fish or not ? ' Said Hui Dsi : 'I am not you, and so I cannot know\nyou. But it is certain that you are not a fish and therefore it is clear that you do\nnot perceive the joy of the fish !' Then Dshuang Dsi spake : ' Please, let us go\nback to our point of departure ! You asked, \" how can I perceive the joy of the\nfish ? \" But you know quite well, that I know it, and yet you question me. I\nrecognize the joy of the fish by virtue of my joy in walking by the river.' \"\n(from Dshuang Dsi).\n\n(Translated from the German of)\nKarl With"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c013", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c013", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "102", "page_fin": "102", "image_debut": 28, "image_fin": 28, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.13", "titre_corps": "A Toast to Ourselves", "titre_sommaire": "A Toast to Ourselves", "signature_source": "Vadim Shershenyevitch ; Louis Lozowick", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 28, "page_imprimee": "102", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.28", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 820, "texte": "A TOAST TO OURSELVES\nVadim Shershenyevitch\n(Translated by Louis Lozowick)\nWe are the last of our caste,\nAnd we have a short term to live !\nHawkers of happiness,\nCraftsmen of intimate verse !\nMultitudes are coming to replace us\nForeign to all blood disturbances\nMachinists of iron fame,\nArtisans of love\nAnd they will spare enough time,\nFrom their work upon machines and foundations\nSeven minutes for caressing the bride.\nThree seconds for poetry.\nWith nerves like steel rails\n(I do not say it in blame but in praise !)\nThey will both eat and pray\nBetween noon and half-past twelve\nMake haste, then, girls, women,\nTo woo us singers of wonders.\nWe are the last furrows\nNot yet flooded by progress !\nWe are the last of our dynasty,\nLove us, then, in the time that remains\nHawkers of happiness,\nCraftsmen of intimate verse !"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c014", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c014", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "103", "page_fin": "112", "image_debut": 29, "image_fin": 38, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.14", "titre_corps": "The Lay of Maldoror", "titre_sommaire": "The Lay of Maldoror", "signature_source": "Comte de Lautréamont ; John Rodker", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 29, "page_imprimee": "103", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.29", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1880, "texte": "THE LAY OF MALDOROR\nSELECTION FROM SECOND CANTO\n\nIt is midnight; not even a Bastille to the Madeleine omnibus\nis to be seen ... I am mistaken, there is one, appearing suddenly\nas though out of the earth. The few belated wayfarers look curiously\nat it, for it seems to be unlike any other. Seated outside are men\nwith fixed eyes like those of dead fish. They are pressed one against\nthe other, and appear to be lifeless ; for the rest, the regulation number\nis not exceeded. When the driver whips up his horses, one would\nthink it was the whip made the arm move and not his arm the\nwhip. What can be this collection of bizarre and silent beings ? Are\nthey inhabitants of the moon? There are moments when one is tempt-\ned to believe it; but they more resemble corpses,. The omnibus\nanxious to reach the last stop devours the distance and makes the\nroad crack ... It flies .... But a shapeless mass pursues its trail\nobstinately through the dust. \" Stop, I beg you, stop .. . my legs\nare swollen with walking all day ... I have not eaten since yester-\nday .. . My parents have abandoned me ... I no longer know\nwhat to do .. . I made up my mind to return home, and would be\nthere quickly if you will give me a place ... lam only eight, and I\ntrust in you ... It flies ... it flies !. . . But a shapeless mass pursues\nits trail obstinately through the dust. One of the men with a fishy\neye, elbows his neighbour, and seems to express his dissatisfaction with\nthese silvery-voiced wailings which reach his ear. The other bends\nhis head imperceptibly as a sign of acquiescence and then plunges again\ninto the stolidity of his egoism, like a tortoise into his carapace. Every-\nthing in the features of the other travellers indicates the same feelings\nas those of the two former. For two or three minutes more, the cries\nare heard, more piercing second by second, Windows are seen to open"}, {"page_pdf": 30, "page_imprimee": "104", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.30", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2303, "texte": "on the boulevard, and a terrified figure, bearing a light, after having\nthrown a glance upon the pavement, closes the shutter violently,\nnot to reappear ... It flies !. . . it flies !. . . But a shapeless mass\npursues its trail obstinately through the dust. Only, a young man\nsunk in thought among these strange people, seems to feel pity for the\nevil. He dare not raise his voice in favour of the child who thought\nthat with its little aching legs it might catch them up, for the other\nmen threw looks of scorn and authority at him, and he knows he can\ndo nothing against them all . . .\nHis elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he asks him-\nself with stupefaction, if this is really what is called \" human charity. \"\nHe recognises then that it is but an empty word no longer even to be\nfound in the dictionary of poetry, and frankly admits his error. He\nsays to himself : \"In effect, why interest oneself in a tiny child ?\nL,eave him on one side. \" Nevertheless, a burning tear has rolled\ndown the cheek of the blasphemous adolescent. He passes his hand\nover his forehead painfully, as though to brush aside a cloud whose\nopacity obscures his reason. He struggles, but vainly, against the\nage into which he has been thrown ; he feels that he is out of place,\nand still he cannot escape. Terrible prison ! Hideous fatality!\nlyombano, from that day I have been satisfied with you ! I did not\ncease observing you all the time my face breathed the same indif-\nference as those of the other travellers. The adolescent rises in a move-\nment of indignation, and wants to descend, so as not to participate,\nhowever involuntarily, in an evil deed. I make a sign to him and he\nreseats himself at my side ... It flies !. . . it flies .. . But a\nshapeless mass pursues its trail obstinately through the dust. The\ncries stop suddenly for the child has stumbled over a jutting stone,\nand has wounded its head in falling. The omnibus has disappeared\non the horizon, and only the silent street is to be seen ... It flies .. .\nit flies ~ . But a shapeless mass pursues its trail obstinately through\nthe dust. See this rag-picker who passes, bent over his dim lantern ;\nthere is more heart in him than in all his fellows of the omnibus. He\npicks up the child ; be sure that he will heal it and will not abandon"}, {"page_pdf": 31, "page_imprimee": "105", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.31", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2108, "texte": "it as have his parents. It flies ... it flies .. . But, from where he\nstands, the piercing look of the rag-picker pursues its trail obstinately\nthrough the dust ! Stupid and idiotic race ! You will repent of be-\nhaving thus. It is I who say it to you. You will repent, agreed, you\nwill repent. My poetry will consist only of every kind of attack\nupon man, that wild beast, and the Creator, who should not have\nengendered such vermin. Volumes will heap upon volumes to the\nend of my days, and yet this single idea alone shall be seen forever\npresent to my conscience.\n* * *\nThere in a flower embowered thicket sleeps the hermaphrodite,\nprofoundly hushed upon the grass drenched with his tears. The\nmoon has freed her disc from the mass of clouds, and caresses the\nsweet boy's face with her pale rays. His features denote the most\nvirile energy and at the same time the face of some heavenly virgin.\nNothing in him appears natural, not even the muscles of his body,\nwhich make a path for themselves through the harmonious lines of\nhis feminine curves. One arm is bent over his forehead, the other\nagainst his chest as though to compress the beating of a heart shut\nto every confidence, and loaded with the heavy burden of an eternal\nsecret. Tired of living and ashamed to walk among beings who do\nnot resemble him, despair has possessed his soul, and he goes on\nhis way, alone, like the valley beggar. How does he manage to exist ?\nCompassionate souls watch over him closely and he does not suspect\ntheir watchfulness. They do not abandon him ;heis so good ! he is\nso resigned ! Willingly he sometimes speaks with those who have a\nsensitive character, but without touching their hands, and holds\nhimself at a distance, afraid of an imaginary danger. If he is asked\nwhy he has chosen solitude for helpmeet, his eyes look to heaven and\nwith difficulty hold back a tear of reproach against Providence ; but\nhe does not reply to the imprudent question, which spreads the scar-\nlet of the morning rose in the snow of his lids. If the conversation\nis prolonged, he grows restless, turns his eyes to the four quarters"}, {"page_pdf": 32, "page_imprimee": "106", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.32", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2292, "texte": "of the horizon, as though seeking to fly the presence of an approaching\ninvisible enemy, says a brusque good-bye with his hands, recedes\nupon the wings of his awakened shame and disappears into the forest.\nUsually he is taken to be mad. One day, four masked men, under\norders, threw themselves on him and bound him solidly so that he\ncould move only his legs. The whip fell with harsh lashes on his\n#\nback, and they told him to proceed without delay in the direction of\nthe road that leads to Bedlam. He began to smile amid the blows\nand spoke to them with so much feeling and intelligence about many\nof the human sciences which he had studied, and which showed deep\nlearning in one who had not yet crossed the threshold of youth ;\nand the destinies of humanity, in which he so completely disclosed\nthe poetical nobility of his soul ; that his captors, terrified to the core\nby the deed they had committed, untied his broken limbs, threw\nthemselves at his feet begging a pardon which he granted; and went\naway with all the marks of a veneration seldom accorded toman.\nFrom that event, which was much spoken of, his secret was divined\nby everyone, but all pretended to ignore it so as not to augment\nhis suffering, and the government grants him an honorable pension\nto make him forget that at one time it wanted to put him forcibly\nand without previous verification into an asylum for the mad. As\nfor himself, he used half of the money, the rest he gave to the poor.\nWhen he sees a man and a woman walking in some alley of plane trees,\nhe feels his body split in two from top to toe, and each new part go to\nembrace one of the walkers; but it was but an hallucination, and reason\ndid not tarry to regain her sway. For that reason he did not consort\neither with men, or with women, for his excessive modesty which was\nborn from the idea that he was a monster, kept him from according\nhis burning sympathy to whomever it might be. He imagined it\nwould pollute him and he thought it would defile others. His pride\nrepeated this axiom to him : \" Ivet each remain true to himself.\" His\npride I said, for he feared that in joining his life to a man or a woman,\nsooner or later he would be reproached for the conformation of his organs\nas though it were a monstrous fault. Thus, he withdraws into his"}, {"page_pdf": 33, "page_imprimee": "107", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.33", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2310, "texte": "self-esteem, offended by the impious suggestion for which only himself\nis responsible and he persists in remaining alone without consolation\namong his torments. There in a flower-embowered thicket the herma-\nphrodite sleeps, profoundly hushed upon the grass drenched in\nhis tears. The awakened birds are ravished in contemplation\nof his sad face through the branches and the nightingale mutes her\ncrystal cavatinas. The wood by the nocturnal presence of the un-\nfortunate hermaphrodite has become as sacred as a tomb. Strayed\nwanderer; by the adventurous spirit which made you, even at a most\ntender age, leave your father and mother: by the sufferings thirst has\ncaused you in the desert, by the fatherland which perhaps you are\nseeking, after having a long time wandered proscribed in strange\nparts ; by your steed, your faithful friend, who with you bore exile\nand the intemperance of climates in which your roving disposition\nmade you wander ; by the dignity which voyages into distant lands\nand unknown seas, among polar ice floes, or beneath a torrid sun\ngive toman, do not as though with a flutter of wind touch with your\nhand these curls which strewn upon the earth mix with the green grass.\nMove a few steps aside and you will be doing better. This hair is\nsacred ;it is the hermaphrodite himself who wished it. He does not\nwant human lips to kiss religiously his hair, perfumed by the mountain\nbreeze, nor his forehead, which at this moment, is resplendent as\nstars of the sky. But it is better to imagine that a star itself in pas-\nsing through space fell from its orbit upon this majestic forehead, and\nenvelops it in diamond clarity as though an aureole. Night, brushing\nher sadness aside with a finger, clothes herself in all her charms to cele-\nbrate the slumber of this incarnation of modesty, of this perfect image\nof angelic innocence ; the murmur of insects is less perceptible. The\nbranches bend their tufted heights over him, to keep him, from the\ndew, and the wind, making the cords of his melodious harp tremble,\nsends its joyful harmony through the universal silence, towards those\ndropped lips which motionless, imagine they assist at the harmonious\nconcord of the swinging spheres. He dreams he is happy ; that his\nbodily nature has changed; or that at least, he has flown on a purple"}, {"page_pdf": 34, "page_imprimee": "108", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.34", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2236, "texte": "cloud to another sphere inhabited by beings of a similar nature.\nAlas ! may his illusion continue until dawn wakes ! He dreams that\nthe flowers dance round him in rings like huge frolicsome garlands,\nand saturate him with their sweet scents, during which he sings a hymn\nof love in the arms of a human being of magical beauty. But it is\nonly a twilight vapour his arms enfold ; and when he wakes, his arms\nno longer enfold it. Do not awake, hermaphrodite, do not awake yet,\nI implore you. Why will you not believe me ? Sleep .. . sleep for\never. If your breast swell in pursuit of the chimerical hope of happiness\nI will permit it, but do not open your eyes. Ah ! do not open your\neyes. I want to leave you so, not to witness your awakening. Per-\nhaps some day, by the aid of a thick book, in emotional pages, I shall\nrelate your history; terrified by its content, and the information which\nwill come out of it. Until now, I have not been able ; for each time I\nattempted it, copious tears fell upon the paper, and my fingers trem-\nbled; it was not old age. But at the end I want to have this courage.\nI am shooked at not having better nerves than a woman, and fainting\nlike a little girl, every time I think of your great misery.\nSleep .. . sleep always, but do not open your eyes ! Farewell\nhermaphrodite ! Every day I will not fail to pray heaven for you\n(were it for myself, I would not pray). May peace be in your breast.\n* $ *\n\" O lamp with the silvery flame spouse, of cathedral domes, my eyes\nperceive you in the air, wondering at your suspension. It is said your\nrays light at night the mob of those who come to adore the Almighty;\nand that you show to the repenting the path that leads to the altar,\nlyisten, it is very probable ; but .. . must you render such services\nto those to whom you owe nothing ? the cathedral pillars\nplunged in darkness ; and when a blast of the tempest upon which the\nwhirling demon is swept through space penetrates with him into\nthe sacred place, scattering terror there ; instead of fighting courage-\nously, against the pest-laden squall of the prince of evil, extinguish\nyourself suddenly beneath his feverish breath, so that he may, un-\nseen, choose his victims among the kneeling believers, \""}, {"page_pdf": 35, "page_imprimee": "109", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.35", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2300, "texte": "If you do this you may say that I owe you all my happiness.\nWhen you so shine, spreading a glimmering but adequate light, I\ndare not give vein to the impulses of my nature and I stand under\nthe sacred portal, looking through the half opened door at those who\nin the bosom of the l,ord, escape my vengeance. O Poetical I,amp!\nYou who would be my friend could you understand me, when in noc-\nturnal hours my feet press the basalt of churches, why do you begin\nto burn in a manner, which, I must admit seems to me extraordinary ?\nYour reflections are tinged then with the white hues of electric light ;\nthe eye is unable to fix you ; and you light up with a new and power-\nful flame the least details of the Creator's kennel, as though you were\nprey to holy wrath. And when, having blasphemed I withdraw,\nyou become again unseen, humble and wan, certain of having accom-\nplished a deed of justice. Tell me, would it be because you know\nthe mazes of my heart, that when it happens that I appear where you\nwatch, you hasten to point out my pernicious presence and draw the\nattention of the worshippers to the place where the enemy of man has\nshown himself ? I incline to this opinion; for I too begin to know\nyou ; and I know who you are, old witch, that so well watches over\nthe sacred mosques, where like a cockscomb struts your singular\nmaster. Vigilant guardian, you have given yourself a mad mission.\nI warn you : the first time you point me out to the prudence of my\nfellows, by increasing your phosphorescent gleams (since I do not\nlike this optical phenomenon which for the rest, is not mentioned\nin any book of physics) I will take you by the skin of your chest and\nfixing my claws in the scars of your scrofulous neck fling you into the\nSeine. I do not assert that while I do nothing to you, yon knowingly\nbehave in a manner which is hurtful to me. There I will permit you\nto shine as long as it pleases me ; there ; you will defy me with an inex-\ntinguishable smile; there, assured of the incompetence of your crimi-\nnal oil, you will bitterly urinate. After having thus spoken, Maldoror\n110 longer issues from the temple and remains, eyes fixed upon the\nlamp of the sacred place. He imagines he sees a kind of provocation\nin the attitude of this lamp, which irritates him to the last degree by"}, {"page_pdf": 36, "page_imprimee": "110", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.36", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2161, "texte": "its inopportune presence. He tells himself that, if some spirit be\nshut in this lamp, it is cowardly not to reply with sincerity to a straight-\nforward attack. He beats the air with his sinewy arms and wishes\nthat the lamp would transform itself into a man ; he promises himself\nhe will give him a bad quarter of an hour. But by what means does\na lamp change into a man ; that's not natural. He does not resign\nhimself, and goes to the threshold of the miserable pagoda to seek\nfor a flat stone with a cutting edge. He throws it strongly into the\nair .. . the chain is cut in the middle as grass by a scythe and the\ninstrument of worship falls to earth, scattering its oils upon the\nslabs ...\nHe grasps the lamp to carry it outside, but it resists him and\ngrows. He seems to see wings on its thighs, and the upper portion\nputs on the shape of an angel's bust. The whole wants to rise in\nthe air to take its flight . . . but with a firm hand he holds it back.\nA lamp and an angel which compose a single body, there's a thing\none does not often see. He recognises the shape of the lamp,\nhe recognises the shape of the angel ; but he cannot divide them\nin his spirit ; actually, they were stuck one within the other,\nand formed but one independent and free body; but he imagines that\nsome cloud has veiled his eyes and caused his sight to be slightly\naffected. Nevertheless, he addresses himself courageously to fight,\nfor his adversary is fearless. Simple folk relate to those who will\n* v\nbelieve them, that the porches shut of themselves, turning on\nprotesting hinges, that nobody might be present at the impious\nstruggle whose vicissitudes were about to evolve within the violated\nsanctuary. The cloaked man, though cruelly wounded by an invis-\nible blade, strives to draw the face of the angel to his mouth ; he\nthinks only of that and all his efforts are to that end. The other\ntires and seems to presage his destiny. He fights but feebly and the\nmoment can be calculated when his adversary may kiss him at his\nease, should he so wish.\nWell, the moment is come. With his muscles, he strangles\nthe throat of the angel who can no longer breathe, and turns back"}, {"page_pdf": 37, "page_imprimee": "111", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.37", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2330, "texte": "his head leaning on his odious chest. For a moment, he is moved\nby the fate which awaits this celestial being, whom he would willingly\nhave made his friend. But he tells himself that it is the emissary of the\nCreator, and he cannot hold back his wrath. It is done ; some hor-\nrible thing will go back into the cage of time ! He leans, and puts\nhis tongue dripping with saliva upon the angelic cheek which throws\nsupplicating glances. For some time he passes his tongue over this\ncheek. Oh ! See !. . . see .. . The milk and rose cheek has become\nblack like a coal! It exhales putrid miasmas. It is gangrene ;no\nlonger is it possible to doubt it. The gnawing evil extends to all the\nface, and from there, wreaks its fury upon the lower parts ; soon\nthe whole body is but one foul wound. Terrified himself (for he did\nnot think his tongue held a poison of such violence) he picks up the\nlamp and flies the church. Once outside, he sees in the air a blackish\nform with burnt wings which, with difficulty, makes its flight towards\nthe heavenly regions. They look at each other, the angel rising towards\nthe serene heights of goodness and Maldoror, 011 the contrary, descend-\ning to the giddy abysms of evil. What a look ! All that humanity\nhas thought for sixty centuries and what it will think throughout the\nfollowing centuries could be easily contained in it, so many things\nthey said in this supreme good-bye ! But it must be understood that\nthese were thoughts more lofty than those which spurt from the hu-\nman intelligence; firstly, because of the two people and then because\nof the circumstances. This look united them in an eternal amity\nHe is astounded that the Creator can have emissaries of so noble a\nspirit. For a moment he imagines himself deceived and asks himself\nshould he have followed the road of evil as he has done. The hesit-\nation is over, he perseveres in his resolution ; and it is glorious, ac-\ncording to him, to overcome sooner or later the Arch-All, in order to\nreign in his place over the entire universe and over the legions of\nequally beautiful angels. That angel gives him to understand that\nas he mounted into heaven so he would regain his original shape ;\nlets fall a tear which refreshes the forehead of him who gave him the\ngangrene, and little by little disappears, like a vulture rising through"}, {"page_pdf": 38, "page_imprimee": "112", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.38", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2096, "texte": "the clouds. The criminal looks at the lamp, cause of what went\nbefore. He runs like a madman through the streets, making for the\nSeine, and throws the lamp over the parapet. It eddies for some mo-\nments and sinks finally into the muddy water. Since that day, every\nevening, after night fall, a shining lamp is seen which emerges and\nfloats gracefully upon the surface of the river, off the pont Napoleon,\nwith for handles, two tiny angel's wings. It moves slowly upon\nthe water, and under the arches of the pont de la Gave and the pont\nd'Austerlitz and prolongs its silent wake upon the Seine as far as\nthe pont de VAlma. Once there it easily ascends the river and\nafter four hours arrives back at its point of departure. And so on\nthrough the whole night. Its hues, white like electric light, blot out\nthe gas jets which border the two banks, and between which it moves\nlike a queen, lonely, impenetrable, with an inextinguishable smile,\nits oil bitterly spilling. In the beginning, the boats gave cry, but it\ntricked all their efforts, escaped their pursuit by plunging like a\nflirt and reappeared at a great distance. Nowadays, superstitious\nwatermen, when they see it, row in an opposite direction and stifle\ntheir songs. When at night, you cross a bridge, pay great heed ;\nyou are sure to see the lamp shining somewhere ; but it is said that\nit does not show itself to everybody. When some human being\nwith an oppressed conscience passes over the bridges it suddenly\nputs out its shimmer and the terrified passer-by with a despairing eye\nvainly searches the surface and ooze of the river. He knows what it\nsignifies. He wants to think he has seen the heavenly light ; but he\ntells himself that the light came from the stern of a boat or from the\nreflections of gas jets ; and he is right .. . He knows that the disap-\npearance, is due to himself and, plunged in sad meditation, he has-\ntens his step to gain his lodging. Then the lamp with silvery flame\nreappears on the surface and pursues its course amid elegant and\ncapricious arabesques.\n\nComte de Lautréamont\n(Translated by John Rodker)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c015", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c015", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 39, "image_fin": 39, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.15", "titre_corps": "Ganesha: Java.", "titre_sommaire": "Ganesha: Java.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 39, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.39", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 30, "texte": "Ganesha: Java.\nXIIIth Century."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c016", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c016", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 40, "image_fin": 40, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.16", "titre_corps": "Rock Relief: Mämallapuram. South India", "titre_sommaire": "Rock Relief: Mämallapuram. South India", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 40, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.40", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 55, "texte": "Rock Relief: Mämallapuram.\nSouth India.\nVIIIth Century."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c017", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c017", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "113", "page_fin": "114", "image_debut": 41, "image_fin": 42, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.17", "titre_corps": "Poems in Prose", "titre_sommaire": "Poems in Prose", "signature_source": "Pierre Reverdy ; M. J.", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 41, "page_imprimee": "113", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.41", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1405, "texte": "POEMS IN PROSE\n\nThrough the little window, under the eaves, look. The line\nof my eyes and the line\" of her eyes encounter each other. I shall\nhave the advantage of altitude she says to herself. But across the\nstreet, shutters are banged open and her attention is distracted or seiz-\ned. I shall have the advantage of the shops to look at.\nBut in the end, should I ascend, where it were better to descend\nand arm in arm go elsewhere ? No one gazes any more.\n❖\n* ❖\nHe leans over the parapet retaining his small head by the ears.\nWhere the roofs stop they make a parallel to his shoulders and the\nchimney there has the air of being his neck.\nThe clouds set the house walking in the garden. In the tangle of\ntelegraph wires and branches it is arrested. Don't look up any more.\nThe spider-web rips with the rustle of silk as the window is\nopened at length, and he whose head has never moved loses his\nkingly crown of hitherto.\n*\n❖ *\nThe little puppet, good-luck doll, rattles against my window\nat the wind's whim. What of the rain, her dress is soaking wet,\nher face and hands discolored and effaced. One of her legs gone, too.\nBut she never loses the ring on her finger and her magic persists.\nIn winter she kicks at the pane with her tiny blue shoe and dances,\ndances madly and joyfully because of the cold and to warm her heart,\nher lucky wooden heart. At nights she lifts her arms, suppliant, to\nthe stars."}, {"page_pdf": 42, "page_imprimee": "114", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.42", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 675, "texte": "Suppose I lost my key and all the world laughed at me and every\none pointed to the big key hanging at my neck ? I should be the only\nperson who had no means of getting into any place. They all retire\nand the locked doors leave the street very sad. No one in. I knock\neverywhere.\nOaths are hurled at me from windows and I run away.\nThen, a little further out of town, by the edge of a river and a\nwood, I find a door : a perfectly simple door, of easy entrance, without\nany key. I place myself behind it, and in the night that has no win-\ndows but has wide curtains, between the forest and the river, which\nprotect me, I am able to sleep.\n\nPierre Reverdy\n(Translated by M. J.)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c019", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c019", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "115", "page_fin": "130", "image_debut": 43, "image_fin": 58, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.18", "titre_corps": "The Mysticism of Money", "titre_sommaire": "The Mysticism of Money", "signature_source": "H. A. L.", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 43, "page_imprimee": "115", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.43", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2131, "texte": "THE MYSTICISM OF MONEY\n\nThe criticism of America by American intellectuals which has been growing\nin geometrical progression since the early years of the century, has become,\nI believe, a serious menace to American artistic expression.\nThe basis of their accusations is that America is not Europe. This can be\nadmitted at once, but why it should be opprobrious is another question. The\nintellectual assumes that American civilization should commence at the same\npoint as Europe's and carry on the great occidental tradition as a fraternal\nmember of one famity. But America cannot do this, and as a result endures\nthe reproaches of its intellectuals, saturated with the traditions of the older\ncountries.\nThis would not matter if the continuous recriminations were not beginning\nto take effect, but a deterioration in several American expressions is conspic-\nuous, due to adulteration with European ideals. The matter has become se-\nrious.\nAmerica is in the midst of a formative-creative art epoch closely resembling\nthe historical archaic periods. Contact with a decadent art such as prevails\nin Europe results in immediate deterioration of the American product. Early\nexpressions can not stand this proximity. Negro sculpture ceases to develop\nwhen European knick-knacks become the rage, Europe can and does borrow\nsafely from America ; jazz, advertising, etc. are the foundations of aesthetic\nschools abroad, but the reverse process is deadly.\nAmerica must not imitate Europe. This is hard on those of our intellect-\nuals who only receive aesthetic emotions from the esoteric cultures of other\ncontinents, but foreign artists do not pity them ; in fact they understand with\ndifficulty the American's blindness towards the creations of his own people.\nA short digression into the past is essential.\nThe evolution of the artistic expression of a people, can be divided into three\nbasic divisions.\n(i) The creative formative period during which the function of art and re-\nligion is to make the universe habitable for man by removing its strangeness and\ninscrutability. Poetic and plastic concepts simplify, coordinate and transfig-"}, {"page_pdf": 44, "page_imprimee": "116", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.44", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2799, "texte": "tire externality. Art has a religious inspiration and religion an artistic expres-\nsion, so that one is tempted to define such art as the eternal residue of religion\nThe expressions of these times are always definite, conventional, and have a\nuniversal appeal during their tenure. The theme is more important than the\nartist, and perfection is approached by infinite trials of anonymous workmen.\nGreat art forms may eventually be created which epitomize the civilization of\nnations and races. Originality is not only not required, but is taboo.\n(2) The classic period, which follows the creative epoch, has usually\nbeen concurrent with the attenuation of the inspirational religion. The loss\nin sanctity of the religious symbols permits the breakdown of convention\nand individuals manipulate the left-over forms according to their will and\npleasure.\n(3) The decadent period is marked by the exhaustion of the traditional\nforms. It is naturally not simultaneous in all the arts. Critical expressions which\nappeal to the intellect thrive. The outstanding creators excel by force of per-\nsonality and not by projecting the social vision, thus individualism and orig-\ninality are the most desirable virtues, and novelty is often confused with art.\nAnother symptom of this period is a world search for exotic forms not indig-\nenous to the place or time.\nEach of these divisions of art evolution can and does produce great art.\nThere is no reason to believe that a Cezanne painting must have less absolute\nbeauty than * a Byzantine fresco although they are necessarily different. The\ntest for all art expressions is the same — how great an aesthetic appeal do they\nstill possess when the causes and conditions of their own time have passed away ?\nFor instance, those archaic expressions which are considered great art have out-\nlasted the religion whose concepts they defined. The inspiration has created\nsomething greater than itself.\nThus one need not sympathize with Taoist mysticism or comprehend\nBuddhist metaphysics to thrill to a Sung painting, nor is a knowledge of Vood-\nism or Totemism of assistance before a Negro sculpture. The eternal quality,\nthe essence which calls up aesthetic emotion, is called, in the language of to-day,\nplastic import or significant form. It is customary to use these terms only\nin reference to the plastic arts, but there is a similar essence in any artistic crea-\ntion which appeals eternally, even though the content or matter represented\nbe distasteful.\nThe art of Europe is obviously in the third or decadent period. The con-\ndition is well recognized, though many would dispute my characterization of it\nas decadent. It would be admitted, however, that contemporary artists strive\nto be different, to be original, to create new forms. That art is believed to be"}, {"page_pdf": 45, "page_imprimee": "117", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.45", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2604, "texte": "the passionate affirmation of a personal vision and tliat this credo is at variance\nwith the credos of archaic and classic times. On the Continent of late, the weak-\nness of contemporary art has been studied and several recent movements attempt\nto recover the vigor of earlier epochs by scientific means. As a result there has\nbeen a great revival of interest in archaic periods in which the expressions of\ncontemporary America are not overlooked.\nBut to return to the present.\nA portion of the artistic expression of the United States admittedly belongs\nto the European tradition. This expression is the chief concern of that group\nwhom I roughly term \" intellectuals Their contribution to the art of the\nOccident is admittedly low in proportion to the national eminence of their\ncountry. For this reason, the intellectuals in their critical function incessantly\nbelabour their compatriots.\nThe genuine expression of the United vStates, however, is not related to\nthe European art tradition. It resembles not at all the prevailing decadent art,\nof, by, and for individuals, but rather parallels the archaic expressions of less\nsophisticated races. Americans, like many early peoples, adapt themselves to\ntheir environment by interpreting and evaluating the objective world through\na conceptual system which, in their case, is not known as religion, and which\nexpresses itself in diverse forms, not recognized as art.\n\" The prerequisite of all living things and of their lives is : that there should\nbe a large amount of faith, that it should be possible to pass definite judgments\non things, and that there should be no doubt at all concerning values. Thus\nit is necessary that something should be assumed to be true, not that it is\ntrue.\" (i) This need has been satisfied in the past by what is termed religion.\nIt is filled to-day in America by the Mysticism of Money.\nMoney, because that which was originally but a medium of exchange and\na valuable metal, has become the measuring staff of all values and the goal\nand reward of all efforts conventionally accepted as proper.\nMystic because the validity of the money standard and the intrinsic merit\nof money making are accepted on faith, extra-intellectually. One does not\nquestion them ; the rash interlocutor who seeks to know why the banker con-\ntinues to augment his unspendable wealth is catalogued as slightly touched.\nOne would as soon prove that two plus two equal four. Reasons are super-\nfluous when a belief is obviously true.\nThus the Mysticism of Money resembles the religions of archaic times\n\n(i) = Will to Power = Frederick Nietzsche."}, {"page_pdf": 46, "page_imprimee": "118", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.46", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2678, "texte": "in that it is not necessary to defend the credibility of its assumptions by ra-\ntionalism.\nThe result is that money and business — the making of money — have\nassumed a sacrosanct character.\nThe pious disciple may accept board, lodging, clothes, jewelry, etc. from a\nfiiend or relation, but money he cannot touch, or, if forced to borrow, cannot\nrest till the loan is refunded.\nA child, before it has learned to put a nickel in the slot and push the\nknob for chewing gum, is given a miniature bank so that the seriousness of\ncoinage will be one of its first concepts.\nCuriosity on making an acquaintance, has shifted from interest in who\nwere his forbears, or to what sect does he belong to, how much money does\nhe earn, and how does he make a living.\nIn national emergencies such as the late war, public opinion does not turn\nto teachers or statesmen, but to business men, men whose training has been the\nmaking of money. Curious ; at bottom no one is considered quite normal,\npractical is the usual word, except those whose goal is great earning capacity.\nOne may seek this in many ways, even by writing or painting, but unless this\nideal is the inspiration of the activity, one is set down as an addle-brained\nidealist.\nThese commonplaces are symptomatic of our civilization, which is so\nfamiliar, that seldom do we realize its strangeness.\nBusiness and state are now as closely knit as church and state in the middle\nages. The main foreign preoccupation of civil government is the safeguarding\nand fostering of the business of its nationals and its basic internal function is\nprotection of property. The great crimes of the day are not sacrilege or treason,\nbut complicated forms of robbery. Our heretics attack the capitalistic system\nand are prosecuted with deep religious indignation. The secret service and the\nthird degree often perfect tortures that only the Spaniards in the days of the\nInquisition surpassed. Our higher clergy are eminent members of the vested\ninterests, some of whom take seriously their duty of inculcating morals. The\nlower clergy, ministers, teachers, etc. reverently hold out their ears to them\nin order to catch suggestions for their Sunday or weekday sermons. Thus\nthey preach war or peace, friendship or enmity, regardless of Christianity or\nwisdom, but careful of the interest of their potentates and of the religion which\npreserves them. And all with the sincerest of convictions and the most honest\nof motives.\nCapitalism originated in Europe, perhaps in ancient Rome, and the historian\ncan point to even earlier trading states which concentrated on the production\nof wealth ; but the American Colonies, which waged one of the first modern"}, {"page_pdf": 47, "page_imprimee": "119", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.47", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2998, "texte": "business wars, \"no taxation without representation, \" have carried this form of\ncivilization to its logical extreme as they were not hindered by vestiges\nof an older order. The differentiation between business in America and\nbusiness elsewhere is that in America it is an end, a good in itself ; its pursuit,\nthe virtuous life. In Europe it is a means ; wealth aggrandizes the states or\ngives pleasure and possibly position to the individual. Spending is more im-\nportant than making, and if the latter is unnecessary so much the better. In\nAmerica the making of money is all important; even sons of millionaires to be\nmoral must make money. Consequently, hoarding wealth is not by itself an\nexcellence. Americans of the faith are world famous for free spending.\nThe fundamental rule of conduct for the devout is Competitive Ostentation.\nThis is pushed to such extremes that some of the younger worshippers spend more\nthan they make and mortgage the future. This discipline of pretentiousness\nhas a very great importance for the artistic expression of the time.\nA common misapprehension is that the Mysticism of Money is a religion of\nselfishness. As a matter of fact, it is one of the most idealistic faiths to which\na grave people has ever been converted. Most past religions have been concerned\nwith the saving of one's own soul in eternity or in escaping the vengeance of\nthe Gods during terrestrial life. The Mysticism of Money is comparatively al-\ntruistic. Many practicioners devote their lives to it with only a secondary thought\nof personal gain. One finds them in offices, devoted, laborious, faithful, giving\nall that is them, careless of promotion or reward. One finds them in high positions\nslaving for wealth they can never use which they sometimes distribute lavishly\nto charities — with great elan and publicity it is true, for the motive-impulse is\nrather Competitive Ostentation than the good of the beneficiary. In general,\npeople sacrifice most of their waking hours to the making of money because they\nbelieve it is the proper activity of this life (virtue), because they enjoy the game\n(play), and because they thus obtain the wherewithal for life and may receive a\nsuperfluity which will make them envied (selfishness). Different individuals\nmix the three ingredients in different proportions, and different conditions of\nlife affect the blend, i.e. the very poor must of necessity make money to obtain\nthe wherewithal of life, and the very rich often exert their efforts for one or both\nof the other motives.\nFollowing the precedent of archaic religions, the Mysticism of Money pro-\npagates its concepts by poetic and graphic definitions and transforms the aspect\nof life by infinite new expressions that may or may not eventuate in art forms.\nThese can be divided into those directly designed to make money, those\nwhich appeal primarily to the spirit of Competitive Ostentation and others which\nare merely in the rhythm of the new era and therefore irresistibly contagious,"}, {"page_pdf": 48, "page_imprimee": "120", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.48", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2912, "texte": "The art of forming objects in the round or in relief by chiselling, carving,\nmodelling, casting, etc. has reached greater proportions to-day than possibly ever\nin the past. Engines, forges, hearths, furnaces, turbines, kettles, motors, gene-\nrators, dynamoes, automobiles, ships, aeroplanes — the list has no end. The\npurpose of all these is the efficient performance of specific tasks, which tasks\nare required by the industrial organization brought into existence and urged ever\nonward by the Mysticism of Money. These forms are not static but, like the older\nart forms, continually evolve through the introduction of small variations, in the\ndirection of greater efficiency. The result is simplification, elimination of\ninessentials, balance and beauty. As perfection is approached, the designer\nbecomes more and more conscious of the aesthetic possibilities so that in well\ndeveloped forms, such as the automobile body, new variations are primarily\njustified aesthetically. Other things being equal, the more beautiful form has\na higher selling value. Thus in the end the technical intent of the designer is\naesthetic.\nMany thousands of years ago the ancient civilization of Egypt believed in\nthe duality of man and the return of his spirit to an image, if the corruptible body\nshould by chance be destroyed. As a result, portrait statues in granite and dior-\nite were executed. It is probable that the first attempts were not works of\nart. • However, after the generations had endlessly improved on them, statues\nsuch as the stone images of King Rhephrem and Queen Nephret were pro-\nduced which have never been excelled and - are the apotheosis of the force\nand simplicity of Egyptian culture.\nIn the same way, the multifarious creations in forms of contemporary life\nare the resultant of the Mysticism of Money and the technique of the American\npeople. As they evolve they become more and more beautiful. Aesthetic pleas-\nure in the balanced masses and curved belt lines of machinery is already recog-\nnized. The best of these forms are more likely to be considered by the future\nas the ultimates of American Genius than any of the imitative statues that\nmasquerade as art.\nThe great innovation of this applied sculpture is the combining of movement\nand form. The steam shovel, with its geometrical and sharply delineated mo-\ntions, the gold dredge, like a huge squat worm devouring the earth before and\nspewing it out behind, the threshing machine, smoking chaff and eating wheat\nstacks, will be tempting material for a classic age whose individuals are freed\nfrom their utilitarian purpose.\nSome of to-day's forms have, I believe, plastic import even judged statical-\nly as we judge an antique statue. They will still have beauty when quite divor-\nced from their utilitarian purpose ; just as the Apollo of Tenea is a magnificent\nstatue though the last worshipper of the Greek sun god died some time ago."}, {"page_pdf": 49, "page_imprimee": "121", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.49", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2817, "texte": "And if we admit the legitimacy of moving sculpture as an art expression, many\nof our machines, etc. will have to be reproduced in future text books on the\nhistory of art.\nlam not alone in foreseeing this development of sculpture. lipschitz\nhas already worked with the notion, and the most recent school of Russian\nsculpture, the Constructionists, has adopted motion and modern construction\nas its fundamental principles.\n*\nThe art of filling a two dimensional space with colour and form has been\nmainly used by the Mysticism of Money for advertising. Again the primary\npurpose is religious, i.e. to sell goods to make money. However, the factor of\nbeauty as it assists in catching the eye, holding the attention and driving home\nthe message, has a monetary value and is often sought. The pretentious ads,\nconsciously artistic, which borrow their technique from the lowest phase of\nEuropean pictorial realism, and sugar it with sentimentality, nearly equal the\npopular magazine cover in garish ugliness.\nThe more indigenous product, the combination of abstract trade marks,\npithy slogans, fresh, forceful language, photography, and superlative typography\nhave an aesthetic value of no mean order.\nThis was recognized by a few individuals in the United States years before\nthe war. Nevertheless, America had to wait for Europe to extend this aesthetic\ndiscovery just as Europe so often has had to wait for America to utilize her scien-\ntific discoveries. Marinetti, about 1910, realizing the decadence and impotency\nof continental art and placing the responsibility on the worship of tradition, pa-\nraded up and down Europe preaching — smash the museums, wake up to the\npresent. His positive contributions do not amount to much as his theory seem-\ned to be that, because a moving engine is beautiful, a painting that will evoke\nthe sensation of the moving engine, will inevitably be beautiful, a super-realistic\ntheory that has long since been exploded. But in writing he consciously or\nunconsciously incorporated the lessons of American advertising. Heavy type\nfor emphasis, free placing of words on the page so that the visual sensation will\nreinforce the literary content, etc. The aesthetic value of these innovations is\nstill under discussion, but meanwhile Wyndam took up the idea in Eng-\nland (Blast). The Dadaists and their precursors, Apollinaire, etc. have further\ndeveloped it in France and now every center in Europe from Prague to Brussels\nis making designs, with the print of their poetry so that the typographical form\nwill reinforce the literary content. Even with this world competition American\nadvertising remains preeminent in the field.\nAdvertisements have not, of .course, a purely plastic appeal. Their literary\nand representative attributes are as essential to their efficiency as their form and"}, {"page_pdf": 50, "page_imprimee": "122", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.50", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2930, "texte": "color composition. However, neither this, nor their utilitarian intent, is suf -\nficient to dispose of them as potential art forms. Chinese hieroglyphs have\nboth these subsidiary qualities and possess nevertheless an aesthetic value. The\nfinal test for an ad. is the same as for all art forms. Will the best of them still\npossess a plastic content when the causes, conditions and purposes that pro-\nduced them have passed away ?\nHowever we answer this question, we must admit even at this date that their\ninfluence on occidental art has been greater than that of American painters.\nArchitecture and Engineering : — The art of building impelled by the Mys-\nticism of Money has also broken with tradition. The innovation of flanged\nsteel and reinforced concrete; as structural cores, is as revolutionary as the\nintroduction of the arch, or of broken-joint masonry. But architecture, un-\nlike machinery and advertising, has at the same time clung to the hallowed mo-\ntifs of Europe at least in so far as they concern the embellishment of the facade.\nThis compromise accounts for the most obvious defects of American buildings.\nA great part of contemporary work attempts to harmonize the inner steel con-\nstruction with the old decorative forms.\nIn the most pretentious and weakest phase, that of bank, library, Church\nand State buildings, the new structural element is subordinated to the tradi-\ntional aesthetic canons. The result is pseudo-Greek, Roman, Renaissance,\nand Gothic temples. Though the fine technique of American architects fre-\nquently succeeds in erecting handsome structures quite correct in every detail\nand skilfully planned, nevertheless the sensitive passerby is conscious of a lack,\nan emptiness ; for the repetition of a formula, after the inspiration has evapor-\nated, can never result in true creation. Probably the continued popularity\nof the Greek temple style for bank buildings is due to the symbolism, but it\nwould seem as if the banking business had become sufficiently sacrosanct by\nnow to drop this anachronism. Churches and colleges are of course quite right\nto continue using Gothic. The reminiscent facades correspond to the formula-\nrized inherited routine of the services held within.\nOffice buildings, lofts and apartment houses realize to a greater degree the\nmagnificent possibilities of steel. Their geometrical forms, rise in great tooth\nlike rows, incisors and molars, cubes and pyramids. The old decorative\nmotifs plastered on their sides, where the windows permit, are strictly subordinated\nto the design enforced by the structural demands and seldom detract from the\ngeneral effect.\nIn European architecture the facades have always been part of the struc-\nture — the walls have supported the roof — this has limited decoration, and\ngood taste has always insisted that this restriction should not only be shown,\nbut should be utilized. The new steel core architecture does away with this"}, {"page_pdf": 51, "page_imprimee": "123", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.51", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2885, "texte": "necessity. The facade is now merely an ornamental covering, a mosaic veneer\nand not part of the frame work. This opens tip unlimited possibilities as the\nwhole surface of the building becomes a field for experimental design limited\nonly by the position of the windows. The present practice of making external\nmasonry seem as if it held up the cornice is as hypocritical as faked flying but-\ntresses. — Perhaps in time the faces of buildings will be used like magazine pa-\nges for advertising on a tremendous scale, slogans such as Uneeda Biscuit\nraised in relief in coloured stones, trademarks, etc. sculptured in great panels,\nreading matter, poetry and prose dodging in, out, and around the windows ;\nat night the whole surface flaming with incandescent colored lights and search\nlights.\nStrangely, the only precedent for this architectural development with which\nI am familiar, is 011 the American continent. The Mayas used a rubble core,\nof mortar and stone, which was quite independent, and faced it with decorative\nmasonry. Though their primitive engineering necessitated an unbelievably\ngreat proportion of wall to room space, their genius adorned the great facades\nwith a lavish magnificence. Geometrical and realistic motives combine in\nabstract designs unlike anything else ever done.\nLastly factories, and bridges, acqueducts and tanks, great bare forms,\nunprecedented and uncompromising: with these, surely, steel and concrete have\njustified their right to be. No old adornments disguise the new beauty of man's\nlatest ventures. Balanced, poised, heavy as giants yet soaring bat-like over\nrivers, squatting on hillsides like mushrooms, holding back lakes with a ges-\nture, no fanciful imaginings have conceived in advance the engineering common-\nplaces of to-day.\nThe most interesting and aesthetically significant phases of the above three\nplastic arts are those most closely knit with the Mysticism of Money. The\ncreations whose sole purpose is to make money are far more satisfactory artis-\ntically than the hybrid combinations which share the old and new inspirations.\nIn fact, in each case the responsibility for bad taste can directly be laid on\nsnobbism, a genuflexion to traditional ideals not vital to our civilization.\nMusic :— The art of combining sounds with a view to beauty of form, and\nexpression of emotion, still functions healthily in Europe. The continued in-\ntroduction of new methods and new fields has prevented the exhaustion which\nhas overtaken other arts and that great bogey, imitation of nature, has, with\na few exceptions, been kept at a safe distance. America does little with the\nhighly complex development of this art. America, however, has rediscovered\na rhythm, by the agency of her natural singers, the negroes, which oscillates\nthe diaphrams of the Western world.\n.Ciive Bell in a curious article recently published announces that Jazz si"}, {"page_pdf": 52, "page_imprimee": "124", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.52", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2803, "texte": "dead. Then he goes on surreptiously to change the subject and forgets about\nJazz to speak of the jazz movement, meaning of course the recent European\nragtime fad. He credits this movement with having dominated music and\ncolored literature during the last ten years, 1911-1021. The genius of Stra-\nvinsky has been nourished by Jazz according to Bell T. S. Eliot, Cocteau, Cen-\ndrars and Joyce are supposedly its literary foster-children and les six are its\npetits maitres. Mr. Bell has more surprises in store ; he asserts that the inspira-\ntion of Jazz is the same as that of the art of the grand siecle, that its source is\nin la bonne compagnie. in lounges of great hotels, in transatlantic liners, in wa-\ngons lits, in music halls and in expensive motorcars and restaurants. We'd\nlike to tell some nigger singer : \" way down yonder in de ole corn field'' about\nthis here jazz movement.\nThough the jazz movement may shortly undergo an eclipse — I\nfind few symptoms even of this — syncopated rhythm is emphatically not dead\nRagtime is the auditory expression of the new life which has overtaken us un-\nawares, and as long as the Mysticism of Money and the speed and the agitation\nof the industrial civilization which are its product, last, Jazz will continue\nto vibrate the nerves of man.\nJazz can hardly be considered a folk music. It is rather the philosopher's\nstone which transmutes the music of the world into a medium possessing common\nappeal. Its melodies come from everywhere, stolen, bought and invented,\nbut what do they amount to ? Ivast year's Jazz tunes, like last year's style\nin women's wear, leave only evanascent memories. No melodies endure the\ntest of insatiate iteration. Also Jazz is dependent on the technique of the in-\nterpreters The barbaric tomtom beat with the exotic accompaniment of\ngongs, conches, syrens and voices is often more important than the musical\nscore.\nAmerica has a real folk music, negro spirituals and plantation melodies,\nsome of the genuine negro rags, the music that \" jes grew One does not\ntire of these times, several of the oldest still haunt us, some have been picked\nup by college boys, \" Oh, Didn't He Ramble \", etc. But they are rather a tes-\ntimony to the genius of the negro race, than a product of the American people\nand the Mysticism of Money. This religion has inspired little music.\nUp till the present, musical creation has not been utilized by the money sys-\ntem. Musical interpretation is a paying proposition, both as accessory\nto the movies and on a more pretentious scale, but composing remains\nephemeral.\nPerhaps a combination of advertising and talking machines will be devis-\ned. If a hundred thousand energies should be turned towards evolving a mel-\nody and poem by the offer of a big reward, each line of the latter, for instance,"}, {"page_pdf": 53, "page_imprimee": "125", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.53", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2910, "texte": "to end in \" Take Eno in the morning the winning melody to he distributed\nfree on phonographs records throughout the constipated territory, it might\nprove such a paying proposition for the selling corporation that the reward\ncould be made really munificent and a national interest be aroused, so that\neveryone would follow the individual competitions and the inter-corporate\nrivalry as they do the baseball contests. The result might be as interesting as\ngraphic advertising\nThe* art of conveying thought by the symbolism of the printed word is a\nmajor industry in the United States. Even literature in the post-Rennaissance\nEuropean tradition has been pursued more efficaciously than have the other\ntraditional arts. This is probably due to the fact that books can easily be trans-\nported and reproduced. The literary output of Europe is available to our\nauthors for study and comparison, while the representation of the plastic arts\nis both partial and belated. Even so, the ranking of America is only high-\ncolonial, not proportionate with her size or eminence, and until very recently\nwas excelled by several minor European States.\nOn the other hand, the religious writings, the various expressions of the\nMysticism of Money, flourish like undergrowth in a tropical forest. It is beyond\nthe scope of this paper to study in detail all the manifestations in writing that\nare fostered by this faith. One would have to scrutinize in turn everything\nfrom news columns to movie-scenarios, from the magazine story to the pop-\nular novel, from advertisements to sermons of Billy Sunday, some good,\nmany promising, the majority worthless ; rather is it advisable to leave the\nfutile on the junk pile of Time and mention only the conspicuous achievements.\nA new language has evolved. Vigorous, crude, expressive, alive with\nmetaphors, Rabelaisian, resembling Elizabethan rather than Victorian English.\nConceived on sidewalks and born over bars, it can be found comparatively\npure on the sporting sheets of newspapers, on the funny pages, occasionally\nin advertisements and on the stage, quite frequentfy in short stories. A few\nmen make poetry of it. Several of our standard writers like O. Henry and Mark\nTwain utilized it advantageously, the latter coming to grief when he deserted\nit for traditional English as in Joan of Arc. Not that this book is not compe-\ntently written, but compare it to Huck Finn. Mark Twain, like many others,\nsuffered from frequently attempting to write what his time called \" literature \".\nBut the creators of our new language, true to the archaic period, remain anon-\nymous and only a few individuals have realized the great resources to be\nexploited.\nA new narrative technique has crystallized. The famous Nick Carter stor-\nies, sold in every railroad station in Italy, are the first examples of it to come\nto my notice. Their essential ingredient is speed, accomplished by elimination"}, {"page_pdf": 54, "page_imprimee": "126", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.54", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2863, "texte": "of data which usually accounts for logical continuity. This results in repeat-\ned shocks which eliminate tediousness so long as the senses can stand the strain.\nSurprise follows surprise, alternated with high spots of emotional intensity.\nCoady was the first to draw attention to the artistic value of these narratives\nand went so far as also to praise them for character delineation. In this Ido\nnot agree ; the personages are types or puppets worked on strings with electric\nspeed. Differentiation of individuals is not a faculty of archaic periods, in\nfact only in times of decadence is it emphasized, and though geniuses* such as\nIbsen based on it their dramatic technique, the old epochs such as early Greek\nTragedy, Noh Drama, the Hindoo Theatre, Mystery Plays, etc., properly neglect-\ned realistic individuation. We should not require it of our time. It is question-\nable if the individual can ever be properly tragic, but rather if he is not mate-\nrial for caricature, and comedy.\nThis leads us to the third important phase of American writing. The\ncreation of types. Ignoring the European tendency of the last centuries, Am-\nerica has conventionalized several striking characters which can easily be recog-\nnized even though disguised by the borrowed, narrative or theatrical realism\nof Europe. The strong man, gentle as a dove, mighty as Hercules, not very\nclever but when he knows the right, adamant in its pursuit. Females do not\nfall for him except the one woman, the pure virgin, who recognizes her predes-\ntined mate after the scantiest of preliminaries.\nThis chaste young girl, pretty rather than beautiful, has a miraculous\nphysique in that she passes from virginity to motherhood without the need\nof any of the customary intermediate processes. Though she is innocent, a\nlucky star officiated at her first appearance 011 earth, and fortified by an iron\nnerve worthy of a warhorse, she assists her brave and virtuous hero to fame\nand fortune, often won against the will of a ruthless but rich and affectionate\nfather. * •\nThat grey, stern eyed gentleman typifies power, like the kings of old.\nHard but just, all men bow before him and only seek to frustrate his will by\ntreacherous and underhanded means. Except perhaps the hero who, with\nsublime courage, sometimes dares to stand up against even the symbol of\nmoney when he knows beyond all per adventure that he is right.\nMore interesting than these are the villains. The fortune-hunter, slightly\nresembles Ulysses and Robin Hood. His enemies are the powers that be, and so\nhe attacks the money system, exhibiting wonderful cunning to keep within the\nletter of the law. He is quite irresistible to the purer sex and usually pals with\nthe villainess.\nThis lady dark and exuding magnetism has little to redeem her except\nher fascination. One wonders how the Hero can even let his beloved Chastity"}, {"page_pdf": 55, "page_imprimee": "127", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.55", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2804, "texte": "hang around the dining room after he once glimpses the balefully beautiful eyes\nof the woman of mystery.\nThe villain proper has been so devitalized by the sentimentality of the\npseudo-cultured that he frequently disgraces his ancient predecessors by re-\npenting in the final denouement. But not always, sometimes he passes into the\ncoma of death with his prominent teeth clenched and his small mustache jaun-\ntily tickling his left nostril.\nThe Mysticism of Money has not as yet produced a literature. No Shake-\nspeare has emerged to bind together into a magnificent whole, the vigorous\nlanguage, the speedy narrative form, and the conventionalized characters.\nBut it is a little soon to expect this. Archaic periods excel in sculpture, paint-\ning and architecture, but seldom lay more than the groundwork of music and\nliterature.\nThe first great figure to arise is usually the herald of classic days. Aes-\nchylus and Sophocles followed soon after Homer. Sometimes, as in ancient\nIreland a culture has been interrupted before the innumerable tales, carried\nin the minds of the poets for safety, could be converted into formal written\npoetry. The stories distributed through European libraries in crude scenarios,\nare being slowly translated and utilized by present day writers, suffering from\nthe disadvantages consequent on the lapse of centuries.\nIn America, there are already signs of a classic period, though conditions\nare blurred by the intermixture with European culture. For instance, the stage\nand movies are nearfy ruined by the acceptance of the foreign technique of act-\ning and staging. Conventionalized figures, formal plot and realistic acting\nmake a weird combination. If masks were worn and gestures formalized,\none could better judge the potentialities of our theatre. The movies occasion-\nally escape this dilemma. In low comics and adventure melodramas the\nacting has been permitted to rise to the American dramatic conception. Iyife\nis not imitated, but transfigured. The result is one of the most vital theatres\nexisting in the world. The Parisian artists throng to the latest American mo-\nvies as the New York intellectuals crowd into the Theatre Guild. This last\nwinter doubts were whispered. Is America going into decadence ? I finally\ntraced the trouble to its source. Several feature movies had crossed the sea.\nGirls a la Duncan danced barefoot 011 the Palisades, stories were adopted from\nEuropean novels, acting, setting and lighting were straight European imitations.\nNo wonder the French were worried. But The Kid finally arrived and ended\nthe uncertainty.\nCharlie Chaplin is frequently considered in Europe the greatest living\ndramatic artist. His acting technique seems to be derived from the circus\nclowns and the Sunday paper comic supplement; he uses a narrative form"}, {"page_pdf": 56, "page_imprimee": "128", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.56", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2697, "texte": "which has all the speed and surprise elements of the Nick Carter tales. By\nhis personal genius he has created a new type. Charlie Chaplin will probably\nlive on the stage long after the original Chariot is buried. His art must be\nincluded among the archaic expressions inspired by The Mysticism of Money,\naccording to his own statement published in Soil \", December 1916.\n\" Making fun is serious business. It calls for deep study, for concentrated\nobservation. It is the business of a funny man to know what makes people\nlaugh and why it makes them laugh. He must be a psychologist before he can\nbecome a successful comedian.\nThe whole world loves a laugh. The important thing for those who deal\nin laughs is to find out how to make the most people laugh. There are some\nsorts of laughs that cause nearly as many frowns as laughs. One-half of the\naudience remains unsympathetic. That is not good funny stuff. It is the\nsort that often makes the picture exhibitor laugh on the shady side of his mouth\nby cutting his patronage in two.\nThe American public loves grotesquerie. So does the French public and\nso does the British public. Up to a few years ago we did not know that the\nChinaman had a sense of humor. Grave and learned gentlemen assured us\nthat the Chinese never laughed but at most only grinned.\nNow I'll tell you one important reason why the Mutual Corporation pays\nme $ 670,000 a year. Looks extravagant, doesn't it ? It isn't though. My\nemployers had their money back some time ago. They are riding on velvet\ncushions now. So am I, for that matter.\nI wasn't paid that salary because I can amuse the American public alone,\nbut because the stuff that makes Americans laugh also makes Chinese laugh,\nrocking the roof in all sorts of dingy little theaters along tlie Yang Tse , hits\nthe solemn Jap in his risible section, splits tjie visage of the Turk in Constanti-\nnople and gets the money that the Moujik used to spend on vodka. In short,\nwe have discovered, through the media of the film, that elusive touch of nature\nthat makes the whole world kin — the sort of stuff that makes everybody laugh .\nWhat a curious contrast this avowal makes to the code of our artists of\nthe European Tradition who seek indefatigably for the special and exceptional.\nThe wielding of universal appeal is to them a cause for more than suspicion,\nwhile to be nearly incomprehensible secures respect and careful treatment.\nIf space permitted it would be interesting to examine in turn the minor\narts and crafts. One discovers analogous results. Where the Mysticism\nof Money has had freedom to function, amazing products ensue. In those\ncases where Competitive Ostentation demanded an imitation of Europe, the"}, {"page_pdf": 57, "page_imprimee": "129", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.57", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2795, "texte": "Mysticism of Money obliged. Take interior decoration; a high priest of the\nfaith, a steel man for example, wishes to go his compeers one better. Presto,\nan architect; one year later, a Palazzo, divided into rooms. We pass from\nDirectoire to Rococo, from Baroque to Gothic with sometimes a dash of Adam\nor Queen Anne. Then we ask to wash our hands. We pass into wonderland.\nThe bathroom is an American product. The architect had nothing to imi-\ntate. Beautiful, restful forms in porcelain, a mosaic floor of glistening white\ntiles Soft geometrical towels 011 nickel racks, faucets and stoppers in burn-\nished metal. Perfect taste, perfect efficiency. One lingers over long before\nreturning to the museum outside.\nSome offices, stores, railroad station interiors, kitchens restaurant, etc.\nexemplify the taste of the unimitative American decorator.\nJewelry is a minor art nearly ruined by Competitive Ostentation. Once\nupon a time jewelry was beautiful owing to the designing of man as well as the\nfinish of nature. Now we leave it to the oyster. The most, desired piece of\njewelry might as well be strung goats' droppings for all the artistry that man\nhas contributed to its completion We have to search among watches especi-\nally in their interiors for a sign that beauty on a small scale is still sometimes\naccomplished.\nThe Mysticism of Money may prove, like the Christian Religion in the\nearly centuries, a revitalizing force to most aesthetic expressions. Christianity\ninspired several archaic periods of great aesthetic value, Byzantine, Romanes-\nque, the Primitives and the several Gothics. The Mysticism of Money seems\nto be on the way to a like series of accomplishments. It is too early to judge,\nhowever, as we are still surrounded by the worthless expressions which in all\ntimes outnumber the valuable ones, but which time can be relied upon to dis-\nsipate.\nAlso the moral issue beclouds the aesthetic. The deity of the Mysticism\nof Money is the most cruel of recent religions. He enforces a system of slav-\nery, but unlike most ancient systems the slaves are only cared for when their\nwork is needed. When their services can be dispensed with, they are left to\nstarve and perish as best they may. Also this faith is based on several delete-\nrious superstitions. The most noxious is called the law of supply and demand,\nwhich is used to extenuate its abominable crimes as if supply and demand were\nnot as easily regulated as the milk distribution if fundamentals were examin-\ned. It has put into practice systems of torture that do not kill in a day or\na month or a year, but stunt the body and shorten and embitter life. For\nexample, scientific studies of muscular motions — the best known is the Taylor\nsystem — which save labour costs, but kill everything in the slave but his phy-"}, {"page_pdf": 58, "page_imprimee": "130", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.58", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1658, "texte": "sical reflex actions. Such simplification is particularly deadening to children,\nwho are not excluded from participation in the industrial mills.\nThe American people, as is true of all peoples, do not appreciate the expres-\nsions of their time for artistic reasons. Only the specialist is ever able to dis-\nengage the artistic from the religious appeal. Perhaps the nearest approach\nto universal aesthetic enjoyment is that of the baseball crowd. A large pro-\nportion of the individuals of which it is composed, seem to thrill to a beautiful\npick-up regardless of the team to which the short-top belongs. But the crowd\nhardly ever goes beyond this. Chaplin, the greatest master of facial panto-\nmime in the world, is enjoyed for horse play and sentiment. The buildings\nare praised for their bigness, the machines for their functions.\nOne can hardfy look for aesthetic understanding outside of those en-\ngaged in the actual designing. The draftsman working on a bridge plan has\nsome understanding owing to what the French call volupte du metier, but that\nis all. Real understanding must be left to the critic, to the intellectual; and\ninstead, in America, the intellectual of late has been hammering the country\nfor its emptiness of beauty and encouraging the greatest danger to America,\nthe imitation of European art. Unless he can wipe the grit from his eyes, the\nevil he bewails may shortly be an existent fact and the United States be as\ndevoid of beauty as his limited vision proclaims. For the Mysticism of Money\nis shaken, due to moral grounds, and it will be a pity if the aesthetic expressions\nwhich it inspires pass away with the religion.\n\nH. A. L."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c020", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c020", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "131", "page_fin": "131", "image_debut": 59, "image_fin": 59, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.19", "titre_corps": "Etchings", "titre_sommaire": "Etchings", "signature_source": "Thomas Pym Cope", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 59, "page_imprimee": "131", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.59", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 509, "texte": "ETCHINGS\nThomas Pym Cope\nSHALLOWS\nThin river that can bear no ships,\nWhetting your edge of liquid steel on rasping rocks ;\nYou are like a lazy reaper\nForever sharpening his sythe\nNOON\nThe slim grey shadows tethered to the tree,\nCurl up beneath it now\nLike guardian hounds\nAsleep.\nEVENING\nThe headlands kneel before the sea,\nHuddling, with lowered eyes,\nlyike white-veiled buns ;\nThe sea prostrates tall arms to them\nlyike white-sleeved mussulmans at prayer.\nDo they mistake each other, in the dusk, for gods ?"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c021", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c021", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "132", "page_fin": "132", "image_debut": 60, "image_fin": 60, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.20", "titre_corps": "Poplars", "titre_sommaire": "Poplars", "signature_source": "Kathryn White Ryan", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 60, "page_imprimee": "132", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.60", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 291, "texte": "POPLARS\nKathryn White Ryan\nThe stars come close to-night.\nThe stately poplars toy with them,\nLike languid fingers\nIn a tray of unset diamonds.\nEARTH\nO great black sluggish beetle of the earth\nCrawling upon a leaf of Time,\nYour glistening wings of Day and Night\nAre far too frail to lift you."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c023", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c023", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "133", "page_fin": "140", "image_debut": 61, "image_fin": 68, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.22", "titre_corps": "Battle of Flowers", "titre_sommaire": "Battle of Flowers", "signature_source": "Albert-Jean ; Edward Storer", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 61, "page_imprimee": "133", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.61", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2319, "texte": "BATTLE OF FLOWERS\n\nI\nOnce upon a time there was a king and a queen who were put out of their\nkingdom by some wicked republicans. Sighing, the dethroned couple got into\na limousine which the liberals had placed at their disposal as a final act of cour-\ntesy. While the two cannons of the kingdom were dissipating their war ammun-\nition and getting out of breath in firing the hundred and one salvoes to cele-\nbrate the coming into being of the republic, the fugitives saw from the window\nof their auto the last corners of their domain : a mountain all black with crowded\npines, a torrent torn with foam, a forest path picturesquely bordered with heather\nand gorse, and in front of a beer-garden a peasant in a green waistcoat blowing\na melancholy trumpet.\nII\nA plaid rug protected the Princess from the draughts that entered the ve-\nhicle. A silver veil enveloped her swan's down toque, and lost itself in the col-\nlar of her furs. And when a fit of coughing suffocated her, one saw a tuft of hair,\nthe colour of a ripe lemon, which seemed to grow out of the satin of the silvery\nveil. Then silence would fall again over the auto. The vagabond King stroked\nhis beard ; the Queen bit at her necklace of historic pearls ; the faithful officer pat-\nted the triangular ribbons of his decorations, the servant examined the suit\ncases, and the cold planted its thousand needles in the throat of the little tuber-\ncular Princess.\nIII\nThere is but little difference between a family of peasants fleeing from in-\nvasion and a royal family which cedes its power to a constitution opposed to\nDivine Right. The poor people pile up their mattresses on a handcart, hang\nthe canary's cage on the shaft, and stack up 011 the top of the wobbling pile of\nindispensable pieces of furniture a bloated red eiderdown quilt with menacing\ncorners. Kings get into their automobile, put their jewel case in the trunk and the\ngenealogical tree under the cushions. The crack of a whip, or the turn of a le-\nver : thus the exodus of the homeless ones to the hostile ways of the unknown, the\ncold and the night.\nIV\nCrowned heads rarefy suffer from overheated imagination. Etiquette and\ntradition regulate the acts of sovereigns with such precision that there is no room\nfor fantasy or conjecture. A detailed protocol arranges the place of asylum, and"}, {"page_pdf": 62, "page_imprimee": "134", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.62", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2599, "texte": "prepares the residence of kings in exile. If the triumphant political party res-\npects the lives of the dethroned rulers, the latter have only to trust in fate to\nsecond the good offices of their intendant. There is one nation always ready to\nproffer them an inexhaustible welcome. This nation is France, who sets apart\nthe best adorned corner of her territory for this asylum. In her burning Southern\nprovinces, she receives the relics of revolutions which she labels and assigns a\nplace in palaces consecrated to this purpose, just as she might arrange in paral-\nlel rows the urns of defunct royalties in the niches of a columbarium.\nV\nThe King, Queen and Princess arrived then one autumn morning at a\nFrench railway station, where a cordon of police had already been drawn. The\nKing continued to comb his beard, the Queen gnawed at her pearls, and the vio-\nlent sun penetrated into the Princess through her white furs and moderated her\ncough — temporarily.\nAn official proffered the respects of the Republic to the fallen sovereigns. The\nlocal photographers clicked off their machines, jumping backwards until the faith-\nful officer respectfully opened the door of the landau ordered by the municipality.\nA train which was waiting the conclusion of the ceremony to enter the station spat\nwith impatience at the level crossing. And the Princess thought she was going\nto faint when she received full in the face the odours of iodine and salt which\nthe sea flung up across the street, like a strong smelling bouquet of welcome.\nVI\nA bizarre-looking young man mixed with the crowd of sight-seers awaiting\nin the station the arrival of the royal train : three coaches, which a locomotive,\nrespectifully mindful of the task, drew past advertisements of watering places.\nSuperficial folk declared this young man was an idiot, and based their affirmation\non the abnormal development of his cranium, planted with a frizzled moss of\nfair hair and on the flecks of slaver clinging to his soft, half open mouth. His\ngreen eyes were like two skinned grapes between his heavy lids. His hand played\nwith a scapular, which rubbed against his flattened breastbone. Idiots' souls are\noften enough like those lordly demesnes, which to passers-by reveal only the\nmonotony of their commons; reserving the splendour of their facades to the\ninitiated living between courtyard and garden.\nVII\nWhen the idiot had felt on his face the deep bite of the whip whose elm tree\nhandle the coachman brandished, he understood confusedly how dangerous the\nvicinity of the powerful may be for the humble of this world. He dried with"}, {"page_pdf": 63, "page_imprimee": "135", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.63", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2652, "texte": "the back of his hand the trickle of blood which dripped from his torn skin,\nand without exciting himself further, quickly mounted the footbridge which\ncrossed the line. A fly with glimmering corselet sucked the tepid stain\nbesmearing the wounded cheek. The sweat caused by his flight fell on the half\nwit's neck and forced a fleeting twinge from the sore flesh, while, at the same time,\na greasy cold drop of perspiration touched the delicate shell of the ear encrusted\nwith granules of dirt. But the young man carried under his lids the vision of\na waxy woman smothered in a foam of ermine and lace. And he fled .. . bent\ndouble, his hands clutched over his wretched jacket, like a fanatic who has just\nstolen a holy relic.\nVIII\nOn the side of the woody hill there were villas, white, blue and rose colour.\nThere was also one immense villa whose delicate orange facade recalled the col-\nour of fresh butter or old lace. It was in this asylum that the municipality's\nrepresentatives installed the King and his beard, the Queen and her pearls, the\nPrincess and her cough. After the customary greetings, the monarch recom-\npensed the hospitality offered him by the town by conferring an out-of-date\norder on its first magistrate. The mayor, wearing the decoration, returned to his\noffice, sporting an orange ribbon with fine black and red alternating lines, while\nthe King condescended to mix himself a drink composed of gin and dark beer\n— a potion of which he was very fond.\nIX\nThe old woman broke open a round loaf and soaked the split crumb with olive\noil. She spread out on the slice she had so prepared two salted anchovies, a raw\ntomato cut into slices, and some shreds of onion. Then she placed the upper\nhalf of the bread like a lid on the soaked slice, and handed it to the idiot. fShe hoped\nto console her grandson with this magnificent nourishment. She had previously\nwashed his wound, which a piece of white sticking-paper -— with a green border\nlike the paper one tears off the postage stamps, guarded from dust, blow-flies and\nscratching nails. But the idiot gently pushed away the oil-soaked bread which\nhis grandmother offered him, and set himself to pluck all the roses in the hedge,\nuntil the sun smote him on the nape of his neck with its burning mallet. Then\nhe went into the house, huddled himself up on the hearth where the kettle purred\nin unison with the cat, and occupied himself until evening watching the friable\npictures of the live coals and the changing ashes. t ; .\nX\nPearls maintain a universal value which defies the caprices of fashion. A\nconscientious jeweller convinced the Queen of this truth, and the delicate exile"}, {"page_pdf": 64, "page_imprimee": "136", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.64", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2701, "texte": "began to shed her pearls so as to preserve a semblance of elegance at her little\ncourt, much in the way one crumbles up a brioche to feed the useless swans on\nthe lawn. The King had never to go without his favorite gin, the Queen was able\nto surround herself with her customary parasites, and the Princess could stretch\nout her shrunken body under a rose-embellished pergola hung with barbaric\nsilks. Passers-by tried to catch a glimpse of her through the iron gratings of the\nvilla, while she received with the same icy indifference the bows of straw-halted\ncounter-jumpers and the stiff salutes of officers going to the forts which traced\ntheir geometric lines, as if drawn by a ruler on the rigid sky.\nXI\nThe local industry was that of exploiting foreigners. The casino offered\nthem its dancing hall and green tables ; the sea its yachts and fishing parties in\nflannels, the mountain its painted villas, well combed gardens and waterfalls,\nguarded by turnstiles, and the town itself its carnival with the slow procession\nof oscillating cardboard monsters, the multicolored rain of the confetti, the hail\nof the rattles and the flying exchange of bouquets. The coarse meteques pelt\neach other with confetti. Those who are offended by the savagery of this sport\nreserve their favours for the battles of flowers, where fortunes fade with the heaps\nof cast blossoms, whose odorous corpses are carried away in a special boat on the\nevening of the fetes. During this season, the rage for pleasure tears the perfumed\ncrowds from the depth of their villas. Pleasure flings them among the stunted\npalms and the velvet-dressed mimosas. The sea breeze sheds its odours to\nimpregnate itself with the artificial perfumes which the happy moving crowd\nleaves in its wake. And the long drawn out agonies painfully developing\nin the sanatoriums are forgotten for a few hours.\nXII\nThe old woman placed a basket of woven osiers round the neck of her grand-\nson. She carefully piled up in the receptacle nosegays, poor little bouquets of\nwhite violets, fragile pansies and wild roses such as the beggars offer to the\nforeigners under the palm trees of the promenade. The idiot allowed the old wo-\nman to go on working. His arms swung, his hands hung down uselessly, and\nhe looked in turn at the sun, the earth and the flowers in a state of perpetual\nwonder. He sighed deeply from time to time and while his grandmother exhort-\ned him to sell the little bunches for half a franc each, he let his senses wander\nover the warm garden like a magnificent net to capture the perfumes, the col-\nours and the sounds of the season. His soul evaporated from his miserable\nbody. A morsel of white cheese dried on his parting lips."}, {"page_pdf": 65, "page_imprimee": "137", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.65", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2729, "texte": "XIII\nThe exiled Queen sold a diamond clasp in order that the Princess might ap-\npear in the finest turn-out of the fete. Two white horses with shining cruppers,\non whose closely cropped skins the movements of the muscles brought out wavy\nlines, drew an immense shell of white carnations. In the concavity of the vehicle,\nthe Princess who seemed even more fragile in a tunic of white crepe, abandoned\nherself to the rhythm of the flower-decked wheels. A page in satin led the hor-\nses by their fine silver bits, and when the coach had passed the barriers, and entered\non the track, a shudder went through the grand stand, so miraculous did the\nwhite apparition seem, so removed from life, space and time. The battle of\nflowers ceased at its passage, the odorous arch of the flying blossoms seemed\nto collapse, and the sick Princess passed through the fete amid a respectful and\nlacerating silence.\nXIV\nThe idiot alone advanced to meet her. The police had allowed him 011\nthe course out of pity, but the customers would have nothing to do with the\nmodest flowers with which the old woman had decorated the panier. The idiot\nadvanced, dragging his feet, amid the crowds of transplanted bouquets, the\ndust and the horse dung which attendants, dressed in rough red smocks, swept\nrapidly into large wooden scoops. And when the idiot saw the Princess, it seemed\nto him that a second sun was piercing the February sky. He walked towards\nher with firm steps, and when he was but a yard or so from her carriage wheels,\nhe suddenly emptied the flowers from his basket over the vehicle, preserved till\nthat moment from all vulgar contact. The pansies and roses broke the white\nmonotony of the immaculate shell. A bouquet of violets grazed the cheek of\nthe Princess. The page drew himself up stiffly, and police inspectors rushed to\nthe rescue. But the virgin stopped them with a gesture, and covered the idiot\nwith a rain of flowers which she drew with both hands from the hollow of her\nshell. The half-wit closed his eyes under the whiteness which clothed him,\nand when he reopened them, the apparition had vanished, but the miracle of the\nprecious blossoms, lilies, carnations and Bengal roses filled the little basket and\nattested to the passing of the divinity.\nXV\nBy thrusting apart two bamboos in the hedge, the half-wit discovered that\nhe could see the Princess again. And from that moment he passed all his time\nglued to the railings of the villa with his neck awry, lying in wait for the celest-\nial image. The servants drove him away with sticks, but tired of worrying him,\nended by tolerating this silent witness, who would inevitably come back and who\nseemed really inoffensive. The half-wit thus passed some thrilling afternoons"}, {"page_pdf": 66, "page_imprimee": "138", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.66", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2775, "texte": "with his eyes ever bent on the pergola with its falling roses, while a cough that\ngrew more cavernous with each evening seemed to mark time to the flowers'\nwhirling fall. The white roses dropped to earth one by one. And the day\nthe first red rose let fall its first petal, the idiot saw that the Princess picked it\nup all blood coloured in the lace handkerchief she had just put to her mouth.\nXVI\nThe municipality and the organizing committee of the festivities unanimous-\nly decided to offer a banquet in honour of the Princess, A ribbon of cerise sa-\ntin was sewn on to a ribbon of bronze satin, and they were hung together on an\nolive wood staff. Then the municipal delegation crowded into an automobile,\nand went up to the exiles' villa. The idiot admired the officials' uniforms and\nthe magnificence of the flag which a retired magistrate held up proudly. Around\nthe chaise longue whereon the Princess lay stretched out palely there was a\nthrong of frock coats. The murmur of a voice reciting passed through the fine\nleaves of the bamboos, and then there occurred a little confusion in the rose-\ndecked pergola, for a sudden syncope had cast the Princess on to her ermines\nand made her one with the tailless fur.\nXVII\nThe sea sparkles at the bottom of the stone corridor formed by the great\nhard lines of the street. The sea mixes and bruises the scales which the sun\nprecipitates to its surface, and the entire street is filled with a rhythmic fracas of\npounded metal. But the stupid warlike noise of the cannon which punctuates\nthe end of the festivities suddenly muffles this harmony. The stream of flower-\ncovered vehicles breaks up into the adjacent streets and moves towards the\nstables. Tattered and torn, the floral decorations hang over the varnished car-\ncasses of the Tilburys, the Landaus and the Victorias. The dust dims the silk,\nclouds the velvets, powders the clinging wraps. Wrinkles cut the faces tired\nfrom smiling overmuch. The idiot runs along the pavement with its little point-\ned stones, and his still full basket tosses against his heaving chest. He has forgot-\nten to offer to the public his vulgar stocks, his miserable marguerites, all falling\nto pieces, and his dog roses whose odorous cores are destroyed by the early\nMay bugs. On he goes. And since he has not seen the Princess for whom he was\nwaiting, he feels abandoned, and so lonely, that he begins running amid the crowd\nas if he were in the depths of a virgin forest.\nXVIII\nThe grocer's shop smells of dried cod, chocolate, soap and shallots. The\nproprietress talks with the servant of the Registry clerk who presses against her\nbosom a cauliflower, bloodless as the head of a decapitated man wrapped in a\nnewspaper. The half-wit waits his turn to be served, and the little jar which"}, {"page_pdf": 67, "page_imprimee": "139", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.67", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2774, "texte": "he is bringing back emptied of anchovies reflects the reversed images of the\ntwo gossips in a rainbow frame. A cat cleans its fnr on the copper counter.\nThe string for cutting the butter stretches a fine hazlewood switch, and looks\nlike a savage's bow forgotten in the rancid lump. An hour falls and bursts like\na ripe tomato. Bit by bit, the idiot learns that the orange crop promises\nto be the triple of last year's, that the air is warm even in the shade — and that\nthe little princess died that morning, choked by a clot of blood.\nXIX\nThe police inspector examined the fragments of the conservatory and the\noverturned pots of flowers. Then, since a constatation always implies a conclusion,\nthe official asserted that the entry had been effected by a professional. Count\nde R. . . lamented the affair, as it spoilt his collection of hortensias, and orchids.\nBut the Countess, who had been called in haste to the scene, very sensibly observed\nthat the robber had only taken away the white flowers and that he had respected\nall the other examples in the collection. One mysterious point peppered the ban-\nality of the affair. And the Count de R. . . who did not disdain to degrade\nhimself at the cinema every Friday called to mind the gentlemen burglars of the\nscreen. The police commissary who had an acquaintance with fine letters pro-\nnounced the name of Ophelia. The Countess de R. . . nee Milliasson spoke\nof the Dame aux Camelias. Thus the official inquiry ended in the most literary\nmanner possible.\nXX\nThe old woman had risen with the dawn to gather fresh flowers for her grand-\nson's basket. And the dew moistened the harvest which the slopes, the hedges\nand the sunken paths superbly offer to the poor of the countryside. The idiot\nate with melancholy a slice of black bread where a sprig of garlic had left the\nshining trace of its passage, and drank fresh water with little sips from a cracked\nearthen vessel. He let the old woman arrange his bouquets : then with puckered\nbrows and his tongue sticking out of his mouth, he spilled the flowers picked by\nthe old woman on to the doorstep. Then he set off with his basket empty,\nwhile the grandmother cried and kissed her scapular, where the Virgin stretched\nout her two hands on a square of blue cloth. She went down on her knees be-\nfore an image of St. Cassian and implored her good patron saint to protect the\nchild whose eccentricities were becoming worse. Shaking her fist at the\nstatue, she turned it round with its face to the wall, because that day was the\nlast battle of flowers of the season. The sale which the half-wit had failed to\nmake would have kept him and the old woman for at least a week. And,\nthe presence of God is superfluous when there is 110 fire in the grate and\nthe cupboard is empty."}, {"page_pdf": 68, "page_imprimee": "140", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.68", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2617, "texte": "XXI\nvShe will not see this flower fete thought the Queen, whom mourning had\ncompletely stripped of her pearls. The servants divided their attention between\nthe bare neck of the sovereign lady and the state bed where the embalmer had\nlaid out the Princess. The King was dozing with his nose in his beard in a black\nvelvet armchair. And the dynasty, whose barbaric name had made the Bal-\nkans tremble for seven centuries came to an end and was dissolved in this\ni\nlow-ceilinged room before this fat collapsing woman, this gouty old man and this\nslim corpse emptied of its organs. A chaplain murmured prayers between two\nflames of dripping wax, whose perfume mingled with the exhalations of the fu-\nneral roses. One felt that the whole house was in a hurry to the dead\nbody which oppressed it and to throw open to the full sun the clattering shut-\nters — destroyers of the wisteria.\nXXII\nA cannon announced the opening of the battle of flowers at the moment when\nthe funeral procession was crossing the park and moving towards the cemetery.\nAnd as it was a day of rejoicing, the little Princess set out all alone between her\nsix planks of precious wood towards the dark fields whence one never returns.\nThe municipality and the committee had sent their representatives to the obse-\nquies, but they had not dared to postpone the battle of flowers. The dead must\nnot annoy the living. These gentlemen folded their hands resignedly. The por-\nter did his duty, and the gate closed with a grind while the fox terrier of the Prin-\ncess, forgotten in a room of the villa, prolonged with his lingering howls the plaint\nof the creaking gate.\nXXIII\nThus it was that the idiot saw his Princess again for the last time. She\nappeared before him in a white flowered carriage drawn slowly by two white\nhorses, just as he had seen her at the first battle of flowers when the destiny\nof the half-wit was decided. But today the wreaths submerged the Princess,\nand she had changed her ermine scarf for a veil fringed with silver. The half-\nwit began to laugh. He was not the kind of person one can easily deceive. He\nknew that his sovereign was awaiting him, and would reply to his first onslaught\nof flowers. He advanced with measured tread toward the hearse, and plunged\nhis two hands into his miserable basket miraculously stuffed with an astonish-\ning collection of hortensias and orchids. Then the horses reared, the cortege\nput out of order, flowed back towards the railing, and there was nothing under the\nsun save an idiot in ecstasy pelting a white coffin with bouquets of white flowers.\n\nAlbert-Jean\n(Translated by Edward Storer)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c024", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c024", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "141", "page_fin": "144", "image_debut": 69, "image_fin": 72, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.23", "titre_corps": "Aphorisms", "titre_sommaire": "Aphorisms", "signature_source": "Edwin Muir", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 69, "page_imprimee": "141", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.69", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2163, "texte": "APHORISMS\n\nThe fundamental question which the existence of humanity\nsets each one of us is this : Can we forgive it ? Can we tolerate without\nan insupportable feeling of wrong and shame such an agglomeration\nof stupidity, meanness, disease, weakness, deceit and failure ? In all\nEurope there is only one voice which has said clearly and without\nshadow of doubt: Forgive. It is Russia. There is another which has said\nas clearly : Do not forgive. Man is something which must be surpassed :\nthat is to say, do not tolerate man. In both these attitudes shame is\novercome ; but in the greater part of Europe men live on permanent\nill terms with themselves, and this inability either to digest or to\nreject, this continual sticking of man in his own throat, is sometimes\ngiven the most unexpected names, such as original sin, knowledge\nof human nature, a sense of humour, or even savoir faire. Well, to\nmake the best of a bad job, even when oneself is the bad job, may be a\nform of ineffectual courage not without its aesthetic value.\nThe attitude to nature which became common with the advent\nof Romanticism, and which has now become almost a commonplace,\nwas the far-thrown echo of immediate and disagreeable sense of loss.\nA few young men realised, after the passing of the eighteenth century,\nhow far they were exiled from something within themselves which\nthe age of reason had refined away. There was something.wild, chaotic,\nspontaneous and unadorned in their natures which they could no\nlonger enjoy but which they desired poignantfy to enjoy. They chose\nas a symbol of this whatever was wildest and most \" natural\" in na-\nture, and a romantic landscape awoke in them accordingly feelings\nof abysmal longing and regret, and especially a sentiment of estrange-\nment. It was this landscape, within themselves, from which they\nfelt estranged. They stood at the opposite shore of the strait which\nseparated them from their own nature, and sent out an unutterable\nyearning towards it. We have all fallen heir to this feeling of exile\nfrom nature, and even now a fair proportion of our poetry is evoked\nby it. In the end, however, one writes one's poetry to oneself."}, {"page_pdf": 70, "page_imprimee": "142", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.70", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2119, "texte": "*\n* *\nThe Eternal Hamlet: I have always sought too eagerly for har-\nmony, and therefore I have constantly found chaos within myself.\nMy soul has sat high on its watch tower over the changing sea of my\ndesires ; and it has been distrait whenever a breeze has flecked the\nlovely, regular rise and fall of the smooth tides L,ife must be a\nwindless calm ! I am the eternal manipulator of fine weather : ah,\nthat is the reason why I am so anxious, so many-sided, so subtle, so\nincapable of action. How weary one grows with sailing round every\nstorm !\n*\n* ❖\nMen's happiness depends on what kind of weather they like.\nOne is safest if one likes every kind.\n❖\n* *\nOne ceases to think any more about the problem of happiness\nwhen one realises that, in all great adventurous natures, it is ex-\ncess of joy, terror of experienced joy, which makes them embrace\nmad, cruel or perilous deeds. It is their desire to suffer, their hope\nthat they may suffer, which drives them to risk their lives. They\nput themselves in such a position that calamity may easily befall\nthem ; this is the farthest that they can go, for it would be pointless\nand inhuman to inflict deliberately calamity upon themselves. Iyove\nof danger is really disguised love of unhappiness. There is a certain\nhypocrisy in it. The desire for suffering arises out of experienced\njoy, with just the same naturalness and necessity as the desire for\nhappiness arises out of experienced suffering.\n❖\n* ❖\nWhy does one sail away to discover the North Pole ? Why\ndoes one go through the most agonising years, ruining one's health\nand one's nerves, and becoming old, to see, for instance, the source\nof the Nile ? Why does a philosopher, an exceptional, heretical\nphilosopher, now and then sail out into the treacherous sea of meta-\nphysics, having first carefully lost the chart, and also the compass\n(the Absolute) ? Partly because one's chance of being killed is tre-\nmendously increased : there are casualties, too, among philosophers.\nPartly for glory. And partly to show that one does not care. The\nchance of being killed, however, is the most solid reason of the three."}, {"page_pdf": 71, "page_imprimee": "143", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.71", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2167, "texte": "*\n* ❖\nIn the novel the hero, after having elaborately insulted the\nvillain, turns his' back calmly upon him and walks out, with the al-\nmost mathematical certainty of being shot. (He is not shot.) There\nis hardly another action which appeals so strongly to all conditions\nof men.\n*\n* *\nThe spirit is strong : the flesh is weak. Exactly the wrong con-\nclusions have been drawn from these premisses. The body should\nbe ceaselessly and vigilantly nurtured ; it is so defenceless. Sickness\nand wounds disfigure it ; it cannot endure pain without losing some\nof its beauty. It can only be happy and strong if it is made happy\nand strong. But the soul can endure all things. It should be protect-\ned against no danger and no evil; for in passing through suffering,\ncalamity, and disease it becomes more beautiful. The opposite of\nthis has been generally taught.\n*\n* *\nFrom time immemorial, priests have gone into solitudes in order\nto find God. In India, they went into the forests; in Egypt, after the\ncoming of Christianity, into the desert; in Eastern Christendom, into\nByzantine monasteries ; in Western Christendom, into monasteries\nbuilt in the Gothic and other European traditions. It would be in-\nteresting to discover how much their conceptions of God have been\naffected by the setting in which they have found Him : how much\nof the forest or of the desert has been in Him, and in how far He has been\nByzantine or Gothic or Baroque. In the modern world with the de-\ncline of the habit of solitude, the aloofness and the infinite distance\nand serenity of God has been lost; He no longer dwells in transcendent\nunapproachability; He is everywhere, in my neighbour, in myself.\nAnd last of all, He has been given a touch of Darwinism ; He strug-\ngles, according to Mr. H. G. Wells, and on the same side as us : we\ncan help Him. First, He was aloof, for the hermit who contemplated\nHim was aloof ; then He was in the very thick of life, for democracy\nhad arisen and philosophers had become gregarious ; last of all,\nHe has been made the leader of a party, because our thinkers and\nartists have become propagandists. Man is ineluctably anthropo-\nmorphic, as Goethe said."}, {"page_pdf": 72, "page_imprimee": "144", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.72", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2143, "texte": "*\n* *\nEven if there is a real Heaven and a real Hell, the atheist who\ndenies the existence of both must be nearer to the truth than the\n\" believers \" ; for their conception of these states is so ridiculous and\nso unreal, and by the nature of the problem must be so, that it is both\na denial and a caricature of the reality. And what is it, after all,\nthat the atheist denies ? Simply this Heaven and this Hell of the\nbelievers, this piece of naive anthropomorphism. But if there are\ntwo states after death, or twenty, or a hundred, we cannot either\naffirm or deny them.\n❖\n* *\nMen are sometimes driven to adopt a certain aristocratic hum-\nility because they feel that whenever they enjoy themselves they\nare inexpressibly vulgar and self-satisfied. They have the unhappy\nknack .of seeing their own clownishness and vanity with fastidious,\npassionate detachment as if from a different climate of the mind ;\nas, for instance, a sober man might see a company in which all the\nothers were drunk. They feel then that in their jollity they have\nbeen servants to yokels ; and happiness becomes to them unseemly\nand monstrous, an offence to the sunlight. Finally they conclude\nthat they are altogether vulgar and hateful. The passage to con-\ntempt for the world and to priesthood is then not long. The Church\nderives its spiritual distinction from men of this kind.\n❖\n* *\nThe man who is hard towards himself is hard towards others.\nThe man who is lax with himself is lax with others. What are we\nto make of the man who is severe with himself and yet overflowing\nwith indulgence to everybody else ? We feel kindly towards him\nbecause after all wre benefit by his qualities, which make things easier\nfor us. Nevertheless, he is only a special kind of hypocrite, who\nconstantly deceives himself, violates himself — for what ? Perhaps\nfirst, from sheer timidity, or from the desire for a certain reputation ;\nbut eventually the whole business becomes a habit. Yes, finally,\nhe does all this because it is a habit. As a rule, we waste far too much\ntime in subtilising the activities of men. They do what they do be-\ncause it has become habitual.\n\nEdwin Muir"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c025", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c025", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "145", "page_fin": "145", "image_debut": 73, "image_fin": 73, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.24", "titre_corps": "Morning Walks in the City", "titre_sommaire": "Morning Walks in the City", "signature_source": "I. Schneider", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 73, "page_imprimee": "145", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.73", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 842, "texte": "MORNING WALKS IN THE CITY\nI. Schneider\nI. Narrows\nMouldy fragments of the sky\nstick between uneven teeth\nof munching housetops.\nAll the windows of the block\nhave the self-same heaviness of eye ;\nall the doorways jerkily\nwipe away a yawn.\nII. Early Morning\nThe regular cats wave left and right\nlike measuring pendulums\nticking in a visible night.\nThe wind is made of mild ho hums.\nThe avenues shaking out the light,\nthe shattering shadow now succumbs,\nand over it sunrays, lean and trite\nspar like sparrows over crumbs.\nHeed the hydrants and the height\nof their lonely, quizzical thumbs.\nIII. Park bath\nIn the park which sits beside\nmotherly offering a lap,\none can see that dew is but\nan ablution of the earth.\nPonder how the grasses dry\ntheir slim, wet fingers in the wind;\nhow the trees slap out their leaves\nlike wet dogs, thrashing clean."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c026", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c026", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "146", "page_fin": "150", "image_debut": 74, "image_fin": 78, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.25", "titre_corps": "One Thousand and One Nights in a Bar-Room : or the Irish Odysseus", "titre_sommaire": "One Thousand and One Nights in a Bar-Room : or the Irish Odysseus", "signature_source": "Matthew Josephson", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 74, "page_imprimee": "146", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.74", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2302, "texte": "ONE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM\nOR THE IRISH ODYSSEUS\n\nThanks to the imbecilic censorship enforced from time to time in America\nand England the profane books of the period are enveloped in a cloud of moral\ncastigation or embellished with a halo of artistic martyrdom, as the case may be.\nOut of this situation arises the fallacy that such and such a writer is \" ahead\nof his time, \" that he is a social evil or a prophet. It is thus that James Joyce's\nformidable Ulysses passes between vScylla and her colleague, and is consecrated\nat once by horrid little people who believe in emancipation and by equally\nhorrid people who believe in societies for the supj3ression of vice.\nTo regard steadfastly the artistic aspects of this book becomes, then,\nsomething of a problem. One must put out of mind the impassioned exhibition-\nism of the author.\nUlysses seems to have received indiscriminate praise and abuse on both\nsides of the Atlantic, even such a diffident critic as T. S. Eliot referring to its\nbeauties in the vaguest terms ; whereas, the book may be summed up as the work\nof a man who possesses an amazing sensibility for physical qualities, an extraor-\ndinary knowledge of English, and an inferior intellect.\nIn an early passage which relates the history of Father Conmee's promenade\nthrough Dublin of an afternoon, Joyce's characteristic talents and failings may be\nobserved : the priest is led from one objective situation to another, and the greet-\nings, the gestures, the expressions of all the persons he meets are related with a\nperfectly mad attention to detail, and with complete indifference to their relative\nsignificance. It is all rather interesting because of the richness of Joyce's obser-\nvation ; it is unsatisfying because he contented himself with recording slav-\nishly this procession of natural phenomena. And so we go up the hills and\ndown the valleys, trusting that there will be lovely sights for the eye along with\nthe swamps and the waste places. The prerogative of the artist-mind to shape\nmatter, to depart from verisimilitude in accordance with his design, is not\nfulfilled.\nBut this is the truest way of rendering Iyife. I have given you the whole\nof Iyife, Joyce may say. Poor Zola and Octave Mirbeau thought likewise ; yet\nwho would turn their pages now ?"}, {"page_pdf": 75, "page_imprimee": "147", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.75", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2943, "texte": "For one who did not know and love the farther reaches of the English lan-\nguage Ulysses might well be of only the slightest significance. As Life, for in-\nstance. A well informed European who had read Kraft-Ebbing and Freud would\nfind the psychopathological material antiquated and unscientific. Nor would\nJoyce's attitude appear new or arresting. The unbridled imagination of\ntreamont in Maldoror, the poetic automatism of Apollinaire in Alcools, the Cy-\nclopean laughter of Alfred Jarry in Übu Roi, these and other qualities which\nare immediate to modern artists had existed before.\nScrutinizing the literature of, let us say, the last quarter of the nineteenth\ncentury in France, we may observe that the language lacked richness, that in\nmost directions its resources seem to have been plumbed. After Mallarme,\nthe poets echo each other's figures and images. The lucid felicitous prose manner\nof Villiers de l'lsle-Adam (Contes Cruels) and of Barbey d'Aur evilly (Contes\n-Diaboliques) terminates with Remy de Gourmont, who represents the last stage\nof thin, lucid, felicitous prose. Since this period, modern Frenchmen have been\ndriven to extremes of violence and verbal anarchy to escape the \" flatness \" of\nthe language, to gain richness and body.\nThe case seems to be quite the opposite with English : the nineteenth cen-\ntury writers evaded the great hazards and the vast ranges of the language which\nappealed so powerfully to the Spenser-Marlowe-Shakespeare era. The Victo-\nrians' preoccupation with theological questions may have been the restrictive\nfactor, just as the obsessions of modern writers with social questions render\ntheir imaginations less lively.\nJoyce's courage lies in his willingness to throw overboard all given principles\nof navigation and take to the uncharted seas. His inventiveness is admirable ;\nhis rhethoric, shall we call it, is as bold as that of John Donne, in fact is very\nreminiscent of the Metaphysical poets. He has a cunning bag of tricks which\nshould be systematically overhauled. There is a madness in him for the word :\nthe play of it, the color, the tempo of a handful of them. But to his bag !\ni. Modulation — A theme in words undergoes swift variations, is carried\noff from one octave to another and sounded in different keys, as in music :\n\"... the Stephen watching through webbed lapidary's window the fingers\nprove a time-dulled chain .. . Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their\nvulture nails. Dust slept on the dull cock of bronze and silver, lozenges of\ncinnabar, on rubies, leprous and winedark .. . Born all in the dark wormy\nearth, cold specks of fire, evil lights shining in the darkness where fallen archan-\ngels flung the stars off their brows.\nThis tendency toward flight — flight from reality, from perspective, leading\nas it does toward exaggeration in a broad burlesque manner, is perhaps the most\nattractive quality in Joyce. The execution scene treated as if written by a"}, {"page_pdf": 76, "page_imprimee": "148", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.76", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2567, "texte": "romantic newspaper reporter, only \" touched up \" a thousand fold is a marvel\nof flight, burlesque and Chaplinesque fantasy.\n2. Reconstruction of words — Words are deformed, amputated, grafted\nand pruned at the author's will, as :\n\" Mr. Best eager quietly lifted his book to say. .. \"\n\"The boys sixeyed Father Conmee and laughed. \"\n3. Invention of new words, frequently with the use of nonsense s3rllables :\n\" Swiftly rectly creaking rectly rectly he was rectly gone. \"\n4. Images — Joyce in his natural vein evades the simile, a thing is something\nelse, it is not like it :\n\" Onions of his breath came across the counter out of his ruined mouth. \"\nThe onions issuing from the man's mouth seem perfectly natural and spon-\ntaneous as compared with this :\n\" Stephen followed out of the vaulted cell into a shattering daylight of\nno thoughts. \"\nThe images, as in this case, become more sophisticated, fall into the older\ntradition at times.\n5. Jettisons grammar — Sentences are broken up, are projected without\nsemblance of syntax, without verbs or subjects, in an effort to follow the un-\nconscious movements of the mind hurrying over diverse impressions without\nbothering to complete the phrase.\n6. Designs within the sentence — expressions or phrases are reversed or\ninterposed like the elements in a Persian rug. One design which seems to appeal\nto him strongly is the pyramid standing on the point of another pyramid, the\nhourglass, if you will:\n\" Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light twining a loose hair\nbehind an ear. Sauntering sadly, gold no more, she twisted twined a hair.\nSadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind a curving ear. \"\n7 — 8 — 9 — 10 — 11 — 12 — 13 — etc. Joyce is an acrobat, a trickster.\nAlong the trail of Ulysses there are many varieties of rhetorical fireworks.\nThe intensity with which Joyce manipulates details in the absence of any\npower over the ensemble is characteristic of his preponderant sensibility. I\nshould hesitate to say that these tricks of language are deliberate ; one feels,\nrather, that they come spontaneously out of the complex sensuous nature of the\nman. Fragments of astonishing poetry buried amid tedious tracts of talk or\npsychologizing The value of his \" stunts \"is minimized by the ease with which\nthey cam be imitated, or have already begun to be. A mannerism can always\nbe mimicked by a skillful actor. Nor must the novelty of Joyce's technique\nbe overestimated. During the ten years previous to the appearance of Ulysses\nin Paris, the tendency toward verbal and rhetorical invention had been very"}, {"page_pdf": 77, "page_imprimee": "149", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.77", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3055, "texte": "widespread in America, at least. It is for this reason I take it, that Joyce\nhas been so well received in America. It is precisefy for this reason that he\nmay exert a dangerous influence, that of encouraging more and mere rhetoric.\nLiterature is really in a frightful morass at the present moment, as regards\nmeans and directives. It is clear that for those who have consciences the tra-\n♦\nditional forms of prose fiction are exasperating. Even in the work of Sher-\nwood Anderson and Waldo Frank there is a stumbling away a tatons from the\nplot-character-doctrine novel. In Europe the \" poetic novel \" and the \" cerebral\nnovel \" divide attention. In this great crisis, in this painful want of directions,\nMr. Joyce brings nothing in Ulysses, save, as I stated, his personal mannerisms.\nThe only sincere direction, manifested more strongly perhaps in modern\npainting than in literature, is toward a sort of formalism, by which the subject\nmatter is used as raw material to compose a design with, regardless of their ulti-\nmate faithfulness to an empirical reality. Something in the very air of the post-\nwar era seems to favor such a development. lies completely outside of\nthis movement. His influence toward greater discreetness, formlessness, vague-\nness, obscenity, inspiration, must be fought off as a dangerous flank attack.\nThere are interminable conversations which cover at least three-fourths of\nthe book As a method of projecting an epic it is interesting for the first 300\npages or so. But 700 ! Perhaps the sternest charge which can be made against\nUlysses is its sinful length, its waste stretches of dreary gabble by ill-educated\nmen. It may be said that the book might have been three hundred pages\nshorter without damaging its message very seriously !\nThe best thing that can be said for the profuse dialogues is that they embody\nwhat the French call sur-iealisme. That is, as a Mr. O' Brien converses Joyce\nputs extraordinary associations of thought into his head, makes flights, depar-\ntures, such as would never come to a Mr. O'Brien. This is quite amusing and\njustifiable, and may be attributed to the sensibility of Joyce.\nElsewhere in conversations between men of superior intellect on Shakespeare,\nMaeterlinck, Greek Philosophy, Irish politics, it may be assumed that Joyce\nreveals in a measure his own reflections. The figure of the poet, Stephen Dedalus,\noccurs frequently in this setting. The speech is surprisingly awkward, immature,\ninarticulate and unimpressive. This was equally the case in certain portions of\nthe \" Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, \" Joyce's previous novel. As\nvirtuoso, Joyce is astounding ; his power, his extraordinary mechanical memory\nwill make him a controversial issue for many years. The mental collapses in\nthe book, wasting so many pages, indicate simply an intellect inadequate for\nits great instrumental genius. The violinists, who thrill concert-audiences with\ntheir bowing while knowing music only superficially.\nUlysses reaches a quasi-climax in the third part, where for some 200 pages"}, {"page_pdf": 78, "page_imprimee": "150", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.78", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2155, "texte": "the method reverts to the play form. For fantasy, humor, obscenity, action,\nthis is perhaps the most exhilarating part of the book. A Dublin street\nnight with harlots, sailors, and a nondescript mob of night-prowlers, with Bloom\nholding sway as an enchanted Protean personage who turns from pursuing male\ninto a pederast, a sadist, a massochist, an impotent, what not ? In turn, all\nof the characters of the epic are brought forth, do their little dance and vanish.\nThe scenes are conceived with a whirling fantasy that suggests Chaplin again.\nWhether or not Freud is responsible for his overwhelming preoccupation with\nsex, Joyce certainly suggests the satyr. But following the Viennese interpreta-\ntation of the Unconscious, who can say that he is more the satyr than you or I ?\nIn this part, there is a groping effort made to reunite the straggling elements\nof the Odyssey a task which is evidently too much for the Joyce brain, so\nlacking in sense of proportion. Ulysses thus remains a piece of sustained out-\nlet. Pluck what you can out of it.\nIn a bar-room men are gathered about the counter, conversing again. Noth-\ning is too remote to be discussed : the Hungarian parliament, Denis's funeral,\nthe last lynching in America, Shakespeare's Othello. These men talk with\nthe freedom and vigor of the simple poor, employing the most picturesque ver-\nnacular and profanity. It is amusing to listen to them as James Joyce sits in\nand records their simple unfeigned speech. But eventually it becomes tedious,\nredundant, appalling. By the hour, by the month ! Joyce buried in this tri-\nvial vulgarity. What kind of a mind must he have, what mad design on pos-\nterity, to continue indefatigably the precious relation of this saloon-talk. I\nhad vowed a friend of mine to read the book in its entirety, to glue my to\nevery page. vSlang is healthy, should go into the language. The figures of\nspeech of rough men are honest and physical. One grows tired and beer-logged.\nSomeone take him home, sometime ! Very well, I am the little ragged bare-\nfoot boy sent by poor grandma to pluck you by the sleeve to beg you to\ncome home Mr. Joyce . . .\n\nMatthew Josephson"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c027", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c027", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "151", "page_fin": "151", "image_debut": 79, "image_fin": 79, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.26", "titre_corps": "Natural Things", "titre_sommaire": "Natural Things", "signature_source": "William Rose Benet", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 79, "page_imprimee": "151", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.79", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 612, "texte": "NATURAL THINGS\nWilliam Rose Benet\nBecause the clustered stars or the pallor of dawn\nCan make the heart break, the eyes sting,\nI bend my soul to a will as tightly drawn\nAs a nocked bow-string.\nBecause a whisper of leaves can crucify,\nA mist arouse the lions in my blood,\nI keep my lip curled, my head high\nIn scornful hardihood.\nBecause there is love in me like a naked knife\nGrasped hotly in the hand,\nDumb in a dream I seem to move through life,\nMy language dry as sand.\nToo fine the whetted edge of my desire,\nToo keen are the wounds I bear\nFrom the moon's reluctant silver, the noon's fire\nThe unapparent air."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c028", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c028", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "152", "page_fin": "152", "image_debut": 80, "image_fin": 80, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.27", "titre_corps": "Factory Chimneys at Daybreak", "titre_sommaire": "Factory Chimneys at Daybreak", "signature_source": "Ernst Toller ; P. Selver", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 80, "page_imprimee": "152", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.80", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 773, "texte": "FACTORY CHIMNEYS AT DAYBREAK\nErnst Toller\n(Translated from the German by P. Selver)\nThey thrust their black weight into the twilit radiance,\nArmoured, they stretch themselves upward with beetling menace ;\nLike a driven wedge they split the delicate hazes,\nSo that every waft of warmth is shattered against them.\nOut of their gullets black serpents creep\nTo pale distances, which are hidden by a silvery veil.\nMutely they proclaim : \"We are stronghold and shield!\nThe fires writhe, captives in our midst. \"\nMorning is heralded by violet-tinted laughter.\nThe sky is filled with deep blue.\nThen are they like frozen sentries, jaded with watching,\nAnd they become peaked and bare and gray,\nAnd stand helpless and as if lost\nAmid the clear ether, which has given birth to a God."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c029", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c029", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "153", "page_fin": "155", "image_debut": 81, "image_fin": 83, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.28", "titre_corps": "Paintìng, Past and Present", "titre_sommaire": "Paintìng, Past and Present", "signature_source": "De Fayet", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 81, "page_imprimee": "153", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.81", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2753, "texte": "PAINTÌNG, PAST AND PRESENT\n\n\" The best jest is a brief one.\" Enough of your incomprehensible cubism.\nDear reader. The cubist jest has been with us for fifteen years, and you\nhave not yet consented to devote ten minutes of your attention to this ques-\ntion which so baffles you. However, as usual, wait 20 years, in twenty years\nyou will agree with us.\nSince time immemorial the chief end of painting has been to establish do-\ncuments. These documents were our first books. These first \" book paintings \"\nwere moral or historical. Then came the iconographic document, the portrait,\nthe images of kings, then of the bourgeois, then the image of nature, when\nfashion turned the heart of man toward nature, then the image of the humble\nwhen it seemed humanitarian to occupy oneself with the lot of the humble.\nThis fundamental unity of painting goes back to the very origin of man.\nIt extends over more than 400 centuries. It was painting, but it was not ne-\ncessarily art. This activity represents the labour of millions of painters, but\nthe whole history of art could be held in one volume.\nThe history of art could be contained in one volume and there are not more\nthan ten great museums of painting in the world. And in these museums\nthere are few works which are great works of art. Moreover, many pictures\nthat once hung in art museums and private galleries pass one by one into the\narchaeological and ethnographical museums.\nThere are millions of paintings and sculptures all of which told us more\nor less interesting things. But the works which remain works of art can al-\nmost be counted on the fingers from memory. The story told by a picture\ndoes not interest us. The works which interest us and continue to live are\nthose which have such powerful plastic qualities and proportions that they\nstir our senses strongly and our intellects incisively, and thus give us greater\nperceptions of harmony. Forms establish relations between themselves. The\ngreat names of the past are those of the creators of forms. It is only because\ntheir works are the compositions of well ordered forms that all men of all\ntimes find in them that higher exaltation which is of a mathematical character\nand which is the highest faculty of man. The works of Michael Angelo, the\nEgyptians, the African Negroes, are not stories of good gods, nor are the pic-\ntures of Ingres and Poussin old wives' tales. These men are the creators of forms\nand organizers of sublime proportions. This is what humanity (to be exact, the\nspecialists) find in them. This is evidently not what the crowd finds ; the\ncrowd looks at good gods and at old wives.\nThe value of a work of art is beyond its documentary significance.\nA hundred years ago photography was invented, thirty years ago the"}, {"page_pdf": 82, "page_imprimee": "154", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.82", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2769, "texte": "cinema. The document henceforth is infallibly achieved by the click of a shutter\nor the turn of a film. At first, painting took little notice of the new fact.\nSlowly painters began to worry and ask themselves questions about the destiny\nof their art and the future of their destiny. Thousands of painters asked them-\nselves what they were good for. Confusion ! Daguerre might have changed\nsomething after all. But in fact, had he not rendered painting an immense\nservice in obliging it to define its true aims ? Let us say at once that the artists\nsaw clearly in the disorder. But to do them justice, we must consider another\narray of facts.\nWith civilization, phenomena are divided into categories. Problems of\nmorality, history, iconography, science, become so many specialities each with\nits specialists. Do plastic beauty and aesthetic emotion depend upon these\nfactors ? No.\nAnother thing : Societies express in every age \" ce qu'elles out dans le ventre.\"\nThat is the measure of their culture. It is called civilization. They differ\none from the other depending on whether the peoples are young or old, burned\nby the sun, or chilled by the fog. Thus we acknowledge the great talent of the\nPericlean age, we admit that the Romans were great builders, that the negroes\nfeared the mystery of the world, that Mediterraneans like definite solutions,\nthat Occidentals are rationalists, that our epoch has much better taste than\nthat of the Rennaissance so vaunted by the academicians. We find a certain\nspirit in each civilization, in each people. And this spirit also depends very\nmuch upon what the peoples do.\nOur epoch, then, has its spirit. •— Great industry, great finance, great ad-\nministration ; a spirit made of love of precision, objectivity and calculation, a\nnoticeable refinement of everything, a need of order, of abstraction, of specula-\ntion. In art, we are able to appreciate in the Parthenon the balance of its\ningenious proportions which satisfy us, physically and visually, by their rich-\nness and precision. While we find in the work of Rubens only a rather feeble\nskill, a lack of clearly defined forms, and a heavy spirit animated by a somewhat\ncoarse sensuality.\nFrom now on, freed from the necessity of documentary representation,\npainting can fulfill its true function. This function is the same in all times —\nto move man. The means have not changed, simply because the faculties and\nthe receptive organs have not changed. To-day the problem is stripped of\nthe undergrowth which has up till now obstructed the road travelled by the\nfew great artists whose work is really plastic. The spirit of our epoch is exigent.\nOur epoch demands a proud and simple art.\nThe fact must be faced that the photo and cinema can replace thousands\nof painters."}, {"page_pdf": 83, "page_imprimee": "155", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.83", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2599, "texte": "The work of art is a mechanism to stir man emotionally. More and more,\nplastic creation is becoming independent of all outside application. Music\n(in the past), certain architecture reached a state of happy crystalization.\nIt seems as if art, now that it is freed from all practical ends, may take a leading\nplace in the cycle of man's superior pleasures.\nIt is evident that the perception and the appreciation of plastic phenomena\nis easier for those specialists who can readily make the effort of abstraction,\nnecessary to override the domination of the subject and to go directly to the\nplastic import. Such an effort is much more difficult for the inattentive or\nunprepared spectator who announces his satisfaction with an Ingres on account\nof its subject matter and its careful workmanship. His admiration is of quite\na different category from that of the specialist. On the other hand, certain\nEgyptian sculptures evoke an identical enthusiasm in both specialist and or-\ndinary spectator,\nSo far distant is the subject and so foreign to us are the religious elements\nthey originally satisfied, that, little disturbed by the representative element, we\nare able to enjoy to the full its plastic significance as well as a completely intel-\nlectual and speculative one.\nOn the othe hand, this same spectator will still demand an explanation\nbefore a Picasso. The specialist goes directly to the plastic significance\n(pictorial or sculptural), while the public is bound by force of habit to the\ndocumentary interest.\nHowever, the public participates in the spirit characteristic of this age, and\nwhen it realizes this, will easily grasp the tendencies which actually direct the\narts. The specialist does not look at the antique masterpieces with the same\neyes as the public. And the public before a modern production does not seek\nin ancient works of art the common factors which bind the modern works to\nthe beautiful things of the past. There are common factors. Artists constantly\nturn towards the past in order to recognize them and to give themelves confi-\ndence. The public, amazed by this profound and sincere admiration of ancient\nmasterpieces, accuses them of insincerity. There's the quid pro quo, easy,\nenough to correct.\nCubism and Purism are plastic expressions of an epoch. The epoch strong-\nly manifests its spirit. These expressions made a revolution. To be exact,\nit was the public which was revolutionized. The Cubists and Purists are on the\nstraight line which goes back, through all the Masters to the plastic expressions\nwhich have lived.\n\nDe Fayet\n(Translated from the French)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c030", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c030", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "156", "page_fin": "156", "image_debut": 84, "image_fin": 84, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.29", "titre_corps": "Comment", "titre_sommaire": "Comment", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 84, "page_imprimee": "156", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.84", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2014, "texte": "COMMENT\nBoris Pilniak, whose story <4 At the Doors \" appeared in August Broom,\nis one of the small number of young Russian prose writers who took the revo-\nlution as their theme. He is one of the still smaller number who treated this\ntheme in a manner to render their literary achievement permanent.\nRevolt of the masses, blind, instinctive, elemental — that is the revolu-\ntion as Pilniak sees it. The intellectuals of all ranks, deluded into the belief\nof guiding its course, are helplessly swept along in the torrent, often to their\nown destruction. The masses — the peasantry really -— though perhaps still\nsuperstitious and barbarous -— do they not believe in witches, the devil and\nGod ?-— have a healthy and stubborn determination to become masters of\ntheir own fate. And they are likely to succeed for There is some new truth\nhere ; there is happiness potent in this destruction\nPilniak speaks of the revolution with intimate knowledege if he does not\nalways accept it without reserve. He has followed its course though all phases,\nand has observed its effect on all classes. The revolution has seen him in Central\nRussia, in the Caucasus, in the Ukraine, fleeing the Tchekhoslovaks, fighting\nMakhno, cultivating a farm, organizing literary societies, rising to the honor\nof receiving the Academic \" pyok. \"\nIn these years of such variegated experience Boris Pilniak wrote some few\ndozen short stories and several novels. His method, especially in his late work,\nis baffling at first, for he has a tendency to shift the plane of action unexpectedly,\nto move backward and forward in time without warning, and to make seven\nleagued leaps in space unannounced. There, is, however, nothing tentative in his\nmode of procedure. Quite the contrary. The edifice he erects is measured with\nextreme care and planned with great science. If we only familiarize ourselves\nwith his new architecture and look at the building from a sufficient distance,\nthe organic unity, skeleton and outline will be seen in clear light."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c031", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c031", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "156", "page_fin": "156", "image_debut": 84, "image_fin": 84, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.30", "titre_corps": "BOOKS RECEIVED", "titre_sommaire": "BOOKS RECEIVED", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 84, "page_imprimee": "156", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.84", "debut_caractere": 2016, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2150, "texte": "BOOKS RECEIVED\nPoemes a Claires Voies and Tournevie by Celine (1/Esprit Nouveau).\nPoints ds Mire by Celine (Jacques Povolozky et Cie)."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c033", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c033", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[81]", "page_fin": "[81]", "image_debut": 3, "image_fin": 3, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.32", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[81]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4311, "texte": "The Most Important Announcement Made By An American Publisher In Years\nTHE CARRA EDITION OF\nTHE WORKS OF GEORGE MOORE\nThe Twenty Titles in the\nCARRA EDITION ore:\nLewis Seymour and Some Women\nThe Mummer's Wife\nMuslin\nSpring Days\nEsther Waters\nEvelyn Inness\nfikfpp Tarpca\nThe Lake and The Untilled Field\nAvowals and Confessions of a Young Man\nMemoirs of My Dead Life\nAve Salve Vale\nThe Brook Kerith\nA Story-Teller's Holiday\nHeloise and Abelard\nIn Strict Singleness\nPeronnik the Fool, Daphnis and Chloe,\netc.\nImpressions and Opinions\nModern Painting\nBOOKLOVERS and admirers of George: Moore have\neagerly awaited the announcement of a collected\nedition of his works. We take great pleasure in\nannouncing that we have completed arrangements for\nthe publication of a definitive subscription edition of his\nwritings, which will be the first unexpurgated and uni-\nform collection of all of his books which he desires to per-\npetuate, The author has not only written an entirely\nnew and characteristic preface, but has made textual\nchanges, in most cases of considerable importance, in\nevery one of the works reissued in this new edition. Two\nof these works, Modern Painting and The Brook Kerith,\nhave been entirely rewritten; and there are two new\nbooks which will appear for the first time in this edition,\nIn Strict Singleness and Peronnik the Fool, Daphnis and\nChloeetc. The set will include such heretofore private-\nly printed titles as A Story-Teller's Holiday, Avowals\nand Heloise and Abelard, all of which are now very diffi-\ncult to obtain, and only at high premiums. New Moore\nworks are likely to be added in the same uniform for-\nmat from time to time, and the original subscribers to\nthis edition will have the privilege of purchasing them at\nthe first subscription price.\nThe Carra Edition is strictly limited to one thousand numbered sets for sale and twenty-five sets marked A\nto Y (not for sale). The first volume in each set will be signed by the author. The edition will be printed from\nspecial type on pure rag paper and bound uncut with vellum backs and paper board sides. The publishers plan\nto issue the books in groups of three volumes each, and the first group should be ready by October i, 1922 ;\nthe other groups will be published at intervals of two months. The price will be $ 8.50 per volume, and the pub-\nlishers reserve the right to advance the price to.s 10.00 per volume after the first publication day.\nYou are urged to place your subscription at once through your bookseller, or direct to the pub-\nlishers. A special brochure will be mailed on request. In view of the limited number available,\nan early subscription is desirable to avoid disappointment.\nft foe Intimate letters Series\n< ..\nThese volumes are octavo size, printed on Knglish laid paper, with uncut edges, and handsomely bound in\nlibrary buckram. The editions are strictly limited to 1,500 numbered copies. Each, $4.00.\nTHE GEORGE SAND - GUSTAVE\nFLAUBERT LETTERS\nTranslated by AIMEE McKENZIE\nIntroduction by STUART P. SHERMAN\nThese frank and affectionate letters, extending\nfrom 1866 to 1876, make an extraordinary fascinat-\ning volume. George Sand's family life at Nohant,\nthe old bachelor's solitude at Croisset, meetings in\nParis, adventures with publishers and theatrical man-\nagers, and pungent comment on such friends as Sainte-\nBeuve, Hugo, Gautier, and Turgenev, are here.\nTHE NIETZSCHE — WAGNER\nCORRESPONDENCE\nEdited by ELIZABETH FOERSTER - NIETZSCHE\nTranslated by CAROIJNE V. KERR\nIntroduction by H. I*. MENCKEN\nHere are collected and published for the first time\nNietzsche's letters to and from Wagner. The book\ncontains much that is entirely new — in fact, every-\nthing that could contribute to a true estimate of one of\nthe most remarkable and romantic friendships of the\nxixth Century.\nROBERT HENRI\nEdited by WIIJJAM YARROW and I.OUIS BOUCH&\nThis first volume in the American Art library is a superb monograph on one of the foremost American ar-\ntists, and combines a charming resume of his life and work with forty full-page reproductions of his paintings\non the finest paper obtainable, without lettering, suitable for mounting. The edition is limited to nine hun-\ndred and ninety copies. Subscription price, $ 10.00. (Illustrated brochure on application).\nBONI & LIVERIGHT\n103 West 40th St.\nNEW YORK CITY"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c034", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c034", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[82]", "page_fin": "[82]", "image_debut": 4, "image_fin": 4, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.33", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "[82]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3421, "texte": "Read the works of this great genius of our age\nD. H. LAWRENCE\nAARON'S ROD\nLove and Marriage in our day as Lawrence sees it\nChicago Evening Post:\n\" A story which deals with the deep secret experiences of life,\ntold in words that glow and sometimes soar. Heavy with the mys-\ntery and perfume of night. A story of the age-old struggle between\nman and woman, each fighting bitterly for mastery, each loath to\nrelinquish that last barrier of self which means complete understand-\ning and complete surrender. \"\nMew York Times:\n\" A very unusual novel. A book for men and women who are\nmentally as well as physically grown up. Extraordinarily interesting.\"\nJ. ¥. A. Weaver:\n\"We are fascinated with Lawrence's work.\" $2.00\nTHE LOST GIRL\nA gripping story, centering around a strikingly original heroine\nand her escape from spinster hood.\nWinner of the James Tait Black Memorial Prize as the best\nnovel of the year, awarded by the Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature\nin the University of Edinburgh, H. J. C. Grierson.\nFrancis Kaekett in New Republic:\n\" The Lost Gißiv is an absorbing novel, rich in substance, fascinating in\nbackground and powerful in its discernments. \"\nSherwood Anderson:\n\" A subtle and powerful book. Often in a single prose passage from the\nhand of this greatest of living English prose writers the impossible is all but\nachieved — the entire life of all men and women put into a passage. \" . $2.00\nWOMEN IN LOVE\nDouglas Goldring:\n\" Women in Love is a masterpiece : Lawrence's most important work,\nan amazing book. \"\nJohn Maey:\n_ \" No writer in this generation is more singular, more unmistakably in-\ndividual than Mr. Lawrence, and none is endowed with his unfairly great\nvariety of gifts. \" (Limited subscription edition) $15.00,\nFANTASIA OF THE UNCONSCIOUS\nA further elaboration of the author's theory of the Unconscious begun in\nhis Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious. A work of startling originality.\n$2.00\nPSYCHOANALYSIS AND THE UNCONSCIOUS\nL. L. Buermyer of Princeton University, in New York Evening Post:\n\" In so far as Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious directs attention\nto the need of bringing into fruitful interaction the discoveries of Freud and his\nco-workers and our moral ideas in general, it will have done for the psycho-\nanalytic movement the greatest possible service, that of clarifying its issues\nand lending dignity and significance to its results. \" $1.50\nSEA AND SARDINIA\nIllustrated with eight striking pictures in color by Jan Juta and with a whim-\nsical map of Sardinia by D. H. Lawrence.\nPadraic Colum in The Dial:\n\" This record of an excursion into an unknown island is written in a way\nthat suggests the art of the most revealing of the modern painters. The\nwriter makes patterns that draw us right into the thing looked upon. One\nmust be delighted by a record that is so blithe, so full of significant suggestion.\nWhat a remarkable writer D. H. Lawrence is ! ''\nMeywood Broun:\n\" Lit with extraordinary eloquence. \"\nJohn ¥. A, Weaver:\n\" By all odds and without reservation the most interesting travel-book\nwe have read in the last few years. \" $5.00\nTORTOISES\nA Book of Verse\nCarl Van Doren in The Nation:\n\" Tortoises seems to me as powerful a poem as was ever written about\nanimals and nearly as powerful as was ever written about love. \"\nWith cover design in color $1.25\nTHE WIDOWING OF MRS. HOLROYD, A Play in Three Acts $1.50\nTOUCH AND GO. A Play in Three Acts\n$1.25"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c035", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c035", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[157]", "page_fin": "[157]", "image_debut": 85, "image_fin": 85, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.34", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 85, "page_imprimee": "[157]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.85", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1548, "texte": "The most interesting and most stimulating magazine edited and printed in con-\ntinental America.\nTHE DOUBLE DEALER\nPUBLISHED AT NEW ORLEANS ■ FOUNDED DECEMBER, 1920\nInvites you to read it for five months for $1.00\nASIDE from THE BROOM, published abroad, THE DOUBLE DEALER is the only\nhonest literary magazine in the United States. Catering to neither radicals nor\nreactionaries, it \" deceives them both by speaking the truth. \" Its one purpose is\nto print good writing, and it numbers among its contributors such authors as Benjamin\nde Casseres, Sherwood Anderson, Maxwell Bodenheim, Lola Ridge, Arthur Symons,\nPadraic Colum, Lord Dunsany, Joseph Campbell, Katharine Tynan, Burton Rascoe,\nCarl Van Vechten, Babette Deutsch, Louis Untermeyer, Hart Crane, Matthew Joseph-\nson, Richard Aldington, Paul Eldridge, Vincent Starrett, Louis Gilmore, Emmy Veronica\nSanders, Hortense Flexner, Oscar Williams, Herman George Scheffauer, Alfred Kreym-\nborg, and half-a-hundred others.\nTHE DOUBLE DEALER is a strictly literary magazine, printing editorials, fiction,\nessays, criticism, poetry, book reviews, and comment. If you do not read it, you are mis-\nsing much of the finest creative and critical work now being done in America and Europe.\nEditors : JULIUS WEIS FRIEND, BASIL THOMPSON\n—' - — Managing Editor: John McCujrE\nSample copy, twenty-five cents. Year's subscription, $2.50\n———=—————————— ■ TRIAL O FFE R a\nTHE DOUBLE DEALER # 204 Baronne street # New Orleans, La., U. S. A.\nI enclose $1.00. Send The Double Dealer for five months to\nName\nAddress ; t"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c036", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c036", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[157]", "page_fin": "[157]", "image_debut": 85, "image_fin": 85, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.35", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 85, "page_imprimee": "[157]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.85", "debut_caractere": 1550, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1931, "texte": "OCTOBER BROOM will\npresent the first instalment of\nSTAVROGIN'S CONFESSION:\nunpublished chapters from\nDOSTOIEVSKY'S novel\nPOSSESSED\nft ft ft\nMALDOROR finds a kindred soul.\n# ♦ #\nTHE ANTIPODES OF UNITY\nare visited\nunder the auspices of\nBLAISE CENDRARS.\nAlso: A CHAMPION IN THE\nWILDERNESS by ROBERT SANBORN.\nYOUNG MAN WITH SPECTACLES\nby MALCOLM COWLEY.\nand others poems, stories, etc."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c037", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c037", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[157]", "page_fin": "[157]", "image_debut": 85, "image_fin": 85, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.36", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 85, "page_imprimee": "[157]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.85", "debut_caractere": 1933, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2169, "texte": "AN OASIS\nOf spirits choice the rookery\nSuch is the cozy Bookery.\n'Twill rest your soul, this soothing place\nWhere range the brains of the human race.\nTHE BOOKERY\n14 West 47th Street, - New York City\nBooks on sexology and psychoanalysis."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c038", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c038", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[157]", "page_fin": "[157]", "image_debut": 85, "image_fin": 85, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.37", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 85, "page_imprimee": "[157]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.85", "debut_caractere": 2171, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2229, "texte": "FRANK SHAY'S\nINTERNATIONAL\nBOOK SHOP\nNEW YORK\nLONDON PARIS"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c039", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c039", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[158]", "page_fin": "[158]", "image_debut": 86, "image_fin": 86, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.38", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 86, "page_imprimee": "[158]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.86", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 742, "texte": "r~\nTHE FORUM\nEDITED BY\nGEORGE HENRY PAYNE\nAMERICA'S INTELLECTUAL MAGAZINE\nART, DRAMA, MUSIC, LITERATURE, SCIENCE, FINANCE, INTERNATIONAL POLITICS\nSome Contributors :\nGEORGE SANTAYANA\nMAURICE HEWLETT\nHAVELOCK ELLIS\nARTHUR SYMONS\nVISCOUNT HALDANE\nGEORGE BRANDES\nOTTO H. KAHN\nSTEPHANE LAUZANNE\nROLANDI RICCI\nGENERAL CHARLES H. SHERRILL\nPRINCE ANTOINE BIBESCO\nLADY ASTOR, M. P.\nCOMMANDANT DE MIERRY\nRONALD TREE\nGILBERT MURRAY\nGEORGE W. WICKERSHAM\nROBERT EMMETT MAC ALARNEY\nYearly Subscription: 84.00 * Single copy 35 cents\nSPECIAL TRIAL OFFER — 11.00 for 4 issues\nTHE FORUM\n354 Fourth Avenue\nNew York City\n„ . , , r , S $ 4.00 for one year's subscription\nLnclosed please nnd \\ „, , , , , , . .\n112 11.00 tor tour month s subscription\nName\nAddress"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c040", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c040", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 87, "image_fin": 87, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.39", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 87, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.87", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2019, "texte": "THE\nEdited by John Fcirrcir\n112\nIF you wish to understand literary currents, to know literary personalities, to\nkeep in touch with present-day writing and at the same time to be amused,\nTHE BOOKMAN, we believe, will perform this service for you.\nWHAT OTHERS THINK OF THE BOOKMAN\nIRVIN S. COBB\n\" It is the most informative, the most entertaining and incidentally the\nbrightest and most amusing publication devoted to literature and its products\nthat I have ever seen. \"\nCHARLES HANSON TOWNE\n\" THE BOOKMAN is the most alive of all the literary magazines ... A\nmore stimulating editorial policy could not be imagined. \"\nLOUIS UNTERMEYER\n\" To that THE BOOKMAN leads its own particular field is to give it\nless than its due for it has, technically as well as figuratively, no rivals. \"\nCARL VAN DOREN\n\" THE BOOKMAN is alive. If there is a better quality, in the long run,\nfor a general literary magazine to try for, I do not know what it is. \"\nELLIS PARKER BUTLER\n\" Here's my criticism of THE BOOKMAN — a cheer for a year's subscrip-\ntion. \"\nSome Contributors for 1922\nJames Branch Cabeee\nAlexander Wooecott\nJoseph Hergesheimer\nFanny Hurst\nH. L. Mencken\nHugh Waepoee\nHeywood Broun\nTheodore Dreiser\nGertrude Atherton\nSinclair Lewis\nMary Austin\nCare Sandburg\nJessie B. Rittenhouse\nStuart P. Sherman\nZOJSTA GAEE\nRebecca West\nSomerset Maughan\nWiijjam Rose Benet\nFeoyd Deee\nChristopher Moreey\nStephen Vincent Benet\nRobert Cortes Hoeeiday\nMary Roberts Rinehart\nIrvin S. Cobb\nAefred Kreymborg\nSherwood Anderson\nTHE BOOKMAN'S Bureau of Practical Advice to Writers: Broadway ; Our\nLiterary Signpost, by Kenneth Andrews ; The Practical Side of Writing, by Robert\nCortes Holliday ; Poems of the Month ; The Bookman's Guide to Fiction ; The\nLondoner; The Bookshelf; Foreign Note and Comment; The Gossip Shop ; The\nEditor Recommends, etc.\nAll the latest news of the literary world each month in THE BOOKMAN.\n\" A splendid, live and interesting publication. \" .\n40 cents monthly $4.00 a year\nGEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY * PUBLISHERS * NEW YORK"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c041", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c041", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 88, "image_fin": 88, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.40", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 88, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.88", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 595, "texte": "E DIAL\nAMERICA'S FOREMOST JOURNAL\nOF ART AND LETTERS\nTHE sole purpose of THE DIAL is to bring the\nwork of the artists who count to the people who\ncare. It is publishing only the art and the literature\nby which our generation here and abroad will be re-\nmembered. It publishes the best work it can find\nby the greatest living authors and by unknown men\nand women : the best in old forms and in new : the\nbest from Europe and the best in America — without\nany anticipation of commercial success, without\ntruckling to popular prejudice, or undertaking pro-\npaganda for any school, coterie or group."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c042", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c042", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 88, "image_fin": 88, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.41", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 88, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.88", "debut_caractere": 597, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1134, "texte": "The editors of The Dial\nare happy to announce that\nthey will shortly begin the\npublication of\nMANY MARRIAGES\na complete novel by\nSHERWOOD\nANDERSON\nAmerica's foremost writer of fiction.\n\" He depicts life in the Middle\nWest as Dostoievsky pictured\nthe many-colored life of Russia,\nwith almost as wonderful a\ntouch of genius, with a more\nconcentrated and daring skill. \"\n— \" New York Times\n\" He is one of the few Amer-\nican novelists who possesses that\nold-fashioned equipment, a soul —\nhe is always deeply interesting. \"\n— Francis Hackett."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c043", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c043", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 88, "image_fin": 88, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.42", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 88, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.88", "debut_caractere": 1136, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1830, "texte": "CONTRIBUTORS\nSherwood Anderson\nMax Beerbohm\nJuuen Bend a\nJohan Bojer\nRobert Bridges\nVan Wyck Brooks\nJoseph Conrad\nBenedetto Croce\nCharges Demuth\nAndre Derain\nHunt Diederich\nJohn Egunton\nT. S. Eijot\nAnatoi,e France\nJean Giraudoux\nThomas Hardy\nHermann Hesse\nHugo von Hofmannsthai,\nJames Joyce\nGaston IvAChaise\nD. H. I/AWRENCE\nReinhoed IyEPSIUS\nWyndham Lewis\nVACHEIy IvINDSAY\nRobert Morss Lovett\nAmy LowEUv\nHenry Mcßride\nJohn Marin\nThomas Mann\nHenri Matisse\nGeorge Moore\nJ. Middeeton Murry\nPABiyO Picasso\nEzra Pound\nMarceiy Proust\nEdwin Arlington Robinson\nRomain Roland\nBERTRAND RUSSEIvIV\nCare Sandburg\nG. Santayana\nArthur Schnitzeer\nMay Sinclair\nJames Stephens\nArthur vSymons\nWilvUam Butter Yeats"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c044", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c044", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 88, "image_fin": 88, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.43", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 88, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.88", "debut_caractere": 1832, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2664, "texte": "\"If you keep your present standard,\nyou will eclipse every known periodi-\ncal published in English. \" — Richard\nAldington.\n\" The American Dial is perhaps the\nmost fully realized of all the promising\nliterary magazines now current in\nthe world. \" — A. R. Orage, Editor\nof \"The New Age\".\n\" One of the finest literary reviews\nin the world today. \" — Valery\nin \"La Revue de France\n\"... superior to anything being\npublished here or in England — or,\nas far as my knowledge goes, on the\ncontinent. \" — John Peai.e Bishop,\nManaging Editor, \"Vanity Fair\".\n\" The Dial has now conclusively\nestablished itself as a permanent ad-\ndition to the forerank of American\nmagazines. \" — \" New York Times \".\n\" Yours is the only magazine of which\nI am aware, thoi stands without res-\npect of persons for the honor ot lite-\nrature. \" — J. Middleton Murry."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c045", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c045", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 88, "image_fin": 88, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.44", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 88, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.88", "debut_caractere": 2666, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2974, "texte": "FREE THE DIAL\none of the notable books of the year\nAND EVEN NOW, by Max Beerbohm\nMARIA CHAPDEIyAINE, by I/hjis Hemon\nTHE ENORMOUS ROOM, by E. E. .Cummings\nSELECTED POEMS, by William Butler Yeats\nMr. WADDINGTON OF WYCK, by May Sinclair\nCIVILIZATION IN THE UNITED STATES, by thirty well\nknown American writers."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c046", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c046", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 88, "image_fin": 88, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.45", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 88, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.88", "debut_caractere": 2976, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3207, "texte": "You may enter my name for a year's subscription\nto THE DIAL, beginning with the\nnumber. You will also send me the following book.\nName :\nAddress\nBook\nI enclose $5.00 I will remit $5.00\nTHE DIAIy - 152 W. 13th vSt. N. Y. C. - B-9-22"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaap-1922-09-01-c047", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01#c047", "volume": "bmtnaap_1922-09_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 89, "image_fin": 89, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.2.46", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 89, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.89", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1298, "texte": "IF The New Republic's worth were estimated\nby no other criterion than the books with\nwhich it has been identified, its score would still\nbe the highest. The Keynes Book first was\nintroduced to America in its pages. It published\nserially \"Queen Victoria\" by Lytton Strachey. It\nhas brought out its own special editions of these\nbooks: \"The Outline of History,\" by H. G.Wells,\n\"Queen Victoria,\" by Lytton Strachey, and\"The\nStory of Mankind,\" by Hendrik Van Loon. They\nwere the three outstanding successes of three\npublishing seasons.\nBooks and Characters\nFRENCH AND ENQLISH\nby LYTTON STRACHEY\npromises to be a fourth. \"The virtues of this\nessay (on Racine) are, indeed, inexhaustible,\" says\nJ. Middleton Murry. \"It is certainly one of the\nfinest pieces of literary criticism ever written in\nEnglish. For beautiful movement and clear\nprofoundity ... I know of nothing to compare\nwith it. As one who practices the art ... I can\nonly say: this essay satisfies my ideal of criticism.\nIt is perfect.\" There are fourteen other essays in\nthe volume, each one meriting its especial praise.\nIt is a Harcourt book ($3.50 net). It may be had\nwith a year's subscription to The New Republic\n(52 issues, regularly $5) if you enclose $6.50 to\nThe New Republic\nAmerica's Liberal Weekly\n421 W. 21st St., New York City"}]}], "pages_ocr_originales": [{"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.2", "texte": "BROOM\nAn International Magazine oe the Arts Published by Harold A. Eoeb.\nEditor, Harold A. Loeb, Associate Editor, Edward Storer. American Editor, Lola Ridge.\nSE PTE IVIBER, 1922\nAPPEARS MONTHI,Y\nVOL. 3, NO 2\nThe Editor of Broom will be pleased to consider niss. submitted to him, but all mss. must\nbe accompanied by a self-addressed, stamped envelope. The Editor cannot hold himself respon-\nsible for loss of mss. in transit.\nMss. from Europe should be sent to the Rome office; mss. from America to the New\nYork office.\nThe price of Broom is :\n■ ■\nFor America, fifty cents the copy, and five dollars for a year's subscription. For Italy,\n10 lire the copy, and 100 lire for a year's subscription. For France, 6 francs the copy, and\n60 francs for a year's subscription. For Great Britain, 3/6 the copy, and one pound and fifteen\nshillings for a year's subscription.\nThe contents of this issue are protected copyright, January, 1922. Infringement of\nsame will be prosecuted.\nEntered as Second Class matter at the Post Office at New York, N. Y. April 22, 1922\nunder the Act of March 3, 1879.\nHeadquarters, 68, Via Leccosa, Rome (9), Italy.\nNew York Office, Three East Ninth Street.\nLondon Office, Cecil Palmer, Oakley House, 15-18 Bloomsbnry St., W. C. I.\n\nCover Design (Woodcut) — Jijan Oris. Page\nVitrion — Ilya Ehrenbourg 83\nSleep — Little Birds and Old Men — Lawrence Vail ............ .95-96\nReproductions of Chinese, South Indian and Javanese Sculpture —\nAnimals — Karl With .< 97\nA Toast to Ourselves -t- Vadim Shershenyevitch 102\nThe Lay of Maldoror (Selections, Canto II) — Comte de Lautreamont .... 103\nReproductions of Javanese and South Indian sculpture ............ —\nPoems in Prose — Pierre Reverdy 113\nTHE Mysticism OF MONEY.— H. A. L. .................. v.. . . 11'5\nEtchings — Thomas Pym Cope 131\nPoplars — Earth — Kathryn White Ryan 132\nBattle of Flowers — Albert-Jean ...................... 133\nAphorisms — Edwin Muir 141\nMorning Walks in the City —I. Schneider . . . . 145\n1001 Nights in a Bar-Room — Matthew Josephson . . ............ 146\nNatural Things — William Rose Benet 151\nFactory Chimneys at Daybreak — Ernst Toller . 152\nPainting, Past and Present — De Fa yet . 153\nComment ......... ..................... 156"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[81]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.3", "texte": "The Most Important Announcement Made By An American Publisher In Years\nTHE CARRA EDITION OF\nTHE WORKS OF GEORGE MOORE\nThe Twenty Titles in the\nCARRA EDITION ore:\nLewis Seymour and Some Women\nThe Mummer's Wife\nMuslin\nSpring Days\nEsther Waters\nEvelyn Inness\nfikfpp Tarpca\nThe Lake and The Untilled Field\nAvowals and Confessions of a Young Man\nMemoirs of My Dead Life\nAve Salve Vale\nThe Brook Kerith\nA Story-Teller's Holiday\nHeloise and Abelard\nIn Strict Singleness\nPeronnik the Fool, Daphnis and Chloe,\netc.\nImpressions and Opinions\nModern Painting\nBOOKLOVERS and admirers of George: Moore have\neagerly awaited the announcement of a collected\nedition of his works. We take great pleasure in\nannouncing that we have completed arrangements for\nthe publication of a definitive subscription edition of his\nwritings, which will be the first unexpurgated and uni-\nform collection of all of his books which he desires to per-\npetuate, The author has not only written an entirely\nnew and characteristic preface, but has made textual\nchanges, in most cases of considerable importance, in\nevery one of the works reissued in this new edition. Two\nof these works, Modern Painting and The Brook Kerith,\nhave been entirely rewritten; and there are two new\nbooks which will appear for the first time in this edition,\nIn Strict Singleness and Peronnik the Fool, Daphnis and\nChloeetc. The set will include such heretofore private-\nly printed titles as A Story-Teller's Holiday, Avowals\nand Heloise and Abelard, all of which are now very diffi-\ncult to obtain, and only at high premiums. New Moore\nworks are likely to be added in the same uniform for-\nmat from time to time, and the original subscribers to\nthis edition will have the privilege of purchasing them at\nthe first subscription price.\nThe Carra Edition is strictly limited to one thousand numbered sets for sale and twenty-five sets marked A\nto Y (not for sale). The first volume in each set will be signed by the author. The edition will be printed from\nspecial type on pure rag paper and bound uncut with vellum backs and paper board sides. The publishers plan\nto issue the books in groups of three volumes each, and the first group should be ready by October i, 1922 ;\nthe other groups will be published at intervals of two months. The price will be $ 8.50 per volume, and the pub-\nlishers reserve the right to advance the price to.s 10.00 per volume after the first publication day.\nYou are urged to place your subscription at once through your bookseller, or direct to the pub-\nlishers. A special brochure will be mailed on request. In view of the limited number available,\nan early subscription is desirable to avoid disappointment.\nft foe Intimate letters Series\n< ..\nThese volumes are octavo size, printed on Knglish laid paper, with uncut edges, and handsomely bound in\nlibrary buckram. The editions are strictly limited to 1,500 numbered copies. Each, $4.00.\nTHE GEORGE SAND - GUSTAVE\nFLAUBERT LETTERS\nTranslated by AIMEE McKENZIE\nIntroduction by STUART P. SHERMAN\nThese frank and affectionate letters, extending\nfrom 1866 to 1876, make an extraordinary fascinat-\ning volume. George Sand's family life at Nohant,\nthe old bachelor's solitude at Croisset, meetings in\nParis, adventures with publishers and theatrical man-\nagers, and pungent comment on such friends as Sainte-\nBeuve, Hugo, Gautier, and Turgenev, are here.\nTHE NIETZSCHE — WAGNER\nCORRESPONDENCE\nEdited by ELIZABETH FOERSTER - NIETZSCHE\nTranslated by CAROIJNE V. KERR\nIntroduction by H. I*. MENCKEN\nHere are collected and published for the first time\nNietzsche's letters to and from Wagner. The book\ncontains much that is entirely new — in fact, every-\nthing that could contribute to a true estimate of one of\nthe most remarkable and romantic friendships of the\nxixth Century.\nROBERT HENRI\nEdited by WIIJJAM YARROW and I.OUIS BOUCH&\nThis first volume in the American Art library is a superb monograph on one of the foremost American ar-\ntists, and combines a charming resume of his life and work with forty full-page reproductions of his paintings\non the finest paper obtainable, without lettering, suitable for mounting. The edition is limited to nine hun-\ndred and ninety copies. Subscription price, $ 10.00. (Illustrated brochure on application).\nBONI & LIVERIGHT\n103 West 40th St.\nNEW YORK CITY"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "[82]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.4", "texte": "Read the works of this great genius of our age\nD. H. LAWRENCE\nAARON'S ROD\nLove and Marriage in our day as Lawrence sees it\nChicago Evening Post:\n\" A story which deals with the deep secret experiences of life,\ntold in words that glow and sometimes soar. Heavy with the mys-\ntery and perfume of night. A story of the age-old struggle between\nman and woman, each fighting bitterly for mastery, each loath to\nrelinquish that last barrier of self which means complete understand-\ning and complete surrender. \"\nMew York Times:\n\" A very unusual novel. A book for men and women who are\nmentally as well as physically grown up. Extraordinarily interesting.\"\nJ. ¥. A. Weaver:\n\"We are fascinated with Lawrence's work.\" $2.00\nTHE LOST GIRL\nA gripping story, centering around a strikingly original heroine\nand her escape from spinster hood.\nWinner of the James Tait Black Memorial Prize as the best\nnovel of the year, awarded by the Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature\nin the University of Edinburgh, H. J. C. Grierson.\nFrancis Kaekett in New Republic:\n\" The Lost Gißiv is an absorbing novel, rich in substance, fascinating in\nbackground and powerful in its discernments. \"\nSherwood Anderson:\n\" A subtle and powerful book. Often in a single prose passage from the\nhand of this greatest of living English prose writers the impossible is all but\nachieved — the entire life of all men and women put into a passage. \" . $2.00\nWOMEN IN LOVE\nDouglas Goldring:\n\" Women in Love is a masterpiece : Lawrence's most important work,\nan amazing book. \"\nJohn Maey:\n_ \" No writer in this generation is more singular, more unmistakably in-\ndividual than Mr. Lawrence, and none is endowed with his unfairly great\nvariety of gifts. \" (Limited subscription edition) $15.00,\nFANTASIA OF THE UNCONSCIOUS\nA further elaboration of the author's theory of the Unconscious begun in\nhis Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious. A work of startling originality.\n$2.00\nPSYCHOANALYSIS AND THE UNCONSCIOUS\nL. L. Buermyer of Princeton University, in New York Evening Post:\n\" In so far as Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious directs attention\nto the need of bringing into fruitful interaction the discoveries of Freud and his\nco-workers and our moral ideas in general, it will have done for the psycho-\nanalytic movement the greatest possible service, that of clarifying its issues\nand lending dignity and significance to its results. \" $1.50\nSEA AND SARDINIA\nIllustrated with eight striking pictures in color by Jan Juta and with a whim-\nsical map of Sardinia by D. H. Lawrence.\nPadraic Colum in The Dial:\n\" This record of an excursion into an unknown island is written in a way\nthat suggests the art of the most revealing of the modern painters. The\nwriter makes patterns that draw us right into the thing looked upon. One\nmust be delighted by a record that is so blithe, so full of significant suggestion.\nWhat a remarkable writer D. H. Lawrence is ! ''\nMeywood Broun:\n\" Lit with extraordinary eloquence. \"\nJohn ¥. A, Weaver:\n\" By all odds and without reservation the most interesting travel-book\nwe have read in the last few years. \" $5.00\nTORTOISES\nA Book of Verse\nCarl Van Doren in The Nation:\n\" Tortoises seems to me as powerful a poem as was ever written about\nanimals and nearly as powerful as was ever written about love. \"\nWith cover design in color $1.25\nTHE WIDOWING OF MRS. HOLROYD, A Play in Three Acts $1.50\nTOUCH AND GO. A Play in Three Acts\n$1.25"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "83", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.5", "texte": "VITRION\n\nGloom: window facing wall. Relief afforded by hole about the size of a\nhead. Bielov was making ready to putin a stove. That is, a stove was promised\nhim by Marya Ilyishna, the colonel's wife. She had got a big brick one from\nthe State Publishing House. She promised to sell him her old stove for a twenty\nthousand spot. And the twenty thousand spot was promised him by Dober,\na reliable man. To get it Bielov had only to botch up a poster : chimneys smok-\ning ; sun rising above them; workman, all muscle — main thing to emphazise the\nmuscles — extending hand to middle peasant. Middle peasant, of course,\nmiddling — does not count. Appropriate inscription on bottom :\nBring Your Potatoes!\nBielov set to work stove in mind. Bnt instead of chimney he got sticks,\ninstead of muscles — distended commas. And as for the inscription —\nIlyitch (i) himself would not understand it; Bielov rather guessed at it. There\nwould not be any potatoes that was evident. Nor any stove. And he, foolishly\nhad already broken a hole in the wall. No matter. More light anyhow. And\nflying visitors sometimes — thick-feathered white birds. The sun, aiming at\nhole, spat copiously making Bielov bray with joy like a donkey.\nA professor, his neighbour, a desperate \" Counter \" (2) busy with an ille-\ngal investigation on \" the Symptoms of Mental Diseases among Criminal Ele-\nments, \" heard the braying. He scattered his cheap tobacco, rushed to a secret\nchink in the wall, got out his note book and jotted down rapidly :\n\" Another case : lusty cries without reasonable cause. \"\nBielov's bed — a hill. His chair shouting : \" Attention ! When you sit\ndown lean over to the right to keep your balance. \" Cracked wash basin cov-\nered with black icy bark. Slippery floor. Frozen since morning — Bielov\nhad been washing. He was not cold, however —had on a fur jacket. Boys\nhad got it for him. Stolen goods still bearing Army stamp. Had to be\ndyed. Not enough color — finished right sleeve with wax-dye. Therefore\n\n(1) I^enine.\n(2) Counter-revolutionary."}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "84", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.6", "texte": "unaproachable. All winter : \" Fresh paint! \" Lydia Stepanovna, to make\nsure, would not allow him to get near her even from his dry honest side.\nQueer things in room : boards and, attached to them, sockets for electric\nlamps, a horse-shoe, cords all around, tin disks, glass, rusty wheel from clock,\ncigarette box, trash. All this not discarded rubbish piled up by accident, but care-\nfully picked collection full of significance. Bielov was not a freak, not a rag-\npicker, but an artist-constructor. Remember the name : Vassily Bielov.\nTough job getting materials. Though registered in the All-Russian Artists'\nUnion, he could get nothing. Received a card from the Section of Representative\nArts. Went there :If you please, some tin, glass, wood and a few other small\nthings. And in answer :\" We have only paint in tubes. Would you like some\nVeronese Green ? \" Jackasses ! He was forced to get everything by a sort of\nguerilla method, not free from danger sometimes. Electric lamp sockets could, of\ncourse, be simply unscrewed anywhere : in Soviet institutions or when visiting.\nOne could always do it by ingenuously turning conversation to the \" pyok \" (i).\nMuch worse getting tin. Not long ago he swiped a sheet from a burned down\nhouse on Zubov Boulevard. Militiaman saw him and wras going to shoot. Barely\nescaped. Same with everything up to cord issued by wise chiefs. To top it\nall — time lacking. Bielov would therefore work at night, freeze — and work.\nNothing else mattered then ; the stove, the floor of the \" Ice Palace \", the smell\nof cabbage soup — did not taste like soup but rags — all that was part of the daily\ngrind not worth speaking of. Compass. - Quantity. Circle great and splendid.\nNo mistake there ; nor passion ; nor wretched foreign vanity. Existence cabbage-\nlike, crinkled, rotten. Jaw of compass could seize it, measure it, reconstruct it:\nroom then — a berth in sub-lunar regions ; four senses forty-four continents.\nAnd an Object. There had been others : muzzle of dog inevitably in profile,\ncamel driver in Arabia, fish, cross. Now simply an object. It could be construct-\ned — with due regard to the laws of gravitation — so that it should revolve alone\nabove earth, a new heavenly body among other heavenly bodies.\nGloom —fiddlesticks. Only two objects mattered. Was begetting one now\nlying on hunch-backed bed supported by board for greater comfort. Stencilled\ninscription on board : \" Attention ! Biscuits. \" New form. Weight of cy-\nlinder and sphere. Teeth of triangles darted forward reaching, grasping other\nparts. All revolving. Walking. Monument to new era. Could not stand\nstill like scarecrow. Would have to be promenading from Strasteny Monast-\nery over all boulevards in circle along car line \" A jades wrould\ndie with fright. Object would be stalking, step by step, marvelous, infallible.\nCould not pass unnoticed. Even the American special correspondent of the\n\n(i) Bread portion allotted by government."}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "85", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.7", "texte": "\" Chicago Tribune \" born on the thirty-eighth floor and spitting every hour\nfive thousand words over cable, even he, having seen, would fall prostrate, his\nyellow shoes pointing heavenward. Would be won over to faith in new era.\nBielov had been at work two years. Sockets and tin. Project finished\nonly today. Easy to construct — all calculated, measured, clear. Even\n'name — Vitrion. Foolish name. As if some romantic trash were still astir\nunder the c}dinders of Bielov's vitals.\nHence second object — more ordinary in appearance than self-moving angles\n—- Lydia Stepanovna Barykova. Love — subject still somewhat dark, uninvesti-\ngated. Very hard to explain. Why should Bielov so contemptuous of emotion\npay visits to this Soviet lady with hair dressed over ears, and cupid cameo, who\nwould come playing pranks, ruffle him up, tease him, laugh her full at construction,\njust letting her lips skim over the steep knobs of Bielov's forehead fairly bursting\nwith Vitrions ? Why should he ? How explain it ? One thing — returning\npast midnight he would flop on his hunchbacked bed all exhausted. His eyes\nwould no longer see a glorious sphere but dimples in cheeks, — imperfections,\nhair dressed on one side, pupil dim and pale from tenderness and anguish — dis-\norder, splendid nonsense. He looked on without comprehending, while golden\nbeetles were descending from the sky through the hole. Yes ! One could\nconstruct an object that would revolve in the air — big, steel, unique. But\nnothing could be done with love : put it down and up it jumps ; say \" fly ! \" and\nit drops like stone and kills you.\n*\n* *\nNo one would accept the Vitrion.\n\" Well, exhibit project... it has some graphic qualities. \"\nOther object born. Like fire, wheel, screw. Lured a big Communist,\na fellow whose signature counted for more than any monograph. Every letter\nthereof in itself conclusion, criterion, mandate. He came, polite, sweet. And his\nvoice, his watch chain, his golden hair — all rang and rang.\n\" Construction forty-seven .. . provisional draught. \"\nAt last, breathless, pointing out his child :\n\" This ? This is Vitrion. \"\nHere something disagreable happened. The teeth of the triangles sank\ninto the soft soul of the Communist. He became irritated, mad, once again\nirritated. Stopping his tears with a cough he cried :\n\" Why do you do this ? Was it of this I dreamed in Geneva ? What we\nneed is sunlight, beauty, grace ! And this is prison, affliction ! I am losing my\nsanity when I look at it, as if I were to blame that this compass had devoured\nthe universe. \""}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "86", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.8", "texte": "The \" Counter \" behind the wall held his breath. Why indeed breathe —\nplenty of time for that later. Now he was reporting in his notebook another\nfirst rate case.\n\" Confession of criminal. Symptoms : pathological note in the voice, most\nprobably a masochist. \"\nCould not resist the temptation of looking in.\n\" Tell me, have you ever a desire to touch these wheels ? \"\n\" Yes ! Often. I pat the globe. This is not art. This is an object. \"\nProfessor having forgotten danger of being detected, purred happily :\n\" We'll note: Communists are inclined to perversion known as fetishism. \"\nFearing he might forget it, he ran quickly to the stove.\nMost painful rebuff from Lydia Stepanovna. She did not laugh. She\nlooked with loathing at Vitrion.\n\" Tear it! Break it! \"\nHow could he betray the new object still unborn for the sake of the old one\nHe threw at her the friendly phrase:\n\" You're a stand patter. \"\nYet quite often, at night, he would crumple the worn sheets, break the glass\npartitions and moan aloud like an old woman. The professor made no further\nnotes. It was all so evident. He feared only one thing — infection. Then he,\ntoo, would get himself a globe, enroll in the party — in general go to the dogs.\nThe high bulging forehead cooled off — has long been untouched by hot\ndry breath. Then suddenly, like a mushroom, appeared Tomilin the pupil of a\nballet studio. In the first place he was a dancer — not a Vitrion. In the second\nplace — his legs — Lydia Stepanovna had a soft spot for legs as if made by Eiffel.\nIn the third place -—- in adition to the first two —he was an idealist, could do\nall things, play pranks, steal a kiss in the dark, describe the golden beetles be-\nyond the wall with particular poetic gift. In the fourth place, in the fifth.. .\nIn a word, the kick of Tomilin's Eiffel leg frequently echoed in her talk now.\n\" Bielov, you never portray love in your work. \"\nNo, of course not. He was creating something else, the other object. He\nwas exposing love in all its nudity. Tomilin could leap to his feet, stand breath-\nless, throw open his arms — everything according to print: \"You are my\nown—for eternity!\" Eternity fairly bursting from his very shoes. But a globe\ncould exist all alone, and if well contrived and constructed could even move above\nand outside the earth. To give up then ? To let Tomilin alone lose his head\nseek out the hungry, mad, happy glance. No, he could not give up. Walking.\nLooking,, And suppressing his sorrow calmly continued constructing Vitrion.\nLost patience and asked :"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "87", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.9", "texte": "\" Tell me frankly — is it Tomilin ? \"\nGravely, sadly, eyes tinder lowered lashes like birds in a cage, she said:\n\" No. \"\nThen — a pleasantry offensive enough to take one's breath away, to make\none stamp one's feet:\n\" I love only your Vitrion. \"\nBielov wanted to understand but could not. And so it all remained\nunchanged — from golden down on nape of neck to tin and glass, from meta-\nphysics of Tomilin to the sudden rustle of her passing hands.\n*\nHC *\n. IvUcky day. A certain Guguerman visited Bielov. Looked at Vitrion and\nbecame agitated. Guguerman was, of course, the man who had formerly been\nlawyer. He used to transact small law suits, consumed quantities of \"booze'\",\nand, being of a melancholy disposition, would cogitate : did Raskolnikov have\nthe right to kill the old woman ? Was the love of Anna Karenina criminal from\nthe standpoint of higher ethics ? And so on. Then came October and its after\nresults. Guguerman's father, a jewelry man, was done in by the Revolutionary\nTribunal, probably on account of his all too many carats. Mother died from ty-\nphoid fever. And, in general, nothing was left — even his purse with monogram\non it was swiped in a car. Left with neither family nor monogram. Guguerman\nwas a man — and pants on him. Moscow, a city — and L,ubiansky Square in\nit. Evidently one must live. And Guguerman landed a job — fate had its laugh\nat his melancholy —in the Circus Section of the State Theatre. He served con-\nscientiously, was never swerved by Raskolnikov or \" booze \". He tried his best to\nharmonize the black clowns, the wrestlers bellowing \"Mmm\" with the eleven\npoints of the resolution on the \" Proletarian Spirit in the Modern Circus\nsign orders from his three-legged Empire chair with a coat of arms on it, and\nreceived two thirds of the corresponding \" pyok\nHaving looked at Vitrion, Guguerman first got frightened, then began to\nlaugh; the big triangles were darting forward exactly like Chief Kiriushin the\njealous attendant of all girl secretaries in the State Theatre. Quite amusing.\nWhat if the thing should be put into a Circus ? Men, snakes, two piece ele-\nphants, living dolls — everybody already sick of that. This contrivance would\nprovoke merriment at any rate; one could even slip in edgewise some idealism :\nthe world proletariat awakening, stretching its limbs, rising, walking forward,\ndestroying.\n\" Would you want it in the Circus ? \" Queer. And yet. . . Well let it\nbe the Circus. Main thing is to finish it. And then it would move of itself from"}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "88", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.10", "texte": "tlie stage to the boulevards ; no member of the Revolutionary Tribunal would\never catch it.\nDecided. In the evening at Lydia Stepanovna's. Success. She was silent.\nWould not even tease him. It was time for him to go, to work away full speed.\n\" Good night. \" •\n\" Vassia, stay a while ... I can't bear it. \"\nFirst time \" Vassia l,aughing at him ? Should he stay ? But globe\ncould not wait. Wanted to live, to move, to be born.\n\" All this is moonshine. There is Vitrion waiting at home. \"\nDark on the stairs. Treacherous landing — he slipped. And straight into\nsomebody's arms. Tenderly and maliciously fur ear laps of Tomilin's hat\nbrushed his face. Dancer fearless, bent down, swung up his arms — like wings —\none could see at once he was an idealist, and up over two steps to the top.\n*\n* *\nIn the Circus Section of the State Theatre work was in full swing. A new\nsketch \" The Third International \" was being rehearsed. Nations would come in\ntremendous masks. Make-up out of date. Masks indispensable. Mugs a foot\nlong. Terrible mugs. Not only Australian and Kaffir, but even some name-\nless beasts came crawling up. Violet varnished muzzle — neither eyes nor nose\nonly a black mysterious slit, an enraptured mouth shouting greetings. Tried it\non. Everybody frightened. Looked like the behind of some baboon; one could\nnot tell whether it was a face or something else.\nCame the horse rider, a negro. Sad. Coughing. \" Pyok\" had been re-\nduced. Dressed in some nondescript pantaloons. Could not bear it any longer :\n\" Wanna, go back to Marseilles. \"\nGuguerman, reasoning with him. Splendid suit according to all rules of\n\" Suprematism \" (i).\nDriver cringing for shoes -— toes sticking out, shame before horses' hoofs.\nAnd on side, reader from Communist group spouting:\n\" Circus must reveal the physical beauty of the proletariat. It's all in the\nmuscles. \"\nMuscles to be sure not commas. But the negro insisted :\n\" Pyok \" reduced.\nEasy to say: muscles. Bones still held together in\" Suprematist \" pants\n— thank Heaven for that.\nAnimals too — not men alone Vyssokov came up excited :\n\" You want the bear to call* nations together with drum ? Tear the\n\n(i) School of Painting."}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "89", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.11", "texte": "hydra of capital to pieces ? I tell you lie is going to croak. Can hardly walk.\nGive him the hydra — and he to lick it. How can you feed a big bear on a\npound of bread a day ? Do you think he's a bourgeois ? Hell kick the bucket\nand you'll be stuck with your hydra. \"\nHe could hardly be calmed. And the girl secretary tapped out:\n\" Circus section of the State Theatre herewith issue orders to give Comrade\nVyssokov a larger \" Pyok \" for the Circus bear in view of his arduous service. \"\nWell, sketch finished. Waiting for Bielov to demonstrade Vitrion.\nTruth is — all were scared. The manager's wife scared of her husband. Pious\nman he. Last summer she had to ride on army horse. No sooner had she mount-\ned than horse took to dancing American dance. Trained horse Merimee. Hus-\nband wTas at the window. Poor wretch got mad with fright. Seized holy image\nand into yard to save wife. And Merimee, having finished dance did next\nnumber on program — fell on her knees. Right in front of the holy image. Hus-\nband made sign of cross. Won over to faith in wonder-working image. But\nwife was Communist •— awkward situation. What would happen with Vitrion\nin action ? Husband would repeat old trick and then — public scandal.\n, Cuguerman had neither husband nor wife to fear, but there was the Com-\nmunist group. What if they suspected it all to be a hoax ? Some figures are\ncomprehensible to all: cross, star. But here was something mysterious : globe\nneither white nor red. Frejezing poor thing though set on pipes.\nArrived with some dark youth. Unpacked. Vitrion came to himself, rose,\nand went straight for the corridor. In the back, delegate from Penza at work\non linen, fitting up a suit for Julius Caesar who had been forced to parade in\nLittle Russian shirt. Twenty-five foot order. Suddenly something advancing\nwithout feet, without hands — with grinding intestines. Angles, globe, wheels,\ntin, trash. Though the delegate was party-man he fell back on superstition from\ngreat fright, and suddenly began to pray for the intercession of the Holy Virgin.\nSat down on \" Izviestia \" (i) in a corner and whined :\n\" Why did they ever send me to Moscow ? — Assassins People came\nrunning from other rooms. Guguerman understood and shouted :\n\"For the State Circus ! Model of the world proletariat. \"\nA.nd in a twang :\n\" Our latest. \"\n-Commander, a sailor, saluted. Everybody sang. Took to examining Vitrion\nEven the delegate picked up enough courage :\n\" Would be fine thing to send us to Penza ; trick like this for propaganda\npurposes. When everybody is out to look, have orator ready on Tax in Kind. \"\n\n(i) Official paper of Soviet Government."}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "90", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.12", "texte": "Everybody pleased. First performance decided for February 27. Sketch,\ntrained animals, and finally apotheosis. Victory of Vitrion.\nBielov no longer listening. Rushed to Ostojenka. Only to see her. To\nhell with all globes and triangles. Not at home. He came in. On window\nsill emerald rags from card table — Lydia Stepanovna was making a hat from\nthem. Empty vials of Paris perfume. Bottle of linseed oil. Old card for\narticles of first necessities. On back beginning of letter:\n\"3A. M. Come, dear .. . \" Ink spot. Bad ink ? Tears ? For whom ?\nFor Tomilin ? He got mad. Tore card and threw on floor one rag particularly\nspring like — as he would tin or cardboard.\n\" To please dancer ! \"\nAnd perhaps to please some one else ? Then .. . Moved to tenderness,\nsalty taste in mouth, eyes dimmed. Left note :\n\" Come on Sunday 27th. —to First Circus. Will leave ticket for you\nat offices. Vitrion is to perform. \"\n*\n* *\nBefore the performance everybody apprehensive of some misfortune\nTrouble started in the morning. On Soukharev Square speculators' fair dispersed..\nThere was shooting. Puppy killed. Only old man selling phonographs alone\nremained. In snow-storm, on deserted square, horn bawling :\n\" Please don't go away, please stay with me . . . . \"\nBut even crows frightened. Watchman of mimo-plastic studio on Boje-\ndomka swore that Soukharev Tower leaned visibly forward and a distinct voice\ncame thence roaring :\n\" And devourers shall be devoured like unto Egyptian kine. \"\nAt noon before the theatre on Theatre Square, speculator Guliash, having\nbeen paid for choice wheat flour intended ostensibly for an infant home, drop-\nped eleven millions. Wind blew. Like birds the ten-thousand rouble bills\nwent soaring up with all their Arabian, Chinese and other inscriptions. Passersby\nbegan to run after them — children after butterflies. Then they felt offend-\ned — let them fly. They did. And in a secret joint at Mrs. Bayzay's on\nKislovka a poet of the \" Nothingist \" school, absent-mindedly imbibed some\nwine, and began to poetize somebody in extremely syncopated verse.\nSoon, however, he thawed to such degree — he could not even finish his wine.\nGot under the table and began to crawl backwards like a crab. And he just\ndrank a drop. Bad day !\nArena swept. Came Army students in a bunch headed by chief explaining\neverything and keeping order.\nVitrion lay as in a cradle in the straw near the stable, Merimee was agitated,"}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "91", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.13", "texte": "scratched her neck, stamped her hoof as if tapping a message to somebody.\nBielov sat down on box near the stall. Was not thinking of triumph but of\ntender distracted smile. Ivetter for somebody. From Office:\n\" Comrade Bielov. \"\nLydia Stepanovna. Behind her insignificant but annoying shadow -— To-\nmilin. Why did he wear such tremendous hat. L,ike some Lapp.\n\" You want a ticket ? I left instruction to give you one . . . \"\nWhat if she should suddenly say \" I want You \" ? She squinted tenderly\nher cunning eye at him.\n\" I came to see Vitrion. I confessed to you already I love him. \"\nTomilin dissatisfied. Shot up his arms like wings of a bat and was gone.\nBielov did not answer. Grunted courteously and back to stable.\n\" Bielov, some people here from Executive Committee and Peoples' Comissa-\nriat of Education. In box on left. Great success. Academic \" pyok\nCompletely exhausted. To seize the damned globe, to knock it flat. To\nwrench its cogs like pincers of crab and make them crack. Fine, how do you\ndo. To conceive and beget his own rival. How did she dare think of this tin\nwhen there was Bielov with his hairy breast and the animal rumble in it ? How\ndid she dare that ? To her house now. To the green rags, to the empty perfume\nvials. Bend them over and drink ! Mouth dry .. .\nSat down and asked for water, but even this smelled of wretched tin. lyike\nVitrion when his monstrous body perspires with effort.\nGeneral restlessness. Negro all in cubes tried a somersault, then yawned aloud\nsuddenly like an old dog before a storm, rambled oft and whispered to Merimee :\n\" Would like to go Marseille. But they won't let me. \"\nMerimee darted aside* and neighed. Bad sign.\nNo people left. Alarm. What if in truth last man has gone to ruin. All\nthings are possible. Masks hatched out began to turn somersaults, and express\ntheir hellish weariness in -all manner of ways. Afghans, Irish — that was not-\nso bad. There was worse. The nondescript thing, the creature of no definite\nnationality or region -— some monstrosity, turned its baboon behind on main\nbox. In box, a woman hiccuped and dropped lorgnette as if she had eaten\nBielov's cabbage and not a first class Savoy ragout.\n*\n* *\nMasks at least resembled something. Then came animals. Nothing but\ntails. Hares charging cannons and pulling up by string various flags : merchant,\nwar, sea — red background with five gold letters in left corner. What cowards.\nIn gallery, wheedlers and grafters, shallow tide of officialdom, surged and swell-\ned. Armored breast breathing rapidly. You looked and thought it was a"}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "92", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.14", "texte": "human being. Mistake. Exterior: — jacket turned to look new : interior — big\nsecond hand stuffing. Then a dog gave exhibition of faithfulness. Newspaper\nman Fedin who must have previously imbibed a good pail of home-made brew,\nbegan to remove his pants shouting as in a public bath:\n\" Down with imperialism. I demand a new tariff. Man is no dog. \"\nThey led him away. Trouble not yet over. Fox and hen kissing tenderly.\nAbomination. Someone very elegant began to toss about, cackling :\n\" How so ? How so ? \"\nCrept under bench ashamed, but to remove suspicion stuck a frozen ap-\nple into his mouth. Some night!\nBielov saw nothing. Heard only tramping of hoofs and neighing of Merimee\nwho was sadly thinking of home and colt. Drum. Grooms in red frocks quickly\nfolded rug. Last number : Vitrion.\nBielov went reluctantly to exit. Red now emerald shouted:\n\" Triumph ! Ki — ki! \"\nGong -— palm on behind. Silence. Vitrion got up. Prim and orderly,\none would say American president; walked forward. Shiver through crowd.\nTried to hold him. Away ! Poked clown and student in the shoulderblades.\nAnd forward. General terror. Where was he going ? Where ?\nOnly Bielov understood everything. Noticed in sixth row to the right\nher cunning eye. Globe stalking straight for her across rows, extending his\nclaws, grinding the cogs of his wheels. She gave him her glove. Too much for\nBielov. Tried to catch them. Flopped in the sand. Roared:\nHold him ! Hey, Vitrion ! Rascal! Vitia ! Halt! Don't you dare ! \"\nCalm again. Dark. Public gone. Only accountant making uproar in empty\nentrance — some one swiped silk handkerchief. Fine business ! Sketch ! Culture !\nBielov knew, of course, where the impertinent fled. On after him. Over\nboulevards where car \"A \" used to pass formerly. At the door — locked. En-\n. trance closed by boards. He knocked: \" Open the door. \" No answer. In\nterrible racket woman's voice heard :\n\" Citizen, what's this noise ? After ten, strangers not allowed. Rule of\nHouse Committee. \"\n\" Why did you let him in ? \"\n\" Whom ?\n\" Vitrion, \"\n\" Who is that ? What flat ? \"\n\" Globe cylinder and trash. Let me in. \"\n\" Seen no cylinders. \"\nSilence. One hour passed. Another. Feet freezing. Stepped into snow\ndrift Morning came. Ran up, listened at door. Rattle, Sigh — languorous"}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "93", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.15", "texte": "moan. Dry tin kiss. Pushed against,door with all the might of his love and an-\nguish. Door gave way. Remained hanging guiltily on one hinge. He did not\neven notice on table Lapland hat which lay there grinning, ears thrown back.\nNoticed Vitrion in corner, cheeks sunken in and pale with kissing. He knew it.\nSeized the machine, pummeled it, breaking, crushing glass, tearing tin. Mis-\ntress screaming:\n\" Good Lord ! A massacre ! \"\nInto yard. Back home. Lying on hunchbacked' bed till night, till end of\nthings, till death. t\n* ' ❖\nSix weeks in bed. Professor saved him. And was himself infected. Without\nglobe or party card, to be sure, but with lamentation, torrents of tears, with\nbellowing to bleached sun. Fed Bielov to satiety with frozen potatoes naus-\neatingly sweet. Had pity for all — as in opera — for traitress with hair dressed\non side, for stabbed lucky rival, bearing this Italian name Vitrion, for poor\njealous lover who exhaled all the three as well as the fourth — love, and was\nchoking in glass globe.\nBielov got up. Took a walk. Reeled from intoxication with warm pools\n— as if some one drank and spilled the finest wine. Everybody drunk and no\nbother about accounts or discounts •— all gift of spring.\nOn to her. She was changed. Eyes still there through habit but no cunning in\nthem. Vacant stare. Cold — all the time picking up kerchief with her elbow. There\nare such unspringlike springs. Spoke distinctly, in distant voice as in telephone.\n\" I was waiting for you so anxiously then .. . And you were preoccupied\nwith your tin. . . Now it is too late. . . I loved without love as an object! \"\nAnd then, changing telephone voice very quietly to herself, no, to him :\n\"he might have been father —he was not. \" And with despairing tenderness,\nhardly audible:\n\"I am all in another ... lam expecting a child. \"\nA child ? A child of Vitrion ? Bielov got up Stamped his feet.\nIn self torment:\n\" When did it happen ? \"\n\" The night you left and fell sick. . . We carried him together. . . And\nhe remained ! \"\nHe did not listen. On to the boulevards* Speeding around circle. An-\nother must have passed here, stalking alone, restoring order. Climbed up into\npavilion where soldiers used to play once potpourris and now just came in for\nordinary business. In a prophetic voice:\n\" The race of Vitrion is continued. \"\nAt Nikitska Gate threw himself at motor-cycle leaning wTearily against wall."}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "94", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.16", "texte": "\" You chatter. You breathe. My son. \"\nMotorcycle was property of Revolutionary War Committee, and no dis-\norderly conduct would be tolerated, anyhow. Nobody believed story of son.\nGloom. Insults. Somebody's arms, clutches, angles, long painful jolting\nover all the bumps of Moscow's pavements. Got up. Head turning. On floor.\nFarewell love ! Too late. Cold long-suffering head. Painted floor. Silence.\n*\n* *\nNo days — just day. Bielov was shy like a girl, sensible and gentle. Even\nFedotova, worst nurse there, would feed him sometimes on millet broth. He\ncould not eat without aid. Knew he had to, but was always forgetting.\nWould take the dish then at once drowsiness, din, shiver. Seemed to rise like vapor.\nAt first he felt very tired. Patted globes of flowerbeds, bells, jugs, and every\ndiscarded object. All those — children. Pressed them to his breast, sang lul-\nlabies, called them tenderly Vitia, and worried over cracks in them, as a mother\nwould over children's sickness. Was anxious to be out in the world where objects\nwalked, revolved, grew, where at night, whole caravans of disks and angles,\ndoubtless, passed at Strasteny Monastery and along the boulevards.\nLater he became quiet. Great serenity of spirit; caressed his knees, squinted\nhis eyes. He was patriarch, ancestor of thousand generations, great first source,\nlyooked closely at men for first time —- all children of Vitrion but in foolish soft\nmasks. Not bodies, but tin warmed to perspiration. Step. Half turn. Quiet.\nSleep. Grating. Grinding. Death.\nlyooked at Moscow through window : roofs, chimneys, smoke, bustle. Splendid\nnest of tin. At night he could hear the rattle and wheeling and cry of big glass heart.\nWarm. Growing dark. Bielov counted chimneys : fourteen, seventeen. Hard\nto continue. All his past — waste ground, and his house — mere lumber. Very\nrarely the wind would blow Mp from brick stomach a scrap of wall paper coming\nfrom children's room, showing Chinaman behind net; another scrap, green,\nwarm. Bielov happy — happy to have engendered great tin tribe. Happy also\nnot to be with it but rather away on cot near window. Came wave of dense\nheat from belly of earth. Green rag and hair dressed on side cascade-like. Dis-\norder. Far away world and Vitrion. Also love. Better for him. And sky\nthe same as in hole down there. Bielov got up and hummed tenderly like golden\nbeetles passing by :\n\" Dzoom — dzoom. \"\nAnd higher into window like vapor.\nAnd if he should come down later — love is no globe. If forgotten it flies;\nif triumphant falls like stone to ground. To love, all things are possible.\n\n(From the Russian of Ilya Ehrenbourg by Louis Lozowick)"}, {"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "95", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.17", "texte": "SLEEP\nSleep is the enemy of love,\nA monstrous\nAll powerful,\nWho takes my soft beloved\nWith an indecent utterness\nAnd makes her\nAlien metal.\nHer breasts\nAre pinkish bronze,\nFain would I polish them\nWith emery paper,\nHer head\nSplit with a hammer."}, {"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "96", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.18", "texte": "LITTLE BIRDS AND OLD MEN\nLawrence Vail\nOld men and little birds\nToo early in morning-\nMake squeaks.\nIvittle birds are more brazen ;\nPrimly, they dip feet in puddles.\nOld men have delicate feet.\nOld men have weak bowels,\nIyittle birds are careless,\nNear love of neither\nIs sweet.\nlyittle birds chirp, chirp, chirp, chirrup;\nOld men tell stories, tell stories ;\nBoth die too late."}, {"page_pdf": 19, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.19", "texte": "Camel.\nPekin."}, {"page_pdf": 20, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.20", "texte": "Elephant: Mämallapuram.\nSouth India.\nVIIth Century."}, {"page_pdf": 21, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.21", "texte": "Nandi: Mämallapuram.\nSouth India.\nVIIth Century.\n\nNandi: Java.\nXIth Century."}, {"page_pdf": 22, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.22", "texte": "Tjandi Prambanan: Relief Panel\nTemple of Siva.\nJava."}, {"page_pdf": 23, "page_imprimee": "97", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.23", "texte": "ANIMALS\n\nOnly man still exists today as the hub of life, sole possessor of that which\nis visible and utter able, all that, in short, which contributes to the value and sub-\nstance of being. Reality has dissolved in human reflections. Works of art seem\nto be the summit of vitality ; not the expression of an objective reality so much\nas of a personal will and valuation of a subjective passion. The subject matter\nis all instinct, the execution of the work is a creative process of the artist, where-\nas the form is a higher and absolute reality.\nThe brain and the heart live of themselves and in themselves ; there are\nonly slight points of contact between man and earth which produce electric sparks.\nThe whole outside world is thus merely subjective material for the artist who in\nhis impenetrable isolation can grasp only himself. Nor can he let go of himself\nany more, and pierce deep into the reality of the world that he may be reborn a\nthousand times thereby.\nWhat are animals? What do they mean to us? Domesticated beings,\ndistorted for the sake of heightened utility, tamed, dull and spiritless ; or \" wild\nbeasts, \" dragged out of some strange region and exhibited as spectacles for instruc-\ntion and amusement, scorned curiosities, distortions of their own types. Children\nhave fearful dreams of serpents and spiders ; scorpions and hyenas appear to\nour nerves as evil and hostile monsters ; the serpent as temptation for Adam and\nEve ! Man and nature are estranged ; and eternal enmity seems to have arisen\nbetween them ; dualistic broodings threaten and torture the innermost recesses\nof the mind. But the formidable spirit of science comes with its promise of order,\ntranquility and power, and demands therefor the salvation of all living organisms.\nAll nature gives way before a dreadful succession of rigorous categories\nunless biological bridges are flung out between man and animals. But man is\n\" Victor triumphans \", man is the goal, the ultimate form of animal existence.\nAnd thus the community of life in Nature and all earthly brotherhood vanish\nbefore the restrictions and hostility of a destructive dualism.\nIt is quite otherwise in the tropical world, where a fantastically luxuriant\nnature besets and embraces man ; where the overflowing vitality of the earthly\nforces never releases him and gives him 110 chance to banish nature from the\nmind or to oppress and immolate it; man can never become ruler over this chaos\nof gigantic fertility and remains instead — its brother. There his body remains"}, {"page_pdf": 24, "page_imprimee": "98", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.24", "texte": "physically at one with the organism of nature ; there animals and men live inti-\nmately together even today.\nThis physical fraternity does not imply a domestic relationship. It is based\non the general idea in Southern Asia, that the whole world is a living unity, that\nman is not exiled from the bosom of nature by his rebellious intellect. The pro-\nfound abstractions of Indian philosophy do not bring about separation from life,\nevoke no condemnations ; they bind and gather everything living together into\na harmonious existence. Whereas European thought is harrowed by an agon-\nizing dualism, the life of the Indian postulates a persistent consciousness of the\nidentity of all being. This feeling for the supreme unity and totality is revealed\nwith superhuman power even as early as the \" Rigveda \", in the Song of Unity,\nor in the Hymn of Creation as well as in the expression of the great mystico-re-\nligious conceptions. Philosophy and religion nourish all being in themselves\nwithout distorting or segregating any phase or species of life from the others. All\nnature with its worlds of plants, animals, men and gods constitutes an original\nentity. The human consciousness does not cease to function at the limits of human\nforms of existence, and that of the gods, for that matter, reaches deep down into\nthe realm of animals. The divisions between animal and man, and between man\nand god are only transitional. Everything is one living unity which binds plants,\nanimals, men, demons and gods in one vast erotic architecture, boundless as the\ntropics, and of infinite directions. Myths and religion, legends and tales are filled\nwith the unplumbed power of animals. Tropical man is surrounded by a\nfantastic world of animals, which reflects itself with eternally new associations\nin his pictorial language, and in his whole literature from the Rigveda and the\nKalidasa up to Tagore.\nThe faculty of synthesis reaches its highest expression in plastic art. The\nforms of the human body are too narrow and too near to embody certain elementary\npowers. The richness which wells out of its affiliation wih the most vital aspects\nof nature and her inner relationships, attains here its greatest significance. The\nanimal body — through its physical superiority and greater potency — becomes\nthe adequate medium for expressing cosmic and metaphysical conceptions. Meta-\nphysically, the animal form in all its lurid vitality becomes the symbol of super-\nhuman greatness ; this is what animal representation means in India. Certain\ndifferences can be defined in accordance with supra-sensual interpretations, i.e.\nBuddhist or Brahman interpretations.\nTo the Buddhists the animal is the brother, the past of oneself ; one's soul\nwanders in a thousand forms through the realm of animals, men and gods. The\nhuman being is deemed as a better form of existence only because out of it alone\nis the reincarnation into a superhuman state possible. But animals too parti-\ncipate in the doctrine of salvation, and to kill them is sinful."}, {"page_pdf": 25, "page_imprimee": "99", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.25", "texte": "Although early Buddhism puts emphasis on the spiritual relationship with\nthe animal world, through Brahmanism -— which is rooted in the old mythology\n— representations of animals become gigantic masses of elementary forces. Human\nexistence appears here as something small, ephemeral and mutable, against the\ncolossal strength of nature, and the divine power of natural energies. Here the\nworld of animals approaches closest to the life of man and at once surpasses\nman in most vital ways. The animal world becomes the field for transformations,\nthe arena of divine apparitions, where symbols and primitive forces are continually\nrepresented. Animals become incarnations of God, holy symbols, and in the sac-\nrifices, man mingles with the blood of gods through the blood of animals; in the\nanimal the earth's power to conceive and the passions of celestial beings seem to\ncome together with the most violent shock.\nThe animal god \" Siva \" represents eternal energy, destruction and renewal;\nhe is time and death as well as resurrection and eternity. The bull \" Nandi \"\nis his chosen animal, revealing the mighty power of the earth, which bears and ab-\nsorbs again all earthly life. Its head appears on the altar emerging from the severe\nsimplicity of the towering block ; a piece of telluric mystery and plastic greatness.\nThe spiritual quality of the animal is less important here, while its strange substan-\ntiality is felt as a demoniac apparition and seen as symbol of the immanent powers\nof objects and apparitions; the physical shape of the bull becomes the symbol\nof natural laws and is not considered a reproduction, but rather the concrete em-\nbodiment of an elementary force or spiritual power.\nThe strange symbolism of the \" Ganesha \" representations is rather difficult\nfor us to understand. His animal is the elephant, expressing spiritual powers,\nan embodiment of primitive, earth-born wisdom, full of earthly secrets and their\nprojection in soul and phallus. From an artistic point of view, these\nfigures of \" Ganesha \" reach the greatest harmony of curved forms in the\nsculpture of India; they are the mightiest \" ronde-bosse \" presentations of plas-\ntic elements. A connection between the Nandi and Ganesha symbolism, and astro-\nlogy can be surmised; the elephant having been consecrated to the East, and the\nbull to the West, the basis of this being the sun's course and the relation of sun\nand earth.\nLater Buddhism absorbed many of these elements of the Hindu credo in its\nMahay ana system. In this form it spread to China and Japan ; and thus the same\nanimalistic elements emerge in Eastern Asia too, though in a different light; they\nare not conceived and formalized in such cosmic proportions and such fundamen-\ntal earthliness, but as mystical beings, akin toman -— which might seem to suggest\nthe influence of the Bodhisattvas. In China as well as in India, the literature of tales\nand popular fables shows a strong inter-dependence between men and animals,\na profound picture of human and animal life. \" Here it is not the mysticism of"}, {"page_pdf": 26, "page_imprimee": "100", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.26", "texte": "a clear-eyed awe, so much as the magic of the purely natural. The order of Na-\nture is not distorted, but enlarged: the abundance of life ceases nowhere, and\neverything living carries the seed of the spirit. Consciousness exists in animals,\nplants and stones which all have the desire to be transformed into human\nshape as their ultimate reincarnation, What thy hand forms, wants to breathe\nand mix with others who breathe; what thy mind thinks, moves and presents itself\nas something real and visible. — But all this is not unfamiliar, it is home, it is\nlife. This race (in which the teaching of Laotse of the all-embracing paths\nand the teaching of Buddha of the all-effective deed dwell beside one another or\neven with one another) — created in its ghost tales a song of the sister-elements\nin love, a song for Gods and men. \" (Martin Buber). In these ghost and an-\nimal stories human fates mingle immediately with the fates of animals. All this\nis less elemental, less profoundly stirring than in India, but mote intimate and\nperhaps richer in charm and magic by grace of the united rhythms of the lives\nof humans, animals, trees and stars.\nWe can class in the feeling of this atmosphere the small animal figures, carv-\ned in nephrite, jade or ivory, which can be considered as amulets and symbols\nof fabulous relationships far beyond the frivolously decorative. Elemental great-\nness and earthly sorrow, fervent devotion and spiritual revelations appear in\nthem, and the earth's beating heart gently offers itself to hands, which vibrate\nto it. It is said in the Yiking ; \" Chien is sky, is jade, is gold, \" it is the symbol-\nic word for all the positive powers of nature ; and these stones — embodying\nthe Yang, the sheer male power -— were placed in the tombs to prevent the de-\ncomposition of the corpses. The simple forms of these animal figures reflect\nthe taoistic culture of the Chinese in its graceful and refined calm, in all its\ngrandeur, bound to the earth and yet far above it.\nThe animal plays a far-reaching role in the era of realty religious cultures,\nin which the events of the surrounding world, of sky, earth, death and deity are\nstill formidable powers, where fundamental relations between man and time\nand between man's fate and the fate of nature still exist. The sacred bronze\njars — many in the shapes of animals — belong to the oldest and most solemn\ndocuments of Chinese art; generally the animal's back carries the vase, used for\nwine or the blood of sacrificed animals.\nIn India, animal representations reached their highest perfection m the\nNandi figures; in China in the great animal alleys of the imperial tombs and\ninside the labyrinths of palaces. Since the time of Han we know of animal figures\nformed in clay, which were placed in tombs. Mighty animal sculptures stand in\nthe burial ground of the emperors as if at the gates of death, as precious testi-\nmonials to the greatness of plastic creation. Since, in the later periods of Chinese\nculture, most of the specimens of monumental art of the Chinese have been lost,"}, {"page_pdf": 27, "page_imprimee": "101", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.27", "texte": "In the burial ground of the Sung emperors at Kungh (xth century A. D.),\nthere is the \" Path of the Spirit\" composed of animals of angular firmness and\ncyclopean massiveness. Yungloh the second Ming emperor who, transferred the\nimperial residence from Nanking to Peking, founded the cemetery in a level valley\nat Changping, about 50 kilometres north of Peking, where thirteen emperors\nwere buried during the xvth, xvith, and xvnth centuries. The burial temples\nstand at the foot of the mountain which encloses the valley in a gentle semicircle.\nA long path with two high gates leads to them, flanked by sculptures 18 meters\napart: with pairs of standing and reclining lions, Kylins, i.e. fantastic unicorns,\ncamels, elephants, horses and one pair of military and four pairs of civil mandarins.\nThese statues stand before the remains of emperors — mortal men — as signs of\nthe triumph of greater lives. And yet this triumph seems to be a torture, a ban-\nishment, inevitably turned into stone — and resisting metempsychosis. Or\nare these sculptures only manifestations of a constraining and guarding power,\nfilled with wisdom and duty ?\nIn Asia, animals are always represented at the limits of human life, where\nit goes on to a primary or eternal existence : in the sacrifice, in the rites of death,\nand in the coitus. They are represented as symbols of divine beings, as sisters\nor elements of nature.\nBut what do we know of animals, of sacrifices, death, and the bright\nnoon of nature ?\n\" Dshuang Dsi took a walk once with Hui Dsi along a river. Dshuang\nDsi said : 'How gaily the fish leap out of the water ! How happy the fish are!'\nSaid Hui Dsi : 'You are not a fish ; how can you know the joy of the fish ?'\nDshuang Dsi said : 'You are not me, how can you know whether I know the\njoy of the fish or not ? ' Said Hui Dsi : 'I am not you, and so I cannot know\nyou. But it is certain that you are not a fish and therefore it is clear that you do\nnot perceive the joy of the fish !' Then Dshuang Dsi spake : ' Please, let us go\nback to our point of departure ! You asked, \" how can I perceive the joy of the\nfish ? \" But you know quite well, that I know it, and yet you question me. I\nrecognize the joy of the fish by virtue of my joy in walking by the river.' \"\n(from Dshuang Dsi).\n\n(Translated from the German of)\nKarl With"}, {"page_pdf": 28, "page_imprimee": "102", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.28", "texte": "A TOAST TO OURSELVES\nVadim Shershenyevitch\n(Translated by Louis Lozowick)\nWe are the last of our caste,\nAnd we have a short term to live !\nHawkers of happiness,\nCraftsmen of intimate verse !\nMultitudes are coming to replace us\nForeign to all blood disturbances\nMachinists of iron fame,\nArtisans of love\nAnd they will spare enough time,\nFrom their work upon machines and foundations\nSeven minutes for caressing the bride.\nThree seconds for poetry.\nWith nerves like steel rails\n(I do not say it in blame but in praise !)\nThey will both eat and pray\nBetween noon and half-past twelve\nMake haste, then, girls, women,\nTo woo us singers of wonders.\nWe are the last furrows\nNot yet flooded by progress !\nWe are the last of our dynasty,\nLove us, then, in the time that remains\nHawkers of happiness,\nCraftsmen of intimate verse !"}, {"page_pdf": 29, "page_imprimee": "103", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.29", "texte": "THE LAY OF MALDOROR\nSELECTION FROM SECOND CANTO\n\nIt is midnight; not even a Bastille to the Madeleine omnibus\nis to be seen ... I am mistaken, there is one, appearing suddenly\nas though out of the earth. The few belated wayfarers look curiously\nat it, for it seems to be unlike any other. Seated outside are men\nwith fixed eyes like those of dead fish. They are pressed one against\nthe other, and appear to be lifeless ; for the rest, the regulation number\nis not exceeded. When the driver whips up his horses, one would\nthink it was the whip made the arm move and not his arm the\nwhip. What can be this collection of bizarre and silent beings ? Are\nthey inhabitants of the moon? There are moments when one is tempt-\ned to believe it; but they more resemble corpses,. The omnibus\nanxious to reach the last stop devours the distance and makes the\nroad crack ... It flies .... But a shapeless mass pursues its trail\nobstinately through the dust. \" Stop, I beg you, stop .. . my legs\nare swollen with walking all day ... I have not eaten since yester-\nday .. . My parents have abandoned me ... I no longer know\nwhat to do .. . I made up my mind to return home, and would be\nthere quickly if you will give me a place ... lam only eight, and I\ntrust in you ... It flies ... it flies !. . . But a shapeless mass pursues\nits trail obstinately through the dust. One of the men with a fishy\neye, elbows his neighbour, and seems to express his dissatisfaction with\nthese silvery-voiced wailings which reach his ear. The other bends\nhis head imperceptibly as a sign of acquiescence and then plunges again\ninto the stolidity of his egoism, like a tortoise into his carapace. Every-\nthing in the features of the other travellers indicates the same feelings\nas those of the two former. For two or three minutes more, the cries\nare heard, more piercing second by second, Windows are seen to open"}, {"page_pdf": 30, "page_imprimee": "104", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.30", "texte": "on the boulevard, and a terrified figure, bearing a light, after having\nthrown a glance upon the pavement, closes the shutter violently,\nnot to reappear ... It flies !. . . it flies !. . . But a shapeless mass\npursues its trail obstinately through the dust. Only, a young man\nsunk in thought among these strange people, seems to feel pity for the\nevil. He dare not raise his voice in favour of the child who thought\nthat with its little aching legs it might catch them up, for the other\nmen threw looks of scorn and authority at him, and he knows he can\ndo nothing against them all . . .\nHis elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he asks him-\nself with stupefaction, if this is really what is called \" human charity. \"\nHe recognises then that it is but an empty word no longer even to be\nfound in the dictionary of poetry, and frankly admits his error. He\nsays to himself : \"In effect, why interest oneself in a tiny child ?\nL,eave him on one side. \" Nevertheless, a burning tear has rolled\ndown the cheek of the blasphemous adolescent. He passes his hand\nover his forehead painfully, as though to brush aside a cloud whose\nopacity obscures his reason. He struggles, but vainly, against the\nage into which he has been thrown ; he feels that he is out of place,\nand still he cannot escape. Terrible prison ! Hideous fatality!\nlyombano, from that day I have been satisfied with you ! I did not\ncease observing you all the time my face breathed the same indif-\nference as those of the other travellers. The adolescent rises in a move-\nment of indignation, and wants to descend, so as not to participate,\nhowever involuntarily, in an evil deed. I make a sign to him and he\nreseats himself at my side ... It flies !. . . it flies .. . But a\nshapeless mass pursues its trail obstinately through the dust. The\ncries stop suddenly for the child has stumbled over a jutting stone,\nand has wounded its head in falling. The omnibus has disappeared\non the horizon, and only the silent street is to be seen ... It flies .. .\nit flies ~ . But a shapeless mass pursues its trail obstinately through\nthe dust. See this rag-picker who passes, bent over his dim lantern ;\nthere is more heart in him than in all his fellows of the omnibus. He\npicks up the child ; be sure that he will heal it and will not abandon"}, {"page_pdf": 31, "page_imprimee": "105", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.31", "texte": "it as have his parents. It flies ... it flies .. . But, from where he\nstands, the piercing look of the rag-picker pursues its trail obstinately\nthrough the dust ! Stupid and idiotic race ! You will repent of be-\nhaving thus. It is I who say it to you. You will repent, agreed, you\nwill repent. My poetry will consist only of every kind of attack\nupon man, that wild beast, and the Creator, who should not have\nengendered such vermin. Volumes will heap upon volumes to the\nend of my days, and yet this single idea alone shall be seen forever\npresent to my conscience.\n* * *\nThere in a flower embowered thicket sleeps the hermaphrodite,\nprofoundly hushed upon the grass drenched with his tears. The\nmoon has freed her disc from the mass of clouds, and caresses the\nsweet boy's face with her pale rays. His features denote the most\nvirile energy and at the same time the face of some heavenly virgin.\nNothing in him appears natural, not even the muscles of his body,\nwhich make a path for themselves through the harmonious lines of\nhis feminine curves. One arm is bent over his forehead, the other\nagainst his chest as though to compress the beating of a heart shut\nto every confidence, and loaded with the heavy burden of an eternal\nsecret. Tired of living and ashamed to walk among beings who do\nnot resemble him, despair has possessed his soul, and he goes on\nhis way, alone, like the valley beggar. How does he manage to exist ?\nCompassionate souls watch over him closely and he does not suspect\ntheir watchfulness. They do not abandon him ;heis so good ! he is\nso resigned ! Willingly he sometimes speaks with those who have a\nsensitive character, but without touching their hands, and holds\nhimself at a distance, afraid of an imaginary danger. If he is asked\nwhy he has chosen solitude for helpmeet, his eyes look to heaven and\nwith difficulty hold back a tear of reproach against Providence ; but\nhe does not reply to the imprudent question, which spreads the scar-\nlet of the morning rose in the snow of his lids. If the conversation\nis prolonged, he grows restless, turns his eyes to the four quarters"}, {"page_pdf": 32, "page_imprimee": "106", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.32", "texte": "of the horizon, as though seeking to fly the presence of an approaching\ninvisible enemy, says a brusque good-bye with his hands, recedes\nupon the wings of his awakened shame and disappears into the forest.\nUsually he is taken to be mad. One day, four masked men, under\norders, threw themselves on him and bound him solidly so that he\ncould move only his legs. The whip fell with harsh lashes on his\n#\nback, and they told him to proceed without delay in the direction of\nthe road that leads to Bedlam. He began to smile amid the blows\nand spoke to them with so much feeling and intelligence about many\nof the human sciences which he had studied, and which showed deep\nlearning in one who had not yet crossed the threshold of youth ;\nand the destinies of humanity, in which he so completely disclosed\nthe poetical nobility of his soul ; that his captors, terrified to the core\nby the deed they had committed, untied his broken limbs, threw\nthemselves at his feet begging a pardon which he granted; and went\naway with all the marks of a veneration seldom accorded toman.\nFrom that event, which was much spoken of, his secret was divined\nby everyone, but all pretended to ignore it so as not to augment\nhis suffering, and the government grants him an honorable pension\nto make him forget that at one time it wanted to put him forcibly\nand without previous verification into an asylum for the mad. As\nfor himself, he used half of the money, the rest he gave to the poor.\nWhen he sees a man and a woman walking in some alley of plane trees,\nhe feels his body split in two from top to toe, and each new part go to\nembrace one of the walkers; but it was but an hallucination, and reason\ndid not tarry to regain her sway. For that reason he did not consort\neither with men, or with women, for his excessive modesty which was\nborn from the idea that he was a monster, kept him from according\nhis burning sympathy to whomever it might be. He imagined it\nwould pollute him and he thought it would defile others. His pride\nrepeated this axiom to him : \" Ivet each remain true to himself.\" His\npride I said, for he feared that in joining his life to a man or a woman,\nsooner or later he would be reproached for the conformation of his organs\nas though it were a monstrous fault. Thus, he withdraws into his"}, {"page_pdf": 33, "page_imprimee": "107", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.33", "texte": "self-esteem, offended by the impious suggestion for which only himself\nis responsible and he persists in remaining alone without consolation\namong his torments. There in a flower-embowered thicket the herma-\nphrodite sleeps, profoundly hushed upon the grass drenched in\nhis tears. The awakened birds are ravished in contemplation\nof his sad face through the branches and the nightingale mutes her\ncrystal cavatinas. The wood by the nocturnal presence of the un-\nfortunate hermaphrodite has become as sacred as a tomb. Strayed\nwanderer; by the adventurous spirit which made you, even at a most\ntender age, leave your father and mother: by the sufferings thirst has\ncaused you in the desert, by the fatherland which perhaps you are\nseeking, after having a long time wandered proscribed in strange\nparts ; by your steed, your faithful friend, who with you bore exile\nand the intemperance of climates in which your roving disposition\nmade you wander ; by the dignity which voyages into distant lands\nand unknown seas, among polar ice floes, or beneath a torrid sun\ngive toman, do not as though with a flutter of wind touch with your\nhand these curls which strewn upon the earth mix with the green grass.\nMove a few steps aside and you will be doing better. This hair is\nsacred ;it is the hermaphrodite himself who wished it. He does not\nwant human lips to kiss religiously his hair, perfumed by the mountain\nbreeze, nor his forehead, which at this moment, is resplendent as\nstars of the sky. But it is better to imagine that a star itself in pas-\nsing through space fell from its orbit upon this majestic forehead, and\nenvelops it in diamond clarity as though an aureole. Night, brushing\nher sadness aside with a finger, clothes herself in all her charms to cele-\nbrate the slumber of this incarnation of modesty, of this perfect image\nof angelic innocence ; the murmur of insects is less perceptible. The\nbranches bend their tufted heights over him, to keep him, from the\ndew, and the wind, making the cords of his melodious harp tremble,\nsends its joyful harmony through the universal silence, towards those\ndropped lips which motionless, imagine they assist at the harmonious\nconcord of the swinging spheres. He dreams he is happy ; that his\nbodily nature has changed; or that at least, he has flown on a purple"}, {"page_pdf": 34, "page_imprimee": "108", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.34", "texte": "cloud to another sphere inhabited by beings of a similar nature.\nAlas ! may his illusion continue until dawn wakes ! He dreams that\nthe flowers dance round him in rings like huge frolicsome garlands,\nand saturate him with their sweet scents, during which he sings a hymn\nof love in the arms of a human being of magical beauty. But it is\nonly a twilight vapour his arms enfold ; and when he wakes, his arms\nno longer enfold it. Do not awake, hermaphrodite, do not awake yet,\nI implore you. Why will you not believe me ? Sleep .. . sleep for\never. If your breast swell in pursuit of the chimerical hope of happiness\nI will permit it, but do not open your eyes. Ah ! do not open your\neyes. I want to leave you so, not to witness your awakening. Per-\nhaps some day, by the aid of a thick book, in emotional pages, I shall\nrelate your history; terrified by its content, and the information which\nwill come out of it. Until now, I have not been able ; for each time I\nattempted it, copious tears fell upon the paper, and my fingers trem-\nbled; it was not old age. But at the end I want to have this courage.\nI am shooked at not having better nerves than a woman, and fainting\nlike a little girl, every time I think of your great misery.\nSleep .. . sleep always, but do not open your eyes ! Farewell\nhermaphrodite ! Every day I will not fail to pray heaven for you\n(were it for myself, I would not pray). May peace be in your breast.\n* $ *\n\" O lamp with the silvery flame spouse, of cathedral domes, my eyes\nperceive you in the air, wondering at your suspension. It is said your\nrays light at night the mob of those who come to adore the Almighty;\nand that you show to the repenting the path that leads to the altar,\nlyisten, it is very probable ; but .. . must you render such services\nto those to whom you owe nothing ? the cathedral pillars\nplunged in darkness ; and when a blast of the tempest upon which the\nwhirling demon is swept through space penetrates with him into\nthe sacred place, scattering terror there ; instead of fighting courage-\nously, against the pest-laden squall of the prince of evil, extinguish\nyourself suddenly beneath his feverish breath, so that he may, un-\nseen, choose his victims among the kneeling believers, \""}, {"page_pdf": 35, "page_imprimee": "109", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.35", "texte": "If you do this you may say that I owe you all my happiness.\nWhen you so shine, spreading a glimmering but adequate light, I\ndare not give vein to the impulses of my nature and I stand under\nthe sacred portal, looking through the half opened door at those who\nin the bosom of the l,ord, escape my vengeance. O Poetical I,amp!\nYou who would be my friend could you understand me, when in noc-\nturnal hours my feet press the basalt of churches, why do you begin\nto burn in a manner, which, I must admit seems to me extraordinary ?\nYour reflections are tinged then with the white hues of electric light ;\nthe eye is unable to fix you ; and you light up with a new and power-\nful flame the least details of the Creator's kennel, as though you were\nprey to holy wrath. And when, having blasphemed I withdraw,\nyou become again unseen, humble and wan, certain of having accom-\nplished a deed of justice. Tell me, would it be because you know\nthe mazes of my heart, that when it happens that I appear where you\nwatch, you hasten to point out my pernicious presence and draw the\nattention of the worshippers to the place where the enemy of man has\nshown himself ? I incline to this opinion; for I too begin to know\nyou ; and I know who you are, old witch, that so well watches over\nthe sacred mosques, where like a cockscomb struts your singular\nmaster. Vigilant guardian, you have given yourself a mad mission.\nI warn you : the first time you point me out to the prudence of my\nfellows, by increasing your phosphorescent gleams (since I do not\nlike this optical phenomenon which for the rest, is not mentioned\nin any book of physics) I will take you by the skin of your chest and\nfixing my claws in the scars of your scrofulous neck fling you into the\nSeine. I do not assert that while I do nothing to you, yon knowingly\nbehave in a manner which is hurtful to me. There I will permit you\nto shine as long as it pleases me ; there ; you will defy me with an inex-\ntinguishable smile; there, assured of the incompetence of your crimi-\nnal oil, you will bitterly urinate. After having thus spoken, Maldoror\n110 longer issues from the temple and remains, eyes fixed upon the\nlamp of the sacred place. He imagines he sees a kind of provocation\nin the attitude of this lamp, which irritates him to the last degree by"}, {"page_pdf": 36, "page_imprimee": "110", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.36", "texte": "its inopportune presence. He tells himself that, if some spirit be\nshut in this lamp, it is cowardly not to reply with sincerity to a straight-\nforward attack. He beats the air with his sinewy arms and wishes\nthat the lamp would transform itself into a man ; he promises himself\nhe will give him a bad quarter of an hour. But by what means does\na lamp change into a man ; that's not natural. He does not resign\nhimself, and goes to the threshold of the miserable pagoda to seek\nfor a flat stone with a cutting edge. He throws it strongly into the\nair .. . the chain is cut in the middle as grass by a scythe and the\ninstrument of worship falls to earth, scattering its oils upon the\nslabs ...\nHe grasps the lamp to carry it outside, but it resists him and\ngrows. He seems to see wings on its thighs, and the upper portion\nputs on the shape of an angel's bust. The whole wants to rise in\nthe air to take its flight . . . but with a firm hand he holds it back.\nA lamp and an angel which compose a single body, there's a thing\none does not often see. He recognises the shape of the lamp,\nhe recognises the shape of the angel ; but he cannot divide them\nin his spirit ; actually, they were stuck one within the other,\nand formed but one independent and free body; but he imagines that\nsome cloud has veiled his eyes and caused his sight to be slightly\naffected. Nevertheless, he addresses himself courageously to fight,\nfor his adversary is fearless. Simple folk relate to those who will\n* v\nbelieve them, that the porches shut of themselves, turning on\nprotesting hinges, that nobody might be present at the impious\nstruggle whose vicissitudes were about to evolve within the violated\nsanctuary. The cloaked man, though cruelly wounded by an invis-\nible blade, strives to draw the face of the angel to his mouth ; he\nthinks only of that and all his efforts are to that end. The other\ntires and seems to presage his destiny. He fights but feebly and the\nmoment can be calculated when his adversary may kiss him at his\nease, should he so wish.\nWell, the moment is come. With his muscles, he strangles\nthe throat of the angel who can no longer breathe, and turns back"}, {"page_pdf": 37, "page_imprimee": "111", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.37", "texte": "his head leaning on his odious chest. For a moment, he is moved\nby the fate which awaits this celestial being, whom he would willingly\nhave made his friend. But he tells himself that it is the emissary of the\nCreator, and he cannot hold back his wrath. It is done ; some hor-\nrible thing will go back into the cage of time ! He leans, and puts\nhis tongue dripping with saliva upon the angelic cheek which throws\nsupplicating glances. For some time he passes his tongue over this\ncheek. Oh ! See !. . . see .. . The milk and rose cheek has become\nblack like a coal! It exhales putrid miasmas. It is gangrene ;no\nlonger is it possible to doubt it. The gnawing evil extends to all the\nface, and from there, wreaks its fury upon the lower parts ; soon\nthe whole body is but one foul wound. Terrified himself (for he did\nnot think his tongue held a poison of such violence) he picks up the\nlamp and flies the church. Once outside, he sees in the air a blackish\nform with burnt wings which, with difficulty, makes its flight towards\nthe heavenly regions. They look at each other, the angel rising towards\nthe serene heights of goodness and Maldoror, 011 the contrary, descend-\ning to the giddy abysms of evil. What a look ! All that humanity\nhas thought for sixty centuries and what it will think throughout the\nfollowing centuries could be easily contained in it, so many things\nthey said in this supreme good-bye ! But it must be understood that\nthese were thoughts more lofty than those which spurt from the hu-\nman intelligence; firstly, because of the two people and then because\nof the circumstances. This look united them in an eternal amity\nHe is astounded that the Creator can have emissaries of so noble a\nspirit. For a moment he imagines himself deceived and asks himself\nshould he have followed the road of evil as he has done. The hesit-\nation is over, he perseveres in his resolution ; and it is glorious, ac-\ncording to him, to overcome sooner or later the Arch-All, in order to\nreign in his place over the entire universe and over the legions of\nequally beautiful angels. That angel gives him to understand that\nas he mounted into heaven so he would regain his original shape ;\nlets fall a tear which refreshes the forehead of him who gave him the\ngangrene, and little by little disappears, like a vulture rising through"}, {"page_pdf": 38, "page_imprimee": "112", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.38", "texte": "the clouds. The criminal looks at the lamp, cause of what went\nbefore. He runs like a madman through the streets, making for the\nSeine, and throws the lamp over the parapet. It eddies for some mo-\nments and sinks finally into the muddy water. Since that day, every\nevening, after night fall, a shining lamp is seen which emerges and\nfloats gracefully upon the surface of the river, off the pont Napoleon,\nwith for handles, two tiny angel's wings. It moves slowly upon\nthe water, and under the arches of the pont de la Gave and the pont\nd'Austerlitz and prolongs its silent wake upon the Seine as far as\nthe pont de VAlma. Once there it easily ascends the river and\nafter four hours arrives back at its point of departure. And so on\nthrough the whole night. Its hues, white like electric light, blot out\nthe gas jets which border the two banks, and between which it moves\nlike a queen, lonely, impenetrable, with an inextinguishable smile,\nits oil bitterly spilling. In the beginning, the boats gave cry, but it\ntricked all their efforts, escaped their pursuit by plunging like a\nflirt and reappeared at a great distance. Nowadays, superstitious\nwatermen, when they see it, row in an opposite direction and stifle\ntheir songs. When at night, you cross a bridge, pay great heed ;\nyou are sure to see the lamp shining somewhere ; but it is said that\nit does not show itself to everybody. When some human being\nwith an oppressed conscience passes over the bridges it suddenly\nputs out its shimmer and the terrified passer-by with a despairing eye\nvainly searches the surface and ooze of the river. He knows what it\nsignifies. He wants to think he has seen the heavenly light ; but he\ntells himself that the light came from the stern of a boat or from the\nreflections of gas jets ; and he is right .. . He knows that the disap-\npearance, is due to himself and, plunged in sad meditation, he has-\ntens his step to gain his lodging. Then the lamp with silvery flame\nreappears on the surface and pursues its course amid elegant and\ncapricious arabesques.\n\nComte de Lautréamont\n(Translated by John Rodker)\n\n{To be continued)"}, {"page_pdf": 39, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.39", "texte": "Ganesha: Java.\nXIIIth Century."}, {"page_pdf": 40, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.40", "texte": "Rock Relief: Mämallapuram.\nSouth India.\nVIIIth Century."}, {"page_pdf": 41, "page_imprimee": "113", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.41", "texte": "POEMS IN PROSE\n\nThrough the little window, under the eaves, look. The line\nof my eyes and the line\" of her eyes encounter each other. I shall\nhave the advantage of altitude she says to herself. But across the\nstreet, shutters are banged open and her attention is distracted or seiz-\ned. I shall have the advantage of the shops to look at.\nBut in the end, should I ascend, where it were better to descend\nand arm in arm go elsewhere ? No one gazes any more.\n❖\n* ❖\nHe leans over the parapet retaining his small head by the ears.\nWhere the roofs stop they make a parallel to his shoulders and the\nchimney there has the air of being his neck.\nThe clouds set the house walking in the garden. In the tangle of\ntelegraph wires and branches it is arrested. Don't look up any more.\nThe spider-web rips with the rustle of silk as the window is\nopened at length, and he whose head has never moved loses his\nkingly crown of hitherto.\n*\n❖ *\nThe little puppet, good-luck doll, rattles against my window\nat the wind's whim. What of the rain, her dress is soaking wet,\nher face and hands discolored and effaced. One of her legs gone, too.\nBut she never loses the ring on her finger and her magic persists.\nIn winter she kicks at the pane with her tiny blue shoe and dances,\ndances madly and joyfully because of the cold and to warm her heart,\nher lucky wooden heart. At nights she lifts her arms, suppliant, to\nthe stars."}, {"page_pdf": 42, "page_imprimee": "114", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.42", "texte": "Suppose I lost my key and all the world laughed at me and every\none pointed to the big key hanging at my neck ? I should be the only\nperson who had no means of getting into any place. They all retire\nand the locked doors leave the street very sad. No one in. I knock\neverywhere.\nOaths are hurled at me from windows and I run away.\nThen, a little further out of town, by the edge of a river and a\nwood, I find a door : a perfectly simple door, of easy entrance, without\nany key. I place myself behind it, and in the night that has no win-\ndows but has wide curtains, between the forest and the river, which\nprotect me, I am able to sleep.\n\nPierre Reverdy\n(Translated by M. J.)"}, {"page_pdf": 43, "page_imprimee": "115", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.43", "texte": "THE MYSTICISM OF MONEY\n\nThe criticism of America by American intellectuals which has been growing\nin geometrical progression since the early years of the century, has become,\nI believe, a serious menace to American artistic expression.\nThe basis of their accusations is that America is not Europe. This can be\nadmitted at once, but why it should be opprobrious is another question. The\nintellectual assumes that American civilization should commence at the same\npoint as Europe's and carry on the great occidental tradition as a fraternal\nmember of one famity. But America cannot do this, and as a result endures\nthe reproaches of its intellectuals, saturated with the traditions of the older\ncountries.\nThis would not matter if the continuous recriminations were not beginning\nto take effect, but a deterioration in several American expressions is conspic-\nuous, due to adulteration with European ideals. The matter has become se-\nrious.\nAmerica is in the midst of a formative-creative art epoch closely resembling\nthe historical archaic periods. Contact with a decadent art such as prevails\nin Europe results in immediate deterioration of the American product. Early\nexpressions can not stand this proximity. Negro sculpture ceases to develop\nwhen European knick-knacks become the rage, Europe can and does borrow\nsafely from America ; jazz, advertising, etc. are the foundations of aesthetic\nschools abroad, but the reverse process is deadly.\nAmerica must not imitate Europe. This is hard on those of our intellect-\nuals who only receive aesthetic emotions from the esoteric cultures of other\ncontinents, but foreign artists do not pity them ; in fact they understand with\ndifficulty the American's blindness towards the creations of his own people.\nA short digression into the past is essential.\nThe evolution of the artistic expression of a people, can be divided into three\nbasic divisions.\n(i) The creative formative period during which the function of art and re-\nligion is to make the universe habitable for man by removing its strangeness and\ninscrutability. Poetic and plastic concepts simplify, coordinate and transfig-"}, {"page_pdf": 44, "page_imprimee": "116", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.44", "texte": "tire externality. Art has a religious inspiration and religion an artistic expres-\nsion, so that one is tempted to define such art as the eternal residue of religion\nThe expressions of these times are always definite, conventional, and have a\nuniversal appeal during their tenure. The theme is more important than the\nartist, and perfection is approached by infinite trials of anonymous workmen.\nGreat art forms may eventually be created which epitomize the civilization of\nnations and races. Originality is not only not required, but is taboo.\n(2) The classic period, which follows the creative epoch, has usually\nbeen concurrent with the attenuation of the inspirational religion. The loss\nin sanctity of the religious symbols permits the breakdown of convention\nand individuals manipulate the left-over forms according to their will and\npleasure.\n(3) The decadent period is marked by the exhaustion of the traditional\nforms. It is naturally not simultaneous in all the arts. Critical expressions which\nappeal to the intellect thrive. The outstanding creators excel by force of per-\nsonality and not by projecting the social vision, thus individualism and orig-\ninality are the most desirable virtues, and novelty is often confused with art.\nAnother symptom of this period is a world search for exotic forms not indig-\nenous to the place or time.\nEach of these divisions of art evolution can and does produce great art.\nThere is no reason to believe that a Cezanne painting must have less absolute\nbeauty than * a Byzantine fresco although they are necessarily different. The\ntest for all art expressions is the same — how great an aesthetic appeal do they\nstill possess when the causes and conditions of their own time have passed away ?\nFor instance, those archaic expressions which are considered great art have out-\nlasted the religion whose concepts they defined. The inspiration has created\nsomething greater than itself.\nThus one need not sympathize with Taoist mysticism or comprehend\nBuddhist metaphysics to thrill to a Sung painting, nor is a knowledge of Vood-\nism or Totemism of assistance before a Negro sculpture. The eternal quality,\nthe essence which calls up aesthetic emotion, is called, in the language of to-day,\nplastic import or significant form. It is customary to use these terms only\nin reference to the plastic arts, but there is a similar essence in any artistic crea-\ntion which appeals eternally, even though the content or matter represented\nbe distasteful.\nThe art of Europe is obviously in the third or decadent period. The con-\ndition is well recognized, though many would dispute my characterization of it\nas decadent. It would be admitted, however, that contemporary artists strive\nto be different, to be original, to create new forms. That art is believed to be"}, {"page_pdf": 45, "page_imprimee": "117", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.45", "texte": "the passionate affirmation of a personal vision and tliat this credo is at variance\nwith the credos of archaic and classic times. On the Continent of late, the weak-\nness of contemporary art has been studied and several recent movements attempt\nto recover the vigor of earlier epochs by scientific means. As a result there has\nbeen a great revival of interest in archaic periods in which the expressions of\ncontemporary America are not overlooked.\nBut to return to the present.\nA portion of the artistic expression of the United States admittedly belongs\nto the European tradition. This expression is the chief concern of that group\nwhom I roughly term \" intellectuals Their contribution to the art of the\nOccident is admittedly low in proportion to the national eminence of their\ncountry. For this reason, the intellectuals in their critical function incessantly\nbelabour their compatriots.\nThe genuine expression of the United vStates, however, is not related to\nthe European art tradition. It resembles not at all the prevailing decadent art,\nof, by, and for individuals, but rather parallels the archaic expressions of less\nsophisticated races. Americans, like many early peoples, adapt themselves to\ntheir environment by interpreting and evaluating the objective world through\na conceptual system which, in their case, is not known as religion, and which\nexpresses itself in diverse forms, not recognized as art.\n\" The prerequisite of all living things and of their lives is : that there should\nbe a large amount of faith, that it should be possible to pass definite judgments\non things, and that there should be no doubt at all concerning values. Thus\nit is necessary that something should be assumed to be true, not that it is\ntrue.\" (i) This need has been satisfied in the past by what is termed religion.\nIt is filled to-day in America by the Mysticism of Money.\nMoney, because that which was originally but a medium of exchange and\na valuable metal, has become the measuring staff of all values and the goal\nand reward of all efforts conventionally accepted as proper.\nMystic because the validity of the money standard and the intrinsic merit\nof money making are accepted on faith, extra-intellectually. One does not\nquestion them ; the rash interlocutor who seeks to know why the banker con-\ntinues to augment his unspendable wealth is catalogued as slightly touched.\nOne would as soon prove that two plus two equal four. Reasons are super-\nfluous when a belief is obviously true.\nThus the Mysticism of Money resembles the religions of archaic times\n\n(i) = Will to Power = Frederick Nietzsche."}, {"page_pdf": 46, "page_imprimee": "118", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.46", "texte": "in that it is not necessary to defend the credibility of its assumptions by ra-\ntionalism.\nThe result is that money and business — the making of money — have\nassumed a sacrosanct character.\nThe pious disciple may accept board, lodging, clothes, jewelry, etc. from a\nfiiend or relation, but money he cannot touch, or, if forced to borrow, cannot\nrest till the loan is refunded.\nA child, before it has learned to put a nickel in the slot and push the\nknob for chewing gum, is given a miniature bank so that the seriousness of\ncoinage will be one of its first concepts.\nCuriosity on making an acquaintance, has shifted from interest in who\nwere his forbears, or to what sect does he belong to, how much money does\nhe earn, and how does he make a living.\nIn national emergencies such as the late war, public opinion does not turn\nto teachers or statesmen, but to business men, men whose training has been the\nmaking of money. Curious ; at bottom no one is considered quite normal,\npractical is the usual word, except those whose goal is great earning capacity.\nOne may seek this in many ways, even by writing or painting, but unless this\nideal is the inspiration of the activity, one is set down as an addle-brained\nidealist.\nThese commonplaces are symptomatic of our civilization, which is so\nfamiliar, that seldom do we realize its strangeness.\nBusiness and state are now as closely knit as church and state in the middle\nages. The main foreign preoccupation of civil government is the safeguarding\nand fostering of the business of its nationals and its basic internal function is\nprotection of property. The great crimes of the day are not sacrilege or treason,\nbut complicated forms of robbery. Our heretics attack the capitalistic system\nand are prosecuted with deep religious indignation. The secret service and the\nthird degree often perfect tortures that only the Spaniards in the days of the\nInquisition surpassed. Our higher clergy are eminent members of the vested\ninterests, some of whom take seriously their duty of inculcating morals. The\nlower clergy, ministers, teachers, etc. reverently hold out their ears to them\nin order to catch suggestions for their Sunday or weekday sermons. Thus\nthey preach war or peace, friendship or enmity, regardless of Christianity or\nwisdom, but careful of the interest of their potentates and of the religion which\npreserves them. And all with the sincerest of convictions and the most honest\nof motives.\nCapitalism originated in Europe, perhaps in ancient Rome, and the historian\ncan point to even earlier trading states which concentrated on the production\nof wealth ; but the American Colonies, which waged one of the first modern"}, {"page_pdf": 47, "page_imprimee": "119", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.47", "texte": "business wars, \"no taxation without representation, \" have carried this form of\ncivilization to its logical extreme as they were not hindered by vestiges\nof an older order. The differentiation between business in America and\nbusiness elsewhere is that in America it is an end, a good in itself ; its pursuit,\nthe virtuous life. In Europe it is a means ; wealth aggrandizes the states or\ngives pleasure and possibly position to the individual. Spending is more im-\nportant than making, and if the latter is unnecessary so much the better. In\nAmerica the making of money is all important; even sons of millionaires to be\nmoral must make money. Consequently, hoarding wealth is not by itself an\nexcellence. Americans of the faith are world famous for free spending.\nThe fundamental rule of conduct for the devout is Competitive Ostentation.\nThis is pushed to such extremes that some of the younger worshippers spend more\nthan they make and mortgage the future. This discipline of pretentiousness\nhas a very great importance for the artistic expression of the time.\nA common misapprehension is that the Mysticism of Money is a religion of\nselfishness. As a matter of fact, it is one of the most idealistic faiths to which\na grave people has ever been converted. Most past religions have been concerned\nwith the saving of one's own soul in eternity or in escaping the vengeance of\nthe Gods during terrestrial life. The Mysticism of Money is comparatively al-\ntruistic. Many practicioners devote their lives to it with only a secondary thought\nof personal gain. One finds them in offices, devoted, laborious, faithful, giving\nall that is them, careless of promotion or reward. One finds them in high positions\nslaving for wealth they can never use which they sometimes distribute lavishly\nto charities — with great elan and publicity it is true, for the motive-impulse is\nrather Competitive Ostentation than the good of the beneficiary. In general,\npeople sacrifice most of their waking hours to the making of money because they\nbelieve it is the proper activity of this life (virtue), because they enjoy the game\n(play), and because they thus obtain the wherewithal for life and may receive a\nsuperfluity which will make them envied (selfishness). Different individuals\nmix the three ingredients in different proportions, and different conditions of\nlife affect the blend, i.e. the very poor must of necessity make money to obtain\nthe wherewithal of life, and the very rich often exert their efforts for one or both\nof the other motives.\nFollowing the precedent of archaic religions, the Mysticism of Money pro-\npagates its concepts by poetic and graphic definitions and transforms the aspect\nof life by infinite new expressions that may or may not eventuate in art forms.\nThese can be divided into those directly designed to make money, those\nwhich appeal primarily to the spirit of Competitive Ostentation and others which\nare merely in the rhythm of the new era and therefore irresistibly contagious,"}, {"page_pdf": 48, "page_imprimee": "120", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.48", "texte": "The art of forming objects in the round or in relief by chiselling, carving,\nmodelling, casting, etc. has reached greater proportions to-day than possibly ever\nin the past. Engines, forges, hearths, furnaces, turbines, kettles, motors, gene-\nrators, dynamoes, automobiles, ships, aeroplanes — the list has no end. The\npurpose of all these is the efficient performance of specific tasks, which tasks\nare required by the industrial organization brought into existence and urged ever\nonward by the Mysticism of Money. These forms are not static but, like the older\nart forms, continually evolve through the introduction of small variations, in the\ndirection of greater efficiency. The result is simplification, elimination of\ninessentials, balance and beauty. As perfection is approached, the designer\nbecomes more and more conscious of the aesthetic possibilities so that in well\ndeveloped forms, such as the automobile body, new variations are primarily\njustified aesthetically. Other things being equal, the more beautiful form has\na higher selling value. Thus in the end the technical intent of the designer is\naesthetic.\nMany thousands of years ago the ancient civilization of Egypt believed in\nthe duality of man and the return of his spirit to an image, if the corruptible body\nshould by chance be destroyed. As a result, portrait statues in granite and dior-\nite were executed. It is probable that the first attempts were not works of\nart. • However, after the generations had endlessly improved on them, statues\nsuch as the stone images of King Rhephrem and Queen Nephret were pro-\nduced which have never been excelled and - are the apotheosis of the force\nand simplicity of Egyptian culture.\nIn the same way, the multifarious creations in forms of contemporary life\nare the resultant of the Mysticism of Money and the technique of the American\npeople. As they evolve they become more and more beautiful. Aesthetic pleas-\nure in the balanced masses and curved belt lines of machinery is already recog-\nnized. The best of these forms are more likely to be considered by the future\nas the ultimates of American Genius than any of the imitative statues that\nmasquerade as art.\nThe great innovation of this applied sculpture is the combining of movement\nand form. The steam shovel, with its geometrical and sharply delineated mo-\ntions, the gold dredge, like a huge squat worm devouring the earth before and\nspewing it out behind, the threshing machine, smoking chaff and eating wheat\nstacks, will be tempting material for a classic age whose individuals are freed\nfrom their utilitarian purpose.\nSome of to-day's forms have, I believe, plastic import even judged statical-\nly as we judge an antique statue. They will still have beauty when quite divor-\nced from their utilitarian purpose ; just as the Apollo of Tenea is a magnificent\nstatue though the last worshipper of the Greek sun god died some time ago."}, {"page_pdf": 49, "page_imprimee": "121", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.49", "texte": "And if we admit the legitimacy of moving sculpture as an art expression, many\nof our machines, etc. will have to be reproduced in future text books on the\nhistory of art.\nlam not alone in foreseeing this development of sculpture. lipschitz\nhas already worked with the notion, and the most recent school of Russian\nsculpture, the Constructionists, has adopted motion and modern construction\nas its fundamental principles.\n*\nThe art of filling a two dimensional space with colour and form has been\nmainly used by the Mysticism of Money for advertising. Again the primary\npurpose is religious, i.e. to sell goods to make money. However, the factor of\nbeauty as it assists in catching the eye, holding the attention and driving home\nthe message, has a monetary value and is often sought. The pretentious ads,\nconsciously artistic, which borrow their technique from the lowest phase of\nEuropean pictorial realism, and sugar it with sentimentality, nearly equal the\npopular magazine cover in garish ugliness.\nThe more indigenous product, the combination of abstract trade marks,\npithy slogans, fresh, forceful language, photography, and superlative typography\nhave an aesthetic value of no mean order.\nThis was recognized by a few individuals in the United States years before\nthe war. Nevertheless, America had to wait for Europe to extend this aesthetic\ndiscovery just as Europe so often has had to wait for America to utilize her scien-\ntific discoveries. Marinetti, about 1910, realizing the decadence and impotency\nof continental art and placing the responsibility on the worship of tradition, pa-\nraded up and down Europe preaching — smash the museums, wake up to the\npresent. His positive contributions do not amount to much as his theory seem-\ned to be that, because a moving engine is beautiful, a painting that will evoke\nthe sensation of the moving engine, will inevitably be beautiful, a super-realistic\ntheory that has long since been exploded. But in writing he consciously or\nunconsciously incorporated the lessons of American advertising. Heavy type\nfor emphasis, free placing of words on the page so that the visual sensation will\nreinforce the literary content, etc. The aesthetic value of these innovations is\nstill under discussion, but meanwhile Wyndam took up the idea in Eng-\nland (Blast). The Dadaists and their precursors, Apollinaire, etc. have further\ndeveloped it in France and now every center in Europe from Prague to Brussels\nis making designs, with the print of their poetry so that the typographical form\nwill reinforce the literary content. Even with this world competition American\nadvertising remains preeminent in the field.\nAdvertisements have not, of .course, a purely plastic appeal. Their literary\nand representative attributes are as essential to their efficiency as their form and"}, {"page_pdf": 50, "page_imprimee": "122", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.50", "texte": "color composition. However, neither this, nor their utilitarian intent, is suf -\nficient to dispose of them as potential art forms. Chinese hieroglyphs have\nboth these subsidiary qualities and possess nevertheless an aesthetic value. The\nfinal test for an ad. is the same as for all art forms. Will the best of them still\npossess a plastic content when the causes, conditions and purposes that pro-\nduced them have passed away ?\nHowever we answer this question, we must admit even at this date that their\ninfluence on occidental art has been greater than that of American painters.\nArchitecture and Engineering : — The art of building impelled by the Mys-\nticism of Money has also broken with tradition. The innovation of flanged\nsteel and reinforced concrete; as structural cores, is as revolutionary as the\nintroduction of the arch, or of broken-joint masonry. But architecture, un-\nlike machinery and advertising, has at the same time clung to the hallowed mo-\ntifs of Europe at least in so far as they concern the embellishment of the facade.\nThis compromise accounts for the most obvious defects of American buildings.\nA great part of contemporary work attempts to harmonize the inner steel con-\nstruction with the old decorative forms.\nIn the most pretentious and weakest phase, that of bank, library, Church\nand State buildings, the new structural element is subordinated to the tradi-\ntional aesthetic canons. The result is pseudo-Greek, Roman, Renaissance,\nand Gothic temples. Though the fine technique of American architects fre-\nquently succeeds in erecting handsome structures quite correct in every detail\nand skilfully planned, nevertheless the sensitive passerby is conscious of a lack,\nan emptiness ; for the repetition of a formula, after the inspiration has evapor-\nated, can never result in true creation. Probably the continued popularity\nof the Greek temple style for bank buildings is due to the symbolism, but it\nwould seem as if the banking business had become sufficiently sacrosanct by\nnow to drop this anachronism. Churches and colleges are of course quite right\nto continue using Gothic. The reminiscent facades correspond to the formula-\nrized inherited routine of the services held within.\nOffice buildings, lofts and apartment houses realize to a greater degree the\nmagnificent possibilities of steel. Their geometrical forms, rise in great tooth\nlike rows, incisors and molars, cubes and pyramids. The old decorative\nmotifs plastered on their sides, where the windows permit, are strictly subordinated\nto the design enforced by the structural demands and seldom detract from the\ngeneral effect.\nIn European architecture the facades have always been part of the struc-\nture — the walls have supported the roof — this has limited decoration, and\ngood taste has always insisted that this restriction should not only be shown,\nbut should be utilized. The new steel core architecture does away with this"}, {"page_pdf": 51, "page_imprimee": "123", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.51", "texte": "necessity. The facade is now merely an ornamental covering, a mosaic veneer\nand not part of the frame work. This opens tip unlimited possibilities as the\nwhole surface of the building becomes a field for experimental design limited\nonly by the position of the windows. The present practice of making external\nmasonry seem as if it held up the cornice is as hypocritical as faked flying but-\ntresses. — Perhaps in time the faces of buildings will be used like magazine pa-\nges for advertising on a tremendous scale, slogans such as Uneeda Biscuit\nraised in relief in coloured stones, trademarks, etc. sculptured in great panels,\nreading matter, poetry and prose dodging in, out, and around the windows ;\nat night the whole surface flaming with incandescent colored lights and search\nlights.\nStrangely, the only precedent for this architectural development with which\nI am familiar, is 011 the American continent. The Mayas used a rubble core,\nof mortar and stone, which was quite independent, and faced it with decorative\nmasonry. Though their primitive engineering necessitated an unbelievably\ngreat proportion of wall to room space, their genius adorned the great facades\nwith a lavish magnificence. Geometrical and realistic motives combine in\nabstract designs unlike anything else ever done.\nLastly factories, and bridges, acqueducts and tanks, great bare forms,\nunprecedented and uncompromising: with these, surely, steel and concrete have\njustified their right to be. No old adornments disguise the new beauty of man's\nlatest ventures. Balanced, poised, heavy as giants yet soaring bat-like over\nrivers, squatting on hillsides like mushrooms, holding back lakes with a ges-\nture, no fanciful imaginings have conceived in advance the engineering common-\nplaces of to-day.\nThe most interesting and aesthetically significant phases of the above three\nplastic arts are those most closely knit with the Mysticism of Money. The\ncreations whose sole purpose is to make money are far more satisfactory artis-\ntically than the hybrid combinations which share the old and new inspirations.\nIn fact, in each case the responsibility for bad taste can directly be laid on\nsnobbism, a genuflexion to traditional ideals not vital to our civilization.\nMusic :— The art of combining sounds with a view to beauty of form, and\nexpression of emotion, still functions healthily in Europe. The continued in-\ntroduction of new methods and new fields has prevented the exhaustion which\nhas overtaken other arts and that great bogey, imitation of nature, has, with\na few exceptions, been kept at a safe distance. America does little with the\nhighly complex development of this art. America, however, has rediscovered\na rhythm, by the agency of her natural singers, the negroes, which oscillates\nthe diaphrams of the Western world.\n.Ciive Bell in a curious article recently published announces that Jazz si"}, {"page_pdf": 52, "page_imprimee": "124", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.52", "texte": "dead. Then he goes on surreptiously to change the subject and forgets about\nJazz to speak of the jazz movement, meaning of course the recent European\nragtime fad. He credits this movement with having dominated music and\ncolored literature during the last ten years, 1911-1021. The genius of Stra-\nvinsky has been nourished by Jazz according to Bell T. S. Eliot, Cocteau, Cen-\ndrars and Joyce are supposedly its literary foster-children and les six are its\npetits maitres. Mr. Bell has more surprises in store ; he asserts that the inspira-\ntion of Jazz is the same as that of the art of the grand siecle, that its source is\nin la bonne compagnie. in lounges of great hotels, in transatlantic liners, in wa-\ngons lits, in music halls and in expensive motorcars and restaurants. We'd\nlike to tell some nigger singer : \" way down yonder in de ole corn field'' about\nthis here jazz movement.\nThough the jazz movement may shortly undergo an eclipse — I\nfind few symptoms even of this — syncopated rhythm is emphatically not dead\nRagtime is the auditory expression of the new life which has overtaken us un-\nawares, and as long as the Mysticism of Money and the speed and the agitation\nof the industrial civilization which are its product, last, Jazz will continue\nto vibrate the nerves of man.\nJazz can hardly be considered a folk music. It is rather the philosopher's\nstone which transmutes the music of the world into a medium possessing common\nappeal. Its melodies come from everywhere, stolen, bought and invented,\nbut what do they amount to ? Ivast year's Jazz tunes, like last year's style\nin women's wear, leave only evanascent memories. No melodies endure the\ntest of insatiate iteration. Also Jazz is dependent on the technique of the in-\nterpreters The barbaric tomtom beat with the exotic accompaniment of\ngongs, conches, syrens and voices is often more important than the musical\nscore.\nAmerica has a real folk music, negro spirituals and plantation melodies,\nsome of the genuine negro rags, the music that \" jes grew One does not\ntire of these times, several of the oldest still haunt us, some have been picked\nup by college boys, \" Oh, Didn't He Ramble \", etc. But they are rather a tes-\ntimony to the genius of the negro race, than a product of the American people\nand the Mysticism of Money. This religion has inspired little music.\nUp till the present, musical creation has not been utilized by the money sys-\ntem. Musical interpretation is a paying proposition, both as accessory\nto the movies and on a more pretentious scale, but composing remains\nephemeral.\nPerhaps a combination of advertising and talking machines will be devis-\ned. If a hundred thousand energies should be turned towards evolving a mel-\nody and poem by the offer of a big reward, each line of the latter, for instance,"}, {"page_pdf": 53, "page_imprimee": "125", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.53", "texte": "to end in \" Take Eno in the morning the winning melody to he distributed\nfree on phonographs records throughout the constipated territory, it might\nprove such a paying proposition for the selling corporation that the reward\ncould be made really munificent and a national interest be aroused, so that\neveryone would follow the individual competitions and the inter-corporate\nrivalry as they do the baseball contests. The result might be as interesting as\ngraphic advertising\nThe* art of conveying thought by the symbolism of the printed word is a\nmajor industry in the United States. Even literature in the post-Rennaissance\nEuropean tradition has been pursued more efficaciously than have the other\ntraditional arts. This is probably due to the fact that books can easily be trans-\nported and reproduced. The literary output of Europe is available to our\nauthors for study and comparison, while the representation of the plastic arts\nis both partial and belated. Even so, the ranking of America is only high-\ncolonial, not proportionate with her size or eminence, and until very recently\nwas excelled by several minor European States.\nOn the other hand, the religious writings, the various expressions of the\nMysticism of Money, flourish like undergrowth in a tropical forest. It is beyond\nthe scope of this paper to study in detail all the manifestations in writing that\nare fostered by this faith. One would have to scrutinize in turn everything\nfrom news columns to movie-scenarios, from the magazine story to the pop-\nular novel, from advertisements to sermons of Billy Sunday, some good,\nmany promising, the majority worthless ; rather is it advisable to leave the\nfutile on the junk pile of Time and mention only the conspicuous achievements.\nA new language has evolved. Vigorous, crude, expressive, alive with\nmetaphors, Rabelaisian, resembling Elizabethan rather than Victorian English.\nConceived on sidewalks and born over bars, it can be found comparatively\npure on the sporting sheets of newspapers, on the funny pages, occasionally\nin advertisements and on the stage, quite frequentfy in short stories. A few\nmen make poetry of it. Several of our standard writers like O. Henry and Mark\nTwain utilized it advantageously, the latter coming to grief when he deserted\nit for traditional English as in Joan of Arc. Not that this book is not compe-\ntently written, but compare it to Huck Finn. Mark Twain, like many others,\nsuffered from frequently attempting to write what his time called \" literature \".\nBut the creators of our new language, true to the archaic period, remain anon-\nymous and only a few individuals have realized the great resources to be\nexploited.\nA new narrative technique has crystallized. The famous Nick Carter stor-\nies, sold in every railroad station in Italy, are the first examples of it to come\nto my notice. Their essential ingredient is speed, accomplished by elimination"}, {"page_pdf": 54, "page_imprimee": "126", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.54", "texte": "of data which usually accounts for logical continuity. This results in repeat-\ned shocks which eliminate tediousness so long as the senses can stand the strain.\nSurprise follows surprise, alternated with high spots of emotional intensity.\nCoady was the first to draw attention to the artistic value of these narratives\nand went so far as also to praise them for character delineation. In this Ido\nnot agree ; the personages are types or puppets worked on strings with electric\nspeed. Differentiation of individuals is not a faculty of archaic periods, in\nfact only in times of decadence is it emphasized, and though geniuses* such as\nIbsen based on it their dramatic technique, the old epochs such as early Greek\nTragedy, Noh Drama, the Hindoo Theatre, Mystery Plays, etc., properly neglect-\ned realistic individuation. We should not require it of our time. It is question-\nable if the individual can ever be properly tragic, but rather if he is not mate-\nrial for caricature, and comedy.\nThis leads us to the third important phase of American writing. The\ncreation of types. Ignoring the European tendency of the last centuries, Am-\nerica has conventionalized several striking characters which can easily be recog-\nnized even though disguised by the borrowed, narrative or theatrical realism\nof Europe. The strong man, gentle as a dove, mighty as Hercules, not very\nclever but when he knows the right, adamant in its pursuit. Females do not\nfall for him except the one woman, the pure virgin, who recognizes her predes-\ntined mate after the scantiest of preliminaries.\nThis chaste young girl, pretty rather than beautiful, has a miraculous\nphysique in that she passes from virginity to motherhood without the need\nof any of the customary intermediate processes. Though she is innocent, a\nlucky star officiated at her first appearance 011 earth, and fortified by an iron\nnerve worthy of a warhorse, she assists her brave and virtuous hero to fame\nand fortune, often won against the will of a ruthless but rich and affectionate\nfather. * •\nThat grey, stern eyed gentleman typifies power, like the kings of old.\nHard but just, all men bow before him and only seek to frustrate his will by\ntreacherous and underhanded means. Except perhaps the hero who, with\nsublime courage, sometimes dares to stand up against even the symbol of\nmoney when he knows beyond all per adventure that he is right.\nMore interesting than these are the villains. The fortune-hunter, slightly\nresembles Ulysses and Robin Hood. His enemies are the powers that be, and so\nhe attacks the money system, exhibiting wonderful cunning to keep within the\nletter of the law. He is quite irresistible to the purer sex and usually pals with\nthe villainess.\nThis lady dark and exuding magnetism has little to redeem her except\nher fascination. One wonders how the Hero can even let his beloved Chastity"}, {"page_pdf": 55, "page_imprimee": "127", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.55", "texte": "hang around the dining room after he once glimpses the balefully beautiful eyes\nof the woman of mystery.\nThe villain proper has been so devitalized by the sentimentality of the\npseudo-cultured that he frequently disgraces his ancient predecessors by re-\npenting in the final denouement. But not always, sometimes he passes into the\ncoma of death with his prominent teeth clenched and his small mustache jaun-\ntily tickling his left nostril.\nThe Mysticism of Money has not as yet produced a literature. No Shake-\nspeare has emerged to bind together into a magnificent whole, the vigorous\nlanguage, the speedy narrative form, and the conventionalized characters.\nBut it is a little soon to expect this. Archaic periods excel in sculpture, paint-\ning and architecture, but seldom lay more than the groundwork of music and\nliterature.\nThe first great figure to arise is usually the herald of classic days. Aes-\nchylus and Sophocles followed soon after Homer. Sometimes, as in ancient\nIreland a culture has been interrupted before the innumerable tales, carried\nin the minds of the poets for safety, could be converted into formal written\npoetry. The stories distributed through European libraries in crude scenarios,\nare being slowly translated and utilized by present day writers, suffering from\nthe disadvantages consequent on the lapse of centuries.\nIn America, there are already signs of a classic period, though conditions\nare blurred by the intermixture with European culture. For instance, the stage\nand movies are nearfy ruined by the acceptance of the foreign technique of act-\ning and staging. Conventionalized figures, formal plot and realistic acting\nmake a weird combination. If masks were worn and gestures formalized,\none could better judge the potentialities of our theatre. The movies occasion-\nally escape this dilemma. In low comics and adventure melodramas the\nacting has been permitted to rise to the American dramatic conception. Iyife\nis not imitated, but transfigured. The result is one of the most vital theatres\nexisting in the world. The Parisian artists throng to the latest American mo-\nvies as the New York intellectuals crowd into the Theatre Guild. This last\nwinter doubts were whispered. Is America going into decadence ? I finally\ntraced the trouble to its source. Several feature movies had crossed the sea.\nGirls a la Duncan danced barefoot 011 the Palisades, stories were adopted from\nEuropean novels, acting, setting and lighting were straight European imitations.\nNo wonder the French were worried. But The Kid finally arrived and ended\nthe uncertainty.\nCharlie Chaplin is frequently considered in Europe the greatest living\ndramatic artist. His acting technique seems to be derived from the circus\nclowns and the Sunday paper comic supplement; he uses a narrative form"}, {"page_pdf": 56, "page_imprimee": "128", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.56", "texte": "which has all the speed and surprise elements of the Nick Carter tales. By\nhis personal genius he has created a new type. Charlie Chaplin will probably\nlive on the stage long after the original Chariot is buried. His art must be\nincluded among the archaic expressions inspired by The Mysticism of Money,\naccording to his own statement published in Soil \", December 1916.\n\" Making fun is serious business. It calls for deep study, for concentrated\nobservation. It is the business of a funny man to know what makes people\nlaugh and why it makes them laugh. He must be a psychologist before he can\nbecome a successful comedian.\nThe whole world loves a laugh. The important thing for those who deal\nin laughs is to find out how to make the most people laugh. There are some\nsorts of laughs that cause nearly as many frowns as laughs. One-half of the\naudience remains unsympathetic. That is not good funny stuff. It is the\nsort that often makes the picture exhibitor laugh on the shady side of his mouth\nby cutting his patronage in two.\nThe American public loves grotesquerie. So does the French public and\nso does the British public. Up to a few years ago we did not know that the\nChinaman had a sense of humor. Grave and learned gentlemen assured us\nthat the Chinese never laughed but at most only grinned.\nNow I'll tell you one important reason why the Mutual Corporation pays\nme $ 670,000 a year. Looks extravagant, doesn't it ? It isn't though. My\nemployers had their money back some time ago. They are riding on velvet\ncushions now. So am I, for that matter.\nI wasn't paid that salary because I can amuse the American public alone,\nbut because the stuff that makes Americans laugh also makes Chinese laugh,\nrocking the roof in all sorts of dingy little theaters along tlie Yang Tse , hits\nthe solemn Jap in his risible section, splits tjie visage of the Turk in Constanti-\nnople and gets the money that the Moujik used to spend on vodka. In short,\nwe have discovered, through the media of the film, that elusive touch of nature\nthat makes the whole world kin — the sort of stuff that makes everybody laugh .\nWhat a curious contrast this avowal makes to the code of our artists of\nthe European Tradition who seek indefatigably for the special and exceptional.\nThe wielding of universal appeal is to them a cause for more than suspicion,\nwhile to be nearly incomprehensible secures respect and careful treatment.\nIf space permitted it would be interesting to examine in turn the minor\narts and crafts. One discovers analogous results. Where the Mysticism\nof Money has had freedom to function, amazing products ensue. In those\ncases where Competitive Ostentation demanded an imitation of Europe, the"}, {"page_pdf": 57, "page_imprimee": "129", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.57", "texte": "Mysticism of Money obliged. Take interior decoration; a high priest of the\nfaith, a steel man for example, wishes to go his compeers one better. Presto,\nan architect; one year later, a Palazzo, divided into rooms. We pass from\nDirectoire to Rococo, from Baroque to Gothic with sometimes a dash of Adam\nor Queen Anne. Then we ask to wash our hands. We pass into wonderland.\nThe bathroom is an American product. The architect had nothing to imi-\ntate. Beautiful, restful forms in porcelain, a mosaic floor of glistening white\ntiles Soft geometrical towels 011 nickel racks, faucets and stoppers in burn-\nished metal. Perfect taste, perfect efficiency. One lingers over long before\nreturning to the museum outside.\nSome offices, stores, railroad station interiors, kitchens restaurant, etc.\nexemplify the taste of the unimitative American decorator.\nJewelry is a minor art nearly ruined by Competitive Ostentation. Once\nupon a time jewelry was beautiful owing to the designing of man as well as the\nfinish of nature. Now we leave it to the oyster. The most, desired piece of\njewelry might as well be strung goats' droppings for all the artistry that man\nhas contributed to its completion We have to search among watches especi-\nally in their interiors for a sign that beauty on a small scale is still sometimes\naccomplished.\nThe Mysticism of Money may prove, like the Christian Religion in the\nearly centuries, a revitalizing force to most aesthetic expressions. Christianity\ninspired several archaic periods of great aesthetic value, Byzantine, Romanes-\nque, the Primitives and the several Gothics. The Mysticism of Money seems\nto be on the way to a like series of accomplishments. It is too early to judge,\nhowever, as we are still surrounded by the worthless expressions which in all\ntimes outnumber the valuable ones, but which time can be relied upon to dis-\nsipate.\nAlso the moral issue beclouds the aesthetic. The deity of the Mysticism\nof Money is the most cruel of recent religions. He enforces a system of slav-\nery, but unlike most ancient systems the slaves are only cared for when their\nwork is needed. When their services can be dispensed with, they are left to\nstarve and perish as best they may. Also this faith is based on several delete-\nrious superstitions. The most noxious is called the law of supply and demand,\nwhich is used to extenuate its abominable crimes as if supply and demand were\nnot as easily regulated as the milk distribution if fundamentals were examin-\ned. It has put into practice systems of torture that do not kill in a day or\na month or a year, but stunt the body and shorten and embitter life. For\nexample, scientific studies of muscular motions — the best known is the Taylor\nsystem — which save labour costs, but kill everything in the slave but his phy-"}, {"page_pdf": 58, "page_imprimee": "130", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.58", "texte": "sical reflex actions. Such simplification is particularly deadening to children,\nwho are not excluded from participation in the industrial mills.\nThe American people, as is true of all peoples, do not appreciate the expres-\nsions of their time for artistic reasons. Only the specialist is ever able to dis-\nengage the artistic from the religious appeal. Perhaps the nearest approach\nto universal aesthetic enjoyment is that of the baseball crowd. A large pro-\nportion of the individuals of which it is composed, seem to thrill to a beautiful\npick-up regardless of the team to which the short-top belongs. But the crowd\nhardly ever goes beyond this. Chaplin, the greatest master of facial panto-\nmime in the world, is enjoyed for horse play and sentiment. The buildings\nare praised for their bigness, the machines for their functions.\nOne can hardfy look for aesthetic understanding outside of those en-\ngaged in the actual designing. The draftsman working on a bridge plan has\nsome understanding owing to what the French call volupte du metier, but that\nis all. Real understanding must be left to the critic, to the intellectual; and\ninstead, in America, the intellectual of late has been hammering the country\nfor its emptiness of beauty and encouraging the greatest danger to America,\nthe imitation of European art. Unless he can wipe the grit from his eyes, the\nevil he bewails may shortly be an existent fact and the United States be as\ndevoid of beauty as his limited vision proclaims. For the Mysticism of Money\nis shaken, due to moral grounds, and it will be a pity if the aesthetic expressions\nwhich it inspires pass away with the religion.\n\nH. A. L."}, {"page_pdf": 59, "page_imprimee": "131", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.59", "texte": "ETCHINGS\nThomas Pym Cope\nSHALLOWS\nThin river that can bear no ships,\nWhetting your edge of liquid steel on rasping rocks ;\nYou are like a lazy reaper\nForever sharpening his sythe\nNOON\nThe slim grey shadows tethered to the tree,\nCurl up beneath it now\nLike guardian hounds\nAsleep.\nEVENING\nThe headlands kneel before the sea,\nHuddling, with lowered eyes,\nlyike white-veiled buns ;\nThe sea prostrates tall arms to them\nlyike white-sleeved mussulmans at prayer.\nDo they mistake each other, in the dusk, for gods ?"}, {"page_pdf": 60, "page_imprimee": "132", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.60", "texte": "POPLARS\nKathryn White Ryan\nThe stars come close to-night.\nThe stately poplars toy with them,\nLike languid fingers\nIn a tray of unset diamonds.\nEARTH\nO great black sluggish beetle of the earth\nCrawling upon a leaf of Time,\nYour glistening wings of Day and Night\nAre far too frail to lift you."}, {"page_pdf": 61, "page_imprimee": "133", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.61", "texte": "BATTLE OF FLOWERS\n\nI\nOnce upon a time there was a king and a queen who were put out of their\nkingdom by some wicked republicans. Sighing, the dethroned couple got into\na limousine which the liberals had placed at their disposal as a final act of cour-\ntesy. While the two cannons of the kingdom were dissipating their war ammun-\nition and getting out of breath in firing the hundred and one salvoes to cele-\nbrate the coming into being of the republic, the fugitives saw from the window\nof their auto the last corners of their domain : a mountain all black with crowded\npines, a torrent torn with foam, a forest path picturesquely bordered with heather\nand gorse, and in front of a beer-garden a peasant in a green waistcoat blowing\na melancholy trumpet.\nII\nA plaid rug protected the Princess from the draughts that entered the ve-\nhicle. A silver veil enveloped her swan's down toque, and lost itself in the col-\nlar of her furs. And when a fit of coughing suffocated her, one saw a tuft of hair,\nthe colour of a ripe lemon, which seemed to grow out of the satin of the silvery\nveil. Then silence would fall again over the auto. The vagabond King stroked\nhis beard ; the Queen bit at her necklace of historic pearls ; the faithful officer pat-\nted the triangular ribbons of his decorations, the servant examined the suit\ncases, and the cold planted its thousand needles in the throat of the little tuber-\ncular Princess.\nIII\nThere is but little difference between a family of peasants fleeing from in-\nvasion and a royal family which cedes its power to a constitution opposed to\nDivine Right. The poor people pile up their mattresses on a handcart, hang\nthe canary's cage on the shaft, and stack up 011 the top of the wobbling pile of\nindispensable pieces of furniture a bloated red eiderdown quilt with menacing\ncorners. Kings get into their automobile, put their jewel case in the trunk and the\ngenealogical tree under the cushions. The crack of a whip, or the turn of a le-\nver : thus the exodus of the homeless ones to the hostile ways of the unknown, the\ncold and the night.\nIV\nCrowned heads rarefy suffer from overheated imagination. Etiquette and\ntradition regulate the acts of sovereigns with such precision that there is no room\nfor fantasy or conjecture. A detailed protocol arranges the place of asylum, and"}, {"page_pdf": 62, "page_imprimee": "134", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.62", "texte": "prepares the residence of kings in exile. If the triumphant political party res-\npects the lives of the dethroned rulers, the latter have only to trust in fate to\nsecond the good offices of their intendant. There is one nation always ready to\nproffer them an inexhaustible welcome. This nation is France, who sets apart\nthe best adorned corner of her territory for this asylum. In her burning Southern\nprovinces, she receives the relics of revolutions which she labels and assigns a\nplace in palaces consecrated to this purpose, just as she might arrange in paral-\nlel rows the urns of defunct royalties in the niches of a columbarium.\nV\nThe King, Queen and Princess arrived then one autumn morning at a\nFrench railway station, where a cordon of police had already been drawn. The\nKing continued to comb his beard, the Queen gnawed at her pearls, and the vio-\nlent sun penetrated into the Princess through her white furs and moderated her\ncough — temporarily.\nAn official proffered the respects of the Republic to the fallen sovereigns. The\nlocal photographers clicked off their machines, jumping backwards until the faith-\nful officer respectfully opened the door of the landau ordered by the municipality.\nA train which was waiting the conclusion of the ceremony to enter the station spat\nwith impatience at the level crossing. And the Princess thought she was going\nto faint when she received full in the face the odours of iodine and salt which\nthe sea flung up across the street, like a strong smelling bouquet of welcome.\nVI\nA bizarre-looking young man mixed with the crowd of sight-seers awaiting\nin the station the arrival of the royal train : three coaches, which a locomotive,\nrespectifully mindful of the task, drew past advertisements of watering places.\nSuperficial folk declared this young man was an idiot, and based their affirmation\non the abnormal development of his cranium, planted with a frizzled moss of\nfair hair and on the flecks of slaver clinging to his soft, half open mouth. His\ngreen eyes were like two skinned grapes between his heavy lids. His hand played\nwith a scapular, which rubbed against his flattened breastbone. Idiots' souls are\noften enough like those lordly demesnes, which to passers-by reveal only the\nmonotony of their commons; reserving the splendour of their facades to the\ninitiated living between courtyard and garden.\nVII\nWhen the idiot had felt on his face the deep bite of the whip whose elm tree\nhandle the coachman brandished, he understood confusedly how dangerous the\nvicinity of the powerful may be for the humble of this world. He dried with"}, {"page_pdf": 63, "page_imprimee": "135", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.63", "texte": "the back of his hand the trickle of blood which dripped from his torn skin,\nand without exciting himself further, quickly mounted the footbridge which\ncrossed the line. A fly with glimmering corselet sucked the tepid stain\nbesmearing the wounded cheek. The sweat caused by his flight fell on the half\nwit's neck and forced a fleeting twinge from the sore flesh, while, at the same time,\na greasy cold drop of perspiration touched the delicate shell of the ear encrusted\nwith granules of dirt. But the young man carried under his lids the vision of\na waxy woman smothered in a foam of ermine and lace. And he fled .. . bent\ndouble, his hands clutched over his wretched jacket, like a fanatic who has just\nstolen a holy relic.\nVIII\nOn the side of the woody hill there were villas, white, blue and rose colour.\nThere was also one immense villa whose delicate orange facade recalled the col-\nour of fresh butter or old lace. It was in this asylum that the municipality's\nrepresentatives installed the King and his beard, the Queen and her pearls, the\nPrincess and her cough. After the customary greetings, the monarch recom-\npensed the hospitality offered him by the town by conferring an out-of-date\norder on its first magistrate. The mayor, wearing the decoration, returned to his\noffice, sporting an orange ribbon with fine black and red alternating lines, while\nthe King condescended to mix himself a drink composed of gin and dark beer\n— a potion of which he was very fond.\nIX\nThe old woman broke open a round loaf and soaked the split crumb with olive\noil. She spread out on the slice she had so prepared two salted anchovies, a raw\ntomato cut into slices, and some shreds of onion. Then she placed the upper\nhalf of the bread like a lid on the soaked slice, and handed it to the idiot. fShe hoped\nto console her grandson with this magnificent nourishment. She had previously\nwashed his wound, which a piece of white sticking-paper -— with a green border\nlike the paper one tears off the postage stamps, guarded from dust, blow-flies and\nscratching nails. But the idiot gently pushed away the oil-soaked bread which\nhis grandmother offered him, and set himself to pluck all the roses in the hedge,\nuntil the sun smote him on the nape of his neck with its burning mallet. Then\nhe went into the house, huddled himself up on the hearth where the kettle purred\nin unison with the cat, and occupied himself until evening watching the friable\npictures of the live coals and the changing ashes. t ; .\nX\nPearls maintain a universal value which defies the caprices of fashion. A\nconscientious jeweller convinced the Queen of this truth, and the delicate exile"}, {"page_pdf": 64, "page_imprimee": "136", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.64", "texte": "began to shed her pearls so as to preserve a semblance of elegance at her little\ncourt, much in the way one crumbles up a brioche to feed the useless swans on\nthe lawn. The King had never to go without his favorite gin, the Queen was able\nto surround herself with her customary parasites, and the Princess could stretch\nout her shrunken body under a rose-embellished pergola hung with barbaric\nsilks. Passers-by tried to catch a glimpse of her through the iron gratings of the\nvilla, while she received with the same icy indifference the bows of straw-halted\ncounter-jumpers and the stiff salutes of officers going to the forts which traced\ntheir geometric lines, as if drawn by a ruler on the rigid sky.\nXI\nThe local industry was that of exploiting foreigners. The casino offered\nthem its dancing hall and green tables ; the sea its yachts and fishing parties in\nflannels, the mountain its painted villas, well combed gardens and waterfalls,\nguarded by turnstiles, and the town itself its carnival with the slow procession\nof oscillating cardboard monsters, the multicolored rain of the confetti, the hail\nof the rattles and the flying exchange of bouquets. The coarse meteques pelt\neach other with confetti. Those who are offended by the savagery of this sport\nreserve their favours for the battles of flowers, where fortunes fade with the heaps\nof cast blossoms, whose odorous corpses are carried away in a special boat on the\nevening of the fetes. During this season, the rage for pleasure tears the perfumed\ncrowds from the depth of their villas. Pleasure flings them among the stunted\npalms and the velvet-dressed mimosas. The sea breeze sheds its odours to\nimpregnate itself with the artificial perfumes which the happy moving crowd\nleaves in its wake. And the long drawn out agonies painfully developing\nin the sanatoriums are forgotten for a few hours.\nXII\nThe old woman placed a basket of woven osiers round the neck of her grand-\nson. She carefully piled up in the receptacle nosegays, poor little bouquets of\nwhite violets, fragile pansies and wild roses such as the beggars offer to the\nforeigners under the palm trees of the promenade. The idiot allowed the old wo-\nman to go on working. His arms swung, his hands hung down uselessly, and\nhe looked in turn at the sun, the earth and the flowers in a state of perpetual\nwonder. He sighed deeply from time to time and while his grandmother exhort-\ned him to sell the little bunches for half a franc each, he let his senses wander\nover the warm garden like a magnificent net to capture the perfumes, the col-\nours and the sounds of the season. His soul evaporated from his miserable\nbody. A morsel of white cheese dried on his parting lips."}, {"page_pdf": 65, "page_imprimee": "137", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.65", "texte": "XIII\nThe exiled Queen sold a diamond clasp in order that the Princess might ap-\npear in the finest turn-out of the fete. Two white horses with shining cruppers,\non whose closely cropped skins the movements of the muscles brought out wavy\nlines, drew an immense shell of white carnations. In the concavity of the vehicle,\nthe Princess who seemed even more fragile in a tunic of white crepe, abandoned\nherself to the rhythm of the flower-decked wheels. A page in satin led the hor-\nses by their fine silver bits, and when the coach had passed the barriers, and entered\non the track, a shudder went through the grand stand, so miraculous did the\nwhite apparition seem, so removed from life, space and time. The battle of\nflowers ceased at its passage, the odorous arch of the flying blossoms seemed\nto collapse, and the sick Princess passed through the fete amid a respectful and\nlacerating silence.\nXIV\nThe idiot alone advanced to meet her. The police had allowed him 011\nthe course out of pity, but the customers would have nothing to do with the\nmodest flowers with which the old woman had decorated the panier. The idiot\nadvanced, dragging his feet, amid the crowds of transplanted bouquets, the\ndust and the horse dung which attendants, dressed in rough red smocks, swept\nrapidly into large wooden scoops. And when the idiot saw the Princess, it seemed\nto him that a second sun was piercing the February sky. He walked towards\nher with firm steps, and when he was but a yard or so from her carriage wheels,\nhe suddenly emptied the flowers from his basket over the vehicle, preserved till\nthat moment from all vulgar contact. The pansies and roses broke the white\nmonotony of the immaculate shell. A bouquet of violets grazed the cheek of\nthe Princess. The page drew himself up stiffly, and police inspectors rushed to\nthe rescue. But the virgin stopped them with a gesture, and covered the idiot\nwith a rain of flowers which she drew with both hands from the hollow of her\nshell. The half-wit closed his eyes under the whiteness which clothed him,\nand when he reopened them, the apparition had vanished, but the miracle of the\nprecious blossoms, lilies, carnations and Bengal roses filled the little basket and\nattested to the passing of the divinity.\nXV\nBy thrusting apart two bamboos in the hedge, the half-wit discovered that\nhe could see the Princess again. And from that moment he passed all his time\nglued to the railings of the villa with his neck awry, lying in wait for the celest-\nial image. The servants drove him away with sticks, but tired of worrying him,\nended by tolerating this silent witness, who would inevitably come back and who\nseemed really inoffensive. The half-wit thus passed some thrilling afternoons"}, {"page_pdf": 66, "page_imprimee": "138", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.66", "texte": "with his eyes ever bent on the pergola with its falling roses, while a cough that\ngrew more cavernous with each evening seemed to mark time to the flowers'\nwhirling fall. The white roses dropped to earth one by one. And the day\nthe first red rose let fall its first petal, the idiot saw that the Princess picked it\nup all blood coloured in the lace handkerchief she had just put to her mouth.\nXVI\nThe municipality and the organizing committee of the festivities unanimous-\nly decided to offer a banquet in honour of the Princess, A ribbon of cerise sa-\ntin was sewn on to a ribbon of bronze satin, and they were hung together on an\nolive wood staff. Then the municipal delegation crowded into an automobile,\nand went up to the exiles' villa. The idiot admired the officials' uniforms and\nthe magnificence of the flag which a retired magistrate held up proudly. Around\nthe chaise longue whereon the Princess lay stretched out palely there was a\nthrong of frock coats. The murmur of a voice reciting passed through the fine\nleaves of the bamboos, and then there occurred a little confusion in the rose-\ndecked pergola, for a sudden syncope had cast the Princess on to her ermines\nand made her one with the tailless fur.\nXVII\nThe sea sparkles at the bottom of the stone corridor formed by the great\nhard lines of the street. The sea mixes and bruises the scales which the sun\nprecipitates to its surface, and the entire street is filled with a rhythmic fracas of\npounded metal. But the stupid warlike noise of the cannon which punctuates\nthe end of the festivities suddenly muffles this harmony. The stream of flower-\ncovered vehicles breaks up into the adjacent streets and moves towards the\nstables. Tattered and torn, the floral decorations hang over the varnished car-\ncasses of the Tilburys, the Landaus and the Victorias. The dust dims the silk,\nclouds the velvets, powders the clinging wraps. Wrinkles cut the faces tired\nfrom smiling overmuch. The idiot runs along the pavement with its little point-\ned stones, and his still full basket tosses against his heaving chest. He has forgot-\nten to offer to the public his vulgar stocks, his miserable marguerites, all falling\nto pieces, and his dog roses whose odorous cores are destroyed by the early\nMay bugs. On he goes. And since he has not seen the Princess for whom he was\nwaiting, he feels abandoned, and so lonely, that he begins running amid the crowd\nas if he were in the depths of a virgin forest.\nXVIII\nThe grocer's shop smells of dried cod, chocolate, soap and shallots. The\nproprietress talks with the servant of the Registry clerk who presses against her\nbosom a cauliflower, bloodless as the head of a decapitated man wrapped in a\nnewspaper. The half-wit waits his turn to be served, and the little jar which"}, {"page_pdf": 67, "page_imprimee": "139", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.67", "texte": "he is bringing back emptied of anchovies reflects the reversed images of the\ntwo gossips in a rainbow frame. A cat cleans its fnr on the copper counter.\nThe string for cutting the butter stretches a fine hazlewood switch, and looks\nlike a savage's bow forgotten in the rancid lump. An hour falls and bursts like\na ripe tomato. Bit by bit, the idiot learns that the orange crop promises\nto be the triple of last year's, that the air is warm even in the shade — and that\nthe little princess died that morning, choked by a clot of blood.\nXIX\nThe police inspector examined the fragments of the conservatory and the\noverturned pots of flowers. Then, since a constatation always implies a conclusion,\nthe official asserted that the entry had been effected by a professional. Count\nde R. . . lamented the affair, as it spoilt his collection of hortensias, and orchids.\nBut the Countess, who had been called in haste to the scene, very sensibly observed\nthat the robber had only taken away the white flowers and that he had respected\nall the other examples in the collection. One mysterious point peppered the ban-\nality of the affair. And the Count de R. . . who did not disdain to degrade\nhimself at the cinema every Friday called to mind the gentlemen burglars of the\nscreen. The police commissary who had an acquaintance with fine letters pro-\nnounced the name of Ophelia. The Countess de R. . . nee Milliasson spoke\nof the Dame aux Camelias. Thus the official inquiry ended in the most literary\nmanner possible.\nXX\nThe old woman had risen with the dawn to gather fresh flowers for her grand-\nson's basket. And the dew moistened the harvest which the slopes, the hedges\nand the sunken paths superbly offer to the poor of the countryside. The idiot\nate with melancholy a slice of black bread where a sprig of garlic had left the\nshining trace of its passage, and drank fresh water with little sips from a cracked\nearthen vessel. He let the old woman arrange his bouquets : then with puckered\nbrows and his tongue sticking out of his mouth, he spilled the flowers picked by\nthe old woman on to the doorstep. Then he set off with his basket empty,\nwhile the grandmother cried and kissed her scapular, where the Virgin stretched\nout her two hands on a square of blue cloth. She went down on her knees be-\nfore an image of St. Cassian and implored her good patron saint to protect the\nchild whose eccentricities were becoming worse. Shaking her fist at the\nstatue, she turned it round with its face to the wall, because that day was the\nlast battle of flowers of the season. The sale which the half-wit had failed to\nmake would have kept him and the old woman for at least a week. And,\nthe presence of God is superfluous when there is 110 fire in the grate and\nthe cupboard is empty."}, {"page_pdf": 68, "page_imprimee": "140", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.68", "texte": "XXI\nvShe will not see this flower fete thought the Queen, whom mourning had\ncompletely stripped of her pearls. The servants divided their attention between\nthe bare neck of the sovereign lady and the state bed where the embalmer had\nlaid out the Princess. The King was dozing with his nose in his beard in a black\nvelvet armchair. And the dynasty, whose barbaric name had made the Bal-\nkans tremble for seven centuries came to an end and was dissolved in this\ni\nlow-ceilinged room before this fat collapsing woman, this gouty old man and this\nslim corpse emptied of its organs. A chaplain murmured prayers between two\nflames of dripping wax, whose perfume mingled with the exhalations of the fu-\nneral roses. One felt that the whole house was in a hurry to the dead\nbody which oppressed it and to throw open to the full sun the clattering shut-\nters — destroyers of the wisteria.\nXXII\nA cannon announced the opening of the battle of flowers at the moment when\nthe funeral procession was crossing the park and moving towards the cemetery.\nAnd as it was a day of rejoicing, the little Princess set out all alone between her\nsix planks of precious wood towards the dark fields whence one never returns.\nThe municipality and the committee had sent their representatives to the obse-\nquies, but they had not dared to postpone the battle of flowers. The dead must\nnot annoy the living. These gentlemen folded their hands resignedly. The por-\nter did his duty, and the gate closed with a grind while the fox terrier of the Prin-\ncess, forgotten in a room of the villa, prolonged with his lingering howls the plaint\nof the creaking gate.\nXXIII\nThus it was that the idiot saw his Princess again for the last time. She\nappeared before him in a white flowered carriage drawn slowly by two white\nhorses, just as he had seen her at the first battle of flowers when the destiny\nof the half-wit was decided. But today the wreaths submerged the Princess,\nand she had changed her ermine scarf for a veil fringed with silver. The half-\nwit began to laugh. He was not the kind of person one can easily deceive. He\nknew that his sovereign was awaiting him, and would reply to his first onslaught\nof flowers. He advanced with measured tread toward the hearse, and plunged\nhis two hands into his miserable basket miraculously stuffed with an astonish-\ning collection of hortensias and orchids. Then the horses reared, the cortege\nput out of order, flowed back towards the railing, and there was nothing under the\nsun save an idiot in ecstasy pelting a white coffin with bouquets of white flowers.\n\nAlbert-Jean\n(Translated by Edward Storer)"}, {"page_pdf": 69, "page_imprimee": "141", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.69", "texte": "APHORISMS\n\nThe fundamental question which the existence of humanity\nsets each one of us is this : Can we forgive it ? Can we tolerate without\nan insupportable feeling of wrong and shame such an agglomeration\nof stupidity, meanness, disease, weakness, deceit and failure ? In all\nEurope there is only one voice which has said clearly and without\nshadow of doubt: Forgive. It is Russia. There is another which has said\nas clearly : Do not forgive. Man is something which must be surpassed :\nthat is to say, do not tolerate man. In both these attitudes shame is\novercome ; but in the greater part of Europe men live on permanent\nill terms with themselves, and this inability either to digest or to\nreject, this continual sticking of man in his own throat, is sometimes\ngiven the most unexpected names, such as original sin, knowledge\nof human nature, a sense of humour, or even savoir faire. Well, to\nmake the best of a bad job, even when oneself is the bad job, may be a\nform of ineffectual courage not without its aesthetic value.\nThe attitude to nature which became common with the advent\nof Romanticism, and which has now become almost a commonplace,\nwas the far-thrown echo of immediate and disagreeable sense of loss.\nA few young men realised, after the passing of the eighteenth century,\nhow far they were exiled from something within themselves which\nthe age of reason had refined away. There was something.wild, chaotic,\nspontaneous and unadorned in their natures which they could no\nlonger enjoy but which they desired poignantfy to enjoy. They chose\nas a symbol of this whatever was wildest and most \" natural\" in na-\nture, and a romantic landscape awoke in them accordingly feelings\nof abysmal longing and regret, and especially a sentiment of estrange-\nment. It was this landscape, within themselves, from which they\nfelt estranged. They stood at the opposite shore of the strait which\nseparated them from their own nature, and sent out an unutterable\nyearning towards it. We have all fallen heir to this feeling of exile\nfrom nature, and even now a fair proportion of our poetry is evoked\nby it. In the end, however, one writes one's poetry to oneself."}, {"page_pdf": 70, "page_imprimee": "142", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.70", "texte": "*\n* *\nThe Eternal Hamlet: I have always sought too eagerly for har-\nmony, and therefore I have constantly found chaos within myself.\nMy soul has sat high on its watch tower over the changing sea of my\ndesires ; and it has been distrait whenever a breeze has flecked the\nlovely, regular rise and fall of the smooth tides L,ife must be a\nwindless calm ! I am the eternal manipulator of fine weather : ah,\nthat is the reason why I am so anxious, so many-sided, so subtle, so\nincapable of action. How weary one grows with sailing round every\nstorm !\n*\n* ❖\nMen's happiness depends on what kind of weather they like.\nOne is safest if one likes every kind.\n❖\n* *\nOne ceases to think any more about the problem of happiness\nwhen one realises that, in all great adventurous natures, it is ex-\ncess of joy, terror of experienced joy, which makes them embrace\nmad, cruel or perilous deeds. It is their desire to suffer, their hope\nthat they may suffer, which drives them to risk their lives. They\nput themselves in such a position that calamity may easily befall\nthem ; this is the farthest that they can go, for it would be pointless\nand inhuman to inflict deliberately calamity upon themselves. Iyove\nof danger is really disguised love of unhappiness. There is a certain\nhypocrisy in it. The desire for suffering arises out of experienced\njoy, with just the same naturalness and necessity as the desire for\nhappiness arises out of experienced suffering.\n❖\n* ❖\nWhy does one sail away to discover the North Pole ? Why\ndoes one go through the most agonising years, ruining one's health\nand one's nerves, and becoming old, to see, for instance, the source\nof the Nile ? Why does a philosopher, an exceptional, heretical\nphilosopher, now and then sail out into the treacherous sea of meta-\nphysics, having first carefully lost the chart, and also the compass\n(the Absolute) ? Partly because one's chance of being killed is tre-\nmendously increased : there are casualties, too, among philosophers.\nPartly for glory. And partly to show that one does not care. The\nchance of being killed, however, is the most solid reason of the three."}, {"page_pdf": 71, "page_imprimee": "143", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.71", "texte": "*\n* ❖\nIn the novel the hero, after having elaborately insulted the\nvillain, turns his' back calmly upon him and walks out, with the al-\nmost mathematical certainty of being shot. (He is not shot.) There\nis hardly another action which appeals so strongly to all conditions\nof men.\n*\n* *\nThe spirit is strong : the flesh is weak. Exactly the wrong con-\nclusions have been drawn from these premisses. The body should\nbe ceaselessly and vigilantly nurtured ; it is so defenceless. Sickness\nand wounds disfigure it ; it cannot endure pain without losing some\nof its beauty. It can only be happy and strong if it is made happy\nand strong. But the soul can endure all things. It should be protect-\ned against no danger and no evil; for in passing through suffering,\ncalamity, and disease it becomes more beautiful. The opposite of\nthis has been generally taught.\n*\n* *\nFrom time immemorial, priests have gone into solitudes in order\nto find God. In India, they went into the forests; in Egypt, after the\ncoming of Christianity, into the desert; in Eastern Christendom, into\nByzantine monasteries ; in Western Christendom, into monasteries\nbuilt in the Gothic and other European traditions. It would be in-\nteresting to discover how much their conceptions of God have been\naffected by the setting in which they have found Him : how much\nof the forest or of the desert has been in Him, and in how far He has been\nByzantine or Gothic or Baroque. In the modern world with the de-\ncline of the habit of solitude, the aloofness and the infinite distance\nand serenity of God has been lost; He no longer dwells in transcendent\nunapproachability; He is everywhere, in my neighbour, in myself.\nAnd last of all, He has been given a touch of Darwinism ; He strug-\ngles, according to Mr. H. G. Wells, and on the same side as us : we\ncan help Him. First, He was aloof, for the hermit who contemplated\nHim was aloof ; then He was in the very thick of life, for democracy\nhad arisen and philosophers had become gregarious ; last of all,\nHe has been made the leader of a party, because our thinkers and\nartists have become propagandists. Man is ineluctably anthropo-\nmorphic, as Goethe said."}, {"page_pdf": 72, "page_imprimee": "144", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.72", "texte": "*\n* *\nEven if there is a real Heaven and a real Hell, the atheist who\ndenies the existence of both must be nearer to the truth than the\n\" believers \" ; for their conception of these states is so ridiculous and\nso unreal, and by the nature of the problem must be so, that it is both\na denial and a caricature of the reality. And what is it, after all,\nthat the atheist denies ? Simply this Heaven and this Hell of the\nbelievers, this piece of naive anthropomorphism. But if there are\ntwo states after death, or twenty, or a hundred, we cannot either\naffirm or deny them.\n❖\n* *\nMen are sometimes driven to adopt a certain aristocratic hum-\nility because they feel that whenever they enjoy themselves they\nare inexpressibly vulgar and self-satisfied. They have the unhappy\nknack .of seeing their own clownishness and vanity with fastidious,\npassionate detachment as if from a different climate of the mind ;\nas, for instance, a sober man might see a company in which all the\nothers were drunk. They feel then that in their jollity they have\nbeen servants to yokels ; and happiness becomes to them unseemly\nand monstrous, an offence to the sunlight. Finally they conclude\nthat they are altogether vulgar and hateful. The passage to con-\ntempt for the world and to priesthood is then not long. The Church\nderives its spiritual distinction from men of this kind.\n❖\n* *\nThe man who is hard towards himself is hard towards others.\nThe man who is lax with himself is lax with others. What are we\nto make of the man who is severe with himself and yet overflowing\nwith indulgence to everybody else ? We feel kindly towards him\nbecause after all wre benefit by his qualities, which make things easier\nfor us. Nevertheless, he is only a special kind of hypocrite, who\nconstantly deceives himself, violates himself — for what ? Perhaps\nfirst, from sheer timidity, or from the desire for a certain reputation ;\nbut eventually the whole business becomes a habit. Yes, finally,\nhe does all this because it is a habit. As a rule, we waste far too much\ntime in subtilising the activities of men. They do what they do be-\ncause it has become habitual.\n\nEdwin Muir"}, {"page_pdf": 73, "page_imprimee": "145", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.73", "texte": "MORNING WALKS IN THE CITY\nI. Schneider\nI. Narrows\nMouldy fragments of the sky\nstick between uneven teeth\nof munching housetops.\nAll the windows of the block\nhave the self-same heaviness of eye ;\nall the doorways jerkily\nwipe away a yawn.\nII. Early Morning\nThe regular cats wave left and right\nlike measuring pendulums\nticking in a visible night.\nThe wind is made of mild ho hums.\nThe avenues shaking out the light,\nthe shattering shadow now succumbs,\nand over it sunrays, lean and trite\nspar like sparrows over crumbs.\nHeed the hydrants and the height\nof their lonely, quizzical thumbs.\nIII. Park bath\nIn the park which sits beside\nmotherly offering a lap,\none can see that dew is but\nan ablution of the earth.\nPonder how the grasses dry\ntheir slim, wet fingers in the wind;\nhow the trees slap out their leaves\nlike wet dogs, thrashing clean."}, {"page_pdf": 74, "page_imprimee": "146", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.74", "texte": "ONE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM\nOR THE IRISH ODYSSEUS\n\nThanks to the imbecilic censorship enforced from time to time in America\nand England the profane books of the period are enveloped in a cloud of moral\ncastigation or embellished with a halo of artistic martyrdom, as the case may be.\nOut of this situation arises the fallacy that such and such a writer is \" ahead\nof his time, \" that he is a social evil or a prophet. It is thus that James Joyce's\nformidable Ulysses passes between vScylla and her colleague, and is consecrated\nat once by horrid little people who believe in emancipation and by equally\nhorrid people who believe in societies for the supj3ression of vice.\nTo regard steadfastly the artistic aspects of this book becomes, then,\nsomething of a problem. One must put out of mind the impassioned exhibition-\nism of the author.\nUlysses seems to have received indiscriminate praise and abuse on both\nsides of the Atlantic, even such a diffident critic as T. S. Eliot referring to its\nbeauties in the vaguest terms ; whereas, the book may be summed up as the work\nof a man who possesses an amazing sensibility for physical qualities, an extraor-\ndinary knowledge of English, and an inferior intellect.\nIn an early passage which relates the history of Father Conmee's promenade\nthrough Dublin of an afternoon, Joyce's characteristic talents and failings may be\nobserved : the priest is led from one objective situation to another, and the greet-\nings, the gestures, the expressions of all the persons he meets are related with a\nperfectly mad attention to detail, and with complete indifference to their relative\nsignificance. It is all rather interesting because of the richness of Joyce's obser-\nvation ; it is unsatisfying because he contented himself with recording slav-\nishly this procession of natural phenomena. And so we go up the hills and\ndown the valleys, trusting that there will be lovely sights for the eye along with\nthe swamps and the waste places. The prerogative of the artist-mind to shape\nmatter, to depart from verisimilitude in accordance with his design, is not\nfulfilled.\nBut this is the truest way of rendering Iyife. I have given you the whole\nof Iyife, Joyce may say. Poor Zola and Octave Mirbeau thought likewise ; yet\nwho would turn their pages now ?"}, {"page_pdf": 75, "page_imprimee": "147", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.75", "texte": "For one who did not know and love the farther reaches of the English lan-\nguage Ulysses might well be of only the slightest significance. As Life, for in-\nstance. A well informed European who had read Kraft-Ebbing and Freud would\nfind the psychopathological material antiquated and unscientific. Nor would\nJoyce's attitude appear new or arresting. The unbridled imagination of\ntreamont in Maldoror, the poetic automatism of Apollinaire in Alcools, the Cy-\nclopean laughter of Alfred Jarry in Übu Roi, these and other qualities which\nare immediate to modern artists had existed before.\nScrutinizing the literature of, let us say, the last quarter of the nineteenth\ncentury in France, we may observe that the language lacked richness, that in\nmost directions its resources seem to have been plumbed. After Mallarme,\nthe poets echo each other's figures and images. The lucid felicitous prose manner\nof Villiers de l'lsle-Adam (Contes Cruels) and of Barbey d'Aur evilly (Contes\n-Diaboliques) terminates with Remy de Gourmont, who represents the last stage\nof thin, lucid, felicitous prose. Since this period, modern Frenchmen have been\ndriven to extremes of violence and verbal anarchy to escape the \" flatness \" of\nthe language, to gain richness and body.\nThe case seems to be quite the opposite with English : the nineteenth cen-\ntury writers evaded the great hazards and the vast ranges of the language which\nappealed so powerfully to the Spenser-Marlowe-Shakespeare era. The Victo-\nrians' preoccupation with theological questions may have been the restrictive\nfactor, just as the obsessions of modern writers with social questions render\ntheir imaginations less lively.\nJoyce's courage lies in his willingness to throw overboard all given principles\nof navigation and take to the uncharted seas. His inventiveness is admirable ;\nhis rhethoric, shall we call it, is as bold as that of John Donne, in fact is very\nreminiscent of the Metaphysical poets. He has a cunning bag of tricks which\nshould be systematically overhauled. There is a madness in him for the word :\nthe play of it, the color, the tempo of a handful of them. But to his bag !\ni. Modulation — A theme in words undergoes swift variations, is carried\noff from one octave to another and sounded in different keys, as in music :\n\"... the Stephen watching through webbed lapidary's window the fingers\nprove a time-dulled chain .. . Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their\nvulture nails. Dust slept on the dull cock of bronze and silver, lozenges of\ncinnabar, on rubies, leprous and winedark .. . Born all in the dark wormy\nearth, cold specks of fire, evil lights shining in the darkness where fallen archan-\ngels flung the stars off their brows.\nThis tendency toward flight — flight from reality, from perspective, leading\nas it does toward exaggeration in a broad burlesque manner, is perhaps the most\nattractive quality in Joyce. The execution scene treated as if written by a"}, {"page_pdf": 76, "page_imprimee": "148", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.76", "texte": "romantic newspaper reporter, only \" touched up \" a thousand fold is a marvel\nof flight, burlesque and Chaplinesque fantasy.\n2. Reconstruction of words — Words are deformed, amputated, grafted\nand pruned at the author's will, as :\n\" Mr. Best eager quietly lifted his book to say. .. \"\n\"The boys sixeyed Father Conmee and laughed. \"\n3. Invention of new words, frequently with the use of nonsense s3rllables :\n\" Swiftly rectly creaking rectly rectly he was rectly gone. \"\n4. Images — Joyce in his natural vein evades the simile, a thing is something\nelse, it is not like it :\n\" Onions of his breath came across the counter out of his ruined mouth. \"\nThe onions issuing from the man's mouth seem perfectly natural and spon-\ntaneous as compared with this :\n\" Stephen followed out of the vaulted cell into a shattering daylight of\nno thoughts. \"\nThe images, as in this case, become more sophisticated, fall into the older\ntradition at times.\n5. Jettisons grammar — Sentences are broken up, are projected without\nsemblance of syntax, without verbs or subjects, in an effort to follow the un-\nconscious movements of the mind hurrying over diverse impressions without\nbothering to complete the phrase.\n6. Designs within the sentence — expressions or phrases are reversed or\ninterposed like the elements in a Persian rug. One design which seems to appeal\nto him strongly is the pyramid standing on the point of another pyramid, the\nhourglass, if you will:\n\" Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light twining a loose hair\nbehind an ear. Sauntering sadly, gold no more, she twisted twined a hair.\nSadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind a curving ear. \"\n7 — 8 — 9 — 10 — 11 — 12 — 13 — etc. Joyce is an acrobat, a trickster.\nAlong the trail of Ulysses there are many varieties of rhetorical fireworks.\nThe intensity with which Joyce manipulates details in the absence of any\npower over the ensemble is characteristic of his preponderant sensibility. I\nshould hesitate to say that these tricks of language are deliberate ; one feels,\nrather, that they come spontaneously out of the complex sensuous nature of the\nman. Fragments of astonishing poetry buried amid tedious tracts of talk or\npsychologizing The value of his \" stunts \"is minimized by the ease with which\nthey cam be imitated, or have already begun to be. A mannerism can always\nbe mimicked by a skillful actor. Nor must the novelty of Joyce's technique\nbe overestimated. During the ten years previous to the appearance of Ulysses\nin Paris, the tendency toward verbal and rhetorical invention had been very"}, {"page_pdf": 77, "page_imprimee": "149", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.77", "texte": "widespread in America, at least. It is for this reason I take it, that Joyce\nhas been so well received in America. It is precisefy for this reason that he\nmay exert a dangerous influence, that of encouraging more and mere rhetoric.\nLiterature is really in a frightful morass at the present moment, as regards\nmeans and directives. It is clear that for those who have consciences the tra-\n♦\nditional forms of prose fiction are exasperating. Even in the work of Sher-\nwood Anderson and Waldo Frank there is a stumbling away a tatons from the\nplot-character-doctrine novel. In Europe the \" poetic novel \" and the \" cerebral\nnovel \" divide attention. In this great crisis, in this painful want of directions,\nMr. Joyce brings nothing in Ulysses, save, as I stated, his personal mannerisms.\nThe only sincere direction, manifested more strongly perhaps in modern\npainting than in literature, is toward a sort of formalism, by which the subject\nmatter is used as raw material to compose a design with, regardless of their ulti-\nmate faithfulness to an empirical reality. Something in the very air of the post-\nwar era seems to favor such a development. lies completely outside of\nthis movement. His influence toward greater discreetness, formlessness, vague-\nness, obscenity, inspiration, must be fought off as a dangerous flank attack.\nThere are interminable conversations which cover at least three-fourths of\nthe book As a method of projecting an epic it is interesting for the first 300\npages or so. But 700 ! Perhaps the sternest charge which can be made against\nUlysses is its sinful length, its waste stretches of dreary gabble by ill-educated\nmen. It may be said that the book might have been three hundred pages\nshorter without damaging its message very seriously !\nThe best thing that can be said for the profuse dialogues is that they embody\nwhat the French call sur-iealisme. That is, as a Mr. O' Brien converses Joyce\nputs extraordinary associations of thought into his head, makes flights, depar-\ntures, such as would never come to a Mr. O'Brien. This is quite amusing and\njustifiable, and may be attributed to the sensibility of Joyce.\nElsewhere in conversations between men of superior intellect on Shakespeare,\nMaeterlinck, Greek Philosophy, Irish politics, it may be assumed that Joyce\nreveals in a measure his own reflections. The figure of the poet, Stephen Dedalus,\noccurs frequently in this setting. The speech is surprisingly awkward, immature,\ninarticulate and unimpressive. This was equally the case in certain portions of\nthe \" Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, \" Joyce's previous novel. As\nvirtuoso, Joyce is astounding ; his power, his extraordinary mechanical memory\nwill make him a controversial issue for many years. The mental collapses in\nthe book, wasting so many pages, indicate simply an intellect inadequate for\nits great instrumental genius. The violinists, who thrill concert-audiences with\ntheir bowing while knowing music only superficially.\nUlysses reaches a quasi-climax in the third part, where for some 200 pages"}, {"page_pdf": 78, "page_imprimee": "150", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.78", "texte": "the method reverts to the play form. For fantasy, humor, obscenity, action,\nthis is perhaps the most exhilarating part of the book. A Dublin street\nnight with harlots, sailors, and a nondescript mob of night-prowlers, with Bloom\nholding sway as an enchanted Protean personage who turns from pursuing male\ninto a pederast, a sadist, a massochist, an impotent, what not ? In turn, all\nof the characters of the epic are brought forth, do their little dance and vanish.\nThe scenes are conceived with a whirling fantasy that suggests Chaplin again.\nWhether or not Freud is responsible for his overwhelming preoccupation with\nsex, Joyce certainly suggests the satyr. But following the Viennese interpreta-\ntation of the Unconscious, who can say that he is more the satyr than you or I ?\nIn this part, there is a groping effort made to reunite the straggling elements\nof the Odyssey a task which is evidently too much for the Joyce brain, so\nlacking in sense of proportion. Ulysses thus remains a piece of sustained out-\nlet. Pluck what you can out of it.\nIn a bar-room men are gathered about the counter, conversing again. Noth-\ning is too remote to be discussed : the Hungarian parliament, Denis's funeral,\nthe last lynching in America, Shakespeare's Othello. These men talk with\nthe freedom and vigor of the simple poor, employing the most picturesque ver-\nnacular and profanity. It is amusing to listen to them as James Joyce sits in\nand records their simple unfeigned speech. But eventually it becomes tedious,\nredundant, appalling. By the hour, by the month ! Joyce buried in this tri-\nvial vulgarity. What kind of a mind must he have, what mad design on pos-\nterity, to continue indefatigably the precious relation of this saloon-talk. I\nhad vowed a friend of mine to read the book in its entirety, to glue my to\nevery page. vSlang is healthy, should go into the language. The figures of\nspeech of rough men are honest and physical. One grows tired and beer-logged.\nSomeone take him home, sometime ! Very well, I am the little ragged bare-\nfoot boy sent by poor grandma to pluck you by the sleeve to beg you to\ncome home Mr. Joyce . . .\n\nMatthew Josephson"}, {"page_pdf": 79, "page_imprimee": "151", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.79", "texte": "NATURAL THINGS\nWilliam Rose Benet\nBecause the clustered stars or the pallor of dawn\nCan make the heart break, the eyes sting,\nI bend my soul to a will as tightly drawn\nAs a nocked bow-string.\nBecause a whisper of leaves can crucify,\nA mist arouse the lions in my blood,\nI keep my lip curled, my head high\nIn scornful hardihood.\nBecause there is love in me like a naked knife\nGrasped hotly in the hand,\nDumb in a dream I seem to move through life,\nMy language dry as sand.\nToo fine the whetted edge of my desire,\nToo keen are the wounds I bear\nFrom the moon's reluctant silver, the noon's fire\nThe unapparent air."}, {"page_pdf": 80, "page_imprimee": "152", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.80", "texte": "FACTORY CHIMNEYS AT DAYBREAK\nErnst Toller\n(Translated from the German by P. Selver)\nThey thrust their black weight into the twilit radiance,\nArmoured, they stretch themselves upward with beetling menace ;\nLike a driven wedge they split the delicate hazes,\nSo that every waft of warmth is shattered against them.\nOut of their gullets black serpents creep\nTo pale distances, which are hidden by a silvery veil.\nMutely they proclaim : \"We are stronghold and shield!\nThe fires writhe, captives in our midst. \"\nMorning is heralded by violet-tinted laughter.\nThe sky is filled with deep blue.\nThen are they like frozen sentries, jaded with watching,\nAnd they become peaked and bare and gray,\nAnd stand helpless and as if lost\nAmid the clear ether, which has given birth to a God."}, {"page_pdf": 81, "page_imprimee": "153", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.81", "texte": "PAINTÌNG, PAST AND PRESENT\n\n\" The best jest is a brief one.\" Enough of your incomprehensible cubism.\nDear reader. The cubist jest has been with us for fifteen years, and you\nhave not yet consented to devote ten minutes of your attention to this ques-\ntion which so baffles you. However, as usual, wait 20 years, in twenty years\nyou will agree with us.\nSince time immemorial the chief end of painting has been to establish do-\ncuments. These documents were our first books. These first \" book paintings \"\nwere moral or historical. Then came the iconographic document, the portrait,\nthe images of kings, then of the bourgeois, then the image of nature, when\nfashion turned the heart of man toward nature, then the image of the humble\nwhen it seemed humanitarian to occupy oneself with the lot of the humble.\nThis fundamental unity of painting goes back to the very origin of man.\nIt extends over more than 400 centuries. It was painting, but it was not ne-\ncessarily art. This activity represents the labour of millions of painters, but\nthe whole history of art could be held in one volume.\nThe history of art could be contained in one volume and there are not more\nthan ten great museums of painting in the world. And in these museums\nthere are few works which are great works of art. Moreover, many pictures\nthat once hung in art museums and private galleries pass one by one into the\narchaeological and ethnographical museums.\nThere are millions of paintings and sculptures all of which told us more\nor less interesting things. But the works which remain works of art can al-\nmost be counted on the fingers from memory. The story told by a picture\ndoes not interest us. The works which interest us and continue to live are\nthose which have such powerful plastic qualities and proportions that they\nstir our senses strongly and our intellects incisively, and thus give us greater\nperceptions of harmony. Forms establish relations between themselves. The\ngreat names of the past are those of the creators of forms. It is only because\ntheir works are the compositions of well ordered forms that all men of all\ntimes find in them that higher exaltation which is of a mathematical character\nand which is the highest faculty of man. The works of Michael Angelo, the\nEgyptians, the African Negroes, are not stories of good gods, nor are the pic-\ntures of Ingres and Poussin old wives' tales. These men are the creators of forms\nand organizers of sublime proportions. This is what humanity (to be exact, the\nspecialists) find in them. This is evidently not what the crowd finds ; the\ncrowd looks at good gods and at old wives.\nThe value of a work of art is beyond its documentary significance.\nA hundred years ago photography was invented, thirty years ago the"}, {"page_pdf": 82, "page_imprimee": "154", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.82", "texte": "cinema. The document henceforth is infallibly achieved by the click of a shutter\nor the turn of a film. At first, painting took little notice of the new fact.\nSlowly painters began to worry and ask themselves questions about the destiny\nof their art and the future of their destiny. Thousands of painters asked them-\nselves what they were good for. Confusion ! Daguerre might have changed\nsomething after all. But in fact, had he not rendered painting an immense\nservice in obliging it to define its true aims ? Let us say at once that the artists\nsaw clearly in the disorder. But to do them justice, we must consider another\narray of facts.\nWith civilization, phenomena are divided into categories. Problems of\nmorality, history, iconography, science, become so many specialities each with\nits specialists. Do plastic beauty and aesthetic emotion depend upon these\nfactors ? No.\nAnother thing : Societies express in every age \" ce qu'elles out dans le ventre.\"\nThat is the measure of their culture. It is called civilization. They differ\none from the other depending on whether the peoples are young or old, burned\nby the sun, or chilled by the fog. Thus we acknowledge the great talent of the\nPericlean age, we admit that the Romans were great builders, that the negroes\nfeared the mystery of the world, that Mediterraneans like definite solutions,\nthat Occidentals are rationalists, that our epoch has much better taste than\nthat of the Rennaissance so vaunted by the academicians. We find a certain\nspirit in each civilization, in each people. And this spirit also depends very\nmuch upon what the peoples do.\nOur epoch, then, has its spirit. •— Great industry, great finance, great ad-\nministration ; a spirit made of love of precision, objectivity and calculation, a\nnoticeable refinement of everything, a need of order, of abstraction, of specula-\ntion. In art, we are able to appreciate in the Parthenon the balance of its\ningenious proportions which satisfy us, physically and visually, by their rich-\nness and precision. While we find in the work of Rubens only a rather feeble\nskill, a lack of clearly defined forms, and a heavy spirit animated by a somewhat\ncoarse sensuality.\nFrom now on, freed from the necessity of documentary representation,\npainting can fulfill its true function. This function is the same in all times —\nto move man. The means have not changed, simply because the faculties and\nthe receptive organs have not changed. To-day the problem is stripped of\nthe undergrowth which has up till now obstructed the road travelled by the\nfew great artists whose work is really plastic. The spirit of our epoch is exigent.\nOur epoch demands a proud and simple art.\nThe fact must be faced that the photo and cinema can replace thousands\nof painters."}, {"page_pdf": 83, "page_imprimee": "155", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.83", "texte": "The work of art is a mechanism to stir man emotionally. More and more,\nplastic creation is becoming independent of all outside application. Music\n(in the past), certain architecture reached a state of happy crystalization.\nIt seems as if art, now that it is freed from all practical ends, may take a leading\nplace in the cycle of man's superior pleasures.\nIt is evident that the perception and the appreciation of plastic phenomena\nis easier for those specialists who can readily make the effort of abstraction,\nnecessary to override the domination of the subject and to go directly to the\nplastic import. Such an effort is much more difficult for the inattentive or\nunprepared spectator who announces his satisfaction with an Ingres on account\nof its subject matter and its careful workmanship. His admiration is of quite\na different category from that of the specialist. On the other hand, certain\nEgyptian sculptures evoke an identical enthusiasm in both specialist and or-\ndinary spectator,\nSo far distant is the subject and so foreign to us are the religious elements\nthey originally satisfied, that, little disturbed by the representative element, we\nare able to enjoy to the full its plastic significance as well as a completely intel-\nlectual and speculative one.\nOn the othe hand, this same spectator will still demand an explanation\nbefore a Picasso. The specialist goes directly to the plastic significance\n(pictorial or sculptural), while the public is bound by force of habit to the\ndocumentary interest.\nHowever, the public participates in the spirit characteristic of this age, and\nwhen it realizes this, will easily grasp the tendencies which actually direct the\narts. The specialist does not look at the antique masterpieces with the same\neyes as the public. And the public before a modern production does not seek\nin ancient works of art the common factors which bind the modern works to\nthe beautiful things of the past. There are common factors. Artists constantly\nturn towards the past in order to recognize them and to give themelves confi-\ndence. The public, amazed by this profound and sincere admiration of ancient\nmasterpieces, accuses them of insincerity. There's the quid pro quo, easy,\nenough to correct.\nCubism and Purism are plastic expressions of an epoch. The epoch strong-\nly manifests its spirit. These expressions made a revolution. To be exact,\nit was the public which was revolutionized. The Cubists and Purists are on the\nstraight line which goes back, through all the Masters to the plastic expressions\nwhich have lived.\n\nDe Fayet\n(Translated from the French)"}, {"page_pdf": 84, "page_imprimee": "156", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.84", "texte": "COMMENT\nBoris Pilniak, whose story <4 At the Doors \" appeared in August Broom,\nis one of the small number of young Russian prose writers who took the revo-\nlution as their theme. He is one of the still smaller number who treated this\ntheme in a manner to render their literary achievement permanent.\nRevolt of the masses, blind, instinctive, elemental — that is the revolu-\ntion as Pilniak sees it. The intellectuals of all ranks, deluded into the belief\nof guiding its course, are helplessly swept along in the torrent, often to their\nown destruction. The masses — the peasantry really -— though perhaps still\nsuperstitious and barbarous -— do they not believe in witches, the devil and\nGod ?-— have a healthy and stubborn determination to become masters of\ntheir own fate. And they are likely to succeed for There is some new truth\nhere ; there is happiness potent in this destruction\nPilniak speaks of the revolution with intimate knowledege if he does not\nalways accept it without reserve. He has followed its course though all phases,\nand has observed its effect on all classes. The revolution has seen him in Central\nRussia, in the Caucasus, in the Ukraine, fleeing the Tchekhoslovaks, fighting\nMakhno, cultivating a farm, organizing literary societies, rising to the honor\nof receiving the Academic \" pyok. \"\nIn these years of such variegated experience Boris Pilniak wrote some few\ndozen short stories and several novels. His method, especially in his late work,\nis baffling at first, for he has a tendency to shift the plane of action unexpectedly,\nto move backward and forward in time without warning, and to make seven\nleagued leaps in space unannounced. There, is, however, nothing tentative in his\nmode of procedure. Quite the contrary. The edifice he erects is measured with\nextreme care and planned with great science. If we only familiarize ourselves\nwith his new architecture and look at the building from a sufficient distance,\nthe organic unity, skeleton and outline will be seen in clear light.\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED\nPoemes a Claires Voies and Tournevie by Celine (1/Esprit Nouveau).\nPoints ds Mire by Celine (Jacques Povolozky et Cie).\n\nErnesto FRATONJ, Gerente vesponsabile.\nPrinted in Italy by a I/Universelle 8 Imprimerie Polyglotte — Roma."}, {"page_pdf": 85, "page_imprimee": "[157]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.85", "texte": "The most interesting and most stimulating magazine edited and printed in con-\ntinental America.\nTHE DOUBLE DEALER\nPUBLISHED AT NEW ORLEANS ■ FOUNDED DECEMBER, 1920\nInvites you to read it for five months for $1.00\nASIDE from THE BROOM, published abroad, THE DOUBLE DEALER is the only\nhonest literary magazine in the United States. Catering to neither radicals nor\nreactionaries, it \" deceives them both by speaking the truth. \" Its one purpose is\nto print good writing, and it numbers among its contributors such authors as Benjamin\nde Casseres, Sherwood Anderson, Maxwell Bodenheim, Lola Ridge, Arthur Symons,\nPadraic Colum, Lord Dunsany, Joseph Campbell, Katharine Tynan, Burton Rascoe,\nCarl Van Vechten, Babette Deutsch, Louis Untermeyer, Hart Crane, Matthew Joseph-\nson, Richard Aldington, Paul Eldridge, Vincent Starrett, Louis Gilmore, Emmy Veronica\nSanders, Hortense Flexner, Oscar Williams, Herman George Scheffauer, Alfred Kreym-\nborg, and half-a-hundred others.\nTHE DOUBLE DEALER is a strictly literary magazine, printing editorials, fiction,\nessays, criticism, poetry, book reviews, and comment. If you do not read it, you are mis-\nsing much of the finest creative and critical work now being done in America and Europe.\nEditors : JULIUS WEIS FRIEND, BASIL THOMPSON\n—' - — Managing Editor: John McCujrE\nSample copy, twenty-five cents. Year's subscription, $2.50\n———=—————————— ■ TRIAL O FFE R a\nTHE DOUBLE DEALER # 204 Baronne street # New Orleans, La., U. S. A.\nI enclose $1.00. Send The Double Dealer for five months to\nName\nAddress ; t\n\nOCTOBER BROOM will\npresent the first instalment of\nSTAVROGIN'S CONFESSION:\nunpublished chapters from\nDOSTOIEVSKY'S novel\nPOSSESSED\nft ft ft\nMALDOROR finds a kindred soul.\n# ♦ #\nTHE ANTIPODES OF UNITY\nare visited\nunder the auspices of\nBLAISE CENDRARS.\nAlso: A CHAMPION IN THE\nWILDERNESS by ROBERT SANBORN.\nYOUNG MAN WITH SPECTACLES\nby MALCOLM COWLEY.\nand others poems, stories, etc.\n\nAN OASIS\nOf spirits choice the rookery\nSuch is the cozy Bookery.\n'Twill rest your soul, this soothing place\nWhere range the brains of the human race.\nTHE BOOKERY\n14 West 47th Street, - New York City\nBooks on sexology and psychoanalysis.\n\nFRANK SHAY'S\nINTERNATIONAL\nBOOK SHOP\nNEW YORK\nLONDON PARIS"}, {"page_pdf": 86, "page_imprimee": "[158]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.86", "texte": "r~\nTHE FORUM\nEDITED BY\nGEORGE HENRY PAYNE\nAMERICA'S INTELLECTUAL MAGAZINE\nART, DRAMA, MUSIC, LITERATURE, SCIENCE, FINANCE, INTERNATIONAL POLITICS\nSome Contributors :\nGEORGE SANTAYANA\nMAURICE HEWLETT\nHAVELOCK ELLIS\nARTHUR SYMONS\nVISCOUNT HALDANE\nGEORGE BRANDES\nOTTO H. KAHN\nSTEPHANE LAUZANNE\nROLANDI RICCI\nGENERAL CHARLES H. SHERRILL\nPRINCE ANTOINE BIBESCO\nLADY ASTOR, M. P.\nCOMMANDANT DE MIERRY\nRONALD TREE\nGILBERT MURRAY\nGEORGE W. WICKERSHAM\nROBERT EMMETT MAC ALARNEY\nYearly Subscription: 84.00 * Single copy 35 cents\nSPECIAL TRIAL OFFER — 11.00 for 4 issues\nTHE FORUM\n354 Fourth Avenue\nNew York City\n„ . , , r , S $ 4.00 for one year's subscription\nLnclosed please nnd \\ „, , , , , , . .\n112 11.00 tor tour month s subscription\nName\nAddress"}, {"page_pdf": 87, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.87", "texte": "THE\nEdited by John Fcirrcir\n112\nIF you wish to understand literary currents, to know literary personalities, to\nkeep in touch with present-day writing and at the same time to be amused,\nTHE BOOKMAN, we believe, will perform this service for you.\nWHAT OTHERS THINK OF THE BOOKMAN\nIRVIN S. COBB\n\" It is the most informative, the most entertaining and incidentally the\nbrightest and most amusing publication devoted to literature and its products\nthat I have ever seen. \"\nCHARLES HANSON TOWNE\n\" THE BOOKMAN is the most alive of all the literary magazines ... A\nmore stimulating editorial policy could not be imagined. \"\nLOUIS UNTERMEYER\n\" To that THE BOOKMAN leads its own particular field is to give it\nless than its due for it has, technically as well as figuratively, no rivals. \"\nCARL VAN DOREN\n\" THE BOOKMAN is alive. If there is a better quality, in the long run,\nfor a general literary magazine to try for, I do not know what it is. \"\nELLIS PARKER BUTLER\n\" Here's my criticism of THE BOOKMAN — a cheer for a year's subscrip-\ntion. \"\nSome Contributors for 1922\nJames Branch Cabeee\nAlexander Wooecott\nJoseph Hergesheimer\nFanny Hurst\nH. L. Mencken\nHugh Waepoee\nHeywood Broun\nTheodore Dreiser\nGertrude Atherton\nSinclair Lewis\nMary Austin\nCare Sandburg\nJessie B. Rittenhouse\nStuart P. Sherman\nZOJSTA GAEE\nRebecca West\nSomerset Maughan\nWiijjam Rose Benet\nFeoyd Deee\nChristopher Moreey\nStephen Vincent Benet\nRobert Cortes Hoeeiday\nMary Roberts Rinehart\nIrvin S. Cobb\nAefred Kreymborg\nSherwood Anderson\nTHE BOOKMAN'S Bureau of Practical Advice to Writers: Broadway ; Our\nLiterary Signpost, by Kenneth Andrews ; The Practical Side of Writing, by Robert\nCortes Holliday ; Poems of the Month ; The Bookman's Guide to Fiction ; The\nLondoner; The Bookshelf; Foreign Note and Comment; The Gossip Shop ; The\nEditor Recommends, etc.\nAll the latest news of the literary world each month in THE BOOKMAN.\n\" A splendid, live and interesting publication. \" .\n40 cents monthly $4.00 a year\nGEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY * PUBLISHERS * NEW YORK"}, {"page_pdf": 88, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.88", "texte": "E DIAL\nAMERICA'S FOREMOST JOURNAL\nOF ART AND LETTERS\nTHE sole purpose of THE DIAL is to bring the\nwork of the artists who count to the people who\ncare. It is publishing only the art and the literature\nby which our generation here and abroad will be re-\nmembered. It publishes the best work it can find\nby the greatest living authors and by unknown men\nand women : the best in old forms and in new : the\nbest from Europe and the best in America — without\nany anticipation of commercial success, without\ntruckling to popular prejudice, or undertaking pro-\npaganda for any school, coterie or group.\n\nThe editors of The Dial\nare happy to announce that\nthey will shortly begin the\npublication of\nMANY MARRIAGES\na complete novel by\nSHERWOOD\nANDERSON\nAmerica's foremost writer of fiction.\n\" He depicts life in the Middle\nWest as Dostoievsky pictured\nthe many-colored life of Russia,\nwith almost as wonderful a\ntouch of genius, with a more\nconcentrated and daring skill. \"\n— \" New York Times\n\" He is one of the few Amer-\nican novelists who possesses that\nold-fashioned equipment, a soul —\nhe is always deeply interesting. \"\n— Francis Hackett.\n\nCONTRIBUTORS\nSherwood Anderson\nMax Beerbohm\nJuuen Bend a\nJohan Bojer\nRobert Bridges\nVan Wyck Brooks\nJoseph Conrad\nBenedetto Croce\nCharges Demuth\nAndre Derain\nHunt Diederich\nJohn Egunton\nT. S. Eijot\nAnatoi,e France\nJean Giraudoux\nThomas Hardy\nHermann Hesse\nHugo von Hofmannsthai,\nJames Joyce\nGaston IvAChaise\nD. H. I/AWRENCE\nReinhoed IyEPSIUS\nWyndham Lewis\nVACHEIy IvINDSAY\nRobert Morss Lovett\nAmy LowEUv\nHenry Mcßride\nJohn Marin\nThomas Mann\nHenri Matisse\nGeorge Moore\nJ. Middeeton Murry\nPABiyO Picasso\nEzra Pound\nMarceiy Proust\nEdwin Arlington Robinson\nRomain Roland\nBERTRAND RUSSEIvIV\nCare Sandburg\nG. Santayana\nArthur Schnitzeer\nMay Sinclair\nJames Stephens\nArthur vSymons\nWilvUam Butter Yeats\n\n\"If you keep your present standard,\nyou will eclipse every known periodi-\ncal published in English. \" — Richard\nAldington.\n\" The American Dial is perhaps the\nmost fully realized of all the promising\nliterary magazines now current in\nthe world. \" — A. R. Orage, Editor\nof \"The New Age\".\n\" One of the finest literary reviews\nin the world today. \" — Valery\nin \"La Revue de France\n\"... superior to anything being\npublished here or in England — or,\nas far as my knowledge goes, on the\ncontinent. \" — John Peai.e Bishop,\nManaging Editor, \"Vanity Fair\".\n\" The Dial has now conclusively\nestablished itself as a permanent ad-\ndition to the forerank of American\nmagazines. \" — \" New York Times \".\n\" Yours is the only magazine of which\nI am aware, thoi stands without res-\npect of persons for the honor ot lite-\nrature. \" — J. Middleton Murry.\n\nFREE THE DIAL\none of the notable books of the year\nAND EVEN NOW, by Max Beerbohm\nMARIA CHAPDEIyAINE, by I/hjis Hemon\nTHE ENORMOUS ROOM, by E. E. .Cummings\nSELECTED POEMS, by William Butler Yeats\nMr. WADDINGTON OF WYCK, by May Sinclair\nCIVILIZATION IN THE UNITED STATES, by thirty well\nknown American writers.\n\nYou may enter my name for a year's subscription\nto THE DIAL, beginning with the\nnumber. You will also send me the following book.\nName :\nAddress\nBook\nI enclose $5.00 I will remit $5.00\nTHE DIAIy - 152 W. 13th vSt. N. Y. C. - B-9-22"}, {"page_pdf": 89, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaap192209-01.1.89", "texte": "IF The New Republic's worth were estimated\nby no other criterion than the books with\nwhich it has been identified, its score would still\nbe the highest. The Keynes Book first was\nintroduced to America in its pages. It published\nserially \"Queen Victoria\" by Lytton Strachey. It\nhas brought out its own special editions of these\nbooks: \"The Outline of History,\" by H. G.Wells,\n\"Queen Victoria,\" by Lytton Strachey, and\"The\nStory of Mankind,\" by Hendrik Van Loon. They\nwere the three outstanding successes of three\npublishing seasons.\nBooks and Characters\nFRENCH AND ENQLISH\nby LYTTON STRACHEY\npromises to be a fourth. \"The virtues of this\nessay (on Racine) are, indeed, inexhaustible,\" says\nJ. Middleton Murry. \"It is certainly one of the\nfinest pieces of literary criticism ever written in\nEnglish. For beautiful movement and clear\nprofoundity ... I know of nothing to compare\nwith it. As one who practices the art ... I can\nonly say: this essay satisfies my ideal of criticism.\nIt is perfect.\" There are fourteen other essays in\nthe volume, each one meriting its especial praise.\nIt is a Harcourt book ($3.50 net). It may be had\nwith a year's subscription to The New Republic\n(52 issues, regularly $5) if you enclose $6.50 to\nThe New Republic\nAmerica's Liberal Weekly\n421 W. 21st St., New York City"}]}