{"numero_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-08-14-01", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01", "ocr_sha256": "f3e442bb724d347a771fdfea6a0e17851af80a259c4dcf128fd1b44ae12ef42c", "source_tei": "https://github.com/Princeton-CDH/bluemountain-transcriptions/blob/main/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1915/08/14_01/bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01.tei.xml", "source_mets": "https://github.com/pulibrary/BlueMountain/blob/main/metadata/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1915/08/14_01/bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01.mets.xml", "url_numero": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01", "articles": [{"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-08-14-01-c001", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01#c001", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "couv. 1", "page_fin": "couv. 1", "image_debut": 1, "image_fin": 1, "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=bmtnaaq19150814-01.2.1", "titre_corps": "RABBONI", "titre_sommaire": "RABBONI", "signature_source": "Oscar Wilde", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.1", "debut_caractere": 137, "fin_caractere_exclue": 771, "texte": "RABBONI\nOscar Wilde\nThe silver trumpets rang across the dome:\nThe people knelt upon the ground with awe:\nAnd borne upon the necks of men I saw,\nLike some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome.\nPriest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam,\nAnd king-like, swathed himself in royal red,\nThree crowns of gold rose high above his head,\nIn splendor and in light the pope passed home.\nMy heart stole back across wide wastes of years\nTo one who wandered by a lonely sea,\nAnd sought in vain for any place of rest:\n\"Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest,\n\"I, only I, must wander wearily,\n\"And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-08-14-01-c002", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01#c002", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "couv. 1", "page_fin": "30", "image_debut": 1, "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=bmtnaaq19150814-01.2.2", "titre_corps": "Edison's Little Thimble Theatre: Its Real Mission", "titre_sommaire": "Edison's Little Thimble Theatre: Its Real Mission", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.1", "debut_caractere": 773, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1851, "texte": "Edison's Little Thimble Theatre:\nIts Real Mission\n$\n|UST to make it clear once more: Mr. Charles Edison's\nLittle Thimble Theatre has no other purpose but to give\nyoung American musicians, composers, poets and playwrights\na hearing. To act as a free forum accessible to everybody who\nhas done something that he considers worth while and to give\nhim a chance to be heard by an unprejudiced audience.\nJudging from Mr. Edison's mail of the last weeks, a good\nmany people seem to be under the impression that the Thimble\nTheatre is a kind of philanthropic institution for musicians and\nsingers out of employment, others mistake it for a concert hall\nwhere artists of fame will be heard. The mere fact that one\nhas a known name, that one has a pocketful of newspaper clip-\npings or has sung or played before European princes and mem-\nbers of royal families and has received medals and crosses of\nhonor, bars him from an appearance in the Little Thimble\nTheatre.\nIt is just the American who works and toils honestly in this\ncountry and has not had, for some reason or another, a chance"}, {"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "30", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1508, "texte": "to be rejected or accepted by an American public, that Mr.\nEdison is interested in.\nWe live in an age of recognition. The tragedy of a Poe\ncould hardly be repeated to-day. The good work done will\nultimately gain recognition and it is solely up to the man him-\nself to create for himself the right circle of activities. America\nneeds good music, good poems, good books. While the writer\nhas it comparatively easy to persuade a publisher to see the\nmerits of his works, the musician is handicapped by that supreme\nillusion which has taken hold of all impresarios and producers\nof plays: that America has no music and that the American\nhas to look for real good stuff to Mother Europe. But the\nworst of it is they don't want even to lend themselves to an\nexperiment. They are afraid of everything that hasn't got\nthe European label.\nIt would be megalomania to assume that the activities of the\nLittle Thimble Theatre, even if successful beyond expectation,\ncould change this condition. But the little snowball kicked off\nincidently from the high mountain grows to be a big avalanche.\nAnd if the larger public cannot be reached and the composer\nor musician derives no other benefit but to play in public, his\nself-confidence is being strengthened and he returns home\nfilled with new ambitions, and plunges into his work with new\nvigor.\nMr. Edison invites every American musician, composer or\nsinger to take advantage of his Little Thimble Theatre. Serious\nefforts will find serious consideration."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-08-14-01-c003", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01#c003", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "30", "page_fin": "31", "image_debut": 2, "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=bmtnaaq19150814-01.2.3", "titre_corps": "The Monday Matinee", "titre_sommaire": "The Monday Matinee", "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": "30", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 1510, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2842, "texte": "The Monday Matinee\nMR. W. G. BLAIKIE MURDOCH who will relate on Monday\nat 2:30 P. M., his experiences as a passenger of the Cunard\nliner Orduna, which had a narrow escape from German tor-\npedoes, and landed a couple of weeks ago, is one of the many\nvictims of the present struggles in Europe. Mr. Murdoch is a\ndistinguished English author, art and music critic and was forced\nby circumstances to leave his country, in order to start a new\nexistence in a land of peace.\nThe English papers and reviews don't require at present music\nor art critics. Mr. Murdoch endeavors to give a series of lec-\ntures on art subjects during the coming season.\nMiss Ruth Ryan, pianist, will play a few compositions of her\nteacher, the late Raphael Joseffi, and a program composed\nchiefly of classical music. Miss Ryan used to appear in public\nat the age of nine and ten years on the programs of one of\nthe most distinguished musicians of New York. But at the\ninstigation of her teacher she abstained from public appear-\nance until after completion of her musical studies.\nShe was Mr. Joseffi's favorite pupil. He believed in her career\nas an interpreter of classical music.\nMiss Ryan is very young. She is not twenty yet. She\nbelieved in herself, and equipped with an introduction of Mr.\nJoseffi—an unusual thing, as he never gave testimonials or rec-"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "31", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 594, "texte": "ommendations of any kind—she started her rounds of impres-\narios and concert managers. They heard her playing, they\nasked her if she had been in Europe, and all they had to say\nwas: \"Take a trip to Europe, give a concert in Paris, Vienna or\nBerlin, and we will be glad to put you on our program.\"\nMiss Ryan, unfortunately is not financially in the position to\ntake a trip to Europe in order to go through a mere formality\nof getting the European label.\nTherefore, she has not had a hearing in America yet.\nA selection of classic and contemporary music will complete\nthe program."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-08-14-01-c004", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01#c004", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "31", "page_fin": "32", "image_debut": 3, "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=bmtnaaq19150814-01.2.4", "titre_corps": "The Being an Eye-Witness' Account of the Attack on the Orduna", "titre_sommaire": "The Being an Eye-Witness' Account of the Attack on the Orduna", "signature_source": "W. G. Blaikie Murdoch", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "31", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 596, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2937, "texte": "The Atlantic in War Time:\nBeing an Eye-Witness' Account of the Attack on the Orduna\nBy W. G. Blaikie Murdoch\nTHE Americans are very friendly towards a stranger, and\nhow delightful it is to be among them, how different is\nNew York from London and Edinburgh just now! In those\ntowns, night after night, there is hardly a lamp lit, so strong\nis the terror of Zeppelin attacks; while, try as one will, to avoid\nbrooding on war and its horrors, ever and again these things\nrise in the mind. Here, however, it is possible to breathe freely,\nand hence a deep feeling of gratitude to the Americans gathers\nin the heart, gratitude for their hospitality; yet now and then,\nperforce, one looks back on that awful scene on the Orduna,\nevery detail springing up clearly before the mind's eye.\nThe tender, putting off from Liverpool, plunges wildly in the\nswell. And already anxiety manifests itself, people scanning\nthe water as though expecting to see a periscope hard by the\nshore, while excitement grows tenser when at length the ship\nsets out from port. In general, on a voyage, a distinct difficulty\nattends the first steps toward intimacy among the passengers,\nand usually the ice is broken by comments on the weather; but\non this occasion the topic of submarines rules conversation,\nevery person on board being asked repeatedly how long he or\nshe thinks will be required to take us out of the perilousl zone.\nTwenty-four hours is the verdict of officers, many people withal\nhoping against hope, and clinging to the faith that by that very\nevening, danger will be past. Still, the imminence of peril be-\ncomes more insistent presently, the order going 'round that\nall are to muster in the saloon; and there the head steward\nenlarges upon the need of presence of mind in the hour of\nattack, instructions being given, thereafter, as to how to don\nlifebelts and embark in the boats. Meanwhile the ship is steal-\ning past the Irish coast, and, the scene of the Lusitania disaster\nis neared, scrutiny of the tumbling waste of cruel grey water\nbecomes yet keener than heretofore; while anon, evening having\ngiven place to night, sea air belies its reputation as a good nar-\ncotic, most of the voyagers lying wide awake, hour after hour.\nThe morning is a bright, though cold one, and already a few\npeople are on deck. Seeing one of the crew make a curious"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "32", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3313, "texte": "signal, they feel nervous, and scan the horizon, where they mark\nwhat might be a harmless trawler. In a moment, nevertheless,\nthey are disillusioned, the Orduna commencing to race at her\nhighest speed; and then, suddenly, a white line like the wake\nof a steamer—strangely savage it looks—is seen rushing towards\nus through the water. Every heart beats wildly, but the ship\nswerves like a hunted stag, and with a changed course she\nspeeds onward, as yet unscathed. \"Lifebelts on! All on deck\nat once!— Get to the boats!\"—so rings the cry now, passengers\nrushing up the companion-ladders accordingly; while at this\njuncture, the foe disappearing, changes its position stealthily.\n\"Scatter there, scatter!\" comes the next order; while simul-\ntaneously, the submarine having risen again, a shell hurtles\nthrough the air, and then another and another, each bursting\nnot far to stern. Will they launch another torpedo? Can we\nreally outpace them? How long will it take to get out or\nrange?—such are questions which rise to the lips, the ship still\nracing forward. Yet every one refrains from asking for definite\ninformation, fearful of getting anything but a consoling reply.\nAnd so the half-dressed, unkempt people loiter on deck, shiver-\ning with terror, till ultimately, a gong being heard, it dawns\non the company that breakfast would not be served unless perils\nwere insignificant!\nThere is no feeling quite so delightful as that of relief, and\nthis feeling is ours in abundance now; while a bond of kinship\nhas quickly grown up among us, begotten of our mutual adven-\nture. Breakfast, proverbially a silent meal, is enlivened to-day\nby voluminous conversation, all details of the attack being dis-\ncussed critically. Some had not actually seen the submarine, and\nthese must needs be enlightened concerning its precise appear-\nance ; while betimes the garrulous are maintaining that, according\nto recent wireless information, a French frigate has already sunk\nour assailant. Furthermore, there is loud praise of the skill\nshown, throughout the affair, by our captain, great consolation\nbeing found in this last. And thus hearts grow lighter and\nlighter, while with the advent of evening songs are being sung\nin the lounge.\nAnd all the while the ship is sailing westward, westward—\nday after day passing without revealing anything _ save intermin-\nable miles of water, painfully monotonous, devoid of the least\nsuggestiveness. A definite,_ perceptible sentiment—one which\ninspired Wagner to the making of some of his greatest music—\npertains to the German Ocean; and voyaging across it, recollec-\ntions of that music come to mind often. Is there not, too, a sea\nwhose name and Homer's are eternally associated? While many\nrivers have been sung beautifully, many are sacred to this poet or\nto that But the Atlantic, almost naked of legendary lore, lacking\nin appeal to the imagination, destitute of any definable char-\nacter—no! it will never evoke an epic like The Odyssey, an opera\nlike The Flying Dutchman• It is not a thing to be looked back\non fondly. Surely, however, those who crossed it during the\ngreat war will never forget their journey; while on the minds\nof many such there is stamped, indelibly, a picture of a morning\nwhen the awful cry was raised: \"Lifebelts on, all on deck at\nonce!\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-08-14-01-c005", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01#c005", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "33", "page_fin": "33", "image_debut": 5, "image_fin": 5, "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=bmtnaaq19150814-01.2.5", "titre_corps": "Disc Concerts on Washington Square", "titre_sommaire": "Disc Concerts on Washington Square", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "33", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 331, "texte": "Disc Concerts on Washington Square\n\"THE Diamond Disc concerts on Washington Square will\ntake place during this week on Tuesday and Friday even-\ning at 8 o'clock. The program on Tuesday is made up chiefly\nfrom operas of Verdi, and Wagner and popular songs. On\nFriday, chiefly solos and stringed music will be played."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-08-14-01-c006", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01#c006", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "33", "page_fin": "33", "image_debut": 5, "image_fin": 5, "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=bmtnaaq19150814-01.2.6", "titre_corps": "A Tragedy", "titre_sommaire": "A Tragedy", "signature_source": "Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "33", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 333, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1616, "texte": "A Tragedy\nGuido Bruno\nASHINGTQN SQUARE. A bench near the Garibaldi\nmonument. Mamie and Tom are playing. Mamie has her\nwooden doll in an old cigar box. She plays with little Tom,\n\"father and mother.\" The doll is their child. Tenderly Mamie\nhugs the doll in her arms. Tom, the father, has to leave them.\nHe has to_ go out into the world. He has to earn a living. He\nhas to bring food to mother and child. Tom passes through\nthe Washington Arch. He crosses the street and walks towards\nMacdougal Alley. On the doorstep of one of the first houses\nstands Mary. Mary, the child of the lady with the big, black\nauto.\nMary walks towards Tom. She shows him her big, beautiful\ndoll, with the blonde curls of real hair, and blue eyes that open\nand close automatically, a doll with a human face. A face that\nlooks like his little baby sister. And then she shows him the\ncarriage, a real baby carriage, with silk curtains and soft pillows.\nAnd Tom plays \"father and mother\" with little Mary.\nMamie is still sitting on the bench near the Garibaldi monument,\nrocking her baby and waiting patiently for Tom. The father\ndoes not come back. And she takes her cigar box and her\nwooden doll and moves to a bench in the most remote corner\nof Washington Square South.\nMamie starts to cry heart-breakingly."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-08-14-01-c007", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01#c007", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "33", "page_fin": "33", "image_debut": 5, "image_fin": 5, "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=bmtnaaq19150814-01.2.7", "titre_corps": "Drawing by Clara Tice", "titre_sommaire": "Drawing by Clara Tice", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "33", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 1618, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1639, "texte": "Drawing by Clara Tice"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-08-14-01-c008", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01#c008", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "34", "page_fin": "35", "image_debut": 6, "image_fin": 7, "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=bmtnaaq19150814-01.2.8", "titre_corps": "The Spirit of the Village", "titre_sommaire": "The Spirit of the Village", "signature_source": "Hippolyte Havel", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "34", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3022, "texte": "The Spirit of the Village\n\n117 HEN I speakof Greenwich Village I have no geographical\nconception in view. The term Greenwich Village is to\nme a spiritual zone of mind. Is there any raison d'etre for\nthe existence of a spiritual Greenwich Village? I believe\nthere is. Those fellow wanderers who pawn their last coat\nin rue Franc Bourgeoise, who shivered in rue St. Jacques and\nsearched for the cheapest brasserie in rue Lepic, those who\ncrowded the Olympe in rue de la Gaiete, will understand the\ncharm of the Village. A ramble along Charlton and Varick\nStreets is a reverie, not to speak of the sounds of—how do\nMinetta Lane, Patchin Place, Sheridan Square and Gay Street\nstrike you?\nTo be sure the native of the Village has no especial\ndistinction. He is just as dull as the native of Bronx, or the\nnative of Hoboken. The apaches of the Village are more\ncrude than the gangs of upper Riverside. So are in propor-\ntion, the alguecils of the Village more vicious and brutal than\ntheir confreres in other precincts. The Village has also its\nsneaking reformers and neighborhood centers full of apostles\nin male and female petticoats, good people who clean out\ncertain parts of their territory from outcasts and drive those\npoor dregs of humanity into other parts of the city. The joints\nof the Village compare favorably with Doctor's and Barney\nFlynn's emporiums on the Bowery and Chatham Square.\nThe soothsayers of yesteryear assured us that the Village\nis doomed. . . No danger so far though the subterranean\nbarbarians are busy in reconstructing Seventh Avenue and\na subway for the men in a hurry. True also, the\n\"Grapevine\" has disappeared and we miss the pewters of\ncreamy ale. But take courage, ye tipplers, there are other\nheavenly retreats Jn the Village. \"Grifou\" is dead, but there\nis a new brasserie de Lilla, yea, even a cafe GroessenWahn.\nJosiah Flint, if he should awaken from his grave would not\nbe lonesome in the Village.\nIf you lose your illusions and the evil one takes hold of\nyour soul, you leave your garret on the sacred Butte and rent\na studio pear Pare Monceau, you leave the Soho and take\nyour domicile in Chelsea, or you become a traitor to Green-\nwich Village and move into an apartment on Riverside Drive.\nYou will smile pityingly over the folly of the poor devils who\nlose their lives in ugly holes on Washington Square, or find\npleasure in cheap restaurants among pickpockets on Carmine\nStreet. But some evening, after the West Indian has pushed\nyou up to your steamheated apartment and after you have\ngone over your bank account, you will fall into reverie and\nyou will sigh for the dear old haunts of the Village. Old\nreminiscences will float before your vision and old names will\nstrike chords in your damned soul, and you will envy the\nsilly chaps and maidens _ who remained true to the Village.\nLike a sneakthief you will return secretly some evening and\nyou will look up the dear old places. But the charm will be\ngone. Even the caravanserie on Thirty-first Street and the"}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "35", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 62, "fin_caractere_exclue": 707, "texte": "Zukunftstatt on Seventy-seventh Street will close their portals\nto you. Then you have lost your illusions, your enthusiasm\nand your idealism. Greenwich Village is a spiritual conception\nand shopkeepers are not interested in dreamers. The Village\nis the rallying point for new ideas. Its spirit reaches the\nheathenish bellyworshippers of Harlem, even nature fakers\nnear the Zoo in the Bronx. The Bronxite points proudly to\nPoe's cottage, but come to the Village, mon chere, and I will\npoint out to you \"Grub Street\" where another iconoclast,\nThomas Paine, earned his bread and his fame in daily struggles\nwith the economic devil.\n\nHippolyte Havel"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-08-14-01-c009", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01#c009", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "35", "page_fin": "35", "image_debut": 7, "image_fin": 7, "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=bmtnaaq19150814-01.2.9", "titre_corps": "The Poet's Fate", "titre_sommaire": "The Poet's Fate", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "35", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 709, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2988, "texte": "The Poet's Fate\nNaturally not being able to eat, and being a poet he falls\nto dreaming of food. He dreams of Paris, of the old Cafe\nde la Paix in the one de la Paix where four waiters once\nserved him a beefsteak. He had money that day, and in a fit\nof splendid self-abandonment he sought the best in the capital\nof the world's cuisine. He dreams of London and Gow's in\nthe Strand, the filet of bull and the pint of porter—the very\ntop notch of good English fare is Gow's. He dreams of Phila-\ndelphia and oysters—of San Francisco and a bill of fare that\nwould have suited Lucullus. He knows all these places—knows\nthem as only the poets know them. For he has known them\nin prosperity and in poverty, too. To what man but the poet\ncan come such extremes. Yes, yes, he must be honest with\nhimself; with his trade. They can come also to the gambler, to\nthe criminal, but not often. After all the poet is the king of\nexperience. How the thought warms him afresh. Of all sides\nif life he is the hevitor. Fit companion at once for a king\nor a criminal. Knowing all, loving all, as he only can. Re-\njoicing with all, sorrowing with all. Aye, with a sorrow like\nonfy to that of the son of man. For the bleeding heart of the\npoet is the bleeding heart of Christ.\nHe wears a celluloid collar and- uses paper napkins for\nhandkerchiefs. He has a pair of sox worn and washed till to\nrecall them is a pang. His clothes were given to him by a\nbrother-ooet,—long\" standing most precious of friends—whom\nthe world has finally acclaimed and who now dwells in common\ncomfort at least. They were well worn though before he got\nthem. His teeth are like rakes, like Francois Villon's in the\nballad he made in his dungeon; but his body is still strong, and\nhe is still brave in part and handsome—as all poets should be.\nIs it but a mockery this last boon of personality? How long\nbefore the madhouse or the prison-cell shall claim him? Their\nshadow has hung over him for long. Has sometimes come very\nclose indeed. For what is he to the world at large_ but a kind\nof a madman; a vagabond; undoubtedly then, a criminal. He\nhugs the sheaf of verses in his breast-pocket closer. They are\nall his world—his whole armor against the infinite! They have\nbeen there for twenty-five years—not only the same ones."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-08-14-01-c010", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01#c010", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "36", "page_fin": "36", "image_debut": 8, "image_fin": 8, "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=bmtnaaq19150814-01.2.10", "titre_corps": "The Little Church Around the Corner in Greenwich Village", "titre_sommaire": "The Little Church Around the Corner in Greenwich Village", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "36", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 237, "fin_caractere_exclue": 293, "texte": "The Little Church Around the Corner in Greenwich Village"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1915-08-14-01-c011", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01#c011", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1915-08-14_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "36", "page_fin": "36", "image_debut": 8, "image_fin": 8, "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=bmtnaaq19150814-01.2.11", "titre_corps": "Everybody Welcome!", "titre_sommaire": "Everybody Welcome!", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "36", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 295, "fin_caractere_exclue": 717, "texte": "Everybody Welcome!\nMr. Edison is glad to extend an invitation to his receptions,\nand later on to his performances, to everybody interested, All\ntickets of admission can be had on applying- by letter. The seat-\ning capacity is limited to two hundred and fifty seats, and there-\nfore applicants who cannot be accomodated for the asked-for per-\nformance will be taken into consideration, if so desired, in the\nfollowing week."}]}], "pages_ocr_originales": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.1", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEdited by Guido Bruno in his Garret on Washington Square\nNo. 5\nAUGUST 14th, MCMXV\nVol. I.\nCopyright 1915 by Quido £Bruno\n\nRABBONI\nOscar Wilde\nThe silver trumpets rang across the dome:\nThe people knelt upon the ground with awe:\nAnd borne upon the necks of men I saw,\nLike some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome.\nPriest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam,\nAnd king-like, swathed himself in royal red,\nThree crowns of gold rose high above his head,\nIn splendor and in light the pope passed home.\nMy heart stole back across wide wastes of years\nTo one who wandered by a lonely sea,\nAnd sought in vain for any place of rest:\n\"Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest,\n\"I, only I, must wander wearily,\n\"And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears.\"\n\nEdison's Little Thimble Theatre:\nIts Real Mission\n$\n|UST to make it clear once more: Mr. Charles Edison's\nLittle Thimble Theatre has no other purpose but to give\nyoung American musicians, composers, poets and playwrights\na hearing. To act as a free forum accessible to everybody who\nhas done something that he considers worth while and to give\nhim a chance to be heard by an unprejudiced audience.\nJudging from Mr. Edison's mail of the last weeks, a good\nmany people seem to be under the impression that the Thimble\nTheatre is a kind of philanthropic institution for musicians and\nsingers out of employment, others mistake it for a concert hall\nwhere artists of fame will be heard. The mere fact that one\nhas a known name, that one has a pocketful of newspaper clip-\npings or has sung or played before European princes and mem-\nbers of royal families and has received medals and crosses of\nhonor, bars him from an appearance in the Little Thimble\nTheatre.\nIt is just the American who works and toils honestly in this\ncountry and has not had, for some reason or another, a chance"}, {"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "30", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.2", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nto be rejected or accepted by an American public, that Mr.\nEdison is interested in.\nWe live in an age of recognition. The tragedy of a Poe\ncould hardly be repeated to-day. The good work done will\nultimately gain recognition and it is solely up to the man him-\nself to create for himself the right circle of activities. America\nneeds good music, good poems, good books. While the writer\nhas it comparatively easy to persuade a publisher to see the\nmerits of his works, the musician is handicapped by that supreme\nillusion which has taken hold of all impresarios and producers\nof plays: that America has no music and that the American\nhas to look for real good stuff to Mother Europe. But the\nworst of it is they don't want even to lend themselves to an\nexperiment. They are afraid of everything that hasn't got\nthe European label.\nIt would be megalomania to assume that the activities of the\nLittle Thimble Theatre, even if successful beyond expectation,\ncould change this condition. But the little snowball kicked off\nincidently from the high mountain grows to be a big avalanche.\nAnd if the larger public cannot be reached and the composer\nor musician derives no other benefit but to play in public, his\nself-confidence is being strengthened and he returns home\nfilled with new ambitions, and plunges into his work with new\nvigor.\nMr. Edison invites every American musician, composer or\nsinger to take advantage of his Little Thimble Theatre. Serious\nefforts will find serious consideration.\n\nThe Monday Matinee\nMR. W. G. BLAIKIE MURDOCH who will relate on Monday\nat 2:30 P. M., his experiences as a passenger of the Cunard\nliner Orduna, which had a narrow escape from German tor-\npedoes, and landed a couple of weeks ago, is one of the many\nvictims of the present struggles in Europe. Mr. Murdoch is a\ndistinguished English author, art and music critic and was forced\nby circumstances to leave his country, in order to start a new\nexistence in a land of peace.\nThe English papers and reviews don't require at present music\nor art critics. Mr. Murdoch endeavors to give a series of lec-\ntures on art subjects during the coming season.\nMiss Ruth Ryan, pianist, will play a few compositions of her\nteacher, the late Raphael Joseffi, and a program composed\nchiefly of classical music. Miss Ryan used to appear in public\nat the age of nine and ten years on the programs of one of\nthe most distinguished musicians of New York. But at the\ninstigation of her teacher she abstained from public appear-\nance until after completion of her musical studies.\nShe was Mr. Joseffi's favorite pupil. He believed in her career\nas an interpreter of classical music.\nMiss Ryan is very young. She is not twenty yet. She\nbelieved in herself, and equipped with an introduction of Mr.\nJoseffi—an unusual thing, as he never gave testimonials or rec-"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "31", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.3", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nommendations of any kind—she started her rounds of impres-\narios and concert managers. They heard her playing, they\nasked her if she had been in Europe, and all they had to say\nwas: \"Take a trip to Europe, give a concert in Paris, Vienna or\nBerlin, and we will be glad to put you on our program.\"\nMiss Ryan, unfortunately is not financially in the position to\ntake a trip to Europe in order to go through a mere formality\nof getting the European label.\nTherefore, she has not had a hearing in America yet.\nA selection of classic and contemporary music will complete\nthe program.\n\nThe Atlantic in War Time:\nBeing an Eye-Witness' Account of the Attack on the Orduna\nBy W. G. Blaikie Murdoch\nTHE Americans are very friendly towards a stranger, and\nhow delightful it is to be among them, how different is\nNew York from London and Edinburgh just now! In those\ntowns, night after night, there is hardly a lamp lit, so strong\nis the terror of Zeppelin attacks; while, try as one will, to avoid\nbrooding on war and its horrors, ever and again these things\nrise in the mind. Here, however, it is possible to breathe freely,\nand hence a deep feeling of gratitude to the Americans gathers\nin the heart, gratitude for their hospitality; yet now and then,\nperforce, one looks back on that awful scene on the Orduna,\nevery detail springing up clearly before the mind's eye.\nThe tender, putting off from Liverpool, plunges wildly in the\nswell. And already anxiety manifests itself, people scanning\nthe water as though expecting to see a periscope hard by the\nshore, while excitement grows tenser when at length the ship\nsets out from port. In general, on a voyage, a distinct difficulty\nattends the first steps toward intimacy among the passengers,\nand usually the ice is broken by comments on the weather; but\non this occasion the topic of submarines rules conversation,\nevery person on board being asked repeatedly how long he or\nshe thinks will be required to take us out of the perilousl zone.\nTwenty-four hours is the verdict of officers, many people withal\nhoping against hope, and clinging to the faith that by that very\nevening, danger will be past. Still, the imminence of peril be-\ncomes more insistent presently, the order going 'round that\nall are to muster in the saloon; and there the head steward\nenlarges upon the need of presence of mind in the hour of\nattack, instructions being given, thereafter, as to how to don\nlifebelts and embark in the boats. Meanwhile the ship is steal-\ning past the Irish coast, and, the scene of the Lusitania disaster\nis neared, scrutiny of the tumbling waste of cruel grey water\nbecomes yet keener than heretofore; while anon, evening having\ngiven place to night, sea air belies its reputation as a good nar-\ncotic, most of the voyagers lying wide awake, hour after hour.\nThe morning is a bright, though cold one, and already a few\npeople are on deck. Seeing one of the crew make a curious"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "32", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.4", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nsignal, they feel nervous, and scan the horizon, where they mark\nwhat might be a harmless trawler. In a moment, nevertheless,\nthey are disillusioned, the Orduna commencing to race at her\nhighest speed; and then, suddenly, a white line like the wake\nof a steamer—strangely savage it looks—is seen rushing towards\nus through the water. Every heart beats wildly, but the ship\nswerves like a hunted stag, and with a changed course she\nspeeds onward, as yet unscathed. \"Lifebelts on! All on deck\nat once!— Get to the boats!\"—so rings the cry now, passengers\nrushing up the companion-ladders accordingly; while at this\njuncture, the foe disappearing, changes its position stealthily.\n\"Scatter there, scatter!\" comes the next order; while simul-\ntaneously, the submarine having risen again, a shell hurtles\nthrough the air, and then another and another, each bursting\nnot far to stern. Will they launch another torpedo? Can we\nreally outpace them? How long will it take to get out or\nrange?—such are questions which rise to the lips, the ship still\nracing forward. Yet every one refrains from asking for definite\ninformation, fearful of getting anything but a consoling reply.\nAnd so the half-dressed, unkempt people loiter on deck, shiver-\ning with terror, till ultimately, a gong being heard, it dawns\non the company that breakfast would not be served unless perils\nwere insignificant!\nThere is no feeling quite so delightful as that of relief, and\nthis feeling is ours in abundance now; while a bond of kinship\nhas quickly grown up among us, begotten of our mutual adven-\nture. Breakfast, proverbially a silent meal, is enlivened to-day\nby voluminous conversation, all details of the attack being dis-\ncussed critically. Some had not actually seen the submarine, and\nthese must needs be enlightened concerning its precise appear-\nance ; while betimes the garrulous are maintaining that, according\nto recent wireless information, a French frigate has already sunk\nour assailant. Furthermore, there is loud praise of the skill\nshown, throughout the affair, by our captain, great consolation\nbeing found in this last. And thus hearts grow lighter and\nlighter, while with the advent of evening songs are being sung\nin the lounge.\nAnd all the while the ship is sailing westward, westward—\nday after day passing without revealing anything _ save intermin-\nable miles of water, painfully monotonous, devoid of the least\nsuggestiveness. A definite,_ perceptible sentiment—one which\ninspired Wagner to the making of some of his greatest music—\npertains to the German Ocean; and voyaging across it, recollec-\ntions of that music come to mind often. Is there not, too, a sea\nwhose name and Homer's are eternally associated? While many\nrivers have been sung beautifully, many are sacred to this poet or\nto that But the Atlantic, almost naked of legendary lore, lacking\nin appeal to the imagination, destitute of any definable char-\nacter—no! it will never evoke an epic like The Odyssey, an opera\nlike The Flying Dutchman• It is not a thing to be looked back\non fondly. Surely, however, those who crossed it during the\ngreat war will never forget their journey; while on the minds\nof many such there is stamped, indelibly, a picture of a morning\nwhen the awful cry was raised: \"Lifebelts on, all on deck at\nonce!\""}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "33", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.5", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nDisc Concerts on Washington Square\n\"THE Diamond Disc concerts on Washington Square will\ntake place during this week on Tuesday and Friday even-\ning at 8 o'clock. The program on Tuesday is made up chiefly\nfrom operas of Verdi, and Wagner and popular songs. On\nFriday, chiefly solos and stringed music will be played.\n\nA Tragedy\nGuido Bruno\nASHINGTQN SQUARE. A bench near the Garibaldi\nmonument. Mamie and Tom are playing. Mamie has her\nwooden doll in an old cigar box. She plays with little Tom,\n\"father and mother.\" The doll is their child. Tenderly Mamie\nhugs the doll in her arms. Tom, the father, has to leave them.\nHe has to_ go out into the world. He has to earn a living. He\nhas to bring food to mother and child. Tom passes through\nthe Washington Arch. He crosses the street and walks towards\nMacdougal Alley. On the doorstep of one of the first houses\nstands Mary. Mary, the child of the lady with the big, black\nauto.\nMary walks towards Tom. She shows him her big, beautiful\ndoll, with the blonde curls of real hair, and blue eyes that open\nand close automatically, a doll with a human face. A face that\nlooks like his little baby sister. And then she shows him the\ncarriage, a real baby carriage, with silk curtains and soft pillows.\nAnd Tom plays \"father and mother\" with little Mary.\nMamie is still sitting on the bench near the Garibaldi monument,\nrocking her baby and waiting patiently for Tom. The father\ndoes not come back. And she takes her cigar box and her\nwooden doll and moves to a bench in the most remote corner\nof Washington Square South.\nMamie starts to cry heart-breakingly.\n\nDrawing by Clara Tice"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "34", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.6", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nThe Spirit of the Village\n\n117 HEN I speakof Greenwich Village I have no geographical\nconception in view. The term Greenwich Village is to\nme a spiritual zone of mind. Is there any raison d'etre for\nthe existence of a spiritual Greenwich Village? I believe\nthere is. Those fellow wanderers who pawn their last coat\nin rue Franc Bourgeoise, who shivered in rue St. Jacques and\nsearched for the cheapest brasserie in rue Lepic, those who\ncrowded the Olympe in rue de la Gaiete, will understand the\ncharm of the Village. A ramble along Charlton and Varick\nStreets is a reverie, not to speak of the sounds of—how do\nMinetta Lane, Patchin Place, Sheridan Square and Gay Street\nstrike you?\nTo be sure the native of the Village has no especial\ndistinction. He is just as dull as the native of Bronx, or the\nnative of Hoboken. The apaches of the Village are more\ncrude than the gangs of upper Riverside. So are in propor-\ntion, the alguecils of the Village more vicious and brutal than\ntheir confreres in other precincts. The Village has also its\nsneaking reformers and neighborhood centers full of apostles\nin male and female petticoats, good people who clean out\ncertain parts of their territory from outcasts and drive those\npoor dregs of humanity into other parts of the city. The joints\nof the Village compare favorably with Doctor's and Barney\nFlynn's emporiums on the Bowery and Chatham Square.\nThe soothsayers of yesteryear assured us that the Village\nis doomed. . . No danger so far though the subterranean\nbarbarians are busy in reconstructing Seventh Avenue and\na subway for the men in a hurry. True also, the\n\"Grapevine\" has disappeared and we miss the pewters of\ncreamy ale. But take courage, ye tipplers, there are other\nheavenly retreats Jn the Village. \"Grifou\" is dead, but there\nis a new brasserie de Lilla, yea, even a cafe GroessenWahn.\nJosiah Flint, if he should awaken from his grave would not\nbe lonesome in the Village.\nIf you lose your illusions and the evil one takes hold of\nyour soul, you leave your garret on the sacred Butte and rent\na studio pear Pare Monceau, you leave the Soho and take\nyour domicile in Chelsea, or you become a traitor to Green-\nwich Village and move into an apartment on Riverside Drive.\nYou will smile pityingly over the folly of the poor devils who\nlose their lives in ugly holes on Washington Square, or find\npleasure in cheap restaurants among pickpockets on Carmine\nStreet. But some evening, after the West Indian has pushed\nyou up to your steamheated apartment and after you have\ngone over your bank account, you will fall into reverie and\nyou will sigh for the dear old haunts of the Village. Old\nreminiscences will float before your vision and old names will\nstrike chords in your damned soul, and you will envy the\nsilly chaps and maidens _ who remained true to the Village.\nLike a sneakthief you will return secretly some evening and\nyou will look up the dear old places. But the charm will be\ngone. Even the caravanserie on Thirty-first Street and the"}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "35", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.7", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n(Continued from last issue)\n(To be continued)\n\nZukunftstatt on Seventy-seventh Street will close their portals\nto you. Then you have lost your illusions, your enthusiasm\nand your idealism. Greenwich Village is a spiritual conception\nand shopkeepers are not interested in dreamers. The Village\nis the rallying point for new ideas. Its spirit reaches the\nheathenish bellyworshippers of Harlem, even nature fakers\nnear the Zoo in the Bronx. The Bronxite points proudly to\nPoe's cottage, but come to the Village, mon chere, and I will\npoint out to you \"Grub Street\" where another iconoclast,\nThomas Paine, earned his bread and his fame in daily struggles\nwith the economic devil.\n\nHippolyte Havel\n\nThe Poet's Fate\nNaturally not being able to eat, and being a poet he falls\nto dreaming of food. He dreams of Paris, of the old Cafe\nde la Paix in the one de la Paix where four waiters once\nserved him a beefsteak. He had money that day, and in a fit\nof splendid self-abandonment he sought the best in the capital\nof the world's cuisine. He dreams of London and Gow's in\nthe Strand, the filet of bull and the pint of porter—the very\ntop notch of good English fare is Gow's. He dreams of Phila-\ndelphia and oysters—of San Francisco and a bill of fare that\nwould have suited Lucullus. He knows all these places—knows\nthem as only the poets know them. For he has known them\nin prosperity and in poverty, too. To what man but the poet\ncan come such extremes. Yes, yes, he must be honest with\nhimself; with his trade. They can come also to the gambler, to\nthe criminal, but not often. After all the poet is the king of\nexperience. How the thought warms him afresh. Of all sides\nif life he is the hevitor. Fit companion at once for a king\nor a criminal. Knowing all, loving all, as he only can. Re-\njoicing with all, sorrowing with all. Aye, with a sorrow like\nonfy to that of the son of man. For the bleeding heart of the\npoet is the bleeding heart of Christ.\nHe wears a celluloid collar and- uses paper napkins for\nhandkerchiefs. He has a pair of sox worn and washed till to\nrecall them is a pang. His clothes were given to him by a\nbrother-ooet,—long\" standing most precious of friends—whom\nthe world has finally acclaimed and who now dwells in common\ncomfort at least. They were well worn though before he got\nthem. His teeth are like rakes, like Francois Villon's in the\nballad he made in his dungeon; but his body is still strong, and\nhe is still brave in part and handsome—as all poets should be.\nIs it but a mockery this last boon of personality? How long\nbefore the madhouse or the prison-cell shall claim him? Their\nshadow has hung over him for long. Has sometimes come very\nclose indeed. For what is he to the world at large_ but a kind\nof a madman; a vagabond; undoubtedly then, a criminal. He\nhugs the sheaf of verses in his breast-pocket closer. They are\nall his world—his whole armor against the infinite! They have\nbeen there for twenty-five years—not only the same ones."}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "36", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19150814-01.1.8", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nCharles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre, Situated\nat No. 10 Fifth Avenue, Greenwich Village, N.Y.\nBruno's Weekly, edited, written, published by Guido Bruno at\n58 Washington Square, New York. Subscription price $1 yearly.\n\nThe Little Church Around the Corner in Greenwich Village\n\nEverybody Welcome!\nMr. Edison is glad to extend an invitation to his receptions,\nand later on to his performances, to everybody interested, All\ntickets of admission can be had on applying- by letter. The seat-\ning capacity is limited to two hundred and fifty seats, and there-\nfore applicants who cannot be accomodated for the asked-for per-\nformance will be taken into consideration, if so desired, in the\nfollowing week."}]}