{"numero_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_sha256": "b480196a4c3a91efe268f6a2aab09c39cc15be15de2ff10092b88b7ed8805ff8", "source_tei": "https://github.com/Princeton-CDH/bluemountain-transcriptions/blob/main/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/08/19_01/bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01.tei.xml", "source_mets": "https://github.com/pulibrary/BlueMountain/blob/main/metadata/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/08/19_01/bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01.mets.xml", "url_numero": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01", "articles": [{"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c002", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c002", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[919]", "page_fin": "[919]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.2", "titre_corps": "To God the Father", "titre_sommaire": "To God the Father", "signature_source": "Boris Petrovsky", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[919]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 109, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1217, "texte": "To God the Father\nBoris Petrovsky.\nTo the little, pitiful God I make my prayer,\nThe God with the long grey beard\nAnd flowing robe fastened with a hempen girdle\nWho sits nodding and muttering on the all-too-big throne\nof Heaven.\nWhat a long, long time, dear God, since you set the stars\nin their places,\nGirded the earth with the sea, and invented the day and\nnight.\nAnd longer the time since you looked through the blue\nwindow of Heaven\nTo see your children at play in a garden . . .\nNow we are all stronger than you and wiser and more\narrogant,\nIn swift procession we pass you by.\n\"Who is that marionette nodding and muttering\nOn the all-too-big throne of Heaven?\nCome down from your place, Grey Beard,\nWe have had enough of your play-acting !\"\nIt is centuries since I believed in you,\nBut to-day my need of you has come back.\nI want no rose-coloured future,\nNo books of learning—no protestations and denials—\nI am sick of this ugly scramble,\nI am tired of being pulled about-—\nO God, I want to sit on your knees\nOn the all-too-big throne of Heaven,\nAnd fall asleep with my hands tangled in your grey heard."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c003", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c003", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[919]", "page_fin": "921", "image_debut": 3, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.3", "titre_corps": "France, Literature and the War", "titre_sommaire": "France, Literature and the War", "signature_source": "y Remy De Gourmont ; Translated by Richard Aldington", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[919]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 1219, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5725, "texte": "France, Literature and the War\ny Remy De Gourmont\n\nVritten shortly after the outbreak of the European War\nr HE war cut short all literary activity in France,\nsuppressed in a day all the means by which men of\netters ordinarily derived an income from their art. The\nreater part of the Reviews have ceased to appear, or are\nhly published in a much smaller form; even the daily\napers have suspended all literary or picturesque contribu-\nbns. It is hardly necessary to say that the publication of\npoks has undergone the same fate. They all stopped short\nt the moment when the order for general mobilization\npas received. In the complex labour which is necessary\nb the material production of a book, the slightest dis-\norganization of one of the parts stops the work. But on\nfhis occasion all were attacked progressively; and a total\nbaralysis was the result. Moreover, what was the use\n|112 publishing books, even if it had been materially possi-\n)le? There was nobody to buy them, and hardly anyone\np read them; it would have been making a present to\nhe public which the public would not have noticed. The\nlewest and most passionate book of the day before mo-\nilization did not exist on the day after.\nAlthough I was not in Paris on the day of the declara-\nI\nopy right 1916. by Qui do Bruno\nlion of war, I have been able, since my return, to discover\nhow completely it disorganized the literary world, and the\ncommercial concerns which depend upon the literary\nworld. At the end of July the monthly financial accounts\nof the French publishing houses, with their agencies in\nthe provinces and abroad, had not been settled. TL here\nwas, therefore, a lack of money, which had an immediate\neffect on the writers themselves. From the first day it\nwas certain that the literary world would have much to\nsuffer if the war were to be a long one. When I returned\nat the beginning of October, committees of relief had been\norganized for writers, and the \"Societe des Gens de\nLett res\" had instituted free dinners for its members. It\nis apparent how rapidly distress had broken out since they\nhad had to raise such Homeric remedies.\nIt is only now that I begin to understand how closely\neven the most disinterested productions of genius are\ngoverned by the general conditions of social life. Liberty\nof the mind is the first necessity, but prosperity and\nequilibrium of the nation are also necessary. And a nation\nat war, above all a nation which has war within its own\nfrontiers, can never be a prosperous nor a well-balanced\nnation. Even supposing—an absurd proposition—that the\nwar had disorganized neither commerce nor industry, in-\ntellectual productions would not have been disturbed.\nThere is a close relation between the different parts of an\norganism, and if disintegration had not begun in the lesser\nparts it would have begun in the greater. It Is impossible\nto enjoy one*s full intellectual faculties when the youth\nof a country is fighting a powerful enemy, when its des-\ntinies are daily at stake. But the truth is that all parts\nof the literary organism were attacked at once. The\nwriters could not write, the printers could not print, the\nreaders could not buy and read. The literary organism\nslept. It still sleeps, and no one knows when it will be\nreawakened.\nNow for a few details. The Goncourt brothers, in the\nfirst pages of their \"Journal,\" note, as one of the most\ndistressing events of their literary career* that the coup\nd'etat of the second of December, 1851, occurred on the\nnight which preceded the publication of their first book,\n\"En 18—/' As a consequence this book remained abso-\nlutely unknown, though the confidence, frequently men-\ntioned, has made its title famous. There is a time for\nbooks. If the hour passes before the book obtains recog-\nnition, practically all hope of publicity is lost. The works\nof the best writers now appear very late in the summer\nseason and go straight to readers in the couniry or at the\nseaside. I know of several books which were going to be\nsent in this way. They have been spared a useless voyage,\nand they have remained done up in parcels. Others, sent\nout in July, had just made their appearance on the book-\nstalls when the terrible day arrived. They are still there.\nA large number wTere in the printing press, and were to\nhave appeared during the first days of October, but the\npresses suddenly stopped, and their rumbling is silent—it\nhas not yet begun again. The Reviews for the first of\nAugust could not only appear with difficulty, and those"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "920", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4637, "texte": "which are usually a little late were lost in the first fever\nof mobilization and their distribution put off till better\ntimes. Some were still received on the 15 th or the 20th\nof August and the text, set up in perfect serenity, seemed\nrather like a bad joke. Here is a rather touching oc-\ncurrence. A new Review founded by young poets came\nto me on the first day of mobilization. It was full of\nconfidence in the future:\n\"L'avenir, l'avenir est a moi!\nSire, 1' avenir n'est a personnel\"—\n(Victor Hugo)\nAt the bottom of what trench do these conscripts lie,\nwhat new fever had suddenly made them men of action?\nI have kept the only number of this Review. It contains\nmore philosophy than many fat treaties. The future!\nYes, but there is the hazard of it all. I have also been a\nvictim, but I should complain if I had escaped. When\nthe whole community suffers it would be shameful to be\nforgotten by destiny. You would feel like those too happy\ngentlemen you sometimes meet now. They have not been\ntouched by the war. They have no son on the battlefield,\nand as to their friends, they treat them less as motives of\nanxiety than as a means to gratify their vanity. Their\nbusiness—they are naturally business men—is, as they\nsay, a business which deals in the first necessities of life,\nwhich has. been increased rather than depreciated by the\nwar. Their employees are women or old men. They\nhave taken their holidays as usual, but they found that\nthe trains ran very badly. \"Such a disgraceful state of\nthings is very bad for business.\" As they only returned\nto Paris at the beginning of October, when Paris was\nrefreshed and had come partially to life again, they have\nkept their good spirits. One phrase keeps coming up in\ntheir conversation: \"Things have been greatly ex-\naggerated.\" For myself I do not believe it. Sufferings\nhave not all been reported, and worse miseries will be\nrevealed this winter, unless the affairs of the war turn\nsuddenly to the good and social activity is greatly in-\ncreased. But how can there be a question of any activity\nwhen the best and most intelligent part of the nation are\nsoldiers? There could only be a partial activity. How-\never, I will mention certain facts which are not without\nhope for the literary world. There is some sort of move-\nment in the libraries; new projects are discussed, new\ngroups and associations are spoken of. The military pub-\nlishers, Berger-Levrault, are associated with the new house\nof Cres in the publication of a periodical album of war\ndrawings. These drawings are very superior in quality\nto those which have appeared up till now, and there is\nno doubt of their success. These two publishers are also\ngoing to attempt something of the literary order: a review\nwhere the war will be treated not by journalists—who\nare always in a hurry—but by writers who prefer to give\nthemselves time for reflection. This review will be well\nreceived, and its appearance will coincide with the re-\nappearance of several others which have spent the last\nthree months in reorganization. They even speak of pub-\nlishing books. But it is only a vague rumor; it is probably\nonly a hope. The only books so far published are a few\nmilitary pamphlets and a reprint of a little novel, half\nmilitary, half fantastic; it has not had much success. This\nis not a moment when it is possible to interest the public\nin descriptions of imaginary battles. The reality is too\nprodigal. It overwhelms us with battles. Its generosity\nis immeasurable. It is true that these battles are so new,\nso long, of a kind so absolutely unfamiliar, that the public,\nthough they feel the terrible reality, are evidently non-\nplussed by the lack of sensationalism, of extraordinary\nresults. If the French had followed more carefully the\ncampaign in Manchuria they would understand the pres-\nent war better. The movements of the armies in Poland\nwould impress their imagination more keenly.\nThe public to-day desires nothing beyond the official\ncommunique except the picturesque stories* of the latest\nheroic deeds. It is useless to attempt to do anything else\nexcept in a more or less transitory way. In the projected\nReview of which I have been speaking it will obviously\nbe necessary to take into consideration this state of mind\nand to mix military reports with philosophical comments.\nHowever, I know from a very reliable source that the\ntaste for reading has not diminished during these last\nmonths. The public libraries, and especially those in the\ndistricts of Paris which were established for the use of the\npeople, have lent the same number of volumes xas is usual\nat this time of the year."}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "921", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3723, "texte": "The man who loves reading does not give it up willing-\nly, and it is precisely during the hardest times that he\nfeels the most need of books. The book-buyer, who was\nthought to have vanished has reappeared, and, since there\nare no new books, he asks for last season's, and even for\nlast year's. This is another symptom of a revival of litera-\nture. Perhaps even when the enemy is driven from France\na few new books might be published. To explain this it\nshould be borne in mind that Paris, to which many rich\npeople returned during the month of October, is totally\ndeprived of amusements; there are no exhibitions, no\nsocial gatherings, no horse races, no theatres. Everyone\nfeels the necessity for amusement, and everyone chooses\nwhat is perhaps the most speculative, for a man of the\nworld, but the most secret and most discreet—reading.\nIn certain circles they are beginning to think that it was\na mistake to close all the theatres. The reason given is\nthat numbers of actors and supers are on the streets, and\nthey are the less resigned to their fate since winter is\ncoming on and their hardships will become more and more\ndistressing. Here also they will proceed discreetly, and\nlittle by little the drama will reoccupy a small niche in\nthe social world without the theatres being actually\nopened; it is said that matinees will be organized in the\ntown-halls. They will not play dramas, but they will\nrecite poetry and read pages of good prose. This seems\nto me very reasonable. It will be a step towards the\ngreatly desired reopening of a few theatres.\nYesterday I \\met a dramatic author who confided his\nwoes to me. Whenever one goes out in Paris a meeting\nwith an actor or with a dramatic author is absolutely\ncertain; there are,, in fact, too many of them, especially\nnow when they are all out of work. This \"homme de\ntheatre\" was in a sort of despair. He had had a great\nplay, a kind of tragedy in prose, taken by the Theatre\nFrancais just before the war. \"But,\" he said, \"will\npeople want tragedies after the war? They will have\nseen so many far crueller than any that could be invented.\nWill people not want less harrowing spectacles, which\nwill entirely change our idea of things?\" \"Everything\nis possible,\" I replied, \"but I am not going to embark on\nany kind of prophecies. That kind of boat is too often\nwrecked.\" a\nWhat will the theatre of to-morrow be, and what the\nliterature? If we knew, it would be deprived of much\nof its interest; for all literary work, even the most serious,\nderives part of its value from the quality of novelty. It\nis always disappointing to find things happen exactly at\nthe hour and in exactly the manner foretold. Genius\nloves surprises: we shall be surprised if genius has any-\nthing to do with the war. But will it? Shells and bullets\nalso love surprises. A young officer, himself a writer,\nwith whom I was discussing this question the other day\non his return from the fifteenth battle during one month,\nsaid to me, \"If the new literature is sincere it will be\ncynical like war itself. Those who have passed through\nit will have no illusions. They will know human nature\nthrough and through.\" He talked to me for a long time\nin this way, and even more bitterly. But he is, perhaps,\nan exception. Nothing changes a man's temperament.\nEach one will feel the war according to his nature, and\nthat will be a very excellent thing.\nP. S.—The first number of the \"Bulletin des Ecrivants,\n1914-1915,\" privately printed, which I have just received,\ninforms us that of French writers actually soldiers, twen-\nty have already been killed in the war, more than thirty\nhave been wounded, a certain number are in hospital\nthrough illness.\n\n(Translated by Richard Aldington)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c004", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c004", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "920", "page_fin": "920", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.3.1", "titre_corps": "Remy de Gourmont", "titre_sommaire": "Remy de Gourmont", "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": "920", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 4639, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4655, "texte": "Remy de Gourmont"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c005", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c005", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "921", "page_fin": "922", "image_debut": 5, "image_fin": 6, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.4", "titre_corps": "A Sketch by Maxim Gorky or Feodor Sologub, Who Knows?", "titre_sommaire": "A Sketch by Maxim Gorky or Feodor Sologub, Who Knows?", "signature_source": "Authorized translation by 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": "921", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 3725, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5980, "texte": "The Riddle\nA Sketch by Maxim Gorky or Feodor Sologub, Who Knows?\n\nJWf ICHAIL DIMITRI CRAZOVITCH kicked little\nNicholas. Michail was foreman of the bakery.\nNicholas was the apprentice; therefore he could afford to\nkick him. 'He also kicked him because the echo from\nthe cellar in which the bakery was situated pleased him.\nNicki was a philosopher.\nHe sighed and said: \"As long as there are feet and\ncertain spots of my body there will also be kicks and\nblows.\"\nAfter the echo had resounded, Michail Dimitri smiled\nsatisfiedly, took his cap and departed lazily for home.\nHis cap was shabby and very much used. Michail\nDimitri had bought it from Lewin Abrahamovitch. Lewin\nAbrahamovitch was a.little Caucasian Jew;'once during a\npogrom they had cut off several of his legs. Since then\nhe had been lame. He kept a second hand shop which\nbrought him little money and lots of knocks.\nIt was hopeless.\nAfter Michail Dimitri had reached his home he spat\nout. He lived in a small stinking garret together with\nFomitch Migalow and with Sonja, whose family name\nno one knew. In each corner of the garret was a bundle\nof straw upon which to sleep. The fourth corner was\nstill to let.\nFomitch Migalow was a tubercular senile hunchback.\nOnce upon a time he had been very rich and had been\nmarried to a beautiful woman,—to the actresss Kath-\narowna. One day she used kerosene oil for a salad dress-\ning and he killed her.\nAfter that he sank lower and lower. And now he had\na hunch on his back and was consumptive. Had he not\ncoughed from time to time one could have scarcely noticed\nthat he was still alive.\nIt was hopeless.\nSonja was a harlot. She was thick and had many\nfreckles which came from her way of living. Clothed in\nher shirt only, she was seated upon an old box mending\nher underskirt.\nShe sighed and said:\n\"There are decent women and there are harlots. I am\na harlot.\"\nLater she ran a needle in her finger and said: \"Ouch!\"\nThe \"ouch\" vibrated for a little while in the air. Then\nit disappeared.\nIt was hopeless.\nThe sun threw through the garret window a com-\npassionate ray upon the bundle of straw of Michail\nDimitri.\n\"It is a riddle!\" he said.\n\"What, you old pig?\" asked Sonja irritatedly.\nMichail Dimitri threw an empty whisky bottle at her\nand groaned."}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "922", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2301, "texte": "Migalow coughed.\n\"Why does the sun shine?\" cried Michail Dimitri after\na little while. \"I don't need it. Only the rich need\nit. Aristid Kuwalda, the Captain, needs the sun and\nStephen Lebanow, the land-owner. And the priest and\nthe Governor. And the Tsar. Why, then, does* the sun\nshine?\" .. -\n\"I love the sun!\" said Sonja, rising from her seat;\nher voice suddenly seemed soft and tender. \"I love the\nsun as I once loved my little Nikita. He was good and\nkind and had blue eyes. But you, all of you, are swine!\"\n\"The sun reminds me of my mother,\" said Migalow,\ncoughing slightly.\n\"It reminds me of my children!\" sighed* Sonja, whose\nfamily name no one knew.\n\"It reminds me of my fathers!\" groaned Michail\nDimitri. His eyes, red from drinking much whiskey,\nfilled with tears.\n\"It is a riddle!\" he said a little later with resignation.\nThen they kept silent. Sonja had finished her under-\nskirt. She put it on, humming her favorite song:\n\"When the moon does not shine at night,\nAll is black, so black, so black . . .\"\nA belated sparrow flew through the little window,\nfluttered excitedly through the garret and finally escaped\nagain.\n\"Why are sparrows?\" asked Michail Dimitri, gazing\nafter it with melancholy eyes. \"Do we need them?—\nDamn beasts!\"\n\"Don't swear at them!\" said Sonja, \"they are better\nthan humans! They fly into the heavens and make chirp,\nchirp!\"\nMigalow coughed.\n\"It is a riddle!\" repeated Michail Dimitri, gazing\nstraight in front of him; his look followed a bedbug which\ncrawled slowly from Sonja's straw bundle over to Miga-\nlow's. Slowly and hopelessly . . . Such a beast!\n• • •\n\"What is a riddle? Hey?\" asked Sonja, madly excited.\nMichail spat at her feet. This made her angry. She\njumped up and shook her childlike fists and screamed at\nthe top of her voice:\n\"What is a riddle? Hey?\" said she, \"what is a riddle?\nIf you do not tell me I will scratch your wolf's face!\n. . . Animal! Animal! You animal!\"\nDimitri yawned and said:\n\"Why do we always philosophize? And why do we\nnever act? We always philosophize, always and ever!\"\nA happy smile radiated Sonja's face, and with a voice\nvibrating with love, she said:\n\"Because we are by Maxim Gorky or Sologub or by\nArtzibasheff, you idiot!\"\nAnd Migalow coughed.\nIt was hopeless.\n\n(Authorized translation by Guido Bruno)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c006", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c006", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "922", "page_fin": "922", "image_debut": 6, "image_fin": 6, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.5", "titre_corps": "You speak to the withered flower:", "titre_sommaire": "You speak to the withered flower:", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "922", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 2303, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2492, "texte": "You speak to the withered flower:\n\"Do not perish.\"\nYou fool!\nWhat you are really agitated about is not the fact that the\nflower is perishable but that you do not enjoy it at the\nright time."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c007", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c007", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "922", "page_fin": "923", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.6", "titre_corps": "Who On Earth Am I?", "titre_sommaire": "Who On Earth Am I?", "signature_source": "Tom Sleeper", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "922", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 2494, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5692, "texte": "Who On Earth Am I?\nBy Tom Sleeper\n\nLIE was a poor man with no family and only an unde-\nveloped inclination to live. Accordingly he rambled\naround town until run over by an omnibus. During the\ncritical period immediately following in which he hovered\nbetween life and death at the hospital under the personal\nsupervision of a gifted surgeon, he suddenly saw a great\nlight and in an inspired moment dedicated his hitherto\nfruitless soul and body to the advancement of surgical\nknowledge. The surgeon quick ,to grasp the possibilities\nof the idea reconstructed him in a highly creditable man-\nner so that he soon found himself well and strong.\nExperiments in grafting happened at this time to have\ncaught the fancy of the surgical profession and forthwith\ncommenced a series of amputations and replacements on\nthe willing Jones with signal success until he walked on\nunrelated legs, wrote with the arm of an unfortunate\nmachinist, saw with the eyes of a still more unfortunate\nletter carrier, ate with the jaw of a deceased millionaire,\ndigested his food with with the transferred stomach of a\nlongshoreman, breathed with fragments of several alien\nlungs, blushed with the result of various transfusions and\nwas liberally overhauled in other directions.\nFired by the success of his operations and the submis-\nsiveness of his subject the surgeon pressed on to more deli-\ncate experiments involving the brain. Jones found himself\none morning in definite possession of a knowledge of\nFrench. He remembered also, many experiences he had\nhad in Paris, a city to which he had formerly believed him-\nself a stranger. In a like manner he obtained a profound\nknowledge of astronomy and a smattering of related\nsciences. Once on recovering from the anaesthetic he\nfound that he could recall snatches of speeches he had\nmade while stumping the State for the governorship of\nOhio. Later Greek and archeological information came\nto him unsolicited and many other disassociated recollec-\ntions.\nThe surgeon rubßed his hands in satisfaction and made\nfurther institutions. Into the fold of Brocca of the un-\ncomplaining Jones was grafted odd bits of the folds of an\nassorted population. And Jones waxed exceedingly well\ninformed.\nAs time went on Jones puzzled over his past. How\ncould he have been with a party of astronomers in Chili\nwhen he distinctly remembered that it was at this time he\nhad been run over by an omnibus in New York. What\nexplanation was there for the fact that on the day he had\nbeen presented the medal of the Legion of Honor by the\nPresident of France for researches in Cypress he had also\nbeen burned by a gas stove in a Chicago tenement. Then,\ntoo, he had distinct recollection of having died in a cafe\nin Scranton, Pa., while his common sense seemed to indi-\ncate that this was improbable.\nAnd so it came to pass that one October afternoon a\nsplendid specimen of physical manhood knocked at the\ndoor of my mountain hermitage. He spoke, saying:\n\"I am told that no part of myself is myself. That my\ngreat knowledge is not my own. But I have never ceased\nto live and funtion as myself. Now in the name of Allah\nwho I ask you am I?\"\nGiver oflight give me knowledge wherewith to answer\nthis man."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c008", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c008", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "923", "page_fin": "923", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.6.1", "titre_corps": "Will you stop to bark . . . take care . • . you darn beast! I'll show you! But my dear little doggie, have you no sense of humor? Drawing by Petersen", "titre_sommaire": "Will you stop to bark . . . take care . • . you darn beast! I'll show you! But my dear little doggie, have you no sense of humor? Drawing by Petersen", "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": "923", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 165, "texte": "Will you stop to bark . . . take care . • . you darn beast! I'll show you! But my dear\nlittle doggie, have you no sense of humor? Drawing by Petersen"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c009", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c009", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "924", "page_fin": "924", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.7", "titre_corps": "In Memoriam Stevensons", "titre_sommaire": "In Memoriam Stevensons", "signature_source": "Cora Bennet", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "924", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5253, "texte": "In Memoriam Stevensons\nCora Bennet\nHTHE clay is setting down over Fanny Stevenson's coffin.\n* Her earthly body with its spiritual face set toward\nan upland grave in far Samoa is fast turning to dust.\nBut the memory of a rare union of a man and a woman\nis everlastingly fragrant, a source of consolation and in-\nspiration.\nThe marriage of Fanny Osbourne and Robert Louis\nStevenson appeared to include elements of destruction.\nShe had been marrie dbefore. jShe had two half-grown\nchildren. She was an ambitious American woman sprung\nfrom the heart of the Midland. She was restless, con-\nstructive, creative. She was not one of those than can\nserve by standing and waiting. Moreover she united all\nthat is persistent and practical with the sensibility of an\nartist. She thought she wanted to learn to paint. She\nset her face toward France, toward Barbizon, toward\nMillet. She took with her, her pallette, her paint brushes\nand her children.\nRobert Louis Stevenson also came to Barbizon. He\nhad never loved. Himself a youth he had never dreamed\nof the responsibility of parenthood. He had refused to\nreap the honors of his family of engineers. Literally he\nwould rather write than eat. He had fallen out with his\nfather because of their religious differences. He was cut\noff with thirty-five dollars the month', and his cough. He\ncame to Barbizon as far as he knew to have companion-\nship of a group of artists that called him Louis. They\nsmiled when he entered a room. They believed in his\nright to work out sentences containing initial p's and\nmediant t's just for the beauty of the sound. In other\nwords they believed in him. And they loved him. And\nRobert Louis Stevenson had to have love. It was the\nonly medium in which he could exist.\nThe union of Robert Louis Stevenson and Fanny Os-\nbourne was not celebrated until after many problems had\nbeen courageously faced and solved. The questions in-\nvolved were delicate, difficult, tremendously significant.\nMoreover they were not being put and answered in\nchambers. The world was watching. And when these\ntrials were over and the wedding solemnized, dignity and\nhonor had been served.\nThese two people not only married each other. They\naccepted each other's past and all that it might mean for\nthe future. She made her husband's ill health, his lack\nof common sense, his family's notion about religion and\nsecond marriage things to be reckoned with as matters of\ncourse; but in no wise to be considered as detrimental to\npeace and happiness.\nFanny unfailingly courageous, infinitely resource-\nful and charmingly gay. She had found in her second\nhusband all that could restore her lost life. She was\ngrateful to him for her opportunities to use her varied\ncapabilities. She needed just his genius to love as a\nsolvent foj* the bitterness that had lodged in her heart.\nHe loved to play the flute, to work with his hands, to\nwrite, to pray and he loved his fellow men, great and\nsmall. Perhaps after all they each came to Barbizon seek-\ning only each other. That is—love.\nShe went with him to the ends of the earth. They\ntravelled as a matter of life and death but always in the\nspirit of play. They laughed together at Death, while the\ndeck of a leaky schooner bound for nowhere in particular\nin the South Seas was awash in a hurricane. They had\nbought this vessel with their last dollar. They fought\nthe jungle side by side with little more than their bare\nhands. And then they made many books in order to build\na home in the middle of the Pacific Ocean where nothing\nof the dirt and dust of the world could irritate the lungs\nof the invalid. And this was a merry hospitable home to\nwhich came the children of Fanny's first marriage. And\ntheir children. And the stiff-necked and at the last not\nunloving old Scotch mother of Louis. And writers and\nstatesmen and artists from all over the world.\nMoreover this home was a place of refuge for the op-\npressed or all classes of all over the South Seas. And\nit was the kingdom come for the hundreds of dispossesed\nnatives that were taken on as workers of the farm. They\nfound not only bread and fire at the hands of the master\nand mistress of Vallima but deep insight into and pro-\nvision for their spiritual needs.\nAnd one evening, after a full day of work and play,\nRobert Louis Stevenson died. He and Fanny had been\nbottling a cask of Burgundy lately come over from France.\nThey had been talking over the closing chapters of Wier\nof Hermiston. With a faint cry, \"Oh, Fanny,\" he fell\nwith his head in her lap. And that was the end.\nShe wrapped him in the sacred mats brought by sorrow-\nstricken Samoans for his graveclothes. She sat with them\nwatching the candles light the face of her beloved dead\nall night. And'the next day, she let him be borne on the\nbacks of island kings to the upland behind the house.\nThere she helped them lay him \"under the wide and starry\nsky,\" in sight of the sea that he loved so well and that\nwas literally the breath of life to him. But there was no\ndesperation in Fanny Stevenson's mourning. Its quietness\nwas the calm not of despair but of expectancy. It was\nas if she had lighted her lamp, content to sit in the low\ndoorway of Death, occupied constantly with sweet\nmemory, awaiting the summons to re-union."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c010", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c010", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "924", "page_fin": "924", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.8", "titre_corps": "Faith: You, Yourself and Others", "titre_sommaire": "Faith: You, Yourself and Others", "signature_source": "Cat's Paw", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "924", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 5255, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6067, "texte": "Faith: You, Yourself and Others\nCat's Paw.\nIT IS head erect, his steps jubilant, he went out into the\n* * world. Strength laughed in his eyes, joy on his lips\nand back of his youthful forehead audacious thoughts of\nconquest played like armed knights of yore. His arms\nwere outstretched as if he wanted to embrace the world\nand all its happiness. People noticed him and shook their\nheads. They said:\n\"He has lost his faith!\"\n* * *\nLI IS head bowed, his walk slouching, he returned home.\n* * Meekness whined out of his eyes, deadly fear upon\nhis lips, behind his senile forehead crouched powerless\nthoughts of confession like solemn singing monks. His\ntrembling hands were folded begging from the heavens a\ntiny bit of blessedness.\nThe people noticed him and were well pleased. They\nsaid:\n\"He has found his faith!\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c011", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c011", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "925", "page_fin": "925", "image_debut": 9, "image_fin": 9, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.9", "titre_corps": "Memories: New York", "titre_sommaire": "Memories: New York", "signature_source": "Elizabeth M. Walker", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "925", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1129, "texte": "Memories: New York\nElizabeth M. Walker\nThe Harbor\nI Sit a dream, or did I really see\n* A fairy city rising from the mist\nOf early morn? the ferries, and the white ships,\nall sun-kissed,\nAnd the huge buildings stretching to the sky,\nWith pale smoke wreaths like incense everywhere—\nIt seems Aladdin must have been at work\nFor my delight, and traced it in the air!\nThe Subway\nCAN it be real? The miles of underground,\nThe white-clad guards, the rush through still,\ndead air,\nThe whirring fans, the passengers themselves,\nPoured in and out like tides; a white flash, where\nWe rumbled on past openings to earth\nLike a great monster climbing to the light—\nWas it a thing of fact, this underworld,\nOr did I only dream it in the night?\nThird Ave. L—Sunday\nthing remains, intense, burned in my mind,—\nPale, children's faces in the scorching sun,\nCrowded at windows, penned in squalid rooms,\nFighting for breath, themselves, food, bed, debris,\nall one.\nWomen and men, like animals, sprawled out\nUpon the window-sills, all staring, mile on mile,\nWearily wistful, hideously sad,\nPoignantly hopeless—God! Not one could smile!"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c012", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c012", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "925", "page_fin": "925", "image_debut": 9, "image_fin": 9, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.10", "titre_corps": "In Prison", "titre_sommaire": "In Prison", "signature_source": "Kewe Sheridan", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "925", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 2538, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2767, "texte": "T WALK through this barred corridor\n* IVith my eyes shut tight.\nThe guards say—to the visitors—\n\"He hates the light!\"\nThey cannot see into my heart\nAnd know that I walk so\nFor the sound is like a pavement\n/ walked long, long ago."}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "925", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 3442, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3466, "texte": "In Prison\nKewe Sheridan."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c013", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c013", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "925", "page_fin": "925", "image_debut": 9, "image_fin": 9, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.10.1", "titre_corps": "T WALK through this barred corridor", "titre_sommaire": "T WALK through this barred corridor", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "925", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 2538, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2767, "texte": "T WALK through this barred corridor\n* IVith my eyes shut tight.\nThe guards say—to the visitors—\n\"He hates the light!\"\nThey cannot see into my heart\nAnd know that I walk so\nFor the sound is like a pavement\n/ walked long, long ago."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c014", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c014", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "925", "page_fin": "925", "image_debut": 9, "image_fin": 9, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.11", "titre_corps": "Drawing by E. Schilling", "titre_sommaire": "Drawing by E. Schilling", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "925", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 3715, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3738, "texte": "Drawing by E. Schilling"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c015", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c015", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "925", "page_fin": "925", "image_debut": 9, "image_fin": 9, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.12", "titre_corps": "Tears and Pity", "titre_sommaire": "Tears and Pity", "signature_source": "Cat's Paw", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "925", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 1131, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2107, "texte": "Tears and Pity\nCat's Paw\nThey speak of tears of joy and tears of sorrow.\nRarely have I seen such; but daily do I see tears of\ncompassion, of deeply felt compassion with one's own self.\nOnly once pure precious tears do I remember. It was\nmeant for one dead long ago.\nMy daughter had heard for the first time one of Wag-\nner's operas and I told her that the creator of these\nmelodies had suffered starvation, that he almost starved\nin Paris while writing his \"Rienzi.\"\nMy daughter cried.\nBut perhaps even these tears were riot free of pity of\nherself.\n\"I could have given him to eat and to drink if I had\nlived in his day! Oh, what a pity it is that my desire\nto help this wonderful man is unattainable!\"\nObserve closely those who cry easily and often. Deeds,\nnot tears, are the expressions of a warm compassionate\nheart. Tears are mostly only conclusive proofs of egotistic\ninclinations. Cry if you pkase, but be sincere; cry be-\ncause you have infinite pity for your own self."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c016", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c016", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "925", "page_fin": "925", "image_debut": 9, "image_fin": 9, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.13", "titre_corps": "An Author's Complaint", "titre_sommaire": "An Author's Complaint", "signature_source": "H. Thompson Rich", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "925", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 2109, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2536, "texte": "An Author's Complaint\nH. Thompson Rich\nI HATE my heroes!\n* They make me sick\nWith their intrigues and wiles and adventures,\nTheir intimacies,\nTheir amours and liaisons.\nI hate my heroines!\nThey turn my stomach\nWith their chattering and giggling and kissing,\nTheir lax morals,\nTheir lewd tastes and disgusting lives.\nI hate the people I write about!\n(We agree with Mr. H. Thompson Rich, we too, hate the\npeople he writes about.)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c017", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c017", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "925", "page_fin": "925", "image_debut": 9, "image_fin": 9, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.14", "titre_corps": "Exclusive", "titre_sommaire": "Exclusive", "signature_source": "Samson V. Becker", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "925", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 2769, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3440, "texte": "Exclusive\nSamson V. Becker\niy| R HIGHLY RESPECTABLE (one of our first\nfamilies) died and went to Heaven, in search of his\nwife who had left Earth before him. When he arrived\nat the Heavenly Hostelry he inquired for his wife, but\nafter a search of the register, he was told she wasn't there.\nSo he went to the Only Other Hotel in town, where he\nwas met by his wife and a party of friends (all former\nmembers of the Most Inner Circle).\n\"Why,\" said he, adjusting his monocle to the most ap-\nproved angle, \"did you come here? It is rawther warm\nhere, don't you think?\"\n\"Yes,\" she replied, as she raised her diamond studded\nlorgnette, \"it is; but it's so much more exclusive!\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c018", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c018", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "925", "page_fin": "925", "image_debut": 9, "image_fin": 9, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.15", "titre_corps": "In a cafe. Man, wife, newly married. His best friend.", "titre_sommaire": "In a cafe. Man, wife, newly married. His best friend.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "925", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 3468, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3713, "texte": "In a cafe. Man, wife, newly married. His best friend.\n\"... And so finally I had to choose whether\nto get married immediately or to shoot myself instantly/'\nThe friend (looking sideways at the wife) : \"Suicide\nwould have been cowardice.\"\n(La Vie)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c019", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c019", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "926", "page_fin": "926", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 10, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.16", "titre_corps": "Reilly's Wife—and Mine", "titre_sommaire": "Reilly's Wife—and Mine", "signature_source": "Hubert James McCurrach", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "926", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 51, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1122, "texte": "D EILLY is Irish,\nA poetic summons server.\nReilly and I are alike—\nHe's happiest\nWhen his purse\nIs flat,\nAnd so am I. . . .\nI often wonder how Reilly feels,\nWhen for the court\nHe pursues a debtor.\nHow does he suppress\nThat irrepressible grin—\nWhen he confronts his prey ?\nOr does he smile regardless?\nReilly and his Wife are alike\nThe domestic purse is the family joke.\nBut they are always happy;\nAnd so are the little ones.\nNever a storm\nBut leaves the Reillys\nSmiling and joyful entirely.\nNo poetry shows in Reilly's speech-\nIt's wholly in his eyes and grin.\nHow cheering this must be\nFor ten-dollar clerks and the like\nWhen conscience's prod\nHe corroborates\nWith an order from the court!\nIf ever the court\nSo distinguishes me\nI hope it'll be Reilly\nThat is sent\nTo present the mandate\nMy unmercenary acts\nHave earned.\nBut will my wife be like Reilly's?\nWho's everything to Reilly, I'm sure\nBut no financial anchor . . .\nIf it be, so be it, an' I love her.\nBut if the past is anything\nTo go by\nWhere shall we be in a year?\n\nReilly's Wife—and Mine\nHubert James McCurrach"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c020", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c020", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "926", "page_fin": "926", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 10, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.16.1", "titre_corps": "D EILLY is Irish,", "titre_sommaire": "D EILLY is Irish,", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "926", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 51, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1075, "texte": "D EILLY is Irish,\nA poetic summons server.\nReilly and I are alike—\nHe's happiest\nWhen his purse\nIs flat,\nAnd so am I. . . .\nI often wonder how Reilly feels,\nWhen for the court\nHe pursues a debtor.\nHow does he suppress\nThat irrepressible grin—\nWhen he confronts his prey ?\nOr does he smile regardless?\nReilly and his Wife are alike\nThe domestic purse is the family joke.\nBut they are always happy;\nAnd so are the little ones.\nNever a storm\nBut leaves the Reillys\nSmiling and joyful entirely.\nNo poetry shows in Reilly's speech-\nIt's wholly in his eyes and grin.\nHow cheering this must be\nFor ten-dollar clerks and the like\nWhen conscience's prod\nHe corroborates\nWith an order from the court!\nIf ever the court\nSo distinguishes me\nI hope it'll be Reilly\nThat is sent\nTo present the mandate\nMy unmercenary acts\nHave earned.\nBut will my wife be like Reilly's?\nWho's everything to Reilly, I'm sure\nBut no financial anchor . . .\nIf it be, so be it, an' I love her.\nBut if the past is anything\nTo go by\nWhere shall we be in a year?"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c021", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c021", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "926", "page_fin": "926", "image_debut": 10, "image_fin": 10, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.16.1.1", "titre_corps": "Arthur Schnitzler. By Gulbransson", "titre_sommaire": "Arthur Schnitzler. By Gulbransson", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "926", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 49, "texte": "Arthur Schnitzler. By Gulbransson"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c022", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c022", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "927", "page_fin": "927", "image_debut": 11, "image_fin": 11, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.17", "titre_corps": "Carlo De Fornaro", "titre_sommaire": "Carlo De Fornaro", "signature_source": "Bernard Gallant", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "927", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2633, "texte": "Carlo De Fornaro\nBernard Gallant\n\nA MONG the writers who are introducing Mexico to\n** the American reading public, the Mexico of social\nstrife and revolutionary upheaval—the land of the strug-\ngling peon and Indian—Carlo de Fornaro occupies an\nimportant place. It is true that to the American public\nFornaro is better known as a painter and cartoonist, never-\ntheless, it was he who in reality first called attention to\nthe brutalities of the Diaz government. In his book,\n\"Diaz, Czar of Mexico,\" he exposed the Machiavellian\nmethods of Porfirio Diaz and gave the American public\nto understand what is transpiring in the land of the\nAztec, Mayo and Yaquis Indians.\nFor his troubles he was rewarded with bitter persecu-\ntion, a suit for criminal libel and a sentence of years to\nBlackwell's Island. His book, however, marked the be-\nginning of a systematic revolt against the Diaz regime\nand resulted in the fall of it.\nUndismayed by his prison sentence Fornaro continued\nhis work in behalf of the Mexican revolutionists. His\nsecond book, \"Carranza and Mexico,\" published by Mit-\nchell Kennerley, masterfully unfolds the complicated\nMexican situation and gives its readers an insight in the\ngreat tragedy now being staged in that land of strife and\nbloodshed. To him it is a great social revolution, by far\ngreater than the French revolution ever dared be, in which\nall social customs and traditions will be swept away.\nPersonally Fornaro is a very unique and interesting\ncharacter. He was born in Calcutta, India, and reared\nin Italy and Switzerland. He is a scion of an old Italian\nfamily and is a member of the family of Pope Alexander\nVI. His education he received at the Royal Academy of\nMunich and came to this country twenty years ago. When\nhe grew tired of dear, old New York with its glittering\nelectric signs, he went to Mexico. That was in 1906.\nInstead of painting the picturesque scenes of that marvel-\nous country, as he contemplated, he published a news-\npaper for more than three years, giving the Mexicans a\ntaste of real Metropolitan journalism. That marked\nFornaro's entrance into the field of the Mexican revolu-\ntion and he has been a loyal champion of the revolutionists\never since.\nIn appearance Fornaro looks very much like a Jesuit\npriest and keeps the hours of a brigand. He sleeps most\nof the day and wanders from cafe to cafe most of the\nnight. With the fair sex he is most charming and gallant,\nbut is galling bitter when he portrays them with pen or\nbrush. But he is far from being a woman kater. Oddly\nenough, regardless of his cafe life, Fornaro indulges in\nnothing stronger than water."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c023", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c023", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "927", "page_fin": "927", "image_debut": 11, "image_fin": 11, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.17.1", "titre_corps": "Caricature of Fornaro by Jorge Encisco, famous Mexican Painter", "titre_sommaire": "Caricature of Fornaro by Jorge Encisco, famous Mexican Painter", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "927", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 2635, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2697, "texte": "Caricature of Fornaro by Jorge Encisco, famous Mexican\nPainter"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c024", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c024", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "927", "page_fin": "927", "image_debut": 11, "image_fin": 11, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.17.2", "titre_corps": "Drawn by Herb Roth", "titre_sommaire": "Drawn by Herb Roth", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "927", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 2699, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2717, "texte": "Drawn by Herb Roth"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c025", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c025", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "927", "page_fin": "927", "image_debut": 11, "image_fin": 11, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.18", "titre_corps": "The good nature of a fool cannot be compared with the", "titre_sommaire": "The good nature of a fool cannot be compared with the", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "927", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 2719, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2891, "texte": "The good nature of a fool cannot be compared with the\nkindness of a wise man.\nOne who is wise and still good is very good.\nIt is as important to know danger as to be brave."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c027", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c027", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "928", "page_fin": "928", "image_debut": 12, "image_fin": 12, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.20", "titre_corps": "Oscar Wilde", "titre_sommaire": "Oscar Wilde", "signature_source": "Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "928", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2793, "texte": "Oscar Wilde\nGuido Bruno\nlIE is the high priest of a wonderful cult, a cult which\n*• embodies the whole creation and whose initiate\nrepresents in one person master and creature of the uni-\nverse, who wanders through the world garbed in the\npurple of his office; whose life is a continuous preparation\nfor the great communion, for one last sacrament.\nBlood is the dark sparkling wine which fills the be-\njeweled goblet.\nIt had taken a long time to fill it to the brim with\nthousands of drops of throbbing life blood.\nThey were taken drop by drop from just as many\nsinners and criminals, from chaste and from vicious men\nand women. From angels and from devils.\nThe goblet had seemed insatiable.\nAnd then came that evening.\nThe goblet was filled.\nNo sin was ever committed, no vice was ever indulged\nin by men or women whose specimen of life blood was not\ncontained in it.\nThe time had arrived when he should gather the fruits\nof his life. When he should command the sun: Stop!\nAnd it would obey his command.\nAnd he would laugh at the spender of lighKwho had\nto leave this world when the mysteries of night settled\nthe universe and when dark shadows crept on silent\nsilvery feet into nooks and corners, into the brilliantly\nlighted palace, and into the dark dungeon holes of the\npoor, of the vicious and of the criminal.\nClothed in gold-embroidered purple and adorned with\njewels and flowers, he went to the table of communion—\nlike a usurper to his coronation—to place the crown on\nhis own head.\nHe wandered through crowded busy cities, through sun-\nburned prairies, through lonely forests oyer lovely pastures,\nand ascended the highest mountain; where mortals feel\nthe nearness of the skies and do not look down upon the\ncosmos at their feet shuddering before the greatness of its\nCreator.\nHe raised the goblet with its precious substance to the\nclouds:\nDare you, behind those clouds! Master of this universe\nfor ages! I am Master as you! I, the man!\nBirds in the trees, stop your singing! Listen in reverent\nsilence!\nFlowers close your cups! Grass, stop growing! Rivers,\ncease flowing! Animals, hide yourselves in the densest\nbushes! Earth-heating worms, make not another move\nwith your miserable bodies!\nFlashes, chastise the earth!\nThunder, roll over the hemispheres, resounding in a\nterrifying echo!\nEarth, quake!\nI, the master, the man, am taking my sacrament!\nHe put the goblet to his lips.\nHe drank.\nOscar Wilde remained master in the dingy regulation\ncell of his prison. The luxuries and comforts of life which\nwere denied him he found in himself. The quickness\nand sharpness of his mind, the discrimination of art and\nthe bad attempt to be artistic but more than all his self-\nconsciousness, were with him. He was the creator of\nhis world and the master of his creation."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c028", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c028", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "928", "page_fin": "928", "image_debut": 12, "image_fin": 12, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.21", "titre_corps": "The Folly of Making too Much Money", "titre_sommaire": "The Folly of Making too Much Money", "signature_source": "H. M. East, Jr", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "928", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 2795, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3802, "texte": "The Folly of Making too Much Money\nH. M. East, Jr.\nIT is as great a folly to make too much money, as it\nis not to make enough. However, there are some people\nwho never know when they have enough money. Never\ndid I yet meet a man who said that he had enough money.\nEven I haven't enough, and I shall never get enough,\nthough I realize the folly of making too much. I might\nyield to the temptation, for money tempts man and the\nJews like a pretty woman. \"Money is the root of all\nevil,\" saith the proverb. This is a sweeping statement,\nbut the desire for money is responsible for an astonishing\namount of sin- And when you are making too much\nmoney you are a menace and an outrage to civilization.\nThe sons of millionaires are sadly handicapped. The\nvices of the rich are more insidious than the vices of the\npoor. The man who makes too much money causes envy,\nhatred and schemes to get his money away from him.\nThe Bible is quite emphatic on the fate of the rich man.\nBlind audacity we notice even in beasts."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c029", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c029", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "929", "page_fin": "930", "image_debut": 13, "image_fin": 14, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.22", "titre_corps": "In Our Village", "titre_sommaire": "In Our Village", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "929", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4052, "texte": "CINCE time immemorial aristocracy of mind and aris-\ntocracy of birth have lived in close quarters. The\nRoman Caesars were the friends and protectors of poets\nand artists. During the Middle Ages, trench and Ger-\nman Princes encouraged the songs of the troubadours.\nThe art of Guttenberg would have died in its infancy if\nthe lords of castles and palaces had not found an honored\nplace in their abodes for books.\nThe Napoleonic era brought about its big changes.\nTraditions were abolished. Titles became shallow names.\nMoney and power became synonymous. Barriers that had\nexisted for centuries were torn, down; everybody was in-\nvited to participate in the big competition for life's good\nand desirable things. To gain money through personal\nefforts became a noble occupation of humanity. Actually\nto have gained it meant admission to that new nobility of\nour times: to the aristocracy of money.\nAnd so to-day we find the aristocracy of money living\nin close quarters with the aristocracy of mind.\nRight here in our Village, on Washington Square:\nthere are the mansions of the oldest and richest families\nof New York, built by those merchant princes who gave\nnames to our streets and public squares, to our libraries\nand our railroads, to our hospitals and our universities.\nOn the South side, in the houses which O. Henry called\n\"houses of mystery,\" are artists and writers, reformers\nand enthusiasts. And like a bridge over the yawning\nabyss that separates rich and poor, the university building\non the East side of the Square. Here is the common\nground where the dweller on the South side may find his\ncard of admission into the palace on the North side. And\nhere it is that the scion of the rich merchant's family will\nlearn to bare his head before genius.\nSuch is the charm of Washington Square. Here is the\nexplanation of \"Greenwich Village,\" of that \"republic in\nthe air,\" of that misunderstood, commercially exploited\nBohemia, which ceases to be a Dorado of mind the very\nmoment one becomes conscious of it.\nThere are some \"benefactors of humanity,\" \"lovers of\nart,\" and \"philanthropists\" who have chosen Greenwich\nVillage for their field of operation. They have invaded\nthe peaceful quiet of our surroundings with the loud\ntrumpet of their humbug. They have partly driven out\nthose who have lived among us for years working and\ncreating quietly in the shadow of our old trees, in the\nsolitude of time-worn rooms, rented and inhabited by\nthem for years in the quaint houses and cottages now\ndoomed to destruction.\nWhat a marvelous background is this \"Greenwich Vil-\nlage Bohemia\" for the real estate shark! Every cellar\nand every garret,—half-a-dozen years ago rented for very\nsmall prices to Italian families,—brings high prices as a\n\"studio.\" Old houses are being re-modeled; i.e., they\ndivide one large room into two or three small ones, and\ncharge instead of six dollars a week, seventy-five dollars\na month for a \"studio apartment.\" Artistically inclined\nshirt-merchants, and atmosphere crazy shoe-manufacturers\nare welcome lessees to our Greenwich Village real estate\nshark.\nAnd they do such a lot to beautify our neighborhood!\nNotwithstanding expenses and labor they paint the win-\ndow sills of re-constructed houses pale green. They put\nwindow boxes in front of the windows and compel you in\nthe lease to keep them filled with flowers. They hang\nan old lantern before the house door and permit the star\nlessee to choose it from a junk shop on Third Street. They\nrefuse to renew the leases of rag-pickers, cobblers and\nother old inhabitants of the neighborhood; and then they\nraise the rent from twelve dollars to forty-five and allow\nsome individual obsessed with a mania to run a purple\nand yellow shop in Greenwich Village to make the suitable\nalterations. There is no fee charged for this permission.\nThey build apartment houses with fabulous rents. And\nnow, having succeeded in getting Charles Dana Gibson\nto sign a lease for one of them, they should have no*\"\ntrouble in obtaining any price they wish to get from \"art"}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "929", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 4109, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4123, "texte": "In Our Village"}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "930", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4162, "texte": "enthusiasts\" from Peoria and East Oshkosh who come to\nNew York to satisfy their cravings for \"art\" and \"at-\nmosphere.\"\nGreenwich Village is experiencing now what happened\nto the Chat Noir after Salis' death. Artists ceased to\ncome to the once famous cabaret. Poets and litterateurs\nkept away from a placfc where they were put on public\nexhibition. Therefore the proprietors, who had to show\nthe goods to the endless chain of sight-seers, hired indi-\nviduals with long hair and fantastically dressed women.\nAnd they made a financial success for quite awhile. But\nyou can't fool all of the people all of the time. . . .\nThe people who had found in Greenwich Village a\nlonged-for seclusion among the ancient surroundings have\nleft and are leaving daily for other parts of the city. They\ncould have endured the influx of population. They could\nhave stood the fantastically dressed women, \"successful\"\nwriters and artists, who manufacture their wares by\nhundreds of yards\" to order only, and buy automobiles ;\nthey could have stood and newspaper notoriety which\nexploited with the pompous language of quacks what was\nso dear to their hearts. They would have endured the\nnoise of buses and the annoyance of sight-seers; but they\nnever could pay the exorbitant rents that merciless real\nestate sharks are charging now for their habitations.\nEven the most dilapidated looking, almost shattered\nmarble pillar has more charm, has more reality, is more\nalive than cheap stucco imitation, even if it is dainty-\nlooking with pale-green window sashes and the iron lan-\ntern in front of its door.\nFads and fashions die. Cemeteries are restful and ideal\nplaces for dreamers. Real estate men will get their share,\nthey will get the limit of their share.\nIn a score of years Greenwich Village will again be the\nGreenwich Village it was. A new generation will dis-\ncover its charms, will take possession of it and our grand-\nsons will dream and love and starve and work and create\nin the Greenwich Village we have lost.\nRobert Carlton Brown spent a few days in the Village.\nIt was a sort of recreation after finishing his last novel.\nHe is very much interested in South America and is con-\ntemplating a trip to Argentine in the near future. His\nlong sojourn in Spain revealed to him the attractions land\nbeauties of Latin countries.\nDoris Carlyle is a good talker and her close personal\nassociation with all those men who surrounded Oscar\nWilde gives a certain background to her London chatter.\nA course of lectures by her, delivered before our blue-\nstocking clubs, would be not only more entertaining but\nsurely more beneficial than the grape juice pets are com-\nmonly listened to. Doris is holding court in the Brevoort\nlately and her word duels with her more or less brilliant\ncontemporaries are better entertainment than our average\ntwo dollar shows.\nIrene Maguire adores stripes. If she does not wear a\nblack and white tamo'shanter and dress to match, she has\non her pink and white one, or her yellow and white one.\nOn certain days she prefers green and white stripes. Ow-\ning to the war and the shortage in dye stuffs in this coun-\ntry she has to restrict her fancy for stripes to the elemen-\ntary colors.\nBilly Hamilton has decided to get married. It will\nhappen on Sunday afternoon at four o'clock. Jack Mc-\nGrath will be the best man and the ceremony will take\nplace in Bruno's Garret. Billy's future husband is a nice\nyoung boy, very tall and very blonde, very romantic and\nvery much in love with Billy. They met on Friday, got\nengaged on Monday and will be joined in holy wedlock\non Sunday. Quite a record—even for Greenwich Vil-\nlage! His name cannnot be mentioned at present as he is\nafraid his father and mother might not approve of his\nquick decision.\nTom Kelly, the cabby, renowned far beyond the\nboundaries of the Village, who delivers you safely at your\nhouse even if you are not able to recollect it the morning\nafter, refuses to rechristen his horse \"Kaiser/' the best\nhorse on the Avenue, as he calls him. As far as Yonkers\nor Coney Island he will take you, and to take up a race\nwith a Ford is an everyday occurrence in his professional\nlife."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c030", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c030", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "929", "page_fin": "929", "image_debut": 13, "image_fin": 13, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.22.1", "titre_corps": "Native Admirer of Art and landlord, by Jack Flannigan", "titre_sommaire": "Native Admirer of Art and landlord, by Jack Flannigan", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "929", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 4054, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4107, "texte": "Native Admirer of Art and landlord, by Jack Flannigan"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c031", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c031", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "930", "page_fin": "930", "image_debut": 14, "image_fin": 14, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.23", "titre_corps": "The Flambeau Weavers", "titre_sommaire": "The Flambeau Weavers", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "930", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 4164, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5810, "texte": "The Flambeau Weavers\nDOSE WATSON is one of a few people who have\nformed an Association that has as its purpose the\nmaking and selling of hand-woven and hand-dyed fabrics\nand related handcraft objects of unusual art distinction.\nI quote from their circular:\n4'We are reviving the art of_dyeing, a new medium for\nAmerican artists, to take advantage of successful experi-\nments recenlty made for us. This work will be exhibited\nOctober first and choice and unique pieces kept on sale*.\nA colony of artists on the Palisades has been designing\nand weaving tapestries for us to present to the New York\nart world. With these weavers as a nucleus we have\nformed a group including deft craftsmen who left their\nhand-looms in France years ago to work in the grind of\nour commercialized silk mills. This is the first attempt\nto preserve the native art they brought to American and\nnearly lost in the mills.\nWe have a well established source for foreign hand-\nwoven fabrics and an arrangement for a sure supply of\npeasant-made linens and cloths which have never before\nbeen available in New York.\nAs for home-spuns: in backward regions of this coun-\ntry there are still women who spin their own flax and\nwool on looms their grandfathers carried with them across\nthe mountains a century ago. We are glad to make a\nmarket for them and give some of them the first sight of\nreal money they have ever had. It will be just as pleasant\not offer these honest stuffs to a city which scarcely knows\nthe look of real wool. Some day, when the birth throes\nof the business are over, we shall start instruction centers\nwhere women can learn the art of their grandmothers.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c033", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c033", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "931", "page_fin": "931", "image_debut": 15, "image_fin": 15, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.25", "titre_corps": "I.—Sacrifice", "titre_sommaire": "I.—Sacrifice", "signature_source": "Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "931", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4650, "texte": "Pasteles in Prose\nI.—Sacrifice\nGuido Bruno.\n\nHE two men sat in the summer-house back of the big\nresidence. It was dark. The white candle on the\ntable flickered an insufficient yellow light. The river far\nbelow seemed an untransgressable, separating depth of\nthe high hills that grew into the heavens on the other\nside. Not a star shone on the clouded skies. A Dig ugly\nmoth did her best to commit suicide in the flame of the\ncandle. The air was laden with heaviness. It was one\nof the nights that we declare our love, that we exchange\nconfidences, in which we regret lost chances and resurrect\ndead memories. The man with a sad, almost mourning\nlook, broke the silence.\n\"And so I gave up because of my real, eternal,\nnever changing love. I never thought that I could do it.\nBut love wins. I watched her closely. I tried to under-\nstand every one of her actions. I indulged her eccentrici-\nties. She was sick, I felt her pain. I watched over her\nday and night. And her husband was always at hand.\"\n\"Your life has always been sirhple, my dear fellow.\nYou don't know what it means to love a woman, to receive\nfavors from her, all those small and big favors that make\nlife worth living—and then, you have to say good-night\nevery evening. You have to make appointments to meet\nat this and that place when you know that she should be\nwith you all the time. Then there were her children. It's\na funny thing about those children. Wouldn't you expect\nrather strange, even hard feelings towards the living tes-\ntimony of her devotion to, another man ? But no—I never\ndid. They seemed to be a part of her. I loved them\nalmost as much as herself.\nYou know, we went on this way for months. Women\nare such masters at burning life's candles at both ends.\nThey know that the two lights must meet some time.\nAnd that then there will be darkness. But they don't\nthink. They don't feel the creep of the inevitable\nshadow.\"\n\"We met every day. We lived. We kissed. We loved\n—and in the evening she went home to her husband. God!\nThe torture of it! When I sat evening after evening in\nmy quiet quarters with her picture in front of me. And\nshe ... I don't know what she was doing. I only\nimagined: Now she is serving him some dish, inquiring\nsolicitously if it is to his liking. Now she kisses him good-\nnight ... I believed in her with all my heart. But\nhow could a man made of flesh and blood resist forcing\nhis way to her chamber ... a man who had the\nlegal right to her . . .\n\"She loved her home, the old furniture so carefully se-\nlected by her and for her; the old servants upon whom\nshe depended; she hung with all her soul upon the every-\nday routine of living that she had followed for more than\ntwenty years. I was now a new factor in the new routine\n—a beloved one, but an addition.\n\"Well, I gave her up. I gave it all up. I didn't have\nthe heart to induce her to give up the surroundings she\nloved. I know she would have been willing to do the\nconventional thing but I didn't dare do it. I loved her so\nmuch. I sacrified everything for her sake. Life is worth-\nless for me. I'll never see her again and I'll never again\nfeel warmth in my heart. I'll never see her again in my\nlife and I shall long for her until I die.\n\"I might be happy at that . . . if it is happiness;\nthe consciousness of my self-sacrifice.\"\nThe man with a sad, resigned face looked forlornly out\ninto the darkness. There was a long silence. His com-\npanion did not move. It seemed an eternity, but it surely\nlasted an hour. Neither did his companion take his eyes\naway from the face of the man who was speaking. He\nseemed to try to read his mind and look deep into his\nheart. He was studying the features of his face and mak-\ning comparisons.\nAnd suddenly all the relaxation disappeared. He seem-\ned active, dynamic. He lay back in the garden chair. He\nstretched his legs and arms conscious of his strength.\nThere was a vigorous exhaltation with his powerful lungs\nthat blew out the light.v\n. . . \"Fool ... I would have taken her. I\nwould have made her forget her surroundings and her fur-\nniture and her husband. I would have made her sit with\nme in my lonely quarters. I would have passed to her a\npart of my own dish. I would have made her feel the des-\necration of another man's touch. I would have guarded\nher all night. I would have brought her happiness in re-\nturn. I would have sacrificed everything but her, and\nconscious of that I would have been happy.\"\nA glaring white lightning parted the dark skies. Thun-\nder resounded from all corners of the earth. Heavy drops\nof an unexpected rain beat against the roof. The two men\nhurried back to the big lighted house."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c034", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c034", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "931", "page_fin": "931", "image_debut": 15, "image_fin": 15, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.25.1", "titre_corps": "HE two men sat in the summer-house back of the big", "titre_sommaire": "HE two men sat in the summer-house back of the big", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "931", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 61, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4650, "texte": "HE two men sat in the summer-house back of the big\nresidence. It was dark. The white candle on the\ntable flickered an insufficient yellow light. The river far\nbelow seemed an untransgressable, separating depth of\nthe high hills that grew into the heavens on the other\nside. Not a star shone on the clouded skies. A Dig ugly\nmoth did her best to commit suicide in the flame of the\ncandle. The air was laden with heaviness. It was one\nof the nights that we declare our love, that we exchange\nconfidences, in which we regret lost chances and resurrect\ndead memories. The man with a sad, almost mourning\nlook, broke the silence.\n\"And so I gave up because of my real, eternal,\nnever changing love. I never thought that I could do it.\nBut love wins. I watched her closely. I tried to under-\nstand every one of her actions. I indulged her eccentrici-\nties. She was sick, I felt her pain. I watched over her\nday and night. And her husband was always at hand.\"\n\"Your life has always been sirhple, my dear fellow.\nYou don't know what it means to love a woman, to receive\nfavors from her, all those small and big favors that make\nlife worth living—and then, you have to say good-night\nevery evening. You have to make appointments to meet\nat this and that place when you know that she should be\nwith you all the time. Then there were her children. It's\na funny thing about those children. Wouldn't you expect\nrather strange, even hard feelings towards the living tes-\ntimony of her devotion to, another man ? But no—I never\ndid. They seemed to be a part of her. I loved them\nalmost as much as herself.\nYou know, we went on this way for months. Women\nare such masters at burning life's candles at both ends.\nThey know that the two lights must meet some time.\nAnd that then there will be darkness. But they don't\nthink. They don't feel the creep of the inevitable\nshadow.\"\n\"We met every day. We lived. We kissed. We loved\n—and in the evening she went home to her husband. God!\nThe torture of it! When I sat evening after evening in\nmy quiet quarters with her picture in front of me. And\nshe ... I don't know what she was doing. I only\nimagined: Now she is serving him some dish, inquiring\nsolicitously if it is to his liking. Now she kisses him good-\nnight ... I believed in her with all my heart. But\nhow could a man made of flesh and blood resist forcing\nhis way to her chamber ... a man who had the\nlegal right to her . . .\n\"She loved her home, the old furniture so carefully se-\nlected by her and for her; the old servants upon whom\nshe depended; she hung with all her soul upon the every-\nday routine of living that she had followed for more than\ntwenty years. I was now a new factor in the new routine\n—a beloved one, but an addition.\n\"Well, I gave her up. I gave it all up. I didn't have\nthe heart to induce her to give up the surroundings she\nloved. I know she would have been willing to do the\nconventional thing but I didn't dare do it. I loved her so\nmuch. I sacrified everything for her sake. Life is worth-\nless for me. I'll never see her again and I'll never again\nfeel warmth in my heart. I'll never see her again in my\nlife and I shall long for her until I die.\n\"I might be happy at that . . . if it is happiness;\nthe consciousness of my self-sacrifice.\"\nThe man with a sad, resigned face looked forlornly out\ninto the darkness. There was a long silence. His com-\npanion did not move. It seemed an eternity, but it surely\nlasted an hour. Neither did his companion take his eyes\naway from the face of the man who was speaking. He\nseemed to try to read his mind and look deep into his\nheart. He was studying the features of his face and mak-\ning comparisons.\nAnd suddenly all the relaxation disappeared. He seem-\ned active, dynamic. He lay back in the garden chair. He\nstretched his legs and arms conscious of his strength.\nThere was a vigorous exhaltation with his powerful lungs\nthat blew out the light.v\n. . . \"Fool ... I would have taken her. I\nwould have made her forget her surroundings and her fur-\nniture and her husband. I would have made her sit with\nme in my lonely quarters. I would have passed to her a\npart of my own dish. I would have made her feel the des-\necration of another man's touch. I would have guarded\nher all night. I would have brought her happiness in re-\nturn. I would have sacrificed everything but her, and\nconscious of that I would have been happy.\"\nA glaring white lightning parted the dark skies. Thun-\nder resounded from all corners of the earth. Heavy drops\nof an unexpected rain beat against the roof. The two men\nhurried back to the big lighted house."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c035", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c035", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "931", "page_fin": "931", "image_debut": 15, "image_fin": 15, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.26", "titre_corps": "Replated Platitudes", "titre_sommaire": "Replated Platitudes", "signature_source": "Julius Doerner", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "931", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 4652, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5180, "texte": "Replated Platitudes\nJulius Doerner.\nMost modern fiction, the literary pabulum of the un-\nliterary, measures up about a thimbleful of fact in a tubful\nof fancy.\nYou don't have to eat the whole of a cake to find out\nwhat it all tastes like.\nIn the world of fashion's favor, a fat purse and fine\nmillinery shall cover a multitude of imbecilities.\nWhen one fool blames another fool, how if any other\nfool to t&l which fool is really the real fool?\nThe man who makes his own opportunities will soon\nfind opportunities making for him."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c037", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c037", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "932", "page_fin": "932", "image_debut": 16, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.28", "titre_corps": "Why and How I Got Married", "titre_sommaire": "Why and How I Got Married", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "932", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 457, "texte": "Why and How I Got Married\nMany hundred stories, brief and lengthy accounts, arrive every week at the desk of our Contest Editor. Most\nof them testify that marriage, even in our commonplace age, preserves its old romance and that to relate a story of\nhow Grandfather took Grandmother urges the pen into hands not otherwise ambitious of literary achievement. A\nhandful of these stories will be chosen every week for the perusal of our readers."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c038", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c038", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "932", "page_fin": "932", "image_debut": 16, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.29", "titre_corps": "The End of Romance", "titre_sommaire": "The End of Romance", "signature_source": "R", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "932", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 459, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1450, "texte": "The End of Romance\nR.\nWAS a favorite with all the men I knew at the time, and\n* engaged to one of them; yet, when I met ''him\" the others\nwere forgotten. It was a very ardent courtship and we were\nextremely happy when we could forget my mother's opposition.\nHe was of good family, good to look at, athletic, a Spanish War\nveteran, a general* favorite with men and women, and there\nseemed no good reason why one should not marry him. In\nless than a year we were married and in less than two years\nafter that I realized what it meant for a woman whose husband\nwas a \"favorite with men and women.\" Twice he begged for-\ngiveness, which was granted, but, as it will, the time came when\nI could endure it no longer. We separated. Nothing was heard\nof him until seven years later, when the mail brought me a\nweek-old newspaper notice of a suicide that led me to Rochester\nto find that the thirteen cents in his pocket was all that was left\nof a borrowed quarter and my life's romance was at an end."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c039", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c039", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "932", "page_fin": "932", "image_debut": 16, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.30", "titre_corps": "31 Years of Married Life", "titre_sommaire": "31 Years of Married Life", "signature_source": "T", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "932", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 1452, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4193, "texte": "31 Years of Married Life\nT.\nHAD been in New York only three weeks when I got a job\nin Litchfield Co., Conn., where I lived altogether among\nYankees, and learned to speak English. But I found I could\nnot get my pay, my employer, a brigadier-general of the militia\nand a walking whiskey-bottle, being insolvent. Therefore, after\nsix months of hard work and poor pay, I accepted a position in\nD. on the Mississippi River, which happened to be freg. After\na year and a half I wanted, and asked for, a better position\nwhich became free, but was refused, whereupon I threw up\nmy job and paddled my own canoe, i.e., gave lectures, did pri-\nvate tutoring and held a summer school.\nThrough a course of lectures on modern history I made the\nacquaintance of the young lady who, within three quarters of a\nyear, became my wife. The course was for young ladies who\nwanted to improve their general education and she was one of\nmy class. I saw soon that she was the most studious and sen-\nsible of all, and so naturally took great interest in her advance-\nment. She seemed to appreciate that, and after a month or so\nI was invited to call at her parents' residence.\nBut there was a mutual dislike between her father and me!\nMost likely he soon saw the drift of things, and undoubtedly he\nwanted a son-in-law better situated than I. As for me, I had\nheard of him, and seen him before, and what I heard and saw\ngave me the impression that he was narrow-minded, egotistic,\nwas suffering from megalomania, and was apparently blind to\nhis elder son's doings.\nThere came a clash between us, and I wrote the young lady\nI would not call any more; if she really cared for me, as I for\nher, she should meet me at any place suiting her and we would\ntalk matters over. Her answer was that she and her mother\nhad prevailed upon her father to be decent and I should not\nhesitate to call again.\nI thought that over for a couple of days, and then cut the\nmatter short by calling and proposing. She accepting me, I called\nupon the father, told him how matters stood, and asked for his\nconsent, which he gave, though with a wry face.\nSoon after that I got the position I had been refused the year\nbefore, and after an engagement of eight months we were mar-\nried. This is now not far from 31 years, and, although we have\noccasionally had our little spats, I may say that through good\ntimes and hard times we have lived quite happily. 1\nNo bliss in life is unalloyed, and two of our eight children\nhave caused us more or less anxiety; but we hope the worst is\nover, and we further hope and wish to depart this life, knowing\nthat our hard work for our children has not been in vain. There\nis some prospect that several of them may be a great deal better\noff than we ever were."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c040", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c040", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "932", "page_fin": "932", "image_debut": 16, "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.31", "titre_corps": "In Love After 17 Years", "titre_sommaire": "In Love After 17 Years", "signature_source": "Nathalie", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "932", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 4195, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6048, "texte": "In Love After 17 Years\nNathalie.\nA LL my life I have been a dreamer, and most of my dreams\n** * have come true. I was brought up in the South, in a big\nold Colonial country home, and I was sent to Paris to school,\nand was desperately homesick.\nA lady whom I met on the steamer was telling a young Amer-\nican, John, of my loneliness. He asked my name. \"That girl\nhas a cousin here,\" he said. \"I am to dine with her this evening,\nand I'll tell her of her lonely little relative.\" Result, my cousin\nasked John to bring me to call, my steamer friend introduced\nus, and John fell in love with me at first sight. From that\ntime on the dull gray days were turned to rosy ones. John\nasked me to marry him at once, was refused, but persisted, and\nin a few weeks we were engaged, and our wedding took place\nat my home six months after we met.\nAfter seventeen years of married life John is dearer than\never, and hardly a day passes that he does not tell me that I am\ndearer-to him. When my friends ask me the secret of our ideal\nmarriage, and how I have kept my husband my devoted lover,\nI usually reply, \"I married an ideal man.\" But I know that it\nis more. Our iriarriage is the fulfillment of a dream, the carry-\ning out of an ideal, and, above all, that attention to the little\nthings—little courtesies, little words and acts of love—has made\nour life together beautiful, and never permitted it to stale.\nJohn is the finest human being I have ever known. I do not\nbelieve he ever has a small or sordid thought. I am blessed\nabove all the women that I know. He believes in me and is\nproud of me. When he leaves me in the morning I feel a little\npang—he is so precious! When I see him coming home at\nevening, my heart swells with joy and pride, and my eyes often\nfill with happy tears, to think that this Man, of my Dreams is\nreally my own, and that he loves me!"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c042", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c042", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "933", "page_fin": "933", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.33", "titre_corps": "Books and Magazines of the Week", "titre_sommaire": "Books and Magazines of the Week", "signature_source": "Alexander Harvey", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "933", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.17", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4146, "texte": "Books and Magazines of the Week\nAlexander Harvey\nAlexander Harvey's Appreciation of G. S. Viereck in his\nmost unique weekly, \"The Bang\"\nO verses written in recent years, no verses, that is, of\nwhich I happen to have knowledge impress me quite\nso much as \"Doctor Faust's Descent from Heaven,\" by\nGeorge Sylvester Viereck. It is the glory of his \"Songs\nof Armageddon/' much as that delta is the glory of the\nNile. Faust is discovered in a mood of disdain with ref-\nerence to the earth. What can earth give him of joy\nhenceforth? He has loved Helen of Troy and the blonde\nMarguerite!\nFrom the very first line, the manner has an indescriba-\nble effect of beauty and of power blended. The whole\npoem proceeds like a majestic procession climbing glorious\nstairways to the sound of a chorus of angels. I have no\nrecollection of a metrical effect so tremendous. The thing\nenchants me, like a favorite musical composition.\nFaust knocks at Heaven's gate, \"the musical gates,\" as\nViereck calls them with a rare effect. The effect upon\nthe angels is tremendous and is conveyed with all the fine,\nthoroughbred arrogance of the poet. Although we are\ntold by one who should know that in Heaven there is\nneither marrying nor giving in marriage, Viereck makes\nsome of the angels swoon in the arms of their mates. I\nlike the idea, although it seems impious.\nAnd they let Faust, by which name Viereck is conven-\ntionalized, into Heaven. He tells God there is nothing to\nbe or to do in that pent-up Utica, that is, for a man like\nhimself. Not that our poet would extend an impious hand\nfor the sceptre of the universe. On the contrary, he leaves\nHeaven in a mood of the most beautiful disdain, after\nhurling at God the single tremendous and unanswerable\nquery:\n\"Have you loved Helen of Troy and the blonde Mar-\nguerite ?\nThe poet arrives in Hell and clasps the hand of its\nPrince. What a sympathetic figure the Lord of Damna-\ntion becomes! All the poets, even Milton, have loved\nLucifer, but Viereck here makes us completely miserable\nwith sympathy for the fiend. And he affords the devil the\nluxury of being understood:\n\"I have loved Helen of Troy and the blonde Marguer-\nite.\"\nLeaving the sovereign of lost souls to his scarlet candles,\nthe overwhelming poet addresses himself to Time and\nEternity. He explains in that stupendous style of his that\nhe is the Pilgrim of Passion. Lilith and Eve! His dilem-\nma between them makes one shudder for even the ass with\nthe two bundles of hay. But the poet's state is worse.\nLilith and Eve have made him lose nis way twixt Hell and\nHeaven and Earth.\nInevitably, then, he begs the boon of oblivion—think\nof it! George Sylvester Viereck implores oblivion as a\nboon! If the petition is to be denied, he will beg for an-\nother birth. Away with Lilith! Away with Eve! Let\na new woman be made by a blend of each. What ecstasy\nis to be his\n\"When beautiful Helen of shall be one with the\nblonde Marguerite!\"\nI do not know how to praise this poem more highly than\nby observing that I abhor the blonde. I was brought up\namong blondes, all the feminine members of my family\nhaving been of that complexion. I would embrace a\nblonde. I know from too painful experience just what it\nmeans to have to live with a blonde. The mere idea of\nincorporating a blonde Marguerite with the dark-browed\nHelen makes me shudder. Nevertheless, I revel in this\npoem- I have read it many a time.\nObserve the skill with which all things tremendous\nworked into the effect. God, his antagonist, woman, pas-\nsion, what is not wrought in cunningly? Thus:\nThe devious desires that crouch through the brain like\nmonsters that nest in the sea,\nPass-—pageants of ghosts—through the luminous eyes of\none who is dear to me.\nThe other—all pangs and delights of the visible world and\nits quests,\nAre engraved in the exquisite curve of her throat and the\nhieroglyphs of her breasts.\nGood! as Polonious said. Again:\nI came to the nethermost place where Satan sate in splen-\ndor alone,\nThe writhing limbs of anguished men were the pillars of\nhis throne.\nGood again! Isaac Watts cannot in his most Calvin-\nistic stanzas excite us with so glorious a Hell!"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c043", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c043", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "933", "page_fin": "933", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.34", "titre_corps": "Peradventure", "titre_sommaire": "Peradventure", "signature_source": "Amy 0. Well", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "933", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.17", "debut_caractere": 4148, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5077, "texte": "Peradventure\nAmy 0. Well\nWe copy from this interesting new journal the poem\nby one Amy O. Well:\nThe Song of the WhiSSe-Trec\nEver since the Purple Cow was roped\nAnd put to pasture,\nThe weirdness of her milk\nHas been upon me.\nI awake, kicking the clapboards,\nIn the night;\nI ride the iron bed-rail till my heart\nSplits like a peanut,\nSo terrible is my mirth.\nWhen I arise and hair-pin my hair,\nThe madness of that milk within me\nShatters the mirror,\nAnd precipitates my snicker\nInto rhythmic chasms\nOf curd, and whey, and buttermilk,\nAnd New Orleans molasses.\nThings turn and look at me;\nBut I am pulling the Teat of Inspiration,\nAnd I out-stare them.\nSuddenly I explode with\nDemoniac laughter,\nMaking a noise like a candy-sucker\nIn the mouth of a six-year old,\nOr the shriek of a caboose\nWhich has been divorced\nFrom a locomotive.\nAnd Things turn and flee me,\nBut I write on.\nFor am I not the New Poet?\nAm I not\nThe latest Scream?"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c044", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c044", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "934", "page_fin": "934", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.35", "titre_corps": "Jean", "titre_sommaire": "Jean", "signature_source": "Orrick Johns", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "934", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 357, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5657, "texte": "Jean\nBy Orrick Johns\nAND that was how the summer passed by. She told him\neverybody was getting to be strangers to her at home\nand she hardly spoke to them any more; that the world\nsomehow was not the same* He said the foreman and the\n\"straw-boss\" got him so mad, sometimes, he guessed hell\nwas not any hotter than the factory. He said it was all he\ncould do every day to keep from running out of the build-\ning right to where she was, to tell her things. She said,\n\"Yes, and the worst of it is, I'd probably be right where\nyou went: we couldn't hope for any better luck at all.\nHe said he never could tell her the things, though, when\nhe saw her; he did not seem to want to, then. She said,\n\"Yes, you're a quiet man, but I have no rights, anyway.\nOne night they were sitting on the steps. She was\ndown below him, with her chin in her hands, and the\nlight from the l'amp inside fell upon the back of hei neck.\nThe breeze was blowing her hair over it and Martin\nwatched it, it was so white and soft, and he wanted to\ntake it in both hands between his fingers and strangle her\nto death. When he told her what he wanted to do, she\nsaid, \"Oh, God, Martin, it might be for the best.\" He\nput his hand on it and she never moved, as though she\nwere waiting for him to carry out the awful thieat. Then\nshe said, \"If it was right for you to be in love with me,\nI'd be glad you said that, because that's the way you ought\nto feel. But you oughtn't to, because we're too good\nfriends to do like everybody else, and its just seeing each\nother that counts.\" He said he would like to know what\nfriends are for—with a girl. She got up and said if he\ntalked like that she would have to part from him forever.\nShe said, \"Because you were only too right when you said\nwe shouldn't marry, not having money the way it is with\nus.\" He said, who asked her to marry him? She said,\nwell, she was not begging for chances and he was getting\nalmost shameless; that she must call a halt. It got to\nbe such a quarrel they stormed at each other and the next\ntime they met they both felt bad and Martin apologized ;\nand she said they just had to kiss and make up; that it\nwas only right, and she would submit with a glad heart.\nThey were sitting on the big hill in the park >that same\nnight, on the grass. It was a clear sky, with all the stars\nout bright, and the city was all a garden of lights; they\ncould see them twinkling for miles and miles and the sky\na dull red glow in front of their faces. Martin looked\nat the sky and thought it was so bright he was ten times\nas big as he was and everybody in the city could see him\nsitting there on the hill with a girl beside him, and his\ntrouble, and not knowing what to do. She was afraid,\ntoo, and moved away. They did not dare to touch each\nother. Suddenly she got up and ran away and Martin\nwaited. He got scared after a few minutes and went to\nlook for her. At first he could not find her, because she\nhad gone in among the trees where it was darker. When\nhe came up she was kneeling under one of the trees and\nleaning over so the tall grass was in her hair. He did not\ngo right up, but he heard her moaning, \"This can't go\non!\" She said it over and over again. He could hardly\nsee and he stumbled over and > fell beside her and his hands\nwent all over her. She.said, \"No, no, no!\" and pushed\nhim away wildly, and after a minute he got up and stood\nstill, waiting for her to move. Pretty soon she got up\nand he took her arm. Part of the walk to the car he had\nto almost carry her. They sat beside each other, and\nnever said a word; but everybody was laughing and\ntalking around them. He was ashamed because her dress\nwas torn at the throat and he had a great scratch on his\ncheek and thought everybody in the car was pointing at it.\nWhen he got to his house he took her arm and she came\nright in with him without a word. They went into the\nand he lighted the light and said, \"Now you stay here.''\nShe sat down as though she did not know what she was\ndoing. He said down, too, after a minute and started to\nsmoke. She got up and took one of his mother's aprons\nand put it on. He turned her right around and untied\nit and threw it in the corner. Then she jumped past him\nand ran out of the house and stood on the porch with her\nback against the railing; and said, \"Now I'll talk to you\nhere, Martin Hupp, if you have anything to say to me.\"\nMartin walked by her and sat down on the step like a\ncrazy man and said, \"I've said enough.\" She came beside\nhim and threw her arms around him and said, \"Oh, Mar-\ntin, how noble you are!\" She kept hugging him and half\ncrying and told him he would have to be man enough for\nboth of them; that she was only a woman, and would have\nto give in if he said anything about wanting her. They\nsat there for a long time silent; and pretty soon every-\nthing seemed clear and bright to Martin all at once, and\nhe turned to her and grinned and said: \"Aw, hell, Jean,\nwhy not get married?\" She stood up astonished and said:\n\"Well! I guess you've got to ask a person.\" He asked\nher what she thought he was doing. She sat down again\nthen close to him and sighed deeply and said, \"Yes, dear.\"\nShe said it was here moment. Martin just took her up\nlike a baby and carried her home. He laughed because\nhe held her arms and she could not do anything but\nsquawk."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c045", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c045", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "934", "page_fin": "934", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.36", "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": 18, "page_imprimee": "934", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 5659, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5845, "texte": "Edith Haynes Thompson\nHER SHOP\nContaining Many Quaint and Beautiful Things\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE SOUTH\nHours: 1 to 5.30 P. M.\nj. 112. McCarthy\nPAINTINGS AND\nANTIQUES\n30 WEST 46th STREET ."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c046", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c046", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[935]", "page_fin": "[935]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.37", "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": 19, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 130, "texte": "HOTEL BREVOORT\nFifth Avenue\nCAFE LAFAYETTE\nUniversity Place\nRAYMOND ORTEIG, INC.\nThe Two French Hotels and Restaurants of New York"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c047", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c047", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[935]", "page_fin": "[935]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.38", "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": 19, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 132, "fin_caractere_exclue": 304, "texte": "GONFARONE'S\n40 West Bth Street\nTABLE D'HOTE\n\"Eating places are literary landmarks\" said O. Henry, speaking of Gonfarone's in one of his\nmexcelled Greenwich Village Stories."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c048", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c048", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[935]", "page_fin": "[935]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.39", "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": 19, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 306, "fin_caractere_exclue": 410, "texte": "Greenwich Village Inn\n(Polly's)\nBetween Washington Sq. & 6th Ave.\nService a la Carte\nOutdoor Dining Room"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c049", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c049", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[935]", "page_fin": "[935]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.40", "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": 19, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 412, "fin_caractere_exclue": 618, "texte": "From die malting of a lamp to the creation of a\nperiod room there is a right and a wrong\nway. The problems of your own house may be\nanswered by consulting\nANTON HELLMAN\n80 West Washington Square\nSpring 6340"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c050", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c050", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[935]", "page_fin": "[935]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.41", "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": 19, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 620, "fin_caractere_exclue": 771, "texte": "Florence Gough has designed children's play\nfrocks and kiddies rompers for vacation wear.\nPAINT BOX\n150 W. 4th St., nr. 6th Ave., N. Y.\nPhone Spring 23"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c051", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c051", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[935]", "page_fin": "[935]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.42", "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": 19, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 773, "fin_caractere_exclue": 954, "texte": "Artistic Cushions\nIncluding wool embroidery. Unique and original\ndesigns in patchwork. Cushions made to order.\nCall or write Sessers Studio Co., 82 Washington\nPL, N. Y. Spring 1076."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c052", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c052", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[935]", "page_fin": "[935]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.43", "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": 19, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 956, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1152, "texte": "LE DERNIER CRI\nThe gift shop magazine. Exploits the latest gift\nshop novelties. Devoted solely to the Gift and\nSpecial Shop. Sample copy free. 50 cents per\nyear.\nLE DERNIER CRI\nGrand Rapids, Mich."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c053", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c053", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[935]", "page_fin": "[935]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.44", "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": 19, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 1154, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1235, "texte": "T. D. Cox\nStationery and News Shop\nCirculating Library\n68 Washington Place, N. Y."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c054", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c054", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[935]", "page_fin": "[935]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.45", "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": 19, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 1237, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1397, "texte": "JUDSON TAILOR SHOP\n51 Washington Sq.\nAll kinds of tailoring work neatly done. Dry\ncleaning of Ladies' Suits, Gowns, Wraps, etc.,\na specialty.\n'Phone 5360 Spring"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c055", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c055", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[935]", "page_fin": "[935]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.46", "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": 19, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 1399, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1527, "texte": "'Phone Spring 3922\nTHE DUTCH OVEN\n135 MacDougal Street\nnear Washington Sq.\nOpen Air Dining Room\nHome Cooking\nLuncheon Tea Dinner"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c056", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c056", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[936]", "page_fin": "[936]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.47", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[936]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 140, "texte": "READERS OF BRUNO'S WEEKLY ARE ASKED TO BECOME SUBSCRIBERS\n52 ISSUES, TWO DOLLARS\nSEND YOUR CHEQUE TO-DAY\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE, NEW YORK CITY"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c057", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c057", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[936]", "page_fin": "[936]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.48", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[936]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 142, "fin_caractere_exclue": 495, "texte": "Rare Books\nFirst Editions\nExtra fflnstrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books. Books for Christmas GKk\nI*urehased siagly or in sets for people who have neither time nor opportunity to select for thsmsslveat\nor for those who have not access to die best hook marts. Why not begin collecting now?\nAddress, E. V. Boston Transcript, Boston, Mess."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c058", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c058", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[936]", "page_fin": "[936]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.49", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[936]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 497, "fin_caractere_exclue": 700, "texte": "Bains a book\nI N W lilC II\nwe say just what we think. Published every month by Norman-Bel Geddes at 171 Wilson Avenue\nId Detroit, Michigan. It is a little book miquely illustrated. Write for sample copy."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c059", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c059", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[936]", "page_fin": "[936]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.50", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[936]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 702, "fin_caractere_exclue": 909, "texte": "I BUY BOOKS\nSingle volumes, small lots, and libraries; autograph letters of known literary men and\nartists, drawings, pictures and engravings. Address\n' 'COLLECTOR,\" Care of Bruno's Weekly, 58 Washington So."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c060", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c060", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[936]", "page_fin": "[936]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.51", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[936]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 911, "fin_caractere_exclue": 990, "texte": "ROSSI BROTHERS\nS8 Washington Square\nUnderneath the Garret\nICC CREAM AND TOBACCO"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c061", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c061", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[936]", "page_fin": "[936]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.52", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[936]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 992, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1305, "texte": "The Mad Hatter Has a Tea Party Every Afternoon\nFrom 3 to 6 at\n150 WEST FOURTH STREET\nJust Down the Rabbit Hole From Washington Square\n'Take Some More Tea\"\n\"I've Had Nothing Yet So I Can't Take More\"\n\"You Mean You Can't Take Less, It's Very Easy to\nTake More Than Nothing.\"\n\"Nobody Asked Your Opinion\" Edith Unger*"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-08-19-01-c062", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01#c062", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-08-19_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[936]", "page_fin": "[936]", "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=bmtnaaq19160819-01.2.53", "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": 20, "page_imprimee": "[936]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 1307, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1698, "texte": "There can be no pleasanter place to hear that remarkable\nEdison Record Number (82536) than\nTHE DIAMOND DISC SHOP\nat Number 10 Fifth Avenue\nIn tku store, at least, the delightful atmosphere of Old Greenwich Village has not besn tarrirod\non the altar of commerdaliam\nA postal will bring yon, with oar ccunplnwsnts,\nan interesting little biography of itr. Urns. A.\nPhone: Stnyresant 4570 Edison"}]}], "pages_ocr_originales": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.1", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nIF. Coulton Waugh\nFive Cents August 19th, 1916"}, {"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[918]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.2", "texte": "Copyright by Guido Bruno, A tig. 19th, 1916. Original matter,\nwciudi.l2 all drawing*, may not be reproduced without permission\nof Guido Bruno; but that permission may be assumed if credit\nU given to author and Bruno's Weekly.\nOne Hundred Dollars for the\nStory of Your Marriage\nBruno's Weekly will pay one hundred dollars for the best story setting\nforth why and how you were married.\nWe don't want literary masterpieces or extraordinary stories of adven-\nture. But there is a lot of romance and fragrance about those days\nwhen you two met. You know you like to recall those times even If\neverything has changed since.\nWrite down your story just as simply as it happened. We shall sot)\nuse your name if you do not wish us to do so.\nThere is no better fiction than the one Fate writes upon the pages of\nour lives. We know your story will be enjoyed by lots of others. Write\nit down to-day and address it to the \"Contest Editor/' Bruno's Weekly,\n53 Washington Square, New York City.\nEvery waek those stories which are printed will be paid for at space]\nrates. The contest will close on October Ist, 1916, and the stories\nshould be limited to three hundred words. Detailed conditions of the!\nmarriage story contest will be mailed to you upon request j"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[919]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.3", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEdited by Guido Bruno in His Garret on Washington Square\nNo. 10\nAUGUST 19th, MCMXVI\nVol. 11l\n\nTo God the Father\nBoris Petrovsky.\nTo the little, pitiful God I make my prayer,\nThe God with the long grey beard\nAnd flowing robe fastened with a hempen girdle\nWho sits nodding and muttering on the all-too-big throne\nof Heaven.\nWhat a long, long time, dear God, since you set the stars\nin their places,\nGirded the earth with the sea, and invented the day and\nnight.\nAnd longer the time since you looked through the blue\nwindow of Heaven\nTo see your children at play in a garden . . .\nNow we are all stronger than you and wiser and more\narrogant,\nIn swift procession we pass you by.\n\"Who is that marionette nodding and muttering\nOn the all-too-big throne of Heaven?\nCome down from your place, Grey Beard,\nWe have had enough of your play-acting !\"\nIt is centuries since I believed in you,\nBut to-day my need of you has come back.\nI want no rose-coloured future,\nNo books of learning—no protestations and denials—\nI am sick of this ugly scramble,\nI am tired of being pulled about-—\nO God, I want to sit on your knees\nOn the all-too-big throne of Heaven,\nAnd fall asleep with my hands tangled in your grey heard.\n\nFrance, Literature and the War\ny Remy De Gourmont\n\nVritten shortly after the outbreak of the European War\nr HE war cut short all literary activity in France,\nsuppressed in a day all the means by which men of\netters ordinarily derived an income from their art. The\nreater part of the Reviews have ceased to appear, or are\nhly published in a much smaller form; even the daily\napers have suspended all literary or picturesque contribu-\nbns. It is hardly necessary to say that the publication of\npoks has undergone the same fate. They all stopped short\nt the moment when the order for general mobilization\npas received. In the complex labour which is necessary\nb the material production of a book, the slightest dis-\norganization of one of the parts stops the work. But on\nfhis occasion all were attacked progressively; and a total\nbaralysis was the result. Moreover, what was the use\n|112 publishing books, even if it had been materially possi-\n)le? There was nobody to buy them, and hardly anyone\np read them; it would have been making a present to\nhe public which the public would not have noticed. The\nlewest and most passionate book of the day before mo-\nilization did not exist on the day after.\nAlthough I was not in Paris on the day of the declara-\nI\nopy right 1916. by Qui do Bruno\nlion of war, I have been able, since my return, to discover\nhow completely it disorganized the literary world, and the\ncommercial concerns which depend upon the literary\nworld. At the end of July the monthly financial accounts\nof the French publishing houses, with their agencies in\nthe provinces and abroad, had not been settled. TL here\nwas, therefore, a lack of money, which had an immediate\neffect on the writers themselves. From the first day it\nwas certain that the literary world would have much to\nsuffer if the war were to be a long one. When I returned\nat the beginning of October, committees of relief had been\norganized for writers, and the \"Societe des Gens de\nLett res\" had instituted free dinners for its members. It\nis apparent how rapidly distress had broken out since they\nhad had to raise such Homeric remedies.\nIt is only now that I begin to understand how closely\neven the most disinterested productions of genius are\ngoverned by the general conditions of social life. Liberty\nof the mind is the first necessity, but prosperity and\nequilibrium of the nation are also necessary. And a nation\nat war, above all a nation which has war within its own\nfrontiers, can never be a prosperous nor a well-balanced\nnation. Even supposing—an absurd proposition—that the\nwar had disorganized neither commerce nor industry, in-\ntellectual productions would not have been disturbed.\nThere is a close relation between the different parts of an\norganism, and if disintegration had not begun in the lesser\nparts it would have begun in the greater. It Is impossible\nto enjoy one*s full intellectual faculties when the youth\nof a country is fighting a powerful enemy, when its des-\ntinies are daily at stake. But the truth is that all parts\nof the literary organism were attacked at once. The\nwriters could not write, the printers could not print, the\nreaders could not buy and read. The literary organism\nslept. It still sleeps, and no one knows when it will be\nreawakened.\nNow for a few details. The Goncourt brothers, in the\nfirst pages of their \"Journal,\" note, as one of the most\ndistressing events of their literary career* that the coup\nd'etat of the second of December, 1851, occurred on the\nnight which preceded the publication of their first book,\n\"En 18—/' As a consequence this book remained abso-\nlutely unknown, though the confidence, frequently men-\ntioned, has made its title famous. There is a time for\nbooks. If the hour passes before the book obtains recog-\nnition, practically all hope of publicity is lost. The works\nof the best writers now appear very late in the summer\nseason and go straight to readers in the couniry or at the\nseaside. I know of several books which were going to be\nsent in this way. They have been spared a useless voyage,\nand they have remained done up in parcels. Others, sent\nout in July, had just made their appearance on the book-\nstalls when the terrible day arrived. They are still there.\nA large number wTere in the printing press, and were to\nhave appeared during the first days of October, but the\npresses suddenly stopped, and their rumbling is silent—it\nhas not yet begun again. The Reviews for the first of\nAugust could not only appear with difficulty, and those"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "920", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.4", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nwhich are usually a little late were lost in the first fever\nof mobilization and their distribution put off till better\ntimes. Some were still received on the 15 th or the 20th\nof August and the text, set up in perfect serenity, seemed\nrather like a bad joke. Here is a rather touching oc-\ncurrence. A new Review founded by young poets came\nto me on the first day of mobilization. It was full of\nconfidence in the future:\n\"L'avenir, l'avenir est a moi!\nSire, 1' avenir n'est a personnel\"—\n(Victor Hugo)\nAt the bottom of what trench do these conscripts lie,\nwhat new fever had suddenly made them men of action?\nI have kept the only number of this Review. It contains\nmore philosophy than many fat treaties. The future!\nYes, but there is the hazard of it all. I have also been a\nvictim, but I should complain if I had escaped. When\nthe whole community suffers it would be shameful to be\nforgotten by destiny. You would feel like those too happy\ngentlemen you sometimes meet now. They have not been\ntouched by the war. They have no son on the battlefield,\nand as to their friends, they treat them less as motives of\nanxiety than as a means to gratify their vanity. Their\nbusiness—they are naturally business men—is, as they\nsay, a business which deals in the first necessities of life,\nwhich has. been increased rather than depreciated by the\nwar. Their employees are women or old men. They\nhave taken their holidays as usual, but they found that\nthe trains ran very badly. \"Such a disgraceful state of\nthings is very bad for business.\" As they only returned\nto Paris at the beginning of October, when Paris was\nrefreshed and had come partially to life again, they have\nkept their good spirits. One phrase keeps coming up in\ntheir conversation: \"Things have been greatly ex-\naggerated.\" For myself I do not believe it. Sufferings\nhave not all been reported, and worse miseries will be\nrevealed this winter, unless the affairs of the war turn\nsuddenly to the good and social activity is greatly in-\ncreased. But how can there be a question of any activity\nwhen the best and most intelligent part of the nation are\nsoldiers? There could only be a partial activity. How-\never, I will mention certain facts which are not without\nhope for the literary world. There is some sort of move-\nment in the libraries; new projects are discussed, new\ngroups and associations are spoken of. The military pub-\nlishers, Berger-Levrault, are associated with the new house\nof Cres in the publication of a periodical album of war\ndrawings. These drawings are very superior in quality\nto those which have appeared up till now, and there is\nno doubt of their success. These two publishers are also\ngoing to attempt something of the literary order: a review\nwhere the war will be treated not by journalists—who\nare always in a hurry—but by writers who prefer to give\nthemselves time for reflection. This review will be well\nreceived, and its appearance will coincide with the re-\nappearance of several others which have spent the last\nthree months in reorganization. They even speak of pub-\nlishing books. But it is only a vague rumor; it is probably\nonly a hope. The only books so far published are a few\nmilitary pamphlets and a reprint of a little novel, half\nmilitary, half fantastic; it has not had much success. This\nis not a moment when it is possible to interest the public\nin descriptions of imaginary battles. The reality is too\nprodigal. It overwhelms us with battles. Its generosity\nis immeasurable. It is true that these battles are so new,\nso long, of a kind so absolutely unfamiliar, that the public,\nthough they feel the terrible reality, are evidently non-\nplussed by the lack of sensationalism, of extraordinary\nresults. If the French had followed more carefully the\ncampaign in Manchuria they would understand the pres-\nent war better. The movements of the armies in Poland\nwould impress their imagination more keenly.\nThe public to-day desires nothing beyond the official\ncommunique except the picturesque stories* of the latest\nheroic deeds. It is useless to attempt to do anything else\nexcept in a more or less transitory way. In the projected\nReview of which I have been speaking it will obviously\nbe necessary to take into consideration this state of mind\nand to mix military reports with philosophical comments.\nHowever, I know from a very reliable source that the\ntaste for reading has not diminished during these last\nmonths. The public libraries, and especially those in the\ndistricts of Paris which were established for the use of the\npeople, have lent the same number of volumes xas is usual\nat this time of the year.\n\nRemy de Gourmont"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "921", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.5", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nThe man who loves reading does not give it up willing-\nly, and it is precisely during the hardest times that he\nfeels the most need of books. The book-buyer, who was\nthought to have vanished has reappeared, and, since there\nare no new books, he asks for last season's, and even for\nlast year's. This is another symptom of a revival of litera-\nture. Perhaps even when the enemy is driven from France\na few new books might be published. To explain this it\nshould be borne in mind that Paris, to which many rich\npeople returned during the month of October, is totally\ndeprived of amusements; there are no exhibitions, no\nsocial gatherings, no horse races, no theatres. Everyone\nfeels the necessity for amusement, and everyone chooses\nwhat is perhaps the most speculative, for a man of the\nworld, but the most secret and most discreet—reading.\nIn certain circles they are beginning to think that it was\na mistake to close all the theatres. The reason given is\nthat numbers of actors and supers are on the streets, and\nthey are the less resigned to their fate since winter is\ncoming on and their hardships will become more and more\ndistressing. Here also they will proceed discreetly, and\nlittle by little the drama will reoccupy a small niche in\nthe social world without the theatres being actually\nopened; it is said that matinees will be organized in the\ntown-halls. They will not play dramas, but they will\nrecite poetry and read pages of good prose. This seems\nto me very reasonable. It will be a step towards the\ngreatly desired reopening of a few theatres.\nYesterday I \\met a dramatic author who confided his\nwoes to me. Whenever one goes out in Paris a meeting\nwith an actor or with a dramatic author is absolutely\ncertain; there are,, in fact, too many of them, especially\nnow when they are all out of work. This \"homme de\ntheatre\" was in a sort of despair. He had had a great\nplay, a kind of tragedy in prose, taken by the Theatre\nFrancais just before the war. \"But,\" he said, \"will\npeople want tragedies after the war? They will have\nseen so many far crueller than any that could be invented.\nWill people not want less harrowing spectacles, which\nwill entirely change our idea of things?\" \"Everything\nis possible,\" I replied, \"but I am not going to embark on\nany kind of prophecies. That kind of boat is too often\nwrecked.\" a\nWhat will the theatre of to-morrow be, and what the\nliterature? If we knew, it would be deprived of much\nof its interest; for all literary work, even the most serious,\nderives part of its value from the quality of novelty. It\nis always disappointing to find things happen exactly at\nthe hour and in exactly the manner foretold. Genius\nloves surprises: we shall be surprised if genius has any-\nthing to do with the war. But will it? Shells and bullets\nalso love surprises. A young officer, himself a writer,\nwith whom I was discussing this question the other day\non his return from the fifteenth battle during one month,\nsaid to me, \"If the new literature is sincere it will be\ncynical like war itself. Those who have passed through\nit will have no illusions. They will know human nature\nthrough and through.\" He talked to me for a long time\nin this way, and even more bitterly. But he is, perhaps,\nan exception. Nothing changes a man's temperament.\nEach one will feel the war according to his nature, and\nthat will be a very excellent thing.\nP. S.—The first number of the \"Bulletin des Ecrivants,\n1914-1915,\" privately printed, which I have just received,\ninforms us that of French writers actually soldiers, twen-\nty have already been killed in the war, more than thirty\nhave been wounded, a certain number are in hospital\nthrough illness.\n\n(Translated by Richard Aldington)\n\nThe Riddle\nA Sketch by Maxim Gorky or Feodor Sologub, Who Knows?\n\nJWf ICHAIL DIMITRI CRAZOVITCH kicked little\nNicholas. Michail was foreman of the bakery.\nNicholas was the apprentice; therefore he could afford to\nkick him. 'He also kicked him because the echo from\nthe cellar in which the bakery was situated pleased him.\nNicki was a philosopher.\nHe sighed and said: \"As long as there are feet and\ncertain spots of my body there will also be kicks and\nblows.\"\nAfter the echo had resounded, Michail Dimitri smiled\nsatisfiedly, took his cap and departed lazily for home.\nHis cap was shabby and very much used. Michail\nDimitri had bought it from Lewin Abrahamovitch. Lewin\nAbrahamovitch was a.little Caucasian Jew;'once during a\npogrom they had cut off several of his legs. Since then\nhe had been lame. He kept a second hand shop which\nbrought him little money and lots of knocks.\nIt was hopeless.\nAfter Michail Dimitri had reached his home he spat\nout. He lived in a small stinking garret together with\nFomitch Migalow and with Sonja, whose family name\nno one knew. In each corner of the garret was a bundle\nof straw upon which to sleep. The fourth corner was\nstill to let.\nFomitch Migalow was a tubercular senile hunchback.\nOnce upon a time he had been very rich and had been\nmarried to a beautiful woman,—to the actresss Kath-\narowna. One day she used kerosene oil for a salad dress-\ning and he killed her.\nAfter that he sank lower and lower. And now he had\na hunch on his back and was consumptive. Had he not\ncoughed from time to time one could have scarcely noticed\nthat he was still alive.\nIt was hopeless.\nSonja was a harlot. She was thick and had many\nfreckles which came from her way of living. Clothed in\nher shirt only, she was seated upon an old box mending\nher underskirt.\nShe sighed and said:\n\"There are decent women and there are harlots. I am\na harlot.\"\nLater she ran a needle in her finger and said: \"Ouch!\"\nThe \"ouch\" vibrated for a little while in the air. Then\nit disappeared.\nIt was hopeless.\nThe sun threw through the garret window a com-\npassionate ray upon the bundle of straw of Michail\nDimitri.\n\"It is a riddle!\" he said.\n\"What, you old pig?\" asked Sonja irritatedly.\nMichail Dimitri threw an empty whisky bottle at her\nand groaned."}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "922", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.6", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nMigalow coughed.\n\"Why does the sun shine?\" cried Michail Dimitri after\na little while. \"I don't need it. Only the rich need\nit. Aristid Kuwalda, the Captain, needs the sun and\nStephen Lebanow, the land-owner. And the priest and\nthe Governor. And the Tsar. Why, then, does* the sun\nshine?\" .. -\n\"I love the sun!\" said Sonja, rising from her seat;\nher voice suddenly seemed soft and tender. \"I love the\nsun as I once loved my little Nikita. He was good and\nkind and had blue eyes. But you, all of you, are swine!\"\n\"The sun reminds me of my mother,\" said Migalow,\ncoughing slightly.\n\"It reminds me of my children!\" sighed* Sonja, whose\nfamily name no one knew.\n\"It reminds me of my fathers!\" groaned Michail\nDimitri. His eyes, red from drinking much whiskey,\nfilled with tears.\n\"It is a riddle!\" he said a little later with resignation.\nThen they kept silent. Sonja had finished her under-\nskirt. She put it on, humming her favorite song:\n\"When the moon does not shine at night,\nAll is black, so black, so black . . .\"\nA belated sparrow flew through the little window,\nfluttered excitedly through the garret and finally escaped\nagain.\n\"Why are sparrows?\" asked Michail Dimitri, gazing\nafter it with melancholy eyes. \"Do we need them?—\nDamn beasts!\"\n\"Don't swear at them!\" said Sonja, \"they are better\nthan humans! They fly into the heavens and make chirp,\nchirp!\"\nMigalow coughed.\n\"It is a riddle!\" repeated Michail Dimitri, gazing\nstraight in front of him; his look followed a bedbug which\ncrawled slowly from Sonja's straw bundle over to Miga-\nlow's. Slowly and hopelessly . . . Such a beast!\n• • •\n\"What is a riddle? Hey?\" asked Sonja, madly excited.\nMichail spat at her feet. This made her angry. She\njumped up and shook her childlike fists and screamed at\nthe top of her voice:\n\"What is a riddle? Hey?\" said she, \"what is a riddle?\nIf you do not tell me I will scratch your wolf's face!\n. . . Animal! Animal! You animal!\"\nDimitri yawned and said:\n\"Why do we always philosophize? And why do we\nnever act? We always philosophize, always and ever!\"\nA happy smile radiated Sonja's face, and with a voice\nvibrating with love, she said:\n\"Because we are by Maxim Gorky or Sologub or by\nArtzibasheff, you idiot!\"\nAnd Migalow coughed.\nIt was hopeless.\n\n(Authorized translation by Guido Bruno)\n\nYou speak to the withered flower:\n\"Do not perish.\"\nYou fool!\nWhat you are really agitated about is not the fact that the\nflower is perishable but that you do not enjoy it at the\nright time.\n\nWho On Earth Am I?\nBy Tom Sleeper\n\nLIE was a poor man with no family and only an unde-\nveloped inclination to live. Accordingly he rambled\naround town until run over by an omnibus. During the\ncritical period immediately following in which he hovered\nbetween life and death at the hospital under the personal\nsupervision of a gifted surgeon, he suddenly saw a great\nlight and in an inspired moment dedicated his hitherto\nfruitless soul and body to the advancement of surgical\nknowledge. The surgeon quick ,to grasp the possibilities\nof the idea reconstructed him in a highly creditable man-\nner so that he soon found himself well and strong.\nExperiments in grafting happened at this time to have\ncaught the fancy of the surgical profession and forthwith\ncommenced a series of amputations and replacements on\nthe willing Jones with signal success until he walked on\nunrelated legs, wrote with the arm of an unfortunate\nmachinist, saw with the eyes of a still more unfortunate\nletter carrier, ate with the jaw of a deceased millionaire,\ndigested his food with with the transferred stomach of a\nlongshoreman, breathed with fragments of several alien\nlungs, blushed with the result of various transfusions and\nwas liberally overhauled in other directions.\nFired by the success of his operations and the submis-\nsiveness of his subject the surgeon pressed on to more deli-\ncate experiments involving the brain. Jones found himself\none morning in definite possession of a knowledge of\nFrench. He remembered also, many experiences he had\nhad in Paris, a city to which he had formerly believed him-\nself a stranger. In a like manner he obtained a profound\nknowledge of astronomy and a smattering of related\nsciences. Once on recovering from the anaesthetic he\nfound that he could recall snatches of speeches he had\nmade while stumping the State for the governorship of\nOhio. Later Greek and archeological information came\nto him unsolicited and many other disassociated recollec-\ntions.\nThe surgeon rubßed his hands in satisfaction and made\nfurther institutions. Into the fold of Brocca of the un-\ncomplaining Jones was grafted odd bits of the folds of an\nassorted population. And Jones waxed exceedingly well\ninformed.\nAs time went on Jones puzzled over his past. How\ncould he have been with a party of astronomers in Chili\nwhen he distinctly remembered that it was at this time he\nhad been run over by an omnibus in New York. What\nexplanation was there for the fact that on the day he had\nbeen presented the medal of the Legion of Honor by the\nPresident of France for researches in Cypress he had also\nbeen burned by a gas stove in a Chicago tenement. Then,\ntoo, he had distinct recollection of having died in a cafe\nin Scranton, Pa., while his common sense seemed to indi-\ncate that this was improbable.\nAnd so it came to pass that one October afternoon a\nsplendid specimen of physical manhood knocked at the\ndoor of my mountain hermitage. He spoke, saying:\n\"I am told that no part of myself is myself. That my\ngreat knowledge is not my own. But I have never ceased\nto live and funtion as myself. Now in the name of Allah\nwho I ask you am I?\"\nGiver oflight give me knowledge wherewith to answer\nthis man."}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "923", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.7", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nWill you stop to bark . . . take care . • . you darn beast! I'll show you! But my dear\nlittle doggie, have you no sense of humor? Drawing by Petersen"}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "924", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.8", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nIn Memoriam Stevensons\nCora Bennet\nHTHE clay is setting down over Fanny Stevenson's coffin.\n* Her earthly body with its spiritual face set toward\nan upland grave in far Samoa is fast turning to dust.\nBut the memory of a rare union of a man and a woman\nis everlastingly fragrant, a source of consolation and in-\nspiration.\nThe marriage of Fanny Osbourne and Robert Louis\nStevenson appeared to include elements of destruction.\nShe had been marrie dbefore. jShe had two half-grown\nchildren. She was an ambitious American woman sprung\nfrom the heart of the Midland. She was restless, con-\nstructive, creative. She was not one of those than can\nserve by standing and waiting. Moreover she united all\nthat is persistent and practical with the sensibility of an\nartist. She thought she wanted to learn to paint. She\nset her face toward France, toward Barbizon, toward\nMillet. She took with her, her pallette, her paint brushes\nand her children.\nRobert Louis Stevenson also came to Barbizon. He\nhad never loved. Himself a youth he had never dreamed\nof the responsibility of parenthood. He had refused to\nreap the honors of his family of engineers. Literally he\nwould rather write than eat. He had fallen out with his\nfather because of their religious differences. He was cut\noff with thirty-five dollars the month', and his cough. He\ncame to Barbizon as far as he knew to have companion-\nship of a group of artists that called him Louis. They\nsmiled when he entered a room. They believed in his\nright to work out sentences containing initial p's and\nmediant t's just for the beauty of the sound. In other\nwords they believed in him. And they loved him. And\nRobert Louis Stevenson had to have love. It was the\nonly medium in which he could exist.\nThe union of Robert Louis Stevenson and Fanny Os-\nbourne was not celebrated until after many problems had\nbeen courageously faced and solved. The questions in-\nvolved were delicate, difficult, tremendously significant.\nMoreover they were not being put and answered in\nchambers. The world was watching. And when these\ntrials were over and the wedding solemnized, dignity and\nhonor had been served.\nThese two people not only married each other. They\naccepted each other's past and all that it might mean for\nthe future. She made her husband's ill health, his lack\nof common sense, his family's notion about religion and\nsecond marriage things to be reckoned with as matters of\ncourse; but in no wise to be considered as detrimental to\npeace and happiness.\nFanny unfailingly courageous, infinitely resource-\nful and charmingly gay. She had found in her second\nhusband all that could restore her lost life. She was\ngrateful to him for her opportunities to use her varied\ncapabilities. She needed just his genius to love as a\nsolvent foj* the bitterness that had lodged in her heart.\nHe loved to play the flute, to work with his hands, to\nwrite, to pray and he loved his fellow men, great and\nsmall. Perhaps after all they each came to Barbizon seek-\ning only each other. That is—love.\nShe went with him to the ends of the earth. They\ntravelled as a matter of life and death but always in the\nspirit of play. They laughed together at Death, while the\ndeck of a leaky schooner bound for nowhere in particular\nin the South Seas was awash in a hurricane. They had\nbought this vessel with their last dollar. They fought\nthe jungle side by side with little more than their bare\nhands. And then they made many books in order to build\na home in the middle of the Pacific Ocean where nothing\nof the dirt and dust of the world could irritate the lungs\nof the invalid. And this was a merry hospitable home to\nwhich came the children of Fanny's first marriage. And\ntheir children. And the stiff-necked and at the last not\nunloving old Scotch mother of Louis. And writers and\nstatesmen and artists from all over the world.\nMoreover this home was a place of refuge for the op-\npressed or all classes of all over the South Seas. And\nit was the kingdom come for the hundreds of dispossesed\nnatives that were taken on as workers of the farm. They\nfound not only bread and fire at the hands of the master\nand mistress of Vallima but deep insight into and pro-\nvision for their spiritual needs.\nAnd one evening, after a full day of work and play,\nRobert Louis Stevenson died. He and Fanny had been\nbottling a cask of Burgundy lately come over from France.\nThey had been talking over the closing chapters of Wier\nof Hermiston. With a faint cry, \"Oh, Fanny,\" he fell\nwith his head in her lap. And that was the end.\nShe wrapped him in the sacred mats brought by sorrow-\nstricken Samoans for his graveclothes. She sat with them\nwatching the candles light the face of her beloved dead\nall night. And'the next day, she let him be borne on the\nbacks of island kings to the upland behind the house.\nThere she helped them lay him \"under the wide and starry\nsky,\" in sight of the sea that he loved so well and that\nwas literally the breath of life to him. But there was no\ndesperation in Fanny Stevenson's mourning. Its quietness\nwas the calm not of despair but of expectancy. It was\nas if she had lighted her lamp, content to sit in the low\ndoorway of Death, occupied constantly with sweet\nmemory, awaiting the summons to re-union.\n\nFaith: You, Yourself and Others\nCat's Paw.\nIT IS head erect, his steps jubilant, he went out into the\n* * world. Strength laughed in his eyes, joy on his lips\nand back of his youthful forehead audacious thoughts of\nconquest played like armed knights of yore. His arms\nwere outstretched as if he wanted to embrace the world\nand all its happiness. People noticed him and shook their\nheads. They said:\n\"He has lost his faith!\"\n* * *\nLI IS head bowed, his walk slouching, he returned home.\n* * Meekness whined out of his eyes, deadly fear upon\nhis lips, behind his senile forehead crouched powerless\nthoughts of confession like solemn singing monks. His\ntrembling hands were folded begging from the heavens a\ntiny bit of blessedness.\nThe people noticed him and were well pleased. They\nsaid:\n\"He has found his faith!\""}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "925", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.9", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nMemories: New York\nElizabeth M. Walker\nThe Harbor\nI Sit a dream, or did I really see\n* A fairy city rising from the mist\nOf early morn? the ferries, and the white ships,\nall sun-kissed,\nAnd the huge buildings stretching to the sky,\nWith pale smoke wreaths like incense everywhere—\nIt seems Aladdin must have been at work\nFor my delight, and traced it in the air!\nThe Subway\nCAN it be real? The miles of underground,\nThe white-clad guards, the rush through still,\ndead air,\nThe whirring fans, the passengers themselves,\nPoured in and out like tides; a white flash, where\nWe rumbled on past openings to earth\nLike a great monster climbing to the light—\nWas it a thing of fact, this underworld,\nOr did I only dream it in the night?\nThird Ave. L—Sunday\nthing remains, intense, burned in my mind,—\nPale, children's faces in the scorching sun,\nCrowded at windows, penned in squalid rooms,\nFighting for breath, themselves, food, bed, debris,\nall one.\nWomen and men, like animals, sprawled out\nUpon the window-sills, all staring, mile on mile,\nWearily wistful, hideously sad,\nPoignantly hopeless—God! Not one could smile!\n\nTears and Pity\nCat's Paw\nThey speak of tears of joy and tears of sorrow.\nRarely have I seen such; but daily do I see tears of\ncompassion, of deeply felt compassion with one's own self.\nOnly once pure precious tears do I remember. It was\nmeant for one dead long ago.\nMy daughter had heard for the first time one of Wag-\nner's operas and I told her that the creator of these\nmelodies had suffered starvation, that he almost starved\nin Paris while writing his \"Rienzi.\"\nMy daughter cried.\nBut perhaps even these tears were riot free of pity of\nherself.\n\"I could have given him to eat and to drink if I had\nlived in his day! Oh, what a pity it is that my desire\nto help this wonderful man is unattainable!\"\nObserve closely those who cry easily and often. Deeds,\nnot tears, are the expressions of a warm compassionate\nheart. Tears are mostly only conclusive proofs of egotistic\ninclinations. Cry if you pkase, but be sincere; cry be-\ncause you have infinite pity for your own self.\n\nAn Author's Complaint\nH. Thompson Rich\nI HATE my heroes!\n* They make me sick\nWith their intrigues and wiles and adventures,\nTheir intimacies,\nTheir amours and liaisons.\nI hate my heroines!\nThey turn my stomach\nWith their chattering and giggling and kissing,\nTheir lax morals,\nTheir lewd tastes and disgusting lives.\nI hate the people I write about!\n(We agree with Mr. H. Thompson Rich, we too, hate the\npeople he writes about.)\n\nT WALK through this barred corridor\n* IVith my eyes shut tight.\nThe guards say—to the visitors—\n\"He hates the light!\"\nThey cannot see into my heart\nAnd know that I walk so\nFor the sound is like a pavement\n/ walked long, long ago.\n\nExclusive\nSamson V. Becker\niy| R HIGHLY RESPECTABLE (one of our first\nfamilies) died and went to Heaven, in search of his\nwife who had left Earth before him. When he arrived\nat the Heavenly Hostelry he inquired for his wife, but\nafter a search of the register, he was told she wasn't there.\nSo he went to the Only Other Hotel in town, where he\nwas met by his wife and a party of friends (all former\nmembers of the Most Inner Circle).\n\"Why,\" said he, adjusting his monocle to the most ap-\nproved angle, \"did you come here? It is rawther warm\nhere, don't you think?\"\n\"Yes,\" she replied, as she raised her diamond studded\nlorgnette, \"it is; but it's so much more exclusive!\"\n\nIn Prison\nKewe Sheridan.\n\nIn a cafe. Man, wife, newly married. His best friend.\n\"... And so finally I had to choose whether\nto get married immediately or to shoot myself instantly/'\nThe friend (looking sideways at the wife) : \"Suicide\nwould have been cowardice.\"\n(La Vie)\n\nDrawing by E. Schilling"}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "926", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.10", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nArthur Schnitzler. By Gulbransson\n\nD EILLY is Irish,\nA poetic summons server.\nReilly and I are alike—\nHe's happiest\nWhen his purse\nIs flat,\nAnd so am I. . . .\nI often wonder how Reilly feels,\nWhen for the court\nHe pursues a debtor.\nHow does he suppress\nThat irrepressible grin—\nWhen he confronts his prey ?\nOr does he smile regardless?\nReilly and his Wife are alike\nThe domestic purse is the family joke.\nBut they are always happy;\nAnd so are the little ones.\nNever a storm\nBut leaves the Reillys\nSmiling and joyful entirely.\nNo poetry shows in Reilly's speech-\nIt's wholly in his eyes and grin.\nHow cheering this must be\nFor ten-dollar clerks and the like\nWhen conscience's prod\nHe corroborates\nWith an order from the court!\nIf ever the court\nSo distinguishes me\nI hope it'll be Reilly\nThat is sent\nTo present the mandate\nMy unmercenary acts\nHave earned.\nBut will my wife be like Reilly's?\nWho's everything to Reilly, I'm sure\nBut no financial anchor . . .\nIf it be, so be it, an' I love her.\nBut if the past is anything\nTo go by\nWhere shall we be in a year?\n\nReilly's Wife—and Mine\nHubert James McCurrach"}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "927", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.11", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nCarlo De Fornaro\nBernard Gallant\n\nA MONG the writers who are introducing Mexico to\n** the American reading public, the Mexico of social\nstrife and revolutionary upheaval—the land of the strug-\ngling peon and Indian—Carlo de Fornaro occupies an\nimportant place. It is true that to the American public\nFornaro is better known as a painter and cartoonist, never-\ntheless, it was he who in reality first called attention to\nthe brutalities of the Diaz government. In his book,\n\"Diaz, Czar of Mexico,\" he exposed the Machiavellian\nmethods of Porfirio Diaz and gave the American public\nto understand what is transpiring in the land of the\nAztec, Mayo and Yaquis Indians.\nFor his troubles he was rewarded with bitter persecu-\ntion, a suit for criminal libel and a sentence of years to\nBlackwell's Island. His book, however, marked the be-\nginning of a systematic revolt against the Diaz regime\nand resulted in the fall of it.\nUndismayed by his prison sentence Fornaro continued\nhis work in behalf of the Mexican revolutionists. His\nsecond book, \"Carranza and Mexico,\" published by Mit-\nchell Kennerley, masterfully unfolds the complicated\nMexican situation and gives its readers an insight in the\ngreat tragedy now being staged in that land of strife and\nbloodshed. To him it is a great social revolution, by far\ngreater than the French revolution ever dared be, in which\nall social customs and traditions will be swept away.\nPersonally Fornaro is a very unique and interesting\ncharacter. He was born in Calcutta, India, and reared\nin Italy and Switzerland. He is a scion of an old Italian\nfamily and is a member of the family of Pope Alexander\nVI. His education he received at the Royal Academy of\nMunich and came to this country twenty years ago. When\nhe grew tired of dear, old New York with its glittering\nelectric signs, he went to Mexico. That was in 1906.\nInstead of painting the picturesque scenes of that marvel-\nous country, as he contemplated, he published a news-\npaper for more than three years, giving the Mexicans a\ntaste of real Metropolitan journalism. That marked\nFornaro's entrance into the field of the Mexican revolu-\ntion and he has been a loyal champion of the revolutionists\never since.\nIn appearance Fornaro looks very much like a Jesuit\npriest and keeps the hours of a brigand. He sleeps most\nof the day and wanders from cafe to cafe most of the\nnight. With the fair sex he is most charming and gallant,\nbut is galling bitter when he portrays them with pen or\nbrush. But he is far from being a woman kater. Oddly\nenough, regardless of his cafe life, Fornaro indulges in\nnothing stronger than water.\n\nCaricature of Fornaro by Jorge Encisco, famous Mexican\nPainter\n\nDrawn by Herb Roth\n\nThe good nature of a fool cannot be compared with the\nkindness of a wise man.\nOne who is wise and still good is very good.\nIt is as important to know danger as to be brave."}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "928", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.12", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nOscar Wilde\nGuido Bruno\nlIE is the high priest of a wonderful cult, a cult which\n*• embodies the whole creation and whose initiate\nrepresents in one person master and creature of the uni-\nverse, who wanders through the world garbed in the\npurple of his office; whose life is a continuous preparation\nfor the great communion, for one last sacrament.\nBlood is the dark sparkling wine which fills the be-\njeweled goblet.\nIt had taken a long time to fill it to the brim with\nthousands of drops of throbbing life blood.\nThey were taken drop by drop from just as many\nsinners and criminals, from chaste and from vicious men\nand women. From angels and from devils.\nThe goblet had seemed insatiable.\nAnd then came that evening.\nThe goblet was filled.\nNo sin was ever committed, no vice was ever indulged\nin by men or women whose specimen of life blood was not\ncontained in it.\nThe time had arrived when he should gather the fruits\nof his life. When he should command the sun: Stop!\nAnd it would obey his command.\nAnd he would laugh at the spender of lighKwho had\nto leave this world when the mysteries of night settled\nthe universe and when dark shadows crept on silent\nsilvery feet into nooks and corners, into the brilliantly\nlighted palace, and into the dark dungeon holes of the\npoor, of the vicious and of the criminal.\nClothed in gold-embroidered purple and adorned with\njewels and flowers, he went to the table of communion—\nlike a usurper to his coronation—to place the crown on\nhis own head.\nHe wandered through crowded busy cities, through sun-\nburned prairies, through lonely forests oyer lovely pastures,\nand ascended the highest mountain; where mortals feel\nthe nearness of the skies and do not look down upon the\ncosmos at their feet shuddering before the greatness of its\nCreator.\nHe raised the goblet with its precious substance to the\nclouds:\nDare you, behind those clouds! Master of this universe\nfor ages! I am Master as you! I, the man!\nBirds in the trees, stop your singing! Listen in reverent\nsilence!\nFlowers close your cups! Grass, stop growing! Rivers,\ncease flowing! Animals, hide yourselves in the densest\nbushes! Earth-heating worms, make not another move\nwith your miserable bodies!\nFlashes, chastise the earth!\nThunder, roll over the hemispheres, resounding in a\nterrifying echo!\nEarth, quake!\nI, the master, the man, am taking my sacrament!\nHe put the goblet to his lips.\nHe drank.\nOscar Wilde remained master in the dingy regulation\ncell of his prison. The luxuries and comforts of life which\nwere denied him he found in himself. The quickness\nand sharpness of his mind, the discrimination of art and\nthe bad attempt to be artistic but more than all his self-\nconsciousness, were with him. He was the creator of\nhis world and the master of his creation.\n\nThe Folly of Making too Much Money\nH. M. East, Jr.\nIT is as great a folly to make too much money, as it\nis not to make enough. However, there are some people\nwho never know when they have enough money. Never\ndid I yet meet a man who said that he had enough money.\nEven I haven't enough, and I shall never get enough,\nthough I realize the folly of making too much. I might\nyield to the temptation, for money tempts man and the\nJews like a pretty woman. \"Money is the root of all\nevil,\" saith the proverb. This is a sweeping statement,\nbut the desire for money is responsible for an astonishing\namount of sin- And when you are making too much\nmoney you are a menace and an outrage to civilization.\nThe sons of millionaires are sadly handicapped. The\nvices of the rich are more insidious than the vices of the\npoor. The man who makes too much money causes envy,\nhatred and schemes to get his money away from him.\nThe Bible is quite emphatic on the fate of the rich man.\nBlind audacity we notice even in beasts."}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "929", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.13", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nCINCE time immemorial aristocracy of mind and aris-\ntocracy of birth have lived in close quarters. The\nRoman Caesars were the friends and protectors of poets\nand artists. During the Middle Ages, trench and Ger-\nman Princes encouraged the songs of the troubadours.\nThe art of Guttenberg would have died in its infancy if\nthe lords of castles and palaces had not found an honored\nplace in their abodes for books.\nThe Napoleonic era brought about its big changes.\nTraditions were abolished. Titles became shallow names.\nMoney and power became synonymous. Barriers that had\nexisted for centuries were torn, down; everybody was in-\nvited to participate in the big competition for life's good\nand desirable things. To gain money through personal\nefforts became a noble occupation of humanity. Actually\nto have gained it meant admission to that new nobility of\nour times: to the aristocracy of money.\nAnd so to-day we find the aristocracy of money living\nin close quarters with the aristocracy of mind.\nRight here in our Village, on Washington Square:\nthere are the mansions of the oldest and richest families\nof New York, built by those merchant princes who gave\nnames to our streets and public squares, to our libraries\nand our railroads, to our hospitals and our universities.\nOn the South side, in the houses which O. Henry called\n\"houses of mystery,\" are artists and writers, reformers\nand enthusiasts. And like a bridge over the yawning\nabyss that separates rich and poor, the university building\non the East side of the Square. Here is the common\nground where the dweller on the South side may find his\ncard of admission into the palace on the North side. And\nhere it is that the scion of the rich merchant's family will\nlearn to bare his head before genius.\nSuch is the charm of Washington Square. Here is the\nexplanation of \"Greenwich Village,\" of that \"republic in\nthe air,\" of that misunderstood, commercially exploited\nBohemia, which ceases to be a Dorado of mind the very\nmoment one becomes conscious of it.\nThere are some \"benefactors of humanity,\" \"lovers of\nart,\" and \"philanthropists\" who have chosen Greenwich\nVillage for their field of operation. They have invaded\nthe peaceful quiet of our surroundings with the loud\ntrumpet of their humbug. They have partly driven out\nthose who have lived among us for years working and\ncreating quietly in the shadow of our old trees, in the\nsolitude of time-worn rooms, rented and inhabited by\nthem for years in the quaint houses and cottages now\ndoomed to destruction.\nWhat a marvelous background is this \"Greenwich Vil-\nlage Bohemia\" for the real estate shark! Every cellar\nand every garret,—half-a-dozen years ago rented for very\nsmall prices to Italian families,—brings high prices as a\n\"studio.\" Old houses are being re-modeled; i.e., they\ndivide one large room into two or three small ones, and\ncharge instead of six dollars a week, seventy-five dollars\na month for a \"studio apartment.\" Artistically inclined\nshirt-merchants, and atmosphere crazy shoe-manufacturers\nare welcome lessees to our Greenwich Village real estate\nshark.\nAnd they do such a lot to beautify our neighborhood!\nNotwithstanding expenses and labor they paint the win-\ndow sills of re-constructed houses pale green. They put\nwindow boxes in front of the windows and compel you in\nthe lease to keep them filled with flowers. They hang\nan old lantern before the house door and permit the star\nlessee to choose it from a junk shop on Third Street. They\nrefuse to renew the leases of rag-pickers, cobblers and\nother old inhabitants of the neighborhood; and then they\nraise the rent from twelve dollars to forty-five and allow\nsome individual obsessed with a mania to run a purple\nand yellow shop in Greenwich Village to make the suitable\nalterations. There is no fee charged for this permission.\nThey build apartment houses with fabulous rents. And\nnow, having succeeded in getting Charles Dana Gibson\nto sign a lease for one of them, they should have no*\"\ntrouble in obtaining any price they wish to get from \"art\n\nNative Admirer of Art and landlord, by Jack Flannigan\n\nIn Our Village"}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "930", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.14", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nenthusiasts\" from Peoria and East Oshkosh who come to\nNew York to satisfy their cravings for \"art\" and \"at-\nmosphere.\"\nGreenwich Village is experiencing now what happened\nto the Chat Noir after Salis' death. Artists ceased to\ncome to the once famous cabaret. Poets and litterateurs\nkept away from a placfc where they were put on public\nexhibition. Therefore the proprietors, who had to show\nthe goods to the endless chain of sight-seers, hired indi-\nviduals with long hair and fantastically dressed women.\nAnd they made a financial success for quite awhile. But\nyou can't fool all of the people all of the time. . . .\nThe people who had found in Greenwich Village a\nlonged-for seclusion among the ancient surroundings have\nleft and are leaving daily for other parts of the city. They\ncould have endured the influx of population. They could\nhave stood the fantastically dressed women, \"successful\"\nwriters and artists, who manufacture their wares by\nhundreds of yards\" to order only, and buy automobiles ;\nthey could have stood and newspaper notoriety which\nexploited with the pompous language of quacks what was\nso dear to their hearts. They would have endured the\nnoise of buses and the annoyance of sight-seers; but they\nnever could pay the exorbitant rents that merciless real\nestate sharks are charging now for their habitations.\nEven the most dilapidated looking, almost shattered\nmarble pillar has more charm, has more reality, is more\nalive than cheap stucco imitation, even if it is dainty-\nlooking with pale-green window sashes and the iron lan-\ntern in front of its door.\nFads and fashions die. Cemeteries are restful and ideal\nplaces for dreamers. Real estate men will get their share,\nthey will get the limit of their share.\nIn a score of years Greenwich Village will again be the\nGreenwich Village it was. A new generation will dis-\ncover its charms, will take possession of it and our grand-\nsons will dream and love and starve and work and create\nin the Greenwich Village we have lost.\nRobert Carlton Brown spent a few days in the Village.\nIt was a sort of recreation after finishing his last novel.\nHe is very much interested in South America and is con-\ntemplating a trip to Argentine in the near future. His\nlong sojourn in Spain revealed to him the attractions land\nbeauties of Latin countries.\nDoris Carlyle is a good talker and her close personal\nassociation with all those men who surrounded Oscar\nWilde gives a certain background to her London chatter.\nA course of lectures by her, delivered before our blue-\nstocking clubs, would be not only more entertaining but\nsurely more beneficial than the grape juice pets are com-\nmonly listened to. Doris is holding court in the Brevoort\nlately and her word duels with her more or less brilliant\ncontemporaries are better entertainment than our average\ntwo dollar shows.\nIrene Maguire adores stripes. If she does not wear a\nblack and white tamo'shanter and dress to match, she has\non her pink and white one, or her yellow and white one.\nOn certain days she prefers green and white stripes. Ow-\ning to the war and the shortage in dye stuffs in this coun-\ntry she has to restrict her fancy for stripes to the elemen-\ntary colors.\nBilly Hamilton has decided to get married. It will\nhappen on Sunday afternoon at four o'clock. Jack Mc-\nGrath will be the best man and the ceremony will take\nplace in Bruno's Garret. Billy's future husband is a nice\nyoung boy, very tall and very blonde, very romantic and\nvery much in love with Billy. They met on Friday, got\nengaged on Monday and will be joined in holy wedlock\non Sunday. Quite a record—even for Greenwich Vil-\nlage! His name cannnot be mentioned at present as he is\nafraid his father and mother might not approve of his\nquick decision.\nTom Kelly, the cabby, renowned far beyond the\nboundaries of the Village, who delivers you safely at your\nhouse even if you are not able to recollect it the morning\nafter, refuses to rechristen his horse \"Kaiser/' the best\nhorse on the Avenue, as he calls him. As far as Yonkers\nor Coney Island he will take you, and to take up a race\nwith a Ford is an everyday occurrence in his professional\nlife.\n\nThe Flambeau Weavers\nDOSE WATSON is one of a few people who have\nformed an Association that has as its purpose the\nmaking and selling of hand-woven and hand-dyed fabrics\nand related handcraft objects of unusual art distinction.\nI quote from their circular:\n4'We are reviving the art of_dyeing, a new medium for\nAmerican artists, to take advantage of successful experi-\nments recenlty made for us. This work will be exhibited\nOctober first and choice and unique pieces kept on sale*.\nA colony of artists on the Palisades has been designing\nand weaving tapestries for us to present to the New York\nart world. With these weavers as a nucleus we have\nformed a group including deft craftsmen who left their\nhand-looms in France years ago to work in the grind of\nour commercialized silk mills. This is the first attempt\nto preserve the native art they brought to American and\nnearly lost in the mills.\nWe have a well established source for foreign hand-\nwoven fabrics and an arrangement for a sure supply of\npeasant-made linens and cloths which have never before\nbeen available in New York.\nAs for home-spuns: in backward regions of this coun-\ntry there are still women who spin their own flax and\nwool on looms their grandfathers carried with them across\nthe mountains a century ago. We are glad to make a\nmarket for them and give some of them the first sight of\nreal money they have ever had. It will be just as pleasant\not offer these honest stuffs to a city which scarcely knows\nthe look of real wool. Some day, when the birth throes\nof the business are over, we shall start instruction centers\nwhere women can learn the art of their grandmothers.\""}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "931", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.15", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nPasteles in Prose\nI.—Sacrifice\nGuido Bruno.\n\nHE two men sat in the summer-house back of the big\nresidence. It was dark. The white candle on the\ntable flickered an insufficient yellow light. The river far\nbelow seemed an untransgressable, separating depth of\nthe high hills that grew into the heavens on the other\nside. Not a star shone on the clouded skies. A Dig ugly\nmoth did her best to commit suicide in the flame of the\ncandle. The air was laden with heaviness. It was one\nof the nights that we declare our love, that we exchange\nconfidences, in which we regret lost chances and resurrect\ndead memories. The man with a sad, almost mourning\nlook, broke the silence.\n\"And so I gave up because of my real, eternal,\nnever changing love. I never thought that I could do it.\nBut love wins. I watched her closely. I tried to under-\nstand every one of her actions. I indulged her eccentrici-\nties. She was sick, I felt her pain. I watched over her\nday and night. And her husband was always at hand.\"\n\"Your life has always been sirhple, my dear fellow.\nYou don't know what it means to love a woman, to receive\nfavors from her, all those small and big favors that make\nlife worth living—and then, you have to say good-night\nevery evening. You have to make appointments to meet\nat this and that place when you know that she should be\nwith you all the time. Then there were her children. It's\na funny thing about those children. Wouldn't you expect\nrather strange, even hard feelings towards the living tes-\ntimony of her devotion to, another man ? But no—I never\ndid. They seemed to be a part of her. I loved them\nalmost as much as herself.\nYou know, we went on this way for months. Women\nare such masters at burning life's candles at both ends.\nThey know that the two lights must meet some time.\nAnd that then there will be darkness. But they don't\nthink. They don't feel the creep of the inevitable\nshadow.\"\n\"We met every day. We lived. We kissed. We loved\n—and in the evening she went home to her husband. God!\nThe torture of it! When I sat evening after evening in\nmy quiet quarters with her picture in front of me. And\nshe ... I don't know what she was doing. I only\nimagined: Now she is serving him some dish, inquiring\nsolicitously if it is to his liking. Now she kisses him good-\nnight ... I believed in her with all my heart. But\nhow could a man made of flesh and blood resist forcing\nhis way to her chamber ... a man who had the\nlegal right to her . . .\n\"She loved her home, the old furniture so carefully se-\nlected by her and for her; the old servants upon whom\nshe depended; she hung with all her soul upon the every-\nday routine of living that she had followed for more than\ntwenty years. I was now a new factor in the new routine\n—a beloved one, but an addition.\n\"Well, I gave her up. I gave it all up. I didn't have\nthe heart to induce her to give up the surroundings she\nloved. I know she would have been willing to do the\nconventional thing but I didn't dare do it. I loved her so\nmuch. I sacrified everything for her sake. Life is worth-\nless for me. I'll never see her again and I'll never again\nfeel warmth in my heart. I'll never see her again in my\nlife and I shall long for her until I die.\n\"I might be happy at that . . . if it is happiness;\nthe consciousness of my self-sacrifice.\"\nThe man with a sad, resigned face looked forlornly out\ninto the darkness. There was a long silence. His com-\npanion did not move. It seemed an eternity, but it surely\nlasted an hour. Neither did his companion take his eyes\naway from the face of the man who was speaking. He\nseemed to try to read his mind and look deep into his\nheart. He was studying the features of his face and mak-\ning comparisons.\nAnd suddenly all the relaxation disappeared. He seem-\ned active, dynamic. He lay back in the garden chair. He\nstretched his legs and arms conscious of his strength.\nThere was a vigorous exhaltation with his powerful lungs\nthat blew out the light.v\n. . . \"Fool ... I would have taken her. I\nwould have made her forget her surroundings and her fur-\nniture and her husband. I would have made her sit with\nme in my lonely quarters. I would have passed to her a\npart of my own dish. I would have made her feel the des-\necration of another man's touch. I would have guarded\nher all night. I would have brought her happiness in re-\nturn. I would have sacrificed everything but her, and\nconscious of that I would have been happy.\"\nA glaring white lightning parted the dark skies. Thun-\nder resounded from all corners of the earth. Heavy drops\nof an unexpected rain beat against the roof. The two men\nhurried back to the big lighted house.\n\nReplated Platitudes\nJulius Doerner.\nMost modern fiction, the literary pabulum of the un-\nliterary, measures up about a thimbleful of fact in a tubful\nof fancy.\nYou don't have to eat the whole of a cake to find out\nwhat it all tastes like.\nIn the world of fashion's favor, a fat purse and fine\nmillinery shall cover a multitude of imbecilities.\nWhen one fool blames another fool, how if any other\nfool to t&l which fool is really the real fool?\nThe man who makes his own opportunities will soon\nfind opportunities making for him."}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "932", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.16", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nWhy and How I Got Married\nMany hundred stories, brief and lengthy accounts, arrive every week at the desk of our Contest Editor. Most\nof them testify that marriage, even in our commonplace age, preserves its old romance and that to relate a story of\nhow Grandfather took Grandmother urges the pen into hands not otherwise ambitious of literary achievement. A\nhandful of these stories will be chosen every week for the perusal of our readers.\n\nThe End of Romance\nR.\nWAS a favorite with all the men I knew at the time, and\n* engaged to one of them; yet, when I met ''him\" the others\nwere forgotten. It was a very ardent courtship and we were\nextremely happy when we could forget my mother's opposition.\nHe was of good family, good to look at, athletic, a Spanish War\nveteran, a general* favorite with men and women, and there\nseemed no good reason why one should not marry him. In\nless than a year we were married and in less than two years\nafter that I realized what it meant for a woman whose husband\nwas a \"favorite with men and women.\" Twice he begged for-\ngiveness, which was granted, but, as it will, the time came when\nI could endure it no longer. We separated. Nothing was heard\nof him until seven years later, when the mail brought me a\nweek-old newspaper notice of a suicide that led me to Rochester\nto find that the thirteen cents in his pocket was all that was left\nof a borrowed quarter and my life's romance was at an end.\n\n31 Years of Married Life\nT.\nHAD been in New York only three weeks when I got a job\nin Litchfield Co., Conn., where I lived altogether among\nYankees, and learned to speak English. But I found I could\nnot get my pay, my employer, a brigadier-general of the militia\nand a walking whiskey-bottle, being insolvent. Therefore, after\nsix months of hard work and poor pay, I accepted a position in\nD. on the Mississippi River, which happened to be freg. After\na year and a half I wanted, and asked for, a better position\nwhich became free, but was refused, whereupon I threw up\nmy job and paddled my own canoe, i.e., gave lectures, did pri-\nvate tutoring and held a summer school.\nThrough a course of lectures on modern history I made the\nacquaintance of the young lady who, within three quarters of a\nyear, became my wife. The course was for young ladies who\nwanted to improve their general education and she was one of\nmy class. I saw soon that she was the most studious and sen-\nsible of all, and so naturally took great interest in her advance-\nment. She seemed to appreciate that, and after a month or so\nI was invited to call at her parents' residence.\nBut there was a mutual dislike between her father and me!\nMost likely he soon saw the drift of things, and undoubtedly he\nwanted a son-in-law better situated than I. As for me, I had\nheard of him, and seen him before, and what I heard and saw\ngave me the impression that he was narrow-minded, egotistic,\nwas suffering from megalomania, and was apparently blind to\nhis elder son's doings.\nThere came a clash between us, and I wrote the young lady\nI would not call any more; if she really cared for me, as I for\nher, she should meet me at any place suiting her and we would\ntalk matters over. Her answer was that she and her mother\nhad prevailed upon her father to be decent and I should not\nhesitate to call again.\nI thought that over for a couple of days, and then cut the\nmatter short by calling and proposing. She accepting me, I called\nupon the father, told him how matters stood, and asked for his\nconsent, which he gave, though with a wry face.\nSoon after that I got the position I had been refused the year\nbefore, and after an engagement of eight months we were mar-\nried. This is now not far from 31 years, and, although we have\noccasionally had our little spats, I may say that through good\ntimes and hard times we have lived quite happily. 1\nNo bliss in life is unalloyed, and two of our eight children\nhave caused us more or less anxiety; but we hope the worst is\nover, and we further hope and wish to depart this life, knowing\nthat our hard work for our children has not been in vain. There\nis some prospect that several of them may be a great deal better\noff than we ever were.\n\nIn Love After 17 Years\nNathalie.\nA LL my life I have been a dreamer, and most of my dreams\n** * have come true. I was brought up in the South, in a big\nold Colonial country home, and I was sent to Paris to school,\nand was desperately homesick.\nA lady whom I met on the steamer was telling a young Amer-\nican, John, of my loneliness. He asked my name. \"That girl\nhas a cousin here,\" he said. \"I am to dine with her this evening,\nand I'll tell her of her lonely little relative.\" Result, my cousin\nasked John to bring me to call, my steamer friend introduced\nus, and John fell in love with me at first sight. From that\ntime on the dull gray days were turned to rosy ones. John\nasked me to marry him at once, was refused, but persisted, and\nin a few weeks we were engaged, and our wedding took place\nat my home six months after we met.\nAfter seventeen years of married life John is dearer than\never, and hardly a day passes that he does not tell me that I am\ndearer-to him. When my friends ask me the secret of our ideal\nmarriage, and how I have kept my husband my devoted lover,\nI usually reply, \"I married an ideal man.\" But I know that it\nis more. Our iriarriage is the fulfillment of a dream, the carry-\ning out of an ideal, and, above all, that attention to the little\nthings—little courtesies, little words and acts of love—has made\nour life together beautiful, and never permitted it to stale.\nJohn is the finest human being I have ever known. I do not\nbelieve he ever has a small or sordid thought. I am blessed\nabove all the women that I know. He believes in me and is\nproud of me. When he leaves me in the morning I feel a little\npang—he is so precious! When I see him coming home at\nevening, my heart swells with joy and pride, and my eyes often\nfill with happy tears, to think that this Man, of my Dreams is\nreally my own, and that he loves me!"}, {"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "933", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.17", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nBooks and Magazines of the Week\nAlexander Harvey\nAlexander Harvey's Appreciation of G. S. Viereck in his\nmost unique weekly, \"The Bang\"\nO verses written in recent years, no verses, that is, of\nwhich I happen to have knowledge impress me quite\nso much as \"Doctor Faust's Descent from Heaven,\" by\nGeorge Sylvester Viereck. It is the glory of his \"Songs\nof Armageddon/' much as that delta is the glory of the\nNile. Faust is discovered in a mood of disdain with ref-\nerence to the earth. What can earth give him of joy\nhenceforth? He has loved Helen of Troy and the blonde\nMarguerite!\nFrom the very first line, the manner has an indescriba-\nble effect of beauty and of power blended. The whole\npoem proceeds like a majestic procession climbing glorious\nstairways to the sound of a chorus of angels. I have no\nrecollection of a metrical effect so tremendous. The thing\nenchants me, like a favorite musical composition.\nFaust knocks at Heaven's gate, \"the musical gates,\" as\nViereck calls them with a rare effect. The effect upon\nthe angels is tremendous and is conveyed with all the fine,\nthoroughbred arrogance of the poet. Although we are\ntold by one who should know that in Heaven there is\nneither marrying nor giving in marriage, Viereck makes\nsome of the angels swoon in the arms of their mates. I\nlike the idea, although it seems impious.\nAnd they let Faust, by which name Viereck is conven-\ntionalized, into Heaven. He tells God there is nothing to\nbe or to do in that pent-up Utica, that is, for a man like\nhimself. Not that our poet would extend an impious hand\nfor the sceptre of the universe. On the contrary, he leaves\nHeaven in a mood of the most beautiful disdain, after\nhurling at God the single tremendous and unanswerable\nquery:\n\"Have you loved Helen of Troy and the blonde Mar-\nguerite ?\nThe poet arrives in Hell and clasps the hand of its\nPrince. What a sympathetic figure the Lord of Damna-\ntion becomes! All the poets, even Milton, have loved\nLucifer, but Viereck here makes us completely miserable\nwith sympathy for the fiend. And he affords the devil the\nluxury of being understood:\n\"I have loved Helen of Troy and the blonde Marguer-\nite.\"\nLeaving the sovereign of lost souls to his scarlet candles,\nthe overwhelming poet addresses himself to Time and\nEternity. He explains in that stupendous style of his that\nhe is the Pilgrim of Passion. Lilith and Eve! His dilem-\nma between them makes one shudder for even the ass with\nthe two bundles of hay. But the poet's state is worse.\nLilith and Eve have made him lose nis way twixt Hell and\nHeaven and Earth.\nInevitably, then, he begs the boon of oblivion—think\nof it! George Sylvester Viereck implores oblivion as a\nboon! If the petition is to be denied, he will beg for an-\nother birth. Away with Lilith! Away with Eve! Let\na new woman be made by a blend of each. What ecstasy\nis to be his\n\"When beautiful Helen of shall be one with the\nblonde Marguerite!\"\nI do not know how to praise this poem more highly than\nby observing that I abhor the blonde. I was brought up\namong blondes, all the feminine members of my family\nhaving been of that complexion. I would embrace a\nblonde. I know from too painful experience just what it\nmeans to have to live with a blonde. The mere idea of\nincorporating a blonde Marguerite with the dark-browed\nHelen makes me shudder. Nevertheless, I revel in this\npoem- I have read it many a time.\nObserve the skill with which all things tremendous\nworked into the effect. God, his antagonist, woman, pas-\nsion, what is not wrought in cunningly? Thus:\nThe devious desires that crouch through the brain like\nmonsters that nest in the sea,\nPass-—pageants of ghosts—through the luminous eyes of\none who is dear to me.\nThe other—all pangs and delights of the visible world and\nits quests,\nAre engraved in the exquisite curve of her throat and the\nhieroglyphs of her breasts.\nGood! as Polonious said. Again:\nI came to the nethermost place where Satan sate in splen-\ndor alone,\nThe writhing limbs of anguished men were the pillars of\nhis throne.\nGood again! Isaac Watts cannot in his most Calvin-\nistic stanzas excite us with so glorious a Hell!\n\nPeradventure\nAmy 0. Well\nWe copy from this interesting new journal the poem\nby one Amy O. Well:\nThe Song of the WhiSSe-Trec\nEver since the Purple Cow was roped\nAnd put to pasture,\nThe weirdness of her milk\nHas been upon me.\nI awake, kicking the clapboards,\nIn the night;\nI ride the iron bed-rail till my heart\nSplits like a peanut,\nSo terrible is my mirth.\nWhen I arise and hair-pin my hair,\nThe madness of that milk within me\nShatters the mirror,\nAnd precipitates my snicker\nInto rhythmic chasms\nOf curd, and whey, and buttermilk,\nAnd New Orleans molasses.\nThings turn and look at me;\nBut I am pulling the Teat of Inspiration,\nAnd I out-stare them.\nSuddenly I explode with\nDemoniac laughter,\nMaking a noise like a candy-sucker\nIn the mouth of a six-year old,\nOr the shriek of a caboose\nWhich has been divorced\nFrom a locomotive.\nAnd Things turn and flee me,\nBut I write on.\nFor am I not the New Poet?\nAm I not\nThe latest Scream?"}, {"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "934", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.18", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n(Continued from last issue)\nRinnn'n Weeklv i>ub I is hod weekly toy Bruno's Weekly, Inc. Charles Edison, Pres.; Guido Bruno, Vioe-Pres.,\nWalter if and at 58 Washington Square, New York City. Edited and written toy Gmdo\nB^Entfr^sPsecond2rfaLeamatter at the Post Office of New York, N. T., October 14th, 1915, under the Act\nof March 3d, 1897.\n\nJean\nBy Orrick Johns\nAND that was how the summer passed by. She told him\neverybody was getting to be strangers to her at home\nand she hardly spoke to them any more; that the world\nsomehow was not the same* He said the foreman and the\n\"straw-boss\" got him so mad, sometimes, he guessed hell\nwas not any hotter than the factory. He said it was all he\ncould do every day to keep from running out of the build-\ning right to where she was, to tell her things. She said,\n\"Yes, and the worst of it is, I'd probably be right where\nyou went: we couldn't hope for any better luck at all.\nHe said he never could tell her the things, though, when\nhe saw her; he did not seem to want to, then. She said,\n\"Yes, you're a quiet man, but I have no rights, anyway.\nOne night they were sitting on the steps. She was\ndown below him, with her chin in her hands, and the\nlight from the l'amp inside fell upon the back of hei neck.\nThe breeze was blowing her hair over it and Martin\nwatched it, it was so white and soft, and he wanted to\ntake it in both hands between his fingers and strangle her\nto death. When he told her what he wanted to do, she\nsaid, \"Oh, God, Martin, it might be for the best.\" He\nput his hand on it and she never moved, as though she\nwere waiting for him to carry out the awful thieat. Then\nshe said, \"If it was right for you to be in love with me,\nI'd be glad you said that, because that's the way you ought\nto feel. But you oughtn't to, because we're too good\nfriends to do like everybody else, and its just seeing each\nother that counts.\" He said he would like to know what\nfriends are for—with a girl. She got up and said if he\ntalked like that she would have to part from him forever.\nShe said, \"Because you were only too right when you said\nwe shouldn't marry, not having money the way it is with\nus.\" He said, who asked her to marry him? She said,\nwell, she was not begging for chances and he was getting\nalmost shameless; that she must call a halt. It got to\nbe such a quarrel they stormed at each other and the next\ntime they met they both felt bad and Martin apologized ;\nand she said they just had to kiss and make up; that it\nwas only right, and she would submit with a glad heart.\nThey were sitting on the big hill in the park >that same\nnight, on the grass. It was a clear sky, with all the stars\nout bright, and the city was all a garden of lights; they\ncould see them twinkling for miles and miles and the sky\na dull red glow in front of their faces. Martin looked\nat the sky and thought it was so bright he was ten times\nas big as he was and everybody in the city could see him\nsitting there on the hill with a girl beside him, and his\ntrouble, and not knowing what to do. She was afraid,\ntoo, and moved away. They did not dare to touch each\nother. Suddenly she got up and ran away and Martin\nwaited. He got scared after a few minutes and went to\nlook for her. At first he could not find her, because she\nhad gone in among the trees where it was darker. When\nhe came up she was kneeling under one of the trees and\nleaning over so the tall grass was in her hair. He did not\ngo right up, but he heard her moaning, \"This can't go\non!\" She said it over and over again. He could hardly\nsee and he stumbled over and > fell beside her and his hands\nwent all over her. She.said, \"No, no, no!\" and pushed\nhim away wildly, and after a minute he got up and stood\nstill, waiting for her to move. Pretty soon she got up\nand he took her arm. Part of the walk to the car he had\nto almost carry her. They sat beside each other, and\nnever said a word; but everybody was laughing and\ntalking around them. He was ashamed because her dress\nwas torn at the throat and he had a great scratch on his\ncheek and thought everybody in the car was pointing at it.\nWhen he got to his house he took her arm and she came\nright in with him without a word. They went into the\nand he lighted the light and said, \"Now you stay here.''\nShe sat down as though she did not know what she was\ndoing. He said down, too, after a minute and started to\nsmoke. She got up and took one of his mother's aprons\nand put it on. He turned her right around and untied\nit and threw it in the corner. Then she jumped past him\nand ran out of the house and stood on the porch with her\nback against the railing; and said, \"Now I'll talk to you\nhere, Martin Hupp, if you have anything to say to me.\"\nMartin walked by her and sat down on the step like a\ncrazy man and said, \"I've said enough.\" She came beside\nhim and threw her arms around him and said, \"Oh, Mar-\ntin, how noble you are!\" She kept hugging him and half\ncrying and told him he would have to be man enough for\nboth of them; that she was only a woman, and would have\nto give in if he said anything about wanting her. They\nsat there for a long time silent; and pretty soon every-\nthing seemed clear and bright to Martin all at once, and\nhe turned to her and grinned and said: \"Aw, hell, Jean,\nwhy not get married?\" She stood up astonished and said:\n\"Well! I guess you've got to ask a person.\" He asked\nher what she thought he was doing. She sat down again\nthen close to him and sighed deeply and said, \"Yes, dear.\"\nShe said it was here moment. Martin just took her up\nlike a baby and carried her home. He laughed because\nhe held her arms and she could not do anything but\nsquawk.\n\nEdith Haynes Thompson\nHER SHOP\nContaining Many Quaint and Beautiful Things\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE SOUTH\nHours: 1 to 5.30 P. M.\nj. 112. McCarthy\nPAINTINGS AND\nANTIQUES\n30 WEST 46th STREET ."}, {"page_pdf": 19, "page_imprimee": "[935]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.19", "texte": "HOTEL BREVOORT\nFifth Avenue\nCAFE LAFAYETTE\nUniversity Place\nRAYMOND ORTEIG, INC.\nThe Two French Hotels and Restaurants of New York\n\nGONFARONE'S\n40 West Bth Street\nTABLE D'HOTE\n\"Eating places are literary landmarks\" said O. Henry, speaking of Gonfarone's in one of his\nmexcelled Greenwich Village Stories.\n\nGreenwich Village Inn\n(Polly's)\nBetween Washington Sq. & 6th Ave.\nService a la Carte\nOutdoor Dining Room\n\nFrom die malting of a lamp to the creation of a\nperiod room there is a right and a wrong\nway. The problems of your own house may be\nanswered by consulting\nANTON HELLMAN\n80 West Washington Square\nSpring 6340\n\nFlorence Gough has designed children's play\nfrocks and kiddies rompers for vacation wear.\nPAINT BOX\n150 W. 4th St., nr. 6th Ave., N. Y.\nPhone Spring 23\n\nArtistic Cushions\nIncluding wool embroidery. Unique and original\ndesigns in patchwork. Cushions made to order.\nCall or write Sessers Studio Co., 82 Washington\nPL, N. Y. Spring 1076.\n\nLE DERNIER CRI\nThe gift shop magazine. Exploits the latest gift\nshop novelties. Devoted solely to the Gift and\nSpecial Shop. Sample copy free. 50 cents per\nyear.\nLE DERNIER CRI\nGrand Rapids, Mich.\n\nT. D. Cox\nStationery and News Shop\nCirculating Library\n68 Washington Place, N. Y.\n\nJUDSON TAILOR SHOP\n51 Washington Sq.\nAll kinds of tailoring work neatly done. Dry\ncleaning of Ladies' Suits, Gowns, Wraps, etc.,\na specialty.\n'Phone 5360 Spring\n\n'Phone Spring 3922\nTHE DUTCH OVEN\n135 MacDougal Street\nnear Washington Sq.\nOpen Air Dining Room\nHome Cooking\nLuncheon Tea Dinner"}, {"page_pdf": 20, "page_imprimee": "[936]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19160819-01.1.20", "texte": "READERS OF BRUNO'S WEEKLY ARE ASKED TO BECOME SUBSCRIBERS\n52 ISSUES, TWO DOLLARS\nSEND YOUR CHEQUE TO-DAY\n58 WASHINGTON SQUARE, NEW YORK CITY\n\nRare Books\nFirst Editions\nExtra fflnstrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books. Books for Christmas GKk\nI*urehased siagly or in sets for people who have neither time nor opportunity to select for thsmsslveat\nor for those who have not access to die best hook marts. Why not begin collecting now?\nAddress, E. V. Boston Transcript, Boston, Mess.\n\nBains a book\nI N W lilC II\nwe say just what we think. Published every month by Norman-Bel Geddes at 171 Wilson Avenue\nId Detroit, Michigan. It is a little book miquely illustrated. Write for sample copy.\n\nI BUY BOOKS\nSingle volumes, small lots, and libraries; autograph letters of known literary men and\nartists, drawings, pictures and engravings. Address\n' 'COLLECTOR,\" Care of Bruno's Weekly, 58 Washington So.\n\nROSSI BROTHERS\nS8 Washington Square\nUnderneath the Garret\nICC CREAM AND TOBACCO\n\nThe Mad Hatter Has a Tea Party Every Afternoon\nFrom 3 to 6 at\n150 WEST FOURTH STREET\nJust Down the Rabbit Hole From Washington Square\n'Take Some More Tea\"\n\"I've Had Nothing Yet So I Can't Take More\"\n\"You Mean You Can't Take Less, It's Very Easy to\nTake More Than Nothing.\"\n\"Nobody Asked Your Opinion\" Edith Unger*\n\nThere can be no pleasanter place to hear that remarkable\nEdison Record Number (82536) than\nTHE DIAMOND DISC SHOP\nat Number 10 Fifth Avenue\nIn tku store, at least, the delightful atmosphere of Old Greenwich Village has not besn tarrirod\non the altar of commerdaliam\nA postal will bring yon, with oar ccunplnwsnts,\nan interesting little biography of itr. Urns. A.\nPhone: Stnyresant 4570 Edison"}]}