{"numero_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_sha256": "6f411584fc76f0ae477ce95f0c56b5cae376b44f6d022cfb341cc82265d6c58c", "source_tei": "https://github.com/Princeton-CDH/bluemountain-transcriptions/blob/main/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/10/18_01/bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01.tei.xml", "source_mets": "https://github.com/pulibrary/BlueMountain/blob/main/metadata/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/10/18_01/bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01.mets.xml", "url_numero": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01", "articles": [{"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c001", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c001", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "couv. 1", "page_fin": "couv. 1", "image_debut": 1, "image_fin": 1, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.1", "titre_corps": "FRANK HARRIS By John Duncan Ferguson", "titre_sommaire": "FRANK HARRIS By John Duncan Ferguson", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.1", "debut_caractere": 101, "fin_caractere_exclue": 137, "texte": "FRANK HARRIS By John Duncan Ferguson"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c002", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c002", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1149]", "page_fin": "[1149]", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.2", "titre_corps": "La Chatter, chatter, chatter", "titre_sommaire": "La Chatter, chatter, chatter", "signature_source": "Tom Sleeper", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[1149]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 141, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1227, "texte": "La La\nChatter, chatter, chatter\nTom Sleeper\nTHE busy tongues spin webs of scandal—odd bits of\nlaughter, knowing winks—earnest \"too bads\"—frag-\nments of a resurrected past, all woven artfully to give a\nmoment's pleasure to the weavers.\nAnd the girl, the motive of their pattern—what of her?\nShe faces them defiant for a time. Then frightened and\nunstrung, draws gradually within herself. Friends drop away\n—her house grows dark. At last, in bitterness she quits the\ntown, and tries to lose herself in the turmoil and rush of\ncities.\n\"Ah! what did we tell you,\" the weavers cry. \"Her mother\nwent that way before her—wait, just wait.\"\nBit by bit they carry their tapestry of lies into the city.\nShe begins to meet questioning looks—a little coolness here—\na practised insult there. /Men treat her boldly. She sees\nthe snares with reddening eyes. Long days and weary nights\nare hers. Prayer and religion fail her. Books bring only\nfleeting solace. Exasperated—nervous—at bay—she plunges\ninto the social whirl. An act of impulse—a false step—\nthen—down—down—down3—\nChatter, chatter, chatter."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c003", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c003", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1149]", "page_fin": "1151", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.3", "titre_corps": "Anatole France: the Parisian", "titre_sommaire": "Anatole France: the Parisian", "signature_source": "George Brandes ; Translated by Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[1149]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 1229, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5786, "texte": "Anatole France: the Parisian\nBy George Brandes\n\nANATOLE FRANCE is far from being young but his fame\nis of rather recent origin. He was seventy-two years\nold on the 16th. of April but it is only twenty-three years\nsince his countrymen became interested in his writings and\nin his books, since he has become the celebrated author of\nhis .country.\nAs a very young men he started to write literary and\nhistorical essays and poems best characterized if they are\ncalled \"nice\";-he was thirty-seven years old when he attracted\nfor the first time public attention through his story \"Le Crime\nde Sylvester Bonnard,\" and it was not before the year\n1892-93 that he proved his originality.\nThat he remained so long unknown to wider circles is\nexplained in the slow process of his self-evolution, in the\nlong, time it took him to discover his own individuality; he\nlacked the courage to be wholely himself and he needed en-\ncouragement from others.\nAnd then there were the great authors of descriptive\nliterature in the limelight who have departed since; story-\ntellers like Maupassant, Daudet, Zola; other geniuses like\nBourget and Huysman turned to clericalism, men like Jules\nLe Maitre to nationalism, other gifted men as Hervieu\ndirected their activities towards the theater. And then the\ngreat master of style had departed, Ernest Renan, who had\nleft France his heir. Only after this fine doubter and\nenthusiastic saint of thoughts had laid aside his pen forever,\nand not before the renowned and celebrated authors of books\nthat had created sensations in the 90's had expired, came the\nopportune time for Anatole France.\nThose other Frenchmen had come originally from the\nprovinces: Daudet and Zola from Provence, Maupassant from\nNormandie, Renan from Bretaigne, Hervieu from Neuilly,\nBourget from Amiens, Huysman was of Dutch origin. France\nis a born Parisian and he possesses every merit and every\ncharacteristic of a Parisian.\nHis master Renan became a Parisian after he had reached\nthe eve of his life,' after he had discarded the peculiarities of\nthe Bretaigne, after he had ceased to be the pupil of Ger-\nmany. France was from his very start a Parisian.\nThe light and air of Paris were his original elements, the\nGardens of Luxembourg were for him the nature of France,\nthe street was his educational institution. As a child he had\nwatched in the Quartier Latin girls deliver milk and workmen\ncall at the doors of everybody. And he knows better perhaps\nthan any other living writer the little tradesman and artisan\nof Paris.\nThe show-windows of stationers and paper-dealers with\ntheir many-coloured pictures attracted his attention and he\nreceived his first reading lesson from the poor \"flying\" book-\ndealers on the banks of the Seine, in whose boxes he used\nto rummage if they did not look.\nHe himself was the son of such a poor book-dealer or\nperhaps of only an assistant to one. He was born in a book-\nshop, educated among old and wise books: amid the\nmysterious memories of a life that does not exist any more.\nHere he learned how short-lived our existence is, how little\nthere is left of the work of a generation. His early reflec-\ntions here in these surroundings are responsible for the leit-\nmotif of his books: their sadness, gentleness and pity.\nIt is really extraordinary to think of the many small book-\nshops he described in Paris and outside of Paris, the books\nthat were on their shelves the visitors that frequented them,\nand the conversations that took place among these old-Toms.\nAgain and again he stopped while passing these good \"flying\"\nbook-dealers on the banks of the Seine, stopped long enough\nto pity their miserable existence, to feel with them the frost\nand rain while they were standing in front of their stalls\nexposed to bad weather on the lookout for customers,\nexamining and buying books, but only seldom selling any.\nAnd so he became their good patron and their guardian\nangel they see in him today.\nNo one among present-day Frenchmen seems to us so\nreally French as Anatole France; he seems to combine in\nhimself the entire tradition of French story-tellers who ever\nlived in France, of those of the Middle Ages; from Montaigne\nto Voltaire; and we do not think it strange that lie audaciously\nadopted the name of his country instead of the one his father\nhad left him. But France had also been the first name of his\nfather, of the modest bookdealer France Thibaut. For.the\nsmall people of the street where he resided the, Allee Villa\nSaid, he is not France. The small men of that neighborhood\ncalled him \"Monsieur Anatole.\""}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1150", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4036, "texte": "The streets along the banks of the Seine live vividly in his\nmemory. Somewhere he says:\"I grew up on these banks,\namong the books of simple and humble people; they are now\nmy only memory of my early life. Some day, after I shall\nhave left this valley of sorrow, it will be as if they never had\nexisted.\"\nSomewhere else in one of his books he calls these streets\nnear the Seine \"the adopted country of all humans with\nbrains and with taste.\"\nIn a third place he says:\"I grew up in surroundings where\nold books blended with the landscape. The Seine delighted\nme I admired the river which in daylight was mir-\nroring the heavens and carrying boats and which covered it-\nself in the night with precious stones and with shining\nflowers.\nA friend of books he was and remained one till today. The\nreader of France's books is amazed above all by his extra-\nordinary literary education and by the quality of this educa-\ntion, unusual for a poet and a writer of novels. French\nauthors as we know them are unscholarly, with a distinc-\ntive French education, as it is gathered by the graduates of\nnormal schools whose knowledge is a one-sided classical one,\nand then scholars whose education is European. But France\npossesses a rich and full education gotten in a Europe from\nwhich the Germanic peoples are excluded. He knows no\nEnglish and no German and that is the chief contrast be-\ntween his and Renan's education. But we do not miss it in\nhim as we do miss it in others.\nRenan was an oriental philologist; Semitic languages were\nhis field; German science had nourished his brains. France\nhas a thorough knowledge of Latin and Greek antiquities,\nbut he also knows well the Latin and Italian literature of the\nMiddle Ages. \"I am nourishing,'' he says somewhere, \"a\ndesperate love in my Latin studies. Without this I cannot\nsee the beauty of French genius. We are Latins. The milk\nof the Wolverine is the best part of our blood.\"\nHe became especially well acquainted with the period of\nthe revolt in which Christendom and Heathendom fought\nbattles in the antique souls; he knew well the entire world of\nChristian legends; he knows how to relate these legends with\na winning sincerity and with a well-secreted irony. He is a\nscholar of Italian and especially French history of the ancient\ntimes, from Caesar up to the 18th century; it came to life in\n\"Reine Pedauque.\"\nVery often his art is occupied with religious moods and\nconditions and here we find the sharpest contrast with Renan.\nWhile Renan's disposition was always religiously inclined,\nhis expression often unctious, France remains while treating\nhis religious themes, in spite of his seeming reverance, deep\nin his heart as sober as Voltaire.\nTo pictures from ancient times he added, during recent\nyears, pictures from the France o1 today. He embellished\nthem with portraits of people who only a short time ago were\nin the limelight of publicity, as for instance of Verlaine or of\nEsterhazy.\nBut it isn't the modern life that possesses his poetical and\npersonal preferance. One day while a visitor to whom he\nhad shown his books seemed amazed to find very few modern\nor recently published books among them, France remarked:\n\"I have no modern books and I do not keep those I receive;\nI'm in the habit of sending them to a friend in the country.\"\n(The friend in the country, most likely, is one of those little\nkeepers of book-stores on the banks of the Seine whom\nFrance knows so well and as it is the French custom among\nthe book reviewers.)\n\"But don't you care at all to know them?\"\n\"My contemporaries? No; for what they could tell me I\nknow just as well myself. I learn more from Petronius than\nfrom Mendes.\"\nTherefore France followed, most likely, only the call of\nnecessity when he consented to act as a critic of his confrere-\nauthors and write about their work regularly in feuilltons\nin the Temps. But the four volumes in which these articles\nof his are collected are highly amazing. France declares\nhere, from start to finish, that a critic can never write tech-"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1151", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2231, "texte": "nical criticism but only personal impressions; that he never\ncould portray anything else but himself; and that therefore\nwhenever the critic spoke of Horace or Shakespeare he only\nspoke about himself because of Horace or of Shakespeare.\nFrance always spoke about himself: \"I hope that every-\nbody thinks of himself whenever I speak about myself.\"\nFrance as a critic related always his own personal impres-\nsions and liked to tell little stories, mostly incidents from his\nchildhood or early youth, illustrating or commenting upon\nthese impressions of his. He was not a critic in the severe\nmeaning of the word and after his books had started to sell\nwell he gave up writing criticisms. But notwithstanding this,\nhis expressions in these four volumes are highly character-\nistic of his personality, disclosing his brilliant mind, his\nlimitations and his prejudices ..... prejudices that he but\nslowly overcame.\nThe friend to whom France had answered: \"I have no\nmodern books in my house,\" asked smilingly, \"Not even your\nown ?\" \"No,\" answered France, \"what one builds himself . . .\neven be it a palace . . . grows so well known to one's eye\nand senses that it is unbearable even to look at it. I could\nnot endure to hold my own books in my hands. What should\nI do with them?\"\n\"Avoid repetitions.\"\n8*\n\"That is the reason I am repeating myself constantly,\"\nanswered France, and that is true .... it is one of the\nfavourite sins of this author. Only too often the same\nthought returns with almost the identical words. Often he\nrepeats himself from one book to another and for page after\npage.\nA very true self-portrait France created in the person of\nthe sculptor in his \"Red Lily.\" One realizes how true it is\nwhen reading the answer of the sculptor to Madame Martin-\nBelleme: \"I never look at one of my own works, I never saw\nagain any of my statues or busts. How could you think I\ncould take any pleasure to live among my own creations?\nI know them so well . ~ . they would bore me.\" That\nFrance paints himself in the sculptor Dechartres is almost\nacknowledged if he lets him continue: \"Even if I have\nmodelled a few bad figures I am not a sculptor. But there\nmight be a good deal of the poet and philosopher in me.\""}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1151", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 2303, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2329, "texte": "Translated by Guido Bruno."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c004", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c004", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1150", "page_fin": "1150", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.3.1", "titre_corps": "Anatole France as a boy", "titre_sommaire": "Anatole France as a boy", "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": "1150", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 4038, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4061, "texte": "Anatole France as a boy"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c005", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c005", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1150", "page_fin": "1150", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.3.2", "titre_corps": "Anatole France by Steinlen", "titre_sommaire": "Anatole France by Steinlen", "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": "1150", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 4063, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4089, "texte": "Anatole France by Steinlen"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c006", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c006", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1151", "page_fin": "1151", "image_debut": 5, "image_fin": 5, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.3.3", "titre_corps": "Anatole France in his library", "titre_sommaire": "Anatole France in his library", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1151", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 2233, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2262, "texte": "Anatole France in his library"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c007", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c007", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1151", "page_fin": "1151", "image_debut": 5, "image_fin": 5, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.3.4", "titre_corps": "An autograph letter by Anatole France", "titre_sommaire": "An autograph letter by Anatole France", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1151", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 2264, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2301, "texte": "An autograph letter by Anatole France"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c008", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c008", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1151", "page_fin": "1152", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.4", "titre_corps": "I Can't Sell Umbrellas", "titre_sommaire": "I Can't Sell Umbrellas", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1151", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 2331, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4430, "texte": "I Can't Sell Umbrellas\nHrxO you know Juan de la Roca?\"\nU \"We were friends. Many years ago . . . That's to\nsay, when he was poor.\"\n\"I'll introduce you. He is wealthy now.\"\n\"Then he won't want to know me.\"\nAnd so it was. At first he refused to\"know\" me, but he\nwas civil; he carried a heavy cane, and he offered me a\nmodest cigarette which I declined like an aristocrat. He\nstruck me as being a timid man, for he trembled while he\ntalked and trembled about everything, as if he suffered from\nthe mania of persecution. He tried to prove to me that he\nhimself hadn't gained his wealth but that he had been rich\neven before his birth. On hearing such a life I felt outraged\nand wished to offend him; so, keeping an eye on his strong\nstick, I said:\n\"I knew you when you were selling umbrellas on the Calle\nVictoria. Do you recollect? One evening you begged me to\ngive you a dollar. I couldn't do it. I didn't have any either.\nI was so poor! As poor as you.\"\nI waited for a blow from the cane, but no, the cane\nremained motionless.\n\"It is true, I sold umbrellas,\" he answered slowly. \"By\nthis I became rich.\"\n\"That's just it! Therefore do not insult your forefathers.\nIf you are rich you must be so through your own work, your\nwill power, your fate, your tricks, or your honesty; not\nthrough-your forefathers. Do you think it is more creditable\nto be rich through one's parents than one's self?\"\n\"No. But people mistrust those who become rich without\nhaving inherited.''\n\"And what should I do to get rich, having no one from\nwhom to inherit?\"\n\"Sell umbrellas.\"\n\"Very true. It hadn't occurred to me. But I lack the\nintellectual faculties which are necessary for this trade.\"\n\"The better off you'll be; consequently you shall not suffer\nas I do.\"\n\"You, suffer?\"\n\"Tremendously. As I go about sad and thoughtful every\none believes that I suffer from the remorse of having com-\nmitted the \"crime\" which made me wealthy, and they don't\nknow that this crime is to have sold umbrellas on the Plaza de\nMayo. To avoid the suspicion that I have stolen what I have\nearned with my umbrellas, I attribute my wealth to my"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "1152", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1825, "texte": "grandfathers ... I force people into saying of me: 'Poor\nman! He has been rich all his life. He doesn't know the\nvalue of money. He doesn't know how to enjoy himself.'\"\n\"What is the cause of your sadness? Are you ill?\"\n\"No, sir. I suffer from no sickness. The doctors have\nexamined me thoroughly; lam perfectly sound.* However,\nI am dying like one in agony. I cry like a child. I shake\nlike a criminal about to be executed.\"\n\"Some disappointment in love?\"\n\"With half a million dollars to one's name, no woman\nundeceives us. My sadness originates from my fear of death.\nIt horrifies me to think I must become a skeleton. My bed\nseems to me a coffin. I light a candle and I think it is one\nof the \"six\" which will be consumed on my death watch.\nWhen I was poor my desire to be rich fooled me into believ-\ning that life with money was a different life. After so much\nwork, so much hankering, so much suffering, I attain riches.\nAnd what for? To become convinced that I must die like\ndogs and men die . . . Therefore, if it is to die that we work,\nof what use to us is our ambition, our dreams, our hearts,\nour livers? Oh! my hair rises up on end when I think of\ndeath . . . All my friends die. When will I die? Tomorrow?\nIn a month? In a year?\"\nA few days later Juan de la Roca shot himself. His fare-\nwell was condensed into this phrase: \"I kill myself because\nI fear to die.\"\nHe didn't remember me in his will; he didn't leave me\neven a penny. Bad friend! He didn't feel compassion for\nmy inability to sell umbrellas—cursed inability which will\nforbid me the pleasure of bequeathing half a million dollars\nto my son.\n\"Sell umbrellas!\" the spirit of Don Juan whispers to me\nfrom the Chacarita.\n\"It is no use,\" I reply. \"I wasn't born to sell umbrellas.\"\nFrom the Spanish of J. /. de Soiza Reillyßy Renee Lacoste"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c009", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c009", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1152", "page_fin": "1152", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.5", "titre_corps": "Set Down in the Consecutive Order of their Significance", "titre_sommaire": "Set Down in the Consecutive Order of their Significance", "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": "1152", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 1827, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2380, "texte": "Significant Facts of American Literature\nSet Down in the Consecutive Order of their Significance\nI.\nThe name of Jones Very remains unknown to his educated\ncountrymen generally.\nII.\nEdgar Allan Poe died in the hospital of a Baltimore alms-\nhouse.\nIII.\nWalt Whitman was dismissed from the service of the\nUnited States government because he wrote \"Leaves of\nGrass.\"\nIV.\nThe New York Society for the Suppression of Vice con-\nfiscated \"The Genius\" by Theodore Dreiser.\nV.\nHamilton Wright Mabie flourishes like a green bay tree.\nAlexander Harvey in his \"Bang\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c010", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c010", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1152", "page_fin": "1152", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.6", "titre_corps": "Two Tales by N. Shebouev", "titre_sommaire": "Two Tales by N. Shebouev", "signature_source": "Translated from the Russian by Mark Weinbaum", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "1152", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 2382, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4494, "texte": "Two Tales by N. Shebouev\nTranslated from the Russian by Mark Weinbaum\nHe, She, and All\nTHEY entered the hall arm in arm.\nHe thought:\n\"Every one in the hall envies me. All admire her charm-\ning little head. The majority of men who are present are\nanxious to take her away from me and keep her as their\nmistress. And many would even offer her a legal marriage.\"\nShe thought:\n\"Every one in the hall pities me. All admire my charming\nlittle head. The majority of ladies say about me:\nSuch a little fool! She could have been the mistress of any\nrich man she desired. She could become the wife of a\ncount, or a duke. But instead she entangled herself with a\npoet who cannot even dress her properly.\"\nAll thought:\n\"What a pretty little head she has! But is it possible that\nhe does not, notice how immensely silly and uneducated she\nis? Almost every woman here would feel happy to be his\nmistress. By what means did she bribe him! Her every word\nis an impersonation of triviality! She exposes him every-\nwhere!\"\nThey pitied him. They envied her.\nThe Head\n44'TnHINK what you say! . . . You lost your head al-\n-1 together ... !\"\n\"Ah, if I had twenty heads I would lose them all to the\nlast one in that moment . . . But why does a lover need a\nhead? ... I offer to you my hand and heart, but not my\nhead.\"\n\"You are right,\" said she laughing, \"no lover offers his\nhead and heart because he has no head at such a\nmoment ...\"\n\"And wherefore de wo really need a head? Love is not\ncricket where balls are required . .\n\"That's right! Love is not cricket, but another game . . .\"\n\"Oh! it is an entirely different game\" replied I.\n\"Love is a football game ... But is it possible to play it\nwithout a ball!\"\n\"But why do you want that your partners should hurl their\nboots just at my head. Can't you use for that purpose some\none else's head . . . ?\"\nShe blushed angrily.\n\"But who told you what I want? I don't want anything!\nDo I propose to you or you to me? You are the one who\nwants to be known as the master of a football game . .\n\"Yes, you are right. It is I who dream of the happiness\nof being a ball in your football game . ."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c011", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c011", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1152", "page_fin": "1152", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.7", "titre_corps": "A Guardian Angel", "titre_sommaire": "A Guardian Angel", "signature_source": "Ed. Hayes", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "1152", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 4496, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5331, "texte": "A Guardian Angel\nEd. Hayes\nI HAD a dream the other night and I thought my\nguardian angel left me and flew to the great white\nthrone where God sat.\nAnd God said, how is it with our friend on Earth?\nAnd the angel said it goes badly; he loves a girl and\nwants her.\nAnd God said well let him have her, then children of\nmen want a lot of things! But my angel said, Oh no\nLord, then we will lose two Souls and the devil has been\nvery successful of late and we can't afford to lose many\nmore. What shall I do? And I thought I saw God lean\nover and whisper in my angel's ear—l awoke restless\nand still thinking of my love for the girl.\nThen an odd thing happened. I felt my love expand\nand grow. I felt I loved her sisters and her friends and\nthen all mankind and I became full of the joy of life and\nI arose and went about my work cheerfully."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c012", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c012", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1153", "page_fin": "1153", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.8", "titre_corps": "War-Toll", "titre_sommaire": "War-Toll", "signature_source": "Thompson H. Rich", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "1153", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2617, "texte": "War-Toll\nBy Thompson H. Rich\nThe Whole\nFORTUNE has smiled upon them; they have faced\nThe cruel fire unhurt; bullets have smashed\nAnd cut and killed around them, have erased\nLife after life—but left them there, abashed.\nSchrapnel has shrieked above them, burst and flayed them;\nThunder has roared beneath them, ripped and torn;\nNight has not given them any rest to aid them—\nWeary and tired and taunt, they wait forlorn.\nWeek after week they face the roaring shambles;\nMonth after month they front the yawning hell.\nEver it's: \"'Ere, 'e's 'it! See 'owe scrambles!\"\nEach foot of trench marks where some hero fell.\nHelpless, they stand and face the helpless foe—\nWaiting till Death shall deal the assassin blow.\nThe Wounded\nMOANING in bitter anguish, they're brought back,\nBroken and torn and crushed in every limb,\nButchered and bent and battered on the rack\nOf vain, impetuous War. What requiem\nThose piteous moans send piercing to the skies!\nAll Europe pales and closes up her ears;\nThe whole unhappy Earth looks on and sighs,\nAnd though she says it not, she fears—she fears.\nAh, and so brave, so zealous for a cause,\nSo keen to pour out their blood's precious red\nFor Freedom's sake. Before such warmth one awes,\nOne wonders if for naught have died their dead.\nBut then—a look upon the ghastly sight,\nAnd Hope is swallowed up in utter night.\nThe Missing\nA MUDDY ditch, perhaps, or some dank field\nFosters their ruined bodies; or they rot\nUnder a crumbled fort, their dust congealed\nWith coarser dust, not knowing time and not\nAware of the green grass that grows above them,\nSilent to all the changes of the years\nUnconscious that the sorrowing hearts that love them\nHave long since learned the uselessness of tears.\nOr else, half-mad, they wander on alone,\nCountry and home and name alike rubbed out,\nWondering where all the happy days have flown,\nLost in a maze of agony and doubt—\nCursing and praying with a single breath,\nWishing not anything at all but Death.\nThe Dead\nTpHESE have passed by.; to them some worthier paves\n1 Are given to walk on; they've no more to tread\nThis world of reeking blood and children's graves—\nThis rankling, raucous temple of the dead,\nWhere love and all the nobler feelings wane.\nThey've fought quite valiantly the futile fight!\nLoser's? It matters not the loss or gain\nSilence is theirs, and the eternal Night.\nAnd theirs the kingdom of the pure, high Stars:\nPurged of all sin, all evil washed away,\nThey dwell in Paradise, no wounds, no scars-—\nNone of the little pains of yesterday.\nEarth has not anything so fine to give\nTo they who still must battle on and live."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c013", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c013", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1153", "page_fin": "1155", "image_debut": 7, "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.9", "titre_corps": "The III.—The Business of Madame Jahn", "titre_sommaire": "The III.—The Business of Madame Jahn", "signature_source": "Vincent O'Sullivan", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "1153", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 2619, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5606, "texte": "The Book of Bargains\nIII.—The Business of Madame Jahn\nBy Vincent O'Sullivan\nHOW we all stared, how frightened we all were, how we\npassed opinions, on that morning when Gustave\nHerbout was found swinging by the neck from the ceiling of\nhis bedroom! The whole Faubourg, even the ancient folk\nwho had not felt a street under them for years, turned out\nand stood gaping at the house with amazement and loud\nconjecture. For why should Gustave Herbout, of all men,\ntake to the rope? Only last week he had inherited all the\nmoney of his aunt, Madame Jahn, together with her house\nand the shop with the five assistants, and life looked fair\nenough for him. No; clearly it was not wise of Gustave to\nhang himself!\nBesides, his aunt's death had happened at a time when\nGustave was in sore straits for money. To be sure, he had\nhis salary from the bank in which he worked; but what is a\nmere salary to one who (like Gustave) threw off the clerkly\nhabit when working hours were over, to assume the dress\nand lounge of the accustomed boulevardier: while he would\nrelate 4o obsequious friends vague but satisfactory stories of\na Russian Prince who was his uncle, and of an extremely\nrich English lady to whose death he looked forward with\nhope. Alas! with a clerk's salary one cannot make much of\na figure in Paris. It took all of that, and more, to maintain\nthe renown he had gained amongst his acquaintance of hav-\ning to his own a certain little lady with yellow hair, who\ndanced divinely. So he was forced to depend on the presents\nwhich Madame Jahn gave him from to time to time; and for\nthose presents he had to pay his aunt a most sedulous and\nirksome attention. At times, when he was almost sick from\nhis craving for the boulevard, the cafe, the theatre, he would\nhave to repair, as the day grew to an end, to our Faubourg,\nand the house behind the shop, where he would sit to an old-\nfashioned supper with his aunt, and listen with a sort of dull\nimpatience while she asked him when he had last been at\nConfession, and told him long, dreary stories of his dead\nfather and mother. Punctually at nine o'clock the deaf\nservant, who was the only person besides Madame Jahn that\nlived in the house, would let in the fat old priest, who cams\nfor his game of dominoes, and betake herself to bed. Then\nthe dominoes would begin, and with them the old man's\nprattle, which Gustave knew so well: about his daily work,\nabout the uselessness of all things here on earth, and the\nhappiness and glory of the Kingdom of Heaven: and, of\ncourse, our boulevardier noticed, with the usual cheap sneer\nof the modern, that whilst the priest talked of the Kingdom\nof Heaven, he yet shewed the greatest anxiety if he had\nsymptoms of a cold, or any other petty malady. However,\nGustave would sit there, with a hypocrite's grin and inwardly\nraging, till the clock chimed eleven. At that hour Madame\nJahn would rise, and, if she was pleased with her nephew,\nwould go over to her writing-desk and give him, with a rather"}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "1154", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 7013, "texte": "pretty air of concealment from the priest, perhaps fifty or a\nhundred francs. Whereupon Gustave would bid her a\nmanifestly affectionate good-night! and depart in the com-\npany of the priest. As soon as he could get rid of the priest,\nhe would hasten to his favourite cafes, to discover that all\nthe people seeing had long since grown tired of waiting, and\nhad departed on their own affairs. The money, indeed, was a\nkind of consolation; but then there were nights when he did\nnot get a sou. Ah! they amuse themselves in Paris, but not\nin this way—this is not amusing.\n.One cannot live a proper life upon a salary, and an oc-\ncasional gift of fifty or a hundred francs. And it is not\nentertaining to tell men that your uncle, the Prince at Mos-\ncow, is in sorry case, and even now lies a-dying, or that the\nrich English lady is in the grip of a vile consumption and is\nmomently expected to succumb, if these men only shove up\ntheir shoulders, wink at one another, and continue to present\ntheir bills. Further, the little Mademoiselle, with yellow hair,\nhad lately shewn signs of a very pretty temper, because her\nusual flowers and bon-bons were not apparent. So, since\nthings were come to this dismal pass, Gustave fell to attend-\ning the race-meetings at Chantilly. During the first week\nGustave won largely, for that is sometimes the way with\nignorant men: during that week, too, the little Mademoiselle\nwas charming, for she -had her bouquets and boxes of bon-\nbons. But the next week Gustave lost heavily, for that is\nalso very often the way with ignorant men: and he was\nthrown into the blackest despair, when one night at a place\nwhere he was used to sup, Mademoiselle took the arm of a\ngreat fellow, whom he much suspected to be a German, and\ntossed him a little scornful nod, as she went off.\nOn the evening after this had happened, he was standing,\nbetween five and six o'clock, in the Place de la Madeleine,\nblowing on his fingers and trying to plan his next move, when\nhe heard his name called by a familiar voice, and turned to\nface his aunt's adviser, the priest.\n\"Ah! Gustave, my friend, I have just been to see a col-\nleague of mine here!'' cried the old man, pointing to the great\nchurch. \"And are you going to your good aunt to-night?\"\nhe added, with a look at Gustave's neat dress.\nGustave was in a flame that the priest should have detected\nhim in his gay clothes, for he always made a point of appear-\ning at Madame Jahn's clad staidly in black; but he answered\npleasantly enough.\n\"No, my Father, I'm afraid I can't to-night. You see I'm\na little behind with my office-work, and I have to stay at home\nand catch up.\"\n\"Well! well!\" said the priest, with half a sigh, \"I suppose\nyoung men will always be the same. I myself can only be\nwith her till nine o'clock to-night, because I must see a sick\nparishioner. But let me give you one bit of advice, my\nfriend,\" he went on, taking hold of a button on Gustave's\ncoat: \"don't neglect your aunt; for, mark my words, one day\neverything of Madame Jahn's will be yours!\" And the\nomnibus he was waiting for happening to swing by at that\nmoment, he departed without another word.\nGustave strolled along the Boulevard des Capucines in a\nstudy. Yes; it was certain that the house, and the shop with\nthe five assistants, would one day be his; for the priest knew\nall his aunt's affairs. But how soon would they be his?\nMadame Jahn was now hardly sixty; her mother had lived\nto be ninety; when she was ninety he would be —. And\nmeanwhile, what about the numerous bills; what (above all!)\nabout the little4ady with yellow hair? He paused and struck\nhis heel on the pavement with such force, that two men\npassing nudged one another and smiled. Then he made\ncertain purchases, and set about wasting time till nine\no'clock.\nIt is curious to consider, that although when he started\nout at nine o'clock, Gustave was perfectly clear as to what\nhe meant to do, yet he was chiefly troubled by the fear that\nthe priest had told his aunt about his fine clothes. But when\nhe had passed through the deserted Faubourg, and had come\nto the house behind the shop, he found his aunt only very\npleased to see him, and a little surprised. So he sat with\nher, and listened to her gentle, homely stories, and told lies\nabout himself and his manner of life, till the clock struck\neleven. Then he rose, and Madame Jahn rose too, and went\nto her writing-desk and opened a small drawer.\n\"You have been very kind to a lonely old woman to-night,\nmy Gustave,\" said Madame Jahn, smiling.\n\"How sweet of you to say that, dearest aunt!\" replied\nGustave. He went over and passed his arm caressingly\nacross her shoulders, and stabbed her in the heart.\nFor a full five minutes after the murder he stood still; as\nmen often do in a great crisis when they know that any\nmovement means decisive action. Then he started, laid hold\nof his hat, and made for the door. But there the stinging\nknowledge of his crime came to him for the first time; and\nhe turned back into the room. Madame Jahn's bedroom\ncandle was on a table: he lit it, and passed through a door\nwhich led from the house into the shop. Crouching below\nthe counters covered with white sheets, lest a streak of light\nofn the windows might attract the observation of some\npassenger, he proceeded to a side entrance to the shop, un-\nbarred and unlocked the door, and put the key in his pocket.\nThen, in the same crouching way, he returned to the room,\nand started to ransack the small drawer. The notes he scat-\ntered about the floor; but two small bags of coin went into\nhis coat. Then he took the candle and dropped some wax\non the face and hands and dress of the corpse; he spilt wax,\ntoo, over the carpet, and then he broke the candle and ground\nit under his foot. He even tore with long nervous fingers at\nthe dead woman's bodice till her breasts lay exposed; and\nplucked out a handful of her hair and threw it on the floor\nto stick to the wax. When all these things had been ac-\ncomplished, he went to the house door and listened. The\nFaubourg is always very quiet about twelve o'clock, and a\nsingle footstep falls on the night with a great sound. He\ncould not hear the least noise: so he darted out and ran\nlightly till he came to a turning. There he fell into a\nsauntering walk, lit a cigarette, and hailing a passing fiacre,\ndirected the man to drive to the Pont Saint-Michel. At the\nbridge he alighted, and noting that he was not eyed, he threw\nthe key of the shop into the river. Then assuming the swagger\nand assurance of a half-drunken man, he marched up the\nBoulevard and entered the Cafe d'Harcourt.\nThe place was filled with the usual crowd of men and\nwomen of the Quartier Latin. Gustave looked round, and\nobserving a young student with a flushed face who was talk-\ning eagerly about the rights of man, he sat down by him. It\nwas his part to act quickly: so before the student had quite\nfinished a sentence for his ear, the murderer gave him the\nlie. The student, however, was not so ready for a fight as"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "1155", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 7102, "texte": "Gustave had supposed; and when he began to argue again,\nGustave seized a glass full of brandy and water and threw\nthe stuff in his face. Then indeed there was a row, till the\ngendarmes interfered, and haled Gustave to the station. At\nthe police-station he bitterly lamented his misdeed, which he\nattributed to an extra glass of absinthe, and he begged the\nauthorities to carry word of his plight to his good aunt,\nMadame Jahn, in our Faubourg. So to the house behind the\nshop they went, and there they found her—sitting with her\nbreasts hanging out, her poor head clotted with blood, and a\nknife in her heart.\nThe next morning, Gustave was set free. A man and\nwoman, two of the five assistants in the shop, had been\ncharged with the murder. The woman had been severely\nreprimanded by Madame Jahn on the day before, and the\nman was known to be the girl's paramour. It was the duty\nof the man to close at night all the entrances into the shop,\nsave the main entrance, which was closed by Madame Jahn\nand her deaf servant: and the police had formed a theory\n(worked out with the amazing zeal and skill which cause the\nParis police so often to overreach themselves!) that the man\nhad failed to bolt one of the side doors, and had, by subtilty,\ngot possession of the key, whereby he and his accomplice\nre-entered the place about midnight. Working on this theory,\nthe police had woven a web round the two unfortunates with\nthreads of steel; and there was little doubt, that both of them\nwould stretch their necks under the guillotine, with full\nconsent of press and public. At least, this was Gustave's\nopinion; and Gustave's opinion now went for a great deal in\nthe Faubourg. Of course there were a few who murmured,\nthat it was a good thing poor Madame Jahn had not lived to\nsee her nephew arrested for a drunken brawler; but with full\nremembrance of who owned the house and shop, we were\nmost of us inclined to say, after the priest: That if the brave\nGustave had been with his aunt, the shocking affair could\nnever have occurred. And, indeed, what had we more inspir-\ning than the inconsolable grief he shewed? Why! on the day\nof the funeral, when he heard the earth clatter down on the\ncoffin-lid in Pere la Chaise, he even swooned to the ground,\nand had to be carried out of the midst of the mourners. \"Oh,\nyes,\" (quoth the gossips), \"Gustave Herbout loved his aunt\npassing well!\"\nOn the night after the funeral, Gustave was sitting alone\nbefore the fire in Madame Jahn's room, smoking and making\nhis plans. He thought, that when all this wretched mock\ngrief and pretence of decorum was over, he would again visit\nthe cafes which he greatly savoured, and the little Made-\nmoiselle with yellow hair would once more smile on him\ndelicious smiles,, with a gleaming regard. Thus he was think-\ning when the clock on the mantel-piece tinkled eleven; and\nat that moment a very singular thing happened. The door\nwas suddenly opened: a girl came in, walked straight over to\nthe writing-desk, pulled out the small drawer, and then sat\nstaring at the man by the fire. She was distinctly beautiful;\nalthough there was a certain old-fashionedness in her peculiar\nsilken dress, and the manner of wearing her hair. Not once\ndid it occur to Gustave, as he gazed in terror, that he was\ngazing on a mortal woman: the doors were too well bolted\nto allow any one from outside to enter, and besides, there\nwas a strange baffling familiarity in the face and mien of the\nintruder. It might have been an hour that he sat there; and\nthen, the silence becoming too horrible, by a supreme effort\nof his wonderful courage he rushed out of the room and up-\nstairs to get his hat. There in his murdered aunt's bedroom,\n-—there, smiling at him from the wall—was a vivid present-\nment of the dread vision that sat below: a portrait of Madame\nJahn as a young girl. He fled into the street, and walked,\nperhaps two miles, before he thought at all. But when he\ndid think, he found that he was drawn against his will back\nto the house to see if It was still there: just as the police\nhere believe a murderer is drawn to the Morgue to view the\nbody of his victim. Yes; the girl was there still, with her\ngreat reproachless eyes; and throughout solemn night\nGustave, haggard and mute, sat glaring at her. Towards\ndawn he fell into an uneasy doze; and when he awoke with\na scream, he found that the girl was gone.\nAt noon the next day, Gustave, heartened by several\nglasses of brandy, and cheered by the sunshine in the\nChamps-Ely sees, endeavoured to make light of the affair.\nHe would gladly have arranged not to go back to the house:\nbut then people would talk so much, and he could not afford\nto lose any custom out of the shop. Moreover,, the whole\nmatter was only an hallucination—the effect of jaded nerves.\nHe dined well, and went to see a musical comedy; and so\ncontrived, that he did not return to the house till after two\no'clock. There was some one waiting for him, sitting at the\ndesk with the small drawer open: not the girl of last night,\nbut a somewhat older woman—and the same reproachless\neyes. So great was the fascination of those eyes, that, al-\nthough he left the house at once, with an iron resolution not\nto go back, he found himself drawn under them again, and\nhe sat through the night before, sobbing and stupidly glaring.\nAnd all day long he crouched by the fire shuddering; and all\nthe night till eleven o'clock; and then a figure of his aunt\ncame to him again, but always a little older and more\nwithered. And this went on for five days; the figure that sat\nwith him becoming older and older as the days ran, till on the\nsixth night he gazed through the hours at his aunt as she\nwas on the night he killed her. On these nights he was used\nsometimes to start up and make for the street, swearing never\nto return; but always he would be dragged back to the eyes.\nThe policemen came to know him from these night walks,\nand people began to notice his bad looks: these could not\nspring from grief, folk said, and so they thought he was\nleading a wild life.\nOn the seventh night there was a delay of about five\nminutes after the clock had rung eleven, before the door\nopened. And then—then, merciful God! the body of a woman\nin grave-clothes came into the room, as if borne by unseen\nmen, and lay in the air across the writing-desk, while the\nsmall drawer flew open of its own accord. Yes; there was\nthe shroud of the brown scapular, the prim white cap, the\nhands folded on the shrunken breast. Gray from slimy\nhorror, Gustave raised himself up, and went over to look for\nthe eyes. When he saw them pressed down with pennies, he\nreeled back and vomited into the grate. And blind, and sick,\nand loathing, he stumbled up-stairs.\nBut as he passed by Madame Jahn's bedroom the corpse\ncame out to meet him, with the eyes closed and the pennies\npressing them down. Then, at last, reeking and dabbled with\nsweat, with his tongue lolling out, and the spittle running\ndown his beard, Gustave breathed:—\n\"Are you alive?\"\n\"No, no!\" wailed the thing, with a burst of awful weep-\ning; \"I have been dead many days.''"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c014", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c014", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1156", "page_fin": "1157", "image_debut": 10, "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.10", "titre_corps": "(Theatrical Criticism)", "titre_sommaire": "(Theatrical Criticism)", "signature_source": "Momus", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "1156", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4298, "texte": "Splitting the Ears of the Groundlings\n(Theatrical Criticism)\n\n«MISS SPRINGTIME\" at the Amsterdam Theater is\niVI a new reminder for us that the blossoming-\ntime of Austro-Hungarian, or as\" it is called generally,\nViennese operetta, has not passed yet, or hadn't passed,\nat least, at the time these unhappy struggles in Europe\nstarted. Emmerich Kalman is a composer who had found\nhis country too small and who has conquered the world\nfor himself with his \"Sary.\" In \"Miss Springtime\" his\nmelodies perhaps do not come as spontaneously but they\nstill retained their fiery Hungarian rythm. The in-\nstrumentation of the parts is very finely conceived and\nworked out in an extremely diligent manner. He was\nan inspiration to Jerome Kean, the American composer,\nwho was called upon to enrich the music with melodies\nfrom his own fountain. One has to be an expert in order\nto recognize without \"the pons asinorum\" of the program\nwhere Kalman finishes and where Kean starts. Imitation\nof this kind is the most subtle form of flattery, a real\ntribute to the Hungarian composer. _\nThe new Hungarian diva who made her debut in the\ntitle-role, Miss Sari Petrass, is undoubtedly a success,\nShe is only another one of the many popular actresses\nAustria has sent us during the last few years. Her play\nis not so exceptionally temperamental; her voice while\na very good quality is not very phenomenal, but the\nentire portrayal of her part is extremely artistic. Her\nacting and her singing show at all times her good\nEuropean schooling. The author of the American version\nof the libretto, Guy Bolton, opened up large possibilities\nfor a real American comic-opera, and Jack Hazard, one\nof our best living light-opera comedians, uses every one\nof the many occasions and really surpasses himself.\nVery interesting were the \"legitimate\" dramatic\nnovelties of this past week that gave us, in the midst of\nIndian summer, the golden sunrays of \"Miss Spring-\ntjme »\nIn the L.and H. Theater \"The Intruder\" was an ex-\nperiment that one would have hardly believed possible\nin our times and that met with an astonishing success,\nCyril Harcourt, the Englishman who wrote the play,\nundertakes nothing less than the rejuvenation of the\nblood-thirsty French melodrama of an Alexandre Dumas\nand his contemporaries which had been ousted for years\nby a new and less sensational generation. The oldest\ngeneration of theater-goers could have easily imagined\nthat they had been asleep for half a century, for they\nwitnessed just the sort of drama they used to love to see\non the stage fifty years ago. The style of the performance\nwas well selected by the actors; most astonishing was it\nto see that not only the old generation among the\naudience but the younger generation, too, seemed spell-\nbound. The old school of critics which declares that\n\"show is show\" and everything old and nothing new were\nright in this case of \"The Intruder.\"\nA curious piece came before the footlights of the\nFulton Theater: \"Arms and the Girl\" by Grant Stewart\nand Robt. Becker. These two American authors seemed\nto know only a little of the war entangling the world at\nthe present time. Of course they know of its existence\nbut they treat the European struggles something very\ndistant; like a legend or a fairy tale. Bourbofis who\nhave forgotten nothing for the last twenty years write\na romantic drama with the war as a background. A\ndrama that plays somewhere in the romantic nowhere,\nsomething a la Anthony Hope. Hero and heroine are\nan American couple unexpectedly surprised and brought\ntogether by the German Invasion of Belgium. The\nGermans in their field-gray uniforms are portrayed as\nnice people but impossibly comical; they seem figures\nfrom an light opera. The general appears to have only\none occupation in Belgium i.e. to play a sort of earthly\nprovidence for the improbable love-adventures of the\ntwo Americans. The, German field-gray soldiers are\nundoubtedly German reservists in real life.\nIt is refreshing indeed to realize in these times full\nof hatred that even war has its merry side. The charm\nof the play increases through the actors. Cyril Scott has\na part that after a long while again just seems to suit\nhis personality. Fay Bainter, who appeared here for the\nfirst time before the New York public, is one real find"}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "1157", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 420, "texte": "(of William Harris, Jr's management. She's a little\nblonde girl who not only has a lot of soul and temperar\nment but knows how to express it well, and without\nartificial endeavors in either face or gesture. She's so\ngraceful, one has simply to like her. Henry Vogel as\nthe German general has the funny Teutoni; character\nand the necessary sterness of humor which give him the\nunction for his part.\n\nMomus"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c016", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c016", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1157", "page_fin": "1158", "image_debut": 11, "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.11", "titre_corps": "IN GRATIAM: Our Chorus Girls", "titre_sommaire": "IN GRATIAM: Our Chorus Girls", "signature_source": "G. B", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "1157", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 422, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4253, "texte": "IN GRATIAM: Our Chorus Girls\n\ndelight our eyes, they awaken in us the sense\n| A of rythm, they are the background of the whole\nIproduction; the beautiful frame in which the managers\nI place the sparkling (or should-be-sparkling diamonds)\n| of their stars They are the colour and the life\nI of our Broadway successes, they are a firmament well\n\\ selected and carefully chosen: These charming, much\nJ abused, but very much loved chorus girls!\nChorus girls! We think of them always collectively,\nnever of this one or of that one. They come in bunches,\nlike violets.\nThe florist will exhibit in his show window in a single\nVenetian glass, an American Beauty, a hot-house plant;\nupon an unnaturally distorted long stem of six feet, a\nbig potatoe-like growth of the rose family which was\nforced by the sensation- and money-thirsty experts to\nlose the fragrance with which nature blessed her and to\nbecome a curiosity with ten times as many petals as it\nreally should have.\nHave you ever seen a single violet as the show-piece\na florist's window?\nThe chorus girl springs into prominence only when-\never she happens to be mentioned notoriously in the\nsociety columns, or if she commits a murder, or after\nshe was murdered. After viewing two-hundred and some\nodd musical comedies during the past eight years I don't\nhesitate to say that most of them were successes on ac-\ncount of their chorus girls. The managers very often\nadvertise their shows as having \"80 Beauties,\" or \"30\nof the sweetest and most beautiful girls,\" etc.\nThe Milky Way is so far that we cannot distinguish\nthe singular beauty and the individual sparkling of just\none of those myriads of little stars that create the\nfabulous background for the constellations which are\nbrought nearer to us and about whom we have learned\nfables and legends in our Latin and Greek mythology.\nWhat wonderful little schoolmasters and creators of\nmythologies are our own star-makers the Bellascos, the\nShuberts and the Keats!\nFor some reason or other the chorus girl is supposed\nto be an alluring siren who has a lute ready any time to\nenchant the \"tired business man\"for whose recreation\nour musical comedy masterpieces are especially made to\norder.\nChorus girls are supposed to come to the show in their\ncars, have a footman who opens a limousine door (see\nRobt. Chambers: any page where he mentions a chorus\ngirl.) They also are supposed to have maids who\nare busy alternatively with the wardrobe of their mistress\nor watering the bunches of flowers she has just received;\nthey are also supposed to be sparkling with jewels, gift^\nof their banker-friends who are said to be busy getting\ndivorces on their account; after the performance they\nstroll with their wealthy friends in immaculate evening\ndress (see description of such immaculate evening dress\nin Inez Haynes Irving's collected works), through the\nPeacock Alley of the Astor to its diverse dining-rooms,\nor they have a wild night at Rector's\nAnd in reality what poor disillusioned creatures! If\nthere is anybody tired during the performance of a\nmusical comedy it is the chorus girl.\nRehearsing and rehearsing and rehearsing! The\nproducer for her is the slave-driver, the rich friends who\nmake her life easy and luxurious a good providence\nseems to have saved up for-them, for their better life\nhereafter. While rehearsing from eight to twelve\nweeks without pay, they have to pawn not only the few\ntrinkets they might have had, the only and glorious\nremnants of a last season's Broadway success but also\nmost of their clothes. Small advances granted them\nduring these times of starvation reduces their $25.00 or\n$30.00 a week income to $15.00 or $12.00. They manage\nto pay for a roof over their heads, to buy the stockings\nand shoes they need for their performances and for\nwhich they have to pay themselves, they get two meals"}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "1158", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 825, "texte": "every day and they just succeed in keeping themselves\nin the physical shape necessary to make the chorus the\nsuccess of the show, and the show the success of the\nstars.\nThey are a good sort. No worse than any other group\nof women following a profession—only worse paid, only\nworse treated.\nTheir names are not known to the thouasnds for whom\nthey sing and for whom they dance. They are like the\nlittle stars whom we so often see near Venus or near\nJupiter. Whose names we do not know but who attract\nus and please our eyes. We forget for moments the\nsparkling of Venus or the steady gleaming of Jupiter.\nWe admire those little nameless stars and are grateful\nbecause they shine for us, the obscure, the unknown in-\nhabitants of a world that cannot do more to show its\nappreciation than to look at them.\n\nG. B."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c017", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c017", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1157", "page_fin": "1157", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.11.1", "titre_corps": "Kitty Astra, one of the Stars that shines in the chorus of \"The Girl from Brazil.\" She was born in England, spent her childhood in India and appeared in musical comedies in Paris and in many cities in France and Belgium. Her ambition is to become a solitary star in the musical comedy firmament.", "titre_sommaire": "Kitty Astra, one of the Stars that shines in the chorus of \"The Girl from Brazil.\" She was born in England, spent her childhood in India and appeared in musical comedies in Paris and in many cities in France and Belgium. Her ambition is to become a solitary star in the musical comedy firmament.", "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": "1157", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 4255, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4552, "texte": "Kitty Astra,\none of the Stars that shines in the chorus of \"The Girl\nfrom Brazil.\" She was born in England, spent her child-\nhood in India and appeared in musical comedies in Paris\nand in many cities in France and Belgium. Her ambition\nis to become a solitary star in the musical comedy\nfirmament."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c018", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c018", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1158", "page_fin": "1159", "image_debut": 12, "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.12", "titre_corps": "Books and Magazines of the Week", "titre_sommaire": "Books and Magazines of the Week", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "1158", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 827, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6616, "texte": "Books and Magazines of the Week\nKreymborg's Mushrooms\nALFRED KREYMBORG'S new book \"Mushrooms\" was\njust published and the echo of criticism and of reflec-\ntions upon \"Poetry Kreymborgensis\" resounds in the in-\ndividual magazines here and abroad. William Carlos Wil-\nliams reviews in the Egoist, London, Kreymborg's activity\nduring the last two years and comes to the conclusion that\ncan be read in the third number of my Journal \"Greenwich\nVillage,\" which appeared exactly two years ago, at the time\nthat Kreymborg ceased to be creator and branched out into\n?the game of promoting other peoples creations.\nIt was on a sunny October afternoon, I had just returned\ntb Greenwich Village to start my magazine, that Kreymborg\nwas introduced to me. I liked him immediately. We had met\nat a dinner table in a little restaurant and we exchanged a\n-few pleasant remarks; after dinner he walked home with me.\nHe read me a few of his poems and gave me a copy of his\nbook \"Erna Vitek.\" The simplicity of his style and of his\nthoughts, his unconscious sincerity, his kindness towards all\nand everybody who were mentioned in our conversation made\nme anxious to read his book. It was one of the best stories\nI had read for quite a while. He described simple people\nin simple surroundings. The words he used were humble;\nas humble as the lives of the millions around us, who are\nborn, who suffer and who die.\nWe had one of those rare meetings that start with a smile,\nthat continue-in a harmony of soul and of mind, and that end\nin a hearty hand shake and a sincerely meant \"au revoir.\"\nHe went his way and I went my own. He did things and\nso did I. Hard days came for me. Days of dark despair.\nNothing seemed to go right; worries piled upon worries.\nprinter, paperdealer were the iron clad foes of\nmy new magazine to be. All my energy seemed to have\nvanished. While I was sitting on dark afternoons and on\ntriste evenings in that \"back room of 46 Washington Square\nthat threatened to be the tomb of my plans and my endeavors,\n<one day Kreymborg appeared on the scene. The white crisp\nsnow was on his worn overcoat, his eyeglasses were frosted\nas he entered the room that was a few degrees warmer than\nthe cold December day. He took them off and smiled. His\nsmile meant so much to me.\nHe seemed to understand. The poverty of the room, the\npiled up proof sheets on -the table, my own resignation to the\ninevitable seemed to tell him more in one second than T\ncould have related to him in hours of confidential confessions.\nHe came often. It was like life inspiring balm to have hiid;\nread his poetry, \"His Mushrooms.\"\nThings gradually cleared up for me; they started to look\nbrighter from day today. My magazine saw the light of the;\nworld. But I could not forget what Kreymborg's little mush-'\nrooms had done for me. What they had done for me they\nperhaps could do for others. And so I arranged his first;!\npoetry reading. One of the first Chap Books I published:\nwas Kreymborg's \"Mushrooms.\" They created comment j\nover the United States and England.\nNewspaper paragraphers gave them large publicity and ,\nsimple modest little Kreymborg became all at once the centre ,\nof admiration. Do you know the sort of admiration a man\nwill receive who creates something original, who succeeds to\nexpress clearly and from heart to heart a truth others try in\nvain to communicate? A few letters from kindred souls, a\nfew hand shakes which tell more than well set speeches,\nand on the scene appeared the bloodhounds of the ,\ncreator: insignificant, insincere creatures who want to use-\nthe newly arrived man as a vehicle to the so much-longed-\nfor notoriety. Sensation thirsty women with short hair and\nhusbands in the family skeleton closet tried to say their\nnothing in the form of Kreymborg's poetry; shirt salesmen\nwho longed for the Bohemia of italian red-ink-roosts\ndiscovered all at once their souls with mushroom growths.\nMushrooms became a very common dish, indeed. Bob Davis,\nhead buyer of Mr. Munsey's purchasing department, got the\nmushroom appetite, and so he entered them upon the stock\nexchange list; they went high up in price. Once they\nreached the Ella Wheeler Wilcox price of twenty-five cents <\nper line.\nKreymborg lost his head. \"Poetry,\" Harriet Monroe's\nendowed magazine of verse, was, since its start, the goal of t\nambition for the American poet. Kreymborg got there. He\nhad arrived. The arrival upon those pages means unanimous\nelection to the mutual self admiration society of poets.\nKreymborg fell again. Nice old ladies from East Oshkosh\nand anaemic under graduates of the University of Wisconsin,\ntogether with a few geniuses, who had burned up the few\ndrops of their oil in Europe and had brought over the ashes\nin costly little caskets to our shores, offered material galore\nto start a magazine. Poor, sincere Kreymborg took the crops\nof insincere thinking, of lying brains, of notoriety-thirsty\nimagination and of would be creative imitation for a rich\nharvest of other sincere souls that struggled for expression.\nA Maecenas with a bunch of poems tucked away somewhere\nin a pigeon hole of his business desk is always ready to be |\ngodfather when an inexpensive magazine will print his\npoetry. %\n\"Others\" was published. Modestly Kreymborg kept in the\nbackground. He selected among the poetry crop of England\nand America creations that filled the funny columns of ours\npapers; that made the ridiculous embrace and smother the\nsublime. He was always sincere during his trials and trib-\nulations as magazine editor.\nTwo years were quite sufficient to open his eyes. And now\nhe turned over the editorship of the magazine to his\nambitious contributors. He put the ewes to one side and the\nrams to the other. He gathered his mushrooms into a nice\nclean basket and carried them home lovingly."}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "1159", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2220, "texte": "His book \"Mushrooms\" contains also those that I published\nto yea-s ago. I daresay that they are better than any other\n112 his works. And I know that he will do things worth while\nfow after he has returned to the seclusion of his own self\niter the stormy voyages of the last two years.\nrank Harris' Oscar Wilde Book\nIt seems that Frank Harris did well to put his own imprint\no the greatest of his books to the \"Life and Confessions\" of\n)scar Wilde. The 600 copies of the ordinary edition which\nte had reserved for America are all exhausted and he decided\n9 use the remaining 250 copies of the lot that was meant for\nirgland, to satisfy the American demand. And this in spite\n<112 the fact that he has sent no copies to the press for review,\nnd in spite of the fact that the foremost book-trade paper, the\nBook Review of the Times\" has taken special care not to\neview, not even to mention in its pages, the greatest biog-\naphy ever written on American soil.\nThe Phoenix\nMichael Monahan's biography of James Whitcomb Riley,\nhe leading article of his September issue, is written with a\noving hand, and the attached letters of the dead poet permit\nn intimate Peek into the soul of Riley. If you do not happen to\nmow The Phoenix write to the Editor at South Norwalk,\nConnecticut, for a sample copy. It will be a treat for you to\nnake the acquaintance of a man whose writings will please\ntarmoniously your mind, your soul, your eyes and your ears.\nThe Rambler\nJohn Kendrick Bangs gave birth to a magazine of his own.\n-lis sarcasm is good natured, his wit is of that sort that\nnakes you laugh, and smile afterwards if you happen to\n•emember again what you read. Most promosing is the fol-\nowing paragraph in his announcement:\nm\"The Rambler does not seek to be,converted in the matter\nr any of his beliefs, political, social, or otherwise, and any\njorrespondence started to that end by any solicitous friend\nI ill die young for the excellent reason that this particular\nftomad has come hither to express himself, and not others.\nHe has not the slightest objection to the expression of them-\nselves by others but he thinks they would do it more\n.effectively if they started magazines of their own for the\npurpose.\""}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c019", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c019", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1159", "page_fin": "1159", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.13", "titre_corps": "The Dead", "titre_sommaire": "The Dead", "signature_source": "E. C. Beckwith", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "1159", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 2270, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4252, "texte": "The Dead\nE. C. Beckwith\n| N the cool shadows of the elm and fir trees I contem-\nplate it, a city of the dead. On that calm green sea\nthe little white grave stones of the poor are like the crests\nof tiny waves. Beyond them rise the grey columns of\ngranite, the white crosses, the marble tombs, the massive\nmonuments of other dead.\nHow tranquil is that silent world. The pale sky covers\nit like a shroud. The mild air is sweet with the fragrance\nof grass and earth, like the breath of Divine peace and,\nlove. Sadness enters my heart, for it is so lonely here.\nAnd yet there are a multitude sleeping deeply beneath\nthose lines of grassy mounds. Their sleep is too pro-\nfound for the living to think of them as sleeping.\nAlong the narrow earthen path a man and woman\ncome, dressed in the mourning clothes of the poor. They\nare carrying flowers, lillies and everlasting. They stop\nbeside a small, new-made grave, the resting place of a\nchild, and kneeling, gently cover the little mound with\nflowers. The woman is crying softly, and the man com-\nforts her. For a little while they remain, then rising\nslowly, they go away.\nTo be loved in life even as a little child is loved, and\\\nin death to be cherished and mourned. But in a few\nmonths, in a year perhaps, she will have ceased to mourn\nin her heart, she will grieve no more as I have seen her\ngrieve, and, though she will not forget the child life that\nis gone, she will have forgotten how to sorrow for it.\nSorrow passes; only death is eternal.\nIt is so sad and lonely here. The day is ending. The\nshadows deepen under the elm and fir trees. The sadness\ndeepens in my heart. A bell tolls, measured and mourn\nful, warning the living who remain here that it is time\nto leave the dead. Behind the crests of the tall trees the\nsun has set, and the pale sky is changing to a faint red,\nlike a winter sky at twilight.\nAnd as I walk toward the gates that open to the living\nworld, the thought comes to me that I too will rest here-\nforever."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c020", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c020", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1159", "page_fin": "1159", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.14", "titre_corps": "At the State Fair", "titre_sommaire": "At the State Fair", "signature_source": "Vinçent Starrett", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "1159", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 4254, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4677, "texte": "At the State Fair\nVinçent Starrett\n\nOVER the heads of the yokels,\nHigh on a swaying wire,\nMademoiselle Lepelletier\nDances and slithers and slides.\nSlim her ankles and rounded her calves,\nUnder her foaming laces,\nAnd the rustics gaze with wild desire\nAnd feast their puritan eyes.\nAnd one goes home to a rambling shack\nAnd gazes with disapproval\nOn the lumpy female who shares his slumber\nAnd tries to imagine her on a wire."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c021", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c021", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1159", "page_fin": "1159", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.14.1", "titre_corps": "A Brevoort philosopher and sage of the Village", "titre_sommaire": "A Brevoort philosopher and sage of the 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": "1159", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 2222, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2268, "texte": "A Brevoort philosopher and sage of the Village"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c022", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c022", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1159", "page_fin": "1159", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.15", "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": 13, "page_imprimee": "1159", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 4679, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4918, "texte": "Next issue of Bruno's Weekly will contain\nFRANK HARRIS AS MAGAZINE EDITOR\nAn intimate visit to the workshop of one of the greatest writers in the English language; who\nhappens to live in Washington Square, the capitol of Greenwich Village."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c023", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c023", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1160", "page_fin": "1160", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.16", "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": 14, "page_imprimee": "1160", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 145, "texte": "R. EDERHEIMER PRINT CABINET\n366 FIFTH AVE., NEW YORK\nOriginal Drawings by Old Masters\nALL APPRECIATIVE VISITORS CORDIALLY INVITED"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c024", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c024", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1160", "page_fin": "1160", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.17", "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": 14, "page_imprimee": "1160", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 147, "fin_caractere_exclue": 677, "texte": "What great authors think of marriage.\nIbsen, Bernhard Shaw, Max Nordau, Tolstoy, H.\nG. Wells. Will the home survive?\nA unique book of 250 pages, bound in cloth,\nfifty-five cents postpaid.\nThe Evolution of Modern Orchestration.\n-\n-\nIt is not only a valuable reference book for a\nmusician but a little journey to the homes of\nmusicans and composers of the world for a layman.\nPublished by the MacMillan Company, royal quarto,\nbound in cloth, 280 pages.\nOne dollar five cents; sent anywhere.\nBRESLOW'S BOOK STORE\n123 East 23rd Street"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c025", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c025", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1160", "page_fin": "1160", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.18", "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": 14, "page_imprimee": "1160", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 679, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1383, "texte": "14 Stories by Maupassant,\nFor 25 cents postpaid\nStories of the Tragedy and Comedy of Life, with\nan Introduction by Paul Bourget. Prettily printed in\nlarge type on superior paper, with illustrations in color\nby Clare Victor Dwiggins. 16mo, stiff dark green\npaper cover, rough edges. (196 pages.) New York,\nM. Walter Dunne, 1914. (Pub. 50 cents.)\nComprises the following short stories: The False\nGems; Was it a Dream?; Simon's Paper; In the Moon-\nlight; The Old Maid; The Lancer's' Wife; The Sequel\nto a Divorce; The Englishwoman; Sentiment; The\nFishermen; In his Sweetheart's Livery; Bertha; Dis-\ncovery; and A Message of .Love.\nCONDOR'S BOOK STORE\n366 Fifth Ave.\nWrite for interesting catalogue of books."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c026", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c026", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1160", "page_fin": "1160", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.19", "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": 14, "page_imprimee": "1160", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 1385, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1734, "texte": "American Thumb Prints\nMettle of Our Men and Women;\nSketches of American Woman;\nThis book was published by J. B. Lippincott Co., is\nbound in cloth, 55 cents postpaid.\nThe Pleasures of Literature and the\nSolace of Books with introduction\nBy Andrew Lang\nA choice book for the booklover and book-hunter,,\n55 cents postpaid.\nFRANK BENDER, 128 Fourth Ave."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c027", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c027", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1160", "page_fin": "1160", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.20", "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": 14, "page_imprimee": "1160", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 1736, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2026, "texte": "MONSIEUR\nD'EN BROCHETTE\nBeing^\nAn Historical Account of Some of the\nAdventures of Huevos Pasada Par Agua,\nMarquis of Pollio Grille, Count of Pate\nde Foie Gras, and Much Else Besides.\nBY\nBert Leston Taylor\nArthur Hamilton Folwell\ny\nAND\nJohn Kendrick Bangs\nV\nIllustrated by Frank A. Nankivell"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c028", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c028", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1160", "page_fin": "1160", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.21", "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": 14, "page_imprimee": "1160", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 2028, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2120, "texte": "NEW YORK\nMC M V\nKEPPLER & SCHWARZMANN\n50 CENTS POSTPAID\nHARRY STONE\n137 Fourth Ave. New York"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c029", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c029", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1160", "page_fin": "1160", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.22", "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": 14, "page_imprimee": "1160", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 2122, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2195, "texte": "VOLUME II\nBRUNO'S WEEKLY\nBound in white linen cloth\nTWO DOLLARS, postpaid"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c030", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c030", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1161]", "page_fin": "[1161]", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.23", "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": 15, "page_imprimee": "[1161]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 363, "fin_caractere_exclue": 633, "texte": "ROSSI BROTHERS\n58 Washington Square\nUnderneath the Garret\nICE CREAM AND TOBACCO\nFLORENCE GOUGH\nShows Smart Millinery for Grown Ups—Mother\nGoose's Millinery for Children and other unique\nthings to wear.\nTHE PAINT BOX\n150 W. 4th St., Near 6th Ave.\nN. Y. C. Phone Spring 23"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c031", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c031", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1161]", "page_fin": "[1161]", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.24", "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": 15, "page_imprimee": "[1161]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 635, "fin_caractere_exclue": 949, "texte": "The Mad Hatter Has a Tea Party Every Afternoon\nfrom 3 to 6 at c\n150 WEST FOURTH STREET\nJust Down the Rabbit Hole From Washington Squan\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 ts\nTake More Than Nothing.\"\n\"Nobody Asked Your Opinion\" Edith Unger."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c032", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c032", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1161]", "page_fin": "[1161]", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.25", "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": 15, "page_imprimee": "[1161]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 951, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1368, "texte": "Bruno Chap Books.\nTwenty-eight booklets containing the most interesting work of the most unique writers of the past\ntwenty-five years.\nPrices ranging from fifteen cents to fifty cents.\nWrite for catalogue and send one one-cent stamp. It contains the story of Bruno's Garrett from a\npublic grave digger's tool house to the exhibition gallery of modern artists' work.\nBruno's Weekly, 58 Washington Square, New York City"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c033", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c033", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1161]", "page_fin": "[1161]", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.26", "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": 15, "page_imprimee": "[1161]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 1370, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2120, "texte": "RARE BOOKS\nFIRST EDITIONS\nExtra Illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books. Books for Christmas Gifts.\nPurchased singly or in sets for people who have neither time nor opportunity to select for themselves,\nor for those who have not access to the best book marts. Why not begin collecting now?\nAddress, E. V. Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass.\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 this store, at least, the delightful atmosphere of Old Greenwich Village has not been sacrificed\non the altar of commercialism\nPhone: Stuyvesant 4570\nA postal will bring you, with our compliments,\nan interesting little biography of Mr. Thos. A.\nEdison."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-10-18-01-c034", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01#c034", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-10-18_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1162]", "page_fin": "[1162]", "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=bmtnaaq19161018-01.2.27", "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": 16, "page_imprimee": "[1162]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1938, "texte": "Harrison Fisher: $7.50\nm\nfZ\n<0 A\nir|BTi\n\\\n$6.00\nr?Vq,\n=U-«mrar\n\"L! 1 -\n1-^.\nv*?r\n*k»\n■tr*\nr-1\n7*\nJXtlitwti\ntfoVS\n:UlM=\n'ZxL\n1\n&'\n/*\nI\n1\n■v\n\\\nBirch: $12.00\nSIXTY THOUSAND ORIGINAL\nDRAWINGS OF AMERICAN\nILLUSTRATORS\nRose O'Neil, Opper, Harrison Fisher, Barton, Cassel\n' T Pughes, Hassmann, Crawford, and Many Other\nAmerican and Foreign Illustrators Whose Drawings\nHave Appeared in the Foremost American Illustrated\nMagazines from 1880 up to Date\nI HAVE purchased the original drawings and\npaintings which you have seen reproduced on\nthe pages of Puck and other prominent periodicals\nduring the last thirty-six years. They are a splendid\ncollection of the early work and of the best work\nof America's foremost artists. They show the\nevolution of the American comic paper from its\ninfancy to its present standard as well as the in-\ndividual evolution of the artists. They are an\nunique kaleidoscope of the manifold interests of\npublic opinion during the last two score years.\nThere is the period where New York with its cease-\nless building underground, overground and on the\nsurface was the target of constant banter. There\nare the political cartoons, a conclusive demonstra-\ntion why Cleveland or Roosevelt or Taft had to be\nelected and why Bryan and Roosevelt were\ndefeated.\nRARELY will there be an opportunity again to\npurchase these originals, welcome in the den,\nin the library of a private home, and appropriate\non the walls of public libraries, of museums and of\npublic schools, at such low prices as I am offering\nthem now. Many are priced as low as twenty-five\ncents. Only a few are marked higher than ten\ndollars.\nYou are invited to call at my store and view the\ncollection leisurely or inquire about the work of\nillustrators you like. I will gladly quote you\npictures and prices.\nHARRY STONE,\nBOOKS and DRAWINGS\n137 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK\nFor Three Dollars I will send you post-paid Ten Original Drawings of American Illustrators."}]}], "pages_ocr_originales": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.1", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET ON\nWASHINGTON SQUARE\nTen Cents October 18th 1916\n\nFRANK HARRIS By John Duncan Ferguson"}, {"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[1148]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.2", "texte": "Copyright by Guido Bruno, October 18th, 1916. Original\nmatter, including all drawings, may not be reproduced with-\nout permission of Guido Bruno; but that permission may\nbe assumed if credit is given to author and Bruno's Weekly.\nTo You Gentle Readers\n> ■ 9\nQ WING to the fact that American raw material is placed at the disposal of foreign manu-\nfacturers, the cost of paper and printers ink increased during the last year two and\nthree times their original prices.\nThe paper upon which Bruno's Weekly was printed could be had only a year ago at two\nto three cents per pound.\n'\nThe price today is six cents and one-half per pound.\nAll other raw material, especially the metal used for the composition work and the actual\nlabor of the printer increased similarly.\nThe publishers of an individual magazine who have to depend upon the money derived\nfrom their sales, which is almost the only means of maintenance, must either increase their\nsale prices or stop publication.\nThe cost of selling and displaying a magazine is another sad item upon every publisher's\nledger.\nTherefore Bruno's Weekly, will sell, starting with its current issue, at ten cents per copy.\nThe subscription price will remain two dollars per year, until further notice."}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "[1149]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.3", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEdited hj Guide Bran© in His Garret on. Washington Square\nNo. 18\nOCTOBER 18th MCMXVI\nVol. 11l\nCopyright 1916, by Guido Bruno\n\nLa La\nChatter, chatter, chatter\nTom Sleeper\nTHE busy tongues spin webs of scandal—odd bits of\nlaughter, knowing winks—earnest \"too bads\"—frag-\nments of a resurrected past, all woven artfully to give a\nmoment's pleasure to the weavers.\nAnd the girl, the motive of their pattern—what of her?\nShe faces them defiant for a time. Then frightened and\nunstrung, draws gradually within herself. Friends drop away\n—her house grows dark. At last, in bitterness she quits the\ntown, and tries to lose herself in the turmoil and rush of\ncities.\n\"Ah! what did we tell you,\" the weavers cry. \"Her mother\nwent that way before her—wait, just wait.\"\nBit by bit they carry their tapestry of lies into the city.\nShe begins to meet questioning looks—a little coolness here—\na practised insult there. /Men treat her boldly. She sees\nthe snares with reddening eyes. Long days and weary nights\nare hers. Prayer and religion fail her. Books bring only\nfleeting solace. Exasperated—nervous—at bay—she plunges\ninto the social whirl. An act of impulse—a false step—\nthen—down—down—down3—\nChatter, chatter, chatter.\n\nAnatole France: the Parisian\nBy George Brandes\n\nANATOLE FRANCE is far from being young but his fame\nis of rather recent origin. He was seventy-two years\nold on the 16th. of April but it is only twenty-three years\nsince his countrymen became interested in his writings and\nin his books, since he has become the celebrated author of\nhis .country.\nAs a very young men he started to write literary and\nhistorical essays and poems best characterized if they are\ncalled \"nice\";-he was thirty-seven years old when he attracted\nfor the first time public attention through his story \"Le Crime\nde Sylvester Bonnard,\" and it was not before the year\n1892-93 that he proved his originality.\nThat he remained so long unknown to wider circles is\nexplained in the slow process of his self-evolution, in the\nlong, time it took him to discover his own individuality; he\nlacked the courage to be wholely himself and he needed en-\ncouragement from others.\nAnd then there were the great authors of descriptive\nliterature in the limelight who have departed since; story-\ntellers like Maupassant, Daudet, Zola; other geniuses like\nBourget and Huysman turned to clericalism, men like Jules\nLe Maitre to nationalism, other gifted men as Hervieu\ndirected their activities towards the theater. And then the\ngreat master of style had departed, Ernest Renan, who had\nleft France his heir. Only after this fine doubter and\nenthusiastic saint of thoughts had laid aside his pen forever,\nand not before the renowned and celebrated authors of books\nthat had created sensations in the 90's had expired, came the\nopportune time for Anatole France.\nThose other Frenchmen had come originally from the\nprovinces: Daudet and Zola from Provence, Maupassant from\nNormandie, Renan from Bretaigne, Hervieu from Neuilly,\nBourget from Amiens, Huysman was of Dutch origin. France\nis a born Parisian and he possesses every merit and every\ncharacteristic of a Parisian.\nHis master Renan became a Parisian after he had reached\nthe eve of his life,' after he had discarded the peculiarities of\nthe Bretaigne, after he had ceased to be the pupil of Ger-\nmany. France was from his very start a Parisian.\nThe light and air of Paris were his original elements, the\nGardens of Luxembourg were for him the nature of France,\nthe street was his educational institution. As a child he had\nwatched in the Quartier Latin girls deliver milk and workmen\ncall at the doors of everybody. And he knows better perhaps\nthan any other living writer the little tradesman and artisan\nof Paris.\nThe show-windows of stationers and paper-dealers with\ntheir many-coloured pictures attracted his attention and he\nreceived his first reading lesson from the poor \"flying\" book-\ndealers on the banks of the Seine, in whose boxes he used\nto rummage if they did not look.\nHe himself was the son of such a poor book-dealer or\nperhaps of only an assistant to one. He was born in a book-\nshop, educated among old and wise books: amid the\nmysterious memories of a life that does not exist any more.\nHere he learned how short-lived our existence is, how little\nthere is left of the work of a generation. His early reflec-\ntions here in these surroundings are responsible for the leit-\nmotif of his books: their sadness, gentleness and pity.\nIt is really extraordinary to think of the many small book-\nshops he described in Paris and outside of Paris, the books\nthat were on their shelves the visitors that frequented them,\nand the conversations that took place among these old-Toms.\nAgain and again he stopped while passing these good \"flying\"\nbook-dealers on the banks of the Seine, stopped long enough\nto pity their miserable existence, to feel with them the frost\nand rain while they were standing in front of their stalls\nexposed to bad weather on the lookout for customers,\nexamining and buying books, but only seldom selling any.\nAnd so he became their good patron and their guardian\nangel they see in him today.\nNo one among present-day Frenchmen seems to us so\nreally French as Anatole France; he seems to combine in\nhimself the entire tradition of French story-tellers who ever\nlived in France, of those of the Middle Ages; from Montaigne\nto Voltaire; and we do not think it strange that lie audaciously\nadopted the name of his country instead of the one his father\nhad left him. But France had also been the first name of his\nfather, of the modest bookdealer France Thibaut. For.the\nsmall people of the street where he resided the, Allee Villa\nSaid, he is not France. The small men of that neighborhood\ncalled him \"Monsieur Anatole.\""}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1150", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.4", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nThe streets along the banks of the Seine live vividly in his\nmemory. Somewhere he says:\"I grew up on these banks,\namong the books of simple and humble people; they are now\nmy only memory of my early life. Some day, after I shall\nhave left this valley of sorrow, it will be as if they never had\nexisted.\"\nSomewhere else in one of his books he calls these streets\nnear the Seine \"the adopted country of all humans with\nbrains and with taste.\"\nIn a third place he says:\"I grew up in surroundings where\nold books blended with the landscape. The Seine delighted\nme I admired the river which in daylight was mir-\nroring the heavens and carrying boats and which covered it-\nself in the night with precious stones and with shining\nflowers.\nA friend of books he was and remained one till today. The\nreader of France's books is amazed above all by his extra-\nordinary literary education and by the quality of this educa-\ntion, unusual for a poet and a writer of novels. French\nauthors as we know them are unscholarly, with a distinc-\ntive French education, as it is gathered by the graduates of\nnormal schools whose knowledge is a one-sided classical one,\nand then scholars whose education is European. But France\npossesses a rich and full education gotten in a Europe from\nwhich the Germanic peoples are excluded. He knows no\nEnglish and no German and that is the chief contrast be-\ntween his and Renan's education. But we do not miss it in\nhim as we do miss it in others.\nRenan was an oriental philologist; Semitic languages were\nhis field; German science had nourished his brains. France\nhas a thorough knowledge of Latin and Greek antiquities,\nbut he also knows well the Latin and Italian literature of the\nMiddle Ages. \"I am nourishing,'' he says somewhere, \"a\ndesperate love in my Latin studies. Without this I cannot\nsee the beauty of French genius. We are Latins. The milk\nof the Wolverine is the best part of our blood.\"\nHe became especially well acquainted with the period of\nthe revolt in which Christendom and Heathendom fought\nbattles in the antique souls; he knew well the entire world of\nChristian legends; he knows how to relate these legends with\na winning sincerity and with a well-secreted irony. He is a\nscholar of Italian and especially French history of the ancient\ntimes, from Caesar up to the 18th century; it came to life in\n\"Reine Pedauque.\"\nVery often his art is occupied with religious moods and\nconditions and here we find the sharpest contrast with Renan.\nWhile Renan's disposition was always religiously inclined,\nhis expression often unctious, France remains while treating\nhis religious themes, in spite of his seeming reverance, deep\nin his heart as sober as Voltaire.\nTo pictures from ancient times he added, during recent\nyears, pictures from the France o1 today. He embellished\nthem with portraits of people who only a short time ago were\nin the limelight of publicity, as for instance of Verlaine or of\nEsterhazy.\nBut it isn't the modern life that possesses his poetical and\npersonal preferance. One day while a visitor to whom he\nhad shown his books seemed amazed to find very few modern\nor recently published books among them, France remarked:\n\"I have no modern books and I do not keep those I receive;\nI'm in the habit of sending them to a friend in the country.\"\n(The friend in the country, most likely, is one of those little\nkeepers of book-stores on the banks of the Seine whom\nFrance knows so well and as it is the French custom among\nthe book reviewers.)\n\"But don't you care at all to know them?\"\n\"My contemporaries? No; for what they could tell me I\nknow just as well myself. I learn more from Petronius than\nfrom Mendes.\"\nTherefore France followed, most likely, only the call of\nnecessity when he consented to act as a critic of his confrere-\nauthors and write about their work regularly in feuilltons\nin the Temps. But the four volumes in which these articles\nof his are collected are highly amazing. France declares\nhere, from start to finish, that a critic can never write tech-\n\nAnatole France as a boy\n\nAnatole France by Steinlen"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1151", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.5", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nnical criticism but only personal impressions; that he never\ncould portray anything else but himself; and that therefore\nwhenever the critic spoke of Horace or Shakespeare he only\nspoke about himself because of Horace or of Shakespeare.\nFrance always spoke about himself: \"I hope that every-\nbody thinks of himself whenever I speak about myself.\"\nFrance as a critic related always his own personal impres-\nsions and liked to tell little stories, mostly incidents from his\nchildhood or early youth, illustrating or commenting upon\nthese impressions of his. He was not a critic in the severe\nmeaning of the word and after his books had started to sell\nwell he gave up writing criticisms. But notwithstanding this,\nhis expressions in these four volumes are highly character-\nistic of his personality, disclosing his brilliant mind, his\nlimitations and his prejudices ..... prejudices that he but\nslowly overcame.\nThe friend to whom France had answered: \"I have no\nmodern books in my house,\" asked smilingly, \"Not even your\nown ?\" \"No,\" answered France, \"what one builds himself . . .\neven be it a palace . . . grows so well known to one's eye\nand senses that it is unbearable even to look at it. I could\nnot endure to hold my own books in my hands. What should\nI do with them?\"\n\"Avoid repetitions.\"\n8*\n\"That is the reason I am repeating myself constantly,\"\nanswered France, and that is true .... it is one of the\nfavourite sins of this author. Only too often the same\nthought returns with almost the identical words. Often he\nrepeats himself from one book to another and for page after\npage.\nA very true self-portrait France created in the person of\nthe sculptor in his \"Red Lily.\" One realizes how true it is\nwhen reading the answer of the sculptor to Madame Martin-\nBelleme: \"I never look at one of my own works, I never saw\nagain any of my statues or busts. How could you think I\ncould take any pleasure to live among my own creations?\nI know them so well . ~ . they would bore me.\" That\nFrance paints himself in the sculptor Dechartres is almost\nacknowledged if he lets him continue: \"Even if I have\nmodelled a few bad figures I am not a sculptor. But there\nmight be a good deal of the poet and philosopher in me.\"\n\nAnatole France in his library\n\nAn autograph letter by Anatole France\n\nTranslated by Guido Bruno.\n\nI Can't Sell Umbrellas\nHrxO you know Juan de la Roca?\"\nU \"We were friends. Many years ago . . . That's to\nsay, when he was poor.\"\n\"I'll introduce you. He is wealthy now.\"\n\"Then he won't want to know me.\"\nAnd so it was. At first he refused to\"know\" me, but he\nwas civil; he carried a heavy cane, and he offered me a\nmodest cigarette which I declined like an aristocrat. He\nstruck me as being a timid man, for he trembled while he\ntalked and trembled about everything, as if he suffered from\nthe mania of persecution. He tried to prove to me that he\nhimself hadn't gained his wealth but that he had been rich\neven before his birth. On hearing such a life I felt outraged\nand wished to offend him; so, keeping an eye on his strong\nstick, I said:\n\"I knew you when you were selling umbrellas on the Calle\nVictoria. Do you recollect? One evening you begged me to\ngive you a dollar. I couldn't do it. I didn't have any either.\nI was so poor! As poor as you.\"\nI waited for a blow from the cane, but no, the cane\nremained motionless.\n\"It is true, I sold umbrellas,\" he answered slowly. \"By\nthis I became rich.\"\n\"That's just it! Therefore do not insult your forefathers.\nIf you are rich you must be so through your own work, your\nwill power, your fate, your tricks, or your honesty; not\nthrough-your forefathers. Do you think it is more creditable\nto be rich through one's parents than one's self?\"\n\"No. But people mistrust those who become rich without\nhaving inherited.''\n\"And what should I do to get rich, having no one from\nwhom to inherit?\"\n\"Sell umbrellas.\"\n\"Very true. It hadn't occurred to me. But I lack the\nintellectual faculties which are necessary for this trade.\"\n\"The better off you'll be; consequently you shall not suffer\nas I do.\"\n\"You, suffer?\"\n\"Tremendously. As I go about sad and thoughtful every\none believes that I suffer from the remorse of having com-\nmitted the \"crime\" which made me wealthy, and they don't\nknow that this crime is to have sold umbrellas on the Plaza de\nMayo. To avoid the suspicion that I have stolen what I have\nearned with my umbrellas, I attribute my wealth to my"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "1152", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.6", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\ngrandfathers ... I force people into saying of me: 'Poor\nman! He has been rich all his life. He doesn't know the\nvalue of money. He doesn't know how to enjoy himself.'\"\n\"What is the cause of your sadness? Are you ill?\"\n\"No, sir. I suffer from no sickness. The doctors have\nexamined me thoroughly; lam perfectly sound.* However,\nI am dying like one in agony. I cry like a child. I shake\nlike a criminal about to be executed.\"\n\"Some disappointment in love?\"\n\"With half a million dollars to one's name, no woman\nundeceives us. My sadness originates from my fear of death.\nIt horrifies me to think I must become a skeleton. My bed\nseems to me a coffin. I light a candle and I think it is one\nof the \"six\" which will be consumed on my death watch.\nWhen I was poor my desire to be rich fooled me into believ-\ning that life with money was a different life. After so much\nwork, so much hankering, so much suffering, I attain riches.\nAnd what for? To become convinced that I must die like\ndogs and men die . . . Therefore, if it is to die that we work,\nof what use to us is our ambition, our dreams, our hearts,\nour livers? Oh! my hair rises up on end when I think of\ndeath . . . All my friends die. When will I die? Tomorrow?\nIn a month? In a year?\"\nA few days later Juan de la Roca shot himself. His fare-\nwell was condensed into this phrase: \"I kill myself because\nI fear to die.\"\nHe didn't remember me in his will; he didn't leave me\neven a penny. Bad friend! He didn't feel compassion for\nmy inability to sell umbrellas—cursed inability which will\nforbid me the pleasure of bequeathing half a million dollars\nto my son.\n\"Sell umbrellas!\" the spirit of Don Juan whispers to me\nfrom the Chacarita.\n\"It is no use,\" I reply. \"I wasn't born to sell umbrellas.\"\nFrom the Spanish of J. /. de Soiza Reillyßy Renee Lacoste\n\nSignificant Facts of American Literature\nSet Down in the Consecutive Order of their Significance\nI.\nThe name of Jones Very remains unknown to his educated\ncountrymen generally.\nII.\nEdgar Allan Poe died in the hospital of a Baltimore alms-\nhouse.\nIII.\nWalt Whitman was dismissed from the service of the\nUnited States government because he wrote \"Leaves of\nGrass.\"\nIV.\nThe New York Society for the Suppression of Vice con-\nfiscated \"The Genius\" by Theodore Dreiser.\nV.\nHamilton Wright Mabie flourishes like a green bay tree.\nAlexander Harvey in his \"Bang\"\n\nTwo Tales by N. Shebouev\nTranslated from the Russian by Mark Weinbaum\nHe, She, and All\nTHEY entered the hall arm in arm.\nHe thought:\n\"Every one in the hall envies me. All admire her charm-\ning little head. The majority of men who are present are\nanxious to take her away from me and keep her as their\nmistress. And many would even offer her a legal marriage.\"\nShe thought:\n\"Every one in the hall pities me. All admire my charming\nlittle head. The majority of ladies say about me:\nSuch a little fool! She could have been the mistress of any\nrich man she desired. She could become the wife of a\ncount, or a duke. But instead she entangled herself with a\npoet who cannot even dress her properly.\"\nAll thought:\n\"What a pretty little head she has! But is it possible that\nhe does not, notice how immensely silly and uneducated she\nis? Almost every woman here would feel happy to be his\nmistress. By what means did she bribe him! Her every word\nis an impersonation of triviality! She exposes him every-\nwhere!\"\nThey pitied him. They envied her.\nThe Head\n44'TnHINK what you say! . . . You lost your head al-\n-1 together ... !\"\n\"Ah, if I had twenty heads I would lose them all to the\nlast one in that moment . . . But why does a lover need a\nhead? ... I offer to you my hand and heart, but not my\nhead.\"\n\"You are right,\" said she laughing, \"no lover offers his\nhead and heart because he has no head at such a\nmoment ...\"\n\"And wherefore de wo really need a head? Love is not\ncricket where balls are required . .\n\"That's right! Love is not cricket, but another game . . .\"\n\"Oh! it is an entirely different game\" replied I.\n\"Love is a football game ... But is it possible to play it\nwithout a ball!\"\n\"But why do you want that your partners should hurl their\nboots just at my head. Can't you use for that purpose some\none else's head . . . ?\"\nShe blushed angrily.\n\"But who told you what I want? I don't want anything!\nDo I propose to you or you to me? You are the one who\nwants to be known as the master of a football game . .\n\"Yes, you are right. It is I who dream of the happiness\nof being a ball in your football game . .\n\nA Guardian Angel\nEd. Hayes\nI HAD a dream the other night and I thought my\nguardian angel left me and flew to the great white\nthrone where God sat.\nAnd God said, how is it with our friend on Earth?\nAnd the angel said it goes badly; he loves a girl and\nwants her.\nAnd God said well let him have her, then children of\nmen want a lot of things! But my angel said, Oh no\nLord, then we will lose two Souls and the devil has been\nvery successful of late and we can't afford to lose many\nmore. What shall I do? And I thought I saw God lean\nover and whisper in my angel's ear—l awoke restless\nand still thinking of my love for the girl.\nThen an odd thing happened. I felt my love expand\nand grow. I felt I loved her sisters and her friends and\nthen all mankind and I became full of the joy of life and\nI arose and went about my work cheerfully."}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "1153", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.7", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nWar-Toll\nBy Thompson H. Rich\nThe Whole\nFORTUNE has smiled upon them; they have faced\nThe cruel fire unhurt; bullets have smashed\nAnd cut and killed around them, have erased\nLife after life—but left them there, abashed.\nSchrapnel has shrieked above them, burst and flayed them;\nThunder has roared beneath them, ripped and torn;\nNight has not given them any rest to aid them—\nWeary and tired and taunt, they wait forlorn.\nWeek after week they face the roaring shambles;\nMonth after month they front the yawning hell.\nEver it's: \"'Ere, 'e's 'it! See 'owe scrambles!\"\nEach foot of trench marks where some hero fell.\nHelpless, they stand and face the helpless foe—\nWaiting till Death shall deal the assassin blow.\nThe Wounded\nMOANING in bitter anguish, they're brought back,\nBroken and torn and crushed in every limb,\nButchered and bent and battered on the rack\nOf vain, impetuous War. What requiem\nThose piteous moans send piercing to the skies!\nAll Europe pales and closes up her ears;\nThe whole unhappy Earth looks on and sighs,\nAnd though she says it not, she fears—she fears.\nAh, and so brave, so zealous for a cause,\nSo keen to pour out their blood's precious red\nFor Freedom's sake. Before such warmth one awes,\nOne wonders if for naught have died their dead.\nBut then—a look upon the ghastly sight,\nAnd Hope is swallowed up in utter night.\nThe Missing\nA MUDDY ditch, perhaps, or some dank field\nFosters their ruined bodies; or they rot\nUnder a crumbled fort, their dust congealed\nWith coarser dust, not knowing time and not\nAware of the green grass that grows above them,\nSilent to all the changes of the years\nUnconscious that the sorrowing hearts that love them\nHave long since learned the uselessness of tears.\nOr else, half-mad, they wander on alone,\nCountry and home and name alike rubbed out,\nWondering where all the happy days have flown,\nLost in a maze of agony and doubt—\nCursing and praying with a single breath,\nWishing not anything at all but Death.\nThe Dead\nTpHESE have passed by.; to them some worthier paves\n1 Are given to walk on; they've no more to tread\nThis world of reeking blood and children's graves—\nThis rankling, raucous temple of the dead,\nWhere love and all the nobler feelings wane.\nThey've fought quite valiantly the futile fight!\nLoser's? It matters not the loss or gain\nSilence is theirs, and the eternal Night.\nAnd theirs the kingdom of the pure, high Stars:\nPurged of all sin, all evil washed away,\nThey dwell in Paradise, no wounds, no scars-—\nNone of the little pains of yesterday.\nEarth has not anything so fine to give\nTo they who still must battle on and live.\n\nThe Book of Bargains\nIII.—The Business of Madame Jahn\nBy Vincent O'Sullivan\nHOW we all stared, how frightened we all were, how we\npassed opinions, on that morning when Gustave\nHerbout was found swinging by the neck from the ceiling of\nhis bedroom! The whole Faubourg, even the ancient folk\nwho had not felt a street under them for years, turned out\nand stood gaping at the house with amazement and loud\nconjecture. For why should Gustave Herbout, of all men,\ntake to the rope? Only last week he had inherited all the\nmoney of his aunt, Madame Jahn, together with her house\nand the shop with the five assistants, and life looked fair\nenough for him. No; clearly it was not wise of Gustave to\nhang himself!\nBesides, his aunt's death had happened at a time when\nGustave was in sore straits for money. To be sure, he had\nhis salary from the bank in which he worked; but what is a\nmere salary to one who (like Gustave) threw off the clerkly\nhabit when working hours were over, to assume the dress\nand lounge of the accustomed boulevardier: while he would\nrelate 4o obsequious friends vague but satisfactory stories of\na Russian Prince who was his uncle, and of an extremely\nrich English lady to whose death he looked forward with\nhope. Alas! with a clerk's salary one cannot make much of\na figure in Paris. It took all of that, and more, to maintain\nthe renown he had gained amongst his acquaintance of hav-\ning to his own a certain little lady with yellow hair, who\ndanced divinely. So he was forced to depend on the presents\nwhich Madame Jahn gave him from to time to time; and for\nthose presents he had to pay his aunt a most sedulous and\nirksome attention. At times, when he was almost sick from\nhis craving for the boulevard, the cafe, the theatre, he would\nhave to repair, as the day grew to an end, to our Faubourg,\nand the house behind the shop, where he would sit to an old-\nfashioned supper with his aunt, and listen with a sort of dull\nimpatience while she asked him when he had last been at\nConfession, and told him long, dreary stories of his dead\nfather and mother. Punctually at nine o'clock the deaf\nservant, who was the only person besides Madame Jahn that\nlived in the house, would let in the fat old priest, who cams\nfor his game of dominoes, and betake herself to bed. Then\nthe dominoes would begin, and with them the old man's\nprattle, which Gustave knew so well: about his daily work,\nabout the uselessness of all things here on earth, and the\nhappiness and glory of the Kingdom of Heaven: and, of\ncourse, our boulevardier noticed, with the usual cheap sneer\nof the modern, that whilst the priest talked of the Kingdom\nof Heaven, he yet shewed the greatest anxiety if he had\nsymptoms of a cold, or any other petty malady. However,\nGustave would sit there, with a hypocrite's grin and inwardly\nraging, till the clock chimed eleven. At that hour Madame\nJahn would rise, and, if she was pleased with her nephew,\nwould go over to her writing-desk and give him, with a rather"}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "1154", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.8", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\npretty air of concealment from the priest, perhaps fifty or a\nhundred francs. Whereupon Gustave would bid her a\nmanifestly affectionate good-night! and depart in the com-\npany of the priest. As soon as he could get rid of the priest,\nhe would hasten to his favourite cafes, to discover that all\nthe people seeing had long since grown tired of waiting, and\nhad departed on their own affairs. The money, indeed, was a\nkind of consolation; but then there were nights when he did\nnot get a sou. Ah! they amuse themselves in Paris, but not\nin this way—this is not amusing.\n.One cannot live a proper life upon a salary, and an oc-\ncasional gift of fifty or a hundred francs. And it is not\nentertaining to tell men that your uncle, the Prince at Mos-\ncow, is in sorry case, and even now lies a-dying, or that the\nrich English lady is in the grip of a vile consumption and is\nmomently expected to succumb, if these men only shove up\ntheir shoulders, wink at one another, and continue to present\ntheir bills. Further, the little Mademoiselle, with yellow hair,\nhad lately shewn signs of a very pretty temper, because her\nusual flowers and bon-bons were not apparent. So, since\nthings were come to this dismal pass, Gustave fell to attend-\ning the race-meetings at Chantilly. During the first week\nGustave won largely, for that is sometimes the way with\nignorant men: during that week, too, the little Mademoiselle\nwas charming, for she -had her bouquets and boxes of bon-\nbons. But the next week Gustave lost heavily, for that is\nalso very often the way with ignorant men: and he was\nthrown into the blackest despair, when one night at a place\nwhere he was used to sup, Mademoiselle took the arm of a\ngreat fellow, whom he much suspected to be a German, and\ntossed him a little scornful nod, as she went off.\nOn the evening after this had happened, he was standing,\nbetween five and six o'clock, in the Place de la Madeleine,\nblowing on his fingers and trying to plan his next move, when\nhe heard his name called by a familiar voice, and turned to\nface his aunt's adviser, the priest.\n\"Ah! Gustave, my friend, I have just been to see a col-\nleague of mine here!'' cried the old man, pointing to the great\nchurch. \"And are you going to your good aunt to-night?\"\nhe added, with a look at Gustave's neat dress.\nGustave was in a flame that the priest should have detected\nhim in his gay clothes, for he always made a point of appear-\ning at Madame Jahn's clad staidly in black; but he answered\npleasantly enough.\n\"No, my Father, I'm afraid I can't to-night. You see I'm\na little behind with my office-work, and I have to stay at home\nand catch up.\"\n\"Well! well!\" said the priest, with half a sigh, \"I suppose\nyoung men will always be the same. I myself can only be\nwith her till nine o'clock to-night, because I must see a sick\nparishioner. But let me give you one bit of advice, my\nfriend,\" he went on, taking hold of a button on Gustave's\ncoat: \"don't neglect your aunt; for, mark my words, one day\neverything of Madame Jahn's will be yours!\" And the\nomnibus he was waiting for happening to swing by at that\nmoment, he departed without another word.\nGustave strolled along the Boulevard des Capucines in a\nstudy. Yes; it was certain that the house, and the shop with\nthe five assistants, would one day be his; for the priest knew\nall his aunt's affairs. But how soon would they be his?\nMadame Jahn was now hardly sixty; her mother had lived\nto be ninety; when she was ninety he would be —. And\nmeanwhile, what about the numerous bills; what (above all!)\nabout the little4ady with yellow hair? He paused and struck\nhis heel on the pavement with such force, that two men\npassing nudged one another and smiled. Then he made\ncertain purchases, and set about wasting time till nine\no'clock.\nIt is curious to consider, that although when he started\nout at nine o'clock, Gustave was perfectly clear as to what\nhe meant to do, yet he was chiefly troubled by the fear that\nthe priest had told his aunt about his fine clothes. But when\nhe had passed through the deserted Faubourg, and had come\nto the house behind the shop, he found his aunt only very\npleased to see him, and a little surprised. So he sat with\nher, and listened to her gentle, homely stories, and told lies\nabout himself and his manner of life, till the clock struck\neleven. Then he rose, and Madame Jahn rose too, and went\nto her writing-desk and opened a small drawer.\n\"You have been very kind to a lonely old woman to-night,\nmy Gustave,\" said Madame Jahn, smiling.\n\"How sweet of you to say that, dearest aunt!\" replied\nGustave. He went over and passed his arm caressingly\nacross her shoulders, and stabbed her in the heart.\nFor a full five minutes after the murder he stood still; as\nmen often do in a great crisis when they know that any\nmovement means decisive action. Then he started, laid hold\nof his hat, and made for the door. But there the stinging\nknowledge of his crime came to him for the first time; and\nhe turned back into the room. Madame Jahn's bedroom\ncandle was on a table: he lit it, and passed through a door\nwhich led from the house into the shop. Crouching below\nthe counters covered with white sheets, lest a streak of light\nofn the windows might attract the observation of some\npassenger, he proceeded to a side entrance to the shop, un-\nbarred and unlocked the door, and put the key in his pocket.\nThen, in the same crouching way, he returned to the room,\nand started to ransack the small drawer. The notes he scat-\ntered about the floor; but two small bags of coin went into\nhis coat. Then he took the candle and dropped some wax\non the face and hands and dress of the corpse; he spilt wax,\ntoo, over the carpet, and then he broke the candle and ground\nit under his foot. He even tore with long nervous fingers at\nthe dead woman's bodice till her breasts lay exposed; and\nplucked out a handful of her hair and threw it on the floor\nto stick to the wax. When all these things had been ac-\ncomplished, he went to the house door and listened. The\nFaubourg is always very quiet about twelve o'clock, and a\nsingle footstep falls on the night with a great sound. He\ncould not hear the least noise: so he darted out and ran\nlightly till he came to a turning. There he fell into a\nsauntering walk, lit a cigarette, and hailing a passing fiacre,\ndirected the man to drive to the Pont Saint-Michel. At the\nbridge he alighted, and noting that he was not eyed, he threw\nthe key of the shop into the river. Then assuming the swagger\nand assurance of a half-drunken man, he marched up the\nBoulevard and entered the Cafe d'Harcourt.\nThe place was filled with the usual crowd of men and\nwomen of the Quartier Latin. Gustave looked round, and\nobserving a young student with a flushed face who was talk-\ning eagerly about the rights of man, he sat down by him. It\nwas his part to act quickly: so before the student had quite\nfinished a sentence for his ear, the murderer gave him the\nlie. The student, however, was not so ready for a fight as"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "1155", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.9", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nGustave had supposed; and when he began to argue again,\nGustave seized a glass full of brandy and water and threw\nthe stuff in his face. Then indeed there was a row, till the\ngendarmes interfered, and haled Gustave to the station. At\nthe police-station he bitterly lamented his misdeed, which he\nattributed to an extra glass of absinthe, and he begged the\nauthorities to carry word of his plight to his good aunt,\nMadame Jahn, in our Faubourg. So to the house behind the\nshop they went, and there they found her—sitting with her\nbreasts hanging out, her poor head clotted with blood, and a\nknife in her heart.\nThe next morning, Gustave was set free. A man and\nwoman, two of the five assistants in the shop, had been\ncharged with the murder. The woman had been severely\nreprimanded by Madame Jahn on the day before, and the\nman was known to be the girl's paramour. It was the duty\nof the man to close at night all the entrances into the shop,\nsave the main entrance, which was closed by Madame Jahn\nand her deaf servant: and the police had formed a theory\n(worked out with the amazing zeal and skill which cause the\nParis police so often to overreach themselves!) that the man\nhad failed to bolt one of the side doors, and had, by subtilty,\ngot possession of the key, whereby he and his accomplice\nre-entered the place about midnight. Working on this theory,\nthe police had woven a web round the two unfortunates with\nthreads of steel; and there was little doubt, that both of them\nwould stretch their necks under the guillotine, with full\nconsent of press and public. At least, this was Gustave's\nopinion; and Gustave's opinion now went for a great deal in\nthe Faubourg. Of course there were a few who murmured,\nthat it was a good thing poor Madame Jahn had not lived to\nsee her nephew arrested for a drunken brawler; but with full\nremembrance of who owned the house and shop, we were\nmost of us inclined to say, after the priest: That if the brave\nGustave had been with his aunt, the shocking affair could\nnever have occurred. And, indeed, what had we more inspir-\ning than the inconsolable grief he shewed? Why! on the day\nof the funeral, when he heard the earth clatter down on the\ncoffin-lid in Pere la Chaise, he even swooned to the ground,\nand had to be carried out of the midst of the mourners. \"Oh,\nyes,\" (quoth the gossips), \"Gustave Herbout loved his aunt\npassing well!\"\nOn the night after the funeral, Gustave was sitting alone\nbefore the fire in Madame Jahn's room, smoking and making\nhis plans. He thought, that when all this wretched mock\ngrief and pretence of decorum was over, he would again visit\nthe cafes which he greatly savoured, and the little Made-\nmoiselle with yellow hair would once more smile on him\ndelicious smiles,, with a gleaming regard. Thus he was think-\ning when the clock on the mantel-piece tinkled eleven; and\nat that moment a very singular thing happened. The door\nwas suddenly opened: a girl came in, walked straight over to\nthe writing-desk, pulled out the small drawer, and then sat\nstaring at the man by the fire. She was distinctly beautiful;\nalthough there was a certain old-fashionedness in her peculiar\nsilken dress, and the manner of wearing her hair. Not once\ndid it occur to Gustave, as he gazed in terror, that he was\ngazing on a mortal woman: the doors were too well bolted\nto allow any one from outside to enter, and besides, there\nwas a strange baffling familiarity in the face and mien of the\nintruder. It might have been an hour that he sat there; and\nthen, the silence becoming too horrible, by a supreme effort\nof his wonderful courage he rushed out of the room and up-\nstairs to get his hat. There in his murdered aunt's bedroom,\n-—there, smiling at him from the wall—was a vivid present-\nment of the dread vision that sat below: a portrait of Madame\nJahn as a young girl. He fled into the street, and walked,\nperhaps two miles, before he thought at all. But when he\ndid think, he found that he was drawn against his will back\nto the house to see if It was still there: just as the police\nhere believe a murderer is drawn to the Morgue to view the\nbody of his victim. Yes; the girl was there still, with her\ngreat reproachless eyes; and throughout solemn night\nGustave, haggard and mute, sat glaring at her. Towards\ndawn he fell into an uneasy doze; and when he awoke with\na scream, he found that the girl was gone.\nAt noon the next day, Gustave, heartened by several\nglasses of brandy, and cheered by the sunshine in the\nChamps-Ely sees, endeavoured to make light of the affair.\nHe would gladly have arranged not to go back to the house:\nbut then people would talk so much, and he could not afford\nto lose any custom out of the shop. Moreover,, the whole\nmatter was only an hallucination—the effect of jaded nerves.\nHe dined well, and went to see a musical comedy; and so\ncontrived, that he did not return to the house till after two\no'clock. There was some one waiting for him, sitting at the\ndesk with the small drawer open: not the girl of last night,\nbut a somewhat older woman—and the same reproachless\neyes. So great was the fascination of those eyes, that, al-\nthough he left the house at once, with an iron resolution not\nto go back, he found himself drawn under them again, and\nhe sat through the night before, sobbing and stupidly glaring.\nAnd all day long he crouched by the fire shuddering; and all\nthe night till eleven o'clock; and then a figure of his aunt\ncame to him again, but always a little older and more\nwithered. And this went on for five days; the figure that sat\nwith him becoming older and older as the days ran, till on the\nsixth night he gazed through the hours at his aunt as she\nwas on the night he killed her. On these nights he was used\nsometimes to start up and make for the street, swearing never\nto return; but always he would be dragged back to the eyes.\nThe policemen came to know him from these night walks,\nand people began to notice his bad looks: these could not\nspring from grief, folk said, and so they thought he was\nleading a wild life.\nOn the seventh night there was a delay of about five\nminutes after the clock had rung eleven, before the door\nopened. And then—then, merciful God! the body of a woman\nin grave-clothes came into the room, as if borne by unseen\nmen, and lay in the air across the writing-desk, while the\nsmall drawer flew open of its own accord. Yes; there was\nthe shroud of the brown scapular, the prim white cap, the\nhands folded on the shrunken breast. Gray from slimy\nhorror, Gustave raised himself up, and went over to look for\nthe eyes. When he saw them pressed down with pennies, he\nreeled back and vomited into the grate. And blind, and sick,\nand loathing, he stumbled up-stairs.\nBut as he passed by Madame Jahn's bedroom the corpse\ncame out to meet him, with the eyes closed and the pennies\npressing them down. Then, at last, reeking and dabbled with\nsweat, with his tongue lolling out, and the spittle running\ndown his beard, Gustave breathed:—\n\"Are you alive?\"\n\"No, no!\" wailed the thing, with a burst of awful weep-\ning; \"I have been dead many days.''"}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "1156", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.10", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nSplitting the Ears of the Groundlings\n(Theatrical Criticism)\n\n«MISS SPRINGTIME\" at the Amsterdam Theater is\niVI a new reminder for us that the blossoming-\ntime of Austro-Hungarian, or as\" it is called generally,\nViennese operetta, has not passed yet, or hadn't passed,\nat least, at the time these unhappy struggles in Europe\nstarted. Emmerich Kalman is a composer who had found\nhis country too small and who has conquered the world\nfor himself with his \"Sary.\" In \"Miss Springtime\" his\nmelodies perhaps do not come as spontaneously but they\nstill retained their fiery Hungarian rythm. The in-\nstrumentation of the parts is very finely conceived and\nworked out in an extremely diligent manner. He was\nan inspiration to Jerome Kean, the American composer,\nwho was called upon to enrich the music with melodies\nfrom his own fountain. One has to be an expert in order\nto recognize without \"the pons asinorum\" of the program\nwhere Kalman finishes and where Kean starts. Imitation\nof this kind is the most subtle form of flattery, a real\ntribute to the Hungarian composer. _\nThe new Hungarian diva who made her debut in the\ntitle-role, Miss Sari Petrass, is undoubtedly a success,\nShe is only another one of the many popular actresses\nAustria has sent us during the last few years. Her play\nis not so exceptionally temperamental; her voice while\na very good quality is not very phenomenal, but the\nentire portrayal of her part is extremely artistic. Her\nacting and her singing show at all times her good\nEuropean schooling. The author of the American version\nof the libretto, Guy Bolton, opened up large possibilities\nfor a real American comic-opera, and Jack Hazard, one\nof our best living light-opera comedians, uses every one\nof the many occasions and really surpasses himself.\nVery interesting were the \"legitimate\" dramatic\nnovelties of this past week that gave us, in the midst of\nIndian summer, the golden sunrays of \"Miss Spring-\ntjme »\nIn the L.and H. Theater \"The Intruder\" was an ex-\nperiment that one would have hardly believed possible\nin our times and that met with an astonishing success,\nCyril Harcourt, the Englishman who wrote the play,\nundertakes nothing less than the rejuvenation of the\nblood-thirsty French melodrama of an Alexandre Dumas\nand his contemporaries which had been ousted for years\nby a new and less sensational generation. The oldest\ngeneration of theater-goers could have easily imagined\nthat they had been asleep for half a century, for they\nwitnessed just the sort of drama they used to love to see\non the stage fifty years ago. The style of the performance\nwas well selected by the actors; most astonishing was it\nto see that not only the old generation among the\naudience but the younger generation, too, seemed spell-\nbound. The old school of critics which declares that\n\"show is show\" and everything old and nothing new were\nright in this case of \"The Intruder.\"\nA curious piece came before the footlights of the\nFulton Theater: \"Arms and the Girl\" by Grant Stewart\nand Robt. Becker. These two American authors seemed\nto know only a little of the war entangling the world at\nthe present time. Of course they know of its existence\nbut they treat the European struggles something very\ndistant; like a legend or a fairy tale. Bourbofis who\nhave forgotten nothing for the last twenty years write\na romantic drama with the war as a background. A\ndrama that plays somewhere in the romantic nowhere,\nsomething a la Anthony Hope. Hero and heroine are\nan American couple unexpectedly surprised and brought\ntogether by the German Invasion of Belgium. The\nGermans in their field-gray uniforms are portrayed as\nnice people but impossibly comical; they seem figures\nfrom an light opera. The general appears to have only\none occupation in Belgium i.e. to play a sort of earthly\nprovidence for the improbable love-adventures of the\ntwo Americans. The, German field-gray soldiers are\nundoubtedly German reservists in real life.\nIt is refreshing indeed to realize in these times full\nof hatred that even war has its merry side. The charm\nof the play increases through the actors. Cyril Scott has\na part that after a long while again just seems to suit\nhis personality. Fay Bainter, who appeared here for the\nfirst time before the New York public, is one real find"}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "1157", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.11", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\n(of William Harris, Jr's management. She's a little\nblonde girl who not only has a lot of soul and temperar\nment but knows how to express it well, and without\nartificial endeavors in either face or gesture. She's so\ngraceful, one has simply to like her. Henry Vogel as\nthe German general has the funny Teutoni; character\nand the necessary sterness of humor which give him the\nunction for his part.\n\nMomus\n\nIN GRATIAM: Our Chorus Girls\n\ndelight our eyes, they awaken in us the sense\n| A of rythm, they are the background of the whole\nIproduction; the beautiful frame in which the managers\nI place the sparkling (or should-be-sparkling diamonds)\n| of their stars They are the colour and the life\nI of our Broadway successes, they are a firmament well\n\\ selected and carefully chosen: These charming, much\nJ abused, but very much loved chorus girls!\nChorus girls! We think of them always collectively,\nnever of this one or of that one. They come in bunches,\nlike violets.\nThe florist will exhibit in his show window in a single\nVenetian glass, an American Beauty, a hot-house plant;\nupon an unnaturally distorted long stem of six feet, a\nbig potatoe-like growth of the rose family which was\nforced by the sensation- and money-thirsty experts to\nlose the fragrance with which nature blessed her and to\nbecome a curiosity with ten times as many petals as it\nreally should have.\nHave you ever seen a single violet as the show-piece\na florist's window?\nThe chorus girl springs into prominence only when-\never she happens to be mentioned notoriously in the\nsociety columns, or if she commits a murder, or after\nshe was murdered. After viewing two-hundred and some\nodd musical comedies during the past eight years I don't\nhesitate to say that most of them were successes on ac-\ncount of their chorus girls. The managers very often\nadvertise their shows as having \"80 Beauties,\" or \"30\nof the sweetest and most beautiful girls,\" etc.\nThe Milky Way is so far that we cannot distinguish\nthe singular beauty and the individual sparkling of just\none of those myriads of little stars that create the\nfabulous background for the constellations which are\nbrought nearer to us and about whom we have learned\nfables and legends in our Latin and Greek mythology.\nWhat wonderful little schoolmasters and creators of\nmythologies are our own star-makers the Bellascos, the\nShuberts and the Keats!\nFor some reason or other the chorus girl is supposed\nto be an alluring siren who has a lute ready any time to\nenchant the \"tired business man\"for whose recreation\nour musical comedy masterpieces are especially made to\norder.\nChorus girls are supposed to come to the show in their\ncars, have a footman who opens a limousine door (see\nRobt. Chambers: any page where he mentions a chorus\ngirl.) They also are supposed to have maids who\nare busy alternatively with the wardrobe of their mistress\nor watering the bunches of flowers she has just received;\nthey are also supposed to be sparkling with jewels, gift^\nof their banker-friends who are said to be busy getting\ndivorces on their account; after the performance they\nstroll with their wealthy friends in immaculate evening\ndress (see description of such immaculate evening dress\nin Inez Haynes Irving's collected works), through the\nPeacock Alley of the Astor to its diverse dining-rooms,\nor they have a wild night at Rector's\nAnd in reality what poor disillusioned creatures! If\nthere is anybody tired during the performance of a\nmusical comedy it is the chorus girl.\nRehearsing and rehearsing and rehearsing! The\nproducer for her is the slave-driver, the rich friends who\nmake her life easy and luxurious a good providence\nseems to have saved up for-them, for their better life\nhereafter. While rehearsing from eight to twelve\nweeks without pay, they have to pawn not only the few\ntrinkets they might have had, the only and glorious\nremnants of a last season's Broadway success but also\nmost of their clothes. Small advances granted them\nduring these times of starvation reduces their $25.00 or\n$30.00 a week income to $15.00 or $12.00. They manage\nto pay for a roof over their heads, to buy the stockings\nand shoes they need for their performances and for\nwhich they have to pay themselves, they get two meals\n\nKitty Astra,\none of the Stars that shines in the chorus of \"The Girl\nfrom Brazil.\" She was born in England, spent her child-\nhood in India and appeared in musical comedies in Paris\nand in many cities in France and Belgium. Her ambition\nis to become a solitary star in the musical comedy\nfirmament."}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "1158", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.12", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nevery day and they just succeed in keeping themselves\nin the physical shape necessary to make the chorus the\nsuccess of the show, and the show the success of the\nstars.\nThey are a good sort. No worse than any other group\nof women following a profession—only worse paid, only\nworse treated.\nTheir names are not known to the thouasnds for whom\nthey sing and for whom they dance. They are like the\nlittle stars whom we so often see near Venus or near\nJupiter. Whose names we do not know but who attract\nus and please our eyes. We forget for moments the\nsparkling of Venus or the steady gleaming of Jupiter.\nWe admire those little nameless stars and are grateful\nbecause they shine for us, the obscure, the unknown in-\nhabitants of a world that cannot do more to show its\nappreciation than to look at them.\n\nG. B.\n\nBooks and Magazines of the Week\nKreymborg's Mushrooms\nALFRED KREYMBORG'S new book \"Mushrooms\" was\njust published and the echo of criticism and of reflec-\ntions upon \"Poetry Kreymborgensis\" resounds in the in-\ndividual magazines here and abroad. William Carlos Wil-\nliams reviews in the Egoist, London, Kreymborg's activity\nduring the last two years and comes to the conclusion that\ncan be read in the third number of my Journal \"Greenwich\nVillage,\" which appeared exactly two years ago, at the time\nthat Kreymborg ceased to be creator and branched out into\n?the game of promoting other peoples creations.\nIt was on a sunny October afternoon, I had just returned\ntb Greenwich Village to start my magazine, that Kreymborg\nwas introduced to me. I liked him immediately. We had met\nat a dinner table in a little restaurant and we exchanged a\n-few pleasant remarks; after dinner he walked home with me.\nHe read me a few of his poems and gave me a copy of his\nbook \"Erna Vitek.\" The simplicity of his style and of his\nthoughts, his unconscious sincerity, his kindness towards all\nand everybody who were mentioned in our conversation made\nme anxious to read his book. It was one of the best stories\nI had read for quite a while. He described simple people\nin simple surroundings. The words he used were humble;\nas humble as the lives of the millions around us, who are\nborn, who suffer and who die.\nWe had one of those rare meetings that start with a smile,\nthat continue-in a harmony of soul and of mind, and that end\nin a hearty hand shake and a sincerely meant \"au revoir.\"\nHe went his way and I went my own. He did things and\nso did I. Hard days came for me. Days of dark despair.\nNothing seemed to go right; worries piled upon worries.\nprinter, paperdealer were the iron clad foes of\nmy new magazine to be. All my energy seemed to have\nvanished. While I was sitting on dark afternoons and on\ntriste evenings in that \"back room of 46 Washington Square\nthat threatened to be the tomb of my plans and my endeavors,\n<one day Kreymborg appeared on the scene. The white crisp\nsnow was on his worn overcoat, his eyeglasses were frosted\nas he entered the room that was a few degrees warmer than\nthe cold December day. He took them off and smiled. His\nsmile meant so much to me.\nHe seemed to understand. The poverty of the room, the\npiled up proof sheets on -the table, my own resignation to the\ninevitable seemed to tell him more in one second than T\ncould have related to him in hours of confidential confessions.\nHe came often. It was like life inspiring balm to have hiid;\nread his poetry, \"His Mushrooms.\"\nThings gradually cleared up for me; they started to look\nbrighter from day today. My magazine saw the light of the;\nworld. But I could not forget what Kreymborg's little mush-'\nrooms had done for me. What they had done for me they\nperhaps could do for others. And so I arranged his first;!\npoetry reading. One of the first Chap Books I published:\nwas Kreymborg's \"Mushrooms.\" They created comment j\nover the United States and England.\nNewspaper paragraphers gave them large publicity and ,\nsimple modest little Kreymborg became all at once the centre ,\nof admiration. Do you know the sort of admiration a man\nwill receive who creates something original, who succeeds to\nexpress clearly and from heart to heart a truth others try in\nvain to communicate? A few letters from kindred souls, a\nfew hand shakes which tell more than well set speeches,\nand on the scene appeared the bloodhounds of the ,\ncreator: insignificant, insincere creatures who want to use-\nthe newly arrived man as a vehicle to the so much-longed-\nfor notoriety. Sensation thirsty women with short hair and\nhusbands in the family skeleton closet tried to say their\nnothing in the form of Kreymborg's poetry; shirt salesmen\nwho longed for the Bohemia of italian red-ink-roosts\ndiscovered all at once their souls with mushroom growths.\nMushrooms became a very common dish, indeed. Bob Davis,\nhead buyer of Mr. Munsey's purchasing department, got the\nmushroom appetite, and so he entered them upon the stock\nexchange list; they went high up in price. Once they\nreached the Ella Wheeler Wilcox price of twenty-five cents <\nper line.\nKreymborg lost his head. \"Poetry,\" Harriet Monroe's\nendowed magazine of verse, was, since its start, the goal of t\nambition for the American poet. Kreymborg got there. He\nhad arrived. The arrival upon those pages means unanimous\nelection to the mutual self admiration society of poets.\nKreymborg fell again. Nice old ladies from East Oshkosh\nand anaemic under graduates of the University of Wisconsin,\ntogether with a few geniuses, who had burned up the few\ndrops of their oil in Europe and had brought over the ashes\nin costly little caskets to our shores, offered material galore\nto start a magazine. Poor, sincere Kreymborg took the crops\nof insincere thinking, of lying brains, of notoriety-thirsty\nimagination and of would be creative imitation for a rich\nharvest of other sincere souls that struggled for expression.\nA Maecenas with a bunch of poems tucked away somewhere\nin a pigeon hole of his business desk is always ready to be |\ngodfather when an inexpensive magazine will print his\npoetry. %\n\"Others\" was published. Modestly Kreymborg kept in the\nbackground. He selected among the poetry crop of England\nand America creations that filled the funny columns of ours\npapers; that made the ridiculous embrace and smother the\nsublime. He was always sincere during his trials and trib-\nulations as magazine editor.\nTwo years were quite sufficient to open his eyes. And now\nhe turned over the editorship of the magazine to his\nambitious contributors. He put the ewes to one side and the\nrams to the other. He gathered his mushrooms into a nice\nclean basket and carried them home lovingly."}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "1159", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.13", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nHis book \"Mushrooms\" contains also those that I published\nto yea-s ago. I daresay that they are better than any other\n112 his works. And I know that he will do things worth while\nfow after he has returned to the seclusion of his own self\niter the stormy voyages of the last two years.\nrank Harris' Oscar Wilde Book\nIt seems that Frank Harris did well to put his own imprint\no the greatest of his books to the \"Life and Confessions\" of\n)scar Wilde. The 600 copies of the ordinary edition which\nte had reserved for America are all exhausted and he decided\n9 use the remaining 250 copies of the lot that was meant for\nirgland, to satisfy the American demand. And this in spite\n<112 the fact that he has sent no copies to the press for review,\nnd in spite of the fact that the foremost book-trade paper, the\nBook Review of the Times\" has taken special care not to\neview, not even to mention in its pages, the greatest biog-\naphy ever written on American soil.\nThe Phoenix\nMichael Monahan's biography of James Whitcomb Riley,\nhe leading article of his September issue, is written with a\noving hand, and the attached letters of the dead poet permit\nn intimate Peek into the soul of Riley. If you do not happen to\nmow The Phoenix write to the Editor at South Norwalk,\nConnecticut, for a sample copy. It will be a treat for you to\nnake the acquaintance of a man whose writings will please\ntarmoniously your mind, your soul, your eyes and your ears.\nThe Rambler\nJohn Kendrick Bangs gave birth to a magazine of his own.\n-lis sarcasm is good natured, his wit is of that sort that\nnakes you laugh, and smile afterwards if you happen to\n•emember again what you read. Most promosing is the fol-\nowing paragraph in his announcement:\nm\"The Rambler does not seek to be,converted in the matter\nr any of his beliefs, political, social, or otherwise, and any\njorrespondence started to that end by any solicitous friend\nI ill die young for the excellent reason that this particular\nftomad has come hither to express himself, and not others.\nHe has not the slightest objection to the expression of them-\nselves by others but he thinks they would do it more\n.effectively if they started magazines of their own for the\npurpose.\"\n\nA Brevoort philosopher and sage of the Village\n\nThe Dead\nE. C. Beckwith\n| N the cool shadows of the elm and fir trees I contem-\nplate it, a city of the dead. On that calm green sea\nthe little white grave stones of the poor are like the crests\nof tiny waves. Beyond them rise the grey columns of\ngranite, the white crosses, the marble tombs, the massive\nmonuments of other dead.\nHow tranquil is that silent world. The pale sky covers\nit like a shroud. The mild air is sweet with the fragrance\nof grass and earth, like the breath of Divine peace and,\nlove. Sadness enters my heart, for it is so lonely here.\nAnd yet there are a multitude sleeping deeply beneath\nthose lines of grassy mounds. Their sleep is too pro-\nfound for the living to think of them as sleeping.\nAlong the narrow earthen path a man and woman\ncome, dressed in the mourning clothes of the poor. They\nare carrying flowers, lillies and everlasting. They stop\nbeside a small, new-made grave, the resting place of a\nchild, and kneeling, gently cover the little mound with\nflowers. The woman is crying softly, and the man com-\nforts her. For a little while they remain, then rising\nslowly, they go away.\nTo be loved in life even as a little child is loved, and\\\nin death to be cherished and mourned. But in a few\nmonths, in a year perhaps, she will have ceased to mourn\nin her heart, she will grieve no more as I have seen her\ngrieve, and, though she will not forget the child life that\nis gone, she will have forgotten how to sorrow for it.\nSorrow passes; only death is eternal.\nIt is so sad and lonely here. The day is ending. The\nshadows deepen under the elm and fir trees. The sadness\ndeepens in my heart. A bell tolls, measured and mourn\nful, warning the living who remain here that it is time\nto leave the dead. Behind the crests of the tall trees the\nsun has set, and the pale sky is changing to a faint red,\nlike a winter sky at twilight.\nAnd as I walk toward the gates that open to the living\nworld, the thought comes to me that I too will rest here-\nforever.\n\nAt the State Fair\nVinçent Starrett\n\nOVER the heads of the yokels,\nHigh on a swaying wire,\nMademoiselle Lepelletier\nDances and slithers and slides.\nSlim her ankles and rounded her calves,\nUnder her foaming laces,\nAnd the rustics gaze with wild desire\nAnd feast their puritan eyes.\nAnd one goes home to a rambling shack\nAnd gazes with disapproval\nOn the lumpy female who shares his slumber\nAnd tries to imagine her on a wire.\n\nNext issue of Bruno's Weekly will contain\nFRANK HARRIS AS MAGAZINE EDITOR\nAn intimate visit to the workshop of one of the greatest writers in the English language; who\nhappens to live in Washington Square, the capitol of Greenwich Village."}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "1160", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.14", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nR. EDERHEIMER PRINT CABINET\n366 FIFTH AVE., NEW YORK\nOriginal Drawings by Old Masters\nALL APPRECIATIVE VISITORS CORDIALLY INVITED\n\nWhat great authors think of marriage.\nIbsen, Bernhard Shaw, Max Nordau, Tolstoy, H.\nG. Wells. Will the home survive?\nA unique book of 250 pages, bound in cloth,\nfifty-five cents postpaid.\nThe Evolution of Modern Orchestration.\n-\n-\nIt is not only a valuable reference book for a\nmusician but a little journey to the homes of\nmusicans and composers of the world for a layman.\nPublished by the MacMillan Company, royal quarto,\nbound in cloth, 280 pages.\nOne dollar five cents; sent anywhere.\nBRESLOW'S BOOK STORE\n123 East 23rd Street\n\n14 Stories by Maupassant,\nFor 25 cents postpaid\nStories of the Tragedy and Comedy of Life, with\nan Introduction by Paul Bourget. Prettily printed in\nlarge type on superior paper, with illustrations in color\nby Clare Victor Dwiggins. 16mo, stiff dark green\npaper cover, rough edges. (196 pages.) New York,\nM. Walter Dunne, 1914. (Pub. 50 cents.)\nComprises the following short stories: The False\nGems; Was it a Dream?; Simon's Paper; In the Moon-\nlight; The Old Maid; The Lancer's' Wife; The Sequel\nto a Divorce; The Englishwoman; Sentiment; The\nFishermen; In his Sweetheart's Livery; Bertha; Dis-\ncovery; and A Message of .Love.\nCONDOR'S BOOK STORE\n366 Fifth Ave.\nWrite for interesting catalogue of books.\n\nAmerican Thumb Prints\nMettle of Our Men and Women;\nSketches of American Woman;\nThis book was published by J. B. Lippincott Co., is\nbound in cloth, 55 cents postpaid.\nThe Pleasures of Literature and the\nSolace of Books with introduction\nBy Andrew Lang\nA choice book for the booklover and book-hunter,,\n55 cents postpaid.\nFRANK BENDER, 128 Fourth Ave.\n\nMONSIEUR\nD'EN BROCHETTE\nBeing^\nAn Historical Account of Some of the\nAdventures of Huevos Pasada Par Agua,\nMarquis of Pollio Grille, Count of Pate\nde Foie Gras, and Much Else Besides.\nBY\nBert Leston Taylor\nArthur Hamilton Folwell\ny\nAND\nJohn Kendrick Bangs\nV\nIllustrated by Frank A. Nankivell\n\nNEW YORK\nMC M V\nKEPPLER & SCHWARZMANN\n50 CENTS POSTPAID\nHARRY STONE\n137 Fourth Ave. New York\n\nVOLUME II\nBRUNO'S WEEKLY\nBound in white linen cloth\nTWO DOLLARS, postpaid"}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "[1161]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.15", "texte": "Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Bruno's Weekly, Inc. Charles Edison, Pres.;*Guido Bruno, Vice-Pres.;\nWalter L. Eckert, Sec. and Treas., at 58 Washington Square, New York City. Edited and written by Guido\nBruno. Subscription $2 a year.\nEntered as second class matter at the Post Office of New York, N. Y., October 14th, 1915 under the Act of March\n3rd, 1897.\n\nROSSI BROTHERS\n58 Washington Square\nUnderneath the Garret\nICE CREAM AND TOBACCO\nFLORENCE GOUGH\nShows Smart Millinery for Grown Ups—Mother\nGoose's Millinery for Children and other unique\nthings to wear.\nTHE PAINT BOX\n150 W. 4th St., Near 6th Ave.\nN. Y. C. Phone Spring 23\n\nThe Mad Hatter Has a Tea Party Every Afternoon\nfrom 3 to 6 at c\n150 WEST FOURTH STREET\nJust Down the Rabbit Hole From Washington Squan\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 ts\nTake More Than Nothing.\"\n\"Nobody Asked Your Opinion\" Edith Unger.\n\nBruno Chap Books.\nTwenty-eight booklets containing the most interesting work of the most unique writers of the past\ntwenty-five years.\nPrices ranging from fifteen cents to fifty cents.\nWrite for catalogue and send one one-cent stamp. It contains the story of Bruno's Garrett from a\npublic grave digger's tool house to the exhibition gallery of modern artists' work.\nBruno's Weekly, 58 Washington Square, New York City\n\nRARE BOOKS\nFIRST EDITIONS\nExtra Illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books. Books for Christmas Gifts.\nPurchased singly or in sets for people who have neither time nor opportunity to select for themselves,\nor for those who have not access to the best book marts. Why not begin collecting now?\nAddress, E. V. Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass.\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 this store, at least, the delightful atmosphere of Old Greenwich Village has not been sacrificed\non the altar of commercialism\nPhone: Stuyvesant 4570\nA postal will bring you, with our compliments,\nan interesting little biography of Mr. Thos. A.\nEdison."}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "[1162]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161018-01.1.16", "texte": "Harrison Fisher: $7.50\nm\nfZ\n<0 A\nir|BTi\n\\\n$6.00\nr?Vq,\n=U-«mrar\n\"L! 1 -\n1-^.\nv*?r\n*k»\n■tr*\nr-1\n7*\nJXtlitwti\ntfoVS\n:UlM=\n'ZxL\n1\n&'\n/*\nI\n1\n■v\n\\\nBirch: $12.00\nSIXTY THOUSAND ORIGINAL\nDRAWINGS OF AMERICAN\nILLUSTRATORS\nRose O'Neil, Opper, Harrison Fisher, Barton, Cassel\n' T Pughes, Hassmann, Crawford, and Many Other\nAmerican and Foreign Illustrators Whose Drawings\nHave Appeared in the Foremost American Illustrated\nMagazines from 1880 up to Date\nI HAVE purchased the original drawings and\npaintings which you have seen reproduced on\nthe pages of Puck and other prominent periodicals\nduring the last thirty-six years. They are a splendid\ncollection of the early work and of the best work\nof America's foremost artists. They show the\nevolution of the American comic paper from its\ninfancy to its present standard as well as the in-\ndividual evolution of the artists. They are an\nunique kaleidoscope of the manifold interests of\npublic opinion during the last two score years.\nThere is the period where New York with its cease-\nless building underground, overground and on the\nsurface was the target of constant banter. There\nare the political cartoons, a conclusive demonstra-\ntion why Cleveland or Roosevelt or Taft had to be\nelected and why Bryan and Roosevelt were\ndefeated.\nRARELY will there be an opportunity again to\npurchase these originals, welcome in the den,\nin the library of a private home, and appropriate\non the walls of public libraries, of museums and of\npublic schools, at such low prices as I am offering\nthem now. Many are priced as low as twenty-five\ncents. Only a few are marked higher than ten\ndollars.\nYou are invited to call at my store and view the\ncollection leisurely or inquire about the work of\nillustrators you like. I will gladly quote you\npictures and prices.\nHARRY STONE,\nBOOKS and DRAWINGS\n137 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK\nFor Three Dollars I will send you post-paid Ten Original Drawings of American Illustrators."}]}