{"numero_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_sha256": "4d3728a9435ea9a6b12ac3596d97da499034760e5d1a9afb8df4d17ac1019804", "source_tei": "https://github.com/Princeton-CDH/bluemountain-transcriptions/blob/main/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/11/08_01/bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01.tei.xml", "source_mets": "https://github.com/pulibrary/BlueMountain/blob/main/metadata/periodicals/bmtnaaq/issues/1916/11/08_01/bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01.mets.xml", "url_numero": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01", "articles": [{"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c001", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c001", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.1", "titre_corps": "THE PASSING OF THE GARRET", "titre_sommaire": "THE PASSING OF THE GARRET", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.1", "debut_caractere": 45, "fin_caractere_exclue": 70, "texte": "THE PASSING OF THE GARRET"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c002", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c002", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1188]", "page_fin": "[1188]", "image_debut": 2, "image_fin": 2, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.2", "titre_corps": "The Passing of Bruno's Garret", "titre_sommaire": "The Passing of Bruno's Garret", "signature_source": "Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[1188]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 141, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2880, "texte": "The Passing of Bruno's Garret\nGuido Bruno\n\"J*HE old frame house on the corner of Washington Square South and of Thompson Street, which was known as Bruno's\nGarret, shows no more the big black signs inviting you in white letters to drop in and to see an exhibition of works of\nsome artist or other, or to stop in and listen to some poet read his own poetry.\nThe Garret was closed on November Ist.\nI am not a friend of prospectuses and of announcements. Two years ago I conceived the idea of having a place where\nI could publish a magazine whose pages would be open to everybody who has something to say, whose walls would welcome\nthe paintings and drawings any artist would choose to bring to it; a place where poets could come and read their poetry to\nan audience that had strolled in accidentally as had they themselves. I did not send out prospectuses and announcements.\nBut I opened my doors and sent out my invitations and whoever wanted to come came. The Garret became known, at first\nin New York and later all over the United States, and it made friends in England, and Germany, in Austria and France,\nin Italy. The Slavic countries sent their friendly messages and even China and Japan were represented by artists and by\npoets. The war brought over many refugees, artists and writers who came to Bruno's Garret before they went out to make\nthe rounds of art galleries and magazine editors in the city.\nI could fill pages with reminiscences and memories vibrating with the sentiment of obsequies. I could write a book of\nmelancholic sadness in verse libre while leaving these rooms that have become so dear to me. I could picture to you, dear\nreader, in tear-wet words how badly I feel at abandoning the place where I have worked two of the best years of my life.\nIn turn you would feel sad and you would send me a few thoughts of sympathy.\nBut I don't do all this because lam always and always on my way. I have no time to sit beside the road reviewing\nmemories. My past can never pass into my future. My present is the big wall that prevents memories of the past from\nmingling with the dreams of the future.\nI love deeds and no matter if well done or badly done, verily they are better than words.\nAnd so I say, the Garret has fulfilled its mission. Here has been the debut of men and women who have made their\nmark in art and letters since. The Garret has earned its place in the history of contemporary art and letters. It will live in\nthe memory of those who used to gather there. The literature that bears its imprint is the testimony of its spirit.\nEverything I undertook there was done upon its own merit. I never asked for anything without giving value for value.\nI opened up the Garret and I closed it.\nPer aspera ad astra."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c003", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c003", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1188]", "page_fin": "[1188]", "image_debut": 2, "image_fin": 2, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.3", "titre_corps": "The Rim of the Earth", "titre_sommaire": "The Rim of the Earth", "signature_source": "Robert Carlton Brown", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[1188]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 2882, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3520, "texte": "The Rim of the Earth\nRobert Carlton Brown\nme your hand, oh dearest, and we'll run round the rim\nof the earth drawing oxygen deep into our lungs until our\ncheeks are aflame.\nWe'll laugh and love on the way; clutching at stars, sliding\ndown flaming streaks left by shooting meteors; two chil-\ndren on a balustrade.\nShouting our joy from bursting throats, kicking off our shoes\nand racing the length of glaciers, our hot feet leaving\nmelted spots as we run.\nKicking up the burning sands of deserts, cooling our skin in\nclinging fogs.\nTwo big, free human beings, with our bits in our teeth, tossing\nour heads, shaking free of fettering reins."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c004", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c004", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[1188]", "page_fin": "1189", "image_debut": 2, "image_fin": 3, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.4", "titre_corps": "Nietzsche: An Autobiography", "titre_sommaire": "Nietzsche: An Autobiography", "signature_source": "Friedrich Nietzsche", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[1188]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 3522, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6358, "texte": "Nietzsche: An Autobiography\n\n[ WAS born on the 15th of October, 1844, on the battlefield of\nLutzen. The first name I remember was that of Gustavus\nAdolphus. My ancestors were Poles belonging to the aristoc-\nracy (Niezky). The type seems to be well preserved, in spite\nof three German mothers. Abroad I am generally taken for\na Pole. In the visitors' list at Nice only this winter I was\nentered as a Pole. They tell me that my head is familiar in\nMatejko's pictures. My grandmother mixed in the Schiller-\nGoethe circles of Weimar; her brother succeeded Herder in\nthe post of Weimer's General-Superintendent. It was my good\nfortune to be a pupil at the celebrated and historic Pforta\nSchool, where so many (Klopstock, Fichte, Schlegel, Ranke,\n&c.) who have added lustre to German literature preceded me.\nWe had teachers who would have been (or have been) credi-\ntable to every University. I next studied in Bonn, later on at\nLeipzig, where the venerable Ritschl, at that time the premier\nphilologist of Germany, singled me out for distinction from the\nfirst. At twenty-two years of age I was a contributor to the\nVitterarisches Centralblatt (edited by Zarncke). The founding\nof the Philological Society of Leipzig, which still exists, orig-\ninated with me. In the winter of 1868-69 the University of\nBale offered me a professorial chair, before I had even been\nmade doctor. Whereupon the Leipzig University did me the\nextraordinary honor of conferring on me the degree of Doctor\nwithout any examination or dissertation being required.\nI stayed at Bale from 1869 till 1879. It became necessary for\nme to give up my rights as a German subject, owing to the fact\nthat as an officer in the Horse Artillery I was too often called\nout and disturbed in my academic duties.\nNevertheless, I understand the use at least of two weapons,\nsabre and cannon, and perhaps I know something about a\nthird. All went smoothly at Bale. It often happened at pro-\nmotion examinations for the Doctorate that the examiner was\nyounger than the examinee! A great advantage I enjoyed\nthere was the genial relations existing between Jakob Burk-\nhardt and myself; something quite unusual on the part of that\nhermit-like thinker, who lived a very retired life.\nAnother still more incalculable advantage was that from\nthe beginning of my residence in Bale a quite unusual intimacy\nsprang up between me and Richard and Cosima Wagner, who\nat that time were living on their country estate, Triebschen, on\nthe lake of Lucerne, as much cut off from all their earlier con-\nnections as if they were on a desert island. For several years\nwe shared every joy and sorrow; a friendship of unbounded\nconfidence. You will find that in Wagner's collected works,\nVol. VII., there is printed an epistle to me apropos of the Birth\nof Tragedy. My relations with them brought me in contact"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "1189", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2235, "texte": "with a large circle of interesting men and women, in fact, the\nbest society that moves between St. Petersburg and Paris.\nTowards 1876 my health began to decline. I spent a winter in\nSorrento with my old friend Baroness Meysenburg (author of\nMemoiren einer Idealistin) and Dr. Ree, with whom I was then\nin sympathy. It did me no good. An exceedingly painful and\nstubborn form of headache set in that exhausted all my\nstrength. As years went on it increased, and reached such a\nclimax of habitual suffering that the year contained for me at\nthat time two hundred days of torture. The cause of the\nmalady must have been entirely local, as any kind of neuro-\npathological grounds for it were absent. I never had the least\nsign of mental disturbance, no fever, no fainting. My pulse\nwas the whole time as slow as the first Napoleon's (60). My\nspecialty was to endure excruciating pain and cruet vert with\nan absolutely clear brain for two or three days on end, vomit-\ning bile the whole time. A report got wind that I was in an\nasylum (indeed, that I had died there). Nothing could have\nbeen further from the truth. My mind did not really mature\nuntil this frightful time. Evidence of it is Dawn of Day, which\nI wrote in 1881 during a winter of unspeakable wretchedness\nin Genoa, beyond reach of doctors, friends, and relations. I\ncomposed the book with a minimum of health and strength, so\nit stands for a kind of Dynamometer of my powers. From\n1882 onwards I progressed, even if slowly, towards recovery.\nThe crisis was overcome (my father died young, at exactly\nthe same age at which I myself was at death's door). Even\nto-day I have to be extremely careful; certain conditions, cli-\nmatic and meterological, are indispensable. It is not choice,\nbut compulsion, which takes me every summer to the Upper\nEngadine and every winter to the Riviera.\nFinally, this illness has been of the very greatest help to me;\nit has set me free; it has restored me the courage to be myself.\nMy instincts are those of a brave, even of a military, beast.\nThe prolonged struggle has slightly exasperated my pride of\nspirit. After all, am I a philosopher? But what does it mat-\nter ?\nAttached to a letter to Brandes dated, April 25, 1888. n.;"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "1189", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 2277, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2296, "texte": "Friedrich Nietzsche"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c005", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c005", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1189", "page_fin": "1189", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.4.1", "titre_corps": "Nietzsche as a Youth", "titre_sommaire": "Nietzsche as a Youth", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "1189", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 2237, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2257, "texte": "Nietzsche as a Youth"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c006", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c006", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1189", "page_fin": "1189", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.4.2", "titre_corps": "Nietzsche as Man", "titre_sommaire": "Nietzsche as Man", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "1189", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 2259, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2275, "texte": "Nietzsche as Man"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c007", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c007", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1189", "page_fin": "1189", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.5", "titre_corps": "Splitting the Ears of the Groundlings", "titre_sommaire": "Splitting the Ears of the Groundlings", "signature_source": "Momus", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "1189", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 2298, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6765, "texte": "Splitting the Ears of the Groundlings\nMomus\n(Theatrical Criticism)\nJDEAS, real new, original ideas are scarce in American come-\ndies. Every once in two years an author has an idea and\ninvariably a curious phenomenon appears; the same identical\nnew and original idea is conceived synonymously and suddenly\nat the same time by somebody else. I wonder if the idea had\nbeen lying in the air ? Or is it possible that our authors are*\nat a loss where to take without stealing? Qui lo sa? . .\nHowever this may be it surely has happened this very season\nthat a new idea or better, a little comedy motive, was born\ntwins in Come out of the Kitchen,\" the comedy dramatization\nof Alice Duer Miller's novel of the same name, at present in\nthe George Cohan Theatre, and in \"Good Gracious Anna-?,\nbelle!\" by Clare Kummer in the Republic Theatre. The latter\npiece has even a more impossible development of this motive\nthan the one dramatized by A. F. Thomas' master hand; quite;\na number of people belonging to the better class take service1\namong the servants of a rich summer household, the cook beingi\nthe instigator of this translation, becoming dangerous to rich\nmen. Notwithstanding the fact that this second piece appeared\nseveral weeks after the first performance of \"Come Out of the\nKitchen\" it received a warm welcome; in fact it is one of the\ngreat laugh producers of the season. Clare Kummer was very\nhappy in the choice of her merry dialogue. The caste includ-\ning Ruth Chatterton and her very attractive new leading man,\nLola Fischer, May Vokes and Walter Hampden, know how\nto make the best of their parts.\nWilliam Hodge, who brought back to New York this truly\nAmerican dry humor, and this time into Maxine Elliott's\nTheatre, naturally also brought a comedy with him that is,\nof couise like Caesar's wife, high above all suspicion. He\nwrites his comedies hirnself and takes care, unselfishly one\nthat he is, that a certain comedian of his very close acquain-\ntance, whom he sees every day in his mirror, does not receive\nany other part than the very one that suits him as snugly as\nhis exquisitively tailored afternoon suits. \"Fixing Sister,\" his\nnew play, is the non plus ultra of all the William Hodge\npreludes. One hears and sees in it nothing but William\nHodge, who has thrown all the good lines he could possibly\nlay his hands on into his own part. The whole seems to be\none long monologue of and from William Hodge. All those\nwho cannot get enough of William Hodge will surely be highlv\npleased with \"Fixing Sister.\"\nIn the Fulton Theatre there arose a play whose authors,\nGrant Stewart and Robert Baker, must have a lot of courage!\nIgnoring the terrible impressions received daily in the trans-\nAtlantic cables from the seat of war, they discover the comical\nof the great conquest, a sort of light opera comique. In\nreminiscence of that play by Bernard Shaw which also ended\non the light opera stage it was called \"Arms and the Girl.\"\nHere too German officers are acting parts but unlike William\nHodge, they would not recognize themselves in their mirror.\nJohn Drew under a new management of John D. Williams\nmade a very good impression in the title part of \"Major\nPendennis\" (from Thackeray's celebrated novel), at the Cri-\nterion Theatre. Langdon Mitchell reflects in his new stage\nversion of the novel a good deal of Thackeray's spirit. There\nis also a great deal of \"Major Pendennis\" in John Drew's\nexcellent make-up and in the fine interpretation of his part.\nBrandon Tynan, Helen McKellar, Allison Skipworth, Helen\nMencken and Lester Loncryan played the other prominent parts\nstill better, in fact exceedingly interestingly and well.\nCyril Maude's Inane Comedy\nI would much rather see the interesting arrangement of\nscenes frorn Thackeray than the so-called play that Cyril\nMaude has imported from London for the time allotted to him\nat the Empire Theatre: \"The Basker\" by Clifford Mills. It\nis an inane polite comedy of the kind that drives critics to\ndrink, that which induced Bernard Shaw to write his own\ncomedies as an antidote for incipient progressive paralysis.\nWe thought this type of play extinct, like the late Dodo, and\nto our astonishment we have heard that it made a tremendous\nsuccess in London. But then—London turns to almost any di-\nversion forget her fear of the Zeppelins. Cyril Maude\nplays the titled idler, as indolent as any ever made in England\nbefore the war. The part is ridiculous and does not serve to\nheighten his reputation."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c008", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c008", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1190", "page_fin": "1190", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.6", "titre_corps": "Frank Harris' Magazine Barred from Canada", "titre_sommaire": "Frank Harris' Magazine Barred from Canada", "signature_source": "Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1190", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4090, "texte": "Frank Harris' Magazine Barred from\nCanada\nGuido Bruno\n\nOEARSON'S MAGAZINE ceased to be Pearson's Magazine\nto its readers on that memorable day that Frank Harris,\nthe greatest editor of America in the real sense of the word,\ndecided to take over its editoriship. In an article that will\nappear in one of the forthcoming issues of this journal I will\nspeak about Frank Harris as an editor, into to the so-\ncalled editors at large in New York. Today I wish only to\npoint out that this untiring fighter for freedom of letters and\nof mind had to pay his fine to England, which took its pound\nin a drastic, a most intolerable way. Frank Harris' fights\nagainst English prudery, against English hypocrisy and espe-\ncially against tradition-sanctioned flimflamming of the popu-\nlace, has never been contrasted with his benign love (or every-\nthing that is real English, with his love for the beautiful that\nEngland gave to the world through its poets, its writers and\nits artists.\nHe has never been credited with the priceless services he\nhad rendered to England and to the world through his fine\ndiscrimination of what is good, of eternal value and of those\nthings that no one else of his contemporaries has dared to\nchampion.\nHow many celebrities of whom England boasts today saw the\nlight of the world a score and a half years ago in the columns\nof the magazines he edited and owned in England? Genius\nis in need today as a thousand years ago of a Moecenas and of\na discoverer. One man who dares to lead the obscure man\ninto the limelight of publicity, of fame and of attacks. The\nman who dares to proclaim: \"Here is a man who has done\nsomething noteworthy. Here is his work. I know it is good.\nTherefore I give it to you. You top someday will say, 'it is\ngood.' And posterity will agree with me.\"\nFrank Harris published in his masterpiece, his book \"Oscar\nWilde and his Confessions,\" not only his very own opinions\nabout the .attitude of English courts and of Englishmen at\nlarge against Oscar Wilde, the artist and the man, but he also\npublished there a stenographic report of this court proceedings.\nThe Englishman likes to preach but he hates to practice his\npreachments. He does not permit an argument about tradi-\ntions and about the accepted code of morality. The rebel of\nmind who is not a prophet of a new creed but who fights for\nthe very same old creed in its real own meaning, who endeav-\nors to tear off the British cloak of hypocrisy, and especially the\nman who dares to disclose to the readers of penny papers the\nhuman side of the heroes of sixpence periodicals must be\nsilenced forever. If he is out of reach of English jurisdiction,\nhis voice must be muzzled, even if it is raised to uphold hu-\nmanity, to prevent nameless cruelty to fellowmen.\nFrank Harris brought a new spirit into the old dry theory-\nridden Pearson's Magazine. He gathered a few promising\nyouths around him. He lent his ear to the enthusiast, so rare\nin the tohu-wabohu of our commercial surroundings. He con-\nsidered the grave voices of experienced fighters for an econo-\nmic freedom. He borrowed the photographer's art as well as\nthe daring dash of a future artist's brush for the pages of good\nold Pearson's.\nAnd now after Pearson's has become Frank Harris personified,\nwith all his love for humanity, with his spirit to fight unequali-\nty, with his heart that feels the pains of all nations alike,\nEngland realized that the food Frank Harris gave to its Cana-\ndian subjects was of another substance than the canned goods\nits officials open whenever they decree that time has come for\na repast. A government that supervises so carefully and dili-\ngently its war news factories cannot permit a voice of a Frank\nHarris in its realms. But this voice will be the voice in the\nwilderness. Its power and its indisputable truthfulness will\nleave deserts, places where there are now thousands doped\nand knouted into willingness to listen and to believe.\nIt is not Pearson's Magazine that England objects to being\ncirculated in Canada. It is the voice of Frank Harris that\nBritain wishes to muzzle."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c009", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c009", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1190", "page_fin": "1190", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.6.1", "titre_corps": "Frank Harris, by Ferguson", "titre_sommaire": "Frank Harris, by Ferguson", "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": "1190", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 4092, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4117, "texte": "Frank Harris, by Ferguson"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c010", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c010", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1190", "page_fin": "1190", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.7", "titre_corps": "Russian Secret Service", "titre_sommaire": "Russian Secret Service", "signature_source": "Guido Bruno ; Cubed ; Futured by Sadakichi Hartmann", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1190", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 4119, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5947, "texte": "Russian Secret Service\nGuido Bruno\nCubed and Futured by Sadakichi Hartmann\n(Scene: Private office in Police Headquarters.)\nPRESIDENT OF POLICE: If you join our forces and\ndecide to be a detective instead of a revolutionist, you will be\nfreed immediately! Otherwise you will be hanged today!\nYour death-warrant is as good as signed.\nREVOLUTIONIST: All right, I accept!\nLIEUTENANT OF POLICE (thinking for himself) : I\nhave to report this immediately to the revolutionary committee!\nSuch a wretched traitor!\nPRESIDENT OF POLICE: We are offering you 1,000 rubles\nif you betray to us the plots of all the assassinations planned\nat present.\nPOLICE SARGEANT (thinking for himself): O, Lord: if\nhe only does not betray me!\nREVOLUTIONIST: They are preparing to kill the village\npriest.\nPOLICE SARGEANT (thinking): Blessed be the Lord: he\ndoesn't seem to know anything about our plot!\nREVOLUTIONIST: Dimitri Nicolaitsch was chosen to kill\nhim.\nPOLICEMAN AT THE DOOR (thinking): He evidently\nknows what he is talking about. The name is correct.\nREVOLUTIONIST: Everything will be ready tomorrow\nevening at 8 o'clock. Then the priest will be killed.\nPRESIDENT'S SECRETARY (thinking) : In yesterday's\nmeeting we postponed it till the day after tomorrow.\nPRESIDENT OF POLICE (in terrible rage, to the revolu-\ntionist) : Ha! Scoundrel! So you are going to betray the\nplans of our revolution! To hell with you! (He fires a shot\nwithout injuring him.)\nREVOLUTIONIST: Place him under arrest!! I am the\nSecretary of Police!\nA SCRUBBING WOMAN: Then you must die! (Throw-\ning herself against his big frame she buries a stilletto in his\nheart.)\nPOLICEMAN AT THE DOOR (trying to overpower her) :\nNikolisch! What did you do that for! (The house is blown\ninto the air because the letter-carrier stumbled over a bomb as\nhe came through the main entrance.)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c011", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c011", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1190", "page_fin": "1190", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.8", "titre_corps": "A large share of the blame for the frequent tragical", "titre_sommaire": "A large share of the blame for the frequent tragical", "signature_source": "Max Nardau", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1190", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 5949, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6375, "texte": "Max Nardau\nA large share of the blame for the frequent tragical con-\nflicts between natural sentiments and conventional con-\nstraints is due to the prevailing conception of morality\nwhich is a consequence of Christianity; it is monstrous, it\nis illogical. This system of morality could not last an hour\nif it were not that in private all human beings, all, without\nexception, set it aside as tranquilly as if it did not exist."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c012", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c012", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1191", "page_fin": "1191", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.9", "titre_corps": "Roomer's Moving Day", "titre_sommaire": "Roomer's Moving Day", "signature_source": "Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1191", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2054, "texte": "Roomer's Moving Day\nGuido Bruno\n'Y'ODAY I am sitting in the empty room. My own belong-\nings are in my new quarters and I am saying good-bye:\nGood-bye to the big broad bed that I loved because of the\nhours of worry and trouble that threw me upon it. Good-bye\nto the table where I used to sit and to write ; good-bye to the\neasy chair in which I used to sit and to indulge in my most\nbeloved thoughts. The mirror I view with sadness. Each\nmirror is dear to me because it saw me often as no other mir-\nror will ever see me again. If I were rich I would smash it\nto pieces. I would melt the splinters and out of the many in\nthe course of time broken and melted mirrors I would have my\ncoffin made.\nThe jasmine bush which gave me its flowers and its odor at\nthe time I moved in, is losing its leaves. They are red and\nyell ow with ugly wrinkles, waiting upon the dying and sad\nlawn for the broom or the wind that will sweep them away.\nIt is hardly six o'clock and the lantern in front of my house\nslighted and diffuses an atmosphere of lilac and of death. I\nam sitting at my window and I am looking out. I am looking\nover the near-by trees, over the farther away houses into the\nfields on the far horizon. I see black darkness, sad night.\nWhen it becomes cosy and warm and snug wherever men\nlive in solitude or in gatherings, when they look forward in\nhappy expectation to the long eves of winter with glistening\ngrate fires; when sweet hopes fill their hearts and memories\nappear as welcome visitors; when radiant life-loving feasts\nare near and when they think of the serene sacred glimmer\nof candles in dark green Christmas trees; of the gladness and\nthe love that they will receive and that they will give. . . .\nWhen the angels of love and happiness are approaching:\nThen I bundle up my belongings and am gone—am gone.\nWhence? I do not know. But from there, too, wherever it\nmay be, it will drive me away if happiness should send mes-\nsengers of its approach.\nIt will drive me away, the homeless one, the gypsy, the\npariah of the nations."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c014", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c014", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1191", "page_fin": "1191", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.11", "titre_corps": "Songs of Life and Death", "titre_sommaire": "Songs of Life and Death", "signature_source": "Rainer Maria Rilke", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1191", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 2056, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3003, "texte": "Songs of Life and Death\nBy Rainer Maria Rilke\nII\nis talking about his mother. Evidently a German.\nSlowly and loudly he sets his words. Like a girl gather-\ning flowers for a bouquet, trying meditatively flower after\nflower, not knowing yet how the whole will look—thus he\nchoose his words. For joy? For sorrow? All listen attentively.\nThey even stop spitting because they are all gentlemen who\nknow what is proper. And even he who never understood\nGerman in this gathering, knows it all at once. He senses\nsome of the words: ''In the evening\" . . . \"When I was small.\"\nIII\n'JpHEY all begin to feel nearer one to the other—these gentle-\nmen who came from France and from Britain, from the\nmountains of Russia, from the valleys of Tyrol, from the Bo-\nhemian plains and from Emperor William. Because what\nthis one relates, they all have experienced and have felt just\nas deeply.\nAs though there were only one mother. . . .\n(Editor's Translation)\n- \" \\"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c015", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c015", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1191", "page_fin": "1191", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.12", "titre_corps": "The Washington Square front of the late Bruno's Garret", "titre_sommaire": "The Washington Square front of the late Bruno's Garret", "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": "1191", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 3005, "fin_caractere_exclue": 3059, "texte": "The Washington Square front of the late Bruno's Garret"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c016", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c016", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1191", "page_fin": "1191", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.13", "titre_corps": "A Society Sketch", "titre_sommaire": "A Society Sketch", "signature_source": "Cubed ; Futured by Sadakichi Hartmann", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1191", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 3061, "fin_caractere_exclue": 4574, "texte": "A Society Sketch\nCubed and Futured by Sadakichi Hartmann\nQNCE more the Roman nose feigned hospitality in the sub-\nterranean halls of a social caravansery.\nAt the narrow portals, oh so red, stood a dark slave and\nshouted.\nInside Mme. Ingenue, quite brown, lay on a table and dis-\nplayed her charms of wealth.\nAnd the chambers of bad taste—into which Orphism not\nVorticism will ne'er enter—were deluged with black bipeds\nwhose breasts looked like silver armor.\nPendants of jewels, green by gosh, balanced on huge forti-\nfied spheres, at which wicked eyes in white stocks and masks\nof variegated paint smiled in vanity.\nAnd the clairvoyant jackass, the negroid palmist, and the\ninterpreter of slate sherds and spherical trusses, sighed for the\nfaded and fading buff colored fruit.\nThe flanky fool of society contemplated and grinned while\ntwo arduous eyes, oh so navy, shot their post- and neo- into the\ntrenches, and he felt shyer than the dangling legs of a damozel\nin orange, in the adjoining den with its nocturnal suggestions.\nAnd the mixture of many nations ate and drank mixtures\nnear a storage house of curiosities, and the jubilation arose high\non silly waves, as voices in shallow imitations of life shrieked\nthrough rushes bending and swaying under flirtation cachou'd\nbreath. :-\nAnd when all idlers had passed away into the purple night,\nMme. Ingenue swallowed eight sandwiches, oh so painfully,\nthe Roman nose laughed like a rabbit, and the arduous eyes\nand the lanky came to a platonic:; understanding."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c018", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c018", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1192", "page_fin": "1192", "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=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.15", "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": 6, "page_imprimee": "1192", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5749, "texte": "Books and Magazines of the Week\nTHE reaction is beginning to set in. 1915 and 1916 were\nmagazine years par excellence. Never before since the\nfamous Nineties with its period of Elbert Hubbard and imi-\ntators and the Chicago Chap Books and imitators has man in\nAmerica felt so strongly the insufficiency of the so-called\nnational magazines. Never before has the necessity seemed\nso great for literary journals that would serve as organs of\nself-expression and not as advertising mediums exclusively.\nLittle individual mouthpieces of men and of groups sprang up\nin all parts of the country.\nAnd now autumn has arrived! Not only in nature but in\nthe hearts of those young enthusiasts who had cared so little\nfor their own personal gain that they went out and gathered\ntheir pennies and founded magazines of their own.\nBeautiful to look upon are the richly colored leaves as you\nwalk out into the glory of an October morn. The dewdrops\nare sparkling in the brilliance of the golden rays that have\nfound their way through clouds and vapor.\nBut the leaves are dead. They are resplendent with the\nhonor of their achievements. They have fulfilled their mission\nlike heroes who have lived, who have died: They have given\nshade to us, they have blossomed for us, they have given us\ntheir fruits; they have granted refuge to the ugly crawling\ncaterpillars, they have given honey to the beautiful butterflies.\nThey have sheltered birds and opened out their branches for\ntheir nests and caressed lovingly the little white and speckled\neggs; they have given the first foothold to the young helpless\nbirds.\nThey have endured the heat of midsummer, the thirst of the\ndry dog days and they have waited until kind autumn winds\nblew from their foliage the dust that had annoyed them while\nmen passed by in their happy and gay attire. They have drunk\nto their fill of the refreshing rains . . . and now, vested in\ntheir ragalia of achievement, with their yellow of gold, with\ntheir purple of blood and of royalty, with their brown of\nMother Earth: they are awaiting for death.\nThey feel how their stems lose more and more of their con-\ntact with the branches of the mother tree. Rhythmically they\nrock to and fro to the melodies of zephyrs, of breezes, of\nwinds and of storms. Sadly they watch their brothers fall, fall\nfrom loftiness down to earth where color beauties vanish so\nquickly, where their rustle under the feet of passersby is the\nlast message of the dead leaves to the vanity of the world.\nThese little magazines which have taken their flight into the\nworld in their green and yellow and red covers are sending\nout their death messages. They have sung of joy and of free-\ndom. They have fought against the fallacies, they have con-\nquered foes, real and imaginary. They have helped to dig a\ngrave for hypocrisy and hatred and they have thrown to the\nwinds seeds of love and the winds have carried them here and\nthere and have dropped them where hearts love flowers.\nThe little magazines cared naught for the ways of the world.\nThey were only but well prepared to fight for love with love.\nMonster Money scoffs at love. It cannot conquer love, it cannot\ncrush love, it cannot extinguish love. But it can isolate love.\nThe little magazines had sung their songs. To sing them\nagain would have been repetition. To be able to sing them\nagain would have necessitated concessions to Monster Money.\nAnd so they lost their happily colored foliage and grew slim-\nmer and slimmer and then\nThey come no more.\nThe Minaret\nIt one of those little sheets which are fighting at present\nfor existence. We hope that The Minaret will survive and\ncontinue to give us its heart-refreshing poems, its well and\nbenevolently written criticisms, its translations from many lan-\nguages of things beautiful and worth while.\nIn Which\nNorman-Bell Geddes followed the example set by his dis-\ntinguished contemporary, the \"Little Review\" and emigrated to\nsunny California. He will direct there his \"Theatre of To-\nmorrow\" and will edit also his little magazine, a gladly heard\nmonthly voice of his achievements in art, literature, in thea-\ntricals and other things.\nThe Phoenix\nMichael Monahan has discovered after several years of pain-\nful doubt that Frank Harris is a Welshman without the slight-\nest infusion of Semitic blood, and therefore he hands him an\narmful of long withheld laurels. \"Balzac the Lover\" is the\nleading article of the October issue and is a valuable contri-\nbution to our knowledge of the real Balzac.\nIf you are not yet acquainted with \"The Phoenix,\" write to\nSouth Norwalk, Conn., and ask its editor for a sample copy.\nIf you have a taste for \"Life and Letters,\" you will give to\nMichael Monahan your friendship and your love.\nThe Poetry Review\nThe Publishers' Budget, containing a list of autumn publica-\ntions of new poetry, is an ably written price list of books issued\nby publishers whose names one may see as chief advertisers\nin our book trade journals (called euphemistically literary\nsupplements, etc.). The current issue also contains well writ-\nten advertisements of the \"Anthology of Magazine Verse\" edi-\nted by the editor of The Poetry Review and an announcement\nof The Contemporary American Poet Series, published by The\nPoetry Review Company. Then there is an open letter \"To1\nYou—Our Friends\" asking for the subscriptions of their friends\nin order to avoid losing twenty cents per subscriber each year.\nA noteworthy array of publishers' advance notices and of\npuffs of recently issued and newly forthcoming books com-\npletes the sixteen pages of the October issue printed on heavy\negg shell paper in big very readable type with a good black\nink.\nThe Poetry Review claims to be the representative of Ameri-\ncan contemporary poetry."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c019", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c019", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1192", "page_fin": "1193", "image_debut": 6, "image_fin": 7, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.16", "titre_corps": "In Our Village", "titre_sommaire": "In Our Village", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "1192", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 5751, "fin_caractere_exclue": 8298, "texte": "In Our Village\nRED and yellow turned the leaves of our old wide-spreading\ntrees. Mild autumn winds with their sad melancholy\nmelody blew them from the branches, the brown-clad guards\nof Washington Square swept them in nice heaps and the old\nwhite horse, known to every child of the neighborhood, waits\npatiently in front of its cart on sidewalks and lawns until it\nhears the familiar \"go on.\" Slowly it moves on to the next\npile, as if it knows that it carries the once luscious green leaves\nto their last resting-place. The fountains are wrapped up\nwith straw, the benches deserted save in the afternoon sun—\nwinter is coming. Like heroes stripped of their armor the trees\nlift their branches toward heaven. Little clouds passing quickly\nlike zealous couriers send their nicest winds with a message\nof love and hope down to them. And as the knight of yore\ninclined graciously and bowed slightly when his lady nodded\ntheir twigs sway to the welcome melody, their branches whis-\nper the message and the trunks resound.\nHave you ever put your ear close to a tree and listened to\nthe surr-surr and huiii-huiii as it passes down to its roots deep\nunder the ground? I have. I wish that I knew the language\nof trees. It sounded so cheery and confiding. \"It is winter,\"\nit meant to me, \"but not winter in our hearts. What does it\nmatter that we change our clothes, what does it matter that\nthe leaves—that the nice shady leaves are gone? Beautiful\nwhite snow will cover us soon and its little crystals will glitter\nin the sun and spring will come . . . and they will bud again.\"\nThere is no other community in New York where the popu-\nlation is so constantly floating and so quickly shifted as in\nGreenwich Village. You think you know the Square because\nyou lived there last year. And now, returning from your camp\nor from your summer residence or from the suburb where you\nspent the last months, you come to that house where you still\nkeep your studio or where you have secured quarters for your-\nself and you see new faces. They perhaps moved in yesterday,\nand they seem to belong to the place as though they had lived\nthere for years. They will be gone tomorrow and they won't\nleave a trace or a personal impression to tell the story of their\nsojourn.\nAnd then those men and women on the street in a garb which\narrests your eye—it may be a flying necktie—of the woman,\nplease—men do not wear artists* bows any more. They seem\nto acquire with the long hair the neatness also peculiar to the\nfemale sex—all healthy girls with red cheeks and eyes radiant"}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "1193", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 16, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1906, "texte": "with expectancy and enthusiasm—and with bobbed hair. And\nsome of them really look like men in their felt hats and man-\nlike cut sack suits; you can see them flocking into Pepe's real\nestate office. Pepe has a monopoly of the artists and literary\nmen dwelling in Greenwich Village. He knows every cubby-\nhole high up under the roof of a forgotten factory building on\nthe outskirts of the Square, and he also knows how to transform\nthem into \"studios.\" And ah—what prices he does know to\ncharge! He sends the new arrivals from the country—artists\nand would-be-artists who have saved their pennies for a year\nin Greenwich Village on their tiresome road to find a \"home.\"\nHave you ever been there yourself? A list of addresses in\nyour hand, wandering from house-door to house-door, looking\nat studios or rooms or apartments? No more heart-sickening\nand disappointing task is in store for us than this disheartening\nsearch for living quarters. If we like one place, we can't afford\nto rent it; we stumble against one that just suits us and suits\nour pocket-book, we congratulate ourselves on our good luck\nand then we learn that some other luckier being had not only\nrented it an hour ago, but also had left a deposit to substan-\ntiate the deal. And with the first shadows of the dying day\nour spirits reach that point below zero where we don't care\na rap and we ring the bell of a house and tell ourselves, \"If\nthere are quarters here that cost so much and so much, I'll take\nthem.\"\nAnd so they settle and are happy and contented, and start\nout with enthusiasm, and Greenwich Village once more fulfills\nits mission as it has done for the last one hundred years, since\nthe memorable day when Tom Paine hunted for lodging in\nthe dreamy, sunny hamlet, nearly two miles away from the\nNew York of those days to live here the quiet life of a hermit\nin the company of Madame Bonville and her two sons."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c020", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c020", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1193", "page_fin": "1194", "image_debut": 7, "image_fin": 8, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.17", "titre_corps": "The Chorus Girl", "titre_sommaire": "The Chorus Girl", "signature_source": "Anton Tschekov ; Translated by Guido Bruno", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "1193", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 1908, "fin_caractere_exclue": 8280, "texte": "The Chorus Girl\nBy Anton Tschekov\n\nthis happened long ago. She was younger and nicer in\nthose days. Nikolai Petrowitch Kolpakow, her admirer,\nwas visiting her in her country home. It was unbearably hot\nand humid. Kalpakow had finished his noonday meal, and had\ndrunk a whole bottle of bad port wine; he did not feel very\nwell and was in a bad mood. Both were bored, waiting for\nthe cooler evening to take a walk.\nSuddenly the doorbell rang. Kolpakow was in his shirt\nsleeves. He jumped up from his seat and looked questioningly\nat Pasha.\n\"Maybe it is the letter carrier, or perhaps a girl friend,\"\nsaid the actress.\nKolpakow didn't mind in the least Pasha's girl friends nor\nthe letter carrier. But to be sure he picked up his coat and\nwent into the next room while Pasha went out to open the\ndoor.\nTo her great surprise it was not the letter carrier, nor one\nof her friends, but a young and beautiful lady, handsomely\ndressed in a refined style; she looked like a \"good\" woman.\nThe stranger was pale and breathing heavily as if she had\nascended several flights of stairs.\n\"What is it you wish?\" asked Pasha.\nThe lady did not answer immediately. She entered the\nroom, glanced with curious looks over the furniture. She ap-\npeared to be in pain. It was some time before she had com-\nposed herself and was able to speak. She took a seat.\n\"Is my husband here?\" she asked finally, raising her eyes\nwhich were red from crying.\n\"Whose husband?\" asked Pasha, and she became suddenly\nso frightened that her hands and feet grew cold. \"Whose\nhusband?\" she repeated, trembling with emotion.\n\"My husband, Nikolai Petrowitch Kolpakow.\"\n\"No, . . . madam . . . I . . I never knew a husband.\"\nA few minutes of silence lapsed. The lady repeatedly wiped\nher eyes with a lace handkerchief. Pasha had not dared to\nsit down. She looked at her visitor frightened and helplessly.\n\"You maintain then that he is not here?\" asked the lady with\na firm voice and a curious smile.\n\"I ... I do not know whom you mean.\"\n\"You vulgar low woman . . ~\" murmured the lady, looking\nwith hatred and contempt at Pasha. \"Yes, yes . . . you are a\nvulgar woman and I am happy, very happy that I have finally\na chance to tell you so face to face!\"\nPasha felt that she must have impressed this lady in black\nvery vulgarly and she began to be ashamed of her painted red\ncheeks, of the freckles that covered her nose and of the bangs\nflowing gaily over her forehead. It seemed to her that if she\nhad happened to be slender without paint and powder and\nbangs it would have been easier for her to conceal that she\nwas a \"bad\" woman. She could have met her on equal terms,\nand she would even have dared to sit on the chair on the other\nside of the table.\n\"Where is my husband?\" asked the lady again. \"But it does\nnot matter whether he is here or not. I simply want to tell\nyou that embezzlements have been discovered and that they are\nlooking for Nikolai Petrowitch. They are going to arrest him.\nAnd that is your work!\"\nThe lady arose and paced the room in great excitement.\nPasha looked at her in astonishment. She could not grasp\nwhat all this meant.\n\"Today he will be found and arrested,\" said the lady, crying\nand sobbing. \"I know who led him on to all this, you vulgar\nugly woman! You low creature,\" her face expressed the con-\ntempt she felt for Pasha. It looked as if she would spit in her\nface the next moment. \"I am powerless . . . Do you hear me,\nyou beastly woman? ... I am helpless, you are stronger than\nI am, but there is One who is going to take care of me and\nmy children! God sees everything! He is just! He will\nrepay you for all my tears, all my sleepless nights! The time\nwill come when you will remember me!\"\nAgain there was a long silence. The lady walked up and\ndown while Pasha stared at her; she could not understand and\nexpected momently that something dreadful would happen.\n\"I know nothing of all this, madam,\" she said, and com-\nmenced to cry heart-breakingly.\n\"You lie!\" cried the lady. \"I know everything. I have\nknown you for a long while. I know that there has not been\na day during the last four months that he did not spend with\nyou!\"\n\"Yes? And what of it? What is there wrong in that? A\ngood many come to see me and to visit with me. I do not\nurge them to come. They come of their own free will.\"\n\"I am telling you that they have discovered an embezzlement.\nHe stole money from his office. For your sake . . . for the\nsake of such a woman as you are he committed a crime. Lis-\nten,\" resumed the lady very decisively stopping squarely in\nfront of Pasha. \"You cannot have principles, you who live\nonly to wrong others. That is all that you desire. But I\ncannot believe that you are such a low woman that you have\neven lost your last spark of humanity. He has a wife, he has\nchildren. ... If they sentence him and send him to Siberia,\nI and the children must starve . . . try to understand this! But\nstill there remains one way to save us from misery and dis-\nhonor. If I can make good and deposit today nine hundred\nrubles, he will not be prosecuted. Nine hundred rubles only!\"\n\"Nine hundred rubles?\" asked Pasha quietly. \"I don't know\nanything about nine hundred rubles. I haven't received them.\"\n\"I do not beg of you nine hundred rubles. You have no\nmoney and I do not need your money. I ask for something\nentirely different. . . . Men are in the habit of giving girls\nlike you jewelry. Return to me the things my husband gave\nyou!\"\n\"He never gave me jewelry, madam,\" cried Pasha, who had\nbegun to understand.\n\"Where is the money? He has squandered his own, mine\nand other people's money. .. . Listen, I beg of you! I have\nbeen overcome by all this and I called you a great many\nunpleasant things but I beg you to forgive me. You must hate\nme, I know it. And if you are capable of pity, try to put\nyourself into my own place. I implore you, give me back\nthose things!\"\n\"Hm .. .\" said Pasha, and shrugged her shoulders. \"I\nwould do it with pleasure but may God punish me if he ever\ngave me presents. Please do believe me. But you are right,\"\nthe actress corrected herself embarrassedly, \"once he brought\nme these two things, I gladly give them back to you if you wish\nthem. . . .\"\nPasha opened the drawer of her dresser and handed to her\nvisitor a thin gold bracelet and a little ring with a red stone.\nThe lady flushed and every muscle in her face seemed to\nvibrate. She was offended."}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "1194", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 295, "fin_caractere_exclue": 5341, "texte": "\"What are you giving me?\" she said. \"I do not ask for\nalms, but for that which is not yours, what you induced my\nhusband, the poor unhappy creature, to give you, you who\nknow how to take advantage of such situations. Thursday as\nI met you with my husband on the Avenue, you wore expensive\nbrooches and rings. You don't need to play for my benefit the\npart of an innocent lamb. For the last time I ask of you, will\nyou return those things to me or not?\"\n\"How comical you are . . ~\" said Pasha, who felt quite\noffended. \"I assure you that your Nikolai Petrowitch never\ngave me anything but this bracelet and this ring. He brought\nonly cake \"\n\"Cake . . ~\" laughed the lady in a strangely shrill voice, \"at\nhome the children have nothing to bite and here you feast on\ncake. So you refuse to return to me those things?\"\nShe did not receive an answer. She seated herself in a com-\nfortable rocking-chair and looked fixedly at one point evidently\nthinking rapidly.\n\"What shall I do?\" she said, \"if I don't get this nine hun-\ndred rubles he is lost and I and the children with him. Shall\nI kill this monster, or shall I throw myself on my knees before\nher?\"\nThe lady pressed the handkerchief to her face and started\nto cry.\n\"I beg of you,\" she sobbed, \"you have ruined my husband\nand wrecked his life, do save him. ... I know you do not\nfeel pity for him, but the children, think of the children. . . .\nWhy should those innocent children suffer also?\"\nPasha thought of those little children, standing on a street\ncorner crying with hunger, and she herself started to cry.\n\"What can I do, dear lady?\" she asked with a gesture of\nhelplessness, \"you say that I am a beast, and that I wrecked\nNikolai Petrowitch. But I swear to you before God that I\nnever had any financial advantages from him. In our chorus\nMotja is the only one who has a rich lover. We others are\nstarving half of the time. Nikolai Petrowitch is a fine and\nwell dressed gentleman, and so I received him. We cannot\nbe very fastidious in our choice. . . .\"\n\"I am asking you for those things! Give them to me. I am\ncrying. ... I am lowering myself. If you wish me to do so,\nI will throw myself at your feet. Please! . . . Please?\"\nPasha screamed in fright. She felt that this pale beautiful\nlady who was talking like the leading woman in the theatre\nwas ready to kneel before her in her pride, in her nobility, in\norder to humiliate herself and to humiliate the actress.\n\"Very well then, I shall give you the things!\" exclaimed\nPasha hustily, drying her tears. \"Here, please. They are not\nfrom Nikolai Petrowitch. I received them from other gentle-\nmen. But as you please. . . .\"\nPasha again opened the drawer of her dresser and handed\nto the lady a diamond brooch, several rings and several neck-\nlaces.\n\"Take this, take these too, and take these, though from your\nhusband I have never received anything. Here, take them all,\nand make yourself rich!\" continued Pasha, offended by the\nthreatened prostration at her feet.\n\"But if you are such a fine lady . . . his own wife, better try\nto keep him with you. I surely did not call him. He came\nhimself. . . .\"\nThe lady looked through her tears over the jewelry spread\non the table and said: \"This is not all . . . these things are not\neven worth five hundred rubles.\"\nPasha went again to the dresser and quickly threw a gold\nwatch, a cigarette case and a pair of cuff buttons with the other\nthings. She spoke now very resolutely: \"I have no more . . .\nyou can look for yourself!\"\nThe lady sighed, gathered the things with trembling hands\nin her handkerchief, and walked out. She did not asy a word,\nshe did not even nod her head.\nThe door to the next room opened and in came Polpakow.\nHe was pale and he shook his head nervously as if he had\ntaken a bitter drink. In his eyes glistened tears.\n\"What are those things that you are supposed to have given\nme?\" Pasha turned on him. 'When, if I may ask, did you give\nme these things?\"\n\"Things. . . . Nonsense!\" answered Kolpakow, shaking his\nhead. \"My God, she has cried before you, she has humiliated\nherself. . . .\"\n\"I ask you, what are these presents that you are supposed to\nhave given me?\" screamed Pasha.\n\"My God, she, the pure, the noble, the proud woman. . . .\nat the feet of this creature she would even have thrown her-\nself! My doings have brought her to this! I have permitted\nit.\"\nHe grasped his head with his hands and groaned:\n\"Never, never shall I forgive myself. Never: Begone, you\nbeast,\" and he looked with contempt at Pasha, while his trem-\nbling hands thrust her far away from him. \"She wanted to\nthrow herself upon her knees and . . . before whom? Before\nyou! Oh my God!\"\nHe dressed himself quickly. He carefully avoided touching\nPasha and left the house.\nPasha threw herself in a chair and cried loudly. She was\nsorry that she had given away her jewelry in the excitement\nof the moment. The whole scene seemed to her very offensive.\nShe recalled how a merchant had beaten her three years ago\nwithout any apparent reason and she cried much louder.\n\n(Translated by Guido Bruno)"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c021", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c021", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1194", "page_fin": "1194", "image_debut": 8, "image_fin": 8, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.18", "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": 8, "page_imprimee": "1194", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 5343, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6009, "texte": "OSCAR WILDE'S\nImpressions of America\nedited with an introduction by Stuart Mason.\nOne of the original 500 copies printed.\nThis book, written by Oscar Wilde upon his return from\nthat memorable lecture tour through America, contains\nsome of the finest characterizations of America, as Wilde\nsaw it. He hits mercilessly and he praises effusively. In\nthe appendix is an interesting collection of newspaper\ninterviews with Wilde.\nIt is a rare Wilde item, published by one of Wilde's oldest\nfriends and his bibliographer.\nOnly a few copies left which will be sent to those whose orders\nreach us at first for $1.00 postpaid.\nSCHULTE'S BOOK STORE\n132 E. 23rd Street\nNew York"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c022", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c022", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1194", "page_fin": "1194", "image_debut": 8, "image_fin": 8, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.19", "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": 8, "page_imprimee": "1194", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 6011, "fin_caractere_exclue": 6362, "texte": "THE ONLY PRIVATE SCHOOL IN OUR VILLAGE\nMiss Cornelia Kingsland Barsow will re-open her school at\nTwenty-seven West Eleventh Street, on Thursday, October\n12th, for children between five and fourteen years of age.\nFIVE TEACHERS—ManuaI and Art Work—FRENCH.\nThere prevails a delightful atmosphere of the school-room\nin -a private home.\nRates reasonable. *"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c023", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c023", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1194", "page_fin": "1194", "image_debut": 8, "image_fin": 8, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.20", "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": 8, "page_imprimee": "1194", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 6364, "fin_caractere_exclue": 7067, "texte": "14 Stories by Maupassant,\nfor 35 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\ncolor by Clare Victor Dwiggins. 16mo, stiff dark\ngreen paper cover, rough edges. (196 pages.) New\nYork., M. 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 cataligue of books."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaaq-1916-11-08-01-c024", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01#c024", "volume": "bmtnaaq_1916-11-08_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1194", "page_fin": "1194", "image_debut": 8, "image_fin": 8, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.2.21", "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": 8, "page_imprimee": "1194", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 7069, "fin_caractere_exclue": 7198, "texte": "R. EDERHEIMER\nPRINT CABINET\n366 FIFTH AVE., NEW YORK\nOriginal Drawings by Old Masters\nALL APPRECIATIVE VISITORS CORDIALLY INVITED"}]}], "pages_ocr_originales": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.1", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nTen Cents\nNovember 8th, 1916\n\nTHE PASSING OF THE GARRET"}, {"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "[1188]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.2", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nEdited by Guido Bruno in His Garret on Washington Square\nNo. 21.\nNOVEMBER Bth, MCMXVI\nVol. 11l\nCopyright 1916 by Guido Bruno\n\nThe Passing of Bruno's Garret\nGuido Bruno\n\"J*HE old frame house on the corner of Washington Square South and of Thompson Street, which was known as Bruno's\nGarret, shows no more the big black signs inviting you in white letters to drop in and to see an exhibition of works of\nsome artist or other, or to stop in and listen to some poet read his own poetry.\nThe Garret was closed on November Ist.\nI am not a friend of prospectuses and of announcements. Two years ago I conceived the idea of having a place where\nI could publish a magazine whose pages would be open to everybody who has something to say, whose walls would welcome\nthe paintings and drawings any artist would choose to bring to it; a place where poets could come and read their poetry to\nan audience that had strolled in accidentally as had they themselves. I did not send out prospectuses and announcements.\nBut I opened my doors and sent out my invitations and whoever wanted to come came. The Garret became known, at first\nin New York and later all over the United States, and it made friends in England, and Germany, in Austria and France,\nin Italy. The Slavic countries sent their friendly messages and even China and Japan were represented by artists and by\npoets. The war brought over many refugees, artists and writers who came to Bruno's Garret before they went out to make\nthe rounds of art galleries and magazine editors in the city.\nI could fill pages with reminiscences and memories vibrating with the sentiment of obsequies. I could write a book of\nmelancholic sadness in verse libre while leaving these rooms that have become so dear to me. I could picture to you, dear\nreader, in tear-wet words how badly I feel at abandoning the place where I have worked two of the best years of my life.\nIn turn you would feel sad and you would send me a few thoughts of sympathy.\nBut I don't do all this because lam always and always on my way. I have no time to sit beside the road reviewing\nmemories. My past can never pass into my future. My present is the big wall that prevents memories of the past from\nmingling with the dreams of the future.\nI love deeds and no matter if well done or badly done, verily they are better than words.\nAnd so I say, the Garret has fulfilled its mission. Here has been the debut of men and women who have made their\nmark in art and letters since. The Garret has earned its place in the history of contemporary art and letters. It will live in\nthe memory of those who used to gather there. The literature that bears its imprint is the testimony of its spirit.\nEverything I undertook there was done upon its own merit. I never asked for anything without giving value for value.\nI opened up the Garret and I closed it.\nPer aspera ad astra.\n\nThe Rim of the Earth\nRobert Carlton Brown\nme your hand, oh dearest, and we'll run round the rim\nof the earth drawing oxygen deep into our lungs until our\ncheeks are aflame.\nWe'll laugh and love on the way; clutching at stars, sliding\ndown flaming streaks left by shooting meteors; two chil-\ndren on a balustrade.\nShouting our joy from bursting throats, kicking off our shoes\nand racing the length of glaciers, our hot feet leaving\nmelted spots as we run.\nKicking up the burning sands of deserts, cooling our skin in\nclinging fogs.\nTwo big, free human beings, with our bits in our teeth, tossing\nour heads, shaking free of fettering reins.\n\nNietzsche: An Autobiography\n\n[ WAS born on the 15th of October, 1844, on the battlefield of\nLutzen. The first name I remember was that of Gustavus\nAdolphus. My ancestors were Poles belonging to the aristoc-\nracy (Niezky). The type seems to be well preserved, in spite\nof three German mothers. Abroad I am generally taken for\na Pole. In the visitors' list at Nice only this winter I was\nentered as a Pole. They tell me that my head is familiar in\nMatejko's pictures. My grandmother mixed in the Schiller-\nGoethe circles of Weimar; her brother succeeded Herder in\nthe post of Weimer's General-Superintendent. It was my good\nfortune to be a pupil at the celebrated and historic Pforta\nSchool, where so many (Klopstock, Fichte, Schlegel, Ranke,\n&c.) who have added lustre to German literature preceded me.\nWe had teachers who would have been (or have been) credi-\ntable to every University. I next studied in Bonn, later on at\nLeipzig, where the venerable Ritschl, at that time the premier\nphilologist of Germany, singled me out for distinction from the\nfirst. At twenty-two years of age I was a contributor to the\nVitterarisches Centralblatt (edited by Zarncke). The founding\nof the Philological Society of Leipzig, which still exists, orig-\ninated with me. In the winter of 1868-69 the University of\nBale offered me a professorial chair, before I had even been\nmade doctor. Whereupon the Leipzig University did me the\nextraordinary honor of conferring on me the degree of Doctor\nwithout any examination or dissertation being required.\nI stayed at Bale from 1869 till 1879. It became necessary for\nme to give up my rights as a German subject, owing to the fact\nthat as an officer in the Horse Artillery I was too often called\nout and disturbed in my academic duties.\nNevertheless, I understand the use at least of two weapons,\nsabre and cannon, and perhaps I know something about a\nthird. All went smoothly at Bale. It often happened at pro-\nmotion examinations for the Doctorate that the examiner was\nyounger than the examinee! A great advantage I enjoyed\nthere was the genial relations existing between Jakob Burk-\nhardt and myself; something quite unusual on the part of that\nhermit-like thinker, who lived a very retired life.\nAnother still more incalculable advantage was that from\nthe beginning of my residence in Bale a quite unusual intimacy\nsprang up between me and Richard and Cosima Wagner, who\nat that time were living on their country estate, Triebschen, on\nthe lake of Lucerne, as much cut off from all their earlier con-\nnections as if they were on a desert island. For several years\nwe shared every joy and sorrow; a friendship of unbounded\nconfidence. You will find that in Wagner's collected works,\nVol. VII., there is printed an epistle to me apropos of the Birth\nof Tragedy. My relations with them brought me in contact"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "1189", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.3", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nwith a large circle of interesting men and women, in fact, the\nbest society that moves between St. Petersburg and Paris.\nTowards 1876 my health began to decline. I spent a winter in\nSorrento with my old friend Baroness Meysenburg (author of\nMemoiren einer Idealistin) and Dr. Ree, with whom I was then\nin sympathy. It did me no good. An exceedingly painful and\nstubborn form of headache set in that exhausted all my\nstrength. As years went on it increased, and reached such a\nclimax of habitual suffering that the year contained for me at\nthat time two hundred days of torture. The cause of the\nmalady must have been entirely local, as any kind of neuro-\npathological grounds for it were absent. I never had the least\nsign of mental disturbance, no fever, no fainting. My pulse\nwas the whole time as slow as the first Napoleon's (60). My\nspecialty was to endure excruciating pain and cruet vert with\nan absolutely clear brain for two or three days on end, vomit-\ning bile the whole time. A report got wind that I was in an\nasylum (indeed, that I had died there). Nothing could have\nbeen further from the truth. My mind did not really mature\nuntil this frightful time. Evidence of it is Dawn of Day, which\nI wrote in 1881 during a winter of unspeakable wretchedness\nin Genoa, beyond reach of doctors, friends, and relations. I\ncomposed the book with a minimum of health and strength, so\nit stands for a kind of Dynamometer of my powers. From\n1882 onwards I progressed, even if slowly, towards recovery.\nThe crisis was overcome (my father died young, at exactly\nthe same age at which I myself was at death's door). Even\nto-day I have to be extremely careful; certain conditions, cli-\nmatic and meterological, are indispensable. It is not choice,\nbut compulsion, which takes me every summer to the Upper\nEngadine and every winter to the Riviera.\nFinally, this illness has been of the very greatest help to me;\nit has set me free; it has restored me the courage to be myself.\nMy instincts are those of a brave, even of a military, beast.\nThe prolonged struggle has slightly exasperated my pride of\nspirit. After all, am I a philosopher? But what does it mat-\nter ?\nAttached to a letter to Brandes dated, April 25, 1888. n.;\n\nNietzsche as a Youth\n\nNietzsche as Man\n\nFriedrich Nietzsche\n\nSplitting the Ears of the Groundlings\nMomus\n(Theatrical Criticism)\nJDEAS, real new, original ideas are scarce in American come-\ndies. Every once in two years an author has an idea and\ninvariably a curious phenomenon appears; the same identical\nnew and original idea is conceived synonymously and suddenly\nat the same time by somebody else. I wonder if the idea had\nbeen lying in the air ? Or is it possible that our authors are*\nat a loss where to take without stealing? Qui lo sa? . .\nHowever this may be it surely has happened this very season\nthat a new idea or better, a little comedy motive, was born\ntwins in Come out of the Kitchen,\" the comedy dramatization\nof Alice Duer Miller's novel of the same name, at present in\nthe George Cohan Theatre, and in \"Good Gracious Anna-?,\nbelle!\" by Clare Kummer in the Republic Theatre. The latter\npiece has even a more impossible development of this motive\nthan the one dramatized by A. F. Thomas' master hand; quite;\na number of people belonging to the better class take service1\namong the servants of a rich summer household, the cook beingi\nthe instigator of this translation, becoming dangerous to rich\nmen. Notwithstanding the fact that this second piece appeared\nseveral weeks after the first performance of \"Come Out of the\nKitchen\" it received a warm welcome; in fact it is one of the\ngreat laugh producers of the season. Clare Kummer was very\nhappy in the choice of her merry dialogue. The caste includ-\ning Ruth Chatterton and her very attractive new leading man,\nLola Fischer, May Vokes and Walter Hampden, know how\nto make the best of their parts.\nWilliam Hodge, who brought back to New York this truly\nAmerican dry humor, and this time into Maxine Elliott's\nTheatre, naturally also brought a comedy with him that is,\nof couise like Caesar's wife, high above all suspicion. He\nwrites his comedies hirnself and takes care, unselfishly one\nthat he is, that a certain comedian of his very close acquain-\ntance, whom he sees every day in his mirror, does not receive\nany other part than the very one that suits him as snugly as\nhis exquisitively tailored afternoon suits. \"Fixing Sister,\" his\nnew play, is the non plus ultra of all the William Hodge\npreludes. One hears and sees in it nothing but William\nHodge, who has thrown all the good lines he could possibly\nlay his hands on into his own part. The whole seems to be\none long monologue of and from William Hodge. All those\nwho cannot get enough of William Hodge will surely be highlv\npleased with \"Fixing Sister.\"\nIn the Fulton Theatre there arose a play whose authors,\nGrant Stewart and Robert Baker, must have a lot of courage!\nIgnoring the terrible impressions received daily in the trans-\nAtlantic cables from the seat of war, they discover the comical\nof the great conquest, a sort of light opera comique. In\nreminiscence of that play by Bernard Shaw which also ended\non the light opera stage it was called \"Arms and the Girl.\"\nHere too German officers are acting parts but unlike William\nHodge, they would not recognize themselves in their mirror.\nJohn Drew under a new management of John D. Williams\nmade a very good impression in the title part of \"Major\nPendennis\" (from Thackeray's celebrated novel), at the Cri-\nterion Theatre. Langdon Mitchell reflects in his new stage\nversion of the novel a good deal of Thackeray's spirit. There\nis also a great deal of \"Major Pendennis\" in John Drew's\nexcellent make-up and in the fine interpretation of his part.\nBrandon Tynan, Helen McKellar, Allison Skipworth, Helen\nMencken and Lester Loncryan played the other prominent parts\nstill better, in fact exceedingly interestingly and well.\nCyril Maude's Inane Comedy\nI would much rather see the interesting arrangement of\nscenes frorn Thackeray than the so-called play that Cyril\nMaude has imported from London for the time allotted to him\nat the Empire Theatre: \"The Basker\" by Clifford Mills. It\nis an inane polite comedy of the kind that drives critics to\ndrink, that which induced Bernard Shaw to write his own\ncomedies as an antidote for incipient progressive paralysis.\nWe thought this type of play extinct, like the late Dodo, and\nto our astonishment we have heard that it made a tremendous\nsuccess in London. But then—London turns to almost any di-\nversion forget her fear of the Zeppelins. Cyril Maude\nplays the titled idler, as indolent as any ever made in England\nbefore the war. The part is ridiculous and does not serve to\nheighten his reputation."}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "1190", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.4", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nFrank Harris' Magazine Barred from\nCanada\nGuido Bruno\n\nOEARSON'S MAGAZINE ceased to be Pearson's Magazine\nto its readers on that memorable day that Frank Harris,\nthe greatest editor of America in the real sense of the word,\ndecided to take over its editoriship. In an article that will\nappear in one of the forthcoming issues of this journal I will\nspeak about Frank Harris as an editor, into to the so-\ncalled editors at large in New York. Today I wish only to\npoint out that this untiring fighter for freedom of letters and\nof mind had to pay his fine to England, which took its pound\nin a drastic, a most intolerable way. Frank Harris' fights\nagainst English prudery, against English hypocrisy and espe-\ncially against tradition-sanctioned flimflamming of the popu-\nlace, has never been contrasted with his benign love (or every-\nthing that is real English, with his love for the beautiful that\nEngland gave to the world through its poets, its writers and\nits artists.\nHe has never been credited with the priceless services he\nhad rendered to England and to the world through his fine\ndiscrimination of what is good, of eternal value and of those\nthings that no one else of his contemporaries has dared to\nchampion.\nHow many celebrities of whom England boasts today saw the\nlight of the world a score and a half years ago in the columns\nof the magazines he edited and owned in England? Genius\nis in need today as a thousand years ago of a Moecenas and of\na discoverer. One man who dares to lead the obscure man\ninto the limelight of publicity, of fame and of attacks. The\nman who dares to proclaim: \"Here is a man who has done\nsomething noteworthy. Here is his work. I know it is good.\nTherefore I give it to you. You top someday will say, 'it is\ngood.' And posterity will agree with me.\"\nFrank Harris published in his masterpiece, his book \"Oscar\nWilde and his Confessions,\" not only his very own opinions\nabout the .attitude of English courts and of Englishmen at\nlarge against Oscar Wilde, the artist and the man, but he also\npublished there a stenographic report of this court proceedings.\nThe Englishman likes to preach but he hates to practice his\npreachments. He does not permit an argument about tradi-\ntions and about the accepted code of morality. The rebel of\nmind who is not a prophet of a new creed but who fights for\nthe very same old creed in its real own meaning, who endeav-\nors to tear off the British cloak of hypocrisy, and especially the\nman who dares to disclose to the readers of penny papers the\nhuman side of the heroes of sixpence periodicals must be\nsilenced forever. If he is out of reach of English jurisdiction,\nhis voice must be muzzled, even if it is raised to uphold hu-\nmanity, to prevent nameless cruelty to fellowmen.\nFrank Harris brought a new spirit into the old dry theory-\nridden Pearson's Magazine. He gathered a few promising\nyouths around him. He lent his ear to the enthusiast, so rare\nin the tohu-wabohu of our commercial surroundings. He con-\nsidered the grave voices of experienced fighters for an econo-\nmic freedom. He borrowed the photographer's art as well as\nthe daring dash of a future artist's brush for the pages of good\nold Pearson's.\nAnd now after Pearson's has become Frank Harris personified,\nwith all his love for humanity, with his spirit to fight unequali-\nty, with his heart that feels the pains of all nations alike,\nEngland realized that the food Frank Harris gave to its Cana-\ndian subjects was of another substance than the canned goods\nits officials open whenever they decree that time has come for\na repast. A government that supervises so carefully and dili-\ngently its war news factories cannot permit a voice of a Frank\nHarris in its realms. But this voice will be the voice in the\nwilderness. Its power and its indisputable truthfulness will\nleave deserts, places where there are now thousands doped\nand knouted into willingness to listen and to believe.\nIt is not Pearson's Magazine that England objects to being\ncirculated in Canada. It is the voice of Frank Harris that\nBritain wishes to muzzle.\n\nFrank Harris, by Ferguson\n\nRussian Secret Service\nGuido Bruno\nCubed and Futured by Sadakichi Hartmann\n(Scene: Private office in Police Headquarters.)\nPRESIDENT OF POLICE: If you join our forces and\ndecide to be a detective instead of a revolutionist, you will be\nfreed immediately! Otherwise you will be hanged today!\nYour death-warrant is as good as signed.\nREVOLUTIONIST: All right, I accept!\nLIEUTENANT OF POLICE (thinking for himself) : I\nhave to report this immediately to the revolutionary committee!\nSuch a wretched traitor!\nPRESIDENT OF POLICE: We are offering you 1,000 rubles\nif you betray to us the plots of all the assassinations planned\nat present.\nPOLICE SARGEANT (thinking for himself): O, Lord: if\nhe only does not betray me!\nREVOLUTIONIST: They are preparing to kill the village\npriest.\nPOLICE SARGEANT (thinking): Blessed be the Lord: he\ndoesn't seem to know anything about our plot!\nREVOLUTIONIST: Dimitri Nicolaitsch was chosen to kill\nhim.\nPOLICEMAN AT THE DOOR (thinking): He evidently\nknows what he is talking about. The name is correct.\nREVOLUTIONIST: Everything will be ready tomorrow\nevening at 8 o'clock. Then the priest will be killed.\nPRESIDENT'S SECRETARY (thinking) : In yesterday's\nmeeting we postponed it till the day after tomorrow.\nPRESIDENT OF POLICE (in terrible rage, to the revolu-\ntionist) : Ha! Scoundrel! So you are going to betray the\nplans of our revolution! To hell with you! (He fires a shot\nwithout injuring him.)\nREVOLUTIONIST: Place him under arrest!! I am the\nSecretary of Police!\nA SCRUBBING WOMAN: Then you must die! (Throw-\ning herself against his big frame she buries a stilletto in his\nheart.)\nPOLICEMAN AT THE DOOR (trying to overpower her) :\nNikolisch! What did you do that for! (The house is blown\ninto the air because the letter-carrier stumbled over a bomb as\nhe came through the main entrance.)\n\nMax Nardau\nA large share of the blame for the frequent tragical con-\nflicts between natural sentiments and conventional con-\nstraints is due to the prevailing conception of morality\nwhich is a consequence of Christianity; it is monstrous, it\nis illogical. This system of morality could not last an hour\nif it were not that in private all human beings, all, without\nexception, set it aside as tranquilly as if it did not exist."}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "1191", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.5", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nRoomer's Moving Day\nGuido Bruno\n'Y'ODAY I am sitting in the empty room. My own belong-\nings are in my new quarters and I am saying good-bye:\nGood-bye to the big broad bed that I loved because of the\nhours of worry and trouble that threw me upon it. Good-bye\nto the table where I used to sit and to write ; good-bye to the\neasy chair in which I used to sit and to indulge in my most\nbeloved thoughts. The mirror I view with sadness. Each\nmirror is dear to me because it saw me often as no other mir-\nror will ever see me again. If I were rich I would smash it\nto pieces. I would melt the splinters and out of the many in\nthe course of time broken and melted mirrors I would have my\ncoffin made.\nThe jasmine bush which gave me its flowers and its odor at\nthe time I moved in, is losing its leaves. They are red and\nyell ow with ugly wrinkles, waiting upon the dying and sad\nlawn for the broom or the wind that will sweep them away.\nIt is hardly six o'clock and the lantern in front of my house\nslighted and diffuses an atmosphere of lilac and of death. I\nam sitting at my window and I am looking out. I am looking\nover the near-by trees, over the farther away houses into the\nfields on the far horizon. I see black darkness, sad night.\nWhen it becomes cosy and warm and snug wherever men\nlive in solitude or in gatherings, when they look forward in\nhappy expectation to the long eves of winter with glistening\ngrate fires; when sweet hopes fill their hearts and memories\nappear as welcome visitors; when radiant life-loving feasts\nare near and when they think of the serene sacred glimmer\nof candles in dark green Christmas trees; of the gladness and\nthe love that they will receive and that they will give. . . .\nWhen the angels of love and happiness are approaching:\nThen I bundle up my belongings and am gone—am gone.\nWhence? I do not know. But from there, too, wherever it\nmay be, it will drive me away if happiness should send mes-\nsengers of its approach.\nIt will drive me away, the homeless one, the gypsy, the\npariah of the nations.\n\nSongs of Life and Death\nBy Rainer Maria Rilke\nII\nis talking about his mother. Evidently a German.\nSlowly and loudly he sets his words. Like a girl gather-\ning flowers for a bouquet, trying meditatively flower after\nflower, not knowing yet how the whole will look—thus he\nchoose his words. For joy? For sorrow? All listen attentively.\nThey even stop spitting because they are all gentlemen who\nknow what is proper. And even he who never understood\nGerman in this gathering, knows it all at once. He senses\nsome of the words: ''In the evening\" . . . \"When I was small.\"\nIII\n'JpHEY all begin to feel nearer one to the other—these gentle-\nmen who came from France and from Britain, from the\nmountains of Russia, from the valleys of Tyrol, from the Bo-\nhemian plains and from Emperor William. Because what\nthis one relates, they all have experienced and have felt just\nas deeply.\nAs though there were only one mother. . . .\n(Editor's Translation)\n- \" \\\n\nThe Washington Square front of the late Bruno's Garret\n\nA Society Sketch\nCubed and Futured by Sadakichi Hartmann\nQNCE more the Roman nose feigned hospitality in the sub-\nterranean halls of a social caravansery.\nAt the narrow portals, oh so red, stood a dark slave and\nshouted.\nInside Mme. Ingenue, quite brown, lay on a table and dis-\nplayed her charms of wealth.\nAnd the chambers of bad taste—into which Orphism not\nVorticism will ne'er enter—were deluged with black bipeds\nwhose breasts looked like silver armor.\nPendants of jewels, green by gosh, balanced on huge forti-\nfied spheres, at which wicked eyes in white stocks and masks\nof variegated paint smiled in vanity.\nAnd the clairvoyant jackass, the negroid palmist, and the\ninterpreter of slate sherds and spherical trusses, sighed for the\nfaded and fading buff colored fruit.\nThe flanky fool of society contemplated and grinned while\ntwo arduous eyes, oh so navy, shot their post- and neo- into the\ntrenches, and he felt shyer than the dangling legs of a damozel\nin orange, in the adjoining den with its nocturnal suggestions.\nAnd the mixture of many nations ate and drank mixtures\nnear a storage house of curiosities, and the jubilation arose high\non silly waves, as voices in shallow imitations of life shrieked\nthrough rushes bending and swaying under flirtation cachou'd\nbreath. :-\nAnd when all idlers had passed away into the purple night,\nMme. Ingenue swallowed eight sandwiches, oh so painfully,\nthe Roman nose laughed like a rabbit, and the arduous eyes\nand the lanky came to a platonic:; understanding."}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "1192", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.6", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nBooks and Magazines of the Week\nTHE reaction is beginning to set in. 1915 and 1916 were\nmagazine years par excellence. Never before since the\nfamous Nineties with its period of Elbert Hubbard and imi-\ntators and the Chicago Chap Books and imitators has man in\nAmerica felt so strongly the insufficiency of the so-called\nnational magazines. Never before has the necessity seemed\nso great for literary journals that would serve as organs of\nself-expression and not as advertising mediums exclusively.\nLittle individual mouthpieces of men and of groups sprang up\nin all parts of the country.\nAnd now autumn has arrived! Not only in nature but in\nthe hearts of those young enthusiasts who had cared so little\nfor their own personal gain that they went out and gathered\ntheir pennies and founded magazines of their own.\nBeautiful to look upon are the richly colored leaves as you\nwalk out into the glory of an October morn. The dewdrops\nare sparkling in the brilliance of the golden rays that have\nfound their way through clouds and vapor.\nBut the leaves are dead. They are resplendent with the\nhonor of their achievements. They have fulfilled their mission\nlike heroes who have lived, who have died: They have given\nshade to us, they have blossomed for us, they have given us\ntheir fruits; they have granted refuge to the ugly crawling\ncaterpillars, they have given honey to the beautiful butterflies.\nThey have sheltered birds and opened out their branches for\ntheir nests and caressed lovingly the little white and speckled\neggs; they have given the first foothold to the young helpless\nbirds.\nThey have endured the heat of midsummer, the thirst of the\ndry dog days and they have waited until kind autumn winds\nblew from their foliage the dust that had annoyed them while\nmen passed by in their happy and gay attire. They have drunk\nto their fill of the refreshing rains . . . and now, vested in\ntheir ragalia of achievement, with their yellow of gold, with\ntheir purple of blood and of royalty, with their brown of\nMother Earth: they are awaiting for death.\nThey feel how their stems lose more and more of their con-\ntact with the branches of the mother tree. Rhythmically they\nrock to and fro to the melodies of zephyrs, of breezes, of\nwinds and of storms. Sadly they watch their brothers fall, fall\nfrom loftiness down to earth where color beauties vanish so\nquickly, where their rustle under the feet of passersby is the\nlast message of the dead leaves to the vanity of the world.\nThese little magazines which have taken their flight into the\nworld in their green and yellow and red covers are sending\nout their death messages. They have sung of joy and of free-\ndom. They have fought against the fallacies, they have con-\nquered foes, real and imaginary. They have helped to dig a\ngrave for hypocrisy and hatred and they have thrown to the\nwinds seeds of love and the winds have carried them here and\nthere and have dropped them where hearts love flowers.\nThe little magazines cared naught for the ways of the world.\nThey were only but well prepared to fight for love with love.\nMonster Money scoffs at love. It cannot conquer love, it cannot\ncrush love, it cannot extinguish love. But it can isolate love.\nThe little magazines had sung their songs. To sing them\nagain would have been repetition. To be able to sing them\nagain would have necessitated concessions to Monster Money.\nAnd so they lost their happily colored foliage and grew slim-\nmer and slimmer and then\nThey come no more.\nThe Minaret\nIt one of those little sheets which are fighting at present\nfor existence. We hope that The Minaret will survive and\ncontinue to give us its heart-refreshing poems, its well and\nbenevolently written criticisms, its translations from many lan-\nguages of things beautiful and worth while.\nIn Which\nNorman-Bell Geddes followed the example set by his dis-\ntinguished contemporary, the \"Little Review\" and emigrated to\nsunny California. He will direct there his \"Theatre of To-\nmorrow\" and will edit also his little magazine, a gladly heard\nmonthly voice of his achievements in art, literature, in thea-\ntricals and other things.\nThe Phoenix\nMichael Monahan has discovered after several years of pain-\nful doubt that Frank Harris is a Welshman without the slight-\nest infusion of Semitic blood, and therefore he hands him an\narmful of long withheld laurels. \"Balzac the Lover\" is the\nleading article of the October issue and is a valuable contri-\nbution to our knowledge of the real Balzac.\nIf you are not yet acquainted with \"The Phoenix,\" write to\nSouth Norwalk, Conn., and ask its editor for a sample copy.\nIf you have a taste for \"Life and Letters,\" you will give to\nMichael Monahan your friendship and your love.\nThe Poetry Review\nThe Publishers' Budget, containing a list of autumn publica-\ntions of new poetry, is an ably written price list of books issued\nby publishers whose names one may see as chief advertisers\nin our book trade journals (called euphemistically literary\nsupplements, etc.). The current issue also contains well writ-\nten advertisements of the \"Anthology of Magazine Verse\" edi-\nted by the editor of The Poetry Review and an announcement\nof The Contemporary American Poet Series, published by The\nPoetry Review Company. Then there is an open letter \"To1\nYou—Our Friends\" asking for the subscriptions of their friends\nin order to avoid losing twenty cents per subscriber each year.\nA noteworthy array of publishers' advance notices and of\npuffs of recently issued and newly forthcoming books com-\npletes the sixteen pages of the October issue printed on heavy\negg shell paper in big very readable type with a good black\nink.\nThe Poetry Review claims to be the representative of Ameri-\ncan contemporary poetry.\n\nIn Our Village\nRED and yellow turned the leaves of our old wide-spreading\ntrees. Mild autumn winds with their sad melancholy\nmelody blew them from the branches, the brown-clad guards\nof Washington Square swept them in nice heaps and the old\nwhite horse, known to every child of the neighborhood, waits\npatiently in front of its cart on sidewalks and lawns until it\nhears the familiar \"go on.\" Slowly it moves on to the next\npile, as if it knows that it carries the once luscious green leaves\nto their last resting-place. The fountains are wrapped up\nwith straw, the benches deserted save in the afternoon sun—\nwinter is coming. Like heroes stripped of their armor the trees\nlift their branches toward heaven. Little clouds passing quickly\nlike zealous couriers send their nicest winds with a message\nof love and hope down to them. And as the knight of yore\ninclined graciously and bowed slightly when his lady nodded\ntheir twigs sway to the welcome melody, their branches whis-\nper the message and the trunks resound.\nHave you ever put your ear close to a tree and listened to\nthe surr-surr and huiii-huiii as it passes down to its roots deep\nunder the ground? I have. I wish that I knew the language\nof trees. It sounded so cheery and confiding. \"It is winter,\"\nit meant to me, \"but not winter in our hearts. What does it\nmatter that we change our clothes, what does it matter that\nthe leaves—that the nice shady leaves are gone? Beautiful\nwhite snow will cover us soon and its little crystals will glitter\nin the sun and spring will come . . . and they will bud again.\"\nThere is no other community in New York where the popu-\nlation is so constantly floating and so quickly shifted as in\nGreenwich Village. You think you know the Square because\nyou lived there last year. And now, returning from your camp\nor from your summer residence or from the suburb where you\nspent the last months, you come to that house where you still\nkeep your studio or where you have secured quarters for your-\nself and you see new faces. They perhaps moved in yesterday,\nand they seem to belong to the place as though they had lived\nthere for years. They will be gone tomorrow and they won't\nleave a trace or a personal impression to tell the story of their\nsojourn.\nAnd then those men and women on the street in a garb which\narrests your eye—it may be a flying necktie—of the woman,\nplease—men do not wear artists* bows any more. They seem\nto acquire with the long hair the neatness also peculiar to the\nfemale sex—all healthy girls with red cheeks and eyes radiant"}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "1193", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.7", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\n\nwith expectancy and enthusiasm—and with bobbed hair. And\nsome of them really look like men in their felt hats and man-\nlike cut sack suits; you can see them flocking into Pepe's real\nestate office. Pepe has a monopoly of the artists and literary\nmen dwelling in Greenwich Village. He knows every cubby-\nhole high up under the roof of a forgotten factory building on\nthe outskirts of the Square, and he also knows how to transform\nthem into \"studios.\" And ah—what prices he does know to\ncharge! He sends the new arrivals from the country—artists\nand would-be-artists who have saved their pennies for a year\nin Greenwich Village on their tiresome road to find a \"home.\"\nHave you ever been there yourself? A list of addresses in\nyour hand, wandering from house-door to house-door, looking\nat studios or rooms or apartments? No more heart-sickening\nand disappointing task is in store for us than this disheartening\nsearch for living quarters. If we like one place, we can't afford\nto rent it; we stumble against one that just suits us and suits\nour pocket-book, we congratulate ourselves on our good luck\nand then we learn that some other luckier being had not only\nrented it an hour ago, but also had left a deposit to substan-\ntiate the deal. And with the first shadows of the dying day\nour spirits reach that point below zero where we don't care\na rap and we ring the bell of a house and tell ourselves, \"If\nthere are quarters here that cost so much and so much, I'll take\nthem.\"\nAnd so they settle and are happy and contented, and start\nout with enthusiasm, and Greenwich Village once more fulfills\nits mission as it has done for the last one hundred years, since\nthe memorable day when Tom Paine hunted for lodging in\nthe dreamy, sunny hamlet, nearly two miles away from the\nNew York of those days to live here the quiet life of a hermit\nin the company of Madame Bonville and her two sons.\n\nThe Chorus Girl\nBy Anton Tschekov\n\nthis happened long ago. She was younger and nicer in\nthose days. Nikolai Petrowitch Kolpakow, her admirer,\nwas visiting her in her country home. It was unbearably hot\nand humid. Kalpakow had finished his noonday meal, and had\ndrunk a whole bottle of bad port wine; he did not feel very\nwell and was in a bad mood. Both were bored, waiting for\nthe cooler evening to take a walk.\nSuddenly the doorbell rang. Kolpakow was in his shirt\nsleeves. He jumped up from his seat and looked questioningly\nat Pasha.\n\"Maybe it is the letter carrier, or perhaps a girl friend,\"\nsaid the actress.\nKolpakow didn't mind in the least Pasha's girl friends nor\nthe letter carrier. But to be sure he picked up his coat and\nwent into the next room while Pasha went out to open the\ndoor.\nTo her great surprise it was not the letter carrier, nor one\nof her friends, but a young and beautiful lady, handsomely\ndressed in a refined style; she looked like a \"good\" woman.\nThe stranger was pale and breathing heavily as if she had\nascended several flights of stairs.\n\"What is it you wish?\" asked Pasha.\nThe lady did not answer immediately. She entered the\nroom, glanced with curious looks over the furniture. She ap-\npeared to be in pain. It was some time before she had com-\nposed herself and was able to speak. She took a seat.\n\"Is my husband here?\" she asked finally, raising her eyes\nwhich were red from crying.\n\"Whose husband?\" asked Pasha, and she became suddenly\nso frightened that her hands and feet grew cold. \"Whose\nhusband?\" she repeated, trembling with emotion.\n\"My husband, Nikolai Petrowitch Kolpakow.\"\n\"No, . . . madam . . . I . . I never knew a husband.\"\nA few minutes of silence lapsed. The lady repeatedly wiped\nher eyes with a lace handkerchief. Pasha had not dared to\nsit down. She looked at her visitor frightened and helplessly.\n\"You maintain then that he is not here?\" asked the lady with\na firm voice and a curious smile.\n\"I ... I do not know whom you mean.\"\n\"You vulgar low woman . . ~\" murmured the lady, looking\nwith hatred and contempt at Pasha. \"Yes, yes . . . you are a\nvulgar woman and I am happy, very happy that I have finally\na chance to tell you so face to face!\"\nPasha felt that she must have impressed this lady in black\nvery vulgarly and she began to be ashamed of her painted red\ncheeks, of the freckles that covered her nose and of the bangs\nflowing gaily over her forehead. It seemed to her that if she\nhad happened to be slender without paint and powder and\nbangs it would have been easier for her to conceal that she\nwas a \"bad\" woman. She could have met her on equal terms,\nand she would even have dared to sit on the chair on the other\nside of the table.\n\"Where is my husband?\" asked the lady again. \"But it does\nnot matter whether he is here or not. I simply want to tell\nyou that embezzlements have been discovered and that they are\nlooking for Nikolai Petrowitch. They are going to arrest him.\nAnd that is your work!\"\nThe lady arose and paced the room in great excitement.\nPasha looked at her in astonishment. She could not grasp\nwhat all this meant.\n\"Today he will be found and arrested,\" said the lady, crying\nand sobbing. \"I know who led him on to all this, you vulgar\nugly woman! You low creature,\" her face expressed the con-\ntempt she felt for Pasha. It looked as if she would spit in her\nface the next moment. \"I am powerless . . . Do you hear me,\nyou beastly woman? ... I am helpless, you are stronger than\nI am, but there is One who is going to take care of me and\nmy children! God sees everything! He is just! He will\nrepay you for all my tears, all my sleepless nights! The time\nwill come when you will remember me!\"\nAgain there was a long silence. The lady walked up and\ndown while Pasha stared at her; she could not understand and\nexpected momently that something dreadful would happen.\n\"I know nothing of all this, madam,\" she said, and com-\nmenced to cry heart-breakingly.\n\"You lie!\" cried the lady. \"I know everything. I have\nknown you for a long while. I know that there has not been\na day during the last four months that he did not spend with\nyou!\"\n\"Yes? And what of it? What is there wrong in that? A\ngood many come to see me and to visit with me. I do not\nurge them to come. They come of their own free will.\"\n\"I am telling you that they have discovered an embezzlement.\nHe stole money from his office. For your sake . . . for the\nsake of such a woman as you are he committed a crime. Lis-\nten,\" resumed the lady very decisively stopping squarely in\nfront of Pasha. \"You cannot have principles, you who live\nonly to wrong others. That is all that you desire. But I\ncannot believe that you are such a low woman that you have\neven lost your last spark of humanity. He has a wife, he has\nchildren. ... If they sentence him and send him to Siberia,\nI and the children must starve . . . try to understand this! But\nstill there remains one way to save us from misery and dis-\nhonor. If I can make good and deposit today nine hundred\nrubles, he will not be prosecuted. Nine hundred rubles only!\"\n\"Nine hundred rubles?\" asked Pasha quietly. \"I don't know\nanything about nine hundred rubles. I haven't received them.\"\n\"I do not beg of you nine hundred rubles. You have no\nmoney and I do not need your money. I ask for something\nentirely different. . . . Men are in the habit of giving girls\nlike you jewelry. Return to me the things my husband gave\nyou!\"\n\"He never gave me jewelry, madam,\" cried Pasha, who had\nbegun to understand.\n\"Where is the money? He has squandered his own, mine\nand other people's money. .. . Listen, I beg of you! I have\nbeen overcome by all this and I called you a great many\nunpleasant things but I beg you to forgive me. You must hate\nme, I know it. And if you are capable of pity, try to put\nyourself into my own place. I implore you, give me back\nthose things!\"\n\"Hm .. .\" said Pasha, and shrugged her shoulders. \"I\nwould do it with pleasure but may God punish me if he ever\ngave me presents. Please do believe me. But you are right,\"\nthe actress corrected herself embarrassedly, \"once he brought\nme these two things, I gladly give them back to you if you wish\nthem. . . .\"\nPasha opened the drawer of her dresser and handed to her\nvisitor a thin gold bracelet and a little ring with a red stone.\nThe lady flushed and every muscle in her face seemed to\nvibrate. She was offended."}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "1194", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaaq19161108-01.1.8", "texte": "BRUNO'S WEEKLY\nBruno's Weekly, published weekly by Bruno's Weekly, Inc., at No. 10 Fifth Avenue, New York City. Edited\nand written by Guido Bruno. Subscription $2 a year.\nEntered as second class matter at the Post Office of New York, N. Y., October 14th, 1915, under the Act\nof March 3d, 1897.\n\n\"What are you giving me?\" she said. \"I do not ask for\nalms, but for that which is not yours, what you induced my\nhusband, the poor unhappy creature, to give you, you who\nknow how to take advantage of such situations. Thursday as\nI met you with my husband on the Avenue, you wore expensive\nbrooches and rings. You don't need to play for my benefit the\npart of an innocent lamb. For the last time I ask of you, will\nyou return those things to me or not?\"\n\"How comical you are . . ~\" said Pasha, who felt quite\noffended. \"I assure you that your Nikolai Petrowitch never\ngave me anything but this bracelet and this ring. He brought\nonly cake \"\n\"Cake . . ~\" laughed the lady in a strangely shrill voice, \"at\nhome the children have nothing to bite and here you feast on\ncake. So you refuse to return to me those things?\"\nShe did not receive an answer. She seated herself in a com-\nfortable rocking-chair and looked fixedly at one point evidently\nthinking rapidly.\n\"What shall I do?\" she said, \"if I don't get this nine hun-\ndred rubles he is lost and I and the children with him. Shall\nI kill this monster, or shall I throw myself on my knees before\nher?\"\nThe lady pressed the handkerchief to her face and started\nto cry.\n\"I beg of you,\" she sobbed, \"you have ruined my husband\nand wrecked his life, do save him. ... I know you do not\nfeel pity for him, but the children, think of the children. . . .\nWhy should those innocent children suffer also?\"\nPasha thought of those little children, standing on a street\ncorner crying with hunger, and she herself started to cry.\n\"What can I do, dear lady?\" she asked with a gesture of\nhelplessness, \"you say that I am a beast, and that I wrecked\nNikolai Petrowitch. But I swear to you before God that I\nnever had any financial advantages from him. In our chorus\nMotja is the only one who has a rich lover. We others are\nstarving half of the time. Nikolai Petrowitch is a fine and\nwell dressed gentleman, and so I received him. We cannot\nbe very fastidious in our choice. . . .\"\n\"I am asking you for those things! Give them to me. I am\ncrying. ... I am lowering myself. If you wish me to do so,\nI will throw myself at your feet. Please! . . . Please?\"\nPasha screamed in fright. She felt that this pale beautiful\nlady who was talking like the leading woman in the theatre\nwas ready to kneel before her in her pride, in her nobility, in\norder to humiliate herself and to humiliate the actress.\n\"Very well then, I shall give you the things!\" exclaimed\nPasha hustily, drying her tears. \"Here, please. They are not\nfrom Nikolai Petrowitch. I received them from other gentle-\nmen. But as you please. . . .\"\nPasha again opened the drawer of her dresser and handed\nto the lady a diamond brooch, several rings and several neck-\nlaces.\n\"Take this, take these too, and take these, though from your\nhusband I have never received anything. Here, take them all,\nand make yourself rich!\" continued Pasha, offended by the\nthreatened prostration at her feet.\n\"But if you are such a fine lady . . . his own wife, better try\nto keep him with you. I surely did not call him. He came\nhimself. . . .\"\nThe lady looked through her tears over the jewelry spread\non the table and said: \"This is not all . . . these things are not\neven worth five hundred rubles.\"\nPasha went again to the dresser and quickly threw a gold\nwatch, a cigarette case and a pair of cuff buttons with the other\nthings. She spoke now very resolutely: \"I have no more . . .\nyou can look for yourself!\"\nThe lady sighed, gathered the things with trembling hands\nin her handkerchief, and walked out. She did not asy a word,\nshe did not even nod her head.\nThe door to the next room opened and in came Polpakow.\nHe was pale and he shook his head nervously as if he had\ntaken a bitter drink. In his eyes glistened tears.\n\"What are those things that you are supposed to have given\nme?\" Pasha turned on him. 'When, if I may ask, did you give\nme these things?\"\n\"Things. . . . Nonsense!\" answered Kolpakow, shaking his\nhead. \"My God, she has cried before you, she has humiliated\nherself. . . .\"\n\"I ask you, what are these presents that you are supposed to\nhave given me?\" screamed Pasha.\n\"My God, she, the pure, the noble, the proud woman. . . .\nat the feet of this creature she would even have thrown her-\nself! My doings have brought her to this! I have permitted\nit.\"\nHe grasped his head with his hands and groaned:\n\"Never, never shall I forgive myself. Never: Begone, you\nbeast,\" and he looked with contempt at Pasha, while his trem-\nbling hands thrust her far away from him. \"She wanted to\nthrow herself upon her knees and . . . before whom? Before\nyou! Oh my God!\"\nHe dressed himself quickly. He carefully avoided touching\nPasha and left the house.\nPasha threw herself in a chair and cried loudly. She was\nsorry that she had given away her jewelry in the excitement\nof the moment. The whole scene seemed to her very offensive.\nShe recalled how a merchant had beaten her three years ago\nwithout any apparent reason and she cried much louder.\n\n(Translated by Guido Bruno)\n\nOSCAR WILDE'S\nImpressions of America\nedited with an introduction by Stuart Mason.\nOne of the original 500 copies printed.\nThis book, written by Oscar Wilde upon his return from\nthat memorable lecture tour through America, contains\nsome of the finest characterizations of America, as Wilde\nsaw it. He hits mercilessly and he praises effusively. In\nthe appendix is an interesting collection of newspaper\ninterviews with Wilde.\nIt is a rare Wilde item, published by one of Wilde's oldest\nfriends and his bibliographer.\nOnly a few copies left which will be sent to those whose orders\nreach us at first for $1.00 postpaid.\nSCHULTE'S BOOK STORE\n132 E. 23rd Street\nNew York\n\nTHE ONLY PRIVATE SCHOOL IN OUR VILLAGE\nMiss Cornelia Kingsland Barsow will re-open her school at\nTwenty-seven West Eleventh Street, on Thursday, October\n12th, for children between five and fourteen years of age.\nFIVE TEACHERS—ManuaI and Art Work—FRENCH.\nThere prevails a delightful atmosphere of the school-room\nin -a private home.\nRates reasonable. *\n\n14 Stories by Maupassant,\nfor 35 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\ncolor by Clare Victor Dwiggins. 16mo, stiff dark\ngreen paper cover, rough edges. (196 pages.) New\nYork., M. 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 cataligue of books.\n\nR. EDERHEIMER\nPRINT CABINET\n366 FIFTH AVE., NEW YORK\nOriginal Drawings by Old Masters\nALL APPRECIATIVE VISITORS CORDIALLY INVITED"}]}