Skip to main content

Full text of "Bruno's Weekly"

See other formats 


Google 



This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on Hbrary shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 

to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 

publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we liave taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 
We also ask that you: 

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 

at |http : //books . google . com/| 



/ 






r: 



HARVARD 

UNIVERSITY 
LIBRARY 



JRUNO'S WEEKLY 



DITED BY GUIDO BRUNO m us GAmR 
N WASHINGTON SQUARE 

ive Cents January 1st, 1916 



READERS OF 



» 



Bruno's Weekly 



Are Asked To Become 



SUBSCRIBERS 



52 Issues Two Dollars 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

BJited by Orido Bnmo to Hto 0«tet on WuUngUm Sgdf 
No. 1 JANUARY Ut, MCMXVI Vol IL 



. /; 



■f" Rr&te Boi 



iia. 



Letter and drawing by Howard Pyle, tu if apptored in Mr. 
■Madiga^'s lale "Autograph." 

Greenwich Village of Yore 

IL la tha Tudm of tha Ewlj Englisb 

1 KNOW not how long a time may have elapsed between the 
conquest of this island by the English and the discoveiy 
by the Dutch living retired at the Bosseti Bouerie that, a sea- 
Copyright ISIS by GtUdo Bnmo 



328 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

change having over-swept their destinies^ they had passed from 
the domination of the States General to the domination of Uie 
British King. 

It is said that when the engineers of the West Shore Raih-oad, 
provided with guidefs and interpreters, penetrated into the valley 
of the Hackensack, a dozen years or so ago, they created a 
great commotion among the honest Dutch folk dwelling in 
those sequestered parts by taking in the news that something 
more than eighty years previously the American Republic had 
been proclaimed. Some few of th€J more wide-awake of these 
retired country folk had got hold, it was found, of a rumor 
to the effect that the New Netherlands having been traded away 
for Surinam- by the provisions of the Treteity of Breda, had 
become a dependency of the British crown ; but the rumor never 
had been traced to an authoritative source, and was regarded 
by the older and more conservative of the inhabitants of Tenafly 
and Schraalenburg and Kinderkamack, and the towns thereto 
adjacent, as mere idle talk. Naturally, the much more impos- 
sible story told by the engineers involved so violent a strain 
upon human credulity that the tellers of it were lucky in getting 
safely away, across the hills by Rockland Lake to the Hudson 
Valley, with unbroken theodolites and whole hides. The matter, 
I may add, is reported to have remained in uncertainty until 
the running of milk trains brought this r^on into communica- 
tion with the outside world. 

The case of the people dwelling at Sapokanican was different. 
This hamlet being less remote, and far less inaccessible, than 
thtf towns in the Hackensack Valley, being, indeed, but a trifle 
more than two miles northward of the Dutch stronghold, there 
is reason for believing that the news of the surrender of Fort 
Amsterdam to the English, on the 8th of September, 1664, pefne- 
trated thither within a comparatively^ short period after the 
gloony event occurred. Indeed — ^while theref is no speaking 
with absolute precision in this matter — I can assert confidently 
that within but a trifle more than half a century after the change 
of rulers had taken place the inhabitants of this settlement were 
acquainted with what had occurred: as is proved by an existing 
land conveyance, dated 1721, in whidi the use of thef phrase 
'*the Bossen Bouerie, alias Greenwich," shows not only that the 
advent of the English was known there, but that already the 
new-com^s had so wedged themselves into prominence as to 
begin their mischievous obliteration of the good old Dutch 
names. 

For a long while I cherished the belief that the. name of 
Greenwich had been' giv^ to the Bossen Bouerie by a gallant 
sailor who for a time made that region his home: Captain 
Peter Warren of the Royal Navy — who died Sir Peter Warren, 
K.B., and a Vice-Admiral of the Red Squadron, and whostf 
final honor was a tomb in the Abbey in the company of other 
heroes and of various kings. Applied by a British sailor to his 
home ashore, there was an absolute fitness in the name; and it 
had precisdy a parallel in the bestowal of the name of Chelsea 
upon the adjoining estate by a soldier. Colonel Qarke. But 



BRUNO^S WEEKLY 829 

a considerate survey of the facts has compelled me, though 
very reluctantly, to abandon this pleasingly poetical hypothesis. 
I am inclincfd to believe that the name Greenwich was in use 
as early as the year 1711, at which time Peter Warren was a 
bog-trotting Irish lad of only eight years old; and it certainly 
was in use, as is proved by the land conveyance cited above, as 
early as the yciar 1721, at which time my gentleman was but a 
sea-lieutenant, and had not (so far as I can discover) laid eyes 
on America at alL 

Admiral Sir Peter Warren was a dashing personage in his 
day and generation, but his glory was won in what now artf 
wellnigh forgotten wars. Irish by birth, and with as fine a 
natursd disposition for fighting as ever an Irishman was blessed 
with, he worked his way up in the service with so handsome 
a rapidity that he was gazetted a post-captain, and to the com- 
mand of his MajcSsty's ship Grafton, when he was only twenty- 
four years old — ^and his very first service after being posted was 
in the fleet with which Sir Charles Wager knocked the Rock 
of Gibraltar loose from the rest of the Spanish possessions, and 
tiiereafter,^ with more rigor than righteousness, annexed it to 
the dominions of the British Crown. 

This was in the year 1727. In the year 1728 Captain Warren 
was on the American station in the Solebay, frigate; probably 
was here again in 1737; and certainly was here from about 
1741 until 1746 in the Squirrel, sloop, the Launceston, frigate 
and the 60-gun ship Superhe. In the spring of 1744 Sir Chaloner 
Ogle left him for a while commodore of a squadron of sixteen 
sail on the Leeward Island station — ^where his luck so well stood 
by him that o£F Martinique, in but little mortf than four months 
(February 12 — ^June 24) he captured no less than twenty-four 
prizes: one of which was a register ship whereof the lading of 
plate was valued at £250,000! 

Most of these prizes were sent into New York to be con- 
demned; and "Messiefurs^ Stephen. Le Lancey & Company" (as 
appears from an advertisement in The Weekly Post Boy for 
June 30, 1744) acted as the agents of Captain Warren in the sale 
of his French and Spanish swag. Naturally, the good bargains 
to our merchants which camef of his dashing performances made 
him vastly popular here. After his brilliant cruise he returned 
to New York that the Launceston might "go upon the careen j** 
and when he had refitted and was about to get to sea agam 
thtf Post Boy (August 27) gave him this fine send-off: *^is 
Majesty's ship Launceston^ commanded by the brave Commodore 
Warren (whose absence old Oceanus seems to lament), being 
now sufficiently repaired, will sail in a few days in order onctf 
more to pay some of his Majestsr's enemies a Visit. 

'The sails are spread; see the bold warrior comes 
To chase the French and interloping DonsP 

I have revived for a moment the personality of this gallant 
gentleman because the village of Greenwich, while not named 
by him, had its rise on one of the estates which he purchased 
with his winnings at sea. 

Thomas A, Janvier 



830 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

The Song of the Egg 

T ONCE knew a man 

A vei^ manly man* 
A man with a future. 
It was said. 

While still at his education. 
He evolved a fascination^- 
A peculiar fascination 
For the study and the raising 
The exploiting and the praising, 
By a great combination — 
A colossal combination 
Of the chicken and the egg. 

And aU that he would shout 
Was egg, tgg, egg\ 
Will you have 'em fresh or stale. 
By the gross or by the pail? 
We guarantee 'em just as stated 
Laid the very day the/re dated. 
And with ardor unabated, 
He continues yelling eggl 

He sold 'em scrambled, boiled or baked. 
Square or round, flat, spun or flaked 
Canned or bottled, diarged or still. 
Powdered, loose or as a pill 
Sold the yoke and sold the white 
Unrelenting day or night 
An3rway at all he sold 'em, 
Dry and flat so you could fold 'em, 
Deckel edged or mixed with ham 
Bacon, Barle due or jam; 
Shaped 'em up to look like fishds. 
Colored 'ctai to match your dishes, 
An3rway to suit your wishes. 

Well, this giant combination. 

This colossal combination 

Slowly forced this healthy nation 

To a state of desolation 

To a grotesque malformation 

Till at length up rose the masses, 

The down-trodden, hungry masscfs 

And with curses duUen deep. 

Slowly and at night they creep 

To his house and find him snipping 

Snipping, snipping, deftly snipping coupons 

With a big hay diopper. 

And they thought it quite improper 

So they up and killed this magnate, 

Killed and left him thc^e to stagnate, 

Pity now this poor man's fatef 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY m 



EpilogiM 

QN the stone abore his grare 

Is neatly carved by some bright knave, 
He the world this motto gave: 
''Every man his egg." 
Tom Sleeper 

Four Dollars and Ninety-Hve Cents 

By Guido Bruno 

IT was on the night of the big snow storm. I stood at the 
ticket office of the elevated station. I was freezing miser* 
ably. Between the torn sole of my right shoe and my foot I 
had forced the cover of a tin can for protection from the icy 
pavemcfhts of the street 

I wanted to purchase a ticket for my nidceL I had to wait 
at the gate. A woman in front of me had pushed a five dollar 
bill through the wicket. She waited for her changdL She 
received four bills and ninety-five cents in small change* 
Without recounting, she slipped the money into her blade plush 
handbag. 

I was traveling to the room of a fricftid of mine— one of 
die few I knew in the big dty. I had promised to repay him a 
dollar thatvday. 

I wasn't able to meet my obligation, but I hoped to borrow 
twenty-five cents more to secure a bed for the night 

'^ould I find him at homtf? What if he should have 
moved, since I last visited him or what if he should have 
nothing himself?" 

The lady of the five dollar bill sat opposite me. The plush 
hand-bag hung from her wrist by its gold chain. In it was the 
money I had seen passed dirough tne widcet in change for 
her bill 

"Supposing I had the money I" I thought to myself. "What 
if shtf should drop the purse upon the seat by some chance 
and leave the train? No ontf would notice it and she would 
forget the bag. I would then move hurriedly to her seat, get 
it and leave the train instantly. No one would know! I 
would throw the bag away and have the money. 
"All that money! 

Thtf four bills and the change 1 ^ It would all be mine I 
"I could buy shoes — ^warm shoes with solid soles to protect 
me from the snow and icel 
"I could rent a room and pay a week's rent in advance. 
"And I could get some warm food I . . • . " 
"Fourteenth Street I" 

It was my station. I had to leave thtf train. I descended 

the stairs and was again in the wind-swept street. The thin 

sole in my shoe was colder than before. The swirl of snow, 

Iflce rain of sharp pebbles, cut my face more keenly. I hurried 

Again I saw die black plush purse! The woman wad walk- 



332 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

ing right ahead of me in the crowd. Two fingers of her 
right hand held the hand-bag. The other two clasped the loop 
of her big white muff. She walkc^d briskly and swung her arm 
rhythmically back and forth. 

My eyes were fixed upon the bag. The woman was not 
going. in ^ the direction I wanted to go. I was following her 
like a child. I knew not why. 

'^arm shoes! • • . A roomt • • . A bed • • . Some- 
thing hot to ^t! • . .** 

A peculiar feeling overcame me: I must have the purse — 
the money I 

I, would follow the woman ... I would approach her 
stealthily from behind ... I would snatch the lightly-held 
Sag from her fingers . , . . and I would run as fast as I 
Could into the safcfty of some dark alley I 

I was very close to her. I would count — "One • • . .Two 
. . . ." and at 'Three" I would do it! 

"One! . . . Two . . .** 
. A gloved hand shot out from one side just in front of me 
and seized the purse. 

* The woman screamed • • . The priztf was gone! I had 
been cheated. 

. "Stop thief! Stop thief I" I shouted. 

^ A red mist clouded my eyes. All my hopes had vanished. 
He had stolen my property. I dashed after the man. I 
overtook him. I Imew not what I was doing. I flung myself 
Upon him, seiz^ the collar of his overcoat, tore the purse Irom 
his hand and I shouted madly: 

"You dirty dog! You miserable thief I" 
' I shook him. I wanted to tear him to shreds. I want^ 
to hurl him to the ground and crush him with my feet. 
/A crowd had gathered. The woman with the big mu£E 
Stood beside me. She took her purse from my hand. She said 
something to a policeman. I had not seclki him before. He 
loosened my grip from the man's collar and took diarge of 
him. 

Now I realized what I had done. 

"It is too late I" shouted something within me. "What a 
fool I was! Why didn't I run away after I had gotten the 
purse?" 

The woman's voice sounds as from a distance. 

"Thanks! Many thanks!" she was saying. "How kind 
of you to have saved my bag. It contained baby's first tooth! 
And if I lost that . . . ! 

"But you poor man!" she resumed. "No overcoat in such 
cold wither? Here take this money!" (She handed me the 
four dollars and nin^-five cents). 

Kindly smiling she hailed a taxicab from a nearby hoteL 
$he waved to me once more and was driven away. 

The big policeman hustled his prisoner to the station. 

And I stood there at the corner and laughed and laughed and ' 
laughed. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 333 



Among Our Aristocrats 

Greoiwicli inilage, a la Town Topics 

A TWELFTH NIGHT cake tipping the scales at a hundred 
pounds and made of the richest material will be one of 
the novelties of the holiday season, at the Sunday Kindergarten 
Twelfth Night Party, at Arlington Hall, East Eighth Street, on 
the afternoon of Jan. 6th, which is "Little Christmas." This 
unique festival for tenement house children, to which some of 
our little Italians back of Washington Square South will be 
bidden as sepcial guests, combines features of both the Italian 
Befana, and an old-English Twelfth Night The cake is made 
from tiie following recipe: 103 eggs, 60 lbs. Malaga raisins, 
24 lbs. Sultana raisins, 24 lbs. citron, 15 lbs. currants, 9 lbs. 
flour, 9 lbs. butter, 9 lbs. granulated sugar, 3 quarts molasses, 
9 ounces ground cloves, 9 ounces grotmd ginger, 9 ounces 
ground cinnamon, 1^ ounces mace, three quarters of a gallon 
of brandy and a bottle of wine. This recipe, copied from the 
Newport novel, "The Decadents", was originally that of 
Etienne, of Marietta Villa, Newport, the late Mrs. Paran 
Stevens, the society leader's somewhat noted French pastry 
cook. This mammoth Twelfth Night cake in keeping with 
both Italian and good old-English precedent, has angels, Italian 
beans and a gold ring deposited in the lower stratum of its 
saccharine pyramid and is partaken in common by the denizens 
of Fifth Avenue and the lower East Sidtf. The angels and 
Italian beans imbedded in the lower section of the pyramid 
derive their potency from the Italian Befana and are to ward 
off witches. Twelve candles scintillating from thcf star with 
halo, the emblem of the festival, will shine on the apex of 
the pjrramidal Twelfth Night cake. 

The little king of the Twelfth Night, Mastcfr Jimmy Fiori, 
will come over from Brooklsm, hcSading a cavalcade of juvenile 
art-history students — ^mostly young Italian girls who live be- 
tween the old Brooklyn Bridge and the new Manhattan Bridge — 
"thtf place where nobody cares to live." The king will also be 
attended by a band of choristers, Italian working-girls from 
the Sunday Kindergarten free school of Italian singing, who 
will carol Adolphe Adams Noel's, "Oh Holy Night," the most 
poimlar Christmas melody ever written, and translated into the 
most languages. The king will be robeti in a velvet court cos- 
tume of Tyrian royal purple and wear a magnificent crown. 
Tiffany is making a star with halo badge, expressly for the 
king, of gold and silver and green enamel. 

The little Twelfth Night queen, Sylvia Nei, a pretty little 
Italian girl from 172 Worth Street, in the Mulberry Befnd quarter 
of the City, is to be the recipient of a special token, for Count 
Amaldo Cassella Tamburini, of Florence, Italy, court painter 
to the king of Italy is painting for her a pastel portrait of 
Queen Helena. And the oldest ring makers in America, the 
J. B. Bowden Company, designing a ring for the little quecto. 



334 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Mrs. Gctorge P. Lawton, of No. 14 East 60th Street, a niece of 
the late Mrs. Leland Stanford, personally presents each year a 
choice book to the king and queen. Presents there are of gold 
ringS) perfumes, etc, for others of the prize pupilSi enfhlettatic 
of the gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh of the Magi, 
on the Great Epiphany. The myrrhi which typifies bitterness, 
is probably the portion of thoscf of the children who in the 
vernacular of the lower East Side, get "left" at tiie festival 
and thcfre are always a few of those at the best-planned fete. 
Henry Clews, the banker is to give a few words of welcome to 
the children and William Laniet Washington is to give his 
version of the story of George Washington and the hatchet 
Each child as it leaves the hall, after receiving a slice «of the 
mammoth Twelfth Night cake, is presented with a pretty 
Twelfth Night candlestick of imported make with a candle, 
and a satin-striped Parisian candy bag decorated with artificial 
flowers. Nothing similar to these flower-ladefn candy bags is 
ever seen at any other metropolitan fete. Mrs. Edward N. 
Breitung, a very rich and fashionable society woman from 
up-town, known as "The Madonna of the Arts" will also come 
bringing sp€K:ial gifts for the choristers of the free school of 
Italian singing. Among others interested in the work of the 
Sunday Kindergarten Association are Mrs. John R. Drexel, 
Prince Giovanni del Drago, Mrs. Henry L. Burnett, C. W.^ de 
Lyon Nicholls, Countess Tamburini, Mrs. Charles M. Oelrichs 
and Gctorge J. Gould. 



In Our Village 



gHORT-LIVED are the glories of this world, and the Christ- 
mas tree which was hung with glittering gold and silver, 
by loving hands, only a few days ago, is Isring today in the 
back yard or in the alley, stripped of its regalia — a prey to 
the garbage-man. If you found it interesting to watch during 
the holiday week the front aitrances of our mansions, if you 
noted the shining windows, the clean washed window sills, the 
newly-painted ifon gates ; if you saw messenger boys with prom- 
ising-looking packages disappear and come out anpty-handed, 
and distinguished delivery wagons with chauffeur and footmen 
in livery bringing parcels from exclusive Fifth Avenue shops, 
now after the holiday week is over taktf a walk to the other 
side of the house, to the back entrance and there you will 
•see the sad remnants of all those glorious things: flowers — 
messengers of love and of admiration — crumpled up. dried, to- 
gether with boxes which contained necessities and luxuries, 
holly wreaths deprived of their ribbons: peacefully do they 
await the arrival of that ominous hearse furnished by the 
street-cleaning department, and forth they go to the mysterious 
somewhere, the ultimate destination of our own journey. 

And then there is New Year's. Resolutions, new hopes, new 
stimuli, new ambitions, quiet counsel with ourselves, new poli- 
cies toward friends and toward life we get accus- 



BRUl^O'S WEEKLY US 

tomed to the change of the date line on the head of our IMers, 
the new will grow old and aftef this first week o! the first 
month of the new year shall have passed w(f will find that we 
are what we are, just our own selves; that our life is a long 
stretch of time with two radically important events^'K>ur birth 
and our death. And all that ues betwe^ these two dates 
which give us to the world and take us from the world is jutt 
life. Traditions and conventions parcel it off into yea^s and 
days. The system of the planets provides us with night and 
light and we permit oth^s — some of whom are dead and gone 
and some of whom are contemporaries-^to fill in our days with 
events, and we sleep in the night 

But if we set aside everything and all and look back to the 
date of our birth and after we have found ourselves and 
picked together all that which really makes our own self and 
then we Took forward and search for the date of our death 
veiled by the good gods so that worry and regret at leaving 
this wonderful world may not spoil the joyous moments of 
today: we fail to see new years standing out like hurdles 
dividing the track to the infinite into shorter and longer paces, 
into hard and thomless paths. 

It is one long joyous journey, one r6ad of happiness .... 
and all you have to do is to travel it just by yourself, not 
depending on time tables of conveyances, not depending upon 
mechanical devices others impose upon you: but just you your- 
self with head high up to the clouds who passing will greet you ; 
with expanded chest inhale the glorious air of a universe that's 
yours, which is yours because you take possession of it. 

Every new moment of your life a new year : in jrour owft 
world. 

Heloise DeForest Haynes arranges on New Year's eve, in 
'The Wardrobe," on East Tenth Street, a fashion fete, which 
will be a take-off on Vogue's fashion fete. The grotesqueness 
of our days' fashions will be made apparent to our evidently 
grotesque eyes by super-grotesque costumes. Admission by sutn 
scription. The receipts are intended for an old ladies' home. 

A new shop is added to the Greenwich Village colony of in- 
dividual shop keepers. It is Alice Palmer's venture into would- 
be commercialism in her ''Sunflower Shop," at 80 Washington 
Square East Mrs. Palmer is a writer known through her con- 
nections ivith "The Smart Set" and through her children|s 
books. "A few objects well displayed. What a guiding princi- 
ple for a small shopl" is the guiding motto of the writer 
sunflower shop keeper. Why sunflower? — ^because the sunflower 
has a double meaning for her. She has made the flaunting 
yellow of the sunflower the key note of her decoration. The 
gloom of the usual shop is cast off for an atmosphere of light 
and life. Also like the sunflower the objects she displays and 
parts with in exchange for legal tender are not aristocratic 
in price. They are mostly inexpensive bits collected by Mrs* 
Palmer from the store-houses of China and Persia. 



Z36 BRUNCyS WEEKLY 

The Reverend and Mrs. Sheridan Watson Bell have every 
Sunday afternoon very interesting gatherings in the parish house 
of their church, tiie Washington Square Methodist ^iscopal 
Church. Literary men, musicians and artists give informal 
talks on subjects of interest These afternoons will be con- 
tinued in the new year. 



Miss Karasz* exhibition has aroused interest in the widest 
circles, and especially her manuscript illuminations are pointed 
out as unique among the art creations of our day. Her exhibi- 
tion will continue until January 7th. 

Mr. H. Thompson Rich will read, on Monday, the 3rd of 
January, at eight o'clock in the evening, a selection of his war 
poems, published and unpublished. You are welcome to be pres- 
ent. Admission fees are not charged. 

Wmmomd Disc Shop 

A popular place is the Diamond Disc Shop, on the comer 
of Eighth Street and Fifth Avenue, where one can hear music 
in that cosy little place in white and green, on short order — 
classical or ragtime or opera arias by some eminent star, or 
an American song by a newly-discovered American composer 
sung by a newly-discovered artist It doesn't take long to get 
die disc out of the shelf and to place it on the instrument Drop 
in some time, if you are in the neighborhood. You wUl like the 
do-as-you-please atmosphere of the shop. 

Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre 

'HE first performance in the Little Thimble Theatre will take 
place on Thursday, January 6th. The program will include 
a selection of difficult classical music played for the first time, 
by Mr. Max Kneznik, on the balaleika, in this country. The 
balaleika is a Russian national instrument,^ used by farmers 
and country population, with only two ^ string^, and hitherto 
was thought adapted onl^ for fofic music. Mr. Kneznik will 
play th^ ''Moments Musicale," by Schubert and Winianewsky 
Mazurka's "Song of the Yoga Botman." 

Miss Kathleen Bums, daughter of William J. Bums, the 
detective, will appear for the first time before a public audience 
and will sing Thayer's "My Laddie" and a few Irish ballads. 
Miss Burns loves Irish music, and especially the old folk soiigs, 
of which she has made a special study. 

Books and Magazines of the Week 

Thm Edison MontUy 

Very interesting historical articles appear in almost every 
issue, for the past months, of 'The Edison Monthly," the 
house organ of &e New York Edison Company. The Christmas 
number brings a historical account of the Washington Market 



^ BRUNO'S WEEKLY 33^ 

- — - >---_ , - .- ^ ... ^■ — 

of one hundred years ago and of today. The description of 
the Washington Market of one hundred y^rs ago .is takea 
from a history of the place, written in 1858 by Thomas De Voe^ 
a butcher in the market who in that year completed the forty- 
fifth year of his activities in the Washington Mark^ which he 
had helped to establish. 

"The Town Market, an institution brought to the New World": 
by the Dutch settlers, prevailed in New York City until the 
year 1841. The first was hdd in the open space before the fort 
in 1659. Here the farmers and butchers met one day a week. 
Another old institution was that at the foot of the present 
Maiden Lane. This was the Fly Mark^ so called by the 
English, who found it difficult to pronounce the Dutch Vlie 
for Valley. This market, established in 1699, was in existence- 
for more then one hundred years and figured in thcf history of 
the colony perhaps more than any other. The Oswego Mar- 
ket, opened in 1738 at Broadway and Maiden Lane, lasted only 
about, thirty years. It attracted so much business to the neigh-' 
borhpod that Broadway traffic was obstructed and finally, in. 
response to public demand, another market was opened at 
the foot of Fulton Street on the Hudson River. This was in 
1771 and the name Bear Market was due to thtf fact that the 
first meat sold was a steak from a -bear, shot at Uie water's 
edge. Such was the predecessor and ^e beginning of the prcfs- 
ent Washington Market, which was established on the same 
site in 1813. 

"It requires a vivid imagination to fill the gaps in a word* 
picture of the market as it stood a hundred years ago. Farmers 
drove down from Greenwich or the remote villages of Harlem 
and Yorkville or came over in their sloops from Long Island 
and Jersey. Beef arrived on the hoof, and following thef pur- 
chase of cattle that had attracted considerable attention on its 
arrival, the butcher announced the date of sale. Thtf slaughter 
houses were way out beyond the city limits — ^in the neighbor* 
hood of what is now Chinatown. What is believed to be the 
first shipmefnt of Western beef was received in New York 
in 1817. The cattle came from Ohio, and, as this was in the 
days before stock cars, they made the journey afoot 

"Thertf were one hundred head in the drove and, according 
to a local paper, they appeared "as fresh as if just taken off 
of our Lonp: Island farms." They netted the drov^ $12.50 a 
hundred weight 

**Until about 1830 the Washington and Fulton Street comer 
was set aside for the Jersey Butcherwomen who, dressed in 
linsey-woolsey short gowns, offered dairy products — ^butter, pot- 
cheese, curds and buttermilk. The Dutch farmers confined 
their activities chiefly to farm produce, although many of the 
men brought butter to market, for at three shillings and three- 
shillings sixp^ce it was a decidedly profitable article." 

MMt Stanv 

The current issue of "Der Sturm" arrived safely after a 
complicated voyage to Holland, bringing the sad news of the 



33ft BRUKCyS WSEaaY 

death of i^atil Sdherbaart, the poet and writer. Kerwartli 
Walden honors the memory of his friend and co^^ditor m^ 
follows : 

"You are one of the real bijir artists because you are timeless. 
While the artists of your time occupied themselves lovinfljr 
with their Earth, you stood on the other side of Lore and 
Earth, reachinir out for the world." 

Maeh Ado mad Sliop*lilliiig 

I wonder why gentleman Harry Turner, editor of '^Mtich 
Ado," the St. Louis fortnightly that carries Shakespeare on tta 
front cover and a beer ad on its back cover, doesn't havtf the 
decency to give credit to artist, writer, poet and to the sihop 
itself, for three pictures, five articles and a long poem h<f 
lifted from "Greenwich Village" and Bruno's Weekly to make 
lus Christmas issue look Hke a magazine. 

Hi« Litll« lUvitfw 

Another of the magazine edited by a woman is "The Little 
Review," the literary messenger of the Middle West. Miss 
Anderson dropped into my garret some time ago while on a 
trip to the East And shcf is not a bit didactic, and she doesn't 
look at all like the one you ima^ne her to be, reading her 
inspired editorials against the present order of things and 
the prevailing conditions of thtf human society. She is a teal 
nice girL 

In tlie Orchetlrm 

Esther GriflSn White, editor of "The Little Paper" in Rich- 
mond, Indiana — she who writes^ inflamed editorials against 
-political corruption — came fortii with a little volume of sonnets. 
She is quite a different woman in the pages of her book, "In 
the Orchestra," which was written during her activities as 
music editor of a daily^ paper. In the introductory remarks 
she apologises that their composition was not given special 
•care but diat they were done in the haste and hurry of pro- 
«ducing "copy." 

Really, it doesn't mean much what we wear, so long as we 
are otherwise all right And therefore, even if the sonnets 
x>f Miss White walk on limping feet, here and there, it is 
j'ust a matter of appearance. Her thoughts are good and tiiere 
is a certain rhythm to her language which makes it ve^ sym-* 
t>athetic. The little volume is illustrated by Miss Florence 
Fox. The vignettes are charming nudes who seem to know 
that they are illustrating music. 

:Scliroeder*s Liberty 

Theodore Schroeder wrote another of his interesting pam- 
-phlets, "liberty Through Personal Service." 

"As your development approach^ the stage where you desire 
and can approximately live the impersonal life, you will see 
,all yet overlook all; being without blinding special friendships 
you will yet be^ the friend of all ; without doing personal charity 
^o any, you will cheerfully devote your whole life to the im- 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



personal service of alt; while looking with like emotional in- 
difFerence and desire for understanding, npon the compUment* 
or cmidenuiationa of fooh or knaves, of friends or enemiei 
7<ni can ignore the feUowstup-claini of the infutile phariHe 
and yet extend your fellowship to him." 
Tha PhoMK 

Michael Monahan's leading article in the Jannur issue of 
his magmzine is "J^dc London ; MastOr." It is a praise and re- 
view of Jack London's The Star Rover," published in England 
as "The Jadtet." 



r* 



Vmnitaim V«»ite»tMM» VewltaiT 



And TOUr "VBrni" dos— why thkt 
Secma a craai twixt wolf and nt. 
Fluie do take G. G.'i advice , . t 
And draw ui aomethiiiK nice. 

^ W. T. 1. 



340 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Passing Paris 

Paris, December IsL 
^^UR soldiers' indemnity has been raised from one sou to five 
sous per day. Those at the front may manage with this as 
their needs are small and opportunitiels for spending limited, 
hut for those at the rear it is a mockery. Such is the consequence 
of conscription, the costs of which the State cannot meet. When 
called upon to sefrve, every man in the country is expected to 
possess an independent income on which to draw for his keep. 
Many men are now drawing upon their capital. To say that a 
soldier is adequately provided for is a vain boast; he is just 
housed, fed in a manner suitable only to men in the best of 
healUi, and but roughly equipped. The State thinks it does well 
by him in providing him with tobacco and free postage, privileges 
by which all men do not profit equally. But the treatmcfnt strikes 
the French so little as unfair that they still wonder at the 
superior advantages of the English soldjiers, all of which 
proves that Governments exploit the public as far as it will 
stand and cfntirely with its consent — ^passive, perhaps, but con- 
sent nevertheless. 

I have spoken much and often in these columns of writers 
aad their activities during the war, to the neglect of the 
artist'body. Thercf is a reason for this apparent omission. 
Such call as is made upon the arts of form and colour seems 
more than ever to favour the vulgarest. The others are 
scarcely given a chance. That sentiments of patriotism, the 
glorification of hefroism, and scenes of destruction can be 
illustrated nobly has been proved by Paul Iribe's idealistic and 
Masereel's realistic interpretations. But official influence is all 
powerful just now, and, as the late Jean Dolent, Carriefre's 
friend, said: "Official art: has this peculiarity, that it is not 
art" The orders go, therefore, to thos^^ who are official if not 
artists, and particularly to those specialists who labelled them- 
sdves ''military painters," even when they were less in demand. 
Every painter, evidently, has his day. Some are attached to 
the General Staff and follow operations safely ambushed in 
State-provided motors. 

There is not a single modern man of thcf brush who can 
render cavalry.^ M. Dunoyer de Segonzac, who knows the 
beauty of soldiery, will perhaps give us something in that 
line one day, if he is spared. Meanwhile he is exercising his 
ingeniousness in the camouflage department, the equivalent 
English term for which I regret I do not happen to know. 
The work consists in contrivances of dcfception, such as mock- 
scehery for luding artillery, aviation-camps, etc 

Among the cartoonists Forain continues busy. Le Mot has, 
after a lingering agony, come to an end ; it was too good for 
this world. Steinlen wears the best because* he is so entirely 
free from.tridcs and mannerisms. Bernard Naudin, though 
mobilised, has, as was. tp l>e expected, found time to prove that 
his pen is well suited . to scenes associated with warfare and 
its sufferings ; and - JPoulbot's merit does not decrease as his 
vogue increases. 

Muriel Ciolkowskm 

Extract from a letter to The Egoist,** Loadon. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 341 

Maude: A Memory 

By Guido Bruno 
(Continued from last issue) 

"Mistaken! I was mistaken, Kenneth. Mistaken like years 
ago. But it is more dreadful because I have waited so long 
and I thought I had found at last just the one that was made for 
me in tiie beginning. Did you know that I have been in 
Michigam? I had to go to a little city. There was no railroad 
connection and I had to take the boat. I went down in the 
morning. It was a rainy, ugly day. I had to drive for miles 
over muddy, sad-looking roads and I was glad when I returned 
to the pier at an efarlier hour than I expected. It was on a 
Sunday. Thousands of men and women had spent the day far 
from their small and sticky dwellings in Chicago and were tired 
after the day of excitement. They were refady to go back to 
their work and face the struggle for daily bread anew and count 
the days until the next Sunday holiday which they were* plan- 
ning. I had boarded the boat with hundreds of them. They 
were dining in the dining-room and sitting in the parlors and 
occupying the chairs on the decks. I hate large gathefrings of 
people belonging to different classes and callings in life. I felt 
alone and unhappy and wished to be somewhere whcfre I would 
be spared listening to their chatter, their laughing and the dis- 
tasteful familiarity of young men and young women who 
thought that they loved one anothefr. 

"So I went up on the top deck. The wind was blowing, the 
outline of the little place where J got aboard was vanishing with 
every turn of the wheel. It was in the late afternoon and the 
sun had draped himself in his night attire, with those beautiful 
rays, purple and yellow, which makes such a saddening picture 
and moves the lonely man to think of the vanity of the world — 
if he only cares to concentrate his mind and think. 

"I was standing on the boat near the captain's bridge and I 
was looking at those gray, placid waves and the sun which was 
soon to disappear ; and I could not account for that tired, lonely 
feeing which came over me. My eyes ached looking at the 
sun^ball. I turned around to look for a quiet place where I 
could sit and await our arrival in Chicago. A young woman 
was standing opposite me. Our eyes met. 

'Then — I do not remember exactly— but there was something 
I did for her. I think I offered her a chair, something of the 
kind. ^ Some peculiar desire to be near her made me stay up 
there in the wind. I walked back and forth. I forgot to go 
down to thtf dining-room as I had intended to do after all the 
other diners had left And finally I discovered a chair, just 
vacated by a stout old lady, for whom the breezes had become 
too cold, and I carried it near hers and sat down. Again I 
looked out toward the sea. The twilight had scfttled heavily 
and the pale moon could be seen if one looked long and sharply 
towards the grayish skies. 



343 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



'*1 turned to her and looked her straight in the face. I 
looked into her big blue eyes. She gazed at me. I don't know 
why but I simply had to speak to her. 'My name is Courtland/ 
I said. 'Wont you please talk to me? Tell me your first 
name.' She did not hesitate a second. A very quiet melodious 
voice said, 'I am Maude. Why are you ha^e on this steamer?' 

''And we talked, and we talked until the darkness had settled- 
It was night A million stars, clearl:^ shining, glittering, hiding 
themsdves behind clouds, and appearing again. The moon rose 
lugher and higher on its nightly travel. We didn't know that 
all the other people who had been on deck had gone below to 
their staterooms. It seemed to mef as if I had found the only 
other being besides myself occupying this world, seeing with 
the eyes with which I see, talking witih the voice and answcfting 
in the most sympathetic voice I had ever heard in my life the 
thoughts that I could never have spoken in words. 

"What did we* talk about? About everything. About every- 
thing that ever interested me in my whole life. About my pro- 
fession and about the shadow sides of my calling; about beauti-» 
ful pictures and about the hurried noises that they call modern 
music; about her ambition, what shcf desired to be. She told 
me about the picture she wanted to paint, perhaps in ^ears, 
after she had achieved what she wanted to achieve — a picture 
which would be so true, so puref and so beautiful that a mother 
would put it in the trunk of her departing daughter, the lover 
give it to his bride as the most precious gift and the bad man, 
should he stop and glance at it, would stop and look again and 
remember his mother; a picture which would be reproduced in 
millions of copies to be hung in the homes of the wealthy and 
tn the small huts of the poor and in the cell of the man who 
serves a life sentctoce. 

"And I told her about myself and about my connections with 
the world; how I was disappointed in everything which I had 
done for my own sake and successful in all those things I un- 
dertook in the interest of othefrs. All loneliness was gone. 

(To be conttQued). 

RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 



Extra lUuttrated Books. Early Printed Books. Assodatioii Books 

Books for Christmas Gifts 

Pmchsicd tiof ly or in aeti for people who have Deidier time Dor oppoitunity to 
•elect for thenMelres, or for tKose wao have not access to the best book marts. 

Why not begin collecting now? 

Address E« V., Boston Transcript, Bosfam, Mass. 

Bruno's WeeUy, published weekly by Charles Bdison» and 
edited and written by Ghiido Bruno, both at 58 Washington 
Square, New York City. Subscription $1 a year. 

AypUeatioas for entry as second-class matter at the Post Oftoc «f 
New York pen^Uny. 



-THREE BIG COHAN Sk HARRIS SUCCESSES 



THE AO 1 UK ■■Him. HOmmUf (PcfStfRkit) wmk 8atu4v at IM 

Geo. M. Cohan's HIT-THE -TRAIL 

HOLLIDAY 

Witfa FRED NIBLO m ''MU.Y HOLUDAY ** 



AMERICAN 



THE LAnULfiK ET«'ff,8:10. MatiaM«,Wi 
BEST PLAY OF THfe 



MatiaaM, H^immUf waA Satariay at 2:lt 



THE HOUSE OF GLASS 



Witfa MARY RYAN aad tfa« Graat 



Cm! 



AT T fMC AfDr 48thStrMt.W«t«f Bnaaway. 

LEO DITRICHSTEIN 
'"^SiSSl^'^ The Great Lover 




1£ 



The Oasis 

of WaslungtoB Square 

Tea Room 

Ice Cream Parlor 

Clears and Cigarottet 

Beneatii Bmno's Garret 
ROSSI BROS., Prop'rs 



s 



Thomas R?*J 
Pwctcr 

im ■ ■ No. Five 

barrett sankst. 

It is now possibU for ma 
to recsiTO a few privato 
pupils in ray studio at No. 
FiTO Bank Street in the 
afternoon from two until 
six at one dollar a lesson 



Drawinf 
Paintiiig 

No. Five 
Bank St 



Thomas 
Pweter 
Garrett 



OmtIm Eduon't Utde ThimMe TliMtre, SHuated 
at NiKlOFiflfa ATcnae^Greenwidi ViDafe,N.Y.C 



TliM Week's Perf mmancet ami Concerts 

Wedttcsdsjr, >:U p. n. Children's Hour and Diac Concert 
on the Sqntre. 

Thursday, 8:1B p. m. 
Fridar, 8:1S p. m. 



Ailc or wrfte for ticket of aAnwrion to The 
little ThimUe Theatre pwfonniincea. They 
are free ^ cfaargak 



BRUNO'S WEEKiy 




CDITtl) 0Y auiDO BRUNO m HB GARRir 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 



Fnre Cents 



January Sth. Ulfi. 



READERS OF 



i 

Bruno's Weekly 



Are Asked To Become 

SUBSCRIBERS 



52 Issues Two Dollars 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Edited by Guido Bruno in His Garret on WathiaftDn Sguarv 



No. 2 JANUARY 8th. MCMXVI Vol n 

Ciyilimfion 

So then, to-morrow I mil git up as luwU^^he some 
as yesterday, the day before • • • • 

And I will plod to my place at the bench that I may 
paste labels on tomato cans until dark , . . after' 
wards returning to a cold radiator, a few slices of 
bologna and an unmade bed. 
World without end — 

AfHen^ 
Tom Sleeper 

Greenwich Village of Yore 

IIL Peter Warren's Country-Place 

pLYING his flag aboard the Launceston, commanding on the 
station, and making such a brave show with his captured 
ships, Captain — ^by courtesy Commodore— Warren cut a prodi- 
giously fine figrure here in New York about the year of grace 
1744; so fine, indeed, that never a man in thcf whole Province 
could be compared with him in dignity save only the Governor 
himself. And under these brilliant circumstances it is not at 
all surprising that pretty Mistress Susannah De Lancey was 
quittf ready to complete his tale of "Irishman's luck" by giving 
him in her own sweet person an heiress for a wife; nor that 
her excellent father — who alreiady must have made a pot of 
money out of this most promising son-in-law — ^was more than 
ready to give his consetit to the match. It was about the time 
of the Commodore's marriage, probably, that he bought his 
Greenwich farm — a property of not far from three hundred 
acres; which was a little increased, later, by a gift of land 
voted to him by the city in recognition of his achievement at 
Louisburg in 1745. 

Pending the building of his country-seat, and probably also 
as a winter residence. Captain Warren occupied the Jay house 
near the lower end of Broadway. One of the historians of 
Ncfw York, falling violently afoul another historian of New 
York, has asserted hotly that Captain Warren built and lived 
in the house, known as the Kennedy house, which long occupied 
the site No. 1 Broadway. Heaven forbid that I should venture 
to thrust my gossiping nose (if so bold a metaphor may^ h€ 
tolerated) into this ardioeological wrangle; but, wiUi submission, 
it is necessary for my present purposes to assert positively that 
Captain Warren had no more to do with the building of the 
Kennedy house than hcf had to do with the casting down of 

Copyright If IS by Guide Bruno 



348 BRUNCyS ¥rgEgLY 



tlif walls of Jertdio. la the English Records, tmder date of 
May, 1745, is this entry: "Order A: That a straight line be 
drawn from the south comer of the house of Mr. Augustas 
Jay, now in the occupation of Pcfter Warren, Esquire, to the 
north comer of the house of Archibald Kennedy, fronting the 
Bowling Green in Broadway, and that Mr. William Smith, who 
is now about to build a house (and all other persons who shall 
build between the two houses) lay Aeir foundations and build 
conformably to the aforeisaid line." This record, I oondere, 
fixes definitely Captain Warren's down-town residence, and 
also sufficiently confirms the acceptcfd genesis of the Kennedy 
house. 

Concerning the country-seat at Greenwich ^en the historians 
have not very materially * disagreed. It was built by Captain 
Warren on a scale of elegance appropriate to one who had only 
to drop across to thfc L^ward Islands and pick up a Spanish 
plate ship, or a few French West-Indiamen, in order to satisfy 
any bills which the carpenters and masons might send in; and 
the establishment seems to have bedn maintained upon a footing 
of liberality in keeping with this easy way of secunng a revenue. 
The house stood about thretf hundred yards back from the river, 
on ground which fell away in a gentle slope toward the water- 
side. The main entrance was from the east; and at the rear — 
on the Wei of the drawing-room and a dozen feet or so above 
the sloping hill-side — ^was a broad veranda commanding the 
view westward to the Jers^ Highlands and southward down 
to bay clear to the Staten Island hills. I like to fancy my 
round little captain seated upon this veranda of placid sum- 
m^ afternoons, smoking a comforting pipe after his mid-day 
dinner, and taking with it, perhaps, as sea-farin|r gentlemen 
often did in those days, a glass or two of substantial mm-and- 
water to keep everything down under hatches well stowed. With 
what approving eyes must he have regarded the trimly kept 
lawns and gardens below him, and with what ^es of affection 
the Ltmnceitonf all a-taunto, lying out in the stream I Present^, 
doubtless, the whiffs from his pipe came at longer and longer 
intervals, and at last entirely ceased — ^as the spirit which ani- 
mated his plumply prosperous body, lulled by its soft and mel- 
lowing surroundings, sank gently into peaceful sleep. And then 
I fancy him, an hour or two later, waken^ by Mistress Sue's 
playing upon the harpsidiord; and his saying handsome tilings 
to her (in his rich Irish brogue) when she comes from the 
drawing-room to join him and they stand tc^ther— one of Us 
stout little arms tucked snugly about her jimp waist— lookhig 
out across the gl^ming river and the Eljrsian Fields, dark in 
shadow, at the glowing splendor of the sunset above the foot- 
hills of the Palisades. 

It was in the year 1809 that Mr. Samuel Burling's highly 
injudicious offer to plant the principal stre^ of New Yoric— 
from Leonard Street northward to the Greenwich Lane — ^with 
poplar-trees was accepted gratefully by the corporation, "be- 
cause it will be an additional beauty to Broadway, the pride 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY tl» 

of Qur city;" and the outcpoie of ^at particular pieqc of beauts* 
lyiag was to make Broadway look for a great many years after* 
wards like a street which had escaped from a NcMib s ark. 

But long before anybody had even dreamed that the Broad- 
way ever would be extended to these remote northern regions 
the Warren farm had pass^ from the possession not on& of 
Sir Peter, but also from the possession of his three daughters-*- 
Charlotte, Anne, and Susannah — who were his sole descendants 
and heirs. The admiral seems to have been but little in Amer- 
ica during the later years of his life; and after 1747— when he 
was elected a member of Parliament for the borough of West- 
minsters—I find no authckitic trace pf him on this side of the 
Atlantic. But Lady Warren, while Sir Peter was spending the 
most of his time at sea blazing away with his cannon at the 
French, very naturally continued to reside near her father and 
broths here in New York; not until his election to Parlia- 
ment, at. which time he became a house-holder in London, did 
she join him on the other side. 

Doubtless, also, consideration for her daughters — ^in the matter 
of schooling, and with a look ahead toward match-making 
— ^had much to do with hcftr Ladyship's move. So far as match- 
making was concerned, the change of base enabled her to make 
a very fair score — ^two, out of a possible three. Charlotte, the 
eldest daughter, married Willoughby, Earl of Abingdon, and 
Ann, the second daughter, married Charles Fitzroy, afterward 
Baron Southampton: whereby is seen that real estate in New 
York, coupled with a substantial bank account, gave as firm 
assurance) of a coronet sevenscore years ago as it does to-d^y. 
Susannah, the youngest daughter, was indiscreet enoufi^ I fear, 
to make a mere love-match. She married a paltry colonel of 
foot, one William Skinner — ^apd presently died, as did alsp her 
husband, leaving behind her a baby Susannah to inherit her 
third of the chunky admiral's prize-moneys and lands. 

The names of the husbands of all three of these ladies be- 
c^tne attached to the property in New York. Skinii^ Rotd 
was the present Christopher Street; Fitzroy Road ran nordi* 
near the line of the present Eighth Avenue, from about tbt 
present Fourteenth Street to about the present Forty-second 
Street; and the Abingdon Road (called also Love Lane), almost 
on the line of the present Twenty-first Street, connected what 
now is Broadway with the Fitzroy Rpad and eventually was 
extended to the North River. The only survival pf a^y of theie 
names is in Abingdon Square. 

The deeds for the propeirty in the Greenwich region all begin 
by reciting-^with the old-womanly loquacity of deeds — ^the faoli 
in regard to Sir Peter's issue set forth above; and in additipn 
tell how his estate was partitioned by a process in which the 
solemnity of legal procedure was mitigated by an agreeable dash 
of the dicing habits of the day: "In pursuance of the powers 
given in the said antcftiuptial deeds the trustees therein named, on 
March 31st, 1787, agreed upon a partition of the said lands, 
which agreement was with the approbation and consent of the 



ijb BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

cestui que trusts, to wit: Earl and Lady Abingdon, and Charles 
Fitzroy and Ann his wife, the said Susannah Skinner the second 
i\ot tii<fti having arrived at age. In making the partition the 
premises were divided into three parts on a survey made thereof 
and marked A. B. and C; and it was agreed that such partition 
should be made by each of the trustecfs naming a person to 
throw dice for and in behalf of their respective cestui que 
trusts, and that the person who should throw the highest num- 
ber should have pared A; the one who should throw the 
hext highest number should have parcel B; and the one who 
should throw ^e lowest number should have parcel C — for 
the persons whom they respectively represented: and the prem* 
ises were partitioned accordingly." 

It was on the lines of the map made for this partition that 
Greenwich went along easily and peacefully until it was brought 
up with a round turn, in thtf year 1811, by the formation of the 
present City Plan. 

Thonuu A, Janvier 

Life: A Dream 

I IFE is a dream in which figures appear with all the 
irrelevancy of fantastic designs in ancient tapestry. 
Pricftids, figures, passing shadows of people, come and 
vanish. All a dream, and we sleep on. 

Realities come upon us in the most unexpected angles of life, 
but their effdct passes, swiftly retreating as dream waifs 
flit across the edge of our fancy. Everything as in a dream. 

Faces that meant so much to us, dear faces that contained 
the sum and all of our existence, — onc^ so vivid, — go into 
the dim twilight of purple memories. All, as in a dream. 

Then shadowy thoughts are re-awakened, and in a phantastnagoria 
of strange events, we have again all ^ we had lost ; all that 
had floated away in the mists of our imagination. All, as in 
a dream. 

Weird combinations of people and things, as startling in 
their arrangement a^ exotic pictures in clashing colours, come 
Upon us and we are overwhelmed by the bounty of our lives 
which can produce such arabesques. Wcf almost wake. 

But the dream ^oes on; and the rush of worlds in great 
cycles of perfection, make no stranger sound than the quiet 
currents of these episodes in th^ circles of our lives. We never 
awaken. 

Robert Swasey, 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 881 

A Woman's Revenge 

By Guido Bruno 

"pHE thin shadows of the dying day groped In hungry waves 
into the room. Their pointed tongues readied after the 
color of the pictures and the glitter of the polished furniture. 
The bevelled edges of thcf mirror gleamed steel blue and reflected 
the moving shadows of the wall, ghostly long and distorted. 

A table with bric-a-'brac seemed a miniature graveyard with 
tombstones and monuments and hoveting clouds above. The 
slender pine trees out of the window and tiie dark heavens 
with the yellow shimmer of the departing sun, suggested a 
fantastic painting by some Japan^e artist 

She stood at die window. She pressed her forehead against 
the glass till it became clouded from her breath and she looked 
at the sky. She observed how the deep yellow of the farthest 
horizon changed into a violet gray, how it was losing constantly 
its color; how the oncoming darkness defined itself; and the 
clear deep blue of the heavens stood out creating for the con- 
stellations a fabulous Oriental background .... And the 
evening star blazed up and sparkled like a solitary diamond 
in the black hair of a beautiful woman. Sh^ observed hurrying 
mists like zealous couriers rushing hither and tiiither, and she 
waited until a great misshapen cloud that had completely cov- 
ered the entire picture sw<pt away and was gone. 

She listened to the murmuring voices of the phjrsicians 
in the next room where her husband lay dying. She felt that 
they were consulting together how to break the truth to her 
as gently as possible. The little watch in her girdle ticked 
on and the beat of each second meant to her a step nearer the 
realization of her ontf desire— nearer the moment for whidi 
she had been longing a lifetime. 

Often at night, lying in bed, she had folded her hands 
like a pious child and had prayed: "Dear Gpdt Let me be 
with him in his last hour and let mcf reckon with himl" 

It had happened just as she had imagined it would in 
her tormenting dreams. He lay in the next room wounded 
to death by one of the many husbands that he had betrayed. 
And a^ain she fold^ her hands and prayed: T.et me recJcon 
with him. Oh Lordl Don't let him die without my telling 
everything! Let me tell him how I hate himl" 

"I hate him, I hate him," thrilled every nerve of her 
exdtcfd brain. Her ears listened enviously for the sound of 
steps in the next room and her eyes were fixed on the door 
knob which would turn before they could come out. Would 
she be able to speak to him — ^to thcf man diat had destroyed 
her body, that had tormented her soul, that in every act of 
his life had offended her. Would he regain consdousness if 
only for a little while? Yes I Yes I .... He mustl It 
would be too terrible ; she had waited a lifetime for just this 
moment She knew what she was going to say. In many 



3ftg BRUNO^S WEEKLY 

sleepless nights she had rehears^ it; like a part in a play 
she had repeated it over and over again. And she hated himt 
A thousand times more than she had ever love^ him. And 
how she had loved himl 

She was ashamed of this love and her hate and the con- 
sciousness of her rejected devotion mounted to fury. 

The physicians had pressed her hand, had spoken to her 
in a quiet, professional way. iThe door stood open. She 
crossed the thre*5hold. She closed the door behind her. She 
thrust the portieres aside. 

The clear light of the five-branched chandelier flooded 
peacefully over the white bed. Thtf Smyrna carpet that served 
as a plumeau softened the severity of tiie linen sheet 

The long, high-bred fingers of his blucf-veined hands played 
with the Imotted fringe of the rug. He raised his head from 
the pillow; she saw how he tried to hide the signs of acute 
suffering. He even forced himself to smile and nodded to her. 
"Come! Come nearer to me," he breathed, scarcely audibly. 

He was conscious 1 

She could speak 1 The lines about his eyes that had always 
f^ascinated hrt- were more strongly marked than ever. He 
was very handsome. She looked awa3% up to the white fceiling. 

"For the others he had had love. For her indifferent aloof- 
ness, polite rejection ....." 

Shcf stepped nearer to the bed. She did not see the hand 
extended to her. She looked him straight in the eyes. 

He drew back as the helpless one does When he gazes in 
thcf eyes of his merciless, determined murderer. 

(To be continued). 



In Our Village 



IT sounds more like a tale of something that might have 
happ^ed some time in another age, somewhere — but surely 
far remote from America — this story of Capt. George Edward 
Hall, who painted Abraham Lincoln from life, who gave up 
his art for the sake of a woman who had married him upon 
this condition. Who went through thd years of excitement 
during the War of Secef^sion, as soldier and officer, who 
was a pioneer of California — the father of orchards — in that 
part of the country which he had chosen for his home, and 
who finally in the evening of his life, resumed the ambitions 
of his youth and became again a paints. 

Half a century ago he had been in Greenwich Village and 
now an old man, almost eighty years of age,^ with snow-white 
hair and venerable beard, but unhampered in vigor and di- 
thusiasm he came back; and his paintings, marvelous creations 
from out there where he tilled the soil, where h€ felt one with 
the bigness of God's own country, will be on exhibition in 
Bruno's Garret on Washington Square. ^ 

Only once in my life have I felt similarly looking at works 
of art. It was on thcf day that I viewed for the first time 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY m 



paintings by Cesanne. There is sinnetfaing stranfe to my tjt 
on his canvases. It seems realef and reakr the longer we 
look at it. It seekns to live, all at once, and if we torn and 
walk out into life, the things on the street seem different, 
they seem realer tiian ever before. 

Captain Hall paints several portraits of Lincoln as he knew 
him, after sketches made years and years ago from life. There 
is a portrait of Napcy Hanks, Lincoln's mother. There are 
marine scenes and sunsets, and then his forests, thcf trees he 
loved so much and the house which he built with his own 
hands from trees he had chopped down himself. ^ Captain Hall's 
exhibition comprises twenty paintings which will be on vltfw 
from January 10th, until January 24th. 

Sadakichi Hartmann will shortly make an appearance in 
Greenwich Village and will read two of his dramas on January 
18th, and January 19th, in Bruno's Garret. He will read his 
"Christ," on January 18th, and his "Buddha," on January 19th. 
Both plays created great sensation in the ^rly '90s, and it was 
mostly due to the persecution to which Sadakichi was exposed 
altar publishing "Christ" That he did not have a universal 
success prophecied his talent and g^ius. There are only fifty 
seats reserved for each of these readings and those who desire 
to hear Sadakichi are advised to communicate, at thdr earliest 
convenience, with Bruno's Garret 



The first exhibition of "The Eclectics," a group of sculptors 
and painters of Greenwich Village, is on view at present at 
thef Folsom Galleries. Marie Apel, she who did the Astor 
baby in bronze and a good bust of Sadakichi, is represented 
with some of her late work and most assuredly her best work. 

Kirk Towns, of Dallas, Texas, and formerly of Chicago, 
spent the Christmas holidays in New York, and thcf greater 
part of his time in the? Village. Mr. Towns, who is the best- 
known baritone in the West, was one of the victims at a 
certain New Year's Evening party which had been supposed 
to be a fancy dress ball, and was not in reality. Was it a 
joke or was it a misunderstanding of some sort? — ^but tiiis 
is what happefhed: two women and three men — and Kirk 
Towns was one of them — ^were, all New Year's day, feverishly 
engaged in finishing some costumes designed by Clara Tice, 
and succeeded in getting them ready just in time to be a little 
bit late at the fancy dress balL 

Well, it wasn't It was a very correct reception, and it was a 
rather delicate situation: the small fancy dressed party among 
old ladies and g^tlemen and some young ones too, who bad 
come to attend a social function. 



854 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Edison To American Musicians 

"THERE surely must be among the thousands of musicians 
in New York— and it is safe to say hundreds of thousands 
in the United State&-Mnen who are taking the old masters of the 
world for fundamental knowledge and worshipful reverie but 
feel the throbbing life around them — who feel its music, its 
tragedy, its romance, and who are endeavoring to express them- 
selves through their medium: music. THe far West, the 
Bad Lsuids, the deserts, that wonderful quiet and peace ,the 
grandeur of Nature, the soUtude of a man, a lone^ traveler ; 
then again thd buzzing life of the busy industrious city. 
Shouldn't the noises, the roaring and the moaning which[ fill 
the air of our cities impress the creative genius of a musician, 
shouldn't all that that is distinctively American call forth an 
echo in the soul of the artist? There surely must be American 
music, right at this moment It only has not had a chance to 
find its way to its right possessor: Uie American public. 

The Litde Thimble Theatre invites every Americmn com- 
poser an^ musician to take advantage of its opportnnitiies. 
Everybody will be considered equally seriously. 

The Little Thimble Theatre does not endeavor to produce 
masterpieces or to detect geniuses, in other words, to create 
sensational successes. The artist is equally frtfe to step before 
the public, as the people — his audience — ^are free to come and to 
like or to dislike. To have an audience! must be the most cher- 
ished desire of every artist, and he who takes his art seriously 
will welcome his audience as his critics. Because thertf is no 
admission fee charged and everybody welcome as long as tiiere 
are seats and standing capacity, the audicftice is comprised of 
a combination of people who resemble truly the American 
people at large to whom every artist wishes to appeal fiaalbr. 

Passing Paris 

Paris, December 1st, 
^ENERAL GALLIENI, our new Minister of War, chases 
after such citizens as may still be "embuscaded," like 
a terrier after rats. He is supported in his zeal by those people 
who in their claim for justice may commit many injustices and 
who call what is really, perhaps, envy and revenge by that 
mock tefrm which is served up to all purposes: "equality." 
Many a delicate young constitution has been irrevocably com- 
promised, lost perhaps, owing to the next door neighbor's or 
concierge's craving after "equality," expressed through anony- 
mous letters addr^sed to the Ministry or corps commander. 
In the slacker regime favouritism may or may not be respon- 
sible for the acquittal of some culpable ones, in the severer 
many innocent ones arc! condemned. Which is the better rule? 
^ I know a young man who, after having been wounded on ac- 
tive service, has been given some post m the rear. He dart 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 8g> 

not come home to spdbd Sundays with his wife and two little 
children 1>ecause of the neighbours wanting so much to know 
**why^ He has so many holidays, "why" he is not at die front, 
etc. So they have to meet in secret in some district whertf he is 
not knovm to the shrews prying at their windows. 

And yet those — few, it is true, they are— who are influditimltsr 
connected and want to "get off*' do. The Intransigeant asked 
openly the other day why tiie ton of a celebrated poet— appar- 
ently sufficiently able-bodied, if not fqr active service, at least 
for a post at the rear — found nothing better to do than to 
perform in his father's plays for the benefit of wounded, etc. 
A c:ertain sturdy-looking actor, son of an actor^ seems equally 
immune from tiie general rule. But the position of these is 
not to be envied either now or in the future. 

The men whose health keeps them in the so-called auxiliary 
service have, notwithstanding, a very hard time. Long presence 
hours, as is the custom in other spheres of French fife, are 
demanded of them; those working in offices, for instance, have 
ten-hour days (at 2^d,). Sometime the labour is manual, 
sometimes clerical The discipline is as severe as in the active 
ranks, perhaps even more so, and lifcf in barracks is anything 
but luxurious. Though they may be spared from peril, ^ese 
men do their duty in proportion to their physical capadtiea. 
It is a monotonous round indeed to which th^ are luonessed 
and bringing neither "sport" nor glory. 

Muriil Ci0lk^wskm 

gactract frin a letter to "The EgoUt," Lond»n. 

Smiles 

iHE was with me last night smiling across the table. Her eyes 
had been moist when, earlier, she had told me that "never, 
never, — come what might" would she forsake me. 

The waiter came widi the coffee and afterwards I gave her a 
little Chinese coin. This, too, she would "alwairs** keep with her 
as a lovcf token. But quite accidentally it slipped out of her hand 
while I was showing her another bubble, a sea-green emerald 
brought from India, the gift of Rajah Mahil. The little coin 
went botmding away over the tile floor and was lost forever in 
some crack. 

A thought crossed my mind for a half a moment • . . 
then I smiled at her again across the table. 

Tom Sleeper 

TWO DESERT SONGS 

The Start are white fire Once I stood very near 

That hat died and crumbled, A pale tntente pretence 

Into a thousand pieces Phat was Love 

Clear and unimpassioned Very near 

Yet even they falter My very speech was gone-I felt. 

And fan And now 

Let them, what does it matter? I am lonely. 

Tloreaae Lowe 



356 BRUNO^S WEEKLY 

Books and Magazineft of the Week 

WILLIS T. HANSON, Jr., has written an early life of John 
Howard Payne with contcfmporary letters heretofore un- 
published. There is just one objection I have to the remarkable 
work Mr. Hanson did in tiie vindication of that American genius 
who gave us our most loved home song, who was one of the 
greatest American actors and the iirst American dramatist whose 
work found appreciation and success in England: the book is 
printed privately in a very limited edition and only for compli- 
mentary distribution. Very much persecuted by his contempor- 
aries, grossly misunderstood by those who formulated thcf opinion 
of future generations, Pajme was and is — like Foe — ^a much 
abused and misunderstood personality. And just his early life 
shows us the struggles and heartaches of the boy whose later life 
we can understand now so much better. 

Of great interest are his eixperiences as editor, publisher and 
proprietor of a dramatic and literary paper in New York, which 
he founded at the age of thirteen and conducted anonymously. 
He succeeded in being taken seriously by the leading 
newspapers and magazines, and even by Mr. William Coleman^ 
the severe editor of the Post. 

"In Boston, when Payne had beeta deprived of his favorite 
amusement he had had recourse to his pen; so, in New York, 
when he found a like condition awaiting him he decided to 
meet it as he had in Boston; and on December 28, 1805, 
anonymously appeared the first number of a little weekly pub- 
lication, entitled the Thespian Mirror, printed for the Editor by 
Southwick and Hardcastle, No. 2 Wall Street 

"As noteAd in his introduction, it was the purpose of the 
Editor in presenting the sheet to the 'enlightened citizens of 
New York,* to exhibit, *a specimen in matter and manner of 
work, which on sufficient encouragement, would be issued in 
the metropolis ; the work to comprehend a collection of interest- 
ing documents relative to the stage, and its performers; chiefly 
inteftided to promote the interests of the American Drama, 
and to eradicate false impressions respecting its nature, objects, 
design and tendency of Theatrical Amusements." 

"It had at first been Payne's plan to issue a literary papefr, 
and without communicating his plan he had composed a pros- 
pectus for a publication to be known as the Pastime, intended 
for the perusal of youth only. After some rdSfection, con- 
siding the existing number of papers called literary,' and 
believing the habits of the citizens of New York— as stated in 
No. XIV, of the Thespian Mirror, ^better calculated to en- 
courage a work more intimately connected witili the prcfvailing 
thirst for pleasure,' he had recourse to his favorite topic, and 
strudc the plan of the Thespian Mirror, He seems to have 
secured pecuniary supplies which enabled lum to enter upon 
the work; the printers were applied to; and it was but three 
days from the moment of the first projection to that of pub- 
lication—a period more inconsiderable when it is remen^bek-ed 



BRUNO'S WfeEKLY M 

that the only time at his command was before eight in tiie 
morning and after eight in the evening. Thretf young gentiemea, 
two of them fellow clerks in the store, were alone entrusted 
with the secret 

"Following thcf issue of the first number a few^ subscriber^ 
appeared and such complimentary notice was given to the 
Mirror by the newspapers, that Payne was encouraged to 
proceed." 

la Which 

The little monthly in which Norman Geddes, in Detroit "says 
just what he thinks," contains a good reproduction of Van Dyck's 
famous painting, ''St Martin Cutting his Mantel and Sharing it 
with a Poor Man". The masterpiece is a gift to the people of the 
United States from Mr. Charles Lcfon Cardon, the noted artist 
and connoisseur of Brussels, Belgium, in recognition of the 
generous sjrmpathy and relief which has poured from the 
American people during the last year. It was pr^ented to the 
United States Minister, Brand Whitlock, a short time ago and 
will be presented to this country on Washington's birthday. 
According to the wishes of the Government, it will be exhibited in 
the large cities of the country and thtfti find its permanent home in 
the beautiful Toledo Museum of Art, of which Mr. Whitlock was 
a trusts during his residence there. 

The Wild Hawk 

Hervey White, the editor's poem "Ave Maria", in the December 
issue, is a masterpiece. Its spirit is a unique combination of the 
wonderful devotion of a Catholic and a frank admiration of a 
twttitieth century man. 

The Philosophy of Health 

"A Stuffed Club" appears under a ncfw name but edited 
by its old publisher. Dr. Tilden. 

Our Town 

Our namesake, the Greenwich in Connecticut, has a new 
magazincf, a weekly which calls itself "The Magazine News- 
paper of America's Ideal Suberb." Norman Talcoft wrote 
in the current issue an interesting comparison between Green- 
wich Village and Greenwich Town, and a fragrant bouquet did 
he hand to our littltf weekly in one of his November issues. 
Belated Thanks! 

^^^-Plate Auetioa 

A well-known resident of Greenwich Village, Mr. Henry 
Blackwell, disposed last week of his collection of book- 
plates, comprising the richest representation of very scarce 
farly American book-plates in an auction held in the "Col- 
lectors' Club." Many originals by American engravers and 
artists of fame were in the collection. Mr. Blackwell is 
writing at present a book on American Book-Plates Previous 
to the War df Secession. 



858 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Newark Wishes To Attract|Poets 

"THE Committee of One Hundred o£Fers a series of prizes, ag-» 
gregating $1,000, for poems on Newark and its 250th An« 
niversary and plans to publish |he best of the poems submitted 
in a volumcf to be entitled, "Newark's Anniversary Poems." 

In this competition all the poets of our country are invited 
to participate. 

The prize poem on Newark and its Anniversary may touch 
on any or all of such topics as, tiie Citjr's historic aspects, its 
rapid industrial development, its civic and educational features, 
thcf chief purpose of its celebration, — ^which is, to develop a 
wider and deeper public spirit 

Newark is not all industries, smoke, rush and din. It is a 
great center of production and in its special field of work is 
alert and progressive. But it has also beautiful homes, fine 
parks, admirable schools, a us^ul library. Its thousands of 
shade trees are the envy of many cities. The cleanliness of its 
highways surprises even the Newarker himself. It has a good 
govemmcftit, churches in plenty and many worthy clubs and 
societies. Art and science, even, are not altogether neglected 
here. Newark is an old town, solid and conservative and tena- 
cious of certain old time peculiarities. Newark, with 400,000 
people, the largest city in New Jersey, though known to all 
the world as a producer of honest goods, is still to that same 
world quite unknown as to its own special quality among Ameri- 
can cities. Will the poet, the man of insight and of prophecy, 
kindly comcf forth and discover her to the world and to herself? 

There are many interesting phases in Newark's life and in its 
celebration. All are within the field of the inspiration of the 
poet we are seddng. To make our volume interesting, its 
verses should touch on a wide range of subjects. The wits 
as well as the philosophers have their opportunity here. We 
think our city already quittf worthy! Now we seek a poet who 
shall make us famous 1 If with him comes one who makes us 
ludicrous — and he does it well — to him also we can award a 
prize! 

Replated Platitudes 

The penalty of being a generation ahead of your time, is 
to become the fool of your generation, to become perchance, 
the prophet of all future generations. 

Those who, having no business, make a business of pur- 
suing activities which have no purpose give a purpose to 
those who make a business of pursuing those whose life has 
no purpose. 

Yes, "knowledge is power" if whoever has the knowledgre 
also has the power to correlate that knowledge to the needs 
of the world; especially so much of the world as has the 
power to pay for the satisfaction of its needs. 

—JuKus Doimer 



BRIJNO*S WEEltLY 




Prayer 



By H. Thompson Rich 

Europe is att one tombt The awful words 

Make the most hardened ones among us sigh ; 

And still the soldier multitudes come by, 

Cold legions with their lif^blood turned to curds; 

For they have seen their fellows' desperate herds 

Stumble upon the stricken plain and die; 

And they naye known thtf buzzards' long, harsh cry- 

And they hav^ missed the music of the birds. 

God send us healing pity of green grass, 
And heartening of flowers, and help of treesi 
To bury The Red Shame forever more; 
And they whose bodi^ perish, they who pass 
Out of the World and over unknown seas — 
Send them forgetfulness of Death and Wan 

From "The Red Shamed—Bruno Chap Books for JamkMy 



m BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Phantasies 

By Heroichiro K. Myderco 
AGuMt 

|NLY yesterday a guest came and praised the flower of our 
humblcf ^rden ; today the guest is no more with us. We 
see the tiny quilt upon which he sat, the tea-cup from which hi 
drank his tea, the square fire-box in which he dropped the ashes 
from his pipe, and upon them all the sad airy shower of 
ch^ry-blossoms. 

^ Shall we call Death a mystery? Then, surely, our 'guest's 
life consecrated to art and its love, is far more mysterious 
than his death. Whereof we stretch our vain hands and stare 
at the abyss of Eternity, claiming for a trifle more token of 
his hear^ we gain naught but a grave and sunburnt wreath 
tattered in shreds. We must turn to' ourselves to love him. 
Such a sympathetic guest was he that after he was gone w€ 
all became conscious of ourselves, and our life became full- 
limbed and whole-souled. Out of a thousand who came from 
the^ West, he aloncf remained with us, virtuous, brave and 
smiling. If his love to us were noble and manly, if his death 
were sad and heroic, what did we give him as the token of our 
soul's gratitude? We are ashamed to disclose our facef before 
him, save in one instance, when we know that he is still loving 
us beyond the maze of Death. Such was the coming and passing 
of a guest to our garden, and the flowers are? lonelier now 
without him. 

The rain beats against the boughs of trees, and the roof 
is wet; I come down from my seat and pick up a name-card 
from the empty quilt upon which he sat yesterday. It u heavy 
like a leaf of sea-weed. On its surface I read the name of oar 
guest . . . Lafcadio Heam! 

Maude: A Memory 

By GfMif Brtm9 
(Continued from btt ittnt) 

''The lights of the skyscrapers of Chicagro reminded us of 
the end of our trip. I was a new man. I longed for die city— 
to go back to those surroundings I had left, a few hours ago^ 
dissatisfied with myself — ^not contcfhted with my lot and no pros- 
pects for a change fot the better at all 

"But now I wanted to go back to do things and there were 
lots of things I wanted to do. I felt instinctively that there was 
in me just the thing that shtf seemed to lack. With the sharp 
knowledge of the ph3rsician I realized what she needed to adiieve 
the success at which she was aiming. She needed a stronjBT naiit 
who could be able to create the concentration in her which she 
did not have— who could make her see dimgs as they ought to 
be seen 1^ other people. All my life I had coUeScted beautiful 
things and guarded them — pictures and precious stonai and bric- 
a-4>racs. How I wished I could let her see those things because 



BRUNCyS WEEKI.Y m 

I knew she could appreciate tliem. She wanted tp know arery- 
ttuae: about mjrself and she had such a fine understandiog that 
jhc iTuessed what I dida't care to speak about She didn't know 
my name. I didn't know hers. 
'^he time for parting came. 
^ 'Shall wcf meet again ?" I asked. 

" 'Shall we? yes, we shall,' she said. ToflK>rrow if it 
rmins I shall be at the Ashland Drug store at 2 o'clock. When 
it rains I have a headache and I'll need those tablets and also you 
mig^ht help me if you wish to. I don't want to know your last 
name and don't you cVer ask me mine. And now. here's my bag- 
g^ge check. Please assist me in getting o£E tne steamer and 
then promised not to look when I go.' 

^That night I went home and prayed fervently that it might 
rain thcf next day. I felt like a young boy. I have hated the 
name of Maude as long as I can remember. When a little boy, 
I once had a governess — ^the most dreadful old maid you can 
imagine. Her name was Maude — and she knew how to make 
me perfectly tmhappy. That night I started to love that name. 
I acied very silly. I was thinking of all the things I wanted to 
show her, that I wanted to talk to het about and I awoke the 
next morning and glorious sunshine poured into the room. When 
I raised the curtain, I felt dreadfully tmhappy. 

'^I performed my duties as usual that day but everting 
seem^ to carry a greater h^piness, the day was brighter, 
after I remembered the cheerful and original remarks Maude 
had made about my work the previous day. 

"I had a very important appointment for two o'clock in the 
afternoon. I arranged to have it postponed. It was die finest 
day you could imagine. There were no signs of coming raia. 
But I believed with all my heart that there would be a rain 
because I could not grasp the thought that I should never 
setf her again. And as there was no rain, but shine, I went 
up anyhow. I entered the store and there she was. She seemed 
embarrassed for a second. I could not make out why. Because 
I had come in spite of the sunshine? Or because she was 
diere herself? 

" 'I just dropp^ in to telephone and have purchased a slug,' 
she said, 1>ut I don't care to phone now/ and she showed me 
the slug to show me there was no other purpose in her entering 
the store. And I thought, liow silly,' and took the slug out of 
htfr hand and put it in my pocket. I wanted to keep it I like 
little things with a lot of memories attached to them. I am 
stiU keeping it in my pocket now. 

'That was yesterday, Kenneth, and you don't know how 
charming she was, and how I felt the more that she was the 
woman mad^ for me. Made for me 30 that we could perfect one 
another! And again wc parted, not knowing who we really 
were. But we wanted to meet tomorrow and spend the fore- 
noon in one of those quaint little suburbs near Chicago. Can 
you imagincf, Kenneth, what I felt when you purchased that 
horrid pink newspaper ? And there I saw the face I had dreamed 



362 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

of all day. And the line telling me her name? And those 
sincere-looking ey^ had lied to me? That she^ had not onty 
played for a pastime with the most sacred feeling of a man* 
but had lowered herself to forget that she was the wife of 
another man ? And do you know what I must hav^ felt to know 
that liiis woman — who was my constant thought since I met 
her, for whom I wished to do all the things we think of doin^; 
for those whom we wish to see happy — ^that this woman was at 
the present time in her home somewhcfre in Chicago, paralyzed 
with pain, uncertain about the safety of her husband? 

"I wonder, Kenneth, if she is sitting right now in a dark 
corner of an unlighted room somewhcAre and living through 
dreadful hours of remorse? Through those hours when man and 
woman who never have believed in a God, wonder whether 
there is not a punishment of Sin. Does she not think that 
this is a punishment for her Sin? 

"The loveliest women are charming liars. But why did she 
tell me all those things? How rotten her soul must He. If 
she is able to talk about the most sublimcf, about the highest 
things, looking into the admiring eyes of a man — listening to 
;his devoted speeches and knowing in the bottom of her heart* 
[ have no right to look and listen 1' How vile shcf must be." 

''My dear fellow," said Kenneth, looking his friend in the 
eyes after listening intently, and without having dared to change 
his position, "I would not judge her too quickly. Arti 3roa 
not mistaken? Are you sure it is she you met? Pardon me— 
it seems to be rude, but I don't believe you when you say 
she is vile. I know you too wc11» and when you speak about some 
one as you spoke about her, she must possess exceptional qual* 
ities. You did not even tell me that she is beautifull But yott 
told me her aim in lifcf. Do you really believe that a woman 
such as you describe could change as quickly in reality as in 
your own mind? I think you do her an injustice." 

(To be continued). 

RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 

^tra Illiistrated Books. Early Printed Books. Associatioa Books 

Books for Christinas Gifts 

Pmchaaed tingly or in sets for people who hsye neither time nor opportunity to 
•elect for themtelyec, or for those who have not access to the best hook maitsL 

Why not begin collecting now? 

Address E. V., Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass. 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, sad 
edited and written by Guide Bnino, both at 6S Wasliingtofli 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 

. AppUcmtiMis for eatnr m secoa4-ciass auitter at tkt Post OSes el 
|lov York ysa^iae. 



BIG COHAN Sk HARRIS SUCCESSES 



AT ACTflD BiPt«<w«y «dl 4Stfc St. Tiliffcwt, fcwUltT. Iw'g 1 fcit 
THE Ad 1 Ul\ ■aiiMM. Wdh«iv (P«p£rPricM) adl SiIm^ •! !:•• 

Geo. IL Cohan's HIT-THE-TRAIL 



AMERICAN 
PLAY 



HOLLIDAY 

With FRED NIBLO m **BILLY HOLLiDAY" 



AT PAlimCD 42iStrMt.W«tWBmilw«r. 

THE LAriULLK if«'f. 8:lt. ■aiiaMi. Wdh«iv adl Utmin a 2:M 

BEST PLAY OF THE YEAR 

THE HOUSE OF 

With MARY RYAN aad th« Gi««t AB- AmmicM 



r^ LONGACRE ^^^^^-"--^ 



ETt'ff, 



Mrthim,Wiiiaiiiy «mI Ulbuivt 2^ 



LEO DITRICHSTEIN 
'-^SiS^S*' The Great Lover 



9f 



IE 



The Oasis 

of Washington Square 



Tea Room 

Ice Cream Parlor 

Cigars and CigarattM 



Beneath Bmno's Garret 
ROSSI BROS., Prop'rs 



m 




Thomas 
Pweter 
Garrett 



Drawing 
Painting 

No. Rye 
Bank St. 



It is BOW possible for me 
to receiTo a few private 
pupils in my studio at No. 
Five Bank Street in the 
afternoon from two until 
six at one dollar a lesson 



. 



Drawing 
Painting 

No. Fiye 
Bank St. 



Thomas 
Pweter 
Garrett 



OiariM Edwin's litde TUmble ThHdn, SibBlad 
■tRD.10FiflhATenae,Gn«nridi ViB>(^N.Y.C 

QoUa BniBo, Huwgcr. 

This Week's Perfortaaneet toA Coneerte 

WednecdBj, t:lB p. m. CKHdreti'i HoAV and Dtic Cobcert 
OB the Square. 

'th«n4Ky, S:U p. m. Pe^fotiiaanec tt tbe Little Tkihiblc 
Theatre. 

]^ri4ay, 1:15 p. rt. 

Sttttfrdar, i:a6 p. m. CUldt'eii'i Hoar and Disc Gmccrt 
cm the SqoKre. 



Aik M write fw ticket of adnuukm to The 
Litde Thnnbla Theetre perfonnaneee. Jhtj 
■ve nee n CMifBt 



BRUNO'S WEEKiy 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRR 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Five Cents January ISth, 1916 



Copyricfat Jaauary 15th, M16. Original matter, inclndtng all 
4rawi&fft, may not be reproduced without permitaton of 
G«Sdo Bruno; but that permittion mtty bt •■•vaitd if credit it 
given to author and Brun«^t WetU]^. 

READERS OF 



Bruno's Weekly 



Are Asked To Become 

SUBSCRIBERS 



52 Issues Two Dollars 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Bdited by Oiiido Bnino in Hii Cbiret on W«ihiiigtoa Sqiw 

No. 3 January ISth. MCMXVI Vol. II 

M pEACE on earth, good wiU toward men** — 
Empty words, that were empty then I 

Two thousand years have thundered by, 
And still men give their God the lie, 
And still men battle and men die; 
And still th^ flay with flail of lead. 
Till earth is red and sea is red 
And heaven is crimson overhead* 

"Peace on earth, good will toward men" — 

When? And the echoes answer: when? 

H. Thompson Rkh 

Greenwich Village in Historical Novels 

1 The Comdm Vrovw of Mana-ha-ta * 

At Home and in Society, 1000- 1700. 

By Mrs. John King Van Rensselaer 

I^RS. ALEXANDER had purchased a beautiful spot that 
commanded a view of the bay of New York, and she 
hoped to engross her husband's attention in superintending 
the building of the house and laying out the grounds, and 
in this way distract his mind from the troubles that had 
agitated him for so many years. Small-pox was raging in 
New York, and the assembly was holding its meetings in 
Greenwich, that salubrious hamlet on Mana-ha-ta, which 
lay at least three miles beyond the city limits, and which 
was always the haven of refuge when yellow fever, cholera, 
small-pox, and other dreaded scourges visited New York, 
introduced there by sailors who carried these diseases from 
port to port.^ The centre of Greenwich was about on the spot 
that the Indians called Sapo-Kanican, which was the site of 
one of their villages. Minitie-water (or little brook) joined 
Bestevaar's Killitje or Grandfather (Van Cortlandt's) Creek, 
and ran through the place and part of it had been the farm 
of Mme. Oloff Van Cortlandt, that she called "Bossen 
Bowerie," or Bush farm. The English name was given 
to the place out of compliment to the palace of .Greenwich 
(which was . the haven of sailors, after it was no longer 
used by the king), when Admiral Sir Peter Warren, who 

Copyright lOlS by Guido Bruno 




^mvx , 



isms^f^ 



WM for maax yturs stationed ia these waters, Dought the 
•dioiotnff preperty. - i a « 

In 1730, Mr. Alexander received the news of the death, 
at his family estates in England, of the great<^raftdsoii 
of the first Earl of Stirling, who was Henjry, the fifth 
earl who had died without male ^ issue, learii^ a« heirs 
to the unentailed property the wives ot Willikm Philips 
Lee and Sir William TfunlbuU. Ateofding to the grant 
of the original title, it would now pass to the eldest male 
heir, through John of Gogar, the great^grandlathef of James 
Alexander of New York. 

'New York, Charles Scribner't Sons, ISBS. 

Eternal Minuter 

By Guido Bruno 

TT was raining, raining and raining on a late Sunday afternooni 
once years ago in London. I have forgotten the name of 
the Street But it was a rather stately-looking row of stone 
mansions, whose doors were shut and undoubtedly locked. The 
house on the corner of the narrow side street was gray, window 
boxes with withered plants distinguished it among all others. 
The shades of the window were yellow and drawn. The house 
secftned unoccupied, but, strangely, the very large doors were 
wide ajar. The doorway was a welcome refuge for me as I 
hurried without an umbrella to the nearest tube. Many men 
and women with rain-wet overcoats stood in this doorway, 
which led to a court-jrard desertefd as well as the other part of 
tiie house. Some of the men were pacing up and down nerv- 
ouslv. Some were near the door looking with resignation up 
to tne clouded skies which poured continuously efnormous buckets 
of water upon the for-once white-washed sidewalk. Others 
exchanged commonplaces about their unfortunate experience: 
to have bden caught in the rain, just this afternoon, while they 
had been in a hurry to get to some place or another where their 
presence was most necessary. Still others were on the outlook 
for a cab. ^ ' 

Against the grey Wall leaned a girl in a green raincoat She 
had a red hat and a lot of obstinate blonde hair. She stood 
there lazily. She seemed to be real happy. She was watching 
the rain-drops which splashed upon the stone of the sidewalk 
Mid looking up to thcf roof of the house across the street,^ from 
where little water fidls pdured . . . • she seemed to eiijoy it 
She seemed to enjoy the impatience, and the wrath and the 
Miger of h€r fdk>w*-refugees. And tor a Jong while she ob- 
served with happy contentedtiess the tree in tne back yard of 
the house, with its naked branches and the stone bench beneath 
It 

She had hig mtie ityU. 

She itniled as otff ejf^s met I looked tor a long time into 
her eyes; her smile vanished slowly-^scarcel]^ noticeabljr, before 




m 

she turned th^m to the dripping umbrella of a .new ftrrivaL 
Our eyes met again. Just for 6ttt wHotitent Aftd thtH soiii- 
one whom she knew came with an umbrella and die lelj^ . 

I did not look into her eyes for longer' than a small JFractlbn 
of a minute. But it seemed to me like a long Ufetihie, wMi 
all its longing> its promises, its diSSippDiiitmcntSy iti joy ...» 
with its inevitabfe parting. 

Years haTt passed. But often^ of a rainy afternoon or iti 
the twitight of i quiet hour or in the radiant sun^ine of a 
glorioits summet- day do I think of tiie big blue eyes beneath 
thtf blonde curls and the red hat. 

Cats' Purrs 

By IX Mofby 

yU'HAT a cat enjoys apparently the most is to lie down in 
a warm place and just breathe and think. He can breathe 
any way he wants to but knows it is better to breathe through 
his nose so he does. He lefts the air come in and go out just 
as it will. And if he wants to feel real pleased, he sings to 
himself. How he does it is to raise his soft palate and keep 
it raised so that thef air in passing by it will make it vibrate. 
When the palate vibrates it makes vibrations in the air all 
around the cat and anybody who is close enough can hear them. 

The same air each time is used twice: it makes vibrations 
as it goes in and it makes more as it comes out. The sounds 
it makes are di£Ferent for as it is inhaled it takes most of the 
vibrations on into the cat. 

When the cat sings, it is supposed to be? a sign of appreciation 
or contentment. But the cat probably doesn't know what appre- 
ciation is, and if he did, he would have no reason for thinking 
that his singing would show it. And if he were already con- 
tented, he would lief still that way and not bother to sing. The 
truth is more likely this: he is comfortable and feeling well 
and something starts him to thinking he is happy. This makes 
him want to be more happy, so he begins to sing. In this way 
he soon has himself p^suaded into the belief that He feally 
is happy and of course this niakes hirii contfented. 

Whether or not he ever sings whefi he is off by hiiiAsfelf, 
nobody knows. Biit the probability is that hfe does. 

Dapple Gr«y 

(Grone is the day of Dapple Grey, 

My true love has grown up; 
Kow she si^s for ribl>ons blue. 

And wants a silver eup. 

t« if i^¥» cvt^ hr gdM «Mi%» 

That steals mf Hf^k tiWh^-^ 

rio' pttSlt tt ^WiMll fh^ iHnftin^ 

If she loses Dapple Grey. 

Q. O. 



87b BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



A Woman's Revenge 

By Guido Bruno 
(Concluded) 

Her voice sounded deep and quiet. "You are dying. You 
know it and I know it. We have been married ten years. 
Nine years we have been living together as strangers. You 
have taken my youth and destroyed my faith in humanity. 
You have made me poorer and more pitiable than the beggrar 
on the street, for he has perhaps somewhere a heart that 
beats with love for him. And now that you are going — ^goins 
forever — I will tell you how I hate you. 

"I despise you I loathe you .... 

Don't speak I I know ever3rthing and I have known every- 
thing all along. I could name them to you, one by one, the 
women through whom you have shamelessly betrayed me. 
There was the wife of your friend, Hans. There was the cir- 
cus-rider who bore you a child, there was the young sales- 
woman who because of you drowned herself, there was my 
diambermaid. I discharged her and you settled her in quar- 
ters of her own. Then came the teacher. She was 
the only one for whoan I felt any sympthay. She loved you 
honestly, and when she found out that you had a wife at home 
she gave you up. And then others followed in motley, quick 
succession. You took whatever crossed your path: decent 
women that su£Fered for their sin all their lives and girls 
whose customer you were. You led astray the wives of your 
friends and dishonored the daughters of your acquaintances. 

"And now Fate has overtaken you . . . . . how 
coarse and relentless! No beauty, and none of the romance 
that you always loved and for which you lived. Oh, yes 1 . . 
I know that, too! The last one — the very last! The beautiful 
wife of a motorman attracted you. You overlooked her labor- 
hardened hands and you took her. And for that the motor- 
man burst open your head with his crank. Ha! Ha! Ha! I 
must laugh, must laugh at your prosaic finish." 

Like the gloating of the Furies when they laugh over a 
misfortune that they have passed and done with, sounded the 
laugh of this woman who was taking revenge for nine heart- 
breaking years. 

Imperturbable had become the face of the dying man. 
But the more excitably, the more harshly, the more ma- 
liciously the woman spoke the tenderer and the more loving 
grew his look. He embraced her body with his eyes. 

He saw the girdle between skirt and blouse, the watch 
chain with the gold locket hanging from it. He had given it 
to her during their honeymoon. His picture was in that 
locket and half of a four-leafed clover. 

He looked in her eyes, in the wonderful, deep violet eyes 
that were true, so true. 

What he had not known for years he realized now: 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 371 

"Mia Mia I I have loved you always. You did not under- 
stand me. You did not try to understand me. I sought for- 
Setfulness with the others. I drifted from one to the other. 
I ivas always searching for you and you were lost to me. 
Forgive me . . . Mia! .... Mia, I love you 
dear . . . I . . . always loved only you . . ." 

"Harry, you liel Tell me that you are lying 1 God in 
heaven 1 Don't go from me with a lie on your lips! That 
cannot be the truth 1" 

She sobbed. She wept. She fell on her knees beside the 
hed and threw her arms about the lifeless body. 

A soft rain beat against the window panes. The silver 
scissors and knives that lay on the dressing table and waited 
in vain to care for the hands of the master glittered nobly. 
Thcf blue and yellow vials on the medicine table sparkled like 
oddly-cut semi-precious stones. 

The quiet of an unchangeable misery lay over every 
object in the room. 

Soundless tunes of an unplayed sonata of Beethoven 
diffused through the air. 

A woman had taken revenge. 

London Letter 

London Office of BRUNO'S WEEKLY, 
18 St. Charlei Square, New Kentingtoa. 

December 27th, 1015 
*¥*!!£ death of Stephen Phillips tak^ from us another figure of 
the 'nineties and a man who by temperament at any rate 
was far more of a poet than many of his contemporaries upon 
whom fortune smiled more smugly. As Phillips said himself, 
he was not respectable enough for a Civil List pension or for 
one of those sinecure offices often^ given to men of letters. 
The man who had two or thrcte poetic plays running in London 
at the same time and was the most successful literary dramatist 
since Wilde, came down to hawking his poems in ^person at 
newspaper offices. During the last year or so he had been 
editing th^ Poetry Review^ a little literary journal subsidized 
by the Poetry Society. 

It is to be supposed that Phillips died of alcoholism and 
regret — ^like most of the poets of his decade. One can see 
now the price those poets of thef 'nineties had to pay for 
their few years of glory and the little ardour they brought back 
to our numbed^ and paralysed literature. Dowson, Francis 
Thompson, Davidson, Lionel Johnson, Wilde — ^thcir lives arc 
sad and bitter. They inched the end of the century with a 
little fleeting beauty, but they gave it us out of their hearts 
and hopes, or perhaps rather out their despair. 

For the characteristic thing of the Renaissance of the *nin^ 
ties in England was its despair. It had something of the fever 
of music or revelry at a feast whcfre time is short and the end 



»W BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

is at bs^d. All their art suggests an intermezzo, veautiral 
but desperate. 

All these poets ai^d artists of the ^nineties seem on behold- 
ing the liftf of th^r time to have exclaimed in a kind of hope* 
less terror "Oh Lord!" and then to have alternatively sung 
or drunk, in ?ui tinthinking despair. 

They were artists, as good artists as their environment allowed 
them to be, but they were poor builders for any art of the 
future. That is, they had no conscious appreciation of their 
position in the society where they found themselves. Ihey 
knew it was disagrecfable and antipathetic to their art, but that 
was the extent of their analysis. It led them for the most part 
to miserable ends. 

Most of the books which are appearing at the moment ar^ 
Christmas books, ornate and heavy tomes whefrein indigestible 
thoughts lie like raisins in a plum pudding. Almost literarily 
they are sold by weight They are very expensive and solid, 
and are bought by thousands. A notable book though shows 
its head here and therief. Such an one is the translation of 
Romain Rolland's Au Dessus de la Melee, which is to be given 
the title of 'Above the Battle* and is published by Allen & 
Unwin. The book is also to be done in Ametica I hear. 
I have been acquainted with the French work for some time, 
having read the articles as they originally appeared in the 
Journal de Geneve, where RoUand is now living in exile. The 
publication in France oi Au Dessus de la Melee was for some 
time forbidden by the French Government. It is not easy to 
see why, here in England, whete we still enjoy a greater 
liberty of expression than they do in France. Any of these 
articles of Rolland's might have been published in any paper 
here at any time during the war, for the? patriotism which 
inspires them is undoubted, and it is only a plea for reason 
and the intelligence which the author of Jean Christophe oflFers 
us in these beautiful pages. Hcfre that spirit of reason, of 
humanity, which has found here and there in America some 
admirable expressions, crystalises into a poignant form. I can 
only urge everyone to get this inspiring book where the? intel- 
ligence of Europe that is gravely wounded and in agony finds 
an expression not unworthy of its glorious past. In the 
introduction we read "A great nation assailed by war has not 
only its frontiers to defefnd. It has also its reason. To each 
man his task: to the armies the guarding of the soil of the 
fatherland. To the men of thought the preservation of 
thought." 

RoUand protests against the brutal orgy of lies, of defama- 
tion and of panic hatred which a war produces amon? the 
baser intelligences of a people, and he asks the elite of the 
warring nations if they cannot still be good patriots without 
ceasing to be traitors to that European conception of humanity, 
which, up to the fatal moment of August 1914, had been their 
ideal. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY aW 

Nor does he despair that for a legacy 2A\ tktt the war wiO 
leave will be ruin and chaos. 

*Thmy are mistaken who think that the ideas of fr^e humaH 
brotherhood are suffocated now! . . , I have no doubt of 
the future unity of Eurojiean society. It will bo realized* Tbii 
war is but its baptism of blood." 

In the Roh of the Elite, The Idols, and Inter Arnw CarJI(M 
Monsieur Rolland says some brave and uplifting words. 

Edward Storer 

Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre 

J^ISS VOLNOVA, who appears this Thursday for the first 
time before a New York audience, a young Russian girl 
who came recently to America, has the aim to interpreft with 
her dancing what the great masters expressed on canvas or 
in marble and to give to our eye what the music of her accom- 
paniment gives to our ear. She will present a dance of the 
Orient, "A Vision of Salome," by G. B. Lampe. "War Tragedy" 
is the dramatic interpretation of the horrors of war. It is a 
recent composition by E. R. Steiner. All that entrancing 
rhythm of Menddsohn's "Spring Song" she sketches for the 
eye with her graceful, lithesome body. 

Miss Volnova is an idealist who believes that dancing is 
an art which should be presented to the masses of the popu- 
lation, in its highest and most refine^l development. The goal 
of her ambition is to dance before "all and everybody" and to 
bring joy of Ufe and sense of rhythm to those who need it most. 
Mr. Alfred E. Henderson, who will introduce Miss Volnova 
in the coming season to art-loving Ncfw York, will appear on 
the same program in his Henderson Trio with Agde Granberg 
and Miss Roelker. Miss Granberg will interpret by pantomime 
Oscar Wilde's "Happy Prince," which Mr. Henderson will read, 
accompanied by Miss Rocflker on the piano. 

What Is the Matter? 

• 

One can hardly believe that with so many real good, far 
above the avefrage singers, piano players and instrumental artists 
extant and looking for engagement the o£Ferings in our music 
halls and concert rooms of smaller calibre maintain a standard 
so far below the average. Real tragic are very oft^ the tales 
of artists who apply for an appearance on the stage of Charles 
Edison's Little Thimble Theatre of their sad wanderings from 
managers to impresarios, from impresarios to press agents and 
all efforts to gain a public appearance strand upon those two 
requirements which to achicfve they don't get a chance: money 
or reputation. 

mmmmummmmmmmmmmmmimmmmimmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm^mmmmmmmm 

Culture is all that that is left after we haye forgotten 
what we learned. 

A real woman raspectt, aboye all, strength in a man. 

Guido Bruno' 



874 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

In Our Village 

IF you are really one of those easily impressed and you have 
the energy to follow your first impulse after reading a 
newspaper article and to investigate for yoursdf , come down to 
Greenwich Village in tiie evening. Then it is that village of 
which you read, the background to so many big thingrs, the 
essential in so many big lives, — ^the one part of the dty where 
you can forget city and six million co-inhabitants of yours: 
there is the Arch with its simple architecture, the monumental 
gateway to the Square, between the nake^l branches of trees 
and bushes, houses bi^ and small, with large windows and just 
stingy openings to let m the light. Lights here and there. Hi^h 
upon the tower of a hotel an electric-lighted cross and still 
higher above, a few stars, and if you are lucky and the night is 
clear, the moon. And then you cross over to the other side 
of the Square and there are the small narrow streets. The 
Square is deserted and only a few passengers waiting for 
tiie next bus make up the small group beneath the arc light. But 
the streets are peopled with men and womdn who stand around 
the Italian grocery shops and pastry bakeries; they worked all 
day and kept sildnt and now they live their real own life. There 
are cafes as you can see them on the rivas in small Itatian 
coast cities where you really eat pastry and drink co£Fee and 
play dominoes. And then turn in one of those streets and unex- 
pectedly, like the background of a miniature play-house, a little 
chapel looms up before you. The doors are open, candle 
before the altars are testimony that the saints are not 
forgotten. Women are sitting on the stairs selling rosaries, 
little statuettes and« paper flowers; and men and women and 
children are passing in and passing out And tiieh follow the 
thundering elevated and turn again to the Square. As many 
windows as you see lighted in these mansions of yore used now 
as rooming and lodging-houses — as many homes do they contain. 

Can you help thinking it: if I were a poet or an artist, 
I surely would live here and nowhere else? 

But, dear reader, because of your living here you would 
not be a poet or an artist. 

John Masefield returned to New York for a short stay 
and I hope he won't forget to visit the village where he 
spent so many years of his life, long before the day of his 
fame and recognition. He will speak, on Sunday, the l(Jth, 
before the MacDowell Club. An extended lecture tour 
through the United States is before him. 

Captain Hall's exhibit of marine scenes, forest scenes and 
especially his portraits of Lincoln and Nancy Hanks, 
Lincoln's mother, are proving of great interest especially 
to those connoisseurs of art who are quite at a loss if 
confronted by something sincerely original but rather 
strange to the focal capacity of their eyes. The exhibition 
will continue on the walls of Bruno's Garret until the last 
week of January. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 375 



« 



Sadakichi Hartmann will read in Bruno's Garret, on 
Tuesday night, January ISthj, his dramatic masterpiece, 

Christ," and on Wednesday night "Buddha." The readings 
will start at 8.16 sharp. Admission by ticket only. The 
seating capacity being limited it is necessary to close the 
garret if this limit is reached. 

Mrs. E. C. Moloney, of "M. Y. Q." fame, recovered from 
a s^ious case of blood poisoning. She is contemplating a 
very busy social season during the coming month of balls 
and merriment. 

Rossi Bros.' tea-room right under Bruno's Garret is busy 
as ever selling stamps to those who do not wish to walk to 
the nearest post office station, which is very far off. There 
is a sub-station somewhere on Bleecker street, but outside 
of the sign indicating that there should be a post office, one 
cannot* detect anjrthing of its existence. Greenwich Village 
should have a post office of its own known as the "Greenwich 
Village Station," and no bettefr place could there be for its estab- 
lishment than in Rossi's, where everybody does his letter 
stamping anyhow. 

Charles Keeler is at work on a new book of poems — "The 
Mirror of Manhattan." They are realistic glimpses of 
scenes and people in the city, written in free verse, with 
reflections from many angles of life, high and low. Many 
compressed stories are suggested in the familiar settings 
of New York, and there are hints scattered through the 
work to make one think of the meaning of it all. 

In a recital at Bruno's Garret on the evening of Monday, 
January 24th, Mr. Keeler will read a group from this new 
work. He will give a program, with one or two exceptions, 
of numbers that have not hitherto been heard. Among 
them are his Knight Songs for children, and a group from 
*The Victory," including pictures(]^ue and musical numbers 
in marked contrast to the realistic note in his poems of 
New York life. 

Tragedy 

My sotil wai fashioned quick as fire 

From struggle, love, and' pain. 

You took it in its glow and strength 

Beside your own to reign. 

Your own was dull and clogged and dim. 

And made for sordid day 

One night my young soul flared too far; 

Quiyered, and fled away. 

KATHARDi'E S. OLIVER 

Regmtding Clara Tice 

I would not be unkind* as G. G. was to Clara Tice, 

He said her drawings were not nice — 

I couldn't be so rude. 

But still I hope some day she'll draw a nude with pulchritude. 

And more abundant curves 

Those skinny nymphs of hers get on my nerves. 

F. R. A. 



m BRUNO'S WEIKI^Y 

Christmas Toys 

By CkarUs Keehr 

J^ L,ITTLE child, with nose flattened against the big plate 

glass, 
With eager eyes is peering in from the street, 
Devouring the fairy toyland there displayed, 
For it is holiday time and Christmas will soon be here I 
There are dolls and blocks and elephants. 
And barking dogs and jumping frogs 
And books and games and Santa Claus. 

Through the cold and the slush of the streets, 

The passing crowd sweeps by, 

But the little face is pressed against the pane, 

Spelled by the wonder and joy of the scene. 

So, I fancy, God peers in at the show window of the world. 

Fascinated by His toys — His clowns and jumping jacks, 

And dreams wondrous dreams about them. 

''I Don't Want a Kitchenette. I Want 
a New Saddle for My Horse/' said Alice 

IN the evening you can see them, leaving stealthily their elevator 
apartments or their hotel suites, mounting a bus, with up- 
turned collars and the hat deep into the face to protect them 
against the sharp wind, pilgrimaging down to the dear old haunts 
ii^ the village. Years ago they used to live here in some obscure 
rooming house or in a "studio," right under thef roof of a 
dilapidated mansion. Gon far one's used to be their Delmonico, in 
their times of ebb. But their tea pot on the window si 1 apd the 
grocer around the corner on Sixth avenue could tell y^u of 
a good many brefakfasts, lunches and dinners "at home.' 

And then came the times when tea-pot and grocer were 
forgotten ; and some good luck, and they moved up town. 

But the longing for those good old days returns sporadically 
and overcomes them and they cannot refsist the call of their 
hearts, and down they go to the places that the quite modern 
lust at large for "Bohemianism" made grow over night like 
mushrooms. They eat roast chicken and drink red wine sorac^ 
where at a small table in a dimly-lighted, badly-decorated 
spaghetti house with bad music. It isn't as it used to bef they 
miss something. And they speak about the good old times. 
But all is the same as it was, only they themselves have changed 
and they never can be the old ones again, because they, have 
tasted their chicken in Deflmonico's and know their imported 
wine lists by heart. And they remember their good old quarters 
with tea-kettle and delicatessen. And for the atmosphere they 
did not bring with the?m to the spaghetti houses they are search- 
ing in a|>artments with kitchenettes. 




WT 



A kitchenette I Whea two are just married and have no oth«r 
object in life but to spend every minute ^ssible together-rratt 
apart from th^ world, and if they don't wish to have intruders 
(guests) or if they cannot afford to have an establishment of 
their own, {low nice it is to have this Idtchenette; in those days 
when eating is nothing but a necessity to furnish nourishment 
to the body, when to be alone mesans more thfin the culinary 
offerings of the finest chef. But later on in Hfe, when many 
ideals are so near in reach that they are almost forgotten, when 
one has devefloped the ability to enjoy a meal as an art crea- 
tion, the cosiness of a kitchenette affair is something that really 
exists so long as you don't try it 

. What these apartment dwellers are really searching for and 
cannot find is their old dear selve*s. 

But why not be satisfied to place flowers upon the grave of 
a beloved one? Why try to dig out the coffin and look at the 
corpse? 

That new self of theirs, which has so much sentiment and 
so many good thoughts for their own sdf of by-gone days, is 
surely just as good— if not far better. 

Spaghetti houses have usually soiled linen and not very clean 
silver. If there is a kitchenette, someone must peel the! potatoes. 
And dinner tastes ever so much better after an hour's ride on 
horseback, and anyhow, holding onto the reins docfsn't spoil 
one's hand s. What a pity, if they are such nice hands! 

Books and Magazines of the Week 

j^NTHOLOGIES seem to be in vogue. Especially the poets 
of thcf good old school of jingles and rhymes, who have 
to keep up with the procession and nod grudgingly acknowledge- 
ment to vers libre and imagists and all other individualistic 
expressions foreign to their anima laureata seem to be busy 
making compilations of other men's work and sitting as judges 
upon thef poetry of last year. 

Old man Braithwaite, the anthologist of the Boston Tran- 
script, spoke the far-reaching words of this year and the 
diamonds he selected from periodicals and magazines are spark- 
ling in his anthology recently published by Lawrence J. Gomme. 
Othefrs whose names are household words to the readers of 
monthly and weekly advertising mediums called popular maga- 
zines, had their selections published and now after the 
fields of current poetry are well-pastured, the short storieis 
of 1915 are a welcome tooth-sharpener. The mere idea 
that a man would read two thousand two hundred 
^^d some odd short stories in about five months in 
ordrt" to detect the best among them makes one shudder. 
But Edward J. O'Brien did it, and he had enough strength left 
^'ter this rathefr herculean exercise to sit down and write an 
article about the American short story of 1915 and write? a 
compilation of the best stories among them. The anthology was 
Published in the Boston Transcript of January 8th and a selec- 



378 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

don of the stories, with stars, will appear in book form, similar 
to the anthology of Mr. Braithwaite. If thefre has to be a judge 
of the best performances of American writers in periodicals 
■and newspapers, Mr. O'Brien, who is a young poet of no mean 
abilities himself, an idealist, surely must be welcomed. Just 
think what would havef happened if Brander Matthews, the 
simplified speller, or William Dean Howells, the old stand-by, 
or some other dried-up representative fossil of American letters 
had been chosen in his stead 1 

But heartily do I agrcte with Mr. O'Brien that the worst story 
of the year was published in the Saturday Evening Post, and 
I would not hesitate to express my opinion in the plural and 
say that the worst stories^ not only in 1916, have come from 
that seat of culture in Philadelphia. 

Kreymborg Anthology 

Mr. Alfred A. Knopf announces for publication in March, 
1916, an anthology of the* new verse from Others^ edited by 
Alfred Kreymborg. Fifty men and women have contributed 
to Others during 1915 and the best of their work was chosen 
for this anthology. I hope Mr. Kreymborg will not forget 
himself. I still contend that a few pages on which he printed 
liis own poems in his magazine are those most worth while 
reading. 

Poetry * 

The guarantors, the contributors and editors of POETRY 
will assemble on January the 23rd in the club rooms of "The 
Cliff-Dwellers" in Chicago and celebrate the recent beginnin^r 
•of the fourth ycteir of this publication, which has been the 
standard bearer of poetry a la mode in America. "Poets of 
Illinois and other states will read new poems and guarantors 
-will, it is hoped, cfxpress their feeling about the art and the 
magazine." Reservations at $2.50 a plate! Think of poets 
■dining at $2.50 the plate! I'd like to see those guarantors ex- 
press their feelings about the art and the magazine. Pass the 
piattf, please! 

The Minaret 

The third number of this new periodical of Washington's 
schola poetarum contains the first installment of a series of 

'Silhouettes of the City," by Harold Hersey, which are excep- 
tional pen sketches of evcfryday incidents, as we can see them 

as we waflc out on the street." I find among the editorials 
a very good suggestion for Vachel Lindsay to have a icw 
of his rag-time jingles set to music. 

Expression 

This newcomer among the small magazines calls itself "a 
monthly magazine of truth" and is edited by Alfred E. Hender- 
son, of the Society of Expressionists. A dramatic playlet by 
the editor 'The Call of Love" contains a charming little poem, 
^The Face in the Fire." 



■4< 



•« 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Marinellt re-christened his painttng, "The Camtoat of Pani' 
into "The Bombardment of the Cathedral of Rheims," by BUx, 
from "Simplicissimut." 

Bnllatin of tlia Naw York Public Ubrutj 

The Bulletin for December, which just reached our deslcr 
contains a list of works in the New York Public Library per- 
taining to prints and their production, by Frank Weitenkampf, 
chief of the Art and Prints Division. "The object of the list, 
naturally and primarily, is to show what the library has of 
the literature of a subject the interest in which is steadily- 
increasing." 
WalUlk 

Otto I-ohr, the editor of this literary and historical weekly, is- 
publishing very unique poetry in thtf pages of his magazine. A 
poem by Prince Karolath in the current issue shows the poet'» 
aeative genius. 
Art Notea 

The Uacbeth Gallery publishes "in their own interest and the- 
interest of American Art" a handsome little monthly magazine 
with good reproductions of paintings in ttieir possession. 



^0 BRUNO^S WEEKLY 

Zippa, the Mosquito 

This is one of the short masterpieces by Paul Sche¥b^utrt, the 
co-editor of "Der Sturm^" the review of the small group of 
Futurists in Germany, who died receMfy. Translated by 
Guido Bruno, 

QH, COME, come nearer to the lamp/' gteeful^ eaceiaimed 
Zippa. Her wings fluttered and two hundred little mos- 
quitoes followed the invitation of littte Zippa^ happy, joyful, 
without hesitation, without thinbing. 

Under the lamp, which was coverfed by a green silk screen, 
sat an old man eating his supper. 

And there came Zippa with two hundred mosquitoes, and 
Zippa felt hilarious like never before. 

"Dying! Dying surely is the sweetest thing in life! How 
we do wish to die I Just to diel" And all the mosquitoes re- 
peated Zippa's exclamations. 

With merry laughter they fluttered against the hot chimney, 
and soon they lay convulsed with pain next to the supper dishes 
of the old man. He wanted to kill quickly the dying mosquitoes 
so that they would not suffer a long death agony. 

But Zippa cried while she shook her burnt wings. "Just leave 
us alone. We are happy to die — dying is so beautiful!" And 
again all the dying mosquitoes repeated what Zippa had said. 

And everybody was laughing — and died. 

The old man continued his supper. 

He was hungry. 

Maude: A Memory 

By Guido Bruno 
(Contintied from last iitee) 

Maurice had entefred the room noiselessly and apptoached 
Kennethj He talked to him for a few seconds in a low voice. 

"Courtland," said Kenneth, "Maurice informs me that one 
of your office nurses would like to talk with you on a very im- 
^OTtsht matter. If you do not wish to communicate with her 
just now, Itft me tell her so." 

"It will distract my mind," answered Courtland, "I would 
rather hear myself what she has to say." He went to a little 
table in a corner of the library. He took the receiver ffom 
the hook of the extension phonef. He listened for several min- 
utes. The peaceful quietness of the room was sudden^ brokeft. 

"What!" he shouted into the instrument and jumped from his 
ieat holding the receiver tightly to his ear and talking ihtehtly 
info the mouthpiece. "Repeat that native I Tetl Mfs. R^^^an that 
I will be at the ofiice presently. It will not tak^ t&hgi^ th&h 
thirty minutes to get down there*. Are there any neWs^a^Refs 
^ fM c»fflc;«? Ddft't kt her s«« th«4n un^f m\f cl fo tfi hs t tfi tes. 
Pb ym hea^? Undei' kv^ ^tm^tmtH V* wus thci libfopt soimd- 
ing or^ C^uftlaftd fa^ aff«¥ 1^ fiuts« hsdl a i i s<iA c4 al Hie 
other end of the wire. 




Kimiiteih was near his ititoA. He tried to look unihterested 
but ttefy 6tiet df his f &c« seemed to vibrate and the big question 
was written on his face. A few seconds passed in silence. Court- 
Idnd turned id his friend. He appeared calm and quiet. His 
voice) tired and disinterested only a fcfw minutes egO) had die 
6ld metallie ring of a man possessed of his ability to direct 
Othere-. 

•'Will yott please let me have your car, Kenneth? I am 
eorirjr for your chauffeur. I hate to discommbde peoplcf when 
they think they are through with their day's work." 

Kenhe^ rang the bell, gave Maurite die order to phone to 
the garage to have the car re^dy. After the butler had gone, 
Courtlaild approached Kenneth. He stepped near him. He 
looked into his eyes in an imperative way. "And hoW, Kenneth/' 
he said, "I invite you — ^unless you prefer to stay at home and 
retire — ^to come with me and meet the woman you defended a 
few minutes ago. A woman who has the face of a true ideal 
companion for a man who has longed for her all his life« who 
has the soul of a liar and a deceiver 1 She wishes to speak to 
me — ^to me the physician. Maude Regan is waiting in my office." 

The elevator man was asleep in a comfortable chair he had 
put in the car. The halls of the big building resounded with 
the footsteps of the two latd visitors. Only a few electric 
lights shone mistily in the corridors. Mechanically the elevator 
door was shut by the sleeping guard and in no time they had 
arrived at the sixteenth floor. The doors of the anteroom 
wtfre open. Courtlahd and Kenneth entered. They took off 
their coats and hats and threw them upon the canopy. One of the 
nurses came out. She whispered for a few minutes with the 
Doctor. Courtland's face was rigid. A severe sternness had 
settled on his forehead. His eyes were hard as Kenneth had 
never seen them before, He passed the door of the reception 
room where shd Waited. He went into his own den. 

Contrary to his custom hcf turned on the big candelabra in 
(he middle of the ceilit]^. He turned on the lights on the walis 
and turned on the different lamps on the tables and on the 
mantel. **I want hghtj Kenneth," he said, "light and truth are 
friends. Dr^ms, darkiiess and twilight are always comi)aniorti. 
Dreams and twilight disappear; iubmetging in darkness, leaving 
nothing behind but disappointment and despair.'* 

He rang the bell the nurse opened the door leading to the 
operating room. "Tell Mrs, Re^afi 1 am at hef disf»osal." 

The highest tension of a peculiar draihati^ cHtAa* seemed 
to lie in the air of the dayli}?ht-il1uminfed room. Comfort and 
^ee seeified to be everywhi^e. Kenneth, his bdck turned to 
Uie door and to his friend* looked intently at the miniature 
MintiM 6{ dome ttran^e^looking woman in the attire of a court 
Mr *r the time of Lcrui** 5?IV. Tt struck hifti lunny to took 
at we stfvert fca^fei of Ike jfoung face and he aamired the ex- 
^site detail work of the artist who. perhaps, nad spent indhtnl 
to fcrmg out l!ie real lafce effeCt 6f the Stti&rt c61laf» AttM 
graciously around the lady's neck. He did not tinderstafid the 



382 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



strange behavior of his friend and hcf wished for seconds that he 
might be at home in his library to finish the book he had started 
early in the afternoon. 

But again he recalled the helplessness of G>ttrtland down on 
Michigan Avenue in front of diat jewdry store where hie had 
£rst seen that picture of the woman on that dreadful pink page. 
Sympathy for the man standing there expecting to face the 
hardest situation a man is ever called upon to f ace» swcf|>t thronsh 
his heart, and while still feeling like an intruder, he was glad he 
was in the room. 

She wore a black tailor-made suit The white lace ruffle 
around her neck^ the white lace cuffs over her black Idd gloves, 
relieved the somewhat severe impression of her attire. She 
wore a blade felt hat with a very small brim. 

Courtland had forgotten to answer her greeting. He startle 
her like the creation of another world. She had started to 
explain her presence in his office at this late hour. She noticeid 
the extraordinary actions of the doctor. She stopped in the 
middle of a sentence and looked helplessly back and forth from 
Kenneth to Courtland, and then into Kenneth's face whose hig 
eyes were staring at her. Kenneth looked at his friend, tortur* 
ing his brain for some remark, a word that would relieve the 
situation. 

"You are Maude Regan?" 

(To be continued). 

At the Sign of the Red Lamp 

Hfty-three West Third Street, New York 

You will find this old and pictaresque Chop Houses 
TWO DOORS EAST OP WEST BROADWAY 
We make a specialty of Sea Food, Steak and Chops 

SAMUEL S. BROAD, Proprietor Teln^kone: Spring 5803 

Open Ereniiics lurtil Nla* 

RARE BOOKS FIRST EDmONS 



Extra Illustrated Bookt. Early Printed Books. Association Books 

Books for Christmas Gifts 

Purchased singly or in sets for people who have neither time nor oppoitimity to 
select for themselves, or for those who have not access to the best book marts. 

Why not begin collecting now? 

Address E. V., Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass. 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, and 
•cBted and written bjr Guide Bruno, both at SS WasUngtosi 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 



AafUcatifoas for astry m ii n a t -riaaa amttcr at tka Ftoat QSm ef 
Maw Yark pas«a«. 



IRES BIG COHAN Sk HAMOS SUtCESSI 



& ASTOR lSS!3:9iiS^<mt£:?1!Jl£6Sl& 

Geo. M. Cdua's HIT-THE-TRAIL 
,,SS^S^ ttOLLIDAY 

WiA FRED NIBLO u "BOXY HOLUDAY" 



^ CANDLER iK»^%;:iJi:^ 

BEST PLAY OF THE YEAR 

THE HOUSE OF 



$mi &d«3v«l S:M 



WiA MARY KYAN mad Ihm Gmit AH- AmMieu Cm! 



AT 



LONGACRE 



l««rg,|J9. ■atiMM.W«iMtliiy«a48rt«faF.2slt 



LEO DITRICHSTEIN 
""^^SS^ The Great Lover 



The Oasis 

•f WailfaglMi Sqnr* 

Tea Room 

Ice Cream Pailor 

CicaM mmI QgaMttM 

BoMiABnDM'tGamt 



ROSSI BROS., Pnp'n 




Pweler 
Garrett sukst 

It is now pottib U lor mo 
to roeoivo a low pilvoto 
INipib in nqr ttndio at No. 
FiTO Bank Stroot in tho 
aftoraooB nroili two mitil 
•iz at OBO dollar a loMOB 

RSg pomas 

Pweter 

BnkSL Garrett 



OuIm Edbon'i Little Thimble Thaabe, SHnatMl 
*t No.lOFi{th Annue,Gneinridi VilU|e,N.Y.C 



This Week's Performances and Concerts 

Wcdneaday. S:1S p. m. Children's Hour and Disc Concert 
on the Square. 



Tbnrada;, 8:19 p. m. 
Friday, 8:16 p. m. 



t the Little Thimble 



S:1S p. > 



Aik or write for tidiet of adnusnuk to The 
Little TbunUe Theatre perfomumces. Iliey 
ere free of dmge. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO m ns GAMWT 
ON WA»IINGTON SQUARE 



Copyrif ht Jaauary Ifth* UH. Oricinal mutter, includiiic a|l 
4nwiafs, may not be reproduced without permitifoii of 
Guido Bruno; but that permiftUm may be aasum^ ^f credit it 
given to author ai|d Bruno's WeeUr. 

READERS OF 



Bnino'i Weekly 



Are ^ked To become 




52 Issues Two Dollars 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Edited by Gaido Bnmo in Hit GattvI on WathinttoB Squum 



No. 4 



JANUARY 22nd, MCMXVI 



Vol n 




^'7^ 



From the autograph collection of Mr. Patrick F. Madigan, 
New York, 

Greenwich Village of Yore 

Gar0«nwich Village: The Place Where One MeeU Spectres 

/GREENWICH VILLAGE always has betfti to me the most at- 
tractive portion of New York. It has the positive 
individnality, the age, much of tiie picturesqueness, of that 
fascinating region of which the centre is Chatham Square; 
yet it is agreeably free from thcf foul odors and the foul 
humanity which make expeditions in the vicjnity of Chatham 
Square, while abstractly delightful, so stingingly distressing to 
one's nose and soul. 

Greenwich owes its picturesqueness to thcf protecting spirit 
•f grace which has saved its streets from being rectangular 
and its houses from being all alike and which also has pre- 
served its many quaintnesses and beautiefs of age — with tuch 
resulting bles^ngs as the view around the curve in Morton 
Street toward St. Luke's Church, or under the arch of trees 
where Grove and Christophcfr streets are mitred together by 

Copyright 1916 hy Guido Bruno 



388 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

tbc little park, and the Hiany friendly old houses which stand 
squarely on their right to be individual and have their own 
opdnion of the rows of modern dwellings all made of precisely 
the same matcfrial cast in precisely the same mould. 

The cleanliness, moral and physical, of the village is ac- 
counted for by the fact that from the very beginning it has 
been inhabited by a humanity of the better sort. From 
Fourteenth Street down to Canal Street, west of the? meridian 
of Sixth Avenue, distinctively is the American quarter of 
New York. A sprinkling of French and Italians is found within 
these limits, together with the few Irish required for political 
purposes; and in the vcinity of Carmine? Street are scattered 
some of the tents of the children of Ham. But with these ex- 
ceptions the population is composed of substantial, well-to-do 
Americans — and it really does one's heart good, on the Fourth 
of July and the 22d of February, to see the way the owners 
of the roomy comfortable houses which here abound proclaim 
their nationa^ty by setting the trim streets of Greenwich 
gallantly ablaze witii American flags. As compared with the 
corresponding region on the east sidd— where a score of families 
may be found packed into a single building, and where even 
the bad smells have foreign names — ^tfais American quarter of 
New York is a liberal lesson in cleanliness, good citizenship, and 
self-respect. 

And how interesting are the people whom one hereabouts 
encounters (with but the most trifling effort of the imagina- 
tion) stepping along thtf ancient thoroughfares which once knew 
them in material form I — ^Wouter Van Twiller, chuckling orer 
his easily won tobacco plantation; the Labadist envoys re- 
joicing becamse of their discovery of a country permissive of 
liberty of conscience and productive of good hter; General OL 
De Lancey — ^wearing the Tory uniform which later cost him 
his patrimony — takini^ the air with his sister, Lady Warren, 
the stout, bewigged Sir Peter, and the three little girls; Gover- 
nor Cljnton, with the harried look of one upon whom an ad- 
vance copy of the Declaration of Independence has been served ; 
Senator Richard Henry Lee, of Virgmia, who honored Green- 
wich by making it his home during the session of Congress in 
1789; Mastcfr Tom Paine — escaped from Madame Bonneville 
and the little boys in the house in Grove Street— on bis way 
lo the Old Grapevine for a fresh jug of rum; shrewd old 
Jacob Barker, looking with satisfaction at the house in Jane 
Street bought from a butcher who had enough faith in him to 
take thtf doubtful notes of his bank at par. Only in Greenwich, 
or below the City Hall— a region over-noisy for wraiths — will 
one meet agreeable spectres such as these. 

Thomas A. Janvier 



ir ChMM is the Wagner of the Nose 

Thomas A. Edison. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



The Voir: The Tme Story of an Ancient House 

I 
"I struck my dear son ; I, his sir^. 
An idiot made him in my ire; 
I hear him mumble in the sun, 
And see him listless walk or run. 

II 
If I by penance might atone, 
And Imeelmg wear away the stone I 
If I might hope by prayer or fast 
To absolve me of my sin at last I 

III 
Can any fast or penance heal 
The stare thy father's hand did deal? 
What withering vigil can restore 
Thy happy laughter as of yore? 

IV 
Thy mother of thy daftness died. 
She did not hcSar thee at her side; 
Thy vacant eyes became her doom, 
Thy jargon laid her in the tomb. 

V 

Seel by my side he loves to stand, 
And puts into my own his hand; 
And at my knee his favorite place, 
Godl how he smiles into my facel 

Stephen Phillips. 

This never before published poem of Stephen Phillips, the recently 
deceased English poet, was part of a collection of autographs sold by 
Reverend Baunt of England, in order to provide English soldiers of his 
parish with Christmas presents. The manuscripts were bought by Pat- 
rick F. Madigan. 

London Letter 

London Office of BRUNO'S WEEKLY, 
18 St. Charles Square, New Kensington* 

January 1st, 
TN the theatre world of London there is nothing to be seen at 
the moment but musical comediefs and pantomimes. The 
theatre which at Christmas always tends to develop a saccharine 
sentimentality touches at present the depths of banality. The 
titles of the pieces now running such as, ''A Little Bit of 
FluflF,'' 'To-nighf s the Night," "Charley's Aunt," 'Tina," 'The 
Spanish Main," "Betty," and "Shell Out," suggest that managers 
do not feel the present to be the moment for originality or 
enterprise. 

The two most important art exhibitions of the winter, the 
New English Art Club and The London Group, have recently 
opened their doors. The war again and the bad conditions 
which it creates for artists have reduced the attractiveness of 
these groups considerably. 



MNTNCrS WEEia.Y 



The New Fi ^fh Art ChA was indeed in doobt for a while 
if it should give a winter exhibition. It has done so, but 
there is little to c o m m ent on in tfie rcsnlt Mr. Angustas John, 
the most brOliant figure of this Qnb, shows some Irish peasant 
types drawn with the reality of ^dnch he is a master and 
not a little of his on-cre^ing mannerisnL 

The London group is generally the most revolutionary of the 
art cscliibitions. Fotorism and Vortidsm are usually in violent 
activitf there, but this session neither Mr. Epstein nor Mr. 
Wyndham Lewis— two of the most interesting figure's of the 
advance guard — have sent anything. The Neo-Real^sts, Gihnan, 
Gianer, Bevan and company, maintain a steady average of 
honest effort They are essentially honest painters, these three, 
wen mannered, industrious and not without talent They still 
hold their Saturday afternoon sakm up in Cumberland Market, 
a beautiful old London haymarket, full of li^^t and the 
atmosphere of early Yictorian days. Two or three y^rs ago 
some painters discovered its charm and its good light, and 
began to colonize in the queer old ridcety houses. 

I looked into the Poetry Bo^cshop ia Devonshire Str^t the 
other day and great activity was evident The pub^c in London 
really buys a lot of poetry at Christmas and the New Year. 
It has a preference for something exquisitdy bound and printed, 
but tiie cheaper little books sell well too, as Christmas or 
New Year cards. This house has just issued two chap books. 
Images, by Richard Aldington and Cadences, by F. S. Flint 
They contain some charming lines. Both volumes I believe 
are being published shortly in the States. 

I should like to call the attention of your readers to A. E.'s 
Imaginations and Reveries (Maunsel 5|-). A. K (George W. 
Russel) js well known of course as ontf of the men who 
brought about the wonderful Irish Literary movement which 
is undoubtedly the most important literary development that 
has taken place in these isles for a long time. Justice has 
pethaps never been done to A, E. Purposely he has kept 
himself in the background, happy enough to be able to work 
for his ideal which has been to breathe a new soul into his 
beloved country. It is only now beginning to be generally 
fccognized what Yeats, A. £., Lady Gregory, Syngtf and all 
the abbey theatre group have done not only for Ireland, but 
even for England. They have provided that tradition, that 
sense of co-operation and security which alone makes a national 
art possible. They have shown the wrjters of young Ireland 
Chat the best way to serve themselves is to serve something 
greater than themsdves — an ideal 

Imaginations and Reveries is a fine book, finer perhaps in its 
details than as a whole, and I know that a book of such 
character could not possibly have come out of Englamd. Its 
inspiring words flame behind a background of ridh and com- 
flranal fife. Reading them one feels the Irish people, their 
passions and their dreams, and above all, their great and un- 
deniable love of their country. 
I hope to be going to Ireland this wedc, so that perhaps in 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY >91 

my next letter I may have sometl^ng to say of the Uterafy 
isle, of Dublin and of the Irish poets, some of whom I 
sure to meet. 

Edward Storer 



Eternal Minutes 



By Gmdo Bruno 

■H£ two men sat in the summer-house back of the big 
r^idence. It was dark. The white candle on the table 
flickered an insufficient yellow light. The river far below 
seemed an uustransgressable separating depth of the high hills 
that grew into the heaves on the other side. Not a star shone 
on the clouded skies. A big ugly moth did her best to com- 
mit suicide in the flame of the candle. The air was laden 
with heaviness. It was oncf of the nights that we declare our 
k)vc, that we exchange confidences, in which we regret lost 
chances and resurrect dead memories. The* man with a sad, 
almost mourning look, broke the silence. 

.... ''And so I gave up because of my real, eternal, 
never changing love. I never thought that I could do it. But 
love wins. I watched her closely. I tried to understand every 
one of her actions. I indulged her eccentricities. She was 
sick. I feflt her pain. I watched over her day and night And 
ber husband was always at hand." 

'*Your life has always been simple, my dear fellow. You 
don't know what it means to love a woman, to receive favors 
from her, all those small and big favors that make life worth 
living — and then, you have to say good-night cfvery evening. 
You have to make appointments to meet at this and that place 
when you know that she should be with you all thcf time. 
Then tiiere were her children. It's a funny thing about those 
chil^en^ Would>i''t you expect rather strange, even fiard 
feehngs towards the hving testimony of her devotion to an- 
oth^ man? But no — ^I never did. They seemed to be a part 
of her. I loved them almost as much as herself. 

'^ou know, we went on this way for months. Women 
are such masters at burning life's candles at both ends. They 
know that the two lights must meet some timtf. And tiiat then 
there will be darkness. But they don't think. They don't 
feel the creep of the inevitable shadow. 

*'We met every day. We lived. We kissed. We lovcfd . , . God! 
The torture of it I When I sat evening after evening in my 
quiet quarters with her picture in front of me. And she 
.... I don't know what she was doing. I only imag- 
ined : I believed in her with all my heart. 

"She loved her home, the old furniture so carefully se- 
lected by her and for hefr. the old servants upon whom she 
depended; she hung with all her soul upon the everyday rou- 
tine of living that she had followed for more than twenty 
years. I was now a new factpr in the new routine — a beloved 
one, but an addition." 

(To be continued). 



991 BRUNCyS WEEKLY 

Little Tales by Feodor Sologub 

Two CmnMm, Omm C—di., TWm Cndfes 
Translated by Johm Camruos 

T*WO white candks were biiniing, and there were many lamps 
upon tiie walls. A man was reading a manuscript, and 
people were listening m suciioc. 

llie flames trembled. The candles also wer^ listening— 
die reading pleased tiiem, hot the flames were ag^itated, and 
trembled. 

The man finished r^^iding. The candles were blown out 
Every one left. 

And it was Jnst as before. 

A grey candle was burning. A seamstress sat sewing. An 
infant slept, and coughed in its sleep. Gusts of cold air came 
from the waH The candle wept whit^ heavy tears. The tears 
flowed and congealed. Dawn came. The seamstress, with red 
eyes, kept on sewing. She blew out the candle. She ke^t on 



And it was just as before. 

Three jrellow candles were burning. In a box lay a man, 
jrellow and cold. Another was reading a book. A woman was 
wtfeping. The candles flickered from fright and from pity. 
A crowd came. Chants were sung, incense was burned. The 
box was carried away. The candles were blown out Every 
one left. 

And it was just as before. 

TWm Golw of Spit 

A man went by, and spat three |^bs of spit. 
He walked away, tiicf gobs remamed. 
Said one of the gobs : 
**We are here, but the man is not here." 
Said the second: 
"He has gone." 
Said the third: 

"He came precisely for the purpose of planting us here. We 
are the goal of man's life. He has gone, but we have remained." 

A Marriafs 

A drop of rain fell through the air, a speck of dust lay oa 
the ground. 

The drop wished to unite with a hard substance; it was tired 
of its free, active existence. 

It joined itself to the spedc of dust— and lay on the ground 
a blob of mud. 



Fvit IniiiD • • • 

The days I have lived and longed for 
Have come and have gone at bst 
But not all the sorrows of future 
Can deaden the joys of the Past 



Tom SleePfT 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 8g» 

Gdgotlia 

TTHE withered leav^ have fallen 

The s\ark and naked trees 
Stand shivering bleak and hopeless 
While evcfry chilling breeze 

Drives cold November rain. < 

A little youth — a little hope 
A striving to attain — then 
Like the trees the grave lies drenched 
By cold November rain. 

Tom Sleeper 

The Cigarette 

CHE was a very young and very poor waitress. 

She had only one passion, or better, ontf longing • . . > 
very good Egyptian cigarettes. 

I gave her a few. 

One' day I kissed her. 

She did not object very strenuously. 

Later on she said: "I am sorry— I don't enjoy any more 
these fine cigarettes so much. Heretofore, I had them for 
nothing.** 

After the German of Peter Altenberg, by Guido Bruno. 

Extra! Extml 

LITTLE Low Lizzie is shiTerin' cold, 
She ain't goin' to live a lot more; 
Over there the tf a-lying 
By the empty ole stove 
Just a bundle of rags on the floor. 

She's suffering too, I kin tell by her breath 

Comes an' ffoes with a queer sort of sound. 

But soon she'll be put 

Where she's wantin' to be. 

In a bit of a box underground. , ^ 

Lota of times, just the same. 

When I ain't sold me papers. 

When Fm hungry and me fingers is blue. 

I hitch up me belt and blow on me hands, ' ' 

And thinks, Lizzie— I wish I was you. 

Tom Sleeper 

Allah Knows Better 

lust a Turldsh War Story 

AN aga of Moerch, in Gen, had been fighting against the 
rebellious Christians of Macedonia. Because a ^ristian — 
so thought the aga — ^is never a good soldier, the dogs of 
Macedonia had cut off his right hand. ^ Therefore, he petitioned 
for a pension claiming to be an invalid. But the bey decreed 
that only such were invalids as have neither arms nor legs; 
but the aga having still his left hand and both legs could not 
be considered to be made the beneficiary of a pension. The 



304 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

aga was a learned man who knew well the laws of his country 
and who even had learned how to write. Therefore, he 
wrote with his left hand to thcf pasha of his district, claiming 
to be an invalid and entitled to the pensions granted by the 
government. The pasha decided in his favor, but because 
he had directed his claims directly to him and not to the 
eSendi, he had the aga punished with twenty lashes on his 
soles. The aga received tiie twenty lashes and then entered a 
complaint^ to the ceraskier, who commissioned the military kadi 
with the investigation of the case. Thef ceraskier found among 
old laws and codices that only he can be a soldier of the sultan 
who is in full possession of his right hand, and he also found 
a military law according to which soldiers could write to thelir 
superiors, using their right hand only. The aga put^ in as 
defense that he was not a soldiefr any longer at the time he 
lost his right hand. The wise kadi was of the opinion that the 
aga had been a soldier until dismissed by his bey, no matter 
whether he was in possession of his right hand or not; and 
therefore, he should have written to the pasha with his right 
hand. After careful deliberation he arrived at the decision that 
the aga who, while being a soldier had written with his left 
hsmd to a superior officer, should be punished vefry severely. 
His left hand should be cut off. Such was the verdict of the 
military kadi and he added : "Allah knows better." 

The grand sultan said, after having been informed of the 
verdict pronounced by the? kadi: "By the beard of the prophet, 
only a right-tbelieving moslem can be a righteous judge." 

Translated from the German, author unknown, by Guido Bruno 

In Our Village 

"IIL/HAT would you answer a stranger, who after junking 
through the open window into your room should ask : **Who 
are you? — in whose room am I?" Would you be kind and 
obliging and tell him who has annoyed you who you are and 
wh^t the name of the street is on which the house stands 
tipon which he has intruded, or, would you be indignant and 
throw him out? 

Isn't it about the same? if the telephone bell rings violently, 
interrupting you in work, sleep or conversation, and then you 
hear some impertinent-sounding^ voice asking : "Who is this 
please?" And you know that this happens to you almost every 
day. The telcfphone is a wonderful invention. But blessed 
are thoscf who do not need it. Its advantages are indispensable, 
but the annoyance it causcfs to the individual constantly does 
not permit us to rejoice over this commerce-promoting ihven- 
tion. Especially here in Greenwich Village the service is un- 
d^endable and time-absorbing because of its inefficiency and 
annoying on account of the ignorance, indolence and unwilling- 
ness of the operators. We pay a nickel for dach call, and I 
believe we are entitled to an immediate connection ; we are en- 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY m 



titled to a report on a number which we do not get The 
telephone pay-statrons in the various drug stor<fs and hotels (the 
nickel pay-stations) are still worse than the private wire. The 
report "Does not answer" or "Bus/' is rarely given if not 
asked for specifically by the; user of the telephone. 'In forma* 
tion' needs an unusually long time to look up a name or a 
number. And then there seems to be an inefficiency which 
makes itself hard felt in th^ regulations concerning rooming- 
liouses and lodging-houses. A good many rooming-houses m 
our village — so-called studio buildings — extend to the inhabitants 
telephone privileges. The people who live there are naturally 
not registered in the telephone book but the owner of the 
telephone, who is eithet the care-taker or the proprietor of the 
house. Very rarely do we know the name of the people and if 
we ask 'information' to give us the telephone number of such 
and such a house at such and such street, the information will 
be denied because we don't know the name under which thcf tele- 
phone is entered, and especially hard is it to get the number in 
such a hous^ where there are several instruments installed and the 
owner or care-taker of such a building neglected to st^te his 
occupation at the time he signed his contract. 

And if you have an instrument of your own on your desk 
or in your house, how often does the bell ring and it is a 
''mistake" or you don't get an answer at all or an indignant- 
sounding voice will answcfr; "Who is this?" 

Complaining! — it won't do any good. Where there is no 
competition, Siere is absolute independence. No matter how 
disappointad, you have to continue it or go without it. 

Life is so short that wef really should try to exclude every- 
thing which adds unpleasant moments to our days. And who 
hasn't had unpleasant experiences with his telephone? 

The Greenwich Village Battalion, United States Boy Scouts, 
has becomcf an important factor in the lives of the youth of the 
Village. Organized less than two years ago, it now numbers 
more than three hundred members, has an up^'to-date equipment, 
with dram, fife and bugle corps of sixty piec^ and frequently 
shows at theatres, exhibitions and at every local affair. It's 

four Captains have seen service with Uncle Sam's regulars. 
Drills are held each Monday and Thursday night at Public 
School 95, Qarkson StrcTet, near Hudson Street. 

A committee of lifelong residents of Old Greenwich Village 
with Charles F. Dillon, as Chairman, John McFarland, Secretary, 
and Jesse Heim, Treasurer, assist Colonel Nolan and his 
officers. 

The exhibition of paintings, marine scenes and forest scenes, 
including portraits of Abraham Lincohi and of Nanoy Hanks, 
Lincoln's mother, by Captain George Edward Hall, will con- 
tinue on the walls of Bruno's Garret until the last days in 
January. 

Charles Keeler will read in a r^tal in Bruno's Garret, on 
the evening of Monday, January 24th, a group of etchings from 



390 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

his new collected poems, 'The Mirror of Manhattan." They 
are realistic impressions of pctople met in the metropolis, with 
reflections from many angles of life, high and low. His pro- 
grsun comprises, with one or two exceptions, only numbers 
which have not hitherto been heard. Among them sre his 
"Knight Songs for Chldren" and a group from "The Victory," 
including picturesque and musical numbers in marked con- 
trast to the realistic note in his poems of New York life. 

The? reading will start at 8:15 sharp. Admission by ticket 
only. The seating capacity being limited, it will be necessary to 
close the garret if this limit is reached. 

Charlotte James, well-known to the frequentcftrs of Charles 
Edison's Little Thimble Theatre, is severely ill and will not 
be able to appear at her usual seat at thef piano, for quite a 
while. 

Robert McQuinn, the scenic artist, who designed the stage 
settings for the "Hip-Hip-Hoora/' and for the latest Dilling- 
ham success, "Stop, Look and Listeml" closed last week a 
contract for a new production. He will spend a few weeks 
in Atlantic City, his home town, before he engages in his new 
work. 

Pepe & Brother, the rcfal estate kings of the village, are 
rebuilding at present several old residences into studio build- 
ings. They are combining the useful with the pleasant, taking 
into considcfration the light and space requirements of people 
who wish to work in comfort 

Miss Gertrude C. Mosshart, publicity agent of the National 
American Woman's Suffrage Association, of Washington, D. 
C, made a thorough investigation of our village during her 
recent short stay in New York and she thought it would be 
great to start a sort of a village in the capital 

Passing Paris 

Paris, January, 1st, 
THE enthusiasm sending a Charles Peguy — a humanist 
in his opinions to the war should be a proof of my 
assertion as to the popularity of this war at its outset before 
opinion had been fanne^l by the Press and the cabal of optimistic 
falsehoods which MM. Tery in L* Oeuvre, Compere-Morel in 
UHumanite, and that tardy patriot Herve (who once said the 
dunghill was the only proper place for the national flag, in 
La Guerre Sociale aref now, somewhat late in the day and long 
after the public has opened its eyes of its own accord, begin- 
ning to criticize. Yet one may ask oneself whether this arti- 
ficially created optimism had not its advantages if it help^ 
to contribute to the stoicism shown by the French to every 
one's, including their own, surprise. 

The Germans argue that war cannot be conducted courteously. 
The French may refply that as it cannot be conducted without 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 3?T 



hatred, therefore, as with other munitions, the more there is 
of it the better, and that whatever is done to increase the supply 
is justified by thcf end in view. 

If purists of the truth, humanitarians, pacifists and socialists, 
etc, had not tmdergone the metamorphosis they did it is 
possible Paris would now be as German as Brussels. Which 
would b^ a grievous pity. 

One of the leaders of the symbolist movement, Stuart M<frriU, 
has just died at Versailles, his residence, at the age of fifty-two 
years. Like Jean Moreas, like the Comtefsse de Noailles, like 
Renee Vivien, Stuart Merrill was a foreigner — an American of 
the United States — ^who had elected to exprcfss himself in 
French in preference to his native tongue, in which he had, 
however, made his first poetic attempts. He had acquire famili- 
arity -with the language of France during his childhood, having 
been educated at a Paris lycee. He had named his different 
volumes of poetry Les Gamtnes, Petits Poemes d'Automne, Lis 
Quatre Saisons, and Une Voix dans la Poule, M. Anatole 
France said that he was a poet appealing only to the ear, but 
a poet who can hold attention by this means is a clever man. 
The criticism cannot, however, be extended to all his poems 
indiscriminately. 

M. Ricciotto Canudo, an Italian who writes in French, author 
of La Ville Sans Chef, a book with ideas, has been distinguish- 
ing^ himself in Serbia, where he^ has been promoted to the 
rank of captain — a titled that I believe he alone among literary 
soldiers has as yet attained. 

The poet-humourist Guillaume Appollinaire, who has oc- 
casionally been quoted in these colunms, is a second lieutenant 

Muriel Ciolkowska, 
Extracrt from a Letter to "The Egoist," Loadon. 

Books and Magazines of the Week 

QUR old friend, Hippolyte Havel, has reached the goal of his 
ambition. He has a magazine of his own. Hard and dis- 
couraging were his tribulations, but now the two numbers pub- 
lish^ of his paper, **The Revolt," must compensate him fully. 
And there is another credit due Hippolyte Havel: he is the 
man who conceived first the idea of starting a kind of an 
eating-house in Greenwich Village, a place where artists and 
writers could eat wholesome food in a congenial atmosphere. 
The &ecnwich Village Inn, as it was originally on Washington 
Place and still longer ago in the basement of 137 MacDougal 
Street, called "The Basement/' was his creation. His contri- 
butors are men well-known to the average magazine reader. 
But in what a different vein do they give themselves in Havel's 
"Revok" I 

Reecly's Mirror 

'Three years go," says Mr. Reedy in the current issue of his 
Mirror, "the Encyclopedia Brittanica was sold widely at a 



308 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



good, plump sum on what looked like a positive guarantee 
that it would never be cheaper in price at first hand. Now 
•there's an c^lition advertised at a reduction of 46 per cent. 
Even though this edition is put forth by Sears, Roebuck & Co., 
.a corporation headed by philanthropist Julius Rosenwald, there's 
something like a swindle in this procedure. The purchasers 
of the earlier edition were deceived or the new edition is not, as 
-advertised, the equal of the first The publishrt*s of the first 
edition would appear definitely to have broken faith with those 
who ttought the book, to have robbed those purchasers pi the 
46 per cent, the purchasers of the new edition are said to sav^L" 

tOthersy For January 

Edward J. O'Brien, the man who read two thousand two 
hundred and some odd short stories in order to select the best 

.and publish the titl^ and the names of their authors in the 
Boston Transcript, is represented in the January issue of 
Kresrmborg's Magazine of the New Verse with a gentle poem, 
which discloses him as a luring shepherd. Max Endicoff has 
in the same issue, a few etchings. He thinks just as every 
one of us does, things we read a long time ago somewhere else. 

'But he writes and calls it "Etchings." That is the difference, . 

^'see?" Yes, he is courageous. 

The lilBMOiMri Mala 

It is a monthly magazine of fun, philosophy and puns, the good 
^old sort of paper which used to come from our western back 
-woods. It really makes us laugh and it is free from the in- 
tricacies of artists and writers who wish to be at least twenty- 
'five years ahead of themselves. 

The Nvtohall 

From his studio in Carnegie Hall, A. G. Heaton, the artist 
rand traveler, sends The Nutshell, his little monthly paper. He 
sends it to his friends to whom he has owed letters for quite a 
while, and to such people as he wants to remind of his ex- 
istence. It's a good idea to have once a month such a whole- 
.'Sale letter day. 



Tka 

John C Cournos contributes in the current issuef of the 
London "Egoist," to this new era of revived Russian men of 
Icftters of twenty and more years ago, a vivid picture of, 
Feodor Sologub, author of twenty volumes comprising almost 

^very literary form, of which The Created Legend is best known 
to English readers. A few translations of his characteristic 
poefms taken from this issue of 'The Egoist," are reproduced 
on another page. ''The Egoist" is today the only journal, which 
finds dts way from Europe to our editorial table, not saturated 
with this tiresome war business, giving a review of everything 
of interest in literary matters and in art, and even not excluding 

(Germany and Austria. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 3W 



Nmnber 6 of these flying fame pamphlets published by our 
London correspondent, Edward Storer, contains a very original 
article on "Absolute Poetry," five poems by John Goodman, and- 
a few verses by F. W. Tancred, bringing us a new breath from 
the Knglish shores. Among all the realism of our contempor-. 
aries there sectos to thrive a small group of idealists, of 
artists. These poets are like architects who have abandoned^ 
the designing of public buildings in difFerent styles and have 
started to work on temples con$c^:rated to gods, gods who are' 
so real that one could mistake them for the ancient divinities, 
of the Greeks and Romans. But they are just their own real 
gods. _ 

Charles Edison's LittleThimbleTheatre: 
Its Real Mission 

JUST to make it clear once more: Mr. Charles Edison's^ 
Little Thimble Theatre has no other purpose but to give 
young American musicians, composers, ^oets and playwrights 
a hearing. To act as a free forum accessible to everybody who' 
has done something that he considers worth while and to give' 
him a chance to be heard by an unprejudicdd audience. 

Judging from Mr. Edison's mail, a good many people seem to 
be under the impression that the Thimble Theatre is ji kind of 
philanthropic institution for musicians and singers out of employ- 
ment, others mistake it for a concert hall where artists of fame 
-will be heard. The mere fact that one has a known name, that 
one has a pocketful of newspaper clippings or has sung or 
played before European princes and members of royal families 
and has received medals and crosses of ^ honor, bars him from 
an appearance in the Little Thimble Theatre. 

It is just the American who works and toils honestly in this 
country and has not had, for some reason or another, a diance 
to be rejected or accepted by an American public, that Mr. 
Edison is interested in. 

We live in an age of recognition. The tragedy of a Poe 
could Hardly be repeated to-day. The good work done will 
ultimately gain recognition and it is solely up to the man him- 
self to create for himself the right circle of activities. America 
needs good music, good poems, good books. Whilcf the writer 
has it comparatively easy to persuade a publisher to see the 
merits of his works, the musician is handicapped by that supreme 
illusion which has taken hold of all impresarios and producers 
of plays: that America has no music and that the American 
has to look for reafgood stuff to Mother Europe. But the 
worst of it is they don't want even to lend themselves to ao 
experimctat They are afraid of everything that hasn't got 
the European label. 

It would be megalomania to assume that the activities of the 
Little Thimble Theatre, even if successful beyond expectation, 



400 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



could change this condition. But the little snowball kicked oflF 
incidently from the high mountain grows to be a big avalanche. 
And if the larger public cannot be rttiched and the composer 
or musician derives no other benefit but to play in public, his 
self-confidence is being strengthened and he returns home 
filled with new ambitions, and plunges into his work with new 
vigor. 

Mr. Edison invites every American musician, composer or 
singer to take advantage of his Little Thimble Theatre. Sc*-ious 
efforts wil l find serious consideration. 

The Story of Oscar Wilde's Life and 
Experience in Reading Gaol* 

By His Warder. ,. , . ^ 

f NEVER saw a man who looked 

« With such a wistful eye 
Upon that little patch of blue 

Which prisoners call the sky; 
And at every wandering dottd 

That trailed 
Its revelled fleeces by 

AN ex-prison warder who was at Reading Gaol during the 
entire period of Wilde's incarceration, has drawn aside Ac 
veil that hid the ill-fated man of genius during his degradation 
and despair "in the depths." 

The publication of thef posthumous book by the great literary 
genius, who "sinned and suffered." has induced this warder, 
who had charge of Oscar Wilde during his imprisonment, to 
tell how that unhappy man of letters ''circled the centre of 
pain/' as he in poignant phrase described the daily prison ordeaL 

"The warders strutted up and down, 
And watched their l^erd of brutes." 

wrote Wilde on his release, and in this fragment of verse can 
be read his own bitter self -contempt Of the warders them- 
selv^, he made no complaint — he regarded them as simply 
instruments of an iron, soul killing system that might be right— 
or wrong. 

The warders, on their side, knew how terrible was the punish- 
ment the former pampered pet of society must bcf undergoing, 
for they could see he was suffering a thousandfold because 
of his strangely sensitive temperament and previous ignorance 
of all hardships and iron discipline. 

"Poor Wilde," writes his former prison custodian, who is by 
no means the iron-hearted creature warders are generally sup- 
pose to be. 

"I remember, before he was transferred from Wandsworth 
Prison, the governor of Reading Gaol said to us, *A certain 
prisoner is about to bcf transferred here, and you should be 

*/ am indebted for this story to Mr. Patrick F. Modigan, 
Vfho has the origtnal, in the handwriting of Oscar Wilde's 
warder, and also the two manuscripts mentioned in this story. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



proud to think the Prison Commissioners have chosen Readmg 
Gaol as the one most suitable for this man to serve the re- 
mainder of his sentence in.' 

"The governor never told us the* name, but directly the 
prisoner arrived, we saw that 'C33' which was his prison letter 
and number, afterwards made famous by him, thus signing the 
'Ballad of Reading Gaol/ was none other than Oscar Wilde. 

"The probable caused of his transfer from Wandsworth Prison 
was his inability to comply with the regulation tasks allotted 
to his class of prisoner. On one or two occasions he had been 
broug^ht up before the governor there for idleness at oakum- 
picking or talking. 

"I remember my first sight of the fallen literary idol of whom 
all the world was then tafidng in terms of infamy. 

''A tall figure with a large head and fat, pendulous cheeks, 
-with hair that curled artistically, and a hopeless look in his 
eyes — ^that was Oscar Wilde as I first met him. 

"Not even the hideous prison garb, or *C 33,' the badge? of 
ignominy he bore could altogether hide the air of distinction 
and ever-present intellectual force that lifted him always far 
above 'the hcfrd of brutes,' as he so bitterly afterwards styled 
his fellow convicts and himself. 

"From the first it was apparent to us that he was totally 
unfitted for manual work, or hardships of any kind, and he was 
treated accordingly. 

"He was no good for anything— except writing, and that 
as a rule, has small place inside a prison. But on account of his 
former greatness a small concession was made him, and he was 
allowed to read and write as much as he liked. 

"Had this boon not been granted him he would, I am con- 
fident, have pined away and died. He was so unlike other meu. 
Just a bundle of brains — ^and that is all. 

"When he arrived his hair was long and curly, and it was 
ordered to be cut at once. 

"It fell to my lot as warder in charge to carry out this order 
and cut his hair, and never shall I forget it 

"To Oscar Wilde it seemed as though the clipping of his locks, 
and thus placing him on the same level as the closely shorn, 
bullet-headed prisoners round him was the last drop in the oup 
of sorrow and degradation which he had to drain to the bitter 
dregs. 

" 'Must it be cut,' he cried piteously to me. *You don't know 
what it means to me,' and the tears rolled down his cheeks. 

"It may seem somewhat ludicrous to some who do not know, 
as I do, what a curiously constituted character was that of 
Oscar Wild< but I know it cut me to the heart to have to be 
the person to cause him his crowning shame. Warders have 
feelings, although their duty will not always allow them to 
show it 

(To be Continued). 



40i BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Maude: A Memory 

By Gmdo Bruno 
(Concluded) 

Anything, the most unnsnal thing that Courtland would have 
done could not havef astonished him more than this hoarsely 
uttered question* 

Mrs. Regan involuntarily made a few steps back toward the 
door of the waiting-room. There she stood for seconds that 
seemed hours. Kenneth, watching the doctor, did not sedm to 
pay any attention to her presence in the room. She opened the 
door. She opened it slowly; inch by inch the intefrior of the 
waiting-room could be seen from the doctor's den. A nurse 
was busying herself noiselessly with some papers on a small 
table. In a deep leather-upholsterred chair sat a young woman. 
Shortly after she had espied Mrs. Regan, she jumped to her 
feet, crossed the room with hasty steps. "Will he go, mother? 
Is he coming with us?" Shtf stood in the open doorway. Both 
men looked at her. 

"Courtland!" exclaimed the girl, approaching the doctor with 
extended hand, **I know you'll go with us, please do." 

"So you are not married, Maude?" was the answer of the 
doctor who had grasped the hand, holding it tightly in his. 

Mrs. Maude Regan was introducing her daughter Maude, to 
Kenneth. There seemed to be method in the madness that she 
had feared to read in Courtland's face, in his actions. 

At the Sign of the Red Lamp 

Fifty-three West Third Street, New York 

Yon will find this Mi and picturetqne Chop Houses 
TWO DOORS EAST OF WEST BROADWAY 
We make a specialty oi Sea Food, Steak and Ckopa 

SAMUEL S. BROAD, Proprietor Telephones Spring 5963 

Open ET«iiiiiss mitil Hinm 

RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 



Extra Illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. AssociatiMi Books 

Books for Christmas Gifts 

Fmchaaed singly oi in sets for people who bsTe neithei time nor opportiuuty to 
lelect (or themtelvet. or for thote who have not access to the best book marts. 

Why not begin collecting now? 

AddreM E. V., Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass. 

Bruno's Weekly, imblished weekly by Chsrles Bdison, and 
edited and written by Giiido Bnino, both at 6S WaaUngtott 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 

Application for entry as second-class matter at the Post Office of New 
York pending. 



BIG COHAM Jk MAMMMf f UCCjEfS^- 



^ ASTOR lS&S^fiSi^^»^^ 

Geo. M. Cohan's filTTTHE-tRAII- 

M "BOXY HOLUPAT ** 



Tfri 



TU CANDLER Eft'f. 8:lt. iShn w. Wtdhi^*iid litard^ «l 2tlf 
BEST PLAY OP THE YEAH 

THE HOUSE OF GLASS 

« 

Wmi MARY RYAN ami iIm Qtmmk 



AT I AMP APDIT 4M8lrMl W«l«f 



SiMul!% 



2Jt 



LEO DITRICHSTEIN 
■"^iS^iSr"^ The Great Lover 






LIBRAIRIE FRANCAISE 



DEUTSCHE BUECHER 



Librairie Francaise 

111 Fourth Avenue 



FrvBcIiy M^|i^i^ Gfijrpimi and Spanisn romanc— . 
1^1 EngK*|i Ht«ratare and foreign claMics a spac- 
r. Ab lands of litaratiira IxNiffat and aschang ad* 
Art anagaainaa wanted. 



WRITE US WHAT ^9^ ARE INTERESTED IN. 



atCULATING UBimY 



EN6USH BOOKS 




OmiIm Edbon't Link TUmUa Thntn, Sihutd 
•tNo.lonflfaAnBiMkGrMii«kh Villi«eJlY.C 



Thii Week'* Perfonnancet and Concerts 



Thnriday, 8:1S p. m. 



Aik or write far tkk«t of iilmiwinn to TIm 
Link nuaiUa ThMtn perfonnaiioei. TImj 
an hw of dun*. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 




EDITEO BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 



Five Cents 



January 29th, 1916 



OihIm Edbon's littk llimdUa IlMatn^ SibMtBd 
•t No.lOFiflfa ATHiiie,Gn«iwiGfa ViIl>ge,N.Y.C 



Thii Week's PeifcHiiiaiMes and Concerts 

Wedneidaj, l:U p, m, 
TbuttiMT, 8:1B p. m. 
Fridajr, 8:1B p. to. 
Saturday, B:00 p. m. 
I:U p. m. 



Adc or wiite fw ticket of 
Little Humble TliMtK perfoi 
■rofneof « 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 




EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARHET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 



Five Cents 



January 29th, 1916 



408 BRUNQ^S WEEKLY 

A Philosopher Among Russian Dancers 

An InterTMw with Adolf Bolmi. 

HTHE tumult and the shouting diefs. the press-men and the 
veils depart-— and what is left? — Some cosmetic errors, the 
sound of the stretching of the arch of multitudinous feet and 
Adolf Bolm. 

He it is who has discovered himself next to Najinski, now 
that Najinski has gone. He is the pampefred, over-familiar 
Le Negre, of the chosing of that top-heavy though attractive 
high-hipped Zobeide. He, who is Chef guerrier of Le Prince 
Igor, not forgotten in Les Sylphides and still on viefw in La 
Princess Enclmntee and Soleil Du Nuit 

He comes through the meHeu of the Ballet with the smile 
of the man who suffers in three languages. 

"Bakst ah, theJre you have not only the savage, you have 

also the artist I have often thought, how dreadful to be the 
picture— you know what I mean? No? I shall explain. Notice 
the eye of the connoisseur of arts, then imagine yourself their 
goal. See? It is so with the costume. Therefore, I say, how 
dreadful to be the picture but how still more lamentable to be 
the costume. 

"Bakst is a successful organ; he has a keen appetite, a nose 
for cafes, a delightful sense; of humor, an impressive style of 
flirting. His advances are of a marked and successful nature, 
considering his natural inborn plainness. Of his retreats one 
might say they are masterly. He sails a boat and drinks tea 
with graceful repugnance. 

"He has however one fault— ^h, an immense trifle — ^his head- 

fear the hoods, the turbans, the what-nots that he conceives 
or the heads of his disciples — ^Beautiful? Yes, as only ugly 
and vulgar things are,— but— " 

He paused Imocking his gold cigarette case upon his palm 
"But my friend Leon forgcfts that in the classic arts the feet 
should have pre-eminence. 

"Is Bakst new, is Ws art the art of the creator? Often I 
am asked diat, very often I hear others asked that. There is 
an answer. The* tragedy of man— ^ere had been a past; the 
tragedy of nature— there will be a future. 

"Without your yesterdays all would be great today. No, of 
course, Bakst is not new. Egypt may have been buildcd on the 
dust of an older Egypt, Rome may have failed once again on 

"In Russia there are other Russians— better perhaps, and also, 
perhaps not Bakst happened to come when he was needed, 
when th^ world was ready for him. 

"It is harder, I admit, to become known for what ontf has 
not done than for what one has. Bakst took the easiest way, 
he became known for what he dki. Not for his restraint, but 
for his vigor. One can say of him what Wilde said of Hall 
Cain— he creates at the top of his voice 

"Therefore it is that one should not say Bakst dares, one 
should say Bakst dares again. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 409 



'Some of his designs are purely grapfaia From the mind, 
for the pa|>er. These are the kinds I have reference to, when 
I say how painful to be the costume. I have had to outrage 
Bakst, because Bakst has outraged me. 

"He invents, say, something he considered decorative, but 
imagine trying to dance entangled with all tiie intricacies of 
Baksf s mind. 

"Well, we have made our concessions each to the other" he 
added. 

When I asked him if America could appreciate Russian art 
he ans^wered: 

"You are not asked to understand Russia. You are asked 
to feel. One does not understand death, one only reacts to it" 
I said that the whole production had strudc most of us as 
art under the skin. "A matter," I added, "of gastric acoustics, 
arteries and undressing or over-dressing," also concluding, "but 
only of the kind we lament because that savage sharpness, that 
peasant bettemess and vitality given us so riaily in the litera- 
ture of the Russian and in the Russian history, is missing. 

"In other words they seem to be economizing on perspiration." 
I finished. 

**He has fallen into the estate of the man who forgets that 
destruction is more necessary than construction. The rich per- 
versity of a decaying flower is only transcribable in the still 
richer, still more perverse flare of the decaying art. The hap- 
pier midways of life and death. The conception that feeds on 
itself, — ^that is the most beautiful and the most destructive. 
Bakst has forgotten, it seems to me, and has instead tried to 
make something too new, and in consequence has made it too 
raw. Wounds are all very well but only in that they blf^d. 
Bakst is a wound in which the arteries refuse their waters." 

Bolm shook his head "Yes and no, as the peasant says. I 
admit that he is not alwa3rs simple. That is what I tried to 
point out just a few minutes ago. It is his insincerity that 
sometimes gets in his way, nevertheless his art is a fine thing 
and the world is coming to know that, and then there will be 
others. 

"Now let me »y something that touches America. You 
want too many doctors. Only people who go around with the 
assurance given by medicins could expurgate so freely your 
books and shave down to so fine a point, your arts. When you 
have ceased to have stomach troubles you will not mind the 
hard and healthy spleen of the children of UApres-Midi d'lia 
Faune." 
Djuna Barnes. 

Who«T«r will hm free, niiut make Iiimself free: 
freedom is no fairy's gift to fall into any man's lap. 

Friedrich Nietzsche 



4X0 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



London Letter 



London Office of BRUNO'S W££KLY, 
lli St. Charles Square, New Kensington^ 

January 10th. 
IN my letter this week I must give you some Irish nefws, for I 
have been spending a few days over in Dublin and the 
vicinity. I paid a visit to the Irish poet, Joseph Campbell, who 
lives out at Enniskerry, in the Wicklow hills. Going down in 
the train from Haroourt Street station, I looked at Sjoige's, 
In Wicklow and West Kerry. It was in Wicklow that the 
author of the Playboy picked up so much of that picturesque 
mixture of folk-lore, racy idiom and incident which make the 
quality of his comedies. "A great country for tramps," he says, 
"and for tinkers. The abundance of these folk has often beefn 
regretted, yet in one sense it is an interesting sign, for wher- 
ever the laborer has preserved his vitality and b^ets an occa- 
sional temperament of distinction, a certain number of vagrants 
are to be looked for." 

Driving through this gray and rather desolate country-side and 
coming across the low snuggling inns or the country 'charactcfrs' 
in the lanes, one could not escape thinking of Synge at work 
with his fine mind among this peasantry and tinkerdom. I could 
picture to myself how he did it, and when we passed one old 
fellow, whose face suggef&ted a wealth of racy reminiscences by 
its character and quaintness I said: "Now if we were S3nigc 
we would stand that old fellow a drink and draw him out." 
"And well amused he would keep us, too," my friend replied. 

Passing through this Wicklow country revealefd Sjmge to me 
in a new way. I saw how lonely and miserable the poor fellow 
must have been in spite of all the glamor and courage he has 
put into his pages. * 

Campbell is well known in America, I fanQr, as the author of 
Irishry, the Gilly of Christ, The Man Child, etc., and many 
lyrics in Miss Harriet Monroe's Poetry. He is one of the most 
vigorous figures of the younger Irish school, and has added his 
name to the list of authors who have written plays for the cele- 
brated Abbey Theatre?. Campbell feels strongly on the subject 
of the modern Irish theatre. He told me he believed that one 
might say that the Abbey, considered as an art theatre, was dead. 
It has worked out its ideal and there was no fresh one arising. 
The plays that are produced there now are only comedies or 
satires. It is true that they are given in rather a better spirit 
than at the ordinary commercial theatre, but that is all. Of all 
the plays produccsd there, only those by Yeats and Ssmge will 
last The point that Campbell particularly made was that what 
Ireland wanted at present most of all in her theatre was the 
drama of beauty. And that of course is very true, not only of 
Ireland, but of any country. Slightly pessimistic as such inti- 
mations are, it is plain that as an art-producing country Ireland 
is at the momefnt superior to England. 

A visit to the Abbey — so often heard of yet never seen— con- 
firmed my views. There were two pieces — The Suburban Groove, 
by W. F. Casey, a young man I retoiember meeting in London 
some years ago, and a new playlet. Fraternity, by Bernard DuflFy. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 411 



One has heard so much of the Abbey Theatre— it is a little 
Ba3rreuth of modern English theatrical artr-that to visit it fo^ 
the first time is quite exciting. It was onctf a court-house of 
some kind, my friend tells me, and the interior of the building 
preserves still a little of the judicial sternness. It is very scvcrtf; 
the proscenium admirable in black and gold lines against a dull 
white. A few bronze escutcheons rise in high relicff from the 
walls.^ It is all vety simple and unpretentious. The audience 
contains a much greater proportion of young men than one 
would find at any time in a London theatre?. Obviously, theatre- 
£:oing: is differently regarded here. The seats are very cheap and 
we sit in the cheapest — my companion, a young Irish painter, 
and myself. 

The Suburban Grooves proves charming. It is a volatile trifle, 

a comedy of suburban manners, delicately written and delicately 

acted and admirably true to life. Yet it would not stand a chance 

at the commercial theatre. It would be too simple, too natural. 

The whole? play has nothing remarkable about it except that fact 

that it is a genuine little play, written for the love of the thinft 

hy a whole man who had not sold himself to the devil. The 

novelty of the evening proved to be very amusing, too. It was 

a satire on thef Ancient Order of Hibernians. To judge by the 

comments around me it did not seem to please the audience very 

much. 

To turn to English news, Thomas Beecham has been made a 
knight and Henry James has been giveta the Order of Merit. 
IDecorations are always showered in England at the New Year 
upon a number of people who have spent the previous twelve 
months, or longer, defserving them. Sir Thomas Beecham has 
done a good deal for music in England if not for English music. 
Indeed, his work has been chiefly in connection with Russian 
opera and ballet The name Beecham is closely connected with 
those delightful evcftiings we used to spend in the great gallery 
of Covent Garden or Drury Lane a couple of years ago. That 
was the full flowering of an art-form which a year or so earlier 
in the less gross atmosphere of Paris had blossomed most per- 
fectly. Behind all that fantasy and luxuriancef were the hard 
lives and the little realized ideals of the Russian composers 
Mousorgsky, Rimsky-KorsakoflF and the brethren of the famous 
Band. They dreamed their dream of a Russian national music 
in St. Petersburg about 1860, and about fifty yeftirs later their 
art expanded to its fullest. By the way, an excellent little book 
on modem Russian music appeared here some short time ago 
by Montagu-Nathan. Lane, I think, is the publisher. 

Edward Storer 

Eternal Minutes 

By Guide Bruno 

(Contiiitied from last issue) 

"Well, I gavtf her up. I gave it 'all up. I didn't have the 
heart to induce her to give up the surroundings she loved. I 
know she would have been willing to do the conventional thing 
but I didn't dare do it. I loved her so much. I sacrificed 
everything for her sakef. Life is worthless for me. I'll never 



412 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



see her again and I'll never again feel warmth in my heart. I'll 
never see her again in my life and I shall long) for her until I 
die. 

''I might be happy at that . . • if it is happiness: thef con- 
sciousness of my self-sacrifice." 

The man with a sad, resigned face looked forlornly out into 
the darkness. There was a long silence. His companion did 
not move. It seemed an etdtnity, but it surely lasted an hour. 
Neither did his companion take his eyes away from the face of 
the man who was speaking. He seemed to try to read his mind 
and look deep into his hciart He was studying the features of 
his face and making comparisons. 

And suddenly all the relaxation disappeared.^ He seemed ac- 
tive, dynamic He lay back in the garden chair. He stretched 
his legs and arms, conscious of his strength. The!te was a vig- 
orous exhalation from his powerful lungs that blew out the 
light 

. . , "Fool I ... I would have taken her. I would have 
made only one appointment with her and that would have 
lasted for life. I would have made her forget hrt:^ surround- 
ings and her furniture. I would have made her sit with me 
in my lonely quarters. I would have? passed to her a part 
of icy own dish. I would have brought her happiness in re- 
turn. I would have sacrificed everything but her, and conscious 
of that I would have been happy." 

A glaring white lightning parted the dark skies. Thunder 
resounded from all comers of the earth. Heavy drops of an 
tmexpected rain beat against the roof. The two men hurried 
back to thef big lighted house. 

(Concluded) 



A Little Tale by Feodor Sologub 

Translated by John Coumos 
CaptiT« Death 

A LONG time ago there lived a brave and invincible Knight. 
One d^y he happened to capture Death herself. 

He brought her to his strong castle, and put her in a cell. 

Death sat there — and people ceased to die. 

Thf Knight was overjoyed, anc^ thought: 

"Now it is wdl, but it is rather a worry to keep a watch on 
her. Perhaps it would be better to destroy her altogether." 

But the Knight was a very just man — ^he could not kill her 
without judgment 

He went to the cell and, passing before the small window, 
he said: 

"Death, I want to cut your head off— you've done a lot of 
harm upon the earth.** 

But Death was silent ' "\ 

The Knight continued: 
"ril give you a chance— defend yourself if you can. What 
have you to say for yourself?" 



BRUNQ^S WEEKLY 418 

And Deatii answered: 

Til say nothing just yet; let Life put in a word for me." 

And the Knight suddenly saw Life standing beside him; she 
was a robust and red-cbedced but expressionless woman. 

And she began to say such brazen and ungodly things that 
the brave, invincible Knight trembled, and made haste to open 
the cell. 

Death went out — ^and men began to die once more. The 
Knight himself died when his time came — ^and he told no one 
upon tiie earth what that expressionless, brazen woman, lAit, 
had said to h'.m. 

From "The Effoist," London. 

Balkan Stories 

Tka End 

"IN Our Village" a Turkish officer said to me, "we have no 
graveyard." 
"But where do you bury . • . ?" 
Interrupting my question he said: 
"Our people are always shot or hung somewhere else." 



QN the morning of my departure from Constantinople I gave 
the letter carrier who had brought my letters during my so- 
journ here, half a medshid as a tip. 

In the afternoon a man came up to me and said: "My lord, 
I am a stranger to you. You never received a telegram. But 
may it please you to know that I am the telegraph messenger. 
May it please you to know that it was up to me to deliver tele- 
grams to you, if such had been receive for you in our office. I 
surely would have brought them to you most quickly. I know you 
will be just and you will not harm a man who has always been 
ready to serve you; I cannot be blamed that I have never been 
called upon to be of service to you. I too deserve half a 
medshid." 

Montenttgro 

IT is widely known what an interesting way King Nicholas 
once knew to get hold of half a milHon in ready cash. He 
sent a trusted man to Triest addressing to him continuously 
postal money ordcfrs from Cetdnje. The trusted man received 
payment for his money orders in the Austrian post office smd 
returned home with the cash to the Black Mountains. King 
Nicholas never reimbursed the Austrian postal government 
This episode caused a good deal of talk about thtf postal condi- 
tions in Montenegro. 

Before I left for Cetinje my friends asked me not to^ forget 
to bring back Montenegran postage stamps of all denominations 
I could get hold^ of. At tiie po^ office of Cetinje the clerk 
gave me stamps in the denominations of one, two, three, five, 
ten and twenty heller. "But should you also wish stamps for 
fifty hdler apiece," he said, "you will have to go up to the 
palace and see the king. The fifty-heller stamps are being kept 
in His Majesty's private ca^ box." 

After the German of Roda Roda, by Guido Bruno, 



414 BRUNCyS WEEKLY 

God Save the King! 

^CREAMING m agonies of Hdl 

The Tolmiteer from Dublin f elL 
The lead tore body at his gafhag hmg 
A witiiering tiiirst choked thick his blackening tongue. 

And yet, when later in the day 
Th^ found the nmddy hole in which he lay. 
He smiled up at the surgeon at his side, 
'^ero or fool?" he questioned, dien he died. 

Tom Sleeper 

Lions' Roars 

By D. Molby 

Y^HENEVER one is out in a Idnd of desert country, at night, 
where there are some lions and one of them is roaring, 
one is likely to get quite a fright. If the lion roars as loud 
as he can, one can hear him a long wa]^ How far, depends 
on what land of a night it is and on whe&er he is back in some 
bills or is on the front of one. If it is a dear night and there 
is a moon and the lion is standing on a rock that looks out 
over a valley, the sounds will go several miles before they stop. 

The reason he can roaf loud is that bis neck is big and his 
vocal cords are strong and bis chest powerfuL When he roars 
and the c^choes come back, be knows that be has every otber 
jmimal for miles around scared to bad that be can't move. He 
is tiie king of beasts and be wants them to Imow it. And the 
vibrations in his cbest and the firmness in bis legs bring him 
the conciousness of bis power. 

Wh^ he roars this way, be makes the Earth tremble under 
his feet, or if he is on a rock, it jars the rock. The night is 
bis and the hills are bis, and he rules them with his roar. 

Frithae. To What Purpose? 

TTHE speckled hen in the back yard scratcbcfs, feeds, and lays 
an egg which is destined to become a speckled hen which 
in the back yard scratches, f e^s, and lays ^ an egg which is 
destined to become a speckled ben which in the back yard 
scratches, feeds, and lays an egg which is .... an egg 
^ . . become . . . feeds . . . .speckled .... 

Tom Sleeper 

A Draam 

IN heaven a white-robed angel laid aside his harp and. going 
to the Lord, said, 'Tather, I would sleep again." 
Tcndtfrly smiling, the Almighty replied, "It is permitted." 
On that morning a child was bom. 

Karl M. Sherman, 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



415 







•«•■ 



OrtginsI Drawing by Rudyard Kipling. (Sixe reduced.) 

From the Collection of Mr. Patrick F. Madigan 

War and Books 

HTHERE is an intimate relation between war and books. This 
may not be apparefnt because the effect does not follow 
the cause immediately. Nor directly. The Welt-geist is prodigal 
of means when the end is not in sight It accounts to no one. 
And it has plenty of time. 

That there is an intimate relation beftween wars and books 
is evidenced in the nature and amount of literature after the 
conquests of Julius Caesar. After thef struggle of Russia with 
Poland. After the Fretoch Revolution. And after our own two 
greater wars. 

The conditions governing the output of books in these several 



^6 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

instances are so varied as to preclude the possibilit}r that the mere 
vitality of periods of reoonstmction cotdd fertilize a barren 
toil of letters. 

It is true diat Rome was rich during her Golden Age. And 
America bj sheer force of her natural resources, was prosperous 
after her two wars. But the increu^ confidence due to restor- 
ation of order following disturbed conditions, as little explaias 
the most brilliant period of Latin literature and the sadden 
leaps in American cultural activities, as it accotmts for the 
great dramas of poverty-stricken Russia or the famous novds 
of a bankrupt French republic 

Just what happens one can never know. 

It is as simple and natural, doubtless, as the change of a larva 
to a pupa. And as the transformation of the pupa to a winged 
butterfly. Metamorphoses are cflFarted in darkness and under 
conditions that preclude observation. 

But at least something like this occurs. 

During war-times the voice of the people. is heard. Petty 
diflFerences are forgotten. Men gather in tiie streets and shout 
in unison. They hiss and they cheer. And at ciach explosion 
there can be no doubt as to whether it is a hiss or a cheer. 

And it follows that in the white heat of some noble excitement 
a pamphlet is printed. Somtf individual writes it but the i»eople 
have created it. And in passion and in exaltation songs are 
struck oflF. 

Everybody reads the pamphlets and everybody sings the songs. 
They are active, timely, popular. That is to say that both these 
expressions of a feeling— -pamphlets and songs — came from the 
p^ple and are again absorbed by them. ^ 

This is creation, fecundation, germination. 

After peace is declared these songs are forgotten. The pamph- 
lets once sold at a penny are exchanged for dollars in auction 
rooms, as curiosities. Maybe as historical evidence. But the 
folk-idea behind the little book and the verses is living in the 
people. It grows and spreads. 

After a while a restlessness is generally apparent A fever- 
ishness that means a generally diffused desire for expression of 
something not yet clearly defined. 

A htmdred poets and writers, too feeble to make the sound 
that can be heard and the gesture that can be seen, try to embody 
concretely what everybody feels is in the air. The ninety and 
nine faiL 

Then come the men that will be heard: Marcus Aurdius, 
Sienkiewicz, Zola. And for us the poets and novelists that 
wrote between our wars and after them, whose sentiments can 
be traced: pamphlets of Franklin and Payne. And to those 
of the abolitionists. 

Uncle Tom's^ Cabin and the more pretentious poems of tlie 
standard American poets are reflexes of and reactions from war 
feeling. And who can estimate the number of novels related 
to each other by kindred sentiments that were inspired by re- 
corded expressions of popular feeling during the civil war? 



BRUNQ^S WEEKLY W 

The tragedy of brothers meeting face to face in opposing battle 
array: the horror that an agricultural people would feel at the 
shooting of a spy: the beauty of reconciliation. These wertf 
the themes of the novels and poems. 

As to just what will b% the general trend of the literature 
that will record the true feeling in these days when our news 
stands are overflowing with extra war cfditions, it would be 
interesting to speculate. 

Doubtless, horror of the incredible spectacle of the foremost 
nations sacrificing human lives by the thousand in tiie name of 
tkcf Almighty, to uphold an abstraction, prejudices all our con- 
clusions. 

But it's safe to say that no sentiment in the present crisis 
^will inspire a woman to write a Battle Hjmin of the Republic. 

Cora Bennett Stephenson 

Books and Magazines of .the Week 

A very interesting pamphlet was sent to us by C. Alphonso 
Smith, £d^ Allan Poe, Professor of the University of Vir- 
ginia. It IS called ''Ballads Surviving in the United States" 
and it appeared in the Musical Quarterly, 1916. Professor Smith, 
its author, was Roosevelt Professor in Germanv several years 
ago and wrote at that time the only authentic history of con- 
tem|>orary American Literature extant in th^ German language. 
He is writing at present a biography of O. Henry whidh will 
clear up a good deal of the mvstery and the fantastic stories 
connected with the personal life of America's greatest short- 
story writer. 

"Every student of folk-lore has noticed that the last few years 
have witnessed a remarkable revival of interest in the folk-song. 
This interest has not been confined to the United States, but is prob- 
ably more manifest in the United States because it has here assumed 
its most definite form. The American people, not having the rich 
store of antique ballads found, for example, in Germany or Scandi- 
navia or Servia or Spain, have gone zealously- to work to collect the 
ballads that drifted across with their forebears from England and 
Scotland and Ireland. The Bureau of Education in Washington issued 
a bulletin in January, 1914, containing a list of the three hundred and 
five English and Scottish ballads and' urged the teachers of the United 
States to form ballad societies in each state for the purpose of finding 
and thus rescuing these valuable folk-songs before it is too late." 

TIm Cheerful Liar 

New York has a new paper. It guarantees that 

"it can lie better than any other newspaper published. We are Cham- 
pion Liars. If the public is foolish enough to spend their money 
for a bunch of unreliable news, we propose to get into the game also 
and get some of the coin. We are honest about it and tell you by 
the name of this newspaper what you can expect. There is bo 
attempt made to obtain your money under false pretenses. Only our 
advertisement columns are genuine. They all guarantee their goods 
to be as represented." 

There is just one exception I would take with its editor. 
Where is the cheerfulness in their lying? 



418 BRUNO*S WEEKLY 

Bookplates of Jolui E. and SuniMl Pepjrs 

Howard C Levis* new work dealing with the somewhat hu- 
morous passages in the diaries and correspondence of the two 
famous seventc^enth-century virtuosi, John Evelyn and Satnud 
Pepys, which touch on tiie subject of engraving, will be pub- 
lished shortly by Messrs. Ellis. There are chapters on Evel3m's 
own etchings on the bookplates and bookstamps of the two 
diarists, on their portraits and the portraits of thdr wives and 
^o the frontispieces and illustrations of their works, toge^cr 
with a short bibliography and an index. 
J>orStarm 

The editorial sta£F of this organ of the small futuristic group 
of German internationalists suffered another loss, as I see by 
the last issue, which just reached our de*sk. August Stramm, 
the poet whose works created such a sensation in England just 
before the outbreak of the war, upon their appearance in Eng- 
lish translation, was the victim of a hostile bull^ in the Bel- 
gian trenches. 

The Now Rbvmw 

The New Review Publishing Association, which publishes the 
"New Review," the theoretical magazine of American Socialism, 
.announces its entrance into the Book Publishing field. Its 
j>urpose is to publish bodes dealing with current events aad 
|»roblems. 



hi Our Village 



'HE chaotic conditions prevailing in the American art world 
of today are but a true replica of what is going on among 
the artists of our village. The times of Babel seem to be here 
.again. The great individual efforts towards the one big adiieve^ 
mcnt seem to be perturbc\i. Everybody is working as hard as 
he can and trying and failing and starting out again with new 
energy and doing his best .... but he seems to do it in 
his own language, a different language from that of the uni- 
verse. And everybody else fails to understand him. I am not 
ftalking now about artists who are busy getting out orders for 
magazines and commercial purposes, and I am not thinking of 
imitators who are trying to create sensations with the empty 
language of others who really meant sincerely what they pre- 
sented to the world. 

There are men and women among us trying to do one thing 
or the other, who are using their paints and brushes for no 
othcfr purpose but self-expression. They are the people who 
will have found themselves in the course of the coming ten or 
fifteen years and who will really have something to give, to a 
generation which will have grown with them in the meantime! 

Almost as many studios as we have down here, — ^just as many 
different ways and means of expression of impressions **to the 
world" do we have. And these cr^tions drift eventually up- 
ttown and are exhibited in "leading*' galleries on the Avenue. 



BRUNO^S WEEKLY 41» 

Shall and can experiments be taken seriously? Shouldn't t^ose 
m authority, espcfcially the keepers of galleries refrain from 
usini^ their walls for experimental purposes, especially when the 
artist today might laugh at his creation of yesterday? Must 
the public be the goat here, too, as well as in the other branch^ 
of the free arts, for mere commer<cial reasons? 

Thcf individualistic expression of a man is of course, the 
most ideal way to attempt the big. But if he uses, in order 
to express himself, a language not understood by anybody 
else, and if he is not able to compile at the present time a dic- 
tionary to be used by those intereste!d and eager to understand, 
because in most of the cases he doesn't know himself what he 
want?, why not refrain from exhibiting? Why not take the con- 
sequences of the prcfrogative of the self -expressionist : "I don't 
care what you think about it, — if you can understand it or not ; 
it is just exactly as I see it and that is sufficient unto me," and 
keep his creations unto himself until such a time arrives where 
either he shall have found a medium which is not strange to ouf 
eyes and which we really can see or feel, or our posterity shall 
have adjusted their focus, in the course of the progress of the 
world, which will enable thefm to see and to feel. 

The grotesque seems to be favored at present by magazines 
who are willing to pay large prices for something that outdoes 
this week the unbeliefvable of last week. 

Money is the great lure in the career of our artists. 
Do away with the money which can be gained by the sort 
of production everybody seems to aim at at prescJnt, and most 
of the members of our hopeful colony of geniuses will return 
to the diligent study of drawing. 

And now be honest to yourself — ^What is the most wonderful 
idea worth and the most glorious and impoissiblcf color scheme, 
if you don't know how to draw and if you think that composi- 
tion is something that one can do away with? 

The exhibition of paintings, marine scenes and forest scenes, 
including portraits of Abraham Lincoln and of Nancy Hanks, 
Lincoln's mother, by Captain George Edward Hall, will con- 
tinue on the walls of Bruno's Garret until the last days in 
January. 

A group of Russian artists will have a joint exhibition of 
their work from February 3rd to February 10th. They comprise 
impressions of everyday life, landscapes and portraits. 

Sadakichi Hartmann is back home in East Aurora. Keeping 
dates is something unknown to him and engagements are always 
optional with him reserving himsdf the right to cancel when- 
ever he should see fit to do so. But this time really stt-ious 
illness prevented him from reading his "Christ" in Bruno's 
Garret as announced. 

Monday, February 7th, is set aside for a poetry reading of 
H. Ihompson Rich, whose war poems, 'Thtf Red Shame" found 
favcr in the e3rcs of editors all over the country, evidenced by 
their various reprints in newspapers and magazines. The read- 
ing will start at 8 :15. Admission by ticket only. 



4a0 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Tom Sleeper, well-known to the readers of these pages, is liv- 
ing at prt&ent in the seclusion of the New Jersey mountains and 
plains and only rarely descends to the regions of our village. 
He has promised for the near future a few of his "Pastels in 
Prose," which are really gems, set in platinum— even though he 
claims that nohody outside of himself knows their real meaning. 

The Candlestick Tearoom, right around thtf comer from The 
Thimble Theatre, has put new shades on all its candles — some 
very interesting silhouettes which lo ok very much like life. 

Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre 

A P«rf firmaiice On Ellis Island 

'HE Thimble Theatre went a traveling last week. The ttitirc 
ensemble of last Saturday night followed an invitation of 
chief clerk, Augustus Sherman, of Ellis Island, and repeated 
thtf performance for the benefit of the immigrants detained at 
present on Ellis Island. More than four hundred men, women 
and children from all parts of the world listened to the music, 
this international language of humankind which finds its way to 
heart and soul and was rdOiected in the f actfs of all those whom 
the United States did not welcome to her shores. There were 
well-dresscfd men and women of Northern Europe right next 
to the mannish, hard-set faces of Russian peasant women. Next 
to^ a countenance upon which was written the simplicity of 
mind sat a man whom you would not wish to meet at night 
in a dark alley. There were? hosts of children, in all ages. Mr. 
Sherman explained that some of his charges had been ordered 
deported as far back as eighteen months ago, but on accotmt 
of th^ present European complications most of the orders can- 
not be carried out The people seem happy and contented as 
much as they can expect to be, with the uncertainty of their 
fate hovering above? their heads. 

The Sunday afternoon concerts are held in a building whose 
size is similar to that of an armory. The acoustics are rather 
bad, but the audience was very appreciative and the? artists did 
their best to add a few pleasant hours to the lives of these poor, 
involuntary residents of the Island. Especially tiie Irish Ballads 
sung by Miss Foster and the folk songs by Miss Edens evoked 
the entiiusiasm of the listeners. Mr. Keeler's recitation of chil- 
dren's poems and nursery rhymes, with his phonetic interpre- 
tation of sounds dear to the ears of the little ones, which evi- 
dently^ must Le the same all over the world, gathered around 
him girls and boys who wanted each time just a little bit more 
and his recitation lasted quite longer than had been intended. 

The concert on the Diamond Disc, a selection of operatic airs 
in several languages, old hymns and chorals, concluded the 
program. It was amusing to watch the littltf ones seated in the 
first rows and nearest to the instrument They didn't know 
where the voices and the music came from and it is doubtful 
if their parents, whom they questioned wonderingly, were 
able to give; a proper answer. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 421 



The Sunday afternoon concdi^ one of the many humani- 
tarian innovations Mr. Sherman has put into effect, is looked 
forward to eagerly b^p the detained immigrants; this is one 
more proof that music, good music, finds a quick repsonse in 
the heart of evefry human being, even if he doesn't know the 
technical meaning of what he hears and of what appeals to 
him. 

Tbis Week's Performmncet. 

A piano recital by Miss Sarah Shapiro, a young artist from 
Waterbury, Conn., will be not only interesting as an interpre- 
tation of some of the best music of Rachmaninoff^ of Qiopin 
and of Mendelsohn, but on account of her playmg for the 
first time before a public audience compositions of her own. 
Miss Shapiro is known as a concert artist in her home town 
but -wishes to enter upon a New York career. 

Mrs. Lila Collins will sing "Aria-Enfant Prodigue," by De- 
bussey "Dearest" by Homer, and "Spring Morning," by Wil- 
son, as a selection of her repertoire very highly appreciated in 
the West and the Middle West, where she is well-known at a 
concert singer. Recently she came East and her appearance 
this week in the Thimble Theatre will be her first attempt to 
conquer the New York public 

Richard T. D. Stott, a concert sing^ for some time is pre- 
paring for a career in light musical comedy (operetta), where 
he will have a chance to do both sin^ng and dancing. Among 
the numbers in his repertoire for this week are, "O du, Mein 
Hold^ Abendstem," bv Wagner, "Mother Machree," by C 01- 
cott and Ernest R. Ball, and "A Song of Sleep," by Lord Henry 
Somerset. 

The Story of Oscar Wilde's Life and 
Experience in Reading Gaol"^ 

By His Warder. 
(Continued). 

"The only task Wilde was put to was to act as 'schoolmaster's 
orderly/ which was in the nature of a great privilege, for it 
meant that he could take? charge of the books and go round 
with them to other prisoners, besides having the pjdk: of the 
literature for himself. Strange as it may seem considering his 
literarpr bent, he failed to accomplish ev^ this task satisfactorily^ 

"Chiefly he remained in his cell occupied with his books, of 
which in his cell he had a large supply, consisting of poetic 
works and foreign authors. On his table was always a manu- 
script book — full of writing in some foreign language — French 

♦/ am indebted for this story to Mr. Patrick F. Madigan, 
who has the original, in the handwriting of Oscar Wilde's 
warder, and also the two manuscripts mentioned in this story. 



422 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

or Italian I bdieve, and Wilde often seemed hvLsify engai^ 
writing in this. 

"I dnnk this must have been 'De Proftmdis' — ^the work of 
self -analysis that has just been published. 

'*His hair was always kept closely cut until about five months 
before his discharge, and I remember when he was told that it 
nec^ not be prison-cropped any more owing to his impending 
release, how pleased he seemed. And he was a man who so 
seldom lifted his bowed head of shame to smile. 

•Wilde was superstitious to a degree, and I recall one striking 
incident that proved his superstitious fears to be well grounded 

"I was sweeping the walls of his cell, for he seldom followed 
the prison regulations with regard to scrupulously cleansing his 
cell daily, and I disturbed a spider which darted across the door. 

"As it made off I raised my foot and killed it, when I saw 
Wilde looking at me with eyes of horror. 

"'It brings bad luck to kill a spider,' he said. 'I shall hear 
worse news than any I havtf yet heard.' 

"At the time I paid little attention to it, but the following 
morning he received the news that his mother, whom he had 
deeply loved and honoured, had died, and that his shame had 
hastened her end." 

"The saddest story I know of Wilde was one day when his 
solicitor called to see him to get his signature, I think, to some 
papers in the divorce proceedings then being instituted by his 
wife — a. suit which, of course, Wildtf did not defend. 

(To be Continued). 

At the Sign of the Red Lamp 

Fifty-three West Third Street, New York 

Yoa will find this old and picturesque Chop House^ 
TWO DOORS EAST OF WEST BROADWAY 
We make a specialty of Sea Food, Steak and Chopa 

SAMUEL S. BROAD, Proprietor Telephone: Spring 5963 

Open ETeiuacs until Nine 



RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 

Extra Illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books 

Books for Christmas GifU 



Pttichsfed tingly oi in sett for people who have neither time nor opportunity to 
•elect for themselves, or for those who have not access to the best book marts. 

Why not begin collecting now? 

AddreM E. V., Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass. 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Chsrles Edison, and 
edited snd written bjr Gnido Bruno, both at 6S Washingtoa 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 

\ Application for entry as second-class matter at the Post Office of New 
York pending. 



-THREE BIG COHAN St HARRIS SUCCE8SEI 



^ ASTOR lsastS!i^<fit7ii^*l£&S^ 

Geo. H Cohan's HIT-THE -TRAIL 

HOLLIDAY 



AIMERICAN 



. 1tnAnBEDraBU>M''BIU.YHOUJOAy'' 



" CANDLER **'*^'^'' ■'''^• 



ln'f.StM. 
BEST PLAY OF THE YEAR 

THE HOUSE OF 

WItfi MAKY RYAN mmd th« GrMt AB-AmwicM Cm! 



■lS:lt 



TO LONGACRE ^'^ »*--•«*• 



LEO DITRICHSTEIN 
'"^SiSSfiS''' The Great Lover 



UBRAIRIE FRANCAISE 



DEUTSCHE BUECHER 



Librairie Francaise 

111 Fourth Avenue 



Always on hand a large» fino selection of best 
French, English, German and Spanish romances. 
Best English literature and foreign classics a spec- 
ialty. All lands of literature bought and exchanged. 

Art magaaines wanted. 

WRITE US WHAT YOU ARE INTERESTED IN. 



aRCUUTING UBRARY 



ENGUSH BOOKS 




Itfff^t'n Kmmc 



ChulM Edison's littk Thiinble Tlie^ 

at No^lOFifth AvoiuetGreenwich Village,N.Y.C 



Guide BnuM. lfaa«c<r. 



This Week's Perfomiances and Ci»ioerls 

Wednesday, t:lff p. m. 
Thursday, 8:15 p. m. 
Friday, 8:19 p. m. 



Saturday, t:00 p. 



8:li p. flL 



Children's Hour and Disc Concert 
on the Square. 

Performance at the Little Thimble 
Theatre. 

Performance at the Little Thimble 
Theatre. 

Children's Hour and Disc Concert 
on the Square. 

Performance at the Little Thimble 
Theatre. 



Ask or write for tkkot of 
Utile nifanble lliestM perf ( 
ere free of ciMme» 



to Hm 

TIht 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Five Cents February 5th, 1916 



Copyright VJbnuf Utu itM. Oriffinal matter, Iftcludlttt ill 
dffswiacs, may not be repro4«ced withovt permiaaion of 
Onido Bnm9} Ini( IMI nm\99im l»ff bt •9fMM4 if fffVill il 
Ciroft to aulliPF §^ 9Pim^^ WM»Mrt 



If ytfi iHfili 19 iH ^cqufiatwl ifti|| Umil^'t WM^f Mfff* 
|r«9 iIimM* tf Injmhmp a aaMppilNiir* ffp4 |wpiil7-Qr# mipU 
ip slpniMi mill r^v vlQ rii»«i?# Rvp hlfli iumlMr» iN^ MO* 
jpunuJi frldcb priBtf a|iirHf9> pif tlirit ill4 flHIfel^f r««l ««IM» 
v«m| Miywiifrf fli% 

BRwas WEeiaY, i| w»tiaiHrl«ii inm^ R Y, 13. 



READERS OF 



Bruno's Weekly 

Art Asked To Become 

SUBSCRIBERS 



52 Issues Two Dollars 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

EditMl by Gnklo Bruno in His GaiT«l on W««liinfton Sqntfo 



No, 6 FEBRUARY 5th, MCMXVI Vol. II 




From the Collection of Mr. Patrick F. Madigan 



Lincoln's True Face 

I INCOLN had a shield of honesty in his face, in which 
every man could see his own conscience; and Lincoln 
would judge from his embarassment his character. This in- 
stantaneous knowledge of Lincoln rarely made a mistake. 

I came to meet Lincoln in this way. I had nearly recovered 
from my wound when I returned to Washington to find I had 
been honorably discharged because of its severity. I decided 
to see Lincoln about it. With fear and trembling, I sent in 
my litle card, stating I was a wounded soldier. He at once 
admitt€<d me, leaving Generals, Senators and others waiting. 

I asked him if there was not some way I could serve my 
country more. "Well, my boy, you arc serving your country 
by being wounded. However, I am glad you want to serve 
your country more." 

Hcf was reading a letter as I entered. He looked at me over 
his spectacles, then lifting them above his eyes on his forehead, 
he looked at me searchingly, as if looking for my wound. Then 
he took off his glasses and laid them on th^ table. I remember 
it was a long table piled with maps and books. He arose and 
walked slowly around to where I stood — no longer with fear, 
but as if I had met my best friend. He put his hand on my 
shoulder. "And you would like? to go back to the front? But 
you are too badly wounded for that! Wait a little. Go back 
home and get well and strong. We are thinking of organizing 
an Invalid Corps to displace able men now on guard duty, and 
when we are ready for wounded reteruits, send in your name and 
Vou shall do more duty for your Country!" He then asked me 

Copyright 1916 by Guido Bruno 



428 ^ BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

where and when I was wounded. "Oh, yes, these bad baUs that 
ran, but thcf last was not so mad-^bad as the first." He tiien 
asked me about the management of the second Bull Run battle. 
I told him I felt my commander, McDowell, had been sacrificed 
by the jealousy of othefr generals. And I had the pleasure of 
entertaining him quite a little, while the great men waitdd 
in the lol^y. This illustrates the great good feeling of the man 
who gathercfd his wisdom from the lowly multitude. 

And I, today, remember as if it were but yesterday, that 
benevolent face and tiie great hand that encompassed mine as 
he said, "My dear boy, don't forget to send in your name for 
the Invalid Corps. God bless you, good-bye 1" 

I sent in my name promptly and was promptly appointed 
Second Lieutenant and ordered to Providence, R. I., where I 
was again mustered into the United States scfrvice, aiid from 
there ordered to Washington, appointed to First Lieutenant 
and placed in command of the 4th Company of this new 
corps, doing guard duty in the vicinity of the White House. 
And then I saw considerable of Lincoln until promoted to 
Captain and ordered with my company to this city to guard 
criminals. And then and here came the saddfsst duty of- my 
life — to guard all that was mortal of the immortal man while 
he lay in state at the City Hall for the weeping multitude 
to gaze upon. Little thought I when I saw his face in life tihat 
I should so soon be called to guard his face in death. And 
now, at seventy-sevefti, I am devotedly trying to recall that 
fiublime face, that the people may see it as I saw it then in 
life. And I have no help but my memory, for his face has 
been commercialized by artist and artisan until it has become 
a caricature, rather than a character. Even a death-mask has 
been produced to villi fy his gentle face in death; and one 
purporting to be a life cast leaving thcf mole off! If it had 
been from life, Robert T. Lincoln would have never written 
me: "As to a cast, I have none and have never wanted one, I 
don't like them." And God save thtf mark! our halls and our 
parks are filled with Lincolns that never were. 

This is a gfullible age! But there is a time coming when 
the idealism of Lincoln will go into effect and nature will 
have her own in art as wdl as in life. 

Cap fain George Edward Hall 

Reedy On Preparedness 

PREPAREDNESS is the bold-typed slogan on the front pages 
of our newspapers and in politics and a feature of our 
traveling President's speechcfs. In the current issue of hii 
"Mirror," William Marion Reedy discloses himself as the only 
editorial writer in the United States who dares to look this 
question squarely in the face, writing his editorial so plausibly 
and so cl^rly that after reading it we are looking forward 
to the big politician or the big organisator who will accept 
circumstances as they are and find a way to "preparedness." 

Here is what Reedy says about the problems of preparedness: 



BRUNQ^S WEEKLY 429 

"Reading most of the articles for preparedness you'd think 
it is going to be an easy thing to get pr^ared. But don't you 
believe it. First, it's easy to say Tet us have a standing army 
of 500,000.' But where are we? to get that many men? The 
army cannot be kept up to its present complement of men. 
Aiinericans won't enlist in numbers, save in hard times, and th« 
record of annual desertions is depressing. Well then, '*Let 
us have the Government take over the militia of the states." 
But the consent of the individual states must b^ secured, and 
that is not going to be easy. The states will not want to bear 
the expefnse and give the Government control. 'Let us adopt the 
Swiss system, then.' Here, again is a difficulty. The Swiss 
system begins with training in the schools. The states support 
the schools. They won't want to pay their money to educate 
soldiers. Later it will take* men from their work. They will 
have to be paid for their time. Who will pay, the states or 
the United States? Suppose we go to consciiption. The 
people will not stand for that The National Government cannot 
quickly do much of anything without co-operation of the states 
and tiiat co-operation will involve? changes in the National 
Constitution. Secretary of War Garrison makes all these points 
clear, and the main point is that with regard to the military 
system there is no unity of authority, responsibility and control. 
Secretary Garrison plans a small regular army and a con- 
tinental army, raised 133,000 men at a time, each to servef 
three years, until it reaches 400,000. The continental army is 
to be "recruited territorially," say 333 each year from each of 
the 400 Congressional districts. But if the men won't come? 
Compel them. It will be seen, that whfile the Secretary of War 
finds it eas^ to knock out all other plans of preparedness, his 
own plan is up against the objections to those other plans. 
Chiefly the individual statcf^ are in the way, and then the people 
are not wild for military service. Nor are they hot for centrali- 
sation. The present Constitution is an obstacle. It will take 
time to change that and, considering ^e theory that there 
is no time to be lost, we cannot wait on that changef. But can 
we proceed extra-^onstitutionally? It is not likely. Prepared- 
ness is easy — ^to talk about" 

London Letter 

London Office of BRUNO'S WEEKLY. 
18 St. Cbarlefl Square, New KenBtnfft<Hi. 

January 20th. 
OUSSIAN fiction and Russian literature indeed of almost 
every kind is the rage in London. No one knows how 
these things happen. Work is bcfing done now in a few months 
which should have been spread out over the last twenty years. 
We have had to wait an absurdly long tiime for English transla- 
tions of some of the best known Russian classics. Now thtf 
publishers — immoral sheep — are tumbling over one another in 
their efforts to be first with editions of Andreieff. Solojarub, 
Dostoievsky, Pushkin, Gorki, Tcheckoff, Gontcharoff, Artiba- 
scheff, cftc. 



430 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



It is all very absurd and discreditable, and of course, as a 
consequence there will be a reaction when no one will look at a 
Russian book. 

One might prophesy an interest in Belgian literature which 
has never received its prober attention in this country. 
G)urrouble, Eekhoud, Lemonnier, Rodenbach, Demolder would 
translatcf well enough. Probably something will start off a 
Belgian translation boom one day. 

I wonder if you have ever heard of Rutland Boughton and 
the Glastonbury Festival theatre which proceeds with its work 
(n spite of thef gloom and discouragement of the war. It is an 
interesting venture and I hope to give you an account of it 
some day. Last week **Bethlehem" was given at Glastonbury. 
This is a setting of the Coventry shearmen's nativity play. I 
tmd^stand the text was modernised and amplified in some re- 
spects, and that Zarathustra was added to the Kings, while the 
Warwickshire dialect was replaced by that of Somerset 
Boughton is a most ambitious man, whose ideas on the develop- 
ment of music-drama were set out some? time ago in a little 
book called The Music-Drama of the Future, One of his ideas 
is that it is impossible to develop any art in the unreal and 
commercial atmosphere of a great city such as London, which 
I think is true, if not self-evidently true. Boughton believes that 
as art has generally sprung out of a communal life, it becomes 
the first necessity of the artist to secure this communal ex- 
itence to be the mother of his art--work. Hence, he hopes that by 
building up in Glastonbury a communal village life he may at 
the same time provide the matrix for a national art of music- 
drama. But there is more than this in his plans — a great deal 
more, and I must return to it some day. 

In connection with music, Madame Liza Lehmann's musical 
version of the old morality, Everyman, has just been given at 
the Shaftesbury theatre, with Mr. Poel directing the scenic and 
Kghting arrangements. It is doubtful if any music could add 
an^hing to the curious power of Everyman, and to destroy the 
artistic unity of the play by cuts and alterations in order to 
superimpose a mood of modem music on the mediaeval morality 
seems nothing less than ignorance or selfishness. 

The French edition of the book I mentioned in my last letter, 
Romain Rolland's Au-Dessus de la Melee is receiving consider- 
able attention here at the hands of the reviewers. In a long 
article in the New Witness, entitled The Impartial Mind, Mr. 
V. Y. Eccles writes of Rolland. "He is a citizen of the world, 
and perhaps the last of the French romantics. Only it is a 
pity that he cannot think, or that he cannot be silent." 

The English and American editions will not be long in ap- 
pearing now I fancy. 

Edward Storer 

'*AU Right ; n\ Be a Crook," said Rich 

JUIR. PHIL RIQH, day laborer, was betrayed shamefully by 

his betrothed. With the explanation that his income was 

too uncertain to risk upon it a marriage, she handed ham, after 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 431 

seven years courtship, his walking papers. Mr. Rich was hurt 
to the roots and he vowed revenge. A very peculiar one. He 
decided to become a criminal. Not a very desperate criminal, 
but still one whom they would lock up. And if his betrothed 
would have only the slightest inkling of a conscience and 
recosniz^ that it was she who had caused his downfall, her 
tortures would be terrible. At the same time he wished to 
combine the pleasant with the useful and to have as good a time 
as he could. Therefore he choscf the profession of a crook and 
started upon Uis new activities by entering an automobile factory, 
He said: "My name is Rich, formerly day laborer. I wish 
to g^et an autombile with as many horsepower as you can put 
in it." 

"Just as you please," replied thtf very polite salesman, "Dq 
you wish to pay in cash for it?" 

*'Not right now," rej^lied Mr. Rich frankly. "At first I would 
nvish to get it on credit I just happen to be out of work, you 
know." 

The polite salesman was very sorry not to be able to oblige 
Mr. Rich and advised him to go to the competitor across the 
street. He followed the advice? but here, too, they did not 
seem to be very eager to count him among their customers. 
Kverybody simply refused to trust This astounded Mr. Rich. 
He always had heard and read how easy it was to get cre^lxt, 
and still two people had refused already to sell him an auto- 
mobile. But this could not discourage him. He went to a 
bank. He introduced himself as Mr. Rich, day laborer, and 
asked for a loan of ten thousand dollars. But hercf, too, ^e 
result of his expedition was very sad. The manager of the 
bank gave him even a lackey who should show biim out of the 
building. But that was all he was willing to give him. 

In the meantime, his monthly room rent became due. Mr. 
Rich was not able to pay and informed Mrs. Mclntyre, the 
keeper of his boarding house, to that effect. He assured her 
at the same itimcf, that he was wilHng to take from now on 
in addition to the breakfasts included in his rental, dinner and 
supper with her. Mrs. Mclntyre didn't setem to approve of this 
new business arrangement 

"The divil girt ye!" did he scream at the top of her voice, 
**Do yez think Oim crazy?" and shcf gave him a push and down 
the stairs he went. All four flights at once. His possessions 
she forwarded to the sidewalk where he had landed, through 
the window. 

"It's just my luck," he philosophized. And now it had become 
most urgent to turn^ some trick or another becauscf his thirst 
for revenge was diminishing from day to day. 

His last recourse was the cook. These beings are supposed 
to have savings. He wanted to get a hold of thcfm, promise 
marriage, he wanted to have a good time and then he wanted 
to welcome his fate no matter what might come. But nothing 
came. Mr. Rich, day laborer, refmaiined an honest man. Even 
the cooks wouldn't give him anything. And so he was at the 
end of his wits. He knew nothing morel To take away the 



432 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



pennies from little children which tliey kept in their hands, 
if letit to buy something in the nearby grocery store, seemed 
even to him in his desperate mood, too dastardly. 

And again he become a day laborer. But if ever anybody 
mentions to him how dead easy it is to get the best of credulous 
people, he will declare it emphatically as pure invention and 
just newspaper tzdk. 
After the Ger man, author not named, by Guido Bruno, 

Three TUngs by Tom Sk^er 

EI«iiore 

IIU^ERE the sullen sea is sounding 

Throbbing, moaning, ever pounding 
Where alone save for the sea birds 
There I wooed you, Elenore. 

In an abbey long deserted 
Ruined arches, ivy-skirted 
Underneath the vault of heaven 
There I wed you, Elenore. 

How exquisite were those hours 
Spent among the tangled flowcfrs. 
Alone with you, the birds, the flowers. 
Ah, I loved you, Elenore. 

To a Buttercup 

OjAINTY waitress, pretty maid 

Your actions are demure and staid 
Is it that you fear abuse 
That you can find no excuse 
For serving mt with delicatessen 
And in that way incur my blessing? 

O' Quae Mutatio R«nim. 

«QF course you can go" — ^and I had told her so on many 

^^ occasions. She always kissed mef and went, leaving 

me to my books and researches. It was pleasant to feel that her 

youth was enioying the things she craved .... and Sam was 

really quite a delightful fellow .... 

An, yes, books and researches. My mail reaches me now at 
the University Club. 

AFaUa 

QNE summer evening a moth flew into the lamp of a student 
who sat reading by the open window of his garret. 

While the insect's legs and wings were being withered to ash^ 
it screamed frantically: ''I am burning to dea^" and perished. 

"Wasn't that terrible?" said the June bug. 

"Frightful," answered the gnat 

"Plague upon all lamps 1" said th^ mosquito. 

"But," asked the spider, running to greet a fly that had became 
tangled in his web, "whose fault was it?" 

Ralph Johnson 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



488 




I- 



'^cutA. "tor Aftt 4,0fvvu. fjyvjff^ju t^ juX Ajt aXjl \jJJUL 
-Sft-u ,<£;t «^„»^ «AK. ^<44^ .44r«*^ x^^:«4c4M. ^ A*A. Wh* 



As I Walk Out On the Street 

In the ice cream parlor wh^e I buy my cigarettes and stamps 
every day, I noticed a big yellow tin box where one can insert 
money as donations. The red inscription — ^a happy color com- 
bination is red and yellow — says thousands of Belgian soldiers 
have nothing to smok^. A few nights ago the "Sun ' gave away 
one thousand loaves of bread in half an hour "to one thousand 
Americans who had nothing to eat" 

Lying back in the barber's chair, while Henri stropped the 
razor, listening to the animated war discussions of the fat 
man m the next chair, who was having his hair curM, I 
thought : "My brothers and friends are perhaps just now, at this 
second, killing or being killed somewhere in the European 
trenches." 
Cat'Paw 

In the Playhouses 

The Waftvars, at tlie GanUn Thaatra 

Just what Gerhardt Hauptmann's "The Weavers," means to 
the German in Germany it is, of course, quite impossiblcf for a 
New York audience to know and therefore, to feel. 

A storm ki Germany may be only a draft here. So it is that 
in spite? of ignorance of the German tongue one senses that 
great things are being striven for. Sincerity, the passion of 



434 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



pain, and despair, though all three emotions are a little shop 
worn when at last we get them from over sdas. 

"The Weavers," like any other flat-footed play, that is, a play 
that was originally intended for the whole, the entire surface of 
the foot, has been plimged into a mincing patter of Fifth 
Avenue buskins — shghtly soiled. 

Shaking dust onto a high hat has as yet, failed to make a 
high hat into a cap, and limef or dust on a pump has failed 
to make that pump into a slipper, into that bed-less thing 
that the poorest and the most heart-broken of us wear. 

Sorrow, great tragedy and desolation have always rested on 
brokefn arches. Traditional poverty and the heritage of tears 
are never heel-high from mother earth. Thus it is that at the 
start, a play with immense fatality and fathomless depths, has 
been lamed with false sincerity. 

It may se^m small to pick on shoes, and it is. In self-defense, 
let me say: keep the story of Cinderella intact only substitute 
brogans. 

Is the picture the same? No. 

Still, one forgets to remember, somcftimes, the tremendous 
quality of the under voice that rises throughout ill the high- 
pitched cries of the weavers. 

What old Baumert was ignorant of old Hilse knew : that birth 
is swifter than death, that death itself is not only the penalty 
of life but also the penalty of death. 

What Moritz, because of his youth, shouted, those older 
quic?tcr men, who "Must once in a life time show what we feel" 
suffered, aye and knew too that which none of the New World 
can — the genius of scientific starvation. Making it something: 
tiiat they do not only well, but superbly. 

"What grows, grows," said Hornig the dealer, "And what 
ditt, dies," says Hauptmann. 

When it shall be and how is left in the lives of these weavers, 
entirely to the dictates of their hunger. It is an ignominious 
death, indecfd— death by the pit of the stomach. 

There is no dispute, however, that the play written for the 
troubles of an older age, are more than applicable to ninetc^en- 
hundred and fifteen, when one remembers only Bayonne, Perth 
Amboy, but also Colorado and its past 

Thef only question is: can a Reicher production be a Reicher 
production, with some one playing Reicher's part anonymously? 

D. B, 
The Boomerang, at the Belatco 

The great success of "The Boomerang" in the Bdasco Theatre, 
can be easily understood. No exaggerations. Just people on 
the stage as in every da}r*s life. All thescf characters could be 
your friends or your neighbors. Nothing unexpected happens. 
Joy is joy and sadness is sadness. And then there is tiiat 
natural jealousy and that hcJalthy foolishness which we hate 
occasionaly in our own make-up. And therefore this play is a 
success. Therefore the houses are sold out daily and therefore 
again the great truth is established once more: that the theatre- 
going American does not crave for exotic scenericJs and im- 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 435 

possible stage effects, not for depraved characters or fool saints^ 
nor for half-clothed women and shocking situations. But he 
enjoys a little bit of cfveryday truth, characters male and female 
whom he would not hesitate to introduce to his own family and 
a solution which is similar to that in life: no need for a deus 
ex machina before the last curtain drops. 

Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre 

Estelle Robinson who has entered upon an operatic career 
in New York will sing "J'ai pleure en reve," by Georges Hue, 
"Der Asra," by Rubenstdn, and *The Elf-Man," by John Barnes 
Wells, this week Thursday, Friday and Saturday. 

Mrs. Percy J. Smith, a ballad singer, will convince the audience 
that the good old ballads of yore are still touching our hearts 
and flattering our ears even today, in the distinct a^e of ragtime. 

Kathryn Wilton Walton, the youngcfst toe dancer m New York, 
will interpret, through the spoken word and through the dance, 
W. Aletter's "Rendez-Vous" and Strauss' "Pizzicato Polka." 

A vocal and instrumental selection on the Diamond Disc will 
conclude the program. 

The artists who appear this wefek are taking advantage of 
Mr. Charles Edison's offer to American singers, musicians and 
interpreters of rhythm to appear upon the stage of his Thimble 
Theatre and offer their art to thdr supremest critics — ^the 
American audience. 

Cowley Brown Is the Man 

Alexander Harvey in the current issue of his "Bang" makes 
anon3anous mention of an old friend and brother wayfarer on 
the hard road which leads the writer to become a publisher 
and subsequently an editor and then a writer again, just a 
writer. 

"For a long time now *A Non,' whoever that may be, has 
conducted in the Chicago Musical Leader, a ^pa^e headed 
"Major and Minor." 

Cowley Stapleton Brown is "that whoever it might be." He., 
is also editor of the Ten Story Book of Chicago, and his edi- 
torial column "Reading and Rot" is about the best book criti- 
cism written today in the United States. And while I am saying 
"best criticism" I am thinking of two or three other men whom 
I admire for their brilliancy and their understanding. But 
Cowley is the only one who always dares and dares to write 
and to say exactly what he thinks. 

He is about forty years, in the prime of his life, in that age 
where one has digested one's books and where one sets out 
with the new vigor of full manhood to achieve the ideals of 
boyhood days. With other words, he knows the world as it is, 
has no illusions about anything and has decided that the good 
old ideals of an old world humanitarian education, leaving out 
its little hypocricies and substituting cosmos for sect, is about 
the real tmng. In the early '90s he arrived on the friendly 
shores of America. He had antagonized his^ Encrlish con- 
temporaries in London by being an enthusiastic admirer of 



436 BRUNQ^S WEEKLY . 

Oscar Wilde. His little magazine The Anti-Philistine had 
cfeated a season's sensation. During the Chicago World's Fair 
he took daily sun baths in our literary firmament of the '90s. 
Eugene Field^ Opie Read, Bill Reedy, Michael Monahan, Darrow, 
and many odiers were contributors to that bold and fearless 
free lance sheet he started, The Goose Quill. A few numbers 
are lying right before me while I am writing these lines. 
Marvelous seems the clear foresight he had twenty ycfiars ago. In 
a powerful language, quite forgotten since literature has ceased 
to be taken seriously by others than such as are commercially 
connected with it or who handle it as a commodity similar to 
other manufactured goods in order to sell it to best advantage, 
he denounced men who have been denounced since by sincere 
men of letters. He called Kipling "dead" for ten years, and 
that was twenty years a^o. He took Hall Caine as a joke, 
and^ that was the flourishing period of Caine's short-lived 
glories. He admired Ambrose Beirce while nobody else paid 
attention to this most powerful American writer and critic who 
has not been long enough dead to have been discovered yet. 
He went with fighting sarcasm after McCutcheon and Ham 
Garlin. And both had just started out on their career as 
geniuses and everybody seemed to expect from them wonders. 
And they seem to be "best sellers of last season." 

Real jewels of aphorisms and criticisms are contained in 
those few numbers of the Goose Quill he succeeded in publish* 
ing. And later, after he had left the West and tried his luck as 
publisher in New York! How he characterizes and points witii 
true pictures the puppets and make-believers who in those days 
were the featured gods of Sunday sujpplements and magazines. 
Dear old Cowley! He is contented with his lot He edits the 
Ten Story Book every month once and he writes his page of 
"Major and Minor" .... and then he reads. He reads 
modem books and his Latin classics, and he looks through the 
English and German and French magazines he can gtt a hold of. 
How often did we spend a pleasant hour in a certain dingy 
Qiicago office reading aloud Homer or Horace, and he translat- 
ing wonderful passages of the Iliad, in hexameters .... 
and the devated was thundering on its nearby structure, and we 
were at the top floor^ of a twentieth century ofHce building. 

He, as many other literary men, is not a man of letter writing. 
"Out of sight out of thought," is most likelv his motto .... 
but never '^ut of heart," I am quite sure. If his ey* meet these 
lines, a good spirit might move his pen to write us some of his 
Everyday thoughts which are occasional Sunday — too often anni- 
versary — ^thoughts of the average being. 

Books and Magazines of the Week 

Cimtttmporary Verse 

It surely is not contemporarv verse which this new literary 
(sic) venture of Washington, D. C, offers to us. "fhere is not 
one ^ among all the poems of its sixteen page^ quarto that 
possibly could have been written by a contemporary who lives 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 437 - 

uaoog us. It3 poets seem to be re&dert »f books and absorbers 
of verse written two thousand jrears ago. They seem l^e a. 
class in school — these eleven people whose names appear u 
coatributors, and each of them brings along his composition 
on some theme or another. Their real lives have nothing what- 
ever to do with their school lives. There is a two-page poem 
by the distinguished interviewer of poets for the trade paper of 
American book publishers, which sounds like the yearning of little 
Mary after this jrear's West Point hop — so elated and so senti- 
mental and so nice jingles I 
TlM BU 

This too is a new magazine. It appears in Greenwich Village. 
It out-stieglitzes Mr. Stieglttz' "291.^' It's only one sheet Her*- 
is a reprodaction. See wnat you can m^e of it. 



TheBLA!^* 



Branch LibraTy N«ws 

The current issue contains a list, in alphabetical order, of 
interesting books on Shakespeare. At all branches of The 
Mew York Public Library there are .now displayed special! 
collections of boolcs about Shakespeare. 
In Wkich 

Norman Geddes enlarged his picturesque magazine with its. 
January issue, considerably. Of interest is his article on the one 
popular Art museum in America. "The Toledo Museum of 
Art," he? _ says, "is visited by three-fourths of the city; big 
Chicago is nearest it with an average of forty p;r-cent aiid' 
New York is lower still." 

InOurVmage 

"Sons" Litnad 

Verne Hardin Porter should really have taken a walk down 
to the village before writing his story "Naughtyl Nangh^I*' 
for the February Green Book. He calls it "poor old Bohemia," 



438 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

and it is really sickening to read how he draws special atten* 
tion to all those places which the newspapers all through the 
last months have featured, unfdtatured and refeatured. I 
wouldn't he surprised if he actually paid a visit to Greenwiich 
Village. But most likely — as all these Bohemia hunters — in the 
evening, and then just making the rounds. From oncf "ultra- 
Bohemian" place to another. Had he chosen the daylight, he 
never could have written ahout MacDougal Alley as follows: 

''MacDougal Alley offered us short shrift It was filleSd wiith 
ruhhish-barrels, Italian children, teams and evidently, tenants. 
High rents — for even Bohemian Washington Square has its 
elite districts — seemed not to havtf frightened off budding or 
budded genius. Not a studlio was for rent Bedelia sighed — if 
from disappointment or relief, I did not know." 

He means Washington Mews, evidently — th^ prolongation of 
the Alley this aristocrat among all our streets and thorough- 
fares on the other side of Fifth avenue right through to Uni- 
versity Place. But that's how 4t happens. They comef down 
here and drink reki ink and eat roast chicken, admire a few 
short-haired women and a few long-haired men; they think it 
is a characteristic of Bohemia to bcf served on yellow tables and 
to sit on blue chairs .... and they write and tell to the world 
in its "popular" magazines: What? Nothing. After you have 
read one of those stories you know just as much as before, 
and you were not cveJh entertained while you were at it But 
then there are some equally valuable caricatures and such a 
combination is irresistable, and even to you, it looks like some- 
thing which it really is not 

Or, take for instance!, that celebrated sage of The Cosmo- 
politan, Samuel Merwin. He, too, followed the vogue of the 
times and wrote a Greenwich Village novelette. Of course, in 
installments. It is the only thing that reSally pays. To say 
nothing in generously-measured amount of words and to con- 
tinue to say nothing in several issues will make you the man 
whose name appears on subway advertisements. So Samuel 
Mcfrwin left his Forrest Hills home and took quarters in the 
Judson Hotel, on Washington Square. There he was closeted 
in his rooms with his genius and his contract for a Greenwich 
Village novelette. And lo, behold! The Greenwich Village 
story was born, thef January installment of his "Trufflers," 
which really should be called Les Toughs. 

In his "Remnants of Bohemia," the third installment of hii 
"New York of the Novelists," Arthur Bartlett Maun'ce tells 
you in The Bookman, about as much of Greenwich Village's 
great past, about its landmarks which are today, and 
might be torn down tomorrow, as U known to even well-in- 
formed sources and it is good to know that this interesting 
series will appear shortly in book form. 

Captain Hall's Exhibit 

Captain Hall's Exhibition of paintings, marine scenes and 
forest scenes, including portraits of Abraham Lincoln and of 
Nancy Hanks, Lincoln's mother, will be continued until February 



BRUNQ^S WEEKLY 489 

15th. Especially in this month, the birth month of our great 
president, his portraits of Lincoln and of Nancy Hanks will 
be of special interest Captain Hall claims that there is not one 
picture or sculpturef of Lincoln in existence today which really 
is a portrait of the great man, in immediate proxwnity to whom 
he was for quite a while during the Civil War and whose 
features he studied and impressed lastingly^ upon his mind. 
Captain Hall has a letter from Robert Lincoln, in which 
Lincoln's son agrees with him that the monuments and paint- 
ings erected as a tribute to the Union's preserver are creations 
of their artists but not preservations of those dear features that 
were. Among othefr interesting material Captain Hall has in 
his possession to prove that his conception of Lincoln is the 
true one are photographs by Brady, the war photographer, 
whose chemical and optical reconstruction shows die tmcovered 
mole as can be seen on Captain Hall's paintings, and not 
that familiar wart which, as he claims, was not a wart but the 
twitch of a very prominent muscle. The widely circulated 
story of a death-mask taken from the president on his death- 
bed he disavows as fake, and in the? face of the authentioity 
of this story claimed even by historical and semi-historical 
books and magazines, he is able to produce the testimony of 
Robert Lincoln to the contrary. 

Poetry Readings 

On Monday, the 7th, H. Thompson Rich will read a selection 
of his pocfms, including his war poems, at 8.15 in Bruno's 
Garret Admission by ticket only. Write for reservation. There 
are only forty-two chairs. 

On Monday, the 14th of January, Guido Bruno will speak 
about "Greenwich Village: what it was, what it is and what 
it means to me." Tickets can be reservefd for this evening, by 
addressing the Garret 

The Liberal Club at 135 MacDougal street announces an ex- 
hibition of paintings by artist members. The doors will be? open 
to the public until February 13th, every afternoon and every 
evening. Glenn Coleman is among the esthibitors. His pen and 
ink sketched of Greenwich Village will be remembered by the 
readers of this paper. His paintings street scenes and still 
life from quaint courtyards and quaint street corners disclose 
in him the same sincerity which made his black and white 
sk^ches real an(i alive to us. 

The Washington Square Bookshop arranges every Tuesday 
afternoon in February, a poetry reading in its attractive 
quarters. 

On the 18th of February, the Liberal Club will have its 
annual ball. A big pageant, in which the? winners in the recent 
beauty prize contest of Greenwich Village femininity will be 
the. main figures, is the midnight event. The Liberal Club affair 



UP BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

of last year— if I rem€Jmbcr, the Arabian Nights — ^was a much 
talked-of success, and participants and guests are looking^ for- 
ward eagerly to the ball. 

Coulton Waugh designed several book-plates very successfully 
•and all he demurs, in ebcecuting commissions of this sort, are the 
ideas of the people who wish to own the book-plates. But^ that's 
how it is in this world. Song birds in gold cages can't sing: in 
the night. Their mistress wishes to sleep and therefore cov^s 
them with a nice silk handkerchief. 

Tom Sleapar^s- A wkwiing 

Judging from my mail, Tom Sleeper's speckled hai caused a 
good many of the "flock" to scratch their heads. It will be up to 
the sleeper from the New Jersey hills and plains to say what 
be rdally meant. If it is worth while to scratch and to lay 
eggs to make more speckled chickens or not. Even D. Molby 
looked up from his microscope and after careful macrocosmic 
and microcosmic consideration decided to draw a picture of the 
hen so Tom might see her at work. The other letters I received 
r referred to the society for city and country economics and for 
sociological research. They will make Rood n:aterial for papers 
to be read in Junior Leagues and dramatic sewing circlcte. 

A War Play in Bruno's Garret 

Vida Ravenscroft Sutton read last Monday in Bruno's Grarret 
her war play in two scenes, "Kingdom Come," which will be 
produced in the near future on an up-town private stagcf. Miss 
Sutton IS a very good reader. She has a pleasant voice and 
no matter what she reads one could listen to her with pleasure 
for hours. She has been in Russia and she pictures in her play 
the Russian life. She really creates an atmosphere which 
keeps on being sympathetic even after we realize the crudeness 
of it 

Th^dore Schroeder, of Cos Cob, Conn., lectured last week in 
New York and in Brooklyn and paid his visit to the village. 

Children's Hour on the Square 

'HE change in the weSather— even last week's snowfall doesn't 
change the program of the Children's Hour on Washington 
Square. Mr. Charles Edison plays now in the winter as well 
as in the past summer months, the part of the music man of the 
children of Greenwich Village. Wednesday and Saturday after- 
noons bring them music and dancing, real joy and merriment. 

Near the Arch, around the fountain, facing the west, are 
children's playgrounds, closcfd to the traffic. The Diamond Disc 
is furnishing them music and the little bo^rs and girls have a 
chance to get acquainted with dancing etiquette. Under the 
supervision of competent teachers and women who have vol- 
unte^ed their services as chaperones and dames de garde open 
air social dances will be arranged in the near future. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 441 



The Story of Oscar Wilde's Life and 
Experience in Reading Gaol"^ 

By His Warder. 
(Contmmed). 

"Unknown to Wilde his wife had accompanied the solicitor^ 
but she did not wish her husband to see her. 

**The interview with the solicitor took place in tiie consulta- 
tion room, and Wilde sat at a table with his head on his hands 
opposite thef lawyer. 

''Outside, in the passage with me, waited a sad figure in the 
deepest mourning. It was Mrs. Wilde — in tears. 

•*Whilst the consultation was proceeding in the '•solicitor's 
room/ Mrs. Wilde turned to me and beggefd a favour. 'Let 
me have one glimpse of my husband,' she said, and I could 
not refuse her. 

"So silently I stepped on one side, and Mrs. Wilde cast one 
long lingering glanccf inside, and saw the convict-i>oet, who, in 
deep mental distress himself, was totally unconscious that any 
eyes save those of the stem lawyer and myself witnessed his 
degradation. 

"A second later, Mrs. Wilde, apparently labouring und^ deep 
emotion, drew back, and left the prison with the solicitor. 

"I fanpy Wilde, when she saw hini. was putting the final 
signature to the divorce papers, and I do not know if she ever 
saw her unhappy husband again. I do not think shcf ever did. 

"At exercise, when he tramped what he called 'The Fools' 
Parade' widi his companions of 'The Devil's Own Brigade,' he 
would pace along with bended head as though de^ in thought 
and usually muttefring snatches of prose or verse from his 
favourite authors. 

"He toc^ a most sympathetic interest in the sorrows and 
troubles of other prisoners, and commented fiercely on what he 
called the brutality of the prison system when a warder was 
suspended and^ finally dismissed for putting biscuits in the cell 
of a young prisoner whom Wilde believed to have been crying 
from hunger. 

"The monotony of the life seemed appalling to Wilde, and 
when he was released hcf wrote, you remember: 

I know not whether laws be right 

Or whether laws be wrong; 
All that we know who be in gaol 

Is that the walls are strong. 
And that each dav is like a year, 

A year whose days are long. 

"I have good reason to know that Oscar Wilde was satisfied 
with the way two of the warders treated him. 

♦/ am indebted for this story to Mr, Patrick P, Madigan, 
who has the original, in the handwriting of Oscar Wilde's 
warder, and also the two manuscripts mentioned in this story. 



442 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

"After his release he sent us through the Govetnor, copies 
of his soul-stirring poem, 'The Ballad of Reading GaoL' 

"My copy is inscribed 'From his friend, the author, Naples, 
February, 1898.' 

"You remember the masterly way in which Wilde workefd 
out the theme of that wonderful poem which told of the last 
days in prison of Trooper C. T. Woolridge, of the Ro3ral Horse 
Guards, who was hanged for the murder of his wife at Clewefr, 
near Windsor. 

"Wilde, of course, never saw the murderer after his condem- 
nation, buc he heard the bell tolling for the execution, and it 
made a terrible impression on his mind. 

(To be Continued). 

I KEEP ON MY WALLS a permanent exhibition of autographs, manuscripts 
and historical documents, and have at present an especially interesting col- 
lection of letters and original manuscripts by Abraham Lincoln, George 
Washington, Robert Louis Stevenson, Oscar Wilde and Edgar Allan Poe. These 
are the original scripts of stories, poems and documents which have made these 
men famous. If interested, drop me a line, or better, come and see my exhibition. 

PATRICK FRANCIS MADIGAN 

561 Fifth Ave. (entiaDce 46th St.) New Yoik 

At the Sign of the Red Lamp 

Fifty-three West Third Street, New York 



You will find this old and picturesque Chop House» 
TWO DOORS EAST OF WEST BROADWAY 
We make a specialty of Sea Food, Steak and Chops 

SAMUEL S. BROAD, Proprietor Telephone: Spring 5963 

Open ETeainss until Nine 

RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 

Extra Illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books 

Books for Christmas Gifts 

Piuchased singly or in sets f oi people who have neither time nor opportunity to 
select for themselves, or for those who have not access to the best book marts. 

Why not begin collecting now? 

Address E. V., Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass. 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles- Edison, and 
edited and written by Guido Bruno, both at 6S WasliingUMi 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 

Application for entry as second-class matter at the Post Office of New 
York pending. 



^■^■wwniivvv^^— •MpwpvOTMnipimpvMii 



[REE BIG COHAN Jk HAE1II8 •UCCESSEf— ^ 



Geo. M. Cohan's HIT-THE-TRAIL 



rr Tu 



HOI^I^IDAY 

Wmi FRED NIBLO ••"BILLY HOLLtDAY** 



^mmfm^^mm^ 



ttlSlml.W«laf 



«b CANDLER i^.i.>i^ 

BEST PLAY OP THE YEAR 

THE HOUSE OF 

Wmi MARY RYAN mad fhm GtMt 



mM$ 



1 1 nt LONGACRE i^v 



MikSlNit WwIm 



• «»^« 



.2:M 



LEO DITRICHSTEIN 
'^^S^' The Great Lover 



UBRAIRIE FBANCAKE 



It' HI 



DEUTSCHE lUECHCR 



Librairie Francaise 

111 Fourth Avenue 



Always on IuumI a larf % fine Mlection of hmit 
FnHMbt Eii|rlif||» Q«niiaii and Spamsh ronaiicft. 
|h»t E«9K<^ lilarMilv* WPI^ f CNraicn clafMc* a tjp^i- 
|ailr» All Uirft tf KlwatBra lN?«flit aad «scbamr«|* 

Art ipayaiin— wantad. 

WRITE US WHAT YOU ARE INTERCSTED IN, 



aRCUUTING UBRART 



ENGUSH BOOKS 



•t No.lORAh AirwM^GvMSwidi Wbfi^Y.C 



Tlib WmIc^s Parformuiew aiid GmMrto 

Thurtdaji •:!§ p. ol 
Friday. •:!• p. wl 
Satttrdaji tHM p. wl 



•:li p. flL 



ChOdren't Hour aad Disc Cooeert 
on the ^ttftft. 

Perfonnance at the Little TUotble 
Theatre. 

Performaiice at the Little TUnhie 
Theatre. 

Childrea't Hour and Disc Cottccrt 
on the S^oare. 

Performaiice at the Little Thimble 
Theatre. 



Ikktl of 



Amb ot write ntt 
UHlo TkkMm UmIm 

•MfrMOf 




to Jtm 

llMf 




There can be. no pleaMiter place to hm 
that remarkabk EdIitM Record 
Number (82536) thu 

The Diamond Disc Shop 

at Number 10 Fifth Avenue 

In this store, at kasti die delifhtfiil atmos- 
phere of Old Greenwich ViDage has not beoi 
sacrificed on die altar of commerdaBsm 



Phone: Stnyresant 4570 
Open Eyenings 



A poftal wiB hriaf yM» wM 
coapttMBU, •■ literwIiBf IMc 
^•gnpky al Mr. That. A. Edii— 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Lincoln as seen by the 
Csirtoonists of his time 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 



Copyright February 12th, 1916. Original matter, including all 
drawings, may not be reproduced without permission of 
Guido Bruno; but that permission may be assumed if credit is 
given to author and Bruno's Weekly. 



If you wish to get acquainted with Bruno's Weekly before 
you decide to become a subscriber, send twenty-five cents 
in stamps and you will receive five back numbers of this 
journal, which prints stories, pictures and articles you cannot 
read anywhere else. 

BRUNO'S WEEKLY, 58 Washington Square, N. Y. C. 



READERS OF 



Bruno's Weekly 



Are Asked To Become 

SUBSCRIBERS 



52 Issues Two Dollars 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

EJJtod bj Guido Bruno m Hu Garr«t on WasUngton Sqiutfo 



IsTo. 7 FEBRUARY 12th. MCMXVI VoLII. 

I do the very best 1 know how, 
tlft« Tory best I can and moan to 
k«op doing so 'til tbo end. If the 

d brings me out all right, what is 

id against me won't amount to 

ything. 

—Abraham Lincoln. 

Ltincoki As Seen By the Cartoonists of 
His Time 

"THE caricature of to-day will be the historical mirror of the 
past for the future generations. 

Small peculiarities in seemingly small and unimportant things, 
manners of speech and of gesture, habits of dress and the hobby 
diversion of men in the limelight of every-day life are indica- 
tive of their character. 

The cartoonist sees and observes and preserves in his sketches 
and drawings what the ablest writer cannot express in words. 
We study the life history of great men in the wrftings of his- 
torians and in the essays of men who deemed the subject 
worthy for their pen. But not only a much better understand- 
ing could we gain by studying the results of momentary impres- 
sions received by the caricaturist with his quick-catching eye 
but we could find also many missing links not supplied by 
history chronicles in the oftimes abruptly successive sequence 
of happenings. The caricaturist can bring us an understanding 
for this or that element in the character of a man and make 
us see the logic in hitherto obscure situations or startling oc- 
currences. 

Every man, woman or child knows the kind and grave fea- 
tures of President Lincoln. With reverence and love they gaze 
into the serious, manly eyes, wherever his partrait is seen. 

The same men and women notice daily the cartoons in our 
newspapers. Many a hearty laugh and many an indignant word 
were provoked through the cartoonists' oftimes grotesque con- 
ception of candidates during presidential campaigns. 

But it is more than doubtful that any of the readers of the 
newspapers of to-day have ever considered that Lincoln might 
have been the target of the caricaturist during his time, just 
as Roosevelt or Taft or Wilson have been in our time. Even 
the thought of a ridiculed Lincoln they would brand sacrilege. 

In the caricatures of pioneer American cartoonists, it re- 
quires no magnifying glass to discern immediately the important 
traits of Lincoln's character. He is seen always the same man, 

Copyright 1916 hy Guido Bruno 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Prof. Lincoln In Hi* Great Fe«tt of BolancinK 

From "Vanity Fair," March 23ri, 186L 

even when ridiculed by the cartoonist of the eastern Journal 
hostile to Lincoln's political cause. There were ever present 
beneath the burlesque of the caricaturist the grave seriousness, 
the unbound trust in providence, in God, in his fellow man, 
the sanctity of his once given word and his love of doin^ what 
the candidate promised to trusting voters before his election. 

The art of caricature in America is not a very oM one. 
Looking back perhaps two centuries, we arc surprised at the 
unartistic, rude attempt by the cartoonist to express humor. 

The day£ of the Rebellion and the big days of reconstruction 
which followed, moved the caricaturists to sketching their ideas, 
but these were expressions of unfair animosity, partial and sec- 
tional, and lacked art or humor. 

The comic paper as an American institution was unknown. 
Scores of periodicals, that claimed the title, had been started 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



469 




OLD ABE— Ain't there a nice crop? 
There's the hard^ Bunker Hill flower, 
the Seventh Regiment pink, the Fire- 
boy tulip— that tricolored flower grows 
aear Independence Hall— the Western 
Blossoms and Prairie Flowers will soon 
begin to shoot. 

COLUMBIA— What charming plant is 
this? 

OLD ABE— That is rare in this country 
—it will bloom shortly and bear the 
Teffersonia Davisiana. 



From "Vanity Fair," May 9, 1861. 

but they were universally short lived, generally on account of 
their triviality. They represented nothing, — an essential to even 
a comic paper — and they had no reason for existence. They 
were at best mere imitations of French or German periodicals 
and did not appeal to American taste. 

It was not until Keppler adapted the vigorous and expressive 
art of the German school to American ideas that the comic 




Wonderful Surgical Operation 

Performed by Doct. Lincoln on the Political Chang and Eng. 

Political Chang., J. B.— 
Political Eng., J. G. B.— 

From "Vanity Fair/* November 3, 1860. 

paper assumed its legitimate place in American journalism, 
Keppler was an Austrian, had traveled extensively in his native 
country and had aspired in the early part of his life to become 
an actor. In Vienna he was a contemporary of the great trage- 
dians of the time at the Royal Play-house, the "Burg-theatre," 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Ow Gnat UAmrg HaltuiB Awkf 

From "Vanity Fair," March 9lh, 1861. 

and he toured Europe and America with theatrical companies. 
He landed in the New World in 1673 and it was he who started 
the first comic paper of this country, "Puck," primarily in St 
Louis and later in company with the genial Adolph Schwartz- 
man in New York. 

One of the forgotten comic papers of the early sixties is 
"Vanity Fair." Onlj; a very few copies of this publication 
survived the destructive years of the war. The very limited 
circulation, which this weekly had, makes it very doubtful : 
whether there are many duplicates of the seven volumes issued, 
in existence. The historical societies of New York and Chicago 
are not in possession of a complete set, but have only a few 
odd numbers. 

Very little is known about "Vanity Fair." The first number 
of the weekly, published in quarto on sixteen pages, appeared 
in the year 135B. It expired gently in December, 1862. 

Its contributors did not affix their names to their articles 
but employed queer pen names; it is not impossible that one or 
two men were responsible for the literary contents. Bobfaett- i 
Hopper was the cartoonist, the author of nearly every cari- j 
cature published during the lite of "Vanity Fair." 

Many good things can be found there among insignificant 
products. The caricatures of Lincoln and many of the countless 
anecdotes, paragraphs and verses to and about him, while signifi- 
cant and' typical of the time, are mostly unknown. 

The cartoons we reproduce will be easily understood by those 
who know the history of the sixties and early seventies. The 
names of the caricatured subjects are now framed in history. 
The truth of Lincoln's philosophyj reproduced above as a motto 
of this article, is proved by the history of the United States. 

In has relief his name stands out, esteemed by all who re- 
vere the foiuiders of their native country. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 471 

Abraham Lincoln is the greatest American of the nineteenth 
century chiefly for the same traits of his character and the 
methods employed by him in private life as well as in the 
service of his country, which were ridiculed in the contempor- 
ary cartoons reproduced in these pages. 

Guido Bruno 

A WarSoDff 

Mr. Augustus Snipes, late of the Journal of Commerce, 
rather flatters himself, that when a model for a 
War Song is desired, the following will be 
about the martial go: 

^OME draw your triggers, 

And fight for your niggers. 

Though nobody cares to disturb 'em! 
These pestilent fleas 
Must vote as we please. 

Or, by Johnny Calhoun, we'll curb 'em I 

For the ballot and box 
Let us substitute knocks; 

Hard knocks, and sweet stringing dry knocks! 
Though we're rich in assets, 
Yet we won't pay our debts 

To a parcel of pestilent Shy locks. 

O we rise as we think on 
That scamp, Abram LINCOLN, 
That beastly, belligerent Bucker! 
O we swear all together 
To tar and to feather. 

Provided we catch him, the Sucker! 

Then seize all your rifles. 
And don't stand for trifl«s, 

Like fratricides, burglaries, treasons 1 
So comrades! all come. 
And in ramrods and rum, 

We have five hundred excellent reasons! 

From "Vanity Fair," June 15th, 1861. 



Tb« Sia« Splitter 

(From "Vanity Fair," July 6, 1861.) 

MR. mSVOLS, we shall find this compromise movement a hard 
thing to get through," said Chase, confidentially, as they sat 
together cracking nuts and jokes. 

"Never mind," replied merry old Abe, "I've had to get through 
many of knotty points in mv days." 

"Ho, ho," chuckled the dignified Secretary of the Treasury, hold- 
ing his ribs. "Really, Mr. Lincoln, you ought to be called the side- 
sputter." 



472 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Three American Birthdays 

'HE month of February has the distinction of being the birth 
month of those three American citizens whose names 
represent to the world all that's big and sublime in our country. 
Very little outside of geography is being taught in the conti- 
nental public schools about America. But even the Hottentot 
children in the mission schools of Africa and the little Moslems 
who occasionally visit the open school meetings of the howling 
dervishes in Turkey know that Washington was the father of 
this country, who liberated the original English colonies from 
the inhuman yoke of their oppressors. They know the name 
of Abraham Lincoln, who really brought about the ideals set 
down in the Declaration of Independence: making equal in 
rights those that were ^ually bom. They know Thomas A. 
Edison, who liberated mind from the limitations of space and 
lifted us far above the primitiveness which had hampered the 
world since its creation. 

Washington, Lincoln and Edison are the three names which 
inspire the immigrant who comes hopefully to the shores of 
the country of his new choice. They are a demonstration ad 
oculos of what possibilities America opens up for everybody 
who has something to give. And while the Americans who 
have been naturalized for six or eight generations are proudly 
celebrating the birthdays of their greatest fellow-citizens, hu- 
manity at the same time all over the world is being inspired 
with new hopes and new promises for a new and for a better 
and for a more appreciated life in America. 

As I Walk Out On the Street 

A long row of automobiles lines the curb of the north side of 
Washington Square. The canvas canopy which protects men 
and women in evening dress from their auto to the door of the 
mansion on the comer of Fifth Avenue indicates that there is 
a reception in this patricial New York home. Ladkies in livery 
open the limousines and assist the newcomers in descending to 
the red velvet carpet which covers the sidewalk. 

And I walk on to the Square. The snow is muddy and little 
rivers of an ugly fluid make walking difficult. On a wet bench 
with a clouded firmament as far-away canopy stretched 
over it, is seated a man. His hands are deep in his pockets. 
His coat collar turned up, his knees and legs close together — 
he must be cold. A man in blue livery with shining brass 
buttons strolls up from somewhere out in the dark. He ap- 
proaches the man on the bench. He assists him to the nearby 
police station. 
Cat-Paw 

Be courteous to your creditors. — ^Abrakam Lincoln. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 473 

Yes, Hall of Fame. Bread ? No 

{Here is a letter of Marie Clemtn, mother of Poe's wife, who 
shared good and bad days zvith the Poe couple and who suT" 
vived both for almost twenty-five years. She was the only near 
relative of Poe and surely it should have been she if there was 
anybody to profit by the literary remains of America's first poet. 
Like hyenas were the Griswolds and their kind waiting to tear 
all that was left after the poet^s death to shreds, to take physical 
possession of his literary remains. Publishers, moving-pxcture 
concerns have made millions in commercializing the stories and 
poems which never afforded poor Poe a bare living. And even 
today are gentlemen "of letters" who without blushing claim the 
o^unership to copyrights to poems of Edgar Allan Poe,) 

Baltimore, Dec, 12, 1864. 
My very dear friend: 

I received yours of the 8th, and I assure you the money en- 
closed (the so much needed) did not gratify me as much as 
your kind sympathy. Oh! how grateful to my desolate heart is 
a kind word. When you again see Mr. Lewis thank him most 
sincerely for me, tell him I will be so pleased if he will write 
to me. I am very happy to hear he is well and in good spirits. 
I am now writing with a large blister on my chest, which 
will be an apology for this brief letter. I have not anjrthing 
of dear Eddie, but a few mutilated letters. I have been obliged 
in many instances to send part of those much cherished letters 
to kind friends who wished to have something he had written. 
Mrs. John P. Kennedy called on me a short time since, at the 
request of her husband, to solicit me for some of his manu- 
script. But alas! I have nothing more of his to give. Mr. 
Longfellow wrote to me a short time ago, for two of his 
autographs, as he wished to send them to a distinguished lady 
in Europe. I was obliged to get them from a friend, as all 
that I had was given away. If my beloved ones can look down 
from Heaven, they will thank and bless you for your kindness 
to the mother whom they loved. Do not for one moment think 
I wish to impose on your generosity, but if you can interest 
a few of your friends to send me a couple of bottles of wine, 
and a few oranges, or anything you think will be proper for a 
poor invalid I will be truly thankful Oh! since I have been 
suffering so much how much I have wished for some Utile 
delicacy, for the food I get here is extremely plain and very 
little of it. While I was in Virginia, Mr. Lewis sent me a box 
of oranges which did me so much good. Perhaps you can pre- 
vail on him to contribute to the charity for his old friend. I 
do not wish you to give one cent towards it, I know you have 
not the means altho I am convinced you have the heart. One 
of the ladies here will go out today and get me some flannel 
as the physicians have ordered, and every time I see it, I will 
pray to God to bless the kind donors. I suppose you will 
scarcely credit me when I tell you, I often suffer for a cup of 
green tea, I cannot drink the miserable stuff they have here. 



474 BRUNO*S WEEKLY 

Every article is so enormously high, I suppose they cannot afford 
to furnish us with better. But dear friend I so much hope 
I will be soon where all wants will be supplied, and without 
money or without price, I hope I am ready to go when the 
good God calls me. If you succeed in getting me a small box 
of anything to add to my comfort, direct as you do thd letters. 
Write soon to yours sincerely, 

M. Clemm. 

(This Letter is the Property of Mr, Patrick F, Madigan), 

The Old Ass 

'HREE animals were frolicking on the soft young green of a 
joyous pasture : a young dog, a young horse and an old ass. 

The young dog said: "Now Tarn having a good time—but, 
oh, later on! They will train me, they will teach me tricks. I 
will have to be watchful, I will have to get accustomed to kicks, 
and I will have to bear patiently the wildest temper of my 
master. In the long run a dog catcher will get a hold of me. 
Does it pay to live? Surely, it does notl" 

And the young horse said: "Now I am leading a joyful life, 
indeed, — ^but, oh, later on! They will catch me, they will put 
a harness around my neck — I will have to draw heavy loads. 
Or, someone is going to sit on my back and will abuse me with 
whip and spurs. And then some day they will sell me to a 
butcher and they will mete otit my flesh by the pound. Does it 
pay to live? Is it worth while? Surely, it is not!" 

But the old ass, who had listened with astonished eyes, said: 
"I really do not know what's the matter with you. I have been 
in the employ of the same company for the last thirty years. 
I have a good position and surely I am doing very well. And 
I find that life is worth while living." 

— Guide Bruno 

Boulevard St. Michael 

CIN, Sin, and be merry. Let who will 
Say Bacchus is an evil god, I swear 
I'd rather run my fingers through his hair 

Just once, and die, than live insensible, 

Forever! Lift the cup and drink your fill 
Of pleasure, for a wine is in the air 
To stain the afternoon and dull the ^lare 

Of the drunk October sun; and on the hill 

Of St. Michael Autumn's purple grape 

Hangs ripe and luscious. Soon will come the night 
When all about us, underneath the light 

Of arc-lamps, will parade the lovely shape 
Of lust incarnate, and the hill will burn 
With youth*^ consuming and hot lips that yearn. 

Murray Sheehan 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 475 

Germany's Angel 

Y^U surely will know that each of the belligerent countries 
has an envoy in the disguise of an angel kneeling at the 
throne of God and praying for the victory of the arms of his 
country. The Russian angel is praying day and ni^ht that the 
dear Lord may help the Russians, because only with his help 
can they achieve an ultimate victory over their enemies. 

The French angel is also praying, and praying not alone for 
the arms of his own country, but imploring the Lord's blessing 
upon the arms of Russia so that France may not lose the billions 
of dollars which she loaned to Russia. And the angels of all 
other countries pray unwearyingly. The dear Lord, gracious — 
as he always is — lends his ear to all of them. And while he 
looks over the number of the angels kneeling at his throne, he 
misses the envoy of Germany. With a look of inquiry the Lord 
turns to St Peter. 

**Ycs," says Peter, "Germany's angel most likely is with the 
armies of his country and hasn't time to come up here; but 
after the war he will come to offer his thanks." 

R«plated Platitudes 

Unfortunately, America's being the "Money Center," will not 
necessarily insure its being the center of sense. 

A good heart under a poor head is a fine formula for a 
perfect fool. 

It appears, that whether you measure temperature by Fahren- 
heit, or Centigrade, or Reaumer, the only significant points 
on the scale are: "Sweat in the shade," and "Shiver in the 
sun," — all the rest is only filling. 

Now, the love that can be measured in dollars isn't worth 
even a dollar. 

Julius Doerner, 

TlwPoet 

DURY him under the yew 

*' Deep in the night or the daytime 

For his heart is the heart of the dew 

And his shroud is the sonff of the May -time. 

Splendid, and true, and fine. 
Breath of the morning star — 
This was his soul divine 
Moulded of all things that are. 

Edgar Allan Poa 

His life was a cry in the desert-^ 
His cry was an echo of pain — 
In a world unborn of the soul of scorn 
He shall come to his own again. 

Joseph Lewis French 



476 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Books and Magazines of the Week 

Repetition is the mother of decline. 

A good many of our newest poets are starting to repeat 
themselves. They said all they had to say and now they arc 
beg^inning to look around for new listeners, for such to whom 
their message will be new. 

With hope and expectations did we watch the young journals 
come up in all parts of the country which devote their pages 
exclusively to poetry. Two distinct types of poetry magazines 
came from the presses. There were the mouth-pieces of those 
early promoters of verse unusual and tmrhymed whose alma 
mater was and is Miss Monroe's monthly, "Poetry." Here we 
read for the first time the daring things of the English poets 
who have lived their lives since, but who are repeating them- 
selves over and over again. 

And then there were little magazines and magazinettes here 
and there, just fl3ang pamphlets often only sheets with two or 
four printed pages. We welcomed these individualistic ^ ex- 
pressions because they came from men whose message didn't 
seem to fit in any existing periodicals, but seemed important 
enough to them to be sent to a good many more than they 
could approach through the spoken word. And gradually some 
died and others succeeded ; some grew and some are merely 
existing. But new ones came up and are coming up almost 
daily fighting for an existence and for an audience. 

The new camp grew. Where there was one tent there are 
avenues of tents now with side streets and piazzas and . • . 
blind streets. 

The value of these one-man's efforts lay in their individual- 
istic expression. 

Names have been standardized, combinations formed, a new 
secession is inevitable in the near future. The poetry maga- 
zines of the independent sort are flirting with each other. In- 
dependence is kept up artificially but certain names have been 
standardized and you can find them signed to poems on the 
pages of all of them. Why not do the thing before it is too 
late? Why not combine efforts and have just one poetry jour- 
nal, or if this seems impossible why not keep to the old stand- 
ards? Or if there has been all said why not stop printing 
them? 

The Poetry Journal 

Mr. Braithwaite's anthology is spooking considerably in the 
editorial pages of this journal with the pink cover. Amy 
Lowell has her say and quite post f estum but what does it 
matter. A good umbrella finds its appreciation even after the 
rain. It might be used as a parasol. 

Others. 

Distinguished is the February issue of Alfred Kresrmborg's 
magazine of the new verse. It contains eight pages of his 
own poetry. Especially those poems which were originated in 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 477 

his "Mushroom period" sound like the real Kreymborg. Here 
is one reproduced. 

CONVENTION 

Beware of a pirate who will scuttle your ship, 
a cross-eyed toothless pirate! 

I'll blow my great horn, carved of dead men's skulls, 
right down your ear and freeze you. 

I'll stick VDj big thumb into your eye 
and my knife dean through your throat. 

I'll pull out my goblet and drink your blood 
while my foot rests on your belly. 

I'll lau^h a loud laugh that'll shunt your soul to hell 
and spit on your face for an epitaph. 

I'll kick your carcass to its coffin, the sea, 
a sea that won't sing even a dirge for you. 

Then I'll yank down the flag that you hoisted up so high 
and raise the devil's own mstead. . . 

Beware of a pirate who will scuttle your ship, 
a cross-eyed toothless pirate I 

I crawl aboard when your sails begin to fail — 

the sails that are blown by the strength of your will. 

The Phoenix 

Vance Thompson's "Drink and be Sober" incites Michael 
Monahan to draw a parallel between this latest production of 
Thompson and Jack London's "John Barleycorn." 

"Thompson's book lacks this logic and appeal, to begin with ; 
it professes to set forth a generalized experience common to 
all men who drink, and to educe therefrom a universal con- 
clusion. His contract is therefore much larger than London's, 
and his failure has been correspondingly greater." 

The Brooklynite 

In the current issue of this official organ of "The Blue Pen- 
cil Club" of Brooklyn, Charles £. Isaacson describes England 
as the England of Charles Dickens, as the England which is 
in his mind and never can be effaced. 

The Revolt 

Hippol3rte Havel's weekly contains three poems by Benjamin 
De Casseres, Three Moralities and "Change," by Theodore 
Dreiser. Dreiser says a good deal in these three columns. His 
sentences are short and not complicated. It is good if our popu- 
lar writers have a magazine like The Revolt where they can 
say what they really tiiink and do not need to stretch their 
thoughts in order to produce a substantial amount of words. 

The Newarkef 

"Published monthly by the Committee of One Hundred as a 
record of work and a program of events for Newark's Two- 
Hundred Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration" is filled with his- 
torical and semi-historical articles relating to the history of 
Newark and New Jersey. The February issue contains a gen- 
erous portion of Washington material and a facsimile reproduc- 
tion of a letter of Lincoln dated February Idth, 1861, and 
addressed to the people of Newark. 



478 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Hippolsrte Havel About the Village 

l^HEN I speak of Greenwich Village I have no geographical 
conception in view. The term Greenwich Village is to 
me a spiritual zone of mind. Is there any reason d'etre for 
the existence of a spiritual Greenwich Village? I believe 
there is. Those fellow wanderers who pawn their last coat 
in rue Franc Bourgeoise, who shivered in rue St Jacques and 
searched for the cheapest brasserie in rue Lepic, those who 
crowded the Olympe in rue de la Gaiete, will understand the 
.charm of the Village. A ramble along Charlton and Varick 
Streets is a reverie, not to speak of the sounds of — ^how do 
Minetta Lane, Patchin Place, Sheridan Square and Gay Street 
strike you? 

To be sure the native of the Village has no especial 
.distinction. He is just as dull as the native of Bronx, or the 
native of Hoboken. The apaches of the Village are more 
.crude than the gangs of upper Riverside. So are in propor- 
tion, the alguecils of the Village more vicious and brutal than 
their confreres in other precincts. The Village has also its 
sneaking reformers and neighborhood centers full of apostles 
in male and female petticoats, good people who clean out 
certain parts of their territory from outcasts and drive those 
poor dregs of humanity into other parts of the city. The joints 
of the Village compare favorably with Doctor's and Barney 
Fl3mn*s emporiums on the Bowery and Chatham Square. 

The soothsayers of yesteryear assured us that the Village 
is doomed. . . No danger so far though the subterranean 
barbarians are busy in reconstructing Seventh Avenue and 
building a subway for the men in a hurry. True also, the 
**Grapevine'^ has disappeared and we miss the pewters of 
creamy ale. But take courage, ye tipplers, there are other 
heavenly retreats in the Village. "Grifou" is dead, but there 
is a new brasserie de Lilla, yea, even a cafe Groessenwahn. 
Josiah Flint, if he should awaken from his grave would not 
be lonesome in the Village. 

If you lose your illusions and the evil one takes hold of 
your soijl, you leave your garret on the sacred Butte and rent 
a studio near Pare Monceau, you leave the Soho and take 
your domicile in Chelsea, or you become a traitor to Green- 
wich Village and move into an apartment on Riverside Drive. 
You will smile pityingly over the folly of the poor devils who 
lose their lives in ugly holes on Washington Square, or find 
pleasure in cheap restaurants among pic^ockets on Carmine 
Street. But some evening after the West Indian has pushed 
you up to your steamheated apartment and after you have 
gone over your bank account, you will fall into reverie and 
you will sigh for the dear old haunts of the Village. Old 
reminiscences will float before your vision and old names will 
strike chords in your damned soul, and you will envy the 
silly chaps and maidens who remained true to the Village. 
"Like a sneakthief vou will return secretly some evening and 
-you will look up the dear old places. But the charm will be 



BRUNO^S ■ WEEKLY 479 * 

gone* Even the caravanserie on Thirty-first Street and the 
Zukunftstatt on Seventy-seventh Street will close their portals 
to you. Then you have lost your illusions, your enthusiaani 
and your idealism. Greenwich Village is a spiritual conception^ 
and shopkeepers are not interested in dreamers. The Village 
is the rallying point for new ideas. Its spirit reaches the 
heathenish bellyworshippers of Harlem, even nature fakers- 
near the Zoo in die Bronx. The Bronxite points proudly to 
Poe's cottage, but come to the Village, mon chere, and I will 
point out to you **Grub Street" where another iconoclast,- 
Thomas Paine, earned his bread and his fame in daily struggles- 
with the economic devil. 

Hippolyte Havel 



In Our Village 



Captain Hall's Exhibitk>n of paintings, marine scenes and 
forest scen^, including portraits of Abraham Lincoln and of 
Nancy Hanks, Lincoln's mother, will be continued until February 
15th. 

A group of Russian painters will have a joint exhibition 
in Bruno's Garret from February 15th until February 25th. 
The works of art exhibited will include paintings, water 
colors, pen and ink sketches and miniatures. 

On Monday, the 14th of February, Guido Bruno will, 
speak on "Greenwich Village: What it was. What it is and' 
What it Means to Me." Tickets can be reserved for this 
evening by addressing the garret. 

On February 28th, Theodore Schroeder, president of the' 
Free Speech League will deliver his lecture "From Phallic Wor- 
ship to Secularized Sex." It ife a frank discussion of problems 
for such as are not afraid of facts. "The viewpoint is evolu- 
tionary and psychologic. The purpose is to give enlightenment 
of a kind that is a bit unusual but needed— desired by most but 
often denied." Admission by ticket only. 

Richard Oeckenden, better-known as "Dick, the Oyster- 
man," who had catered to the culinary tastes of Greenwich 
Village for a good many years, died recently, a victim of 
pneumonia. His old basement on Third Street was famous 
as hang-out place of writers and artists of the last decade 
of the nineteenth century. O. Henry immortalized it in 
one of his short stories. 

Bonville de Camoin, landlord to many a writer and artist 
on Washington Square for the last twenty years, was taken 
ill suddenly and is in a critical condition in a hospital. It 
was in his house that Jenny Lind stopped during her pres- 
ence in New York and many famous men and women since 
have lived under its hospitable roof. 

Charles Keeler, poet, playwright and world wanderer, ar- 
ranges recitals, story evenings and poetry readings for the? 
next six Saturday evenings in "The White Cat" tea shop^ 



480 BRUNO'S . WEEKLY 

Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre 

A program of unusual interest will be given on Thurs- 
day, Friday and Saturday in Charles Edison's Little Thimble 
Theatre at 10 Fifth Avenue. Miss Ruth Sapinsky will 
sing, for the first time before a New York audience, a se- 
lection of songs including Roger Speaks' ''Morning/'^ 

Mr. Robert Wirth, a violinist, will execute on his instru- 
ment Brahms' "Hungarian Dance No. 5, in G Minor," Fritz 
Kreisler's "Rondino," a theme by Beethoven, and "The Hu- 
moresque," the great Bohemian, Devorak's, best-known com- 
position. 

Mr. Ridgely Hudson, tenor, will sing Handel's "Come 
Beloved" and two songs by MacSadyeen. 

Virginia O'. Madigan will recite to music especially com- 
posed for her— Victorian Sardou's "Leah, the Forsaken." 

To Clara Tice 

The self portrait of Clara Tice and her dog Varna in a recent 
issue of Bruno's Weekly inspired W, J, Lamp ton and here it is: 

A SPLASH of cold ink, Erebean, 

Forming her crown of glory 
Surmounting those dots of expression 
Which tell their own story 
Thrilling with cognizance infinite. 
Pendent, dependent, 
The markings straying hither and yon 
Through the whiteness, 
Apparently going nowhither, 
Yet reaching their destination 
Which like the end of a joyous journey 
Out joys the journey. 
And thid is Clara. 
Clara incarnate. 

But never, ah, never, the soul of her; 
Only the shell of the ^irit 
Expressed in the splashings and markings. 
And there near the heart of her, 
Filling the foreground. 
Is Varna, beloved of her; 
Varna, made in the image, vaguely. 
Of a bunch of sausage 1 

IV. 7. Latnpton, 

THE LITTLE GIRL: (while she undergoes the much disliked pro- 
:edure of havinsr her hair brushed in the morning by her mother) 
"What makes my hair crackle every morning. Mother?" 
MOTHER: "It's the electricity in your hair, dear." 
THE LITTLE GIRL: "How funny, Mama I I have electricity in 
-tny hair, and Grandma has gas in her stomach." 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



481 




Hats, by Fritz Schnitsler. 




The Other Women 

ff SEE her often, and though I am younger and fairer than 
she, I always feel strongly the force of h^ presence, and 
become suddenly conscious of any defect in my garb. 

He is kind and most tender, my husband, and in no-wise 
does he betray regret that it is I, not she, who bears his name, 
yet today the? confines of my heart seem narrowed. Memory 
brings only bitterness, and hope is as a dead thing. 

That my child lifts eyes like his to mine is of no comfort, 
and tiiat tonight I shall stand at his side and welcome the 
f^ests bidden to celebrate the fifth anniversary of our marriage 
IS an empty honor. 

Blanche Katherine Cart 



I* 



The Story of Oscar Wilde's Life and 
Experience in Reading Gaol' 

By His Warder. 
(Concluded) 



« 



He wrottf: 

The memoir of Dreadful Things 

Rushed like a dreadful wind. 
And Horror stalked before each man, 

And Terror crept behind. 
The warders with their shoes of felt 

Crept by each padlocked door. 
And peeped and saw with eyes ot awe 

Grey ngures on the floor. 
And wondered why men knelt to pray 

Who never prayed before. 

"Wilde told me that those moments when the bell rang out, 
and his imagination conjured up the execution scene, were the 
most awful of a time rich in horrors. 

**I always found Wilde extremdy good-natured, and he wrote 
several little things out for me. 

"I had recently been married, and a certain weekly paper of- 

♦/ am indebted for this story to Mr. Patrick F. Madigan, 
who has the original, in the handwriting ^ of Oscar ^ Wilde's 
warder, and also the two manuscripts mentioned in this story. 



482 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

fered a silver tea service? to the young couple who could give 
the best reason why this service should be given to them. 

"I told Wilde of this, and he wrote out several witty 'reasons' 
which I have kept. Hcfre are some, very apt, which should have 
secured the tea service: 

(1) Becanse evidently spoons are required, and my girl and I are two. 

(2) Becanse it woula suit us to a T (tea). 

(3) Becanse we have ^ood '^ground's" for wanting a coffee pot. 

(4) Because marriage is a game that should begin with a love set. 
(S> Because one cannot get legally married without a proper wedding 

service. 

"These are very witty, are they not, and he also wrote out a 
little essay suggesting the name of a baby boy that would be 
suitable for Diamond Jubilee Year. 

"Oscar Wilde wrote this out in his own hand, and gave it to 
me. It was written in ten minutes, and began : 

"'Every baby bom in the course of this great and historic 
ycfar should have a name representative in some way of what 
this year signifies to the British Empire. That is clear. The 
only question is what is it to be? 

"*St George would be a capital name— it is a real Christian 
name, and is borne by Mr. St. George Mivart, a well-known 
writer — ^the only objection to it is that it refers too specially to 
England, and leaves out St Patrick, St. Andrew and St. David.' 

"Victor, the masculine equivalent of Victoria, would be good, 
but not the best possible. ... 

"'People are sometimcfs Christened Tertius and Decimus, as 
being the third and tenth sons. Why not call the boy Sexa* 
gesimus ? 

"Thus the sixtieth year of her Majestjr's reign would be com- 
memorated. Still that is an awkward name, and would not make 
the? youthful owner popular at school. 

" Well, we call girls Ruby, Pearl and other names of precious 

i'ewels, and the Irish call their babies "My jewel," and the 
''rench, "Tres bijoux." Mr. Walter Pater, whose prose we all 
admire for its noblef qualities, called one of his characters "Em- 
erald." Jacinth, which is a precious stone, is also a Christian 
name — ^the same as Hyacinth and Amethyst. 

"*Gamet is a Christian name and the name of a jewel. Lord 
Wolseley was Sir Garnet Wolseley. 

"There is also a name? "Royal." It is a very good name, 
but not suflficiently distinguishing. 

"'Diamond must be made a popular name, so I hope,' con- 
cluded Mr. Wilde, *to hear it has been given to our baby boy.' 

"As a warder, I take off my hat to the memory of the 
author, who, by his sad and premature de?ath, has now silenced 
for ever all who have criticised his conduct and rejoiced at his 
fall." 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles B^son, and 
edited and written by Guido Bruno, both at 68 WasUngtoa 
Square, New York City. Sub6cri{>tion $2 a year. 

Application for entry as second- class matter at the Post Office of New 
York pending. 



IKEEP ON MY WALLS a permanent exhibition o( autographs, manuscripts 
and historical documents, and have at present an especially interesting col- 
lection o( letters and original manuscripts by Abraham Lincoln, George 
Washington, Robert Louis Stevenson, Oscar Wilde and Edgar Allan Poe. These 
are the original scripts of stories, poems and documents which have made these 
men famous. If interested, drop me a line, or better, come and see my exhibition. 

PATRICK FRANCIS MADIGAN 

561 Fifth Ave. (entrance 46th St.) New York 

At the Sign of the Red Lamp 

Fifty-three West Third Street, New York 

You will find this old and picturesque Chop House, 
TWO DOORS EAST OF WEST BROADWAY 
We make a specialty of Sea Food, Steak and Chops 

SAMUEL S. BROAD, Proprietor Telephone: Spring 5963 

Open Evenincs until Nine 

RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 

Extra Illustrated Books. Early Printed Books. Association Books 

Books for Christmas Gifts 

Purchased singly or in sets for people who have neither time nor opportunity to 
select (oi themselves, or for those who have not access to the best book marts. 

Why not begin collecting now ? 

Address E. V., Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass. 

LIBRAIRIE FRANCAISE DEUTSCHE BUECHER 

Librairie Francaise 

111 Fourth Avenue 

Always on hand a large, fine selection of best 
French, English, German and Spanish romances. 
Best English literature and foreign classics a spec- 
ialty. All kinds of literature bought and exchanged. 

Art magazines wanted. 

WRITE US WHAT YOU ARE INTERESTED IN. 

QRCULATING LIBRARY ENGLISH BOOKS 



Charies EdBson's Litde Thimble Theatre, Situated 
at No.lOFifth Avenue,Greenwich Village»N.Y.C. 



(iiiido Bruno, Mmnager. 



This Week's Performances and Concerts 



Wednesday, 8:15 p. m. 



Thursday, 8:15 p. m. 
Friday, 8:15 p. m. 



Saturday, 2:00 p. m. 



8:15 p. m. 



Children's Hour and Disc Concert 
on the Square. 

Performance at the Little Thimble 
Theatre. 

Performance at the Little Thimble 
Theatre. 

Children's Hour and Disc Concert 
on the Square. 

Performance at the Little Thimble 
Theatre. 



Ask or write for ticket of admission to The 
Little Thimble Theatre performances. They 
are free of charge. 



There can be no pleasanter place to hear 
that remarkable Edison Record 
Number (82536) than 

The Diamond Disc Shop 

at Number 10 Fifth Avenue 

In this store, at least, the delightful atmos- 
phere of Old Greenwich Village has not been 
sacrificed on the altar of commercialism 



Phone: Stuyvesant 4570 
Open Evenings 



A postal will bring yon, with oar 
compliments, an interesting little 
biography of Mr. Thos. A. Edison 



BRUNCyS WEEKLY 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Five Cents February 19th, 1916 



19tk. 191$. Original matter, including all 
drsviagt, may not be reproduced without pcrmiMion of 
Guide Bruao; but that pcrmiaaioa may be assumed if credit is 
gives to author and Bruno's Weekly. 



I do appreciate the sjrmpathy offered 
me by my numerous readers and friends 
throughout the country, but two dollars 
for fifty-two issues of Bruno's Weekly 
wiU manifest the 

REAL SPIRIT. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

EJitaJ hy Coido Bnmo in Hb Cmm/t on WMhiagtoa Sqamem 



No. 8. FEBRUARY 19th, MCMXVI. Vol. II 














iUc ^*M)k\^ ^maXk. At^dtr 






^•*-**J 



s^(pfe=*^^ 



Front the Collection of Mr, Patrick F, Madigan 

The Fire In Bruno's Garret 

IRE of some unknown cause destroyed, on the 12th of Febru- 
ary, on Lincoln Day, that part of my garret which I used 
as a store-room and where I kept my files. 

Copyright 1916 by Guido Bruno 



488 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

All back numbers of my magazines, Greenwich Village, Bruno 
Chap-Books and Bruno's Weekly were destroyed. Manuscripts 
of well-known authors, historical documents, rare books, pamph- 
lets which never can be duplicated, material which I had col- 
lected for the last twelve years — ^all went up in the smoke. 

And better than ever do I know to-day that there is no pos- 
session real which we do not carry with us constantly. Not in 
our pockets, but in our hearts. Not the property which we store 
in fireproof storehouses, or in safe deposit vaults; even that 
might be destroyed by earthquakes, or by Zeppelins, or other 
devices with which God and man manifest their existence unex- 
pectedly. 

But all we have in the eternal possession of our mind — ^all 
those things that we really know. 

Knowledge is the power that cannot be destroyed. 

Omnia mea mecum porto. 

On Book Stall Row 

ND so this, the first number after the fire which partly 
destroyed my garret, is the fitting occasion, dear reader, 
to invite you to take a walk through that part of the city which 
starts on the extremest boundaries of our village and whose 
important avenue leads to the Public Library — ^that supreme 
mausoleum of the citizens of the republic of letters; where are 
laid away, side by side, the remains of those who were 
worshipped during life and forgotten after their death and of 
those whom no one knew while they were among us and whose 
real life began after they had written the last page of their 
message to the world, a world which has ears now for the 
dead man's words. 

Will you come with me and walk for half an hour on that 
Via Appia of New York where great men's work is put on 
shelves and bundled up and can be viewed by those who feel 
like worshipping where artists and writers found a friend who 
would plead their cause better than the newspaper critic, literary 
writer and the art editor. Let us go where the old worshipful 
building of the Astor Library still stands and whose closed 
shutters and deserted door-ways and stair-cases remind one of 
that eternal truth — sic transit gloria mundi ! And not long ago — 
scarcely eight years — all intellect of New York assembled here 
on old Astor Place/ in the midst of the old landmarks of a 
New York of by-gone days. There they worked diligently, and 
like in a bee-hive, gathered the honey to give it to the world. 
And the world came to take the honey and carried it to 
newspaper offices, to magazine editors and used it for nourish- 
ing and for luxurious, dandy dishes and served it to millions 
as bread and as dessert. 

In those days of the old Astor Library, Fourth Avenue was 
the leading booksellers' street of New York, and therefore, of 
the world. 

And then the palace was built on Fifth Avenue, right in the 
heart of the city, to receive the remains of the august man of 



BRUNQ^S WEEKLY 489 

the world. The literary free-market, whose centre for barter 
and exchange had been on Astor Place, moved up to the new 
comfortable quarters. Marble and big spaces, lackies in livery 
and modem commercial office devices took the places of the 
sood old home-like library rooms. Railings did not separate 
there the reader from the book-shelves and the tables were worn 
and ink-spotted; and where the authors of the books, in their 
old-fashioned ajttire, with their grandfather's manners, with 
their elegance and their "I don't care what you think of me, 
world !" seemed so near to us who leaned over their books. 

But those booksellers — ^no less lovers of books because they 
sold them — remained in their shops on Fourth Avenue, in their 
basements and their little shacks with queer displays of book 
stalls and advertisements in old hand-writing tacked to their 
doors which seem to belong to another age, which seem to be 
the remnants of another school of men. A good many of those 
old friends of the frequenters of the library are gone. High 
buildings are erected where they used to read books and sell 
them to you — if you managed to get into their good graces. 
Don't shake your head incredibly! Yes, such were those old 
booksellers, who treated their books as you would treat your 
friends, and who would introduce you to their friends only if 
you were one with their spirit, — if they found in you **that certain 
something" which invites lovers of books into a society of lovers 
of men. 

Tempora mutamtur et nos mutamur in illis! Mr. Edison put 
the candle out of use. His electric rails brought space- and 
time into relations which enable the individual to live a life of 
many interests. 

Greek and Latin, the old essayists of yore, and the art of 
writing letters are foreign to most of us. To have read your 
Caesar and scanned your Homer makes you a scholar for life- 
time to-day. And to have really read Horace and to have dived 
into Plato and Aeschylus entitles you to the highest honors 
newspapers, magazines and the country-at-large have to award. 
If you know how to write about these things and how to apply 
your knowledge so that the magazine editor can have it illus- 
trated by some imitators of Bruneleschie or Bakst, that your 
work can appear serially in an unobjectionable family paper 
which is sold in two million copies by boys and girls who earn 
in such a way a "liberal education in business colleges;" — ^that 
it can be printed in book form to be bought by all public libraries 
and Carnegie and college and university libraries, and if it has 
such merits that the music of a Viennese operatta composer 
can be harmoniously combined with the words, making for 
a season's Broadway success. 

Otherwise you have the best chance to starve and to be looked 
upon as a queer sort of a chap. 

A few are left of those old book-dealers who used to dwell 
on Fourth Avenue and whom book- worms used to persuade to 
part with this or that precious tome. How those book-sellers 
differed from those of our own times ; they knew their Latin 
and their Greek, they knew not only first eaitions and standard 



490 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

editions from the catalogs of auction sales and "Book Prices 
Current" but they knew the contents of the books; they would 
give an equal chance to the well-known author whom they liked 
and to the unknown man whose pamphlet they discovered ; read- 
ing and "discovering" was their chief occupation, selling books 
a mere incident — a very necessary one, of course, but still an 
incident only. They all had their hobbies. One would be inter- 
ested in Mark Twain and would have stored away in some 
obscure comer of his book-shelves, as the kohinoor of his 
possessions, a rare pamphlet unknown to the world, an<( perhaps 
autographed by the author himself. Another one would be an 
enthusiast of Poe and would carefully gather precious items 
and show them to those he really liked — ^like a king who bestows 
upon the subject he wishes to honor a high order. 

Authors and would-be authors found in these dingy shops 
lit by a flickering gas jet, in the atmosphere of dust and of old 
paper, congenial gathering-places. O. Henry was a well-known 
habitue of the book-shops on Fourth Avenue, and especially 
one situated in a basement to which led rickety wooden stairs 
was his favorite one. He used to rummage around the French 
books its proprietor kept and ask for translations and explana- 
tions, but he rarely bought. 

Did I say a few of those shops are still preserved? — ^and did I 
invite you to come along and take a walk on Book Stall Row? 
They are, but don't be disappointed. They all have electric 
lights and cash registers and only far back behind the dust- 
covered desk of the proprietor-— if you succeed in lifting the 
business mask from his face — will you find the book-dealer after 
your heart, whose face beams because he has succeeded in get- 
ing this or that rare item. And if you have that "certain 
something" of the book-worm which nnds a response in his 
heart, he will forget his "Book Prices Current" and he will talk 
to you just to your heart's delight. And his hands and your 
hands will rest on the mutual friend — ^the book. 

Here, I said, in these shops, which, if the proprietor has busi- 
ness genius and progresses with the spirit of the time, will be- 
come tjrpes of the ready-to-order, department-store-like-con- 
ducted book-stores, are the temporary interment places of lit- 
erateurs who are either dead and not yet discovered or who are 
alive and therefore not apt to be discovered, or who are both 
dead and discovered. But their works have not yet succeeded 
in bringing high auction prices and therefore are not purchased 
by the libraries in their palacial mausoleums where they will 
find their final resting-place some day. To these shops the 
literateur pilgrimages if he wishes to dispose of his books — ^not 
because his shelves or his library are too crowded but because he 
has decided that a meal once in a while will be highly appreciated 
by his physical body. Down here to these basements or to these 
shacks crowded in by big business buildings he creeps stealthily 
and sells the books of his friends, given him in his better days 
with their inscriptions of friendship. He is ashamed of his act, 
but landladies have to get rent and Child's has a cash ce^ster 
which must record every sale of the day, even the most msig- 
nificant cup of coffee and the thinnest cheese sandwich. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 49X 

Here to these shops the literateur, who veucured into the 
field of being his own publisher and editor of a short-lived 
magazine brings bundles of unsold numbers of his publication 
which were returned to him with many regrets and the bill for 
"'return charges by the pound" from newsniealers and from 
news companies. The book^store buys them, and a dollar is a 
dollar— even if you have to procure it with five hundred or a 
thousand copies of something you put your greatest hopes upon. 

No reflection is made upon the bookseller! He gives you 
more than you could get anywhere else. What other book-dealer 
in this city would buy old paper — ^and it is nothing but old paper 
so long as "Book Prices Current" doesn't mention the maga- 
zine's name and its rarity, and therefore, the goodness of its 
contents. 

Here, to these shops, landladies bring the trunks which they 
did not permit to leave their premises! because the unfortunate 
owner failed to pay his three dollars per week, and his literary 
future was too ample a security for her to continue to trust. 
And how many rejected manuscripts— K>f ten rejected because of 
their merit — ^will be found in that baggage hastily thrown to- 
gether by her after she has locked the door upon him! How 
many letters will they contain showing the man in the light 
others saw him and wrote to him what to do and what not 
to do! 

Here, to these shops, the unfortunate woman travels if her 
husband — ^the writer or the artist — ^is sick and doctor bills have 
to be paid, and again, that curse of everybody's life — rent bills 
and board bills. 

And here finally is sold the worldly possessions of him who 
has laid away his pen forever, whom the rent collector for the 
t3rpewriter will not bother again. His most-cherished books and 
letters from fellow-sufferers on the hard road to literary success 
and those benevolent lines of those who "got there," his scrap 
hooks and perhaps his diary to contribute to the receipts of 
undertaker and cemetery company. 

W\ EAR READER* we live in an age where figures are staring in 
'^ your face wherever you turn. Churches pass the baskets! 
Charity is standardized after the most efficient business methods 
of the country. 

"Money, I want money!" is written in big, black broad letters 
over men and things. Therefore, it is up to you to eliminate 
money wherever you feel it a disturbing element. It is up 
to you to be the magician who charms away the things that 
can never "disappear'' as everybody knows. Don't think of the 
rent and of the bills and of the pay rolls to clerks that these 
booksellers have to pay» but see them as I do back there in the 
dark comer of their shops — unlighted by electricity^ back of a 
paper-and-dttst-covered desk, reading on quiet afternoons and 
evenings when business is at a standstill and book-buyers do 
not require their services, — reading their favorites, those books 
they will not sell if you are not lucky and strike them at a 
time when bills are due, when rent has to be paid. 

Guido Bruno, 



492 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

VaudevUle Stars TeU Us Why They Act 

I have not taken in a vaudeville show for quite a while. I 
have seen in the newspapers concerning the work of our vaude- 
ville actors, several pages each week. And so I went to the 
Palace one night last week. The chairs are very comfortable 
and the ventilation is excellent. So it is possible to exist phys- 
ically. 

But how much humanity is wasted on the vaudeville stage! 
These men and women surely must have a reason for doing 
their silly acts over and over again for forty weeks every year! 

There was Ruth St. Denis, for instance. Ella Wheeler Wilcox 
was down at my garret the morning after I had seen Ruth. The 
famous poetess adores Ruth; her husband adores Ruth, too. 
They saw her for the first time in Paris, some years ago. ''She 
is adoration, she is a prayer, she is a sermon,'' Mr. Wilcox re- 
marked after the curtain had rung down. Mrs. Wilcox was of 
the same opinion. Sermons and sermons are different. So are 
prayers. Mine surely differ from those of the Wilcox couple. 

"Why do they act?" I wanted to satisfy my curiosity. Here 
are the answers that I received from a few of the headliners at 
present features in Broadway theatres and vaudeville houses. 

Gaby Deslys (in Stop! Look! and Listen! at the Globe) — 
"Because I love it — I like money much, but my art, ah, that is 
the thing I Uke very mudi, much more." 

Harry Pilcer (also at the Globe) — "Because eight per doesn't 
hold any charms for me." 

Harry Fox (in Stop! Look! and Listen also at the Globe) — 
"To get my hot meat. This is the life." 

Joseph Santley (also at the Globe) — "Merely to keep me out 
of mischief." 

And here are a few who appear at present at the Palace: 

Harry Carroll: "To get out of a contract with a music pub- 
lisher." 

Paul Morton and wife, Naomi Glass (in a vaudeville sketch) : 
"We need the cash— thaf s all !" 

The Dolly Sisters (in a vaudeville sketch) : "Because of our 
rapid success, because of the money that's in it, and because we 
can't keep our feet on the ground." 

G. B, 

Any House in the Court 

p APA SUMMERFIELD is a very bad man. He loves his 
* wife, or at least he loved his wife very tenderly, fourteen 
years before the curtain rose. In those days he had been a 
successful lawyer, with indisputable business integrity. And 
then — she died. He locked the chamber in whicn she had been 
an invalid before her death and it remained for vears a closed 
room in the house. He kept the key in his pocket, and every 
member of his household tiptoed when passing this door, and 
nobody dared mention its existence, or the mother's name in 
his presence. Papa Summerfield killed his grief and his love in 



BRUNO'S WEKCLY 4fl3 

business ambition and anything that came along was good 
enough as long as it kept his mind busy and prevented him from 
thinking. He also developed into a house tyrant, forbidding the 
two daughters the men of their choice, and turning them coldly 
from house and hearth after they decided to become wives 
and mothers. But Papa Summerfield has a "better self.'' And 
this better self is of utmost importance to the play. It really 
is the nucleus of the play. The better self appears in a not any 
more unaccustomed way on the stage. It is Mr. Summerfield's 
double. It looks like Mr. SummerfielcL it parts its hair in the 
same remarkable way that Mr. Summerneld parts his, from fore- 
head to neck, it wears the same picturesque necktie and clothes, 
and appears at opportune moments in a spotlight and tries to 
reason with his "evil self." 

And there is that great big corporation committee that wishes 
to buy the honesty of Mr. Summerfield with a vice-presidency, 
and with fat fees, and there is the honest young man who can- 
not continue to be secretary to Mr. Summerneld because he 
cannot bear the idea that his revered master will do some- 
thing dishonest. This secretary also has a little side interest 
which his heroic standpoint brings to a happy conclusion. David, 
that is his name, has won the heart of the youngest daughter 
of Mr. Summerfield, and now, in the sublime moment when she 
realizes the "evil self of Papa, she decides to follow David 
and take up with him the struggles of life. And then, there 
is a highly melodramatic private conversation between "better 
self* and "evil self" of Papa Summerfield in the death-cham- 
ber of the departed wife. It is one of those scenes that are 
enjoyed by cooks and chambermaids, digested after working 
hours from those ominous paper-covered thick volumes known 
ordinarily as dime novels, whose price has been raised to twenty- 
-five cents. It would be enjoyed as a scene commonly known as 
one "that gives you the creeps," that "starts the goose-flesh." 

Papa Summerfield leaves the mysterious death-chamber of his 
wife and returns to his library. 

Enter all persons in question as there are: The honest sec- 
retary with the youngest daughter ready to leave forever, the 
disinherited daughter, who has a baby at home and the son-in- 
law "who shall never cross this threshold again." They expect 
a parting for life. But lo ! Old man Summerfield is his "better 
self again. "You all can remain," says he; "I have thought 
the matter over and I am going to join forces with my sons-in- 
law. Honesty will lead us to success. David, I welcome as 
the husband of my youngest daugter '* 

One looked expectantly toward the door; but the nursemaid 
with the baby upon her arm did not appear. 

Owen Davis and Robert Davis are the "two selves" that 
manufactured this show piece. One might be a very success- 
ful magazine editor, and an expert in selecting and purchasing 
the kind of stuff that people are supposed to like in our popular 
magazines. ^ But a successful career of this sort is poor experi- 
ence to write a drama for American theatre-goers. Even such 
features as there were on the program, "that the curtain never 



494 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

rises and never is rung down between the acts and scenes of 
'Any House'," is an insufficient feature after the street 
exterior of the house is lifted and the living room of this 
fashionable mansion is right next to the sidewalk. The appear- 
ance of the personified better self of a man is as old as the 
development of stage tricks. It was used in France and Ger- 
many to much better advantage early in the Eighteenth 
Century. 

Papa Summerfield saved the situation temporarily by excellent 
acting. He was "the evil self" of a man as well impersonated 
as it is in real life. But that "better self" was just a poor 
attempt at something unknown. At what? Ask Mr. Davis! 

One must be a creator and a critic, and sincere in everything 
in life and in art in order to be able to write a drama. 

The editor, the able editor of popular magazines, might do 
well to follow his real metier: to write vaudeville sketches. 

G. B. 

Hassan and His Wives 

A ND it was at the hour of the full moon, the doors of the 
^^ castle were pushed open and there entered silently into 
the garden, Hassan and his seven wives, crossed over to the 
melodiously splashing fountain, disrobed, and seated themselves 
in a semi-circle. 

And Hassan Bedr-ed Din, said: 

"I am your master, creatures of the curved rib, but verily 
rather would I be a hunchback beggar than your master solely I 
Because my soul is thirsty for love." 

And he looked into the deer-like eyes of Butheines: 

"What is the utmost that you can do for me, woman?'* 

"Singing and dancing will I do for thee, O lord !" 

Hassan shrugged his shoulders and turned to Kuttel Kulub: 

"And you also, only singing and dancing?" 

"I will tell you a thousand fairy tales: About the Prince 
who was turned to stone, about the veziers of the King Junan, 
and Isrit and about the old Scheichs." 

"What can you give me, Scherczade?" 

"Every lust of the body, lord I My blood boils like the wind 
of the desert!" 

Nushet-es-Saman said: "I can be true to you, from the 
bottom of my heart, oh Hassan! And not because I have to!" 

And Sophia: "I can relate to you the works of the Prophet, 
and I can explain them, and I know the secrets of the stars!" 

And the dark-haired Dunjaisaid, the one with the queen-like 
figure, fell to the feet of Hassan^ covering them with kisses, 
and her voice vibrated like leaves in a hurricane: "I could die 
for thee, oh lord!" 

A happy smile passed over the face of the master, and he 
kissed Dunjaisaid. 

The seventh woman sat still unquestioned, near the foun- 
tain. And she opened her mouth and said: "Why should I 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 495 

keep silent and make a secret of my love, because you, oh 
Hassan, do not look at me?" 

Hassan smiled snobbishly: "Arise! What on earth could 
you do for me after Dunjaisaid is ready to die for me?" 

"I could live for you, oh Lord!" 

'After the Persian by Guido Bruno. 

BiOi^mphy 

j\ BLACK crow flapped his wings in a dead tree. 
^^' At that moment I was bom. 

A camel awoke, stretched and wandered away over the 
desert; just then my mate came into being. 
. We met quite accidentally at Dajeeling, married, raised five 
children, built a house, and kqE>t a cat. 

Later, we died and were buried in the same grave. 

This completes our history . . . 

Not that it does anybody any good. 

— Tom Sleeper. 

Replies 

By Richard Aldington, 

I 

U/ HEN I was hungry and implored them, they said: "The 
^^ sun-beetle eats dung: imitate him." 

I implored them for my life's sake and they replied: "Last 
year's roses are dead; why should you live?" 

II 

(Three yeass later) 

•¥• HEY came to me and said: "You must aid us for the 
* sake of our God and our World." 

I replied: "Your god is a beetle and your world a ball of 
dung." 

But they returned and said: "You must give your life to 
defend us." 

And I answered: 'Though a million of you die, next spring 
shall not lack roses." 

— From The Egoist, London. 



D«eollet« 



CHE walked, an Eve, 

•^ Created not, mankindness to deceive. 
And lo! 

Quoth she, "Why are they draped so? 
God made me. 
Is it then. 
Fit I should upholstered be by men? 

L'Innocent. 



496 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

London Letter 

London Office of BRUNO'S WEEKLY, 
18 St. Charles Square, New Kensington, 

January Zlst, 1916. 

fM ADAME SARAH BERNHARDT is doubtless a brave 
*^* woman, but is she discreet? Undeterred by her great age 
or her physical infirmity she insists on appearing in public 
There should be, as in Russia, a law forbidding actresses over 
forty-five or fifty from sacrificing their reputations, their 
beautiful memories to a foolish vanity. 

Of course, the great public here doesn't take this view. Any- 
one to whom it has once given admiration or affection is for- 
ever sacred to it. We have comedians in London who have lived 
successfully for a dozen years on one good joke or play. Bern- 
hardt has been at the Coliseum this week with her voice — still 
marvellous to say, not without magic — ^and — ^poor thing! — ^hcr 
artificial limb. She recited Les Cathidrales, sitting in a gre?it 
throne-like chair the while, and then acted in Du Theatre au 
Champ d* Honneur, a little war piece. The latter was rather 
dreadful, but the Coliseum audience, one of the stupidest and 
most sentimental in London, was apparently enthralled. 

At the Shaftesbury Theatre we have had another interesting 
though not quite successful entertainment this week. It is 
another case of a musician endeavoring to digest a literary 
masterpiece much in the way that Liza Lehmann did with 
Everyman, as I mentioned in my last letter. This time it is 
Sir Charles Stanford who has endeavored to turn Sheridan's 
Critic into a kind of music play or comedy with music. The 
result is not spontaneously successful. Sir Charles has no very 
light gift of musical humour and some of his musical jokes are 
very heavy indeed. The composer has mixed original music 
with parodies of Wagner, Strauss, Debussy and the old style 
of Italian opera like Trovaiore. Sheridan is good and Sir 
Charles Stanford is good in his own way as a composer of 
light academic work and a professor of distinction, but the 
combination is unsatisfactory. 

Quite a number of French and Belgian books and reviews 
continue to be printed and published in England. The Paris 
firm of Figuiere has a printing works at Cardiff — "The Welsh 
Outlook Press." There is a company of publishers in London, 
issuing new novels and other books in French, in the ordinary 
French format with yellow paper covers. Belgian and French 
novelists in veile issue their works in this way. Et jai vouler 
la Paix, by Andre Spire, is just published by the Egoist. Spire, 
who has passed most of the time since the outbreak of the war 
in Nancy, close to the firing line, has been recently engaged in 
buying leather for the French Government, and a little while 
ago paid a business visit to London.^ I did not see him, but he 
was taken to the Cafe Royal, I believe, to meet the poets and 
painters, and now, chiefly through the instrumentality of my 
friend, Richard Aldington, I fancy, we have this little volume of 
verse. The following is taken from a poem called Images, 
written at Nancy in September, 1914. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 49X 

Mais pentends le canon aux portes de ma ville; 

Je vols sur nos canaux, nos places et nos rues 

Tes troupeaux de blesses; 

Je vois tes carbillards suivis de Veterans et de drapeaux 

£t tes paysans fuir avec leurs fourrageres 

Pleines de matelas, de femmes et d'enfants 

Et je m'asseois. I'attends. 

Oh! Silence! Silence! ... 

Jusqu'an jour ou ces corps defaits, ces visages hagards^ 

Ces cris, ces pleurs, ces lignes, ces pus, ces puanteuos, 

Une plus imperieuse image: la Victoire, 

Les aura deloges de nos zeux, de nos coeurs. 

Thus there emerges from the poem the triumphant motive: 
which, perhaps, America, happy in the possession of peace, does- 
not quite understand. I find in many American papers andi 
reviews a frequent expression of commiseration for us in. 
Europe with our terrible war. It is true that it is a horrible- 
enough affair and that the amount of misery and tragedy in, 
Europe is something fearful to contemplate, but there is, at the 
same time, an acceptance of it, a recognition that it is the- 
eventable contrast against which joy shines, a kind of pride ia* 
it, in fact. 

Among new novels, Arnold Bennett's These Twain, calls for 
a line, though since it has probably been published simultaneously 
in America, you will have heard all about it long before this' 
letter appears. 

An absurd book though of which probably you will not hear 
has just been issued in honour of Hilaire Belloc, who has risea% 
to considerable eminence of late, owing to his false prophesies 
on the subject of the war. Two young men who should know 
better have perpetrated this fatuity~C. Creighton Mandell and' 
£. Shanks. The book is divided into chapters such as Mr. 
Belloc and the Public, Mr. Belloc and Europe, Mr. Belloc and* 
the Future, and so on. Perhaps you don't evin know who' 
Hilaire Belloc is? 

But that I should not seem to give you notice only of bad" 
or foolish books let me end by mentioning one that is excellent- 
Professor G. Baldwin Brown s Arts in Early England, of which 
Volumes III and IV have just appeared. It is full of leamingr 
and imaginative appeal. 

Edward Storer. 

Books and Magazines of the Week 

O USSIAN literature translated originally during the Crimeaiv 
*^ War and refreshed sporadically during the Russo- 
Japanese struggles is being warmed up and re-hashed and served" 
on toast in England since the outbreak of the European strug- 
gles. As the good old boarding-house woman knows well what to^ 
do with her Sunday chicken on Monday, Tuesday and the subse- 
quent days, so the publishers on Fleet Street fish out from thcir* 
morgues hurried translations and then they are reprinted cheaply 
and fed to the populace. 



498 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

The modem authors, of whom there exist a German or 
French translation, are being done into English by translators 
now "from the original Russian." Just look at these translations 
which arrive with every English boat. I daresay that at least 
two-thirds of these books came to England via France and via 
Germany. Russian can be translated into English. But only 
by such as have an excellent knowledge of English and a fair 
knowledge of Russian. There is too much German and French 
flavor and spirit in these Russian translations of our days. The 
wonderful primitive way of expressing situations by compari- 
sons, of picturing life through the most di£Ficult mosaic of life 
in detail is lost. 

The American translations are far better. Russia is nearer 
to the heart of America than to the heart of England. Russia 
is to America the representative of everything Slavic in Europe. 
The Slavic element is very vital in our everyday life. The 
melancholy of those struggling for freedom — ^no matter if 
spiritual or financial — is well-known to us. The technical knowl- 
edge of the language has a big assistant: the sympathy of 
translator and of reader. 

The Russia of a Gogol, the Russia of an Arzibashe£F with the 
struggling minority against the tryannies of a Czardom by 
"God's grace" against oppressors who want Russia's financial 
downfall, who want slaves in spirit and meek servants instead 
of free men, must find a sympathetic echo in the hearts of free 
Americans. 

These translations, as published during the past year by Mr. 
Huebsch, and lately by Mr. Knopf (whose address, by the way, 
is in no directory, and letters to whom are being sent back as 
undeliverable constantly), are not only superior from a technical 
standpoint or from the standpoint of a linquist, but they really 
carry to us THE message. The great Russian authors, who are 
Artists, apostles of a new and better era for their beloved 
Russia, and leaders of their people at large at the same time, 
speak to us in their own language. In most of the English 
translations they seem to be using a megaphone. 

While reading a few days ago in a Bohemian magazine that 
Oscar Wilde's Reading Gaol had been translated into Bohemian 
and into Serbian recently and sent in thousands of copies to 
military concentration camps, I remembered another singer amid 
prison walls— one who suffered in Russian prisons and such 
torture houses as the Schluesselburg, twenty-five years of his 
life for the gravest crime one can commit in Russia; he was 
an independent editor of a paper that should tell his readers the 
truth and nothing but the truth. Nicholas Alexandrovitch 
Morosow, son of a nobleman and a peasant woman, after a 
liberal education in colleges and universities, decided, at the 
age of nineteen, to join the group of young Socialists whidi 
went, in 1874, preaching through the country, trying to make 
men and women see the real value of life. 

He went to St. Petersburg and was editor in quick succession 
of those three journals that were severely persecuted by the 
Russian Government. He left Russia, warned by a good friend 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 49» 

that there was a warrant out against him. But he would not 
have been a Russian, a real Russian, if he could have kept out 
of his country for the rest of his life. And he came bade. 

Everything might be rotten in Russia, systems and adminis- 
trations; but the filing-index on which are kept the names of 
those that offend the ''sacro-sanct person of the Czar" or dare 
to suggest a better Russia, free of graft and injustice, is kept 
in constant workings order. Morosow was arrested the same 
second he crossed the boundaries of Holy Russia. He was 
sentenced to life imprisonment. 

Longing for freedom, for the freedom of his nation, had beeti 
the impetus of his life. After he lost his own personal free- 
dom, he knew so much better how his nation in bondage suffered, 
how it was destined to suffer for centuries to come. 

All his strength, all his sentimentality, all his love for his 
nation, for clean, pure air and for blue skies, and all the hopes 
and imagination of a new, of a free Russia are the threads with 
which he wove that wonderful Grobelin, his life work, that he 
started, worked upon and finished in the hopeless leaden misery 
of Russian prisons: his prison song. 

Conionporary Verse 

One distinction has the second number of this magazine 
which is everything but contemporary; the bad poet, who made 
a name for himself in a weekly book-trade paper, unjustly 
called Book Review, by interviewing similarly bad poets, is not 
among their contributors. Eleven names were contained in the 
initial issue of this new poetical gift that Washington, D. C, 
has bestowed upon us and if it k)ses every month one con- 
tributor, the December issue will be up to the highest expecta- 
tions. 

Tlie SpotBght 

This is a new periodical, whose Volume 1, Number 1, has 
arrived at our desk. "Edited and owned by the people," it 
says. It contains effusions against the policy of preparedness. 
Who is this "people"? 

Aletfuaa 

The general issue of this pyschic magazine contains valuable 
information for our poets. 

"Those who scoff at the thought that Spirit, or spirits, respond 
to special invitation to be present at gatherings of mortals at 
specific times and places may explain why a number of Alethian 
Students who had never previously produced a line of verse, 
have spontaneously delivered commendable poetry at our lecture 
classes." 

Tlie Colonnade 

"The essence of Strindberg," by Harold Berman, is an inters 
esting attempt to understand and to appreciate "the deep-rooted 
mysticism with an original and dual outlook upon life as the 
motives underlying the enigmatic personality of August Strind- 
berg." 

"The Threefold Admonishment" is another one of Arthur 



^00 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Schnitzler's stones, translated from the German, by Pierre 
Loving. The efiForts of Mr.. Loving to introduce to us this 
eminent Viennese writer are very laudable, but he chooses 
-Schnitzler's early work. Why not try to give us some of his 
best? Those bits, full of life, and still of a rare quietness of 
which he has proved master? 



In Our Village 



LORENCE GOUGH and Lindsey Cooper joined the small 
shop movement in the Village and opened a costtmie shop 
for the designing and creating of fancy dress costumes and mod- 
-em clothes. Miss Gough is doing the designing. She has an 
unique color sense and she is proud of the wide opportunity she 
had for expression, not only in costuming, but in spectacular 
-stage setting! "She also claims priority right to the daring color 
combinations regarded dubiously by the Academicians before 
^he coming of Bakst." 

And daring is the interior of the shop. The floor is tomato 
red, the walls are black, yellow and turquoise, the color is 
splashed on the walls as by the ire of genius. Of genius that 
simply must express itself in vivid glaring colors and that 
wouldn't care to sit even in a chair or on a stool which does not 
"Carry the flaming message to its organism in repose. Therefore, 
orange and lavender seating occasions. 

Two large figures of yellow cambric, with disarranged anato- 
mies, stand in the show window, like heralds of a new sartorial 
apostle. 

And Miss Cooper, the director of the institution, assures that 
the faithful came from the first day, immediately after the yel- 
low cambrics had hit their eyes. A large number of costumes, 
worn at the recent Censors Ball and the Beaux Arts* party 
emanated from here, and the Liberal Club Ball and the Masses' 
Ball will be vivid and glaring witnesses of this new shop in Our 
Village. 

Alice Palmer, she of the Sunflower Shop, has opened The Vil- 
lage Store and announces that its mission will be a ''Gift Shop." 
She will sell odd bits of brass, china, wood, furniture and souve- 
nirs, at reasonable prices. 

A frequent visitor to the Village during the past weeks has 
been Joseph Louis French, the poet.. He contemplates a new 
edition of his corrected works, poems that have appeared during 
the past twenty years in magazines and periodicals in the United 
Staees and England. 

Charles Keeler has united many of his poems in a volume that 
will soon be published by Laurence Gomme, "in his little shop 
around the comer." They are called "Victory," and contain some 
of Mr. Keeler's best work. 

Bernhardt Wall, the etcher, has conceived the idea of a series 
of preparedness pictures, to be produced as movie cartoons. He 
is hard at work at them and contemplating: the acceptance of one 
of the many offers he has received from film companies. 



Heloise Maynes plans for her many friends and admirers an 
tnfonnal dance for Saturday, the 19th, which will take ptace in 
her "Wardrobe." 
Bruno** Gamt 

A group of youn^ Russian painters will exhibit a representa- 
tive selection of their paintings in Bruno's Garret. The exhibi- 
tion opens on Thursday, the 17th, and will last until the 25th 
of February. The poetry readings and Monday evening lectures 
have to be interrupted on account of the fire until March the 
Sth. Upon this day. the necessary restoration work will have 
been finished and Bruno's Garret will welcome everybody that 
wishes to attend its house- warming. 

Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre 

VIRGINIA O. MADIGAN, who was heard last week in her 
"' recitation to music of Victor Sardou's "Leah the Forsaken,* 
has remarkable talent to interpret with her strong resonant 
voice, the words of the author. Music and spoken word seem 
to grow to a unit which does not fail to act upon our senses. 
Our eyes and our ears are similarly attracted. Miss Madigan, 
who just completed her eleventh year, will continue her dramatic 
studies. 

Thursday, Friday and Saturday of this week the program will 
include a selection of songs by Miss Sara S. Broughton, known 
as church singer and who aspires to enter upon a concert career. 
Her program includes : The Star, by Rogers ; Where my Cara- 
van Has Rested, by Lohr; The Years at the Spring, by^ Beach. 

Miss Lila Van Kirk will give three of her Italian illustrated 
traveilogues, "Two Weeks in Rome," "A Walk Through the 
Streets of Florence," and "Naples, Pompeii, Vesuvius, Venice 
(by moonlight) and Italian Lakes." This series is arranged as a 
trip through Italy, on this side of the ocean and Miss Van Kitk 



T 



502 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

has sought to make her individuality that of a purely conversa- 
tional tone of delivery, thereby tendering the' atmosphere of her 
historic subject. 

Today 

RINITY CHURCH stands at the head of Wall Street. 
Facing East, it represents God. At the foot is the East 
River oblivion. The Stock Exchange is between, the Temple of 
Mammon; the, Custom House is beside. It is the place of the 
law. We have here the channel and its ports. In the daytime 
a human tide here ebbs and flows. At certain seasons the flow 
is well defined; on the eve of panic from Mammon to God, as 
the herd gathers before the storm; in the panic the Street is in 
flood. Some are pushed into oblivion, but the Street remains 
full.— Curious paradox. — In the time of plenty, the tide sets 
to the place of the law. Man is mindful of its comforts in the 
hour of fortune; Gold has its concomitants; noblesse oblige. 
In the Temple of Mammon all is Babel. No tongue is of the 
Pentecost. They cry aloud and dance to the music of their 
throats. Then comes a hush. The place empties like a sigh. 
But after all is said and done the trend is up and down ; some 
to the churchyard, some to the river. There is rest. 

And old Trinity smiles down equally upon the mob and the 
dead. They are alike, incidents. 

—G. £. M. 



Song 



CHE came like a falling star, 
*^ Sudden, and swift, and bright, 
From the heaven of heavens afar 
On the wilderness of night. 

She came like a falling star, 

Flashed by, and was no more; 
But the wilderness where lost lovers are 

Is darker than before. 

— 0. r. M. 

Replated Platitudet 

MATURALLY, people who never stop to trouble about the 
*^ Truth, object to have the Truth stop to trouble about them, 
especially when the trouble about the Truth is: It never stops 
their troubles. 

The man who needs a bracer, better brace up against the town- 
pump. 

A world menace: the unteachable self-taught. 

Julius Doemer. 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Btfson* and 
edited and written by^ Guido Bruno* both at 98 Washingtoa 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 

Entered as second class matter at the Post Office of New York, N. Y., 
October 14th, 1916. under the Act of March Sd, 1879. 



IUEP m HT WALLS a pmmmmI tiUUliM tf utognpkt. tawcripli 
mi liftorical dacoNBtt, tad kiTt at frtttat aa ttpadiD j fattrtttiaf mI> 
ladiaa af kttars aad arigiaal aaaBtcripIt hj Abrakaai Uacab, Gaarga 
WaaUaftaa, Rtbcrt Lads SteTaataa, OMar WiUt aad Ugu ADaa f^: TIaM 
ara tka arfgiaal tcripU af itariat, paoM aad dacoNats wkick kava aada tkaaa 
BKifaiMaf. Ifiatarcttad,4rafMaliBa,arbattar,caaMaaataaBijaiUbiliaa. 

PATRICK FRANCIS HADIGAN 

Sei FiltkATa. (aBtraact4MSt.) NawTark 

At the Sign of the Red Lamp 

Fifty-three WestThird Street, New York 

YcNi will find thia old mad pictoraaquc Chop Houao, 
TWO DOORS EAST OF WEST BROADWAY 
Wo mako a apocialty of Soa Food, Staak and Chopa 

SAMUEL S. BROAD, Propriotor Tolopbono: Spring 5963 

Open Ev^aiacs aatil NiBa 

RAREBOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 

Extra ninatrat^ Booka. Early Printod Booka. Aaaodation Booka 

Bobka f or Chrialmaa GifU 

Pmcliaaed nagly or ia sets for people wko liaTe aeilher time aor opportnnily to 
•elect for theaieelvet, or for those wno kave oot access to the best book marts. 

Why not begin coUectiBg aow> 



AddreM E. V., Bostcm Transcript, Boston, Mass. 

UBRAIRIE FRANCAISE DEUTSCHE BUECHER 

Librairie Francaise 

111 Fourtk Avenue 



Alwaya on hand a larga^ fin« aolection of beat 
Franch, Engliah, German and Spaniah romances. 
Beat English literature and foreign clasaica a spec- 
ialty. All lands of literature bought and exchanged. 

Art magaaines wanted. 



WRITE US WHAT YOU ARE INTERESTED IN. 



aRCUUTING LIBRARY ENGUSH BOOKS 



flMifai IT<inii*i I Hill TIAriMi Tliiitri. 

■t N^lORfth AvwMbGiMBwidi Vai«ibN.Y.a 



This Week's Performancet 

TaMdajb 8i48 p. ak SiWM PU|r«n 

WtJaniiay» 014$ p. ak BraM PU|r«n 

TMWWHQff oilv p» fli* Mmicam 

FffMay, MS p. ak Jhihili 

Sdantef 9 SsOO p. ak Wnmn nifcn 

Sataff^i 8ilS ^ ak ifc tica U 

Aak or write for tickel of adaistioii to &e 
MutkdM. Tbejr are f rea. 



Bruno Players 

wiU op«i their season in 

Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre 

10 Fifth Avenue, Greenwich '\^llage, New York Gty 

Monday, February 21st 

widk a BERNARD SHAWS 

Passion, Poison, Petrifaction! 

•ad AUGUST STRINDBERCS 

Miss Julia. 

Only 1 20 Seats at One Dollar Each 

To be bwl at tbe BOX OfTICE. 10 FIFTH AVENUE, or by Mail 



p 



RUNO'S WEEKLY 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Five Cento February 26tli, 1916 



CopTiiibl FitnuT UA. 19T6. On'Bul ■ 



BRUNO pue 

AT 

CHARLES EMSOirS UTTLE THMBLE THEATRE 
AT NX TBI FFm AVENUE, GHEBiWICH VUACE. HT.C, 



I 



Miss Jnlia 

A NatnralMda Tra^y, In' Oae Act 



7k mam ta^ >bi> •■ MUmm £■ At Ik «Mhi rf «t Onr^- OmI* bM 
eUlDO BRUN^ t^mtm LANGDOU CMITT. Dinctar 

EVERY MONDAY. TUESDAY AND WEDNESDAY. 

mt ».4n P.IU. and HATURI>AY mt O o'oIooIe. 

ONLY 100 SEATS. AT ONE DOLLAR EACH 



Readers of Bruno's Weekly 
are ask#d to become 
Subscribers 

52 ISSUES FOR TWO DOLLARS 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 




Sq^um 



No. 9. FEBRUARY 26th. MCMXVI VoL II. 



AS«Kf 








€« 












From the Collection of Patrick F. Madigan 

TliM poem of G. K. Chesterton appeared ncv«r befoie in print 



The Bruno Players 

TT HE BRUNO PLAYERS will open their season on Feb- 
* ruary 28th, in Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre, 
No. 10 Fifth avenue, with August Strindberg's naturalistic 



504 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

drama, "Miss Julia." They are a small group of actors and 
actresses that wish to interpret Strindberg, TchekoflF, 
Wedekind, Artzibasheff and Gogol's works in the simple and 
sincere way in which these playwrights created tlieir char- 
acters. Under the managment of Guido Bruno, who is as- 
sisted in the direction by Langdon Gillet, they will play on 
three nights of the week, every Monday, Tuesday and Wed- 
nesday, and on one afternoon, on Saturday, in the Thimble 
Theatre, and later, the last three days of the week in an 
uptown show4iouse. 

The performances of the Bruno Players will not inter- 
fere and have no connection whatever with Mr. Charles 
Edison's work in the Thimble Theatre, benefitting Ameri- 
can musicians and composers, which will be continued, and 
the free musicales will take place on the evenings of Thurs- 
day, Friday and Saturday of each week. 

The Bruno Players do not intend to do anything startling, 
unusual or sensational. Everything wort^h while in life is 
simple and made of very humble substance. To view life 
as It is, to see what is actually happening, one needs just 
a pair of good eyes, and in order to understand what others 
say, the thino's that they really mean to say, one needs 
knowledge of the language and a pair of good ears. There- 
fore, there will be nothing startling and unusual used in the 
theatre of the Bruno Players. No luxurious equipment for 
the audience. No new color schemes, no unexpected effects 
or revolutionizing stage features, no architecture, producing 
optical illusions on the stage. It will be a show house in 
the realest sense of the word. A house where something 
is shown. 

T'he things which are put on show being the only reason 
for the existence of the house, and its main and sole feature. 

Only with physical comfort is the human mind susceptible 
to new impressions, ready to listen, to like or dislike, to 
approve of or to reject. An unprejudiced mind must be 
housed in a comfortable-feeling, self-unconscious body. 
Therefore, comfortable armchairs are provided with plenty 
of room to the right and to the left, to enable one to change 
one's position easily, and plenty of space between rows, so 
that the legs do not feel stepmotherly treated. 

The stage is simple. Just an elevation, with no other 
purpose than to expose the performers conspicuously to 
everybody present. ACTING IS GOOD AS THE RESULT 
OF BEING ITSELF. Therefore, stage settings of more 
or less conspicuous designs, decorations of all kinds, the 
appliance of the science of stage lighting are only irritating 
and distractive to the attention. 

Miss Julia by August Strindberg 

|LiISS JULIA is the strongest of the naturalistic 
*^* dramas Strindberg wrote in the best years of his life. 
He considered it himself the best work that he had ever 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 505 

done. The Swedish censors prohibited its production in 
Sweden, and it was acted in New York but once — at a private 
performance, some years ago, before an invited audience in 
the Forty-eighth Street Theatre. 

Strindberg is no playwright, from the standpoint of the 
modern theatrical producer. He does not care for construc- 
tion. He does not build up situations carefully. There is 
no painstaking architecture of actions. We do not admire 
the objective correctness, or consequence of the characters 
he paints; all we see is the gripping life and the brutal truth 
of detail. Strindberg is not satisfied that we see the things 
he chooses to show us, but we have to feel them on our 
skin. We have to bump against them if we find ourselves 
unexpectedlv confronted with them. He is not a planner who 
builds up his work before our eyes. He is not a painter 
of decorations who provides for us illusions and perspective 
pleasures of the eye; he is the magician who spills every- 
thing right under our noses — too often, not over pleasantly, 
because he does not always charm forth peaches and 
canaries. 

"Miss Julia" is a consciously naturalistic tragedy, very un- 
real in its construction. Strindberg has an uncanny power 
to paint the wild and hunted life of the minute, and the 
explosion of actions, the hissing vapors of wrath. He 
knows better than anyone else how to show us everything 
animal and primitive in the life of the soul, the hatred and 
anger, the combat between hostile wills, but also resigna- 
tion, weariness, and dejection. But the naturalist with the 
clear and sharp eyes, is also a mystic, following Swedenborg 
into his translunaric world, one who knows how to charni 
before our eyes, the dark plays of dreams and the abysses 
of the soul. 

-Strindberg miglfit fail very often, as his adversaries claim 
justly, to give us a deep psychological evolution of his char- 
acters, but he never fails to show us through his elementary 
dramatic actions, through his dialogues, to which one has 
to listen and llirough his effects, which cannot be ignored 
as less than explosions — real life. 

To do on the stage what Strindberg did on paper is thel 
intention of the Bruno Players. 



London Letter 

Lomloa Offsc* of BRUNO'S WEEKLY. 
18 St. Charles Squar*. New Keneington. 

Febmar^ lOih, 1916. 

HIS week I think I will begin with a little chat on some 
of London's literary book-shops — I mean the intime 
interesting places where an atmosphere of humanity and 
the humanities lingers. We have our share of the other kind 
too^glittering parlours where the new books are stacked in 
lifeless slabs, places full of choas and quantity. But there 
are perhaps as many as a dozen or so little places which 



506 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



make for the pleasure and worthiness of book-buying in 
London. I scarcely know where to begin or with whom. 
There is "The Poetry Bookshop, and Dan Rider's, well 
known to American literary men and artists, and the Bomb 
Shop in Charing Cross Road, with its Socialist and Anarchist 
literature, and Beaumont's, opposite, with the delightful 
drawings by continental artists, and Reeves, by Waterloo 
Bridge, who buys the reviewers' review copies, and Mr. 
Shore's Book Parlour, oflF Holborn. There are the barrows 
in the roadway in the Farringdon Road, where you may get 
a beautiful text of Aeskhylos or Terence for a penny, or 
unearth a neglected Aldine from a mass of rubbish, if you 
are lucky. 

Harold Monro's Poetry Bookshop, in Devonshire street, 
has been the subject of mansr articles, I fancy, some^ of 
which have appeared in American journals. Yet, possibly 
the real reason for the existence of such a shop has never 
been explained. In planning his venture, Mr. Monro per- 
ceived what all modern poets have had to face at one time 
or another of their careers that the ordinary channels of 
approach between author and public are closed for them. 
To the average bookseller all new peotry is dead. To him 
its birth certificate is also its death certificate. Under pres- 
sure he will order you a copy of a book of contemporary 
verse, but he would rather not. It employs the energies of 
his staff in an unprofitable adventjure. As a resull/, t<he 
author of a book of new poetry has to find an opening for 
it himself. He must, when he has written it, become com- 
mercial traveller for it and actual, if not nominal, publisher 
as well. Mr. Monro saw this, as we have all seen it, and the 
obvious deduction from it was that in order that contiem- 
porary poetry may have a chance to exist, the public for 
whom it is intended must be brought together. First, ihia 
public, which, after the dissipation of theYellow Book 
movement and the art-culture of the nineties, was scattered 
and lost, must be rediscovered. Monro set himself the 
task of appealing directly to this lost public, this audience of 
awakened and awakening souls. I am sure it was no easy 
task, but in a measure it has been successfully accomplished. 
The proprietor of The Peotry Bookshop was the man to 
•carry the scheme through. He had a genuine love of poetry 
for its own sake, and in a sense he was incorruptible — that is, 
he would not come down to publishing rubbishy verse be- 
cause the author of it was a wealthy person who could af- 
ford to offer a nice bonus over the printing cost. Monro 
had a quarterly review. Poetry and Drama, which he al- 
lowed to perish soon after the war began — too timidly, I 
think. The Poetry Bookshop is now— even in war time — a 
successful venture. Its danger, of course, is that it will be 
too successful and prefer a good balance-sheet to the austere 
service of the Muses. 

Everybody knows "Dan's," or Dan Rider's bookshop^ 
Dan is '^the laughing bookseller," the friend of the impover- 
ished artist, the proprietor of the smallest and jolliest Bo- 



BRUN<yS WEEKLY S07 

hcmiati club in London, the first man American writers visit 
when they come to London. In the little square room at the 
back of the shop many projects have been hatched. There, 
at his table, covered with books and papers^ sits "Dan," 
dispensing advice or his cheerful cynicism to whomsoever 
may look in. The place is an institution often described in 
articles and novels, and I cannot do justice to it. 

At the Bomb Shop you buy Socialist and Anarchist litera- 
ture, Fabian wares, L L. P. pamphlets, and suffrage litera- 
ture. For first editions, especially of modern poets, and per- 
haps particularly of Francis Thompson, one would go to 
The Serendipitv Shop, so named after the word coined bv 
Horace Walpole. Everard Meynell, son of Alice Meynell, 
keeps this charming little book snugery. But, perhaps that 
is enough of book-shops for today. 

Edward Storer. 



After the German of Stanislav Przybyszewsky, Author of 

"Homo Sapiens.'' 
By Gtddo Bruno. 

IN the beginning there was sex. i . . 
' Out of the voice box of the human being sex tore the 
first long-stretched sounds, it directed them to the tact of 
the pulsing heart, it formed them into rhythm and melody, 
it shaped them into the neighing, howling and growling of 
pain, into the snarling and grinning of hatred, into the mur- 
muring and whispering of love, into the smuttered, heaven-^ 
high joyful shouts of gladnes of the organism and of ecstacy: 

Sex gave birth to the world: 

And sex diffused itself with super-power into the muscles 
of the human body; it handed man the club as it came upon 
him to destroy his rival in the contest for his mate, it in- 
creased his powers unto the indefinite when he had to pro- 
tect the life of his mate and of his brood. It helped him to 
clear forests, to tear apart the womb of the earth, to direct 
into new beds rivers and lakes, to subdue seas and to con- 
quer mountains; sex awakened the brain from its slumber, 
forcing it into incomprehensible su£Fering and into the labors 
of never-heard-of work and into cunning and into the sly 
betraying with which he stole the fire from the ^ods and 
into audacious daring so that he mounted the Pelian upon 
the Ossa, and so that he broke open the doors of the king- 
dom of heaven. 

Sex gave birth to the deed. 

And sex forced its way into the heart of man. It filled 
it out completely. It awaked in man the desire to see every- 
body as happy as sex itself was in its sacred elevation of 
happiness. It incended in him the powerful wish to play 
music for the whole world to a joy-dance, so that every- 



508 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

body might become self-conscious in blissful play and might 
join in the great sacred hymn of life. To the tables of 
richest banquets did it invite all, and therefore sex created 
pity and consolidation, it created father and mother, brother 
and sister, it united the human sex through bonds of blood 
and of friendship. But at the same time it became the origin 
of revengefulness and of inordinate desire of murder and of 
crime; it separated and crushed to every wind the seed of the 
Abel, of the Seth and of the Cain. 

And so created sex the family, the clan, the nation. And 
then it tore open widely its eyes and looked back with 
inexpressible longing and looked far, far back towards its 
divine origin. 

Millions and millions of years had it been staring into the 
sacred fire whose lustre meant life to all worlds and all ani- 
mals on which it lived. 

Sex craved for divinity! 

And it expanded the chest of man with fervent longing, 
it saturated his heart with the sweet poison of weakness and 
of trust, it stole one beam after another from out of the 
aboriginal fire until it had incended in the soul of man a 
heart-flame through which it started to dissolve and to dif- 
fuse completely and forget its own self-subsisting ego. 

In the love! 

And there came to pass the miracle: Amorphos Hyle 
united with Lo^os! 

The Holy Spirit descended upon sex and thus sex created 
— ^love. 

And now the bars broken down and the doors of the hu- 
man soul opened wide to the stars, to the heaven, to the sun; 
the beams of mercy and the most incomprehensible wonders 
sprouted suddenly from invisible origins; a thousand un- 
known feelings, comprehensions and perceptions expanded 
the human soul, expanded it to the bigness of the divine 
being; the arms were stretched out toward never-thought-of 
worlds; it bowed the knees before gruesome mysterious 
powers and man rooted up dust in terror, in trembling and 
m reverence; hidden forebodings became certainties and the 
certainty did hide in the deep, unlit darkness of the unknown 
— the unknown which was so indefinitely near. Mindful of 
its divine origin, sex nestled in the heart of man with the 
glad tidings: 

Sex was the first one to talk to man of God! The super- 
power of sex grew with love and the consciousness of its 
divinity. 

A hot stream poured out into the darkest hiding places 
and the most secret faults of the soul; it illuminated the 
darkest abysses with the sunny ^low of light; it inflamed 
rocks so that they were glowing m blazing flames; it reor- 
ganized the worlds and created them into its shapes and in 
new forms.^ All instincts were directed into its broad bed; 
all forebodings, all lust and all pain, hatred and the blessed 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 509 

ascension of man to heaven, the whole life's struggle of a 
boundless and unrestrained soul, and it carried the foaming 
waves to the opposite shore and threw them down at tjie 
feet of God so that He might rejoice in his image. 

And thus sex became the confidant of God and carried 
Him glad messages of how man had been drawn nearer to 
HIM through Art. 

Sex gave birth to Art. 

And so sex is the Androgyne, "father-mother" of all that 
is,^ that was, that will be: the powerful original fountain of 
might, of eternal strength, of enthusiasm and intoxication, 
of the most sacred attempt to storm the heavens and of the 
gravest, most detestable Pall of Man, of the highest virtue 
and of the most devilish crime. There is no power that can 
compare itself with sex, and as such it is the extreme beauty 
and the only link uniting us with the Absolute, because 
there^ it originated and to thence will it return. 

It is the hot gulf which melts the ice and which fructifies 
the earth, creating an Eden or a hell for the generation of 
men. ^ 

It is that ocean which encircles the whole universe, em- 
bracing it with loving arms. It is the one pledge and the 
one certainty of the divine in man. Cat's Paw. 



The Betrothed 



Translated from the Russian by John Cournos. 
nr HREE vears a lad played with a lass, three autumns. 
* Countless were the words spoken in whispers. That 
was how Maria loved Ivanl 

Who, among us, nowadavs, loves like that? 

The time came to put blossoms in the hair. And Maria 
was ^iven to another, she was not given to Ivanl 

Quickly the parents made the match between them. A 
nice, well-to-do son-in-law was found; the old folk were 
pleased with themselves. 

And there was no more honey in life for her; dark grew 
the face of Maria, even darker than an autumnal night. Only 
her eyes flickered, flickered like two candles. 

Her soul was weary, a frosty cold congealed her heart. 
Desolat ', she sang in the evenincr her dolorous songs. Death 
itself would have been w.lcomer. Yet bravelv she resigned 
herself, and bravely endured. 

Three years Maria lived with the ungracious one, three 
autumns. And one day she fell ill. She did not pine a long 
time, but died durin'^ the feast of Kuzma and Demian. 

And then thev buried Maria. 

O hoi the winter had come, with its frosts; white snow 
covered the gravel And Maria lay under the white snow; 
no longer flickered those eyes, the eyelids were sealed over 
them. 

One night Maria rose from her grave; she went to her 
husband. 



$10 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

A sigfn of the cross made he, Feodor her husband, the un- 
gracious one. 

"What docs she want, the accursed one?" and he would 
not let his wife in. 

Maria then went to he- father, to her mother she went. 

"At whom are you gaping?" said her father. 

"Where, witch, are you goino^?" said her mother. 

The father was frightened, the mother was frightened, they 
would not let their daughter into the house. 

Maria went to her godmother. 

"Get you away, souT of a sinner, where you will, there is 
no room for you here," and away sent the godmother her 
godchild* 

And Maria was now left alone, a stranger in this wide 
world; no other roof had she than the sky. 

"J will go to hin*, to my first one, my earlier one," thought 
Maria suddenly, "he will take me in I" 

And she appeared before Ivan's window. 

Near the window she could see Ivan sitting; he was 
painting a picture of the Virgin Mary. 

She knocked on the window. 

Then Ivan wakened his servant. It was night, and to- 
gether they went out with hatchets. 

The servant, when he saw Maria, was frightened. With- 
out looking round once he ran away. 

She looked at Ivan. 

"Take me in, I will not harm you." 

Ivan was overjoyed; he approached her, and he embraced 
her. 

"Stoi>l" she cried, "don't press me so tightly, my bones 
have lain for some time." 

And she herself kept lookhig at him, she could not tear her 
eyes away; she caressed him, and could not caress him 
enough. That was how Maria loved Ivan! 

Who, among us nowadays, loves like that? 

Ivan took Maria into his house, he did not show her to 
anyone; he gave her dresses, also food and drink. And thus 
they lived until Christmas together. 

On Christmas Day they went to church. In the church 
all began to look at Maria — her father and her mother, her 
husband Feodor and her godmother. 

When the service ended Maria went over to her mother. 

"Yes, I am your own," said Maria. "You will remember 
Uiat one night I came to you, and none of you would let me 
in, and so I went to my first one, my earlier one, and he took 



me m." 



And they all acknowledged Maria, and they gave judg- 
ment: they gave her not to her old husband Feodor, but they 
gave her to Ivan. 

O hoi the spring had come, the snow had thawed away, 
the green grass sprang up, and upon the little Red Hill were 
wedded Ivan and Maria. 

Here is an end to my tale, an end to my novel. 

FlOMllMEcONl.LlMKko 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 511 

EVERAL nights after the beginning, the moon came up 
through the dark aopearing unusually sleepy. 

When the stars who were envious of the moan's superior 
light, saw her worn-out condition they thought this an ex'* 
cellent opportunity for the wind to extinguish her as he 
had promised to do, and, calling to a comet who was visiting 
his friends in the heavens, ordered him to tell the wind that 
he now has a chance to fulfill his contract with them. 

The comet fell through space till he came to the region 
of gales and told the wind what was wanted of him. 

"AH right/' said the wind, and, whispering to the stars to 
steady themselves, filled his gigantic cheeks and blew a tre- 
mendous breath in the direction of the moon, expecting to 
see her totter and fall, black and lifeless, in the gloom. 

Now the moon was utterly unconscious of the fact that an 
attempt to annihilate her had been made, and, slowly turn* 
ing to the stars, who were shrieking and gripping at the sky 
in abject terror, said very blandly and without malice: "Say, 
little freckles of the night, what's all this fuss about?" 

AdTabiUnun 

Cat, 

Twelve years old and old at that, 
Shall I sing of thee today. 
Eh? 

Cat, 
Tenant of my lonely mat. 
If I did, what sliould I say, 

Eh? 

Cat, 
As a subject thou art flat; 
Go away and — play; nay — ^pray 

Stay. 

Catulus. 

Reputed Platitudes 

ATHLETICS is simply physical exertions divorced from 
a utilitarian purpose; for if any utility inhere to the 
exertions, it at once becomes just vulgar labor, and no gen- 
tleman will have anything to do with it. Thus: playing golf 
is athletic exercise: but hoeing pototoes is vulgar labor: 
ergo gentlemen don't hoe potatoes. 

Where a will won't make a wag, a wagward will some- 
times will. 

Hind-sight is to find out what was the matter with fore* 
sight. Julius Doerner. 

AU 

CONGl and a beam: 

•^ Life I and a flower: 
Death 1 and a dream: 
Scorn 1 and the hour. 

Joseph L. French. 



mm- 



A 



512 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

As I Walk Out on the Street 

LONG chain of carriages, delivery wagons and automo- 
biles blocked Fifth avenue on one of the sunny and 
mild afternoons we had last week, and among other pedestri- 
ans that wished to cross over to Thirty-fourth street, I 
waited patiently until the green sign, "Go," should be sub- 
stituted by the policeman for the peremptory red, "Stop.** 
The policeman stood amidst all this moving and waiting 
mass of humanity of harnessed animals and of rattling auto- 
mobile engines like a rock of safety or like a potentate 
among his subjects. 

It took a long time. A very long time. 

The imperative ringing of a bell, as is used on ambulances 
and the fire chiefs automobiles, made me look into the di- 
rection whence these sharp sounds interrupted the monotony 
of my waiting and of my obeying. Human misery has some- 
thing majestic, something that seems to give it a right to 
disobey laws. It was not an ambulance, and I also, could 
not espy the flaming red-painted touring car in which the 
commander of his Sre squads hurries to their temporary 
places of action. 

It was a big, green, what seemed to be, a delivery wagon, 
driven by a policeman, and a few policemen were at the 
other end of the wagon. It was a patrol wa^on. On 
benches alongside its walls behind bars, which admitted light 
and air into it, flanked b^** two policemen, sat a girl. 

The patrol wagon, too, had to obey the orders of the 
traffic policeman. It stopped. 

It stopped ricrht next to a snow white limousine, with 
purple curtains, and with 9 footman next to the chauffeur's 
seat. 

Both automobiles were side by side. I am tall. I could 
easily look into the vehicle: 

A girl between two policemen. The charge against her 
was written upon her face. 

T*!ie girl in the limousine, between two gentlemen. But 
a charge was also written upon this woman's face. 

"In uniforms, they guide the one to her earthly fat|e/' I 
thought. 

"Plain clothes men look after the other." 

A VERY large American flag was exhibited on Wash in g- 
^^ ton's Birthday, in a tremendous show window on Fifth 
avene. The Stars and Stripes were draped around a life- 
sized painting of Washington and around painted sigps, 
which told in big, black letters what "Washington liad 
said about Preparedness," and what "President Wilson had 
said about Preparedness," and there was all over the win- 
dow, in big black letters, the question directed to you or 
to me: "What will YOU do to defend your flag?" 

A half an hour later, I was sitting in a spaghetti house 
on Sixth avenue, where one can get an eight course dinner 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 513 



lor fifty cents, and a breath of "Bohemian atmosphere.'* 
Washington's Birthday was celebrated rhere by an addition 
of a biscuit tortoni to the regular dinner. It was served m 
flaming red paper, together with the black coffee. A little 
American flag was stuck upon it! 
How was I to defend this much abused flag? ^ 



The War 

117 £ HAVE a new chambermaid in our hotel since the 
^^ declaration of the war. She is a nice woman, slender, 
blonde, with a snub nose. She is not really a trained and 
experienced chambermaid, but for the last four years, the 
wife of one of our waiters, who was called to the colors. 
They took her in mostly out of charity, and she is helping 
out here and there. I gave her one krone, one day, which 
I had kept for years as a pocket-piece, and then, later on, 
I gave her several more krones, which I had not kept as 
pocket-pieces, and told her to buy some better food for her- 
self. She was pale, and I thought that she needed better 
food Uhan they served in the maids' dining-room. 

One day I said: "Mathilda, you are not using my krones 
for better food and for little luxuries, but you are sending 
it to your husband in the trenches 1" 

She blushed, and answered: "Isn't that food and luxury 
for me?" 

The next day after this little sketch had appeared in s 
local paper the young wife accosted me in the hallwjryr 
where she had been busy on some errand or other, and said: 

"I am so ashamed and so hurt because you brought me 
into the papers!" 

"Ashamed? Hurt! It was an honor, Mathilda!" 

"You poet, and you dreamer you! But I did not send the 
money at all to my husband. I ate it all myself! And 
not even that, I bought myself a new waist with it! How 
do I look now to you and\ to the world?" 

After Ae GeraMui o> Peter Ahmbcrg by Guido Bnmo 

A Poem by Richard Aldington 

Happiness 

EASE grumblinjy. brother! 
All men are wretched; 
Some too rich, 
Most too poor — 
Happiness eludes them. 



C 



We have books and talk. 

Women (not many) 

And rich imaeinings. 

Let us pardon the gods 

Who made us meu 

For they have made us poets! 

From The Egoist, London. 



514 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Books and Magazines of the Week 

117 A. BRENNAN, of the Medical Science Department of 
^^ * the John Crerar Library, of Chicago, has done tobacco 
in general and the much abused cigarette, especially, a great 
service. His book, "Tobacco Leaves," just published by the 
Index Office, Inc., in Wenasha, Wisconsin, contains the his- 
tory of tobacco, in all the forms it is being used, from the 
standpoint of a scientist ,from the standpoint of a manu*. 
facturer, of a salesman and of a consumer. There are chap- 
ters devoted to the botanical evolution of the tobacco plant 
and to the cultivation of the tobacco plant. There are a 
lot of statistics which are really a little bit dry for the aver- 
age tobacco lover and tobacco user. But there are such 
relieving chapters as "Cigarettes," "Snuff," "Pyschological 
Effects of Smoking." And tVhen there is a vast amount of 
quotations from medical journals, and from the pages of 
the best books of our best authors. Here is one, that should 
be read by those who always advocate the cigarette as one 
of the causes of a national decadence. It is from the New 
York Medical Journal of July 25, I9I4, an editorial: "Par- 
ticularly do the uninformed enjoy an attack on the cigarette; 
it is small, and its patrons, numerous as they are, yet form 
an insignificant minority in our immense population. There*^ 
fore, the cigarette and its users are fair game for cheap and 
silly sneers; sneers which are capable, however, of cowing 
an entire legislature, as in Georgia, at this moment. . Yet, 
beyond cavil, it has been proved . scientifically that of all 
methods of using tobacco, CIGARETTE SMOKING IS 
THE LEAST HARMFUL. Some months ago, the "Lan- 
cet" undertook a careful laboratory study of the various ways 
of consuming tobacco, with the result that it was found 
that cigarettes, Egyptian, Turkish and American, yielded the 
least amount of nicotine to the smoke formed; the cigar 
came next in point of harmfulness, while the pipe over- 
shadowed the cigar to the extent that from 70 to 90 per 
cent, of nicotine was said to exist in its smoke. 

"As to the paper of cigarettes, the attacks are simply pre- 
posterous. Men are well within their rights in forbidding 
cigarette smoking and other pleasures and distractions tio 
their employes; it is another matter when they seize an op- 
portunity to compound with vices they have a mind to, by 
damning one they're not inclined to, especially when the 
latter affords solace and recreation to millions perfectly 
capable of judging what is and what is not good for them. 
In Europe, where a good deal of logical thinking still pre- 
vails, there is probably not one smoker of distinction in any 
walk of life who does not include the cigarette in his nico- 
tine armamentarium." 

Allr«cl Knopf and "Homo Sapions** 

I do not know whether it is true, but if the rumors that 
Mr. Knopf, who was arrested by Sumner, at present Ameri- 
ca's Anthony Comstock, for publishing Przbyszewski's 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY SIS 

^■■■nBa^aBB^!S^B!9SBBBSBB9BBaaaSBaaaaaSBBB99HiBBi0KBaaB. 

"Homo Sapiens" has pleaded guilty, he did something which 
commands even more respect than to publish the book in 
question. 

I do not know who this Mr. Knopf is; letters I have writ- 
ten him have come back as undelivered; but if he really hat 
the courage of conviction to sacrifice the publicity connected 
with such a process in court, and would rather suffer finan- 
cial loss than to drag a work of art, which is unquestionably 
f&igh above suspicion, through the sewers of our yellow jour- 
nalism in order to sell a good many copies to seekers after 
the obscene, he must command the respect of everybody 
who knew Przbysewski. ''Homo Sapiens" was written in 
the Berlin days of the then exiled Pole. All of his works 
written in German in his best years, are more vigorous and 
more methodical and convincing than anything he diad ill 
later years in Polish. 

Mncb Ado 

Harry Turner, the editor of this fornightly, which carries 
SCiakespeare on its front cover and a champagne ad on its 
back cover, uses on the pages of his fortnightly mostly draw- 
ings, articles, poems and stories which he has lifted from 
exchange copies sent to him by Bruno's Weekly, Green^vich 
Village, and Bruno Chap Books. We find in the issue of 
February 17th, a drawing by Coulton Waugh, which was 
used several weeks ago as cover design for Bruno's Weekly, 
Harry Turner has used a lot of other drawings by the artists 
known to A.it readers of this journal. He not only abstains 
from giving credit to the publications, but does not even 
mention the name of either author or artist. 

This is the most detestable and the cheapest way of edit- 
ing a magazine. It is like selling stolen goods. 

D«r Sturm 

Herwarth Walden, the editor of this only international 
review appearing at present in Germany, publishes as the 
leading editorial of the current issue what he calls "The 
Song of Songs of Prussianism," a fine satire upon the Prus- 
sianism as it was hated before tihe war in all intellectual 
Germany, upon that militarism which appeared in carica- 
ture and sarcastic criticism in the leading art papers of Ger- 
many. 

Bolleliii of tho New York Public Library 

The January issue, just off the press, contains a very 
interestmg impression of the New York Public Library upon 
Roman Jaen, translated from the Spanish by George M. 
Russell, first lieutenant, cavalry, U. S. A. The same issue 
contains a list of works upon American Interoceanic canals* 
which can be found upon the shelves of the library. It is 
compiled by John C. Frank. 

Tho Trail 

The second number of this new literary venture, fostered 
in and sent to the world from Weyauwega, Wisconsin, offers 
special prices of $5 each for the best articles not to exceed 



516 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



five hundred words in length, answering that eternal ques- 
tion, "Why Suffrage Should be Equall" It is very safe to 
offer even a large price for the correct answer to this ques- 
tion in five hundred words. 

Thm Minaret 

This new magazine from Washington, D. C, develops, 
under the joint editorship of Herbert Bruncken, of Shaemus 
O. Sheel, and of Harold Hersey, into a very interesting con- 
temporaneous miscellany. The February issue contains^ 
"The Railroad Attorneys," another one of "SiXiouttes of the 
City," by Harold Hersey. " 

In Our Village 

I WAS down at Alice Palmer's "Village Store," right next 
* to my Garret, where Aunt Clemmie used to have a dining- 
room last year and sell such excellent Southern food. 

It was late in the afternoon, and the villagers were very 
busy sewing costumes for the Pagan Rout, the annual blow- 
out of the Liberal Club. The store was deserted. Alice 
Palmer, in a big chair, sat before the dying-out grate fire, 
busily knitting shoes that must have been intended for a 
costume too. It is a nice place to rest in this new venture 
in tiie small shop movement in Greenwich Village. 

Alice Palmer is also a self-styled post-mistress. Anybody 
that resides in the village can have his letters addressed to 
the Village Store. The general delivery regulations are done 
away with here, and questions are not being asked. If there 
is a letter for you, you simply get it. 

But I was a bit disappointed to find on the shelves and 
tables brass and pottery only, and on the walls only a picture 
here and there. Why not sell some foodstuffs? We haven't 
a decent grocery shop above Sixth avenue, and there are 
always days w^en we wish to "dine in." 

Arthur H. Moss also entered upon a business career in 
Greenwich Village. He will sell in his Modem Art Shop 
"distinctly other things than other shops sell. Artists' sup- 
plies and art stationery" will be his specialty, and the dyeing 
of silks by Violet Trafford a side Ime. 

Mark Dix and Alexander Saas feel spring even before the 
first swallow has arrived. "Window Boxes" is their slogan 
for the oncoming warm season. They Ihave very handsome 
ones in front of their windows and cannot see how other 
people can exist without window boxes. They are con- 
templating to form a new society with the sole purpose of 
inducing everyone who has a wmdow to hang a box with 
evergreen and geraniums and smilax in front of it 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox was the last one to view Bruno's 
Garret before its partial destruction by fire. She and Mrs. 



BRUNO*S WEEKLY 517 

Davis, the playwright, were the last visitors. to write ilicir 
names into the Guest Book. Here is her letter meditating 
upon the visit: 
My dear Mr. Bruno: 

I have always been considered a Mascotte and have been 
told I brought good luck to peoi>le. Therefore it was a 
great shock to my self-conceit to think you had a fire in your 
Garret so soon after my call. 

Mrs. Davis, who is also a good-luck-talisman-sort of per- 
son, was struck amidship by the news of your misfortune. 

We enjoyed our call so mucHi. We hope you really do not 
see any relation between our call and the fire. 

In those prehistoric days when I first published "Poems 
of Passion" (before you were born) the paragrapher would 
have found great food for jests on this incident, but I am 
sure it doesn't apply to my present self. 
Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

An Evening With Bruno Players 

fJI ISS JULIA, the supremely tragic figure which we meet 
* * so often in daily life, the woman whose life is a con- 
stant struggle against powers she is trying to control, filled 
with longings no one appears able to satisfy; the valet, 
Jean, who is a bad servant, and therefore can never be a 
master; and Christine, to whom religion means self-confi- 
dence, a self-confidence which enables her to walk her own 
way, undisturbed by tragedies which mean destruction to 
others; these three, on midsummer eve, the mystical night 
of the Scandinavian countries — a few hours only. 

Unspeakable pains are suffered, cruelties committed, sweet 
dreams dreamed — and then, in the morning, a new day has 
started and everything is just as it was before. 

Charl es Edison'sLittle Thimble Theatre 

Musicales 

The last three nights of the week are devoted as hitherto 
to the furtherance of American musicians and singers. 
There will be no admission fee charged for the musicales on 
Thursday, Friday and Saturday evenings, on which Ameri- 
can musicians and composers will have a chance to appear 
before a public audience. 

Miss Suzanne Michod, who aspires to become a concert 
singer, and who came recently to New York to complete 
her studies, will sing this week Ronold's "Down in the For- 
est," from "A Cycle of Life"; "Across the Hills," by Rum- 
mel, and "The Nightingale Has a Lyre of Gold," by 
Whepley. 

Mrs. Frances E. Gilmore, contralto, well known as a 
church singer in Brooklyn and the Queens, will appear on 
the same evening, for the first time before a New York audi- 
ence. Her program includes Kursteiner's "Invocation to 
Eros," Brown's "The Gift," and Saint Saens's "My Heart 
at Thy Sweet Voice." 



Wall Street Reflection 

TRAVEL south of Fulton street, Manhattan, in the so- 
^ called financial district, and you will hear everyone 
asking "What is the matter with the Market?" 

A spirit of apprehension — a fear of something direful that 
may happen seems to be in the minds of people. Has it a 
basis, or are we merely "seeing things" and giving ourselves 
the shivers needlessly? 

America is making money faster than ever— every mill is 
working capacity; railroads have more than they can handle, 
and January was a record-breaker for traffic. Labor is more 
generally employed — the idle are those who will not work. 
Money never was so cheap — largest bank deposits and 
greater facilities for meeting unusual demands; why this 
dancing a financial schottish? 

What then is back of this one depression we know today; 
the depression of stocks? Nothing but our imagination. 
There is no profit in gloom — but there is profit in confidence. 
Rails are a good purchase. Steel and coppers most attrac- 
tive. Wall Street presents a great opportunity for a bull 
leader,and when he appears the Market will boom. 

A prominent stock exchange house has been flooding the 
country with advertisements and circulars about Argentine 
rails, a security so-called "wonderful opportunity." They 
have been on the London Exchange for years offered at 85, 
with practically no market. 

Forewarned is forearmed; make a thorough investigation 
of these so-called wonderful opportunities, even if they are 
presented by the big ones. 

If Wall Street has a deadline, financial fakirs have found 
a way to stumble over it without attracting attention. 

"Junius." 

Bruno's Garret 

A group of young Russian painters are exhibiting a repre- 
sentative selection of their paintings in Bruno's Garret. The 
poetry readings and Monday evenin^^ lectures have to be in- 
terrupted on account of the fire until March the 5th. Upon 
this day, the necessary restoration work will have been fin- 
ished and Bruno's Garret will welcome everybody that wishes 
to attend its house-warming. 

For Houses, Apartments or Rooms, See 

PEPE & BRO. 

REAL ESTATE AND INSURANCE 

40 So. Washington Square 
Telephone 4119 Spring Cor. of MacDougal Street 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, and 
edited and written by Guido Bruno, both at 58 Washington 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a yean 

Entered as j&econd clsjaa matter at the Post Office of New 
York, N. Y., October 14th, 1916, under the Act of March 
3d, 1879. 



IKSEP ON M¥ WAIXS a pemument exhibition of iMitosraplw, mvi* 
merUits and historical docnmento, and ha^e at iiroBent an ••podaU^ 
interestinir collection of letters and original manuscripte by Alwa« 
ham Uneoln, Oeorffe Wa^hingrton, Robert I«oiiii StevmMm, Oeear WUda 
and Edirar Allan Poe. These are the orlirlnal serlpte of stories* poems 
and doenments which have made these m4»n famoos. If In tere st ed, dn^ 
me a ]ine»<or better, come and see my eKhibltion. 

I PATRtCK FRANaS MADIGAN 

. Ml Vlfth Ave. (entranec Mth St.), Mew Tmk 
I ' I 

At the Sign of the R^ Lamp 

Fifty-Three West Third Street New York 

YAh will And this old imA pi<ftnresane Chop Honse, 
TWO DOOBS BAST OF WEST BBOADWAT 
We make a specialty of Soa 7ood, Steak and €hops 

SAMVXXi S. BBOAI>» Proprietor Tolephoae: Bprla* SMS 

Open ETcnlnffs unUl Nine 

RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 

Bxtra niostrated Books. Ifiarly Printed Books. Association Booksi 

Books for Christmas Gifts 

Purchased singly or in sets for people who have neither time aor oppor- 
tunity to select for themselves, or for those who have not access to the 
best book marts. Why not besin coUeetlnff now? 

Address, E. V.* Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass. 
IIBRAIRIE FRANCAISE DEUTSCHE BUECHER 

Librairie Francaise 

111 Fourth Avenue 



Always im hand a larire, line selection of best 
Firench, English, German and Spanish romances. 
Best English literatare and foreign classics a speo- 
ialty. All kinds of literature bousht and exchanired* 

Art macaclnes wanted. 

WBTTB US WHAT TOU ABB INTBBBSTED DC. 

aRCULATING LIBRARY ENGUSH BOOKS 




There can be no pleatanter place to liear 
duit remarkable Edison Record 

Nomber (82536; tban 

' •• • 

The Diamond Disc Shop 

at Number 10 Fifth Avenue 

In diis store, at least, the delightfol atmos- 
phere of Old Greenwich Village has not been 
sacrificed on the altar of commercialism 

A pMlal viB hmg fm^^iidA^mu 
c«Bplni«iitt, u wttMstiBf little 

Phone : Stnyresaiit 4570 biograpky of Mr. Tkot. A. Cdisoi 



Charies Edison's Little Thimble Theatre, Sitnated 
At No. 10 Fifth Avenne, Greenwich Village, N. Y. C. 

Gttido Bnme, M«ia««r 



This Week's Perf onnances 

WednMdaj, 0:40 p. m. Bmno Play era 

Mondajy SUift p. m. Bmno PUiyera 

Tamdmj, S$4S p. m. Bnmo Playen 

Thnndajf Si45 p* m, 

XMdaXy St4S p. m. 

flAtvrdAgry SHW p. m. Bmno Flajen 

flAtvrdagrf S:iS p. m. MoaleAle 

Ask or write for ticket of admiaaion to the] 
Musicales, They are free. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Fit* CenU March 4tfa, 1916 



CiwMit MbA «^ 1916. 0>^ ■ 

*»^^^m, BW Mt ba ifadBoJ widiHt pa 
Bw»ib«t*rtp.wd»w»»fci—>ia 



BRUNO pues 

AT 

CHARLES EDtSOirS IHTLE THMBLE IHEAUtE 
AT NO; TEN FFIH AVENUE. CUENWKH VUAC^ ILT.C; 



Miss Julia 

A N«t«raliaHe IV^edlr. la Om i 



Tb -«■ i.^ «lw •• IMtii III £*!.*. W» <f t- a-ri.C««v hM. 

emoD Bnnidt ---it lancooh cuet. Oktm 

EVERT MONDAY. TUESDAY AND WEDNESDAY, 

*t ei.4fS ■■JU. smmB ■ATVKDA.Y akt B (»«laab. 
ONLY lOO SEATS. AT ONE DOLLAR EACH 



Readers of Bruno's Weekly 
are asked to become 
Subscribers 

52 ISSUES FOR TWO DOLLARS 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

No. 10. MARCH 4th. MCMXVI. Vol. 11. 

/$uJ^ J /true, — ^^. 
;5Ci, A/«^> 0>t^^ '^^ ^^^^ cIh^^ Unm^^ 






From lAc CoHecHon of Patrick F, Madigan 



/^^axaC. ^^^^^ 



The Cabaret: Its Origin, Its Rise and 
Its Decline 

L The Chat Noir, the First and the most Famoas of tho Cabarats 

r^ABARETS, wine-houses and coffee houses are as old as 
the Rocky Mountains. And ever since they came into 
existence surely there have been singers and players of in- 
struments who have given here, to their own and to the 
amusement of others, samples of their merry art. But the 
institution which we call today the cabaret — the Frenchman 
says, "cabaret chantant" — came into existence on the 18th 
of November, 1881. on that memorable day on which the 
painter, Rodolphe Salis, opened his famous Chat Noir at No. 
84 Boulevard Rochechouart. Painters, poets and musicians 
— all kinds of elements constituting the mtellectual proletar- 
iat, driven out of the old revered Quartier Latin, which was 
being modernized at that time, packed up their belongings 
and emigrated to the outer boulevard, to the sacred mountain, 
the Montmarte, the "Butte sacree." 

At the beginning, Salis was only the landlord in whose 
Copyright 1916 Guido Bruno 



-^x' 



520 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

place the "Hydropaths" assembled once every week. The 
only credit he can get in those days was that he induced this 
assembly of artists, among whom was Emilie Goudeau, to 
move from the left bank of the Seine to the Montmarte. 
Every Friday they assembled. They played, they sang and 
they laughed. Every guest who happened to come was wel- 
come, no matter whether he took active part in the enter- 
tainment or whether he remained a listener. Very soon all 
Paris was talking about the "Black Cat," and the fact that 
there still could be found Bohemian life — that kind of Bohe- 
mian life known to all from Henri Murger's novels. 

But for the rapid success of this cabaret and its being 
known in the largest circles of Paris, Salis had to thank the 
weekly he started to publish, "Le Chat Noir." Here the 
Parisians could see for the first time the marvelous carica- 
tures of Riviere, Steinlen, Willette, Henri Somn and Caran 
d'Ache; there were poems and short pieces in prose by 
Auriol, Alphonse AUais and many others whose names are 
well-known since, in French letters. Salis proved to be a 
wonderful organizer. He always gave Paris something new 
to laugh about, as, for instance, that famous feast, "La Soupe 
et le Boeuf," and his memorable celebrations of the 14th of 

Every Parisian had to see at least once this cabaret, and 
each new guest was welcomed by the "Cabaretier — gentil- 
homme" with -a dignified, well-set oration. Salis knew always 
how to attract new talents to his house. And very soon 
nights were turned to days and the same happy merriment 
could be found in the "Black Cat** at any hour of the day. 
Salis did not charge admission fees. But the prices paid for 
the "consommation" — mostly a stein of beer — were exhorbi-. 
tant; five, ten, twenty or. more francs were paid for one glass 
of beer. 

Whole Paris was enthusiastic; with the exception of just 
th^t part of the city which Salis made famous — the "Butte 
sacree.** The "Sacred Mountain** had been for years the un- 
disputed property of the toughest and the roughest popula- 
tion of Paris. Prostitutes and their protectors had here their 
hiding-places. These people looked upon the artists as in- 
truders. They were their declared enemies since the first 
night the "Black Cat** opened its doors. They were ready to 
defend their rights with knife and gun. The different gangs 
were not satisfied with holding up guests on their way to the 
cabaret, but they even attacked the "Black Cat*' itself. Salis 
laughed at first, but after one hard fight in which several of 
his guests were wounded, one of his waiters killed, and he 
himself had received half a dozen stiletto wounds, he gave up 
and decided to move away. 

Salis bought in the street Victor-Masse — in those days it 
was the Rue de Laval — the good-looking house of Alfred 
Stevens, the painter, and equipped it with the help of his 
friends, magnificently for the purpose it should serve. H. 
Pille designed the front with its monstrously big black cats; 
the lanterns and a show-piece were done by Gasset, and in. 



BRUNO^S WEEKLY 52J 

the vestibule was the marvelous Venus of Hbudon. To the 
left the salle des gardes, a beautiful room with a big-window* 
the "Te deum laudamus," by Willette, There were pictures 
by Steinlen, by Riviere and many others. There were thou?- 
sands of curiosities — things really worth while seeing. On th« 
first floor were situated the "council-chambers/* the real 
cabaret of the artists. On the second floor, the banquet hall 
where the famous shadow plays took place. The walls were 
covered with works of art.. Anybody -who knows modern 
Parisian, art of today would be surprised' how the "Seigneur 
de Chatnoirville-en-Vexin" saw the talent and recognized the* 
artists fifteen and twenty years ahead of the world andi ol 
contemporaries. After Salis* death ih.l897, the works of art 
in the *'Chat Noir" were partly auctioned ofj by his h^irs? 
and while the coming-off of the auction was unknown^ stitl 
116,000 francs were realized. Salis had paid a ; few. years- 
before, a few glasses of beer for some of the most valuable 
works of art in his house. But surely none of the artists en-»> 
tertained an unfriendly memory of him, because it wa^-bflr. 
who made known the light-living artist folk of tiie Monts* 
martre to Paris, to France and to the world. And todajj 
while many of these artists own wQuderfuUy-appointed. 
houses of their own, they will not deny that Rodolphe- Salis, 
Baron de la Tour de Naitre, laid the foundatibn to their future 
success. .. '■■' 

The removal of the "Black Cat*', to its. new home wa? an 
event for Paris. At midnight the emigration of the artist* 
from the Boulevard Rochechouart started; At £rst came two> 
heralds followed by the music band, then Salis himself in the 
garb of a Roman dictator. Two men in gorgeous livery fol*^- 
lowed him, carrying the standard: of the "Black Cat," 'bearing: 
the motto: "Montjoye-Montmartre." Four men in gr^en 
academic coats embroidered with palm leaves, carried sol- 
emnly Willette's big picture "Parce Domine,'* while in^^ a 
seemingly endless row of carriages the other works of art 
were transferred to the new home. Then came hundreds of 
artists with burning torches in their hands, and music agaitnV 
and people, hoards of people. 

Salis' wonderful success had to have imitators. Artistide 
Bruant, the greatest poetic talent of the "Butte" and one of 
the founders of the "Black Cat," separated from his miaster 
after Salis left the Montmartre and started a cabaret of his 
own; he called it "Le Mirlitoti," and conducting a weekly of 
the same name, created fame of his own. Hundreds of other 
cabarets came and went in the course of years. But only at 
few of them are noteworthy to future generations: "Le Chien 
Noir," "La Puree" and "Aux-4'-z-Arts." As well as Salis 
with his "Chat Noir" so went the proprietors of these caba- 
rets with their artists and their papers for short trips through 
the country, and very soon nearly every city in France bad 
its own cabaret. Then they went out to the neighboring; 
foreign countries. They went at first to French-speakirigf^ 
countries, as Belgium, Tunis, Algeria and Switzerland. A 
few of them toured very successfully Germany and Austria 



522 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

and left there the first seed, from which in the last decade 
of the nineteenth century sprang a crop of cabarets. Most 
of them were short-lived. The French had always featured 
rather the artistic element than anything else. The German 
cabaret degenerated very soon after its mstitution into com- 
mercial propositions linked closely with the demi-monde, be- 
coming an important factor of the not-healthy and not-^de- 
tired night life. 

What was the charm that brought tout Paris to the cabaret? 
— this peculiar, indefinable charm? Wouldn't you think that 
the public . would rather hesitate to frequent places where 
every man at his entering was greeted as "muffle" (clown), 
and every lady as "binette" (funny mug) and "gueule" (gos- 
sip), as it happened every night in Bruant's Mirliton? Of 
course, Salis welcomed his guests with: ''my prince," but his 
was the same contempt for the phil'utines as in the rough- 
ness of Bruant, who would interrupt his song, turning to the 
man who had whispered to his neighbor, "Shut up, ^ou 
beast, if I am singing." And still, the most exclusive society 
of Paris was anxious to gain a ticket of admission to the 
gala evenings of Salis in the "Chat Noir," and on such even- 
ings the same carriages with liveried footmen could be seen 
in front of the "Black Cat" as on the gala evenings before 
the grand opera. 

The new, the one thing that seemed to magnetize the pub- 
lic was: here they could meet face to face the artists wnose 
works could be found on stages, in concerts, in art exhibits 
and in bookstores — real living poets, painters, musicians and 
sculptors. — Not just one, like at some evening affair, but a 
whole bunch of them, all moving around freely in th^ir own 
tiome, in their real own element Such attraction could not 
be found in any salon of Paris. 

Montmartre gave them an offering which could not be 
found anywhere else in the whole world. Just as they came 
from the street, these artists mounted the stage, declaimed 
or sang their poems and said just what they pleased to say. 
Nothing was sacred to them — not even the three-times-holy 
public before whom every halfway-sensible show manager, 
actor, singer or artist bows reverently. 

Paris seemed to breathe a different air at the Klontmartre. 
And they never had dreamt that there was so much origin- 
ality, so much unexpected and so many wonderfully enjoy- 
able intramuras of Paris. 



The Bruno Players 



TTHE presentation of "Miss Julia," the first performance of 
the Bruno Players, on last Monday, in Charles Edison's 
Little Thimble Theatre at 10 Fifth Avenue, was a success. 
August Strindberg wanted a small stage for his play. He 
wanted a small audience. He did not want actors on the 
stage, but real people. And he wanted for listeners just that 
number of men and women that could possiblv be addressed 
by an individual without losing the intimacy of a face to face 
talk. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 523 

Th« PUy 

"Miss Julia" is a tragedy. It is a tragedy which is not so 
accentuated as that it could not play a painful part in our own 
life. 

There are a man and a woman, stripped of all the garb 
which tradition and convention have created during nineteen 
centuries. All bars erected by social standing and different 
birth sk— in short every barrier that is man-made — are set aside 
on this one Midsummer Eve, in this one night. 

Mid-summer Eve, the people's festival according to the oW 
[ Scandinavian sagas; all distinctions properly guided by human 
standards and by laws that seem almost supernatural have, 
been thrown away. Man and woman meet on a new basis. 
They are just man and just woman, such as were their sav- 
age ancestors. They have stepped for once, far out of their 
own personalities. 

They are viewing their own lives— objectively. They help 
one another to wash their soiled linen while the audience 
sits there and looks on and listens. There is no time either 
to feel sympathetic or to become antagonized. Life's evolu- 
tion is too logical and too constricted in its sequence to per- 
mit meditation upon plot and upon the people impersonating, 
men and women on the stage. There was life upon that 
stsrge, real, merciless life with all its elements, with all its 
oppressing seriousness and its relieving comedy. 
. Strindberg knows no plots. But life does not know them 
r either. Strindberg knows life. He tells it just as it happens.' 
The characters of his play create troubles and tragedies for 
themselves exactly as we do in our own lives. They are sub- 
jected to the same influences of their fellow men and women 
that we are in our own lives. There are only three charac- 
ters on the stage, but in reality there are a good many more. 
We can almost see the honest good Count, whom the daugh- 
ter would not dishonor, not even if she must give her life to 
save him from that certain knowledge. We see her mother, 
the hysteric upstart, making a mess of her life, and we feel 
the hand of God throughout the entire play. '*£vil revenges 
itself on earth. The powers of nature equalize themselves 
to an equilibrium which makes living possible for us." This 
is the motive of Strindberg in all of his plays, and supremely 
in *'Miss Julia." 
And these people on the stage that upset their entire lives 
^ in the course of fifteen minutes, take the consequences just 
as we do in real life. 

If you read newspapers, you know that one commits sui- 
cide because he has done something in the course of a few^ 
short hours which erases all the years he had lived on earthj 
up until then; another one goes to jail, and still another one 
lives out his life after others have cleared his path by what 
they thought they had to do. 

Miss Julia could not live on. Remember similar cases 
you have read in newspai)ers, or that you know have hap-; 
pened in families with which you are acquainted. Think of 
those women that you know have committed suicide . . .1 



is* BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Do you not think it is real life — what Strindberg enrolls 
before us in hja one-act play? 
,,"Ugly?" As the esteemed critic of a daily paper says. 

Of course it is ugly. But do you think it is nicer to cbver it 
up with pink silk? Do you think that a putrid corpse will 
smell better if we give it a pompous burial and cover it with 
« blanket of lilies of the valley and strew it with tuberoses? 

Sfrindberg knew that the odor of a corpse is very strong. I 
But he also knew that it would not do to sprinkle it with 
Mary Garden perfume. The perfume will evaporate, and the 
odor will be the stronger and the much more unbearable. He ^ 
stripped it of its funeral regalia, he put it up on public exhi- 
bition, and very soon even those less sensitive will keep far 
away. ' Thert is no better object lesson tha.n anatomical de- 
struction. 

The corpse will decay, returning to its natural chemical 
qubstaaces. Mother Earth will absorb whatever there is 
essential for growth and reproduction. A new life will sprout 
in due time, where once there was the poor distintegrated 
corpse. 
iTn PUyars 

. The three members of the assembly which were the valet 
"Jean',' and ''Miss Julia," the young countess, and "Christine," 
the count's cook, were just these. three persons. What does I 
it matter if you know that Mr. Langdon Gillet was some | 
time ago a "Romeo," or this one or that one in some other 
play's? What does it matter that Miss Laura Arnold has had 
a successful, stage career, and that Miss Alive Baker played 
character parts for a few years as a recognized celebrity up 
on other stages? 

There they were on a little platform (nine by eighteen) 
without scenic or light effects, without all that stage ma- 
chinery that seems 50 esseijtial upon our stages to-day for 
^t success' of a play. They had dared to undertake it, and 
' efieve that good acting is all that is required 
nagination of the audience, to keep it spell- 
t into horrors, to inaWe it laugh without being 
ismiss it in [(eep' thoughts, meditating upon 
life in' general, and upon their own lives in 
. where is there life without tragedy? Who 
le woman who could not point out to you in 
some .place or another a corpse lajd -out covered with purple 
and white flowers, sprinkled with heavily scented perfunies? 
The Bruno Players do not count their success by compar- 
ing t'cket stubs. and the c^sb i,a the box ofEce, but by, reading 
the facets of .their audiences.. . 



London Letter 



, , , , Offl« of BFUNO'S WEEKLY, 

IS St. ChuHai Sqiwh, M*w KaBidnitSB 

Fdmers lOih, 1916, 
[WILL be^iri with the worst thin^'lhat has happened to | 
'' ussince lastl Wrote >nd, then look.for the best. "Th« 



BRUNO^S WEfeKLY 525 

closing of the museums, and particularly of the British Mu- 
seum has aroused much criticism. It is done, so we are told, 
in the name of economy, but the saving effected is so trifling 
that the loss of dignity and art morale seems to make it 
hardly worth while. 

To those among us who have made the British Museum a 
"centre of study and research in common the loss is quite per- 
sonal. It is true that the Library is to remain open, but the 
beautiful Greek galleries are to be closed. We shall not see 
the Demeter of Knidos again until after the war, nor the 
Mourning Woman, nor the great figures from the Sacred 
Way. Will these relics of divine Greece think that a new 
Dark Ages has come upon the world now that no poets or 
artists ever come to pay them homage? I should well like 
^o be the first visitor to look upon them again in that day 
when peace throws open once more the doors of their prison. 
It seems to me that in such a moment one might well ex- 
perience something of the thrill which Schliemann knew 
when he discovered the tomb of the Atridae at Mykenae. 
Perhaps that may seem to you an exaggeration, but to the 
student at the British Museum these magnificent galleries of 
Greek and Egyptian statuary, vases and gems make up a 
great deal in one's life, and to go for a turn with a friend 
round the galleries after a couple of hours or so study in the 
library was a pleasure we shall greatly miss. 

A muse.um which to the visiting stranger seems the most 
ic6nfusing and least hospitable place in th^ world becomes 
curiously intimate to the man who goes there every day. In 
a sense, as a friend remarked to me the other day, the British 
Museum has for the students who us-e it regularly something 
of the character of a University. We shall all of us miss a 
great deal of that. The only consolation is that the Library 
remains open. 

I don't know whether you are tired of Shaw, or whether you 
cherish any illusions any more about any of our literary fig- 
ures. I'm afraid not many of us do over here. The war has 
finally exposed most of the mfeii about whom tliefe was any 
hope or doubt. Wells, Bennett, Chesterton, Belloc and 
others have proved themselves the most garrulous kind of 
journalists, and Shaw has contributed nothing much to add 
to his reputation. The best thing one can say about him is 
that he has kept more silent than the '' others who for the 
most piart have been posing as military critics or economists 
iwith^ little other qualifications than a desire to keep their 
evenings up to pre-wiar standards. Belloc; who has ifiispired 
a young poet to write a book about him, has earned,- so they 
say, fa>ulous.sums.as a military expert. Nearly all his pre- 
dictions have been falsified, but he still goes oii at it 
' But to revert to Shaw, with whpm I began this paragraph* 
I read a; rather fresh explanation of his = psychology the qther 
day in "New Ireland," a clever little literary weekly pub^Ushpd 
-m Dublin., The writer, Erne$t Kempster, finds i|l Bern??^rd 
15hiw^*the typical Irish protestaht Whose loyalty' to England 



526 BRUNO*S WEEKLY 

is taken for granted by the average Englishman but is by no 
means understood. According to the writer of the article 
this loyalty arises mainly from self-interest and not from 
any racial sympathy, and has this curious result that while the 
Ulsterman or Irish loyalist may detest the Irish Nationalist 
he is attached to him by a greater racial sympathy than he 
is to the English. "Sometimes," says the writer, "this feel- 
ing comes out in the form of violent Irish patriotism when 
in England on the part of men whose contempt for Ireland 
when at home never lacks an excuse for its expression. At 
other times more discrietion is shown; the outwardly staunch 
Loyalist, admitting, in private that whenever he goes to Eng- 
land he feels himself a foreigner." 

From this we can see how Shaw was able to acquire his 
attitude of detached observer in England, disavowing con- 
nection with Ireland, yet admitting no particular love of 
England. 

Greeley Pays Poe for Contributions 
to Tribune with Promissory Note. 

j^OT always did the "Tribune" pay its contributors upon 
acceptance of their stories, nor the week after publica- 
tion as it is customary to-day. Horace Greeley, the founder 
and famous editor, paid for poetry he purchased from Edgar 
Allan Poe for use in his journal with a promissory note which 
was drawn on October 24, 1845. 

New York, October 24, 1845. 
Sixty days after date / promise to pay Edgar A, Poe, or his order, 
ffty dollars for ^alue received, 
$50.00 due Dec. 26th. 

Horace Greeley, 
62 Nassau Street, 
Corner Spruce. 

Frances Walker, a Spokane musician, was the proprietor 
of this valuable document in which the best known editor 
of the middle of the last century paid the best known poet 
for his contributions, before it became the possession of Mr. 
Patrick F. Madigan, and one of the most valuable pieces in 
his collection of Poe autographs. It was given to Mr. Walker 
twenty-five years ago by Mrs. John F. Cleveland, a sister of 
Horace Greeley, and widow of John F. Cleveland, who was 
for many years treasurer of the New York Tribune Company. 

The Poet's Income 

Another letter of Poe, dated New York, January 18, 1849, 
and also in the possession of Mr. Madigan, permits us a view 
behind the scenes of a literary work shop of the early fifties. 
It is addressed to John R. Thompson, the editor of the 
''Southern Literary. Messenger," one of the most powerful 
literary magazines of the time. Poe offers his services as a 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Aaguil Slrindberg, bj Cultraniion. 



critic at the rate of two dollars the page, providing Mr. 
Thompson obliges himself to take not less than five pages 
each month. The irony of fate was never better exemplified 
than in this very circumstance connected with the life of 
Edgar Allan Poe. The manuscript which he was offering at 
two dollars a page is now worth two hundred and fifty. The 
very letter in which he offers to sell it at that sum was pur- 
chased a short time ago for five hundred dollars. 

"New York, Jan. 13, '49. 
"My dear Sir: 

"Accept my thanks for the two Messengers containing Miss 
Talley't 'Genius.' I am glad to see that Griswold, although 
imperfectly, has done her justice in his late 'Female Poets of 
America.' 

"Enclosed I send you the opening chapter of an article 
called 'Marginalia,' published, about three years ago, in The 



S2S^ .- .- BRUNO*S WEEKLY 

Democratic Review/ I send it that, by glacing it oyer, 
especially the preparatory remarks, you may perceive* the 
general design, which I think well adapted to the purposes 
of such a Magazine as yours, affording great scope for variety 
or critical or other comment. I may add that 'Marginalia,' 
continued for five or six chapters, proved as popular as 
any papers written by me. My object in writing you now 
is to propose that I continue the papers in the "MESSEN- 
GER, running them through the year, at the rate of S 
pages each month, commencing with the March number. 
You might afford me, as before, I presume, $2 per page. 

"One great advantage will be that, at a hint from your- 
self, I can touch, briefly, any topic you might suggest; and 
there are many points affecting the interest of Southern 
letters, especiallv in respect to Northern neglect or mis- 
representation of them, which stand sorely, in need of touch- 
ing. If you think well of my proposal, I will send you the 
two first numbers (10 pp.) immediately on receipt of a letter 
from you. You can pay me at your convenience, as the 
papers are published or otherwise. 

'Please re-enclose me the printed papers, when you have 
done with them. 

"Very truly yours, 

"Edgar Allan Pob.*' 

"Jno. R. Thompson, Esq." 

P. S. — ^I am about to bestir myself in the world of letters 
rather more busily than I have done for three or four years 
past, and a connection which I have established with 2 weekly 
papers may enable me, now & then, to serve you in respect 
to 'The Messenger.' 

From Catulus 

jyiAK LOVE, if it were ming 

To^ kiss for evermore 

With kisses millionfold 
Those honeyed eyes of thine; 
I would not have my fill; 

Although the harvest store 

Of kisses voere untold 
As the dry cornstalks, still 
I would not have my filL ' 

xcvi ; 

QALVVS, if aught expressive of our woe 

Find place or welcome in the voiceless tomb, 

When we recall the loves of long ago, 
And weep lost friendships of a bygone, day; 

Joy for thy love must surely then outweigh 
Quintiltifs sorrow for her early doom. 



{■••' .. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 529 

Nicotean Ethics 

• TbfY life is bitter with thy love — thy throat 

Is girt about with golden, strange Egyptian words: 
. Thy white robe binds thee fiercely, and I doat 

Upon thy russet eyes, more mild than eyes of birds. 

But still they worship not, and as in scorn 
Desert thee for thy sister's nuder, nut-brown grace: 

Once and again the Idler thro' the Corn 
Turns to regard thine ivory wasted face. 

Thy sister queens it with a royal zone 

That shames the rigour of thy modest gold tattoo; 
Her brown form seems begotten out of Stone, 
Recalling Jean Peyral's liaison with Fatou. 
' L. C. 

Raplated PUtHudes 

Fashion is because fools are. 

How hardly shall the woman with a sculpturesque arm 
defy the opportunity that dares her to expose it to the admir- 
ing gaze of the eager eye of any "man sort of thing." 

Whatever else we lack, we've hever a lack of fools, alackl 

Now you can't generally just about most always, quite fre- 
quently, every once in a while, sometimes exactly tell what 
there really is, deep bidden, bcfhind the mask of a woman's 
face, tho the devil seems . to guess right more often than 
some better folks. 
y • - _. Julius Doerner, 

A Man-trap 

. wyiR" is a man and "gin" a trap, 
In Latin, as translated; 
Combine the two and thus you snap 
"A man-trap"-^so. 'tis stated; . 

But < glad a man has ever been 
In such a trap to wriggle, 
/ And seeing this, it is no sin, 

• For girls to giggle, giggle. . 

^ WilLKisUher. 



Woman 

J^ESANGE said: 

. . "Will you bet with me dear, that you are thinking of 
me just now?" ,• , 

, /-Really, I didn't. My thoughts were far, far away.** 
, 'Tes, you did" . . 

v:^*Really J 4id-not." ^^ .^... ; - 

"Well then, what were you thinking of, if I might, aslo??*. 

"I was thinking of a little rose budding in a bush of 



I assure you I am not thinking of 



thorns." 

"Now, — ^you sec, I won my bet. You surely cannot deny 
that I with my childish mouth and with my roguishness look 
•xactly like a blooming wild rose bush?" 

I smiled and I acknowledged my defeat. 

"Do you want to bet again, sweetheart, that you are think* 
ing of me, right now, at this moment?" 

•*Oh really, I am not. 
you." 

**Yes you areP 

"Surely not I" 

"What are you thinking of, if I might ask?" 

"I thought of a lark singing among crumpled reeds and 
heaths, and circling high up to the blue clouds." 

"Now you see that I have won again, because you surelv 
won't have the audacity to say that my voice is not so much 
alike to the singing of a bird as not to be easily mistaken one 
for the other?" 

There was nothing else for me but to bow and to ac» 
knowledge again her victory. 

Some time elapsed in silence and Mesange said: "Would 
you wish to bet with me again, dearest, that you are thinkr 
ing of me right now. Let us bet once more for the last 
time." 

"I am sorry to acknowledge that I am not thinking of yon 
in the least." 

"Oh yes, you are I" 

"Really, I am not." 

"May I ask what you are thinking of?" 

'*I am thinking of the very true swallow who loves with 
the same love in the same nest always and forever." 

Mesange burst out in a merry laugh and said: *'Surely this 
last time I have lost the bet." 

After the French of Catulle Mendes, by Guido Bruno. 



In Our Village 



'HERE was a good deal of talk in the newspapers and 
magazines of last month, again and again, about this 
"Bohemianism," and the "Bohemians" in our Village. Who 
is it you call a *'bohemian"? The public in general seems to 
think that this term applies to every man who wears long 
hair, a flying black necktie, indulges heavily in the absorp- 
tion of alcoholic liquids, smokes cigarettes, has rather lax 
views about the relations between men and women, and then, 
in his leisure hours, he perhaps paints or writes poetrv. Or 
they think of women with short hair that wear some of those 
Roman striped silk garments that Martine & Martine manu-^ 
facture in Switzerland and Wanamaker sells in his basement; 
that smoke cigarettes, believe nolens volens in free love, talk 
very cleverly about things usually out of the scope of^ a 
woman's conversation, and then — they, too^— paint or write 
some poetry. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 531 

I wonder if any one knows where the word **bohemian" 
originated? And why it is almost always closelr linked with 
the Latin Quartiers of Paris (not onlv in the famous novel 
of Henri Murger)? If fire had not destroyed mv Garret I 
could now refer to my files about the origin of the word 
"bohemian/' and could give you not only the facts, but the 
names and dates correctly. If I had time, I could take a trip 
to the Public Library and find it there. But I have neither 
of them, and so I leave it to you, if you are sufficiently inter- 
ested, to look it up. 

The first University of the world was founded in 1346 in 
Paris, and now I miss the name of that Bohemian Kin^ who 
played an important part at the Court of Paris at that time at 
heir apparent. This University in Paris was everything but an 
educational institution of the conception of our own days. 
Troubadours, scientists, "wayfaring students," as they were 
called, had found here a thriving abode, where roval grants 
for them provided generously for their daily needs and an as- 
sembly of fellow-seekers after the Truth and the ideal permit- 
ted them an exchange of ideas and of values which was uni- 
versal. Their language was the classic, and less classic Latin. 
The part of the city which thev chose for their habitation was 
soon called by the other population of Paris, the Latin Quar- 
ters. The great amount of Bohemians which the Bohemian 
Prince through his generosity invited to make pilgrimage to 
this new Dorado of ever^rbody "learned/' had settled again 
as a little community inside of the Latin Quartiers. They 
all were men of the world. They all had traveled from the 
farthest South to the extremest North of Europe. Their 
habits of living were marked by their Slavonic temperament, 
their hot blood and their melancholy and sentimentality, 
which did not permit an early parting whenever they had 
gathered for learned discussions . . . and they were not 
believers of temperance restrictions of any kind. 

To lead "the bohemian life in the Latin Quartiers" soon 
'became an expression all over Europe, just as much misun- 
derstood and misapplied in the days of yore as it is to-day. 

It is not what we do, but what we are. A "bohemian" is 
but does not act, in order to qualify as such. 

But there are things that we cannot explain in words. 

Personally, I despise the expression, "bohemian," and I 
know that everybody else will also, who feels "bohemia" 
or "Greenwich Village," or some "other republic in the air." 

Mrs. Pendington and Mrs. Kunze, the proprietors of the 
Candlestock tea-room, — that fantastic little lunch room where 
one can eat a well-prepared meal in clean and pleasant sur- 
roundings without the annoyance of shrieks, laughter, loud 
talking and noises that seem to be the necessary accessories 
of every other similar place in our Village, perhaps in order 
to create *'bohemian atmosphere," — have arranged for danc- 
ing for the patrons of their tea room every Tuesday, Thurs- 
day and Saturday nights from eight until eleven. Mrs. Pen- 
dington and Mrs. Kunze act as patronesses in the palatial 



532 BRUNO^S WEEKLY 



localities situated above their shop. The house was a man- 
sion some years ago of a family who knew how to build ip 
order to please their eyes as well as to. make themselves feel: 
comfortable. Good music provides the incentive for every- 
body that has some rhythm/ in his organism and loyeSvto ex-. 
press it. These parties, are strictly en famille, and not a cpmr 
mercial undertaking. 

Mr. Charles Keeler, the Calif ornian poet, who has madc' 
Greenwich. Village his temporary home while in New York, 
will recite selections from his own poems at the exhibit of 
••Historical Costumed Dolls " arranged by the Kings' County 
Historical Society on Tuesday evening. Mr. Keeler, whose 
new book "VICTORY", will be. published in the course of 
two or three weeks by Laurence Gomme, in his Little Book- 
shop around the corner, is writing at present a New York 
play-. 

HIppolite Havel, who published seven numbers of hii 
unique magazme "THE REVOLT," the publication which 
wa^ denied the mailing privelege in the United States, con- 
templates publishing a monthly magazine devoted to the 
saitie interests as was "THE REVOLT." He has opened, 
an ofpce on old historical Grove Street, where Tom Paine 
lived the last years of his life and where he died. 

Efoaks and Magazines of the Week 

r^HARLJES KEELER was sitting there in my garret, and 
■ he V told me about his wanderings in Japan. About the* 
little inns in cities whose names are not placed on the maps 
printed in our country, and where tire white foreign man is 
a mythical personage. He told me about the big cities 
where Europe's and America's influence made a half-breed 
of the royal nation of the East. He told me about the Jap-. 
anese woman reporter who had had her education in an 
American university, and her training on a San Francisco 
paper, and who called on him in Tokyo, and who led him 
to the widow and to the children of our Lafcadio Hearn. 

"It was seven years to the hour since Lafcadio's death that 
I entered the Japanese garden planted on a hill on whose top 
stood the little Japanese home where he had found rest and 
peace and love until his dying hour. Miss Okuma struck the 
gong before the entrance to the house, and, after a short con- 
versation with a maid that had answered the call, a young, 
tall man appeared, a Japanese of the finest type, with won- 
derful dark, dreamy eyes, eyes that arrested involuntarily 
everybody's attention. On his knees and hands, in Japanese 
fashion, he welcomed us, invited us to be his mother's guests. 
... It was the oldest son of Hearn who extended to us 
the hospitality of his roof. We took off our shoes and en- 
tered. Mats were on the floors, in a niche the bronze statue 
of a goddess . . the interior of a Japanese home. A little 
maid brought pillows, a little taburet with the tea thinga' 
and Mrs. Hearn, in a blue kimono with white flowers, ex- 
tended to us the welcome of her husband's home. In hii 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 533 

substitution she was our hostess. Mrs. Hearn is a lady of 
about fifty years of age. Her features are gentle and refined.^ 
Around her eyes are the fine wrinkles which tell us of pain 
and of sorrow, and around her mouth that sublime expres- 
sion of resignation, the surest link between the happy, past 
and the present that has to be lived, even if the most essen- 
tial things of life seem to have gone — gone yonder where 
there is no coming back. 

'*We sipped our tea and we exchanged pleasantries, as the 
Japanese etiquette requires. And in tripped the three other 
children, the sacred legacy of Lafcadio Hearn to his Japanese 
wife. A girl of about twelve years and two smaller chil- 
dren. They all smiled pleasantly after they had learned that 
the visitor came iFrom far away back, from where the father 
had come. 

**She invited us to view the library, the room where Laf- 
cadio Hearn had worked and had died. It, too, was a simple 
Japanese room, but bookcases lined the walls and a little 
desk where Hearn used to sit and to write was in the same 
condition as on the day the master left it forever. Th.erc 
was the bottle with ink — American ink, Stafford's blue ink, 
several penholders. Some wonderful sheets of Japanese 
paper, white and soft, which he had used exclusively for his 
work, lay on the much used blotting paper. The window 
was wide open and the branches of a little cherry tr^e 
reached through the frame into the room. Mrs. Hearn had 
followed my eyes and remarked that seven years ago, on-: 
the morning of Hearn's death, this tree iiad bloomed for^ 
the second time in the season — something that had hevef- 
happened before in her little garden. She said this without 
any commentary — a simple statement, but it was so im- 
pressive. And then she led me to one corner of -the room 
and pointed to the only addition she has made to the fur- 
nishings since Hearn's departure from earthly life. It was 
a shrine with his likeness, with a receptacle for incense be- 
fore it. Every evening she said if the stars appear on the 
nightly sky, and before the children retire they come into 
this room before the shrine, burn incense before the like- 
ness of the father, and talk to him. They tell him all they 
have done during the day, and they relate to him all those 
stories of love and of affection the mother had told them. 
So if their voice finds its way to his spirit he might know 
that he lives among them, that he is the head of his family, 
even if he cannot return the affection and they cannot listen 
to his voice. 

'The son is being educated in a nearby English school in 
addition to the Japanese training he receives from his 
mother. He told me he wishes to be a teller of tales and 
of stories like his father used to be, and that the ambition 
of his life is to become a writer. He is very shy and does 
not talk English. It seems he is afraid of the sound of this 
language, which is not spoken in Hedrn's home. Mrs. Hearn 
never spoke English, and Hearn only very little Japanese, 
but they had a language of their own, she said, and they un- 



534 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

derstood each the other perfectly. I asked young Hearn if 
he ever tried to write a story and he said that he has a book 
with man^ stories, and that he tells fairy tales to his 
younger sisters every evening. I asked him if he wouldn't 
write for me a little tale in English so I could show it after 
my return to the cuntrymen of his deceased father. He dis- 
appeared in another room and came back in a very short 
time with this story." G. B. 

Uguisu (A Japanese Nightingale). 

B J the Son of li«fc«dio Hoam 

(Among the dozen of best stories, designated as suck by Edward 
O'Brien, the short story anthologist of the Boston "Transcript,"^ 
was one written by the nineteen^year^old son of Lafcadio Hearn, 
who is living in the Japanese home of his mother, being brought 
up as a Japanese, and whose one wish is to be able sometime to 
come over to the country of his father, to America, and to become 
here a literary man. The story was published in one of last yearns 
issues of "Greenwich Village," and Charles Keeler is in posses-* 
sion of the original manuscript,) 

f GUESS it was when I was six or seven years old. It was 
spring. 

One morning I got up early, and put on my tiny zori 
■ (straw shoes) and from the little back door I took a narrow 
pathway to a plain. 

The pale purple mist spread out silently. I stood still. 
Before me the mountain's foot was shaded and upward from 
the middle part faded from sight. "Its like the picture of 
the kakemono (hanging picture) which is in my house/* I 
thought childishly in my little heart, and looked at it. The 
young grass all around was soft and looked very green, and 
wet with dew. 

Swiftly and silently passed through the mist a little bird 
come down to a quite near clump of grass. I walked step 
by step about the clump, but there was no bird. I felt un- 
happy and dreary, and I began to want to go home. 

When I went quietly on the way to my house stepping on 
the soft young grass which I felt it a pity to tread on, from 
somewhere came **Hohokekyor' 

I turned around to find the whereabouts of the bird. I 
was in a maze, but just then the mist cleared. So, yonder 
appeared one dressed in uguisu (nightingale color, "green 
color") cloth, with white leggings and white tabi short 
socks) straw sandals on her feet and Sugegasa (hat made of 
reeds) on her head, embracing a Gehkin (**moon harp" a 
little round harp). It was a young singing girl who came 
stepping alone in the silence. 

K, Koizumi, 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, and 
edited and written by Quido Bruno, both at 58 Washington 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 

Entered as second class matter at the Post Office of New 
York, N. Y., October 14th, 1915, under the Act of March 
8d, 1879. 



I 



ON WW WAIX8 • panaaawMl OThtMtl— «f mtasvapto* 

•ad hlatovtoal d«eniiiflBto» and have at prctent aa ««peeiall7 

ooUaettoD «f latUn aad pHgUmX maaoMripte Iqr Abnk* 

LlaMtaif G«ai!ce WashlBcftmit JCobflrt Loote Sterensoa, Oicar WlUa 

Sdsar AUaa Fae. TImm are tlia arljiaal Milytf «f J tar lei j piman 

doeuBMato whteh hava made theee mea fanMww. If iatcreeted, dtay 

my asbilittlea* 



PATRICK FRANCIS MADIGAN 

Ml ntlk At*. (aBteaM* Mtt gt.). Hew ToHk 



At the Sign of the Red Lamp 

Fifty.Three West Third Street, New York 



Taa Witt Had Ode eld 
TWO DOOK8 SAflV 
We 



aad plcivreeoaa Chop Hovne^ 
or WBBT BBOADWAT 



tUkMUKL 8. BBOAB» 



vatO Mlae 



RARE BOOKS 



FIRST EDITIONS 



BMk* ttr CbrtatoHM GOtta 

Poiehaaad ■lacir or IB act* tor paopi* wh* hav* aalthar Urn* nor •ppor- 
tiraltjr to aoloct for thomoolTM, or tor thooo who Iwto BOt ■ooaM to tiM 
kaat book marts. Whr aot feagla oellootlaf aawT 

ActdroM, E. V.( Boston Trantcript, Boston, Mass. 



UBRAIRIE FRAMCAISE 



DCUTSCHE BQECHER 



Librairie Francaise 

111 Fourth Avenue 






lallF. AU 



It t MH rta reaad f< 



AH 



WBXnB VB WHAT T017 ABB INTVEBBTBD Oi; 



CUtaiUTDiG UBRART 



ENGLISH 



There can be no pleasanter place to hear 
that remarkable Edison Record 
Nomber (82536) than 

The Diamond Disc Shop 

at Number 10 Fifth Avenue 

In diis store, at least, the delightfal atmos- 
phere of Old Greenwich Villaf e has not been 
sacrificed on the ahar of commercialism 




A pMtal win kii« 7M» viA 
cMplimiitt, ■■ nt«rMtiBf littk 

Hione : Stnyresant 4570 Uograpky of Mr. TkM. A. E£mb 



Charles Edison's Little Thimbh Theatre, Situated 
At No. 10 nfkh Atemie, Greenwich VOlaf e, N. T. C« 

Giii4oBnna,Mi 



This Week's Performances 

Mamdmjp t:4S 9. au Brvn» Plajcra 

Tnetdajv Si46 9. au Bnam Plajcra 

WediMMd«y» ti46 9. au Bnam naircra 

ThandagTt ti46 p» au Mvalcato 

VMtfart Sstf 9. au MinkMto 

SAtudagr* SiM 9. au Bnnw Ptegntn 

SBtudagr* StlS 9. au MwImI* 

Aak or write for ticket of admission to the 
Musicales. They are free. 

For Houses, Apartments or Rooms, 8eo 

PEPE & BRO. 

- RBAL ESTATE AND INSURANCE 

40 So. Washington Square 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



EDITED BYGUIDOBRUNOINHIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Fiv* Cents March 11th, 1916 



OMiftlii MMdi 1 1&. 1916. Oil^il a 



BRUNO PUYERS 

AT 

CHARUS EMSOirS UTTLE DflMBLE IHEATRE 
iff Wi lEN rrra AVENUE, CREENWKH VBiAC^ HtC 



Miss Julia 

A NMtaralMto Tr^edr* ■■ Om A«I 



ODBiD MkUMOi IhMrM UUtGDOIt GKUT. HfciM 

EVERT MONDAY. TUESDAT AND WEDNESDAY, 

at «,«« PJifl. ana MAXUMDAV m» a a>aiaah. 

ONLY lOO SEATS. AT ONE DOLLAR EACH 



RMd«n of Bruno's Weekly 
are uked to become 
SabKriben 

S2 ISSUES FOR TWO DOLLARS 



► 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Edited hj Guido Brano in His G arret on Wash ington Squ are 

No. 11. MARCH 11th, MCMXVI^ Vol. II. 

The great error of politicians is that old fancy of Solon, tvho 
insisted that it <was infamous for a citizen to be of no party, and 
endeavoured by a law to make the Athenians hypocrites. This 
conceit not only destroys every idea of meditation between two 
parties; but does not even suppose that both may be wrong. Yet 
all history may convince us that he who resolutely professes him" 
self attached to any party is in danger of yielding to every extreme 
for the mere reputation of his opinion; he will argue for the most 
manifest errors of this or that statesman, because he has hitherto 
agreed with him — an obstinacy as stupid as if a pedestrian were to 
express his satisfaction with a tempest at night, because he had 
enjoyed sunshine in the morning. 

Leigh Hunt. 

The Importance of Neckties. 

T PICKED up a curious book a few days ago. It is just 
as timely to-day as it was upon its publication in 1804; 
"The art of tieing a cravat, with explanatory plates"; it is 
true to-day as well as a hundred years ago that the man is 
well-dressed who has a perfect sitting collar and a well fit- 
ting and well tied cravat. It is really all that catches our 
eye in a chance meeting or sitting across the table in the 
office or in the dining-room. It is the only thing we really 
observe in street cars, in subways or on the street after 
we looked stranger or friend in the face. 

It would be a chapter in itself to enlarge upon how a man 
involuntarily expresses his character through his tie bow 
or tie knot. The steadfastness of character, the dependency 
in matters of importance can be judged by the tie of a 
man. The colors he uses will betray to us not only his taste 
in things generally, but also his temperamental inclinations. 

Women have endless opportunities to express through 
their exterior adornment what they really are. Rigid tradi- 
tions and strict conventions press th^ man of to-day into 
a uniform; and the necktie means for him what the regi* 
mental colors mean to the otherwise uniformly clad 
European army man. He who knows immediately dis- 
tinguishes artillery from infantry, and he who is an initiate 
will tall at one glance if it is field artillery or coast artillery. 
Look at a man's necktie and you will know instantly not 
only who he is but, if you are an initiate, it might be to you 
the warning si^fnal flag of his temperament. 

The History of the Cravat 

MO decided opinion can be given of the age in which Cra- 
vats were first introduced. The ancients were happily 
unacquainted with the ridiculous and dangerous fashion of 

Copyright 1916 Guido Bruno 



536 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



confining the throat in linen, cither tied in front or fastened 
behind with a clasp; this part of the frame was allowed to 
remain in entire liberty; they, however, defended it from the 
cold by means of a woollen or silken cloth, called in Rome 
focalium, a term which is evidently derived from fauces (the 
throat). 

A distinguished Jesuit (the Rev. Father Adam) in his work 
on Roman antiquities, proves by the most undoubted author- 
ity that the Romans made use of chin cloths, for the protec- 
tion of their neck and throat; these were termed focalia, and 
the public orators, who from professional considerations were 
fearful of taking cold, contributed in no small degree to ren- 
der this fashion general. Some (says the Rev. Father) used 
a handkerchief (sudarium) for this purpose. This is probably 
the origin of the Cravat, which is in many countries called 
"Neckhandkerchief." 

Augustus, who was infirm and sickly, constantly used the 
focalium when at his own house, or with his friends, but he 
was never seen in it in public; and Lampridus observes that 
Alexander Severus made use of it only when returning from 
the baths to his palace. In Rome the custom of leaving the 
neck bare was so general that it was considered beneath the 
dignity of the man and citizen to protect it in any other way 
than by the hand, or occasionally wrapping the toga round it. 

The throats of our forefathers were for ages as uncovered 
as their faces; in this respect the descendants of the Sar- 
matae have not degenerated, as the Poles during the most 
severe winter have their throats constantly exposed. The 
same fashion (which is, however, less surprising) has de- 
scended to the Eastern Nations, among whom a white and 
well turned neck is metaphorically compared to the beauty 
of a tower of Ivory. The Calmucks, Baskirs and other Tar- 
tars of the Don, on the border of the Caspian Sea, also 
adhere to this fashion; very few of them, however, merit the 
eastern compliment, as their throats are generally ugly and 
ill-formed. This custom gradually declined in France and 
several parts of Europe, and luxury, rather than necessity, 
introduced the fashion of covering the throat loosely with a 
fine starched linen cloth; this was worn above the shirt, with- 
out a collar; the ends were brought down on the breast and 
there fastened by laces of thread — from this idea of bands 
was derived — before introduction of the heavy and unhealthy 
bonds, which at a later period confined the throat, was even 
dreamt of. 

The ruff, stiffened and curled in single or double rows (an 
inconvenient but harmless ornament) became the favorite 
in its turn, and continued in fashion while the hair was worn 
short; but this also fell into disrepute when Louix XIII 
allowed his to grow. Then raised collars, plaited neckcloths 
and bands (both plain and of lace) enveloped the throats of 
our ancestors, from the neck to the chin, and covered the 
tops of the arms until Louis XIV adopted the enormous 
flaxen or black peruke, which almost concealed the front of 
the neck. It then gave way to bright coloured ribands ar- 



BRUNO'S WEEKT.Y 537 

ranged in bows, which were also introduced by this gay and 
gallant monarch, and imitated by every one according to his 
rank or caprice. 

Up to that time, as frivolity alone had reigned, the fashion 
was not injurious; but the throat, which had hitherto been 
comparatively free, now lost that liberty which it has never 
since regained. In 1660 a regiment of Croats arrived in 
France; a part of their singular costume excited the greatest 
admiration, and was immediately and generally imitated; this 
was a tour de cou, made (for the private soldiers) of common 
lace, and of muslin or silk for the officers; the ends were 
arranged en rosette, or ornamented with button or tuft, which 
hung gracefully on the breast. This new arrangement, which 
confined the throat but very slightly, was at first termed a 
Croat, since corrupted to Cravat. The Cravats of the officers 
and people of rank were extremely fine, and the ends were 
embroidered or trimmed with broad lace; those for the lower 
classes were subsequently made of cloth or cotton, or at the 
best of black taffeta, plaited: which was tied round the neck 
by two small strings. These strings were at a later period 
replaced by clasps, or a buckle, and the Cravat then took the 
name of Stock. 

The Cravat at length became universal, and was increased 
to an almost incredible size. Some enveloped the neck in 
entire pieces of muslin; others wore a stitched stiffener. on 
which several handkerchiefs were folded. By this echafau- 
dage the neck was placed in a level with the head, which in 
size it surpassed, and with which it was confounded. The 
shirt collar rose to the side of the ears, and the top of the 
Cravat covered the mouth and lower part of the nose, so that 
the face (with the exception of the nose) was concealed by 
the Cravat and a forest of whiskers; these rose on each side 
of the hair, which was combed down over the eyes. 

In this costume the elegans bore a greater resemblance to 
beasts than men and the fashion gave rise to many laughable 
caricatures. They were compelled to look straight before 
them as the head- could only be turned by general consent of 
all the members, and the tout ensemble was that of an un- 
finished statue. 

Instances have, however, occurred in which these imnrense 
Cravats have saved the lives of the wearers in battle. One 
fact, as related by Dr. Pizie, may be worthy of record: "I 
was laughing" (says he) "at General Lepale, on account of 
his enormous Cravat. At the moment of entering into action, 
his regiment charged, and after dispersing the enemy's cav- 
alry returned to the bivouac. I was informed that the Gen- 
eral had been struck by a pistol shot in the throat. I imme- 
diately hastened to his assistance and was shewn a bullet 
which was stopped in its career by the very Cravat I had 
just been ridiculing. Two officers and several privates had 
received sabre cuts on the Cravat, and escaped without in- 
jury, so that I was obliged to confess that these immense 
bandages were not always useless." 



538 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Singers more than any class of persons, should be careful 
to avoid exposing* the throat to the cold as a moderate heat 
contributes to supply the organs, and renders the voice 
clearer and more harmonious; though, on the contrary, it is 
greatly deteriorated if the throat is constrained by a tight- 
ened Cravat. No part of the body is more susceptible of 
cold than the neck; and this susceptibility is the effect of too 
much covering in general; but in leaving a ball room, or any 
heated place, the greatest care should be taken to defend 
the chest and neck from cold. 

The natives of the South are but too well acquainted with 
the danger of such sudden transitions, and the Spaniards 
particularly, who always wear a large handkerchief hanging 
carelessly from the neck, invariably wrap themselves in it, 
when being warm they are suddenly exposed to the cold. 

In short, the Cravat has now arrived at the summit of 
perfection, and has been materially assisted in its progress 
by the use of starch. The question naturally arises to whom 
is the world indebted for this sublime invention? To the 
English, Russians, Italians or French? On this point we 
confess ourselves unable to decide. The blanchisseuses of 
each of those powers have been instrumental in communi- 
cating this important discovery to the world. 

On our parts, more profound investigations would be un- 
availing and it is only by a continued course of laborious 
research that it would be possible to remove the obscurity 
which has enveloped the subject of our labours for so many 
ages. 

(Introduction to "The Art of Tying the Cravat," by H, Le Blanc, 
published 1804 by F, and B. Fordes, 455 Broadway, New York,) 

London Letter 

London Office of BRUNO'S WEEKLY. 
18 St. Charles Square, New Kensington 

February 23rd, 1916, 
1. GEORGE MOORE will probably create some excite- 
ment with his new "Life of Christ"— "The Brook Ker- 
ith" — which is announced. In order to write this work Mr. 
Moore undertook a journey to Palestine. Already some of 
the papers are whipping up clerics and professors to con*- 
demn the work in advance. I have not seen any advance 
copy of it, but according to report it is in the form of a 
novel and puts forward some very heretical views. In fact 
I think Moore challenges the very fact of Christ's death upon 
the cross. "Some hours on the cross would be more likely 
to produce a cataleptic swoon than death," he says. To this 
Dr. Claye Shaw, a well-known lecturer at St. Bartholomew's 
Hospital, replies: "The accepted medical view of the death 
of Christ is that He died from pericarditis with effusion, and 
that His early death ensued from this condition and was 
accelerated by the wound from the javelin." 

I think I should include a mention of the Poet Laureate's 
new orthology "The Spirit of Man," which is being reviewed 
everywhere at great length. 



MR. 



Dr. Bridges has been inspired to compile it in a spirt of 

?iatriotism. He planned it as a volume to afford cheer and re» 
reshment to those who take no active part in the war of 
wars. The book is arranged on a generous basis and in- 
cludes quotations from the philosophers as well as the poets. 
There are translations from the Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Per- 
sian, Russia, German and Chinese. The Ppets represented 
range from Homer to Rupert Brooke. The fault of the 
book lies in its very profuseness. It is really the anthology 
with the limited though not financial scope which is the best. 
Another "ANTHOLOGY" which is enjoying considerable 
success in England comes from America — from Spoon River 
in fact. Since this book is well-known to you I will say 
no more about it. I have not read it yet, but it is certainly 
very popular over here and has been widely reviewed. One 
thing which strikes the reviewers is the quaintness of the 
title. 

Another shock has been given to the world of writers this 
week. Paper is to be doubled or trebled in price. Books 
will cost more, and a great many will be postponed. Mr. 

John Lane says young novelists will stand little chance of 
aving their works published. Some of the papers, it is 
to be supposed, will cut down their size, and it does not 
seem cynical to prophecy that the curtailment will begin 
with the literary and artistic columns. 

The word of translations from the Russian and books on 
Russia keeps up its pressure. This week we have ''The 
Way of the Cross" by V. Doroshevitch and "The Epic 
Songs of Russia" by Isabel Florence Hapgood. Mr. Stephen 
Graham of course writes an introduction to the fortner. Mr. 
Graham has made a sort of literary corner in Russia and is 
naturally applied to for his benediction over all Russian 
literary projects. 

In the world of the theatre, Mr. Sturge Morse's "Judith" 
has been one of the refined pleasures of the week. It was per- 
formed by the Stage Society. The play is gracious, sensi- 
tive and dignified but it is not dramatic or even very real. 
Miss Lillah McCarthy played the part of Judith. 

Dr. Ethel Smyth our woman composer has produced a 
new opera — and on what libretto has she written it do you 
suppose? She has taken one of N. W. Jacobs sea yarns, 
'*The Boatsman's Mate" and altered it considerably and 
made something out of it which has certainly more distinc- 
tion than a musical comedy but perhaps not so much reason. 

A new volume of poems, "The Man With a Hammer" by 
Miss Anna Wickham (Grant Richards 2s 6d) contains some 
verses which if not remarkable as poetry are interesting 
psychologically. The revolting woman speaks in Miss Wick- 
nam, or perhaps it is really the woman who would like to 
revolt. 

Edward Storer, 



540 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre 

The Bruno Players 

"Miss Julia" will continue on the program during the 
coming week. The performances take place Monday, Tues- 
day and Wednesday at 8.45 p. m., and the Saturday matinee 
at 3 p. m. The curtain rises respectively at eight forty-five 
and three sharp, and the doors are closed during the per- 
formance. Late-comers are not being admitted. The next 
programme will present a comedy by* Strindberg which will 
prove that the Great Swede has the same sense of the com- 
edy in life that he has manifested so often for the inevitable 
tragedy. Also a war play by an American author, which 
unrolls before our eyes a vivid picture of things that are or 
could be, will be on the bill of which the first performance 
is scheduled for Monday, March 27. 

Muticalet 

On Friday and Saturday evenings Donna Faunce, a 
soprano, will sing a selection of songs by Liza Lehmann, 
including The Wood Pigeon, The Yellowhammer, The Owl, 
and The Cuckoo. Miss Faunce recently came to New York 
to complete her vocal studies and intends to enter upon a 
concert career. 

Miss Elsa De Val, who also appears on this week's pro- 
gramme, is known as a church singer, but it is her desire to 
use the concert stage as a stepping stone to grand opera. 
She appears in the Thimble Theatre for the first time before 
a public audience. Her programme includes One Fine Day 
(Madam Butterfly), by Puccini, The Gift by Mary Helen 
Brown, and Welcome, Sweet Wind, by Cadman. 



Editorial Judgment 



DERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY had just been kicked out of 
the office of McClure's. 

"I tried to sell my ode to a skylark," he explained to John 
Keats, "but they objected to it as a violation of neutrality." 

"I can understand that," said Leigh Hunt, who joined the 
pair at Twenty-third Street, ''because McClure would be sure 
to think you meant a Zeppelin." 

"But I thought McClure was such an admirer of the Ger- 
mans," said Shelley. "Didn't he go all around the country 
once, imploring us to imitate the Germans?" 

"Besides," interjected Keats, "McClure has nothing more 
to do with McClure's." 

"His editorial judgment must still carry weight though," 
said Leigh Hunt. "They refused my poem, 'Jenny Kissed 
Me,' because I failed to make it clear that the parties were 
either married or engaged to be married." 

"I shouldn't think McClure would care," said Keats sadly, 
"whether you and Jenny are married or not." 

"He doesn't," explained Shelley. "But he can't run the 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 541 

risk of having a whole edition held up in the post office." 

'*Then why does he expose the female form the way he 
does on his covers?" 

"That isn't the female form you're always seeing on the 
cover of McClure's. It's a lot of Havard men in the same 
style of girl's bathing suit." 

"Did you get your information," asked Shelley, "from 
McClurc himself?" 

"I didn't have to," said Keats. "You can always tell a 
Harvard man." 
From The Bang, Alexander Harvey's Unique Weekly, 

Three Things by Tom Sleeper 

London 

DLEAR blobs of light that burble murkily thru the drith- 
ering fog. — A horse-cab janketing over the cobble- 
stones. — A man and woman chawning odd bids of puff over 
near the curb. — The bulking cop sentineling his traffic post — 
and ever comes the brum bum of far-off tram cars. 

Attainment 

The world gave me the hal hal when I was twenty-six. 
And again when I was forty-two. 
Now I can give the world the hal ha! 
The Devil eat it! 

Question 

U7HY should my cow be tethered with a common iron chain 
while my dog disports himself at the end of a Russian 
leather thong? 
There is caste even among prisoners. 

Love 

LOVE like a rose 

Smiling in the sun 
Hath called me 
Love like a rose 

Blowing in a storm. 
Hath lashed me 

Love like a rose 
Scattered on the grass 
Hath killed me. 

Diamond Crisp. 

Nathan Hale 

LOOKED at from any standpoint, from any aspect, at any 
hour of the day, or on any day of the week, in all 
seasons and under all human condition, that statue is an 
inspiration to the men of this great metropolis. 



S42 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Standing as he does, the clear-eyed patriot looks out and 
over the busy highway of traffic, and at his right hand rise 
the massive homes of the daily press. 

When the summer leafage softens the background; when 
the bare branches intensify the outlines of the bronze; when 
the morning sun lights up the east and spreads an aureole 
of glory behind his head; when the sunset's lingering rays 
touch that calm young face with a kiss of infinite tender- 
ness; when the cold moonlight wraps him in the mantle 
of her shimmering glory, always, always he stands there, 
with fettered hands and feet, but with a dauntless spirit 
which no human power can quell, which bows but to the 
mandates of truth and honor. 

Yet, when the rush and the turmoil of the week are ended 
and over the Sabbath stillness, the noontide chimes of 
Trinity are heard, he seems to assume more majestic pro- 
portions; he stands a giant, fettered for his country's sake, 
and in the voices of the chapel bells he seems to hear the 
music of the angels singing, and the Master's wordSf "Well 
done." 
L. R, Heller. 

(Among the few literary men ivho succeeded in interviewing the 
great actress, Eleanora Duse, was Arthur Symons, The following 
sentences are perhaps the most important spoken by Duse during 
the conversation,) 

To save the theatre, the theatre must be destroyed, the 
actors and actresses must all die of the plague. They poison 
the air, they make art impossible. It is not drama that they 
play, but pieces for the theatre. The drama dies of stalls 
and boxes and evening dress, and people who come to digest 
their dinner. 



My Impr^ctibles 



Seneca, or the toreador of virtue. 

Rousseau, or return to nature in impuris naturalibus. 

Schiller, or the moral Trumpeter of Sackingen. 

Dante, or the hyena poetizing in tombs. 

Kant, or cant as an intelligible character. 

Victor Hugo, or Pharos in a sea of absurdity. 

Michelet, or enthusiasm which strips off the coat. 

Carlyle, or pessimism as an undigested dinner. 

John Stuart Mill, or offensive transparency. 

The Goncourts, or the two Ajaxes striiggling with 

Homer; music by Offenbach. 
Zola, or the delight to stink. 

Frederick Nietzsche. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 




Hitherto Unpublished Letters by 
Oscar Wilde 

(Lettert •teklrh are at preienl among the eolUction of Patrick P. 
Madigan, ivrilten by Oicar Wilde lo friendi and acquaintances, 
and a few lettert addreiied to Mr. Smtthert, hit fublilker, art ea 
significant for kii style and every-day thaughti that the reproduc- 
tion en tkest pages tvill prove a valuable addition to oar Wilde 
literature.) 

Albermarble Club, 
13 Albermarble Street, W. 
(1884) 16 Tite Street, 

S. W. 
Dear Sir: 

I will send you a Ms. capy of my play — a little incomplete, 
but still, enough to give you an idea of its ethical scheme. 

Your letter has deeply moved me — to the world I seem, 
by intention or by part, a dilettante and dandy merely — . 

It is not wise to show ones heart to the world — and as 
seriousness of manner is the disguise of the fool, so folly 
in its exquisite modes of triviality and indifference and lack 
of care, is the robe of the wise man. 

In so vile an age as this we all need masks. 

But write to me about yourself — tell me your life and 
loves — and all that makes you wonder. Who are you? 
(what a difficult question for any one of us to answer!) I, 
at any rate, mm 

Your friend, 

OtCAK WiLOI. 



544 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



To T. Hutchinson, Esq., 
16 Tite Street, 

Chelsea, S. W. 

July 13th, 1888. 
My dear Sir: 

I must thank you for your very charming and graceful 
letter but I am afraid that I don't think as much of the 
Young Student as you do. He seems to me a rather shallow 
young man, and almost as bad as the girl he thinks so lovely. 
The Nightingale is the true lover, if there is one. She, at 
least, is Romance; and the Student and the girl are, like 
most of us, unworthy of Romance. So, at least, it seems to 
me, but I like to fancy that there may be many meanings 
in the Tale, for in writing it, and the others, I did not start 
with an idea and clothe it in form, but began with a form 
and strove to make it beautiful enough to have many secrets, 
and many answers. 

Truly yours, 

Oscar Wildb. 

(The Nightingale and the Rose, to which the above letter refers, is 
included in the collection of Fairy stories entitled "The Happy Prince, 
and Other Tales," by Oscar Wilde.) 

Book-Plate Notes. 

'HE book-plate to-day is a necessary accessory to the book 
itself. Anybody can buy a book put on public sale. To 
place the individual mark of ownership upon everything that 
we acquire for personal use is the marked tendency of our 
times: to place our initials or our coat-of-arms or our trade- 
mark upon the things we are using daily. The monogram on 
our handkerchief and on our linen, the label on the inside 
pocket of our coat or on the vanity case or on the seal ring; 
on the china or silver we are using in our dining-room, im- 
pregnate those things with our personality. Book-plates are 
not an ornament. Just a visible sign of proprietorship. 

Coulton Waugh is devoting himself to book-plates exclu- 
sively and will arrange for an exhibition in the near future. 

During the first week in May the American Art Association 
will sell at public auction the remarkable collection of book- 
plates formed by the late Dr. Henrv C. Eno, consisting of 
American, English and Continental plates, library labels, 
leather book-plates and the like, which number over four 
thousand items and include the works of famous designers 
and the plates of important personages of ancient and mod- 
ern times. 

Henry Blakewell, who recently disposed by auction sale of 
his large collection of book-plates, is at work upon a check- 
list of American book-plates. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 545 

mBssssBBasaaaaBSBBOBmsmBmmmmBBmiBataBmmmBBmm 



Oo-JfliLoo. ?^^ 







The book-plate reproduced on this page was drawn 
by and for Adelaide Helen Page in April, 1898, when she 
was five and a half years old. It was accepted by the Museum 
of Fine Arts in Boston. The silhouette is a portrait of Miss 
Page. 

Books and Magazines of the Week 

JHICAGO was and is the city where wit and humor, unin- 
fluenced by Europe, finds its expression from time to 
time in small magazines published and edited by one man, 
who evidently has no other desires but to have his say, un- 
hampered by editors and uncurtailed by that mighty ruler: 
convention. It was Chicago where the greatest American 
minds which were humans at the same time found a chance to 
express themselves during the last twenty-five years. There 
was Eugene Field, who knew better than anyone else, either 
before him or since, how to look at that other side of Ameri- 
can life, to see the man beneath his everyday attitude towards 
every-day life. There was Ben King, who was for Chicago 
what Salis meant to Paris; but Salis needed a chat noir and a 
circle of poets, musicians and artists, while Ben King created 
a chat noir wherever he was present. And there was Stanley 
Waterloo, with whom to converse for an hour meant to take 
a new lease upon life. 

They have departed from earthly life, but pick up one of 
their books and you will feel their individuality, you will 
feel their presence. James Whitcomb Riley and George Ade 
passed through Chicago on their happy road to achievement 



546 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

1— BMBaMagBMEBBlg in ■'"IfH II W! ,i ' il SBaBS^—IMH— —— — 

and success. And Opie Read is still there. And Bill Eaton, 
who guards in his "Scoop" every week, a brilliant testimony 
of what is being done in Chicago to-day in letters and art. 
The pages of his paper are a kalaiedoscope of real life, sea- 
soned with a bit of sarcasm here and there, serious in their 
criticisms but always kind and always cheerful. Leaving a 
lasting good taste. Colonel Visscher, the humorist, looks 
upon things in a lighter vein. And Dr. Frank Lydston for- 
gets here his ever preparedness and talks about things nearer 
to us than his surgical-wonder operations or his solutions of 
sexual problems. <« 

Cowley Stapleton Brown, he of the never-to-be-forgotten 
"Goose-Quill," created for himself a unique corner in Ameri- 
can criticism in Mr. French's "Musical Leader," which gave 
this otherwise unimportant musical publication a distinction 
that will be pointed out in times to come. 

And now there is being published a new magazine called 
"The Polemic." No editor's name appears upon its pages. 
It is unique. It has exceptional literary qualities. It is a dis- 
tinct portrayal of Chicago life, and it is life. Here is the 
"Overture" on the first page of Vol. 1, No. 1: "In creating 
"The Polemic" we are entertaining the hypothesis that if we 
crack a bull-dog on the nose, he may not love us but he will 
be damned interested in our movements." 

The Minaret 

The current issue of "The Minaret" contains a very good 
review of Rupert Brooke's collected poems by Blanche Shoe- 
maker Wagstaff. It is short but says everything that could 
be said. Sentiments very seldom voiced by American con- 
temporaries are the attractive motives of Harold Hersey's 
"Silhouettes of the City." We cannot resist reprinting the 
one published in the March issue. 

The Old House 

Just an old brick house, 
One among many others in a dreary block. 
But like the houses of the city it has an individual voice, 
Its own memories, its own sadness. 
Here I lived in the springtime of my years. 
In that room with the dull, silent windows. 
And through that hall came to my door 
One whose hand and voice will never be forgotten, 
The kindest secret of my heart. 

Old house, I wonder how many others have lived within 
you. 

Clialleiige 

There was a lot of noise at the time of the birth of this 
new monthly: Pariuriunt monies, nascetur ridiculus mus! it is 
a nice college paper and is a bit revolutionary, just enough so 
to be daring, but that is all. Discussion of such matters as 
sex and equal suffrage, never led to positive results or direct 
conclusions in magazines. But it is a nice college paper. 
Tlie Intematioiial 

In the current issue of Mr. Viereck's monthly Hans Heinz 



BRUNO^S WEEKLY 547 

Ewers found his first appreciation in America. Ewers, whose 
prose writings have some of the qualities of Edgar Allan Poe, 
played an imj>ortant part in the cabaret movement of the 
early nineties in Germany and contributed a great deal to the 
understanding in Germany of contemporary French writers. 
Not long ago he was in America when he gave several read- 
ings of his works in the Irving Place Theater. 

The Coloniiacle 

John W. Draper's importance for style and si^ificancc in 
contemporary poetry is discussed in the current issue of this 
magazine, published by the Andiron Club by Charles Gray 
Shaw, Professor of Ethics in the New York University. The 
same number contains a three-act play, "Between Cloister 
Gates," by John W. Draper, the editor of the magazine. 



In Our Village 



npHERE is only one thing that prevents Sadakichs from 
ranking to-day among our classics; he is alive. Sada- 
kichi should be dead. Rightfully he should have died about 
ten years ago. But he insists upon living; he insists upon 
being a monument of his own. He insists upon standing on 
the pedestal where he placed himself, and he loves with the 
naivetee of a child to gather himself the wreaths and flowers 
his admirers place at his feet — the feet of that monument. 

Sadakichi has, in common with other great men to whom 
recognition did not come easily, the ardent wish to be recog- 
nized by his contemporaries. He is looking upon his con- 
temporaries as his posterity which he wishes to pay homage 
to him. . . . He is a bad actor. He dies upon that stage, 
which life represents to him, and insists upon awakening at 
the wrong time, before the curtain has been rung down on 
him; the onlookers admire the heroic death, and he destroys 
that "certain something" in the psychological moment . . . 
and we all can see that real live thing . . . and Sadakichi 
will try again to die. 

His works, those he wrote years and years ago— are su- 
perb. They are strong, they are convincing. He has often 
been compared to Poe. Whenever the American thinks of 
originality in letters, he will remember Poe who stands out 
to-day as well as seventy-five years ago as the only poet 
and writer in America who was an individuality and who 
was original. Sadakichi has a style of his own, and the 
tertium comparationis is originality. 

' The merciless necessity of earning money has been the 
stumbling-block of many a genius. It was not in Sadakichi's 
path. He always was and is a firm believer that genius is 
the one and only investment that should bear him rightfully 
ample interest to live on comfortably. The world misunder- 
stands. Posterity will find it only natural. But posterity 
again will have its own personal interests to expend lavishly 
money to erect monuments or confer other honors upon 
the dead man. 

It is easier to buy a block of marble and have an artist 



548 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



transform it into a wonderful bust than to give value for 
value. 

And so Sadakichi is a wayfarer of yore, out in the world, 
appearing here and there demanding tribute from contem- 
poraries who look upon him as a curiositsr. But he is con- 
scious of what he is doing. He has no illusions about it. 
He laughs. He laughs at the world and he laughs at himself 
. . . but he is serious, reverentlv serious when he remem- 
bers those years in which he really worked and strived and 
produced; and those are the years that are redeeming him 
now for us, — that will make posterity to understand him to 
honor him to glorify him. 

I see the time when publishers will collect the scraps with 
his handwriting and the books and pamphlets he published 
himself. I see a biographer busy to interpret that fruit- 
bearing period of the Nineties when he was at his best and 
wrote his "Christ," and "Buddha" and published his "Stylus'* 
and his "Art Critic." 

Sadakitchi Hartmann was among us for a few days before 
his departure for Colorado, where he is going to make his 
permanent home. 

The dramatic group of the Liberal Club produced on Sun- 
day, the 5th, two plays, "Suppressed Desires," a psycho- 
analytical play by George Cram Cook and Susan Glaspell, 
and "The Five Daughters of a King," by Rollo Peters. Alice 
Palmer was the second princess. She acted a princess here 
as well as she does in her village store, when she is seated 
under that gorgeous purple canopy, her head reclining on a 
flaming green pillow with yellow ornaments, and two enor- 
mous candles (they are six-footers) flickering mystically on 
each side of her. Mary Pyne, who played the fifth princess, 
should have been the first. 

The large array of electric lamps under shades of all shapes 
and color combinations is but one of the twilight attractions 
in Mr. Hellman's studio. His Sunday afternoon teas are devel- 
oping into a salon, where one can meet in the most uncon- 
ventional manner refugee princesses, newly arrived from 
Europe, editors who represent power on the other side of the 
counter which divides the literateurs and artists of America 
in successes and into others; and just plain every-day villagers 
who are writing or painting. 

The Candlestick Tea Room is now owned and operated 
solely by Miss Coones, who last week purchased Mrs. Pen- 
dington's interest in this orange colored and candle-lighted 
eating place in Greenwich Village. 

From February 19th until March Sth, the Modem Art 
School exhibited works of art by its teachers and pupils. 
Most of the exhibits were shown for the first time. Among 
them was a bust by Bourdelle, never before exhibited in 
America. 

Bruno's Garret 

Landlords are very slow if it means to repair a building or 
put it into shape again after a fire. It took almost a month 
to put a roof upon the Garret and to restore the damaged 
walls, so it can again fulfill its mission: to shelter the works 



BRUNO^S WEEKLY 549 

of artists tacked to its walls (the works, not the artists) and 
people who are anxious to listen to the creations of the poets 
and authors who give their readings here. The Garret will 
open its doors again on Saturday, March 11th. Cartoons of 
Steinlen chronologically arranged as they appeared in Gil 
Bias, sixty-eight of the best he ever did, will be exhibited 
from the Uth of March until the first of April. Saturday 
afternoon and Monday evening are reserved, as before the 
fire, for the purpose of keeping "open house." 

On Bookstall Row 

IN years there has not been such a demand for books in 
foreign languages as has been evidenced since the begin- 
ning of the war, especially during the last four months, ac- 
cording to Mr. Hammond, one of the oldest booksellers on 
Fourth Avenue. He specializes in French and German 
novels and his explanation of this suddenly awakened in- 
terest for foreign belle lettres seems very plausible. Many 
thousand dollars' worth of books are bought daily by the 
various war relief societies and by individuals who are ship- 
ping their purchases to the German, English and French 
concentration camps. While the Germans permit, English 
books and magazines intra muras of the concentration camps; 
the English and French exclude all periodical literature in 
a foreign language from their prison camps. Mr. Hammond 
contends that he sold more books by Balzac and by Dickens 
during the last six months than he ordinarily would sell in 
the course of five years, depending upon his New York trade. 

It was a good joke upon H. Stone, he who had the 
good fortune— or perhaps a profound knowledge, who knows, 
— to dig up during the last few years very rare and important 
items, such as a complete series of Poor Richard's Almanacs 
and never-before-known Mark Twain material to dispose of 
a letter by Lincoln for fifteen cents. He bought a lot of 
books at a recent auction sale and after looking them over, 
evidently not too carefully, designated them to his table in 
front of his shop, to be sold at fifteen cents each. They did 
not prove very good sellers. For almost three weeks they 
were out there in rain and shine, and nobody seemed to be 
attracted enough to take them home. Last Saturday a well- 
known Brooklyn clergyman inspected the lot, picked up one 
of the volumes, paid fifteen cents for it and took home an 
apparently unimportant book; but inlaid between its pages 
was a letter in the handwriting of Lincoln, and a long one, 
too. Since then the clergyman was offered one hunderd and 
fifty dollars for his find, but he refused to sell it. But so 
will it happen if a dealer of books pays special interest to 
art, and makes out of his book shop an exhibition parlor of 
discarded originals of drawings which have appeared during 
the last ten years in "Leslie's Weekly." 

Frank Bender, whose store is filled to the brim with books 
on architecture and with ancient plans and plates, recently 
bought a curious lot of a long-forgotten English magazine, 
"The Spirit Lamp." He has hundreds of them. They are of 



550 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

interest because Lord Alfred Douglas was the editor and 
Oscar Wilde one of the chief contributors. 

Old Man Deutschberger, who moved a few doors north 
of his old shop some time ago, disposed, Friday, of all his 
book-plate books and of a large part of his book-plate litera- 
ture, consisting of pamphlets, periodicals and individual 
plates. He has some very curious Americana in that ominous 
old buffet used by him as the sacred screen for the rarest of 
the rare. But his prices are prohibitive, at least for those 
who really want to read the books. 

Several new shops ventured to locate among the old 
stand-bys from the days of the old Astor library. There is a 
new basement shop whose proprietor evidently loves English 
essays and books on books. And another one a few doors 
south specializing in old magazines. It is the Dorado for the 
extra illustrator; but he must have the time to sit down and 
to look through a few thousand periodicals. They are not 
classified, and the proprietor is as ignorant of what he has as 
his prospective buyer. 

Wall Street Reflections 

THE stock market situation has just enough of mystery 
in it to make it perplexing even for the shrewdest ob- 
servers. The attitude is one of watchful waiting. Prices, 
not values are under pressure. 

Those timid ones who feared that the political cloud hover- 
ing over Washington was the precursor of a tornado and 
who made haste to sacrifice their securities, are now coming 
out of their panic to find that the sun of peace and pros- 
perity is still shining here. 

Politics has ruled the stock market for the last fortnight. 
War stocks have suffered most. ' Prices of the leading shares 
are much lower than they were last November. 

It was their thought that all the "good news" was out 
and the market was sold for that reason, but now even better 
news is coming. The wonderful New York Central January 
report following the satisfactory Pennsylvania's annual 
figures will bring the good rails into line also steels and 
coopers as an exceptionally good purchase. 

European demand for American goods and products con- 
tinues and in my opinion will continue not only during the 
'^ar but for a long period to come. Earnings make dividends 
and not promises. 

An interesting situation is manifest in the Bond market. 
Hardly a day passes that new Bond issues are not offered 
to the public and are being quickly absorbed. This shows 
that there is an abundance of investment money awaiting 
an outlet. 
"Junius" 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, and 
edited and written by Guido Bruno, both at 58 Washington 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 

Entered as second class matter at the Post Office of New 
York, N. Y., October 14th, 1915, under the Act of March 
8d, 1879. 



I 



ON MY WAIAS • pcnMUMirt «s!ilMltoa ef Mtognplw, 
WMiipto and Idstaiical doeoBMBte. and k»Te mt p rmeat aa Mpecially 
lvt«r«stl]ic-.eolleeil«m aC laitaia aad •rlstnal naaaiiMripto by Abra- 
UiMoln, 09orf Wasbiastaa, Babari IjMiIs BUvmoawn, Oammr WIMa 
Sdcar Allan Paa. TbMa are iba atlslaal Miipto af itorlM, pactaa 
daetDnenta wblcb bava auida ili«M mmk Jamgai. If iBtarwIad* drap 



PATRICK FRANCIS MADIGAN 

Ml Fifth Ave. (aBtnUM Mth St.). New Torii 



At the Sign of the Red Lamp 

Fifty-Three West Third Street, New York 

Tav win flad ibla aid aad ptctoratqaa Chop Hanta* 
TWO DOOB8 KA8T OF WS8T BUOADWAT 
Wa ataka m ■p<dal|jr af tea Vtad^ SUafc aad Ghapa 



8. UOAD, FkaprlaCar TUapbaMt 

Op«s Xraalnga vatll Klaa 

RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 



far (TbrlatauM Olfta 

Farebaaed staicly or la aota for pooplo who bavo noltbar tlmo nor oppor- 
Ivalty to aoloct for tbomsolr«i, or for tboso who baTO not aee«0B to tba 
boat bo6k marta Wby not bogta coUoctlaff nowT 

Address, E. V.» Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass. 

•He Candlestick Tea Room 



THE CANDLESTICK TEA ROOM baa arrangod opaca far 
Daacteff ovary Tw aa day, Tburaday aad Saturday alcbt fraaa 
aifht ta olavaa. Good MnaSe aad Fiaa Fiaar. Fatrana •! tba 
Taa 



tl WEST ITH STREET TEL. STUYVESANT tm 

For Houses, AfMurtments or Rooms, Ses 

PEPE & BROo 

SEAL ESTATE AND INSURANCE 

40 So. Washingtoii Sqmuro 
Taiapfcwis 41 IS Sprfaiy Csr. el IfacDoogid Straet 

Bnm0 m h—k 

I N W H I C H 
«»# imy insi wkta we think. Published i^erf memih bf NwmmhBH 
CiddeM df 7S4 Sttend Avenue in Detreii, MiiihigMu It is m liiiig 
i§0h ssffsz/jF iiiustrMied. Write /sr e^mfie r•>J^ 



OwHes Epson's lilde TUmble TkeaAfCr Stmtkti 
At No. 10 Fifth Atenie, <keeiiwidi ViOag*, N. T. C 



This Week's P^rf ormaiicet- 

. . . . , 
•i4f p. Bi* Bmiie Plajeis 

•i46 p. Bi* Bmiie Wsf eii * 

» StiS p. Bi* BmiM Flairwi 

Hivndajt tiAB p. at. Mnsleato 

VMdmr» tiAS p. Bi. Mnaleato 

Sstnrda^t SiM p* hu Bmno PtairMRS 

■utordajt ttlft pi li. KoslMito 

Ask or ¥nrite for ticket of admiukm to the 
Musicales. They are free. 

I BUY BOOKS 

Single Tolumes* email lote, ead Ubrairieet^ eiiliiiirnpli 
lettere of ImowB Uteraiy men ami MtUts» drawtegib 
pictnree mmd enfimvia^e. 'Addreee 

"^COLLECTOR,'' Caira of Bnmo'e WmMj, is Wadi^^toll 84. 

There can be no pleasanter phct to Imur 
dial remarkable Edison Record 
Nnmber (g2536) Uian 

The Diaindtid Disc Shop 

at Number lO Fifth Avenoe 



h thb store, at lean, llie ddigklM 
plMK of Old Greem^ch VUtafc liM not beA 
saci^ccil OB ilito akitr of coauMnidai 



i 




A peetal wfll Iriiig jm, wHfc mm 

c^^^e^^Meii§e. ^^ S^f^tftt^^Bv Itftcb ' 

Phone tStajYtsaat 4570 biefnpljr cf Mr. TkM. A. E«m« ' 



BRUNO'S W^EtCtJ^ 



i/^ 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Flv* Cent* Mardi ISth, 1916 



BRUNO PliYERS 

auius EDBors imu XHomi iheatke 

H K T» fin AVaUE. atEEMmi VlUC^ R.I.C 



Miss Jnlia 

A Nanirall»l« Tta«>ir. ■• On AO 



k <b iKfa* ¥ *• OpA-C^a^ k* 



CVUT HONDAT. TUtSDAT AND WEOMESDAT, 

«• nr«n I^M. siMl MATURDAV »t B vNJItuu M . 

ONLY ISO SCATS. AT ONE DOLLAK EACH 



Readan at Bnuw't WmUj 
an uked to bsc o — 
Sabtcriban 

52 ISSUES FOR TWO DOLLARS 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Edited by Guido Bruno in Hit Gaaret on Washington Square 



No. 12. MARCH 18th, MCMXVI. Vol. IL 

Washington Squaro 

Nineteen youngsters and a squirrel, 
thirty*seven peanuts in a bag, 
(Come to-morrow. Tummy-ache I) 
Sun grinning gold. 
Sky grinning blue, 
Earth grinning green — 
and the old! 

Alfred Kreymborg 

The Last of the War Correspondents. 

U/ITH a Russian bullet in his heart, Baron von Kriegelstein 
lies somewhere in the melting snows of East Prussiar 

And there are no more war correspondents I 

The restless driving soul of him is stilled forever; the dash 
for telegraph lines, the cat-yowling of a hundred kinds of 
shrapnel; the tense dawns before thousands died in Chinsi, 
Manchuria, South Africa, Cuba, Venezuela, Bulgaria, Tripoli, 
Mexico; the^ very thing that made von Kriegelstein the true 
war correspondent — is over. 

But he must not pass out without one bugle call that will 
reach over to him, wherever he is in spirit, to let him know 
that our heads are more erect for him, our hearts' pulse better 
and our eyes shine moist as we stiffen in salute to the last of 
his tribe. 

Baron, with your rolling voice, your grim mouth, your boy* 
ish eyes — for the Hell they have seen on earth — and your 
heart as democratic as only the true aristocrat can be, this 
is the bugle shrill that is trying to reach out to your ears, cold 
in the Russian snows, to tell you we have not forgotten! 

If you are dead— even authentic press reports sometimes 
speak wrongly — it is fitting you should have died as you did, 
with your face to the Slav you have hated, amid the wildest 
passions of men and just when the glory of your race of cor- 
respondents was fading. For it would have been beyond en- 
durance that you should sit miles behind a firing line acting 
as messenger boy for the information some commander want- 
ed to have you print to mislead somebody. 

On the eve of the greatest war, when the true military ob- 
server, with accumulated knowledge of twenty-six campaigns 
is counted dangerous even as a friend, there is nothing else 

Copyright 1916 by Guido Bruno 



552 BRUNO 'S WE EKLY 

for Baron von Kriegelstein to do but to die. The last of 
his kind, he went out properly, as his father before him and 
his brother at Mukden. True correspondents to the last. 

At forty-one years, he is dead. You shall judge if any man 
lived more in that span. Over the world he went for twenty- 
one years, watching how men fought. Not one instant of 
those years passed when he w~s not either at war, or hurry- 
in/ to get to another. '*So peaceful is the world." 

It was on Governor's Island last June that General Evans 
introduced me to him. I got to know him better as we waited 
f^r death together in Mexico. In fact, I know I should have 
flunked in the few hours before our escape if it had not been 
for his courage. Suppose I sketch some of the high lights. 

Governor's Island, one summer afternoon. A booming 
laugh in headquarters followed by a rataplan as the others 
joined in. I am introduced to a thick-chested man with wiry- 
reddish hair, narrow red-brown eyes and a very foreign mous- 
tache, which nowadays denotes militarism. A baron, re- 
marks General Evans. Ho, hoi I think. This is good. But 
I am an American newspaperman. I will tolerate him, being 
a Detifocrat. Maybe there is a story m the fortune hunter. 
Perhaps a funny story, whereby we can display true equality 
by mocking him well within the libel law of course. Maybe 
half a column in him. 

Officers entered and are introduced. One stares at him, a 
captain he is, and remarks: "Didn't I see you in Venezuela?" 

"Perhaps," the Barion replies offhand. 

"You were commander of artillery for Martos in the rev- 
olution against Castro!" the officer blurts out as sudden rec- 
ollection sweeps over him. 

They speak swiftly of governments made and destroyed, 
>«nd Greneral Evans cuts in: 

"Baron, do vou remember in China, the day before Pekin? 
Your Germans were a little lively." 

"Pardon, General," von Kriegelstein answers, "I am an 
. Austrian." 

It is evident there is a difference in his mind between them. 
The Baron continues lightly: "For the French we have sym- 
pathy, for the Prussians we have pity. It must be terrible 
to be a Prussian and take life so serenely." He is smiling as 
he says it, b9t the smile flickers out, for they do not under- 
stand. 

He has spoken the soul of Vienna, with its light operas and 
fluff of evenings that top off through business day, the day 
that is through because at is German and ended with laughter 
because it is Austrian. 

I learn he Vas just left Albania in revolt and is hurrying to 
Mexico. All his life it had been like this. The way the offi- 
cers consult with him on things technical of war, brings a 
doubt. Shall my half column be funny after all? This Barcm 
of Austria is evidently a great correspondent or else the offi- 
cers would not consult him. I shall accompany him back 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 553 

from the fort and get a story on condition between the United 
States and Mexico. . , 

And so it starts. Several . stories of him are vfritten, fpr 
the New York "Tribune." Every day I meet him and listen 
to his fascinating tales of adventxire> told in the offhand way 
that brings conviction. 

One day he is missint^. A week passes and Richard Hard- 
ing Davis having contrived again to be arrested in Mexico, 
I am to get my first taste of war corresponding. 

A week later it is Monterey, the first day there and a bad 
one. Carranza has made an anti-American speech in' the 
Plaza Zar^gosa the eveninjg previous. I am with Francisco 
.Urquidi, now Mexican Consul-general to New York. Urquidt 
is .suspected, of being Villista, for. already the, break between 
Villa and Carranza is at hand. Gringos are unpopular^ Gen- 
eral Gonzales, the saturnine on^, .ivho masks his eyes with 
dark . spectacles, is unfriendly. 

From a drug store opposite the Hotel Iturbide I hear a 
rolling guttural voice. Instantly I know there is. only one 
such voice in the world, and. I rush out to the street. There 
ahead of me is the baron, .in a rei^pkndent white uniform, 
with his eternal camera and binoculars. We greet hurriedly 
and noisily. About us cluster the street people. Then for 
the first time I am surprised at the baron's manner. Von 
Kriegelstein roars at tHose nearest and strikes one. over the 
head with his heavy cane. They fall back and we go to the 
hotel. 
,(To he, continued:) vC. ^* Lo4fi^e 

Pax Vobiscum 

JT seemed so impossible that Imman b«ing<s unquestionably 

intelligent, strong and weak as you and I,sboud go 

otit and ^ght, strike bk>w8, kill strangers, burn down i^op- 

-^rty that is not their own ki -the -name Of patriotism or love 

^df the 'emperor -or ' for rtbe 'S^ke • of ♦ some other "ideals" ^ tl»t 

are mere superstitions, that are not more real than a butler 

is a part of a happy home. And while our newspapers feast 

*en war news, on editiorials that comment on the war, on 

attacks against those that are. supposed to have incited the 

war, while preachers are praying' for peace and condemning 

in th^ir > pulpits those that caused 'this wholesale butchery, 

white 'the cleverest .writers '«0f both ' hemispheres are making 

' money hand *over ^st •^supplymg pubHshers < wliolesale with 

't'^eir r4*»<lvHnade-4:o-order jviewson the war situation, while 

'tlte'fasl^ioiiS'aire k^«eii€ed%y mflilarism, while -society folks 

>tango and^drmkt^' ion the* benefit of wounded soMiers, I am 

l^ing r ql^ietly in 4ear <M "Greenwich ' Village. Who bothers 

'l»ef•e'j^botl^ the- rights' artd iwfonga of • European nations ? Two 

Ihtngsenly interest us •••f. this -quiet vicinity; that there is 



554 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



started a war that converts into a devil's kitchen Europe, the 

mother of our civilization ^and the final end. Who caused 

this mix-up, the why and the when, the contents of the white 
and gray and orange papers of the nations setting forth their 
own views on the situation, don't mean anything to us. 

Mostly emphasized is the fact that thousands are being 
killed daily and millions endangering their lives. Aren't we 
all under indictment of death every day, every minute of the 
day? The soldier who meets his death on the battle-field 
might have died just as well on the same day, and the same 
hour of the day, by accident, he might have been run over 
by an automobile, or hit by a brick falling from the housetop. 
Maybe you are not a fatalist and I grant you the right to 
believe anything you might choose, but you cannot deny that 
death is hovering above your head as long as you live. But 
did you ever consider that the same patriotism to which you 
ascribe the bravery and self-sacrifice of your European war- 
riors, makes murderers out of men who never would have 
thought to commit murder as long as patriotism was not 
forced upon them? Just think of your own father or your 
brother, or think of yourself driven by patriotism to enlist. 
A gun is thrust into your hand, and you, who always have 
abstained from doing things you could not discuss with your 
friends during dinner, you go out, knock down a man, shoot 
down a man whom you have never met before, who never 
did anything to offend you. 

This war makes murderers, blood-thirsty beasts out of men 
who are patriots from sheer force of circumstances. 

And while the Circus Maximus with an arena that has for 
Its boundaries the seas of the world is in progress, we, the 
innocent bystanders, are invited to act as noble Romans, sit- 
ting in our comfortable chairs looking down at a conquest of 
wild animals. 

Did you see them there in the purple-covered box, the gen- 
tlemen with crowns on their heads? Immaculate in the attire 
of their self-imposed offices directing the actions and at the 
same time winking at us? 

Pattern et Circences! The American nation at large grasps 
the situation and hastens to do more than the imperators of 
Europe ever hope to achieve. 
Bread and amusement is Europe's offering. 
The financiers take the bread; planning to capture the 
commerce and industries of Europe supplying the non-pro- 
ducing nations of the old world with all they need to con- 
tinue the war, lending them money by the millions. And the 
American people at large get the amusement, in newspapers, 
in magazines, on the stage, in moving picture theatres. There 
are even such among us, and in great multitudes, that are try- 
ing to dissolve the American unit formed by the conglomera- 
tion of all nations, taking sides with their own or their par- 
ent's native country. Poor devils I They left their country 
that meant nothing to them, that in most of the cases could 
not supply their daily needs, that would gag them, label 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY ^_ 555 



them, and make use of them in any way it sees fit whenever 
they would choose to return to their "dear motherland " a 
motherland that makes murderers out of her subjects. 

Guxd% Bruno. 

Summer and Geese 

Her eyes lighted like a child's, 

A look of loving all outdoors was in them. 

"Oh, I was out in snow I" she cried. 

"Getting eggs from the woman under the hill. 

And there were a dozen geese in her yard 

Flapping and teetering happily on their crooked legs 

As the snow flakes showered down upon them." 

She waved her arms with the free movement of wings; 

A gorgeous white bird herself, frolicking with snow flakes. 

The light of loving was in her eyes. 

She gave me the picture 

And I have put it with my treasures 

In a handy place where I shall find it 

In the summer 

When the ^eese are gobbling June bugs on the lawn 

And smacking their smooth yellow beaks over it, 

I shall find it then and wish for winter 

And wonder wistfully if she and I will be sharing pictures 

When again the geese are revelling in the snow. 

Robert Carlton Brovm, 

Oscar Wilde 

By Guido Bruno. 

'HE greatness and beauty of the ancient Greeks and Rom- 
ans, the colors and opulence of the far Orient, intoxica- 
tion, over-indulgence, leading to ^he oblivion of the time of 
Nero: asceticism, incense, the gloom and inspiration of can- 
dles flickering in cathedrals and temples; clean men with boy- 
ish faces in white, gold and purple garb, and the sacred music 
of the Catholic rite. 

Salf-sacrifice, gentle love of parents and children: martyr- 
dom; the Japanese effect of black trees on the yellow skies 
of the dying sun; perfumes which take possession of the 
nerves; the sweetly sung lullaby that rocks the infant to 
happy dreams and shrieks of drunken women in far East Lon- 
don's brothels; the red blood of murder just committed; the 
charming juggling of words in the boudoir of a society 
woman; orchids, Turkish ci^rettes, oriental rugs, gems. 

Afternoons spent in admiration of a long forgotten and 
newly discovered Madonna of an old Italian Master, an even- 
ing on the e very-day stage of social life, and a night in an 
opium den; appreciation of everythinft done by men in the 
past and in the present and an unmerciful condemnation for 
imitators, imposters and hypocritical morarists. 



556 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Charles Edison^s Little Thimble Theatre 

The Bruno Majera 

"Miss Julia" will continue on the program during the com- 
ing week. The perforitiatiees take place Monday, Tuesday 
Wednesday and Thursday at* 8*4S p. m., and the Saturday mat- 
inee at 3 p. m. The curtain rises respectively at eio^ht forty- 
five and three sharp, and the d'66rs are closed durin? the per- 
formance. Late-comers arc not' being admitted. The- next 
programme will present' a cdnifedy of Strindberg which will 
prove that the Great Swede has the same sense of the com- 
edy in life that he has manifested so' often for the inisvitable 
tragedy. Also a war play by an American author, which 
unrolls before our eyes a' vivid' picture of things that are or 
could- be, will beon the bill of Which the first performartcfc is 
scKc»dtiled fbr Monday, MarcH* 27: 
Muttcalet 

On Friday and Saturday evenings' llsfiss- Donna Faunce; a 
soprano, will sing a selection of songs; among which will be 
"The Birth of Morn." by teotii., "My Laddie" by Thayer, and 
"The Cuckoo" by Liza Lehmann. 

William Stanliey, the boy soprartO, will sing Gounod's "Ave 
Maria," fbllowed by "Somewhere* a Voice is Calling" and 
"Bring Back Those Summer Days;" 

M^r. Morton Smith, who appears* for the first time before 
the public in New York and who aspires to the concert field, 
will render C. B. Hawley'sr "Dreams of the Summer Night." 
His programme also includes "Invictus," by Bruno Huhn, and' 
"Absent," by John W. Metcalf. 

At a Raflway Bookstall 

IJAVE you ever thought how eisily you can get away from 
the bitterness and tribulation of business life at a rail- 
way bookstall? Many have been the times when things- 
have gone wrong, when men possessing authority without 
the' comtnoh sense to its proper use have' made a pathway 
hard and filled the heart with a stern indignation have t 
found that isolace to the spirit; yea, and felt my life shake 
off Its petty fetters in the silent sug^^estion of what is tVue 
and, noble in the mind' of man in the title of a book. 

Blessings on* these' oasis' in' the* dfesert of the world, we* 
hardly- rekli^e what we* owe- tb them'. 

frank Urovsna. 

Ilort d*'Oeiivre 

i .ra»©ly care tb eat my stiobs* 
Or mix- corn starch* or picldes* with itiy boose' 
HoiV yet to munch a* suftad- dressed w4th ro|»e 
Bu4^ P coftfess^^I ^ K1b» wo^ 

t0m 8f€£f€Y. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 557 



Egot 



ism 



HTHE World about me is a Desolate Waste, and the People, 
weeping, hold out their Hands for Pity as they pa^f-; 
my Door. 

Yet in my Garden are two Angels walking. The soft 
radiance of Stars is above it and it is filled with the Perfume 
oi Flowers. 

Am I wicked that I cannot weep with the People, when 
Angels are walking in my Garden and my Heart is filled with 
the Song of the Stars? 

The World about me is like a Garden, ablaze with Color. 
And the People, singing, pause not at my Door as they go 
about their Tasks. ♦ ♦ ♦ But the Angels walk no longer 
in my Garden — the Flowers are dead, and there are no Stars. 

Is it wicked that I cannot rejoice with the People when 
the Angels have gone out of my Garden and the dead 
Flowers have left my heart full of Tears 

Ann Eliot 

A Fable. 

INHERE was once a man who devoted himself to his fellow 
creatures. Such of them that is,' as were in need. A lame 
dog or a deformed child caused him to shed tears, and a tramp 
was as the apple of his eye. He never forgot to put ashes 
on the sidewalk in winter, or to carry flowers to the hospitals 
in summer. He gave his employees good wages, good advice, 
and many holidays. He paid his taxes honestly and his dues 
promptly. He subscribed to all charities and visited slums on 
Saturday nights. And everywhere he spent freely of his 
money, his time, and his kind words. 

And in all this there was no thing he neglected except one 
— ^his wife. 

After a few years she began to notice this, and she said: 
My husband is what is called, a Humanitarian, and is con- 
cerned only with the sick or the sorry. I must, endeavor to 
become either the one or the other." 

And so, finding herself in invincible health, she eloped with 
another man. 

Dorothea Loomis 

Seventeen. 

\/ERY ominous is the number 17 for Germany, according 
to an interesting calculation in a recent issue of "Figaro." 

Germany became a world power in 1871 (1 plus 8 plus 7 
plus 1 equals 17). 

The numbers affixed to the names of the Prussian kings in 
the order in which they ascended the thrones of their ances- 
tors: Frederick I, Frederick William t Frederick II, Frejd- 



« 



558 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

crick William II, Frederick William III, Frederick William 
IV, William I, and Fredericw III— summed up arc again 17. 

Add together the number of belligerent rulers: George IV, 
Nicholas II, Albert I, Victor Emanuel III, Peter I, Nicholas 
I, William II, Francis Joseph I, and Ferdinand I, and again 
the total amounts to 17. And finally there is the year 1916 
itself (1 plus 9 plus 1 plus 6 equals 17). 

While the editor of the "Figaro" denies superstitious in> 
clinations, he thinks it worth while to muse upon this mys* 
terious incident of the number seventeen. 



Huirj 

Henry James died the other day, as he had lived, an 
Anglicized American. The man had a mind. He had the 
root of literary artistry in him. His was a genius for 
subtleties and nuances. Even he loved the human beings 
he wrote about, but with a sort of Sadistic joy in their psy- 
chologic vivisection. But he was a victim of style qualifi- 
cative to the last limit of tenousness, so insanely set to 
catch the elusive as to miss the tangible. His writing was 
more difficult than Meredith's. No writer can live by style 
alone, and the substance concealed in James' style was mostly 
negligible when it could be trailed to its hiding place in his 
verbal entanglements. 

W, M. Reedy, in his Mirror, 

In Our Village 

Bruno's Garr«t and its Story 

A GAIN I am sitting here, in these old time-worn rooms, 
whose floors seem even more rickety, whose ceilings 
appear even lower than before the fire, that mercifully wanted 
to assist Father Time, but did not succeed, in destroying 
prematurely this oldest of all the houses in Greenwich Vil- 
lage. 

And now the landlord has put a roof over my head, made 
minor repairs here and there, and if the winds do not blow 
to wildly and the snow does not fall too heavily, I will be 
safe until the mild spring winds usher in friend summer. 

It is a real garret and be it not the quaintest in New York, 
surely it is down here in Greenwich Village. 

The little shack which at present shelters Bruno's Weekly, 
Bruno Chap Books and myself, is nearly one hundred years 
old. It was the tool-house of a city undertaker, the residence 
of Governor Lucius Robinson and a stage-house where the 
stage-coaches stopped and waited until the mail was deliv- 
ered and new mail taken on, it was a road-house where people 
used to come to spend their Sunday afternoons, and then in 
quick succession, is was a saloon and an inn. 

In the same rooms where a city undertaker prepared the 
bodies of the city's poor for their last resting-place on Wash- 
ington Square, then Potter's Field, where a Governor lived 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 559 

and held splendid receptions, where weary travelers found a 
night's lodging before they continued their journey towards 
Albany, I am sitting and writing these lines by the light of 
an old kerosene oil lamp. It is Sunday. The lawns on the 
Square are covered with mud, mud that had intended to be 
snow, will soon be soft green and the trees budding with 
new life. The population of little Italy, back on Third street, 
is taking its weekly airing at the feet of their beloved Gari* 
baldi on the Square, the buses bring joy riders from the far 
north points of the city; and I think — how wonderful is life. 

From 1789 to 1823 Washington Square was a potter's field 
— where the fountains, Washington's Memorial Arch, asphalt- 
ed walks and the homes of many aristocrats stand, the poorest 
of the poor of our city were once buried in nameless graves 
by the thousands. 

Number 58 Washington Square, the corner of West Third 
Street, formerly Amity Street, an old time fashionable thor- 
oughfare, is the most forlorn looking two-story frame build- 
ing that can be found in Greater New York. It saw its best 
days when the horse-drawn street cars were in vogue. 

Historians of Manhattan Island have known that Wash- 
ington Square in its early years, was the burial field of the 
poorest of the city. But no chronicler has ever told the name 
of the grave-digger. Hidden away in the records of the Title 
Guarantee & Trust Company is his name, Daniel Magie. And 
more than the name is the interesting fact that in 1819 he 
purchased from John Ireland, one of the big merchants, the 
corner plot, now 58 Washington Square South, 21 x 80 feet, 
the same dimensions to-day. For this little plot $500 was 
paid, and there very likely, Mr. Megie built a wooden shack, 
where he could keep his wooden tools and sleep. 

The potter's field had formerly been on Union Square. A 
little before 1819 the latter was fitted up more appropriately 
as a park, and the potter's burying ground moved westward 
to Washington Square, then an out-of-the-way part of the 
city. For three years Daniel Megie held the official position 
of keeper of the potter's field, and as such his name appears 
in the directories of 1819, 1820 and 1821. Then the square was 
abandoned as a burial place and the potter's field moved 
northward again to Bryant Park. Mr. Megie by this change 
evidently lost his job, for in 1821 he sold his Washington 
Square corner to Joseph Dean, and two years later the latter 
sold it for $850. It was about ten years later before prices 
showed any great advance. Then fashion captured the park, 
and, despite the enormous growth northward, the aroma of 
fashion still nermeates the square, and the fine old fashioned 
houses on the north side continue to be occupied by some 
of the first families of the city. 

It is a singular fact and one that the old real estate rec- 
ords do not explain, that this our corner was never fully 
improved. It is still covered for its depth of eighty feet with 
two-story wooden buildings, the corner being an ice cream 
store, and they present a decidedly incongruous appearance 
by the side of the fine old houses adjoining. 



560 BRUNO'S WE EKLY 

Tradition in the neighborhood states that these wooden 
buildings were once a tavern and one of the stasrc headquar-. 
ters in the days of the early stage lines. In 1825, Alfred. S^ 
Pell, of the well known family, bought the plot for $1,000. In 
1850 his heirs sold it to Frederick £. Richards and he tran»t 
ferred it to Peter Gilsey in 1897 for $9,100. In 1867 John de. 
Ruytcr bought it for $14,650, and then Samuel McCreery. 
acqitired it in 1882 for $13,500-— showing a lower valuation. 

Early in the past century, John Ireland, who sold the cor- 
ner to the grave-digger, owned the entire plot of about 100 
feet front on the square, extending through to Third Street, 
then knwon as Amity Street The fifty foot plot adjoining 
the comer is now occupied by two fine old houses, similar in* 
architecture to those on the north side of the square. Each 
cover a twenty-five foot lot, being 59 and 60 Washington 
Square, respectively. The latter is known as the Angelsea 
and has for years been a home for artists. The plot at 59 was 
also sold in 1819 by John Ireland for $500 to James Sedge- 
berg, a drayman, and it included the use of the 19 foot alley- 
way on Thompson Street, now covered by a three story brick 
house. James N. Cobb, a commission merchant, got the 
property with the house in 1842, and kept it until 1881, when 
his executors sold it to Samuel McCreery. 
Slieiiileii Exiubition 

Cartoons of Steinlein chronologrically arranged as they- ap- 
peared in "Gil Bias." sixty-eight of the best he ever did,, will 
be exhibited until the tenth of April in Bruno's Garret Sat- 
urday afternoon and Monday evening are reserved, as before 
the fire, for the purpose of keeping "open house." 

There are a number of letters and postal cards in the Green- 
wich Village Post Office (Alice Palmer's Village Store) which 
remain uncalled for. They will be held for thirty days, and 
after this period sent back to the sender or sold at public 
auction, at the pleasure of Mrs. Palmer. 

The Washington Square Bookshop is now under the man- 
agement of its new owner, Mr. Shay, an old bookman and 
admirer of Walt Whitman. One of his first publications to 
come forth in the near future will be a complete bibliography 
of Walt Whitman. 

Mrs. Russell, from Boston, staff member of "The House 
Beautiful/' invaded the Village last week on her hunt for the 
unique and unusual. Small shops and curio cabinets are her 
specialty. She gathered enough material during her short 
so'oum among us to keep good old New England panting for 
quite a while. 

H. Thompson Rich, who wrote "The Red Shame" and **The 
Lumps of Clay," will settle down in the Village in the near 
future and write the long-waited-for American noveL (Rich 
says so.) 

A new edition of Kreymborg's "Mushrooms'* will be off the 
press on April 1st It will contain all those poems by Alfred 
Kreymborg which appeared in Bruno. Chap Books and. sub- 
sequently in "Greenwich Village.*' 



M 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



SBB 



561 




Original Drowinff bjt Rudyard Kifling 
fr&m ikt ColUcUon of P, F. Madtgan 

Floyd N. Ackley, worker in crafts jewelry, and Edith, his 
wife and co-worker, have recently come to Greenwich Vil- 
lage. In a blue and orange studio, at 139 MacDougal Street, 
just off the square, the Ackleys are interpreting personal!* 
ties through the medium of hand-wrought desijgns in gold, 
silver, copper, platinum, precious and semi-preciouS' stones. 

Books and Magazines of the Week 

A LFRED KREYMBORG ushered into the world last Tucs- 
day afternoon, in the comfortable rooms of the Wash- 
ington Square Bookshop, his "Anthology of the New Verse," 
selected from the first volume of his magazine^ "Others.'' 



5^ BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Often in these pages have I dwelt upon Krcymborg's maga- 
zine, and repeatedly did I point out that "Others" should 
have contained solely Kreymborg's own poems, his short 
stories, or his essays; and perhaps once in a while a one-act 
play, as he has developed recently into a playwright. The 
man who has difficulty in obtaining a publisher and who 
thinks his message important enough to impart it to the 
world at any cost, has a right or better, the duty, to publish 
a magazine of his own. But also it is his duty to stop pub- 
lishing his magazine instantly if his song is sung, if his 
stories are told and his message sent into the world. 

It was shortly after my arrival in Greenwich Village that 
I met Kreymborg, that I read those poems of his which no 
one wanted to recognize as such. I published his little vol- 
ume of "Mushrooms" as one of the early issues of Bruno 
Chap Books. I sent it out into the world as a challenge to 
our household poets and to our manufacturers of jingles. 
**Mushrooms" was discussed all over the country. Para- 
graphers found in its pages a welcome repast which they 
served hashed and toasted to their readers, over and over 
again. 

Kreymborg has been a philosopher for years. He has the 
gift to see the detail in life. He found his own solution of 
the most mysterious riddles of the universe. He found it in 
the every-day life of man.^ He is an artist. Words are his 
material; he expresses philosophy, evolution, temperament, 
moods through the rhythm of his words. The words are his 
statements. The rhythm is his color, his composition — 
shortly life. 

But he ventured out of his world. He left the quiet seclu- 
sion and went out into the community of men. They were 
waiting for him. They, too. had words and rhythm. But 
nothing else. They were enthusiasts or faddists — ^they knew 
not life. 

Kreymborg took them under his wings. He necrlected his 
own art and was the champion of other people's fanciful 
machinations. He established friendly intercourse with those 
poets across the water who are doing things in their own 
way — ^but nobody else could do it in their own way but 
they themselves. Kreymborg founded a magazine. And 
further and further did he drift away from his own self. 

Yes, there are good things to be found on the pages of 
"Others." But what has Kreymborg to do with all that? The 
Kreymborg who wrote "Mushrooms" and "Erna Vietck"? 

Last Tuesday he gave a reading in the Washington Square 
Bookshop. He did not read his own poems, he interpreted 
the words of others, of those others whose godfather he 
had been during the past year. 

A poetry reading in a large city is like a cool, white foun- 
tain in the hot dry desert. 

The doors wide open, a few chairs and everybody welcome. 
And the man on the platform or in the midst of the listeners 
reading his own poems. Reading his own works, going back 
to those times without printshops and without books, where 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 563 

the singer was the poet, and the narrator of the story was 
himself the book. 

Kreymborg is no reader. Reading is an art in itself. It is 
a lost art with us which I doubt very much will ever be re* 
vived again. 

But no one can read better Kreymborg's poems than can 
Kreymborg himself. 

But he read poems by poetesses who are striving for 
the unique and by poets who want to sing of something they 
do not know. And the real Kreymborg was muffled and 
silent; Kreymborg the publisher was the champion of hia 
authors. 

But I see the time in the near future that Kreymborg the 
publisher will have been thrown out of house and home by 
Kreymborg the poet; and then the year 1914-15 will hav* 
been put on the high shelf of experience and of memories. 

And we will listen again to Kreymborg the poet 

The Little Review 

Margaret C. Anderson's Chicago monthly, whose January- 
February number has arrived at our desk, contains a varietv 
of American and English contemporary poetry. But I think 
Miss Anderson herself should write a little more for her own 
paper. Her criticism is sound and she knows how to write. 

Art Notes 

That Benjamin West was a very prolific painter is evi- 
denced in an article in this little magazine published monthly 
"In the Interests of American Art and the Macbeth Gal- 
lery." In a catalogue issued in 1829 containing a list of 
paintings found in his studio after his death, no less than one 
hundred and eighty pictures were listed. They brought the 
handsome sum of $125,000. 

The Branch Library Neurs 

About the great American novel, that imaginary book 
which people fancy will be written some day and which will 
be typical of this country and its people, speaks the editor 
in the current issue of this helpful publication published by 
the New York Public Library. It announces a memorial 
exhibition of Alexander Wilson Drake's wood engravings by 
the art and prints division of the library. 

Contemporary Verse 

The bad poet, whose interviews and effusions are spooking 
in contemporary trade papers wrongly called literary or book 
reviews, found m this new Washington, D. C, venture, a nice 
nest to hatch admirers, by expressing his own admiration for 
their unspeakable word machinations which they choose to 
call poetry. In a recent issue of a "leading" literary weekly, 
he says: "Its poetry is admirably selected; it would be diffi- 
cult to find any other American magazine verse more not- 
able for originality and imagination than that which fills 
the February number of 'Contemporary Verse.'" 

Who is next in the self-admiration society? 



564 BRUN O'S WE EKLY 

Book-Plate Notes. 

To answer a great many inquiries of the past weefas: Clara 
Tice ventured into the field of book-plate designing. A few 
of her plates can be found in the catalogne of the sxliibitioD 
of book plates held in Bruno's Garret last jrear. Her book- 

Slate desiccns are most appropriate for children's bcnks and 
ir tiooks .on costnines and fashions. 



Btoiflate ij CUm Tut 



''The Miscellany," the official organ of the American Book- 
plate Society which has been edited since its existence by 
H. A. Powier, in Kansas City, will amiear henceforth qnar> 
terly under the editorship of Mrs. Eliaabclh C. T. Miller, 
1010 Enclid ATenne, Cleveland, Ohio. 

We find in a current issue of "The Miscellany"' that Mr. 
Daniel B. Fearing, of Newport, R. I., ts making' a check-list 
of Angling Book-plates aitd wonld like- to' hear from any col- 
lectors owning such, as he wishes to make the list as com- 
plete as possible. 

Under the anspiees of the Palette and Chisel Club of Chi- 
cago, Winnifred and Lcroy Truman Goblet exlabitcd: recently 
their large collection of book-plates. Mr. Goble is>a coltcctor 
from the standpoint of an art connoisscnr. He is mostly in> 
. terestcd in modern artists, American as well as Enr<mean. 
Especially his collection of plates by Franz von BayFos is tWD 
almost complete representation of 'everything done by this 
Viennese artist. The exhibit was ccmsidered fanportknt 
enough to be made accessible to the lovers, of dnwiaes^aiid 
etchings at large, and was. placed in the. Fine Aiti 1' 
in Chicago. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 565 



The Louvre May, 1848. 
Venus of Milo. Heine the Poet 

H. Dear lady mine of Milo, I am here; 

V. To worship at my long neglected shrine? 

H. To drink perchance a cup of deadly wine; 

V. Wilh me to guide; what need is there of fear? 

H. Life is become a leaf of yesteryear. 

V. My poor pale poet — ^yet not wholly mine — 

H. Alas I the bitter Rood is for a sign. 

V. Woe's me! the Christ steals my last worshipper! 

H. 'Twixt Heaven and Hell His torn hands beckon me. 

V. O for some isle Aegean, far away I 

H. Crawling from out my mattress-grave I came — 

V. Not one is left to call on Beauty's name. 

H. To bid my own heart's Queen farewell for aye. 

V. Ah Heaven 1 that I had arms to succour thee. 

A. R. Bayley. 

Wall Street Reflections 

'ARIETY may be the spice of life, but Wall Street doesn't 
like too much of this kind of spice served up in the 
market. 

How much of the movement for the last fortnight was short 
covering and how much actual buying is not agreed upon. 
However, both factions help the upward movement. The 
market has responded excellently to favorable news but there 
is a great deal of criticism for failure to ''follow through" with 
the push necessary to put prices. When earnings and divi- 
dends entitle them to be, a standard form of report to stock- 
holders (preferably quarterly if not monthly) should be made 
mandatory by law of this country for companies, so that 
stockholders will know the true condition of business. 

Some years ago when the Interstate Commerce Commis- 
sion introduced a standard form for railroad reports, there 
was a storm of protest, but no National regulation act ever 
did more for the good name of our country's railroad invest- 
ments. The time is ripe now for the stockholders to rise up 
and demand what is what. 

A very good case in point^was the action of California Pe- 
troleum last week; the annual report could not be under- 
stood — and why not have the cards all face up. 

The best evidence' of "prosperity of industries" is the U. S, 
Steel Corporation report of 'Unfilled orders booked. 

More orders are refused than are entered. Prices from $5 
'to>$15 per ton above current prices are offered for guarantee 
of delivery. 

New contracts for war goods amounting to probably 50 
millions were placed in the last few days. This estimate is 
given upon known advance payments of about 10 millions. 



566 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

The way seems cleared for a good many stocks to respond 
to current earnings on war business of from 20 to 60 per cent 
per annum. 

Those investing permanently, or who desire to handle their 
funds conservatively, should not be lured by the attractive 
appearing war industrials; for the quick trader, yes — ^the 
stocks have their advantage. 

For the first time in history the industries of the United 
States are in the unique position of having "too much busi- 
ness." Wall Street has yet to show acute symptoms of recog- 
nizing the fact that this is a Presidential year. 

U. S. Steel & Midvale stocks are among the cheapest in the 
market — ^for the business is not of a transitory nature. 

Coppers are attractive and should furnish some dividend 
surprises. 

The New Mexican crisis did not affect the stock market, 
which is a bit of evidnece of stability and hint of underlying 
tendencies. 

The American Telephone & Telegraph Co. report issued 
Monday showed earnings equal to 9.09 per cent, on capital 
stock. Number of stockholders 97,512, of which 32,000 are 
employees, — ^the majority of stockholders are women. 

Less than 3 per cent of Company's stock is held abroad, a 
reduction of virtually 1 per cent from year 1914. This shows 
this stock is practically immune from danger of heavy un- 
loading by foreign holders affected by war rumors. 

Only an enlarged supply of new equipment will relieve the 
congestion of freight from which the railroads are suffering. 
"Junius^ 

MUSHROOMS 

A Book of Rhythms 

By ALFRED KREYMBORG 

17 cents postpud 

BRUNO'S GARRET. 58 W— hi — te a S«iwr«. N«w Yeilc 



THE BOOK OP REPULSIVE WOMEN 
By D jmui Barnes 

(Fiye full page illustrations), bound in boards 

54 Cents Post paid. 

BRUNO'S GARRET 58 Washington Sqnare, New York 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, and 
edited and written by Giiido Bruno, both at 58 Washington 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 

Entered as second class matter at the Post Office of New 
York, N. T., October 14th, If IS. under the Act of M^rch 
td« 187f. 



RARE BOOKS HRST EDmONS 



tm CkrlalMM «lfto 



■iBffly tr la ■•Is for 9«opl« wte Imt* Botlktr ttaM 
t««lty I* Ml«ct fov Mi MH i rt Y— , or ter tkoM wlM teT« ••! •••••§ !• tto 



AdUraMt E. V.» Botton Trmafcripl, Botloiit Mam. 

The Candlestick Tea Room 



THE CANDLESTICK TEA MXMi hM 

dfkt to ofevm. QmU fttoafo «iA PfaM PImt. PMnM •! Ite 
Tm 



'J* 



tf WEST mi SniEBT TEL. snnrvESANT 

For Bo«MS» ApsftflMBtt or Roons» ••• 

PEPE & BRO. 

SKAL BSTATB AN9 IN8URAHCS 

40 So. WadiiBglon 
T«UplMiM4Ilt8pitec C«r. •! ilMl>««t«l 

Mtimg m k^^k 

I N W H I « H 

«p# smf pui vfkml «0# Mtnl. Fukiuked i^^ery m9mik hf NfmmhB^ 

Geddei M 756 Second Avfimt im pHrojt, MlcK§m^ ii k § MMT 
^•k umiqueif ittusiiaiid. Wriie ff immplg cmp^. • 

At the Sign of the Red Lamp 

Fiftjr.Tlme West Thirci Stnet, N«w York 



Tm wIU Sua Hill «M Mkl pl t f » ■ < ■• CIMP 
«WO BOOKS BASV OV 
m^ maMm ^ wmi Mtw «t Urn 






"k * 



SCHMITT'S 

BAKERY ud LUNCH ROQM 

M SIXTM f VENI^ 
^SaMrBiMhSlMM NKWYQ9IC 



Cbifet E&m's Uttii nUUe Tktiht, Sterid 
At Ho. M Fiftk ATfMe, Gmawidi Vtlbge, N. T. C 



Thb Week's Perfgrman^es 

•i4tpb flk 
tiMpb M. 

•tU Pb M. 



Ask or .write for ticket of admissioii to the 
Musicalet. They are free. 

I BUY BOOKS 



ktters of kMmi Kimwjf smb mmi jwtlsti* 



•COLLECTOR.'* Car* of Brtmo** WmUj, 58 WadUiHlM 3« 

There can be m pkasaMcr phce to hear 
that remarkaUe E£soii Record 
Nmber (82S36) diaii 

The Diamond IKsc Shiof 

at Nmdber 10 Fifth Avenue 



h till *Kn, tt least* Ae Mgltfd 
phore of (Nd Greemridi inflafe hu Bot beoi 
«aerifieei m Ae aStu at 




M«yM, Willi «( 
M • irriilh. Ud 

1 



BRUNO'S WEEiaY 



EDITED BYGUIDOBRUNOINHIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Fiv* Cent* March 25th, 1916 



BRUNO Plies 

AT 

CHAUiS EDBOirS lHHS THIMBU THEAIItE 
AT NDt IBinnB AVEMIL GUDIWICU VOUC^ IIT.C 



A N«t>ntliat£B'Tn|edr. la Ch* Act 



— i^.j — a _ ^ LANCOOH aUCT. DhMw 

EVERT MONDAT, TUESDAT AND WEDNESDAY, 

at 9LSet PJtf. an«t- KATURDAY Nt 8 a*oloolc. 
ONLY lOO SEATS. AT ONE DOLLAR EACH 



Readers of Bruno's Weekly 
■re asked to become 
Subscribers 

52 ISSUES FOR TWO DOLLARS 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Eillted by Guido Bruno in His Garret on Wathinston Squwr* 

Nb. IJ. MARCH 25th, MCMXVl. Vol. IL 

H<mor In Wair 

The idea of honour is associated with war, but to nvkom does 
the honour belong f If to any, certainly not to the mass of the 
people, hut to those who are particularly engaged in it. Tie mass 
of a people, who stay at home and hire others to fight, who sleep 
in their warm beds and hire others to sleep on the cold and damp 
earth, who sit at their well spread board and hire others to take 
the chance of starving, who nurse the slightest hurt in their owm 
bodies and hire others to expose themselves to mortal wounds,^ and 
to linger in comfortless hospitals, certainly this mass reap little 
honour from war. The honour belongs to those who immediately 
engage in it. Let me ask, then, what is the chief business of warf 
It is to destroy human life, to mangle the limbs, to gash and hew 
the body, to plunge the sword into the heart of a fellow-creature, to 
strew the earth with bleeding frames, and to trample them under 
foot with horses' hoofs. It is to batter down and burn cities, to turn 
fruitful fields into deserts, to level the cottage of the peasant, and 
the magnificent abode of opulence, to siourge nations with famine, 
to multiply widows and orphans. Are these honourable deedst 
19^ ere you cdlled to name exploits worthy of demons, would you 
not naturally select such as these f Grant that a necessity for them 
may exist. It is a dreadful necessity, such as good man must recoil 
from with instinctive horror; and, though it may exempt them from 
guilt, it cannot turn them into glory. fVe have thought that it wets 
honourable to heal, to save, to mitigate fain, to snatch the sick and 
sinking from the jaws of death. We have placed among the re* 
vered benefactors of the human race the discoverer of arts which 
alleviate human sufferings, which prolong comfort, adorn and cheer 
human life; and if these arts be honourable, where is the glory of 
multiplying and aggravating tortures and death f" 

Dr. Channing. 

The Forum Exhibition, Stieglitz and 
the Victim 

pLAMING RED, trish Green, Saffron Yellow—a frame 
of square, heavy, black wood. 

Black and atrocious Blue, rectangular carmine Red, half- 
moons here and there, diverging lines of Brown — ^a narrow 
white oak frame. - 

A broad stroke of green with purple dairies, white grass, a 
bunch here and a bunch there, red cactuses on the far pale 
horizon, two figures with disheveled black hair, enormous 
necks, heads bowed, the woman's breasts hanging to her 
knees, the man's hands reaching almost the toes of his feet 
— a rich, gilded frame. 

A naked woman^ walking on air, yellow flowers beneath 
her, gray clouds above her, her right shoulder above her 
right ear, her left shoulder sloping nearly down to her left 

Copyright 1916 by Guido Bruno 



5^ BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

hip. No nose, but the right eye covers the cavity — a fragile 
white enamel frame. 

Bridges and houses and temples and towers and churches^ 
all green and red and blue and white and black, like the 
building blocks of children, pressed tight together, com- 
pressed into a deep frame .... 

Mr. Stieglitz, Alfred Stieglitz, absolute monarch of "291", 
autocrat of the dinner table (Holland House), champion of 
the sixth dimension, high priest of the fifth Buddha, connois- 
seur of the distorted anatomy and of the landscape torn 
apart: in the centre room. Lieutenants with Hying neckties and 
long hair, hurrying forth and back like zealous couriers, a 
blue coated watchman back of a big table, loaded with pub- 
lications: Camera work $1.50, Forum exhibition $1, Camera 
work $2.50 .... 

A row of comfortable, inviting seats. 

One can overlook all three galleries; eleven walls. Stieglitz 
walks up and down. The modern AH Baba. Will he speak 
the magic word? The sesame open thee. He walks down and 
up. The reporter of a morning paper whispers in his right ear, 
and the courier of art news for an evening paper spreads 
before his eyes a report printed in his last evening's paper. 
Stieglitz walks up and down, and down and up. He does 
not smile, he does not speak. The elevators spit out every 
minute a new lot of arrivals. And Stieglitz walks up and 
down, down and up. They point at him. But the key to 
enlightenment, is hidden securely in his pocket and his coat 
is buttoned up; and he walks up and down, down and up. 
His bovly seems to walk three steps back of his soul, it is 
an eternal race, down and up, up and down, "291", Holland 
House, modern Gallery, Anderson Gallery, up and down, 
down and up, the body ahead of the soul, the soul ahead of 
the body .... 

Mv chair is comfortable. But the walls! The rays from 
the skylight! Green. Red. Blue. Purple. Yellow. Green and 
yellow. Orange. Black and blue. And Red. Red. Red. Green, 
yellow; green, yellow; green, yellow. A head on a terrible 
neck. A deformed hand sticking out of a mass of brown 
and black squares and circles. Feet without toes, arms with 
fungus growths and rheumatic knots, buildings and earth 
and wrecked bridges and wild rivers and clouds, frozen to 
shapeless heaps ... it rotates and rolls and turns and 
rotates and rises and falls, and writhes and writhes around 
and around and explodes and burns up and writhes again; 
hard labor, inspiration, imagination, illusion-delusion . . . 
trying, trying, trying again. Lies and truth — more lies, less 
truth ... a big beautiful bubble. 

It bursts. 

I arise, I leave my seat. Stieglitz is walking up and down, 
down and up. The blue-coated man back of the periodical 
counter is selling Forum exhibition catalogues. The ele- 
vator is awaiting me. 

Down into the street. Ah I how wonderfully pure seems 
the air on a cold March morning, even here in Fortieth Street 
in the heart of smoky old New York. 

Guido Bruno» 



BRUNO^S WEEKLY 569 

The BuUetinboard of Comines ^ 

TIi« Story of a French City . 

After the German of Dr, Ham Poehlmann, German 
Fteld Chaplain at Comines, by Guido Bruno. 

ERMAN soldiers in all streets and at the market place, at 
hard work to care for the sick and wounded. With 
heavy steps a regiment returns from the firing line; with 
serious looks but high spirits/ a battalion crosses the market 
place, passes the Cafe de la Paix, called to the front. In front 
of the town hall the German watch are doing routine duty 
as they would at home in their barracks. The town hall itself, 
the Mairie, is the seat of the German commander. A Bavar- 
ian major rules here over the city and population of Comines. 

The beautiful old Gothic church is transformed into a field 
hospital. Rhododendron and magnolias are in bloom in the 
Jardih Public. In the midst of a fine old law^n is a stinking 
heap of refuse. Cattle were being killed there and had been 
since the German occupation. 

It is a little city of nine to ten thousand inhabitants. It 
has lived through an exciting period the last few weeks. The 
torn and damaged sheets on the bulletin board of the town 
hall tell its short but grave story of suffering: from happiness 
to sorrow, from life to death. Here they are inviting its 
population to festivals, vibrating with the terrors of war and 
fioally silenced by the almighty order of the German generaL 

The Republic of France. 

Liberty, Fraternity, Equality^ . 

The City of Comines. 

The 14th of July, 1914.' A National Holiday. 

Great ascension of carrier pigeons. Distribution 
of cake. At 6 o'clock, a grand concert in the city 
park. At 9 P. M., a public dance at the market place. 
All public buildings will be decorated and illumin- 
ated in the evening. 

D. Dugarin^ Knight of the Legion of Honor. 

July 28, 1914. 
To the Nation of France: 

Notwithstanding the endeavors of our diplomatic 
corps the political situation in Europe is very grave. 
At present most of the governments have their 
armies mobilized. Even countries neutral, and 
therefore not immediately affected, arc preparing to 
defend their borders if necessary. 

France, who always demonstrated her peacefulness 
and always advised previously in critical days like 
these to be moderate and to abstain from the horrors 
of war, is also prepared for things unforseen but 
which might happien. It must now take steps similar 
to those taken by other governments. 



»0 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

— ^— ■■■■■111 I ^maammmamBmmBBaam^KmmmmB^^BB^ 

Coraines, 
Stpt If, 1914. 

To pacify the families who have sons or fathers 
with our armies I bes to declare that I have not re- 
ceived up to date, letters, not6s or cdmfhunicaiiotis 
containing authentic reports about |>6$dibltf casual- 
ties of our fellow-eititetts. I complained on deveral 
occas\«/«is about the unfdrgiveable negligence with 
which our maib seem to be handled. But I was not 
able to change the sitiiatioA. 

My dear fellow^itisen*, be cduragediis, have pa- 
tience! The safne second I receive cdmmutiications 
of or about your beloved ones, immediately I dhall 
communicate them to you. The llajor. 

Offitild T^gifan* 

Bordeatt, Oct 7, 1914. 
Nothing new has happened of special interest A 
very violent battle raged near Roye and we finally 
were victorious. The general outlook is very satis- 
factory. The Major. 

Confines^ Oct 15, 1914. 
My dear Fellow-cftizeilS: 

I implore you, do not ttet against the orders ot the 
German commander^. Do all von can to Satisfy 
them. The sntallesl misdemeknof on your part 
would mean destruction to the city and to the popu- 
lation. Upon your attitude depends the life of all 

. the inhabitants and the fate of Comines. 

I In case of a battle, keep to yoUr Cellars and close 
doors and windows. Mv dear fellow-cititens, do not 
be afraid. Be calttif Couftt on lUS as we are count- 
ing on you. Your Major. 

Oct 22, 1914- 
The Major of the city of Comines implores all his 
fellow-citii^ens to return to their homes and to keep 
<iuiet in case German troops should march through 
our city. Womeii and children are prohibited from 
gathering in the streets. The hictter of false alarms 
will be arrested and transported to Lille. 

The Major. 

Nov. 2, 1914. 

The Major, th# Priest and dix of the most promin- 
ent citizens of Comines are prisoners In the towa 
hall. In case the German troops are molested in 
word or action all of us will be shot dead. 

City of Comhtcs, Nov. 18, 1914. 

Order of the Commattding General to the Citizens 
of Comines. 

1. All healthy men between the ages of 16 to 50 
will assemble this morning at 9.30 m front of the 



/ 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY m 

town hall rea^y to be used fpr ^eqeral work by the 
Commanding General. 

2. All who do not obey this order are exf^osing 
_ the city and its poptiilation to the severest meas^urts. 

3. Every act ot hostility and every attempt to 
communicate with the hostile army will be ptinisbed 
by immediate death. 

4. All traffic in the entire city has to stop, es- 
pecially at the banks of the Lys. 

This is the simpl^e little story told by the bulletin board in 
front of the town hall ol Comines, the French border city. 

Passing Paris 

Parin, March 1st, 1916. 
HTHE announcements of publications as they appear respec- 
tively in France. and in England are significant of the , 
difference in intellectual stamina between the two nationali- 
ties. The literature of the one country is equally in vogue 
with the other, but, whereas the EngHah make timoroufi and 
tardy retrospective adventure^, their neighbors prefer to ex'- 
plore among the most modern British authors. Of these 
Mr. G. K. Chesterton seems to answer to a demand.' U. 
Charles GroUeau is about to follow up Mme. Isabelle Riviere's 
competent translation of **The Barbarity of Berlin" with 
"The Crimes in England," and Dr. Sarolea's "The Fireneh 
Renascence" has had the advantage of appearing under the 
auspices of the same expert, who is also taking part in a 
rendering of **What Europe Owes to Russia," equally by Dr. 
Both beoks will be published by Cres, whose forthcoming 
war literature also comprises a prose study by Verhaeren: 
"Parmi les Cendres" (Collection Rellum); "La Maison 
Anxieuse/' by Lt^cien Descaves j and "Impressions de Guerre," 
by Henri Massis (with a frontispiece by M. Maurice Bei|is). 
The last-named author has written a life of Ernest Psichari 
(great-nephew of Ernest Renan), one of the war's . earliest 
literary victime, for "L'Art Catholique," where M, Charles 
Grolleau is about to add to his most eminent feats with a 
version, accompanied by a biographical notice, of Francis 
Thompson's "The HbUnd of Heaven'* and other selections. 
This poet has only once before been attempted by a French 
translator, who openly capitulated before a certain pasisage, 
leaving blanks in their place-^a more honest expedient^ cer- 
tainly, than lame or deceptive renderings. 

M. Anatole France has prefaced M. Paul Fort's lyric bul- 
letins, "Poemes de France," which, after having appeared 
periodically, have been issued in volume by Payot (3fr.50.) 

Among several new reviews announced is one entitled 
"Demain," founded by M. Henri Guilbeaux and published at 
Geneva, a locality chosen, as it were, to emphasize an ap- 



572 BRUNO'S WEEKT Y 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

parentir intended neutral attitude to cverytfiing except "hu- 
manity and truth/' the ideals foir which it claims to stand. 

A feminist review, "Lea Rayons," is reappearing at Bor- 
deaux. 

The poet P. J. Jouve, l^rho has occasionally been men- 
tioned in these pages, is convalescent, after illness contracted 
during the care of sick and wounded soldiers, a task he had 
undertaken voluntarily, being exempted from military service. 

M. Alexandre Mercereati iis also recovering from typhoid 
fever contracted at the Front, where he has been acting aa 
stretcher-bearer during n)any long months. 

And it is with great regret that I learn of the painful dis- 
ablement of M. Pierre Tburnier, a young poet whose chron- 
icle of English letters in "Pan" I always read with much in- 
terest. He suffered his terrible accident, entailing the loss o£ 
one hand and damage to the other, heroically, saying he was 
glad to have done his duty. ^ 

Muriil Giolkowska 
From the Egoist, London 

Folklore From Montenegro 

After Oral Traditions bj Guido Bruno 

j^URING the wars of liberation fought in Montenegrro 
against the supremacy of the Turks, women were, equal 
comrades of men. Thev shared the trials and hardships of 
war as well as the pleasures of home life. The handshar ia 
one hand, the rifle in the Other, their infatit tied to the breast, 
the apron filled with bullets, they were invincible. At camp- 
fires and home in the spinning-room .on long winter even- 
ings, tales are narrated of these heroines 'of yore, of these 
women who fought side by side with their lovers and fathers 
and husbands. 

As castles they have the mountains. 

As shelter the heavens, 

As bed the rocks. 

And as sweethearts their rifles. 

I. 
F VERY tree is a flag-pole. 

Every rock a fortress for the sons o£ the mountains. 
Who eat gunpowder like bi^ead, 
Bullets like meat, 
Slaughtering the Turks tike goats. 
For the plains are thirsting for water. 
And the mountains for snow, 
The hawks for birds,. 
— And the Montenegrins for Turks. 



BRUNO ' S WEEKLY 573 

For gold we have our iron, 
With which we slaughtered them, 
With which we made to widows, 
Women, virgins and girls. 

II. 
THE slopes are plowed with carcasses, 

And the trees are vested with blood-saturated rags 
instead of their foliage; 
Dig me a grave, but dig it high and broad, 
That I can load my, rifle, that I can swing my handshar. 
Do not forget a little window. 
That swallows may bring spring to me and nightingales 
be the messengers of the May moon. 
So that birds flutter in and out, carrying to me messages, 

Messages from the Black Mountains and from my sons. 
Leave open the grave around my ear, 
So that I can recognize the sound of my rifle which I left 
you and you arc using in the battle; 
But every evening, returning from the fight, come and tell mc 

how many you have killed, 
Until my ear has heard the glad tidings, 
That all of them have perished and are dead. 

Two Fables 

The Singing-Bird 

r^AMON presented his Phillis with a bird which he had 
caught in the woods, whose song, he assured her, was 
exquisite. The shepherdess, delighted with her present, was 
never tired of petting it; its cage was kept constantly filled 
with the most delicate food, which it devoured incessantly, 
but never sung a note — and no wonder — it had something 
better to do. Poor Phillis could not understand how her 
lover could have been so mistaken as to praise the song of a 
bird, which seemed to haye been born dumb. One day, how- 
ever, she went out, forgetting to replenish her cage as usual, 
and did not think of her darling till evening, when she hur- 
ried home, fearing to find it dead or dying. But what was 
her surprise to find it filling the whole house with the most 
delightful strains of music. She now saw the cause of his 
silence and took care to avoid it for the future. 

In this way, Providence always keeps poets hungry — ^and 
why^? Because, then, they sing the best. 

The Ad»^« Tr»^ and fhe Tul'p 

A GARDENER had a splendid tulip, the pride of his 

^ grounds which he tended with parental pride. On a 

sudden, a violent hail-storm arose, which beat down all his 



574 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

plants, and destroyed, in an hour, all the promises of the year. 
As soon as it was over, disregarding everything else, he ran 
to his beloved tulip; and, when he found it shattered to 
pieces, broke out into loud lamenting. An apple jtree, which 
stood near, shorn of its leaves and blossoms, overheard him, 
and answered angrily, "Dost thou mourn for the loss of an 
empty bauble, and ;^et bast no tears for my ruiq; I, who sup- 
plied thee with fruit, and helped to sustain thy family?" 

So it is with men — to petty evils they are sensitive-'^^to 
great calamities indifferent 
After the German of LichPwer 

Animals Turned Authors 

IF ANIMALS were to turn authors, the eagle would shine 
in epic, and the sheep in pastoral poetry. The elephant 
would produce an excellent treatise on philosophy, the norse 
employ his genius on chivalry; the cow on agriculture, and 
the dog cut a figure in the drama. The writings of the mon- 
key would .excel in satire and burlesque; while the cat would 
be distinguished for the sarcasm, envy, and disingenousnesa 
of his composition. The style of the lion would be bold, 
abrupt and Pindaric; while the gander would be remarkable 
for the extreme verbosity and diffuseness of his language. 
The badger would probably attempt a treatise on the medical 
effect of perfumes, the turkey a disquisition on the n^ock 
heroic. The genius of the owl would exhibit^ itself in the 
composition of elegies, epitaphs and solemn dirges; that of 
the bear in an essay on dancing. As for the hog, he could 
never excel in polite literature but migh favor the world with 
a critical analysis of the philosophy of Bacon. The peacock 
would make an excellent contributor to the "Ladies Home 
Journal." The whale would write powerfully on the depop- 
ulating consequences of fishes, and the pigeon on letter-carry- 
ing. The goose would make a suffragette of the first class, 
and would be famous for dealing in scandal. The magpie 
would be a notorious plagiarist, cabbaging ideas at all hands. 
As for the parrot, he would not indulge much in written com- 
position, but be fond of showing off as a public speaker. For 
composing political harangues, the ass would-be unrivalled. 

Cafs Paw 



mmmmmmmmmm 



The Movies Need Criticism 

J HAVE been going around to some picture 3how5, latterly. 
Broadly speaking, the 4)icture shows are getting bad. 
They are not as good as they were five years ago, though 
they arc more pretentious. There's a lot of talk about the 
need for a moral censorship of the films. That's bosh. The 
public will do the moral censoring, all right What the movie 
films need is criticism. They should get it good and hard, 
straight from the shoulder. All the^ get now from the big 
daily papers is indiscriminate boostmg. I think that more 



BRUNQ^S WEEKLY 57$ 

and more drama films are protracted bores. I know they 
spoil the novels, that I have read, from which they are made* 
I saw Ibsen's "Ghosts" hideously butchered once. And De 
Wolf Hopper in * Don Quixote" was a crime. The film is 
made out of that famous lougeur in the masterpiece, the tale 
of Cardenio. The film is more tiresome than the tale. Some<» 
one has told me that the only real movie successes are the 
eomedic things; that no drama has yet been done satisfac* 
torily. So long as the movies are not criticised, so long will 
the film men turn out anything that can possibly ''get by/^ 
Maybe the movie n^en zr^ doing the best they can. Frob«^ 
ably they are. But criticism would make them do better. 
The newspapers criticise baseball management and playing. 
Why should the^ not do the same to the moving pictures? 
I am not a movie fan, but I hear a great deal of complaint 
from people who are such, to the e^ect that there are too 
many films presented which are, to put it plainly, dull. While 
we must not expect too much of the movie, which is rather 
new as yet, there's nothing wrong about expecting their best. 
It is my impression that the movie magnates are trying to 
dp too much in too great haste. They are filming every- 
thing that has been advertised, without regard to fitness for 
such treatment. They cannot, apparently, do drama. They 
do big things in spectacular^ike "The Birth of a Nation" 
and some other pieces, but tKey haVe not mastered the play 
proper. Dramatic criticism of films, with due regard, of 
course, for the limitations of the medium, would be salutary 
for the moving picture business, I think the movies are 
getting into ruts of conventionality. They are too young, too 
new for that. Criticism will jolt them out of their tendency 
to monotony pf effect. 
fVHligm Mario n Rtedy in hit St. Lmis Mirror, 

In Our VOlage 

(The follotvinff letter penned for us by IVilliam H, Oliver^ an 
old-time resident of the village, and one luho knoivs the history of 
evfry house and every mansion in it, steaks for itself. It voices, 
surely the sentiment if a, good many others, and many who do not 
dare to even think that a reactionary movement would in reality 
mean progress.) 

W/HETHER we are willing to admit it or no, it is never- 
theless true, that while the cold and calculating de- 
mand$ of business leaves little room for sentiment, still, the 
human make-up is such that the memories of youth play an 
important part in shaking the finer side of life, and way doym, 
and deeper perhaps in the heart of some than in others, there 
is a tender feeling, not only for one's cradle town, but also 
for the things that were then pleasureable to look at, and the 
things that made life worth while. 

It will not do to say that all the ways of old were the only 
good ways, and that those of to-day are turning us from 
paths that were good enough for our forefathers, to those 



576 BRUNO'S WEEKT Y 



that lead, we know not where; but on the other hand we can 
say, that many of the old ways have been discarded, only 
because they were old, and not because we found something 
better. 

What we call up-to-dateness and modernism is. in the 
analysis, a product born of excitemeqst. a restless desire for 
change, a going from one thing to another, and althoug^h there 
is a measured tendency in some directions for a return to 
some of the ways of old, the fear of being called old fash- 
ioned is the tyrant that speeds us on to seek new activties 
and novelty in entertainment. ^ / 

Back to the farm and the simple life has a meantnpr greater 
than tilling the soil; it beckons back to a life we loved so well 
and a life that seems more worth while as against the pres- 
ent day existence that demands new scenes, new faces, and 
new excitement each hour. 

I et us he honest with ourselves; we are tired of it; w6 
seek relief; the hot water heater with its long pipe stand- 
ing in the corner has lost its novelty; the electric push-but- 
ton never did have a charm, but satisfied an impatience born 
of hurry. The single plate glass window is no longer valued 
as something new, and is now nothing more than a transpar- 
ent partition behind which the stores show oflF their wares. 

Dinner is served, has brushed aside the music of the din- 
ner bell, and modernism seems at times to tell us that it is 
vulgar to be hungry, and in public places, to eat, is an excuse 
to be entertained by poor acting, and sounds of string and 
wind instruments called music. 

The family album is something of the past, but where it 
does remain, it is kept higher up in the closet, and old pic- 
tures are turned to the wall to make room for those that show 
the latest and newest examples of the dressmaker and tailors' 
art. 

The back yard has been crowded out to make room for 
the apartment house depriving even the flowers of the oppor- 
tunity to turn their faces to the sun. 

The casement sash, the window box, the bird cage and 
white front door have given way to all that is strictly new 
and up to date, and why? Time was, when being able to 
have all that was new was a mark of progress, and an evi- 
dence of worldly possessions, which in turn brushed aside 
special fitness, and the personal note of the old home. 

All things up to date have their places, and by invention 
do we measure progress, but on the other hand, a change is 
?xT'^u '^^^u^ ^ going back, rather than a moving forward. 
With It all, however, and as much as many regret the pass- 
mg of the old ways, and while New York seems destined in 
some localities to change from a private house city to an 
apartment settlement, there is still the Greenwich Village 
and Chelsea section, that has shown a stubborn resistance to 
♦n^nfnt fn\"l!r'''"*^'"r°l.*^^ Speculative builder, that seems 
ft" ffiimrhomMife?' '''' ^"""^ "^ *^^ '^"^ '^ ^^"^^^^^^ ^'^ 






\ 



BRUNO'S WEEKT.Y 577 



It remains, however, for those who can, to do their part 
Many of the vacant and poorly rented houses would find 
desirable tenants if they were put in complete order and 
freshened up; sidewalks levelled and yard fences straight- 
ened, cellars concreted, and hot air furnaces. and open fire- 
places made workable; open plumbing should replace the old 
boxed in kind, for sanitary reasons if for no other. ' 

The old pine floor, put in shape to receive rugs, or replaced 
^th hard wood. The dark and dingy basements brightened 
up and made a place where better work would be done. 

The old inside shutters and outside blinds made to work, 
or else discarded. An elevator, too, so that stair climbing 
nvould be lessened; lower the door openings; get rid of the 
meaningless walnut woodwork as a feature, in the room: it 
never had a fitness, and was only used because it cost more 
than painted wood. 

Books and Magazines of the Week 

^JSCAR WILDE'S impressions of America, a lecture de- 
livered by him before many distinguished audiences 
after his return from his two sojourns in the United States, 
are the contents of the current issue of the Bruno Chap 
Books. His "Impressions of America" appeared in a limited 
edition of five hundred copies in 1906 in a privately printed 
phamplet edited by Stuart Mason, who also wrote an intro- 
duction to this highly interesting document Wilde left as 
a momento for America. "Oscar Wilde visited America in 
the year 1882. Interest in the Aesthetic School, of which he 
was already the acknowledged master, had sometime previ- 
ously spread to the United States, and it is said that thei 
production of the Gilbert and Sullivan opera, "Patience," 
in which he and his disciples were held up to ridicule, de- 
termined him to pay a visit to the States to give some lec- 
tures explaining what he meant by Aestheticism, hoping 
thereby to interest, and possibly to instruct and elevate our 
transatlantic cousins. 

He set sail on board the "Arizona" on Saturday, December 
24th, 1881, arriving in New York early in the following year. 
On landing he* was bombarded by journalists eager to in- 
terview the distinguished stranger. "Punch," in its issue of 
January 14th, in a happy vein, parodied these interviewers, 
the most amusing passage in which referred to "His Glori- 
ous Past," wherein Wilde was made to say, "Precisely — I took 
the Newdigate. Oh! no doubt, every year some man gets 
the Newdigate; but not every year does Newdigate get an 
Oscar." 

At Omaha, where, under the auspices of the Social Art 
Club, Wilde delivered a lecture on "Decorative Art," he de- 



578 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

scribed his impressions of many American houses as being 
"illy designed, decorated shabbily, and in bad taste, filled 
with furniture that was not honestly made, and was out of 
character." This statement gave rise to the following verses: 

i§^hat a shamg and what a pity. 

In th0 striits •/ Jj^ndon City 
Mr, Wilde is seen no more. 

Far from Piccadilly banished. 

He to Omaha has vanished. 
Horrid place, ftohich swells ignore. 

On his back a coat he beareth, \ 

Such as Sir John Bennet weareth, 

Made of velvet-estrange array/ 
Legs Apollo might have sighed fjor. 
Or great Hercules have died for, 

His new breaches now display, 

Waving sunflower and lily. 
He calls all the houses "illy 
Pecorated and designed," - 
For of taste they're not a tittle; 
They may che*m and thfy may whittle; 
But they're all born colour-blind/ 

His lectures dealt almost exeulsively with the subjects of 
Art and Dress Reform.^ In the course of one lecture he re- 
marked that the most impressive room he had yet entered 
in America was the one in Camden Town where he met 
Walt Whitman. It contained plenty of fresh air and sun- 
light On the table was a simple cruse of water. This led 
to a parody, in the style of Whitmgm, describing an im-* 
aginary interview between two poets, which appeared in 
"The Century" a few months later. Wilde is called Narcissus 
and Whitman Paumanokides. 
Poetry 

John Gould Fletcher's Arizona poems are probably some 
of the ha{>piest contributions that hav^ appeared for a Ipng 
time in this exponent of the verse of our day. 

The birthplace of American poetry — American for other 
reasons than because it was written by a man ^born in 
America — are those plains and mountains which are un- 
touched from all . influences. From here will emenate real 
American poetry. Here will it be that the American p^int* 
ing, the American sculpture and American literature, both 
prose and verse, will see the light Of the world. 

And not such men, who create their impressions by com* 
parison of things they have seen and things they are ob- 
serving out there, will be the artists. The glorious sim- 
plicity of nature and of humans will find expression through 
one who was always a part of that country. 
The Newarker 

The current issue of this magazine, published monthly 
by the Committee of One Hundred as a record of work in 



^^BRtJNO'S_JVB£KLY $79 

the progress of events for the Newark Celebration in 1916, 
contains a reproduction of the poster which won the first 
prize of $500 in the Newark Poster Competition. It wa9 
designed by Helen Dryden and that, doubtless, is the only 
excuse for its existence. Take away the name and there is 
an ugly drawing left, hideous in its (Conception and in its 
execution. / [ 

The WOd Hawk \ 

The entire February issue is devoted to an essay on the 
Socialization of Art by George Pauli, translated from the 
Swedish by iCarl Erich Lindin. He calls the most interesting 
episode of his career — this deliberate and successful attenfpt 
to penetrate the mysteries of the revoluntionary theories of 
the modern artistic movement. 
Der Sturm 

Very scarce for the ^ast ^bt months have been the mails 
from the continent of Europe, German periodicals especially 
are rarely to be seen. The February issue of the organ of 
the Futurists of Germany^ France and Switzerland contains 
a series of ex libris by modern artists. They lo5k like paint- 
ings at present exhibited in the Forum Exhibition, and their 
chief distinction is that they do not give the name of the 
owner of the plate« He is Supposed to be characterized 
sufficiently in the design and the execution of the drawing 
to be recognized b^ those who know him. 

Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre 

The Bruno Fkiyera 

''Miss Julia" will continue on the program during the com- 
ing week. Th€ performances take place Monday, Tuesday 
Wednesday and Thursday, at 8.45 p. m., and the Saturday mat- 
i.-ee at 3 p. m. The curtain rises respectively at eisrht forty- 
five and three sharp, and the doors are closed during the per- 
formance. Late-comers are not being admitted. The next 
programme will present a comedy of Strindberg which will 
prove that the Great Swede has the same sense of the com- 
edy in life that he has manifested so often for the inevitable 
tragedy. Also a war play by an American author, which 
unrolls before our eyes a vivid picture of things that are of 
could be, will be on the bill of which the iirst performance is 
scheduled for Monday, March 27, 
Musicalaa 

Saturday evening only Mr. Loran Timmermann, a bary« 
tone, will sing a selection of songs, among which will be 
"RequiAn" by Sidney Homer, "Somewhere a Voice is Call- 
ing" by Arthur F. Tate, and "Three for Jack" by W. H. 
Squire. 

Miss fielle Stowell, who has a beautiful soorano voice 
which Is being trained for the ^concert stage, will add to the 
progfamme with the following numbers: "Ave Maria" by 
Bach-Gounod, "Ou bist die Ruh" by Schubfert, •'Pastorale^' 
by Bi2et, and "Red, Red Rose" by Cottehet. 



5W RRITNO'S WEEKTY 

Book-plate Notes. 



Unique, perhaps, among all the book-plates of America ■ 
is this one designed and printed in a prison, by a prisoner, 
for a prisoner, to be used in books on penology. No. 5153 
started a collection of books on penology and as editor ol 
GOOD WORDS he has access to a good many periodicals 
and papers which he surveys carefully for all material on or I 
about prisons or prison life, and his collection of extracts 
and clippings surely will be of largest interest. | 

A communication from an old book-plate collector, Hiram 
E. Deats, one of the veteran collectors of America, voices 
in a recent letter to us a rather discouraging spirit among 
ex libris collectors. He says: "I sold my collection of book- 
plates some years ago, but keep up my membership in the 
society to keep in touch with old friends. French is gone, 
Blackwell has sold his recently, Allen is in the linen business i 
or something of the sort, the XL Society of London went | 
to pieces. Fred Libbie. the Boston auctioneer, still has his 
collection but don't look at it. I am now putting in my 
spare time on local historical wgrk. Next month and for a | 
time, it will be out-door work." 

A copy of Beardsley's own book-plate drifted into out ' 
kennel last week. It was in an insignificant copy of a French | 
■till more insignficant novel, but with the artist's own sig- 



BRUNO^S WEEKLY 581 

The Last of the War Correspondents. 

(Continued from last week) 

"But you will be killed if you do that." I remonstrate. "This 
is a revolution and they hate barons here on principle." 

"Never you will be afraid of that," he smiles. * I think I 
know these people. I have studied their history. It is fatal 
for you to be tneir equal. That way they will murder you. 
So do not worry or whimper. We have to live through this 
and it must be roughly we live. It is all they understand. 

•'You intend to plug your way through?" 

"Already it may be too late," he answers. "There is a 
man who calls himself Colonel Lorraine, but who is really 
August Beinhacker and an Austrian anarchist. He is chief 
of Secret Service for Carranza." Then he stopped, fearing to 
tell me what I afterwards found out concerning his relations 
\s^ith his government. 

It is later in the day and I am before the hotel. A fat lousy 
beggar, cock-eyed and strong is before me demanding money. 
Nothing will do him but two pesos. I excuse myself a mo- 
ment and enter the bar of the hotel. Von Kriegelstein is 
toying with a bottle of good Mexican beer. He toys while 
I explain. He frowns. 

**Damnationl You have forgotten to register your charac- 
ter. That is a fatal omission my young friend. Here," he 
drew out his pistol and handed it to me. "Remember only 
once in the fleshy part of his leg and bring me back my good 
pistol." 

"You mean I should take a shot at him. He is only a 
beggar." 

The baron arose. I followed him to the door. "Now then, 
you see," he whispered pointing to a small group across the 
street. ' They are waiting the outcome. If you do not im- 
mediately register character I cannot travel with you. It 
vsrould be deadly. You will be stabbed from behind. Go at 
once to the beggar and give him one good blow on the nose. 
Knock him down and when he is down do not neglect to spit 
on him." 

Well, it was one thing or the other. So my beggar went 
down and I fulfilled the bargain to the letter. Then we re- 
entered the hotel and a moment later three of the numberless 
lieutenants and sub-tenients insisted on a round of drinks to 
the very welcome corresponsals. Character was registered. 
It may sound incredible, but though they hated the baron in 
Monterey, no one chanced an encounter with him. He knew 
the heart of the people of Mexico. 

"That is why nooody will shoot General Villa" said the 
baron. "He has been registering character for years." 

**You believe in force?" 

"Force is gentle sometimes," he laughed. "It relieves these 
people of the mental pain of trying to understand through 
the brain." 



982 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

'f iw 



Later came Beinhacker and demanded a share of the re- 
ceipts of the baron's news bur^ati. Voit KriegeUteIn led him 
to the street affably and waited until plenty were about be* 
fore Scientifically cursing him for a thief. Frankness above 
all characterized the intenriew. We had made an enemy more 
powerful than we knew. Now the secret service of Carranza 
was looking after us. 

It was before General Gonzales the next day. The general 
had twenty-one thousand troops left in town, he told us» and 
forty Mondragon-Canet field pieces. 
{To be continued) 

Wall Street Reflections 

"T^HE spring rise on stocks is now An aLccotilplished fact. 
How long and how far will it extend is a practical 
question. 

Sponsors for the "War Brides" are puzzled to find an Ex- 
cuse for another boom. Avoid hallucinations and look to the 
securities represented by such real business as export trade, 
manufacturing, railroad traffic and farm production. Loco- 
motive and equipment stocks are most attractive inventions. 

The limit of this country's capacity for creating new wealth 
is nearly reached, viz., the. limit of mechnical means and the 
limit of labor. We have plenty of capital. To increase the 
mechanical means of production requires time and labor, but 
if we have time we have not the iabor. F«»rmc'rly labor was 
imported, which is now practically impossible on account of 
the war.' 

The purchase of Government bonds by the Federal Reserve 
Bank last week marks a new and interesting stage in the pas- 
sage from the old banking system to the new. 

It is rumored that the new banking affiliations for Mexican 
Petroleum Co. are the Standard Oil interests. 

On visits across the pond it has long been the custom of 
the American business men to laugh at the habit of taking 
tea during business hours, but at last this habit has invaded 
Wall Street, as I notice among the regent listings on the 
Stock Exchange the name of a large and flourishing tea con- 
cern* This may take the place of some of the stronger bev- 
erages which so far have been our only liquid refreshments. 

It is rumored that a milk and seltzer company is also being 
formed. 

"Junius^ 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, And 
edited and written by Guido Bruno» both at 58 Washington 
Square^ New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 

Entered tM second elftM matter lit th« Pott Otttte of K«w 
York. N. Y., Ootober 14tli, 1»15, uMMt the Aet of ICarali 
14, 187i. 



RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 



BoaStt far GbrlsImM Olfto 

FnroluuMd staffly mt la Mto for p«opl« who bar* aoltlMr timii 

tvaltx to Mloet f 9r tliomoolTMi or for tlioao who haro aot AMtm to tte 

boat book marta Whjr not bogta ooUoetlac aowf 

Address, E. V., Boston Traiiscrip|» Boston, Mms. 

' ■ • . '. . • ■■"'.■ 

The Candlestick Tea Room 



THE CANDLESTICK TEA ROOM has amagodi apaco far 
OoBciaff ovory Twoodoy» Thursday and Saturday algfat fraai. 
olffht to olovoa. Good if uafa and Fiao Ffaor. Patroaa of tha 

Taa BihMH wdcaaaa* 

17 WEST fTH STREET TEL. STUYVESANT IM 



For Houses, Apmrtments or Rooms, Ses 

PEPE & BRO. 

REAL BSTATB AIID INSURANCS 

40 So. Waaliiiigloa Sqiurs 
T^«pli6fMi 4119 Sinriiit Cor* of MacDovtal Strool 

BHng a h^ak 

I N W H I C H 
woe itfjr just vthat moe think. Published every m9ntk by Norwum^Bel 
Geddes ea 7S6 Second Avenue in Detroit, Michigan^ It is a iiitie 
hook unique! f illustrated. Write for sample eoPy, 

^^^ammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmtmmmmmmmmtmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmamrm 

A Proposed Revival of 

VALENTINE'S MANUAL 



Tfem «M fat MM Oatii T. Vatoatlat. tfaft will atur fa uefStm, Tfa Mrt m 
•aa fa:« fir It a raaataaaN tf ttat tpirit whMi, lafar hb latlif mm. Iiaai* 
imrnut hb Maanb ftaa a pnor nttrtf tf faily Mwto lata a itpttHwy tf lath 
faitlaatfif aaMfato aatf hMirbil ttana « ta fa irnnm a Ml|ht ta tfa aatt« 
fivtaa aai tfa IMW tf tli Mfw Yirk. 

If latWMtti la tlib pr«|Mr write fir partteilan ta Ntary CtlllBi Iram. 15 
Cast 40tli StrMt, N. Y. City, fawwtary SMifty tf tM Mfw Yirtin. 



SCHMITT'S 

BAKERY and LUNCH ROOM 

fl6 SIXTH kV^^ 
Bolow Eighth Stroat NEW YORK 



OydM EJisM's liHfe lUiiUe 1k«ftn,r SHiiici 
AtN*. If ¥iUk knmtft, GnmmA m^t^ Kt.C 



Thk Wedc^t P«rfbniiaiice« 






r. tia p. mu ^ Bnia« PtefM* 

•til p. Bk ' 

SMp.Bk 

•tU p. Bk M Mimto 



Aik or write for ticket of admisnon to die 
Musicalet. They are free., 

I BUY BOOKS 



bttmi •! hm mw w VkHumn 



•^OLUECrOV CaM ol BrmoV VimMt, M Waskfaictem fl% 



There can be M pleasanter i^Uce to hear 
Aat fenarkahle E£iOB Record 
Nnber (82S36) than 

The Diamond Disc Shop 

at Nnmber 10 Fifth Avenoe 




b lUs itere, it Ittit, die delightfal 
pheit el OU GreMwkk VOUte has Mt het» 
tacrificei ob du» altar of commadaliiBi 

A pMt4 wdl Iviif fm^wltk ^m 
t— pHainK Ml ialtrtit^ iMi 

neot : Starrctant 4570 hinnth ^ Mi. rlm^. A. tUmm 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Fhr* CenU April Itt, 1916 



Apd tm. If I6i Oii^Ml Mikt. ■ihifcn a 

» 1 




PLAYERS 



CHARLES EDBOirS UTILE THIMBLE THEATRE 

AT IK lER rm AVENUE. GREENWICH VBiiM^ N.T.C 

THE STATE FORBIDS! 

0y SADA COWEN 



THE STRONGER 

9y AUGUST STRiNDBERG 



ODDO WmmfK ^ t- LANGOON QUXT. 

EVERT MONDAY, TUESDAY AND WEDNESDAY, 

«t &4A PJMU ttsid IttATUItDA Y ttt 8 o*o1oo1b. 

ONLY too SEATS. AT ONE DOLLAR EACH 

f^teliiidNi»MNI CmCI. M FVTN AVINUi^«r ky HiB 



Readers of Bruno's Weekly 
are asked to become 
Subscribers 

52 ISSUES FOR TWO DOLLARS 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Edited by Guido Bruno in His Garret on Washington Square 

No. 14. APRIL 1st, MCMXVI. Vol. II. 

La Mer 

A white mist drifts across the shrouds, 

A wild moon in this wintry sky 

Gleams like an angry lion's eye 
Out of a mane of tawny clouds. 

The muffled steersman at the whe'el 

Is but a shadow in the gloom; — 

And in the throbbing engine room 
Leap the long rods of polished steel. 

The shattered storm has left its trace 

Upon this huge and heaving dome. 

For the thin threads of yellow foam 
Float on the waves like ravelled lace, 

Oscar Wilde 

Concerning the Fashions of Our Girls 

'T'HE best of it is there are none whatever. And because 
our days represent the student days for fecnale attires on 
the street and in the drawing-room, and because of the n^any 
good features they have in followship, we most heartily wel- 
come the eccentricities of cut and of color. 

What were the women of fifty years ago, of twenty-five 
years ago? Replicas of mode journals, strict followers of the 
rules and regulations set down by importers of fashions, 
designers of fashion plates, publishers of fashion periodicals 
and the latter ones mostly and greatly influenced by shop 
owners and tailoring establishments. 

Of course, the two fashion journals of yore, which not only 
imported their drawings, but even the very plates from which 
their illustriations were struck off, are supplanted by scores 
of mode journals. But how differnt is the spirit of the 
fashion journal of today! 

Originality and individuality are strongly encouraged. 

There are always people extant who have no ideas what- 
ever, who wouldn't know what to do with their lives if they 
couldn't pattern themselves after the lives of others^ They, 
too, must be taken care of. Hence, the pages of minutious 
description of this or that gown for such and such occasion. 
But the dominating spirit is that of freedom. Here is what 
such a woman did and here you can see how it looks. Now 
you know yourself, you know the color of your hair, you 
know what colors are most becoming to vour complexion — 
go and do likewise! The abandonment of rigid, tight-fitting 

Copyright 1916 by Guido Bruno 



584 BRUNO'S WEEKLY ' 

shapes made home manufacture of clothes much easier. To 
drape the human figure, rather than to force it into a shape 
was a great step forward on the road to complete liberation 
from set traditions and as law-accepted conventions. 

Never in the history of fashions could one see so many 
fundamentally differently clad women on the same street, at 
the same time. Just take a walk on Fifth Avenue in the noon 
hour. Saleswomen,, shop-girls and office employees, mingle 
with shoppers and with idlers out to take a stroll. A kaleid- 
oscope of twentieth-centurised fashions of five past centuries. 
A lady with a long frock and a short jacket — ^hardly reaching 
her waistline. The jacket velvet, the hem of the frock vel- 
vet; it reminds one of the picturesque attire of the German 
burgfrau of the sixteenth century. Early empire, late empire 
and individual mixtures of both. The severe and dignified 
English tailor-made and the flippant mockish two-piece com- 
bination that flutters loosely and softly around shoulders and 
limbs and doesn't impress us at all as sewed, but just pinned 
together, and half of the pins fallen out. Even the depart- 
ment store patterns have a charm of colors which makes us 
forget the similarity of the many hundreds set loose on our 
streets. 

And every once in a while we see a striking creature in a 
style of her own — striking in the real sense of the word; our 
eyes. We are not flirts but we cannot help to turn around 
and to look. Brilliant vivid colors are always striking. And 
our girls here in New York seem to have waited for this word 
of liberation that permits them to follow their own tastes 
and to wear whatever make sthem attractive; makes them the 
actor using the entire world as a background. ^ 

Of course, the Parisian is chic, she must be — she is so 
proverbially for the last four hundred years. The Viennese 
girl is "ein liebes Maedl," a dear. She has dimples in her 
cheeks, knows how to waltz and how to wear a permanent 
smile. And of course, all the other girls of all other nations 
have their own peculiar charms for which they are world- 
famous. And. then there is our own Western girl with her 
pronounced inclination to be athletic and to carry herself in 
manners and costume accordingly. And there is the piquant 
Chicagoan. 

But you just give me the New York girl! Bred and raised 
somewhere in the zig-zag of avenues and streets surround- 
ing the Avenue, with her quick understanding of everything 
that is becoming to her, with her ability to acclimatize herself 
to all stations and conditions of life ,with her kindliness 
towards everyone with whom she is brought in contact in 
everyday life, with her unsilencable wit, and with her love 
for rhythm and for color. She surelv is the queen of all. 

If she has money, she knows well how to shop on Fifth 
avenue. And if she hasn't got it— and that's the great point 
in the life of everybody — she knows how to put herself to- 
gether so that she herself has a pleasure in her existence and 
affords us a pleasure while we look at her. 

Curls and rats and false hair are surely a thing of the past 
The hair is tied modestly in a sober knot and thea if remon- 
strating curls insist on being forelocks— of course, that is an 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 585 



entirely different thing. Walk through a department store, 
look at the cash girls and the sales girls! Uniformity, you 
say, imposed upon them 'by store regulations. All right 
Come out in one of our parks on a Sunday afternoon, or walk 
to popular picnic grounds! There they are^ real New York 
girls. 

To look at these dresses and gowns and suits makes one 
think of old savage times. Everything seems to be handy 
as ornament or material as long as it has a feature that 
pleases its owner and suits her individually. Just like our 
uncivilized forefathers! They liked a tiger skin and hung it 
around their shoulders, they shot a strange bird with a gor- 
geous plumage and they stuck it in their hair, they caught 
together with their fish, some grotesque-looking inhabitants 
of the sea. They strung them on a rope and hung it around 
their neck. They found a mineral which could be used as a 
brilliant dyeing medium. Quickly they brought it into the 
weaving-room and smeared it on the materials they were 
going to use fOr clothing. ? 

Look around, if you walk on our streets. Don't our New 
York girls do the same? What would this dreary life, with 
its daily heart-set routine be if there were not glaring red 
beads on a pale neck, hanging down over a yellow silk waist? 
It is the lack of color and of movement that made our fore- 
fathers puritan and hypocritic. If petticoats hidden by a 
skirt can be of glaring color, why not the skirt itself? If 
love of life and the oscillation of its mirth and its merriment 
can be felt and voiced on the street, the hiding cloak of 
severity and triste sobriety is unnecessary. 

Money, station in life, an income has nothing whatever to 
do with the exalted feeling of happiness and of joy that we 
could not suppress even if we wanted to. The vivid colors 
and the shining flirt of decorations our girls are using is an 
expression of their attitude towards life. To suppress it 
would be unnatural. It would make them hypocrites, slaves 
of social regulations. Slaves, as that good old women in 
Salem, Mass., arrested in the year of our Lord, 1675, on the 
main street of her town because she wore in daylight, a glar- 
ing red dress and pink beads around her neck. And only 
after she had proved that her husband had an income of five 
hundred pounds a yeay, and therefore that she had a right to 
be happy and take the joyous attitude towards life, was she 
released and permitted to wear her garb in the future — pro- 
vided her husband's income should not decrease. The cru- 
cial question in this court proceedings was not — as one would 
expect, as to whether she had honestly procured the neces- 
sary means to purchase her attire but as to whether she had 
a right to express her joy of life outwardly througn the un- 
usual colors of her costume. Because her husband had aa 
income, she was officially granted the right to be happy and 
to manifest her happiness in colors, on the street, in daylight* 

A piece of drapery, old tapestry, all kinds of things made 
for different uses picked up incidentally are used by our 
girls. Look at their heads, covered with the cretonne that 
was meant for the wall of the dining-room. Heaven knows 



586 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

where they pick up the strangely*colored material for their 
wabts and evening ¥^ap8. The lining of their jackets is as 
pictaresque as the head gear of cossack-women visiting the 
annual church feast of their nearest market-place. If they 
have not enough material for a skirt, they put three or four 
different kinds in one garment, and the screaming contrast 
of colors 18 even harmonious if you like her wet! enough 
and your eyes are gradually being readjusted to the color 
schemes of our times. 

Small and dandy shoes are no more the password of the 
girl who is Idoking for footgear. They must be comfortable 
in the first place. If you- sit in the subway, let your eyes 
pass in review along the rows of feet. How full of character 
and individualism are they, since they are permitted to be 
a part of their owner's individuality I 

This new way of dressing makes creators out of women. 
Since they realize that nothing else matters but to appear 
attractively and to feel comfortably, they have become in- 
ventors and explorers. 

And so there has come a new meaning to the dresses of 
our women. Not only to cover their bodies and protect 
them aginst rain and shine do they wear their clothes; but 
as a real own, unprejudiced manifestation of their attitude 
towards life. 

Guido Bruno 

London Letter 

London Office of BRUNO'S WEEKLY, 
18 St. Charles Square, New Kensington. 

March 14th, 1916. 
'HE war draws off more and more young men. It has 
made savage inroads on our artistic talent, and among 
the latest recruits are Messrs. David Bomber'g, whose broth- 
er has already been killed in France, and Wyndham Lewis. 
Lewis is really one of our most promising men, an artist of 
courage and intelligence — ^rare and holy combination. Lewis 
is almost our only painter with ideas. A Slade school stu- 
dent, he painted first in the manner of Augustus John. Then 
the Futurists and Cubists arrested his imagination, and for 
a while he became a disciple of Picasso and Picabia. But 
nearly always he has remained critical and conscious, and in 
his recent work Tie has evolved to a style of his own. I men- 
tion him because he has just decorated a salon at the Tour 
Eiffel restaurant in Charlotte street, which is perhaps the 
most cbariacteristic Bohemian restaurant in London. "It is 
to be his last work before enlisting,*' said Stulik the. proprie- 
tor to me. The Tour Eiffel is a famous place not yet discover- 
ed'by Suburbia and the hungry middle class. Only foreigners 
aitd artists and .Silent connoisseurs resort to it. I should 



. . I . . 



^ :. ■ 
• ( 

. 1 !.; :'; '".' I 



ItUm. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY ,587 

iiever dream of referring to it in an English jottmal: It has 
remained with all the charm of its naive ctiistne;' its' jiuiet and 
its Continental atmosphere for several years. May it survive 
the war. Stulik shares with many artists memories of stti- 
dents' frolics at his house — Baby parties, annual dinneirs, (btcv 
— ^but I am not writing my, reminiscences. ' 

Speaking of the painters, I should think the new military 
iaiv will break up the London group and the. new realists oi 
Cumberland Market. 

An exhibition of paintings and sculpture at the Grosvenor 
Gallery in Bond street is interesting for two HbluSt? of two 
very interesting women — Miss Iris Tree and Miss Ltllian 
Shelley (Mrs. John P. Flanagan). Both of these women are 
•well known figures in the world of London's artistic and lit- 
erary Bohemia, and a crowd of friends and interested people 
have been to see their "heads modelled by Mr. Jacob Epi- 
stein." This sculptor has a keen sense of rather brutal sense 
of character. It is with him rather as if he delighted to 
"knock out" his sitters with the vigour of his psychological 
penetration. He is a realist, almost to the pomt of mysti- 
cism one might say. It is a case with this artist of the ideal- 
ism of the Jew working in the atmosphere of English prac- 
ticalness or sense of business. As a result, it i>roduces a 
practical effect, a "business" result which is startling and at 
the same time not quite English. This is nearly always the 
case with the Jews. I do not say it in any depreciation of 
them. Ayithout them where would modem art be? But it 
is an observable fact. Thus in antiquity Hellenic, the Hel- 
lenic Jew of Gadara, is more Hellenic than any Greek poet; 
Heine more sentimentally German; Catulle Men<3|es or Bern- 
stein, more obviously Parisian. 

At the Alpine Club Gallery there is a mingled gathering 
of Cubists, Post-Impressionists and what-nots, a weak little 
show, rather suggestive of falling leaves or art's last roses. 
Mr. Nevinson introduces a note of reality. 

Edward Storer, 

Sancta Simplicitas ! 

by Tom Sleeper 

JU[E was a poor man with no family and only an undevel- 
oped inclination to live. Accordingly <he rambled 
around town until run over by an omnibus. During the 
critical period immediately following in which he hovered 
between life and death at the hospital under the personal 
supervision of a gifted surgeon he suddenly saw a great light 
and in an inspired moment dedicated his hitherto fruitless 
soul and body to the advancement of surgical knowledge. 
The surgeon quick to grasp the possibilities of the idea re- 
constructed him in a highly creditable manner so that he 
soon found himself well and strong. 

Experiments in grafting happened at this time to have 
caught the fancy of the surgical profession and forthwith 



5» BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

commenced a series of amputations and replacements on the 
willing Jones with signal success until he walked on unre- 
lated legs, wrote with the arm of an unfortunate tnachinist. 
saw with the eyes of a still more unfortunate letter carrier, 
ate with the jaw of a deceased millionaire, digested his food 
with the transferred stomach of a longshoreman, breathed 
with fragments of several alien lungs, blushed with the result 
of various transfusions and was liberally overhauled in other 
directions. 

Fired by the success of his operations and the submissive- 
ness of his subject the surgeon pressed on to more delicate 
experiments involving the brain. Jones found himself one 
morning in definite possession of a knowledge of French. 
He remembered also, many experiences he had had in Paris, 
a city to which he had formerly believed himself a stranger. 
In a like manner he obtained a profound, knoivledge of 
astronomy and a smattering of related sciences. • Once on 
recovering from the anaesthetic he found that he could recall 
snatches of speeches he had made while stumping the State 
for the governorship of Ohio. NLater Greek and archeologi- 
cal information came to him unsolicited and many other dis- 
associated recollections. 

The surgeon rubbed his hands in satisfaction and made 
further substitutions. Into the fold of Brocca of the uncom- 
plaining Jones was cri'afted odd bits of the folds of an assort- 
ed population. And Jones waxed exceeding well informed. 

As time went on Jones puzzled over his past. How could 
he have been with a party of astronomers in Chili when he 
distinctly remembered that it was at this time he had been 
run over by an omnibus in New York. What explanation 
was there for the fact that on the day he had been presented 
the medal of the Legion of Honor by the President of France 
for researches in Csrpress he had also been burned by a gas 
stove in a Chicago tenement. Then, too, he had distinct 
recollection of having died in a cafe in Scranton, Pa., "while 
his common sense seemed to indicate that this was improb- 
able. 

And so it came to pass that one October afternoon a splen- 
did specimen of physical manhood knocked at the door of 
my mountain hermitage. He spoke, saying: 

"I am told that no part of myself is myself. That my 
great knowledge is not my own. But I have never ceased 
td live and function as myself. Now in the name of Allah 
who I ask you am I? 

Giver of light give me knowledge wherewith to answer this 
man. 






fiRUNO'S WEEKLY 589 

Verses 

By Stiphen Crane 

In the Night 

Grey, heavy clouds muffled the valleys. 
And the peaks looked toward God^ alone. 

"O Master, that movest the wind voUk a finger, 

"Humble, idle, futile peaks are we, 

"Grant that we may run swiftly across the world, 

"To huddle in worship at Thy feet/' 

In the Morning \ 

A noise of men at work came the clear blue miles. 
And the little black cities were apparent, 

"O Master, that know'est the wherefore of rain^drops, 

"Humble, idle, futile peaks are we, 

"Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord, 

"That we may chant Thy goodness to the sun" 

In the Evening 

The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights, 
"O Master, 

"Thon who knowest the value of kings^ and swallows. 
Thou hast made us humble, idle, futile peaks, 
"Thou only needest eternal patience; 
"We bow to Thy wisdom, O Lord — 
"Humble, idle, futile peaks," 

In the Night 

Grey, heavy clouds muffled the valleys. 
And the peaks looked toward God, alone. 

Truth and Fable 

HTHE poets' goddess Fable, wandered once into a barbarous 
country, where she was assailed by a band of robbers. 
They found her purse empty, to make up for which ther 
stripped her of her clothing. And lol when the veil which 
covered her was removed, Truth stood before them. 

The robbers were confounded, and humbly besought her to 
resume her garb; "for who," said they, "can bear to sec Truth 
naked?" 

After the German of Lichtwer 

A HINT FOR THE NATIONAL ACADEMY QF DE- 
SIGN — ^A singular custom prevailed in the city of ancient 
Thebes, which was, that the painter who exhibited the worst 
picture was subjected to a fine. 



/ 



590 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



The "Drive" after VUla. 

QUR "drive" into Mexico after Villa may be a more serious 
matter than many suppose. A guerrila on his own ter- 
rain is hard to catch. The people are with him against his 
Sursuers. So the pursuit of Pancho may be a stem chase, 
loreover, there is the possibility of Villa's being made into 
a hero pressed by the hated cri'ingoes. This might bring 
him strong support from the forces, none too cohesive at 
best, of the Constitutionalist First Chief. There is danger 
in Senor Carranza's meticulous punctilio on the point of our 
troops occupying towns as bases or using the Mexican rail- 
roads. He insists upon extreme deference from the power 
that has given his position whatever of stability is possesses. 
His "negotiosity" may very well be an aid to Villa's escape 
from our punitive expedition and at any time the amour 
propre of his party may be offended to the point of making 
conmion cause with Villa against the foreign invaders. Such 
co-operation as the Constitutionalist government renders us 
at this juncture is perfunctory, dilatory and grudging. In 
such a situation it is only ordinary precaution on our part 
to increase our forces in pursuit of the man who invaded 
this country and slaughtered a number of Americans. It is 
a ticklish business we are engaged in and there are partly 
hidden factors — ^possibly of European intrigue — -therein that 
may turn our trailing of Villa into another war with Mexico. 
We cannot turn back. Therefore we must be prepared for 
whatever may happen in the course of our going ahead. 

fVilliatn Marion Reedy in his SU Louis Mirror, 

Specimens of a New Dictionary 

Servants — People who are fed and paid for making other 
people uncomfortable. 

Argument — A series of positive assertions and denials, end- 
ing in a quarrel. 

Public spirit — Readiness to do anything which is likely to 
prove lucrative. 

Automobile — A machine designed to make jobs for the sur- 
geons and coroner. 

Prominent man^-Anybody who will allow his name to be 
used by a quack of any kind— from a dentist to a dancing 
master. 

Public Opinion— Whatever is advanced by three newspa- 
pers. 
Popularity — ^Thie privilege of being abused and slandered, 
Wit— A talent for littering old jokes with a grave face. 
Morality— ySinning with prudence and secrecy. 
Respectability — Five thousand dollars a year. 
Talent — Friendly relations with editors and producers. 

Cafs Paw. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 591 



Chinese Letters 

by Alan W, S. Lee (Wuhu, China) 

{Mrs. Elizabeih H. Russell, sent us a cheery letter from Old Sud- 
hury Road, fVayland, Mass,, cohere she is writing in the seclusion 
of this sleepy New England town, 

"I wish I could send you the biff loaf of sponge cake I have 
just made but I fear it would crumble on the route, I will nv$ 
forget about the apple pie. But I do send with this some extracts 
from my young friends' letters from China, I have bushels more, 
and the one that I think loveliest of all I cannot put hands on at this 
moment. The writer is An English boy of whom I am very fond. 
He teaches French and German in a boys* school in IVuhu") 

Tsing Ming Dsieh 

I YING in the long grass on the slope of my garden is an 
ancient coffin. It is old and weatherbeaten and the 
planks of it are so warped and twisted that when I pass by 
I can look through the large cracks to the inner blackness 
and see the poor, dead bones, white and still. It lies at the 
foot of a 'willow tree, and in summer it is coverc|[d with the 
mass of trailing green branches which hang over it like a 
pall. My friends do not like graves in their gardens, and 
think I should have the old coffin taken away. 

But why should I disturb the dead? There is so much room 
for us both, and I think the Willow Tree would die, for I 
know she loves the soul of him whose bones lie in the old 
coffin — she bends over so tenderly, and lets fall all of her 
lovely hair to protect his narrow, ruined house from the sun 
and rain. 

On certain days a very old man used to come and burn 
incense by this grave, and sitting in the long grass beneath 
the tree he would chant Buddist rites, but he was so old, and 
his voice was so cracked, it was but a piteous croaking. He 
has not been for many weeks now, and the soul of the dead 
is grieved. Often at night I hear it crying softly to itself, 
and the wind sighs in the Willow Tree. But the Tsing Ming 
Dzieh (Day to Honor the Dead) will soon be here, and the 
old man will surely come theh to chant his little songs to 
the old coffin. 

Today is the Tsing Ming Dzieh. Since dawn the people 
have passed between the rice fields and over the country 
roads. In their arms they bear gay bunches of flowers, and 
baskets of incense. They are going to decorate the graves 
of their ancestors. This is the day when the Living bow 
down and worship, and pay tribute to the Dead. 

But no one has come this year to the grave on my garden 
slope. I hear the little old man died of the sumnier's heat, 
and now there is no one to reverence him who lies buried 
beneath my WiUow Tree. 

The Moon is coming up behind the Pagoda on the hill. 
Many stars twinkle in the^ stagnant pond by the roadside. 
Fireflies swing their little green lamps among the deep shad- 
ows of the cedars, and crickets chirp in the long grass. Trail- 



592 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



inf along the jeweled sky the Milky Way floats like a filmy 
veil half hiding the eyes of night The deep boom of temple 
gongs has ceased. The moon has reached her zenith. Little 
Eats flit with mufl9ed wings above the stars in the poncL The 
Tsing Ming Dzieh has passed, and no one came to offer 
prayers and sacrifice by the grave on my garden slope. From 
beneath the Willow Tree <^ome8 a sound like the sobbing of 
a little child. Ah, poor soul, is it then so terrible to die and 
be forgotten? 

When I awoke the east was flushed with the cotmng Dawn. 
Thin strands of mist hung about the cedars and floated above 
the • turquoise waters of the river. The startlings twittered 
in the rain gutters of the roof, and from \he half -submerged 
fields came the familiar little songs of the rice-planters. 

The Tsing Ming Dzieh is past, and no one came to -worship 
by the ancient gn'ave on my garden slope. 

I know the soul has gone now forever, for my Willow Tree 
is dying. The birds sing in its branches, the violets bloom 
at its foot, and all about is the full, throbbing joy of Spring, 
but its leaves are pale, and yellow, as though Autumn had 
passed in the night. Where are they gone — those two who 
loved on my garden slope? I do not know, but I grieve be- 
cause my Willow is dying.** 

Our Mausoleums 

QUR museums are mausoleums. Scientific explanation of 
art seems their main object. Whoever has time and the 
desire to search and to explore the spacious halls filled with 
junk and curiosities might detect a real work of art. But who 
likes to swallow dust even if it is historic and scientific dust? 
Our museums are not the home of the eternal. There is not 
that spirit that makes us forget centuries and thousands of 
years, years whose art is still living and embracing over the 
span of time and space. 

The fact stares us mercilessly in the face that one artist is 
sustaining hundreds of so-called artists. It is true that life 
consists of piece work but there is no necessity to vivisect art 

Whatver cannot live must die. And if it is hung up for 
eternity, even eternity will not call it to life. 

The American museum is an antique shop. Antique shops 
do not open their doors to the masses of the population. Art 
history and art research work have nothing whatever to ao 
with art itself. A man who paints uses as his medium the 
canvas and his paints. He appeals to the eye. A painting Is 
something to look at. Explanation is unnecessary. 

The works of Tolstoi or of Hauptmann must be translated 
into English because most of the English readers are ignor- 
ant of Russian and of German. To translate painting into 
language is necessary only for those who cannot use their 
eyes. 

The explanation of our paintings^ the commentary to our 
works of art is only for the blind. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 593 

■ I III I I ■ ■ I I 

In Our Village 

Spring and Poets 

QPRING has arrived. She had an ultimate gigantic strug- 
gle on her scheduled day of advent, on the 21st. Hur- 
ricanes of snow, bitterly cold, the sidewalks dangerously 
frozen, janitors and snow shovellers busy at their unexpected 
iKTork — and then t)ie sudden change. Sun and warmth and 
victory. 

The sparrows dared to come out from under their shelter- , 
giving eaves and happily they hopped from branch to branch 
of the old — soon to be their summer residence — trees on 
Washington Square. Their chirping mingled harmoniously 
with the screams and shouts of the children who, for the first 
time after months of being shut in, had come' to their play- 
grounds. 

The windows of houses, mansions and shacks, which 
peacefully stand in a row on the South Side fulfilling their 
mission unbothered by the exciting events that mark the 
earthly life of their occupants, stood wide open, and the 
old lady, who is known for her love of flowers and plants, 
put a few of her children on the window sills in the warm, 
mid-day sun. 

And together with sun and birds and merry children had 
come the poets. To the rooms of the Washington Square 
Gallery, to the Art sanctum of Mr. Coady, they had followed 
the Call of Others, those strange birds whom Alfred 
Kreymborg has taken under his wings and mothered and 
fostered, and given a warm coop in his ''magazine of the 



new verse," 



They had come to kowtow before the big editress of the 
West, before Harriet Mouroe, before her who has made 

Soets who otherwise would never have been heard of, who 
rought to the shores of America the first of the rays of 
that Imagism and Ezra Poundism which has developed into 
our own free verse," into "vers libre," that step-child among 
poets, that illegitimate offspring struggling for recognition. 
The friendly winds of Spring had blown her east from her 
Chicago seclusion. 

She is a nice kind lady. She shook hands with about a 
hundred people who express themselves through poetry free 
and otherwise. She had profound apologies to offer to every- 
olie she met about that manuscript that just had to be sent 
back. She chatted with everybody, and I do believe that 
she was not displeased with the color scheme of the sixty 
odd hats of the poetesses, blonde, brunette and gray-haired 
ivhich constantly formed a dense circle around her. Clement 
Wood was there and showed to his young wife his brother 
poets; and Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff looked well under 
a portrait which might as well have been of Oscar Wilde 
as the somebody else that it was. But the bow of his necktie 
reminded me very much of the peculiar way in which Wilde 
used to tie his. And of course Kreymborg was sliding about 
to give a finishing touch to this group or that group while 



5^ BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



he smoked his cigar. It behooves one to smoke a cigar, 
be he host to the Supreme Court of American poetry and 
himself a member of the Bench. 

Djuna Barnes was there too. She wore a long black Teil 
and a flaming red rose. She looked very Spanish, 

And then there were Kreymborg's satellites that are just 
marching in the procession with an occasional ambition and 
secret wish once to lead a procession of their own. 

I left. Three stars were shining on the dark blue firma- 
ment high above the electricity glaring cross on Washington 
Square. A few couples of Italian lovers had come out from 
"Little Italy" around the corner promenading around 
the Square. The benches were filled with loungers and 
dreamers for the first time after the cold winter days. Wide 
open stood the doors of Rossi's ice-cream establishment and 
so I strolled in and drank a slow sweetly sour lemonade, 
meditating deeply upon the mild winds of Spring, upon the 
great poetess from Qiicago, and upon men and women who 
want to be poets. 

Strange things are happening in the Village. Not only 
poets convene here but all the peculiar characters one has 
the good luck of meeting in life every once in awhile seem 
to have a rendezvous on the Square. There is, for instance, 
that beautiful woman who takes her noon-day walk aroand 
the Square. We noticed her to-day for the third time from 
our Garret window. Monday she wore a striking black 
gown, a black hat, black gloves, black handbag, and on a 
black leash — ^trotting very snobbishly — a black poodle. Tues- 
day at the same hour, the same lady in a magnificent white 
gown; with white fox furs, a white fox hat, white gloves, 
white shoes . . . and on a white leash, very grave and very 
proud a white poodle. 

And to-day, just as I am writing these lines, she passes 
my. window again. She is dressed in a brown riding habit, 
tight-fitting very exclusive-looking, brown boots, brovm 
gloves, a brown soft felt hat, and on a brown leash a brown, 
long-haired Pomeranian whose ears almost sweep the ground 
as he waddles close to the skirt of his mistress. 

What will to-morrow bring, and what the day after to- 
morrow? Does she ever w^ear pink or green, or pale bine? 
Does she match her gowns with her dogs or her dogs with 
her gowns, I wonder? I wonder? 

Friday afternoon the 7th of April at three o'clock D. 
Molby, known to the readers of this magazine from his 
"Musmgs" will give an informal reading from his "Hippo- 
potamus Tails," "Rats' Ears and Cats' Eyes'*' and such musings 
as remain yet unpublished. You are invited to attend this 
reading, admission free of charge, at Bruno's Garret, 58 
Washington Square. 

The cartoons of Steinlen chronologically arranged as they 
appeared in "Gil Bias" sixty-eight of the befet he ever did, 
will remain on the walls of the Garret until April the tenth; 
Saturday afternoon and Monday evening are reserved, as 
before, the fire, for the purpose of keeping "open house/* 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



595 



Books and Magazines of the Week 

IN an old volume of poetry by Dr. W. Dodd, written in 
prison, shortly before his death, 1777, is an interesting 
paragraph, which throws a curious sidelight upon the posi- 
tion of newspaper-editors and newspaper men at large. Dodd 
was Chaplain to King George III of England, but in a fatal 
moment committed the crime of forgery, for which he was 
tried, convicted and hung, in June 1777. Poems he wrote 
during his imprisonment together with the brief of the 
prosecuting Crown attorney fell recently into my hands, with 
a lot of religious publications. Here is the' condemning ar- 
g^ument of the prosecuting Crown attorney. 

**Though encumbered with debts, he might still have re- 
trieved his circumstances if not his character, had he attended 
to the lessons of prudence but his extravagance continued 
undiminished, and drove him to schemes which overwhelmed 
him with additional infamy. HE DESCENDED SO LOW 
AS TO BECOME THE EDITOR OF A NEWSPAPER, 
and is said to have attempted to disengage himself from his 
debts by a commission of bankruptcy, in which he failed. 
From this period every step led to complete his ruin. In 
the summer of 1776 he went to Paris, and, with little regard 
to decency, paraded in a phantom at the races on the plains 
of Sablons, dressed, in all the froppery of the kingdom in 
ivhich he then resided. He returned to England about the 
beginning of the Winter, and continued to exercise the duties 
of his function, particularly at the Magdalen chapel, where 
he still was heard with approbation, and where his last sermon 
was preached, February 2, 1777, two days only before he 
signed the fatal instrument which brought him to an ignom- 
inous end." ♦ 

Violet Leigh, of Eau Claire 

She surely must be a poetess, and even if you should dis- 
agree as to giving her this title after reading her "Little 
Book of Verses," published by the Fremad Publishing Com- 
pany of Eau Claire, Wisconsin, you would have to recognize 
in her the poetical spirit which prompted the pale blue satin 
cover of her book, tied with a darling bow of pink. Violet 
likes Clara Tice and she wrote a nice poem to Clara which 
will appear in the near future on these pages. 

BnU 

Vol. 1, No. 1, of this monthly, is about the first satirical 
paper published during the last twenty-five years in the 
United States that really contains satire in words and pic- 
tures. The title-page alone is worth its purchasing price. 
There is a spirit of truthful dating through its pages. Its 
cartoons mean something, and its jokes are bitter jokes 
-whieh you also could call the real life confronting us step by 
step every day. The name of its editor is not stated but it ' 
is worth one's while to look at it. Get it on the newstands. 



-■ •• 



... V 



The California Book-plate Society has announced a com- 
petition, open to art students in California, for a book-plate 
design suitable for use in the Society's library. Two prizes 
of $10.00 and $5.00 are offered. Designs are to be exhibited 
at the May meeting; of the Society, and a committee of ar- 
tists will then award the prizes. While the competition was 
undertaken primarily to mcrease interest in the book-plate 
problems' among the art students of the State, it is hoped 
that some of the designs submitted will be worthy of repro- 
duction and continued use. 

The Last of the War Correspondents. 

{Conlinaeii from tail vieek) 

"Ach! Never this upstart general will tell me numbers of 
men while 1 have eyesight. No matter how many times they 
are marched through the cit^, it does not increase the num- 
ber. Let us go up on La Cilia and look down on the army 
of the northeast. 

We ride up. Von Kriegelstein points to the dust clouds 
down on the roads. "Now I will show you something. The 
high broken clouds are artillery. There are eighteen gnans. 
You cannot see them but the dust does not lie. There are 
eleven thousand men — maybe a few hundred more — and 
about two thousand are mounted. The thin, even dust rising 
high is cavalry, the low thick dust is infantry. It is a good 
army, but not what General Goiizales said to us. You will 
look along this paper here where I have drawn the line tn 
angles. The distance is about five thousand meters. The 
rest is mathematics. After some years you will be able to 
tell to perhaps fifty men how many are on a road." 

It is Saltillo a few days later. The warrant for our arrest 
is OHt«nd we are to die as spies, Beinhacker has not suc- 
cumed to the registry of character. Beinhacker has lived 
two years or\ the East Side of New York where charcter is 
often registered. From the cuarfel we have escaped to the 
English consulate. John R, Silliman, the agent of our stem 
government, is there, too. There is a large lump of dynamite 
under Silliman's house. Not even grape juice will remove it, 
I appeal to Silliman for protection and probably from excite- 
ment do not see anything comical in it. I said Silliman was , 

living at the British consulate, because , The door is 

barred and McMillian, the British consul — Kingdom of Great 
Britain and Ireland — will do the best he can. 

A few minutes later in response to inquiries after our 
health: "Tell Major Elizondo to make a good job of it. You 
can't rush it from the street. Tell him to go up on the moun- 
tain and shell the consulate." It is the baron who speaks. 
Night goes on and we are up. The baron is jocular. "I tell 
you Logue, this is great. You will be faijious. I shall take 
your picture if they shoot you first. You roust grant me that 

Tragedy is funny. No one clutches the brow and says "Me- 



598 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

gudd!'* We shake hands at once, firmly beliveing- there i? 
only the morning for the shelling. Nobody says "Good bye 

old pal, and if we meet again in a better world ." Vor 

Krief?e!stein is a Catholic and so am I. He is not beyond ad 
mitting it for fear it may not be smart. So we say a fe% 
prayers and make an act of contrition. I don't believe he 
needed it half as much as I. His life was clea^. good where 
it could be otherwise with nobody to tell. Perhaps a testing 
too. 

Comes morning. I call General Gonzales on the phone 
He cannot reply to me in English. I must use lame Spanish. 
He will investigate, but he does not understand Engrlish. He 
has been a traveling salesman in the United States for four 
years and he knows I know it. Very unfavorable outlook. 
Silliman pleads for us. Across the street is a graduate ban- 
dit, General Francisco Coss. He has a mansion now. He 
took it one day in one minute. The baron has a little inside 
track. Coss dislikes Gonzolas. Coss has five thousand men 
in Saltillo. "We can put up a better fight with Cosses' men 
than alone," suggests von Kriegelstein. We chance to call on 
Coss. There is a cow carcass on the mansion entrance. 
People must eat. None of the carcass is in the reception 
room where Coss greets us. The liberator will first pose for 
a picture seeing the baron's camera. He poses thirty min- 
utes with a shrapnel shell under each arm. Thank the sen- 
ors very much for putting his pictures in all papers in the 
United States and Europe and Asia. Touching the matter 
of General Gonzales he does not like to see Gonzales' troops 
on the street near his quarters anyway. Yes, he will bear us 
in mind and we will surely go with him when he starts down 
to free the people. 

Gonzales leaves and so do we — ^in another direction, on a 
mail car that is going over to Villa. Carranza does not know 
it; neither does Gonnzales. Only the engineers and the Villa 
agents who uncouple several rear cars containing* troops 
knows it. 

We enter the desert on our way to Torreon. He tests his 
moustache. * 

"How dry the hair gets," is all von Kriegelstein says, for a 
time after we are well under way. "It is so it gets brittle, as 
one's hair in the desert of Gobi, which is you know, jiist be- 
fore Manchuria." He talks and most books become nonsense 
in comparison. He has in his baggage two volumes of Kip- 
ling and one of O. Henry. He likes them both. This is fair 
praise, because he has written twelve novels himself which 
have the largest circulation in Austria. 
( To be continued) 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, and 
edited and written by Quido Bruno, both; at 58 Washington 
Square, New York* City. Subscription $2 a year. 

Entered as second class matter at the Post Office of New 
Tor^, N. T., October 14th» 1915> under> the Aet of , lfa»sii 
3d. 1879. - 






RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 



BMks far ChftetmM Glfta 

PnrehAMd Magtf or In Mts for pooido who hmw Boltkor timo 

timltjr to Mloet for thomaolTOo, or for tbooo who Imto aot innii to tho 

boot book nuirto. Wbj not bo^ln o<^oetlnc now? 

Address, E. V.* Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass. 

The Candlestick Tea Room 

THE CANDLESTICK TEA EOOM hno armcod opMO far 
Donrtny ovorr Tnoodar* Tknrsdojr and Sntwdajr nlglit froai 
oifbt to olovMk QoodI if note and FIno Floor. Patrons of tba 
Toa 



17 WEST rm STREET TEL. 8TUYVESANT 

For Houses, Aiisrtiiisnts or Rooms, 8ss 

PEPE & BRO. 

R£AL ESTATE AND INSURANCE 

40 So. Wndiingloo 
TaUplMM 4119 SpriBff Cor. ol MncDoogiJ SImsI 

Bfimg m h^^k 

I N W H I C H 
nvi tmy fust wkat we tkimk. Published everf m9uih kf NfmeuhBH 
Geddes at 7S€ Second Avenue m DetroU, MickigMM^ It it m iittU 
^ooi^ uuigueif iliutirated. fFrite for sample copf. 

A Proposed Revnral itf 

VALENTINE'S MANUAL 

Tkm on Nt MM DwM T. VainrtlM. Tim will mm It aMtfeir. Tl« Mrt at 
•u ktpi Itor b t WMlMMWi tf ttat «lrlt wfebk. MMtor kb liilai mm, tran- 
fmmi kb SaiMb trin a praqr riMri ff Mly tvMrti lalt a r i» w l lw y ff mk 
taHlMttn MMMt aaf kbivtail tkmi ai It It ttmir a MUM to lit aatl« 
4nrlaa aaf lit Iomt tf fM Ito Yirfc. 

If litemM la Ikb pn|wt arm tor partbitan to Nfary Mtlai IriBa, 15 
Eart 40tk Strwt. S. Y. CKy. tiiitlwy SMtoly tf tM Ito Ytrkm. 



SCHMITT'S 

BAKERY and LUNCH ROOM 

80 SIXTH AVENUE 
■•low Ei^th SttMt NEW YORK 



■ M nmnDer iw rinn Avenue 

Ik dlU Iton, al Itut, die ddi|lilM timat- 
phere of OU Greowich Villi|» hu Mt beea 
Moificcd M tfac ahar of coonerdalini 



tUmtlhjmaHSn u«i|t, ii ik. ib,. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN mS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

FiT* CenU April Sth, 1916 



Apd Mb. 1916. 

■VMlU 




pues 



AT 



CHAKUS EMSQirS IHTU IHHIILE THEATIE 

ATMKTERFm AVENOE. CSEENWni VUAfi^ RTvC 



THE STATE FORBIDS! 

B!y SADA COWAN 

THE STRONGER 

t 

a» AUGUST snuNDBenc 



GUIDO BRUNO. 

EVERT MONDAY, TVESDAT AND WEDNESDAY 

AT 8*46 P. 11 AND SATURDAY AT 8 O'CLOCK 

ONLY 6 5 SEATS AT ONE DOLLAR EACH 

T« b« lui4 at lU BOX OmCB, IP r!VTH AVBNUB. or by maU 




Readers of Bruho't Weekly 
are asked to became 
Subscribers 

52 ISSUES FOR TWO P0LLAR$ 



-IT M 



14o. IS. APRIL Stii. MCMXVI. 

at- Ctit fiCToK wWhh oajt -U In. 

vmaC. ■ Oil 3 iiaiit n k itt^f^ afi^ 



Bruno Players' New Bill 

TIm SUto ForUa* 

CADA COWAN'S "THE STATP FORRIDg," and A^ngurt 
•-^ Strlndberg'a 'THE STRONGER," willbe prestnttd on 
Wednesday. April 5th, by the Bruno Players, in Charles £.dt- 
•on's Little Thimble Theatre, at 10 Fifth Avcilue,'as their 
•ceood play-bill of thia season. 

"The State Forbids" is not a problem play. Its two 9ceh«a 
iVe shnple- but cruelly true ataMnlents of facts. Milllohs of 
families in Europe'Were confronted during the last tvo yeairs 
by' these two supreme problems, They had to solve them 'in 
their hearts and no matter to what conclusion they ' had 
come, "The State Forbids," and "The State CommandSi" 
Ikas been the merciless solution of their Gordian knot. 

Sada Cowan does not attempt in her play to show whtt 
could be done or wtiat ahoiild be done. 




C^ffrifhl 1916 bf Guide Bran* 



600 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

mother of that little creature that can never be anything but 
a "poor little one." 

The scene is so real to life, so without false dramatic pa- 
.'thosl The mother's love ^iirhich prefers death for her baby 
ra^er than life full of suffering! ^And there is the district 
nurse who knows; who witnessed such scenes in numberless 
other families* and there is the doctor who does not hesitate 
to state that a physician should be vested with the same 
powers of a judge. .But-i^« the State forbids. 

And then the other scene ten years hereafter. The same 
flat; the same mother; her first-born child grown up to be a 
promising, healthy man and "the poor little one" ah idiot, a 
constant charge of his |)arentl Ai^ the same doctor, now in 
these grave and troubled times of war, the recruiting surgeon 
of the vicinity. Conscription is ordered. The big boy, his 
mother's only comfort in this world, which means to her a 
constant chain of suffering, is conscripted. The State orders 
him to go out and to shoot and td kill other mother's sons. 

The State forbids to take the life of that poor things that 
idiot in the corner over there ten years ago ^^s it came, into 
the world, and the State forbids to save the life of that big 
grown up boy whom the doctor had to declare as lit to be a 
soldier for his country. 

The mother is helpless just as helpless as the mother-cow 
in the stable, whom -tH^ force to bring calves into the world 
and who has to lose her calf if they choose to butcher it 

It is just a statement of plain facts presented in two scenes, 
the first and the '}ast station oa the passion-way of a mother 
in a modern state. 
The Stronger 

np^O women. Both actresses. One is married and a 
* mother; the other unmarried living her own life. They 
meet the day^ before Christmas at a coffee house. The un- 
married one is mute.. She does not say a word. She listens 
to her friend whom she caused so many pains and sleepless 
nights; whom she suspects to, be the woman with whom her 
husband was infatuated; whose taste, refinement and mode of 
living her husband had admired. Whom she had to ixhitate 
just to please h«r husband. 

' But she cannot hate her rival, who like the thief who awak- 
ens one night and finds the things he stole in the reposses- 
sion of the one from whom he stole it, is just a poor example 
of woinahhood; who celebrates her Christmas Eve all by her- 
self in a public restaurant. . • 

Strindberg shows in this little gem ot a play as well as in 
every other one of his works that GOOD — ^and with "good" 
iie means healthy, the thing that has a purpose and is ful- 
filling this purpose — is triumphant in the nnaf end. Triumph- 
,ant over sham and oyer everything not fit to live. 

The House of Judgment 

AND there was silence in the House of Judgment, and the 

Man came naked before God. 
" And God opened the Book of Life of the Man. 

And God sa;id to the Man, "Thy life hath been evil, and 
thou hast shown cruelty to those who were in need of sue- 



BRUKO'S WEEKLY 601 

cottl«)*-and to those who lacked help thoii hast been bitter atid 
hard of heart. The poor called to thee, and thou did'st not 
hearken, and thine ears were dlosed to the cry of the afflicted. 
The inheritance of the fatherless thou did'st take to thyself 
and thou did'st send the foxes into the vineyard of thy neigh- 
bor's field. Thou did'st take the bread of the children and 
give it to the dogs to eat, and the lepers who lived in the 
marshes, and were at peace, and praised Me, thou did'st drive 
forth on to the highways, and. on Mine earth, out of which I 
made thee, did'st thou shed innocent blood." 
*And the Man made answer and said, "Even so did I." 
And again God opened the Book of Life of the Man, and 
God said to the Man, "Thy life hath been evil and thou didVt 
seek for the seven sins. The walls of thy ■. chamber were 
painted with images, and from the bed of thine abominations 
thou did^st rise up to the sound of flutes. Thou did'st build 
seven altars to the sins I have suffered, and did'st eat of the 
thing that may not be eaten, and the purple of thy raiment 
was broidered with the three signs of shame. Thine idols 
were neither bf gold nor of silver, which endure, but of flesh 
that dieth. Thou did'st stain their hair with colours' and set 
pomegranates in' their hands. Thou did'st stain their feet 
with perfumes, and spread carpets before them. With anti- 
mony thou did'st stain their eyelids, and their bodies thou 
did'st smear with myrrh; Thou did'st bow thyself to the 
ground before them, and the thrones of the idols were set in 
the sun. Thou did'st show to the sun thy shame and to the 
moon thy madness." 

<Ahd the Man made answer and said, "Even so did L" 
And a third time God opened the Book of the Life of the Man. 
And God said to the Man, "Evil hath been thy life, and with 
evil did'st thou requite good, and with wrongdoing kindness. 
The hands that fed thee thou did'st wound, and the breasts 
that gave thee suck thou did'st despise. He who came to 
thee with water went away thirsting, and the outlawed men 
who hid thee in their tents at night thou did'st betray before 
dawn. Thine enemy who spared thee thou did'st snare in an 
ambush, and the friend who walked with thee thou did'st sell 
for a price and to those who brought thee Love thou did'st 
ever give Lust in thy turn." 

And the Man made answer and said, "Even so did I" 
And God closed the Book of the Life of the Man, and said, 
"Surely I shall send thee to Hell. Even unto Hell shall I 
send thee." 

And the Man cried out "Thou canst not." 
And God said to the Man, "Wherefore can I not send thee 
to Hell, and for what reason?" 

And the Man made answer and said, "Because in Hell have 
I always lived," 

And there was silence in the House of Judgment. 
And after a space God spake, and said to the Man, "Seeing 
that I may not send thee to Hell, surely I shall send thee to 
Heaven. Even unto Heaven shall I send thee." 
And the Man cried out "Thou canst not." 
And God said to the Man, "Wherefore can I not send thee 
to Heaven, and for what reason?". 



602 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

^^^^ - • - - . , ■ . 

'And the Man made answer, and said, ''Because never» iuid in 
'no place, have I been able to imagine Heaven/' 
And there was silence in tiie House of Judgment. 

Oscar fFUdi 

Flasks and Flagons 

Wf Pramck S. SmUu$ 



VUHAT merry faith, oh cool, delicious beer. 

Gave thee the power through centuries to muntain, 
A charm that soothes dull care, and laughs at pain; 
A power sad hearts to vitalize and cheer? 

No blase palate of thy drops can fear; 
Once quaffed, lips eager, seek thy sweets again. 
Without- thee students sing no loud refrain; 
Laughter and mirth depart, be thou not near;.' 

And when I drink thee to my soul's delight, 
A vision of King Gambrinus, fat and gay. 
Haunts me, and I behold bright tankards shine. 
And hear him laugh with many a thirsty wight. 
And merry maiden, drinking night and day. 
In quaint, old, gabled towns along the Rhine, ' . 

Gin 

. ^RIM cicerone of the towns of sin, 

From thy rank drops, the germs of crime and lust^ 
Nurtured by sloth axid hatred of the. just^ 
' In bestial minds to awful bloom begin. 

Dulling all confidence in God or kin, 
Thy woeful spectre on humanity thrust, 
Invokes sad pictures of supreme disgust, 
A yelling harlot, or a bagnio's din. 

I hear in St. Gilas^ foulest slums, the dread 
And blasphemous cries of ruffians in mad strife. 
And, the shocked eye by odious magic led. 
Sees in some garret, panting still with life, 
A 'half-starved child cla[sping a woAian, dead. 
While o'er them lears a gaunt brute with a knife { 



London Letter 

London Office of BRUNO*is WEEKLY, 
18 St. Charles Square, New Kensington. 

March 23d, 1916. 
Having a taste for gossip I cannot help telling jrou of an 
amusing literary • scandal. It is only a triiie, but it is an 
toiusing if rather malicious trifle and is to be read in the 
iMar<;h' number of "The English Review." There, under the 
title of "The Grayles," a 'well*known London literary family 
is delicately ridiculed; its foibles exposed, its inner secrets 
ni^jde fun of by one who.h^is evidently often enjoyed the 
hospitality of that house. Opinion- will be doubtless divided 



BRUNO'S WfeEKLY ^ 

as to the "ta&te" of the article, and litf doubt many frienda 
of the family ^hkh' is satirized will be tcry indignant* Aa 
for the house in question itself, I think it wiU only laugh. . ^ 

The -War aftd the increased cost of paper press heavily 
upon literary , enterprise. As it is: nbwj, the. cohditionsS it\\<k 
mdre and'more^ to the disfavpiir of ^artistic ;Or speculative 
wdrks/ while ohly those bbotcs which will cominand a ready 
and vulgar sale ate sure of being produced, if conditions do 
hot improve, the outlook for books of literary merit will bei 
veiry bad indeed. All the same a new art and literary ir^- 
view is announced for publics^lion. Its nanie is: "Form*** 
^hichname is also intended to indicate its aesthetic. ItJ« 
to be a quarterly, something in the style pf the YeHow Boole- 
Looking at the list of contributprs one cannot lavoid- the critic 
cisia too eclectic. Without a new hope, a new point of view* 
a minor philosophy of some Sort, a new review' cannot live* 
Even with this advantage such a; review can as a rule only 
count on a spiritual existence after a brief and troubleid ma-t 
tefial onel But that surely is the better fate. The fault 
with so many ybunff reviews^ and young movements is that 
they are afraid to die. They Will npt go forth and perish if 
perish they must, secure in the knowledge that what is im<^ 
mortal in them will survive the. trifling ^defeat of bankruptcy. 

Rujjert Brooke's "Letters from; America" appear today) 
i)refaeed^ by a note from Henry James. As the work is prob^ 
ably appearing simultaneously with you I will say nothing 
abdut'it; 

I will mention a i&w of the titles of the inlays now. running 
at the theatres so that you can ^uess the kind of fare we arei 
crijoying: There are "A Little Bit of Fluff,'' "Jerry," a farce; 
•'Peg O' My Heart," "L' Enfant Prodigue," "The Love 
Thief," "The Basker," a comedy, and "The Merchant of Ven- 
ice," among others. 

Ah interesting revival of the old fashioned puppet show 
h4s been held at the Aeolian Hall. The piece given was 
''Maria Marten, or the Murder in the Red Barn,'' a famous 
old'pupDet melodrama. Some idea of the captivating quality 
ol the oialogue may be perceived from this extract:, 

Maria: I have kept my- promise to meet you* af th(^ 'Re4 
Barn. ' - -'-^ 

William: I have brought you here to murder you. i 

Maria: Oh,' William ! 

William: You are in a different social scale. T (cannot 
marry you. But none else shall^possess you. Therefore you 
die — Aha! 

M4*ward Storer, 

_ ' •' •• ' • 

Clara Tice as I 

QLARA TICE is a little girl. , ^ 

Clara Tice is an artist Her drawings are the expression 
of a little girl's conception of line and color, of a little girl 
who is an artist ^. - » ^ 

It is the refreshing naivety in her naughty pictures that 




604 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

pleases the eye. Did I say "that pleases the eye"? If they 
please my eye they had a right to hang there on thd walls 
of my garret. ... 

It is up to you to think the same or to. discard them. 

Have vou ever listened ^o the chatter of a child after it 
returns home from an exciting expedition to the shopping 
district or from a show? It is a pity that we have no more 
chances to listen to children, and that those who have them 
are usually too tired or too bored to lend an attentive ear 
to those wonderful revelations of a child's untrained, un* 
sophisticated and pure mind. . . 

Clara Tice has . a wonderful gift of seeing, of being im* 
pressed^ and of immediately recording. The movement 
expressing a whole long story is more important to her than 
the anatomy of the organ expressing . it. The joyfullest 
height of merriment may be expressed in one kick of her 
leg. For the fraction of one second the skirts are fluttering 
in the air; the leg is exposed— perhaips high up to the hips, 
the body sways back, the eyes are radiant, the shoulders 
drawn according to the rhythm of the music — this all happens 
in a movement as quick as a flash. Clara Tice registers just 
this as the one of the most importance. - She doesn't think 
of the exposed, disarranged dress, she doesn't see the dis- 
arranged hair, but only a beautiful line as the expression 
of a beautiful emotion. Her splash of color gives^ radiance 
to the life of her emotions. 

While most of her drawings are draped with nothing more 
substantial than a very fine gauze, they do not impress us as 
nudes. They are clad with the purity of beauty. They can 
be used as well for extra illustrating the Arabian Nights or 
the works of Boccaccio as well as very appropriate decork* 
tion for a nursery or a girl's living room. 

Miss Tice is an artist. And even if she does not seem to be 
interested in the small details like hands or feet or faces, 
her pictures contain the rhythm of life. They bring to us 
visions from the fields of the innocent, of the eternally happy. 
They please our eyes. 

What higher mission can a drawing have than to please 
the eye? 

Dim Reflections 

The face is the mirror 
Of the soul, so they say. 
Then vihy paint the mirror 
To hide the soul awayf 

Those twinkling eyes 

As they spark viith glee. 
And the sweet kind expression 

While they talk to me. 

But over the mirror. 

Is a mask, to betray 
A soul obscured, 

By a dim faddisfs rayi 
Meg Kerner. 



BRUNO'S' WgEKty «g'. 

Bruno's Garret^HC&btlogue IJIustre 










' .. .. ' 1 


r M 




mni'iiv'^ 





««i^ BRUW(»S WEEKLY 

^^ . ■ - _ ,_ * » » ^ * • * y ■ »if - . * ■%* * '_ 

QI-ARA trCE pictures through ..the . 

colors and moTcinents of her 
drawings the follies and foolery of all of us.^ . 
One movement (quicker than a. fia^^). ^ 

can portray the characteristics of iui 
•ge. ■;- r:: . .•■ ": • '. " 

Delicate but rigorous. Graceful but 
strong. Lean and lazy but lots of 
latent power. 

Cats, women. lowers, jewels, delica^ , ; 
shades of colors, strong streams of " 
light, black )>rutes, white giants, girls 
with red, and golden, and olack hair,' 
prayers, tears, laughter, dance 
Harmony and ,peace hover over 
everything! Soundless tunes of, an ; 

unplayed sonata of Mozart's dtfft^sed 
through the air. 
Our Lives r* 

Guido Bruno 

mmmmammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm^ammmmmmammmmmmmmmm^mmimmmmmmmmmmm 

Fake News From Mexico 

A MERICAN journalism signally discredits itself in its news 
treatment of the army expedition into Mexico to capture 
and punish Villa and his banditti. We^ know that there is 
absolutely iQO. authentic news of the expeditionary: corps, but 
every day. w^ are treated to broad spreads with flaring head- 
lines purporting to tell us where Vills^ is hiding, .how he is 
being surrounded and how the march progresses. All this 
"news" is faked. So are the stories of ■ defections of 
Carranziias to the Villa forces, and the tales of concentrating 
German or even Japanese officers at various points to direct 
a general attack upon the American forces. Pure imagina- 
tion is the only content of startling announcements of. a 
Seneral Mexican uprising in support of Villa. The whole 
texican incident is imagined and distorted into it dan^^er 
which it cannot possibly be. There is no need to fear a 
slaughter of our forces. In all Mexico there is not enough 
ammunition for one fair-sized battle. The war supplies 
that were sent from this country are stopped. None can be 
procured from Europe or. J^pan. Th^re is no authoritative 
information coming out <)f' Mexico to ^justify the scare the 
newspapers are trying to create. President Wilson wisely 
warns us that much Cff thj[S scare stu£F had its origin among 
persons who have an '^te#est in*" oiaklng the pursuit of Villa 
develop into a general inteWention ^and occupation of Mexico. 
The chase after Villa hiay be lon^ / and difficult, hut it need 
not become a war of invasion. Diiscount heavily the sensa- 
tional newspaper dispatches supposed td come from Mexico. 
They are probably concocted in order to work up sentiment 
for another such outrage as the war against old Santa Anna. 

Wttltam Marhn Reedy in his St. Louis Mirror. 



BRUNcys weekly: L eor . 

Cbinese I-etters 

Br Allan HT^ S. Lee jWuhu, China) ,. 

"T^ODAY we had one of tho?^ dielis^htful and spectacular lit*' 
tie storms whicih .come lap all of a sudden, with a .$hriek: 
and howl of a great wind that, whines and moans around the 
house, and then t^Sirs along bending the trees that franti-/ 
cally beat the air« The willows lash the quiet ponds with 
their long, green wisps of hair; ^e flowers and shrubs crouch 
low against the house or garden wall. 

"Then comes a great hissing sound over the hill, and a 
slanting ;nrali of rain, ^shes down on the garden., beating and 
stsLmping it in.fur^. The sky is full of galloping forms tear^ 
ing, huge and majestic across the sky-^great war horses of 
the, Mahruts that rear and plunge, while abovcT the ro^r and 
crash of Mighty Indra makes the frightened earth tremble 
and shiver with dread. 

"Now they are over Purple Mountain, a couple of, miles 
away, and through a rift in the silver grray clouds the sun 
shines down on the hill of graves which glows like burnished 
gold, and all is quiet again — the storm has passed/' 

"All around this compound are rice fields, and in the early* 
mornings one hears the strange, little songs, plain tive» elusive; 
and' beautiful, of the women working in the fields. The life 
of the country people is certainly to be found in their song9> 
and there, is a great opportunity for some musician to write 
a Chinese symphony. I think the fascinating .little tunes; 
could easily be mterpreted to foreig n ears/* 

Chicago Letter 

Chicago OfiEie« ofBruwo's Weekly 
3124 Michigatt AveaiM 

April 1st, 1916. 
A LL is quiet along the Boul Mich, save a noise from the 

"^ Cliff Dwellers club — Hamlin Garland blowing his 

own horn. 

John T. McCutcheoh is back from Saloitiki — his stay there 
it^is said was cut short by representations m^de by the French 
Counsel in Chicago as to Hoosier John's pf o-German cartdohs 
and letter-press in the World's Best Neivispaper, the Chicago 
•^ribiine." . • ;; .- '. ..;.... ;,■■;,.. ' ' 

• Kevertheleds John nefed never fear about his deciitiing! 
years-^he can always iive in the castle on the. fehiile pre- 
fl[<bnted to him and, James O'Dohnel Bennett when Arini^r., 
^eddon -wis ' yoiing; ■•*■■■■•.,. ., .'■.!'... ^ . ',; ' ■ ', ' •' 

The annual exhibition of American artiists at the(A.rt Insti- 
tute Visf over. The exhibition received scant critical attentibr).* 
fi>f the reason that Chicago has but threie art-critics, namely,' 
Kiiss Harriett Monro, who. can write but who knows Nothing' 
about art (?.),Misa Lena. McCauley, who knows som^hing 
abOulf aH, but Who' cannot writi?, and a/Dr, Monagejias; ^Jipi 
knows nothing about aft' aiid'iKrho CafitiOt wifite. ' * ' 

Yet Chicago's art criticism is less at its reader than is 



608 BRUNO'S WEEkLY 



its dramatic criticism. Blanche Ring's new metdium *'Jane 
O'Day From Broadway" by Willard Mack» has just iizzled 
out, after the critics had fallen over each oth<^r in landing it 
The Chicago public you see has heard ''Wolf, Wolf"! shouted 
so often without any "wolf showing up that they take all. 
critical verdicts in a Pickwickian sense. Nearly all the 
Chicago dramatic critics graduated from night-police» they 
should return whence they came. The Hearst paper critic, 
Ashton Stevens, is a cheap and nasty imitatioh of thb' nasty 
and cheap Alan Dale; Percy Hammond repeats what was 
never worth writing; Amy Leslie has a flow of words^ sans 
ideas; Richard Henry Little, who when Glauceh wais Consul 
was knowtt as length without breadth, "does", the drama for 
the "Herald" and does it so amateurishly that one wonders 
if proprietor "Jim" Keeley ever reads his own paper; old 
man Hall on the "Journal" seems in his fourth childhood, 
while Cheeky Charley CoUins, on the not dead but sleeping 
"Evening Post" Writes sloshmushgush on chorus-girls (a 
selected few) but knows not that Salvini is dead, or confuses 
that tragedian with Sapolio. 
Howard Vincent O'Brien, whose dad runs a picture-store 



in the McCormick Building, has entered his maiden Offence 
"New Men for Old" in the "Great American Novel" Stakes. 
Unless all the other competitors break their legd, Mr. 
O'Brien's entry will be a distant trailer. As a literary exer- 
cise, young Mr. O'Brien should study Opie Read's ^Thc New 
Mr. Howerson", a new work by an old master the ]^roduct 
of a mind matured in philospphy, an4 niellowed in kmdness 
and patience for all mankind, and mankind's foibles, a mind 
to which nothing human is alien, and from which no secrets 
are hid. For Opie Read has done admirably what now young 
O'Brien has egregiously botched. Their theme, the struggle 
between Capital and labor is cognate,, and each writer gives 
short shift to the cuckoos that lay their eggs: in labor's nest; 
as it were, and whose greedy fledglings crowd the legitimate 
owner out, but their respective treatments of their not strik- 
ingly original theme differ as authentic bourbon from Can- 
adian whiskey. 

Hall Caine's latest", unfortunately not "last" novel is 
enscribed "To My Mother." So is the latest- atrocity from 
a soi-disant Chicagoan, from that machine for blackening' 
inoffensive white paper, George Barr McCutcheon*^^ ; Authors 
nowadays have mighty little respect for their mother. . 

Emerson Hough, one of the fine flowers of Cook County's 
concatenated literati has sold "Munsey's" a: serial. Was- 
"Bob" Davis asleep at the switch? 

Hobart Chatfield-Taylor, whose books have killed many, 
himself is in the pink of health. He is at Palm Beach ;with 
his valet Wallace Trite. He had just pompously registered 
as "Hobart Chatfield-Taylor, Chicago." 

When waggish Jack London went him one better by, 
registering: "Jack London and Valise." 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY- 609^ 



When tbetime comes for this amiable dilettante to join his* 

betters^ I would suggest the following epitaph for his tomh'^ 

stone: "Epitaph for Chatficld-Taylor." 

' • .'.■",■' • ■• ' 

"Chat* loved to loll on the Parnassian mounts 

His, pen <^ suck and all. his thumbs to count, 

fVhat pqetry he'd written hut for lack 

Of skill, vihen he had counted^ to couni hack, 

Alas, no more he'll climb the sacred steep 
To wake the lyre and put the world to sUep. 

John Stapleion Cowhy-Brown. 

In Our Village 

(Reprmted by request) 

fJiy garret has si3^ windows. Through every one the sua 
is shining, bathing the tablfe with the typewriter m 
a shower of pure golden fays. The laundry that hangs 
along wash linea between the houses of little Italy near by 
seems real wnite, swinging joyfully to the rhythm of a teas* 
ing wind. A few of my neighbors seem to love vivid, glar<» 
ing colors. ' There is one red nightshirt, on which I feast 
my eyes every other week. Its owner must be a giant with 
long arms. I fancy he brought it from Naples or Sicily. 
The shirt will fade and will go the way of all shirts and 
lie'U buy nice Hannel pajamas— all Italians wear pajama^. 
There are dozens of them on the lines in front of my window; 
and he will forget his stinny Italy and lose his sun-browned 
cheeks, and hpw long will it be and he will be one of the 
thousands of pale, uniformly clad New Yorkers? 

Doing the same work, shoulder to shoulder with thousands 
of others makes people uniform. Some elevate themselves 
up to the standard of the average, some come down to the 
standard of the avearge. But after a while they will all be 
equal, they all will wear the same clothes, they will walk iii 
the same manner, they will eat the same kind of food, make 
the same gestures, use the same language: and all for one 
purpose to make their daily bread. 

' Over there across the back yard in front of my garret a 
woman leans over the washtub. She never looks up to the 
forget-me-not blue, sky; she doesn't see the sparrows fighting 
for crumbs of bread on the fence. Her husband leans some- 
where in a shop over his work and is angry because tiny 
little rays of the kind sun peep through the blinded window, 
fascinated by the needle in his hand and dance in jolly little 
circles over his work. Not to become paupers is the tragedy 
that kills happiness, transforms proud and free humans into 
bent and worn slaves; that creates human automatons. 

It is the lack of time that makes millions wretched. They 
cannot look up to the skies and see the passing clouds— > 
they have not time. They cannot see the awakening of spring, 
the growth of youth in nature — they have no time. They do 



*> 



61^^ BRUNO'S • ' WfiEKLY^ • 

ndt admire th« bcittty* an4 the cOlbrs 6£ flotirera-^th^ db^ not 
smell tlieir fragraAce*-^hey have ttQ time* They doii^t hear 
the birds singing; they don^t hear the eooinig ^f babies and 
the heart gladdening c)iattering of children — ^they have no 
time. ■ * ■ * •''•.' . ^ -•. - ; • - ^ 

Time, time— ju^t a Mle time to five is th^ ttA plea' of the 
poor man. .. , 

And how bea^ttiful is life— hoV wondetful is jiist ^eal life, 
even without the comforts atid bl^isiiigs.bf civilization.' Life 
is love, but we need, time—i-just time to do npthing but to live 
and to love. 

Book-Plate Notes. 

CHAKIESPEARE will be honored this year, thfoiighbut the 
United States. Schools, universities, and orgiinizations of 
various kinds are planning fitting forms of ^bservins t}ie 
Shakespeare Tercentenary^. . With the purppsje of fjurther 
stimulating interest in the works of the great poet, the Amer- 
ican Institute of Graphic Art^, in conjunction. . with the 
Shakespeare Birthday Committee of the City of New Yorl^ 
will conduct a BOOK;PLAT1£ CONTEST..^ The prizes to be 
awarded should be an incentive, but the; pleasure of designing 
a bookplate in the spirit of ^^al^^speare should be the chief 
stimulus. 

The contest is open to all per^^ons who desire to compete. 
Drawing^ to be awarded exclusively, to a Shakespearean 
motif. More than one drawing may be submitted by one 
individual. Drawings to be sent prepaid addressed a3 follows: 
The American Institute. of graphic Arts, 344 >Vest .3ftth 
Street. New York, prices to be as follows: First Prize, 
$100.00; Second Prize. $60.00;. Third Prize, /4O.OO4 

The/contest closes May 15,. 1916. 

The Regular May Meeting of the American 'Bookplate 
Society will be held at the Avery Library, Columbia Uni- 
versity, Saturday afternoon. May 6th, at 2 JO p. m. 

' ' f- -. •■ _ . 

: G. H. Sears of Leighton. Essex, England, announces' the 
^leof a very interesting collection of oldv English and Asieri- 
can ex libr is, including sonie modern examples by C W. 
Sherboro. \ There are also Beiardsley' plates, original designs 
onrvellum for G. H. Ashworth. 

: Richmond, Indiana has an ^exhibition of Boole Plates aa 
v?e- Ifearh from Miss While's "Little Paper".'.< Original draw-r 
ings arid plates by the late Raymond Perry White, by/Misa 
Florence Fox, who?5e $roup of; pook plates formed aboujt 
ftali^ the e^chibil and some of Garl Bernhaj*dtV etphings^ were, 
of iniportahce, , The new plates pf. the Morrison-Reevesi 
library are the composite work of two men and one woman. 



■,..-'■ ■ .-> • -,,••■ 7 ■■■«.' ■• ' •. • ,■ . V "^ • • ' ' i' 

'■ ■ ■ -• . . . , , , . . . * . ', " . *, 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY . ^611 

Books and Magazines of the Week : 

. "The PassinsT of the Editor" is one of the many fine con- 
tributions to the March "Phoenix", Michael Monahan's 
•monthly magazine of Individuality. Richard le Gallienne 
says in this article a few things which are trtie, even be they 
not pleasing to the cars of many an editor and publlifaer in 
this' country. 

"The word 'edito*^, as applied to the conductors of maga* 
zines and newspap^r.^, is rapidly becoming a mere courtesy 
title; 'for the powers and fun<ftions formerly exercised : by 
editors properly so called, are being more and more usurpea 
-by the capitalist prior 'etor. There are not a few magazines 
where the ''editor" h:i$ hardly more say in the acceptance of 
a manuscript than the contributor who sends it in. Few 
are the editors left «vho uphold the magisterial dignity and 
awe with which the name of editor was woiit to be invested. ' 
These survive owin.'j chiefly to the prestige of long service, 
s»nd evenHhey are not always free from the encroachments of 
the new method. The proprietor still- feels the irksome 
necessity of treating their editorial policies with respect, 
though secretly chafing for the moment when they shall 
^ive place to more manageable modern tools. The "hew^ 
editor,' in fact, is little mord than a clerk doing the bidding 
'of his' proprietor, and the proprietor's idea o£ editing is 
slavishly to truckle to the public taste — or rather to his 
crude conception of the public taste. The only real editors 
x>f fo-day are the capitalist a^nd the public. The nominal 
tditot- is merely an office-boy of larger growth, and slightly 
largely salary. 

Innocent souls still, of course, imagine him clothed with 
divine powers, and letters of introltiction to him are still 
sought after by the superstitious beginner. Alas! the chances 
are that the better hp thinks of your MS. the less likely 
is it to be accepted by — the proprietor; for Mr Snooks, the 
proprietor, has dec'deU tastes of his own, and a peculiar 
distaste for anything remotely savoring of the 'literary.'" 
The Poati^ Review 

' William Stanley Braithwaite, the Dean of Poetry editors 
of America, the anthologist who jpreserves American maga- 
bzinie verse for future generations yiearly in a nicelyrbound 
^uilt-edgbd book, has founded a magazine of his own. With 
him lai'e alt those well known exponents of new. verse as that 
amicable, soulful Amy Lowell and Sara Teasdale, Louis 
Untermeyer etc., et:. 

• Herd is what the editor t6lls in his prospectus: "The spirit 
of the Poetry Review of America will be one of advancement 
2and cooperation; the desire to serve the art of poetry and to 
consolidate public interest in its growth an dpopularity-^to 
quicken and enlarge the poetic pulse of the country. In 
this spirit, we. propose, to our contemporaries in the field 



612 BRUNO^ WEEKLY 



a union of effort and mutual encouragement; to the poets 
of America an open forum and a clearing-house for ways 
and means to serve the art we all love; to the poetry*reading 
public of our country we pledge a never-ceasing' striving for 
the best in American poetry, and a constant eSort to bring 
out t|ie strength and joy to be /derived therefrom." 
pranclvLibrmrj News 

A very timely selection of titles of books on military edu- 
cation are printed on the pages of this month's Branch 
Library News, the monthly publication of the New York 
Public Library. They are compiled at the request of the 
Committee on Military Education of the American Defense 
Society. The books named are simple, n6n-technical works, 
nearly all of them intended for the reader without previous 
knowledge or experience of this subject. 
EdUton Dimmond Points 

Even if it is a trade paper and primarily of interest only 
to people engaged in the selling of Edison Diamond Discs 
it contains a lot of material of interest to almbst everybody 
who wishes to know a little bit more about American artists 
and musicians, than the average newspaper or magazine 
article will contain. There is, for instance, a chat with 
Albert Spalding, the Vio.linst, "The Spell of Saplding> Bow". 
The department "With the Edison Artists" is a .kaledeiscope 
of everyday life of men and wpti^en famous in both hemi- 
spheres. 



Harriet-^Monroe's magazine which just entered upbn its 
fourth year of existence has a new cover design. This is a 
welcome change to the otherwise little variety this journal 
has to offer. 

The Last of the War Correspondents 

{Continued from last week) x 

You did not know he wrote books? Mostly on trains he 
finds time for that. But then a train going throujgh Siberia 
in the Russian-Japanese war took over two months. He was 
on it. The party left the train forty days, because they were 
all imagi^tive and two of them were saying with the car 
trucks: "(nick clickety-click," and had been at it ten hours to 
the exclusion of everything else. One of the two stopped 
the ne^t day, but the other kept on jibbering and had to be 
left behind. 

No, the time with von Kriegelstein was very dull. On the 
train was Uriquidi going to join Villa. Best Mexican I know. 
Educated in Paris. Big electrical engineer. Atheistic ideal- 
ist is Uriquidi — if such is possible — and marvelous to tell, 
does not hate the Catholic Church. Small head has Urquidi, 
but a broad mind.^ An atheist who does not — . Learnins^ 
something every minute. 

Von Kriegelstein talks of a single star for an hour. No 
repetition of adjectives. Perhaps because Mexican night is 
black like jeweler's velvet with a handful of diamonds, scat- 
tered over the soft deep black and a smudge where jeweler's 
powder has been wiped away. 



\ 



BRUNO^S WEEKLY 613 



Iti.a ...I rj I H li >■ I I* iwi 



tm» 



There are. adventures in. Torreon, where we get the word 

.of the highest authority that a Japanese army of twenty-five 

^thousand with, rifles can be called on Villa's colors in four 

.'days.. No, they will not cross the oce^n in that time. 

.Francisco Madero qould have had then^ before he finished the 

first revolution. THey are in lower California now. Authority? 

Only Francisco Madero'^ brother, General Emilio Madero. 

Yes, the chief adviser to. Villa. Certajnly, dll the Maderos 

-arc with Villa. F^rliaps, but it will be the first time they 

have backed a loser. 

We are in Chihuahua. It may be dangerous for the baron 
to see the great revolutionist. Villa is such a g^reat democrat 
the baron had better discard his white suit and medals that 
infuriate people on the street. Once on a street a man 
hurries after him and seizes his coat and kisses it. He stands 
aside* bowing humbly. The street is thronged and there is 
laughter. .. 
' "I must register my character here al«o," the baron says. 

He does^ but only with the caneJ 

"Never when you are with people like these who are half 
developed must you fail to register yourself at once. The^ 
•ar fond of n someone to fear. Never you will tell me this 
revolution is to free the people^ All leaders who want to free 
the people are discontented- aristocrats. 'J^ht other aristocrats 
^will not let them have what they want, so they overturn the 
«order and take it themselves. 

• "I am going to wear these clothes. I call them my offensive 
clothes. They register my personality and show tLit I do 
^hat r please^ There is one 'Way to stop me and that is to 
kill mie. But I have been in many places. So we will go 
to this Villa just as I am." 

Villa received him. A baron? Villa is delighted. Will 
all Europe know of his prowess? All Europe will and history 
forever will record it even better than Juan Reed* did in the 
Metropolitan Magazine. Villa is puzzled which John Reed? 
But Secretary Luis Aguirre Benavides remembers. There 
was such a young American long ago, before Torreon for 
one or two days. No one with' the forces now. Will the 
tiaron stei^ into the reception room of Villa's house? There 
is a twenty-^five thousand dollar (not Mexican) chandelier. 
Yes, Villa is very fond of the beautiful chandelier. He likes 
comfort, despite reports to the contrary. We have dinner 
with Villa and Mrs. Villa. The leader of the revolution uses 
a knife and fork better than the average American. You are 
fascinated by his eyes.^ Some fool said no leaders of men 
have brown eyes. I think it was in the New York Journal. 
It doesn't matter. Villa has big soft looking brown eyes 
and according to form can never rise above a clerkship. That 
is why he is absolute ruler of millions in Mexico and more 
really ruler tfian the Czar. 

Von Kriegelstein jokes with Villa and they indulge in 
horse play. The officers are amazed. Never has he become 



r^^ 



^14 BRUNO'S WEEKLY , 

— — ^^— ^■^■^■**— — ^— — "^^"^ ^— "^^^^^ \ 

familiar with anyone before. Surely von Krigelstein cannot ( 
be right when he says Villa Is a true aristocrat and is de< ! 
lighted to have a baron treat him as a companion. Will Villa ! 
-pose for some nice pictures? There is no need of him Kiok- 
ug like a bandit for Europe. Will not General Villa go 
upsiairs and put on some glad ra^s? See Metropolitan 
MMgazine for proof, Villa is a plain citizen -« ^o hates show. 
Villa comes oown wearing a new uniform with, by actnal 
authenticated figures, fifteen pounds of gold braid that never 
saw a brass foundry. 

{To hi comiinutd) 

Wall Street Reflections 

"THE seismograph of the stock market has shown no indi- 
cation of the disturbances either otl land or sea, in other 
cation of the disturbances either on land or sea^^^ in other 
words the Mexican outbreak or the new subamrine crisis; 
this strikes one as a very significant fact. 

. The natural seasonal tendency is always upwards Thii 
year is no exception to the rule. 

* 

The closing of the Souther! vacation season brings back 
to the financial centers a lar^e number of Capitalists who 
will no doubt take particular mterestjn the spring activity. 

. At the present time the question of railroad^ is one of the 
great problems befpre this country. The industries of a 
nation can be no bigger than its transportation accommoda- 
,tions. 

Our expert trade continues to break all records and it is 
generally believed that the threatened great strikes will be 
averted. 

. bankers admit that the investing public is more dis- 
criminating in their purchasers than at any time this year 
and that there is extension buying of good Securities in con- 
nection with the reinvestment of April dividend i^onejT. 

'Vtiiiitti" 

pruno'^ Weekly^ published weekly by Charles Edison, and 
edited and written by Guidp Bruno, both at 58 Washington 
•Square,' New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 

£intered as «econd class matter at Uxe Post Office of N«w 
7ork, >f. T., October 14th,. IS 16, under the Act of llarob 
«d, 1879. 



-^ 



RARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 



BooSm for OhrlstniM Olfto 

PurcbMM^ lAnglr «r la Mts for pooplo w^ Imito aolthor tlmo nor oppor* 
tunttr to aoloot for thomoolToo, or for tboso w1m» liaTo »ot aooom im tk* 
b«9t book martA Wl^ ttot boflii ooUootUis mowl. 

Address, E. V.* Boston Tnnscript, Boston, Blass. 

The Candlestick Tea Room 



THB CANDLESTICK tEA ROOM hM ormM^ 
Dttiieiiic oTory Tooodor* Thuroiogr and Satwrdigr aifbt frwB 
olfkt to olovoB. Good Mvoic aad Fiao Flo«r« Patrooo of tiM 
To* Room welcomo. , 

17 WEST fTH STREET TEL. STUYVESANT 



For Houses, Apartments or Rooms* 8es 

PEPE & BRO. 

KEAL BSTATB AND IN8URANCB 

40 So. WMpbingtcm Sqamrm 
Telephon* 4110 Spring Cor. ol MacDongal Street 

Being a boot 

I n W H I C H 
vte say just ^jokat ws think, fublisksd every month hy Norman'BH 
Guides 4a 756 Second Avsnue in Detroit, Michigan, It is a IktU 
hook uniqueiy illustrated. Write for sample eofy* 

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm^tmmmmmmmmmamfmmmmmmmmmmm 

A Proposed Revival of 

VALENTINE'S MANUAL 

TInra wu lit iiw DtvM T. ItaMitlM. lUn will Mitr It Mottar. Tfet ant m 
Ml topi tar l§ a rwalnattt ff that eilrit wMtk, utfir hit lertnt can, trant- 
farmtf kto Mawiali flraai a iray tmmi af teily eveats lata a . rtKiltary af -Mill 
tawlndtfli aaeeifta sni Mitarlial afearia ai ta bt famar a MIfM ta tha aiti- 
aaarlaa wU tha lavir of OM Haw Yait. 

If iatMaitatf la ttb pralaat writi ftr partlcalan ta Naary CalHM Bran. 15 
Ead 40lii Strait. S. Y. City, Saaratary latltty at eil Ntir Yarftin. 

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm^mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmlmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm' 

SCHMITT'S 

BAKERY and LUNCH ROOM 

80 SIXTH AVENUE 
B.I0W Eifflith StTMt NEW YORK 



.' .i^X*-J 



BOncs W A WANDEREK. fat maawMrfpl 

THE MntiUHt OF MANHATTAN. la nMoucrvt 

DANCE RYTHMS. I« BUMctipt. 

Mr. K«d*r ncitaa MiaetioM fram «II tha >bov« and ka vaiiad 
anil traiqtM ptosrami ■>• full of laiaraat and invintiBn boA 
in tlw last and delivarj. 

In Nott York and vicinity nmH jvna. Now baoklnn ^tna far 

Cidifamia Tour in Jw^ J«l, and A«B«at """"• «»»• IM 

FortorauandpartionUia »d lor copiM of bw ^Mk^ aadiOM 

LAURENCE X GOMHE 

"nm Utdo BoeJukop Ajwrnd &• CMsar 

"=-»**"- l«.T-fccl., 



JUNO'S WEEKLY 



SDirCD BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
)N WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Piv* Cent* April IStb, 1916 



SifrTfiS«£BMTTrg 



tBE STRONGER 

* ^ AVtVsT SnoH^BtC 



(JHUf « SEATS AT ONE DOUJil^XAfM 



Readcn of Bmno'i We«Uy 
are asked to become 
Subscribers 

52 ISSUES FOR TWO DOLLARS 

Tid"' -!-> HVI!0."•^J^'^o^l!JOY^'n Tm 

1 ■ .r ■ •• >, V.' J 

., . i.;i 1,:.:.. i, . - ■ 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Edited by Gindo Bruno in His Garret on Washington Square 

No. 16. APRIL 15th, MCMXVI. Vol. II. 

Ave Maria Plena Gratia 

Was this His coming! I had hoped to see 

A scene of ^wondrous glory, as was told 

Of some great God ivho in a rain of gold 

Broke open bars and fell on Danae: 

Or a dread vision as ivhen Semele 

Sickening for love and unappeased desire 

Prayed to see God's clear body, and the fire 

Caught' her white limbs and slew her utterly. 

With such glad dreams I sought this holy place. 

And now with wondering eyes and heart I stand 

Before this supreme mystery' of Love: 

A kneeling girl with passionless pale face. 

An angel with a lily in his hand. 

And ofver both with outstretched wings the Dove, 

Oscar Wilde, 
Florence i 

Disasters and Poetry 

IN olden times, When a big catastrophe occurred, bringing 
death to many people, and damage to much property, 
artists and poets promptly took possession of what had trans- 
pired, made it a subject for reverie and were transported into 
a playground of fantasy and inspiration. After the earth- 
quake which demolished Lisbon in 1/55, an entire literature 
was^ created. Poets, on wings of imagination, visited the 
ruins of the city and themselves felt the power of the 
mysterious spirits that shook the earth and disturbed the 
depths of the planet. They wept with those whose most 
dearly beloved lay buried beneath the debris and voiced in 
song the praises of the heroism and sacrifices of men and 
women who were brave enough to forget their own safety, 
when friends, or even neighbours, were in danger. 

Other catastrophes of the eighteenth century likewise won 
the glorification of their heroes. So Goethe erected an .ever- 
lasting monument to the memory of the seventeen-year-old 
Johanna Sebus. Everywhere there seemed to rule a desire 
to preserve in the jewel box of memory a momentous hour of 
danger. 

And. not long ago, indeed, even a few days after the terrible 
Chicago holocaust of 1871, poets the country over evinced 
its inspiration by paying tribute to the heroes of the de- 
vastated city as well as to the unseen force which burst 
its bonds and blazed forth in such mighty power. Through- 
out the world and in many languages rang the rhythmic 
cantations born in the wake of the disaster. Bret Harte was 
one of the first to greet the sorrowing world with a poem. 
John Greenleaf Whittier dedicated another to the victims 
of the smitten city. 

Copyright 1916 by Guide Bruno 



us a aadneis, an admiration for the heroic and a desire to 
aid the sofferinff. 

But when the imagination is smothered, the artistic inspura* 
tion is losL And, indeed, should a poet depart from the trend 
of the times and write about a catastrophe he would have 
little effect and— what to the nowaday poet is most vital, — 
little or no popularity. The newspaper,' which satisfies and 
arouses his curiosity, conveyed the same narrative more 
correctly, in greater detail and in a way, perhaps, better 
understood by the masses. 

"My paper has this better," says the subscriber, and laughs 
about the poet, who doesn't seem to know the cruel details 
and correct descriptions of the disaster location. 

None would deny the merits of the newspaper of to-day. 
It renders speedy succor possible and brings felief to the 
unfortunate. And with our rapid transport facilities, im- 
mediate news despatches are a necessity. But the daily press 
is killing alh-dreams, educating a fantasy-lacking race and 
paralyzing poetical desires. Because of it the catastrophe 
of to-day is not followed by poesy. We are robbed of the 
f aculty_ of seeing with our own inner eyes and are compelled 
to loolc at everything, as thousands of others abouJ: us see the 
same. There is stolen from the disaster and the heroic deed 
of unselfishness the romance, without which we cannot feel 
poetically. 

And so we may^ say unhesitatingly: What is clicked over 
the wires is lost for Art. 

Guido Bruno. 

Reminiscences of Tommaso Salvini 

B; Hugo Ballin (New York) 

IT was excessively cold the first time Tommaso Salvini called 
to see me in the big empty studio in the Piazzo Dona- 
tello in Florence. On that day the hills of Fiesole were . 
patched with snow, as if some mighty visitor from the North 
had left the impress of his powdered sole. Through my 
southern window the little oval English cemetery intercepted 
my view. The naked trees, like imploring hands clawed the 
cheerless heavens for a ray of kindly warmth. Salvini knocked 
—at my door at about ten in the morning. He refused to take 
off his large heavy bat -winged coat. The thermometer 
registered about SS degrees F. My big fat tin drum stove 
was very useless pn that day as on all other days. The more 
wood I fed it„the less it worked. It seemed to grow stubborn. 
The ashes that formed within its body, choked it. It was 
sorrow-bound tor four cold months. It was the most in- 
effectual bit of machinery ever reared by man. I called it a 
Blove because it stood where stoves are supposed to occupy 
a studio and from its collar-bone a long black unpatnted tube 



618 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

ran up sixteen feet to an exit that was the most efficient exit 
ever numbered. The Gordigiani, the proud owners of this 
equipment, had other possessions such as the building in 
which this treasure was housed^ and in their drawing-room 
hung the most remarkable collection of chilled tapistries that 
ever graced an unpainted wall. But all this is quite irrelevant. 
Salvini knew the Gordigiani, but on that cheerless day he 
came to me. 

Those days in Florence were not exactly happy ones. Even 
Hope, the most constant friend an aspiring painter has, 
had left me. She flew South on the wings of my far-reaching 
desires to linger where the waters are ever blue and where 
the sweet-voiced and ill-behaved daughters of Oceanus port- 
holed cruising parties and behaved so siirreptitiously. I re- 
mained in Florence because I had contemplated remaining 
and I would no more break this resolve than a thousand lire 
note. 

I had met Salvini in his honie. I entertained a suspicion 
that the first time he called to see me, he went abroad to 
find more comfort in the rooms of another. His house w^as a 
very cozy place, full of photos and fragments of tabards and 
morions and Lochaber axes that crossed halberds' in palmated 
arrangement. It was essentially an actor's home, crow^ded 
with souvenirs. I remember him readiag to me in his ground 
floor room; that was sixteen years^go on a bright morning 
in early Spring when life had returned on the breath of a 
soft message from Aeolus. 

Perhaps Salvini's friendship for me was very sincere be- 
cause he found me alone working with very swollen hands, 
due to the cold, trying to realize an ideal in the face of these 
oppositions. , There must have been pity iii^his heart, for after 
that we often saw each other and when I was not in Florence 
his letters were a great source of interest and enjoyment. 

I shall quote his letter written Oct. 21st, 1902. 

Most dear Mr. Ballin: — 

As you see (referring to a small photograph) I am still 
in the country with my Newfoundland between my knees. 
In a few days I shall return to Florence, via Gino Capponi 17.- 
In general my health is good with the slight exception of 
some small annoyance, which persuades me that J have not 
acquired seventy-four years for nothing. But what can be 
done? Suffer it until death. 

I too know the Island of Capri. Its location is incom- 
parable, so poetic and inspiring. Who can tell how many 
sketches you have made? Are they compositions for a large 
painting? Why do you say that you have admired these 
places for the last time? You are young and can return to 
them, not once' but twenty times, while to me it is forbidden 
to visit America, not havihg much time before me. 

I can be naught but thankful for the kindly memories you 
cherish of me, I beg of you to always have them. It makes 
me pleased and happy. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 619 

— - - - ■■ — ■- , -■■■ ' . . __i 

This letter will fin^ you in that country of energy and 
loyal people for whom I have deep sympathy and affection. 
I hope that you will cross the ocean safely and that you will 
enjoy perfect health. Every time you wish to give me news, 
it will give me a holiday. 
Believe me with respects. 

Yours affectionate and devoted 

Tommaso Salvini. 

Another letter dated Siena per Vagliagli, Aug. 18th, 1903 
I am sure will be of interest. 

Gentilissimo Ballin: — 

If I could write and speak English as you write and speak 
Italian, I would consider myself a sage; you will therefore 
see how I must not criticise any slight error in your letter. 

Yes, gentle friend, many were the inducements which the 
impressarios, Liebler & Co., personally made to me, and I 
could not refuse to return once more to the United States. 
This will be settled next April. 

I will act in Italian with an English company in which your 
beautiful star Miss Robson is to take part. If Vou will tell 
me something concerning this young actress I will considei* 
it a favor. 

I am now. in my domain to escape the warmth of the city. 
In October I am going to Asti and Torino to commemorate 
in a production of Saul, the centenary of the death of Vit- 
torio Alfieri, our grand tragic poet, and afterward I shall re- 
turn to Florence where I will prepare myself for the new tour. 

I believe I have always answered your very welcome letters 
and I do not merit the reproach you make of my not having 
written you. My correspondence is enormous. I do never- 
theless answer all my letters. 

Your country never ceases and with time it ameliorates. 
Asl me! I always cherish the advancement of that great 
country, 

I am sending you a clipping which will give you pleasure. 
Read it and congratulate me in time. In the meanwhile I 
exchange J)est wishes. Consider me always your affectionate 
and devoted friend, 

^ Tommaso Salvini. 

These two letters are typical. I alwkys found him sincere 
and kindly. The last time I saw him was four years ago in 
Florence when I called at his home with my wife. He was 
rehearsing his son and daughter-in-law for a production in 
which they were to appear that afternoon. 

We drove up to the amphitheatre at Fiesole and under a 
soft blue sky we saw "Edipus Rex." The air was never 
softer and the seats were never harder. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY m 

Greenwich Village Anthrdlogy ' 

iWUh Mf^hffies io Ed far Lee Masters) 
Sadakichl Hartmaim 

Where he came from and where he is ^oing . 

That is not the main thing. 

The main thing is that he is Sadakichi Hartmaitn, 
A strange sardonic figure. 
The author of Christ and Buddha, 
But great as are his Christ and Buddha 
. Greater still, more piteous and more splendid 
Is the drama called Sadakichi Hartmann, 

The Nam^Mft One 

There were two people in Greenwich Village. 

One of them belonged to the oldest and most infamous 

profession for women. 
She created nothing; her mission was to destroy. 
The other was an artist who created beautiful things. 
Mark the irony. 
Tlie artist died. 

The nameless one will live to a hale and hideous old age. 
For Death will have his little joke. 
Even itl Greenwich Village. 

Alfred Kreymborg 

In a selfish age 

This man is kinder to "Others" than to himself. 

He obeys the maxim 

"Do unto 'Others' as you would they should do unto 

you." 
Shelley was the poet's poet. 
Alfred Kreymborg is more than the poet's poet. 
He is the poet's friend. 



1 



Sardonyx 



A Publishers' Club 

Scribner persisted in weeping. 

"If Americans cling to their new fad of reading American 
literature," he gasped,, "our great British writers will starve." 
"Our great American writers," Holt reminded 4iim, "have 
starved for years." 

"They're used to it," Dodd put in, "and we're not. Were 
publishers." 

"^Ve'il starve too, though," HoughtonmifHin groaned. *|We 
have loaded ourselves with British novelists in sheets. British 
poets by the Wagon load." 

"The jig," MacMillan roared, "is up! The fools won't buy the 
peotry and prose of the Londoners jus^ because they rfe Lon- 
doners." . .!„ 
"Couldn't we work up a centennary of some British novelist? 



622 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Dodd asked this. He was snapped up crossly by Houghton- 

mifflin. 

'*No, we can't have any more centennaries of British novel- 
ists. We can't live on any more scandals about British j)oets. 
**You don't mean," gasped Scribner, "that Dodd'U stop The 
Bookman?" 

"How can Dodd stop The Bookman when it isn't groing, you 
fool?" roared MacMillan. '' 

"Boys!" yelled Doubleday, "this trick will save us." 
He held up the picture of Byron, now labelled in large letters 
with the name of Charles Brockden Brown. 
"I see the game!" cried MacMillan. "I'll have a statement in 
next Sunday's World to the effect that we've always stood 
for American literature." 

Even the weeping Scribner had to join in the laugh with 
which they all broke into the chorus of "stuff the public, stuff 
stuff, stuff, publishing is nothing but a game of bluff/' 

From The Bang, Alexander Harvey's FearUss Weekly. 

The Stranger 

'HERE came to the colony a young man whose face was 
unmarked by care and whose blue eye§ contained a deep 
happiness. 

The people stared at him, but none thought to offer him 
lodging. They did not inquire his name nor from what 
country he had journeyed. 

"He is not like us," said one, and he berated the new-comer 
with coarse words and threw stones at him. 

"Let him alone," said another; "his odd conceits may serve 
to make our children laugh;" and he gave to the calm young 
stranger a gay cap with bells. 

But a third said, "This wanderer speajcs words which we 
do not understand. He is mad." 

So they built with great stones a tower and imprisoned 
the beautiful stranger, not dreaming that his name was 
Wisdom and that he had come from their far-away Father- 
land. 

Emily B; Stone. 

Longing 

pOR the unutterable, I would gather the stars, 

For the ineffable The flowers of heaven; 

Am I longing For my garden bright 

In dead of night; Is the beautiful whole; 

For the rose unfading, I would stray with thee 

The song unending, O'er night's wide meadow, 

The heart unchanging, O spirit maiden, 

For love, for light I O radiant soul. 

From ''The Victory^^ongs oj triumph" 

Charles Keeler, 



mm 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY ^ 







624 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Religion 

A ND it came to pass that I pondered on the reason for my 
being. And as time passed my spirits drooped within 
me — my days became smiless and my nights abysmal- — ^for I 
knew T\pt my purpose. And lot as I sat, brooding by the 
margin of a pool, watching the pale white lilies nodding one 
unto the other, the figure of a man appeared unto me coming 
from out the hemlock grove. And he came close to me and 
spoke words of counsel. And I thought unto myself: "I will 
do that which this man counseleth/' and arose and went 
straightway unto mine own house. 

Then it came to pass that after three^ days I stood before 
the oracle and I spoke unto him three* questions: Whence 
came I? By. what rule must I live? Whither do I go? 

And the oracle answered unto me saying: "These are mighty 
matters of which ye speak.'* 

Then drew away the oracle unto himself. And after the 
moon had risen I went again unto him for an answer. And 
he replied, saying: "Oh ye of little faith! Know ye not that 
the Kingdom of Heaven is like unto rare gems that are hid- 
den, and that he that liveth by the spirit shall have ever-. 
lasting life? Let thy faith circle then round ^bout like unto 
a coat of armor. Believe for in believing lies all virtue." 

And I prostrated myself before him in. reverence and in 
worship. And after I had made offering of gold and of silver 
— of sandal-wood and of rare spices I returned unto mine own 
hearth exalted. , 

Yet, I knew not the meaning of that which was spoken 
unto me. 

Tom Sleeper. 



In Our Village 



Vr^HENEVER the Great sojourn among us and we have a 
chance to see the daily life of men whose works we do 
admire, we view it through the magnifying glass of^ the 
unusual; stories — really only everyday observations — pass on 
from mouth to ear and from ear to mouth. That is ho\v 
history is related. A rich field for biographers. 

Many and various are the stories told about Sadakichi 
Hartmann and his indispensable valet, durfng his last visit 
to our village. Inseparable like a shadow, watchful like a 
dog, inspired with a mission like an apostle, is that little 
man whom Sadakichi chooses to intrust the care of his bodily 
welfare. 

He is never far. If he does not announce the arrival of 
Sadakichi he is carrying his master's overcoiat or rain-coat 
and that ominous hat-box which contains not only a black 
sombrero but also other useful objects which might come 
in handy if a man decides quickly to do something quite 
different than he has planned on leaving his home. He is 
more than a body servant, who keeps sh#es shined, the 
proper crease in trousers and all those other things which are 



_«>>^ 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 625 

•■'^' ■ 111 II ■!■ I. Mini III • I II — ' 

the daily routine of a "maft". He is the screen Sadakichi 
chooses often to put between hiihself and the world. He is 
the bearer and deliverer of ' messages, the plenipotentiary 
extraordinary on occasions most difficult and delicate. 

It was at a dinner recentiy_i0 the home of^a well-known 
patroness of Art on the north side of the Square. Sadakichi 
was one of the guests of honor. He was in that mood in 
which one enjoys a well-pre^red repast and awaits anxiously 
the arrival of the demi-tasse. A lady well-known as a soulful 
poetess was sitting at his right. She is one of those women 
who are not content to leave buried tl\e romance of their 
life and to plant faithfully flowers of the season around the 
tombstone, but who are Irying^ cohstintly to exhume the 
carcass, to force to new life what was dead and Should re- 
main so for ever. She spoke to Sadakichi; she spoke con- 
stantly. He was undisturbed, part&king of the different 
courses of the dinner. The slight signs of annoyance were 
not noticed. The, lady talked. It was too much for Sada- 
kichi 1 "Call. my valet" he said to the butler, while everybody 
was rising to repair to the next room for the demi-tasse. The 
valet appeared. Sadakichi calls him "valet," never by name. 
That man doesn't seem tb have a name at all. He must have 
been born as Sadakichi's valet, and to be his valet seems to 
be identical with his life. He appeared; he did not take notice 
of anybody in the room. He stood there all attention, like 
the desplkcher of torpedoes before the commander of his 
craft. ' V 

"Valet," Sadakichi thundered at him, "take my place at the 
side of this lady (pointing to the soulful poetess who was 
still talking)^ drink a demi-tftsse with her and exchange 
commonplaces. 

Out he walked and the bang which sounded through the 
house indicated that Sadakichi had not waited for the foot- 
man to open the doop for him. How long the valet remained 
in the drawing-room I do not know, and if he drank a demi- 
tasse with the soulful poetess and exchanged commanplaces 
with her I could not ascertain. 

And then it was on an afternoon in the Brevoort. Maria 
Appel, the sculptress who had just finished the bust of Sada- 
kichi, interrupted a serious session of his, around a round 
table: "Your bust is ready; it i^ good; it is wonderful; it is 
not only a Hkeness, it is a masterpiece. I will ship it to- 
morrow to an exhibition up-town. You MUST come and 
see it at oncel" 

Sadakichi who at first had indignantly interrupted his ap- 
parently more important conversation with his companions 
at the table, looked around for a few seconds as if searching 
for something and then, wheeling around in his chair: "Valet" 
with such a strong voice that Emily Stevens in the next room 
Mras visibly disturbed in the consummation of her scrambled 
eggs, and the waiters rushed to the door ready for an aftray. 
Heavy^ steps quickly ajgproaching. The valet with hat-box 
and rain-coat. 

"Valet" roared Sadakichi, "Go home with the sculptress, 



626 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



look at my bust and then come back and report to me if 
it looks like me." And he resumed his conversation. 

Again I do not know if the sculptress accepted Sadakichi's 
proxy and if he proved himself a competent art critia 

Doctor Reitman, the advance agent of Emma Gk>ldman, 
undertook some time ago to manage a series of lectures for 
Sadakichi. They had a disagreement of some sort, a long 
argument that lasted for hours which culminated in the final 
break-up of business associations. These were the parting 
words of Sadakichi: 

"You are permited to greet me but I will not talk to you— 
that shall be your punishment!" 

Tom Sleeper, the hirniit of the New Jersey mountains, poet 
and ponderer of the riddles of the Universe, left, as we are 
informed by authentic sources his solitary hut, has throwTi 
away the hair-cloak td invade after an absence of months 
the village on last Wednesday eve. He came in a Ford 
accompanied by a man who as rumor, and he himself as- 
certained, will be married to the woman of fiis choice in less 
than fourteen days. Tom Sleeper had been seen the week 
previous in Hoboken but he assures us that he did not take 
advantage of the marriage facilities of this peace-loving 
suburb. Tom took, as he always does upon his arrival, a 
solitary walk on the square in worshipful reverence of the 
great spirits deceased and still among us, befote he pil- 
grimaged to Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatib. While 
deeply meditating upon the fate of unborn children of per- 
sons unfit to be parents, and upon questions of preparedness, 
he tried his best to start his Ford. He succeeded after a 
while and leaving for the bettfer illuminated habnts of upper 
New York, he shook off the impressions the Bruno Players 
had made upon him during the performance he had at- 
tended with a "Develish thing, this Sada Cowan's *The State 
Forbids'." Ziegfield's Follies were his antidote. Careless as 
every proprietor of a Ford, he wanted to leave his car un- 
watched in front of the New Amsterdam, trusting that thieves 
recognize the make of an automobile at first sight. A ben- 
evolent policeman drew his attention to the fact that someone 
might take a chance on it, being a brand rtew one. But no- 
body did. And in the chill of the early morning hour did 
he start back for his home mountains, leaving behind him the 
lures of the Great White Way, of the haunts of our village 
whose foremost citizen he will remain even -be he not in 
our midst as of yore. Yes! New Jersey! That's the life 
for you! Far out there in its plains and in its mountains! 

Many were the notable personages who pilgrimaged down 
to Charles Edison's Little Thimble Theatre during the last 
week and honored the Bruno Players with their illustrious 
presence. Kaufman, he of "Around the Town" in the Globe 
had come, seen, and listened. It was particularly nice and 
comforting to have it from him himself that he was pleased. 

Zoe Beckley of New York Evening Mail fame, who inter- 
views on the average more queer and famous people in one 
year than the ordinary human being has a chance to meet 



knowledged trankly she knew nothing of th^^nino Players 
before this evening, which marked a historical moment in 
her life. To know so much and not to know the Bruno 
Players is a distinction of its own. With pleasure did we 
inhale the fragrance of this bouquet, Zoe Beckleyl 

Helen Roland accompanied her, she, the renowneij sage 
of the Evening World's magazine page. And Emma Goldman 
had come to see what "The State Forbids". It was not new 
to her. 

Miss Sada Cowan, who wrote the play presented by the Bruno 
Players, was pleased with her work. She viewed it, accom- 
panied by her mother, from the first row, and she is quite 
different from any other author of plays. She had no sug- 
gestions to offer nor changes to make. 

Mr. Walcott, the gftat Dramatic censor of a still greater 
daily paper, sat(tl|rough the whofe performance very atten- 
tively. , He was accompanied by his yellow gloves, his 
spectacles and his walking cane. 

Books and Magazines of the Week 

Th« Citizen and Art 

THE citizen does not criticise anything so .keenly and so 
self-lordly as Art. Every new appearance of literature, 
music and painting gives him ' a welcome chance for his 
jests and jokes. Just like the paranoiac, he sees the megaki- 
mania under whose illusions he himsejf labors, in the artist 
The citizen hates Art because Art seems to him "useless". 
Art does not transmit to him news. It doesn't bring him 
facts and it is very hardly avoidable, because Art 's — it is 
hard to say why, and surely it must be lamented — a part of 
society, ^ut Art is obtrusive and therefore one must find , 
imaginary, sham causes tor a defence. One simply has no 
time for Art. Life to-day is very strenuous. Every pro- 
fession claims the whole man and the whole woman, and in 
the evening it is the duty of everybody to look for recreation. 
One's mentality must be unhitched, and it was never hitchedl 
(Nothing is more automatic than to follow one's profession.) 
To acquire a surfai'e knowledge — in order to be counted 
among the educated — the daily newspapers suffice and a 
knowledge of names The new novel of Richard Harding 
Davis, a new drama by Shaw, the new poems of the friend, 
the lawyer, are bought and one has done his duty. The 
musical comedy "Du Jour" the average citizen would- take 
in three times. YOii know it is necessary to recognize the 
melodies in the cabaretl Everything else done for Art is 
felt as a disturbing element in one's private life, preventing 
an afternoon nap or a spin into the country. How dares 
Mr. Matisse to draw things one cannot see How dares 
Ezra Pound or Richard Aldington or Alfred Kreymborg to 
write a language one does not speak? Even if one does not 
speak his own Engl-'h mother's tongue, one has learned his 
little French or German in school — also for the sake of that 



Continutd frwm last vieek) 

In the garden he poses and we talk but it is to von Krieg- 
■Istein he gives all his attention. Villa does not smoke. We 
lave the word of the New York M'orld editorially for this. 
That ia why he is rolling a corn shuck continuously. Pardon 
he disgressions. Poor Villa -is the most maligned aristocrat 
n Mexico. He really loves the common people enough to 
Tiake them behave and work for the common good which wilt 
>e headed by Pancho Villa. See Government of the United 
States for a parallel. Only Villa will have to shoot a few 
-nore deluded peons who are with the Carranza army before 
he common good comes about. The baron likes Villa. He 
remarks after the meeting; 

"Villa is an orang-outang with the heart of a tiger." 
"Will he rule Mexico?" 

"Absolutely, and the best that can happen to them." 
Merely opinion, but von 'Kriegel stein has seen twenty-one 
years of revolution. It is now possible to get an article out, 
tor the anwjuncement comes that the wires to the United 
States are open. This is August the sixth, and the baron is 
interested to learn that his country is now at war with moat 
of Europe. Even Chihuahua is excited although used to War 
for fouc years and there is no war just as interesting as your 
own.. There are reservists to gather at once, mining men who 
have been officers in Austria. The^ must be financed out in 
a hurry for they all know somethmg of benefit to Austria. 
The baron must go. 

Von Kriegelstein shows excitement for the first time. This 
is the great war that he has lived for. I hurry with him, for 
now it is useless to try and send any Mexican news. He 
must have one interview with General Felipe Angeles, the 
artillery, commander. General Angeles ia no slouch. The 
French Government wants him in Europe this minute to 
take charge of artillery thei>e. He is acknowledged in secret 
circles of Europe to be the best military expert in the world. 
Ves, he is a Mexican. He has more and better artillery than 
the United States. He also has more than one day's am- 
munition for it. No, he will not invade the United States. 
He is too good a general for that, although he imagines he 
,niight be able to hold the Southern State for a year. The 
conversation is in highly technical French. 

General Angeles knows the baron. They figure out some 
involved things. Shucks, but von Kriegelstein is the type of 
correspondent who foolishly acquired military knowledge in 
the absurd belief it made him better able to understand and 
rtport war. Not needed now. Didn't think I needed it myself 
until I knew the baron a while. Languages helped somewhat, 
too. Witness him that day. 

He speaks French with General Angeles, goes to the little 
restaurant under the Hotel Francia and jabbers a moment in 
Chinese with the proprietor, talks Spanish on the street, enters 
the Hotel Palaccio to get a draft cashed and talks with the 



630 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Danish owner in Danish, meet.Ihmkoff, the Russian salesman 
for a shoe company in St. Louis; damns him out and his 
country in satisfactory Russian, hurries me alongr in English. 
chats an instant in Turkish with a salesman who has beeij 
marooned probably as a punishment for trying to sell oriental 
rugs and winds up by bowing in Japanese to the attache who 
has just come over from Torreon. He could have spoken to 
the Jap in Jap, because his cornplete repertoire of languages 
is fourteen, in six of which he writes articles. £nglish he 
likes best, because there are spme hundred thousand more 
words to pick and choose a meaning than in any other 
language. So he says, but I have never verified it. 

Are you beginning to believe that the last of the war cor- 
respondents was von Kriegelstein ? 

Before we left Chihuahua, tne Russian attempts to have the 
baron murdered, a matter of money Uiere, the same as in 
New York. The man selected is the renegade Brooks, an 
American army deserter, who is playfully accurate with a 
pistol when executing helpless Federal officers. He is affec- 
tionately known as "Fierro's^ Gringo" and lives up to the 
quality of his master. But he^ meets the wrong /nan in von 
Kriegelstein, who promises to shoot him out of hand. Brooks 
means nothing, he says, and4)roduces an American army colt 
automatic marked United States prbperty. He will remove 
the magazine to explain the new colt to the baron. He does 
remove it and is about to point the empty pistol at the baron 
when von Kriegelstein covers him with his own pistol telling 
him to take out the bullet that remains. Brooks is very 
surprised that he should have made such a mistake. He 
removes the bullet. There is no accident. 

{To be continued) 

Statement of the Ownership, Management, etc., of Bruno's 
Weekly, published weekly at New York, N. Y., for April 1st, 
1916, required by Act of August 24th, 1912. Editor: — Guido 
Bruno, Post Office address, 58 . Washington Square, New- 
York, N. Y., Managing Editor, Guido Bcuno; Business Man- 
ager, Guido Bruno; Publisher, Charles Edison, Llewellyn 
Park, W. Orange, N. J. Owners: Charles Edison and Guide 
Bruno. Known bondholders, mortgagees and other security 
holders, holding 1 per cent, or more of tota,l amount of bonds. 
mortgages or other securities: None. Signed, Charles Edi- 
son. Sworn and subscribed to before me this 29th day of 
March, 1916, Frederick Bachmann, Notary Public, State of 
New Jersey. My commission expires July 2, 1917. 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, and 
edited and written by Guido Bruno, both at 58 Washins^ton 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a yean 

Entered as eecond class matter at the Post Office of New 
York. N. T., October 14th. 1916, under the Act of Maxah 
8d. 1879. _ 



HRST EDITIONS " 





Mr;; 



B««Bni for OturtotaM Olfto 
■laily or tu ett tor p«<iBl« who ta*TO 

ddresgy E. V., Boston Transcript. Boston, Mass. 



BUY BOOKS 

Icnaro of known Ittonury bma oad ortUfs, drowtegOp 
plciiaroo 004 tngnvJngK* Mj^mn^ > -" ^: •"'^: ..KiM«<ii/ 

COLLECTOR,'* Car« of fimA*i 'WSStdy, SS 'WiiliiiigtiA S^i 



*"-• 



' For Houses, Apartments or Rooms^ lee 

REAL ESTATE. A2ID XMSURANCS^ .vm ^; 

" i>i4# So.WfttkataStov'AvMwll 
^ephoiM 4119 Sprint Cor« of MacDovfit] Stroot 

>fiB^ « book 

iU ot noi8SfmhBN^dVf#»l:«^C'CJlf d5hv tc 

:•/ /«jr /fi/f «{;^«^ ^'f think. PublUAed everjf mmfh kfNm 
Jeddet at 75^ Second At/enthyPlfmtit/Mtelhgatn Irli 
oak uniquely illustrated. Write for sample cofy. 



'T«PS9Fr 



N RECITALS QBOfS^OWW J!Q^ 

PHE VICTORY-Sonss iii Trii^Hrti mm^^^m 

!lf IN SONGS OF SUNLAND. Tkird edition, a P. Putnef^s 
Sopi, New York^gc L«mdon* Price ^^^0* ^ 

niE MIRROR OF MANHATTAN. In manOMsi^ 

)ANCE WJQIM^^^ x^HHlX^i Vji ;tlf J; % 

Mr. Keeler recite* selections from all the above and his yai^lj^ 
ind unique prosrame are full, of interest and inspiration halix 

n the te^ti^nt dkW#fJl J ^Hl MrM H . 1 :^ '^' ] n f 

JSo^rSiia^^^iag^t^^^^ F 

For tei^p^i^^9^^ar^^n^^^ ^^•^ %»¥^^<W 

LAURENCE J. GOMME 




B. rfiivr ,rf x^lfJ^I^9o^^op Around tho Comer 

b JSatt 29thJ5t«se|i;.«, u ^mi^-. New York 



f* •.■^ #y^'J !» »^ --^ -f'^H^< «t;- • •.**»-»;----*';'-•-*-. ||r.' 




CMm Elbows Lftdi nUbk Tlnrfu, ItaM 
At lit. M nfth AwMt^ GraMoricb Vahf^ Eti 



Thk WMk't PerfornMaoet 



•itt ». M. 
•ttt ». M. 



•itt ». M. Mail Will 
•tl» ». «. Mail will 



Atk or write for tidnt of ojmiiiwii to the 
Miukolo*. Tkojr aro froo. 



n«t am bt M pleanMcr plpet It fcttr 
dttt ranrkaUe EdisM I«mN 
Nnbttr (82S36) Utt 

The Dianumd Disc 



at Nnmbeir 10 Fiftli Afeniic 





h Hit aim, It UmI, tt* icSfMM 

pkn «f Old GiMmicb Vifaf* Im Ml In* 
MOfifind M ft» •ktf «f ripwtrriiMp 

'A vMkI «« liiit lOT, Mm «« 




a«M 



JRUNO'S WEEKLY 




■jji- 



ri' 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 



Five Cent! 



April 22iid, 1916 



ttt i«^ atf^ mmm, itatatm^^ 



OimIm Edbon't Uttk Tbbnbb lliMtn^ ntuated 
■I No. 10 Flfdi Ave., GreaMdciiVahgek N. Y. C 



■ »» _•* ji. ■ 



tioiiof 
SHAKESPEARES mRTIfilAY 

• ft 

Saturday, Af»3 224 




VENKC h%m MJUM CMBUM^.SmmWiMLa^ mAftttm A 
mMtlMIEit MiGlCrS fiNHBAMi^ 



Il6« l¥MMt Fottw, iIm piaidrt, wfll play oU EaflUk^tfln m 



A i i» cw ti0 m of Murk AodMn/s •ratioB fma JULIUS CAESAR 
OB tlM DiuBMid DiM win coachi4» iIm 



Readws of Bruno^s Weekly 
are asked to become 
Subscribers 

. 52 ISSUES FOR TWO DOLLARS 



» . • • \ 



spiritual quickening of men befort iht tragedy of the doxen uattoni 
siooTtt to siaaghferT Is not Pity' succetding Rage, and Hate in lit 
o'uiH futility engendtring Levet ffheu truly viai the <aorld more 
desiroui of peace than etavi, lohen viar has pitted its ifirit through 
its hoTTorsf Hovi many evils this iivar vaill svueefi aviay! An old 
•world is dying in blood. A nevi vinrld is being bam in cataclysmic 
travail. The old earth has come through max" lears and to 
betterment. The race of man has learned through suffering. It 
has -forgot and has had to learn again and more. Death perpetually 
renetos Life. And Love loields bath in interplay. The trotlei viill 
be nearer one another for this present nfadness. If tve believe net 
this, the universe is a madhouse and the law of Joeing is the 
emanation of an Infinite Idiot, The millennium is yet far off. 
There loill be other viars, other purifications by fire ane blgod. 
A God, they say, died far us. We shall have to die often for the 
God viithin ourselves, till all but the God shall remain dead and 
then His kingdom come. There shall be myriads of EaUirs ere 
the agonies be done, if ever. And endless loveliness of recurring 
Springs "with that nameless pathos in the air" for all that die thai 
Spring may come to be. 

Marion William Reedy. 

Some Personal Recollections of Green- 
wich Village" 

Bj Enphainia M. dcott 

'J'HE contact of our family with Greenwich Village dates 
back to the days of my grcat-grand!ather, the Rev. John 
M. Mason, D.D., of the Presbyterian Church in Murray Street, 
who lived for some time at what became the corner of 
Eleventh Street and Sixth Avenue. T never saw him, bat 
visited the house in my childhood, when it was occupied by 
an old Mr. Pringie, who was a friend of the family. My 
mother was born away out in the country, on Lovers' Lane 

•7 am indebted for this story to Mr. Henry Collins Broium, who 
gave me permission to extract it from his beautiful "Book of Old 
Nevi York," printed by him privately for collectors. 
Copyright 1916 by Guido Bruno 



(>32 BRUNO'S WEEKL Y 

on the Oothout Farm, where her grandfather had rented a 
house to take his family out of the reach of cholera, then 
prevalent in the city. She was born on the third of August, 
1819 — a contemporary of Her Majesty, -Queen Victoria. Her 
birthplace was a frame house with hiit^roof. Jn alter years 
a brick front was put on and the hip roof was straightened 
•up with bricks. The house was divided into two, and became 
either J2 and 34 West Twentieth Street, or 34 and 36—1 am 
not sure which. Only a doaea year agOt when business made 
its inroads into that section, I discovered workmen razing 
the building, and the next one having been previously de- 
molished, I could see the outline of tne old roof and some 
of the original clapboards. Much to the amazement of the 
laborers I asked for and secured some pieces of these clap- 
boards and distributed sections of them at our family dinner 
table on the next Tbanskgiving Day. My mother grew up 
at the comer of Fulton and Nassau Streets, her father being 
the Rev. John Kaox, D.D., whose pastorate of forty years 
was in the Collegiate Dutch Chitrch. She often visited in 
Greenwich Villagei^ both at her grandfather's and at the home 
of Mr. Abraham Van Nest, which had been built and 
originally occupied by Sir Peter Warren. Bift she never 
thought of going so far for leas than a week! There was a 
city conveyance for part of the way^ and then the old Green- 
wich stage enabled them to c(Hitplete the long iournev. This 
ran several J^imes a day, and when my mother committed her 
hymn, 

"Hasten, sinner, to be wise 

Ere this evening's stage be run," 

she told us that for some years tt never occurred to her that 
it could mean anything in the wqrld but the Greenwich stage. 
Mr. Van Nest's house was as. dear to my young days as to 
those of my mother. It was a square frame house on a 
slight elevation in the midst of land bounded by Fourth and 
Bleecker, Charles and Perry Streets. It was the country 
residence of a gentleman, with flower and vegetable gardens, 
a stable, a cow, chickens, pigeons and a peacock, all dear to 
childish hearts. And likewise 

"In that mansion used to be 
Free-hearted hospitality.'* 

From its doors many children had married and gone forth 
before my time came, and the mother I never knew. But 
■'old Mr. Van Nest,'* a jfaithlul elder in our chtu-ch, one es- 
pecially liberal in his. ideas pf what the ministers ought to 
receive, and his daughter, Miss Katherine Van Nest, made 
many young .hear t? happy, not oi^ly the returning grand- 
childrien, but those who, like myself, could present only 
claims oiF friendship with kinship. A large hall ran through 
the house and a largf< mahogany table stood there, and this 
>va9 AJwayn furnished with a large silver cake-basket full of 
declicious spoaie^-^ak^.. a batch: of which txiust have been 
made every morning, I am sure, by the colored cook. And 
from this basket we were urged — ^no! We never needed 



It was in 1843 that my mother married, her father then 
being resident at the corner of Fourth and Mercer Streets. 
There I was born in 1844. and when I was two months old 
I was carried to her home; where I still reside. This is 
in Thirteenth Street, west of Sixth Avenue. There' was a', 
drug store, kept by Mrs. M. Giles, on the corner, and beyond 
that lot began a row of dwelling houses of which my father 
l>oiight the fifth, but latterly business has absorbed four of 
these, so that we are now the first residence on the block. It 
was very tar uptown in those days — there is a letter still 
extant which predicts that my mother will never see her 
old friends for they cannot go so far up^-aad it was thought 
very narrow, being only twenty feet wide. Oilcloth was in 
those days laid in the halls,- but my grandfather advised 
against it, saying, "Throw down a strip of carpet, Helen: 
ydu won't stay here live years." She stayed sixty-five, until 
she was within two months of ninety years, when she went 
to her home above. Nine children .were born there, one of 
whom made a brief stay in this world — but eight of -us grew 
up, four boys and four girls, a natural, wholesome, noisy, 
merry set of youngsters, whose old-fashioned ways would 
doubtless am; ' "' .- » . . 

door. 

The location, considered from a sanitary point of view, has 
always been excellent; in fact, it was a knowledge of this that 
determined its choice. The Croton water was in the house, 
and even a bath~tub, but no stationary tubs for a good many 
years and well do I remember seeing the maids on Monday 
afternoon carrying out the round tubs and emptying them 
into the gutter, and great was our glee if the water soused 
a great black pig from its siesta — for these creatures roamed 
at large and were the only scavengers of any consequence. 

Well do I remember also the introduction of gas and how 
we followed our father from room to room as he triumphantly 
lit each burner. It was a frolic after that on winter evenings 
to shuffle across the carpet and light the gas with an electric 
spark from the tips of our fingers, I being the one most 
usually successful m this feat. 
(To bt nntinued) 



634 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Passing Paris 

April 1st, 1916. 
I A TRIENNALE. A selection from the leading art-groups 
and limited to artists of French nationality furnishes a 
good, tangible object-lesson of whait is to be expected of 
modern French art and serves as apology -for a display at the 
present juncture. Naturally it is chiefly retrospective, not 
in its representatives, but in the works it summons together, 
most of these being already familiar to habitues of the annual 
shows. A judicious, deliberate eclecticism balances the most 
opposed schools one against the other: Matisse versus Bon- 
nat; Harpignies versus Marquet; Mme. Marval ver^s Mile. 
Dufau, etc. Besides the veteran Harpignies there are others: 
Degas, and Renoir, who here introduces himself as a sculptor 
— a young, debutant sculptor, nearly eighty years oic Dy tne 
way. Claude Monet is missing, but in his stead there are 
Signac, as president of the Independants, and Odilon Redon, 
who has dared, and quite exceptionally, to honour these walls, 
for he does not care to mingle in "mixed" society as a rule. 
And it is well for his companions, they being painters of 
varying degrees, high or low in the scale, but merely painters, 
and M. Redon on another plane, outside their zone of opera- 
tions. The same' criterion does not apply to them and to 
him. It is clear that they struggle for some technical su- 
premacy, while he, possessing his technique, possessing it in 
the sense that the Japanese masters possessed theirs, aims 
and achieves, through an amazing mastery of his materials, 
the absolute liberation of the material element in painting. 
His art is not only art, but an art. 

On all hands artists are making a stand against the war- 
deluge. Some yield prudently to the general turmoil by 
individual transformations and, realizing the vanity of prac- 
tising "fine" art at its finest just now, adapt their skill to 
more accessible forms, and we have painters and sculptors 
trying their hand at toys in response to a demand for the 
French and, especially, artistic idea. M. Poulbot, the 
draughtsman, had, years before the war, set an example with 
his gutter-snipe dolls. Mile. Poupelet, our leading woman- 
sculptor and one of our leading artists, iri^espective of sex, 
was one of the next to make an attempt in this direction, and 
a group has gathered round her who model and carve and 
carpenter for the intended amusement of the young and the 
certain admiration of the old. Several exhibitions' have al- 
ready been held in Paris and New York, yielding success 
surpassing anticipation, though it is not to be supposed that 
the more remarkable qualities some of these little knick- 
knacks disguise under their more obvious purpose is par- 
ticularly apparent to the general public. 

Muriel Cielkovska 
From "The Egoist" London 



J^. 



pOME William, you are the author of "Currents of 

Destiny." . 
Come, Theodore, you wroje "Cowardly Skrinking from 

Duty." 
Come; both of you, America heeds you. 
We have a proWem, 

It is called: "Neutrality, or The Freedom of the Seas," 
We will make it into two problems. 
For it would be a shame 
To waste both of you on one problem. 
One problem then is Neutrality, 
And that's for you, William. 
And one is The Freedom of the Seas, 
That's for you, Theodore. 

And first where do the Currents of Destiny take ua, 
O, William, in the handling of neutrality? 
And if we do-not shrink in a way too cowardly 
May we have the freedom of the seas, 
O, Theodore? 

AhemI There are diflicuUiest 
For it is nice to stop the submarines. 
But it would be nice to ship goods, wouldn't it. 
To neutral countries? 
But how can you do it 
When certain foreign consuls at our ports 
Won't let you? 

And if they won't let you, where's your neutrality. 
And your freedom of the seas? 
Well, now, Theodore, how shall we not shrink 
In a way cowardly or otherwise? 
AhemI we could drive these consuls from the custom 

houses. 
And send battleships 
•To convey America's meat! 
But if we did. 

What would become of our precious Philippines , 

Which came to us on the currents of destmy 
And through bravely doing our duty 
And not cowardly shrinking from it 
AhemI You get the secret thought no doubt! 
Come, William I 
Come, Theodore! 
What shall we do? 

For you who piloted the Republic to such glory 
Can certainly take us to the Islands of the Blest! 
Via Rttdy"! Si. Louis Mirror. 



636 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Flasks and Flagons 

Bf Francis S, Saltus 

Water 

I HEAR strange voices in the warm, swift rain. 

That falls in tumult upon town and field; 
It seems to tell a mystery unconcealed. 
Yet heiroglyphic to a mortal's brain. 

It sighs and moans as if in uttet pain 
Of some colossal sorrow, never healed; 
It warns of awful secrets unrevealcd, 
And every drop repeats the sad refrain. 

And then I think of the enormous sea 
Fed by these drops, with drifting wrecks bestrewn, 
And dimly, vaguely, like a far-off sound. 
The meaning of their sorrow comes to me. 
For they may be, oh rare, considerable boon, 
Heaven's humble mourners for the unnumbered 
drowned. 

Brandy 

"yHY mighty power stirs up the sluggish blood 

To craft and cunning and rejuvenate fire, 
And fills again with raptures of desire 
The failing sense that drowns in armour's flood. ' - 

The spirit's song, freed from our carnal mud, 
Then soars supreme, and grandlier doth aspire. 
And with new vigor that can never tire. 
The flowers of fancy burst within the bud. 

In nobler ways, even yet, thou prov'st thy might, 
When soldiers, strengthened by thy drops of flame 
Forget their gory wounds in .frantic zeal. 
And with high souls all thrilling for the fight, 
Assault dread bastions for their . country's fame, 
And lead their flags thro' labyrinths of steel! 

Chinese Letters 

By Alan W, S, Lee, Wuhu, China. 
The Festival of B<1 Yiieh Dzieh 

'Y'HIS is the night of perfect beauty, the night of worship, 
the Festival of the Moon — ba yueh dzieh. Tt is seven 
o'clock, and all through the land of the Middle Kingdom trie 
Black Haired People turn their faces to the East. On every 
one of the little hills around about Wuhu (sedgy lake) stand- 
groups of men, women and children, on every high place they 
stand in silhouette against the ever deepening light of the 
eastern sky. They stand with outstretched arms to welcome 
the Moon, waiting silently, patiently, until she shall appear. 
Lights glow in the temple under the Pagoda on the hill, 
but they shine wan and faint against the bright glory behind 
It. Suddenly the silence is broken, the big bell in the temple 



y' 






of Gwo Yin and the bells ffom the p&^a boo&i across the 
fletds of rice to the country across the river. Belts from the 
temple inside the city call back and forth to each ether, songs 
clang sharply, the thud of big drums and hollow wooden 
instruments mingle into one continuous sound, and under it 
all is the low murmur of many voices. 

The figures on the highest hiH are frantiully waving their 
arms for they have Been the Moon, and now over the edge 
of the hill her great golden arc swings slowly up behind 
the Pagoda. It is a perfect niglit, and all the city is out te 
do worship to Her — Astarte, Diana, Ashtoreth. 

All yesterday and to-day the streets of the. city and all the 
country roads were crowded with men and women, bearing 
baskets full of incense. It was almost impossible to get along 
the Chang Giai, as no one was in a hurry, and every one 
wanted to stop and talk to every one else, for yesterday was 
also a holiday. 

Now from every square, every yard and open place thick 
clouds of pale blue smoke rise to the Moon, and ehi is glad 
for on no other night of the year has she been so beautiful. 
This is not a religious festival, Confucians, Buddhists, Taoisfs, 
Sbintoists, and Mohammedans worship the Queen of Night 
together. 

From my table goes up three streams of Incense smoke, 
fragrant and sweet, from burners of brass, bronze, and por- 
celain. 

The Moon is well above the hills now, and by her light I 
can see a water buSalo lying half-submerged in the pool 
across the road. The air is full of whirling lights, and fire 
works of many kinds. The gongs and bells and the lire 
works will continiie all night, and not until dawn will the 
weary people stop for sleep. 

A Publishers* Club 

American liti 

With those consoling words, the obese Macmillan slapped 
the weeping Scribner on the back. The weeping Scrtbner 
was not consoled. 

"It's all very well for you, Macmillan," he sighed. "You 
can spend your best years in New York on a list that is 
British and then give bold interviews to the newspapers 
about the encouragement you have given to American litera- 
ture. But we Scribners live by beating the British drum." 

He buried his Anglican countenance in a London pocket 
handkerchief. 

"This procession is about to start I" roared Doubleday. "All 
banners must bear the portraits of American authors." 

A quaint procession they formed as they sallied out of the 
Publishers' Club, trying hard to look as if they had ever done 
anything for American literature. Houghtonmifflin, in his 
capacity as the most Anglicised of them all, took the lead. 
Dodd, caught with the British goods on him. paraded side by 



638 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

side with Putnam, who carried a British flag i>ainted over to 
resemble the stars and stripes./ 

"I'm afraid/' sighed Harper, as they turned into Fifth Ave- 
nue, "we'll never bluflF them with this. sort of thing." 

He looked dubiously ^t an Americanized list issued in a 
hurry to suggest that it wasn't made in Londoj}. 

"You don't know Macmitlan," murmured Holt. "He can 
disguise himself so cleverly that you'd read the map of Lon- 
don in his lace with difficulty at first." 

Just then the procession, with Appleton at the head of it, 
turned out of Fifth Avenue into a side street, halting in front 
of a private residence. 

"Now, boys," yelled Doubleday, "give 'em Yankee Doodle." 

They burst into a chorus of "Rule, Encyclopoedia Britan- 
nica!" As New York publishers, they thought the tunes 
interchangeable. They had not been singing very long, when 
a bedroom window above their heads flew open and the 
Reading Public a4)peared. 

"Oh, I say!" cried Scribner, chipping a monocle to his eye. 
"Amewican literachach, ye know! We're for it. Henwy 
Jimes^— that sort of thing, ye know." 

"Bah Jove I" struck in Macmillan. "We're very American, 
what! Marion Crawford— er — ah! — ^Jack Lon'." 

" 'Merican, s'elp me bob!'* Hplt was addressing the Reading 
Public now. "Poe, you know. Hawthorne. Ya'as, ya'asl" 

"But," asked the Reading Public, suddenly, "why must you 
New York publishers wake me up out of my bed in the naid- 
dle of the night to tell me you are friendly to American litera- 
ture?" 

All eyes were turned on Macmillan, but that Anglican was 
unable to bluflF on the spur of the moment. JBefore they knew 
it a hose was turned on them, and as th^ fled bad to tne 
Publishers' Club, the dripping Scribner assured the soused 
Dodd that Macmillan had made a fool of them all again — 
what? 

Alexander Harvey in his Weekly "The Bang" 

Sonnet 

/ wandered in Scoglietto*s green retreat. 
The oranges on each o*er hanging spray 
Burned as bright lamps of gold to shame the day; 
Some startled bird <ivith fluttering wings and fleet 
Made snow of all the blossoms, at my feet 
Like silver moons the pale narcissi lay. 
And the curved waves that streaked the sapphire hay 
Laughed i* the sun, and life seemed very sweet 
Outside the young boy-priest passed singing clear, 
"Jesus the Son of Mary has been slain, 
O come arid fill his sepulcher with flowers," 
Ah, God! Ah, God! those dear Hellenic hours 
. Had drowned all memory of thy bitter pain. 
The Cross, the Crown, the Soldiers, and the Spear. 

Oscar Wilde. 
Written in Holy Week at Genoa 



\ 




SocietT Columiu FudUt MaKasine Paca 





Tniadr Day by D^r 



640 BRUNO^S WEEKLY ^ 

Automobiles and Things 

"Vr^E sat all day on a rock high above the sea, propped 
. against a solitary ragged cedar. 

And the wind rising over the cliff blew drenching fogs 
against as. 

We sat quietly, not very far apart. 

At last, stiff and dripping, we swashed tfara the cran- 
berry swamp - towards home — ^slbwly, very, ven' 
slowly. 

That was a long, long time ago — 

I wonder if we would call that fun now? 

i^___y rpm SUifer. 

Two Things by Cat's Paw 

A Man Willioiift^ Moo^ 

A MAN without money is a body without a soul — a walking 
death — a spectre that frightens every one. His counte- 
nance is sorrowful, and his conversation languishing and 
tedious. If he calls upon an acquaintance he never finds him 
at home, and if he opens his mouth to speak, he is. interrupted 
every moment, so that he may not have a chance to finiih 
his discourse, which it is feared may end with his asking 
for money. He is avoided like a person infected with disease, 
and is regarded as an incumbrance to the earth. Want wakes 
him up in the morning, and misery accompanies him to bed 
at night. The ladies discover that he is an awkward booby — 
landlords believe that he lives upon air, and if he wants any 
thing from a tradesman, he is asked for cash before delivery. 

The Fortitude of a Pig 

THE stoicism of a pig is enviable. The manner in which 
he receives the injuries heaped on him is no proof of it. 
certainly but his mode of bearing them after they are 
inflicted, is' truly his own. No creature on earth can make 
more noise than he does to prevent himself from being hurt; 
but that is excellent policy. He seems to know the value 
of the old proverb, "It is better to prevent tfiah to cure." 
But when he finds the thing is done, he is silent, and as 
patient as Job himself. Indeed, if Job had been allotted to 
bear what a pig bears we might be permitted to doubt his 
patience. The trials of swine are great. 

In Our Village 

DUT if we look back on the scenes of what we arc accus- 
tomed to call the Village, back of the Square, west of 
Fifth Avenue and still more west of Sixth Avenue, our illusion 
vanishes. Back of the community which seems so unique with 
its worshipful reminiscences of the old, with its stately man- 
sions, with its touch of cosmopolitan grandeur as it is voiced 
every night in the Brevoort, the Lafayette, in Mazzini's, in the 
Greenwich Village Inn, or in the studios of our pur popular 
ones who harbor refugees from all belligerent countries: 



stroll around Hleecker street or, down Houston or inompioa 
and all the other tenement streets. We hardly think it pot- 
sible that so few, time-worn, rickety, dirty old houses c&n 
serve as domiciles for so many thousands of families. Put 
together all the heart-touchirtg newspaper stories and report* 
of charitable associations about human misery in the big city 
as they appear before Christmas, make a mosaic of the most 
pitiful conditions humanity in a big city is subjected to . . . 
and you will have the painting, vivid in colors and natural- 
istic in conception, to which we of the Greenwich Village OH 
Washington Square and on Fifth Avenue, created the much- 
admired and talked-about frame. 

We discarded our overcoats, the furs are properly stored 
away, "we are thinking of our trip, of moving to the country; 
the trees are budding, soft green blades of grass peep bash- 
fully out of the brown earth, the sparrows came forth from 
under their eaves repairing their summer residences in trees 
and bushes. 

The sun did it. The sun with its kind golden rays, which 
are more beautiful on the dirtiest sidewalk of Little Italy back 
of our square amidst the raggedest and noisiest lot of chil- 
dren than the chiselled gold-circling around the cold, costly- 
cut preciou,s stortes in Tiffany's window on Fifth Avenue. The 
sun did it, who shines for the poorest of us just as warm 
and gladly as for the richest. The sun who finds his way to 
the heart of tvery one of us, no matter where we are, no 
matter what our lot in this world might be; the sun comes 
and knocks at the door of our heart, and he is persistent. We 
will have to open, even if we think in the importance of our 
microbic existence that we have no time .... for sun 
rays which warm our heart and tor light and for love. 

One quarter of an acre of playgrounds is provided by our 
ciiy for the thirty-five thousand children of Greenwich Vil- 
lage. One quarter of an acre of land to play in, to romp in, 
(o feel like a human being hefore being shut up again in the 
evening in the stuffy atmosphere of a dingy tenement room. 
There are large parks in other parts of the city; parks where 
these poor little ones who do not know God's free country 
could spend a day and think they had been in the country. 
But mothers cannot take them, they have to work and slave 
from morning till late in the night in order to eke out a living 
after they succeeded to earn enough to pay their rent to their 
landlord (I cannot understand how the honorable landlords 
dare to take money for these dungeon holes, very often un- 
fit to house vermin). 

Cars and elevators cannot be used without paying a fare 
and children get very hungry being out in the green using 
for once their limbs unrestrictedly, and a proper repast has 
to be provided for them. The babies want milk. 



642 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

There is a man among ns who plays St Peter to the chil- 
dren of Greenwich Village. He is the gatekeeper to thf 
summer pleasures of thirty-five thousand futur citizens c: 
our country. The Rev. Sheridan Watson Bell of the Wash- 
ington Square Church, supported by a host of men and wo- 
men — his true apostles — is planning for this year still mort 
than he did last year for the children of the village. No sec- 
tarian questions are being asked, no matter what natlonalin 
or denomination they might call their own. They all arc 
alike, they all are entitled to fresh air, to sunlight, to the 
freedom of the country. Dr. Bell gave last year two hundred 
and fifty children each week a whole day in one of our city 
parks. They had a jolly ride up to the park, a lot of playing 
if they felt like it; they could lie on the green grass and look 
up to the sky, unhampered by smoke-stacks and factory build- 
ings, and they could watch the passing cloudsl They could 
dream, and a good substantial lunch would remind them that 
dreams come true even here on earth. And then the ride 
homeward again, fun and laughter and tired — healthily tired, 
ready for a good night's rest. 

Do you remember how often kids come up to you while 
you are buying a ticket tor a moving picture show and look 
at you with their pleading, hungry eyes: "Please, mister, 
take me in." If you are one of those who feel the warrr. 
spring sun even if their backs are turned to the windo\^. 
you'll buy a ticket for the child and play the host. 

If you feel inclined to give one of these thirty-five thou- 
sand children of our village eight perfect summer ^ays away 
from the dusty, smoky street, send Dr. Bell one dollar. Send 
it in care of the Washington Square Church or in care of 
Bruno's Weekly. What is one dollar? TKe tip you hand the 
waiter after a ten dollar dinner, the price of five high-balls. 
the price of a taxi from the Brevoort Hotel to some lobster 
palace. . . . No, not that? A part of your weekly room 
rent, almost the half of a pair pf shoes or your laundry bill? 

But think, it means sun, happiness, health to a little boy 
or to a little girl. 

Of course, you will send that dollar. But send it immedi- 
ately. Bis dat, qui cito dat. 

Djuna Barnes, who designed the front cover of Bruno's 
Weekly this week, retired to a sedate and quiet private life. 
After a rather exciting career of a few years of newspaper 
work (drawing and waiting) she decided to do some real 
work unhampered by editorial (sic!) influences. A series of 
war pictures and among these her uncanny gripping "The 
Bullet," are not only the work of a promising artist, but of 
one who started to really fulfill promises. 

As well as in drawing and painting she has a style of her 
own. in her literary adventures. Her poems and her short 
stories cannot possibly be called otherwise but adventures. 
She feels the rhythm of her inspiration and she struggles 
along as good as she can to make us feel it too. Her inspira- 
tion is flirting constantly with her creative -desires. But 
Djuna Barnes is a bad match-maker. The little things in life 



the publisher of the "Motion Picture Mail," made after a long 
absence a trip to the village. He and his associate editor 
Homestead, were seen last week,in a spaghetti house. 

A Defense (?) of Vaudeville 

■yAUDEVlLLE is excellence of execution without motive. 
Drama is motive partially dependent upon execution. In 
Drama we see life. The Drama is for people who do not see 
life until it is acted, and for those who prefer to look at life 
only. 

Drama is life. Vaudeville is the beauty of life. We enjoy 
the beauty of life without the motive when we watch a 
graceful diver, when we dance, in music, sometimes in paint- 
ings. There are those who revel in Brahms, and discard 
Wagner as inferior. It is a matter of comparative execution. 
Drama is the idea. 

Drama, like the cigar, stimulates and continues meditation, 
research. Vaudeville the cigarette, affects the senses primar- 
ily, the brain reflexly. Drama is for those who. do not know 
introspection and musing, and for those who dwell exclu- 
sively on life. Vaudeville appeals to those who ARE Drama 
and seek beauty without motive, and to those who sense the 
primitive affect, unconscious of cause. 

A Drama may be good_,even with poor execution; Vaude- 
ville, never. A' Drama is an idea v^ell expressed in words 
and action. A Vaudeville act (not a play in a vaudeville 
program, but an exhibition of strength, beauty, equilibrism, 
rhythme or buffoonery) is execution and personality minus 
motive — as is a concert. Granting that music may have a 

Humor is the intermediate medium between sense and brain, 
and Drama is essentially mental, tempered — but slightly — 
by scenery and acting. Opera depends upon both motive and 
.--.. -^ ut execution is the more essential. 

—Drama is study; Vaudeville, enjoyment. 
ff. V. Rithberg. 



644 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



E 



Books and Magazines of the Week 

VoB Zom 

DWARD ARLINGTON ROBINSON'S "Van Zorn," a 
comedy in three acts, and published by that lady-like con- 
cern, the Macmillans is, for some reason or other, laid in Mac- 
dougall Alley, Greenwich Village, New York. The characters 
are artists who are lyealthy. With all due respect to Mr. 
Robinson as one of our foremost American poets, we cannot 
applaud a work whose relation to the life of the alley is about 
as real as an automaton is to a human being. The characters 
talk like books, and of them all. Van Zorn himself, a weadhy 
fatalist, is the most tiresome. Villa, the heroine, is a stilted 
lady. Her attempts at wit- are a painful bore. And what 
ancient humor she unearths! 

''It seems to me sometimes that funerals are better than 
weddings. When we go to funerals« we know what has hap- 
pened; but when we go to weddings, we don't even pretend 
to know what is going to happen." 

"A spiritd story," says the Macmillans. It is about as spir- 
ited as the worms who wait on customers at their saintly 
sanctums on the Avenue. Technique it has, but a technique 
as academic and cold as a dead fish. 

A.K. 

FVom l^e Mirror« St. LofOtt 

A PROPOS the "Encyclopedia Brittanica" swindle, it is 
worthy of note that the advertising of the *liandy'* set is 
placed by its publishers and not by the Sears, Roebuck Com- 
pany of Chicago. It is the publishers, not the distributors. 
who are responsible for violation of the guarantee that the 
price of the publication would be raised after the filling of 
the advance orders. The cheaper edition robs the purchasers 
of the first edition of the 60 per cent, difference between the 
orij3:inal and later prices. Subscribers to the first edition should 
refuse to complete their time payments otherwise than on the 
basis of the lesser price for th^ handy edition. 

Failure? 

GO much *ivtu asked of me 

That, in striving to forget. 
My Heart <was crushed. 
So much was asked of me 
In striving to raise my eyes 
My lids have drooped. 
So much ivas asked of me 
My Soul could no longer strive; 
In the dust I lay. 

— Diamond Crisp. 



vet under the carcass, tasc mating nice tne preacnment ot tnc 
fifth Buddha, who is not born yet. 

The orange of the walls was dazzling like the hungry eyes 
of the stray hyeaas. The beasts smelt the nearness of the 
dead. They wanted to feast on his flesh, they wanted to 
crunch his bones. 

There was no light. TheM was no love. There was no 

There was black. There was orange. There was hunger. 
Gttido Bruno. 

Gleanings From Jean Paul 

The Eiwiiiwa of Freodam 

Crush every league of her friends, destroy every book and 
every one who gave It to the world, to show us the rising 
sun of freedom, and that sun will not be reflected from one 
mirror alone, but will shine with new lustre in every frag- 
ment. When the sea is smooth, but one aun shines out from 
its breast; but when broken into a thousand waves, it glit- 
ters with a thousand. 
To a Rom Ble*«IiBd by the Sua 

Pale rose, the sun gave thee thy bloom, and the glowing 
sun now robs thee of it; thou art like us. When the spirit, 
which makes the cheek of man to glow, draws nigher and 
nigher to us, it, too, makes our cheek pale, and we die. 
Tbou^it and Action 

Many flowers open to the sun, but one only follows him 
constantly. Let thy heart be the sunflower; let it not only 
be open to God, but bow to him, and follow him. 
Flowara on a Virfin'i Bier 

Strew flowers upon her, ye, her fair friends! Once ye 
brought flowers to grace 'her cradle -festivals; now she is cele- 
brating the greatest of them all, for her bier is the cradle of 



646 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

The Last of the War Correspondents 

(Concluded from Imsi wefk) 

Merely an incident in his way of life is this avoiding a: 
accident by pointing a pistol at a man's heart. The bare 
knows he will have to be well protected and for the first tim 
he seeks shelter in Chihuahua f^om individual assassins 
Urquidi takes him to the house of Gonzales de la Garza. 
who is later to become one of Mexico's presidents for a few 
days* appearance only. De la Garza is kind and gives tht 
proper refuge. 

The next day it is Juarez and across the border. 

Von Kriegelstein is written up in Chicago as he got? 
through. 

Consequently he must get some kind of a paper, probably 
an American passport to get him over to Europe. Well, a: 
any rate we said good bye and although the British cruiser- 
searched the steamer he was on — ^well what can one or two 
ordinary humans do with a man who talks so many languages 

But because he was von Kriegelstein I kept thinking of 
him after he had gone. Then came the news of his death. 
as he should have died facing the Russians whom he hateo 
and wrote against. The sun of his profession has set, but the 
star of von Kriegelstein is rising. Like most he will be best 
known long after he is dead because he has left his books 
to speak for him. 



O 



To Clara Tice 

CLARA TICE 
How very nice 
To think about the rhymes 
That one can frame 
About your name 
A hundred or more times 
O Clara Tice, 
You rhyme with mice; 
You should be very glad! 
I'm sure you'll find 
It will remind 
Of the pet cat you had. 
O Clara Tice, 
Your talent's spice 
To Guido Bruno's wit; 
And, in his sheet. 
We hope to meet 
\ A great deal more of it. 

Violet Leigh 



Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Eklison, and 
edited and written by Guido Bruno, both at 58 Washington 
Square, New York City. Subscription |2 a year. 

Entered as aecond olass matter at the Post OfBoe of New 
York. N. T., October 14th, 1916, under 'the Aet of Maroh 
ad, 1879. 



(ARE BOOKS nitST EDITIONS 




McliMil fliMir ^r tai «•!• im p«o»l« trfew ter* miiihm 
wt bMk aMurte Wfer Mt Kite — n— tt»t 



ld<irat8» E. V.« Botton Tmiscripl» Boston, Mom. 

[ BUY BOOKS^ ~""^ 




COLLECTOR,'* Cm« •! BrMoTt WMUr» SO WMU^flM S«. 



' »o» li »Mit i^^ yfOncoir<r Finioi, jto 

PEPE Sl BRO. 

UfiAL BSTATIir'Arai^ IKftUiUkilCft 

40 Ok* ^Wbil^ttlMi' OflOMiw 
'•l«pWM4110 9priM Cor. •! iUdOMial aiM«l 

I N « It I e If 

ook uniqntlf illmtirmigd. fFriig f^r smmfh c^/jk. 

CHARLES KEELER 

N RECITALS OF MB OWN POEMS 



HE ViCTOinr' ■Swigi •! Trfanapk. Pfle^ muf MSkt 

LFIN semes OP SUNLAND^ Tkird •aitioi^ C P. PiMiMiV 
Soii% fitew York «i Loa<i*a. Prico $i:S& 

DNGSO^AWAWftaaUL kiittiioiiieflKM^ 

HE MIRRCm OP HANHATTMI* iooiamMet^ 

ANCE RYTfttlS. bi ■ttuiaicrffkl;'^ 

Mr. Kodor rocitea MiecttoiM from all tko oboro and his iroriod 
id uasquo p^ogtofM-mfo-loB ol ialOMOl and ioi^tolteik ltoth> 

tho tost uid' delivery. 

In Now Yotfit attd vibiaitf ofitil JoiMi. NMrbookior^dMOO lor 
alifonua Tour ia J«i|fe» July and Aufuat. 

For tormoiMlid'^^afliedbift and lor co|Mef of tie tooki^ addloet 

LAURENCE J. GOMMS 
f&f iSmm Sooki&oi^ Arond tko Corner 
Eaet JMi Sivoei Mow York Cky: 



CImIm Ukm'9 Uuk TUMm Thutn, Stutea 
At Us. If Rftk Atmm^ Grtanrkk YiUagf^ N.T.C^ 



Hut W«ek^t PttrfomiaiioM 



. till p. au 
t 9Mp.m. 



Ask or write for ticket of ftdminkMi to di# 



CnCULATniG UBRARY OF PKENCH NOVELS 

EUREKA BOOK SHOP 

ISBibkHouM 

PUm» Cor. 3r4 Ain^, Nmt Yorii. F— iag Coppo r Ihifaa 
BOOKLOVERS AND COLLECTORS ARE WELCOME 

Tlmt cai bt as pkatanter placs to ktir 
that iwutflcdbk EdiMB Rtcordi 
NaBbcr (82S36) dui 

The Diamond Disc Shop 

at Number 10 Fifth Avenue 




h dot store, at least, the deBglitfiil 
plia« of Old Greenwich Village has not beea 
sacrificed or tte akar of coBunmaBsm 

A u t t ii wlB Wiig yMb «ilk •* 
M^liMiit^p M iataff«lii« liHk 

FWao:Stii7TSiaal4570 kiw«pky •# Mr. Am. A. Um 



I taTB youn of Jtlljr Stti utd ttemk jou for radiaf 
■• \ba airrnt Imb* of 7«iv JoutimI, tha "OrBaoalata Vlll«ga", 
X tKT* read TOir iMdlnf krtlela, and ■■ Tar? glAd jotl 
li«T* takn th* poalttOa fou baM, la «iA jeu pMrb«* kMv 
I Mittrtlir ■jnpkthlH. Of, aoura* your artial* baa tba 
■ddltlooal tntaraat that tt U welttan by oaa alio baa Uval 
Id •» nay dlftartot oowtrlaa, and iboaa aXlaglAnoa to tfaa 
tfaitad etatM ia tba rasylt «f Toluatary aoUoh 
Sinsaraly yovra. 



5^ 



iin Cut do Etrirao, 

4!t fcBhtnstoa Qquw* 9, 

Ha* lofk, n. X 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Fhra Cento April 29th, 1916 



lAal ihe doej net fade front oar laul unlil our 
heart is laUhertd and ear mind either debased 
or dienurafed. There it not a soul iwenly 
fears old that is not republican. There is not 
a detayed heart that is not senrile. 

Alphante de Lamartiue 

Les Contidences: Being the Confessions 
of a Self-made American 

{ This article was written shortly after the Lusitania incident 
and appeared in CreeitwUh Village, (he semi-inonthiy foreruuner 
of BrtMo's Ifeeify.) . 

Tn tfae solitude of my garret have I thought about all thie 
business that is setting aflame with barbaric rage one world 
and creating uneasiness, constraining personal liberty and 
sowing the seeds of hatred among brothers in the other. 

And because I am an American citizen, and because I diank 
the belligerent couptriee for some of the best and most 
essential diings of my life, I feel that I must voice these 
thoughts of my solitude and tell them to you, who were born 
and raised in America,, and who might better understand after 
this, and to you who are citizens as 1 am by your own choice, 
but who perhaps had never time or inclination or the intuition 
to think about it all. 

Well do I remember the day on which I resolved to make 
this country my own. It was nearly a year after my arrival 
in the United States. I had just finished reading the writings 
of Abraham Lincoln. I wanted to be a citizen of the country 
{his man had lived and worked and finally died for. 

Hero wprshipl But how I would wial) to be as young 
aKsinl My ideals carried me with uncurtailed wings high 
aDOve all material matters — above disappointments not spared 
to any of us, and all those little disasters which are part of 
our lives. 

I had admired Alexander the Great; Napoleon had been 
my ideal for years. Power, strength, determination of will, 
making other people do what he thought was best for them, — ' 
that had impressed me. To read the lives of these men, to 
study their methods and their actions brought me elevation 
and'gave me ambition. 
Copyright 1916 by Guido Bruno. ... 



s for alt nations, for all races. 
>\ ND so I stood there before the clerk in a western city and 
desired to make my application for American citizenship. 
It was a formality of a couple of minutes. I glanced over 
the slip of ^aper he handed me. There it stood, black on 
white, glaring into my face, that I had to renounce the 
sovereign, the prince whose subject I then was. 

There are moments in the life of every human being when 
his brain works with a hurrifying alacrity. Thoughts, mem- 
ories, vivid pictures of scenes that have left an everlasting 
impression shoot through the brain in terrifying quick suc- 
cession. They follow one another, covering as long a 
stretch of i^ears as our conscious and unconscious memory 
goes back in our lives. It hai>pened there to me. In the 
clerk's office while I was looking at the disinterested face 
of the man who wanted me to raise my hand and repeat the 
oath and to be done with me. I saw myself as a young boy 
singing patriotic songs. I saw myself as a youth m uniform 
witn unsheathed sword swearing an oath of allegiance to 
my king. How terrible that oath was! "During day and 
night," the oath reads, "in water and on land, in peace and 
ivar, will I follow his leadership, will I be loyal to him. Even 
against my father and my brothers will I be loyal to him." 

And then I thought how I had been educated at his ex- 
pense, being a beneficiary of a stipendium, how ^ had to 
thank him indirectly for my college and for my university 
education. And I thought of my father and of his father 
and of all of my ancestors, and I thought of my brothers who 
wore his coat and spent their lives in his service, and all this 
I thought in leas than a minute, and I told the clerk that I 
would_ come back on another day to sign my declaration of 



I do not take myself more seriously than is necessary in 
order to be taken seriously by others. I always haled cere- 
monies and climaxes of any kind, but on that day I felt some- 
thing that I never had felt before. 1 felt I was giving birth 
to myself. Instead of doing as I had done so often in ques- 
tions of importance, to wait until the moment presented 
itself and then act, I decided to have it out with myself. 

A man who wanted to live his own life, a man who could 
not give himself up to the narrowness of his surroundings, 
who was willing to give up everything, to sacrifice the fruits 
which long years erf study and a professional training would 
have brought him, because he could not accept certain tradi- 
tions and convictions — an iron ring around his head and an 
untransgressable wall enclosing his ambitions— must have 
the ability to forget, to erase out of mind completely what 
has been. Or the thoughts what could have been will come 



050 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



and torture him and make him regret and kill him. 

For years I had not thought. I felt a stranger in m^ own 
past, as I was sitting there in my dark little hall room think- 
ing of my allegiance to my kiag whom I had to abrogate 
in order to become an American citizen. 

A TEACHER paid by him or by the government whose 
earthly impersonation he is, had taught me to read and 
to write. His schools gave* me a military training and the 
military discipline taught me that great lesson millions of 
our brother citizens seem never to have learned: To keep my 
mouth shut and obey orders. 

That was about all that I wanted to say thanks for to the 
country of my birth. I came to this coaclttsk>n after I had 
guided my thoughts through twenty-three years of my life. 
I surprised myself at musings of sympathy and of pity for 
many of those who had been associates of my youth. While 
my country gave me education, I had to go to other 
countries for food to sustain my i:eal self. I had to go to 
the philosophers of Germany, I had to go to the poets and 
artists of France, I had to go to the singei*s and musicians 
of Italy and to the dramatists of England for all those 
essential things that make my real life worth living. And 
then I recollected those months that I had spent in this new 
country of my choice. I remembered how nobody asked me 
questions, how nobody put obstacles in my way, how every- 
body seemed to take me for granted, .looking into my eyes 
and sizing me up as the man I seemed to be. 

I summed up the impressions I had received during^ my 
stay in the United States. The stireets of New York loomed 
up in my mind. I saw the Italian selling his Italian wares, 
the German the products of his country, the French the 
specialties of France, I saw Norwegian and Swedish skippers, 
I saw the ghetto with its typical life, I saw the Armenian 
with his carpets and I saw the Greek and the Turk and the 
Spaniard; in the Metropolitan Opera House there was Ger- 
man and Italian and French opera. The book stores were 
laden with the Anglicised literature of the world. The 
museums bore witness of everything beautiful that had ever 
been created in any part of the world at any age. The most 
remarkable, the most useful, the most beneficial things of 
the universe were brought here, put to the disposal of, an- 
nexed and assimilated by the American. And the American 
himself had come once from one of these countries and had 
taken possession of all that he found and had given in 
exchange for all that he had. 

He had "Come as I did. 

And I realized that to he American means to be coimofoiiian. 
To be cosmopolitan means to be big, to be high^bove 

small hatred and petty jealousy and ill-directed ambition. 

It means to be a brother to mankind, a fellow-builder to this 

world. 

While I had felt the laws of every country that I had 



y 




\ 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 651 



lived in constraining personal liberty of the individual, I 
saw them here apparently made for the protection and for 
the benefit of the citizen. I was young in those davsf 

A PESSIMIST, he who has given up hope, turns easily into 
an enthusiast. Over there in my own country by not 
complying with the average requirements of that particular 
class to whom I belonged by birth and among whom to live 
would have been my fate I hardly could have done anything 
with my life. I always would have been the apostate. * 

Here all paths seemed to me open to any goal I might 
set for myself. I had just finished reading the writings of 
Lincoln and I felt that ever:^body could do things in this 
country. People would consider the merit of things done 
and would not ask, "Who is he-r-why did he do it?" 

I felt they would give me a chance. 

And how I wanted a chance! 

And then I thought what I would do with my life. I de- 
cided to stay here for good, to make America my own 
country. And then and there I bade farewell to the past, 
to my king and to my country. 

I became an enthusiast again. I wanted to give everything 
so as to be worthy to receive. I went uo to that clerk's 
office on one of the next days and made tabula rasa. I swore 
off an allegiance which had become sham without flesh and 
without blood. 

Y^ARS came and years passed. I found that there was a vast 
diflFerence between a Lincoln and the lives of Americans 
I was confronted with every day. I found that not every- 
thing is gold thiit shines. The enthusiasm cleared away like 
clouds— j-beautiful clouds, dreamy, rose-colored clouds, but 
never did I miss the silver lining. 

I know America from East to West and from North to 
South. I know its people, those wonderful people who till 
the soil, who raise cattle, who mine hundreds of yards be- 
neath the surface; I know the people of the city who work 
and scheme and labor and slave. I know the rich who had 
more at the day of their birth than an average human being 
could ever earn in three-score years: I know those wonderful 
geniuses who moulded their lives to their own desires, and 
I know the unfortunates who await on park benches the 
dawn of a new day of misery. 

I KNOW this country, with the beauty of Italy, the romance 
of Spain and of Switzerland, with the marshes and pas- 
tures of France and of Germany. And the people are big- 
minded and big-hearted; they are dreamers but builders, 
lovers of the beautiful but utilizers of beauty; everything that 
is fit to survive — everything that was created to last forever 
is a part of this United States. It is the cosmopolis as a 
whole and in its smallest village. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 653 - 



J-JYPOCRISY it is to hoist the American flag and at the 
same time incite hatred against nations. Just as cosmo- 
politan as the United States are, just as cosmopolitan as its 
people is — and therefore truly American, the American flag 
is the highest and supermost symbol of the universal love 
of the kindred of men. Abolished is the distinction of races. 
Black be the body of a man or white, as long as he has a 
^white soul he is one of us. And white are the stripes, next 
to the red, red as the blood that pulsates in the veins of 
everything that is alive, of everything that is created and 
tnight And its way to the hospitable shores of the land of 
liberty. And the dome of blue arches above all of us in 
all parts of both hemispheres and the stars are there, those 
kind benevolent eyes of eternity which follow us wherever 
we go, that bring peace to our hearts and hope and beauty, 
if we only lift our eyes to find them. 

And because everj, one of the belligerent countries gave 
me an essential part of my life, and because I lived in all of 
them, and because I claimed the United States as my own, 
and because I am looking to our President as to my leader 
and to the United States as my just claimant, I feel that to 
be an American means to be cosmopolitan. 

Guido Bruno 

Some Personal Recollections of Green- 
wich Village 

By Euphemia M. Olcott 

(Continued from, last issue) 

QUR back yard — about 40 x 60 feet — contained a peach tree, 
an apricot tree and a grape vine. These bore plentifully 
and our peaches took a prize one year at the American In- 
stitute Fair. We also had beautiful roses and many other 
flowers. From one back window we could look up to Fif- 
teenth Street* and Sixth Avenue, where a frame Lutheran 
church stood, the singing of whose hymns we could distinctly 
hear on Sunday afternoons. The frame church was replaced 
by a stone one, but that was long since swept away by the 
onrush of business. Where the armory now stands, there was 
a marble yard, and it was one of our pleasures to pick up bits 
of the marble and use them for sharpening the then necessary 
but now obsolete slate-pencil. Just above Fourteenth Street 
on the west side of Sixth Avenue was a plot of ground, sur- 
rounded by a high wooden fence — ^and in this was a building 
from which I first learned the French word "creche." It was, 
of course, a day nursery and we used to stop at the fence and 
watch the little tots whose blue-checked gingham aprons I 
can still see. Ours was a neighbourhood of young married 
people with constantly increasing families — the news of "a 
new baby at our house" being frequently heralded. We all 
knew each other and played together in the little court-yards, 
on the balconies or on the front stoops. Paper doll families 



through ib« city, there were neighborhood children's prsyer 
mcctingi bcid fron ho«se to bou&c. When more active pur- 
yuita were cr&vcd, there was always eppo,rtu>ity t» jump the 
rope or roll the hoople, and several of us achieved the coveted 
distiHCtion of running entirely roiutd the. block through Sixth 
Avenue Xo Fourteenth Street, thence to Seventh Avenue and 
back to Thirteeath Street without letting the boople drop. 
Partner afield was Union Sqoare, to which our nurses ac- 
companied us — B high fence surrounded it and dogs were ex- 
cluded. I do not recall any pump there, but in "The Parftde 
Grouttd" (Washington Square) I frequently turned xt the 
pump and quenched my thirM (roin the puUic tin cup witbont 
fears of germs or any disastrous results. In my grandfatber's 
. backyard at Fourth and Mercer Streets there was also a 
(lump — and to this day I do not understand physics well 
enough to know why was poured a dipper full of water into 
the pump before we could draw any, but we were always re- 
warded with a copious flow. 

Fourteenth Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenud% I have 
seen with three sets of buildings — first, shanties near Sixth 
Avenue from the rear of which it was rumored a bogey would 
be likely to pursue and kidnap us. I rcmeniber the man from 
whom we fled; he was a chimmey sweep of somewhat fierce 
aspect, but I doubt extremely that he had any malicious 
propensities. These shanties were followed by fine brown- 
stone residences, and at the corners of Fifth Avenue lived Mr. 
I. M. Halsted, who had a garden, Mr. Myndert Van Schank, 
chief engineer for years of the Croton Aqueduct, Mr. Moses 
N. Grinnell, and Mr, Hemming, and perhaps earlier, Mr. Suf- 
fern. Some of these, however, I think came when there had 
ceased to be a village. Later on came business into Four- 
teenth Street — but I am passing the village period and getting 
into the time of the Civil War. I must not begin on those 
memories for they would never end,.j|ti<l there was no longer 
any Greenwich Village. 

The old days were good, but I believe in every step of pro- 
gress, and in spite of din and roar in spite of crowds, in spite 
of the foreign population crowdinjt into what long continued 
to be the American section of the city, I still lift my head with 
St. Paul and say, "I am the citizen of no mean city." 
(To be canlinurd) 



BRUNO'S WEfeKty 



From an eld Engliih Chap Btiek 



Quantum Mutata 

'J'HERE was a time id Europe long ago, 

When no man died for {ree<f6m anywhere 
But England's Hon leaping froiA its lair 
Laid handa on the oppressorl tt was so 
While England could a great Republic show. 
Witness the men of Piedmont, chiefest care 
Of Cromwell, when with impotent despair 
The Pontiff in his painted portico 
' Trembled before our stern ambassadors. 
How comes it then that from such high estate 
We have thus fallen, save that Luxury 



Ojcar IVilde 



6S6 BRVNO'S WEEKLY 



Flasks and Flagons 

Bf Frmuis S. SmUms 



'pHY acrid fumes my laggard, sense excite. 

There's war and wrangle hidden in thy heart 
That make one's breast with expectation - start. 
Eager to seek armed enemies to smite. 

Thy savor is a danger and delight* 
For those of valorous souls, the favorite art. 
Thy fire with all mine own becomes a part, 
I yearn to battle madly fdr the right. 

And so far Ukraines' snowy steppes I see 
Pale, shackled Poles to far Siberia led. 
Torn from the gentle pleasance q| their homes. 
And then I yearn to hasten and to free 
Their hands, and trample upon Cossack dead. 
Beneath the shade of Nijuitf' golden domes I 



\ 



QORN in the cloistral solitude and gloom 

Of gray La Trappes and monasteries drear. 
Distilled between the matin mass austere 
And drearier Vespers, thou dost humbly bloom. 

The damp, chill crypts a lighter guise assume, 
And, with thy soothmg perfume, disappear 
Grim thoughts of death and of diurnal fear 
While rosy glamours hover, o*er tHe tomb! 

And when I sip thy cloying sweets, they brinfir 
A faith, not wholly lost, unto my heart; 
I trust a^ain the twitter of the birds; 
Sweet voices as of angels to me sing. 
And strengthened, holier, I can live apart, 
Finding new beauty in the Savior's words. 



Replated Platitudes 

To be diflFercnt from others is a rather hard burden to carry 
on the path of life, but jt is also the one-:aonly pleasure. 

Crowns are not being made to order; the head has to fit. 

Morals are mostly a product of the fear of one's own self. 

We do not worship the Golden Calf any more. It has 
become in the meantime a nice prize ox. 

Whosoever's duty it is to preach to be good should be in 
constant fear of losing his.bread if his listeners should take 
his advice. 

Cafs Paw 



briJno's weekly 



The Sorrow of a Little Violet 

A CONNOISEUR of the real and the beautiful strolled 
through the pleasances of his gardens on a sunny Spring- 
aftcmoon. The tender grass had been daring and the little 
blades were sticking out of the brown earth crumbs here and 
there and reminded one of the scarce yellow feathers of re- 
cently born geese. Bushes and trees were still naked and 
looked rather sordid towards the placid blue heaven. A 
handful of highly potishecT leaves stood close together at the 
knotty root of an old and white-branched tree. They looked 
like remnants of last year's summer glory. There stems 
were short; they had the shape of a heart and they almost' 
lay on the dark withered moss. 

The trained eye* of the connoiseur detected something 
beautiful right beneath, or among those old unpleasant look- 
ing leaves. He stopped, he bent over, and lol he had broken 
a violet; the first one perhaps of the year. The faeautifid 
little head bowed down modestly; it was deep blue, won- 
derful like the deep blue eyes of one true woman. He 
caressed it. He took it home. Busy were the servants of 
his household for the rest of the afternoon. In the s 



^8 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

window, a wonderfully chiselled silver receptacle was placed. 
Vases scented with rare and costly odors from still rarer 
and mystic flowers of th€ Of lent were prepared for its bath. 
Two slaves were in constant attendance to look after the 
comfort and the needs of the newcdmer. 

The little violet was tired. It closed its leaves for a long 
restful night. Early in the morning, almost with the first 
rays of the new sun. the connoisenr came to th^ little violet. 
It lay there in its receptacle filled with perfumed waters. It 
seemd sad, so sad. j 

"Dear little violet" cried the connoiseur, and took it in 
his hands and fondled it and covered its little leaves \^1# 
kisses, "Are you not happy in your nev^ hoftie?" 

"Yes" but this answer sounded 'like the manffesfatiofi of 
utter despair and hopelessness. 

"Did I not provide for you the iliost wonderful ^art erf ffty 
house? Did I not give yotl the rarest petfuiftes fot yorifr 
bath? Did I not send the most skill^fd anto^g Ihy sefv^ts 
to look after your needs? What if it I ovefl^ke^, my ^itt 
little violet? There is no wish on earth that I Will^fiOt mtte 
come true for you the instant you name it." 

There was no answer from the violet. And the ^lettce iS^as 
heavy. The little golden rays danced merrily ut^tf the ^Iver 
vases and gold receptacles. The violet did not andti^er yet. 

"Or is it because I broke you, and you are full of regret?" 

"No not that;" whispered the violet and fts- little head 
drooped down deep on its stem. 

"I am sad because I never can be broken agaiA/' 



w » . ■ -^ ■■ 



Two Things by Cat's Paw . 

Noses 

Noses may be divided into four classes — thtii: Grecian: 
denoting amiability of disposition, equanimity of temper, im- 
agination, patience in labour, and resignation in tribulation, — 
Roman: imperiousness, courage, presence ol miird, choler, 
nobleness of heart. Cat or Tiger: cunning deceit, revenge, 
obstinacy, an4 selfishness. Pug: imbecility of mind, and in> 
decision of character. Of three of these, there are innumer- 
able grades — the Grecian descends' to the pug — ^the Roman 
to the aquiline — but the cat or tiger is suit generis. The 
Grecian nose is most conspicuous in quiet scenes of life — in 
the study. The Roman, in spirit-stirring scenes — in wat. 
Men of science often, and of imagination always, have the 
Grecian nose. Daring soldiers and fearless adventurers gen- 
erally have the Roman. Every one knows what a' pug is. 
We need not enter into any particulars of it — nature forms 
her thousands of them,^nd we regard them not.-7-The Cat or 
Tiger nose: Whoever has the least imagination will . readily 
conceive what we mean by this definition; it is a long, flat- 



^ 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 659 

tish nose, not unlike that of the animals from whom we 
have borrowed the name. Avoid men with such noses— they 
are deceitful friends and dangerous enemies, whenever it suits 
their whim or interest! 

Genius, Talent, Cleverness 

Genius rushes like a whirlwind. Talent marches like a 
cavalcade of heavy men and heavy horses. Cleverness skims 
like a swallow in a summer evening, with a sharp, shrill 
note, and a sudden turning. The man of genius dwells with 
men and with nature; the man of talent in his study; but the 
clever fellow-^andes here, there, and everywhere, like ^ 
butterfly in a hurricane, striking everything and enjoying 
nothing, but too light to be dashed to pieces. The man of 
talent will attack theories — the clever man jissails the indi- 
vidual, and slanders private character; but the man of genius' 
despises both; he heeds none, he fears noqe, he lives in him- 
self; shrouded in the consciousness of his own strength — ^he 
interferes with none, and walks forth an example that "eagles 
fly alone — they are but sheep that herd together." It is true, 
that should a poisonous worm cross his path, he may tread 
it under foot; should a cur snarl at him, he may chastise it; 
but he will not, cannot, attack privacy of another. Clever 
men write verses, men of talent write prose, but the man of 
genius writes poetry. 



I Wonder? 

npHERE are many books written about the stars. And in 
these books are strange bewildering stories of illimitable 
space — of burning suns and double suns — of swirling nebulae 
and cold dead worlds. Of darkness and of prodigious speed. 
And as I stand gazing up into the star dust of the Milky 
Way, I w6nder if they are true — all these stories about the 
Vatican. 

Tom Sleeper 

Tom Sleeper Likes This ButlDoesn't Know lis Anlliorslilp 

YJFE'S little ills annoyed me 

§Vhen those little ills naere few 
And the fine fly in the ointment 
Put mtf in an avtful stew 
Bui e^cPerience has taught me 
The little good to prize 
And / joy to find "some^' ointment 
in my little pot of flies 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 661 

■i^»»i»i«»W»MMi"^»MMiB^MMi»MM— i— —— ^— — — — — — ■ 

■ ' ■ ■ ■ I ■« . . .. . . 1 I I I ■ I I ; ■ . . I ; . J 

partial public, men no more would lament the decline of 
poetry, for here is the greatest song, of love and -war that 
ever was composed, but in seeking a publisher I offer pearls 
in vain, * ^ -. 

Likewise have I written several blank verse dramas of ah 
excellence never before approached in the new world, nor 
ever altogether equalled anywhere, as»far at least, as poetic 
style is concerned, for as master of the classic style I surpass 
even Shakespeare himself. 

. As some slight evidence of the power I claim, I submit 
from a lyric poem containing one hundred and twenty stanzas, 
the following: — 

"When after many mediocre years, 
By reigning scribes and Pharisees made mean, 
The poet that is prophet too appears, 
Through guise most humble is his glory seen: 

Not proud is his approach, nor 'yet serene, 

But like a martyr, bleeding doth he march , * 

fFith only heaven for triumphal arch. 

Till high as Calvary he dares to climb, 

Where sorrow makes his utterance sublime,** 

I .am prepared to appear before any gathering of literary 
authorities and prove in one hour's reading that a poet of the 
highest rank now is living, but never do I expect to be ac> 
corded such slip^ht favor as that. 

Bitterly it reflects upon prevailing conditions, when verse 
so transcendental n)tist be advertised in manner so apparently 
l>latant. For this, will the pharisees that long have rejected 
my work themselves be judged anon. 

They that have denied me would have mocked the Son of 
Mary; would have crowned with thorns the King. 

Nelson Gardner 

An Episode in the Life of a Suffragette 

QHE boarded a very cirowded train. A gentleman got op 
and with a smile and a few kind words offered her his 
seat. She knocked his hat off and exclaimed: 

"How dare you! Aitn I not your equal? I wish to be treat- 
ed exactly like a man! Do you understand me, you fool?'* 

In the revolving door of the dining room in which she de- 
sired to take her dinner she collided with a young gentleman, 
who stepped back to let her pass. 

"Please, ladies first," he said, trying to give the revolving 
door a push. Quicker than a flash she hit him in the middle 
of the face and knocked out five of his teeth. 

"I am no lady!" she screamed. "I am a human being, just 
as you are yourself!" 

The gentleman was very angry, called a policeman and had 
her arrested. 

In the Tombs she smashed everything in the woman's cell 



662 BRUNO'5 WEEKLY 



where she was placed, and assaulted violently three ffuards. 

"I don't want to be brought to a woman's cell,^ she hol- 
lered until she could be heard in the ren^otest corner of the 
prison. "I am the equal of any man here. ^I demand to be 
placed in a man's cell!" 

After she had raved in such a manner and created a lot of 
disturbance she was condemned to solitary confinement. She 
had to be put into S, straight jacket to prerent fier from 
hurting herself. Her diet was reduced to bread and -water. 
And then she started to cry and to scream: 

**Such is the bestiality of men who are masters of the regu- 
tions. In such a detestable way they abuse the wc^k se^! 
I am a lady, and I request to be treated like a ladyl" 

Adultery 

'WASHINGTON SQUARE. A beach near the Garibaldi 
monument. Mamie and Tom jgir.e pla^tig. ]Mamie has 
her wooden doll ip an old cig;^^ l?o;ic. SJie plays witji little 
Tom, "father and niotlie^." Tfte dpll is jttiejr chu4- Tenderly 
Mamie hugs the doll in b,er ^rin^. XotQ) th^ father, has to 
leave them. He ha§ to go out intp the worlcj. He has to 
earn a living. He has to bring food to mother and child. 
Tom passes through the Washington Arch. He crosses the 
street and walks towards Macdougal Alley. On the door- 
step of one of the first houses stands Mary. Mary, the child 
of the lady with the big, black auto. 

Mary walks towards Tom. She shows him her big, beauti- 
ful doll, with its blonde curls ^f real haif, and blue eyes that 
open and close automatically, a doll with a human face. A 
face that looks like his little baby sister. And then she shows 
him the carriage, a real baby carriage, with silk curtains and 
soft pillows. 

And Tom plays "father and mother" with little Mary. 
Mamie is still sitting on the bench i^ear^ the Garibaldi monu- 
ment, rocking her baby and waiting patiently for Tom. The 
father does not come back. And she takes her cigar box and 
her wooden flpH ^^^d moves tp a bepch in the tfkq^t rei^ote 
corner Q^ Xya'shingjtpjti Square South. 

Mamie starts tp c^y heart-br.eakii>gly. 




Clara Ticf, 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 663 










"Sh^H^hn /ie^^Te^t^t^ f^'-^i^^€^ 



nzh.i 



/w/ftr^It^T^ 







From the collection of Patrick Madigan 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Honort d' Balxac. By Aubrey Beardilry 



The Last Petit Souper 

{Graamvich Villac* in tha Air— Atnml) 

By Djuna Samel 

J HAVE often been amused, perhaps becAnse I have not 
looked upon -them with a benign as well as a conscien- 
tious glance, — to observe what are termed "Characters" going 
through the city and into some favorite cafe for tea. 

The proletariat-drinks his brew as a matter^of pure reason, 
how differently does our dilettante drink. 

He is conscious of the tea growing; he perceives it quiver- 
ing in the sun. He knows when it died, — its deatb pan^ 
are beating like wings upon his palate. He feels it is itS 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Russian Ballet. By Djuna Barnei 



most unconscious moment, when succumbing to the court- 
ship of scalding waters. He thrills ever so lightly to its 
last, and by far its most glorious pain.-r-when its life blood 
quickens the liquid with incomparable amber, and passes ii: 
high pomp down the passage of his throat. 

I am not prepared to say that the one gets nothing out 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Draviing. Bf Aubrey Btardtltf 



of bis cup and the other alt, I say only, what a dreary world 
this would be were it not for those charmini^ dabblers. How 
barren and how dull becomes mere specialization. How 
much do we owe to those of us who Can flutter and find 



The public — or in other words that p«rt of ourselves thai 
we are ashamed of — always turns up the lip when a dilettante 
is mentioned, all in a patriotic attempt to remain faithful to 
that little home in the fifties with its wax flowers, its narrow 
rockers and its localisms, and above all, to that mother whose 
advice was always as correct as it was harmful. 

There are three characters that I can always picture lo 
myself. Let us i^U them Vermouth, Absinthe and Yvetle, 
the last a girlish name ordinarily associated with a drink 
transmitting purely masculine impulses. 

Vermouth I used to see sitting over a cold and lonely cup 
of French coffee, between ten and eleven of the momiag, 
marking him, at once, above a position and beneath despair. 

With him he always carried a heayy blonde cane and a 
pair of yellow gloves. 

He would stare, for long minutes together, at the colored 
squares of the window, entirely forgetful of the fact that 
he could not look out. Undoubtedly he was seeing every- 
thing a glass could reveal, and much more. 

Sometimes damson jam would appear beside the solitary 
pot and the French rolls, proving, in all probability, that 
someone had admired and carried off some slight "trifle." 
composed, written or painted in that simple hour of inspira- 
tion. 

He was never unhappy in a sad way, indeed he seemed 
singularly and supremely hap^y, though often beset with 
pains, and sustainmg himself with his cane as he went ont 

If he was sad, one thing alone betrayed it: that quick 
sharp movement of the head, given only to those special 
children of Mature, — the sparrow who cannot rest but must 
fly, and the mortal who cannot fly, and is therefore con- 
demned to rest. 

Then there was Yvette and Ahsintfie. Yvette had his 
God in his hip pocket.' It was unrolled on every occasion, 
and when it was at last uncovered, it turned out to be merely 
a "Mon Dieu, my dear I" whereat it was quickly rolled up 
again, only to come popping out as quickly, like a refrain, 
to do battle with Vermouth's patient "Lieber GottI" 

Yvette's coat was neatly shaped, frayed but decidedly 
gentile. It possessed a sort of indefinite reluctance about 
admitting itself passe. It had what must be called — skirts, 
and Yvette's legs swung imperially beneath them, as the 
tongue of the Liberty Bell beneath its historical metal. 

A soft felt hat was held in a hand sporting several uncut 
stones, standing in relation to jewelry, as free verse to poetry. 
As he passed, one caught the odor of something intricate, 
such as struggles from between the pattern of an Indian in- 



Dravnng. Bf Aubrtj BeardtUj 

cecse burner. And lastly, there came with Yvette, the now 
famous silver wattled cane. 

This cane was tall, alert and partial. It was to him what 
the stem is to the flower. It enhanced as well as sustained 
his bloom, while he meant to life what the candle means to 
the nun. 

Absinthe was like this cane, tall, energetic, but acutely pale. 
He seemed composed of plaster, his lips albne animate and 
startlingly scarlet. He spoke with that distinct English ac- 
cent heard only in America. 

He had a habit of laying bis hands upon his face, presum- 
ably for the same reason ferns are laid beside roses. 

The nails of these hands were long; longer than Japan had 
ever thrust beneath the cuticle of any native Yellow Jacket, 
— and they were silvered or gilded with gold. 

There are moments in the lives of all of us, or shall I say 
some of us, that must be lived in French. As these gentle- 
men had all passed through that stage, dust could, as a con- 
sequence, be discovered upon their discourse, they passed 
each other the snufl boxes-of-their thoughts as though they 
had been antiques, each statement was as carefully preserved. 
In other words they valued that hour. 



670 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

These men summed up all those little alien things that in 
their mother country are merely the dialect of the phyiqne. 
nor were these men ever so pleased with themselves as when 
they were recollecting. 

Yvette had the most unmistakeable traces of foreign so- 
journs of the three; that unconscious product of a conscious 
programme. 

He was a leopard who had chosen his own partictilar spots 
and this- is perhaps, that difference between what ixre cal: 
ourselves, and those other odd ones, who extend their travels 
beyond ours, on into the mental world, on a journey of so- 
called non-reason. 

Yvette was feminine, he could not only Took the part, he 
acted girlish in much that he did. Yet one should have ad- 
mired him instead of ridiculing him, for it gave him the ease 
to say: 

"But my dear fellow, you make a grave mistake. German 
women are not fat, they are merelv plentiful," or his **Ah me. 
I miss the reputations of the boulevards far more than their 
realities." 

Vermouth would smile and answer: — 

"Yes, yes, I know, but just imagine liVing itt a cotmtry 
where one can have miscarriages by telephone and brtlises by 
telegraph." 

Thus one saw how inscrutable Vermouth had gro'wn along 
with Absinthe. Together they had spent too' hxany hours 
contemplating a black tasseled curtain, perhaps becatise of 
what it contained or because of what it concealed. 

He contended that his head was forever in the clouds.^ To 
prove it, he ordered chocolate ice cream and tea, and this at 
twelve at night. For it is a theory of ouf dile'ttante, that 
bad dinners make profound diners, and there he was. 

And here also am I, at the identical point that I wanted 
to reach — the twelve o'clock souper and its sighincance. 
• In the most profound and religious moments of tne philo- 
sopher Marcus Aurelius, he came to this conclusion, that 
each day should be treated as the last. 

And there is the secret of the dilettante. 

He is always about to pass through that incomparable 
hour, the hour before and the hour after the supper that may 
prove the last. And so it is that he, dreaming his dreams, 
making a liquer of his tears to be drunk upon this last and 
holiest occasion, has discovered that little Something; that 
makes the difference between him and the you, -who have 
ordered supplies home for a week. 

And I, who have been in the presence of this thiiig, have 
learned to understand. 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, and 
edited and written by Guido Bruno, both at 58 Washington 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 

Entered as second class mat ter at the Post Office of New 
York, N. T., October 14th, 19 15, tinder the Act of MMrdk 
Id, 1879. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

CiUIDO BRUNO^ 

■ M HIS GARRET 

ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 



Baiat > Urt of Publioationa bntad bj him Sine* hi* Arrival in 
Gramwich VilUga, Which ii Situnled in tha Haart of Naw York 
City. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

scriptive and pictorial P9vier, readintii of wl 
tvil/t a faculty of lifting and selecting, itt reperW. 



Lionet Johnion. tn Acad., March 20, 1897.-. 

Mo. 9. Tanks and Haika, by SiulakicU Hartmann 

The ton of a German father and a Japanese mother, 
of jt burgomaiter't ion from Mecklenburg, the only 
European state viithout a Constitution, and the 
daughter of a roniit, a roving soldier of Old Japan. 
Sadakicki ji much more Japanese than German. His 
Ityie ii extravagant but suave. Same of his short 
stories are as exceuive and intense at Poe's, on strictly. . 
realistic lines. The utmost bounds of expression are 
reached, even hii originality is aggressive J!S 

No. 10. Riehard Wafnar, tha Egoiit, bf Guido Bruno 

.zi 

No. 11. Edna, the Girl of die Street, bj Alfred Krarmborc 

Cause: our social conditions. 
Motive: juit to live. 



No. 12. Songa of the Cosmoa.'bj Charles Keeler 

Like the lueaver of vionderful brocades, he selected 
thread after thread and iij) loomed those vionderful 
pictures before my eyes, creations of simple •words, 
dipped in red blood, tinted by the golden sun, formed 
and shaped- by hands viho know the labors and fains 
of millions scented viilh good-viill towards everybody 
and emitted -with ^pure love 

No. 13. Teaspoon* and Violet Leavei, by Guide Bruno 
No. 14. The Tragedy in the BirdhouM, by Gaido Bruno 



15. Exotic*, by John W. Draper 

It lay a luscious yellow band 
Creaming upon umbrageous green 
The spray ■was satin to the hand; 
And to the eye a topax bright. 
And datxling at the noonday sand. 

From "The Yellow Orchid" 

16. Imagitta, by Richard Aldinston 

One of the original group of the English Imagisis 
tells all about Imagiim and its aims. This paper 



674 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

deals a severe blovo to all imitators and producers of 
vers litre vuhor think themselves poets of the '^nevj 
group** because they don't write in rhyme 25 



No. 17. Lord Alfred l>oagliM-— Salome: A Critique, the Beauty 

of Uapaiietiialitjr: an Essay and Three Poems. 

There noas a time when Lord Alfred Dou^as 
would have laughed at the idea that he would virite 
a book explaining away his friendship with Oscar 
fTilde. As editor of "The Spirit Lamp" a magazine 
published by James Thornton, High Street, Oxford, 
and edited by l.ord Alfred Dvuglas, he seemed to be 
a diligent imitator of his friend Oscar. He imitated 
his style in prose and in poetry. Whenever he re- 
ceived a contribution from Oscar fVilde it was the 
main and leading feature of the issue ^5 

No. 18. Sadaldchi Hartniann«— Permanent Peace: is it a 

Dream? 

.25 

No. 19. Charles Kains-Jaokson — John Addmgton Symonds: A 

Portrait 

The life-long friend Af the English poet gives a 
vivid picture of the personality and life and Itfe-work 
of Symonds. This essay was written a few days after 
the death of Symonds, on the 19/A of April, 1893, and 
was first published in the Quarto a since forgotten 
literary periodical of England, in 1897 2S 

No. 20. Djuna Barnes— The Book of RepulsiYe Women — 8 
Rhjrthms and 5 DrsMnirs 

.25 

No. 21. Edna W. Underwood — ^The Book of the White 
Peacocks 

.25 

No. 22. H. Thompson Rich — ^Lumps of Clay — 16 Rhythms 

.25 

No. 23. D. Molby — Hippopotamus Tails. — 28 E^ery-day 
Musinifs 

.25 

No. 24. H. Thompson Rich — ^The Red Shame — 17 War Poems 

.25 

No. 25. Theodor Schroeder, Erothogenesis of Religion» a 
bibliography 

.50 

No. 26. Sadakichi Hartmann, My Rubayat 

.50 

No. 27. Mushrooms, by Kreymborg 

^ .50 
No. 28. Oscar Wilde: Impressions of America 

.50 



_'* ^ • 



appear even lower than before the fire, that mercifully wanted 
to assist Father Time, but did not succeed, in destroying 
prematurely this oldest of all the houses in Greenwich Vtl- 
lase. 

And now the landlord has put a roof over my head, made 
minor repairs here and there, and if the' winds do not blow 
too wildly and the snow does not fall too heavily, I will be 
safe until the mild spring winds usher in friend summer. 

It is a real garret and be it not the quaintest in New York, 
surely it is down here in Greenwich Village, 

The little shack which at present shelters Bruno's Weekly, 
Bruno Chap Books and myself, is nearly one hundred years 
old. It was the tool-house of a city undertaker, the residence 
of Governor Lucius Robinson and a stage-house where the 
stage-coaches stopped and waited until the mail was deliv- 
ered and new mail taken on, it was a road-house where people 
used to come to spend their Sunday afternoons, and then in , 
quick succession, it was a saloon and an inn. 

In the same rooms where a city undertaker prepared the 
bodies of the city's poor for their last resting-place on Wash- 
ington Square, then Potter's Field, where a Governor lived 
and held splendid receptions, where weary travelers found a 
night's lodgitig before they continued their journey towards 
Albany, I am sitting and writing these lines by the light of 
a.11 old kerosene oil lamp. It is Sunday. The lawns on the 
^Square are covered with mud, mud that had intended to be 
^snow. will soon be soft green and the trees budding with 
new life. The population of little Italy, back on Third street, 
is taking its weekly airing at the feet of their beloved Gari- 
baldi on the Square, the buses bring joy riders from the far 
-ijorth points of the city; and I think — how wonderful is life. 
•?rom 1789 to 1823 Washington Square was a potter's field 
where the fountains. Washington's Memorial Arch, asphalt- 
J walks and the homes of^many aristocrats stand, the poorest 
of the poor of our city_were once buried in nameless graves 
by the thousands- 
Number 58 Washington Square, the corner of West Third 
Street, formerly Amity Street, an old time fashionable thor- 
oughfare, is the most forlorn looking two-story frame build- 
ing that can be found in Greater New York. It saw its best 
days when the horse-drawn street cars were in vogue. 

Historians of Manhattan Island have known that Wash- 
ington Square in its early years, was the burial field of the 
poorest of the city,' But no chronicler has ever told the name 
of the grave-digger. Hidden away in the records of the Title 
Guarantee & Trust Company is his hame. Daniel Magie. And 
more than the name is the interesting fact that in 1819 he 
purchased from John Ireland, one of the big merchants, the 
comer plot, now 58 Washington Square South, 21 x 80 feet, 
the same dimensions to-day. For this little plot $500 was 
paid, and there very likely, Mr. Megie built a wooden shack, 
where he could keep his wooden tools and sleep. 



676 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

-^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

The potter's field had formerly been on Union S<)uare. A 
little before 1819 the latter was fitted up more appropriately 
as a park, and the potter's burying grotmd moved westward 
to Washington Square, then an out-of-the-way part of the 
city. For three years Daniel Megie held the official position 
of keeper of the potter's field, and as such hisf name appears 
in the directories of 1819, 1820 and 1821. Then the square was 
abandoned as a burial place and the potter's field moved 
northward again to Bryant Park. Mr. Megie by this change 
evidently lost his ibb, for in 1821 he sold his Washington 
Square corner to Joseph Dean, and two years later the latter 
sold it for $850. It was about ten years later before prices 
showed any great advance. Then fashion captured the park, 
and, despite the enormous growth northward, the aroma of 
fashion still permeates the square, and the fine old fashioned 
houses on the north side continue to be occupied by some 
of the first families of the city. 

It is a singular fact and one that the old real estate rec- 
ords do not explain, that thfs our corner was never fully 
improved. It is still covered for its depth of eighty feet with 
two-story wooden buildings, the corner being an ice cream 
store, and they present a decidedly incongruous appearance 
by the side of the fine old houses adjoining. 

Tradition in the neighborhood states that these wooden 
buildings were once a tavern and one of the stage headquar- 
ters in the days of the early stage lines. In 1825, Alfred S. 
Pell, of the well known family, bought the plot for $1,000. In 
1850 his heirs sold it to Frederick E. Richards and he trans- 
ferred it to Peter Gilsey in 1897 for $9,100. In 1867 John de 
Ruyter bought it for $14,650, and then Samuel McCreer>' 
acquired it in 1882 for $13,500 — showing a lower valuation. 

Early in the past century, John Ireland, who sold the cor- 
ner to the grave-digger, owned the entire plot of about 100 
feet front on the square, extending through to Third Street, 
then known as Amity Street. The fifty foot plot adjoining 
the corner is now occupied by two fine old houses similar in 
architecture to those on the north side of the, square. Each 
cover a twenty-five foot lot, being 59 and 60 Washington 
Square, respectively. The latter is Hnown as the Angelsea 
and has for years been a home for artists. The plot at 59 was 
also sold in 1819 by John Ireland for $500 to James Sedge- 
berg, a drayman, and it included the use of the 19 foot alley- 
way on Thompson Street, now covered by a three story brick 
house. James N. Cobb, a commission merchant, got the 
property with the house in 1842, and kept it until 1881, when 
his executors sold it to Samuel McCreery. 

BRUNO CHAP BOOKS 

BOUND IN BOARDS 

VOLUME I, $2.50 
VOLUME II, $2.00 



Oatalogueft of Exhibits 



CUra ric« (7 PUto*) 

TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-EIGHT DRAlf- 
INGS BY CLARA TICE exfreuing her oiun conctf- 
turn af the loliiet and frolici of hir . contemporaries 
(male and female.) Tacked, from the tenth until the 
twentieth day of May, 1915, on the luatlt of BRUNO'S 
GARRET, lituated at 58 IVashington Square, opfotke 
the But Station 

Barnhanlt WaU (S PUtoa) 

Ntvi York bat iti new romancer. Another -O. 
Henry ii among us. A man ivho conveyi to us the 
life of the four million, tuho ihovii us the New 
Yorker as he it, as he lives and loves: at hii weri. 
0. Henrif, the unsurpassed master of observation, of 
oBservatton from among those thai he observes, cre- 
alei pictures in vivid colors ■with his viords. Bern- 
hardt ffall tells us stories, stories that never could 
be told in viords, in kit etchings 

Book-Plates wHh Nudaa (17 Platea) 



C*rlt«n Wtinsli — W»man aiul Minxea : 

.27 

QUAINT AND ODD BOOKS 

ANCIENT AND RARE FASHION PLATES, BOOK PLATES 

AND BOOKS ON BOOK PLATES. 

IN BRUNO'S GARRET, E8 Wuhinston Sqmn. 

CoU«ctors *M Inntod. 



678 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

PttUklMd hf CkarlM Edison, son of the InToMtor, and 
oditod hf Gvido Bruno in his Garrat on Waaliiiision 
Sqnuro. 

MUSIC, DRAMA, HISTORY, LITERATURE^ ART 
DRAWINGS. 

YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION, TWO DOLLARS. 

Samplo Copy Upon Raqoosk. 



THE MEXICAN BOARDER 

A POEM BY CHARLES EDISON 
250 CopM* Printod 
at 27 CenU Each. 



ACCOMPANY EACH ORDER WITH CHEQUE; 
SMALL AMOUNTS, IN ONE^^ENT STAMPS. 

GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
58 WASHINGTON SQUARE, N. Y.C. 



UtE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 




tm imtMmm Gifts 

■laAr ar Ui Mta for vvgUm wIm lukv* boM 
iliF to aoloet far thmaatlTMb «r for thooo who Iumt* b*! ammb !• tik 
It book BUtfta Whr Mt bogta ooltoettev bowT 



ddressy E. V., Boston Trmntoripl, Boston, Mam. 

BUY BOOKS 



COLLECTOR," Cw« of BbtHM*s WmUj, M WimIOivIm S«. 
For Hoiisea» Aj^vtiaaits or Rooom^ Sm 

PEPE & BRO. 

SBAL B8TATB AND ZNSURANCB 

40Stt. WaahiagftBa aqmra 
'•l«pll«— 4110 Sprittg Co>w olMiidOooial Str— t 

I N W H I C H 

'Stdmit 4tf 75€ Sgfnd dvimu m DttfU^ MUki^mu It i$ m IM0 
^0ok wmiqudf UhuirMUd, fFrki fw $mmpU €)»#jr. 



CHARLES KEELER 

IN RECITALS OF HIS OWN POEMS 



THE ViCfORT Sa og » of TrhnaplL Prico, ono dollar 

ELFIN SONGf OF SUNLAND. Tkkd odiitiott. a P. Piiiiiaiii*o 
SoiMi Now York & Londoii. Price $1.50. 

SONGS OF A WANDERER. In manttacrii*! 

THE IHRROR OF MANHATTAN, lammmmm:^^ 

DANCE RYTHMS. la moauscriiit. 

Mr. Koolor roolfeoo ooloctioni Ivom oil tko jAoto mi4 Kk vmriod 
•ad oaiquo programs aro full of intoreat and inapiratson betk 
in dia tost and dolirofy. 

In N«w York and ^Maistf nntfl Jnaa. Now kooUng <■!■■ lot 
California Tour in June, July and August. 

For Urma aod pnitioalnn and for oopioa of hia^boofca, nddi 

LAURENCE J. GOMMB 



a Baal t9lh Strool Now York CHr 



The Diamond Disc Shop 
at Number 10 Fifth Avenue 

Ib Au store, at least, die deBgfatfoI atmos- 
pliere of Old Grecmrich ViiUfe has not bea 
sacriHced ni Ae altar of commerdaHsB 

A r-ni wlD kfafl r^ wRk Mr 
ri»[nwim», aa iitarwHw bah 

nam : Starmuit 4570 hagrMhr tf lb- Am. a. EAm 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



^ 



o-iMTa. 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ION WASHINGTON SQUARE 

riT* Ceiiti May 6th, 1916 



By bloody knout or tretRheroui _ cannonadtJ 
Rob nations of their rights inviolate 
And I remain unmoved — and yet, and yet, 
Tkeic Ckriifs that die upon the bar^ieadei. 



How the News of the Fall of Vicksburg 
Reached Greenwich Village* 

By Euphemia M. Olcott 

'T'HE Civil War covered the moat impressionable part of ray 
life. Well do I remember being roused by the "Extras" 
in the night which proclaimed the original attack upon 
Sumter, I sprang from my bed, and from the third story 
hall saw my mother gazing up from the second, asking, "Do 
you hear? Itvhas come." Then followed the four years of 
such living as we hope and believe our country will never 
see again. Of course, every day saw the enlistment of rela- 
tives and friends — of course I stood in the street and saw 
tbeSeventh and the Twenty-second Regiments of the New 
York militia go off — with many friends of my own age going 
with them. I may say parenthetically that, after fifty years, 
I saw, from the same spot in Lafayette I^lace, the Seventh 
Regiment start over the same route, the veterans either on 
foot or in carriages. And from the olfl Oriental Hotel, kept 
by the same ladies, floated the same flag — with the stars all 
there, saluted alike by veteran and the boys of to-day. 

In those days there was great intimacy between our family 
and the Roosevelts, and we always witnessed parades from 
the house of Mr. C. V. S. Roosevelt, grandfather of "Teddy," 

'/ am indebted for thii itory to Mr. Henry Collins Brovin, viht 
save me permisiion to extract it from hti beautiful "Book of Old 
Nevi York," printed by him privately for collectort. 
Copyright 1916 by GuiJo Bruno 



m> BRUNO'S WEEKLY I 

ai the corner of Fourteenth Street and Broadimiy, with a 
Karden •tretching down toward Thirleenth Street, through 
whose green gate we entered when the stoop was crowdeiJ 
by tha public. From those windows I saw the Prince c: 
Wales, afterwards Edward VII, and from that roof I gazci: 
upon the immense mass meeting which expressed the loyalty 
ot the North, which was memorably addressed hy Henry 
Ward Beecher, and the scarcely less eloquent George W, 
Bethune, D. D. I remember how on that day we gazed i 
Utile doubtfully at the mother of President Roosevelt — lovely 
and dear always — because, forsooth, she came from Georgia, 

The call of the President for 75,000 troops met with instani 
response, and from all sections of the country we kept hear- 
ing of relations and friends who were expecting speedily tn 
advance "On to Richmond." A|asl it took the disastrous Bull 
Run and many similar events to make tjs realize that >t was 
not a three months' war. Many, many friends never came ! 
hack, and when, years afterwards, 1 heard Joseph Cook say. 
"I belong to a decimated generation." I knew that he and I 
were contemporaries. 

But there were victories. As I write these words, the fif- 
tieth anniversary of Gettysburg Is being celebrated. AH 
through the hrst, second and third diya of July, 1863, v/e 
kept getting word of success. On the night of the Fourth 
we were on our roof, watching the skyrockets, pot then con- 
cealed by skyscrapers, and the sound of extras arose. "More 
news from Gettysburg," we cried, and haitened down, my 
father being the first to get to the street. From the front 
door he shotited, "It ian't Gettysburg'-^Viekaburg has surren- 
dered," and of. course our joy knew no bound*. Then fol- 
lowed an illumination— how often I think of it us I go along 
(he "great white way"— for electricity was then only har- 
nessed to telegraph wires and a little tallow dip in each pane 
satisfied our ideas of brilliancy. 

On the nineteenth of that July I left New York with a 
merry party for a summer outing in New Hampshire. At 
Bellows Palls we had to wait for a train from Boston, and 
when it came, there wer« extras again. And lal they told 
us of the draft riots in New York, which had been so peace- 
ful that morning. My father was atill in the city, and of 
course he did patrol work, as every one else did who was 
on the right side. 

I have not spoken of the groat fair of the Sanitary Com- 
mission, and I am not sure in which year It occurred, bnt alt 
women and girls consecrated their time and thsir money, 
with what results the world knows. Nor have I mentioned j 
how boys and girls alike scraped lint and rolled bandages 
and made "Havelocks" during classes in school— and doubt- i 
less sent them off laden with germs which would make the ' 
surgeons of to-day shuddet and turn pale. . So we lived— | 
and at last the troops did get to Richmond and the day of 

President, ah me I I sometimes, think the gay and happy j 
young people of the next generation have not known what 
living means, even if they did have a bit of a taste of war ' 
during that hot summer when we liberated Cuba and took 
upon ourselves the responsibility of the Philtipines. 



the prima donna chosen for the demonstration, and the first 
aODg was "Vissi D'Arte," from Puccini's "Tosca." The music 
began and one was immediately caught by the beauty of the 
aound, the "human" quality of the voice, throbbing through 
the air, now rbing, now falling in waves of melody. One 
CQuld shut one's eyes and almost swear it was a woman 
singing. Suddenly the music increased in volume; we looked, 
Madame Rappold had joined in; just as suddenly, she ceased 
but the voice continued. Again and again the test was made; 
it was impossible to distinguish between the singer's voice 
and the voice given forth by the Cabinet; impossible. Every 
tightest tone, every shade of emotion, the tremolo of fear, 
the triumphant pulsing of joy, even the indescribable sense 
of tears m the voice were perfectly reproduced. Criticism 
was silenced. 

With wonder and curiosity mingled we waited for the dem- 
onstration with the violin. In this test, too a violinist ap- 
peared and played, now atone, now with the instrument; at 
one moment you heard the Cabinet alone, then the violinist 
joined in, the volume of sound Increased, but the sound wat 
the same, absolutely the same, indistinguishable, identical 
The miracle was accomplished. 



(hHJ BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



No wonder Mr. Edison wrote of this invention: "It is the 
greatest thing I've ever done — almost a new art." Hence- 
forth it will be possible for anyone ^o listeif to the greatest 
music in the world by his own fireside. 

It is only right to say that the demonstration with the 
piano was not anything like so wonderful, whether this was 
due in part to the size of the hall or not, I could not say; 
but the recreation was not perfect. Mr. Fuller warned us 
beforehand that Mr. Edison regards this part of his work as 
still experimental, and there it must be left until the. w^izard 
takes it in hand again and does for the piano what he has 
done for the voice and the violin. But as both voice and 
violin are incomparably more complex than the piano, it is 
certain that sooner or later the repro'duction of the piano, 
too, will be brought to perfection. » 

Meantime one can rest and be thankful for what has al- 
ready been done. One can now sit in one's own room in the 
evening and hear Anna Case or Marie Rappold in "Vissi 
D'Arte," or in "Mimi" in all comfort. One can have Spaulding 
at command or Marie Kaiser whenever one pleases. 

The world's debt to Edison has been enormously increased. 

The Movies and the Press 

FACT in explanation of the popularity of the movies 
is the co-operation between the film magnates and the 
newspapers. It is not generally known that the publication 
in the newspapers of some, if not all, of the continued stories 
which are synchronously displayed in films in the moving 
pictures theaters, are paid for by the movie magnates. Not 
alone are those stories printed much as are paid advertise- 
ments, but the newspapers printing tliem are p*lid a certain 
royalty on the film presentations of the stories in the theaters 
of the district covered by the circulation of those newspiapers. 
The advantage of this arrangement to the newspapers and to 
the moving picture houses is so evident as to be in no need 
of demonstration. In the face of such a poyrerful combina- 
tion there seems to be slight prospect of any resuscitation of 
the spoken drama. The interest of the newspapers is^with 
the moving picture institution. There is no such heavy 
interest of the press in the encouragement of the revival of 
the drama proper. The old style theatrical advertising hardly 
amounted to enough to make newspapers participants in 
theatrical prosperity. There is more newspaper participation 
in the movie profits. Practical journalism's success in getting 
in on the movie profits shows that the newspaper business 
will never again make the mistake it niade with regard to 
baseball. The newspapers exploited baseball to such an 
extent that they created a public craving for baseball news 
and now they must cater to that craving. They print more 
baseball news than any other kind. They pay sporting writers 
better than any^ other kind. They permit those writers to 
exploit themselves. They turn loose their artists on the 



^fe^r^* -->-%■ 



the public? Can they arrange to get more than the Sunday 
page announcements of coming shows? And can they put 
a stop to the appearance of condemnatory criticism of their 
offerings? There ii no journalistic criticism of the movies. 
These are practical questions concerning-thc terrific vogue 
of the new mechanical form of dramatic representation. 
Professor Muensterberg and others say that the movie is 
an art-form, but that is disputable. But if the movies are art, 
must not the social philosopher find in this realm of human 
expression and its current crescent vogue another demonstra- 
tion of the potency of economic determinism? The news- 
paper -taiVie cotnbination is economic. It is a factor 
determining movie development as either a business or an 
art, as surely as the cheapness of movie entertainment is 
such a factor. There is nothing reprehensible in this. It is 
simply a fact we must accept. How it will work out finally 
no one can say. It has apparently killed the spoken drama, 
commercially. But it has made for the publication and the 
wide reading of literary plays. It has brought intO' being 
such an organization as the Drama League and innumerable 
societies for the study and acting of plays for the plays' sake. 
It has built "little theaters" and brought about the vogue 
oi the country theater. It has encouraged amateur acting 
and it may bring about a revival of the professional stock 



interests aver that certain influences have nscd the movies in 
the interest of Prohibition by persistent representation of the 
evils of tlrink. The films have been preaching "Preparedness," 
Thev have been made special pleaders for the Germans and 
for the Allies. They are used to educate the farmers in 
agronomic efficiency. And now the Chicago "Public" offers 
a prize for the best moving picture scnaHo of a film drama 
to preach the social efficacy of the Single Tax. Bnt the 
combination of the movies and the press is the moat signicant 
development of the situation. Will the movies finally dom- 
inate the press or vice versa? Is man. as Samuel Butler 
prophesied, to be dominated by the machine that will not 
only do his work but direct his thinking? 

fCilliam IHarioa Rtedy 

Mother 

IL| V mother is dead. Nothing is left of her. She has disap- 
peared from this world. 

Whenever she was being dressed or coifTeured for the 
theatre, for dinner or for a reception I was in despair as a 
child and like in death agony. Her leaving^otir home in the 
evening hurt me indescribably. The governess said; "Look 
what a beautiful mother yon have! . . ." Nobody under- 
stood my grief. She went out info that world which was 
not ours, and even with pleasure she went. I was deeply un- 
happy. The rooms with the lighted candelabras seemed to 
me like the result of a destructive war, as after an accident. 
The mirror over the dressing table, the receptacles with 
fragrant waters which had served to manicure her hands, her 
dressing gown and her little slippers, everything was in dis- 
order. No one had thought of my pain; not the old faithful 
cook, nor the ever-giggling chambermaid, nor the goverhess. 
Tliey were sitting together, gossiping, and happier than ever. 
But I had lost my dearest, whilst the others ha<r ■((ftn an 
"evening off." 

A few days ago at the nighMy hour of 2 o'clock in the 
morning, I stood in front of the house. I was looking up at 
the dark windows in the second story.- Here then at aBoUt 
the same quiet hour, had lain my beautiful mother in iiide- 
scribable pain, and had brought me into the world. J seemed 
to hear my first whining. I saw mother exhausted tt> death, 
fulfilling her duty towards life. I was there, too. The faith 
of my being was irrevocable. I hollowed, but the midwife 
most likely said; "OhI What healthy lungs!" Now 1 am 
standing here in front of these windows at the same hour 
of the night and seem to hear again mother's moaning. I am 
bald-headed and pretty well demoralized and forty-eight 
years of age, and didn't succeed in anything, notwith stand mg 



yia the Egoiil, London 



Passing ParU 

April ISth, 1916;' 
ALTHOUGH it may sometimes be the outcome of lack 
ot confidence, in di fife re nee to popularity Is always es- 
timable albfit the qualities it evinces may be ot a negative 
order. It may sometimes be due to unintelligibility. which In 
its ttifn may proceed from (I) of course, a superior intellect 
whose workings are beyond immediate reach; (2) from a 
natural idiosyncracy; (3) from the use pf dru^s (as in 
Raimbaud); (4) from af^ectstion, it being almost impossible^ 
to distinguish the last-named category with certainty. M. 
Sebastien Voirol, by whom we give one of the most lucid 
ot the poems he sent in his La Feoille de Laurler Tncolore 
mais Verte (sic) to soldiers at the front, does not, I believe. 



wriyiig. He has, apparently, come to use words in some 
parallel, rather than in their direct, sense. Mallarmc's mo-r 
hermetic pages must be M. Voirol's pet delectation. Ail 
his work, whether in poetry or in prose {L'Eden, ^a^rak^ 
el Talismans, Les Sandales aux Larmes), is written ■with the 
loftiest disregard for conventional coherence, but always with 
a species of literary gentility which commands admiratioD 
and sympathy. It is possible that words have some mystic 
significance for M. Voirol, to which he has the key; it is 
possible that to him they are images in themselves; it is 
possihie that to him they have a life outside and beyond their 
meanings; it is possible he condenses and triturates and 
dilutes them till he reaches their soui and spirit, and it i: 
these he distils for us. It is possible that, like many an 
alchemist of old, his labour is futile of results, and that he 
expects more of language, as they did often of their chemi- 
cals, than it can give. . . . It is possible, on the other 
hand, that it does open on to a new world, or at least on lo 
one of which he has the intuition and vision — it is possible 
il opens on to nothing. At all events it opens on to nothing 
. that is vulgar or commonplace and certainly an to something 
that is distinguished in its singularity. M. Voirol's respect 
of language must be respected, his tenacity to his conviction; 
admired, his desire of the decorative eminently approved of. 

M. Sebastien Voirol is the Secretary-founder of the, Anglo- 
French Literary Bureau, to which reference has been made 
in these columns as aiming at establishing a link between 
French and British literary circles. 

Muriel Cietiavika. 
Extract from a Utter to the London Egoilt 
Appropriate Name* 

In looking over an old New York Almanac, a curiou? 
gentleman found the following names, than which it would 
be difficult to imagine any more admirably adapted to the 
professions or trades of the persons by whom they were 
borne. Dunn, a tailor; Giblett and Bull, butchers; Trnefit, 
a wigmaker; Cutmore, an eating-house keeper; Boilet, a fish- 
monger; Rhackem, an attorney; Whippy, a saddler; Breadcut, 
a baker; Goldman, an undertaker, Wicks, a tallow-chandler; 
and ^ringlow, an apothecary. 

Epitaphi in « Connecticut Cburcliyanl 

(The <wife diet.) 

Weep not for me, my husband dear — 

I am not dead, but sleeping here. 
{The huiband diet) \ 

Vour husband dear has ceased to weep, ^ 

And here with you will lie and sleep.' 



Perhaps 

QNCE in olden times, so it is writ, there was a King of 
the Ea>t who possessed a. copy of each of the known 
books of the world. Being a busy monarch, what with his 
wars and his many affairs of state, the King felt the need of 
a condensed tompendium of the learning contained in his 
library for his own private use, and ordered his wise men to 
prepare it. In twenty years' time they brought him an ency- 
clopedia which twenty camels might carry. But the King 
had not time to read so much as that. The wise men labored 
afresh reducing the matter to what one camel might carry. 
But still the monarch demurred. "Take it, and put it into 
the least possible compass," said he; "I am now old and must 
possess this knowledge in a form that I may take it in a 
glance." Then, at last, his worthy servants came to him 
bearing a simple leaf of the papyrus upon which was written; 
Thii it the hUlory of mankind: They viert born; they 
sxgertd; and they died. And the quintessence of all science, 
of all knowledge, is this:* Perhaps. 



688 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Flasks and Flagons 

Bf Francis S. Saitus 

Tokai 

GLASS of thy reviving gold to mc, 
Whether or no my dreamy soul be sad, 
Brings souvenirs of lovely Vienna, glad 
In her eternal summer-time to be! 

I hear in joyous trills, resounding free, 
The waltzes that the German fairies bade • 
The souls of Sta'auss and Lanier, music mad, 
Compose, to set the brains of worlds aglee. 

And in the Sperl, dreaming away the sweet 

Of pleasant life, and finding it all praise. 

Dead to the past and scorning Death's surprise, 

I see in calm felicity complete 

Some fair Hungarian Jewess on me gaze 

With the black glory of Hebraic eyes! 

Rum Panch 

THE world to give thee lasting fame combines 

Jamaica sends thee stjgar cane, o'er seas; 
And pungent spices frOm the Antilles, 
Lend thee the perfumes of the southern vines. 

France gives the crimson sorcery of her wines, 
Mongolia lavishes her yellow teas, 
And to endower thee with rafe mysteries, 
Sicily yields her lemons and sweet pines. 

Thou dost recall to me days debonair, 
And visions of the Quarter Latin, where. 
Chatting around thy bluish spectral light 
Insouciant students and alert grisettes 
Drank thee while puffing regie cigarettes, 
Mocking with merry song. the startled flight! . 



Wilde's Masterpiece 



'HERE is one book Oscar Wilde gave to the. world, and 
that alone is worth more than all that a hundred bthers 
did. This is "The Picture of Dbtlah Otey." J^st abstract 
from the plot and read for the sake of the b^atlty of each 
sentence and of the beauty expressed in each sentehcfc. I 
know it is a revelation to almost everybody who feally l^eads 
it. I have given this book to ever so msiny men attd women 
who didn't know it, and I know I gave them a new value 
for^ their lives. The English is masterful. The situation 
pictures and the scenery, unsurpassed, and what a Wealth of 
new worlds^of unknown worlds of beiauty to the average 
being. There he mentions rare and wonderful boqks, of 



Books and Magazines of the Week 

Mtigaiiatt Galore 

•pHE year tiineteen-sixteen will be known to the historian 

of: American literature as the one blessed with many neW 
magazines. In New York in Chicago, in St. Louis, in Kansas 
City and in little jjlaces of whose existence we never even 
dreamt, they have been born. Eighty-four are lying before 
me, all in the early teens. Names? What do they matter? All 
of them hare one aim— to redeem suppressed voices. Some' ■ 
acknowledge frankly bemg ■'one-man" magazines. They want 
to run a hole mto the universe. Poor'ladsl They will find 
a hole in their pockets and a roof over their enthusiasm. 

Instead -of looking throughthe rootless houBeof a beauty 
thirsty soul to the skies and to the stars— and might it be 
only one star, framed by a hall*room window— they will 
droop their heads and try to adjust the price they must pay 
for their venture If they only see the humorous side of it, 
they will get a, bushel of fun in return for every dollar and 
every wasted printed page. 

"^■ify 'h^re are others who desire to riln competition with' 
established periodicals of good standing. They pride them-^ 
selves m having won '^big names" for ttieir initial issue. 

tA'r'u^ "'"■*' V* °^^'=" **"* ^■'"Pfj' had to do if, they 
cpuldn t help to gather a basketful of love and beauty and de- 



I have it 



d Idealism and distribute it among those that wish t 



The whole number of Bw.no*. Weekly for Saturday, May 
13th, 1916, Wfll U deroted to Frank HarH.; What he 
I to tli« litarature dt the worid and hii partieular 
>•> the Toun* writer and artfata of America. 



They know it won't last long but it means life to th- 
aa long as it lasts. And they are the men who will eventui 
fail in their venture, but they will come back and will cor 
back again. 

And if considerable time elapses and you fail to hear U r 
them, you fail to see a new venture of theirs, you can take 
for granted that they are not among the living, that tY.i 
have passed to happier hunting-grounds — where there are r 
printer bills to pay, where one doe.s not need to settle 2. 
counts with paper mills. 

Significant for the endeavors of publishers in America ha.' 
a century ago is the publisher's note that appears at the co. 
elusion of Ihe first volume of Putnam's Magazine, publnt.c 
1853 by the since befamed Putnam & Company, of Ne-w Vo.-i 

"Although before publishing our prospectus, we made surr 
of abundant literary help, and gave the names of many oi li. 
distinguished writers who had assured us of their hear: 
sympathy, and promised us contributions, yet our coavictio- 
was that our best aid would come from Young America 
whose name had not yet been announced on Magazine cove;: 
And so w« determined not to give the names of the co^i- 
tributors to our Monthly, that each article might stand cr 
it» own merits, and the "young unknown be presented '■■> 
the public on a perfect equality with the illustrious cor- 
tributor whose name, alone, would giva bim an audience 

§T, in literature, Ihe nev^cemer ii alivayt trealed as aa intrudr 
y this course we missed the clipping of hands and bravo- 
which we might have commanded by announcing the namt- 
of some of our contributors, but we are so \,«" satisfied wii. 
the result of the experiment that we shall adhere to the rul; 
hereafter,' 

Perhapa it is worth while to exhibit some of the'mysteric- 
of Magazine-making, and let our countrymen kno'w how muc 
intellectual activity contributors, four hundred and mgii'y- 
nine articles, the greater part from writers wholly unknov.: 
before. . . . Every article that we have published hi- 
been paid for at a rate which their writers have thoug.':; 
"liberal," all have been original, the product of American 
pens and with one exception, we believe that all were wrilici. 
for our columns." 

(Publishers of our agel Gol and do like wise I) 

Liars 

J^ WARM July evening in the little park near the railroai 
station. Half an hour before the anHval of the Twen- 
tieth Century Limited. Under a wide-sprexding tree Peatl 
and Bill nestled in the shadow of darkness. 

Pearl embraces Bill gently, tenderly, clings to him, kisse^ 
his lips and eyes repeatedly. From a nearby amusement park 
the sound of music borne by the wind. And now, clearly dis- 
tmguished the strain: 

"Glow, little glow-wOrn, glimmer, glimmer " \ 



'TWO (Jays later in the city. 

Bill lounges on the couch of his hotel room. Nestled up 
to him — Mae. Her black hair is disheveled. The brown, hazel 
eyes are laughing. The little white teeth, the fresh red lips, 
the dimples in the cheek — everybody cheer and happiness. 

And she kisses him again and again: "Finally you camel 
I didn't know what to do with myself in that lonely, lone- 
some town and so I came up here to meet you. And to- 
morrow we shall travel home together and if the sun shines 
as today it will be glorious I" 

"Billy, my Billy " She kisses hin 

the dining room through the open windov 

there sounds: 

IN the parlor of Pearl's mother. 

It is evening. The light is not turned on. 

Pearl leans against the window sill. 

At her side — Arthur — cheek against cheek. 

"Your mother stays away long today and in the meantime 
I can caress ., . . can kiss you." 

And he kjsses her: "Do yoiyreally care for me?" > 

"If you could only feel how I love you, Pearl, my darlingl 

"And you really love me?" 

And she throws her arms about his neck and she looks' 
into, his eyes and whispers in his ear and kisses him. And in 
the adjoining room her sister plays on the piano: 

"Glow, little glow-worm, glimmer, glimmer — " 



_ - .1 inc uiniDK room inc miteu; piays; 

"Glow, little BloW'Worm, glimmer, glimmer — " 
"I think of you and write it to you. Your Bill." 
Tk* Otiwr Miuin 

A ND among the mail awaiting him. Bill found a little ltt:r 

"Billy Dear: — You have been away two days and 
seems an eternity to me. In the adjoining room my slstc 
is playing on the piano. She playsL 

"Glow, little glow-worm, glimmer, glimmer — ' 
She doesn't know how that air tortures me and quicWy 
I have to write to you. I think of you and love you. 
Pearl." 

Thought* on Suicide— II 

Bf Martin Brawn 

Jiunpins from « Haight , 

VT^HAT loathsome spirit put this in my mind? 

What devil of delirium drivci rat ao 
That up, and up, on auy path I find 
Stumbling along, my weary footsteps go? 

Now— Botn^-mt last I we my horrid go^ 
A aickening, disB;^ drop to wheie below, 
A ligxi^ path wtndt down a stony knott. 
Did I leave there a. ceotory ago? 

I cannot help it, have no strength to fight 
The tentacleR tlut draw me on and on. 
They say that after all ono dies of fright 
That in the whistling iar aU icdk is gone. 

And yet 1 fear that I shall lire to know 
That hideous impact where the rocks are gny- 
A ghastly suction draws me froTO below-^ 
It is of fate, and tbi« the fatal way. 
Drowning 

I GIVE myself abandoned to year anas 

Ecstatic, free, to do with as yon wflL 
In blissful trust I feel your eool embrace 
Nor fear your eryptic eyes so dark and tdll. 

And when they find me sleeping on your breatt 
Smothered with kisses, that you loved me so, 
With tears theyll murmur— "drowned" — nor anderstar 
What only God and you and I caft know. 



■AnatQle France. 

CHE was » strasge, little girl. He followed her for a 
whiU through the dark str«ett where she aecmed lost, 
Th«n he spolce to her: 

"Pardon me, little lady; don't I know you?" 
"Upon my word, sir, I know nothing about it, but I 
hardly believe it." 
"Now I know you," 
She laughed. 
"What ie yiMir name?" 
"Roma Lucida." 
He was startled. 

"It is true? That's really your name? Can there be a 
woman who is called that . . . Permit me to salute you, 
You give me a great de»l of pletsgre, you don't realize how 
much." 

"I am well aware that I have an original name, but no 
one has ever complimented me about it in such a fashion." 
• ^ "Just fancy . . . To find on the pavement of a city, 
in the dust of the setting sun, a little girl like you, with 
eyes like yours, with hair Kke this, it is so rare! ... And 
if you bear the name of the eternal city, who can render 
homage to your true worth I . . , Why do you have such 
a name?" 

"My father was of Italian descent. He always, wanted 
a daughter so he could call her Roma, wishing her name to 
he a beautiful phrase." 



694 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



•*Your father must have been very intelligent?" 

**He wrote books which never were printed. He spok- 
French and Italian, and thoroughly understood bot 
languages. But he preferred French because of its monotont 
cadence and because he abhorred the accent of tones. Thu: 
it was that he pronounced my" n^me slowly, holding all tht 
syllables as if singing it; when people pronounced it after 
the Italian fashion, only sounding the o and the t, it was 
a real pain to him; he said they disfigured me."- 

While she was speaking, he was looking at her eyes, trying 
to discover their real shade; he admired her hands and her 
ankles. Her whole body was as harmonious as a poen:. 
She bore the impediment of modern dress with the grace o: 
a poplar tree. 

"Oh, Roma Lucida! How much you please me. Do you 
know I was wandering about the streets like a lost soul and 
that you base resurrected me? You have performed a good 
deed. I hope you aren't going to send me away now?" 

"You will have to leave, though." 

"Why? . . . You are about to reply with a platitude 
and I will be obliged to answer you in the same fashion. You 
don't know me; neither do I know you. I would hardly be 
able to recognize you in a crowd a month from now. Come. 
give me your arm. We are going to walk by the setting 
sun telling each other- stories." 

Willingly the little girl put her hand on the arm of her 
new friend. It was thus they became acquainted. 

They strolled around all evening in the dusk. Then they 
said farewell. He kissed her wrist above the glove. She 
began to laugh, as she had never been kissed in this way 
before. 

"Promise to come to see- me I" 
I promise. 

CTo be Continued,) 



THE MEXICAN BORDER 

A POEM BY CHARLES EDISON 
250 Copies Printed 
At 27 CenU Eachi 



iL. 



Bruno's Weekly, published lyeekly by Charles Edison, and 
edited and written by^ Gtddo Bruno, both at 58 Washington 
Square, NeD^ York City. Subscription $2 a year. ^^ 

▼^??*®i?**^ 5?^°?** ^®^ matter at tije Post Office of New 
M^«^^' ^•' ^^^®*>«r 14th. 1915, under the Aet of 



^JRE BOOKS * FIRST EDITIONS 




ldro08» £• V.9 Boston Traiitcrii»l^ Boston, Mua»^ 



BUY BOOKS 



ZOLUKTCMC'* Cm* «f Bkno'* WmUt, It Wa^ii«lM •«. 
F«r Ho mts , Aptrtmails or Rooib% Im 

PEPE & BRO. 

aSAL BtTATB AND INtUXANCB 

40So. WaOdbflMi SqMM 
J#pfc— 4lf gpriag Cer> of IfaeD— gai Sfaia t 

I li W H I C H 
# Mf /an mkta mti thmk. FukHilUd #v#rjr mnM kf MfwuuhBH 
'0dd§s mi 7M ttfnd Jwnmt m DUrni, MUkigmu H is m UuU 
9 ok mmiqmtif Ulmnrmitd. WriU ftr immfU €%ff. 

3HARLES KEELER 

N RECITALS OF HIS OWN POEMS 

m VICTORY— ^SMigs 9i Trimplu Prie«^ «m dollar 

ILFIN SONGS OP SUNLAND. Third •diHon. a P. PvUMmV 
Soaib Nvvr York & London. Prieo $1*50. 

iONGS OP A WANDERER, in niM«M:ript 

PHS limROR OP MANHATTAN. In nomueript 

>ANCE RYTHMS. In numiMcript. 

Mr. Kttlor roeitot Miection* from all tko abovo and Us variad 
lad aaiqiia programs aro fvU of intoroit and inspiratian botk 
a tka taxi and deltrary. 

In Nair York and Ttcinilsr until Juna. Now booking dataa lor 
^iforaia Tour in June* Jnly and August. 

Far tsrms and partici^rs and lor copias of kia booksb addrasa 

LAURENCE X QOMMS 
I Bait Wk mmm Now Yorii Olf 



At Ntu 19 fifth AfOUKi &eanricli ¥Blafef N* T. C 



This Week's PerfbnnaBoet 



Ask or write for tickot of ^dmiiiioa to tfat 
MmirdUa Tkmygmiwmm, 

CIRCULATING UBRARr OF FRENCH NOVELS 

EUREKA BOOK SHOP 

ISBiUoHouio 

Aator PIm^ Got. 3id A¥»,r N«r Yovk. Fame C«pp«r Uai» 
BOOiOX^VERS AND COLLECTORS ARE WElltOifE 



Earl N. Etmpons. 3a\jL46 St. Mew WiTfl&r 




L: 



There on W ■» pie— aterpbee le War 
that reauurkaMe Edboa Kecerf 
Nonber (82S36) Aa» 

The DianHHid Disc l%op 

at Nvmber 1ft Fiftk AveBwe 

IR oW fltoMi Rt wRSti fm ddlglltlQl bArNR* 

phere (rf Old Greenwich Vflhtge has Bot beeB 
sacrificed or the altar of commerdabm 

A pMtel wiO iriif y«i^ iM Mr 
tu. m M cttapiuMiiU, «■ iBtarwIiur littk 

Pliwie: StvjfiMni 4570 jkiogn^j «f Mr. iWt. a7e«mi 




BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



5^ 

FRANK HARRIS 



EDITED BYGUIDOBRUNOINHI5 GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Fiv< Cent* May 13tli. 191S 



AMCaMTAW 

Amaoonoi 

MBUm 



FAOnOH njtJMM, BOOK PLATD 

atruT 

HWaa 



GONFARONE-S 

.40 Wmi Hk SIMrt 

TAIL! DWOn 

"Eailai pkMa KM Uuniy b*dM«ka~ Mid a Hmit. 

^iMWnt of CaafaiwM'a ia oaa of Ut wi—njlij Gnwi- 

wioli VillM* BtwrlM. 



UT wm 4ni fniiT 



SmtIm > k C*|M 



i>=4ns 



VMM Nj« un « V. I 



KE CREiUI AMD TOBACCO 



READ BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



^■IKnalUik Bfa4<M |MM> 
•MwoHklM d«lkH 1 «« W 



Better the rule •/ Out, wiem all ohty. 
Than U let cUiaoreui demagegutt bttray 
Our freedom viilh the kits ef anarchy. 
IFhtrefore I love them a#t whoie htnde profame 
Plant the red jl*t "P^ *>>* Pil*d-tP Mttt 
for no right teuue, btmeath vihote ignorant rtign 
Artt, Culture, Rtrerentt, Honor, all thingi fade. 
Save Treatou and the dagger of her trade. 
And Murder with hit lUent bloody feet. 
Oiear ICilde. 

Frank Harris: Curriculum Vitae 

pRANK HARRIS was born in Galway, Ireland, Over fifty 
years ago, of Welsh parents. He is proud of thi fact 
that he is pure Kelt and without ihtermixture for as far back 
as he knows. Till he was twelve years of age, he was 
educated in Ireland, the Ust year or so at the Royal School, 
Armagh. In spite of bis ultA-protestant or Btack Orange 
relations, Frank Harris still recounts with glee how he was 
a Fenian even before he could think. "As a sinall boy," he 
says, "I remeinbei' reading a proci amotion offerins five 
thousand pounds for an v information that wO"M lead to the 
jkrrest of James Stephens.the Fenian Head-Gentre. While 
my playmates were gloating over the idea of getting this 
large sum of money I was only thinking how I couM help 
him away from the 'polig.' The 'Head-Centre' faseinated- 
my fancyl" 

., At twelve, his fatber sent him as a boarder to a well-knoiMi 
public school on the Welsh border. There, for the first timb 
he met Fjiglish boys and English sentiment. The school 
DOrsefed him; it was all punishments, he says, nothing traman 
ox hiunane about it except the library. He read mwUjr] 
tnoming, noort and night till he knew Scott almost by hcar^ 
Charlotte Bronte, Urs, GaskeH, Thwkcrary and Fifidf I'Mid 
Coftright 1916 by Guido Bruno 



f BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

I en Dickent. Dickens he never liked. After reading ertfy 
I her novel in the library he read Dickens and the poeti. 
I The fagging system in the school was abhorrent to thii 
lorn rebel; he fought it tooth and^nail; but in spite of trouble 
With boys as well as with the roasters, he won prize after 

At fourteen his father disappointed him by failing to girc 
him the nomination to become midshipman in the British 
Nayy and the boy resolved to run away. For weeks he 
weighed the charms of South Africa (where they had just 
discovered diamonds) with those 'of Western America and 
at length he decided in favor of the Wild West. He came 
to America and soon made his way to Kansas and drorc 
on the trail as a cowboy to New Uexico. He always declares 
that whatever capacity of thought he possesses comes from 
the fact that while his mind was growing he had to solve all 
thf modern problems for .himself and without books. "1 
think tirst and read afterwards" is' his motto. 

After a couple of years of wild western life, skirmishes 
with Indians, mad gamblings, iips and downs of fortune, he 
met the man Byron Smith, Professor of Greefc in the Uni- 
versity of Kansas. Professor Smith persuaded him to become 
a student and he spent the next three years with his mentor 
and friend at Lawrence, Kansas. When Professor Smith 
left the University for his health, Harris quarreled at once 
with the authorities, refusing to come in to morning chapel, 
and left the University in turn and went on with his law 
studies. In due time he was admitted to the bar and began 
the practice of law. 

. A year later Smith grew worse in Philadelphia and Harris 
threw up everything and went East to be with him. In 
another year his friend died and Harris returned to Europe 
to study; first in Paris, later in Heidelberg, Gottingen and 
Berlin. Then he went from Berlin to Athens where he 
studied a year. On his way back to America he met Froude 
in London and gave him a letter of introduction from ' 
Carlyle. Almost immediately he was offered the editorship of 
the "London Evening News" 'which he brought to success. 
Then he was offered the editorship of "The Fortnight!; 
Review" which John (now Lord) Morley had just resigned. 
Seven years later he bought "The Saturday Review" and 
made it ever famous among English papers by bringing 
Bernard Shaw on it to write about the theatre; Wells to 
review the novels; D. S. McCoU (now the head of the Tait 
Gallery) to write on art; Dr. Chalmers Mitchell, now the 
head of the Zoological Society, to write on Science; Max Beer- 
bohm tpo, and Arthur Symonds, Ernest Dowson, Herbert 
Crackanthorpe and Cunningham Graham to do what they 
could. It is hardly too much to say that Harris picked then, 
in 1894, nearly all the men who to-day form public opinion 
in Great Britain. Shaw has acknowledged his debt to him 
again and again, and Wells calls him his literary godfather, 

eaaerting that Harris, when editing "The fdrtnightlr" ac- 
epted the first article he (Wells) eref had in print 



ys 18 "the best short story in English" (1894); 

,1907; The Man Shakespeare, which according tb 

iblished hia reputation in 1909; The Women of 

re, 1910; Shakespeare and His Love (a drama), 

.at Days, 1911; The Veils of Isis; Contcmporanr 

] both last year, 191S and Oscar Wiidc, His Life 

Csaioris which is now In the presS and w^ have had 

lire of reading. We think it is his best work, ao far 

the best biography in the language. 

dom of Man Upon Earth 

Th, wonderful age in which we live — this twentieth century 
with its X-rays that enable us to see through the skin 
and flesh of men, and to study the working of their organs 
and muscles and nerves— has brought a new spirit into the 
world, a spirit of fidelity to fact, and with it a new and higher 
ideal of life and ',of art. which must of necessity, change and 
transform all the conditions of existence, and in time modify 
the almost immutable nature of man. For tb:« new spirit, 
this love of the fact and of truth, this passion for reality will 
do away with tt^e foolish fears and futile hopes which have 
fretted the childhood of our race, and will slowly but surely 
establish on broad foundations the Kingdom of Man upon 
Earth. For that is the meaning and purpose of the change 
which is now coming over thf world. The faiths and con- 
victions of twenty centuries are passing away and the forms 
and institutions of a hundred generations are dissolving 
before us like the baseless fabric of a dream. A new morality 
is already shaping itself in the spirit; a morality based not on 
guess-work and on fancies, but on ascertained laws of moral 
health; a scientific morality belonging not to statics, like 
the morality of the Jews, but to dynamics, and so fitting 
the nature of each individual person. Even now conscience 
with its prohibitions is fading out of lite, evolving into a 
more profound consciousness of ourselves and others, with 
multiplied incitements to wise living. The old religious as- 
ceticism with its hatred of the body is dead; the servile 
acceptance of conditions of life and even of natural laws is 
seen to be vicious; it' is of the nobility of man to be insatiate 
in desire and to rebel against limiting conditions; it is the 
property of his intelligence to constrain even the laws of 
nature to the attainment of his ideal. 



Auffuite Rodin. Original dramng bf A. Deltatnoy. 

How desperately he struKgled for coatrol; now answering 
some casual remark of his friends, now breaking out into 
cold sweat of dread as he felt the rudder slipping from hii 
hand; called back to sanity again by some laughing remark, 
or some blessed spqnd of ordinary life, and then, again, swept 
off his feet by the icy flood of sliding memory and dreadful 
thronging imaginings, with the awfnl knowledge behind 
knocking at his consciousness that he was already mad, mad 
—never to be sane again, mad — that the awful despairing 
effort to hold on to the slippery rock and not to slide down 



Hell has no tvcli horrorl There in that torture chamber 
did his agony last but a minute— he paid att debts, poor. 



fifteen years, and who will really have something to give, to a 
generation which will have grown with them in the meantime. 
Almost sis many studios as we have down here — just as 
many different ways and means of expression of impressionB 
"to the world" do we have. And these creations drift event- 
ually uptown and are exhibited in "leading" galleries on. the 
Avenue. Shall and can experiments be taken serioitsly? 
Shouldn't those in authority, especially the keepers of galleries 
refrain from using their walls for experimental purposes, 
especially when the artist today might laugh at his creation 
of yesterday? Must the public be the goat here, too, as well 
as m the other branches of the free arts for mere commercial 
reasons? 

The individualistic expression of a man is of course, the 
most ideal way to attempt the big. But if he uses, in order 
to express himself, a language not understood by anybody 
else, and if he is not able to compile at the present time a. dic- 
tionary to be used by those interested and eager to under- 
stand, because in most of the cases he doesn't know himself 
what he wants, -why not refrain from exhibiting? Why not 
take the consequences of the prerogative of the self-expres- 
sionistr "I don't care what you think about it — if you can 
understand it or not; it is just exactly as I see it and that is 
sufficient unto me," and keep his creations unto himseU until 
such time arrives where either he shall have found a medium 
which is not Strange to our eyes and which we really can see 
or feel, or our posterity shall have adjusted their-focus, in the 
course of the progress of the world, which will enable them to 
see and to feel. 



Yonr chtncter i> the tneasnre of what you are, while jroor 
rtputation is merely the report of what you aeem to be. 

The aase ii he who obtahta hit exp«rieiirM vicariouly, 
Mrmlttiog the fool to pay the price. 

Usury is the intereit that necessity pays to merciliei* 
freed. 

■ / D»*r*tt , . . . 



icnowr* ■ 

The polite salesman was very sorry not to be able to oblige 
Mr. Rich and advised him to go to the competitor across the 
street. He followed the advice but here, too, they did not 
seem to be very eager to count him among their customers. 
Everybody simply refused to trust. This astounded Mr. Rich. 
He always had heard and read how easy it was to get credit, 
and still two people had refused already to sell him an auto- 
mobile. But this could not discourage him. He went .to a 
bank. He introduced himself as Mr. Rich, day laborer, and 
asked for a loan of ten thousand dollars. Bui here, too, the 
result of his expedition was very sad. The manager of the 
bank, gave him even a lackey who should show him out of the 
building. But that was all he was willing to 'give him. 

In the meantime, his monthly room rent became due. Mr. 
Rich was not able to pay and informed Mrs. Mclntyre, the 
keeper of his boarding house to that effect. He assured her 
&t the same time, that he was willing to take from now on 
in addition to the breakfasts included in his rental, dinner and 
supper with her. Mrs. Mclntyre didn't seem to approve of this 
new business arrangement. 

"The divil git ye I" did she scream at the top of her voice, 
"Do ye think Oim crazy?" and she gave him a push and down 
the stairs he went All four flights at once. His possession! 
she forwarded to the sidewalk where he had landed, through 
the window. 

"It's just my luck," he philosophized. And now it had be- 
come most urgent to turn some trick or another because his 
thirst for revenge was diminishing from day to day. 

His last recourse was the cook. These beings are supposed 

to have savings. He wanted to get a hold of them, promise . 

marriage, be wanted to have a good time and then he wanted 

to welcome his fate no matter what might come.. But nothing 

came. Mr. Rich, day laborer, remained an honest man. Even 

the cooks wouldn't give him anjrthing. And so he was at the 

end of his wits. He knew. .nothing morel To take away the 

pennies ffom little children which they kept in their hands, 

if sent to buy something in the nearby grocery store, seemed 

even to him in his desperate mood, too dastardly. 

I And again he became a day laborer, But if ever anybody 

' mentions to him how dead easy it is to get the best of creduj- 

I ous people, he will declare it emphatically as pure invention 

and just newspaper talk. 
! ' After the German, author not named, bf Guido Bruho. 

Chinese Letter 

By Alan IP. S. Lee, Wuhu. China 

k WEEK ago I went to the garden of one of the Profes- 
sors to sketch. It was a beautiful place, a huge gardes 
full of lovely trees and shrubs, with a fine view of the Gob 



^06 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

L«ii. Tlie only ftowcrt oat then were vfoleta, but there wf 
masses of them — ^sweet ami. fragrant. It was an imnier.< 
relief to work here without a htmdred pairs of eyes stan: 

rimly at me, as is my ttsuat faite when I try to sloetch. 5 
worked I notice a small black bird hopping: about amor; 
the violets— and every once in a while he would leave h. 
hunt and fly up onto a branch and sing — I never heard a bir. 
sing so gloriously, not even a nightingale at home, for thii 
was no lament, but a song of joy and triumph. 

Professor Meigs came oat after a while to watch me dacr 
and he told me about the little black bird. He is a robfn, i 
jet black robin, and he glistens like line lacquer. He ia 
smaller than an American robin, but larp^er than an English 
one, and he sings to beat both. He has just the same jaunty 
hop, and impertinent thrust of the head, just the same quick 
jab after a worm, and the bracing of his black legrs w«ien bf 
gets it. He is a very rare bird, even here, but this one comes 
every year to the Meighs garden, and they think a grreat dezt 
of him. I have been reading Algernon Blackwood's "Centaur" 
and I think no book ever got me so completely. It is so fu'.! 
of sheer beauty, and exquisite phrasing, I found in it that bit 
of verse I liked so well that- 1 found in an old number of thi 
Academy. 

"What dim Arcadian pastures 

Have I known. 
That out of nothing a wind is blown 
Lifting a veil and a darkness 
Showing a purple sea — 
And under your hair, tlie fauh's eyes 

Look out at me." 

The story is a powerful protest against the civilization of 
to-day, a denouncement of materialism and pure intellectual- 
ism, and makes a plea for a fairer and larger life, for nobler 
interests, for a life of harmony with nature instead of fever- 
ish and unsatisfying struggling for little imaginary pleas- 
ures. Blackwood regards men and animals^ flowers and trees 
as possible projections of the Earth's consciousness, even ts 
she herself is perhaps a projection of the great Conscious- 
ness of the Universe. But what am I trying to do — ^tell yon 
all about it in my feeble words? I will get another copy in 
Shanghai and send it to you: 

There is a Chinaman singing outside the- garden, I wish 
you could hear him, many of the Chinese songs are really 
nice, but this reminds me of the guinea pig Ruth St. Denis 
used to let loose upon the Stage just before the did her cobrs 
dance. 

All our bamboos are full of turtle dovea^.now, and they 
coo and coo. The groves are full of birds, af|d they sing 
amidst the small green leaves that rustle and blow ia the 
west wind that comes whispering across the fields, calling the 
flowers to wake from their long winter's sleep. There are 
no tcees quite so frivolous a9 young bamboos; tiiey are friv- 
olous even when they grow upland aH the otlsertiees ignore 
them. •":<•.-. , • » ( 



The ring of steel like ice behind my ear — 

Each heart-beat like a blow, each breath a prayer to 

still my trembling hand 
And make my death as sure as m^ despair. 
Dry-throated, gasping, icy-cold with fear — 
After that crash, where wilt.I be— God— where? 

Gu 

Good -night for I must sleep. 

Yes sleep, and know no waking to this pain of Irring. 



A coward l^adly beaten. 

Yes, and a weakling too — I can bear oo more livins. 

It is too long. . ' 

I give you back my life, and giving 

For the first time I knowingly do wrong. 

I am too tired to pray, but dreams will keep 

Me company — what scent is that? — when I'm asleep. 

Grub Street 

[^ENTION is often made of Grub street writers and Grub 
street publications, bat the terms are little understood; 
the following historical fact will explain them; during- the 
usurpalioQ of Cromwell a prodigious number of seditious and 
libellous pamphlets and papers, tending to exasperate the 
people, and increase the confusion in which the nation was 
Mvolved, were from time to time published. The authors of 
these were, for the most part, men whose indigent circum- 
stances compelled them to live in the most obscure part if 
the town. Grub street then abounded with mean and old 
houses, which were let out in lodgings, at low rents, to per- 
sons of this description, whose occupation was the publishing 
anonymous treason and slander. One of the original inhabi- 
tants of this street was Fox the martyrologist, who, during 
his abode there, wrote his Acts and Uonuments. It was 
also rendered famous by having been the dwelling-place ef 
Mr, Henry Welby, a gentleman of whom it is related, iii Wil- 
son's "Wonderful Characters," that he lived here forty ycat* 
without having been seen by any one. 




Roma Lucida 

Br Henri FomaC 

Translated from the Frtneh foi 
(Concladtd jrom latt Utue) 
"PHE next day she called > 



Bruno's fFeeklji-by Rrnet 



i^ii'- 



He had spent the whole 
^ arranging tiis room so it would appear pleasant and 
precise. Little Ronia entered shyly, tiptoeing around and 
casting glances about her. As she saw that he was reapeetful 
and enibarrased, she gradually became reassured enough to d 
sit by him on the divan. Then, in a very earnest manner, I 
she made this little speech to him: f 

"Do not think I am here through childishness. I am well 
aware of what might happen to me, but I don't fear anything., 
I don't think I am imprudent or crafty. I like you vety much.. 
I imagine that you will perhaps understand me. Conse-. 
quently, I wanted to know you." , 

And so they spent a very pleasant afternoon. He showed 
her the books which he had patiently collected and carefully 
bound. She was intelligent in her admiration, recognizing 
some volumes like those she had seen at her father's. She 
looked through his papers, too, and read a few scattered notes, 
here and there, and wondered at two or three phrases. > 

"Have you written this?" 
I "Certainly. Do you think me hicapable of it?" 

"No, no, but it causes me so much pleasure . 
me, do you draw?" 

"So badlyl" 

"So tnuch the better! Because — I must tell you, seeing 
that you are asking mc no questions — I draw, too, sometimes. 
It is the only serious work I can do. Therefore, it is advis- 
able for one to t^rn to something else. Otherwise it wirald 
become a boret" ■ ■ -^ 



Tell- 



' Saddnlj 

Nol becoming Evil ' ., 

And vnlkottt rtgrtt. 

If to-night 
I ikould dit, 
1 am tatisptd 

To have toucktd 
Swiftly 

Th* Heart of Things. 

Diamond Crisf. 

" She walked up and down the apartment a few times; theo 
resumed her seat: 

"It looks all right" 
. "Now that you have inspected my premises, it is your 
turn to tell me something.'' 

"Whatr 

"I don't know. Yon wanted to know me. As for me, your 
name would almost suffice. However, if you would be 
obligtnK enough to add an inscription to it . . ." 

"Ask me questions. . . Become inquisitive." 

"Well, young lady, tell me what you know about life." 

"Sir, you speak of banalities. I thought you had no patience ' 
with them. . . Life doesn't exist. It is only an illusion. 
There are words, noises, sunsets and melodies. We have put 
a frame around all this to make it into a whole. But it is 
our work. I will add that it isn't worth the rest of it. Therel 
Have I answered well?" 

"Not badly. Kiss me I" , , ■ 

Roma Lucida let him kiss her. She did not without embar- 
rassment but without great pleasure. Then she began to play 
^ some of Cesare Frank's music to prove that she was & 
musician too.. 

When she was leaving, he detained her near the door for 
a minute, and, taking both her hands In his, said: 

"Roma, Roma Lucida! My little girlt Is it possible that 
there is a Roma Lucida on earth. . . Do not go so soon." 

She smiled sweetly at him and responded to tbe pressnrs 
I ai his hands. 



710 BRUNO'S WEEKLY • 

He continaed in a lower voice: 

"Listen: I want to be happy, at least tor an botir. 1 
ought never to have seen yoo. Now it ia too latt; yoti mus: 
give back to me all you have taken from mie. You wrill be ir. 
my thoughts until your return. Now gol But think of me 
When you come back here, it will be because you wished it.' 

She was going to answer a little hotly; but he put his 
hand over her lips: 

"Don't say anything. I know all you could say tome^ Go! 
When you come back here, it will be because you wished it" 

She left. He spent the rest of the evening going over the 
few phrases of the sonata in A which she had played^ When 
night came it ^was a pleasure for him to repeat her name 
many times in succession, as in prayer. 

She didn't come back the next day, nor the day after that. 
As he didn't know her address, he could only wait for her 
sadly. At last, on the third day, she knocked at his jdoor. 
He saw by her eyes that she had spent several nights dream- 
ing about him. He took her in his arms and undid her blonde 
hair, which fell over him like a shroud. They didn't say a 
word to each other the whole night long. 

The next day she was crying. He knelt in front of her 
and pressed her in his arms: 

"Pardon me, my Roma. It isn't my fault." 

"I don't bear you with ill-will. I came of my own free 
will and I regret nothing. I don't know why I am unhappy." 

"Are you happy now? You wanted to have me. I am 
yours, but you aren't happy 1 I wanted to lov6 and to suffer — 
and I weep. Why should we struggle against it? We must 
part as we met" — and she added, smiling — ^"In the dust." 

He made no answer. Roma dressed quickly. She fixed 
her hair and put on a red hat. In the glorious morning sun- 
light she seemed to be the. same he had seen roaming the 
streets of Paris. It was the same face, the ^ame qui^t eyes; 
the same little black spot over her lips. But she was not the 
same; the real Roma Lucida seemed to have gone very far 
away and her voice reached him indistinctly: 

He didn't try to stop her. When he looked up, she was no 
longer there. The sunlight swept over the furnitui'e as if 
clearing the room of th6 least remmbrances. All that was 
left of her was a faint perfume. That samfe eviening it was 
gone. In the course of the following days, he ; forgot her 
voice, then the shape of her face and in a {e)¥ months he only 
recalled her name. ' ; 



Bruno's Weekly, ptiblishcd Weekly by Charles Edi$dil, and 
edited and written by Gtddo Brutio, bbth at 58 Washington 
Sq^uare, New York City.. Subscription $2 a yean • ' , 

E:^te^ed as d»econ^ ddss matter at the Post Ofll^ 6f New 
York, N. T.v October 1 4th, -191^, uader t&S Act of 
td»' 1S7S. " ' ^ , ■ ' ' ' ■• •■ 



OlE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 



«r la Mli tor pMpto 
iltr to Mlwl fa* 

rt 




BUY BOOKS """""^ 



ISMMtt wi 



COtXBCTOII.** Om «f BraM*s WmUf* M WaiUagtM S«. 

PEPE & BRO. 

KBAL B8TATB AXip XN8URANCB 

40 So. WMldngtai 
MiAmw 411» SjWPhig dr. •! ii«rf>— g»i 

I N W H I C H 
i0# Mjr jmf wkM mti thinly JhAlUfud €v§rf wmik ^jr Kwwmm'BH 
G€ddt$ ai IH S$€^nd Avtmu im DHfit, MUia§mu it it m UttU 

CHARLES KEELER 

IN RECITALS OF HIS OWN POEMS 

THE VlCTOKT >aii •! Triimmli Pik % ••• ifalhr 

ELFIN SONCS €»r SUHUkMD. TUtd #dliioa. G. P. PataMi*# 
8ooi» N««r York & Loadmi. Priea $1,511. 

aONCS OF A WANDBREIL In Mauetipt 

THE mRROR OF MANHATTAR la wHMMei^ 

DANCE RYTHIiS. ia mMMiMiipt. 

I lit. KmIvt ndte Mi«ctmw Iraai aB tb« abova aad kia vaiM 
aad aaiqaa ptociama aia faE ^ iatafa at and iaapiiatioa balk 
I la dM twct and dalivaiy. 

la N«w Yatk and vkiakr ttatil Jaaa. Now baokiac dalaa lot 
Califorak Taor ia Juaa, July aad AagaaL 

For t«naa and pairtcahw aadlar copiaa ^ kia koakib 

LAURENCE X GOMME 



tMm^mkSlbimm Maw 



CIRCULATING UBRAKY OP FRENCH NOVEI^ 

EUREKA BOOK SHOP * 

ISBOdeHouM 

AitM PUm, Cot. 3rd Am., Nmr York. Fbcidi Coapwr Vm 
BOOKLOVER5 AND COLLECTORS ARE WELC<MIB 



Tkne can Im ro pleasanter plue to hear 
tkit ranarkable Edisui RenrdI 
Nonbcr (8ZS36) tku 

The Diamond Disc Sho 

at Number 10 FifA Avenne 

In dtis ttoTtf at least, At defiglitfiil idaH» 
phere of Old Greenwidt Villife has not bcm 
sacriR^ OB the altar of conimerdaBsB 



PboM : StaTTwut 4570 kkfivhr •! lb. lU*. A. ^ 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

) 



Sona Doga of Graanwich V1IU|« 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

five Cento May 20th, 1916 



Mvtm, 19M. OMmI 




CAFE lAFATETTE 



HOTEL BREVOOKT 

FMl AVMHM 

iUTMOMP OKTEia INC 
TU Tw WtmmA Holab mad lUiteuHiaN of Now Yotk 



GONFARONE'S 

40 WmI 81k 9kgm^ 

TABLE iraOTE 

**EattBc pUc«« ar* Ukeivry landmarlM** mad O* H«iii3r« 
•p^ftldng of Gonforoao'* ta oao of his uii«zc«llocl 
«rick Villafo StoriM. 



GREENWICH VILLACE INN 

(Polly's) 

147 WEST 4TH STREET 

Betwoon Watkington Sq; fc 
6th Ato. 

Sendee m la Carta 

Outdoor Diaiaf Rooai 

of a laaip te 



creation of i 
tlMve Is a rickt 



prabiwiw of 



AKTOK HHUJfAH 






Sport Hats, Artist Smoek Sets» 

MasqiM Costvaioe 

For town and country. 

PAINT BOX 

ISO W. 4tk St mr. 6tk Ave. 

Phone Spring 23 N. Y. 



WAMTBD ysn te 



aft M 

Is 



Wli< 



odd ploees of 
Fnndtiiro aad 

Hears 10.M tlU • ». 
dajs !• p. I 



T. D. COX 

SCaftioamry aad Mows Skop 
Ckronlaftiiit LIkrary 

Waskington Plaoo, N. Y. 



I 



JUDSON TAILOR SHOP 
Bl Waskingtoa Sq. 

All kinds of tailoring work 
neatly done. Dry cleaning of 
Ladies* Suits. Gowns, Wrapt, 
etc, a specialty. 

'Pkono B360 Spring 



- • • t : » 




BRUNO'S 

EdIitW by C«ido. Brun<» in Hi» JSarret oBijWathinift0jn.3qmMne 
No. 21 MAY 20tln MCMXVI. . VoL 11 

Victory an<l DdfeaC 

E4/erif wctdry sJiowi a m'ore'digicaliheistht t6 scuti, ^"st'^iffir 
pinjiditt of ffdd'liki hardihif^hafj the rnJtAird hf kfiadry: Ji 
prowdes the ' hero with e^ef-ttenv hhMe- fields : Ho test for htm 
this side tHe grave. ... 

mt tvhat of defedtt What pweet is Here in iti hitiert This 
may Be said for it; it is our great ich6o>l\ pttikishmknt'Uitthei 
pity, j^st as suffering teathei sympathy 1 fti defeat the Birave soul 
learns kinship nvith other then, takes ike ruB to ^ heart ;ye its out 
the reisson for the fall in his o^xm ^weakness, dnd efk'r j^ftertffards 
finds' it impossiBU to judged triuch less eoHdemh hif fillo^w. But 
after all no one can 'hurt uS But ours ehdes; prisOfi', hard laBoiir, 
and the hate of ntlen; 'what ah these if they mate ^ou,&iref^ vnstTi 
kinder? 

Have you come to grief through self-iridul^enet atid gOdd-lMmpf 
Hete are months in vf hick men will lake care ihdt you ihail edt 
Bddty and lie haH. Did you lack risfeci for others f Mere dri 
men who will ihow yoii no consideration. Were ^OU careless of 
others' sufferings f Hirt now you shall agonize unheeded: gaolers 
and governors ds well ds Black cells just to tehch ypn. Thank 
your stars then for evety day's expetience,^iot/ when you have 
learned the lessbn of it and turned its discipline into rerince, the 
pris&n shall trans form itself into d hermitd^e, ihe:)iiingeon Mo 
a honie; the Burnt _s kill p shall Be iweet in' your ifiouih/ dfid pour 
rest on the pldhk Bed ihe dredmless HumBer of a little dhild. 

Frank Harris in "Oscar Wilde akd his Confessions'* 

Greenwich Village in History ^ 

y^DMIRAL SJ;R peter WAfeREN was in N^w York tp 
1744. He Had then retiir^ied fcrom Martinique, where he 
catttired many French and Spanish prizes with .fiis squadroii 
of sixteen sailing craft. These/w6rc sold for him.by Stephen 
De Lancey & Co., arid nfett^d hini a corisiderat)!^ fortune, ana 
it is said that he boitght.his Greenwich farni of three hundred 
acres with, a part of this riioriey: At any rafp, the. rise of 
Greenwich is ' attributed to Sir Peter, .Who married the 
daughter of his sales agent, Susannah De Lancey. Abingdoii 
Square, with its little park, is a memento of the Warren jwrni. 
the oldest of Sir Peter's three daughters )iav|pg,inarrM the 
Earl bf Abingdon for v^bom the Square i^ named. .Abijah 
Hammond became the owner of the farm aftfer the death 

^t'am indeBted for this story to Mr. Henry, QoUtifs.firowny^ho 
gave pie Permission io epctract it fropi his Beautiful ''Book of Old 
fHkw Yprkj," printed By him privately for eollector$^< . 

Copyright 1916 By Guido Bruno 



712 BRUNO'S WEEKLY. 

of the ▼ice-admiral, and in 1819 Mr. Van Nest purchased from 
him the mansion, with the sqnare bounded by Fourth, 
Bleecker, Perry and Charles Streets. In 1865 the house was 
torn down, and most of the present houses were erected on 
its site. 

No more bewildering confusion of street formation exists 
anywhere than in this section of the city, where was once 
old Greenwich. An example is Fourth Street, which crosses 
Tenth, Eleventh and Twelfth Streets at very nearly right 
angles. Other streets start all right, run for a block or two 
with regularity, and then take unreasonable turns, or else 
bring up one before a brick wall. This condition may be 
attributed to the fantastic ideas of the owners of land in 
that section in the early period of the city||^ growth. When 
a short cut from one place to another was desired they cut 
a lane, and perhaps another to some part of the farm land, 
leaving, with what improved conditions the city has made in 
street-making there, a tangled network of the old and the 
new that will not assimilate. 

Greenwich* Road followed the' line of the present Green- 
wich street, along the shore front, and led to Greenwich Vil- 
lage. While in dry weather most of the route was good 
g?round, in wet weather, especially in the region of the Lis- 
penard salt meadows, which then lay north and south of the 
present Canal street, and of the marshy valley of Minetta 
Creek (about Charlton street), it was difficult of access. An 
inland road was therefore approved in 1768 from the Post 
Road (the present Bowery) to what is now Astor Place, then 
to Waverly Place, then to Greenwich avenue. Two sections 
of this road exist to-day: Astor Place and Greenwich avenue 
between Eighth and Fourteenth streets. The rest is oblit- 
erated. 

The open space at Astor Place is a part of the road to 
Greenwich known as Monument Lane, or "road to the Obe- 
lisk,'' because at its northern extremity, or which is now 
Eighth avenue and Fifteenth street. General Wolfe, the hero 
of Quebec, had a memorial erected to him. The lane ex- 
tended from the Bowery to Washington Square, turned north- 
west and skirted Greenwich Village. At JefiFerson Market, 
where Greenwich avenue joins Sixth avenue, the reader will 
find the last section of the inland road. 

No more healthful location, exists in New York than what 
was once the site of the village. The epidemics of virulent 
diseases that attacked the old city found no lodgment in 
Greenwich. This healthfulness is due to the fact that the 
underyling soit of the district to a depth of at least fifty feet 
is a pure. sand, and provides excellent natural drainage. 

Bank street is reminiscent of the yellow fever epidemic in 
1798, in that the Bank of New York and a branch of the Bank 
of the United States purchased two plots of eight city lots 
^ach in Greenwich Village, far away from the city proper, to 
which they could remove in case of being placed m danger of 



the pestilence had been a burning mine. The city presented 
the appearance of a town besieged. From daybreak till night 
one line of carts, containing merchandise and effects, were 
seen moving toward Greenwich Village a^d the upper part* 
of the city. Carriages and hacks, wagons and horsemen, were 
scouring the streets and filling the roads. Temporary stores 
and offices were erecting. Even on Sunday carts were in 
motion, and the saw and hammer busily at work. Within a 
few days thereafter (September) the Custom House, the 
Post Office, the bank, the insurance offices and the printecf 
of newspapers located themselves in the village, or in the 
upper part of Broadway, where they were free from the im- 
pending danger, and these places almost instantaneously be- 
came the seat of the immense business usually carried on in 
the great metropolis." This epidemic "caused the building 
up of many streets with numerous wooden buildings, for the 
uses of the merchants, banks, offices, etc." An old authority 
say^ that he "saw corn growing on the present corner of 
Hammond (West Eleventh) and Fourth streets on a Saturday 
morning, and on the following Monday Sykes- and Nible had 
a house erected capable of accommodating three hundred 
boarders. Even the Brooklyn feri^boats ran up here daily." 
Three remnants of Greenwich Village are the two old frame 
dwellings at the southwest corner of Eleventh street and 
Sixth avenue, and the triangular graveyard near the corner, 
the second place of burial owned by the Jews on the island. 
When Eleventh street was opened almost the wtiole of the 
Jewish burial ground was swept away. The street went di- 
rectly across it. leaving only the corner on its south side and 
a still smaller corner on its north side. 
(7*0 bi conlinutd) 

A Forgotten American Joumaiist 

^MONG old manuscripts in a second-hand bookshop in 
Philadelphia, I found on a recent trip, letters and articles 
written by an American journalist and editor of ttic; Fifties, 
by Willis Gaylord Clark. So ori|;inal and so progressed were 
his ideas on men and things m these old yellow sheets, 
offered for sale at a pittance, that I tried to find out a little 
more about this satyrist, whose name seems to be given to 
oblivion. His brother, Lewis Gaylord Clark, published in 
IS44. a little volume of the literary remains, and that was 
about all I could find. In the preface to this collection a 
letter of Washington Irving is reproduced in which Irving 
expresses his sympathy with the family of the deceased 
newspaperman, and closes with this passage: 

"And he has left behind him writings which will make men 
love his memory and lament his loss. 



714 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Willis Gay lord Clark was born in Otisco, in the county of 
Onondaga, in the state of New York. He was the son of a 
soldier in the days of the Revolution, and writing for news-* 
papers and periodicals since the age of fourteen. He was 
editor of the Columbian Sur, in South Carolina, and later 
took ov^r the editorship of the. Philadelphia Gazette. He 
wrote for the New York Knickerbocker Magazine a series 
of amusing papers under the quaint title of Ollapodiana. The 
permanent value of Mr. Clark's newspaper feuilletons m the 
daily Amrican Press is pointed out in an extended nbtice in 
the American Quarterly Review; in the Editor's Table of 
the Knickerbocker Magazine for July, 1841, an account of 
his life is given on three pages. He was a poet and a few 
of his poems can be found in the "Poets and Poetry o£ 
America." . , 

He seems to me the only American representative of that 
branch of Journalism which is unknown in the newspapers 
of the United States: the feuilleton, a happy combination of 
narrative, instructive, satyr ical, about something that hap-^ 
pened today or yesterday, with a touch of intimacy in a 
milieu, familiar to every reader. 

Among the many articles he wrote, a few are especially 
interesting because they seem so far ahead of their own 
times. There is, for instance, "Leaves from an Aeronaut," 
the^ humorous, but most likely imaginary ascension in a 
dirigible balloon and the travel through the air. 

Then there is a series of short sketches which appeared 
in the Philadelphia Gazette, 1830 and 1831, as fictitious corre- 
spondence from New York, "Mephistopheles in New York.^ 

His critical paper, "American Poets and their Critics," Js 
a mos.t remarkable rebuke to the poets of the Forties, men 
and women who had created social centres in New York 
and were at their best proclaiming the fame of English poetry 
and of English men of letters, denying that there was any 
literature of importance in America. This article, "American 
Poets and Their Critics,'* had been refused by most of the 
reputable American literary journals, but appeared subse- 
quently in London. I would like to quote a passage which 
will illustrate how decidedly American Clark wished to see 
American letters and art. "The fact is as undeniable as 
it is generally acknowledged, that since the death of Lord 
Byron, the best fugitive poetry of the United States has been 
greatly superior to that of England. We have bards among 
us whose pt-oductions would shine by the side of seven- 
tenths even of the authors collected in those ponderous tomes 
entitled the 'British Classics," of 'Selected British t»octs.' 
Let any reader of taste look ovet* those collections, and see 
how much matter there is in them, of no superior merit, float- 
ing down the stream of time, like flies in amber, only because 
it is bound up with productions of acknowledged and endur- 
ing excellenee." 



Frttui an old Engluh Chaf Book. 



Two Tales by N. Shebooev 

'Trauttatcd from Ihe Ruttuin by M./IV. 
Tha CrMith>4 Pciwar 

I MADLY loved a musical-comedy actress. It seemed ^tbatt 
she loved mCi too- 
She was constantly repeMinc: 

"Why don't you write a play ia which I should h»Te the 
roain part." 
l^afdown and wrote a dramft. ' i ^ 

Now I am in love with a dramatic atittv^ss.- 

I think, she .lo^es vfie, too. , , ■ \ 

She constantly repeats: 

"Why don't yon write a drama in which I should ^ay the 



•y^^ 



1, and lam writinK— a farce. 



716 BRUNO'S WEEKLY. 



«< 



«<' 



In a week's time we met in a restaurant 

Of coarse, we talked about women. 

He said: "In my life women cut no figure 1" 

You are very unfortunate 1 declared I with regret 

In a week's time we met in a restaurant 

Our conversation, of course, was about women. 

"In my life women cut no figure 1" 

Such a lucky fellow t exclaimed I, with envy. 

In a week's time we talked about women again. 
In my life women cut no figure!" said I, throwing myself 

back of the chair. 
You are very unfortunate f exclaimed l^e, with sorrow. 

Again we met in a week's time. 

I said: In my life women cut no figure 1 

"Some lucky fellow 1" filtered he, with envious irritation. 

To-day we talked about women. 

"What is the use of raising this question (^' said he in- 
dolently, "it is a perpetuum mobile!" 
"A perpetuum immobile," — I corrected him. 

Dawn 

By Richard Aldington 

IT is night; and silent. 

The mist is still beside the frozen dykes; it lies on the 
stiff grass, about the poplar trunks. The last star goes out 

The gulls are coming up from the sea, crying and drifting 
across like pieces of mist, like fragments of white cloth. 
Tl^ey turn their heads and peer as they pass. The sky low 
down glows deep purple. 

The plovers swirl and dart over the ploughed nefd t>eyond; 
their screams are sorrowful and sharp. The purple drifts 
up the pale sky and grows redder. The mist stirs. 

The brass on the harness of the plough-horses jingles as 
they come into the field. The birds rise in scattered knots. 
The mist trembles, grows thinner, rises. The red and gold 
sky shines dully on the ice. 

The men shout across the thawing clods; the ploughs creak; 
the horses steam in the cold; the plovers and gulls have gone; 
the sparrows twitter. 

The sky is gold and blue, very faint and damp. 

It is day. « 

From ImaffeM-^ld and New. The Four Seas Co,, Boston, 19W. 



/ 



The April skies are leakin' and a wettin' cvetything 
So come on and join the chorns — Here's to 
Spring — Sweet Spring. 

T«m Sltettr 

In Memoriam: Dick Davis 

Richard Harding Davis had his foible of vanity, but he 
was a, man of quality, too. His courage was never questioned 
and his integrity as a reporter of events as he saw them 
was flawless. Moreover, he could write real romance. Anii 
only O. Henry has things to his credit that surpass in. short- 
story craftsmanship "Gallegher" and "The Bar Sinister," 
while the "Van Bibber" sketches are as true to life as they ; 
are happy in spirit. "Dickie" Davis was a pretty high type 
of American and not the leas high because he did good work 
although possessed from the beginning of means that would 
have prevented many another young man from doing any- 
thing. They are a little breed who attempt to belittle the 
achievements of Richard Harding Davis. 

William Marion Reedf 



Dead Ptaeocks 



OSCAR WlLDt 

HIS LIFE AND 
CONFESSIONS 

By FRANK HARRIS 

TlM^^at iMtM ol Brttna^a WaaUy wiU-conUin a mwpnr mmi 
> fnr ol A* BMtt fmwrfc rt Ja pM i aga t from tha IbIm* w«rk 
ol Fnalt Hanru. 

TU*. work i* the mo«C bifportaiit human docnmapt of Aa 
♦waMfi«^h cantniT. h i» nc4 OM'dr >!>• life of a mafu It is 
dM avdntion of an apoch in Ensltik life and letter*, it ■• a 
I iimaiii ■ as it canM be wriltMt (>nlj. bf Life it»elf witk dte 
kaart-blood of mp^ and wcKoan. . 

it ia a eDprame tragedy baca^M nona nf it* actcw* vwr 
thoa(bt It cooM be one. It shows men at dieir wont irii3e 
dtay ware foffattinA pity and compassion, reraliinK in inhn- 
mmilty and CT wit y for die defense of that imsKe of ■ wroaf 
CknstiUui hnmamty thej had nuula for diemielTes. it shows 
Man at hk nearest to God: humble, resigned, in the confeesion- 
dt driak^ to the dr«o the bittere«t c«v; Tolunlarilr— at Ae 
g«le of a.nsiw, «f « real 1^. 

. The cste.opwns,. Pity above aU, and hma arc* as :pimWi 
mmpt, H.th«.dri*mK power of dlia naiwvlifa.. 



.1 towards tfaa one who «ra«,dw JndM ls«arioti i 
h^ rwioad * Ufa unknowingtrt who had caused pains and 
«mdeBW*itf«l> Mid fawl drieen • man.to soul w id d e . Lpva and 
pitr for iha.^i^rT m«n who woidd not allow dia dead to alaap 
l>a|«afnllfi. ,,. 

And ,^t"» '*'■•, '"^ 

An iind with terror. 

The man died as he had liradl 

That last cluster of (he boofcl 

Etanal Jnstke hae bean dispensed 
pnt to raat with Jorinc rorarence. T 
mamoryj ji fra|XBa«v of the beantiful 

i lava. 



and it* dead am htlma H 



Frank >f«nw ha4 v"*^ a tnw 1^ of Qscap WIMa. 
8>U [neideatally, a wonder^ book for humaid^- 
A big mttn has «rritlan about a faHow. mm in a |k( 
LoVe was his (uardian angd. 
Leva led lo*a to netmy. 



Oicaf-mUdt—atout i960: 



Where Cortes, battling for Iberia's crown, 

First foand thee, and with rough and soldier gnesa 

Pronounced thy virtues of rare worthiness 

And fit by Madrid's dames to gain renown. 

When tasting of thy sweets, fond memories 

Of bygone days in Versailles will arise; 

Before the Kin^, reclining at his ease 

I sec Dubarry in rich toilet stand, 

A gleam of passion in her lustrous eyes, 

A Sevres cup in her jeweled hand I 

CoffM 

WOLUPTUOUS berry! where may mortals find 

Nectars divine that can with thee compur. 
When, having dined, we sip thy essence rare. 
And feel towards wit and repartee Inclined? 

Thou wert of sneering, cynical Voltaire 
The only friend; thy power urged Balzac's mind 
To glorious effort; surely Heaven designed 
Thy devotees superior joys to share. 

Whene'er I breathe thy fumes, 'mid Summer stars, 

The Orient's splendent ^omps my vision greet 

Damascus with its myriad minarets gleams I 

1 see thee, smoking, m immense bazars, 

Or yet in dim seraglios, at the feet 

Of blonde Sultanas, pale with amorous <! 



Just One Scene 



you come, dear ?" 

She is si Ion t. 

He looks at her. 

She is silent — . 

He points the gun at her. 

She speaks the words into the telephone. 

An inaudible answer at the other end of the wire. 

She screams into the instrument: 

"Don't comcl He is herel He knows everything!" 

The husband places his finger on the trigger. 

She stares botdty into his face, erect, ready to die, but so 



ThoughU on Suicide-^V 

at Mtrtim Sf >«* 

CCATTER the roM-leavcs, let the petals fall 

Theyll serve u ^ctora in roy little pU^- 
Each one ■ texr, i hope, or best of %lt 
The auoflbine fweetness of a golden day. 
The hour grows late, yet ^titl the purple win^' 
Invites a parting toast — let ns agree 
To drink to those dead davs when you -ffm tpine 
When I was yours, firat, last and utterly. 
Yon frown — alas my heart is sorro\r-sore, 
Yoar husband too has set his glass eside. 
Let's pass it then for I haye many more 
How's this? A health unto the virgin bride. 
Yon will not drink? Uy glass is all prepared. 
Yon will not star? How sad that word good-bye. 
If they had known it how they would haye stared, 
A toast to death — 'tis done, and I can' die. 

TW RoaMM Way 

A bath of clouded glass or gleaming tile, 

A perfumed powder brought from Araby, 
Clear crystal water warm enough to still ' 
Pulsating nerves that tremble foolishly. 
An ethered drink to make it more a dream, 
A jewelled knife that severs instantly 
The big blue veins that ctoss upon eac^ wrist. 
Sharp stinging pain th^t slowly dies away. 
Indifferent droc^ing eyes that vaguely watch 
The crimson spirals merging cloudily, 
A growing faintness and a cynic's sm^e, . . 
A hath of blood — a soul gone utterly. 

Masks 

11m f UliMoplwr 

As neighbours you will only fee in us the, one-thousandth 
part of our real self 

Could yon-see the whole of us you' surely wduld not 
recognize us. - 

"Please do tell me what is grotesque?" 

It is that, part of our rea^ nature which the Inecessky of 
life makes us give up. ' . 

TIm- CoqiMtta ... ..,'^.<' 

To be able to play witfi Hfe ig. artistic— ' ' 

Plentiful are yoUr ho.ucs oi re^( for your comic, s^f ioasnesE. 
Th* ■d>iwfitlr^it#d 

.- Without .iiudcs-w« aricitttisla' only distorted to simplicity 
and too easy to be understood by commonsense. 



Do you see in us only a daring play of colors? We cannot 
change it. 

If we do it with taste, we live even without an idea.' 
I After ike German of Peter AllenSerg by Guido Bruvo 
|i ^ 

Tb« SoBt 

IT ii a bit of. a river tbat flows between — between the 
■trip of land on this and the strip of land on that side. 
Thoasandi of honey.kss hives bnry the strip on this; 
thousands the strip on that side — honey less hives 
choked by honeyless two-legged lives — bat what of 
theseP It is night. 

It is night, but a song, borne by a friendly wind, 

steals across the river across from yonder side to this^ 

i across to me. It is not a song of night's; it is not a 

i song of Nature's; it is not a scnig of the gods.' It it~ 

\ but stay It is not for you. Your name is Profanation; 

you are of the honeyless two-legs that choke the 

honeyless hives that bury the earth; you are — 

, It is a bit of a river that flows between. It is night 

i A song steals across to me, And only the river 'twixt 

Alfrtd Krefmbarg. 

PrAJndic* 

Little mouse: 

some ral's little child? 

I wottt love you if yOu are. . " — 

Alfred Krefmberg. 



Impreuions of America 

B7 OM*r wiia« 

TIrif imirrtttiitg Mtoumt 0/ Otcar Ifilde't Uur through America 
^otu printed frivaltlf » a little booklet f«r circulaiian among his 
friends, if Staart Momm, and on account of the icarcitj af this. 
frivale print, wot n9t acctttible to the public. It it not contained 
■■ hit colteeted ^oortt. 

I fear T cannot picture America as altogether an Elysium 
— perhaps, from the ordinary standpoint I know but little 
about the country. I cannot give its latitude or longitude; 
I cannot compute the value of its dry goods, and I have no 
very close acquaintance with its politics. These are matters 
which may not interest you, and they certainly are not 
interesting to me. 

The first thing that atruck me on landing in America was 
that if the Americans are not the most well-dressed people 
in the world, they are the most comf6rtably dressed. Men 
are seen there with the dreadful chimney-pot hat, but there 
are very few hatless men; men wear the shocking swallow- 
tail coat, but few are to seen with no coat at all. There is 
an air of comfort in the appearance of the people which is 
a marked contrast to that seen in this country, where, too 
often, people are seen in close contact with rags. 

The next thing particularly noticeable is that everybody 
seems in a hurry to catch a train. This is a state of things 
which is not favourable to poetry or romance. Had Romeo 
or Juliet been in a constant state of anxiety about trains, 
or had their minds been agitated by the question of return- 
tickets. Shakespeare couid not have given us those lovely 
balcany scenes which are so full of poetry and pathos. 

America is the noisiest country that ever existed. One is 
waked up in the morning, not by the singing of the nightin- 
gale, but by the steam whistle. It is surprising that the 
sound practical sense of the Americans does not reduce this 
intolerable noise. All Art depends upon exquisite and deli- 
cate sensibility, and such continual turmoil must ultimately 
be destructive of the musical faculty. 



the armmetrical motion of the great wheels ia the most 
beautifully rhythmic thing I have ever seen.* One is im- 
pressed in America, but not favourably impressed, by the 
inordinate size of everything. The country seems to try 
to bully one into a belief in its power by its impressive 
bigness. 

I was disappointed with Niagara — most people must be 
disappointed with Niagara. Every American bride ii- taken 
there, and the sight of the stupendous waterfall must be 
one of the earliest, if not the keenest, disappointments in 
American married life. One sees it under bad conditions, 
very far away, the point of view not showing the splendour 
of the water. To appreciate it really one has to see it from 
underneath the fall, and to do that it is necessary to be 
dressed in a yellow oil-skin, which is as ugly as a mackin- 
tosh — and I hope none of you ever wears one. It is a 
consolation to know, however, that such an artist as Uadame 
Bernhardt has not only worn that yellow, ugly dress, but 
has been photographed in it. 

Perhaps the most beautiful part of America is the West, 
to reach which, however, involves a journey by rail of six 
days, racing along tied to an ugly tin-kettie of a steam 
engine. I found but poor consolation for this lourney in tue 
fact that the boys who infest the cars and sell everything 
that one can eat — or should not eat— were selling editions of 
my poems vilely printed on a kind of grey blotting paper, 
for the low price of ten cents.** Calling these boys on one 
side I told them that though poets like to be popular they 
desire to be paid, and selling editions' of my poems without 
giving me a profit is dealing a blow at literature which must 
have a disastrous effect on poetical aspirants. The invariable 
reply that they made was that they themselves made a 
profit out the transaction and that was all thev cared about. 

It is a popular superstition that in America a visitor is 
invariably addressed as "Stranger." I was never once ad- 
dressed as "Stranger." When I went to Texas 1 was called 
"Captain"; when I got to the centre of the country I was 
addressed as "Colonel," and, on arriving at the borders of 
Mexico, as "General." On the whole, however, "Sir," the 

*In a poem published in an American magazine on February ISth, ISBZ, 



""Poema by 0»c»r 
Renaiaiance." The Seat 
ISSZ. 4to. Pp. JZ. New 

A copy- o( thit edition 



726 BRUNO'S W^EJCLY. 



old English method of addressing people is the most coitnoion. 
It is, perhaps, worth while to note that what many people 
call Americanisms are really old English expressidni which 
have lingered in our colonies while they have b^en IbSt in 
our own country. 

(To be continued). ___^^. . '. . ■ I 

STATEMENT OF THE OWNERSHIP, MANAGEMENT, CIRCUUVTlON, 
ETC KEOSUnOLD BY THE ACT OF CONGRESS OP 

AUGUST 2I» ttit 

Of Bruno's Weekly published Weekly at New York, N. Y., for April 

tate of New Jersey 
County of Essex— as. 

Before me. a Notary Public, in and for the State and county, afore- 
said, personally appeared Charles Edison, who, hav^tg been duly iiworxi 
accorain^ to law, deposes and says that he is tii<^ publisher ot the 
Bruno's Weekly and that the following is, to the best of his kttowtedge 
and belief, a true statement of the ownership, manageii^nt (and if a 
daily paper, the circulation), etc., of the aforesaid puoUcatiQh lor the 
date snown in the above caption, required by the Act of August 24, 1912, 
embodied in section 443, Postal Laws and Regulation^, ipHnted oti the 
reverse of this form, to wit: ...... 

1. That the names and addresses of the pvib^sher, editor, managmg, 
editor, and business managers are: Publidhei:, Chi-rles Edison; UeWeUyn' 
Park, W. Orange, N. J.; Editor, Guido Bruno, 53 Washington. "S^tiare. 
New Yorki N. V.: Managmg Editor, Guido Bruno, 68 Washin^nton. S<|iiarc, 
New York, N. Y.; Business Manager, Guido Bruno, 5S ^Vashlngton 
Square, New York, N. Y. 

2. That the owners are: (Give names and addrelsses of individual 
owners, or, if a corpor^ition, give its name and the name|i imd' i|44f<*8es' 
of stockholders owning or nblding 1 per C(^nt or more . of tbie total 
amount of stock.) Charles Edison, Llewellyn Park, West Of ange;' Nl J. ; 
Guido ^runo, 10 Fifth Ave., New York, N. Y. 

.3. That the known bondholders, mortgagees, and .other seciirity 
holders owning or holding 1 per cent or more of total amount pi bonds, 
mortgages, or other securities are; (If there are none^ so state.) None. 

4. That the two paragraphs next above, giving the names of the 
owners, stockholders, and security holders, if . any, contain QOt only 
the list of stockholders and security holders as they apipear upon the 
books of the company but also, in cases where the stockholder or 
security holder appears upon the books of the conipaiiy as tiiistee 
or in any other fiduciary relation, the name of the per^sqn or ^rpoi^tiqn 
for whom such trustee is acting, id g^ven; also that tne said two para- 
gi-aphs contain statements embracing affiant's full knowledge and belief 
at to .the circumstances and conditions under which stockholders ahd 
security holders who do not appear upoti the books, of the compaiiy 
aft trustees, hold stock and securities in a capacity other tJiaA' that 
of a bona fide owner; and this affiant has no reasosi to beli^vfe th&t 
any other person, association, or corporation has any interest direcjfc 6r 
indirect in the said stock, bonds, or other securities than as so stated 
bf him. . 

5. That the average number of copies of each issue of thiJs publication 
sold or distributed, through the mails or otherwise, td paid |tUbicil!ibers 
dunng the six months preceding the date sliown abpv^ is 

(This' Information is required from daily publications Qnly.) ' 

Signed, CHARLES EDISOk, 

^ubUthibr: - 
Sworn to and subscribed before me this 29th day of March>> 19t& 

Signed, FREDERICK BACSMiWN, Notary MSUc. 
(My commission ejtpires July 2, 1917.) 
(Seal.) 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, and 
edited and written by Guido Bruno, both at 58 Wasbiiigton 
Square, New York City. Subscriptioh $2 a year. 

Bntered as aeoond clfl«s matter at the Post Offioi^ of NA^ 
Terk, N. T., October 14th. 19 16, under the Act of Ifikrek 
td, 1879. 



LARE BOOKS FIRST EDITIONS 



tm OkrIslBM CMfto 
irtagly «r tai Mta for pmplm wh« Imt» B«ltfe«r ttmm Mv 



Address, E. V., Boston Transcript, Boston* Mass. 

L BUY BOOKS 



Staifffo ir«hiBMB» MBail l»ta» smI llbnurlMi Matofri^pli 
Ittltra 9t loMwa lltoruy bmb smI 



''COLLECTOR,** Cam of Bnuo*s We«Uy, 88 WadiiiiftoB 8q. 
For Hoiise«9 Apartments or Rooiiia» Ses 

PEPE & BRO. 

RBAL ESTATE AIID INSURANCE 

40 So. WMhiBftoB Squoffo 
Telopkono 41 aO Spring Cor. of MacDougal Strool 

Being m ^••A 

I N W H I C H 
vje say just vfkmt <o# t'link. Published every month hy Norman'Bei 
Geddes iU 7S( Second Avenue in Detroit, Michigan, it is a little 
hook uniquely illustrated, IV rite for sample copy. 

CHARLES KEELER 

IN RECITALS OF HIS OWN POEMS 

THE VICTORY — Songs of TrtumpH. Pxie% ono dollar 

ELFIN SONGS OF SUNLAND. . Third edition. Q. P. Putnam's 
Sons» Now York & London. Price $1.50. 

SONGS OF A WANDERER. In manuscript 

THE MIRROR OF MANHATTAN. In manuscript 

DANCE RYTHMS. In manuscript. 

Mr. Kseler recites selections from all the above and his varied 
and nnique programs are full of interest and inspiration both 
in the test and delivery. 

In New York and vicinity until June. Now booking dates fof 
California Tour in June, July and August. 

For terms and particulars and for copies of bis books, address 

LAURENCE J. GOMMB 
Tho Lilllo Bookshop Around Iho Coniar 
2 Bait 29th SlMel Now YoA Clly 



READ BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



if 

glad to 



fMtk liftsr-two Imom 
two doHtf* i Witt bo 
eovBl yoa among my 

Goido Bruno 



Charles EdisoB's Littk TkimUe Theatre, Situted 
At No. 10 Fifth ATcme, Greenwich Yillaf e, N. T. C 

CLOSED FOR THE SEASON 



R08SI BROTHERS 

as WMhiagtoa Sqawo 
Und«nMtk tho CmtioI 

ICE CREAM AND TOBACCO 



ARTISTIC CUSHIONS 

Including wool embroidery. 
Unique end original designs in 
patckwork. Cushions made tc 
order. CaH or write Sesser» 
Studio Co., 82 Wash. PL. N. Y.^ 
Spring 1076* 






^M^xk^fOSr ^ Puw»«f»d -Per Copy, 



J 




u 



There can be no pleasanter place to hear 
that remarkable Edison Record 
Nomber (82536) than 

The Diamond Disc Shop 

at Number 10 Fifth Avenue 

In this store, at least, the delightful atmoa- 

phere of Old Greenwich Village has not been | 

sacrificed on the altar 6f conunerdalifln 

A fsital win Iriiv j«a» will oa 
csBipiiMsntSt SB iatsrsstfag Uttlt 

Phoiie : Steyretaot 4570 bisfrs^ky sf Ifr. Tkst. A. EAse I 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



^ITED BYGUIDOBRUNOINHIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

'^ive CenU May 27th, 1916 



Miy27ik, 1916. OiWmI 






if 



HOTEL BREVOORT 
rmhAi 



CAFE LAFAYETTE 



KAYMOND CHtTEia INC 

Ibtab aad R(MfwiiN of Noir York 



GONFARONE'S 

40 WotiaihStaMt 

TABLE D'HOTE 

'"Eotiiic placos aro Utomor loiidniarks** takl O. HoBtjr* 
•pealdac of Gonforono** ia ono of his unoxcellod 
wick ViUogo Slorioa. 



GREENWICH VILLAGE INN 

(PolVO 

147 WEST 4TH STREET 

BetwooB Waakington Sq. H 
6tk Ato. 

Sonrico a la Carto 
Outdoor Dfaifait Room 



te a flislit 



aMwwfd kgr 



AMTON HOnXMAK 



Sport Hats, Artirt Smock Sot»» 

MaMiao Costomoa 

For town and country. 

PAINT BOX 

150 W. 4tk St. nr. Ml Ato. 

Pkoaa Spring 23 N. Y. 



WAKTBD jao is 



at « 

to 



TBM TIIXA0B «ien 



add vtoeas af 



P«t- 



it.M tfU • p. 
dajB !• p. ] 



T. D. COX 

Stationarp and Nawi Skop 
Circalating Likrarp 

66 Waakkigton Placa, N. Y. 

JUDSON TAILOR SHOP 
61 Wa«kiagton Sq. 

All kinds of tailoring work 
neatly done. Dry cleaning of 
Ladies* Suits, Go¥ms, Wraps, 
etc., a specialty. 

'Pkoaa 6360 Sprkig 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Edited by Guido Bruno in Hit Garret on Washington Square 



No. 22 MAY 27th, MCMXVI. Vol. II 



Y^^ ^^^f^ ^^^ ^<^^' ^^^ Mng he loves, 

By each let this be heard: 
Some do it *with a bitter look, 
Some vnth a flattering *word; 
The co*ward does it with a kiss. 
The brave man with a sword/ 

Some kill their love when they are young. 

And some when they are old; 

Some strangle with the hands of %ust. 

Some with the hands of Gold: 

The kindest use a knife, because 

The dead so soon grow cold. 

Sonu love too little, some too long. 

Some sell, and others buy; '^ 

Some do the deed with many tears. 

And some without a sigh; 

For each man kills the thing he loves. 

Yet each man does not die. 

Oscar Wilde 

From "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" ' 

Parisian Women During the War 

Translated Extracts from^a letter to the Editor 

f^O you remember that lot of night cafes and night restaur- 
ants on the Place Pigalle where they used invariably to 
take tourists and strangers before the war to show them how 
"real Parisians" danced tango? A shower of little rubber 
balls, happy laughter and gay music greeted you. And now, 
even in the Restaurant I'Abbaye, there is less noise and less 
light than before, and if you enter the half-darkened room, 
you notice on -the red canopies along the walls, a number of 
women bent diligently over their sewing. Since the outbreak 
of the war the place was rented by "Le droit des femmes" 
and there are about half a hundred women who are out of 
work in steady employ. They give them a very frugal break- 
fast, and supper before they start for home in the evening, 
and they also pay them every fourteen days, a few francs. 
All kinds of women are asking here constantly for work, 
white-haired widows, wives of working men, but chiefly 
midinettes. 

"Everybody who wishes to work is made welcome," said 
one of the patronesses whom I interviewed, "and it is of no 
consequence to us whether the women are decent or not. We 
are occupying the women with all kinds of sewing work and 
with the manufacture of dolls, especially of dolls in the uni- 

Copyright 1916 by Guido Bruno * 



728 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



forms of the Allies, like the picturesque Scots and Cossacks." 

L'Abhaye is only one of the many working shops opened 
and successfully operated during the past year for women out 
of employment. And it can easily be understood where the 
tens of thousands of midinettes of Paris are keeping them- 
selves since the outbreak of the war, who previously popu- 
lated, during the breakfast hours, the boulevards and the 
Rue de la Paix. Many of them left for the country, but 
most of them found work in the sewing rooms, while only a 
small number accepted the offers of the Magdalene Sisters, 
who offered them shelter and board, if they were wiling to 
live according to the rules of the institution and to make 
bandages for the wounded. 

A few days ago I paid a visit to this house of midinettes. 
It seemed to be a cage filled with singing birds and it would 
make a novel with many chapters, to write ajbout those little 
midinettes working under the supervisions of nuns "pour la 
patrie." 

While a good many of the society women of Paris are en- 
wrapped in their charitable activities in TAbbaye, in the 
bazars, at the ^'boulevards des capucines," the ladies of the ex- 
clusive circle of Parisian society almost all joined the Red 
Cross. At the start of the war there was quite a bit of hesita- 
tion about the groups and patriotic societies they should join, 
but now the women of France are united in one league and in 
one union. For the society women, the Croix Rouge is the 
latest Parisian saloon where everyone meets everybody. But 
not everybody has access to this saloon. It is necessary — as 
they say in slang — to show "la patte blanche," and it has hap- 
pened on different occasions, that divorced women were 
snobbed and not permitted to participate in the sewing work. 
As most of the ladies of the Red Cross are royalists and 
devout Catholics, one must not be surprised that the republi- 
can laws concerning divorce seem to be forgotten. But laws 
and morals are two entirely different things. Not very wel- 
come guests among the ladies 6i the Red Cross are even wo- 
men of republican circles, and therefore they have founded a 
so-called Green Cross which also takes care of the wounded 
and sick — to be differentiated from the Blue Cross which is 
caring for horses exclusively. Even iiow during the war, are 
the social contrasts in Paris so sharply marked that organiza- 
tions of Crosses in all colors of the rainbow sprang up in no 
time. 

Then there is "la petite bourgeoisie" — wives of radical phy- 
sicians or lawyers or teachers, who never approved of mili- 
tarism and who are trying their best to get accustomed to 
the prevailing conditions of the country. 

The war has been a good teacher of geography. Only a 
little while ago it was not a singular occurence in Paris to 
meet a lady of the best circles, educated in a cloister, who had 
only very vague ideas^^-not only about the geography o^ 
Europe, but of France. . 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 729 



The step from the society women to the woman of the half- 
^vorld is not very big. 

And surely this letter would not be complete if it did not 
fnention the lady of the night cafe. The actress *§ the con- 
necting link between her and good society. The little 
actresses all went to the country. They pretended to be going 
home to take care of a wounded brother or cousiti, and they 
have not been se^n again in Paris. All of them, nearly, came 
from the country. Their people own somewhere, a piece of 
land, are farmers and are glad to welcome back to their 
family circle the black sheep. All you can see in Paris now 
are the little trotinns,' living on twenty-five sous per days, paid 
to the unemployed by the maire of each Arrondissement. 

— How a Paris woman dresses during the war? I wonder 
if there is still a Parisian fashion existing? If there is, it is 
surely the so-called Scotch bonnet, used now by almost all 
Parisian ladies, and its old name, ^'bonnet de Police" is again 
in vogue. Not much is to be said otherwise about fashions. 
That the Russian blouse with Serbian embroidery will be 
worn by elegant Paris during the winter, seems to be assured. 
Scotch is favored very much, too. And the color, schemes will 
combine the national colors of the belligerent allies. But not 
much is left of the light-heartedness of yore — not in fashions 
and not in the mode of living. Even the greeting on the 
streets and in public places has a grave, solemn character. 
Where the jolly heart of the French woman is? It is far away 
at the front I There are at present, more than four million wo- 
men who are without husbands or whose brothers, sons or 
sweethearts are in the trenches somewhere out there in con- 
stant danger of Ijfe, that they call "at the front." 

A few are fortunate enough to have their male relatives still 
at home — those whose husbands and sons are employed in the 
offices oC the military administrations. She, "la femme de 
Tembusque" is a pathetic little figure. All day long she is 
visiting her friends while her husband is in the office telling 
them that he doesn't wish anything better than to be trans- 
ferred to the front. And while her poor heart is paralyzed by 
the idea that he may be commanded to the front, she feigns 
eagerly her desire to see her husband, too, among the fighters 
for France's freedom. 

But all of them — no matter what their social or political oi* 
religious convictions may be — the ladies of the Red and of the 
Blue Cross, the republican women of the Green Cross, and 
the wife of the workingman who is trying to keep her family 
going "during her husband's absence in the field — every one of 
them consecrates her heart to the army. No matter if the 
distinguished aristocratic woman snobs a **newly rich" during 
a meeting of the Red Cross, her heart goes out in sympathy 
to the wounded and to the suffering. And the countess leaves 
in the most terrific heat or in streaming rain, her comfortable 
quarters, to walk among the people on the boulevards collect- 
ing sous for soldiers. It is the same desire to help that causes 



730 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



the society woman in her limousine as well as the poor wo- 
man in the buss, to knit useful things for the soldiers for their 
winter campaign. Knitting needles and yarn can be seen in 
J'aris everywhere, even on the narrow. benches in the moving 
picture show. 

American Generals 

I — ^Major-General Frederick Funston, U. S. A. 

VT^HEN I see his name - my recollection goes back lapace 
twenty years. Fred Funston, a little sawed-oiff chap, 
came to New York from the wild and\voolly west, looking 
for a job. He was broke and so was I. My meanderings 
took me down to Harper's Week^>^ then a publicati/&n of 
weight and merit, an4 to it& amjable managing editor I 
sold some of my literary vaporirigs. Then I landed a job. 
It was to go to Cuba and write war stuff. 

Following closely upon my heels, Fred Funston landed two 
jobs. New York was then rife with Cuban patriotism, and 
stories of Spanish cruelty and oppression, sufficient to make 
any red-blooded man's blood boil, and there was hardly one 
of us who did not want to go down to Cuba and help lick 
those Spaniards. We all were willing to fight for a cause, 
and the Cuban cau^e seemed a good one. 

Fred being of the right stuff, and his blood fired by tales 
of Cuba's struggle for freedom, • offered his services, not 
having any sword to offer, to the Cuban Junta at their offices 
^ down in New Street. One of the bunch of Cuban generals, 
sizing Jiim up, and not wanting to hurt his feelings, told him 
that they were not sending any more Americans to Cuba, 
bu the office boy, being a good American and not a very large 
man himself, tipped Funston off that an expedition was being 
fitted out for Cuba with a couple of Hotchkiss field pieces, 
and that there was not a damned Cuban in the whole cigar 
making oufit, that was being sent down to the island to fight 
for his liberty, who knew a gun from a water main. 

That was enough for Freddie. All he had to do was to 
ascertain who sold those guns, and the ofl&ce boy informing 
him, away he hiked up to Hartley and Graham's on Broad- 
way, and boldly announced that he was going to Cuba; for 
men with red blood, when they make up their minds to do a 
thing, usually do it. ' He may have stretched a point or 
two, but that does not matter. He was shown the twelve 
pounder that was being purchased for the Cuban expedition. 
An expert explained its mechanism, and he was allowed to 
fondly handle the formidable looking piece, take it apart and 
put it together again, and half an hour's instruction was 
given him in finding the range, priming, 'firing, etc. When 
Funston returned to the Junta, he was theoretically a full 
fledged artilleryman, and so anxious was the Cuban general 
to whom he applied for service in the Cuban aripy this time, 
to secure a gunner for the field pieces that were being sent to 
Cuba, that it did not occur to him to size up the applicant's 
soldierly looking qualities, and the little sawed-off future 
general was engaged at once. But the Cuban Junta wasn't 



BRUNO^S WEEKLY 731 

paying out any money for either soldiers or artillerymen. It 
took all the money they could raise to buy their arms and 
ammunitions, so Funston hunted another job which he 
thought would bring him the much needed funds. 

Like myself, he meandered into the office of Harper'^ 
Weekly, and there he impressed the editor with Tiis ability to 
send him real life stuff from the field in Cuba, so that he 
landed his other job. And thus, with two jobs, the war-like 
hobo from the West, embarked for Cuba and began his 
military career which has landed him in the United States 
Army with the rank of Major- General. 

He made good in Cuba as far as the Cuban artillery was 
concerned. For with the very field piece which he was 
allowed to so fondly handle in New York, he knocked the 
spots out of the Spanish block-house at Cascorra, helped'take 
the town of Guaimaro, peppered the town and fortifications 
of Jiguani, and finally blew up the Infantry barracks of Las 
Tunas and helped beat that town into surrender. But by 
this time, the Cuban army had exhausted itself. The country 
was without food, and the followers of Carlixto Garcia were 
literally starving. Funston starved with them until there was 
nothing else to do, and he did it — one of the nerviest things in 
his life. 

He rode up to a Spanish blockhouse and surrendered. The 
Spaniards, instead of cutting his throat, as he expected they 
would do. and as he deserved, took him in, fed him and sent 
him to Havana, where'~he was turned over to Consul General 
Fitzhugh Lee, and sent back to New York, broke again. 
Here he had his Harper's Weekly job in reserve. He wrote 
"The Battle of La Machuca," and that provided him with 
funds to travel homeward, where upon the strength of his 
military career in Cuba, he was appointed Colonel of Ihe 
Twentieth (Kansas) Volunteers. 

Thomas Robinson Davjiey. Jr. 



732 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Flasks and Flagons 

By Francu S, Saltus. 



V^HEX thy inspiring warmth pervades my frame, 

I see the smiling Guadalquiver stray 
Through Andalusia's fields of endless May, 
Crowned by the ripe wheat like a golden name. 

■ The majos sport in many a wanton game 

At the soft setting of the ardent day, 
And in the Alameda's shadows gray. 
Fond lovers murmur their delicious shame. 

.A,nd then again, the vision will arise 

Before me, of the worn Campeador 

Draining thy fire beneath the AIhambra*s stars, 

While with fierce Moslem-valor in their eyes, 

I see bejeweled Caliphs, red with gore. 

Battle to death in moated Alcazars! 

Maraschino 

THERE is a charm thy essences secrete 

Peopling the mind with many an airy dream, 
I'ntil in conscious pleasure it doth seem 
Thy perfume hath a soul and can entreat. 

So suave unto the sense, so subtly sweet. 
That memories of pre-natal beauty teem, 
And haunt the ravished brain in ways supreme, 
Making our life less dark and incomplete. 

I dram of the dim past, but not with pain; 
The suns of dead but resurrected years. 
Glitter once more on Venice the divine! 
I see the town in bridal robes. «igain. 
Crowned by the Doge amid his gondoliers, 
And eyes like Juliet's, softly seeking mine! 

The Eternal Riddle 

QNE evening the adorable Gladys said: ''Because you are 
so very unhappy on account of your affection not being 
returned, I shall let you kiss at least my bed, my pillow and 
my slipper, poor, poor Peter ." 

She let me up into the little room which served her and 
her friend Olive as bedchamber. She said: "This one to the 
right is my bed ." 

I knelt down and I kissed the beloved sheet and the cover- 
let. I embraced with inexpressible tenderness the beloved 
cushion still fragrant from her hair. I kissed passionately her 
slipper ." 

She was looking at me and started to giggle. She giggled 
she laughed, she screamed she was quite out of sorts with 
merriment. "Why. this is Olive's bed, my dear, you are re- 
warding all this affection ." 



I was deeply hurt to have been mislead so mischievously 
and I replied as quietly as I could: "And if so, isn't your 
friend Olive a beautiful and attractive girl too?" Sweet , 
Gladys paled at these words. She said: "Come on, let us go. 
you are an actor and anyhow I was too wise to you, you 
little fool ." 

Later on, I said to Olive: "Olive dear, which one is really 
your.bed in your little bedchamber; the one on the left side 
or the one on the right side?" 

"The one on the right ." "But Gladys asked me 

to tell you in case you enquired, that it is the one to the left 
from the door. What is the matter with you two people?" 

Later on I said to Gladys: "Darling, I think you really care 
more for me than you want to make me believe you do 
— — ^." Infuriated she replied: "So you really believe, 
you idiot, that it was my bed?" 

"Yes that's exactly what I believe." I answered emphat- 
ically. 

She smiled. She seemed completely satisfied, and in -quite 
a kind way. she said: "Poor, poor Peter. I'm so sorry that 

I love another one, and that you don't like Olive ," 

"Biit are you sure ihat you really and honestly don't care 

jifter ihe German of Peter Alteaberg, by Guide Brune. 

Scatter^ Thoughts 

TrBmcars and Broksn Heart* 

npHE noise a tram car makes when it stops isn't the noise 
of the brakes so much as it is like the noise made by a 
broken heart. A friend whom I don't care for any more told 
me that. Who can blame me? She is a fool! You can't 
hear a broken heart grind. j 

Rdigton. 

/^NCE there was a man who had read the Rubaiyat so many 
times that he knew it by heart. Then he recited it to 
himself so rAany times that he began to understand it. Now 
this man was a great chemist as well as a great thinker, and 
after the fifty-eighth recitation, the idea of dying became such 
a horror and injustice to him, that he decided not to die. 

He was a man of singularly sincere purpose, and so he went 
honestly and sincerely to his laboratory, and mixed four 
powders in a chopping bowl. He then lit a bunsen burner, 
for all the world the way they do in physics classes, and 
heated a green liquid. When the liquid began to bubble, he 
threw in the powders and recited Lamb's essay on poor re- 
lations backward. He then removed the vessel from the fire, 
and. after locking the seven doors that led into his laboratory 
and filling seven small bottles with the liquid it contained, 
he raised it to his lips, and swallowed the remainder — and 
nothing happened.— Except that when he died at the ripe old 
age of eight-one. his heirs discovered that the liquid made 
splendid furniture polish. Besides, some of the best people 
attended the old man's funeral. 

Florence Lmee. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



The Gir t from Nevada— Broadviay Star » 

The Girl From Nevada 

FarcB Comedy in Three Acls. 

The Skeleton Plot of BitoM Bro«iw»7 Succeuct. 
Act I. 

ScESJE. ii garden li-itli practicahle gale. 

Sp.»rkl,e Mc1nt\re (enlerinff through gate.) Wfcll this is a 
prelty state of affairs. Roaanna Harefoot lived only for me until 
that theatrical trou(ie came to tovrn; but now she's stuck on sing- 
ing and dancing and letting those actor men make love to her 
that I can't get a moment with her. Hello! here comes the whole 
company. I guess they're going to rehearse here. I'll hide behind 
this tree and watch them do their acts. 

Enter rompany of PLAYERS. 

F[RST Pl.^ver. Well, this is a hot day; but while we're trying 

to keep cool Miss Kitty Socks will sing "Under the Daisies." 

[Specialtiu by the entirjr company.) 

First Pi.ayeii. Well, we'd belter hurry away down the street, or 

«lse we'll be late. 

(Ex tun t Omnu. 
Sparkle McIhtvke {emerging from behind tree). That look* 
easy enough. I guess I'll see what I can do myself. 
(Speciafliei.) 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 735 



First Player {entering ivit/i company). Now that rehearsal is 
over, we'll have a little fun fot a few moments. 
Sparkle {aside). Rosanna will be mine j^et. 

{Gr4ind Finale. y 
Curtain. 
Act II. 
Scene. Parlor of Sparkle McIntyre's house; Sparkle discovered 
seated at table with brilliant dressing -govjn on. 
Sparkle. I invited all that theatrical company to spend the even- 
ing with me; but I'm aft-aid they won't come. I just wanted to 
surprise them with that new song and dance of mine. Ah! here 
they come now. 

Enter Theatrical Companj. 
First Player. We are a little late, Mr. Mclntyre, but the fact 
is I had to go to the steamer, to meet some friends of mine who 
'were coming over to try their luck in glorious America; and as 
they're all perfect ladies and gentlemen, I took the liberty of bring- 
ing them along. Allow me to introduce them to you: Mr. and 
Mrs. Lorenzo Sirocco and the Miss Siroccos |rom the Royal Alham- 
bra in Rooshy. 

Sparkle. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm pleased to meet you; and 
now, if you'll favor us with an act, we'll be greatly obliged. 
{Specialties by' everybody, and Finale.) 
Curtain. 
Act III. 
Scene. Same as Act I. 
l^nter Rosanna. 
. Rosanna. This is the very garden where I used to meet my own 
true Sparkle. In fact, it's right here that he used to spark me. 
Well, while I'm feeling so downhearted, I'll do a little dance just 
to cheer, myself up. 

'• {Specialties by Rosanna.) 
Sparkle {entering). What! you here, Rosanna. Then you must 
love me. 
Rosanna. Yes, Sparkle, I do. 

Sparkle {embracing her). Then, darling, we will be married 
this very day. Call the neighbors all in, and we will sing, dance, 
and be merry- 

Enter Company. 

{Specialties). 

Curtain. 

Replated Platitudes 

Coming necessities cast their clamors before. 

Unfortunately, the woman who lives to become beautiful to 
look at, generally becomes merely beastly to live with. 

Poetry is the product of that art which understands how to 
wed the visions of the soul to the music of fit words, so that 
syllabic sequences shall spell, not only sense, but a symphony 
as well. 

Fashion seems to he the fitful froth l^prne upon a sickly 
brew of feeble, wits and doubtful morals. 

A grafter is a rogue who'd be a thief if he had the moral 
courage. 

Julius Doerner. 






736 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Greenwich Village in History* 

( Concluded from last issue) 

A walk through the heart of this interesting locality — the 
American quarter, from Fourteenth street down to Canal. 
west of Sixth avenue — will reveal a moral and physical clean- 
liness not found in any other semi-congested part of New 
York; an individuality of the positive sort transmitted from 
generation to generation; a picturesqueness in its old houses, 
"standing squarely on their right to tie individual" alongside 
those of modern times, and above all else, a truly American 
atmosphere reminiscent of the town when it was a village. 

Elsewhere in this book we have given an extended account 
of Richmond Hill. Aaron Burr's home in old Greenwich Vil- 
lage. Perhaps the next most notable name which would 
occur to us would be Thomas Paine, who lived at 58 Grove 
Street, where he wrote hi^ famous pamphlets "The Age of 
Reason" and "Commonsense." The latter contribution to the 
then current literature touching on questions pertaining to 
the Revolution did more than all other efforts to' unite and 
solidify public opinion on the question, of final separation, 
which up to that time had only been considered by a few of 
the most virulent radicals. 

Another old landmark was the New York University Build- 
ing, where Theodore Winthrop wrote his "Cecil Greene." 

The Richmond Hill Theatre, Aaron Burr's old home, was 
not the only contribution to the New York Stage made 
by Greenwich Village. At Greenwich Avenue and Twelfth 
Street there was the once popular Columbia Opera House. 
Polly Smith, who was known to everyone as the village 
tomboy, won the Adam Forepaugh prize of ten thousand 
dollars for the most beautiful girl in America. She then 
changed her name to Louise Montague and made a big hit 
at Tony Pastor's and as the captain's daughter in "Pinafore." 
Leonard Dare, a trapeze performer, lived in Abingdon Square 
before she went to London and married into the nobility. 
Johnny Hart, a famous old minstrel, was also a. resident. 
His brother Bob was the prize drinker of the neighbourhood. 
but when he was sober (and broke) he gave temperance 
lectures and passed the hat for collections. 

There were many other Old characters in the village that 
can be easily recalled — Crazy Paddy, who never missed a fire 
and who was a familiar figure sprinting down the street 
in front of the "Department;" Johnny Lookup, who had an 
uncontrollable penchant for attending funeral* and con- 
sidered it his bounden duty to accompany the remains of 
any villager to its last resting place. Then there waS Susy 
Walsh, the school teacher, who was so pretty that all the 
boys hung around her desk waiting for the chance to carry 
her books home. 

Old-timers recollect the Jefferson Market Bell Tower and 

*/ am indebted for this story to Mr. Henry Collins Bro*wn, nvho 
ga've me permission to extract it from his beautiful "Book of Old 
Neiv York/* printed by him privately for collectors. 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



the bell they used to ring for Ares; all had a book that gave 
the location of the fire as indicated by the strokes oE the 
bell, and all would run with the machine. Then there wa» 
the old slaughter-house San the southwest corner of Bank 
and Hudson Streets, where the boys used to look over the 
old-fashioned half door and see them hoist up the beeves- 
with block and fall, and hit them in the head with an axe. 
Directly opposite on the northwest corner was the old 
Village House where the "boys" used to play billiards, drink 
"Tom and Jerrys" and swap stories. 

West Tenth Street was called Amos Street, and where 
the brewery now. is, between Greenwich and Washington 
Streets, stood the old state prison where many were hanged. 
In the ice house of Beadleston & Woerz's they still point 
out the old beam used for this function of the law. West 
Eleventh Street was called Hammond Street, and what is 
now Fourth Street Park, at the end of Fifth Avenue, was 
the old Washington Parade Ground, where all the troops 
drilled and paraded to their hearts' contents. The grounds 
were surrounded by a high iron railing and there were large 



738 BRUNO'S WEEKI.Y 



iron gates which were opened for the entrance of the troopr 
and closed to keep the crowds out while the regiments were 
parading. 

Dclameter's iron works and foundry were at the foot o' 
West Thirteenth Street, where the "boys used to dive oflF the 
big' derrick into the clean water of the Hudson — not dirty 
as it is now. The old Hudson Street burying grounds (St 
John's) were at Leroy, Qarkson, Hudson and Carmine 
Streets, and at one end was the caretaker's old-fashioned 
house, who cultivated quite a large farm on the unusei 
portion of the cemetery. It is now called Skerry*s Grove 
on account of the tough characters that infest the vicinity. 
The old marble yard where th^y cut hugh blocks of marble 
with swing saws, was on Bank Street between Hudson and 
Bleecker Streets. 

The different social blubs held their receptions and dances, 
and the politicians in turn held forth in the old Bleecker 
building, situated in Bleecker Street. In this hall Frederick 
House, now Judge House, was nominated for the Assembly 
and John W. Jacobus — "Wes" Jacobus — formerly Aldcrmar 
of the Ward and leader of the district, later U. S. Marshal. 
held forth as boss of the political meetings. Other unique 
features of interest were the Tough Club, the oyster boat? 
at the foot of Tenth Street, Jackson Square and Tin Can 
Alley. In his father's bakery at the corner of Jane Street and 
Eighth Avenue, John Huyler, of Huyler's candy fame, started 
his fortune. In connection with the bread business they 
started making old-fashioned molasses candy, and from that 
modest beginning sprang the immense present candy enter- 
prise. The bakery is still standing. A curious feature of the 
village is the Northern Dispensary, which occupies a who!e 
block. The block is triangular in shape and is about eighteer. 
or twenty feet on each side. It is bounded by a small park, 
by Christopher Street and by Waverly Place on the other 
two sides. It may seem strange that this building is bounde 
on two sides by Waverly Place, yet such is the case.. Waver. 
Place being a street with three ends. Gay Strtet is als: 
located in the Ninth Ward. 

Sadakichi Hartmann— 
A Life-long Struggle 

THE sight — or rather the apparition — for such he is as V- 
rises to begin — of Sadakichi Hartmann on the platform . 
the assembly rooms of the Ferrer Centre in New York reai: 
ing his "Buddha" the other evening, operated on myself * 
several ways. First it stirred Up wonder at the weird look 
the man, rising pale, like an Afrite, in his black dress-clotiv 
— a feling that thrilled every one of his auditors to the cor 
I have seen a young woman, as he rose to give his "Pc 
years ago, throw up her hands, shriek and faint at the sig 
of him. Here is a man who looks like the ghost of i. 
dreams he is about to interpret. His message, his missio" 
are all in his manner. You cannot look upon this tall, gaj- 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY . 739 



ashy-pale spectre of a man wtthout feeling that you are going 
to get something sincere — exotic — you are never disappointed. 
My second tliought, for I had not seen Sadakichi in^jrome 
time, carried me Sack at once to a little room in a poverty- 
stricken fiat in New York and an evening seventeen years 
before when I heard the words of Buddha as they came fresh 
from the brain of the young poet. The auditors were myself 
and his wife "the Madonna," the fchildren — who bore East 
Indian names, had been packed away to bed for the occasion. 
1 never. knew a man in those days that lived so completely in 
his dreams as Sadakichi Hkrtmann. He was the typical 
dreamer of our great metropolis; known as such everywhere 
from the sanctums of Stedman and Howells to the poorest 
purlieus of the East Side. His soul at that time was wrapped 
up in his great cyclufi. He had already written ^Christ" in 
Boston (and suffered for it) and here was "Buddha" to which 
I listened ^ 

"with a rapt surmise" 

feeling that a new planet had indeed "swum into my ken.r 
"Mohammed" was to come and "Confucius." Where the 
bread was to come from for himself and family mean- 
while, Sadakichi knew^ not and cared not. It came, altho 
there were times when the poetic fire was dimmed by starva- 
tion. I never knew one, and I have known poets and dreamers 
by the score, who was 'so possessed by the spirit of self- 
abnegation as this man. He cared not for the Worfd when he 
was writing t^^^ese four wonderful dreams — he asked nothing^ 
of it'. He did not even presume th?it a publisher would look 
at his work. He was satisfied as only the real artist is, with 
the inner vision and he listened only to her voice. Two of 
the dramas— ^they can hardly be called plays — as their effects 
transcend all stage-art — were published at his own expense. 
The others, Mohammed and Confucius, the public knew only 
through his own recitals. 

From great free-thinkers like Walt Whitman, John Bur- 
roughs, James Huneker, Stephane Mallarme, Theophile Beut- 
zon, came a chorus of praise that must have warmed the heart 
^ of the poet. This was what he expected. This was what he 
cared for. r I remember with what suppressed ecstasy he 
showed me the letter of Stephane Mallarme with whose fame 
all Paris was just then ringinjr and who is one of the im- 
mortals. Other tasks claimed him; he could not live on the 
thunder and honey and spicery of these works. And so the 
world heard little of them except when now and then some 
enthusiastics dragged him forth to read one to a select audi- 
ence. He has in this way presented them to the elite of in- 
tellectual America. Something of the worth of what they 
were going to get must have stirred the air for Francisco 
Ferrer followers, for they turned out in force for four con- 
secutive evenings. I do not think any one of them will ever 
forget the scene. Here was poet, philosopher, prophet, artist, 
combined in one, pouring forth words that held their souls 
ravished as though they strayed in an enchanted garden. If 
' this world were not after all this world, and the limitations of 



742 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



kettle. It is decorated by the only native artist, arid he hi: 
treated religious subjects in the naive; spirit of the earh 
Florentine painters, representing people of our own day ii 
the dress of the period side by side with people 6i Biblic^ 
history who are clothed in some romantic costume. 

The building next in importance is called the Ameli* 
Palace, in honour of one of Brigham Young's wives. When 
he died the present president of the Mormons stood uj: 
in the Tabernacle and said that it had been revealed to bin: 
that he was to have the Amelia Palace, and that on this 
subject there were to be no more revelations of any kind' 

From Salt Lake City one travels over the great plains of 
Colorado and up the Rocky Mountains, on the top. of which 
is Leadville, the richest city in the world. It has also got the 
reputation of being the roughest, and every man carries a 
revolver. I was told that if I went there they would be 
sure to shoot me or my travelling manager. I wrote and 
told them that nothing that they could do to my travelling 
manager would intihiidate me. They are miners — men work- 
ing in metals, so I lectured to them on the Ethics of Art 
r read them passages from the autobiography of Benvenuto 
Cellini and they seemed much delighted. I was reproved by 
my hearers for not having brought him with me. I explained 
that he had been dead for some little time which elicited the 
enquiry "Who shot him"? They afterwards took me to a 
I ' dancing saloon where I saw the oftly rational method of 

', art criticism I have ever come across. Over the piano was 

, printed a notice: — 

V PLEASE DO NOT SHOOT THE 

PIANIST. 
HE IS DOING HIS BEST. 

The mortality among pianists in that place is marvellous. 
Then they asked me to supper, and having accepted, I had 
to descend a mine in a rickety bucket in which it was im- 
possible to be graceful. Having got into the heart of the 
mountain I had supper, the first course being whiskey, the 
second whiskey and the third whiskey. 

I went to the Theatre to lecture and I >Vas informed that 
just before I went there two men liad been seized for com- 
mitting a murder, and in that theatre they had been brought 
on to the stage at eight o'clock in the, evening, and then and 
there tried and executed before , a crowded audience. Bat 
I found these miners very charming and not at all rough. 

{To be continued) 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, and 
edited and written by Guido Bruno, both at 58 Washington 
Square, New York City. Subscription $2 a year. 

Entered aa aecond daas matter at the Post Office of New 
York, N. Y., October 14th, 19 IS. tinder the Act of liaroii 
td. It7». 



.t^j^ 



RARE BOOKS 



FIRST EDITIONS 





!▼«« m Ur ftk«M wtf hm^w 



^ 



ddratt, £• v., Boston Transcript, Boston, Mass. 



ARTISTIC CUSHIONS 



Includiiig wool 
Unique and original daaignt in 
patchwork. Cviahiona made to 
order* Call or write Seteere 
Studio Co., 62 Waeli. PL, N. Y. 
iSpring 1076b 



'Phone Spring 3922 

THE DUTCH OVEN 

13S MacDougal Street 
a««r WashlBfton 8q. 

Op9n Air Dmin^ Room 

Home Cooking 
Lnndieon Tea Dinner 



For Honssty ApsTtments or Rooms* Iss 

PEPE & BRO. 

RBAL ESTATE AIID INSURANCE 



Telephono 41 at Spring 



40 So. Waehington Sqnave 
Cor. of BiacDovgal Street 



Jl#tn# g >e#A 

i N W H I C H 
«p# smf fmsi wkMt n»$ fhimk. Puhlished nfiry m^utk bf Nfmrni'MH 
G$dd$$ gf 75< 8€C9nd Anmnu in DHfii, MickigMU It is m liuU 
k00k umquily illuitratid. Wriii f§r smmfh c§Py. 



CHARLES KEELER 

IN RECITALS OF HIS OWN POEMS 

THE VICTORY— Songs of Triovli. Price, one dollar 

ELFIN SONGS OF SUNLAND. Third edition, a P. Putnam'e 
Sontb New York dc London. Price $1.50, 

SONGS OF A WANDERER. In mannecript 

[the MIRROR OF MANHATTAN. In manuacr^ 

pANCE RYTHMS. In manuscript. 

Mr. Ke^er recites selections from all the above and his Taried 
land unique programs are full of interest and inspiration both 
fin the text and delivery. _ 

In New York and vicinity until June. Now booking dates fof 
.Odifomia Tour in June, July and August. 

For terms and particulars and for copies of his books, address 

LAURENCE J. GOMME 
E Inst SSlk Sirael New Yotk Oty 



READ BRUNO'S WEKLY 



tf jna tUiik liil7-two imum 
worUi two dollars I will bo 

to 



Gnido Bruno 



Chailet EdbM's Little TUnlik The^tn, Sibuiii 
At No. 10 Fiftk ATmM, Greoiwidi I^Hage, N. T. C 

Guklo Bniaoy iloiiogor. 

CLOSED FOR THE SEASCW 




I BUY BOOKS 



l«ta» 



•'COLLECTOR*'* Cmm mi 



• WmUjw 58 WosUbsIm %^. 




Faraniied Stadio ApMrtment 
WANTED for Ikroe month*, 
Waahiiigton Sq. prof errod. 

WrUeia S.iLCLAiUCE 
CMre of Bruno's Wooidy, 9S 
OB Sq^ N. Y. C 



ROSSI BROTHERS 

88 Wosldaglon SqMvo 
Undomoolk tho Garrol 

ICE CREAM AND TOBACCO 



There can be no pleasaster phce t» htar 
that remarkdUe Edison Record 
Number (82536) than 

The Diamond Disc Shop 

at Number 10 Fifth Avenue 

In this store, at least, the delightful atmos- 
phere of Old Greenwich Village has not been 
sacrificed on the altar of comnmidalisBi 

A postal will htkng yoo, witfc oi 
coBplimsntB, as iBtcrsstiBf Iltti 

Phone : Shiyyesant 4570 biograpky sf Mr. Thss. A. EdUd 




BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Lnbrsy BaKrdslar 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

iFive CenU June 3rd, 1916 



}wm39A^m6. OiyMlr 




*• W«ddr. 



OlJ3 Navail. Frevts^ 

A SCARCE AND UNllAlAi^CnmECTIQM 

24^ PRINTS. IN GQL0R 



Wt'hM^rc icepnd the remaiDderrafrtfaese^besotifTzl priBts, «; 
liniited mniiber* Frtoted in 1&93 and dKitsoM. £6r$lSjOCr|ier 
•et»* these fdctoret , Were stored awajr in: a^ New Ktirimirf 
loft' for twcntjrthiee years^ until we imearthed^tbeur &.£ew 
weeka ago. They^ are f aitfafal reproduedoas of the. arigjatal 
painting! fagr ErecL Su Cozzena. 

Anions the printa may be. naandoned the Cdnstihaiom, 
KtmriarfMi Hattford, Franklin, Ne*uo Hampshire, Pemnsyl' 
nfomm, Enierprue, Homti, Constellation, Portsmmutk, 
FetuviuSi Miautouomoh, Maine, and the ram J^atahdmi 

For years these prima' have been unobtainable, exciting 
where dealers in old printe have found single subjects, aad 
oomplete sets have been, as scarce" as the proverbial ''hai^. 
teeth«'' Ujitil our stock is exhausted we will mail toi tasy 
address^ a complete set. of twenly-four subjects on reeeipt 
of the wooderfolly low price of 

t2.S0 Postpmd 

CHARLES C BIGELOW & CO., Inc; 

l»lft BROADWAY NEW YORK 



CHARLES KEELER 

IN RECITALS OF HIS OWN POEMS 

THE VICTORY— &Bgs cl Trimnpli. Prie#» one <Wkv* 

ELFIN SONGS OF SUNLAND. Third m^dm. a P. 
SbiM» Now York & Londois. Price $l.50b 

SONGE OF A WANDERER. litmattMcrqyt 

THE MIRROR OF MANHATTAN. In maiwaefiigi 

DANCE RYTHMS. In maniMcript. 

Mr. Ko^er recites eelectiona from all the above and his Tari^d 
and umque programs are full of interest and inapiratiom both 
in the text and deliTery. 

In New York and vicinity until June. Now booking dates foi 
California Tour in June, July and August. 

For terms and particulars and for copiet of hie booke» addr«M 

LAURENCE J. GOIMME 

The Little Bookshop Aroimd the Comer 

2 East 29th Street New York City 



But h! Ikest gifti, the hiirlooms of patt years. 

At* made sad things ta grace thy coffin shell, , 

Tate tktm, all drenched leith a brother's lean. 

And, brother, for all time, hail and farevielU 

Aubrey Beardsley i 

Anarchists in Greenwich Vi(lage 

JJAVE you eve r seen a real live anarchist? Just to b* 
honest, you never wanted to see one. Is it because the 
B follows the A in the alphabet or because of a close associ- 
ation of ideas for which you are not responsible, you think 
immediately of bombs? Bombs and anarchists are insepar- 
able in the minds of most of us. Mysterious destroyers of 
life and of property, merciless men who have pledged their 
lives or their knives or their guns to some nefarious cause- 
or another, who assemble in cellars lighted with candles or 
in road-houses which seem uninhabited and in reality are dyn- 
amite storehouses and bomb factories — aren't these the an- 
archists of your imagination? Aren't these the men of whom 
you think if you read that a king or a prince has been killed 
by an anarchist or that anarchists plan to blow up the Ca- 
thedral on Fifth avenue? 

An anarchist, to you. means a criminal and being an an- 
archist is his crime. Is it possible today to explain Christi- 
anity to one who knows the term alone but not its meaning? 
And just as many denominations, constitute the Christendom- 
of tbe world, just as many kinds- of anarchists are existing. 
It is not absolutely necessary to go out and kill Jews to earn 
the title, Christian. Millions of us would not even think it 
possible that Jews were and are being killed in the name of 
Christianity. And millions of anarchists today will deny 

C^tfright 191S by Guido Bntn» 



Millions of anarchists? Of course. There are millions 
among ua. Some say they are anarchists and usually are 
not, and others would be shocked to be called such, yet they 
really are. It is just like with Christianity, and the same 
country that shocked Christian civilization with outrages in 
the name of Christianity put a bloody meaning in the spell- 
ing of anarchism. To judge a creed by extreme actioiv of 
fanatics cannot lead to an understanding. The religious 
maniac who is seized by temporary insanity and murders 
his wife and his children is a mere incident of everyday 
life and does not cast reflections upon the religious belief 
which is more or less responsible for his delusion. To take 
the essence of a religion or a political creed or of anarchism 
and to compare it with the lives. men actually live, with their 
actions and the results of their actions is a scientific and 
human way in which to pass judgment. 

Some of the biggest men in our public life are anarchists 
by their actions and they would protest vigorously against 
being called anarchists. Others confess they are anarchists 
and nobody would believe them. The men and women whom 
we are accustomed to call anarchists who are proclaimed as 
the apostles of anarchism and are supposed to be dangerous 
individuals recommended to the special care of the police 
surveyance, are in reality harmless creatures living a conven- 
tional life — professional preachers of anarchy, evangelists like 
Billy Sunday who are passing the plate. They might be 
sincere, but they surely get their share out of it. 

Romance is more essential to everyday life than most of 
us imagine. Anarchism has all the qualities of romance 
a. twentieth, century man or woman could possibly look for. 
The moving picture screen is their source of information. 
Here they see the Russian anarchist who sacrifices his life 
for the sake of the cause. Meetings in cellars, exquisitely 
dressed so city women, girls in rags, aristocrats, drunkards, 
statesmen, rich and poor, well-educated and know-nothings, 
all are sitting around the same table ,al! take the same oath, 
all social differences seem erased, the motto is all for one and 
one for all. This romance is so colossal as to be beyond 
the ken of ordinary mortals. Not the overthrow of the 
government not the planning of a murder, interest the hun- 
dreds of onlookers; but this comradeship among people who 
under ordinary circumstances hardly ever would meet spurns 
the craving for comradeship and equalization of all. 

Jack London, who declares himself as a revolutionist saysr 
"It is comradeship that all these masses want. They call 
themselves comrades. Nor is the word empty and meaning- 
less — coined of mere lip service. It knits men together who 
stand shoulder to shoulder under the red banner of revolt. 
This red banner, by the way, symbolizes the brotherhood 
of man, and does not symbolize the incendiarism that in- 
stantly connects itself with the red banner." 

It is this craving for companionship, for relations free of 



the red that stands for dynamite and shooting and murder. 
It was the red Jack London speaks of, the red of comrade- 
ship. They danced and laughed and were happy and if any- 
one would want to call a gathering of young men and women 
like that dangerous, it wouldn't be safe to attend an opera 
performance or to enter a subway train. But London claims 
there are ten million anarchists in the United States. That 
-would make one to each ten persons we meet. 

The anarchists in New York drink mostly tea. They are 
men and women like you and me. They work for their living. 
Of course they would rather prefer not to work but so would 
every one of us. Anarchism is in eighty out of a hundred 
cases, the only luxury of their lives. There are certain places 
in our metropolis which are known to the elect as anarchist 
meeting places. But mighty little anarchism do they talk 
about. They usually plan something. Something that any 
other club or any other society could plan also — an outing, a 
picnic, or a dance. They attend lectures and musicals and 
spend their time as a whole, just as uselessly as most of us 
do after working hours. 

Old Greenwich Village is the home par excellence of an- 
archism. On Bleeker street still stands the building where 
the Chat Noir used to open its doors every evening about 
seven o'clock and shelter revolutionists of all nations. Here 
is was that the man who subsequently killed King Humbert 
of Italy, predicted in the presence of many his deed. But 
nobody took his utterances seriously, because he was known 
as a fanatic whose fanaticism bordered on mania. The_ Chat 
Noir closed her doora long ago. "Maiiini's" is to-day in the 
same building. "Anarchists" assemble there every night and 
have dinner, anarchists from lower Fifth avenue who arrive 
in their limousines, have a footman to open the door of their 
car. They talk anarchism. Here are bits of the table con- 



ctiildren. It artected me so 1 could not attend Mrs. K.'s re- 
ception and she hasn't forgiven me yet." At another table. 
Two men, the one looks rather prosperous; the other fellow 
looks like >n artist. "I say," he says, "this fellow Berkman 
makes me sick. Imagine a man being fourteen years in prison 
and living the balance of his life in telling his fellowmen oi 
his experiences in prison." A fat Italian plays on the harp- 
sicord. Everybody eats roast chicken and drinks red ink and 
enjoys being in an anarchistic place. 

In a ^asemRit nearby is an Italian place. Rough-looking 
individuals sit around small wooden tables. It would amuse 
jrou to understand the conversation of these "anarchists" 
about the last letter they received from home and when the 
long expected Anita is coining over to become Antonio's wife. 
In the houses of Mystery on Washington Square are bush- 
els of anarchists living. They write anarchism and they draw 
and they paint anarchism and eventually it appears in print. 
You can see it on the newsstands or on the book shelves in 
the book stores. 

Let us cross Fourteenth street and enter that mysterious 
house on Fifteenth, between Fifth avenue and Broadway. It 
looks like a monastery and was one, about sixty years ago. 
It was later a gambling house, a house of ill fame, and 
its rooms are utilized at present as studies. It is 
property of the Van Buren estate, and the rentmg agent 
doesn't bother to send collectors if his tenants do not pay 
promptly. He knows that if they do not appear themselves, 
little good will it do to send collectors. Let us walk past 
the beautifully carved wooden doors of the ancient monk cells 
and enter Hippoiyte Havel's abode, right under the roof. 
Hippolyte Havel is the anarchist of New York. He looks the 
part. He was one of the lieutenants of Emma Goldman in 
the beginning of her career, he was delegate to numerous 
international anarchistic congresses in Europe and in America. 
He knows everybody in the "movement" and everybody 
knows him. What does he think about anarchists and anarch- 
ism in New York? 

"To be an anarchist means to be an individualist. To be 
an individualist means to .walk your own way, do the thing 
you want to do in this life- do it as well as you can. You 
must never impose on your fellowmen; you must never be in 
iheir way; you must help everybody as welt as you can; the 
good you derive through your life belongs, in the first place, 
to you but you have to share it with the world if the world 



the sprigs ot a plant in order to destroy tt. The plant will 
not die but just grows irregularly. Life is indestructible — 
it is outside of time and space and therefore death can only 
change the form of life; can only destroy its practical proof 
in this world. 

But if 1 destroy the practical proof of life in this world. I 
do not know if it will be more pleasant for me in another 
one, and thus I deprive myself of the possibility to experience 
all that life had still in store for me in this world and to annex 
it for my own, ego. 

But especially unreasonable is suicide because I demon- 
strate in taking my life that I really did not know my true 
mission on earth: I evidently am laboring under the delusion 
that life must piean pleasure to me, but in reality I am placed 
in this valley of tears and of joys to achieve my self-perfec- 
tion, and supremely to serve that Cause in whose employ the 
life of the whole world is. 

And hence suicide is immoral. Man receives life and op- 
portunity to live until his natural death, only on the condition 
that he serves the life of the world. But after using it as he 
pleases, he refuses to put it at the disposal of the service of 
the world, at the same second his own personal existence dis- 
pleases him. And it is quite probable that he was called upon 
to render this service when he started to dislike life. In the 
beginning every work seema unpleasant. 



creaied for the world of whose pleasure he had been deprived. 

Surely this man was a greater benefactor to mankind than 
thousands of healthy people who believed themselves bene- 
factors to humanity. 

As long as there is life in man he can work towards his 
perfection and he can serve the world; but he can serve the 
world only if he is earnestly working towards his perfection. 
and towards the perfection of the world. 
Translated by Guido Bruno 

To My Dear Friend Thomas 

IT is night. The wind howls and rattles at my door. The 
lock creaks and the wood squeaks. The wind wants to 
wheeze into my ears; "You have betrayed your friend and 
you have cheated his betrothed." 

And the moon is searching for me with its ghost-like light 
and 1 draw the shade. I know what it wants: "I just saw | 
your old mother crying on her pillows, crying away her sor- i 
rows and her griefs." 

And I closed the shutters; soon the sun will come with its 
clear imperiinent rays: "You have stolen from Your father I 
hope and honor and he died, and I saw him cursing you on 
his deathbed." j 

There is the whiskey bottle at a little table next to my bed 
laughing at me. temptingly, invitingly, "Come, drink, drink 
oblivion." and I give it a kick and smash it Into a thousand 
pieces. I don't want to forget. I 

And the looking-glass seems to look at me pityingly: "I \ 
always showed you Ihe truth, but you didn't want to see." I 
turn it to the wall. 1 don't want pity. | 

Hard over there, on the bureau, the gtin gleams at me: 
"Come. I do understand you, I do love you, I do pity you and I 
1 will redeem you." 

Tears streamed down my cheeks and I did not shoot my- 
self. 

CtiiJo Brwmt 
Jmnuarj 28, 1908, } m. M. 



Thy drops must aid red witches to foretell 
Their awful secrets in unholy tomes. 
And in the haunted dusk, the limping gnomes, 
Meeting near somber firs, must know thee well. 

To me, thou art associate ever more 

With beldames' legends of the weird, blue Rhine 

Where white and wanton nixes bathe themselves. 

I see thee luring travelers to the shore, 

While in the gloomy forest near them shine 

The lurid eyes of hell-obeying elves [ 

Replated Platitudes 

It is marvellous how much a man iqay know and not know 
enough to know what to do with even a little of all he knows. 

He who finds pleasures in giving pleasures to those who 
know no pleasures need never know need of pleasures that 
know no sting. 

Some think it 19 sowing wild oats that raises tame men; 
but it is very sure that raising tame oats sows wealth among 
even the wildest men who try it 

A frivolous fool and her daring dances are not Solomonic 
incentive to morality. 

Muu D*tmtr 



the circumstances and order he has chosen. He undertakes 
the expense of its presentation at his own cost, the State 
providing the housing in the eighteenth -century mansion in 
the Rue de Varenne M. Rodin has been occupying these last 
few years. M. Rodin stipulates, moreover, that he be allowed 
to continue living there until his death, and that the museum 
he leaves, comprising also his drawings and collections, bears 

M. Rodin, who had of late years added prose to his plastic 
and graphic expressions, has only raised his voice, or pen 
rather, on one occasion in comment on the war. He seems to 
have realized, unlike others, that the time is not fpr preach- 
itij;. The few words he has said were to the point, as is everj-- 
thing he says or does. In Rodin are united the qualities of 
the French peasant and of the master-man. He has the sa- 
gacity and shrewdness of the one, the critical gifts of the 
other. He is sparing of speech like a peasant, lucid like a 
poet; tenacious and wary like the former, intuitive, tactful. 
feminine, like the latter. He has a sense, too, of timeliness 
as his last deed shows, for it is, in its way, a patriotic deed. 
He was himself timely in his appearance in the artistic cycle; 
some come too soon, others too late; some fall completely 
■ outside of their natural environment. They are out of tune 
with their contemporaries. Rodin suffered from none of these 
errors of selection. Some are great artists, but not great, or 
even good, influences. Rodin's influence has been as vast as 
his genius. It was necessary, it was welcome, it has borne 
fruit. And there is no waste in his life. Effort has been pro- 
portioned to result, result to effort. He has, as far as can be 
judged, always given, or been able to give, form to his inten- 
tions; he has not aimed beyond or on one side of his possibili- 
ties of realization. His qualities have not been strained to the 
point of becoming faults. His idealism, for- instance, has never 
developed into idealogy. 

Rodin is still the greatest of living artists,^ not only because 
he is the greatest art' 
wide influence. He i 

Muriel Cielco-otka 
Excerpt from a letter la The Egiiist. May 1, 1916., 



■upreme i ,-, - - . 

nearer to the love of Chriat than the one preached for tum- 
teen centuries in cathedrals and churches? 

Read oT the Irish heroes who gave their lives because thej- 
wanted freedom for their fellow-men. While you vrere 
riding in elevators and subways and jjushing electric buttons 
they were being shot or sent to a still worse fate — into the 
doom of prison cells— for the same "crimes" we celebrate 
our Washingtons and Lafayettes. 

Think of the woman who entered the death cell of her 
doomed sweetheart two hours preceding his execution, and 
married htm as proof of her sincere and never- changing love. 
Think of the one man who plotted and called to his aid a 
hostile nation; who gathered together an arsenal of arms 
and ammunition; who organized an army ready to Strike for 
his country's freedom. The work of a He/cules — and he is 
facing a trial for his life. 

Imagine to-day, this thirty-first day of May, nineteen 
hundred and sixteen, hundreds of women, part of a crowd 
of spectators of the Harlem regatta, dressed in all the frolicky 
and frivolous finery of our time, chanting old-fashioned 
hymns; crying out from the bottom of their hearts: "Help. 
O Lord, you are our last refuge," all this on the street 
while a boy is drowning after an unsuccessful struggle to 
master the swirl of the waves, and while men are throwing 
off their clothes and jumping into the flood to save him (as 
reported in the New York Times of May 31st.) 

Think of the millionaire merchant in Detroit. From a 
worker he rose to be this country's foremost manufacturer. 
He who had drawn pay for years in hisweekly pay envelope 
is now handing pay envelopes to thousands of hts employees 
and looking after their welfare like no other man in this 
country. He could justly and rightfully enjoy the fruits of 
his labor, 'and he could dream peacefully through the evening 
of his life. But the sorrow of his fellow man is his sorrow. 
His love for the world is so great that he mast "do some- 
thing," be it only an effort to prevent further bloodshed and 
tears and murder. We see him equipping the Peace Ship. 
It is like a gigantic phantom of the Prince of Peace; like the 
unhonored messenger of a great and quickly approaching 
era; like the herald of a long expected "Kingdom of Uan" 
upon earth. 

We see him ridiculed and jeered at by his contemporaries. 
We see him laughted at . . . but he walks his own way; 
this modern man of romance and of love who wants peace 
and happiness for all before he enjoys his own; which cosld 
be his for the taking. 

The dreams of the Arabian Nights have come true. 
charmed to existence by an Edison. Invention to-day is the 
incarnate romance and the imagination come to life of a 
bygone age. \ 

Daily do men realize more and more that to live means "to 
give and to forgive." That everything belongs to everybody 
and that the only way to bring about this idealistic state 



Waabiiittan Honor^ (T) 

IN a very peculiar way during the last few days, Washington 
is being honored in the Square named in his honor. 
Alongside of the pillar of the Washington Arch, facing Fifth 
Avenue, his full-sized figure is being set up— gradually, day 
by day. It seems to take more time than one would expect 
and it is a spectacle unworthy of a dignified patriotic action, 
exhibited there every day. Is canvas really bo expensive that 
a tent could not have been procured for this ot:casion to be 
spread over the marble parts of the statue in order to protect 
it and the working men from the curious looks of paasers-by. 

For two long nights the big trunk and the limbs and the 
head were lying about the Arch much visited by the youth 
of our neighbourhood and by dogs, cats and birds. The 
head had been covered wih wet towels and gave rise to 
many ungodly comments of people who Cannot restrain from 
an attempt to be witty even at the cost of patriotism and of 
being blasphemous. 
Tbu ia the Life 

"^ONEY-changers corner" in the lobby of the Judson, 
where the many torch-bearers of literature and of art 
dwell, was in constant excitement and heated conversation 
during the past few days. Many pros and cons were raised 
but the question is still at large. 

Corinne Lowe w"*" *^" v^-*-.- "-f «. 
but a few of her 
Started it all. 

Miss Lowe returned recently from a trip to Washington 
and soon the glad but strange tidings circulated that she 
had sold to the Saturday Evening Post, five stories, receiving 
an honorarium of twenty cents for each word or a thousand 
dollars for each of her five stories. 

Considering that these stories are "an inside history" of 
the late private secretary of Mrs. Hamilton Fish, it seems 
quite feasible that our distinguished contemporary of Satur- 
day Evening would be willing to buy them at any price. 



such valuable material for the pages- of his journal, which 
really would have been the right urn for the social remains 
of Mrs, Fish's secretary. 

But this, it is said, is the trump card Mi'ss Lowe played 
and being a question of "give me my price (twenty cents a 
word) or the Ladies' Home Journal will give it to rac" won 
her victory. 

QOLUMBINE. ti-itk tyis of blue. 

Do you remetnbtr v:htn vie •aire ne^-jT 
Your fainted theekt vcere brightty fink. 
And your beautiful brows viere lined in ink. 
Why, children tried for lie love of you. 
Columbine, taitk eyei of blue. 

Columbine, viilh golden hair, 
I loved yoa then, but you did not tan. 
For fate loaied on viilk an angry fmiiin. 
And the ihovjman made you vied the clovin. 
You laughed at me then, in my deipair. 
Columbine, viith golden hair. 

Columbine, viiih staring eyes. 

Here in the refuse heap -we lie. 

Your tinsel dress is a battered tL-rett, 

And your head is braien off at the nerk. 

But I love you still . . . I don't know vihy. 

Columbine, viilh staring eye. 

Florence Lowe 

The Last Hour 

By GiutaTB Flaobnt 

{Found among Ait posthumous papers vias this unfinished story 
virilten January 30, I8J7. Flaubert •was then fifteen years aid.) 
I HAVE looked at my watch and calculated how much time 
there still was left for me to live. I realize I had hardly 
one more hour. There is plenty of paper on mydcsfc; plenty 
to write down hastily all the reminlscenses of my life, and to 
summarize the circumstances which have influenced this fool- 
ish and illogical intercogging of days and of nights; of tears 
and of laughter; commonly called the existence of man. 

My room is small and its ceiling is low. My wmdows are 
shut tightly. I have carefully filled the keyhole with bread. 
The coals are starting to kindle; death is approaching. I can 
expect it quietly and calmly while I am keeping ray eyes all 
the time upon the life which vanishes and upon the eternity 
which approaches. 

They call that man happy who has at his disposal an in- 



They strewed flowers over it; sprinkled it with holy water, 
and la.ter, while the sun was throwing his last reddish rays, 
which were lustreless like the eyes of a corpse, into the room, 
and after the day had expired, they lighted two small candles 
at window panes on a little table next to the bed. They 
knelt down and asked me to pray as they did. 

I prayed, ohl so sincerely and as ardently as I could. But 
nothing happened - - - Leiia did not move! I knelt there 
for a long time, my head resting upon the moist cold sheet 
of the bed. I cried, but quietly and without fear. I believed 
that if I could meditate, if I could cry, if I could rend my 
soul with prayer and with vows, there would be granted to 
me a look or a motion of this body of misty form, where was 
indicated a head, and farther down, the feet. I, poor believ- 
ing child, had faith enough to think that my prayers would 
bring to life a corpse, so great was my belief and so great 
was my harmlessness. 

Ohl one cannot express in words the bitterness and the 

gloom of a night passed at the side of a corpse; praying, cry- 

j ing at the corpse which will not be recalled to life. No on* 

I knows what a night full of tears and sobs contains of dread 

I and terror; a night in the light of two dead candles, passed 

1 in the society of two women with a monotonous sing-song, 

with cheap tears and with grotesquely-resounding hymnsi 

No one knows what such a night of desperation and mourning 

' indicts upon the heart: what misery and grief. Upon the 

> youth, scepticism; upon the old man, despair. 



that she may return. You have fooled me!" 

"Bui that wa» for her soul!" 

Her soul? What did that mean? They often had r 
to me about God, but never of the soul. 

Godl That al last I could understand. If they ba< 
me what it meant, I would have taken Lelia's canary, 1 
have crushed its head with my hands and I would ha 
"I, too, am God!" But the soul? The soul? What 
was bold enough to ask them, but they left me ^vith^J 
answer. Her soull ^ 

Well they have fooled me, these women. What - 
wanted was Lelia, who played with me on the lawn a , 
the woods, who used to lay on the grass, picking flo-wer- i 
throwing them to the winds. Lelia, my darling little s- 
with big blue eyes, Lelia who embraced me every evc | 
after she had played with her doll, with her little Jacnb i 
with her canary. ' 

Poor sister! For you did I cry; you I wanted badly. - 
these barbaric people answered me: "No, yon will nevei 
her again; you did not pray for her but for her soull 
something unknown, which is indetermined as is a word '. i, 
foreign language; for a breath; for a word, for nothing: i 
short, for her soul have you prayed." | 

Her soul, her soul. I despise it; her soul. I pity her. \ 
don't want to think of her any more. What shall I w^ith •■■'. 
soul? Do you know what it is, her soul? Her body it ■ 
that I want; her look, her life, shortly, herl And you, y- 
have given me back nothing of all this. 

These women have fooled me; well, and I have cursed thf 

This curse has fallen back upon me. Upon the foolish phi!-- 
sopher who cannot comprehend a word without spelling :- 
who cannot believe in a soul without feeling it, and iwho csr 
not fear a God whose blows he faces, as Aschylos caused h ^ 
Prometheus to do, and whom he loathes so much that !:.- 
would not even defame him. 

IV 

Often I said to myself, looking up at the sun: "Why iJ 
you shine upon every day with all this sorrow? Why do yoi. 
put into the light of the broad day so much of grief and suc^ 
unspeakably foolish misery?" 

Often I said to myself, observing myself:, "Why arc you 
here? Why don't you dry your tears while you are crying 
with one well-aimed shot whose inevitable consequences not 
even a God could prevent." 

Often I said to myself, looking at all the people who are 

hastening, hunting after a name; after a throne; alter the 

1.^ ideal of virtue — all things that are more or less shallow and 

> senseless — looking at this whirl, this glowing lava, this un- 



Among ine more eioeriy ii _. . ._ ._ _ .. 

a melancholy tendency to date every event of importam 
by the late war. "How beaatiful the moon " to-night," i 
once remarked to a gentleman who was standing next to me. 
"Yes," was his reply, "but you should have seen it before 
the war." 

So infinitesimal did I find the knowledge of Art, nrest 
of the Rocky Mountains, that an art patron — one who in 
his day had been a miner — actually sued the railroad com- 
pany for damages because the plaster cast of Venus of Mil-i. 
which he had imported from Paris, had been delivered tninui 
the arms. And, what is more surprising still, he ssineJ 
his case and ffie damages. 

As for slang I did not hear much of it, though a young lady 
who had changed her clothes after an afternoon dance did 
say that "after the heel kick she shifted her day goods." 

American youths are pale and precocious, or sallo^v and 
supercilious, but American girls are pretty and charming — 
little oases of pretty unreasonableness in a vast desert of 
practical common-sense. • 

Every American girl ii 
devoted to her. They remain 
with charming non-chalance. 

The men are entirely given to business; they have, as they 
say, their brains in front of their heads. They arc also ex- 
ceedingly acceptive of new ideas. Their education is prac- 
tical. We base the education of children entirely on books, 
but we must give a child a mind before we can instruct the 
mind. Children have a natural antipathy to books — handicraft 
should be the basis of education. Boys and girls should be 
taught to use their hands to make something, and they 
would be less apt to destroy and be mischievous- i 

In going to America one learns that poverty is not a nec- 
essary accompaniment to civilisation. There at any rate is 
a country that has no trappings, no pageants and no gorgeous 
cerejnonies. I saw only two processions — one was the Fire | 
Brigade preceded by the Police, the other was the Police 
preceded by the Fire Brigade. 

Every man when he gets to the age of twenty-one is al- 
lowed a vote, and thereby immediately acquires his political 
education. The Americans are the best politically educated 
people in the world. It is well worth one's while to go to 
a country which can teach us the beauty of the word FREE- 
DOM and the value of the thing LIBERTY. 

Bruno's Weekly, published weekly by Charles Edison, and 
edited and written by Guido Bruno, both at 58 Washington 
Square, New York City. Subscription 9Z a year. 

Bntered aa second cl«» tnatt*r at tha Poat Offlo* «f N«* 
Tork, N. T., OototMT 14tli, ItlS. nBd«r th* Aot «t tUrvk 



GONFARONE'S 


40 WmI 8I1i SItmI 


TABLE 


D'HOTE 1 


'"Eating places are literary landmarks'* said O. Henry, | 


apaalring ai Gonfaranaa in 


on».ol^ kia unesceUed Grees- 


wick ViUagp Storiee* 




HOTEL BREXOORF 


CAFE LAFAYEHE 


FiUbATaoM 


Unbordt^ Plaeo 


RAYMOND ORTEIG, INC. 


TIm Two Pranck Hotels and Restaurants of New York 


;reenwich village inn 


WANTBD 70U to know that aft 60 


(Polly's) 


WashHigten Squace South Is 
looated 


147 WEST 4TH STREET 


xmi TUXAOR sniBV 


between Waskington Sq. & 


Where one> amg see on dSgj^lmj 


6tk Are. 


many odd ploeos of Brasses, Pot- 


Service a la Carte 


ter7» lUmltnre and SeuTenlrs. 




Hours 10.M tm 6 p. m. Seftor^ 


Outdoor Dining Room 


ders !• p. nu 


B^ram the laalrlng sf a lamp to 




klie Br<isttBiBi- of a period rooat. 


T. D. COX 


khere is a right wa^ end a wrong 




■ray. The problems of yonr own 
honoo mag ho answered by een- 


Stationery and Neurs Skop 


snltlng 


Circulating Library 


AMTON HBLLHAK 




M Wsst Washington Sgvaro 


68 Waskington Place, N. Y. 


Spring 6SM 




Sport Hats» Artist Smock Sets, 


JUDSON TAILOR a»OP 


Masque Costmnes 


61 Waskington Sq. 


For town and country. 


All kinds of tailoring work 


PAINT BOX 


neatly done. Dry cleaning of 




Ladies* Suits, Gowns, Wraps* 


150 W. 4tk St. nr. 6tk Ave. 


etc, a specialty. 


Pkone Spring 23 N. Y. 


'Pkone 6360 Spring 


ARTISTIC CUSHIONS 


'Pkone Spring 3922 


Including wool embroidery* 


THE DUTCH OVEN 


Unique and original designs in 


136 MacDougal Street 


patchwork. Cushions made to 


nexr WaBhinston Sq. 


order. Call or vnrite Sessers 


Open Air Dining Room 


Studio Co.. 82 Wash. PL. N. Y. 


Home Cooking 


Spring 1076. 


Lunckeon Tea Dinner* 



I N W H I C H 

w# tmj put vikat VM Ihimt. Publuktd tvtry mtnth kf il*rmmm'Mti 
Gtddti ml 7I( Stctnd Avtmt in D*tr»it, MUkifsm, It u a iiait 
k»»k mmifuttr Ulmttrattd. Wrkt ftr i4mfl§ caff. 



*K:OLLECTOIt." Can o( Bnmo'a W««Ur, B8 ■VmmUmgtam Sq. | 



ROSSI BROTHERS 


WANTED for tl>r«B monlh.. 






Undnwwdi du G»«rt 
ICE CREAM AND TOBACCO 


Writt to S. H. CLAIUCE 
c«re of Bruno'. We^ly. 5S 

Wa.lui.8tan Sq^ N. Y. C 



There can be no pleuanter place to bear 

that remarkable Ediion Record 

Number (82536) than | 

The Diamond Disc Shop 

at Number 10 Fifth Avenue | 

Id diis store, at least, the deligbtful atmos- 
phere of Old Greenwich Village has not been 
ucrinced on the ahar of commerdalism 

A ^ital wSi ktef j»m, wilk mr 

caapliMciili, u ialcrMlag Mlitc 

Pbone : Starreutnt 4570 bictniAT rf Br. lU*. A. Edi». 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



EDITED BY GUIDO BRUNO IN HIS GARRET 
ON WASHINGTON SQUARE 

Five CenU June 10th, 1916 



e«9MlbfGrfJ»BnHhlMl0tfi. 19U. OiWmI 




OSCAR WILDE 

HIS LIFE AND CONFESSIONS 

By FRANK HARRIS 



Fnak Harrii (PubHalier) 

3 WAahington Square, New York Qty* 

8ir>-Eiicloaed pleaae find $ , for wUcb 

•end to the imderaigiied .copies of the autographed 

•ditUm (920.00 per set) of Oacar Wilde, t^ Prank Harria, 
•nd..........copiea of the regular limited edition at $10.00 

peraet 

Name .••.•• « 



Addreaa 



»« 



CHARLES KEELER 

IN. RECITALS OF HIS OWN POEMS 



THB VICTORr— Aomie ef TrfanBpk Price, eae Mkv 

ILFIN SONGS OF 8UN1AND. Hurd editioii. a P. 
SoM^ New York & London* Price $l.5i* 

SONGS OF A W ANiAttSIt Immmmwrnpt 

THB MIRROR OF MANHATTAN, in manneeHpt 

DANCE RYTHMS. In mamucript. 

Mr. Kceler recitM Micctione from all tke above and Ida vaticJ 
and uniqve programs era fall of i ntc reat and inapiratien kotk 
In tke tent and delivery. 

In New York and victnitsr nntfl June. Now booking dates imt 
California Tour in Junek Jvljr and AngusL 

For terms and perticulars and for copies of bis beeb» addresi 

LAURENCE J. GOMMB 



S last SStb Street Mew 






BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

Edited by Guido Bruno in His Garret on Washington Square 



t^o. 24 JUNE 10th, MCMXVI. Vol. II. 



Ideals 

TTHERE lie my Ideals, bruised and broken on the battlefield 
of experience. All of them — ^there is not one left — choked 
and withered by the poisonous gases of Reality. 

^See them — they are funny, truly. 

Faith in mankind; faith in God — friendship — ^woman — and 
the rest. The silly show! -^ 

Yet somehow, I feel there must be one that has escaped— 
one that I do not comprehend. How else could my heart 
sing with the poppies nodding in the sunlight as I go about 
my daily tasks? 

Tom Sleeper. 

Last Season's Broadway Successes. 

"TTIE season closed and Broadway is preparing for its next 
year's musical successes. Is it clever advertisement or 
is there nothing else to be said about these musical comedies? 
But vainly did I scan the newspaper reports and reviews of 
"music critics" in our daily papers, to find out what these 
shows all are about. Thousands of dollars of costumes, 
wonderful lighting effects, marvelous scenery, beautiful girls; 
a chorus "imported" from some foreign country noted for 
the beauty of its women — all this under the heading of musical 
comedy. Where is the comedy and where is the music? 

Reading these newspaper reports of the opening nights, 
I am very much reminded of my only trip to Coney Island, 
in those good old days of about ten years ago; of the pro- 
fessor in front of a gorgeous monumental building proclaim- '^ 
ing "Here is the world, look at the world, the whole world 
just as it is! The world with its beauty and its ugliness. 
With its romances and its tragedies, with its happiness' and / 
its misery! Here is the world, come and look at it, don't 
miss it — it's only twenty-five cents!" And I paid my twenty- 
five cents and seated myself comfortably in a plush-covefed 
opera chair among hundreds of others who paid their quar- 
ters. The curtain rose upon a scene which was a masterpiece 
of stage painting. A huge table was in the middle of the 
stage, covered with black diamond-embroidered velvet. A 
gentleman in immaculate dress elaborated in half an hour's 
speech the assertions of the professor outside of the show- 
house. Garlands of good-looking girls whose dresses had 
not climbed quite high enough, and not descended quite low 
enough, were an interesting background back of me table. 
Suddenly the house was darkened. The diamonds on the 
black velvet cover sparkled in the brilliant spotlight. The 
music stopped playing. Slowly and carefully the table was 
uncovered. There lay the world before us — ^unquestionably 

Copyright 1916 by Guido Bruno 



760 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

the world* with all its tragedies and all its romances. T 
World, the dally paper, you could have bousrht for a pe: 
anywhere. Of course, we were stung. But we liked to 
sttmg; And we sent our friends to be stung, too. 

The makeup might be different, but the show and the tdt}^ 
are the least things considered by our theatrical manage 
when producing the comedies of our new seasons. To Ici 



for a new plot in the comedy or for a new motif in the n:::i 
would be fruitless. But our public is so accommodating, d'. 
know they are stung. The^ are happy because they r! 
stung, and therefore, they will send their friends. And tU 
musical comedy was a howling success of last season :: 
Broadway. 

The operette is designed to solve the tenseness impose: 
upon us by the routine of the day. But it really is: an over- 
ture of ''a night out," the prelude to all the happening: 
hereafter. 

It isn't healthy. It is foreign to the lives of most of cs 
it is too tense in itself to afford us relaxation. It is an over- 
dose of a stimulailt taken mosdy by ^e wrong khid of peop'; 
at the wrong time in wrong places. Therefore, the musics, 
comedy on ^ Broadway is not a popular institution of tht 
masses. It is not, and never can be, an important part in th: 
lives of people. The American people are healthy and mor- 
bidness in all its phases is hated as well as an empty pocket- 
book. 

Some day we will have a distinctly "American show." And 
until that time our showhouses will be costly curios and not 
popular institutions. 

G.B. 

Jingo If Elmperor of Monkeydom 

A MONG the monkeys was one named Jingo, who was dis- 
pleased with every kind of work. While the others were 
working for their daily bread in the sweat of their brows, he 
was lounging around lazily. And finally tie came to the 
conclusion that he was better than his fellow-monkeys, be- 
cause he was not following the plough on hot days and 
because his hands were not hard and homy from toil. It 
seemed to him that he had been chosen by Nature to obtain 
his food for nothing and to be master over all others. And 
to confirm this opinion he placed a crown upon his head. 

A few monkeys who thought his laziness super-fashionable 
kept him company and loafed with him on working days. 
Jingo lauded them for this, and one day he decided to nuke 
them princes and counts and barons, and he arranged a 
special ceremony to solemnly make friendly loafers memberi 
of his order. 

This was the origin of kingdoms and aristocracies among 
monkeys under Jingo the First. They permitted their nails 
to grow long. They wriggled their tails. in a most peculiar 
fashion and they curled their belly-hair with curling-irons. 
Now these distinctions would have been very nice and 
j pleasant if the working-monkeys would only have paid at- 



i 



^^ BRUNO'S WEEKLY 761 



• It:.: 

Si 



'jention to thefn, but danger was tmmment and it seemed as 
^1 they would soon have to ffive up their doings or starve. 
^^'^^ In uiis embarrassment the laziest among them all, monkey 
'"5 Bimms, who later on called himself Fidelis, invented an 
'^ ingenious plan which enabled them to fill their paunches 
^^^-^erratuitously as long as they lived, and to pass their lives 
ii^ia. abundance of everything they desired. He said that they 
' -would have to invent a god, to be placed supposedly above 
:i::.the monkey- world, and that thev would have to declare 
i^^u:' themselves the special envoys and darlings of this god, and 
fi:: that the people would have to be taught that only the great- 
li' est devotion to themselves could make monkeys blessed, 
and that god's darlings had to be fed as long as they lived, 
:fe:r with the best and most nutritious foods; that they had a right 
a r^ to every tenth cocoanut and that they ^ must not work under 
n:. any circumstances, as this would prevent them from praying 
and from ruling. 

Bimms, or Fidelis the First, undertook hereafter to be a 

.:: teacher of the people; he knew that monkeys could be made 

h dumbfounded by strange appearances and therefore he as- 

> r sumed a holy-like air; cut his hair and shaved it off. Later 

;.: he went around shedding many tears and sighing deeply, and 

;:: he spread broadcast the story that he was commissioned 

by the mysterious god to preach contrition among his fellow 

- monkeys and to educate them to be believing creatures. He 

l^ainted with glowing colors the terrible fate of such who 

'would not believe him. 

The poor monkeys, who were always busy and had no 
time to think about such things, were terrified by the words 
and tears of Bimms-Fidelis. And because they hoped to lead 
00 a more beautiful life after their death, they were more than 
willing: to make it pleasant for the darlings of god during 
their lifetime. 

Everybody who consented to give the tenth cocoanut and 
otherwise to help god's darlings to fill their paunches with 
good things, was blessed by Bimms-Fidelis with specially 
prepared words. They were publicly lauded and an amazingly 
happy time promised them after their death. And so it came 
to pass that soon many monkeys took the oath of everlasting 
loyalty to Jingo and Bimms. 

Of course there were still some left who resisted and who 
would not believe, but the number of believers had become 
so large that the doubters could be treated in a peculiarly 
dreadful way. They kept their tails on burning coals until 
they believed in the new god. They racked their limbs in 
torture-chambers; they hung them; they cut off their heads, 
burned them and quartered them, until finally religion became 
the common property of the monkeys. 

And now there started a wonderful life for Jingo the First 
and his nobility and also es|)ecially for Bimms-Fidelis and 
his followers. They were lairing around on silk pillows, had 
. their flies fanned off and their vermin removed. 

They were not at all thankful for the gifts brought to them 
' by the working people but they were very severe and very 
hard on their supporters in order to sustain their tyrannies. 



762 



BRUNO'S ;iVEEKLY 



Whenever they were suspicion? that diligence and care were 
slacking down, Bimms-Fidelis let. his God lighten and thun- 
der; let him hail and rain stones, and he transformed every 
natural event into a punishment of the offended deity. He 
also smothered every djssire of learning and declared stupidity 
a divine institution. 

In such a way, he, as well as Jingo the First, increased 
his claim from year to year. And the poor working people 
now had for their worst worry, the task of how to satisfy 
the demands of the elected of god. Still harder w^as it for 
the progeny. From childhood they had been reared in piety 
and reverence before the mighty monkeys who ruled. Their 
origin had been forgotten. Everybody had grown up in 
stupidity and therefore the fear of the mysterious power 
increased. The sons of Jingo became more aggressive and 
desirous of everythirfg they could get hold of. So did the 
disciples of the ingenious Bimms and the progeny of the 
aristocracy. 

They now themselves believed in all the idolatries of 
Fidelis; they believe in their own exclusiveness and in both 
they found justification to claim more and more. 

They are still increasing their claims from day to day 
somewhere in the Empire of Monkeydom. 

After the German of "Simplicissimus" in Simplicissimus, by Guido 
Bruno. 




Balloons— by Clara Tice 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY 763 



Flasks and Flagons 

By Francis S, Saltus 
Cbiiteau Mariraux 

HTHERE is a power within the succulent grape 

That made thee, stronger than all human power. 
It baffles death in its exulting hour, 
And leaves its victim fortune to escape. 

Thy cheering drops can magically drape 
Atrocious thoughts of doom with bloom and flower, 
Turning to laughing calm care's torment sour. 
And flooding dreams with many a gentle shape. 

Ecstatic hope and resurrection lie' 

In thy consoling beauty, and whene'er 

Pale mortals sip thee bringing soothing peace, 

I see a blue and orange-scented sky 

A warm beach blest by God's untainted air, 

Circling the snowy parapets of Nice! 

Ckartreuse Vert 

UOW strange that thy enrapturing warmth should 

come 
From the chill cloister of the prayerful monk, 
To cheer the desolate heart in misery sunk, 
And warm the lips that sorrow has made dumbl 
Thou bring'st the merry twitter of birds that hum, 
The soul's sweet exodus of song, wh%n shrunk 
Expands again, when, all thy sweetness drunk. 
Illumes the blood grown impotent and numb. 
And when I see thee, I most fondly dream 
Thou must have been the genius and the slave 
That led Aladdin in the legend old 
Down thro' dim passages to goals extreme. 
And in the arcana of a hidden cave 
Have shown him marvelous treasuries of goldl 

Hatred Discarded 

By Victor Meric. 

SCENE I. — In the Council Chamber. 

A UNION DEPUTY:— Gentlemen, I shall go on with my 
proofs! The syndicalists are incompetent, ignorant beings, 
lunatics! They do not know a thing about Socialism. They 
claim to represent the working class when in reality three- 
fourts of them have long ceased to be workers. They prac- 
tice Sabotage which is a monstrosity. They incite workers to 
strike, which is an infamy. They declare themselves unpa- 
triotic, which is a crime. We wish to have nothing in com- 
nion with those people. (Lively applause from the heart of 
the assemblv^. 

SECOND DEPUTY :~To be sure, I hold the same views 
as my colleague. (Good!Good! from the left.) I will go even 
further. By their criminal inciting, by their inadmissable un- 



764 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

derhand dealings, the revolutionists, the anarchists, the sirndi- 
calists this abominable gang become sport fo rthe boarseois 
and are working against the Social revolution which vire ivant 
legal and pacific. No more strikes, gentlemen, no more futile 
disturbances. We loudly repudiate those faithless brothers. 
We no longer want to side with them. Better still, -we are 
decided to stand against them at every opportunity. (The 
extreme left gives the speaker an ovation.) 

THE VOICE OF THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY 
(From the depths of a cell,) — Now, then I Arc you all mad? 
What ails you suddenly? How dare you indulge in sach crit- 
icism before your opponents? Do you not see that notwith- 
standing the divergencies of method and of tactics you are all 
aiming toward the same goal? Come now! Let us have union, 
let us have peace! All of you must unite if you wish to avoid 
making yourselves inevitably a laughing stock. The revolu- 
tionary syndicalists have their bad points, but they also have 
their good ones. They teach the workingmen organization 
on the economic basis and they train them to rely entirely 
upon themselves, through violent methods. Instead of at- 
tacking them, help them. It will be better, so . . .. enough! 
No more grudges. No more hatred! All unite for the Revo- 
lution! 

FIRST DEPUTY— Who is this intruder? 

SECOND DEPUTY— He is a poor lunatic, a character of 
Blangui's and Pavashol's type who goes on preaching the dis- 
carding of hatreds and manages to keep in prison the whole 
year round. 

THE MOB — He annoys us! Down with him! Spit on 
him! Down with him! 
SCENE U. — ^At the pMlerfttioii of Labor. 

THE SECRETARY OF SYNDICALISM— Comrades. I 
wish to proceed with my demonstration. The elected Social- 
ists are incompetent; they are ignorant beings, lunatics. They 
don't know the first thing about the interests of the prole- 
tarians. They claim to represent the interests of Socialism. 
when in reality they are perfect bourgeois. They make use of 
the ballot, which is ridiculous; they invent laws which is hate- 
ful; sometimes they cast in a vote for the Government and 
prove thereby their utter lack of responsibility. We most 
highly desire to have nothing in common with these people. 

SECOND SECRETARY— To be sure, I hold the same 
views as my comrade (Bravo! Bravo!) I go even further. 
By their insane caution, by their guilty compromises the unit- 
ed ones, the elected as well as the militant, the whole name- 
less gang, becomes sport for the bourgeois and are working 
against the Social revolution, which we will cause to take 
place as soon as we become the strongest. No more ballot, 
citizens! No more deputies, no more candidates! We loudly 
repudiate these so-called brothers, who have broken faith. We 
do not want to be classed with them any longer: 

(The audience is in a frenzy). 

THE VOICE OF THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY 
(From the depths of a cell.) — What ails you suddenly? How 
dare you indulge in such criticism just when your enemies arc 



766 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



Patchin Place 

IT was the afternoon of a gaudy holiday. My tiny stree* 
was silent save for the thin cries of a little grroup or 
children playing in the far end. All my neigbors, possesse: 
of new raiment or new patriotism, were abroad for the day 
I was alone save for the far prattle of the children. My 
lithe, white-bodied little friend, ruby-tipped between my 
fingers, burned low; reverie hung about me. And I was 
appreciative of the peace and quiet of it all. My work did 
not attract me. I sat, idly dreaming, at the open window 
Suddenly, somewhat down the street, I heard sweet, gay 
music. A violin, touched by a practiced artist's hand, singing 
of old days in far lands. My eyes closed neath its arabesque 
witchery, and my soul went out across boundless seas into 
new worlds of beauty and light and joy. Swift, fresh winds 
caught me up in their fragrant arms and carried me on and 
on through myriads of earths and planets into-a never-never 
place of sheer delight. I was a child again, full of naive 
wonder at my pleasure. I was a lover again, in the first 
full charm of tender thought and feeling. I was a player 
again in the world of paint and canvas. I sang as' of old. 
the answering chorus of the whispering melody. I danced 
with keen happiness. I swam in opal seas beneath a crystal 
sky of summer blue. The song spun on, ana on, and on. 
into the wild aisles of eternity, and did not die. Oh, happy 
vision! When the music faded, I looked out of my window. 
A brief distance away he stood, a ragged, crippled, mendicant 
with a tarnished fiddle. Children danced around him. 

James Waldo Fa<wcett. 

.__ ■ ■ ■ , i 

In the Subway 

RUSH and a crush resound- 
Forth with a bound 
Leaps the sturdy steed. 

A whirr and a halt ... 
They are bound. 

A rush and a crush, they part 
Whirr again, halt again — 
It is "dear heart." 

Charles S. Sonnenschein. 

Military Honour 

pREDERICK WILLIAM, father of Frederick styled the 
Great, relates Thiebault, having struck an officer on 
parade, the latter stopped his horse, and drawing one of his 
pistols, said: "Sire, you, have dishonored me, and I must 
have satisfaction;" at thie same time he fired the pistol over 
the king's head, exclaiming: "That is for you." Then draw- 
mg the other, and aiming it at his heart, said: "This is for 
me; and shot himself dead on the spot. The king never 
struck an officer afterward. 



A 



BRUNO'S WEEKLY m 



Replated Platitudes 



The height of | wisdom is to know the depth of your 
ig^xiorance. 

Its brightest, scholars are always satisfied with the briefest 
course in the school of experience. 

A bachelor girl, whatever her career or renown, is as true 
to Nature's design as a barren apple-tree. 

This Bacon-Shakespeare squabble seems to be just a case 
of "Much Ado About Nothing" — much for Bacon to do, if 
he had Bill handy, and easy enough for^Bill anyway so long 
as he had bacon enough; so there's really "Nothing much" 
to make any "Ado" about. 

Your friend is he who flees you not when your world is 
full of terrors and your soul is full of fears. 

The main trouble with consistency is: it's as common as 
common-sense. ' 

Julius Doerner, 

On the Sober Side of the Bar 

nPHE stairway and the narrow halls are lined with men 
and women talking in strange tongues and undoubtedly 
descendants of that indestructible race which has been en- 
gaged during the last two thousand years in accumulating 
all the silver pieces in existence. In a room with many 
benches, the ideal corner of the money-changers, as men- 
tioned in the New Testament, seems to have come to life 
again. 

A greasy fat man, whose features swam in the superfluous 
fat of his cheeks and of his three chins, sat in the chair on 
a rostrum intended for a justice-tender to dispense justice to 
man. 

And there he sat sleeping. Every once in a while he would 
jerk himself up and look with his little pig's eyes contemtu- 
ously at some witness in the witness-box or at some Caiaphas, 
or he would listen to the whisper of his helpers and 
nod his head, or lean his fingers lazily against the foun- 
tain pen someone offered him, and he would sign his name 
to a document, perhaps a scrap of paper that would wreck 
a man's life^and collect rent for the landlord. And all the 
time complainants complained, and defendants defended and 
witnesses took oaths, and then a stenographer wrote it all 
down stupidly in his white little book, and the air was filled 
with betrayal and with drudgery and with slavery. The 
helper would knock with his hammer and remind the money- 
changers that they were in the House of Justice. Like a 
monster was he sitting there, that judge; dozmg, T>ored, 
silent, without interest, seemingly blank and destitute of 
any human feelings; no\. betraying the slightest attention 
to anybody or anything; dozing, fat, with a paunch like a 



766 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 



faun, hands stained with their deeds, eyes with eaapty Icci 
which didn't dare to meet the eyes of the defendant r 
is sitting there; honored, earning his daily ^read. 

And snch bread! 

No wonder he has a paunch and three chins hanjarinizr dc.^ 
Asd sagging eyes, dozing— dozing — ^ontil he meets his judi- 

•He will not meet him in Money-Changers Dorado in ^ 
earthly House of Justice. 

What a dreadful judgment will be issued on this judge- 
Judgment day! • 



InOurViDage 



'RANK Ij[ ARRIS is undoubtedly the busiest man on th; 
Square. While his recently finished two volumes c: 
"Oscar Wilde and his Confessions" are just about to see tht 
light of the world, he is engaging himself immediately cr. 
writing a new book; one that is American and very up-tc- 
date. It deals with the Mexican problem on the America: 
border line. But it is the problem of one individual, sue' 
as has to be solved by the individual himself. There are 
rumors that "The Saturday Review," his famous Lender 
paper, noted all over the English-speaking world for th; 
important part it secured for itself in the history of Englisr 
letters of the nineties, will be revived by him with new vigor 
in New York. Goodness knows that we are in sore need 
of an ably-edited critical review, which deals with life, art 
and letters of our day, untainted by faction politics and un- 
influenced by the troubles of other nations; in short of an 
American paper which reflects our own times and our own 
contemporaries without benevolent supervision from across 
the water. 

The Fifth Avenue Coach Company is using Washington 
Square, the entire area from Fifth Avenue down to Thomp- 
son Street, including the children's playgrounds back of 
the fountain, as a terminal station and car park. I don't 
know if their franchise grants them the right to rope off 
our park into sections and assemble there hundreds of pros- 
pective fares in waiting line, until they get a chance to occupy- 
on e of the twenty-four seats on top of each bus. Thirty-five 
thousand children of Greenwich Village have as playground 
only Washington Square, and it doesn't seem fair to deprive 
them, especially on Sundays and holidays, of the few hours 
outdoor play granted them by our city administration. 

Mrs. Thompson's shop on Thompson Street, right around 
the corner of the Garret, will not close its doors for the 
summer, but will afford the opportunity to the many totu'ists 
and strangers who visit the Village to see the qaaint and 
artistic things Mrs. Thompson assembles on the walls and 
the shelves of her little store. 

Heloise Haynes, she of the "Wardrobe," left last week 



770 BRUNO'S WEEKLY 

wrote her letters from prison (Little Review, Chicago) sh: 
voiced her experiences of a fortnight in prison when 
ever she had a chance orally or in writing and her magazine 
is devoted to her new cause entirely. Dr. Ben Reitman, he- 
lieutenant and advance agent, shares the tribulations of hi: 
mentor in the seclusion of his prison cell. He was mor? 
unfortunate, as a penalty of two months was imposed upon 
him. 

A List of Aagliiic Book-PUtes 

Daniel B. Fearing compiled a checking list of Angling 
Book-Plates, the very first one ever attempted. "Angling 
Ex Libris," he explains in his introduction "should exhibi: 
one or several of the following: An angler, or a fisherman. 
Rod, or rod case. Line, leader, or tin for leaders. Float. 
Hook, or hooks. Flies Fly-hook. Bait. Bait-box, or can. 
Creel. Landing-net. Gaff-hook. Walton's Angler. An angling 
quotation. A Flask, or a jug." 

TThe P«c«n 

A new magazine, edited by Joseph Kling, and a good one. 
The May and Jun6 issues are on our desk and they contain 
translations of a comedy by Arthur Schnitzler, and a novelette 
by Sologub. The editorial comments are quite feasible and 
in reach of everybody's mentality. Get a sample copy; it 
is worth while to see this individual effort of a group of 
enthusiasts who chose with taste the contents of these two 
numbers. 

The Storosh 

By Otto Ischyk 

"gROTHER" said Vlastmil Gerastimov, the storosh, to 
Luka Lukashevitch "my aunt Vera Nicoliavna is sick, 
very sick. I doubt if she will live very much longer. To-day 
might be the last chance I have to see her. Take mv olace 
as watchman to-night. God will bless you for it and here is 
something to keep up your courage during the long night 
watch. It is good stuff. It will just burn your tongue." 

"Go, in God's name" replied the farmer, taking the whiskey 
bottle, the lantern and the heavy fur-lined watchman's coat. 
"Try to be back again to-morrow. You will have a pleasant 
journey. The night is clear. I will just go home for a 
moment to tell my wife that I'll be storosh to-night. God 
be with you!" 

The farmer disappears into his house and the storosh 
mounts the troika. He "gees up" the horses and starts them 
on their journey. 

The air is quiet and cold. The light djps out in the far 
i^est. The nightly wayfarers of the heavens are shining 
brightly. — Muffled in his fur coat, armed with lantern and 
stick, Luka Lukashevitch emerges from his home. He looks 
around in all directions just to make sure that Nature is 
in order and then he consults for quite a while the bottle of 
the storosh. A last look at his hdme and he starts upon 
his rounds.