Life — November 15, 1900 — page 21: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Flim-Flam of Life. ny GasweL. D’Annunzio. HE Poet and the Actzess were in the gondola. The sensuous breath of the not-distant sea seemed to waft them towards the fiery sunset. “ Beautifal Venice !"" she exclaimed. “*Dear, poetic Venice! Methinks the sacred memories of the past rise up, and on their ef- fulgent rays percolate the dark abysm of the Still-to-be, giving birth to the dark future of the Hereafter, and perchance to prognosticate the hallucinations of the Infinite and extend the Limitlessness of the Ego to the confines of the As-it-were to an extent hitherto un- dreamed of. Is it not so, O Life-Giver?”” “It beats the band,” returned the Poet. Just then there was a mighty reverberation of sound. The dark vault of heaven seemed to have split in twain. The Universe was dis- solved in tears. Great gulfs of aqueons finid descended in a gigantic downpour. It was as if the clouds had been tilted on end by some Titanic force and were discharging vast billows. In other words, it, began to rain. “ Does she love me?” he thought, while he regarded her profile silhouetted against the campanile of St. Mark's. “ Does she love me as she did last Friday? It is true she has burst into tears three times without apparent cause, and she has shuddered and gasped as usual, but last Friday she threw a fit, which she has not done to-day. I fear me her love is growing cold.” Deep poetic fancies of a varied character surged through his massive brain as he watched the classic grace with Papa Rat: MAnty, THR MAN WANTS H1s TOOTHBRUSH. “ALL HAVE TO WAIT A PEW MINUTES, I'M NOT MALP THROUGH scrunniNe Yer.” The Lion: MY DEAN SIR, LAM GLAD TO KNOW YOU ARE A THEOSOPIST, AND LAM HAPPY TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR NEXT TRANSMIGRATION WILL BE INTO THE BODY OP A LION. which she trailed her sixteen-buttoned gloves through the pellucid waters of the Adriatic, and ever and anon, with airy abandon and persiflage, tossed crumbs of bread to the school of sharks that always attended her on her excursions. With a harsh, grating sound the gondola ran up on the steps at the Bridge of Sighs, and the poet left her and strode into the night. ** No wonder I love her so,” he soliloquized; ‘she is an old wreck, and her life has been inexpressibly vile; no wonder I love her.” The next day they met in front of the Doge's palace. was looking at the sunset,’’ she said, weeping bitterly. A shudder of bodeful apprehension ran through him, “It has come to me,” she said, “that I must go to America and show the barbarians what I know about acting.” He knew that it was Kismet, and said nothing, only taking the precaution to shudder several times. “ But why?’ he asked musingly, after a pause. , “ The separation will be cruel,” she said, “but I feel it is my duty to Art to do all I can to elevate the Americans to a higher pinnacle of Truth and Beauty. To that end I would sacrifice my life; incidentally I may rake in a few simoleons, though that is a minor consideration.” “ Ah,”’ he exclaimed in Italian. “I NFYER try to convince a lawyer that you are an honest man — unless you happen to be a rascal. comicbooks.com