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Futurist Stories By: Margery Verner Reed |
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FUTURIST STORIES MARGERY VERNER REED NEW YORK
MITCHELL KENNERLEY
1919 COPYRIGHT 1919 BY
MITCHELL KENNERLEY
FUTURIST STORIES
MOONBEAMS THE DREAM MUFF ROSE PETALS IN A FIELD INCALCULABLE A NEAPOLITAN STREET SONG IN ALGIERS CANDLES IGOR TWO HAD LIVED THE FIFTH SYMPHONY THE MAD ARTIST OLD SCORES THE LAST ASHES NANCY TURNER THE PAWN SHOP KEEPER SOMETHING PROVINCIAL CONFLICT THAT NIGHT HIS SORROW WAS LIFTED
MOONBEAMS [ To V. Z. R. ]
IT was a glorious winter's night. Through a blue haze one saw the
ground, covered with snow, shining under the magical moon. And the trees
of the forest were also covered with snow; great clusters glistened in
their branches. Almost as light as day. Not a bleak light, but an
enchanting one, which dazzled in the cold, brisk air. Into the woods
walked the Spirit of Art. As he gazed at the surrounding beauty he grew
sad, and wondered why he had never reproduced such splendor the
moon the snow Oh, he must try again Tomorrow he would do better. Then came the Spirit of History and he too grew sad as he gazed
into the quietude of the night. His hands were soiled with blood, with
dark hideous crimes. And he asked why he had committed such deeds with
all this beauty around him. Why could he not have likened history to
these woods where the snow was white. Tomorrow he would do better. And then came the Spirit of Philosophy and like the others he
wondered why he had never been under the spell of the Moonbeams
before why had he filled the minds of men with entangled masses of dark
thought, instead of teaching them the beauty, the enchantment of a night
like this. Tomorrow he would do better. The three Spirits met and talked together. They would go back to
the cities and begin anew. They would bring the spell of the woods back
with them and teach men unknown things. A NEW Era was about to be born. MORNING dawned cold and raw, a bleak gray light shone in the deserted
streets. The three Spirits returning from their wandering all too soon
forgot the magic spell of the woods the snow the Moon and fell to
work once more among the sordid things of the day; making Art and
History and Philosophy only grayer darker AND in the woods where all was beauty, the Moonbeams shone only for the
fairies as they danced under the trees, and now and then for a wistful
human soul that had strayed into the splendor of the night.
THE DREAM MUFF [ To I. K. McF. ]
ONE more day of horror had ended for Russia. At this hour once the lamps
along the Neva would have been lighted, the laughter of sleigh riders
would have resounded over the snow. But now the streets were
dark deserted save by some wandering homeless people, seeking refuge in
the night. NO one seemed to know exactly what had happened or the cause THERE was no ruler no order DARKNESS and chaos. A GIRL, perhaps of twelve, sat huddled in a ragged shawl on the steps of
a closed church. THERE had been a time when a fire burned A MOTHER a father BROTHERS THEY had gone no one knew where. The mother was royalist. SHE used to sew for a great lady a Princess. PERHAPS the jailers of a prison could tell where she was. ONCE in the life that was only a memory was it real or was the biting
cold was the hunger what had always been her mother had taken her to
the house of the great lady HER eyes had opened in childish wonder, as the Princess took her from
room to room. ON a great couch of palest blue, among cushions that were all lace and
blue and pink a muff. IT had been carelessly thrown down she had loved it. HER greatest desire had been to touch it to feel the soft gray fur on
her face. A PIERCING wind blew from the frozen river the muff if it would come
it would keep her warm SHE would put her hand in it and hold it to her heart. THROUGH half closed lids she saw the muff curving and swaying in the
air like a gray bird. IT was looking for her there were so many freezing children in the
streets she was small for her age HOW warm how kind of the Princess to send the muff... Continue reading book >>
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Literature |
Short stories |
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