The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1898-05-01
LITERATI OF THE SLUMS
CONTINUOUS NOvELIsTs WHO PED
DIE THEIR OWN PRODUCTIONS.
Yiddish Romances Written Stimuli
taneousIy ang IndeHnitely-Au-
thor and COIporteur.

-
mission I shall leave you a sample copy
of the "Princess's Unrequited Love" the
nosel which is keeping all the good house,
wives of Germany, Austria and Switzerland
in tears just now. 1t is a story full of
thrilling, heart-rending, soul-stirring Incl
dents-five murders. half a dozen suicides,
sixteen love intrigues most in~geniously
woven into one. Yousget 1T in weekly in
stallments, each week a book and each book
5 cents. Read the sample copy-I charge
you nothing for dt--and next week l shall
come again and bring you the next num-
Der of the story
The scene was 'the third floor, back,
right-hand side" of a tenement house off
Avenue b, and the language in which the
colporteur, q gaunt, long-haired bespecta-
cled, sickly-looking eyoung man. poured
forth the rhetoric which he seemed to know
by heart was good Hanoverian German.
Encouraged by the housewives beaming at
tention, he was about to launch into asfresh
torrent of eloquence when the woman's
face broke into a smile.
mo, sir. / am not interested in the prin-
cess and her unrequited love" she said, re-
turning the sample book to the colporteur,
nor in the dozens of murders and suicides.
You will have to apply to the Yankees.
They go in for this kind of literature, not
we" she added, forgetting that the "Prin-
cess's JTnrequited Love- was a German
publication and that hundreds of colporteurs
earned their living by selling just that kind
of literature in the German quarter OF this
city, as well as in the cities and villages
of Germany and Austria.
"Oh, | see; you are reading Suderman,
and you have Schiller and Goethe ana
Heine." said the colporteur, as his eyes fell
on the open book on the kitchen, table and
on the little library On the mantelpiece.
He looked crestfallen, but forthwith
hronnd hifnSd1f and added with some de-
fiance:
SCHILLER, Goethe and Heine ! love to read
myself: Ihey are true poets: reaf = Whd don 2
they? Well, 1 don't care what he is, but he
cannot write. There is nothing. worth read
ing in his stories. / dabble in literature
myself" the young man pursued, with a
shamefaced blush which soon gave way to
the radiance of standardization. Il nave
Just finished a novel which is even more
heart-rending, more soul-stirring than the
be published. and then It viii make a Juror
will be Tears and Joys on Second Ave
nue." 4ho
lady, with uncharitable merriment.
Laugh away, madame; you wont laugh
much when the book is out; Whether you
over the fate of my heroine; you won't
laugh then, except at the unparalleled hu.
NOR / got into the book. Adieu, madame!
he said, morosely, lifting his load of "Prin-
cess Unrequited Loves. to his shoulder.
He HAD A TRADE.
''What is your business?' asked the Ellis
Island clerk in Italian of the seedy, sallow
individual in front of his desk.
II am a novelist, signor,'' the newcomer
answered with a queer mixture of hauteur
and abject timidity.
"a novelist?" the clerk echoed in amaze
ment. RS
Eyes, a novelist, and if you don't keep
track of the literature of your native coun-
try you have only yourself to blame"
But what are you going to do here for
a living. Writing Italian novels is not much
of a trade in this country, and as you nave
ITS none of you business whether I have
or mott" the man or letters numbered OUT
The novelist was detained as a pauper.
but somehow he managed to gain his free
What are you going to do?" the Italian
clerk asked him, this time amicably, as the
literatus was making his sullen departure.
DO? / shall write novels, of course. Are
there not enough Italians to support a
novelist here? l know there are.
1t was in a rich uptown restaurant, and
the novelist came up to the table in a white
apron and overladen with dishes.
such is fate, signore. This is a terrible
country. The Americans don't know 1tal-
ian, and the Italians don't appreciate a
KUN pICGC vi
Have you published anything since we
last met at Ellis island?'
Il published a novel, but lost on IL
what little money 1 had saved from my
wages and tips-some $40 in all. An. 1t
was a beautiful story, full of the sunshine
of Sicily and throbbing with the passion
and the poetry of it's people. And the plot,
why, once you began to read 1t you could
not lay it down before you mad read the
last word. Two counts have a duel, neither
is injured. but the young lady-the cause
of the feud-mysteriously disappears. and
two villages engage IN the scar search sf and IN
flash, blood trickles, houses are burned.
Then one of the young counts emigrates TO
America, and-but you must excuse me, the
head waiter is looking daggers at me. l may
lose my job
YIDDISH LITERATURE.
There are some able journalists and liter
att among the Germans, Italians and
Frenchmen of this city, and some of the
best writer's in Yiddish in the world are to
be found in the tenement houses of the
Ghetto. The four Yiddish dailies published
in New York-and, by the way, their num-
Der is soon to be increased by a new Yiddish
daily, to be published by the Jewish mem
bers of Tammany Hall-have among their
contributors some undeniably talented men.
But these confine themselves to short sto-
ries, sketches or poems. TIL typical novel
1st OF the Hester-street world Is quite a diff
ferent being. Dozens of Yiddlsh novels of
thousands of pages each have been written,
published and met with success within the
last few years. The authors of these are,
for the most part, people who make a spe-
cialty OF 1t, although the market is becom-
ing overstocked and the authors fees grow
smaller every year. The king of Yludish
noveLsts of this class is well known all
over the world. He is the father Of some
two hundred novels, all of which are held
dear by the uneducated classes wherever
the Yiddish tongue is spoken. He is said to
be able TO write three novels at a time,
and the following was given as an everyday
scene at the printing office where the fruit
of his literary genius was transformed into
pages of lead type:
Mr.. So-and-so! Mr.. So-and-so!" calls a
typesetter to the distinguished novelist, an
grily. i have not a bit of copy, and you
know / have a large family 10 support"
a right, says the author, who is char
acterized as the best natured man on the
East Side. What are your last lines?"
The typesetter reads: 'Rosy's eyes were
full of tears; she stood wringing her hands
and"
is that ALP" says the novelist. Rosy?
Who is Rosy? What story are you set
ting?"
rosy the Unhappy Hurry up Mr.. So
and-so;a It's nearly il, and l have hardly
made 70 cents to-day"
II right; go on, and she said my dear,
my little heart. my little crown! l cannot
live without you. / shall throw myself into
the East river. unless you sWeeten my
hfe! This the compositor scribbles down
on. the margin of the newspaper which con-
tains his lunch.
"Well!' he urges on the novelist. He is