Greenwich Village Bohemia: A Winter Wonderland Turns Into An American Renaissance(Part III).

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 Grossenwahn. Josiah Flint, if he should awaken from his grave would not be lonesome in the Village." (1)

But, underneath this rosy picture of the village were signs that other factors were working inside the quaint little village. Lost illusions, the harsh realities of life compare to the artistic vision, lost dreams, and the hard facts of economics often came into play. And, their cruel effects could play havoc on the chaotic creative mind of a young artist. High rents also existed in the past, and many an artist had to deal with landlord with the beginning of each new month. The decadence that follows the cities also existed in the past. Endless essays have been written about the terrors of absinthe and opium. Artists in the past struggled with the same demons that modern artists face. Many an artist lost his career over a lifestyle of oppulance. Then as now there was a never ending supply of lost souls finding their way into the heart of the city.

"If you lose your illusions and the devil takes hold of your soul, you leave your garret on the sacred Butte and rent a studio near Parc Monceau, you leave Soho and take your domicile in Chelsea, or you become a traitor to Greenwich 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 pickpockets 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 who remained true to the Village. Like

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