Word: patrician
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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With the instinct of a patrician grandmother, Boston has taken to its bosom all that is dated and fine and foreign in the way of art. The Fogg Art Museum at Harvard University is the liveliest school of art history in the U. S.; the Fine Arts Museum is eminent for its scholarly array of Oriental and other treasures; the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum is probably the choicest large-scale clutter among U. S. private-made-public collections. From these institutions, however, few people would get the idea that there are artists alive and sweating...
...Boston's hoary monuments to Brahmin gentility, that still stands like the Great Pyramid, is the Boston Symphony Orchestra. At its Friday afternoon concerts in venerable Symphony Hall, bald, spade-bearded oldsters and their classically corseted wives sit complacently, laved in the patrician strains of Beethoven and Brahms. So have they sat every week since the late Major Henry Lee Higginson, in 1881, materialized the expensive idea that Boston ought to have a good symphony orchestra. That idea cost Major Higginson a million dollars...
...Renoir) is one of the least kinetic and one of the most absorbing of cinema's innumerable treatments of the World War. Concerned not with fighting but with respite from fighting, it investigates a group of French inmates of a German prison camp. The prisoners-principally an austere patrician, Captain de Boeldieu (Pierre Fresnay), his mechanic, Marechal (Jean Gabin), and a generous fellow, Rosenthal (Dalio), who shares the canned delicacies sent by his rich family-naturally try to escape. Director Renoir, however, builds his plot, not around the success or failure of this enterprise, but around their relations with...
...make-believe setting of California's Santa Anita Park, Dauber had finished second to Stagehand in the $60,000 Santa Anita Derby. In the carnival surroundings at Churchill Downs last fortnight, he had finished second to Lawrin in the $57,000 Kentucky Derby. But last week, in the patrician atmosphere of Maryland's old Pimlico, where the spectators' blood lines are almost as genteel as the horses', Dauber apparently felt at home...
...wisp of a woman, ugly and thirty, about whose person the shadow of an old maid already hangs, trying desperately to make last year's finery do. In all of them, exaggerated copies of the true styles, or else utter disregard for any sort of style. Except one amazingly patrician and good looking girl who looks out of place. But there is a sincerity and eagerness in their movements. In a twinkling, they patter up the steps and are embraced by the great carved doors which close behind them so quickly that it is impossible to view them in detail...