LITTLE by little I drifted into personal management which afforded me many an amusing experience.

When I first knew Cissie Loftus she was literally the baby bride of Justin Huntley McCarthy. She wore the proverbial simple white frock and the sash of blue ribbon. She was redolent of youth, simplicity and charm.

In those days Elsie Janis had not established her subsequent proprietary control of imitations. Others had progressed unmolested along similar lines. Cissie Loftus was one of the pioneers in this form of entertainment. She possessed a thread of voice which could rarely be heard beyond the first few rows.

Her efforts at this time had been confined to New York City when suddenly I had the bright idea of giving cultured Boston an opportunity to see my protégé. After reviewing the situation I decided that it was safer to take her over for one performance only, but in order to gather in any kind of harvest we should need a very big auditorium. I promptly communicated with my friend Charles Ellis and rented the Boston Music Hall which had a phenomenally large seating capacity. It was a huge and cheerless place which seemed to swallow any average audience.

This notable occasion in question was advertised like a circus. Not a billboard in Boston was barren of posters announcing the event. Every window in Tremont Street proclaimed the coming of my twinkling star. Prices were increased. Everything, even special suburban trains, were provided. I had sent over a husky young fellow as my representative. I told him that the very moment the audience was seated and before the appearance of Miss Loftus that he was to take every cent in the box-office, liquidate our local obligations and fly for the train. My instructions were closely followed, so that at the end of the first part of the program when the indignant public surged into the lobby, demanding a return of their money, insisting that they hadn't beard one bar of music or one line of dialogue, the box-office was closed down and the treasurer was nowhere to be found.

After all we had given Bostonians the opportunity of seeing a very lovely little person and of enjoying a bit of most excellent pantomime.

Miss Loftus who received three quarters of the profits was always most appreciative of this friendly effort made in her behalf. After all she was a nice girl and needed the money.

My next adventure was with the Castles. I had sensed the approach of the dancing madness. I saw the fat years ahead!

The Castles were in Chicago when they agreed to appear under my management. My desire to direct them came about in a most accidental way.

I happened to be lunching in the Ritz when looking across the street I noticed that the large double house which had been at one time reconstructed for a fashionable dressmaker stood idle.

The thought of making it into a smart dancing Centre flashed upon my mind and simultaneously the personalities of Vernon and Irene Castle, whom I had already seen in Paris as an attraction in a restaurant.

I visualized the trade mark "Castle House" provided I could persuade this couple to leave Chicago where they were earning about four hundred dollars a week which in contrast to their first wretched stipend overseas, seemed to them munificent. While with me during the first season their worst earnings averaged two thousand per week, hence they never regretted their decision to accept the proposition which I had wired.

It took me a very little while to rearrange the building so that we could open it with daily teas at which the Castles always danced.

I selected able assistants and instructors, for the morning hours were given over to classes which Mrs. Hubbell directed.

I arranged with Jim Europe, the great conductor of jazz, so that I had him furnish the music.

The construction of the house was absolutely impractical for the purpose in hand, yet it was the best expedient to be found.

Time was essential as the craze might die out. The cream had to be quickly skimmed from the pail. We opened with a list of the most prominent women as patronesses. Mrs. John Corbin presided at the tea table.

The success of the undertaking was pronounced from the very outset. The place was jammed and the floor space inadequate,

I conducted the publicity myself. We had columns continually in the daily press without its ever costing a dollar.

I had something to advertise so did not have to pay for the advertising.

The Castles were news items in themselves. Her photographs were lovely, and there were so many of them taken that there was never any difficulty in finding fresh space for their appearance.

Irene Castle's charm was extraordinary. Her body was lithe and graceful, her swanlike neck suggested the highest distinction, her features and coloring were beautiful.

Her limbs, ankles and feet were perfect. No imitator of Irene Castle, and there were many, came within her class. She was unique in gifts and stood alone in attraction.

Vernon Castle, however, had the talent as a dancer. His wife was always his perfect partner, but it was he who set the pace, it was he who inspired the rhythm, it was he who invented the steps.

Together they made a wonderful team, and although there have been hundreds of couples who, following after them, have achieved a certain fame and notoriety in ball-room exhibition dancing, the Castles were never equalled, let alone excelled, neither have they ever been replaced.

The vogue of Castle House lasted two seasons. I obtained private engagements for them everywhere at fabulous prices. I can recall two bookings in Washington, afternoon and evening, for which they received twenty-five hundred dollars.

Once during some litigation when evidence was given as to the value of their services at that time, the lawyer who cross-examined me tried to embarrass me as a witness by asking whether he had understood me to say that they had danced in Boston and in New York on the same afternoon, to which I replied that while I was willing to admit that Vernon Castle's legs were unusually long, still they were hardly long enough to stretch from city to city.

Castle House was soon succeeded by Castles in the Air, a roof garden over the 44th Street Theatre which for a while was popular and successful. This in turn was followed by Castles on the Sea at Long Beach.

The trade mark was established. It was easy to continually push the button.

The special dancing did not interfere with the Castles appearing under Charles Dillingham's management in musical comedies. Unfortunately when called upon to get over a song the effect was rather painful, nevertheless they furnished a picturesque background for a trivial plot and Vernon Castle being a natural comedian was always an addition to the cast.

Irene's gowns were the reflection of her own unerring taste, and never upon any stage at any time was there such a vision of loveliness as when she appeared in "Watch Your Step" dressed after the fashion of Lady Hamilton as Perdita.

As she came down to the footlights she was such a symphony of form and color that the audience fairly gasped in admiration. I have never seen a greater triumph born of a personality which was externally faultless.

Our last success together was a flying tour through the large cities under the management of Arthur Hopkins. The plan was simple. The advance work was ably conducted.

For weeks before the expected appearance, a silver prize cup had been placed in the best display window in the city. Terms of the contest were widely advertised. The Castles with their fine orchestra would then arrive. The exhibition of their prowess would be followed by the local dancing contest. Vernon Castle was the judge, and it was he who bestowed the Castle Cup to the winner.

In four weeks the total gross receipts were about eighty thousand dollars.

The final round-up took place in Madison Square Garden to which all of the fortunate cup winners were invited to struggle for the championship.

They all came. Distance did not figure as an obstacle. The Garden was packed to the roof. The heat was suffocating, yet the contestants danced on and on until finally the Castle Cup was won.

Thus ended the great era of dancing!

The next and last time I saw Vernon Castle was in France as a commissioned officer in the British flying corps.

His war record was admirable. His courage unfailing. Had he lived he would doubtless have won the Victoria Cross for already he had brought down many an enemy plane under the most dangerous conditions.

It seemed a grim finale that both Vernon Castle and Jim Europe, who had so often been associated with light and laughter should have so speedily followed each other in death, the one a gallant gentleman who lost his life in the service of his country, the other a brave negro who was the victim of an ugly jealousy, which at the end, effaced a war record of which his friends and admirers had been so justly proud.

THE Castles' menagerie did not come under my direction, although to collect animals was with them a passion. Nothing that stood on four feet escaped their interest and attention. They committed a folly by purchasing an expensive country place on Long Island which so far as I could ever ascertain, served chiefly as the winter quarters of their circus. I remember when Vernon Castle had gone into the breeding of police dogs, they had at one time twenty-eight canines to be cared for and fed. The amount of milk required for the puppies was always a surprise to Irene and a cause of discussion with her farmer.

On another occasion sitting in my office a stocky looking individual was ushered in.

When I asked the object of his visit he thrust a very crumpled, and none too clean, slip into my hand. I examined it and I found it was an order to pay him fifteen hundred dollars for a horse purchased by Irene as she had passed through Boston a few weeks before.

There was no excuse for doubting the validity of her signature, but as she had only been in Boston between two trains, I was naturally wondering how she had discovered the horse.

But the Castles, no matter how serious were their engagements, always managed to find time to buy. They were constitutional spenders. Their day was never complete unless they had bought something. Automobiles were purchased with a joyous carelessness I have never seen equalled. Fur wraps fell upon Irene's lovely shoulders like manna from heaven.

Yet their enjoyment in this prodigality was so genuine that one often wondered whether Hogarth had not somewhat exaggerated the sinister side of the Rake's Progress.

Another diversion in which my young friends excelled was to, stage themselves in conflict. They liked to test out their guns, only as a rule the latter were merely pistolettes.

They made me think of a little boy who was comfortably fed and clothed, but who longing for some variety in his existence used to practice shivering at home in order to stand in the street on a cold day to beg from the passerby.

I was always convinced that the bickerings of the Castles were ephemeral and unreal as was this lad's shivering. But while they were absorbing the attention of the onlookers, they furnished ample opportunity for sympathetic comment and regret that their domestic life was not serene.

In reality these recurrent scenes invariably ended in sunshine, and in renewed turtle doving. After all the Castles never grew up until the tragedy of war eclipsed the light which had flooded their lives through those few brief years. My association with them is one of the pleasantest reflections floating across my crystal ball.

I have often been asked as regards their vogue in Paris.

Their first appearance there was at Olympia, where they had been promised the sum of one hundred francs for one week's trial.

They were then living in a small mansard room. No heat, no electricity, nothing but their supreme confidence in their future.

This try-out proved a dismal failure, but Vernon begged for a second week, assuring the management that they had something up their sleeve, in the shape of a scene in which he was a tin soldier, and she a columbine, the final moment of the set showing Irene disappearing up the chimney while Vernon fell in a heap of dismay.

This was a glorious success. Above all it served to attract the proprietor of the Café de Paris who offered them an additional fifty francs per week if they would dance there after supper.

Following their number great was their surprise to see a very smart young man get up, throw a hundred franc note on a plate, and then pass it himself around the tables. The collection amounted to over five hundred francs, which was gracefully presented to the lovely Irene. The youth who had followed his generous impulse was the Grand Duke Dimitri of Russia!

Another venture into management which reveals my occasional lapses into gullibility introduced on the scene a young and good looking Semitic with an ingratiating manner who came to me one day to suggest a get-rich-quick scheme which seemed a marvelous opportunity.

It was theoretically so simple and merely involved the leasing of one of the great piers at Atlantic City for Easter Week, opening with a program of artists which would surely pack it.

This youthful impressario proposed that we should each put up fifteen hundred dollars. It was my name which was affixed to the contracts for artists, for equipment, for billing and all the rest---thus I made myself responsible financially.

Amongst others who were to appear under our management was Fritz Kreisler. He was certain to draw double the amount fixed as his guarantee.

Everything moved along briskly. My profits in imagination were already in the bank, when lo! on the Saturday before the great week I awoke in New York to realize that we were in the grip of the very worst blizzard of the winter. Snow, wind and sleet combined actively during the day to tie up all traffic to Atlantic City. Every "special" between Philadelphia and this popular resort was canceled. Twelve hundred chairs destined to seat the large audience were either smashed or dashed into the sea. Our elaborate announcements were washed from the walls. Wreck and disaster were flashed over the wires. When the sun came out late on Easter Sunday its rays warmed merely a few straggling visitors who wandered in isolation upon the deserted boardwalk.

Not only did I have to face the heavy losses, which even the subsequently pleasant week days reduced in only a small degree, but my enterprising young manager failed ever to put up his share of the cash. Yet now as I write he is a well-known figure on Broadway, one of our promising producers, and one who is doubtless collecting money for other enterprises using the same tactics as he did with me. His promises to pay would fill a volume. However, my experience was valuable, and I have never since bought an Easter hat until after Easter!

Many amusing incidents have happened in my office for I was always blessed with a sense of humor.

I remember one story which is especially worth telling. I was sitting at my desk when it was announced that a man who had called for the third time was very anxious to see me.

The visitor said that his name would mean nothing, but that his business was of considerable importance.

I inquired about his appearance, age, etc., and my secretary replied that she thought he was a "near gentleman," a description by the way which fitted him like the brand new gloves he wore.

He came in with a very furtive and confidential manner and said:

"Madame, I have long since desired to meet you. I have followed your career with sincere admiration." I nodded gratefully. "I see that I have been correctly informed and that Madame is a little plump." (I weighed over two hundred pounds.) Again I acquiesced.

"Perhaps you would like to remove some of the superfluous fatty deposit?"

"Most certainly," I answered. "Can you suggest anything?

"Ah, that is why I am here. I have just come from abroad with a wonderful remedy which I procured after months of effort. I have this for sale. There is no danger whatever, Madame, in trying it. It must be applied externally."

I inquired as to the price and my visitor informed me that the treatment cost usually five hundred dollars, but that I would prove such a splendid advertisement of its curative power that he would make a special price to me of three hundred.

He went on to state that this so-called liquid must be well rubbed into such portions of the body as were unusually obese, "although," he said looking at me intently, "in Madame's case the lotion would have to be very generously applied over a considerable surface."

Again I nodded my head in acceptance of this tragic fact.

"I presume," said I, "that you will give my maid instructions as to the method of the application."

Then approaching me, he lowered his voice and said:

"Ah, Madame, I would not entrust the treatment in your case to anyone. I should have to apply this reducing fluid myself. I am ready to begin at any time suited to your convenience."

I jumped from my seat, threw open the door, and exclaimed:

"You miserable peddler. You insolent impostor. How dare you propose that I should pay you three hundred dollars for the privilege you have the effrontery to mention! "

I was so convincing in my attitude of outraged propriety that the poor creature fled down the hall, his coat tails flying and his bottles knocking together in his pockets.

I was in the habit of poring over every advertisement and rejoiced in enclosing stray dollars for clocks which were made of tin, for bird whistles which became mute in my possession, for blocks of wood which would kill potato bugs provided you put the insects between them, for roses which never grew, for Spring bulbs which never bloomed and for a hundred other articles which while moderate in price were still more moderate in merit.

To read advertisements and to fill in coupons to be mailed has always been a passion with me. It is a harmless and fairly inexpensive amusement which may doubtless have put heart into many a despondent Mr. Wallingford who was waiting for replies from just such easy marks as myself.

And think of the good laughs I have enjoyed at my own expense!

These alone have been well worth the money, for a laugh is of priceless value, beating all other rejuvenating processes.

AN experiment into which I, Anne Morgan, Elsie de Wolfe and Mrs. W. K. Vanderbilt plunged with no little enthusiasm was to establish and operate under our personal supervision a respectable dance hall where we introduced a cafeteria, then a novelty in the East, and where we anticipated prohibition, as only soft drinks were purchasable on the premises. It was this last ruling which proved our financial undoing, for despite the fact that in the beginning people crowded in hundreds to be served corned beef hash and apple pie by volunteers of distinction, despite the fact that we had a splendid jazz band, a fine floor, moderate prices and attractive diversions, it was not long before the crowds became familiar with our conditions, and before we were deserted for similar resorts where real beer was served instead of lemonade.

Broadway and Booze had formed an alliance which nothing could break, and which nothing, in my opinion, ever will break.

We finally sold out. The place was taken over by a professional cabaret manager, the lid came off, the doors were flung wide open and the money we had lost was swiftly recovered and increased by our successor.

When I next side-tracked in business it was as the producer of musical comedies, which venture met with considerable disapproval on the part of my friends, while certain managers hailed it with delight.

The fact was that the building of theatres had outstripped the building of attractions.

Thus I became associated with F. Ray Comstock and with Lee Shubert in that form of entertainment which has been so successfully imitated ever since, namely a comedy with music in which each extra girl became an individual, dressed according to her personality and was not given a uniform costume. We had only twelve young women who were especially selected for charm and distinction. Many girls made their début with me, and how often do I see a name heading a program only to recognize it as one of those whom I discovered, and to whom I gave a first chance.

I prided myself on. selecting gowns for my girls of such modish refinement as would allow them if necessary to walk from the stage into any drawing room. My decorations were also selected with an infinite attention to taste and to detail.

In fact musical comedy lost its commonplace atmosphere and through the joint efforts of my associates and myself it was raised from the ranks into the realm of a different and better form of entertainment.

Another thing of which I am justly proud is that Jerome D. Kern's first score "Nobody Home," was our opening production. This was followed by "Very Good, Eddie," and "Love of Mike," which in turn established a series of successes for which Kern was musically responsible.

We had put a certain deserted theatre upon the map, we had introduced a novelty and had popularized a composer. We had brought Guy Bolton, P. G. Wodehouse and Philip Bartholomae together in our librettos. We had proved that a small, intimate, clean musical comedy devoid of all vulgarity and coarseness could be made financially successful.

After a few seasons, satisfied with my experiment, I quit and thereafter refrained from making any further productions.

There were several reasons at the time which determined my choice of the material with which I was identified.

Plays were then being so well done that I did not feel that I could improve upon them, whereas there were many new ideas to be infused into the lighter form of amusement.

I felt an impulse to contribute these ideas. Another influence to which I yielded was that I thought I might possibly do something towards improving the status of the chorus girl. I had good reason to believe that very little consideration was given them so I determined to become their friend as well as their manager.

I did not wait for the Equity Association to see that they were paid fair salaries, that they were compensated for rehearsals, and that they were treated as human beings. With me they were never called "chorus girls," but "small part" members of our cast. I inspired each and every one with pride in her work, no matter how meagre her opportunity.

These young, impressionable girls are most of them chameleons. They are too often reflections of the atmosphere around them. Let this be one of refinement, and they will quickly respond to it. Their hearts are young as well as their faces. They should be given the freedom of choice as to what their lives are to be. They have more claim upon the chivalry of men than those of higher social position who are perforce better sheltered and protected. Their work is hard. They should find joy and happiness and understanding in it. They are not of a coarse fiber, on the contrary, they are incipient artists, with all the sensitiveness which that implies. They are "just girls" if you will, but believe me that the majority of them are first and foremost human beings with arms outstretched to the sunlight and with souls looking heavenward for that something better which we all want to find.

The men employed by us in the direction soon had to accept the fact that I would stand no bullying, no coercion, no swearing and no blackmailing.

No girl would be held up so as to assure her advancement in the company. No personal equation would be introduced to terrorize her. The chief regret I felt in ceasing to produce was that I thus resigned my opportunity of helping those in the profession who might benefit through my understanding of their needs. I had an infinitely larger field for studying the human equation when a total of fifty or sixty were being employed than I could ever have had with the average number making up a dramatic cast.

It was all a most interesting and educational experience. To produce a play after a musical comedy is an easy task. The one is involved, the other is simple. The detail necessitated through the combination of costumes, scenery, orchestra, book and lyrics, the staging of the numbers, the inventing of the dances, the experiments with the lighting, in fact the many angles, each one of which must be carefully worked out before there can be any semblance of unity, is complex beyond belief.

Rehearsals are many and exhausting. Prior to the opening it is not unusual to call them day and night, and it is no uncommon thing to have them last from seven in the evening until eight on the following morning.

In this connection let me say that another thing I insisted upon was that hot bouillion, coffee and sandwiches should be provided for the members of the staff, company and stage hands, when these long hours engendered all this physical strain and fatigue. I was dealing with human beings and not with machines. Each and every man and woman we employed were entities and equals. If this spirit had always prevailed in our theatres there would never have been any need of the Equity or Fidelity Associations and much of the present friction would never have existed.

A great deal of misapprehension has been formulated regarding the immorality of the stage. This popular conception is exaggerated and absurd, for the average of respectability and decency in the ranks of the profession is high, and I do not hesitate to state would compare more than favorably with the lack of ethics condoned by modern society.

There is much less license within the theatre than within the drawing room, and the manners and deportment of the average show girl would often put to shame the conduct of the débutante.

But where reform is sadly needed in our theatres is in their actual construction and in their inadequacy as regards air, hygiene and creature comforts. The dressing rooms are frequently a disgrace. Little or no attention is given to physical needs. One room with a certain pretense to luxury is set aside for the star while the rest of the company is treated with practically no consideration whatever. In my opinion dressing rooms without outside windows should not be allowed by law, elevators should be provided to avoid the eternal and fatiguing climbing of stairs. Showers and well ventilated toilets should be insisted upon. A proper rest room attractively furnished should be accessible to the company.

In fact while I have never had any ambition to build a theatre for the sake of art, I have been sorely tempted to do so in the name of health and I firmly believe that a building of this kind constructed under the personal supervision of sanitary authority would be a godsend to the community. We have had enough theatres financed by the impersonal millionaires. We have had enough movements started in the name of art. What we do want is a man of vision and of knowledge who will build a theatre in the cause of humanity, who will direct it with a due recognition of the ethical and physical requirements of the men and women who are to work within its walls, who will regard those he employs, as members of one great family, and who will take into consideration the fact that the artists who perform on the stage carry their sensitiveness with them off of the stage, that the gifts which they lavish so generously before the public spring from the identical elements of character and of temperament which should therefore be nurtured and not crucified.

Less gilding in the decoration, fewer marble columns supporting the proscenium, excessive luxury in the auditorium might all be profitably exchanged for a wider and more intelligent recognition of the just requirements of those who are prodigally pouring out their best on the other side of the footlights.

BUSINESS began to weigh heavily upon my shoulders. I had through success encouraged many competitors. Agents sprang up like mushrooms. Many who were seeking clients went about literally with their offices in their hats, nevertheless there were a few who were serious rivals. I was single-handed to all intent, thus when it was proposed to me that I should join forces with a few others in establishing a general agency I was very glad to accept the suggestion. After many weeks of meetings with lawyers, and after many debates as to the best way in which we could operate, the American Play Company became established, as an active organization to which I turned over my then existing business.

That I was to have my desk in the new headquarters at 33 West 42nd Street was understood. My name was retained as Vice-President of the Company, but when I went abroad in the early Spring of 1914, 1 went with a sense of freedom and facing the first real holiday I had known in many years.

Little did I anticipate how long my detachment from active business was to be.

Little did I realize that we were on the verge of a catastrophe such as the world had never seen.

Little did I think that months and even years would elapse before I should again do "desk work."

That I was in the mood of shifting my responsibilities after the long period of persistent effort was only natural.

The conditions in the theatrical business were changing day by day. The older managers were being driven to the wall by those younger who had come upon the scene. Everything was growing. Men who until then had enjoyed a monopoly of power were struggling to maintain their prestige.

No one more disturbed the old order of things than did three brothers who drifted to New York City from upstate. They were mere striplings, dark-haired, dark-eyed and determined. These lads whom I knew from the outset were Lee, Sam and Jake Shubert.

Their first enterprise of importance was the leasing of the Herald Square Theatre. I knew that they would go far, for each in his own way possessed qualities which pointed to success. Lee Shubert, like Charles Frohman, had his early education been different, had he had any substantial background or any helpful direction, might have drifted into Wall Street, there to become a power.

The larger profits are made through the theatres themselves, and not through the attractions which occupy them,

The gross receipts are shared but not always equally. The percentages to be divided vary. The theatre takes few chances and as a rule plays safe. Frequently its share is first deducted to insure the rental. The producing manager must wait for his money. Where the value of the attraction is in doubt it is not unusual for the owner or lessee of the theatre to protect himself by insisting that a large deposit shall be made in advance before the opening.

To-day the profits in the theatrical business are being materially reduced as the cost of operation has so perceptibly increased.

Organized labor is more exacting in its demands. The musical union grows more drastic in its methods. Taxes are heavier. Heat and light have become very serious items. So far as the producers are concerned similar conditions prevail.

Salaries are augmenting. Scenery, furniture and properties can no longer be suggestive of economy. They must be correct and lavish. The public insists upon the very best. Each manager vies with the other to excel. Interiors must demonstrate taste and knowledge. Costumes must set the fashion. It is not unusual to have dresses of even the extra ladies cost many hundred dollars each.

It is therefore no wonder, in the face of all this that the prices for seats have so increased. The public demands more, therefore it must pay more. Personally I can see no solution. It is a vicious circle which can only be broken by mutual consent.

While the authors' and agents' scale of royalties and commissions remain the same since pre-war times, still it must in justice be admitted that as the gross receipts are larger than formerly, the authors and their representatives have thereby been benefited.

This whole control of theatres while influencing the general standard, does not happily exclude individual managers and producers. It would be disastrous to art were such the case.

There is always room for the man who has enough money with which to introduce ideas, and probably nowhere in the world is the theatre as rich in promise and as ripe in fulfilment as to-day in the United States.

Such men as Winthrop Ames, Sam Harris, George Tyler, those heading the Theatre Guild, Arthur Hopkins, Edgar Selwyn, Gilbert Miller, not to speak of their many able associates would deserve high recognition in any country. Young talent in our theatre is developing rapidly, while we can still feel proud of such older artists as Margaret Anglin, ,who stands preëminent in her profession, of Minnie Maddern Fiske, that peerless comedienne, of Julia Arthur with a voice of liquid gold, and of Leslie Carter whose recent return to the stage was a dramatic triumph.

A rare galaxy of stars indeed, yet these are only a few who are entitled to our admiration and endorsement.

And now a last word to those pessimists who always look to Europe for their inspiration while eternally chanting a solemn requiem over the products of their native land.

Let them study our own theatre with an open mind. Let them keep for a while this foreign miasma from their brain. Let them realize that a nation must create its own expression, that it must produce what is indigenous to its soil, that while it may be a faithful student, it must not become a servile imitator, that its dramatic art should be the spontaneous reflection of its people, its customs and its tastes.

Let them remember that the exotic in our midst is like a dish of caviar and should never be substituted for the health-giving foodstuffs which grow in our own fields of grain.

IN the early Summer of 1913, we gave a fête at the Villa Trianon, which was long remembered for its beauty and originality.

The cultivated taste and imagination of Elsie de Wolfe added to the sympathetic enthusiasm of Anne Morgan, made a most effective combination and one which produced a result which was most charming. There were covers set for forty at small tables upon the lawn.

Rows of tiny lights marked the flower beds. Garlands of electric bulbs dripped from the trees.

Festoons of roses hung from the roof covering the terrace. The fountains played, illuminated by the variety of colored lights.

The paths from the Villa to the Pavilion of Music led past sweetly odorous shrubs.

Concealed were wind instruments which at intervals gave the signals so familiar to huntsmen, the notes resonant at first, then slowly dying until lost in the whisper of the wind.

At the foot of the rose garden was the best orchestra to be engaged in Paris. Fortunately the night was perfect. The stars were shining, the silver moon peeping through the branches, and the air soft and caressing. No conditions could have been more perfect for an entertainment of the kind. The guests who dined were all distinguished, the choice one might say of the diplomatic corps and of the real aristocracy of that Europe so soon to be dismembered. Looking back I can see not only our own Ambassador, genial and gentle Myron T. Herrick, but the official representatives of Great Britain, Greece, Belgium, Italy, Spain, Germany, Austria, Turkey and Russia. The lions and the lambs were to eat together!

Two or three monarchs in the making, one of whom was subsequently assassinated, lent an emphasis to the atmosphere of the occasion.

After the dinner there was a carefully selected program of music composed of the chansons of the eighteenth century. These were interpreted by gifted members of the Grand Opera.

About forty more guests had been invited to the concert. Owners of neighboring châteaux and American friends who had come over for the season.

As my crystal ball reflects the passing figures of this brilliant group, I see creeping across the corner a dark shadow which slowly but surely was to almost efface this memory of wit, gayety and laughter, for even then there was a strange and sinister vibration in the air which made conversation pause and which forced optimism to hesitate.

None dared to formulate the dread that was in the mind while the cymbals of a false mirth clashed the louder, while dancing became an orgy, while extravagance was rampant and while debauchery and sensuous indulgence were the order of the day and night.

The whole world was mad.

The Magic City was crammed to the doors while the churches were deserted and empty. A great lady would pay five francs to find as her partner her friend's footman who had to hurry home to serve a dinner at which she herself was to be present.

Radical leaders were being received by the Comtesse de Noailles to the exasperation of her father-in-law who refused to sit at table with them.

The Comtesse Greffuble, that eternally beautiful and distinguished leader in Parisian society, was giving receptions which served as a meeting ground for those whose bands held the fate of Europe. Statesmen, politicians, historians gathered in her salon to discuss the possibilities and to determine the potentialities. It was kaleidoscopic and thrilling, fear was ringing in. Unconsciously one was swept along, afraid to think and dreading to prophesy.

In every serious soul the tocsin of every mind the shadow of terror was lengthening.

The mills of the gods were grinding slowly but surely, until that day when humanity was to be crushed between the stones. In June, 1914, came the first rumble followed by the universal query: "What will happen?" yet the work of the world moved on in superficial normalcy.

Towards the end of July Anne Morgan and I went to do our annual cure in Brides-les-Bains, a little village in Savoie a few miles from the border of Italy and a short distance from the Col du Petit Saint Bernard which leads to Aosta. We had motored down as usual, and as we neared our destination, in the neighborhood of Albertville and Moutiers, we had met tramping along the roads contingents from the Alpine regiments.

We naturally imagined that they were training for the Autumn manoeuvers, the only thing that seemed to us unusual was the fact that they carried equipment ---which as a rule signified the exigencies of war.

We had been in Brides but a few days when the news from Paris became very disturbing. We followed the march of international diplomacy which was making every effort to avert the catastrophe. Our confidence in the skill of Sir Edward Grey was boundless. Most of us believed that he would triumph. We, like many others, thought that war was impossible. Miss de Wolfe, who had been in Baden was coming through Chambéry en route to Spain where she intended passing the time while we made our cure. We motored over to dine with her and even then on the first of August dismissed the possibility of any very serious cataclysm. As we wished her a pleasant journey how little did we imagine that before we all met again we would have passed through days of anxiety and of frightening preliminaries.

On the fourth of August we were sitting in the courtyard before the little hotel, sipping our coffee when suddenly we heard a clatter in the street above, and distinguished the voice of the crier who was rushing from village to village announcing: "War is declared. War is declared."

For several seconds our hearts seemed to have stopped beating. The silence was like that of nature before a great storm. We dared not break it even by comment.

Then the bells of the village church began to toll. This was the cry to arms which the inhabitants had not heard since 1870. The older folk remembered it. The past became their present. Grimly they climbed back to their huts hanging upon the mountainside. None were so ignorant as not to ask themselves the question which was to decide their local problem:

"Would Italy be an ally of Germany and Austria?"

As the peasants looked Eastward the Italian snow peaks seemed hideously near, and the mountain passes ominously direct.

My first preoccupation was the thought of my friend Miss de Wolfe. How far had she gone on her way? With her was her maid and her two Pekingese dogs. The chauffeur was French. His military papers were in his pocket.

As I had mapped out her route I knew the name of every hotel where she would most likely stop so I began sending telegrams of inquiry but all to no purpose. The lines were so over-crowded that practically no private messages were transmitted. They were accepted without responsibility on the part of the operators.

Finally, after days of apprehension, an answer came from the patron of the hotel at Perpignan who wired that a lady, maid and two dogs had left to cross into Spain and that all seemed well with her.

This message was most reassuring and was ultimately confirmed by Miss de Wolfe in a letter written from Barcelona

It seemed that her chauffeur said that if she were willing to start at dawn and allow him to drive rapidly that he would take the car across the frontier where she could find some Spaniard who would conduct her to her destination. He could then board the express back into France and be in time to report for duty. This plan worked out admirably so that Miss de Wolfe experienced no discomfiture until we met once more in Biarritz facing together the inexorable fact.

In little Brides events were shaping. The mobilization went on day by day, the troops were moving as fast as possible. All passenger trains were stopped. For three weeks we were marooned. We were literally without money, for our funds had been exhausted, and we were unable to get even a few hundred francs from the Paris bank. A sad predicament for a daughter of the house of Morgan!

The supplies in the hotel ran low. No more meat, no more bread. A few vegetables, salads and potatoes became our staple diet.

Nothing mattered, however, but the one absorption. Every official communiqué was posted at the entrance of the bath establishment. What was announced one day was denied the next. These first bulletins were most carefully edited by the government. The people then, as in 1870, must be told only as much or as little of the truth as was deemed politically advisable.

The opening act of the drama brought the company together, without any comprehension of the lines they were to speak, of the plot which they were to unfold or of the incidents in which they were to be involved. The theatre of human marionettes had flung open its doors. The band played the Marseillaise. The word "glory" was blazoned in electric lights while the peasants were driven like sheep in the shambles, while the women folk wept as they saw their mules requisitioned, while the sobbing babies clasped their mothers' knees, while the dread of the future hung over them like a pall. "Pour la Patrie" was a phrase, whereas suffering was an actuality.

Here and there was found the spirit which stood behind the poilus, the spirit of self-sacrifice and of supreme courage which has ever been the inheritance of France. I can vividly recall one scene.

We were sitting in the Mairie when suddenly a middle aged woman, her hair streaked with gray, her eyes aflame with purpose, entered the room. In her hand she clasped a rough hewn walking staff. On her feet were sabots. No covering upon her head. Her dress was of coarse homespun, with a black knitted shawl pinned around her shoulders.

"Monsieur le Maire," she cried, "I want you to send someone to my barn, there to arrest my son who is hiding and who refuses to do his duty. I can do nothing with him, Monsieur. You must drag him out. God has cursed me with a boy who is a coward, and he is my only child. My husband has been dead some ten years."

While moved by the tragic appeal of her story, the Mayor's duty was only too clear. We were curious to follow this to the end, so forming a procession of two gendarmes, of ourselves and of a few neighbors, we walked silently behind the woman for a distance of a mile until we reached the shed she indicated.

The men went in and ordered the boy to appear. At the sound of voices, he began to utter cries of terror. He was hiding under the straw. At last he was dragged out, his face contorted with fear, he clung to his mother's skirts, he begged her to save him, he urged her to remember that she was casting him forth to certain death. Not a muscle moved in her face. She was deaf to his appeal. There she stood, upright and rigid, her single utterance addressed to the officers being:

"Sirs, do your duty!"

As they turned to go down the mountain, the boy made one more gibbering appeal:

"Mama, mama, don't you know that I shall die !"

Her only answer was: "I would rather you died fighting for France than to have you live to be a coward!"

There she stood, the concentrated spirit of all that was best in her race, yet as the little procession moved out of sight, she threw up her arms, unconsciously making a cross with her body, then swaying for a moment, this poor tortured woman fell forward in a swoon, her courage conquered by a mother's broken heart.

AT last money reached us. We paid our bills, and procured our papers which permitted us to circulate. The chauffeur who had brought us to Brides had left at the first warning of mobilization, but with no inconsiderable cunning he had carefully removed three or four parts of the motor leaving these with me for safe keeping in case the authorities should take it into their heads to requisition our car. This turned out to have been a wise precaution, for this very thing happened. I laugh now when I remember the disgusted look of the inspector when he left the car in the garage, muttering that it was useless spending time or money on a worthless machine. We remembered a chauffeur in Paris who was once in our employ.

He was too old for the army classes which were being called.

After telegraphing, followed by a long delay, our rescuer Henri arrived. It had taken him exactly five days to come from Paris to Brides, a journey of ordinarily twelve hours.

At last we started, a party of seven, as we had assumed the responsibility of several other travelers besides ourselves.

At Grenoble we found regiments on the march, and there for the first time discovered the use to which boy scouts were to be put, for they were already being trained to serve as messengers under military orders.

It took some while to become accustomed to the constant barrier of armed sentries who recurrently asked to see our official permits for in those early days of the war everyone 'was a "suspect" until proved otherwise.

We had a Peugeot car, the body bearing the name of Binder, a well-known Parisian carriage builder, although in the provinces this mark was unknown. It had a German twang which was nearly our undoing for passing through a certain small town the population became excited and upon examining the automobile and finding this name, insisted that we were German spies, despite our passports and assurances to the contrary. We were finally released and allowed to go on our way because Henri had fought with honor in 1870, and was able to show incontestable proof of this fact.

The emergency of buying tires was coped with rather intelligently. All tires had been requisitioned along our route. The army had gathered them up wholesale. Not a retailer had been allowed to keep any in reserve.

I suddenly remembered that the Continental factory operating in France, but controlled by German capital, had been confiscated and closed, yet there was reason to believe that this firm's stock of tires, which had been so widespread, could not be so speedily exhausted. Of course the government would not use them, therefore the dealers must still have them on their hands.

My reasoning proved correct for not only were we henceforth able to buy all the tires we needed, but they were sold to us at a reduced price.

Gasoline was a more difficult proposition as our only chance of securing it was in some shop off of the main route which had been overlooked by the itinerant inspectors.

Arriving at a certain town we found that our tank was practically empty. This was a garrison city, everything there was under military orders. Not one drop of petroleum could be purchased, unless the traveler possessed an army card authorizing the sale.

The patron of the hotel informed us that our only hope lay in our securing such a card. Where and how to get it was the question. We decided to lunch first and to exercise our wits later.

Suddenly an imposing general appeared in the dining-room. He was alone and seemed crabbed enough, judging by the curtness of his manner. The head waiter whispered that he was the commanding officer in that sector, and that it was he who issued the orders.

Our hearts sank. He looked stern and forbidding. We watched him begin to eat. His appetite seemed amazingly good.

We comforted ourselves with the thought that by the time he had finished his bottle of Burgundy he might thaw.

Our surmise was logical for when his coffee was served he was actually smiling.

Taking our courage in both hands we crossed the room, saluted with respect, and told him of our plight.

He asked why we were not traveling by train, how it was that we had been allowed to keep our automobile, and a dozen similar embarrassing questions. We lied glibly, dwelt upon our ignorance as foreigners, threw ourselves upon his chivalry, with a result that he consented to give us five litres of gasoline.

Five litres! Only a little more than five quarts, and barely enough to take us to the next town. However, we thanked him in terms of profuse appreciation, and under his escort went to the yards of the arsenal which seemed to us like a vast sea of petroleum barrels.

The order was given to let us have ten litres instead of five, already a hopeful sign.

We chatted merrily with the general, told him some amusing stories, one of which reached its risible climax just as a soldier was feeding our thirsty tank. Judge of our relief when our pompous acquaintance with a gesture of rash carelessness, exclaimed:

"Fill up the reservoir. Let these ladies have whatever they require."

We had triumphed. Once again I was convinced that there are many advantages in being a woman.

Personally I have never felt that the sex appeal per se required either an apology or a defense. "Male and female created He them" say the Scriptures.

No other incident occurred worth mentioning until at the end of several days we reached Biarritz, where we found Miss de Wolfe awaiting us, also many French friends who preferred the security of the South of France rather than to remain in Paris, for already the country had become divided into the classes of those who were fearless, and of those who were afraid. The men who fought and the men who stayed at home. The valiant and the ambuscaded.

The news from the front was bad. The battle of the Marne terrifying and ominous. The government had removed to Bordeaux.

After a brief rest, we ourselves decided to push northward. Miss De Wolfe's car had been left in Spain. Our extra fellow voyagers had returned by train, so there was room for us all.

At Bordeaux we found a strange order of things. Incessant movement, suppressed excitement. The restaurant of the Chapon Fin was literally a diplomatic beehive. Each foreign Ambassador or Minister had his own reserved table to which his friends were invited to dine. At night all were in ceremonious dress or in full uniform.

I remember the brilliant appearance of the Russian chargé d'affaires, who appeared in white and gold, with jeweled orders pinned across his breast.

In this connection let me say that this same gentleman stated in a loud voice for the benefit of his confrères, that Russia had four million soldiers fully equipped and ready to put into the field, that she had two million more in training, and that within an incredibly short time her allies could count upon still another four million, ten million in all.

In the centre of the dining-room one table was reserved for the members of the Comédie Française, over which Mlle. Cecile Sorel presided.

When we asked her how she and her associates happened to be there with the government, her reply was classic, for she answered:

"We are of the Government," in which at the time there was considerably more truth than fiction in her assumption.

After leaving Bordeaux, we pushed on to Havre from which port we were to sail in early October. Our cabins had been reserved for some time. There seemed no reason to change our plans, but every reason to return to America, for a while, at least. I remained in Havre, while Miss de Wolfe and Miss Morgan went to Paris. The news from there was daily more disquieting, German Uhlans had been seen at Pontoise.

The Belgian forts had fallen like packs of cards. The English losses in the North had been disastrous. Senlis was in ruins. The silver harnesses of the Crown Prince were being held in Compiègne until such time as they were to be thrown across the backs of the black chargers, which were to drag him triumphantly through the gates of Paris.

Panic was in the air. Not once, but a dozen times the Villa Trianon was threatened with destruction, for it stood within the military zone and could at any time be condemned as an obstruction.

It was due to the personal protection of our Ambassador, Mr. Herrick, and to the American flag which he had ordered hung at our entrance, that the Villa is standing to-day intact and inviolate.

Anne Morgan's superb horse, Impérial, a gift from her father, which had won many prizes at Saumur, had been requisitioned at the outset.

This magnificent animal had been purchased for ten thousand francs. Miss Morgan later received, as an indemnity for him from the French Government, less than eight hundred.

I might add that when the moment of international liquidation arrived this allowance would have seemed princely in the eyes of our commissioners.

It was at Havre that I had my first hospital experience. The wife of the Mayor was at the head of the Aides who were to work with the trained nurses. There were but few of the latter. The Sisters had been expelled nine years before. How to get them back was the embarrassing problem. They could not be asked officially to return. The expedient was suggested and acted upon to have trains always at the frontiers to be held at their disposition. Discreet intermediaries would invite them to profit by this opportunity. They would no longer be molested. They would travel free of cost. Charitable ladies would guide them to those places where they were most needed. The plan worked out admirably, so that gradually the Sisters crept back into France. Slowly they resumed their vocations, generously they forgot, sublimely they forgave. The new order once again became the old order, for the privilege of healing has been eternal in its practice.

Chapter Fifty-Four