The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942, 1916-09-12
Among the
Alps
A Singular Story of the
Writing of a Pic
ture Play
By F. A. mitchell
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS.

4 dm cOHSluereQ literary woman,
though am really nothing more than
a literary hack. Real literary persons
usually go hungry. have from the
first made a fair living and, consider.
ing that l am woman, very good
living. The reason for this is that dc
my part In supplying that perennial
flow Of reading matter that Is quafred
by the masses, whose literary taste d
negligible. The readers Of classic liter
allure compared with consumers Of ev'
eryday literary fodder are as one to q
million. That Is the reason why !, O
person devoid of genius, am enabled I'd
make living.
Ny natural instincts are all for art,
but unfortunately art requires educa,
ton, and when I was thrown on my
own resources for living ! had not
the means to obtain an education.
There are no schools of literature. Any
one who possesses pen, ink and pa
per may scribble, and the pecuniary re-
turn Of scYibbling is not an index of
the nature of the production. 80 took
up my pen and went to work. What
wrote seemed to interest Tom, DICK
and Harry, and since Tom, Dick and
Harry were In the market for some
thing to read began at once to make a
living.
While these preliminary remarks are
perhaps essential to my story, there Is
In them but one statement that the
story Is intended to bring out I have
said that my natural leanings are to
ward art I know a thing Of beauty
instinctively, and can conceive a
thing Of beauty. But never having
been educated to produce anything
beautiful. am unable to do so. One
more element in which what I am 20
ing to tell is essential also have ORA
matte instinct
Now for the story:
One winter, desiring to take a vaca-
ton during the following summer,
worked very hard in order to produces
the funds for trip abroad. The re-
sun was that my nerves broke down
under the strain. / took my vacation,
but instead Of travelling for enjoyment
Travelled for my health Furthermore.
instead Of improving grew worse.
Feeling that needed quiet, I went to
1nterlaken, In Switzerland, hired q
room with windows opening ON several
Of the most magnificent views I have
ever beheld and settled down to recu-
perata.
had met during the ocean voyage a
young woman-Ellen Trowbridge-whC
was trying to make an artist of her.
self. She was on her way to Switzer-
land for the hot season, after which
she was going down into Italy to COM
mence her studies. Being two lonely
American women, we agreed to travel
In company and took room In the
same house at Interlaken.
A few days after our arrival there I
collapsed Something seemed to give
way somewhere within me, and I lost
consciousness. From that time for two
months l remained in an abnormal
condition. A part Of the time was In
bed and a part sitting up In an easy
chair by q window looking out on one
of the many views spread before me-
From my bed looked out upon that
beautiful mountain, the Jungfrau, as It
ts seen from Interlaken rising out Of q
valley made by two nearer mountains
For months before my departure from
home I had been creating stories, and
they were tumbling about In my brain
In confusion. After time they shaped
themselves In dreams While lying In
my bed persons were enacting parts, it
seemed, on their own account, for
had no power-at least was conscious
Of none-to compel them to do my bid
ding.
And here let me say that In fiction
or plays, which are a form Of fiction,
great mistake is made in supposing
that the author controls his characters.
It is the characters that control the
author. He can force them to do his
bidding, but he will spoil his story.
There are grooves for the emotions as
wen as other things, and let him drag
a character out Of its groove, and It
win balk at once. Then the author
must get him back where he belongs
or he Will stand out from the natural
ness Of the play like sore thumb.
During this abnormal period Of mine
was conscious Of Ellen Trowbridge
being IN the room, sometimes minister
ing to my wants, sometimes sitting at
table writing, sometimes at her
easel sketching. These were only
| glimpses Of her, which would come
and go as figures In dream. They
were real enough at times for me to
have dim consciousness of the fact
that I was fortunate in having an
American companion to take an inter
est In me.
In the early part of my illness
was trying to disentangle the many
stories l had written during a long
period and keep all sorts of persons
from chasing one another through my
brain. Later several of my stories
that had been favorites with me seem
ed to drive out the rest, and 1 found
myself linking them together. It was
hard work. but better than having SO
many tumbling about my brain. Look.
ing out on the Jungfrau, specks ap-
pea<ed on its side Then these specks,
Is If drawn nearer by telescope, BE-
came dim figures Of certain characters
| prominent IN these favortte stories
Gradually they became more distinct,
and 1 was surprised to see that they
were disposed to act like reasonable
beings. And, more remarkable still,
they began to work out brand new
story, composed Of the several differ
ent stories that had become predomi-
nant In my brain.
This unity came from their present.
ing themselves to me and holding my
attention till the end, then beginning
at the commencement and going past
again. And noticed that every time
they passed they were in more rea-
sonable shape than the tfhSe before
Then when they had ranged them
selves and acted like human beings;
when there were no more incoherencies
to be got rid Of, they faded away,
and saw no more of them, at least
not together. Now and again one Of
them would bob up before me-but for
no purpose that could discover-and
after looking at me inquiringly, as
/ much as to say. do you want any
thing Of me7" would disappear like
the turning Off of light
One day there came change. was
conscious Of everything about me- A
clammy perspiration indicated that
was very weak. 1 did not see Ellen
TroWbridge. but a young woman In