12.

However we altered the conditions - a suitable theatre, and instead of
1500 Rubles a night 2000 Rubles. Everything was agreed and the next
performance took place in the Small Theatre. The two weeks engagement
was prolonged to three months, in which she had undeviating success, with
every seat sold at each performance, and at higher prices than had ever
been charged before by any artist in Petersburg.

One evening a lady was announced at her dressing room who wished to
speak to Isadora most urgently. "Will you come and give a performance
for me in Charkoff. I am the president of a charitable association and
am willing to pay whatever you demand if you will come and give a per-
formance there. Your travelling expenses will be paid and I ask you to
be a guest at my house". "Charkoff - is it far from here?" "Oh no, quite
leave
near - you have Monday night and arrive Wednesday afternoon".

Another time a Mrs. Feuerstein insisted upon seeing Isadora in her
dressing room. "I would like you to do me the honour to give a perfor-
mance for my charitable association, a very good work indeed, and will
pay what you receive from your Impresario. You shall have this same
theatre and your own orchestra and music director".

We agreed.

The house was packed as usual, in the intermission Mrs. Feuerstein
came to me much excited, for the settlement of accounts, and then said:
"And now I must absolutely see Madame Duncan." She came to her dressing-
room still more excited:

"Dear Madame Duncan how can I thank you for what you have done for
us. The performance was an unprecedented success, and we made a clear
profit of 4000 Rubles for our association". She took her hands in emo-
tion and kissed them. "And now I must tell you what the charity was,
which no one knows but a few initiated. It is a secret association which
helps with clothing, money and food, political prisoners in Siberia".

We were aghast. If this became known it might fare bad with Miss
Duncan's reputation. Still the woman was so grateful, so moved, that it

13.

was impossible to reproach her for having kept this from us.

Another time a man sent into the dressing-room an ordinary printed
card, on which could be read only his name, and the town he came from,
which was Tver, and insisted on an immediate interview with Isadora. He
was admitted - a plain man with a stringy blonde beard, a typical moujik
face, dressed in ill-fitting Sunday clothes. He only spoke Russian and
we had to have an interpreter.

"My dear Madame, I have come here verst to see you dance. I read
about you and I could not believe what I read. If it were true I had to see
you, and if it were not true, I was going to horsewhip the man who
wrote about you. I am a simple man, a baker, and I cannot express
myself well, but I feel I must tell you that you fix are far beyond anything
I have read, and you have given me a pleasure which I cannot
also
define. But you have/given me another view of life - something is
awakened within me which I did not know existed, and I know I am going
back to Tver to be a different man and to lead a better life. I now know
what art is, and that it can be more powerful that religion. I came to
thank you from the bottom of my heart what you have done for me, and to
lay my homage at your feet. I do not know how to show you my appreciation
- I can only do it in my own way. I shall bake a cake for you specially,
the best cake I can bake, and send it to you, and I hope you will accept
it," and with tears in his eyes he knelt down and kissed the hem of
Isadora's garment. A few days later a large cake arrived, iced, with
Isadora's name laid on it in sugar. On top in the centre of the cake was
a little plain unpainted wooden toy arm chair - the seat could be lifted
up and in it was some salt - the Russian sign of welcome.

Eleonora Duse arrived in Petersburg during Isadora's engagement. Duse
is the adored friend of Isadora and no matter how rude the great
Italian actress is to her, intentionally and unintentionally, Isadora
doesn't mind at all, and not only finds an excuse for everything she
do
but praises and lauds her in the highest possible terms.

14.

Duse played at the Conservatoire. Isadora refused to dance on any night on which Duse gave a performance, and bought a box for every one of Duse's performances, never failing to be there. Her devotion to Duse soon became town-talk, and every one only referred to Duse as "La Delesse".

Duse by no means reciprocated this genuine feeling of friendship and admiration, which Isadora had for her, as a woman and an artist. To the contrary, she never came to her performances, and one night, when she condescended to come at Isadora's invitation, Isadora sending her the best box in the theatre, and changing her programme at 24 hours notice because Duse had already seen her in the one which had been announced, this causing much expense in new posters and newspaper notices, she never appeared and the box reserved for her was the only vacant one in the theatre! Incidentally Isadora's boxes sold at 80 R. Duse's at 60 R.

No apology followed, but a few days later a note arrived - they had adjoining rooms to each other in the Hotel d'Europe - saying she would come to visit her that evening, never mentioning the incident. Isadora, nothing daunted, had immediately half the furniture removed from her drawing room, and covered up all the pictures on the walls with her valuabre silk embroidered shawls. Duse couldn't stand furniture nor and her first a chin on her arrival at the Hotel was to order all the furniture and pictures out of the suite of four rooms which she and her friend, a Baroness whose name I have forgotten, occupied and only retain the most urgent necessities. For instance the drawing-room was completely divested of all furniture and pictures, and in the centre of it her bed erected, outside of that was a small table and a chair by her bedside and nothing more. Her bed-room she turned to a dressing-room with the barest necessities, and her second salon into a dining-room with only two chairs a table and a sideboard. The fourth room was occupied by her friend the Baroness, a very masculine looking female who smoked incessantly cigarette in the halle as Duse couldn't stand smoke. For that matter she couldn't

15.

stand fresh out flowers, and the flowers she received at her performances were relegated to the hall as much as the Baroness with her cigarettes. Never shall I forget her arrival at the hotel. All Petersburg were agog waiting for the great Italian Italian. The tea rooms and foyer of the Hotel d'Europe were crowded with fashionable people, trying to get a glimpse of the artist on her arrival. A closed carriage arrived, most unusual in Petersburg where every one drives, well packed up in furs and fur covers, in open sleighs, and out stepped, huddled-up in innumerable clothes, head bandages, and weird looking travelling cloaks, a rather aged looking lady, with pale drawn features, looking furtively to right and left, leaning in the arm of her jaunty masculine striding friend the Baroness. Very little could be seen of her - she hurried through the halls and in a moment was gone. Every one was disappointed - no one had really had a good glimpse of her.

But to return to the party. Duse announced herself. Isadora got ready. The lamps of Isadora's rooms were covered with lovely pink and yellow silk shawls subduing all the lights, and Isadora ordered her pianist and got ready to dance for Duse since she had not come to the performance!

In the evening Duse sailed in a magnificent black lace dress on the arm of the Baroness embraced her with gushing remarks, and just by the way said that she was dining with Mrs. Robert Mendelsohn the other night, consequently couldn't come

On this Russian tour Duse had superb costumes, which was most unusual for her, as she never has enough to manage such luxuries. But I understood that Mrs. Mendelsohn was most helpful to her friend and erstwhile colleague. Mrs. Robert Mendelsohn is an Italian, and used to play with Duse in the long ago. Robert Mendelsohn, the great German Jewish financier, had come to Petersburg on some financial business with the Government, and brought his wife with him, as she wanted to see her

16.

great friend act again.

I heard recently that Mrs. Mendelsohn for the duration of the war never took part in any court functions in Berlin.

They lived in the same hotel on the same floor with Duse and Isadora, and yet it had been too much trouble to advise Isadora that she wasn't coming to the performance. I ought to mention here that Duse's performances were by no means all sold out as Isadora's. Most of the evening Duse had very little to say except make a few remarks of enthusiasm about Isadora's art, which to/sounded theatrical and insincere. Pim, who was introduced to her as Isadora's friend, was designed to be called "charment, charment, charment". Pim had very little to say when in company of intellectual people; the "ambiente" in which he felt himself most at home was either the well-dressed Parisian Apache boulevardier, or women with whom he could talk "cochonerie".

I could see nothing to rave about Duse as a friend or woman. As an artist she has my greatest admiration, and whenever she acted in a town where I happened to be whether in Petersburg, Berlin, Florence or New York, I have never failed to go to her performances. She is undoubtedly the greatest contemporary actress. But she knows it, and whether it is that conceit, or just bad manners in consequence of a truly lack of early good breeding, can interest me very little. Even great artists have only a right to society if they are in possession of good manners. If they haven't them, I prefer to see them from an auditorium, and not in their home or mine, or any one of my friends'. She had many peculiar whims. The theatre had to have just so many degrees of heat, 16¹⁰ I think it was, and if it was more or less she couldn't act. Fortunately the temperature was always warm, what she required it to be for the duration of her visit, except the last night. It was only 16 and she could not possibly act with that ½ degree difference - and sent an almost full house home. The performance was postponed for 2 nights - the people

18.

cruelty, to something akin to wilfulness, to irrational carelessness, her bordering rather on insanity than the premeditated cerebrality of the Northern character. Whereas in D'Annunzio's plays she is in her element. She understands the author, the characters, it is a part of her, one joins hands with the other, and both are an expression of the same soil and climate, with the same sequence of thought in their psychology. She is and always will be a masterly expression of D'Annunzio's characters.

Isadora in those days was by no means the "grande dame bien soignée" which she is to-day. Isadora's whole art has sprung from the simplicity of real genius, and from a sense of taste and proportion which is most unusual in a womanly woman. She realized at an early age what real beauty was, irrespective of traditions and environment, and irrespective of the fact that she was born at the end of the most hideous epoch in art which the Anglo-Saxon race has known. She turned to Greece where she found the realization and the expression of her dreams in art, and with imbibing the great simplicity of Grecian art, she also allowed that simplicity to influence her tastes and manner of life and dress. In a word she became a Grecian. On her return from Greece there were no feathers in her hats, nor did she wear the fashionable puff sleeves of the time. She came dressed as a little Grecian shepherdess, in a cream-coloured flannel dress of Grecian pattern, with a cord around her slender waist. On her head she wore either a little round Armenian cap, or a round wide-brimmed low crowned shepherd's hat, such as you see in Preller's pictures illustrating the Odyssey. Europe gasped when she appeared thus, and once when she was arrayed before a court of justice in tyrannical Prussia, not Russia, for I saw no tyranny there, for having taken an insolent "Gerichtsvollzieher" by the scruff of the neck and put him out of her house so quick that he strumbled and fell down the stairs, the judge condemned her for contempt of court for appearing in "nicht anständiger Kleidung".

However she realized that she could never again wear the hideous

19.

apparel which the fashion of the time imposed upon women, and decided to strike out for herself. The Grecian attire attracted too much attention to suit her modesty, and yet she was unwilling to abandon it, so she arrived at a compromise. For private life she had dainty little gowns made of the best period of the Empire, the renaissance of the Antiquity, and with her coiffure à la Madame Recamier she looked enchantingly sweet and modest, and was altogether a picture of loveliness. But she only had a few gowns, and sometimes they went to pieces, and her maid was neglectful, and she looked untidy. Her act was her all - it occupied every movement of her day - all the rest was of no consequence. And I have known the time when ink-stains on her fingers where more than a day old, and the nails not quite so neatly manicured as now, when a retinue of coiffeurs, manicures, pedicures, massagers, and what not, attend her.

Those details didn't matter in those days. The hair was quickly put up à la Recamier, the gown slipt into, and she was ready. Gloves - well they were mostly lost or soiled, and then she would wear none, and she looked none the worst for it with her long tapering fingers, which are like falling rose petals when she dances. She was the personification of simplicity in those days, and she had just learnt to not only live on a cup of warm milk before her performances, but have a good steak and some stewed fruit and a half a bottle of champagne at 4 p.m., then take a good nap and arrive at the theatre happy, feeling mentally and physically fit. In her manner she sometimes forgot the dignity of her position as a great artist and as a lady. I remember one evening at one of Duce's performances Mrs. Mandelshon was in the next box but one - tall, big, amazon-like, haughty and severe, and reminded me of the metallic aunt in-law in David Copperfield. She hardly bowed to Isadora, they knew each other very well as they were neighbours in the Grunewald near Berlin, where Isadora Duncan had founded her school, and where Mrs.

["20.", "Medelsohn could be very nice when she wanted to have those exquisite\nlittle dancers perform on her lawn to the delight of her invited guests.\nHere Isadora was evidently of no use to her. Probably she was jealous\nthat Isadora had a greater success in Petersburg than her beloved friend\nEleonora Duse - any way I thought she treated Isadora very coolly. Isado-\nra, as usual in her simple manner being delighted to see her neighbour,\narose impulsively and went over to her box (the boxes in the Conservatoire\nare open boxes, as all seats are on one level as in most large concert\nhalls) and expressed her pleasure at seeing Mrs. Mendelsohn. That lady\ndid not ask her in, nor to sit down, nor make any reciprocal gesture of\nfriendliness or courtesy, never budging from her nailed position in her\nchair. Isadora continued in her manner and expression of friendliness\nwhich spoke splendidly for her character, but somehow it was unseemly in\nso great an audience, where every eye was upon her, including the eagle\neye of the Grand Duchess Vladimir, who also come to every one of Duse's\nperformances, dragging the old Grand Duke along, who invariably fell\nasleep during the second act. However it was a great satisfaction to me\nto see that same evening, after the curtain had fallen after the\nsecond act, and Duse received a curtain call, scarcely had she disappear-\ned than the whole audience rose, turned to Isadora Duncan's box, and\napplauded her unanimously. Isadora blushed and made a motion to try to\ndivert their attention to the stage, to another "encore" for Duse, but the\npublic would have none of it, and only broke forth with \"brava Aisadora\nDunkan\". For some reason Isadora's name was not spoken in Russia.\nThe Russians who spell every name just as it is pronounced, and\nknowing that is pronounced in English, evidently thought that her name\nwas pronounced Aisadora.", "Within a few weeks her name was in the mouths of all. Bonbons and\nmatches bore her name with figure of her dancing. Deputations of\nstudents presented themselves daily, asking for interviews, bringing her"]

21.

flowers, and requesting a reduction in the price of the seats, as the
highness of the prices, even in the gallery, was almost prohibitive to
the majority of poor students. However this was outside of our ken
tickets
and we could do nothing. Free tickets were never given away - it would
have meant throwing money out of the window; the only seat ever given
away was the box for Duse, who did not come.

Up to that time Isadora in her innocence, speaking frankly her con-
viction, had always antagonised the ballet, not in the spirit of hatred,
but as bad art, and had always fought the idea of conventionalized
movement and acrobatics, which is the very opposite of her idea of free
movement, which emanates from the centre of the body, the heart, thus
producing not only a true expression of the emotions, but a rhythmic
harmony of movement, irrespective of music. But the thanks she received
for her free expression of opinion was the violent antagonism and
hatred of the old ballet and its adherents. In Petersburg she thought
she would not repeat that same mistake and altered her tactics.

On her first visit to a performance of the Imperial Ballet at the
Marinsky Theatre she lauded highly the "première danseuse" Pavlova, and
said openly that she was the greatest dancer she had ever seen, without
a word as to her opinions of the Ballet as such. The next day the papers
were full of what "Aisadora" had said about Pavlova. With that
one gesture she had won the sympathy of Pavlova, and the then all-power-
ful Imperial Ballet.

The Imperial Ballet was an institution of no mean proportions
The Imperial Ballet School was under the immediate protection of the
Crown and received a large subsidy. Children of the impoverished
gentry where taken when quite small, clothed, fed, taught, taken-care of
in general, and trained to dance. Everything was free - but when they
arrived at a certain age, and perfection in their art, they had to sign
a contract for 20 or 30 years to dance only in the Imperial Ballet

22.

a rather small emolument. Any way the contract was so long that they could not have possibly have danced anywhere else after their contract was finished. Naturally in taking children at a very early age, from families whose culture stood for something, in whom well-formed bodies and extremities might be expected, together with a thorough training, they reached a perfection in their art which was unparalleled by any other Ballet in Europe.

Monsieur Taliakowsky showed Isadora through the School, which she claimed looked like barracks, with long white dormitories, the simplest furniture, just as for soldiers, and the only decorations portraits of the Czar and Czarina. A great difference to Isadora's Grunewald school, where there were lovely blue and white curtains over the little beds, little Lucca della Robbia decorations, Tanagra figures, and pictures of antique Greek art. In her school her children were not brought up like soldiers, but like little fairy queens. The girls of the Imperial Ballet School, if they were pretty, and most of them were, and all very distinguished-looking, were usually supplied with a "friend", at a certain age, a grande duke or prince or a very rich merchant, and then it did not matter that their emolument was small. Isadora thought that the Imperial Ballet School was a first class house for providing the rich and powerful with mistresses. However, be that as it may, they all comported themselves with great dignity and were never vulgar; they had race in them, whereas the charming little brats which Isadora had picked out of the gutters of Hamburg, Paris, Berlin, Warsaw and Brussels grew to be beautiful dancers, thanks to Isadora's training and understanding, but in personal taste and character and in gratitude they did not deny their infamous antecedents. Isadora did not supply them with "friends" it is true - but some of them found them of their own accord, and they weren't princes or grand dukes - one I believe was a stoker!

23.

Pavlova felt flattered. Pavlova wished to meet Isadora. A meeting was arranged - a private room was engaged at Donon's restaurant and an excellent luncheon ordered, such as only that French proprietor of those days was capable of producing. We had heard that Pavlova was imitating Isadora's dresses, her movements, whether for the benefit of her erstwhile friend the handsome former officer of the Imperial Guard, a natural son of Alexander II and a Princess Lubomirski, with intense blue Romanoff eyes, who was just in the throes of a violent friendship with our Jonkheer Pim Noothoven van Goor, but who had every chance of becoming Isadora's friend, or if for reasons of personal taste and admiration for Isadora, I don't know. The party was to consist of the two stars Pavlova's friend, Victor André, and Joseph Ravines, with the Romanoff eyes, Pim Noothoven van Goor, Ida Rubinstein had not yet entered upon her stage career. She had come one evening into Isadora's dressing-room, brought by some casual friend, dressed in a most marvellous coat of ermine, and a violent green silk dress, with large diamonds in her ears and at her throat, looking like some wild creature with her black hair, glittering like teeth and classical statuesque profile, and said "Oh I wish I could dance like you" with all the savageness of her nature.

She never did, but she thought she could. Victor André was a most uninteresting sort of an individual, young, good-looking and common-place and reported to be very rich. The party assembled at one o'clock - we chatted and waited for Pavlova; a quarter of an hour passed, a half hour, an hour, - we were famished and commenced on the caviar and vodka, another quarter of an hour, half hour - by this time our humours had rehabilitated themselves in consequence of the vodka and light diet of caviar, and when the door (opened finally) at 3 o'clock o'clock to allow Pavlova to enter we had ceased to feel any resentment for her unpunctuality. But she didn't appear in any Grecian or Recamier gown but in very beautiful

24.

sables, dressed like any distinguished looking "grande dame" out walking on a winter's afternoon. Her big black eyes, the dark complexion, the eagle-like nose, the sensitively refined features and her carriage made her a most attractive figure. The two stars embraced. Isadora, as usual, was dressed in a loose flowing gown and gold sandals, and her meeting Pavlova was that of willingness to be friendly, affectionate and expansive. Pavlova was reserved - like a stag on the alert - filled with curiosity, what did this spontaneous and immediate expression of friendship and affection mean? In spite of their public admiration for each other they soon fell into catish remarks which showed pride, jealous, professional competition, and last not least the commiser consciousness of the presence of the man and the rivalry for him, were one of the main springs of their feelings, which were but thinly veiled in their remarks.

"I suppose you travel abroad a great deal", said Isadora knowing full-well that any one of the Imperial Ballet at that time had never yet been permitted to leave the Czar's dominions.

"Your income from the Imperial purse must be very generous", knowing full-well all about the shabby pay the members of the Ballet received.

But this was only a bit of retaliation for Pavlova's seemingly pertinent questions and remarks, which were simply in accordance with the Russian character, which never means to be rude or inquisitive, but asks questions from a natural spirit of interest and curiosity. However Isadora felt that other motives had prompted them.

One of the questions which annoyed Isadora beyond everything about her dance was "When did you first think of it?"

She never thought of it - she danced since she was a child, and she put this circumstance down to the fact that before her birth her mother went to see the great dancer, Fantastik, dance every night in San Francisco. At which time she also had an inordinate taste for oysters and champagne, both of which she also inherited.

She gave dancing lessons when she was ten years of age and at 16

25.

was a member of Augustin Daly's Company. When the company went to London, Daly took her to the greatest Balletmistress of the time and said, "Teach this girl, she has talent, but she can't dance".

The Balletmistress said after Daly was gone: "Miss Duncan will you please dance for me?"

She did and when she had finished she said:

"Miss Duncan your way is not my way, but you go on in your way. I can teach you nothing".

The ensuing "lesson" which had been paid for, were not lessons, but private performances to which the Balletmistress invited all her friends to see Miss Duncan dance.

Ida Rubinstein's name is neither Christian nor Russian, and I asked her nationality, nationality.

"My father was a Russian and my mother a jewess" she replied with her beautiful teeth glittering so savagely that all further conversation on the subject came to an abrupt close. It was enough explanation. By some she was reported to be fabulously rich, by others that she had a very rich banker "friend". The fact is that some time later, when the Russian Ballet finally received Imperial permission to go abroad, she financed the company to the amount of 35,000 Roubles, on condition she was allowed to dance with them. Her later adventures in the theatre are well known - d'Annunzio and her playing Saint Sebastian. I feel sure that the aesthetic but precarious d'Annunzio did not choose her for her talent but rather for her purse. And she was willing to pay. She wanted and needed "réclame".

Soon after the first meeting of the two stars the voices in Petersburg became louder that Pavlova was going to break away from the traditional ballet, and was going to follow in the footsteps of Isadora Duncan - which she did as soon as she could, and with what success we all know.

Until Isadora's advent in Petersburg no one had ever thought of any

26.

other dance but the traditional ballet as the highest form of that art.

When, some years later, I saw a representation in the Hall of Nobles in Petersburg of a dozen young Isadora Duncan's dancing the Hunt of Diana, under the auspices of Monsieur Fokine, I complimented him by saying that it was the best imitation I had yet seen of Isadora's dance without being a copy, and that the spirit of her dance had been produced with original ideas in its composition he glared at me as if I were his sworn enemy and turned away. I heard later that he thought I was trying to insult him, as he claimed me to have originated that dance, and everything about it, especially himself. But, my dear Mr. Fokine, if you had never seen Isadora Duncan you would never have composed the Hunt of Diana, nor would you have given those charming dancers those lovely Grecian flowing garments, nor would you have made them dance naturally without shoes or stockings. Isadora's advent in Russia was the opening epoch of the new school of the dance for all the world. It was through it and the consequent Russian Ballet, such as we have been seen in Western Europe, that the Renaissance of the Dance took permanent root. Until that time Isadora had only been "eine vereinzelte Kunstscheinung" in Western Europe, which found many cheap and impertinent copyists, but no disciples, who realized that here was a new school, a new message in art, the revelation of which must serve all future art of the dance.

I remember one of those obvious points who made her appearance, at the time we were in Petersburg, in Berlin: Maud Allan. No sooner Isadora had gone, she appeared before the Berliner Publikus, supported by a well-paid press, advertising herself as a pupil of Isadora Duncan, which she had never been. I telegraphed to the "Berliner Tageblat" asking them to recall such a misstatement. The next edition of that paper said: "Miss Maud Allan is not a pupil of Isadora Duncan, and Maud Allan lays great stress upon this fact."¹ Her consequent performances in

27.

Munich were hooted, and she was forbidden to dance by the police, who considered her performances indecent.

When a year later she followed in Isadora's foot-steps to Petersburg she had a full house the first evening, the second evening was more than half empty, and the third evening was indefinitely postponed. She left by next train. She, like some other copyists of Isadora, who think that her dance is a trick and not genius, copying what they think tricke, have always proved a failure wherever Isadora has danced before, and could only succeed in a mediocre fashion where Isadora had not yet danced.

There is a great difference in copying and becoming a disciple filled with the divine idea of the art and its ingenius interpretation or rather an artistic and ingenius expression through this medium. The Russians realized this before any one else. To them Isadora was a message in art and they became disciples.

The last grand "coup" of Isadora in Petersburg that season was a gala performace with her school, which had been specially brought from Berlin for the purpose, at the Imperial Marinsky Theatre.

It was for a charity which was under the patronage of the Grand Duchess Olga. In Russia people have the sense not to ask artists to do things for nothing when it is a question for charity. They pay the artist and let the people, who can afford it, pay highly for the enjoyment the artist's gives them.

After long negotiations with M. Victor André - I never quite understand what he had to do with it - the contract was made and Isadora received for that one performance 4000 Rubles. I understood later that the charity reaped a net profit of 12,000 Rubles. The performance was a brilliant one and the élite of Petersburg was present; the house was sold out to the last seat. The stage of the Marinsky Theatre is one of the largest in Europe, and Isadora's enormous carpet looked like a little

28.

rug on it. The Imperial orchestra accompanied her. The Marinsky Theatre is one of the most beautiful theatres I know, and the white and gold decorations with the delicate blue brocade of curtains and balustrades of the boxes gives the impression of a very delicate bohemienne. At Covent Garden one sees a dignified English élite, mixed with parvenus, which try their best to imitate their betters. At the Metropolitan Opera House one sees a vulgar display of jewels, mostly worn by people whose faces show that their ancestry lacked all the elements of culture. At the Marinsky Theatre there was no mixture and no vulgarity.

dame
It was the well-bred "grande dame" wearing her Parisian dresses and her beautiful jewels with exquisite taste, and the manner was that of charm and grace, and since there was no fear of vulgarity or parvenues and their possible approach and familiarity, there was no stilted nervous reserve and aloofness. It was like a court function - you couldn't possible meet with any one not equals in birth and breeding. I have never seen an audience which impressed me so much, in manner, in good taste, in dress, in distinction and in looks. This was the "grande monde" and there was no make-believe.

But I remember another function at the Marinsky Theatre which had a very different atmosphere. It was the great annual ball in Carnival time. It was then that all the elements of Bohemianism, art and society mixed in free abandon, hidden by their masks.

A tall lady, with a slender well-formed figure dressed in black silk and lace, with long black kid gloves and high-heeled silk slippers, showing a well-formed ankle, with a lace mantilla thrown over a wealth of blonde hair, masked, leaning on the arm of a well-known diplomat, tapped on the arm with her fan. I did not know the lady. Suddenly she spoke it was the young bald-headed barber of the Hotel d'Europe!

Prizes
Bonnax were given out for the best man's costume and the most beautiful woman. Each ticket contained two checks, and you gave your

29.

you check to the person who thought most beautiful and to the man whose costume you liked the best. Those who had won checks most checks won. The most beautiful man's costume was a Grecian shepherd boy, and the most beautiful woman an actress of Duse's company, a very beautiful renaissance type of Italian beauty. Her choice was a six-penny solid silver tea service or a diamond ring. She chose the ring.

Kochessinskaja

It was on this occasion that I saw Kochessinskaja, the great dancer and only mistress Nicolas II ever had, before his marriage. I thought her very beautiful - tall, slender, with distinguished attenuated features, and the carriage of a queen.

Kochessinskaja

Kochessinskaja had a magnificent palace and in it a huge ball room with a sloping floor for practicing dancing, which was the envy of Isadora.

Last year in New York I heard from one of her Russian friends that she had acquired a little peasant's house in the country, with a few fields, and that she was living the life of a peasant. Her palace had been sacked during the first days of Bolshevism, her wonderful jewels stolen, and she had to fly for her life.

After the stupendous success at the Marinsky Theatre, the Petersburg Impresario Dmitri Wassilivich Semenoff came to me and wanted to engage Isadora and her School for six more performances at the Small Theatre at 3000 Rubles a night.

Semenoff was a very curious person, a short dapper fellow, inclined to be stoutish, with a smooth young face and most knowing eyes. He always seemed to have a twinkle in his eye, and one could not help but believe that he took all life as a great joke. He was convivial and jolly, and there was never anything business-like about his manner. That is how he mentioned business just "en passant", and that it was a forgone conclusion that whatever he proposed would be accepted - which in truth was usually the case, as he never proposed things which we were not likely to entertain. I heard he was not an Impresario at all, but a Government official, who

30.

had for years arranged performances for fashionable charities and was in
the good graces of every one. Any way he certainly understood his business,
and though he never seemed to be busy, the result of his work
was obvious. He knew how to advertise and literally cover the walls with
effective posters, and also knew the value of newspaper reclame.
of Petersburg

He had a long finger nail on his little finger, and brought a cloud
of perfume with him when he entered. One of his first pleasantaries to
me was to send me a box of cigarettes. It appeared that it is customary
to send to/newly arrived stranger an offering of welcome, which is usually
done in the form of a box of a hundred cigarettes. Every one has a
special brand of his own, which is prepared by his tabacconist. I received
so many boxes that for months I did not have to buy any. The next
thing Semenoff did was to take me in the evening to all sorts of "café
chantants", were women of easy virtue were to be found, watching me carefully
as to what might be my taste. I wasn't in my way any mood for that
sort of thing just at that time, but was most interested in the life, and
was especially impressed to see officers in full uniform sit with these
fair ladies at their side. Coming from Germany this was novel to
me. No officer wearing the Emperor's coat as it is called in Germany,
would dream of being seen with a loose woman. He would go home first
and change into civilian's clothes.

Suddenly Semenoff said: "But probably you don't like women, probably
you prefer men. My friend Winigradoff, who was with me yesterday, said,
he was sure you did, and that one fisherman always knows another."

When Semenoff proposed the further engagement we accepted. In our
contract it was a condition that if either party did not live up to the
agreement a penalty of 1,500 rubles for each performance was to be paid
immediately by the defaulting party, prior to legal procedure pending
further arrangements. The first two performances took place and were an
enormous success. However the prices were so fabulously high that the

31.

third performance was not sold out. We were not anxious to have the
glory of Isadora's success weaken, and Semenoff no longer saw enormous
piles of Rubles at that rate. So he calmly informed me the other 3
performances would not take place. He was the defaulting party, and I
naturally demanded the penalty, which he was unwilling to pay. But,
considering he had made probably three times as much money out of
the whole engagement as Isadora, I saw no reason he should be spared what
he would have demanded of us. All argument seemed fruitless - he claimed he could not pay, and was a ruined man. Our method was simple in the extreme. Isadora dressed herself in her prettiest gown and took a box at the Opera that night. As usual during the intermission her friends, admirers, writers, artists, etc., came to pay her their respects, and when asked how she was, she drew a long face and told them that the impresario was trying not to pay the indemnity for the cancelled engagements, and what it meant to her school, which, as every one knew, was a charitable institution entirely supported by Isadora. Every one was horrified that evening it was the talk of Petersburg that such a thing should happen to a great artist, who was their guest and whom they all loved and admired. On the morning it was ex in all the newspapers.

By noon Semenoff appeared saying that his reputation was ruined and
that he would pay 2,000 Rubles. I was calm and he were excited. Unless
he paid the 4,500 Rubles by 4 o'clock the matter would go into the hands
of our lawyer.

"Oh but you are not going to bring a law-suit against me after this
successful season - I shall be ruined". I stuck to the ultimatum and at
4 o'clock he brought the money.

By this time we had decided to tour all European Russia. Offers had
come from everywhere, and among them were letters and telegrams from in-
dividuals who begged Isadora to come and to give them the joy of seeing

32.

her and her art. One telegram from the Caucasus of about 100 words read something like this:

"My friend Gregor Gregorovich has just come from Petersburg and has told me about you. He has only been able to intimate to me your wonderful art, but from what he felt I could feel what it had meant to him, and I received a remote vision of what your art really means. Come here to the Caucasus and let us see you and enjoy the message you bring - we all here will welcome you and not the least of all the friends of Gregor Gregorovich, who have heard him speak of you this evening", and then were signed five male Christian names.

Such things were encouraging and Isadora's misgivings were overcome.
She feared that in the Caucasus, or any Oriental or partly Oriental country,
she would not be a success, as her dance had sprung from the basis of
Western Culture and Art, and therefore could never be understood by
Orientals, whose conception of the dance must not only be very different,
having a different cultural basis, but whose appreciation of the Oriental
dance, which is sensual and physical, coincided with their views of life
and was therefore justified, whereas her art was purely emotional and
cerebral.

We were loath to leave Petersburg. In spite of the greyness and
snow and the almost perpetual darkness of the days when the sun
appeared like a red ball at noon for only an hour or two, and the terri-
ble cold, the life was fascinating.

I remember the first night I wanted to open my window as I was
accustomed to sleep with open windows. They could not be opened. The
double windows were tightly sealed with putty and paper for the winter,
and there was only a small trap-door at the top in the window 12 x 6
inches which could be opened. I opened that and that little orifice
gave me that night the worst cold I have ever had. The valet who entered in the morning was horrified. He said: "We open that flap only in

33.

the day time for a half hour for change of air, but you will die if you
keep it open in the night".

I think of all the writers I ever read who have written on Russia
Elinor Glyn is the only one who gives an adequate picture of the real
social life in Russia and the Russian character. She lived in the
same hotel and though I never met her I admired her exquisite features and
and wonderful auburn hair. She was to be seen every where - she was
always dressed in charming becoming gowns, and in bearing and manner was
more like a Russian princess than an English woman. I saw her most
frequently at the Imperial Michael Theatre where French plays were given.

The company of French actors were immediately subject to the Crown.
At Court the French actors had a court uniform of their own.

Claude Garry, of the Comédie Française, acted at that time there -
a most "simpatico" person. He had contracted an eye disease from the
intense cold which made his eyes twitch, but this was not noticeable from
the audience. Sometimes we used to go for supper to his sumptuous
apartment in the Morskaja, after the theatre, and spend delightful hours
there. One night it was very late and I was very tired. I don't remember
what had made me so tired that day, but while Isadora and Pim and
Garry were having a discussion on some subject, which didn't interest me,
I fell asleep in a very comfortable arm-chair near the warm white
tiled stove. When I awoke Isadora and Pim had gone and I stayed the
night.

Garry had given me his photo and as we had become friends in a
very short time he inscribed it with "à un ami rapide". This photo
Isadora happened to see one day, and ever after teased Garry and me as
to the meaning of it.

Suppers after the theatre were the usual thing in Petersburg at
private houses and in the large restaurants. The theatres
did not start until 9.15 or 9.30, and were never over until about one

34.

o'clock. Very often, after the cinema theatre, one went to a cabaret for an hour or so, and to supper at 2.30 or 3 o'clock. Sometimes when with/ friends we went to a Russian bath at 4 a.m. There was no such a thing as a prohibitive hour for anything man wanted to do. In fact I have never been in any country where I had more individual liberty. The baths in Russia are wonderful, and I have never been to any others any where else where the same service and luxury abounds as in Russia. To ask for a "Number" meant you wanted a private suite which cost 1 Rubles. This suite consisted of three rooms, a dressing and resting room, a room with bath tubs, various kinds of douches and a slab for massage, and a hot room with an enormous stove which was filled with huge pieces of glimmering coals. In the hot room were long benches at different heights in the form of steps. Water was poured on to the hot coals which created a very fine steam, and then the bather would go to the top bench which was the hottest, and gradually descend as he could no longer endure the heat and steam. When arrived at the bottom the attendant, invariably a handsome strong chap, would enter with a bundle of wet odoriferous leaves and place them under the bather's head, and then flagellate the bather lightly with branches of these same leaves, thus bringing the steam from above down, and starting the circulation of the blood. After that a massage, which no one can give so well as a Russian or Oriental, and then the various douches, baths and finally the bather was wrapped into coolкомfy linen and carefully and tenderly packed on the sopha in the dressing room to rest for some hours. I have never known a better remedy for fatigue, mentally or physically, and no greater preventative against colds, and certainly nothing more refreshing after the sumptuous sumptuous suppers with their rich viands and wonderful wines and liqueurs.

"A lit@Wxx l'Ours" (the Bear), "Medway" in Russian, was one of our favourite haunts for supper. There is no fashionable restaurant in

35.

Europe where you do not find some "demi mondaine" - not here in Petersburg. To go to a "burs" after the theatre was like going to some great private reception. You only met your equals - all having the easy free manners and abandon which are only possible when knowing they would not be misunderstood. The gowns, the jewels of the women were splendid. I have never seen in Paris such well-dressed women - women who never failed to be in good taste. It was always the best, and nothing was ever overdone.

The Russian women are very beautiful, tall, slender, lithe, with chiselled faces, and if occasionally some faces were high cheek-boned or square, their culture and education gave them an expression of distinction. The Russian men are tall, big, strong and mostly imposing. This race, which treats what we Westerns consider morals so lightly, letting the heart and instinot rule, irrespective of sex and conventions, who live heartily and eat and drink without stint, defy all our silly warnings as to the unhygienic way of their habits, not to speak of "sinfulness", and are splendid examples of physical and mental strength and health. It is a pleasure to look upon them, and envy must creep into our souls if we are not so gifted by nature. Probably it is our morality, and the silliness of our narrow education, that makes us shrivel whereas here where an artificial conscience does not exist, where man follows freely the most potent instincts of his fine splendid nature, he develops and grows physically and mentally. A lesson we are loath to learn until we see for ourselves!

They are really no worse than anyone else, only they are not hypocrites as we are, and are not afraid to lead their lives according to their tastes and instincts. We are eternally afraid of our neighbour, and his opinion, whereas, the Russian, knowing life and the facts of it, does not hide what he knows a large part of humanity is doing also.

What struck me as most remarkable among the servants in Russia was their extraordinary memory. Each house, hotel and restaurant has

36.

a large ante-room opening into - the street. In this ante-room are,
according to the size of the establishment, dozens of servants. When
you enter one approaches and takes off your fur, over-shoes, shawls, etc.
and puts them among the hundreds of other wraps. No check is given. You
never glance a second time at your man to even try to remember him. After
hours at your exit this man will bring you your things and help you on with
them, the moment he sights you and never make a mistake in a single
garment or over-shoe.

We never used to get a bed until 5 or 6 in the morning, and if very
tired, or after having tasted too much of the delicious French champagnes,
which are drunk so freely in Russia, it is customary that the night-valet
leads you to your room with flinching a muscle, and gently and carefully
undress you and puts you to bed.

Donons in the Moika was in these days the best restaurant. The old
proprietor was a typical French "bon vivant" and I never found a single
dish which was not perfect. It was not only the best restaurant in
Petersburg, but one of the best in Europe, and ranked with Voisins
in Paris, Burchardt's in Berlin, Betschers in Cologne, and the Hotel London
in Tiflis.

The old man used to get very confidential and took a fatherly in-
terest in Isadora. He often told her of the great stars he had known,
and how they lived, and either saved or threw away their money, and the
consequence of each case in their old age. The moral was always the same,
she should save her money, that her youth and health would not last for
ever, and that if she didn't, she would have a wretched old age. Isadora
who is a most wreckless being in money matters, always listened to him in
silence and great patience as if she took in every word and took it to
heart. Probably she was thinking of how delicious the steak "seignant"
was or of Reny de Gourmont's last book.

Petersburg Society was unlike any I have ever been in. Its
hospitality knew no bounds. But it was not a hospitality founded on in-

37,

vitations to marvellous suppers and balls and other entertainments,
only, but it was a hospitality which entered into the most intimate
details of your life.

As Semenoff tried to find me amusement for my passions, so in
society every one was anxious in their quiet way to show you attentions.
At first it struck me that the Russians were rather inquisitive, asking
many questions, but it was done so nicely, and with such evident
frankness, that one could not help but feel that it was not mere curiosity,
but rather a real interest. They were anxious to know your interests, you
your pleasures, and likes, and then somehow one day/came to you and had
arranged the most unexpected surprises. Either you were to meet some
one of use to you, or in whom you would be interested on account of
tastes in common, or some pleasure you had been longing for was arranged
for you. Their first idea was to be of use to you, and to bring you in
contact with those who could be of use to you, or who would interest you.
The unselfishness of these schemes was simply amazing, and was always
done splendidly, laughingly, with full enjoyment if the meeting or the
surprise was a success. And there was no one in this society who did not
have interests. It was not an idle society, which only thought of its
own pleasures and entertainments, but a society where every one was
doing something. If a man was not an officer, or a statesman, or filled
a government position, he was a writer, or an art historian, or an
artist, or managed his estates himself, but no one was idle, and every
one had intellectual interests. And all having interests they were only
interested in those who had interests too; had had no use for idleness,
who are always dull. Nearly every one in Society spoke English. With
the advent of the last Empress, English became the popular language at
Court, and in consequence the nobility engaged English governesses for
their children, sending the French ones packing.

Why the Empress was accused of pro-German sentiments I have failed
to understand. She was extremely English, her mother, Princess Alice,
of Germany.

38.

was a daughter of Queen Victoria. Her education, although born in Harnstadt, was English. She employed for her children English nurses and governesses. The House of Hesse was never friendly with the Hohenzollerns for the past generation, and these relations became more strained with the marriage of the Empress. Her brother the Grand Duke of Hesse spent most of his time out of Germany, and a great part of it in Petersburg. During this war he retired from command very early, as evidently his convictions were not in harmony with the tactics of the Supreme Command. The sister of the Empress was married to the late Grand Duke Serge of Russia. There is not much that would point to the Empress' so called German sentiments, whereas much that points to English sentiments and tradition, which was natural from her early training and education, and a very strong feeling for the country of her adoption, where she became a most devout adherent of the Orthodox Church.

The western European papers still spoke of Revolution in Russia after two years of the Revolution of 1905. It was most amusing to see the German Jewish press, which never lost an opportunity to give a dig at Russia, to bring sensational news of the rising in Petersburg, of people being shot in the streets and further nonsense of this kind. Petersburg, during the three months of which I was there in the winter of 1907-1908, in which all these news circulated in the German press, being duly copied by the press of other countries, I never saw a sign of any disturbance. Only once in front of our hotel a fashionably dressed woman in black was suddenly surrounded by detectives, and when she realized her position, she drew forth a revolver levelling it at her arresters, but one of them was quicker than she, grabbed her wrist and the revolver went off into the air. Afterwards I heard that she had carried a bomb in her muff, which she was about to throw into the vestibule of the Palace of the Grand Duke Nicholas Nicolai Michaelovich which was around the corner in the Place St. Michel.

39.

Apropos of muffs - no lady at court was allowed to carry one, since an attempt had been made upon the life of Alexander III by a lady, who carried a revolver in her muff.

The splendid generosity of the Russians in matters of art ought be an example to materialistic Europe.

The "Storye Godoy" (the Old Year) was probably the best art review in our Western world. It was brought out regardless of expense; its reproductions were the finest; the writers and art historians connected with it were authorities on their subjects; the magazine sold at below cost price of manufacture. Who did this? How was this done? A rich Moscow merchant subsidized it, without any idea of future reward as gain. He was glad he was giving the opportunity to many, to see in reproduction the beautiful art treasures of Russia and to further art and knowledge. His name appeared nowhere.

Alexander Trubnikoff was the editor, and Baron Wrangel the publisher. Trubnikoff was a member of the Imperial Eremitage and Chamberlain to the Czar, and one of the best authorities on the painters of the 18th Century. He owned a very fine collection of paintings. During the recent troubles his apartment was sacked, his pictures thrown into the street, his works of art destroyed, together with all the valuable manuscripts and photographs for years ahead for the Magazine. The printing works were used to print Bolshevistic propaganda. His own manuscript, a historical work on the painters of the 18th Century, which he had just finished before he left for the Front, he had cautiously given in keeping to the Academy of Arts and Letters. Who knows whether it will ever be rescued from the present chaos.

The Moscow Art Theatre was founded in the same way but I shall speak of this in a later chapter. Baron Benchendorff was the Master of Ceremonies of the Grand Duchess Vladimir. He was a very charming jolly stout old gentleman, whose house in the Fontanka was more like a museum in curiosities and valuable old furniture and pictures than a private

40.

dwelling. His sleeping apartment which had the simplicity and severity and, at the same time, richness of a royal bed chamber, was like a chapel; there was such a profusion of bejewelled golden Byzantine Saints pictures. He gave delicious luncheons and was an excellent "raccompagner". Speaking of tourneés he told us at one of these luncheons how he had helped to save the Red Cross train, which the Grand Duchessess Vladimir had financed during the Russo-Japanese War, from extinction. The Grand Duchess' funds gave out and she was at her wit's end as to how to continue to finance it. She called Benckendorff, and told him him of her calamity. He thought a moment and then proposed to relieve the fortunes of the train by asking Adelina Patti to come and sing in Petersburg. The idea was accepted. Adelina Patti was written to and her reply was the soul of generosity.

had been

Although her expenses were assured and even a generous stipend, she was refused both and said she would come gladly, and was only too happy to do something for Russia and the Russian people, where, she had celebrated such triumphs of success, the memory of which was one of the greatest treasures she harboured.

She came and was the guest of the Grand Duchess. Her success at that late time of her life was as unwavering as years before, and after a few weeks the Grand Duchess was able to carry on her Red Cross train until the end of the war from the proceeds of Adelina Patti's success.

Another story of a different character which he told us, threw a curious light on the prudishness and pruriency of an Englishwoman.

When in Florence the Grand Duchessess told Benckendorff one morning to bring a certain artist, who was living up at Bellosguardo, to luncheon the same day. Benckendorff proceeded immediately to the villa, which was owned by an Englishwoman who let rooms and the studio which the artist occupied. It was early. Benckendorff rang. The Englishwoman appeared: "Is Mr. X. at home?"

41

"Yes, but you can't see him."

"Why not? - It is most important that I see him."

"You can't see him."

"But I must see him."

"No you can't see him, he is in his bath."

"But that doesn't matter."

"What?" shrieked the Englishwoman,

"I won't have anything like that in my mom's house!"

"Won't have *what* in your house!" and pushed her aside to go his friend's apartment.

It was at his house where I met Hitroff who was supposed to have the finest private picture gallery of English Masters of the 18th Century in Petersburg. Apropos of Gainsboroughs and Reynolds I found more Gainsborough and Reynolds like women in Petersburg than I did ever anywhere else. Another "intime" of the Benokendorff household was Rubinstein, a rich young bachelor, who was protegeé by Benokendorff. But I found Hitroff effeminate and pedantic, and Rubinstein a very dull and arrogant person, so that I did not make any effort to meet them again though I regret to-day not having seen the Hitroff Gallery. He is dead now and where may be those wonderful art treasures?

My great friend in Petersburg was Nicholas Janoff, at that time lieutenant in the Empress' Lancers at Petersburg. He was a dashing young officer, a Cobak, with slanting eyes, high black eyebrows, an aquiline nose and a tiny black mustache. He was tall, lithe, with long upper body, a waist small as a woman's, and muscles strong as steel. Every line of his body, every gesture, every movement denoted race.

He was wreckless, savage, wild, with a temperament that changed with every hour of the day, either in the depths of despair or jubilating with joy.

One evening late I received a telephone call to meet him at a certain restaurant in the Nevsky. I went - he was feverish and excited

42.

I noticed something wrong with his arm.

"I want you to come to a Russian Bath with me. I have just had a duel and have been shot through the arm."

"Have you had it attended to by a doctor?"

"No, we had no doctors, as we are forbidden to fight duels and feared to be betrayed. But a bath will do me good and take down the inflammation."

We went to a bath and I found the wound in a very bad condition. His fever increased and by the morning I over-rode his objections and dragged him to a clinic to have his arm attended to and bandaged. The doctor told me, a few hours more and blood-poisoning would have set in. affair

However the officer did not remain secret and came to the ears of his superiors and both officers were court-martialled. The other officer had told some one that Janoff had improper relations with boys. Janoff heard of it and the duel ensued. At the Court martial he was questioned as to the truth of the other officer's accusation.

"If I have had relations with boys I have always paid for them and consider it no one's business, and am not like some of the gentlemen present, who acquiesce to relations against their taste and inclinations to profit thereby in presents and money."

He had to resign of course. Soon after he left for his home at Yalta, in the Crimea, where his father was Intendant of the Imperial Palaces at Livadia. Later he joined a Cossak regiment, and during the Bolshevik troubles he led his regiment for months through Siberia fighting like a lion. The English papers in Japan were full of his bravery and heroism.

On one occasion he and his regiment were taken prisoners by the Bolsheviks in a small town in Siberia and the court, which was presided over by a Madame Lebedoff, condemned Captain Janoff to be shot at 9 o'clock that same evening. It so happened that by six o'clock the Russian troops captured and entered the town and liberated the prisoners.

43.

Lebedoff
Lebedoff

Janoff when free ordered the immediate arrest of Madame Lebedoff and at
9 o'clock sharp had her hanged.

Isadora had a little habit of taking my friends away from me. That
is she usually fell in love with my friends, and then somehow they were no
longer my friends. One night we went in a Troika to Stovsky's on the
Ieland for supper. After much caviar and vodka and a good supper, we
visited one of those houses were Gipsy girls dance for visitors. The
change from heat to cold, from cold to heat - the many drinks - the light
food - the consequence we returned to the hotel in a most hilarious
mood. Isuxx Somehow Isadora took a fancy to Janoff. This was not at all
to my taste, for I knew that once she had made up her mind to have Janoff
for a friend, that would not only be the end of his career, but she would
monopolize him so completely that I should see very little of him. I
felt annoyed, and she read in my looks somethings that I thought and felt,
and though she continued for the rest of the uproarious evening to show
him her affection, the next day, when he had invited her to lunch, she
dropped her machinations and what had been culminating into a tender re-
lationship, came to an abrupt end am through her reassuring an attitude
which brought the acquaintance to a conventional level.

I have never ceased to feel grateful to Isadora for that act of true
generosity. For it is generosity in a woman, especially a fascinating
woman, who knows her powers, for woman is insatiable in making conquests.
It was on this occasion, what with the drink and sudden changes from
heat to cold and cold to heat, that I was thoroughly intoxicated for the
first time in my life. I couldn't move. I remember some one, impatient
with me, tore my ruby carbouchon out of my tie, threw it on the floor and
all but crushed it with his heel. Although the pin is damaged, it is
still beautiful. Pim had given it to me as a little sign of gratitude
for some of the things I had done for him - and probably as a little
sign of regret for the loss of my hold-all, with an absolutely new suit
of clothes and overcoat, which the tailor had brought me to the station

44.

on my departure from Berlin, and which he in his careless manner had over-looked when leaving the train at Petersburg when I had been left at Dwinsk. It was one of four carbouchons which his English fiancée had given him as a pair of cuff links, which he did not like as such and three of which he had had set into a rather gorgeous ring, for each was encircled with diamonds, and the fourth he had made into a pin. This pin he gave me.

They dragged me up to my room and tried to undress me to put me to bed, but as they were unsuccessful, Janoff took his sabre and stripped my clothes from me, incidentally wounding my wrist, the scar of which was visible for many years. I cannot vouch for the state of sobriety of the others. I was too far gone myself, but the shreds of my clothing the next morning spoke for something of their condition!

Last summer, 1919, when I was arranging a tournée for Isadora Duncan in Switzerland I received a little paper from the Hotel Claridge in Paris. On it was written "Souvenirs de Petrograd, Isadora" and under it "Mon bien cher Maurice - Tous mes amitiés - devoue Nicolas Janoff". A few weeks later I saw Janoff in Paris looking as dapper as ever, with the same elegant little figure, his hair slightly thinner, but the same love of life and heartbreaking despair. It was then he told me of his experiences in Russia, how his parents had been shot by the Bolsheviks of his fighting in Siberia, his final flight to Japan where the Japanese Government, much impressed with the adroitness of his actions during the Siberian campaign, elected him member of the Japanese Mission to Russia.

He had just arrived from Japan with the other members of the Japanese Japanese Mission via Vancouver and New York and was on his way to Constanтинополь. He had not changed in tastes and extravagance. "I only drink champagne now and cognac" - and he did. The first afternoon of our meeting we emptied three fourths of a bottle of Martell together.

In the evening he proposed a dinner at Voisins. I told him I had

46.

The best sketches by Rubens are here and in the old Pinakothek in
Munich. Since then I have heard that the Rembrandt Collection was sent
to Moscow for safety at the threatening advance of the Germans and never
arrived!

Meyendorff was one of those quiet modest men, who had very little to
say until he found he had a sympathetic listener, who took interest in his
favourite subjects, and then he became a brilliant conversationalist and
was only too ready to lead you into the secrets of his knowledge and ex-
periences.

The Prime Minister, or "Our Russian Gladstone", as he was called, was not there, but his brother who was a leading art critic on the staff of the "Novoe Wremga", and the Prime Minister's daughter, who had been the victim of the anarchistic plot perpetrated at his country house, in which part of the building had been blown away by a bomb. The poor young girl was a cripple and could hardly walk; a pale little thing with a sweet girlish voice and large intelligent eyes and animated features when she spoke. There was a tremendous pathos about this innocent creature who suffered for the fanatic idea of a political madman.

Alexander Nicolaivich Galachoff with his sister, who was the most beautiful Gainsborough-like woman I have ever met, was in that party; a tall fine looking-man with liquid womanish eyes and the movements of a panther. His father was Governor Governor of Orel, and he owned and lived in the country house which had been Turgenieff's. This man, who seemed to have no other interests but horses and gambling and beautiful women, had a great reverence and respect for the great Russian writer, and told me that he had kept the library of Turgenieff intact, and everything in it just as in the life-time of the poet.

One day, some time after the party, he came to see me at the hotel. He always came accompanied by two splendid-looking Georgians, in full Caucasus dress, who stood outside waiting like sentinels until their master reappeared. His handsome face with its pointed blonde Van

47.

Dyok beard was strangely discoloured in places.

"What is the matter?"

"My friend, I have had a most singular experience. I have just come from a woman dentist - a young dark passionate-looking woman, not particularly pretty but interesting. After she examined my teeth, she looked at me, threw her arms about me, and not only covered me with kisses, but bit me into the condition in which you see me."

"What did you do?"

"What a question! What any man would do with a fascinating woman who had the courage to avow her affections in this manner".

He came for lotions and ointment to allay the marks and inflammation. I had never before doctored any one for such wounds.

It was my good fortune to hear one of Tchaikowsky's operas at the Marinsky Theatre; "Eugene Onegin". Since then I have always failed to understand why they are never given in Western Europe.

The performance was superb, the decorations magnificent, the Shalapin's song and the audience appeared resplendent in beautiful rows and jewels and uniforms. As usual in Russia good art always win hearty approval. Whether a gallery or stalls they are equally appreciative of good work, great talent, competent representation. The music - I have not the master-pen to dare to write about Tchaikowsky, - to me it was Russian through and through, in sentiment, in action, in pathos; and the music, that strange soul-moving music which breathed through every line longing, the weird primitive wildness of the temperamental Russian, who yearns, and knows not to what ends, in his rapture and his sorrow, in his ever changing passions. It is like thousands of light effects on the waters in an approaching storm.

Serge Wolkonsky,

The scenery had been designed by Prince Konstantin Konstantinovich, at the time "Eugene Onegin" was first given, when he was Intendant of the Imperial Theatres of Petersburg and Moscow. The taste was exquisite and

49.

up to a Russian's reputation, and his hospitality was generous and
splendid in every detail, not only in arranging entertainments and dinners
but in his solicitude to be of assistance in every possible way to further
one's projects and interests.

This reminds me that once I had told Wolkonsky about a friend of
mine who was engaged in American geneological research. He had gone to
Holland, and said he couldn't find the connection of the American family
who claimed to be descendants of a noble family there, and was looking for
their coat-of-arms, one of the American crazes. The particular ancestor's
name who was to connect with that noble family was Charlotte. But my
friend found no Charlotte at all, but instead Susan. He cabled "Can't
find Charlotte, but there is a Susan".

The answer, which came back read: "Follow up Susan".

This story he told as a joke, illustrating the silliness and pretensions of free American citizens, to the old Grand Duchess of Baden, daughter of Emperor William I, who listened to it quite quietly and then said seriously:

"Oh how touching".

The only case of curious hospitality I met with in Russia was on the
occasion when Lieutenant T. ________ and wife, who looked very
ordinary and when Prince Andronikoff called a cook, Lieutenant T. ________.

"Had married this woman of very ordinary antecedents against the will of his family, invited Janoff and me to hear some Gipsy Singers. We drove very far and finally landed in a strange ramshackle straggling building in the suburbs of Petersburg, were ushered into a large private room, the general drinking and eating hall was filled with drunken riff-raff, and Lieutenant T. ________ ordered the proprietress to send in her Gipsy Singers. Fourteen or fifteen good-looking girls and boys, from 18 to 26 years old, marched in with their Balaleikas and seated themselves on the row of chairs arranged against the wall. Lieutenant T. ________ ordered bottles of champagne by the dozen and

xi

50.

played them well with it. They sang Russian Gipsy songs. I need not go into the details of these. Most musical people know the extraordinary strain of these wonderful sad songs, full of longing and elemental passion, which is not to be found in any other music. There is just a touch of Orientalism in them. They sang splendidly and the great Gipsy Queen Varia, an old woman whose announcement to give a performance was sufficient to sell every ticket within the hour, would have been proud of her colleagues.

On our return to the hotel, where Lieutenant T. and wife were living at the time, I thanked him for the great pleasure and said as a matter of politeness, that I ought to pay my share of the expenses. He didn't flinch, or make any resenting gesture, but said immediately: "Yours and Janoff's Janoff's share will be 300 Rubles". Inwardly I gasped, but simply answered that I would give him my share the next morning, which I did, making no apology for Janoff. He knew as well as I that Janoff didn't have more than 100 Rubles a month pocket-money - and Janoff was his friend, who had introduced me, whereas he had distinctly invited each one of us.

Prince Michael Andronikoff was a very mysterious person. He was an enormously fat man, who never appeared anywhere before 10 p.m. What his business really was I never discovered. Some said that in the time of Count Witté he had proved very useful to that gentleman, and since was engaged on secret missions. They seemed secret enough if one judged the time of night he called, which might be at any hour between midnight and 3 a.m. He had a great weakness for our Jonkheer Noothoven van Goor, and that gentleman did not seem to discourage his advances.

One night Isadora went to Pim's room. He had come to her early in the evening looking pale with dark circles under his eyes, which by the way was done with the most expensive Parisian pastries, telling her that he had a dreadful headache and wished to retire, bidding her good-night. The truth was he had a "rendezvous of a tender nature, and after his

51.

excuse to her returned to his room to get put on the counter portion of
roge and bella donna and sally forth. Isadora, in her tender anxiety,
went late to see how the invalid was getting on and found the room empty.
It was dark. She did not turn on the light, but lay down on a sopha,
waiting for the return of the invalid. At 3 a.m. a tap on the door.
Isadora was frightened and of course remained silent. Suddenly the door
gently opened and the enormously big "silhouette" of Andronikoff became
visible against the bright light in hall.

"Pim tu est la?"

No answer.

"Pim tu est la?" but he did not advance, but carefully remained hold-
ing the open door.

"Pim tu est la?" and he advanced a step or two towards the bed. But
an intuitive feeling made him draw back. He probably felt that some one
else was there, and he tip-toed out.

Isadora did not wait for her friend after that, but returned to her
room. Coincidentally would have it that she upset the waste paper basket
in her drawing room by accident, and her eye fell on the large sprawling
writing of Pim. She picked up the torn pieces and lo and behold the
ate
affectionate affectionate terms in which he addressed Andronikoff left
no doubt in her mind as their relations. He had evidently commenced the
letter - was disturbed, and quickly destroyed it not to be discovered.

This was the beginning of the end.

Isadora's engagement for Finland fell due, and she decided to leave
Pim in Petersburg. We only expected to be gone a short time to fix up
a few engagements in Helsingfors. Pim pretended to be heartbroken about
it; in truth he was rather glad to have a little time all by himself in
brilliant Petersburg.

In our absence he sent Isadora before each performance his best
wishes telegraphically, and every day a heartbreaking letter as to how

52.

sad and desolate he was in his loneliness, begging her to return quick,
and give him new impetus in life. His letters were literary masterpieces
and Isadora almost believed them, though she doubted that his character
and nature were capable of such deep feeling. Pim was handsome, a con-
summate actor, very dedorative in looks and dress. In his manners and
ways of living he might have been one of those decayed courtiers of
the time of the Regence in France. I never knew any one who was more
careless and wreckless. He had left Holland to come with us without a
penny. His people did not want him to go, so they thought the easiest
way to keep him at home was not to let him have any money. He had never
done anything in his life, and had no interests outside beautiful cloth-
ing, jewels, neckties, marvellous waistcoats of silks, furs, brocades,
velvets, etc. and making love. Above all he loved a beautiful woman and
if she was well gowned he loved to show her off. Outside of that he did
not hesitate to satisfy his passions in any way which was most convenient
and attractive to him, irrespective of sex, position in life or looks. In
his tastes he was most luxurious, and to buy a few neckties for 50 Rubles
was a bagatelle for him. He did not care to dine at Donon's - it was too
quiet - he preferred to go to Cubat's and à l'Ours, and see and be seen.
Isadora, who hated all public places where every one could stare at her,
could not be persuaded to meet his wishes - and he waxed furious when
not able to show Isadora off. Whenever he did persuade her to go to
Cubat's, or one of the more showy places, she made a point of putting on
her oldest and quietest dress, which again brought him to distraction.
In spite of his extravagant tastes, in which he showed good sense and
artistic discrimination, he had no idea of good food. He loved to sit
down to a regular full course hotel dinner and drink numberless glasses
of champagne and liqueurs, which he preferred infinitely to a dainty
chosen menu of very few good dishes, with a bottle of Chambertin or
Liebfrauenmilch. In fact he was not capable of making up a menu; -

53.

something was wanting in his sense of taste.

After an absence of two and a half weeks we returned to Petersburg to find my Jonkheer looking none the worse for the separation, and when his bills were included in that of the party my amazement was boundless. He had not only lived well, which he was supposed to do, but had given champagne suppers, dinners, luncheons daily, and in addition to the money left him on our departure, which had been quite generous, had borrowed hundreds of Rubles from the cashier. Daily he must have driven in Troikas which he occupied all night. His bill exceeded by far the bills of the entire party when we were together. I felt it my duty to show this bill to Isadora, for otherwise she could never believe it possible when she came to see the accounts. Isadora is the most generous of women and waives all questions of money. Her face was perfectly calm as she looked over the bill. I only gave it to her with "oh here is Pim's bill". "Yes", she said after studying it carefully for a long time and handing it back to me, "pay it", but there was a curious silence after that. She had received a shock. Not on account of the money, but the hypocrisy of the letters and telegrams, imploring her return, and the expression of despair and solitude, whereas in reality he was having the time of his life. He had even lent money to some impecunious officers, as I heard later, and tipped by Roubles when Kopeks would have sufficed.

Pim was not stupid. He noticed a change in Isadora, and received a telegram that his mother was ill in The Hague, and that he must return home. Isadora did not try to stop him, and told him that of course he must go at once. Preparations were made, and after he was literally supplied with funds, he departed on the next "Nord Express". But Pim had played his cards differently. When he scented a change of feeling, he looked ahead and gave promises of friendship to the handsome ex-officer of the guards, erstwhile friend of Pavlova, natural son of Alexander II. who had overloaded him with gold cigarette cases,

## Part II.
The Heart of Russia.

Russian trains move slowly - the gauge of the tracks is wider than in any other part of Europe - the cars are solid - the compartments high and wide - in consequence the movement of the trains is hardly perceptible, the air not close, the seats spacious, so that 48 hours smooth travel are not half so wearisome or exhausting as 12 hours of our Western rattly shakem shake trains which speed along as if going going to perdition. A first class railway carriage in Russia is, to my mind, the ideal of comfortable travelling. The compartments are half compartments, like a two-bedded sleeping carriage; for each compartment only two places are sold, so that at night the other passenger can have his bed made above yours. In addition to the railway ticket this bed costs 1.50 Roubles, but if you wish to be alone, you pay 6 Roubles instead of 1.50, and the compartment is yours, without any extra railway ticket.
If you do not travel with your own bedding, as most Russians do, you hire linnen from the conductor for another Rouble. The wall separating the half compartment from the next, has large folding doors, so that if you travel/company, you can open these, and thus form one large room, each having his own sopha for the day; at night each one his bed in his own room. A folding table is attached at the window, just as in the International Sleeping Cars. International Sleeping Cars did not run in Russia except on the through lines to Petersburg, the Far East, Warsaw Moscow, and Warsaw-Odessa. But, from the point of view of comfort, the Russian ordinary train was much superior and more spacious than the International Sleeping Cars.

Ихмаджан Isadora Duncan's first few performances in Moscow were given in between the Petersburg engagement, and her regular engagement in Moscow took place at the end of the Petersburg stay.

2.

We left Petersburg by the Courier or Mail train in the evening and arrived in Moscow in the morning. The trip took 13 hours.

Petersburg is cold - Moscow is colder and drier, and in consequence the cold is more perilous. You don't realize how cold it is. They say Petersburg is a European city in Asia and Moscow an Asiatic city in Europe.

Moscow---the heart of Holy Russia.

spaces

From the Nicolas Railway station wide/stretch to the walls of the White City. The streets are irregular, wide, narrow, with houses small, low, high, pompous, next to each other; there is no uniformity, no regularity, no symmetry. A luxurious shop next a paupers' drinking den, and an ever moving mass of people of all kinds, huddled in rich furs and in ragged matress-like coats, hurrying side by side. There is no distinction in neighbourhoods or special streets - it is more democratic than Petersburg. Finally on nearing the white walls of the Kitai Gorod with its little green turrets, the Kremlin comes into sight this most gorgeous and most sacred of Russian shrines, fortresses, palaces, all put together. The golden cupolas of the Blagovyeshtshensky Uspensky and Uspensky Cathedrals and the Bell tower of Ivan Veliky shine from afar in the brilliant sunshine amidst the glistening snow. The Kremlin with its history of all that is most precious to the Russian in State and Church - which came near being blown up by Napoleon I - is aristocratic, severe, forbidding, gorgeous, phantastic, fairy land-like. It seems to have little to do with reality. It is a picture from the Arabian nights, and the sentinels, the absence of crowds, as outside the gates, make it more unreal, more mysterious. High up on a hill it seems to crown Moscow, and standing at the balustrade, in front of the Grand Palace, over looking the Moskva River, and the parts of the town on the opposite bank lying far below, with its numerous churches and many coloured domes in vivid blues and greens and gold, it seems as if one is gazing into limitless uncertainties, into a far-off Asia, into the times of

3.

autocratic sultans, and into the home of the magic adventures of the Crusaders. Just outside of the Spasskiya Gate, where since its erection in 1491 every Russian has doffed its cap, it has crossed himself and said a prayer in front of the Saviour. The Square, edged by the Bazaars opposite, where the Grand Duke Sergius was blown to pieces by a bomb thrown at his sleigh. Here in this square the regime of Favorites and Mignons, as in the time of Francis III of France, found a sudden end in the death of the tyrannic Grand Duke, who had ruled Moscow as Governor until a few years before my advent there.

One story is told of the end. His body had been torn asunder by the force of the explosion, and the parts of his body literally had to be collected. All were found almost immediately but a certain member was only found by a monk a day or two later. He took it to his wife, the Grand Duchess, sister of the Empress, and said "Does this belong to your husband?" She who did not know him as husband in the intimate sense, replied: "I don't know - go ask his valet."

In Venice, on the Lido, some years later, I met his great favourite, a Pole; in figure, looks and proportion one of the handsomest men I have ever seen. He had been an officer, officially his aid-de-camp, and when the death occurred he was immediately exiled from Russia.

He told me of the violent temper fataх of the Grand Duke, of the drinking and other orgies, and of their continual quarrels and scenes of jealousy; of the sabres that were drawn, and of the ever repeated threats that he could send him to Siberia for life.

"Why don't you do it?" said Boris. "I shall be glad to get rid of your importune advances, and this hell of beastly sensuality."

"Ha ha," the Grand Duke burst out in uproarious sardonic laughter. "You would like that, eh - well you shall not go - you shall stay here with me, to do with you as I please."

His life was ruined. He could do nothing. He had been a Russian

4.

cadet and then officer all his life. What could he do in a foreign
country. His patrimony he lost with his exile. He was handsome, a dash-
ing officer, a splendid dancer, a courtler of women. The Imperial
Russian Ballet went to Western Europe to show the influence of Isadora
Duncan's message. He had an idea. He had been one of the best dancers
on the parquet floors of Moscow. He joined and became a Ballet-dancer
until...until a big fat vulgar rich American saw him and lay all his
fortune at his feet if he would remain with him as his "friend". He was
rememoried. They were in Venice, but Boris Kowacki could not support the
lewdities of the vulgar American, as he had been compelled to stand the
savage passions of the Grand Duke. He left, and the last I heard of him
he was playing leading roles at the Polish National Theatre in Krackow
- that was just before the war.

Isadora Duncan's first performance was given under the most adverse
auspices. The large Hall of the Conservatory had been engaged. A
beautiful large hall supported by splendid Corinthian columns in the form
of the interior of an oblong Grecian temple. Above the aisle behind the
columns was a tier. These were filled with seats many of which were
directly behind the columns so that it was impossible for spectators to
see. A platform had been built at one end for Isadora. The boards were
not sound and clattered when she danced. The calcium lights were pro-
jected from the gallery at each side - they didn't work and sometimes
the audience and Isadora were thrown into complete darkness. The music
was wretched - our own chief d'orchestre, Moritz Keller, had been unable
to do anything with the garrulous musicians, who claimed to have no time
for the necessary number of rehearsals. The house was sold out to the
last seat - the audience in the back rows of the level next floor could
see nothing of the stage. Isadora was ill, unexpectedly, but consistent
with her heroic character and masculine logic, which he knew no going
back on her word, she danced, endangering her health, risking not being
able to dance again for some weeks, and she danced divinely. Never have

6.

seen, in which absolute harmony existed. No one was overpaid - no one underpaid - the interest of the whole was the interest of each. Stanislawski was as much a worker as the scene-shifter. There was no toadying, no fear of a star or a director, no autocracy on the part of those who had to wield authority. Never have I seen a more perfect stage, a more united force of workmen, who did their work noiselessly with precision and perfect discipline, and never have I seen a company of actors in which a most natural human instinct, that of professional jealousy, if it existed, was invisible. Every one was a comrade, every one only had one idea: to cooperate and do his best for the work of the whole. There seemed to be as much honour in the actress who played the part of a serving maid with only three lines, as in the leading actor, who played the first role, to do her and his best. Stanislawski was the actor founder, the artistic director/first and last. He did not play all the leading roles, but those best fitted for him. He was not the only director, but there were directors for those departments in which he knew others were competent. These directors formed a committee and discussed art, and another set of directors discussed business. There was no clashing, no mixing of art and business. Art was the motive, and the duty of the business directors was to see that the business adapted itself to art and not art to business. Stanislawski, with all his natural modern prerogatives from the average point of view, claimed none - none were given him. He lived as modestly as the simplest of his actors - worked as ardently and assiduously as the rest - spared no pains to do his share and to do it well. He put himself under the rules and regulations which had been created for everyone, and lived up to them probably more religiously than any one else.

Constantin Stanislawski is a tall man with splendidly modelled features, with a shock of premature snowy white hair, clean-shaven, with an expression of nobility and attenuated spirituality. Idealism speaks from every line, from every gesture and movement. Even his gait is an

7.

expression of his sublime character. A saint, an artist, a gentleman,
all in one.

It was at this time that Isadora interested him in the art of Gordon
Craig, for she realized that this was the only place where Craig might
have an opportunity to express himself fully, where everything would be
done for him, for his art, and where there would be no "ifs" and "buts",
no haggling as to what it would cost, or what was "possible" and "im-
possible". Time, expense and trouble were of no consequence here, when
it was a question of producing something good, and to not clear every
obstacle for an artist to find full expression, would have been consider-
ed an insult to his art.

When the following year in August 1908 I went from Florence, where
Gordon Craig then lived, to Westende-les-bains in Belgium, where
Stanislawski and his family were staying for their holiday, to make the
contract between the Moscow Art Theatre and Craig for the production of
"Hamlet", Stanislawski said to me:

"We cannot accept Mr. Craig's services for one play, no matter at
what price. It would be unfair. Unconsciously we shall learn so much
from him that we cannot help but feel that we are stealing his ideas.
The only arrangement I am willing to make is that Mr. Craig becomes our
agents and we pay him an annual sum of 6,000 Roubles, even if he/does any other play but
"Hamlet", which we are now proposing him to do. Then if he is willing
to do other plays, that shall remain at his option, but of course each
time he comes we shall pay his trip and expenses".

Very different sentiments to those uttered by the late Sir Herbert
Tree and his business people in relation to Craig, of that much over-
rated director and plagiarismist Prof. Reinhardt, or even of the modest
"working-in-the-dark" Willem Royaarde, all of which anon.

That speech characterized the man and the artist. I had to come to

8.

a Russia to see such a specimen, which our Western world, with its crass materialism, would not think possible.

The Moscow Art Theatre was simple and sombre in its decorations, - simple but very good taste. Comfort and possibility of seeing from the furthest seat in the house were the two points which had obviously been studied.

I shall never forget my first visit. "Love's Exagady Tragedy" by Knut Hamsun was given. I believe Knut Hamsun calls the drama "The Gamble of Life". They changed the title in Russian with his permission. I spoke next to no Russian - did not know the actors, nor the play, and yet the acting was so perfect in action, in gesture, in intonation, that I understood everything. I had never thought it possible that I should sit rooted to my chair seeing a four act play in a language unintelligible to me from beginning to end, and be breathless with excitement and interest.

had
Although at the time they had not seen or heard anything of Craig and his art of suggestion, I was immensely impressed with the scene of the Fair in the third act, in which the news, that the plague had broken out, spreads. The booths, made of canvas, in rows on a gradual incline turned their backs to the audience. Each booth was lighted inside, and the audience saw only the silhouettes through the canvas of the figures moving and selling their wares, and the silhouettes of some of the objects dangling from different points of the interior, where they were selling. This gave free play to the actors, whose play was of consequence to the drama in the front of the stage, with occasional exits and exits or entrances from the alleys of the booth of the personae dramatis, without diverting the spectator with a useless crowd of people, and thus holding the attention to that which was of intrinsic value only - still the crowd was there. The lighting was splendid, and though there were no structures which demanded the suggestion of proportion, the stage was void of flapping wings and "souffites" and had no obstruction above.

A cold, windy sky was suggested, and one looked into an intense indigo blue of the vast heavens above the little booths. One felt the cold - the severity of a winter's night.

It was here that the plays by Anton Chekoff were first given, and proved the success which have made them famous in other parts of the world. Madame Chekoff, the author's widow, was then one of the leading actresses there - an intelligent capable actress of talent and great competency.

I was at the first performance of "The Tragedy of Life" by Leonid Andreyeff. The blackness was appalling. Black velvet back ground - furniture and people coming out in high relief when there was light, but occasionally, such as in the prologue, there was so little light that the strain on the eyes to see was so terrible that many of the audience were obliged to go out for the time being, suffering from faintness, dizziness, and fear - one man died. I had never known that blackness could have such an effect, and though I was myself a victim who had to leave, I cannot describe accurately or give analytical reasons why I should have felt like that nor give an account of the exact state emotionally, mentally or physically. I only knew I was getting sick, very sick and had to leave, or die of some terrible depression, which seemed like an incubus sucking up my entire vitality. Brandy revived me - and forgetfulness of what I had seen. I don't know whether they continued the play under these auspices, but I don't think so, for the consequences of that one performance were serious.

The company of the Moscow Art Theatre had been as far as Berlin, where its performances were a triumph. Among some of the plays, already known to the German public through German versions, they played "Nachtasyl" "Kuckucksykl" by Maxim Gorki, which had been given by Reinhardt at the "Klassizist Theater", "Kleines Theater", and given well as I thought, but after seeing the Russians, the German performance was a weak effort,

10.

a germanized mediocre impersonation compared to the splendid performance of the Moscow people, with their faultless acting, their real expression of Gorki's characters on the large lines on which he had drawn them.

When the Germans complimented Stanislawski and gave him ovations over and over again, he came forward and said, "We do not deserve what your critics say of us. We are not the creators of this art - we are pupils of yours. The Duke of Meiningen and his company (who toured Europe with unprecedented success in the Eighties) were our masters. We are only their pupils".

Nothing escaped Stanislawski. I had told him of "Every-man". He immediately got the play and produced it.

Isadora, who was always hard-up, in spite of the large sums of money which poured into the box office at each performance, as her school in Staatsschule the Grunewald devoured fabulous sums of money, was telling Stanislawski one day of her continual need, and of the special performance she had given for its benefit, and how some of the richest people had never troubled to pay a tribute to one of the most unselfish experiments in education of our modern time by contributing a penny. She spoke as a friend, as an artist, telling her woes to another, with no ulterior motive.

The next day Stanislawski, who was as poor as any of his actors, came to her and in an envelope gave her 500 Roubles "for your school".

That gesture was worth the contribution of thousands by millionaires - had they contributed.

Isadora quite fell in love with Stanislawski - she had never met a man like that - neither had I. And Mrs. Stanislawski, who was a very charming simple home body, good wife and excellent mother, and entered with interest in all that concerned her husband, his art, and the theatre, without ever interfering, wasn't jealous. I think Isadora would have liked her to have been jealous; it would have been a sign that she wasn't so sure of her husband. Finally she told them both one day, in her im-

12.

the invited to his house, when suddenly the door opened of his room, in which we sat, and the Governess appeared, asking him in German for instructions about his children. He replied in perfect German.

The Tretiakoff Gallery in Moscow is one of the finest collections of paintings in Russia, and in it are the best and the most delicate Corote's I have ever seen. Pim, who pretended to love art, wanted to go with me, as he claimed he could not devote himself to them in the way he enjoyed when Isadora was with him. Somehow Isadora felt this and was jealous. She was still in bed when we left the Hotel, and had different plans for the day. We had not been in the Gallery a half hour, when she appeared there, and in a high temper walked Pim off to see the Gallery with him. The majority of the Russian paintings are of mediocre workmanship, and would most probably not be in a gallery at all in any other European country. It seemed that the subject was always of greatest importance, and that the technique came only second in rank. Of course I am not referring to Vereshtshagin, Peroff, Rjepin, Seroff, or modern any of the other masters, but refer principally to the many portraits of the middle of the last century and the historical pictures.

Pim had a curious experience in a Russian bath in Moscow. He had gone alone - I was to meet him there when he was going through. I arrived earlier than I expected and waited sitting on a sopha in the wide corridor and vestibule of the bath. Bathers and attendants were coming and going. Suddenly a door was flung open and breathless, excited and flushed, Pim, without stitch of clothing on, not even a towel around his loins, rushed after an attendant, held him by the scruff of the neck, dragged him to the cashier, and told him in French he had been robbed by this man. They both entered the cashier's box, and out of the attendant's blouse they hauled out Pim's gold cigarette-case, diamond and ruby rings, his pin, cuff links, portefeuille, money, in short everything the man had found; he had not left a single valuable or Kopek. He had manipulated this theft while Pim was still in the bath, and

13.

While he was dressing in the dressing room to leave. The man in self-defence, accused Pim of various indecencies to which no one paid any attention. Then covered with a large towel, in possession of his valuables, he returned to dress.

We lived at the Hotel National, which was first class, but old-fashioned. The maitre d'hotel, when he came up in the morning to take the order for the luncheon, had a little way with him something like this:

"Probably you would like a little turtle soup - then some fish: Sterlit; and a little pheasant - some dessert and coffee". It was said so nicely, sounded so well, ~~was well~~ and thought out.

"Why yes, that sounds very nice - that will do splendidly".

Next day the same thing with some other simple-sounding menu - very appetizing.

The bill: Sterlit 35 Roubles, Turtle soup 6 Roubles, Pheasant 15 Roubles, Pêche Melba 8 Roubles, and with the wine: 75 Roubles for a little "dejeuner" for two!

"But what is this maitre d'hotel 35 Roubles for Sterlit?"

"That is very cheap Monsieur et Madame. Sterlit is the rarest fish we have". And so on.

We thought we would try the Hotel Metropole on our second visit - a quite new hotel then. But lo and behold there were no bells in the rooms, only telephones - and for those who do not speak Russian well (no one spoke anything else but Russian in that hotel except the manager) the telephone is rather a complicated affair. We left the same day and returned to the National, where most servants spoke French and German.

Moscow was very different to Petersburg in respect to languages. In Petersburg society spoke English mostly, and French and German of course; in the shops French was always understood and manx frequently spoken. Here in Moscow society spoke French and sometimes German, hardly ever English and in the shops little or no French at all, but if any

14.

foreign language was spoken it was German; and this was the same in Kieff, Odessa, Jekaterinburg and Charkoff.

It was decidedly more difficult to be without knowledge of the language in Moscow, than any of the other places I have just mentioned.

Of course the few performances given by Isadora on her first visit were just a "soupcon" for the Moscow public, and as soon as the Petersburg engagement came to end we came here again for a regular long engagement, "sans Pim", which was as successful as Petersburg when she appeared at the Solodovnikoff Theatre. But we only stayed a few weeks, as we had to tour the rest of the European Russia before the summer.

Before a performance Isadora was usually in a blew funk and in a terrible humour, and it took all my ingenuity to overcome these truly dreadful moments for her.

Her sister Elizabeth, who was the directress of the school in the Grunewald, and one of the most mercenary women, had a little habit of wiring for a few thousands just before a performance was about to take place, to be quite sure to be in time, when she knew there was money in the exchequer. These telegrams used to annoy Isadora exceedingly, so I stopped giving them to her until after the performance, when she was in a golden humour in consequence of her success and the sympathetic audience. After the first few dances she felt the electric sympathy of the audience, and if that was all right she was happy. But if there was any coldness, which she could feel at once, she was miserable until she had roused them to sympathy. Sometimes she went so far as to put in extra, which was bound to bring in immediate success, and once having captured her audience, there was no return. After supper on days of a performance she was wild with love of life, and she was usually in fit condition and humour to give another performance. Naturally it often happened that we differed in opinion about business matters, and, I, being an obstinate person, insisted upon having my way, for I did not propose

15.

anything unless I was convinced it was for her good. Friction ensued and my trump card was usually, that if she insisted upon her way I should return to my literary work.

Once I heard that she said to a friend of ours: "If Mr. Magnus were only *always* so nice to me as he is & before and during a performance". More or less our life in Moscow was bound up with the Moscow Art Theatre and different members of it. There were a good many who were disciples of Tolstói, and who lived the simple life in imitation of him. Isadora proposed to make the trip to Yassnaya Polyana to see the venerable writer and prophet, in spite of the long journey, and a full day's sleigh ride at the end of the railway trip, but then somehow we received different impressions which offset the desire. There were some who said Tolstói was an old fraud and his simple life a farce. That he did go around bare-footed, and that his house had no carpets, but that it was splendidly heated, and that the bare floors were of highly polished hard woods - also that his peasant's cut clothes were all of the finest wools, and his underwear of silk; that the simple fare on the table was fit for the greatest epicure.

I hear now that the Moscow Art Theatre forms a Soviet for itself
Bolshevistic
in Bolshevik Russia.

Moscow is a city of merchants, and the exquisitenesses and refinements of a Petersburg were absolutely lacking. Moscow is big, burly, large, good natured, and rich. The merchant classes live well, and believe in the material pleasures of life. They realize the necessity of the arts and give largely to support them, though themselves they may take little interest. They feel their duty and live up to it.

The people are more typically Russian here than anywhere else. The types are more pronounced, high cheek bones, the heavy underset figures, the more frequent blondes. There are no mixtures here like in Petersburg, where the people have hailed from all the races and different parts of the vast Empire. They move slowly here - one feels they eat and live

["16.", "well and the impression of the regardlessness of space in Russia, is here\naugmented by the regardlessness of time. There is no time for them, as\nthere is no expense to space. Their gestures are gracious, though a bit\nheavy - their eyes sympathetic and good-hearted. That far-away look of\nlonging, of mysticism, of wistful sadness is accentuated here in the blue-\neyed Russian.", "Moscow has more churches than any other city I have been to, and the shrines and saints pictures and effigies at street corners are more numerous here than anywhere else. Here the peasant stands cap in hand before the shrines in the streets, crosses himself and prays, and many in kneel down to the snow, bare-headed, unheeding the passing throng and traffic. The devotion of the Russian is real, genuine, so thoroughly heart-felt that there is no gainsaying that the Faith is deeper-rooted here than in any other Christian country excepting none. One of the most picturesque sights is at the Vosskressenskija Gate in front of the Chapel of the Mother of God in the Tsarskii Square. This is one of those thoroughfares where prince and peasant must pass at some time during his peregrinations through Moscow. The little chapel is always packed, and crowds kneel outside of it in the snow, saying their prayers and devotions. Poor and rich kneel side by side - the man in the rich fur, and the shaggy-haired moujik in his Russian national costume. Sometimes it is difficult to pass through the Gates, as the chapel is in the centre, a gate on each side, and the people crowd around it in such great numbers so as to almost obstruct the passage.", "There are no wonderful walks to take here, as in Petersburg along the Neva or the Nevesky or the Morskaja. Moscow struggles over a great space, and the centre is the Kremlin and near by the Imperial Opera the chief business streets and shops, which though showing rich goods and wares, do not display the taste and "raffinement" of the Petersburg shops. Whereas the drives are far more interesting and attractive than one in a compact city, comparatively short time into the country, the outlying monasteries and"]

17.

typical Russian villages.

There were no restaurants like Donons or Cubats, but the Russian cuisine of Jar's and the Praga left nothing to be desired for the man with a healthy appetite, and who did not care for French dainties. The Eremitage aped French cooking and aped it badly.

Our impresario for Moscow and the rest of Russia proper was Heinrich Zeller, a big fat German-looking beer-brewer type, in reality a Viennese, who had coined money bringing Viennese Comic Opera Companies to Russia, and who spent his vacation on his farm in Calabria.

At Kieff we met his assistant secretary, representative, substitute, or whatever may have been his title, Schultz, Schultz.

Schultz was an active nervous man, of medium stature, rather thin. He had a curiously shaped head, like an acorn on the slant, quick winking lynx-like eyes, short hair, a slight beard, with a large sensual mouth, and big white teeth rather far apart. His voice was engaging, but always questioning. I wasn't sure whether that was an expression of uncertainty in character, or an intonation which he had borrowed from Russian, which seemed to be his mother tongue. We spoke German together, which he spoke with a strong Russian accent. He loved Russia and everything Russian, and always referred to "Golden Russia". He also spoke French but no English. His history had been a curious one. Born in the Baltic Provinces of German parents, he had been educated to be a Lutheran theologian. Then suddenly he met an actress with whom he fell in love. But this woman was not only a consummate actress on the stage, but also in life, and an artist in the devious ways of making love. The young innocent theologian, a student, in whom the passions slumbered heavily, suddenly learned transports of love in manners he had not dreamt existed. She evidently gave him such a schooling and ingratiated herself in such a thoroughly masterly way, that he could not live without her. No ordinary woman was quite her equal in exciting forms of love-making. theological His theological studies were neglected and finally abandoned. He went

18.

off with the lady becoming her manager. After some time his father died, and he inherited his patrimony. She saw her chance and inveigled him into buying a hotel in the Caucasus and settling down. As his so-called wife she ran the place for him. All he had to do was to pay, and pay he did, having complete confidence in her. After a few months she disappeared with a guest of the hotel, and he found that although he had paid, that is had always given her the money to pay, that she had not paid, and he not only found a mountain of debts, but that the house he had bought belonged to him no longer, and that in order to escape imprisonment he had to fly.

Thus ended his dream of Oriental sensuality, and after that he sought engagements in theatre affairs where he could get them. But he could not work or do anything unless he had a little woman with him, whom he could teach what he had been taught in love. At the time this man, of nearly fifty, had a mistress of nineteen, whom he had deliberately taken away from her father's house with her consent of course. I heard that somewhere in Russia he had a wife and children.

Years later, when I met him again in Paris, he said to me apropos of his passions: "I think I have run the gauntlet of every sexual enjoyment with woman - it still remains for me to know man".

During the war, in 1915, I met him in the Hotel Beau-Rivage in Geneva, grey-haired and dissipated-looking. He no longer travelled with girlish mistresses, but acted as secretary and companion to a Russian Prince. We spoke of the war, and lo and behold this man, who had had which only one ideal love and that was "Golden Russia", from he could never be away long turned out to be pro-German and a German.

"But you were born in Russia?"

"Yes", he said with a sneer, "but my father was German, and I always retained my German nationality. The Germans will win - you see whether they won't win".

A year ago I heard in Zurich that the Russian Prince, after the

19.

Russian Revolution, had received no more money, borrowed right and left, even from the Hotel porters and servants, and finally died miserably poor and an alone. What became of Schultz? I never heard. It was at Kieff that Schultz engaged a sleeper for Isadora Duncan and myself together. When we insisted upon the separate sleepers he was dumbfounded. He could not believe that a man could be travelling with a woman, whether in a business capacity or as a friend, and not know the woman.

The Kieff engagement proved a fabulous success. Two performances had been announced, two more were given immediately, and then five more. Every house was packed to the last seat, and the gendarmes had to be called to order to protect the doors, as the people insisted upon entering any way, although all seats and standing-places were sold. The students of Kieff were loudest in their acclaim and demonstrations of the great artist, and the proofs of their appreciation were given to her hourly by flowers, by deputations, by addresses, by being acclaimed and greeted in the street, or wherever she showed herself. The success of Petersburg was that of the "haute monde", the success of Kieff was that of the student and the "bourgeoisie".

Kieff lies on the right bank of the Dnieper, high above the river which yearly rises out of its banks and floods the entire district, submerging the houses on the opposite bank to the height of one story. These houses are built in such a manner as to allow for this inundation, and during that period the people live in the upper stories, and have their entrances on the second floor, from which planks issue connecting the houses with an elevated central board-walk in the street.

The fortified Lawra Monastery, one of the largest in Russia and most renowned for pilgrimages, lies high up on the right bank in the south eastern part of the city. Continuous streams of people wind themselves like black ribbons along all the roads leading to it through the landscape every day of the year. several hundred thousandvisitors annually and its income brought by contributions from the poor

20.

peasants, amounts to several million Roubles a year. The Russian
monk comes on foot hundreds of versts to the Lawra to say his
prayers, to make a vow, to offer a devotion. He carries a large bag on
his shoulder, and in it is stale bread and a tin cup. He enters the
enormous courtyard of the Lawra, which is surrounded with high white
fortress walls containing no less than seven churches and chapels,
continually full of people, and the monastic buildings of the monks,
and squats down where he can find room; he opens his bag, gets out a
piece of stale bread, fills his tin cup with water from the well, dips
his bread into it and eats. That is the only nourishment he takes on his
pilgrimage, sometimes lasting weeks. So far I have not heard that
Bolshevistic Russia has attacked the churches or the monasteries.

A delightful story is told of Nicholas I. During the
Crimean War he was hard pressed for money. He went to the Lawra and
asked for several million Roubles in gold, and received it of course.
Could an Emperor be refused. The Abbot in his careful and worldly
way asked him to give him a receipt, which the Czar gave. Many years
later Alexander II passed through Kieff and visited the Lawra. After
being shown about, and duly feted and entertained, the old Abbot thought
show him the receipt of Nicolas I in the hope of having the money re-
turned. The Emperor looked at it, read it, crossed himself, kissed it,
and said, returning it to the Abbot:

"You are indeed fortunate to have such a sacred relic of my sainted
father". I think it was at Kieff that I first taught Isadora the
tremendous rest and relaxation which comes from taking Russian baths.
She had always been averse to them, and believed they were debilitating,
and that they were ruinous to the health, although I, who took them
regularly, was a living specimen of the contrary. She enjoyed them huge-
ly and realized what a reinforcing power they had both physically and
mentally.

Every little town in Russia has an excellent Russian bath, and there

21.

there is no Russian family no matter how poor which does not frequent them regularly. The Russian монгол and iswosschik may be in rage, and dirty rags at that, but physically he is clean.

The Grand Hotel at Kieff was a large rambling building, and was the first real Russian Hotel we have come to since we had arrived in Russia. Until that time we had only been in Europeanized hotels.

Isadora's rooms were furnished in gorgeous Wz Empire style, and the rooms were so crowded with furniture, that she had to adopt Duse's system of having one half taken out in order to be able to move about. Bedding and linen were not furnished, as Russians usually travel with their own bedding and linen, unless asked for, and then it is charged extra.

The food was excellent, the room service careless, and the waiter service faultless. In spite of Isadora's intoxicating success she felt the days too long and missed the gaieties and diversions of Petersburg and Moscow. I had to keep her constantly amused and entertain her in order to keep her in good humour.

We took long drives into the country, visited the innumerable golden-
domed churches and monasteries, and when tired of that went
to cinematographs. On one occasion we arranged a "soi-disant" Mithraic
procession in her rooms with lighted tapers and things - anything for
amusement. Also her thoughts wandered to herкс past honey
moons and she felt restless.

One evening a big burly Russian General invited us to supper after the performance, but Isadora invited him instead, pleading that she would be in her own apartment after dancing where she had all her comforts. He came ready to capture the heart of the lady, with tales of his exploits, hericarxy bravery and adventures. And as he proceeded he warmed up to his subject and to the wine and became quite hilARIOUS; but the more hilarious he became the quieter and soberer became Isadora, and her usually golden

22.

mood, after a successful performance, vanished like mist before the sun. Finally when his uproarious guffaws at his own vulgar jokes became too much for us, Isadora turned as cold as ice. Nothing affected the gentleman and finally I had to invite him to leave as it was late and Miss Duncan needed to rest. He was dumbfounded. I think he had come to stay the night. He went and we saw no more of him.

We heard that Pim had stopped in Berlin and had flung himself headlong into all the pleasures that that wicked city offered. The ex-guard officer Joseph Rawicz was neglected, and was about to return to his home in Warsaw without Pim, without having made the trip to Italy or around the world. Pim spent all the money he had received on his departure from Petersburg, but still anxious to enjoy the Berlin dissipations, sold and pawned his valuable wardrobe and jewels. Next season, in Rome, a Berlin friend of mine was wearing one of his elaborate waistcoats. Rawicz wrote, and said that he had to go to Odessa on account of his affairs, and would probably see us there. Isadora looked forward to that meeting with singular interest.

Our next stop was Charkoff. I am very fond of Hunter Rye Whiskey, and since this was unobtainable in Russia, except in Petersburg, I provided myself with a case full of bottles. The long evenings in the trains, Isadora and I spent sitting sipping whiskeys and sodas or rather "Narsan", the sparkling mineral water from Kisslovodsk, and recounting stories from our lives. Isadora's life had been most eventful and, with the unfailingness of her Irish sense of humour her stories never lacked interest or amusement.

Isadora was born in San Francisco. Her father was a banker, her mother daughter of Colonel Grey of the U. S. Army. I believe the very resolute Mrs. Duncan one day discovered that her husband had not been faithful to her, and she, Puritan in spirit, forthwith left him with her two daughters and two sons, mere children at the time. Soon after Mr. Mr. Duncan went to London on some business and on his way back

23.

was drowned in the "Mohegan", which foundered off the Scilly Islands or
the Needles, I have forgotten which. His partner in San Francisco manip-
pulated affairs in such a way that not one cent came to the family. Mrs.
Duncan, who was a brilliant pianist, gave lessons and supported the family.
Isadora was the youngest of the children. She danced ever since she was
five years old. At ten she gave dancing lessons to the little girls in
the neighbourhood, and once when the larder was very empty she wrote out
an advertisement that she would give dancing lessons in exchange for a
quart of milk daily, and secretly went to the newspaper office with 10
cents, she had hoarded for a long time, and inserted the advertisement in
Next day arrived a chubby-looking lady, in a country buggy with a half a
dozen children, at the Duncan house.

"Is it here that dancing lessons are given?"

"Yes ma'm".

"Well - I have a farm and these six children, and I want them to
learn to dance. I have plenty of milk and produce, but very little money."

The arrangement was made and Isadora Duncan, aged ten, gave dancing
lessons to six happy healthy children in exchange for four quarts of
milk a day and a pint of milk cream.

At sixteen she toured the country (America) with Augustin Daly's
company, and lived in cheap boarding houses for $5 a week, while she sent
the remaining $10 to her family - not even allowing herself carfare.
This she did not tell me in a spirit of regret or bitterness, but only
illustrative of what her early life had been like.

Then Newport and New York Society took her up, and wanted her to
give entertainments for their charities. She nearly danced her feet off,
Windsor
and they still owe her her fees. She was in the Windsor Hotel fire in
New York, and I believe that was the last straw of her ill-luck in
America, and she and her family came to London.

One day they were very hungry. The landlord had been harrowing them
for the rent of their empty studio, where they slept on the floor. For

24.

days they had been living on strange mixtures. They dressed themselves
in travelling clothes and proceeded to one of the hotels in the neighbour-
hood of Charing Cross, just after the Continental train had arrived in
the afternoon. They took rooms and ordered dinner; and what a dinner,
with all the things they had been longing to eat for weeks. They were
very tired, and retired early to the nice soft beds of which the hotel was
so proud. Next morning after a good breakfast they went forth "to get
their luggage at the station" and I believe the hotel is still waiting
for their return.

London is like New York, it is not able to estimate artists for itself. The artist must appear with a Continental reputation, ready-made, and then it is willing to pay. Isadora's performances at the New Gallery were considered those of excellent successes, of which English and American art critics speak in hyperboles, which were only for the initiated, and not for the common every-day public. Result: that no theatre manager made her an offer, and the financial part was entirely disasterous.

Paris was the next destination. Here, where she lives to-day, she
still refuses to go into those neighbourhoods where she lived in cold
dismal studios, and where the coalman used to run after her for his money,
whenever he saw her in the street.

Her first appearance, which augured an absolute success, was in
Munich, and it was after her that Loie Fuller made her 40 nights
contract for her for Buda-Pesth, in which she claimed the largest parts
of the profits. For forty nights running Isadora Duncan danced in Buda-
Pesth with unabating success. She had to stop at the end of the engage-
ment and rest for six months; but her reputation was made, her success
assured.

She went to Greece for her rest.

In Greece she felt at once that she had found her affinity. She
was Grecian - she realized that that was her cultural home. She began

25.

to wear Greek clothes of antique pattern, she danced in the Theatre of Dionysos, she made relive in her dance the sculptural reliefs of ancient Greek Art, and Athens was at her feet. She bought the Hill of Copanus, outside Athens, and planned with her family to erect a noble palace a la Agamemnon. King George of Greece became interested. He invited her to dance at the Royal Theatre. He waited upon her, played stage director, saw to the raising of the curtain, and on one occasion, while she was in her dressing room with her sister Elizabeth, asked if he might come in.

"Certainly not" replied the then puritannical Isadora, and to Elizabeth she said "What cheek to ask to come in my dressing-room".

In Greece she employed a lot of beautiful boys to sing the Greek choruses for her dances, and then went to Berlin. Here her success was as in Euxi Buda-Pesth and Munich, and since that time she has taken all publics by storm, no matter where she appeared. Though it was interesting to hear how Paris received her soon after her success. Confident that her performances would be crowded her Hungarian manager engaged the Trocadéro. Sarah Bernhardt when she heard of it, said: "Oh pauvre Isadora, le Trocadéro - mais est-il trop grand".

The night of the performance every seat was taken, and when Sarah telephoned for a box she could get none. But her manager had neglected to grease the palms of the Paris journalists and not paid for sufficient newspaper reclame; in consequence the press simply killed all her efforts by absolute immutable silence. Not one word appeared about her in the critical columns of the Paris papers. Although she had danced to packed houses, and coined money, (her Hungarian manager ran off with 60,000 francs of the box receipts) she had not taken root in Paris, owing to the wicked maliciousness of the greedy journalists. And these same journalists lauded her to the skies, when paid years later, after she had bedone famous all over Europe and America. In her case Paris did not put the "cachet" on her, as every Parisian journalist seems to think is necessary before an artist can make a success anywhere else.

But to return to the beautiful Greek boys who sang the choruses in

26.

Berlin. She lodged them in the Hotel Bristol and after a short time was asked to remove them, at the same time *she was* being presented with a bill for several thousand marks damages, which these dear big-eyed children had incurred by breaking furniture, windows, crockery etc. not to speak of chasing the waiters with carving knives in the dining room, when they were not waited upon as they thought was proper, considering their exalted positions. She sent them back to Greece and there they sued for three years salary, and sent her a summons through the Greek and German authorities. It was on this occasion that she took the "Gerichtsvollzieher" exam by the scruff of his neck and put him out of her apartment, which entailed law suits for the rest of her residence in Berlin. When the boys found that they could get no satisfaction they tried to attach Copanus, and finally ended by carting away what marble there was for the commenced palace of Agamemnon.

Then again there was the story of her *advent* advent at Bayruth, where she took part in the dance of the Venusberg, and promptly fell in love with a Hungarian tenor, with whom she promised to run off, but who, when it came to the point, funked it and disappeared.

I believe *Frau Cosima* Wagner appeared to be very much shocked with her. Of course *Frau Cosima* in her life had had no adventures! The autumn before we came to Russia Isadora had met again Siegfried, in Venice. She flirted with him desperately until he turned on her and said: "Isadora you needn't to try to make love to me - you know I don't like women".

In all these anecdotes she never lost her good humour, and the only person against whom she had a really serious grudge was Loie Fuller. That lady had thoroughly exploited her, whenever she got the chance. Mr Her last "coup" was to leave the Hotel Bristol in Berlin, where they were staying will all her suite, leaving Isadora in pawn so to speak, and as Isadora at that time could not possibly pay the bill she lost all

27.

her luggage and personal belongings. It was indirectly kxexugk through
Loie
kx Fullcr that she nearly lost her life. They were at the Bristol in
Vienna. Isadora had a bed-room with another girl of Loie's company.
Suddenly in the night this girl arose, came over to Isadora's bed, and
holding over Isadora an enormous knife, said: "I have just had a vision
that I must kill you by cutting your throat. I know that that is my
mission in life - it is a message from God."

Isadora's presence of mind was called into action.

"Oh yes - I see - well if that is your mission you must fulfil it,
but of course you must allow me to dress first, because I don't want to
appear dead in my night-gown".

The girl, who had evidently been going gradually mad, seeing the
earnestness of Isadora, who offered no resistance nor seemed to be fright-
ened, let her get up. Isadora kept her talking about the details of her
vision, in which she appeared much interested and quite unobtrusively,
reached the vicinity of the door, when she made a sudden dash for it, got
out, and ran down the corridors calling for help, followed by the girl kx
with the knife, who was soon captured by the servants and conveyed to a
lunatic asylum, where she remained for 4 years. When she was released she
looked up Isadora and begged forgiveness.

It was said that the over-indulgence of kx Lesbian tastes of the
Loie Fuller crowd was due to her mental derangement.

Charko lives in my memory chiefly for the fact that on the first
night of Isadora's performance, just before the curtain was going to rise,
I was called to the dressing-room and was told that an enormous tape-worm
had just passed away. However Isadora gave her performance. We had had
salad with garlic for luncheon - the greatest enemy of tape-worms. - Later
a doctor was called, a three days repose ordered and medicines administer-
ed, but there were no further signs. During that time my ingenuity at
entertainment was tested to the utmost. The active and mentally inde-
fatigable Isadora was bored with the idea of remaining in bed. I scoured

28.

all the bookshops, in this very Russian town, for German, French and
English novels, but there was not enough. Finally I hit upon the happy
idea of a gramophone, and for three days she was amused hearing all the
ditties and music hall songs from all quarters of the globe.

Like phantoms these tunes persecuted us for months until we knew
them by heart. We couldn't get away from them, and often I insisted
upon hearing them played in out-of-the-way places.

Charkoff is not a big place, but the performances Isadora gave were
all sold out to the last seat. When making accounts during the inter-
mission, all I had to do was to look at the seating capacity of the house,
figure out the financial result at the prices of the seats we had set,
and collect our percentage. The town looked dull to me, with low one
and two-storied houses and straggling streets, like a suburb of Peters-
burg. The audience in the theatre left nothing to be desired, in fact
Isadora had no reason to complain about them in any Russian city.

I noticed an extraordinary idiosyncrasy in Isadora, not only during
that tour, but even to this day. She has no proportionate sense of light.
I used to have a light and scenery rehearsal on the morning of each
performance. Her background was invariably the full rich folds of
sky blue curtain, hanging at full length, enclosing the three sides of
the stage, and a carpet of the same colour covering the floor of the
stage. There were no wings, the closed curtains taking their place; a
few blue "souffettes" high up screened the upper stage machinery. At
each side, behind the proscenium half way up, were two calcium lights,
tempered by orange coloured and milk glasses. These lights were thrown
into the centre of the stage and the effect was that of a diffused sun-
shine. Blue glass sometimes took the place of the orange to give the
effect of moonlight. The glasses were our own - the lamps belonged to
the theatres, but were always of the same strength. It depended on her
mood as to how she felt about these lights. She would come on the stage
with her perpetual smile, showing her good but not beautifully formed
teeth, and shout to me at my place behind the proscenium, where I could

31.

kind familiarity as if she were speaking to an equal; at the same time
she was solicitous in guarding the feelings of the governess, who must
have felt an abject fool, if she had any capacity for not feeling, not
to be able to reply to the waiter, who had addressed her in German,
French and Russian; she in return treated him with haughty contempt for
his insolence in expecting her to speak anything but English.

It was a pretty picture and very characteristic of the two nations:
the absolute internationalism and obvious good breeding of the
born "grande dame" in the Russian girl, who succeeded in overcoming the
awkward position of her senior and teacher, by an almost humble kindness
and suavity, and pacifying the waiter, who had done his best and been
snobbed, by familiarity and good feeling, in contradistinction to this
terrible piece of steely-eyed mediocrity, who by her very superior airs
to cover up her ignorance, and her utter lack of really good heart
breeding, and with her assumed class manners, showed herself so very
inferior, that it was almost pitiable. The only thing that that little
girl could learn from that scrawny, and from a Continental standpoint,
ill-mannered and arrogant woman, was English; and I immaginagine
the little Russian lady knew that for she was already allowing for weaknesses
and prejudices in her senior, and wasn't likely to take her as a model
in character or behaviour.

It seems to me that the English servant is the only one who knows
how to treat his master. He carries out his orders like an automatum,
and treats his master with the same contempt as his master treats him.
There is no love lost, and they each know it.

Odessa is the windiest town in Russia proper, where the very foliage
seems to come out a month later than anywhere else; the trees are stunted,
and when the leaves are out they seem to be few, as if most had been
blown from their branches.

We arrived in Odessa just before Holy Week, or the Butter Week as

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the Russians call it. Spring was in the air and although Odessa is on the black shores of the Black Sea, owing to the violent winds, nature was retarded. Holy Week is more religiously kept in Russia than in any Catholic country. There are no amusements of any kind, all theatres closed of course, not even music may be played in private houses; silence - and a dignified realization of the solemnity of the season every where. Only a few performances were to be given in Odessa prior to Holy Week, and then a rest until after Easter.

The Odessa audiences were fashionable, though not of the brilliancy of Petersburg; still there was an air about the place and the people, which gave it distinction.

Isadora's success was as undiminished as in any other place. The houses were packed, the public enthusiastic, but after Kieff, and the intoxicating ovations she had received there, it seemed to her tame. Still a proof of her popularity was the crowded houses, the high prices charged, and instead of two performances three and later another four.

One evening as an "encore" she danced the "Berceuse" by Alexander Tichonovich Grechaninoff, the Russian composer. She never looked lovelier nor more madonna-like, than when wrapped in a big blue shawl, draped about her in Greek fashion, with beatified look of a fond mother, kneeling she rocked her imaginary precious care to sleep; her only movements were those of head and arms and swaying of her body. The gestures and expressions were superb and brought tears to every eye. The house came down with enthusiasm, not failing to appreciate the delicate compliment she had paid to the Russian music. It so happened that Grechaninoff was in the audience, and after the performance he sent in his card. A solemn rather grave gentleman of middle age with a beard, slightly sprinkled with grey, one eye seemed filmed, entered, looked at Isadora in silent wonderment, sat on a stool at the foot of the couch on which she was lying in her dressing-room, and pondered her. He couldn't speak. He

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just looked, but his look spoke volumes. It seemed to say that she had
seen more in his music than he had ever thought of putting into it.
Eventually he spoke; he did not pour out compliments, he just asked her
how she was, and when she would dance again, and then like an old courtier
he bowed low, took her hand, patted it with the caress of fatherly love
and I saw tenderness, kissed it, and disappeared. There was gratitude,
appreciation I saw and amazement in every movement he made, in every
look he gave, quite unconsciously, just real and simple without any
artifice or appreciation. He was an artist, she was an artist, and he
knew words were vain - she understood. She had understood, his music
she understood, his feelings.

The regular, wide, granite paved, wind swept streets of Odessa,
the barren cliffs, the scanty verdure of the surrounding country,
and the monotony of flat country and sea were not conducive to excursions
either in or out of town.

The rooms in the Hotel de Londres, which faced the Nicolas Boulevard
on the sea, were probably more attractive than anything else in Odessa.

The older part of the town near the Port was interesting,
and many different types and races were in evidence there: Turks,
Armenians, Georgians, Persians, Tartars, etc. Odessa is decidedly a
new town - commercial, opulent, provincial and dull. No architecture
worth the name can be described and the Cathedral of the Trans-
figuration is the only building of interest. There is something rural
in its appearance, and somehow reminded me of a white frame church stand-
ing in the midst of a Campus in a New England town. It was the first
Russian church I had seen not in purely Russian-Byzantine architecture.
The lines of it and the tall steeple are quite American Colonial.

The large Alexander Park which is supposed to be the pride of the
inhabitants of Odessa seemed meagre and sparse to me with low trees and
shorter shrubbery. Thither we repaired at midnight when our gramophone

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was forbidden us in the hotel rooms, and played the songs, we loved to hear, on the lawn out of hearing of the devout and strict towns people.
A Russian policeman was the only one present, and for a Rouble he was glad to join us, listening to the popular American and English tunes.

Reporters were plentiful in Odessa, and I had to interview one every hour, and gauge his make-up before I would let him see Isadora.
If they were too impossible, I gave them all the facts they wanted and sent them off, but if they were at all interesting I warned them of all the things they were not to ask Isadora, who was very sensitive about stereotyped reporters and their examineted questions.
All any one had to do was to asked her questions, which denoted obviously a lack of understanding of her art, and she would become almost rude, or change the subject abruptly to a pate-de-foie-gras, or to the insolent opulence of the rich that it amounted to the same thing, and I had to fear the appearance of a soathing article next day.

Her little habit of taking away my friends had made me more careful. One day she said to me "Mr. Magnus haven't you any friends here? You always have ~~anywhere else~~, or aren't you going to let me know them any more?"

For want of something better to do we visited the Russian baths with an unprecedented regularity. I found the bath rooms much bigger here, and soon discovered than an entire family would come and ~~exactly~~ occupy the same apartment for their bath. I must add that those families were usually of the lower classes.

One day while we were going along the Nicolas Boulevard, along the sea-front, I saw a young man sitting on a bench of the most pronounced type of effiminacy. He was rather small, delicately built, not more than seventeen or nineteen, with long curly hair, a flowing tie, high heeled shoes, and a tight fitting suit, very much taken in at the waist. The face was not unbeautifull, with refined sensitive features, but some-