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Part I.

St. PETERSBURG.

In the autumn of 1907 it was proposed to me to go to Russia. I did not want to go. I had heard and read so many dreadful things of Russia and had believed like most people. Print and paper are so patient and somehow tend to lend the semblance of truth to statements. But we were only to be gone for two weeks and so I finally consented. Though after I had done so I regretted it, and must admit that the day before our departure tried to get out of it. I could not do so decently and went.

Our party consisted of Isadora Duncan, whose Tournee I was arranging, and her maid Fanny Hubin, a little bit of a dried-up old woman, invariably dressed in the same black dress and black hat with a feather, whom we could put into a third class compartment at 4 in the afternoon and take her out again at 6 a.m. looking exactly as she did when we had put her in. I never knew if she slept or not, or if she eat - I never saw either - she always looked the same - her hair, her attire was always tidy, and she never looked tired or angry or joyous. There was an imperturbable calm about her, that could not be raffled by long hours in a railway train or hunger or thirst or fatigue or scoldings. The black feather, years ago out of curl, always looked the same, the black dress was a part of Fanny. Then there was Willem Noothoven van Goor, Pim the erstwhile we called him for short, the best friend of Isadora Duncan, a young handsome blonde Dutchman, whose warderobe consisted of three hundred and fifty waistcoats, of which he only took two hundred to Russia, several dozen suits of clothes, astrakhan furs of the latest cut, made for Dutch and not Russian winters, over one hundred pairs of boots and shoes.

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dumbfounded. The little hunchback custom-house officer, who looked at
our luggage, was civil, courteous, asked some questions in French, and
believed my answers - not as in our own dear land of "the Home of the
Free and the Land of the Brave" where, after maxxing swearing to the written
statements you have made, you are searched and examined like a
hardened old criminal. The curtains and carpets were new - he had every
right to charge for duty - and might not have taken exception because
they were theatre baggage.

However there was no duty, and when, out of gratitude for not having
had to open my boxes, I tried to smuggle a gold piece into his hand, he
with the most gracious and kind movement and a smile pressed it back
again.

The Nord Express, which in those happy days of excellent communica-
tions, before we fought for the liberties of all nations at large and
individually, ran from Berlin to St. Petersburg (it was St. Petersburg
then) in about 36 hours.

In the evening we arrived at Dwinsk (Dúnaburg), one of the extra
strategical points, even in the time of Napoleon I. We alighted for
dinner. The majority of Russian trains did not have dining cars, except
in some few instances, but enough time was given to travellers at certain
stations for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

The system of Russian railway travel was very simple and well -
regulated, involving no confusion when the signal for starting was given.
Fifteen minutes before the train started a bell was rung - a second bell
was rung five minutes before departure, and when the third bell rung, the
doors leading to the platform were closed, and in another minute the train
started, and once the third bell had sounded the doors were locked xxx
irrevocably, even if the train was delayed beyond the usual minute. Every
thing has to be learnt. The waiter in the restaurant did not have change
- the second bell rang, Isadora and Pim went out to the train, the

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waiter was slow in returning, I waited, he came, I rushed to the door rang,
just as the third bell rang and the door was slammed in my face. There
I stood looking at Isadora and Pim standing in the icy cold door of the
wagon-lit, staring at me in consternation through my glass door which I
shook and rattled in vain.

Another minute and the train slowly moved out. Here I was with all
the money and they without - and they with their tickets and mine. There
my nice sleeping compartment was gliding off to Petersburg, and the
next evening was to be the first performance of Isadora Duncan at the
Conservatoire. The Nord Express ran twice thrice a week; would I get
another train that would bring me to Petersburg before the next night?
I did not speak a word of Russian, and at the station no one understood
me. Finally an intelligent looking official took me to the station-
master's private room. He did not speak French, but some words of German.
I made him understand my predicament. He was a great big round-faced
good-natured looking Russian, dressed in an enormous sheepskin furcoat.
"There is another train to Petersburg in 1 hour and 40 minutes and it will
arrive three hours after the Nord Express". I was relieved and then we
chatted in his cosy well-heated room,

"Is that all the clothes you wear?" he said, looking at my brown
home-spun travelling coat. You will die of cold in Petersburg, you must
wear a fur like this to keep you warm.

He had seen many Americans here at Dwinsk, Taft, Roosevelt and even
remembered Grant.

The train arrived, and he ushered me into a first class compartment,
and gave the guard instructions and to make up my bed, and bid me adieu.
I was not allowed to pay for anything.

My travelling companion was a bearish-looking person who had already
gone to bed. He looked me up and down. He evidently came to the con-
clusion that I must be a suspicious person, travelling without any luggage

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her a long black real rabbit skin lined cape for 125 Rubles, which was warm and looked decent, so she finally ended up by buying a huge white fleeced sheepskin lined purple cape reaching to the ground which kept her warm.

St. Petersburg! wide streets, vast squares in which man looks
looks a midget, immense palaces, which spread with majestic mien, regard-
less of the space they occupy, along the Nova and the principal thorough-
fares! There is that thorough regardlessness of expense of space, of
any utilitarian motive, which characterizes all Russia - the people, the
houses and churches and their interior - even the scenery it is evident.
Everything is on a grand scale, there is nothing petty or mean or
economical about anything in Russia. The vast steppes, the wild and
gorgeous grandeur of the Caucasus, the magnificent sweep of the southern
coast of the Crimea, which in comparison makes the Riviera look like a
miniature toy-land, it is the land of the "grand seigneur," the man who is
accustomed to spend and not count, the man who always had the means, and
to whom possession only meant a means to an end, who had never bartered
or hoarded, and was unconscious of his expenditure or the value of it. The
end was the "grand seigneur's" life, large generous, splendid, surrounded
with the decent luxuries of life, the refinements of a great culture, the
beauties of art, the splendid aspect of sweeping lines, and majestic
exterior's and interiors, an environment giving him the full realization
of his dignity and potency. The fast muzzling trotting horses, and the
sleighs, which only accommodate at the most two persons, the three-horsed
Troikas, with the accommodate for only three, the delicate golden chains of
the harnesses, the coachmen in their thick matress-like coats and furs,
there was no part of the life of Russia which did not cater to the
fastidious man, accustomed to all the power that he was heir to.

People in Western Europe wear a little scarf pin or a pair of cuff
buttons of lapis-lazuli or malachite, here altars and columns in churches

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are made of lapis-lazuli and malachite, and in the houses of the rich there are tables of the same material. The pictures of the saints in the churches are studded with jewels and precious stones - diamonds glitter in their frames - the gold is gold, and silver is silver, there is no imitation, no silver gilt, no hollow frame work of the precious metals, everything is solid. The wealth is solid and diminished - without ostentation, without pretence. The size, the grandeur of the buildings, the width of the quays and bridges, the vistas, and gardens and public squares, give a fitting background to a great people. These things make man realize infinitesimal atom that he is in the greatness of a powerful land, made by a strong, self-willed, imaginative people, who do nothing in half measures.

Yesterday it was a great monarchy, to-day it may be a great anarchy, but it will never descend to mediocrity, and once having lived here and breathed kaza the atmosphere, and known the people, one's faith in these people can never falter, no matter how strange the conditions may look to us from afar - to Western eyes. The Russians are a great people, and even if everything seems to be breaking and crashing together in that great Empire, something will be borne out of the ruins of that land, that the world has never seen, never imagined; and that what it will be, will be the amazement of the West, and we shall kneel and wonder at the greatness of it. We are a materialistic people in the West, and the Russian has never known materialism. He is an idealist and ready to sacrifice his life for his ideals, be he prince or peasant. Only from an idealistic strong and powerful people can the future solution of our civilization spring. Wealth, not money, wealth in possession and resources, wealth which is natural, not artificial and ostentatious or pretentious, wealth in imagination, in intellect and understanding, that was the impression I received on entering Russia. And I, MWIDGET, coming from a troublesome noisy hazardous West, which worried about so many

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xxm squares, the fan roofs of the houses, palaces and churches.

The Hotel d'Europe in those days was the best hotel - a huge concern stretching from the Nevsky to the St. Michael's Square, facing the St. Michael's Uliza. The little page boys in National Russian costume with Russian boots, red shirts and little round fur caps, with a short peacock feather in them, opened the doors, took off your furs and overshoes, and the tired traveller had no more to think about. Everything was done for you. There was no place in Europe or America where there was such noiseless, absolutely faultless service as in Russia. One was lulled with relaxation - one could rest - and only attend to one's own business, without having to think of all the trivialities, which are necessary for one's well-being and personal belongings. That which service can do is done, and man only need see to the things which no one but himself can do.

The most luxurious life in environment, attention, forethought, both of friend and servant, in food, manners and absolutely faultless decency and dignity, in a free mental atmosphere, commenced for me.

My first impressions made me love St. Petersburg and the people. I felt somehow that I had come to my element - I found an affinity. Something deep down in my soul had known all this, and it was being brought to light. My impression was that the France of the 18th Century must have been something like this, only here everything was on a larger scale.

I remember my first "sortie" alone in Petersburg. My Russian friend asked me "Will you find your way back to the hotel?" "Of course" I said laughingly, "and if I don't, I shall jump into a sleigh". After some fifteen minutes I lost my way, and being unable to read the names of the streets hailed an "isvoschik".

"Hotel d'Europe", I cried, feeling cocksure that Hotel d'Europe would be the same in any language, but to my despair he did not understand.

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haberdasher's a word, and I could not make him understand. Finally I saw a Makkazza shop, on the outside of which was written "on parle Francais". I rushed in, and explained the situation, and the man came out to tell the coachman. I listened carefully to see how he would say Hotel d'Europe, but when I heard "Goatin'izza Jevropevska" I thought it was time for me to engage im a teacher at once to learn Russian - which I did.

Isadora Duncan's success in Petersburg was instantaneous. The house was sold out when we arrived. The "Conservatoire" was the only available theatre at the time, and the Petersburg Impresario had rows of seats put to the very edge of the platform. This could not be. The platform was too small for dancing, and had to be enlarged, and six further rows had to be taken from the edge of the platform, for as, Isadora said, "I cannot dance on the heads of the people". Besides she felt always that she needed a certain distance to separate her from the public, so that the public was one mass to her, and not individuals, which would have been the case had they been too near.

The first night was an unprecedented triumph, and the people called for her again and again, until she had given 11 encores, and the police interfered and had the lights turned out. She had entered the theatre with many misgivings. She always hated fashionable audiences, whose gloves did not permit them to applaud, and whose cold critical expression were distasteful to her. And this was a fashionable audience - the best of Petersburg society was there, and the Imperial box was occupied by the Grand Duke and Duchess Vladimir. She hates all kinds of platforms and concert-halls, and only feels at ease in a theatre with a proper stage, lighting and decorations to her entire satisfaction, and the inevitably necessary space to separate her from the public. Her face before the performance in her dressing room was a study, and she was convinced she would never be a success among these critical Russians, and longed for the two weeks engagement to be over. When the applause seemed increas-

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ing after the first part she warmed up and felt different. At the end of the performance she was quite reconciled and realized she had come to the right place and had the audience flowers she wanted. The first evening women threw the flowers from their "corsage" to her, and men, who had buttonholes, threw them. The improvised homage given her was so spontaneous and real, that not an eye was dry with glad joy for the artist, her powers, and the welcome given her. What Isadora gave to this public was like a revelation to them. For the first time in her life she saw a real people, a fashionable audience, be frank, and open gladly in abandonment its heart and arms to a great artist, sincerely happy at the wonders of her genius, and showing gratitude honestly without any restraint.

She revelled in the ovation - in the real open heartedness of a great and art loving people. Their enthusiasm had vanquished every petty feeling of mean or superfluous criticism which might have existed. They were taken by storm at the new art which was presented to them, and admitted it without stint.

After the performance the stage entrance to the Conservatoire was packed by a mob inside and outside, and waited for fully an hour in a temperature of 29.25° below zero, in order to get another glimpse of the woman who had given them a new vision. Their acclaim was tremendous, and the police had to make it possible for her to reach her closed carriage.

The newspapers the next day were unanimous in their praise and interpretation of her art; columns appeared and it was not the reporter's "puff" - they were genuine articles written by men of talent and imagination, who had conceived her art in a different way, but all inflamed by the revelation which she and her art had given them.

At the end of the two weeks, after every single house had been sold out to the last seat a few hours after a performance was announced, the Petersburg Impresario came to me to ask for further engagements. It would have been foolish to have refused with all Petersburg gone mad.