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Sat Aug 10
Truly a red-letter day! Seven men on the porch all morning -- two all afternoon, and T'Ishi doing occult stunts in the evening. The morning was rather important in making me feel again that perhaps I ought to take everyone's advice and strike out for a dramatic career. Mr. Hartley, the individualist by vocation, brought over to our porch to be introduced, his particular friend Horace Traubel, a writer and editor. He is very striking in appearance and knows very many celebrities, especially dramatic ones. We had not been conversing for half an hour, when he asked me if I had ever thought of a dramatic career, spoke of my rich speaking voice, and practically offered to introduce me to Mrs. Fiske or Marlowe, if I should come to a decision in the Fall. He did not approve of a dramatic school; what rather impressed me was that he took my address before I spoke of the stage. The other men were having, as I afterward learned, a very heated discussion concerning Reincarnation vs. Bahaism -- Mr. Pundit's swordlike intellect should have made short work of the fat gross-looking apostle of Baha Ullah -- I wish I could have heard the conversation. The trouble is that Mr. Harris is so dense that Pundit's shafts are lost on him. We were curious to see what T'Ishi would do before an audience. The lecture on "Mind over Matter'' sounded rather like a class day paper, but his tricks were clever. The objectionable part was that he did them all with such a professional air, and the vaudeville manner, that I am inclined to think he was formerly an Indian magician. At all events, he doesn't seem to be a person of natural refinement, and Betty and I have decided to cut him by degrees.
Sun Aug 11
It has been very hot and the only relief to be found is to lie quietly in a hammock and read. Sang "There is a Green Hill'' with good effect in the P.M. Several people spoke of my enunciation. After the lecture we found a beautiful spot in front of Mrs. Bull's house where we had a lovely view. Our particular grievance at G.A. is the lack of properly devoted men. Numerically, they are in a sad minority; and those who are here are so deucedly detached and full of spirituality or individuality or plain pre-occupation that they will not turn their heads to look at a girl under 75. There is one arrival who actually has presentable shoulders and good eyes -- which he is not loth to use -- but he makes no effort to secure an introduction, which is certainly boring. I can't understand his lack of appreciation, for he seems to be perfectly normal otherwise.
Mon Aug 12
We seem to become involved in a number of "scraps'' in spite of the "peace'' flag. -- for an impossible person named Abby -- ought to be Tabby -- who has taken a violent dislike to Betty and me, tries to make life miserable for us on every possible occasion, and it is only by heroic use of my full 5 ft. 8 inches and a deep chest voice, that I keep up dignity on our side. She is the most awful type of New Englander -- acid, nervous, and of course, far above her station, being a cook by profession. -- Then there was a misunderstanding about our place on Mme. Royer's program, and Mr. Royer acted like such a peevish boy about it that I had an icy interview with him which brought him around in short order. I shall be quite an adept in dealing with intractables. -- After the first half of Mrs. Royer's poems -- they were quite inane, with one exception possibly -- that we betook ourselves to a lovely spot above the river and read Browning's Pippa Passes, and a number of other shorter poems. Why listen to drivel when one can have masterpieces? I was amazed to find "Pippa'' so comparatively easy to understand. It is so fortunate that Betty Hughes and I have such similar tastes; our interest in poetry; our French, our music -- and - our sense of humor, which keeps us from becoming ossified among these antiquities up here. Some of the old ladies are charming, but after all they are old ladies and we alas! are hopelessly young and frivolous at times.
Tues Aug 13
Pundit's lecture today was very brilliant as usual, tho' I don't believe I retain a very clear outline of his treatment of his subjects. He is like Mr. Tapper in this -- that he keeps you thinking so hard while he talked that you cannot take notes. Received a letter from Mr. D. which reaches the limit of my patience; I believe the man is unbalanced and shall certainly sever all connection with him immediately. I was so upset and shocked by his incoherent accusations that I could scarcely keep myself from writing equally brutal things to him, but I managed to express myself without writing anything I should be sorry for. In the evening, Mrs. Clark gave a beautiful and moving reading of "Pompilia'' from the Ring and the Book, which I enjoyed thoroughly.
Wed Aug 14
I lead so uneventful a life here (excepting interviews with Tabby), that outwardly nothing happens. Betty and I, however, find much and many to talk about. It really is a most beautiful spot; the sunsets are a daily glory; the river, with its ever- changing surface, crinkling up with whitecaps when the bracing winds blow in and taking on a wonderful blue color, and the joyous afternoons in the pines, or lying in a hammock on our cool porch; then the glorious nights, sleeping out with the stars above us, and the breezes blowing around and above us till we feel as tho' we were being lifted into the air and were floating about, encased in a cosy little coconut to keep us warm.
Mrs. Clark left today; I like many things in her, and tho' I believe, with Betty, that there is self-consciousness in her make-up, I am not so sure that she is a poseur. I rather believe that she is possessed by sincere desire to live poetry and to make the refinements of life a part of her being. I do not find her boring, as Betty and Miss Fuller do. The latter is a curious girl, very good-looking in a conventional way -- always beautifully dressed -- but such a voice! It is the small and prattly voice of a child of six, coupled with a monotonous drawl, which is positively wierd at first. Then she will make wildly enthusiastic remarks in this dead sleepy tone -- and the contrast is funny beyond description. If it is affected she ought to be spoken to, and if it is natural, it is
a dreadful affliction.
This morning Mr. Susuki took a picture of us with two new "celebs'' who, by the way, attached themselves to us quite markedly. One of them was the lecturer of the morning, Prof. Wells, who while intelligent and agreeable, is like the average scholarly man. The other, Dr. Richard, of Columbia has more personal magnetism. He is the typical German of the nicest sort, huge, handsome, and outspoken (arrogant, Mrs. Sewall calls him, which I think is because the lady is, quite unconsciously possessed of the militant spirit herself, naturally clashes with a personality of marked independence!) At any rate, he has a sense of humor and prefers interesting young people (forsooth!) to the old ladies at the hotel. At last! a normally constituted man! He spent most of his time on our porch telling us about German university life and the duels which gave him his own scars. He is such a relief after Prof. Xenophone! a man somewhat resembling him and of about the same age -- a French Jew, I imagine, who felt it his bounden duty to make some remark --however banal -- every time he sighted us. We grew to detest him, and when Mrs. Sewall spoke of his "beautiful French accent'' I wanted to laugh outright, for it is the most Semitic I have ever heard.