rever it was possible
for him to surround himself with their pictures he did so. As a result,
the visitor to his London rooms found him surrounded by the familiar
faces of Maude Adams, Ethel Barrymore, Ann Murdock, Marie Doro, Julia
Sanderson, William Gillette, and John Drew. On the roll-top desk, side
by side, were the pictures of his two _Peter Pans_, Miss Adams and
Pauline Chase.

Charles's last London production, strangely enough, consisted of two
plays by his closest friend, Barrie. This double bill was "The New
Word," a fireside scene, which was followed by "Rosy Rapture."

By a strange coincidence his first English venture was a failure, and so
was his last. Yet the long and brilliant journey between these two dates
was a highway that any man might have trod with pride. The
English-speaking drama received an impetus and a standard that it never
would have had without his unflagging zeal and his generous purse. He
left an influence upon the English stage that will last.

What endeared him perhaps more than anything else to England was the
smiling serenity with which he met criticism and loss. There may have
been times when the English resented his desire for monopoly, but they
forgot it in tremendous admiration for his courage and his resource. He
revolutionized the economics of the British stage; he invested it with
life, energy, action; he established a whole new relation between author
and producer. Here, as in America, he was the pioneer and the builder.

XII

BARRIE AND THE ENGLISH FRIENDSHIPS

The fortunes of Charles Frohman's English productions ebbed and flowed;
actors and actresses came and went; to him it was all part of a big and
fascinating game. What really counted and became permanent were the
man's friendships, often made in the theatrical world of make-believe,
but always cemented in the domain of very sincere reality. In England
were some of his dearest personal bonds.

They grew out of the fact that Charles had the rare genius of inspiring
loyal friendship. He gave much and he got much. Yet, like Stevenson, it
was a case of "a few friends, but these without capitulation."

In England he seemed to be a different human being. The inaccessibility
that hedged him about in America vanished. He emerged from his unsocial
shell; he gave out interviews; he relaxed and renewed his youth in jaunt
and jest. His annual trip abroad, therefore, was like a joyous
adventure. It mattered little if