That summer we spent in the yacht of Brittany。 Often it was so rough that I got of and followed the yacht along the coast in an auto。L。stuck to the ship， but he was not a very good sailor， and often he turned very dark green。Such are the pleasures of the rich！
In September I went to Venice with my baby and the nurse。 For some weeks I was alone with them。One day I went into the Cathedral of St。Marco， and was sitting there alone， gazing at the blue and gold of the dome， when suddenly it seemed to me that I saw the face of a little boy， but it was also the face of an angel with great blue eyes and an aureole of golden hair。
I went to the Lido， and， sitting there， with little Deirdre playing on the sands， I spent some days in meditation。 What I had dreamed in the Cathedral of St。Marco flled me at the same time with joy and disquietude。I loved， but I now knew something of the fickleness and selfish caprice of what men call love， and this sacrifice coming for my Art—perhaps fatal for my Art—my work—and suddenly I began to sufer an intense nostalgia for my Art—my work—my school。This human life seemed so heavy beside my dreams of Art。
I believe that in each life there is a spiritual line， an upward curve， and all that adhered to and strengthens thisline is our real life—the rest is but as chaf falling from us as our souls progress。 Such a spiritual line is my Art。My life has known but two motives—Love and Art—and often Love destroyed Art， and often the imperious call of Art put a tragic end to Love。For these two have no accord， but only constant battle。
In this state of indecision and mental anguish I went to Milan to meet a doctor friend whom I had summoned there， and laid my problem before him。
“Why， it is preposterous！”he exclaimed，“you a unique artist， to again risk depriving the world for ever of your art。 It is quite impossible。Pray take my advice and prevent such a crime against humanity。”
I listened to him undecided， in a state of anguished indecision—one moment filled with revolt that such a deformation should again come to my body， which was the instrument of my Art， again tortured by the call， the hope， the vision of that angel's face， the face of my son。
I asked my friend to leave me for an hour to decide。 I remember the bedroom of the hotel—a rather gloomy room—and facing me I suddenly saw a picture， a strange woman in eighteenth?century gown， whose lovely but cruel eyes looked straight into mine。I stared at her eyes and they seemed to mock me。“Whatever you may decide，”she seemed to say，“it is the same。Look at my loveliness， that shone so many years ago。Death swallows all—all—why should you sufer to again bring life into the world， only to be swallowed up by death？”
Her eyes became more cruel， more sinister， my anguish more terrible。 I hid my eyes from her with my hands。I tried to think， to decide。I implored those eyes， through the mist of my troubled tears， but they seemed to show no pity：relentless they mocked me。Life or Death， poor creature， you are in the relentless trap。
Finally I rose and spoke to the eyes。“No， you shall not trouble me。 I believe in Life， in Love， in the sanctity of Nature's Law。”
Was it imagination， or did there suddenly shine in those hard eyes a gleam of terrible， mocking laughter？
When my friend returned I told him my decision， and after that nothing would alter it。
I returned to Venice， and， taking Deirdre in my arms， I whispered to her：“You will have a little brother。”
“Oh，”laughed Deirdre， and clapped her hands with glee，“How sweet， how sweet。”
“Yes， yes， it will be sweet。”
I sent a telegram to L。 and he came rushing down to Venice。He seemed delighted—full of joy， love， tenderness。The demon Neurasthenia completely disappeared for a time。
I had signed a second contract with Walter Damrosch， and in October I sailed for America。
L。 had never seen America and was wild with excitement， remembering he had American blood。Of course he took the largest suite on the boat， and we had a special menu printed every night and travelled like Royal personages。Travelling with a millionaire does simplify things， and we had a most magnificent apartment in the Plaza， with everyone bowing down right and left。
I believe there is some law and convention in the U。 S。A。that does not allow two lovers to travel together。Poor Gorky and his mistress of seventeen years'standing were hunted from pillar to post and their lives made a torment to them， but of course when one is so very rich these little disagreeablenesses are all smoothed away。
The tour in America was most happy， successful， and prosperous， for money attracts money， until one day in January a very nervous lady came into my loge and exclaimed，“But， my dear Miss Duncan， it's plainly visible from the front row。 You can't continue like this。”
And I replied，“Oh， but， my dear Mrs。 X。，that's just what I mean my dancing to express—Love—Woman—Formation—Springtime。Botticelli's picture， you know—the fruitful Earth—the three dancing Graces enceinte—the Madonna—the Zephyrs enceinte also。Everything rustling， promising New Life。That is what my dance means—”
At this Mrs。 X。looked quizzical， but we thought it was better to let the tour stop， and return to Europe， for my blessed state was really becoming quite visible。
I had a great joy in that Augustin and his little girl returned with us。 He had separated from his wife， and I thought the trip would distract him。
“How would you like to travel up the Nile on a dahabeah all winter—to fly from grey and sullen skies to where is brilliant sunshine：to visit Thebes， Denderah， all that you have longed to see？The yacht is ready to take us to Alexandria， the dahabeah fitted out with thirty native sailors， and a first?class cook；there are sumptuous cabins—bedrooms with baths—”
“Ah， but my school， my work—”
“Your sister Elizabeth tends the school very well， and you are so young that you have plenty of time for your work。”
So we spent the winter sailing up the Nile， and it would have been a dream of happiness—it almost was—if it had not been for that same monster Neurasthenia， which appeared from time to time like a black hand covering the sun。
As the dahabeah voyages slowly up the Nile the soul travels back a thousand—two thousand—five thousand years；back through the mists of the Past to the Gates of Eternity。
How calm and beautiful was this voyage to me at that time， carrying， as I did， within me the promise of a new life。 Temples that spoke of Ancient Kings of Egypt penetrating through the golden desert sands， down to the profound mysteries of the Tombs of the Pharaohs。The little life within me seemed to vaguely surmise this journey to the land of darkness and death。One moonlight night， in the Temple of Denderah， it seemed to me that all the eyes in the battered faces of the Goddess Hathor， the Egyptian Aphrodite， repeated with hypnotic insistence throughout the Temple， were turned toward my unborn child。
Especially wonderful is the Valley of the Dead， and most of all， to me， the grave of a little Prince who never grew to be a great Pharaoh or King。 Dead at such a tender age—remaining through the centuries the dead child—and one thought of the six thousand years he had lain there。But， if he had lived， he would have been six thousand years old！
What do I remember of that trip in Egypt？The purple sunrise， the scarlet sunset， the golden sands of the desert， the temples。 The sunny days spent in the courtyard of a temple dreaming of the life of the Pharaohs—dreaming of my baby to come。The peasant women walking on the banks of the Nile with vases poised on their beautiful heads， their voluminous bodies swaying under their black draperies；the slight fgure of Deirdre dancing on the deck；Deirdre walking in the ancient streets of Thebes。The little child looking up at the battered ancient gods。
When she saw the Sphinx she said，“Oh， Mama， this dolly is not very pretty， but how imposing！”
She was just learning words of three syllables。
The little child before the Temples of Eternity—the little Prince in the tombs of the Pharaohs—the Valley of the Kings， and the caravans passing over the desert—the wind moving the sand in waves across the desert—whither？
The sunrise in Egypt came with an extraordinary intensity about four o'clock in the morning。 After that it was impossible to sleep， as there began the steady continuous wail of the sakieh， drawing water from the Nile。Then， too， began the procession of labourers on the shore， drawing water， tilling the fields， driving camels， and this continued until sunset in living and moving frescoes。
The dahabeah moved slowly to the singing of the sailors as their bronzed bodies rose and fell with the oars， we watched idly and enjoying all this as spectators。
The nights were beautiful。 We had with us a Steinway piano and a very talented young English artist， who played for us every night Bach and Beethoven， whose solemn measures harmonise so well with the space and the temples of Egypt。
We reached Wadi Haifa a few weeks later， and penetrated into Nubia， where the Nile is so narrow that one can almost touch the banks on either side。 Here the men of the party left to go on to Khartoum， and I remained alone on the dahabeah with Deirdre and spent the most peaceful time of my life， for two weeks， in that marvellous country where worry and trouble seem quite futile。Our boat seemed to be rocked by the rhythm of the ages。For those who can aford it， a trip up the Nile in a well?appointed dahabeah is the best rest cure in the world。
Egypt is a land of dreams for us—a land of labour for the poor fellah—but， in any case， it is the only land that I know where labour can be beautiful。 The fellah， who lives mainly on a soup of lentils， and unleavened bread， has a beautiful， supple body， and whether stooping in the fields or drawing water from the Nile presents always a bronze model to delight the heart of a sculptor。
We returned to France and landed at Villefranche， and L。 rented for the season a magnifcent villa at Beaulieu， with terraces sloping down to the sea。With his characteristic impetuousness， he amused himself buying up land on Cap Ferrat， where he intended to build a great Italian castle。
We made auto trips to visit thetowers of Avignon， and the walls of Carcassonne， which were also to serve as models for this castle。 A castle stands now on Cap Ferrat， but， alas， like so many of his other fancies， it has never been fnished。
At this time he was obsessed by an abnormal restlessness。 When he was not rushing of to Cap Ferrat to buy land， he was taking the Rapide to Paris on a Monday and returning on Wednesday。I remained calmly in the garden by the blue sea， pondering on the strange diference which divides life from Art， and often wondering if a woman can ever really be an artist， since Art is a hard taskmaster who demands everything， whereas a woman who loves gives up everything to life。At any rate， here I was， for the second time， completely separated and immobilised from my Art。
On the first of May， a morning when the sea was blue， the sun burning， and all Nature bursting into blossom and joy， my son was born。
Unlike the stupid peasant doctor of Nordwyck， intelligent Dr。 Bosson knew how to alleviate the sufering with wise doses of morphia， and this second experience was quite diferent from the first。
Deirdre came into my room with her charming little face filled with a precocious maternity。
“Oh， the sweet little boy。 Mother；you need not worry about him。I will always hold him in my arms and take care of him。”
The words came back to me when she was dead， and held him in her little stif white arms。 Why do people call upon God， Who， if He exists， must be unconscious of all this？
So， once again， I found myself lying by the sea with a baby in my arms—only instead of the little white， wind?tossed Villa Maria， it was a palatial mansion， and instead of the sullen， restless North Sea， the blue Mediterranean。