Ashes

Folk will pay money to stare at any rarity--whether it is a man who plays exceptional tennis, or a woman who can swallow a snake, or a cow with seven legs. It was inevitable, then, that Vera, Countess Cathcart, being the most prominent woman ever kept out of the country for her turpitude, should either compose or appear in a play. She did both. Last week the play, called Ashes of Love, was produced simultaneously in London and in New York (via Washington).

In Washington. The stage manager stepped in front of the curtain. . . . Everyone was to understand that the Countess Cathcart was appearing tonight in person. . . . The play was the story of her own life. . . . She had written it around notes which she had kept . . . herself ... in person. . . . I thank you. . . .

Act I. The London home of Lady Darnmouth. A party is in progress. Lady Cathcart steps on in the role of Estelle (mild applause), who is married to Lord Douglas Rayhaven, a dotard who spends his time walking, resting, sleeping. Lord Victor Anton, a guest at the party, entreats Estelle to elope with him to South Africa. She agrees. (Hopeful applause.)

Act II. The elopers reach Cape Town. They are very poor. Lord Anton takes to the bottle. Estelle has been divorced by her husband. Lord Anton is unfaithful to her with a neighbor. Lord Anton is unfaithful to her with a stranger. Lord Anton takes to the bottle. (Cool applause.)

Act III. Estelle, deserted by Lord Anton, returns to London. Dotard invites her to live with him again. She refuses. Curtain. (No applause.)

In Manhattan. Had Countess Cathcart crept ashore incognito to present her play any normal Manhattan audience would have managed to strangle all but a few fits of mirth rendered excusably inevitable by some of the lady's sorry lines. As it was, a house in which Noel Coward, Ralph Barton, Rebecca West, Anita Loos, John Farrar, Thyra Sampter Winslow, John Howard Lawson, Grace George and other celebrities were unfortunate enough to find themselves, seized the opportunity to satiate a long-whetted appetite for derision. They sent the curtain aloft with salvo of anticipatory snickering. Line after line that would ordinarily have occasioned nothing more painful than uneasy silence they swept from context with gales of exuberant malice. They crowned their mockery after the harrowing ineptitude of Act II with raucous shouts of "Author!" "Author!" But it is doubtful that any of those present will soon forget that the subject of their entertainment played her part out to its bitter end. Bolstered by ample courage for her bad bargain or by the fortitude of foolhardiness, she delivered a curtain speech in unfaltering accents. On behalf of her colleagues and herself she thanked the Manhattanites for their "appreciation," their "kind reception."

In London. Said critics: "Why should Ashes be imposed on us? It was not England that tried to exclude Lady Cathcart."--London Morning Post.

"So formless, so lacking . . . neither sense . . . nor feeling . . . to mitigate the completeness of the play's failure."--Daily Telegraph.

"The story is crude . . . dialogue banal . . . people lifeless as dummies. . . ."--Westminster Gazette.

"There must be thousands of schoolgirls who could do better."-- Evening News.

"Unintentional farce."--Daily News.

Newsboys displayed lemon-colored placards which declared, in huge block capitals: "ASHES" LOUD LAUGHTER

The headline referred to the roaring guffaws that greeted a lone cry of "Author!" as the curtain fell on the third act. The play was withdrawn after a run of five days.