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The Return of Florence Lawrence
Were you one of the thousands wKo loved The Biograph Girl ? TKis is a favorite picture of Florence Lawrence, the first motion picture star, as she looked eleven years ago in those famous two-reelers.
FLORENCE LAWRENXE is coming back to the screen. Florence Lawrence, the first screen star, the first movie queen, "The Biograph Girl." Do you remember her? After six years, she is going to walk again the path she pioneered.
And now that I have talked to her, I cannot help wondering whether her return is to be a triumph or a tragedy.
She is still a pretty woman. And young — quite young.
I cannot tell you why she struck me instantly as being such a sad little figure. But when I first saw her, I felt my heart stop and sink a little as it did when I first saw the vacant places in the ranks of the returned, marching regiments of Yankees.
She has in her blue eyes the same look I saw in Sarah Bernhardt's the last time she came to America — that look of brave, spiritual struggle against overwhelming odds, the look of a woman who knows what it is to fight a losing fight.
Yet she is quite gay, fluffy, blonde, and given to sweet and r.ither easy laughter. In no wise a gloom} person. She talks cheerfully, entertainingly, and you must read between the lines to patch together the story of her sorrows, but over and over again I felt a lump in my throat.
It is only that she has that soft, constant gentleness of manner, that unfailing kindliness of speech and action that I have never seen except in people who have been hurt so much themselves that they wish above e\ ery thing in the world never to hurt anyone else.
The amazing story of a ereat "come-back"
By
ADELA ROGERS ST. JOHNS
Do you remember tiie lines of the old English poet —
"There is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies blow."
If there is a garden in Florence Lawrence's face, it is as full of little white crosses as Flanders Fields.
I found her in her room at a small hotel on a side street in Los Angeles. It was rather a shabby little room, but its windows looked out over the gray city roofs upon a western sky that nightly showed the glory of a California sunset.
There were flowers in a white jiitcher, and a huge box of chocolates and a sweet, pungent smell of oranges from a big basket on the floor beside a couch -bed. On a chair was a cardboard box that frothed with pink silk and lace and ribbons. So it managed somehow to be quite cheerful and feminine in spite of the handicap of its drab wallpaper, and its ugly furniture.
But it was the last room where you would expect to find a motion picture star. Rather it was the room of a woman who
The comfortable home in raises asparagus. It was
We stwood, N. J., where Florence Lawrence still lives and here that she spent her years of retirement from the screen.
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