William Somerset Maugham 2 страница

every gesture, he exaggerated every intonation. But it was a very

different matter when he rehearsed his cast; then he would suffer

nothing artificial. His ear was perfect, and though he could not pro-

duce the right intonation himself he would never let a false one pass

in anyone else.

" Don't be natural, " he told his company. " The stage isn't the place

for that. The stage is make-believe. But seem natural. "

He worked his company hard. They rehearsed every morning

from ten till two, when he sent them home to learn their parts and

rest before the evening's performance. He bullied them, he scre-

amed at them, he mocked them. He underpaid them. But if they pla-

yed a moving scene well he cried like a child, and when they said an

amusing line as he wanted it said he bellowed with laughter. He wo-

uld skip about the stage on one leg if he was pleased, and if he was

angry would throw the script down and stamp on it while tears of ra-

ge ran down his cheeks. The company laughed at him and abused

him and did everything they could to please him. He aroused a pro-

tective instinct in them, so that one and all they felt that they co-

uldn't let him down. Though they said he drove them like slaves,

and they never had a moment to themselves, flesh and blood co-

uldn't stand it, it gave them a sort of horrible satisfaction to comply

with his outrageous demands. When he wrung an old trooper's

hand, who was getting seven pounds a week, and said, by God, lad-

die, you're stupendous, the old trooper felt like Charles Kean.

It happened that when Michael kept the appointment he had as-

ked for, Jimmie Langton was in need of a leading juvenile. He had

guessed why Michael wanted to see him, and had gone the night be-

fore to see him play. Michael was playing Mercutio and he had not

thought him very good, but when he came into the office he was

staggered by his beauty. In a brown coat and grey flannel trousers,

even without make-up, he was so handsome it took your breath

away. He had an easy manner and he talked like a gentleman. While

Michael explained the purpose of his visit Jimmie Langton observed

him shrewdly. If he could act at all, with those looks that young man

ought to go far.

" I saw your Mercutio last night, " he said. " What d'you think of it

yourself? "

" Rotten. "

" So do I. How old are you? "

" Twenty-five. "

" I suppose you've been told you're good-looking? "

" That's why I went on the stage. Otherwise I'd have gone into the

army like my father. "

" By gum, if I had your looks what an actor I'd have been. "

The result of the interview was that Michael got an engagement.

He stayed at Middlepool for two years. He soon grew popular with

the company. He was good-humoured and kindly; he would take any

amount of trouble to do anyone a service. His beauty created a sen-

sation in Middlepool and the girls used to hang about the stage door

to see him go out. They wrote him love letters and sent him flowers.

He took it as a natural homage, but did not allow it to turn his head.

He was eager to get on and seemed determined not to let any en-

tanglement interfere with his career. It was his beauty that saved

him, for Jimmie Langton quickly came to the conclusion that, not-

withstanding his perseverance and desire to excel, he would never

be more than a competent actor. His voice was a trifle thin and in

moments of vehemence was apt to go shrill. It gave then more the

effect of hysteria than of passion. But his gravest fault as a juvenile

lead was that he could not make love. He was easy enough in ordi-

nary dialogue and could say his lines with point, but when it came to

making protestations of passion something seemed to hold him

back. He felt embarrassed and looked it.

" Damn you, don't hold that girl as if she was a sack of potatoes, "

Jimmie Langton shouted at him. " You kiss her as if you were afraid

you were standing in a draught. You're in love with that girl. You

must feel that you're in love with her. Feel as if your bones were

melting inside you and if an earthquake were going to swallow you

up next minute, to hell with the earthquake. "

But it was no good. Notwithstanding his beauty, his grace and his

ease of manner, Michael remained a cold lover. This did not prevent

Julia from falling madly in love with him. For it was when he joined

Langton's repertory company that they met.

Her own career had been singularly lacking in hardship. She was

born in Jersey, where her father, a native of that island, practised as

a veterinary surgeon. Her mother's sister was married to a French-

man, a coal merchant, who lived at St. Malo, and Julia had been sent

to live with her while she attended classes at the local lycee. She le-

arnt to speak French like a Frenchwoman. She was a born actress

and it was an understood thing for as long as she could remember

that she was to go on the stage. Her aunt, Madame Falloux, was " en

relations" with an old actress who had been a societaire of the Co-

medie Francaise and who had retired to St. Malo to live on the small

pension that one of her lovers had settled on her when after many

years of faithful concubinage they had parted. When Julia was a

child of twelve this actress was a boisterous, fat old woman of more

than sixty, but of great vitality, who loved food more than anything

else in the world. She had a great, ringing laugh, like a man's, and

she talked in a deep, loud voice, t was she who gave Julia her first

lessons. She taught her all the arts that she had herself learnt at the

Conservatoire and she talked to her of Reichenberg who had played

ingenues till she was seventy, of Sarah Bernhardt and her golden

voice, of Mounet-Sully and his majesty, and of Coquelin the greatest

actor of them all. She recited to her the great tirades of Corneille

and Racine as she had learnt to say them at the Francaise and ta-

ught her to say them in the same way. It was charming to hear Julia

in her childish voicerecite those languorous, passionate speeches of

Phedre, emphasizing the beat of the Alexandrines and mouthing her

words in that manner which is so artificial and yet so wonderfully

dramatic. Jane Taitbout must always have been a very stagy act-

ress, but she taught Julia to articulate with extreme distinctness, she

taught her how to walk and how to hold herself, she taught her not

to be afraid of her own voice, and she made deliberate that wonder-

ful sense of timing which Julia had by instinct and which afterwards

was one of her greatest gifts. " Never pause unless you have a re-

ason for it, " she thundered, banging with her clenched fist on the

table at which she sat, " but when you pause, pause as long as you

can. "

When Julia was sixteen and went to the Royal Academy of Drama-

tic Art in Gower Street she knew already much that they could teach

her there. She had to get rid of a certain number of tricks that were

out of date and she had to acquire a more conversational style. But

she won every prize that was open to her, and when she was finis-

hed with the school her good French got her almost immediately a

small part in London as a French maid. It looked for a while as tho-

ugh her knowledge of French would specialize her in parts needing a

foreign accent, for after this she was engaged to play an Austrian

waitress. It was two years later that Jimmie Langton discovered her.

She was on tour in a melodrama that had been successful in Lon-

don; in the part of an Italian adventuress, whose machinations were

eventually exposed, she was trying somewhat inadequately to rep-

resent a woman of forty. Since the heroine, a blonde person of ma-

ture years, was playing a young girl, the performance lacked verisi-

militude. Jimmie was taking a short holiday which he spent in going

every night to the theatre in one town after another. At the end of

the piece he went round to see Julia. He was well enough known in

the theatrical world for her to be flattered by the compliments he

paid her, and when he asked her to lunch with him next day she ac-

cepted.

They had no sooner sat down to table than he went straight to

the point.

" I never slept a wink all night for thinking of you, " he said.

" This is very sudden. Is your proposal honourable or dishonourab-

le? "

He took no notice of the flippant rejoinder.

" I've been at this game for twenty-five years. I've been a call-boy,

a stage-hand, a stage-manager, an actor, a publicity man, damn it,

I've even been a critic. I've lived in the theatre since I was a kid just

out of a board school, and what I don't know about acting isn't worth

knowing. I think you're a genius. "

" It's sweet of you to say so. "

" Shut up. Leave me to do the talking. You've got everything.

You're the right height, you've got a good figure, you've got an indi-

arubber* face. "

" Flattering, aren't you? "

" That's just what I am. That's the face an actress wants. The face

that can look anything, even beautiful, the face that can show every

thought that passes through the mind. That's the face Duse's got.

Last night even though you weren't really thinking about what you

were doing every now and then the words you were saying wrote

themselves on your face. "

" It's such a rotten part. How could I give it my attention? Did you

hear the things I had to say? "

" Actors are rotten, not parts. You've got a wonderful voice, the

voice that can wring an audience's heart, I don't know about your

comedy, I'm prepared to risk that. "

" What d'you mean by that? "

" Your timing is almost perfect. That couldn't have been taught,

you must have that by nature. That's the far, far better way. Now

let's come down to brass tacks. I've been making inquiries about

you. It appears you speak French like a Frenchwoman and so they

give you broken English parts. That's not going to lead you anywhe-

re, you know. "

" That's all I can get. "

" Are you satisfied to go on playing those sort of parts for ever?

You'll get stuck in them and the public won't take you in anything el-

se. Seconds, that's all you'll play. Twenty pounds a week at the out-

side and a great talent wasted. "

" I've always thought that some day or other I should get a chance

of a straight part. "

" When? You may have to wait ten years. How old are you now? "

" Twenty. "

" What are you getting? "

" Fifteen pounds a week. "

" That's a lie. You're getting twelve, and it's a damned sight more

than you're worth. You've got everything to learn. Your gestures are

commonplace. You don't know that every gesture must mean so-

mething. You don't know how to get an audience to look at you be-

fore you speak. You make up too much. With your sort of face the

less make-up the better. Wouldn't you like to be a star? "

" Who wouldn't? "

" Come to me and I'll make you the greatest actress in England.

Are you a quick study? You ought to be at your age. "

" I think I can be word-perfect in any part in forty-eight hours. "

" It's experience you want and me to produce you. Come to me

and I'll let you play twenty parts a year. Ibsen, Shaw, Barker, Suder-

mann, Hankin, Galsworthy. You've got magnetism and you don't se-

em to have an idea how to use it. " He chuckled. " By God, if you had,

that old hag would have had you out of the play you're in now befo-

re you could say knife. * You've got to take an audience by the throat

and say, now, you dogs, you pay attention to me. You've got to do-

minate them. If you haven't got the gift no one can give it you, but if

you have you can be taught how to use it. I tell you, you've got the

makings of a great actress. I've never been so sure of anything in

my life. "

" I know I want experience. I'd have to think it over of course. I wo-

uldn't mind coming to you for a season. "

" Go to hell. Do you think I can make an actress of you in a se-

ason? Do you think I'm going to work my guts out to make you give

a few decent performances and then have you go away to play so-

me twopenny-halfpenny part in a commercial play in London? What

sort of a bloody fool do you take me for? I'll give you a three years'

contract, I'll give you eight pounds a week and you'll have to work li-

ke a horse. "

" Eight pounds a week's absurd. I couldn't possibly take that. "

" Oh yes, you could. It's all you're worth and it's all you're going to

get. "

Julia had been on the stage for three years and had learnt a good

deal. Besides, Jane Taitbout, no strict moralist, had given her a lot of

useful information.

" And are you under the impression by any chance, that for that

I'm going to let you sleep with me as well? "

" My God, do you think I've got time to go to bed with the mem-

bers of my company? I've got much more important things to do

than that, my girl. And you'll find that after you've rehearsed for four

hours and played a part at night to my satisfaction, besides a couple

of matinees, you won't have much time or much inclination to make

love to anybody. When you go to bed all you'll want to do is to sle-

ep. "

But Jimmie Langton was wrong there.

JULIA, taken by his enthusiasm and his fantastic exuberance, ac-

cepted his offer. He started her in modest parts which under his di-

rection she played as she had never played before. He interested

the critics in her, he flattered them by letting them think that they

had discovered a remarkable actress, and allowed the suggestion to

come from them that he should let the public see her as Magda. She

was a great hit and then in quick succession he made her play Nora

in The Doll's House, Ann in Man and Superman, and Hedda Gabler.

Middle-pool was delighted to discover that it had in its midst an act-

ress who it could boast was better than any star in London, and

crowded to see her in plays that before it had gone to only from lo-

cal patriotism. The London paragraphers* mentioned her now and

then, and a number of enthusiastic patrons of the drama made the

journey to Middlepool to see her. They went back full of praise, and

two or three London managers sent representatives to report on

her. They were doubtful. She was all very well in Shaw and Ibsen,

but what would she do in an ordinary play? The managers had had

bitter experien-ces. On the strength of an outstanding performance

in one of these queer plays they had engaged an actor, only to dis-

cover that in any other sort of play he was no better than anybody

else.

When Michael joined the company Julia had been playing in Mid-

dlepool for a year. Jimmie started him with Marchbanks in Candida.

It was the happy choice one would have expected him to make, for

in that part his great beauty was an asset and his lack of warmth no

disadvantage.

Julia reached over to take out the first of the cardboard cases in

which Michael's photographs were kept. She was sitting comfortably

on the floor. She turned the early photographs over quickly, looking

for that which he had taken when first he came to Middlepool; but

when she came upon it, it gave her a pang. For a moment she felt

inclined to cry. It had been just like him then. Candida was being

played by an older woman, a sound actress who was cast generally

for mothers, maiden aunts or character parts, and Julia with nothing

to do but act eight times a week attended the rehearsals. She fell in

love with Michael at first sight. She had never seen a more beautiful

young man, and she pursued him relentlessly. In due course Jimmie

put on Ghosts, braving the censure of respectable Middlepool, and

Michael played the boy and she played Regina. They heard one

another their parts and after rehearsals lunched, very modestly, to-

gether so that they might talk of them. Soon they were inseparable.

Julia had little reserve; she flattered Michael outrageously. He was

not vain of his good looks, he knew he was handsome and accepted

compliments, not exactly with indifference, but as he might have ac-

cepted a compliment on a fine old house that had been in his family

for generations. It was a well-known fact that it was one of the best

houses of its period, one was proud of it and took care of it, but it

was just there, as natural to possess as the air one breathed. He

was shrewd and ambitious. He knew that his beauty was at present

his chief asset, but he knew it could not last for ever and was deter-

mined to become a good actor so that he should have something

besides his looks to depend on. He meant to learn all he could from

Jimmie Langton and then go to London.

" If I play my cards well I can get some old woman to back me and

go into management. One's got to be one's own master. That's the

only way to make a packet. "

Julia soon discovered that he did not much like spending money,

and when they ate a meal together, or on a Sunday went for a small

excursion, she took care to pay her share of the expenses. She did

not mind this. She liked him for counting the pennies, and, inclined

to be extravagant herself and always a week or two behind with her

rent, she admired him because he hated to be in debt and even with

the small salary he was getting managed to save up a little every

week. He was anxious to have enough put by so that when he went

to London he need not accept the first part that was offered him, but

could afford to wait till he got one that gave him a real chance. His

father had little more than his pension to live on, and it had been a

sacrifice to send him to Cambridge. His father, not liking the idea of

his going on the stage, had insisted on this.

" If you want to be an actor I suppose I can't stop you, " he said,

" but damn it all, I insist on your being educated like a gentleman. "

It gave Julia a good deal of satisfaction to discover that Michael's

father was a colonel, it impressed her to hear him speak of an an-

cestor who had gambled away his fortune at White's during the Re-

gency, and she liked the signet ring Michael wore with the boar's he-

ad on it and the motto: Nemo me impune lacessit.

" I believe you're prouder of your family than of looking like a Gre-

ek god, " she told him fondly.

" Anyone can be good-looking, " he answered, with his sweet smile,

" but not everyone can belong to a decent family. To tell you the

truth I'm glad my governor's a gentleman. "

Julia took her courage in both hands.

" My father's a vet. "

For an instant Michael's face stiffened, but he recovered himself

immediately and laughed.

" Of course it doesn't really matter what one's father is. I've often

heard my father talk of the vet in his regiment. He counted as an of-

ficer of course. Dad always said he was one of the best. "

And she was glad he'd been to Cambridge. He had rowed for his

College and at one time there was some talk of putting him in the

university boat.

" I should have liked to get my blue. It would have been useful to

me on the stage. I'd have got a lot of advertisement out of it. "

Julia could not tell if he knew that she was in love with him. He ne-

ver made love to her. He liked her society and when they found

themselves with other people scarcely left her side. Sometimes they

were asked to parties on Sunday, dinner at midday or a cold, sump-

tuous supper, and he seemed to think it natural that they should go

together and come away together. He kissed her when he left her at

her door, but he kissed her as he might have kissed the middle-aged

woman with whom he had played Candida. He was friendly, good-

humoured and kind, but it was distressingly clear that she was no

more to him than a comrade. Yet she knew that he was not in love

with anybody else. The love-letters that women wrote to him he re-

ad out to Julia with a chuckle, and when they sent him flowers he

immediately gave them to her.

" What blasted fools they are, " he said. " What the devil do they

think they're going to get out of it? "

" I shouldn't have thought it very hard to guess that, " said Julia

dryly.

Although she knew he took these attentions so lightly she could

not help feeling angry and jealous.

" I should be a damned fool if I got myself mixed up with some wo-

man in Middlepool. After all, they're mostly flappers. Before I knew

where I was I'd have some irate father coming along and saying,

now you must marry the girl. "

She tried to find out whether he had had any adventures while he

was playing with Benson's company. She gathered that one or two

of the girls had been rather inclined to make nuisances of themsel-

ves, but he thought it was a terrible mistake to get mixed up with

any of the actresses a chap was playing with. It was bound to lead

to trouble.

" And you know how people gossip in a company. Everyone would

know everything in twenty-four hours. And when you start a thing li-

ke that you don't know what you're letting yourself in for. I wasn't

risking anything. "

When he wanted a bit of fun he waited till they were within a re-

asonable distance of London and then he would race up to town and

pick up a girl at the Globe Restaurant. Of course it was expensive,

and when you came to think of it, it wasn't really worth the money;

besides, he played a lot of cricket in Benson's company, and golf

when he got the chance, and that sort of thing was rotten for the

eye.

Julia told a thumping lie.

" Jimmie always says I'd be a much better actress if I had an affa-

ir. "

" Don't you believe it. He's just a dirty old man. With him, I suppo-

se. I mean, you might just as well say that I'd give a better perfor-

mance of Marchbanks if I wrote poetry. "

They talked so much together that it was inevitable for her at last

to learn his views on marriage.

" I think an actor's a perfect fool to marry young. There are so

many cases in which it absolutely ruins a chap's career. Especially if

he marries an actress. He becomes a star and then she's a millstone

round his neck. She insists on playing with him, and if he's in mana-

gement he has to give her leading parts, and if he engages some-

one else there are most frightful scenes. And of course, for an act-

ress it's insane. There's always the chance of her having a baby and

she may have to refuse a damned good part. She's out of the public

eye for months, and you know what the public is, unless they see

you all the time they forget that you ever existed. "

Marriage? What did she care about marriage? Her heart melted

within her when she looked into his deep, friendly eyes, and she shi-

vered with delightful anguish when she considered his shining, rus-

set hair. There was nothing that he could have asked her that she

would not gladly have given him. The thought never entered his lo-

vely head.

" Of course he likes me, " she said to herself. " He likes me better

than anyone, he even admires me, but I don't attract him that way. "

She did everything to seduce him except slip into bed with him,

and she only did not do that because there was no opportunity. She

began to fear that they knew one another too well for it to seem

possible that their relations should change, and she reproached her-

self bitterly because she had not rushed to a climax when first they

came in contact with one another. He had too sincere an affection

for her now ever to become her lover. She found out when his birth-

day was and gave him a gold cigarette case which she knew was the

thing he wanted more than anything in the world. It cost a good deal

more than she could afford and he smilingly reproached her for her

extravagance. He never dreamt what ecstatic pleasure it gave her

to spend her money on him. When her birthday came along he gave

her half a dozen pairs of silk stockings. She noticed at once that

they were not of very good quality, poor lamb, he had not been able