Скандинавские заимствования в английском языке

notwithstanding the scintillating performance she had

given during the day; and it was with almost complete

sincerity that with sighs, sad looks and broken sentenc-

es, she made him understand that her life was hollow

and despite the long continued success of her career she

could not but feel that she had missed something. Some-

times she thought of the villa at Sorrento on the bay of

Naples. A beautiful dream. Happiness might have been

hers for the asking, perhaps, she had been a fool; after all

what were the triumphs of the stage but illusion?

Pagliacci. People never realized how true that was; Vesti

la giubba and all that sort of thing. She was desperately

lonely. Of course there was no need to tell Charles that

her heart ached not for lost opportunities, but because a

young man seemed to prefer playing golf with her son to

making love to her.

Michael gave her a swift glance. He smiled a little.

   “I see what you mean, Dolly. I dare say there’s something in what you say and in the circumstances I feel that you have a perfect right to say it. You were awfully good to us when we started and I should hate to see you let down now. I’ll tell you what, I’ll buy you out.”    “Buy me out?”

   Dolly straightened herself and her face, a moment ago rumpled and discomposed, hardened. She was seized with indignation. He went on suavely.

   “I see your point. If Julia’s gadding about all night it must tell on her performances. That’s obvious. She’s got a funny sort of public, a lot of old ladies come to our matinees because they think she’s such a sweet good woman. I don’t mind admitting that if she gets herself unpleasantly talked about it might have some effect on the takings. I know Julia well enough to know that she wouldn’t put up with any interference with her liberty of action. I’m her husband and I’ve got to put up with it. But you’re in a different position altogether. I shouldn’t blame you if you wanted to get out while the going was good.”

   Dolly was alert now. She was far from a fool and when it came to business was a match for Michael. She was angry, but her anger gave her self-control.

   “I should have thought after all these years, Michael, that you knew me better than that. I thought it my duty to warn you, but I’m prepared to take the rough with the smooth. I’m not the woman to desert a sinking ship. I dare say I can afford to lose my money better than you can.”

   It gave her a great deal of satisfaction to see the disappointment that was clearly expressed on Michael’s face. She knew how much money meant to him and she had a hope that what she had said would rankle. He pulled himself together quickly.

She got a batch of them and spent the whole day reading them. Then she was a trifle restless. She walked on the ramparts and looked at the islands that dotted the bay. The grey sky made her sick for the grey sky of England. But by Tuesday morning she had sunk back once more into the calmness of the provincial life. She read a good deal, novels, English and French, that she bought at the local bookshop, and her favourite Verlaine. There was a tender melancholy in his verses that seemed to fit the grey Breton town, the sad old stone houses and the quietness of those steep and tortuous streets.

The peaceful habits of the two old ladies, the routine of their uneventful existence and their quiet gossip, excited her compassion. Nothing had happened to them for years, nothing now would ever happen to them till they died, and then how little would their lives have signified. The strange thing was that they were content. They knew neither malice nor envy. They had achieved the aloofness from the common ties of men that Julia felt in herself when she stood at the footlights bowing to the applause of an enthusiastic audience. Sometimes she had thought that aloofness her most precious possession. In her it was born of pride; in them of humility. In both cases it brought one precious thing, liberty of spirit; but with them it was more secure.

 

She laughed in her sleeve as she thought of poor old Charles devising a simple little trick like that to get her into his bedroom. What mugs men were! Shy, that was what was the matter with them. A sudden pang shot through her heart as she thought of Tom. Damn Tom. Charles really was very sweet and she was determined to reward him at last for his long devotion.

“You’ve been a wonderful friend to me, Charles,” she said in her low, rather husky voice. She turned a little so that her face was very near his, her lips, again like Lady Hamilton’s, slightly open. “I’m afraid I haven’t always been very kind to you.”

She looked so deliciously yielding, a ripe peach waiting to be picked, that it seemed inevitable that he should kiss her. Then she would twine her soft white arms round his neck. But he only smiled.

“You mustn’t say that. You’ve been always divine.” (“He’s afraid, poor lamb.”) “I don’t think anyone has ever been so much in love with me as you were.” He gave her a little squeeze.

“I am still. You know that. There’s never been any woman but you in my life.”

Since, however, he did not take the proffered lips she slightly turned. She looked reflectively at the electric fire. Pity it was unlit. The scene wanted a fire.

“How different everything would have been if we’d bolted that time. Heigh-ho.”

She never quite knew what heigh-ho meant, but they used it a lot on the stage, and said with a sigh it always sounded very sad.

 

She probably hadn't eaten fried potatoes for ten years. But what an occasion it was! By a happy chance on this day she had confirmed her hold on the public by a performance that she could only describe as scintillating, she had settled an old score, by one ingenious device disposing of Avice and making Tom see what a fool he had been, and best of all had proved to herself beyond all question that she was free from the irksome bonds that had oppressed her. Her thought flickered for an instant round Avice.

"Silly little thing to try to put a spoke in my wheel. I'll let her have her laughs tomorrow."

The oysters came and she ate them with enjoyment. She ate two pieces of brown bread and butter with the delicious sense of imperilling her immortal soul, and she took a long drink from the silver tankard.

"Beer, glorious beer," she murmured.

She could see Michael's long face if he knew what she was doing. Poor Michael who imagined she had killed Avice's scene because she thought he was too attentive to that foolish little blonde. Really, it was pitiful how stupid men were. They said women were vain, they were modest violets in comparison with men. She could not but laugh when she thought of Tom. He had wanted her that afternoon, he had wanted her still more that night. It was wonderful to think that he meant no more to her than a stage-hand. It gave one a grand feeling of confidence to be heart-whole.

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, Sudermann, Hankin, Galsworthy. You’ve got magnetism and you don’t seem to have an idea how to use it.” He chuckled (смеяться про себя). “By God, if you had, that old hag (карга) would have had you out of the play you’re in now before 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 dominate 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 wouldn’t mind coming to you for a season.”

“Go to hell. Do you think I can make an actress of you in a season? 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 some 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 like 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 members 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 (дневной спектакль), 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 sleep.” But Jimmie Langton was wrong there.