Then came The Ruined Lady; again Aubrey Smith and I were together. It was during the run of this play that I first met Sir Ernest Shackleton. I found him, as I think I have said elsewhere, delightfully unaffected and modest. He had a plan that Harry should turn his book, South, into a film, but the scheme never materialised. Our Canadian tour followed, and when I came back I found Mr. Norman McKinnel waiting for me to play in Sir Ernest Cochran’s play, A Matter of Fact, at the Comedy Theatre, a strong part of emotion which I thoroughly enjoyed. This was followed by my first white-haired part at the St. James’s, in The Bat, the play that made everybody who saw it thrill with excitement. This play had a long run, and during that time I played in a film, Flames of Passion, which led to my recent visit to Berlin to play in Chu Chin Chow for the same firm.
There, then, is the account of my life, as truthfully as I can record it. For I have never kept diaries, and have had to rely on what, I find, is not always as reliable as I could wish—my memory. And yet sometimes it is too fertile, too ready to remind me, to prompt me to remember fresh stories. Now, when I feel that I have finished and made an end, other recollections come to me, and I am tempted to begin all over again.
I have at least two in my mind now, which I must give you, though they have no bearing on what I have been writing. Still, after all, I am not attempting to give an accredited autobiography; I am only trying to tell things that happened. So here are the stories which refuse to be left out, or be put in their proper place in another chapter:
Camera Study by Florence Vandamon, London. To face p. [72]
Miss Van Gorder
“The Bat”
Sir Herbert Tree.—One night, during a performance at His Majesty’s, he walked on to the stage just as the curtain was going up. Suddenly he saw, standing at the far side of the stage, a new member of his company; he crossed over to him and asked, “Is it true that you were once with Granville Barker?” “Yes,” replied the man, nervously, “it is true.” “Oh, my God!” said Tree; then, turning to the stage manager, said, “Ring up.”
Again: The day he was to receive his knighthood, a rehearsal was called in the afternoon. Everyone knew that Tree was being knighted on that day, and much astonishment was expressed. The company assembled on the stage, and after a short time Tree appeared in the full glory of his ceremonial dress. He looked round at the company, slowly, then said: “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen; I don’t think I need detain you any longer. Good-bye,” and left the theatre.
CHAPTER VI
FOR THE DURATION OF THE WAR
“Oh, well, I shall explain to ’em that the country’s at war.”
—The Law Divine.