Both Pauline and Petrova stammered out something about meaning to work very hard; but Petrova thought to herself, that though of course she was very glad to help the hospital, it was not because she was Russian; for she was British by adoption, and had taken a British name, and felt very British inside.
They went home on the tube, and Pauline told them all the story of ‘The Blue Bird’, as she was the only one who knew it.
‘It’s about two children,’ she explained, ‘called Tyltyl and Mytyl. Tyltyl is a boy and Mytyl a girl.’
‘That’s a pity,’ Nana interrupted: ‘with your hair you’d make the better girl, and Petrova the boy.’
Pauline shook her head.
‘The boy’s the eldest, and has most to say. It tells all the places they go to look for a blue bird which really means happiness.’
‘Did they find a blue bird?’ Posy asked.
‘Yes. It was at their home all the time. Tyltyl’s dove. It was blue, but they’d never noticed.’
‘Where do we look for it?’ Petrova wanted to know.
‘In the Land of Memory; that’s where the children’s grandfather and grandmother and their brothers and sisters who have died, live. And with Night. And amongst the children who aren’t born. And with the dead people. In the end Tyltyl’s dove flies away, and Tyltyl says to the people who are watching the play: “If any of you should find him, would you be so very kind as to give him back to us?…We need him for our happiness later on.…“ ‘
If it had not been for Doctor Jakes, Petrova would not have kept the part of Mytyl. Naturally, in a school training children to be professional actresses and dancers, a high standard was not only expected, but insisted on. Three days after the rehearsal of any scene the children had to be word-perfect, and might not open their books even when off stage. At the rehearsals, before they had to be word-perfect, every single move that they made had to be written into their books, and learnt with their parts; and the stage manager at the same time wrote it into her book, and there it was, a part of the prompt copy, and even half a step taken when no move was down to be made caused trouble. Of course they had to speak the exact script. No little word, even ‘an’ or a ‘the’, could be wrong. Both Madame and Miss Jay said that an author wrote down what he or she wanted said, and no actor, amateur or professional, had a right to alter the words in any way whatsoever.
None of thesé things would have worried Petrova. If you know you have got to learn a thing by heart and that it has to be absolutely accurate, any child can learn it: it is only a matter of concentrating. Acting the part when you have learnt it is a different matter. Pauline had a natural gift for saying a line right. Petrova could just as easily say a line wrong. If she had been left to learn the part of Mytyl only at the Academy rehearsals, she could not have done it. Except in the first scene, and the graveyard scene, when she and Pauline were alone on the stage, there were always the grown-ups, for all the ‘things’ that accompanied the children on their search for the blue bird were played by ex-students, some of them very distinguished ones.
Petrova, already shy and nervous, would have been quite unable to remember her words, or how to say them in front of these people, if it had not been for Doctor Jakes. With lessons all the mornings and rehearsals from four to six every day, and from ten to one on Saturdays, it was not easy to find time to work with her; but somehow it was squeezed in. She had the half hour after breakfast that had been the time when Theo took them all for extra exercises, and she managed to steal half an hour out of lesson time most days. She believed that nobody could say a line wrong if they thought what they were saying. She believed, too, that it was quite easy to behave like a natural child on the stage if you thought all the time so hard that you forgot youself. In the opening of ‘The Blue Bird’, where the children are in bed, Petrova found it difficult to forget that she was Petrova sitting on a sofa meant to be a bed, rehearsing a part, and to think only that she was Mytyl, the daughter of a poor woodcutter.
Tyltyl. Mytyl?
Mytyl. Tyltyl?
Tyltyl. Are you asleep?
Mytyl. Are you?…
Tyltyl. No; how can I be asleep when I’m talking to you?
Mytyl. I say, is this Christmas Day?…
Tyltyl. Not yet; not till tomorrow. But Father Christmas won’t bring us anything this year….
Mytyl. Why not?
Tyltyl. I heard Mummy say that she couldn’t go to town to tell him…. But he will come next year.
Mytyl. Is next year far off?…
Tyltyl. A good long while…. But he will come to the rich children tonight….
Mytyl. Really?…
Tyltyl. Hullo!…Mummy’s forgotten to put out the lamp!…I’ve an idea!…
Mytyl. What?
Tyltyl. Let’s get up….
Mytyl. But we mustn’t….
Tyltyl. Why, there’s no one about.…Do you see the shutters?…
Mytyl. Oh, how bright they are!…
Tyltyl. It’s the lights of the party.
Mytyl. What party?…
Tyltyl. The rich children opposite. It’s the Christmas-tree. Let’s open the shutters….
Mytyl. Can we?…
Tyltyl. Of course; there’s no one to stop us…. Do you hear the music?…Let us get up….
[The two CHILDREN get up, run to one of the
windows, climb on to the stool and throw
back the shutters. A bright light fills the
room. The CHILDREN look out greedily.]
Tyltyl. We can see everything!…
Mytyl (who can hardly find room on the stool). I can’t….
Tyltyl. It’s snowing!…There’s two carriages, with six horses each!…
Mytyl. There are twelve little boys getting out!….
Tyltyl. How silly you are!…They’re little girls.…
Mytyl. They’ve got knickerbockers….
Tyltyl. What do you know?…Don’t push so:…
Mytyl. I never touched you.
Tyltyl (who is taking up the whole stool). You’re taking up all the room.
Mytyl. Why, I have no room at all!…
Tyltyl. Do be quiet; I see the tree!…
Mytyl. What tree?…
Tyltyl. Why, the Christmas-tree!…You’re looking at the wall!…
Mytyl. I’m looking at the wall because I’ve got no room….
Tyltyl (giving her a miserly little place on the stool). There!…Will that do?…Now you’re better off than I!…I say, what lots and lots of lights!…
Mytyl. What are those people doing who are making such a noise?…
Tyltyl. They’re the musicians.
Mytyl. Are they angry?…
Tyltyl. No; but it’s hard work.
Mytyl. Another carriage with white horses!…
Tyltyl. Be quiet:…And look!…
Mytyl. What are those gold things there, hanging from the branches?
Tyltyl. Why, toys, to be sure!…Swords, guns, soldiers, cannons….
Mytyl. And dolls; say, are there any dolls?…
Tyltyl. Dolls?…That’s too silly; there’s no fun in dolls….
Mytyl. And what’s that all round the table?…
Tyltyl. Cakes and fruit and tarts….
Mytyl. I had some once when I was little…
Tyltyl. So did I; it’s nicer than bread, but they don’t give you enough.…
Mytyl. They’ve got plenty over there…. The whole table’s full…. Are they going to eat them?…
Tyltyl. Of course; what else would they do with them?
Mytyl. Why don’t they eat them at once?…
Tyltyl. Because they’re not hungry….
Mytyl (stupefied with astonishment). Not hungry?…Why not?…
Tyltyl. Well, they eat whenever they want to….
Mytyl (incredulously). Every day?…
Tyltyl. They say so….
Mytyl. Will they eat them all?…Will they give any away?…
Tyltyl. To whom?…
Mytyl. To us….
Tyltyl. They don’t know us….
Mytyl. Suppose we asked them….
Tyltyl. We mustn’t.
Mytyl. Why not?…
Tyltyl. Because it’s not right.
Mytyl (clapping her hands). Oh, how pretty they are!…
Tyltyl (rapturously). And how they’re laughing and laughing!…
Mytyl. And the little ones dancing!…
Tyltyl. Yes, yes; let’s dance too!…(They stamp their feet for joy on the stool.)
Mytyl. Oh, what fun!…
Tyltyl. They’re getting the cakes!…They can touch them!…They’re eating, they’re eating, they’re eating!…
Mytyl. The tiny ones, too!…They’ve got two, three, four apiece!…
Tyltyl (drunk with delight). Oh, how lovely!…Oh, how lovely, how lovely!…
Mytyl (counting imaginary cakes). I’ve got twelve!…
Tyltyl. And I four times twelve!…But I’ll give you some.
[A knock at the door of the cottage.]
Tyltyl (suddenly quieted and frightened). What’s that?…
Mytyl (scared). It’s Daddy!…
[As they hesitate before opening the door, the
big latch is seen to rise of itself.]
‘You’re being Petrova,’ Doctor Jakes would say, ‘who has just eaten a good breakfast, not Mytyl who never has quite enough to eat, watching other children having more cakes than she has ever seen. “The tiny ones too!…They’ve got two, three, four apiece!”…Come on, you’re Mytyl, pleased that other children shall have cakes, but absolutely amazed that any child can be lucky enough to have four at once.’
To help her Doctor Jakes and Doctor Smith called her Mytyl always at lessons, and arranged for Sylvia to call her Mytyl at meals; Pauline, of course, was Tyltyl; but not like the boy in the play, for she did not do most of the talking, but said things to make Mytyl talk. Geography, History, Arithmetic — it was all the same. Petrova was the child of poor simple people, pleased to think of the wonderful books other children had, and how clever other people were, but not expecting anything much herself. Of course it was easy at meals, because they were rather like the play.
In spite of all the trouble taken by everybody, there were lots of days when she nearly had the part taken away from her. It was she herself who suggested something which made rehearsing much easier. They were doing the very difficult scene in the churchyard:
[It is night. The moon is shining on a country
graveyard. Numerous tombstones, grassy
mounds, wooden crosses, stone slabs, etc. TYLTYL
and MYTYL are standing by a short stone
pillar.]
Mytyl. I am frightened!…
Tyltyl (not too much at his ease). I am never frightened….
Mytyl. I say, are the dead wicked?…
Tyltyl. Why, no, they’re not alive!…
Mytyl. Have you ever seen one?…
Tyltyl. Yes, once, long ago, when I was very young.…
Mytyl. What was it like, say?…
Tyltyl. Quite white, very still and very cold, and it didn’t talk….
Mytyl. Are we going to see them, say?…
Tyltyl. Why, of course, Light said so….
Mytyl. Where are they?…
Tyltyl. Here, under the grass or under those big stones….
Mytyl. Are they there all the year round?…
Tyltyl. Yes.
Mytyl (pointing to the slabs). Are those the doors of their houses?…
Tyltyl. Yes.
Mytyl. Do they go out when it’s fine?…
Tyltyl. They can only go out at night.…
Mytyl. Why?
Tyltyl. Because they are in their shirts.…
Mytyl. Do they go out also when it rains?…
Tyltyl. When it rains they stay at home.…
Mytyl. Is it nice in their homes, say?…
Tyltyl. They say it’s very cramped.…
Mytyl. Have they any little children?…
Tyltyl. Why, yes; they have all those that die….
Mytyl. And what do they live on?…
Tyltyl. They eat roots.…
Mytyl. Shall we see them?…
Tyltyl. Of course; we see everything when I turn the diamond.
Mytyl. And what will they say?…
Tyltyl. They will say nothing, as they don’t talk….
Mytyl. Why don’t they talk?…
Tyltyl. Because they have nothing to say….
Mytyl. Why have they nothing to say?…
Tyltyl. You’re a nuisance….
[A pause]
Mytyl. When will you turn the diamond?
Tyltyl. You heard Light say that I was to wait until midnight, because that disturbs them less….
Mytyl. Why does that disturb them less?…
Tyltyl. Because that is when they go out to take the air….
Mytyl. Is it not midnight yet?…
Tyltyl. Do you see the church clock?…
Mytyl. Yes, I can even see the small hand.…
Tyltyl. Well, midnight is just going to strike…. There!…Do you hear?…
[The clock strikes twelve.]
Mytyl. I want to go away!…
Tyltyl. Not now…. I am going to turn the diamond….
Mytyl. No, no!…Don’t!…I want to go away!…I am so frightened, little brother!…I am terribly frightened!…
Tyltyl. But there is no danger….
Mytyl. I don’t want to see the dead!…I don’t want to see them!…
Tyltyl. Very well, you shall not see them; shut your eyes…
Mytyl (clinging to TYLTYL’S clothes). Tyltyl, I can’t stay!…
No, I can’t possibly!…They are going to come out of the ground!…
Tyltyl. Don’t tremble like that…. They will only come out for a moment….
Mytyl. But you’re trembling too!…They will be awful!…
Tyltyl. It is time, the hour is passing….
[TYLTYL turns the diamond.]
Petrova could not be frightened enough. Miss Jay stopped the rehearsal over and over again.
‘Petrova, dear, remember you are frightened. You are in a churchyard alone with your little brother in the middle of the night, and you know that in a minute or two he is going to turn the diamond on his cap which you think will bring all the ghosts out of their graves. You are cold and shivering….’ She stopped because Petrova was crying. She put her arm round her. ‘Don’t cry because you can’t act, my child; save those tears up for when you are acting. If you could cry like that when you say: “I want to go away!…I am so frightened, little brother!” then we should get something from you; now we get nothing except Petrova saying lines that she has learnt.’
Petrova went on sobbing.
‘I don’t feel like Mytyl,’ she choked, ‘just standing here in uniform looking exactly like Pauline. I don’t even feel she’s my brother; it doesn’t feel like night; if only I was dressed up….’
After that the children were dressed for every rehearsal. They did not wear the actual clothes they would wear at the matinée, of course; but Pauline wore shorts and a shirt, and Petrova an apron and a red-riding-hood cloak over her frock. The clothes made a great difference: as soon as they were put on they were Tyltyl and Mytyl, and though Petrova was still often made to say a sentence ten or twenty times over at each rehearsal, people stopped wondering if she was good enough to play the part.
In the dancing classes the same strenuous work was going on. Even children as small and smaller than Posy were expected to rehearse thirteen hours a week, as well as doing their ordinary lessons. Posy had nothing to say, but she danced as an Hour, and a Star, and she was an unborn child. To her the dancing rehearsals were easy; but they caused a lot of tears among the other children. They were never allowed to forget that they were training for the professional stage, and slovenly work was therefore inexcusable. The dances, once learnt, had to be performed as to timing, en
trance, and sequence of steps. Any child who, after reasonable rehearsal, made a mistake was turned out, and no arguing was allowed; sobs and pleading fell on deaf ears. Even Posy had to concentrate so hard that she usually slept all the way home. Sometimes Petrova and Pauline did, too, but they were rather ashamed when they did. There was some excuse, they thought, for Posy, who would not be eight until September, but none at all for themselves.
Over the making of the clothes Mrs Simpson, Cook, and Clara helped Nana. Each child had three changes. Tyltyl and Mytyl had only night things when the curtain rose; but they then changed into very plain peasant dress, and from that into their grand fairy-tale frocks. Pauline, as Hop O’ My Thumb, had scarlet satin knickers and a pale blue satin coat, and Petrova in Red Riding Hood’s dress — a jade-green satin frock and a black-velvet bodice and white blouse and apron under her scarlet cloak. Posy’s dresses were only little bits of chiffon; but they took time, and time was a thing there was very little of in that house. Even fittings for the dresses had to be squeezed out of time that belonged to walks or meals.
One day at the beginning of July, when the children really had stopped making mistakes at rehearsals, and were so tired of the play that they wished that it had never been written, and so tired from hard work that they thought everybody else was being horrid to them, they went down on to the tube station at Gloucester Road, and there saw the first poster about the matinée. At the top it said all about the hospital, and under that, very large, ‘Matinée of The Blue Bird’, and under that, ‘By Maurice Maeterlinck’; then under that, in small letters, ‘Performed by the students of…’; then in large letters ‘The Children’s Academy of Dancing and Stage Training’; then followed a list of all the famous ex-students who were dancing and acting. Right at the bottom was written ‘Tyltyl…Pauline Fossil’; ‘Mytyl…Petrova Fossil’.
Nana and the three children stared at the poster, reading every word from top to bottom. When they got into the train, Posy expressed the pride that they all felt.
‘To think that we should have our name stuck up in a train!’
CHAPTER VIII
The Matinée
ON the day of the matinée Pauline woke very early, but Petrova was awake before her. Petrova was sitting up in bed with both her hands holding that bit that comes in the middle just below the bottom ribs.
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