Chapter 23 Chapter Twenty-Three

Julia felt relieved when she settled on this idea.She thought that she would finally be free from the pain that tormented her, and the pain felt so much better. The notices were posted; Michael formed the cast for a re-enactment of Ace of Hearts and began rehearsing.Julia sat leisurely in the front seat, amused to watch the hired actress rehearse the part that had been her own.When she first started her stage career, she sat in a theater with the lights out and the seats were covered with dust jackets, watching the characters in the play unfold on the actors, and the excitement has never disappeared.She was at peace as long as she was in the theater; she was happier here than anywhere.While watching rehearsals, she could rest so that she would be refreshed in the evening when she performed on her own.

She realized that everything Michael had said was true.She got herself under control.Leaving her personal feelings behind and mastering the characters, she manages to reappear with her original virtuosity.She no longer uses acting as a means of expressing her feelings, but has returned to expressing her creative instincts.She rejoiced secretly in this way of regaining control over the medium of drama.This gave her a sense of strength and liberation. But her successful endeavors had worn her out, so that when she was not at the theater she was bored and discouraged.She has lost her exuberant vitality.A new sense of humiliation came over her.She feels her golden days are over.She sighed to herself that no one needed her anymore.Michael suggested that she go to Vienna and get close to Roger, which she thought would be a good idea, but she shook her head.

I'm just going to get in the way of his way of life. She was afraid that he would dislike her.He was having a good time, and her going would only cause him trouble.She didn't want him to make it a nasty responsibility to take her out for walks and the occasional lunch or dinner with her.Naturally, he should have better fun with the friends he made around his own age. She decided to live with her mother for a while.Mrs. Lambert, whom Michael always insisted on calling her Mrs. de Lambert, had now lived for many years with her sister, Mrs. Fallow, in St. Malo.She comes to London every year to stay with Julia for a few days, but this year she did not come because of her poor health.She was an old lady in her seventies, and Julia knew she would be greatly pleased if her daughter stayed with her any longer.In Vienna, does anyone pay attention to an English actress?She'll be a nobody there.At St. Malo she would be a remarkable figure, and it would be amusing for the two old ladies to present her with pride in the presence of their friends.

My daughter, Britain's greatest actress and whatnot. Poor old ladies, they don't have many more years to live, and they lead a dull life.Of course she would be very bored with them, but it would be a great joy to them.Julia had the feeling that perhaps her mother had been somewhat neglected in the course of her brilliant and successful career.Now she can make up for the shortcomings of the past.She tries to be lovable and lovable.She loved Michael and felt guilty for feeling sorry for him over the years.She deeply felt that she had always been selfish and arrogant, and wanted to redeem her past mistakes.Determined to make the sacrifice, she wrote to inform her mother that she was going to her soon.

She managed very naturally to avoid seeing Tom until the last day in London.The play had closed the night before, and she was to leave for San Malo that evening. Tom came to see her off at six o'clock.Michael was there, and Dolly and Charles.Temery, and one or two others, so the two of them were never alone for a moment.Julia had no difficulty in talking to him naturally.Seeing him did not cause the violent pain she feared it would, she felt only a faint pang of heartache. They did not disclose the date or place of her departure, which means that the theater newsman only called a few newspapers, so that when Julia and Michael arrived at the station there were only five or six journalists and three photographers at the station.Julia said a few polite words to them, Michael said a few more, and then the correspondent took the reporters aside and announced Julia's plan to them briefly.At the same time, Julia and Michael posed for photographers to take photos of their final kiss, arm in arm, under the flashlight. Finally, Julia leaned half out of the car window and reached out to shake Michael's hand on the platform.

These people are such a nuisance, she said, there's no way to get away from them. I don't understand how they knew you were leaving. The small group of people who had gathered to find out what had happened stood there politely at a distance.The theater correspondent came forward and told Michael that he thought he had given the reporters enough material for a long column.The train leaves the station. Julia is not happy to take Evie with her.She had an idea that in order to regain her peace she would have to cut herself off from her old life for a while.Evie would be out of place in that French family.It turned out that Mrs. Farrow, Julia's Aunt Carrie, had married a Frenchman as a girl, and was now a very old, very old lady, who spoke French better than English.She has been widowed for many years.Her only son was killed in the war (Note: Refers to World War I.).She lived in a tall narrow stone house on a hill, and as soon as you stepped through the cobbled street you entered a peaceful world of a bygone era.Nothing has changed here in half a century.

The living room was furnished with a set of Louis XV furniture with covers that were removed only once a month to brush the silk coverings beneath.The crystal chandelier was draped with muslin to keep the flies from staining it.In front of the fireplace was a fire-blocking partition, delicately woven of peacock feathers and covered with glass.Although the room was never used, Aunt Carrie cleaned it every day herself. The dining-room was paneled, and the chairs here, too, were covered with dust covers.On the sideboard were a silver fruit bowl, a silver coffeepot, a silver teapot, and a silver plate.

Aunt Carrie and Mrs Lambert, Julia's mother, lived in the Morning Room, a long narrow room furnished with French Empire furniture.On the walls, in oval frames, were portraits of Aunt Carrie with her late husband and his parents in oils, and a pastel portrait of her late son as a child.Here they kept their sewing boxes, here they read the papers, the Catholic Cross, the Two Worlds Review and the local daily, and here they played dominoes at night.They always ate there, except on Thursday evenings, when the abbé and Captain Lagarde, a retired naval officer, came to supper; Aunt Carrie still mourned her husband and son.She wasn't too hot to wear the little black sweater she had crocheted herself.Mrs. Lambert was also in black mourning, but when Monsieur Abbe and the Captain came to supper she threw over her shoulders a white mesh scarf which Julia had given her.After dinner, they played Plafon (Note: A card game popular in France in the 1920s, the predecessor of contract bridge.), winning or losing in two sous (Note: Sou (sou) is an old French currency) , twenty sous to one franc.) calculation.Mrs. Lambert has lived in Jersey for a long time and has often visited London so far, so she has a lot of experience. She said that there is a card game called contract bridge that is very popular, but the captain said that the Americans are not bad at it. He'd be content with playing Plavon, but the priest said he personally thought it was a pity that no one played whist.But when it comes to this issue, people are never satisfied with what they have, but always demand change, change, change.

Julia sent expensive presents to her mother and aunt every Christmas, but they never used them.These presents, these precious things from London, they showed their friends with pride, and wrapped them in crepe paper, and kept them away in little cupboards. Julia had wanted to buy her mother a car, but she was determined not to.They seldom go out, they can walk as much as they want, the hired driver will steal their gas, the expense is unbearable if he eats out, and it makes Anita uneasy if he eats at home.Anita was cook, housekeeper, and maid.She had been with Aunt Carrie thirty-five years.Her niece, Angel, was doing heavy work here, but she was still young, not yet forty, so it wasn't quite right to have a man in the house all the time.

They let Julia live in the very same room in which she had gone to school at Aunt Carrie's as a child.It gave her a peculiar kind of heart-rending sentimentality, and for a moment it did stir her deeply.However, she quickly adapted to life here. Aunt Carrie became a Catholic by marriage, and Mrs. Lambert, who came to St. Malo after her husband's death, was enlightened by the priest and finally took the same path.These two old ladies were very religious.They went to mass together every morning and high mass on Sundays.Besides, they rarely go out.If you go out occasionally, it is not because of the death of an old lady in the family, or because of the engagement of a grandchildren, so you will pay a courtesy visit.They read newspapers, they read magazines, they did a great deal of sewing to help the poor, they played dominoes, and they listened to the radio Julia had given them.Although the priest and the captain had come to their house every Thursday for dinner for many years, they were always in a state of panic when Thursday came.They were not surprised that the captain had a sailor's outspoken temper, and he would not hesitate to say when something was not cooked to his liking, and even the priest, saintly as he was, had his likes and dislikes.For example, he loves Norman plate fish very much, but he must cook it with the best butter, which is very expensive after the war.Every Thursday morning Aunt Carrie took the key of the cellar from her hiding place, and went into the cellar herself to fetch a bottle of claret.The two sisters drank the leftovers in a week.

They took every possible interest in Julia.They prepared medicinal tea for her to take, and tried their best not to let her sit in a place where they thought it might be drafty.Indeed, they spend a large part of their lives avoiding drafts.They let her lie on the sofa, paying special attention to covering her feet.They discussed with her what clothes to wear.Those stockings were so thin you could see inside; and what was she wearing next to her?Aunt Carrie would not be surprised to find her in nothing but a sleeveless wide underpants. She wasn't even wearing that, Mrs Lambert said. So what is she wearing? Briefs, Julia said. Always wear a bra, I suppose? Of course not, Julia said sharply. So, my niece, are you naked under this dress? Indeed. This is ridiculous, said Aunt Carrie. This is outrageous, my daughter, said Mrs Lambert. I don't mean to be prudish, added Aunt Carrie, but I must say it's not very decent. Julia showed them her dress, and on the first Thursday after her arrival they discussed what she should wear to dinner.Aunt Carrie and Mrs. Lambert argued violently with each other.Mrs. Lambert thought her daughter should wear one, since she had several evening dresses, while Aunt Carrie thought it unnecessary. When I used to come to Jersey to see you, my dears, and some gentlemen came to dinner, I remember you always put on a tea dress. The tea party dress is certainly suitable. They looked at Julia hopefully.She shook her head. I'd rather wear a shroud than a tea party dress. Aunt Carrie wore a heavy black silk turtleneck dress with a string of black marble beads, and Mrs Lambert wore nearly the same dress, but with her mesh shawl and a A necklace of artificial gemstones.The Captain was a sturdy little man, wrinkled, with white hair cropped in a flat top, and a dignified mustache dyed jet black, and a stately man, who, though well over seventy, squeezed Julia's feet under the table at dinner.When he left, he took the opportunity to screw her ass. Sexy, Julia murmured, solemnly following the two old ladies into the drawing room. They're running around for her, not because she's a great actress, but because she's in poor health and needs to rest.Julia was soon shocked to see that they were not valued by her success, but embarrassed.They never wanted to show her off, and on the contrary, they didn't offer to take her out to visit relatives and friends. Aunt Carrie had brought the custom of afternoon tea from Jersey, and had not abandoned it.One day, shortly after Julia's arrival, they invited some of the ladies to tea; and Mrs Lambert said to her daughter at lunch thus: We have some very good friends at St. Malo, my dear, but of course, after all these years, they still see us as foreigners, so we don't wish to do anything that might be considered queer by them.We don't want you to tell lies, of course, but unless you absolutely must, your Aunt Carrie thinks it best not to tell anyone that you're an actress. Julia was startled, but her sense of humor overcame the surprise, and she almost laughed. If some of our friends who are looking forward to coming this afternoon ask you what your husband does by the way, and you say he is in business, wouldn’t that be a lie? It's true, Julia said, allowing herself to smile a little. Of course we also know that English actresses are not the same as French actresses, Aunt Carrie said kindly, that it is almost self-evident that French actresses have lovers. Oh my God, said Julia. Her life in London, with all its excitement and triumph and pain, gradually seemed more and more remote.Before long she felt that she could consider Tom and her feelings for him with equanimity.She realized that it was her vanity that was hurt more than her heart.Here, every day is monotonous.Before long, the only thing that reminded her of London was the Sunday London papers that came every Monday.She took a big stack and read them all day.She just got a little restless.She went for a walk on the embankment that surrounded the castle, looking out at the dotted islands in the bay.The gray skies there made her miss the gray skies of England.But on Tuesday morning, she was immersed in the tranquility of provincial life again.She read a great deal, the long novels, both English and French, which she bought in the local bookstore, and her favorite Verlaine.There is a faint melancholy in his poems, which seems to be suitable for this gray city of Brittany, for those gloomy old stone Houses and quiet streets that are steep and winding. The quiet habits, the uneventful daily life, and the quiet gossip of the two old ladies aroused her sympathy.Nothing has happened to them all these years, and nothing will happen to them until they die. In this case, how meaningless their lives are.Strangely enough, they were content.They know neither resentment nor envy.They had reached that level of detachment from ordinary human relationships that Julia felt when she stood in front of the stage and bowed to the applauding audience.Sometimes she considers this sense of detachment her most valuable asset.In her it came from pride, in them from humility.Both of them bring the same precious thing to people, that is, spiritual freedom; it is only stronger in these two old ladies. Michael wrote her once a week, straight business letters, reporting on the Siddons box-office receipts and the preparations he was making for the next play; but Charles.But Temery sent her a letter every day.He told her the gossip that was going on in London, and he told her with elegance and sweetness about the pictures he had seen and the books he had read.He quoted the scriptures cordially and happily, and showed his profound knowledge in his laughter.He talks about philosophy without being pedantic.He confides in her that he loves her.These letters are the most beautiful love letters Julia has ever received, and she decided to keep them well for passing on to future generations.Maybe one day someone will print them, and people will go to the National Portrait Gallery (Note: Established in London in 1856, opened to the public in 1859, focusing on displaying portraits of famous people throughout the ages.) to go and look at her The portrait of McEvoy (Note: British portrait painter.) Painted the one, I sigh when I think of her being the heroine of this pathetic, romantic love story. Charles had been so kind to her during the first fortnight after the loss of Tom that she had no idea what she would do without him.He is always there when called upon.His talk transported her into another world and eased her nerves.Her soul was once trapped in the mud, and she washed herself of the mud in his noble spirit.Going to art galleries with him and looking at paintings has a great effect on stabilizing the mood.She should very much be grateful to him.She recalled the long years he had always loved her.He has been waiting for her for more than twenty years.She hadn't been nice to him.If he had her, it would give him so much happiness, and indeed it would do her no harm.She did not know why she had been rejecting him for so long.Maybe it's because he is too loyal, because he is so devoted and humble, maybe it's just because she wants him to keep the ideal in his mind forever.This is really stupid, she is so selfish. She thought with sudden joy that at last she could repay all his affection, his patience, and his selflessness.She had not forgotten the sense of meanness Michael's great concern had aroused in her, and she still regretted her chronic impatience with him.The self-sacrifice she had resolved to make when she left England was still burning fervently in her breast.She felt that Charles was the one worthy of her wish.She pictured his astonishment when he understood her purpose, and smiled kindly and sympathetically; for a moment he would not believe it, and what joy, what ecstasy would follow! The love he had accumulated for her all these years would burst through the floodgates like a mighty torrent, drowning her in the flood.Thinking of his infinite gratitude, her heart suddenly swelled.But he will still not be able to believe his good luck; when the good thing happens, she will lie in his arms and whisper next to him: Was it worth the wait? You are like Helen, a kiss makes me live forever (Note). (Note) The play "The Tragedy of Doctor Faustus" by the British playwright and poet Christopher Marlowe (Christopher Marlowe, 1564︱1593) is quoted: Lovely Helen, let me live forever with a kiss.Helen is the Helen of Troy in Greek mythology, the wife of the king of Sparta, who was abducted by the Trojan prince Paris, which caused the Trojan War. It is incredible to be able to give such a great happiness to someone. I was going to write to him before I left San Malo, she made up her mind. Spring went to summer, and at the end of July it was time for Julia to go to Paris to see her dresses.Michael is set to start a new play in early September, with rehearsals starting in mid-August.She had taken the script with her to Saint-Malo to study her part, but the circumstances of her life here prevented her from doing so.She had plenty of free time, but in this gray, austere, but comfortable little town, with those two old ladies, whose concerns were nothing more than the parish church and their domestic affairs, in such an environment, Although the script was brilliant, she was not interested in it. I should go back, she said, and I'm not going to die seriously thinking that theaters aren't worth the fuss and trouble. She said goodbye to her mother and Aunt Carrie.They had treated her very well, but she had a feeling that when she was gone they could go back to the life she had disrupted and not regret it.And they could rest assured that there was no longer any danger of any of the eccentricities which, with actresses, one must always guard against, which would excite the wrath of the ladies of Saint-Malo. Arriving in Paris in the afternoon, she breathed a sigh of satisfaction when she was shown to a room she had reserved at the Ritz.It is a great pleasure to come back to the luxury life.Three or four people have already sent flowers.She took a shower and changed clothes.Charlie.De Vril, the tailor who has been making clothes for her, is also her old friend who is visiting and wants to take her to the forest park (Note: Boulogne Forest Park, on the banks of the Seine River in the west of Paris, was originally a forest land, and later opened up as an amusement park. area.) for dinner. I had a good time, she told him, and of course I was with the old ladies and they were very happy, but I think I'd be bored if I stayed another day. Driving down the Champs-Elysées on such a wonderful evening filled her with joy.He smelled the gasoline smell again, and felt quite happy.The private cars, the taxis, the honking horns, the chestnut trees, the street lamps, the passing people on the sidewalks, the crowds sitting outside the cafes; the sight was intoxicating.They arrived at such a joyful, highly civilized, and luxurious villa in Madrid, and they thought it was wonderful to see again the richly dressed and well-made women, and the brown-faced men in tuxedos. I feel like a queen returning from exile. Julia happily spent several days shopping for clothes and trying on first samples of those she had made to order.She enjoyed every minute of it.But she was a woman of character, had made a decision, and had to do it; so she wrote a short letter to Charles before returning to London.He went to Goodwood (Note: An aristocratic territory near Chichester, Sussex, southeastern England, with a famous racecourse.) and Cowes (Note: A harbor in the northwest of Wyde Island in southern England, with sea water Baths and yacht races.) Been there, will stay in London for twenty-four hours on the way to Salzburg (Note: A city in northern Austria, a summer resort.). dear charles, See you soon, how happy it is.I'm free on Wednesday, how about having dinner?you still love me? your julia As she sealed the envelope, she murmured to herself: Bis dat qui cito dat. (Note: Latin, which means giving quickly is better than giving twice, is a common term in charity.) When Michael meets charitable organizations and asks him to donate money, he always quotes this when he sends back half of the amount he hopes to donate. A Latin proverb.