THE LOST DAUPHIN- EMLYN WILLIAMS'S NEW PLAY

Hawke's Bay Herald-Tribune, Issue 137, 26 June 1937, Page 16

THE LOST DAUPHIN- EMLYN WILLIAMS'S NEW PLAY

Mr. Jolm Gielgud, Mr. Emlyn WilJiams. and I were having lunch. before tbey le±t for Glasgow, wbere Mr. Emlyn Williams 'e new play, "He Was Born Gay^" is being produced with Mr. Gielgud in the ciiief part (wiites a correspondent of the Eondon Observer). "And when did you write it, Mr. Williams?" "When I was still playing in ' Night Must Fall.' You see, I've wanted to write a part for Gielgud for some time. And then one day an idea struck rne, "What idea?" "I was going home on the tube one uight, and I saw a woman readang a hook called 'The Lost Dauphin. ' 1 hadnJt' the faintest idea who the lost Dauphin was, but the next day 1 began to do some research work. The whol«i thing intrigued me." "And who was the lost Dauphin?" "The son of Louis XVI. There are all sorts of legends about him; even three graves. One account says that after his parents were guillotined, he grew up in the eare of his ja-ilors. ,Another that his captors purpo'sely negleeted him until he died at about the age of ten. A third that he was murdered. A fourth that a second boy was substituted in his place." He pauses to ask the waiter a third time for some ginger beer. . "Immediately," says the waiter. American Theory. "And which of these stories do you believe is true?" "I met a professor in America, " Eays Mr. Gielgud, "who had an interesting theory. According to hira some aged woman made a confession on her rleathbed. She said ehe was the' daughter of the Dauphin 's jailor, and that the boy was brought up m her family. ' ' "I don't know which of the stories is true," says Mr. Williams, "and from my point of view that is not xeally important. I've not attempted to be word perfect historically, you know." ' ' Quite the contrary," says'Mr. Gielgud, "and that 's one of the things I like ^,bout at. It's not on the same Iines as 'Richard of Bordeaux,' which 6ticks to certain definite historical facts. Nor like 'The Man with the Load of Mischief,' which is pure fantasy. This play ds a combination of both." " With Marie Antoinette as the villain?" "No, she doesn't come into it. Williams hasn't brought any famous people on to the stage. That's so sensible. A great man is always a bit of a disappointment on the stage^ don't you think? You go to the theatre with some definite point of view, and then when your hero appears he looks all rather prosalc, ordinary, matter-of-fact. The thing to do is to keep thein in the background, so that the audicnce gets an impression of concealed power. I think the good dramatists always did that." " Shakespear c ! " Pictitious Story. "Yes, but then Shakespeare is a law unto himeelf. And, anyway, Shakespeare 's scenes generally take place either before a battle or just after one. He very rarely shows you the great event itself. And the result is that you have the curious feeling that if you were to walk off the stage, you would immediately come into a dramatic world from which the chaTacters have just emerged, and to which they will ehortly return. The stage doesn 't exist, as it were, suspended in a vacuum." "As regards my play," says Mr. Williams, hastily dissociating himself from Shakespeare^ "I've made up a perfectly fictitious story about the Dauphin. I've brought Mm over to England, and in the first act you see him ais a music master dn an English family." For the fourth time He asks the waiter for a bottle of ginger beer. "Immediately," says the waiter. "It is all very interesting, " you say "but I don't see why this should be a particularly good part for Mr. Gielgud." s "It's a part I like to. play," says Mr. Gielgud, answering the point himself. "It's costumo, it's poetic, it's romantic." He pauses. "You know, I wanted very much lo get away from tlie classics. It's marvcllous, of course, to have a chance lo be ih a part like Hamlet, but on the other hand it doesn't do to go on playing Shakespeare too long. Your pub: lic puts you in a definite category, and there you are. Forever and forever." "And «o you're pleased to be breaking fresb ground ? ' ' "Yes, pleased — but nervous." "Nervous?" "Waiter," says Mr. Williams, "will you bring me some ginger beer." "Immediately.'^ says the waiter. You return to the eharge. "But why nervous?" Young Dreams. "I always am. No, always' is un true. When I was first staTting, T userl to go down to the theatre ae happy as nnything, my mind full of the most glorious hopes. Perhaps the star would fall down and break his neck. You would have your great chance. The audienee would be' stunned bv your genius. Managera with immense chequss would nueue un o'ltsido your dressingroom. Mr. Gielgud^' they would say,

' will you please, please do the part for a couple of million?' But now " "Now?" "Now there is a feeling of responsibility. I 6uppose one has more to lose. Perhaps it is because one is older. I don't know." "Yet I feel that the responsibility which rests on the star is less than it used to be," says Mr. Williams. "The public won't just go and see a play because Smith or Jones happens to be the leading man." "But all your productions ran for a long time, Mr. Gielgud?" ' ' Yes, ' but the plays were all good. And so they ran. And ran. And ran. " "And you got bored, I suppose?" "That's a difficult question, isn't it ? I think a number of short runs are just as bad as a series of long ones. • But there are compensations during a, long run. - There 's nothing about • the part that you don't know. No eubtleties that you cabnot bring out on tliose evenings when you have a really synipathetic audienee." • ' ' And when you have a hostile one ? " ' ' Oh, the^ only thing to do then is to relax. -It is no good getting angry. Or rigid— like this. You must be — like that." They 'find it is time to go. Hats and eoats. are seized. After they have gone the waiter arrives with Mr. Williams 's ginger beer. -"I'm.afraid he's gone, waiter." "Gone? .Ah, well," he stdds phjlosophically, " some people seem to bs in a terrible hurry in these days." And he bears it- away.