Charlie Chaplins Own Story

by Charlie Chaplin

  75

  When the donkey had first begun to munch

  the carrots, I would scream from the tail of the

  cart, "Thieves! Thieves! Catch 'im!" and

  spring away, overturning boxes and making a

  great commotion. The coster would leave his

  donkey and come running, excited, and while

  he was wondering what had happened I would

  steal slyly up on the other side of the donkey

  and filch the carrots. The poor beast looked

  reproachfully at me, wagging his ears and

  sometimes braying frightfully, but I ran glee-

  fully away, and sitting concealed beneath a

  wagon, ate his dinner for him to the last bite.

  ...

  The stupid coster, amazed, would scratch his

  head and marvel at the donkey's appetite, but

  I do not remember that he ever failed to run

  at the cry of "Thieves!" or that I ever failed

  to make way with the carrots.

  Several times that winter I screwed up my

  courage to attempt getting work on the stage,

  but after I had walked a long way in the foggy,

  dripping streets, I would be so cold and wet

  and so conscious of my rags and of my dirty

  collar that I turned back to the market again.

  76

  Sometimes at long intervals the people at the

  hospital let me see my mother, but I could not

  bear to look at her, she was so altered and

  seemed so strange. She lay quite still, some-

  times, and would not speak or answer me when

  I called to her, so that I thought she was dead,

  and a great black misery came over me. Some-

  times she turned her head from side to side on

  the pillow and talked to herself in a quick,

  clear voice about blouses, dozens and dozens

  of blouses. She never looked at me or seemed

  to know that I was there, and I came away from

  the hospital so wretched that I wished never to

  go back.

  Still I went again, as often as they would

  let me, and one day a marvelous thing hap-

  pened. The nurse with the flaring white cap

  took me into a little office and showed me a

  letter.

  "A woman brought it here from the lodgings

  where your mother lived," she said. "We read

  it to your mother, but she could not under-

  stand, so we saved it for you."

  She gave it to me and I read it in great

  excitement.

  77

  "Dear mother," it read. "I am coming back

  from Africa. I will be home for Christmas

  Day, with thirty pounds saved, and I am

  bringing grand presents for you, but I will not

  tell you what they are. Tell Charlie to look

  out for his big brother, I have presents for

  him, too. I will be home two months from to-day,

  at Waterloo station at nine o'clock. Be sure

  to have a Christmas pudding ready. Hoping you

  are all well, I am your dutiful son,

  "Sidney.

  "Postscript — It is a shawl, and there are ear-

  rings, too, but I will not tell you what else."

  My heart gave a great leap and seemed to choke

  me, and I trembled so I could not speak. I

  had not thought of Sidney for a long time,

  and now he was coming home with money and

  presents! And thinking of my poor mother,

  who was so ill and could not understand the

  great news, tears came into my eyes so that I

  had to rub them not to let the nurse see. Then

  I saw how dirty I was, and ragged, and was

  ashamed to have Sidney see me.

  78

  The nurse kindly told the day, and comparing it

  with the date of the letter, I saw it was that

  very evening that Sidney would reach London.

  ...

  Quivering with excitement, I begged to see my

  mother again and tell her about it, and when

  they said I might, I could not walk down the

  long ward, but must run in my eagerness.

  " Mother! Mother! Sidney's coming home!

  With presents for you — a shawl, and earrings!"

  I cried. But it was no use. My mother lay there

  with her thin drawn face quite still and would

  not even open her eyes.

  So, with a heavy heart, wondering how I was

  to tell Sidney of all that had occurred, I came

  out of the hospital and tried to make ready for

  going to Waterloo station.

  I washed my face and hands carefully in a

  puddle and dried them upon some straw. Then

  I took some mud and blacked my shoes as well

  as possible, and the toe which showed so that

  it would not be so conspicuous. Then my hands

  must be washed again and my hair combed. I

  smoothed out my wrinkled clothes as well as I

  could and tucked in the torn lining of my cap

  so that it would not show.

  79

  All this took much time, so that it was almost

  dusk before I started to meet Sidney, and I ran

  most of the way, not to be late, hoping that I

  would not miss him in all the confusion of the

  station.

  CHAPTER X

  In which Sidney comes home to find father dead,

  mother too ill to recognize him and me half

  starved and in rags.

  WHEN AT last I arrived, panting, at Waterloo

  station the lamps were already lighted and all

  the place was bright with them. There was

  such a noise of people coming and going and

  so much confusion that, used as I was to the

  turmoil of the market, I hardly knew where to

  go or what to do. Besides, the manner of these

  people was so different and their clothes so

  good that I felt more than ever ashamed of my

  raggedness and doubtful what Sidney would

  think when he saw me.

  However, I was so determined not to miss

  him that I got up courage to ask the way to

  the trains and was waiting there trembling with

  excitement and eagerness when the nine o'clock

  express came in. I had not quite courage

  enough to run forward, but hung back a little,

  keeping my broken shoe with the hole in it

  where my toe showed behind the other and

  looking carefully at each man that passed in

  the hope that he might be Sidney.

  At last I saw him. He was almost seventeen

  then ; big, well-dressed and healthy looking as

  he swung along with his cap pushed back look-

  ing eagerly at every woman in sight, expect-

  ing, I knew, to see my mother. He went by

  me without a glance and I saw his bright clean

  boots and the new glove he wore on the hand

  that held his bag. They seemed to put such a

  distance between us that I let him go past, not

  daring to stop him. I stood there stupidly

  looking at his back.

  Then I realized that he was going, that I

  was losing him, and I ran after him and

  desperately touched his arm. He looked down

  at me impatiently.

  "No, lad," he said sharply, "I will carry the

  bag."

  He went on through the station still watching

  for my
mother, and I followed him, ashamed

  to speak to him again, ragged and dirty as

  I was, and yet not being able to let him go.

  At last he gave up hope of my mother's coming

  to meet him and went outside, where he hailed

  a cab. I stood there beside him trying to

  speak to him and choking while the driver

  opened the cab door and he got in. Then I

  could bear it no longer. I seized the

  door handle and clung to it desperately.

  " 0h, Sidney, don't you know me?" I cried.

  "I'm Charlie."

  He looked at me a minute, surprised, before

  he recognized me. Then his face went white

  and he pulled me into the cab, calling to the

  driver to go on, anywhere.

  "For God's sake, what has happened?" he

  asked.

  "Father's dead and mother's in the parish

  hospital, and I haven't had anywhere to sleep

  or to wash," I blurted out.

  Sidney did not speak for a minute. His face

  seemed to set and harden as I watched it, while

  the cab bumped over the cobbles.

  "How long has this been going on?" he said

  at last, choking over the words.

  "About three months," I said. Then I told

  him as much as I could, tangling it up because

  there was so much to say — about father's death,

  and how my mother had sewed, and why I was

  so dirty because I had no soap and had to sleep

  in the cart, and that I could not make mother

  understand that his letter had come.

  83

  "And I've been — saving my money!" he

  said, once, like a groan, and his hand shook.

  Then he became very brisk and spoke sharply

  to the driver, ordering him where to go.

  ...

  I sat in the cab while he got out to see about

  rooms and then he came back and took me into

  a place that seemed as beautiful as a palace —

  a suite of rooms with lace curtains, and carpets,

  and a piano, and a fireplace. I stood on some

  papers and undressed, while Sidney drew the

  bath for me, and it seemed as unreal as a fairy

  tale.

  "Good heavens, you're starving !" Sidney

  cried when he saw how thin I was, and he sent

  out for hot milk and biscuits. Then, leaving

  me happy with the hot water and soap and

  plenty of clean soft towels, he went out,

  taking my rags done in a bundle.

  When he came back I was sitting wrapped in

  his bathrobe, curling my toes before the fire,

  as happy as I could possibly be. He brought

  new clothes for me, warm underwear and a

  Norfolk suit and new shoes. When I was

  dressed in them, with my hair combed and a

  bright silk tie knotted under a clean white

  collar, I walked up and down, feeling cocky

  enough to speak to a king, except when I saw

  Sidney's white set face and thought of my

  poor mother.

  84

  "I got a permit to see her to-night," Sidney

  said. "I have the cab waiting. I thought

  maybe when she saw the presents I brought —

  and saw you looking so well — she always liked

  you best — "

  So we set out in the cab again for the hos-

  pital. I felt quite grand coming up the steps

  in my new clothes and walked among the nurses,

  who did not recognize me at first, with a

  superior air, speaking to them confidently. I

  led Sidney down the long ward I knew so well,

  holding my head high, but all my new impor-

  tance left me when I saw my mother.

  She lay there with her eyes closed and her

  sweet face so thin, with deep hollows in the

  cheeks and dark marks under her lashes, that

  the old fear hurt my heart and I trembled.

  ...

  "Is she — is she alive?" I asked the nurse.

  "Yes. Speak to her and rouse her if you

  can," she said. Sidney and I leaned over the

  bed and called to her.

  85

  "Mother, look ! Here's Sidney home ! Look,

  mother!" I said cheerily.

  "See, mother dear — all the beautiful pres-

  ents. Wake up and see — it's Christmas!"

  Sidney said, taking her hand. She did not

  seem to hear at first, and then she turned her

  head on the pillow and opened her eyes.

  "Here we are, mother!" we cried happily.

  "All the hard times are over — we'll have

  Christmas together — look at the lovely things

  Sidney's brought — see Charlie's new clothes."

  We tumbled the words together, excited and

  eager.

  "Is — it — morning?" mother said painfully.

  "Three dozen more to sew. He shouldn't keep

  out the money for spots, there were no spots at

  all. Twelve make a dozen, and that's a half-

  crown, and then a dozen more, and then a

  dozen more, and then a dozen more — " She

  did not know us at all.

  Sidney spread over the bed the beautiful

  shawl he had brought for her and put the ear-

  rings in her hand and showed her the comb of

  brilliants for her hair, which the nurses had cut

  away, but she only turned her head restlessly

  on the pillow and talked wildly until the nurse

  told us we must come away.

  86

  We rode back to the rooms, not saying a word.

  Sidney sat with his arm about my shoulders

  and his eyes were hard and bright. When we

  were home again he ordered up a great supper

  of chops and a meat pie and pudding. We sat

  down and he piled my plate high with food.

  Then suddenly he put his arms down on the

  table and began to sob.

  It was terrible. He could not stop. I tried

  to speak to him, but could not, so after a

  moment I got up and went over to the window.

  I stood there leaning my forehead against the

  glass, looking at the lights outside, so miser-

  able that I could not cry. What was the good

  of all this comfort without our mother?

  ...

  Sidney came over after a while and we stood

  together not saying anything for a long

  time. Then he drew a deep breath and said:

  "Well, all we can do is to go on. I suppose we

  must look up a berth for you after you have

  been fed up a bit. What do you want to do?"

  ...

  "I want to be an actor," I answered dully.

  "All right. We'll see what we can do to-

  morrow," he said.

  CHAPTER XI

  In which I vainly make the rounds of the

  theatrical agents ; almost go to sea ; and

  at last get the chance for which I have

  long been yearning.

  NOTHING, I believe, makes so much difference,

  not only with the appearance of a man, but with

  the man himself, as good clothes and a well-

  filled stomach, and this is even more true of a

  boy, who is more sensitive to impressions of

  every sort.

  When I was dressed next morning in my new

  clothes, which already had almost ceased to

  feel strange to me, and had
eaten a breakfast

  so large that Sidney's eyes widened with alarm

  while he watched me, I did not feel at all like

  the shabby boy of the day before. I did a few

  dance steps, in high spirits, and mimicked for

  Sidney's benefit a great many of the market

  people and the coster who had fed his donkey

  carrots. I even assumed a little of my old

  patronizing attitude toward Sidney, who had

  never been considered the clever one of the

  family, and promised him large returns for

  all he had done for me as soon as I should

  become a famous actor.

  This matter of cleverness I believe now to be

  greatly overrated. The clever person is too

  apt to let his cleverness excuse the absence of

  most of the solid qualities of character, and to

  rely on facility and surface brilliance to supply

  the want of industry and prudence. All my

  life I have been going up like a rocket, all

  sparks and a loud noise, and coming down like

  one again, but Sidney has always been the

  steady stand-by of the family, ready to pick

  me out of the mud and start me up again. He

  is the better man of the two.

  That morning, though, after I had eaten his

  breakfast, I could not imagine myself ever in

  need of help again and my mind was full of

  future success on the stage. I could hardly

  wait while he dressed to go with me to the

  agents, and when we were in the streets I

  walked with a swagger, and pointed out the

  sights as if he were only a provincial and I at

  least a capitalist of London.

  89

  I was just twelve then and the law was strict

  against the employment on the stage of chil-

  dren under fourteen, but I do not remember

  that I ever had any difficulty in convincing the

  agents that I was over the legal age. My self-

  confidence and my talent for mimicry were so

  strong that they overcame the impression of

  my small size, and I suppose the month of

  hunger and suffering for my mother had given

  my face an older look.

  In the weeks which followed Sidney's home-

  coming we visited dozens of agents. I climbed

  the long stairs to their offices in a fever of

  expectation and hope; I talked to each agent

  quite confidently, and when he had taken my

  name and address and said he had nothing for

  me at present, I came down again in the depths

  of gloom, so despondent that only a good

  dinner and a visit to the theater would cheer

  me. I always felt that I could play the parts

  much better than any actor I saw, and so I