The Story of “Little Chevalier"

The Man in the Straw Hat. My Story. By Maurice Chevalier. (Odharns. 125. 6d.) "THE miracle of Maurice Chevalier is that, at the age of sixty, he is more accomplished than ever he was. When, only a few

months ago, I saw his one-man performance bewitching a London Hippodrome audience that was still shouting 'Encore' after two hours, I realised that I was watching one of the world'p greatest stage artistes." These are the opening words of a foreword by Hannen Swaffer to this autobiography. I was out of town when Chevalier started his season at the Hippodrome, and he had been appearing for ten days when I sat in amazed admiration watching

the astounding performance of this fine artist. After his last song I went behind to see him. I have known him for many years, and

I have watched the development of his career with particular interest. In all sincerity, I told Maurice that the remarkable performance I had witnessed was unique in my experience, and would take its place in my memory with such outstanding theatrical

recollections as Lucien Guitry's performance of Pasteur, the first time I saw Henry Irving at the Lyceum, my first impression of

Diaghilev's presentation of the Ballet Russe in Paris, the juggling of Rastelli, Laurence Olivier's Richard III, and perhaps not more than two or three other thrills, every detail of which are as clear in my memory today as they were in the years when I had the privilege of enjoying them. It did not surprise me that he spoke of the months of thought and preparation that he had put into choosing numbers, arranging their sequence and method of presentation.

When he was dressed, we went through the stage door together, and he pointed to a window on the opposite side of the street.

"That," he said, "was where I slept on my first visit to London many years before I appeared at the Palace Theatre. I paid one pound a week for the room. I had brought with me a very beautiful Parisian young lady. I was oh so very happy! "

This autobiography shows the same charming and disarming candour. Chevalier's book is much more than a record of a remarkable career. It is a frank revelation of the struggle of a man who, having achieved what appeared to be the summit of success in a most difficult and nerve-wracking profession, was almost submerged, and even contemplated, and actually attempted, self- destruction. "I will never know the exact cause of my break- down," he writes. "Perhaps the alcoholism of my father had something to do with it. Then, you remember, I had never been sure of myself. Ever since childhood I have been basically melancholy and shy with a strong sense of inferiority."

I remember so well the rumours in Paris. It was said that Chevalier had entirely lost his memory and could not recognise his friends. It was even said that he had become a cocaine addict.

Actually, he did have a complete breakdown and went to a sana- torium. In his book he writes of his recovery. "I was never to recapture my old self-assurance. But at least I had regained my courage, and now I decided to take up.my profession where I had left off. I knew that I would carry on until I died." Those who saw his astonishing one-man show at the London Hippodrome will find it difficult to credit that he had, at any time, been in a state of mind to believe that he was never to recapture his old self- assurance.

Born at Menilmontant, he was the son of a house-painter who (to quote Chevalier's own words) was "a drunk." His mother was a lace-maker, "a saintly woman who had brought ten children into the world" Maurice has never ceased to be genuinely astonished at the success he has achieved. "I've certainly been very lucky," he writes, "because, for half a century with almost no voice, I've been able to attract and then hold the interest of the French public, the most changeable an sensitive audience in the whole world. It doesn't make sense, does it ? " At twelve he started his career in the back room of a café on the Boulevard Menilmontant, the acinission price to which was twenty-five centimes, including some refreshments. He sang the songs created by the popular café chantant singers of the time, copying their

mannerisms before he developed a style of his own. "Little Chevalier" he was called. By chance, I saw him in the very early stages of his career. In the early 1900s I had a friend who was a variety agent in Paris, and in the course of his professional activities regularly ;visited the smaller music-halls in search of

talent. He often took me on his rounds, and somewhere on the outskirts of Paris we came across a young man with a hat pulled down to his ears, very thin, and with a long neck, the length of which he exaggerated with a movement of throwing his head forward like a cock crowing. He sang in the argot of the qua rtier, and the small shopkeepers and artisans indulged in back-chat with him. He certainly had "that something" which a practised eye can often discern in a crude beginner.

A few years later I again recognised Chevalier at a' rehearsal

of a revue in preparation at the Folies Berg4e. This was the commencement of the period in which he rocketed to fame. Soon he was the principal male star of the Paris music-halls. Then he went into operette with triumphant success. It was at the end of a long run of Dide at the Bouffes Parisiens that the break- down came.

When at last Chevalier was engaged for Hollywood, he did not lose his simplicity and modesty, despite the enormous fee he was to be-paid. He was overwhelmed to find, that he had been given

• the best suite on the Ile de France.' He and his possessions were

buried under flowers and fruit-baskets, and he was overcome to find that everyone in France seemed excited because he was going to America to try to make a picture. "And there was nothing sure about it," he writes. "All this wopld change very fast if I made a fool of myself in America! " The film people had told him that he was to make " sophisticated " conversation. "All Latins are sophisticated," he was told. They had to explain this to him, for he had never known it before. But henceforth he did his best to "reek with sophistication." As he says: "That wasn't really like me at all, but I was already mixed up in a lot of things that weren't like me, and there was no way to stop now! "

Success never spoilt Chevalier for an instant. Later, in London, he was horrified to find that he was being advertised as the highest paid artist in the world. I am not surprised that he was frightened. In writing about it he says: "Just try to make people laugh after that! The manager didn't have to appear alone in evening dress and a straw hat."

The last two paragraphs of The Man in the Straw Hat sum up the character of Maurice Chevalier as I have known him for many years: "There are two things I no longer do; I do not smoke and I hardly ever drink. My life is very full and I feel it now has a meaning and a purpose.

"I love my public. I love my work. I have never been happier than I am now, free to do my own little speciality and to do it where I want."

CHARLES B. COCHRAN.