The director tapped his fork against a glass and called the millionaire.
‘Andrei Gordeevich, you wished to make a speech! This is the right moment, everyone is here!’
The heartbreaker Swardilin had just shown up, with the bristles of his freshly grown hair gleaming. The scoundrel sat down beside Eliza, who said something affectionate to him. But then, where else was the person playing the male lead supposed to sit?
Erast Petrovich was also seated in a place of honour, at the opposite end of the table, beside the director.
Mr Shustrov began the speech in his usual manner.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is a good show, people will write about it and talk about it. I have been convinced yet again that I calculated correctly when I put my money on Noah Noaevich and your entire company. I was especially delighted by Madam Altairsky-Lointaine, who has a great future ahead of her… If we can see eye to eye…’ he added after a pause, gazing intently at Eliza. ‘Permit me, madam, to make you a small symbolic gift, the meaning of which I shall explain in a little while.’
He took a small velvet case out of his pocket and extracted from it a very delicately made rose of reddish gold.
‘How charming!’ Eliza exclaimed. ‘What craftsman could possibly have produced such intricate work?’
‘That craftsman’s name is nature,’ the entrepreneur replied. ‘You are holding in your hands a living flower bud, sprayed with a layer of gold dust – the very latest technology. Thanks to the film of gold the beauty of the living flower has been rendered eternal. It will never wilt.’
Everyone applauded, but the capitalist raised his hand.
‘The time has come to explain the main idea behind the establishment of our Theatrical and Cinematographic Company. I decided to invest money in your theatre group because Noah Noaevich was the first person working in the theatre to realise that truly colossal success is impossible without sensationalism. But that is only the first stage. Now that the newspapers of both of Russia’s capital cities are writing about Noah’s Ark, my plan is to elevate your fame to an even higher level – first of all, right across the whole of Russia, and then right around the world. This cannot possibly be achieved by means of theatrical touring, but there is another means: the cinematograph.’
‘You wish to make a film of our production?’ Stern asked. ‘But what about the sound, the words?’
‘No, my partner and I wish to create a new type of cinematograph, which will become a fully fledged art form. The scenarios will be written by authors with a literary reputation. We won’t ask just anyone to act in the films, but first-class actors. We will not be satisfied, as others are, with cardboard or canvas scenery. But the most important thing is that we shall make millions of people love the faces of our stars. Oh, this concept has an immense future! The art of an outstanding theatrical actor is like a living flower – it is spellbinding, but the enchantment comes to an end when the curtain closes. I wish to render your art imperishable by coating it in gold. What do you think about that?’
No one said anything, and many of the actors turned to look at Stern. He got up. It was clear that he did not wish to upset his benefactor.
‘Mmmm… Highly respected Andrei Gordeevich, I understand your desire to earn greater profit, that is only natural for an entrepreneur. And I myself, God knows, never let slip an opportunity to milk the golden calf.’ A ripple of laughter ran round the room and Noah Noaevich inclined his head comically, as if to say: Guilty, I admit it. ‘But surely you find the results of our Moscow tour satisfactory? I don’t think any theatre has ever had takings like this – no offence intended to my colleagues in the Art Theatre. Today’s premiere brought in more than ten thousand roubles! Naturally, it would only be just for us to start sharing, in mutually advantageous proportions, with the company that has given us shelter.’
‘Ten thousand roubles?’ Shustrov repeated. ‘That’s a joke. A successful film will be watched by at least a million people and on average each of them will pay fifty kopecks at the box office. Minus the production costs and the theatre-owners’ commission, plus foreign sales and the trade in photocards – and the net profit will be at least two hundred thousand.’
‘How much?’ Mephistov gasped.
‘And we intend to produce at least a dozen pictures like that in a year. So count it up for yourselves,’ Andrei Gordeevich continued. ‘And at the same time bear in mind, ladies and gentlemen, that one of our stars will receive up to three hundred roubles for a day of filming, a second-level actor like Mr Sensiblin or Madam Reginina will receive a hundred, and a third-level actor will get fifty. And that’s not counting the nationwide adoration that will be guaranteed by our own press, working together with Noah Noaevich’s brilliant gift for creating sensations.’
Eliza suddenly stood up, her face blazing with inspiration and the pearl droplets in her tall hairstyle glittering.
‘When money is the cornerstone of everything, it is the end of genuine art! You have given me this rose and, of course, it is beautiful. But you are mistaken when you say that it is alive! It died as soon as you condemned it to this golden captivity! It was transformed into the mummified corpse of a flower! It is the same with your cinematograph. The theatre is life! And like all life, it is instantaneous and unrepeatable. There will never be another moment exactly the same, it cannot be halted, and that is why it is beautiful. You Fausts, who dream of halting a beautiful moment, fail to grasp that beauty cannot be recorded, it will die immediately. That is what the play we acted today is about! You must understand, Andrei Gordeevich, that eternity and immortality are the enemies of art, I am afraid of them! A play may be good or bad, but it is alive. A film is a fly in amber. Exactly as if it were alive, only it is dead. I shall never, do you hear, never act in front of that box of yours with its big glass eye!’
God, how lovely she was at that moment! Erast Petrovich pressed his hand against his left side, feeling a stabbing pain in his heart. He looked away and told himself: Yes, she is magnificent, she is magical and miraculous, but she is not yours, she doesn’t belong to you. Don’t give way to weakness, don’t lose your dignity.
It should be said that not many of those present liked Shustrov’s mathematically dry address. If they had applauded the entrepreneur, it was merely out of politeness, while Eliza’s impassioned speech was greeted with loud exclamations of approval and clapping.
The grande dame Reginina asked in a loud voice:
‘Well, sir, so you assess my value at only a third of Madam Altairsky’s?’
‘Not your value,’ the entrepreneur began explaining, ‘but the contribution of your roles. You see, during filming I intend to make extensive use of a new approach known as “blow-up”, that is, showing an actor’s face across the entire screen. For this technique flawlessly attractive and young faces are preferable…’
‘But the cinematographic business has no interest in old fogeys like you and me, Vasilisochka,’ the company’s ‘philosopher’ put in. ‘We shall be cast aside, like worn-out shoes. But everything is in God’s hands, I’m an old stager, I’ve been around the block on my own account, and I’ll certainly get by without the protection of the cinematograph. Am I right, my foxy little sister?’ he asked Vulpinova, who was sitting next to him.
But she was looking at the millionaire, not Sensiblin, and smiling at him in an extremely pleasant manner.
‘Tell me, my dear Andrei Gordeevich, is it your intention to make films in the Gothic style? I read in a newspaper that the American public has fallen in love with films about vampiresses, sorceresses and witches.’