My Autobiography by Charles Chaplin (most read book in the world TXT) 📕

find a small man like myself. His daughter, Mrs Gandhi, was also present – a charming quiet lady. Nehru impressed me as a man of moods, austere and sensitive, with an exceedingly alert and appraising mind. He was diffident at first, until we left Lucerne together and drove to the Manoir de Ban where I had invited him for lunch, his daughter trailing in another car as she was going on to Geneva. On the way we had an interesting talk. He spoke highly of Lord Mountbatten who, as Viceroy of India, had done an excellent job in terminating England’s interests there.

I asked him in which ideological direction India was going. He said: ‘In whatever direction, it is for the betterment of the Indian people,’ and added that they had already inaugurated a five-year plan. He talked brilliantly throughout the journey, while his chauffeur must have been going at seventy miles an hour or more, speeding along precipitous, narrow roads, and coming suddenly upon sharp turns. Nehru was engrossed in explaining India’s politics, but I must confess I missed half of what he was saying, so occupied was I with back-seat driving. As the brakes screeched and threw us forward, Nehru continued unperturbed. Thank heavens there was a respite when eventually the car stopped for a moment at a cross-roads, where his daughter was to leave us. It was then that he became a loving and solicitous father, embracing his daughter as he said to her tenderly: ‘take care of yourself’ - words which would have been more appropriate coming from the daughter to the father.

*

During the Korean crisis, when the world held its breath over that extremely dangerous brink, the Chinese Embassy telephoned to ask if I would allow City Lights to be shown in Geneva before Chou En-lai, who was the pivotal centre around which the decision of peace or war was to be decided.

The following day the Prime Minister invited us to have dinner with him in Geneva. Before we left for Geneva the Prime Minister’s secretary telephoned to say that His Excellency might be detained, as important business had suddenly arisen at the conference (an understatement), and that we were not to wait for him; he would join us later.

When we arrived, to our surprise Chou En-lai was waiting on the steps of his residence to greet us. Like the rest of the world I was anxious to know what had happened at the conference, so I asked him. He tapped me confidentially on the shoulder. ‘It has all been amicably settled,’ he said, ‘five minutes ago.’

I had heard many interesting stories about how the Communists had been driven far into the interior of China in the thirties, and how, under the leadership of Mao Tse-tung, a scattered few became reorganized and began marching back to Peking, gathering military impetus as they went. That march back won them the support of six hundred million Chinese people.

Chou En-lai that night told us a touching story of Mao Tse-tung’s triumphant entry into Peking. There were a million Chinese present to welcome him. A large platform, fifteen feet high, had been built at the end of the vast square, and as he mounted the steps from the back the top of his head appeared and a roar of welcome surged up from a million throats, increasing and increasing as the lone figure came fully into view.

And when Mao Tse-tung, the conqueror of China, saw that vast multitude, he stood for a moment, then suddenly covered his face with both hands and wept.

Chou En-lai had shared with him the hardships and heartbreaks of that famous march across China, yet as I looked at his vigorous, handsome face I was astonished to see how calm and youthful he looked.

I told him that the last time I had been in Shanghai was in 1936.

‘Oh yes,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘that was before we were on the march.’

‘Well, you haven’t far to go now,’ I said jokingly.

At dinner we drank Chinese champagne (not bad), and like the Russians made many toasts. I toasted the future of China and said that although I was not a Communist I wholeheartedly joined in their hope and desire for a better life for the Chinese people, and for all people.

*

In Vevey we have new friends, among them Mr Emile Rossier and Mr Michel Rossier and their families, all of them lovers of music. Through Emile I met Clara Haskil, the concert pianist. She lived in Vevey and whenever in town Clara and both the Rossier families would come to dinner, and afterwards Clara would play for us. Although past sixty, she was at the apogee of her career, having her greatest triumphs both in Europe and America. But in 1960 she slipped off the step of a train in Belgium and was taken to hospital where she died.

Often I play her records, the last she made before her death. Before I started the task of rewriting this manuscript for the sixth time, I put on Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 3 with Clara at the piano and Markevitch conducting – which to me is as near an approximation of truth as any great work of art could be and which has been a source of encouragement for me to finish this book.

If we were not so preoccupied with our family, we could have quite a social life in Switzerland, for we live relatively near the Queen of Spain and the Count and the Countess Chevreau d’Antraigues, who have been most cordial to us, and there are a number of film stars and writers who live near. We often see George and Benita Sanders and Noël Coward is also a neighbour. In the spring many of our American and English friends visit us. Truman Capote, who occasionally works in Switzerland, often drops by. During the Easter holidays, we take the children to the south of Ireland. This is something that the whole family looks forward to every year.

In summer we