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Jean Simmons
 Also by Michelangelo Capua
and from McFarland

John Derek: Actor, Director, Photographer (2020)

Jean Negulesco: The Life and Films (2017)
Anatole Litvak: The Life and Films (2015)
Janet Leigh: A Biography (2013)
William Holden: A Biography (2010)
Deborah Kerr: A Biography (2010)
Yul Brynner: A Biography (2006)
Vivien Leigh: A Biography (2003)
Montgomery Clift: A Biography (2002)
 Jean Simmons
Her Life and Career

Michelangelo Capua

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers

Jefferson, North Carolina
 ISBN (print) ­978-1-4766-8224-2
ISBN (ebook) ­978-1-4766-4535-3

Library of Congress and British Library

cataloguing data are available

Library of Congress Control Number 2022022334

© 2022 Michelangelo Capua. All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form

or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying
or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publisher.

Front cover: Publicity photograph of Jean Simmons (author’s collection)

Printed in the United States of America

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers

Box 611, Jefferson, North Carolina 28640
www.mcfarlandpub.com
To two very special people:
Sergio and Maya Iossa
 Table of Contents

Introduction1

1. A Cockney Kid from Cricklewood 3

2. Estella14
3. Ophelia21
4. Road to Stardom 29
5. Granger35
6. A Gilded Cage 43
7. Howard Hughes and RKO 49
8. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood 62
9. Marlon73
10. What a Doll! 81
11. Wise’s Choices 90
12. Ups and Downs and Ups 100
13. Richard Brooks 111
14. A Tough Comeback 120
15. The Heidi Game 131
16. A Little Night of Music 139
17. TV, Flirts and Booze 147
18. Greater Expectations 157

Filmography and Career Record171

Chapter Notes273
Bibliography281
Index283

vii
 Introduction

Jean Simmons is one of those artists frequently labeled as underrated or under-

estimated. This moniker is most often bestowed on artists with a certain muted mod-
esty, or just bad luck. In Simmons’ case, lacking flash or luck was not the issue. Her
versatility and radiant beauty were evident from the time she began her acting career
at 14 in her native England. Too often, Jean was relegated to comfortable leading lady
roles when Hollywood should have cast her more appropriately and promoted her as
a superstar. The New York Times once called her an “actress whose talent exceeded her
roles.” Yet few realized her depth and potential.
In her last film, Shadows in the Sun, her character opines that she may write a
book about her life. Given the extraordinary events of Jean’s life, it is surprising that
she never wrote a memoir. “Publishers have asked,” she said in one of her last inter-
views. “But Cary Grant always used to say he was too busy living his life to write about
it, and that is a jolly good answer. I don’t think people would find my life very inter-
esting.” Such an answer aligns with Simmons’ modesty and reserve. Yet this ­two-time
Best Actress nominee appeared in four Best Picture Oscar nominees: Great Expec-
tations (1946), Hamlet (1948), The Robe (1953) and Elmer Gantry (1960), worked with
some of the greatest filmmakers, and acted opposite many Hollywood superstars. Her
extraordinary life and distinguished ­seven-decade career deserve to be celebrated.
In writing this book, I have benefited from the help of many individuals and in-
stitutions and from the assistance and support of friends. I would like to thank Yaakov
Perry; the helpful staff of the British Film Institute Library in London, in particu-
lar Anastasia Kerameos, Sarah Currant and Eleanor Watkins for their kind help; the
amazing staff of the Performing Arts Library at Lincoln Center in New York, in par-
ticular Jeremy Megraw; Kristine Krueger of the Margaret Herrick Library of the Acad-
emy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences in Beverly Hills; the Victoria and Albert
Theatre & Performance Archives at Blythe House Olympia in West London; the staff of
the Bibliothèque du Cinéma François Truffaut in Paris; the staff of the British Library
Humanities Reading Room in London; Biblioteca Renzo Renzi–Cineteca di Bologna,
and Biblioteca Nazionale di Napoli.
Most of all my deepest gratitude goes to my editor and patient and longtime friend
Stuart Williams. Without his invaluable help, completing this book would have been
almost impossible. Thank you, Stu.

1
 Chapter 1

A Cockney Kid
from Cricklewood

“I’m pure Cockney, born within the sound of Bow Bells”

—Jean Simmons

At the end of the nineteenth century, Charlie Loveland was a skilled house painter
and decorator with a prosperous business in North London. He also had a passion for
show business. At Masonic banquets, he sang and made lightning sketches, which are
narrative monologues performed while rapidly drawing images on a large easel. As
multiple details were speedily added to each sketch, the created image transformed
before the viewer’s eyes. Though executed singularly rather than by two performers,
Loveland’s singing and drawing was, therefore, a kind of a “double act,” a form of com-
edy originating in the British music hall tradition. His moment of fame came when
he was asked to join on a ­part-time basis the Mohawk Minstrels, a popular itinerant
musical act based in North London.
Although Loveland often dreamed of becoming a music hall star, his duties as
husband and father inevitably clashed with his stage ambitions. He was left with the
hope that maybe someday, one of his children would climb the show business ladder.
He was disappointed that his daughter Winifred Ada, who took piano and singing
lessons, never thought of breaking into the entertainment industry. The allure of show
business, which skipped a generation in the Loveland family, was revitalized nearly a
­half-century later, when his granddaughter Jean Merilyn became a dancer and later an
actress.
Charlie Loveland and his wife Eliza lived in St. Pancras, a ­middle-class residential
area in North London around King’s Cross Station. Their daughter Winifred was born
in 1893 and lived there with them until she was 21 and married Charles Simmons, who
was eight years her senior. The marriage took place on May 23, 1914, at the Anglican
Church of St. Mark’s, in the Finsbury Park area of North London. When Winifred and
Simmons met, he was a local sports celebrity. He was a handsome man with piercing
blue eyes, an accomplished gymnast, swimmer and ­swan-diver. He was the winner of
a bronze medal on the British gymnastics men’s team and ranked ­twenty-eighth in
the Men’s Individual ­All-Around at the Stockholm 1912 Summer Olympics. Like Win-
ifred, he was a Londoner, born in the Islington neighborhood on December 24, 1885.
After his athletic successes, he taught physical education and swimming at several

3
4 Jean Simmons

London institutions. The couple settled in a modest house at 42 Hillmarton Road in

Lower Holloway, London, and within 12 years they had four children: Lorna, Harold,
Edna and Jean Merilyn, the youngest, born on January 31, 1929. Winifred recalled:
The snow was piled up six feet deep outside, and the doctor couldn’t get through to help me.
Luckily, I had a nurse staying and my only real worry was whether the baby would catch
whooping cough, for I knew there was a lot of it about. She didn’t—but, I did. I had to wear
a mask when I was nursing her. There were plenty of times after that when I worried about
my youngest. We were an ordinary con-
tented suburban family in those days.1

In 1932, the Simmons family moved

into a townhouse with a small garden
at 120 Cheviot Gardens on the new
Golders Green Estate in the ­white-collar
suburb of Cricklewood. “A place where
they made lovely parts for automobiles,”
as Winifred would describe the area, a
reference to the nearby Bentley car fac-
tory. She preferred that her children,
when asked where they were living, an-
swer Golders Green and never Crickle-
wood—the posher option. Shortly after
moving, Charles accepted a position as
a physical education teacher at Regent
Street Polytechnic.
The Simmonses were a warm, af-
fectionate, “bonded” family, and Jean’s
early years were happy and carefree.
As a toddler, she was sent to a nursery
school, which allowed Winifred to take
care of the house and play the piano as
an accompanist for Charles’ gymnastic
classes. Though Jean’s parents differed
in character, she was very attached to
both. Small in stature, Winifred had a
strong personality marked by occasional
outbursts of anger while Charles had a
gentler nature. Charles was the only one
in the family who could soothe Win-
ifred’s temper. Little Jean got along very
well with her siblings. They enjoyed each
other’s company, sang along with the
piano together, and engaged in outdoor
sports activities. Jean was funny and
outgoing with the people she knew, yet Jean Simmons vacationing at the beach at age
at school she was quiet and shy. six.
 Chapter 1. A Cockney Kid from Cricklewood 5

In preparation for the threat of war in 1939, the Regent Street Polytechnic moved
some of its classes to the Sidcot School in Winscombe, Somerset; Charles and his stu-
dents went to Somerset. At first, the family joined him, but Winifred, soon tired of
rural life, returned to Cricklewood with her daughters. Despite the state of emergency,
young Jean attended the Orange Hill Grammar School for Girls in Burnt Oak. She
would always remember the students singing in the air raid shelters, orchestrated by
the headmistress, as the bombs rained down. Jean was never chosen for the school’s
drama sessions because she was too rigid, Jean’s former classmate, Pamela Maxfield,
asserted:
[S]he was turned down for the ­end-of-term play, Miss Hartwell thought she was wooden,
and so she was at that time; on the stage she was stiff, and it was hard to hear her. Face to
face, though, she was one of the most charming people I’ve ever met. Apart from the fact
that she was lovely to look at, she had a radiant smile and a completely unaffected simplic-
ity—she was a delightful girl. Beyond any particular accomplishments, she had that inde-
finable thing—star quality. Though she was unconscious of it herself, whenever she was, you
were aware of her presence. People would be listening to her and looking at her.2

At night, Jean slept with her mother on a mattress placed under an old bil-
liard table, which served as meager protection from the constant bombing. It was a
­nerve-wracking experience since the Simmons home was located just a few steps from
the Handley Page aircraft factory (which was later converted into Britain’s largest film
studios, Cricklewood Studios)—a frequent target of German bombers.
Jean slowly blossomed into an attractive teenager. She inherited a graceful physi-
cal agility from Charles, an ear for music and a sense of rhythm from Winifred. While
in Somerset, her sister Edna, who was six years older than Jean and had a passion for
dancing, organized dance lessons for the village children and other evacuees. Jean
started attending the lessons, initially just for fun. Her interest gradually intensified
and she made such rapid progress that she helped her sister instruct the other children.
When Winifred and the girls returned to Cricklewood, Edna resumed instructing
dance classes at a studio in Hendon with her younger sister tagging along. The lessons
were not a great success. Edna recalled years later,
I remember the first thing we ever did together was a ballet performance for a charity con-
cert. I played Dick Whittington and Jean was the Cat. I had to swing her round by one arm
and one leg and let her slide across the floor; she went on sliding on her tummy, hit her head
against the wall and was knocked unconscious. That was the only performance we ever gave
together and she didn’t forgive me for a little while.3

Jean’s ambition to become a secretary like her oldest sister Lorna was replaced
with the aspiration to be a professional dancer—in particular, an acrobatic dancer.
Although she loved going to the cinema, an acting career was not something that in-
terested her. While in grammar school, Jean never volunteered to play roles in school
plays. She was cast in a religious play called Simon, but was quickly replaced by another
schoolgirl when it was discovered that she could not remember a single line.
In 1943, after Jean completed grammar school, Winifred let her attend one dance
class a week at the Aida Foster School of Dance in Golders Green. The institution had
a solid reputation. Aida Foster quickly saw potential in Jean that reached beyond the
boundaries of dancing and asked Winifred if her daughter could join other classes.
6 Jean Simmons

Eventually, Jean was enrolled in a comprehensive study program that integrated danc-
ing, stage training and general curriculum lessons. Since Jean’s siblings were already
working, the Simmonses could afford the tuition. Jean’s plan was to study all types of
dancing, pass the necessary qualifying examinations for dance teachers, and eventu-
ally open a dancing school with Edna.
However, just two weeks after she began attending the Aida Foster School, her
plans unexpectedly changed. On August 13, 1943, while on a short holiday in Somerset,
Winifred received a telegram from Foster, which urged her and Jean to travel back to
the school. The school mistress had learned that a Gainsborough Studios casting direc-
tor was desperately looking for someone to play a small yet important film role. Win-
ifred was baffled. She did not associate the dance teacher with the film industry. But
she and Jean rushed to Golders Green and learned that producers’ calls to the school
for juvenile castings were not unusual. In this instance, Val Guest was about to direct
a picture titled Give Us the Moon with Margaret Lockwood, a popular British film star.
Guest needed a girl, 14 or over, who could play a ­12-year-old. At that time, the English
laws that governed the employment of children in films were very strict: Fourteen was
the age at which schooling was no longer mandatory and thus the age at which a studio
could employ a minor without breaking the law. Foster thought that Jean was very
photogenic and that, from all the girls in her school, she was the most suitable choice.
Winifred and Jean next rushed to the Gainsborough Studios in Islington.

Peter Graves, Jean Simmons and Margaret Lockwood in Give Us the Moon (1944).
 Chapter 1. A Cockney Kid from Cricklewood 7

In Guest’s adaptation of the Caryl Brahms and S.J. Simon novel The Elephant Is
White, the female lead, Nina (Lockwood), had a spoiled teenage sister named Heidi.
After a handful of unsuccessful screen tests (nowhere near the 200 tests falsely reported
later by the studio in Jean’s first press release), production manager Bill Ostrer pres-
sured the director to select one of the tested girls and move on since ­pre-production
was about to start. On the way back to his office, Guest passed the open door of the
casting office’s waiting room, where he noticed Jean and Winifred sitting. Winifred
asked him if he were the casting director they were expecting. Guest told her he was
not, introduced himself, and asked whether Jean had any acting experience. Before
Jean could answer, Winifred stated that her daughter had a couple of small parts in two
minor films Guest would not have heard about. The filmmaker meticulously described
that meeting in his autobiography:
“What’s your name?” I asked the girl.
“Jean,” she said with a faintly ­d rama-school accent.
“Could you read a bit of script for me?”
“I’ll try.” She smiled.
I showed her a page in the script I was carrying, let her read it to herself, then read it with
her and knew immediately that this was the girl for my tearaway teenager. I grabbed her
hand. “Come with me,” I said, telling mother I’d bring her right back. Down the corridor, I
marched her straight into Ostrer’s office. “This is the girl I want to use,” I told him.
“I said no more tests.”
“I’ll take her without a test.”
He shrugged. “It’s your responsibility.”
And that’s how Jean Simmons began her screen career.4

Jean’s impression of that day was quite different. She was not thrilled with the
prospect of appearing in a film, and she was certain that her reading was inadequate.
Apparently she was wrong.
The following day, Winifred was delighted to sign a ­30-day contract at the salary
of £5 a day on behalf of her daughter. Financially, for Jean, it was an unprecedented
experience. Her father had given her a weekly allowance that was no higher than £10.
As Winifred recounted, her husband was disconcerted by the prospect of Jean’s film
career. “He used to say, ‘It’s too precarious. She’ll get hurt.’”5
“It can’t last,” Charles kept telling Jean. “You’ll be back here soon, just a plain
Cricklewood girl again; so keep your head screwed on tight.”6 Winifred assured him
that if this first experience was not entirely satisfactory to Jean, their daughter would
revert to her original plan of opening a dance school.
At the end of the first day of shooting, Winifred, who never let Jean out of her
sight, asked Guest what he thought of her daughter’s work. The director explained
that it was customary to watch the daily rushes at lunchtime, and Winifred asked his
permission to approach him again then. The following afternoon, in response to Win-
ifred’s inquiry, Guest expressed his complete satisfaction with Jean’s acting skills. Mrs.
Simmons asked:
“And the producers?”
“They’re happy, too.”
“Then I have to tell you something, Mr. Guest.” She was obviously ill at ease. “I lied to you.
Jean’s never done any acting before. There were no two pictures.” Poor Mother Simmons had
8 Jean Simmons

been living with her guilty secrets since the day we met in the casting office. I comforted her
by saying that at some time or other we’d all told fibs to get jobs and told her just to relax and
enjoy her lovely daughter’s new career.7
On the set, Jean’s professional abilities impressed the crew. “She had such an intu-
itive character,” recalled Guest. “You never had to explain anything to her more than
once.”8 She brilliantly performed a crying scene after refusing glycerin tears offered by
the director. In her memoir, Margaret Lockwood wrote, “There was an awfully pretty
girl who had a very small part…. She had lovely brown eyes and such nice manners.
Her name was Jean Simmons.”9
Strangely, despite the excitement over her good work and the way she “fit” within
the moviemaking world, Jean was unhappy: “I remember bawling at home and pro-
testing that I was completely bored with being an actress. It seemed to me that the
picture would never end.”10 She also revealed, “I didn’t know what to expect. I was told
what to do, and I did it. It was just fun and games. I didn’t take it seriously. I had just
been in the right place at the right time.”11 However, when Guest told Jean that her work
was finished, she sobbed because she was again emotionally conflicted. She realized
how much she had enjoyed acting.
Opening in London on July 19, 1944, Give Us the Moon was a box office flop. The
original novel is a witty, eccentric, satirical farce, possibly too subtle for a compelling
cinematic adaptation. Set in an imaginary postwar London, the plot revolves around
a group of Russian émigrés who try to make a living without working. Despite the
negative reviews (Variety called the picture as “an absurdity”), Jean’s acting did not
pass unnoticed.12 “The performance of Jean Simmons as the awful ­eleven-year-old is
incisive and brilliantly sustained,”13 reported the Monthly Film Bulletin. The critique
was echoed by the British film industry magazine Kinematograph Weekly: “The best
of the long supporting cast, which, by the way, reads like a British Who’s Who, is Jean
Simmons as Heidi.”14
Meanwhile, Jean had returned to her daily school routine. She was now one of
the most popular girls there. She studied hard, she loved dancing, and she was fond of
social games and charades. She was an instigator of pranks at the expense of a teacher
with a heavy Scottish accent, and of classmates who found bits of soap and nailbrush
bristles in their ballet shoes.
Jean’s parents never pushed her to pursue an acting career, instead concentrating
on the completion of her education after which decisions about her future could be
appropriately made. But her role in Give Us the Moon, which could have been digested
as a relatively minor distraction from her studies, was quickly followed by a small role
in Mr. Emmanuel. Once again, the studio called the Aida Foster school in search of
an adolescent actress. Harold French directed the film adaptation of a Louis Golding
novel, whose protagonist is an old Jewish man in Nazi Germany to trace the mother
of a refugee boy. Mr. Emmanuel was shot in the months of ­January-February 1944 at
Teddington Studios in South West London, five months before a ­V-2 attack seriously
damaged the studio. Jean was cast in the marginal role of Sally Cooper, one of the
children of Mr. Emmanuel’s lodger, Rose Cooper. The role of Jean’s mother was played
by ­33-year-old Elspeth March, who was married to Stewart Granger—an actor Jean
married six years later. The picture marked the first time Jean saw Granger in person
 Chapter 1. A Cockney Kid from Cricklewood 9

when he visited the set. The ­14-year-old and the handsome film star exchanged no
words.
Mr. Emmanuel received a tepid reception in England, but it was a box office hit in
American art houses primarily thanks to reviews that praised Felix Aylmer’s remark-
able performance in the title role. Although she had been encouraged to change her
name to Merilyn Loveland, an amalgamation of her middle name and her mother’s
maiden name, she vehemently rejected it: “I said Simmons was good enough for my
father, and good enough for me.”15
Unexpectedly, Jean found herself playing more small roles. Since Winifred was
not a stage mother and since Jean knew nothing about the inner workings of the film
business, Aida Foster stepped in as Jean’s agent. Director Francis Searle cast her in
Sports Day, a ­24-minute short aimed at children: A boy, wrongly accused of abusing
a dog, is cleared in time to win a swimming cup. Jean’s character emerges as the deus
ex machina: The protagonist’s pretty sister, she proves the boy innocent. The short’s
director recalled,

Jean Simmons (left) with four unidentified boys, Elspeth March (center) and Felix Aylmer
(right) in Mr. Emmanuel (1944).
10 Jean Simmons

Mary Field and Bruce Wolf were the bosses at GBI [Gaumont British Instructional]. Mary
Field did children’s films and she had a film she offered to me. Aida Foster, who was a big
agent for juveniles, set up an audition, and Jean, aged about 14, came on as bright as a but-
ton; she had learned the part and that was it. I didn’t bother looking at any of the others.
Later, I introduced her to a big agent, who said, “Yes, very nice, but not for us.” He’s never
forgotten or forgiven himself!16

Sports Day was criticized for its lack of realism. Retroactively, the producers
agreed that the child actors were too old and mature for their roles, but pointed out
that casting choices were limited by the ­age-restricting law of employment. Children
under 12 could not have been employed by the studio.
Jean made her next screen appearance in the ­low-budget thriller Meet Sexton
Blake!, which marked the first of a series of British films about a detective—a popular
fictional character at the time—played by David Farrar. A few years later, Farrar rose to
stardom after he ­co-starred with Jean in Black Narcissus. Jean did not receive a screen
credit for the delivery of two lines at the end of the picture.
While playing in Meet Sexton Blake!, Jean was cast in the romantic comedy Kiss
the Bride Goodbye: She received eighth billing for her role as Molly Dodd. Once again
she portrayed a younger sister, this time in relation to Patricia Medina’s main character.
Although described by most critics as “dull” and “unfunny,” this ­B-movie performed so
well at the British box office that it was ­re-released two years after its original opening.
The Way to the Stars was the fourth picture in which Jean appeared. Originally
titled Rendezvous, the war drama was a major production with a stellar cast led by
Michael Redgrave, John Mills, Rosamund John and Stanley Holloway (plus, in a small
role, Trevor Howard). The film was produced by Anatole de Grunwald and directed by
Anthony Asquith. The screenplay was ­co-written by Grunwald and the distinguished
playwright Terence Rattigan, who drew on his Royal Air Force experiences as a flight
lieutenant. The Way to the Stars was made with the cooperation of the Royal Air Force
and the United States Army Air Forces as a tribute to the ­Anglo-American military
alliance during World War II. Although it is a war film, The Way to the Stars does not
depict any battles.
Jean was chosen by de Grunwald. They had had a chance encounter in a corridor
at Denham Studios and her face captivated him. Jean played the small yet memorable
part of a cheerful singer who performs in the packed ballroom during an RAF dance.
After she climbs onto the bandstand, she enchants the audience by singing the old
Irish song “Let Him Go, Let Him Tarry,” arms akimbo, in typical Irish traditional
farmer colleen attire (a white apron and small scarf tied around the neck). “I laughed
all the way through the number,” Jean said years later. “I am credited as ‘singer.’ I have
no idea why they shot the scene or, after it was shot, why they kept it in because I didn’t
have a scene with any of the stars. The £5 a day I got was very nice.”17 Even though she
had previously appeared on screen, her name appeared in the credits under an “Intro-
ducing” heading along with the names of Bonar Colleano, Jr., and Trevor Howard. Her
singing performance made an unforgettable impact on the minds of viewers who often
falsely associate The Way to the Stars with Jean’s debut in film, though it was actually
her fifth. When it opened in the summer of 1945 as the war ended, The Way to the Stars
proved to be one of the most successful British films of its time. It won the Daily Mail
 Chapter 1. A Cockney Kid from Cricklewood 11

National Film Award for the most popular film of the war years and topped the British
cinema ballot as the best American or British film released since ­V-Day. The critics
widely commended the picture’s essential qualities: its Englishness, its realism and its
emotional restraint.18 However, in the U.S. where the film was released postwar under
the title Johnny in the Clouds, it was a flop. Thirty years later, in an interview with a
British tabloid, Jean candidly reflected, “I saw myself in The Way to the Stars—I was
15—the other night and cried like a wartdog, but only because it was such a smashing,
sloppy film.”19
Despite her hectic work schedule, Jean was still a student at the Aida Foster School.
She took part in radio shows such as The Children’s Hour, a popular BBC broadcast for
youngsters. She also worked as a fashion model for clothing catalogues and advertise-
ments in addition to catwalk modeling in children’s fashion trade shows.
On February 15, 1945, Jean received the devastating news of her father’s death, at
60. He was still at the hospital after undergoing surgery for ulcers. Jean, who was very
close to her father, was devastated by the sudden loss of her physically active, healthy
father, who had enjoyed practicing swan dives as a form of exercise in his middle age
years. Winifred recalled,
The day we lost him, I sent all the children about their jobs—anything was better than a
house full of broken hearts. Jean went to Aida Foster’s School, as usual, to play Cinderella
in a dress rehearsal of the school pantomime. There were tears running down her cheeks in
the first scene, Mrs. Foster told me afterwards. But she wouldn’t tell anyone what was wrong
or give up the part. That was a comfort to me in one way. It could mean, I thought, that she
was a born trouper. That we had done the right thing letting her carry on with filming.20

Work came to the rescue in the form of distraction from grieving. Jean’s career
took a new turn when her photograph and a list of her screen credits was included in
the children’s section of Spotlight, the British equivalent of Hollywood Players Direc-
tory. ­Director-producer Gabriel Pascal noticed Jean’s photograph and her animated
face captivated him. He was impressed by her kittenish eyes and graceful chin, which
resembled Vivien Leigh’s facial features. Pascal had recently cast Leigh in his screen
version of George Bernard Shaw’s play Caesar and Cleopatra. Jean was invited to Den-
ham Studios where Pascal met with her and put her under contract without hesitation.
There is yet another, more elaborate version of the story of the way in which Jean
was discovered: Pascal paid a visit to the Aida Foster School in search of a young talent.
There, among a roomful of girls, he supposedly noticed Jean. “Girls,” he allegedly an-
nounced, “you are witnessing the birth of a star.” He advised Jean to say goodbye to her
friends and reiterated, “You’ll be a star one day.”21 A few years later, Jean shared with
the press an exchange she had with Gaby (Pascal’s nickname, which is occasionally
spelled as Gabby), in one of their first meetings:
“I think you have the makings of a good actress,” he told me once. “You’ve a lot to learn,
though. Are you willing to work and study?”
“Yes,” I gulped.
“I see you in Shaw,” Gabby said. “Have you read Shaw?”
“No.”
“I’ll teach you Shaw. You’ll come down to my farm every Sunday. You’ll read Shaw until
you understand him. I’ll have you properly trained. You’ll be a real actress.”22
12 Jean Simmons

Pascal cast Jean in the marginal

part of a harpist slave in Cleopatra’s pal-
ace as well as Vivien Leigh’s stunt dou-
ble. Apart from Leigh as Cleopatra, the
picture starred Claude Rains as Caesar
and Stewart Granger as Apollodorus.
Jean wore heavy makeup, which dis-
guised her recognizable face, and had a
­non-speaking part that lasted only a few
seconds. Her more challenging task was
her role as Vivien Leigh’s stunt double.
In one scene, Jean was rolled into a car-
pet swung in the air by a crane; in an-
other, she was thrown into a pool and
stayed underwater for a long time. She
screamed for help, but the crew thought
it was still part of the act. Only when
she resurfaced for the third time was
she taken seriously and rescued. On an-
other occasion, she had to ride a camel Jean Simmons as a slave harpist in Caesar and
in a street scene. The camel was so jittery Cleopatra (1945).
that it first bit the guide and then backed
off from its position on the ­eight-foot platform built as a small hill. Jean found herself
on the ground with her tailbone painfully injured and the harp she carried damaged.
As she testified 20 years later in an interview, that fall’s impact was ­long-lasting, “It’s
still broke. When I play tennis, my tailbone may go out.”23 Pascal was so worried that
the next day he reshot the scene on a donkey. Despite the physically demanding chal-
lenges of her role, Jean established a good professional relationship with the Hungarian
­producer-director.
Playwright Rodney Ackland, who ­re-wrote some of Shaw’s Caesar and Cleopatra
script, remembered Jean as “no more than a plump, jolly girl, who on the set had devel-
oped a schoolgirl crush on Stewart Granger.” According to Ackland, Granger deeply
resented the way Pascal stroked Jean’s hair and patted her cheeks. “How dare he! She’s
only a child! It makes me sick to see him lay a finger on her!”24 Granger reportedly said.
At the time, the actor’s marriage with Elspeth March was in crisis and he was having a
clandestine affair with Deborah Kerr.
Jean was infatuated with the man who would become her future husband. Like
many other teenagers, she idolized the handsome movie star and chased him for his
autograph. “She was a funny little thing…. She giggled when I looked at her,” Granger
recalled years later.25 However, the star was smitten by Kerr and thus showed no inter-
est in other women, much less in a young teenager. As for Pascal’s attentions to Jean,
it was the interaction between a leading figure in the British film industry, a man who
helped launch the careers of Vivien Leigh, Greer Garson and Deborah Kerr, and his
new protégé. The relationship between the ­51-year-old mentor and the ­15-year-old ac-
tress was in every essence professional.
 Chapter 1. A Cockney Kid from Cricklewood 13

On December 11, 1945, Jean attended her first film gala premiere at London’s
Odeon, Marble Arch West. She was photographed smiling in the cinema’s foyer next
to Pascal, yet everyone’s attention was focused on the ­high-profile celebrities who at-
tended the event. Caesar and Cleopatra was a box office hit, but it failed to make a
profit since Pascal did not spare any expenses in his quest for historical accuracy. The
final picture was a Technicolor extravaganza that cost £1,278,000 in its ­two-year pro-
duction span, which involved a large volume shipment of Sahara sand, a studio craft-
ing a ­life-size Sphinx and a replica city of Alexandria, populated with 2000 extras,
exotic plants and animals.
Outside the movie studios, Jean lived a normal life. Her favorite outdoor activities
were taking long walks with her beloved spaniel Heidi (named after her Give Us the
Moon character), playing tennis in the nearby Basing Hill Park, swimming at a public
pool, and skating with friends. She particularly enjoyed the rides with her brother on
his motorbike as he sped along countryside roads. At home, once she finished helping
Winifred with the daily chores, she locked herself in her bedroom with Frank Sinatra
records, never imagining that someday she would delay star in a musical opposite her
favorite singer.
A few months after Caesar and Cleopatra, Jean earned her license to teach danc-
ing at the Aida Foster School. In the meantime, producer J. Arthur Rank decided to
buy Jean’s contract from Pascal. After what seemed like an endless negotiation, Jean
was informed that she was under contract to Rank, but she was still obligated to com-
plete three pictures under her old contract with Pascal.
J. Arthur Rank is one of the most noteworthy figures in the history of British cin-
ema. The son of a wealthy flour milling manufacturer, he was a man with strong Meth-
odist convictions: He first made religious films that were shown in churches, schools
and village halls. Within ten years, he established the Rank Organisation, a production
company that dominated 80 percent of the British film market, and ran the Odeon
cinemas, the U.K.’s largest theater chain.
“I don’t recall any long conversation with Rank about my career,” Jean stated in
an interview. “He was a deeply religious man and very kind. A contract with Rank was
the dream of every actress in England! I knew I had taken a big step ahead, but I was
still Alice in Wonderland about this career that I hadn’t asked for.”26 Rank treated Jean
tenderly. The day after Charles Simmons died, he rang Jean and offered his sympathy
and support. He always believed that “little Jeannie” was destined for greatness.
 Chapter 2

Estella

“She was very beautiful and had a real quality about her.”—Jack Cardiff

In 1944, filmmaker David Lean began preparation to adapt Charles Dickens’ novel
Great Expectations for the screen. Lean nimbly climbed the studio ladder from the
time he began working in the industry at 19. Starting as a tea boy at Gaumont Studios
in 1927, he graduated to ­clapper-boy and messenger. Within just three years, he had
become a cutting room assistant, then assistant cameraman, then assistant director. By
1931, Lean was a chief editor, first for ­Gaumont-British News and later for British Mov-
ietonews and ­Paramount-British News. He edited the major films Pygmalion (1938),
Major Barbara (1941) and 49th Parallel (1941). In 1942, he was picked by playwright
Noël Coward to ­co-direct In Which We Serve, Coward’s first film. Their collaboration
was so productive that Coward chose Lean to direct three more of his pictures. This
Happy Breed (1944), Blithe Spirit (1945) and Brief Encounter (1945) were produced by
Cineguild, a production company created by Lean in partnership with Ronald Neame
and Anthony ­Havelock-Allan.
Lean was not the first director to adapt Great Expectations. The two previous ver-
sions were made in 1917, a silent with Jack Pickford and Louise Huff, and a 1934 Uni-
versal directed by Stuart Walker, with Henry Hull and Phillips Holmes. Lean’s first
inspiration to make a movie out of Dickens’ masterpiece came in 1939 after watch-
ing Alec Guinness’ stage version, which had a tremendous impact on him. Later he
read the book, given to him as a gift, and felt immediately that the story had great
­big-screen potential. He pitched the idea to Neame, who proposed it to J. Arthur Rank.
The producer, intrigued, struck an immediate deal with Cineguild. After dismissing
a ­first-draft script by Dickens expert Clemence Dane, Lean decided to get involved
personally in the writing process. To pen his perfect script, he brought in his trusted
collaborators Neame, ­Havelock-Allan, Cecil McGivern and Kay Walsh (an actress then
married to ­Havelock-Allan and later to Lean himself).
Great Expectations was the story of Pip, a poor orphan who becomes a gentleman
thanks to an unknown benefactor who turns out to be an escaped convict. Pip gets
involved in various adventures and then marries Estella, his childhood sweetheart,
who had been trained by the old and bitter Miss Havisham to manipulate men. The
novel’s essential storyline was the core of the script; most of the secondary and minor
characters had to be excluded.
Principal photography began in September 1945 on location in “Dickens country”:
14
 Chapter 2. Estella15

the small island of Fort Darnet. This first location was situated on the River Medway in
East Kent, around the Thames Estuary. The moviemakers later worked outside St. Paul
Cathedral in London. Some of the interiors were photographed at the Denham studios
in Buckinghamshire.
In February 1946, the production had to be suspended for a few weeks due to a
strike. In April, the shooting moved to Pinewood Studio, which had reopened after
being requisitioned for emergency use during the war.
Legend has it that Lean was on the set of Caesar and Cleopatra when Jean was
shooting her scenes and was so impressed by her look that a few days later he asked
her to audition for the role of young Estella. The screen test went smoothly, and Jean
got the part.
According to a production newsletter, most of Jean’s scenes were filmed in a large
mansion built at Denham. The building was a perfect replica of the Restoration House
from Rochester, Dickens’ original inspiration for Satis House, Miss Havisham’s de-
crepit residence. But years later, Jean claimed that those scenes were filmed in a real
house and not at the studio. She recalled the large reception room filled with spider
webs constantly tangling in her hair and movie rats running everywhere.1
Playing young Estella was great fun for Jean. She recalled rushing around on
the set misbehaving in the company of Anthony Wager, three years her junior, who
­co-starred as young Pip. Jean liked to boss him around since it was the boy’s first acting
experience. Lean seemed amused by the two kids, who had a great chemistry on- and
­off-screen. From Wager, Jean received her first ­on-screen kiss. Jean said of her young
­co-star,
We liked each other. In fact, he saved my life on the film one day. I had to go up and down
those damn stairs so many times holding the candle that I was tired late one evening and I
kind of relaxed and let my arm drop. Suddenly there were flames shooting up. My apron was
on fire! Anthony just rushed in and brushed it out. He was there before anyone else could
move. Really a great sense of timing.2
“A very stylized, unique actress” was Jean’s description of Martita Hunt, who
played Miss Havisham. Yet Wager and she were frightened by the ­larger-than-life artist
who apparently stayed in character even ­off-camera. Years later, when Jean played the
Miss Havisham role in a new TV adaptation, she remembered, “When [Hunt] started to
become Miss Havisham, I thought she was scary in her attitude…. She was wonderful to
me, but when she started to become Miss Havisham, she was a very imposing figure.”3
Jean’s performance was much appreciated by actress Valerie Hobson, who played
adult Estella. “Jean Simmons’ natural vivacity came out strongly and this helped with
the older Estella,” commented Hobson. “When you see Estella grown up, you feel this
vivacity has been suppressed and I think this suited my particular style very well.”4
Jean’s young age and inexperience did not make her fully appreciate Lean’s di-
rectorial greatness. Only years later did she recognize his real genius: “He was like a
god—as attractive and charming, gentle and kind and sweet and wonderful to An-
thony Wager and me.”5 The director guided her to what he wanted, having her focus
solely on Estella’s character. His method made such an impression on Jean that she
suddenly realized that until then she had never taken acting too seriously and it was
now time for her to embrace the seventh art more professionally.
16 Jean Simmons

Martita Hunt and Jean Simmons in Great Expectations (1946).

The final cost of Great Expectations was £393,000—an incredible sum for a
­ lack-and-white production—but the investment was quickly recovered after it be-
b
came the third most popular film of 1947 at the British box office. It grossed almost $2
million in the U.S.
Jean’s performance as Estella received wonderful notices, who praised the picture
as the finest Dickens adaptation yet made. The film received five Academy Award nom-
inations, winning for Best Art ­Direction-Set Decoration, ­Black-and-White, and Best
Cinematography, ­Black-and-White. Nowadays Great Expectations is on the list of the
top 100 British films ever made.
Jean was rapidly making a name for herself as a clever and accomplished actress.
In the spring of 1946, as soon as her work on Lean’s set was completed, she returned
to Denham to play in Hungry Hill, her second film under her contract with J. Arthur
Rank. The picture was produced by Two Cities films, which was financed as part of the
Rank Organisation. Originally founded by the Italian ­lawyer-entrepreneur Filippo Del
Giudice, the Rank Organisation had successfully produced many British films.
Hungry Hill was directed by the Irish filmmaker Brian Desmond Hurst and
starred Margaret Lockwood, Dennis Price and Cecil Parker. The screenplay by Ter-
ence Young and Daphne du Maurier was based on du Maurier’s own ­best-selling
novel. With an Irish setting, the picture told the story of the ­50-year feud of two
powerful families. Jean’s role as Jane Brodrick, youngest daughter of a wealthy mine
owner, was small but substantial. Years later when she was asked to comment on the
film, she dismissed it quickly: “It was a Daphne du Maurier story nobody remembers.
 Chapter 2. Estella17

A Margaret Lockwood movie; she was always very nice to this teenager. I was Dennis
Price’s younger sister. I was always the younger sister in those days.”6
Melodramatic, gloomy, long and depressive were the adjectives used by reviewers
to describe Hungry Hill, which was also poorly received by the public. It was released
in the U.K. among a series of outstanding British productions, including Great Ex-
pectations, A Matter of Life and Death, Hue and Cry, Green for Danger and Odd Man
Out. The film simply could not compete with them. Hungry Hill suffered the same fate
when it was released in North America in October 1946, disappearing quickly from
screens.
While the shooting of Hungry Hill was still in progress, Jean began preparation
for the role of Kanchi in Black Narcissus. According to the film’s pressbook, directors
Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger conducted a nationwide search to cast the
role of Kanchi. In all, almost 1000 girls applied, and Jean won the part from over 200
who were ultimately ­screen-tested or interviewed. Kanchi was of a ­17-year-old native
girl from a Himalayan province who had been repudiated by her husband. Jean was
required to personify feminine allure and sensuality without speaking one word of
dialogue. Tired of being stuck in a rut, Jean welcomed that challenge, thinking that
people could see her finally in a different role.
To look the part of an exotic temptress, she spent hours in the Pinewood makeup
room as her body was painted brown with a very thick and itchy substance. She also
had to wear a ring in her nose, which drove her crazy as it fell off every time she smiled,

Jean Simmons as the seductive Kanchi in Black Narcissus (1947)

18 Jean Simmons

often necessitating retakes. The transformation was criticized by K. Ahmed Abbas, an

Indian journalist and film critic: In an article in the industry magazine Boxoffice, he
expressed his disapproval of the way J. Arthur Rank’s production followed the Holly-
wood pattern of casting British actors in parts that could have been filled by Indian
film stars better looking and more suitable for the respective roles than Simmons and
Sabu.7 Many decades later, Jean said, “Today [the film] might be dismissed as racism,
but at the time it was considered a film of high art. I don’t think actors do blackface any
more. It’s not considered proper.”8 Wendy Pressburger had introduced the ­best-selling
Rumer Godden novel Black Narcissus to her husband, producer Emeric Pressburger.
It was an intriguing story of Anglican nuns sent to establish a mission 8000 feet up in
the remote Himalayas, in the Palace of Mopu, which had formerly been a harem. The
nuns’ attempt to establish a mission ended with one of them dying in conflict between
the sacred and the profane.
In 1943, Pressburger, in collaboration with director Michael Powell, established
a film company called The Archers which made several successful films, and both
agreed that Black Narcissus was the right project to take on next. Powell read the novel
at the suggestion of actress Mary Morris, who hoped to be cast in a major part.
The leading role of Sister Clodagh went to Deborah Kerr after long animated dis-
cussions between Powell and Pressburger. The former felt that the Scottish actress was
too young for the part, but the latter convinced him to reconsider. Other cast members
included David Farrar as the general agent Mr. Dean and Kathleen Byron as Sister
Ruth.
On May 16, 1946, production was ready to begin. Art director Alfred Junge built
a very elaborate and extensive set to recreate a plausible Himalayas background on
the Pinewood back lot. The palace was erected high above other buildings and trees,
surrounded by a wall of planks inclining at an angle of 35 degrees. Over 120,000 feet
of tubular steel formed the framework of this monumental piece of landscaping. Tim-
ber was fixed to scaffolding and covered with prefabricated plaster and cement sheets,
painted to resemble the natural rock. Thirty tons of gravel and soil were hauled by
rope and pulley to the top of the simulated mountain to make paths and terraces that
were strong enough to take the weight of horses. The lush garden surrounding Sir
Giles Loder’s estate at Horsham, Sussex, was where the crew filmed the only exterior
scene representing the area at the foot of the mountain. It was a superb evocation of
India.9
Between takes, Jean loved snooping around the set: “How valuable were the
wasted hours, when with nothing to do, I could watch the technicians at work and
get some small appreciation of their problems and their contribution to the artists’
success.”10 She felt that the Himalaya sets looked ridiculously fake: “I remember seeing
lots of white molding. An old man was sitting there close to a wind machine. He said,
‘Come and look through the camera,’ and I was in the Himalayas.”11 The old man was
Alfred Junge, Powell’s ­long-time production designer.
In her first scene, Jean had to eat with her hands a slice of a juicy melon, a
­long-forgotten exotic fruit in the war’s aftermath. Flora Robson, who played Sister
Philippa, the nun in charge of the orchard, managed to find some for all the techni-
cians on duty, making the filming of that sequence sweeter for everybody.
 Chapter 2. Estella19

Cinematographer Jack Cardiff recounted how Powell could be very difficult and
sometimes rude to the actors, asking them, “You were not very good, were you? Who’s
your agent?” He believed this sort of insult would goad them into a better perfor-
mance.12 Jean did not experience any bad moment with Powell; she found him pro-
fessional, yet cold and distant. In 1988 she told The Guardian, “I was never as close to
Powell as to David Lean, but in a New York restaurant recently a man walked by and
we exchanged looks. Then a note arrived which said: ‘I don’t know if you remember
me or not but my name is Michael Powell.’ …I rushed over to him. It was like meeting
a ­long-lost family.”13
Cardiff had to create a balance between his desire to experiment with Technicolor
and the difficult supervision of Technicolor’s owners, who had to make sure that once
developed, the process was used properly and that the color palette had a flat, even
lighting. Any uneven lighting close to chiaroscuro was strictly forbidden. When the
rushes were screened, the supervisors appreciated what Cardiff was trying to achieve
and withdrew several objections previously expressed for some scenes where a ­low-key
light was used. The cinematographer recalled that he had “some misgivings because I
was never happy with putting dark makeup on, but it seems to work with her (Sim-
mons) … just! She was very beautiful and had a real quality about her.”14
On the set, Jean forged a lifetime friendship with Deborah Kerr. “What an exqui-
site face, and what a dear, funny person!” Kerr commented after meeting Jean (they
later ­co-starred in two more films), “With her dusky makeup, she looked even more
beautiful as the Indian seductress!”15
Black Narcissus was completed on schedule on August 22, 1946; it went substan-
tially over budget. Yet the money was well spent, as evident on the screen, and the
film became a commercial success. It was highly praised for its lush studio sets, color-
ful costumes, stunning color photography and imaginative art direction. But review-
ers objected that the story was not very persuasive. Rumer Godden, the author of the
novel, was dissatisfied with the film, believing it was “counterfeit” because of the studio
setting. “I suppose I was so unhappy because I knew what the film could have been,”
Godden said in an interview. Yet she praised Jean’s performance: “She perfectly ful-
filled my description of Kanchi, the young Nepalese girl … like a basket of fruit piled
high, luscious and ready to eat.”16
On the following summer’s release of Black Narcissus in the U.S., the film was
beset with controversy. The story was considered risqué and several key sequences,
including the flashbacks of Sister Clodagh’s love affair in Ireland before she took her
vows, were cut out of the American release. Some saw in the character of Kanchi the
sexual alter ego of Sister Clodagh’s repressed sexuality, brought to life by Kerr. Despite
the mutilations, the picture was a hit. Jack Cardiff won both a Golden Globe and an
Oscar for Best Cinematography for Black Narcissus. A second Oscar was won by pro-
duction designer Alfred Junge.
Under J. Arthur Rank’s supervision, Jean’s career was moving at an incredible
pace. The producer had become a father figure to Jean, someone she could trust and
turn to for advice. “It’s just like your favorite uncle,” she was quoted as saying.17 It was
Rank who, after securing Jean’s services on a long term contract, decided she was being
paid too little. He tore up the contract and gave her another one at a higher salary.18 The
20 Jean Simmons

new contract included an agreement by which Jean would have earned £75,000 for ten
pictures during the next five years.
Jean was assigned to elocutionist and drama coach Molly Terraine, a very stern
disciplinarian, who oversaw the J. Arthur Rank Charm School in Tottenham Court
Road, London. The coach helped Jean to lose her Cockney accent and prepare her for
her first starring role in Uncle Silas.
 Chapter 3

Ophelia

“A ravishing ­18-year-old, Jean Simmons, was Ophelia.”

—Laurence Olivier

On October 20, 1946, The New York Times announced:

­Seventeen-year-old Jean Simmons, the girl on the camel in Caesar and Cleopatra, gets her
first starring role in Rank’s Uncle Silas … opposite Derrick De Marney in the Sheridan Le
Fanu thriller, playing a harassed young ward who is nearly murdered by her guardian for
her money. Katina Paxinou, who will play the female menace, a sinister French governess,
has arrived from America to join the cast.1

For years, producer Laurence Irving had sought to make a picture based on the Le
Fanu novel Uncle Silas. He finally pitched the project to J. Arthur Rank, who saw it as
the perfect vehicle for Jean’s first leading role. When Irving saw her, he knew instantly
that Jean was Caroline Ruthyn, the story’s main character. Rank assigned the project
to Two Cities and production started in November 1948.
Jean began preparation for her role a month earlier, undergoing an important
vocal change. From the sweet, high pitch that was perfectly in character for her “chil-
dren’s roles” in previous films, she was obliged to transform into a deeper tone denot-
ing suffering and fright. Under Molly Terraine’s strict training, Jean was able to bring
her voice at least two tones down. Despite her reputation as an extremely demanding
drama teacher, Terraine proved invaluable to Jean. The coach’s constant encourage-
ment gave Jean enough confidence to face what was to be her first major role. Terraine
never appeared on the set, but Charles H. Frank, making his directorial debut, realized
that Jean needed very little direction. Jean knew, both by her instinct and by the train-
ing received, what to do exactly and how to deliver her lines properly.
Since her character appeared in all but ten minutes of the picture, Jean had a very
demanding routine. To be on set in time, she had to wake up every morning at six,
reach the Denham studio by eight, and be in the makeup chair a ­half-hour later. She
was in front of the camera by nine and was at the studio until seven at night. Never
complaining or being late, Jean exuded extreme professionalism.
For script reasons, she had to run for four days. Some scenes shot on location
called for her to rush through fields and woods in a state of panic; they required more
than several takes to be completed. Later, at the studio, Jean decided to do a ­half-dozen
laps around the sound stage prior to acting in a sequence wherein she had to appear
breathless in an attempt to make the scene realistic.
21
22 Jean Simmons

Jean Simmons and Derek Bond during a break in the filming of Uncle Silas (1947).

Everyone on the set was impressed by her contagious happiness, her carefree way
of behaving, her constant laughter, and the ability to set her naturally outgoing per-
sonality aside to transform herself into the Victorian character of Caroline Ruthyn.
Cinematography Robert Krasker enthusiastically described Jean as “perfect camera
material … her hair, her lips and eyes are outstanding[ly] beautiful…. She had the gift
of forgetting about the camera.”2
Jean had great chemistry with Greek Academy Award winner Katina Paxinou,
who played the evil governess Madame de la Rougierre. “She is wonderful,” Jean said
in an interview. “She was so kind to me and taught me such a lot. I thought I’d be
frightened of her, but you couldn’t be. I cried when she went away. She stayed at the
studio one whole afternoon when she wasn’t working, teaching me how to faint.”3
Jean also enjoyed working with Derrick De Marney: “He is a perfect dear. He
treats me just as though I were his kid sister.” The ­41-year-old De Marney had to wear
scary, heavy makeup to transform into the decrepit Uncle Silas.4
On January 29, 1947, the crew organized a surprise party for Jean’s eighteenth
birthday. As soon as she finished her scene, she was called into a remote corner of the
set where some technicians revealed a long table decorated with flowers and a birthday
cake with 18 candles. Caught by surprise, Jean was so moved that, after she blew them
out, she only said, “You are so marvelous … but let’s all have some of this cake.”
Once the shooting was over, Irving was ecstatic. He told The New York Times,
 Chapter 3. Ophelia23

Miss Simmons is the nearest thing to a young Ellen Terry [a renowned English actress of the
late 19th and early 20th century] I’ve encountered in a long career in the theater.… Noth-
ing can stop her, because she’s just a ­natural-born acting miracle. It was the most amazing
experience to watch her playing her scenes with Katina Paxinou. You might have expected
the child to be nervous, but not a bit of it. She went in fighting, and Paxinou, who’s no fool,
quickly realized what was happening and started to fight back. She had to fight every inch
of the way, and I think you’ll see the results on the screen. Between the two of them, we’ve
really got something.5

In England, Uncle Silas had a chilling trailer, which did not fail to pique audience
interest. Most reviewers dismissed the picture as an overdone, ­old-fashioned melo-
drama. Jean’s performance was considered a waste of talent and the picture sank at the
box office. Uncle Silas opened in North America in 1951 as The Inheritance, four years
after the original U.K. release, mainly because of Jean’s increasing popularity after her
international success in Hamlet. For unknown reasons, several major cuts were made
to the American version, rendering it almost unwatchable.
Jean’s next film had a similar fate. The Woman in the Hall began production at
Pinewood in February 1947 just a few days after Uncle Silas wrapped. Once again
she was in the hands of a novice director, Jack Lee, a documentary filmmaker whose
previous production, Children on Trial (1946), had revealed his aptitude for dealing
with young people. Jean played Jay, a girl brought up by a scrupulous mother (played
effectively by Ursula Jeans). Jeans’ character turns begging into an organized busi-
ness to provide for her two young
daughters, using them as a sort of
theatrical prop to lure ­soft-hearted
philanthropists. Adapted from a
popular melodramatic novel by
G.B. Stern, The Woman in the Hall
was originally titled Sacrifice, but
later the producers reinstated the
original title to capitalize on the
book’s success.
Actress Susan Hampshire,
who played Jay as a child, recalled,
“Jean Simmons was sweet to me,
which was more than I deserved
because I was always silly and
cheeky when I met someone im-
portant.”6 In the picture, Jean con-
firmed her vocal ability when, as
she played a piano, she sang “Pale
Is the Snowdrop,” a song specially
written for her. During the long,
boring breaks between shots, Jean
worked on a needlepoint tapestry
Jean Simmons in A Woman in the Hall (1947). fire screen for her mother.
24 Jean Simmons

When The Woman in the Hall premiered in London, Jean, in a stylish gown
matched by long evening gloves, appeared radiant at the event, which Queen Mary
also attended. Many reviewers complained about the film’s end, which left viewers
to form their own opinion as to what become of the characters. Jean’s performance
was generally praised. The Evening Standard called it “a little triumph of intelligent
artistry against formidable odds,”7 while Motion Picture Daily wrote, “Jean Simmons,
who plays the ­daughter-turned-thief, is excellent, her characterization being mature
and studied.”8
While filming The Woman in the Hall at Pinewood, Jean received an unexpected
visit from Laurence Olivier. The veteran ­actor-director came to ask her if she would like
to play Ophelia in his upcoming film Hamlet. Jean was stunned by being offered what
was the most desired female role in Britain. Every established star wanted to be Olivier’s
Ophelia, as Jean had heard that many Hollywood actress were interested in the part.
Jean had never seen Hamlet on stage or read the play. Olivier asked her to read
Ophelia’s first speech, “As I was sewing in my closet,” while he stood in a corner of her
dressing room. Jean began to deliver the lines even though she could hear a loud, dis-
tracting banging coming from outside. She later reminisced,
I’d like to be able to say that my reading that morning so impressed Sir Laurence that he
immediately assigned me the role; but that isn’t so. To tell the truth, I was nervous and
I’m sure he didn’t think I’d given the best Shakespearean reading he’d ever heard. He is
a patient man, however, he sat down and explained to me his conception of what Ophelia
really is: a young girl, well brought up
in a secluded way, who loses her rea-
son when faced with all the scheming
intrigues of the Danish court. Then he
told me something about all the great
Ophelias of the past … Mistress Saun-
derson, the first female Ophelia; Mistress
Mountford, who went crazy herself but
was allowed to continue in the part
despite her dementia; the immortal Ellen
Terry, Lillian Gish, Vivien Leigh and oth-
ers! What large footsteps to follow!9

The following day, Jean received

Hamlet’s script, which she studied thor-
oughly with Molly Terraine. Stewart
Granger, whom Jean had befriended,
strongly advised her not to play that
complex role, fearing that she would be
eaten alive by the critics. But Jean fol-
lowed her instinct and after many read-
ings and discussions with her coach,
she delivered Ophelia’s lines one more
time in front of Olivier, who at the end
hugged her and gave her the part.
Olivier had seen Jean in Great Ex- A publicity shot of Simmons, circa 1948.
 Chapter 3. Ophelia25

pectations and believed she had a natural screen presence. He also believed, accord-
ing to his son Tarquin, that “the only way he could be convincing as young Hamlet
(he was 41) was to have a very young Ophelia.”10 According to one of the film’s press
releases, Olivier discussed the casting of Jean with David Lean, who agreed with the
idea. The Hamlet production team inquired with the Rank Organisation about the
actress’ availability and were told that Jean’s work schedule was full for the entire year.
She would be still working in The Woman in the Hall when Hamlet was set to go into
production, and then she was due to leave for the Fiji Islands to star in The Blue Lagoon.
Disappointed by the inability to cast Jean, Olivier ­screen-tested 30 alternatives and
interviewed another 94. No one seemed suitable.
Olivier contacted J. Arthur Rank, and it was arranged that Jean could have 30
days between the two pictures in which she could shoot all of Ophelia’s sequences. The
agreement was accepted both by Woman in the Hall producer Ian Dalrymple and Blue
Lagoon producer Frank Launder. Jean, however, now had a frantic schedule. She had
to rehearse Hamlet at odd times. When she was not required at Pinewood for Woman
in the Hall, she met Molly Terraine and read through Hamlet, taking each of the parts
in turn. Jean hated Shakespeare at school because she had found his plays boring and
often incomprehensible. Many of the words and phrases in Hamlet were beyond her
understanding, so Terraine had to explain their meaning and significance in the play.
“Even when I go into it,” Jean candidly admitted years later, “I didn’t know what I
was talking about. I wasn’t very bright at that sort of thing.”11 There were a couple of
moments when Jean insisted she could not do it, but her determined coach told her
bluntly to stop complaining and
keep working.
On her first day at Denham
Studios, Jean looked visibly ner-
vous. She later said,
I looked very different in a blonde
wig and fair makeup, and I felt that
my inexperience would be very
obvious in the company of so many
celebrated Old Vic players. But
Molly Terraine reminded me that
I at least had more film experience
and cinematic sense than many of
the Hamlet cast, and this encour-
aged me a good deal. I lost my
feeling of inferiority after that and
found everyone most sympathetic
and helpful.12

Before the start of shooting,

Olivier asked Jean to have her
front teeth filed down, because
they were a bit ­rabbit-like and not
Ophelia’s style, especially for the
­close-ups. Jean complied. On the As Ophelia in a Hamlet (1948) publicity shot.
26 Jean Simmons

first day, Olivier put her floating in the cold waters of an artificial creek created on
the studio back lot. Every time she opened her mouth to say something, the air went
through her teeth and made her pronounce all the words with a terrible sibilant sound.
Nobody could understand her. In vain, she kept sucking her teeth before ultimately
sobbing, explaining her struggle to Olivier, who was more than understanding. After
a few takes she was able to overcome the problem. Luckily, that day, she had only one
line to deliver.
While Jean was making Uncle Silas, Katina Paxinou told her that if she wanted
to look afraid, she had to hold her breath. Jean applied that advice in a Hamlet scene.
Olivier busted out laughing and asked what she was doing. Jean was so embarrassed
that she never used that trick again.
Sometimes, no matter how Jean rehearsed, when the time came to appear in
front of the camera, she couldn’t do it right and she returned to her dressing room in
despair. Olivier sat down with her and gently calmed her down, explaining his idea
of Ophelia and how the lines should have been delivered. Years later, Jean revealed
in an interview that, every night at home after a full day at the studio, she’d cry
copiously to release all the tension accumulated on set. Often Olivier, who had just
been knighted, rang her up at home to discuss work. When Winifred answered the
call, confused about how to address him, Olivier “roared with laughter and asked for
Lady Jean.”13
On the set, Jean tried to stay away from the rest of the cast to remain concentrated
on her character. She also rehearsed her lines constantly. Ophelia’s “mad scene” was
particularly ­nerve-wracking to perform because Jean knew how important it was to be
convincing. Sympathetic, Olivier shot the scene on a closed set until all those emotion-
ally difficult sequences were completed. Everybody nonessential was kept away with
one exception, Vivien Leigh, Olivier’s wife, who was permitted to watch from right
next to the camera. The presence of the Gone with the Wind star was very intimidating
for Jean, aware of how Leigh had campaigned to be Ophelia. Leigh had played that role
at Kronborg Castle in Elsinor, Denmark, with her husband in 1937, but now, at 36, she
was too old to be believable.
On the following day, Olivier invited Jean to the screening room to watch the
rushes of that dramatic scene. When she saw herself on screen, Jean couldn’t stop gig-
gling, when nobody in the room was laughing. Suddenly in the darkness, Olivier’s
distinctive voice was heard yelling angrily at her for her silly behavior, ordering her
out. It was an embarrassing and unforgettable moment for Jean.
A few days later, Olivier invited her to see a theater production of his in the West
End. Usually Jean was kept late at the studio, which was far outside of London. On that
day, she tried her best to leave earlier but it was a very foggy evening and it took her a
long time to reach the theater. She arrived ten minutes late for the curtain. “The next
day [Olivier] bawled me out in front of the entire crew: about never being late, how
dare you go to the theater and be late! How dare you keep actors waiting and … on and
on and on. Of course, I was in tears.”14 The director told her that he hoped that was a
lesson for her: never keep the crew waiting for an actor (which is something Jean had
never done!). Seeing her weeping, Olivier gave her a big hug and forgave her.
Many have speculated about a relationship between Jean and Olivier during the
 Chapter 3. Ophelia27

shooting of Hamlet. As Jean remarked in many interviews, their attachment was purely
professional and it developed into a lifelong friendship. What seemed to have triggered
the gossip about a possible tryst was Vivien Leigh’s obsessive jealousy, caused by her
mental illness. The actress made the groundless allegations to a close friend, who sub-
sequently spread the false rumor.
Hamlet was completed in six months at a cost of £580,000 (over $2 million at the
time). Olivier’s idea of closing the set to the press during the entire production left
an aura of mystery around the picture that generated a great buzz. Gradually reports
filtered through that the film was going to be something remarkable. Olivier arranged
a special early screening for J. Arthur Rank. When the picture was over, Olivier was
expecting feedback from Rank but “Thank you very much, Sir Laurence” were the
only words the producer spoke before leaving the room.15 It took a long time for Oliv-
ier to forgive Rank, who approved the picture only after reading the first enthusiastic
reviews.
Hamlet’s world premiere was held in London on May 6, 1948, in the presence of the
entire royal family and several members of the British government. The American pre-
miere took place in Boston on August 18. The picture opened a month later in selected
cities after New York and Los An-
geles had their own opening events.
On both sides of the ocean, Ham-
let was enthusiastically received by
critics who found it nothing less
than a masterpiece. The reviewers
raved that Jean handled the part
magnificently and completely vin-
dicated the faith Olivier had in her.
From Time magazine:
A young (19) actress named Jean
Simmons, who plays Ophelia, is a
product of the movie studios exclu-
sively. Yet she holds her own among
some highly skilled Shakespeareans.
More to the point, she gives the
film a vernal freshness and a clear
humanity which play like orchard
breezes through all of Shakespeare’s
best writing, but which are rarely
projected by veteran Shakespearean
actors.
Time also put a colorful portrait
of Jean in her Ophelia costume on its
cover.16 Bosley Crowther of The New
York Times observed, “The luminous
performance of Jean Simmons as the
truly fair Ophelia brings honest tears Jean Simmons and Laurence Olivier in Hamlet
for a shattered romance.”17 (1948).
28 Jean Simmons

In his autobiography, Michael Powell commented enthusiastically about Jean’s

versatility as an actress:
When Larry Olivier saw Jean Simmons on the screen doing Kanchi’s dance in the Blue
Room setting of Black Narcissus, he couldn’t believe it was the same girl who had played
Ophelia. When I saw Larry’s Hamlet with Jean Simmons as his Ophelia, I couldn’t believe it
either.18

Hamlet scooped all the prizes at all the major film festivals and competitions. Jean
was ­Oscar-nominated for Best Supporting Actress and won many international prizes,
including the Venice Film Festival’s Best Actress award.
Despite its international critical acclaim, Hamlet was not a commercial success.
In North America, it became more of an art house film. Yet Jean’s popularity rose
dramatically: She began receiving 5000 fan letters a week, and tried to answer them
personally.
 Chapter 4

Road to Stardom

“The more films I play in, the better for my career, and with each new
part I am gaining in knowledge and experience.”—Jean Simmons

To Olivier’s dismay, Jean declined his offer to do repertory theater for a few years
at the Old Vic in Bristol, then the most auspicious training ground for actors. (“I was
too busy becoming a big movie star,” Jean admitted remorsefully years later.) Opting
for the salary of a film star, she left for the Fiji Islands to appear in The Blue Lagoon for
the glory of J. Arthur Rank.
Based on the Henry de Vere Stacpoole novel, The Blue Lagoon was the story of
two British children and a sailor shipwrecked on a lush tropical island, growing into
adulthood away from real society. The novel was adapted into a 1923 silent film starring
Val Chard and Molly Adair. This second version was a project kept on shelves since
the mid–1930s after Herbert Wilcox bought the rights to the novel. In the early 1940s,
producer Edward Black, Gainsborough Studios’ head of production, optioned a script
written by Michael Logan based on the novel. A tentative cast was assembled with
Margaret Lockwood and either Michael Redgrave or Richard Greene as the male lead,
under the direction of Carol Reed. Then Gainsborough decided to give the project to
­producer-director Frank Launder, who was just about to go into ­pre-production when
the war halted the project. In 1943, Launder and Sidney Gilliat formed a production
company, Individual Pictures. Once the war was over, the duo made sure that The Blue
Lagoon was still available and purchased the rights from Wilcox. Finally, in 1947, the
two producers, in collaboration with J. Arthur Rank, agreed to make a film in Techni-
color—half in the South Pacific and half at Pinewood Studios.
“If empty stages at Pinewood had not obliged us to return,” recalled Launder, “I
could have shot more in the South Seas and saved a good deal of money, because the
least costly part of the film was the location, but such were the false economies of the
day [that] it was essential to fill studios even though it raised the costs of the films.”1
After an extensive scouting process for the shooting locations, the unexplored Yasawa
islands were selected as the setting for the film.
Jean was quickly cast in the leading role of Emmeline, but the search for the
right male ­co-star took some time. Among 4,000 applicants, including such actors as
Roger Moore and Laurence Harvey, Launder eventually selected unknown Donald
Houston. Welsh, 23 years old, a blond, ­blue-eyed ­six-footer, Houston had worked as
a miner after being discharged from the Royal Air Force. He was noticed by a talent

29
30 Jean Simmons

scout while acting with the Oxford Repertory Company. Houston had never acted in
front of a camera; Launder cast him based on his impressive, fit physique and his skill
as a swimmer.
In preparation for the trip to the island, Launder, Noel Purcell (cast as Irish sailor
Paddy Button) and Jean met with Prince Thakombow of Fiji, who was attending uni-
versity in London. The trio gave the prince a tour of Pinewood that was followed by an
informal chat about the details of the film production, including the upcoming jour-
ney to the islands, which the royal enthusiastically endorsed. Before the trip, Jean had
the opportunity to visit Blue Lagoon author Henry de Vere Stacpoole. The ­84-year-old,
who lived on the Island of Wight, gave Jean the gift of a green coral charm he brought
back from the Fiji 40 years earlier, when he was collecting material for his novel.
On November 27, 1947, Jean boarded a BOAC seaplane in Poole, destination Aus-
tralia. A tour of the country was scheduled for her by the Rank Organisation in con-
junction with her journey to Fiji. The ­long-haul flight Down Under included stopovers
in Cairo, Calcutta and Singapore. Her departure was covered by the press, and film
footage appeared in several newsreels. It was an emotional moment for Winifred, who
accompanied her daughter to the airport. It was Jean’s first flight and her first trip
abroad. Lots of tears were shed when mother and daughter bid farewell to each other.
In Cairo, Jean had time to relax, visiting the pyramids and taking a Nile cruise.
In Singapore, her schedule, carefully planned by Rank, was extremely hectic. Within a
few hours of her landing, she had tea with two Malay governors, made a personal ap-
pearance at Singapore’s most modern cinema, and met over 200 guests at a gala recep-
tion given in her honor. She was amused by a man’s offer to send her rice, teakwood,
salt, pepper and a bullock or a buffalo for the right to use her photograph on a calendar.
Jean diplomatically explained to him that he had to discuss the proposition with her
escort, David Pursall, publicity director for the Rank Organisation, who turned down
the odd business proposal.
Three days later, her ­Sydney-bound flight was delayed by the immigration service
during a stopover in Darwin. Jean and the other 12 passengers were detained for three
hours. Their documents proving their vaccination against cholera were inadequate and
their arrival from Cairo, where the virus was raging, had alarmed the Australian De-
partment of Health. The next day, the situation was cleared up.
But the journey did not resume ­trouble-free. Due to bad weather, the Brisbane
airport was closed and the plane, which had stopped to refuel, taxied for many hours.
Finally, on December 2, Jean landed in Sydney, welcomed by 50 screaming fans. As re-
ported in the local press, the first thing she did was to send a food parcel to her mother.
On that same night, she attended the gala premiere of Launder’s latest film Captain
Boycott (1947), starring Stewart Granger. For 20 days, Jean’s Australian travels, from
Sydney to Adelaide, to Melbourne back to Sydney, was meticulously reported in na-
tional newspapers. Press interviews, radio broadcasts, visits to hospitals, schools, bo-
tanical gardens, zoos, film premieres, ballets, formal dinners and other public events
kept Jean busy until December 21 when she finally boarded a flight to the Fiji Islands.
To everybody involved with The Blue Lagoon, Fiji seemed like an idyllic setting
to shoot a film. But once on location, it proved to be a completely different experience.
Initially the crew shot scenes around the capital town of Suva while lodging at the
 Chapter 4. Road to Stardom31

Donald Houston and Jean Simmons in a lobby card from The Blue Lagoon (1949).

Gran Pacific Hotel, located on the shore situated to the southeast of the main island of
Viti Levu. In attempting to film on the coral reefs in rough seas, almost every member
of the film unit sustained cuts or abrasions from the sharp coral. After a stop in the
northern town of Lautoka, the crew traveled on motorboats chartered in Australia to
the principal locations of the uncontaminated Yasawa Islands. Jean was provided a
nice cabin for herself and Irene Williams, her dresser; they were later obliged to share
it with four other female crew members. In a lengthy article written by Launder about
that exotic experience, the director praised the cooperative behavior of Jean, who never
complained about the hardship of that environment. “She did not behave in a manner
associated with film stars, otherwise we should have been hanging hammocks over the
side of the ship.”2 Jean told the press,
The South Seas are not at all as I expected them. I thought they would be full of blazing
color with birds and animals in profusion. But the color was mainly green; there aren’t any
animals and very rarely do you see a bird. And the weather! You thought at least the South
Seas would be sunny—NO! In February, 32 inches of rain fell, a record for the Pacific. Often,
we have been caught out on the beaches by torrential downpours and they were very cold….
Work was hard—physically hard. We scrambled ashore through surf, trekked along the
beaches and through the jungle. And we had a hurricane in which my tent collapsed on top
of me. Luckily, I was sleeping all curled up in a ball.3

Mosquitos, sand flies, snakes and sharks afflicted the production. Various bugs
that brought sickness to the crew. Jean was fortunate to avoid any trouble, but Donald
32 Jean Simmons

Houston had to be admitted to hospital once, having grazed himself badly while swim-
ming through a ­rock-bound water chute. The same fate befell Launder, who had to carry
his arm in a sling after breaking a wrist in the last days of the shooting.
Jean and Donald got along perfectly, amusing themselves between takes by fish-
ing off a little boat. Their chemistry in front of the camera photographed beautifully. “I
like him immensely,” she said. “He is a fine actor with an irrepressible personality.” In
the village of Tamasua, Jean celebrated her nineteenth birthday. The natives presented
her with plenty of gifts and organized a day of dancing and singing in her honor.
“What a birthday!” Jean wrote in the “Blue Lagoon Diary” special promotion publica-
tion printed a few months after the film’s release. “I shall never forget it. The natives
were all in their party clothes and their chief gave me a whale’s tooth on a necklace of
coconut fiber. Later, Johnny, our interpreter, told me that the gift of the tooth meant an
honorary rank of Princess and that I was the first white woman to have received one
in the Yasawas.”4
After three months on location, Jean was ready to go back to London where the
shooting was to resume in April at Pinewood. Rank astutely scheduled her return trip
with stops in Hollywood and New York, believing that Jean, still relatively unknown
in the States, could benefit from some local promotion.
On March 17, Jean landed in San Francisco with a foot still in bandages after
cutting it on a piece of coral during the last days of shooting. At the airport she was
welcomed by her elder sister Edna, who had arrived from Boston to surprise her. The
two women had not seen each other for four years. (In 1945, Edna married Bill Paxson,
a Harvard student she met when he was a G.I. in Britain and moved to Massachusetts.)
Jean was so happy to see her sister that she threw herself into her arms and wept. That
emotional moment was interrupted by reporters who followed her to the Mark Hop-
kins Hotel. On the following day, she traveled by train to Los Angeles chaperoned by
her dresser Irene. On her arrival at Union Station, Jean was met by more press pho-
tographers. Before checking in at the Beverly Hills Hotel, she collected clothes that
had been sent from England for her. At lunch she met producer Walter Wanger and
magnate Howard Hughes. “Mr. Hughes not a bit flamboyant, as I had expected the dis-
coverer of Jane Russell to be,” Jean noted in her travel diary.5 A cocktail party thrown
in Jean’s honor in her hotel’s Crystal Room was attended by nearly all the ­best-known
Hollywood stars and personalities. Joan Crawford, Ingrid Bergman, Cornel Wilde,
Elizabeth Taylor, June Allyson, Ronald Colman and many others filled Jean’s auto-
graph album with their signatures. She later described that event as one of her happiest
memories. In Hollywood, Jean was offered the leading role in Samson and Delilah by
Cecil B. DeMille. She had to exercise all her diplomacy to explain to the director that
she had to consult with J. Arthur Rank first, in case he had scheduled other engage-
ments for her. Jean’s biggest moment in California was attending the Academy Award
presentation, as she was to be the official receiver of any award due a member of the J.
Arthur Rank Organisation. She carefully rehearsed a short speech of acceptance which
she delivered in an elegant strapless velvet black dress when she was called onto the
stage of the Shrine Auditorium to collect the Oscar on behalf of Jack Cardiff, winner of
the award for Best Cinematography in Color for Black Narcissus. To her consternation,
five other awards followed, including two for Great Expectations. The night continued
 Chapter 4. Road to Stardom33

at the glamorous Mocambo nightclub, where she mingled with all the award winners
and collected more autographs for her album.
The next stop was Boston, the only place where Jean had one full day of rest,
enjoying the company of her sister Edna’s family. Then New York, the final stop of
the American tour. She checked in at the Sherry Netherland Hotel. Despite her busy
agenda, Jean was feeling lonely, as she wrote in her diary: “Only wish the other Blue
Lagoon people were here to share this with me. Don Huston … would love it.”6
Her first afternoon in the Big Apple was entirely dedicated to a fashion photo
shoot with a young photographer named Richard Avedon for Harper’s Bazaar.7 This
was followed by three frantic days of interviews, photographs, cocktails, events and
Broadway shows. There was drama when Jean’s passport was lost, forcing her to apply
for a new one at the British Consulate just two days before her scheduled departure to
Southampton on the ocean liner Queen Elizabeth. Jean’s final “American diary” entry:
As we pull out of New York Harbor, I should be on deck, looking at the Statue of Liberty.
But I am not. Instead, I am lying curled up in my cabin, having given way to a sudden bout
of exhaustion that I have been saving up until now. Later emerge to meet some of my fel-
low passengers, among them Mrs. Roosevelt, on her way to unveil the British memorial to
her husband, and little Margaret O’Brien, on a holiday trip. Am also introduced to Alfred
Hitchcock, who is a magnificent storyteller, and Hume Cronyn (the actor who played the
prison warden in Brute Force), now writing for Hitchcock. Soon I shall be home, like which
there is no place. But I should like to go back to America again soon—maybe incognito, so
I can browse round the shops at my own speed. And next time I will look at the Statue of
Liberty.8

On April 5, 1948, before disembarking from the Queen Elizabeth, Mrs. Roosevelt gave
a bunch of violets to Jean.
Finally, in the late spring of 1948, The Blue Lagoon was released in Britain without
fanfare. On the day the picture opened in London, Jean bought a ticket and went in-
cognito into the cinema to check the audience’s reaction:
Everything went very well indeed, people around me seemed to enjoy it … until we reached
the great big love scene. I came out of the water on the beach, and the hero takes me into his
arms and says: “You’re trembling.” A very poignant moment—until a man sitting next to me
in the theater bellowed out. “Of course, you fool, the poor girl is wet!” For me the picture
should have ended right there. I just crawled under my seat and hid!9

Despite being labeled by most reviewers as a conventional desert island melo-

drama, The Blue Lagoon proved to be one of Rank’s greatest box office successes in
the ­austerity-racked U.K., and it had wide international distribution. In the U.S., a
wedding scene (previously shot but deleted from the director’s cut) had to be added
in order to appease the American censors, who also requested some cuts in the love
sequences. In India, a different local soundtrack replaced the original soundtrack, as
was customary in all Indian film releases at the time.
­Thirty-two years later, when Columbia released a Blue Lagoon remake starring
Brooke Shields and Christopher Atkins, Jean told the press that after having a chat
with the director Randal Kleiser, she was curious to watch it. “I’d better take a whole
box of Kleenex,” she joked. “I’ll have a lovely time with all my memories.”10
Upon her return to London, Jean’s first public engagement was to be part of a
34 Jean Simmons

special Oscar ceremony at the Odeon Cinema in Leicester Square, where the six statu-
ettes she collected in Los Angeles on behalf of the winners were officially given to the
artists. On May 6, she returned to Leicester Square to attend Hamlet’s world premiere.
It took place sans Laurence Olivier who was leading the Old Vic Theatre company on
a ­six-month tour of Australia and New Zealand.
In June 1948, Jean went on an Italian holiday in the company of Stewart Granger,
John Mills and his wife Mary. “Granger fell in love with Jean Simmons, which ended his
marriage with Elspeth March,” Mills wrote in his autobiography. “In the spring of 1948
we drove to Portofino with them but, after a week, [Granger] became his usual tricky
self and we had to leave with Jean in the back, sobbing all the way home.”11 In August,
Jean returned to Italy accompanied by her sister Edna and Gabriel Pascal to represent
Hamlet at the Venice Film Festival. Olivier’s picture won the competition and Jean was
awarded the prestigious Coppa Volpi as Best Actress. The following March, Jean’s busy
schedule did not allow her to attend the Academy Award ceremony in Hollywood even
though she had been nominated as Best Supporting Actress for Hamlet’s Ophelia. The
Oscar in that category went to Claire Trevor for Key Largo (1948).
 Chapter 5

Granger

“Jean is the sweetest girl you could wish to meet, and all you read about
her being natural and unsophisticated is absolutely true.”
—Dirk Bogarde

The first time Stewart Granger noticed Jean was on the set of Caesar and Cleopatra.
But the attention he gave her was no more than a smile and an autograph in her album.
Jean was too young, and Granger was in the middle of a torrid extramarital affair with
Deborah Kerr. Two years later, while at Pinewood for a business meeting, Granger ran
into Jean again. This time he was struck by her enchanting beauty but kept his distance
since she was chaperoned by one of J. Arthur Rank’s assistants. Granger wrote in his
memoir,
I used to see her at film premieres, always accompanied by one of Rank’s men, and give her
an elaborate bow. Jean always responded to this joking gesture with a giggle and a furious
blush. Here she was definitely not a child any more and looking very delectable. Not only
was she the most ­sought-after young actress in England but also the most closely guarded.
I would arrange meeting places to try and thwart the watchdogs and Jean entered into the
fun and excitement of it. The whole thing began as a joke but very quickly developed into a
romance.1

Michael Powell recalled, “When Stewart Granger, my old pal, who was sitting
next to me at the first night of Black Narcissus at the Odeon Leicester Square, saw Jean
eating a squashy fruit with a ring through her nose, he went straight out, proposed to
her and married her.”2
Granger was a man who loved challenges. He had to fight to get Jean from Rank’s
“bulldogs” and from Winifred, who disapproved of her young daughter dating a mar-
ried man—and this made the whole thing more appealing to him. “Jean was very inno-
cent and didn’t know much about life. Her mother did, of course; and she knew that a
married man was not at all suitable for her daughter’s career and image,” Granger said
in an interview years later.3
Just before Jean’s departure to Fiji, Granger arranged a dinner in his apartment
for Mrs. Simmons and her daughter, to explain his good intentions and to confess that
he had been divorced in secret. Not many knew that Granger’s real name was James
Lablache Stewart. His name had been changed at the beginning of his career to avoid
confusion with the popular American actor James Stewart. He borrowed the name
Granger from his grandmother’s maiden name. Still, all his friends including Jean

35
36 Jean Simmons

called him Jimmy. His name change gave him the opportunity to keep the news of his
divorce private for a few months. The actor later said,
What was I doing explaining my marital status to this rather nervous mother? I wasn’t
about to ask for her daughter’s hand in marriage. Jean was 18 and I’m a very shopworn 34,
but I had to admit to myself that I was becoming very fond of her and this was more than
just a passionate flirt.4

Granger’s reservation about his relationship with Jean were confirmed (off the re-
cord) to Louella Parsons by Jean herself. “[Jean] told me,” Parsons revealed, “that Stew-
art thought he was too old for her and believed that they should wait awhile before they
married, so she could be sure.”5 Granger was also determined not to make his divorce
public until Jean’s return from Fiji. While she was abroad, J. Arthur Rank invited him
to dinner in his private suite at the Dorchester Hotel in London. At the end of the meal,
after a casual conversation, the producer expressed his complete disapproval about
a married Stewart showing interest in Jean, whom Rank considered like a daughter.
Granger had to reveal his updated marital status, which left Rank speechless.
During Jean’s long absence, Granger was seen in the company of several beautiful
ladies. Once she returned to England, however, the relationship resumed. Appearances
still had to be maintained to avoid gossip that could compromise Jean’s rising career.
To be closer to each other without arousing suspicion, Granger came up with the idea
of starring in a picture together, a film in which Jean would finally play an adult part.
He persuaded his screenwriter friend Noel Langley to collaborate on a script based on
a Granger story inspired by a silent film called Daddy Long Legs (1919). He pitched the
idea to Rank, who agreed to produce it through his Two Cities company. The picture,
Adam and Evelyne, was a light romantic comedy with plot similarities to Jean and
Granger’s love story that could not have been more obvious.
Screenwriter Leslie Storm was later hired to restructure the story to expand the
role of Evelyne. Director Harold French had previously worked with Granger on Se-
cret Mission (1942) and with Jean in Mr. Emmanuel (1944). The picture was planned
for Technicolor, but a ­last-moment budget reduction meant it would be shot in black
and white. Shooting started in October 1949, but after a couple of weeks the produc-
tion was halted by a strike by Denham crew members, protesting recent film worker
sackings.
“Adam and Evelyne was my first experience of wearing lovely, ­grown-up clothes,”
Jean commented. “I arrived on the set for the first time in a sophisticated outfit, the
whole unit greeted me with an ironic ‘Good morning, Miss Simmons!’ Needless to say,
I was soon ‘Jean’ again.”6
Shooting the love scenes was not an easy task, according to Granger: “When, at
one point, my character says: ‘I love you, but I’m too old for you,’ Jean started laughing
under her breath. It was as if I was really saying those things. I couldn’t go on. The
director said: ‘Granger, let’s see if you can make it a bit more realistic … it looks as you
couldn’t care less about the girl.’”7
“Jean almost stole every scene in the picture,” Granger joked later in an interview.
“It often has been said that there are two things an actor must try to avoid if he expects
to be noticed on the screen—acting with an animal or with a child. To these I should
 Chapter 5. Granger37

Stewart Granger and Jean Simmons in a publicity shot for Adam and Evelyne (1949).

like to add a third—Jean Simmons!” Jean replied, “Stewart is merely being modest. He
was wonderful to work with and making the film was great fun.”8
To promote the film, the couple appeared at a garden party at Morden Hall
Park in South London, where they performed an excerpt from the film on stage.
According to the American press, Adam and Evelyne contained the most easily un-
derstood dialogue yet heard in an ­English-made film. A mixed audience selected by
­Universal-International, the American distributor, for testing purposes voted the dia-
logue as easily understood as that of any current ­Hollywood-made picture. Because so
many complaints had been filed in the past by preview audiences about difficulty ex-
perienced by Americans in understanding British stars’ lines, the studio set up screen-
ings to see how much progress the British players had made in their struggles to soften
their accents. Even the title was changed to Adam and Evalyn to make it sound more
American.
Adam and Evalyn was released in the U.S. during the Christmas holidays. The
critics were not very kind, labeling the picture as “lightweight nonsense,” yet The New
York Times called Jean “bright and sunny as a day in May”: “[She] plays her role with
bubbling youth, and is altogether charming.”9 A perplexed reviewer from Focus, a
publication of the Catholic Film Society, wrote, “Jean Simmons remains a mystery.
Can she act? I do not know. But she has charm, poise, a pleasant voice, youth, a curi-
ous kind of budding beauty and is obedient to her director. With these assets there is
38 Jean Simmons

no knowing what she may achieve on the screen.”10 These words were penned by the
same critic who, a year earlier, had called Jean “an actress of quality” when reviewing
Hamlet.11 Three years later, while Jean and Granger were living in the States, they re-
prised their roles in a radio adaptation of the film for Lux Radio Theatre.
A month before Adam and Evelyne opened in Britain, Jean made her stage debut.
A young director named Peter Glenville had persuaded Granger that The Power of
Darkness was the right stage vehicle for Jean. Granger, whose professional acting ca-
reer had begun in the theater, read the play, liked it and got involved in the project,
including an agreement to back it financially. He had to guarantee half the production
costs, which he could have only recuperated from the ­box-office revenues. Sadly, select-
ing a gloomy, heavy piece from the Russian playwright Leo Tolstoy, never performed
in Europe, proved to be a disaster. As Anthony Cookman, theater editor of the British
magazine The Tatler, wrote,
Common sense suggests that [Granger and Simmons] should let some shrewd theatrical
friend pick their first play for them. He would scarcely have chosen The Power of Dark-
ness…. Why on earth then should film actors undertaking a difficult stage début, heap on
themselves difficulties which would call on an experienced and a highly accomplished com-
pany for a tour de force?12
Rehearsals started in the beginning of February. Granger was, in fact, resigned
to doing the stage season without Jean. She had received a ­last-moment proposition
for a role opposite Tyrone Power in The Black Rose (1950), a major Hollywood pro-
duction planned to be shot that spring at Shepperton Studios, just outside London.
But J. Arthur Rank was not convinced that picture was the right vehicle for Jean’s
Hollywood debut. Since Jean’s next film,
So Long at the Fair, was not scheduled to
go into production until September, she
was free to make her stage debut.
Director Glenville translated and
updated The Power of Darkness with
the blessing of Tolstoy’s granddaughter,
whom he knew and later introduced to
Jean and Granger. According to Granger,
Jean was convinced by Glenville to play
the part of Alkulina, a sullen, mentally
disabled farmer. The director explained
that the role answered all the doubts she
was having about her stage acting abili-
ties. He explained that, should she have
trouble with her lines, she could use it
as an excuse that it was part of her char-
acterization of Alkulina, and not due to
her inexperience as a stage actress. This
seemed the perfect solution for Jean, re-
lieving the stage fright she was experi- Jean Simmons in a publicity shot from the
encing. Yet once the rehearsals began, 1949 stage production The Power of Darkness.
 Chapter 5. Granger39

she had great difficulty relating to the character. “That put me off stage for a long
time,”13 she later admitted. Wearing a long ­pitch-black wig and peasant costumes, she
looked very different from the glamorous movie star the audience was accustomed to
seeing on screen.
For eight weeks, The Power of Darkness toured four major U.K. cities. At the
Manchester Opera House, it sold out its entire run. While Jean and Granger signed
autographs outside the Royal Court Theatre in Liverpool, the crowd was so unruly
that both the players were injured. Yet local critics panned the production, forcing
Glenville to make radical alterations before its London opening at the Lyric Theatre on
April 28, 1949.
The strong supporting cast of stage veterans (including Sonia Dresdel, Mary Clare
and Frederick Valk) was not enough to rescue the production from being a complete
fiasco. Opening night was a nightmare. During the performance, the audience in the
stalls reportedly giggled and yawned loudly, shushed by the spectators in the gallery.
At curtain call, the actors received only one round of applause. Tension showed on
their faces—especially Jean, who bit her lips to hold back her tears.
The next morning, Jean and Granger felt more disheartened after reading the
awful reviews. Critics all blamed the wrong choice of play and Glenville’s poor trans-
lation. Jean’s performance was received lukewarmly, some called it convincing, even
with little help from the text. “Miss Simmons is almost completely wasted but her voice
carries excellently and she has fire in her veins,”14 wrote the Evening Standard. The
Times called her “colourlessly correct as the lustful Akulina,”15 while The Stage more
enthusiastically pointed out that she “came through with flying colors. Her voice and
presence promise even better things in the future.”16
The producers’ first impulse was to immediately close the show, but the disastrous
effects that such a choice could have had on many of the crew and cast members who
financially counted on that engagement forced the production to go on. The ticket
sales were so low that after sending invitations out to hospital staff, clubs, universities,
etc., Jean and Granger agreed to accept minimum wage. Finally, after only 28 perfor-
mances, the company announced that it would bring down the curtain. Owing a hefty
sum of money to the banks, Granger had no other choice than to sell most of his valu-
able possessions including his boat, cars and antiques. Jean diplomatically called her
forgettable stage debut “an interesting but chastening experience.”17
Jean spent the summer of 1949 traveling around Europe. First a tour to promote
The Blue Lagoon that took her to Austria and Germany; at military bases, she met
several Royal Air Force officers. She went on to attend the Locarno International Film
Festival in Switzerland, where Adam and Evelyne won a special prize for the funni-
est film. She ended her tour by joining Granger on the Italian Riviera for a relaxing
vacation.
Back in England, Jean moved out of her family home in Cricklewood to an apart-
ment on Duke Street, overlooking Manchester Square in Central London, shared with
her old friend and dresser Irene Williams. An interior decorator had made the space
ready for her return. Winifred was happy with Jean’s move. Her daughter’s fame had
made it difficult to carry on an ordinary family life. The phone was ringing inces-
santly, the front room had to be turned into an office with staff answering fan mail,
40 Jean Simmons

and there were always people gazing at the house. Jean had also bought her first car
and every time she arrived home it was surrounded by screaming children from all
over Cricklewood.
After being one of the biggest film stars in England for six years, Stewart Granger
was now broke and in debt. Unexpected rescue came from his former agent who called
from Hollywood asking if he was interested in starring in MGM’s King Solomon’s
Mines (1950). By this time, Granger’s contract with the Rank Organisation had expired
and he chose not to renew it, accepting the MGM offer instead. Jean was heartbroken.
Granger’s work schedule included three months on location all over East Africa and
then back to Hollywood to complete the film.
In September, with Granger away, Jean was eager to concentrate on her new
film, a ­nineteenth-century mystery drama titled So Long at the Fair. It marked her
first association with Betty Box, a pioneer female producer in the British movie
industry. (Box ­co-produced the movie with Gainsborough Pictures.) The idea of
making So Long at the Fair came to Box’s ­sister-in-law Muriel after she read An-
thony Thorne’s 1947 novel. Muriel wrote a draft script; a second one was written
by her husband, ­screenwriter-producer Sydney Box. The story was based on true
events surrounding the disappearance of a man during the opening of the Paris
Great Exhibition of 1889. The mystery had previously inspired several fictional
works (including a 1926 Ernest Hemingway short story) and the films The Midnight
Warning (1932), Covered Tracks (1938) and Alfred Hitchcock’s The Lady Vanishes
(1938). The Muriel and Sydney Box drafts were combined, then revised by Hugh
Mills and Anthony Thorne. Box wanted to direct the picture, having just completed
her first feature The Lost People (1949). ­Pre-production went ahead, locations were
researched in Paris and casting choices were made. According to Muriel, a script
was sent to Jean, who liked the story, but was not too keen to be directed by her. It
is not clear whether it was due to the director’s gender or to her inexperience. After
a consultation with Granger, Jean wished to have Box replaced as a director.18 Box,
disappointed, wrote in her diary, “­Heigh-ho, I see a storming future ahead of this
young lady.”19 Still determined to keep Jean’s name attached to the project, Box
handed the direction to Antony Darnborough and Terence Fisher. (In a few years,
Fisher became known for his Hammer horror films.)
Dirk Bogarde, the picture’s male lead, fought hard for the role. Rank was “de-
termined that I was ‘working class only’ or ‘spiv’ or ‘thug’ or an IRA terrorist,” the
actor revealed in a 1993 letter to Brian McFarlane. “So it was a quantum leap to play a
pleasant if dull, English aristocrat!”20 The film dealt with an English brother and sister
(Jean and David Tomlinson) who visit Paris for the Exposition Universelle of 1889. The
brother vanishes from the hotel and its staff members deny that he ever checked in.
With the help of an English artist (Bogarde), the sister discovers that her sibling had
contracted the plague and had been taken away to a secret location so that the Exposi-
tion would not be interrupted or endangered by the disease.
Jean and Dirk, who was eight years her senior, had met for the first time at Pine-
wood while she was working on The Blue Lagoon and he on Once a Jolly Swagman
(1949). They shared the same sense of humor and, during the shooting of So Long at
the Fair, became very close. Seizing the opportunity, Rank advertised the two friends
 Chapter 5. Granger41

as romantically linked to launch

the film. The two appeared to-
gether at many public events.
“Jean is the sweetest girl
you could wish to meet,” wrote
Bogarde, “and all you read about
her being natural and unsophis-
ticated is absolutely true. She has
a great sense of fun, and one of
these days I would like to do a
comedy with her.”21 Interviewed
by Bogarde’s biographer many
years later, Jean said, “I thought
of him as a gorgeous young
man, but not really as a man. He
was such fun—a great giggler.
I loved Dirk, and I was hoping
that perhaps we would be mar-
ried one day; but I was dream-
ing, I was fantasizing … we were
very close friends for a while,
but I never really knew him. I
didn’t realize he was gay—in Jean Simmons trying a costume with the help of her
those days, people didn’t talk assistant Irene Williams on the set of So Long at the
about it.”22 Fair (1950).
So Long at the Fair was a
modestly budgeted production that Sydney Box had planned to shoot in color. How-
ever, he had to abandon that plan because of Rank’s decision to use Technicolor cam-
eras on another project. A replica of the Eiffel Tower base was built in a studio and
a real hot air balloon was launched from the Pinewood back lot among a large crew
dressed in period costumes. Some of the location work shot in ­pre-production was
used as ­rear-screen projection backgrounds for dialogue scenes, which detracted from
the mise en scène since the actors were performing in front of a series of fake set de-
signs. The movements of the actors on such a set were meticulously chalked out on the
floor in readiness for rehearsal. Yet the large platforms built on the stage posed a prob-
lem in action. The floors creaked and squeaked stridently whenever the actors moved
from one position to another, often spoiling the soundtrack and creating delays.
On her first day on the set, Jean spoke her opening lines, “Surely you would have
thought it strange, a girl of my age traveling alone.’ This was greeted on the set with
roars of laughter and I didn’t catch on until I remembered I had just parked my new
16 horsepower Bristol Sports car after driving myself to the studio for the first time.”23
Years later, commenting on that film, Jean added, “We never went to France …
but I loved it because it is peppered with all those wonderful character types—Felix
Aylmer, Cathleen Nesbitt, Andre Morell and Dirk Bogarde, who has remained a life-
long friend.”24
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CHAPTER viii. — AN EMBARRASSMENT.
CHAPTER ix. — A TORMENT.

BOOK VIII.
CHAPTER i

CECILIA
Volume III (of III)
Or
MEMOIRS OF AN HEIRESS
 By Frances Burney

CONTENTS
BOOK VIII. Continued.
CHAPTER ii. — AN EVENT.
CHAPTER iii. — A CONSTERNATION.
CHAPTER iv. — A PERTURBATION.
CHAPTER v. — A COTTAGE.
CHAPTER vi. — A CONTEST.
CHAPTER vii. — A MESSAGE.
CHAPTER vii. — A PARTING.
CHAPTER viii. — A TALE.
CHAPTER ix. — A SHOCK.

BOOK IX.
CHAPTER i. — A COGITATION.
CHAPTER ii. — A SURPRIZE.
CHAPTER iii. — A CONFABULATION.
CHAPTER iv. — A WRANGLING.
CHAPTER v. — A SUSPICION.
CHAPTER vi. — A DISTURBANCE.
CHAPTER vii. — A CALM.
CHAPTER viii. — AN ALARM.
CHAPTER ix. — A SUSPENSE.
CHAPTER x. — A RELATION.
CHAPTER xi. — AN ENTERPRISE.

BOOK X.
CHAPTER i
CHAPTER ii. — AN INTERVIEW.
CHAPTER iii. — A SUMMONS.
CHAPTER iv. — A DELIBERATION.
CHAPTER v. — A DECISION.
CHAPTER vi. — A PRATING.
CHAPTER vii. — A PURSUIT.
CHAPTER vii. — AN ENCOUNTER.
CHAPTER ix. — A TRIBUTE.
CHAPTER x. — A TERMINATION.
THE WANDERER
Or
Female Difficulties
BY FANNY BURNEY

CONTENTS
 VOLUME I
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX

THE WANDERER (VOLUME 2

OF 5)
 By Fanny Burney
Volume II

CONTENTS
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER XXXIII
CHAPTER XXXIV
CHAPTER XXXV
CHAPTER XXXVI
CHAPTER XXXVII
CHAPTER XXXVIII
CHAPTER XXXIX
CHAPTER XL
THE WANDERER (Volume 3 of
5)
 By Fanny Burney
Volume III

CONTENTS
CHAPTER XLI
CHAPTER XLII
CHAPTER XLIII
CHAPTER XLIV
CHAPTER XLV
CHAPTER XLVI
CHAPTER XLVII
CHAPTER XLVIII
CHAPTER XLIX
CHAPTER L
CHAPTER LI
CHAPTER LII
CHAPTER LIII
CHAPTER LIV
CHAPTER LV
CHAPTER LVI
CHAPTER LVII.
CHAPTER LVIII
CHAPTER LIX
THE WANDERER (Volume 4 of
5)
 By Fanny Burney
Volume IV

CONTENTS
CHAPTER LX
CHAPTER LXI
CHAPTER LXII
CHAPTER LXIII
CHAPTER LXIV
CHAPTER LXV
CHAPTER LXVI
CHAPTER LXVII
CHAPTER LXVIII
CHAPTER LXIX
CHAPTER LXX
CHAPTER LXXI
CHAPTER LXXII
CHAPTER LXXIII
CHAPTER LXXIV
CHAPTER LXXV
CHAPTER LXXVI
THE WANDERER (Volume 5 of
5)
 Fanny Burney
Volume V

CONTENTS
CHAPTER LXXVII
CHAPTER LXXVIII
CHAPTER LXXIX
CHAPTER LXXX
CHAPTER LXXXI
CHAPTER LXXXII
CHAPTER LXXXIII
CHAPTER LXXXIV
CHAPTER LXXXV
CHAPTER LXXXVI
CHAPTER LXXXVII
CHAPTER LXXXVIII
CHAPTER LXXXIX
CHAPTER XC
CHAPTER XCI
CHAPTER XCII
 CAMILLA
or

A Picture of Youth
 By Fanny Burney

CONTENTS

DEDICATION 3
ADVERTISEMENT 5
 VOLUME I
BOOK I

I. A Family Scene 7
II. Comic Gambols 14
III. Consequences 26
IV. Studies of a grown Gentleman 33
V. Schooling of a young Gentleman 41
VI. Tuition of a young Lady 44
VII. Lost Labour 49

BOOK II

I. New Projects 53
II. New Characters 60
III. A Family Breakfast 78
IV. A Public Breakfast 82
V. A Raffle 96
VI. A Barn 109
VII. A Declaration 112
VIII. An answer 117
IX. An Explication 123
X. A Panic 125
XI. Two Lovers 133
XII. Two Doctors 139
XIII. Two Ways of looking at the same Thing 147
XIV. Two Retreats 152
XV. Two Sides of a Question 157
 VOLUME II
BOOK III

I. A few kind Offices 163

II. A Pro and a Con 173
III. An Author's Notion of Travelling 180
IV. An internal Detection 189
V. An Author's Opinion of Visiting 197
VI. An Author's Idea of Order 206
VII. A Maternal Eye 215
VIII. Modern Ideas of Duty 222
IX. A Few Embarrassments 230
X. Modern Ideas of Life 238
XI. Modern Notions of Penitence 244
XII. Airs and Graces 249
XIII. Attic Adventures 257

BOOK IV

I. A few Explanations 266

II. Specimens of Taste 274
III. A few Compliments 283
IV. The Danger of Disguise 291
V. Strictures on Deformity 299
VI. Strictures on Beauty 305
VII. The Pleadings of Pity 311
VIII. The disastrous Buskins 317
IX. Three Golden Maxims 324
 VOLUME III
BOOK V

I. A Pursuer 333
II. An Adviser 338
III. Various Confabulations 343
IV. A Dodging 351
V. A Sermon 355
VI. A Chat 362
VII. A Recall 369
VIII. A Youth of the Times 375

BOOK VI

I. A Walk by Moonlight 386

II. The Pantiles 391
III. Mount Ephraim 400
IV. Knowle 408
V. Mount Pleasant 419
VI. The accomplished Monkies 427
VII. The Rooms 438
VIII. Ways to the Heart 446
IX. Counsels for Conquest 453
X. Strictures upon the Ton 462
XI. Traits of Character 469
XII. Traits of Eccentricity 482
XIII. Traits of Instruction 490
XIV. A Demander 496
XV. An Accorder 503
XVI. An Helper 512
 VOLUME IV
BOOK VII

I. The right Style of Arguing 521

II. A Council 525
III. A Proposal of Marriage 531
IV. A Bull-Dog 535
V. An Oak Tree 541
VI. A Call of the House 547
VII. The Triumph of Pride 555
VIII. A Summons to Happiness 561
IX. Offs and Ons 570
X. Resolutions 576
XI. Ease and Freedom 583
XII. Dilemmas 590
XIII. Live and Learn 596

BOOK VIII

I. A Way to make Friends 604

II. A Rage of Obliging 612
III. A Pleasant Adventure 621
IV. An Author's Time-keeper 628
V. An agreeable Hearing 633
VI. Ideas upon Marriage 642
VII. How to treat a Defamer 646
VIII. The Power of Prepossession 655
 IX. A Scuffle 661
X. A Youthful Effusion 669
XI. The Computations of Self-Love 679
XII. Juvenile Calculations 685
 VOLUME V
BOOK IX

I. A Water Party 695

II. Touches of Wit and Humour 710
III. An Adieu 720
IV. A modest Request 727
V. A Self-dissection 736
VI. A Reckoning 740
VII. Brides and no Brides 750
VIII. A Hint for Debtors 757
IX. A Lover's Eye 766
X. A Bride's Resolves 776
XI. The Workings of Sorrow 784

BOOK X

I. A Surprise 793
II. A Narrative 799
III. The Progress of Dissipation 808
IV. Hints upon National Prejudice 816
V. The Operation of Terror 827
VI. The Reverse of a Mask 840
VII. A new View of an Old Mansion 849
VIII. A last Resource 855
IX. A Spectacle 865
X. A Vision 874
 XI. Means to still Agitation 878
XII. Means to obtain a Boon 885
XIII. Questions and Answers 892
XIV. The last Touches of the Picture 903

FANNY BURNEY
AND HER FRIENDS
SELECT PASSAGES FROM HER DIARY
1895

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

PAGE

Birth-Parentage-The Macburneys-Early Life of Dr. Burney- 1-31

Fulk Greville-Esther Sleepe-Lynn-Poland Street-Frances
Burney's Brothers and Sisters-Her Backwardness in
Childhood-Her Mother's Death-David Garrick-The Old
Lady-The Wig-maker-Neglect of Fanny's Education-Her
Taste for Scribbling-Samuel Crisp-His Early Life-His
Tragedy-Its Failure-His Chagrin-His Life at Hampton-His
Retirement from the World-Crisp renews his Acquaintance
with Burney-Becomes the Adviser of the Family-Burney's
Amiable Temper-Chesington Hall-Its Quaint Interior-
Contrast between Fanny and her Elder Sister-Burney's
Second Marriage-Change of Plans-Mrs. Burney lectures
Fanny-An Auto da Fé-Origin of 'Evelina'-Burney takes his
Doctor's Degree-His Essay on Comets-Preparations for the
'History of Music'-Musical Tour in France and Italy-House
in Queen Square-German Tour-Fanny's Occupation during
his Absence-Removal to St. Martin's Street-Newton's
House-The Observatory-Fanny's Arrival at Womanhood

CHAPTER II.

ivLife in St. Martin's Street-Increase of Fame and Friends-

Garrick's First Call-Confusion-The Hairdresser-'Tag-rag and
Bobtail'-The History of Histories-Imitation of Dr. Johnson-
The Great Roscius-Mr. Crisp's Gout-Correspondence
between him and Fanny-Dr. Burney's Concerts-Abyssinian
Bruce-Supper in St. Martin's Street-Italian Singers-A
Musical Evening-Visit of Count Orloff-His Stature and 32-59
Jewels-Condescension-A Matrimonial Duet-The Empress's
Miniature-Jemmy Twitcher-Present State of St. Martin's
Street-Mr. and Mrs. Thrale-Dr. Johnson-Visit of the Thrales
and Johnson-Appearance of Dr. Johnson-His Conversation-
His Contempt for Music-Meeting of Dr. Johnson and Mr.
Greville-Mrs. Thrale Defiant-Signor Piozzi

CHAPTER III.

'Evelina'-Date of its Composition-Negotiations with 60-99

Publishers-Dr. Burney's Consent-Publication-Illness of the
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