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THE TWELVE APOSTLES 163
as I can from the 'doctor' and deliberately keeping my eyes off him.
The details of the port of Sevastopol are boringly familiar.
So are the people in the boat.
My eyes settle on the prop men, those who hold the mirrors and lights for the cameramen.
One of them is a little, scrawny fellow.
He makes the stove for us in the cold draughty hotel where we beguile the time in Sevastopol when we are not shooting the picture.
'Why on earth do they hire such fragile specimens for work with heavy mirrors? ' the thought rambles through my head. 'He's liable to drop a mirror off the deck and into the sea. Or worse still break it. And that's a bad omen.'
The line of my thoughts breaks off here the scrawny furnaceman suddenly shifts to another plane in my estimation ; I see him from the standpoint, not of his physical prowess, but of his powers of expression.
A moustache and pointed beard ... wily eyes.
In my mind's eye I see them covered with a pince-nez suspended on a black ribbon
In my mind's eye I replace his cap by the headgear of an army doctor ...
And in a moment, as soon as we alight on deck to begin shooting the scene, I translate my thoughts into reality : the honest prop man of a litde while ago is now peering maliciously through his pince-nez at the maggoty meat, as the naval doctor of the armoured cruiser Potemkin.
There is a 'legend' extant that I played the priest in the picture myself.
It 's not true.
The part of the priest was played by an old gardener who worked in one of the orchards around Sevastopol. The beard