the ways of men-第25章

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　the　　foundations　of　a　fortune　lie。　　Life　is　full　of　delicious　　possibilities　for　her。　　Men　who　are　forced　to　make　their　way　　in　youth　often　turn　out　to　be　those　who　make　〃history〃　later；　　and　a　bride　who　has　not　become　prematurely　BLASEE　to　all　the　　luxuries　or　pleasures　of　existence　will　know　the　greatest　　happiness　that　can　come　into　a　woman's　life；　that　of　rising　at　　her　husband's　side；　step　by　step；　enjoying　his　triumphs　as　she　　shared　his　poverty。




Chapter　25　…　La　Comedie　Francaise　a　Orange


IDLING　up　through　the　south　of　France；　in　company　with　a　　passionate　lover　of　that　fair　land；　we　learned　on　arriving　at　　Lyons；　that　the　actors　of　the　Comedie　Francaise　were　to　pass　　through　there　the　next　day；　EN　ROUTE　for　Orange；　where　a　　series　of　fetes　had　been　arranged　by　〃Les　Felibres。〃　　This　　society；　composed　of　the　writers　and　poets　of　Provence；　have　　the　preservation　of　the　Roman　theatre　at　Orange　（perhaps　the　　most　perfect　specimen　of　classical　theatrical　architecture　in　　existence）　profoundly　at　heart；　their　hope　being　to　restore　　some　of　its　pristine　beauty　to　the　ruin；　and　give　from　time　to　　time　performances　of　the　Greek　masterpieces　on　its　disused　　stage。

The　money　obtained　by　these　representations　will　be　spent　in　　the　restoration　of　the　theatre；　and　it　is　expected　in　time　to　　make　Orange　the　centre　of　classic　drama；　as　Beyreuth　is　that　　of　Wagnerian　music。

At　Lyons；　the　CORTEGE　was　to　leave　the　Paris　train　and　take　　boats　down　the　Rhone；　to　their　destination。　　Their　programme　　was　so　tempting　that　the　offer　of　places　in　one　of　the　craft　　was　enough　to　lure　us　away　from　our　prearranged　route。

By　eight　o'clock　the　following　morning；　we　were　on　foot；　as　　was　apparently　the　entire　city。　　A　cannon　fired　from　Fort　　Lamothe　gave　the　signal　of　our　start。　　The　river；　covered　with　　a　thousand　gayly　decorated　craft；　glinted　and　glittered　in　the　　morning　light。　　It　world　be　difficult　to　forget　that　scene；　…　　the　banks　of　the　Rhone　were　lined　with　the　rural　population；　　who　had　come　miles　in　every　direction　to　acclaim　the　passage　　of　their　poets。

Everywhere　along　our　route　the　houses　were　gayly　decorated　and　　arches　of　flowers　had　been　erected。　　We　float　past　Vienne；　a　　city　once　governed　by　Pontius　Pilate；　and　Tournon；　with　its　　feudal　chateau；　blue　in　the　distance；　then　Saint　Peray；　on　a　　verdant　vine…clad　slope。　　As　we　pass　under　the　bridge　at　　Montelimar；　an　avalanche　of　flowers　descends　on　us　from　above。

The　rapid　current　of　the　river　soon　brings　our　flotilla　　opposite　Vivier；　whose　Gothic　cathedral　bathes　its　feet　in　the　　Rhone。　　Saint　Esprit　and　its　antique　bridge　appear　next　on　the　　horizon。　　Tradition　asserts　that　the　Holy　Spirit；　disguised　as　　a　stone　mason；　directed　its　construction；　there　were　thirteen　　workmen　each　day；　but　at　sunset；　when　the　men　gathered　to　be　　paid；　but　twelve　could　be　counted。

Here　the　mayor　and　the　municipal　council　were　to　have　received　　us　and　delivered　an　address；　but　were　not　on　hand。　　We　could　　see　the　tardy　CORTEGE　hastening　towards　the　bridge　as　we　shot　　away　down　stream。

On　nearing　Orange；　the　banks　and　quays　of　the　river　are　alive　　with　people。　　The　high　road；　parallel　with　the　stream；　is　　alive　with　a　many…colored　throng。　　On　all　sides　one　hears　the　　language　of　Mistral；　and　recognizes　the　music　of　Mireille　sung　　by　these　pilgrims　to　an　artistic　Mecca；　where　a　miracle　is　to　　be　performed　…　and　classic　art　called　forth　from　its　winding…　sheet。

The　population　of　a　whole　region　is　astir　under　the　ardent　　Provencal　sun；　to　witness　a　resurrection　of　the　Drama　in　the　　historic　valley　of　the　Rhone；　through　whose　channel　the　　civilization　and　art　and　culture　of　the　old　world　floated　up　　into　Europe　to　the　ceaseless　cry　of　the　CIGALES。

Chateaurenard！　our　water　journey　is　ended。　　Through　the　leafy　　avenues　that　lead　to　Orange；　we　see　the　arch　of　Marius　and　the　　gigantic　proscenium　of　the　theatre；　rising　above　the　roofs　of　

the　little　city。

So　few　of　our　compatriots　linger　in　the　south　of　France　after　　the　spring　has　set　in；　or　wander　in　the　by…ways　of　that　　inexhaustible　country；　that　a　word　about　the　representations　　at　Orange　may　be　of　interest；　and　perchance　create　a　desire　to　　see　the　masterpieces　of　classic　drama　（the　common　inheritance　　of　all　civilized　races）　revived　with　us；　and　our　stage　put　to　　its　legitimate　use；　cultivating　and　elevating　the　taste　of　the　　people。

One　would　so　gladly　see　a　little　of　the　money　that　is　　generously　given　for　music　used　to　revive　in　America　a　love　　for　the　classic　drama。

We　are　certainly　not　inferior　to　our　neighbors　in　culture　or　　appreciation；　and　yet　such　a　performance　as　I　witnessed　at　　Orange　（laying　aside　the　enchantment　lent　by　the　surroundings）　　would　not　be　possible　here。　　Why？　　But　to　return　to　my　　narrative。

The　sun　is　setting　as　we　toil；　ticket　in　hand；　up　the　Roman　　stairway　to　the　upper　rows　of　seats；　far　below　the　local　　GENDARMERIE　who　mostly　understand　their　orders　backwards　are　　struggling　with　the　throng；　whose　entrance　they　are　apparently　　obstructing　by　every　means　in　their　power。　　Once　seated；　and　　having　a　wait　of　an　hour　before　us；　we　amused　ourselves　　watching　the　crowd　filling　in　every　corner　of　the　vast　　building；　like　a　rising　tide　of　multi…colored　water。

We　had　purposely　chosen　places　on　the　highest　and　most　remote　　benches；　to　test　the　vaunted　acoustic　qualities　of　the　　auditorium；　and　to　obtain　a　view　of　the　half…circle　of　　humanity；　the　gigantic　wall　back　of　the　stage；　and　the　　surrounding　country。

As　day　softened　into　twilight；　and　twilight　deepened　into　a　　luminous　Southern　night；　the　effect　was　incomparable。　　The　　belfries　and　roofs　of　mediaeval　Orange　rose　in　the　clear　air；　　overtopping　the　half　ruined　theatre　in　many　places。　　The　arch　　of　Marius　gleamed　white　against　the　surrounding　hills；　　themselves　violet　and　purple　in　the　sunset；　their　shadow　　broken　here　and　there　by　the　outline　of　a　crumbling　chateau　or　　the　lights　of　a　village。

Behind　us　the　sentries　paced　along　the　wall；　wrapped　in　their　　dark　cloaks；　and　over　all　the　scene；　one　snowtopped　peak　rose　　white　on　the　horizon；　like　some　classic　virgin　assisting　at　an　　Olympian　solemnity。

On　the　stage；　partly　cleared　of　the　debris　of　fifteen　hundred　　years；　trees　had　been　left　where　they　had　grown；　among　fallen　　columns；　fragments　of　capital　and　statue；　near　the　front　a　　superb　rose…laurel　recalled　the　Attic　shores。　　To　the　right；　　wild　grasses　and　herbs　alternated　with　thick　shrubbery；　among　　which　Orestes　hid　later；　during　the　lamentations　of　his　　sister。　　To　the　left　a　gigantic　fig…tree；　growing　again　the　　dark　wall；　threw　its　branches　far　out　over　the　stage。

It　was　from　behind　its　foliage　that　〃Gaul；〃　〃Provence；〃　and　　〃France；〃　personated　by　three　actresses　of　the　〃Francais；〃　　advanced　to　salute　Apollo；　seated　on　his　rustic　throne；　in　the　　prologue　which　began　the　performance。

Since　midday　the　weather　had　been　threatening。　　At　seven　　o'clock　there　was　almost　a　shower　…　a　moment　of　terrible　　anxiety。　　What　a　misfortune　if　it　should　rain；　just　as　the　　actors　were　to　appear；　here；　where　it　had　not　rained　for　　nearly　four　months！　　My　right…hand　neighbor；　a　citizen　of　　Beaucaire；　assures　me；　〃It　will　be　nothing；　only　a　strong　　‘mistral'　for　to…morrow。〃　　An　electrician　is　putting　the　　finishing　touches　to　his　arrangements。　　He　tries　vainly　to　　concentrate　some　light　on　the　box　where　the　committee　is　to　　sit；　which　is　screened　by　a　bit　of　crumbling　wall；　but　finally　　gives　it　up。

Suddenly　the　bugles　sound；　the　orchestra　rings　out　the　　Marseillaise；　it　is　eight　o'clock。　　The　sky　is　wild　and　　threatening。　　An　unseen　hand　strikes　the　three　traditional　　blows。　　The　Faun　Lybrian　slips　down　from　a　branch　of　a　great　　elm；　and　throws　himself　on　the　steps　that　later　are　to　　represent　the　entrance　to　the　palace　of　Agamemnon；　and　　commences　the　prologue　（an　invocation　to　Apollo）；　in　the　midst　　of　such　confusion　that　we　hear　hardly　a　word。　　Little　by　　little；　however；　the　crowd　quiets　down；　and　I　catch　Louis　　Gallet's　fine　lines；　marvellously　phrased　by　Mesdames　Bartet；　　Dudlay；　Moreno；　and　the　handsome　Fenoux　as　Apollo。

The　real　interest　of　the　public　is　only　aroused；　however；　when　　THE　ERYNNIES　begins。　　This　powerful　adaptation　from　the　　tragedy　of　AEschylus　is　THE　CHEF　D'OEUVRE　of　Leconte　de　Lisle。　　　The　silence　is　now　complete。　　One　feels　in　the　air　that　the　　moment　so　long　and　so　anxiously　awaited　has　come；　that　a　great　　event　is　about　to　take　place。　　Every　eye　is　fixed　on　the　　stage；　waiting　to　see　what　will　appear　from　behind　the　dark　　arches　of　the　proscenium。　　A　faint；　plaintive　strain　of　music　　floats　out　on　the　silence。　　Demons　crawl　among　the　leafy　　shadows。　　Not　a　light　is　visible；　yet　the　centre　of　the　stage　　is　in　strong　relief；　shading　off　into　a　thousand　fantastic　　shadows。　　The　audience　sits　in　complete　darkness。　　Then　we　see　　the　people　of　Argos；　winding　toward　us　from　among　the　trees；　　lamenting；　as　they　have　done　each　day　for　ten　years；　the　long　　absence　of　their　sons　and　their　king。　　The　old　men　no　longer　　dare　to　consult　the　oracles；　fearing　to　learn　that　all　is　　lost。　　The　beauty　of　this　lament　roused　the　first　murmur　of　　applause；　each　word；　each　syllable；　chiming　out　across　that　　vast　semicircle　with　a　clearness　and　an　effect　impossible　to　　describe。

Now　it　is　the　sentinel；　who　from　his　watch…tower　has　caught　　the　first　glimpse　of　the　returning　army。　　We　hear　him　dashing　　like　a　torrent　down　the　turret　stair；　at　the　doorway；　his　　garments　blown　by　the　wind；　his　body　bending　forward　in　a　　splendid　pose　of　joy　and　exultation；　he　announces　in　a　voice　　of　thunder　the　arrival　of　the　king。

So　completely　are　the　twenty　thousand　spectators　under　the　　spell　of　the　drama　that　at　this　news　one　can　feel　a　thrill　　pass　over　the　throng；　whom　the　splendid　verses　hold　　palpitating　under　their　charm；　awaiting　only　the　end　of　the　　tirade　to　break　into　applause。

From　that　moment　the　performance　is　one　long　triumph。　　　Clytemnestra　（Madame　Lerou）　comes　with　her　suite　to　receive　　the　king　（Mounet…Sully）；　the　conqueror！　　I　never　realized　　before　all　the　perfection　that　training　can　give　the　speaking　　voice。　　Each　syllable　seemed　to　ring　out　with　a　bell…like　　clearness。　　As　she　gradually　rose　in　the　last　act　to　the　scene　　with　Orestes；　I　understood　the　use　of　the　great　wall　behind　　the　actors。　　It　increased　the　power　of　the　voices　and　lent　　them　a　sonority　difficult　to　believe。　　The　effect　was　　overwhelming　when；　unable　to　escape　death；　Clytemnestra　cries　　out　her　horrible　imprecations。

Mounet…Sully　surpassed　himself。　　Paul　Mounet　gave　us　the　　complete　illusion　of　a　monster　thirsting　for　blood；　even　his　　mother's！　　When　striking　her　as　she　struck　his　father；　he　　answers　her　despairing　query；　〃Thou　wouldst　not　slay　thy　　mother？〃　　〃Woman；　thou　hast　ceased　to　be　a　mother！〃　　Dudlay　　（as　Cassandra）　reaches　a　splendid　climax　when　she　prophesies　　the　misfortune　hanging　over　her　family；　which　she　is　powerless　　to　avert。

It　is　impossible　in　feeble　prose　to　give　any　idea　of　the　　impression　those　lines　produce　in　the　stupendous　theatre；　　packed　to　its　utmost　limits　…　the　wild　night；　with　a　storm　in　　the　air；　a　stage　which　seems　like　a　clearing　in　some　forest　　inhabited　by　Titans；　the　terrible　tragedy　of　AEschylus　　fol