THE ROYAL PARKS AND PALACES
Since the romances of Dumas deal so largely with Paris, it is but natural
that much of their action should take place at the near-by country
residences of the royalty and nobility who form the casts of these great
series of historical tales.
To-day Fontainebleau, St. Germain, Versailles, and even Chantilly,
Compiegne, and Rambouillet are but mere attractions for the tourist of the
butterfly order. The real Parisian never visits them or their precincts,
save as he rushes through their tree-lined avenues in an automobile; and
thus they have all come to be regarded merely as monuments of splendid
scenes, which have been played, and on which the curtain has been rung
down.
This is by no means the real case, and one has only to read Dumas, and do
the round of the parks and chateaux which environ Paris, to revivify many
of the scenes of which he writes.
Versailles is the most popular, Fontainebleau the most grand, St. Germain
the most theatrical, Rambouillet the most rural-like, and Compiegne and
Chantilly the most delicate and dainty.
Still nearer to Paris, and more under the influence of town life, were the
chateaux of Madrid in the Bois de Boulogne, and of Vincennes, at the other
extremity of the city.
All these are quite in a class by themselves; though, of course, in a way,
they performed the same functions when royalty was in residence, as the
urban palaces.
Dumas' final appreciation of the charms of Fontainebleau does not come
till one reaches the last pages of "Le Vicomte de Bragelonne." True, it
was not until the period of which this romance deals with Fontainebleau,
its chateau, its _foret_, and its fetes, actually came to that prominence
which to this day has never left them.
When the king required to give his fete at Fontainebleau, as we learn from
Dumas, and history, too, he required of Fouquet four millions of francs,
"in order to keep an open house for fifteen days," said he. How he got
them, and with what result, is best read in the pages of the romance.
"Life at the Palais Royal having become somewhat tame, the king had
directed that Fontainebleau should be prepared for the reception of the
court." Here, then, took place the fetes which were predicted, and Dumas,
with his usual directness and brilliance, has given us a marvellous
description of the gaiety of court life, surrounded by the noble forest,
over which artists and sentimentalists have ever rhapsodized.
Continuing, from the pages of Dumas which immediately follow, one reads:
"For four days, every kind of enchantment brought together in the
magnificent gardens of Fontainebleau, had converted this spot into a place
of the most perfect enjoyment. M. Colbert seemed gifted with ubiquity. In
the morning, there were the accounts of the previous night's expenses to
settle; during the day, programmes, essays, enlistments, payments. M.
Colbert had amassed four millions of francs, and dispersed them with a
prudent economy. He was horrified at the expenses which mythology
involved; every wood-nymph, every dryad, did not cost less than a hundred
francs a day. The dresses alone amounted to three hundred francs. The
expense of powder and sulphur for fireworks amounted, every night, to a
hundred thousand francs. In addition to these, the illuminations on the
borders of the sheet of water cost thirty thousand francs every evening.
The fetes had been magnificent; and Colbert could not restrain his
delight. From time to time he noticed Madame and the king setting forth on
hunting expeditions, or preparing for the reception of different fantastic
personages, solemn ceremonials, which had been extemporized a fortnight
before, and in which Madame's sparkling wit and the king's magnificence
were equally displayed."
The "Inn of the Beautiful Peacock," celebrated by Dumas in "Le Vicomte de
Bragelonne," is not directly traceable to-day in the many neighbouring
hostelries of Fontainebleau. Just what Dumas had in mind is vague, though
his description might apply to any house for travellers, wherever it may
have been situated in this beautiful wildwood.
It was to this inn of the "Beau Paon" that Aramis repaired, after he had
left Fouquet and had donned the costume of the cavalier once more.
"Where," said Dumas, "he (Aramis) had, by letters previously sent,
directed an apartment or a room to be retained for him. He chose the room,
which was on the first floor, whereas the apartment was on the second."
The description of the establishment given by Dumas is as follows:
"In the first place, let us supply our readers with a few details about
the inn called the Beau Paon. It owed its name to its sign, which
represented a peacock spreading out its tail. But, in imitation of some
painters who had bestowed the face of a handsome young man upon the
serpent which tempted Eve, the painter of this sign had conferred upon the
peacock the features of a woman. This inn, a living epigram against that
half of the human race which renders existence delightful, was situated at
Fontainebleau, in the first turning on the left-hand side, which divides
on the road from Paris, that large artery which constitutes in itself
along the entire town of Fontainebleau. The side street in question was
then known as the Rue de Lyon, doubtless because geographically it
advanced in the direction of the second capital of the kingdom."
Lyons itself is treated by Dumas at some length in "Chicot the Jester,"
particularly with reference to Chicot's interception of the Pope's
messenger, who brought the documents which were to establish the Duc de
Guise's priority as to rights to the throne of France.
"The inn of the Beau Paon had its principal front toward the main street;
but upon the Rue de Lyon there were two ranges of buildings, divided by
courtyards, which comprised sets of apartments for the reception of all
classes of travellers, whether on foot or on horseback, or even with
their own carriages, and in which could be supplied, not only board and
lodging, but also accommodation for exercise or opportunities of solitude
for even the wealthiest courtiers, whenever, after having received some
check at the court, they wished to shut themselves up with their own
society, either to devour an affront or to brood over their revenge. From
the windows of this part of the building the travellers could perceive, in
the first place, the street with the grass growing between the stones,
which were being gradually loosened by it; next, the beautiful hedges of
elder and thorn, which embraced, as though within two green and flowering
arms, the houses of which we have spoken; and then, in the spaces between
those houses, forming the groundwork of the picture, and appearing like an
almost impassable barrier, a line of thick trees, the advanced sentinels
of the vast forest, which extends itself in front of Fontainebleau."
On the road to Versailles, where the Seine is crossed by the not beautiful
Pont de Sevres, is the little inn of the Bridge of Sevres, in which the
story of "La Comtesse de Charny" opens, and, indeed, in which all its
early action takes place. The inn, or even its direct descendant, is not
discernible to-day. The Pont de Sevres is there, linking one of those
thumblike peninsulas made by the windings of the Seine with the Bois de
Meudon, and the traffic inward and outward from Paris is as great and
varied as it always was, probably greater, but there is no inn to suggest
that which Dumas had in mind. The rural aspect is somewhat changed, the
towering stacks of the china-factory chimneys, the still more
towering--though distant--Tour Eiffel, which fortunately is soon to be
razed, and the iron rails of the "Ceinture" and the "Quest," all tend to
estrange one's sentiments from true romance.
[Illustration: INN OF THE PONT DE SEVRES]
Farther on to the westward lies Versailles, with its theatrical, though
splendid, _palais_ and _parc_, the Trianons and Les Grandes Eaux, beloved
by the tourist and the Parisian alike.
Still farther to the northward by the same road is the pretty town of St.
Germain-en-Laye, with the remains of its Chateau Neuf, once the most
splendid and gorgeous country residence of Henri II. and Henri IV.,
continuing, also, in the favour of the court until the birth here of Louis
XIV. James II. of England made his residence here after his exile.
Dumas' references to St. Germain are largely found in "Vingt Ans Apres."
It was near St. Germain, too, that Dumas set about erecting his famous
"Chatelet du Monte Cristo." In fact, he did erect it, on his usual
extravagant ideas, but his tenure there was short-lived, and, altogether,
it was not a creditable undertaking, as after-events proved.
The gaiety of the life at St. Germain departed suddenly, but it is said of
Dumas' life there, that he surrounded himself with a coterie which bespoke
somewhat its former abandon and luxuriance. It was somewhat of a Bohemian
life that he lived there, no doubt, but it was not of the sordid or humble
kind; it was most gorgeous and extravagant.
Of all the royal parks and palaces in the neighbourhood of Paris,
Versailles has the most popularly sentimental interest. A whim of Louis
XIV., it was called by Voltaire "an abyss of expense," and so it truly
was, as all familiar with its history know.
In the later volumes of Dumas' "La Comtesse de Charnay," "The Queen's
Necklace," and "The Taking of the Bastille," frequent mention is made but
he does not write of it with the same affection that he does of
Fontainebleau or St. Germain. The details which Dumas presents in "The
Taking of the Bastille" shows this full well.
"At half-past ten, in ordinary times, every one in Versailles would have
been in bed and wrapped in the profoundest slumber; but that night no eye
was closed at Versailles. They had felt the counter-shock of the terrible
concussion with which Paris was still trembling.
"The French Guards, the body-guards, the Swiss drawn up in platoons, and
grouped near the openings of all the principal streets, were conversing
among themselves, or with those of the citizens whose fidelity to the
monarchy inspired them with confidence.
"For Versailles has, at all times, been a royalist city. Religious respect
for the monarchy, if not for the monarch, is engrafted in the hearts of
its inhabitants, as if it were a quality of its soil. Having always lived
near kings, and fostered by their bounty, beneath the shade of their
wonders--having always inhaled the intoxicating perfume of the
_fleurs-de-lis_, and seen the brilliant gold of their garments, and the
smiles upon their august lips, the inhabitants of Versailles, for whom
kings have built a city of marble and porphyry, feel almost kings
themselves; and even at the present day, even now, when moss is growing
around the marble, and grass is springing up between the slabs of the
pavement, now that gold has almost disappeared from the wainscoting, and
that the shady walks of the parks are more solitary than a graveyard,
Versailles must either belie its origin, or must consider itself as a
fragment of the fallen monarchy, and no longer feeling the pride of power
and wealth, must at least retain the poetical associations of regret, and
the sovereign charms of melancholy. Thus, as we have already stated, all
Versailles, in the night between the 14th and 15th July, 1789, was
confusedly agitated, anxious to ascertain how the King of France would
reply to the insult offered to the throne, and the deadly wound inflicted
on his power."
Versailles was one of the latest of the royal palaces, and since its
birth, or at least since the days of "personally" and "non-conducted"
tourists, has claimed, perhaps, even more than its share of popular
favour. Certainly it is a rare attraction, and its past has been in turn
sad, gay, brilliant, and gloomy. Event after event, some significant,
others unimportant, but none mean or sordid, have taken place within its
walls or amid its environment. Dumas evidently did not rank its beauties
very high,--and perhaps rightly,--for while it is a gorgeous fabric and
its surroundings and appointments are likewise gorgeous, it palls
unmistakably by reason of its sheer artificiality. Dumas said much the
same thing when he described it as "that world of automata, of statues,
and boxwood forests, called Versailles."
Much of the action of "The Queen's Necklace" takes place at Versailles,
and every line relating thereto is redolent of a first-hand observation on
the part of the author. There is no scamping detail here, nor is there any
excess of it.
With the fourth chapter of the romance, when Madame de la Motte drove to
Versailles in her cabriolet, "built lightly, open, and fashionable, with
high wheels, and a place behind for a servant to stand," begins the record
of the various incidents of the story, which either took place at
Versailles or centred around it.
"'Where are we to go?' said Weber, who had charge of madame's
cabriolet.--'To Versailles.'--'By the boulevards?'--'No.'... 'We are at
Versailles,' said the driver. 'Where must I stop, ladies?'--'At the Place
d'Armes.'" "At this moment," says Dumas, in the romance, "our heroines
heard the clock strike from the church of St. Louis."
Dumas' descriptions of Versailles are singularly complete, and without
verboseness. At least, he suggests more of the splendours of that gay
residence of the court than he actually defines, and puts into the mouths
of his characters much that others would waste on mere descriptive matter.
In the chapter headed Vincennes, in "Marguerite de Valois," Dumas gives a
most graphic description of its one-time chateau-prison:
"According to the order given by Charles IX., Henri was the same evening
conducted to Vincennes, that famous castle of which only a fragment now
remains, but colossal enough to give an idea of its past grandeur.
"At the postern of the prison they stopped. M. de Nancey alighted from his
horse, opened the gate closed with a padlock, and respectfully invited the
king to follow him. Henri obeyed without a word of reply. Every abode
seemed to him more safe than the Louvre, and ten doors, closing on him at
the same time, were between him and Catherine de Medici.
"The royal prisoner crossed the drawbridge between two soldiers, passed
the three doors on the ground floor and the three doors at the foot of the
staircase, and then, still preceded by M. de Nancey, went up one flight of
stairs. Arrived there, Captain de Nancey requested the king to follow him
through a kind of corridor, at the extremity of which was a very large and
gloomy chamber.
"Henri looked around him with considerable disquietude.
"'Where are we?' he inquired.
"'In the chamber of torture, monseigneur.'
"'Ah, ah!' replied the king, looking at it attentively.
"There was something of everything in this apartment: pitchers and
trestles for the torture by water; wedges and mallets for the question of
the boot; moreover, there were stone benches for the unhappy wretches who
awaited the question, nearly all around the chamber; and above these
seats, and to the seats themselves, and at the foot of these seats, were
iron rings, mortised into the walls with no symmetry but that of the
torturing art.
"'Ah, ah!' said Henri, 'is this the way to my apartment?'
"'Yes, monseigneur, and here it is,' said a figure in the dark, who
approached and then became distinguishable.
"Henri thought he recognized the voice, and, advancing toward the
individual, said, 'Ah, is it you, Beaulieu? And what the devil do you do
here?'
"'Sire, I have been nominated governor of the fortress of Vincennes.'
"'Well, my dear sir, your debut does you honour; a king for a prisoner is
no bad commencement.'
"'Pardon me, Sire, but before I received you I had already received two
gentlemen.'
"'Who may they be? Ah! your pardon; perhaps I commit an indiscretion.'
"'Monseigneur, I have not been bound to secrecy. They are M. de la Mole
and M. de Coconnas.'
"'Poor gentlemen! And where are they?'
"'High up, in the fourth floor.'
"Henri gave a sigh. It was there he wished to be.
"'Now, then, M. de Beaulieu,' said Henri, 'have the kindness to show me my
chamber. I am desirous of reaching it, as I am very much fatigued with my
day's toil.'
"'Here, monseigneur,' said Beaulieu, showing Henri an open door.
"'No. 2!' said Henri. 'And why not No. 1?'
"'Because it is reserved, monseigneur.'
"'Ah! that is another thing,' said Henri, and he became even more pensive.
"He wondered who was to occupy No. 1.
"The governor, with a thousand apologies, installed Henri in his
apartment, made many excuses for his deficiencies, and, placing two
soldiers at the door, retired.
"'Now,' said the governor, addressing the turnkey, 'let us visit the
others.'"
* * * * *
The present aspect of St. Germain-en-Laye is hardly what it was in the
days of which Dumas wrote in "Marguerite de Valois" or in "Vingt Ans
Apres." Le Bois or Le Foret looks to-day in parts, at least--much as it
did in the days when royalty hunted its domain, and the glorious facade
chateau has endured well.
Beyond this, the romance and history have well-nigh evaporated into air.
The whole neighbourhood is quite given over to a holiday, pleasure-making
crowd, which, though it is typically French, and therefore interesting, is
little in keeping with the splendid scenes of its past.
To-day peasants from Brittany, heavily booted cavalry and artillery,
_ouvriers_, children and nursemaids, and _touristes_ of all nationalities
throng the _allees_ of the forest and the corridors of the chateau, where
once royalty and its retainers held forth.
Vesinet, on the road from Paris to St. Germain,--just before one reaches
Pecq, and the twentieth-century _chemin-de-fer_ begins to climb that long,
inclined viaduct, which crosses the Seine and rises ultimately to the
platform on which sits the Vieux Chateau,--was a favourite hawking-ground
of Charles IX. Indeed, it was here that that monarch was warned of "a
fresh calumny against his poor Harry" (Henri de Navarre), as one reads in
the pages of "Marguerite de Valois."
A further description follows of Charles' celebrated falcon, Bec de Fer,
which is assuredly one of the most extraordinary descriptions of a
hunting-scene extant in the written page of romance.
Much hunting took place in all of Dumas' romances, and the near-by forests
of France, _i. e._, near either to Paris or to the royal residences
elsewhere, were the scenes of many gay meetings, where the stag, the boar,
the _cerf_, and all manner of footed beasts and winged fowl were hunted in
pure sport; though, after all, it is not recorded that it was as brutal a
variety as the _battues_ of the present day.
St. Germain, its chateau and its _foret_, enters once and again, and
again, into both the Valois series and the Mousquetaire romances. Of all
the royal, suburban palaces, none have been more admired and loved for its
splendid appointments and the splendid functions which have taken place
there, than St. Germain.
It had early come into favour as the residence of the French kings, the
existing chapel being the foundation of St. Louis, while the Chateau Neuf
was built mainly by Henri II. To-day but a solitary _pavillon_--that known
as Henri IV.--remains, while the Vieux Chateau, as it was formerly known,
is to-day acknowledged as _the_ Chateau.
The most significant incident laid here by Dumas, is that of the flight of
Anne of Austria, Louis XIV., and the court, from Paris to the Chateau of
St. Germain. This plan was amplified, according to Dumas, and furthered
by D'Artagnan and Athos; and since it is an acknowledged fact of history,
this points once again to the worth of the historical romance from an
exceedingly edifying view-point. At the time of the flight Louis was but a
mere boy, and it may be recalled here that he was born at St. Germain in
1638.
The architectural glories of St. Germain are hardly so great as to warrant
comparison with Versailles, to which Louis subsequently removed his court;
indeed, the Chateau Neuf, with the exception of the _pavillon_ before
mentioned, is not even a dignified ruin, being but scattered piles of
debris, which, since 1776, when the structure was razed, have been left
lying about in most desultory fashion.
The Vieux Chateau was made use of by the great Napoleon as a sort of a
barracks, and again as a prison, but has since been restored according to
the original plans of the architect Ducercen, who, under Francois I., was
to have carried it to completion.
Once St. Germain was the home of royalty and all the gaiety of the court
life of the Louis, and once again it was on the eve of becoming the
fashionable Paris suburb, but now it is the resort of "trippers," and its
chateau, or what was left of it after the vandalism of the eighteenth
century, is a sad ruin, though the view from its heights is as lovely as
ever--that portion which remains being but an aggravation, when one
recalls the glories that once were. Save the Vieux Chateau, all that is
left is the lovely view. Paris-wards one sees a panorama--a veritable
_vol-d'oiseaux_--of the slender, silvery loops of the Seine as it bends
around Port Marly, Argenteuil, Courbevoie, St. Denis, and St. Cloud; while
in the dimmest of the dim distance the Eiffel Tower looms all its ugliness
up into the sky, and the domed heights of Montmartre and the Buttes
Chaumont look really beautiful--which they do not on closer view.
The height of St. Germain itself--the _ville_ and the chateau--is not so
very great, and it certainly is not giddy, which most of its frequenters,
for one reason or another, are; but its miserable _pave_ is the curse of
all automobilists, and the sinuous road which ascends from the Pont du
Pecq is now "rushed," up and down, by motor-cars, to the joy of the
native, when one gets stalled, as they frequently do, and to the danger to
life and limb of all other road-users and passers-by.
* * * * *
In all of the Valois cycle, "_la chasse_" plays an important part in the
pleasure of the court and the noblesse. The forests in the
neighbourhood of Paris are numerous and noted.
[Illustration: FORET DE VILLERS-COTTERETS]
[Illustration: BOIS DE VINCENNES]
[Illustration: BOIS DE BOULOGNE]
At Villers-Cotterets, Dumas' birthplace, is the Foret de
Villers-Cotterets, a dependence of the Valois establishment at Crepy.
Bondy, Fontainebleau, St. Germain, Vincennes, and Rambouillet are all
mentioned, and are too familiar to even casual travellers to warrant the
inclusion of detailed description here.
Next to Fontainebleau, whose present-day fame rests with the artists of
the Barbizon school, who have perpetuated its rocks and trees, and St.
Germain, which is mostly revered for the past splendour of its chateau,
Rambouillet most frequently comes to mind.
Even Republican France has its national hunt yearly, at Rambouillet, and
visiting monarchs are invariably expected to partake in the shooting.
Rambouillet, the _hameau_ and the _foret_, was anciently under the feudal
authority of the Comtes de Montford, afterward (1300) under Regnault
d'Augennes, Capitaine du Louvre under Charles VI., and still later under
Jacques d'Augennes, Capitaine du Chateau de Rambouillet in 1547. Louis
XVI. purchased the chateau for one of his residences, and Napoleon III.,
as well as his more illustrious namesake, was specially fond of hunting in
its forests.
Since 1870 the chateau and the forest have been under the domination of
the state.
There is a chapter in Dumas' "The Regent's Daughter," entitled "A Room in
the Hotel at Rambouillet," which gives some little detail respecting the
town and the forest.
There is no hotel in Rambouillet to-day known as the "Royal Tiger," though
there is a "Golden Lion."
"Ten minutes later the carriage stopped at the Tigre-Royal. A woman, who
was waiting, came out hastily, and respectfully assisted the ladies to
alight, and then guided them through the passages of the hotel, preceded
by a valet carrying lights.
"A door opened, Madame Desroches drew back to allow Helene and Sister
Therese to pass and they soon found themselves on a soft and easy sofa, in
front of a bright fire.
"The room was large and well furnished, but the taste was severe, for the
style called rococo was not yet introduced. There were four doors; the
first was that by which they had entered--the second led to the
dining-room, which was already lighted and warmed--the third led into a
richly appointed bedroom--the fourth did not open....
"While the things which we have related were passing in the parlour of the
Hotel Tigre-Royal, in another apartment of the same hotel, seated near a
large fire, was a man shaking the snow from his boots, and untying the
strings of a large portfolio. This man was dressed in the hunting livery
of the house of Orleans; the coat red and silver, large boots, and a
three-cornered hat, trimmed with silver. He had a quick eye, a long,
pointed nose, a round and open forehead, which was contradicted by thin
and compressed lips."
* * * * *
Compiegne, like Crepy-en-Valois, Dammartin, Villers-Cotterets, and other
of the towns and villages of the district, which in the fourteenth century
belonged to the younger branch of the royal house, enter largely into the
romances of Dumas, as was but natural, seeing that this region was the
land of his birth.
The most elaborate and purely descriptive parts are found in "The Wolf
Leader," wherein are presented so many pictures of the forest life of the
region, and in "The Taking of the Bastille," in that part which describes
the journey of Ange Pitou to Paris.
Crepy, Compiegne, Senlis, Pierrefonds, are still more celebrated in Dumas'
writings for glorious and splendid achievements--as they are with respect
to the actual fact of history, and the imposing architectural monuments
which still remain to illustrate the conditions under which life endured
in mediaeval times.
At Crepy, now a sleepy old-world village, is still seen the establishment
of the Valois of which Dumas wrote; and another _grande maison_ of the
Valois was at Villers-Cotterets--a still more somnolent reminder of the
past. At Compiegne, only, with its magnificent Hotel de Ville, does one
find the activities of a modern-day life and energy.
Here in strange juxtaposition with a remarkably interesting and
picturesque church, and the dainty Renaissance Hotel de Ville, with its
_jacquemart_, its belfry, its pointed gable, and its ornate facade, is
found a blend of past and present, which combines to produce one of those
transformations or stage-settings which throughout France are so often met
with and admired.
No more charming _petite ville_ exists in all France than Compiegne, one
of the most favoured of all the country residences of the Kings of France.
The chateau seen to-day was an erection of Louis XV.
Le Foret de Compiegne is as beautiful and unspoiled as any, and is,
moreover, not overrun with tourists and trippers, as is Fontainebleau.
[Illustration: CHATEAU OF THE DUCS DE VALOIS, CREPY]
Its area approximates 60,000 acres, and its circumference sixty miles.
In short, the whole domain forms a charming and delightful place of
retreat, which must have been duly appreciated during the troublous times
of Louis' reign.
It was here, in the Foret de Compiegne, that the great hunting was held,
which is treated in "Chicot the Jester."
The Bois de Vincennes was a famous duelling-ground--and is to-day, _sub
rosa_. It was here that Louis de Franchi, in the "Corsican Brothers," who
forewarned of his fate, died in the duel with Rene de Chateaurien, just as
he had predicted; at exactly "_neuf heures dix_."
This park is by no means the rival of the Bois de Boulogne in the
affections of the Parisian public, but it is a wide expanse of
tree-covered park land, and possesses all the characteristics of the other
suburban _forets_ which surround Paris on all sides.
It has, moreover, a chateau, a former retreat or country residence of the
Kings of France, though to-day it has been made over to the ministry of
war, whereas the Chateau de Madrid, the former possession of the Bois de
Boulogne, has disappeared. The Chateau de Vincennes is not one of the
sights of Paris. For a fact, it is quite inaccessible, being surrounded
by the ramparts of the Fort de Vincennes, and therefore forbidden to the
inquisitive.
It was here in the Chateau de Vincennes that Charles IX. died a lingering
death, "by the poison prepared for another," as Dumas has it in
"Marguerite de Valois."
Among the many illustrious prisoners of the Chateau de Vincennes have been
the King of Navarre (1574), Conde (1650), Cardinal de Retz (1652), Fouquet
(1661), Mirabeau (1777), the Duc d'Enghien (1804), and many others, most
of whom have lived and breathed in Dumas' pages, in the same parts which
they played in real life.