"VERSAILLES" IN LEICESTER SQUARE.
(OR, THE NEW BALLET AT THE EMPIRE, AS IT APPEARS THROUGH MR. PUNCH'S
PINCE-NEZ.)
TABLEAU I.--The Park at Versailles. "_Gardeners_," according to the
"Argument" supplied with programmes, "_are seen busily preparing for
the arrival of King Louis the Fourteenth and his Court._" If tickling
the gravel gently with brooms, and depositing one petal a-piece
in large baskets is "busily preparing," they _are_. The Gardeners,
feeling that they have done a very fair afternoon's work, dance a
_farandole_ in _sabots_, after which Ladies and Cavaliers arrive
and prepare to dance too; the Cavaliers select their partners by
chasing them on tiptoe, the Ladies run backwards, and coyly slap
their favourites' faces with bouquets. Here, according to Argument,
"_refreshments are served by Pages_." Don't see any; these particular
Pages seem to have been cut. Dance follows: the _Vicomte Raoul de
Bragelonne_ arrives, but stands apart, taking no part in the dance,
and looking melancholy. Fancy he is wishing he had learnt dancing in
his boyhood, or else waiting for the refreshments to be served. On
referring to Argument, however, discover that "_his mind is occupied
by thoughts of Louise de Lavallière, who was betrothed to him in her
childhood._" Stupid not to see this for oneself. So obvious. Enter
_Louise_. Think _Raoul_ informs her in pantomime that one of the
bows on her dress has "come undone;" she rewards him for this act
of politeness by taking the bow off and pinning it on his breast.
_Raoul_ not satisfied, pleads for another, to put on his hat. _Louise_
refuses, can't ruin her new frock like that for _him_. Find I'm wrong
again. Argument says, "_he implores her to fulfil the wish of his
own and their parents' hearts by naming the nuptial day. Louise is
confused, and bids him wait._" He retires brokenhearted, in search of
the refreshments, and the Cavaliers, with whom a very little dancing
on gravel and a warm afternoon goes a long way, retire with him. The
ladies, left alone, "_now freely express their opinions on the merits
of their late companions_," which seems natural enough. _Louise_
dissents; doesn't see anything particularly rude in their conduct,
"Cavaliers _are_ like that--_will_ rush off for refreshments alone
after every dance and leave their partners." At least, that's how _I_
understood her. Missed the point again. Argument informs me she has
been answering, "_abruptly that the Sun (meaning the King) absorbs her
whole soul, and that she has no thoughts to bestow on mere planets_."
She said all that in a shake of the head and two shrugs, so "abruptly"
is quite the right word. Other ladies annoyed with her, and show it by
walking past and waggling their fingers in her face, which appears to
depress _Louise_ considerably. Then they go out, after the Cavaliers,
or the refreshments. Meanwhile _Louis the Fourteenth_ has entered
at the back and overheard all. _He_ knows what the shake and shrugs
meant, and smiles and nods knowingly to himself. "Oh, I _am_ an
irresistible Monarch, _I_ am!" he seems to be saying. "I'll follow
this up." So he struts down with a fixed smile on his face, like the
impudent young dog he is, and pats his chest passionately at her.
_Louise_ startled. "Don't go away," says _Louis_ in pantomime. "I say,
there's an arbour in that shrubbery,--let's go and sit in it--_do_!"
_Louise_ undecided; tries to excuse herself. "Earwiggy? not a bit of
it!" _Louis_ assures her (he wouldn't be so confident about it if he
had seen his Gardeners at work); "_come_ along!" _Louise_ still timid;
suggests spiders. _Louis_ vows that no spider shall harm her while he
lives to protect her, and draws her gently towards the shrubbery; he
does this several times, but on each occasion her dread of insects
returns, and she recoils shrinking. The King puts his arms round
her to give her courage, and at this instant, _Raoul de Bragelonne_
returns, sees the back of someone embracing the maiden who was
betrothed to him in childhood, draws his sword--and recognises his
Sovereign. "Whew!" his expression says plainly enough. "Now I _have_
put my foot in it nicely!" He takes off his hat and apologises
profusely; but _Louis_ is indignant. What's the use of being a _Roi
Soleil_ if you can't ask a lady of your Court to sit in an arbour
without being interrupted like this? He swells visibly, and intimates
that he will pay _Raoul_ out for this in various highly unpleasant
ways. _Louise_ kneels to him for pardon. _Louis_ subsides gradually,
but still shows the whites of his eyes; finally he tells _Raoul_ to be
off. _Raoul_ is submissive--only wants to know where he's to _go_ to.
_Louis_ points to Heaven, evidently regal politeness forbids him to
indicate any other place. _Raoul_ goes off perplexed, and no wonder.
Then, as the Argument explains, "_a trumpet-call is heard_," and
_Louise "bewildered_," perhaps because it is the signal to go and
dress for dinner, escapes to the palace; and _Louis_, feeling that
the arbour is only a question of time, follows. Then Musketeers come
off duty and get up an assault-at-arms, until their careful captain,
afraid that they will hurt themselves with those nasty swords, orders
them to stop, and the First _Tableau_ is over.
[Illustration: "He swells visibly."]
TABLEAU II.--Rich hangings have fallen close to the footlights,
to represent an "Ante-room in the Palace." Attendants bring on two
dressing-tables. Enter the two principal _danseuses_, who are about to
dress for the Grand Ballet, when _Lulli_, the Composer, and _Prévot_,
the _Maître de dance du Roi_, come in and very inconsiderately propose
a rehearsal, which of course must be an _un_dress rehearsal--then and
there. This not unnaturally puts both the ladies out of temper; they
object to the ballet-skirts supplied by the Management as skimpy, and
one of them throws up her part, which almost reduces _Lulli_ to tears.
The other undertakes it at a moment's notice, whereupon the first lady
tries to scratch her eyes out, and then has a fit of hysterics. Both
ladies have hysterics. A bell rings and, suddenly remembering that a
Royal Ante-room is _rather_ a public place to dress in, they catch
up the ballet-skirts and flee, Attendants remove the dressing-tables.
_Tableau_ over. Plot where it was.
TABLEAU III.--Grand Reception Room in the Palace. Enter the Queen,
sulky, because _Louis_ has taken all the Pages, and only left her
a couple of Chamberlains. Enter _Louis_, more impudent than ever.
They take their places on a _daïs_; the hangings at head of a
flight of steps behind are withdrawn, and the first "Grand Ballet
Divertissement" begins. _Louis_ frankly bored, knowing there's another
to come after that. Ballet charming, but he doesn't deign to glance
at it, gives all his attention to a stuffed lamb on the top of the
steps. Bevy after bevy of maidens disclosed behind hangings, each
more bewitching and gorgeously attired than the last--but they don't
interest _Louis_,--or else the presence of the Queen restrains him.
Instructive to note the partiality of the _Corps de Ballet_. When
Signorina DE SORTIS dances, they are so overcome that they lean
backwards with outstretched arms in a sort of semi-swoon of delight.
But the other lady may prance and whirl and run about on the points
of her toes till she requires support, and they merely retire up and
ignore her altogether. There is a dancing Signor in pearl grey, who
supports first one Signorina and then the other with the strictest
impartiality, and finally dances with both together, to show that he
makes no distinctions and has no serious intentions. All this time
_Louis_ has been getting more and more restless; now and then he makes
some remark, evidently disparaging, to the Queen, who receives it
coldly. But at last he can't stand it any longer. "Call this dancing!
_I'll_ show 'em how to dance!" his look says. "Where's LOUISE?" And he
gets up, pulls himself together, and invites her to come and dance a
minuet. Queen disgusted with him, but pretends not to notice. _Louis_
goes through minuet with extreme satisfaction to himself. Enter Page
with an immense cushion, on which is "_a bracelet of great value_"
(Argument again). Queen excited--thinks it's for _her_; but _Louis_
stops the dance, takes the bracelet, and gives it to _Louise_. "A
present from Paris. There, that's for being a good girl--take it, and
say no more about it." She does, and they finish the minuet. _Louis_,
on turning round to the _daïs_, discovers that the Queen has gone
away, which he seems to think most unreasonable of her--just when he
was dancing his very best! There is more ballet, after which the King
discovers that _Louise_ is missing too. Her Page comes on and hands
him a letter, which he opens triumphantly. "A _rendezvous_, eh? Never
knew jewellery fail yet! How I _am_ carrying on, to be sure!" says
his face. But, as he reads, his eyes begin to roll, and he has another
attack of swelling. Then the curtains at the back are withdrawn again,
and on the top of the steps, where the stuffed lambs were, he sees
_Louise de Lavallière_ in a nun's robe, entering a Convent. _Louis_
can't believe it; he thinks it must be part of the performance, though
not on the original programme. As he goes nearer to see, the curtains
close, open again--and there is nothing. And the baffled monarch
realises the melancholy truth--_Louise_ has gone into a nunnery,
without even returning the "bracelet of great value"! Whereupon the
Act-drop mercifully falls, and veils his discomfiture. And that's all!
* * * * *
[Illustration: SO NICE OF HER!
_Captain Muffet._ "MAY I VENTURE TO HOPE THAT YOU WILL GIVE ME A WALTZ
OR QUADRILLE?"
_Lady Sparker._ "OH, I'M SO SORRY, I'M ENGAGED FOR EVERY DANCE! I'M
ENGAGED ALSO FOR SUPPER TWICE; BUT I PROMISE YOU FAITHFULLY YOU SHALL
HAVE MY THIRD GLASS OF LEMONADE!"]
* * * * *