Seductions of a Theatrical Agent--How to gain One Hundred Thousand
Francs--I start for Brussels--A lucky Two-Sou Piece--Miseries of
professional Travelling--The Park Theatre--Tyranny of a
Porter--Full House--Small Receipts--Deceptions--Return to Paris.
Had it not been for my constant toil and the inconveniences attached to
it, I should have been quite happy and satisfied with the daily profit
my performances brought me in. But one fine day the demon of seduction
presented himself before me in the obsequious form of a theatrical
agent.
“Monsieur Robert-Houdin,” he said, with a smile on his lips, as if we
were old friends, “I am commissioned by M. X----, manager of the royal
theatres of Brussels, to offer you an engagement for the summer season.”
My first answer was a refusal, which I based on excellent reasons. As I
was very successful, it would not be prudent to break the vein, while I
saw no occasion to go a long distance in search of advantages I could
secure at home. This reasoning would have settled any one but a
theatrical agent; but nothing, it is well known, can shake off the grip
of these skillful crimps.
“Permit me, Monsieur Robert-Houdin, not to be quite of your opinion. I
allow, of course, that with your talents you are always secure of good
receipts, but you should bear in mind that the dog-days are approaching,
and your room is stifling in summer. This consideration might induce
the Parisian public to defer till autumn the pleasure of witnessing your
performances, while, by going to Brussels, where the theatres are large
and airy, you would have no reason to fear such a result. Come,” the
plenipotentiary continued, in a most candid tone, “I must tell you,
without wishing to flatter you the least in the world, that everybody is
talking about you in Belgium; I may add, even, that the manager has been
urged to make you offers by a great number of his subscribers.”
This flattering insinuation began to shake my decision, and I offered in
my defence reasons whose weakness only attested to my indecision. My
clever touter noticed this, and thinking the moment arrived to strike
his great blow, said:
“Do you know, sir, the probable proceeds of my offer?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, make an estimate.”
“It is impossible.”
“Then, approximate.”
“I must decline; for I understand nothing of such calculations.”
“Well, then, I understand them, and am rarely mistaken,” said the agent,
stroking his chin, “and I tell you it is an affair to you” (here my
seducer stopped, as if to make a most accurate calculation)--“an affair
of one hundred thousand francs.”
“One hundred thousand francs!” I exclaimed, dazzled at such a prospect,
“you cannot mean it.”
“It is precisely because I mean it that I tell you, and repeat it again:
you will clear one hundred thousand francs by your trip. Add to this,
the advantage of having seen a splendid country, and being received with
all the attention due to an artist of your merit. You will then return
to your impatient spectators, whose curiosity, heightened by their long
privation, will produce you receipts far more brilliant than any you
might have expected by remaining in Paris.”
Being little conversant at that period with theatrical matters, and
having no reason to doubt the honesty of my eloquent “humbugger,” I
easily believed his fine promises. The chink of one hundred thousand
francs still ringing in my ears fascinated me; and I gave way
unconsciously to the same mode of reasoning the inkstand inventor had
employed.
“And, really,” I said to myself, “supposing, for instance, that----“
And, leaping from supposition to supposition, my calculations exceeded
those of the agent. But, in order to be reasonable, I concluded, like my
friend the inventor, in this way: “Well, to prevent any
misunderstanding, suppose we say only fifty thousand francs--surely
nobody can accuse me with exaggeration.”
Though dazzled by this brilliant calculation, I strove to conceal my
desire of accepting the offer.
“It is all very well,” I said, in my turn, after the style of a perfect
man of business, “but what are the conditions?”
“Oh, most simple!” the crafty fellow said; “the same as are made with
all distinguished artists. Monsieur X---- will pay all the expenses, but
to cover those, he will deduct three hundred francs from the gross
receipts, exclusive of the claim of the poor, and the rest will be
fairly divided between him and yourself.”
“Still, I should like to know how much the sum to be divided will amount
to?”
“How is it possible to say?” the agent exclaimed, with an aspect of the
greatest sincerity. “With such success as awaits you, it will be
enormous.”
In spite of my pressing, the agent always entrenched himself in his
exclamations, and the impossibility of making such an estimate. Tired of
the struggle, I at length formed my decision.
“I will go to Brussels,” I said, in a resolute tone.
The theatrical agent immediately drew from his pocket a printed form,
which he had brought in case of our coming to terms, and we had only to
add the stipulations to it.
“Tell me, sir,” the manager’s representative said, in a conscientious
tone, “will you have any objection to a forfeit of six thousand francs?
As the engagement is reciprocal, you must find this but fair.”
I only saw in the agent’s request a very natural desire to defend his
employer’s interests; and I drew this conclusion from it: if the
agreement was advantageous for the manager, it must be equally so for
me, as we were to share the receipts. I consented to the clause, and
affixed my signature. The agent could not repress his satisfaction, but
he cleverly ascribed it to the interest he felt in me.
“I congratulate you sincerely on the engagement you have just made,” he
said, as he offered me his hand; “you will soon be able to tell me of
the results you will draw from it. By the way,” he added, in a friendly
tone, after a pause, “will you now permit me to give you a piece of
advice?”
“Certainly, sir--certainly.”
“I would recommend you, then, to take a collection of showy bills and
posters with you to Belgium. They do not know how to get them up in
Brussels, and they will produce a prodigious effect. It would be also as
well to have a handsome lithograph, representing your stage; it can be
put up in the various picture-shops, and you will obtain increased
publicity.”
These counsels, and the familiar, almost protecting, tone in which they
were given, appeared to me strange; and I could not refrain from
expressing my surprise to the man of business.
“What need of all these precautions? I fancied I understood you
that----“
“Good gracious me! all professionals are alike,” the giver of advice
interrupted me; “absorbed in their art, they understand nothing of
business. But tell me, Monsieur Robert-Houdin, would you feel annoyed at
netting one hundred and fifty thousand francs, instead of the one
hundred thousand I promised you?”
“On my word, no,” I said, with a smile; “and I confess that, far from
feeling vexed, I should be very pleased at it.”
“Well, then, the more you make yourself known, the more you will add to
the amount I stated.”
“But I thought that notoriety was generally the business of managers.”
“Certainly, ordinary publicity, but not extraordinary. You must see that
is unlikely, as it will be all for your advantage.”
Though little conversant with business, as the agent had just remarked,
I saw that his arguments were not always in accordance with logic.
However, I consented to the posters and the lithograph, in consideration
of the promised results.
“That is right,” the agent said, his familiarity sensibly increasing
since the signature of the contract--“that is right: that is what I call
managing things properly.”
And my man left me, after complimenting me once more on the arrangement
I had made.
When left to myself, I indulged at my ease in daydreams about the
magnificent result promised me, and this anticipated joy was probably
all I tasted from the moment of signing this engagement to its
termination. The first unpleasantness it occasioned me was a slight
discussion with my cashier, that is to say, my wife, who, in
consideration of her employment, had a deliberative voice in all
theatrical matters. I could not certainly have found an employée of
greater probity, or a more devoted clerk, but I am bound to say that
this clerk, probably through her intimate connexion with her employer,
sometimes ventured to contradict him. Thus I feared when I described to
that functionary the brilliant perspective of my agreement.
Although I finished my statement with this harmonious phrase, on every
word of which I laid a heavy stress, in order to give it more value,
“and we shall return to France with one--hundred--thousand--francs clear
profit,” my wife, or rather my cashier, coolly said to me:
“Well, in your place, I should not have made such a bargain.”
“But why not?” I said, piqued by this unexpected opposition.
“Why? because nothing guarantees you the promised profits, while you are
perfectly certain as to your expenses.”
Wishing to cut short a discussion from which I did not see my way out
with honor:
“Women are all alike,” I said, employing the phrase of the theatrical
agent; “understanding nothing of business, they oppose one out of
obstinacy. But,” I added, tossing my head, “we shall soon see which of
us is in the right.”
I confess that in this instance I allowed myself too easily to be led
astray by flattering illusions; but I must add, that it was for the last
time; for, thenceforth, I was so skeptical as regarded calculations,
that my modest expectations always remained below the reality.
The period for starting soon arrived, and we made our preparations with
incredible activity, for I desired to lose as little time as possible
between the closing of my performances at Paris and their commencement
in Brussels.
The Great Northern line not being open at that period, I was obliged to
content myself with a post-chaise. Consequently, I hired from a builder
of public conveyances, for two hundred francs a month, a diligence which
had formerly been used in the environs of Paris; it was composed of a
coupé and a vast rotonde, over which was an impériale for the luggage.
On the 25th of May, the day fixed for our departure, my carriage was
loaded with an immense number of chests, containing my apparatus, and
after we had taken our places, the postillion’s whip cracked, and we
started.
We took with us on this trip, besides my two boys who performed with me,
a manager, a workman, also acting as servant, and my wife’s mother, who
came partly for pleasure, and partly to help her daughter in her
theatrical details. Galloping through Paris, we soon left the Faubourg
and the Barrière St. Denis behind us. The weather was splendid--a
perfect spring evening; my wife and I, with the children, were
comfortably established in the coupé, and as it was Madame
Robert-Houdin’s first journey, she was so delighted with it, that I
believe, if I had then offered her the calculation of my presumed
profits, she would probably have herself augmented it. For my own part,
I was plunged in a delicious reverie. I recalled my journey with
Torrini, and while giving a thought of regret to that excellent friend,
I compared his carriage with my brilliant equipage, his modest claims on
fortune with the magnificent prospects promised me; and I could not help
yielding to a feeling of noble pride when I remembered I owed this
position solely to my labor and to my energy. Then, finding myself freed
from the annoyance of any theatrical administration, and my inventive
ideas abandoned, I experienced an undefinable comfort, and were it not
for the fear of making a pun, I would add, at this moment I was really
transported.
What would I have given to see myself thus bowling along in my own
carriage! I fancied that the very passers-by regarded us with a certain
degree of satisfaction; and in this infantile illusion I smiled upon
them most benignantly.
At some distance from the barrier we stopped.
“Will you please to get out and have your carriage weighed? Here is the
office.”
“Before proceeding to weigh,” the receiver of the toll said, approaching
me, “I warn you that I shall summons you for carrying a heavier weight
than the law allows.”
I could not appeal to my ignorance of this, for no one ought to be
ignorant of the law; I therefore submitted philosophically enough to the
threatened summons, and we soon recommenced our journey, laughing
heartily at the incident. The shades of night began to cover the country
when we reached the environs of Senlis. An old beggar, seeing us
approaching, held out his hat; I understood this expressive gesture, and
had the satisfaction of doing a clever trick and a good action at the
same time; for I threw out a penny, which fell in his hat.
I had hardly executed this adroit manœuvre, when cries of “Stop!
stop!” reached my ear; and at the same time I saw the old man running
panting after the carriage, and shouting. The postillion at length
stopped the horses, and he was just in time--a few paces further on, and
our heavy carriage would have been upset. The worthy beggar had
perceived that one of our wheels was on the point of losing its tire,
and as the old man in his haste had lost his coin, and was beginning to
look for it, I spared him this trouble by giving him a five-franc piece.
How true it is that an act of kindness is never lost: to a simple penny
we owed our escape from an accident, the consequences of which would
have been incalculable. A neighboring cartwright soon came up and told
us it was necessary to have the two wheels of the carriage repaired; and
he gave us the following explanation of the accident that had occurred:
The diligence had been standing for a long time in a damp coach-house,
and the felloes had swollen. The heat produced by our rapid locomotion
had dried them, and they had caught fire under the tire. The operation
lasted four hours, and cost me forty francs; this was, perhaps, twenty
more than it was worth, but what could I do but pay, as I should have
lost precious time by appealing to the law?
I was beginning to understand that travelling impressions in a diligence
are not at all of a nature to enrich a traveller; but the reflection
came too late, and I could only continue my journey. I, therefore, did
so, not very gaily, perhaps, but at any rate with a degree of careless
resignation.
I will pass over the details of a thousand petty miseries we had to
undergo, like so many pin-pricks echeloned on our passage to prepare us
for more bitter deceptions. We at length reached Quiévrain, the frontier
town of Belgium, where we were to give up our horses and put our
carriage on the railway running to Brussels; beforehand, however, we had
to endure the formalities of the custom-house.
I hoped, as the theatrical agent had informed me, to pass all my traps
summarily, by declaring the nature of my apparatus, and hence I went to
the office and made my declaration.
“There is only one way of passing your luggage, sir,” a clerk said to
me, very politely. (Belgian officials are generally very gentle and
civil--at least, I always found them so.)
“Then,” I replied, in the same tone, “will you have the kindness, sir,
to tell me the way, that I may profit by it as speedily as possible?”
“You must unpack your instruments, put an _ad valorem_ duty on them,
which the comptroller will verify, and pay 25 per cent. on the amount,
after which you can start as soon as you please.”
“But, sir, that is not possible,” I said, greatly annoyed at this
_contretemps_.
“And why not?”
“Because my instruments are not merchandise.”
I then explained to my clerk that I was going to Brussels to give some
performances, after which I intended to return to France with the same
luggage. According to the information the official gave me, it seems I
had neglected to fulfil a simple formality, through the want of which
the office at Quiévrain would not let me go on without payment. To pass
my instruments duty free, I ought to have applied to the Belgian
Minister, who would willingly have granted me the permission. I could
certainly do so still, but I could not receive an answer under a week,
and that was just three days after the period fixed for my commencing at
Brussels.
Hence I found myself between the horns of a dilemma. I must either,
after paying a heavy duty, lose precious time in packing, valuing and
unpacking my instruments, or forfeit six thousand francs to my manager
while awaiting a ministerial reply. Although I made all sorts of
supplications to the different custom officials, I could only obtain
this answer, dictated by their inflexible orders, “We can do nothing.”
I was in despair; in vain, conforming to the maxim, “It is better to
address the king than his officials,” I pursued the director himself
with my entreaties; he would not hear a word. He was a stout,
good-looking man, of some fifty years of age, dressed in an enormous
paletot, much resembling in cut the one I have described as my costume
when learning my sleight-of-hand tricks at Tours.
We were both standing at the door of the custom-house, near the high
road, where my chests had been deposited. Wearied with listening to my
eternal remonstrances, the director began talking to me about
indifferent matters; but I always led the conversation back to the same
subject.
“You are a prestidigitator, then?” my stout Belgian said to me, laying a
stress on this word, to prove to me that he knew the pompous title by
which the juggler is distinguished.
“Yes, sir, that is my profession.”
“Ah, ah! very good; I know several celebrities in that art. I have even
witnessed their performances with a great deal of pleasure.”
While my amateur was thus talking, an idea occurred to me, which I
immediately put in execution, for I trusted the result of it would
powerfully aid in favoring my entreaties.
“What are your most striking tricks?” the stout man added, in the tone
of a perfect connoisseur.
“I really cannot describe them to you, it would be too difficult. There
is one which can only be appreciated when seen; but I can easily give
you a specimen.”
“I should much like it, if you would,” the official said, not sorry thus
to console himself for the trouble I had caused him. My son, at this
moment, was playing some distance off on the high road, and kicking a
pebble about.
“Emile!” I cried, hailing him, “can you tell us what this gentleman has
in his pocket?”
“Certainly!” the boy replied, without leaving off his game; “he has a
blue-striped handkerchief.”
“Oh, oh!” the stout gentleman said, with an air of astonishment. Then he
recovered, and putting his hands in both pockets to conceal their
contents,
“That’s all very good!” he added, with an air of doubt; “but chance may
have aided that discovery.”
After a slight pause, during which he seemed considerably bothered, he
continued!
“Can he tell me, though, what is under the handkerchief?”
“The gentleman asks what is under the handkerchief?” I shouted to my
son.
“There is,” he replied, in the same loud voice, “a green morocco
spectacle case, without the spectacles.”
“That’s really curious--very curious!” said the man of the paletot.
“But,” he added, shrugging his shoulders, “I should much like him to
mention the article under the spectacle case.”
And my incredulous friend shoved his hands in his pockets. I drew a
good omen from this last exclamation, and so, desirous to ensure my
success, I took my precautions that my son should answer correctly, and
I transmitted him the question just asked me.
Emile, who had not left off his game for a moment, exclaimed, as if
anxious to get rid of us, “It is a piece of sugar which the gentleman
saved from his cup of coffee.”
“Ah! that is too fine!” the director exclaimed, in a tone of admiration;
“the lad is a sorcerer.”
My second-sight performance was at an end; still I saw with pleasure
that it produced a lively impression on the director of the customs,
who, after some moments’ reflection, himself returned to the subject we
had left.
“Come, sir,” he remarked, “I will infringe my regulations for your sake.
We will not open your chests; I will rely on your statement of their
contents and value, and you will pay the duty according to the tariff.
When you have reached Brussels, and have obtained the ministerial
authority to introduce your instruments duty free, I will return you the
money you have paid.”
I thanked my new protector, and, a few hours later, personnel and
luggage had reached the station at Brussels.
Before leaving Quiévrain for ever, I will give my reader an idea of the
conjuring trick which enabled me to produce those startling instances of
second sight to which I owed my deliverance.
I have already said that the director wore a paletot, with large
pockets, so, profiting by the art by which I had so cleverly emptied
Comte’s pockets some time before, I found out what he had in them, and
my son consequently learned it from me. As for the piece of sugar, it
was easy enough to perceive by its regular shape that it had come from
a café--besides, I could have no doubt that a lump of sugar, taken from
the pocket of a man of fifty, and, above all, a Belgian, must be saved
from his after-dinner coffee.
At the Brussels station, a postillion who had three horses out of work,
offered to take our heavy carriage to the Tirlemont Hotel, and I
consented, for I really knew not what hotel to go to. After driving
through the city at full speed, we entered a winding street, in the
midst of which our driver began smacking his whip loudly to announce our
arrival, and with the skill of a practised driver, he turned into an
archway that opened on to the hotel yard. We made a princely entrée
here, which reminded me of our departure from Paris, for the master of
the hotel, his wife, and the servants, were all at their posts ready to
receive us worthily. We had gone safely through about half the narrow
entry, when our vehicle suddenly stopped, as if riveted to the pavement:
blows fell like hail on the unhappy steeds, but these, though
accompanied by vigorous oaths and stimulants of every description, could
not conquer the unknown obstacle.
Being quite convinced that the road was clear on either side, our
postillion decided on trying a final effort; so he got down rapidly from
his seat, took the horses by the bit, and drew them forward sharply. The
carriage appeared to yield to this powerful attraction, and began to
move slowly. All at once a sound of breaking was heard, while at the
same moment cries of alarm issued from both compartments of the
carriage.
The doors were hurriedly opened, women and children emerged, and the
last of our party was still on the step, when the impériale gave way,
and the numerous heavy trunks crashed into the centre of the carriage.
In the emotion produced by such danger, I looked round my party, and
thanks to Heaven, we were all safe and sound.
My wife and children were carefully attended to, while I, though not
entirely recovered from my terror, sought the cause of this unforeseen
catastrophe. I soon discovered that our carriage, being too highly
loaded, had caught in the projecting sides of the archway, and that this
gradual and powerful pressure had forced the mouldering framework of our
old vehicle to give way.
In comparison with the misfortune from which we had so miraculously
escaped, the injury to the carriage was an accident of no importance--a
loss which would be quickly forgotten in the success that awaited us.
The carriage was sent to be repaired, and the accident was soon a thing
of the past, as we sought to recover from the fatigue of our long and
wearying journey.
My first walk in Brussels led me straight to the manager, who appeared
delighted at my keeping my word, and gave me a most polite reception:
thence, I proceeded to the Park Theatre, where I was to give my
performances.
This building, lately destroyed by fire, was situated on one of the most
agreeable sites in the city, for it formed the angle of a magnificent
park, which is to Brussels what the Tuilleries are to Paris.
During the summer no theatrical performance took place, and it was to
fill up this gap that the engagement had been formed with me.
This theatre was city property, and I learned the fact in the following
way. The porter, whom the manager ought to have recommended to give me
all necessary information, stated to me that he was attached to the
theatre, both as keeper and head machinist. He also told me, with
pedantic gravity, that I could not drive in a nail, form an opening in
the stage, or, in a word, make the slightest change, until he, as
responsible official, had referred the point to the city architect.
“Such supervision is not possible,” I said to this important personage.
“How do you manage, then, when the theatrical performances are on?”
“Ah, that is different. As the architect places confidence in me, he
allows me to do whatever I think proper, and I am responsible for
everything.”
“If that is all, I can take the responsibility on myself, and the matter
can be settled at once.”
“If you think so,” the porter replied, in an ironical tone, “you can
apply to the city authorities; the council will take it into
consideration, and you will receive permission in a fortnight.”
I saw that the crafty gentleman wished to force himself upon me, but I
soon destroyed his hopes by making him understand I would allow no
stranger to be initiated into my mysterious arrangements.
This conversation had taken place on the stage, by the light of a candle
which the conservator of the royal theatre held in his hand, but so soon
as I had intimated my intention of doing without him, he turned on his
heel and retired to his den, leaving us in perfect darkness.
“Wait a moment, sir,” I cried to him; “we cannot be groping about in
this way; so, open the windows.”
“Windows!” the machinist said, with a laugh; “who ever heard of windows
in a theatre? What use would they be when the rehearsals always take
place by candle-light?”
“Excellently reasoned, my worthy man,” I replied, checking my
inclination to laugh; “I always thought like you that windows could be
done without if you had lights, but when you have no lights----“
“Why, then, you do as I do, you go money in hand to the grocer’s and
buy candles; I see no difficulty in that.”
And, while making this reply, the porter and his candle were gradually
eclipsed. I had no time to lose in arguing, and besides, this man, whom
I would have gladly brought to his senses under other circumstances,
might play me some trick that might prevent me performing _mine_. My
instruments would remain, so to speak, at his mercy during the night,
and he would have all possible facility to do me some injury, which he
could deny in safety. Hence, I sent my servant straight to the grocer’s,
that natural providence of any one who wants a light.
All my readers have probably read descriptions of theatrical interiors,
and they are all much alike, although their cleanliness and arrangement
vary according to the intelligence of the stage-manager. Nor is the same
luxury of decorations and accessories visible in all theatres; some are
literally encumbered with them, while others are almost entirely wanting
in these qualities.
I remember that, when giving a dozen performances at Chester, I found
the theatrical decorations charmingly original. Properly speaking, there
was only one scene; but, as it would have been impossible to produce the
scenic effect with this, the machinist had very cleverly painted a
forest on the back, and the scene moved on a pivot, which my friend
turned by the aid of a winch, and thus could display a hall or a forest
at will.
With such feeble resources, the scenic illusion was often compromised,
but, according to the machinist, the actors corrected any glaring
anachronisms of place by ingenious new readings, and sometimes, too, by
the _expression of their faces_.
This machinist was like his scenery, for he filled many parts; he was in
turn porter, painter, wig-maker, property man, tailor, and
ticket-taker; but with so many strings to his bow, this worthy man found
himself out of work during three parts of the year, for during that
period there were no performances at Chester.
But to return to the porter, machinist, and keeper of the Park Theatre.
This man could never forgive my refusal of his services, and his
impertinence and ill-will pursued me to the close, and occasioned me
continual annoyance; and although I complained to the manager, I could
obtain no redress. The porter, being paid by government, claimed the
right, like his brethren the porters of Paris, of making his tenants
feel his power and his independence.
I have performed in many royal theatres, but I never had to deal with
any but most polite machinists and managers, who could flatter
themselves they were masters in their own house.
However, I managed to surmount difficulties of every description, and
the day of my first representation arrived.
On this very day was opened that fiery furnace which was called “the
summer of 1846;” and the heat was astounding. Still, the theatre was
full, and the success of my experiments was as great as I could desire.
The second sight, especially, produced an enthusiasm which the generally
cold inhabitants of Brussels expressed by noisy bravos.
I was proud and happy, for, in addition to the satisfaction success
always produces, I foresaw the realization of the theatrical agent’s
brilliant promises. Thus, to take a slight revenge for my cashier’s
obstinacy, I never failed, each time I left the stage, to say to her in
a tone of triumph:
“Well! do you believe in the one hundred thousand francs now? That’s how
I like business.”
And I returned on the stage with a smiling and animated face.
The performance over, the curtain fell on the illusions I had produced,
as well as on those I had nursed as to my receipts. They were equally
ephemeral in either case, for I had scarcely left the stage when I saw
my manager coming towards me in the attitude once assumed by the steeds
of Hippolytus, according to Theramene’s recital. He, so joyous at the
commencement of the performance,
L’œil morne maintenant et la tête baissée,
Semblait se conformer à sa triste pensée.
“Here, sir,” he said, pointing to a small rouleau, “is your share.”
“What! my share?” I exclaimed, in a tone of indescribable
disappointment; “and the rest?”
“The rest, sir, has gone in the expenses, and the poor-rate.”
“But the rest,” I still insisted--“the rest, what has become of it?”
“Well, sir,” my manager replied, in a lamentable tone, “the cashier
states that the greater part of the audience received free admissions.”
Irritated by such an explanation, I hurried to the office, and opened
and closed the door violently. The employé turned towards me, and
without being affected by my abruptness, he bowed to me politely
(another instance of Belgian courtesy).
“How is it,” I said, without replying to his bow, “that so many free
admissions were given without my sanction?”
“They were given, sir, by the manager’s orders,” the man replied, with a
calmness that made me believe he was used to such scenes, “and you must
be aware,” he added, in a conciliatory tone, “that there are numerous
claims on the first night of a new performance at a royal theatre. Thus
we have, for instance, the authorities, the city architect, the manager
of the gas company, the newspaper writers, the manager’s relations and
friends, the police inspector, who has a right to a box; and all these
gentlemen, as you may suppose, bring their families with them. We have,
again----“
“Oh, sir,” I replied, ironically, “for goodness’ sake, stop, for if you
go on at that rate I shall begin to fear you had not a seat left for the
paying public. To-morrow, I presume, I shall have to hand you back the
modest sum you have just sent me. However, I shall certainly insist on
an explanation with the manager.”
The next day I proceeded to call on M. X----, with the firm intention of
evincing to him my dissatisfaction; but he was so ready with his
explanations that I could not be angry, and we ended by agreeing that,
henceforth, all free admissions should have my signature, and that they
should not be dispensed quite so liberally.
This measure, perhaps, checked some new abuses, but was not enough to
suppress them all, for though the theatre grew more and more crowded, my
strong-box did not follow the same progression.
Far from netting the fabulous sum which had so dazzled me, I only
brought back from my trip to Brussels an illusion dispelled and
experience, while, as my cashier had predicted, my expenses rather more
than balanced my receipts.
I have great reason for believing that, during my stay at the Park
Theatre, I was cheated out of my proper share. It was my first affair of
the kind, and I was obliged to study at my own expense; but, from that
period, I was on my guard, and evaded every attempt at fraud. I will
add, too, that at a later date I had the satisfaction of dealing only
with managers of well-known probity, to whom I gave my entire confidence
without ever having any reason to regret it.