This was the theatre's evil condition when, happily, the architect
Auguste Caristie, vice-president of the commission charged with the
conservation of historical monuments, came down to Orange early in the
nineteenth century--and immediately was filled with an enthusiastic
determination that the stately building should be purified and restored.
The theatre became with him a passion; yet a steadfast passion which
continued through more than a quarter of a century. He studied it
practically on the ground and theoretically in the cabinet; and as the
result of his patient researches he produced his great monograph upon it
(published in a sumptuous folio at the charges of the French Government)
which won for him a medal of the first class at the Salon of 1855. In
this work he reestablished the building substantially as the Roman
architect created it; and so provided the plan in accordance with which
the present architect in charge, M. Formige--working in the same loving
and faithful spirit--is making the restoration in stone. Most
righteously, as a principal feature of the ceremonies of August, 1894, a
bust of Auguste Caristie was set up in Orange close by the theatre which
owes its saving and its restoration to the strong purpose of his strong
heart.
And then came another enthusiast--they are useful in the world, these
enthusiasts--who took up the work at the point where Caristie had laid
it down. This was the young editor of the _Revue Meridionale_, Fernand
Michel--more widely known by his pseudonym of "Antony Real." By a lucky
calamity--the great inundation of the Rhone in the year 1840--Michel was
detained for a while in Orange: and so was enabled to give to the
theatre more than the ordinary tourist's passing glance. By that time,
the interior of the building had been cleared and its noble proportions
fully were revealed; and as the result of his first long morning's visit
he became, as Caristie had become before him, fairly infatuated with it.
For my part, I am disposed to believe that a bit of Roman enchantment
still lingers in those ancient walls; that the old gods who presided
over their creation--and who continue to live on very comfortably,
though a little shyly and in a quiet way, here in the south of
France--have still an alluring power over those of us who, being at odds
with existing dispensations, are open to their genial influences. But
without discussing this side issue, it is enough to say that
Michel--lightly taking up what proved to be the resolute work of half a
lifetime--then and there vowed himself to the task of restoring and
reanimating that ruined and long-silent stage.
For more than twenty years he laboured without arriving at any tangible
result; and the third decade of his propaganda almost was ended when at
last, in August, 1869, his dream was made a reality and the spell of
silence was broken by the presentation of Mehul's "Joseph" at Orange.
And the crowning of his happiness came when, the opera ended, his own
ode composed for the occasion, "Les Triomphateurs"--set to music by
Imbert--echoed in the ancient theatre, and the audience of more than
seven thousand burst into enthusiastic cheering over the victory that
he had won. Truly, to be the hero of such a triumph was worth the work
of nine-and-twenty years.
Even through the dismal time of the German war no time was lost. M.
Michel and his enthusiastic colabourers--prominent among them being
"Antony Real, _fils_," upon whom has descended worthily his father's
mantle--cared for the material preservation of the building; and
succeeded so well in keeping alive a popular interest in their work that
they were able to arrange for yet another dramatic festival at Orange in
August, 1874. Both grand and light opera were given. On the first
evening "Norma" was sung; on the second, "Le Chalet" and "Galatee." To
the presentation of these widely differing works attached a curious
importance, in that they brought into strong relief an interesting phase
of the theatre's psychology: its absolute intolerance of small things.
"Norma" was received with a genuine furore; the two pretty little operas
practically were failures. The audience, profoundly stirred by the
graver work, seemed to understand instinctively that so majestic a
setting was suited only to dramas inspired by the noblest passions and
dealing with the noblest themes.
During the ensuing twelve years there was no dramatic performance in the
theatre; but in this interval there was a performance of another sort
(in April, 1877) which in its way was very beautiful. M. Michel's
thrilling "Salute to Provence" was sung by a great chorus with
orchestral accompaniment; and sung, in accord with ancient
custom--wherein was the peculiar and especial charm of it--at the
decline of day. The singers sang in the waning sunlight, which
emphasized and enlarged the grandeur of their surroundings: and then all
ended, as the music and the daylight together died away.