RHEIMS--(_continued_).
Rheims possesses a handsome theatre, the acquaintance of which I
was enabled to make under exceptional circumstances. At the risk of
appearing slightly egotistical, I will here describe an incident which
has other than personal interest. My visit to Damon’s country, the
particulars of which were given in a former chapter, had an especial
object, viz., the setting of a novel of my own having the great
conventionnel for its hero. The story was dramatised by two French
collaborators, one of whom was at that time stage manager of the Grand
Theatre, Rheims. What, then, was my delight to see one morning placarded
throughout the town the announcement of the Anglo-French play? A few
days before the first representation I had witnessed a rehearsal, and as
I was guided through the dusky labyrinths of the theatre I could realise
the excessive, the appalling, combustibility of such buildings. It
is difficult, moreover, for those who have never penetrated into such
recesses--whose only acquaintance is with the representation on the
stage--to imagine how gloomy and sepulchral “behind the scenes”
may appear. However, by-and-by it was all cheerful enough, and the
rehearsal, I must say, although of a tragedy, abounded in touches of
humour. My friend and myself were accommodated with chairs just in
front of the stage near the prompter, a very friendly personage, who
was evidently interested in the fact of my presence. The actors and
actresses dropped in one by one and we exchanged a cordial handshake.
There was nothing theatrical about the dress or manners of these ladies,
whose ages ranged from extreme youth to middle age. They all looked
pleasant, lady-like, ordinary women, who might have quitted their
housekeeping or any other occupation of a domestic nature. The men, too,
impressed me agreeably as they greeted myself and their colleagues. Very
amusing was the commencement of proceedings.
“Come, my children, put yourselves into position,” said the stage
manager, making corrections or suggestions as he went on; now somebody
spoke too loud, and now somebody was too inarticulate, now an arm was
held too forward, and now a leg dragged too much. Excessively diverting,
also, the dummy show. In one scene of the play, a village schoolmaster
is holding a class of little boys and girls. To-day, a row of chairs
did duty for the scholars and were duly harangued, catechised, and even
admonished with a cane. In another scene, a peasant woman appears with
her donkey, to whom she confides a long tirade of troubles, the donkey
for the moment being like the showman’s hero in the famous story, “round
the corner.” A third and still more amusing piece of dumb show occurred
later, when an ex-abbess acting as housekeeper to the village curé, let
fall a basket of potatoes which were supposed to roll about the stage.
All went well and the prompter, to whom I appealed for an opinion,
assured me that I need be under no uneasiness, for the piece would go
off like a house on fire.
In spite of that favourable prognostic an author’s first night is always
a nervous affair, especially when that author is a foreigner, and her
piece a translation from the original.
However, everything went merry as a marriage bell, my kind friends
filled several boxes, and perhaps one of the most interesting
incidents of the evening was the fact that just underneath sat Danton’s
great-nephew with his clerk, who had come from Arcis-sur-Aube expressly
for the occasion. Between the acts I went down and chatted with these
two gentlemen, also with a French friend who had travelled from Dijon--a
six hours’ railway journey--in order to witness the piece. To the best
of my knowledge now for the first time Danton figured on the French
stage.
It must be confessed that the theatre on this especial night was not a
crowded house. In the first place, three large soirées, which had been
postponed on account of the President’s funeral, coincided with the
representation. In the second place, as a rule, the wealthier and more
fashionable classes do not patronise provincial theatres, especially
when residing within easy reach of Paris. However, the pit and gallery
were packed, and loud was the applause with which the appearance
of Danton in a blue tail coat, top boots and sash, and his vehement
utterances were greeted.
It had never crossed my mind that under such circumstances an author
would be called for; when, indeed, at the close of the piece, cries of
“Auteur! auteur!” were heard throughout the theatre, my friends begged
me to show myself. Which, proudly enough, I did, first saluting the
sovereign people in the gallery, then bowing less beamingly to the
scantier audience in the boxes, finally acknowledging the acclamations
from the pit. If “Danton à Arcis” brought its author neither fame nor
fortune, it certainly repaid her in another and most agreeable fashion.
Two or three days later, a second representation of the piece at
popular prices was given, and upon that occasion the house was full to
overflowing.
The Grand Theatre, Rheims, is a very handsome building, and like most
other provincial houses maintains a company of its own, although from
time to time it is visited by the best Paris troupes.
Yet another uncommon recollection of Rheims must here be recorded. In
September of last year, I witnessed such a spectacle as my military
friends assured me had never before been afforded to the marvel-loving;
in other words, the sight of a hundred and sixty thousand men--a host
perhaps more numerous than any ever commanded by Napoleon--performing
evolutions within range of vision.
By half-past five in the morning I was off from Paris with my host and
hostess in their motor car for the Northern railway station. The day
of the great review broke dull and grey, and deserted indeed looked the
usually gay and lively Paris streets. We reached the station at five
minutes to six, i.e., five minutes before the starting of our train, and
at once realised the neatness with which the day’s programme had been
arranged, both by the railway companies and the Government. The tens
of thousands of sightseers had been despatched to Rheims by relays of
trains during the night, and the station was now kept clear for the
numerous specials conveying members of the Senate, the Chamber, and the
Press. Here, therefore, was no crowding whatever, only a quiet stream
of deputies, wearing their tricolour badges accompanied by their ladies,
each deputy having the privilege of taking two.
Precisely on the stroke of six, our long and well-filled train
consisting of first-class carriages only steamed out of the station,
taking the northern route and only making a short halt at Soissons. No
sooner had we joined the Compiègne line than we realised the tremendous
precautions necessary in the case of visitors so august; double rows of
soldiers were placed at short intervals on either side of the railway
and detachments of mounted troops stationed at a distance guarded the
route. The arrangements for our own comfort were perfect. Our train set
us down, not at Rheims, but at Bétheny itself the scene of the review, a
temporary station having been there erected. We were, therefore within a
hundred yards or so of our tribune, or raised stage, and of the luncheon
tents, roads having been laid down to each by the Génie or engineering
body. Numbered indications conspicuously placed quite prevented any
confusion whatever, and, indeed, it was literally impossible for
anyone to miss his way. The only eventuality that could have spoiled
everything, wet weather, fortunately held off until the show was over.
The review itself was a magnificent spectacle, surely not without irony
when we consider that this great military display, one of the greatest
on record, was got up in honour of the first Sovereign in the world who
had dared to propose a general disarmament! Another line of thought was
awakened by the fact of our isolation. The specially invited guests
of the French Government upon this occasion numbered three thousand
persons, and it seemed that for the Czar, his train, and these, the
great show was got up. The thousands of outsiders, sightseers, and
excursionists, brought to Rheims by cheap trains from all parts of
France, were nowhere; in other words, invisible.
Whether or no such spectators got anything like a view of the evolutions
I do not know. I should be inclined to think that from the distance at
which they were kept the moving masses were mere blurs and nothing
more. From our own tribune, adjoining that of the Presidential party,
we commanded a view of the entire forces covering the vast plain,
surrounded by rising ground.
Amazing it was to see the dark immovable lines slowly break up, and
as if set in motion by machinery, deploy according to orders. The vast
plain before us was a veritable sea of men, an army, one would think,
sufficient for the military needs of all Europe.
One striking feature of these superb regiments, cavalry as well as
infantry, was the excellence of the bands. Never before had I realised
the inspiriting thing that martial music might be. Another interesting
point was that afforded by the cyclists, several regiments having these
newly formed companies. Whenever a flag was borne past, whether by foot
or mounted soldier, the cheering was tremendous, but it was reserved for
a regiment of Lorrainers to receive a veritable ovation. Still so fondly
yearns the heart of France after her lost and mutilated provinces! On
the whole, and speaking as a naïve amateur, I should say that no country
in the world could show a grander military spectacle. Enthusiasm reigned
amongst all beholders, but there was no display of political bias or any
discordant note. Cries of “Vive la France!” were as frequent as those of
“Vive l’armée!”
Not a policeman was to be seen anywhere, the deputies keeping order for
themselves. And not always without an effort! People would rise from
their seats, even stand on benches, despite the thundered out “Remain
seated!” on all sides. On the whole, and with this exception, nothing
could surpass the general good humour. And when the splendid cortege
filed by at the close, delight and satisfaction beamed on every face. M.
Loubet was so dignified, folks said, Madame Loubet was so well dressed,
the deportment of M. Waldeck Rousseau was perfect, M. Deschanel
handsomer than ever, and so on, every member of the Czar’s, or rather
the President’s, entourage winning approval. General André and M.
Delcassé were very warmly received. The slim, pale, fastidious looking
young man in flat, white cap, green tunic, and high boots, seated beside
the portly, genial figure wearing the broad Presidential ribbon, set me
thinking. How at the bottom of his heart does the Autocrat of All The
Russias view these representatives of the great French Republic! How
does he really feel towards France, the first nation of the western
world to set the example of officially recognised self-government, the
initiator of a system as opposed to Russian despotism as is white
to black? Whatever may be the secret of this strange Franco-Russian
alliance, it is apparently in the interest of peace, and, as such,
should be warmly welcomed by all advocates of progress.
The luncheon was superabundant, consisting of wines, cold meat, and
bread in plenty. The task of finding refreshment for three thousand
people had been satisfactorily solved. The only thing wanting was
water. It seems that upon such an occasion no one was expected to drink
anything short of Bordeaux, Burgundy, or pale ale.
All the special trains were crowded for the return journey, made by way
of Meaux, but everyone made way for everyone, and we reached Paris at
eight o’clock, almost as fresh and quite as good-humoured as we had
quitted it at dawn. If this great review was interesting from one point
more than another, it was from the manner in which it displayed the
wonderful organising faculty of the French mind. The most trifling
details no more than the largest combinations can disconcert this
pre-eminently national aptitude.