My Recollections Part 30

Moreover, the Greeks did the same thing in the interpretation of their hymns, alternating the chant with declamation.

And as there is nothing new under the sun, what we deemed a modern invention was merely a revival from the Greeks. Nevertheless we honored ourselves in doing so.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Dulcinee (_Don Quichotte_)]

Since then and ever since I have seen audiences greatly captivated by these compositions and deeply affected by the admirable personal expression of the interpretess.

As I was correcting the last proofs of _Panurge_ one morning, I received a kindly visit from O. de Lagoanere, the general manager of the Theatre Lyrique de la Gaite. The libretto of _Panurge_ had been entrusted to me by my friend Heugel and its authors were Maurice Boukay, the pseudonym of Couyba, later Minister of Commerce, and Georges Spitzmuller. De Lagoanere came in behalf of the Isola brothers to ask me to let them have _Panurge_.

I answered to this proceeding, which was as spontaneous as it was flattering, that the gentlemen's interest in me was very kind but that they did not know the work.

"That is true," the amiable M. Lagoanere answered at once, "but it is a work of yours."

We fixed on a date and before we separated the agreement was signed, including the names of the artists proposed by the directors.

Some weeks ago my good friend Adrien Bernheim came to see me and between two sugar plums (he is as much of a gourmand as I am) proposed that I should take part in a great performance he was organizing in my honor to celebrate the tenth anniversary of that French popular charity "Trente Ans de Theatre." "In my honor!" I cried in the greatest confusion.

No artist, even the greatest, could help being delighted at lending his presence at such an evening.

After that, day by day, and always at my house, in the sitting room in the Rue de Vaugirard, I saw gathered together, animated by an equal devotion of making a success, the general secretaries of the Opera and the Opera-Comique, Mm. Stuart and Carbonne, and the manager of the Theatre Lyrique de la Gaite, M. O. de Lagoanere. My dear Paul Vidal, leader of the orchestra at the Opera and professor of composition at the Conservatoire, was also there.

The program was settled out of hand. The private rehearsals began at once. Nevertheless the fear that I felt and that I have always had when I make a promise, that I may be ill when the moment for fulfilment comes, caused me more than one sleepless night.

"All's well that ends well," says the wisdom of the nations. I was wrong, as you will see, to torture myself through so many nights.

As I have said, no artist would have felt happy, if he had not shared in that evening by giving his generous a.s.sistance. Our valiant president, Adrian Bernheim, by a few words of patriotism induced all the professors of the Opera orchestra to come and rehea.r.s.e the various acts interspersed through the program at six twenty-five in the evening.

n.o.body dined; everyone kept the appointment.

To you all, my friends and confreres, my sincere thanks.

I cannot properly appraise this celebration in which I played so personal a part....

There is no circ.u.mstance in life, however beautiful or serious, without some incident to mar it or to provide a contrast.

All my friends wanted to give evidence of their enthusiasm by being present at the soiree at the Opera. Among them was a faithful frequenter of the theaters who made a point of coming to express his regret at not being able to be present at this celebration. He had recently lost his uncle, who was a millionaire and whose heir he was.

I offered my condolences and he went.

What is funnier is that I was obliged to hear fortuitously the strange conversation about his uncle's funeral he had with the head undertaker.

"If," said the latter, "Monsieur wants a first cla.s.s funeral, he will have the entire church hung in black and with the arms of the deceased, the Opera orchestra, the leading singers, the most imposing catafalque, according to the price."

The heir hesitated.

"Then, sir, it will be second cla.s.s; the orchestra from the Opera-Comique, second rate singers--according to the amount."

Further hesitation.

Whereupon the undertaker added in a sad tone,

"Then it will be third cla.s.s; but I warn you, Monsieur, it will not be gay!" (sic).

As I am on this topic I will add that I have received a letter of congratulations from Italy which concludes with the usual salutations, but this time conceived as follows:

"Believe, dear sir, in my most sincere _obsequies_." (Free translation of _ossequiosita_.)

Sometimes death has as amusing sides as life has sad ones.

Which brings to mind the fidelity with which the Lionnet brothers attended burials.

Was it sympathy for the departed or ambition to see their names among those distinguished persons mentioned as having been present? We shall never know.

One day in a funeral procession Victorien Sardou heard one of the Lionnets say to one of his neighbors, with a broken-hearted air, while giving the sad news about a friend's health, "Well, it will be his turn soon."

These words aroused Sardou's attention, and he exclaimed, pointing to the brothers,

"They not only go to all the burials; they announce them!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

DEAR EMOTIONS

During the summer of 1902 I left Paris and went to my home in egreville.

Among the books and pamphlets I took with me was _Rome Vaincue_ by Alexandre Parodi. That magnificent tragedy had had a never to be forgotten success when it was played on the stage of the Comedie-Francaise in 1876.

Sarah Bernhardt and Mounet-Sully, then in their youth, were the protagonists in the two most impressive acts of the work; Sarah Bernhardt incarnated the blind grandmother, Posthumia, and Mounet-Sully interpreted the Gallic slave Vestapor.

Sarah in all the flower of her radiant beauty had demanded the role of the old woman, so true is it that the real artiste does not think of herself, but knows when it is necessary to abstract from self, to sacrifice her charms, her grace and the light of her allurements to the higher exigencies of art.

The same remark could be applied at the Opera thirty years later.

I remember those tall bay windows through which the sunshine came into my great room at egreville.

After dinner I read the engaging brochure, _Rome Vaincue_, until the last beams of daylight. I could not get away from it I became so enthusiastic. My reading was stopped only by

... l'obscure clarte qui tombe des etoiles Bientot avec la nuit....

as our great Corneille said.

Need I add that I was unable to resist the desire to go to work immediately and that during the following days I wrote the whole scene for Posthumia in the fourth act? One might say that in this way I worked by chance, as I had not yet distributed the scenes in accord with the necessities of an opera. All the same I had already decided on a t.i.tle: _Roma_.

The complete concentration with which I threw myself into this work did not prevent my realizing that in default of Alexandre Parodi who died in 1901, I needed the authority of the heirs. I wrote, but my letter brought no response.