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Matilda Betham-Edwards - East of Paris
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 cure, 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 soirees, 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
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