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Matilda Betham-Edwards - East of Paris
bowing less beamingly to the scantier audience in the boxes, finally acknowledging the acclamations
from the pit. If "Danton a 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 Compiegne 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 Betheny 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 Genie 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,
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