My Recollections Part 32

M. J. F. Delmas with his clear diction and lyrical declamation, which is so properly theatrical, was an incomparable Fabius and was no less applauded than his comrades from the Opera, Muratore and Note. The latter in fact was marvellous in the part of the slave Vestapor whose wild imprecations resounded to the utmost in his great sonorous baritone.

Finally, M. Clauzure, whose Roman mask was perfect, achieved a creation--the first in his career--which places this young Premier Prix of the Conservatoire on an equal footing with the famous veterans of the Paris Opera beside whom last night he fought the good fight of art.

The chorus, both men and women, patiently trained by their devoted master M. Louis Vialet, and the artists of the Opera, who anew affirmed their mastery and h.o.m.ogeneity, were irreproachable under the supreme direction of the master Leon Jehin. All the composers whose works he conducts justly load him down with thanks and felicitations, and his talent and indefatigable power are acclaimed constantly by all the dilettanti of Monte Carlo.

M. Visconti, who in his way is one of the indispensable artistic mainsprings of the Theatre de Monte Carlo, painted five scenes of _Roma_, better five masterly paintings, which were greatly admired and which won great admiration and prolonged applause. His "Forum" and "Sacred Grove" are among the most beautiful theatrical paintings ever seen here.

As for M. Raoul Gunsbourg, the stage manager in whose praise it is henceforth superfluous to speak, it is sufficient to say that _Roma_ is one of the scores he has put on with the most pleasure and the most sincere veneration. That is to say that he brought to bear on it all his care, and all his dictatorial and artistic mind.

With such a combination of the elements of success put into _Roma_, victory was certain. Last night's triumph was one of the most complete that we have had to chronicle here for fifteen years. And it is with joy that we affirm this to the glory of the Master, Ma.s.senet, and of the Monte Carlo Opera.

That year the days pa.s.sed at the Palace were all the sweeter to my heart as the Prince showed me an even more touching affection, if that were possible.

I was honored by the duty of attending in the salon adjoining the Prince's box (everyone knows that I do not attend first performances) and I recall that his Serene Highness at the end of the first act, in front of the attentive a.s.semblage, said to me, "I have given you all I could; I have not yet embraced you." And as he said this his Highness embraced me with keen emotion.

Here I am in Paris, on the eve of the rehearsals and first performance of _Roma_ at the Opera. I have hope ... I have such admirable artists.

They have already won the first battle for me. Will they not be able to triumph in the second?

CHAPTER XXIX

THOUGHTS AFTER DEATH

I have departed from this planet and I have left behind my poor earthly ones with their occupations which are as many as they are useless; at last I am living in the scintillating splendor of the stars, each of which used to seem to me as large as millions of suns. Of old I was never able to get such lighting for my scenery on the great stage at the Opera where the backdrops were too often in darkness. Henceforth there will be no letters to answer; I have bade farewell to first performances and the literary and other discussions which come from them.

Here there are no newspapers, no dinners, no sleepless nights. Ah! if I could but counsel my friends to join me here, I would not hesitate to call them to me. But would they come?

Before I came to this distant place where I now sojourn, I wrote out my last wishes (an unhappy husband would have taken advantage of the occasion to write with joy, "my first wishes").

I had indicated that above all I wanted to be buried at egreville, near the family abode in which I had lived so long. Oh, the good cemetery in the open fields, silent as befits those who live there!

I asked that they should refrain from hanging black draperies on my door, ornaments worn threadbare by use. I expressed the wish that a suitable carriage should take me from Paris, the journey, with my consent, to begin at eight in the morning.

An evening paper (perhaps two) felt it to be its duty to inform its readers of my decease. A few friends--I still had some the day before--came and asked my concierge if the news were true, and he replied, "Alas, Monsieur went without leaving his address." And his reply was true for he did not know where that obliging carriage was taking me.

At lunch acquaintances honored me among themselves with their condolences, and during the day here and there in the theaters they spoke of the adventure,

"Now that he is dead, they'll play him less, won't they?"

"Do you know he left still another work?"

"Ah, believe me, I loved him well! I have always had such great success in his works."

A woman's lovely voice said that.

They wept at my publishers, for there they loved me dearly.

At home, Rue de Vaugirard, my wife, daughter, grandchildren and great-grandchildren gathered and almost found consolation in their sobs.

The family was to reach egreville the same evening, the night before my burial.

And my soul (the soul survives the body) listened to all these sounds from the city left behind. As the carriage took me farther and farther away, the talking and the noises grew fainter and fainter, and I knew, for I had my vault built long ago, that the heavy stone once sealed would be a few hours later the portal of oblivion.

THE END