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perchance create a desire to see the masterpieces of classic drama （the
common inheritance of all civilized races） revived with us； and our stage
put to its legitimate use； cultivating and elevating the taste of the people。
One would so gladly see a little of the money that is generously given
for music used to revive in America a love for the classic drama。
We are certainly not inferior to our neighbors in culture or appreciation；
and yet such a performance as I witnessed at Orange （laying aside the
enchantment lent by the surroundings） would not be possible here。 Why？
But to return to my narrative。
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The sun is setting as we toil； ticket in hand； up the Roman stairway to
the upper rows of seats； far below the local GENDARMERIE who mostly
understand their orders backwards are struggling with the throng； whose
entrance they are apparently obstructing by every means in their power。
Once seated； and having a wait of an hour before us； we amused ourselves
watching the crowd filling in every corner of the vast building； like a
rising tide of multi…colored water。
We had purposely chosen places on the highest and most remote
benches； to test the vaunted acoustic qualities of the auditorium； and to
obtain a view of the half…circle of humanity； the gigantic wall back of the
stage； and the surrounding country。
As day softened into twilight； and twilight deepened into a luminous
Southern night； the effect was incomparable。 The belfries and roofs of
mediaeval Orange rose in the clear air； overtopping the half ruined theatre
in many places。 The arch of Marius gleamed white against the surrounding
hills； themselves violet and purple in the sunset； their shadow broken here
and there by the outline of a crumbling chateau or the lights of a village。
Behind us the sentries paced along the wall； wrapped in their dark
cloaks； and over all the scene； one snowtopped peak rose white on the
horizon； like some classic virgin assisting at an Olympian solemnity。
On the stage； partly cleared of the debris of fifteen hundred years； trees
had been left where they had grown； among fallen columns； fragments of
capital and statue； near the front a superb rose…laurel recalled the Attic
shores。 To the right； wild grasses and herbs alternated with thick shrubbery；
among which Orestes hid later； during the lamentations of his sister。 To the
left a gigantic fig…tree； growing again the dark wall； threw its branches far
out over the stage。
It was from behind its foliage that 〃Gaul；〃 〃Provence；〃 and 〃France；〃
personated by three actresses of the 〃Francais；〃 advanced to salute Apollo；
seated on his rustic throne； in the prologue which began the performance。
Since midday the weather had been threatening。 At seven o'clock there
was almost a shower … a moment of terrible anxiety。 What a misfortune if
it should rain； just as the actors were to appear； here； where it had not
rained for nearly four months！ My right…hand neighbor； a citizen of
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Beaucaire； assures me； 〃It will be nothing； only a strong ‘mistral' for to…
morrow。〃 An electrician is putting the finishing touches to his
arrangements。 He tries vainly to concentrate some light on the box where
the committee is to sit； which is screened by a bit of crumbling wall； but
finally gives it up。
Suddenly the bugles sound； the orchestra rings out the Marseillaise； it
is eight o'clock。 The sky is wild and threatening。 An unseen hand strikes
the three traditional blows。 The Faun Lybrian slips down from a branch of
a great elm； and throws himself on the steps that later are to represent the
entrance to the palace of Agamemnon； and commences the prologue （an
invocation to Apollo）； in the midst of such confusion that we hear hardly a
word。 Little by little； however； the crowd quiets down； and I catch Louis
Gallet's fine lines； marvellously phrased by Mesdames Bartet； Dudlay；
Moreno； and the handsome Fenoux as Apollo。
The real interest of the public is only aroused； however； when THE
ERYNNIES begins。 This powerful adaptation from the tragedy of
AEschylus is THE CHEF D'OEUVRE of Leconte de Lisle。 The silence is
now complete。 One feels in the air that the moment so long and so
anxiously awaited has come； that a great event is about to take place。
Every eye is fixed on the stage； waiting to see what will appear from
behind the dark arches of the proscenium。 A faint； plaintive strain of music
floats out on the silence。 Demons crawl among the leafy shadows。 Not a
light is visible； yet the centre of the stage is in strong relief； shading off
into a thousand fantastic shadows。 The audience sits in complete darkness。
Then we see the people of Argos； winding toward us from among the trees；
lamenting； as they have done each day for ten years； the long absence of
their sons and their king。 The old men no longer dare to consult the oracles；
fearing to learn that all is lost。 The beauty of this lament roused the first
murmur of applause； each word； each syllable； chiming out across that
vast semicircle with a clearness and an effect impossible to describe。
Now it is the sentinel； who from his watch…tower has caught the first
glimpse of the returning army。 We hear him dashing like a torrent down
the turret stair； at the doorway； his garments blown by the wind； his body
bending forward in a splendid pose of joy and exultation； he announces in
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a voice of thunder the arrival of the king。
So completely are the twenty thousand spectators under the spell of the
drama that at this news one can feel a thrill pass over the throng； whom the
splendid verses hold palpitating under their charm； awaiting only the end
of the tirade to break into applause。
From that moment the performance is one long triumph。 Clytemnestra
（Madame Lerou） comes with her suite to receive the king （Mounet…Sully）；
the conqueror！ I never realized before all the perfection that training can
give the speaking voice。 Each syllable seemed to ring out with a bell…like
clearness。 As she gradually rose in the last act to t