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Show H ,' HIS LAST ROLE. Ij Paul Zininty. H (Copyrighted.) 5' Translated by Susan H. Taber. HP The curtain had been raised three times, and Hi,, Still the applause was continuing. It was neces- Hl sary to raise it a fourth time. Darzincourt, his H loft hand upon his heart, his right filled to over- ! flowing with the gilded laurel crowns which had just been thrown him, bowed deeply, his eyes wet with tears, The bravos resounded furiously; he wanted to say a few words to express his thanks to the public, but the old comedian could barely M , open his lips: "It is too great .... too great H ' .. . such a deep emotion . . . the crown- HK ing of my career. . . The canes were H ' making a fearful uproar; the entire audience was H standing, stamping and clapping The workmen H were still busy passing upon the stage paper HH palms tied with ribbons upon which the artist's H most successful roles were printed. Then, from H the midst of the troupe which played with Darzin- H court in his farewell performance, the director, H very proper in his tightly buttoned suit of black, M stepped forward, and with the gesture of the lead- P ing man which he had once been, embraced the HUj actor as if he wore giving him an accolade in the , Hti name of the public opinion. At the samo time, HM ho placed one of the crowns upon his heart. The HP ' crown, much too large, fell over Darzincourt's Hi ' head and down upon his shoulders, but the ges- Hf ture was fine indeed. Hft j And upom this attitude of the manager and his H J pensioner, a striking tableau! the curtain fell, H and while the feverish throbbing of the hall was HI still making itself felt, Darzincourt, upon the H stage, received the congratulations of his com- ' I rades, and gingerly removed his crown. H J Never, in this provincial metropolis, never had R ; such a manifestation taken place. Never had any patrons given such proofs of friendship to an ar-H ar-H tist about to retire. And since it was a farewell M performance, no one was jealous and hands were H shaken with comical effusion. The conquerer was H nt allowed to take off his costume and it was in Hj that dress that he was carried to the "Cafe de la fi fl Comedie" with all the enthusiasm of a ceremony H 1 which is never to be repeated. The wits of the H Httlo town were waiting for him there, and soon H the punch was smoking on the marble tables, and, with the punch, came the toasts. The habitues, with tears in their voices, ac-H ac-H , cused Darzincourt of leaving the company too H ' soon- "By my troth, so long as a man pleases the public, he is young." And he, with his fa-Hi fa-Hi miliar gesture, rubbing his fingers over a chin H that h.ad been shaved for more than half a cen-H cen-H tury, was obliged to defend himself, to allege that H llis wle hair and his rheumatism made it so i hard for him to kneel in the love scenes. Darzln- l court! DJd not that name, the contemporary of W i tno Florivals and the Saint-Phars, did it not bear H ' lts own date and did it not tell of a whole life H f snont "Pon the stage? Ah well! he needed rest, Hi j ho wanted to look at other scenery than that of Pilll - disclosed stage-settings. And with the years, dreams of a country life had come to him: "A little farm, a little garden " Yes, with his savings sav-ings he had bought a morsel of land where he was going to end his days in peace and wisdom, smoking his pipe. And nothing 1 could have been more pleasant than to hear him relate his farming farm-ing schemes, dressed in the costume of Louis XV, which he still wore, an,d with the paint upon his face that, in the heat of the cafe, was trickling in little streams down his cheeks. . Finally, the director, in all his majestic gravity, grav-ity, much moved -also by his libations, declared that no one could answer for the future. Who knew but what TJarzinoourt might some day return re-turn to the stage. Darzincourt shook his head. No! his decision was firm. He wanted now to allow himself the luxury of doing nothing. Two days afterwards, Darzincourt, installed in his little house and dressed in a big straw hat, a linen vest and sabots, drew the water from his well in the garden with a beatific smile of happiness. happi-ness. In spite of the jesting of the civil little maid who waited upon him, he persisted in watering Ins flowers in the strongest sunshine. "But they will perish, monsieur!" "Bah! flowers are like women, they love attention at-tention at any time." A life of delight was commencing for him, in the tranquillity of his rustic joys. He thought with fright of the rehearsals of former times, the rapid changes of costume, the roles to learn, and, stretching himself out luxuriously, he shuddered at the memory of scenes that demanded impetuously impetu-ously great exertions. A year passed thus in pleasant, idle existence. He was very happy. Why not, he constantly demanded de-manded of himself. He repeated it so often that finally he began to wonder if he really was sincere. sin-cere. At bottom, this happiness was dreadfully monotonous. But he would not admit that ennui was slowly and surely slipping into this pretty house, so full of sunshine, for which he had no ardently longed. And the more he proved to himself him-self that nothing was lacking to his happiness, the more clearly he perceived that the days were lamentably la-mentably empty. Now, seated within an arbor, overrun with the clinging shoots of the Japanese Hop vine, and drinking his coffee, he let his pipe go out, while he re-read aloud the old play bills of his theatre. And he interrupted himself to cry ingeniously, with the naive, personal admiration that all comedians have: "Ah, but I was beautiful beauti-ful in that!" And then the memories which at first, had seemed almost importunate, came back to him now, with an intoxicating sweetness. Ah, the music of the applause, the pride of good fortune, for-tune, the sobs which he had heard resounding in the hall at the end of a beautiful speech, well given! And the little servant coming to take away the cloth, would surprise him erect, with flashing eyes, his hair streaming in the breeze, apostrophizing an Imaginary person: "Ah, monsieur mon-sieur the count, we are at last face to face! A count, indeed! Where is your country, sir?" And the little maid would shrug her shoulders, laughing laugh-ing a clear silvery laugh. Ah, what mean things habits are, we cannot break them. This beautiful day, Darzincourt dared to confess that he regretted the theatre. Ah, well, why not? We cannot spend one's whole liie upon the stage, with impunity, and not feel I homesick for it. I This morning he abandoned his farmer's nest, I buttoned himself up in his black overcoat and I went to And the director. The latter appeared I surprised at his call. But when he learned the I motive he threw up his arms to the sky, crying: 1 "What. Darzincourt wants to reappear upon the 1 stage, at his age!" And he remarked upon how I dreadfully the comedian was wrinkled, in his re- I parative idleness, and how terribly he was 1 "marked now." Nevertheless, the idea of a lucrative lucra-tive evening, the result of a notice which he was already planning, announcing the re-entry of the celebrated Darzincourt tempted him: "Indeed," ne said to himself, "why not?" And radiant at the idea of once more delivering deliver-ing thrilling speeches to a crowded house, the old comedian began to discuss the performance. There was no need of a rehearsal, was there? He had j so oiten played the part! With an almost child- I ish joy he visited the costume store and tried on anew a costume that he had worn a hundred times, demanded a touch here and a stitch there, t and conferred one whole day with the theatrical hair dresser and costumer. There had never been a wig that really suited him, so he ordered a new one. He was as happy as a child and could scarcely restrain himself from dancing and prancing pranc-ing up the street. The notice produced its effect. The hall was almost filled. There was not, however, the overwhelming over-whelming enthusiasm upon which he had counted. , He appeared, and a few "bravos" greeted him. fl But they did not last very long, and soon it seemed as though a singular coolness was spreading spread-ing over the hall. What! was that the Darzincourt Darzin-court with whom everyone had been so infatuated? infatuat-ed? This fellow, this man was absolutely grotesque. gro-tesque. Darzincourt felt somewhat disconcerted but he did not grow alarmed. Since his departure, they had lost the good old traditions. He would show all these green-horns what the old school stood for. The old habitues, those who had known him, I uttered little exclamations of surprise. The new 1 ones began to laugh openly. The actors grew furious and gave Darzincourt his cues with the worst possible grace. Little by little he lost his confidence, was hopelessly tangled in a pathetic passage, he could no longer recognize his stage, and made a most unfortunate mistake in one phrase at which the wrath of the parterres burst forth. From then on, each word and each gesture provoked fresh tempests. Darzincourt felt the cold sweat stand out upon his brow. Behind the scenes, they avoided him, and, pale with anger, he murmured: ' a "The fools! Ingrates!" Darzincourt persisted, with big tears standing . 1 ' in his eyes. At last, beneath the stress of emo- tion, his memory failed him. He stood with his mouth open, no longer able I to understand the prompter, who fairly screeched I the words at him! . . He had failed complete-I complete-I ly, and the performance could not go on to the I end. Below, in his green room, he reeled to and fro, like a drunken man, tearing his lialr. H "It is a fine scrape you have gotten us into," ' 1 said the director to him, who was none the less I pocketing the door receipts. 1 Darzincourt overwhelmed, at last reached his 1 house. A whole life of glory, to come to this! 1 Stretched upon his bed, fully dressed, he lived I over the frightful evening. . .. Ah well, he I would struggle still. Could he possibly exist 1 without the theatre? Even if it brought him only I sorrow and grief, he still had need of it. 1 And he, the proud Darzincourt of former days, 1 laid himself, a suppliant, at the feet of the dl- I rector, and begged and implored him. He did not 1 want to be paid, he only asked a role, a very little part! In a fit of economy, they yielded to his prayers. He was given the part of a servant which he studied with all the zeal of a debutant. When he came upon the stage, a letter in his hanS, the audience, with no reason but cruel gaye-ty, gaye-ty, received him with jeers. "Dar-zin-court, Dar- Izin-court!" They sung, to the time of "Lampions" and the pit and the balconies took up his name. Ke was the pretext for senseless laughter, absurd Jests. "You see, my poor old fellow," said the impresario, im-presario, "you are no longer possible." And he, haggard and dazed, having once more tasted the fascination of the theatre, asked himself desper-" desper-" ately how he could live away from the stage. At Iast, he begged only for the privilege of ' being a figure head, a man in the crowd, a lackey fl or a soiaier of the palace, a gentTeman of no im portance. But they saw he was recognized in the midst of the crowd, and the public having fallen into the habit of making merry upon his account challenged him. It became dangerous ever to let him appear, even though he did not say a word. The little house at the entrance to the village still smiled beneath its veil of clematis and the Japanese hop vine; but it no longer smiled for him! His whole life was consecrated upon the theatre, the-atre, whose martyr he was. He spent the days there, in a corner of the stage, having no more the right to show himself in the evening, even in the humblest part. He was perishing slowly, overcome over-come with sorrow and longing, wandering, like a familiar animal that cannot be chased away through the halls and green rooms of the artists' One night the director drew near him with a brutal laugh. "See here now," he said, "we are going to Slefa TW fT lD thS thIrd act' the barkS of a dog is heard from behind the scones Do m you want to be the dog?" invlT? S6lZed hi8 hand' trembling wjth I thanks"? nsflgured, he stammered his "A part," he cried, "at last, I have a part!" |
