“My kinsman is very fond of acting, so are we all. Only we never act a play more than once of twice. After that we leave it to be studied and rehearsed by our slaves, and they eventually carry it to the earth and let mortals make what use of it they can.”
“Then,” said I, “according to your version the stage is damned prior to the outset.”
“Be careful,” he rejoined. “If you use bad language they’ll turn you out.... It is prohibited along with smoking and drinking.”
The sounds of music led us to the theatre of which he spoke. It was fitted up to the greatest perfection, and evidently for private audiences.
As we entered there was the general buzz which usually accompanies the orchestra before the curtain rises, but almost immediately after there was silence, and the lights were centred only on the stage behind the rising curtain.
The scene that followed was one of great beauty, and the play itself clever and brilliant, often amusing. I discovered that Vestné took the leading part, though it was some time before I recognised her.
When the curtain fell I waited with interest for the next act, but it never came. I found out later that they rarely gave more than one act each night; the rest of the time was left for what they termed “varieties.”
But if I had been asked to translate the word “varieties,” I should certainly have rendered it as “tragedies,” since to me they were most painful.
Plucritus had gone near the front and sat down, beckoning me to a seat next him.
There were many sitting there besides ourselves, a brilliant company both as to beauty and display.