Very often the time passed away and there was no rehearsal; the men played billiards or bouillotte, the women went out to ride, with or without donkeys; sometimes someone sat at the piano and sang. They dined very late and remained at the table a long while. When they left it, they had not the slightest desire to study their parts; but they began to dance a polka or a waltz; thus it was that almost all the rehearsals were held, but they enjoyed themselves, so that the desired result was attained.
But when they realized that the great day was near at hand, they began to say to themselves: “We really must rehearse.”—Monsieur Glumeau, who had been very well for some time, was in a charming mood and fluttered from one to another, looking at his feet; he gave counsel and advice to everyone, and insisted that they should introduce spoken pantomime in the plays and dancing in the pantomime; he transformed everything into a ballet.
The performance decided upon consisted of Œil et Nez, a farce in one act, with three characters, to be played by Madame Dufournelle, young Astianax, and Monsieur Mangeot.
This piece, being easy to rehearse, and having almost no mise-en-scène, was almost learned; young Astianax declared that it would go as if it were on wheels, and that it was not necessary to give any more thought to it.
The second play was also a farce: Il y a plus d’un Ane à la Foire.—In this there were seven characters, four men and three women; the men’s parts were entrusted to Messieurs Glumeau, Mangeot, Astianax and Kingerie; the actresses were Mesdemoiselles Eolinde, Polymnie and Mangeot.
Monsieur Glumeau had the most important part, that of Pincette, created with much success by Serres at the Folies-Dramatiques. It was very long, and Monsieur Glumeau had decided that it was quite useless to try to drive it into his head, where he was certain that he could never succeed in introducing it; but he relied on the prompter to supplement his memory, and proposed to replace such parts of the dialogue as he did not know by pantomime and dancing.
But it was for the third play that they reserved all the striking effects, all the surprises, all the finest scenery and most amazing costumes that they had. This play was Roderic et Cunégonde, or L’Ermite de Montmartre, or La Forteresse de Moulinos, or Le Revenant de la Galerie de l’Ouest, an excellent parody of melodramas, in four tableaux, larded, as the book says, with dancing, fighting, manœuvring, conflagrations and destruction.
This play, the action of which takes place wherever you choose, allows the most fanciful costumes to be used. Wooden swords and daggers had been made, with which the combats were to be fought. Chambourdin, who was very intimate with several dramatic artists, had promised to bring the costumes; the non-speaking parts were to be represented by the gardener and his family and anyone else who chose. The élite of the troupe took part in this play: Mademoiselle Eolinde played Cunégonde, her brother, Roderic, and Monsieur Glumeau took the part of the tyrant Sacripandos; the leader of the brigands, Détroussandos, was entrusted to a young druggist of most promising talent, named Fourriette, who insisted upon always rehearsing his fights with the wooden swords. Monsieur Mangeot represented the hermit; the part of the valet Malinot fell as of right to young Kingerie. In order to have a second female part, they had transformed Petit-Colas into Petite-Colette, and Mademoiselle Polymnie had accepted this bit of a part, because of the costume. There was also a child’s part. The son of Pichet the gardener, a little boy of five, who never blew his nose, but whose parents had promised to do it for him on that day, was employed to represent the son of Roderic and Cunégonde. His father the gardener had undertaken to teach him the few words of which his part consisted; he beat it into his head with an accompaniment of kicks, which gave the little fellow small taste for the theatre. Lastly, the three speaking robbers in the play were to be acted by Chambourdin and two of his friends. As each rôle would be but four lines, it was hoped that those gentlemen would succeed in learning them.
The great day had arrived; the weather was fine and promised a magnificent day and evening, which were quite indispensable for the success of the party. At daybreak everybody was up at Monsieur Glumeau’s country house. Buxom Lolotte, although she did not act, was one of those who had most to do; as mistress of the house, she must overlook everything, see to it that everything needed for the play was provided, and attend to the preparations for the ball which was to follow it, and for the supper which was to follow the ball. For there is no such thing as a successful party without a supper; this principle is so fully admitted that those persons who entertain you without offering you that refection should be classed among people who do not know how to entertain.
Those who were to take part in the play were to arrive early, for it was felt that there should be another rehearsal, because there are innumerable things, innumerable details of the mise-en-scène, which one does not notice until the moment of the performance; it is then a little late to rehearse them, but the zeal of the actors makes up for the lack of time.