“A Subscriber.”
Perrin pushed the letter away from him in disgust.
“Here are two more,” I said; “but they are so coarse that I will spare you. I shall go to the opening ceremony.”
“Good!” replied Perrin. “There is a rehearsal to-morrow. Shall you come?”
“I shall come,” I answered.
The next day at the rehearsal not one of the artistes, man or woman, seemed to care about going on to the stage to bow with me. I must say, though, that they all showed nevertheless much good grace. I declared, however, that I would go on alone, although it was against the rule, for I thought I ought to face the ill humour and the cabal alone.
The house was crowded when the curtain rose.
The ceremony commenced in the midst of “Bravos!” The public was delighted to see its beloved artistes again. They advanced two by two, one on the right and the other on the left, holding the palm or the crown to be placed on the pedestal of Molière’s bust. My turn came, and I advanced alone. I felt that I was pale and then livid, with a will that was determined to conquer. I went forward slowly towards the footlights, but instead of bowing as my comrades had done, I stood up erect and gazed with my two eyes into all the eyes turning towards me. I had been warned of the battle, and I did not wish to provoke it, but I would not fly from it. I waited a second, and I felt the thrill and the emotion that ran through the house; and then, suddenly stirred by an impulse of generous kindliness, the whole house burst into wild applause and shouts. The public, so beloved and so loving, was intoxicated with joy. That evening was certainly one of the finest triumphs of my whole career.
Some artistes were delighted, especially the women, for there is one thing to remark with regard to our art: the men are more jealous of the women than the women are amongst themselves. I have met with many enemies among male comedians, and with very few among actresses.
I think that the dramatic art is essentially feminine.