Birmingham age-herald., 1895-02-10
fooPYRraHr. leo5.l


 That evening Bloucourt, the son, was stage in "Chatterton." The piece which, though not forgotten, had dropped out of sight and for some years had filled narrower sphere in the quiet appreciation of homo reading, now excited on it's first night almost the interest that great novelty might. Those who were familiar with 1t with out having seen it played, were curious to assist at it's interpretation, process in which certain beauties of work, es- pecially the most subtle points, disap- pear, are scattered, volatilized, as one may say, in the heat of the footlights, while others burst unexpectedly into view through the medium of voice and gesture.
 Those who had been present at form CT performances of the piece were hap py to bring back again two hours of their youth, and to glow once more with the warmth of their first artistic emotion. In word, the old play, re- appearing as it did in the midst of the commonplace trivialities of the day, re- juvenated the whole audience and aroused 1t to enthusiasm.
 It must be admitted that it would be impossible to conceive of more perfect iChatterton than young Bloucourt made. Son and grandson of comedians, the youth had the blood of true artist in his veins, md he was evidently bent on proving it to us that evening. In the tumult and excitement of the applause, in the midst of the hundreds of pairs of eyes and hands that were exclusively concerning themselves with the stage, l caught glimpse, from time to time, of a handsome face which looked out, palc and set, from the darkness at the back of the house. It was Bloucourt, the father, who had come to be present at the triumph of his son. Evidently deeply moved, he would frequently change his place, and would appear in all the different parts of the theater; sometimes in the midst of the brilliant display in the boxes, and at others almost lost in the crowds in the gal leries It was as if he wished to meas- ure on every side this splendid success iA which he also had share. The audience recognized him and pointed him out to each other. Look at papa Bloucourti Isn't he happy tonight, though?" And some of them, while applauding, would turn in his direction as though to include tho great artist in the triumph of his child and pupil.
 Passing close by him at one of these moments, could not restrain the sym pathetic impulse which drew me toward this deep silent joy. "You ought to be a very happy man," l said, shaking his hand. 'It's an immense success"
 The hand I took in mine was cold and moist, and it drew itself sharply, almost angrily, away. Its possessor smiled grinly as he looked at me. "So you compliment too. do you? Isn't there a single soul to understand what am suffering2 Ahl comel l am suffo- eating, let us go out of here" And he dragged me with him out into the street. An icy wind was whistling round the corners, but the old comed- ian appeared not to notice its rigor.
 .Ah! that Is good, good!" he ex- claimed, drinking in the cold air with delight "I thought should go crazy inside there. For two hours have en- durei their applauding and their stupid congratulations, which are mockery to me. You are astonishcd that say this to youp Well, it is so, I am jeal- ous--I am jealous of my own child fairly green with envy of him! That Is frightful thing to say, isn't itp But why did he take my part away from me? It was mine, l was to have played it; it is exactly in my line, and Vigny himself promised it to me. A week be- fore he died he said to me: 'Bloucourt, when they put on Chattcrton again