Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1895-03-14
WOODBURY., N. J, THURSDAY, MARCH H. 1895

had first thought of me for the part,
but / was too mature, too marked-ah,
there Is enough in such disappoint-
ment as that to mark one indeed / am
sure that in five minutes 20 years passed
over my head. If the boy had uttered a
word of regret or of tenderness, / should
simply have said to him: Do not play
that part. You will kill me, and am
sure he would not, because, with it all,
the child loves me. But pride held me
back We talked Of the part. He asked
my advice about it. 1t had been lying
on my table for two months. So now
we read it together. I gave him my
conception of how it ought to be played.
From time to time he would break
completely away from me and study a
line out for himself, and with a surety
of insight into the tastes of the public
that no longer possess he would find a
point to be made where saw none at
all. Positively one would have to un-
dergo it himself to know what suffered
during that interview. but it was all as
nothing to the martyrdom | have en-
dured this evening
''Oh. ] ought not to have come, but /
could not stay away. | was irresistibly
drawn by curiosity and perhaps-I am
ashamed to say it-by the secret hope
of surprising among the braves regret,
a remembrance for me, of hearing some
one in the audience say, oh, if the eld
er Bloncourt were playing that!' But
no. ] have heard nothing, not word.
They have had all they could do to ap-
plaud. But really the boy does not act
we'll. He is actually bad. certainly
thought they were going to hiss when
he came on. He can't even walk well.
He has no idea of stage department. In
all that great, thoughtful, complex part
has he made single original effect?
No. He has simply thrown himself
headlong into it, with all the needless
ness of youth. Impetuosity is made to
do duty for talent For instance, in the
great scene with Kitty when Chatter
tom
And here the poor man began to IL
lustrate to me in detail his son s defects,
initiating his intonations and his ges-
tures. From the point of view of the
science of acting it all struck me as be-
ing very profound, very just, and was
surprised to find so many false notes in
the harmonious whole that had so pleas
ed me. all of which did not alter the
fact that we were interrupted every few
moments by the sound of applause, like
the pattering of bailstones, that reached
us from the auditorium and was inten-
sified in sorority by the quiet, empty
street.
go on-applaudr said the unhappy
comedian, turning pale at each burst
Applaud. He is young. To be young
that is everything. / am old. My age is
written on my face All, how stupid it
all Isl" Then in low voice, as if talk
ing with himself: "What | feel is al
most incomprehensible. Here is boy
who has stolen everything away from
me-my name and my glory, who has
not even waited for me TO die to step
into my shoes-and in spite of it / can
not help loving him. He is my son,
after all. have nourished him, cared
for him, taught him, and when l hear
them applaud him feel a movement of
gratifed pride in spite of myself. There
are some clever touches IN the young
scamp's work The mistake was teach
ing him my own calling | should have
diverted his talents in some other direc-
tion. Then could have been proud of
him to my hearts content. should not
have had the grief of seeing my 30
years successes wiped out by his first
day of triumph. =
At this moment the crowd commenc-
ed to pour out of the theater. A muir
mur of appreciation. an atmosphere Of
success passed from group to group and
by way of the silent streets was going
to communicate itself throughout all
Paris. The old comedian was leaning
against a pillar, his ear strained to
catch the commentaries Of the last
struggling spectators. All at once he
gave a spring. iGoodby, F" he called
out to me hurriedly. tried to hold him
back. "Bloncourt, Bloncourt, where are
you going:' He turned his face toward
me, his eyes glistening with tears.
"Where am going? To hug the boy,
parbTeu Prom the French Of AL
phonse Daudet in Short Stories.