The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1896-01-20

ing with a pantomi1ne or, turning your
back to the railing, view the fast set of
Paris promenading between the acts.
In one of thepantomimes Yvette Gull
bert used to enter sitting sideways on "a lit
tie white donkey. The scene was pastoral
and picturesque.
An old mill, covered with weather
stains, moss and lichens, was cleverly con-
structed piece by piece, in full view of the
audience Its old wheel turned under a
stream of water which ran across the ring
and made a brook, bordered with rushes,
in which fotilla of ducks padded.
Into this rural scene rode Yvette Gull
bert, a large wide brimmed garden hat on
her head-a picture of Vatican!
A piano is wheeled out on the platform.
The old mill wheel paddles drip with wa
ter. Yvette's accompanies arranges the
music. 1t is difficult to accompany her;
she takes such liberties with the tempo.
There she stands, simply, unaffectedly, tina
quintessence of an effete civilization living
in emotions and sensations. She contrasts
sharply with the bucolic scene. She is a
dainty miniature in black and white, with
touch of rouge, done in the manner of
Cheret. Indeed she has the spirit of his
woman, the awkward grace and abandon,
and might have stepped down out of one
of his posters from the walls Of Paris,
where she has caught the note of misery,
vibrating persistently through the city,
that rings in her voice-that misery that
sits like black cat on ones shoulder, that
Gnaps the cords of many life, peopling
che Seine, filling the prisons and feeding
She guillotine.
Men crowd the gallery rail. The bald
heads in tho stalls smile expeotantly. She
IS sauce to their jaded palates. The wom
on eye her furtively. They keep quiet
through it all. And why? They know
best who have heard her.
a little nun in ball dress, the chant of
the convent still in her voice, she sings
her song, lies Ingenues.' Tt was in
variably the opening song of her evenings
repertory. 1t has to do with type of girl
seemingly innocent, yet knowing every
thing. Perhaps she chooses this song as
an overture to impress the audience with
as foil and bring out moro fOrcibly the
daring high lights and the dark, dramatic
shadows of the songs that follow.
Each word is pregnant with fire and life
The words live; the thought has being.
She uses the universal language of gesture
and expression patent to all.
In LA Soularde, - the drunken woman,
she used to reel and stagger. 1t was pain
ful-frightful in its reality. Who likes to
sec a woman drunk or simulate drunken
ness? She has refined this part, as her
whole performance is more polished and
artistic.
She gave song in those days most pop
ular-written apropos of Bernhardt's Cleo
patra-about an unhappy little serpent
that was starving. She sang it plaintively,
with q melancholy little voice, looking
the picture of woe.
Her voice is improved. 1t is richer now:
less sharp ana metallic, more womanly.
1t has lost that Photographic quality that
made her songs in tho nature of mono
1rrrv, 4I,<,
That bite like acid in the hard, polished
veneer of immortality and burn the ears of
curious prudery-words of double entente,
significant only to the experienced.
Already, having finished her last song,
disdaining encores, she has gone. Gone in
the night, wrapped in large white cloak,
TIE aSfITI Of hor manager, 4TG7ting peev-
ishly the while that her cab had drawn
down to the CORNER. where under the street
light one has good opportunity to catch
glimpse of her blond, tousled hair and
tired face