The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1900-06-17
BermN life OF Rosfand,
THE FAMOUS PLAYWRIGHTS "REMINISCENCES
OF HIS EARLY DRAMATIC WORK


So nervous that he shudders at the
sight of a stranger; so melancholy and
suspicious that his friends pass him by;
too indolent to care for his health, and
too self-indulgent to listen to the calls
Of ambition; Edmond Rostand. author
of "Cyrano de Bergerac" and a dozen
other plays in verse, leads the life of an
epprehensive hermit in his elegant home
in Paris.
Now and then the word goes out that
his mind Is unbalanced; that he Is the
hopeless victim of a progressive brain
malady. says the st. Louis Republic.
Then come contradictions, scathing con-
tradictions. that hint of deliberate mis-
representation, and declare that the poet
hermit is only tired.
With the view of setting at rest these
contradictory stories, your correspond
ent journeyed to the hermitage In Rue
Alphonse de Melville. Rostand's well
come was almost cordial-certainly It
was not formal. He said he felt more
like himself than for many weeks past;
and was In a pleasantly retrospective
mood.
He looks older. no doubt Of that; his
high forehead and thin face seem higher
and thinner than ever, and the inevitable
cigarette burns constantly between the
thin lips or nervous fingers He has an
air Of tired anxiety, and the shy look
Of self-centered man. He talks Ian
guidly. with only an occasional gesture
or shrug Of the shoulders; but he talks
interestingly, and not like a man whose
wits have gone astray.
First, he wanted to talk of the press,
and his fancied wrongs at the hands Of
certain critics of international fame. He
was bitter, and talked from the stand
point of an old man. To have heard and
not seen him one would have fancied
that the wall came from an unrecognized
genius of 70. rather than from a man
just turned 81, with the plaudits Of the
world ringing in his ears, and hundred
stage directors clamorng for another
play.
When he had finished his TRADE, his
manner became more subdued; the fire
OF passion died out of his sunken eyes,
and gave place to the dreamy look of
retrospection.
when 1 was quite a young man." he
said quietly, Il wrote play in one act,
it was called Les Plerrots.'
One night at an evening party. when
there We're many young ladies present, to
amuse them, l read this little piece In
verse. De Feraudy Of the Coincide Fran
caise, was there. and heard me read It,
and was most enthusiastic, and said that
it must be played at his theater, and
asked me to give him the manuscript to
lay before Clarette, the director.
Il had written for the stage before
then-a trihe for the Cluny Theater. call
ed LIE Cant Roux. 1 was 20 years Old
at the time. But there Is nothing to
be said about it except that 1t was the
first realization Of a dream that always
haunted me as a child. and that was
that 1 must write FOR the stage.
'And. shall I tell you what it was that
confirmed me in the thought that. If 1 had
any work TO do in the world. it was IN
writing for the stage? The stray remark
Of critic whom I do not know, whom 1
have never met. When, as a very young
man. published volume Of poems, Les
Musardises, Gustave FilOn-that is the
name of the crtic-reviewlng 1t in La
Revue Bleue, wrote that he saw in my
poems large promise Of future success
in writing poetical plays for the stage. At
that time, though 1 had always wished to
write for the stage 1 had never thought. I
had never ventured to think. Of writing
plays in verse. 1t seemed to me very curl
Gus, this remark of his, and later on re-
membered it.
81 have told you that De Teraudy was
enthusiastic about Les PierrOts,' and that
he took the manuscript away from me
and gave it to Claretie to read. Claretle
seemed very vexed when the committee
announced their decision, and when he
brought the verdict to his private room
room he added Listen. You VIII lose
nothing. Write another piece, and 1 VIII
undertake that it shall be accepted. Then
! grew bold, and said: IF ] write an
other piece, 1t will be a play in three
acts Try to do So. said CIarete.
so I set to work and wrote Les Ro-
manesques.' 1 was twenty-five or twenty
three at the time. 1t was light and airy
piece, proceeding from Marivaux. and I'M
der the influence of De Banville. piece
of sheer badinage. I read 1t myself 20
the committee. I trembled as I entered
the room. But as soon as 1 reached the
third line 1 was once again completely
master Of myself. I forgot my public.