The Washington herald., 1913-03-09
KATE CAREW PRESSED BUTTON-ROSTAND WENT UP IN THE AIR
The Episode That Transformed Mild and Weary Little
French Poet Into Shrieking, Cawing Eagle Was
he Mention of the Name of Walter Damrosch,
Composer Of the New Opera Adapted
from Rostands "Cyrano de Bergerac
BY Kate Carew.
Paris, March l.

BY Kate Carew.
Paris, March l..
TT e was very gentle. reserved and
II dignified, quite the bland and
Il l. Tranquil bard, until I, mentioned
the name "Damrosch." and then. oh. my,
what changei
His face flushed, his eyes burned under
sCowling brows. and he had. pcrforce. to
mop a moistcned forehead.
Talk about the effect of scarlet garnit-
ures on bulls and things of that sort
they're all mere child's play to the effect
of a Damrosch on Rostand.
am sure that any tune our own Wal
ter gets bored with the ease of his life
and wants a little extra excitement Ed
mond Eugene Alexis Rostand will be glad
TO provide him with it. either in the form
OF a war of words or one of those in
tcresting French duels where nobody gets
really hurt, only just terribly wrought UP,
and honor Is satisfied by a couple Of
passes with a sword or a shot or two
fired in the air.
HIS BRAIN CHILD "ABDUcTED."
You see. Edmond Eugene Alexis, poet
end playwright, is from Marseilles. where
the blood is hot. and Edmond E. A. has
grievance. He is the father OF kid
mapped brain child. His "Cyrano" has
been set to Damrosch music. and that
without so much as a BY your leave,
sir" from composer TO creator.
l saw Monsieur Rostand in the office Of
the business manager of the Porte St
Martin Theatre. and a very weary. jaded,
little poet he was, when he first came in to
talk to me- He had been rehearsing "Cy
rano de Bergerac" all day, and for many
days, having left his beloved home
among the Basque people to see that his
play is produced according to his ideas.
As matter of fact, he had broken one
appointment with me. He sent me mill
ions of apologies, but was simply too IA
tigued to see any one or do anything but
go home.
l didn't blame him a little bit, poor
dear! \ day in a French theatre would
reduce me TO a limplessness such as never
was It's the lack of ventilation, of
course. In d frantic desire to exclude
n possible enCroaChing current d'air.
French playhouse is hermeticaliy sealed
and the atmosphere is vitiated. Ifeless.
l noticed it the minute ! was safely
inside the stage door. and II must be
even worse for poor Monsieur Rostand,
whose lungs have been expanding for
months in the salubrious breezes Of
Canlbo.
HAD SET THE STAGE FOR HIM.
Well. anyhow. the second time / called
he saw me after the rehearsal was over.
and he came into the stuffy little office 10
lind me awaiting there. with my hands
folded. sitting in a low chair. just like
Patience on monument
l had also placed a chair for him where
It suited me to have It In fact. I did
4 little stage managing.
Outside there was a continual clamor
Of voices. bustling to and fro and a
general confusion because a rehearsal in
a French theatre is conducted on lines
which would make Anslo-Saxon stage
managers tear their locks in separate and
distinct frenzies.
He sort of tiptoed in, it seemed to me.
! hardly realized he was there till he was
blowing in front of me and apologizing IN
the softest of voices for having failed to
see me the day before.
He is small-no taller than your auntie,
tif you want exact measurements-but he
is fairly thickset, with broad shoulders
and large head with a massive over
hanging brow. His hair is sparse in the
back and there is none of it in the 'front.'
but he has a small auburn mustache
which only partially conCeals delicate,
, sensitive mouth. His nose is CT the Gre
clan variety, the real thing in straight
ness. 1t is what artist would call
finely chiselled, and his eyes are d light
blue under narrow lids.
CARRIED LIKE SON OF ALBION.
lie was dressed like an Enslishman-a
seal brown serge suit with d hair stripe
through it, black tie CATERS, white gloves
with black stitches. a gold headed cane
and a cute little monocle IN one c. :.
a poet with a monoole!
1 know it is quite wrong. 1t isn't in the
picture one has of poets-but there you
are: it was in his eye. Tor ali that.
He looked very boyish Is he stood there
pouring out apologies TO me so earnestly
Yes, distinctly Juvenile, in spite of his
baldness and the delicate lines time has
engraved on his face.
At last he placed his tired form on the
IChair, and sat there blinking pleasantly
at through his monocle and still
tGrasping his hat and cane.
THE EFFECT WAS STARTLING.
IT was then 1 cast my thundcrbolt. To
tell the truth didn't know it would have
quite such an effect upon him. 1 Just
used 1t to open proceedings. Al 1t were.
Monsieur Rostand.' l said, in a voice
as gentle a his own. Il want to ask you
something about Mr.. Damrosch and the
opera he has made of 'Cyrano de Ber-
lFerac.'
My word. dear ones. that man sprang
up as If fired from catspult!
"Damrosch!" he repeated, with a sud
den change of voice and manner that was
,ouite amazing. "DamroschI Oh YES,
THAT is the name of the individual who
thas appropriated my work without my
approval. You understand, of course,
madame. that I have never given him
permission 10 touch 'Cyrano.' The world
knows that. hope. lie has simply taken
my play without the formality Of my con-
sent ! had never intended having .Cy-
srano' or any of my plays turned into
operas until I had found Just the musi-
clan whose compositions pleased ME, then
i should not have cared how great or how
small he was-I would have let him have
my work.
He locked at me for sympathy. and 1
nodded gravely.
"MAIs CE DAMRoscH-BAH!"
..But this Damroschr' he continued hot-