"
I called at the Raleigh Block for Lena on Saturday evening, and we walked
down to the theater. The weather was warm and sultry and put us both in a
holiday humor. We arrived early, because Lena liked to watch the people
come in. There was a note on the programme, saying that the "incidental
music" would be from the opera "Traviata," which was made from the same
story as the play. We had neither of us read the play, and we did not know
what it was about--though I seemed to remember having heard it was a piece
in which great actresses shone. "The Count of Monte Cristo," which I had
seen James O'Neill play that winter, was by the only Alexandre Dumas I
knew. This play, I saw, was by his son, and I expected a family
resemblance. A couple of jack-rabbits, run in off the prairie, could not
have been more innocent of what awaited them than were Lena and I.
Our excitement began with the rise of the curtain, when the moody
Varville, seated before the fire, interrogated Nanine. Decidedly, there
was a new tang about this dialogue. I had never heard in the theater lines
that were alive, that presupposed and took for granted, like those which
passed between Varville and Marguerite in the brief encounter before her
friends entered. This introduced the most brilliant, worldly, the most
enchantingly gay scene I had ever looked upon. I had never seen champagne
bottles opened on the stage before--indeed, I had never seen them opened
anywhere.
Pages:
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244