3
THEATRE AND MUSIC-HALL
To Erik Satie
T HE theatre in France, to quote Alphonse Daudet on the
monarchy, is “a great dead old thing.” The music-hall
is a great young thing which is dying. As a matter of
habit and to amuse a friend from the provinces, visiting
in Paris, we still go occasionally to the theatre: Opera;
Gaiete-Lyrique or Ba-ta-Clan. We hear “Padmavati”;
“Chout”; or “T’en fais pas!” Alas, what boredom!
A romantic repertory; conventional gestures; nothing living,
moving, happening, which makes one cry out. Today France
should get the first prize for bad acting. One has only to see,
after a performance of the Cid or of Horace, these gentlemen
of the Comedie-Frangaise, in smoking coats, stomachs sticking
out, congratulating each other in the wings, to be aware of this
agony and to understand at once why it is legitimate to be bored
in an orchestra chair.
Novelty is a microbe which directors, managers, actors, elec
tricians, stage directors, door keepers, prompters, pursue and
destroy every time that it shows the tip of an ear behind the
curtain. I beg you, make way for the dust, the mummies, the
glory of past centuries. How comfortable it is to talk among
the dead and with what eloquence does Rameses II talk with
M. Millerand!
Before the war, from 1912 until the end of August, 1914, there
was a leap forward, and there were those who wished to drag
the coach out of the mire. Whatever they did, I congratulate
them. Leon Bakst revolutionized the usual conception of cos
tumes and of stage decoration. Nijinsky’s sensual interpretation
of “l’Apres-Midi d’un Faune” called forth a storm of cat calls.