The Abbe Marechal and I were very ambitious for the theatrical part of the entertainment and had views of Esther with the costumes, and choruses of Moreau, but M. Claretie said that would be impossible.  It was difficult enough to arrange in Paris with all the singers, instruments, and costumes at hand—­and would be impossible in the country with our modest resources.  I think the idea of a tent on a village green rather frightened him; and he didn’t quite see the elite of his company playing in such a cadre—­no decor—­and probably very bad acoustics.  However, Sebline reassured him.  He knew the tent and its capabilities, having seen it figure on various occasions, comices agricoles, banquets de pompiers, at village fetes generally, and said it could be arranged quite well.

We discussed many programmes, but finally accepted whatever M. Claretie would give—­an act of “Les Plaideurs,” and two or three of “Berenice,” with Mme. Bartet, who is charming in that role.  The Abbe Marechal undertook the music in his church, and I was sure he would succeed in having some of the choruses of Esther.  His heart was quite set on it.  Once he had settled our programme, the conversation drifted away from the purely local talk, and was brilliant enough.  All the men were clever and good talkers, and all well up in Racine, his career, and the various phases of his work.

From the classics we got into modern plays and poets, and there of course the differences of opinion were wide; but I think the general public (people in the upper galleries) like better when they go to the Francaise to see a classic piece—­Roman emperors and soldiers, and vestal virgins and barbarians in chains—­and to listen to their long tirades.  The modern light comedy, even when it treats of the vital subjects of the day, seems less in its place in those old walls.  I quite understand one couldn’t see Britannicus,[11] Mithridate, nor the Cid every evening.

[11] I remember so well our cousin Arthur’s description of his holidays spent at his grandmother’s chateau.  Every evening they read aloud some classical piece.  When he had read Britannicus twice (the second time to appreciate more fully the beauties which were lightly passed over at first), he rebelled, had a migraine, or a sore throat, something which prevented his appearing in the drawing-room after dinner; and he and his cousins attired themselves in sheets, and stood on the corner of the wall where the diligence made a sharp turn, frightening the driver and his horses out of their wits.

We came down here several times to see how things were getting on, and always found the little town quite feverishly animated.  We had succeeded in getting the band of the regiment stationed at Soissons.  I wrote to the Colonel, who said he would send it with pleasure, but that he couldn’t on his own authority.  An application must be made to the Ministere de la Guerre.  There is always so much