HIS EXCELLENCY THE MINISTER

PART FIRST

I

The third act of L’Africaine had just come to a close.

The minister, on leaving the manager’s box, said smilingly, like a man glad to be rid of the cares of State:  “Let us go to the greenroom, Granet, shall we?”

“Let us go to the greenroom, as your Excellency proposes!”

They were obliged to cross the immense stage where the stage carpenters were busy with the stage accessories as sailors with the equipment of a vessel; and men in evening dress, with white ties, looked natty without their greatcoats, and with opera hats on their heads were going to and fro, picking their way amongst the ropes and other impedimenta which littered the stage, on their way to the greenroom of the ballet.

They had come here from all parts of the house, from the stalls and boxes; most of them humming as they went the air from Nelusko’s ballad, walking lightly as habitues through the species of antechamber which separates the body of the house from the stage.

A servant wearing a white cravat, was seated at a table writing down upon a sheet of paper the names of those who came in.  One side of this sheet bore a headline reading:  Messieurs, and the other Medecin, in two columns.  From time to time this man would get up from his chair to bow respectfully to some official personage whom he recognized.

“Have you seen Monsieur Vaudrey come in yet, Louis?” asked a still young man with a monocle in his eye, who seemed quite at home behind the scenes.

“His Excellency is in the manager’s box, monsieur!” answered the servant civilly.

“Thank you, Louis!”

And as the visitor turned to go up the narrow stairway leading to the greenroom, the servant wrote down in the running-hand of a clerk, upon the printed sheet:  Monsieur Guy de Lissac.

Upon the stage, Vaudrey, the Minister whom Lissac had been inquiring for, stood arm in arm with his companion Granet, looking in astonishment at the vast machinery of the opera, operated by this army of workmen, whom he did not know.  He was quite astonished at the sight, as he had never beheld its like.  His astonishment was so evident and artless that Granet, his friend and colleague in the Chamber of Deputies, could not help smiling at it from under his carefully waxed moustaches.

“I consider all this much more wonderful than the opera itself,” observed his Excellency.  The floor and wings were like great yellow spots, and the whole immense stage resembled a great, sandy desert.  Vaudrey raised his head to gaze at the symmetrical arrangement of the chandeliers, as bright as rows of gas-jets, amongst the hangings of the friezes.  A huge canvas at the back represented a sunlit Indian landscape, and in the enormous space between the lowered curtain and the scenery, some black spots seemed as if dancing, strange silhouettes of the visitors in their dress clothes, standing out clearly against the yellow background like the shadows of Chinese figures.