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Updated: May 24, 2025
One Géraud Bartet, a cadet of the great house of Crussol of which the representative nowadays is the Duc d'Uzès built this eagle's nest in the year 1110; but it did not become a place of importance until more than four hundred years later, in the time of the religious wars. On the issue of faiths the Crussols divided.
He knew the tent and its capabilities, having seen it figure on various occasions, comices agricoles, banquets de pompiers, at village fêtes 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 "Bérénice," with Mme. Bartet, who is charming in that rôle.
Bartet looked charming in her floating blue draperies, and was the incarnation of the resigned, poetic, loving woman; Paul Mounet was a grand, sombre, passionate Titus, torn between his love for the beautiful Queen and his duty as a Roman to choose only one of his own people to share his throne and honours.
With almost no exertion he paddled himself, many yards at a stroke, to the girls' private school where Marjorie Jones was a pupil Marjorie Jones of the amber curls and the golden voice! At the Friday Afternoon Dancing Class she consistently incited and led the laughter at him whenever Professor Bartet singled him out for admonition in matters of feet and decorum.
We found Bartet, not in her dressing-room, but standing outside, still in her costume, very busy photographing Mounet, superb as a Roman Emperor. He was posing most impatiently, watching the sun slowly sinking behind the ruins, as he wanted to photograph Bérénice before the light failed, and the time was short.
Antigone, being recalled and made the centre of a volley of bouquets, ceased to be Antigone and became only Mademoiselle Bartet; and the Greek chorus, breaking ranks and scampering about the stage in order to pick up the leading lady's flowers, ceased to be anything serious and became only ridiculous.
If the house'd burn down, I bet they'd say Penrod Schofield did it! Anybody does anything at ALL, they say, 'Penrod Schofield, shame on you! When you and Carlie were dan " "Penrod, I just hate that little Carlie Chitten. P'fesser Bartet made me learn that dance with him; but I just hate him." Penrod was now almost completely mollified; nevertheless, he continued to set forth his grievance.
Bartet, who happened to be there alone at the time, was so impressed at such an unprecedented event that she fainted, and the President had to run for water and help revive her. The next day he sent the great actress a beautiful vase of Sevres china, full of water, in souvenir. To a lover of old things and old ways any changes in the Paris he has known and loved are a sad trial.
Piano, please! Now then!" The lesson proceeded. At the close of the hour Professor Bartet stepped to the centre of the room and clapped his hands for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you please to seat yourselves quietly," he said; "I speak to you now about to-morrow. As you all know Mister Penrod Schofield, I am not sticking up in a tree outside that window!
Certainly the banqueting hall of the Sauvage will not soon again see such a brilliant assembly. Madame Bartet was the Queen of the Fête, and sat between the Bishop and the Préfet. There were some pretty speeches from M. Henri Houssaye, M. Roujon and of course the toast of the President accompanied by the Marseillaise.
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