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I thought hard for a minute, because it would be grand if I could say when Brian came back, "I have sold your cathedral for you." But I might have saved myself brain fag. Madame Mounet had settled everything in her head, and was merely playing me, like a foolish fish.
Mounet-Sully surpassed himself. Paul Mounet gave us the complete illusion of a monster thirsting for blood, even his mother’s!
I put on my prettiest dress, white muslin, with some fresh red roses Madame Mounet brings me; and the dinner-table in the summer-house is a picture, with pink Chinese lanterns, pink-shaded candles, and pink geraniums. Madame won't decorate with roses because she explains, roses anywhere except on my toilette, "spoil the unique effect of Mademoiselle."
The public will only stand genius in infinitesimal doses, sprinkled with mannerisms and fashionable literature.... A 'fashionable genius'! Doesn't that make you laugh?... What waste of power! Look at what they have made of a Mounet. What has he had to play the whole of his life? Two or three parts that are worth the struggle for life: the Oedipus and Polyeucte. The rest has been rot!
Scarcely a word was said of the troubles ahead. But it was understood that Mary would be in London to hear him preach at St. Hilda's. On the last day of Meynell's visit, Catharine, greatly to her surprise, received a letter from Hester Fox-Wilton. It contained a breathless account of an evening spent in seeing Oedipus Rex played by Mounet Sully at the Comedie Francaise.
I like him at once, and I think he likes me, for his eyes light up; and just for an instant there's a feeling as if we looked through clear windows into each other's souls. It is almost frightening, that effect! I begin to talk, to shake off an odd embarrassment. "Madame Mounet tells me you want to see my brother's pictures," I say. "Here are a few sketches.
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.
Others then came to me, and they all gave me advice tinged by their own personality: Mounet as a seer or believer; Delaunay prompted by his bureaucratic soul; Coquelin as a politician blaming another person's ideas, but extolling them later on and putting them into practice for his own profit; Febvre, a lover of respectability; Got, as a selfish old growler understanding nothing but the orders of the powers that be and advancement as ordained on hierarchical lines.
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.
They have no Cock at the Francais; Mounet Sully would not hear of it." I knew nothing about it, but if this detestable spectre was going to launch out concerning art and the drama there would be no sleep for me. "'Fare thee well at once, The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And 'gins to pale his ineffectual fire. Did it ever strike you how inconsistent that is?
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