Corneille Up Close & Personal

From the grandest of Paris’ theaters we attended Pierre Corneille's Le Cid in surely one of the humblest. From gilded and cushy red velvet seats we were surrounded by raw gray stone and worn, faded blue velvet, straight-back seats on a single backboard, cast-offs for sure. This make-do theatre was once a rather vast basement of a larger structure. 

Here Ol' JJ is reciting verses of Le Cid that he learned in Lycée. Note the "throne" and the cross that I mentioned. But, the audience walked down those stairs under the arch, mostly in the dark. That was far upstage. Okay, so there were some levels for the actors to move around on. 

From the busy street we entered a small inner courtyard, always a calming surprise. At the very back was a small sign with an arrow indicating the entry to Théâtre du Nord Ouest (Theatre of the Northwest) Surely its name didn’t inspire anticipation.  We timidly pushed some double glass doors and entered a run-down vestibule. There was a skinny, hirsute, old man behind a high desk who was obviously taking care of ticketing. There was no one else to usher or give programs. He routinely pointed toward an open archway as if he thought all spectators should know where to go. The hallway was poorly lit and on a flight of stairs going down, so we proceeded with caution for a short distance. Suddenly there was some dim light and we discovered that we had, in fact, made an upstage entrance. But, just as soon we perceived where the audience would be seated facing center stage, on five well-defined tiers about 20 seats across in a stark, straight line. The first row was only about six feet from the first and only step-up of a thrust, semi-circular stage-of-sorts.

The proud Spanish King in street clothes. Notice the spot light.

The play began about twenty minutes later than announced, but, that was fine because it obviously takes about that long for spectators to settle in. Also, I was beginning to realize that curtain time is never punctual in France.  The first 3 rows were filled by mature spectators while the remaining rows were filled with high school students. On the stage was an oversized unpainted, wooden arm chair with a high back, just behind it a crude cross, & down stage left, a wooden park bench. There were some ancient spot-lights off-stage right and left, & a short string of overhead lights. That was it. We were about to take in the most controversial play of the 17th century in an atmosphere of utter meagerness and austerity. 

Corneille’s Le Cid was called a tragi-comédie. I suppose it’s tragic because there is a death, and the conflict would indicate certain death of the protagonist at the end. It’s a comedy because this doesn’t happen and the ending is very satisfying. Corneille’s play was wildly popular when it came out in 1637. It stirred up a huge controversy with the purists of  L’Académie Française because it violated  the rules of classical play writing: unity of time, place, and action. And there was no such thing as a tragi-comédie. It was either or, never both. At a time when the French intellectual elites were working hard to codify the language and set literary standards this pipsqueak playwright dared to write a play that defied the new protocol. 

Despite the less than stellar environment the play began with a bombastically, ecstatic  Chiméne darting around the stage in diaphanous  bright orange; she was going to marry Don Rodrigue, a great & famous warrior. Her next entry about 20 minutes later was in a severe, opaque, black gown. Her high spirits morphed into loud wails of unabated grief after she received the news (offstage!) that her father had been killed in an honor duel by the same Don Rodrigue.  The remainder of the play was devoted to the need for Chimène to avenge her father’s death by obtaining retribution from the King who should order Rodrigue’s death. There was no entr’acte & the play lasted over 2 hours. The actors, a bare minimum cast of about 7, who were all costumed from the second-hand shop, gave their all. In a subplot the Infante (King’s daughter) wanted Don Rodrigue for herself & was making the most of Chimène’s great chagrin. Don Rodrigue was prostrate with apologetic grief which Chimène refused to accept, even though he had no other choice but to duel for his father’s honor. Chimène’s aging nurse tried to talk sense into her charge who spewed venom for 2 hours. 

....No seriously, We noticed that all the actors who were interacting with Chimène stood at least 6 feet away from her to keep from being sprayed. We even wondered if the front row spectators got hit every now and then. The high-schoolers dared to snicker from their comfortable distance. Someone from a front row hissed at them, “Silence!” Chimène remained undaunted & continued her triple forte declamation throughout, not seeming to care about the spittle that she produced or where it landed. This young 20-ish actress was a striking, statuesque, Grecian brunette, but she obviously needed some serious vocal coaching. Plus her acting could have used a strong dose of reticence.   

Le Cid is a play that is universally studied in French lycée and many students must memorize a long speech of alexandrins, French classical verse. With only a little primitive lighting & staging, no ambient music, few sound effects,  the play (despite an over emotive Chimène) held together, each scene well-played and leading to a rational dénouement (conclusion). Don Rodrigue did not marry the Infante who was way too noble for him. The King did not claim Le Cid's head just to please the unreasonable Chimène. Besides Don Rodrigue a.k.a. Le Cid, was already a great war hero & Spain still needed him to fight more battles. 

Not a great photo. This is Chimène's "father" (also in street dress after the show) who does a bang-up job of insulting Le Cid's father....with several slaps of the glove and long vituperations. You will glimpse the rows of seats to the left under the spot light & the stair stage exit just to the left. Note that pitiful stage light still glowing upper right.