1816: the Grandest Tour

France: Chapter 15

The play itself was enjoyed by all. A tragedy titled Germanicus, it centered on the life of the eponymous Roman general, whose victories and untimely death made him a hero to his countrymen. Knowing their Julio-Claudian history, George and Tobias found the action easy to follow despite not always understanding the French. Hugh had paid less attention to his Classics, and several times had to lean over to ask George what was happening. Robert made a genuine effort to follow things, and was soon snoring away in his armchair.

What struck George most about the production was its effort to be historically accurate. He'd heard before of Talma's innovations: wearing appropriate costumes like togas and himations, furniture based on the recent excavations at Pompeii, even having his hair cut in the shape of a Roman patrician. His enthusiastic experiments outstripped anything yet tried by England's Edmund Kean or John Philip Kemble, and all of it was on full display here.

The play drew to a close, with the tragic and mysterious death of its hero drawing exclamations from the audience. The curtain fell and applause began, and the cast came in and out for a good dozen curtain calls. This was well over the average in London, even at premieres, but George decided it must be the more emotional character of the French nation. Ushers had turned the oil lamps back to full strength, but most people were still in their seats. Some, especially the young men in black waistcoats, were now calling out for the author, apparently wishing him to take a bow as well. Whistling and shouts erupted, some of which sounded much rowdier than the mere appreciation of fine art. At last Talma himself came back on the stage with a sheet of paper and read out:

"The esteemed author of tonight's drama: monsieur Antoine Vincent Arnault."

At the sound of this name George saw scoffs and looks of disgust from the young officers in the white waistcoats. By contrast, the black waistcoats burst into raucous applause with more whistling, shouts and even cheers. George and the others asked Boxborough what all of this meant.

"Arnault is a supporter of Bonaparte," the doctor said with a rueful look. "He was a minister during the Hundred Days, and was exiled last year after the second Restoration. I think we'd best be on our way."

As Boxborough spoke these last words he pushed open the door and strode through to lead them out. Few people were in the hallway as yet. Then from around a corner came a pack of five or six burly men, all in white waistcoats. This would have been unremarkable, but for the fact that each man was brandishing a wooden cane tipped with lead. They were making straight for the British travelers' own box. Just as Boxborough and his charges began to fear the worst, the men in white turned to knock on the door of a box next to theirs. It seemed there might be an altercation in the offing.

"Perhaps it's safest to wait in here a moment," said the doctor with a look of concern. His eyes roved quickly around the box, looking at the balcony and calculating all possibilities.

"Hallo-allo!" said Robert looking out. "He's got that one in a pinch, hey? Go on, give him a knock for old Bob!"

The others looked where Robert was pointing and saw a scuffle growing worse by the second. In a first-level gallery across the auditorium a black waistcoat had a white waistcoat pulled up by both lapels, and both men were shouting furious insults in each others' faces. A loud CRASH made Boxborough and the others look left. Near the back of the Salle Richelieu a man had jumped down to a lower gallery where he was now trading blows with two or three others, with more joining in and canes flying willy-nilly. By this time no one could tell the shade of anyone's waistcoat.

The non-partisans – that is, most of the audience – were now quite aware of the problem. Shrieks from elegant ladies filled the air, while many fainted into whichever arms were available. Most civilians began massing in the pit for protection.