A FOREST THEATRE.

Dunstan Times, Issue 3140, 23 October 1922, Page 8

A FOREST THEATRE.

(By ,). D’Arcy Morell.) Amidst masses ol foliage, through wlueh sunbeams pierced in slanting shafts ol light and illumined the grandly timbered glades, a scene of unwonted animation, of human interest, startled the silence of the woodland scene, btrange birds rose from the sylvan recesses of park and forest; they circled overhead, surprised at this intrusion ol Parisian art and classic revival in the old-world chase their domain, where only the owls hooted in the deserted 1 copses during the long years of war. fcyome times the nightingale sings in the moonbeams on quiet summer nights, when nothing stirs in the brushwood nor rustles the leaves of the old beeches. The melody of the leathered minstrel no longer falls in a deserted solitude, whence peaceful human life had Hod during the stress of war. Yonder, in the sombre wood-clad: hills of the great forest a. feat of arms was accomplished with instant decision which wifi: live as an example of British cavalry dash. I learnt the facts from natives and foresters at the time. Forest-keeptirs discovered that a Germain battery, machine-guns, and an ammunition train liad halted in a clearing of the densely-wooded country. They informed some British cavalry retiring through the forest. The small force, mostly Lancers, crept through the glen guided l by an old woodman- Drawing near and working round the glade, they prepared to attack. Bending low on their horses’ necks to avoid the branches, with lance in rest and sabres drawn, they broke upon the hostile force at repose so suddenly that only

a single gun could be trained against them. All fell a booty to their prowess. A part of the escort escaped in the dense underwood, but the majority were captured, including the guns and war material. These remained a trophy ol the British horsemen. In the coming autumn, when the last leaves in tile forest lands have turned to gold and russet tints, and the naked branches of ancient oaks, ot beech and hornbeam trees, trace their massive outlines against the lowering sky, and the first hoar frost silvers their silhouettes, an historic event will commemorate the last act of the Great War ini the heart of Compiegne Forest. When the grey mists of November hang low in the woodland glades, and the chill wind murmurs in the trees and rustics the falling leaves, heroes of the mighty struggle will muster at the cross roads to take part in a celebration that will long live. The ceremony is to lay the foundation, and perpetuate, in stone. the signing of the Armistice by .Marshal Foch and Admiral Wcmyst>_ with the German plenipotentiaries which closed the war. It was not so much to see again the spot where, in the halt-light ol' the sombre woods, Marshal Foch. coming from Beauvais met. with the distinguished sailor, the German representatives come to ask tor terms, hut to see a peaceful inauguration ol another kind. The spot was chosen. ww\ov\g the uoblc trees ot C ompiegne s Bark, where Napoleon sometimes strolled and mused, or played with his infant son—l ho child King, the Boi do Borne —in the leu Iy walks ol the chateau. Or where the great Fanperor fondly watched the tiny lingers of his baby'heir play with the chords ol his little golden liar)), and, child-like, try to pick out the notes, one by one. on his Lilliputian harpsichord. The imwie book has been replaced, open, gist as it was then, in the music-room ol the, cheleau, near to the chapel where the imperious ruler was wedded to Mane Louise of Austria. The opening of the “'I hentro of \ crduro” brought some thousand lovers or so of art, Barisians and natives ol Compiegne. to the park-like scenery near the castle and its finely-timbered «■ roves. The. open air theatre stands in an amphitheatre of greenery, and the vast parterre has the suit sward loi a carpet. The stage. .‘lO yards long, is enshrined in foliage, and the stage scenery is formed by a vista ol wocklii.nd. 'with a distant glimpse of the Koval, and then Imperial, residence, reddening as day declines, instead of the mimic scenery ol the stage paintei. A Paris orchestra, mixed choir, and soloists of good repute were seated in flout of the footlights, just as at the optima,; huit {the absent lights were replaced by a fringe ol green plants, so that the musicians were almost bidden from view, protected by a screen of verdure. The conductor climbed up to Ins music stand, raised on a ros'tnmi of rough boards and bushes. A broad-brimmed Panama bat covered Ins luxuriant growth ol hair and board, tor the maestro bad a lion-like mane. He raised bis wand. In swelling volume the full orchestra played will; feeling “Be Priniemps” and “l.'Ftc," must appropriately at this season, and the seventy instrumentalists woke as an echo in the wood's with sounds ot harmony. These died away in I be glades and coverts, softened by the distance. Then the “mail re," as the composer is termed, changed bis theme In “Pallas Aiilhene.” and lie trained orchestra and choir responded to his guidance with unison and spirit. The Iresh voices of the feminine singers mingled with the deeper tones of the male choralists, and produced an agreeably novel sensation in such unwonted snr.'roiind'/ngs. Full, yet less imprisoned than within the walls of a concert hall, the rippling cadence of the concerted piece passed over the strings of violins and “’cellos" and double-bass like the whispering of the wind among the trees. The hundred trained elioralists sang with expression and power out of sight, in the midst of creepers, the woodbine, and wild clematis. Voices and instruments filled the air with tuneful symphonies until the last passage finished in fhe wrapt attention <rf those present. For some moments the “master" paused, and the orchestra, obeying the slow and measured movement led by Irs upraised band, played the first languorous bars of a dreamy fantasia. Suddenly a sharp rap caused a stir among I be spectators, when about, fifty maidens glided on to the stage from out of the wings of the rustic theatre among the sweet virgins’ bower, lake the fairies in the forests of Albania and Macedonia, the villas of the old Balkan legends, these young Parisian girls invaded the rustic stage. Their lloating tresses were thrown hack, and their lithe figures were draped in a slight raiment of palest blue and fawn color, which -fell to their bare knees in graceful folds, like the good and gentle fairies'of the Near East, but more joyous than Hie Willis of Central Europe, young girls condemned to quit their tombs and dance in the moon’s rays until dawn in the open glades of the vast forest lands. Woe to the jaded wayfarer gone astray in the wilds of Bohemia, according to ancient folklore, md lured to the magic circle of the nek less departed virgins, attracted hv heir weird and silent dances when the light mist rises beneath the trees. Ho voiild perish from exhaustion, unable to Ind a way out of the labyrinth*. l reesses «rf virgin forest land, lint the .dirtlilTil dancers of Compiegne reprohicc the classic poses and graceful gesaircs of Terpsichore; they passed each >ll l ei*. crossing the stage to and fro. and Hided with rhythmic step through all he symmetrical movements contained in their rein. 1 ft dire of plastic dances. I

Not the least interesting were the artistic groupings of the dancers who formed into sculptural groups like living statues, inspired by the works of masters of the chisel and decorative art. These plastic dances were most effective,, the supple figures of the "figurantes" standing out in striking relief against the dark green hackground of foliage. They they rested, bub all assumed studied poses, some leaning or kneeling with hands entwined, while others reclined in attitudes of rest. Suddenly the music changed a.s an ethereal form seemed to Boat on to the stage from behind the screen of branches, wrapped in the veil-like folds of her gossamer draperies, through which the figure was vaguely outlined. Her eyes had a far-away look. She seemed in a trance, under the spell ol Ihe music or some strange influence. Her long golden tresses were crowned, with a circlet which gleamed above her brow when, she- moved. She was the star of the fete and came to execute some strikingly original dances which seemed improvised and intuitive, as if her movements were dependent on, and controlled by, the music Vet f saw someone, dark and tall, watching her postures and gyrations Hidden from JHe spectators, he seemed to guide the "artiste" as if with hypnotic suggestion, although she never looked Ins way Was the dancer unconscious., though moving with infinite grace and with the agile convolutions o an operatic ballerine. obeying possibly tho will of another, and plunged in artificial sleep? Or was the orchestra her o,vlv inspiration? Whenever the music ceased she remained motioiilcsh. as if seized with catalepsy. Inero was not a tremor pi any part of tho dancer's body Her f««*»«» were placid and eyes halt-closed. She seemed frozen to the hoards. Then the strains of tho orchestra rose again. She listened in ecstasy tor an instant audi then flitted away capriciously, like a butterfly from flower to flower. Once more the measured cadence ceased and the dancer paused, then reclined with her head resting on one hand and tiro other raised as il to hush a babe to sleep, lor three tun minutes .Madame C. there lay in seemin<r oblivion of her surroundings until the "Maitre" made a sign. A harpist with bare arms ran her fingers over the strings in a simple melody lhe dark figure wearing a soft telt ha* loomed behind tho fence ot green shrubs hiding tho footlights. lhe sleeper moved, she listened. and a happv smile lighted her countenance. Rising slowly, she hesitated, as if uncertain what to do. The music was stilled, but the dark prompter made si»ns and gave a subdued order, the mysterious dancer gathered her cloud of muslin around her and passed silently from the stage without an obeisance to the audience. Several ot Iho voting devotees of "les Dances Plastiques" came to congratulate their star for her admirable performance. but a voice interrupted them severely, saying: "Do not speak to her. you must not wake her. It would be hurtful. Let her retire." Tho crowd of onlookers melted away, praising the inauguration oi trie Theatre of Verdure and auguring its future success with plays and concerts beneath the stars.