Last night "Le Sire de Vergy" Varieties, with the 'artistes' Brasseur, Anna Tariol, Claudius, Max Dearly etc. I was extremely disappointed with the whole thing. I found this fashionable theatre (like most of the rest) dirty, dingy, uncomfortable, dear, and badly managed. The first row of the balcony is 12 francs, exclusive of booking fee. Everything began late and the thing was not over until 12.15. Our seats (second row of balcony, 10 francs) were very badly stuffed and very uncomfortable, and there was no room. A boulevard swindle. The orchestra was vile, but for opera bouffe, I found the music really rather good - certainly fresh and clever. It was less the piece than the whole thing I objected to, the general sans gene and brazenness of the swindle.So, my Paris education continues. Chichi told me that this was quite a theatre apart, a genre of its own, where there was no discipline except for the chorus-girls. She has performed there. The chorus-girls, at rehearsals, have to wait one or two hours for the 'artistes' but if they are five minutes late - a fine! In the green room drinks are ordered ad lib. Speaking of the lateness of everything, and the long entr'actes, Chichi said: "Ici on se moque du public. On travaille quand on a le temps." And she referred me to Zola's "Nana" and the various places where the public is kept waiting for Nana's pleasure. She said that Zola had given an exact description of the green room of the Vaudeville, and that he must have studied his scenes from this theatre. How true this is I don't know. But I certainly came away with the impression that I had seen the worst side of soi-disant high-class theatrical entertainment in Paris.
Fortunately my personal Parisian education, courtesy of Chichi, is anything but disappointing. She is a very experienced young woman wise in aspects of Parisian life of which I am both imaginatively and practically ignorant. Yesterday we got to talking about sexual perversions. She recounted several of her experiences. I attempted to appear as if they were nothing out of the ordinary from my point of view. I don't think she was deceived. What would they think in Burslem!
While I was asleep after lunch Henri Davray called. I told him I wanted to buy some books, so we went off by omnibus to the quays to get a Casanova, a dictionary, and other things. I hope to get some ideas from the Casanova to set alongside Chichi's experience! We went first to the shop of Honore Champion. It was like a bookshop in a story by Anatole France, exactly. We were greeted first by a young man who spoke well and vivaciously, and then in a corner at a desk I saw a venerable and beaming white-haired man in a skull-cap. This was the father. He said little but smiled affectionately at all of us. The understanding between father and son was rather fine. The large shop was full of books that no-one but a bibliophile would buy.Then we went to another shop nearby where the booseller was a little pinched man, not distinguished - walled in with books. Then we went across to the quay (Voltaire) and had a learned conversation with one of the stall keepers, who grasped exactly what we wanted and said we couldn't get it second hand.
After this Davray lost the scent of books, though it remained in my nostrils, and remembered that he had some shopping to do for his wife. We had tea at Foyot's. Being close to the bookshops at the Odeon we ran across and I bought Casanova, two de Maupassants and an Anatole France, and Davray carried off the parcel to have it despatched from the office of the Mercure de France. I found this periodical established in an old hotel. Fine large rooms and good woodwork. I was introduced to the Directeur (who was not sitting in his own chair because the cat had taken it) as 'the hope of English fiction'. That is something to live up to!
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