THE EPHEMERAL THEATER AT THE EXHIBITION
THE EGYPTIAN THEATRE
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It is at the Trocadero {location in Paris}, in the freshness of the leaves, in front of the majestic portico of a pink and gray temple adorned with vague hieroglyphic and the outstretched wings of the sacred hawk, old Arab musicians, whose long, skinny bodies, are lost in black gandouras with straight folds, including a flap of dirty wool that embraces shaved temples and forehead, plays some sort of arrhythmic and obsessive pastoral {rural music with droning bass}.

…Their worn out, gloomy desires make one think of slow caravans in the sandy solitudes towards the Holy Cities that we sometimes despair of never reaching, of anxious nights in the midst of the herds. Their cracked cheeks swell like little wineskins. Their knotty, disproportionate fingers run over the [head?] of the darbouka, strike with sharp and rhythmic strokes the shiny skin of a sort of timpani {kettledrum} shaped like a squash.

And this monotonous, nasal, shrill call, which dominates the great rumbling of the fair of the world twists your ears, deafens you, attracts you, as much as a gesture of hypnosis pushes you towards the counters where you take the tickets, much more than the sales pitch of [an empty-handed beggar.] 

And in turn, in full voice, in the frantic tumult of reed flutes, violas with hoarse cords, tambourines with plaintive and serious vibrations, these vacant characters chant heralding verses, call to each other, answer each other, barely stirring, with something priestly, as if they were preluding, according to very ancient rites, to a festive ceremony.

Here are the many dances.

Light, spry {leaping?} movements of laughing adolescents who obey the cadenced signs of their master, pirouette, whirl, twirl, seem to be practicing a game of graces; giddy juggling ; simulating relentless combat where swords hurl sudden lightning, fall furiously on shields like a hammer on an anvil, seek and release each other, slice the air with violent blows, like scythes in the swell of corn; convulsive movements of the hips and belly [aired in painful sadness?], with the passivity of slaves who submit to the accustomed drudgery, weary and withered.

Then suddenly, among the clapping of the hands, the hooting cries, a nightmare symphony which squeaks, which sobs, which hisses, which no longer has anything humane, which strains your nerves to the breaking point, step by step, advance three women of Khordofan {Sudanese province}[…adorned with fetishes, a silver ring riveted to the nostrils…tall and black as ebony…]the girls do not articulate a word. They don't utter a cry. They slide rather than walk, swelling their necks, erecting their heavy breasts, swaying their inert heads right and left.
They look like pythons called, enchanted by a charmer, which unwind and stand on their scaly tails, in bliss, who hardly have any expression in their tarnished gold eyes; one imagines being far from it all, in the crypt of some thousand-year-old hypogeum {underground tomb}, in the midst of spectral {eerie-translucent} larvae and slimy reptiles, one is cold to the soul as on the edge of an abyss of darkness.

But the vision of terror vanished.

Love songs erupt, resonating in distressed echoes on all lips and on all instruments.

She suggests by the vibrations of her hips and her torso the illusion of a sea which calms down and where long and slow waves follow one another, die on the sand of the beaches, of wings which swell and pulsate. She seems to tremble and vibrate like the strings of a harp under frantic fingers.

She dances for the pleasure of dancing.

She lies down in the hollow of a large sofa, her eyelids half-closed, her arms folded behind the neck, amuses herself by making the crystal glasses that have been placed on her stomach move with spasms, to strike them in cadence against each other as skillfully as small fragile bells which would ring an aubade {dawn serenade}. She dashes and swings, retaining in her heavy stryge {mythical monster} jaw as in an iron vice some table or some chair, and waving lighted candles with both hands, the wax of which flows in yellow tears. Provocative, shameless, she crouches over a jar full of water, skillfully retracts it into her gauze skirts, begins to sway again, to wave, to vibrate, like a possessed woman who is goading, burning the invisible and deadly embrace of some incubus, finally flees, capers, gallops with a burst of shrill laughter which resembles the lascivious neighbor of a faun in a haunted forest. The drums, the flutes, the viols are embracing, bewildering, imbued with a dreamlike sweetness.

And it seems to me that all these voices of men and women sigh the marvelous and harmonious stanzas of “The Thousand and One Nights” — the supreme book of voluptuousness that Dr. Mardrus resurrected — gemmed like pearls, whispering in turn:

“At the sight of you, my heart itself abandons me to fly towards you, and sleep itself flees from my eyes, leaving me to my tortures! O my heart, very well! Since you are already at her house, stay where you are! I abandon you to her, although you are what is most dear to me and most necessary! And if I spent all my life, after looking at her even once in the face, without the happiness of a second look, it would make me rich forever!”

"Avoid the magician's gaze of her eyes, for no one has escaped the circle of that orbit. Black eyes are terrible when they are languid. For black, languid eyes cross hearts like the shining steel of slender swords. And above all do not listen to the sweetness of her language, because like a fiery wine, she ferments the reason of the wisest. To know her! She has such sweet looks! And a silken brow! To touch the velvet of it, one would eternalize that softness. To hope for it is sweeter to me than to the heart of the condemned, the hope of salvation! "

"0 warrior skilled in the battle of roses, the delicate blood of the trophies that fringe your triumphal forehead, tinting your dark hair crimson; and the birthplace of all these flowers bows down to kiss your child's feet! So sweet, o princess, your supernatural body that the charmed air becomes aromatic upon touching it; and if the curious breeze penetrated under your tunic it would linger there forever. So beautiful, your slim waist, oh houri {maiden of paradise}, that the necklace on your bare throat complains of not being your belt! But your fine legs where ankles are encircled by the bells, make the bracelets on your wrists creak with envy!”

“O bright body where the twigs have put their suppleness and the jasmines their bouquet {aroma}, what body would your scent be worth? Eyes where the diamond has shed its light and the night its stars, which eyes would equal your fire? Kiss with her mouth sweeter than honey, what kiss would reach your freshness? Oh! Caress your hair and tremble with all my flesh on your flesh, then see in your eyes the stars rise!”

Hitherto motionless, collected as on the threshold of a mosque in the dreary torpidity of some late summer day when the sky seems a sheet of fire, the people move, stir, form in procession. The arms are intertwined with the arms. The faces are radiant with joy. The living chain undulates like a garland of roses and myrtles under impetuous gusts of wind. Violent men drag it along and guide it, strike the ground with a free foot, loudly proclaiming a long hymn of thanksgiving and hope, with an increasing intoxication. The women, upon stops and interruptions, shout a sort of frenzied hallelujah.

And we think of very ancient times, of solemn evenings of deliverance and victory, of sacred dances around the Holy Ark, when the people chosen by Yaweh fled the cities of exile, hurried to the Promised Land.

And, a few steps away from this stopover in the past, here are the gardens of Japan, the flesh-colored peonies, twilight hydrangeas, night-blue water irises, dwarf cedars like children's toys, green velvet lawns, where indifferent blackbirds hopping and hissing; here is the Ceylon {now called Sri Lanka} pavilion, the tables scattered among the trees where pretty women in bright dresses, in flowered hats, savor, with somewhat languid poses, the delicious tea served to them by alert little barmaids, in white caps and aprons, Cynghalais {people of Ceylon} with gazelle eyes, hair held back by a tortoiseshell comb, shining bronze, in the corner that Parisiennes adopted for their "six to seven", for flirtatious dates and for the unexpected...
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THE INTERNATIONAL THEATER
The exhibition was, I believe, already open when the concession of this theater was granted to an Englishman, Mr. Seymour Wade, who therefore had no time to waste to put himself in a position to profit from it. He set to work immediately, and in thirty-five days the theater was built, a theater that could hold about 2,500 spectators. It was located on the edge of the Avenue de Suffren, parallel to and next to the Grand Théâtre de l 'Exposition, which I will have to talk about shortly, very close to the Terrestrial Globe and the superb Mexican palace, so curious and so characteristic.

The hall, unfortunately rather poorly lit usually, included a vast parquet floor separated by a balustrade from a wide promenade, above which rose a spacious amphitheater. There is no wealth, no appearance of embellishment. We would gladly have thought we were in one of those great cafes-concerts that we organize for the occasion of big provincial fairs. The stage was not lacking in scope; but, devoid of [footlights], it too was very poorly lit, and remained constantly in a sort of half-light which considerably impaired the effect and which, during the very interesting representations of the Egyptian troop, only allowed one to see very poorly the decor, which did not however fail to present a certain character of originality. Everywhere in this theater people were smoking and drinking. The price of seats was 5 francs at the amphitheater, 2 francs at the parquet floor and 1 franc at the perimeter. Four performances took place each day, two during the day, at half past three and four, two in the evening, at eight and half past nine.

The Theater International was inaugurated on Saturday, July 6. At first, [it] offered nothing particularly original to the public, and [the] shows were little more than those we see in our well-stocked concert-cafes. Among other attractions, there were the experiences of a very skillful conjurer well known to the Parisian public, Mr. Buatier de Kolta, and the very amusing imitations of an artist also very skilful in his genre, Mr. Pichat. To this were added tableaux vivants [“living pictures”], the performance of national songs from various countries by a chorus of thirty male voices, [and more].

But this was only [filling time while he waited], Mr. Seymour Wade was preparing a masterstroke. He had started negotiations with Mr. Soliman Cardahi, director, not, as we have said, of the Khedivial Opera in Cairo, but of a troupe of dancers, singers, wrestlers, etc., depending perhaps on this theater and the Khedive, but having certainly, in spite of its very sound, very original spectacle, no relation with the important Egyptian [opera house] where one represents, just as in our great theaters of Europe, the works of the great international musical repertoire. These negotiations were successful, and Mr. Cardahi had obtained from the Khedive the authorization to bring to Paris a troupe of about thirty artists, chosen from among the best of his staff. This troupe, led by him, embarked in Alexandria on Saturday August 17, bound for France, arrived in Paris eight days later, on the 24th, and gave, on the 31st, its first performance at the International Theater. I do not think I can make it better known than by re-producing the program here, with a fairly pronounced exotic flavor, which was sold inside the theater and which gave all the details of the show.

Firstly, here are the staff and the main artists:
The troupe has been carefully chosen by Mr. Soliman Cardahi, director of the Arab Theater at the Khedivial Opera in Cairo, whom he accompanied in France and who is the only one who has had great success with the Egyptian government.

The troupe is made up of thirty of the best artists and is divided into singers, dancers, musicians, wrestlers, fencers, stick players and naboute [two kinds of stick games?].

The singers are the famous Zénabe Effendi, Labiba Effendi and La Haneme [Ahaneme below] Effendi. The dancers, the charming Choke [said like Shouk] Effendi, Amina Effendi, Latifa, Salime and Farida Effendi.

​The renowned musicians are: Sheik Ali Osman, Sheik Mohamed and Selim Mahmoude. There are also three musicians for the dance music.

The great wrestlers of the East Hassan Moustapha, former wrestler of Abd el-Kader, and Ali Abou-Housman.

The first-class fencers, Joseph Sâbe, who received great rewards from Rudolph, Crown Prince of Austria, Emperor Nicholas of Russia and Emperor of Brazil; Habib Effendi Fadoule, the famous Syrian, and Kali Effendi. There are also cane players [and others] among them.

​All of these were what we call "the stars." If women were "famous" or "charming," we see that men did not give in to them, because they were [also] "famous” or "great," or "first class." The executives of the troop filled secondary jobs [such as] singing or dancing [in the] choirs.
After staff information, the program gave us details about the show:

Décor: The forest of Mount Lebanon, Syria.
TABLE I. - The Arabs take revenge on the great hero Antare.
TABLE II. - The love song, by Zenabe and her company, and dances by Latifa with the sword.

Décor: Fantastic Décor
TABLE III. - Fencing games given by Joseph Såbe and Habibe Effendi Fadoule.
TABLE IV. - Wrestlers Hassan Moustapha and Ali Abou Housman.

Décor: Street of the Mosque, Cairo.
TABLE V. -The cane games, by Mohamed Mabou and the [black gentleman] Hassan. Naboute games, by Eliasse Ab-Dou and Joseph Sâbe.

Décor for the day: Egyptian Room.
Décor for the night, Luminous Fountains.
TABLE VI. - Dance, by Choke Effendi.
TABLE VII. - Dance, by Amina Effendi.
TABLE VIII. - Dance, by Farida Effendi.
TABLE IX. - Dance, by Ahaneme [La Haneme] Effendi.
TABLE X . - Dance, by the [black lady] Hadame.
TABLE XI. - Songs, by Ali Housman and company.
TABLE XII. - Songs, by Zenabe and two [black gentlemen].
TABLE XIII. - Dance by the whole troop.

​The program further informed us that the sets were "painted by the famous Mancini, after the Khedivial Opera in Cairo." These were, as the painter's name suggests, Italian style decorations, but they [did not] lack in character, nor [chicness], nor [picturesqueness]. Among other things, the one representing the Mosque Street in Cairo was curious [for it cultivated a certain effect?]

Finally, a last mention, contrasting with the rest and having nothing Egyptian about it, announced to us "Gauthier and his orchestra”. In fact, a perfectly European orchestra, placed at the back of the amphitheater and facing the stage, invisible therefore to the spectators from the back of the floor or the perimeter, occupied the intermissions, during which it was heard. And it was a singular effect for the musical ears that the sounds of this orchestra, making the tones of our European system [should follow music] strange to us although not always without charm, which always accompanied the songs, the dances and fighting [on stage]. The alternation of these two modes of music produced a striking contrast.

​We have seen, by the very details of the program, that it is not a question here, as at the Annamite Theater, of a literary and truly scenic manifestation, of a continuous, logical, regular spectacle, offering us a dramatic action imbued with a more or less lively passionate interest and presenting itself to us as a reflection of the civilization, customs and intellectual tendencies of a people. This [The International Theater] is only a spectacle of pure curiosity, forming a succession of picturesque paintings and simply bringing us up to date with the more or less delicate distractions of a country where dramatic art does not exist in any way, and where one thus proposes no other goal than to amuse, to caress, to cradle the eyes and ears in a way. They are only songs, dances, exercises of body and of an address of a particular kind, which are linked to art in an almost indirect way and by a rather thin thread, but which are no less interesting for us Europeans (I'm talking about those who have never set foot on African soil), perfectly ignorant of the pleasures of this kind that one enjoys in the East and which only require passive and silent contemplation from the viewer. Here there is no passion, no emotion, no possible disturbance for the mind, nowhere made for the heart or the [intellect?], but a calm, peaceful enjoyment, without surprise and without shock, which fits perfectly with the usual, imperturbable composure of the race for which it is intended.


It is at the International Theater, and by the female subjects of the Egyptian troupe of Mr. Soliman Cardahi, whom I had for the first time the pleasure (?) Of contemplating this strange thing which is called "the belly dance", which I was to find everywhere thereafter, in the cafes of the rue du Caire, at the Tunisian Souk, the Esplanade des Invalides, and which for several months seems to have panicked Parisians and hypnotized visitors to the Exhibition. God knows, however, if this was a pleasant and enticing spectacle!

One of my colleagues said on this subject: "The belly is at the Exhibition! A considerable place, not only as food, but also pleasure. Restaurants are doing golden business and the oriental concerts are never empty. However, these concerts are the glorification of the belly. They do not sing there, they do little music, they dance there, but, unlike ordinary dances the feet only have a secondary role; it is the abdomen that has all the work. The crowd took pleasure in this entertainment which stands in the middle between childbirth and heartache. Each month a new establishment is set up, and the old ones, in the face of success, have increased their prices. With the royal Egyptian troupe, which has just started, that makes, without exaggeration, about fifty bellies which jiggle every day. Jiggling is not saying too much. This exercise from which grace is excluded is a simple anatomical tour de force; it consists, the rest of the body remaining impassive so as to impart on the stomach a gyrating, lifting, yawing [bending/twisting] or [roll/circular] movement. It goes back and forth [between movements] quite surprisingly but does not take long to become monotonous. A sour music accompanies these contortions which are devoid of any meaning.”

In the same session, I was able to admire this pleasant exercise three times at the theater on the avenue de Suffren. The first time by a fairly pretty young woman whose hands were armed with a kind of crotales [bronze or brass cymbal] or metal castanets, which she waved while her dance was accompanied by a semblance of an orchestra composed of two musettes [mizmar/mijwiz?], a loose drum [dahola/table baladi?] and a small snare drum [naqrazan or riq?]; around her were grouped a dozen of her companions, who, to the rhythm of this singular orchestra, chanted at times a sort of dragging and sorrowful song, and at times also [encouraged/excited] her by clapping their hands. The second time it was by two [black ladies], whose sight on this occasion was absolutely lacking in grace. Finally, the third time, it was five dancers together, armed with the famous [metal cymbals], which made a terrible noise without making the spectacle more alluring.

How much more curious was the saber fight of Joseph Sâbe and Kali Effendi! All dressed in white, these two men, armed with their long sabers and their tiny shields, echoing under the repeated blows of the sharp weapon, demonstrated truly marvelous skill. But the most interesting, without contradiction, was the reproduction of certain paintings, of certain scenes from Egyptian life, full of color, character and originality; among others the great nuptial ceremony, with its various episodes and its procession so picturesque and so well regulated, all so new to us. There was also the performance of certain hymns to the Khedive, which, themselves were not without real interest.
In fact, the performances of the Egyptian troupe at the Theater International were worthy of attention, and by its constant influx the audience proved that they really enjoyed it.
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