BEGINNINGS

Célestin Bouffigue was on the French stage for twenty years. All of Europe repeated his glorious name. As for America, it was content to cover it with gold.

For several years, Célestin Bouffigue has stopped singing. His ideally pure voice no longer has the same shine. Its justly famous tone is veiled. The great tenor did not want to appear diminished in front of the public, in front of all the audiences who together constituted his idolatrous and international audience.

Célestin Bouffigue retired in full glory. He acquired a delightful villa in Gascony, which overlooks the green valley of the Garonne. He lives there, cultivates his vines and, sometimes, locks himself in his living room to, all alone, try to sing while still sitting in front of his piano in order to revive his memories.

Last year, I surprised him at his home. In his beautiful, clear voice, which remained lilting, in that artificial tone that lyrical artists use to “speak” comic operas, he called out to me.

Hey there! Little! How is Paris since he no longer has me?
After lunch and what a lunch! the great artist took me by the arm and took me around the owner. While strolling, the great singer evoked memories of the past. It was a string of anecdotes, funny or moving, which took place in the South or the North, Petrograd or Milan, Paris or New York.

I started, says Bouffigue, at the Théâtre des Arts, in Rouen. It wasn't in an opera, as you might think, but in a drama. I played the Duke of Guise, in some Reine Margot. It wasn't a very long role. I had a nice suit, for example! The halberdier announced in a loud voice: “The Duke of Guise!” I entered from the courtyard side and crossed the stage to exit to the garden. As I passed, everyone bowed respectfully. But I didn't have a word to say. I was satisfied with this beautiful costume.

Now, imagine that on the day of the premiere, when I arrived on stage, elegant and slender, I found no halberdier near the door! We were playing the scene which preceded my entrance, I recognized the phrases in passing and no one to announce the Duke of Guise! Judge of my despair!

Finally, I adopted an extreme solution. I rushed towards a machinist, grabbed him by his coat and shouted:
- You're going to stick your head in front of the rack and tell me.
The machinist acceded to my desire. It was mine. I entered the stage, with all the dignity required, while the stagehand shouted:
- Mr. Bouffigue!
I had forgotten to tell him the line. And at that time, you see, it was a name that meant nothing to anyone.

Jacques CAMARET.