Impressions of Africa (French Literature Series) by Raymond Roussel Page A
Authors: Raymond Roussel
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transformed.
The center was occupied by a staircase, its contours disappearing into the flies.
Halfway up stood a blind old man dressed in Louis XV style, facing front on the landing. His left hand held a dark green bouquet composed of several branches of holly. Looking at the base of the spray, one gradually made out all the colors of the rainbow, represented by seven different ribbons knotted individually around the bundled stems.
His other hand armed with a hefty quill pen, the blind man wrote on the banister to his right, its flat shape and cream hue offering a convenient smooth surface.
Several background figures, crowded onto nearby steps, gravely followed the old man’s movements. The closest one, holding a large inkwell, seemed to be awaiting the moment to moisten the quill anew.
His finger pointing to the scene, Carmichael spoke these words:
“Handel mechanically composing the theme of his oratorio Vesper .”
Soreau, in the role of Handel, had created for himself a conventional blindness by painting his eyelids, which he kept almost entirely shut.
The scene vanished behind its veil of drapes, and a fairly long interval was marked only by the whispers of the audience.
“Czar Alexei unmasking Pleshcheyev’s assassin.”
This phrase, which Carmichael uttered at the moment the curtains next slid open on their rod, referred to a Russian scene from the seventeenth century.
At right, Soreau, playing the czar, held vertically at eye level a red glass disk that looked like the setting sun. His gaze, passing through that round window, rested on a group of servants at left flocking around a dying man, his face and hands completely blue, who had just fallen in convulsions into their arms.
The vision lasted but a short time and was followed by a fleeting intermission, which ended with this announcement from Carmichael:
“The echo in the Argyros woods sending Constantine Kanaris the scent of named flowers.”
Soreau, playing the famous seaman, stood in profile in the foreground, his hands cupped like a megaphone around his mouth.
Nearby, several companions held a pose of awed surprise.
Without moving, Soreau distinctly pronounced the word “rose,” which was soon repeated by a voice from the wings.
At the precise moment the echo sounded, an intense, penetrating smell of roses spread over Trophy Square, striking everyone’s nostrils at the same time then fading almost immediately.
The word “carnation,” which Soreau then uttered, yielded the same phonetic and olfactory response.
One by one, lilac, jasmine, lily of the valley, thyme, gardenia, and violet were named aloud, and each time the echo disseminated strong fragrances, in perfect accord with the obediently repeated word.
The curtains closed over this poetic scene, and the atmosphere promptly cleared itself of any intoxicating odors.
After a tedious wait, the next abruptly unveiled scene was indicated by Carmichael, who accompanied his gesture with this brief commentary:
“The fabulously wealthy prince Savellini, suffering from kleptomania, robs street hoodlums in the poor quarters of Rome.”
For the first time Soreau appeared in modern dress, wrapped in an elegant fur coat and decked with precious stones that sparkled at his necktie and his fingers. In front of him a circle of sinister-looking ruffians avidly surrounded two combatants armed with knives. Taking advantage of the onlookers' concentration, who were too fully absorbed in the duel to notice his presence, the man in the fur coat furtively explored their repellent pockets from behind, emptying them of their sordid contents. His thrusting hands now clutched an old, dented watch, a grimy change purse, and a large, checkered handkerchief still partially buried in the depths of a much-patched jacket.
When the supple, habitual closure had covered over this antithetical fait divers , Carmichael left his post, thereby bringing to an end the series of frozen
The center was occupied by a staircase, its contours disappearing into the flies.
Halfway up stood a blind old man dressed in Louis XV style, facing front on the landing. His left hand held a dark green bouquet composed of several branches of holly. Looking at the base of the spray, one gradually made out all the colors of the rainbow, represented by seven different ribbons knotted individually around the bundled stems.
His other hand armed with a hefty quill pen, the blind man wrote on the banister to his right, its flat shape and cream hue offering a convenient smooth surface.
Several background figures, crowded onto nearby steps, gravely followed the old man’s movements. The closest one, holding a large inkwell, seemed to be awaiting the moment to moisten the quill anew.
His finger pointing to the scene, Carmichael spoke these words:
“Handel mechanically composing the theme of his oratorio Vesper .”
Soreau, in the role of Handel, had created for himself a conventional blindness by painting his eyelids, which he kept almost entirely shut.
The scene vanished behind its veil of drapes, and a fairly long interval was marked only by the whispers of the audience.
“Czar Alexei unmasking Pleshcheyev’s assassin.”
This phrase, which Carmichael uttered at the moment the curtains next slid open on their rod, referred to a Russian scene from the seventeenth century.
At right, Soreau, playing the czar, held vertically at eye level a red glass disk that looked like the setting sun. His gaze, passing through that round window, rested on a group of servants at left flocking around a dying man, his face and hands completely blue, who had just fallen in convulsions into their arms.
The vision lasted but a short time and was followed by a fleeting intermission, which ended with this announcement from Carmichael:
“The echo in the Argyros woods sending Constantine Kanaris the scent of named flowers.”
Soreau, playing the famous seaman, stood in profile in the foreground, his hands cupped like a megaphone around his mouth.
Nearby, several companions held a pose of awed surprise.
Without moving, Soreau distinctly pronounced the word “rose,” which was soon repeated by a voice from the wings.
At the precise moment the echo sounded, an intense, penetrating smell of roses spread over Trophy Square, striking everyone’s nostrils at the same time then fading almost immediately.
The word “carnation,” which Soreau then uttered, yielded the same phonetic and olfactory response.
One by one, lilac, jasmine, lily of the valley, thyme, gardenia, and violet were named aloud, and each time the echo disseminated strong fragrances, in perfect accord with the obediently repeated word.
The curtains closed over this poetic scene, and the atmosphere promptly cleared itself of any intoxicating odors.
After a tedious wait, the next abruptly unveiled scene was indicated by Carmichael, who accompanied his gesture with this brief commentary:
“The fabulously wealthy prince Savellini, suffering from kleptomania, robs street hoodlums in the poor quarters of Rome.”
For the first time Soreau appeared in modern dress, wrapped in an elegant fur coat and decked with precious stones that sparkled at his necktie and his fingers. In front of him a circle of sinister-looking ruffians avidly surrounded two combatants armed with knives. Taking advantage of the onlookers' concentration, who were too fully absorbed in the duel to notice his presence, the man in the fur coat furtively explored their repellent pockets from behind, emptying them of their sordid contents. His thrusting hands now clutched an old, dented watch, a grimy change purse, and a large, checkered handkerchief still partially buried in the depths of a much-patched jacket.
When the supple, habitual closure had covered over this antithetical fait divers , Carmichael left his post, thereby bringing to an end the series of frozen
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