scheme of pleasure." There is a sort of treble intrigue. Orgon
wants to give away Colombine dowerless, Leandre to escape from the
whole transaction, and Colombine to secure her dot and her husband.
The strength of the piece is the brisk action in the scene when
Leandre protests that he can't rob Orgon of his only daughter, and
Orgon insists that he can refuse nothing except his ducats to so
charming a son-in-law. The play is redeemed from sordidness by the
costumes. Leandre is dressed in the attire of Watteau's
"L'Indifferent" in the Louvre, and wears a diamond-hilted sword.
The lady who plays the part of Colombine may select (delightful
privilege!) the prettiest dress in Watteau's collection.

This love of the glitter of the stage is very characteristic of De
Banville. In his Deidamie (Odeon, Nov. 18th, 1876) the players who
took the roles of Thetis, Achilles, Odysseus, Deidamia, and the
rest, were accoutred in semi-barbaric raiment and armour of the
period immediately preceding the Graeco-Phoenician (about the eighth
century B.C.). Again we notice the touch of pedantry in the poet.
As for the play, the sombre thread in it is lent by the certainty of
Achilles' early death, the fate which drives him from Deidamie's
arms, and from the sea king's isle to the leagues under the fatal
walls of Ilion. Of comic effect there is plenty, for the sisters of
Deidamie imitate all the acts by which Achilles is likely to betray
himself--grasp the sword among the insidious presents of Odysseus,
when he seizes the spear, and drink each one of them a huge beaker
of wine to the confusion of the Trojans. {1} On a Parisian audience
the imitations of the tone of the Odyssey must have been thrown
away. For example, here is a passage which is as near being Homeric
as French verse can be. Deidamie is speaking in a melancholy mood: