It
is in five acts. The first two are practically complete, and they are
exceedingly fine--quite equal to the very best Becque. The other acts are
fragmentary, but some of the fragments are admirable. I can think of no
living author who would be equal to the task of completing the play
without making himself ridiculous.
* * * * *
Becque was unfortunate in death as in life. At his graveside, on the day
of his funeral, his admirers said with one accord: "Every year on this day
we will gather here. His name shall be a flag for us." But for several
years they forgot all about Becque. And when at length they did come back,
with a wreath, they could not find the grave. It was necessary to question
keepers and to consult the official register of the cemetery. In the end
the grave was rediscovered and every one recognized it, and speeches were
made, and the wreath piously deposited. The next year the admirers came
again, with another wreath and more speeches. But some one had been before
them. A wreath already lay on the grave; it bore this inscription: "To my
dear husband defunct." Now Becque, though worried by liaisons, had lived
and died a bachelor. The admirers had discoursed, the year before, at the
grave of a humble clerk.
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