Yves Eau

[Yves Eau]

Yves was raised in a small town in Champagne, but dreamed often of excitement in foreign lands.

His father was a successful merchant, with a small shop where Yves had worked since the age of 10, selling goods brought from abroad to the locals.  Whenever his father brought something new from the port, Yves pictured in his mind the people and places from whence it came, and wondered if he would ever see such sights.  Yves had learned to write, and jotted down his crazy ideas in a notebook, trying to fashion fantastic tales.  His father would reprimand him light-heartedly for his distraction, urging him to live in the real world, but to Yves such imaginings were an essential part of life.

As well as mastering the day-to-day business, Yves had developed an excellent salesman's patter, and could put on quite an entertaining performance to convince a reluctant customer to part with his cash.

Yves' mother was not the merchant's wife. This was a situation all involved accepted, at least in public, and Yves was acknowledged as a son.  However, Yves recognised that his younger half-brother, Pierre, would eventually take over the business, and wished to find his own place in the world.  Now that Pierre had come of age, Yves felt it was time to strike out.  His father gave him a small purse, and promised to offer what support he could.  He clearly expected Yves to make a living as a merchant, and Yves said nothing to disabuse him of this notion, but he harboured other, secret ambitions.

Yves travelled to Paris, and took an apartment.  His father's gift was generous when measured against his means, but it would not go far here.  Yves would have to be careful with his money, and make it work for him.  It was important to lay down secure foundations before taking any risks.  He had learned that it was sometimes wise to borrow, but only to invest, and he did not yet have a plausible plan.  For now, it made sense to live within his means, and that meant finding a job.

Yves had never considered military service, but there were at least plenty of vacancies.  He signed up with a respectable regiment with friendly ties to his home province, and knuckled down to complete the compulsory training.  His duties were arduous and tedious, but he survived by drinking in all the unfamiliar scenes around him, and watching the personalities behind the uniforms.  He had to spend half the month in barracks before being allowed some free time.  Back in his apartment, he opened his old notebook, and began to lose himself in an imaginary world of jolly soldiers enjoying a rollicking good time.

[Yves Eau]

Yves sketched the outline of a comedy, based very loosely on his parade ground experiences. There would be two main characters: new recruits, struggling to adapt to the rigours of basic training, but finding humour in all around them. A supporting cast of fellow rookies, at first rather serious, but eventually lightening and joining in the fun and mischief. A seasoned sergeant, disciplined but caring beneath the stern manner. And an effete captain, prancing around in a fine uniform, but clearly no leader of men. The working title was, Privates, Stand to Attention! He did not expect it to be a masterpiece, but hoped it would be sufficiently entertaining to attract the attention of a producer, and open doors to a career he knew would suit him far better than the military; he saw his service with the French Guard as merely research.

Before returning to the barracks, Yves attended a memorial service for two brave men he had heard about in the tavern. A soldier, captured in action by the enemy, and an artist who had embarked on a perilous quest to free him, both cut down in their prime when fickle fortune turned against them. Their story was truly inspirational, the stuff of legend - or perhaps a contemporary drama. Sitting on a pew towards the rear of the nave, Yves could scarcely contain his excitement. Indeed, at times, he could not: whenever the priest praised the fallen heroes' bravery, a feeling of pride in his countrymen swelled within Yves' breast, erupting as a loud, "Huzzah!" Certain members of the congregation seemed somewhat disconcerted by his show of emotion, though not, he noticed, the slightly bedraggled man sitting next to him. Perhaps, thought Yves, this was another adventurer: a man of few words, but great deeds; such a character could surely feature prominently in the work.

Two weeks' square bashing subdued Yves' ardour considerably, but the spark remained. He laboured mostly on Attention! and was able to complete the first draft of a script before the month was out, but already he was making notes for another work.  This would be more serious: a tale of brave soldiers, fighting a desperate battle on the front line, cut off from supplies and reinforcements, but knowing that every day they kept the enemy at bay brought their country greater hope for an eventual victory.  He had a new notebook, dedicated to this more demanding project.  Written in a bold, flowing hand on the title page: Privates, Hold Until Relieved.  Maybe it was not a great idea to present two pieces of such different mood as if a series, but it would do for now.

[Yves Eau]

Basic training complete, Yves could stand military life no longer.  He resigned from the French Guard, enduring the disapproving glares of the sergeant and his erstwhile comrades in arms as the rest of the company began preparations to march to the front line.

April began in unaccustomed luxury: out of the blue, the local merchant from whom Yves obtained most of his essential supplied invited him to the Derby, explaining he had recently purchased a racehorse, and had room in his owner's box for another guest.  Wondering to what he owed this unexpected honour, Yves gratefully accepted; this would be a most welcome diversion.  Fortunately, Yves resisted the temptation to wager on the nag, as it finished in the lower half of the field, barely visible in the distance as the winner thundered across the line.  As a wonderful bonus, the Queen herself stopped by the box, though she tarried barely long enough to make eye contact before her attendants hurried her away.

Freed from regimental duties, Yves was now able to follow his calling, all the way to the Theatre Royal. He secured an audition with the Archduke's Men, and was accepted into the company. He knew he was nothing special as an actor, and did not expect to play more than supporting roles, but hoped immersion in the world of theatre would improve his writing. One actor, in particular, caught his attention: recently come to Paris, full of enthusiasm, and clearly motivated to achieve stardom. Yves watched him practise his lines, projecting his voice into the distance and addressing the gallery with exaggerated gestures even as he played to the front row with his facial expressions.

During a break from rehearsal, Yves approached the young thespian to discuss a scene in Attention! with which he was not entirely happy.  Claude glanced at the draft script, called over a couple of the others, and ran through the first page with them.  Clearly, this needed some work.  Together, the group improvised and amended, until the jokes flowed more naturally, without drowning the underlying plot development.  The company's producer watched, curiously, then interrupted to enquire as to the origin of this material.  Learning that it was Yves' own script, he asked to review it that evening.  When the company returned to the theatre the next day, the producer was waiting with the director of the company, and offered to purchase the work for performance later in the season.  Yves' precious draft was now adorned by revisions and annotations scrawled on every page, but he was happy to learn from an experienced professional - and to receive payment!

Yves, remembering his father's wise advice on long-term investment, used some of the money to register for a course at the university.  One small success did not make him a master, and he knew he still had much to learn about writing in general and, in particular, the classical unities: of action; of time; of space.  He had always found these rules restrictive, placing what he felt were unnecessary boundaries on his freedom of imagination and expression, but understood that he must master them if he was to be taken seriously as a playwright.

After two weeks' hard study, Yves felt he needed a break.  Gratefully, he accepted a social invitation from his confessor, Monseigneur de la Bassée, and relaxed in the comfortable surroundings of the abbé's club.

[Yves Eau]

Yves' first professional experience in the theatre had been something of a disaster.

He had arrived at the playhouse, confident in the arrangements for the performance. A young lady earmarked for a leading role had unfortunately not made it to rehearsals, but the role of Madame d'Andy was given instead to one of the older Archduke's Men: a portly gentleman, with soft features, who felt he could make a convincing dame. The props were fantastic, and the costumes sumptuous. Yves and the producer had made numerous revisions to the script, and felt sure the one-liners would have the audience howling.  One of the lads could be heard practising his projection: "That's right up my alley!" he roared, repeatedly, rehearsing the punch-line to many of the amusing exchanges.

Well, the audience was howling, all right, but not with laughter.  Who were these philistines?  Did they not understand the multi-layered satire, the delightful peril as the hapless privates were left dangling?

"To the castle," ordered Captain d'Andy, in the final act, as the company faced action for the first time, the long weeks of isolation in barracks now behind them, and a deadly menace threatening their very society.  "I say," he continued, to such obvious comic effect, "there is an affliction upon my eyes; I am not sure I am fit to lead the men in this condition.  Only one way to be sure...  Quickly, sergeant: have the troops fall in, at once; we must march, ere the sun sets upon Mary's day."

"Careful with that axe, Eugene!" cried one of the men, as the erstwhile woodman shouldered his weapon of choice.  "This is no time to be swinging your chopper about."

"Ow!" exclaimed Private Renard.  "That's right up my alley!"

Shaking his head sadly, Yves reflected upon the poor quality of audience in Paris, these days.

[Yves Eau]

Yves settled happily into a well-padded chair in the luxurious surroundings of Bothwell's, watching the happy faces at the first night party with great relief. After the disaster of Stand To Attention! he had been extremely nervous ahead of the first performance of his latest work, Hold Until Relieved.  He felt this had hampered his own efforts on stage, but a few slips here and there seemed to go unnoticed as the gripping tale of heroism held the audience's attention.

There had been gasps as the brave company fell, one by one, defending their precarious hold on the strategically important bridge.  Then, finally, tears aplenty, as the captain, mortally wounded at the last, held on just long enough to hear the words he had thought would never come.  As life left his body, the fellow officer leaning over him changed, through clever use of lighting and costume, into his loving wife, whispering, "Monsieur, you are relieved."