Auteurs, acteurs, spectateurs

In this lively portrait of early‑twentieth‑century theatre, a playwright arrives at the rehearsal‑only day with a mixture of excitement and dread. He watches the stagehands arrange furniture, the director tweak set pieces, and the actors slip into costume, all while he battles the impulse to edit his own script. The narrative captures the peculiar feeling of being both master of the work and a guest in a bustling backstage world.

Beyond the technical details, the book turns to the elusive ‘large public’ that will eventually sit in the seats, comparing it to a hungry tiger that can devour a show if the performance lacks charm. Through witty dialogues with directors, a flamboyant servant, and even a resident ‘oracle’ of the theatre, the author reflects on how little anyone truly understands the audience’s taste. The result is a humorous, slightly philosophical meditation on the fragile relationship between creators, performers, and the crowd they seek to please.