Crimson Spell Volume 7 English

[Shari Alvine]

DEEPIN the bowels of Widener, in the sub-sub-basement of "C" West--wedged in between crumbling biographies of Louis XIV, his mistresses and long-forgotten ministers of state--lies a small, burgundy leather-bound book that, so far as I can tell, does not appear in the main card catalogue or the DUC. On one of my many solitary trips to "C" West this semester, I discovered this tiny volume which eventually became the focus for a portion of my senior thesis.

In analyzing the institution of the French royal mistress during the reigns of Louis XIV and Louis XV, I have had to combat with skepticism from those who dismissed the project as frivolous. At the beginning of the fall semester, when thesis topics were the stuff of dinner table conversation, mine always provoked the most interested and amused responses.

Suave sophomore males remarked, "So you're doing mistresses. Well, if you need any help with field research, just give me a call." I became known for my infatuation with 18th century gossip. By October, I had acquired nearly cult figure status. "I've heard of you," my French Revolution section leader exclaimed, "You're the girl doing the mistresses!"

IT'S TRUE that titillating and highly popular biographies of the five women I am studying abound, but no attempt has been made to examine the unique sociological niche they inhabited while at court. My task has been to full that gap in 17th and 18th Century French historiography. All of my sources came from Widener, whose collection of historical manuscripts is probably better than the one at the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris. I found everything I was looking for in the musty subbasement, as well as a few things which I wasn't looking for.

The little book, actually a Harvard bound copy of a 1775 pamphlet published anonymously in the popular press, chronicles the life of Madame du Barry, the last of the "titular mistresses," was one of my unexpected discoveries. I didn't even realize what it was until I got it home one day last November.

I had been poking around the basement for about half an hour, trying valiantly to match the numbers I had copied from the card catalogue with those printed on the bindings of the shelved books, when the title "Mad. la Comt. du Barry" caught my eye. I grabbed it on the way to the elevator.

The book stayed in my room for a few days before I leafed through its pages. When I did, I couldn't believe I was holding a volume published while the last of my mistresses was alive--this was my link to Madame du Barry herself. It is quite possible that du Barry read the pamphlet herself after completing a jail sentence spitefully imposed by her archenemy Queen Marie Antoinette.

BOOKS PUBLISHED before 1800 are not supposed to circulate, my thesis adviser told me. And I immediately brought the volume back to the Library--half in guilty panic that President Bok would appear at my door with the Ad Board in tow, half in fear of breaking some sort of magical spell. Would an 18th Century book vaporize if left out in 20th Century air?

It really didn't matter that I had to return it. I had taken my notes and I had all the information I would need about how the popular press and the popular Parisian press viewed royal mistresses in general and Madame du Barry in particular. More importantly, however, I had been able to hold a piece of the reality I am trying to reconstruct.

The cry of a solitary figure silhouetted against a reddish-orange dawn marks the beginning of Tug Yourgrau's musical, "The Song of Jacob Zulu." The play, which opened on Broadway in 1993, is an honest attempt to recount the tragedies of a South Africa under the baleful spell of apartheid. Inspired by the murder trial of Jacob Zulu in 1985, the play recounts the violence and pressures of a society fractured by racism.

Tug Yourgrau, South African born playwright and director, began to write the play after President Nelson Mandela established the Truth Commission to ensure that crimes committed during the apartheid era were to be forgiven but not forgotten. Jacob Zulu was written in this same belief. "The search for truth is balanced with the needs of the present to go forward," says Yourgrau. "Healing begins with true talk."

The musical does succeed--by the end of the play, the audience fully understands this black hole of apartheid. We are shown countless examples of the dilemmas imposed by unjust laws. And it is evident that the actors deeply empathize with their characters; who could not help but be impassioned by the roles of a misguided and angry black youth, a fervent, humane lawyer or a sadistic foul-mouthed cop?

However, it is this same impassioned acting which ultimately leads to the musical's prominent flaw. The surplus of melodramatic overacting gets tiresome. Every character who appears on the stage for more than three minutes is immediately assigned a scene in which he can showcase his abundant lung capacity in a fit of uncontrollable anger, or a shuddering, tearful breakdown. And each emotional tidal wave produces a sage, if somewhat cliched, statement of advice that could be applied to Jacob Zulu, South Africa and the world.

The first couple of outbursts sweep the audience and send fits of chills running up and down the spine; but since emotional climaxes are reached in scene after scene, the final tragic highlight of the musical, Jacob Zulu's verdict, loses much of its passionate appeal. The crescendo of the play has been reached by the middle of the first act, and no additional pumping up the volume will have any more effect upon already aching ears.

Apart from this fault, the rest of the musical moves with as much grace and style as can be expected from a small-stage production. With music composed by the South African troupe Ladysmith Black Mambazo, the same group which recorded the album Graceland with Paul Simon, the show alternates between spoken dialogue and a cappella song.

Three principal singers, dressed in classical South African garb, represent the black masses of South Africa and the conscience of the world. Led by Alan Rias, this powerful chorus is the highlight of the show, singing innovative harmonies and performing traditional African dances. The cast is also supported by the beautiful resonant bass voice of actor Kamau M. Hashim. In the role of the protective father of Jacob Zulu, Hashim holds up the rest of the cast with his powerful, expressive vocal performance.

Innovative background lighting also adds much to the show, although the dim lighting on the stage itself leaves something to be desired when half of the cast is perpetually in shadows. But on the whole, lighting designer Steven Rosen, whose recent credits include stints at Harvard's own Hasty Pudding Theater, provides striking images which remain fixed in the mind.

It is easy to see how Jacob Zulu captured six Tony nominations (including Best Play and Best Score) when it opened on Broadway. The story and music alone are enough the grab the attention and emotions of the audience. However, something got lost on the road from New York's polished production to Boston's small stage. Overzealousness and melodrama drown the sincere intentions of the author. And yet, it is hard to blame the actors for their elaborate histrionics--they are dealing with an issue which has dominated the feelings and beliefs of an entire country.

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