Prot'eg'e

The citizens of France's bustling, southern city of Nimes (pop. 75,398) were every bit as proud of their local opera house as Belgium's aging ex-Prima Donna Eva Closset was of her protégé, José Faés. Nimes's playhouse, built in 1798, is billed as "the oldest theater of its kind" with no attempt to define its kind; Eva's protégé was her favorite nephew. The theater and José were brought together last June when Eva sent a circular letter to every opera manager in France, proclaiming José's brilliance and immediate availability as a tenor. Francis Lenzi, Nimes's entrepreneur, took a chance and wrote back offering Jose a job in the chorus.

Last week, as Eva beamed, José romped and roared through several performances of Halévy's La Juive, Bizet's Les Pécheurs de perles and Delibes' Lakmé. Maestro Lenzi busied himself trying to trace the s'ource of a sudden sourness in his choral arrangements. At last he pinned it down, called José into his office and fired him. Less than an hour later, Diva Eva tottered in, convulsed in sobs and imploring another chance for the young man. "But he doesn't know the first thing about singing," protested Lenzi—"no caliber, no pitch, no nothing." "In all my years in the theater," proclaimed the outraged protectress, "I have never witnessed an attitude like this." "If my voice isn't appreciated here," muttered José, "I'll go elsewhere," and off he went to bed.

But Eva didn't go to bed. She went back to her hotel room and downed three large glasses of heady red wine. Then she tucked a bottle of alcohol from her spirit stove in her wrap and stole back to the theater. "Just picking up my stepson's things," she told the doorman as she entered. The doorman nodded sleepily, and Eva slipped backstage. She slopped the alcohol over some newspapers and jammed the sodden mess in among the scenery. Then she dropped a match and flounced out. Four hours later, all that was left of "the oldest theater of its kind" were four walls and a few Greek columns.

"I did it for you, darling," sobbed Eva to José in the police station next day. "Well," snarled her grateful boy, "you've ruined my career."