On a sunny and balmy April afternoon, my brother invited me to visit Monument National : this very old Montreal theater (1893). This was before they started renovations in 1990. He was asked by one of his friends, who was studying at l’École Nationale, to take a few pictures, as she was graduating.

I was led to believe that stage and acting students had access to the old ruins to stage their plays so I dashed on St. Lawrence boulevard. When in front of this noble gray stone building, I saw myself wandering in this sacred place, full of spirits, phantoms, all crazy for the stage. Both André (e) (my brother and his girlfriend) joined me as we entered the temple. To the left, a magnificent marble stairway which we climbed.

Behind large wooden doors, there was the hall.
It looked to us like a shameful old lady outraged by the years. In the shadow we saw old seats, some broken down and lying down on the floor. The theater boxes, once venerable witnesses of glorious evenings almost a century ago, were in pretty bad shape. And in front of us, the glowing stage, the only enlightened space in this dark and devastated hall.

Walking through dark and narrow hallways, brought back memories of my childhood, dreams of old and scary haunted houses. A strange odor was floating in the air. An unusual mixture of fresh and antiquated scent. Watching these young people, busy, working, laughing, being all over the place with so much respect and love for the art. Now the strange scent was saturating the whole atmosphere as if the spirits of the Ancient Masters were roaming around these young people who were so busy giving life to their creativity. Suddenly, we felt like a balmy breeze in a late winter morning, caressing our face and longing for the warm and soft days of Summer, although the snow and cold were still persistent outside.

When on the stage, I then realized the duality of the soul : the stage fright and the will to perform. Alone in the darkness...and being the light, the Verb, the strength and still vulnerable....

The stage floor was slanted and not easy for equilibrium. A black wooden floor. The feeling of being on a stage. I love this feeling. Although not as an actress. Theaters are living places ; I would say special entities. What a nice word ! Entity , it sounds like magic. Even an empty stage is full of souls.

A playhouse is something special, full of vibrations with some areas more vibrating than others. A playhouse is something special, full of vibrations with some areas more vibrating than others. A stage is a battlefield of emotions and it shows its scars, its prints, in the hallways and stairways as well. That reminds me of the staircase used by the actors by the actors at Théâtre du Nouveau Monde. The steps were cracking like an old ship on a furious sea.

On the stage of Monument National, we had a feeling of pleasure, perhaps of some pain and anguish but for sure a true emotion and real pleasure. What a sensation to feel lighter than the air and your heart bouncing to the echo of the vastness of the hall, immense and empty in front of my eyes. I was looking at this empty hall where my grand-parents and my parents had been spectators. Maybe one day, I would take place myself. But right now, I had the luck of watching the other way around, opposite from the common spectator. I had the view of the actors.

Over my head, the grille ( a mysterious place, on top of the stage made of railings and where to maneuver the sets).

We climbed up there using a small staircase located behind the stage. It was a spinal staircase as the one in a lighthouse. Once up there I did not want to venture on this metallic web. We could not see too clearly despite the cold lighting coming from the top ceiling. I felt like I was inside a concert piano, entangled by the strings and hammers or prisoner of an old abandoned ship. Then I have realized why theaters have always reminded me of giant sails. This art form borrows objects that men had used long ago to conquer the seas and its fears. To stage up a play is like sailing on an unknown ocean. In spite of all the perils, the reefs, the tortuous currents, savage winds, the voyage becomes so marvelous that one will forget all the torments and only will remember how soft the voyage was, how beautiful were the sunsets, the infinity of a starlight sky and the troubling beauty of the mist.

Bricks walls, cords, wooden beams, fabrics around the perimeter of the grille made you feel on the deck of a tall sail ship with all its sails filled-up with a majestic wind, ready to sail away. On the walls, names had been painted, appearing like birds on a dark sky. I do not remember any of them but someone had to be pretty reckless to wish to immortalize himself that way...I don't know how this was achieved, but they did it. It was engraved in the mould that made them actors, decorators, costume makers, lighting technicians, authors and to sum up : theater people.

Back to the stage, I recalled the fun we had on the 5th floor of Mont-de-LaSalle High School. It is at this Laval school that I was introduced along with many other students to the joys and fears of the theater, on a small dark stage built in the attic of the school for novices of the Christian Brothers built in the 19th century. Of all places, it opened up for us the kingdom of dreams. It was a real theater. Perhaps even today, that same place will give birth to futures actors. That came to my mind under the heat of the spotlights that right over my head.