Few salons in Paris have so imposing an air as the foyer of the
dramatic artists of the Comedie Francaise, a rectangular room of fine
proportions, whose walls are adorned with portraits of great actors,
representing the principal illustrations of the plays that have been
the glory of the house Mademoiselle Duclos, by Largilliere; Fleury, by
Gerard; Moliere crowned, by Mignard; Baron, by De Troy, and many others.
At the left of the entrance, separated by a large, high mirror which
faced the fireplace, two other canvases, signed by Geffroy, represent
the foyer itself, in costumes of the classic repertoire, the greater
part of the eminent modern ‘societaires’, colleagues and contemporaries
of the great painter.
Between the windows, two pedestals, surmounted by busts of Mademoiselle
Clairon and Mademoiselle Dangeville, stood, one on each side of the
great regulator--made by Robin, clockmaker to the king--which dominated
the bust of Moliere--after Houdon--seeming to keep guard over all this
gathering of artistic glory.
Opposite this group, hanging above a large table of finely chiselled
iron, were two precious autographs under glass: a brevet of pension,
dated 1682, signed Louis and countersigned Colbert; an act of notary,
dated 1670, bearing the signature of Moliere, the master of the house.
Disposed about the room were sofas, armchairs, and tete-a-tete seats in
oak, covered with stamped green velvet.
Here, at the first representations of new plays, or at important
revivals of old ones, flocked literary notables and the regular
frequenters of the theatre, eager to compliment the performers; here,
those favored strangers who have the proper introduction, and who
wish to see the place at close range, are graciously conducted by the
administrator-general or by the officer for the week.
Here it was that the Marquis de Prerolles appeared in the evening after
his experience at the skating-pond. He had dressed, and had dined in
great haste at a restaurant near the theatre.
The posters announced a revival of ‘Adrienne Lecouvreur’, with
Mademoiselle Gontier in the principal role, in which she was to appear
for the first time.
Eugenie Gontier was, it was said, the natural daughter of a great
foreign lord, who had bequeathed to her a certain amount of money.
Therefore, she had chosen the theatrical life less from necessity than
from inclination.
She was distinguished in presence, a great favorite with the public,
and had a wide circle of friends, among whom a rich banker, the Baron
de Samoreau, greatly devoted to her, had made for her investments
sufficiently profitable to enable her to occupy a mansion of her own,
and to open a salon which became a favorite rendezvous with many persons
distinguished in artistic, financial, and even political circles.
Talent being the guaranty of good companionship, this salon became
much frequented, and General de Prerolles had become one of its most
assiduous visitors.
The first act had begun. Although the charming artist was not to appear
until the second act, she had already descended from her dressing-room,
and, finding herself alone in the greenroom, was putting a final touch
to her coiffure before the mirror when the General entered.
He kissed her hand gallantly, and both seated themselves in a retired
corner between the fireplace and the window.
“I thank you for coming so early,” said Eugenie. “I wished very much
to see you to-night, in order to draw from your eyes a little of your
courage before I must face the footlights in a role so difficult and so
superb.”
“The fire of the footlights is not that of the enemy--above all, for
you, who are so sure of winning the battle.”
“Alas! does one ever know? Although at the last rehearsal Monsieur
Legouve assured me that all was perfect, look up there at that portrait
of Rachel, and judge for yourself whether I have not reason to tremble
at my audacity in attempting this role after such a predecessor.”
“But you yourself caused this play to be revived,” said Henri.
“I did it because of you,” Eugenie replied.
“Of me?”
“Yes. Am I not your Adrienne, and is not Maurice de Saxe as intrepid as
you, and as prodigal as you have been? Was he not dispossessed of his
duchy of Courlande, as you were of your--”
A gesture from Henri prevented her from finishing the sentence.
“Pardon me!” said she. “I had forgotten how painful to you is any
reference to that matter. We will speak only of your present renown, and
of the current of mutual sympathy that attracts each of us toward the
other. For myself, that attraction began on the fourteenth of last July.
You had just arrived at Paris, and a morning journal, in mentioning
the troops, and the names of the generals who appeared at the review,
related, apropos of your military exploits, many exciting details of
your escape during the war. Do you recall the applause that greeted you
when you marched past the tribunes? I saw you then for the first time,
but I should have known you among a thousand! The next day--”
“The next day,” Henri interrupted, “it was my turn to applaud you. I had
been deprived a long time of the pleasures of the theatre, of which I
am very fond, and I began by going to the Comedie Francaise, where
you played, that night, the role of Helene in ‘Mademoiselle de la
Seigliere.’ Do you remember?”
“Do I remember! I recognized you instantly, sitting in the third row in
the orchestra.”
“I had never seen you until then,” Henri continued, “but that
sympathetic current was soon established, from the moment you appeared
until the end of the second piece. As it is my opinion that any officer
is sufficiently a gentleman to have the right to love a girl of noble
birth, I fell readily under the spell in which she whom you represented
echoed my own sentiments. Bernard Stamply also had just returned from
captivity, and the more enamored of you he became the more I pleased
myself with fancying my own personality an incarnation of his, with less
presumption than would be necessary for me to imagine myself the hero of
which you spoke a moment ago. After the play, a friend brought me here,
presented me to you--”
“And the sympathetic current did the rest!” added Eugenie Gontier,
looking at him tenderly. “Since then you have consecrated to me a part
of whatever time is at your disposal, and I assure you that I never have
been so happy, nor have felt so flattered, in my life.”
“Second act!” came the voice of the call-boy from the corridor.
“Will you return here after the fourth act?” said the actress, rising.
“I shall wish to know how you find me in the great scene, and whether
there is another princess de Bouillon among the audience--beware of
her!”
“You know very well that there is not.”
“Not yet, perhaps, but military men are so inconstant! By and by,
Maurice!” she murmured, with a smile.
“By and by, Adrienne!” Henri replied, kissing her hand.
He accompanied her to the steps that led to the stage, and, lounging
along the passage that ends at the head of the grand stairway, he
entered the theatre and hastened to his usual seat in the third row of
the orchestra.