by a singular incident which had occurred at the Comédie-Française
during the previous autumn. On October 18, Adrienne was playing the part
of Phèdre, when, perceiving the Duchesse de Bouillon complacently
watching her performance from one of the boxes on the first tier, her
feelings overcame her, and, turning in the direction of her enemy, she
repeated with unmistakable emphasis the indignant lines:--
"Je sais mes perfidies,
OEnone, et ne suis pas de ces femmes hardies
Qui, goûtant dans les crimes une tranquille paix,
Ont su se faire un front qui ne rougit jamais."
The pit, whose sympathies were entirely on the side of the actress,
burst into loud applause, amidst which the duchess angrily quitted the
theatre.[89]
Adrienne did not play again until the evening of November 10, owing to
ill-health, when she again appeared as Phèdre. The accounts of the
Comédie-Française show that, on the following day, a sum of 1 livre, 10
sols was paid for a coach "to go to the Hôtel de Bouillon, on the matter
of the footmen," and similar entries occur on the 20th and 30th of the
same month. From this M. Monval supposes that the duchess, in order to
avenge the affront she had received, had sent her lackeys to create a
disturbance and hiss Adrienne.[90]
Early in the following March, Bouret was removed to the Bastille, where
he persistently adhered to the statements he had made before Hérault and
at Saint-Lazare; and on May 18, Père de Couvrigny, the Jesuit confessor
attached to the prison, wrote to the Lieutenant of Police the following
significant note:--
* * * * *
"I have visited and had a long conversation with the young abbé brought
from Saint-Lazare, and have made strong representations to him on the
baseness of the calumny of which he has been guilty. He appears very
firm in maintaining that he has done no wrong to others, but that he
cannot wrong himself. _The matter is very terrible and serious._"
* * * * *
Terrible and serious it most certainly was, for Adrienne had died two
months before, after a very short illness; and the firmness with which
Bouret continued to adhere to his accusation against the Duchesse de
Bouillon gave the affair a still more sinister complexion. On July 8, he
wrote to Hérault:--
* * * * *
"Permit me to cast myself at your feet to implore your protection. I
believe that you will not refuse it to me, inasmuch as you are the
protector of the innocent. Alas! cast a pitying glance on my
misfortunes. It is a sad spectacle for you; you will see nothing but
tears, groans, and fears; in a word, all that an agitated mind can
exhibit. That is the sad state to which I have been reduced for a whole
year. The fury of my enemies ought to be satisfied. You are my only
hope; in you I have placed my trust; decide upon my fate, Monseigneur; I
will subscribe to everything that I am able to; but, as for my departing
from what I have deposed to, were death with all its terrors to appear
before my eyes, I would prefer it to calumniating myself."
* * * * *
But, six weeks later, Bouret completely alters his tone, and on August
24 writes again to Hérault:--
* * * * *
"As you have done me the honour to order me to speak the truth touching
the Duchesse de Bouillon, I obey your commands. Here it is. The desire
that I had to become acquainted with the Lecouvreur induced me to invent
a pretext for gaining admission to her house.... I declare to you that
the duchess is innocent of everything of which I have accused her.
Pardon a wretched man, whose only crimes are a fevered brain and much
imprudence."[91]
* * * * *
After this recantation, the unfortunate youth remained a prisoner for
nine months longer, when he was finally set at liberty (June 3, 1731).
From that date nothing more is heard of him, though there is no reason
to assume, with Mlle. Aïssé, that he was the victim of foul play. He
probably lost not a moment in returning to Lorraine, heartily glad to
turn his back upon the city in which he had suffered so much.
That Adrienne Lecouvreur had been the object of an attempt at poisoning
on the part of Madame de Bouillon admits, we think, of very little
doubt. Barely half a century had passed since the famous Poison Trials,
in which many a high-born dame, including, by the way, another Duchesse
de Bouillon,[92] had been compromised. What had occurred with terrible
frequency in 1680 was not impossible in 1730; nor does the passionate,
vindictive, and unscrupulous character of the duchess render her
culpability any the less probable. Again, although Bouret ultimately
withdrew his accusation, he persisted in it for many months after his
second arrest, in spite of the prospect that a recantation would ensure
his release. Thirdly, the official investigation of the affair was very
incomplete, and the authorities appear to have had no other object in
view than to obtain Bouret's recantation and hush the matter up.
Finally, if the duchess were innocent, why, we may well ask, did she not
take steps to clear her reputation by prosecuting her accuser before the
courts? Why did she prefer to remain under the shadow of so hideous a
suspicion to the end of her life?
But even if the charge against Madame de Bouillon is to be considered
proved, it seems to us in the highest degree improbable that the attempt
against Adrienne was renewed, and that the actress fell a victim to it,
as so many persons asserted at the time, and as some writers, including
M. Monval, still believe. Let us, however, listen to Mlle. Aïssé's
version of the circumstances connected with Adrienne's death:--
* * * * *
"Since then (Bouret's denunciation of the duchess), the Lecouvreur has
been on her guard. One day, at the theatre, after the principal piece,
Madame de Bouillon sent to ask her to come to her box. The Lecouvreur
was extremely surprised, and answered that her toilette was not
finished, and it was impossible for her to present herself. The duchess
sent a second time, and was told, in reply to her invitation, that the
Lecouvreur was about to appear on the stage, but that she would obey her
commands when she quitted it. Madame de Bouillon begged her not to fail
her, and, as she was making her exit, met her, bestowed upon her all
sorts of caresses, complimented her highly on her acting, and assured
her that to see her give so finished a rendering of the part which she
had just played had afforded her infinite pleasure. Some time
afterwards, the Lecouvreur became so ill in the middle of a piece that
she was unable to finish it. When the "orator" came forward to make the
announcement, the whole pit eagerly demanded news of her condition.
Since that day, her health declined and she grew thin and feeble. On the
last occasion on which she performed, she took the part of Jocaste in
the _OEdipe_ of Voltaire. The rôle is a somewhat trying one. Before
the play began, she was seized with a violent attack of dysentery.... It
was pitiful to see her exhaustion and weakness. Although I was in
ignorance of her indisposition, I remarked two or three times to Madame
de Parabère[93] that I felt very distressed on her account. Between the
two pieces we were informed of the nature of her illness, and were
astonished when she reappeared in the afterpiece, _Le Florentin_, and
undertook a very long and difficult part,[94] which, however, she
played to perfection, and, to all appearance, as if it gave her
pleasure. The audience showed that they greatly appreciated her decision
to continue playing, and it was no longer said, as it had been
previously, that she was suffering from the effects of poison. The poor
creature returned home, and, four days later, at one o'clock in the
afternoon, when she was believed to be out of danger, she died. She had
convulsions, which never happens in cases of dysentery,[95] and went out
like a candle. The body was opened, and the bowels were found to be
ulcerated.... If the suspected lady had appeared at the theatre under
these circumstances, she would have been driven from the house. She had
the effrontery to send every day to the Lecouvreur's house to inquire as
to her condition."[96]
* * * * *
If, as Sainte-Beuve and M. Larroumet point out, the Duchesse de Bouillon
had really intended to poison Adrienne, the moment chosen for her
attempt was singularly inopportune. Suspected by the public of a
previous attempt upon the actress's life, with Bouret still in prison
and an investigation of the affair hanging over her head, the most
ordinary prudence must have dictated to her, if determined on the crime,
the advisability of deferring her horrible design at least until she had
cleared herself from the charge under which she then lay. The daily
inquiries she caused to be made during Adrienne's illness, of which
Mlle. Aïssé speaks with such indignation, were no doubt actuated by a
sincere desire for the actress's recovery; not, of course, for the poor
woman's own sake, but because she foresaw that her death at such a time
would render her own position even more unpleasant than it already was.
But there is a far stronger argument in the duchess's favour than the
one which we have just stated. Adrienne's correspondence, published by
M. Monval, shows that for some years past she had been in very delicate
health. "I have not had twelve hours' health since I last saw you," she
writes to d'Argental, during the latter's visit to England; while in
other letters she complains of being always "insupportably fatigued,"
and of being "in despair in regard to her health." Moreover--and this is
a point of the greatest importance--she was subject to a chronic
affection of the intestines, and, in the winter of 1725-1726, had had an
attack of dysentery, which all but proved fatal; the very malady of
which she eventually died.
It would therefore appear that, however strongly facts may point to
Madame de Bouillon's guilt in regard to the charge brought against her
by Bouret, it would be manifestly unjust to saddle her with any
responsibility for Adrienne's death. Everything, indeed, seems to
indicate natural causes; nothing confirms the theory of poison.
Adrienne was taken ill on Tuesday, March 14, and she died on the
following Monday, the 20th inst. Maurice de Saxe, Voltaire, and a
surgeon named Faget were with her when the end came; and the faithful
d'Argental, who had been hurriedly summoned, reached the house a few
minutes after she had breathed her last. Neither of her three friends,
however, though each possessed influence in his way, was able to save
the remains of the celebrated actress from the worst indignity ever
offered to those of a member of the theatrical profession in France.
Adrienne's house was situated in the parish of Saint-Sulpice, the curé
of which, Languet de Gergy, was one of the most bigoted and obstinate
priests in Paris. When the end was seen to be near, he was sent for to
receive the usual renunciation and administer the last Sacraments, but
accounts differ as to what occurred. Some writers declare that when he
arrived the actress was already dead, or at least on the point of death;
others that she firmly refused to renounce her profession, and, on the
curé continuing to exhort her to repentance, pointed with out-stretched
hand to a bust of Maurice de Saxe which stood near her bed, and
exclaimed:--
"_Voilà mon univers, mon espoir, et mes dieux!_"
What is certain, is that Adrienne died without the Sacraments, and that
Languet de Gergy refused her not only Christian burial (this, as we have
seen, had been the invariable practice of the Paris clergy in regard to
members of her profession who had died under similar circumstances, ever
since the time of Molière), but interment in the cemetery at all, even
in that portion of it which was reserved for heretics and unbaptized
children--a refusal _absolutely without precedent_ in the history of the
theatre.
In the morning of March 21, an autopsy was performed on the body of the
deceased actress (according to Voltaire, on his application), when the
doctors decided that Adrienne had died a natural death, an opinion to
which the poet himself subscribes.[97] Later in the day, Maurepas, in
his capacity of Minister for Paris, wrote to the Lieutenant of Police,
informing him that it was the intention of Cardinal de Fleury not to
interfere in the matter of ecclesiastical burial, but to leave it
entirely to the discretion of the Archbishop of Paris and the curé of
Saint-Sulpice. "If," he added, "they persist in refusing it to her, as
they appear inclined to do, she must be taken away to-night and interred
with as little scandal as possible."[98]
At midnight, accordingly, the mortal remains of poor Adrienne were
placed in a hackney-coach, and, preceded by two street porters bearing
torches, and escorted by a squad of the watch and a M. de
Laubinière--whom Sainte-Beuve supposes to have been a friend of the
actress, but who, M. Monval thinks, was a representative of the
Lieutenant of Police--conveyed to a piece of waste land near the Seine,
and there buried, quicklime being thrown over the body, and no stone or
mark of any kind being placed to indicate where it lay.[99]
The refusal of admission to the unconsecrated portion of the cemetery--a
circumstance, as we have already observed, absolutely without
precedent[100]--the secret removal, the presence of the representatives
of the Lieutenant of Police at the interment, the precautions taken to
destroy the corpse by quicklime and to conceal the grave, all point to
an intention on the part of the authorities to render a second autopsy
impossible. But the most scandalous part of the whole affair is the
conduct of Languet de Gergy and his superior, the Archbishop of Paris,
in lending themselves to a deliberate attempt to defeat the ends of
justice in the interests of Madame de Bouillon and her powerful friends.
A question which has naturally given rise to a good deal of conjecture
is the conduct of Maurice de Saxe on this occasion. Egotist and
libertine though he was, he was a sincere friend and capable of generous
impulses; moreover, even at this period, he possessed no little
influence at Court, where he was feared even more than he was respected.
Such being the case, it seems almost inconceivable that he should, so
far as is known, have made not the slightest effort to save the remains
of the woman who had loved him so long and so tenderly from so gross an
indignity. In our opinion, the most probable, as well as the most
charitable, explanation of the matter is, that Maurice was taken
completely by surprise; that the arrangements of the police were carried
out with such secrecy and despatch that no inkling of their intentions
was permitted to reach him until it was too late for him to intervene.
Another of Adrienne's friends, though, like Maurice, powerless to
prevent the barbarous treatment to which she had been subjected,
protested against it with all the strength of his generous nature. On
the morrow of her burial, Voltaire addressed to Falkener a letter in
verse, in which he recalled the honours recently paid to two English
actresses, and drew an eloquent comparison between their pompous
obsequies and those of poor Adrienne, who had been denied even the
privilege of "two tapers and a coffin." But the justly indignant poet
went much further than this. On the same day, a meeting of the members
of the Comédie-Française was held at the theatre. Voltaire attended,
and, in an eloquent speech, called upon the actors to refuse to exercise
their profession "until they had secured for the pensioners of the King
the rights which were accorded to those who had not the honour of
serving his Majesty." His hearers promised to follow his advice, but
they did nothing in the matter. The age of strikes had not yet arrived,
and they preferred opprobrium with a little money to honour and an empty
treasury.
Shortly afterwards, Voltaire composed his fine poem on the death of
Adrienne, in which he gave full vent to the feelings of indignation and
contempt which consumed him:--
"Que direz-vous, race future,
Lorsque vous apprendrez, la flétrissante injure
Qu'à ces arts désolés font des hommes cruel!
Ils privent de la sépulture
Celle qui dans la Gréce aurait eu des autels.
Quand elle était au monde, ils soupiraient pour elle;
Je les ai vu soumis, autour d'elle empressés:
Sitôt qu'elle n'est plus, elle est donc criminelle!
Elle a charmé le monde et vous l'en punissez!"
The annual closing of the theatre took place on March 24, when Grandval,
as the youngest _sociétaire_, pronounced, according to custom, before
the assembled company, an _éloge_ upon their deceased colleague. This
_éloge_ had been written by Voltaire himself, and with it we may
appropriately conclude our sketch of this celebrated actress, who was
not only a great artist, but a noble, high-souled, and cultured woman,
who had all the feminine virtues, save one, for the lack of which, when
we pause to consider the temptations of her profession, the moral
standard of the age in which she lived, and the generosity and devotion
she displayed towards those who had won her heart, we shall find it
difficult not to pardon her:--
"I feel, Messieurs, that your regrets recall that inimitable actress,
who might almost be said to have invented the art of speaking to the
heart and of presenting sentiment and truth where once had been shown
little but artificiality and declamation.
"Mlle. Lecouvreur--permit us the consolation of naming her--made one
feel in every character which she impersonated all the delicacy, all the
soul, all the decorum that one could desire: she was worthy to speak
before you, Messieurs. Among those who deign to listen to me are several
who honoured her by their friendship; they are aware that she was the
ornament of society, as well as of the theatre; while those who knew her
only as the actress can readily judge, from the degree of perfection to
which she had attained, that not only had she an abundance of wit, but
that she further possessed the art of rendering wit amiable.
"You are too just, Messieurs, not to regard this tribute of praise as a
duty: I dare even to say that, in regretting her, I am merely your
interpreter."[101]
IV
MADEMOISELLE DE CAMARGO
The Abbé d'Allainval, in his _Lettre à Mylord ... sur Baron et la
demoiselle Lecouvreur_, reminds his mythical correspondent that he had
found in Paris four wonders: (1) The Tuileries. (2) The acting of the
demoiselle Lecouvreur. (3) The dancing of the demoiselle Camargo. (4)
The voice of the demoiselle Lemaure. It is of the third of these wonders
that we are now about to speak.
Marie-Anne de Cupis de Camargo, the most celebrated _danseuse_ of her
time, whose talents have been exalted by the chroniclers, sung by the
poets, celebrated in every way in both prose and verse, and immortalised
by Voltaire, was born at Brussels on April 10, 1710. On her father's
side, she was descended from "one of the noblest families in Rome,"
which had given to the Church a cardinal, an archbishop, and various
minor dignitaries. Through her grandmother, she was related to the
Spanish house of Camargo, and it was under this name that she pirouetted
into fame.
The means of Marie-Anne's father, Ferdinand Joseph de Cupis, "seigneur
de Renoussart," were, unfortunately, very far from equal to his birth
and connections; nor was his position rendered any easier by the fact
that he had been imprudent enough to espouse a lady as high-born and as
poor as himself, who, in default of a dot, had presented him with seven
pledges of her affection. He lived at Brussels, "on the crumbs which
fell from the table of the Prince de Ligne," and the fees he received
from giving music and dancing lessons, and gallantly endeavoured to
bring his children up in a manner befitting those of a gentleman "who
could prove sixteen quarterings on both his father and mother's side."
Such a treasure as Marie-Anne promised to become, however, was worthy of
any sacrifice. "Hercules in his cradle," says Castil-Blaze, "strangled
the serpents who came to devour him. The talent of Mlle. de Camargo was
not less precocious. While she was in the arms of her nurse, the sound
of a violin reached her ears, and inspired her to gestures and movements
so animated, so gay, so perfectly harmonious that it was at once
perceived that this virtuoso of six months would one day be one of the
first _danseuses_ in Europe."[102] The delighted M. de Cupis thenceforth
devoted every moment he could spare to the instruction of his little
daughter, and at the age of ten Marie-Anne danced so charmingly in the
salons of Brussels, that every one vowed that it would be nothing less
than a crime to withhold from her the applause of the public.
Accordingly, the noble dancing-master's consent having been obtained,
the Princesse de Ligne and some other ladies of the Court clubbed
together, and sent her at their own expense to Paris, to take lessons
from Mlle. Prévost, then the queen of the Opera.
[Illustration: MADEMOISELLE PRÉVOST
From the painting by JEAN RAOUX, in the Musée of Tours]
After remaining in Paris for some months, and learning all that Mlle.
Prévost could teach her, the little girl returned to Brussels, and made
her _début_ at the theatre with such astonishing success that, in spite
of her youth, she was appointed _première danseuse_. This position she
held for three years, when Pélissier, director of the Rouen theatre,
offered her an engagement. Marie-Anne wished to accept the offer; Rouen,
ever since the days of Molière, had been regarded as the conservatoire
of the Paris theatres; its playgoers were not only the most
enthusiastic, but the most critical in France, and the actor, singer, or
_danseuse_ who was fortunate enough to secure their suffrages might
reckon with certainty on a favourable reception in the capital. M. de
Cupis, however, demurred; he did not wish to allow his daughter to go
alone to Rouen, neither did he see his way to leave his pupils at
Brussels; and it was not until Pélissier offered him the post of
ballet-master, and his eldest son, Françoise, a place in the orchestra
that he gave his consent, and the whole Cupis family set out for
Normandy.
Poor M. de Cupis would not have been so ready to turn his back on
Brussels had he been aware that Pélissier was hovering on the verge of
bankruptcy, and that his engagement of Marie-Anne was merely intended to
stave off the evil day a little longer. For a time, however, all went
well; Marie-Anne's dancing delighted the critical Rouennais, even more
than it had the indulgent Flemings, and the theatre was crowded every
night with applauding spectators. But her triumphs came too late to save
Pélissier; and one fine spring morning, in 1726, that gentleman failed,
and _danseuse_, ballet-master, and musician found themselves out of
employment.
Matters looked serious indeed for the seigneur de Renoussart and his
seven children; but, happily, at that moment Fortune knocked at their
door, in the shape of Francine, who was about to become Director of the
Paris Opera. The fame of the little prodigy had, it appeared, reached
the capital, and Francine had journeyed to Rouen to offer her a _début_
at the Académie Royale de Musique.
The offer, as may be supposed, was joyfully accepted and Marie-Anne,
with her family in her train, migrated to Paris. Here she decided to
abandon her patronymic in favour of that of her grandmother, which had a
more artistic sound; and on May 5, 1726, made her _début_ under the name
of Mlle. de Camargo.
Mlle. Prévost, already jealous of her former pupil, perhaps from a
presentiment, had treacherously advised her to make her _début_ in a
ballet called _Les Caractères de la danse_, in a step so difficult that
none but the most celebrated dancers ever dared to attempt it. But, to
her intense mortification, Mlle. de Camargo not only performed every
movement correctly, but with a brilliancy, a verve, a vivacity which far
surpassed all her predecessors. "Never," says a contemporary writer,
"had the auditorium resounded with such applause as that which greeted
the _débutante_. Such was the enthusiasm of the public that nothing else
was talked about but the young Camargo." All the new fashions were named
after her: coiffures _à la Camargo_, gowns _à la Camargo_, sleeves _à la
Camargo_, shoes _à la Camargo_.[103] On the second night on which she
appeared, there were twenty duels and quarrels without number at the
doors of the Opera; all Paris was determined to get in, even at the
sword-point.