WORK AND PLEASURE
IMPRESSIONS OF FLANDERS -- THE AUTHORESS'S ELECTION TO THE FRENCH
ROYAL ACADEMY OF PAINTING -- HER DEVOTION TO WORK -- SOCIAL
PLEASURES -- A TALE OF AN ARTIST'S EXTRAVAGANCE -- CALONNE AND
CALUMNY -- M. LEBRUN ALLOWS HIS WIFE NOUGHT PER CENT. OF HER
EARNINGS -- A DRAMATIC CONSTELLATION -- THE INCOMPARABLE MME.
DUGAZON.
In 1782 M. Lebrun took me to Flanders, whither he was called by
affairs of business. A sale was then being held in Brussels of a
splendid collection of pictures belonging to Prince Charles, and we
went to view it. I found there several ladies of the court who met me
with great kindness, among them the Princess d'Aremberg, whom I had
frequently seen in Paris. But the acquaintance upon which I
congratulated myself most was that of the Prince de Ligne, whom I had
not known before, and who has left an historic reputation for wit and
hospitality. He invited us to visit his gallery, where I admired
various masterpieces, especially portraits by Van Dyck and heads by
Rubens, for he owned but few Italian pictures. He was also good enough
to receive us at his magnificent house at Bel-Oeil. I remember that he
made us ascend to an outlook, built on the top of a hill commanding
the whole of his estate and the whole of the country round about. The
perfect air we breathed up there, together with the delightful view,
was something enchanting. What was best of all in this lovely place
was the greetings of the master of the house, who for his graceful
mind and manners never had an equal.
[Illustration: THE DAUPHIN
Son of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette.]
The town of Brussels seemed to me prosperous and lively. In high
society, for instance, people were so wrapped up in pleasure-seeking
that several friends of the Prince de Ligne sometimes left Brussels at
noon, arriving at the opera in Paris just in time to see the curtain
go up, and when the performance was over returned to Brussels,
travelling all night. That is what I call being fond of the opera!
We quitted Brussels to go to Holland. I was very much pleased with
Saardam and Maestricht; these two little towns are so clean and so
very well kept that one envies the lot of the inhabitants. The streets
being very narrow and provided with canals, one does not ride in
carriages, but on horseback, and small boats are used for the
transportation of merchandise. The houses, which are very low, have
two doors--the birth door, and the death door, through which one only
passes in a coffin. The roofs of these houses shine as if they were of
burnished steel, and everything is so scrupulously clean that I
remember seeing, outside a blacksmith's shop, a sort of lamp hanging
up, which was gilded and polished as though intended for a lady's
chamber. The women of the people in this part of Holland seemed to me
very handsome, but were so timid that the sight of a stranger made
them run away at once. I suppose, however, that the presence of the
French in their country may have tamed them.
We finally visited Amsterdam, and there I saw in the town hall the
magnificent painting by Van Loo representing the assembled aldermen. I
do not believe that in the whole realm of painting there is anything
finer, anything truer; it is nature itself. The aldermen are dressed
in black; faces, hands, draping--all done inimitably. These men are
alive; you think you are with them. I persuaded myself that this
picture must be the most perfect of its kind; I could not tear myself
away from it, and the impression it made on me was strong enough to
make it ever present in my mind.
We returned to Flanders to see the masterpieces of Rubens. They were
hung much more advantageously than they have been since in Paris, for
they all produce a wonderful effect in those Flemish churches. Other
works by the same master adorn some private galleries. In one of them,
at Antwerp, I found the famous "Straw Hat," which has lately been sold
to an Englishman for a large sum. This admirable picture represents a
woman by Rubens. It delighted and inspired me to such a degree that I
made a portrait of myself at Brussels, striving to obtain the same
effects. I painted myself with a straw hat on my head, a feather, and
a garland of wild flowers, holding my palette in my hand. And when the
portrait was exhibited at the Salon I feel free to confess that it
added considerably to my reputation. The celebrated Mueller made an
engraving after it, but it must be understood that the dark shadows of
an engraving spoiled the whole effect of such a picture. Soon after my
return from Flanders, the portrait I had mentioned, and several other
works of mine, were the cause of Joseph Vernet's decision to propose
me as a member of the Royal Academy of Painting. M. Pierre, then first
Painter to the King, made strong opposition, not wishing, he said,
that women should be admitted, although Mme. Vallayer-Coster, who
painted flowers beautifully, had already been admitted, and I think
Mme. Vien had been, too. M. Pierre, a very mediocre painter, was a
clever man. Besides, he was rich, and this enabled him to entertain
artists luxuriously. Artists were not so well off in those days as
they are now. His opposition might have become fatal to me if all true
picture-lovers had not been associated with the Academy, and if
they had not formed a cabal, in my favour, against M. Pierre's. At
last I was admitted, and presented my picture "Peace Bringing Back
Plenty."
[Illustration: MME. LEBRUN, THE AUTHORESS, NEE ELISABETH VIGEE.]
I continued to paint furiously, sometimes taking three sittings in the
course of a single day. After-dinner sittings, which fatigued me
extremely, brought about a disorder of my stomach, so that I could
digest nothing and became wretchedly thin. My friends made me consult
a doctor, who ordered me to sleep every day after dinner. At first it
was some trouble to me to follow this habit, but by remaining in my
room with the blinds down I gradually succeeded. I am persuaded that I
owe my life to this rule. All I regret about that enforced rest is
that it deprived me for good and all of the amusement of dining in
town, and as I devoted the whole morning to painting I never was able
to see my friends until the evening. Then, it is true, none of the
pleasures of society were closed to me, for I spent my evenings in the
politest and most accomplished circles.
After my marriage I still lived in the Rue de Clery, where M. Lebrun
had large, richly furnished apartments and kept his pictures by all
the great masters. As for myself, I was reduced to occupying a small
anteroom, and a bedroom, which also served for my drawing-room. This
was unpretentiously papered and furnished, and there I received my
visitors from town and court. Every one was eager to come to my
evening parties, which were sometimes so crowded that marshals of
France sat on the floor for want of chairs. I remember that the
Marshal de Noailles, who was very stout and very old, one evening had
the greatest difficulty in getting up again.
I was fond of flattering myself, of course, that all these grand
people came for my sake. But, as it always was in open houses, some
came to see the others, and most of them to enjoy the best music to be
heard in Paris. Such famous composers as Gretry, Sacchini, and
Martini often played pieces from their operas at my house before the
first performance. Our usual singers were Garat, Asvedo, Richer, and
Mme. Todi. My sister-in-law, who had a very fine voice and could sing
anything at sight, was very useful to us. Sometimes I sang myself, but
without much method, I confess. Garat may, perhaps, be mentioned as
the most extraordinary virtuoso who ever lived. Not only did no
difficulties exist for his flexible throat, but as to expression he
had no rival, and I think that no one has ever sung Gluck as well as
he. For instrumental music I had as a violinist Viotti, whose playing,
so full of grace, of force and expression, was ravishing. I also had
Jarnovick, Maestrino, and Prince Henry of Prussia, an excellent
amateur, who brought this first violinist besides. Salentin played the
hautboy, Hulmandel and Cramer the piano. Mme. de Montgerou came once,
soon after her marriage. Although she was very young then, she
nevertheless astonished my friends, who were very hard to please, by
her admirable execution, and especially by her expression; she really
made the instrument speak. Mme. Montgerou has since taken first rank
as a pianist, and distinguished herself as a composer.
At the time I gave my concerts people had taste and leisure for
amusement, and even some years later the love of music was so general
that it occasioned a serious quarrel between those who were called
Gluckists and Piccinists. All amateurs were divided into two opposing
factions. The usual field of battle was the garden of the Palais
Royal. There the partisans of Gluck and the partisans of Piccini went
at each other with such violence that there was more than one duel to
record. The women who were usually present comprised the Marquise de
Grollier, Mme. de Verdun, the Marquise de Sabran, who afterward
married the Chevalier de Boufflers, Mme. le Couteux du Molay--my
best friends, all four of them--the Marquise de Rouge, Mme. de Peze,
her friend, whom I painted in the same picture with her, and a host of
other French ladies, whom, owing to the smallness of my rooms, I could
receive but rarely, and all sorts of distinguished foreign ladies. As
for men, the list would be too long to write it down.
[Illustration: PEACE BRINGING ABUNDANCE
Exhibited by Mme. Lebrun at the French Royal Academy of Painting On
Her Election as a Member of That Institution.]
From this crowd I selected the cleverest for invitation to my suppers,
which the Abbe Delille, the poet Lebrun, the Chevalier de Boufflers,
the Viscount de Segur, and others contributed to make the most
entertaining in Paris. He can form no opinion of what society once was
in France who has not seen the time when, all of the day's business
absolved, a dozen or fifteen delightful people met at the house of a
hostess to finish their evening. The ease and the refined merriment
which reigned at these light evening repasts gave them a charm which
dinners can never have. A sort of confidence and intimacy prevailed
among the guests; it was by such suppers that the good society of
Paris showed its superiority to that of all Europe. At my house, for
instance, we met at about nine o'clock. No one ever talked politics,
but we chatted about literature and told anecdotes of the hour.
Sometimes we diverted ourselves by acting charades, and sometimes the
Abbe Delille or the poet Lebrun read us some of their compositions. At
ten o'clock we sat down to table. My suppers were of the simplest.
They always consisted of some fowl, a fish, a dish of vegetables, and
a salad, so that if I succumbed to the temptation of keeping back some
visitors there really was nothing more for any one to eat. But that
mattered little; the hours passed like minutes, and at midnight the
company broke up.
I not only gave suppers at my own house, but frequently supped in
town. Sometimes there was dancing, and there was no crowding to
suffocation, as there is nowadays. Eight persons only performed the
square dances, and the women who were not dancing could at least look
on, for the men stood behind them. I often went to spend the evening
at M. de Riviere's, in charge of the Saxon legation, a man
distinguished as much by his wit as by his good qualities. We played
comedies there, and comic operas. His daughter (my sister-in-law) sang
excellently, and could pass for a good society actress. M. de
Riviere's eldest son was charming in comic parts, and I was given the
use of a few professionals in opera and drama. Mme. Laruette, some
years retired from the stage, did not disdain our troupe. She played
with us in several operas, and her voice was still fresh and fine. My
brother Vigee played leading parts with very great success. In short,
all our actors were good--excepting Talma. My saying this will no
doubt make my readers laugh. The fact is, that Talma, who acted
lovers' parts with us, was so awkward and diffident that no one could
then possibly have foreseen how great an actor he would become. My
surprise was therefore very great when I saw our leading man surpass
Larive and take the place of Lekain. But the time it took to operate
this change, and all of the same kind, proves to me that the dramatic
talent takes longer to reach perfection than any other.
One evening, when I had invited a dozen or more friends to hear a
recital by the poet Lebrun, and while we were waiting for them, my
brother read aloud to me a few pages of "Anacharsis." Arriving at the
place where, in the description of a Greek dinner, the method of
preparing various sauces is explained, "We ought," said my brother,
"to try this to-night." I at once ordered up my cook and instructed
her properly, deciding that she was to make a certain sauce for the
chicken and another for the eel. As I was expecting some very pretty
women, I conceived the idea of Greek costumes, in order to give M. de
Vaudreuil and M. Boutin a surprise, knowing they would not arrive
until ten o'clock. My studio, full of things I used for draping my
models, would furnish me with enough material for garments, and the
Count de Parois, who lived in my house in the Rue de Clery, owned a
superb collection of Etruscan pottery. It happened that he came to see
me that evening. I confided my project to him, so that he supplied me
with a number of drinking-cups and vases, from among which I took my
choice. I cleaned all these articles myself, and arranged them on a
table of mahogany without a tablecloth. This done, I put behind the
chairs a large screen, which I took the precaution of concealing under
some hangings looped up at intervals, as may be seen in Poussin's
pictures. A hanging lamp threw a strong light on the table. All was
now prepared except my costumes, when Joseph Vernet's daughter, the
charming Mme. Chalgrin, was first to arrive. I immediately took her in
hand, doing her hair and dressing her up. Then came Mme. de Bonneuil,
so remarkable for her beauty, and Mme. Vigee, my sister-in-law, who,
without being pretty, had the most beautiful eyes imaginable. And
there they were, all three, metamorphosed into veritable Athenians.
Lebrun came in; we wiped off his powder, undid his side curls, and put
a wreath of laurels on his head. Then the Marquis de Cubieres arrived.
While we sent for a guitar of his, which he had turned into a gilded
lyre, I attended to his costume, and then likewise dressed up M. de
Riviere, and Chaudet, the famous sculptor.
The hour was waxing late. I had little time to think of myself. But as
I always wore white gowns in the form of a tunic--now called a
blouse--it was sufficient to put a veil and a wreath of flowers on my
head. I took particular pains in costuming my daughter, darling child
that she was, and Mlle. de Bonneuil, now Mme. Regnault d'Angely, who
was as lovely as an angel. Both were ravishing to behold, bearing a
very light antique vase, in readiness to serve us with drink.
At half past nine the preparations were ended, and at ten we heard the
carriage of the Count de Vaudreuil and of Boutin roll in, and when
these two gentlemen arrived before the door of the dining-room, whose
two leaves I had thrown open, they found us singing Gluck's chorus,
"The God of Paphos," with M. de Cubieres accompanying us on his lyre.
Never in all my days have I seen two such astonished faces as those of
M. de Vaudreuil and his companion. They were so surprised and
delighted that they stood motionless for a long time before they could
make up their minds to take the seats we had reserved for them.
Besides the two courses I have mentioned, we had for supper a cake
made with honey and Corinth raisins, and two dishes of vegetables. I
confess that that evening we drank a bottle of old Cyprus wine, which
had been presented to me. But that was the whole of our dissipation.
We nevertheless remained a long time at table, where Lebrun recited to
us several odes of "Anacreon," which he had translated, and I think I
never spent a more amusing evening. M. Boutin and M. de Vaudreuil were
so enthusiastic that the next day they told all their friends about
the entertainment.
Some of the women of the court asked me to repeat the performance. I
declined for various reasons, and some of them felt hurt by my
refusal. Soon the report spread in society that this supper had cost
me twenty thousand francs. The King spoke of it with annoyance to the
Marquis de Cubieres, who fortunately had been one of my guests, and
who therefore was able to convince His Majesty how foolish the
accusation was. Nevertheless, what was estimated at Versailles at the
modest price of twenty thousand francs was increased at Rome to forty
thousand. At Vienna the Baroness de Strogonoff informed me that I had
spent sixty thousand francs on my Greek supper. At St. Petersburg the
sum fixed upon was eighty thousand francs. In reality, the supper had
occasioned an outlay of nearly fifteen francs!
Although, as I am sure, I was the most harmless creature who ever drew
breath, I had enemies. A few years before the Revolution I did the
portrait of M. de Calonne, which I exhibited at the Salon of 1785. I
painted that minister in a sitting position and as far as the knees,
which caused Mlle. Arnould to say, when she looked at it: "Mme. Lebrun
cut off his legs, so that he should not get away." Unfortunately, this
little witticism was not the only one my picture evoked; I was made
the butt of calumnies of the most odious description. There were a
thousand stories circulated as to the payment of the portrait, some
asserting that the minister had given me a quantity of sweetmeats
wrapped in bank-notes, others that I had received in a pasty a sum
large enough to ruin the treasury. The fact is, that M. de Calonne had
sent me four thousand francs in a box worth twenty louis. Some of the
people who were with me when the box arrived can certify this. They
were even surprised at the smallness of the amount, for not long
before, M. de Beaujon, whom I had painted in the same style, had sent
me eight thousand francs, without any one considering this fee too
large.
I cared so little about money that I scarcely knew the value of it.
The Countess de la Guiche, who is still alive, can affirm that, upon
coming to me to have her portrait painted and telling me that she
could afford no more than a thousand francs, I answered that M. Lebrun
wished me to do none for less than two thousand. My closest friends
all know that M. Lebrun took all the money I earned, on the plea of
investing it in his business. I often had no more than six francs in
my pocket and in the world. When in 1788 I painted the picture of the
handsome Prince Lubomirskia, who was then grown up, his aunt, the
Princess Lubomirska, remitted twelve thousand francs to me, out of
which I begged M. Lebrun to let me keep forty; but he would not let me
have even that, alleging that he needed the whole sum to liquidate a
promissory note.
My indifference to money no doubt proceeded from the fact that wealth
was not necessary to me. Since that which made my house pleasant
required no extravagance, I always lived very economically. I spent
very little on dress; I was even reproached for neglecting it, for I
wore none but white dresses of muslin or lawn, and never wore
elaborate gowns excepting for my sittings at Versailles. My head-dress
cost me nothing, because I did my hair myself, and most of the time I
wore a muslin cap on my head, as may be seen from my portraits.
One of my favourite distractions was going to the play, and I can vow
that so many talented actors were on the Paris stage that many of them
have had no successors. I remember perfectly having seen the renowned
Lekain act, whose ugliness, monstrous as it was, was not apparent in
all his parts. But when he played the role of Orosmane, in which I
once saw him, I was very near the stage, and his turban made him so
hideous that, although I admired his fine bearing, he frightened me.
Mlle. Dumesnil, although she was short and very ugly, sent her
audiences into transports in her great tragic roles. It sometimes
happened that Mlle. Dumesnil acted through a portion of the play
without producing any impression; then, all of a sudden, she would
change; her gestures, her voice and her features all became so
intensely tragic that she brought down the house. I was assured that
before coming on the stage she was in the habit of drinking a bottle
of wine, and that another was held in reserve for her in the wings.
The most brilliant first appearance I can remember was Mlle.
Raucourt's in the part of Dido, when she was eighteen or twenty at the
most. The beauty of her face, her figure, her voice, her
declamation--everything foreshadowed a perfect actress. To so many
advantages she added an air of remarkable decency and a reputation of
severe morals, which caused her to be sought after by our greatest
ladies. She was presented with jewelry, with theatrical costumes, and
with money for herself and her father, who was always with her. Later
on she changed her habits very much.
[Illustration: MME. VIGEE LEBRUN AND HER DAUGHTER.]
Talma, our last great tragic actor, in my opinion surpassed all the
others. There was genius in his acting. It may also be said that he
revolutionised the art, in the first place through banishing the
bombastic and affected style of delivery by his natural, sincere
elocution, and secondly through bringing about an innovation in dress,
attiring himself like a Greek or a Roman when he played Achilles or
Brutus--for which I was heartily grateful to him. Talma had one of the
finest heads and one of the most mobile countenances imaginable, and,
however impetuous his acting became, always kept dignified, which
seems to me a prime quality in a tragic actor. He was a very good man,
and the best tempered individual in the world. It was his custom to
make no fuss in society; in order to make him respond, it needed
something in the conversation which would stir one of his deepest
interests, and then he was well worth listening to, particularly when
he talked about his art. Comedy was perhaps better off still for
talent than tragedy. I often had the good fortune to see Preville on
the stage. There, indeed, was the perfect, the inimitable artist! His
acting, so clever, so natural, and so full of fun, was at the same
time most varied. He would play in turn Crispin, Sosie, and Figaro,
and you would not know it was the same man, so inexhaustible were his
comic resources. Dugazon, his successor in humorous parts, would have
been an excellent comedian if a desire to make the public laugh had
not often led him into being farcical. He played certain parts of
valets admirably. Dugazon behaved villainously in the Revolution: he
was one of those who went for the King to Varennes, and an eyewitness
told me that he had seen him at the carriage door with a gun on his
shoulder. Be it observed that this man had been overwhelmed with
favours by the court, and especially by the Count d'Artois.
I also witnessed Mlle. Contat's first appearance. She was extremely
pretty and well made, but did her work so badly at first that no one
foresaw what a fine actress she was to become. Her charming face was
not sufficient to protect her from hisses when she played the part
confided to her by Beaumarchais, of Susanna in "The Marriage of
Figaro." But from that moment on she advanced further and further on
the path of success.
At a period when all of the great actors were beginning to age, a
young talent arose that to-day is the ornament of the French stage:
Mlle. Mars was then playing the parts of young girls in the most
highly accomplished manner; she excelled in that of Victorine in "The
Unwitting Philosopher," and in a dozen others in which she never had
an equal. For it was impossible for any one else to be so true to life
and so affecting; it was nature at its best. Fortunately, that face,
that figure, that bewitching voice are so perfectly preserved that
Mlle. Mars has no age, nor, I believe, ever will have, and the public
proves every night by its applause that it shares my opinion.
I remember having seen Sophie Arnould twice at the opera, in "Castor
and Pollux." I recollect that she seemed to me to possess grace and
feeling. As for her abilities as a singer, the music of that epoch
disgusted me so that I did not listen to it enough to be able to
speak about it now. Mlle. Arnould was not pretty; her mouth spoiled
her face; only her eyes conveyed the cleverness which made her famous.
A great number of her witty sayings have been passed round from mouth
to mouth or printed.
A woman whose superior gifts delighted us for a long time was Mlle.
Arnould's successor. This was Mme. Saint Huberti, whom one must have
heard in order to understand how far lyric tragedy can go. Mme. Saint
Huberti had not only a superb voice, but was also a great actress. Her
good fate ordained that she should sing the operas of Piccini,
Sacchini and Gluck, and all this music, so beautiful, so expressive,
exactly suited her talent, which was full of significance, of
sincerity and of nobility. She was not good-looking, but her face was
entrancing because of its soulfulness. The Count d'Entraigues, a very
fine, handsome man, and very distinguished through his intellect, fell
in love with her and married her. When the Revolution broke out they
escaped to London together. It was there that one evening they were
both murdered, without either the murderers or their motives ever
being discovered.
In the ballet, likewise noted for people with great capabilities,
Gardel and Vestris the elder were first. Vestris was tall and
imposing, and was not to be excelled in dances of the grave and sedate
order. I could not prescribe the grace with which he took off and put
back his hat at the bow preceding the minuet. All the young women of
the court took lessons from him, before their presentation, in making
the three courtesies. Vestris the elder was succeeded by his son, the
most astonishing dancer to be seen, such were his combined
gracefulness and lightness. Although our dancers of the present day by
no means spare us their pirouettes, certainly no one could ever do as
many as he did. He would suddenly rise toward the sky in such a
marvellous manner that one thought he must have wings, and this made
old Vestris say, "If my son touches the ground it is only from
politeness to his colleagues."
Mlle. Guimard had another sort of talent altogether. Her dancing was
only a sketch; she did nothing but take short steps, but executed them
with such fascinating motions that the public awarded her the palm
over all other female dancers. She was short, slight, very well
shaped, and, although plain, her features were such that at the age of
forty-five she looked no more than fifteen when on the stage.
I now come to one whose entire dramatic career I have been able to
follow--the best talent the Opera-Comique had to show, Mme. Dugazon.
Never has such reality been seen upon the stage. The actress
disappeared, and gave place to the actual Babet, Countess d'Albert, or
Nicolette. Her voice was rather weak, but it was strong enough for
laughter, for tears, for all situations, for all parts. Gretry and
Delayrac, who wrote for her, were mad about her. No one ever again
played Nina like her--Nina, so decent and so passionate at once, and
so unhappy and so touching that the mere sight of her made the
audience shed tears. Mme. Dugazon was a royalist, heart and soul. Of
this she gave the public a proof, when the Revolution was well
advanced, in playing the part of the maid in "Unforeseen Events." The
Queen was witnessing the performance, and in a duet begun by the
valet, with "I love my master dearly," Mme. Dugazon, whose answer was
"Ah, how I love my mistress!" turned toward the Queen's box, laid her
hand over her heart, and sang her reply in a melting voice while she
bowed to Her Majesty. I was told that the public--and such a
public--afterward sought revenge by attempting to make her sing some
horrible thing which had come into vogue and was often heard in the
theatres. But Mme. Dugazon would not yield. She left the stage.