Dugazon’s professional career, which, happily, seems to have been no
more affected by the irregularities of her private life than those of
Mlle. Clairon and Madeleine Guimard. The enthusiasm with which even the
most fastidious of her contemporaries acclaim her talent is truly
remarkable. “I have often,” writes Bouilly, “admired Madame
Saint-Huberty, at the Opera, in lyric tragedy, Mlle. Raucourt in the
masterpieces of our French stage, and the brilliant Mlle. Contat in
comedy; but not one of these celebrated women united, in my opinion,
that variety of perfections, that incomprehensible medley of pathos and
gaiety, of nobleness and simplicity, of finesse and naturalness, which
made Madame Dugazon admired in the different rôles wherein, in turn, she
showed herself princess and peasant, soubrette and tender mother,
_ingénue_ and coquette, wealthy woman and poor one. She seized with an
admirable fidelity upon all the shades of Nature, all the movements of
the human heart, all the inspirations of the most eager imagination....
One was, in turn, moved, ravished, transported; from tears the most
abundant one passed to laughter the most irrepressible, from terror to
gaiety the most natural and the most infectious; one passed, in a word,
through all the windings of the human heart; one experienced all the
sensations which leave a perfect remembrance. And this was the work of
one woman, whose admirable intelligence did not cease to be the
interpreter of Nature, whose talent, flexible and always natural, was
cited by authors and friends of the art as the most perfect model
possessed by our lyric stage.”[129]
And Madame Vigée Lebrun says:
“And now I come to her whose dramatic career I have followed from
beginning to end, to the most perfect actress ever possessed by the
Opéra-Comique, to Madame Dugazon. Hers was a natural talent, which owed
nothing apparently to study. Noble, naïve, graceful, piquant, she had
twenty faces, and always suited her accent to the person she represented
at the time. Her voice was somewhat weak, but she adapted it equally
well to tears, laughter, and every situation.”[130]
That Madame Dugazon was far greater as an actress than as a vocalist
there can, we think, be no question. The father of French
_opéra-comique_, Grétry, gives it as his opinion that she was not a
singer at all, but “an actress who _spoke song_ with the truest and most
passionate expression.” And Boïeldieu, the author of _La Dame Blanche_,
says much the same. “What an astonishing woman!” he exclaimed, after the
first performance of _Le Calife de Bagdad_. “They say that she does not
understand music; yet I never heard any one sing with such taste and
expression, such nature and fidelity.”[131]
Madame Dugazon’s voice indeed, though limited in range, was pure and
flexible and of an enchanting tone, and, as was the case with Garat, her
natural endowments far outweighed the disadvantages of a deficient
musical education.
To recall all the successes of this charming actress, it would be
necessary, as M. Campardon very truly remarks, to cite practically the
whole répertoire of the Comédie-Italienne, and we will, therefore,
confine ourselves to those of her “creations” upon which contemporary
writers have left us the fullest information.
An opera called _Blaise et Babet_, libretto by Monvel, music by
Desaides, produced on June 30, 1783, marks the commencement of the most
brilliant period of her career. This little work provided Madame Dugazon
with a magnificent triumph. “What fine and delicate shades,” writes
Grimm, “does the voice of Madame Dugazon impart, in this rôle of Babet,
to the most simple expressions! There is not one of her inflections,
there is not a movement in her acting, which does not add to the
movement of the scene, and does not vary it with as much truth as
grace.”[132] And the critic of the _Mercure_ writes: “It is difficult to
describe all the shades of talent that Madame Dugazon has developed in
the rôle of Babet. Natural, comical, naïve, intelligent, sensible, she
has not allowed one of the traits which make up the character of the
person whom she represents to escape.”
The third performance of _Blaise et Babet_ was graced by the presence of
the Queen, who was so enchanted with the part played by Madame Dugazon
that she forthwith resolved to act it herself, and soon afterwards the
piece was presented at the royal theatre at Trianon, with Marie
Antoinette as Babet. Madame Dugazon and Fleury were summoned to Court to
preside over the rehearsals and aid the Queen with their counsels. Nor
were their pains thrown away, for, if we are to believe the Fleury
_Mémoires_, her Majesty’s rendering of Babet almost equalled that of the
actress herself:
“She was a thousand times to be applauded, when she was vexed, crushed
her flowers, threw them into the basket, and exclaimed, with the most
charming toss of her head: ‘_Tu m’as fait endêver... endêve...
endêve!_’
“It was such a delightful medley of pouting and sentiment, of tears and
vexation, of anger and love, that I saw proud courtiers moved by it,
and, courtiers though they were, forget to applaud, because they were
weeping.”
The comedy entitled _Alexis et Justine_, by the same authors, produced
on January 17, 1785, was for Madame Dugazon, who played the part of
Justine, the occasion of another triumph, which Grimm records in these
terms:
“Madame Dugazon has just developed a new kind of talent in the rôle of
Justine. It was difficult to unite to this degree the most lively and
the most passionate sensibility with a _naïveté_ the most sweet and the
most attractive. This charming actress has been truly eloquent in the
scene of the second act with M. de Longpré. Our best _tragédiennes_
could not render with more energy and with variations more just and more
profound all the sentiment of this part, one of the most pathetic that
has ever been seen on the stage.”[133]
In November of the same year, was produced _La Dot_, a comedy in three
acts by Desfontaines, music by Dalayrac, in which Madame Dugazon gave so
charming a rendering of the part of the heroine Colette, that a poet,
who elected to remain anonymous, but who, M. Campardon thinks, was, in
all probability, the author of the piece himself, thanked her in the
following verses for the pleasure she had given him:
“Dis moi donc par quelle magie,
Ne changeant au plus que de nom,
Tu fais, à la voix de Thalie,
Changer de maintien et de ton?
Babet m’avoit semblé parfaite,
Je l’admirerois a chaque trait,
Et depuis que j’ai vu Colette,
Je songe un peu moins à Babet.
Plus naturelle et plus sublime,
Par un mot, un geste, un soupir,
Tout à la fois Colette exprime
Le sentiment et le plaisir.
Partout c’est la vérité pure,
Que Colette prends sur le fait,
Et pour dot la simple nature
Lui fit présent de son secret.”[134]
Madame Dugazon now found herself at the apogee of her talent, and it
appeared hardly possible that she could soar any higher, when, in May
1786, her creation of the part of Nina, in _Nina, ou la Folle par
amour_, a drama in one act, by Marsollier de Vivetières, music by
Dalayrac, exhibited her in a new light and excited among the Parisians
an enthusiasm almost unprecedented.
The genesis of this piece is interesting. It was suggested to Marsollier
by a touching anecdote of a young girl who had lived in the
neighbourhood of Sedan. On her wedding morning, the maiden had preceded
her lover to the church where the ceremony was to be performed. On
nearing it, she was met by a friend, who informed her that the young man
had been seized with a sudden attack of illness and was dead. The grief
of the unhappy girl was such that she lost her reason. Thenceforth,
until her own death, ten years later, she walked daily more than two
leagues to the spot where she had arranged to meet her lover, and, on
arriving there, would sit down and wait for him the entire day. At
length, when the shades of evening were falling, she would rise and
retrace her steps, exclaiming: “Let us go. He has not yet arrived; I
will return to-morrow.”
When he had completed the libretto, Marsollier sent it to Dalayrac, who,
quick to recognise the splendid possibilities it offered for musical
effect, gladly promised his co-operation. The score was soon written,
but, for some little time, the authors hesitated to submit it to the
Comédie-Italienne, fearing that their attempt to depict madness on the
stage was too hazardous, and might expose them to the risk of a
disastrous failure.
While they were still in doubt, Mlle. Guimard offered them the use of
her private theatre, in the Chaussée-d’Antin, for an experimental
performance. They gratefully accepted, and it was on the erotic stage of
the Temple of Terpsichore, “on those boards whereon the _coryphées_ of
the _fricassée_ had so many times bounded,” that Madame Dugazon created
the part of Nina, before the usual mixed audience of noblemen, _grandes
dames_, and courtesans. The result was a prodigious, an astonishing
success, and, on May 15, 1786, the curtain of the Comédie-Italienne rose
on _Nina, ou la Folle par amour_.
The creation of Nina dominates Madame Dugazon’s whole career and
eclipses all her earlier triumphs. Never within the memory of man, says
M. Campardon, had there been a like success. The actress threw into the
part her whole soul, and it was very often remarked that on the days on
which she had been playing Nina, she retained throughout the remainder
of the evening the haggard eyes and singular gestures of the unhappy mad
woman whom she had just been impersonating. “She played the part,”
writes Bouilly, “with a perfection impossible to describe; one must have
seen and heard her to form a correct idea of that penetrating voice, of
that frenzy, heartrending and yet full of charm, of that energy of
expression which thrilled every heart.”[135] Grimm pronounces her in
this piece superior to herself and to all the actresses that are the
most applauded at the other theatres. “Never,” says he, “was there
displayed a sensibility more exquisite and more profound. Never did any
one know how to assume more happily the most diverse tones. Never did
any one vary them with more correctness. It is the sensibility of her
acting that decided essentially the success of the work, for the tears
which she has caused to flow do not prevent one from perceiving that it
leaves much to desire.”[136]
But whatever the shortcomings of _Nina_ may have been, the public seemed
resolved to ignore them, and the enthusiasm with which the work and its
“inspired interpreter” were received passed all bounds. “When one beheld
her, her hair unbound, her eyes staring, a bouquet in her hand, advance
towards the grassy bank near which she awaits her ‘_bien-aimé_,’ when
the plaints of the poor distracted girl were translated by the naïve and
tender music of Dalayrac, it seemed as if emotion had reached its
limits. One wept for Nina, as one wept for Garat, Miss Billington, Todi,
Maillard, or Saint-Huberty.”[137]
The tears, the applause, baffled all description. Six times at the
conclusion of the play was the “sublime lunatic” recalled. The public
could not applaud enough, and at each performance the enthusiasm
increased; it seemed inexhaustible. Every evening the doors of the
theatre were besieged by an enormous crowd. “Men went thither to be
moved by the sorrows which were able to cause such abandon, women to
seek emotions and the secret of tears.” Not an evening passed without
some lady in the audience swooning with emotion.
Madness became on a sudden the fashionable disease. In the salons a host
of young women found occupation in playing the part of Nina, and some of
them appeared to have worked themselves into a condition bordering on
lunacy. The critics essayed in vain to combat this ridiculous
infatuation. They pronounced the subject monstrous, the libretto
insipid, the music detestable, and loudly bewailed the decay of art upon
the stage. They might have saved their paper and ink. The public
continued to applaud and to weep, and the receipts of the
Comédie-Italienne to increase. “It seemed,” remarks one of the lady’s
biographers, “that each spectator was of the opinion of an enthusiast
who, on the evening of the first representation, improvised the
following verses in honour of Nina-Dugazon:
“‘Tous les cœurs sont émus à tes divins accords,
On ne sait qu’admirer, ton génie ou tes charmes.
Tu pleures, aussitôt tu fais couler mes larmes:
Qui donc resterait froid à tes brûlants transports?
Mais la toile se baisse et la pièce est finie,
Aussitôt cesse ta folie,
Mais moi, d’amour pour toi perdre la raison.’”[138]
The provinces, in their turn, desired to witness this wonderful work and
to applaud the idolised actress; and Madame Dugazon, accordingly, paid a
visit to Lyons, where a magnificent reception awaited her. Such was the
enthusiasm she evoked that her admirers would have liked to raise a
triumphal arch in her honour, but, as the city authorities did not quite
see their way to gratify this desire, they were fain to content
themselves with composing verses in her praise, which were read upon the
stage, crowning her with flowers, and applauding until the rafters rang.
On her return to Paris, Madame Dugazon found herself, if it were
possible, more the rage than ever, and so completely did her popularity
eclipse that of her rivals, that, on the evenings on which she did not
appear, the directors of the Comédie-Italienne--that nursery of pretty
women--had the mortification to see the boxes empty and their theatre a
desert. Their consternation, therefore, may be imagined when, towards
the end of that year, the lady, without a moment’s warning, set out for
London.
It was at first believed that she had been enticed away by magnificent
offers from London managers, but it subsequently transpired that love
and not money had drawn her to England; that she had gone thither in the
company of a young man with whom she had fallen desperately in love,
whether an Englishman or one of her own countrymen contemporary
chroniclers do not tell us.
The directors were in despair and wrote letter upon letter,
commanding--for she had departed without obtaining the necessary
_congé_--requesting, finally imploring her to return. But the actress
replied that she was very content where she was and that they might
dispose of her rôles. In vain they attempted to replace her. In vain the
beautiful Madame Pitrot, the pretty Lescot, and the charming Colombe
tried their fascinations upon the audience. The public would have none
of them; scarcely could they obtain a single plaudit. And night after
night the curtain rose upon empty benches.
At length, Madame Dugazon, wearying of London or of love--or of
both--condescended to return, and, with her, came Fortune once more to
the Comédie-Italienne. The empty boxes, the deserted _parterre_, filled
as if by magic, the theatre once more rang with applause, and the
directors, who had lately seen ruin staring them in the face, were all
smiles and good-humour as they complacently regarded their swelling
coffers.
Advancing years brought no decline in the popularity of Madame Dugazon.
Unlike the great majority of actresses, who persist in clinging to the
very last to the _genre_ in which they first attained celebrity, she was
quick to realise the incongruity of a woman whose youth was long past,
and whose figure had begun to show a decided tendency to _embonpoint_,
continuing to impersonate juvenile heroines, and, accordingly, resolved
to devote herself to the representation of young matrons. Anxious to
retain the services of an actress who assured the success of every work
in which she appeared, the directors of the Comédie-Italienne readily
entered into her views, and provided her with the parts she desired. Her
success in the matronly style was phenomenal, and her triumph in
_Camille, ou le souterrain_ almost equalled that which she had obtained
in _Nina_.
* * * * *
Notwithstanding the laxity of her morals, Madame Dugazon, in private
life, possessed many amiable qualities. Gay, light-hearted, and witty,
though without a spark of malice, she was as popular off the stage as
upon it; while, if she were faithful neither to husband nor lover, she
was, nevertheless, a staunch friend, who endeared herself to a very
large circle of acquaintances. All the authors and composers who worked
for her seemed to have held her in the highest esteem: Grétry, Sedaine,
Étienne, Marsollier, Dalayrac, Laujon, and many others remained to the
last sincerely attached to her. Always sympathetic and ready to oblige,
her advice was never sought in vain, and more than one young writer was
indebted for his first success to the hints which he had received from
the experienced actress. Bouilly, who cherished for her the most lively
gratitude and affection, declared that he owed everything to her.[139]
Although never wealthy, for not even the most talented actress or singer
of those days could hope for more than a modest competence, while none
of her numerous love-affairs, if we except the very brief one with M.
Boudreau, seem to have been prompted by any mercenary consideration, she
was charitable to the utmost limit of her means, and was ever ready to
relieve those in distress. It was at her instigation that, during the
severe winter of 1784, special performances were organised for the
benefit of the suffering poor and a very large sum realised, which was
duly handed over to the Church for distribution. The Church, we are
told, was very grateful for this timely assistance. But, with her usual
intolerance where the theatrical profession was concerned, she decided
that the curés must not be permitted to touch money which came direct
from the hands of persons without her pale and, therefore, gave
instructions that the alms should be purified by being made to pass
through the exchequer of the Lieutenant of Police. This pretty piece of
casuistry inspired a wit to the following epistle, supposed to be
addressed by St. Augustine to Madame Dugazon and her colleagues:
“Salut à la troupe italique,
A ce comité catholique
Dont le cœur loyal s’attendrit
Sur la calamité publique,
C’est le fils de sainte Monique,
C’est Augustin qui vous écrit.
Oui, mes amis, par cette épître,
J’abjure maint et maint chapitre
Où j’ai frondé votre métier
Comme un tant soit peu diabolique.
* * * * *
Oui, sans être garant de rien,
Je croirais qu’un comédien
Risque, s’il est homme de bien,
D’être sauvé tout comme un autre.
Un mime, en face d’un apôtre,
C’est un scandale, dira-t-on;
Saint Paul à côté de Rosière,
Trial vis à vis de saint Pierre,
Et bienheureuse Dugazon,
Aux pieds d’un diacre ou d’un vicaire,
Le paradis serait bouffon.
Tant pis pour qui s’en scandalise:
Allez au ciel par vos vertus
Et laissez clabauder l’Église.”
A Royalist to the core, Madame Dugazon, when the Revolution came, viewed
with feelings of indignation and regret the downfall of the King and
Queen, the latter of whom had treated her with marked kindness.[140]
Nor did she lack the courage of her opinions, as an unsigned letter
once in the possession of Mrs. Elliot, the lady who inspired the “First
Gentleman in Europe” with so lively a passion, will testify:
“After the 20th of June, 1792, those who wished well to the Royal Family
urged the Queen to show herself occasionally in public with the Dauphin,
an interesting and beautiful child, and her charming daughter, Madame
Royale.
“She went therefore to the Comédie-Italienne, with her children, Madame
Élisabeth, the King’s sister, and Madame de Tourzel, _gouvernante_ of
the ‘children of France.’ This was the last time that the Queen appeared
in public. I was in my box, exactly facing that of the Queen; and, as
she was much more interesting than the play, I kept my eyes fixed upon
her and her family.
“The piece represented was the _Événements imprévus_, and Madame Dugazon
played the soubrette.
“Her Majesty, from the moment she entered the theatre, seemed very sad.
She was much affected by the applause of the public, and I saw her
several times wipe the tears from her eyes. The little Dauphin, who sat
the whole evening upon her knees, appeared anxious to know the cause of
his unhappy mother’s tears. She was seen to caress him, and the audience
seemed moved by the cruel situation of this unhappy Queen.
“There is a duet in this opera sung by the soubrette and the valet, and
Madame Dugazon had to say:
“‘J’aime mon maître tendrement,
Ah! combien j’aime ma maîtresse!’
“As, in singing these verses, she placed her hand on her heart and
looked at the Queen, every one perfectly understood the allusion.
“Immediately, a number of Jacobins who were among the audience sprang
upon the stage, and, if the actors had not concealed Madame Dugazon,
they would certainly have killed her. They then drove the poor Queen and
her suite from the theatre, and it was all that the guard could do to
place them safe and sound in their carriages.
“In the meanwhile, the Queen’s party had joined battle with the
Jacobins; but the soldiers intervened and the broil had no serious
consequences.”
Shortly after this incident, Madame Dugazon temporarily retired from the
Comédie-Italienne, on the plea of ill-health; but really, according to
Madame Lebrun, because the public, in a spirit of revenge, had
endeavoured to make her sing a revolutionary song upon the stage.[141]
In 1795 she reappeared and was received with all the old enthusiasm. At
the time of her return, she was merely a pensioner; but, in 1801, when
the two Opéra-Comiques were united in a single troupe at the
Théâtre-Feydeau, she was admitted a _sociétaire_ and given a seat on the
administrative council.
No one was more rejoiced at the Restoration than this most ardent
Royalist. “I feel,” she observed to one of her friends, “that now I
shall die more happy.” She started at once for Saint-Ouen, and was one
of the first to whom Louis XVIII. granted an audience. On being admitted
to the royal presence, her emotion overcame her, and she threw herself
at the King’s feet, bathed in tears.
The monarch, himself much moved, raised her up. “You have not forgotten
me,” said he, kindly, “and I shall always remember the pleasure you gave
me at Versailles. I am very grieved that the state of your health has
compelled you to retire from the stage. I should be enchanted to see you
again.”
After her interview with Louis XVIII., we hear little of Madame Dugazon.
She lived a very retired life in the midst of a little circle of
intimate friends. All her affection was centred in her son Gustave, a
young composer, who, at an early age, showed remarkable promise, which,
however, does not seem to have been quite fulfilled.[142] Such was her
anxiety for his success that when he had an opera in rehearsal, she is
said to have invariably fallen ill and not to have recovered until after
the first performance.[143]
She died on September 21, 1821, after a long and painful illness, and
was buried in Père-Lachaise. The cortège was followed by a large crowd,
and Bouilly, her devoted friend of twenty years, pronounced a funeral
oration.
V
MADEMOISELLE CONTAT
About the year 1770, a bright-eyed and lively little girl might
frequently have been seen to steal behind the scenes of the
Comédie-Française, and then, placing herself in some obscure corner,
gaze with mingled awe and admiration at the great players as they made
their entrances and exits. The father of little Louise Contat--for that
was the child’s name--seems to have had some employment at the
theatre,[144] and she had already gained some distinction in amateur
performances. At the age of eleven, it was intended to send her out on
tour with a wandering theatrical troupe, but, fortunately, she had
already attracted the notice of the Prévilles, who adopted her, and the
famous actor himself undertook to train her for the stage.[145] “Never,”
says Fleury, “did pupil prove more worthy of such a master. The young
actress did not master intuitively the secrets of an art which cannot be
taught; but the great comedian, charmed with her precocious talent,
facilitated her acquirement of those elements of diction, the _solfêggi_
of speech, so indispensable to a career on the stage.”[146]
On February 3, 1776, at the age of fifteen and a half, Louise Contat
appeared at the Comédie-Française, as Atalide, in _Bajazet_. Her face
and figure pleased the critics, but her talent made but little
impression. “Mlle. Contat, has just made her _début_,” writes La Harpe,
“with a pretty face, but no voice and little talent.” Nor was Grimm more
favourable. “She is mediocre in tragedy,” writes he, “and her gestures
are affected; but she has an agreeable face and intelligent eyes.”
Subsequently, she played Zaïre and Junie, in _Britannicus_, but with
hardly more success. In truth, she had no talent for tragedy, and it was
only in compliance with the regulations of the theatre that she
undertook such parts. When, however, she came to play comedy,
particularly comedy of the light, vivacious kind, there was a different
tale to tell. Then the careful lessons she had received from Préville,
the greatest comedian of his time, bore fruit in several delightfully
clever impersonations, which drew upon her the favourable attention of
all lovers of really fine acting, and showed that nothing but experience
was needed to make her a worthy successor to Mlle. Dangeville.