speedily repair the injury I have done you.”
“How so?” inquired Mlle. Contat, who perceived a ray of hope.
“Yes,” resumed the contrite Lubsac, “I feel that I am in the vein this
evening. But I have nothing to stake, nothing whatever.”
The repentance of the criminal touched the actress’s heart. Smiling
through her tears, she produced two louis--the last she had in the
world--and handed them to the chevalier, who hurried off to the
gaming-table. In less than an hour he returned, transported with joy.
Fortune had smiled upon him; he brought with him all the jewellery he
had pledged, and had still a few louis in his pocket.
The _affaire_ with M. de Lubsac lasted but a few months, at the end of
which Mlle. Contat had had enough of him and his vagaries and gave him
his _congé_. A wealthy financier aspired to the vacant place in the
lady’s affections, became an assiduous frequenter of the Comédie, and
professed his readiness to lay his heart and his money-bags at her feet.
But the actress would have nothing to say to him, and intimated in
unmistakable terms that neither his heart nor his money-bags had any
attraction for her. Nevertheless, Plutus continued to prosecute his
suit, and one evening, while Mlle. Contat, was standing in the wings,
talking with the Duc de Laval, he approached and, “after having reminded
her that he had already adored her for a long while, inquired if his
turn to be loved had not arrived.” The actress indignant at such
presumption, angrily retorted that “if he were ten times richer than he
was, she would not recognise his right to behave with such
impertinence”; and, with that, turned her back upon him.
It must not be supposed, however, that Mlle. Contat was indifferent to
riches, when the person who possessed them had other claims to her
regard; and, some months after the above episode, we find her
squandering right merrily the patrimony of the Marquis de Maupeou.
The Marquis de Maupeou was very rich and very much in love; never could
actress have desired a more generous admirer. He furnished a house for
her, loaded her with presents, and decked her with magnificent diamonds.
Moreover, he was as submissive as a slave, and obeyed without a murmur
her slightest caprice. But Mlle. Contat must have been even more
difficult to please than the generality of her sex, since even this
paragon of lovers did not long satisfy her. Perhaps his very devotion
and readiness to submit to her will constituted a fault in her eyes. Any
way, she dismissed him, and, though the lovelorn marquis “became so
distracted through grief, that he proposed to Mlle. Contat to marry her
and take her away from France,” she declined the offer.
For the lady had higher views. She had just made a conquest of the
second gentleman in the land after the King, Madame Lebrun’s “excellent
prince,” the Comte d’Artois, to wit. What woman could resist a Prince of
the Blood? Certainly not an actress of the Comédie-Française. To have
done so would have been to render herself guilty of _lèse-majesté_.
Mlle. Contat was a proud woman indeed. Nevertheless, there were days
when she regretted the time when the bottomless purse of the Marquis de
Maupeou had been at her disposal. For the liberality of her royal lover
was very far from being in accordance with what one might have expected
from so great a personage. If his revenues were large, he told her, his
expenses were enormous--it is probable that Mlle. Contat only possessed
a fraction of the august heart--and often he was hard put for even a
handful of louis.
The actress received these excuses in good part; but, being privately of
opinion that it was the will and not the means which the prince lacked,
had recourse to a little ruse, in order to stimulate his generosity.
On a piece of stamped paper she forged a judgment-summons, requiring her
to pay a sum of 10,000 livres, and left it, as if by accident, on her
chimney-piece. Soon afterwards, his Royal Highness, happening to call
upon his inamorata, caught sight of the paper and wished to read it.
Mlle. Contat begged him not to do so, and pretended to snatch it from
him; but, at length, with much apparent reluctance, permitted him to
satisfy his curiosity.
The prince read the document, said that the actress was very wrong not
to have taken him into her confidence in regard to her embarrassments,
and, having promised to take the debt upon himself, carried the summons
away with him. Next day, he sent her a letter, which she eagerly opened,
only to find, instead of the expected 10,000 livres, another legal
document, which provided that the warrant which she had been at such
pains to fabricate should not be put in force for twelve months.
Great was the lady’s disgust at the failure of her little scheme. For a
moment, she was almost resolved to forsake the parsimonious prince for a
less distinguished but more open-handed adorer. However, her indignation
did not last very long, as the following morning the Comte d’Artois, who
had only intended to indulge in a little joke at his mistress’s expense,
sent her, by way of compensation for her disappointment, a magnificent
present.
It was easy for a Prince of the Blood to be generous, in those days,
without untieing his purse-strings. Thus the count obtained for his
charming mistress an authorisation to play the prohibited game of
_biribi_ at her house, a privilege which the actress ceded to the keeper
of a tennis-court for the sum of one hundred louis a month. This
agreeable addition to her income, however, was not of long duration,
since, at the end of a few months, the Parliament of Paris made one of
its periodical onslaughts upon gambling-houses, and that of Mlle.
Contat was closed by orders of the Lieutenant of Police.
Misfortunes seldom come singly. Soon after the closing of the
gambling-house, Mlle. Contat presented the Comte d’Artois with a pledge
of her gratitude and affection in the shape of a little daughter. But,
by this time, the relations between the actress and the prince had
become somewhat strained. Perhaps, the latter had grown tired of the
lady’s extravagance and caprices; perhaps he had his doubts as to
whether he was the sole tenant of her heart, or possibly he was troubled
by retrospective scruples. However that may be, he forgot his promises
and declined to recognise the child, about whom we shall have something
to say hereafter.
After this, it is hardly surprising to learn that Mlle. Contat’s
connection with her august admirer came to a close, M. Desentelles, the
Intendant des Menus-Plaisirs, becoming the official successor of the
prince. We say _official_ successor, as it was rumoured in the _foyer_
of the Comédie-Française that the actor Fleury was by no means
indifferent to the charms of his fair colleague, and that he did not
sigh in vain.
Mlle. Contat’s rupture with the Comte d’Artois plunged the actress into
a sea of financial troubles. During their connection, she had, of
course, maintained an establishment befitting the mistress of the King’s
brother, and had contracted debts on a proportionate scale. So long as
there seemed a reasonable prospect of the prince taking these
liabilities on himself, her creditors had been complacent enough. But,
the moment they learned that the _liaison_ was at an end, they became
clamorous for payment and threatened executions and other unpleasant
methods of recovering their due. M. Desentelles and Fleury did their
best to pacify them, but that was little enough; and, in her despair,
Mlle. Contat was compelled to humiliate herself so far as to apply for
assistance to her former adorers: to the Marquis de Maupeou, whom she
had discarded, to the Comte d’Artois, who had discarded her. The marquis
and the prince responded nobly to the appeal, the latter sending her no
less than three thousand louis; and the most troublesome claims were
satisfied.
The favour of M. Desentelles lasted but a short while, and, after his
dismissal, Mlle. Contat seems to have had enough of gallantry, or, at
least, of official lovers. Fleury, however, remained always her faithful
and devoted friend, and speaks of her in his _Mémoires_ as a “good and
excellent sister.” He had done much to encourage her in the days when
jealous intrigues had relegated her to the background, and, in return,
he was indebted to her for the part which made his reputation as an
actor. With the piece which provided him with this opportunity Mlle.
Contat had become acquainted in rather a romantic way.
One afternoon, in the winter of 1788-1789, the actress was driving in a
whisky, a kind of vehicle then much affected by ladies of fashion.
Unfortunately for the safety of pedestrians, she held the reins with
considerably more grace than skill, and about the middle of the
Pont-Neuf narrowly escaped knocking down a middle-aged gentleman, who
was crossing the road. “Monsieur,” she exclaimed, pulling up sharply,
“pray what do you mean by running against my horse in that fashion?”
“Madame,” was the reply, “I really think that the horse ran against me.”
“Impossible, Monsieur. My horse is quite under control. Besides, I
called out ‘_gare!_.’ You never looked up.” “Madame,” said the
gentleman, with a profound _congé_, “you have more reason to cry
‘_gare_’ now that I do look up.”
Convinced, from his courtly manners and distinguished air, that the
stranger must be a personage of high rank, Mlle. Contat made several
attempts to ascertain his identity, but without success, and had
well-nigh forgotten the adventure, when one night, at the theatre, about
a month later, a note was brought to her. It was to the effect that the
gentleman who had had the privilege of a few moments’ conversation with
her on the Pont-Neuf wished to know whether, as a great favour, the
“modern Thalia” would devote a leisure hour to a rehearsal, at the
Comédie-Italienne, of a two-act piece in which he was greatly
interested. “Henri” was the signature.
Mlle. Contat at once repaired to the theatre mentioned; but found that
the author of the only play in preparation there was a comparatively
young man, a certain Baron Ernest von Manteufel, a relative of the last
Grand Duke of Courland. “_Ma foi!_” exclaimed she, to the composer
Dezède, who presented him to her, “I must explain my error in coming
hither.” And the letter was produced. The baron, on reading it, seemed
much moved. “Henri,” he cried, “ever noble, generous, and true!” “And to
me unknown,” remarked the actress, smiling. “Unknown, Mademoiselle? Why
all the world knows him!” “Nay, Monsieur, there is at least one person
in the world who is not in the secret, and that person is myself.” “Can
you possibly be unaware, Mademoiselle, that he is Prince Henry of
Prussia [brother of Frederick the Great].” “I breathe again,” said
Mademoiselle Contat. “Brother of a king and a hero into the bargain! I
pardon him for the sake of his _coup de théâtre_.” “And for the sake of
his recommendation,” the author continued, “I hope you will befriend
me.”
He then explained that he was in a serious difficulty. The success of
his first act depended upon the impersonation of a tavern-hostess. This
part he had, of course, intended for Madame Dugazon; but that lady had
declined it, on the ground that it was unworthy of her talents; and the
actress who was now studying it was plainly unequal to the task. Would
Mlle. Contat use her good offices to induce Madame Dugazon to reconsider
her decision.
Mlle. Contat declared such a negotiation impossible; to take a part from
an actress in possession of it, and force it upon one who had rejected
it would be a breach of the etiquette of her profession. But she sat out
the rehearsal, and saw at once that the piece, which was a _comédie à
ariettes_--music by Dezède--written round a pleasing little incident in
the life of Frederick the Great, which had very probably been related to
the author by Prince Henry of Prussia, might prove an immense success at
the Comédie-Française, and, moreover, provide her friend Fleury with one
of those “creations” which, when they succeed, establish the reputation
of an actor.
She accordingly talked the matter over with the author and Dezède, the
result being that the piece, which was entitled _Auguste et Théodore, ou
les Deux Pages_--it is known to fame by its sub-title--was transferred
from the “Italians” to the Comédie-Française, where it was produced on
March 6, 1789, Fleury playing the principal part, with Mlle. Contat as
the hostess of the tavern.
The anticipations of the actress were fully verified. _Les Deux Pages_
was received with the most unbounded enthusiasm; Fleury made of the
warrior king a masterpiece which placed him in the very front rank of
his profession;[157] while she herself, we are assured, was
“irresistible, her beauty and frank gaiety carrying all before them.”
But we are anticipating. Between the _Mariage de Figaro_ and the
production of _Les Deux Pages_ four years had elapsed--years in which
Louise Contat had confirmed the great reputation which her creation of
Suzanne had secured for her by a series of masterly impersonations. In
high comedy, indeed, she was supreme and without a rival. “In her hands
the fan became a sceptre. No one comprehended Molière better; no one
knew how to interpret more naturally the spirit of Marivaux. She was
reproached with a certain amount of affectation; but she knew how to
combine the haughty disposition of Célimène with the intelligent
vivacity of Dorine. Seductive voice, eloquent eye, charming smile,
infinite tact, amiable dignity, perfect knowledge of
situations--everything in her combined to enchant an audience. None of
the characteristics which distinguished the society of the old régime
had escaped her, and ‘from head to foot she was _grande dame_.’”[158]
Her triumphs were not confined to the capital. She made provincial
tours--tours which were one long series of ovations, in which crowns of
laurels were showered upon her, and thousands of complimentary verses
composed in her honour. Once, when playing with Molé, at Marseilles, the
following madrigal was addressed to them:
“Hier un enfant d’Hélicon
D’un secret important m’a donné connaissance.
Ami, les neuf sœurs d’Apollon
N’ont pas toujours été si chastes que l’on pense;
Thalie (ah! qui l’eût cru), sans bruit et sans éclat,
À deux enfants donna naissance,
L’un est Molé, l’autre est Contat.”
Like nearly all the members of her profession, Mlle. Contat was
exceedingly charitable, and this fact no doubt contributed not a little
to the immense popularity which she enjoyed with the playgoing public.
At Lyons, on one occasion, she gave a performance for the benefit of the
poor of the city, which realised between three and four thousand livres.
At Toulouse, where the ten performances originally arranged for had
failed to satisfy the enthusiasm of the public, she gave an eleventh,
and distributed the proceeds amidst the poor of Baréges, whither she was
proceeding to take the waters. Once, when visiting an asylum for persons
who had been born blind, to converse with the inmates and inscribe her
name on the list of benefactors, she was the recipient of a pretty
compliment from a blind poet, who improvised a quatrain, in which he
gallantly informed her that she should not so much pity those who had
lost their eyes, as those who had been made wretched by the lustre of
her own:
“Digne soutien de l’amiable Thalie,
Sur notre sort pourquoi vous attendrir,
S’il est quelques mortels qui maudissent la vie,
Ce sont que vos yeux ont réduits à souffrir...”
By right of her beauty, her talent, and her successes, Mlle. Contat
believed herself invested with the right of imposing her will upon her
comrades and dramatic authors. With the latter she was frequently at
variance. During the rehearsals of Alexandre Duval’s _Edouard en
Écosse_, she demanded some alteration in one of the scenes. The author
refused, declaring that the alteration in question would upset all his
combinations, and, on the actress insisting on his compliance with her
views, appealed to the other players, who, however, maintained a
discreet silence, having no mind to contradict their imperious comrade.
Beside herself with passion, the latter threw her part at the author’s
head, “swearing by all her gods that nothing should induce her to act in
any piece of his.” Duval, thereupon, took his manuscript from the hands
of the prompters, and stalked out of the theatre, coldly observing that
unless the piece was to be played as he had written it, it should not be
played at all. A reconciliation between actress and author was
subsequently effected, and the play produced, but, some time later,
Duval offended the lady beyond all hope of forgiveness, by daring to
offer to Madame Talma a part which she had marked for her own.[159]
Mlle. Contat’s jealousy, indeed, caused her to be anything but beloved
by her fair comrades at the Comédie-Française. Like Madame Saint-Huberty
at the Opera, she could not endure a rival on the stage. She absolutely
refused to be doubled, and, even when illness prevented her appearing,
it was only with the greatest difficulty that she could be persuaded to
allow any one to replace her.
Moreover, she not infrequently abused her position as queen of the
theatre, and her endeavours to push the fortunes of her sister, Émilie
Contat, to whom she was always deeply attached, at the expense of more
deserving young actresses, was a fruitful source of dissension. Émilie,
who had made her _début_, in the autumn of 1784, as Fanchette, in the
_Mariage de Figaro_, was very far from the “deplorable actress” which
Gaboriau declares her to have been[160], and in her rendering of the
soubrettes of Molière acquired some little distinction. At the same
time, she had no pretensions to be the equal of Mlle. Vanhove, who had
made her first appearance at the same time; and Mlle. Contat’s efforts
to secure precedence for her sister were strongly resented not only in
the theatre but outside it, and drew upon her many violent reproaches in
both prose and verse. Marie Antoinette herself intervened on behalf of
Mlle. Vanhove, whom she had taken under her protection, and secured for
her a part which Louise Contat had intended for her beloved Émilie. When
the all-powerful actress learnt that her wishes had been subordinated to
those of royalty, she exclaimed: “This Queen has a great deal of
influence!”
Nevertheless, Mlle. Contat was sincerely attached to the Royal Family,
and to Marie Antoinette in particular. One day, the Queen, who intended
to be present at a representation of the _Gouvernante_, sent her word
that she should like to see her play the principal rôle. The part was
suited neither to the age nor the talent of the lively actress, and was,
besides, a long and difficult one. She might, therefore, have fairly
begged to be excused, but, eager to please the Queen, she at once began
to study it. In less than two days, she had mastered the five hundred
verses of which it consisted, and obtained a great success. Writing to
one of her friends soon afterwards, she observed, in allusion to this
_tour de force_: “I was ignorant where the seat of memory lay; I know
now that it is in the heart.” This letter, found in 1793 among the
papers of a suspected person, was made one of the charges against Mlle.
Contat, when, in September of that year, she was arrested, with nearly
all the members of the Comédie-Française, but, thanks to the courage of
Labussière, she escaped the guillotine[161].
On her release from Sainte-Pélagie, Mlle. Contat returned to the
Comédie-Française, now called the Théâtre de l’Égalité, from which, in
June 1795, she migrated, with her colleagues, to the Théâtre-Feydeau.
After the bankruptcy of Sageret and the dispersal of the company he had
formed, she accepted an engagement at the Bordeaux theatre, whither
Fleury accompanied her. Here she not only acted, but frequently took
part in _opéra-comique_, and, having an agreeable and well-trained
voice, greatly delighted her audiences. The enthusiasm of the Bordelais,
both inside and outside the theatre, reached such a pitch as to become
positively dangerous for its object. Crowds gathered at the stage door
to witness her departure at the end of a performance. They surrounded
her, and followed her with such transports of delight that, at once
flattered and alarmed, she would press close to Fleury’s side and say,
with an air of comic gravity: “My friend, these people enchant me. Had
we not better call the guard?”
On the reconstitution of the Comédie-Française, in May 1799, Mlle.
Contat resumed her place in the company, and speedily regained all her
old popularity. Under the Directory and Consulate, indeed, she was more
than ever adored by the public and particularly by the youth of the
capital, “who, in their anxiety to applaud her, forgot to pay their
tailors’ bills.”
In these later years, Mlle. Contat, having become too “majestic” for the
Elmires and Célimènes, had been compelled to abandon the _emploi_ in
which she was still without a rival, to play young matrons. If she had
been admirable in her former répertoire, in her new rôles she is said to
have been absolutely inimitable, and, as Madame de Volmar, in the
_Mariage secret_, Julie, in the _Dissipateur_, and Madame Evrard, in the
_Vieux Célibataire_, to have reached the very perfection of her art.
* * * * *
The irregularities of Mlle. Contat’s youth, and the fact that she had a
daughter and two sons--the paternity of at least one of whom seems to
have been very much a matter of opinion--to remind the world of her
lapses from the path of rectitude, did not deprive her of the friendship
and esteem of many whose friendship and esteem were worth possessing.
That this should have been the case was due to two reasons: first, to
the fact that she had always been careful to observe some degree of
decorum in her gallantries and to cause herself to be regarded rather as
the victim of an excessive sensibility--a kind of Adrienne Lecouvreur,
in fact--than as a lady of easy virtue; and, secondly, to the very high
social qualities which she undoubtedly possessed--qualities in which she
was surpassed by few of her contemporaries.
In truth, Louise Contat was a species of _grande dame_, whose salon
partook of the appearance of the salons of former times; one of those
delightful rendezvous where the exquisite courtesy and tact of the
hostess never failed to place every member of the company, from the
highest to the lowest, immediately at his ease. To see the actress in
the midst of her guests must have been a useful object-lesson for any
lady who aspired to social popularity. “With what art she knew how to
talk to some the language of the Court of Marie Antoinette, to the
generals of their victories, to the orators, to the financiers, of their
ambitions or their affairs; to salute a marquis of thirty-six
quarterings with a sweeping courtesy, to carve an epigram, to improvise
a quatrain, to analyse a play!... So many qualities attracted,
conquered, and retained the most rebellious.”[162]