was useful as a spur which, put in motion by the example of others,
goaded him to do the work he would otherwise not have attempted. One
of his conceits was to pretend he was a natural son of a prince of the
House of Orléans--a very innocent conceit, as it did not harm anyone,
and nobody considered it a crime; for he used the influence he acquired
by his post at the Palais-Royal in rendering help to his friends, and
sometimes even to his enemies.... Just at this moment the information
I have been seeking concerning the last act of the Censorship has been
brought me.
Ah! my dear Victor Hugo, you who are busy trying to wrest from the
jury, before whom you are defending your son, the entire abolition
of the death penalty; make an exception in favour of the censor, and
stipulate that he shall be executed twice over at the next Revolution,
since once is not nearly enough.
I wish here to swear on my honour that what I am about to state is
actual truth.
CHAPTER VII
The house in the rue Chaillot--Four poets and a doctor--Corneille and
the Censorship--Things M. Faucher does not know--Things the President
of the Republic ought to know
In the year III of the Second French Republic, on the evening of 2
June, M. Louis Bonaparte being president, M. Léon Faucher minister, M.
Guizard director of the Fine Arts, the following incident occurred,
in a salon decorated with Persian draperies, on the ground floor of a
house in the rue de Chaillot.
Five or six persons were discussing art--a surprising fact at a time
when the sole topics of conversation were dissolution, revision and
prorogation. True, of these five persons four were poets, and one a
doctor who was almost a poet and entirely a man of culture. These four
poets were: first, Madame Émile de Girardin, mistress of the house in
the rue de Chaillot where the gathering took place; second, Victor
Hugo; third, Théophile Gautier; fourth, Arsène Houssaye. The doctor's
name was Cabarus.
The gentleman indicated under number four held several offices: perhaps
he was rather less of a poet than were the other three, but he was far
more of a business man, thus equalizing the balance; he was manager of
the Théâtre-Français, the resignation of which post he had already sent
in three times, and each time it had been refused.
You may perhaps ask why M. Arsène Houssaye was so ready to send in his
resignation.
There is a very simple answer: the members of the Théâtre-Français
company made his life so unendurable that the poet was ever ready
to send to the right about his demi-gods, his heroes, his kings,
his princes, his dukes, his marquises, his counts and his barons of
the rue de Richelieu, in order to re-engage his barons, his counts,
his marquises, his dukes, his princes, his kings, his heroes and
his demi-gods of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, whom he
knew and whose strings he could pull as though he were the Comte de
Saint-Germain, who was their familiar friend.
Now why should the members of the Théâtre-Français company make their
manager's life so hard? Because he made money, and nothing irritates a
member of the Théâtre-Français company so much as to see his theatre
_make money._ This may seem inexplicable to sensible folk: it is indeed
a mystery; but I have not set myself to explain the fact; I state it,
that is all.
Now, in his capacity as manager of the Théâtre-Français, M. Arsène
Houssaye thought of something which had not occurred to anyone else.
This was that as the day in question was 2 June 1851, in four days'
time--that is to say, on 6 June--it would be the two hundred and
forty-fourth anniversary of the birth of Corneille.
He translated his thought into words, and turning to Théophile Gautier,
he said, "Come now! my dear Théo, you must write for me some sixty
lines, for the occasion, upon the Father of Tragedy: it will be much
better than what is usually given us on such anniversaries, and the
public will not grumble."
Théophile Gautier pretended not to hear.
Arsène Houssaye repeated his request.
"Good gracious! no," said Gautier.
"Why not?"
"Because I do not know anything more tiresome to write than an official
panegyric, were it on the greatest poet in the world. Besides, the
greater the poet, the more difficult is it to praise him."
"You are mistaken, Théophile," said Hugo; "and if I were in a position
at this moment to do what Arsène asks, I would undertake it."
"Would you think of passing in review Corneille's twenty or thirty
plays? Would you have the courage to speak of _Mélite_, of _Clitandre_,
of the _Galerie du Palais_, of _Pertharite_, of _Œdipe_, of _Attila_,
of _Agésilas_?"
"No, I should not mention any one of them."
"Then you would not be extolling Corneille: when a poet is praised, you
must praise his bad work loudest of all; when one does not praise, it
savours of criticism."
"No," said Hugo, "I do not mean anything like that: I would not
undertake a vulgar eulogy. I would describe the agèd Corneille,
wandering through the streets of old Paris, on foot, with a shabby
cloak on his shoulders, neglected by Louis XIV., who was less generous
towards him than his persecutor Richelieu; getting his leaky shoes
mended at a poor cobbler's, whilst Louis XIV., reigning at Versailles,
was promenading with Madame de Montespan, Mademoiselle de la Vallière
and Madame Henriette, in the galleries of Le Brun or in the gardens of
Le Nôtre; then I would pay compensation to the poet's shade by showing
how posterity puts each one in his proper place and, as days are added
unto days, months to months and years to years, increases the poet's
fame and decreases the power of the king...."
"What are you looking for, Théophile?" asked Madame de Girardin of
Gautier, who had got up hastily.
"I am looking for my hat," said Gautier.
"Girardin is asleep on it," replied Cabarus drily.
"Oh, don't wake him," said Madame de Girardin. "It will make an
article!"
"Nevertheless, I cannot go without my hat," said Gautier.
"Where are you off to?" asked Arsène Houssaye.
"I am going to write you your lines, of course; you shall have them
to-morrow."
They pulled Théophile's hat from under Girardin's shoulders. It had
suffered by reason of its position; but what cared Théophile for the
condition of his hat?
He returned home and set to work. The next day, as he had promised,
Arsène Houssaye had the verses.
But both poet and manager had reckoned without the Censorship.
These are Théophile Gautier's lines on the great Corneille,--they were
forbidden by the dramatic censor, as I have said, in the year III
of the Second Republic, M. Louis Bonaparte being president, M. Léon
Faucher minister and M. Guizard director of the Fine Arts:--
"Par une rue étroite, au cœur du vieux Paris,
Au milieu des passants, du tumulte et des cris,
La tête dans le ciel et le pied dans la fange,
Cheminait à pas lents une figure étrange.
C'était un grand vieillard sévèrement drapé,
Noble et sainte misère, en son manteau râpé!
Son œil d'aigle, son front, argenté vers les tempes
Rappelaient les fiertés des plus mâles estampes;
Et l'on eut dit, à voir ce masque souverain,
Une médaille antique à frapper en airain.
Chaque pli de sa joue, austèrement creusée,
Semblait continuer un sillon de pensée,
Et, dans son regard noir, qu'éteint un sombre ennui,
On sentait que l'éclair autrefois avait lui.
Le vieillard s'arrêta dans une pauvre échoppe.
Le roi-soleil, alors, illuminait l'Europe,
Et les peuples baissaient leurs regards éblouis
Devant cet Apollon qui s'appelait Louis.
A le chanter, Boileau passait ses doctes veilles;
Pour le loger, Mansard entassait ses merveilles;
Cependant, en un bouge, auprès d'un savetier,
Pied nu, le grand Corneille attendait son soulier!
Sur la poussière d'or de sa terre bénie,
Homère, sans chaussure, aux chemins d'Ionie,
Pouvait marcher jadis avec l'antiquité,
Beau comme un marbre grec par Phidias sculpté;
Mais Homère, à Paris, sans crainte du scandale,
Un jour de pluie, eut fait recoudre sa sandale.
Ainsi faisait l'auteur d_'Horace_ et de _Cinna_,
Celui que de ses mains la muse couronna,
Le fier dessinateur, Michel-Ange du drame,
Qui peignit les Romains si grands, d'après son âme.
O pauvreté sublime! ô sacré dénûment!
Par ce cœur héroique accepté simplement!
Louis, ce vil détail que le bon goût dédaigne,
Ce soulier recousu me gâte tout ton règne.
A ton siècle en perruque et de luxe amoureux,
Je ne pardonne pas Corneille malheureux.
Ton dais fleurdelisé cache mal cette échoppe;
De la pourpre où ton faste à grands plis s'enveloppe,
Je voudrais prendre un pan pour Corneille vieilli,
S'éteignant, pauvre et seul, dans l'ombre et dans l'oubli.
Sur le rayonnement de toute ton histoire,
Sur l'or de ton soleil c'est une tache noire,
O roi! d'avoir laissé, toi qu'ils ont peint si beau,
Corneille sans souliers, Molière sans tombeau!
Mais pourquoi s'indigner! Que viennent les années,
L'équilibre se fait entre les destinées;
A sa place chacun est remis par la mort:
Le roi rentre dans l'ombre, et le poëte en sort!
Pour courtisans, Versaille a gardé ses statues;
Les adulations et les eaux se sont tues;
Versaille est la Palmyre où dort la royauté.
Qui des deux survivra, génie ou majesté?
L'aube monte pour l'un, le soir descend sur l'autre;
Le spectre de Louis, au jardin de Le Notre,
Erre seul, et Corneille, éternel comme un Dieu,
Toujours sur son autel voit reluire le feu,
Que font briller plus vif en ses fêtes natales
Les générations, immortelles vestales.
Quand en poudre est tombé le diadème d'or,
Son vivace laurier pousse et verdit encor;
Dans la postérité, perspective inconnue,
Le poëte grandit et le roi diminue!"
Now let us have a few words on this matter, Monsieur Guizard, for you
did not reckon things would end here; you did not hope to escape at
the cost of a few words written with a double meaning, inserted in a
newspaper printed yesterday, published to-day and forgotten on the
morrow.
No, when such outrages are perpetrated upon art, it is meet that the
culprit should be deprived of his natural judges and taken to a higher
court, as your models carried Trélat and Cavaignac to the House of
Peers, as your friends carried Raspail, Hubert and Sobrier to the Court
of Bourges. And I call upon you to appear, Monsieur Guizard, you who
took the place of my friend Cavé, as superintendent of the department
of Fine Arts.
Look you, now that things are being cut down all round, has not
a letter been economised in the description of your office? and
instead of being responsible for the _department_, are you not really
responsible for the _departure_ of the Fine Arts? Moreover, I have
something to relate that passed between us, three months ago. Do you
remember I had the honour of paying you a visit, three months ago? I
came to give you notice, on behalf of the manager of the Cirque, that
while we were waiting for the _Barrière de Clichy_ we were going to put
the _Chevalier de Maison-Rouge_ in rehearsal.
"The _Chevalier de Maison-Rouge_!" you exclaimed.
"Yes."
"But is not the _Chevalier de Maison-Rouge_ a drama written by
yourself?"
"Yes."
"Is it not in the _Chevalier de Maison-Rouge_ that the famous chorus
occurs--
'Mourir pour la patrie'?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, we will not allow the _Chevalier de Maison-Rouge_ to be
played."
"You will not allow the _Chevalier de Maison-Rouge_ to be played?"
"No, no, no, no, no!"
"But why not?"
Then you looked me in the face and you said to me--
"Do you mean to tell me you do not know that the _Chevalier de
Maison-Rouge_ contributed to the establishment of the Republic?"
You said that to me, Monsieur Guizard! You made that extraordinary
avowal to me, in the year III of the Republic! M. Léon Faucher being
minister of the Republic! you, Monsieur Guizard, being director of the
Fine Arts of the Republic!
I was so astounded at the reply that I could find nothing else to say
than "How the devil does it come about that I, who lost nearly 200,000
francs by the coming of the Republic, am a Republican, whilst you, who
gained thereby a post bringing you in 12,000, are a Reactionary?"
True, you did not condescend to explain this anomaly: I left your
office without discovering a reason, and now, as I write these lines, I
am still at a loss for one!
Now, in the hope that someone more clever than I at guessing riddles
might be found, I decided to print what happened to me, three months
ago, side by side with what happened to Gautier to-day!
What can one expect? Every man makes use of the tool or of the
instrument he has in his hand: some have scissors, and they cut; others
have an engraver's tool, and they etch.
What I write, I warn you, M. Guizard, is translated into eight or nine
different languages. So we shall have the assistance of learned men in
many lands to help us in our researches, and the archæologists of three
generations; for, suppose my works live no longer than the time it
will take for rats to devour them, it will take those creatures quite
a hundred years to eat my thousand volumes. You may tell me that the
order to stop M. Théophile Gautier's verses came from a higher source,
from the minister. To that I have nothing to say: if the order came
from the minister, you were obliged to obey that order. And I must in
that case wend my way to M. Léon Faucher. So be it!
O Faucher! is it really credible that you, who are so halfhearted a
Republican, you who were so ill-advised, according to my opinion, as to
pay a subsidy to the Théâtre-Français to have the dead exhumed and, the
living buried,--is it really credible, I repeat, that so indifferent
a Republican as yourself, did not wish it said, on the stage that
Corneille created, that genius is higher than royalty, and that
Corneille was greater as a poet than Louis XIV. was as a monarch?
But, M. Faucher, you know quite as well as I that Louis XIV. was only a
great king because he possessed great ministers and great poets.
Perhaps you will tell me that great ministers and poets are created by
great kings?
No, M. Faucher, you will not say that; for I shall retort, "Napoleon,
who was a great emperor, had no Corneille, and Louis XIII., who was a
pitiable king, could boast a Richelieu."
No, M. le ministre, Louis XIV., believe me, was only great as a king
because (and Michelet, one of the greatest historians who ever lived,
will tell you exactly the same) Richelieu was his precursor, whilst
Corneille's precursor was ... who? Jodelle.
Corneille did not need either Condé, or Turenne, or Villars, or de
Catinat, or Vauban, or Mazarin, or Colbert, or Louvois, or Boileau,
or Racine, or Benserade, or Le Brun, or Le Nôtre, or even M. de
Saint-Aignan to help him to become a great poet.
No; Corneille took up a pen, ink and paper; he only had to lean his
head upon his hand and his poetry came.
Had you but read Théophile Gautier's lines, M. le ministre,--but I am
sure you have not read them,--you must have seen that these verses are
not merely the finest Théophile Gautier ever penned, but the finest
ever written since verses came to be written. You must have seen that
their composition was excellent and their ideas above reproach. A
certain emperor I knew--one whom apparently you did not know--would
have sent the officer's Cross of the Legion of Honour and a pension to
a man who had written those verses.
You, M. le ministre, sent orders that Théophile Gautier's lines were
not to be read on the stage of the Théâtre-Français!
But perhaps this order came from higher authority still? Perhaps it
came from the President of the Republic?
If it came from the President of the Republic, it is another matter
... and it is with the President of the Republic that I must settle my
grievance.
I shall not take long in dealing with the President of the Republic.
"Ah! M. le président de la République," I shall say to him, "you
who have forgotten so many things in the overwhelming rush of state
affairs, have you, by any chance, forgotten what Monsieur your uncle
said of the author of the _Cid_, 'If Corneille had lived in my time, I
would have made him a prince.'"
Now that I have said to the President of the Republic, to M. le
Ministre de l'Intérieur, and to M. le Chef de Division Chargé du
Département des Beaux-Arts, what I had it in my mind to say, let us
return to the year 1823, which also possessed its Censorship, but one
that was much less severe than that of 1851.
BOOK V
CHAPTER I
Chronology of the drama--Mademoiselle Georges Weymer--Mademoiselle
Raucourt--Legouvé and his works--Marie-Joseph Chénier--His letter
to the company of the Comédie-Française--Young boys _perfectionnés_
--Ducis--His work
Now the Royalist reaction of which we were speaking--before we
interrupted ourselves to address the high public functionaries who had
the honour of appearing before our readers in the last chapter--did
not only strike at literary men, but it hit out cruelly, bitterly and
mortally at public men. It began by the expulsion of Manuel from the
Chamber; it closed with the execution of Riégo. But I must confess I
was not so much occupied at that time with the quarrels of the Chamber,
or the Spanish War, or the fête that Madame de Cayla (who was very
kind to me later) gave to Saint-Ouen to celebrate the return of Louis
XVIII., or the death of Pope Pius VII.; there were two events which
were quite as important to my thinking: the first production of Lucien
Arnault's _Pierre de Portugal_, and that of the _École des Vieillards_,
by Casimir Delavigne. Although the dramatic statistics for the year
1823 showed a total production of 209 new plays and of 161 authors
acted, the best theatres, especially during the first nine months of
the year, presented but a sorry show, and were very far removed from
reaching the level of the preceding year.
Thus, on 26 April, 1822, the Odéon had produced _Attila_ by M.
Hippolyte Bis. On 5 June the Théâtre-Français played Lucien Arnault's
_Régulus._ On 14 June the Odéon played the _Macchabées_ by M. Guiraud:
Frédérick Lemaître, who belonged to the Cirque, played one of the
brothers Macchabées. On 7 November the Théâtre-Français produced M.
Soumet's _Clytemnestre_, in which Talma gave a realistic representation
of the tragic and unhappy fate of Orestes. On 9 November the Odéon put
on its boards the same author's _Saül,_ in which Joanny first began
to make his reputation. Finally, on 21 December, the Théâtre-Français
produced _Valérie_, by MM. Scribe and Mélesville. As against all these
new plays, the year 1823 only offered us the comedy of l'_Éducation
ou les Deux Cousines_ by M. Casimir Bonjour, and _Comte Julien_ by M.
Guiraud.
_L'Éducation ou les Deux Cousines_ is M. Casimir Bonjour's best comedy;
but M. Casimir Bonjour's best comedy had the option of being a feeble
production, and it exercised that option.
While _Comte Julien_ was honest, careful work, as were all the
author's plays, its principal attraction was that the company acting
it contained Mademoiselle Georges, who made her reappearance in Paris
after an absence of four or five years. Mademoiselle Georges was
extremely beautiful at that period, and still had _all her diamonds._
Those who knew Harel and the fantastic posters he invented know
the part which Mademoiselle Georges' diamonds played in the rôles
Mademoiselle Georges acted.
I have told my readers that as celebrated characters appear in these
Memoirs I will describe them all as clearly as I can, in the light of
contemporary knowledge; some of them only shone for a very short time
and their light is now extinguished for ever. But what I have to say
about them will be all the more interesting on that account, for what
follows describes my first impressions of them, when they were in the
zenith of their popularity.
We have remarked that the age of any living actress is not to be
known; but reckoning from the year when Mademoiselle Georges made
her début--that is to say, from 29 November 1802--she must have been
thirty-eight in 1823. Just a word to explain how Mademoiselle Georges
gained access to the theatre and how she managed to remain on the
boards. Loved by Bonaparte, and retained in his favour when he became
Napoleon, Mademoiselle Georges, who begged to be allowed to accompany
Napoleon to Saint-Helena, is almost a historical personage.
Towards the close of the year 1800 and the beginning of 1801
Mademoiselle Raucourt, who was leading lady in tragedy at the
Théâtre-Français, went on tour in the provinces. This was at a time
when although Government had plenty to do, it was not ashamed to
concern itself with the arts in its spare moments. Mademoiselle
Raucourt had therefore received orders from the Government to look out
for any pupil during her tour whom she might think worth instruction,
and to bring her back to Paris. This young lady was to be considered
the pupil of the Government, and would receive a grant of 1200 francs.
Mademoiselle Raucourt stopped at Amiens. There she discovered a
beautiful young girl of fifteen years of age who looked to be eighteen;
you might have thought that the Venus of Milo had descended from her
pedestal. Mademoiselle Raucourt, who was almost as classic in her
tastes as the Lesbian Sappho, admired statuesque beauty immensely. When
she saw the way this young girl walked--her gait that of the goddess,
to use Virgil's phrase--the actress made inquiries and found that her
name was Georges Weymer; that she was the daughter of a German musician
named Georges Weymer, manager of the theatre, and of Mademoiselle
Verteuil the actress who played the chambermaid parts.
This young lady was destined for tragedy. Mademoiselle Raucourt
made her play Élise, with her, in _Didon_, and Aricie in _Phèdre._
The experiment succeeded, and the very night of the performance of
_Phèdre,_ Mademoiselle Raucourt asked the young tragédienne's parents'
leave to take her.
The prospect of being a Government pupil, and, better still, the pupil
of Mademoiselle Raucourt, was, with the exception of some slight
drawbacks in the way of regulations to which the young girl had
perforce to agree, too tempting an offer in the eyes of her parents to
be refused. The request was granted, and Mademoiselle Georges departed,
followed by her mother. The lessons lasted eighteen months. During
these eighteen months the young pupil lived in a poor hotel in the rue
Croix-des-Petits-Champs, which, probably ironically, was named the
_hôtel du Pérou._
Mademoiselle Raucourt lived at the end of the allée des Veuves, in a
magnificent house which had belonged to Madame Tallien and which, no
doubt also ironically, was called _The Cottage (la Chaumière)._ We have
called Mademoiselle Georges' residence "a magnificent house": we should
also have said "a small house," for it was a perfect specimen of a
bijou villa in the style of Louis XV.
Towards the end of the eighteenth century--that strange epoch when
people called things by their right names--Sapho-Raucourt enjoyed a
reputation the originality of which she took not the least pains to
hide.
Mademoiselle Raucourt's attitude towards men was more than
indifference, it was hatred. The writer of these lines has in his
possession a memorandum signed by this famous actress which is a
regular war-cry against the masculine sex, and in which the modern
Queen of the Amazons calls upon every lovely warrior enrolled under her
orders to open rupture with men.
Nothing could be more odd than the form and, above all, the
subject-matter of this manifesto. And yet, strange to relate, in
spite of this contempt towards us, Mademoiselle Raucourt, whenever
the costume of her sex was not indispensable to her, adopted that of
our sex. Thus, very often, in the morning, Mademoiselle Raucourt gave
lessons to her beautiful pupil in trousers, with a dressing-gown over
them,--just as M. Molé or M. Fleury would have done,--a pretty woman by
her side who addressed her as "dear fellow," and a charming child who
called her "papa."
We did not know Mademoiselle Raucourt,--she died in 1814, and her
funeral created a great sensation,--but we knew her mother, who died
in 1832 or 1833; and we still know the _childy_ who is to-day a man of
fifty-five.
We were acquainted with an actor whose whole career was blighted by
Mademoiselle Raucourt on account of some jealousy he had the misfortune
to arouse in the terrible Lesbian. Mademoiselle Raucourt appealed to
the Committee of the Théâtre-Français, reminded them of her rights of
possession and of priority in respect of the girl whom the impertinent
comedian wished to seduce from her, and, the priority and the
possession being recognised, the impudent comedian, who is still living
and is one of the most straightforward men imaginable, was hounded
out of the theatre, the members of the company believing that, as in
the case of Achilles, Mademoiselle Raucourt, because of this modern
Briseis, would retire in sulks.
Let us return to the young girl, whose mother never left her a
single instant during the visits she paid to her teacher: three
times a week had she to traverse the long distance between the rue
Croix-des-Petits-Champs and the allée des Veuves in order to take
her lessons. Her first appearances were fixed to take place at the
end of November. They were to be in _Clytemnestre_, in _Émilie,_ in
_Aménaïde_, in _Idamé_, in _Didon_ and in _Sémiramis._
A début at the Théâtre-Français in 1802 was a great affair both for
the artiste and for the public; it was a still greater matter to be
received into the company; for if one joined the troupe, it meant,
in the case of a man, becoming a colleague of Monvel, of Saint-Prix,
of Baptiste senior, of Talma, of Lafond, of Saint-Phal, of Molé, of
Fleury, of Armand, of Michot, of Grandménil, of Dugazon, of Dazincourt,
of Baptiste junior, of la Rochelle; in the case of a woman, one became
the companion of Mademoiselle Raucourt, of Mlle. Contat, of Mlle.
Devienne, Mlle. Talma, of Mlle. Fleury, of Mlle. Duchesnois, of Mlle.
Mézeray, of Mlle. Mars.
The authors of this period were: Legouvé, Lemercier, Arnault, Alexandre
Duval, Picard, Chénier and Ducis. Of these seven men I knew four:
Arnault, whose portrait I have attempted to draw; Lemercier and
Alexandre Duval, whose splenetic likenesses I shall try to describe in
due season; then came Picard, who was called the friend of youth, but
who detested young people. Legouvé, Chénier and Ducis were dead when I
came to Paris.
Legouvé was very influential at the Théâtre-Français. He it was who,
when Mademoiselle Georges made her first appearance, was directing the
débuts of Mademoiselle Duchesnois with an almost fatherly affection;
he had produced the _Mort d'Abel_ in 1793, a patriarchal tragedy which
owed its success, first to the talent of the author, secondly and more
especially, to its opposition to current events. It was played between
the execution of Louis XVI. and that of Marie-Antoinette, between the
September Massacres and the execution of the Girondists; it distracted
people's minds for the moment from the sight of the blood which flowed
down the gutters. When they had witnessed all day long bodies hanging
from the lamp-posts and heads carried on the ends of pikes, they were
not sorry to spend their evening with shepherds and shepherdesses. Nero
crowned himself with roses and sang Ionic verses after watching Rome
burn.
In 1794 Legouvé had produced _Épicharis._ The last act contained a very
fine monologue, which he certainly had not created himself, but which
he had borrowed from a page of Mercier. This final act made the success
of the play. I heard Talma declaim the monologue in his pompous style.
Finally, in 1799, Legouvé had produced _Étéocle. Étéocle_ was a
failure, or nearly so; and, seeing this, instead of providing a fresh
tragedy for the Théâtre-Français, Legouvé introduced a new tragic
actress. Mademoiselle Duchesnois had just completed her exceedingly
successful début when Mademoiselle Georges made her first appearance.
As I have promised to speak in due course of Lemercier, Alexandre Duval
and Picard, I will now finish what I have to say about Chénier and
Ducis, of whom I shall probably not have occasion to speak again.
Marie-Joseph Chénier possessed singular conceit. I have a dozen of his
letters before me, written about _Charles IX._; I will pick out one
which is a model of naïvete: it will show from what standpoint men whom
certain critics have the audacity to call masters, and who probably
are masters in their eyes, look upon historic tragedy.
The letter was addressed to French comedians: it was intended to
make them again take up _Charles IX.,_ which those gentlemen refused
absolutely to play. Why did not French comedians want to play _Charles
IX.,_ since _Charles IX._ made money? Ah! I must whisper the reason in
your ear, or rather, say it out loud: it was because Talma's part in it
was such an enormous success. Here is the letter:--
"Pressed on all sides, gentlemen, by the friends
of liberty, several of whom are of the number
of confederated deputies, to give at once a few
representations of _Charles IX.,_ I ask you to announce
the thirty-fourth appearance of this tragedy on your
play-bills, for one day next week, independently of
another work that I have composed to celebrate the
anniversary of the Federation.
You may like to know that I intend to add _several lines
applicable to this interesting event,_ in the part of the
Chancellor of the Hospital, for I am always anxious to
pay my tribute as a citizen; and you, gentlemen, could
not show your patriotism on this occasion in a better
way than by playing the only _truly national_ tragedy
which still exists in France, a tragedy philosophical in
subject, and worthy of the stage, even in the opinion of
M. de Voltaire, who, you will admit, knew what he was
talking about. In this tragedy I have made a point of
_sounding the praises of the citizen king_ who governs us
to-day.--Accept my sincere regards," etc.
Can you imagine the Chancellor of the Hospital lauding the Fete of the
Federation, and Charles IX. singing the praises of Louis XVI.?
Ah well!...
Chénier had made his début in _Charles IX.,_ which he wanted to have
reproduced, and its reproduction caused Danton and Camille Desmoulins
to be taken before the police magistrate, accused of having got up
conspiracies in the pit. _Henri VIII._ followed _Charles IX._ with
similar success. Two years after _Henri VIII., Calas_ was produced.
Finally, on 9 January 1793, at the height of Louis XVI.'s trial, and
some days before that poor king's death, Chénier produced _Fénélon,_,
a rose-water tragedy, of the same type as the _Mort d'Abel_, which had
that kind of success one's friends term a triumph, and one's enemies a
failure.
Chénier counted on reviving his success by _Timoléon_. But Robespierre,
who had heard the work talked of, read it and stopped it. Listen, you
wielders of the Censorship! Robespierre trod in your footsteps; he
stopped _Timoléon_ as your confrères, before him, had stopped _Tartufe_
to no purpose; _Mahomet_, to no purpose; _Mariage de Figaro_, to no
purpose; and so we come at last to you, who have stopped _Pinto_ to no
purpose, _Marion Delorme_ to no purpose, and _Antony_ to no purpose.
Robespierre, we repeat, stopped _Timoléon_, declaring that, as long as
he was alive, the piece should never be played. Yes, but Robespierre
proved himself ignorant of the temper of the age in which he and his
contemporaries lived; he counted without 9 Thermidor.... Robespierre
followed Danton to the scaffold, and _Timoléon_ was played.
Unfortunately, two days before Robespierre, death claimed the
sweet-voiced swan whom men called André Chénier, a poet even as his
brother, though of a different make, and no writer of tragedies.
How was it that Marie-Joseph Chénier found time to look after the
rehearsals of his tragedy, so soon after Thermidor, and immediately
upon the death of his brother?
Ah! André was only his brother, and _Timoléon_ was his child.
But many-headed Nemesis was watching over the forgotten poet and
preparing a terrible vengeance. _Timoléon_ killed his brother, and
Chénier was accused of not having saved his.
Cries were raised for the name of the author.
"No need!" cried a voice from the pit. "The author's name is _Cain_!"
From that day Chénier renounced the theatre, although there were
rumours of two plays lying waiting to come forth some day from his
portfolio, called _Tibère_ and _Philippe II._
Ducis succeeded Chénier.
After the death of Beaumarchais--who had written two charming comedies
of intrigue and three poor dramas--Ducis became the patriarch of
literature.
There was in Rome, under all the popes down to the days of Gregory
XVI., who had them removed, a sign over certain surgeon's doors with
the inscription--
"Ici on _perfectionne_ les petits garçons."
The reader will understand what that means: parents who desired that
their boys should remain beardless, and possess pretty voices, took
their children to these establishments, and by a twist of the hand they
were ... _perfectionnés_.
Ducis did to Sophocles and to Shakespeare pretty much what Roman
surgeons did to small boys. Those who like smooth chins and sweet
voices may prefer the _Œdipe-roi, Œdipe à Colone, Hamlet, Macbeth,
Roméo and Juliet_ and _Othello_ of Ducis, to the _Œdipus_ of
Sophocles and the _Hamlet, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet_ and _Othello_
of Shakespeare; but we must confess that we like Nature in all her
virility, that we think the stronger a man is, the more beautiful he
is and that we prefer entire dramas to castrated ones: this being
so, whether in the case of small boys or of tragedies, we hold all
_perfectionnement_ to be sacrilege. But let us give Ducis his due. He
led the way to Sophocles by a poor road, to Shakespeare by a narrow
path; but, at all events, he left those guide-posts by the way,
which Voltaire had taken such pains to remove. When Voltaire made a
veil for Zaire out of Desdemona's handkerchief, he was very careful
to obliterate the mark on the linen he stole. This was more than
imitation--it was theft.
In the period that elapsed between 1769 and 1795, Ducis produced
_Hamlet, Œdipe chez Admète, King Lear, Macbeth, Othello_ and _Abufar._
This was the condition of the Théâtre-Français, this was the state of
French literature, in the year of grace 1802, when Napoleon Bonaparte
was First Consul, and Cambacérès and Lebrun were assistant consuls.
CHAPTER II
Bonaparte's attempts at discovering poets--Luce de Lancival
--Baour-Lormian--_Lebrun-Pindare_--Lucien Bonaparte, the author--Début
of Mademoiselle Georges--The Abbé Geoffroy's critique--Prince
Zappia--Hermione at Saint-Cloud
Let us here insert a word or two about Bonaparte's little Court. We are
writing memoirs now, and not novels; we must therefore replace fiction
by truth, plot by digressions and intrigue by desultory pages.
Oh! if only some man had left us information about the sixteenth,
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, such as I have attempted to leave
about the nineteenth, how I should have blessed him, and what hard work
he would have spared me!
A few words, therefore, as I have hinted, about Bonaparte and his
little Court.
The début of Mademoiselle Georges had made a great sensation at Paris
and at la Malmaison. Formerly, one would have said at Paris and at
Versailles,--but Versailles was no more in 1802.
The First Consul and his family were greatly interested in literature
at that time. Bonaparte's favourite poets were at the two extremes of
art, Corneille and Ossian: Corneille as representative of the powers of
the intellect, Ossian in the realms of imagination. So Corneille and
Ossian took the most prominent place among the poets who figured in the
catalogue of his Egyptian library. This partiality for the Scottish
bard was so well known that Bourrienne, when he organised the library,
guessed who was meant, though Bonaparte had written the word "_Océan_."
It was not Bonaparte's fault if poets failed him, although he had
proscribed three of the greatest of his time: Chateaubriand, Madame
de Staël and Lemercier. Bonaparte demanded poets from the Chancellor
of the University, just as he demanded soldiers from his Minister for
War. Unhappily, it was easier for M. le Duc de Feltre to find 300,000
conscripts than for M. de Fontanes to find a dozen poets. So Napoleon
was obliged to hang on to all he could find, to Lebrun, to Luce de
Lancival, to Baour-Lormian: they all had posts and incomes as though
they were true poets--in addition to compliments.
"You have written a fine tragedy," Napoleon once said to Luce de
Lancival, about his _Hector_: "I will have it played in one of my
camps." And on the night of the representation he authorised a pension
of six thousand francs to be granted Luce de Lancival, with the
message, "seeing that poets are always in need of money," he should be
paid a year in advance. Read _Hector_ and you will see that it was not
worth the first payment of six thousand francs. Napoleon also placed
Luce de Lancival's nephew, Harel, under Cambacérès, and made him a
sub-prefect in 1815.
Baour-Lormian also received a pension of six thousand livres; but
according to the witty complaint he laid before the Bourbons concerning
the persecutions of the usurper, despotism had been pushed "to the
extreme of punishing him with a pension of two thousand crowns," which,
he adds, admitting his weakness, he had not dared to decline.
One day--during the rumours of war that were spread abroad in the year
1809--an ode fell into Napoleon's hands which began with this strophe:--
"Suspends ici ton vol.... D'où viens-tu, Renommée?
Qu'annoncent tes cent voix à l'Europe alarmée?...
--Guerre!--Et quels, ennemis veulent être vaincus?
--Russe, Allemand, Suédois déjà lèvent la lance;
Ils menacent la France!
--Reprends ton vol, déesse, et dis qu'ils ne sont plus!"
This beginning struck him, and he asked--
"Whose verses are these?"
"M. Lebrun's, sire."
"Has he a pension already?"
"Yes, sire."
"Add a second pension of one hundred louis to that which he already
has."
And they added one hundred louis to the pension already drawn by
Lebrun, who went by the name of _Lebrun-Pindare_, because he turned out
ten thousand lines of this kind of thing:--
"La colline qui vers le pôle
Domine d'antiques marais,[1]
Occupe les enfants d'Éole[2]
A broyer les dons de Cérès;[3]
Vanvres, qu'habite Galatée,[4]
Du nectar d'Io, d'Amalthée,
Epaissit les flots écumeux;
Et Sèvres, de sa pure argile,
Nous pétrit l'albâtre fragile
Où Moka nous verse ses feux."[5]
But something happened that no one had foreseen: there lived another
poet called Pierre Lebrun--not Lebrun-Pindare. The ode was written
by Pierre Lebrun, not by Lebrun-Pindare. So it came to pass that
Lebrun-Pindare enjoyed for a long time the pension earned by Pierre
Lebrun. Thus we see that Napoleon did his utmost to discover poets, and
that it was not his fault if they were not found.
When Casimir Delavigne published his first work in 1811, a dithyrambic
to the King of Rome, it began with this line:--
"Destin, qui m'as promis l'empire de la terre!"
Napoleon scented a poet, and, although the lines smacked of the
schoolboy, he bestowed the academic prize and a post in the excise on
the author.
Talma was poetry personified. So, since 1792, Napoleon had allied
himself with Talma. Where did he spend his evenings? In the wings
of the Théâtre-Français; and more than once, pointing out the man
who, twenty years later, was to send from Moscow his famous decree
concerning comedians, the porter asked Talma--
"Who is that young officer?"
"Napoleon Bonaparte."
"His name is not down on the free list."
"Never mind; he is one of my friends: he comes with me." "Oh, if he is
with you, that is another matter."
Later, Talma had, in his turn, the run of the Tuileries, and more than
one ambassador, more than one prince, more than one king asked the
emperor--
"Sire, who is that man?"
And Napoleon would reply--
"He is Talma, one of my friends."
Once, when noticing the ease with which Talma draped himself in his
toga, Napoleon said, "That man will be able to teach me one day how to
wear the imperial mantle."
It was not all joy to have a First Consul who liked Corneille and
Ossian; this First Consul had brothers who tried to become poets.
They did not succeed; but, at all events, they made the attempt. We
must give credit to good intentions. Lucien wrote poetry. The fierce
Republican--who refused kingships, and who ended by allowing himself
to be made a Roman prince: a prince of what? I ask you! Prince de
Petit-Chien (_Canino_),--wrote poetry. A poem of his, entitled
_Charlemagne_, remains to remind us of him, or rather, it does not
remain, for it is dead enough. Louis took up another line: he wrote
blank verse, finding it easier than to compose rhymed verse. He
travestied Molière's _l'Avare_ in this fashion. Joséphine, the creole
coquette, with her nonchalant grace and her adaptable mind, welcomed
everyone, letting the world spin as it liked around her, like Hamlet
and, like Hamlet, praising everybody.
Talma was a privileged guest in the little bourgeois Court. He talked
of the débutante, Mademoiselle Georges; he spoke of her beauty and
promising talent. Lucien became excited over her, and for all the
world like John the Baptist in the rôle of a precursor, he managed to
have a peep at the subject of the talk of the day, through a keyhole
somewhere, or mayhap through a wide open door, and he returned to
Malmaison, with a rather suspicious enthusiasm, to report that the
débutante's physical beauty was certainly below the praises sung
concerning it.
The great day arrived--Monday, 8th Frimaire, year XI (29 November
1802). There had been a crowd waiting outside the Théâtre de la
République since eleven o'clock in the morning.
Here, with the reader's permission, we will introduce Geoffroy's
account. Geoffroy was a worthless, shallow, unconscientious critic, who
had won his reputation at the time of the Terror, and who handed on his
pen to a wretch of his own kidney, to whom justice had several times
been dealt by the police courts;-a way of dealing with things which
seems to me to be a great improvement on the times of our forefathers.
We cannot possibly have degenerated in everything!
Geoffroy did not spoil débutants, male or female, especially if they
were not wealthy. Hear what this sometime prince of critics had to say
about Mademoiselle Georges.
There has always been a man called the prince of critics in France.
It is not the rank that is called in question, but the dignity of the
particular holder of it.
THÉÂTRE DE LA RÉPUBLIQUE
_Iphigénie en Aulide_
Pour le début de Mademoiselle Georges Weymer
élève de Mademoiselle Raucourt
"Sufficient measures were not taken to control the
extraordinary crowd which so famous a début attracted.
All the police were busily engaged at the box offices
during the sale of tickets, while the entrance doors
were almost unprotected and sustained a terrific siege.
Assaults were attempted of which I could render a tragic
account, for I was both a spectator and an involuntary
actor therein. Chance threw me into the melee before I
was acquainted with the danger.
... Quæque ipse miserrima vidi,
Et quorum pars magna fui!'
"The assailants were inspired with the desire to see
the new actress, and filled with the enthusiasm which a
celebrated beauty always rouses. In such cases curiosity
is nothing short of an insane and savage passion. Such
scenes are orgies of ferocity and barbarism. Women,
suffocating, uttered piercing shrieks, while men forgot
all manners and gallantry in a savage silence, intent
only on opening a passage at the expense of all who
surrounded them. Nothing can be more indecorous than
such struggles, taking place in an enlightened and
philosophical nation; nothing can be more shameful among
a free and an unselfish people. We may perhaps have
better plays and better actors than the Athenians,--that
is not yet sufficiently established,--but it is certain
that the Athenians displayed greater dignity and nobility
at their public entertainments. I view the rapid progress
of the passion for theatre-going, the blind furore for
frivolous amusement, with ever increasing pain, since
history teaches me that it is an infallible sign of
intellectual decadence and a decline in manners. It is
also a calamity for true connoisseurs, for it lends
countenance to the theory that the plays most run after
must necessarily be the best...."
Would my readers have suspected that the famous Geoffroy could write in
such a style?--No?--Well, neither would I.
Let us proceed. As we advance, its dulness ceases: it becomes almost
fanciful.
"When King Priam's councillors saw Helen pass by, they
exclaimed, 'Such a beautiful princess is indeed worth
fighting for; but, however marvellous her beauty, peace
is more to be desired.'
"And when I saw Mademoiselle Georges I said, 'Is it to be
wondered at that people submit to be suffocated in order
to see such superb womanly beauty? But were it possible
for her to be more beautiful than she is, it would still
be better not to be stifled, even in her own interest;
for spectators will be more severely critical in their
estimate of a débutante if it cost them so much to gain a
sight of her.
"Mademoiselle Georges Weymer's beauty was greatly
extolled before her appearance on the stage, and it does
not fall below expectation. Her features combine the
regularity and dignity of Greek form with French grace;
her figure is that of the sister of Apollo, when she
walks on the shores of Eurotas, surrounded by her nymphs,
her head uplifted above theirs; she would make a perfect
model for Guérin's chisel...."
Ah, Geoffroy, I do not know whether the critics of the time of Pericles
were better than those of the age of Bonaparte, first of that name;
but I do know that at least one or two of ours can write in a better
style....
You think not?
Well, then, here is a portrait of the same person, written by a critic
in 1835. Notice the progress in style made in the thirty-three years
between Geoffroy's time and that of Théophile Gautier.
"If I mistake not, Mademoiselle Georges is like a
medallion from Syracuse or an Isis from an Æginæan
bas-relief. The arch of her eyebrows, traced with
incomparable fineness and purity, extends over dark eyes
which are full of fire and flashes of tragic lightning.
Her nose is thin and straight, with obliquely cut
nostrils which dilate when she is passionately moved; her
whole profile is grand in its simple uniformity of line.
The mouth is strong, superbly haughty and sharp at its
corners, like the lips of an avenging Nemesis, who awaits
the hour to let loose her iron-clawed lion; yet over her
lips flickers a charming smile, full of regal grace; and
it would be impossible to believe, when she chooses to
express the tender passions, that she has hurled forth,
but a short while before, a classic imprecation or a
modern anathema. Her chin is full of character and of
determination; it is firmly set, and its majestic curves
relieve a profile that belongs rather to a goddess than
to a mortal. Mademoiselle Georges possesses, in common
with all the beautiful women of pagan ages, a broad
forehead, full at the temples, but not high, very like
that of the Venus de Milo, a wilful, voluptuous, powerful
forehead. There is a remarkable peculiarity about her
neck: instead of rounding off inwardly from the nape, it
forms a full and unbroken curve and unites the shoulders
to the base of her head without the slightest flaw. The
set of her arms is somewhat formidable by reason of the
strength of the muscles and the firmness of contour; one
of her shoulder-straps would make a girdle for the waist
of a medium-sized woman; but they are very white, very
clear, and they end in a wrist of childlike fragility
and tiny dimpled hands--hands which are truly regal,
fashioned to hold the sceptre and to clasp the dagger's
hilt in the plays of Æschylus and Euripides."
Thank you, my dear Théophile, for allowing me to quote that splendid
passage, and pardon me for placing you in such bad company. Faugh!
I now return to Geoffroy. He continues:--
"Talent responded to beauty. The theatre was packed
throughout and thoroughly excited; the First Consul
and all his family were in the box to the right of the
proscenium; he clapped his hands several times, but this
did not prevent some signs of opposition breaking out at
the line--
'Vous savez, et Calchas mille fois vous l'a dit.' ..."
Excuse me! I must again interrupt myself, or rather, I must interrupt
Geoffroy.
The reader knows that it was the custom for the audience to look
forward to the way in which debutantes delivered this line.
Why so? the reader may inquire.
Ah! truly, one does not know these things unless one is compelled to
know them.
I will explain.
Because that line is too simple, and unworthy of tragedy.
You may not, perhaps, have been aware of that, monsieur? Perhaps it
is news to madame, who does me the honour to listen to me? But your
servant Geoffroy, who is obliged to read everything, knew it.
Now, listen carefully; for we have not reached the end. This line
being, from its simplicity, unworthy of tragedy, the audience wanted to
see how the actress, correcting the poet, would treat it.
Mademoiselle Georges did not pretend to possess greater genius than
Racine: she delivered the line simply, and with the most natural
intonation imaginable, since it was written with the simplicity of
passion. The audience dissented; she repeated it with the same accent;
again they demurred.
Fortunately, Raucourt was present, in spite of an accident she had met
with; she had had herself carried to the theatre, and encouraged her
pupil from a little box, concealed behind a harlequin's cloak.
"Be bold, Georgine! Stick to it!" she cried.
And Georgine--it will appear odd to you, I imagine, that Mademoiselle
Georges should ever have been called _Georgine_ repeated the line for
the third time in the same simple and natural accent. The audience
applauded. From that moment her success was assured, as they say in
theatrical parlance.
"The only thing that marred the play (said Geoffroy) was _Talma's lack
of intelligence, proportion and nobility in the part of Achilles._"
I begin to think we must have been deceived in the matter of worthy M.
Geoffroy's impartiality and that he had received before the play a very
significant message from one of the members of the Bonaparte family who
was in the box of the First Consul.
Mademoiselle Georges played the part of Clytemnestra three times
running. It was an immense success. Then she went on to the part of
Aménaïde,--_that maiden attacked with hysterical vapours_, as Geoffroy
said later,--and her popularity went on increasing. Then, after the
rôle of Aménaïde, she took the part of Idamé in _l'Orphelin de la
Chine._
If men wondered how debutantes in the part of Clytemnestra would
deliver the famous line so unworthy of Racine--
"Vous savez, et Calchas mille fois vous l'a dit...."
women waited just as impatiently for the appearance of debutantes in
the part of Idamé to see how they would dress their hair.
Mademoiselle Georges' hair was arranged very simply _à la
chinoise_--that is to say, with her locks arranged on the top of
her head and tied with a golden ribbon. This arrangement suited her
admirably, so I was told, not by Lucien but by his brother King Jérôme,
a keen appreciator of beauty in all its forms, who, like Raucourt, kept
the habit of calling Georges, _Georgine._
The night that the _Orphelin de la Chine_ was to be played, whilst
Georgine, about whom, at that hour, the whole of Paris was talking,
was partaking of a lentil supper at the _hôtel du Pérou_,--not
because, like Esau, she was fond of this fare, but because there was
nothing else in the house,--Prince Zappia was announced. Who might
Prince Zappia be? Was he, too, a prince among critics? Not so: he was
a real prince, one of those art-loving princes whose line died out
with the Prince de Ligne, a Prince Hénin, one of those princes who
frequented the lounge of the Comédie-Française, as Prince Pignatelli
did the lounge of the Opéra. The lounge of the Comédie-Française was,
apparently, a wonderful place in those days--I only saw the remains of
it.
After each great representation--and every time such actors as Talma,
Raucourt, Contat, Monvel or Molé played was a great occasion--all the
noted people in the artistic, diplomatic or aristocratic circles went
to have a few minutes' chat in the box of the hero or of the heroine of
the evening; then they returned to the lounge and joined the general
company there.
Bonaparte's budding Court, which made such efforts to establish
itself as a Court, was rarely as brilliant as the lounge of the
Théâtre-Français.
We were privileged to witness the fading light of those brilliant days
when it shone on the box of Mademoiselle Mars.
All came to these assemblies in full dress. There were scarcely
any who had not their own footstools, chairs and lounges. These
were very formal occasions and, indeed, to be called a "_dame de la
Comédie-Française_" meant a great deal; people still remember the
occasion of the first attack upon this crusted etiquette.
It was Mademoiselle Bourgoin who broke through it, by asking for some
cakes and a glass of Alicante. The old members of the company raised
their hands to Heaven in that day and cried out at such an abomination
of desolation. And their dismay was quite logical: a breach, if not
repaired, is ever apt to grow larger, especially in a theatre. And that
very infraction is responsible for the beer and fried eggs of to-day.
Well, as Georgine was eating her lentils, Prince Zappia was announced
to her. What did Prince Zappia want at such an hour? He came to offer
the key of a suite of rooms in the rue des Colonnes, which he had
furnished since the previous evening at a cost of over fifty thousand
francs. He assured the fair Georgine, as he handed her this key, that
it was the one and only key that existed.
An oath was needed to induce the débutante to leave the _hôtel du
Pérou._ This oath Prince Zappia took. On what did he swear? We don't
know. We inquired of Mademoiselle Georges herself; but she replied to
us, with the magnificent naïvete of a Lucrezia Borgia--
"Why do you wish to know that, my dear fellow? Many people have sworn
oaths to me which they have not kept."
Lucien was not at all pleased at this change of residence. Lucien was
not a prince at that time; Lucien was not wealthy; Lucien made love to
her as a scholar; Lucien laid claim to the position of lover, which is
always a rather difficult matter when one's apartments are dingy and
cupboards bare: he was present one evening, I repeat, when Hermione's
chambermaid came into her apartment, thoroughly scared, and told her
that the First Consul's valet de chambre had come.
The First Consul's valet de chambre? he who had dressed him on the
morning of 18 Brumaire? No! quite another person than Prince Zappia!
They showed the First Consul's valet de chambre in with as much
deference as they would have shown in 1750 to M. Lebel when he visited
Madame Dumesnil.
The First Consul awaited Hermione at Saint-Cloud. Hermione was to come
as she was: she could change her clothes there. The invitation was
curt, but quite characteristic of the First Consul's manners.
Antony, it will be remembered, bade Cleopatra join him in Cilicia.
Bonaparte might well beg Hermione to join him at Saint-Cloud. The
Grecian princess was not prouder than the Queen of Egypt; Hermione
was not less beautiful than Cleopatra, and ought to have been taken
down the Seine in a gilded galley, just as the Queen of Egypt ascended
the Cydnus. But that would have taken too long: the First Consul was
impatient to pay his addresses and, admitting the weakness artistes
have for flattery, the débutante was probably in no less hurry to
receive them.
Hermione reached Saint-Cloud half an hour after midnight, and left
it at six in the morning. She came out victorious as Cleopatra: like
Cleopatra, she had had the conqueror of the world at her feet. But the
conqueror of the world, who thought it astonishing that a débutante,
whom his brother had told him lived in the _hôtel du Pérou_, drank
water and lived on lentils, should possess an English veil worth a
hundred louis and a cashmere shawl worth a thousand crowns, tore in
pieces, in a fit of jealousy, both the cashmere shawl and the English
veil.
I have often argued with Georges that this was not done out of
jealousy, but simply for the fun of the thing. She always persisted it
was done out of jealousy, and I had not the desire to contradict her.
Some days after Georgine's little nocturnal journey, the rumour of her
triumph leaked out; she was playing the part of Émilie, and when she
declaimed, in accents of true Roman pride, the line--
"Si j'ai séduit Cinna, j'en séduirai bien d'autres...." the whole
audience turned towards the First Consul's box and burst into applause.
From that night there sprang up two dramatic, and almost political,
factions in the Théâtre-Français: the partisans of Mademoiselle
Georges, and the partisans of Mademoiselle Duchesnois--the _Georgians_,
and the _Carcassians._ The word _Carcassians_ was doubtless substituted
for _Circassians_ as being more expressive. But what is the meaning of
the word? Upon my word, I dare not say: I leave it to the investigation
of savants and the research of etymologists. Lucien Bonaparte, Madame
Bacciochi and Madame Lætitia were at the head of the _Georgians_;
Joséphine flung herself headlong into the _Carcassian_ party;
Cambacérès remained neutral.
[1] Montmartre.
[2] Le vent.
[3] Le blé.
[4] Galatée ayant été nymphe, _Vauvres, qu'habite Galatée_, signifie:
Vauvres où il y a des bergers.
[5] Façon poétique de dire qu'il y a une manufacture de porcelaines à
Sèvres.
CHAPTER III
Imperial literature--The _Jeunesse de Henri IV_.--Mercier
and Alexandre Duval--The _Templiers_ and their author--César
Delrieu--Perpignan--Mademoiselle Georges' rupture with the
Théâtre-Français--Her flight to Russia--The galaxy of kings--The
tragédienne acts as ambassador
In this same year, 1802, Georges was engaged at the Théâtre-Français
under Bonaparte's protection, and Duchesnois under Joséphine's, at
a salary of four thousand francs each. Six months later they were
practically members of the company. This was the very highest favour
that could be bestowed on them; and it was owing to the influence of
Bonaparte on the one side, and that of Joséphine on the other, that
this double result was attained.
"How was it that Napoleon came to desert you?" I asked Georges one day.
"He left me to become an emperor," she replied.
Indeed, the events which set France agog after the débuts of Georges
and of Duchesnois as tragedy princesses, was the début of Napoleon as
emperor.
This last début was certainly not free from intrigues: kings mocked;
but the great actor who provided the world with the spectacle of his
usurpation silenced them at Austerlitz, and from that time until
the retreat from Russia it must be acknowledged that he carried his
audience with him.
Meanwhile, the literature of the Empire held on in its own course.
In 1803, Hoffmann's _Roman d'une heure_ was played. In 1804,
_Shakespeare amoureux_ by Alexandre Duval, _Molière avec ses amis_
by Andrieux, and the _Jeune Femme colère_ of Étienne were played.
In 1805, the _Tyran domestique_ and the _Menuisier de Livonie_ of
Alexandre Duval were played; Charon's _Tartufe de mœurs_, Bouilly's
_Madame de Sévigné_ and the _Filles à marier_ of Picard; and in 1806
appeared Picard's _Marionnettes_, Alexandre Duval's _Jeunesse de Henri
V._ _Omasis_ or _Joseph en Égypte_ by Baour-Lormian and the _Templiers_
by Raynouard.
The two greatest successes of this last period were the _Templiers_
and the _Jeunesse de Henri V._ The _Jeunesse de Henri V._ was borrowed
from an extremely light comedy. This comedy, which was printed and
published but not played, was called _Charles II, dans un certain
lieu._ One phrase only of Mercier disturbed Alexandre Duval. Mercier
had quarrelled with the Comédie-Française, and it had sworn, in its
offended dignity, that never should a play by Mercier be acted in the
theatre of the rue de Richelieu.
On the night of the representation of the _Jeunesse de Henri V_.,
Alexandre Duval strutted up and down the lounge. Mercier came up to
him and, touching him on the shoulder, said, "And so, Duval, the
Comédie-Français declared they would never play anything more of mine,
the idiots!"
Alexandre Duval scratched his ear, went home, had the jaundice and
wrote nothing for two years.
But the real success of the year, the literary success, was the
_Templiers._ This tragedy was indeed the most remarkable dramatic
work of the whole period of the Empire; it had, besides, an enormous
success, produced piles of money, and, I believe, carried its author at
one bound into the Academy.
The part of the queen was the second rôle Mademoiselle Georges had
created since her first appearance at the Français four years before.
At that time tragic creations were, as will have been observed, rare.
Her first rôle had been as Calypso in the tragedy of _Télémaque._ Who
ever, the reader will ask, could make a tragedy out of _Télémaque_?
A certain M. Lebrun. But, upon my word, I am like Napoleon and in
danger of deluding myself. Was it _Lebrun-Pindare_? Was it Lebrun the
ex-Consul? Was it Lebrun the future Academician, peer of France,
director of the imperial printing-house? I really do not know. But I
do know that the crime was perpetrated. Peace be to the culprit, and
whether dead or alive, may he sleep a sleep as calm and as profound
as his tragedy, wherein Mademoiselle Duchesnois played the rôle of
Télémaque to Georges' Calypso, and which, in spite of the combined
talent of these two great actresses, failed as completely as did the
_Cid d'Andalousie,_ twenty years later, in spite of the combined
efforts of Talma and of Mademoiselle Mars.
As we were present at the first representation of the _Cid
d'Andalousie_, we know who its author was. His name was Pierre Lebrun.
Napoleon was delighted with the immense success of the _Templiers._ He
continued each year to demand his three hundred thousand conscripts
from the Minister for War and his poet from the Chancellor of the
University.
He fancied he had found his poet in M. Raynouard. Unluckily, M.
Raynouard was so busy all the week that he could only become a poet on
Sunday. His occupation, therefore, prevented him from producing more
than three tragedies: the _Templiers_, of which we have spoken; the
_États de Blois_, which was not so good as the _Templiers_; and _Caton
d'Utique_, which was not so good as the _États de Blois_. Napoleon
was desperate. He went on clamouring for his three hundred thousand
conscripts and his poet.
In 1808, after four years' reign, he possessed M. Raynouard and
M. Baour-Lormian, the author of the _Templiers_ and the author of
_Omasis_. This was only at the rate of half a poet a year. A reign of
fourteen years should have produced him a Pleiad.
We are not speaking of the poets of the Republic, of the Chéniers, the
Ducis, the Arnaults, the Jouys, the Lemerciers: they were not poets
of Napoleon's creation. And Napoleon was rather like Louis XIV., who
counted only the dukes of his own creation.
It was about this time that the scouts despatched by M. de Fontanes
began to make a great row about a new poet whom they had just
discovered, and who was putting the finishing touches to a tragedy.
This poet's name was Luce de Lancival. We have already spoken of him,
when relating what he did and what Napoleon said to him. This worthy
M. Luce de Lancival had already committed two youthful indiscretions
called _Mucius Scævola_ and ... and ... upon my word! I have forgotten
the other title; but these indiscretions were so small, and their fall
had been so great, that no questions arose concerning them.
Unfortunately, Luce de Lancival laid great store by _Hector._ He was
appointed professor in belles-lettres and he intended to "profess."
This was the third poet who came to nothing in Napoleon's hands.
A great event had taken place at the Théâtre-Français during the
preceding year, in connection with the production of the tragedy of
_Artaxercès._ There was a certain individual in Paris who, each time
Napoleon asked for a poet, touched his hat and said, "Here am I!"
This was César Delrieu, author of the aforesaid tragedy. We knew him
thoroughly. Heaven could not possibly have gifted anyone with less
talent, or more ingenuous self-conceit and evident pride. The sayings
of Delrieu form a repertory which hardly has its equal, unless in the
archives of the family of Calprenède. We also knew a young lad called
Perpignan, who met with every kind of misadventure, and who ended
by becoming the censor. His task was to attend the final rehearsals
of plays in order to see that there was nothing in the dress of the
actors that might offend morality, nothing in their acting which
might bring the Government into contempt and lead to the upheaval of
the established order of things. Once in his lifetime he had a piece
performed at the Gymnase which failed egregiously, and in connection
with which Poirson never ceased to reproach him, on account of the
expense to which he had been put over a stuffed parroquet. The play
was called the _Oncle d'Amérique_, and by inscribing Perpignan upon
the roll of men of letters, it made him, nolens volens, hail-fellow
with such men as M. de Chateaubriand and M. Viennet. Let us hasten to
add, to the credit of Perpignan, that he did not take advantage of this
privilege as a rule, except to make a jest of himself. Still, he did
take advantage of it.
One night he met Delrieu, as he was ascending the magnificent staircase
that led to the lounge of the Odéon.
"Good-evening, confrère," he said.
"Simpleton!" replied the annoyed Delrieu.
"That is exactly the light in which I view it myself," responded
Perpignan, in the most gracious manner imaginable.
When _Artaxercès_ was again put on the stage, at the time when we saw
it, and after Delrieu had clamoured for its revival for twenty years,
the play, notwithstanding its being cracked up by its author, was what
is called in theatrical parlance _a dead failure (un four complet)._
A fortnight later he was met by one of his friends, who said to him--
"So you have made it up with the Comédiens français?"
"With them? Never!"
"What have they done to you now?"
"What have they done to me? Think of it, the scoundrels! ... You know
my _Artaxercès_, a chef-d'œuvre?"
"Yes."
"Well, they played it on just those days when the house is at its
emptiest!"
And he never forgave the bad turn played him by the gentlemen of the
Comédie-Française.
But Delrieu's sayings would lead us too far astray. Let us go back from
the revival of _Artaxercès_ to its first performance, which will bring
us to 30 April 1808.
Mademoiselle Georges had created the rôle of Mandane, and had played
it four times; but on the day of the fifth performance an ominous
rumour spread through the theatre, and from the theatre out into the
town. Mandane had disappeared. A satrap more powerful than Arbaces had
carried her off--His Majesty the Emperor of All the Russias.
The Russians have never had any other aristocratic literature than
ours: Russians do not usually speak Russian; instead of this, they talk
much better French than we do.
The Théâtre-Français was rich in crowned heads at this period.
In tragedy queens alone it could boast Mademoiselle Raucourt,
Mademoiselle Duchesnois and Mademoiselle Georges.
The Emperor Alexander naturally considered that the rich should
lend to the poor. Besides, the Russians had just lost Austerlitz
and Eylau, and they felt quite entitled to some compensation. The
business was arranged through the intermediary of the exalted Russian
diplomatic corps. M. de Nariskin, who fulfilled the functions of Grand
Chamberlain, commissioned M. de Beckendorf, on behalf of the emperor,
to arrange the flight. It was conducted with the utmost secrecy.
Nevertheless, the telegraph wires along the route to the North were
busily at work within twenty-four hours after the disappearance of
Mademoiselle Georges.
But, as everyone knows, actresses who escape from the Théâtre-Français
fly on faster wings than those of the telegraph, and not one has ever
been overtaken. So Mademoiselle Georges entered Kehl just as the
news of her flight reached Strassbourg. This was the first defection
the Emperor Napoleon had experienced; that Hermione, the ungrateful
Hermione, should go over to the enemy! Mademoiselle Georges did not
stop until she reached Vienna and the salon of Princess Bagration;
but, as we were at peace with Austria, the French Ambassador bestirred
himself, and laid claim to Mademoiselle Georges; this was equivalent,
in diplomatic terms, to a _casus belli_, and Mademoiselle Georges
received an invitation to continue her journey.
If the reader does not know what a _casus belli_ is, he can learn it
from M. Thiers. During the lifetime of two or three ministries M.
Thiers presented two or three _casus belli_ to the Powers, to which the
Powers paid not the slightest attention. Consequently they came back to
him, quite fresh and unused.
Four days later, the fugitive stopped at the house of the governor of
Vilna, where she made her second halt, to the accompaniment of applause
from all the Polish princesses, not only in Poland, but throughout
the world. It is a well-known fact that no persons are so abundantly
scattered abroad over the face of the earth as Polish princesses,
unless it be Russian princes. Ten days later, Mademoiselle Georges was
in St. Petersburg.
When she had appeared at Peterhof before the Emperor Alexander, before
his brothers Constantine, Nicolas and Michel, before the reigning
empress and the dowager empress, Mademoiselle Georges, preceded
by the reputation of her great fame, appeared at the theatre in
St. Petersburg. It goes without saying that at the theatre of St.
Petersburg the orthodox style of drama was in vogue. Alexander might
carry off Napoleon's actors; but, alas! he could not carry away his
poets: poets were too rare in France for Napoleon not to keep an eye on
those he possessed. Chateaubriand and Madame de Staël, the two great
poets of the time, travelled abroad much; but they were not dramatic
poets.
So _Mérope, Sémiramis, Phèdre, Iphigénie_ and _Andromaque_ were played
in St. Petersburg, with more pertinacity even than they were in Paris.
Nevertheless, if literature lagged behind, politics, at all events,
kept to the front.
Napoleon conquered Prussia in a score of days: he dated his decree
concerning the Continental blockade from Berlin, and made his brother
Jérôme, King of Westphalia, his brother Joseph, King of Spain, his
brother Louis, King of Holland, his brother-in-law Murat, King of
Naples, his son-in-law Eugène, Viceroy of Italy. In exchange, he
deposed an empress. Joséphine, relegated to Malmaison, had yielded
her position to Marie-Louise. The great conqueror, the wonderful
strategist, the superb politician, had not realised that, whenever
a King of France joined hands with Austria, misfortune dogged his
footsteps. Be that as it may, the terrible future was still hidden
behind the golden clouds of hope. On 20 March 1811, Marie-Louise gave
birth, in the presence of twenty-three persons, to a child upon whose
fair head his father placed the crown which, nineteen centuries before,
Antony had offered to Cæsar.
Europe at this period had, after the fashion of the Northern oceans, a
few days of calm between two gigantic storms, on which it could think
of poetry. During one of these days of calm the Emperor Napoleon gave
a reception at Erfürt to all the crowned heads of Europe. His old
and faithful friend, the King of Saxony, lent his kingdom for this
sumptuous entertainment.
Napoleon invited the kings and queens of art as well as the kings
and queens of this world. Princes crowned with golden or bay crowns,
princesses crowned with diamonds or with roses, flocked to the
rendezvous.
On 28 September 1808, _Cinna_ was performed before the Emperor
Napoleon, the Emperor Alexander and the King of Saxony. On the
following day, the 29th, _Britannicus_ was played. In that interval of
twenty-four hours, the august assembly was increased by Prince William
of Prussia, Duke William of Bavaria and Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg,
who, later, was to lose three crowns at one fell blow, through the
death of his wife, the Princess Royal of England, and the child which,
mother-like, she took away to the grave with her: with them, he lost
that famous trident of Neptune which Lemierre called _the sceptre of
the world._
On 2 October, Goethe arrived upon the scene. He had the right to
present himself: of all the names of princes we have just mentioned
(without wishing to hurt the feelings of the gentlemen of the rue de
Grenelle) the name of the author of _Faust_ is perhaps the only one
which will survive.
On the 3rd, _Philoctète_ was played. It was during this performance
that Alexander held out his hand to Napoleon at the line--
"L'amitié d'un grand homme est un bienfait des dieux!"
--the hand that, three years later, he was to withdraw, and for want
of which Napoleon floundered in snow and bloodshed from Moscow to
Waterloo. During the second act of _Philoctète_ the King of Wurtemberg
arrived, but no one troubled to make way for him. He took his place on
one of the seats reserved for kings.
On 4 October, _Iphigénie en Aulide_ was played. The King and the Queen
of Westphalia arrived during the piece.
Next day, _Phèdre_ was performed. The King of Bavaria and the
Prince-Primate arrived during the matinée.
On the 6th, the _Mort de César_ was represented. The crowned audience
was in full swing. There were present two emperors, three kings, one
queen, twenty princes and six grand dukes.
After the play, the emperor said to Talma--
"I have kept the promise at Erfürt that I gave you in Paris, Talma; I
have made you play before an audience of kings."
On 14 October, the anniversary of the battle of Jena, Napoleon left
Erfürt, after having given the cross of the Legion of Honour to Goethe.
Four years later, almost to the day, Napoleon entered the capital of
the Russian empire in the guise of its conqueror. He dictated a decree
from the Kremlin, written by the flickering light of the burning city,
regulating the interests of the company of the rue de Richelieu.
Henceforth it was war to the death between the two men who had met at
Tilsit on the same raft; who had sat side by side at Erfürt; who were
called by the names of Charlemagne and Constantine; who divided the
world into two parts, appropriating to themselves respectively the East
and the West, both of whom were to die in a tragic fashion within five
years of each other, the one in the midst of the Atlantic Ocean, the
other on the shores of the Sea of Azov.
The actors of the Comédie-Française learnt at St. Petersburg the news
of the emperor's entry into Moscow. They could not stay in an enemy's
capital; they obtained leave to go, and set out for Stockholm, which
they reached after a three weeks' journey in sledges.
A Frenchman reigned in Sweden, or rather held the crown above the
head of the old Duke of Sudermania, who was king for the time
being. Bernadotte received the fugitives, as they had received his
fellow-countryman Henri IV. The actors made a halt of three months in
Sweden, our ancient ally, which, under a French king, became our enemy.
They then left for Stralsund, where they made a sojourn of a fortnight.
On the night before their departure, M. de Camps, Bernadotte's orderly
staff officer, sought out Mademoiselle Georges. Hermione was to be
utilised as ambassador's courier. M. de Camps brought a letter from
Bernadotte; it was addressed to Jérôme-Napoleon, King of Westphalia.
This letter was of the very highest importance; they did not know
how best to conceal it. Women are never at a loss in hiding letters.
Hermione hid the letter among the busks of her corset. The busk of a
woman's corset is the sheath of her sword.
M. de Camps retired only half satisfied; swords were so easily drawn
from their sheaths in those days. The ambassador in petticoats left
in a carriage that had been presented to her by the crown prince. She
held a jewel-case on her lap which contained upwards of three hundred
thousand francs worth of diamonds. One does not spurn three crowns
without getting some windfall or other. The diamonds in the casket,
and the letter among the busks, arrived safely at a destination within
two days' journey from Cassel, the capital of the new kingdom of
Westphalia. They travelled night and day. The letter was urgent, the
diamonds were such a source of fear!
Suddenly, in the dead of night, the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard,
and the gleam of a forest of lances appeared. A terrific shouting
arose: they had fallen into the midst of a swarm of Cossacks. A crowd
of hands were already stretched towards the carriage door, when a young
Russian officer appeared. Not even Hippolytus looked more beautiful
in the eyes of Phedra. Georges introduced herself. Do you recollect
the story of Ariosto, the picture which shows the bandits on their
knees? Genuflexion before a young actress was far more natural than
before a poet forty years old. The band of enemies became a friendly
escort, which did not leave the beautiful traveller until she reached
the French outposts. When once she was under the protection of these,
Georges and the letter and the diamonds were safe. They reached Cassel.
King Jérôme was at Brunswick. They set out for Brunswick.
King Jérôme was a very gallant king, very handsome, very young; he was
hardly twenty-eight years of age; he did not seem to be in any great
haste to receive the letter from the Crown Prince of Sweden. I do not
know whether he received the letter or whether he took it. I do know
that the lady-courier spent a day and a night in Brunswick. It will be
readily admitted that she required at least twenty-four hours to rest
after such an adventurous journey.
CHAPTER IV
The Comédie-Française at Dresden--Georges returns to
the Théâtre-Français--The _Deux Gendres_--_Mahomet
II._--_Tippo-Saëb_--1814--Fontainebleau--The allied armies enter
Paris--Lilies--Return from the isle of Elba--Violets--Asparagus
stalks--Georges returns to Paris
Mademoiselle Georges left for Dresden the day after her arrival
at Brunswick. The giant who had been confounded at Beresina had,
Anteus-like, recovered his strength as he neared Paris. Napoleon left
Saint-Cloud on 15 April 1813. He stopped on the 16th at Mayence, left
it on the 24th, and reached Erfürt the same day.
Napoleon was still in command of forty-three millions of men at this
time, and had as his allies against Russia all the kings who had been
present at the theatrical entertainments recently mentioned by us. But
Napoleon had lost his prestige. The first bloom of his glory had been
smirched; the invincible one had been proved vulnerable. The snowy
campaign of 1812 had chilled all the friendships professed towards him.
Prussia set the example of defection.
On 3 May--that is to say, eighteen days after his departure from
Paris--Napoleon despatched couriers to Constantinople, Vienna and Paris
from the battlefield of Lutzen, where slept twenty thousand Russians
and Prussians, to announce a fresh victory. Saxony had been won back in
a single battle. On 10 May, the emperor installed himself at Dresden,
in the Marcolini Palace. On the 12th, the King of Saxony, who had taken
refuge on the frontiers of Bohemia, returned to his capital. On the
18th, Napoleon proposed an armistice.
As it was ignored, he fought and won the battles of Bautzen and of
Lutzen on the 20th and 21st. On 10 June, the emperor returned to
Dresden, still in hopes of the desired armistice.
On 16 June, MM. de Beausset and de Turenne were appointed to look after
the Comédie-Française. M. de Beausset's work was to see to the stage
management of the theatre, to obtain lodgings for the actors and to
arrange the repertory. M. de Turenne took upon him the invitations and
all matters connected with court etiquette. On 19 June, the company of
the Comédie-Française arrived. It consisted of the following actors and
actresses: MM. Fleury, Saint-Phal,
Baptiste junior, Armand, Thénard, Vigny, Michot, Bartier; and Mesdames
Thénard, Émilie Contat, Mézeray, Mars and Bourgoin. We have followed
the observances of etiquette _à la_ M. de Turenne, and placed these
gentlemen and ladies in the order of their seniority.
All was ready to receive them by 15 June. Lodgings, carriages and
servants had all been hired in advance. An hour after their arrival,
the thirteen artistes were duly installed. At midnight, on the
following day, Mademoiselle Georges also arrived in Dresden. By one
o'clock the Duc de Vicence had taken up his residence with her. The
next day, at seven o'clock in the morning, she was received by the
emperor. That very day, a courier was sent off to command Talma
and Saint-Prix to set out for Dresden instantly, no matter in what
part of France they might be when the order reached them. The order
reached Saint-Prix in Paris, and found Talma in the provinces. Twelve
days after, Talma and Saint-Prix arrived, and the company of the
Comédie-Française was complete.
A theatre had been arranged for comedy in the orangery belonging to the
palace occupied by the emperor.
Tragedies, which require far more staging and much more scenery, were
to be performed in the town theatre. The first representation of comedy
took place on 22 June; it consisted of the _Gageure imprévue_ and
the _Suites d'un bal masqué._. The first representation of tragedy
was _Phèdre_, played on the 24th. But these entertainments were very
different from those at Erfürt! A veil of sadness had crept over the
past; a cloud of fear hung over the future. People remembered Beresina;
they foresaw Leipzig. Talma looked in vain among the audience for the
kings who had applauded him at Erfürt. There was only the old and
faithful King of Saxony, the last of those crowned heads who remained
true to Napoleon.
The performances lasted from 22 June until 10 August. The emperor
invited either Talma or Mademoiselle Mars or Mademoiselle Georges to
lunch with him most mornings. They talked of art. Art had always filled
an important place in Napoleon's mind. He was in this respect not
only the successor, but also the heir to Louis XIV. It was on these
occasions that he gave expression to those incisive appreciations
peculiar to himself, and to his opinions on men and on their works.
It must have been fine indeed to listen to Napoleon's appreciation of
Corneille and his criticism of Racine. And it should be remembered
that, to be able to speak of Corneille or of Racine, his powerful mind
had to put aside for the moment all thought of the material world
which was beginning to press heavily upon him. It is true that he was
continually being deluded by hopes of peace; but on the evening of 11
August all hopes of that nature were dispelled.
On the 12 th, at three o'clock in the morning, M. de Beausset received
the following letter from Alexandre Berthier, Prince of Neuchâtel:--
"MY DEAR BEAUSSET,--The emperor commands me to tell you
that the French actors who are here must leave either
to-day or to-morrow morning at the latest, to return to
Paris. Have the goodness to inform them of this.--Yours,
etc.,
"ALEXANDRE"
The actors left, and then the battle of Leipzig took place. The
Empire's dying struggle had begun. The actors meanwhile returned
to Paris. Mademoiselle Georges resumed her ascendency at the
Comédie-Française, after an absence of five years. Raucourt, though
still alive, had practically abandoned her career. For a long time
past the theatrical life had weighed upon her; she only acted when
obliged, and remained almost all the year round in the country. When
Mademoiselle Georges was reinstalled, it was arranged that she should
become a full member of the company, and her absence was reckoned
as though she were present. She reappeared as Clytemnestre when she
was still only twenty-eight years of age. Her success was immense.
There had not been many changes during those last five years at the
Théâtre-Français. The important pieces played during the absence of
Mademoiselle Georges were, _Hector_ and _Christophe Colombo_ to which
we have referred; the _Deux Gendres,_ by M. Étienne; _Mahomet II_., by
M. Baour-Lormian; and _Tippo-Saëb,_ by M. de Jouy.
The success of the _Deux Gendres_ was not contested, and it could not
be contested. But since people must always contest some point or other
in the case of an author of any merit, the paternity of M. Étienne's
comedy was contested.
A worm-eaten manuscript written by a forgotten Jesuit was dragged out
of some bookcase or other, and it was said that M. Étienne had robbed
this unlucky Jesuit. It should be stated that the plot of the _Deux
Gendres_ was the same that Shakespeare had utilised two centuries
before, in _King Lear_, and that M. de Balzac made use of twenty-five
years later, in _Père Goriot._ All these polemical discussions greatly
annoyed M. Étienne, and probably hindered him from writing a sequel to
the _Deux Gendres. Mahomet II._ met with but indifferent success: the
play was lifeless and dull.
Nevertheless, M. Baour-Lormian was a meritorious writer: he left, or
rather he will leave, a few poems charged with melancholy feeling, all
the more striking as such a sentiment was entirely unknown during the
Empire, which can offer us, in this respect, nothing save the _Chute
des Feuilles_ by Millevoie, and the _Feuille de Rose_ by M. Arnault.
Besides, the _Chute des Feuilles_ was written before, and the _Feuille
de Rose_ after, the Empire.
Let me quote a few of M. Baour-Lormian's pleasant lines:--
"Ainsi qu'une jeune beauté
Silencieuse et solitaire,
Du sein du nuage argente
La lune sort avec mystere....
Fille aimable du ciel, à pas lents et sans bruit,
Tu glisses dans les airs où brille ta couronne;
Et ton passage s'environne
Du cortège pompeux des soleils de la nuit....
Que fais-tu loin de nous, quand l'aube blanchissante
Efface, à nos yeux attristés,
Ton sourire charmant et tes molles clartés?
Vas-tu, comme Ossian, plaintive et gémissante,
Dans l'asile de la douleur
Ensevelir ta beauté languissante?
Fille aimable du ciel, connais-tu le malheur?"
We must now return to Mademoiselle Georges.
Mademoiselle Georges, as we have remarked, found, it seems, the
Théâtre-Français pretty much as she had left it. She resumed her old
repertory. Is it not curious that during the nine years she was at the
Théâtre-Français Mademoiselle Georges, who has created so many rôles
since, only created those of Calypso and of Mandane there?...
All this time, the horizon in the North was growing darker and darker:
Prussia had betrayed us; Sweden had deserted us; Saxony had been
involved in the rout at Leipzig; Austria was recruiting her forces
against us. On 6 January 1814, Joachim Murat, King of Naples, signed
an armistice with England, the expiration of which had to be notified
three months in advance. On the 11th, he promised the Emperor of
Austria to go to war against France with thirty thousand men; in
exchange for which the Austrian monarch guaranteed the throne of Naples
to him and his heirs.
Napoleon then began the marvellous campaign of 1814, that titanic
struggle in which a single man and one nation faced two emperors, four
kings and six nations of the first rank, including Russia, England,
Prussia and Spain.
If we turn over the pages of the repertory of the Théâtre-Français
for the whole of the year 1814, the only new play we shall find is the
_Hôtel garni_, a comedy in one act, and in verse, by Désaugiers.
Meanwhile, at each fresh victory, Napoleon lost a province. Driven-to
bay at Fontainebleau, he abdicated. Three days later, the allied forces
marched into Paris, and Napoleon left for the isle of Elba. There were
still two factions at the Comédie-Française, as there had been during
the time of the Revolution. Talma, Mars and Georges remained loyally
faithful to the emperor. Raucourt, Mademoiselle Levert, Madame Volnais
espoused the Royalist cause. Raucourt was the first to tear down the
eagle which decorated the imperial box. Poor soul! she little knew that
those whom she helped to recall would refuse her Christian burial, one
year later!
The same kings who had been present at the Erfürt representations,
as Napoleon's guests and friends, came as enemies and conquerors to
see the same plays in Paris. Everybody knows the terrible reaction
that took place at first against the Empire. The actors who remained
faithful to the emperor were not persecuted, but they were made to
exclaim as they came on the stage, "Vive le roi!"
One day Mademoiselle Levert and Madame Volnais outdid even the
exacting demands of the public: they came on the stage, in the _Vieux
Célibataire_, with huge bouquets of lilies in their hands.
So things went on until 6 March 1815. On that day a strange,
incredible, unheard-of rumour spread through Paris, and, from Paris, to
all the four quarters of the earth. Napoleon had landed. Many hearts
trembled at the news; but few were more agitated than those of the
faithful actors who had not forgotten that once, when he was master of
the world and emperor he had conversed upon art and poetry with them.
Nevertheless, nobody dared express his joy: hope was faint, the truth
of the rumour uncertain.
According to the official newspapers, Napoleon was wandering, hunted
and beaten, among the mountains, where he could not avoid being
captured before long. Truth, like everything that is real, makes
itself seen in the end. A persistent rumour came from Gap, from
Sisteron, from Grenoble; the fugitive of the _Journal des Débats_ was
a conqueror round whom the people rallied in intoxicated delight.
Labédoyère and his regiment, Ney and his army corps rallied round him.
Lyons had opened its gates to him, and from the heights of Fourvières
the imperial eagle had started on the flight which, from tower to
tower, was to bring it at last to the towers of Nôtre Dame.
On 19 March, the Tuileries was evacuated: a courier was sent to carry
this news to Napoleon, who was at Fontainebleau. People expected him
all day long on the 20th; they felt confident that he would make a
triumphal entry along the boulevards. Mars and Georges had taken a
window at Frascati's. They wore hats of white straw, with enormous
bunches of violets in them. They attracted much notice, for it was
known that they had been persecuted for a year at the Comédie-Française
on account of their attachment to the emperor.
The bouquets of violets symbolised the month of March: the King of
Rome's birthday was in the month of March, and also the return of
Napoleon. From that day violets became a badge. People wore violets in
all sorts of fashions--in hats, hanging by their sides, as trimmings
to dresses. Some, more fanatic than others, wore a gold violet in
their buttonholes, as an order of chivalry. There was quite as great a
reaction against the Bourbons as there had been in their favour a year
before.
When Talma, Mars and Georges appeared, they were overwhelmed with
applause. Georges saw the emperor again at the Tuileries. By dint of
his powerful character, Napoleon seemed to have put everything behind
him. One might have said he had not left the château of Catherine de
Médicis save, as had been his custom, to bring back news of a fresh
victory. The only thing that distressed him was that they had taken
away some of his favourite pieces of furniture.
He missed greatly a little boudoir, hung with tapestry that had been
worked by Marie-Louise and the ladies of the Court.
"Would you believe it, my dear," he said to Georges, "I found asparagus
stalks on the arm-chairs!" This was the worst with which he reproached
Louis XVIII.
The return of the god was of as short duration as the apparition of a
ghost. Waterloo succeeded Leipzig; Saint-Helena, the isle of Elba. It
was a more terrible, a more melancholy counterpart! Leipzig was but a
wound, Waterloo was death; the isle of Elba was but exile, Saint-Helena
was the tomb!
One might almost say that he carried everything away with him. We again
turn over the leaves of the repertory of the Théâtre-Français and we do
not find any play of importance produced throughout the year 1815. The
lilies reappeared and the poor violets were exiled;--with the violets,
Georges exiled herself. She went to the provinces, where she remained
for several years; she reappeared in 1823, more beautiful than she had
ever been. She was then thirty-eight.
I will find an opportunity to pass in review the men of letters and
the literary works of the Empire, to which, on account of my callow
youth, I have scarcely referred, during the period in which these men
and their works flourished. Indeed, when Georges made her début, the
two men who were to add to her reputation by means of _Christine,
Bérengère_ and _Marguerite de Bourgogne, Marie Tudor_ and _Lucrèce
Borgia_, were still wailing at their mothers' breasts. Taken all round,
whatever people may say, these five rôles were Georges' greatest
successes. Meanwhile, on 12 April 1823, the great actress played in
_Comte Julien_ at the Odéon.
CHAPTER V
The drawbacks to theatres which have the monopoly of a great
actor--Lafond takes the rôle of Pierre de Portugal upon Talma declining
it--Lafond--His school--His sayings--Mademoiselle Duchesnois--Her
failings and her abilities--_Pierre de Portugal_ succeeds
The great day for the representation of _Pierre de Portugal_ came at
last. Talma, preoccupied with his creation of the part of Danville in
the _École des Vieillards_, had declined to take the rôle of Pierre de
Portugal. Lafond had accepted it, and he and Mademoiselle Duchesnois
had to bear the brunt of the whole play. Herein lay the indisputable
test pointed out by Lassagne: could the play possibly succeed without
Talma? The great inconvenience of that _rara avis_, as Juvenal puts
it, or, in theatre parlance, the actor who brings in the receipts, is
that on days when he does not play the theatre loses heavily; plays in
which he does not figure are judged beforehand to be unworthy of public
notice, since they have not been honoured by the actor's concurrence.
At the time to which we are referring the Théâtre-Français was better
off than it is now. One day it made money by Talma's tragic acting; the
next, it made money by Mademoiselle Mars in comedy. Casimir Delavigne
began its downfall by making the two eminent artistes appear together
in the same play and on the same day. As for Lafond and Mademoiselle
Duchesnois, neither apart nor together did they bring in sufficient
receipts.
Lafond would be about forty then: he came out first in 1800, at the
Théâtre-Français, in the part of Achilles. Later, when supported by
Geoffroy, in _Tancrède_, in _Adélaïde Duguesclin_ and in _Zaire_, he
became as successful as Talma. The scurvy race of sheep which we
have always with us, which takes its nutriment in the pastures of
poetry and which is too feeble to form its own opinion based on its
own mental capacity, adopts a judgment ready made wherever it can. It
bleated concerning Lafond, "Lafond is inimitable in the rôle of French
cavalier."