Queens of the French Stage Part 8

The excellence of Adrienne's delivery was equalled, if not surpa.s.sed, by her really wonderful by-play. Like Mlle. Moliere, she possessed in a very marked degree the difficult art of listening, the extreme mobility of her features enabling her to a.s.sume at will every shade of emotion and exhibit successively the different impressions which the words addressed to her would naturally produce. "Perhaps no one," observes the _Mercure_, "has ever so well understood the art of silent scenes, that is to say, listened so well and so well expressed the sense of the words uttered by the actor who was on the stage with her"; while Dumas d'Aigueberre tells us that "her att.i.tudes were n.o.ble and natural, that she invested the movements of her arms with inimitable grace, and that her eyes announced what she was about to say." She possessed, too, a very rare gift--the art of concealing art, of entirely subordinating the interpreter to the work. The dramatist Colle, a critic by no means easy to please, it may be remarked, declares that "her treatment of every detail of a role was perfect; and, in this way, caused one to forget the actress; one saw only the personage whom she happened to be representing." Yet another trait, and one which provoked general admiration, was the rapidity and completeness with which she pa.s.sed from one state of mind to its exact opposite, from profound grief to joyous gaiety, from frenzied anger to moving tenderness. "When in the role of Elisabeth,"[73] says the _Mercure_, "she learned of the love of the Comte d'Ess.e.x for the d.u.c.h.ess d'Irton; when, in fact, she was delivered to the greatest scorn which a woman, and, in particular, a queen, can endure, with what sensibility did she descend from the height of pride to the extreme of the greatest tenderness, even so far as to co-operate with the d.u.c.h.ess, in order to save the count."

Brilliant _tragedienne_ though Adrienne undoubtedly was, in scenes which called for an unusual display of pa.s.sion, her acting appears to have left a good deal to be desired, a circ.u.mstance probably attributable to her want of physical strength. According to Colle, she "excelled in scenes where the greatest finesse was needed rather than those which required strength." Her acting, too, was somewhat uneven; to see her at her best, Dumas d'Aigueberre tells us, "it was necessary for her to be animated either by some part which pleased her or by some object of interest." In fact, though no one had ever given such magnificent renderings of the roles of Monime and Berenice, she lacked the courage and determination which had enabled Mlle. de Champmesle to make a success out of the most mediocre part. The receipts of the Comedie-Francaise during the early years of its existence would, we are inclined to think, have been much less satisfactory had it fallen to Adrienne Lecouvreur's lot to interpret the insipid heroines of Pradon and Boyer.

The princ.i.p.al roles created by Adrienne in tragedy were Cleopatre in the _Antiochus et Cleopatre_ of Deschamps, Antigone in the _Machabees_ of La Motte, Zares in _Esther_, Nitetis in Danchet's play of that name, Constance in La Motte's _Ines de Castro_, and the t.i.tle-part in Voltaire's _Mariamne_.

The last-named play failed, owing to one of those little incidents so common to the French stage of that day. At the moment when Mariamne, condemned to death by poison, was on the point of raising the fatal cup to her lips, a wag in the pit cried out, "_La Reine boit_," a sally which was followed by such merriment that the indignant actors declined to finish the play. Re-written by Voltaire, who this time prudently made the death of the heroine take place off the stage, it reappeared a year later, under the t.i.tle of _Herode et Mariamne_, when it had twenty-eight representations, and when played before the Court at Fontainebleau, moved the young Queen, Marie Leczinska, to tears.

It was during the run of _Mariamne_, in its revised form, that the quarrel between Voltaire and the Chevalier de Rohan, second son of the Duc de Rohan-Chabot, took place. The poet and the chevalier were with several other persons in Adrienne's dressing-room at the theatre; Voltaire was giving the company the benefit of his views on dramatic art or some other subject. "Who is that young man who talks so loud?" cried Rohan, who was in love with Adrienne and very probably jealous of the friendship existing between her and the poet. "He is one who does not carry about a great name, but earns respect for the name he has," was the retort. The chevalier raised his cane threateningly; Voltaire laid his hand upon his sword; Adrienne promptly sank down in a swoon, or, perhaps, since she was an actress, in a pretended swoon; both gentlemen hastened to her a.s.sistance, and the quarrel ceased. How, a few days later, Rohan caused Voltaire to be cudgelled by his lackeys; how the enraged poet, after taking a course of fencing lessons, challenged his enemy to a duel, and how, in consequence, he was packed off to the Bastille, for the second time, are incidents too well known to require relation here.[74]

In comedy Adrienne appears to have fallen very far short of the high standard she attained as a _tragedienne_. "She only played and shone in a few roles," says the _Mercure_. The registers of the Comedie-Francaise show that she attempted Celimene, "the touchstone of _grandes coquettes_," and Elmire in _Tartuffe_; but, as she only figures nine times in the former character and four times in the latter, we may presume that her rendering of them could not have been more than moderately successful. She gave, however, a very pleasing interpretation of Alcmene in _Amphitryon_, and Hortense in _Le Florentin_, in which character she made her last appearance on the stage, and, as Angelique, had a large share in the success of Piron's _Fils ingrats_; while to her acting in the part of the heroine, Voltaire was much indebted for the favourable reception accorded to his little comedy _l'Indiscret_. On the other hand, as the Marquise, in Marivaux's _Surprise de l'amour_, she seems to have come very near to an absolute failure, the critics accusing her of giving to what the author intended to be a gay and frivolous character an air of solemnity and dignity more befitting a tragedy queen.

Several writers have a.s.serted that Adrienne, not content with introducing a more natural mode of enunciation, was the pioneer of reform in theatrical costume. This is only partially true. Adrienne possessed excellent taste in dress, and was keenly alive to the absurdity of clothing the heroes and heroines of antiquity in the costume of the eighteenth century. But her attempts in the direction of archaeological truth do not appear to have been very bold or to have met with much success; and the first important transformation in this respect was due to the efforts of Mlle. Clairon and Lekain. She played, however, Queen Elizabeth, in the _Comte d'Ess.e.x_, "in an English Court costume decorated with the blue riband of the Garter," and the inventory of her wardrobe, published by M. Georges Monval, in his edition of her letters, comprise "_douze habits a la romaine_"--or what were believed to be such--of which two were of white damask, two of crimson velvet, one of yellow satin, one of blue velvet, two of white satin, and one of crimson damask, probably that worn by Cornelie in the _Mort de Pompee_.

Several of these costumes were very richly wrought and realised prices varying from eight hundred to a thousand livres, equivalent, of course, to much larger sums in money of to-day. The full description of one of them may not be without interest: "Item, another costume _a la romaine_ of cherry-coloured velvet, composed of a train trimmed with Spanish point and with bunches of flowers in the train; a petticoat of the same velvet trimmed with silver Spanish point; the body of the dress of the same material trimmed with silver Spanish point, and shoulder-knots likewise trimmed with Spanish point; silver fringes encircling the shoulder-knots; and two little _amadis_, also trimmed with silver Spanish point."

It is curious to note, remarks M. Larroumet, the different ideas of what const.i.tuted a correct cla.s.sical costume which prevailed at various times on the French stage. Thus, from the beginning of the pseudo-cla.s.sical revival in art down to the middle of the nineteenth century, the tendency was all towards simplicity, and Rachel delighted her audiences in severely simple robes spa.r.s.ely embroidered with gold and silver. Then came the discovery that the ancients, so far from affecting the austerity in dress with which they had so long been credited, had had a weakness for rich stuffs and costly ornaments, with the result that the costumes of the Phedres and Athalies of to-day bear a much closer resemblance to the satins and velvets of Adrienne Lecouvreur than the woollen gowns of Rachel.[75]

The jealousy with which Adrienne was regarded by her colleagues at the Comedie-Francaise was not due solely to her professional success; besides being idolised by the public, she had obtained for herself a social position which had never been accorded to any of her predecessors. At this period, actors and actresses still remained on the borders of society. If exceptionally handsome or talented, they were flattered and caressed by the _beau monde_, taken for mistresses, or lovers, or boon companions; but access to regular society was denied them. The extreme license of morals which characterised the Regency brought with it no change in this respect; and if, now and again, some _grande dame_ chose to visit or receive a member of the theatrical profession, the interview almost invariably took place in private and often surrept.i.tiously.

That so rigid a rule should have been relaxed in favour of Adrienne Lecouvreur, and of her alone, is a very remarkable fact and a striking tribute to the charm which she must have exercised over her own as well as over the opposite s.e.x. There can, however, be little doubt that a very great gulf divided her from her colleagues. Not only was she beautiful and fascinating, but well-read, well-mannered, modest, and unaffected, and a friend in whose discretion implicit reliance could be imposed. She numbered among her friends a princess of the blood, the d.u.c.h.esse du Maine, the Duc and d.u.c.h.esse de Gesvres, Madame de Pomponne, Madame de Fontaine-Martel, the wife of President Berthier, the celebrated Marquise de Lambert, admission to whose very exclusive "Tuesdays and Wednesdays" conferred a sort of brevet of social distinction, d'Argental and Maurice de Saxe, of both of whom we shall have a good deal to say presently, the Duc de Richelieu, the Comte de Caylus, La Chalotais, and Pont-de-Veyle, not to speak of men of letters, like Du Marsais, Fontenelle, Voltaire, and Piron.

With all of these persons, and many others, Adrienne was not only on friendly but on intimate terms, dining and supping with them frequently and visiting them at their country-houses, and giving, in return, charming little suppers, before each of which, with singular tact, she invariably requested the guest of the evening to select those whom she desired to meet.

According to t.i.ton du Tillet, it was Adrienne who introduced the custom of actresses reciting at private houses. "Mlle. Lecouvreur," says he, "who was in great request at the best houses in Paris and at the Court, did not refuse in the a.s.semblies which she attended to declaim some fine tirades in verse, and even whole scenes from tragedies, which delighted her hearers. It was a very rare thing for persons of her profession to recite verses outside the theatre, and I have hardly known any one, save Baron, who gave people this pleasure."

Unfortunately for Adrienne, her social duties, combined with the arduous work of her profession, seem to have imposed too great a tax upon her strength, and in her letters to her friends she complains constantly of the strain of this double life. The following letter, written in May 1728, probably to Maurice de Saxe, gives us an excellent insight into her character and also into the life of a "society" actress. Allowing for the difference in style, it might just as well have been written in the twentieth as in the eighteenth century:--

"I spend three parts of my time in doing that which displeases me; new acquaintances, whom, however, it is impossible to escape, so long as I remain tied as I am, preventing me from cultivating the old or from occupying myself at home as I should like to do. It is an established custom for them to sup or dine with me, because some d.u.c.h.esses have done me this honour. There are persons whose kindness and graciousness charm me, and they are sufficient for me, but I am unable to devote myself to them, because I am a public personage, and it is absolutely necessary to reply to all those who are desirous of making my acquaintance, or else be considered impertinent. However careful I am, I am continually offending people. If my poor health, which is delicate, as you know, obliges me to refuse or to fail some party of ladies whom I have never seen, and who have no interest in me beyond curiosity: 'a.s.suredly,'

says one, 'she has a marvellous opinion of her importance!' Another adds: 'It is because we are not t.i.tled!' If I happen to be serious, for one cannot be very gay with many people one does not know: 'Is this the girl who has so much wit?' says one of the company. 'Don't you see that she despises us,' says another, 'and that one must know Greek in order to please her?' 'She visits Madame de Lambert,' exclaims a third; 'does not that explain the mystery?' I am still full of spiteful speeches of this kind, and more occupied than ever in my desire to become free and to have no longer to pay court, save to those who really will entertain a kind feeling for me, and will satisfy my heart and my mind. My vanity does not find that numbers atone for merit in persons, and I have no desire to shine. To keep my lips closed and listen to good conversation, to find myself in the delightful society of clever and virtuous people, is a hundred times more pleasant to me than to be stunned by all the insipid praises which they lavish upon me right and left in many places to which I go. It is not that I am wanting in grat.i.tude or in the wish to please, but I find that the approbation of fools is not flattering, and that it becomes burdensome when it has to be purchased by individual and repeated complaisances."

From the above letter, it will be seen that Adrienne's tastes lay in the direction of a retired and peaceful life in the midst of a small circle of chosen friends, and that the wearisome round of social pleasures possessed but few attractions for her. In her exquisitely furnished house in the Rue des Marais--the same in which Mlle. de Champmesle and, after her, Racine had formerly lived, and which, in later years, was to become the residence of Mlle. Clairon--she spent the greater part of her scanty leisure, her favourite occupations being reading and music. She possessed a small but excellent library, containing some four hundred volumes, dramatic literature and memoirs and historical works predominating. Among the former were complete editions of the plays of Moliere and Racine; among the latter echard's _Histoire Romaine_, Daniel's _Histoire de France_, _Les Revolutions d'Angleterre_ by Pere d'Orleans, and the _Memoires_ of Madame de Motteville.[76]

That Adrienne should have numbered among her friends of the opposite s.e.x several who were desirous of establishing a closer relationship with the charming actress was, of course, only to be expected. Barbier, in his _Journal_, a.s.serts that one Prungent, intendant of the d.u.c.h.ess of Brunswick, was her lover, and had "squandered with her the money of the princess"; while other contemporary writers mention in the same connection the celebrated Lord Peterborough, the Chevalier de Rohan, and Voltaire.

Voltaire had been one of the first to appreciate both the talents and personal qualities of Adrienne, and in a letter to Thieriot, written shortly after the actress's untimely death, he declares himself to have been "her admirer, her friend, her lover." The biographers of the lady are divided in opinion as to whether this last term is to be taken in its literal, or in its platonic and poetic sense; but whatever may have been the relations between the _tragedienne_ and the writer, it is certain that Adrienne found in Voltaire one of the firmest and most devoted of her friends, who is undoubtedly sincere when he reminds her

"De la pauvre amitie que son cur a pour elle,"

and who remained tenderly attached to her to the last hour of her life.

However, even if Adrienne yielded in favour of a dramatic author to the customs of her profession, or, as Lemontey expresses it, was "bound to Voltaire by the ties of glory and of love which in the preceding century had united Racine and the Champmesle," it is improbable that either of the other persons mentioned were anything more than admirers. The actress's early experiences of the tender pa.s.sion had, as we have seen, been singularly bitter; the selfishness of man had inflicted upon her the most cruel of humiliations for a loving and sensitive woman, that of being cast aside like a broken toy when she had surrendered herself in the most absolute confidence, and she had come to Paris firmly resolved to remain henceforth mistress of her heart and her actions. The letters published by M. Monval show that, during the first three years of her residence in the capital, she replied to several declarations of love by offers of friendship, explaining her ideas on the subject with singular frankness.

"If I am unable to render you more happy," she writes to one of her _soupirants_, "I am more grieved than you yourself. I reproach myself. I tell myself, without doubt, more than you can tell me; but I could not deceive you. Caprices do not agree with reason, and love is nothing else but a folly which I detest, and to which I shall strive hard not to surrender myself so long as I live. You will understand it yet, and the severity with which I have treated you will serve then only to render you more happy. Permit me to approach the matter with you, and to offer you my counsels. Be my friend; I am worthy of that, but choose for mistress one who possesses a heart quite untampered with; who has not yet repented of that trust which renders everything so beautiful; who has been neither betrayed nor deserted; who believes you such as you are, and all men such as you. Let her be young and rather strong; she will be the less sensitive. Finally, see that she gives to you as much constancy as I should have given, if I had never loved any one save you."

Among the adorers whom Adrienne rejected, and whose friendship she nevertheless succeeded in retaining through life, was the Marquis de la Chalotais, whose famous quarrel with Madame du Barry's _protege_, the Duc d'Aiguillon, convulsed all France during the last years of Louis XV.

The future Advocate-General of the Parliament of Brittany was, at the time when he made Adrienne's acquaintance, a gay young abbe and a great frequenter of the Comedie-Francaise, where he paid a.s.siduous court to its chief divinity, but without obtaining anything save her friendship and esteem. Having succeeded to the family t.i.tle and become Advocate-General at Rennes, he continued to correspond with his former enchantress, and was in the habit of sending her a present every year.

Only nine days before her death, Adrienne wrote him a charming letter, thanking him for his gift and a.s.suring him of her lasting regard:--

"When one has been acquainted with a person for ten or twelve years, and has a kind of attachment for him which is proof against separation and ought not to injure any one, one may speak without restraint. I a.s.sure you, then, that I love you as much as I esteem you, that I pray for your happiness and that of all belonging to you, and I entreat you to retain for me remembrance and more."

In his letter, La Chalotais had expressed regret that it was impossible for him to take lessons in declamation from Adrienne; and the actress concludes by very modestly defining her own method of elocution, and giving her friend some very excellent advice on the subject:--

"You say that you would like me to teach you the art of declamation, of which you stand in need. You have then forgotten that I do not declaim.

The simplicity of my acting is my one poor merit; but this simplicity, which chance has turned to my advantage, appears to me indispensable to a man in your profession. The first requisite is intelligence, and that you have; the next, to allow beneficent Nature to do her work. To speak with grace, n.o.bility, and simplicity, and to reserve all your energies for the argument, are what you will say and do better than any man."

An admirer whom Adrienne had infinitely more difficulty in persuading to be content with friendship than La Chalotais was Voltaire's faithful ally, d'Argental. D'Argental, who was then a lad scarcely out of his teens, conceived for the actress a most violent pa.s.sion, and, though the latter repeatedly a.s.sured him that friendship was all she had to bestow, for long refused to abandon hope.

In the meantime, his infatuation had become common knowledge, and his family, forgetting La Rochefoucauld's maxim that absence, while extinguishing feeble pa.s.sions, only adds fuel to great ones, sent him to England in the hope that separation might effect a cure. With the consent of his mother, Madame de Ferriol, Adrienne wrote him long and frequent letters, carefully avoiding, however, the forbidden topic, her object being to accustom him to regard her merely as a friend. But these epistles appear to have had a very different effect from the one intended by the writer; the cure made no progress, and the young man's family, fearing that the actress was but simulating indifference in order to augment his pa.s.sion to the point of offering her marriage, resolved to remove him altogether out of reach of his enchantress by banishing him to St. Domingo.

However, no such drastic measures were necessary, for Adrienne, learning of what was intended, lost no time in writing to the anxious mother a most charming letter, which had the effect of completely allaying her apprehensions on the young gentleman's behalf. As all the actress's biographers concur in p.r.o.nouncing this letter to be the pearl of her correspondence, we need make no apology for transcribing it at length:--

"PARIS, _March 22, 1721_.

"Madame,--I cannot learn without being deeply pained of your anxiety and of the resolves with which this anxiety has inspired you. I might add that I have been not less grieved by learning that you blame my conduct; but I write to you less to justify it than to protest that for the future, in all that concerns you, it shall be such as you may wish to prescribe. I had requested permission to see you last Tuesday, with the intention of speaking to you in confidence and of asking you for your commands. But your reception of me destroyed my ardour, and I found myself only timid and sad. It is necessary, however, that you should be aware of my true sentiments, and, if you will permit me to add something further, that you should not disdain to listen to my very humble remonstrances, if you do not wish to lose your son.

"He is the most respectful youth and the most honest man that I have met in my life. You would admire him did he not belong to you. Once again, Madame, deign to co-operate with me in destroying a weakness which irritates you, and in which I have no part, whatever you may say. Do not show him either contempt or harshness. I would prefer to take upon myself all his hatred, in spite of the friendship, affection, and veneration that I entertain for him, than expose him to the least temptation which might cause him to fail in respect towards you. You are too interested in curing him not to strive earnestly to attain your object; but you are too much so to succeed in attaining it unaided, above all, when you endeavour to combat his inclination by the exercise of your authority, or by painting me in disadvantageous colours, whether true or not. His pa.s.sion must indeed be an extraordinary one, since it has existed so long without the least hope, in the midst of disappointments, in spite of the journeys you have made him undertake, and during eight months' residence in Paris, during which he never saw me, at least not at my house, and was unaware if I should ever receive him again. I conceived him to be cured, and, for that reason, consented to see him during my last illness. It is easy to believe that his society would afford me infinite pleasure, were it not for this unhappy pa.s.sion, which astonishes as much as it flatters me, but of which I decline to take advantage. You fear that, if he sees me, he will depart from his duty, and you carry this fear to such a point as to take violent resolutions against him. a.s.suredly, Madame, it is not just that he should be rendered unhappy in so many ways. Do not add anything to my severity; seek rather to console him; make all his resentment fall on me, but let your kindness serve to rea.s.sure him.

"I will write to him whatever you please; I will never see him again, if such is your wish; I will even withdraw to the country, if you consider it necessary. But do not threaten to send him to the end of the world.

He may be of service to his country; he will be the delight of his friends; he will fill you with pride and satisfaction. You have only to guide his talents, and leave his virtues to act for themselves. Forget for a time that you are his mother, if this character is opposed to the kindness that, on my knees, I beg you to extend to him. Finally, Madame, you will see me prefer to retire from the world, or to love him with the love of pa.s.sion, rather than to suffer him to be any more tormented for me or by me."

Adrienne did not speak of this letter to her adorer, neither did Madame de Ferriol deem it advisable to communicate it to him; and its existence, in consequence, remained unknown to d'Argental until sixty-three years later, when he discovered it by accident among some old papers which had belonged to his mother.

We may well believe that the old man shed many tears over those faded pages, for Adrienne, while refusing him her love, had succeeded in making him the most faithful and devoted of all her friends. The process of transition, seldom an easy one, had been rendered the more difficult, inasmuch as, shortly after the above letter was written, d'Argental had the mortification of seeing another take the place which had been denied him. However, Adrienne spared no pains to convince him of the wisdom of her decision, and, at the same time, of the value which she attached to his affection and regard.

"Do not cease either to be prudent or to love me," she writes. "The sentiments that I entertain for you are worth more than the most violent and most disordered pa.s.sion." And again: "Let my life be the term of your constancy, my dear friend.... Adieu, my dear friend; I am very affected in writing to you, and never was I more penetrated by friendship, affection, and esteem. Adieu; do not forget me entirely, or, at any rate, do not allow me to imagine so."