"LA MARSEILLAISE."
The manner in which Rachel sang, or rather chanted, the "Marseillaise," was, perhaps, a greater manifestation of her unprompted natural genius than any other part she essayed during her brilliant career.
After the Revolution of February 1848, and the flight of royalty, mob law ruled unchecked. Every place of amusement was deserted; all excitement and interest concentrated on what was passing in the streets, where the people, wild with joy, set up trees of liberty, and shouted the "Marseillaise."
The idea of singing the national hymn first occurred to Rachel on one of these memorable days at the end of February. She lived near the Porte Maillot, and, in entering Paris, had to make her way through crowds declaiming it in every tone, and with every gesture of excitement and emotion. She then began to repeat it lowly to herself as she passed along, until the first idea took shape and form. M. Lockroy tells us:—
"One evening I was in Rachel's loge, when she suddenly said, 'I have dreamed of something extraordinary, which will draw all Paris. I will sing the "Marseillaise."' 'But I did not know you could sing.' 'No, but I can chant it (make a mélopée of it). You shall come and hear it to-night, there will be only three or four of you present.' 'Then I am to announce that Mademoiselle Rachel will sing the "Marseillaise" at the Théâtre Française?' 'Certainly; don't you think it will bring in money, now that all the theatres are deserted?' 'That depends, I must hear it first.' In short, when the public performance of the evening was over, we assembled in the green-room. With her family collected around her, and the tricolour flag in her hand, she began the celebrated song, which she had previously studied verse by verse, note by note. All the world knows what she made of it! It was not singing, properly so-called, but a recitation, in which the strength of accentuation and the power of expression supplied the want of melody. It made the hearers tremble and shudder. The success was as great as the conception was daring. The 'Marseillaise' brought in as much as three of Corneille's finest tragedies."
Rachel has been much blamed for pandering to the passions of the crowd by declaiming on that stage, which until now had been almost exclusively reserved for the dramatic masterpieces of France, the chant of woe of 1793. Jules Janin implored her, when she came to ask his advice, not to awaken the dangerous echo of bloodshed and violence. She represented the financial difficulties of the theatre, the impossibility of filling it in the present excited state of men's feelings. "I do not know," was the wise answer, "if the theatre needs the 'Marseillaise' to build up its falling fortunes; but you need neither the theatre nor the 'Marseillaise' to build up yours. Keep to Camille and Cinna, and don't set passions aflame which it may be beyond your power to control. Remember, also, all the benefits heaped on you at St. Petersburg, Brussels, Vienna, Turin, London. What will your royal patrons think of you if you incite to revolution and violence?"
His words were of no avail. "She had made up her mind long before consulting her "oracle," and three days later, after a stormy and excited representation of Lucrèce, the tricolour flag was left, as it were by chance, lying on a bench in the Forum, in the last scene of the play. Rachel seized it, and, with one of those grand gestures of hers, holding it aloft, came on towards the foot-lights, chanting, low and fierce, "Allons enfants de la patrie." The audience sat silent and breathless, while this fate, this fury, this goddess of Liberty—for to them she represented all this—gave a new significance, a new meaning to every word and every line of the hymn: a perfect delirium of excitement fell upon the crowd, and, as the flag waved harmoniously round her, men felt capable of heroism and death. "Le jour de gloire" had dawned for them and their country. Republicans fell sobbing into one another's arms; Royalists trembled and shivered before the great wave of Revolutionary exultation that swept around them.
"One felt in the air," said Madame Louise Collet to Béranger, "a mighty breath of hope, that bore along with it all youthful desires." That beautiful apparition, pale, menacing, was no longer a woman; she was the goddess of Liberty, calling on her countrymen to arms.
The performance was repeated next day before thousands of spectators, for one of the new arrangements of the Radical director was the admittance of the mob to the Théâtre de la République, as the old Comédie Française was now re-christened.
One evening a member of the audience, an artizan, suggested that he and his fellow-workmen should subscribe for a bouquet to be presented to the rude citoyenne, Rachel Félix. A hat was sent round, into which each dropped a few sous. Twenty francs was the result. Jacques Bonhomme rushed out, bought a handful of flowers at the flower-shop in the Palais Royale, and, returning, clambered over the orchestra and up to the stage to present his purchase. After this, every time she sang the "Marseillaise" a contribution was raised among the audience, and camelias, Cape jasmin, Persian lilies, Parma violets, were showered on her with as much profusion as though the audience had been the aristocracy of Paris.
George Sand has recorded her admiration of Rachel in the "Marseillaise," and declared it to be the only performance in which she ever cared to see her. "All artists competing for the Statue of Liberty," she says, "ought to go and study the classic poses of Mademoiselle Rachel singing the 'Marseillaise.' She is an exquisite incarnation of pride, courage, and energy."
There was an absence of intellectual sympathy between George Sand and Rachel—undoubtedly the two greatest female artists of their day—that strikes one at first as curious, but, on second consideration, becomes more intelligible. They were separated as widely as the poles in their views of art. George Sand was the head, almost the initiator, of the old oak and tapestry novel, while Rachel was severely classical. George Sand was the friend of Marie Dorval, the great actress of the Romantic school. Rachel never cared for Madame Dorval, although she was an intimate friend of her husband Merle, "because," as she said, "in spite of his wife, he had always defended her, and criticised favourably her first efforts at the Théâtre Français." George Sand, like many other great artists, had the ambition to do what Nature had decreed she never could do—write a great play; and, we have no doubt, unconsciously the actress offended the authoress by showing a reluctance to appear in her compositions.
Only this year, 1848, a prologue, Le Roi Attend, from the great novelist's pen, was brought out at the Français: Molière was supposed to have fallen asleep, worn out with fatigue, over the half-written page of an improvised piece he was preparing for the recreation of Louis XIV. In his dream the Muse of Poetry (represented by Rachel), appeared to him, surrounded by Eschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Shakespeare, Voltaire, and Beaumarchais. They told the sleeping poet the influence they had had and would have, on the human mind. Indulging in pompous and tiresome tirades, they informed him that dramatic poets prepared the freedom of nations; that what they sowed the people reaped, &c. &c. The clouds then closed, the vision disappeared, and the sleeping poet was awakened by his faithful servant, who told him the King was waiting. Molière exclaimed, "What! are there yet kings?" Upon this witticism the curtain fell. It was only acted a few times. At one of the rehearsals the actress met George Sand smoking a cigar. She turned away with a stage aside, "What bad tobacco!" "and seemed inclined," as a looker-on said, "to call the firemen to put out the fire."
The Princess Belgiojoso once invited her to supper. "No," was the petulant answer, "I won't go; I should find George Sand smoking a cigar as big as my arm." She thought the great novelist's declamation pompous and artificial. A friend told her she ought to read her works, that she would find enough reality there.
"I daresay; but I would rather not," was the laughing reply.
"Why not?"
"Because I am afraid I should admire them."
There was, perhaps, a feeling of jealousy between the two women on the subject of the poet who had written the Nuit de Mai for the one and La Servante du Roi for the other.
One of the ideas of the Republican Government, as we have seen, in the Paris of 1848, was the free admission of the populace to the theatres. The Théâtre Français was paid for by the people, therefore it must be the first to throw open its doors to admit them gratis. Citizen Lockroy and his colleagues decreed that the Théâtre Français had a great and noble mission to fulfil. It must rise to the greatness of the crisis. No longer must immoral and frivolous amusement be offered to a nation who, conscious of the greatness of its aspirations, wished to listen exclusively to the masterpieces of its immortal poets.
The following mandate of Ledru Rollin was therefore promulgated:—
The Commissary of the Government at the Théâtre de la République is authorised to give National Performances at short intervals. Said performances to consist of works of the best French dramatic authors, acted by the best actors of the theatre. Between the acts National airs will be played. All the seats in the house will be numbered, and each seat will have a corresponding ticket. Said tickets will be distributed to the twelve municipalities of Paris, to the Hôtel de Ville, and to the Prefecture of Police, and thence to the clubs, schools, factories, workshops, and poorer citizens, who will obtain them by ballot.
Paris, March 24th, 1848.(Signed)Ledru Rollin.
The result of this patriotic endeavour was that the Français was perfectly empty ou the second night of the Répresentations Nationales, and would have been in as bad a plight as all the other theatres of Paris, had not Mademoiselle Rachel introduced the recitation of the "Marseillaise," for which the house filled towards the end of the evening. Ruin, indeed, was only averted by her strenuous exertions. The sociétaires expressed their gratitude in the following terms:—
Dear Comrade,
You have double reason to feel proud and happy. Never has your success been so brilliant, never has it been so useful to the interests of our company. You have struggled for us with indefatigable devotion against the difficult circumstances which for the past two months have afflicted all artists. You have maintained the Maison de Molière in a more prosperous state than any other theatre.
We are proud to see in this, dear comrade, not so much the accomplishment of a duty as a proof of real sisterly friendship. Accept in return the unanimous thanks of your friends and colleagues. They hope this letter, signed by them all, will remain one of the most precious memories of your dramatic career; for if it is meritorious to obtain triumphs as brilliant as yours, it is no less flattering to have deserved the affection and gratitude of one's comrades.
The Artists Sociétaires of the
Théâtre de la République.
In June Rachel went a tour, of which her brother Raphaël was the organizer. Strasbourg, Metz, Besançon, Nancy, Dijon, Bâle, Geneva, Lausanne, Marseilles, Avignon, Toulon, Montpellier, Beziers, Cette, Orleans, Tours, Blois, Agen, &c., were visited in turn at, we need not say, what an immense exertion and fatigue. Her arrival was heralded two months beforehand to all the directors of provincial theatres in a circular issued by order of the Minister of Interior, Ledru Rollin, which, to a certain extent, lent an official character to her movements:—
Citizen Félix has assembled a company, with which he intends visiting various parts of France. It is his intention to have the masterpieces of our stage performed, the Citoyenne Rachel volunteering to be their interpreter. The Citoyenne Rachel has broken engagements to a large amount which she had abroad in order to remain in France! The devotion she has shown to the Republic in Paris, by her admirable creation of the "Marseillaise," she intends displaying in the Departments. The enthusiasm she has diffused here will doubtless produce also the most marvellous and salutary effect in our provinces. It is in the name of Art, over which the Republic intends extending its powerful and beneficial protection, that I request you will take into consideration the sacrifices she makes, and lend your assistance to facilitate the carrying out of her enterprise. Salut et Fraternité.
While at Montpellier, during this tour of 1848, Rachel visited Madame Lafarge, who was imprisoned in the Maison Centrale of that town. Marie Cappelle, veuve Lafarge, had been the heroine of the most singular drama of the century. Born in 1816, she was married by her guardians, in 1840, to a man whose acquaintance she had only made a few days before through an advertisement. Taken away to live in a lonely, tumble-down country house, in daily intercourse with this man, her indifference soon deepened into dislike, which was increased by the morbid idea that he had misrepresented his circumstances and means, and by the uncompromising attitude of his mother, sister, and servants. Who is ever to tell whether she was guilty or not? The great Berryer himself said, talking of the case, "The older I grow the less I venture to decide on the innocence or culpability of a prisoner." The evidence was overwhelming, but, we must remember, given by people who were inimical to the young wife. It was proved she had bought arsenic; the servant deposed to seeing her pour a colourless fluid into her husband's food. When he was absent, it was declared, she had sent him poisoned cakes; and the first set of doctors called in after the exhumation of the corpse, deposed to the detection of arsenic in the intestines of the deceased. The war between the two sides—the one who believed her innocent and the one who believed her guilty—raged fast and furious, converting the Court of Justice into a scene of violence and abuse, that was only possible amongst so excitable and passionate a people as the French. The party against her brought charges of offences committed before her marriage, declaring she had stolen some diamonds; they painted her character in the blackest colours, she was not given the benefit of any excuse for her crime; while the party in her favour declared her to be an angel, surrounded by enemies, who were endeavouring to procure her condemnation to satisfy their own private animosity. Their excitement in her cause was fanned into fever-heat by the declaration of a second set of doctors that there was no arsenic to be detected in the body of the deceased. The result of the trial was that Marie Capelle, veuve Lafarge, was proved guilty and sentenced to imprisonment for life. It was during this imprisonment that she wrote her celebrated Mémoires, in which she gives such a piteous account of her slow death by consumption.
The following letter of Rachel, describing her visit to the unfortunate woman, is very curious, showing the horror she felt at the sight of sufferings similar to those she was herself destined to undergo. It is addressed to her sister Sarah:—
I visited Madame Lafarge in her prison at the Maison Centrale yesterday. I had to obtain the consent of the préfet and of the prisoner herself, who dislikes very much receiving strangers. In my case, however, she declared herself enchanted, and said a great many complimentary things which I won't repeat. Léon Guillard accompanied me. She received us in the Director's room, prepared on purpose for the bishop's visits to the afflictorum. I was struck, not with her beauty, poor woman, for she is dying slowly of the most terrible of all diseases, consumption! She feels the skein of life's thread unwinding, and to the very last moment she will feel, she will know. It is awful! Better a ball through the poor feeble chest, or that a chimney-pot should fall on her head in a gale.
As the room she received us in was gloomy and depressing, she led us into a smaller one next to it, where we three sat talking. I felt her looking attentively and closely at me. I daresay I showed some of the emotion that I felt. I begged her to believe it was not idle curiosity that had brought me to see her. She interrupted me courteously by saying that she had too good an opinion of my heart and intelligence for that. "I only saw you once," she said, "in Iphigenia in Aulis. I have often regretted since that I did not know you personally." I then offered to come and recite anything she liked. She exclaimed with a sigh, "Ah! no, I do not dare. You would make me regret the world too much, and I am trying to teach myself not to regret life." When we left she kissed me.
Now, if you wish for my opinion of this celebrated prisoner, I will tell you that she strikes me as being a woman of considerable intelligence, who in any society would make her mark, if not by her moral qualities, certainly by her opinions and manner of expressing them.
She asked me if I knew M. Lachaud, the lawyer who conducted her case. I answered that I had only seen him once. "I advise you to make his acquaintance," she said warmly. "He has a good heart, and great talent and eloquence." I left sad and depressed, thinking that, if I had a favour to obtain from a sovereign, it would be the release of this poor creature—married by means of an agency—who is dying slowly and surely of remorse, or by the injustice of men.[1]
Madame Lafarge's words shortly before her death might have been spoken by Rachel. "Adieu tout ce que j'aime! Je légue ma mémoire aux hommes de cœur. Mon pardon à mes ennemis. Qu'on me laisse seule avec Dieu."
The history of Rachel's tours in the provinces and abroad would fill a volume in themselves. The fatigue this fragile, delicate creature underwent in the pursuit of that fortune which she was heaping up—for we are afraid to no higher motive can we ascribe her continual restlessness—appears incredible. In a curious letter, addressed to Dr. Véron on the 26th May 1849, she gave a list of the representations that she intended to give from the 29th May to the 31st August of that year, and its citation will enable us to form a better idea than would any general sketch of the labours which, to the utter destruction of her health, she imposed upon herself:—
I am very sorry to have been unable to make you my adieux this morning. A rehearsal of Iphigenia obliges me to be at the theatre at eleven. This is my itinerary.
| Orleans, | May | 29th, 31st. |
| Tours, | June | 1st, 2nd. |
| Poitiers, | „ | 3rd, 4th. |
| Niort, | „ | 5th. |
| La Rochelle, | „ | 6th, 8th. |
| Rochefort, | „ | 7th, 9th. |
| Saintes, | „ | 10th, 12th. |
| Cognac, | „ | 11th, 13th. |
| Angoulême, | „ | 14th, 15th, 17th, 18th. |
| Périgueux, | „ | 19th, 20th. |
| Libourne, | „ | 22nd, 23rd. |
| Mont-de-Marsan, | „ | 25th. |
| Bayonne, | „ | 26th, 27th, 29th, 30th. |
| Pau, | July | 1st, 2nd. |
| Tarbes, | „ | 3rd, 4th. |
| Bagnères, | „ | 5th. |
| Auch, | „ | 7th, 8th. |
| Toulouse, | „ | 10th, 11th, 13th, 14th. |
| Narbonne, | „ | 16th. |
| Perpignan, | „ | 17th, 18th, 20th, 21st. |
| Carcassonne, | „ | 23rd, 24th. |
| Cahors, | „ | 26th, 27th. |
| Aurillac, | „ | 29th, 30th. |
| Clermont, | August | 1st, 2nd. |
| Moulins, | „ | 3rd, 4th. |
| Nevers, | „ | 5th. |
| Bourges, | „ | 6th. |
| Blois, | „ | 8th, 9th. |
| Le Mans, | „ | 10th, 11th. |
| Laval, | „ | 12th. |
| Rennes, | „ | 13th, 14th. |
| St. Malo, | „ | 15th. |
| Jersey, | „ | 17th, 19th, 21st. |
| Caen, | „ | 18th, 20th. |
| Guernsey, | „ | 25th, 26th, 28th, 29th, 31st. |
To the above list may be added performances given in Bordeaux and one or two other places, for which she had not signed the agreement when it was written. Altogether they number eighty-five in ninety successive days.
In those days a provincial tour was much more lucrative than now. Few of the inhabitants of country towns were able to afford a journey to the capital, and only knew by hearsay of the genius of a Talma or a Rachel, until the thought occurred to enterprising country managers to induce, by payment of large sums, those theatrical stars to visit the various towns of the departments. Mars and Talma could not endure these journeys far from their beloved Paris. "I am only a rustic Célimène in the provinces," the former used to declare; whilst Talma averred, "I feel like a contraband hero; my royal robes are but a farmer's coat, my sceptre but a black-thorn stick, my imperial crown adorns my bent and unimpassioned head, like an old grey hat fit to scare the birds at fruit-time."
The spirit of wandering was, however, born in Rachel. She never felt the depressing effects of an uncultured audience, and her genius never suffered from the deteriorating effects of acting to them. It seemed to soar above and beyond all exterior influences. As soon as she appeared, the sense of grandeur was imparted to the piece; although acted on a tumble-down country stage, with no scenery, and miserable adjuncts, the impression of stately colonnades and luxurious Eastern palaces was produced on the mind of the listener. Abroad, when acting not even in the language of her audience, her pantomimic power was so great that she asserted her influence over them directly, never degrading her art to their level, but raising them to hers.
These wanderings, however, through the provinces and all over Europe, laid the seeds in her already overtaxed constitution of that disease which in America burst forth at last, consuming what little strength she had left. She travelled in a carriage of her own, which was fitted up after the manner of a stage-coach; the coupé was occupied by Rachel herself, and here she had a bed set up for her numerous night journeys. It would have been impossible for her to fulfil all the numerous engagements she undertook without travelling by night, but the most ridiculous stories were circulated in Paris respecting these journeyings. At Dragnignau, it was said, Fleuret, who played the part of Theseus, worn-out with fatigue, fell asleep while listening to the celebrated narrative of his son's death. A vigorous kick was required to rouse him in time to exclaim, "A mon fils, cher espoir, que je suis ravi."
Only the most severe indisposition was accepted as an excuse for exemption from service. On one occasion, a member of the company was obliged to apply the leeches, which had been prescribed for some temporary ailment, in the coach as they went along, it being considered impossible to give him a day's respite from duty.
At Bourges, Mademoiselle Durey, the second lady, was taken so ill that Rose, Rachel's maid, was sent back with her to Blois in the coupé. Phèdre, however, was announced for that night, and Rachel, not wishing to disappoint the audience, attempted to act it without an Aricie. Hippolyte, forgetting the absence of his bride, addressed the ardent expressions of love, meant for her, to space. The audience, provincial though they were, did not fail to recognize the comicality of the situation, and greeted his fits of oblivion with roars of laughter. What still further increased the hilarity was the behaviour of the actor (a very inferior one) who played Theramènes. Being hissed in the account of Hippolyte's death, he advanced to the foot-lights, and said, with an apologetic shrug of the shoulders, "Ma foi, gentlemen, you are quite right. Nothing could be worse than the manner in which I gave it; but never mind, I'll begin it all over again." Needless to say that this sally was greeted with frantic applause, in which even Phèdre, who was waiting in the slips, joined heartily.
Sometimes, in the smaller country towns, the buildings, selected hastily by her brother Raphaël or M. Prot, organizer of some of her tours, were not suitable for the purpose, and amusing incidents occurred in consequence. One night, at Saintes, everything was ready for the performance, actors dressed, scenery prepared; the only thing wanting was an audience. Not a soul came. The tumble-down building had been propped up by various ingenious means; but the townsfolk knew what had been done, and would not expose themselves to the risk of being buried beneath the ruins. The company got to bed in good time that night, but had to do double duty next day in another theatre, as there was an afternoon and evening performance to make up for lost time.
Meantime, the party inimical to Rachel at the Comédie Française took advantage of her absence to combine against her and undermine her overwhelming influence. As far back as the year 1846 Rachel had threatened to resign her position as Associate, finding that the duties of the position did not leave her sufficient liberty for her provincial and foreign tours. The members of the Comédie Française form a commercial body. The amount of popularity enjoyed by each actor or actress constitutes the capital which each subscribes, and, according to the valuation put upon it, each is entitled to what is called a half, a quarter, an eighth, three quarters of a share, or a full share, in the profits of the theatre, which are divided into twenty-four shares. The holders of these shares, Comédiens Sociétaires, not being sufficiently numerous for the requirements of the theatre, engage what are called pensionnaires. The pensionnaires' salaries are paid by the sociétaires, and diminish, therefore, the profits they receive. The company is governed by a committee, composed of six male members. All the sociétaires, both male and female, however, have a voice in the acceptance or rejection of plays, which are read in full conclave. "In the multitude of counsellors," under those circumstances, there seems to have been little "wisdom," if we are to judge by the plays accepted during Rachel's tenure of office.
By "the Decree of Moscow" (so called because it was signed by Napoleon I. at Moscow on the 15th October 1815), the Committee of Management were confirmed in all their privileges, the free action of the company in all financial and artistic affairs being only subject to the interference or remonstrance, when necessary, of the Court Superintendent and Imperial Commissioner. The actors, therefore, had complete control of their own affairs, and community of interest, one might have thought, would have bound them together. Far from it, however; professional jealousy was too strong, and the Maison de Molière was a house continually divided against itself. Mademoiselle Mars, cold, calm, and self-interested, had for years imposed her sovereign will upon them, and now Rachel, grasping, passionate, and imperious, was twenty times worse. In 1847 the position became strained past bearing. The sociétaires saw that she was capricious, ungrateful, unscrupulous, extortionate, that she was always endeavouring to escape from her obligations to her comrades, and to do as little as she possibly could in return for the large salary she received. Under pretence of ill-health, they urged, "she was continually hurrying away and obtaining great rewards by her performances in the provinces." Indeed, during her congé of three or four months every year, she earned as much, they declared, as 30,000 francs. All this was substantially true, especially towards the latter years of Rachel's professional career in Paris. She was one of those natures who can do generous and unselfish things by impulse, but when fidelity to existing engagements, or obedience to the every-day calls of duty, is demanded of them, they avoid compliance by every means in their power.
Védel, favourable as a rule to the great tragedian, gives the following account of her connection with the Comédie:—
On the 1st April 1842 Rachel consented to become an Associate; but in 1849 she made a pretext of her delicate health, and, bringing her case into court, caused the contract that bound her to the Comédie to be legally broken. The fact is, that as an Associate she found she was not free enough to prosecute her provincial and foreign tours. She preferred, therefore, the position of pensionnaire, and the theatre was obliged to accede to her request. She was then re-engaged simply as a pensionnaire, with a salary of 42,000 francs, and six months' holiday. Two tears later a new caprice! She took it into her head to become a member again; the company consented, and Rachel became once more, in 1851, a sociétaire. The fact is, Rachel reigned a despotic sovereign in the Rue Richelieu, the actors blindly submitting to her slightest wish, even when against their own interests.
Védel then shows that her comrades' arguments were justified by the event. Large as were the proceeds when she acted, the annual profits of the theatre were not considerably increased. Everyone crowded to see her, and no other representation had the least attraction, so that what was gained one day was lost the next. She had become, as it were, the pivot on which the Comédie Française revolved; during her congés, her regular and irregular absences, her sulks and caprices when she would not act, it was impossible to keep up the receipts. From this point of view, Rachel's reign was rather unlucky than prosperous, so far as the theatre was concerned. The profits of the first year she appeared were relatively enormous. In 1838 she only gave six weeks of representations (exactly forty-eight evenings), which produced 170,822 francs, whilst the total profits of the year were 715,000 francs, showing that, over and above Rachel's performances, the Comédie had only realised, during ten months and a half, 544,178 francs. These large proceeds, too, only lasted for the first few years; as soon as the great interest and curiosity the young actress excited had been satisfied, the public ceased to flock in the same crowds. In 1846 the Comédie only realised 423,591 francs (Rachel acting sixty-five times); in 1847 only 331,144 francs (fifty-eight performances of Rachel). The receipts increased again slightly in 1850, the year of Angelo and Horace and Lydie. Then the enthusiasm of the first few years began to decline. Rachel's later representations never yielded the brilliant results of 1838 and 1839. But, as Védel says, "Of what importance are financial results weighed in the balance with the glory and honour she brought to the Français? She far surpassed Georges, Duchesnois, Adrienne Lecouvreur, and since her death, in 1858, many attempts have been made to revive our ancient tragedies, but without success."
To return, however, to Rachel's dispute with the sociétaires in 1848, the year at the beginning of which they had expressed themselves so grateful to their "chère camarade." In 1846 she had declared herself in favour of a dictatorship, instead of the rule of the Committee of six men, all actuated by different motives and interests. Greatly owing to her influence, M. Buloz, editor of the Revue des Deux Mondes, was nominated sole director. Things went better under the new régime; but, in 1848, Buloz, by an act of political jobbery, was deprived of his functions, and Rachel lent all her influence to the election of M. Lockroy. His national performances, however, and his permitting the singing of the "Marseillaise," were made as much a matter of reproach after 1848 as Buloz's constitutional tendencies had been before, and, during Rachel's absence in the south of France, he was deposed. His dismissal annoyed her exceedingly, and she sent in her resignation, informing her dear comrades that she found herself under the necessity of retiring from the Théâtre Français, as the restoration of her health and the preservation of her dignity depended on her doing so.
Hardly was the resignation sent in before it was withdrawn, owing, in a great measure, to Janin's influence. He wrote to her on the 30th July 1849:—
How happy and proud I am, my dear child, that my influence has been of some avail in keeping you at the Théâtre Français, whose ruin was decreed the day you left it. It is no use; there is but one Rachel; she reigns absolute sovereign, and we must all submit. Remember that your life and your work are part and parcel of the theatre. It would be a matter of eternal regret if you gave up those evenings, that audience entranced by your representation, the discriminating applause, the tender appreciation of poets and critics. He who has once tasted that inebriating draught can never do without it. I, your critic, am but an artist in a small way; I only address a small audience; but I would sooner die than give up my Monday every week, so much delight do I take in telling my readers what my head has thought and my heart has felt. Come back as quickly as you can, and take possession of your kingdom again. You will be received with well-merited applause, for you will have proved once more that the great artist is superior to the most legitimate cause of complaint. Alas! while you are leaving Brussels I am leaving Paris. Hardly shall we be able to exchange a word in passing, A clasp of the hand is not enough for friends such as you and I. Each day we have known one another has tightened the bonds that bind us together, increased our esteem, and justified our tender affection. I embrace you with all my heart.
A few months later she again resigned, and this time, to all appearance, definitely. Rachel explained her reasons to Madame de Girardin in a long letter, from which we give some extracts. It is dated the 14th October 1849:—
Madame,
Before bidding adieu to the Comédie Française, I wished to go over all my repertory once more, so as, in some measure, to pay the debt of gratitude I owe those authors to whom a great portion of my success is due. Amongst others, I wished to give Cléopâtre. Beauvallet's indisposition frustrated my intention. You see, Madame, I have again been unfortunate, not ungrateful. I wish you to know this, so that no untrue account of the affair may reach you, and deprive me of that kindness and friendship with which you have always treated me. Ah! I wish I could thus easily rebut all the unkind insinuations that are being made by the public on the subject of my resignation. I would then feel strong in my resolve, for that public, which has encouraged me from the beginning and made me what I am, would then know that I still merit its esteem, and would shield me with its all-powerful protection.
First of all, it was said that my withdrawal was the result of caprice; then that the object I wanted to attain was to drag money concessions from my comrades. In other words, they accused me of saying to them, "Your money or your life!" On the contrary, I was willing to make considerable pecuniary sacrifices, if they would consent to give the reins of government into competent and able hands. Who can doubt my sincerity, when, after the Revolution of February, the day after the installation of a director, elected unanimously by our votes, and confirmed in his position by the Ministry, I offered to forfeit, if it were necessary to insure the services of competent pensionnaires, ten thousand francs of my income, and the whole of my congé of 1849. You must remember that my personal interests are bound up in those of the theatre. Its prosperity is as important to me as my own. This is why, as soon as the Ministry had selected a director [Lockroy] who was popular with all of us, I made it my duty to contribute as much as possible to the success of the new administration.
It was at that time difficult to drag the public from their political preoccupation. But did I not act four times a week? and did I not sing the "Marseillaise"—doing it all in the service of the Comédie? Whether my efforts were successful I will leave you to judge. I went on my congé, happy at the results attained, and at the gratitude of my comrades.
Little did I foresee that, in the month of June, the zeal I had displayed would have been looked on as excessive, and would be used as an argument against me. At the end of June the Minister of the Interior addressed observations of such a character to the Government nominee that he immediately sent in his resignation. From these observations it was to be gathered that the interests of the Comédie were sacrificed to mine, and that it exercised an unfortunate influence on the theatre.
I defy anyone to bring forward the smallest proof of the truth of the first statement. As to the second, I do not even reply, both on account of the respect I owe to the man by whom we had the honour of being governed, and for the respect I owe to myself. My devotion has thus, you see, been the cause of the dismissal of our director. I might have deplored this in silence, had not his resignation revealed the extent of the evil wrought by my zeal. In presence of this fact, of which I was involuntarily the cause, I did not think, it possible to remain any longer a member of the Théâtre Français. This is the reason of my retirement. * * * *
Let me say, also, that I am not the only member of the company who laments the inconveniences and vices of self-government. Everyone of them knows it is no longer feasible. We are all unanimous in the wish to see the power concentrated in the hands of a director, who would give to our administration the strength it needs, and would guarantee to each actor the freedom and repose so much needed for the exercise of his art.
I have waited in vain a whole year for this happy solution. The term fixed for my withdrawal has come. It is not without profound regret, Madame, that I take leave of this stage which recalls so many happy memories. They say I intend to seek for success far from France. They are mistaken. Where should I find a public like the one I leave? The memory of its kindness to me, of its indulgence, its appreciation, will not be effaced so easily. I will add one word more: applause is a necessity of my life. I gave my last representation at the Rue de Richelieu yesterday; but I shall look forward to appearing on the little theatre you propose to build in your garden. A thousand thanks, Madame, for having taken the trouble to read my long and tiresome letter.
As we have seen, Rachel resigned on the 14th October; on the 29th she wrote again to Madame de Girardin. We give the first part of it in French, for it is in Rachel's best style:—
Vous qui m'avez vue verser un torrent de larmes au récit des petites misères de nos coulisses, vous comprendez ma fuite de la capitale si vous n'en approuvez pas la résolution. Depuis quatre jours la fiévre me gagnait, et Paris allait me rendre folle, lorsque je me determinai à aller abriter mon imagination déjà quelque peu en délire à la campagne verte encore, et dorée parfois d'un soleil tiède. Me voilà donc partie et installée dans une modeste petite chambre d'auberge. Mais loin d'éloigner de mon cœur et de ma tête ces colonnes plus ou moins antiques, ces portiques plus chinois que romains, si salement reproduits sur le triste toile de nos coulisses, j'y pense sans cesse et je demande en vain à mes chanteurs d'Ionie de calmer l'impatience que j'ai de rentrer brillante et riche des amours d'Antoine et de Xipharès.
She goes on to express with what joy she has heard of the possible appointment of Merle, husband of Madame Dorval, to the Directorate:—
I would re-enter the Comédie Française willingly then, for now I feel like an exile, banished from all the applause and brightness of life. I implore you, Madame, to use your influence for M. Merle. I will work very hard to make his winter a success. I am going over my repertory now, and am studying Marion Delorme, Alfred de Vigney's Desdemona, and Mademoiselle de Belle Isle.
Arsène Houssaye and not Merle was nominated by the Ministry. As soon as Rachel heard of it, she wrote the following letter to the new Director:—"Come at once and dine with me; I have a piece of bad news for you. I did my best—or, rather, my worst. You are appointed, in spite of me."
It was said that Josephine in the heyday of her youth and beauty ruled Europe: for there was little doubt Napoleon ruled Europe, and she ruled Napoleon. Lockroy, Buloz, Arsène Houssaye, were all supposed to direct the Théâtre Français; but each in turn fell beneath the sway of the syren, so that, in reality, its affairs were in the hands of "the first lady." By the actress's indignant protest, in her letter to Madame de Girardin, we see that the Ministry had come to this conclusion in the case of citizen Lockroy. It was of little avail protesting, however; for soon it began to be whispered that, not only were the Directors, each in succession, subject to her influence, but that the Prince President himself bowed beneath her power, and accepted what terms she chose to dictate. The other members of the company, especially the female ones, might resent the despotism, enlightened though it were; none ever dared controvert Louis XIV.'s statement, "L'État c'est moi," or Rachel's, "Il n'y a que moi seule," and her lightest whims and caprices were accepted with as good grace as possible.
Alas! the day of reckoning came, when the suppressed hatred and envy excited by those years of triumph broke forth, and the dethroned sovereign, weak and unprotected, lay at the feet of her enemies. Then it was they gathered like a pack of wolves, and tore her reputation, moral and artistic, to pieces.
- ↑ She was released three years later by the President of the Republic, but only enjoyed her freedom for a few months.