Talma succeeded, but there was nothing extraordinary about his success. The débutant was marked out rather by amateurs than by the general public. It was agreed that his acting was simple and natural. The account books of the Comédie-Française show that the receipts at Talma's first appearance amounted to three thousand four hundred and three francs, eight sous.
Now shall we hear the opinion of the critics on Talma's début? The Journal de Paris wrote thus: "The young man who has just made his début in the character of Séide gives promise of most pleasing talents; he possesses, besides, every natural advantage that it is possible to desire, in the rôle of a jeune premier,—figure, grace, voice,—and the public were justified in their applause."
We will next see what Bachaumont had to say about him. "The débutant possesses besides his natural gifts, a pleasing face, and a sonorous and expressive voice, a pure and distinct pronunciation; he both feels and can express the rhythm of his lines. His deportment is simple, his movements are natural; moreover, his taste is always good and he has no affectation; he does not imitate any other actor, but plays according to his own ideas and abilities."
Two months later, Le Mercure said, apropos of the revival of Ducis' Hamlet: "We mean soon to speak of a young actor, M. Talma, who has caught the fancy of playgoers; but we will wait until he has played more important parts. His taste lies in the direction of tragedy."
It will readily be understood that the appearance of Mademoiselle Rachel met with a very different reception from these mild approbations. And the explanation is not far to seek. Mademoiselle Rachel was a kind of fixed star, which had been discovered in the high heavens, where she dwelt unmoved, shining brilliantly. Talma, on the contrary, was a star destined to shine during a definite period, to describe the gigantic arc that separates one horizon from another horizon, to have his rising, his zenith, his setting—a setting equivalent to that of the sun in mid-August, more fiery, more magnificent, more splendid in his setting than during the noontide of his brightness. And indeed what a triumphant progress his was! from Séide to Charles IX., from Charles IX. to Falkland, from Falkland to Pinto, from Pinto to Leicester, from Leicester to Danville, from Danville to Charles VI.!
But in spite of the brilliant career that was Talma's lot, he always regretted that he did not see the full dawn of the modern drama. I spoke to him of my own hopes several times. "Make haste," he would say to me, "and try to succeed in my time."
Well, I saw Talma play what very few people outside his own intimate circle were privileged to see him play—the Misanthrope, which he never dared to put upon the boards of the Théâtre-Français, though he was anxious to do so; a part of Hamlet in English, particularly the monologue; also some farcical scenes got up at the Saint-Antoine for M. Arnault's fête.
Art was Talma's only care, his only thought, throughout his life. Without possessing a brilliant mind, he possessed fine feeling, much knowledge and profound discernment. When he was about to create a new part, he spared no pains in investigating what history or archæology might have to offer him in the way of assistance; every gift, good or indifferent, that he possessed, qualities as well as defects, was utilised by him. A fortnight before his death, when he rallied a little, and the rally gave rise to the hope that he might again reappear at the Théâtre-Français, Adolphe and I went to see him.
Talma was having a bath; he was studying Lucien Arnault's Tibère, in which he hoped to make his reappearance. Condemned by a disease of the bowels to die literally of starvation, he was terribly thin; but he seemed to find consolation even in his emaciated state and to derive hope of a success from it.
"Well, my boys," he said to us, as he pressed his hanging cheeks between his hands, "won't these be just right for the part of old Tiberius?"