One of the eccentricities of the modern French stage is the way in which it deals with the most delicate, or, rather, the most indelicate subjects and people. The indelicate people and subject may indeed be coarsely represented and outspoken, but they must observe certain recognised, though undefined rules. There must be an innocent young lady among the wicked people, and the lady (the ingénue) and her ingenuousness must be respected. One fly may taint a score of carcases and make a whole pot of ointment stink, but one ingénue keeps a French piece of nastiness comparatively pure, and the public taste for the impure is satisfied with this little bit of sentimentality. The subjects which many French authors have brought on the stage do not, it is to be hoped, hold a true mirror up to French nature. If so, concubinage, adultery, and murder reign supreme. The changes have been rung so often on this triple theme that an anonymous writer has proposed that the theme should be represented, once for all, in something of the following form, and that dramatic authors should then turn to fresh woods and pastures new: ‘Scene.—A Drawing-room; a married lady is seated, her lover at her feet; the folding-door at back opens, and discovers husband with a double-barrelled revolver. He fires and kills married lady and her lover. Husband then advances and contemplates his victims. After a pause, he exclaims: “A thousand pardons! I have come to a room on the wrong flat!” Curtain slowly descends.’ This represents quite as faithfully the iniquities which, according to the modern French drama, prevail universally in society, as the dramas of Florian achieve the mission which was assigned to him of illustrating les petites vertus de tous les jours—the little virtues of everyday life.
The name of Mademoiselle Aimée Desclées reminds me of our Lord Chamberlain. Extremes meet, in the mind as well as elsewhere! That actress, who, after many years of hard struggle, floated triumphantly as La Dame aux Camélias, and after a few years’ progress over sunny seas slowly sank in sight of port, was discovered and brought out by M. Dumas fils. A year or two ago she came to London with his plays, the above ‘Dame,’ the ‘Princesse Georges,’ the ‘Visite de Noces,’ and some others. But they stank in the nostrils of our Lord Chamberlain, and he would no more allow them to be produced than the Lord Mayor would allow corrupt meat to be exposed for sale in a City market. Great was the outcry that arose thereupon, from the French inhabitants, and some of the ignorant natives of London. The Chamberlain’s prudery and English delicacy generally were made laughing-stocks. But, gently! Is it known that the French themselves have raised fiercer outcry against plays which our Lord Chamberlain has refused to license than ever Jeremy Collier raised against that disgusting school of English comedy which Dryden founded, and the filth of which was not compensated for by the wit, such as it is, of Congreve, or the humour, if it may be so called, of Wycherly? The Gaulois and the Figaro, papers which cannot be charged with over straitlacedness, have blushed at the adulterous comedy of France as deeply as the two harlequins at Southwark Fair blushed at the blasphemy of Lord Sandwich. A French critic, M. Fournier, referring to the ‘Visite de Noces’ of the younger Dumas, remarks that ‘the theatre ought not to be a surgical operating theatre, or a dissecting-room. There are operations,’ he adds, ‘which should not be performed on the stage, unless, indeed, a placard be posted at the doors, “Women not admitted!”’ With respect to this suggestion, M. Hostein, another critic, says: ‘People ask if the “Visite de Noces” be proper for ladies to see. Men generally reply with an air of modesty, that no woman who respects herself would go to see it. Capital puff!’ exclaims M. Hostein, ‘they flock to it in crowds!’ Not all, however. Not even all men. Men with a regard for ‘becomingness’ are warned by indignant French critics. The dramatic critic of the ‘France’ thus vigorously speaks to the point: ‘We say it with regret, with sadness, in no other country, no other civilised city, in no other theatre of Europe, would the new piece of M. Dumas fils be possible, and we doubt whether there could be found elsewhere than in Paris a public who would applaud it even by mistake. The “Visite de Noces” has obtained a striking and decided success; so much the worse for the author and for us. If our tastes, if our sentiments, if our conscience be so perjured and perverted that we accept without repugnance and encourage with our cheers such pictures, we are truly en décadence.’ Such is the judgment of the leading critics. One of them, indeed, tersely said, ‘the piece will have a success of indignation and money.’ The public provided both, and the author accepted the latter. The women who were of his audience and were not indignant were of the same nature as those who listen to cases in our divorce courts. But the Lord Chamberlain is fully justified in refusing a licence to play French pieces which French critics have denounced as degrading to the moral and the national character. The only fault to be found is in the manner of the doing it; which in the Chamberlain’s servants takes a rude and boorish expression. Meanwhile, let us remark that the attention of the Lord Chamberlain might well be directed to other matters under his control. If a fire, some night, break out in a crowded theatre (where, every night, there is imminent peril) he will be asked if he had officially done all in his power to prevent such a calamity. And if he were to put restraint on the performances of certain licenced places of amusement, husseydom might deplore it, but there would be one danger the less for young men for whose especial degradation these entertainments seem at present to be permitted. While this matter is being thought of, a study of that old-fashioned book ‘The Elegant Letter-Writer,’ would perhaps improve the style of the Chamberlain’s subs, and would not be lost on certain young gentlemen of Oxford.
If not among the eccentricities—at least among the marvels of modern French-actress life—may be considered the highly dramatic entertainments given by some of the ladies in their own homes.
Like the historical tallow-chandler, who, after retiring from business, went down to the old manufactory on melting days, the actor, generally speaking, never gets altogether out of his profession. Some who retire give ‘readings,’ or return periodically to the stage, after no end of ‘final farewells’ for positively the last time, and nothing is more common than to see concert singers (on holiday) at concerts. French actresses have been especially addicted to keeping to their vocation, even in their amusements. If they are not at the theatre they have private theatricals at home; and, if not private theatricals, at least what comes next to them, or most nearly resembles them.
In the grand old days of the uninterrupted line of French actresses there was a Mdlle. Duthé, who was first in the second line of accomplished players. She was of the time of, and often a substitute for, Mdlle. Clairon. The latter was never off the stage. She was always acting. When she was released from Fort l’Évêque, where she had been imprisoned for refusing to act with Dubois, whom she considered as a disgrace to the profession, Clairon said to a bevy of actresses in her heroic way, ‘The King may take my life, or my property, but not my honour!’ ‘No, dear,’ responded the audacious Sophie Arnould, ‘certainly not. Where there is nothing, the King loses his rights!’ Mdlle. Duthé belonged to these always-acting actresses. She is the first on record who gave a bal costumé—a ball to which every guest was to come in a theatrical or fancy dress. This was bringing amateur acting into the ball-room. The invitation included the entire company of the Théâtre Français, every one of whom came in a tragedy suit. The non-professionals, authors, artists, abbés, noblesse, and gentils-hommes also donned character dresses; and ball and supper constituted a wonderful success. An entertainment similar to the above was given when Louis Philippe was king, by Mdlle. Georges, the great tragédienne. All who were illustrious in literature, fine arts, diplomacy, and so forth, elbowed one another in the actress’s suite of splendid rooms. Théophile Gautier, we are told, figured as an incroyable, Jules Janin as a Natchez Indian, and Victor Hugo, who now takes the ‘Radical’ parts, was present en Palicare. But the most striking of what may be called these amateur theatrical balls was given last April by M. and Mdme. Judic, or rather by the latter, in the name of both. According to the ‘Paris Journal,’ such things are easily done—if you are able to do them. If you have an exquisitely arranged house, though small, you may get three hundred dancers into it with facility. You have only, if your house is in France, to send for Belloir, who will clap a glass cover to your court-yard, lay carpets here, hang tapestry there, place mirrors right and left from floor to ceiling, and scatter flowers and chandeliers everywhere, and the thing is done—particularly if you have an account at your bankers’. Something like this was done on the night of Saturday, April 19, 1873, when ‘La Rosière d’ici’ invited her guests to come in theatrical array to her ball, which was to begin at midnight. According to the descriptions of this spring festival, which were circulated by oral or printed report, not every one was invited who would fain have been there. The select company numbered the choicest of the celebrities of the stage, art, and literature (with few exceptions), and therefore the ‘go’ and the gaiety of the fête never paused for a single instant.
As for the costumes, says Jehan Valter, they who did not see the picturesque, strange, and fantastic composition, have never seen anything. Never was coachman so perfect a coachman as Grénier. Never was waggoner more waggoner than Grévin. Moreover, there were peasants from every quarter of the world, of every colour, and of every age. There were stout market porters, incroyables, jockeys, brigands, waltzing, schottisching, and mazourkaing; for the dance went fast and furious on that memorable evening (or rather, Sunday morning). And no wonder, for among the ladies were Madame Judic, in the costume of a village bride; with Mesdames Moissier, Gabrielle Gautier, Massart, and Gérandon, as the bridesmaids. Alice Regnault was a châtelaine of the mediæval period, Hielbron and Damain (the latter, the younger of the sister actresses of that name, who played so charmingly little conversational pieces in English drawing-rooms during the Franco-German war), were country lasses; and, among others, were Blanche D’Antigny, Debreux, Léontine Spelier, Esther David, Gournay, &c., &c.—in short, all the young and pretty actresses of the capital were present. At four o’clock in the morning a splendid supper brought all the guests together, after which dancing was resumed till seven. The festival terminated by the serving of a soupe à l’oignon à la paysanne; this stirrup-cup of rustic onion soup was presented in little bowls, with a wooden spoon in each! The sun had been up a very long time before the last of the dancers, loth to depart, had entered their carriages on their way home.
Such is the newest form in which theatrical celebrities get up and enjoy costume-balls after their fashion.
One eccentric matter little understood in this country is co-operation, or collaboration, in the production of French pieces. There is an old story of an ambitious gentleman offering M. Scribe many thousand francs to be permitted to have his name associated with that of M. Scribe as joint authors of a piece by the former, of which the ambitious gentleman was to be allowed to write a line, to save his honour. Scribe wrote in reply that it was against Scripture to yoke together a horse and an ass. ‘I should like to know,’ asked the gentleman, ‘what right you have to call me a horse?’ This showed that the gentleman had wit enough to become a partner in a dramatic manufactory. Indeed, much less than wit—a mere idea, is sufficient to qualify a junior partner. The historian of ‘La Collaboration au Théâtre,’ M. Goizot, states that a young provincial once called on Scribe with a letter of introduction and a little comedy, in manuscript. Scribe talked with him, promised to read the piece, and civilly dismissed him. The provincial youth returned au pays, hoped, waited, and despaired; finally, at the end of a year, he went up to Paris, and again called on M. Scribe. With difficulty the dramatist recognised him; with more difficulty could he recollect the manuscript to which his visitor referred, but after consulting a note-book, he took out a manuscript vaudeville of his own and proposed to read it to the visitor. It was that of his popular piece ‘La Chanoinesse.’ The visitor submitted, but he became delighted as he listened. The reading over, he ventured to refer to his own manuscript. ‘I have just read it to you,’ said Scribe, ‘with my additions. Your copy had an idea in it; ideas are to me everything. I have made use of yours, and you and I are authors of “La Chanoinesse.”’
Collaboration rarely enables us to see the share of each author in the work. The bouquet we fling to the successful pair is smelt by both. The lately deceased Mr. P. Lébrun made the reception speech when M. Émile Angier was admitted to one of the forty seats of the French Academy. There was a spice of sarcasm in the following words addressed to one of the two authors of ‘Le Gendre de M. Poirier:’ ‘What is your portion therein? and are we not welcoming, not only yourself, to the Academy, but also your collaborateur and friend?’ The fact is that in the highest class of co-operative work the work itself is founded on a single thought. The thought is discussed through all its consequences, till the moment for giving it dramatic action arrives, and then the pens pursue their allotted work. There is, however, another method. MM. Legouvé and Prosper Dinaux wrote their drama of ‘Louise de Lignerolles’ in this way. The two authors sat face to face at the same table, and wrote the first act. The two results were read, compared, and finally, out of what was considered the best work in the two, a new act was selected with some new writing in addition. Thus three acts were really constructed to build up one. This ponderous method is not followed by many writers. Indeed, how some co-operative dramatists work is beyond conjecture. A vaudeville in one act sometimes has four authors; indeed, several of these single-act pieces have been advertised as the work of a dozen; in one case, according to M. Goizot, of sixteen authors, who probably chatted, laughed, drank, and smoked the piece into existence at a café; and the piece becoming a reality, the whole company of revellers were named as the many fathers of that minute bantling.