I
MADEMOISELLE RACHEL
From Sketches and Portraits by M. de La Rochefoucauld, Duc de Doudeauville, vol. ii. p. 307 ff, edition of 1844
You have asked me for your portrait, Rachel; do you really wish to know yourself, or have you yielded only to the desires of Madame Récamier? In any case your request is a challenge, and I am too French to be able to decline it; but do not accuse me of foolish presumption or of cruel frankness. There is sadness and melancholy in the depths of your heart, but you prefer to delude yourself concerning its needs. You might be the most accomplished and the most remarkable character of our age, or leave your true friends under a sense of profound regret; that choice is before you. The most exquisite polish of manner is as essential a part of your character as talent. Talent and yourself are inseparable, but in return for these superior powers, have you any thought, any fervour, any gratitude to the Eternal who has given them to you? It was impossible for a poor observer like myself to meet you without studying you with extreme interest. I would have laid aside my pen, but you order and I must obey and my pen will chronicle good and evil, perfections and deficiencies. I could wish you were perfect, Rachel, in every respect, and that you would trample beneath your pretty feet all that could stain your lofty nature. You are your own work and no one can boast of what is your success. The true and the beautiful have been your only masters. No one knows you well, child as you are, thrown into the world without experience and feeling everything with an intensity that is with difficulty repressed. You are one of those chosen natures which sometimes come down to earth by sudden transition; a creature of instinct that knows without learning and understands without study. You study little, but you think deeply and feel more deeply. You have a power of energy and enthusiasm which sometimes frightens you: to great loftiness of mind you add a charming lack of restraint which is sometimes not sufficiently repressed. You can dominate yourself, but you have not yet learnt how to conquer yourself. You have nothing to learn, for you have understood the world as clearly as the theatre and are perfect upon either stage; but when you are tired of putting constraint upon yourself, you sometimes forget the spectators who observe you. Not without anxiety do your admirers see your heart and soul expand too freely. For you the stage is a passion, and glory is your sole object. Your mind is unduly refined, your character vastly distinguished, and exquisite taste is native to you. Greater nobility and dignity cannot be seen at the theatre than you display; you are more than an admirable actor, you are the character in person as it is felt and imagined to be. You then rise to the full height of your fine talents, and your simple and expressive gestures are never exaggerated. Those who criticise you unjustly should rather be astonished by the height of perfection and truth which you have been able to attain since the outset of your career, and should leave to your admirable instinct the task of correcting the slight imperfections which are due to your inexperience of passion. Your soul is an abyss into which you fear to descend: your head is aflame with feeling, your heart is a touchstone which tries every sentiment; you fear danger without attempting to avoid it, and if excitement wears you out, it pleases you. Your beliefs are restricted, and you take men only for what they are worth. You are trustful but not blindly so, and you can be carried away without conviction. You can please, but can you love? It is to be feared that those who feel only the passions of others, for that very reason never attain the passion that they so perfectly express, and which in the world as in the theatre lasts so short a time. Thus privileged you might be sublime. Be not content to remain the most perfect actor that the stage and the world have ever produced. Vexation stirs you, obstacles disgust you, and constraint wearies you, but the trick of counterfeiting feeling has become so natural to you that we rather divine than see your impressions. In your face, as in the whole of your being, there is a delicacy and certainty of expression full of charm. Greater daintiness of bearing, greater distinction of manner, greater tact in conversation or greater soundness of judgment, no one could possess: to invincible perseverance you add an iron will and are able to attack great difficulties by force of character as well as by originality. Every new part is for you the material for a triumph, of which you are happy without being proud, and your modesty justifies your success. When you cannot solve a problem, you outflank it with admirable skill; you are a perfect improvisor, and though we never know what you will say, you always say what should be said. An opinion of you formed in society from first impressions would quote you as the model of all women; but be not content to become an admirable actress, become a perfect model in all respects. To restore the dignity of the theatre by showing that passions can be expressed but need not be felt, would be a true glory and one which you are worthy to claim. Insensible to vulgar sentiment, you can appreciate deserved praise. You have an excellent judgment of those who speak to you and can follow good advice. You read the minds of others with exquisite tact: flattery would leave you untouched but passion stirs you; sincere praise arouses in you the ambition to deserve it, unjust criticism shocks you and you prefer to ignore it. Lively, impressionable, and even imperious, you are nervous, changeable and irascible under your outward calm, and rather passionate than capable of deep feeling. Your genius is as great as your instinct and you will always remain yourself without attempting to imitate any one. Sublime is a great word, Rachel, and to deserve it you must reach perfection. The term has been justly applied to you when you play certain parts in which you are inimitable. Desire that that term should be applicable to your life, and if any obstacle should check your path to sublimity, take breath and resume your progress to the pinnacle of glory. Neglect no tendril of your crown as a woman, and if it is your pleasure to collect wreaths of laurel, disdain not the spray of lilies which contrasts with them so finely. I am no prophet and even less a flatterer, but of all those who have met you, I am perhaps the one who has best understood your position, and my frankness is the irrevocable proof of my esteem. You will be astonished by these words and perhaps be angry, but you will feel no grudge against me, for your mind is too great not to love the truth. But you will think that I am not every one, and that is indeed a valid argument when I am confronted by you who resemble no one. Your genius is depicted on your expressive countenance, and to see you is to know you, for those at least who can study you. Complete frankness is difficult towards one who must be ever self-observant. Your look is piercing and attempts to read the depths of the heart, but if your words are sweet your thoughts are often bitter. What might you be if you had the courage to abandon all these delusions and to seek realities? Ever the perfection of grace upon the stage, you are no less graceful in society, nor does any one appear there with greater charm, distinction and simplicity. You are welcomed and noticed wherever you go; all seek your society, but you have too much pride and real dignity to desire a fleeting success. Your look sometimes expresses madness, passion, extravagance and delirium, and when you feel this, your eyelids droop and immediately restore the greatest calm and sweetness to your face. You are a most exceptional person, difficult to know and yet more difficult to explain. Too much severity towards you would be an injustice; we may be afraid of the dangers which surround you, but your destiny alone can be blamed for them. Who else in your place would have been what you are? And how many obstacles must you not have overcome to attain so fair a result? Everywhere around you are flatterers, admirers, courtiers, adorers, and no support, no real friend. How can you safely avoid these many rocks and reefs? If, however, you understand the high and noble mission to which you are called by the world and by your surprising success, you will never be unequal to your task however difficult it may appear. Talent is all that is usually asked from an artist, but more is asked from you. We wish you to be worthy of your renown, worthy of yourself, and, in short, to be that which you must be to justify the esteem which you inspire. Such demands are entirely an honour, for they show that you are appreciated. Remember that if you do much for the world, the world has done much to support you against envy, at the beginning of your career. Do not fall beneath its hopes and your destiny will be truly great, your life worthy of envy, and you will hold the fairest place in the whole of dramatic history, for the historian will be able to say: Rachel has shown that purity of heart and soul are the food of genius and the best source of real talent. Yes, Rachel, it is my real belief that you will offer the world that has adopted you nobility and generosity of conduct in return for its benefits. As you are endowed with so much energy, can you lack energy in well-doing? No, for you portray virtue too eloquently not to love it. At twenty years life is beginning and your life must be unparalleled. Live, therefore, so that you can always meet the severest eyes and never be like those debtors who do not pay their debts. Continue, in short, to be one of those brilliant personages of whom our country is proud, but whom it has the right to question.
II
Note by M. de Bacourt on the conversation of the Comte d'Artois and Prince Talleyrand.
("Memoirs of Prince Talleyrand," vol. i. Appendix to the first part.)
We wish to add to this passage[ [251] certain details which M. de Talleyrand had omitted or perhaps forgotten. It is certain that at the time to which this passage refers[ [252] M. de Talleyrand had several interviews with the Comte d'Artois in which he tried to convince the Prince of the necessity for vigorous measures; while supporting the concessions which the King had already made, he urged the energetic repression of the popular agitations which were of daily occurrence and had already stained the streets of the capital with blood. The most important and the last of these interviews took place at Marly on the night of the 16th and 17th of July, 1789, a few hours before the Prince left France. When M. de Talleyrand appeared at the house of the Comte d'Artois the Prince was already in bed, but none the less urged him to come in. The conversation lasted for more than two hours, and M. de Talleyrand again explained the dangers of the situation and begged the Prince to communicate them to the King. The Comte d'Artois in much agitation rose and went to the King, and after a lengthy absence he came back to tell M. de Talleyrand that nothing could be done with the King, who had resolved to yield rather than to shed a drop of blood by resisting the popular demonstrations. "As for me," added the Comte d'Artois, "I have made up my mind that I shall leave France to-morrow morning." M. de Talleyrand vainly urged the Prince to abandon this resolution, pointing out the difficulties and dangers in which it might involve him and showing how it might prejudice his own rights and those of his children in the future. The Comte d'Artois persisted and M. de Talleyrand eventually said, "Then, my Lord, it only remains for each of us to think of his own interests, as the King and the Prince are deserting theirs and those of the monarchy." "That," replied the Prince, "is precisely what I should advise you to do. Whatever may happen I shall never be able to blame you, and you can always rely upon my friendship." The Comte d'Artois left the country the next day.
In the month of April 1814, M. de Talleyrand, who had become President of the Provisional Government, was able to tell the Comte d'Artois, who was then at Nancy awaiting events, that Louis XVIII. had been called to the throne, and that the Prince had been invited to go to Paris to take the post of Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom. He commissioned the Baron de Vitrolles with this message; when the Baron was on the point of departure, while the Prince's despatch was being sealed, M. de Talleyrand walked about with him in the hall of his residence in the Rue St. Florentin and told him the story of the interview of July 16, 1789. He then said, "Oblige me by asking the Comte d'Artois if he remembers this little incident."