“Rome Sauvée” had been written in a fortnight in this August of 1749, at Lunéville. “The devil took possession of me, and said ‘Avenge Cicero and France: wash out the shame of your country.’” Crébillon had made the subject a weariness and a foolishness in “Catilina.” How could a Voltaire better avenge France and himself—particularly himself—than by turning the same subject into a masterpiece and a furore?
The pages of “Rome Sauvée” were still wet, when he took another dull play of Crébillon’s—“Électre”—and turned it into “Oreste.”
He called together a few friends at the house of his “angels,” the d’Argentals, and a few of the chief actors and actresses, for a reading of “Rome Sauvée”; and read them “Oreste” instead. The truth was the actors were in want of a play to act immediately, at the end of a week. If M. de Voltaire could not give them one—well, there were other playwrights who could! M. de Voltaire considered that his “Rome Sauvée” would require at least six weeks’ rehearsal; so he read “Oreste.” He went in person to obtain the censor’s permission for it, and did obtain it. “Oreste” appeared in public on January 12, 1750, to a house equally crowded with the author’s friends and with the faction of Crébillon, headed by Piron as usual. Voltaire had written an opening speech in which, with a touching innocence, he disclaimed all idea of being the rival of Crébillon and “Électre.” Half the house received the play with applause which had nothing to do with its merits, and the other half with hisses which had nothing to do with its defects. The impulsive author, who was in the d’Argentals’ box and supposed to be incognito, forgot all about that, and leant over the side, crying, to encourage a burst of applause, “Courage, brave Athenians! This is pure Sophocles.” For a few nights the vivid energy of Voltaire
FREDERICK THE GREAT
From an Engraving by Cunejo, after the Painting by Cunningham
kept the piece going. He was improving and correcting it the whole time. “Voltaire is a strange man,” said Fontenelle. “He composes his pieces during their representation.” He kept the actors and actresses to their work with a dreadful determination. He was always altering and adding to their parts. Mademoiselle Clairon received at least four notes from him, full of the handsomest compliments and of apologies for making so many changes; but making them all the same. Mademoiselle Desmares at last totally declined to have her lines changed any more, or even to receive Voltaire. So, never baffled, on a day when she was giving a dinner-party he sent her a pâté of partridges—and behold! each partridge had a little note in its beak containing emendations to her rôle.
If the story be true or not, the fact remains that Voltaire was a very exigeant manager. He had dedicated “Oreste” to the Duchesse du Maine; and took the pains to write her a very long letter to reproach her for not having attended the first performance. But in spite of all pains “Oreste” was hardly a success. It was exceedingly tragic and had no love interest. It was revived, after being withdrawn for a time, which the author spent in rewriting it, and on its revival it was acted nine times. Its last performance took place on February 7, 1750.
Voltaire’s grief was certainly by this time on the high road to a cure. He had to fight so hard there was no time to sit at home, dull and wretched. He did not realise at first the strength of his enemy, Crébillon. The truth is, the Court was afraid of the Voltairian pen, and meant to stand by Crébillon and applaud his dulness to the echo, only because he was Voltaire’s rival. The Comédie Française—good, loyal toady—must needs think like the King. When Voltaire realised the nature of the conflict, he resolved to fight the enemy by a new method of warfare.