[117] During her tour in America in 1893, Duse’s parts were: Marguérite Gauthier in La Dame aux Camélias; Fédora; Clotilde in Fernande; Santuzza in Cavalleria Rusticana; Mirandolina in La Locandiera; Cyprienne in Divorçons; Francine in Francillon, and Césarine in La Femme de Claude. During her second American tour in 1896, Duse played Magda for the first time in this country, and also some plays from her former repertoire, La Dame aux Camélias, Cavalleria Rusticana and La Locandiera. On her next visit, in 1902, which was during the d’Annunzio period, she played La Gioconda, La Citta Morta, and Francesca da Rimini, all by d’Annunzio.
[118] She played for London A Doll’s House and Antony and Cleopatra, as well as Camille, Fédora, Cavalleria Rusticana and La Locandiera.
[119] When Duse was in the United States for the second time, in 1896, she withstood, as before, all attempts to interview her. This fact did not prevent some enterprising persons from publishing to the world that she had confessed a dislike of America. The report was widely spread, but the fact was that Duse did not make the statement.
Her Magda gave a new revelation of her skill. “In suggesting the social standing of the returned prodigal, Mme. Duse takes a middle course between the frank Bohemianism of Bernhardt and the loftier aristocratic air adopted by Modjeska. It is interesting to note how she emphasizes the theatrical nature of Magda’s past life, by just those little exaggerations of pose and gesture common to nearly all stage performers, but from which she herself, in ordinary conditions is almost ideally free. These manifestations of self-consciousness are confined to the second act, and vanish when the inner self of the woman is brought to the surface by the influence of powerful emotions.”—The Critic, March 7, 1896. An instance, this, of Duse’s remarkable subtlety in acting. At the point where Magda drives her former lover from her presence, she “easily reached and maintained herself at a height of emotion which can only be described as tragic, and she wrought the effect without exposing herself, even for an instant, to the charge of exaggeration or rant.” Of this scene William Archer, a little later, said that until he saw it he did not fully realize the dynamic potentialities of human utterance.
[120] Unlike many of her sister actresses, Duse made a practice of reading the criticisms of her acting.
[121] From Victor Mapes’ Duse and The French, to which the author is indebted for his account of Duse’s Paris début.
[122] In 1898 Mme. Vivanti Chartres, one of Duse’s few intimate friends, said (in the New York Dramatic Mirror): “Duse’s hatred of publicity and newspaper interviews has assumed the proportions of a mania.... When we were alone together, talking of the play I was writing for her, or discussing modern art, her youthful struggles with poverty, or the world weariness that came to her finally with her splendid success, Duse was herself—impulsive, eager, passionate, tender, sad. But the mere announcement of a visitor would freeze her into silent hauteur.
“I stayed with her in Turin for some time. We used to go out driving in the Valentino every morning, for Duse said she needed to begin the day by looking at ‘green things.’ She was crowding the Teatro Carignano, the receipts averaging 10,000 francs for each performance—a stupendous sum for Italy. Yes, Duse certainly makes a great deal of money, but she spends all that she makes. She is exceedingly generous. One day she gave a magnificent diamond ring to a dressmaker whom Worth had sent to her from Paris with her Dame aux Camélias dresses. And she pays her entire company all the year round, although during the last eighteen months she has given only twenty-two performances.
“At Monte Carlo we stayed at the Victoria, the dullest if most aristocratic hotel in the place. But Duse has a taste for the dismal and the melancholy. She is very sad—the saddest woman I have ever known. She cannot even bear people’s voices. After the strain of her performance she drives home quite alone, and sits down to her supper in solitude and silence. During the days that I was with her we used to sit at opposite ends of the large table, sometimes without exchanging half a dozen words, and she used to laugh her approval across to me when I absolutely refused to answer her if she made any attempts at polite conversation.
“Duse chez elle dresses almost always in white satin. Her gowns are loose and limp, and folded carelessly around her.... She is a charming woman, highly cultured, sincere, brave and good. Her conversation, when she chooses to speak, is startlingly brilliant.”