Old and New Paris: Its History, Its People, and Its Places, v. 1

by H. Sutherland Edwards

The new house established in the Porte Saint-Martin was opened 109 days after the destruction of the Opera House in the Rue Saint-Honoré. Here were brought out the “OEdipus Coloneus” of Sacchini, the “Daniades” and other works of Salieri, the “Demophon” of Cherubini, the “Re Teodoro” of Paisiello, and a French version of Mozart’s “Marriage of Figaro.” Many of the operas of Sacchini, Salieri, and Cherubini were composed specially for the French theatre. Paisiello’s and Mozart’s works were, of course, produced in translations. Mozart’s “Marriage of Figaro” was brought out in the middle of the Reign of Terror, March 20, 1793.

Meanwhile, doubts had always been entertained as to the solidity of the theatre, which had been run up in from fifteen to sixteen weeks; and on April 14, 1794, the Committee of Public Safety ordered the transfer of the opera from the Porte Saint-Martin to the Salle Montansier, in the Rue Richelieu. M. Castil Blaze, excellent writer, but by no means free from prejudices, insists, in his “History of the Royal Academy of Music,” that in the removal of the Opera to the Rue Richelieu there was a determination on the part of the Committee of Public Safety to burn down the National Library, opposite which the Opera was now installed. “How was it,” he asks, “that the Opera was moved to a building exactly opposite the National Library—so precious and so combustible a repository of human knowledge? The two establishments were only separated by a street very much too narrow; if the theatre caught fire, was it not sure to burn the Library? That is what a great many persons still ask; this question has been reproduced a hundred times in our journals. Go back to the time when the house was built by Mademoiselle Montansier; read the Moniteur Universel, and you will see that it was precisely in order to expose this same Library to the happy chances of a fire that the great lyrical entertainment was transferred to its neighbourhood. The Opera hung over it, and threatened it constantly. At this time enlightenment abounded to such a point that the judicious {87} Henriot, convinced in his innermost conscience that all reading was henceforth useless, had made a motion to burn the Library. To shift the Opera to the Rue Richelieu—that Opera which twice in eighteen years had been a prey to the flames—to place it exactly opposite our literary treasures was to multiply to infinity the chances of their being burnt.” Mercier, in reference to the literary views of the Committee of Public Safety, writes in the Nouveau Paris thus:—“The language of Omar about the Koran was not more terrible than that by the members of the Committee of Public Safety, when they carried this resolution:—‘Yes, we will burn all the libraries, for nothing will be needed but the history of the Revolution and its laws.’” If the motion of Henriot had been put into effect, David, the great Conventional painter, was ready to propose that the same service should be rendered to the masterpieces in the Louvre as to the literary wealth of the National Library. Republican subjects, according to David, were alone worthy of representation.

The Opera in the Rue Richelieu was, however, to be destroyed, as will afterwards be seen, not by fire, but in deliberate process of dilapidation.

Meanwhile, Louis XVI. and his family had fled from Paris on the 28th of June, 1791. The next day, and before the king was brought back to the Tuileries, the title of the chief lyric theatre was changed from Académie Royale to simply the Opera. At the same time, the custom was introduced of announcing the performers’ names, which was evidently an advantage to the public, and which was also not without its benefit for the inferior singers and dancers, who, when they unexpectedly appeared in order to replace their betters, used often to get hissed to a handsomer degree than they ever could in their usual parts.

By an order of the Committee of Public Safety, dated the 16th of the following September, the title of the Opera was again changed to Académie Royale de Musique. This was intended as a compliment to the king, who had signed the Constitution on the 14th, and who was to go to the Opera six days afterwards. On the 20th the royal visit took place. “‘Castor and Pollux’ was played,” says M. Castil Blaze, “and not ‘Iphigénie en Aulide,’ as is asserted by some ill-informed historians, who even go so far as to pretend that the chorus ‘Chantons, célébrons notre reine’ was hailed with transports of enthusiasm, and that the public called for it a second time.” The house was well filled, but not crammed, as we see by the receipts, which amounted to 6,636 livres 15 sous. The same opera of Rameau’s, vamped by Candeille, had produced 6,857 livres on the 14th of the preceding June. On the night previous to the royal representation a gratuitous performance of “Castor and Pollux” had been given to the public in honour of the Constitution. The royalists were present in great numbers on the night of state, and some lines which could be applied to the queen were loudly applauded. Marie Antoinette was delighted, and said to the ladies who accompanied her, “You see that the people are really good, and wish only to love us.” Encouraged by so flattering a reception, she determined to go the next night to the Opéra Comique, but the king refused to accompany her. The piece performed was “Les Événements imprévus.” In the duet of the second act, before singing the words “Ah! comme j’aime ma maîtresse,” Mdme. Dugazon looked towards the queen, when a number of voices cried out from the pit, “Plus de Maîtresse!” “Plus de Maître!” “Vive la Liberté!” This cry was answered from the boxes with “Vive la reine! Vive le roi!” Sabres and swordsticks were drawn, and a battle began. The queen escaped from the theatre in the midst of the tumult. Cries of “A bas la reine!” followed her to her carriage, which went off at a gallop, with mud and stones thrown after it. Marie Antoinette returned to the Tuileries in despair. On the 1st of October, fourteen days afterwards, the title of Opéra National was substituted for that of Académie Royale de Musique. The Constitution being signed, there was no longer any reason for being civil to Louis XVI. This was the third change of title in less than four months.

To conclude the list of musical performances which have derived a gloomy celebrity from their connection with the last days of Louis XVI., we may reproduce the programme issued by the directors of the Opéra National on the first anniversary of his execution, 1724. It ran thus:—“On behalf of and for the people gratis. In joyful commemoration of the death of the tyrant, the National Opera will give to-day, 6 Pluviose, year 2 of the Republic, ‘Miltiades at Marathon,’ ‘The Siege of Thionville,’ ‘The Offering to Liberty.’”

The Opera under the Republic was directed until 1792 by four {88} distinguished sans-culottes—Henriot, Chaumette, Le Roux, and Hébert, the last named of whom had once been check-taker of the Académie. The others knew nothing whatever of operatic affairs. The management at the theatre was afterwards transferred to Francœur, one of the former directors associated with Cellérier, an architect; but the dethroned impresarios, accompanied by Danton and other Republican amateurs, constantly made their appearance behind the scenes, and very frequently did the chief members of the company the honour of supping with them. In these cases the invitations, as under the ancient régime, proceeded, not from the artists, but from the artists’ patrons; with this difference, however, that under the Republic the latter never paid the bill.

“The chiefs of the Republic,” says M. Castil Blaze, “were very fond of moistening their throats. Henriot, Danton, Hébert, Le Roux, Chaumette, had hardly taken a turn in the coulisses or in the foyer before they said to such an actor or actress, ‘We are going to your room. See that we are properly received.’ A superb collation was brought in. When the repast was finished and the bottles were empty, the National Convention, the Commune of Paris, beat a retreat without troubling itself about the expense. You think, perhaps, that the dancer or the singer paid for the representatives of the people? Not at all; honest Maugin, who kept the refreshment room of the theatre, knew perfectly well that the actors of the Opera were not paid, that they had no sort of money, not even a rag of an assignat; he made a sacrifice: from delicacy he did not ask from the artists what he would not have dared to claim from the sans-culottes, for fear of the guillotine.”

Sometimes the executioner, who, as a public official, was entitled to certain entrées, made his appearance behind the scenes, and it is said that, in a facetious mood, he would sometimes express his opinion about the “execution” of the music.

Operatic kings and queens were suppressed by the Republic. Not only were they forbidden to appear on the stage, but even their names were not to be pronounced behind the scenes, and the expressions côté du roi, côté de la reine, were changed into côté jardin, côté cour, which, at the Theatre of the Tuileries, indicated respectively the left and right of the stage, from the stage point of view. But although, at first, all pieces in which kings and queens figured were prohibited, the dramas of sans-culotte origin were so stupid and disgusting that the Republic was absolutely obliged to return to the old monarchical repertory. The kings, however, were turned into chiefs; princes and dukes became representatives of the people; seigneurs subsided into mayors; and substitutes more or less synonymous were found for such offensive words as crown, throne, sceptre, etc. In a new Republican version of “Le Déserteur,” as represented at the Opera Comique, le roi, in one well-known line, was replaced by la loi, and the vocalist had to declaim “La loi passait, et le tambour battait aux champs!” A certain voluble executant, however, is said to have preferred the following emendation: “Le pouvoir exécutif passait, et le tambour battait aux champs!” The scenes of most of the new operas were laid in Italy, Prussia, Portugal—anywhere but in France, where it would have been indispensable from a political, and impossible from a poetical, point of view to make the lovers address one another as citoyen, citoyenne. On the 19th of June, 1793, the directors of the Opera having objected to give a gratuitous performance of the “Siege of Thionville,” the Commune of Paris issued the following edict:—“Considering that for a long time past the aristocracy has taken refuge in the administration of various theatres; considering that these gentlemen corrupt the public mind by the pieces they represent; considering that they exercise a fatal influence on the revolution: it is decreed that the ‘Siege of Thionville’ shall be represented gratis, and solely for the amusement of the sans-culottes, who, to this moment, have been the true defenders of liberty and supporters of democracy.” Soon afterwards it was proposed to shut up the Opera, but Hébert—the ferocious Hébert, better known as Le père Duchesne—undertook its defence, on the ground that it procured subsistence for a number of families, and “caused the agreeable arts to flourish.”