There were several persons standing about, listening and understanding, and a smile went around at Monsieur Voltaire’s expense. Mademoiselle Lecouvreur looked distressed. Jacques Haret, seeing his advantage, assumed a patronizing tone to Monsieur Voltaire and said:
“I have always admired your plays and verses very much, Monsieur Voltaire, and your rise in the world has been as remarkable as my fall; but you were born luckier than I—you had no estate to lose. I hope your triumphant career will continue, and that you will be 23 pointed out as a man who was not kept down by want of birth, of fortune, of breeding, of looks—for I always thought you were devilish ugly, Voltaire—but who, by being in love with himself, and admitting no rival, rose to a first place among third rate poets!”
I swear it is humiliating to humanity to know that the Jacques Harets of this world always get the better of the François Marie Voltaires. Jacques Haret had no blushes for his fall, and Voltaire blushed for his rise! But such is the curious way of the world.
And what is quite as curious, the crowd was on the side of the pseudo-gentleman, and was rather pleased that he got the better of the notary’s son, who supped with dukes.
“Tell me this,” cried Monsieur Voltaire in his loud voice and very angrily, “how comes it that this young girl, whom I know to be the niece of Madame the Countess Riano, should be acting in your trumpery plays?”
He had taken out his snuff-box and opened it to appear calm, and Jacques Haret, before answering, coolly helped himself to the snuff—at which the crowd was lost in admiration.
“Monsieur,” answered Jacques Haret, “do you think if Mademoiselle Lecouvreur came sneaking to the manager of the Théâtre Français and asked to act without pay, for the love of the thing, she would be turned away? Well, Monsieur, this young lady is the Adrienne Lecouvreur of her age and class. She is the best child actress I ever saw, and she came to me—not begging, if you please, but haughtily demanding that she be allowed to take, when it pleased her ladyship, the leading parts in the plays I give. I allowed her to try once. 24 Since then, whenever I can get her, she is welcome on the stage of my theater. She asks no pay, but I would give her more than all the child actors in my company get, if I could always command her services.”
“And when Madame Riano finds it out?” asked Monsieur Voltaire.
“Then, God be my help!”
“But, Monsieur Haret,” said Mademoiselle Lecouvreur, “truly, it is not right that a young girl of her condition should be allowed to mix with the class of children you have here.”