Perrin was at first astounded. Afterwards he acceded to my request. But his order-loving mind, and his taste for symmetry made him anxious about Mounet-Sully, who was also playing in the piece. He was accustomed to seeing Mounet-Sully and me playing the two heroes, the two lovers, the two victims. How was he to arrange matters so that we should still be the two ... together? Eureka! There was in the play an old idiot named Vastaepor, who was quite unnecessary for the action of the piece, but had been brought in to satisfy Perrin. “Eureka!” cried the director of the Comédie, “Mounet-Sully shall play Vestaepor!” Equilibrium was restored. The God of the bourgeois was content.
The piece, which was really quite mediocre, obtained a big success at the first presentation (27th September, 1876), and personally I was very successful in the fourth act. The crowd was decidedly in my favor in spite of everything and everybody.
The performance of “Hernani” made me more the favorite of the public than ever. I had already gone through it with Victor Hugo and it was a real pleasure to me to visit the great poet each day. I had never discontinued my visits to him, but I was never able to have any conversation with him in his own house. There were always men in red ties gesticulating, or women in tears reciting. He was very good; he listened to me with half-closed eyes and I thought he was asleep. Then when I stopped he roused up at the silence and said a consoling word, for Victor Hugo would not have promised to hear me without keeping his word. He was not like me; I promise everything with the firm intention of keeping my promises, and two hours after I have forgotten all about them. If anybody reminds me of what I have promised I tear my hair and to make up for my forgetfulness I say anything, I buy presents, in fact I complicate my life with useless worries. It has always been so and always will.
As I was grumbling one day to Victor Hugo that I never could have a chance of talking with him, he invited me to lunch, saying that after lunch we could talk together alone. I was delighted with this lunch, to which Paul Maurice the poet, Léon Gladel, Gustave Doré and the Cummunard X— (a Russian lady whose name I do not remember) were also invited. In front of Victor Hugo sat Mme. Drouet, the friend of his unlucky days. But what a horrible lunch we had! It was really bad and badly served. My feet were frozen by the draughts from the three doors, which fitted badly, and one could positively hear the wind blowing under the table. Near me was Mr. X——, the German architect, who is to-day a very successful man. This man had such dirty hands and ate so badly that he made me feel sick. I met him afterwards at Berlin. He is now quite clean and proper, and I believe an Imperialist. But the uncomfortable feeling this uncongenial neighbor inspired in me, the cold draughts blowing on my feet, the boredom I was afflicted with—all reduced me to a state of positive suffering and I lost consciousness. When I recovered I found myself on a couch, my hand in that of Mme. Drouet and in front of me, sketching me, Gustave Doré.
“Oh, don’t move,” he cried, “you are so pretty like that!” These words, though they were so inappropriate, pleased me, nevertheless, and I complied with the wish of the great artist. From that day we were the best of friends.
I left the house of Victor Hugo without saying good-by to him, a trifle ashamed of myself. The next day he came to see me. I told him some tale to account for my illness and I saw no more of him except at the rehearsals of “Hernani.”
The first performance of “Hernani” took place on the 21st November, 1877. It was a triumph alike for the author and the actors. “Hernani” had already been played ten years earlier, but Delaunay, who then took the part of Hernani, was the exact contrary of what this part should have been. He was neither epic, romantic, nor poetic. He had not the style of these grand times. He was charming, gracious, and with a perpetual smile, of middle height, with studied movements, ideal in Musset, perfect in Emile Augier, charming in Molière, but execrable in Victor Hugo.
Bressant, who took the part of Charles-Quint, was worst of all. His amiable and flabby style and his weak and wandering eyes effectively prevented all grandeur. His two enormous feet, generally half hidden under his trousers, took on immense proportions. I could see nothing else. They were very large, flat, and slightly turned in at the toes. They were a nightmare! But think of their possessor repeating the admirable couplet of Charles-Quint to the shade of Charlemagne! It was absurd! The public coughed, wriggled, and showed that they found the whole thing painful and ridiculous.
In our performance (in 1877) it was Mounet-Sully in all the splendor of his talent who played Hernani. And it was Worms, that admirable artiste who played Charles-Quint—and how well he took the part! How he rolled out the lines! What a splendid diction he had! This performance of the 21st of November, 1877, was a triumph. The public received me very well in my rôle. I played Doña Sol. Victor Hugo sent me this letter:
Madame: You have been great and charming; you have moved me—me, the old man, and at one part, while the public whom you had enchanted cheered you, I wept. This tear which I shed for you, and through you, is at your feet, where I place myself.