authentic records were ignored and an arbitrary, gilt-edged, rosy ideal took the place of truth. Nell Gwynn, in the person of Miss Henrietta Crosman, had worn the halo but a little time before (Bijou Theatre, New York, October 9, 1900), and if Nell Gwynn could wear it, why not Marie Jeanne? This burnishing process, to be sure, is diffusive of vast and general misinformation, but for most persons that seems to be quite as useful as accurate knowledge, and, after all, if the Stage is to present imperial wantons in any fashion it may as well present them in a decent one. The gay du Barry as seen by the dramatist,—or, at least, as shown by him,—was abundantly frail, but she was also fond, and while she did not scruple to pick up the royal pocket-handkerchief she nevertheless, in her woman’s heart, remained true to her first love: that is the story of the play. The adventurous actual du Barry became the paramour of Cossé-Brissac, after King Louis the Fifteenth had died and after she had been exiled from the French Court. In the play the lady hides that lover in her bed (he has been wounded, and she persuades him to seek this retirement by pounding on his wounds with a heavy candlestick, until he becomes insensible), so that the jealous King, committing the blunder of Byron’s Don Alfonso, in “Don Juan,” cannot find him: she also wields the convenient candlestick with which to smash the sconce of an interloping relative who otherwise would betray him; she defies, for his sake, the gracious Majesty of France and every appurtenance thereunto belonging; and, at the last, she goes pathetically to the guillotine, still loving him and still deploring her innocent, youthful past, when they were happy lovers together, when all was peace, joy, and hope,—because as the old poet Rogers prettily phrases it, “Life was new and the heart promised what the fancy drew.” As a matter of fact, the amiable countrymen of du Barry sent her to the guillotine, in the winter of 1793, because they had ascertained that she was too rich to be a patriot and also, probably, had entered on a secret correspondence with their enemies in England.
As an epigraph to his play the dramatist selected a remark by Oliver Wendell Holmes, that “not the great historical events but the personal incidents that call up sharp pictures of some human being in its pang or struggle reach us more nearly.” That statement sounds well, but it labors under the disadvantage of not being true. The play, however, exemplifies it to the extent of showing its heroine chiefly in her “pang”—a condition which, seemingly, ensues upon her being a feather-brained fool, but which she loquaciously ascribes to Fate and a ruthless appetite for “pretty things.” There is some lightness at the start, when Jeanne is a milliner, but the opening act proves to be practically needless, since the play does not actually begin till after the second curtain has been raised. Then the volatile girl is tempted by the offer of the King’s love, and in order that she may accept it her honest lover is made to misunderstand her, in an incredible manner, such as is possible only on the stage. In the Third Act she has become a great personage, almost a queen, and that act, which is interesting, various, and dramatic, terminates with a highly effective scene, possible in a play, but impossible in life,—when du Barry’s wounded lover, falling insensible on that lady’s bed and being carelessly covered with drapery, remains there, sufficiently visible to a crowd of eager and suspicious pursuers who are searching for him—but do not find him. The rest of the piece shows the King’s efforts to capture the fugitive and du Barry’s schemes and pleadings to save him, and it terminates with a pathetic farewell between the lovers as Jeanne, deserted and forlorn, is being conveyed to the guillotine.
Mrs. Carter, adept in coquetry, displayed, as du Barry, her abundant physical fascination, but if she had refrained from removing her shoes and showing her feet at brief intervals during the performance she would have been considerably more pleasing in that easy vein of bewitchment:—they were not even pretty feet. In serious business the method of Mrs. Carter as du Barry was to work herself into a state of violent excitement, to weep, vociferate, shriek, rant, become hoarse with passion, and finally to flop and beat the floor. That method has many votaries and by them is thought to be “acting” and is much admired, but to judicious observers it is merely the facile expedient of transparent artifice and the ready resource of a febrile, unstable nature. An actor who loses self-control can never really control an audience. There were, nevertheless, executive force and skill in Mrs. Carter’s performance, after it had been often repeated under the guiding government of her sagacious and able manager.
Belasco’s “Du Barry” was first produced at the New National Theatre, Washington, D. C., December 12, 1901. The first performance of it in New York occurred December 25, that year, at the Criterion Theatre, where it was continuously acted till the close of the season, May 31, 1902, receiving 165 consecutive performances. The play is comprehended in five acts and eight scenes and it implicates fifty-five persons,—of whom five are conspicuous characters by whom the burden of the action is sustained,—and a host of supernumeraries. It was set on the stage in a scenic investiture of extreme costliness and ostentation, being, indeed, almost overwhelmed in the profusion of its accessories of spectacle. Referring to this extreme opulence of environment and attire, Belasco has said: “I offered Charles Frohman a half-interest in my ‘Du Barry,’ but he declined to come in with me because of the immense expense. His judgment was logical, too. ‘Du Barry’ might easily have ruined any manager. The expenses of the production were such that there was little profit to be made. When the curtain rose it afforded the public an opportunity to see how a manager’s hands were forced by the very prodigality of the subject he had chosen. My production was lavish because the play was laid in a lavish time. The mere ‘suggestion’ of luxury would not do,—or so I thought. Were I to do it again, it would be from an entirely different standpoint.” I much doubt whether, if the venture were to be made anew, Belasco would make it in a different way. At any rate, the purpose he had in mind was fully accomplished: the immense prodigality of his presentment profoundly impressed and greatly delighted his audiences, and the Criterion was densely crowded at every performance. The two most striking scenes were those of Act Three, which showed a room in the Palace of Versailles, and the Last Scene of Act Five, in front of a milliner’s shop. The latter portrayed a street in Paris, shadowed by strange, “high-shouldered” houses, through which the wretched du Barry, abject and terrified, was dragged to execution,—huddled in a tumbril, attended only by a priest, the Papal Nuncio, and followed by a fierce, hooting rabble, while other men and women appeared at various house-windows, to jeer and curse her. It was an afflictingly pathetic scene, conceived and executed with perfect sense of dramatic effect and perfect mastery of the means of creating it.
This was the original cast of “Du Barry”:
| King Louis the Fifteenth of France | Charles A. Stevenson. |
| Comte Jean du Barry | Campbell Gollan. |
| Comte Guillaume du Barry | Beresford Webb. |
| Duc de Brissac | Henry Weaver, Sr. |
| Cossé-Brissac | Hamilton Revelle. |
| The Papal Nuncio | H. R. Roberts. |
| Duc de Richelieu | Frederick Perry. |
| Terray, Minister of Finance | C. P. Flockton. |
| Maupeou, Lord Chancellor | H. G. Carlton. |
| Duc d’Aiguillon | Leonard Cooper. |
| Denys | Claude Gillingwater. |
| Lebel | Herbert Millward. |
| M. Labille | Gilmore Scott. |
| Vaubernier | Walter Belasco. |
Photograph by Byron. Belasco’s Collection.
CHARLES A. STEVENSON AS KING LOUIS THE FIFTEENTH, IN BELASCO’S “DU BARRY”