Queens of the French Stage

Paul; he was a man of parts and a poet; but a poet of an unusually practical turn of mind, inasmuch as, instead of contributing sonnets to the Mercure, he was in the ha

at this time pursuing his studies at the famous college of Louis-le-Grand, where he had already gained some little distinction. Forced to abandon the cultivation of the Muses to take charge of his father's business, which, though burdened with debt, still remained to them, he nevertheless contrived, in the intervals of making pastry, to compose a poem on La France délivrée par la pucelle d'Orléans,

p to the door, out of which stepped an elderly gentleman, very richly dressed, who inquired for M. Favart, the author of Les Deux Jumelles. Poor Favart, ashamed for the moment of revealing his identity, replied

ad been so charmed with the piece that he had made inquiries concerning its author, and, on learning that he was a young man without means of his own, had resolved to offer him his protection. "I hav

, played at the Opéra-Comique, in 1741, met with extraordinary success. Up to this time, Favart's pieces had appeared anonymously, but, encouraged by the enthusiastic reception accorded to the play in question, he now decided to emerge from his shell, and, in accordance with this r

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of one of the musicians of the chapel of Stanislaus Leczinski, ex-King of Poland, to which she herself was attached. The daughter on whose behalf she wrote, Marie Justine-Beno?te Duronceray, was, it appeared, now in her eighteenth year,

ained the necessary leave of absence from the King, started for Paris, and,

s at once arranged that Mlle. Chantilly, as Justine had decided to call herself, out of deference for a branch of the Duronceray family which lived in Paris and might conceivably have taken umbrage at one of their name appearing on the stage, should make her début in a piece from Favart's own pen, which he was then writing, in celebration of the appr

young lady was pleased to reciprocate. An honest and excellent man, Favart did not attempt to take advantage of their respective positions,[121] but offered to make her his wife; and, on December 12, 1745, t

. Duronceray, Justine's father, was not present at the ceremony, although

was somewhat mitigated by the permission which Favart received to open a theatre at the Fair of Saint-Laurent, whither he transferred his company, and presented, among other pieces, a pantomime, entitled Les Vendanges de Tempé, of which the success was assured by the charming acting of Justine. This privilege, however, was only accorded him for a

of his age, Maréchal de France, and "general-in-chief of all the armies of the King." Maurice, who was as enthusiastic a patron of the drama as he had been in the days of poor Adrienne Lecouvreur, was followed in his campaigns by a troupe of actors, which gave

in existence as an encroachment on its privileges, and that its leader-one Parmentier, an arrogant and unscrupulous person, with whom Favart was by no means anxious to enter into competition-would be sure to throw obstacles in his way. The Marshal, ho

ed his appointment to Favart, and, at the same

endeavour to ensure its success; but do not imagine that I look upon it merely as an object of amusement; it enters into my political views and into the plan of my military operations. I will advise you what you will have to do in th

e of the Grand Theatre in the Rue de la Monnaie. Then he returned to Paris, and, having selected his compan

re thronged with spectators eager to catch a glimpse of the famous general. The weather, however, was unfavourable for a public ceremony; a storm was brewing, and, as the Marshal reached the H?tel de Ville, where all the fair ladies of Brussels had

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officers, sent for the writer and complimented him upon them. One of the officers present, who did not share his chiefs passion for the theatre, asked Favart of what use

orps selected was a contingent of Jacobite Highlanders, "who, in changing their country, had not thought it necessary to change their costume." The scantiness of the gallant Scotsmen's attire, Favart tells us, greatly shocked th

uckless troupe of actors on their way from Brussels to Cologne, to fulfil an engagement at the Elector's Court, was surprised by a body of these marauders and robbed of everything they possessed, with the exception of their theatrical costumes, in which they were compelled to trudge to Louvain, their woe-begone countenances contrasting oddly with the gay habiliments of Arlequin, Scaramouche, and the rest. Maurice de Saxe had granted Favart's company an escort of thirty men of the Régiment de Septimanie; but this force was insufficient to secure them from molestation. One day, while passing through some wooded country between Louvain and Indiogne, they were attacked by a body of hussars, who outnumbered their little escort by as many as four to one. A sanguinary hand-to-hand conflict ensued, for the marauders were as br

-five bottles of Hungarian wine. Moreover, he gave Favart to understand that he might draw upon him freely in case of necessity, and protected him against the attacks of the jealous Parmentier, the leader of the other troupe of actors, who, not without some cause, regarded Favart as a rival, and did all in his power to annoy and d

ble importance to the provision of such entertainments for those under his command. In the first place, they served to occupy not a little of the time which would otherwise be employed in more doubtful pleasures, particularly play, which, in spite of stringent prohibitions, was very prevalent in the army among all ranks, and had a most disastrous effect on the morale of the troops, causing the officers to gamble away their pay an

expected; but this did not prevent the improvised playhouse from being crowded every evening. Early in the afternoon of October 9, the Marshal sent for Favart to come to his quarters, and, on his arrival, dismissed the officers who were with him, an

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ned to the Marshal's box to inquire if Favart had had any authority for his announcement; but Maurice smilingly replied that he had acted under his orders. Thereupon the astonishment changed to enthusiasm, and the theatre resounded with app

s at Roucoux, a little to the north of Liège, and completely defeated them, though the English, who, as usual, bo

he events of the preceding day. These were performed the same night, and were, of course, received with enthusiasm. He did not confine himself, he t

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ed with his winter season in the Belgian capital, which was indeed successful beyond his most sanguine anticipations, the profits at each performance averaging as much as six hundred livres. To add to his good fortune, he was able to rid himself of his rival Parmentier, who, finding that the Marshal had taken Favart definitely under h

s military occupations absorbed so large a portion of his time. His tastes, particularly where the theatre was concerned, were catholic. "Whom did he not love? To what actress or opera-girl's skirts was he not attached? All the actresses of his campaigns in Flanders succeeded one an

by the demon of conjugal love,"[126] and, therefore, unlikely to afford him an easy conquest. M. Léon Gozlan asserts that Justine had attracted Maurice's notice in Paris, and that his invitation to Favart to accompany him to Flanders was nothing but a pretext for getting t

to make me submit to your laws! I thank you for not having used all your powers; you might well pass for a young sorceress, with your shepherd's crook, which is nothing else than the magic wand with which that poor prince of the French, whom, I fancy, they called Renaud, was struck. Already I have seen myself surrounded with flowers and fleurettes, fatal equipment for all the f

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se to which your talents inspire me;[127] the effects of the liquor o

ost cruel persecution. M. Saint-Réne Taillandier, one of the most conscientious of Maurice's biographers, adopts the same view, and is very severe upon his hero's conduct in this matter; while he shows us Justine "despising alike threats and promises, the victim of disgraceful intrigues, persecuted, thrown into the depths of a dungeon, guarding pure and intact the dignity of her art, her honour, and her name: a rare lesson for an actress to give to a corrupt society." Sainte-Beuve[128] and Desnoiresterres, however, take a different view, and, much as we should wish to believe in the lady's innocence, we are compelled to admit tha

participate in the favours which Maurice was in the habit of heaping upon his enchantresses, though she subsequently admitted to having "availed herself of his benefits and assistance," doubtless being of opinion that, since the mischief was done, she was justified in making the best of the situation. The poor young woman, indeed, appears to ha

love," in spite of all Maurice's efforts to exorcise him, Justine only waited for a favourable opportunity to break her chains. Maurice's absence in Paris during the winter of 1746-1747 apparently gave her the necessary courage, and, on his return to Flanders, she refused, to his

the Fort Saint-Philippe, and speaks with righteous indignation of the barbarous execution of the garrison, which

acked in the morning; they defended themselves all day and fought desperately; but the issue is no longer in doubt. The enemy's right did not await our fire, but sought safety in flight; the Dutch and Austrians were routed without having fired a shot. The r

131] I have related all this very badly, because I am writing to you in haste; it is the warmth of my French blood which guides my pen. Victory! great victory! everything is summed up in these last words. I am one of the first to write. The action still continues to our a

he worthy Favart, though much shocked at such a revelation, had the good sense to perceive that his young wife had been the victim of circumstances, and that he himself was greatly to blame for not having foreseen the danger which threatened her, and interfered to prevent it. He comforted her by an assurance of his full forgiveness, but pointed out that it would be impossible for her to escape the Marshal's unwelcome attentions so long as she remained with the army, and that her best course was to fly to Brussels and t

ought here forcibly by grenadiers, and that I shall be punished for having invented the story of your illness. For myself, I care little for their threats; but I cannot forgive myself for having brought you to a country where you are exposed to such tyranny. We are very uncomfortable here; I have not yet succeeded in finding a lodging, and, since leaving you, have slept on straw under the stars. If any attempt be made to send you back, implore assistance of the Duchesse de Chevreuse; she has too keen a sense of justice to refuse you her protection in a matter of such im

y the commander of the army. Grimm relates the following anecdote, which would seem hardly cred

his bed, his hair dishevelled, and a prey to the most bitter grief. Dumesnil attempted to console him. 'The misfortune is undoubtedly very great,' said he,' but it may be repaired.' 'Ah, my friend!' replied the Marshal, 'there is no remedy; I am undone!' Dumesnil continued his efforts to reanimate his courage and to reassure him in regard to the accident of the previous night. 'It will not, perhaps, have the results that you fear,' said he. But the Marsh

ed her flight to Paris, where she gave birth to a son. But Maurice was not the man to calmly accept defeat, in love any more than in war, and no sooner was peace signed, in the autumn of the following year, and he found himself at leisure to attend to his private affa

the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, the conquered territory was returned to Austria, Favart found himself in a most unpleasant situation; for the proprietors of the theatre, two ladies of the name of Myesses, without giving him an opportunity to enter a defence, obtained from the re-established Courts an order for his arrest and the sequestr

judges in their present state of feeling against the recent invaders of their country. The poet's appeal against the unjust decision failed, and, to make matters worse, t

tion with her husband being most strictly interdicted. In defiance of this prohibition, however, she admitted him into the house at night, when he contrived to so work upon her feelings that she resolved to defy the Marshal a second time. "Accordingly, one fine night, when the latter was at Chambord, the Chantilly packed her belongings, carried off everything that she could, and retired with her husband to her mother-in-law's house in the Rue de Verrerie.

s of the Brussels theatre, who, as we have mentioned, were endeavouring to get Favart extradited, and to succee

of the decree which they obtained against him at Brussels. I think that it will be advisable for you to go away, and, as you are not happ

cision in this matter, and the place that

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, he declined, as he had done nothing to merit such generosity, and it would be disgraceful for him to accept it. At the same time, all u

son, from Mlle. Lamotte of the Comédie-Fran?aise, the unfortunate poet fled to Strasburg the same night, where he remained for four months

a secure asylum, so long as he might require one," and assuring her of his desire to render him every service that lay in his power. Favart, however, seems to have grown a

on August 6, 1749, made her début there, as Marianne in the épreuve of Marivaux. Her success was astonishing. "The pit loudly demanded that she should be received into the company," writes Collé, who was among the audience; "and, whereas it was the rule not to admit French into the Italian troupes, or Italians into the French, it

ing to Meusnier, it had been largely due to his influence with the Gentlemen of the Chamber that the difficulty in regard to her admission to the Comédie-Italienne had been so speedily overcome; but, when he asked for his reward, the lady would have nothing to say

ine wrote to the fu

cretary), wherein he charges him to tell our mother (Madame Favart) that, if you come to Paris, and if she has any affection for

ing of no consideration at his hands, a fact

.... The house is always crowded on the nights on which I appear. I have been playing the part of the dancer in Je ne sais quoi, and of Fanchon in La Triomphe de l'intérêt. The ballet of La Marmotte is still being played with success. Your couple

little Rivière;[139] and, for that purpose, has sent word to me that he loves me more th

ll go away and end our days tranquilly in some fore

count of all her actions and movements, while the Marshal, on his side, worked to thwart all her plans." He then relates how he bribed a servant of the Favarts, named Jacques, to keep watch and ward over his mistress wi

rshal now determined to make use of this unfortunate man for his own ends, and, accordingly, obtained his release from the convent at Sens and had him brought to Paris, where he lost no time in seeking an interview with the Lieutenant of Police and formally accusing his daughter of having contracted an illegal marriage, inasmuch as he had never given his consent

oment performing. Here, having been well primed with his favourite vintage, the wretched old man proceeded to regale all whom he could persuade to listen to him with a harrowing account of his daughter's wickedness and the terrible things he had suffered at her hands. Finally, he succeeded in working himself into such a frenzy of ind

s of the Comédie-Italienne, to whom he related his sad experiences. Mlle. Coraline, Justine's rival in the affections of the public, was so touched by his account

t that she could afford to ignore the gossip of the coulisses. The Marshal, however, pretending to have forgiven her for her recent rebuff, now sent to warn her that her father was endeavouring to obtain a lettre de cachet to have

by her sister-in-law, Marguerite Favart, and followed, at a discreet interval, by Meusnier and a detachment of police, with orders not to interfere with the actress until they had secured the person of her husband. The latter, however, succeeded in evading them, in spit

eing permitted to return to Paris, while Justine, after being kept for some days at Meaux, was conducted to th

e Minister, M. d'Argenson, and especially my father's consent, signed with his own hand; it is in the keeping of the curé of Saint-Pierre-aux-B?ufs. Collect our witnesses, and take them with you to the Minister. If it is my father who is persecuting us in this manner, the truth will be revealed, and w

has always shown much friendship for us. I am sure that he will be willing t

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Minister. You must write to M. de Paumi;[140] he can do us a service with my father. You need not write to the Maréch

to accept the retreat which a person[141] who warned me of the lettre

ourt, who were always eager to punish persons who contravened the marriage laws, and "did not easily let go their prey." "Favart," he adds, "ought to feel highly flattered that you should sacrifice for him fortune, pleasure, glory, everything, in short, that might have made the happiness

ageous and sensible woman! I have been her friend since the first time I spoke to her. Tell her that I will do my best, and as she and Favart have not a sou, beg her to accept fifty louis, for which you will find an order enclosed. That will help them for the present, and I promise them assistance in every way for

ed by Favart, nor could the old lady and h

as treated "like a State criminal." This, as the worthy Marshal had of course foreseen, rendered her supremely miserable, and all the more eager to recover her liberty. To do her justice, however, she would appear to have been

ced you in the vexatious position in which you now find yourself. I leave to your good sense to judge of the value of what I take the liberty of observing in regard to this matter.... What is certain, is that he has not been a

g her letter "December 40th," doubtless to express more forcibly the length and dreariness of her days. "I desire to die, in order tha

peared that her father had acted at the instigation of a band of religious fanatics, whose names he had not yet been able to ascertain. If he could find M. Duronceray, he might wring the truth from him, but, unf

by the police, so long as he remained quiet, and that he had appeared very far from inconsolable at his wife's captivity: "The race of poets does not take things so much to heart. Voltaire has produced two tragedies since the death of Madame du Chatele

ging him "in God's name not to deceive her," and declaring that she was suffering torments from uncertainty. "I await news from day to day with the utmost impatience since you have given me hope of being able to leave this villainous house. Every time that the bell rings, I have terrible palpitation of the heart. I believe that it is some one come to fetch me. I bound to the door, and, when I find that it is not I whom they seek, I return, covered with confusion, to shut myself up in my little cell and weep, like a little child who has been beaten for ten or twelve days. That is the life I am leading. When I leave here, I shall i

ure of the Comte d'Argenson, the Minister for Paris, who was, at that moment, too ill to attend to any matters not of the first importance. The letter concluded with the following very significant words, in a woman's handwriting, probably t

ecution which the luckless couple were undergoing, wrote to the captive, apparently in answer to a letter from Ang

but he yielded to our alarms; he feared the despair of a mother and a sister already afflicted by the misfortunes which had overtaken him. His son, ourselves, and yourself are the only objects of his hopes and fears. That is all that can interest him now. He has lost, through these continual persecutions, his friends, his protectors, his property, his talents, his health, and all his resources. Nevertheless, he will consider all atoned for when he finds in you sentiments worthy of him. He does not ask to be their object: honour alone must determine you. Content with loving you, he demands nothing in return; knowing, by sad experience, that the heart is not to be commanded. I

nately, was not the case. Early in January 1750, the actress was released from the convent at Angers, and exiled to Issoudun, in Berri. On February 10, she obtained permission from Berryer, the Lieutenant of P

elnau in the vicinity of Issoudun, the Marshal has caused the Chantilly to be sent to Chambord, and thence to P

bé de Voisenon, than whom no one was better acq

erself to him. She was terrified, and, through love for her husband, was unfaithful to him.... The Marshal died; and, as the Chantilly min

or some months past, as we have mentioned, been hiding in a cellar in the house of a compassionate village priest in Lorraine, earning a precarious livelihood by painting fans by the light of a lamp. The cruel treatment he had received had impaired his health and broken his spirit, and he received

tion for his sufferings in some biting epigram at the expense of the man who had wronged him so cruelly. But his kindly and inoffensive nature was incapable of malice, and he behaved with a moderation almos

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ympathy and advice he was always able to rely, and a companion whose irrepressible gaiety was proof against all the troubles and anxieties of both family and professional life. But his generosity went no further. If friendship had survived Justine's last infidelity, love had not. "Fly from love as from the greatest of all evils," he wrote to his friend at Strasburg; and, incredible as it may appear, when, not l

of strength for nearly twenty years; her talents as an actress and a singer being rivalled by those which she displayed as a dancer, "turning the heads of the public and securing even the support of the women." Her versatility seems to have been truly amazing. "Soubrettes, heroines, country girls, simple parts, character parts, all became her," says Favart in his Mémoires; "in a word, she multip

she created the r?le of Bastienne in Les Amours de Bastien et Bastienne, a parody of Jean Jacques Rousseau's Devin du village, which she had composed herself in collaboration with Harny, she appeared on the stage wearing a simple woollen gown, with her hair flat on her head, a cross of gold on her neck, bare arms, and wooden shoes. The sabots offended some critics in the pit, and murmurs of disapproba

e with the materials of the country." This was the first occasion on which the costume of Turkish ladies had been seen upon the French stage, and though Favart himself declares that it was "at once decent and voluptuous," it was objected to; and when soon afterwards

nce, we are assured, were transported with enthusiasm. A peasant in the pit, "rendu fou d'admiration," demanded of his neighbour the name of the author, an

e appeared, as did also the other actors, dressed exactly in the Chinese fashion. The dresses which she had procure

sonneurs, and La Fée Urgèle, "in which," says Voisenon, "she played the part of the old woman in a manner impossible to imitate." According to the same authority, Favart was largely

49] The public were more indulgent than the critics; but on December 14, 1769, when she appeared in a vaudeville by her husband called La Rosière de Salency, she was very coldly received. The poor actress, believing herself abandoned by the public whose idol she had so long been, and suffering already from the disease of which she eventually died, played from that time less frequently, and, at the end of the year 1771, ceased to appear altogether. On Twelfth-day she was compelled to take to her bed, and sent for the notaries to make her will. She

or was it until, through the influence of Voisenon, she had obtained a promise from the Gentlemen of the Chamber that her salary should be preserved to her, under the form of a pension, in case of retirement, that she yielded, and exclaimed, smiling: "Oh! for the moment, I renoun

standing which he continued to work for the theatre, besides keeping up an active correspondence with the Italian dramatist Goldoni, wh

derate actor, he was a successful dramatist; his best works were Le Diable boiteux, ou la Chose impossible (1782); Les Trois Folies (1786); Le Mariage singulier (1787); and La Vieillesse d'Annette et Lubin (1791), the last in collaboration with his father. His