Chapter IX

Talma in the _École des Vieillards_--One of his letters--Origin of his name and of his family_--Tamerlan_ at the pension Verdier--Talma's début--Dugazon's advice--More advice from Shakespeare--Opinions of the critics of the day upon the débutant--Talma's passion for his art

The _École des Vieillards_ was very successful. A fatal Dud, which had recently taken place under pretty nearly similar conditions to those that operated between Danville and the duke, gave the piece just that appropriate touch which captivated the Parisian public. We ought also to add that Talma had perhaps never looked finer; the play of emotions in the part of the old and betrayed lover could not have been rendered in more moving accents. It was a part that interested the audience from an entirely different point of view than that of the part of Marino Faliero, who shares with Danville the lot of a betrayed lover.

Oh! what an inestimable gift a good voice is to the actor who knows how to use it! How tender were Talma's tones in the first act, how impatient in the second, uneasy in the third, threatening in the fourth, dejected in the fifth! The part is gracious, noble, pleasing and harmoniously consistent throughout. How the old man's heart goes out to Hortense partly from paternal feeling, partly as a lover! And, while complaining of the wife who allows herself to be snared, like a foolish lark, by the mirror of youth and the babblings of coquetry, how he despises the man who has in some inexplicable way managed to catch her fancy! Alas! there is in every maiden's heart one vulnerable place, open to unscrupulous attack.

The wife's part is very much below that of the man. Does Hortense love the duke or does she not? Is she a flirt or is she not? It is a serious flaw that the situation is not more clearly defined, and the following passage shows it: in the fourth act, while Hortense is conversing with the duke in a salon at one o'clock in the morning, she hears her husband's footsteps, and hides the duke.

Now, I appeal to all wives: would any wife hide a man whom she did not love when surprised by her husband, no matter at what hour of the day or night it might be?

Hortense must love the duke, since she hid him. If Hortense loves the duke, she cannot escape from an accusation of ingratitude; for it is impossible to comprehend how an honourable wife, who had a good and thoughtful husband, young-hearted in spite of his white hairs, could for one moment fall in love with such a colourless creature as the Duke Delmas.

With what moving accents does Talma utter the words

"Je ne l'aurais pas cru! C'est bien mal! C'est affreux!"

as he gets up and traverses the stage in despair. No human anguish was ever more clearly revealed than in this sob.

Vulgar amateurs and second-rate critics praised exceedingly the character of one of Danville's college chums, in this comedy by Casimir Delavigne, played with much humour by an actor called Vigny. It is the part of an old bachelor, who, after remaining in single blessedness for sixty years, decides to marry on the strength of the description Danville draws of conjugal happiness, and comes to tell his friend of his decision at the very moment when he is racked with jealous pangs.

No, indeed, a hundred times no, it is not here where the real beauty of the _École des Vieillards_ lies. No, it is not that scene wherein Danville repeats incessantly: "_Mais moi, c'est autre chose!"_ that should be applauded. No, the matter to be applauded is the presentation of the deep and agonising torture of a broken heart; what should be applauded is the situation that gives scope for Talma to display both dignity and simplicity at the same time, and that shows how much suffering that creature, born of woman, cradled in grief and brought up to grief, whom we call _man_, is capable of enduring.

Talma's friends blamed him for playing the part in a frock-coat; he told them he had been sacrificed to Mademoiselle Mars. They asked him why he had so easily allowed himself to be made the footstool of an actress placed above him, the pedestal for one whose renown rivalled his own: Talma let them say.

He knew well enough that in spite of all Mademoiselle Mars' talent, all her winsomeness, all her ease of manner on the stage, all the pretty things she said in her charming voice, everything was eclipsed, effaced, annihilated, by a single utterance, a sob, a sigh of his. It must have been a proud moment for the poet when he saw his work thus finely interpreted by Talma; but it must have been quite a different matter to Talma, for he felt that the limits of art could be extended farther, or rather that art has no boundaries. For Talma had been educated in the spacious school of Shakespeare, which intermingles laughter with tears, the trivial with the sublime, as they are intermingled in the pitiful struggle which we call life. He knew what the drama should aim at: he had played tragedy all his life and had never ventured to attempt comedy. We will briefly relate how he came to be the man we knew.

Talma was born in Paris, in the rue des Ménétriers, on 15 January 1766. When I became acquainted with him he would be about fifty-seven. He received from his godfather and godmother the names François-Joseph and from his father that of Talma. In a letter from Talma which I have by me, it is stated that the name of Talma, which became celebrated by the deeds of the great artiste, was several times made the subject of investigation by etymologists.

This autograph letter by Talma is the copy of one in which he replies in 1822 to a savant of Gruningen, named Arétius Sibrandus Talma, who, after giving details of his ancestry, asks the modern Roscius if he cannot lay claim to the honour of relationship with him. This is Talma's reply:--

"I do not know, monsieur, and it would be a difficult
matter for me to find out, whether you and I are of the
same family. When I was in Holland, more than fifteen
years ago, I learnt that there were many people bearing
the same name as myself in the land of Ruyter and of Jan
de Witt My family mainly inhabited a little strip of
country six leagues from Cambrai, in French Flanders.
This is not the first time, monsieur, that my name has
given rise to discussion with regard to my origin, on the
part of foreigners. About forty or fifty years ago, a son
of the Emperor of Morocco staying in Paris and hearing
mention of my father's name came and asked him if it were
not of Arabian derivation--a question that my father was
unable to answer. Later, an Arab merchant whom I met in
Paris in my youth put the same question to me: I could
not answer him more explicitly than could my father, the
son of His Majesty of Morocco.

"M. Langlais, a distinguished savant, who had made a very
profound study of Oriental languages, told me, at that
time that the word Talma, in the Arabic tongue, meant
_intrepid_, and that it was a very customary name among
the descendants of Ishmael, to distinguish the different
branches of the same family. You may be sure, monsieur,
that such an interpretation ought to make me very proud,
and I have ever done my utmost not to fall short of it.
I have consequently given rein to my imagination and
conjecture that a Moorish family remained in Spain,
embraced Christianity and wandered from that kingdom to
the Netherlands, which were formerly under allegiance to
the Spaniards, and that by degrees members of this family
wandered into French Flanders, where they settled. But,
on the other hand, I have been informed that our name has
a Dutch ending and that it was once very common in one of
the provinces of Holland. This new version has completely
upset my castle in Spain, and conveyed me from the
African deserts to the marshes of the United Netherlands.
Now, monsieur, you ought to be able to decide better than
anyone, certainly better than I, since you speak Dutch,
whether we really came from the North or from the South,
whether our ancestors wore turbans or hats, whether they
offered their prayers to Mahomed or to the God of the
Christians.

"I have omitted to give you another piece of information,
which is not without its relevancy--namely, that the
Count de Mouradgea d'Olisson, who lived in the East
for some years, and who has brought out a work on the
religious systems of Oriental peoples, quotes a passage
from one of their authors which tells us that the king,
or rather the pharaoh, who drove the Israelites out of
Egypt, was called Talma. I have to admit that that king
was a great scoundrel, if the account given of him by
Moses (surely a reliable authority) be correct; but we
must not look too closely into the matter if we wish to
claim so illustrious an origin.

"You see, monsieur, there is not a single German baron
who boasts his sixteen quarterings, not even a king,
throughout the four quarters of the globe, were he
even of the house of Austria, that oldest of all royal
families, who can boast such a lofty descent as mine.
However it may be, monsieur, believe me, I hold it a
much greater honour to be related to so distinguished
a savant as yourself than to be the descendant of a
crowned head. Such men as you work only for the good of
men, whilst others--and by others I mean kings, pharaohs
and emperors--think only of driving them mad. I trust,
monsieur, that, since you seem to have made up your
mind on this matter, you would be so good as to inform
me whether the name we bear is Dutch or Arabian. In any
case, I congratulate myself, monsieur, upon bearing the
name that you have made celebrated.--Believe me, etc. etc.

"TALMA"

This letter serves to give us both positive information concerning Talma's family and a good idea of his way of looking at things.

Talma often told me that his remotest recollections carried him back to the time when he lived in a house in the rue Mauconseil, the windows of which looked towards the old Comédie-Italienne theatre. He had three sisters and one brother; also a cousin whom his father, who was a dentist by profession, had adopted.

One day, Lord Harcourt came to Talma's father to have a troublesome tooth extracted, and he was so pleased with the way the operation was performed that he urged Talma's father to go and live in London, where he promised to procure him an aristocratic clientèle. Talma's father yielded to Lord Harcourt's pressure, crossed the Channel and set up in Cavendish Square. Lord Harcourt kept his promises: he brought the French dentist such good customers that he soon became the fashionable dentist, and included the Prince of Wales,--afterwards the elegant George IV.,--among his clients.

The whole family followed its head; but Talma's father, considering a French education better than any other, sent his son back to Paris in the course of the year 1775. He was then nine years old and, thanks to having spent three years in England at the age when languages are quickly picked up, he could speak English when he reached Paris as well as he could speak French. His father chose M. Verdier's school for him. A year after he joined the school, great news began to leak out. M. Verdier, the head of the school, had composed a tragedy called _Tamerlan._ This tragedy was to be played on Prize Day. Talma was hardly ten at that time, so it was probable that he would not be allotted a leading part, even if he were allowed to take any part in it at all. The assumption is incorrect. M. Verdier gave him the part of a confidential friend. It was like all such parts,--a score of lines strewn throughout the play and a monologue at the end.

In this peroration the bosom-friend expatiates on the death of his friend, who was condemned to death, like Titus, by an inexorable father. The beginning of this recitation went like a charm; the bulk of it was successfully delivered also; but, towards the end, the child's emotion grew to such a pitch that he burst into tears, and fainted away. This fainting fit marked his destiny, for the child was an artiste! Ten years later, on 21 November 1787, Talma made his first appearance at the Théâtre-Français, in the part of Séide.

On the previous day, he paid a visit to Dugazon, and Dugazon gave him a paper containing the following advice. I copy it from the original, which is now in my possession.

"Aim at greatness, from your first entry, or at any
rate at something above the common. You must try to
leave your mark and to make an appeal to the spirit of
curiosity. Perhaps it may be better to hit straight than
to strike hard; but amateurs are legion and connoisseurs
are scarce. However, if you can unite both truth and
strength, you will have the suffrages of all. Do not
be carried away by applause; nor allow yourself to be
discouraged by hissing. Only fools allow themselves to
be disconcerted by cat-calls; none but idiots are made
dizzy by applause. When applause is lavished without
discrimination, it injures talent at the very outset of
its career. Some artistes have failed, instead of having
passed through their careers with distinction, because of
faults which genuine criticism might have pointed out or
hissing punished.

"Lekain, Peville, Fleury were all hissed and they are
immortal. A. and B. and C. have succumbed beneath the
hail of too much applause. What has become of them?

"Fewer means and more study, less indulgence and more
discipline, are all pledges of success; if not immediate
and striking, at least permanent and substantial. Do
you want to captivate women and young people? Begin in
the _genre sensible._ 'Tout le monde aime,' as Voltaire
says, 'et personne ne conspire.' At the same time, what
may have been good advice in his day may not be worth
very much in ours. If you want chiefly to delight the
multitude, which feels much and reasons but little, adopt
either a magnificent or an awe-inspiring style: they will
instantly take effect. How is it possible to sustain the
dignified part of Mahomed, the condescension of Augustus,
the remorse of Orestes? The impression to be made by
such parts as Ladislas, Orosmane and Bajazet should be
carefully prepared and it will then be ineffaceable.

"True talent, well supported, and a fortunate début are
a guarantee of immediate popularity; but the artiste
should strive to perpetuate them; he must compel the
public to go on appreciating. After having applauded
from conviction, people should be made to continue their
applause from habit. That collective body of people whom
we call the public has its caprices like any ordinary
individual; it must be coaxed; and (may I go so far as
to say that) if it be won over by good qualities, it is
not impossible to keep its favour by faults; you may
use defects, then, to that end! Nevertheless, you must
be careful that they are those with which your judges
will be in sympathy. Should the case be otherwise, you
may still have defects; but they will be poor relations
dogging the footsteps of your talent and welcomed only
by reason of its greater authority. Molé stammered and
slurred, Fleury staggered and I have been reproached with
over-acting; but Molé had indescribable charms, Fleury an
alluring delivery, and I make people laugh so heartily
that the critic who tries to be solemn at my expense is
never given a hearing.

"There are débutants who shoot up like rockets, shine for
a few months and fall back into utter darkness. There are
several causes for such disasters: their talents were
either forced, or without range, or immature; as the
English say, a few exhibitions have used them up; one or
two efforts have exhausted them. Perhaps, too, deviating
from the path trodden by the masters, they have entered
the crooked labyrinths of innovation, wherein only genius
can lead temerity aright. Perhaps also, and this is more
hopeless still, they have been bad copies of excellent
originals. And the public, seeing that they have aped
defects rather than copied excellences, has taken them
for parodists and called their efforts caricatures. When
a comedian has reached this point, the best thing for
him to do is to escape out of it by the prompters side
door, and fly to Pan to amuse the Basques, or to Riom to
entertain the Auvergnats. But Paris lays claim to you, my
dear Talma, Paris will cleave to you, Paris will possess
you; and the land of Voltaire and of Molière, of which
you will become the worthy interpreter, will not be long
in giving you letters of naturalisation.

"DUGAZON

"20 _November_ 1787"

It is interesting to read the advice that Shakespeare gave two centuries before, through the mouth of Hamlet, to the players of his time. It was as follows:--

"Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounce it to
you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it, as
many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier
spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with
your hand, thus; but use all gently: for in the very
torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your
passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that
may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to
hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion
to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the
groundlings, who, for the most part, are capable of
nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise: I would
have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it
out-herods Herod: pray you, avoid it.

"Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be
your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the
action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep
not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone is
from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first
and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up
to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her
own image, and the very age and body of the time his
form and pressure. Now this overdone or come tardy off,
though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the
judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in
your allowance o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O,
there be players that I have seen play, and heard others
praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that
neither having the accent of Christians nor the gait of
Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed,
that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made
men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so
abominably.

"And let those that play your clowns speak no more than
is set down for them; for there be of them that will
themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren
spectators to laugh too; though, in the meantime, some
necessary question of the play be then to be considered:
that's villanous, and shows' a most pitiful ambition in
the fool that uses it."

Let the successors of Lekain and of Garrick, of Molé and of Kemble, of Talma and of Kean, compare this last advice with the first, and profit by both!

Talma succeeded, but there was nothing extraordinary about his success. The débutant was marked out rather by amateurs than by the general public. It was agreed that his acting was simple and natural. The account books of the Comédie-Française show that the receipts at Talma's first appearance amounted to three thousand four hundred and three francs, eight sous.

Now shall we hear the opinion of the critics on Talma's début? The _Journal de Paris_ wrote thus: "The young man who has just made his début in the character of Séide gives promise of most pleasing talents; he possesses, besides, every natural advantage that it is possible to desire, in the rôle of a _jeune premier_,--figure, grace, voice,--and the public were justified in their applause."

We will next see what Bachaumont had to say about him. "The débutant possesses besides his natural gifts, a pleasing face, and a sonorous and expressive voice, a pure and distinct pronunciation; he both feels and can express the rhythm of his lines. His deportment is simple, his movements are natural; moreover, his taste is always good and he has no affectation; he does not imitate any other actor, but plays according to his own ideas and abilities."

Two months later, _Le Mercure_ said, apropos of the revival of Ducis' _Hamlet_: "We mean soon to speak of a young actor, M. Talma, who has caught the fancy of playgoers; but we will wait until he has played more important parts. His taste lies in the direction of tragedy."

It will readily be understood that the appearance of Mademoiselle Rachel met with a very different reception from these mild approbations. And the explanation is not far to seek. Mademoiselle Rachel was a kind of fixed star, which had been discovered in the high heavens, where she dwelt unmoved, shining brilliantly. Talma, on the contrary, was a star destined to shine during a definite period, to describe the gigantic arc that separates one horizon from another horizon, to have his rising, his zenith, his setting--a setting equivalent to that of the sun in mid-August, more fiery, more magnificent, more splendid in his setting than during the noontide of his brightness. And indeed what a triumphant progress his was! from Séide to Charles IX., from Charles IX. to Falkland, from Falkland to Pinto, from Pinto to Leicester, from Leicester to Danville, from Danville to Charles VI.!

But in spite of the brilliant career that was Talma's lot, he always regretted that he did not see the full dawn of the modern drama. I spoke to him of my own hopes several times. "Make haste," he would say to me, "and try to succeed in my time."

Well, I saw Talma play what very few people outside his own intimate circle were privileged to see him play--the _Misanthrope_, which he never dared to put upon the boards of the Théâtre-Français, though he was anxious to do so; a part of _Hamlet_ in English, particularly the monologue; also some farcical scenes got up at the Saint-Antoine for M. Arnault's fête.

Art was Talma's only care, his only thought, throughout his life. Without possessing a brilliant mind, he possessed fine feeling, much knowledge and profound discernment. When he was about to create a new part, he spared no pains in investigating what history or archæology might have to offer him in the way of assistance; every gift, good or indifferent, that he possessed, qualities as well as defects, was utilised by him. A fortnight before his death, when he rallied a little, and the rally gave rise to the hope that he might again reappear at the Théâtre-Français, Adolphe and I went to see him.

Talma was having a bath; he was studying Lucien Arnault's _Tibère_, in which he hoped to make his reappearance. Condemned by a disease of the bowels to die literally of starvation, he was terribly thin; but he seemed to find consolation even in his emaciated state and to derive hope of a success from it.

"Well, my boys," he said to us, as he pressed his hanging cheeks between his hands, "won't these be just right for the part of old Tiberius?"

Oh! how great and glorious a thing art is! It shows more devotion than a friend, is more faithful than a mistress, more consoling than a confessor!

END OF VOL. II

End of Project Gutenberg's My Memoirs, Vol. II (of 6), by Alexandre Dumas