Rachel (1887 British Edition)/Chapter 1
CHILDHOOD.
On the 24th March 1821 Élisa Rachel Félix was born in the Soleil d'Or, principal inn of the small village of Munf, in the canton of Aarau, Switzerland.
The only record still existing of the event is an entry made by the burgomaster of Aarau, to the effect that the wife of a pedlar (la femme d'un homme qui colportait) had been confined of a female child in the village of Munf. The entry bears no mention of family or nationality, and is not recorded in any civil or religious register.
The Félix family came originally from Germany, but Rachel's father, born in Metz, had been naturalised a Frenchman. Abraham Félix was superior in intellect to his station, and had studied in his youth with the intention of becoming a rabbi; subsequently, urged by the necessity of earning a livelihood, he forsook the Church and became a travelling commission agent and merchant. Business affairs did not prosper with him, however, and he gradually sank into a position not much better than that of a travelling pedlar. Accompanied by his wife, Esther Haya, he wandered from town to town, and from fair to fair, pursuing, like the majority of itinerant Jews, a variety of avocations, selling whatever suited the market for the time being. They had only arrived in Munf a few days before Rachel's birth, and left it a few days after, helped on their road by the charitable contributions of some of the Israelite inhabitants of the village.
In consequence of this nomad existence each child of the Félix family was native of a different place, and each in turn was looked upon as a burden by the mother and an expense by the father. Several died in childhood; six only lived to grow up—Sarah, Rachel, Raphaël, Leah, Dinah, and Rebecca. Sarah, the eldest, was born in Germany, in the midst of the old customs and traditions of the nationality to which she belonged, and ever remained the most thoroughly Jewish member of the family. Raphaël was born in Macon, Rebecca (known for some years as Rosalie) was born in Lyons, and Dinah (known as Emilia) in Paris.
For ten successive years the family wandered through Switzerland and Germany, until at last, aided by the energy and industry of his wife, Abraham was able to take a small lodging in Lyons, where Esther sold and mended old theatrical dresses, and he gave lessons in German. The children were obliged to help towards paying the expenses of the household. Sarah, the eldest, went through the streets singing, accompanied by her younger sister, Rachel, who collected the few pence they were able to obtain from the charity of the passers-by. They often trundled a third child in a little cart between them, thus adding to the interest they excited, and relieving their mother of the care of the baby for a short time.
Rachel would relate with great glee in later days, how, once or twice, when their exchequer was very low, and they were ashamed to go home with so little, she had pretended to faint, hoping thus to work on the pity of the audience. One day the performance was so good that the proprietor of the café, opposite to which they had been singing, took her up in his arms and carried her inside, where they warmed her, fed her, and gave her a glass of wine. A hat was then sent round among the customers, and as much as ten francs collected. Already the theatrical instinct had begun to show itself: unconsciously she was preparing for the great fainting scene in Les Horaces, with which later, in this very town of Lyons, she electrified the populace. "Cette ville de Lyon me rappelle toute mon enfance," she whites to her father ten years later, when enjoying one of the greatest triumphs of her brilliant career.
The "Lyonnais," who refused a few sous to the little beggar girl, were then only too anxious to draw her carriage through the streets, and present her with gold crowns, amply rewarded by a smile or nod from the great tragedian. It is said that during that celebrated visit in 1843, escaping one night from the crowd that came to do her honour, she wandered off to visit the different parts of the city she had been in the habit of frequenting with her sister. On arriving at a small café near the Théâtre des Celestins, she seated herselt at one of the tables and ordered some refreshments; but she who, as a little girl, would have eaten voraciously of brioches à un sou la pièce, now turned away contemptuously from what was set before her. The people round also began to recognise the idol of the moment, and she was obliged to hasten away from their importunity. She had won all she had ever hoped for in her most ambitious dreams. Fame, riches, applause—all were hers in abundance; and yet, perhaps, she could not help feeling with regret that the light-hearted irresponsibility of those childish days of poverty and suffering was gone never to return.
Towards 1830 the Félix family found their way to Paris, where they continued the same struggle for existence as in Lyons. The early details of a career that begins in obscurity and rises into sudden notoriety are almost always contradictory and misleading, but most of those we give here concerning Rachel are taken from her own lips: she was fond of talking of her childhood to her intimate friends. Monsieur Arséne Houssaye was one of them, and has given us in his sketch entitled La Comédienne a description of both the sisters as they went about the streets of Paris in those days when, as she would say later, "she had learnt the actress's best art, of being only sad at home." "Is it any wonder," she remarked to someone on another occasion, "I should be so fond of money, considering the suffering I went through in my youth to earn a few sous." For to this proud, sensitive young Bohemian, imbued already with a certain artistic appreciation, it must have been intense suffering thus to exhibit herself to a careless, unappreciative crowd. On the other hand, Sarah, the elder by some years, liked the vulgar applause and admiration that her beauty and youth excited.
The two sisters formed in every way a remarkable contrast: the one with her rosy cheeks, fair hair, and self-confident expression; the other pale, subdued, with head bent forward under the wreath of artificial flowers that encircled it. Rachel would relate, Houssaye tells us, how, one day, when singing in the Place Royale, a benevolent-looking man, with kindly eyes, stopped as he went by, and, attracted by the look of intelligence in the younger girl's face, put a five-franc piece into her hand. She took the piece of silver, and watched the receding figure, while close beside her she heard a voice say, "That is Victor Hugo." Little did the great poet think the pale-faced child was one day destined to effect a complete revolution in that world of art of which he was then the head.
A much more important meeting than this, so far as the young tragedian's future was concerned, was the one with Étienne Choron, teacher of a class of sacred music that held its meetings in the Rue Vaugirard. The story goes that one day, walking along the Boulevards, he heard the sisters sing, and pressed through the crowd that had gathered round them. He saw a little girl of ten or twelve, thinly clad, standing in the snow, the very picture of misery. With her benumbed fingers she held out a wooden bowl for a sou. Choron dropped a silver coin into it. His heart was touched, and the deepest feeling of interest for the child was awakened. "Who taught you to sing so well?" he asked. "Nobody, Sir," was the answer; "I have learnt as I could." "But where did you hear those airs you sang just now?" "I picked them up here and there; when I go about the streets, I listen under the windows to those ladies and gentlemen who sing, and try to catch the tune and the words, and afterwards arrange them the best way I can." "You are cold and hungry. Come both of you with me; I will provide for you." Choron led them away, and little Rachel and her sister never appeared on the Boulevards again.
After attending the School of Sacred Music for some time, the master came to the conclusion that the metallic and harsh tones of Rachel's voice made his pupil more suited to declamation than singing; he also found her less apt, and less easy to teach, than her sister Sarah. In a letter addressed to the girl's parents, quoted by M. Jules Lecomte in the Figaro newspaper, he says:—
Élisa takes up much more of my time than her sister, for she has not so good a memory, is less industrious and has not nearly her facility.
So much for academic opinions. Sarah, to the last day that she appeared on the stage, sang hopelessly out of tune, and never rose beyond mediocrity as an actress. It seems difficult to reconcile the statement regarding Rachel's want of industry with the energy displayed by her later: as yet the impetus of enthusiasm for her art had evidently not been given.
In the following letter, which was enclosed in the one from Choron quoted above, she seems anxious already to disarm her father's and mother's displeasure. Having been written at the early age of twelve, it is both badly spelt and expressed, not indeed that at any time of her life was the great actress careful as to her orthography:—
Dear Parents,
I am unable to express my great joy in receiving your letter. I was afraid something had happened to you, so long a time had passed without my hearing. I am delighted at the idea of seeing you soon and showing you the progress I have made. M. Choron is very pleased and is so good to me. I can only show my gratitude by working hard. Good-bye dear father and mother. Receive the assurance of my deep respect. Your obedient daughter sends you a kiss, as well as to my little brother Raphaël and my sister Rebec.
Élisa.
My Dear Mother,
Forgive me for not having sent a letter sooner, but, as my sister is older than me, I thought it better for her to tell you all the news. I will only tell you that everyone is still satisfied with me, and continues to love me, especially Mademoiselle Alexandrine. I am always called Pierrot (Sparrow), and I must say I deserve it, for I am as giddy as a real Pierrot. I am working to deserve the kisses you will give me when you come. Be sure you execute the commission I give you, and that is to embrace thirty millions of times my dear papa, the little girl that loses her shoes, and my little Rosalie.
Your obedient and submissive daughter,
Pierrot Élisabeth Félix.
Élisa, as she was still called, often annoyed her master by her gipsy-like love of wandering. She called her brother Raphaël "the Wandering Jew," but she had a great deal of the same restlessness even in those early years. Caged in the class-room, she was like the sparrow whose name they had given her, and whenever she could she escaped to the neighbouring Bois de Boulogne, to sit for hours in the sunshine, singing and gathering flowers. One day, we are told, Choron, while walking through the woods, heard voices singing the hymns he taught. He was astonished; he never had succeeded in inducing his pupils to perform so well in school. Approaching nearer, what was his amusement to see the little Rachel, standing in the midst of a circle, filling his position as conductor, armed with a stick with which she beat time with the greatest solemnity and energy.
The following is a letter of excuse, written on one of these occasions. For the sake of the archness and freshness of expression, we give this one in its original French:—
Mon bon Maître,
Vous m'excuserai si je ne viens pas prendre ma leçon parce que je vais au Bois de Boulogne. Mais j'étais très fatigué. Maman, m'a amenè au baint, et aprés je suis rentré à la maison j'ai dejeuné, et me suis couché. Ah ne me grondez pas, car je ne pouvez pas sortir!
Élisa.
In spite of differences of opinion between master and pupil, however, Rachel always cherished a feeling of affection for Choron. We find her, in 1840, when the little girl who was "neither apt nor industrious" had risen to the zenith of her fame, and was making Europe thrill with her name, writing thus to M. Laurentie:—
Sir, 9th February 1840.
I have only for the first time to-day read a work that you published in 1838, entitled Fragments de Morale et de Littérature. I very much regret not having seen it before, but I have only lately eared for study or devoted myself to reading. I cannot delay, Monsieur, telling you of the delight your Chapter on M. Choron caused me. He was my first master, and his memory is very dear to me. You have described him exactly. His numerous pupils, who all remember him with affection, owe you a great debt of gratitude. I hope you will at least allow me to pay mine, and accept my most respectful thanks.