Rachel (1887 British Edition)/Chapter 10
RACHEL AND SAMSON
We have already several times had occasion to mention the name of Samson, teacher of elocution and professor at the Conservatoire, under whose supervision and guidance the young actress studied all her great parts. As actor and author Samson was a man of considerable talent; as teacher he was a man of genius. Madame Plessis, Allan, Favart, Madeleine and Augustine Bohan, Rose Chéri, Jouassin, Stella Colás, Émilie Dubois, Aimée Desclée, were trained by him.
He had actively served the drama in France for thirty years. He had lived through some of its greatest periods—had been taught by Fleury and Baptiste Aimé, had acted with Mademoiselle Mars and Madame Dorval in their prime, and, above all, had had the inexpressible advantage of hearing Talma's dicta and lessons on the "Actor's Art" pronounced by the lips of the great tragedian himself. In his delightful Mémoires he gives an account of Talma's lectures delivered at the Conservatoire, he tells us:—
The only quality of the professor that Talma lacked was exactitude. Absent-minded and easy-going, he forgot the lesson-hour. When his pupils went to his house, they often found him with people to whom he had given a rendezvous which he had forgotten, and the class was adjourned, or he would chat with his pupils until come appointment took him elsewhere and he was obliged to hurry away. But when he did give his lessons, what delightful and profitable hours for his young audience! I see and hear him now. Destitute of all means of illusion, without theatrical costume, a chair between his legs, and an opera-glass in his hand, he was as tragic as on the stage, and made us shudder as he declaimed the verses of Andromaque or Phèdre. In Phèdre's declaration of love to Hippolytus, I hear him uttering these passion-fraught words, "Mais fidèle, mais fier, et même un peu farouche." The way also in which he said, "Cette noble pudeur colorait son visage," made the full meaning of the lines, and invested them with inimitable grace. "No straining for effect; let no effort be apparent," he said to a Phèdre in his class, who did not seem to understand him. "Remember that Phèdre, consumed by her passion, has passed three days without food and three nights without sleep. Does not Ænone say to her,
'Les ombres par trois fois ont obscuri les cieux,
Depuis que le sommeil est entré dans vos yeux,
Et le jour a trois fois chassé la nuit obscure,
Depuis que votre corps languit sans nourriture.'
Phèdre lives on the fire that burns her and the dream that pursues her; she does not inhabit the earth; she is in the clouds." And the great master's voice was deep and low, and his eyes had a far-off look, as he repeated the words of Theseus' wife. I remember the impression, also, he made on us when he taught the last scene of the first act of Polyeucte. Nearchus hesitates, paralysed by a feeling of terror, which he endeavours to communicate to his friend, when going to overthrow the idols in the temple. "Mais dans le Temple enfin la mort est assurée." Polyeucte answers, "Mais dans le ciel déjà le palais est préparée." Talma seemed to see the sign of martyrdom; ho raised his eyes and hands to Heaven, and there was in the sound of his voice something so pathetic and resigned that our young hearts beat with excitement, and a trembling awe crept over us.
What memories, what traditions of priceless value these were to transmit to the young actress! and what pride Samson took in the manner in which she profitted by them! We have already given the old master's account of Rachel's lessons at the Conservatoire and first appearance at the Comédie Française. We will now give his account of her when her success was assured, and when the small, insignificant child, whose promise he had been one of the first to see, was delighting thousands every evening by the magic of her genius.
Ah the delightful evenings! I will never forget them, nor those mornings consecrated to the dramatic education of my marvellous pupil. I count them among the happiest hours of my life. . . . What quickness of perception, what precision of understanding! Remember that this child knew nothing—that I had to explain the character of the person she was about to represent, and to give her a short historical lecture, as it were, before the lesson in declamation began; but, once she had grasped the subject, she entered at once into the spirit of the rôle. Nothing was slurred over, nothing was left unstudied. We took note together of every line, of every point to be made. . . . Rachel was above the medium height. Her forehead was prominent and low; her eyes deep-set and, although not large, very expressive; her nose was almost straight; her mouth, furnished with small white, straight teeth, had an expression at once proud and sarcastic. Her head was small and perfectly set on her graceful neck. Her thinness was excessive; but she dressed with extreme art to hide it, and made it almost a beauty. Her walk and gestures were easy, all her movements undulating, her whole appearance, in fact, eminently distinguished. She had, to use a hackneyed expression, the hands and feet of a duchess. Her voice—a contralto—was limited in compass; but, thanks to her extreme correctness of ear, she used it with great skill, and the finest and most delicate inflections. It was often hoarse when she began to speak; but that soon wore off. When she first appeared on the stage her figure was not fully developed, her small features and close-set eyes salient enough, and the public pronounced her ugly. Later they pronounced her beautiful. The fact is, she was neither one nor the other, but both, according to the hour, the day, the expression that was dominant.
How can I give an idea of this admirable talent to those who have not heard her? I, who taught her the secret of her art for so many years, am forced to confess that all my efforts to describe her are futile. Dramatic art leaves nothing as a heritage to succeeding generations. The talent of the actor descends to the grave with him, and the memories he bequeaths to his admirers—memories always inadequate—fade away by degrees, and die even with the generation that loved and applauded him. But is it right that eternal oblivion should be the lot of those who have been the delight of their age and country? Ought we not to talk of them, and try as far as we can to keep their memory alive in the hearts of the generation that revelled in their genius, and the generation that only knows them by hearsay?
Jules Janin endeavours repeatedly, in his life of Rachel, to deprive Samson of all the honour and credit of having trained and cultivated her undeveloped talent. He asserts that "Mademoiselle Rachel put aside his axioms in the higher branches of her art the first time she trod the boards of a stage worthy of her powers. . . . She was uninfluenced by any master, and had only seen an Academician on Sunday, when she paid her money to cross the Pont des Arts. . . . On entering the Comédie Française, the first thing she did was to forget the lessons of her last teacher, Samson, remembering only the explanations of detail he had given her."
The voluble and often inaccurate critic evidently forgets the account he gave of Rachel himself, when he first saw her at the Gymnase in May 1837, and the account he gave of her when he saw her more than a year later, on the 18th of August 1838, in the rôle of Camille. On the first occasion he says:—
This child is not a phenomenon. She never will be a prodigy; but she acts with heart and intelligence, and without skill of any kind. Her voice is hoarse and rough, like a child's voice. Her hands are red, like a child's hands. Her foot is like her hand, unformed; she is not pretty, but she pleases. There is considerable promise in this young actress, and at present she succeeds in exciting tears, interest, and emotion.
Of her appearance at the Français a year later he thus writes:—
The feelings of that evening can only be described as a great astonishment. Without doubt we looked on a great tragic figure; out was that figure real, or was it a phantom conjured up by our own brains? At the same time, one thing was certain amid the profound silence that reigned—the young actress held enchained the rapt attention of her audience. If she was not yet the despotic sovereign she became later, she was already the skilful actress, who guessed by the disposition and attention of her audience how to sway and move it. Above all, the public will not allow hesitation, want of exactitude; they insist upon a genius whose education is finished. When they saw the actress perfectly at her ease, conveying naturally, calmly, and with dignity, the impression she desired, the most stiff-necked and rebellious enemies of classic art felt themselves taken possession of—above all, after the great scene of imprecation, begun in a low voice like distant thunder. Ah! it was splendidly and gloriously felt and expressed. From the orchestra, almost empty a voice was heard, saying, "That is Tragedy!"
Janin seems to forget that the year that elapsed between the time he had first seen her in the Vendéene, when she had acted "without skill of any kind," her voice hoarse and rough, a certain amount of promise in her, but no prospect of her ever being a prodigy, and the time when he saw her in Camille, already the skilful actress, perfectly at her ease, swaying her audience as she pleased, was passed under the tutelage of Samson.
The old professor appreciated her genius thoroughly, and knew what she could do and what she could not do, better even than she herself. From the time she first appeared at the Théâtre Français until the year in which she definitely retired, Rachel never undertook a new rôle or revived an old one, that she did not have recourse to the help of her master; but to say that she was but the echo of her inspiration, "a perfect instrument that only answered to his touch," is as unjust as to say "that the first thing she did on entering the Comédie Française, was to forget all the lessons Samson had given her, remembering only his historical explanations." The best answer, indeed, to the first statement is that although Samson trained and taught many others, he only produced one Rachel; the best answer to the second statement is Rachel's own letters, some of which we will give presently, showing how she depended on his help and advice. A few years after Rachel's death, Samson puplished a pamphlet, refuting Janin's statements with regard to him and his pupil, contradicting at the same time the account the critic gave of what he was pleased to call his "discovery of Rachel." The indignant professor demands:—
You discovered Rachel? When, Sir? When she first appeared at the Gymnase? But I beg to say that long before, she had been discovered by M. Saint Aulaire, who made her act in his little theatre in the Rue Saint Martin; the public of that part of Paris had discovered her, since they applauded and crowded to see her. And shortly after she was discovered by the professors of the Conservatoire, who fully recognised her powers. My opinion, written in the register of that school, is thus expressed: "Delicate and insignificant appearance, but an admirable dramatiæ gift." M. Poirson, manager of the Gymnase, discovered and engaged her, and you had the honour in turn of discovering her in the Vendéene; but, believe me, you were not the only person who appreciated her talent. My wife, who was present at her first appearance, said to me, "There is great promise in that child; but the stage of the Gymnase is too narrow for her." M. Poirson himself soon saw this, and recognised that she was more suited to the Théâtre Français. It was then she sought my help. I became her teacher, and let Védel, then manager of the theatre, hear her; he, seeing the child's rare gifts, engaged her, and left it to me to decide when she was to appear. Six months later the company of the Français heard her recite, and pronounced her a talent of the first order; for her success, so to speak, was a theatrical one, her colleagues and the habitués of the stage being almost the only spectators. Christopher Columbus had his predecessors, therefore, you see, Sir.
I have more than two hundred letters written by Mademoiselle Rachel to my wife, to my daughters and to me. I will give you some extracts from them, by which you will perceive that, far from expressing regret at having accepted me as guide at the beginning of her dramatic career, she ever showed, during the course of that brilliant career, a confidence in me, of which I am justly proud. I beg, also, to inform you that there were not two of her classical or modern rôles, on the subject of which this eminent artist did not consult my "experience," if not my knowledge. And, I think, I do no injustice to her memory by showing that her triumphs had in no way destroyed that humility which is the best appanage of talent. On January 1st, 1840, she writes to me—
Dear M. Samson,
I cannot let the first day of the year go by without telling you my regret, my sorrow at our long and miserable separation, or without telling you all the affection there is in my heart for you, all the respect for Madame Samson, and all the friendship for your daughters.
Believe me, my sentiments for you are the same as ever, and will never change. Besides, do I not always need your good counsels, which have given me the strength to appear on the stage, and which have assured the applause of the public.
Again, later in the same year:—
My dear good Master,
I have not had the smallest word from you. You must sit down to your bureau at once, take a large sheet of paper, a good pen (if it is possible), and begin thushow, though, I will not tell you. Try yourself; so long as it is very tender and very kind. A long letter, do you hear? A long letter, Roxane commands; you must obey. Don't complain of this imperious tone; it is you who taught it me.
Again:—
Dear Monsieur Samson,
Virginius is announced for next Tuesday, and although I know how fatigued you are with your lessons, I venture to ask for a few hours between now and then, to make me repeat my rôle; for a first performance, a part to create, is a battle to win; but all fear vanishes when you are my general. I rehease at the theatre every day, from twelve to three, or four o'clock. Either before or after that. I will be punctual at whatever hour you appoint.
Another time, she addresses him as "Celui que j'aime le plus au monde," and ends her letter "Votre quatrième fille." She tells him the courage it gives her to work with him:
My dear Professor,
Only three hours ago the curtain rose, and cries of "Silence!" were heard, to listen to Racine's verses, and at the same time your pupil. They gave Mithridate, and my success, if I dare say so, was complete. I did my best to remember your lessons, above all those you gave me at Saint Germain.
"The day before the performance of Mithridate," M. Samson tells us, "we made an expedition to the forest of Saint Germain, my wife, my children and myself, and there she had read over the rôle of Monime with me." This letter shows the nervousness Rachel experienced whenever she acted a new rôle:—
Dear Samson,
You allowed me to send you two stalls. Poor Rachel's intentions, perhaps, may be weak to-night, but her emotions will be strong in her rôle of Fatima. I feel half dead with terror. May Providence support me and satisfy your expectations.
To Madame Toussaint, Samson's daughter, she writes:—
Your father was pleased, then, with my little crown? If I were not afraid of making him angry, I would send him all of them, for they are his. Ah! why doesn't all France know M. Samson as I know him? They would adore him.
Then come two letters, written when she was studying Phèdre:—
I would like to go over my rôle of Hermione with you. I went to supper yesterday evening at M. Buloz'; I came home late, and my maid has only this instant wakened me. I am afraid it is too late for you, but thought I would let you know I have studied Phèdre a great deal. I will go to-morrow to ask you the result of my profound meditations.
Your pupil and friend begs you to come and hear the general rehearsal, which takes place at half-past seven punctually. Your consent will inspire her with courage, and your counsels with strength.
One more letter we must give; it is written from London during her visit in 1850, and shows how in the midst of many perplexities, disappointments, and sorrows Rachel still turned with affection to her old teacher. It is addressed to his daughter, Madame Toussaint.
It is eleven o'clock, I have just left the theatre. I acted Horace; how frightened I was! The curtain went up; an appalling silence. I entered, thunders of applause greeted me; then my terror increased fourfold. I began the first act; the public seemed more astonished than pleased at my manner of speaking, but as soon as they understood my success began. The arm-chair scene in the fourth act made the greatest sensation, and at the end of the monologue, several crowns fell at my feet. Why was he not there, your good father! How delighted he would have been to see that real art is understood everywhere. Why was he not there to complete my success by saying, "You did well, my child"?
Your father grieves me, he has not written yet. When you have read my letter, go to him, say to him, "Dear father, Rachel is far from us, she is sad; we must console her." And I am sure he will sit down to his bureau and write. Do not forget to do this, Adèle. I need it.
Poor, passionate, jealous, lovable, unhappy Rachel. Ever wandering away from what she knew to be right, and then, like the prodigal, confessing and begging to be forgiven.
In the appendix to the life of Samson, there are some reminiscences related of the great actress by his widow, showing so thoroughly her bad and good qualities, that we cannot resist giving them as they are told.
On the 14th April 1849, Samson acted as the Prince de Bouillon in Adrienne Lecouvreur, Rachel playing the title rôle. Madame Samson tells us:—
My husband had quarrelled for the second or third time with his illustrious pupil, when the theatre undertook to represent M. Legouvé's piece. Rachel, it appears, had mentioned Samson to the author as a suitable representative for the Prince de Bouillon's part, but Legouvé was afraid he would refuse it in consequence of the quarrel between master and pupil. Samson, however, accepted, and the following incident took place at the first rehearsal. When Adrienne turns to Michonnet and says, "There is my true friend, he to whom I owe everything," those present were astonished to see Rachel, instead of turning towards Regnier, who acted Michonnet, turn towards Samson, saying these words, and holding out her hand. The professor, of course, was mollified at once, and held out his. Rachel thereupon threw herself into his arms, which made tears come into the eyes of all those present.
Madame Samson describes another episode that took place between Rachel and her old master, on the evening of the 4th February 1853, when they were acting Madame de Girardin's Lady Tartuffe together.
Samson, after twenty-seven years' service, was about to give a representation on the occasion of his retirement, and Rachel had promised to play Cléopâtra; every day, however, she changed her mind on the subject of the rôle, asking for different people for different parts, and next day upsetting the arrangements made the day before. Her caprices wore out my husband at last. She had not kept several appointments that she had made, excusing herself on the plea of ill-health, and asking Samson to come to her (a thing which he seldom did). He consented, however, and on the appointed day presented himself at the hôtel of his capricious pupil. Her carriage was at the door. The professor concluded that she was going out. The servant informed him, however, that Madame was not at home. Unaccustomed to treatment of this sort, above all by a woman who was under so many obligations to him, Samson left, vowing that he would never enter Rachel's house again.
On that evening Lady Tartuffe was given at the Français, and Samson had to act several sentimental scenes with her. Not having had an opportunity of speaking to Samson in the side scenes, the actress found herself most uncomfortably situated, having to act a pantomime with him, in which both are supposed to be whispering words of love to one another. This is what passed:—
Rachel (smiling coquettishly).—"You are angry with me for what took place this morning, M. Samson?"
Samson (looking at her affectionately).—"Dear me, no! the proceeding was most gracious."
Rachel (pretending to be deeply grieved).—"I was obliged to go out, and had quite forgotten our appointment."
Samson (tenderly).—" How could you expect me not to be flattered by such oblivion!"
Rachel (raising her eyes and looking at him).—"It was on important business. I see you do not believe me."
Samson (apparently charmed).—"I, not believe you? Impossible!"
Rachel (looking down).—"Come to-morrow, I will tell you the real reason."
Samson (smiling gently).—"Ah! it was not the real reason I was given, then? But it is quite impossible to call on you again, quite impossible."
Rachel (as if she were making a proposal).—"I will come to you, then."
Samson (triumphant).—"You will not find me at home."
Rachel (still tenderly).—"You will not teach me my rôle, then?"
Samson (apparently quite conquered).—"I do not like caprices and impertinences."
Next day Samson wrote to his pupil, telling her that he would not ask her to appear in her new rôle of Cléopâtre for his benefit, but would be satisfied with whatever part of her repertoire she chose to act. Rachel's pride was deeply offended; she imagined that all the success of the representation depended on her and on her alone. Still more offended when she learnt that Madame Arnould Plessy was coming from St. Petersburg to offer the support of her talent and name for the benefit of her old master. She had been absent for ten years in Russia, and the Parisians were anxious to see the actress once so popular.
Rachel and Beauvallet had arranged to act in Andromaque, Samson and Madame Arnould in Les Fausses Confidences, aided by Madame Desmousseaux. The tragedy was received rather coldly by the large and brilliant audience that crowded the theatre in every part. All the success was for Plessy, who acted charmingly, and Samson, the "beneficiare." Both were recalled several times, and saluted by thunders of applause and showers of bouquets.
A supper had been arranged for all the performers at Samson's house; at the last moment, however, the following note was received from Rachel:—
Dear Madame Samson,
When I promised to come to supper to you to-night, I forgot I had already told my mother I would go to her. I should be sorry to disappoint her. Present my compliments to Madame Arnould Plessy, who acted remarkably well.
Votre devouée,
Rachel.